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PUTNAM'S   MOKTHLY 


MAGAZINE 


V 


OP 


l^meritait  'f  itcratitrt,  Stmtt,  aiti  ^xt 


VOL.  III. 


JANUARY  TO  JUNE,   1854. 


\(T 


NEW  YORK: 

G.    P.   PUTNAM   <fe   CO.,   10   PARK   PLACE. 

LONSOK:    SAMF80N  LOW,  SON  A  00. 

MJSOOOJJT. 


Entkrzd  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  yew  1854^  by 

O.  P.   PUTNAM  dE  CO., 

In  the  aerk*8  Office  of  the  District  Court  fbr  the  Sonthem  District  of  New  York. 


JOHX  F.  TROW, 
41  AnaStrMt. 


'M 


CONTENTS   OF   VOL.   III. 


Adyentara  on  the  Plains, 94 

▲nnim  Potabile, 4S 

Aigolis— Three  Days  In <IS 

Austrian  BaltMine^ 181 

Annexation, 188 

At  Best, 194 

Amazon,  Valley  oi^ 8T9 

A  Biography— Part  L 669 

A  Day  in  the  Great  Cemetery, 615 

American  Epica, 689 

Boarding-Schoola,  French  and  other, 164 

Borodino, 279 

Big  Back,  (The) 488 

ConfesfdoDB  of  a  Yonng  Arttot, 89 

Catastrophe  at  Versaillea, 71 

Conqnerar*8  Orave,  (The) 94 

Cocked-hat  Ckntry, 961 

Connecticut  Georgica, 866 

Chataheat  Planta, 497 

Czar  and  the  Saltan, 609 

CniiM  of  the  North  Star,  546 

Cosasde  EopaAa, 489^688 

Corate's  Philosophy, 691 

Cock  of  the  Walk, 679 

Dick  Pasters  Story, 689 

Encantadaa,  or  Enchanted  lalea, 811,  840^  460 

Eoiitern  Qacsiion— What  have  we  to  do  with  itt  514 
Eilitorial  Note— Special— To  the  People  Soath  of 

Mason  and  Dixon's  Line, 848 

EnrroRiix  Nans, 
L  American  LUeratwre, 

New  MS.  Correettoni  of  ShakeqMsr*— Memoir  of  William 
Cnwwall  by  his  Father— EUiot'i  and  Clark's  LectorM 
to  Yooug  M«n,  Ae.— FmmIoo  and  Mndamo  Gaiao— B«^ 
Homenta  of  aa  IdU  Woman— Iliatoiy  of  a  WaaUd  UU 
—Thm  Blood  Stooa— 8b«ltao*s  Lattora  flnom  19  tha 
Rivai^Holiday  Book»-W«bat«r«a  Wild  Seeaaa,  *«.— 
Hom««  of  Amarieaa  StateamMi— TBekormaa**  Ifoath  in 
Eof  land— ValMitiiMtt  Hiatory  of  tha  Cltj  of  Now-YoA— 
Roamar'a  Dictionary  of  English  sad  French  MIobm  • 
Bond's  IfimMsotap-IttTalid's  Own  Book— Flower  of  tha 
Family— Simms's  Yomaasao— Mias  Chaaabro's  litUa 
Cnss-B«ar«ra-Mn.  Laa's  Pierra  Toossaittt-SpUtaal 
Yintora-Orlmma'  Honachold  Stotiaa-Hiekoek'a  Monl 
Sdanca-Briliat^Tarin's  Phyalolocia  da  OoAt-Khi(s- 
l«y*h  Hypatia-6ir  Hodaoa  Lowa's  Lattan,  Aa^Rali. 
gioBS  of  tha  World,  Ae.— BfaeUwaia's  Mamoir  of  Abar- 
nathy-Laigh  Hnat'a  Raligion  of  tha  Haari-Land«r*a  ' 
*«LaatFfmt"— Aliaon's  Enropa,  Tohima  aaoand-Hofb. 
land's  Alt  of  PioloncincLils—Tttmbiill'sCaiiiat  la  Hla. 
««7. 101 

Mrs.  Mowatt**  *•  Antobiography  of  An  Aetr««  "-Poola'M 
Indes-Oraaa  Gratawood's  •«  Hapa  and  Miahapa  *«-Tay. 
lor*B  «*  Jaaoary  and  Jnno,  Ae."-Old  Bightawllk  Now 
Eyaa-Paarioa  Flowars— Morris's  Poaaa-Mavtinaaa*B 
Tranalalka  of  Oomta no 

Chaaa's  «*bffUih  Sarfdom  and  Amarien  Shnrary**— 
Inga's  **  Tha  Amarieaa  Plantar"— Jamaa'a  **  Tha  Ouuch 
ofChriatnot  an  leclsaiaatieiam  "-Brown's  Philaaeph7 
ofPhysica-Baasaatt'sOaUfaiaaof  a  Maehaaisal  Thaorj 
of  Stonaa-CampbaU's  Woifca-Hitehcoak«»  OeUtaM  af 
Gaology— Hampal'kMamialaofHoaaopathy.       .    m 

Tha  Baitlays  of  Boakm-Harris's  Epfe  of  tha  Blany 
HaaTana-Maorlca's  Thadogteal  Essays— OuBfcniaa 
Monthly  Magaaiaa-Fralal^'s  HomoMpathy-Slarao- 
typaaof  Bryant's  Poama-Hampsl's  Komasopalhy-Bo- 
gat**  Thasaana  of  bgikh  Wotds-Harberi^  TVnala- 


lioB  af  Waim's  History  of  tha  rraaoh  rrslMlaBt  ftafb- 
gaaa. 4U 

Antl-Unela  Tom  Novala-Mia.  CaroUna  Laa  HantB>h  PUd- 
tar's  Northern  Brida— Gorowdki'k  Rnaaia  Aa  It  la— 
Oidaot's  History  of  OUvar  CnnwaU-Types  of  Maakind 
— Agassis  and  Oliddon. MO 

RaprinU  of  English  Oaaslea— Bartlatt's  Parsonal  Nar- 
ratiTa— Dod's  Eleetro-Psyeludogy^Profnaor  Kayaer^ 
Raligiott  of  tha  Noxthmen— Hoamar's  Poama-Mala 
of  an  American  Honaekevper— Wier's  Winter  Lodga— 
R.  F.  Greeley's  •<  Violet  "—Meyer's  United  Btatac 
inaatrated~OBlifoniia  Academy  of  Science— JaakaoB 
vs.  Gibbona-Sbeltoa'sCiystaUine- KaTergaB'MHiatoiy 
of  ««Oid  Hondrwl  "-American  NoTela-Uada  lam^ 
Farm— Dorham  Vilhiga— Goontary  Merehant^TlMvasI 
and  Sunshine— Wandey— Martin  Mcrivala.       .       tit 

JZ<|mM(«.— My  Schoola  and  Schoolmates,  by  Hogh  Mil- 
lar —  Smyth's    Year   with    the    Turks  —  Caaiwhutf 
Church'  befbre  tha  Flood— Phaality  of  Worida. 
TL  Englitk  LU^rabirs, 

Porbea's  **  Norway  and  ita  Glaeleta  "— Bartlett^  "PU. 
grim  Fathers '*— Cherry  and  Violet  — Mrs.  Brsjr^ 
**  Paap  at  tha  Pixies  "—Tha  Chu«h  of  Bnglaad.       ISS 

Rowland's  WoA  on  the  Hnman  Hair^Tha  Afhan— in 
Diekena'Raadhiga-Naw&igHsh  Magaafaiaa.       .    118 

Books  OB  tha  BaatemQaestion- Colonel  ChesBa7%  Qmi- 
paignaofinS-l^-O'Brien'sDaaabian  Piindpailtiaa  la 
ISSS-Canningham's  Boddhist  Monnmanta  of  Csnlna 
Asia-rAinold's  Poema-Bladda  on  Mr.  RasUa  and 
Greek  arehitaetnrs.       ......       dM 

F.  Tenayaon'a  Days  and '  Hawa— Lady  Balwav%  Ba- 
hhid  tha  Soanea-Mim  MItfctd's  Athertanp-Chortay'h 
Modem  German  Mnaie— Mibaaa's  History  of  LsUa 
Christianity-CoL  Markman's  BhootlBg  in  tha  Hliaa. 
layaa.  fit 

UL  Frmch  UUrature. 

Coehet's  "  La  Normaadia  Soaiemine  "—French  Copyri|^ 
UUgation-Edgar  Qafatet's  •*  Lea  Esdarcs  "— VioUal  la 
Doe's  «*Dietioanaii«  Raisonn«  "-Da  Baiaata'a  **Oni> 
▼ention"— Gaatare  Planehe  in  the  "  Revna  dea  Danx 
Mondea"-Zando's  *<Raasie  en  18M "— TegoboikDi 
**  Eindea  sor  les  Forces  PiodoetiTes  de  la  Rossto  **-Tiel-' 
let  U  Dnc'a  "  Jeone  Homme  en  1191  "-Tkllaadlar'h  Ea* 
aaya— R«gniar*s  (Earres  eompMtea— Aragols  PMUm* 
moos  Works— VOlemain's  Antobiogi^y— FrsashTMW. 
lathmofDaata t9l 

Tronssse's  Meteorology— The  Rame  daa  Dsoa  Msadaa 
Ballegarrigaa'a  Fammes  d'Ameriqae— Mireeowils  Oani> 
tempondas  Hoawies  des  Lettres,  fto— Lamartiaa%  Hb. 
tory  of  the  Coaatitncat  Afsembly— Keimoaaa'a  N^olaea 
— Catalaa'a  Mannel  des  Honnetes  Gena— Tha  Athsawnm 
Fraaffaiae  on  Laeretia  Maria  Davidson— Killamab^  Sao- 
v«aiia-NobU  Action  of  Mranger-Abba  FaOar^  l*Br 
liae  dana  I'Ameriqne  da  Nord— Saglieia  Olyiiiffia  Iba 
Academy  of  Scieaoe  m  Paris  and  Dr.  Brainaid.      .    lit 

VDlemafai's  Bowrenirs  Coatemporains— Utamry  Trsaly 
between  Fraaee  aad  Spain-Cooaia's  Histoij  of  Iha  ia- 
loons  of  the  SoTenteenth  Ceotary— Oemies'a  BsHiad' 
Hktoire  LittAraire-SoaTeetre's  Ganseries  Histoiiqaaa  •! 
LitUiairs— Fremy**  Jooraal  d'ima  Jenaa  FUla— T%iaiw 
eeiia  da  Mariage  CivO  et  da  Mariaga  Raligiaoa-IIa. 
qaefs  History  of  Madame  de  Bfabtenoa— Baaooa' 
Etndea  Litt^ralrea— Tha  Atheavam  Fraaeaia  aa  Ha«r> 
thane's  Blithedale  Romanee— The  OonpU  Rsada  «r 
tha  Academy  of  Sdenea  on  Alomfaiam-Safait  Boaaat 
Da  l^kfEiibliaaement  de  la  Ralsoc-Tezier's  Coalsa  a% 
Voyagca-Garaeaa's  Histoixa  da  Osaada— Way^  Lsa 
Aaglala  Chas  eox. 4n 

Natteaiaat-Histoira  da  la  Utterataor  Boas  la  Raalaa- 
ratfoa  — Le  Deeert  at  le  Boodan  — Una  Aaibapadt 
Fraasaiaa  aa  Ghiae— Amooreoaea  at  Graads  Homaiai 
-!)•  llafloaaaa  da  Lather  ear  I'Edoealiaa— Yayaf* 
Plttoreoqaa  aa  Rnssia— BeoTaain  da  Voyaiw  •! 
d'Etadaai Ml 

lY.  Omtnan  LU^aim^ 

Taehodl'k  "Thlailabaa  dar  Alpaawalt  "-Kaaslaar*S  Ae- 
atraleltDaff-Haio   ea    Raiaii«   Fish— Yea  BMmft 


IV 


ContenU  of  Vol.  III. 


HutMfkekM  TaMhadMch—PKt  Ua*t  PfempUtt— 
M«7«r*a  Astronoiny— Klippcl**  **  L«b«ii«-aad  CluuseUr« 
bildw**  — TMiekaita*    •ditim  of   KimlMdl«»    St.   L*. 

fftr. tn 

TIm  Dni  MMrelMii-AlUdirisUieha  BM<Unkin«l«~Sclil»- 
Mr^  Rii«i«n  Gnunmar  —  VeMdey^  0«Mkidit«  dM 
DMtMhra  VolkM— AD«rtiMli*t  SebwunwMiMB  Dorfjr*- 
MhUktoo— a««tlM*sCorrMpood«iie*— ZaoM'a  Gramnui- 
iea  Caltiea. MS 

ariflUB^  Dvatadi*  Woriarboeh— Bocmtr*!  CbrUUiehmi 
LtlMM-Vi«hoff's  Ootth*— K«ppl»r'a  SmIm  Y«hn  la 
Suiaaoi— KisoM^h  KirelianMituif  —  BnnMuiter's  Ga- 
idUchte  d«r  Seli«Bpftm(— 0«ni»n  TraoaUtion  of  Theo- 
dora Parkar— Oonther'a  TnaaUtkm  of  Horaca— Ebrra- 
Wif^  MOcnwkoplaehe  Oaolofie-PortraiU  of  tha  Pa- 
NBto  of  Lathai^Noaek'a  Friadaaker  in  dar  Rali- 
gioii •       ....       456 

DU  Moriakoa  in  Spaiaan— Wandanmgoo  swbeliaa  Had- 
^  and  MkaiMippI— Eiaa  WalUUmaagaloay-Tba  AU 
fiiitu, 6lt 

Y.  JflMlO. 

La  PrapUla— Tha  Pint  PbUhaiaooIe— SladamoiaaUa  Oa. 
baL •       .       .       Hi 

Tha  PUlhanaooia  Conaarta— Tha  Naw  Opam  Hooaa— 
NatiMialTk«to~FT7'a  Mwie-WiUia-Bmtow— Dwifhfa 
Joonal— National  Ari— ProlMaor  Dagfan  —  MaytAaar 
— Rahhii— Soudo— Dwighfk  Jovmal  of  Moaie— TIm  Mn- 
alcal  World  and  runaa. MS 

yr.  jnn§  Aru, 

PowaU*a  Painting  of  Da  Soto HT 

Tha  Kational  Aeadany-Hiffh  Ari-Portfait  Paiataia- 

Htalorieal    Pieturaa  -  Elliot'a    Portrait   of    Ez-Mayor 

UBgalmd— nick»-Ma7*a   Cardinal  Maaarin-Chnivh'a 

Laadao^wa— Dafaeta  of  Annual  Ezhibitlona,  Ac.  Ae.   M« 

Mr.  Uwraaea'a  Portraita-Oor  Valhalla.  .   SSS 

Books  Booelved..... 844,  689 

Death  of  Kit  North 668 

FtaMtdaTnyelt 879,  478 

fltMSinOratocy, 417 

Owtt  Cttnatory,  (The) 849,  615 

QunbUsg  Houses  of  Paris, 808 

Ottdea  Walk,  (The) 683 

Glliiipae  of  Mankh,    649 

H^^ttandtiieHajtlans, 68 

HdirIUTe,andwithWhomr 820 

Heny  Glaj  as  an  Orator, 498 

Utanry  Pira<7, 96 

IML  HiBtorieDonbt, 808 

iMtPrlnoa,  Problem  oi; 808 

Ltllsr  to  the  Editor, 888 

LUtar  on  an  Important  Subject    By 

Blown,  Bsq., 441 

LnMuiais,An  Hour  with, 466 

Xodsn  Prophets, 88 

Xodam  Greek  Cnstoms, 185 

Hameln  of  Dr.  y  eron, 158 

Mi^  FIoww,  (The) 195 

MsB  of  Character 867 

SQMnri  Iron  Mlnesn 896 

Xanaars,  with  a  Squint  at  Ghesteifleld, 609 

Xudch,  Glimpse  of, 649 

VewToik—PnbUc  Buildings, 10 

lLU»rmATinn.-Ead  Viaw  of  aty  HaU-Ctty  HaD,  fVoBt 
Ylaw— City  Priaon— Lower  Aneaal— Croton  Baaanroir, 
dSd  Slnat-High  Bridga. 

—  Plaoes  of  Amusement  {IttutkraUd^ 141 

PriTSte  Beeidenoes, 888 

lueanutioBa.— Collag*  Plaea  aad  Mnnay-alraat— Wa- 
Taitoy  Plaea— Lafayatta  Plaea— Ooner  of  naivenity 
FkMe  aad  Vwelflb-atreai-Oomer  of  Fifth  Avanae  and 
Tna-alraei-Fifth  Aveane,  eemar  of  Tirelfkh.«tree»~ 
■mi  Pearleenth-atreat  from  Fifth  ATemw-Flfth  Ava- 
rof  FifteeBth-atreat-Coraer  of  Fiflh  Avaaoa 


Avmme— Eaat  SIzteeath-etraet,  oppodta  St.  Oeetga'k 
Chnrch— St  Georga*a  Rectory,  Siztaaath-atreei— Block 
in  Twaatietk-atreat,  eoner  of  Sixth  ATaooa— Weat 
'  Twenty-flrat-atraat  fton  Fifth  ATonae— Loadoa  Terraee, 
Weat  Twenty-tliird-atreet— Bowery  SaTinga*  Bank— 
Coraarof  Fifth  ATenne  and  Thiity-aerenth-atreet. 

National  Inventory, 16 

Notes  from  My  Knapsack,  No.  1, 170 

•»       "       "  -  No.2, 858 

Battle  of  the  Praaidio— CoaUune— Hezieaa  Diei-Climate 
—A  Duel— Law— Military  Blander— Review— Colonel 
Ilamey— Head  Qnartera  in  Mntion— CeatroTille— The 
Ladiea— Night  aad  Mornings— Snakea. 

Notes  from  My  Knapsack,  No.  8, 865 

Namea— Soap  Plant— Jonetion  with  the  AdTanee— Mid- 
night Cry— Military  Engineering— Owle— Camp  on  the 
Nueeea  — Perilona  Paaaaga  Prickly  Pear— Vegetabla 
Monatara— Oar  Flag— Tarantula— Reat— Race— The  Rio 
Grande— While  Flag  — The  Preeidio— Women  aad 
Childrea— Problem  in  Political  Economy -Military  Fa. 
aeral— Fording— Mexican  Embaaay- The  Alcalde— The 
Padre  — Naw  Ounp—TrafBe  —  Population— Administra- 
tioo  of  Joatioe— Falaa  Alarm. 

NoteBfromMyKnap8sok,No.4^ 660 

March  Reaewed—Naaa— Senorita— Norther— San  Feman- 
da-Arholedo  de  loe^^Cngeloe-Friento  del  T^}»-A 
Cbaae— Dialogue— Piteige  of  the  Alaraoa  aad  SaUnoa— 
CapitalHtlon  o^^&nU  Roaa—Trophiea—BIining— Dra- 
matic and  JMfflomatic. 

Nebraska,.... 457 

New  England  Spring  Flowers, 686 

Our  Exodus  from  Jericho, 484 

Paris  CafS,  Sketches  in.. 47 

Pot  Pourri  of  Poetry  and  Parody, 196 

Paris  CafSs, 886 

Plants,  A  Chat  about 427 

Peschiera, 628 

Pons  and  Punsters, 108 

Palankeen, 654 

Beview  of  Beiiews, 408 

Bketchesin  a  ParisCaiS, 47 

Stage-CkMtch  Stories, 80, 81 8 

Shakespesre,  text  oi; 880 

Sorrento, 855 

Behnsucht, 864\ 

Shakesperian  Notes  and  Queries, 448 

Stage-Coach  Stories,  No.  8, 505,695 

Shakspeare  «.  Perkins, 668 

Sonnets  on  the  Death  of  a  Friend, 671 

Three  Days  in  Argolls, 71 

Toss-up  foraHnsband, 896 

Two  Angela, 416 

Valley  of  the  Amaion, 878 

Vanderlyn,. 698 

Veron^  Memoirs, 158 

Visit  to  Iron  Mountains  of  Missouri, 896 

Vision  of  Hasheesh, 408 

Washington'k  Early  Days, 1, 181 

IixcsTBATtoM.  — Site  of  Waahingtoa*!  Birthplace  — 
Waahiagton  with  hla  Father  ia  the  Gardea— Waahing- 
ton  aa  Peaeamaker-Waahington  DrUUag  hU  Sehool- 
fbOowa-Readenoa  of  the  WaahingtoB  Family-Primary 
Leaaona— Waahington**  Sarrayiag  Xzpeditifln  — Tha 
Sarreyor*a  Camp. 

-WhoIsHer—ABeplytoQueTedo, 608 

Who  was  Jnliefk  Buaaway  t 880 

Without  and  Within, 486 

Without  and  Within,  IL    The  Bestaurant, 669 

Winter  Eyening  Hymn  to  my  Fire, 888 

Zay-nis  of  Yaa-kl,  Translated  from  the  Oblneso 
«f  Tay-Un, 68S 


PUTNAM'S  MONTHLY. 

%  MhW^  trf  l^it^ratttR,  ^tlmt,  anil  ^rt. 


VOL.  III.— JANUAKY  1854.— NO.  XIIL 


WASHINGTON'S  EARLY   DAYS. 


THERE  may,  perhaps,  be  among  our 
readers,  especially  the  younger  por- 
tion of  them,  some  who  are  not  as  con- 
versant as  they  would  desire,  with  every 
particular  of  the  early  life  and  character 
of  him  whom  it  is  our  pride  and  happiness 
to  call  the  Father  of  our  Country.  For 
the  benefit  of  such  we  propose  to  give  one 
or  two  papers  about  his  boyhood,  think- 
ing that  the  little  that  is  kiMwn  of  a  life 
so  interestmg  and  important  to  us  and  to 
the  world,  can  never  be  brought  before  the 
public  in  too  many  forms.  With  no  am- 
bitious but  rather  a  patriotic  aim  we  do 
this.  It  is  a  character  we  love  to  contem- 
plate, to  dwell  upon ;  one  that  we  think 
Americans  of  the  rising  race  might  profit- 
ably study  more  closely  than  they  do. 
We  find  many  intelligent  persons  who 
have  only  a  very  vague  notion  of  the 
Washingtor,  they  admire ;  they  take  for 
granted  his  perfections,  but  put  off*  the 
examination  into  him  to  some  other  time, 
or  perhaps  lack  courage  to  attack  the 
large  volumes  in  which  authentic  lives  of 
him  are  mostly  shrouded.  But  our 
Monthly  travels  as  on  the  wings  of  the 
wind ;  and  modest  and  unassuming  as  it 
is,  wins  easy  way  into  parlors  and  work- 
shops, ships  and  factories,  wherever  oub 
tongue  is  spoken.  Let  it  then  be  the 
bearer  of  a  few  words  about  our  country's 
hero,  words  so  few  that  every  body  will 
find  time  to  read  them,  just  to  give  a  zest 
to  real,  full,  satisfactory  histories  now  ex- 
isting or  soon  to  be.  We  shall  make  use 
of  all  the  authorities  within  our  reach, 
not  even  rejecting  tradition,  which  is  often 
the  vehicle  of  important  truth  where  cha- 
racter is  to  be  estimated.  We  dare  not 
promise  any  thing  new,  but  we  shall  try 
VOL.  in. — 1 


to  omit  nothing  that  is  interesting  oi 
illustrative ;  and  if,  on  this  modest  plan^  ta 
may  well  happen,  we  fail  to  be  "  graphic,*^ 
we  shall  be  provided  with  what  will  more 
than  supply  the  deficiency,  in  the  aid  of  Mr. 
Darley's  unfailing  pencil,  which  is  to  ac- 
company our  sketches  with  such  lifelike 
presentation  of  striking  points  and  incidents 
as  our  readers  will  know  how  to  value. 

Fortunately  for  as,  Washington  needs 
no  embellishment  from  his  biographer, 
nor  invention  in  his  illustrator.  A  simple 
recital  of  facts  best  shows  the  distinction 
between  him  and  common  men.  It  may 
be  said  that  this  difTerenoc  is  not  discern* 
iblc  in  his  youth;  that  he  was  a  boy 
among  boys,  and  that  an  idea  of  his  early 
excellence  is  merely  a  romantic  deduction 
from  the  eminence  of  his  virtue  in  after 
life.  But  even  the  few  simple  records 
that  remain,  plainly  show  that  he  was 
marked  from  the  beginning;  and  the 
theory  that  his  youth  gave  no  promise  of 
his  future,  seems  to  us  as  little  sustained 
by  vrisdom  and  experience  as  the  wildest 
notions  of  a  precocious  virtue  would  be. 
It  is  only  to  hJj  regretted  that  the  discern- 
ment of  those  about  him  should  not  have 
suffice<l  to  make  them  treasure  up  every 
fact  of  his  conduct  and  every  particular  of 
his  conversation,  that  we  might  at  least 
have  tried  to  train  up  other  boys  to  be 
the  Washingtons  of  our  days  of  peace  and 
prosperity. 

Washington  was  bom  in  the  State  of 
Virginia,  county  of  Westmoreland,  at  a 
place  called  Pope's  Creek,  near  the  banks 
of  the  Potomac,  that  happy  river,  whose 
every  tree  and  wave  seems  now  to  be 
glorified  by  close  association  with  his 
memory.      The    dwelling  was    humble- 


Georgt   Waxh  ing  ton. 


[January 


lookin^r.  no  doubt,  on  that  2*2d  of  Febru- 
hT\\  173*2.  for  it  was  a  very  onlinary 
Virjrinia  fanii-housc  of  that  time;  so 
ordinary  that  the  family,  who  8oon  re- 
moved from  it.  did  not  think  it  worth 
preserving,  but  allowed  it  to  perish  j  and 


at  the  pre.scnt  day  only  a  slab  of  freestone, 
placed  there  by  the  i)ious  care  of  Mr. 
Custis,  shows  the  site  of  an  event  whose 
importance  can  hanlly  Ix?  fully  appreci- 
ated. The  fonn  of  the  dwelling  is,  how- 
ever, known  by  Mr.  Custis  and  others. 


biM  ni  n  asaiiiifu-n  ■  mrin|i 


who  describe  it  as  a  j)lain,  four-roomed 
farm-house,  with  a  rhiiiuu'V  at  facli  I'ud. 
which  chimney  was  ciuriod  all  the  way 
up  on  the  outside,  as  is  the  case  with 
many  a  buildinjr  of  the  siime  date  still 
standing.  The  surrounding  huulscape  has 
few  featUR's  of  interest,  lieiiig  grace*!  with 
little  natural  variety  or  caivful  cultivation. 
its  trees  ai-e  very  ordinary  trees — wild 
figs,  J  lines  and  hemlocks ; — the  land  has 
no  extraordinary  fertility,  but  .«;hows 
plainly  enough  the  eHW't  «)f  imiH'rfect  till- 
age and  laisaez  alter  habits  in  the  i)eople. 
who  make  one  susjiect  that  the  energy 
and  determiuatitm  which  might  have  serv- 
ed the  entire  region  was  absorU'd  by 
George  Washington.  nuKlel  as  he  was  of 
promptness  and  thoroughness  in  all  things, 
from  the  greatest  to  the  least.  Hut  what 
a  charm  hovers  over  the  whole  !  What 
other  spot  on  earth  makes  the  s»oul  thrill 
i:ke  this  ?  \  vine-lcaf^a  sjjrig  of  cedar — 
a  IKjbble.  from  that  hallowiMl  ground,  is  a 
fiossession.  not  only  to  the  American  but 
to  every  noble  heart.  The  jKiet^s  words, 
so  true  to  nature,  rise  unbidden  to  the 
memory  as  we  ])acc  tliosc  silent  fields  and 


woods.  We  do  not  wrest  them  fivm  tlu'ir 
highest  meaning  when  we  apjily  them  to 
the  place  consecrated  by  the  memory  of 
Washington. 

("jilI  it  not  vain— Uu-y  do  n« »  'Tr 

W>io  ^ny  tli.it  mXwu  the  IIk.  <■  i11c\ 
Miitf  Niiiim!  inourii.s  ia-r  w-oro>i)|  j>cr 

An<l  ivli-brato>  lii<  i>b*oiiuii':!< ; 
Wlio  Niy  that  hill  uinl  furc'-t  hnic 
K«ir  tho  ili-iartr«l  Chii-f  make  iMi»an; 
Tlinuidi  \\\f,  loxtnl  crovi-5  th:it  l»ri-o/i-.s  *\^\\ 
AikI  ouk-  in  (K-i'Iht  i*ninn  reply  : 
Ami  rivrn*  ti-at-h  llnir  nishlni;  wiivr 
To  niunnur  ilir^ri.'s  ronnd  his  irra\i.'. 

One  ni*e<ls  little  stretrh  of  Fan<T  to 
hear  the  name  of  Washington  whispered 
in  every  brwze  that  rullles  the  bosom  of 
the  Potomac  he  loved  so  dearly. 

He  always  livwl  near  it  when  he  could. 
It  was  ever  in  his  eye  at  home  and  in  his 
heart  when  he  was  absent.  All  his  dreams 
of  cpiiet  happiness — and  he  cherished  such 
thn)ugh  life  —  were  c<»nni-cte<l  with  ii> 
bank.s.  It  doubtless  influenced  his  charac- 
ter, as  every  gn-at  feature  of  nature  must 
influence  those  who  study  and  deliglit  in 
her  as  Wa.shington  did.     His  father  re- 


1854.J 


Otorge  Washington. 


8 


moved  soon  after  his  birth  to  another  plain 
farm-house,  sitaatcd  on  the  Rapmuian- 
nock  River,  not  far  from  Fredericksburgh, 
and  not  very  far  from  the  attractive  Poto- 
mac. ITiis  house,  too,  has  been  destroyed, 
but  a  drawing  of  it  exists,  showine  it  to 
have  been  not  exactly  what  a  gentleman 
farmer  of  the  present  day  would  be  satis- 
fied with ;  plain  even  to  homeliness,  and 
scarcely  affording  what  we  think  decent 
accommodation  for  a  large  family.  Mr. 
AugusUno  Washington  was  twice  married ; 
lie  had  by  the  first  marriage  four  children, 
and  by  the  second  six,  of  which  last 
George  was  the  eldest.  Two  of  the  first 
family  died  in  infancy,  and  two  sons, 
Lawrence  and  Augustine,  remained.  Of 
the  brothers  and  sisters  of  George  Wash- 
ington, "Betty"  became  Mrs.  Fielding 
Lewis ;  Samuel  was  five  times  married ; 
John  Augustine  married  the  daughter  of 
Colonel  John  Bushrod ;  Charles  married 
Mildred  Thornton,  daughter  of  Colonel 
Francis  Thornton,  of  Spotsylvania  County ; 
and  all  left  families,  which  intermarried 
in  every  direction,  and  spread  the  connec- 
tion all  over  the  country,  so  that  one 
would  think  Virginia  must  be  well  inocu- 
lated from  this  excellent  stock. 

The  ancestors  of  the  Washington  family 
came  from  Northamptonshire,  in  England, 
about  1657,  during  Cromwell's  time.  The 
name  of  Washington  appears  as  early  as 
the  twelfth  centur}'.  The  family  name 
was  originally  Ilertbum,  but  William  de 
FTertbum,  about  the  latter  part  of  the 
thirteenth  century,  assumed  the  name  of 
his  property,  the  manor  of  Wessyngton, 
afterwards  ^^Titten  Washington.  Deeds 
and  monumental  inscriptions  still  extant 
show  the  wealth  and  importance  of  the 
original  stock  at  that  early  day.  In  1G92, 
Joseph  Washington,  an  eminent  lawyer, 
translated  from  the  Latin  one  of  Milton's 
p(.»litical  works,  a  fact  which  must  be  ac- 
cepted as  an  indication  of  his  political  senti- 
ments. Another  of  the  family.  Sir  Henry 
Washinprton,  Is  renowned  in  English  an- 
nals, as  having  defended  the  city  of  Wor- 
cester against  the  Parliamentary  forces, 
in  1646.  so  there  seems  to  have  been  at 
least  a  balance  of  conservatism  among 
them.  The  mother  of  this  gentleman 
was  half-sister  to  George  Villiers,  Duke 
of  Buckingham. 

In  1539,  the  manor  of  Sulgrave,  near 
Northampton,  was  granted  to  Laurence 
\N'ashington,  to  whose  memory  and  that 
of  his  wife,  is  found  in  the  parish  church 
there,  a  monument  with  an  inscription, 
and  "effigies  in  brass  of  four  sons  and 
seven  daughters."  The  manor  of  Sul- 
grave continued  long  in  the  family,  and 


came  to  be  called  Washington's  Manor. 
If  the  first  proprietor  of  the  manor  had 
eleven  children,  his  eldest  son  was  yet 
more  fortunate,  having  been  blest  wiU) 
sixteen,  and  his  eldest  son,  again,  was  the 
father  of  fourteen, — seven  sons  and  seven 
daughters.  The  second  and  fourth  of 
these  sons  were  John  and  Laurence 
Washington,  who  came  to  Virginia  about 
1057.  This  John  Washington  was  the 
great-grandfather  of  the  greatest  of  the 
family.  He  was  employed  as  general 
against  the  Indians  in  Maryland,  and  the 
parish  in  which  he  lived  was  called  after 
him. 

General  Washinp^on  himself  took  but 
little  interest  in  his  pedigree.  When  he 
had  become  famous,  Sir  Isaac  Heard,  then 
Garter  King  at  Arms  in  London,  took 
some  pains  to  trace  back  his  ancestry,  and 
wrote  to  him  for  such  particulars  as  might 
be  in  his  possession.  In  the  answer, 
Washington  observes.  "  This  is  a  subject 
to  which  I  confess  I  nave  paid  very  little 
attention.  My  time  has  been  so  much 
occupied  in  the  busy  and  active  scenes  of 
life  from  an  early  period  of  it,  that  but  a 
small  portion  could  have  been  devoted  to 
researches  of  this  nature,  even  if  my 
inclination  or  particular  circumstances 
should  have  prompted  to  the  inquiry." 
When  family  affection  and  kindness  were 
in  question,  ho  seems  to  have  been  active 
in  tracing  relationships ;  but  we  can  discover 
no  research  inspired  by  pride  or  ambition. 
Perhaps  the  occupations  and  services 
which  make  every  little  item  of  his  histor)' 
so  important  to  us,  preserved  him  against 
unbecoming  solicitude  about  reflected 
honors.  He  had  neither  time  nor  inclina- 
tion to  turn  aside  to  visit  the  tomb  of  any 
superfluous  Jupiter  Ammou  of  the  old 
world.  We  should  have  been  surprised 
to  find  him  opening  a  correspondence  with 
the  King  of  the  Heralds. 

The  first  wife  of  Augustine  Washington 
was  Jane  Butler,  the  second,  Mary  Ball, 
characterized  on  her  tomb  and  known  to 
history  as  "  Mary,  the  mother  of  Washing- 
ton." a  sufficient  distinction.  She  seems  to 
have  been  a  woman  of  strong  understanding: 
and  decided  will ;  kind  and  gentle  through 
principle  rather  than  fcmmine  instinct; 
and  noted  for  judgment  and  self-command. 
Her  husband,  a  man  of  large  landed 
estate,  dying  at  forty-nine,  left  her  in  full 
control  of  his  property,  which  she  man- 
aged for  her  children  till  they  successively 
came  of  ago.  All  that  is  known  of  her. 
including  Washington's  life-long  respect 
and  duty  towards  her,  pjKjaks  well  of  her, 
but  that  all  is  little  to  what  we  could  desire 
to  be  told.     She  declined  in  her  latter 


Oearge  Washington. 


[January 


days  becoming  a  resident  of  her  son 
George's  family,  saying  that  her  wants 
were  few  and  that  she  preferred  being  in- 
dependent ;  and  when  her  son-in-law,  Mr. 
Lewis,  offered  to  take  charge  of  her  busi- 
ness, as  she  was  failing  in  health,  she 
told  him  he  might  keep  her  accounts,  be- 
cause his  eyes  were  better  than  hers,  but 
she  chose  to  manage  her  own  affairs. 
Tradition  says  she  used  to  be  consulted 
by  the  neighbors  on  the  management  of 
their  farms  and  other  business,  and  also 
that  she  mingled  but  little  in  society, 
finding  her  pleasures  as  well  as  her  occu- 
pations within  her  own  doors. 

Mr.  Weems  says,  she  was  a  beauty  in 
her  youth;  and,  making  due  allowance  for 
his  somewhat  luxuriant  imagination,  we 
find  little  difficulty  in  supposing  the  re- 
port to  be  correct,  since  her  eldest  son,  at 
least,  was  a  symmetrical  being,  in  all 
respects ;  having  a  face  full  of  expression, 
a  rich  complexion,  a  clear  blue  eye,  a 
winning  smile,  and  a  fine,  erect,  athletic 
figure.  His  sister,  Mrs.  Lewis,  can  hardly 
have  been  as  handsome,  for  a  woman ;  for 
wc  are  told  that  she  was  so  like  her 
brother,  that,  with  his  military  hat  and 
cloak  on,  she  might  have  claimed  the 
usual  honors,  from  the  sentinels  in  his 
stead.  Yet  there  was  in  Washington's 
face,  especially  as  he  grew  older,  an  ex- 
pression of  modesty  and  even  of  tender- 
ness, which  mieht  well  become  that  of  a 
woman,  though  wo  can  never  know 
whether  that  was  derived  from  his  mother. 
He  honored  her,  however,  and  perhaps 
the  formality  which  appears  in  what  we 
know  of  their  intercourse  may  be  due,  in 
part,  at  least  to  the  manners  of  the  time. 
It  is  rccordea  that  at  their  last  parting  he 
wept  and  trembled,  while  his  mother  main- 
tained, so  far  as  we  are  told,  her  usual  self- 
command. 

Besides  the  inestimable  blessing  of  a 
good  and  reasonable  mother,  we  have 
vark)us  reasons  for  believing  that  Wash- 
ington had  a  man  of  sense  and  virtue  for 
his  father.  So  deep-laid  and  well-built  a 
foundation  of  right-mindedness  as  was 
evinced  in  the  life  we  are  considering  could 
hardly  be  accounted  for  else  -,  so  we  may 
accept  the  result  as  in  some  measure  con- 
firming the  tradition,  even  though  the  tra- 
dition be  suspected  of  having  been  modi- 
fied bv  the  result.  Tradition  loves  the 
marvellous,  and  therefore  might  as  easily 
have  presented  Washington  as  the  mira- 
culously excellent  product  of  bad  antece- 
dents, like  Eugene  Sue's  heroes  and  he- 
roines. As  good  authority  as  we  have  for 
the  famous  story  of  the  hatchet  which 
brought  to  light  a  love  of  truth  well 


known  to  have  characterized  Washington 
in  every  conjuncture,  gives  us  one  or 
two  anecdotes,  not  quite  so  threadbare, 
which  go  to  show  that  Augustine  Wash- 
ington, the  worthy  descendant  of  a  long 
line  or  English  country  gentlemen,  was 
not  one  of  those  parents  who  leave  to 
chance  the  prompting  of  good  thoughts 
in  the  mmds  of  their  children.  An  oc- 
currence mentioned  by  good  Mr.  Weems,  - 
— "  formerly  Rector  of  Mount  Vernon 
parish," — ^who  professes  to  have  gathered 
nis  materials  from  the  lips  of  people 
familiar  with  the  Washington  family, 
we  shall  quote  here,  since  it  seems  charac- 
teristic and  is  certainly  picturesque : 

"  On  a  fine  morning  in  the  fall  of  1737, 
Mr.  Washington,  having  little  George  by 
the  hand,  came  to  the  door  " — (an  old 
lady  is  tne  narrator) — "and  asked  my 
cousin  Washington  and  myself  to  walk 
with  him  into  the  orchard,  promising  he 
would  show  us  a  fine  sight.  On  arriving 
at  the  orchard,  we  were  presented  with  a 
fine  sight  indeed.  The  whole  earth,  as 
far  as  we  could  see,  was  strewed  with 
fruit,  and  yet  the  trees  were  bending 
under  the  weight  of  apples,  which  hung 
in  clusters  like  grapes. . . .  'Now  George,' 
said  his  fiither,  4ook  here,  my  son  ! 
Don't  you  remember,  when  that  good 
cousin  of  yours  brought  you  that  fine 
largo  apple  last  spring,  how  hardly  T 
could  prevail  on  you  to  divide  with  your 
l^rothers  and  sisters,  though  I  promised 
you  that  if  you  would  but  do  it,  God 
would  give  you  plenty  of  apples  this 
fall  ? '  Poor  (Jeorge  couldn't  say  a  word, 
but  hanging  down  his  head,  looked  quite 
confused,  while  with  his  little  naked  toes 
he  scratched  in  the  sofl  ground.  *  Now 
look  up,  my  son,'  continued  the  father. 
*look  up,  George  I  and  sec  there  how 
richly  the  blessed  God  has  made  good  my 
promise  to  you.  Wherever  you  turn 
your  eyes,  you  see  the  trees  loaded  with 
fine  fruit,  many  of  them,  indeed,  breaking 
down,  while  the  ground  is  covered  with 
mellow  apples,  more  than  you  could  eat 
in  all  your  lifetime.'  George  looked  in 
silence  on  the  wide  wilderness  of  fruit, 
and  lifting  his  eyes,  filled  with  shining 
moisture,  to  his  father,  he  softly  said — 

*  Well,  Pa,  only  forgive  me  this  time,  and 
sec  if  I  ever  be  so  stingy  any  more ! ' " 

We  must  allow  Mr.  Weems  the  praise  of 
a  good  narrator,  and  his  generous  enthusi- 
asm makes  him  an  inspiring  one.  As  to 
his  facts,  we  must  accept  them  as  honestly 
believed  by  a  gentleman  and  a  clergyman ; 
and  many  of  them  can  claim  the  benefit 
of  internal  evidence.   If  not  literally  true, 

*  lis  mirUent  bieii  de  V^tre?    T  Jce  an- 


1854.] 


Gwrgt  Waahinffion, 


t. 


*?C^ 


r#'? 


&%?<^:r:s^ 


WMluo«too  with  hit  Fttlhar  ia  Um  Qwdei*, 


Other,  which  might  have  been  written  by 
Jean  Paul  or  a  Flemish  painter :  it  de- 
scribes a  little  scheme  of  the  father  to  sug- 
gest to  the  future  guide  of  millions  the 
first  and  most  important  of  all  truths. 

*•  One  day  he  went  into  the  garden  and 
prepared  a  little  bed  of  finely  pulverized 
earth,  on  which  ho  wrote  George's  name 
in  full.  Then  strewing  in  plenty  of  cab- 
bage seed,  he  covered  them  up  and  smooth- 
ed all  over  nicely  with  the  roller.  This 
bed  he  purposely  prepared  close  along- 
side of  a  gooseberry  walk,  which,  happen- 
ing at  this  time  to  be  well  hung  with  ripe 
fruit,  he  knew  would  be  honored  with 
George's  visits  pretty  regularly  every 
day.  Not  many  mornings  passed  away 
before  in  came  George,  with  eyes  wild 
rolling,  and  bis  little  cheeks  ready  to 


burst  with  great  news — '  0   Pa !    come 
here — come  here ! ' 

"  *  What's  the  matter,  my  son,  what's 
the  matter  ? ' 

"  *  0  come  here,  I  tell  you,  Pa !  come 
here,  and  Pll  show  you  such  a  sight  as 
you  never  saw  in  all  your  lifetime.' 

"  The  old  gentleman  suspecting  what 
George  would  be  at,  gave  him  his  hand, 
which  he  seized  with  great  eagerness,  and 
tugcing  him  along  through  the  garden, 
led  him  point  blank  to  the  bed  whereon 
was  inscribed,  in  large  letters,  and  in  all 
the  freshness  of  newly  sprung  plants,  the 
full  name  of 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

" '  There,  Pa ! '  said  George,  quite  in  an 
ecstasy  of  astonishment;  'did  you  ever 
see  such  a  sight  in  all  your  lifetime  ? ' 


Qtarge   Washington^ 


[Januarj 


^  ^  Why,  it  seems  like  a  curious  affair, 
sure  enough,  George.' 

**  *  But,  Pa,  who  did  make  it  there — 
who  did  make  it  ? ' 

"  *It  grew  there  by  chance,  I  suppose, 
my  son.* 

"  *  By  chance,  Pa!  0  no,  no !  it  never 
did  grow  there  by  chance.  Indeed,  that 
it  never  did  ! ' 

" '  Heigh !  why  not,  my  son  ? ' 

« » Why,  Pa,  did  you  ever  see  any  body's 
name  in  a  plant  bed  before  ? ' 

" '  Well  but,  George,  such  a  thing  might 
happen,  though  you  never  saw  it  before.' 

" '  Yes,  Pa,  but  I  did  never  see  the  little 

eants  grow  up  so  as  to  make  one  single 
tter  5f  my  name  before;  now,  how 
could  they  grow  up  so  as  to  make  all  the 
letters  of  my  name,  so  exactly !  and  all 
60  neat  and  even  too,  at  top  and  bottom. 

0  Pa !  you  must  not  say  that  chance  did 
this !  Indeed  somcbodv  did  it,  and  I  dare 
say,  now,  Pa.  you  did  it,  just  to  scare 
mo,  because  I  am  your  little  boy.' 

"  His  father  smiled  and  said,  *  Well, 
George,  you  have  guessed  right.  I  in- 
deed did  it,  but  not  to  "  scare  "  you,  my 
son,  but  to  learn  you  a  great  thing  whkh 

1  wish  you  to  understand.' 

«  «  *  *  * 

'•  *  But,  Pa,  where  is  God  Almighty  ?  I 
did  never  see  him  yet,' 

"  *  True,  my  son,  but  though  you  never 
saw  him,  he  is  always  with  you.  You 
did  not  see  me  when  ten  days  ago  I  made 
this  little  plant  bed,  where  you  see  your 
name  in  such  beautiful  green  letters ;  but 
though  you  did  not  see  me  here,  yet  you 
know  that  I  was  here.' 

" '  Yes,  Pa ;  that  I  do  know,  that  you 
was  here.' 

•Well,  and  as  my  son  could  not  be- 
lieve that  chance  had  made  and  put  to- 
gether so  exactly  the  letters  of  h^  name 
(though  only  sixteen),  then  how  can  he 
believe  that  chance  could  have  made  and 
put  together  all  those  millions  and  mil- 
lions of  things  that  are  now  so  exactly 
fitted  to  his  good?  That  my  son  may 
look  at  every  thing  around  him,  see  what 
fine  eyes  he  has  got !  and  a  little  pug  nose 
to  smell  the  sweet  flowers,  and  pretty 
ears  to  hear  sweet  sounds,  and  a  lovely 
mouth  for  liis  bread  and  butter,  and  0  the 
little  ivory  teeth  to  cut  it  for  bim  !  And 
precious  little  hands  and  fingers  to  hold 
his  playthings,  and  beautiful  little  feet 
for  him  to  run  about  upon.  And  when 
my  little  rogue  of  a  son  is  tired  with 
running  about,  then  the  still  night  comes 
for  him  to  lie  down,  and  his  mother  sings, 
and  the  little  crickets  chirp  him  to  sleep ; 
and  as  soon  as  he  has  slept  enough,  and 


jumps  up  as  fresh  and  strong  as  a  little 
buck,  there  the  sweet,  golden  light  is 
ready  for  him  I  When  ne  looks  down  in 
the  water,  there  he  sees  the  beautiful, 
silver  fishes  for  him,  and  up  in  the  trees, 
there  are  the  apples  and  peaches,  ana 
thousands  of  sweet  fruits  for  him ;  and  all 
around  him,  wherever  my  dear  boy  looks, 
he  sees  every  thing  just  to  his  wants  ana 
wishes ;  the  bubbling  springs,  with  cool, 
sweet  water  for  him  to  drinK;  and  the 
wood  to  make  him  sparkling  fires  when 
he  is  cold ;  and  beautiful  horses  for  him 
to  ride,  and  strong  oxen  to  work  for  him, 
and  good  cows  to  give  him  milk,  and  bees 
to  make  sweet  honey  for  his  sweeter 
mouth,  and  the  little  lambs,  with  snowy 
wool,  for  beautiful  clothes  for  him !  Now 
these  and  all  the  ten  thousand  other  good 
things  more  than  my  son  can  even  think 
of,  and  all  so  exactly  fitted  for  his  use  and 
delight,  how  could  chance  ever  have  done 
all  this  for  my  little  son  ? '  " 

We  need  not  carry  our  extract  further, 
since  George's  full  assent  to  the  conclu- 
sion his  father  wished  him  to  draw  from 
this  beautiful  picture  of  God's  doings  may 
easily  be  taken  for  granted.  It  is  not 
difficult  to  recognize  the  warm  poetic  fkncy 
of  the  narrator  in  this  sketch,  but  we  are 
quite  willing  to  accept  it,  even  as  an  ^  ^  Ima- 
ginary Conversation'*  of  old  times,  wish- 
ing it  were  modernized,  in  some  shape,  in 
every  family  of  intelligent  children. 

This  good  father  was  cut  off*  by  a  sudden 
illness,  before  he  had  reached  his  fiftieth 
year,  and  George,  with  a  large  family  of 
brothers  and  sisters,  was  left  to  the  care 
of  his  mother,  who  was  his  father's  second 
wife.  Each  child  had  an  estate,  for  the 
father  was  rich  in  lands ;  but  the  proceeds 
of  all  were  placed  wholly  within  the 
widow's  control  during  the  minority  of 
the  children — a  circumstance  which  speaks 
plainly  enough  the  husband's  confidence 
in  her  judgment  and  kindness.  Two  sons 
of  the  first  marriage  were  young  men  at 
the  time  of  the  father's  decease,  but  Mrs. 
Washington  had  five  children  of  her  own, 
of  whom  George,  at  that  time  about  eleven, 
was  the  oldest.  He  was  absent,  Mr.  Weems 
iSays,  when  his  father  was  so  suddenly 
summoned,  and  arrived  at  home  only  to 
find  him  speechless,  and  to  witness  his 
final  departure.  The  family  seems  to 
have  been  very  much  united,  and  George 
and  his  half-brothers  were  ever  firm 
friends.  After  his  father's  death  he  lived 
for  a  while  with  the  younger  of  them, 
Augustine,  in  AVestmoreland,  the  place  of 
his  nativity,  which  had  been  bequeathed 
to  the  second  son.  Here  he  went  to 
school,   to  a  Mr.   Williams,   who,    Mr. 


1854.J 


George   WaehingUm, 


Weems  says,  ^knew  as  little  of  Latin, 
perhaps,  as  Balaam's  ass,"  but  who  was 
able  to  give  him  the  elements  of  coounon 
school  knowledge,  which  were  happily 
enough  in  this  case.  We  need  not  doubt 
the  report  that  he  was  very  soon  the 
natural  head  of  the  school,  not  so  par- 
ticularly by  means  of  scholarship  as 
through  certain  other  qualities,  so  amply 
exhibited  in  after  life.  He  was  the  um- 
pire in  all  little  school  quarrels,  the  bovs 
having  implicit  faith  in  his  justice ;  he 
was  easily  the  leader  in  all  athletic  sports, 
through  life  his  delight;  and  by  some 
strange,  prophetic  instinct  —  prophecy 
often  works  its  own  fulfilment — it  was 
his  pride  to  form  his  schoolmates  into 
military  companies,  with  corn-stalks  for 
muskets  and  calabashes  for  drums,  and 
these  he  drilled  and  exercised,  as  well  as 
commanded,  and  led  to  mimic  battle.  He 
is  said  to  have  been  famous  for  hindering 
quarrels  however,  and  perhaps  liis  early 
developed  taste  for  military  manceuvres 
was  only  an  accidental  form  of  that  love 
of  mathematical  combination,  and  extreme 
regularity  and  order  of  every  kind,  which 
characterized  him  through  life.  But 
there  was  a  political  bias,  too ;  for  the 
boy-army  was  arrayed  in  two  bands,  one 
of  them  personating  the  French,  always 
an  antagonistic  idea  to  the  English,  and 
at  tliat  time  obnoxious  in  the  colonics, — 
and  the  other  the  English;  the  former 
commanded  by  a  lad  named  William 
Bustle,  the  latter  always  by  George 
Washington.  It  is  rather  remarkable, 
that  so  exciting  a  sport  did  not  end  in 
quarrels,  if  not  in  lasting  enmity ;  for  the 
temperament  of  Washington  was  impetu- 
ous, and  his  passions  were  fiery,  though 
we  are  little  accustomed  to  think  so,  from 
our  habit  of  contemplating  only  his  after 
life,  so  marked  by  self-control.  He  was, 
nevertheless,  known  as  a  peacemaker, 
even  thus  iarly,  and  we  have  every  reason 
to  believe  that  peace  continued  to  be  his 
darling  idea,  through  all  the  struggles 
which  duty  led  him  to  engage  in. 

He  was  also  noted  for  running  and 
wrestling,  pitching  the  bar,  and  leaping 
with  a  pole.  Whatever  stirred  his  blood 
and  brought  into  exercise  the  stalwart 
limbs  and  muscles  with  which  nature  had 
endowed  him,  was  his  delight.  His  young 
lady  cousins  comj)lained  that  George  cared 
nothinj5  for  their  company,  but  would 
always  be  out  of  doors.  And  an  old 
gentleman,  a  neighbor,  is  quoteKl  as  say- 
mg— "Egad!  he  ran  wonderfully!  We 
had  nob^y,  hereabouts,  that  could  come 
near  him.  There  was  young  Langhorno 
Dade,  of  Westmoreland,  a  confounded 


clean  made,  tight  young  fellow,  and  a 
mighty  swift  runner  too,  but  he  was  no 
match  for  George." 

Colonel  Lewis  Willis,  his  pla^inate  and 
kinsman,  had  "often  seen  him  throw  a 
stone  across  the  Rappahannock,  at  the 
lower  ferry  of  Fredericksburg," — a  feat,  it 
seems,  not  very  likely  to  be  equalled  in  our 
degenerate  days.  This  great  strength  was 
inherited  from  his  father,  whose  fowlhig- 
piece-^still  extant,  it  is  believed, — is  of  ex- 
traordinary weight,  confirming  the  tradi- 
tion of  the  old  planter's  muscular  powers. 

But  there  are  proofs  of  another  kind 
of  interest  felt  by  the  schoolboy  in  those 
early  days;  —  books,  dating  from  his 
thirteenth  year,  in  which  his  lessons  in 
arithmetic  and  geometry  are  written, 
treasured  by  hLs  mother  no  doubt,  as 
sho^-ing  her  boy's  application  and  neat- 
ness ;  and  of  an  earlier  period  still  we  have 
one,  into  which  the  driest  business-forms 
were  copied,  under  the  title  ''  Fonns  of 
writing" — ^^ bills  of  exchange,  receipts, 
bonds,  indentures,  bills  of  sale,  land-war- 
rants, leases,  deeds  and  wills,  all  written 
carefully  and  in  imitation  of  lawyers' 
sUle.  This  is  doubtless  a  monument  of 
Air.  Williams's  teaching,  for  we  have  mfsn 
similar  books  written  as  exercises  in  boys' 
schools  long  since  that  day.  But  in 
George  Washington's  book  there  are  also 
copies  of  verses,  "more  remarkable" 
says  Mr.  Sparks,  "  for  the  sentiments  they 
contain  and  the  religious  tone  that  per- 
vades them,  than  for  their  poetical  beau- 
ties." 

Still  more  valuable,  as  showing  that 
"  the  child  is  father  of  the  man,"  is  an- 
other portion  of  this  precious  volume, 
thirty  pages  in  which  are  maxims,  regu- 
larly numbered,  to  the  extent  of  a  hundred 
and  ten,  under  the  title  of  ^'*  Rules  of 
Behaviour  in  Company  and  Conversa- 
tion." The  import  and  value  of  these 
rules  are  various,  ranging  from  a  caution 
against  drumming  on  the  table,  to  a  recom- 
mendation of  reverence  when  the  Highest 
Name  is  mentioned.  It  is  evident  from  liis 
after  history  that  these  very  rules,  copied 
and  conned  at  thirteen,  were  hiwoven  into 
Washington's  habits  of  thought  and  ac- 
tion ;  and  that,  having  once  secured  the 
assent  of  his  taste,  reason,  and  conscience, 
they  continued  effective  throughout  his 
life,  and  seemed  to  guard  him  against 
instinctive  selfishness  and  the  assaults  of 
his  own  passions,  as  well  as  against  any 
encroachment  on  the  rights  or  feelings  of 
others.  When  we  reflect  how  striking 
was  ever  the  courtesy  and  appropriate- 
ness of  his  behavior  under  the  most  diflB- 
cult  circumstaijces,  it  becomes  most  inters 


Oeorge   WaMngUm, 


[Janiuuy 


^^.T^^^r.^ 


WmUbi^  m  PneamMn 


esting  to  read,  in  the  stiff,  boyish  hand  of 
that  early  time,  such  rules  as  these : 

"  Let  your  discourse  with  men  of  busi- 
ness be  short  and  comprehensive.  1 1  is  good 
manners  to  prefer  them  to  whom  we 
speak  before  ourselves,  csi)ocially  if  they 
be  above  us,  with  whom  in  no  sort  we 
ought  to  begin.  Let  your  countenance  bo 
pleasant,  but  in  serious  matters  some- 
what grave.  In  writinir  or  speaking, 
give  to  every  person  his  due  title,  accord- 
mg  to  his  degree  and  the  custom  of  the 
place.  Being  to  ad\*iso  or  reprehend 
any  one,  consider  whether  it  ought  to 
be  in  public  or  in  private,  presently 
or  at  some  other  time,  in  what  terms  to 
do  it ;  and  in  reproving  show  no  signs  of 
choler,  but  do  it  with  sweetness  and  mild- 
Take  all  admonitions  thankfully, 


in  what  time  or  place  soever  given ;  but 
afterwards,  not  bemg  culpable^ke  a  time 
and  place  convenient  to  let  nRn  know  it 
that  gave  them.  Mock  not  nor  jest  at 
any  thing  of  importance ;  break  no  jests 
that  are  sharp-biting,  and  if  you  deliver 
any  thing  witty  and  pleasant,  abstain 
from  laughing  thereat  yourself.  Wherein 
you  reprove  another,  be  unblamable 
yourself,  for  example  is  more  prevalent 
than  precepts.  Let  your  conversation  be 
without  malice  or  envy,  for  it  is  a  sign  of 
a  tractable  and  commendable  nature ;  and 
in  all  cases  of  passion,  admit  reason  to 
govern.  Be  not  angry  at  table,  whatever 
happens,  and  if  you  have  reason  to  be  so, 
show  it  not ;  put  on  a  cheerful  counte- 
nance, esi)ecially  if  there  be  strangers, 
for  good  humor  maketh  one  dish  of  meat 


1854.] 


Gtorg€  WaMngUm. 


It  a  feast.  When  yon  speak  of  God  or 
his  attribntes,  let  it  be  seriously,  in  rever- 
enoe.  Honor  and  obey  your  natural 
parents  though  they  be  poor.  Let  your 
recreations  be  mannil,  not  sinful.  Labor 
to  keep  alire  in  your  breast  that  little 
spark  of  oelestial  nre,  called  Conscience." 

From  what  repertory  these  and  all  the 
other  maxims  in  the  collection  were  drawn, 
we  know  not ;  they  wear  the  air  of  hay- 
ing been  culled  from  yarious  sources. 
Their  haying  been  copied  fidrly  into  a 
book  would  not  of  itself  be  woi  Jiy  of  re- 
mark, since  such  things  are  often  dictated 
to  children  by  their  teachers;  but  the 
striking  correspondence  between  these 
precepts  and  the  after  life  of  the  writer, 
makes  them  interesting  as  proying  him. 


Endued 
WiUi  sanctity  uf  rcaaon 

to  keep  unbroken  that  connection  between 
convictions  and  conduct,  the  seyering  of 
which  causes  half  the  crime  and  wretched- 
ness of  the  world. 

That  his  efforts  to  live  up  to  his  own 
notions  of  right  began  very  early,  we 
must  conclude  from  the  interest  that 
he  inspired  in  his  half-brothers,  —  not 
the  most  likely  persons,  as  the  world 
goes,  to  overrate  him, — and  they  seem  to 
have  been  ever  his  warmest  friends.  The 
eldest  brother  had  been  an  officer  in  the 
war  against  the  French,  and  served  at  the 
siese  of  Carthagena,  and  in  the  West 
Indies,  under  General  Wentworth  and 
Admiral  Vernon.  Ho  was  residing  on  the 
property  lefl  him  by  his  father, — that 


to 


Public  Buildings  of  New-Torh. 


[J« 


farm  for  ever  famous,  which  he  had  called 
Mount  Vernon,  in  compliment  to  the 
gallant  Admiral ;  and  here  George  went 
to  live  with  him,  soon  after  leaving  school. 
This  was  in  his  sixteenth  year.  Before 
this  time  he  had  shown  a  decided  predi- 
lection for  geometry,  trigonometry,  and 
surveying,  which,  as  the  profession  of  a 
surveyor  was  at  that  time  particularly 
profitable,  his  friends  had  encouraged,  and 
he  had  pursued  the  requisite  studies  with 
characteristic  earnestness.  The  last  two 
years  of  his  school-life  were  chiefly  given 
to  the  theory  and  practice  of  the  art 
which  laid  the  foundation  of  his  fortune, 
not  only  b^  the  opportunity  it  gave  him 
of  purchasing  new  lands  advantageously, 
but  by  the  habits  he  then  acquired  of 
calculation,  accuracy,  and  neatness,  so 
conspicuously  useful  to  him  through  all 
the  important  affairs  which  devolved  upon 
him  in  after  life.  When  by  way  of  prac- 
tice he  surveyed  the  little  domain  around 
the  school-house,  the  plots  and  measure- 
ments were  entered  in  his  book  with  all 
the  care  and  predsion  of  the  most  impor- 
tant business ;  and  if  an  erasion  was  re- 
quired, it  was  done  with  a  pen-knife,  and 


with  such  care  that  scarce  a  trace 
error  can  bo  perceived. 

"  Nor  was  his  skill,"  says  Mr.  S 
"confined  to  the  more  simple  pre 
of  the  art.  He  used  logarithm} 
proved  the  accuracy  of  his  work 
ferent  methods.  The  manuscrip 
several  quires  of  paper,  and  are  re 
able  for  the  care  with  which  thej 
kept  the  neatness  and  uniformity 
handwriting,  the  beauty  of  the  dia] 
and  a  precise  method  and  arrangem 
copying  out  tables  and  columns  of  fi 
These  particulars  will  not  be  thoug 
trivial  to  be  mentioned,  when  it  is  1 
that  he  retained  similar  habits  tt 
life.  His  business  papers,  day- 
ledgers,  and  letter-books,  in  which, 
the  Revolution,  no  one  wrote  but  h 
exhibit  specimens  of  the  same  st 
care  and  exactness.  Every  fact  0( 
a  clear  and  distinct  place.  *  *  * 
The  constructing  of  tables,  diagrair 
other  figures  relating  to  numb€ 
classification  was  an  exercise  in  wl 
seems  at  all  times  to  have  taken 
delight." 


(To  be  conUnacxI.) 


PUBLIC    BUILDINGS    OF    NEW-YORK. 


End  Vi«wofatyH*ll. 


MEW- YORK  has  not  much  to  boast  of 
i^  in  the  splendor  of  its  public  build- 
ings, numerous  and  extensive  as  they  are, 
with  the  exception  of  the  City  Hall,  which 
is  an  architectural  wonder;  not  intrinsi- 


calljr,  but  relatively,  standing  as 
until  within  a  few  years  past,  a  i 
oasis  surrounded  by  a  desert  of 
and  mortar.  The  marvel  of  it  i 
such  a  building  could  have  been  b 
all  in  the  infancy  and  poverty  of  tl 
and  that  it  should  have  stood  nearl 
years  without  exerting  the  slightest 
enco  upon  the  tastes  of  our  peop! 
were  continually  building  and  rebu 
It  was  only  another  proof  that  edt 
in  taste,  as  in  morals  and  science 
be  progressive,  and  that  a  comr 
must  learn  their  alphabet  in  art,  8 
as  in  letters,  before  they  can  learn  t 
and  understand  the  productions 
lightened  minds.  We  know  wh« 
City  Hall  was  built,  and  by  whor 
how  it  was,  why  there  should  hav< 
such  an  outbreak  of  taste  and  public 
ality  just  then,  so  disproportioned 
exigencies  of  the  times,  without  an  tec 
or  followers,  has  always  been  to  us 
ject  of  especial  marvel.  Even  i 
present  day,  when  the  wealth  and  p 


1864.] 


Public  Buildings  of  New-York. 


11 


City  Hon. 


tkm  of  the  city  have  increased  ten-fold, 
the  new  puhlic  buildings  are  comparatively 
mean  and  barbarous.  There  stands  the 
b^tutiful  City  Hall,  with  an  offspring  of 
hideous  Egyptian,  Qreck,  and  Gothic 
structures,  without  a  lineament  of  the 
graceful  features  or  elegant  form  of  their 
progenitor.  It  is  marvellous  that  the  city 
nthers  should  have  passed  in  and  out  of 
the  City  Hall  day  by  day  for  half  a  cen- 
tury, and  never  have  been  imbued  with  a 
feeling  of  love  for  the  beautiful  edifice 
which  was  their  official  home,  nor  have 
imparted  something  of  its  grace  and  ele- 
gance to  the  new  structures  which  they 
erected  for  municipal  uses.  But  such,  un- 
fortunately, is  the  fact ;  and  the  City  Hall 
remains  a  splendid  exception  to  the  taste- 
less and  uninformed  character  of  the  other 
dvic  buildings  of  the  metropolis  of  the 
New  World.  But,  something  of  the  won- 
der which  the  existence  of  such  a  building 
18  the  City  Hall  excites,  subsides  when 


we  find  that  it  was  during  the  mayoralty 
of  such  enlightened  men  as  Edward  Liv- 
ingston and  De  Witt  Clinton,  that  the 
building  was  planned  and  completed.  The 
comer  stone  was  laid  in  September  1803, 
and  it  was  nearly  ten  years  in  building. 
The  front  and  two  ends  are  of  white 
marble,  but  the  rear  is  of  a  very  fine  dark 
brown  sandstone,  not  used,  as  has  been 
ignorantly  supposed,  because  its  back  was 
to  the  then  rural  districts,  for  the  builders 
of  the  City  Hall  were  not  so  cramped  in 
their  ideas  as  to  imagine  that  New- York 
would  never  extend  it^lf  higher  up  than  the 
Park ;  but  for  the  same  reason  that  Cologne 
Cathedral  is  unornamented  on  its  northern 
side,  because  it  lies  always  in  shadow,  and 
the  warm  tint  of  the  stene  is  more  suitable 
to  its  aspect  than  the  cold  glitter  of  white 
marble  would  be.  Let  any  one  look  at  the 
City  Hall  with  this  thought  in  his  mind, 
and  the  brown  stone  of  the  rear  will  no 
longer  look  incongruous  or  improper. 


12 


Public  Buildinga  of  N'ew-Ycfrk, 


[January 


Though  we  can  make  this  apology  for 
the  rear  of  the  City  Ilall,  which  is  as  beau- 
tiful as  the  southern  front,  we  have  none 
to  offer  for  its  rusticated,  brown  stone 
basement  nor  for  its  awkward  wooden 
belfry,  which  has  been  recently  added. 
The  names  of  the  architects  were  Macomb 
and  Mangin.  and  as  they  left  no  other 
evidences  of  their  genius,  the  City  Hall 
must  be  repanle<l  as  an  inspiration. 

But,  the  City  Hall  of  New- York  is  an 
exceptional  institution  in  more  respects 
than  its  architectural  exterior,  and  as  re- 
spects all  other  public  buildings  in  the 
Union.  It  is  in  this  Hall  that  has  been 
commenced  a  permanent  gallery  of 'his- 
torical art,  which,  even  at  the  present  time 
is  of  great  value ;  but,  to  our  ijosterity,  it 
will  prove  a  precious  treasure ;  in  it  are 
pre<served  the  portraits  of  all  the  governors 
of  the  State,  and  of  the  mayors  of  the 
city ;  they  are  hung  in  the  noble  suite  of 
apartments  known  as  the  Governor's 
lloom,  and  in  other  parts  of  the  building 
are  the  portraits  of  many  of  our  eminent 
men  and  military  heroes.  This  plan  of 
preserving  the  portraits  of  the  chief  magis- 
trates of  the  State  and  city,  is  one  which 
should  be  imitated,  not  only  by  the  nation, 
but  by  each  of  the  States  and  cities  ;  it 
would  be  a  cheap  way  of  encouraging  art, 


and  establishing  galleries  of  incalculable 
value  in  a  historical  point  of  view. 

In  the  Governor's  Room  are  full  length 
portraits  of  the  twelve  governors  of  the 
State,  from  Lewis  down  to  Fish,  including 
Tompkins.  Clinton,  Van  Burcm,  Marcy. 
Seward  and  Young ;  two  of  them  are  by 
Trumbull,  and  the  rest  by  Catlin,  Vander- 
lyn,  Inman,  Weir,  Page,  Elliott,  Gray, 
and  Hicks ;  there  are,  also,  the  portraits, 
en  huste.  of  twenty-two  mayors,  and  full 
lengths  of  Presidents  Washington,  Monroe, 
Jackson,  and  Taylor;  Lafayette  by  S.  Fl 
B.  Morse,  General  Monckton  by  the  same 
artist;  and  Generals  McComb,  Brown, 
Scott,  and  Swift;  Commodores  Perry, 
Decatur,  and  Bainbridgc ;  there  are  also 
original  portraits  of  Columbus,  Governor 
Stuyvesant,  Bolivar.  Hendrick  Hudson, 
and  Pacz,  General  Williams,  and  of  Mr. 
Valentine,  who  has  been  many  years  clerk 
of  the  Common  Council.  In  the  Cham- 
ber of  the  Board  of  Aldermen,  a  very 
beautiful  apartment,  are  full  length  por- 
traits of  Washington  and  George  Clinton, 
painted  by  Trumbull,  and  of  John  Jay 
and  Alexander  Hamilton,  by  Weimar  ;  in 
the  chamber  of  the  Assistant  Aldermen,  a 
department  of  the  city  govermnent  which 
has  been  abolished  by  the  new  Charter, 
are  full  lengths  of  Commodores  Hull  and 


^4^^' 


1854.] 


PtMie  Buildinpt  of  New-Tcrh, 


IS 


McDonough  by  Janris ;  in  room  No.  8  is 
a  half-length  portniit  of  the  renowned 
High-Constable,  Jacob  Hays,  and,  in  the 
Mayor's  Office  is  a  half-length  portrait, 
painted  by  Mooney,  of  Achmet  Ben 
Ahmed,  the  captain  of  the  Imaum  of 
Mascat's  frigate,  which  visited  New- York 
about  ten  years  since.  In  the  Governor's 
Room  there  are  marble  busts  of  De  Witt 
Clinton  and  Henry  Clay,  in  the  chamber 
of  the  Board  of  Aldermen  there  are  busts 
of  John  Jay  and  Chief  Justice  Marshall, 
and  in  other  parts  of  the  Hall  there  are 
busts  of  Thomas  Addis  Emmet,  and 
Chancellor  Kent,  and  marble  tablets  in 
honor  of  several  distinguished  members 
of  the  New- York  bar.  Lentil  within  a  few 
years  past  there  was  a  noble  banqueting 
room  in  the  City  Hall,  where  the  city 
feasts  used  to  be  held  on  occasions  of  high 
public  festivals,  such  as  the  Fourth  of 
July,  when  the  Mayor  presided  at  the 
leasts  surrounded  by  the  Aldermen  and 
their  distmguishod  guests,  and  mighty 
bowls  of  punch  were  quaffed,  and  enormous 
tureens  of  turtle  soup  eaten  for  the  good 
of  the  city.  But  these  civic  feasts  have 
fallen  into  disuse,  and  the  magnificent 
apartment  with  its  crimson  curtains,  has 
been  made  into  two  mean-looking  court 
rooms,  by  a  dingy  partition.  In  one  of 
the  rooms  is  kept  the  City  Library,  the 
mere  existence  of  which  is  hardly  known 


to  the  majority  of  our  citizens.  But  it 
contains  many  valuable  books,  and  a  very 
choice  collection  of  rare  engravings  and 
interesting  works  of  art,  which  were  pre- 
sented to  the  city  through  the  agency  of 
Mons.  Vattemare  by  I-ouis  Philippe  of 
France,  and  other  foreign  rulers.  The 
Law  Library  of  the  New-York  bar  is  in 
one  of  the  lower  apartments  of  the  Ilall 
but  it  is  only  accessible  to  members.  The 
famous  "  tea-room,"  where  the  Aldermen 
used  to  feast  at  the  public  cost  is  a  rather 
dingy  apartment  in  the  occupancy  of 
the  Keeper  of  the  Hall,  the  tea-room  ex- 
penses having  been  denierl  by  law.  The 
tea-room  was  so  called  on  the  lucus  a  non 
lucendo  principle,  for  the  potations  most 
indulged  in,  in  that  convivial  apartment, 
were  mostly  champagne  and  brandy.  The 
City  Hall  was  sufficiently  spacious  to  af- 
ford offices  for  all  the  municipal  business 
of  the  city,  besides  rooms  for  the  United 
States  Courts,  but  it  is  now  insufficient  for 
the  accommodation  of  the  municipal  offices 
alone,  and,  besides  appropriating  the  entire 
extent  of  the  old  Alms  House  in  the  rear,  a 
spacious  Hall  has  been  erected  in  which 
the  newly  organized  Council  under  the 
reformed  charter  will  hold  its  sessions ; 
at  the  east  end  of  the  Hall  is  the  Hall  of 
Records,  the  old  debtor's  prison  modern- 
ized with  porches  and  columns.  The  build- 
ings used  for  municipal  offices,  which  are 


14 


PvhUe  Buildings  of  New-York, 


[Januarr 


clustered  together  in  the  rear  of  the  City 
Hall,  are  of  a  very  miscellaneous  charac- 
ter, and  appear  to  have  been  dropped 
down  by  accident,  or  to  have  been  placed 
there  temporarily  with  a  view  to  some 
future  arrangement.  One  of  them,  as  we 
have  mentioned,  was,  originally,  an  alms 
house,  erected  before  external  ornaments 
were  considered  as  essentials  to  that  class 
of  public  buildings ;  another  is  a  circular 
house,  which  was  originally  put  up  for  the 
exhibition  of  a  panorama ;  another  was  a 
rough  stone  building,  in  which  poor 
debtors  used  to  be  incarcerated  for  the 
crime  of  poverty,  but  it  has  been  stuccoed, 
and  pedimeutcd,  and  pillared  in  the  style 
of  a  Greek  temple,  while  there  are  two 
new  edifices,  both  constructed  of  brown 
freestone,  but,  to  keep  up  the  general 


confusion,  made  of  unequal  dimensions, 
and  as  little  in  harmony  as  possible.  Not 
far  above  the  public  buildings  in  the  Park, 
is  the  City  Prison,  commonly  called  the 
Tombs,  from  the  sepulchral  style  of  its 
architecture.  It  occupies  an  entire  square, 
with  its  principal  front  on  Centre-street, 
as  represented  in  the  engraving.  The 
ponderous  and  gloomy  character  of  Egyp- 
tian architecture  harmonizes  estheticalr^ 
with  the  purposes  of  a  prison,  but  it  is 
both  barbarous  and  costly,  and  there  is 
no  good  reason  fer  erecting  in  the  midst 
of  a  city  an  object  which  has  such  a  night- 
marish influence  on  its  neighborhood. 
The  ground  on  which  the  City  Prison 
stands  was  once  a  swamp,  its  cells  are 
damp  and  unwholesome,  and  the  whole 
interior  is  dark  and  dismal;  it  is  con- 


Ci^Litj  flflMTir.j-ir,  4!fd  ^utitl. 


structcd  of  huge  blocks  of  granite,  wliich 
are  oppressive  to  look  upon,  and  must  have 
a  chilling  eftcct  upon  the  nervous  system 
of  passengers  through  Centre-street,  who 
have  within  them  undivulgcd  crimes  j  in 
it  is  held  the  Court  of  Sessions,  and  all 
public  executions  take  place  in  one  of  its 
courts. 

In  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  the 
Egyptian  Tombs  is  another  building 
equally  gloomy  in  appearance,  but  of  a 
different  style  of  architecture,  if  such  a 
word  can  be  applied  to  a  building  that  is 
devoid  of  style. 

The  New  Armory,  or  down-town  Arse- 
nal, stands  on  the  comer  of  AYhite  and 
Elm  streets,  with  a  frontage  of  one  hun- 
dred and  thirtjr-onc  feet,  by  eighty-four 
ieet     It  13  built  of  a  dark  blue  granite, 


with  square-headed,  narrow  windows,  a 
battlementcd  parapet,  and  flanked  by 
square  towers.  It  is  employed  as  a  re- 
ceptacle for  the  ordnance  of  the  first  divi- 
sion of  the  State  Artillery,  the  lower  story 
being  appropriated  for  a  gun  room,  and 
the  second  floor  for  a  drill  room.  It  is 
wholly  devoid  of  ornament,  but  is  sub- 
stantial, and,  if  it  should  ever  be  needed 
as  a  place  of  refuge  it  could  resist  a  very 
strong  force.  But,  we  imagine  that  its 
capacity  as  a  fortress  will  never  be  te.sted 
by  a  siege.  On  the  roof  is  a  telegraph 
pole  intended  to  communicate  by  signals 
with  the  State  arsenal  further  up  town. 

But  the  greater  number  of  the  buildings 
belonging  to  tlie  city  are  not  to  be  found 
in  the  streets  and  avenues ;  the  hospitals, 
prisons,  alms-houses,  and  nurseries,  are 


Public  Buildings  of  New-York 


15 


Km  the  beautiful  little  islands  in 
i  River,  whose  green  slopes  rise 
e  rapid  current,  near  Hell  Gate, 
kwell's  Island,  the  largest  of  the 
ut!  the  Penitentiary,  the  Lunatic 

and  the  City  Alms  Houses ;  on 
Island  are  the  extensive  hospitals 
scd  immigrants ;  and  on  RandalPs 
he  nurseries  for  the  city  orphans. 
f  the  most  prominent  of  the  struc- 
longing  to  the  city  is  the  Croton 
ir,  between  40th  and  42d  streets, 
5  .Milfifiently  familiar  to  all  the 
to  the  Crystal  Palace.  This  im- 
;Taiiite  structure,  built  as  solidly 
Iv  to  endure  as  lonjr  as  the  j»yra- 
tThe  beaker  out  of  wliich  a  popula- 

rouch  below  a  million  drink  their 
aughts;  it  is  the  great  fountjiin 
th  and  comfort  to  the  entire 
on  of  our  mighty  metropolis, 
their  fountains  and  hydrants  are 
ipplied.  It  seems  scarcely  ])0S- 
At  .««uch  a  reservoir,  vast  as  it  is, 
contain  a  sufficient  quantity  of 
o  feed  the  aImo.'«t  innumerable 
.hat  are  constantly  running  from 
this  Egyptian  reservoir  on  ^lurray 


Hill,  which  looks  so  vast,  holds  but  twenty 
millions  of  gallons  of  water ;  a  mere  punch 
bowl,  compared  with  the  receiving  reser- 
voir lying  between  70th  and  80th  streets, 
covering  an  area  of  thirty-five  acres,  ana 
containing  one  hundred  and  fifty  millions 
of  gallons,  while  this,  again,  is  but  a  wine 
cooler  in  comparison  with  the  first  reser- 
voir at  the  Croton  River,  forty  miles  dis- 
tant, among  the  breezy  hills  of  "Westches- 
ter, which  is  five  miles  long.  These  im- 
mense reservoirs  are  trifling  when  com- 
pared with  the  whole  aqueduct,  which  is 
forty  miles  in  length,  and,  by  the  side  of 
which  all  aquwhu^ts  of  ancient  and  modem 
times  are  dwarfed.  The  most  impressive 
and  majestic  of  the  visible  parts  of  this 
splendid  work  is  the  High  Bridge  across 
the  Harlem  River.  This  aqueduct  bridge 
is  tlie  most  magnificent  structure  wliich 
New- York  can  boast  of;  it  is  1450  feet 
in  length,  and  114  fwt  al)Ove  the  level  of 
hi^rh  water;  through  tliis  lofty  artery 
flows  the  daily  life  of  nearly  a  million  of 
inhabitants,  and  it  is  apiwilling  to  think 
of  the  consequences  of  an  accident  to  so 
imi>ortant  an  agent  in  supplying  the  daily 
needs  of  so  vast  a  population. 


lljCh  Iln.!K«. 


1« 


[Jl 


THE  NATIONAL  INVENTORY. 


A  COLUMN  of  figures  is  said  to  be,  and 
undoubtedly  is,  dry, — as  dry  as  an 
old  logarithm — and  yet,  there  are  cir- 
cumstances in  which  one  may  get  from  it 
a  deal  of  succulent  nutriment.  The  mer- 
chant, no  doubt,  who  finds  his  long  array 
of  numerals  with  a  balance  on  the  right 
side  of  his  ledger,  thinks  these  more  in- 
teresting than  the  best  romance  of  Dick- 
ens or  a  poem  by  Longfellow.  He  relishes 
them,  revels  in  them,  rubs  his  hands  over 
them,  reads  them  several  times,  and  is  a 
happy  man.  A  political  candidate,  too,  the 
morning  aflcr  an  election  peruses  the  end- 
less lines  of  decimals,  in  his  daily  paper,  with 
the  intcnsest  zest,  forgetting  the  startling 
news  on  the  next  page,  and  quite  uncon- 
scious, shame  upon  him.  of  the  fine  moral 
disquisitions  of  the  editor  in  the  verr  next 
paragraph.  On  the  sum  of  these  figures, 
perhaps,  hangs  his  life  or  death,  the  suc- 
cess of  his  long-cherished  and  splendid 
schemes  of  ambition,  or  the  extinction  of 
his  hopes  for  ever. 

J'igures,  therefore,  are  not  always  as 
fleshless  as  skeletons.  They  have  a  very 
present  life  in  them,  and  may  carry  with 
them  a  fascination  beyond  figures  of 
speech.  It  is  a  simple  work,  perhaps,  the 
putting  them  together,  but  once  rightly 
arranged,  they  hold  the  most  significant 
meanings. 

Our  census,  it  must  bo  confessed,  has 
been  a  long  while  coming.  It  was  taken 
in  the  year  1850,  and  has  just,  at  the 
opening'of  1854,  come  from  the  printer's 
hands.  Doubtless  it  has  been  a  severe 
and  laborious  task  to  bring  it  into  order, 
to  compute  and  collate  the  separate  re- 
turns of  the  marshals  who  were  deputed 
to  gather  the  facts ;  but  severe  and  labo- 
rious as  it  must  have  l>een,  we  are  forced 
to  believe  that  there  has  been  no  adequate 
occasion  for  the  delay.  We  ought  to 
have  been  in  possession  of  it,  at  least  one 
year  ago ;  and  we  would  have  been,  if 
the  business  of  the  bureaus  at  Washing- 
ton were  conducted  ^nth  the  economy  of 
time  and  the  rapidity  of  action,  which 
'  characterize  the  business  of  individuals. 
Alas!  public  employments  are  the  re- 
wards of  serviceable  partisans,  and  not  the 
duties  of  competent  men ;  every  kind  of 
official  service  is  turned  into  a  job ;  and 
the  interest  of  the  functionary  in  main- 
taining his  place  soon  supersedes  his  in- 
terest in  public  business.  Mr.  De  Bow,  the 
superintendent  of  the  department,  we  sup- 
pose, and  his  predecessor  before  him,  Mr. 


Kennedy,  have  been  as  industrio 
they  couid  be,  under  the  circumst 
we  say  nothing  against  them  ;  but, 
ever  the  cause  of  this  protracted 
tion,  we  complain  of  it,  with  the  ]< 
emphasis. 

The  United  States  is  the  last  cc 
in  the  world,  where  such  dilatory 
ment  ought  to  be  allowed ;  becaust 
precisely  the  country  where  change 
advances  of  all  kinds  are  effect^ 
such  celerity,  that  a  census  four  yea 
would  be  almost  as  much  out  of  d 
a  four  years  old  almanac.   A  story  i 
of  a  gentleman  of  Chicago,  who  spci 
years  in  travelling  in  Europe ;  that 
he  returned,  he  was  compelled  to 
porter  to  conduct  him  to  the  stre 
lived  in,  and  the  next  day  he  confesse 
he  knew  less  of  his  own  town  thai 
he  had  seen  in  the  whole  course 
travels.     Thus,  our  cities  and  their 
lations.    and    industries,    grow    o\ 
our  remembrance  in  the  course  of 
circles  of  the  sun,  and  unless  the  i 
tories  of  them  are  published  as  so 
they  are  ascertained,  they  lose  half 
value,  and  pretty  nearly  all   their 
We  expect,  consequently,  to  hear  t' 
presentatives  of  the  West  declaim 
nantly,  in  (ingress,  during  the  pi 
session,  against  the  injustice  that  hai 
done  by  the  false  and  inadequate 
ment  put  forth  in  regard  to  their  dii 
and  the  numbers  of  their  constituen 

Let  the  reader,  then,  bear  in  mim 
in  all  the  facts  we  shall  present 
from  the  census,  we  refer  to  the 
1850. — a  long  while  ago,  if  we  r 
by  the  speed  with  which  we  mov€ 
not  to  the  present  year,  when  we  m 
considerably  ahead  of  the  conditio 
that  remote  period. 

We  must,  however,  now  that  w« 
vented  our  feelings  of  disappoin 
as  to  the  delay  which  has  taken  pi 
its  preparation,  do  Mr.  De  Bow,  c 
persons  concerned  with  him,  the  j 
to  say,  that  they  have  presented 
most  valuable  statistical  work, — th< 
clearly  that  has  yet  been  prepared 
the  auspices  of  the  Government.  1 
tains  some  twelve  hundred  crowded 
ever}'  one  of  which  has  some  table  < 
culation  that  supplies  indispensab 
formation  to  that  jwirt  of  the  publi 
would  know  the  real  facts  of  ourni 
condition  and  prospects.  The  o 
plan,  as  it  was  sent  to  the  marshal 


1854.]  The  National  Inventory.  11 

bnoed  inqniries  on  the  fbHowing  heads :  in  another  year,  and  to  furnish  the  pnb- 

1.  The  population  in  all  its  relations  of  lie  with  the  results.    He  has  already,  in 

wealth,  age,  sex,  nativity,  color,  and  em-  his  remarks  on  the  various  tables,  and  in 

ployments ;  2.  Industry,  in  all  its  rela-  the  several  appendices,  entered  upon  many 

tkms  to  produce,  implements,  machinery,  important  and  useful  generalizations,  and 

capital  vested^  and  persons  employed ;  3.  gathered  from  remote  sources  instructive 

Social  statistics,  embracing  property,  real  illustrations  and  comparisons.    Statistics, 

and  personal,  colleges  and  schools,  libraries,  though  perfectly  correct  in  themselves, 

newspapers,  paupers,  criminals,  religious  are  often  of  little  use  for  the  want  of  these 

worsnip ;  4.  Vital  statistics,  such  as  the  comparisons  and  remarks,  and  Mr.  De 

rate  and  number  of  deaths  in  each  locality.  Bow  is  therefore  entitled  to  our  special 

diseases,  births,  marriages,  longevity,  &c. ;  thanks  for  his  laborious  services  in  these 

and,  5.  Miscellaneous  statistics  relating  to  respects.      We  should  like   to  lay  be- 

tazes.  wages,  valuations  of  estates,  Soc,  fore  our  readers  copious  extracts  from  his 

It  will  be  seen,  therefore,  that  the  inquiries  deductions,  but  as  we  have  a  thought  or 

covered  suflScient  ground ;  but  in  the  re-  two  of  our  own  to  present,  we  must  oon- 

toms  made,  there  appear  to  have  been  tent  ourselves  with  simply  referring  to  the 

many  deficiencies.    Whatever  relates  to  seventh,  Which,  we  presume,  will  be  within 

popmation,  agricultural  industry,  and  cer-  reach  of  our  readers  almost  as  soon  as  this 

tam  social  statistics,  is  tolerably  complete ;  number  of  our  Magazine, 
bat  the  exhibition  of  our  manufacturing  In  spite  of  the  delay  we  have  spoken  of 

industry  was  so  imperfect,  that  Congress  above,  of  one  thing  we  may  be  quite  oer- 

would  not  authorize  it  to  be  includ^  in  tain,  viz.,  that  the  United  States  have 

the  printed  syllabus,  while  the  greater  not  increased  materially  in  extent,  since 

mrt  of  the  vital  statistics,  though  pub-  1850,  unless  the  Sandwich  Islands  should 

Dshed,  is  either  so  carelessly  or  so  inade-  have  been  annexed  while  this  paper  is 

qaateiy  rendered,  that  it  is  comparatively  going  through  the  press.    Colonel  Abert 

worthless.     Mr.  De  Bow,  however,  pro-  of  the  topo^phical  engineers,  has  statea 

mises  to  rectify  the  manufacturing  returns,  the  territorial  extent,  in  this  wise : 

SqnanMOM. 

Are*  of  the  Paciflo  slope  of  tho  region  waterod  by  rivers  fSiIIlnfir  Into  the  Padflo  .  778,866 

Aim  of  the  Missbalppi  valley,  or  of  the  region  watered  by  the  MiasLBBippl,  Miaaoxirl,  and 

their  tributaries 1,38731V 

Area  ofthe  Atlantic  slope  proper 687,100 

Area  of  the  Atlantio  slope,  including  only  the  waters  filling  into  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  umH  of 

the  MlsBiaBippi  188,646 

Area  of  the  Atlantic  slope.  Including  only  the  waters  falling  into  the  Onlf  of  Mexico  ea€i  of 

the  Mississippi 145,880 

Total  of  the  Atlantic  slope  of  the  regions  whose  waters  &11  into  the  Atlantio     .       .       967,576 

Total  area  of  the  United  States  and  thehr  Territories  in  1858 3,971,158 

But  aa  examination  of  the  various  official  Now,  size  is  not  a  quality  of  much  im- 
leports  of  the  General  Land  Office,  Con-  portance  in  itself,  as  every  body  knows, 
greas,  and  the  State  Department,  shows  who  has  read  Dr.  Watts^  verses  which 
that  this  calculation  is  behind  the  truth,  end  with  declaring  "  the  mind  the  stand- 
lod  the  aggr^ate  statement  of  the  census  ard  of  the  man,"  and  a  fortiori  of  nations, 
is  3,220,572  square  miles.  The  territorial  The  little  states  of  Greece  might  have 
extent  ofthe  republic,  then,  as  Mr.  De  Bow  been  rolled  up  in  one  comer  of  some  of 
remarks,  is  nearly  ten  times  as  large  as  our  own  States,  yet  their  immortal  arts 
that  of  Great  Britain  and  France  com-  illuminate  the  entire  track  of  the  last 
bined;  three  tunes  as  largo  as  France,  two  thousand  years.  Rome  was  not 
Great  Britain,  Austria,  Prussia,  Spain,  bigger,  in  her  early  and  more  vigorous 
Portugal,  Belgium,  Holland,  and  Denmark  days,  than  an  average  Virginia  corn- 
together ;  one  and  a  half  times  as  large  as  field,  —  yet  Rome  arrested  the  course 
the  Russian  empire  in  Europe ;  one  sixth  of  the  world  by  her  arms,  and  impressed 
ksB  only  than  the  area  covered  by  the  her  laws  so  deeply  upon  human  civiliza- 
ftfty-nine  or  sixty  empires,  states,  and  tion,  that  at  this  hour,  at  this  distance  of 
Tepublics  of  Europe ;  and  of  equal  extent  tim^  they  are  still  operative  in  all  the 
with  the  Roman  empire,  or  that  of  Alex-  leadmg  nations.  The  island  of  Great 
ander,  neither  of  which  is  said  to  have  Britain  may  be  walked  over  in  less  than 
exoeeded  3,000,000  square  miles;  while  it  a  month,  but  Great  Britain  has  made  all 
OQ^t  to  gratify  the  propensities  of  the  most  other  nations  tributaries  to  her  wealth,  up- 
rapadons  JUibuster,  to  know,  that  more  borne  by  a  magnificent  practical  cner^, 
than  one  million  miles  of  this  territory  and  adorned  by  a  glorious  literature.  Sae. 
have  been  acquired  within  the  last  ten  then,  is  not  an  indispensable  condition  or 
y«ar8,  i.e.,  since  1840.  greatness;  on  the  oUierhand,  it  may  bea 
VOL.  Uh — 2 


18 


The  National  Inventory. 


[January 


sooroe  of  weakness  to  a  nation,  as  it  un- 
questionably was  to  the  later  Rome,  or  is 
now  to  some  of  the  South  American  states. 
It  is,  doubtless,  pleasant  for  an  Ameri- 
can to  feel  that  he  has  room  to  turn  round 
in,  that  he  possesses  space  enough  to  ex- 
patiate oyer,  in  the  indefinite  future,  but 
the  character  of  his  territorial  dominions 
which  ought  to  excite  his  hopes  or  his 
pride,  is  not  its  extent, — not  the  fact  that 
it  reaches  without  a  barrier  from  the 
northern  snows  to  the  tropics,  and  from 
the  tempestuous  Atlantic  to  the  golden 
sates  of  the  Pacific, — ^but  the  other  fact 
Siat  it  is  so  peculuirly  adapted  by  its 
physical  features^  to  the  residence  and 
growth  of  a  united  people.  The  vast 
chains  of  the  Himalayas  in  Asia  separate 
its  inhabitants  into  hostile  tribes,  who 
stagnate  in  their  isolation — unconquerable 
and  unconquering,  alike  they  leave  no 
history.  The  Alps  or  Pyrenees  inter- 
posed in  Europe,  ^'make  enemies  of  na- 
tions," or  if  not  enemies,  divided  races 
without  true  community  of  life  or  a  general 
mutual  intercourse.  But  in  this  new 
world,  the  physical  structure  of  the  entire 
continent  is  tfifferent  Vast  fertile  plains, 
numberless  navigable  rivers,  great  chains 
of  lakes  extending  fit>m  the  ocean  &r  into 
the  interior,  afford  prodigious  facilities  of 
communication  unimpeded  by  obstacles, 
and  evidently  designed  for  the  seat  of  a 
homogeneous  civilization.  Add  to  these  a 
climate  not  rigorous,  like  that  of  the  poles, 
where  man  engages  in  a  hopeless  struggle 
against  a  niggardly  nature;  nor  luxurious, 
like  that  of  the  tropics,  where  the  energy 
of  the  body  relaxes,  and  the  very  soul 
festers  with  over-ripeness,  but  temperate 
and  bracing,  the  true  golden  mean,  de- 
manding and  admitting  a  healthful  activity, 
inciting  to  constant  exertion,  but  seldom 
to  desperate  battle,  and  encouraging  free 
life,  but  never  despondency  or  a  fatal 
leisure,  —  add,  we  say,  climate  to  the 
physical  arrangement, — if  you  would  ac- 
quire a  just  conception  of  the  real  grounds 
of  our  territorial  eminence.  Politicians 
may  rant  about  the  dangers  of  disunion, 
but  we  think  that  nature  has  wisely  pro- 
vided against  any  possible  failures  on  that 
score. 

WelL  it  is  into  this  simply-organized, 
permeaole,  and  ocean-wasned  inclosure 
that  a  motley  mass  from  the  Old  World, 
representing  eveir  variety  and  degree  of 
civilization,  has  been  pouring  for  some 
two  hundred  years,  and  one  of  the  most 
interesting  studies  that  can  be  imagined, 
relates  to  the  laws  of  its  increase  ana 
interfusion,  the  methods  of  its  industry, 
its  modes  of  life,  its  systems  of  physicai 


refinement  and  its  means  of  intellectual 
and  moral  culture.  It  is  our  signal  fortune 
that  we  are  permitted  to  see  the  progress 
of  human  growth  in  its  beginnings  as 
well  as  in  its  results, — to  be  present  at 
the  birth  of  nations,  to  rock  the  cradle  of 
their  infancy,  and  to  see  them  well  put 
forward  in  the  career  of  life.  Every  day 
almost  we  may  see  some  little  germ  of  a 
future  manhood  deposited  in  its  sustaining 
bed,  where  it  gathers  accretions  of  nutri- 
ment from  all  sides,  unfolds  gradually 
into  an  organized  vitality,  and  finally  ex- 
pands into  full-blown  strength  and  bloom. 
The  older  nations  were  begun  in  the  far- 
off  ages,  they  grew  by  a  scarcely  appre- 
ciable increase,  and  all  their  habits  and 
life-methods  having  been  formed  for  them, 
they  are  now  quite  unconscious  of  chance. 

The  whole  number  of  inhabitants  in  the 
United  States,  on  the  1st  of  June,  1850, 
was  23,263,488jWhich  may  be  classified 
in  this  wise.  Whites,  19,630,738;  free- 
colored,  428,661 ;  slaves,  3,204,089.  But 
of  the  free  inhabitants,  17,737,505  are 
natives,  and  2.210,828  were  bom  abroad, 
viz. :  961,719  m  Ireland,  573,225  in  Ger- 
many, 278,675  in  England,  147,700  in 
British  America,  70,550  in  Scotland, 
54,069  in  France,  29,868  in  Wales,  and 
95,022  in  all  other  countries.  It  is  notice- 
able, too,  in  respect  to  the  distribution  of 
foreigners,  that  1,965.518  reside  in  what 
are  termed  the  free  States,  and  only 
245,310  in  the  slaveholding  States.  Of 
the  entire  population,  2,728,106  are  in  the 
New  England  States,  which  are  six  in 
number;  8,553,713  are  in  the  middle 
States,  also  six  in  number ;  3,557,872  are 
in  the  six  slave  States  on  the  coast; 
5,167,276  are  in  the  six  central  slave 
States;  and  2,734,945  are  in  the  five 
northwestern  States. 

As  to  the  ratio  of  increase,  which  is  an 
important  point  between  these  several 
classes  and  localities,  we  deduce  the  fol- 
lowing results.  The  greatest  increase  in 
our  total  population  has  been  in  the  decade 
since  1840,  when  6,194,035  people  have 
been  added  to  us,  or  an  increase  of  36*28 
per  cent.  Of  this  gain,  the  whites  were 
5,434,933,  showing  an  increase  of  38-28 
per  cent  The  free-colored  have  increased 
42,360,  or  only  10-96  per  cent  The  slave 
have  mcreased  697  J33,  or  28-05  per  cent. 
In  respect  to  foreigners,  the  rate  of  in- 
crease is  not  satisfactorily  made  out ;  but 
it  appears  that  the  proportion  in  which 
the  several  countries  contribute  to  the 
total  foreign  immigration  is  this :  Ireland, 
43-04  per  cent;  Germany,  25-09;  Eng- 
land, 12-06;  British  Amenca,  6-68;  Scot- 
land, 3-17;  France,  2-44;  Wales,  1-34; 


1854.] 


The  National  Inventory. 


19 


and  others,  4-47.  Bat,  during  the  iMt 
two  or  three  years,  according  to  the  Cus- 
tom-Hoose  returns  at  New-York,  the 
Germans  have  been    rapidly  increasing 


upon  the  Irish,  and  will  soon  oonstitiite 
the  largest  class  of  immigrants. 

The  following  table  exhibits  the  aboye 
results  at  a  glance : — 


CiuMsa. 

1800. 

1810. 

18M. 

18S0. 

1840. 

1650. 

WUtM. 

Free  Colored, 
Skvea, 

4,804,489 
106396 
898,041 

6,862,004 

186,446 

1,191,864 

7,861,987 

288384 

1,688,088 

10,687,878 

819399 

2,009,048 

14,196,696 

886.80B 

8,487,466 

19368,068 

484,496 

8,204318 

ToUlfree, 
ToUl  colored. 

4,412,884 
1,001,486 

6,048,460 
1,877,810 

8,196,461 
l,ni362 

10,866,9n 
8,828,642 

14,681,998 
8,878,768 

19,987368 
8,688,808 

It  may  be  interesting  now  to  compare 
with  these*  results  the  similar  results  ob- 
tained in  Great  Britain  by  the  census  of 
1851.  The  number  of  people  in  Great 
Britain  and  the  small  adjacent  islands,  in 
1851,  was  20,959,477 ;  and  the  men  in  the 
army,  navy,  and  merchant  service,  and 
East  India  Company's  service,  abroad,  on 
the  passage  out,  or  round  the  coasts,  be- 
longing to  Great  Britain,  amounted,  on  the 
same  day,  to  162,490.  The  population 
of  Great  Britain  may,  therefore,  be  set 
down  at  twenty-one  millions,  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty-one  thousand,  nine  hun- 
dred and  sixty-seven  (21,121,967.) 

The  annexed  table  exhibits  the  distri- 
bution of  the  people : — 


Mftlet. 

FadmIm. 

ToUl. 

Soodand, 

W•le^ 

UiDdslntheBri.) 
ti8h8«a^ 

Army,  Navy,  and' 
merchaot  sea- 
men, at  sea  or  ' 
abroad. 

8,281,784 

1,875,479 

499)491 

66,864 
162,490 

8,640,154 

1318,268 

606,280 

76,272 

1  ill! 

Total, 

10,886,048 

10,786,919 

il,Ul,»6T 

The  population  of  Ireland,  as  enumer- 
ated by  another  department  was  6,533,357. 
The  following  table  gives  the  population 
of  Great  Britain  and  the  Islands  of  the 
British  seas,  exclusive  of  Ireland,  and  in- 
cluding the  army,  navy,  and  merchant 
seamen,  as  enumerated  at  each  census 
from  1801 :— 


T«M. 

lfel«t. 

FtmidM. 

ToUl. 

1801 
1811 
1821 
1881 
1841 
1861 

6366,704 
6,111,261 
7,096,058 
8,188,446 
9,282,418 
10,886,048 

6,648,780 
6,812,859 
7,806,690 
8,480,692 
9,581,868 
10,785,019 

10,917,488 
12,424,120 
14,402,648 
16,564,188 
18318,786 
21.121,967 

It  will  be  seen  by  the  foregoing  table, 
that  the  population  of  Great  Britain  has 
nearly  doubled  since  the  commencement 


of  the  present  century,  notwithstanding  the 
great  number  that  have  annually  left  the 
country,  and  settled  in  the  United  States, 
in  the  colonies  of  North  America,  Austra- 
lia, ana  South  Africa.  The  mcrease  in 
the  last  fifty  years  has  been  93*47  per 
cent.,  or  at  the  rate  of  1*329  per  cent  an- 
nually, the  increase  of  each  sex  being 
about  equal. 

The  annual  rate  of  increase  has  varied 
in  each  decennial  period ;  thus,  in  1841- 
51,  the  population  has  increased,  but  the 
rate  of  increase  has  declined,  chiefly  from 
accelerated  emigration. 

The  emigration  from  the  United  King- 
dom in  the  ten  years  1821-^1  was 
274,317;  in  the  ten  years  1831-41  it 
amounted  to  717.913;  and  m  the  ten 
years  1841-51  it  had  increased  to 
1,693,516. 

What  a  roving  set  we  are !  In  the  older 
countries  it  is  not  uncommon  to  meet 
with  many  persons  who  have  never  been 
beyond  the  town  or  commune  in  which 
they  were  bom ;  Londoners,  for  instance, 
who  never  saw  the  green  fields,  except  of 
the  parks;  Parisians,  who  never  saw 
Versailles ;  rural  people  every  where,  who 
think  the  hill  which  bounds  their  little 
village  homes  the  nUima  thule  of  space ; 
but  of  our  17,736,792  free  inhabiUnts, 
4,112,433  are  settled  in  SUtes  in  which 
they  were  not  bom.  About  26  per  cent, 
of  the  whole  population  of  Virginia  has 
migrated ;  South  Carolina  has  sent  fortii 
36  per  cent. ;  and  North  Carolina,  31  per 
cent ;  yet  the  New  Englanders,  particu- 
larly of  Vermont  and  Connecticut,  are  the 
most  discursive.  They  are  in  fact  every 
where — at  the  south,  the  west,  in  the  ter- 
ritories, on  the  Pacific — wherever  there  is 
space  for  a  blade  of  grass  to  grow,  or 
a  spindle  to  turn,  or  a  ^op  to  be  opened, 
or  a  railroad  to  be  built — ^in  short,  where- 
ever  an  honest  penny  is  to  be  picked  up, 
by  any  kind  of  industiy  or  ingenuity. 
There  are,  for  mstance,  18,763  Massachu- 
setts men  in  Ohio,  9,230  in  Missouri, 
55,773  in  New-York,  4,760  in  California, 


20 


The  National  Inventory. 


[JaDuarj 


and  350  in  Utah.  There  are  133,756 
New-Yorkers  in  Michigan,  67,180  in  IlJi- 
noig,  58,835  in  Pennsylrania,  and  101  in 
New  Mexico.  Virginia  has  sent  85,762 
of  her  people  to  Ohio,  41,819  to  Indiana, 
and  10,387  to  Alabama.  Thus,  a  perpet- 
ual interchange  of  inhabitants  is  maintain- 
ed between  the  different  States,  which  has 
a  grand  moral  effect  in  fusing  their  sepa- 
eate  prejudices,  in  producing  a  common 
sentiment,  in  interweaving  bonds  of  affec- 


tion and  amity,  and  in  rendenng  the  im- 
prorements  and  advances  of  each  locality 
a  stimulus  to  the  exertions  of  all  the  rest. 
A  common  language,  and  common  politi- 
cal institutions,  are  incitements  to  unity ; 
but  the  reciprocal  influences  of  trade  and 
intercourse  are  the  life-blood  of  our  na- 
tionality. 

Striking  results  are  given  by  the  table 
below,  which  shows  the  increase  per  cent, 
of  each  class  of  inhabitants  for  the  last  sixty 


Clmu.. 

to 

i8oa 

1800 
to 
1810. 

IRIO 

to 
1890. 

18M 
18S0. 

18S0 

to 
1840. 

1840 

to 

1860. 

Whltea, 
Fwe  Colored, 
BUrefl, 

85-7 
82-3 
27'» 

86-2 
72-Q 
88*4 

8419 
25-85 
2910 

88-95 
86-85 
80-61 

84-7 
20-9 
28-8 

88-28 
10-96 
88-81 

Total, 

851 

86-45 

88-18 

88-48 

88-67 

86^ 

years.  We  see  by  it  that  the  white  inha- 
bitants are  growing  nearly  10  per  cent 
faster  than  the  slaves,  and  that  the  free 
colored  are  dwindling  out.  The  increase 
of  the  whites,  per  cent.,  in  the  slave  States, 
we  should  add,  is  34*56,  and  in  the  free 
States,  37*67.  Thus,  the  total  increase  in 
the  United  States  is  about  3^  per  cent,  per 
annum,  while  in  the  most  favored  countries 
of  Eon^  it  is  only  11,  and  in  the  less 
ftvored,  a  fraction  of  1,  per  cent  No 
wonder  that  those  old  monarchies  make 
big  eyes  when  they  read  of  the  prolific 
domes  of  the  young  republican  giant :  no 
wonder  that  they  get  so  apprehensive 
abont  the  future,  and  the  least  whisper  of 
a  possible  descent  some  of  these  days  upon 
their  shore  from  this  side  the  Atlantic. 

We  are  rather  used  to  these  enormous 
strides;  but  when  we  take  a  look  into 
the  future,  we  confess  ourselres  a  little 
awe-struck  at  the  prospect  of  what  the 
thing  18  coming  to.  We  discover  the  rea- 
son, too,  why  Providence  has  provided 
sucn  a  magnificent  domain  for  us  before- 
hand, and  why  the  instincts  of  the  people, 
always  in  the  lon^  run  wiser  than  the 
deductions  of  philosophers,  begin  to 
inquire  whether  there  be  any  room  out- 
sioe — whether  Mexico,  the  Sandwich  Isl- 
ands, Australia,  and  perhaps  Japan,  are 
likely  to  furnish  the  necessary  accommo- 
dations. 

Old  John  Adams  was  not,  so  far  as  we 
know,  a  prophet  nor  the  son  of  a  prephet, 
but  simply  a  sagacious  and  discerning 
statesman,  and  yet  he  wrote,  on  the  12th 
October  1755,  that  **our  people  will,  in 
another  century,  become  more  numerous 
than  England  itself," — it  wants  but  two 
years  of  the  time,  and  we  now  know  his 
prediction  will  be  fulfilled.     We  have 


now  2,000,000  more  white  people  than 
England  and  Wales,  and  as  many  as  Eng- 
land, Wales,  and  Scotland  together,  whue 
before  the  two  years  of  John  Adams's 
century  are  expu^,  we  shall  nearly  equal 
them,  with  Ireland  thrown  in.  According 
to  our  past  progress,  too,  it  will  only  take 
forty  years  to  enable  us  to  surpass  Eng- 
land. France,  Spain,  Portugal,  Sweden, 
and  Switzerland  combined.  The  dose  of 
the  existing  century  will  swell  our  num- 
bers to  one  hundred  millions — ^not,  how- 
ever, of  such  miserable,  degraded  wretch- 
es as  are  crowded  together  in  China,  or 
as  were  packed  down  in  some  of  the  an- 
cient cities,  but,  as  we  shall  prore  in  the 
sequel,  of  free,  educated,  industrious,  re- 
fined, man-loving,  and  Crod-fearing  men. 
If  it  were  not  so,  the  contemplation  of  our 
future  would  be  terrible ;  as  it  is,  under 
the  agencies  and  instrumentalities  at  work, 
in  the  heart  of  our  society,  we  have  every 
reason  to  look  forward  with  confidence 
and  deep  joy. 

One  curious  study  suggested  by  the 
census  is,  that  relating  to  the  relative  rank 
of  the  several  States,  as  determined  by 
their  total  population.  In  1770  for  in- 
stance, the  order  in  which  they  stood  was 
this:  1.  Virginia;  2.  Massachusetts;  3. 
Pennsylvania;  4.  North  Carolina;  5.  New- 
York  ;  6.  Maryland ;  7.  South  Carolina ; 
8.  Connecticut ;  9.  New  Jersey ;  10.  New 
Hampshire,  &c  But  twenty  years  after- 
wards, 1810,  the  following  was  the  order : 
l.Yirginia;  2.  New-York ;  3  Pennsylvania ; 
4.  Massachusetts ;  5.  North  Carolina ;  6 
South  Carolina;  7.  Kentncky,  (the  J 3th 
in  1790) ;  8.  Maryland ;  9.  Connecticut  -, 
10.  Tennessee  (not  formed  in  1770). 
Twenty  years  afterwards  again,  1830,  the 
relative  position  was  still  more  changed, 


1854.] 


The  National  Imveniory, 


tl 


luid  stood  thus:—!.  Ncw-Tork ;  2.  Penn- 
sjlyania ;  3.  Virginia ;  4  Indiana  (  which 
WM  the  20th  in  1810) ;  5.  North  Carolina ; 
6.  Kentucky ;  7.  Tennessee ;  8.  Massachu- 
setts ;  9.  South  Carolina ;  10.  Georgia.  Fi- 
nally, at  the  time  the  census  was  taken, 
1850,  the  arrangement  was  this  :~1.  New- 
York;  2,  PennsyWania ;  3.  Ohio  (which 
was  the  17th  in  1800) ;  4.  Virginia ;  5.  Ten- 
nessee; 6.  Massachusetts ;  7.  Indiana :  8. 
Kentucky ;  9.  Georgia ;  10.  North  Carolina. 
U  will  be  seen  then,  that  the  States  which 
hiTe  grown  the  most  rapidly  in  rank  are 
New- York.  Ohio,  Georgia,  and  Tennessee. 
In  respect  to  the  absolute  increase  of  the 
whites  of  the  different  States  during  the 
last  ten  years,  it  appears  to  have  been  in 
the  following  order  and  percentage:  Wis- 
consin. 8911;  Iowa,  347*02;  Arkansas, 
110-16 ;  Michigan,  86*74 ;  Missouri,  82-78 ; 
Florida,  68-92 ;  Mississippi,  05-13 ;  Louisiar 
na,  61'23,  Sec ;  while  the  increase  of  some  of 
the  older  States  has  been  only :  New- York, 
28-14 ;  Pennsylvania,  34-72 ;  South  Caroli- 
na, 5-97 ;  Vermont,  7-61;  Connecticut,  0-28. 
At  the  same  time  the  slave  population  has 
increased,  for  the  last  ten  years,  in  Arkan- 
sas, 136-26  percent;  Mississippi,  58*74; 
Florida,  52-85 ;  Missouri,  50-01;  Louisiana, 
45-32;  South  Carolina,  17-71; Virginia,  5*21; 
Maryland,  0-7 :  while  in  Delaware  it  has 
decreased  12-09,  percent ;  in  the  District  of 
Columbia,  21-45,  and  in  New  Jersey,  64-98. 
The  slowest  increase  appears  to  be  in 
those  States  bordering  on  the  northern 
middle  States,  or  Maryland,  Virginia  and 
Kentucky. 

It  would  seem  that  the  people  of  this 
country  are  variously  occupied,  although 
agriculture  is  thus  far  their  chief  employ- 
ment At  the  time  the  census  was  taken, 
there  were  some  4,000.000  en^gcd  in 
coltivating  the  land  ;  1,050,000  m  manu- 
factures ;  400,000  in  commerce ;  100,000 
in  mining;  60,000  in  fisheries;  and  50,000 
in  the  forests.  The  total  annual  product 
arising  from  agriculture  is  set  down  by 
Mr.  Andrews,  in  his  report  on  the  Lake 
Trade,  at  $1,752,583,042;  that  from  manu- 
factures, in  the  census,  is  $1,020,300,000 ; 
that  from  commerce  may  be  estimated  at 
8226,000,000;  that  from  the  forest  at 
850,000 ;  and  that  from  the  fisheries  at 
810,000,000.  The  grand  totel  of  produc- 
tion in  the  United  States  is  therefore  im- 
mense. 

We  possess  118,457,622  acres  of  im- 
proved farms,  and  184,621,348  of  unim- 
proved, the  cash  value  of  which  is 
3,270.733.092  dollars.  The  farming  im- 
plements and  machinery  on  these  lands 
are  worth  151.569,675  dollars.  We  raise 
from  them  100.503.899  bushels  of  wheat. 


592,326,612  bushels  of  Indian  com, 
146,567,879  bushels  of  oats,  14,188,639 
bushels  of  rye,  215,312,710  bushels  of 
rice,  199,752,646  pounds  of  tobacco, 
2,468,624  bales  of  cotton  at  400  pounds 
each,  65,796.793  bushels  of  Irish  potatoes, 
38.259,190  bushels  of  sweet  poUtoes, 
5,167,016  bushels  of  barley,  9,219,975 
bushels  of  peas  and  beans,  8,956,916 
bushels  of  buckwheat,  313,266,962  pounds 
of  butter,  105,535,219  pounds  of  cheese, 
221,240  gallons  of  wine,  $5,269,930  in 
garden  stufis,  and  $7,723,362  in  orchard 
products,  to  say  nothing  of  the  hay, 
hemp,  flax,  hops,  clover,  silk,  and  grasses, 
and  nothing  of  the  cattle,  sheep,  and 
horses  they  feed.  Our  real  and  personal 
estate  is  worth  $7,135,780,228. 

We  possess  also  over  100,000  manufac- 
turing establishments,  over  the  annual 
value  of  $500,  consuming  raw  material  to 
the  value  of  $550,000,000,  paying  out  for 
labor  $240,000,000,  and  using  a  vested 
capiul  of  $530,000,000.  Including,  in 
that  statement,  all  varieties  of  labor  lead- 
ing to  valuable  results,  the  aggregate  pro- 
duction of  this  species  of  industry  would 
amount  to  $2,932,762,642.  This  amount 
divided  by  the  number  of  inhabitants, 
free  and  slave,  gives  $126  as  the  averase 
annual  production  of  each  person,  or,  tak- 
ing the  proportion  of  adult  males  as  one 
to  four,  the  annual  production  of  each  is 
shown  to  be  $504. 

For  the  circulation  of  these  products 
we  have  1390  steamboats,  measuring 
417,226  tons;  some  3000  miles  of  canals, 
of  which  those  in  New- York  State  alone 
carry  annually  3,582,733  tons;  13,315  miles 
of  railway  completea.  whose  commerce  is 
valued  at  81,081,500,000,  besides  12^681 
miles  in  progress.  Our  total  lake,  nver, 
coasting,  canal,  and  railroad  trade  is  val- 
ued, for  1852,  at  $5,588,539,372.  Add  to 
this  the  value  of  products  and  manu- 
factures exported,  $154,930,947,  and 
that  of  foreign  merchandise  imported, 
$252,613,282,  and  we  shall  get  some  idea 
of  the  enormous  internal  and  foreign  com- 
merce of  the  United  States.  Our  whole 
inward  and  outward  tonnage  is  10,591,045 
tons,  of  which  4.200,000  tons  is  owned  at 
home — the  largest  tonnage  owned  by  any 
nation  of  the  globe  except  Great  Britain, 
whose  marine  supremacy,  at  the  present 
rates  of  increase,  we  shall  soon  surpass. 

It  might  be  inferred — ^as  not  a  few  for- 
eign tourists  in  America,  indeed,  have  in- 
ferred, from  the  exhibition  of  the  immense 
industrial  activity  of  our  people,  that  they 
are  wholly  absorbed  in  the  process  of 
creating  wealth.  Yet  such  an  inference 
would    do  them   considerable    in^uatioa. 


S2 


The  National  Inventory, 


[Jarnuoy 


They  are  devoted  to  the  dollar,  it  is  true, 
but  they  are  apt  also  to  spend  the  dollar 
in  a  liberal  manner.  Their  activity  in 
the  various  spheres  of  intellectual  and 
benevolent  enterprise  is  not  a  whit  less 
remarkable  than  their  physical  activity. 
They  take  care  of  their  unfortunate  bro- 
thers, of  the  insane,  the  idiotic,  the  mute, 
the  criminal,  and  the  poor  (of  the  latter  of 
whom  they  nave  happily  fewer  than  any 
other  nation)  with  as  sedulous  a  care,  and 
as  generous  a  provision,  as  the  most  ad- 
vanced people  in  Christendom ;  they  print 
and  read  an  incredible  number  of  books, 
and  fifty-fold  more  journals  and  maga- 
zines than  any  other  people;  while  in 
respect  to  education  and  religion,  their 
efforts,  because  they  are  voluntary,  put 
to  shame  those  of  other  people.  Tiuce  a 
few  statistics  in  r^ard  to  the  latter  points. 
They  show  that  a  large  proportion  of  the 
children  of  the  United  States  of  a  suitable 
age  are  in  attendance  upon  schools.  The 
whde  number  is  4.089,607 — of  which 
4j063,046  are  whites— 26,461  free  colored 
—3,942,681  are  natives— 147,426  are  for- 
eigners. The  number  of  males  is  2, 146,432, 
and  of  females  1,916,614.  Of  the  whole, 
New-York  is  set  down  for  692,321.  Ohio 
comes  next  with  514,309.  Pennsylvania 
follows  with  509,610. 

The  total  number  of  Colleges  in  the 
Um'ted  SUtes  is  234.  Number  of  teachers 
1,651;  pupils,  27,159.  Annual  income 
91,916,628.  The  total  number  of  Acad- 
emies and  Seminaries  in  the  United  States 
is  6.032.  Number  of  teachers  12,207 ; 
pupils  261,362.  Annual  income  $4,663,842. 
Beodes  these,  there  are  80,991  Public 
Schools,  which  are  attended  by  3,354.173 
scholars. 

The  whole  number  of  periodicals  in  the 
world  are  distributed  in  this  proportion. 
Asia  34.  Africa  14,  Europe  1094,  America 
3000,  ot  which  2800  are  printed  in  the 
United  States,  and  have  an  annual  circu- 
lation of  422,600,000  copies,  or,  taking  the 
account  of  the  leading  states  and  empires 
only,  the  numbers  stand:  Austria  10, 
Spain  24,  Portugal  20,  Belgium  65,  France 
269,  Switzerland  39,  Denmark  85,  Russia 
and  Poland  90,  the  German  States  320, 
Great  Britain  and  Ireland  519,  the  New 
England  SUtes  424,  Middle  SUtes  876, 
Southern  States  716,  and  the  Western 
States  784.  It  will  thus  be  seen  that  the 
newspapers  are  a  pretty  good  comparative 
index  of  civilization,  for  just  in  the  degree 
in  which  we  average  from  the  more  des- 
potic and  stationary  conditions  of  society, 
we  find  these  means  of  intellectual  inter- 
course and  entertainment  increasing  in 
zinmber, — the  United  States  and  Great 


Britain  standing  first  on  the  list^  and 
Austria  and  Russia  the  last. 

Then,  again,  as  to  churches,  it  appears 
that  there  are  36,221,  exclusive  of  the 
territories  and  California,  or  one  church 
for  every  557  free  inhabitants,  or  one  for 
every  646  of  the  entire  population,  with  a 
total  value  of  Church  property  to  the 
amount  of  $86,416,639.  We  might  ap- 
pend as  appropriate  here,  the  returns  of 
the  libraries,  the  lyceums,  the  scientific 
associations,  and  the  various  charitable 
and  religious  societies,  but  that  we  feel 
that  our  readers  have  had  a  sufficiency 
of  figures. 

Now,  all  these  results  are  highly  grati- 
fying; but  why  are  they  so?  Is  it  be- 
cause we  Americans  have  a  silly  schoolboy 
vanity,  as  it  is  sometimes  churged,  in  the 
magnitude  of  our  wealth  and  power? 
Not  at  all, — ^if  we  understand  the  spirit  of 
those  who  rejoice  with  us, — not  at  all ! 
We  have  other  and  better  motives ;  we 
exult,  because  these  facts  confirm,  by  an 
irrefragable  and  resistless  demonstration, 
the  political  theories  to  which  we  are  de- 
voted ;  because  they  prove  the  great  and 
vital  truth  of  the  necessary  connection 
between  a  democratic  constitution  of  soci- 
ety and  the  welfare  of  the  whole  people. 
A  controversy  is  now  going  forward, 
among  the  nations  of  Christendom,  as  to 
the  respective  merits  of  a  liberal  and  des- 
potic system  of  government,  and  we  throw 
our  experience,  with  all  its  grand  re- 
sults, into  the  liberal  scale.  We  say  to 
the  absolutist  who  distrusts  the  people, 
who  fitncies  that  governments  were  made 
to  rule  one  class  of  men  with  a  rod  of  iron, 
and  to  support  another  in  luxurious  au- 
thority, ^'come  and  see  I "  Behold  a  people 
who  govern  themselves,  midung  Justice 
and  Freedom  the  ends  of  their  institutions) 
allowing  to  all  the  choice  of  what  they 
shall  do  and  think ;  and  behold,  too,  the 
beneficent  effects !  The  facts  are  before 
you,  and  judge  for  yourselves;  but  do 
not  suppose  that  in  making  the  exhibit 
we  are  moved  by  an  inordinate  and  fool- 
ish pride." 

The  secret  of  the  prosperity  and  growth 
of  the  United  States,  it  cannot  be  too  often 
repeated,  is  in  its  social  and  political  con- 
stitution. By  ordaining  justice  as  the 
single  object  of  its  government,  and  se- 
curing to  the  masses  the  most  unlimited 
freedom  of  action,  they  have  unsealed  the 
fountains  of  human  progress,  they  have 
solved  that  problem  of  social  destiny, 
which  has  puzzled  philosophers  so  long, 
and  revealed  to  mankind,  the  momentous 
but  simple  truth,  that  just  in  the  degree 
in  which  you  reduce  to  practical  applica- 


:1854.] 


7!!^  NaUcnal  Inventory, 


28 


'tdon,  the  golden  role  of  Christian  equity, 
^*  Do  unto  others  as  you  would  be  done 
^Jj"  7^^  ^^  ^°^  Heaven  all  its  richest 
'C^poral  and  spiritual  blessings. 

The  operation  of  the  law  is  this ;  that, 
in  restricting  the  political  power  to  its 
legitimate  function  of  maintaining  justice 
among  men,  you  generate  in  each  indivi- 
dual, a  perfect  sense  of  the  security  of 
bis  person  and  property ;  he  is  made  cer- 
tain of  the  reward  of  his  labor,  and  he  ap- 
plies himself  in  the  most  effective  manner 
to  multiply  his  necessaries  and  comforts ; 
he  enriches  the  community  by  enriching 
himself;  his  accumulations  become  the 
seed  of  future  accumulations ;  while,  being 
thrown  upon  his  own  resources,  not  only 
for  his  maintenance,  but  his  position  in 
life,  he  exerts  his  every  faculty  to  the 
highest  d^ree,  to  improve  his  state.  He 
tas^  his  ingenuity  to  increase  production ; 
— to  invent  machines,  to  facilitate  processes 
to  economize  time,  in  short,  to  make  the 
most,  both  of  himself  and  his  opportuni- 
ties. An  English  gentleman,  one  of  the 
Commissioners  to  the  Crystal  Palace,  ob- 
served to  a  friend  of  ours,  that  the  fact 
which  had  impressed  him  most  strongly, 
in  reference  to  the  industry  of  the  Ameri- 
cans, was  not  its  activity  so  much  as  its 
indescribable  knowingncss,  its  ability  to 
meet  all  emergencies,  its  readiness  under 
difficulties,  its  quick  facility  in  applying 
means  to  ends.  "  You  have  a  thousand  lit- 
tle convenient  contrivances,  in  all  depart- 
ments of  arts,  and  even  in  all  the  appliances 
of  living,  that  we  know  nothing  about, 
and  should  never  have  devised."  In  other 
words,  we  may  say  that  the  quality  of 
our  labor  is  better  than  that  of  the  people 
with  whom  government  or  society  per- 
petually interferes,  and  consequently  more 
effective.  It  realizes  more  than  any  other 
labor  from  the  same  expenditure  of 
means.  The  Greeks  and  Romans  wo  are 
told  valued  the  labor  of  a  slave  at  half  that 
of  a  freeman,  and  we  know  the  reason  of 
it;  for  as  Homer  himself  sings, 

"Thedar, 
That  makes  man  Blave,  takes  half  bla  worth  away."* 

But  there  is  another  effect  of  that  se- 
curity and  freedom  of  labor,  that  springs 
from  just  government, — pointed  out  by 
Mr.  Carey, — which,  in  our  opinion,  is  the 
most  important  truth  contributed  to 
Political  Economy  since  the  days  of  Adam 
Smith.  It  is  this,  that  where  the  industry 
of  society  is  left  to  its  own  development, 
while  the  gross  product  of  it  is  increased, 
a  larger  proportion  of  it  goes  to  the  laborer, 
and  a  diminished  proportion  to  the  capi- 
talist ;  whereby  the  value  of  the  laborer 
constantly  rises,  the  number  of  the  unpro- 


ductive classes  ^ws  smaller,  a  greater 
equality  of  conditions  is  produced,  and  all 
men  are  stimulated  through  hope,  to  the 
improvement  of  their  intellectual  and  so- 
cial condition.  The  misery  of  the  older 
nations  is  that  the  earnings  of  industry 
are  distributed,  by  means  of  the  innumer- 
able interferences  of  laws  and  institutionS| 
with  the  most  flagrant  want  of  justice. 
The  working  class,  which  is  the  most  effec- 
tive of  all  the  agencies  concerned  in  the 
production  of  it  gets  the  least  part,  while 
the  capitalist,  and  the  official  functionaries 
take  the  rest.  Thus,  the  stimulus  to 
active  industry  is  so  far  forth  withdrawn, 
overgrown  fortunes  concentrate  in  parti- 
cular families,  and  an  excessive  expendi- 
ture, going  to  support  large  classes  in 
idleness  or  sinecureships,  debauches  the 
action  of  government. 

In  the  United  States,  on  the  contrary, 
the  share  of  the  laborer  in  every  joint  pro- 
ductj  increases  relatively ;  he  is  enabled  to 
rise  m  his  condition,  to  take  one  step  up- 
ward, and,  with  every  generation,  to  de- 
vote a  larger  portion  of  his  time  and 
means  to  the  improvement  of  his  mind, 
and  the  refinement  of  his  tastes.  The 
consequence  is,  that  society,  as  a  whole,  is 
levelled  upwards;  the  few  are  not  pulled 
down,  but  the  many  are  elevated ;  the 
circle  of  intelligence  and  culture  widens, 
and  the  disposition  as  well  as  the  means, 
for  patronizing  art  and  promoting  charity, 
become  the  common  privileges  of  larger 
and  larger  numbers,  instead  of  being  the 
prerogatives  of  a  favored  minority.  Mor- 
alists, therefore,  arc  short-sighted,  who 
lament  what  they  esteem  to  be  tne  ex- 
cessive devotion  of  our  people  to  prac- 
tical life ;  for,  it  is  a  precursor  of  their  gen- 
eral enlightenment  and  elevation.  It  is 
preparing  the  masses,  in  spite  of  all  the 
apparent  materialism  and  worldliness  of 
the  process,  for  a  higher  civilization.  It  is 
multiplying  their  wants  and  their  methods 
of  satisfying  them,  which  are  both  ele- 
ments of  a  larger  and  better  life.  Con- 
sider the  demand  for  books,  and  generally 
the  best  books, — for  music,  and  the  best 
music, — for  lectures,  and  the  best  lectures. 
— ^in  short,  for  all  kinds  of  intellectual 
and  moral  incitation, — ^how  it  is  diffusing 
itself  through  all  classes  of  our  people,  in 
the  midst  of  the  tremendous  bustle  of  work 
and  trade !  AVhere  is  there  a  nation  in 
which  the  masses  of  the  community  have 
a  more  living  and  growing  interest  in 
whatever  gives  dignity  and  grace  to 
human  relations?  Have  the  towns  of 
New  England  a  parallel,  for  intellectual 
activity  and  moral  integrity,  in  Europe  ? 
Yet  me    towns    in   New   England   are 


24 


An  Adventure  on  the  Plains. 


[JanvAiy 


more  and  more  imitated  in  the  Middle 
States,  at  the  West,  and  even  under  a 
different  social  system  of  the  South. 
Cherish  no  feans,  then,  oh  apprehensive 
friends!  for  you  may  rest  assured,  that 
democracy  is  spreading  the  noblest  influx 
mces  of  art,  knowledge,  and  religion  along 
with  an  unprecedcnt^  material  develop- 
ment *'  The  house  that  is  a  building," 
quoth  Carlyle,  '*  is  not  the  house  that  is 
baUt^"  and  a  wise  man  beholds  through 
the  smut  and  rubbish  that  encumber  the 
Bcaflblding  the  fair  proportions  of  the  fin- 
ished edifice. 

But  the  most  striking  fact  of  our  growth 
is  its  tendency  to  a  more  beneficent  and 
harmonious  social  union.  The  physical  as- 
pects of  the  Continent,  as  wc  have  already 
seen,  point  the  way  to  this  end, — the 
mobile  and  enterprising  character  of  our 
people  looks  in  the  same  direction;  the 
prodigious  multiplication  of  the  mere 
medianical  means  of  intercourse  promote 
it ;  the  common  legislation  of  the  central 


gov^nment  cherishes  a  common  national 
spirit,  while  the  general  sentiment  of  the 
popular  heart,  in  spite  of  political  preju- 
dices or  local  estrangements,  which  are 
few  and  temporary,  is  melting  the  entire 
nation  into  a  close  and  fraternal  unity. 
Every  day,  in  the  face  of  that  powerful 
expansive  movement  which  carries  us 
over  the  broad  territories  of  the  West,  and 
to  the  unoccupied  or  misused  lands  of  the 
South,  we  are  getting  nearer  to  each  other 
in  space,  and  drawing  nearer  to  each  other 
in  mutual  respect  and  afibction.  We  are 
thus  exemplifying  that  process  which  is- 
the  distinguishing  mark  of  the  highest 
civilization,  viz.,  the  growth  of  a  more  and 
more  complex  association  among  men ;  and 
we  are  also  reaching  forward  towards  the 
ideal  of  a  true  Christian  life,  according  to 
that  beautiful  image  of  the  Scriptures 
drawn  from  the  harmonious  workings  of 
the  natural  body,  which  represents  man- 
kind as  **  members  one  of  another,"  in  a 
spirit  of  universal  fellowship  and  peace. 


AN   ADVENTURE   ON   THE    PLAINS. 


**  For  be  thtt  once  h«th  mifla6d  the  right  wav, 
The  ftirther  he  doth  go^  the  ftirther  he  doth  stny." 

Spek8kb*b  FaUy  Quetm^ 


ON  the  20th  of  May,  a.  d.,  1852, 1  was 
pursuing  my  slow  and  somewhat 
devious  course  across  the  unbroken  wil- 
derness which  lies  between  our  Western 
frontier  and  California.  Who  I  am  is  of 
no  particular  consequence,  as  this  /  is  a 
very  vague,  commonplace,  generic  sort  of 
chmcter,  in  the  commencement  of  a  story. 
that  ma^  even  feel  flattered  if  he  has  suo^ 
ceeded  m  throwing  around  himself  any 
individual  interest  at  its  conclusion.  As 
the  motives,  however,  which  impel  a  man 
to  such  a  journey,  and  the  objects  he  has 
in  view,  seem  to  come  more  within  the 
range  of  a  natural  curiosity,  and  may  serve 
to  give  a  coloring  to  the  incidents  of  his 
story,  it  will  perhaps  be  expected  that  I 
admit  the  reader  to  my  confidence  in  this 


First,  then,  negatively,  I  was  on  no 
tour  of  exploration  or  scientific  discovery. 
I  had  not  sold,  or — what  is  the  same  thing 
— mortgaged  a  good  farm  in  the  settled 
States  to  purchase  a  square  rod  of  claim 
in  the  El  Dorado.  I  had  not  set  out  with 
the  "  sink  or  swim,  live  or  die  "  determi- 
iiatk>n  of  making  a  fortune.    I  can  only 


plead  guilty,  in  this  particular,  to  the  in- 
distinct vision  of  a  "  pile,"  which  every 
one  who  turns  his  face  towards  the  land 
of  golden  hills  and  auriferous  streams  has 
floating  before  his  imagination.  In  the 
second  place,  positively,  if  I  can  bring  out 
of  the  haze  of  memory  what  was  then  not 
very  distinct  in  my  consciousness,  the  onl^ 
motives  which  I  can  specify — though  it  is 
not  a  very  satisfactory  account  to  give  of 
myself— were  curiosity  and  the  love  of 
adventure.  I  should,  perhaps,  add  an  un- 
settled state  of  mind  caused  oy  domestic 
circumstances,  with  which  you,  dear 
reader,  have  no  concern,  and  which  I  now 
wonder  had  then  such  power  to  move 
me. 

I  had  already,  in  my  short  life,  twice 
been  to  Caliiomia— once  by  the  way  of 
the  Isthmus,  and,  years  before  its  golden 
mines  were  discovered,  I  had  visited  the 
then  unimportant  town  of  San  Francisco 
— but  I  had  never  travelled  in  the  deep 
solitude  of  vast  prairies  and  rugged  moun- 
tains, thousands  of  miles  from  the  haunts 
of  civilization.  I  had  never  been  in  the 
lodge  of  the  Pawnee,  the  Sioux,  the  Oma- 


laa] 


Jn  AdvefUure  an  the  Plaint, 


85 


litir,  the  Gbeyeniie,  the  *<  Digger,"  and 
the  Lord  only  knows  how  many  more 
tribes  of  Indians,  nor  held  a  pow-wow 
with  these  unsophisticated  aboriginals; 
aod  my  long  cherished  purpose  to  do  this 
must  be  gratified.  Besides,  I  wished  to 
shiLke  hands  with  my  friend  Brigham 
Young,  and  get  a  peep  into  his  Harem — 
Bot  knowing  but  the  sight  of  the  sacred 
pUtes,  or  of  some  Mormon  beauty,  might 
ooQvert  me  to  the  latter  revelations,  and 
$aU  me  down  on  the  borders  of  the  great 
lake  of  that  name. 

But,  whatever  brought  me  there — there 
I  was,  on  the  aforesaid  20th,  in  the  desert, 
ibout  a  day's  journey  from  New  Fort 
Kearney,  on  the  military  route  to  Oregon, 
aod  about  three  hundr^  miles  from  my 
starting  point  on  the  Missouri  River.  X 
WIS  weQ  equipped  for  such  a  journey. 
A  light  carriage,  drawn  by  two  thorough- 
braflb,  which  as  yet  had  shown  no  diminu- 
tion of  mettle  or  bottom,  led  the  way. 
This  was  a  regular  mtdtum  in  parvo, 
constructed  after  a  plan  of  my  own,  at 
considerable  expense,  and  wtLS  provided 
with  appliances  of  comfort,  means  of  de- 
fence, and  sources  of  amusement,  that 
would  make  the  uninitiated  wonder.  Not 
a  square  inch  of  its  interior  but  was  hung 
with  munitions  of  war,  fishins  tackle, 
books,  ^  &C.,  not  omitting  all  the  essen- 
tials to  a  dear  lover  of  the  weed — alas  i 
all  destined,  with  the  exception  of  my 
splendid  meerschaum, — ^now  hanging  in 
triumph  over  the  mantel, — vehicle,  and  all, 
to  lie  scattered  in  fragmentary  confusion 
along  the  route.  A  large,  four  horse 
caravan-looking  wagon,  filled  with  pro- 
vender for  man  and  beast,  cooking  uten- 
sils, bedding,  &a,  followed.  Besides  these 
I  had  some  spare  animals  for  the  saddle, 
aod  to  supply  the  places  of  any  which 
might  give  out  My  companions  were 
three  active  and  hardy  sons  of  the  West, 
whom  I  had  engaged  to  go  with  me  for 
"aid  and  comfort'' 

The  day  had  been  cold  and  disagreeable ; 
and  warned  by  the  black  and  lowering 
sky,  and  the  gathering  clouds,  which  por- 
tended a  coming  storm,  I  concluded  to 
stop  some  time  before  the  approach  of  even- 
ing. My  tent  was  therefore  pitched,  and 
every  tkung  made  secure  for  the  night,  the 
horses  turned  out,  and  our  hearty  meal 
of  bacon  and  hard  bread  concluded.  It 
was  not  yet  dark,  when  an  infatuated 
desire  of  ^'  passing  an  evening  out "  began 
to  possess  me.  The  monotony  of  the 
journey  had  become  somewhat  oppres- 
sive ;  my  internal  resources  had  begun  to 
fail ;  Shakespeare  did  not  seem  quite  so 
orif^nal  as  usual ;  and  no  one,  who  has 


any  more  impressibility  than  a  Turk,  can 
smoke  all  the  time.  My  restlessness  was 
undoubtedly  increased  by  the  knowledge 
of  the  fact  that  there  were  other  encamp- 
ments, in  my  immediate  vicinity,  of  fellow- 
travellers  wending  their  way  California- 
ward,  on  the  same  graceless  errand  with 
myself,  who  had  also  been  admonished  to 
secure  quarters  for  the  night  before  the 
storm  broke  upon  them.  I  had  formed 
the  acquaintance  of  some  of  them,  in  the 
exciu*sion8  which  I  was  accustomed  to 
make  from  my  own  party,  on  horseback, 
in  search  of  amusement^  and  of  the 
"variety  which  is  the  spice  of  life,"  espe- 
cially on  such  a  journey..   The  previous 

day  I  had  thus  fallen  in  with  a  Dr.  C e, 

of  St  Louis,  and  his  amiable  and  accom- 
plished lady,  who  were  braving  the  fa- 
tigues of  a  journey  "  across  lots  "  to  San 
Francisco,  where  I  trust  ho  is  now  reap- 
ing a  rich  harvest  of  professional  success. 
His  tent  I  supposed  to  be  about  a  mile 
fit)m  my  own,  and  I  pined  for  the  society 
I  had  found  so  congenial.  So,  encasing 
myself  in  an  India  iSibber  suit,  and  pay- 
ing no  heed  to  the  warnings  of  my  com- 
panions, or  the  still,  small  voice  of  pre- 
sentiment in  my  own  breast,  I  set  out  on 
foot  for  the  Doctor's.  The  ground  over 
which  I  had  to  pass  was  undulating  and 
broken,  and  meeting  several  ravines  filled 
with  stagnant  water,  I  was  compelled  to 
make  quite  a  detour  in  order  to  reach  his 
camp.  I  found  my  friends  "at  home," 
and  was  received  with  a  most  cordial 
welcome  and  graceful  hospitality. 

The  evening  passed  away  rapidly,  in 
familiar  and  pleasant  talk  about  home  and 
friends,  our  mutual  adventures  and  future 
prospects,  and  afforded  a  social  enjoyment 
of  which  civilized  balls,  routs  and  ro- 
unions  can  give  but  a  faint  idea.  The  in- 
creasing storm,  however,  which  made 
itself  heard  above  our  cheerful  voices,  and 
which  shook  with  violence  our  frail  can- 
opy, admonished  me  that  it  was  time  to 
return  to  my  own  camp,  if  I  designed  to 
go  at  all  that  night  My  friends  urged  me 
to  stay ;  but,  as  a  person  occupies  more 
space  lying  down  than  sitting  up,  I  doubt- 
ed the  feasibility  of  the  project,  as  there  was 
no  peg  to  hang  on,  or  post  to  lean  against. 
So  I  said,  "  no,  I  thank  you, "  with  a  most 
determined  tone,  though  not  without 
some  little  faintncss  of  heart,  and  sallied 
forth  upon  the  invisible  expanse.  Oh, 
and  such  a  night!  It  was  darker  than 
Erebus  and  Egypt  together.  The  wind  was 
blowing  in  fierce  and  fitful  gusts,  the  rain 
pouring  down  in  torrents.  Altogether,  it 
was  as  fearful  a  storm  and  as  uncomfort- 
able a  night  as  had  ever  fallen  within  the 


u 


An  Adventure  on  the  Plaine. 


[j« 


range  of  my  experience  in  different  quar- 
ters of  the  globe.  Few  pedestrians  would 
willingly  encounter  the  fury  of  such  a 
storm  even  in  the  streets  of  a  great  city. 

On  first  emerging  from  the  shelter  of 
a  ^ood  tent,  I  was  saluted  by  a  blast  of 
wmd  and  rain  that  actually  staggered  me, 
and  drove  me  temporarily  back.  My  hos- 
pitable ftiends  then  absolutely  insisted 
upon  it  that  I  should  pass  the  night  with 
them.  It  would  be  a  suicidal  tempting 
of  Providence,  they  said,  to  think  of  reach- 
ing my  camp,  and  I  would  certainly  lose 
my  way.  But  a  foolish  feeling  of  pride 
would  not  aUow  me  to  listen  to  their  press- 
ing entreaties  or  warning  remonstrances. 
I  was  an  old  sailor,  I  told  them,  and  my 
nautical  experience  would  enable  me  to 
find  my  way,  especially  as  I  had  carefully 
noted  the  direction  of  the  wind  as  I  came 
along.  Besides,  I  thought  it  was  not  alto- 
gether improbable  that  a  stampede  of  my 
own  animals  might  take  place  on  so  tem- 
pestuous a  night — ^in  which  case  I  should 
be  sorry  to  be  absent.  Alas !  how  little  I 
dreamed  of  the  suffering  and  anguish 
which  my  reckless  self-confidence  and 
foolish  conceit  of  my  own  skill  were  to 


cause  me 


**  Let  him  who  wanders  by  a  devious  waj, 
Look  to  his  reckoning— or  wide  astnj 
Hit  barque  maj  Teer  on  peril's  iktal  track.  ** 

The  Doctor,  finding  that  I  would  not  be 
persuaded,  held  a  lantern  for  me  at  the 
entrance  of  his  tent,  that  I  might  occasion- 
ally look  back  and  take  my  ^^departure  " 
from  it  So  I  wrapped  yet  closer  my 
poncho  about  me,  and  set  forth  on  my 
perilous  journey  with  a  stout  heart  and  a 
cheerful  *^  good  night. "  I  designed  to 
keep  the  wind  about  ^*  two  points  on  the 
starboard  quarter "  of  my  nose,  but  I 
was  obliged  to  deviate  from  a  straight 
line  to  avoid  the  gtdchee  of  which  I  have 
before  spoken,  which  soon  caused  me  to 
lose  sight  of  the  cheering  and  guiding 
light  behind,  and  I  had  no  other  resource 
than  to  keep  on  to  the  best  of  my  jud^ 
ment,  though  I  could  not  help  the  grow- 
ing feeling  that  I  was  decidedly  *'  in  for 
it."  As  I  was  walking  along  at  as  rapid 
a  gait  as  was  consistent  with  proper  cau- 
tion, I  suddenly  felt  the  earth  crumbling 
beneath  my  feet,  and,  before  I  could  re- 
cover myself,  was  precipitated  some  fif- 
teen feet  down  a  ravine,  and  landed  in  a 
ditch,  the  water  of  which  was  nearly  to 
my  waist  when  standing  up,  which  was 
not  exactly  my  position  when  I  touched 
bottom.  I  came  down  with  a  perfect 
facility — ^but  to  scramble  up  the  st^pand 
slippery  bank,  like  the  ascent  firom  a  more 
classic  region — hie  labor,  hoc  opus  Juit. 


After  several  ineffectual  attempts, 
resulted  in  a  mortifying  fiulure,  ana 
considerably  damped  my  courage 
pantaloons,  I  at  length  succeeded  ini 
ing  terra  fir  ma;  and  there  I  was- 
consciously,  as  I  had  been  before  ii 
ity— my  pride  all  gone — and  my  co 
oozing,  with  the  water,  out  of  my  dri 
garments.  Need  I  be  ashamed  to 
it?  I  bellowed  most  lustily  fori 
ance;  ringing  reiterated  changes 
help!  fire!  murder!  and  all  the  si 
exclamations  which  have  been  cano 
in  the  use  of  respectable  distressed 
sons  since  the  invention  of  our  m 
tongue. 

I  knew  that  there  were  camps  no< 
far  distant,  and  had  a  slight  hope 
the  occupants  of  some  one  of  them  t 
hear  me.  But  the  hope  was  vain.  Tb 
I  called — nay,  even  howled — "  thej 
swered  not  again."  At  length,  to  n 
expressible  relief  I  heard,  as  I  supf 
the  whining  of  a  dog.  Was  it  ii 
this  ?  or  did  my  ears  deceive  me  ?  \ 
in  the  lull  of  the  storm,  I  heard  it  yet 
distinctly.  In  such  a  place,  on  8t 
night,  the  bark  of  ^^  mine  enemy's 
though  he  had  bit  me,"  would 
seemed  friendly,  and  I  foUowed  the  a 
As  I  advanced,  however,  it  appeare 
recede,  until  a  growl  that  I  well  lu 
stood  filled  me  with  consternation, 
audible  ignis  fiUwie  that  I  had  been 
suing  was  a  prairie  wolf.  I  knew 
that  this  animal  seldom,  if  ever,  mac 
attack  upon  a  man,  except  when 
dered  desperate  by  hunger ;  but  sti 
a  lost  traveller,  in  the  midst  of  £gy] 
darkness,  and  in  such  a  lonely  and  str 
spot,  wolf-tones  are  calculated  to  c: 
any  thing  but  agreeable  sensations,  < 
dally  when  he  is  familiar  with  venu 
accounts  of  their  chasing  Russian  sic 
drivers  and  tasting  their  quality. 

There  was  no  hope  of  rescue  foi 
night,  and  the  only  thing  that  remi 
to  me  was  to  make  myself  as  comfort 
as  I  could,  where  I  was,  until  mon 
I  sat  down,  made  a  sort  of  marquee 
of  my  poncho,  by  drawing  it  over 
head  and  putting  my  arms  a-kii 
pulled  out  from  the  capacious  pocke 
my  large  vest,  made  expressly  for 
journey,  the  inseparable  companion  < 
my  excursions,  mine  incomparable  i 
sdhaum  (I  had  it  " jui^-rigged  "  at 
times,  as  the  long,  neichsel  stem  wi 
convenient  to  carry),  some  tobacco,  t 
bunch  of  matches  which  were  well 
tected  from  the  water,  and  soon 
rounded  myself  with  the  comforts  < 
Irish  cabin,  the  nleasant  volume  n 


1854.] 


An  Adventure  on  the  Plaine. 


27 


op^  as  if  mtimtting  the  speechless  grati- 
tade  of  the  smoker. 

Fiti-Boodle  in  ennmenttiDg  the  yarious 
tioes  when  %  good  cigar  is  most  consoling 
—"after  a  hard  day's  sport,  or  a  day 
ipeot  indoors,  or  after  a  good  dinner,  or 
i  Ud  one.  or  at  night  when  yon  are  tired, 
or  in  the  morning  when  you  are  fresh,  or 
oT  a  cdd  winter's  day,  or  of  a  scorching 
flommer's  afternoon,  or — at  any  other 
moment  you  choose  to  fix  upon  " — never 
passed  such  a  night  as  I  did,  amid  the 
wfld  waste  of  such  a  wilderness,  or  his 
'^eimfessioiis"  on  this  subject  would  have 
been  more  specific 

After  mtting  till  my  limbs  were  chilled 
and  stiff^  I  would  get  up  and  walk  about 
in  as  near  a  geometrical  circle  as  I  could 
describe,  bo  as  not  to  wander  fkr  from  my 
position,  and  then  sit  down  ag^,  light 
my  pipe  afresh,  and  with  the  aid  of  the 
ame  match  (for  a  prophetic  economy  was 
stealing  over  me)  look  to  my  watch,  in 
otter  astonishment  that  the  long  hours  I 
supposed  had  passed  were  hardly  a  short 
hiJf  one.  Sages  are  supposed  to  see 
diarms  in  the  face  of  solitude;  but 
they  would  have  found  it  very  difficult  to 
lee  any  if  they  had  been  in  my  place, 
and  they  certainly  would  have  preferred 
'^the  alarms  "  of  any  habitable  part  of  the 

BDbe  to  the  "  rain  in  that  horrible  place." 
en  have  been  known  tb  moralize  under 
the  gallows — my  peril,  though  without 
diame,  was  little  less — and  I  moralized. 
I  thooght  to  myself  what  a  devout  char- 
latan in  eeniiment  Oowper  was,  and  won- 
dered whether  he  would  have  been  willing 
to  be  ''shut  out  from  all  noise  and 
romors  of  the  world, "  in  the  same  man- 
ner that  I  was. 

The  wearisome  night  at  length  wore 
away.  The  violence  of  the  storm  had 
abated,  bat  there  was  a  drizzling  rain  and 
a  thick  fog,  and  I  dared  not  move  from 
mytradkS.  I  waited  as  patiently  as  I  could 
kr  several  hours,  but  as  the  fog  did  not 
fight  np  any,  I  again  attempted  to  find 
the  camp,  though  without  success. 

I  must  have  wandered  far  from  my 
right  course  during  the  night,  in  my  per- 
ambulations to  keep  warm,  as  I  could  dis- 
cover no  trace  of  the  road  or  the  cama 
and  no  answer  came  back  to  my  repeated 
shouts.  I  then  began  to  feel  seriously 
uneasy.  I  knew  my  own  men  would  not 
wait  for  me.  My  positive  instructions  to 
them  were  always  to  harness  up  in  the 
morning  and  ^^  noove  on, "  if  I  did  not 
make  my  appearance  at  breakfast,  as  I 
was  sometimes  absent  from  the  camp  over 
night,  and  I  knew  that  the  dififerent  com- 
panies must  have  all  passed  on.    I  then 


endeavored  to  find  the  road  by  pursuing 
a  zigzag,  Virginia  rail-fbnce  sort  of  a 
course ;  going  two  or  three  miles  in  one 
direction,  and  then  striking  off  from  it,  at 
a  greater  or  less  angle,  in  another.  I 
walked  in  this  way  several  hours,  but  all 
to  no  purpose.  During  the  whole  time  I 
had  been  observing  carefully  the  ground, 
if  perchance  I  might  discover  the  imprint 
of  a  hoof,  a  broken  twig,  or  any  sign  of 
the  grass  having  been  fed — but  not  a  soli- 
tary" vestige  could  I  perceive  of  living 
thing. 

Then  it  was,  for  the  very  first  time, 
that  the  thought  flashed  like  lightning 
across  my  mind,  in  all  its  terrible  distinct- 
ness and  significance,  that  I  might  fail  to 
find  the  road,  and  perish  from  hunger. 
Great  God !  what  mental  agony  this 
caused  me !  I  had  a  full  sense  of  the  dan- 
ger of  my  situation,  and  felt  that  I  must 
summon  all  my  energies  for  a  desperate 
effort  to  save  myself.  My  clothes  were 
heavy ;  so  I  took  off  my  coat,  trowsers, 
boots,  which  were  very  thick,  and  stock- 
ings, and  threw  them  away.  I  could  not 
anord  to  be  encumbered  and  have  my  pro- 
gress impeded  by  superfluous  weight,  ibr 
was  I  not  running  a  race  against  time,  and 
was  not  dear  life  the  stake  i 

I  would  have  thrown  away  my  money 
belt,  containing  a  few  hundred  dollars  in 
gold,  merely  to  be  relieved  of  its  weight ; 
but  my  experience,  even  among  New  Zea- 
land cannibals,  had  taught  me  that  gold 
has  a  magic  charm  for  the  savage  as  well 
as  the  whjte  man,  and  that  it  is  awkward 
to  find  one's  self  minus,  not  onlv  in  the 
heart  of  a  great  city,  but  even  in  the  midst 
of  the  desert  of  Sahara.  I  accelerated  my 
pace  almost  to  a  run,  and  giving  up  as 
futile  all  attempts  to  find  the  road,  I 
started  anew,  with  the  determination  to 
proceed  to  the  Platte  River,  and  follow  up 
its  vrindings  to  the  Fort  The  sun  all 
this  time  ^*  disdained  to  shine,"  and  my 
only  guide  was  the  wind,  which  I  judged 
from  its  keenness  to  be  blowing  from  the 
North — though  I  learned  by  subsequent 
inquiry,  from  the  Surgeon  of  the  Fort, 
who  kept  meteorological  tables,  that  the 
vrind  had  been  East,  which  at  that  season 
of  the  year  is  colder  than  one  coming  from 
the  North.  I  had  a  general  idea  of  the 
geography  of  the  country,  and  of  the  rela- 
tive course  of  the  river  and  the  road,  and 
hoped — though  it  was  but  n  hope — that  I 
mig:ht  be  able  to  reach  the  former. 

I  had  not  gone  far  before  I  came  to  a  deep 
valley,  a  most  wild  and  sequestered  spot-- 
probably  never  before  trodden  by  the  foot 
of  a  white  man.  It  was,  as  near  as  I  could 
judge,  about  five  miles  in  diameter,  and 


28 


An  Adventure  en  the  Plains. 


t- 


environed  by  high  bluffs.  This  was  liter- 
ally covered  with  buffalo  bones  through 
its  whole  extent  and  was  evidently  a  spot 
where  these  animals  were  in  the  habit  of 
gathering  in  the  fall^  before  theu*  usual 
period  for  migrating  to  the  South,  and 
where,  tempt^  by  the  late  grass  and 
sheltering  hills  which  shut  out  the  bleak 
winds,  they  had  been  hemmed  in  by  thou- 
sands, until  the  severity  of  the  winter 
warned  them  to  leave;  when  the  deep 
snows  in  the  passes  prevented  their  egress, 
and  they  must  have  perished  from  hunger 
and  cold — leaving  their  bones  to  whiten 
there  in  the  sim  and  rain. 

"  A  ghastlr  place  of  sepulchre— where  yet  no  hanum 

Perehance  had  pillowed.*^ 

No  language  can  give  any  idea  of  the 
fearful  desolation  of  the  place.  It  filled 
ray  heart  with  a  nameless  dread.  I  could 
think  of  nothing  but  the  valley  seen  in 
prophetic  vision,  and  I  almost  expected  to 
hear  the  awful  voice  breaking  upon  the 
solitude— »*^ Can  these  dry  bones  live?" 
My  course  lay  directly  across  the  valley, 
and  hardly  looking  around  me,  I  ran  at 
full  speed,  without  stopping,  till  I  had 
passed  it,  which  I  must  have  done  in  an 
almost  incredibly  short  space  of  time.  I 
continued  my  way,  walking  and  running, 
as  &st  as  I  could,  guided  only  by  the 
wind,  which  must  have  actually  veered 
all  round  the  compass ;  for,  after  travelling 
what  seemed  to  me  about  twenty  miles, 
to  my  inexpressible  horror,  there  lay  be- 
fore me  the  valley  of  bones,  and  what 
was  worse.  I  found  that  I  had  come  back 
again  to  within  a  hundred  yards  of  the 
spot  whence  I  had  started,  which  I  readily 
identified  by  a  singular  collection  of  bones 
I  had  stopped  to  examine  when  speculat- 
ing upon  the  anatomy  of  the  buffalo  in 
the  morning. 

My  fatiguing  journey  of  hours  had  been 
lost.  My  heart  now  fairly  sank  within 
me,  despair  stared  me  in  the  face,  and  I 
threw  myself  upon  the  ground  in  a  bitter- 
ness of  soul  too  deep  for  tears.  Here, 
then,  thought  I,  is  to  be  my  final  resting- 
place  !  In  this  great  chamel  house  of  the 
wilderness,  my  bones  are  destined  to 
moulder  without  sepulture !  Oh,  if  I 
could  but  perish  in  some  fierce  encounter 
with  man  or  beast,  or  in  some  desperate 
struggle  with  the  elements,  it  would  be 
some  relief!  If  a  savage  Indian  would  rise 
up  before  me,  tomahawk  in  hand  and 
yelling  his  startling  war-whoop,  how 
grateful  would  be  the  sight,  and  how 
gladly  would  I  grapple  with  him  in  the 
death  struggle !  But  to  die  like  a  dog — 
a  lingering  death  of  exhaustion  and  stor- 


vation — alone,  without  the  presei 
of  an  enemy  to  connect  me  with  m; 
the  thought  was  insupportable ! 
to  banish  it,  but  in  vain!  Th 
which  my  excited  fancy  had  conj 
would  not  down  at  my  bidding 
paroxysm  of  despair,  without  i 
without  settled  purpose,  hardly  1 
what  I  did,  I  grasped  my  pistol 
it,  put  the  muzzle  to  my  head  anc 
the  trigger;  but  it  had  beei 
with  water,  and  I  was  saved  firom 
abhorrent  to  my  principles  and : 
and  upon  which — though  almost  i 
tary — I  cannot  look  back  without 
der  of  remorse.  I  could  not  but 
it  as  an  interposition  of  Provideno 
behalf  and  feelings  of  gratitude  ai 
mission  filled  my  heart.  Thouj 
loved  ones  at  home  came  stealii 
me,  and  I  br^thed  an  earnest  pn 
their  happiness.  The  bitterness  of  i 
was  gone,  and  a  delicious  feeling 
and  resignation  succeeded.  The  i 
monody  of  the  poet  kept  vibrating 
memory  and  even  rismg  to  my  li( 

**  I  could  lie  down  like  a  tlrod  child. 
And  weep  away  the  life  of  care 

Which  I  have  borne,  and  yet  most  beti 
Till  death,  like  sleep,  might  steal  on  i 

And  I  might  feel  in  the  warm  air 
My  dieek  grow  cold,  and  bear  the  sei 

Breathe  o'er  my  dying  brain  its  last  moi 

But  the  ground  was  very  damp,  tl 
was  pelting,  and  the  air  quite  cole 
soon  awoke  again  to  the  full  consci< 
of  the  fearful  dangers  which  en' 
me,  and  the  necessity  and  duty  of] 
one  last,  resolute  effort  for  self-pr 
tion.  So  I  arose,  took  out  my  ivory  i 
pencilled  a  few  lines  of  kind  remem 
and  farewell  to  my  family,  in  th 
hope  that  if  exhausted  nature  shoi 
and  I  should  perish  on  the  way,  pei 
some  stranger  might  find  my  mou 
remains;  and  then  addressed  my  sel 
if  not  with  hope  yet  with  a  stem  o 
to  my  toilsome  journey.  I  found  i 
however,  exceedingly  lame — my  fe< 
blistered,  and  full  of  briers  and  the 
of  the  prickly  pear  over  which  I  ha 
walking  all  day,  and  I  could  nol 
great  progress.  Night  soon  overtc 
but  it  was  of  no  use  to  stop,  and 
on— on— on — like  the  Wandering 
through  the  long  and  dreary  ho 
that  memorable  night  watchio 
heavens,  with  the  utmost  intentn 
a  single  star  to  send  a  ray  of  light  t 
the  gloomy  and  funeral  pall  tha 
hung  me,  to  guide  me  on  my  way. 
I  have  kept  some  wearisome  i 
in  my  life — one  of  four  hours  at  m 
off  the  pitch  of  Cape  Horn,  on  the  I< 


J 


An  Adventure  on  the  Plains, 


S9 


tiTing  to  fiirl  9k  frozen  and  refractory 
with  the  driving  sleet  cutting  my 
ind  hands  till  the  blood  came — and 
er,  I  well  remember^  of  a  long  day 
battered  boat  on  the  desolate  coast  of 


J  our  ship  hull  down  to  lee- 
,  when  three  of  my  companions  per- 
,  one  after  another,  of  cold  and  ez- 
ioii,  before  we  were  picked  up— but 
m  watch  like  that  of  this  fearful 
!  Eternities  of  thought  seemed  to 
1  into  the  space  of  its  few  brief 

ffujng,  though  long  delayed,  at  length 
;  and  still  rain,  rain,  fog,  n>g — there 
10  ^  lodge  in  this  vast  wilderness," 
irfaat  "a  boundless  contiguity  of 
kl"  enough  to  have  satisfied  the 
ardent  aspirations  of  any  poet  of 
do.  Every  thing  was  dreary  and 
ite,  and  gave  no  hope  of  better 
NT.  Still  the  light  of  day,  though 
was  pleasant  and  my  courage  sorae- 
levived.  As  I  trudged  along  I  tried 
lere  the  tedium  by  calling  to  mind 
ges  from  my  favorite  authors,  especi- 
kboae  applicable  to  my  condition. 
«r  say  die,"  was  often  on  my  lips. 
lUected,  too,  that  "  while  there's  life 
"a  hope,"  and  I  blessed  the  memory 
pe  fi>r  the  sentiment,  "hope  springs 
il  hi  the  human  breast " — but  then 
nkmg  passage  "  hope  deferred  mak- 
w  heart  sick,"  would  obtrude  itself 
J  thoughts.  However,  I  consoled 
u  with  the  reflection  that  the  quota- 
were  throe  to  one  in  my  favor,  and 
tad  it  as  an  omen  of  my  chances. 
id  not,  as  yet,  eaten  any  thing  except 
nmshrooms,  and  a  sort  of  w()d  pea- 
bad  gathered  as  I  walked  along, 
beae  not  to  satisfy  my  hunger ;  for, 
ga  to  say,  I  felt  no  craving  for  food ; 
lacause  I  knew  that  nature  needed 
aanoe^  and  that  my  strength  could 
old  oat  without  it.  I  did  not  know 
ler  the  pea-pods  were  poisonous  or 
and  to  tell  the  truth,  at  first  I  did 
Mich  care,  and  rather  hoped  they 
]veferring  a  death  by  poison  to  one 
inration.  I  afterwards  ascertained 
iwy  were  perfecUv  harmless  and  not 
lot  nutriment  The  water  I  greedily 
:  finom  stagnant  pools  was  sweeter 
r  taste  than  the  clearest  spring,  or 
MMt  delkuous  drinks,  which  the  in- 
t¥  of  man  has  concocted,  ever  were 
)  before.  During  this  day  I  saw  an 
i  fow  antelopes,  some  score  of  wolves, 
f  nothing  of  plover  and  small  game ; 
f  the  antelopes  came  within  half  a 
shot  of  me,  but  I  had  no  weapon  to 
it  him.     The  timid  animal 


aware  of  the  fact,  for  he  gazed  at  me  with 
an  air  of  wonder,  and,  on  my  nearer  ap- 
proach, snuffed  the  air  quite  unconcern- 
edly, and  moved  off  very  much  at  lus 
leisure. 

The  agitation  of  my  mind  and  the  ex- 
citement of  my  situation  not  only  rendered 
me  insensible  to  hunger,  but  also  to  pain 
and  almost  to  fatigue.  I  felt  the  stren^h 
of  a  giant,  and  longed  for  some  occasion 
to  exercise  it.  At  one  time,  in  my  reck- 
less and  defiant  mood,  I  gave  chase  to  a 
gaunt  wolf  which  crossed  my  path,  and 
K>llowed  him  to  his  hole,  at  the  entrance 
of  which  I  waited  for  some  time,  in  the 
hope  that  he  would  come  forth,  and  that 
I  might  grapple  him  with  my  naked 
hands.  I  could  have  torn  him  limb  from 
limb,  and  drank  up  his  warm  life-blood 
with  a  savage  joy.  With  the  fear  of 
starvation  and  the  prospect  of  a  lingering 
death  before  me,  I  should  have  been  en- 
dowed with  superhuman  strength  for  the 
conflict.  Tlic  instinct  of  the  brute,  per- 
haps, taught  him  that  I  was  an  enemy 
not  to  be  trifled  with,  and  acting  on  the 
principle  that  discretion  is  the  better  part 
of  valor,  he  refused  to  come  out;  after 
giving  him  a  reasonable  opportunity  to 
do  so,  I  "  moved  on." 

The  day  passed  without  any  incident 
worthy  of  mention.  The  face  of  the 
countnr  through  which  I  passed  was 
very  striking,  and  exceedingly  lonesome. 
It  somewhat  resembled  a  vast  rolling 
prairie,  though  the  elevations  were  more 
distinct  and  irregular — rising  in  fact  in- 
to high  bluffs,  bleak  and  bare,  which 
seemed  to  hom  me  in  on  every  side. 
There  were  no  wooded  spots,  and  not  even 
a  solitary  tree  appeared  to  relievo  the  eye 
or  break  the  monotony  of  the  scene. 
When  I  had  toiled  up  one  ascent  in  the 
hope  of  gaining  a  more  extended  prospect 
from  the  summit,  perhaps  of  seeing  the 
termination  of  the  prairie,  still  another 
blufl',  seemingly  higher  than  the  one  I 
stood  upon,  rose  up  before  me,  and  so  on 
in  an  apparently  endless  succession.  I 
walked  with  great  rapidity,  making  only 
the  short  delays  I  have  mentioned,  alter- 
nating between  hope  and  anxiety,  though 
on  the  whole  I  kept  up  as  stout  a  heart 
as  could  be  expected  under  the  circum- 
stances, and  this  enabled  me  to  make  a 
progress  which,  doubtless,  was  the  means 
of  my  ultimate  salvation. 

As  the  day  declined,  the  heavy  clouds 
began  to  roll  away  and  the  sky  became 
lighter.  At  length  the  disc  of  the  sun 
faintly  showed  itself,  for  a  moment, 
through  the  intervening  cloud  and  mistj 
just  above  the  edge  of  the  horizon,  and 


80 


An  Adventure  on  ths  Plains. 


p« 


never  did  Persian  devotee  gaze  npon  it 
with  a  more  fond  idolatry,  or  shipwrecked 
mariner  look  up  to  it  from  amid  the 
surging  waves  of  ocean,  vrith  a  more  ex- 
ultant heart,  than  did  I  at  this  time.  It 
was  to  me  an  omen  of  safety — the  pledge 
of  a  providential  guidance — the  benignant 
&ce  of  love — ^for  the  casual  dimpse  I 
caught  of  it  assured  me  that  I  was  not 
mistaken  in  my  course,  and  that  I  was 
travelling  in  the  right  direction  to  come 
to  the  river.  ^  Now  came  still  evening 
on,"  and  the  sober  shades  of  ni^t  slowly 
gathered  o'er  earth  and  sky.  The  cloud 
had  mostly  passed  away,  and  Venus, 
bright  evening  "  star  of  hope,"  shone  out, 
with  its  cheering  and  animated  ray,  from 
the  tranquil  heavens. 
-A  beam  of  comfort,  ♦♦♦♦•♦• 
OUds  the  bUok  horror,  and  direotB  my  waj." 

And  surely  never  was  its  guiding  light 
more  grateful  to  the  benight^  lost  trav- 
eller, than  it  was  to  me  on  this  third  night 
of  my  wretched  wanderings.  I  travelled 
with  hardly  a  moment's  rest,  till  morning, 
and  when  the  sun  rose,  which  it  did  in 
all  its  refulgence,  my  straining  and  de- 
lighted vision  caught  the  reflection  of  its 
beams  in  the  placid  waters  of  the  majestic 
Platte.  I  had  been  quite  hopeful  all 
night — had  hummed  snatches  from  famil- 
iar opras,  and  repeated  all  the  passages 
I  could  remember  from  favorite  authors, 
and  even  enjoyed,  in  anticipation,  the  com- 
forts and  pleasures  which  awaited  me 
when  I  again  should  reach  the  haunts  of 
men — ^but  when  the  ^lad  sight  met  my 
eve,  and  the  conviction  burst  upon  me 
that  I  was  saved — saved  from  perils  name- 
less and  fearful,  which  had  almost  frozen 
my  life's  blood  with  terror — saved  from 
a  death  of  agony,  unsoothed,  unpitied,  un- 
wept, my  remains  uncoffined  and  unbles- 
sed, and  no  stone  to  tell  where,  in  the 
pathless  wilderness,  they  should  lie — no 
one,  unless  he  has  passed  through  a  simi- 
lar scene,  can  conceive  of  the  strange 
tumult  of  my  feelings,  in  which  an  over- 
powering joy  was  predominant 

I  was  Tnld  with  exultation  and  excite- 
ment The  excess  of  happiness  actually 
bordered  on  pain,  and  I  could  And  no  way 
to  give  vent  to  my  struggling  and  pent  up 
sensibUities.  I  laugh^  and  cned  by 
turns,  shouted,  danced,  and  committed  aU 
sorts  of  extravagances.  After  a  while, 
becoming  more  collected,  I  started  on  a 
full  run  for  the  river,  at  a  rate  that  would 
have  done  credit  to  an  Indian,  and  did 
not  slacken  speed  till  I  found  myself  near 
its  banks.  I  have  looked  on  many  scenes 
of  surpassing  beauty  and  wild  magnifi- 
ooooe  in  our  own  and  other  lands,  but  not 


one  of  them  ever  swelled  my  heai 
half  the  rapture  I  felt  as  I  gazed  up 
clear  and  placid  waters  of  that 
stream,  and  cast  my  eye  along  its 
ing  and  wooded  banks.  It  was  n 
tance,  but  association,  which  lent  en 
ment  to  that  view.  I  was  disapp 
in  not  having  crossed  the  old  Fort 
ney  road,  and  was  about  to  plung 
the  river  and  swim  to  the  opposite 
where  I  knew  there  was  another  n 
the  Fort,  when  I  discovered  the  roa> 
ning  along  the  very  edge  of  the 
within  a  row  feet  of  me,  and,  wha 
more,  there  wore  the  fresh  imjMi 
hoofs  and  human  feet  upon  it,  ai 
prospect  of  rescue  was  changed  to  i 
tainty.  I  was  near  to^I  should  no 
again  my  fellow-men!  The  exciti 
the  revulsion  of  my  feelings,  perha 
unconscious  fatigue  I  had  endured, 
too  much  for  me,  and  I  sank  famtin^ 
the  ground.  How  long  I  lay  there, 
out  consciousness,  I  know  not — ^pro 
not  a  great  length  of  time,  so  fii 
could  judge  by  the  height  of  th( 
When  I  recovered  and  found  the  i 
my  limbs,  I  commenced  to  drag  i 
along -the  road,  wearily  and  wit) 
sense  of  exhaustion,  in  the  direction 
Fort  I  had  gone  but  a  little  di 
before  I  caught  sight  of  a  camp  al 
mile  ahead.  I  (quickened  my  pac 
soon  was  in  its  midst  My  first  th 
was  food.  The  pangs  of  hunger, 
I  had  hardly  felt  before,  became  no' 
fectly  uncontrollable.  I  rushed  n] 
man  who  was  cooking  something  i 
fire  kindled  on  the  ground,  kicked  < 
hot  cover  of  a  baker  with  my  nakec 
and  snatching  the  half-baked  In* 
contained,  began  to  devour  it  wit 
eagerness  of  a  famished  wolf.  The 
upon  recovering  from  his  surprise,  r 
actly  comprehending,  in  my  case,  i 
oessity  which  knows  no  law,  and  p< 
thinlong  the  loss  of  his  meal  a  rathe 
ous  joke,  attempted  to  interfere ;  bi 
hausted  as  I  was  by  abstinence  and  fi 
I  threw  him  from  me  as  easily  as 
had  been  a  child,  and  kept  on  oatin| 
ine  to  intimate  to  him,  between  the  n 
fu&,  that  I  might  prove  an  ugly  cos 
if  molested — that  I  had  been  \os\ 
^  that  my  funds  (pointing  to  my  i 
belt)  were  at  his  service.  The  wh< 
campment  men,  women  and  chi 
were  soon  around  me.  with  wondei 
pidon,  amusement  ana  alarm,  depio 
their  fiices;  and  well  might  my  s 
apparition  have  startled  them,  ai 
afterwards  confessed  it  did  not  a 
My  wan  and   haggard  looks — ^m; 


1854.] 


An  AdvetUure  on  the  Plains. 


81 


Jeempt  and  disheTelled  hair— my  apparel, 
ipproaching  the  simplicity  of  primitive 
tunea,  if  not  in  character  yet  certainly  in 
quantity,  consisting  only  of  my  vest  and 
a  town  and  dirty  shirt — ^my  limbs  lacerat- 
ed br  briers  and  coyered  with  blood,  and 
my  iset  swollen  to  an  unusual  size  from 
treading  on  thorns  and  sharp  stones — 
most  have  made  them  hesitate  whether 
to  set  me  down  as  flesh  and  blood  or 
"goblin  damned  " — I  certainly  had  come 
to  them  in  a  most  "  questionable  shape." 
However,  when  I  was  able  to  tell  my 
story,  I  experienced  from  them  the  most 
kind  and  nospitablo  treatment.  They 
were  a  company  of  Oregon  emigrants, 
who  were  ''laying  over''  the  Sabbath, to 
ncmit  themselves  and  animals.  My  feet 
were  carefully  dressed,  my  hunger  was 
tUayed — it  could  not  be  satisfied — though 
I  wonder  I  did  not  kill  myself  with  gor- 
iBUidizing ;  but  thanks  to  a  good  diges- 
tion, and  the  absence  of  any  of  the  faculty, 
I  experienced  no  inconvenience  from  the 
quantities  of  bread  and  bacon  which  I  had 
eaten.  I  was  provided  with  a  pair  of 
nether  integuments,  somewhat  the  worse 
ht  wear,  it  is  true,  but  affording,  at  any 
ate,  a  relief  to  my  distressed  modesty. 

After  luxuriating  awhile  in  the  comfort 
of  hekag  found,  and  answering  an  inde- 
finite number  of  questions  about  my  sen- 
sataons  while  I  was  lost  I  fell  into  a  train 
of  sleepy  reflections,  of  which  I  only  re- 
collect thinlring  how  many  more  charms 
there  were  in  the  human  face  divine, 
whether  clean  or  dirty,  handsome  or  ugly, 
old  or  young,  than  in  the  face  of  solitude 
-«iid  that  there  were  more  things  in 
keaven  and  earth  than  Zimmerman  had 
erer  dreamed  of  in  his  philosophy ;  from 
wfaidi  reflections  I  was  roused  by  an  in- 
ntation  to  retire  for  the  night,  or  day 
iilher,  and  soon  found  oblivion  of  all  my 
troables  in  a  good  feather  bed — taking 
"mine  ease."  if  not  "in  mine  own  inn," 
ft/t  in  my  nost's  wagon.  If  ever  I  en- 
joyed the  privileges  of  that "  blessed  insti- 
tabon"  of  sleep,  it  was  then  and  there, 
and  the  way  I  paid  "  attention  to  it,"  for 
the  next  twenty  hours,  or  so,  would  have 
astonished  old  Morpheus  himself,  if  he 
were  living  in  these  days.  I  was  at 
kogth  awakened  by  the  arrival  of  a  party, 
headed  by  one  of  my  own  men,  who,  be- 
ooming  alarmed  at  my  long  absence,  had 
been  out  searching  for  me  in  every  direc- 
tion, and  had  finally  struck  upon  the 


I  found,  upon  inquiry,  that  the  distance, 
in  a  straight  line,  from  the  point  where  I 
drrerged  from  the  Fort  Leavenworth 
military  road,  to  the  place  I  reached  on 


the  old  Fort  Kearney  road,  was  not  more 
than  thirty-five  miles ;  but  the  circuitous 
route  I  took  could  not  have  been  less 
than  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles— judg- 
ing by  the  time  I  was  out  and  the  spe^ 
with  which  I  travelled.  At  any  rate  it 
was  a  comfortable  stretch,  and  I  can  only 
recommend  any  one  who  is  disposed  to 
regard  it  as  a  trifle,  to  make  a  like  excur- 
sion under  the  same  circumstances. 

Dulci8  est  menioria  pr<Bteritorum 
mcUorum,  says  the  adage ;  but  with  the 
exception  of  a  slight  sketch  of  the  adven- 
ture I  wrote  at  the  time,  I  have  felt  little 
inclination  to  indulge  in  the  sweets  of  its 
recollection. 

Upon  reaching  the  Fort,  I  found  that 
the  news  of  my  having  been  lost  had  pre- 
ceded me,  and  had  excited  a  general 
alarm.  I  was  greeted  with  a  most  hearty 
welcome,  and  foimd  myself  an  object  of 
no  little  curiosity  and  interest  Every  one 
congratulated  me  upon  what  was  con- 
sidered an  almost  miraculous  escape  from 
a  frightful  death.  The  commandant  at 
the  post,  Captain  Wharton,  of  the  Cth 
Infantiy,  as  idso  his  estimable  lady,  were 
most  kind  and  friendly  to  me ;  and.  their 
warm  sympathies  and  hearty  hospitalities, 
as  they  were  most  grateful  in  the  recep- 
tion, so  they  have  lost  none  of  their  value 
in  the  remembrance.  They  invited  me  to 
their  house,  and  in  the  enjoyment  of  every 
comfort — of  every  luxury  I  might  say — 
of  graceful  attention  and  of  most  delight- 
ful society,  1  soon  almost  forgot  the  perils 
and  sufferings  through  which  I  had  passed, 
or  learned  to  look  back  upon  them  as  a 
disturbed  dream. 

I  desire  here  to  make  grateful  mention 
of  the  attentions  I  received  from  the  sur- 
geon and  chaplain  of  the  Fort,  with  whose 
families  I  formed  a  most  agreeable  ac- 
quaintance. Their  kindness  will  not  be 
forgotten. 

My  health  was  not  in  the  slightest  de- 
gree affected  by  my  toils  and  privations, 
and  after  the  rest  of  a  few  days  I  was 
as  hearty  again  as  a  buck.  I  should  not 
in  gratitude  forget  to  add,  that  Captain 
Wharton  had  a  detachment  of  soldiers 
and  a  party  of  friendly  Indians  ready  to 
go  in  (juest  of  me,  in  case  the  various 
compames  of  emigrants  who  were  seeking 
me  had  not  succeeded  in  finding  me  on 
the  very  day  they  did.  I  here  learned 
that  two  other  emigrants  who  had  strayed 
from  the  road  a  fortnight  before,  in  pur- 
suit of  game,  had  been  lost,  and  tneir  life- 
less remains — they  having  been  starved 
to  death — had  been  disoovored  by  the 
Indians.  The  Pawnees  and  Cheyennes 
had  also  been  quite  troublesome,  and  had 


82 


An  AdvenHire  on  the  Plain». 


committod  sondiy  depiredations  upon  the 
cmii^witB— steidmff  their  stodc  and  kai- 
ing  one  man — whi^  so  rooent  oocurrenoes 
did  not  serve  to  allay  the  apprehensions 
on  my  account.  Indeed  Captain  W.  had 
hecn  obliged  to  send  a  detachment  of 
troops  to  the  principal  village  of  the 
Pawnees,  with  orders  to  lay  it  waste  in 
case  the  fullest  reparation  was  not  ac- 
corded and  the  offenders  brought  to  jus-  . 
tioe.  I  afterward  learned  that  the  Indians, 
when  they  saw  the  preparations  made 
against  them,  were  most  willing  to  accede 
to  the  terms  imposed  upon  them. 

There  are  hundreds  of  persons  now 
living  in  California  and  Oregon,  and  num- 
bers who  have  returned  iVom  thence,  to 
whom  the  adventure  I  have  narrated  so 
imp^octly,  and  which  excited  some  little 
interest  at  the  time,  will  be  familiar,  and 
who  will  readily  identify  the  writer  as 
the  ^  great  lost,"  if  these  pages  should 
ever  meet  their  eye. 

I  have  often  been  asked  the  questions, 
why  I  did  not  do  this,  and  why  I  did  not 
do  that ;  why  I  did  not  go  back  to  the 
Doctor  8  camp,  why  I  did  not  fire  off  my 
pistol  to  give  the  alarm.  &c.,  &c  To  all 
of  which  1  reply  that  it  is  very  easy  to  do 
this  or  that,  sitting  down  coolly  at  home, 
and  quite  another  thing  to  meet  the  actual 
difficulties  which  present  themselves  in 
such  a  case.  I  did  tnr,  of  course,  to  find 
my  way  back  to  the  Doctor's — I  did 
think  of  my  pistol,  but  I  doubt  if  it  could 
have  been  heard  beyond  the  reach  of  a 
clear  and  manly  voice;  and^  as  the 
event  afterwards  proved,  the  pistol  was 
useless.  All  I  can  say  is.  I  did  the  best 
I  could,  and  I  do  not  oelieve  any  one 
would  oe  willing  to  put  himself  in  a 
similar  condition  m  the  confidence  that  he 
could  do  better.  Place  any  man  in  an 
open  field,  blindfold  hun,  lead  him  off  a 
few  hundred  yards,  turn  him  about  three 
or  four  times  to  settle  his  recollections 
uid  fix  the  points  of  compass  in  his  mind, 
and  then  let  him  try  to  return  to  his 
starting  place,  and  see  how  far  he  will 
diverge  from  the  right  direction.  lILj 
situation  was  precisely  the  same  as  t^ 


[Jamiaiy 


when  I  was  first  lost^  added  to  which  I 
was  not  ftilly  aware  of  my  danger,  and 
did  not  take  the  precautions  I  ouierwise 
might. 

I  make  no  pretensions  to  be  a  Fremont 
or  a  Kit  Carson,  but  I  very  much  doubt 
if  their  skill  and  experience  would  have 
been  of  any  avail,  if  they  had  been  lost 
as  I  was,  in  such  a  country  as  I  have  de- 
scribed, without  sun,  moon  or  stars,  shrub 
or  tree  to  guide  them.  In  one  respect 
they  would  have  doubtless  been  more 
sensible  than  I  was — ^they  would  not  have 
f^t  lost  at  all.  At  any  rate,  I  succeeded 
m  getting  out  at  last,  for  which  I  live  to 
be  thankfiil,  and— "that's  something." 

I  have  recently  related  this  adventure, 
with  more  of  detail  than  would  be  suit- 
able to  the  pages  of  a  magazine,  to  a  highly 
esteemed  friend.  Captain  Marcy,  of  tM 
U.  S.  Army,  who  has  been  lost  and  found 
so  often — so  often  killed  and  brought  to 
life  again,  by  the  newspapers,  during  his 
last  tour  of  exploration  on  the  plains  (an 
interesting  and  valuable  report  of  which 
is,  by  order  of  Congress,  in  the  course  ai 
publication),  and  who  is  im>bably  one  (^ 
the  best  frontier  men  in  the  country ;  and 
I  have  his  testimony  to  the  exceedmg  dtf- 
ficulty  and  peril  of  my  situation,  and  to 
the  perseverance  and  courage  wnich  re- 
sulted in  my  deliverance. 

In  concluding  the  narradye  of  this 
personal  adventure,  let  me  give  the  reader, 
who  has  been  interested  enough  to  follow 
it  to  its  termination,  two  words  of  adyice. 
The  first  is,  that  if  he  should  ever  have 
the  hardihood  to  undertake  the  toilsome 
and  perilous  journey  to  California  over- 
land, he  should  beware  of  ever  leaving 
his  camp  or  the  road,  without  first  pretty 
well  understanding  how  he  is  to  get  bads, 
and  without  having  a  compass  in  hu  pocket 
The  second  is,  not  to  go  by  the  oyerlaad 
route  at  all.  It  will  not  pay.  TImto  is 
nothing  to  compensate  for  the  fatigue,  ex- 
posure, and  expense.  It  is  much  better 
to  cross  the  Isthmus,  to  go  by  way  of 
Nicaragua,  to  make  the  voyage  round  the 
Horn — ^and  better  than  all.  to  go— tn  a 
horn — i. «.,  Stay  at  Home  ! 


ia54.] 


63 


MODERN  PROPHETS. 

JOJIN  d'aRC. 


THIS  ftge  of  ours  does  not  seem  to  be 
1  exactly  ftilfilling  the  promise  of  the 
^fiUfaers  who  sto^  foremost  at  its  bap- 
tni.  The  promise  was.  that  the  old 
fiuths  and  enthusiasms  were  to  be  done 
entirely  away,  and  all  things  were  to  be 
made  new  in  the  clear  light  of  exact  sd- 
«ooe,  and  by  the  strong  hand  of  mechani- 
tti  art.  The  French  Encyclopedists  sup- 
posed that  they  were  exhausting  human 
wisdom  in  their  cart-load  of  quartos,  and 
thai  after  them  no  sane  man  would  pro- 
some  to  assert  any  conviction  which  the 
fife  senses  could  not  verify,  or  the  calcu- 
his  ooold  not  prove.  The  whole  problem 
ef  tbe  nniverse  was  solved  into  the  simple 
fbcts  of  matter  and  motion ;  thought  was 
evidently  one  of  the  secretions  of  tbe 
hniuj  fancy  a  gambol  of  the  blood,  and 
fdigion  a  device  of  priestcraft,  in  conspi- 
lacy  with  the  morbid  humors  of  a  dyspep- 
tic 8tomAch«  The  men  of  letters  in  France, 
who  were  too  sagacious  to  fall  into  such 
bold  atheism,  were  not  much  above  the 
atheists  in  their  interpretation  of  the  reli- 
nous  history  of  the  race.  Voltaire,  the 
Keenest  of  them  all,  saw  nothing  but  im- 
posture  in  the  leaders  of  every  popular 
fiuth ;  and  he  who  scoffed  at  the  Divine 
Naiarene  could  make  nothing  but  a  mag- 
nificent cheat  of  Mahomet,  and  nothing 
bot  a  crack-brained  driveller  of  Joan 
d'Arc 

No  men  of  any  intellectual  mark  read 
the  history  of  the  world  in  this  frivolous 
nirit  now.  Even  the  writers  more  dis- 
Inwnbhed  for  their  rhetorical  brilliancy 
wui  keen  insight  than  for  any  devout  en- 
thusiasm, treat  religion  as  one  of  the 
great  &cts  of  humanity ;  and  when  they 
undertake  to  expose  a  superstition,  they 
cuelully  separate  the  pernicious  error  in 
its  composition  from  the  great  sentiment 
of  fkith  with  which  it  has  been  combined. 
To  say  nothing  of  historians  as  free  as 
Michelet  and  Macaulay,  we  might  show 
that  even  the  most  cold  and  analytical 
idKwl  of  art  has  learned  reverence  under 
tbe  guidance  of  Nature,  after  the  manner 
of  its  august  master,  Gioethe,  who,  in  his 
"  Confessions  of  a  Fair  Saint,"  exhibited 
the  devout  affections  as  tenderly  as  if  he 
had  learned  them  at  the  feet  of  Theresa 
or  Zinzendorf.  Does  not  the  best  thought 
in  recent  literature  prepare  us  to  accept 
the  position,  so  well  illustrated  by  all  the 
creative  ages  and  creative  minds  of  the 
world,  that   the  highest  of  all   power 

TOL.  IIL— 3 


known  by  man  is  that  which  moves  him 
rather  than  that  which  he  himself  moves? 
In  distinguishing  between  genius  and 
talent,  that  sagacious  thinker,  De  Quin- 
cey,  has  defined  the  former  as  the  state 
of  mind  in  which  the  will  is  passive,  under 
the  influence  of  ideas,  whilst  talent  is  de- 
fined as  the  state  of  mind  in  which  the 
will  deliberately  does  its  work.  No  hon- 
ored authority  is  needed,  however,  to 
prove,  that  he  who  is  possessed  by  his 
subject  is  above  him  who  boasts  of  pos- 
sessing it;  fbr  any  child  can  tell  the difier- 
ence  at  once,  as  soon  as  he  compares  the 
speaker  or  writer  who  is  all  on  fire  with 
his  subject,  with  him  who  deliberately 
sets  it  forth  as  a  substance  quite  foreign 
to  his  own  soul,  however  much  under  his 
mastery.  This  fact  gives  us  the  key  to 
many  a  strange  problem  in  history,  and 
must  be  kept  in  sight  in  interpreting  our 
own  times.  The  leading  question  to  be 
asked  concerning  a  man  is  not  so  much 
^^  what  plans  does  he  set  in  motion  ?  "  as 
"  what  are  the  powers  that  possess  and 
move  him  ?  "  If  not  by  genius,  certainly 
by  a  power  practically  more  eflScient,  the 
world  has  been  governed,  and  is  likely 
still  to  be  governed,  through  the  influence 
of  men  who  are  mastered  by  commanding 
ideas,  and  capable  of  possessing  other 
men  with  the  enthusiasm  which  possesses 
themselves.  We  believe,  that  the  most 
noted  leaders  of  mankind  have  been  moved 
by  a  power  that  seemed  to  them  more 
like  a  visitation  from  above  than  an  inven- 
tion of  their  own,  and  that  even  the  his- 
tory of  conspicuous  delusions,  if  correctly 
written,  would  serve  to  illustrate  emotion- 
al capacities,  that  were  created  for  benign 
uses.  The  prophet,  whether  true  or  false, 
is  he  who  speaks  as  he  is  moved — an 
out'teller^  as  well  as  claiming  to  be  a 
foreteller;  and  the  history  of  false  pro- 
phets should  lead  us  to  interpret  reveren- 
tially the  faculty  which  they  pervert,  a^ 
the  function  which  they  desecrate. 

We  arc  going  on  somewhat  quietly  now, 
and  our  civilization  seems  to  rest  upon  a 
basis  of  scientific  fact.  We  build  houses 
and  ships,  we  plant  fields  and  orchards, 
we  plan  roads  and  canals,  we  think  that 
we  have  almost  reduced  social  science  to 
an  exact  law^  and  the  age  of  passion  and 
enthusiasm  is  at  an  end.  Yet  who  will 
presume  to  say  that  there  are  no  deeps 
yet  to  be  opened  in  human  nature,  and 
that  no  new  fiusts  are  to  transpin  ia 


u 


Modem  PropheU. 


[J. 


baffle  the  plans  of  the  political  economist? 
Calculation  docs  great  things,  but  not  the 
greatest  It  helped  Columbus  in  the  dis- 
ooyery  of  America,  but  did  not  give  him 
his  commanding  motive,  nor  fill  the  New 
World  with  its  master  spirits.  States- 
moo  have  wished  to  break  down  the  bar- 
rier that  has  shut  China  against  Christen- 
dom ;  but  no  diplomacy  kindled  the  fire 
that  18  now  consuming  the  Mantchou 
throne,  and  bringing  religious  enthusiasm 
into  combination  with  the  old  Chinese 
nationality,  to  throw  open  the  gates  of 
that  mysterious  country  to  the  commerce 
of  the  world.  The  greatest  events  in  hu- 
man history  bring  their  own  letter  of 
introduction,  and  do  not  ask  men  leave  to 
come  before  they  appear.  Great  follies 
aeem  to  follow  something  of  the  same 
law.  Thirty  years  ago,  who  would  have 
supposed  it  possible  that  a  system  so 
monstrous  as  Mormonism  could  prosper 
in  a  country  whose  boast  is  in  its  freedom 
and  light,  and  that  it  would  bring  a  State 
into  our  tlnion  under  its  own  sway  1  In 
the  view  of  most  persons,  mesmerism  of 
idl  kinds  belongs  to  the  same  cat^ory, 
and  the  old  school  of  thinkers  stand  aghast 
at  the  claims  of  judges  and  senators  to 
hold  communication  with  disembodied 
spirits. 

Our  thoughts  have  been  drawn  into 
this  channel  by  reading  a  charming  and 
instructive  little  volume,  from  the  pen 
of  the  learned  and  accomplished    Karl 

Bof  the  University  of  Jena.  It  is  en- 
"  Modem  Prophet^"  *  and  is  made 
a  few  graphic  historical  papers, 
read  at  reunions  of  ladies  and  gentlemen 
at  Jena  and  Weimar.  The  fascinating 
narrative  in  the  text,  with  the  rich  learn- 
ing in  the  accompanying  notes,  gives  the 
book  great  value,  alike  for  what  it  teaches 
and  for  what  it  suggests.  Without  being 
trammelled  by  his  pages,  we  will  take 
from  them  some  hints  that  may  throw 
light  on  certain  of  the  illusions  of  our  own 
day.  It  needs  no  great  sagacity  to  draw 
from  the  researches  of  this  profound  church 
historian,  proofs  that  our  AmericiL  in  this 
nineteenth  century,  is  not  wholly  difiercnt 
from  France,  Italy,  and  Germany  in  the 
fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries. 

Let  our  first  illustration  be  from  France, 
and  from  the  career  of  that  singular  being 
who  is  usually  portrayed  more  as  a  crea- 
ture of  romance  than  as  a  historical  per- 
sonage— Joan  d'Arc  Fascinating,  how- 
ever, as  is  the  garb  in  which  poetry  has 
arrayed  the  heroic  maiden,  in  the  plain 


guise  of  sober  history,  she  wins  fiff 
upon  our  pity  and  admiration.  The 
of  her  condemnation  and  of  her  postht 
acquittal,  with  all  the  legal  docu 
and  historical  memorials  connected 
her  career,  recently  published,  £b 
first  time,  by  Jules  Quicherat,  in 
gives  Joanna  a  far  higher  moral  and 
Bophical  interest,  even^  than  the  sp! 
drama  by  which  Schiller  so  powe 
vindicated  her  name  from  the  ribald 
Voltaire  and  his  school  of  scofiera. 

To  find  the  home  of  the  heroint 
was  to  rescue  the  nationality  of  i 
from  the  rapacity  of  England,  in  tl 
teenth  century,  we  look  to  the  little  i 
of  Domremy,  on  the  borders  of  Loi 
She  was  bom.  in  1412,  of  respe< 
parents,  who  won  a  frugal  livelihoo 
their  own  labor,  upon  a  little  land  i 
few  cattle.  The  child  was  broug] 
with  the  other  children  of  the  hous 
the  village,  and  when  of  sufficien 
she  worked  in  the  field  in  summex 
in  winter  stie  sewed  and  spun.  Her 
mates  often  joked  her  upon  her  coi 
sionate  and  devout  sensibility;  v 
spite  of  their  jokes,  she  would  oft 
apart  by  herself  in  the  posture,  as 
talk  with  God.  Her  passion  for 
giving  was  so  great  that  she  8om< 
gave  away  her  father's  property,  ai 
casionally  she  resigned  her  own  bed 
poor,  and  slept  upon  the  hearth, 
was  her  stock  of  learning,  for  she 
neither  read  nor  write,  and  her  n 
taught  her  the  Lord's  prayer,  the  an 
and  the  creed.  Nevertheless,  she  ' 
most  resolute  devotee,  went  every  : 
ing  to  mass,  knelt  reverently  at  th( 
per  bell,  and  every  Saturday  she  w 
up  the  woody  hill  above  Domremy 
chapel  of  the  holy  virgin  of  Vermo 
whom  she  lighted  a  taper,  and,  wh< 
season  allowed,  she  offered  a  bun 
fiowers.  She  was  thirteen  years  old 
the  strange  appearances  came  to  her 
shaped  her  destiny.  She  was  walki 
her  father's  garden  on  a  fast  day, 
she  heard  a  voice  coming  in  the  air 
of  the  church,  and  attended  by  a 
brightness.  She  was  at  first  alarmei 
afterwards  became  assured  that  i 
the  voice  of  the  archangel  Michael, 
nounced  by  him,  St  Catherine  ai 
Margaret  also  appeared,  and  often  r 
ed.  These  saints  told  her  very  i 
things,  quite  in  the  manner  of  a  < 
fancies ;  she  was  to  go  from  time  t 
to  confession,  and  was  to  be  a  gom 


Heae  Proi^eten;  Drei  hlttorlfobfr-poUtiiobe  KlrohfloMlder. 


Yon  Dr.  Xad  Haae,  PMfeiMr  an  dtr 


1854.] 


Modem  Prophets. 


35 


The  little  devotee  dung  rapturously  to 
this  stolen  communion  with  neaven.  She 
leodTed  her  celestial  euests  upon  her 
knees,  with  clasped  hands;  she  kissed  the 

Sound  which  they  touch^ ;  she  wept  at 
eir  departure,  and  crowned  their  statues 
in  the  church.  Before,  she  had  taken 
pleasure  in  dancing  with  the  villagers, 
every  spring-time,  about  the  old  beech 
tree — the  fSury  beech  near  the  chapel  of 
the  Lady  of  Vermont ;  but,  after  that  visi- 
tatiozL  she  fbrsook  tiie  old  sports,  and 
woold  not  sanction  an  amusement  Uiat 
had  grown  out  of  a  heathen  superstition. 
No  girlish  love  affair  appears  ever  to  have 
toooied  her  heart,  although  a  subject  so 
much  talk^  of  by  the  village  maidens 
was  no  stranger  to  her  thoughts,  and  she 
kept  her  virgin  freedom  only  by  the  most 
deaded  refusal  of  all  overtures,  maintain- 
ing that  the  two  saints  hiul  received  her 
vow  of  virginity,  and  had  promised  to  lead 
her  to  Paradise  if  she  Kept  the  vow. 
Schiller  has  departed  from  the  truth  of 
history  in  ascribing  a  romantic  passion  to 
his  heroine,  and  the  Duke  of  Weimar 
pleasantly  defended  this  fiction  on  the 
eround  that  those  gentlemen,  the  poets, 
ted  a  right,  like  the  Creator,  to  make 
something  out  of  nothing.  Ilase  well  re- 
plies that  the  Creator,  who  made  all 
things  from  the  beginning,  understands 
also  what  poetry  is,  and  that  the  real 
Maid  of  Orleans  has  fought  a  much 
severer  battle  in  her  own  heart  than  the 
maiden  of  the  romantic  tragedy,  and  her 
fiite  is  still  more  tragic. 

Turn  from  this  picture  of  rural  inno- 
cence, and  look  at  the  fearful  stiifes  that 
were  rending  France.  The  storm  that 
swept  over  the  nation  was  at  last  to  reach 
the  gentle  lily  that  bloomed  unseen  in 
tiiat  quiet  vale.  A  constant  quarrel  be- 
tween France  and  England  had  been  kept 
alive  by  the  fact  that  the  Kings  of  Eng- 
land, as  Dukes  of  Normandy,  were  vassals 
of  the  French  crown,  and  were  constantly 
tempted  to  solve  the  problem  of  sovereign- 
ty by  the  sword.  Driven  from  the  very 
field  of  their  noted  victories,  and  crowded 
into  a  few  strongholds  on  the  sea-coast 
by  the  rising  spint  of  French  nationality, 
tne  English  were  led  to  revive  all  their 
old  hopes,  at  the  beginning  of  the  15th 
eentury,  by  the  incapacity  of  the  king, 
and  the  discord  of  the  royal  family,  of 
France.  At  last  Paris  was  occupied  by 
English  troops ;  and  before  the  judgment- 
seat  of  the  feeble  old  king  the  Dauphin 
was  arraigned  for  the  murder  of  the  Duke 
of  Burgundy,  and  excluded  from  the 
throne,  which  was  made  over  to  the  King 
of  England,  as  the  rightftd  heir.    The  end 


of  the  Empire  of  the  Lilies  seemed  near, 
and  France  to  be  destined  to  become 
English,  without  any  native  sovereign. 
Soon  after,  the  feeble  old  king  died,  Hen- 
ry V.  of  England  was  also  ^en  away, 
and  his  son,  Uenry  YI.,  an  infant  of  nine 
months,  was  proclaimed  Sovereign  of 
France  and  England,  under  the  regen<^ 
of  his  uncle.  The  north  of  France;  with 
Paris,  the  bourgeoisie,  and  the  Burgundi- 
an  nobility,  saw  in  the  dominion  of  the 
English  the  end  of  strife ;  but  the  south, 
the  country  people,  and  a  part  of  the  no- 
bility, stood  by  the  lineal  heir,  Charles 
YIl.,  and  by  the  old  nationality.  It  was 
a  dark  day  for  France.  A  single  fact  is 
enough  to  state.  The  people  of  Paris 
broke  into  the  prisons,  murdered  all  the 
prisoners,  to  the  number  of  three  thou- 
sand, ana  in  one  winter  night  the  wolves 
came  into  the  streets  of  the  city  and  de- 
voured the  canfasses. 

At  this  time  Joan  d'Arc  grew  up,  and 
shared  all  the  loyalty  so  characteristic  of 
her  village.  There  was  only  one  villager 
there  who  favored  the  Burgundian  fac- 
tion ;  and  the  Maid  confessed  afterwards 
that  she  would  have  liked  to  break  his 
head,  if  it  had  pleased  God.  It  is  not 
clear  at  precisely  what  time  she  received 
the  call  to  devote  herself  to  the  nation ; 
but  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  remark- 
able character  of  the  alleged  communica- 
tions which  came  to  her.  The  archangel 
told  her,  she  thought,  in  the  most  explicit 
way,  that  God  has  great  compassion  for 
the  French  people — that  she  was  to  be  a 
good  child,  and  to  go  to  the  aid  of  their 
king.  Her  saints  also  offered  to  open  the 
way.  Weeping,  she  said :  "  I  am  but  a 
poor  maiden,  and  know  nothing  of  riding 
or  of  war."  The  saints  replied  that  she 
was  to  go  to  Vaucouleurs,  where  she 
would  find  a  captain  of  the  royal  army, 
who  would  lead  her  to  the  king.  She 
afterwards  said  that  she  did  not  speak  of 
these  voices  to  any  one  in  Domremy,  al- 
though it  was  not  forbidden  her.  Enough 
of  what  was  going  on  in  her  mind,  how- 
ever, escaped  her  lips  to  alarm  her  &ther, 
and  probably  to  make  him  dream  about 
her  going  away  with  soldiers — an  idea 
which  struck  the  old  man  with  such  hor- 
ror, that  he  declared  to  his  son,  that  he 
would  sooner  have  her  drowned.  By 
stratagem  she  at  last  succeeded  in  escap- 
ing to  Vaucouleurs  with  her  uncle,  under 
the  pretence  of  taking  care  of  his  sick 
wife.  The  uncle  first,  however,  named 
her  project  to  the  king's  captain  ther^ 
who  told  him  to  give  the  jade  a  couple  or 
eood  boxen  ears,  and  send  her  home  to 
her  father.    But  she  was  not  to  be  d»- 


86 


Modem  Prophets, 


[Jannaty 


terred;  and,  following  her  uncle  to  the 
place,  in  the  plain  red  dress  of  a  peasant 
rirl,  she  formally  demanded  of  the  captain 
his  escort  to  the  king,  since  the  Lord 
would  secure  to  him  the  throne.  Still 
repulsed,  she  remained  with  a  citizen's 
wife,  with  whom  she  went  daily  to  mass. 
Her  devout  life  and  enthusiastic  confidence 
gpwiually  won  believers  within  her  little 
circle.  She  said — "  I  must  to  the  Dau- 
phin, although  I  would  much  rather  sit 
with  my  poor  mother  and  spin — for  the 
King  of  heaven  has  intrusted  me  with 
this  mission,  and  by  Mid-Lent  I  must  be 
with  the  Dauphin,  even  if  I  creep  along 
on  my  knees."  Old  legends  of  the  salva- 
tion of  France  by  a  woman  of  Lorraine 
came  to  strengthen  her  conviction,  and  to 
add  to  the  excitement,  which  went  so  far 
that,  somewhat  to  her  amusement,  she 
was  thought  by  some  of  the  people  to  be 
a  witch.  Joanna,  however,  did  not  pre- 
vail upon  the  captain  to  attend  her  to  the 
Dauphin ;  and  she  returned  to  her  uncle, 
but  found  no  peace.  Again  she  came  to 
Yaucouleurs,  and  again  in  vain.  She  in- 
duced her  uncle  to  go  with  her  on  foot  to 
the  royal  camp ;  but  it  occurred  to  her  on 
the  way,  that  she  could  not  be  received 
at  court  without  a  letter  of  recommenda- 
tion irom  home,  and  she  went  back  to 
Vaucouleurs.  The  faith  in  her  divine 
mission  so  grew,  that  the  Duke  of  Lorraine 
sought  her  aid  in  a  mortal  sickness,  when 
she  said  that  nothing  was  revealed  to  her 
upon  that  point — yet  she  would  pray  for 
his  recovery ;  and  she  demanded  his  son 
and  troops  to  lead  her  to  France.  Finally, 
two  noblemen  volunteered  to  conduct  her 
to  the  king,  and  the  captain  consented. 
*'  Gome  what  may ! "  he  said  as  he  took 
his  departure.  He  had  given  her  a  sword, 
and  her  adherents  had  provided  her  with 
a  horse  and  with  the  dress  of  a  knight. 
She  kept  her  calm  confidence  during  the 
dangerous  journey,  through  a  hostile  re- 
gion ;  wished  to  stop  to  hear  mass ;  and  on 
file  eleventh  day,  shortly  before  reaching  the 
camp,  she  heard  three  masses  before  the 
image  of  her  saints,  and  sent  word  to  the 
king,  at  Chinon,  of  her  approach.  It  was. 
doubted  whether  his  Majesty  could  with 
propriety  receive  an  adventurer  like  this 
girl ;  but  his  despair  of  human  help  forced 
him  to  rely  upon  preternatural  aid ;  and 
Joanna,  as  soon  as  she  reached  the  Loire, 
and  entered  the  public  street,  was  pre- 
ceded by  the  cry  that  a  young  shepherd- 
ess, sent  by  God,  had  come  to  free  Orleans, 
and  to  lead  the  king  to  Rheims.  After 
three  days'  oonsultatk>n  and  examina- 
tion, she  was  admitted  to  the  castle  of 
Olmion,  and  knelt  before  the  king.    He 


had  stood  aside  to  test  her  prophetic  gift 
and  when  she  knelt  before  him  he  pointea 
to  one  of  the  lords  in  the  great  hall  of 
audience,  and  said — "  That  is  the  king." 
She  replied — "  By  my  God,  noble  prince, 
you  are  he,  and  none  other."  Upon  this, 
the  king  asked  her  name.  '^  Noble  Dau- 
phin, I  am  called  Joanna  the  Maiden,  and 
the  Lord  of  heaven  bids  you,  through  me^ 
to  be  crowned  in  the  city  of  Rheims,  and 
be  a  lieutenant  of  the  King  of  heaven, 
who  is  the  true  King  of  France.  God  has 
pity  upon  you  and  your  people,  because 
Saint  Ix)uis  and  Charles  the  Great  are 
upon  their  knees  before  Him,  and  pray 
for  you." 

Joanna  stood  bravely,  and  often  an- 
swered very  smartly  the  questions  of  the 
University,  and  Parliament  of  Poictiera, 
to  whom  the  king  referred  her  claims, 
and  the  very  dignitaries  who  had  pro- 
nounced the  whole  afikir  the  merest  fan- 
tasy, said  after  the  interview  that  she  was 
surely  a  marvellous  creature  of  God. 
One  eye-witness  testifies  that  she  appear- 
ed at  Court  as  if  born  there,  whilst  an- 
other asserts  that  she  seemed  as  humble 
as  a  shepherd  girl.  Both  witnesses  agree 
in  the  opmion  that,  respecting  her  mission, 
her  speech  was  grand  and  noble ;  but 
otherwise  it  was  that  of  a  poor  child  of 
the  people.  She  was  eighteen  years  old  at 
this  time,  and  if  we  may  venture  to  com- 
plete the  traits  drawn  from  authentks 
sources  by  the  less  authenticated  testimony 
of  an  ancient  statue,  she  was  rather  large 
for  her  sex,  very  strong,  yet  slender  and 
delicate  in  shape,  countenance  pleasant, 
complexion  uniform  and  very  pale,  eyea 
large  and  almond-shaped,  the  apple  of  the 
eye,  light  brown,  with  a  greenish  tinge,  in 
expression  somewhat  melancholy,  but  un- 
speakably lovely,  the  forehead  of  mode- 
rate height,  the  nose  straight  and  a  little 
thin,  the  lips  finely  cut  and  red,  the  hol- 
low between  the  lower  lip  and  chin  strong 
ly  marked,  rich  chestnut  brown  hair,  put 
back  over  the  temples,  fell  upon  the  white 
neck,  but  was  cut  rounding  in  the  knight- 
ly fashion. 

Such  was  the  fair  creature  who  went 
forth  in  mailed  armor  to  fight  the  battles 
of  France  against  an  enemy  whose  hate 
had  grown  with  centuries,  and  whose  in- 
vading force  was  now  strengthened  by 
French  factions.  At  Blois  she  unfiiriea 
her  banner,  and  the  great  host  there  as- 
sembled were  inflamed  with  new  enthusi- 
asm, as  they  saw  upon  its  pure  white 
folds  the  figure  of  the  Saviour,  two  angels 
kneeling  with  lilies  on  each  side,  and  un- 
derneath, the  inscription,  Jesus  Maria. 
The  way  towards  Orleans  lay  by  the 


1854.] 


Modem  Prophets. 


Z1 


btnks  of  the  Loire,  through  that  garden 
of  France,  in  the  very  hloom  of  spring  5 
ind  preceded  by  chanting  priests,  and 
escorting  large  herds  of  cattle  for  victual- 
ling the  city,  the  army  had  the  appear- 
aoce  of  a  peaceful  pilgrimage.  What  poet 
eould  create  a  scene  more  expressive  of 
whatever  was  noblest  and  fairest  in  those 
old  ages  of  chivalry  and  devotion !  It  was 
but  the  &ith  of  the  times  incarnated  in 
one  whose  sex  and  purity  every  Ave 
Maria  had  taught  the  people  to  adore  ;  it 
was  the  spirit  of  the  prevalent  Mary-wor- 
Bhip  carried  from  the  sanctuary  into  the 
camp,  and  stirring  the  fiercest  of  passions 
by  the  gentlest  of  affections.  Need  we 
say  that  this  vision  of  light  must  go  out 
in  darkness,  and  that  nothing  but  a  per- 
petual miracle  could  keep  a  human  crea- 
ture upon  the  ethereal  height  where  Joan- 
na stood  1  The  story  of  her  destiny  is 
too  familiar  to  repeat.  Soon  Orleans 
called  her  its  deliverer,  and  there,  and  in 
other  cities  in  quick  succession,  the  lilies 
of  France  wav^  loyally  from  towers  so 
lately  insulted  by  the  invader's  flag.  In 
spite  of  all  opposition,  the  Maid  insisted 
upon  pushing  to  Rheims ;  she  stood  with 
her  banner  by  the  altar  at  the  coronation 
of  the  Dauphin,  and  was  first  to  kneel  at 
his  feet  after  he  received  the  crown.  This 
was  the  meridian  of  her  glory.  This 
simple  girl  of  Domremy  was  now  the 
foremost  personage  of  France,  and  history 
itself  plays  the  artist  in  telling  us  that 
her  father,  and  brother,  and  uncle  were 
witnesses  of  her  honors,  contrasting  thus 
by  their  presence  the  splendors  of  the 
Court  with  the  simplicity  of  her  native 


As  rap 


idly  as  her  success  her  downfall 
7ho  does  not  know  of  her  rash 
attack  upon  Paris,  the  misgivings  that 
began  to  question  her  inspiration,  and  the 
teries  of  disasters,  ending  in  her  capture 
at  Compiegne,  and  her  execution  in  1431. 
Never  did  grim  inquisitors  doom  to  death 
a  fiurer  victim  by  baser  arts ;  and  never 
did  a  holier  light  shine  out  from  the 
crackling  fires  of  a  martyr's  pile,  than 
when  this  lily  of  France  was  cast  into  the 
flames.  The  attendant  priest  heard  her, 
as  the  fire  was  doing  its  deadly  work,  in- 
rciod  her  saints — and  her  last  word  was 
her  Saviour's  name.  The  cross  afterwards 
planted  upon  the  place  of  execution  at 
Rouen  was  a  fitting  memorial  of  her 
self-sacrifice,  and  of  the  penitence  of  her 
mfDtierers. 

Never  more  interest  was  attached  to 
the  character  of  Joan  d'Arc,  as  a  phi- 
ksophical  study,  than  now.  It  is  very 
easy  to  call  her  a  halfcnssv  enthusiast 


and  set  down  her  story  in  the  vulear 
annals  of  superstition.  But  the  canaor 
and  good  sense  of  our  age  seeks  a  worthi- 
er solution,  and  no  fair-minded  student  of 
history  is  willing  to  allow  so  interesting  a 
chapter  to  pass  by  without  connecting  its 
lessons  with  some  traits  of  our  common 
nature.  The  Maid  of  Orleans  was  a  hu- 
man creature  like  ourselves,  and  the  mind 
which  in  her  was  so  strangely  moved  was 
essentially  the  same  or^n  that  we  pos- 
sess. That  she  was  an  impostor  no  sane 
thinker  will  now  assert,  for  it  would  be 
far  more  remarkable  for  an  ignorant,  sen- 
sitive girl  to  carry  out  such  an  imposture 
in  the  camp  and  Court,  at  the  altar,  and 
even  at  the  stake,  than  to  have  received 
the  supernatural  commission  which  she 
claimed.  Nor  do  we  explain  the  chief 
fact  in  her  career  when  we  ascribe  her  in- 
fluence over  France  to  the  force  of  reli- 
gious and  martial  enthusiasm,  so  inflamed 
by  her  pretensions  or  her  faith.  She  her- 
self is  the  great  problem,  and  we  cannot 
settle  it  without  some  due  recognition  of 
the  emotional  powers  of  our  nature  in 
connection  with  religious  influences.  No- 
thing can  be  clearer  than  that  she  thought 
she  saw  visions  and  heard  voices  which 
moved  her  to  her  most  conspicuous  acts. 
We  do  not  mean  to  say  that  there  were 
external  objects  corresponding  with  those 
vows  and  visions ;  but  that  such  impres- 
sions as  she  insisted  upon  declaring  were 
actually  made  upon  her  perceptive  organs. 
Befbre  her  inquisitors,  when  severely 
threatened,  she  sometimes  wavered  in  as- 
serting this;  but  her  misgiving  at  last 
wholly  ceased,  and  in  prison  and  at  the 
stake  she  maintained  the  reality  of  the 
communications.  Now  we  do  not  feel 
bound  to  explain  all  the  strange  experi- 
ences of  the  soul  any  more  than  the  strange 
phenomena  of  Nature,  and  we  are  ready  to 
allow  that  there  are  many  dark  nooks 
and  comers  in  the  human  mind,  in  spite 
of  the  doctors  and  metaphysicians.  We 
may  nevertheless  connect  Joanna's  visita- 
tions with  those  of  a  large  class  of  minds 
similarly  constituted,  and  who  are  still  to 
be  found.  The  old  devotees  thought  little 
of  hearing  voices  and  of  seeing  visions  in 
the  open  day,  and  a  man  of  exact  science 
like  Swedenborg  could  be  as  familiar  with 
the  people  of  his  day-dream  land  as  with 
his  acquaintance  in  the  street  or  social 
circle,  noting  down  the  words  of  Plato  or 
Luther  as  readily  as  his  own  table-talk. 
It  is  very  clear  that  if,  in  the  ordinary 
state  of  the  system,  external  objects  are 
needed  to  act  upon  tne  nerves  of  sight  and 
hearing,  there  may  be  an  extraordinary 
state  of  the  system  in  which  internal 


S8 


Modem  Prophets. 


[Jai 


oonyictions  or  emotions  convey  external 
impressions,  or  affect  the  organs  of  sense 
precisely  like  external  objects.  There  is 
no  more  decided  illustration  of  this  fact 
fhan  the  case  of  the  English  artist,  Blake, 
who  died  in  1812.  In  youth  liis  powers 
had  been  severely  tasked,  and  through 
life  his  days  were  given  to  the  most  en- 
grossing labor.  His  ideal  faculty,  so  little 
exercised  by  the  drudgery  of  engraving 
and  ordinary  painting,  would  revel  in  a 
world  of  its  own,  and  when  the  day's 
work  was  done,  he  hurried  to  the  inter- 
Tiew  with  his  phantasmal  guests,  by  the 
aea-shore,  as  eagerly  as  a  ban  vivant  goes 
to  his  boon  companions.  He  met  the 
shades  of  Pindar,  Virgil,  Dante^  and  Mil- 
ton, and  so  distinct  was  the  impression 
upon  his  senses,  that  he  frequent!]^  made 
sketches  of  their  features. — and  in  one 
case  he  wrote  down  a  poem  dictated  to 
him  by  Milton — a  poem  not  extant  in 
Milton  s  lifetime,  and  apparently  bearing 
the  same  relation  to  his  muse  that  would 
be  expected  by  all  who  are  familiar  with 
the  recent  issue  of  poetry  and  prose  from 
the  mighty  spirits  that  wait  upon  the 
rapping  conclave.  In  another  instance  he 
saw  the  form  of  the  hero  Wallace,  and 
while  sketching  him,  he  was  interrupted 
by  the  shade  of  Edward  I.,  who  disap- 
peared too  soon  to  admit  or  a  complete 
sketch,  and  allowed  him  to  go  on  with 
the  Scotch  hero's  portrait  This  artist's 
experience  certainly  illustrates  a  law  of 
the  human  constitution,  of  which  every 
day-dreamer  has  some  slight  knowledge, 
and  it  enables  us  to  explain  without  mir- 
acle Joanna's  voices  and  visions  of  angels 
and  saints.  The  thought  that  so  haunted 
her  mind  may  have  projected  itself  before 
her  senses  in  the  form  of  the  saint  nearest 
her  affections.  Bred  up  in  one  of  the 
strongholds  of  ancient  loyalty,  her  devo- 
tion may  have  been  influenced  by  the  fa- 
miliar legend  that  a  woman  of  Lorraine 
was  to  be  the  deliverer  of  France ;  and 
her  nerves,  so  delicate  from  her  habits  of 
fiisting,  may  have  readily  lent  their  service 
to  her  fancy,  like  the  chemist's  silvered 
plate  presented  to  the  play  of  the  solar  light. 
She  did  not  claim  preternatural  guidance 
upon  all  subjects ;  but  only  in  what  con- 
cerned her  main  duty  to  France,  and  the 
salvation  of  her  soul.  If  in  many  points 
her  alleged  visitants  lefl  her  in  darkness, 
it  must  be  allowed  that  some  of  their  pre- 
dictions and  promises  were  remarkably 
fulfilled.  Let  us  bear  in  mind,  however, 
the  fact  that  their  communications  turned 
upon  one  commanding  idea,  and  all  the 

Swer  of  her  contagious  enthusiasm  would 
erefore  tend  to  turn  promise  into  pro- 


phecy by  securing  the  result  indi 
Hase  sagaciously  remarks  that  this 
— this  Saint  Catherine — is  her  own 
soul  unconscious  of  itself,  like  the  cU 
of  Socrates ;  hence  she  was  led  b; 
counsels,  and  she  said  very  naively  I 
saints — "  I  am  always  of  their  oph 
We  are  not  disposed  to  deny  the  ; 
instances  of  wonderful  presentiment  ^ 
history  and  biography  record.  Wit 
our  explanation  of  Joanna's  mission 
the  ground  of  known  principles,  si 
mains  still  a  wonderAil  creature  of 
and  an  aureola  of  mystical  light  stil 
gers  about  her  head.  We  under 
enough  of  her  to  claim  a  place  fo 
among  the  daughters  of  men,  and  U 
cem  in  her,  traits  that  are  acting 
upon  the  destinies  of  our  race, 
career  proves  how  much  strongei 
emotions  are  than  the  calculating  n 
standing,  and  that  still,  as  of  old,  ''e 
the  heart  are  the  issues  of  life."  Sh 
not  a  perfect  saint  without  human  U 
and  foibles.  She  had  her  little  fi 
pettishness.  and  could  *  sometimes 
like  others  of  her  sex,  railing  at  the 
lish  as  a  set  of  God-dams,  as  she  ue 
called  them,  and  threatening  to  ki! 
Hussites  in  a  bunch  if  they  did  not  r 
to  the  true  faith.  It  is  precisely  th 
tural  impulvsivencss — this  minglini 
childish  naivete  with  heroic  inspirat 
that  gives  her  the  chief  hold  upoi 
wonder  and  admiration. 

Our  idea  would  be  fitly  carried  o 
adding  to  this  sketch  of  the  Mai 
Orleans  some  description  of  two  chan 
unlike  her,  and  unlike  each  other  e 
in  the  point  of  their  reputation  as  proj 
leaders.  Wo  mean  Savonarola,  i 
majestic  presence  so  long  saved  Flo 
from  aristocratic  oppression  and  d 
cratic  license,  and  who  under  his  mo: 
garb  bore  to  the  scaffold  in  1498  the 
of  religious  liberty  which  Luther  i 
wards  planted  broadcast  among  th 
tions ;  and  to  step  forward  nearly  a 
century  in  time  and  to  descend  infii 
in  the  moral  scale,  we  mean  also  Jol 
Leyden,  the  tailor  prophet  and  kii 
the  Anabaptists  of  Munster,  who, 
his  seraglio  of  sixteen  wives,  minglea 
cere  fanaticism  with  the  most  mons 
self-indulgence,  and  like  the  Apostl 
Mormonism,  sent  out  disciples  to  sui 
the  world  to  allegiance  from  a  court 
ling  the  Turk's  in  licentiousness.  B 
cannot  enter  into  these  subjects  now 
out  going  beyond  our  limit,  and  we 
said  enough  to  indicate  our  purpos) 
illustrate  its  main  idea. 

When  we  read  these  and  the  like 


1864.] 


Cmf€S9UmB  pf  a  Toimg  Artkt. 


M 


Biges  of  history,  we  are  very  apt  to  oon- 

Sfttulate  ourselyes  upon  living  in  these 
ys  of  oommon  sense,  when  the  rule  of 
reason  has  set  all  such  hallucinations 
aside.  Let  us  not  he  too  sure  of  our  ex- 
emption ;  we  may  have  a  madness  of  our 
own,  eyen  in  the  absorbing  passion  with 
which  our  shrewd  schemers  pursue  what 
to  them  is  the  one  thing  needful,  and  we 
doubt  yery  much  if  one  of  our  keenest 
money  kings  could,  when  tried  by  the 
standard  of  true  wisdom,  make  out  a 
clearer  proof  of  sanity  than  any  of  the 
m3r8tical  dreamers  of  the  old  days  of 
saperstition.  He,  certainly,  who  is  so 
bosy  with  gettinz  a  living  as  never 
to  have  time  to  live,  whose  imagina- 
tion is  haunted  with  visions  of  gold 
and  merchandise  whith  exist  merely  in 
his  fancy,  whose  soul  is  shut  out  finom  the 
great  realities  that  sages  have  loved,  has 
uttle  right  to  make  merry  at  his  fellow- 
madmen  who  have  made  the  noble  mis- 
take of  losing  sight  of  thmgs  present  in 
their  dreams  of  the  worlds  imseen.  If 
we  could  catch  a  good  specimen  of  the 
Wall-street  type  of  worldly  wisdom,  who 
lives  among  fimcies  of  the  financial  kind, 
and  have  &s  claims  to  sanity  tried  before 
Rhadamanthus,  in  comparison  with  one  of 
the  old  monks  who  entertained  angels 
or  exorcised  devils,  we  should  be  little 
disposed  to  bet  on  the  Wall-street  side. 
Surely  we  have  our  own  madness,  and 
Mammon  is  the  god  who  gives  the  afflatus 
to  the  new  divination.  We  have  not  seen 
the  end  of  it  yet,  nor  can  any  man  tell 
bow  far  the  hallucination  of  the  dominant 
miterialism  may  go  until  the  reaction 
begins,  and  perhaps  some  new  age  of 
nthosiasm  leads  off  the  future  of  our 
moe. 

One  thing  is  very  certain,  and  with 
iUting  it^  we  end  our  prosing.    He  is  a 


happy  man  whose  mind  at  the  oatset  of 
his  career  is  so  possessed  by  a  true,  brave 
purpose  that  it  moves  him  to  the  last^  and 
beneath  all  his  thoughts  and  plans,  shapes 
and  exalts  his  whole  future.  That  is  the 
best  education  which  most  duly  recognizes 
this  truth,  and  aims  to  train  you^  not 
merely  to  act  truly  but  to  be  (ruly  acted 
upon,  by  looking  as  well  to  the  uncon- 
scious motive  springs  as  to  the  conscious 
and  deliberate  plans  of  conduct  A  far 
higher  place  must  be  given  to  the  emo- 
tions and  imagination,  those  powers  that 
have  an  almost  prophetic  function  in  our 
destiny,  and  which  can  lift  us  to  the 
heavens  or  drag  us  to  the  dust  Prepos- 
sessed by  true  ideals,  the  chamber  of  im- 
agery filled  with  forms  of  beauty  and 
wisdom,  the  affections  pervaded  by  a  noble 
love,  and  the  whole  soul  trained  in  true 
relations  with  the  divine  kingdom,  our 
rising  youth  may  unite  the  fervor  of  those 
old  centuries  with  the  keen  science  and 
the  mighty  art  of  our  time.  Sagacious 
men  may  have  Savonarola's  prophet-like 
fire  without  any  surrender  of  their  reason- 
able hope  for  humanity  to  wild  dreams  of 
the  fiflh  monarchy  on  earth,  and  fkur 
women  may  keep  all  the  sobriety  of  their 
judgment  and  the  propriety  of  their  sex 
without  falling  short  of  the  high  hearted 
enthusiasm  and  spiritual  receptivity  that 
gave  such  fascination  and  power  to  Joanna 
of  Arc.  If  the  guides  of  education  who 
hold  the  future  of  Christendom  in  their 
hands,  do  not  make  more  account  of  the 
ministry  of  the  emotions  and  the  imagina- 
tion, it  may  be  that  the  power  of  these 
faculties  will  be  illustrated  upon  a  grand 
scale  in  a  much  baser  form,  and  some 
John  of  Leyden  catching  the  passions  of 
the  age,  may  mingle  war,  lust,  and  avarice 
into  a  new  fanaticism,  of  which  the  Mor- 
mon prophet  is  but  the  tame  precursor. 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  YOUNG  ARTIST. 


IN  my  childhood  I  was  very  intimate 
with  a  portrait  of  a  gentleman — my 
onde  John — which  hung  in  our  parlor. 
This  parlor  was  not  often  used,  for  we 
always  sat  in  the  kitchen,  unless  we  had 
company  ;  but  I  stole  in  there  every  day 
to  gaase  upon  that  interesting  countenance. 
What  particularly  gratified  me  was  the 
blueness  of  the  eyes,  the  very  long  eye- 
lashes, each  one  separately  painted— just 
like  life — and  the  way  in  which  the  dimple 
hi  Hkd  chin  was  shaded;  so  that  it  seemed 


as  if  I  could  put  my  finger  into  it.  I 
tried  to  do  so  several  times,  and  ran  some 
risk  of  making  a  serious  hole  in  the  can- 
vas. 

In  this  portrait  art  first  dawned  upon 
me;  but  to  my  boyish  eyes  it  seemed 
to  shine  in  its  full  glory,  when  I  went 
one  afternoon  with  my  mother  to  take 
tea  with  her  firiend,  Mrs.  Brown,  and  I 
could  scarcely  pay  any  attention  to  the 
cakes  and  preserves  placed  before  me,  so 
bewildered  with  delight  was  I  by  a  pio- 


40 


Cfonfssnotu  €f  a  Toung  AtHH, 


[Jantuijr 


tore  of  Jepbthah  meeting;  his  daugh- 
ter, which  hung  opposite.  Jephthah,  in  a 
Teiy  plumy  helmet,  starting  back  on  Teiy 
strong  legs,  I  thought  very  expressive  of 
a  fiither's  feelings.  His  tall  daughter, 
arrayed  in  a  lilac  mantle,  and  pink  dress 
with  a  long  train,  immediately  became  my 
ideal  of  unattainable  female  beauty.  The 
attendant  damsel,  with  her  willowy  figure 
and  white  dress,  I  thought  extremely 
pretty  also ;  I  knew  a  slender  little  girl 
who  wore  a  white  dress  and  blue  sash  to 
<^nrch,  whom  she  looked  very  much 
like. 

The  next  day  I  made  a  fine  drawing  of 
this  picture  on  our  bam  door.  Jepbthah 
was  drawn  in  a  black  tunic,  with  red 
dialk  1^.  The  daughter's  mantle  was 
stained  lilac  with  iris-petals,  her  train  pink 
with  rose  ditto.  The  maiden  was  ditiwn 
in  white  chalk  with  bewitching  grace.  I 
oould  not  make  Jepbthah  stand  very  firm- 
ly on  his  legs,  and  start  back  at  the  same 
time ;  but  Miss  Jephthah's  train  gave  great 
steadiness  and  composure  to  her  figure. 
This  spirited  sketch  was  the  admiration 
of  all  the  neighboring  boys,  and  they 
came  every  day  for  me  to  draw  them  in 
warlike  positions,  to  represent  Jephthah's 
army  standing  around  him.  One  day  I 
made  a  hasty  sketch  of  my  dog,  Skyblue, 
in  his  favorite  attitude,  and,  stepping  back 
to  mark  the  effect,  found  he  was  biting 
the  heels  of  Jepbthah.  How  the  bovs 
laughed  I  I  made  a  new  drawing  of  the 
anguished  father,  and  greatly  improved 
upon  the  hands,  spreading  them  out  like 
Mr.  Flamdown's,  when  he  was  giving  the 
parting  blessing  to  his  congregation,  only 
opening  the  fingers  wider  to  express  con- 
sternation. 

One  day  one  of  the  boys  brought  an 
artist,  who  was  boardingat  his  house,  to 
look  at  my  frescoes.  He  laughed,  and 
told  me  if  I  would  come  to  his  room,  he 
would  paint  Jepbthah  for  me.  With  a 
feeling  approaching  awe  I  watohed  him 
conjuring  into  life  the  well-known  forms. 
Yet  I  was  not  wholly  satisfied  with  the 
result  I  thought  Jephthah's  figure  was 
not  thrown  back  enough  to  express  his 
emotion  with  sufficient  force,  and  that 
the  daughter  had  lost  much  of  her  queen- 
liness  with  her  train.  The  damsel  who 
followed  was  no  longer  white,  and  did  not 
look  in  the  least  like  Fanny  Ann. 

Mr.  Ochre  went  away  the  next  day, 
but  left  mo  a  few  paints  and  brushes,  and 
told  me  if  I  would  come  to  New-York  in 
the  winter,  he  would  teach  me  something. 
This  now  became  the  height  of  my  ambi- 
tion; and  I  tried  to  devise  schemes  by 
whidi  I  could  earn  a  little  money  to  pay 


I  my  drawings.'' 


my  board  there.  ^I  could  live  out  at 
some  farmer's,  and  earn  good  wages  by 
my  labor,"  I  told  my  mother, — I  was  just 
twelve  years  old. 

She  smiled,  and  told  me  they  would 
onlv  give  me  my  clothes. 

*^I  can  draw,  and  sell  n 

She  smiled  again. 

"  Well,  then,  after  I  have  improved  a 
little,  I  can  take  portraits,  and  be  paid 
for  them." 

She  smiled  approvingly  this  time,  and 
I  felt  that  my  way  lay  open  before  me. 

I  wished  to  run  directly  to  Fanny  Ann's 
house— into  which  I  had  never  yet  enter- 
ed— and  ask  her  to  sit  to  me ;  but  I  felt 
a  little  timid  about  it.  I  might  not  take 
a  good  likeness,  and  she  would  laugh  at 
me — girls  did  laugh  so!  I  had  better 
take  private  sketohes  of  her  at  church  in 
the  hymn-books,  I  thought,  and  practise 
upon  my  mother  first,  who  immediately 
proposed  putting  on  her  black  silk  dress, 
which  she  had  worn  for  the  last  ten 
years  on  state  occasions ;  but  her  every- 
day short-gown  would  be  more  pictur- 
esque, I  thought  She  could  not  be  quite 
reconciled  to  this.  The  villagers  were 
accustomed  to  the  black  silk,  and  she 
thought  it  due  to  them  and  to  me  that 
she  should  be  taken  in  it.     However,  the 

Portrait  was  painted  in  the  short-gown ; 
ut  the  villagers  never  saw  much  of  it. 
It  was  not  considered  a  very  good  like- 
ness, for  somehow  I  got  a  dark  fh>wn 
about  the  eyes,  and  a  very  dejected  ex- 
pression about  the  mouth.  My  mother 
never  frowned,  and  looked  particularly 
smiling  while  I  was  painting  her. 

I  hi^  a  hard  time  of  it  that  winter :  so 
many  brave  designs  launched  forth  upon 
the  tide  of  hope,  and  run  aground  upon 
unknown  bars.  In  the  summer  Mr. 
Ochre  came  again  and  taught  me  how  t6 
steer  my  way  better.  He  told  me  that 
faces  should  not  appear  to  be  pasted  flat 
to  the  canvas,  and  that  a  dark  outline  all 
round  them  was  not  perfectly  true  to  nar 
ture ;  that  lips  were  not  exactly  vermil- 
ion, nor  cheeks  pure  lake ;  and  eyes  were 
not  made  of  stone;  that  shadows  were 
not  a  distinct  feature  of  the  face ;  and 
lights  did  not  consist  entirely  of  white 
paint.  I  learned  a  wonderful  deal  from 
him  in  a  few  weeks ;  and  having  painted 
many  portraits  of  the  worthy  people  about 
me,  which  sold-  for  two  dollars  a  piece, 
and  scraped  togetiier  a  little  money,  1 
went  to  New- York  in  the  winter  with  a 
bounding  heart — ^perfectly  conscious  that 
I  was  the  great  American  genius. 

The  first  thing  I  did  m  New-Yoric, 
after  settling  myself  in  the  little  attio 


1854.] 


OonfigsioM  cf  a  Young  Artist 


41 


room  Mr.  Ochre  had  engaged  for  me,  was 
to  find  my  way  to  a  picture  gallery.  I 
neither  shouted  nor  jumped  when  I  enter- 
ed ;  but  was  certainly  very  much  dazzled. 
It  was  partly  the  picture  frames,  I  thought 
— they  were  so  very  bright.  I  immedi- 
ately saw  the  importance  of  gilt  frames, 
and  that  without  one  no  painting  coula 
be  of  any  value.  I  wondered  how  much 
they  cost,  and  whether  I  could  afford  to 
buy  one  for  my  portrait  of  Fanny  Ann, 
which  I  had  brought  to  the  city  with  me. 
I  knew  at  once  there  was  no  pamting  in 
the  gallery  equal  to  that;  and  walked 
akmg  with  the  proud  consciousness  that 
I  was  the  creator  of  that  gem,  which  only 
needed  a  fine  frame  to  be  instantly  brought 
down  from  my  attic,  into  the  public  gaze, 
for  the  delight  of  every  one.  However,  I 
did  pause  a  moment  before  one  little  head 
— ^he  head  of  a  child  with  a  smile  in  her 
eyes,  and  life  upon  her  lips.  I  looked 
mto  the  catalogue  to  be  sure  that  it  was 
good.  It  was  by  Copley.  **An  old- 
fashioned  painter,"  I  thought  "I  shall  do 
better  things  soon.*' 

Then  I  came  to  a  young  lady  in  a  green 
dress  and  black  waist,  turning  her  head 
towards  the  spectator,  and  stepping  into 
a  brook.  "Excellent!"  I  exclaimed. 
'^  That  looks  a  little  like  Jephthah's  daugh- 
ter, only  she  is  not  quite  so  tall."  Then 
came  a  very  puzzling  head :  I  could  not 
tell  to  what  race  it  belonged — "  Indian,  I 
8Qm)ose."  It  was  nam^,  "Portrait  of 
Judge  G."  He  could  not  have  been  an 
Indian ;  it  must  be  the  shadows.  What 
infatuated  young  artist  could  have  sent 
that  here  ?  "  Then  came  two  little  girls 
holding  a  kitten  between  them.  Sweet 
little  innocents!  TTuzi  looked  like  one 
of  my  own  pictures,  and  I  looked  for  the 
name:  "Infancy,  by  P.  Pinkall."  "I 
shall  certainly  make  Mr.  Pinkall's  ac- 
quaintance," I  thought  Then  came  a 
young  lady  looking  over  her  shoulder  in 
the  loveliest  manner.  Such  golden  hair — 
such  blue  veins — such  a  rose-tint  on  the 
dieek — such  heavenly  eyes!  Such  a 
transparent  creature  altogether !  I  stood 
enraptured :  that  was  better  than  Fanny 
Ann.  "Fancy  head,  by  T.  Sully,"  I 
found  it  to  be.  "  Oh,  what  a  fancy ! "  I 
exclaimed,  in  boyish  enthusiasm,  "  7%cU 
I  can  never  surpass." 

A  young  man  was  copying  it,  and  I 
immediately  resolved  that  I  would  do  the 
same.  Mr.  Ochre  came  into  the  gallery 
at  that  moment,  and  I  hastened  to  meet 
him.  "  I  have  found  the  most  exquisite 
painting  r'  I  exclaimed,  leading  him  eager- 
ly towards  it,  "  and  I  know  you  will  ap- 
prove of  my  copying  it" 


"What,— that  waxy  little  thing,"  he 
said.  "  My  dear  child,  do  you  not  know 
better  than  that,  after  all  my  instruc- 
tions ?  "  and  he  took  me  back  to  the  head 
by  Copley,  and  told  me  I  might  copy  that 
if  I  could.  "  But  you  had  better  not 
copy  any  thing,"  he  added—"  draw  from 
nature,  my  boy.  Go  on  as  you  have  be- 
gun, only  do  not  make  your  faces  pink 
and  white,  and  get  Fanny  Ann  out  of 
your  mind  as  fast  as  you  can."  I  won- 
dered how  he  knew  that  I  thought  about 
Fanny  Ann ;  I  had  never  mentioned  her 
name  but  twice  in  his  presence,  and  then 
almost  in  a  whisper. 

So  I  went  to  Mr.  Ochre's  studio  every 
day :  and  Irish  boys  were  hired  from  the 
street  to  sit  for  me  and  the  other  pupils. 
Very  unfit  subjects  for  my  brush  I 
thought  them,  until  I  chanced  to  see  a 
picture  of  a  beggar  boy  by  Murillo,  and 
then  they  rose  in  my  esteem.  I  had  heard 
that  Murillo  was  a  very  great  genius, 
and  if  he  painted  beggar  boys,  why  shoula 
not  I? 

Well,  I  painted  Irish  boys  and  German 
boys,  until  I  knew  I  had  learned  all  I 
could  from  Mr.  Ochre,  and  that  it  was 
time  for  me  to  set  up  my  own  studio,  and 
patronize  American  ladies — immortalize 
them  as  only  a  genius  can.  "  R.  Gumbo, 
Portrait  Painter,"  was  the  golden  name 
upon  the  sign  that  decked  one  corner  of  a 
doorway,  which  led  to  a  flight  of  stairs, 
which  led  to  another  flight  of  stairs,  and 
so  on  to  the  fourth  story,  where  I  sat  in 
state,  awaiting  my  unknown  visitors.  My 
studio  was  furnished  with  a  skylight,  an 
easel,  an  old  shawl  with  a  very  effective 
border,  covering  a  table  on  which  stood  a 
torso,  a  small  Venus,  a  chair  for  the  sit- 
ter, and  two  for  friends,  a  lay  figure,  six 
new,  suggestive  canvases,  and  my  paint 
brushes.  "Now,  I  am  ready!"  I  ex- 
claimed, wielding  my  maul-stick  and  mak- 
ing a  tnrust  at  the  portrait  of  an  Irish 
boy  eating  an  apple.  "My  dear  little 
fellow,  you  will  soon  see  what  beauty  and 
grace  will  appear."  I  had  gone  to  my 
studio  at  nine  o'clock — I  stayed  until 
dark :  I  ate  two  crackers  for  dinner,  and 
an  apple,  like  the  Irish  boy,  and  nobody 
came.  I  wondered  at  it  very  much. 
Two  of  my  best  portraits  were  in  the 
Exhibition,  and  I  thought  the  public  were 
dying  to  be  token.  "But  they  cannot 
know  I  am  here,"  I  mediteted.  "One 
little  sign  in  a  city  full  of  signs  attracts 
no  attention.  I  ought  to  advertise  my 
number ;  but  advertising  is  so  expensive. 
I  wish  some  one  would  buy  my  pictures 
in  the  Exhibition ;  but  there  is  no  love  for 
art  in  this  country.    Eosewood  and  buhl 


43 


Oimfi$don$  cf  a  Yowi^  ArtUi, 


[Januaiy 


are  more  yalued  than  genlns.  Oh  Italy ! " 
I  sighed,  and  locked  my  door,  and  went 
home  to  my  attic. 

I  thought  my  pictures  might  have  sold 
if  the  subjects  had  been  of  more  general 
interest  "  No  one  wants  portraits  except 
relations,  and  the  relations  of  these  cannot 
afford  to  purchase  such  luxuries,"  I  said. 
''If  I  paint  a  composition,  it  will  find  a 
ready  sale, — what  shall  it  be?"  My 
imagination  was  filled  with  the  remem- 
brance of  Jephthah  and  his  daughter ;  but 
I  did  not  care  to  attempt  the  warrior,  and 
the  daughter  alone  would  hardly  suffice ; 
80  I  determined  to  paint  Iphiigenia  as 
priestess  at  Aulis. 

I  draped  my  lay  figure  with  a  sheet, 
and  commenced.  The  treatment  was 
purely  classical.  The  garment  fell  in  dig- 
nified folds  to  the  feet,  broken  only  by  an 
invisible  girdle  at  the  waist :  it  was  fast- 
ened on  each  shoulder  by  a  burmng  gem, 
— ^I  painted  them  from  two  brass  brooch- 
es, set  with  crimson  glass,  which  I  bought 
for  the  occasion.  One  hand  rested  lightly 
tipon  an  altar,  repre^nted  by  my  table 
and  the  bordered  shawl — ^the  other  was 
pressed  upon  her  breast  The  arms  were 
▼ery  white,  and  one  of  them  quite  round. 
The  face  was  raised,  and  the  expression 
of  pious  resignation  was  very  well  given. 
The  hair  was  beautifully  dishevelled.  The 
blue  Mediterranean  in  the  distance  led  the 
eye  to  the  horizon,  and  the  mind  to  reve- 
ry.  The  figure  was  half-size,  and  I  was 
a  whole  week  painting  it.  I  worked  quite 
steadily,  fearing  visitors  might  come  if  I 
went  out  Occasionally,  exhausted  by  the 
inspffation  of  my  subject,  I  took  a  short 
walk ;  but  always  pinned  up  a  paper  to 
say  that  I  should  return  immediately, 
and  placed  a  chair  outside  my  door,  think* 
ing  ladies  would  be  out  of  breath  coming 
np  so  many  stairs,  and  would  wait  longer 
if  they  found  a  resting-place.  When  I 
returned,  I  always  felt  quite  sure  that 
some  one  had  called  during  my  absence, 
and  I  regretted  that  I  had  been  out 

When  my  painting  was  finished.  I 
doubted  whether  I  Imd  better  ask  Mr. 
Ochre  to  come  and  look  at  it,  or  not  I 
knew  there  was  great  jealousy  amone 
artists,  and  feared  he  might  not  be  pleased 
to  find  his  pupil  had  become  his  rival ; 
but  I  told  him  in  an  off-hand  way,  one 
day,  that  I  had  a  picture  on  my  easel  he 
might  like  to  step  in  and  look  at  some 
time  when  he  was  passing ;  and  he  came. 

I  saw  a  smile  quivering  upon  his  lips 
as  he  stood  before  it  He  walked  about 
my  studio,  looked  at  the  torso,  praised  my 
Venus,  asked  me  where  I  bought  my 
p«nt8,   approached   the   priestess,   and 


burst  into  a  loud  laugh.  "I  can't  stand 
it.  Gumbo,"  he  exclaimed:  "It  is  too 
good!" 

I  knew  it  was  good  myself^  but  its 
merits  had  a  very  different  effect  upon 
me.  .1  was  astonished  at  his  laughing;  I 
had  intended  that  the  painting  should 
produce  exalted  emotions,  mingled  with 
sorrow.  "  How  did  you  make  the  folds 
of  that  drapery  so  straight?"  he  said, 
''you  must  have  ruled  them,  and  there 
are  no  limbs  under  them.  The  arms 
are  like  chop-sticks ;  they  are  not 
half  so  good  as  those  of  little  Patrick 
Mahone,  vou  painted  six  months  ago. 
The  head  is  stuck  on  with  a  skewer,  is  it 
not?  Nothing  else  could  keep  it  up  so. 
And  the  figure  does  not  stand — a  breath 
of  air  would  puff  it  all  away.  No.  no ; 
this  will  never  do.  Ton  must  keep  to 
real  life;  vour  hncy  pictures  are  abso- 
lutely good  for  nothing."  And  he  turned 
to  me  with  what  he  intended  for  a  good- 
natured  smile,  I  suppose ;  but  I  saw  that 
jealous  look  in  the  comer  of  his  eye. 

"  The  public  shall  judge  between  us," 
I  said,  qmte  grandly. 

He  looked  at  me  as  if  he  would  laugh 
again ;  but  lading  his  hand  on  my  shoul- 
der, said — "  Come,  my  boy,  I  see  how  it 
is.  You  think  you  have  done  something 
very  good,  and  that  I  am  envious  of  you. 
I  assure  you  by  all  I  know  of  art  that 
the  whole  thing  is  ridiculous.  Place  it  in 
the  exhibition,  and  you  will  see  that  it  is 
80  considered ;  but  send  it  anonymously, 
I  beg  of  you.  I  should  not  like  to  have 
your  name  laughed  at" 

"  Yes,"  thought  I ;  "he  wishes  to  have 
the  credit  of  it  himself;  and  it  is  a  little 
in  his  style,  certainly." 

"  And  now  I  will  tell  you  what  I  will 
do  for  you,"  he  continued.  "A  little 
cousin  of  mine  wishes  me  to  paint  her  be- 
fore her  fother's  birth-day;  but  I  have 
too  much  on  my  hands  just  at  present 
You  shall  do  it  You  can  sometimes  hit 
upon  a  likeness, — and  if  you  do  not  satis- 
fy her,  why,  I  will  paint  her  afterwards. 
She  is  rich,  and  can  afford  to  pay  for  two 
pictures,  and  ought  to  encourage  young 
artists. — she  has  a  fancy  for  these  things 
herselL  She  has  some  beauty,  and  if  you 
treat  the  subject  artistically,  you  can 
make  a  pretty  picture  of  it.  I  will  make 
the  proposal  to  her  this  evening,  and  let 
you  know  her  answer,  if  you  will  call 
upon  me  to-morrow."  And  taking  my 
half-reluctant  hand,  he  bade  me  good 
morning. 

"  Very  patronizing ! "  I  thought  "  He 
will  paint  her  himself  if  I  do  not  succeed ! 
I  will  have  nothmg  to  do  with  it    But, 


1854.] 


Oonfntkns  of  a  Young  Artist. 


4# 


joong,  and  beaatifhl,  and  fbnd  of  these 
things — ^it  IB  a  temptation.  I  will  make 
up  my  mind  what  to  do  in  the  morning." 
Meantime  I  considered  the  style  in  which 
I  dionld  paint  her.  ^'  I  succeed  so  well  in 
heads  looking  np,"  I  thought,  glancing  at 
Iphigenia.  ^  But  I  should  not  like  to  haye 
two  pictures  alike  even  if  they  were  both 
itrj  good.  I  might  have  the  face  looking 
down,  and  a  blue  mantle  on  the  head,  and 
the  hands  folded.  Ochre  would  certainly 
call  that  treating  the  subject  artistically, 
80  many  old  pictures  are  painted  in  that 
style.  She  probably  has  pretty  hands, — 
if  not,  I  can  make  them  so." 

The  next  day,  while  I  was  yet  hesitat- 
ing whether  to  go  to  Ochre's  or  not,  I 
kMkrd  ladies'  voices  and  a  gentle  knock  at 
my  door.  I  flew  round  to  arrange  my 
studio ;  threw  a  doth  over  the  Priestess, 
to  give  her  a  mysterious  effect — only  a 
few  folds  of  her  robe  and  a  sandalled  foot 
were  visible ;  placed  a  sketch  on  my  easel, 
tnd  opening  the  door  made  a  low  bow  to 
the  ladies,  with  my  palette  and  stick  in 
my  hand.  I  flattered  myself  that  effect 
was  artistic. 

The  elder  lady  introduced  herself  as 
Mrs.  Beljay,  who  had  brought  her  daughter 
to  sit  to  me.  Actually  there — my  first 
sitter !  She  was  soon  seated  in  the  chair 
with  a  blue  mantle  thrown  over  her.  I 
asked  her  to  incline  her  head  slightly  and 
to  fold  her  hands — they  were  very  pretty 
ones.  '^Do  I  not  look  like  a  wounded 
dove?"  she  asked  her  mother,  and  they 
began  to  laugh. 

I  begged  her  to  keep  her  face  still,  and 
eomg  across  the  room  for  something,  care- 
wssly  brushed  the  cloth  from  Iphigenia, 
hoping  the  sight  of  that  sorrowful  coun- 
tenance would  give  a  more  subdued  cx- 
preasion  to  hers,  but  they  both  laughed 
verr  much,  although  evidently  trying  not 
to  do  so.  They  made  little  jokes  and  pre- 
tended thev  were  laughing  at  those.  Miss 
Beljay  said  she  thought  she  could  main- 
tain the  expression  I  wished  if  she  had 
knitting  with  her,  and  other  silly  things ; 
but  a  wild  fear  shot  through  mo  that 
they  were  laughing  at  Iphigenia,  and  I  sud- 
denly took  it  away.  Then  they  became 
very  quiet,  and  I  made  an  excellent  sketch. 
They  wished  to  see  it,  but  I  could  not 
permit  them  to,  so  soon.  Mrs.  Beljay 
said  she  did  not  think  it  could  be  like,  for 
Fanny  had  never  been  so  still  in  her  life 
before.  I  started  at  the  name.  ^^She 
also  is  Fanny !"  I  thought,  "but  not  my 
Fanny  Ann." 

When  they  were  going  away  Mrs.  Bel- 
jay told  me  they  were  to  have  a  little 
ptfty  in  the  evening,  and  she  hoped  I 


would  oome  with  her  nej^ew,  Mr. 
Ochre. 

There  was  an  opening  into  society  I  I 
had  a  nice  dress  coat  and  light  vest  that 
had  belonged  to  my  fkther,  and  had  been 
made  over  for  me  by  my  mother,  two 
years  before.  I  bought  a  new  cravat,  and 
spent  two  hours  trying  to  brush  the  curia 
out  of  my  hair  and  make  it  look  as  smooth 
as  that  of  the  young  gentlemen  I  had  seen 
in  Broadway.  I  went  to  call  for  Mr. 
Ochre,  very  well  pleased  with  myself;  I 
certainly  looked  much  better  than  he  did. 

Upon  entering  the  room  I  was  at  first 
dazzled,  as  I  had  been  by  the  gilt  frames 
at  the  Exhibition.  There  was  a  great 
crowd  of  people,  a  great  deal  of  noise,  and 
light,  and  bewilderment.  I  withdrew 
into  a  comer  to  regain  my  composure; 
taking  care,  however,  to  stand  where  I 
could  observe  Miss  Beljay,  for  even  in  the 
confusion  of  making  my  bow,  I  had  seen 
at  a  glance  that  she  greatly  resembled 
Jephthah's  daughter.  I  had  thought  so  a 
little  in  the  morning,  but  now  I  was  sure 
of  it ;  she  was  so  tall  and  dignified  when 
she  was  standing,  and  had  on  a  pink  dress 
too,  very  long  and  flowing, — nothing  was 
wanting  but  the  blue  mantle. 

While  I  was  thus  gazing  in  silence  she 
brought  her  father  and  introduced  me  to 
him.  They  conversed  with  me  some  time, 
and  were  evidently  much  pleased  with 
me,  for  they  invited  me  to  dine  \vith  them 
the  next  day. 

I  was  invited  there  very  often  during 
the  three  weeks  Miss  Beljay  was  sitting, 
much  to  my  own  satisfaction.  On  my 
way  thither  one  evening  with  Ochre,  he 
said  to  me,  "  It  is  a  good  thing  to  visit  in 
the  family  of  a  sitter,  you  have  so  many 
chances  of  studying  your  subject.  It  was 
on  this  account  that  I  advised  Mrs.  Beljay 
to  invite  you  to  her  house." 

To  him,  then,  I  owed  all  my  invitations 
and  not  to  my  own  attractions.  I  had  a 
great  mind  not  to  accept  any  more,  but 
such  opportunities  of  seeing  Miss  Beljay 
were  not  to  be  resisted. 

At  length  I  announced  that  the  portrait 
was  finished,  and  Mr.  Ochre  came  with 
the  ladies  to  see  it.  lie  looked  from  the 
painting  to  Miss  Beljay  and  back  again  to 
the  painting,  smiling  a  little  because  she 
smiled,  as  young  ladies  often  will  when 
looked  at.  **  The  mantle  is  pretty  good," 
he  said,  at  length,  "  and  the  mouth  is  a 
little  like." 

I  believe  I  should  have  made  some  very 
fierce  reply  if  the  ladies  had  not  been  there. 
As  it  was  I  turned  with  great  calmness  to 
Mrs.  Beljay.  and  asked  her  what  she 
thought  of  it    <'It  is  a  little  like  her," 


44 


ConfeBsUnu  of  a  Young  Artist 


[Januarj 


she  answered,  "only  much  more  pen- 
8ive." 

"  Fanny,  will  jou  please  to  sit  in  the 
chair  and  hold  your  head  down,^'  said 
Ochre.  "Now  let  me  see.  You  have 
made  the  nose  too  straight ;  Fanny's,  al- 
though a  very  good  one,  is  not  Grecian." 
There  she  fairly  laughed.  '-You  must 
have  heen  thinking  of  some  ideal  of  yours. 
Neither  do  her  lids  droop  so  heavily ;  you 
should  have  opened  the  eyes  with  a  more 
sunny  expression.  The  mouth  is  a  little 
like,  as  I  told  you  before,  and  so  is  the 
outline  of  the  face.  The  mantle  hides  the 
fine  turn  of  the  head  and  the  beautiful 
hair.  The  hands  are  well  enough,  only 
they  have  not  the  usual  allowance  of  joints. 
As  for  the  coloring — it  is  like  plaster 
of  Paris,  but  that  is  because  you  wished 
to  paint  her  pale,  a  la  Magdalen,  perhaps. 
You  must  have  chosen  this  style  before 
you  had  seen  her,  I  think."  (I  felt  a 
guilty  consciousness  that  I  had  aone  so.) 
"  Let  me  show  you  how  I  think  she  should 
be  drawn." 

He  sketched  in  a  head,  lightly  set  on  the 
throat,  and  turning  with  an  arch  expres- 
sion as  the  figure  moved  away.  The 
hair,  softly  waving  on  the  forehead  was 
knotted  behind,  and  a  flower  fell  grace- 
fully on  one  side.  The  whole  figure  was 
airy  and  elegant 

"  There,  that  is  my  cousin  Fanny  as  I 
know  her.  What  do  you  say.  Aunt 
Julia?" 

"  It  is  Fanny  herself— nothing  could  be 
better!" 

I  could  not  but  admire  the  sketch,  so 
free,  so  characteristic,  so  lovely,  so  like 
the  beautiful  form  which  had  been  before 
me  day  after  day,  and  had  been  hidden 
from  mo  beneath  the  mantle  of  my  own 
misconception.  After  they  had  gone  away 
I  looked  at  my  poor  head,  so  weak,  so 
^iritless,  and  turned  it  with  its  face  to 
the  wall.  "  All,  all  wrong ! "  I  exclaimed, 
and  hiding  my  face  in  my  hands  t  should 
have  wept  if  I  had  been  a  boy — but  I 
was  eighteen  years  old,  and  could  not  in- 
dulge in  that.  I  remembered  all  the 
happy,  hopeful  days  I  had  passed  in  paint- 
ing it,  all  the  apparent  kindness  that  had 
been  bestowed  upon  me,  and  now  they  had 
gone  and  would  never  think  of  me  again, 
or  only  laugh  at  my  foolish  endeavor.  I 
almost  vowed  that  I  would  never  touch  a 
brush  again,  and  going  out  wandered 
about  the  streets  all  the  evening,  with  the 
saddest  heart 

The  next  day  I  could  not  return  to  my 
studio.  I  walked  down  Broadway  and 
round  about  the  Battery.  The  waves 
were  breaking  against  the  stones,  and  I 


thought  I  would  go  to  sea.  I  walked  op 
Broadway  and  went  into  the  Exhibitions 
I  saw  my  two  portraits  and  wished  1  could 
shoot  them.  I  looked  at  every  picture 
in  the  room,  to  see  if  there  were  any  as 
bad  as  mine,  and  found  there  were  many, 
but  was  not  encouraged  by  them.  Idjr 
eyes  seemed  opened  by  magic.  I  saw 
how  poor  most  of  them  were  even  in  pro- 
mise, and  appreciated  the  good  ones  as  I 
had  never  done  before,  remembering  many 
things  Ochre  had  said  about  them,  whida 
I  had  scarcely  noticed  at  the  time.  I  saw 
that  difficulties  had  been  conquered  of 
which  I  had  never  dreamed,  and  that  all 
I  had  hitherto  done  was  mere  child's  play. 
I  went  toward  Ochre's  studio,  and  thought 
I  would  go  in  and  ask  him  to  take  me  as 
a  pupil  again,  but  feared  he  would  not 
think  it  worth  while.  While  I  paced  to 
and  fro  on  the  side-walk,  Miss  Beljay  and 
her  mother  came  down  the  steps.  I  knew 
she  had  been  sitting  to  Ochre,  but  they 
did  not  tell  me  so.  They  shook  hands 
with  me.  and  Mrs.  Beljay  said  I  must  send 
home  the  picture  as  soon  as  it  was  ready ; 
remarked  that  it  was  a  pleasant  day,  &c. ; 
hoped  I  would  be  at  her  reception  in  the 
evening;  I  must  eome  every  Thursday, 
she  said,  when  I  was  not  otherwise  en- 


low  the  sun  shone — how  very  pleasant 
the  day  had  become!  I  ran  up  into 
Ochre's  room  and  asked  him  to  take  me 
back.  "  Gumbo,"  he  said,  "  you  know  I 
would  not  for  the  world  extinguish  the 
least  spark  of  genius  in  you  or  in  any 
one,  but  think  for  yourself.  You  have  been 
painting  three  or  four  years,  and  what 
does  it  amount  to  ?  You  cannot  paint  a 
picture  that  begins  to  be  good.  I  know 
you  have  some  talent,  but  many  have  as 
much  who  do  not  think  of  painting  as  a 
profession,  because  they  know  not  to  ex- 
cel in  it  is  to  fail.  I  know  I  am  not  a 
good  painter  myself,"  and  he  looked  sadly 
round  his  studio,  "  but  will  you  ever  be 
even  so  good  a  one?  If  not,  to  devote 
yourself  to  Art  vnll  be  to  throw  yourself 
mto  a  sea  in  which  you  cannot  swim. 
Would  it  not  be  wiser  to  choose  an  occu- 
pation in  which  you  will  be  master  of 
your  faculties,  than  one  in  which  you  will 
be  the  victim  of  endless  hopes,  delusions, 
and  disappointments.  Think  of  your 
mother,  too,  who  can  ill  spare  the  money 
she  sends  you.  For  her  sake,  as  well  as 
for  your  own,  I  advise  you  to  accept  an 
offer  which  Mr.  Beljay  is  about  to  make 
you.  He  has  occasion,  he  says,  to  employ 
an  honest,  intelligent  young  man  in  his 
business,  and  thinks  you  are  such  a  one 
as  he  wants.    You  will  still  have  some 


18M.] 


Anrum  PotabUe. 


tinie  for  drawing,  and  if  you  keep  your 
hand  in  practice  and  have  much  genius,  it 
win  burst  out  at  some  future  day." 

Here  I  saw  that  smile  again,  but  wag 
not  hnrt  by  it  now ;  I  smiled  also,  and 
UAd  him  I  knew  he  was  right  and  I  should 
accept  the  ofiEer. 

With  melancholy  determination  I  took 
down  my  sign,  its  gilt  letters  still  untar- 
nished. I  carriea  my  easel,  my  lay 
figure,  and  all  my  valuable  possessions  to 
my  attic,  and  took  a  last  fond  look  of  the 
d^-hght  which  had  been  the  confident 
of  80  many  aspirations. 

My  new  business  was  one  that  was 
Ttluable  and  interesting  in  itself^  as  well 
IS  profitable,  so  that  I  felt  I  was  doing 
something  besides  merely  making  money, 
and  I  could  not  but  confess  that  I  was 
happier  while  actively  employed  among 
other  mcai,  than  when  waiting,  and  waii- 
ingin  vain,  in  my  lonely  studio. 

let  I  sometimes  loolced  back  with  re- 
gret to  those  days  of  sweet  delusion,  and 
retain  such  an  afiection  for  Iphigenia 
that  I  carried  it  home  with  me  when  I 
went  to  visit  my  mother.  She  regarded 
it  with  maternal  pride,  and  gave  it  an 
honorable  place  in  her  parlor,  opposite 
Unde  John.  I  laughed  very  much  when 
I  saw  that  delight  of  my  childhood,  so 
meek  and  cadaverous  it  now  appeared  to 
me,  but  I  turned  to  my  own  picture,  and 
thought  it   almost   as    absurd.     There 


seemed  to  be  a  fiunily  resemblance  be- 
tween the  two— Iphigenia  and  my  Uncle 
John! 

I  went  with  my  mother  to  see  Mrs. 
Brown  for  the  first  time  since  that  event- 
ful day  on  which  I  was  so  enraptured  by 
Jephthah's  daughter.  I  sat  in  the  same 
place  at  table,  and  had  the  same  quince,  I 
believe,  but  could  eat  it  now  with  perfect 
composure.  I  was  highly  amused  to  see 
how  flimsy  the  daughter  was  in  her  lilac 
mantle  and  pink  train,  and  how  very 
thick  Jephthah's  sandalled  legs  had  bo- 
come.  The  whito  damsel  also  was  no 
longer  a  phantom  of  delight. 

The  next  morning  I  called  upon  Fanny 
Ann.  She  was  playing  a  singular  tune 
on  a  rickety  piano.  She  welcomed  me 
with  sweet  timidity,  and  had  many  pretty 
little  airs  and  graces ;  but  her  hair  was 
in  curling-papers,  and  I  did  not  stay 
long.  I  presented  her  portrait — that  gem 
of  art — to  her  grandmother,  whose  sight 
was  almost  gone,  and  the  good  lady  was 
very  much  delighted  with  it. 

But  the  river,  the  hills,  and  the  wide- 
stretohing  fields  were  as  beautiful  as  ever, 
and  I  told  my  mother  I  should  build  a 
pleasanter  house  on  the  old  place,  in  a  few 
years,  and  that  she  should  come  and  live 
with  me,  and — some  one  else.  "  Fanny 
Ann ! "  said  my  mother ;  but  I  thought 
of  another  Fanny. 


AURUM  POTABILE. 


BROTHER  Bards  of  every  region— 
Brother  Bards,  (your  name  is  Legion !) 
Were  you  with  me,  while  the  twilight 
Darkens  up  my  pine-tree  skylight — 
Were  you  gathered,  representing 

Every  land  beneath  the  sun, 
Oh  what  songs  would  be  indited, 
Ere  the  earliest  star  is  lighted, 
To  the  praise  of  vino  d'oro, 

.On  the  hills  of  Lebanon ! 


n. 


Yes,  while  all  alone  I  quaff  its 
Lucid  gold,  and  brightly  laugh  its 
Topaz  waves  and  amber  bubbles, 
Stul  the  thought  my  pleasure  troubles, 
That  I  quaff  it  all  alone. 


46  Aurum  Poiabik.  [Jiuiuvy 

Oh  for  Hafiz !  glorious  Persian  I 
Keatfl^  with  buoyant,  gay  diversion 
Mocking  Schiller's  graye  immersion ; 

Oh  for  wreaUied  Anacreon ! 
Yet  enough  to  have  the  living — 
They,  the  few,  the  rapture-giving  1 

4 Blessed  more  than  in  receiving,) 
'ate,  that  frowns  when  laurels  wreathe  theiii| 
Once  the  solace  might  bequeathe  them, 
Onoe  to  taste  of  vino  d'oro 

On  the  Hills  of  Lebanon  I 

III. 
Lebanon,  thou  mount  of  story. 
Well  we  know  thy  sturdy  glory, 

Since  the  days  of  Solomon ; 
Well  we  know  the  Five  old  Cedars, 
Scarred  by  ages — silent  pleaders, 
Preaching,  in  their  gray  sedatencss, 
Of  thy  forest's  fiUlen  greatness — 
Of  the  vessels  of  the  T^rian, 
And  the  palaces  Assyrian. 
And  the  temple  on  Morian 

To  the  High  and  Holy  One ! 
Know  the  wealth  of  thy  appointments- 
Myrrh  and  aloes,  gum  and  ointment ; 
But  we  knew  not,  till  we  clomb  thee, 
Of  the  nectar  dropping  from  thee — 
Of  the  pure,  pellucid  Ophir 
In  the  cups  of  vino  d'oro, 

On  the  Hills  of  Lebanon ! 

IV. 

We  have  drunk,  and  we  have  eaten. 
Where  Mizraim's  sheaves  are  beaten , 
Tasted  Judah's  milk  and  honey, 
On  his  mountains,  bare  and  sunny ; 
Drained  ambrosial  bowls,  that  ask  us 
Never  more  to  leave  Damascus ; 
And  have  sung  a  vintage  psean, 
To  the  grapes  of  isles  Egsean, 
And  the  flasks  of  Orvieto, 

Ripened  in  the  Roman  sun : 
But  the  liquor  here  surpasses 
All  that  beams  in  earthly  glasses. 
'Tis  of  this  that  Paracelsus 
niis  elixir  vitas)  tells  us, 
That  to  happier  shores  can  float  us 
Than  Lethean  stems  of  lotus, 

Straight  restores  when  day  is  dona. 
Then,  before  the  sunset  waneth, 
While  the  rosy  tide,  that  staineth 
Earth,  and  sky,  and  sea,  remaineth, 
We  will  take  the  fortune  profier'd, 
Ne'er  again  to  be  reK)ffer'd — 
We  will  drink  of  vino  d'oro 

On  the  Hills  of  Lebanon ! 
Vino  d'oro !  vino  d'oro  I 

Golden  blood  of  Lebanon ! 


18M.] 


47 


SKETCHES  IN  A  PARIS  0AF£. 


"  A  ND  besides,  Monsieur,  all  the  talents 
-Oi.  dine  there  !  " 

"  I  will  certainly  come.  Where  shall  we 
meet?  What  say  you  to  the  Galerie 
d'Orleans,  for  there  one's  sheltered  from 
the  vicissitudes  of  this  fickle  season, 
and,  in  its  winter's  throng,  the  faithless 
watches  are  never  execrated.  But  what 
hour  shall  we  meet  ?  which  is  the  best  hour 
for  seeing  •*  all  the  talents"  at  your  res- 
taurant? 

"  Six  o'clock.    God  protect  you !  '* 

"  Until  our  next  meeting."  ♦ 

Some  two  winters  ago,  chance  placed 
me  at  the  right  comer  end  of  the  large 
half-circle  the  orchestra  makes  in  its  mid- 
dle, in  the  Grand  Opera.  The  musicum 
Dearest  to  me  was  a  young  violinist 
about  twenty  years  old.  The  opera  given 
that  night  was  M.  Auber's  failure  (Homer 
himself  sometimes  sleeps)  U Enfant  Pro- 
diffue.  It  had  then  reached  its  thirtieth 
night.  The  orchestra  were  long  since 
tired  of  it.  It  is  the  custom  of  the  artists 
of  the  orchestra  when  they  feel  little  or  no 
interest  in  the  evening's  piece  to  pass 
away  as  much  time  as  they  can  by  read- 
ing some  book  or  another.  They  have 
heard  the  piece  so  often  (for  before  it  ap- 
pears to  the  public  it  has  been  rehearsed 
many  hundreds  of  times),  that  some  of 
the  older  musicians  never  think  of  taking 
their  eyes  off  their  book  during  the  whole 
evening,  but  when  they  have  to  play,  they 
install  the  work  they  are  reading  on  the 
stand  by  the  side  of  the  score,  and  play 
away  with  all  their  might  while  they  are 
devouring  some  pictured  page  of  Sir  Wal- 
ter Scott  or  Fenimore  Cooper,  or  some 
animated  and  brilliant  story  of  M.  Alex- 
andre Dumas.  There  are  some  ennuyis 
in  the  orchestra  these  authors  no  longer 
divert.  An  old  bass-violinist  has  been 
pointed  out  to  mo  as  having  mastered 
the  Hebrew  language  while  thus  whiling 
away  his  time.  A  kettle-drummer  (^tho 
one  on  the  extreme  right  of  the  stage)  is 
noted  for  his  knowledge  of  the  Russian. 
The  cymbal-beater  has  made  a  consider- 
able progress  in  the  Sanscrit,  and  the 
triangle  man  is  a  proficient  in  the  Coptic 
language  and  hieroglyphics. 

I  observed  that  my  neighbor,  notwith- 
standing his  youth,  was  one  of  the  en- 
rmyea;  although  I  several  times  wiped  mv 
eye-glasses  I  could  not  see  what  book 
formed  the  solace  of  his  hours  as  he  so 
oo?ered  it  with  his  music,  that  neither  its 
page-top  nor  its  back  was  visible ;  besides, 


the  type  was  of  a  very  small  character. 
Our  arms  touched  several  times  during  the 
evening:  the  interchange  of  civilities  these 
accidents  produced  was  more  than  enough 
to  afibrd  facility  to  engage  in  a  sustained 
conversation.  After  remarking  upon  the 
weariness  he  must  feel  by  hearing  the 
same  music  every  day  and  night  for 
months,  I  soon  had  an  opportunity  to  in- 
quire the  name  of  the  book  he  was  read- 
ing, and  having  been  long  accustomed  to 
the  ruthless  murders  the  Frenchmen  com- 
mit on  foreign  names,  I  instantly  recog- 
nized in  "  Weelyam  Shaaspee"  the  groat 
dramatic  bard  of  England.  The  young 
violinist  had  exhausted  his  matemid 
literature,  and  he  had  (so  he  said)  made 
sufficient  progress  in  the  English  language 
to  dare  to  swim  through  Shakespeare's 
pages  uncorked  with  a  translation.  He, 
of  course,  thought  Shakespeare  sublime — 
every  body  does.  I  did  not  take  the 
trouble  to  inquire  if  he  understood  him ; 
I  have  abandoned  for  many  years  making 
those  inquiries  of  Frenchmen  as  being  a 
mere  waste  of  time.  I  have  since  had 
reason  to  think  that  his  knowledge  of  Eng- 
lish extended  a  very  little  ways  beyond 
**  Yes,"  and  "  How  do  you  do." 

Our  conversation  lasted,  with  short  in- 
tervals, some  hours ;  he  talked  with  the 
freedom  of  youth,  of  artist's  youth,  glad 
to  find  a  patient  ear  to  listen  to  its  story ; 
while  I,  talking  enough  to  draw  him  out. 
listened  and  talked  with  the  interest  I 
feel  in  every  thing  in  this  world,  except 
the  Multiplication  Table  and  the  Rule  of 
Three.  Before  the  curtain  fell,  we  ex- 
changed cards,  and  I  went  the  next  day 
to  see  him.  Our  acquaintance  ripened 
soon  into  something  like  intimacy.  One 
day  happening  to  have  rather  more  money 
than  I  usually  can  boast,  I  determined  to 
dine  at  the  Trois  Freres  Provencaux, 
partly  because  I  was  tired  of  the  fixed- 
price  restaurants  and  desired  a  change,  and 
partly,  I  suspect,  from  a  lurking  hope  that 
money,  finding  how  cordial  a  reception  I 
gave  it,  would  visit  my  purse  more  fre- 
quently than  it  did.  As  a  dinner  for  one 
person  costs  at  the  Trois  Frdres  exactly 
the  same  sum  of  money  as  a  dinner  for 
two  (the  single  portion  being  more  than 
enough  for  two  persons),  I  determined 
to  invite  my  friend  the  violinist  to  dine 
with  me.  What  a  merry  time  we  had  of 
it !  Was  it  not  worth  all  the  money  it 
cost !  To  finish  the  evening  gayly,  we 
took  our  gloria  at  the  Cafg  de  Paris,  and 


•AdUmtl   Aurtwfir, 


48 


Sketcha  m  a  Parit  CqfS. 


fJ' 


about  midnight  we  separated,  feeling  at 
peace  with  the  world  and  full  of  eood  will 
to  all  men.  There's  nothing  like  your 
Burgundy  for  enduing  men's  breasts  with 
the  milk  of  human  kindness.  As  he  held 
out  his  hand  to  me :  "  Come  next  week  and 
dine  with  me."  he  said,  "  it  will  be  some- 
thing new  to  you ;  and  besides,  Monsieur, 
all  the  talents  dine  there." 

As  I  have  said  I  accepted  his  invitation, 
and  punctual  as  a  king  I  was  pacing  the 
animated  Galerie  d'Orleans  while  the 
Palais  Royal  clock  was  striking  six 
o'clock.  There  is  always  a  throng  in  the 
Palais  Royal,  and  especially  during  the 
winter ;  its  long  arcades  afford  an  agree- 
able walk  in  the  inclement  weather,  the 
miniature  shops  with  aU  their  contents 
&ncifully  and  tastily  arranged  in  the  im- 
mense and  perfect  plate  of  glass  which, 
barely  leaving  the  space  sufficient  for  a 
door,  covers  the  whole  front  of  the  shop : 
the  unnumbered  variety  of  the  shops,  the 
motley  complexion  of  the  promenaders, 
the  pretty  shop  girls,  the  mirrored  and 
gilded  eating-houses  with  their  displays 
of  all  the  costly  luxuries  of  the  season, 
or  rather  of  the  wealthy,  for  they 
know  no  season,  give  a  constantly  novel 
and  agreeable  scene  to  foreigners  and  to 
Parisians.  They  are  both,  too,  attracted 
thither  by  its  offering  within  its  vast  paral- 
lelogram, restaurants,  suited  to  every 
variety  of  purse,  from  the  fixed-price  res- 
taurant at  twenty-two  cents,  to  the  bill 
restaurant  with  an  octavo  volume  of  seve- 
ral hundred  pag&s ;  and  four  theatres ; 
and  two  musical  caf§s.  The  Galerie 
d'Orleans  is  the  microcosm  of  the  Palais 
Royal.  It  is  an  arcade  running  across  the 
end  of  the  garden  of  the  Palais  Royal,  and 
separating  the  Palais  Royal  proper  from 
the  shops  which  line  the  garden;  built 
entirely  of  glass  and  iron,  lined  on  both 
sides  with  brilliant  shops  constructed  of  the 
same  materials ;  entirely  protected  from  the 
weather,  it  is  so  favorite  a  promenade,  be- 
tween six  and  eight  o'clock  in  the  eve- 
ning, it  is  almost  impossible  to  move  in  it 
except  in  the  cadenccd  march  of  the  crowd 
which  fills  it.  The  Place  Saint  Marc  in 
Venice,  (the  only  sight  m  the  world  which 
can  be  compared  with  this)  is  far  inferior 
in  brilliancy  and  gayety  to  the  Palais 
Royal. 

Even  if  my  friend  had  been  less  punc- 
tual than  he  was  (the  fines  inflicted  bv 
the  Grand  Opera  for  tardiness,  are  aa- 
mirable  correctives  of  artists'  negligence  of 
time),  I  could  readily  have  amused  my- 
self in  the  Galerie  d'Orleans,  although  I 
have  been  for  a  good  many  years  a  daily  fre- 
quenter of  its  marble  pavement  <^  Come," 


said  he,  putting  his  arm  in  mine,  ^  a 

ready  for  my  artist-dinner  ;  you  o 

plate    it   without   trembling."      " 

done  !  "  said  I, "  know,  my  dear  fello 

when  one  has  eaten  his  A.  B.  at  — 

lege  commons,  where,  as  Weelyam 

pee  would  say — 

Rats  and  mice  and  snch  small  de^, 
Have  been  Tom's  fwHl  for  many  a  yet 

he  cannot  be  alarmed  by  any  thing 
in  a  kitchen." 

We  strolled  by  one  of  the  exter 
cades  of  the  Galerie  d'Orleans, 
down  to  some  of  the  numerous  ent 
of  the  Palace,  and  plunged  into  one 
narrow  streets  imprisoned  betwee 
giant  lines  of  eight-story  houses,  ur 
reached  a  brilliantly  lighted  door, 
ed  gorgeously,  its  decorations  her 
the  presents  the  earth,  air,  and  wat 
to  the  kitchen.  Coming  suddenly 
the  dimly  lighted  street  to  the  gas  1 
gilded,  and  mirrored  restaurant,  if 
almost  blinded  by  the  light,  I  was 
pletely  stunned  by  the  clatter, 
ground-floor  was  as  full  as  it  oou 
every  body  was  talking  as  fast  ai 
loud  as  they  could  talk ;  the  sei 
(who  had  a  large  number  of  guc 
wait  on)  shrieked  out  their  questioi 
answers ;  the  master  of  the  house  i 
in  tones  which  would  not  have  tl 
discredit  on  Boanerges,  the  whole 
fare,  which  was  interlarded  with 
whenever  he  caught  the  eye  of  some  i 
habitui^  who  was  never  guilty  < 
"  indelicacy"  of  asking  for  credit  ;- 
which  were  received  with  loud  ap] 
of  laughter,  which  I  attributed  (f 
jokes  can  only  be  called  jokes  bi 
charitable  courtesy  which  takes  ti 
for  the  deed,  it  was  evident  from  hi 
he  intended  them  for  jokes.)  partly 
masculine  proneness  to  flatter  autl 
and  partly  because  his  absurdities 
their  colossal  exaggeration,  seemed 
catures  of  absurdity.  Add  to  all  thj 
fusion  confounded,  the  distant  th 
of  the  cooks'  bons ;  and  the  sum  tc 
each  guest's  dinner,  bawled  interroga 
by  the  woman  at  the  counter,  to  the 
ers,  and  that  for  eighteen  cents,  yoi 
soup,  two  plates  of  meat,  a  dessert, 
bottle  of  wine  and  bread  at  discrei 
you  will  admit  that  this  was  decid 
cheap  restaurant  Wonder  that  F 
men  should  despise  life,  when  life  < 
maintained  so  cneaply  I 

According  to  the  bill  of  fare,  I  e 
lienne  soup,  a  beef-steak  and  petal 
mutton  cutlet  and  potatoes,  and 
and  almonds — what  I  really  eat,  I 
much  less  knowledge  of  than  I  pos 


1854.J 


Sk$i(^  in  a  Parit  OafL 


a 


fieosinian  Mysteries.  After  fleeing  the 
ooarishment  of  French  literary  men,  I 
hare  loftt  the  surprise  I  felt  at  reading 
their  works.  I  am  only  astonished  they 
are  not  worse. 

It  was  ouite  a  masquerade  of  poverty. 
I  TOW  if  I  had  met  any  of  those  kabituis 
on  the  street,  I  should  have  taken  them 
for  men  of  property.  Eyery  body  had 
handsome  kid  gloves,  and  gold  watches 
ind  chains,  and  the  majority  wore  patent 
leather  boots.  If  regard  was  had  to  the 
narrowness  of  their  incomes,  their  very 
wardrobe  demanded  the  exertion  of  con- 
summate genius.  The  larger  number  of 
the  guests  were  young  men.  These  were 
'^all  the  talents,"  who  were  persuaded 
(and  generally  with  reason)  that  fortune 
was  a  mere  question  of  time  to  them. 
There  were  young  musical  composers 
among  the  frequenters  of  the  restaurant, 
and  3'oung  actors,  young  painters,  young 
scribblers,  young  musicians,  and  some 
shop-boys — and  of  both  sexes  of  all  of 
these  stations  of  life.  Most  of  the  persons 
present  were  husbands  or  wives  by  bre- 
vet The  pro  hoc  vice  wives  bore  the 
names  of  their  '*  husbands"  with  as  much 
ease  as  if  the  mayor  and  the  priest  had 
taken  their  parts  in  the  transmutation* 
The  waiters,  who  were  quite  young,  were 
on  a  footing  of  equality  with  the  guests, 
and  joked  and  laughed  and  patted  them  on 
the  backs ;  they  never  thought  of  saying 
Monsieur :  in  many  cases  the  waiters  were 
richer  than  the  guests.  There  were  no 
disputes,  no  quarrelling,  no  impertinencics 
tf  any  kind,  the  "  ladies"  were  treated  with 
a  marked  courtesy ;  every  one  was  gay, 
every  one  was  merry, — how  could  it  be 
otherwise  when  all  were  so  young. 

I  had  scarcely  exchanged  the  ordinary 
drilities  with  my  friend's  "Madame" 
(who  was  waiting  for  us  when  we  came 
io)  when  I  heard  the  notes  of  a  guitar : 
taming  to  the  door,  I  saw  standing  under 
the  clock,  and  between  the  door  and  the 
window,  a  tall  scrawny  woman ;  she  was 
dressed  shabbily  genteel,  and  every  thing 
about  her  gave  evident  indications  that 
she  had  long  and  still  painfully  struggled 
with  poverty:  she  must  have  suffered 
acutely,  during  the  conflict,  for  besides 
the  lines  rising  on  both  sides  of  her  nose, 
and  running  around  her  mouth,  and  the 
ftuTOws  on  both  cheeks,  from  the  cheek- 
bone to  a  level  with  the  mouth,  she  was 
one  of  those  constitutions  which  suffer 
the  most  from  the  ills  of  life,  as  they  can 
bear  more  of  them  before  breaking,  than 
any  other  temperament  She  was  tail 
thm,  nervous;  her  limbs  and  her  head 
were  small,  her  hair  was  blade  and  ill 

vou  in.--4 


dressed — not  from  carelessness,  but  as  If 
her  hands  had  many  a  time  in  the  coarse 
of  the  day  pressed  it  back  to  give  more  air 
to  her  fired  brain ;  she  kept  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  floor,  and  sang  three  or  four  of 
the  merrier  popular  songs  of  the  day.  No 
attention  was  paid  to  her,  unless  I  except 
the  impertinent  way  the  waiters  snubbed 
her,  and  the  rude  jests  the  landlord  made 
with  her.  After  her  songs  were  ended, 
she  went  around  from  table  to  table, 
holding  out  a  small  tin  box  for  some  ra- 
compnse  for  her  labors.  I  suppose  she 
received  in  all  some  fifteen  cents.  In  a 
short  time  after  she  left  us,  two  mere  lada^ 
violinists,  came  in,  and  gave  us  something 
as  much  like  music  as  they  could  make  it 
They  handed  around  a  cup,  which  re- 
ceived as  liberal  a  donation  as  the  poor 
woman's  box.    Then  wo  had  a  harpw. 

With  the  music,  the  strange  sights 
around  me.  the  queer  exclamations  which 
met  my  ears,  the  beauty  of  "  Madame,** 
the  youthful  and  artist's  gayety  of  my 
friend,  and  the  two  bottles  of  extra  wine 
he  ordered  ^and  a  glass  of  which  the 
waiter  expected  as  of  course),  our  dinner 
went  off  merrily  enough — so  merrily  I 
have  dined  there"  several  times  since — and 
at  my  suggestion  we  all  went  to  my  room, 
(after  my  friend  had  paid  the  bill,  fifly- 
four  cents,  and  given  three  cents  to  the 
waiter),  wnere  his  "Madame"  made  coffee, 
while  he  and  I  arranged  some  cakes  I  had 
bought,  on  some  plates,  and  blew  up  the 
fire,  and  we  felt  as  happy  as  lords,  for  all 
we  were  up  so  many  flights  of  the  stairs 
of  the  spiral  staircase. 

"  Don't  think,"  said  he,  "  that  our  res- 
taurant is  the  lowest  in  Paris.  There  are 
some  where  you  have  soup,  two  plates,  a 
dessert,  wine,  and  bread  at  diacreiionAoT 
twelve  cents ;  indeed,  outside  of  the  Bar- 
rierc  du  Mont  Rouge,  there  is  one  where 
you  may  get  all  of  that  for  ten  cents — 
though  I  would  not  engage  you  to  try  it 
for  one  of  my  friends,  the  *  serpent,'  told 
me  that  ho  eat  there  before  he  entered 
our  orchestra,  and  after  the  Italian  opera 
season  closed,  one  day  he  asked  for  fri- 
casseed chicken,  and  he  found  the  bones 
of  it  were  those  of  an  ox's  tail.  Du  reste 
one  may  live  at  those  places — I  mean,  one 
may  keep  starvation  at  arm's  length  at 
one  of  those  places  and  without  danger, 
— so  the  *  serpent'  says, — if  he  eats  only 
vermicelli  soup  and  vegetables,  for  the 
bread  there,  as  every  where  in  Paris,  is  ex- 
cellent. But  it  is  a  droll  place  though  ! 
The  "  serpent"  says  they  have  all  of  oar 
musical  entertainment  and  a  great  deal 
more  noise  than  wo  have  (for  in  Paris  the- 
noise  made  in  the  restaurants,  mcreases 


60 


Shetchet  m  a  Paris  Ctffe. 


[Janvaiy 


as  the  prices  dimmish),  and  spouters  of 
Racine,  and  Corneille,  and  Victor  Hugo ; 
scarcely  a  dayelapses,  says  he,  that  they 
do  not  have  Th^ramdne's  lecity  Augus- 
tus's soliloquy,  Athalie's  dream,  or  the  so- 
hloquy  of  Charles  V.  Then  the  names  of 
the  dishes  are,  or  rather  were,  hefore  the 
coujp  (Pctat,  very  odd ;  there  was  soup  k 
la  Robespierre ;  beef  ^  la  Marat ;  mutton 
ragout  ^  la  fraternity ;  chicken  k  la  Re- 
publique,  and  heaven  knows  what  other 
democratical  names.  You  had  but  to  ask 
one  of  the  frequenters  for  his  favorite 
dishes  to  divine  his  politics :  tell  me  your 
dinner,  I  tell  you  who  you  are.  You  saw 
there,  as  you  see  at  places  like  it  in  Paris, 
all  the  stone-masons  and  plasterers  of  the 
neighborhood  ;  one  would  think  their 
trades  indurated  their  bellies  as  hard  as 
their  hands,  for  the  '  serpent'  says  they 
partake  freely  of  all  the  dishes  of  the 
place,  without  giving  immediate  symptoms 
of  discomfort." 

"  The  restaurant  you  and  Louis  dined  at 
the  other  day."  said  Madame,  "  was  a  very 
different  sort  of  place  from  the  gargotte 
of  the  Barridre  de  Mont  Rouge,  wasn't  it  7  " 
"Yes,  indeed !  And  you  must  some  day 
dine  at  the  Trois  Freres  with  us.  It  is 
more  than  worth  the  vulgar  money  you 
pay  for  the  dinner,  large  as  is  the  amount 
of  the  bill.  The  Trois  Prdres  is  un- 
questionably the  best  eating-place  in  the 
world ;  it  occupies  the  rank  the  Rocher 
de  Cancale,  Very 's,  and  Vfefour's  held  some 
twenty  years  ago.  You  remember  the  ac- 
count Tom  Moore  gives  of  them  in  the 
book  from  which  I  read  to  you  the  other 
night — and  De  Balzac's  description  of  the 
Rocher  de  Cancale,  may  be  justly  applied 
to  a  dinner  party  in  the  salon  up  stairs  ' 
of  the  Trois  Frdres :  at  *  half-past  seven, 
a  magnificent  service  of  plate,  made  ex- 
pressly for  the  dinners,  where  vanity 
pays  the  bill  with  bank  notes,  shone  upon 
the  table  of  the  handsomest  salon  of  the 
establishment  where  all  £urope  has  dined. 
Torrents  of  light  made  cascades  on  the 
edges  of  the  carvings  of  the  silver  and  the^ 
glue.  Waiters — a  stranger  would  have 
taken  for  diplomatists,  but  for  their 
age — behaved  themselves  with  all  the 
seriousness  of  people  who  know  them- 
selves to  be  extra  paid.'  We  will  all  dine 
there  together  New  Year's  Day.  I  will 
go  there  in  the  morning  and  order  a  soup 
parie  du  gibier  (the  only  thing  we  need 
order  beforehand),  and  retain  one  of  those 
cosy  little  rooms  on  the  entresol  so  well 
sofaed,  and  cushioned,  and  lighted^  and 
at  night  I'll  introduce  you  to  all  their  de- 
licate luxuries,  from  the  soup  to  the 
gnpeg.  without  omitting  a  bechamel  de 


turbot,  their  famous  fricandeau^  their 
cocks'  combs,  their  truffles,  their  wonder- 
ful salmis  of  game,  and  those  thoiisand 
other  made  dishes  the  genius  of  Vatel  and 
Careme  have  given  to  their  successors. 
You  may  judge  then  for  yourself  of  the 
splendor  of  the  service,  and  the  excellence 
of  the  viands,  and  the  ^nius  of  the  cooks, 
and  the  polished  obseqwousness  of  the  care- 
fully dressed  waiters.  But — for  the  privacy 
of  the  cabinet  de  socieli  has  some  draw- 
backs— you  must  consent  to  lose  the  splen- 
dor of  the  ground- floor  room,  and  the  bril- 
liant company  generally  assembled  there.*' 

"  I  unll  pay  for  the  dinner  on  condition 
^ou  tell  me  all  the  news  about  the  fash- 
ions— I  want  to  hear  all  the  news,  and  I 
shall  be  exactii^.  for  Louis  has  told  me 
that  you  live  witn  the  best  mantuamaker 
of  Paris." 

"  Ah !  most  vnllingly.  The  return  of 
necklaces  is  spoken  of  as  certain  this 
winter  in  the  fashionable  circles,  and 
hair  ornaments  are  much  sought  after 
for  necklaces,  ear-rings  and  bracelets. 
The  workmanship  is  beautiful,  and  the 
effect  extremely  good.  Fichus,  worn 
with  redingotes,  and  high  dresses,  have 
almost  invariably  the  (^  mousquetaire 
trimmed  vnth  Mechlin  or  Valendennea 
lace.  Small  tucks  are  much  in  favor  for 
tulle  or  muslin  chemisettes ;  but  whilst 
there  can  be  nothing  prettier  when  new, 
they  are  generally  spoilt  in  the  washing ; 
to  obviate  this,  narrow  flat  braid  is  run 
into  each  tuck,  which  gives  firmness,  and 
keeps  them  in  their  straight  lines.  Lace 
berthes  are  much  in  favor ;  application, 
guipure,  or  Alen^on,  are  most  in  deman^ 
they  are  fastened  with  narrow  ribbons  or 
ends  of  lace,  called  bons  hommes:  the 
trimmings  to  the  sleeves  and  flounces 
match  the  lace,  of  which  the  berthe 
is  composed.  Brooches  are  much  worn, 
to  fiisten  the  berthe  on  the  front  of  the 
body.  Winter-pardessus  are  occupying 
the  attention  of  our  most  skilful  artists^ 
but  nothing  very  definite  has  been  as 
yet  decided  on.  It  may,  however,  be 
mentioned,  that  velvet  trimmed  with 
deep  laoe  will  be  worn  for  full  dress, 
the  pelisse  for  morning  dress,  the  Talma 
cut  on  the  bias,  and  the  manteau  Bari- 
dant,  in  doth  and  trimmed  with  velvet 
braids  for  promenades.  The  sorties  de 
bal  are  very  elegant;  the  most  di^ 
tinguies  are  made  of  white  poult  de 
soie,  lined  with  pink  or  blue  satin.  A 
lar^  hood  lined  with  plush  to  match  the 
satin,  with  a  full  bow  and  long  ends,  is 
indispensable,  and  Illyrian  sleeves  com- 
plete this  useful  and  beautiful  manteau. 
Taffetas  glacis  dressesi  with  three  skirti 


1854.] 


Shetehes  tn  a  Paris  QofL 


51 


or  three  deep  flounces,  are  much  in  favor. 
Bows  of  nbbon  are  placed  upon  the 
floonces.  Small  beautiful  coins  de  feu  of 
Telvet  and  satin,  with  deep  basques,  and 
back  like  the  paletot,  richly  embroidered 
with  braid  mixed  with  jet,  are  very  popu- 
lar. Feuiile  morte  colors  are  the  favorite 
shades  for  dresses.  Bonnets  for  ncglig6 
or  promenade,  are  composed  of  velvet 
either  green,  violet,  blue,  or  soft  brown 
drab  trimmed  with  black  Venetian  lace, 
mixed  with  flowers  and  foliage,  or  feathers 
the  same  color  as  the  velvet.  Visiting 
bonnets  are  the  demi-capotes  composed 
of  bands  of  pmk  or  blue  terry  velvet, 
separated  by  rows  of  white  blonde  frills. 
The  trimmings  of  these  capotes  are  often 
a  single  flower,  the  shade  of  the  terry 
Telvet  with  long  foliage  in  blonde  or 
crape ;  or  small  white  feathers  tipped 
with  the  ook)r  of  the  velvet.  Have  I 
earned  my  dinner  at  the  Trois  Frdres  ? 
Tiem  !  it  is  twelve  o'clock." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  you  have !  But  stay — 
don't  go  yet ;  the  porter  expects  his  fee, 
and  as  you  have  to  pay  him,  you  shoula 
get  the  worth  of  your  money.  Come,  pour 
out  some  coffee  ;  I  want  to  read  you  the 
impressions  Paris  made  upon  an  Arab  of 
the  Sahara.  Don't  you  like  to  hear  how 
they  regard  a  civilization,  which  is  so 
different  to  theirs?  and  to  remark  how 
singular  many  of  our  luxuries  and  cus- 
toms appear,  when  seen  by  eyes  whose 
observation  has  not  been  blunted  by  long 
and  daily  familiarity  with  them  ? 

" '  You  do  not  pray — you  do  not  fast — 
you  do  not  perform  ablutions — ^you  do 
not  shave  your  heads — ^you  are  not  cir- 
cumcised— you  do  not  bleed  the  animals 
which  you  eat — you  eat  hog's  meat — ^you 
drink  fermented  liquors,  which  transform 
you  to  beasts — you  are  guilty  of  the  infa- 
my of  wearing  a  hat  different  from  that 
worn  by  Sidna-A'issa  (our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ);  these  are  the  vices  for  which 
you  have  to  reproach  yourselves.  But 
then,  you  make  excellent  powder ;  your 
aman  is  sacred ;  you  are  guilty  of  no 
exactions ;  you  are  polite ;  you  do  not 
lie  a  great  deal ;  you  like  cleanliness.  If, 
with  all  that,  you  could  once  say  with 
sincerity,  *•  There  is  no  other  God  but 
God,  and  our  Lord,  Mahomet,  is  God's 
angel  (messenger),"  none  would  enter  Pa- 
radise sooner  than  you.  What  I  espe- 
cially admire  in  France,  is  that  there  is  a 
severe  government  established.  One  may 
travel  there  by  day  and  by  night  without 
fear.  Your  buildings  are  beautiful ;  your 
lighting  is  admirable ;  your  carriages  are 
comfortable;  your  smoking  boats  and 
your  iron  rcMuls  are  unsurpassed  by  any 


thing  in  the  world.  One  finds  there  food 
and  pleasures  for  all  ages,  and  for  every 
purse.  You  have  an  army  organized  like 
steps,  this  man  above  that.  All  of  your 
cities  have  foot-soldiers:  your  foot-sol- 
diers are  the  ramparts  of  your  country. 
Your  cavalry  is  badly  mounted,  but  won- 
derfully armed  and  equipped.  Your  sol- 
diers' iron  shines  like  silver.  You  have 
water  and  bridges  in  abundance.  You 
understand  agriculture:  you  have  crops 
for  every  season.  The  eye  is  as  little  fa- 
tigued looking  at  your  vegetables  and 
your  fruits,  as  your  soil  is  tired  producing 
them.  We  have  found,  in  your  Garden 
of  the  Baylic  (the  Garden  of  Plants), 
animals,  and  plants,  and  trees,  which  even 
our  old  men  have  never  heard  of.  You 
have  enough  to  satisfy  all  the  world  in 
silks,  in  velvets,  in  precious  stuffs,  and  in 
precious  stones.  And  what  the  most 
astonishes  us  is  the  promptness  with 
which  you  know  what  takes  place  in  the 
most  distant  places.  .  .  .' " 

"  Mais  there's  one  o'clock  !  Good 
night !  good  night ! " 

After  my  lively  guests  had  gone,  I  re- 
turned to  a  book  which  I  have  been  read- 
ing, M.  Roederer's  Memoirs,  and  in  the 
course  of  the  evening  I  remarked  several 
reports  of  his  conversations  with  Napo- 
leon, which  appear  so  interesting  to  me 
that  I  will  transcribe  a  passage  or  two. 
During  the  first  days  of  Brumairc,  and 
while  the  confidential  circle  were  discuss- 
ing with  detail  the  Revolution  which  was 
to  be  made  the  Eighteenth,  Bonaparte 
said  to  Roederer :  "  No  man  is  more  pusil- 
lanimous than  I  am  when  I  am  framing  a 
military  plan:  I  exaggerate  to  myself 
all  the  dangers,  and  all  the  possible  evils 
which  may  arise  under  the  circumstances. 
I  am  in  a  painful  agitation.  This  does 
not  prevent  my  appearing  serene  before 
the  persons  around  me.  lam  like  a  girl 
on  the  eve  of  child-Mrth.  And  when 
my  resolution  is  taken,  all  is  forgotten 
except  that  which  can  make  it  succeed." 
In  1804,  on  the  eve  of  the  establishment 
of  the  Empire,  Bonaparte^  talking  with 
him  in  the  Tuileries,  thinking  aloud,  and 
expressing  his  impatience  of  the  injustice 
of  Parisian  opinion  at  that  moment,  and 
his  annoyance  of  the  obstacles  thrown  in 
his  way,  even  by  some  of  his  nearest  re- 
lations, said:  "Besides  moi,  I  have  no 
ambition  (and  then  correcting  himself  ) — 
or,  if  I  have  some,  it  is  so  natural  to  me, 
it  is  so  innate  in  me,  it  is  so  intimately 
attached  to  my  existence,  that  it  is  like 
the  very  blood  in  my  veins,  like  the  air  I 
breathe.  It  does  not  make  me  go  more 
quickly  or  differently  than  the  natural 


59 


Skittles  m  a  Paris  Caft. 


[Jamuoy 


^  I  in  me.  I  have  never  had  to  com- 
bat, ^ther  for  or  against  it ;  it  does  not 
go  fiister  than  I  do ;  it  only  goes  with  the 
circumstances  and  the  ensemble  of  my 
ideas."  At  another  time,  led  to  speak 
about  war,  of "  that  immense  art  which 
includes  all  the  others."  of  the  innumer- 
able talents  it  requires,  and  which  are 
very  different  from  personal  courage,  and 
which  cannot  be  given  at  will:  "A/i7i- 
totre,  je  le  suis  maij  I  am  a  soldier,"  ex- 
claimed Bonaparte,  "because  it  is  the 
particular  ^fl  I  received  at  my  birth ;  it 
IS  my  existence  —  it  is  my  habitude. 
Wherever  I  have  been,  I  have  command- 
ed ;  I  commanded,  when  I  was  twenty- 
three  years  old,  the  siege  of  Toulon — ^I 
commanded  in  Paris,  in  Vend6maire;  I 
carried  away  the  soldiers  in  Italy,  as  soon 
as  I  appeared  to  them.  I  was  bom  for 
that.  I  always  know  how  I  stand.  I 
have  my  accounts  always  present  to  my 
mind.  I  cannot  get  by  heart  a  single 
Alexandrine  line ;  but  I  never  forget  a 
syllable  of  the  accounts  of  my  situation. 
I  like  tragedies ;  but  if  every  tragedy  in 
the  world  were  there,  on  one  side,  and 
the  accounts  of  my  situation  on  the  other, 
I  would  not  even  glance  at  a  single  tra- 
gedy, and  I  would  not  omit  a  single  line 
of  the  accounts  of  my  situation,  without 
having  read  it  attentively.  To-night,  I 
shall  find  (hem  in  my  chamber,  and  I 
shan't  go  to  bed  until  I  have  read  them. 
{It  was  then  nearly  midnight.)  Per- 
haps it  is  a  mi«fortune  that  I  command  in 
person ;  but  it  is  my  essence,  my  privi- 
lege. ...  I  have  more  mind. . .  What  do 
I  care  about  talents !  What  I  want  is 
the  hprit  of  the  thing.  TTiere  is  no  fool 
who  IS  not  good  for  something — there  is 
no  mind  which  can  do  every  thing.  The 
love  of  kings  is  not  a  nursed  tenderness. 
They  should  make  themselves  feared  and 
respected.  The  love  of  nations  is  onlj 
esteem.  I  love  power,  moi;  but  it  is 
en  artiste  that  I  love  it. . .  I  love  it  as  a 
musician  loves  his  violin,  to  draw  from  it 
sounds,  accords,  harmony.  The  military 
art  is  a  freemasonry ;  there  is  among  aU 
of  them  a  certain  intelligence  which  en- 
ables thorn,  without  misUke,  to  recognise 


each  other,  seek  each  other's  company, 
and  understand  each  other ;  and  I  am  the 
grand-master  of  all  their  lodges.  There 
is  nothing  about  war  that  I  cannot  do 
myself.  If  there  is  nobody  to  make  gun- 
powder, I  know  how  to  make  it;  if  can- 
nons are  wanted,  I  know  how  to  cast 
them ;  I  can  teach  all  the  details  of  tac- 
tics, if  there  is  nobody  else  to  teach 
them.  In  administration,  I  alone  ar- 
ranged the  finances,  as  you  know 

There  are  principles,  rules  which  should 
be  known.  I  work  always;  I  meditate  a 
great  deal.  If  I  appear  always  ready  to 
guarantee  every  thing,  to  meet  every 
thing,  it  is  because,  before  undertaking 
any  thing,  I  have  long  meditated.  I  have 
foreseen  what  might  happen.  It  is  not  a 
genitis  which  suddenly  reveals  me  secret- 
ly what  I  have  to  say  or  to  do  in  circum- 
stances which,  toothers,  are  unexpected; 
it  is  my  reflection,  my  meditation.  I 
am  always  working,  at  dinner,  at  the 
theatre ;  I  got  up  during  the  night  and 
work.  Last  night  I  got  up  at  two  o'clock. 
I  sat  in  my  long  chair  before  the  fire,  to 
examine  the  accounts  of  the  situation  the 
Minister  of  War  gave  me  last  night.  I 
found  out  and  noted  twenty  faults,  and  I 
have  sent  my  notes  to  the  Minister,  who 
is  now  busy  in  his  oflBoe  correcting  them." 
I  am  persuaded  you  will  read  with  inters 
est  Napoleon's  opinion  on  the  contested 
question  of  the  unities.  Benjamin  Con- 
stant had  just  published  his  tragedy, 
Walstein,  ^*  Benjamin  Constant  has  writ- 
ten a  tragedy  and  some  poetry.  Those 
people  try  to  write  when  they  have  not 
even  made  their  first  literary  studies. 
Let  him  read  Aristotle's  Poetics.  Trage- 
dy does  not  limit  the  action  to  twenty- 
four  hours  arbitrarily ;  but  it  is  because 
it  takes  the  passions  at  their  maximum, 
at  their  t^tj  highest  degree  of  intensity, 
when  they  can  neither  bear  any  distrac- 
tion, nor  support  a  long  time.  He  makes 
them  eat  during  the  action :  eat,  indeed ! 
when  the  action  commences,  the  actors 
should  be  agitated ;  at  the  third  act,  they 
should  sweat;  at  the  last,  every  body 
should  be  bathed  in  perspiration." 


1864.] 


HAYTl    AND   THE   HAITlANa 


MY  first  view  of  Hayti  was  from  off  the 
''  Mole  St  Nicholas,"  the  northwest 
point  of  the  island.  Wo  were  perhaps 
twenty  miles  east  of  the  point  to  be 
doubled  in  order  to  enter  the  bay  of  Port 
au  Prince.  A  bold,  mountainous  shore 
presented  itself  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  and  far  in  the  interior  we  could  see 
Uie  cloud-capt  summit  of  '*  Monte  aa 
Diable,"  towering  more  than  five  thou- 
sand feet  above  us.  Being  awakened 
suddenly  from  sound  sleep  it  was  as  if 
the  island  had  sprung  in  an  instant,  by 
magic,  from  the  depths  of  the  wide  waste 
of  waters  by  which  we  had  been  for  many 
days  surrounded. 

The  scenes  of  that  early  morning  hour 
are  engraved  indelibly  upon  my  memoiy, 
and  are  among  the  most  pleasing  reminis- 
cences of  my  life.  Daylight  had  but 
just  dawned,  and  the  bold  shore  towered 
before  me  draped  in  the  gray  morning 
mist,  and  covered  with  a  wealth  of  vei^ 
dure  such  as  I  had  never  seen  before. 
There  is  a  luxuriance,  we  can  almost  say  a 
prodigality  in  the  robes  with  which  nature 
here  decks  herself,  that  amazes  and  be- 
wilders one  who,  for  the  first  time,  opens 
his  eyes  upon  a  tropical  scene.  The  air 
was  more  delightful  than  I  had  ever  im- 
agined that  of  the  most  genial  climes  to 
be.  I  stood  hatless,  near  the  stem  of  the 
ship,  gazing  spellbound  upon  the  scene 
before  me ;  and  as  we  were  borne  along 
by  a  gentle  breeze,  the  mild  soft  winds 
played  with  my,  as  yet,  uncombed  locks, 
and  fanned  me  with  a  gentle  dalliance, 
even  the  memory  of  which  is  delicious. 

Doubling  the  *'Mole"  we  sailed  in  a 
southeasterly  direction  down  the  bay, 
about  a  hundred  miles,  to  the  city  of  Port 
au  Prince.  A  range  of  bold  highlands 
skirts  the  shore,  now  with  bald  and  jag- 
ged summits,  burning  and  glowing  under 
a  tropical  sun,  and  now  retreating  farther 
into  the  interior,  and  covered  with  the 
Dkost  rank  and  luxuriant  vegetation. 

In  going  down  the  bay  we  pass  a  beau-. 
tiful  little  island  about  twenty  miles  in 
length,  called  Gonare.  Nature  has  lav- 
ished upon  it  her  bounties  with  the  same 
rich  profusion  that  characterizes  all  her 
works  here.  Mahogany,  logifV'ood.  tropi- 
cal fruits,  and  other  productions  abound, 
and  it  seems  a  fit  residence  for  fiuries ;  yet 
no  human  bcin^  is  allowed  to  dwell  upon 
it  Passing  this  island  we  were  in  full 
view  of  both  shores  of  the  bay,  which  pre- 
sent the  same  magnificent  appearance. 
Near  the  city  of  Port  au  Prince  the  bay 


is  dotted  with  several  little  islands,  which, 
however,  add  more  to  its  beauty  as  a 
scene  for  a  pauiter,  than  to  its  convenience 
or  safety  for  purposes  of  navigation.  The 
mountain  ranges  terminate  nearly  with 
the  bay,  and  a  level  country  opens  up  be- 
yond the  city  whKh  lies  at  its  head. 

Thus  much  for  Haitian  scenery ;  now 
for  an  introduction  to  the  people.  As  we 
near  the  city  a  boat  approaches,  rowed  by 
two  blacks,  hatless  and  with  a  scanty 
allowance  of  clothing,  bringing  a  more 
respectably  attired  personage  not  less 
black.  It  is  the  pilot  As  soon  as  a 
pilot  touches  the  deck  of  a  vessel,  he  is  in 
full  command;  the  responsibility  of  the 
captain  is  at  an  end,  and  he  is  only  as  a 
passenger.  It  was  very  amusing  to  watch 
the  queer  and  comical  expressions  upon 
the  faces  of  our  sailors  when  then'  new 
superior  came  on  board,  took  his  statkm. 
and  gave  his  orders,  "  Port,"  "  Steady," 
"Starboard,"  &c  It  was  evidently  not 
easy  for  them  to  yield  him  all  the  respect 
due  to  his  station ;  but  certain  significant 
looks  fh>m  the  captain  kept  all  in  order, 
and  we  were  taken  safely  to  the  harbor. 
Soon  another  boat  came  alongside,  and  we 
were  boarded  by  three  other  officials. 
These  were  the  captain  of  the  port,  rather 
a  short  stout  man  (a  thorough  black),  in 
military  dress,  composed  of  a  fiat  crescent- 
shaped  cap,  epaulet,  blue  broadcloth  coat 
with  figured  gilt  buttons,  &c  Next  came 
the  ci^ptain  of  the  pilots,  a  tall  well  formed 
man,  in  official  dress.  lie  had  spent  some 
time  in  the  United  States  and  now  acts  as 
interpreter,  the  French  being  the  language 
of  the  country.  And  last,  the  clerk  of 
the  port,  a  young  man  several  shades 
lighter,  in  citizen's  dress  of  the  latest 
Parisian  style.  Broadway  does  not  often 
furnish  a  more  perfect "  exquisite."  These 
received  the  ship's  papers,  went  through 
the  forms  of  entry  to  the  custom-house, 
and  placed  a  black  soldier  on  board  as  a 
guard  against  smuggling.  The  captain 
and  myself  (the  only  passenger)  were 
then  conducted  ashore  to  **  La  Place,"  the 
office  of  the  governor  of  the  city,  where 
after  registering  our  names,  and  going 
through  a  brief  fonn,  we  were  dismissed 
and  at  liberty  to  go  on  shore  when  and 
where  we  pleased. 

The  first  few  hours  spent  upon  any 
foreign  shore  will  not  easily  bo  forgotten. 
When  after  an  hour  or  two  I  was  again 
on  board  of  the  vessel  for  the  night,  my 
mind  seemed  to  have  been  moved  and  ex- 
cited by  more  new  and  strange  emotions, 


04 


JBatfti  and  the  Haitians, 


[Januaij 


than  in  whole  years  before.  Every  thing, 
animate  and  inanimate,  was  new  and 
strange — the  people  and  their  habits,  the 
animals  and  their  equipage,  the  style  of 
the  buildings,  the  trees,  plants,  vegetation, 
firuits,  and  various  productions  of  the 
earth.  All  were  new  and  consequently 
sources  of  mental  excitement  and  pleasure. 
T  had  travelled  many,  many  months  and 
miles  in  our  own  southern  climes,  in  the 
precarious  search  for  health,  until  wearied 
with  my  wanderings  by  land,  I  had  gone 
on  board  this  vessel  simply  for  the  benefit 
of  a  voyage  at  sea ;  not  knowing,  or  car- 
ing for  what  particular  island  or  port  we 
were  bound.  I  was  glad  that  night  that 
the  monotony  of  my  life  had  thus  been 
broken,  and  that  I  had  fetched  up  just 
where  I  had ;  a  place  so  rarely  visited  * 
by  travellers,  and  afibrding,  though  so 
near  home,  so  fresh  a  field  for  observation 
and  study. 

I  have  described  our  entrance  to  Port  au 
Prince.  This  city  contains  from  twenty  to 
twenty-five  thousand  inhabitants.  These, 
with  the  exception  of  a  few  foreigners, 
are  natives  of  the  island,  and  are  always 
distmguished  as  "blacks" — those  of  un- 
mixed blood — and  "colored" — those  of 
every  tinge  from  "  snowy  white  to  sooty." 
To  one  accustomed  to  the  state  of  things 
in  our  own  country,  and  especially  to  one 
who  has  spent  a  good  deal  of  time  in  the 
southern  States,  it  seemed  singular,  to  say 
the  least,  to  see  only  black  senators,  judges, 
generals,  and  all  the  various  grades  of  civil 
and  military  officers,  necessary  to  conduct 
the  affairs  of  government,  and  these  all 
presided  over  by  a  black  emperor.  This 
remarkable  personage  is  the  great  object 
of  curiosity,  for  which  sailors,  captains, 
and  all  others  inquire,  and  however  much 
there  may  be  to  interest  the  stranger 
passing  before  his  eyes,  all  are  on  the  qui 
vive  until  he  is  seen.  I  have  gathered 
the  following  facts  in  r^ard  to  his  pre- 
vious history. 

The  present  Emperor  of  Hayti,  Faustin 
Soulouque,  or  as  he  is  officially  known, 
"His  Majesty,  Faustin  the  Fh^t,"  had, 
previously  to  his  election  as  president, 
been  unknown  to  fame  save  as  a  military 
chieftain.  His  first  connection  with  the 
army  was  in  the  capacity  of  a  servant  to 
a  distinguished  general.  He  has  ever 
been  regarded  by  those  who  have  known 
him  as  a  man  of  moderate  abilities  and 
acquirements,  but  of  undoubted  bravery. 

My  first  view  of  him  was  as  he  was 
riding  through  the  city  of  Port  au  Prince, 


as  his  custom  is  on  every  Sunday  morn- 
ing.    His  color  is  the  dingiest  coal  black ; 
he  has  not  the  thick  lips  and  other  char 
racteristic  features  that  usually  accompany 
this  color.     He  rode  a  fine  gray  horse 
imported  from  the  United   States,  and 
was  accompanied  by  a  hundred  or  more 
of    his    lifeguards    on    horseback,    pre- 
ceded   by   cavalry    music,    and    passed 
through  the  principal  streets  of  the  city, 
uncovering  his  head  and  dispensing  his 
bows  and  his  smiles  to  the  crowds  as 
he  rode  rapidly  past    them.      He  was 
dressed,  as  he  has  always  been  when  I 
have  seen  him,  far  more  richly  than  I 
have  ever  seen  any  of  om*  military  officers 
dressed.    He  wore  the  common  crescent- 
shaped  military  cap,  with  rich  plumes 
and  heavy  golden  trimmings.  His  coat  was 
blue  broadcloth  with  standing  collar ;  and 
the  entire  front,  the  collar,  the  seams  of 
the  sleeves  and  the  back,  the  edges  of  the 
skirts,   &c.,  were    overlaid  with    heavy 
golden  trimmings.    Besides  this,  various 
figures  were  wrought  in  gold  upon  the 
back  and  other  parts  of  the  coat,  so  that 
a  large  part  of  the  cloth  was  covered. 
But  a  part  of  his  vest  could  be  seen,  as  his 
coat  was  buttoned  with  one  button  near 
his  neck ;  but  all  that  did  appear  showed 
nothing  but  gold.      His  trowsers  were 
white,  trinmied  on  each  side  of  the  seams 
with  gold  lace.  He  was  not,  however,  in  full 
dress,  as  he  had  on  conmion  boots,  instead 
of  a  pair  most  richly  trimmed  witn  velvet 
and  gold  that  he  sometimes  wears.    His 
age  is  a  little  above  fifty,  his  form  erect, 
near  six  feet  in  height,  and  well  propoi^ 
tioned.    His  horsemanship  is  of  the  most 
accomplished  character.    This  attracts  the 
attention  of  all  foreigners,  and  their  uni- 
versal remark  is  that  in  this  respect  he  is 
rarely  equalled.    He  usually  rides  to  the 
Bureau  of  the  Port,  the  custom-house,  and 
through  several  of  the  principal  streets  of 
the  city,  attended  by  a  few  of  his  guards, 
twice  during  the  week.    As  I  had  seen 
him  thus  riding  rapidly  through  the  city. 
I  was  perplexed  to    reconcile  his  facel 
which  seemed  amiable  and  benignant,  with 
what  I  knew  of  his  character ;  but  sub- 
sequently, as  I  stood  near  him,  when  he 
dismounted  at  church,  and  then  sat  within 
a  few  feet  of  him  during  a  long  service,  I 
have  been  relieved  of  this  difficulty,  for  I 
could  see  in  his  face  when  in  repose  an 
index  of  his  stern  and  merciless  heart 
Those  familiar  with  the  circumstances  of 
his  election  as  president  of  the  republic 
(the  present  Emperor  of  France,  be  it  re- 


*  More  thui  fifty  vesaels  IW>in  tho  United  States  arrired  at  Port  aa  Prince  daring  mj  stay  upon  the  Island, 
In  which  there  were  but  two  paasengera,— one  a  yonng  lawyer  sent  br  an  Insurance  comply  to  look  after  a 
TMMl  thti  had  been  wrecked ;  and  the  other  an  agent  for  a  oomnMndal  housou 


ia54.] 


JBayti  and  t>  JSlattians, 


55 


membered,  has  most  doselj  followed  the 
black  Emperor  in  the  method  he  has 
taken  to  reach  his  present  position)  will 
remember  that  the  honor  came  upon  him 
most  miexpcctedlj.  Parties  were  so 
nearly  balanced  that  neither  of  them  was 
able  to  succeed,  and  after  several  unavail- 
ing ballots  he  was  taken  up  as  an  avail* 
able  military  candidate,  and  moreover  as 
one  that  the  leaders  thought  could  easily 
be  managed.  But  they  soon  found  out 
their  mistake.  The  very  men  who  had 
procured  his  election  were  the  first  to 
soffer.  In  a  very  short  time  he  dismissed 
them  from  the  ministry  and  chose  a  cab- 
inet to  his  own  liking,  and  from  that  day 
onward  he  has  sacnficed  whoever  has 
dared  to  oppose  him,  or  been  suspected  of 
plotting  his  overthrow,  with  apparently 
as  little  feeling  as  he  would  have  taken 
the  life  of  a  centipede.  It  is  a  very  difficult 
matter  to  judge  of  the  future  in  regard  to 
the  Haitian  government  and  people,  but 
to  all  appearances  he  bids  fair  to  be  their 
ruler  for  many  years  to  come.  At  least 
if  he  be  not  it  will  not  be  because  he 
would  hesitate  to  sacrifice  hecatombs  of 
opposing  subjects  to  secure  this  end. 

It  18  not  easy  to  give  a  truthful  impres- 
sion of  the  real  state  of  things  upon  this 
island.  A  gentleman  who,  for  many 
years,  occupied  the  chair  of  history  in  one 
of  our  distinguished  institutions,  and 
whose  knowledge  of  the  past  history  and 
present  state  of  the  world  is  equalled  by 
very  few  of  any  land,  remarked  to  me 
that  he  found  it  more  difficult  to  get  satis- 
factory views  of  the  state  of  things  in 
Hayti,  than  of  any  other  part  of  the 
world.  Probably  every  one  who  has 
given  any  attention  to  what  has  been 
passing  here  for  the  last  half  ccntuiy  has 
experienced  the  same  difficulty.  I  will 
therefore  make  this  general  remark  in  re- 
gard to  the  island,  which  will  serve  to 
explain  the  confficting  statements  that  are 
made  by  those  who  visit  it.  In  Hayti 
ycu  have  every  thing  from  extreme 
Parisian  refinement  and  civilization 
down  to  the  lowest  African  superstition 
and  degradation!  You  may  therefore 
believe  any  statement  that  would  be  true 
of  any  state  of  society  between  these  wide 
extremes. 

From  all  that  I  had  known  of  them,  of 
their  revolutions  and  their  almost  constant 
sanguinary  conflicts,  I  had  not  supposed 
that  any  portion  of  them  were  as  far  ad- 
vanced in  civilization  as  I  found  some  of 
them  to  be.  Those  who  transact  the 
commercial  and  mercantile  business  of  the 
city  have  an  air  of  intelligence  quite  simi- 
lar to  the  same  class  in  our  own  cities. 


Their  style  of  dress  is  so  remarkably  neat 
and  tasteful  that  it  attracts  your  atten- 
tion at  once.  The  climate  being  warm, 
their  clothing  is  generally  light,  and  most 
of  it  the  most  pure  and  beautifUl  white  I 
have  ev«r  seen  worn.  This  is  the  result 
of  much  bleaching  in  a  tropical  sun,  and 
of  great  painstaking  and  skill  in  washing. 
The  dress  of  the  common  working  people, 
however,  what  little  they  wear,  is  of  the 
very  opposite  extreme.  These,  howeveri 
dress  differently  on  certain  occasions,  whioh 
I  shall  hereafter  describe. 

Another  characteristic  oi  the  people 
that  at  once  arrests  your  attention,  is  their 
remarkable  politeness.  A  foreigner  who 
has  resided  among  them  for  some  years 
told  me  that  this  was  the  great  matter  in 
their  education ;  that  the  better  class  oC 
Haitian  mothers  flogged  their  children 
oflener  for  delinquencies  in  this  mattar 
than  for  any  thing  else.  In  walking  witl\ 
them  in  the  streets,  or  whenever  they  an- 
meeting  others,  they  are  constantly  dis 
ciplining  them  to  make  a  handsome  bo^ 
and  salutation.  To  a  foreigner  the  peopk 
are  especially  polite.  In  passing  through 
the  streets  and  meeting  those  of  the  highei 
class,  they  lift  their  hats  to  you,  and  with 
a  graceful  bow,  give  you  a  respecful "  Boi 
jour,"  or  "  Bon  soir.  Monsieur."  I  have 
seen  an  entire  family  who  were  sitting 
upon  an  outer  gallery,  in  the  cool  of  the 
evening,  rise  to  their  feet  and  bow  most 
gracefully  to  a  foreigner  and  his  wife  who 
were  passing.  A  gentleman  from  Ala- 
bama, who  spent  some  weeks  on  the 
island,  remarked  as  he  was  about  leaving, 
that  he  should  have  to  be  very  careful 
when  he  reached  home,  or  he  should  find 
himself  tipping  his  hat  to  every  negro  he 
met  on  his  plantation.  A  waggish  down- 
east  captain  broke  out,  one  day  as  I  met 
him ;  ^'  Don't  these  people  make  most 
beautiful  bows?  I've  been  practising 
since  I've  been  here;  and  I  believe  I've 
got  so  I  can  lift  my  hat  up  about  as 
handsome  as  they  do,  but  somehow  it 
won't  come  down  right."  To  explain 
these  things  I  need  only  remind  the  reader 
that  there  is  not  a  little  French  blood 
coursing  in  the  veins  of  these  people,  and 
that  their  education  and  habits  are  derived 
from  that  nation.  From  speaking  their 
language,  their  intercourse  and  assoda 
tions  have  been  mainly  with  them,  and 
those  of  them  who  have  been  educated 
abroad,  have  almost  invariably  been  edu- 
cated in  France.  These  facts,  and  the  re- 
markable powers  of  imitation  inherent  in 
the  negro  character,  will,  I  think,  prepare 
the  reader  for  the  statement  (which 
I    should    not   dare    to    make  without 


06 


HdffH  and  the  Haitians. 


[Januaiy 


these  preliminaries)  that  I  have  never 
seen  in  any  city  of  the  Union  ladies  of 
more  cultivated  and  accomplished  manr- 
nerSj  than  some  I  have  seen  in  Port  au 
Prince.  For  reasons  that  I  need  not  here 
stote,  T  am  excused  for  being  entirely 
ignorant  in  regard  to  balls  and  dancing- 
^urties.  But  a  lady,  whose  opinion  and 
judgment  would  not  be  called  in  question 
if  I  might  name  her,  assured  roc  that  she 
had  never  seen  in  New- York  or  New  Eng- 
land more  elegant  dancers  than  in  Port 
an  Prince. 

I  had  not  been  long  upon  the  island 
before  I  had  an  opportunity  of  witnessing 
one  of  their  religious  ffite  days,  when  the 
oostom-house  and  public  offices  were 
closed ;  there  was  a  general  cessation  from 
bnsiness,  and  the  entire  people  gave  them- 
selves up  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  holiday. 
These  days  are  venr  numerous  with  the 
Haitians,  as  in  addition  to  the  regular 
Catholic  festivals,  they  have  a  large  num- 
ber of  a  national  character,  commemorat- 
ing important  events  in  their  history. 
These  are  great  occasions  for  dress  and 
display  with  all  classes.  I  have  never  on  a 
pablic  occasion,  that  called  out  the  great 
mate  of  our  people,  seen  them  as  a  whole 
80  neatly  dressed.  You  wonder  as  you 
pass  among  the  throng,  where  can  bo  the 
miserably  clad  objects  that  you  have  been 
accustomed  to  see  in  the  markets,  on  the 
wharves,  and  about  the  streets  of  the 
city.  I  was  told  in  explanation  of  this 
that  these  people  resort  to  every  possible 
expedient,  even  to  sadly  wronging  their 
poor  stomachs,  in  order  to  acquire  the 
means  to  make  a  handsome  appearance  on 
these  public  days,  and  that  the  most 
wretchedly  clad  beings  I  saw  upon  the 
street  were  almost  sure  to  have  one  hand- 
some dress  for  these  occasions. 

The  following  incident  will  give  an  idea 
ef  the  transformations  often  effected  by 
these  changes  of  dress  for  public  occasions. 
The  ordinary  dress  for  the  mass  of  the 
laboring  women, — washwomen,  &c., — is  a 
single  garment  banging  loosely  upon  the 
body  like  a  chemise,  with  perhaps  an  old 
pair  of  shoes  on,  slipshod.  With  these 
two  articles  they  are  very  satisfactorily 
dressed.  An  American  gentleman  was 
sitting  in  his  door  upon  one  of  their  ffite 
days,  when  a  lady  approached  dressed  in 
the  highest  ton  of  the  country — a  rich 
Madras  handkerchief  about  her  head, 
earrings  and  other  jewelry,  a  dress  of  the 
purest  white,  white  satm  slippers,  and 
other  things  in  corresponding  keeping. 
He  rose,  and  with  his  salutation,  "Bon 
jour,  Madame,"  bade  her  enter  and  be 
seated.    She  gracefully  returned  his  salu- 


tations, entered  with  a  manner  and  bear- 
ing in  keeping  with  her  dress,  Myinc^ 
"  and  so  you  do  not  recognize  me ! "  hS 
looked — it  was  his  washwoman ! 

The  fdte  day  to  which  I  have  alluded 
as  the  first  that  I  witnessed,  was  "  All 
Saints'  Day."  I  went  in  the  morning 
to  the  Catholic  church,  where  some  two 
or  three  thousand  were  assembled.  All 
here  were  neatly,  and  many  were  richly 
dressed ;  and  I  was  not  a  little  sur- 
prised at  their  entirely  decorous,  respect- 
ful, and  intelligent  appearance.  In  the 
afternoon  I  witnessed  one  of  those  im- 
mense processions,  which  have  such  a 
peculiar  charm  to  the  people  of  all  Catholic 
countries.  Thousands  upon  thousands, 
"  the  whole  city "  assembled  at  the 
church,  and  from  thence,  prece<led  bv  a 
company  of  soldiers,  the  pncsts  with  their 
crosses,  candles,  ic,  they  moved  on, 
without  any  order,  a  promiscuous  mass, 
nearly  filling  the  streets  through  which 
they  passed.  In  company  with  an  Ame- 
rican friend  I  followed  on,  and  entered 
their  cemeterj'.  This  is  situate<l  some  dis- 
tance from  the  city,  is  inclosed  by  a  high 
wall,  and,  being  ornamented  with  rich 
tropical  trees  and  lying  under  the  shadow 
of  the  mountain  range  on  the  south  of  the 
city,  it  presented,  at  that  hour,  a  most 
beautiful  appearance.  In  passing  through 
this  ancient  and  densely  crowded  **  city  of 
the  dead," — while  as  a  Protestant  I  had 
no  sympathy  with  these  thousands  in  the 
religious  sentiments  that  prompted  their 
services,  or  in  their  estimate  of  their  value, 
— I  could  but  be  moved  by  many  of  the 
touching  and  truly  beautiful  scenes  that 
were  around  me.  Here  young  bereaved 
mothers,  aged  smitten  parents,  sad  and 
solitary  widows,  sorrowing  orphans,  and 
all  the  variety  of  stricken  hearts  were 
gathered  around  the  graves  that  contained 
the  objects  of  their  cherished  affections, 
and  having  strewed  them  with  flowers, 
and  lighted  their  wax  tapers  over  them, 
were  devoutly  kneeling  and  oflbring  their 
orisons  in  their  behalf.  Even  the  graves 
of  numbers  that  had  been  shot  for  politi- 
cal offences,  and,  in  consequence,  were 
buried  without  the  wall,  were  not  neglect- 
ed. They  had  been  visited  at  some  less 
public  hour  of  the  day,  by  stealth  perhaps, 
and  the  hand  and  heart  of  affection  had 
left  upon  them  the  burning  taper  and  rich 
bouquet.  I  leave  others  to  imagine  with 
what  reflections  I  retired  from  the  scenes 
of  the  day ! 

The  Sabbath  in  Ilayti  is  not  only  the 
busiest  day  in  the  week,  but  presents 
more  scenes  characteristic  of  the  people 
than  any  other  day.    You  are  awaked  at 


1854.] 


S€^U  and  ike  ffaitiani. 


ft? 


the  earliest  dawn  bj  boomine  of  cannon 
on  the  fort  This  is  the  call  for  the  vari- 
OQS  military  companies  to  collect  at  their 
several  stations,  and  prepare  for  a  general 
parade  and  review  by  the  Emperor.  Soon 
the  streets  are  all  alive  with  bustle  and 
confusion.  The  various  companies  are 
dashing  by  on  horseback  or  marching  to 
the  music  of  a  band.  They  assemble  at 
first  in  the  large  yard  in  front  and  around 
the  government  house,  the  residence  of 
Sonlouque,  where,  amid  the  strains  of 
martial  music,  various  evolutions  and  ex- 
ercises are  gone  through  with,  the  signifi- 
ctnce  of  which  I  could  never  understand, 
as  the  Emperor  never  makes  his  appear- 
ance. After  an  hour  or  more  spent  here, 
they  march  to  a  large  beautiful  plain, 
lying  back  of  the  government  house, 
irhere  they  prepare  for  a  review  by  the 
Emperor.  Ilis  majesty,  Faustin  the  First, 
with  not  more  than  half  a  million  of  sub- 
jects, has  a  standing  army  of  not  far  from 
20,000,  about  twice  the  number  of  our 
own.  I  think  I  have  seen  half  of  this 
number  at  a  Sunday  morning  review. 
They  are  formed  into  a  hollow  square, 
and  after  the  proper  officers  have  made 
the  circuit  of  the  lines,  to  see  that  all  is 
in  order,  a  company  of  officers  is  dis- 
patched to  inform  the  Emperor;  whose 
approach  is  announced  and  greeted  with 
an  almost  deafening  salute  of  martial 
mibtic,  the  roar  and  din  of  which  is  con- 
tinued, while  he,  accompanied  by  his 
ministers  of  state,  officers,  and  guards, 
rides  rapidly  around  the  entire  line  to  the 
point  of  starting,  where  he  makes  a  halt 
and  the  entire  army  passes  in  review  be- 
fore him.  This  done  he  makes  the  circuit 
of  the  city,  as  I  have  already  described. 

But  while  all  this  is  passm^  the  city  is 
by  no  means  forsaken  or  quiet.  Every 
store  and  shop  is  open,  and  the  goods 
displayed  more  attractively  than  on  any 
other  day  of  the  week.  Sunday  is  the 
greatest  market  day  of  all  the  weuk. 
antl  the  streets  of  the  city  are  full 
of  people  coming  and  going,  some  with 
mules  loaded  with  vegetables,  wood,  grass, 
c«)al,  Slc.  ;  some  with  bananas,  plantains, 
.sugar  cane,  &c.,  on  their  heads,  some  with 
a  few  chickens,  some  with  one  thing  and 
some  with  another.  Thus  they  crowd 
on,  bartering:,  disputing,  shouting,  singing, 
lau;jhing,  all  in  the  boLsteroas  tones  pecu- 
liar to  such  a  state  of  civilization,  making 
altogether  a  scene  of  confusion  such  as  is 
rarely  to  be  found.  But  the  great  scene 
and  centre  of  confusion  is  the  market. 
Tliis  is  a  large  open  square  in  the  centre 
of  the  city,  where  perhaps  two  thousand 
persons,  some  of  them  fh)m  great  dis- 


tances in  the  country,  are  eager  in  driyuD^ 
their  bargains  and  disposing  of  their  vari- 
ous articles.  This  market-place  has  no 
building  except  a  few  open  sheds  or  booths 
at  the  ends  or  sides  of  the  square,  where 
meat  and  such  articles  are  sold  as  need  to 
be  protected  from  the  sun.  The  entire 
area  of  the  square  is  filled  with  people 
who,  without  any  reference  to  regularity 
or  order,  have  laid  upon  the  ground,  or  a 
mat,  their  mule-load,  or  head-load  of 
oranges,  potatoes,  beans,  corn,  plantains, 
yams,  pine-apples,  chickens,  pigs,  fish, 
charcoal,  or  whatever  animate  or  inani- 
mate articles  they  may  have  for  sale. 
The  noise,  confusion,  and  picturesqueness 
of  this  scene  entirely  baffle  my  powers  of 
description.  Strangely  enough  to  an  un- 
travelled  American,  the  Catholic  church 
is  hard  by.  upon  a  slight  elevation  over- 
looking one  of  these  large  markets,  crowd- 
ed with  worshippers.  Old  women  from 
the  country  come  along  to  the  church, 
lay  their  baskets  or  bundles  upon  the 
steps,  go  in,  cross  themselves  with  holy 
water,  kneel,  count  their  beads,  and  go 
through  with  their  devotions,  and  then 
come  out  and  go  on  with  their  trading. 
Thus  multitudes  come  and  go,  and  those 
who  are  able  to  stay  and  engage  in  the 
services  for  a  longer  time,  seem  not  to  be 
at  all  disturbed  by  them. 

Thus  with  noise  and  excitement  the 
day  passes  on.  By  two  or  three  o'clock 
business  begins  to  subside,  and  sports  of 
various  kinds  begin.  The  country  people 
having  made  their  sales,  and  got  through 
with  their  "shopping,"  are  leaving  for 
home  in  groups.  The  boys  of  the  city 
fly  their  kites,  spin  their  tops,  and  run, 
and  laugh,  and  shout  in  their  various 
sports.  The  young  men  walk,  or  ride, 
or  visit,  as  they  may  prefer.  The  more 
wealthy  having  finished  a  late  dinner, 
amuse  themselves  with  dancing  or  cards, 
and  all  according  to  their  taste  seek  their 
pleasure.  As  the  evening  approaches  new 
and  still  stranger  scenes  begin.  The  more 
common  and  ignorant  portion  of  the  people 
assemble  in  largo  companies  in  the  open 
air  and  engage  in  dancing,  which  is  their 
great  and  almost  sole  amusement.  These 
dances  are  unlike  any  thing  that  we  are 
accustomed  to  call  by  that  name.  There 
are  several  things  characteristic  of  them 
all;  though  there  is  said  to  bo  a  great 
variety  of  names  and  kinds  of  dances. 
Large  numbers  of  them  are  reg^ularly  or- 
ganized societies,  with  their  mysterious 
rites  of  initiation,  and  their  cabalistic  cere- 
monies, which  are  said  to  be  truthful  re- 
presentations of  the  heathen  dances  of 
central  Africa,  which  have  been  handed 


58 


Mayti  and  the  JSaitians. 


[Jammary 


down  here  from  generation  to  generation. 
Others  are  entirely  informal,  the  dancing 
of  any  promiscuous  company  that  chance 
may  bring  together.  These  'dances  are 
uniformly  in  the  open  air,  though  many 
of  them  are  under  the  cover  of  a  tent  or 
awning  belonging  to  the  "soci6t6."  Their 
music  is  made  by  pounding  with  the  palm 
of  the  hands  upon  a  drum,  which  is  made 
by  stretching  a  skin  over  the  head  of  a 
small  barrel,  like  a  drum-head.  To  this 
they  have  various  accompaniments,  such 
as  pounding  with  two  sticks  upon  an  old 
herring  or  soap  box,  the  clicking  of  pieces 
of  iron,  singing,  clapping  of  hands,  &c. 
Though  to  the  uninitiated  the  music  thus 
made  seems  a  monotonous,  unintelligible 
jargon,  there  is  said  to  be  a  great  variety 
of  tunes  which  they  seem  perfectly  to 
understand.  I  procured  from  a  Haitian 
musician  some  of  this  dancing  music. 
These  tunes  are  like  the  real  plantation 
songs  of  the  South,  the  productions  of 
excited  ignorant  minds,  having  no  know- 
ledge of  the  science  of  music  whatever. 
This  music,  executed  in  the  manner  al- 
ready described,  has  an  electrical  effect, 
and  immediately  collects  large  groups, 
who  will  stand  for  hours  in  a  charmed 
drclo  surrounding  the  dancers.  Sometimes 
there  will  be  quite  a  number  engaged  in 
dancing,  sometimes  half  a  dozen,  and 
sometimes  one  or  two  will  enchain  the 
attention  of  the  spectators  with  their 
movements.  These  are  the  most  gro- 
tesque imaginable ;  now  a  shaking  move- 
ment somewhat  like  those  of  our  shakers, 
— now  a  peculiar  balancing  of  the  body, — 
now  dashing  off  suddenly  in  a  whirling, 
sailing  motion  around  the  entire  circle, — 
now  with  feet  fixed  upon  the  ground, 
moving  the  body  up  and  down — as  the 
Aztecs  uniformly  did  when  told  to  dance 
— and  continuing  this  motion  more  and 
more  vigorously,  until  it  would  seem  that 
they  must  dislocate  every  bone  in  the 
body, — and  now  leaping  with  great  ra- 
pidity to  a  remarkable  height  in  the  air, 
like  the  bounding  of  a  India-rubber  ball. 
These  are  among  the  more  common  feats. 
As  these  dances  form  the  almost  sole 
amusement  for  the  numerous  holidays  of 
the  Haitians.  I  have  very  often  witnessed 
them.  They  have  a  very  ingenious 
method  of  making  a  foreigner  pay  for  his 
amusement,  after  this  manner.  As  soon 
as  he  is  seen  in  the  crowd  some  one  of  the 
dancing  women  begins  to  move  toward 
him  holding  out  her  hands  for  a  gift ;  and 
continues  to  dance  back  and  forth,  before 
and  around  him,  her  hands  still  extended, 
until  he  is  "  the  observed  of  all  observers." 
Alter  this  was  understood,  I  generally  had 


some  change  ready  so  as  to  pay  my  tri- 
bute in  the  quickest  time  possible.  One 
night  as  I  was  going  through  the  8treet| 
I  passed  an  open  yard  where  a  company 
was  dancing  that  seemed  more  merry 
and  excited  than  usual,  and  without  any 
forethought  I  turned  m.  I  had  hardly 
reached  the  group  before  one  of  the  dan- 
cing women  was  before  me  with  open 
palm.  I  thrust  my  hand  into  my  pocket, 
found  I  had  no  change,  and  the  first  thin^ 
I  could  get  hold  of  was  a  two-dollar  Hai- 
tian bill,  which  T  handed  over  as  soon  as 
possible.  It  was  the  best  investment  in 
this  line  that  I  ever  made.  She  just 
glanced  to  see  what  it  was,  and  then 
waving  it  in  the  air  went  whirling  and 
sailing  around  the  circle,  and  among  other 
demonstrations  giving  me  an  opportunibr 
to  see  some  almost  incredible  feats  that  I 
had  often  heard  described  but  had  never 
witnessed.  Placing  a  small  crockery  cua 
about  the  size  of  a  teacup,  upon  the  topoi 
her  head,  she  danced,  whirled,  and  sprung 
suddenly  several  feet,  and  back  at  the 
same  bound,  making  apparently  the  most 
convulsive  jerks  possible,  the  cup  mean- 
while remaining  untouched  upon  the  top 
of  the  head.  This  jumping  and  jerking 
was  gone  through  with  several  times,  and 
far  surpassed  any  feat  of  jugglery  that  I 
had  ever  witnessed.  A  colored  woman, 
a  member  of  the  Baptist  Mission  Church 
in  Port  au  Prince,  told  me  she  had  often 
seen  her  mother  go  through  the  same 
feats  with  a  wineglass  upon  her  head. 
So  universal  is  this  custom  of  dancing 
among  the  Haitians  upon  their  f^te  days 
and  Sunday,  that  I  have  often  thought, 
that  including  the  various  grades  from  the 
regular  balls  m  the  city  down  to  the  lowest 
field  dances,  two  thirds,  or  even  a  greater 
proportion  of  the  people  of  Hayti  must  be 
engaged  in  dancing.  The  influence  of  this 
habit  is  all  pervading.  Children  catdi 
the  spirit,  and  will  sway  their  bodies  to 
and  fro,  keeping  time  to  the  music, 
when  they  can  scarcely  go  alone ;  and  as 
soon  as  they  have  strength  to  spring  clear 
from  the  ground,  without  the  hazard  of  a 
fall,  they  are  ready  on  any  occasion  to 
exhibit  their  dexterity  to  a  stranger. 
The  music  of  a  drum  and  fife,  especially 
on  a  public  day,  is  almost  certain  to  set 
all  the  children  in  a  street  to  hopping, 
and  I  have  been  greatly  aroused  to  see 
boys  with  no  other  dress  on  than  a 
shirt  who  were  going  along  the  streets, 
step,  and  balance,  and  whirl,  and  sail 
on,  keeping  time  to  the  music.  By  sun- 
down upon  Sabbath  evening  the  music 
of  these  dancing  companies  is  heard  in 
all  directbns,  and  the  noise  and  dance 


ia54.] 


JETayH  and  the  JBaitians. 


59 


oontiniie  until  midnight  and  often  till  the 
bnak  of  day.  Thus  the  Sabbath  ends 
with  confusion  as  it  began. 

Were  I  to  stop  here,  after  what  I  have 
nid  in  regard  to  the  politeness,  taste  in 
dress,  skill  in  dancing,  Ac.,  &c.,  that  I 
found  in  Port  au  Prince,  I  am  sure  that  a 
rery  wrong  estimate  of  the  character  and 
condition  of  the  people  would  be  formed 
firom  what  I  have  written.  I  have  already 
alluded  to  the  fact  that  there  is  here  a 
itrange  blending  of  Parisian  refinement 
ind  dvilization,  with  native  African  bar- 
barism and  morals.  Having  said  what  I 
have  of  the  first,  my  account  would  not 
be  truthful  were  I  to  pass  over  the  last. 

I  witnessed  one  large  fire  in  Port  au 
Prince.  As  soon  as  it  began  to  spread, 
the  merchants  who  had  foreign  vessels  in 
port  consigned  to  them,  ran  immediately 
to  their  stores,  and  tumbling  their  money 
into  trunks  and  bags,  ran  with  them  to 
the  wharf^  in  the  quickest  time  possible, 
and  sent  them  on  board  these  vessels. 
Many  of  the  captains  were  unwilling  to 
take  the  bags  and  trunks  in  that  way. 
without  knowing  their  contents,  and 
bagged  their  consignees,  if  they  would 
have  it  so.  to  send  some  one  on  board  in 
whose  care  the  property  might  be  left; 
bat  they  invariably  prc^rred  to  leave  it 
in  that  way.  A  fire  is  the  signal  for  uni- 
Toval  theft  and  dishonesty.  Scarcely  an 
article  that  is  thrown  into  the  streets  can 
be  secured,  and  a  man  does  not  know 
whom  to  trust  One  man  intrusted  a 
bag  of  money  to  one  of  his  neighbors  in 
the  midst  of  the  confusion  of  the  fire,  and 
when  he  called  for  it  the  next  day,  the 
man  denied  having  received  it,  and  as 
there  was  no  proof  the  owner  could  not 
recover  it  When  I  heard  this  and  simi- 
lar lacts,  1  was  not  surprised  at  their 
readiness  to  trust  foreign  captains.  The 
best  stores  here  have  a  small  building  ad- 
joining, which  is  without  windows  and 
fire-proof;  on  purpose  to  have  a  place 
where  they  can  store  their  money  and 
valuables  in  times  of  fire.  Thieving  seems 
the  great  bane  of  the  island.  Those  who 
ire  disposed  to  be  industrious  have  no 
certainty  that  they  will  reap  the  rewards 
of  their  industry.  While  they  are  labor- 
ing, others  are  sleeping,  who  in  the  dead 
of  the  night  will  prowl  around  and  seize 
upon  the  fruits  of  their  toils.  Com,  vege- 
tables, fruits,  &c.,  are  stolen  from  the 
fields  where  they  are  growing;  pigs, 
fowls,  Jtc.,  are  stolen  from  their  inclosures. 
An  American  negro,  who  was  disposed  to 
be  industrious,  told  me  that  often  while 
he  was  at  work  at  one  end  of  his  garden, 
thieves  would  be  watching  him  and  steal- 


ing his  vegetables  and  fruits  from  the 
other  end.  This  practice  is  so  universal 
that  the  law  allows  any  man  to  shoot 
down  a  thief  in  the  act  of  plundering.  I 
was  told  of  a  case  where  a  young  man, 
hearing  some  one  in  the  act  of  stealing  his 
bananas,  went  out  in  the  dark  and  fired 
at  him,  and  on  going  to  the  spot  was 
startled  to  find  that  he  had  killed  one  of 
his  most  intimate  friends.  In  1842  the 
city  of  Cape  Haitien  was  shaken  down  by 
a  most  terrific  earthquake,  and  probably 
one  half  or  two  thirds  of  its  population 
were  instantly  killed.  Of  those  who 
escaped  in  the  general  ruin,  multitudes 
from  the  city  and  surrounding  country 
rushed  to  the  terrible  scene,  and  engaged 
in  plundering  the  bodies  of  the  dead  and 
the  dying!  And  yet,  paradoxical  as  it 
seems,  money  may  be  transmitted  from 
Port  au  Prince  to  any  other  part  of  the 
island  with  the  utmost  safety.  Packages 
of  bills  containing  thousands  of  dollars, 
may  be  intrusted  to  a  native,  who  will 
carry  it,  unmolested,  across  the  country, 
sleeping  with  it  under  his  head  at  night, 
and  deliver  every  dollar  with  unfailing 
certainty.  But  after  it  is  once  delivered 
and  counted  the  same  man  would  not 
hesitate  to  appropriate  a  package  if  an 
opportunity  were  offered. 

Another  central  African  characteristic 
of  the  Haitians,  is  their  almost  universal 
licentiousness.  I  have  taken  no  pains  to 
obtain  statistics,  but  think  I  cannot  err  in 
saying  that  a  majority  of  the  births  upon 
the  island  are  illegitimate.  To  live  to- 
gether as  husband  and  wife  without  a  civil 
or  religious  marriage  ceremony  is  scarcely 
less  respectable  than  regular  marriage. 
Many  men,  among  the  first  in  wealth  and 
social  position,  live  in  this  manner ;  and 
the  respectability  of  the  connection  may 
be  inferred  from  the  fact  that  when  they 
commence  housekeeping  they  give  a  party, 
and  subsequently  appear  together  in 
parties,  at  church,  and  other  public  places, 
precisely  as  if  they  were  regularly  mar- 
ried. By  a  law  of  the  island,  marriage  at 
any  subsequent  period,  makes  all  the  chil- 
dren bom  in  this  state  legitimate.  When 
the  present  Emperor  was  elected  presi- 
dent he  was  living  in  this  state  of  concubin- 
age, but  his  subsequent  marriage  makes 
the  present  princess  a  legitimate  successor 
to  the  throne.  Such  a  state  of  things 
being  tolerated  among  the  more  respect- 
able of  the  people,  it  can  readily  be  under- 
stood that  among  the  lower  classes  the 
state  of  morals  in  this  respect  is  most 
deplorable,  and  such  as  to  forbid  descrip- 
tion. 

It  is  well  known  that  in  severing  them- 


60 


ffayU  and  the  SaUians. 


IJm 


selyes  from  all  oonnection  with  the  whites, 
Che  Haitians  renounced  their  allegiance  to 
the  Pope,  and  therefore  the  Emperor  is 
the  spiritual  as  well  as  temporal  head  of 
the  nation.  The  Pope  having  no  power  or 
voice  in  the  management  of  affairs  amonp; 
them,  priests  of  the  most  desperate  and 
disreputable  character  have  swarmed  to 
the  island,  who  instead  of  laboring  to  re- 
form and  improve  the  morals  of  the  people 
are  largely  responsible  for  the  prevailing 
corruption.  The  government  has  to  keep 
a  sharp  and  constant  look-out  for  them, 
and  pass  laws  to  keep  them  from  the 
most  scandalous  outrages  upon  luorality. 
The  following  document,  issued  by  one  of 
Soulou(iue's  ministers,  a  zealous  Catholic, 
the  judicial  officer  highest  in  authority 
upon  the  island.  I  translate  from  '^  Le 
Moniteur  Haitian^^^  the  government  paper 
which  circulates  throughout  the  island. 

TRANSLATION. 

"  T*he  Grand  Judga,  to  the  Members 
of  the  Councils  of  Notables^  in  the  Com- 
munes of  the  Republic : 

'•Notable  Citizens,  —  Certain  grave 
abuseti,  introduced  into  the  country  by  the 
clergy,  have  awakened  my  attention,  and 
for  the  interest  of  religion  it  was  necessary 
that  I  should  adopt  some  measures  to 
bring  them  to  an  end. 

"  You  know  that  religion  is  an  object 
most  venerable  in  the  eyes  of  the  people, 
and  that  it  exerts  a  salutary  influence 
upon  men  and  upon  societies,  by  lending 
its  support  to  the  laws.  Every  stigma 
which  Ls  brought  upon  it  is  dangerous, 
and  the  more  so  when  it  is  brought  upon 
it  by  its  ministers. 

*'  Many,  regardless  of  the  character  with 
which  they  are  clothed,  of  their  proper 
dignity,  and  even  of  common  propriety, 
openly  give  themselves  to  acts  of  trade, 
to  commercial  operations,  which  often 
engage  them  in  litigation,  so  that  they 
frequently  appear  before  the  bar  of  the 
courts  contending  with  their  opponents. 

'^  And  as  if  this  spectacle,  which  strikes 
religion  at  the  heart  were  not  sufficiently 
afflicting,  many  of  them  keep  at  the  par- 
sonages in  their  dwellings,  in  the  derisory 
capacity  of  hoiLSokeepers  (^soits  la  qualifi- 
cation (ierisoire  de  gouvcrnantes),  young 
females,  and  by  a  course  of  conduct  op- 
posed to  good  morals,  of  which  they  ought 
to  be  the  living  examples,  give  occasion 
for  public  scandals  which  tend  to  their 
disgrace  in  the  eyes  of  their  flocks,  and 
destroys  the  sublime  moral  of  the  gospel 
which  they  are  charged  to  preach  in  all 
its  authority. 

^'This  state  of  things,  gentlemen  and 


citizens,  is  inconsistent  with  a  sodet 
perly  constituted.  That  it  may  coi 
no  longer,  /  charge  you  to  hdee  c 
continually  upon  the  curates  ofyo 
spective  panshes^  and  to  report  (d 
cer)  to  me  every  violation  of  this  e 
which  they  may  commit,  that  it  mi 
be  unpunished. 

••  They  are  forbidden  hereafler  to  c 
in  commercial  affairs  of  any  kind^  a 
retain  at  the  parsonages  or  in  their ' 
ings,  in  any  capacity  whatever,  ; 
females,  unless  they  are  of  an  age  i 
be  suspected. 

"You  will  give  earnest  attenti 
these  instructions  and  acquaint'meo: 
reception. 

"  I  salute  you  with  consideration. 
'•  J.  B.  Francisqi 

With  such  priests  to  mould  the  i 
of  the  people,  it  is  easy  to  judgo 
those  morals  must  be ! 

The  island  of  Hayti  is  occupied  l 
distinct  people,  descendants  of  tl 
Spanish  and  French  colonies.  Its  p 
tion  is  estimated  at  about  600,0 
1 00,000.  The  Haitians,  with  aboc 
thirds  of  the  population,  possess 
about  one  third  of  the  territory* 
greatest  length  from  east  to  west  m 
400  miles.  Its  breadth  varies  frc 
miles  near  its  eastern  extremity  to 
150  near  its  centre,  and  it  embrac 
cording  to  Mr.  Lindenau,  an  area  of  i 
29,500  square  miles.  Columbus 
the  island  Hispaniola.  and  it  hasalsi 
called  St.  Domingo  from  the  city  o 
name  on  its  southeastern  coast 
Hayti  or  Haiti  {the  mountainous  cm 
was  its  original  Carrib  name.  The  i 
bestowed  upon  it  the  deserved  nai 
la  Reine  dea  Antilles,  All  descri 
of  its  magnificence  and  beauty,  even 
of  Washington  Irving  in  his  hist 
Columbus,  fall  far  short  of  the  p 
It  seems  beyond  the  power  of  Ian 
to  exaggerate  its  beauties,  its  prodi 
ness,  the  loveliness  of  its  climate,  a 
desirableness  as  an  abode  for  man. 
luinbus  labored  hard  to  prove  to  Is 
that  ho  had  found  here  the  original  % 
of  Eden  ;  and  any  one  who  has  wai 
over  these  mountains  and  plains,  bn 
this  delicious  air,  and  feasted  his  soi 
his  eyes  upon  the  scenes  every 
spread  out  before  him,  is  quite  rei 
excuse  the  apparent  extravagance 
great  discoverer.  To  a  large  exte 
resources  of  this  island  are  at  prese 
developed,  and  it  presents  a  wide  og 
to  its  former  wealth  and  producti\ 
In  1789,  it  contained    a  populati 


1854.] 


ffayti  and  thi  Maiiiam. 


61 


40^000  whites,  500,000  slaves,  and  24,000 
five  colored.  Not  only  its  nch  plains,  but 
in  many  parts  its  mountains  were  culti- 
Titod  to  their  summits.  The  cultivated 
knda  amounted  to  2,289,480  acres ;  which 
were  divided  into  793  plantations  of  sugar, 
3117  plantations  of  coffee.  31G0  of  indigo, 
H  of  chocolate,  and  623  smaller  ones  for 
nising  grain,  yams,  and  other  vegetable 
food.  Its  exports,  as  stated  by  the  intend- 
ant  of  the  colony,  were  £4,765,229  ster- 
ling. An  active  commerce  united  it  with 
Europe,  and  twenty  ports  of  trade  were 
filled  with  1500  vessels,  waiting  to  freight 
home  its  rich  productions.  In  riding  over 
the  island  the  mementos  of  this  prosperity 
ire  every  where  to  be  seen.  Large  broken 
kettles,  the  remains  of  immense  sugar 
bouses,  are  scattered  along  the  roads  and 
over  the  fields.  The  remains  of  massive 
•nd  magnificent  gateways,  and  the  ruins 
of  princely  dwellings,  scattered  over  the 
island  are  evidences  of  the  highest  state 
of  wealth  and  luxury.  But  these  rich 
plains  and  mountains,  arc  now  almost  an 
uncultivated  waste.  A  few  coffee  planta- 
tions are  to  be  found,  which  are  kept  up 
with  the  greatest  difficulty  on  account  of 
the  impossibility  of  securing  among  the 
natives  the  necessary  laborers.  The  most 
of  the  people  out  of  the  towns  live  in 
rudely  constructed  houses,  unfurnished 
with  the  usual  comforts  of  life,  and  but  a 
few  degrees  above  the  huts  upon  the 
shores  of  their  native  Africa.  The  soil  is 
80  exoeedin^y  productive,  and  there  is  so 
much  that  grows  spontaneously,  that  very 
Httle  labor  indeed  is  necessary  to  secure 
the  food  necessary  to  sustain  life;  and 
the  climate  is  such  that,  if  so  disposed, 
they  need  spend  very  little  for  clothing. 
Bemg  thus  under  no  compulsory  necessity 
to  labor,  industry  is  the  exception,  indo- 
lence and  idleness  the  rule. 

They  generally  inclose  around  or  near 
their  dwellings  a  small  patch  of  ground, 
which  is  cultivated  mostly  by  the  females, 
and  where,  with  very  little  labor,  they  raise 
coffee,  bananas,  com,  and  other  vegetables 
for  their  own  consumption,  and  a  small 
surplus  for  sale,  from  the  proceeds  of 
which  they  procure  their  clothing  and 
sndi  other  articles  of  convenience  as  they 
are  able  or  disposed  to  purchase.  I  should 
Ji^ge  that  far  the  largest  part  of  all  the 
coffee  that  is  exported  from  the  island  is 
raised  in  these  small  quantities,  and 
brooght  to  market  in  small  lots  upon  the 
backs  of  mules.  The  logwood,  mahogany, 
and  other  exports  are  mostly  procured  m 
mudl  quantities  in  much  the  same  way, — 
the  men  of  course  doing  most  of  this  heavy 
kOwr. 


Bountiful  as  are  the  provisions  for  sup- 
plying the  wants  of  man  here,  there  is,  in- 
credible as  it  may  seem,  a  vast  deal  of 
suffering  for  want  of  the  very  necessaries 
of  life.  The  government  being  in:  reality 
an  irresponsible  despotism,  every  male 
citizen  is  liable  to  be  seized  at  any  mo- 
ment and  forced  into  the  army ;  so  that 
if  he  raises  a  crop  there  is  no  certainty 
but  that  in  the  yery  act  of  securing  it,  he 
may  be  torn  away  from  his  family,  and 
the  fruits  of  his  labor  be  left  to  perish 
while  he  is  marched  away  to  the  frontier, 
to  return  he  kno\v8  not  when.  In  addi- 
tion to  this,  multitudes  arc  so  thriftless 
and  improvident  that  they  will  not  make 
any  provision  for  the  future — they  will 
not  even  gather  those  productions  that  are 
every  where  so  bountifully  spread  around 
them.  I  have  rode  through  wild  unculti- 
vated woods,  and  seen  on  every  hand 
groves  of  orange  trees  groaning  under 
their  delicious  golden  loads,  as  I  have 
seen  the  orchards  of  western  New- York 
weighed  down  with  their  heavy  burdens. 
A  little  farther  on,  I  have  come  ujwn 
thickets  of  coffee  bushes  matted  over  with 
their  rich  purple  berries.  Besides  these, 
tobacco,  ginger,  and  other  valuable  pro- 
ducts grow  wild  in  the  same  profusion 
over  these  mountains,  and  year  after  year 
there  waste  away  and  perish  like  the 
rank  grass  of  our  own  prairies.  I  have 
wandered  over  the  rich  rice  and  cotton 
fields  of  the  South,  and  the  prairie  and 
bottom  lands  of  the  West,  but  their  boun- 
tiful products  are  meagre  compared  with 
those  to  be  seen  here. 

But  bountiful  and  Eden-like  as  Is  this 
island,  the  contemplation  both  of  its  past 
history  and  present  state  excites  only  the 
saddest  emotions.  The  history  of  Ilayti 
from  its  discovery  to  the  present  day  is  a 
most  melancholy  history.  When  dis- 
covered by  Columbus  it  is  supposed  to 
have  contained  more  than  1,000,000  of  the 
Carrib  tribe  of  Indians,  but,  incredible  as 
it  may  appear,  in  consequence  of  their 
wholesale  butchery  by  the  Spaniards,  and 
the  severe  drudgery  they  were  compelled 
to  undergo  in  the  mines,"in  the  short  space 
of  sixteen  years  they  were  re<iuced  to 
60,000.  These  outrages  upon  humanity, 
entailing  such  a  lasting  stigma  upon  the 
Spanish  naukC.  were  followed  by  the  well- 
known  introduction  of  slavery  into  the 
island,  with  all  its  indescribable  cruelties 
and  horrors,  and  its  subsequent  fearful 
end.  But  the  gloomy  chapter  of  its  woes 
does  not  terminate  with  the  tragic,  well- 
known  *•  horrors  of  St.  Domingo."  From 
that  day  to  the  present  it  has  been  an 
almost  uninterrupted  scene  of  conllict  and 


62 


Three  Days  in  Ar^is. 


[Jaiiini7 


bloodshed.  Internal  dissensions  and  de- 
solating civil  wars  have  continued  to  mark 
its  history ;  and  recently  three  great  and 
powerful  nations  have  intervened  in  vain 
to  secure  for  this  ill-starred  island  the 
blessings  of  peace.  No  soil  has  so  long 
and  so  constantly  been  ensanguined  with 
human  blood.  Blood  marks  every  page 
of  her  history,  from  the  time  her  beauti- 
ful shores  first  greeted  the  delighted  vision 
of  Columbus  until  the  present  day;— the 
blood  of  the  peaceful  inoffensive  Carribs, — • 
the  blood  of  the  wronged  and  outraged 


children  of  Africa, — the  blood  of  their 
butchered  masters, — the  blood  of  Le  Glere 
and  his  noble,  but  ill-fated  army, — the 
blood  of  Dessalines,  Christophe,  and  of 
thousands  more  who  have  perished  in  the 
insurrections  and  revolutions  that  haTe 
desolated  this  fair  island.  Sad,  sad  indeed 
has  been  the  fate  of  the  "  Queen  of  the 
Antilles."  I  leave  it  to  others  to  deduce 
the  lessons  that  her  history  suggests,  and 
will  not  attempt  to  penetrate  the  daric 
vail  that  hides  her  future. 


THREE   DAYS    IN  ARGOLIS. 

TheM  masstye  walla, 
Whose  date  overawes  tradition,  gird  the  home 
Of  a  great  race  of  kings,  along  whoae  line 
The  eager  mind  lives  aching,  through  tbo  darkneaa 
Of  ages  else  unstoried,  Ull  its  shapes 
Of  anned  soTereigns  spread  to  godlike  port, 
And,  fh>wning  in  the  uncertain  dawn  of  Ume, 
8trlko  awe,  as  powers  who  ruled  an  older  world. 
In  mute  ohedience.  Talfoubd^i  Iom. 


IT  was  between  six  and  seven  in  the 
evening  of  the  first  of  April,  before  I 
oould  make  the  necessary  arrangements 
for  a  tour  with  a  party  who  intended 
setting  out  on  the  morrow  from  Athens 
for  Nauplia.  Mr.  N ,  late  an  anti- 
quarian attached  to  the  British  Museum, 
and  now  appointed  Vice  Consul  for  the 

Island  of  Mitylene,  and  C ,  son  of  a 

London  publisher,  were  to  be  my  com- 
panions ;  and  we  had  engaged  Demetrius, 
or  Demetri,  for  our  guide.  By  the  time 
we  had  fully  made  up  our  minds  to  leave, 
it  was  well  nigh  dark,  and  yet  neither 
Demetri  nor  I  had  procured  our  passes, 
without  which  we  were  liable  at  any  time 
to  be  stopped  on  our  way,  and  might  be 
subjected  to  considerable  trouble  in  clear- 
ing ourselves  from  the  suspicion  of  being 
either  robbers  or  vagrants.  The  passport 
office  was  closed,  but  the  timely  expendi- 
ture of  two  or  three  drachms  readily 
opened  it  for  us.  A  new  difficulty  pre- 
sented itself;  for  not  a  blank  pass  was  to 
be  found  high  or  low.  The  ingenuity  of 
the  clerk  easily  surmounted  this  obstacle. 
An  old  pass  which  had  seen  service  was 
discovered ;  the  name  was  transmuted  to 
what  might  reasonably  be  supposed  to 
bear  a  slight  resemblance  to  mine;  and 
the  words  ''with  his  man,  Demetrius" 
were  added.  So  we  were  permitted  to 
visit  Argolis. 

We  rose  early  the  next  morning ;  and  by 
five  o'clock  were  in  a  carriage,  and  on  our 
way  to  Piraeus,  about  five  nules  east  from 


Athens,  by  the  macadamized  road,  which 
for  three  fourths  of  the  distance  nms  in  a 
perfectly  straight  line  across  the  meadows. 
The  northern  of  the  groat  walls  of  Themis- 
tocles  occupied  exactly  the  same  ground ; 
or  rather  I  should  say  that  the  German 
surveyors  employed  its  ruins  for  the  sab- 
struction  of  the  road,  and  every  violent 
rain  uncovers  for  a  time  the  upper  course 
of  stones.  Our  driver  did  himself  credit 
and  we  reached  the  harbor  in  three  quai^ 
ters  of  an  hour,  and  in  plenty  of  time  for 
the  little  Austrian  steamer,  Archidaca 
Ludovico,  in  which  we  took  passage  for 
Nauplia.  The  weather  was  cloudy  and 
dull  when  we  started,  but  as  we  advanced, 
the  atmosphere  became  clearer,  and  w« 
saw  with  great  distinctness  the  shores  of 
the  Sarouic  Gulf)  upon  which  we  entered. 
We  were  soon  out  of  the  small  hu'bor 
of  Piraeus,  passing  through  its  narrow 
mouth,  which  is  still  further  contracted 
by  the  remains  of  the  old  walls.  They 
abutted  in  two  piers,  about  two  hundred 
feet  apart  When  a  heavy  cham  was 
drawn  across  this  narrow  opening,  as  was 
done  by  the  old  Athenians,  the  harbor 
was  considered  well  protected.  Just  be- 
yond them,  our  attention  was  called  to 
the  simple  monument  of  Miaulis,  and  only 
a  few  feet  further  were  the  ruined  frag^ 
ments  of  what  has  been  by  popular  tradi- 
tion dignified  with  the  name  of  Themia- 
tocles'  tomb.  Whether  it  be  his  sepvl* 
chre  or  not,  the  bones  of  the  great  eeneral 
of  ancient  times,  and  the  most  nunoiiB 


1854.] 


Three  Daye  in  ArgoUe. 


63 


idminl  of  modem  Qreeoe,  lie  mouldering 
00  the  shores  of  the  ^gean,  within  a  few 
jirds  of  each  other.  Themistocles,  it  is 
well  known,  was  buried  bj  the  sea  side, 
in  full  yiew  of  the  Straits  of  Salamis,  the 
soeoe  of  his  most  splendid  victory  oyer 
Uie  Persian  fleet. 

We  varied  our  course  as  soon  as  we 
had  cleared  the  promontory  of  Munychia^ 
and  leaving  on  our  right  the  island  oi 
Salamis,  took  a  southerly  direction  to- 
wards the  eastern  headland  of  Argolis. 
This  brought  us  within  a  very  short  dis- 
tance of  the  temple  of  uE^a,  dedicated 
of  old  to  Jupiter  Panhellenius.  Through 
the  Captain's  glass  we  could  distinguish 
the  different  columns  without  difficulty  in 
this  clear  atmosphere.  It  is  one  of  the 
most  perfect  ruins  out  of  Athens  itself; 
bat  we  saw  it  to  little  advantage,  and  I 
reserved  a  visit  for  a  future  occasion. 

There  are  quite  a  number  of  passengers 
on  bo(ard  our  little  steamer,  and  as  the 
day  was  fair  and  mild,  every  body  congre- 
gated on  deck.  Indeed,  most  of  them 
were  deck  passengers,  the  trip  being  a 
short  one.  The  Greeks  are  talkative  and 
easy  of  access,  so  that  it  is  not  at  all  diffi- 
cult to  form  a  number  of  acquaintances  in 
a  short  time.  Our  company  was  a  lively 
one,  too ;  and,  as  they  had  nothing  else  to 
do,  most  of  them  amused  themselves  with 
cards.  One  party  of  eight  or  ten  were 
seated  in  Turkish  fashion  on  the  deck  near 
the  helm,  forming  a  circle  around  a  cloth, 
on  which  figured  a  large  piece  of  cold 
mutton  and  several  bottles  of  wine.  The 
men  helped  themselves  plentifully,  and 
disdaining  forks,  made  use  of  their  jack- 
knives  to  cut  the  meat,  or  else  tore  it  in 
pieces  with  thdr  fingers.  These  evidently 
were  all  from  the  same  neighborhood,  and 
members  of  the  same  clan.  Some  of  them 
had  that  firee  and  easy  look,  mingled  with 
a  considerable  share  of  fierceness,  which 
distioguish  the  old  KUfts;  others  who 
were  younger,  evidently  belonged  to  the 
DO  less  energetic  but  more  tractable  class, 
whidi  is  now  springing  up  to  take  the 
place  of  the  others.  I  fell  into  conversa- 
tion with  some  students  of  the  University. 
who  were  returning  from  Athens  to  spend 
the  Easter  week  vacation  at  home.  Like 
all  the  rest  of  Greek  students  they  were 
poor,  and  evidently  were  self-made  men. 
Another  set  were  gathered  around  a  musi- 
cian, who  diverted  them  by  playing  on  an 
mstrument  much  resembling  the  banjo, 
and  Bulging  their  country  songs. 

There  were  but  two  cabin  passengers 
besides  ourselves ;  and  they  were  members 
of  the  house  of  representatives.  One  of 
theoD,  M.  A.,  I  found  disposed  to  be  very 


communicative.  He  informed  me  that  an 
election  was  to  take  place  at  Argos,  the 
next  day  or  the  day  after,  and  that  he 
was  going  there  to  see  about  it  Being  a 
partisan  of  the  king,  he  was  oommissioi^ 
to  procure  as  favorable  a  result  for  the 
ministry  as  be  could.  The  officer  to  be 
chosen  on  the  occasion  was  the  demarche 
or  mayor  of  the  town,  the  most  important 
municipal  authority.  The  mode  of  elec- 
tion is  certainly  a  most  curious  one.  The 
people  choose  twelve  men  as  electors,  with 
twelve  more  for  substitutes.  These  twelve 
choose  from  their  own  number  four  men, 
with  their  substitutes ;  and  finally  these 
four  select  three  candidates  for  the  office 
of  mayor.  Their  names  are  presented  to 
the  king  or  ministry,  and  they  designate 
the  one  who  shall  be  mayor.  Out  of  the 
three  candidates,  I  presume,  the  monarch 
may  safely  depend  on  one  who  will  advo- 
cate the  ministerial  measures  for  the  pur- 
pose of  gaining  office.  Of  course  in  so 
complicated  a  procedure  the  government 
will  find  plenty  of  opportunity  for  wield- 
ing an  influence  over  the  election.    My 

friend  A had  undoubtedly  some  part 

to  take  in  the  election  of  a  mayor  in  the 
important  town  of  Argos,  as  he  was 
furnished  by  the  ministry  with  an  order 
for  an  escort  of  soldiers  through  the  dan- 
gerous passes  from  Argos  to  Corinth,  of 
which  he  invited  me  to  avail  myself  in 
returning  to  Athens. 

By  eleven  o'clock  we  had  crossed  the 
Saronic  Gulf^  passing  close  to  the  island 
of  Poros,  remarkable  of  late  years  for  the 
burning  of  the  Greek  fleet  in  its  little 
harbor;  but  much  more  famous  under 
the  name  of  Calauria,  as  the  scene  of  the 
death  of  Demosthenes.  It  is  a  bleak,, 
barren  rock,  without  the  sign  of  a  habita- 
tion on  this  side.  We  kept  on  close  to  the 
mainland,  and  inside  of  the  island  of 
Hydra,  which  rises  high  and  rocky  from 
the  sea.  The  town  of  Hydra  itself  is 
picturesquely  situated  on  the  side  of  the 
hilL  rising  in  the  shape  of  a  theatre.  A 
ridge,  however,  divides  it  into  two  parts, 
which  running  out  into  the  water,  forms 
two  harbors,  the  smaller  of  which,  as 
usual,  serves  for  quarantine.  The  house  of 
Gonduriotti,  the  famous  Hydriote,  stands 
on  the  narrow  tongue  of  land  between  the 
two  harbors,  and  was  pointed  out  to  me. 
Hydra,  I  am  told,  has  declined  very  much 
of  late  years.  Its  losses  were  immense 
during  the  revolutionary  war.  All  its 
commerce  was,  of  course,  ruined,  and  as,  to- 
gether with  Spezzia,  it  sustained  the  whole 
burden  of  the  war  by  sea,  the  prizes  ob- 
tained never  compensated  for  the  expendi- 
tures it  incurred.      Since  the  revolution 


64 


Three  Days  in  Argdu. 


[h 


Spezzia  has  regained  some  of  its  former 
importance,  but  the  fleet  of  Hydra  on  the 
Black  Sea  has  diminished  exceedingly. 
The  privileges  which  Hydra  used  to  enjoy 
under  the  Turks  were  such,  that  the  in- 
habitants had  little  reason  to  complain  of 
tyranny.  The  island  was  almost  free 
from  the  government  of  the  Porte,  govern- 
ing itself,  allowing  no  Turk  to  set  foot  on 
land,  and  paying  only  a  small  annual 
tribute.  Commerce  has  usually  the  cQect 
of  diminishing  national  prejudices,  and 
making  men  more  tolerant  of  each  others' 
customs  ;  but  at  Hydra  it  seems  to  have 
had  a  directly  opposite  effect.  A  Smyr- 
niote  lady  at  Athens  told  me  that  her 
father  once  entered  Hydra  in  Frank  dress, 
and  came  very  near  losing  his  life  by 
doing  so.  So  inveterate  was  the  dislike 
of  the  inhabitants  for  the  foreign  costume, 
that  the  gentleman  was  pursued  and  hoot- 
ed at  in  the  streets  and  compelled  to  take 
refuge  in  a  house.  It  vi^s  a  characteristic 
feeling  of  patriotism,  that  lf»d  their  admi- 
ral Tombazi  to  reply  to  one  who  exclaimed, 
**  What  a  spot  you  have  chosen  for  your 
country  ; "  '•  It  was  liberty  that  chose  the 
spot,  not  we."  But  along  with  this  noble 
sentiment,  and  vinth  others  distinguishing 
them  above  even  the  rest  of  their  country- 
men, the  Uydriotes  possess  a  good  deal  of 
sordid  love  of  gain.  It  is  said  that  there 
actually  existed  in  the  city  at  the  time  of 
the  revolution  three  mints  for  the  manu- 
facture of  counterfeit  Turkish  coin,  which 
was  taken  into  Turkey  and  there  put  into 
circulation.* 

Our  steamboat  stopped  but  a  few  mo- 
ments oir  Hydra,  to  land  some  passengers, 
and  then  continued  its  course  until  com- 
ing between  Spezzia  and  the  mainland,  we 
entered  the  Gulf  of  Argos.  The  town  of 
Spezzia  is  less  picturesquely  situated  on  a 
less  rocky  island  ;  and  has  a  long  and  nar- 
row harbor  similar  to  that  of  Hydra.  The 
remainder  of  the  aflemoon  was  spent  in 
steaming  up  the  bay,  with  the  bare  rocks 
of  Argolis  on  the  right  and  the  equally 
precipitous  hills  of  Laconia  on  the  other 
side,  coming  down  to  the  very  margin  of 
the  water.  We  approached  Nauplia,  and 
after  turning  a  promontory,  our  steamer 
anchored  directly  between  the  town  and 
the  small  fort  of  St.  Nicolas  or  Bourtzi. 

Nauplia  is  finely  situated,  and  appears 
to  great  advantage  from  the  water.  The 
houses  are  usually  built  of  white  lime- 
stone, and  have  for  the  most  part,  roofs  not 
very  much  inclined.  They  rise  one  above 
another  on  the  side  of  a  hill,  forming  the 
end  of  the  promontory,  which  is  crowned 


by  the  fort  of  Itch-kali.-  But  the* 
fications  are  slight  compared  wit 
Palamede,  a  hill  740  feet  in  lieight, 
commands  the  town  to  the  southea 
renders  Nauplia  one  of  the  three  str 
places  in  the  Morea, — the  Acrocor 
and  Monembasia  being  the  others, 
singular  that  so  remarkable  a  sitaal 
this  should  not  have  been  occupied 
times  of  the  ancient  Greeks  by  a  po] 
town.  But  Nauplia  is  scarcely  men 
by  historians  or  geographers.  To 
the  bay  the  town  is  protected  by  i 
wall,  which  rises  directly  from  the  v 
edge,  and  allows  people  to  land  in  a 
place.  It  is  said,  too,  that  a  double 
used  to  be  stretched  from  the  litt 
of  Bourtzi  to  the  mainland.  It  is  IK 
der  that  the  Turks  were  foiled  i 
attempt  to  take  this  place  by  stom 
the  hands  of  the  Greeks. 

When  we  arrived  oflf  Nauplia,  tl 
it  was  not  late  in  the  afternoon,  wo 
it  raining  violently,  and  therefore 
mined  to  remain  on  our  steamboat  I 
night,  and  have  the  next  morning 
excursion.  The  sun  rose  the  next  ; 
ing  in  a  clear  sky.  revealing  to  us  a 
features  of  the  surrounding  land 
To  the  northward  we  saw  the  Ic 
level  plain  of  Argos,  with  the  mow 
beyond,  and  on  the  east,  before  the 
hills  that  ran  southward  as  far  a 
eye  could  distinguish  them,  was  th< 
marshy  ground,  where  now  stand  tl 
houses  of  Myli.  That  was  the  m 
Leme,  the  haunt  of  the  famous  Li 
Hydra,  whose  slaughter  was  one  < 
great  achievements  of  Hercules.  ] 
Hydra,  as  German  critics  pretend 
only  symbolical  of  the  pestilential  i 
from  the  marsh,  which  Hercules  ren 
by  effectually  draining  it,  the  mona 
as  active  as  ever;  for  the  neighbo 
of  Leme,  like  all  other  low  uid  1 
grounds  in  this  warm  country,  is  in 
with  fever  and  ague  during  nearly 
thirds  of  the  year. 

After  waiting  a  long  time  impAt 
for  our  guide,  who  had  gone  olT  t 
shore,  Demetri  at  last  appeared,  a: 
repaired  in  a  boat  to  the  small  li 
place,  where  we  found  the  horses  whk 
been  procured  for  us.  We  set  off  al 
without  stopping  to  look  about  Ni 
for  the  curious  old  ruined  cities  of  M3 
Tiryns,  and  Argos.  We  rode  thro 
number  of  narrow  streets,  brushinj 
the  little  open  shops,  and  now  aik 
drawing  our  beasts  near  to  the 
in  order  to  avoid  a  train  of  mules 


*  Howe'k  enek  Sevolation  p.  106v  Note  M  /ha 


1854.] 


Three  Daye  in  Jrgolie. 


66 


with  sftoks  or  baskets,  or  a  row  of  donkeja 
euTjing  huge  bundles '  of  brushwood, 
aader  which  thej  were  almost  hidden. 
As  for  the  foot  passengers  they  shifted  for 
tliemselvcs ;  in  cases  where  the  street  was 
too  narrow  to  allow  of  more  than  a  couple 
of  horses  passing  each  other,  they  took 
nfoge  in  some  open  doorway  or  shop. 
We  left  Nauplia  through  the  only  land 
gate,  over  which  we  turned  to  see  the  old 
winged  lion  of  St  Mark,  still  existing  as 
•n  indication  of  the  former  supremacy  of 
the  Venetian  republic  over  this  city.  In- 
deed we  saw  the  same  emblem  more  or 
kss  entire  on  various  portions  of  the  walL 
The  Turks  when  they  gained  possession 
of  the  place,  after  carefully  destroying  the 
bead  at  the  lion,  which  they  supposed, 
donbUess.  to  be  one  of  the  idols  of  the 
infidel,  seem  to  have  cared  very  little 
whether  the  remainder  of  the  monument 
was  still  there  or  not.  Passing  the  nar- 
row strip  of  ground,  use<l  as  a  promenade, 
at  the  foot  of  the  Palamede,  we  came  to 
the  suburb  of  Pronia,  which,  when 
Nauplia  was  the  capital  of  the  government, 
as  it  was  for  many  years  after  the  revolu- 
tion, was  crowded  with  country  scats  of 
all  the  principal  families.  Pronia  has 
aeea  some  stormy  scenes.  The  congress 
that  assembled  there  was  broken  up  by 
force  of  arms,  and  its  deputies  dispersed. 
On  the  rock,  which  forms  the  boundary 
of  the  sort  of  recess  in  which  Pronia  is 
situated,  we  noticed  as  wo  passed  a  lion 
cat  oat  of  the  solid  stone,  afbcr  the  fashion 
of  the  famous  lion  of  Lucerne.  It  com- 
memorated the  Bavarians  who  died  in 
Greeee. 

Wo  turned  now  to  the  north  and  entered 
the  plain  of  Argon.  A  remarkable  plain 
it  is,  indeed,  and  the  scene  of  interesting 
historical  events  from  the  time  of  Hercules, 
the  Pelasgians,  and  the  heroes  of  the 
Trojan  war.  The  names  of  its  celebrated 
cities  Mycenae,  Tiryns,  and  Argos,  are 
mentioned  as  the  seats  of  potent  monarchs. 
when  proud  Athens  itself  was  spoken  of 
by  Homer  as  only  a  *'  rfemtftf,"  or  town, 
when,  perhaps,  no  city  had  been  erected. 
The  fertility  of  the  soil  and  its  advantar 
geous  situation  for  commerce,  led  to  its 
being  early  selected  for  the  principal  king- 
dom of  Greece,  and  it  still  enjoys  the  re- 
putation of  being  superior  in  productive- 
ness to  any  other  part  of  the  country, 
except  Messcnia.  We  certainly  could  not 
foil  to  be  struck  with  the  vast  difference 
between  it  and  the  plain  of  Athens,  than 
which  a  more  rocky  and  arid  district  can 
scarcely  be  imagined.  The  valley  mea- 
sured perhaps  a  dozen  miles  in  length 
from  Nauplia  to  MycensB,  and  its  greatest 

TOL.  III. — 5 


breadth  could  not  be  lees  than  seyen  or 
eight  in  the  southern  part,  gradually  di- 
minishing as  we  rode  on  further,  until 
above  Mycenae  it  contracted  into  a  narrow 
defile.  Fields  of  wheat  and  vineyards  of 
the  Corinthian  currant  occupied  both  sides 
of  the  road,  and  the  products  of  both  are 
said  to  bo  excellent.  But  there  are  none 
of  those  fine  old  olive  groves  which  give 
such  a  light  green  tinge  to  the  landsoipe 
in  Attica.  No  one  who  travels  across  it, 
as  we  were  doing  to-day,  after  a  heavy 
rain,  and  is  obliged  to  wade  through  the 
pools  of  water  that  cover  the  whole  road, 
or  stem  the  current  of  the  Inachus,  would 
be  disposed  to  call  the  plain  of  Argos,  as 
both  ancients  and  moderns  do,  "'  a  thirsty 
land."  But  such  it  is  gcnenUly,  on  ac- 
count of  the  meagreness  of  the  only  torrent 
it  possesses,  the  famous  Inachus. 
•  We  rode  on  about  a  half  an  hour  before 
we  reached  the  ruined  walls  of  Tiryns.  The 
long  and  narrow  eminence  is  a  prominent 
object ;  indeed,  it  rises  quite  alone  in  the 
midst  of  a  perfectly  level  country,  like  a 
large  ship  in  the  middle  of  the  sea.  We 
had  noted  it  some  time  before.  The  road 
nms  parallel  with  its  western  side ;  and 
we  turned  into  the  fields  on  our  right, 
and  rode  up  what  was  the  principal  en- 
trance to  this  acropolis.  Alighting  just 
at  the  walls,  our  guide  led  our  horses 
around  the  hill  to  the  road,  while  we  ex- 
plored the  remains  of  Greek  masonry. 
Fraying  our  way  through  the  mass  of 
tangled  vinos  and  more  annoying  nettles, 
wliich  had  grown  luxuriantly  during  the 
rains  of  spring,  we  reached  the  entrance 
of  a  passage  running  in  the  tliickness  of 
the  wall  om  tho  eastern  side  of  the  place. 
It  was  formed,  like  the  rest  of  the  vrall,  of 
large,  rough,  and  apparently  unworked 
stones,  heaped  toother,  one  upon  the 
other,  with  smaller  ones  often  filling  the 
interstices.  Some  of  the  stones  measured 
five  or  six,  and  others  up  to  ten  feet  The 
passage  way  was  vaulted,  not  according  to 
the  principle  of  the  arch,  but  with  liurge 
stones  which  projected  over  the  passage,  un- 
til the  highest  courses  met  entirely,  their 
balance  being  preserved  by  their  being 
proportionately  longer ;  and  so  the  centre 
of  gravity  fell  within  the  wall.  The  same 
eilect  might  have  been  obtained  by  cutting 
tho  gallery  out  of  a  solid  wall.  Wo  en- 
tered this  curious  gallery,  and  found  it 
some  eight  or  nine  feet  high,  and  stretch- 
ing about  one  hundred  feet  in  depth,  when 
we  came  to  its  sudden  termination.  A 
single  stone  just  at  the  end  has  fallen  in. 
and  lets  in  a  stream  of  light,  which  shows 
that  the  gallery  never  extended  any  far- 
ther; and  we  could  distinguish  by  the 


66 


I%ree  Dai^n  in  ArgoUi. 


[JaDUtty 


dim  light  some  five  or  six  old  openings  or 
doors  on  the  right,  which  served  at  some 
time  or  other  as  doors  leading  to  the  out- 
side of  the  city.  They  were  all  walled  up 
some  time  posterior  to  the  building  of  the 
wall.  What  could  they  have  served  for  ? 
Perhaps  as  secret  openings  through  which 
sallies  might  be  made  upon  the  enemies 
who  might  besiege  the  town. 

We  found  another  similar  passage  on 
the  opposite  or  western  side  of  the  great 
entrance ;  but  it  was  less  interesting.  The 
▼ault  was  perfect  for  a  short  distance  only, 
and  the  rest  was  quite  destroyed.  We 
passed  on  and  ascended  to  the  top  of  the 
city,  which  seemed  to  mo  to  be  elevated 
some  thirty  to  fifty  feet  above  the  plain, 
one  part  being  much  lower  than  the  other, 
which  formed  a  sort  of  interior  fortress. 
The  top  is  about  seven  or  eight  hundred 
feet  long  from  north  to  south,  and  usually 
about  one  fourth  as  wide,  though  it  varies 
considerably.  On  these  three  or  four 
acres  of  ground  stood  the  famous  city  of 
Tiryns,  one  of  the  oldest  cities  in  Greece, 
and  famous  for  the  most  part  only  for  its 
wars  with  its  neighbors.  It  is  curious  to 
see  that  in  the  time  of  that  most  invalu- 
able of  writers,  Pausanias,  sixteen  or 
seventeen  hundred  years  ago,  it  was  in 
pretty  nearly  the  same  ruinous  condition 
as  now.  "  The  waiy  he  tells  us^  "  the 
only  part  of  the  nuns  that  remains,  is 
the  work  of  the  Cyclops;  and  built  of 
onwTOught  stones,  each  of  which  is  so 
large  that  a  yoke  of  mules  could  scarcely 
move  at  all,  even  the  smallest  of  them. 
Small  stones  have  been  of  old  fitted  in 
with  them,  so  as  to  form  each  of  them  a 
connection  between  the  large  stones." 
Nothing  but  earthquakes,  I  think,  could 
make  much  unpression  on  these  gigantic 
masses;. and  so  the  wall  remains  pretty 
perfect  in  most  of  its  circuit.  The  view 
over  the  vicinity  is  beautiful  and  quite  ex- 
tensive, and  there  is  a  neat-looking  build- 
ine  near  the  southern  end,  an  agricultural 
college,  which  has  not  flourished  very 
well  so  far,  I  believe.  The  Greek  mind 
does  not,  I  imi^ine,  incline  much  to  agri- 
coltnre. 

Demetri  came  to  us  before  we  had  satis- 
fied ourselves  with  examining  these  ruins, 
and  reminded  us  that  we  had  a  long  ride 
before  us,  promising  that  if  there  should 
be  time  we  should  have  the  opportunity 
of  spending  half  an  hour  more  at  the  place 
on  our  return.  So  we  were  compelled  to 
mount,  and  we  pursueil  a  northerly  direc- 
tion, over  a  level  plain  abounding  in  vil- 
lages and  well  cultivated,  leaving  the  city 
of  Argos  far  on  our  left  Near  Myc6n» 
the  soil  became  thinner  and  the  countxy 


less  po{>ulou8.  At  the  little  khan  of 
Kharvati  we  turned  from  the  main  road, 
on  our  right,  and  followed  a  path  which 
led  us  through  the  village  of  the  same 
name.  Our  arrival  was  greeted  by  some 
dozens  of  boys  who  came  to  beg,  and  as 
many  dogs  who  came  to  bark  at  us ;  but 
we  set  both  at  defiance,  and  pursued  our 
way.  We  were  struck  with  the  miser- 
able condition  of  the  inhabitants,  who 
lived  in  common  low  stone  or  mud  hovels, 
thatched  with  the  brushwood  and  herbs 
gathered  in  the  vicinity.  A  short  dis- 
tance on  we  reached  the  neighborhood  of 
Mycensa,  and  before  entering  the  inclosure 
of  the  walls,  we  came  to  the  far-famed 
"  Treasury  of  Atreus.'^  An  inclined  plane 
lined  on  either  side  by  massive  stone  walls 
led  us  down  to  the  building,  which  is  ex- 
cavated in  the  bowels  of  the  hill.  We 
rode  down,  and,  entering  by  the  wide 
portal,  found  ourselves  in  a  great  circular 
chamber,  about  fifty  feet  in  diameter,  and 
about  forty  in  height.  It  can  neither  be 
said  to  be  vaulted,  nor  to  be  conical,  but 
the  sides  are  somewhat  circular.  The 
whole  consists  of  a  series  of  regular  courses 
of  squared  stone,  gradually  narrowins 
until  the  summit  was  formerly  covered 
with  a  single  stone.  The  most  remark- 
able thing  about  the  architecture  is  the 
circumstance  that  the  dome  is  not  con- 
structed with  an  arch,  but  that  the  suc- 
cessive circles  of  stones  by  their  very 
weight  are  held  firmly  together.  The 
eateway  through  which  we  had  entered, 
however,  struck  us  more  than  any  thing 
else.  Tne  passage  is  scarcely  more  than 
eight  feet  in  diameter ;  but  it  is  spanned 
by  an  enormous  soffit  twenty-eight  feet 
long,  while  it  is  nineteen  broad,  and  three 
feet  and  nine  inches  in  thickness !  How 
that  mass  weighing  several  tons  was 
raised  to  a  height  of  twenty  feet  above 
the  soil,  and  that  too  without  the  aid  of 
modem  improvements  in  machinery,  is  a 
mystery  difficult  to  solve.  Certainly  the 
architects  of  Agamemnon^s  time  were  no 
mean  ones.  Above  this  door  is  a  triangu- 
lar opening  or  window,  which  serves  to 
let  a  faint  light  into  the  building.  Leav- 
ing our  horses  here,  we  groped  our  way 
through  a  similar  but  more  narrow  door, 
now  much  obstructed  with  rubbish,  into 
a  smaller  chamber.  Demetri  brought  in 
a  few  armfuls  of  brush,  and  soon  kindled 
a  fire,  which  revealed  to  us  its  form.  It 
was  a  damp  room  some  twenty  feet 
square,  by  our  measurement,  and  four- 
t^n  high ;  cut  out  of  the  hard  rock,  and 
left  rough  as  at  first.  Its  use  is  unco^ 
tain.  Uur  guide  persisted  in  calling  this 
the  Tomb  of  Agamemnon,  while  the  xt§k 


1854.] 


Three  Day$  m  Arpolis. 


67 


alone  is  the  Treasarj  of  Atreus,  and  this 
way  of  getting  over  the  difficulty  about 
its  nomenclature  is  certainly  ingenious, 
ind  not  unreasonable.  As  it  is  outside  of 
the  walls  of  the  dty — the  most  ancient 
ones  at  any  rate — it  is  not  impossible  that 
this  may  have  been  a  tomb,  but  others 
endeavor  to  show,  and  with  plausibility, 
too,  that  it  was  in  some  way  connected 
with  the  worship  of  those  early  races  that 
inhabited  Greece  before  authentic  history, 
and  about  whom  the  amount  of  knowledge 
we  possess,  notwithstanding  the  ponder- 
ous tomes  of  some  modem  writers,  might 
be  summed  up  in  a  page  or  two  of  writing. 
Very  likely  the  walls  of  this  inner  cham- 
ber were  coated  with  marble,  as  those  of 
the  great  one  undoubtedly  were  with 
copper  plates,  as  is  evident  from  the 
abundant  remains  of  small  copper  nails 
studding  the  entire  ceiling  and  walls. 
After  satisfying  our  curiosity  with  this 
remarkable  monument  of  antiquity,  as 
far  as  we  could  satisfy  oui-selves  with 
such  a  short  visit,  we  proceeded  to  visit  the 
remaining  portions  of  the  city  of  Mycenae. 
Riding  along  the  coast  of  the  hill,  upon 
whose  summit  ran  the  more  recent  walls 
of  the  city,  we  came  unexpectedly  upon  a 
hole,  where  we  foimd  a  monument  similar 
to  tnat  we  had  just  been  visiting. — an- 
other ^UreasuryJ"  which  seems  to  be  the 
name  now  appropriated  to  that  sort  of 
building.  The  whole  upper  part  of  the 
dome  had  fallen  in,  and  disclos^  the  lower 
courses  of  masonry.  Most  of  the  struc- 
ture, however,  is  buried  below  the  mass 
of  rubbish.  There  are  a  couple  more  out- 
side of  the  walls.  We  dismounted  on 
coming  to  the  acropolis,  and  made  a  great 
part  of  the  circuit  on  root,  observing  the 
number  of  dificrent  kinds  of  construction 
which  is  thus  exhibited.  Sometimes  as  at 
Tiryns  there  were  great  masses  of  stone 
heaped  together,  seemingly  without  an^ 
attempt  at  giving  them  a  more  symmetri- 
cal shape  luiving  been  made.  At  others, 
the  masses,  though  scarcely  smaller,  were 
hewn  into  large  and  almost  regular 
courses,  very  small  stones  being  thrust 
into  the  small  crevices.  In  walls  of  a  yet 
more  recent  date,  the  stones  were  much 
smaller,  of  a  polygonal  shape,  and  gene- 
rally very  closely  fitted  one  to  the  other, 
not  leaving  space  enough  to  crowd  the 
blade  of  a  penknife  into  the  joints.  We 
entered  the  ancient  acropolis  through  an 
ancient  little  gate,  formed  in  the  most 
simple  manner  of  three  stones,  two  form- 


ing the  sides,  and  the  third  the  top  of  the 
doorway.  On  either  side  there  was  the 
projection  against  which  the  door  rested, 
and  before  it  the  two  holes  in  which  was 
placed  the  bar,  which  invariably  served 
to  fasten  it.  We  found  ourselves  on  an 
elevated  platform,  where  we  could  look 
far  and  wide  over  the  plain,  where  reigned 
"  Agamemnon,  king  of  men. "  This  was 
the  capital  of  the  kingdom,  while  Tiryns 
to  the  south,  and  Argos  at  the  foot  of  that 
high  hill  almost  as  far  towards  the  south- 
west, were  the  older  and  later  capitals  of 
the  AtridsB.  The  ground  we  stand  on, 
was  perhaps  occupied  of  old  by  that  pa- 
lace celebrated  for  the  misdeeds  of  Cly- 
taemnestra  and  ^gisthus,  and  where  the 
victorious  monarch  Agamemnon  was  as- 
sassinated with  the  laurel  still  fresh  on 
his  brow.*  The  summit  of  the  hill  was 
the  station  of  that  watchman,  whom  one 
of  the  Tragic  poets  represents  as  watching 
for  ten  long  years,  wet  with  the  dews  of 
every  night,  for  the  signal  fires  that  were 
to  announce  •  the  taking  of  Troy  by  the 
Grecian  troops.  We  descended  from  the 
top  of  the  hill  to  the  most  celebrated  ob- 
ject of  interest  in  the  place,  the  Gate  of 
Lions,  Two  enormous  stones  standing 
on  end  support  a  slab  equally  ponderous ; 
and  on  the  top  of  this  is  a  triangular  piece 
of  gray  limestone,  ten  feet  long  and  nine 
high,  upholding  the  remains  of  the  only 
statuary  about  the  entire  place.  Two 
lions  are  represented  on  it  facing  each 
other,  and  standing  on  their  hind  legs, 
while  the  front  ones  rest  on  a  low  pedes- 
tal between  them.  This  pedestal  sup- 
ports in  turn  a  short  colunm,  very  similar 
m  shape  to  the  Doric,  except  that  it 
diminishes  downwards  instead  of  upwards. 
Unfortunately  the  heads  of  the  lions  are 
entirely  destroyed,  and  if  there  was  any 
object  on  the  top  of  the  colunm,  that  )ma 
likewise  disappeared;  so  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  tell  what  this  curious  monu- 
ment signified,  or  whether  it  was  con- 
nected with  the  religion  of  the  mysterious 
builders  of  the  city.  The  artist  who  ex- 
ecuted this  work  of  art,  was  certainly  not 
devoid  of  skill  in  portraying  nature. 
Every  muscle  of  the  lion's  body  is  express- 
ed, and  even  exaggerated,  though  there 
is  a  certain  stiffness  about  the  whole  which 
marks  an  early  period  of  art.  The  merest 
spectator  is  struck  by  the  resemblance  of 
the  figures  with  Egyptian  works,  and  no 
one.  who  has  seen  the  Assyrian  monu- 
ments in  the  Ix>ndon  and  Parisian  Muse- 


*  AguaemMD  wai  •omettoMf  ealled  king  of  Argos ;  bat  under  tbts  name  was  intend^  not  the  cltv  of  that 
MUM,  this  b«1iu(  the  capital  of  I>kmiede*s  domlnlona  bat  a  large  portion  of  the  Poloponneaaa,  incladinir  par> 
tlea]ari7tfaedtl6Boril7«eMaiidTir7iia.(Hejrn6rSze^ 


08 


Three  Days  in  ArgdU, 


[Janmij 


ums  can  fail  to  notice  an  equal  likeness 
to  thdr  rigid  outlines,  it  is  a  well 
authenticated  tradition  that  the  Egyp- 
tians sent  colonies  to  this  part  of  Greece ; 
but  it  seems  very  doubtful  whether  these 
nM)numents  resemble  each  other  any  fur- 
ther than  in  the  mere  cliunsiness  which 
characterizes  all  works  of  remote  anti- 
quity. What  makes  this  and  the  other 
ruins  of  Mycenae  the  more  interesting,  is, 
that  in  the  time  of  Pausanias,  two  cen- 
turies after  the  Christian  era,  they  were 
nearly  in  the  same  state  as  now.  "  The 
inhabitants  of  Argos,"  sa3rs  that  historian, 
"destroyed  Mycenas  out  of  envy;  for 
whilst  the  Argives  remained  at  rest  dur- 
ing the  invasion  of  the  Modes,  the  Myce- 
nians  sent  eight  men  to  Thermopylss, 
who  shared  the  work  with  the  Lacedae- 
monians. This  brought  destruction  upon 
them,  as  it  excited  the  emulation  of  the 
Argives.  There  remains,  however,  be- 
sides other  parts  of  the  inclosure,  the 
gate  with  the  lions  standing  over  it. 
They  say  that  these  are  the  works  of  the 
Cjrclopes,  who  constructed  the  wall  at 
Tuyns  for  Proetus."  The  great  topo- 
grapher also  mentions  the  subterranean 
treasuries  of  Atreus  and  his  children, 
his  tomb,  and  those  of  Agamemnon  and 
Clytaenmestra. 

We  lingered  for  an  hour  or  two  among 
these  ruins,  and  then  hurried  back  to  the 
little  village  of  Kharvati,  to  take  our 
lunch  at  the  khan.  While  we  were  par- 
taking of  such  food  as  our  guide  had  pro- 
vided, a  few  peasants  brought  in  some 
ancient  coins  of  the  Byzantine  Empire. 
They  set  an  enormous  price  on  them — and 
indeeed  these  persons  value  an  early 
Christian  coin  far  above  much  more  an- 
cient ones.  If  they  get  hold  of  a  medal 
of  Constantine,  they  keep  it  as  an  heir- 
loom, and  scarcely  any  thing  can  tempt 
them  to  part  with  it  We  left  our  worthy 
friends  in  possession  of  their  treasures, 
and  set  off  on  our  return,  following,  how- 
ever, a  somewhat  longer  road,  which  led 
through  Argos.  This  took  us  more  than 
two  hours,  for  our  horses  were  miserable 
creatures;  and  the  road,  though  pretty 
good,  and  in  dry  weather  even  passable 
for  a  carriage,  led  us  directly  acrovss  the 
swollen  stream  of  the  Inachus,  which,  in- 
deed, forms  quite  a  respectable  creek  at 
this  season  of  the  year. 

We  found  Argos  quite  a  different  look- 
ing place  from  Nauplia.  The  houses  are 
much  newer  and  lower,  and  many  of  them 


are  scattered  about  in  the  gardens  and 
vineyards,  forming  a  populous,  but  not  at 
all  a  closely-inhabited  town.  Nauplia  is 
its  rival,  and  for  a  long  time  overshadowed 
it ;  but  now  Argos  contains  about  ten  or 
twelve  thousand  souls,  while  Nauplia  has 
only  eight  Our  object  here  was  to  sec 
the  remains  of  a  Greek  theatre.  To  reach 
it  we  had  to  go  the  greater  part  of  the 
town,  and  a  crowd  of  boys,  seeing  the 
"  milordi "  coming,  quitted  their  games  to 
follow  our  steps.  We  had  seen  enough 
of  their  character  to  know  that  there  was 
nothing  to  be  gained  by  commanding 
them  to  be  gone.  Every  one  who  had 
been  loudest  in  his  play  but  a  moment 
ago,  pressed  us  in  piteous  tones  to  give 
him  a  penny ;  and  when  we  alighted,  half 
a  dozen  called  us  in  different  directions  to 
show  us  the  ruins.  If  we  followed,  or 
walked  behind,  any  one  of  them,  he  was 
satisfied  that  we  had  engaged  him  as 
guide  ;  so  that,  by  the  time  we  got 
through,  we  found  ourselves  indebted  to 
them,  by  their  own  calculation,  in  quite  a 
little  sum.  The  theatre,  itself,  however, 
we  found  interesting  enough,  notwith- 
standing our  clamorous  attendants.  The 
seats  are  cut  into  the  solid  rock,  rising 
one  above  the  other  on  its  face,  and  divid- 
ed by  alleys  into  three  divisions.  Though 
the  lower  part  of  the  theatre  is  covered 
over  with  soil,  and  a  flourishing  wheat- 
field  occupies  the  arena — some  sixty- 
seven  seats  are  visible.  In  one  or  two 
places,  there  are  on  the  neighboring  rocks 
some  small  bas-reliefs,  which  we  could 
make  little  of.  A  friend  of  mine  told  me, 
that  in  this  theatre  was  held  one  of  the 
chief  congresses  during  the  Greek  revolu- 
tion, in  which,  if  I  remember  right,  he 
himself  sat.*  From  the  theatre  we  re- 
turned to  Nauplia.  Our  way  led  ns 
through  the  agora^  or  market-place  of 
Argos.  This  name  is  not  here  always 
applied  to  a  building,  or  an  open  square ; 
but  to  the  portion  of  the  town  where  pro- 
visions and  other  commodities  are  sold. 
Here  there  were  few  or  no  shops,  every 
thing  being  exposed  on  cloths  or  boards 
stretched  on  the  ground,  on  either  side  of 
the  street.  Like  the  .Turkish  bazars, 
these  places  are  noisy  and  crowded ;  every 
seller  screams  in  your  ear  the  excellence 
of  his  goods,  and  you  are  heartily  glad 
when  you  find  yourself  fairly  out  of  the 
place.  There  were  few  houses  between 
Argos  and  Nauplia,  a  distance  of  seven  or 
eight  miles ;  but  the  trafBc  and  intercom- 


♦  Behind  the  thcAtre,  which  It  is  calculated  conld  Beat  abont  20,000  pereons,  according  to  the  calculatlona  of 
•ntiqaarians,  rises  the  high  and  strong  Larissa,  tlie  castle  of  modern,  and  the  acropolis  of  old  Argiw ;  whoM 
▼cry  name  is  soflicleot  evidence  of  the  Pelaegian  origin  of  tlie  places    It  is  crownad  \>j  Venetian  furOflfli^ 


1864.] 


Thrm  Day9  in  ArgcUt. 


89 


municaiioii  between  was  evidently  oonsid- 
tfable.  We  reached  the  harbor  near  the 
time  for  the  leaving  of  the  steamer  on  its 
return  to  Athens,  and  my  comixanions, 
who  were  in  haste  to  return,  hurried  on 
board.  As  for  mvself,  I  had  rcHoWcd  to 
vary  my  return,  by  crossing  to  Corinth, 
and  taking  the  steamer  thenoe  to  PirsBUS. 
As  Demctri  was  to  return  with  the  rest 
of  the  party,  and  I  trusted  to  my  know- 
ledge of  the  language  to  make  my  way, 
I  had  a  new  pass  made  out,  and  soon  do- 
miciled myself  in  the  small  old  hotel  of 
"  Peaoe,'^  opposite  the  public  square. 

Mine  host,  who  rejoiced  in  the  name  of 
Elias  Giannopoulos,  or  Joannopoulos, 
finding  I  could  speak  the  modem  Greek, 
was  disposed  to  show  me  every,  attention. 
It  was  too  late  in  the  afternoon  to  procure 
permission  of  the  mayor  to  visit  the  Pala- 
mede;  but  he  volunteered  to  show  me 
the  other  curiosities  of  the  place.  He 
took  me  to  the  church  of  St  Spiridon,  a 
little  building  in  a  narrow  lane,  remark- 
able for  nothing  in  its  exterior,  or  interior 
either.  ^*  This,''  said  he,  "  was  the  spot 
where  Capo  d'lstria,  the  first  president 
of  Greece,  was  slain  by  the  sons  of  Petron 
Bey.  The  two  Mavromichalis,  the  assas- 
sins, stood  down  here  in  this  alloy,  and 
when  the  president  came  from  the  church 
into  the  doorway,  they  wounded  him 
mortally."  My  friend  Elias,  though  he 
disapproved  of  the  action,  and  saw  how 
utterly  useless  such  an  assassination  must 
be,  yet,  I  must  confess,  did  not  appear 
very  sorry  for  the  murdered  man,  who 
was  the  head  of  the  Russian  party.  He 
grew  very  animated  in  describing  the 
abuses  of  the  government  here,  and  the 
corruption  introduced,  even  into  the  mu- 
nicipal authority.  My  window  at  the 
hotel  looked  out  upon  the  monument 
erected  to  the  memory  of  Ypsilanti,  and 
mine  host  is  much  interested  in  learning 
that  a  township  in  America  had  been 
named  after  the  favorite  modem  hero  of 
this  part  of  Orecce. 

I  had  to  be  up  early  the  next  morning. 
I  had  engaged  an  agogatea  to  fumish  me 
with  a  horse,  and  to  come  along  with  me. 
As  Elias  wanted  to  get  travellers  from 
Corinth  to  come  to  his  hotel,  it  was  easy 
for  me  to  find  a  guide.  Sideri  was  ready 
early  the  next  morning,  and  as  soon  as  I 
could  get  prepared,  we  started.  During 
the  night  the  weather  had  imdergone  a 
sudden  change,  and  instead  of  a  clear, 
bright  day,  such  as  we  had  enjoyed,  the 
clouds  hung  threateningly  along  the  sides 
of  the  hills,  offering  but  a  poor  prospect 
for  our  long  day's  journey..  Again  we 
had  to  traverse  the  plains  of  Argos  along 


the  same  road  which  we  had  crossed  the 
day  before.  We  lunched  again  at  the  khan 
of  Kharvati,  near  the  ruins  of  Mycenae. 
Here  the  plain  ended,  or  rather  contracted 
into  a  valley,  and  that  shortly  ended  in  a 
narrow  ravine.  This  was  the  entrance 
into  the  Pass  of  Troetus,  a  pass  known  in 
antiquity  for  its  difiiculty.  It  was  here 
that,  in  1822,  8000  Turks,  under  Drami 
Ali  Pasha,  after  having  ravaged  the  whole 
plain  of  Argos,  and  utterly  destroyed  the 
town,  attempted  to  cross  the  mountains 
into  Corinthia.  The  Greeks,  under  Nice- 
tas,  were  posted  at  the  most  difficult 
point  in  the  passes,  while  1600  more  oc- 
cupied' the  heights  about  the  entrance. 
When  the  Turks  had  fairly  entered,  they 
were  assailed  by  these  latter,  consisting 
principally  of  Mainiotes,  who  fired  upon 
them  from  behind  the  rocks  and  bushe& 
without  offering  them  any  opportunity  of 
defence.  Drami  Ali  hoped,  by  pushing 
onward,  to  free  himself  from  his  perilous 
position.  But  after  two  hours'  march, 
with  the  enemy  continually  killing  num- 
bers of  his  men,  he  came  to  the  narrowest 
place,  where  Nicetas  had  been  awaiting 
him.  Out  of  the  whole  army  of  the 
Turks,  only  two  thousand  succeeded  in 
dashing  by  the  opposing  force.  About  as 
many  more  retreated  to  Nauplia;  but 
between  three  and  four  thousand  perished 
in  the  awful  conflict.  Quarter  was  asked 
by  many,  but  the  Greeks  massacred,  to 
the  last  of  their  enemies.  The  plunder 
was  very  great  How  changed  is  the 
scene  now!  The  passes  were  the  very 
picture  of  loneliness,  and  not  a  sound  was 
to  be  heard.  The  pass  is  noted  for  no- 
thing but  robbers,  who  till  lately  infested 
it.  It  is  considered  now  the  most  likely 
place  for  them  to  reappear  in,  though  the 
Peloponnesus  is,  at  present,  entirely  free 
from  brigands. 

The  rain,  which  had  been  threatening 
at  any  time  to  descend  upon  us,  now  be- 
gan to  fall  in  torrents.  In  addition  to 
this,  the  cold  was  excessive  for  the  season 
of  the  year,  and  I  found  an  overcoat 
and  an  umbrella  poor  protection.  My 
guide,  Sideri,  wrapped  up  in  his  great 
^^  capote  ^^  of  camel's  hair,  fared  much 
better.  The  Pass  of  Troetus  is  a  long 
one,  and  we  wished  to  find  shelter,  hop- 
ing that  the  rain  would  cease,  or  at  least 
diminish.  Wo  reached  at  length  a  hut; 
but  upon  opening  the  door,  we  found  it 
dark,  and  crowded  by  a  set  of  Greek 
peasants,  who  were  consoling  themselves 
with  the  bottle  for  the  unpromising  aspect 
of  the  weather  without  So  we  resolved 
to  go  on.  Pretty  soon  we  turned  from 
the  direct  road  to  Corinth,  and  took  a 


10 


Three  Days  in  ArgolU, 


[Januwy 


path  on  the  left,  leading  to  the  little  valley 
of  Hagios  Georgios — the  ancient  Nemea. 
I  was  determined  to  see  the  ruins,  what- 
ever chances  of  rain  there  were.  Some 
caves  were  to  be  seen  as  we  approached 
Nemea,  which  the  poets  of  old  fancied  to 
have  been  the  haunts  of  the  Nemcan  lion, 
destroyed  by  Hercules.  At  length,  from 
the  top  of  a  small  elevation,  we  came  in 
sight  of  the  small  retired  valley  of  Ne- 
mea. It  seemed  to  be  about  three  miles 
long,  and  one  mile  wide.  A  few  minutes 
more  brought  us  to  the  Temple  of  Jupi- 
ter. It  was  raining  as  hard  as  ever ;  but 
I  dijnnounted,  and  tramped  through  the 
high  grass,  to  examine  this  famous  tem- 
ple. There  are  only  three  columns  stand- 
ing— two  of  them  belonging  to  the  *'  pro- 
naos,"  or  chief  entrance,  and  the  third  to 
the  ruined  colonnade  before  it.  But  the 
shape  of  the  edifice  dan  be  made  out  with 
distinctness.  All  the  columns  of  the  co- 
lonnade which  surrounded  the  temple  lie 
strown  about  the  surface  of  the  ground. 
The  numerous  earthquakes  with  which 
this  portion  of  the  globe  is  visited,  have 
thrown  down  one  stone  or  one  pillar  after 
another ;  and  where  a  whole  column  has 
fallen  at  once,  its  pieces  lie  one  beside  an- 
other, in  regular  succession,  on  the  ground. 
The  capital  of  one  of  those  which  are  yet 
standing  has  been,  by  the  same  convulsion 
of  nature,  curiously  moved  from  its  place, 
and  a  few  more  movements  of  the  same 
kind  will  cause  its  fall.  The  inferiority 
of  the  material  of  which  the  temple  was 
constructed — a  coarse  g^y  limestone  or 
marble — ^but  especially  the  distance  of  the 
place  from  any  modem  Greek  city,  have 
saved  it  from  spoliation.  It  seems  very 
probable  that  there  remain  stones  enough 
on  the  spot  to  rear  the  temple  over  again. 
I  sat  down  upon  the  wet  stones,  and  under 
the  shelter  of  an  umbrella,  succeeded  in 
transferring  to  paper  a  sketch  of  the  ruins. 
Sideri,  my  man,  althou^  well  covered 
up,  showed  some  impatience  to  leave,  as 
the  road  before  us  was  a  long  one — so  we 
pushed  forward.  A  couple  of  hours 
brought  us  to  the  end  of  the  difficult 
pass,  when  we*  fell  in  again  with  the  di- 
rect road  through  the  pass  of  the  Derven- 
achia.  There  was  a  khan  here,  at  which 
we  rested,  and  dried  ourselves  by  the 
fire  kindled  upon  the  stone  hearth,  built 
in  the  middle  of  the  room.  The  smoke 
found  its  way  out  through  the  chinks  of 
the  thatched  roof.  Our  host  made  us 
some  coffee — about  the  only  thing  which 
can  be  obtained  any  where  in  Greece. 
The  mountain  stream,  by  whose  sandy 
bed  we  rode  next,  was  swollen,  and  caus- 
ed us  some  difficulty  in  wading.  But  the 


rain  had  ceased,  and  we  should  have  co- 
joyed  a  fine  view  of  the  Gulf  of  Corinth 
as  we  descended,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
heavy  clouds  which  shut  out  the  view  of 
almost  every  thing  in  the  distance.  When 
we  got  to  the  smaJl  hotel  at  Corinth,  the 
day  was  too  near  its  close  to  allow  or  my 
going  up  to  the  top  of  the  Acrocorinthus; 
besides,  I  hoped  that  the  weather  might 
change,  and  allow  of  some  distant  view. 

I  found  that  my  friend,  the  deputy, 
who  had  so  kindly  offered  that  I  should 
go  under  the  protection  of  his  escort  from 
Nauplia.  had  arrived  before  me,  and  oc- 
cupied tne  only  decent  room  in  the  esta- 
blishment. My  own  room  was  bad 
enough.  Mine  host,  a  red-faced  Ionian, 
who  spoke  Italian  better  than  Greek, 
came  to  know  what  I  wanted  to  cat. 
"  What  would  you  like,"  said  he,  "  lamK 
beef,  or  eggs  and  bread  and  butter  ?*' 
I  expressed  myself  perfectly  satisfied  if  I 
could  procure  some  of  either  of  the  former. 
"  I  am  really  most  sorry,"  replied  he ;  "  but 
there  is  not  a  particle  of  meat  in  the 
house."  "  Can  you  not  procure  some  in 
the  village  ? "  I  asked,  quite  alarmed  at 
the  idea,  that  after  solacing  myself  all 
day  with  the  prospect  of  a  good  dinner,  I 
stood  a  good  chance  of  bein^  starved.  ^  It 
is  quite  impossible ;  there  is  not  a  bit  in 
town."  "  What,  then,  have  you  got ?"  I 
demanded,  with  some  repressed  indigna- 
tion. "  Why,  please  your  honor,  there  is 
nothing  but  some  bread  and  ^gs."  So  I 
dined  on  a  piece  of  bread  and  one  or  two 
eggs,  which,  in  the  absence  of  spoons, 
were  dispatched  as  best  could  be.  After 
which  feast,  I  threw  myself  on  my  bed  to 
await  the  morrow ;  and  soliloquized — 

*"  Non  cnivls  bomini  oontlnglt  adire  Corinthiuii.* 

In  the  morning,  the  weather,  I  found, 
had  not  changed.  But  having  an  hour  or 
two  to  spare,  I  resolved  not  to  fail  at  least 
to  ascend  the  fortress.  It  is  on  the  top 
of  a  hill  about  1750  feet  high,  and  covers 
an  area  of  several  acres.  We  found  seve- 
ral soldiers  within  this  impregnable  fort- 
ress, one  of  whom  accompanied  us  about ; 
but  the  fog  was  so  dense  that  we  could 
see  nothing  but  the  valley  immediately 
beneath  us,  and  a  very  small  arm  of  the 
Bay  of  Cenchrsea,  which  St.  Paul  is  re- 
corded to  have  passed  through  on  his  way 
to  Corinth.  In  our  return  to  Corinth^ 
we  passed  by  the  ruins  of  the  only  tem- 
ple remaining  at  Corinth.  It  is  remark- 
able that  not  a  fragment  of  the  Corinthian 
architecture  has  survived  in  this  city,  for 
this  building  consists  of  seven  heavy 
Doric  columns  of  rather  degenerate  stylo. 
The  yiUage  whkdi  we  now  passed  through 


ie54.] 


The  Catastrophe  ai  VereaUUs. 


11 


k  gmall  and  dirty.  Its  houses  are  low 
and  poorly  built;  and  Corinth,  famous 
of  old  for  its  luxury  and  its  pleasures, 
now  presents  the  aspect  of  a  miserable 
hamlet,  with  nothing  but  its  ancient  name 
to  uphold  its  reputaution. 

Kalamaki,  the  little  port  on  the  eastern 
side  of  the  isthmus,  is  about  six  or  eight 
miles  distant  The  Lloyd's  steamer  was 
to  leave  this  morning  for  Athens,  and  we 


had  to  huny  thither  over  a  road  covered 
with  water.  Wo  passed  by  the  ruins  of 
a  small  amphitheatre,  just  outside  of  the 
town,  and  about  half  waj  came  to  Hexa- 
mili,  where  the  old  wall  crossed  the  isth- 
mus. We  reached  Kalamaki  just  as  the 
]mssengers  from  the  Gulf  of  Lepanto  ar- 
rived, and  were  embarking.  At  five  or 
six  o'clock  that  aflemoon,  I  reached 
Athens. 


THE    CATASTROPHE    AT    VERSAILLES. 


P!W  people  know  precisely  how  it  was 
done.  Certainly  not  more  than  three, 
by  whom ;  the  secret  having  remained  up 
to  this  date  in  keeping  of  my  friend  Al- 
PHONSE  who,  I  am  credibly  informed,  is 
now  turning  his  length  of  limb  to  account 
in  the  gold  region  of  Australia ;  of  a  gri- 
eette,  a  knowledge  of  whose  name  and 
residenee  among  the  clouds  and  chimney- 
tops  of  Paris,  the  above-named  friend  per- 
sisted in  reserving  to  himself;  and  of 
your  humble  servant,  who,  for  certain 
pecuniary  advantages  of  no  matter  here, 
finds  himself  conscientiously  impelled  to 
state  the  circumstances  from  beginning  to 
ead  as  they  really  occurred. 

The  present  writer  had  his  residence  in 
Paris,  with  a  view,  it  was  understood,  to 
the  completion  of  his  studies.  We  young 
Americans  know  what  that  means,  though 
our  mammas  and  papas  do  not  In  short, 
I  occupied  number  3,  on  a  sixth  floor, 
with  a  view  of  the  clouds,  and  1 
know  not  what  multitude  of  house-tops 
and  chimney-tops — no  questions  asked 
and  three  francs  a  week  lodging.  It  was 
there  that  I  received  the  6lite  of  my 
countrymen;  for  we  Americans  are  a 
gregarious  race,  and  setting  aside  the 
whalebone-caned  and  moustached  young 
snobs  who  hail  from  the  aristocratical  pur- 
lieus of  our  chief  cities,  and  mutually  avoid 
US  and  each  other  abroad,  taking  up 
with  rou6  counte,  and  very  problematical 
countesses;  with  this  exception,  I  say; 
whom  I  desire  deferentially  to  exclude 
firom  the  cate^ry  of  which  they  are 
ashamed,  we  Yankees  and  demi- Yankees 
are  much  given  to  consorting  together  for 
the  benefit  of  the  public  morals  and  tran- 
quillity. However,  as  it  happened,  it  was 
vacation  time,  and  dearth  of  society  had 
brought  in  its  train  unusual  reflections. 
It  was  high  time  to  turn  a  new  leaf,  I 
thouglit,  and  prove  myself  less  frivolous, 


in  my  way,  than  young  Whippor  Snapper, 
whose  lemon-kids  and  perfumery  were 
recognizajble  if  the  wind  set  fair,  the 
breadth  of  the  Champs  Elys^cs.  My  friends 
at  home  might  be  none  the  wiser,  espe- 
cially if  I  chattered  a  little  French  and 
German  in  their  hearing  occasionally,  in 
an  ofi-hand  easy  sort  of  way ;  but  how  to 
reconcile  the  waste  of  so  many  years  to 
my  own  conscience,  when  these  trifles 
should  become  gravities  of  yesterday  on 
record,  and  not  reversible  by  any  amount 
of  later-day  penitence.  Yes,  I  would  re- 
form now  while  in  the  mood,  and  what 
was  better,  while  the  half-score  of  mau- 
vaissitjets  who  constituted  an  impromptu 
joint-stock  company  in  the  occupancy  of 
my  apartment  on  the  sixth  floor,  when- 
ever the  fancy  possessed  them,  were  on 
their  travels  elsewhere,  and  not  likely  to 
upset  my  resolution  before  carried  into 
effect,  and  irrevocable.  It  annoyed  me 
to  imagine  them  drumming  on  the  door 
of  the  chamber,  imitating  the  French  horn 
and  key  bugle,  and  giving  other  unmis- 
takable tokens  of  incredulity  and  persist- 
ence ;  all  tending  to  call  in  question  the 
veracity  of  statement  set  forth  on  a  half- 
sheet  of  foolscap,  to  be  wafered  to  the  top 
panel  of  said  door,  to  wit ;  that  "  Monsieur 
had  gone  for  the  benefit  of  his  health,  in- 
jured by  too  much  study,  to  the  Spas  of 
Germany  for  a  twelvemonth ;  meanwhile 
begged  to  live  in  the  memory  of  his  be- 
reaved friends." 

So  while  I  sat  and  smoked  the  pipe  of 
contrition,  and  turned  over  in  my  mind 
the  most  advisable  manner  of  bringing 
about  the  above-mentioned  praiseworthy 
results,  there  came  a  careless  tap  upon 
the  very  panel  upon  which  I  was  fasten- 
ing in  thought  the  intimation  of  my  sup- 
posed abscuce,  and  without  loss  of  time 
the  same  hands  made  bold  to  turn  the 
latch  and  usher  in  a  face  well  garnished 
with  beard  and  moustache,  and  adorned 


72 


The  OatastrcphB  at  VenailUs. 


[Janmiy 


by  long  locks  tacked  behind  the  ears; 
which  last  were  surmounted  by  a  diminu- 
tive cap  such  as  the  students  of  Paris  and 
their  confreres  are  fond  of  wearing  on  all 
occasions,  set  jauntily  over  the  right  eye, 
over  which  also  dangled  the  tassel  which, 
until  plucked  violently  out  by  the  root,  is 
the  usual  ornament  of  its  centre. 

The  face  was  certainly  not  strange  to 
me,  neither  the  mode  of  its  procedure. 
First,  it  rolled  its  eyes  about,  taking  a 
solemn  inventory  of  the  contents  of  the 
chamber,  halting  with  a  momentary 
gleam  of  satisfaction  on  a  lithograph  of 
the  then  popular  danseuse,  whose  likeness 
I  had  recently  added  to  my  collection, 
and  passing  over  the  master  of  the  pre- 
mises on  view,  with  a  cursory  glance. 
Then  it  introduced  a  body,  rather  lank 
and  decidedly  long-limbed,  but  not  want- 
ing in  muscle,  which  possessed  itself  with- 
out waste  of  speech,  and  with  much  dis- 
crimination, of  the  sole  uncrippled  chair ; 
tilted  its  back  against  the  wall,  drew  out 
a  short  meerschaum  from  a  side  pocket, 
and  while  busied  in  igniting  the  former, 
for  the  first  time  broke  silence. 

"  May  I  venture  to  ask  if  Monsieur  is 
at  home?" 

I  smoked  and  said  nothing,  looking  at 
the  speaker,  perhaps,  with  some  little 
acerbity,  at  the  thought  of  my  fine  re- 
solves being  thus  prematurely  blown 
over. 

'*  Monsieur  intends  going  to  the  Spas 
for  the  benefit  of  his  health,  I  perceive," 
M.  Alphonse  further  remarked  with  grav- 
ity ;  and  indeed,  the  inscription  I  had  in- 
tended for  the  outer  door,  lay,  right  side 
up,  upon  the  table  where  I  had  composed 
and.  penned  it  an  hour  before. 

"I  intend  to  turn  a  new  leaf,"  I  said 
in  a  decided  tone.  "  From  to-day,  I  in- 
tend to  devote  to  study  eighteen  hours  out 
of  the  twenty-four,  and  if  necessary  go  to 
the  Spas,  yes,  to  the  poles  for  the  pur- 
pose." 

And  here  I  favored  my  friend  with  a 
disquisition  on  the  ways  and  vagabondism 
of  Young  America  abroad,  summing  up 
with  a  reiteration  of  my  last  resolve,  to 
all  of  which  M.  Alphonse  listened  with 
becoming  patience  and  attention,  firing  as 
it  were  a  feii  de  joie  of  smoke  from  the 
port-hole  of  his  nostrils  whenever  he  con- 
ceived I  had  uttered  a  praiseworthy  senti- 
ment When  I  paused,  he  remarked 
without  removing  his  pipe,  "  Bon !  per- 
haps Monsieur  would  like  to  commence 
his  studies  with  pyrotechnics,  a  very  ele- 
vating science.  If  so.  Monsieur  has  but 
to  say  the  word,  as  the  f6te  of  the  republic 
takes  place  to-morrow  at  Versailles." 


To  this  sally  I  vouchsafed  no  reply. 
But  M.  Alphonse  was  not  the  man  to  be 
balked.  "Monsieur  will  go?"  he  added 
presently,  with  an  air  of  satisfied  oonvi<>- 
tion.  I  pufied  a  strong  negative :  there 
is  no  little  meaning  in  a  whiff  of  tobacco 
smoke  rightly  observed.  "May  I  ask 
Monsieur  why  not  ?  " 

"  Because,"  I  said,  with  an  ill-defined 
vexation,  verging  on  amusement,  at  the 
incongruity  between  the  homely  direct- 
ness of  the  words  it  suited  me  to  employ, 
and  the  elaborate  courtesy  it  equally 
pleased  my  complacent  friend  to  drag  into 
service — "  as  I  have  already  said,  I  intend 
to  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  and  devote  my 
hours  to  study  (here  my  friend  expressed 
his  general  approval  of  the  sentiment,  by- 
two  distinct  columns  of  smoke  from  his 
nostrils);  I  have  resolved  to  abandon 
pleasure,  and  Paris  if  need  be,  and  isolate 
myself  from  my  late  disreputable  associ* 
atcs" — disreputable  associates^  impres- 
sively, with  an  eye  to  my  audience  (a 
shrug).  "  Finally,  and  once  for  all,  I  b^ 
you  will  in  no  single  iastance  count  upon 
my  countenance  or  assistance  in  any  of 
your  sorties  by  night  or  day."  Here  my 
guest,  who  had  brought  his  feet  to  ttte 
top  round  of  his  chair,  folded  his  ape-like 
length  of  arms  about  his  knees  in  a  com- 
fortable way,  and  resting  his  beard  on  the 
summit  of  the  pyramid  so  formed,  sat  Sfr- 
dately  smoking,  and  regarding  me  in 
much  the  manner,  and  with  about  as  much 
meaning  in  his  physiognomy,  as  an  over- 
grown chimpanzee  might  have  shown. 

Now,  there  were  two  peculiarities  aboat 
my  guest — the  one  conventional,  the  other 
personal — which  have  not  yet  been  no- 
ticed. The  first  of  these  was,  that  although 
glorying  in  the  cognomen  of  Alphonse — 
glorying,  be  it  understood,  not  so  much 
in  the  sentimentality  of  the  name,  as  in 
its  identity  with  that  of  the  great  lachry- 
mist  then  guiding  the  destinies  of  the  re- 
public— Alphonse  was  no  more  a  French- 
man than  you  or  I,  but  a  native  New 
Englander,  reared,  no  doubt,  on  baked 
beans  and  such  like  condiments,  which,  to 
receive  the  testimony  of  a  host  of  wit- 
nesses, have  a  tendency  to  develope  much 
length  of  limb,  and  the  kind  of  ungainli- 
ness  known  with  us  by  the  epithet  slab- 
sided,  not  less  than  characteristic  shrewd- 
ness, and  a  marvellous  fiu^ulty  of  inven- 
tion. The  other  peculiarity,  a  more 
marked  and  individual  one,  was  a  habit 
whidi,  according  to  his  statement,  he  had 
contracted  when  weak-chested  from  pre- 
mature overgrowth,  of  laughing  inwardly 
without  much  outward  indication  of 
mirth,  except  such  as  might  be  conveyed 


1854.] 


The  Catastrcphe  at  Versaittis. 


IS 


in  the  swayiDg  forward  of  the  upper  por- 
tkm  of  his  body  at  yery  near  a  right  angle 
to  the  lower,  and  loose  dangling  about  of 
his  large  hands,  as  the  shoulders  were 
mored  by  the  inward  conyulsion.  On 
such  occasions  his  conduct,  to  an  unin- 
formed spectator,  appeared  that,  either  of 
a  man  suffering  from  some  acute  disease, 
or  of  an  imbecile — usually  the  latter. 

While  I  looked  at  him  now,  soberly, 
through  the  smoke  of  my  creating,  his 
features  began  to  relax,  and  having  pre- 
sently slipped  himself  out  of  his  chair,  he 
proceeded  to  double  his  ungainly  person 
mto  the  shape  of  an  inverted  L.  evidently 
moved  so  to  do  by  some  highly  amusing 
suggestion  of  his  brain.  The  paroxysm 
having  subsided,  he  seated  himself  at  my 
desk,  and  having  written  a  line  or  two  in 
a  gigantic  haud,  read  to  me  the  following 
notioe  to  all  whom  it  might  concern — ^to 
wit:  "  Messieurs  mes  amis.  The  occupant 
of  this  apartment  having  been  suddenly 
called  away  by  an  affliction  in  his  family, 
regrets  that  he  will  be  detained  from  your 
urbane  society  during  the  ensuing  two 
days."  "Is  that  well  expressed?"  M. 
Alphonse  asked,  wotting  some  wafers  in 
his  mouth  preparatory  to  attaching  them 
to  the  back  of  the  slip  from  which  he  had 
just  read. 

**  Upon  my  word ! "  I  said.  "Is  it  your 
intention  to  wafer  that  notice  upon  tho 
door  of  this  apartment  ?  " 

"  Assuredly." 

"May  I  venture  to  ask,  with  what 
motive  7  " 

"Why,"  said  Alphonse,  sitting  down 
igain — for  he  had  risen  to  carry  liis  pur- 
pose into  effect — "  I  need  a  friend  at  the 
present  juncture,  and  feel  that  I  cannot 
count  too  strongly  on  your  friendsliip. 
To  be  brief:  in  a  room  in  the  left  wing  of 
the  palace  at  Versailles,  a  lady  whom  I 
adore  is  now  confined — by  order  of  my 
illustrious  namesake,  you  understand ; 
and  for  state  reasons.  The  display  of 
fireworks " 

**  Pray  speak  sensibly,"  I  interrupted. 

"  Well,"   said   Alphonse,   afler  a  long 

5iuse ;  "  as  that  story  seems  incredible  to 
onsieur,  there  is  nothing  for  it  but  to 
speak  the  truth,  if  Monsieur  has  faith  in 
the  existence  of  that  quality  in  the  present 
humble  speaker." 

"  Procoid,"  said  I,  calmly. 

**  There  can  be  no  question,  that  although 
naturally  possessing  a  mild  and  forgiving 
temper,  I  am  prone  to  look  upon  the  po- 
lice with  a  hostile  eye,  as  the  enemies  of 
much  innocent  nocturnal  amusement.  Fur- 
tiuninore,  that  I  regard  the  class  o(  ganir 
ina  with  a  truly  paternal  affection." 


"For  the  police — yea,"  I  responded, 
laughing,  "  especially  since  your  fine  of 
fifteen  francs,  for  dancing  the  American 
war  dance,  of  your  invention,  at  Mdre 
Gros,  number  two,  Rue  Papel6t.  But  as 
for  the  gamins,  who  take  occasion  to 
mock  your  personalities  whenever  you 
appear  in  their  quartier,  I  am  not  quite 
so  sure  of  your  good-will,  having  indeed 
heard  you  declare,  times  out  of  mmd,  that 
you  would  bo  the  death  of  some  of 
them." 

"  Which  evinces  the  goodness  of  my 
temper,  as  they  certainly  deserve  death 
by  flaying.  However  that  may  be,  it  is 
my  present  intention  to  afford  them  a 
treat,  such  as  the  gamins  of  Paris  and 
Versailles  have  seldom  if  ever  enjoyed. 
At  the  same  time,  I  propose  to  confound 
the  police,  from  Toulon  downwards." 

"  As  how  ? "  I  aske<l,  beginning  to  bo 
interested ;  and  refilled  my  pipe,  the  bet- 
ter to  listen,  weigh,  and  pass  judgment  on 
whatever  might  follow. 

"  Thus :  it  is  my  intention  to  give  to- 
morrow evening,  slightly  in  advance  of 
the  hour  allotted  in  the  programme  for 
the  official  display,  a  magnificent  exhibi- 
tion of  fireworks ;  which,  it  is  also  part 
of  my  intention,  shall  altogether  eclipse 
that  of  my  illustrious  namesake  and  the 
Goddess  of  Libert}'." 

"Oh,  no  doubt!"  was  my  response; 
"you  have  beyond  question  counted  the 
cost,  and  will  send  the  bill  to  your  undo 
in  India ;  or  perhaps  you  have  unlimited 
credit  with  the  pyrotechnists  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all — you  mistake,"  my  friend 
answered.  "It  is  my  illustrious  name- 
sake, or,  more  properly,  tho  provisional 
government,  that  furnishes  the  necessary 
supplies  of  powder,  pasteboard,  and  tiu"- 
pentine  stars.  Otherwise,  I  am  afraid  the 
project  would  be  impossible." 

"  What ! "  cried  I,  a  sudden  light  break- 
ing in  upon  me;  "you  surely  cannot 
mean  to  fire,  or  attempt  to  fire,  the  small 
mountain  of  rockets  they  pile  together  on 
f^te  days  in  the  Cour  d'llonneur!"  and 
the  thought  was  so  preposterously  auda- 
cious, that  I  could  not  refrain  from  laugh- 
ing outright. 

"  Monsieur  is  sagacity  itselfj"  Alphonse 
responded,  unmoved. 

"  And  I,  no  doubt,  am  to  lead  the  for- 
lorn hope — in  other  words,  to  find  occa- 
sion to  touch  them  off  with  my  cigar ;  or, 
better  still,  toss  a  bundle  of  ignited  luci- 
fers  into  the  midst,  and  take  the  conse- 
quences." 

^'Pas  si  btte,^^  my  friend  returned, 
tranquilly  smoking.  "The  fact  is,"  he 
proceed  to  say,  after  a  pause — "  I  havo 


u 


The  CaUutrophB  at  VeraaiUei. 


[Janiuij 


not  yet  matured  my  plans,  the  idea  haying 
occurred  to  me  only  now,  while  turning 
over  in  my  mind  the  hiji:hly  praiseworthy 
course  you  have  chalkcid  out  for  >'Ourself 
in  the  future.  But  the  present  is  yet 
oui-s — by  which  I  mean  to-morrow ;  and 
as  young  Americans  and  democrat's,  we 
should  not  forget  the  duty  we  owe  to  our 
country's  reputation  abroad,  in  ending 
every  career  with  a  certain  eclat,  even  if 
that  eclat  he  confined  only  to  the  circle 
of  our  friends.  In  short  I  propose,"  said 
my  friend,  who.  while  speaking,  had  busied 
himself  in  wafering  up  his  placard  to  the 
outer  panel,  and  now  stepped  Viack  to  as- 
certain if  it  were  well  placed,  **  to  celebrate 
and  announce  to  the  world  your  seces.sion 
from  our  ranks,  and  future  adhesion  to  a 
better  cause,  by  a  grand  pyrotechnic  di.s- 
play,  as  already  said.  Also,  to  astonish 
the  police,  and  thereby  afford  gratuitous 
entertainment  and  instruction  to  the  as- 
sembled gariions  and  gamins.  Such  is 
the  programme  of  performances  which 
Monsieur  will  honor  with  his  attend- 
ance." 

''  As  a  spectator,  perhaps,"  I  put  in, 
beginning  to  relent. 

"As  a  spectator,"  M.  Alphonse,  who 
had  returned  to  his  chair,  answered,  be- 
tween whiffs  of  smoke,  "  from  the  best 
available  situation — assuredly." 

A  spectator,  from  the  best  situation  too, 
left  nothing  to  object. 

I  smoked,  meditated,  and  resolved. 
*'  Well  then,"  said  I,  with  a  smile  at  the 
subject  of  my  thoughts,  "at  three  o'clock 
to-morrow  we  will  set  forth  to  astonish 
the  natives." 

Now,  while  admitting,  that  with  the 
guik^essness,  not  to  say  rashness,  which 
belongs  to  my  character,  I  entered  blind- 
fold into  the  above  compact,  and  with  not 
the  most  remote  idea  of  the  means  by 
whrch  the  proposed  result  was  to  be 
brought  about ;  I  wish  it  specially  under- 
stood and  held  in  view  by  each  and  every 
reader  of  the  present  memoir — Firat^ 
That  I  accompanied  M.  Alphonse,  solely 
and  by  verbal  understanding  in  the  capa- 
city of  a  spectator  ("  from  the  best  avail- 
able situation  "),  and  in  none  other ;  and 
that  my  after  course  was  the  result,  not 
of  premeditation,  but  of  the  force  of  events 
to  the  current  of  which  1  had  committed 
myself  with  too  little  reserve.  Secondly, 
That  I  vow  and  protest,  had  I  supposed 
the  result  would  have  been  such  as  it 
proved— or,  at  lea.st,  such  as  has  been 
traced  by  some  to  the  events  I  am  about 
to  record — namely,  the  subsequent  over- 
throw of  the  provisional  government — ^I 
would  no  more  have  lent  my  countenance 


to  the  undertaking,  than  to  the  great 
Bamum,  for  a  wax  cast  for  bis  Mnseniii 
in  Broadway.  And  TfitreUy,  and  lastlj, 
That,  mentally  reviewing  the  difficultm 
of  the  undertaking,  and  the  recognized 
alertness  of  the  French  polioe  individuallj- 
and  as  a  body,  it  occurred  to  me  to  adSbid 
an  instance  in  which  Yankee  invention 
would  for  instance  be  baffled,  and  in  whkh 
my  friend — who  proposed  to  himself 
merely  to  enact  the  modest  part  of  soene- 
shifler,  would  actually  appear  on  the 
boards — in  other  words,  in  charge  of  the 
police — in  the  character  of  Harlequin  un- 
masked. I  confess,  the  thought  caused 
me  to  smile,  and  in  the  end  to  accompany 
my  fnend ;  and  to  this  day  I  am  uncer- 
tain whether  his  observation  of  theaboYO- 
named  smile,  and  a  sharp  guess  at  the 
amiable  wish  of  which  it  was  bom,  gave 
the  unexpected  turn  to  events  apparent  in 
this  narrative. 


IL 


Evr.RT  one  who  has  ever  run  down  hj 
rail  from  Paris  to  Versailles,  must  hold  m 


mind  the  three  rooms  at  the  station,  < 
responding  to  three  classes  of  carriages 
constituting  the  train,  into  which  one  is 
inducted  by  a  little  Frenchman  in  £ux7 
military  costume,  and  left  to  look  and 
walk  about,  and  perhaps  discover  acquaint- 
ances until  the  opening  of  the  first  class 
passenger  door  of  egress  announces  the 
speedy  debouchement  of  your  own  crowd 
of  expectants.  In  the  second  class  saloon 
it  was,  that  M.  Alphonse  and  I  found  our- 
selves the  day  of  the  fdte  in  company  with 
a  multitude  of  French  people  and  a  sprink- 
ling of  Italian.s,  Germans,  Smss,  and  the 
like,  no  doubt ;  but  with  not  one  solitary 
countryman  of  our  own,  I  feel  firmly  con- 
vinced ;  in  truth  it  was  of  Number  One 
that  the  faithful  representatives  of  our- 
selves and  institutk>ns  abroad,  had  taken 
joint  possession,  as  is  the  manner  of  Amo- 
ricans,  with  a  royal  duke  (not  of  France^ 
of  course),  three  £ngli:th  milords,  and  a 
banker. 

"/fo.'  bonne  ange!^^  cried  Alphonse 
on  a  sudden,  with  a  grimace,  and  ki&sine 
the  tips  of  his  glove — perhaps  I  should 
say,  of  his  fingers,  since  the  latter  exceed- 
ed the  former  by  at  least  half  a  joint — 
to  somebody  in  a  distant  comer;  and 
forgetful  of  the  claims  of  kindness  and 
leaving  an  argument  in  the  heat  of  which 
we  were,  unfinished,  set  off  to  present 
him.self  before  the  "  ange,^^  of  whom  his 
greater  stature  had  allowed  him  a  glimpse. 
I  followed,  and  presently  found  M.  Al- 
phonse, whom  I  had  at  the  outset  lost  in 


ia64.] 


I%B  OaioiircphB  at  VenmUa. 


75 


(be  melte  of  demonstratiye  Frenchmen, 
ankhig  himself  agreeable  to  a  pretty  little 
truette  from  the  Kue  Maxim<^le,  no 
ooabt,  who  was  laughing  and  saying 
*^hrata  !  "  with  an  appropriate  motion  of 
the  hands,  at  something  M.  Alphonse  had 
whl^tpered  just  as  I  approached.  This 
jonng  lady,  who  was  on  the  way,  as  we 
were,  to  enioy  the  fftte,  was  one  of  the 
half  butterny  half  bee  little  creatures  with 
which  the  garrets  of  Paris  and  especially 
of  the  Rue  Maximdle  abound ;  who  work 
cheerily  all  the  week  and  on  the  seventh 
day  emerge  from  their  chrysalis  the  light- 
est hearth  and  most  fun-loving  of  the 
lex,  to  keep  the  commandment  to  the  ex- 
tent of  their  instruction,  perhaps,  by  ab- 
staining from  any  thing  like  labor.  All 
grisettes  who  go  to  fetes  on  Sundays,  are 
not  pretty,  however,  despite  all  that  French 
art  can  do  for  them ;  and  to  be  tied  for 
the  day — a  fete  day — to  one  of  tlio  "  tret 
crdinatretj  those  dreadful  little  girls 
with  swarthy  complexions,  noses  exces- 
flvely  retrousse,  and  a  penchant  for  beaux 
the  more  violent  as  it  is  less  often  indulged 
— would  liave  been  at  variance  with  my 
nsoal  policy.  Therefore  1  stood  aloof 
ontil  time  sufficient  to  take  a  mental  ob- 
servation; complexion  good;  a  red  spot, 
evidently  not  rouge,  in  either  cheek  ^the 
8m<>ke  from  the  chimney  tops  of  Rue 
Maximdle  has  not  had  time  to  do  its  work 
yet) ;  hair  looking  soft  and  pretty  under 
that  miracle  of  a  cap ;  nose,  the  slightest 
in  the  world  retrousse;  mouth,  bon  ;  eyes 
-^Ah,  here  she  is,  looking  full  at  me. 

''Introduce  me,"  said  I,  touching  my 
friend  on  tho  elbow. 

^  Ma'mselle,"  said  Alphonse, "  allow  mo 
to  present  for  your  delight  and  admira- 
tion, my  amiable  countryman,  the  heir 
apparent  of  New- York. 

**  Monsieur  makes  fim  of  me,"  Ma- 
demcnselk  said  doubtingly ;  in  French  of 
course. 

^  I  make  fun  of  you !  not  at  all,"  our 
friend  rejoined.  ^'  The  papa  of  Monsieur 
is  immensely  wealthy ;  owns  the  greater 
part  of  North  America,  in  fact.  lie  also 
votes  annually  lor  his  candidate  in  council 
which  invests  him  with  tho  dignity  and 
emoluments  ^supposing  him  capable,  which 
I  hope  not)  or  selling  liis  vote)  of  an  Ame- 
rican sovereign :  and  Monsieur  here,  is  in 
consequence,  to  be  regarded  as  a  Royal 
Hi^ness." 

"*  Monseigneur  travels  incog.,"  Made- 
moiselle said. 

"'  Certainly.    His  habits  are  such  as  to 

bring  him  into  disgrace  with  the  Ameri- 

'  can  sovereign  before  named,   who  cuts 

him  off  with  a  million  of  francs  a  mouth ; 


for  which  reason,  as  you  see,  he  goes  in 
rags,"  M.  Alphonse  replied,  turning  me 
round  by  the  shoulder  to  direct  attention 
to  a  rent  in  my  coat  sleeve,  caused  by  his 
too  energetic  greeting  half  an  hour  earlier. 

"  But  you  have  not  confided  Ma'mselle's 
name  yet,"  I  vcntunxl  to  put  in. 

"Oh,  Mademoiselle  is  a  princess  also, 
and  travels  incog. ;  tlie  one  it  at  present 
pleases  her  to  assume  is  Fanfan — Ma'm- 
sello  Fanfan." 

"  Fanfan — yes,  yes,  that  is  my  name." 
Mademoiselle  assented,  laughing  and  clap- 
ping her  hands. 

^*  Mademoiselle's  estate  lies  in  the  cele- 
brated regions  of  the  Rue  Maximdle  ?  "  I 
asked. 

^^Ah  b^tc!"  Mademoiselle  answered, 
pretending  to  be  moved  to  tears  by  my 
brusqucric.  And  M.  Alphonse  exclaimed 
melodramatically,  "  Bah  1  what  is  that 
to  thee  ?  Dost  conceive  a  princess  bom 
would  receive  such  as  thou  art.  chez  elle  ! 
Go  to!  and  spoil  not  the  flavor  of  the 
present  moment  by  too  close  examination 
of  a  single  hair,  as  our  young  friend 
Smythe  did." 

"  A  pretty  metaphor,"  said  I,  "but  what 
did  Smythe  do?" 

"  lie  supped  off  a  ragout  in  a  caf6.  Rue 
Lapins certs.  Have  you  ever  supped  off 
stewed  rabbit,  Ma'mselle?" 

"  Mais^  oui,^^  said  Ma'msclle. 

"  Well,  he  found  in  his  ragout  a  single 
hair,  which  made  him  sick." 

"A  hair  make  him  sick! — oh  you 
Americans!"  cried  Mademoiselle,  laugh- 
ing. 

"I  mistake.  It  was  not  the  hair,  it 
was  the  color  of  it" 

"The  color  of  it!"  said  we  both. 
"Oh!" 

"  Yes,  it  was — in  short  it  was — that  is 
to  say,  the  color  of  it  was  tortoiscshell." 

"  Fi  done .'"  the  griseite  exclaimed  re- 
proachfully, and  she  put  her  head  out  of 
the  window  to  hide  her  desire  to  laugh. 

I  flatter  myself  this  little  conversation 
will  present  Mademoiselle  to  the  eye  of 
the  reader,  better  than  as  many  formal 
words  would;  small  in  stature,  rather 
pretty  than  otherwise,  vivacious,  and,  as 
nine-tenths  of  her  countrywomen  are,  quite 
a  fair  impromptu  actress.  But  it  occurred 
to  me  that  with  all  these  recommend- 
ations. Mademoiselle  Fanfan  might  be  a 
little  in  the  way  pending  our  affair  ^-ith 
the  police ;  and  hinted  as  much  aside  to 
my  fellow  conspirator,  when  we  landed 
at  Versailles.  But  M.  Alphonse  only 
said,  "Poll,  poh!  wait  and  see!"  with  so 
coniident  an  air  that  I  began  to  believe 
the  meeting  with  Mademoiselle  not  so 


ie 


The  Oaiaitrophe  at  VersaUka. 


[JaniUDy 


accidental  as  it  might  hare  been ;  and  be- 
stowed the  charms  of  my  conversation  on 
Miss  Fanfan's  right  hand,  as  her  older 
cavalier  di<l  on  her  left,  without  caring  to 
ar^uc  tlie  matter  further. 

First,  we  promenaded  through  the  pic- 
ture galleries  in  the  palace,  then  rambled 
about  tlie  grounds  and  ate  ices  in  com- 
pany ;  it  was  while  doing  the  latter  that 
M.  Alphonse  made  first  allusion  to  the 
business  of  the  evening,  by  directing  at- 
tention to  a  covered  van  painted  black, 
passing  at  no  groat  distance. 

•Yes,  I  see  it."  said  I  in  a  whisper, 
"with  the  gensdarmes  for  convoy.  By 
Jove!  it  contains  our  rockets — had  we 
not  best  follow  it?" 

"Do  you  know  where  it  is  going?" 
Alphonsq  ask  d. 

**  To  th    Cour  d'Honneur,  I  suppose." 

"  Precisely.  A  better  plan  than  to  fol- 
low it,  like  those  gamins  yonder,  will  be 
to  follow  this  by-path  to  the  Avenue 
d'Sceaux,  and  the  avenue  into  the  Place 
d'Armes,  where  there  is  enough  room  to 
walk  about  out  of  hearing  of  eaves- 
droppers, and  in  full  view  of  the  field  of 
battle." 

"Spoken  like  a  gcneral-in-chief,"  an- 
swered I,  "  come.  Ma'niselle." 

Mademoiselle  was  all  alei-t.  With  the 
glimpse  of  the  powder  wagon,  she  had 
risen  to  go ;  and  we  were  all  three  pre- 
sently facing  the  railed  space  behind  or  in 
front  of  the  palace,  if  you  like,  which 
every  one  who  has  been  to  Versailles  will 
remember  as  the  Cour  d'llonneur.  In 
the  midst  of  this  court  the  usual  scaffold- 
ing had  been  erected,  and  an  enormous 
quantity  of  fireworks  of  all  descriptions 
lay  perdu  on  the  pavement  in  the  midst 
surrounded  hy  a  group  of  gensd'armes  and 
workmen  busily  engaged  in  tumbling 
down  upon  the  already  overgrown  heap, 
the  contents  of  the  van  we  had  seen  a 
little  before.  In  atldition  to  this  body 
guard,  twelve  to  fifteen  policemen  and 
gensd'armes  paced  the  outer  circuit  of  the 
court,  and  overawed  the  gamine,  who 
would  have  like^l  nothing  better  than 
scrambling  up  the  rails  and  roosting  on 
their  tops.  Alphonse  regarded  these  pre- 
parations with  sedate  satisfaction,  as  sub- 
ordinate and  introductory  to  his  grand 
entertainment ;  the  grisette  was  delighted. 
as  grisettes  always  are  with  a  promise  of 
glitter  and  noise  ;  and  for  myself,  in  \new 
of  the  possibility  of  my  countryman's 
scheme  proving  successful,  I  began  to  look 
about  for  a  safe  place  coinmandhig  a  good 
view  of  the  field. 

"  /T,"  said  I,  with  the  strong  emphasis 
betokening  want  of  faith.  "  if  you  contrive 


to  fire  that  mountain  of  combustiblai^ 
what  is  to  prevent  your  immediate  detec- 
tion ?  or,  to  begin  at  the  beginning^  how 
are  you  to  fire  them  at  all,  under  sanrefl- 
lance  such  as  we  see  yonder?  It  was  veiy 
well  to  talk  over  in  our  garret,  but  hen 
the  thing  is  impossible." 

'*  Bah ! "  M.  Alphonse  made  answer 
with  a  shrug  of  disgust,  "Mf  and  'im- 
possible ! '  Why  the  whole  thing  lies  in 
a  nutshell." 

"As  how?" 

"  Thus ; — but  first,  how  many  of  the 
enemy  do  you  count  on  duty  yonder  ?  " 

"  Twenty-five  in  all,  perhaps," 

"  Good — independent  of  the  crowd  who 
will  presently  gather  about  the  railing; 
and  with  whom  no  one  can  tell  how  many 
of  the  detectives  in  plain  clothes  or  blouses 
may  he  mixed.  In  short,  the  chances  are 
desperate — this  is  the  sum  of  what  yoa 
think?" 

I  nodded ;  Mademoiselle  Fanfan  clasped 
her  hands  in  stage  despair. 

"  But  what  if  instead  of  leaving  them  to 
exercise  the  functions  of  so  many  score  of 
separate  eyes.  I  find  means  to  oonTert 
them  into  one  great  optic — a  multitudi- 
nous Cyclops,  to  be  brief,  with  its  sole 
power  of  observation  directed  kot  on  my- 
self?" 

"  Bon  ! "  cried  I,  beginning  to  be  ex- 
cited ;  Mademoiselle  made  an  ecstatic 
gesture  of  joint  approval  and  impatience. 

M.  Alphonse  looked  benignly  upon  us. 
"See  here,"  he  proceeded  to  say,  with- 
drawing cautiously  the  hand  with  which 
he  had  been  fumbling  in  the  depths  of  his 
breast-pocket,  and  disclosing  a  packet  the 
size  of  a  cigar  case,  enveloped  in  black 
silk  and  with  a  black  cord  attached. 
"Tliis  fiask  contains  a  half  pound  of 
powder  more  or  less,  and,  no  doubt,  will 
sufficiently  assimilate  in  color  to  the 
ground  after  nightfall  to  escape  easy  de- 
tection. You  may  also  observe  that  it  is 
pierced  on  either  side  by  a  minute  orifice 
now  stop])ed  by  a  pellet  of  paper,  which  I 
remove  thus,  and  supply  with  my  fore- 
finger and  thumb  to  prevent  leakage  for 
the  present.  It  follows  that,  if  seizing  an 
instant  during  which  the  ej-es  of  the  en- 
tire public  are  skilfully  drawn  upon  one 
person,  not  myself,  I,  an  humble  and  un- 
noticed individual,  succeed  in  shying  my 
flask  upon  the  margin  of  the  combustibles 
in  the  midst,  the  action  will  both  escape 
observation  at  the  time,  and  remove  the 
only  difficulty  in  the  way  of  establishing 
a  train  between  said  combustibles  and  the 
parapet ;  leaning  my  elbow  upon  which 
last,  some  moments  later,  it  appears  to 
me  not  impossible  that  the  ashes  or  end 


1854.] 


The  Oaia8trqpke  ai  Venaittet. 


11 


of  my  cigar  may  fall  fVom  my  fingers  within 
the  nuls  and  produce  a  catastrophe  likely 
€o  Astonish  our  common  enemy,  without 
the  least  suspicion  as  to  the  means  em- 
ployed. Of  course  it  is  part  of  the  r61e 
to  suppress  all  tangible  prooj^  by  pocket- 
ing my  flask  in  the  first  of  the  meUe.  I 
bsve  only  farther  to  remark  that  by  re- 
peated experiments  on  the  floor  of  my 
mpartmcnt,  I  find  the  contents  of  this  flask 
drawn  slowly  towards  me  by  its  cord,  and 
gradually  discharging  through  whichever 
orifice  may  be  beneath,  amply  sufficient 
to  lay  a  train  of  twice  the  length  here  re- 
qntred.    Is  this  explanation  satisfactory  ?  '* 

"Brava!"  we  both  cried  in  a  breath, 
«brava!!" 

"But,"  said  I,  reflecting,  "you  have 
emitted  to  mention  what  I  cannot  help 
regarding,  next  after  laying  of  the  train, 
the  chief  obstacle  to  success.  I  mean  the 
manner  of  inducing  that  total  and  abso- 
lute distraction  of  observation  from  the 
affair  in  hand — without  which  of  course 
the  endeavor  must  go  for  nothing." 

M.  Alphonse  did  not  immediately  re- 
ply ;  he  rubbed  the  side  of  his  prominent 
nose,  looking  at  me  all  the  while  (us  also 
did  Mademoiselle),  either  immoacrately 
perplexed  or  amused.  Once  I  imagined 
he  was  on  the  point  of  going  off  into  one 
of  his  outlandish  fits  of  inward  laughter, 
but  he  straightened  himself  up,  and  ap- 
parently checked  the  inclination.  When 
he  did  reply,  it  was  in  the  form  of  a  ques- 
tion, and  at  flrst  sight  not  much  to  the 
purpose. 

"Let  me  see — ft*om  the  'best  practi- 
cable point  of  view,'  were  the  words  of  our 
•greement,  I  believe?" 

"Certainly;  as  a  spectator  interested 
in  the  success  of  the  plot,  I  would  prefer 
.  to  place  myself  in  a  commanding  position 
before  the  melee  begins.  Perhaps  Made- 
moiselle Fanfen  will  accompany  me  ?  " 

'^What  do  you  say  to  perching  your- 
self up  there?"  my  friend  asked,  with 
his  eye  on  the  top  of  the  railing  of  the 
Cour  d'Honneur. 

"  Are  you  mad ! "  cried  I.  amazed. 

But  Alphonse  only  shook  his  head, 
with  his  eye  still  directed  to  the  top  of  the 
fmIs,  as  if  he  despaired  of  finding  one  more 
desirable. 

"  In  the  first  place,"  I  continued,  un- 
certain whether  to  laugh  or  be  angry,  for 
his  long  visage  expressed  absolutely  no- 
thing, "if  I  make  the  attempt,  I  shall 
certainly  be  pounced  upon  by  the  police, 
ind  lose  the  opportunity  of  becoming  a 
spectator /rom  any  where.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  I  make  good  my  position,  there 
are  ten  chances  to  one  that  I  am  brought 


down  at  the  first  fire  by  a  volley  of 
rockets,  if  not  actually  riddled  by  their 
sticks;  and  lastly,  I  begin  to  entertain 
conscientious  scruples  in  regard  to  the 
result  of  this  flte  of  yours,  which  may 
end  in  maiming,  or  killing  even,  some  of 
the  spectators." 

"  Bah !"  rejoined  Alphonse,  coolly,  "  if 
vou  had  studied  pyrotechnics,  you  would 
nave  perceived  that  all  firewoi-ks  are  tied 
in  bundles,  and  in  that  condition  counter- 
act the  individual  tendencies  of  each. 
Secondly,  that  the  first  rebound  will  throw 
every  fire  rocket  above  the  parajKit,  clear 
of  the  people's  heads ;  and  thirdly,  if  a 
half  dozen  or  so  arc  deflected  from  their 
proper  course  by  collision  with  the  palace 
walls,  the  gamins  will  manage  lo  run 
them  down.  Aloreover  you  are  at  liberty 
to  post  yourself  directly  opposite  the 
point  whence  my  train  will  start,  and  so 
avert  all  su,spicion  fix)m  yourself  at  the 
time ;  and  to  get  down  as  early  as  you 
see  fit,  after  it  is  laid." 

"  To  be  short"  said  I,  thoroughly  vexed 
by  his  persistence,  '•!  will  not  get  up  at 
all." 

"Then,"  said  Alphonse  lugubriously, 
"who  is  to  yell?" 

"  yW/.'"  I  echoed. 

"  Ah,  yell ! "  Alphonse  and  the  grisette 
sang  in  concert,  like  a  chorus  at  the  opera. 

"  Yell  indeed ! "  repeated  I  in  a  fury, 
suddenly  enlightened. 

This,  then,  was  to  be  my*r6le.  Par 
example, when  Monsieur  Alphonse  thought 
fit,  I  was  to  make  a  rush  at  the  bars, 
clamber  to  the  top,  rather  like  a  chimpan- 
zee than  a  Christian,  and  create  a  sensation, 
partly  by  a  free  use  of  my  lungs,  partly 
by  resistance  to  the  tugs  upon  my  legs, 
by  a  concentrated  force  of  gensd'armes. 
If  one  or  all  my  limbs  were  dislocated  in 
the  struggle,  or  if  I  were  carried  off  in- 
stantly to  a  madhouse,  as  I  would  rich- 
ly deserve,  how  much  would  that  slab- 
sided  Yankee,  ducking  and  swinging  a}x)ut 
there,  concern  himself?  "  No  doubt,  he 
would  laugh  at  my  simplicity,  as  he  is 
doing  now,"  I  considered,  glancing  indig- 
nantly at  my  friend,  who,  with  his  body 
bent  at  a  right  angle,  was  giving  convul- 
sive signs  of  inward  mirth. 

While  drawing  these  conclusions,  I  had 
been  pacing  back  and  forth  in  a  highly 
dignified  manner,  with  my  hands  thrust 
under  my  coat-tails,  and  my  chin  haugh- 
tily elevated.  I  was  consequently  not  at 
all  prepared  for  what  ensued — namely, 
that  when  Mademoiselle  Fanfan  suddenly 
presented  herself  upon  one  knee,  in  my 
path,  in  the  touchingly  beseeching  atti- 
tude of  La  petite  Absinthe  in  the  vaude- 


78 


The  Catastrophe  at  Vergailles. 


[JaniUDy 


ville  of  Lajille  reconnue.  wo  both  came 
to  tho  ground  together.  I  am  afraid  I 
began  to  say  something  wicked  between 
my  teeth;  while  picking  myself  up;  but 
looking  at  Ma'mselle.  a  great  revulsion 
took  place  in  my  nature ;  for  my  bachelor's 
heart  has  a  soil  place  in  it,  which  is  this 
— if  a  woman  shed  tears  before  me,  I  am 
a  mere  puppet  in  her  hands  from  that 
moment. 

**  Oh ! "  whimpered  Mademoiselle,  with 
her  handkerchief  to  her  forehead,  "you 
dreadful,  cruel,  cruel  man ! " 

"  I  cruel ! "  returned  T,  dreadfully  pale, 
I  have  no  doubt.  "Why,  I  would  not 
have  hurt  you  for  tho  world — not  for  all 
Paris!" 

"Then  why  don't  you  ye-e-ell,  and 
make  me  happy  again  ? "  said  Mademoi- 
selle, between  laughing  and  crying,  hold- 
ing up  her  left  hand  beseechingly. 

I  was  so  overjoyed  to  see  her  laughing, 
when,  for  any  thing  I  knew,  she  might 
fall  down  any  moment  in  a  faint,  by  reason 
of  the  wound  my  clumsiness  had  inflicted, 
that  my  resolutions  were  gone  in  a  moment. 
I  took  the  little  hand  in  both  of  mine,  to 
the  great  amusement  of  Alphonse,  and  got 
a  tender  squeeze  in  return,  for  every  pro- 
mise I  made.  "  I  will  even  dance  a  war- 
dance,  if  it  will  make  you  feel  better,"  I 
added,  in  the  abundance  of  my  gratitude. 

"  Will  you  climb  the  rails  1 "  murmur- 
ed Mademoiselle  Fanfan. 

"And  over!  if  you  will  feel  bettor." 

"  And  ye-e-11 1 "  which  was  Mademoi- 
selle's mode  of  pronunciation. 

"Like  a  Pottawattami  —  if  you  will 
only " 

Indeed,  Mademoiselle  was  already  bet- 
ter. She  bade  mo  tie  her  handkerchief 
behind  her  ear,  which  I  did  with  rather 
bungling  fingers,  and  was  not  sorry  to  be 
told  it  was  not  tight  cnougli,  and  to  do  it 
all  over  again.  Then  wo  arranged  tho 
remaining  preliminaries,  and  took  our 
places.  Mine  was  opposite  that  chosen 
by  Alphonse,  with  my  back  to  the  palace, 
some  ten  yards  removed  from  the  rails  on 
that  ,sido  of  the  Coiir;  Alphonse  under 
cover  of  the  parapet,  dividing  the  latter 
from  the  Place  d'Armcs,  awaite<l  the  pro- 
per moment  to  throw  his  pouch  and  with- 
draw it  by  the  cord  attached ;  Ma'msello 
hovered  in  the  vicinity  of  the  latter,  reacly 
to  convey  his  bidding.  Had  I  been  left 
to  review  the  scene  recorded  above,  and 
ponder  on  what  I  was  about  to  do,  per- 
haps r  might  have  again  thrown  up  my 
Me ;  but  the  chief  conspirator  was  too 
acute  for  that  Little  Fanfan  came  to  me 
before  I  had  been  three  minutes  at  my 
post,  to  tell  me  I  might  open  the  perform- 


ance as  soon  as  I  thought  fit;  ^^and 
ye-e-ll,^^  were  her  last  words,  spoken  oa 
tiptoe  into  my  ear,  with  a  squeeze  of  Um 
hand,  which  I  returned  with  interest  It 
was  by  this  time  late  twilight,  and  not 
only  was  the  space  between  the  Cour 
d'Honneur  and  the  palace  itself  thronged 
with  bourgeoise,  blouses,  gamine^  and 
the  like;  but  the  Place  d'Armes  alao 
swarmed  with  spectators  of  all  gradea. 
Within  the  Cour  three  or  four  gens- 
d'armcs  only  remained;  the  requisite 
scaffolding  had  been  erected,  and  the  re- 
gular bill  of  fare  might  be  served  up  at 
any  moment  No  time  was  to  be  lost; 
and  pulling  my  cap  well  over  my  eyes, 
and  parting  (he  astonished  crowd  before 
me  with  both  hands,  I  made  for  my  ele- 
vated perch  without  more  ado. 

Now,  it  had  happened  to  me,  earlj  in 
my  life,  to  be  the  familiar  associate  of  a 
certain  Seminole  warrior,  who  had  left  hia 
ferocity  behind  him,  it  seemed,  in  tho 
hammock,  and  beguiled  the  hours  of 
captivity  by  teaching  us  youngsters  the 
mysteries  of  bow-and-arrow  manufactura 
and  exercise,  and  the  manly  accomplish- 
ment of  the  war-whoop  in  all  its  savage 
atrocity  of  sound.  I  became,  for  one,  a 
great  proficient  in  the  latter  art,  as  pur 
immediate  household,  to  say  nothing  of 
tho  neighbors,  had  good  cause  to  knovr. 
I  now  endeavored  to  recall  this  dormant 
proficiency,  and  assume  to  myself^  for  the 
time  being,  tho  character  of  an  Ainerican 
savage  in  his  native  wilds.  In  three 
bounds  I  had  cleared  the  intervening 
space,  upset  all  opposition,  and  overtopped 
the  crowd. 

"Whoop!"  I  uttered,  at  the  higheit 
pitch  of  my  lungs:  "AVah!  Wah! 
Wh-o-o-p !  Wh-o-o-o-p-p ! "  In  short,  mj 
blood  was  up,  and  being  in  for  it,  I  deter- 
mined to  excel. 

The  confusion  that  ensued  fully  equal- 
led our  hopes.  Assuredly,  there  was  not 
an  eye,  of  the  many  thousand  pairs  con- 
gregated in  the  Place  d'Armes,  nor  an  ear 
to  the  remotest  bound  of  the  great  ave- 
nues of  Paris,  St.  Cloud,  and  the  Sceauz, 
which  failed  to  take  in  the  sound,  and  to 
transfer  its  utmost  of  attention  to  my 
humble  self.  Some  laughed,  some  (of  the 
gentle  sex)  screamed,  and  some  were 
frightened,  no  doubt — some  were  angry ; 
and,  to  crown  all,  the  style  of  the  thmg 
seemed  to  take  wonderfully  with  the 
gamins  at  large,  who  reproduced  the 
war-whoop  with  indifferent  success  from 
all  quarters  of  the  Place.  Moreover, 
from  every  direction,  gensd'armes  ana 
emissaries  of  the  police,  were  rushing  to 
pounce  upon  the  conspicuous  author  of 


1864.]  The  Conqueror's  Grave.  H 

Bat  one  of  tender  i^irit  and  delicate  frame. 

Gentlest,  in  mien  and  mind, 

Of  gentle  womankind, 
Timidlj  shrinking  from  the  breath  of  blame ; 
One  in  whose  ejes  the  smile  of  kindness  made 

Its  hannt,  like  flowers  by  sunny  brooks  in  May, 
Yet,  at  the  thought  of  others'  pain,  a  shade 
Of  sweeter  sadness  chased  the  smile  away. 

Nor  deem  that  when  the  hand  which  moulders  here 
Was  raised  in  menace,  realms  were  chilled  with  fear. 

And  armies  mustered  at  the  sign,  as  when 
Clouds  rise  on  clouds  before  the  rainy  East, — 
Gray  captains  leading  bands  of  veteran  men 
And  fiery  youths  to  be  the  vulture's  feast. 
Not  thus  were  waged  the  mighty  wars  that  gave 
The  victory  to  her  who  fills  this  grave ; 
Alone  her  task  was  wrought, 
^^  Alone  the  battle  fought ; 

Q^  Through  that  long  strife  her  constant  hope  was  staid 

On  GM  alone,  nor  looked  for  other  aid. 


\ 


f 
I 


She  met  the  hosts  of  Sorrow  with  a  look 
That  altered  not  beneath  the  frown  they  wore. 

And  soon  the  lowering  brood  were  tamed,  and  took, 
Meekly,  her  gentle  rule,  and  frowned  no  more. 

Ilcr  soft  hand  put  aside  the  assaults  of  wrath, 
And  calmly  broke  in  twain 
The  fiery  shafts  of  pain, 

And  rent  the  nets  of  passion  from  her  path. 
By  that  victorious  hand  despair  was  slain. 

With  love  she  vanquished  hate  and  overcame 

Evil  with  good,  in  her  (Jreat  Master's  name. 

Her  glory  is  not  of  this  shadowy  state. 

Glory  that  with  the  fleeting  season  dies ; 
But  when  she  entered  at  the  sapphire  gate 

What  joy  was  radiant  in  celestial  eyes! 
How  heaven's  bright  depths  with  sounding  welcomes  rung. 
And  flowers  of  heaven  by  shining  hands  were  flung ! 
And  He  who,  long  before. 
Pain,  scorn,  and  sorrow  bore, 
The  Mighty  Sufferer,  with  aspect  sweet. 
Smiled  on  the  timid  stranger  from  his  scat; 
He  who  returning,  glorious,  from  the  grave, 
Dragged  Death,  disarmed,  in  chains,  a  crouching  slave. 

See,  as  I  linger  here,  the  sun  grows  low  ; 

Cool  airs  are  murmuring  that  the  night  is  near. 
Oh  gentle  sleeper,  from  thy  grave  I  go 

Consoled  though  sad,  in  hope  and  yet  in  fear. 
Brief  is  the  time,  I  know. 
The  warfare  scarce  begun ; 
Yet  all  may  win  the  triumphs  thou  hast  won. 
Still  flows  the  fount  whose  waters  strengthened  thee ; 

The  victors'  names  are  yet  too  few  to  fill 
Heaven's  mighty  roll ;  the  glorious  armory, 

That  ministered  to  thee,  is  open  still. 


96 


(Januaiy 


LITERARY    PIRACY. 


LeUera  on  International  Copy-right,  By  IL  C. 
Caret,  author  of  *•  Principles  of  Political  Econ- 
omy," Ac    Philiulelpbla:  A.  Hart    1853. 

WE  have  at  last  a  formal,  if  not  fonui- 
dable  treatise  on  anti-copy-right,  by 
a  writer  who.treats  the  subject  in  a  can- 
did and  gentlemanly  manner,  and  wha 
though  he  argues  scientifically  in  favor  or 
robbery,  does  it  on  philosophical  principles, 
and  in  a  benevolent  spirit,  and  not  in  that 
sordid  tone  which  has  distinguished  all 
the  arguments  that  we  have  hitherto  heard 
from  the  opponents  of  international  copy- 
•  right.  The  difference  l)ctween  Mr.  Carey 
and  the  other  gentlemen  whose  cause  he 
espouses  is,  that  while  they  seem  to  have 
bcijn  influenced  by  no  better  motive  than 
that  of  personaj  aggrandizement,  he  is 
ap{)arcntly  a  disinterested  believer  in  the 
benevolence  and  justice  of  the  measure 
which  he  advocates.  Ho  is,  therefore,  all 
the  more  dangerous,  as  an  opponent,  and 
the  more  entitled  to  consideration.  Mr. 
Carey  is  a  retired  publisher,  and  the 
author  of  some  remarkable  essays  on 
political  economy ;  he  is  the  antagonist  of 
the  Ricardo  school  of  political  philoso- 
phers, an  advocate  of  high  protective  duties, 
and  a  fluent  and  forcible  writer.  "We  are 
very  glad  to  meet  him  as  an  antagonist  on 
the  subject  of  copy-right,  for  he  can  make 
the  most  of  his  subject,  and  we  are  quite  ' 
sure  that  no  other  writer  will  present  it 
in  a  stronger  light,  or  more  happily  illus- 
trate his  theory  by  the  extent  and  variety 
of  the  facts  which  he  has  brought  to  bear 
upon  the  question.  His  pamphlet  appears 
at  a  most  opportune  moment,  too,  when 
the  subject  of  international  copy-right  has 
assumed  an  importance  which  it  has  never 
had  before,  from  the  circumstance  of  the 
administration  having  declared  itself  in 
favor  of  a  total  abolition  of  the  small  duty 
now  imposed  on  printed  books.  Mr.  Carey 
could  hanlly  have  had  such  an  event  in 
his  mind,  or  the  anticipation  of  it,  and 
its  too  probable  influence  upon  the  in- 
terests of  our  native  literature,  or  he 
would  never  have  raised  his  voice,  we  im- 
agine, on  the  side  of  the  anti-copy-right 
advocates.  The  great  buglxiar  in  the  eyes 
of  Mr.  Carey  is  centralization,  and  the 
fatal  facility  which  a  reduction  of  duties 
on  printed  books,  even  with  the  counter- 
acting effect  which  an  international  copy- 
right law  would  exert,  in  making  London 
the  metropolis  of  the  United  States,  must 


be  plain  enough  to  so  shrewd  a  thinker  as 
Mr.  Carey.  He  endeavors  to  prove,  and 
we  think  successfnlly,  that  the  union  of 
Scotland  and  Ireland  with  England  has 
destroyed  the  national  literature  of  those 
two  countries,  and  transferred  the  produc- 
ing power  in  literature  which  once  mani- 
fested itself  so  strongly  in  Dublin  and 
Edinburgh,  to  London. 

**  Seventy  years  after  the  date  of  the  Union,  Edin- 
burgh was  still  a  great  literary  capital,  and  coald  then 
oflbr  to  the  world  the  names  of  numerous  men,  <A 
whose  reputation  any  country  of  the  world  might 
have  boon  proud :  Boms  and  McPhcrson ;  fiobortsMi 
and  Hume;  Blair  and  Karnes;  Beid,  Smith,  and 
Stewart ;  Monboddo,  Play&ir,  and  Boswcll ;  and  nn- 
merous  others,  whoso  reputation  has  surrived  to  the 
present  day.  Thirty-five  years  later,  its  prosa  ftir- 
nished  the  world  with  the  works  of  JeflVey  and 
Brougham ;  Stewart,  Brown,  and  Chalmers ;  Scott, 
Wilson,  and  Joanna  Baillie ;  and  with  those  of  many 
others  whose  reputation  was  Ices  widely  spread,  among 
whom  were  Gait,  Hogg,  Lockhart,  and  Miss  Ferrler, 
the  authoress  of  Marriage.  The  Edinburgh  Revitw 
and  BlacktooocTs  MagoMine  then,  to  a  great  extent, 
rcprevonted  Scottish  men  and  Scottish  modes  of 
thought  Looking  now  on  the  same  field  of  action, 
it  is  difiicnlt,  from  this  distance,  to  discover  m<ae  than 
two  Scottish  authors,  Alison  and  Sir  William  HamiN 
ton,  the  latter  all '  the  more  conspicuous  and  remariL- 
able,  as  he  now,*  says  the  Iforth  British  Recievc  (Feb. 
1858),  *  stands  so  nearly  alone  in  the  ebb  of  literary 
acti>ity  in  Scotland,  which  has  been  so  apparent  daa- 
ing  this  generation."  McCulIoch  and  Macaulay  were 
both,  I  believe,  born  in  Scotland,  but  in  all  else  they 
are  English.  Gla^row  has  recently  presented  the 
workl  with  a  new  poet,  in  the  person  of  Alexander 
Smith,  but,  unlike  Ramsay  and  Bums,  there  ts  nothing 
Scottish  about  him  beyond  bis  place  of  birth.  *It  Is 
not,'  says  one  of  his  reviewers,  *  Scottish  scenery, 
Scottish  history,  Scottish  character,  and  Scottish  social 
humor,  that  ho  represents  or  depicts.  Nor  Is  there,' 
it  continues,  *  any  trace  in  him  of  that  feeling  of  in- 
tenE«e  nationality  so  common  in  Scottish  writers. 
London,'  as  it  adds,  *  a  green  lane«in  Kent,  an  English 
forest,  an  English  manor-house,  there  are  the  scenea 
where  the  real  business  of  tho  drama  is  transacted.'  * 

*^  The  Edinburgh  Review  has  become  to  all  intents 
and  purposes  an  English  journal,  and  Blackwood  baa 
lost  all  th€^«i  characteristics  by  which  it  was  in  former 
times  distinguished  from  the  magazines  published 
south  of  the  Tweed. 

^'  Seeing  these  TmAa^  we  can  scarcely  fail  to  agree 
with  the  review  already  quoted,  in  the  admission 
that  there  are  *  probably  fewer  leading  Individual 
thinkers  and  literary  guides  in  Scotland  at  present, 
than  at  any  other  period  of  its  history  since  tho  early 
part  of  the  last  century,'  since  the  day  when  Scotland 
itself  lost  its  individuality.  The  same  Journal  informs 
us  that  *  there  is  now  scarcely  an  instance  of  a  Scotch- 
man holding  a  learned  position  in  any  other  country,' 
and  farther  says,  that  *Uio  small  number  of  names  of 
literary  Scotchmen  known  throughout  Europe  for 
eminence  in  literature  and  science  is  of  itself  snflSdent 


•  Korth  Brituh  Rtriaw,  Aug.  16U  . 


ia54.] 


lAterary  Piracy, 


%n 


liilKnr  Co  how  great  an  eztoat  tha  praient  raoa  of 
SeotcliaMi  baye  loat  tha  poridon  which  thoir  ancoB- 

lonbald  In  tha  worid  of  letters.*^ 

"Tha  London  Leader  UX\a  Ita  read«n  that  *£nc:- 
hid  b  a  pow«r  made  up  of  oonqueata  orer  nation* 
iMtiea ;  *  and  It  ia  rUbt  The  nationality  of  Scotland 
bia  diB^)peared ;  and,  however  maeh  it  maj  annoy 
ear  Boottiah  flricndat  to  have  the  energetie  Celt  sank 
taithe  *bIow  and  nnlmpreasible*  Saxon,  such  ia  the 
feadency  of  Eag ll#h  oentraliiation,  erery  where  dc- 
sirucCtve  of  that  national  filling  which  Is  eeaenti&l  to 
pMgreaa  in  civilization. 

**  if  we  look  to  Ireland,  we  And  a  stoitlar  state  of 
MuiffL  Sevang  yeara  rinoe,  that  country  was  able 
ta  ioriat  npoA  and  to  establish  its  claim  f«>r  an  inde- 
,  govemmeot,  and,  by  aid  of  the  measares 
1  adc^ted,  was  rapidly  advancing.  From  that 
[  to  the  cloae  of  th  >  century,  the  demand  Ibr 
booka  Ibr  Ireland  was  so  gr^at  as  to  warrant  the  re- 
ynbHearion  of  a  huge  portion  of  those  produced  in 
laglaiid.  The  kingdom  of  Ireland  of  that  day  gave 
li  tha  world  sach  men  as  Burke  and  Orattan,  Moore 
nd  Edgeworth,  Curran,  Sheridan,  and  Wellington. 
OaotraUzatton,  however,  demanded  that  Ireland 
ihoold  beeome  a  province  of  England,  and  from  that 
tfana  ikminea  and  peatilenoea  have  been  of  frequent 
eeeoimioe,  and  the  whole  popuUtlon  is  now  being 
«qielled  to  make  room  for  the  *  slow  and  unimprea- 
iftla*  Baxon  raoa.  Under  these  drcnmstances,  it  b 
jMttrr  of  email  surprise  that  Ireland  not  only  pro- 
daeaa  no  booka,  but  that  she  Aimishes  no  market  for 
thoae  produced  by  others.  Half  a  century  of  Intor- 
Htleoal  eopy-right  has  almoat  annihilated  both  the 
piadiitew  and  the  oonramen  of  books. 

*  Paaaing  towards  EngUnd,  we  may  for  a  moment 
look  to  Wales,  and  then,  if  we  desire  to  find  the 
flllKta  of  oentnllzation  and  Ita  consequent  abnentee- 
iim,  in  negleoted  schools,  ignorant  teachers,  decaying 
and  decayed  ehu^che^  and  drunken  clergymen  with 
Immoral  flocka,  our  ofc{)ect  will  be  accompllslicd  by 
rtodying  tha  pages  of  the  Edinburgh  Rttiew.X  In 
•Mb  a  atata  of  things  as  is  there  described  there  can 
be  little  tendency  to  the  development  of  intellect,  and 
littla  of  eithar  ability  or  inclination  to  reward  the 
aatbora  of  books.  In  my  next,  I  will  look  to  Eng- 
kDdbenalf** 

Precisely  such  an  effect  as  has  been  pro- 
duced in  Dublin  and  Edinburgh  Mr. 
Carey  predicts  for  this  country,  in  the 
erent  of  the  passage  of  an  international 
copy-right  law  whidi  shall  give  to  English- 
men the  right  to  control  their  publications 
in  this  country ;  an  opinion  in  which  we 
wholly  differ  from  him ;  but  his  argument 
becomes  fearfully  powerful,  and  the  state 
of  things  he  antiapatcs,  an  absolute  cer- 
tainty in  the  absence  of  all  duties  and  all 
oopy-right.  Nothing  can  save  the  literary 
interests  of  this  country,  and  all  the  na- 
tional interests  connected  with  them,  from 
otter  destrucdon,  but  the  passage  of  an 
international  omy-right  law,  if  the  duties 
are  to  be  abolisned  on  foreign  books,  and 
there  seems  bnt  little  doubt  that  such  will 
be  the  ease.  We  may  then  give  ourselyes 
Qp  as  literary  dependents,  and  fall  into  the 
nmks  with  Edinburgh  and  Dublin,  and 


acknowledge  Paternoster  Kow  to  be  oar 
common  intellectual  centre.  England  now 
furnishes  the  greater  part  of  our  mental 
food,  and  it  will  then  furnish  the  whole, 
excepting  such  as  can  be  gathered  from 
the  daily  newspaper. 

But  lilr.  Carey  is  so  entirely  mastered  by 
his  idea  of  centrahzation,  and  sees  so  clearly 
the  whole  world  whirling  in  a  maelstrom 
with  London  for  its  centre,  that  he  can  hard- 
ly see  in  any  of  the  movements  of  social 
policy  any  thing  else.  This  idea  neutral- 
izes itself  by  making  itself  self-destructiTC^ 
not  only  does  it  swallow  up  all  its  sur- 
roundings, but  it  swallows  itself.  Mr. 
Carey  proves  that  centralization  is  as  de- 
structive to  its  own  centre  as  to  the  ob- 
jects within  its  influence. 

**  Centralization  enables  Mr.  Dickens  to  obtain  vaat 
anms  by  advertising  the  works  of  the  poor  authora  by 
whom  he  is  surrounded,  meet  of  whom  are  not  only 
badly  paid,  but  Insolently  treated,  while  even  of  those 
whose  names  and  whose  works  are  well  known  abroad 
many  gladly  become  recipients  of  the  public  charity. 
In  the  Eonith  of  her  reputation,  I^y  Charlotte  Bnry 
received,  as  I  am  informed,  but  £200  (I960)  for  tha 
absolute  copy-right  of  works  th.tt  sold  for  €7  00. 
Lady  Blemlni^n,  celebrated  as  she  was,  bad  bnt 
fh>m  three  to  four  hundred  pounds;  and  neither  Mar- 
ryat  nor  Bulwer  ever  received,  as  I  believe,  the  sell- 
ing price  of  a  thousand  copies  of  their  books  aa  oom- 
pcnmtlon  for  the  copy-rigbL$  Such  being  the  ihcta 
in  regard  to  well-known  authors,  some  idea  may  be 
formed  In  relaUon  to  the  compensation  of  those  who 
are  obscure.  The  whole  tendency  of  the  'cheap 
labor'  system,  fo  generally  approved  by  Engliab 
writers,  Is  to  destroy  the  value  of  literary  labor  by  In- 
creasing tlie  number  of  persons  who  m%ut  look  to  tin 
pen  for  the  moans  of  support,  and  by  diminishing  the 
market  fur  its  products.  What  has  been  the  effect  of 
the  system  will  now  be  shown  by  placing  before  yoo 
a  list  of  the  names  of  all  the  exlttlng  British  authora 
whose  reputation  can  be  rcgardnl  as  of  any  wide  ex- 
tent, as  follows:— 

Tennyson,      Thackeray,      Orote,         McCnlloeh. 
Carlylo,  Bulwer,  Hocaulay,  Hamilton, 

Dickens         Albion,  J.  8.  Mill.   Farraday. 

"  This  Ibt  Is  very  small  as  compared  with  that  pre- 
sented In  the  same  field  flvo-and-thlrty  years  alnee, 
audits  difforence  In  weight  b  still  greater  in  sumber. 
Bcott,  the  novelist  and  poet,  may  ocrtulnly  be  regarded 
as  the  counterpoise  of  much  more  than  any  one  of 
the  writers  of  fiction  in  this  list  Byron,  Moora, 
Sogers,  and  Campbell  enjoyed  a  degree  of  repaiation 
far  exceeding  that  of  Tennyson.  Wellington,  the  his- 
torian of  his  own  campaigns,  would  much  outweigh 
any  of  the  historians.  Malthus  and  Blcordo  were 
founders  of  a  school  tliat  has  greutly  Influenced  the 
poJlcy  of  the  world,  whereas  McCnIlooh  and  Mill  are 
bntdisdpleeln  that  school.  Dalton,  Davy,  and  Wol- 
laston  will  probably  occupy  a  larger  space  In  the  hta- 
tory  of  science  than  Sir  Michael  Farraday,  large  even 
as  may  be  that  assigned  to  him. 

**  Extraordinary  as  Is  the  existence  of  such  a  state  Ot' 
things  In  a  country  claiming  so  much  to  abound  in 
wealth.  It  Is  yet  more  extraordinary  that  we  look 
around  in  vain  to  see  who  are  to  replace  even  theae 


•  Vmlik  Britiih  Rtvttw,  Maj.  IStt. 
t  JLpfO,  lao,  art. -TlM  Chwdi  fai  tki 

▼OL.  III. — T 


t  8««  Blackwood's  Maniin^  Sopt.  18*3.  art.  "  Sc«ilno<l  ■ioM  lk«  Unioa." 
_.-:_.  «  I  Ti^j^  J  |y^|  ^„  CkfX,  .\liuTj  al  hiuiMlf. 


98 


Literary  Piracy. 


P< 


when  ag»  or  doatb  shall  withdrew  them  ttcm  the 
m«rai7  world.  Of  all  here  named,  Mr.  Thackeny  is 
the  only  one  that  has  risen  to  repntation  In  the  last 
ten  years,  and  he  is  no  longer  yonng ;  and  even  he 
eeeks  abroad  that  reward  for  hia  efforts  which  is 
denied  to  him  by  the  'cheap  labor'  system  at 
homo.  Of  the  others,  nearly,  if  not  qaite  all,  have 
been  for  thirty  years  before  the  worUl,  and,  in  the 
natural  course  of  things,  some  of  them  must  dis- 
appear fh)m  tlio  stage  of  authorship,  if  not  of  life. 
If  we  seek  their  successors  among  the  writers  for 
the  weekly  or  montly  journals,  we  shall  certainly 
fail  to  find  them.  Looking  to  the  Reviews,  we  find 
ourselves  forced  to  agree  with  the  English  Journalist 
who  informs  bis  readers  that  '  it  is  said,  and  with 
apparent  justice,  that  the  quarterlies  are  not  as  good  as 
they  were.'  From  year  to  year  they  have  leas  the 
appearance  of  being  the  production  of  men  who 
looked  to  any  thing  beyond  mere  pecuniary  com- 
pensation for  their  labor.  In  reading  them,  we  find 
ourselves  compelled  to  agree  with  the  reviewer, 
who  regrets  to  see  that  the  centralization  which  is 
hastening  the  decline  of  the  Scottish  universities  is 
tending  to  cause  the  mind  of  the  whole  youth  of 
Scotland  to  be 

^  *■  Cast  in  the  mould  of  English  universities,  insti- 
tutions which,  from  their  very  completeness,  exer- 
dso  on  second-rate  minds  an  influence  unfavorable 
to  originality  and  power  of  thought'— J^or(4  British 
JSevieto,  May  1858. 

**  Their  pupils  are,  as  he  says,  struck  *with  one 
mental  die,'  than  which  nothing  can  be  le»  ikvonble 
to  literary  or  scientific  development'* 

•  Like  most  men  who  ride  a  hobby  Mr. 
Carey  makes  his  nag  centralization  carry 
too  heavy  a  load,  and  it  breaks  down  un- 
der the  weight  of  argument  he  imposes 
upon  it  AVhere  there  is  free  intercour.se 
between  nations,  centralization  becomes  a 
necessity,  and,  not  only  a  necessity,  but  a 
blessing ;  there  is  but  one  way  to  prevent 
it,  and  that  is  by  non-intercourse.  The 
centralizing  influences  of  England,  which 
are  felt  so  balefully  all  over  India,  have  not 
yet  been  perceived  by  the  Japanese ;  but 
the  time  is  near  at  hand  when  they  too 
will  begin  to  understand  that  they  are  in 
the  circle  of  a  maelstrom  of  which  Jeddo 
is  not  the  centre.  It  remains  for  us 
United  Statesers  to  determine  whether 
this  great  absorbing  centre  shall  be  on 
this  side  of  the  Atlantic  or  the  other,  whe- 
ther it  shall  be  London,  Paris,  New- York, 
St.  Louis  or  San  Francisco.  At  present  it 
is  divided  between  London  and  Paris. 
London  is  the  intellcetual  and  financial 
centre,  and  Paris  is  the  centre  of  art  and 
fashion.  There  is  no  reason  why  New- 
York,  or  some  other  American  city,  should 
not  become  the  great  centre  of  finance, 
fashion,  literature  and  art,  but  a  good 
many  why  it  shoiiW.  And,  in  fact,  such 
a  destiny  can  only  be  delayed,  and  not 
prevented  by  unwise  legislation.  The 
superiority  of  mind  over  matter  will  hard- 
ly be  questioned,  and  wherever  the  mind 
of  the  world  centres  itself^  there  all  the 
material  interests  are  sure  to  follow.  We 


have,  thus  far,  in  spite  of  oar  roleDdidc 
opportunities,  prevented  the  United  Staleaa 
from  becoming  the  intellectaal  centre  o^ 
the  universe,  oy  perversely  violating  th^s 
great  law  of  national  and  individual  proe— * 
perity,  which  gives  to  eveiy  producer  tli^ 
right  to  control  the  productions  of  his  owes 
labor.  We  deny  to  the  foreigner  the  rigb^ 
of  property  on  our  own  soil,  in  his  intel~ 
lectual  productions,  whereby  we  inflict  ks 
great  an  injury  on  our  own  literary  pro- 
ducers, as  we  should  upon  our  manufao- 
turers  of  calicoes,  if  we  permitted  an  in- 
discriminate robbery  of  foreign  manu&o- 
tured  goods  of  the  same  kin<L     The  cases 
are  precisely  analogous.  But,  hitherto  the 
full  effects  of  this  evil  have  not  been  fel^ 
because  the  duty  on  foreign  books  has,  to 
a  certain  extent  though  a  very  limited 
one,  acted  as  a  protection  to  the  native 
literary  producer.    But  this  small  pro- 
tection is  now  about  to  be  destroyed,  and 
the  ruin  of  the  literary  interests  of  the 
nation  must  inevitably  follow  unless  we 
have  the  counteracting  effects  of  copy- 
right to  foreigners. 

Mr.  Carey  very  consistently  attacks  the 
principle  of  copy-right  in  all  its  bearings : 
he  not  only  argues  against  international 
copy-right,  but  all  copy-right ;  and  if  some 
of  his  arguments  are  not  very  forcible, 
we  are  bound  to  concede  to  them  the 
merit  of  great  originality.  We  must  also 
give  him  the  praise  of  discarding  that 
mean  and  despicable  argument  against 
copy-right,  which  many  of  its  opponents 
have  so  industriously  exploited,  that  act- 
ing justly  would  prove  too  costly.  These 
sentiments  are  most  creditable  to  Mr. 
Carey,  although  we  r^ret  to  notice  that 
be  insensibly  falls  into  the  line  of  argument 
which  he  denounces  in  another  part  of 
his  book. 

"  Evil  may  not  be  done  that  good  may  come  of  it,  nor 
may  we  steal  an  author's  brains  that  our  people  may  be 
cheaply  taught  To  admit  that  the  end  Jostifles  the 
means,  would  be  to  adopt  the  line  of  argument  to  often 
used  by  English  speakers,  in  and  out  of  Parliam«it, 
when  they  defend  the  poisoning  of  the  Chinese  people 
by  means  of  opium  introduced  in  defiance  of  their 
government,  because  it  fkimishes  revenue  to  India ;  or 
that  which  teaches  that  Canada  should  be  retained  as  a 
British  colony,  because  of  the  &cility  It  aflbrds  for 
the  violation  of  our  laws  ;  or  that  which  would  have 
us  regard  smugglers,  in  general,  as  the  great  reform- 
ers of  the  age.  We  stand  in  need  of  no  such  morality 
as  this.  We  can  afford  to  pay  for  what  we  want ;  but 
even  wore  It  otherwise,  our  motto  here,  and  every 
where,  should  be  the  old  French  one :  ^  FaiM  ee  qn* 
doy^  adtienne  qttspourra*' — Act  Justly,  and  leai-o 
the  result  to  Providence.  Before  acting,  however,  we 
should  determine  on  which  side  justice  Ilea  UnleM 
I  am  greatly  in  error,  it  is  not  on  the  side  of  inter- 
national copy-right" 

Mr.  Carey  states  his  argument  agamst 


1854.] 


LUtrary  Pkaey. 


9Q 


oopy-T^ht  after  tko  following  &shioii, 
which  is  not  orig;iiM]  with  him,  except  in 
the  manner  of  expressing  it 

••  For  vbftt  then  Is  eopj-iigbt  given  ?  For  the 
dothinf  in  whicli  tlie  body  is  prodaced  to  the  world. 
Examine  Mr.  Bfaeanlny^s  m&tory  of  England^  and 
jroo  win  ind  that  the  body  Is  composed  of  what  is 
•ommoo  property.  Not  only  have  the  facts  been  re- 
eoided  by  others,  but  the  ideas,  too,  are  derlTod  firom 
the  works  of  men  who  hare  labored  for  the  world  wlth- 
oat  neceiTf  ng,  and  ftwqnently  without  the  expectation 
of  rectilvin;,  any  peennlary  compensation  for  their 
Isbora.  Mr.  MacanUy  has  read  mach  and  carofally, 
•ad  b«  has  thus  been  enabled  to  acquire  great  skill  in 
siranging  and  clothing  his  fiicts;butthe  readers  of 
ys  books  will  And  in  them  no  contribution  to  positive 
knowledge.  The  works  of  men  who  make  contribu- 
tteas  of  tliat  kind  are  neoessarily  controversial  and  dts- 
tssCcM  to  the  reader ;  for  which  reason  they  find  fbw 
iwden,  and  never  pay  their  authors.  Turn,  now,  to 
Mur  own  anthors,  Prescott  and  Bancroft,  who  have 
fbrniahed  as  with  historical  woii»  of  so  great  excel- 
lence, and  yon  will  And  a  state  of  things  precisely  sim- 
ilar. They  have  taken  a  large  quantity  of  materials 
•ot  of  the  common  stock,  in  which  you,  and  I,  and 
an  of  us  have  an  interest ;  and  those  materials  they 
have  so  reelothed  as  to  render  them  attractive  of  pnr- 
ehastrs;  but  this  Is  all  they  have  dune.  Look  to  Mr. 
W«bater*a  works,  and  yon  will  And  It  the  same.  He 
was  a  great  reatier.  He  studied  the  Constitution  caro- 
Ailly,  with  a  view  to  nnderstand  what  where  the 
views  of  Its  authors,  and  those  views  he  reproduced 
In  a  dlffS^rent  •aA  more  attractive  clothing,  and  there 
Us  work  ende(L  He  never  pretended,  as  I  think,  to 
Anmlsh  the  world  with  any  new  ideas ;  and,  if  he  had 
done  so,  be  could  have  claimc<l  no  property  in  theoL 
Few  now  read  the  heavy  volumes  containing  the 
speeches  of  Fox  and  Pitt  They  did  nothing  but  re- 
I>n)dace  Ideas  that  were  common  property,  in  such 
elothiug  as  answered  the  purposes  of  the  moment 
Sir  Robert  Peel  did  the  same.  The  world  would  now 
be  Just  as  wise  had  he  never  lived,  for  he  made  no 
eontribatlon  to  the  general  stock  of  knowledge.  The 
great  work  of  Chancellor  Kent  is,  to  use  the  words  of 
Jadge  Story,  but  a  new  com  bi  nation  and  arrange- 
ment of  ohl  inateriaK  in  whidi  the  skill  and  Judg- 
ment of  tlie  author  in  tho  selection  and  exposition, 
snd  accurate  use  of  tlie  materials,  constitute  the  basis 
of  his  rrpntation,  as  well  as  of  his  copy-right  The 
vorid  at  large  is  the  owner  of  all  tlie  facts  that  have 
been  cullecteil.  and  of  all  the  Ideas  that  have  been  de- 
duced fkvm  them,  and  Its  right  In  them  is  precisely 
Ibe  sarao  that  the  planter  has  In  the  bsle  of  cotton 
thst  has  been  raised  on  bis  plantation ;  and  the  course 
uT  prooeedinx  of  botli  has,  thus  far,  been  precisely 
limllar ;  whence  I  am  induced  to  infer  that,  in  botli 
oeca,  right  ban  been  done.  When  the  planter  hands 
bis  eoCton  to  Uie  spinner  and  the  weaver,  he  does  not 
•ay,  *  Take  this  and  convert  it  Into  cloth,  and  keep 
tbo  cloth  'C  but  he  does  say,  *  Spin  and  weave  this 
eoUon,  and  ftn*  so  duirg  you  shall  have  such  interest 
in  the  cloth  as  will  give  you  a  fair  compensation  for 
your  labor  and  skill,  but  when  that  shall  have  been 
pal<l,  the  dcth  will  be  min«:  This  latter  is  precisely 
what  society,  the  owner  of  fkcts  and  ideas,  says  to  the 
Mthor :  '  Take  these  raw  materials  that  have  been 
ciilloeted,  put  them  together,  and  clothe  them  after 
yoiir  own  fiu^ldon,  and  for  a  given  time  wo  will  agree 
thnt  nob<)4ly  else  shall  present  tliem  in  the  same  dreas. 
Dnring  that  time  you  may  exhibit  them  for  your 
own  pmAt  but  at  the  end  of  that  period  the  clothing 
'vili  beeome  common  property,  as  the  body  now  K 
it  Is  to  tho  eontribntions  of  your  predecessors  to  our 


common  stock  that  yon  arakidebledflb»tbe  power  to 
make  yonr  book,  and  we  leqntav  yon,  la  your  turn,  to 
eontribnte  towards  the  aogmentatloo  ef  the  atoek 
thatlstobensedbyyoareueoeaeonw'  This  la  Justice, 
and  to  grant  more  than  this  would  be  ii^vatke. 

**  Let  OS  turn  now,  for  a  moment,  to  the  ptodneen 
of  works  of  Action.  Sir  Walter  Scott  had  careftiUy 
studied  Scottish  and  border  history,  and  thus  had 
Ailed  his  mind  with  facts  preserved,  and  ideas  pro- 
duced by  others,  which  he  reproduoBd  in  a  diflisrent 
form.  He  made  no  contribution  to  knowledge.  Bo, 
too,  with  our  own  very  snoceeslhl  Washington  Irving. 
He  drew  largely  upon  the  common  stock  of  ideas, 
and  dressed  them  up  in  a  now,  and  what  has  proved 
to  be  a  most  attractive  fbrm.  So,  again,  with  Mr. 
Dickens.  Bead  his  Bleak  IToute^  and  yon  will  And 
tliat  he  has  been  a  most  carefbl  observer  of  men  and 
tilings,  and  has  thereby  been  enabled  to  collect  a  gieat 
number  of  Au:ts  thst  he  has  dressed  up  in  ditferent 
forms,  but  that  is  all  he  has  done.  He  Is  in  the  con- 
dition €i  a  man  who  had  entered  a  large  garden,  and 
collected  a  variety  of  the  most  beautiful  Aowers  grow- 
ing therein,  of  which  he  had  made  a  Ane  bouquet 
The  owner  of  the  garden  would  naturally  say  to  him : 
*The  Aowers  are  mine,  but  the  arrangement  is  yonm 
Tou  cannot  keep  the  bouquet  but  yon  may  smell  it 
or  show  it  Ibr  your  own  proAt,  for  an  hour  or  tw«^ 
but  then  it  must  come  to  me.  If  you  profer  it,  I  cm 
willing  to  pay  you  for  your  services,  giving  you  a  iUr 
compensation  for  yonr  time  and  taste.*  This  is  ex- 
actly what  society  says  to  Mr.  Dickens,  who  makes 
such  beantlfhi  literary  bouquets.  What  is  right  in 
the  indi\idual,  cannot  be  wrong  in  the  mass  of  Indi- 
viduals of  which  society  Is  composed.  Nevertheless, 
the  author  objects  to  this,  insisting  that  he  !s  owner 
of  the  bouquet  itself,  although  he  has  paid  no  wages  to 
the  man  who  raised  the  Aowers.  Were  he  asked  to 
do  BO,  he  would,  as  I  will  show  in  another  letter,  re- 
gard it  as  leading  to  great  injustice. 

The  error  of  Mr.  Carey  is  in  supposing 
that  the  copy-right  is  granted  for  the  ideas 
and  facts  contained  in  a  book,  instead  of 
the  "  clothing,"  as  he  calls  it,  in  which 
they  are  embodied.  No  book  contains 
any  thing  essential  to  the  welfare  of  man- 
kind, which  any  man  may  not  nse  for  his 
own  benefit.  Any  body  may  collate  every 
essential  fact  contained  in  '^Bancroft^ 
History "  or  "  Kent's  Commentaries," 
make  a  book  of  them,  using  his  own  style 
of  expression,  and  obtain  a  copy-right  for 
them.  The  author  of  a  book  ei]joys  no 
monopoly,  such  as  the  owner  of  a  field 
of  wheat  does ;  every  body  may  use  it, 
profit  by  it,  improve  upon  it,  and  repro- 
duce it  in  another  shape  in  spite  of  him. 
But  the  owner  of  the  wheat  retains  for 
ever  and  to  all  time,  absolute  control  and 
monopoly  over  his  property.  Mr.  Carey 
says  that  the  authors  of  books  do  nothing 
more  than  make  use  of  ideas  which  are 
the  common  property  of  mankind,  and 
therefore  they  are  not  entitled  to  owner- 
ship in  the  form  in  which  they  present 
them  to  the  world.  But,  it  is  the  form 
only  which  they  claim  the  right  of  pro- 
perty in,  and,  unless  that  right  be  grant- 
ed to  them,  the  ideas  themselves,  and  the 


100 


Literary  Firacy, 


[Ja. 


facts  of  history  will  never  be  collected  to- 
fl;ether  in  a  manner  available  to  the  world. 
if  you  kill  the  goose,  it  will  lay  no  more 
golden  eegs ;  and,  if  yon  take  from  the 
author  tl^  means  of  living  by  his  labor, 
his  labor  must  ceasu,  and  the  tribe  of 
authors  must  become  extinct 

Aniiher  of  M^  Carey's  arguments 
againht  the  right  of  an  author  to  his  own 
productions  is,  we  believe,  original  with 
himself;  at  least  we  have  never  seen  it 
urged  in  the  copy-right  controversy.  Be- 
cause Leibnitz,  Descartes,  Newton,  Hum- 
boldt, and  Bowditch  were  not  enriched 
by  their  beneficent  scientific  labors,  ho 
would  deny  the  right  of  such  trifiers  as 
Irving,  Dickens,  Scott,  and  Cooper  to  the 
remuneration  for  their  writings  which  the 
world  has  been  so  happy  to  make  them 
in  return  for  the  pleasure  which  they  have 
afforded.  Mr.  Carey  insists  that  the 
agriculturist  shall  not  be  paid  for  his 
pears  and  pomegranates,  because  another 
agriculturist  has  failed  to  make  a  fortune 
out  of  a  potato-field.  The  force  of  this 
reasoning  we  have  not  been  able  to  appre- 
ciate. But,  Mr.  Carey  shall  himself  state 
his  own  case: 

**TlM  whole  tondencj  of  the  existing  ajstem  is  to 
glv*  tiM  latyeBt  rewird  to  thoee  whoee  Isbon  are 
lighteet,  and  the  smalleBt  to  thoee  whose  labon  ere 
mostserere;  and  every  extension  of  It  most  neoes- 
•.arilj  look  in  that  direcUon.  The  MytUrisi  qfParU 
were  a  fbrtane  to  Eugene  Sue,  and  UneU  Tom't 
Ifttbin  has  been  one  to  Mrs.  Stewe.  Byron  had  2,900 
guineas  fbr  a  rolnme  of  CKUde  ffarotd^  aad  Moore 
8^000  Ibr  his  LaUa  Booth ;  and  yet  a  single  year 
slienld  have  more  than  suflBoed  for  the  prodaction  of 
any  one  of  them.  Under  a  system  of  intemaUonal 
eopy^right,  Damns,  already  so  largely  paid,  woald  be 
proteoted,  whereas  Thierry,  who  sacrifloed  his  sight 
to  the  gratiflcation  of  his  thirst  for  knowledge,  would 
not  Iloraboldt,  the  philosopher  par  §aoeM&nce  of 
the  •ge,  woold  not,  beoaose  he  fumishea  his  readers 
with  ihlngSi  and  not  with  words  alone.  Of  the  books 
that  reoord  his  obserrstions  on  this  continent,  bat  a 
part  haa^  I  be1iev^  been  translated  into  English,  and 
of  these  bat  a  small  portion  has  been  pabllshed  in  this 
ooontry,  although  to  be  had  without  olaim  for  copy- 
right la  England  their  sale  hss  been  small,  and  can 
hAve  done  litUe  more  than  pay  the  cost  of  translation 
and  pabllcaUon.  Had  it  been  required  to  pay  for 
the  prlYilege  of  translation,  but  a  small  part  of  even 
those  which  have  been  translated  woald  probably 
have  ever  seen  the  light  in  any  but  the  language  of 
tlie  aathor.  This  great  man  inherited  a  handsome 
property,  which  he  devoted  to  the  advancement  at 
sclenoe,  and  what  has  been  his  pecanUry  reward 
may  be  seen  in  the  following  statement  derived  from 
an  address  recently  delivered  in  New-Tork:— 

•»*  There  are  now  living  In  Europe  two  very  dis- 
tinguished men,  barona,  both  very  eminent  in  their 
line,  both  known  to  the  whole  civilixed  world;  one 
Ih  Baron  Bothschild,  and  the  other  Baron  Humboldt; 
one  distingaished  for  the  accumulation  of  wealth,  the 
oUier  IbrUie  accumulation  of  knowledge.  What  are 
the  psasesslons  of  the  philceopberf  why,  sir.  I  heard 
a  gentlemaa  whom  1  have  seen  here  tab  afternoon, 
say  that  on  areccnt  i4sit  to  Europe,  he  paid  his  re- 


spects to  that  distinguished  pbiloeopher,  and  * 
mitted  to  an  audienoei  Ue  found  him,  at  Uu 
84  years,  treeh  and  vigorous,  in  a  (>mall  room 
Mttuled,  with  a  large  deal  table  uncovered 
midst  of  that  room,  containing  his  books  and 
apparatn&  Adjoining  this,  was  a  small  bed-r 
which  he  slept  Here  this  eminent  pliilosoi 
ceived  a  visitor  fkrum  the  United  8tatea  1 
versed  with  him ;  he  spoke  of  his  works.  '  My 
said  be, '  you  will  find  in  the  adjoining  Ubrar; 
am  too  poor  to  own  a  copy  of  them.  I  have 
means  to  buy  a  taU  copy  of  my  own  worlu.^ " 

**  After  having  furnished  to  the  gentlemen  v 
dnoo  books  more  of  the  material  of  which  U 
composed  tlian  has  ever  been  furnished  by  ai 
mail,  this  Illustrious  man  finds  himself  st  the 
life,  altogether  dependent  on  the  bounty  of  tl 
sian  government  which  allows  him,  as  I  be 
than  five  hundred  dullars  a  year.  In  what 
now,  would  Humboldt  be  benefited  by  Intel 
copy-right?  I  know  of  none ;  but  it  is  very 
see  that  Dumas,  Victor  Hugo,  nn<l  Goor^ 
might  derive  from  it  a  large  revenue.  In  o 
tion  of  this  view,  I  would  ask  you  to  rei 
names  of  the  persons  who  urge  most  anxio 
change  of  system  that  is  now  proposed,  and  m 
can  find  in  it  the  name  of  a  single  man  who  ] 
any  thing  to  extend  the  domain  of  knowledge 
you  will  not  Next  look,  and  see  if  you  do  ih 
it  the  namcH  of  those  who  Aimish  the  world  i 
forms  of  old  ideas,  and  are  laigely  paid  for  i 
The  most  active  advocate  of  internmtional  ec 
is  Mr.  Dickens,  who  is  said  to  realize  $5( 
annum  for  the  sale  of  works  whose  comp< 
little  more  than  amusement  for  his  leisoi 
In  this  country,  the  only  attempt  that  has  ; 
made  to  restrict  the  right  of  translation  is 
now  before  the  courts,  for  compensation 
privilege  of  converting  into  German  a  work 
yielded  the  laigest  compensation  that  the  v 
yet  known  for  the  same  quantity  of  literary 

We  are  constantly  told  that  regard  to  the 
of  science  requires  that  we  should  protect  an< 
the  rights  of  authors;  but  does  science  k 
such  chdm  for  herselfT  I  doubt  it  Men  w 
additions  to  science  know  well  that  they  h 
can  have,  no  rights  whatever.  Cuvier  d 
poor,  and  all  the  copy-right  that  could  hi 
given  to  him  or  Humboldt  would  not  have 
either  of  them.  Lsfdace  knew  well  that  1 
work  could  yield  him  nothing.  Our  own  I 
transUted  it  as  a  labor  of  love,  and  left  bj 
the  means  required  for  its  publication.  Tli 
men  who  ai^vocate  the  interests  of  science  ar 
men,  who  use  the  Diets  and  ideas  fhmished 
tiflc  men,  paying  nothing  for  their  use.  No 
tare  Is  a  most  honorable  profession,  and  the  g 
engaged  in  it  are  entitled  not  only  to  the  ret 
consideration  of  their  fellow-men,  but  nit 
protection  of  the  law;  but  in  granting  it  tt 
tor  Is  bound  to  recollect  that  Justice  to  the 
furnish  the  raw  materials  of  the  books,  and 
the  community  that  owns  those  raw  maU 
quire  that  protection  shall  not  either  In  poin 
or  tim^  be  greater  than  is  required  for  g 
producer  of  books  a  full  and  fiiir  compen 
hia  labor.** 

Wo  may  as  well  remark,  en  f 
that  the  absurd  story  about  Hum 
all  trash ;  his  works  intended  for 
reading  have  been  very  popular, 
has  reaped  great  profits  from  th 
he  is  about  the  most  independent 


1654.] 


LUnwry  Piractf. 


101 


in  existence,  so  far  as  his  peeimiary  cir> 
eomstsDces  are  concerned. 

The  argument  of  Mr.  Carey  against 
international  copy-rieht  is  not  very  dear- 
ly stated,  but  the  rear  of  oentndization 
18  the  pervading  thought  in  his  mind 
while  discussing  the  subject.  He  con- 
tends that: 

**  England  18  Cut  beeomlog  one  great  shop,  and 
traders  bare,  In  general,  neither  tinse  nor  disposition 
to  eoltlvate  llteratare.  The  little  proprietors  dla- 
appear,  and  the  day  laborers  who  soooeed  them  eaa 
Mltber  educate  their  children  nor  pnrchase  bookip 
The  great  proprietor  is  an  absentee,  and  he  has  little 
time  tax  either  literature  or  science.  From  jear  to 
year  the  population  of  the  kingdom  becomes  more 
tad  more  dirided  into  two  great  classes ;  the  very 
poor,  with  whom  food  and  raiment  require  all  the 
proceeds  of  labor,  and  the  rerj  rich  who  pro^Mr  by 
the  cheap  labor  system,  and  therefore  eschew  the 
«tiidy  of  prindpleiL  With  the  one  class,  books  are 
an  unattainable  luxury,  while  with  the  oUier  the 
abssaee  of  leisure  proTonts  the  growth  of  desire  to 
porchaae  them.  The  sale  is,  therefore,  small ;  and 
heaee  it  is  that  authors  are  badly  paid.  In  strong 
eootrast  with  the  limited  sale  of  English  books  at 
home,  is  the  great  extent  of  sale  here,  ss  shown  in  the 
ftiOowing  ikcts:  Of  the  oeUro  editton  of  the  Modem 
British  Essayista,  there  lutve  been  sold  in  five  years 
Bo  less  than  80,000  Tolamesw  Of  MscauUy's  Misoel- 
IsDiea,  S  ToIsL  12mo^  the  sale  has  amounted  to  60,000 
Tolnmefl.  Of  Miss  AguiUr's  writing^  the  sale,  in  two 
yean,  has  been  100,000  Tolumes.  Of  Murray's 
Eneyelopedia  of  Geography,  more  than  50,000  vol- 
nmes  have  been  sold,  and  of  McCulloch*s  Commercial 
Dictionary,  10,000  volumes.  Of  Alexander  Smith's 
Poema,  the  sale,  in  a  few  months,  has  reached  10,000 
eopiesL  The  sales  of  Mr.  Thackeray's  works  bss 
been  quadruple  that  of  England,  and  that  of  Uie  works 
of  Mr.  Dickens  counts  almost  by  millions  of  volumes. 
Of  Bleak  House,  in  all  its  various  forms— in  news- 
papers, magazines,  and  volumes— It  has  already 
amounted  to  sevenl  hundred  thousands  of  copiea 
Of  Bulwer*s  last  novel,  since  it  wss  completed,  the 
isle  has,  I  am  told,  exeeeded  8S.00a  Of  Thiere's 
rreneh  Revolution  and  Consulate,  there  have  been 
ield  8i,000,  and  of  Montagu's  edition  of  Lord  Baoon'b 
works  4,000  copiea. 

*"  If  the  sales  of  booths  were  as  great  in  Enarland  as 
they  are  here,  English  authors  would  be  abundantly 
paid.  In  reply  it  will  be  said  their  works  are  cheap 
here  because  we  pay  no  copy-right  For  the  pay- 
ment of  the  aatltors,  however,  a  very  small  sum 
would  be  required,  if  the  whole  people  of  EngUmd 
•onld  afford,  as  they  should  be  able  to  do,  to  purchase 
books.  A  oontribotion  of  a  shilling  per  head  would 
giro,  aa  has  been  shown,  a  sum  of  almost  eight  millions 
of  dollarv  sufficient  to  pay  to  fifteen  hundred  salaries 
aeariy  equal  to  those  of  our  secretaries  of  SUte. 
Centralization,  however,  destroys  the  market  for 
booka,  and  the  sale  la,  therefore,  small ;  and  the  few 
tuoceMflil  writers  owe  their  fortunes  to  the  collection 
of  large  coutributions  made  among  a  small  number 
of  readers;  while  the  mass  of  authors  live  on,  as  did 
poor  Tom  Hood,  ftrom  day  to  day,  with  scarcely  a 
b<^  of  improvement  in  their  condition.*' 

And,  therefore,  because  England  does 
not  suffidently  reward  her  authors,  and 
because  we  rwui  their  books  more  than 


their  own  countrymen  do^  are  wo  absoIveJ 
from  all  necessity  of  pavmg  them  for  the 
use  of  their  property.  This  is  the  extent  of 
Mr.  Carey's  argument,  so  &r  as  we  have 
been  able  to  master  it 

We  regret  very  much  that  he  leaves 
the  Prince  of  Denmark  out  of  his  play  of 
Uanilet ;  for,  after  all,  the  main  question 
is  untouched  in  his  letters,  and  that  as- 
pect of  the  subject  which  bears  the  mofct 
important  feature  for  us.  he  does  not 
present  to  us.  What  is  the  legitimate 
effect  of  the  competition  now  winged  be- 
tween our  own  authors,  and  the  unpaid 
authors  of  Europe  1  If  tho  '•  cheap  labor  " 
of  England  has  such  a  deadly  influence 
upon  our  manufacturinp:  prosperity  as 
Mr.  Carey  contends,  what  must  be  the 
effects  of  the  unpaid  labor  with  which  our 
literary  men  are  brought  in  direct  com- 
petition ?  They  are  woil  known ;  and 
Mr.  Carey  himself  exhibits  them  in  a  Tcry 
startling  manner  in  the  statistics  he  fur- 
nishes of  the  republication  in  this  country 
of  foreign  books,  all  of  which  might  as 
well  have  been  produced  here.  But,  the 
gi«at  evil  of  our  being  dependent,  and 
mental  vassals  of  England,  is  not  so  much 
tliat  it  transfers  the  labor  market  frofA 
tliis  country  to  Europe,  and  confers  the 
reputation  upon  foreigners  which  our  own 
people  might  enjoy;  but  it  places  the 
whole  mind  of  the  nation  at  the  mercy  of 
foreigners,  and  permeates  the  mental  con- 
stitution of  our  people,  with  thoughts, 
sentiments,  ideas,  and  aspirations  foreign 
to  our  true  interests  and  detrimental  to 
the  growth  and  expansion  of  American 
ideas  and  democratic  sympathies.  No 
better  argument  could  be  brought  forward 
to  sustain  the  claims  of  international 
copy-right  than  the  formidable  display 
which  Mr.  Carey  makes  of  the  statistk^ 
of  original  publications  in  this  country, 
intended  by  him  to  servo  as  a  proof  that 
no  protection  is  needed  by  our  authors. 

**  Every  body  mutt  learn  to  read  and  write,  and 
every  body  mtut  therefore  have  books ;  and  to  this 
uoiversality  of  demand  it  is  due  that  tke  sale  of  those 
required  (br  early  edacation  la  so  Imniciise.  Of  the 
works  of  Peter  Parley  It  counts  by  millions ;  but  if 
we  take  his  three  historical  books  (pric«  75  cents  each) 
alone,  we  And  that  It  amounts  to  lK*twocn  half  a  mil- 
lion and  a  million  of  volumes.  Of  Qoodrlch*s  Unite<i 
States  it  has  been  a  quarter  of  a  million.  Of  Morsels 
Geography  and  Atlas  (50  centji)  tlie  sale  It  said  to  be 
no  less  tlian  70,000  i>cr  annum.  Of  Abbot's  hlstorlei^ 
the  Bsle  is  said  to  have  already  been  more  thno 
400,000,  while  of  Emerson's  Arltlimetic  and  Reader  it 
eonnta  almost  by  millions.  Of  MitehelPs  several 
geogrsphles  it  is  400,000  a  year. 

**  In  other  branches  of  education  the  same  state  of 
things  is  seen  to  exl.^t  Of  the  Boston  Academy^ 
Cf>lleetion  of  Sacre<l  Mosie,  the  sale  haa  exceeded 
600,000,  and  the  aggregate  sale  of  flro  books  by  the 


lt>2 


Literary  Piracy, 


p 


tune  anthor  ha  probablj  exceeded  a  million,  and  the 
price  of  tbeee  Is  a  dollar  per  volame. 

**  AU  these  make,  of  oourse,  demand  for  booka,  and 
banoe  it  i*  that  the  sale  of  Anthonys  series  of  daasics 
(averaging  $1)  amoant^  as  I  am  told,  to  certainly  not 
leas  than  00,000  volumes  per  annum,  while  of  the 
dawScal  Diditmttry  of  the  same  anthor  ($4)  not 
leas  than  80,000  have  been  sold.  Of  liddell  and 
Sootfs  Grtek  I^ericon  ($5,)  edited  by  Prot  Drisler. 
the  sale  has  be<>n  not  less  than  8ft,000,  and  probably 
mnch  larger.  Of  Webster's  4to.  Dictionary  (|6)  it 
has  been,  I  am  assured,  60,000,  and  perhaps  even 
80,(«00 ;  and  of  the  royal  8vu.  one  ($8  OOX  850,00a  Of 
Bolmarls  French  school  books  not  lest  than  150,000 
volnmes  have  been  sold.  The  number  of  books  used 
In  the  higher  schools-^tcxt-books  In  philosophy, 
ohemiatry,  and  other  branches  oi  sdenoe,  is  exceed^ 
In^y  great,  and  it  would  be  easy  to  prodnoe  nnm- 
ben  of  which  the  sale  is  fh>m  five  to  ten  thoosand  per 
annum ;  but  to  do  so  would  occupy  too  mnch  space, 
and  I  must  content  myself  with  the  few  fkcts  already 
given  in  regard  to  this  department  of  Uterahxre.**  .  . 
**0f  all  American  authors,  those  of  school-books 
esceptad,  there  Is  no  one  of  whose  books  so  many 
have  been  circulated  as  those  of  Mr.  Irving;  Prior  to 
the  publication  of  the  edition  recently  issued  by  Mr. 
Putnam,  the  sale  had  amounted  to  some  hundreds  of 
thousands;  and  yet  of  that  edition,  selling  at  |1  25 
per  volume,  it  has  already  amounted  to  14i,000  vols. 
Of  Vhelt  Tbm,  the  sale  has  amounted  to  9901,000  copies, 
s  partly  in  one,  and  partly  in  two  volumee,  and  the 
total  number  of  volumes  amounts  probably  to  about 
450.00a 

Prtetjnr90l,    VUmmu*. 

Of  the  two  works  of  MIsa  Warner, 

Qneechy,  and  the  Wid^  Wide 

World,  the  price  and  sale  have 

been $    88    104,000 

Fern  Leaves,  by  Fanny  Fern,  in  six 

months 1  85     45,000 

Reveries  ot  a  Bachelor,  and  other 

booka.  by  Ik  Marvel  ...  1  95  70,000 
Alderbrook,  by  Fanny  Forester,  8 

volSL 00     88,000 

Northnp*s  Twelve  Tears  a  Slave  .  1  00  20.000 
Novels  of  Mrs.  Ilentz,  in  three  years  68     98,000 

M^or  Jones*s  Courtship  and  Travela  00     81,000 

Salad  for  the  Solitary,  by  a  new  aa- 

tbor,  in  five  months  ...  1  95  6,000 
IIeadley*s  N^Mleon  and  his  Mar- 
shals, Washington  and  his  Oene- 

rala,  and  other  works  1  95   200,000 

Stephens's  Travels  In  Egypt  and 

Greece 87     80,000 

Stephens's  Travels  In  Yucatan  and 

Central  America       ...  9  60     60,000 

Kendairs  Expedition  to  Santa  Fe  .  1  25  40,000 
Lynch's  Expedition  to  the  Dead 

Sea,8vo. 8  00      16,000 

Ditto       Ditto  12ma  1  95       8,000 

Western  Scenes  S  50     14,000 

Young's  Science  of  Government  1  00     12,000 

Seward's    Life   of    John    Quiney 

Adams 1  00     80,000 

Frost's  Pictorial   Illstoiy   of    the 

World,  8  vols.  9  50     60,000 

Sparks's  American  Biography,  25 

vols.  75    100,000 

EncyolopHMlU  Americana,  14  vols.  2  00  280,000 
Orlswold's  Poets  and  Proee  Writers 

of  America,  8  vols.  ...  8  00  21,000 
Bamea'  notes  on  the  Gospels,  Epls- 

tict,J^,11vx>!8.       ...  75    800,000 


m 
111 

1  96 
6Q 
60 
1  60 
8M 
860 
9M 
40C 
800 
1  OQ 
lOQ 

60(1 

950 

10  OQ 

16  OO 
90Q 
888 


Prif*ptrttt 

Aiken's  Christian  Minstrel,  in  two 

years 

Alexander  on  the  Psalms,  8  vola. 
Bulst's  Flower  Garden  Directory 
Cole  on  Fruit  Trees 

**     Di8ea.oes  of  Domestic  Animals 
Downing's  Fruits  and  Fruit  Treea 
**  Rural  Essays 

**         Landscape  Gardening    . 

Cottage  Residences 
**         Country  Ilomes     . 
Mahan's  Civil  Engineering 
Leslie's  Cookery  and  Receipt-books 
Guyot's  Lectures  on  Earth  and  Man 
Wood  and  Bache's  Medical  Dispen- 
satory     

Dunglison's  Medical  writings,  in  all 

lOvolsL 

Pancoast's  Surgery,  4ta  . 
Rayer,  Ricord,  and  Moreau's  Sur- 
gical Works  (translations)    . 
Webster's  Works,  6  vo]&     . 
Kent's  Commentaries,  4  vols. 

'*  Next  to  Chancellor  Kent's  work 
on  Evidence,  8  vols.,  |16  60;  the  sale  of  « 
been  exceedingly  great,  but  what  has  been  I 
I  cannot  say. 

**0f  Blatchford's  General  Statutes  of  N«f 
local  work,  price  $4  50,  the  aale  has  been  8,01 
to  almost  80,000  of  a  simiUr  Work  tar  Um 
Kingdom. 

^'IIow  great  is  the  sale  of  Judge  Story**  1 
be  judged  only  ttom  the  fkct  that  the  copy-i 
yleldA,and  for  years  past  has  yielded,  n 
$8,000  per  annum.  Of  the  sale  of  Mr.  ] 
works  little  is  certainly  known,  but  It  cam 
derstand,  have  been  less  than  160,000  volnm 
of  Mr.  Bancroft's  History  has  already  rlaeii, 
to  80,000  oopi<M,  and  I  am  told  it  Is  oonaldenl 
and  yet  even  that  is  a  sale,  for  such  a  wari( 
onprcoedcnted. 

**  Of  the  works  of  Hawthorne,  Longfellow 
WiUis,  Curtis  Sedgwick,  and  numerooa  ol 
sale  is  exceedingly  great ;  but,  as  not  even  aa 
mation  to  the  true  amount  can  be  offered,  I  n 
It  to  you  to  judge  of  it  by  comparison  wltl 
less  popular  authors  above  enumerated.  I 
of  these  cases,  beautifhlly  illustrated  editl 
been  published,  of  which  large  numbMS  h 
sold.  Of  Mr.  Longfellow's  volume  there  li 
no  less  than  ten  editiona.  These  various  : 
probably  suffice  to  satiaiy  you  that  this  oov 
sents  a  market  for  books  of  almost  every  d« 
unparalleled  in  the  wiwld.'* 

If  8uch  a  gratifying  array  of  ht 
be  made  under  the  present  systen 
might  we  not  ezpec^  if  our  natire  i 
were  not  brought  into  direct  com] 
with  the  pirat^  works  of  foreignc 
the  mental  demands  of  our  peep 
answered  by  our  own  writers! 

To  what  cause  must  we  attribi 
startling  facts,  that,  in  this  country 
the  taste  for  music  is  uniyersal. 
there  are  more  pianofortes  manufi 
than  in  any  other  part  of  the  woi 
where  musical  artists  receive  the 
rewards,  we  cannot  boast  of  one  i 
composer  of  eminence  ?  that  whei 


1854.] 


Puns  and  Punsters. 


lOS 


to  FVuoOi  we  most  liberally  support  theat- 
rical establishments,  we  camiot  boast  of 
one  dramatic  author  ?  that  where  we  pa^ 
xoore  than  any  other  people  for  artistic 
finery,  we  can  boast  of  no  ornamental 
artists,  and  import  nearly  eyeir  thing  that 
ministers  to  our  loye  of  art  ?    To  what 
cause  must  we,  or  can  we,  attribute  these 
anomalous  facts  but  to  the  want  of  a  law 
which  shall  secure  to  the  composer,  the 
omamentalist,  and  the  dramatist  a  right 
of  property  in  the  products  of  genius  and 
industry?     English  manufacturers  had 
the  shrewdness  to  see  that  while  they  en- 
joyed the  priyilege  of  robbing  French 
artists  of  their  designs,  they  could  never 
have  a  class  of  designers  of  their  own,  and 
that  the    French    manufacturers  would 
always  excel  them  in  the  novelty  and 
el^ance  of  their  ornamental  goods.    The 
English   government,  therefore,  gave   a 
copy-right    to    French    artists   in   their 
designs    for    calico    patterns,    and    all 
other  ornamental  work,  and  immediately 
there  was  a  perceptible  improvement  in 
British  ornamental  manufiictures ;  under 
the  healthful  influence  of  their  registry 
law,  their  manu&cturing  interests  have 
continued  to  improve,  and  their  ornamental 
artists  to  increase.    Under  the  operation 
of  the  law  which  prevented  an  American 
citizen  from  owning  a  foreign  built  vessel, 
the  art  of  ship  building  has  flourished 
among  us  until  we  now  stand  at  the  head 


of  all  the  worid  in  that  great  branch  of 
manu&cturing  industry.  John  Ruskin, 
who  is  good  authority  on  such  a  subject, 
pronounces  a  ship  the  most  beautiful  and 
no  blestof  all  the  works  of  man's  ingenuity ; 
and,  if  we  can  excel  all  the  world  in  the 
greatest  of  all  the  arts,  what  is  to  prevent 
our  attaining  to  equal  excellence  in  the 
lesser  arts  of  composing  operas,  writing 
dramas,  and  designing  calico  patterns  and 
paper  hangings  ?  If  we  can  build  our  own 
ships,  why  cannot  we  write  our  own  books? 
There  is  no  other  reason,  than  the  absence 
of  an  international  copy-right  to  protect 
our  intellectual  labors  from  the  destruc- 
tive competition  of— not  cheap  labor,  but 
pirated  manufactures. 

When  we  commenced  writing  this  ar- 
ticle we  had  only  the  newspaper  reports 
of  the  measure  proposed  by  the  adminis- 
tration in  relation  to  the  duty  on  books ; 
we  find,  since,  that  it  is  proposed  to  admit 
free  of  duty  only  editions  printed  previous 
to  1830,  which,  of  course,  would  not  have 
the  disastrous  effects  we  have  anticipated 
from  an  entire  reduction  of  all  duties  on 
books  and  periodicals.  It  is  proper  to 
add,  too,  that  Mr.  Carey's  Letters  are  ad- 
dressed to  Senator  Cooper  of  Pennsyl- 
vania, in  opposition  to  the  international 
copy-right  treaty  with  Great  Britain, 
which  was  sent  to  the  Senate  by  Presi- 
dent Fillmore. 


PUNS   AND   PUNSTERa 


r)  sneer  down  puns  is  quite  the  mode, 
nowadays.  Dr.  Johnson's  alliterative 
antithesis  between  the  punster  and  the 
pickpocket  is  in  every  one's  mouth.  Not 
only  serious  persons,  but  true  jovial  jokers 
join  in  the  onslaught  Whoever  lets  fall 
a  pun,  is  bound,  in  good  breeding,  to  be 
ashamed  of  it.  Dictionary-makers,  in  echo 
of  the  popular  voice,  define  a  pun  as  a 
"play  upon  words,"  "a  low  and  vulgar 
species  of  wit,"  &c 

In  this  single  point,  writers  on  the  na- 
ture of  wit  and  humor  agree  as  far  as 
philosophers  ever  can.  Addison  abuses 
puns  roundly.  Hazlitt  damns  them  with 
faint  praise.  Campbell  begs  pardon  for 
descending  so  low  as  to  mention  them. 
And  even  Sydney  Smith,  in  some  youth- 
ful lectures,  must  needs  have  his  fling  at 
what  he  was  all  his  life  making.    That 


the  prince  of  modem  punsters  should 
afiect  to  despise  his  subjects,  should  put 
weapons  into  the  enemy's  hands,  and  com- 
pletely falsify  Swift's  saying,  "  that  they 
only  deride  puns  who  are  unable  to  make 
them,"  was  a  blow  too  much. 

To  tilt  against  such  champions  seems  a 
little  presumptuous.  But  to  the  true 
knight,  what  matters  the  odds  ?  The  more 
desperate  the  better,  if  so  be  he  show 
pluck. 

To  cross  spears,  however,  at  once; 
what,  as  far  as  any  exists,  is  the  main 
charge  against  puns  ?  Under  what  pre- . 
text  do  self-appointed  judges  condemn 
them  to  transportation  for  life  into  the 
Botany  Bay  of  false  wit?  "Pimning  is 
the  wit  of  words,"  says  Sydney  Smith, 
says  the  lexicographer,  says  the  general 
voice.    That  simple  remark  with  the  quo- 


104 


Puna  and  Puiuten. 


IJuauay 


tation  from  Johnson,  is  thought  to  settle 
the  question,  though  the  Great  Bear  of 
literature,  it  must  be  remembered,  did  not 
condemn  puns  in  the  large,  but  only  puns 
on  men's  names. 

What  now  is  meant  by  the  wit  of 
words  ?  In  one  sense  all  wit,  spoken  or 
written,  is  such ;  for  without  words  it 
could  not  exist  This,  of  course;  but 
more  is  true  of  wit  and  humor.  Amusing 
ideas  have  more  or  less  merit  create  more 
or  less  pleasure,  according  as  they  are 
domiciled  in  good  or  bad  words  and 
phrases.  A  story  which  is,  in  one  per- 
son's mouth,  melancholy  as  a  price-current, 
in  another's  will  be  provocative  of  infinite 
mirth.  What  is  meant  by  murdering  a 
good  joke,  missing  the  point,  and  kmdred 
expressions?  Clearly  the  want  of  the 
best  words  in  the  best  places.  Give  an 
ordinary  man  the  facts  and  ideas  of  a 
scene  of  Dickens,  or  a  hit  of  Sheridan,  or 
Swift ;  let  him  perceive,  as  far  as  possible, 
without  the  author's  words,  its  full  force, 
and  see  what  he  will  make  of  it  Who- 
ever tries  the  experiment  will  admit  that 
words  have  something  to  do  with  all 
pleasantry ! 

With  poetry  the  case  is  the  same.  It 
would  be  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to 
spoil  many  lines  in  Milton,  Wordsworth, 
or  Byron,  by  changing  a  word  or  a  phrase 
for  its  apparent  synony me.  Nor  is  this  "^e- 
licit€U  "  of  language  the  least  excellence 
of  any  good  prose.  And,  in  conversation, 
though  the  same  thoughts  arc  in  a  dozen 
heads,  the  one  who  expresses  them  best 
wins  the  attention.  "  On  a  word,"  sa3's 
Landor,  "turns  the  pivot  of  the  intel- 
lectual world.''  Words,  without  doubt, 
are  the  great  means  of  literary  or  collo- 
quial success.  The  difference  between 
men  is  less  in  their  ideas  than  in  their 
power  of  bringing  them  out 

Nowhere  is  this  truth  more  striking 
than  in  wit  and  humor.  IIow  much 
finish,  and  force,  and  graphic  power,  does 
choice  language  give !  It  brightens  and 
points  the  witticism.  It  excites  a  pleasing 
surprise  and  concentrates  it  into  flashes. 
It  raises  and  poises  the  attention,  and 
brings  it  to  bear  at  the  precise  moment, 
with  the  precise  force  required.  It  makes 
every  form  in  which  Protean  wit  shows 
itself  just  the  type  of  its  species,  whether 
its  excellence  lies  in  delicacy,  or  strength, 
or  grotesqueness.  In  wit,  if  any  where, 
words  are  the  *•  incarnation  of  thought." 
Without  the  wit  which  lies  in  them,  what 
a  scurvy  appearance  would  that  of  ideas 
make! 

It  is  not  apparently  intended  to  attribute 
this  crowning  grace  and  super-excellence 


in  a  high  degree  to  pons.  ^Tho  wH  of 
words,"  says  Sydney  Smith,  "  is  miwrably' 
inferior  to  the  wit  of  ideas."  From  this 
we  should  gather  that  the  pun,  in  his 
judgment,  is  the  wit  of  words  as  such, 
viewed  simply  as  unmeaning  characters  or 
sounds. 

That  wit  should  live  on  such  chaff,  at 
first  blush,  seems  unlikely.  But,  while 
we  ponder  the  subject,  ragged  troops  of 
acrostics,  anagrams,  rebuses,  charades, 
&c.,  limp  and  shuffle  into  the  mind.  But^ 
though  these  come  under  the  newspaper 
head  of  Wit  and  Humor,  they  have  bat 
slight  claim  to  the  name.  Marianne  may 
be  silly  enough  to  be  gratified  that  tlw 
initial  letters  of  eight  lines  of  rhjrme 
should  spell  her  name ;  but  what  pleas- 
antry is  there  in  the  fact,  unless,  indeed, 
in  the  tableau  which  fancy  creates  of  the 
poor  poet  cudgelling  his  brains  by  the 
hour?  As  for  the  tribes  of  anagramS| 
charades,  riddles,  and  such  small  deer,  we 
heartily  wish  they  were  lost  tribes.  The 
Sphinx  and  Solomon  made  the  only  good 
ones  extant.  Modem  ones  smell  of  the 
lamp.  The  humor  of  most  of  them  re- 
sembles that  of  a  mathematical  problem — 
showing  ingenuity  and  exercising  one's 
wits,  but  not  over  and  above  amusing. 

A  trifle  better  is  the  wit  Of  doable 
rhymes,  which,  by  their  odd  soimd,  tackle 
the  ear  hugely.  We  are  tempted  to  read 
and  re-read  them,  as  we  are  to  awaken 
and  rc-a waken  a  lusty  echo.  In  alliter- 
ation, too,  the  wit  lies  wholly  in  the 
sound. 

Little  more,  we  confess,  can  be  said, 
for  quasi-puns,  quibbles,  lame  of  a  limb, 
mere  word-catching,  funny  neither  in 
themselves,  nor  in  the  circumstances  un- 
der which  they  appear,  simple  proofs  that 
syllables  pronounced  alike  are  sometimes 
spelt  differently,  lifeless  entities  in  the 
power  of  any  one  to  make,  and  of  no  one 
to  laugh  at  On  the  same  level  stands  a 
large  class  of  puns  (and  other  jests  as 
well),  which  are  in  their  dotage,  their 
meaning  all  oozed  out,  but  haunting  cer- 
tain minds  like  ghosts.  We  have  a  friend 
who  never  fails  to  greet  us  with  a  pun  on 
our  name.  We  do  not  account  him  a 
marvel  of  humor.  But  why  confound 
the  pun  proper  with  its  poor  relations  t 
It  is  not,  of  necessity,  a  mere  clashing  of 
sounds.  It  is  as  legitimate  a  vehicle  of 
wit,  as  any  other.  The  difference  lies, 
not  in  its  essence,  but  in  the  means  of  in- 
fusing its  essence  into  the  mind ;  and  it  is 
this  means,  which  has  thrown  it  into  dis- 
grace. Mankind  always  judge  a  great 
deal  by  costume,  and  the  dress  of  a  pun, 
any  beggar  can  purchase.    Still  it  may 


ia(i4.] 


Pun$  and  Pwuten. 


105 


dathe  a  royal  aoul.  A  good  pan  cannot 
&il  to  oontain  some  wit  of  ideas;  that 
men  are  only  too  apt  to  fix  their  minds  on 
the  words  does  not  alter  the  fact;  for  that 
is  their  custom  in  all  matters,  nor  does 
Sjdney  Smith  deny  our  position.  "A 
pan,"  says  he,  '*  should  contain  two  dis- 
Uoct  meanings.  In  the  notice  which  the 
mind  takes  of  these  two  sets  of  words" 
(i.  e.,  of  their  meanings),  "  and  in  the 
florpriso  which  that  excites,  the  pleasure 
consists."  Resemhlances  in  words  as  to 
aound,  apart  from  their  meaning,  neither 
sorprise  nor  please ;  we  meet  with  such 
erery  day  without  the  faintest  smile.  In 
puna,  as  in  other  facetise,  the  humor  hangs 
on  the  more  or  less  surprising  resem- 
blances in  ideas. 

A  pun  is  like  the  old  eod  Janus — the 
exjHPessions  on  the  two  laces  contrasting 
fery  funnily.  Sometimes  it  is  even  an  ideid 
Cerberus,  uttering  a  "  leash  of  thoughts  " 
atonoe. 

It  grieves  us  much  to  see  puns  meet 
with  such  shabby  treatment  as  they  do, 
when  we  think  what  rich  and  delicate  hu- 
mor, what  sharp  or  crushing  wit — nay, 
what  true  pathos  has  spoken  through 
them*  Take  one  of  Lamb's  puns  as  an 
instance.  He  is  chatting  with  a  party  of 
his  friends  over  his  glass.  Disturbed  by 
a  dog  howling  without  in  the  storm^  some 
one  benevolently  proposes  to  let  him  in, 
•'  VHiy,"  stutters  Lamb,  "  grudge  him  his 
vhine  and  water?"  A  most  palpable 
pun ;  but  is  the  wit  wholly  in  words  ? 
Does  the  whole  force  of  the  jest  lie  in  the 
double  enUndre,  between  two  words  or 
two  phrases  ?  Is  it  not  rather  a  complete 
web  of  humor,  strand  crossing  strand, 
thread  twisted  with  thread  1  The  provok- 
ing seriousness  of  rebuke ;  the  queer  re- 
oondling  of  opposites ;  the  sudden  sur- 
prise; we  jingling  together  of  extreme 
ideas;  the  transcendontly  hospitable  in- 
ho^itality — these  and  more  go  to  make 
it  irresistible.  The  dog  were  no  gentle- 
man, if  he  was  not,  after  that,  quite  con- 
lent  with  his  positron. 

A  very  serious  diplomatist,  describing 
a  picture  of  the  animals  leaving  the  arl^ 
spoke  of  the  strange  effect  produced  by 
the  little  ones  going  first,  and  the  ele- 
phants waddling  in  the  rear.  "  Ah,  no 
doubt,"  said  Canning,  "the  elephants, 
wise  fellows,  staid  behind  to  pack  up  their 
trunks."  Is  it  the  expression  which 
amases  one  here,  or  the  thoughts  express- 
ed, the  picture  sketched  ?  It  is  so  natu- 
i-al  to  be  delayed  by  trunk-packing,  and 
the  notion  of  trunk  grows  so  readily  out 
of  that  of  elephant,  that  there  is  a  mo- 
mentary confusion  in  the  mind — now  a 


forgetting  of  the  nominatiye,  now  of  the 
verb ;  a  whimak^l  peiplezity  as  to  what 
was  done  and  how;  and  a  surprising  suc- 
cession of  dissolving  views  of  the  scene 
in  the  ark.  Puns  would  not  seem  then 
to  be  always  mere  word-wit. 

This  could,  however,  be  proved  by  the 
testimony  of  their  bitterest  maligners. 
They  belie  their  own  theory  by  inadvert- 
ently quoting  puns  among  their  examples 
of  true  wit  Thus  Sydney  Smith,  in  this 
very  lecture  from  which  we  have  quoted 
so  much,  repeats  with  approbation,  the 
remark  of  Voltaire,  that  "the  adjective 
is  the  greatest  enemy  of  the  substantive, 
though  it  agrees  with  it  in  gender,  num- 
ber, and  case."  The  point  of  the  anti- 
thesis is  as  plain  a  pun  as  ever  skipped 
on  two  legs.  So  Uazlitt  gives,  as  the 
"finest  example  of  metaphorical  wit," 
Sheridan's  bon  mot  on  Mr.  Addington's 
keeping  his  seat  after  Pitt  had  retired 
from  the  cabinet :  "  He  (Pitt)  remained," 
said  Sheridan.  "  so  long  on  the  treasury 
bench,  that,  like  Nicias  in  the  fable,  he 
left  the  sitting  part  of  the  man  behind 
him."  Metaphorical  or  not,  the  pun  is 
not  to  be  questioned.  In  common  minds 
the  confusion  of  ideas  on  this  subject  is 
still  more  striking.  We  asked  a  man 
once  who  was  abusing  puns,  what  he 
thought  the  best  joke  in  a  collection  of 
good  sayings.  To  our  surprise,  he  select- 
ed an  old  and  poor  pun.  Into  such  in- 
consistencies those  are  apt  to  fall,  who 
would  prove  the  pun  "vox  ct  pra)tcrea 
nihil."  They  forget  that  the  adjectives, 
good,  biid,  better,  and  worse,  apply  to 
distinctions  among  puns  as  well  as  among 
other  pieces  of  pleasantry.  They  argue, 
like  those  who  would  forbid  the  manufac- 
ture of  paper,  because  it  is  often  covered 
with  worthless  ideas.  They  commit  a 
mistake,  the  opposite  of  that  of  the  old 
painter :  by  supposing  the  curtain  to  be 
the  picture  itself. 

Thus  much  speculatively  in  answer  to 
the  charge  against  puns.  But  after  all, 
the  use  of  criticism  is  not  to  tell  us  whe- 
ther we  ought  to  be  pleased,  but  rather 
why  we  are  pleased.  The  pleasure  caused 
by  a  pun  will,  we  presume,  be  as  great, 
whether  the  wit  be  proved  to  lie  in 
words  or  ideas.  Theories  go  hang  when 
a  good  joke  comes  round.  Who  stops  to 
inquire  whether  what  makes  him  laugh 
is  true  or  false  wit  ?  Who  cares  from 
what  source  the  pleasantry  flows  ?  The 
laugh  answers  all  questions. 

What  is  the  world's  practical  opinion  of 
puns?  Who,  in  the  first  place,  have 
sanctioned  them  by  their  example  ? 
Passing  over  the  many  wise,  thoughtful^ 


106 


Pum  and  Punsten, 


[J< 


gentle,  and  h-ue  souls,  who  live  by  their 
humor  embodied  in  books  or  floating  in 
tradition,  great  names  are  not  row. 
Gsesar  was  the  chronicler  of  Cicero's 
puns.  Burke  was  a  notorious  punster. 
Homer's  pun  on  '*  cutis"  appears  to  have 
heartily  amused  the  old  blind  bard. 
Even  Dr.  Johnson,  the  most  inveterate 
of  pun-haters,  was  more  than  once  guilty, 
and  of  very  petty  crimes,  too.  Whenever 
wisdom  dismounts  from  her  high  stool, 
with  a  mind  to  have  a  good  time,  she  falls 
to  making  puns. 

Spite  of  all  that  is  said — and  has  been 
for  80  many  years — puns  still  hold  their 
own.  Round  college  grates,  they  are  al- 
ways going  off,  like  chestnuts  roasting  in 
the  embers:  at  grave  college  suppers, 
graduates  of  many  years  standing  forget 
care  and  dignity  in  a  brisk  pun,  and  a 
quick  gush  of  laughter.  Now  and  then  the 
pun  pops  up  its  head  from  the  stagnant 
level  of  the  toasts  and  speeches  of  a  poli- 
tical dinner.  In  the  best  society,  where 
the  pickpocket  rarely  appears,  two-edged 
words  continue  to  cut  through  the  con- 
ventional crust.  A  knack  at  punning  is 
invaluable  to  a  social  being.  Who  can- 
not call  to  mind  some  pun  which  started 
a  circle  from  the  stupor  of  silence  ;  or 
gave  a  new  turn  to  a  compliment,  or  a 
remark  on  a  threadbare  subject;  or 
turned  the  flank  of  a  troublesome  conver- 
sation ;  or  gave  a  keen  edge  to  truth  or 
its  quietus  to  falsehood ;  or,  above  all — 
there's  nothing  like  it  for  that — reminded 
a  dignitary  that  he  was  human?  Not 
only  by  the  domestic  fireside,  not  only  on 
gilk-and-broadcloth  evenings,  are  puns 
frequent  companions,  but  they  even  ven- 
ture into  the  office  or  the  counting  room. 
They  seem  afraid  to  go  nowhere.  As 
they  came  into  the  world  with  language, 
80  they  seem  to  be  as  universal.  And, 
we  may  rest  assured  that  so  long  as  lan- 
guage retains  its  present  character,  so 
long  as  fun  and  jollity  are  kind  enough 
to  stay  on  earth,  puns  will  continue  to  bo 
made  and  punsters  to  run  at  large.  Nor 
are  we  quite  ready  yet  to  give  up  pim- 
ning.  Wit  gives  too  keen  a  relish  to  life, 
for  us  to  part  easily  with  any  species. 
We  do  not  enjoy  life  any  too  much. 
Isaak  Walton's  neighbor,  who  was  "  too 
busy  to  laugh,"  lives  next  door  to  many 
Americans.  Make  him  laugh,  by  hook 
or  by  crook,  and  you  bless  him.  Well 
says  Horace  Smith :  "  The  gravest  bird  is 
an  owl,  the  gravest  beast  is  an  ass,  and 
the  gravest  man  is  a  blockhead." 

What  a  Godsend  is  laughter!  The 
fountain  of  youth  and  happiness,  the  com- 
fort in  trouble,  the  defence  agamst  coun- 


terfeits of  all  sorts,  the  great  sal 
and  crown  of  life !  To  say  all  at  o 
Lamb's  words,  **  a  good  laugh  dea 
air." 

No :  wo  cannot  dispense  with  th 
In  every  way  in  which  wit  can  dc 
it  does  it.  To  impasture  it  is  th* 
spear  of  Ithuriel.  Gravity  and  sal 
make  way  for  it ;  and  smiles  are  ii 
nue.  A  single  pang  of  pain  rem( 
single  thought  of  pleasure  given, 
make  us  slow  to  banish  the  cause, 
when  we  think  of  some  puns,  so  1 
sweet  and  kindly  humor,  as  to  hav 
to  more  than  one  in  care  and  troub 
a  glimpse  of  blue  sky  or  of  flowei 
weary  and  worn  needle-woman — w 
well  welcome  the  author  of  such  1 
homes. 

But  he  who  can,  must  not  be  confo 
with  him  who  will,  make  puns.  T 
tential  is  a  great  aeal  better  than  1 
finitive  mood  among  punsters, 
shall  we  say  of  the  wag  proper,  th 
ling,  the  joker  of  small  jokes,  th( 
who,  feeling  bound  to  keep  up  a  chi 
by  ill  luck  foisted  upon  him,  is  i 
driving  his  yoked  syllables  into  n 
"  It  is  good,"  says  that  most  entert 
of  writers,  old  Thomas  Fuller,  "  to 
a  jest,  but  not  to  make  a  trade  of  jet 
The  Earl  of  Leicester,  knowing  that 
Elizabeth  was  much  delighted  to 
gentleman  dance  well,  brought  the  i 
of  a  dancing  school  to  dance  befor 
"  Pish,"  said  the  queen,  "  it  is  his  i 
sion ;  I  will  not  sec  him."  She  lil 
not  where  it  was  a  master-qualit 
where  it  attended  on  other  perfoi 
The  same  may  be  said  of  jesting, 
truth  is,  the  mere  dancer  does  not 
like  a  gentleman  nor  the  mere  p< 
pun  like  a  vrit  Who  would  not 
have  seen  Epaminondas  playing  c 
harp,  than  Dionysius,  his  master? 
can  distinguish  between  accomplish 
where  they  serve  for  relaxation  and 
for  the  main  business  of  life. 

Keeping  this  distinction  in  min 
can  see  whence  the  notion  has  arise: 
any  one  can  make  puns,  and  that  bn 
men  are  the  most  likely  to  make 
But  we  must  not  forget  that  it  i 
thing  to  pun  and  quite  another  t 
well.  By  a  constant  perusal  ol 
Miller  and  of  those  parts  of  the  qf 
book  where  words  of  a  similar  soun 
gregate,  by  confining  the  attention  1 
lablcs  and  to  the  cold  relations  be 
ideas  they  suggest,  one  may  make 
and  after  sufficient  explanation  ooi 
the  ladies.  Like  success  will  folio 
derotkm  in  other  species  of  wit  and  fa 


1854.] 


Puns  and  Punsters. 


107 


To  a  certain  point  by  care  and  assiduitj, 
any  one,  we  suppose,  at  all  quick,  may  rise. 
At  all  quick,  we  say ;  for,  it  is  to  be  ob- 
served, that  if  men  seemingly  brainless 
ire  in  the  habit  of  letting  puns  loose,  it  is 
not  in  consequence  of  their  want  of  brains. 
By  no  means ;  nothine  good,  nothing  de- 
cently bad  ever  came  from  that.  Another 
cause  must  be  at  work ;  usually,  what 
brains  there  are  club  together  in  the  busi- 
ness of  jesting.  This  is  not  difficult,  as 
the  partners  are  few  and  weak.  From 
the  same  reason,  this  class  of  persons  are 
apt  to  have  their  wits  about  them,  and  by 
practice  increase  their  natural  agility  in 
leaping  from  one  odd  thought  to  another. 
Besides,  an  out  of  the  way  manner  and  a 
reputation  support  them  throueh  many 
Allures.  The  process  is  similar  by  which 
skill  in  any  other  species  of  pleasantry  is 
obtained  ;  for  we  cannot  think  that  weak 
minds  take  to  punning  alone,  or  chiefly. 

Natural  or  acquired  quickness  of  wits 
most  have  something  to  do  with  success  in 
panning ;  else  why  are  puns  so  frequently 
spoiled  in  the  repetition  or  so  slowly 
taken  ?  How  few  ladies  can  at  once  take 
a  good  pun  !  Even  the  wives  of  auction- 
ttn  and  of  constant  jokers,  after  years  of 
practice,  can  do  little  more  than  laugh  in 
the  right  place  at  the  old  family  jests. 

Can  any  thing  be  said  in  favor  of  the 
poor  punsterling  who  carries  on  his  trade 
in  season  and  out  of  season,  in  place  and 
out  of  place  1  He  is  witty  only  now  and 
then ;  he  is  a  bore ;  he  has  no  undercur- 
rent to  buoy  up  his  bubbles ;  he  is  a  mere 
air  tube,  and  one  of  the  most  useless  of 
beings.  Should  he  not  be  forbidden  so- 
ciety 7  What  place  can  ho  fill  in  talk 
which  is  well  known  to  be  of  so  high  a 
character?  What  noble  thoughts  and 
fancies,  what  bright  flashes  of  wit  and 
humor  leap  from  mind  to  mind,  when 
people  meet  to  dine  or  dance,  who  that 
goes  does  not  know !  In  the  communion 
of  gifted  souls,  vast  secret  stores  of  learn- 
ing and  reflection  are  drawn  forth.  What 
an  impulse  and  exhilaration  are  given  to  the 
whole  man !  Nothing  is  said  merely  for 
the  sake  of  saying  something.  No  one 
feels  that  the  pressure  of  tight  shoes  on 
the  feet  is  trifling  compared  with  that  of 
dire  necessity  on  the  brain.  Whatever  is 
to  be  said  flows  from  the  lips  willi  ease 
and  nature,  and  is  the  best  of  its  kind.  If 
the  solid  phalanxes  of  thought  march  off 
for  a  moment,  it  is  to  make  way  for  such 
hght-armed  repartees  as  darted  between 
Beatrice  and  Benedict  There  is  no  com- 
monplaoe,  or  empty  chat  about  fashions, 
or  sentimental  twaddle.  The  round, 
nmnd,  round  of  the  dance,  the  gushes  of 


music  with  which  it  chimes  in,  are  the 
ethereal  counterpart  of  the  rich  and  varied 
conversation.  Here,  of  course,  the  room 
of  the  punster  is  better  than  his  company. 
He  interrupts  ;  he  gives  a  vile  turn  to  the 
subject ;  he  calls  one  down  to  the  com- 
mon earth ;  he  picks  one's  pocket  of  the 
bright  or  sensible  thing  he  was  just  pull- 
ing out  Away  with  him  !  Rich,  grace- 
ful, handsome,  in  the  fashion  or  not — 
away  with  him  I 

But  while  we  eject  these  intruders,  we 
must  not  forget  that  there  are  others,  who, 
in  somebody's  judgment,  deserve,  no 
doubt,  little  better  treatment.  Followers 
of  the  solemn  nonsense,  that  stalks,  hood- 
ed and  cowled,  through  the  world ;  pur- 
veyors of  dry  and  trivial  facts ;  flutterers, 
who  live  on  moonlight  and  flowers ;  con- 
stant riders  on  any  hobby — let  every  one 
anathematize  whom  he  will ;  and  who  is 
safe?  No  !  society  is  a  joint-stock  com- 
pany, to  which  each  one  contributes  his 
best  Variety  is  its  charm..  And,  in  this 
view  of  the  matter,  who  can  say  more  for 
himself  than  the  puniest  punsterling? 
Who  feels  that  he  has  a  right  to  cast  the 
first  stone? 

If  our  conversation  is  so  much  wiser 
and  wittier  than  his,  the  merit  is  not  ours. 
And  to  what  purpose  did  nature  endow 
ybs  with  minds  whose  courts  are  thronged 
with  noble  thoughts  and  fancies  ;  to  what 
good  end  did  she  clothe  our  thoughts  with 
thunder  and  make  our  fireside  circle  a 
council  of  the  gods,  if  we  are  so  zealous 
to  hunt  him  down  who  lives,  intellectu- 
ally, by  puiming  ?  It  is  unworthy  of  a 
man  to  wish  to  extract  the  charm  from  any 
one's  existence.  The  fruit  which  the  tree 
of  life  in  each  man's  garden  bears,  though 
sour  and  displeasing  to  another's  taste,  is 
the  fruit  of  fruits  to  him.  What  business 
have  we  to  destroy  it?  With  our  numer- 
ous and  choice  flocks  and  herds,  why  need 
we  go  about  to  kill  the  one  ewe  lamb  of 
the  punsterling  ? 

In  conclusion,  as  tlu  least  charitable 
thing  that  can  brj  said,  we  will  say  of  the 
punster  what  Thomas  Carlylc  writes  of 
quite  another  class  of  persons.  "  IIow 
knowcst  thou,  may  the  distressed  novel- 
wright  exclaim,  that  I,  here  where  I  sit, 
am  the  foolish  est  of  existing  mortals  j  that 
this  my  long-ear  of  a  fictitious  biography 
shall  not  find  one  and  the  other,  into 
whose  still  lonpcr  ears  it  may  be  the 
means,  under  Providence,  of  instilling 
somewhat?  Wo  answer,  uuiia  knows, 
none  can  certainly  know ;  therefore,  write 
on,  worthy  brother,  even  as  thou  canst,  as 
it  has  been  given  thee."  Pun  on,  worthy 
brother,  even  as  it  has  been  given  thee. 


108 


[Janiuiy 


BDITORIAL   NOTES. 


LITEBATUBE. 

Ifamucrwt  eorrectiam  from  a  copy  qf 
the  fourth  Folio  of  Shakespeare' »  Flays,-^ 
We  have  here  a  newly  printed  pamphlet 
containing  some  amendments  of  Shake- 
speare's text,  edited,  as  we  infer,  from  the 
initials  beneath  the  preface,  by  Mr.  Josiah 
P.  Quincy,  of  Boston,  an  ardent  admirer, 
and  a  dUigent  and  accomplished  student 
of  the  great  poet  Of  the  amendments 
themselves,  had  we  space  to  speak  of  them, 
we  should  say  very  much  what  the  editor 
has  said  in  his  introduction ;  regarding 
the  fact,  that  the^  are  in  manuscnpt,  and 
near  two  centunes  old,  is  but  slight  evi- 
dence that  Shakespeare  vrrote  as  the  anno- 
tator  su^sts.  Shakespeare  has  undoubt- 
edly suttercd,  and  vastly  more  than  most 
authors,  from  the  blunders  of  copyists  and 
printers.  We  are  entitled  to  assume  that 
he  never  wrote  absolute  nonsense;  and 
where  by  a  simple  and  natural  change,  such 
nonsense  may  be  converted  into  sense,  and 
more  especially  where  a  slight  alteration 
may  be  made  "  by  whicli,"  to  borrow  the 
language  of  the  editor,  "  some  striking  and 
characteristic  felicity  of  expression  may  be 
obtained  from  language  turgid  or  obscure," 
the  inference  is  fair  that  the  poet  wrote 
as  a  poet  and  a  man  of  sense  would  have 
written.  But  emendations  like  these  de- 
rive little  authority  from  the  antiquity  of 
their  date.  They  may  bo  made  as  well 
now  as  formerly,  except,  perhaps,  that  a 
critic  living  nearer  to  the  period  in  which 
Shakespeare  wrote,  may  be  supposed  to  be 
better  acquainted  with  the  forms  of  ex- 
pression pneculiar  to  that  age. 

The  editor  thinks  the  trifling  charac- 
ter of  some  of  the  emendations  argues 
that  the  maker  of  them  copied  from  a 
source  which  he  supposed  to  be  purer  than 
the  received  text  We  are  rather  dis- 
posed to  believe  that  the  nature  of  these 
changes  show;  them  to  be  the  work  of  a 
man  who  thought  too  much  of  grammar 
and  invented  himself  the  alterations,  from 
a  belief  that  they  were  actual  improve- 
ments, and  from  a  supposition  that  Shake- 
speare paid  more  regard  to  the  rules  of 
grammar  than  he  actually  did.  The  fol- 
lowmg  instances  will  illustrate  the  views 
both  of  the  editor  and  ourselves  in  this 
respect.  In  the  third  Scene  of  the  second 
Act  of  "  As  you  like  it,"  the  common 
text  has 

**  When  servlco  Bhould  in  my  old  limbs  lie  I«me.^ 

Ilero  is  a   fine  metaphor — the  abstract 
Doun  ^*  service  "  being  used  instead  of  the 


concrete,  and  yet  in  the  aense  of  the  oon- 
crete.  It  suggests  the  natural  picture  of 
an  old  servant  lying  about  lame  amid  the 
scenes  of  his  former  activity ;  but  the  cor- 
rection turns  the  passage  into  prose.  How 
natural  for  a  poet  to  use  the  metaphor, 
and  for  a  narrow  grammarian  to  correct 
him.  So  in  the  same  speech  the  correo* 
tion  has  ^^hot  and  rebellious  liquors  to 
my  blood,"  instead  of  "in  my  blood." 
Now  we  think  the  poet,  not  bearing  in 
mind  that  there  was  any  such  thing  aa 
grammar,  but  regarding  only  the  thought^ 
wished  to  represent  the  hot  andrebellioiis 
liquors  as  commingling  with  the  blood, 
and  thus  weakening  and  corrupting  it; 
but  the  critic,  dwelling  more  on  the  lan- 
guage^ recollected  that  "  apply  "  shouOkl 
be  followed  by  "  to  "  instead  of  "  in-" 

Emendations  like  the  ones  now  in 
question,  derive  no  authority^  except  from 
one  or  both  of  these  twoconsideratioiis,—- 
first,  that  they  are  actually  obtained  from 
purer  sources  than  the  received  text ;  or 
secondly,  that  they  are  the  original  sug- 
gestions of  a  consummate  critic,  Tn  the 
present  case  we  have  no  evidence  respect- 
mg  them,  save  what  they  themselves  af- 
ford, and  they  must  therefore  be  judged 
upon  their  face.  Now  the  sound  rule  of 
criticism  is  that  they  must  stand  or  fidl 
together.  We  cannot  reject  some  and  ad- 
mit others.  They  do  not  show  that  they 
come  from  a  purer  source,  unless  they 
all  show  it  They  do  not  show  that  they 
are  the  work  of  a  consummate  critic^  xat- 
less  they  all  show  it.  And  on  these  prin- 
ciples we  are  disposed  to  think  that  they 
show  neither. 

Still  we  are  glad  to  see  this  collectioii. 
It  is  an  agreeable  addition  to  the  *' Cari- 
osities of  Literature."  And  we  are  also 
glad  to  see  that  the  editor  himself  enter- 
tains the  proper  notion  of  them.  He  has 
not  alarmed  the  readers  of  Shakespeare  bj 
a  boisterous  '*  Eureka ! "  We  do  not  de- 
sire to  see  these  emendations  swelling  and 
disfiguring  the  volume  we  daily  reac^  bnt 
are  willing  to  have  them  in  a  comer  of 
our  library  where  we  may  recur  to  them 
for  the  sake  of  employing  the  moments  of 
curious  leisure. 

A  Memoir  of  th^  late  Feo.  William 
Croncell^  D.D,^  by  his  Father. — This 
interesting  memoir  of  the  late  Dr.  Cros- 
well  commences  with  this  deeply  touching 
and  remarkable  passage :  ^'  The  reader  is 
presented,  in  this  work,  with  an  unwont- 
ed spectacle :  a  bereaved  and  sorrowing 
parent  ai^)ears  before  the  pmUic  ftsthe 


1854.] 


Editorial  Nottt—IdUratwrt. 


109 


biogrmpher  of  a  dmr  dmrted  son !  At 
the  age  of  threescore  tna  ten,  this  parent, 
admonished  by  a  severe  visitation  of  sick- 
ness, devoted  as  much  time  as  his  press- 
ing duties  would  permit  to  the  arrange- 
ment and  preparation  of  his  own  manu- 
scripts for  the  final  inspection  and  revision 
of  this  ver  J  son.  And  now,  with  a  trem- 
bling hand  and  aching  heart,  the  parent 
reljTing  on  the  mercy  and  help  of  God,  un- 
dertakes to  gather  up  the  materials,  and 
prepare  a  record  of  his  Son's  life."  The 
meokoir  thus  prepared  may  serve  as  a 
model  for  such  compositions ;  for,  although 
the  subject  furnishes  little  that  is  excit- 
ing or  of  absorbing  interest,  yet  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  record  of  the  good  man's 
life  is  set  before  us,  and  his  character 
developed  with  the  accidents  of  his  career, 
strikes  us  as  being  most  happily  and  ad- 
mirably done ;  and,  considering  the  cir- 
camstances  of  the  biographer,  we  won- 
der at  the  fidelity  and  beauty  with  which 
the  sacred  dutr  has  been  fulfilled. 

—  Messrs.  drosby  A  Nichols,  of  Boston, 
have  Just  issued  new  editions  of  Rev.  W. 
Q.  Eliot's  excellent  "  Lectures  to  Young 
Men^^  and  ^toYoung  Women:^  They  are 
marked  chiefly  by  judicious  moderation 
m  tone,  and  by  a  sympathy  with  the  wants 
and  feelings  of  the  class  to  whom  they 
are  addre^ed  which  will  make  them 
more  serviceable  than  any  mere  felicities 
of  expression.  Another  work  from  the 
Boston  press  of  a  similar  character  is 
"  Lectures  to  Young  Men,''  by  Rev.  K  W. 
Clark.  Mr.  Clark  is  of  a  different  com- 
plexion, theologically,  from  Mr.  Eliot :  he 
is  somewhat  more  vehement  and  rcfonn- 
atory,  more  of  a  "  son  of  thunder^''  and 
more  wide  awake.  His  book  is  also  likely 
to  do  good  service  in  the  community.  J. 
P.  Jewett  k  Co.,  are  the  publishers. 

— ^A  large  and  increasing  body  of  amia- 
ble mystics,  who  may  be  found  nowadays 
among  all  religious  sects,  will  be  gratified 
by  the  perusal  of  a  selection  of  passages 
from  Fenelon  and  Madame  Quion,  which 
have  been  translated  from  the  French  by 
James  W.  Metcalf.  They  are  publish^ 
by  M.  W.  Dodd,  of  New-York,  under  the 
title  of  Spiritual  Progress^  or  Instruc- 
tions in  the  Divine  Life  of  the  Soul," 

"  Busy  Moments  of  an  Idle  Woman,'' 
is  a  pleasant  collection  of  brief  stories, 
bearing  the  impress  of  the  Applctons. 
The  anonymous  author  is  a  lady,  and 
irrites  with  the  customary  grace  and  fa- 
cility of  expression  which  belong  to  her 
sex. 

— B.  B.  Mnssey  and  Company,  of  Bos- 
ton, have  issued  in  handsome  style  ^^Pas- 
sages  from  the  History  of  a   Wasted 


Life,  by  a  Middl^-agedMan.^^  This  mid- 
dle-aged gentleman  is  none  other  than  tiie 
author  of  ^^ Pen  and  Ink  Sketches:"  a 
cleverly  written  work  in  the  manner  of 
George  Gilfillan,  abounding  in  preposter- 
ous yet  entertaining  reminiscences  of  emi- 
nent English  literary  society.  The  book  be- 
fore us  is  a  series  of  talcs  of  the  utilitarian 
school,  in  which  the  writer  endeavors  to 
show  the  evils  of  intemperance  by  his 
own  unhappy  experience,  as  well  as  that 
of  others.  They  are  characterized  by  a 
graphic  and  effective  power  of  narrative, 
but  still  produce  a  degree  of  tedium  in  the 
reader,  as  is  always  the  case  where  the 
writers  desire  fbr  artistic  excellence  is 
neutralized  by  a  zeal  to  accomplish  some 
more  engrossing  design. 

— Mr.  Scribner  has  published  two  books 
lately,  by  young  American  authors,  or  at 
least  of  the  younger  brood,  which  we  no- 
tice together,  not  from  any  affinity  or 
analogy  that  we  have  discovered  in  them, 
but  because  they  may  be  taken  as  types 
of  two  very  distinct  phases  of  the  literary 
character.  Tlie  Bl(H>d  Stone,  by  C.  Don- 
ald M^Leop,  has  the  merit  of  good  gram- 
mar, and  very  amiable  and  tender  feeling;, 
but  beyond  these  qualities,  which  we  do 
not  by  any  means  under-estimate,  we  can 
say  little  in  behalf  of  the  book,  which 
lacks  motive  and  distinctness.  There  are 
some  common  incidents  in  the  childhood 
of  a  feeble  boy  rather  pleasantly  narrated, 
and  one  or  two  little  descriptions  of  an  old 
country  house  in  the  suburbs  of  New- 
York,  which  have  a  certain  degree  of  fidel- 
ity and  thin  humor  to  recommend  them ; 
but,  as  they  lead  to  nothing,  and  have  no 
particular  meaning,  they  amount  to  noth- 
ing. The  boy,  who  narrates  his  childish 
reminiscences  with  sufficient  particularity 
and  clearness,  when  a  young  man  goes  to 
Germany  to  study,  and  then  becomes  very 
indistinct  and  misty.  lie  marries  a  young 
German  girl,  whose  brother  is  murdered 
by  a  club  of  which  he  is  a  member ;  he  is 
the  father  of  a  child  which  dies,  and  he 
returns  to  New- York,  and  lives  with  his 
mother  and  sister.  These  are  the  chief 
incidents  of  the  Blood  Stone,  which  is  so 
called  because  a  blood  stone  is  the  badge 
of  the  society  to  which  he  belonged.  It 
is  a  purposeless  book,  without  any  posi- 
tive quality,  and  fairly  enough  represents 
a  certain  phase  of  cultivation  which  results 
in  nothing  but  harmlessness,  and  never 
generates  a  healthy  or  a  startling  thought 
A  y&ry  different  kind  of  book  is  the  vol- 
ume of  Letters  from  up  the  River,  by  the 
Rev.  F.  W.  Shelton,  the  genial  and  most 
Christian  rector  of  St.  Bardolph's,  wher- 
ever that  may  be.    The  actual  point  up 


110 


Editorial  iVbltft — Literature. 


[. 


the  river  whence  these  sunshiny  letters 
emanated,  is  that  picturesque  landing  call- 
ed Fishkill.  opposite  Newburgh,  on  the 
Hudson.  Like  many  of  the  best  books 
that  have  been  publu^hcd,  the  contents  of 
this  volume  were  not  designed  for  publi- 
cation in  book  form  ;  they  were  what  they 
profess  to  be,  real  letters  from  up  the 
river,  conveying  news  of  no  more  impor- 
tant personages  than  Shanghai  hens,  and 
chronidiag  no  more  important  events  than 
the  domestic  accidents  of  a  country  par- 
son. But  these  are  important  enough 
subjects  for  the  embellishments  of  genius, 
which  always  loves  to  stoop  to  a  humble 
theme;  Dean  Swift  could  write  charm- 
ingly upon  a  broomstick,  and  the  heel  of 
an  old  shoe  supplied  a  theme  for  Cowper ; 
it  is  only  swaggering  talent  that  seeks  to 
elevate  itself  by  getting  astride  the 
shoulders  of  a  lofty  subject,  where  it 
shows  like  the  dwarf  on  the  giant's  back. 
Mr.  Shelton  has  a  rich  vein  of  pure  comic 
humor,  without  the  slightest  alloy  of  sa- 
tire or  irony.  His  style  is  tender,  grace- 
ful and  quaint,  and  his  humor  is  of  that 
genial  and  sympathetic  quality  which 
sinks  into  the  mind  of  tbe  reader,  without 
ruffling  the  placidity  of  his  temper.  The 
letters  were  originally  published  in  the 
Knickerbocker  Magazine,  and  they  are 
prefaced  with  a  characteristic  dedication  to 
the  editor  of  that  old  and  popular  favorite. 
Mr.  Shelton  has  not  the  slightest  taint  of 
affectation,  but  writes  with  the  honest  un- 
reserve of  a  private  correspondent,  and 
makes  all  his  readers  feel  as  if  thev  were 
the  personal  friends  to  whom  he  addressed 
himself.  We  are  very  well  aware  that 
advice  to  authors  is  an  ill-bestowed  com- 
modity, but  we  cannot  refrain  from  sug- 
gesting to  the  author  of  the  Blood  Stone, 
that  he  should  eschew  humor,  and  to  the 
author  of  Up-river  Letters  that  he  eschew 
every  thing  else. 

Holiday  Books. — The  literary  gauds 
which  expand  their  flowers  in  the  holidays 
have  almost  become  an  extinct  tribe ;  but 
there  are  a  few  of  the  better  class  which 
have  blossomed  this  season,  and  among 
them  is  Webber's  IVild  Scenes  and 
Song"  Birds,  whose  twenty  illustrations 
are  most  richly  and  beautifully  printed  in 
polychrome;  the  birds  and  flowers  are 
exquisitely  drawn  and  colored  after  nature 
by  Mrs.  Webber,  and  the  text,  by  her 
husband,  the  celebrated  Hunter-naturalist, 
is  full  of  romantic  poetry,  and  an  intelli- 
gent love  of  nature.  It  is  one  of  the  pret- 
tiest gift-books  we  have  seen,  and  one  of 
the  most  intrinsically  valuable.  The 
Homes  of  American  Statesmen^  publish- 
ed as  a  companion  volume  to  the  Homes 


of  American  Authors,  is  a  mod 
somer  volume  than  that  popular 
gant  work,  and  is  as  full  of  interei 
American  reader.  The  illustrmti 
more  numerous,  and  the  general 
the  work  more  striking  and  beauti 
the  first  volume.  The  tinted  p 
which  it  is  printed  has  a  very  i 
beautiful  effect,  giving  it  the  ap] 
of  an  antique  work  with  all  the 
and  elegance  of  modem  type  and 
of  modem  illustration. 

— To  a  traveller  who  goes  to  ] 
with  the  knowledge  of  its  literat 
tory,  and  people,  a  month  is  as  g( 
year,  for  the  purposes  of  book  i 
and  Mr.  Henry  T.  Tcckermam  h 
a  very  readable  and  pleasant  vol 
of  his  observations  in  the  *^  Mothc 
tiy"  during  that  short  periot 
Month  in  England^  recently  pi 
by  Rcdficld,  may  be  read  with 
even  by  Englishmen  themselves, 
first  impressions  are  every  thinj 
traveller,  and,  let  them  remain  as 
they  will  in  a  country,  it  is  t 
month  that  furnishes  the  mate; 
the  book. 

—  Few  studies  or  investigations  J 
interesting  than  that  of  the  antiqui 
place  with  which  we  are  familiar, 
b.  T.  Valentine,  the  worthy  clci 
common  council  for  so  many  ye 
furnished  us  an  almost  inezli 
topic,  in  his  ^^ History  of  the  City 
Ibr^."  It  is  not  a  voluminou 
and  yet  it  traces,  with  much  e 
the  progress  of  the  metropolis, 
earliest  beginnings  to  its  presei 
development,  giving  us  many  i 
curious  items,  not  of  external 
merely,  but  of  the  inhabitants  of 
and — their  names,  occupations, 
circumstances,  and  various  perse 
tunes.  This  narrative,  which  m 
great  literary  pretensions,  is  yel 
and  animated,  and  is  illustrated  t 
out  by  old  maps,  engravings,  ai 
views,  that  are  exceedingly  i 
Thus,  we  have  an  outline  of  the 
1642,  when  the  present  Maid< 
was  quite  in  the  woods ;  a  grou 
of  the  fort,  which  was  the  first  pe 
structure  in  the  island;  a  vieii 
New  Netherlands,  and  the  sun 
country,  in  1C5G ;  representations 
ral  of  the  principal  buildings,  t 
the  close  of  the  same  ccnlur 
again,  an  actual  survey  of  the 
1755.  In  the  letter-press  we  hi 
besides  the  more  strictly  historic 
biographical  and  local  sketched, 
early  grants  and  deeds,  names  of « 


1854.] 


Ediiorial  Notes — Literature. 


Ill 


phrsiciaiis,  and  schoolmasters,  between 
L605  and  the  revolutionarv  war,  estimates 
of  the  value  of  houses  and  lots,  and  many 
other  curious  particulars.  Mr.  Valen- 
tine's long  fiimiliarity  with  the  city  ro- 
oords  has  enabled  him  to  bring  together 
a  mass  of  the  most  interesting  information, 
for  which  he  deserves  the  thanks  of  every 
Qothamite. 

—  Dictionary  of  English  and  French 
Idioms^  illustrating  by  phrases  and 
examples  the  peculiarittes  of  both 
Languages,  and  designed  as  a  sup- 
plement to  the  ordinary  Dictionaries 
nww  in  ttsCy  is  the  self-explaining  title  of 
a  valuable  work  for  the  French  student, 
from  Professor  Roemer,  of  the  Free 
Academy.  It  supplies  the  want  which 
every  one  interested  in  acquiring  the 
French  language  has  experienced,  of  some 
manual  to  ^ow  the  relative  force  of  idioms ; 
which  is  an  absolute  necessity  to  every  one 
who  would  speak  that  most  universal 
tongue  with  elegance  and  ease.  The  ao- 
compUshed  scholarship  of  Professor  Roe- 
mer certifies  the  great  skill  with  which  ho 
has  done  the  work.  His  own  practical 
familiarity  with  the  languages  is  the  best 
possible  guaranty  of  his  fitness  for  the 
task.  We  have  examined  his  work  with 
care,  and  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that 
there  has  been  no  more  useful  manual 
laid  before  the  public. 

—  It  is  scarcely  five  years  since  a  cer- 
tam  Indian  territory  was  organized,  at  the 
West,  and  now  we  have  before  us  a 
volume  relating  to  it,  called  "  Alin- 
nesota  and  Us  Resources,"  The  author, 
Mr.  J.  W.  Bond,  appears  to  have  travelled 
over  the  whole  region  he  describes,  and 
to  be  minutely  familiar  with  every  part, 
lie  assures  us  of  the  complete  accuracy  of 
all  his  facts  and  statement*^  so  that  they 
may  be  relied  upon  by  emigrants  who 
may  be  attracted  to  the  new  country  by 
his  glowing  descriptions  of  its  natural 
beauties  and  prospective  wealth.  After 
referring  to  the  early  history  of  Minnesota, 
and  giving  a  general  geographical  view  of 
its  leading  peculiarities  and  its  agricul- 
tural advantages,  ho  enters  into  an  ac- 
count of  the  principal  towns,  facilities 
of  travel,  Indian  tribes,  pli3'sical  re- 
sources, &c.  and  concludes  with  a  vision 
of  what  the  territory  is  destined  to  become 
in  the  course  of  a  few  years.  We  say 
vision,  and  not  dream,  for  we  can  discover 
DO  reason  for  doubting  his  prophetic  truth. 
The  work  closes  with  some  lively  "  sketch- 
es by  a  camp-fire,"  being  notes  of  a  trip 
from  St  Paul  to  the  Selkirk  settlement 
on  the  Red  Kiver  of  the  North,  with  a 
description  of  Phnoe  Rupert's  Land.     As 


a  whole  the  work  is  one  that  contains  a 
great  deal  of  useful  information,  not  to  be 
had  elsewhere,  and  brought  together  with 
skill  and  taste. 

—  We  have  been  attracted  to  a  little 
book  of  receipts,  called  the  '*  Invalid's  own 
Book^"^  not  because  we  had  any  special 
need  for  such  a  work,  but  beaiuse,  on 
opening  it,  our  eyes  rested  on  some  capital 
recipes  for  the  preparation  of  Sherry  Gob- 
blers, Mint  Juleps,  Rum  Punch,  and  other 
"  emulsions  and  drinks  of  a  more  nutri- 
tive nature."  It  is  none  of  your  thin  and 
sallow  disciples  of  the  Maine  Law  that 
could  have  recommended  such  "  strength- 
ening draughts  "  for  the  invalid ;  nor  does 
the  writer  mean  to  stint  the  convalescent 
as  to  quantity.  Uere,  for  instance,  is  the 
large  outline  of  a  milk  punch :  ''  Steep  the 
rinds  of  eighteen  lemons  in  a  quart  of  rum, 
three  days,  close  covered.  Add  three 
more  quarts  of  rum,  with  the  juice  of  the 
lemons,  five  quarts  of  water  and  five  pounds 
of  sugar.  To  these  add  two  quarts  of 
boiling  milk.  Let  the  whole  stand  two 
hours,  closely  covered.  Strain  it  through 
a  jelly  bag,  and  bottle  it  for  use,  add  a  few 
bitter  almonds."  It  cannot  be  said  that 
there  is  "  an  intolerable  deal  of  sack  "  as  in 
FalstalPs  bill,  but  there  is  certainly  no 
stinginess  as  to  the  rum,  considering  it  is 
meant  for  the  sick. 

—  "  The  Flower  of  the  Family^'  a 
book  for  girls,  by  the  author  of  Little 
Susie's  Six  Birthdays,  is  an  excellent  tale, 
well  adapted  to  the  class  and  purpose  for 
which  it  is  intended,  reminding  one  of 
]Miss  Sedgwick's  little  works  of  the  same 
kind,  truthful,  gentle,  and  full  of  good 
sense  and  morality.  It  exhibits  the  strug- 
gles of  an  intelligent  but  poor  family,  in 
their  attempts  to  get  on  in  the  world,  and 
is  well  conceived  and  executed. 

—  Mr.  Sim  MS,  who  has  been  one  of  the 
most  prolific  and  brilliant  of  our  romance 
writers,  is  issuing  a  new  and  revised  edi- 
tion of  his  works.  His  "  Yemassee,"  one 
of  the  first  and  among  the  best  also  of 
his  romances,  leads  the  way,  with  a  brief 
but  graceful  dedication  to  I)r.  Dickson  of 
South  Carolina,  in  which  the  author  states 
the  changes  he  has  made  in  it,  and  justi- 
fies its  general  accuracy.  It  will  be 
speedily  followed  by  the  author's  romances 
of  the  Revolution. 

—  Miss  Caroline  CiiESEBRo's  tale,  of 
the  '^  IMtle  Cross-Bearers,"  is  a  pictur- 
esque and  touching  narrative,  quite  in- 
genious in  its  plot,  and  well-managed  in 
respect  to  the  moral  impression  it  seeks  to 
convey. 

—  A  picture  of  noble  virtue  and  disin- 
terestedness is  given  in  Mrs.  Lee's  account 


112 


EdUorial  Notu^LUetaimt. 


[J 


of  the  life  of  a  well-known  negro  of  this 
city,  Pierre  Ihiusaint,  whose  devotion 
to  his  former  mistress,  as  well  as  to 
every  good  cause,  makes  him  a  worthy 
subject  of  biography.  It  is  rare  that  we 
find  so  much  courtesy,  gentleness,  be- 
nevolence, good  sense  and  honesty  mingled 
in  the  same  character,  as  was  exhibited 
by  this  humble  slave,  under  all  circum- 
stances of  a  trying  and  checkered  life. 
It  is  a  great  service  to  his  race,  and  a  les- 
son to  all  men,  to  have  recorded  his  simple 
story. 

—  Under  the  title  of  "  Spiritual  Viftit- 
or8,^^  the  author  of  "  Musings  of  an  In- 
valid, &C.,"  takes  advantage  of  the  current 
spiritual  theories,  to  introduce  the  departed 
of  all  ages  that  they  may  discourse  of  the 
affairs  of  the  present  time.  In  other 
words,  his  book  is  a  new  "  Dialogues  of  the 
Deadj"  or  a  new  ''  Imaginary  Conversa- 
tions,' not  remarkably  brilliant,  but  still 
with  some  lively  and  agreeable  passages 
m  it,  rare  contrasts  and  ludicrous  conceits. 
If  the  veritable  "nepers"  would  only 
converse  with  half  as  much  good  sense 
and  wit  as  these  ghosts  of  Whimsiculo, 
their  seaiices  would  be  far  more  entertain- 
ing and  profitable. 

—  It  is  really  a  contribution  of  no  small 
value  to  English  literature,  this  transla- 
tion of  Grimms'  ^^ Kinder  und  Hans  Mar- 
cheUj^^  or  Household  Stories.  Books  for 
children  are  rarely  written  well, — legends 
and  fairy  tales  least  of  all.  But  the  Ger- 
mans appear  to  have  a  knack  in  address- 
ing the  young,  while  none  among  them 
appear  to  have  been  more  successful  than 
the  brothers  Grimm.  Their  popular 
series  has  become  the  leading  and  standard 
publication  of  the  kind  in  their  own  coun- 
try, read  by  every  body  young  and  old, 
illustrated  by  the  best  artists,  adapted  by 
the  playwrights  for  dramas,  and  even  an- 
notated by  ponderous  professors.  In  respect 
to  the  translation,  we  can  say,  that  it  is 
generally  excellent  preserving  the  sim- 
plicity and  spirit  of  the  original,  and  as 
much  of  the  quiet  humor  of  the  style,  as 
a  difference  in  the  idioms  of  the  two  lan- 
guages would  allow.  We  cheerfully  com- 
mend it  to  our  young  friends. 

—  Dr.  HicKOCK*s  treatise  on  "A/broZ 
Science  "  exhibits  a  profound  and  accurate 
acquaintance  with  its  subject,  a  rare  clear- 
nc^  of  statement,  and  a  ready  command 
of  precise  and  cogent  terms.  It  is  com- 
prehensive in  plan  and  liberal  in  tone,  but 
it  is  not  entirely  satisfactory  to  us  in  its 
distribution  of  topics.  Why  are  politics 
always  treated  as  a  mere  subordinate 
branch  of  moral  science  ?  From  the  time 
of  Paley  down  to  that  of  President  Way- 


land  and  Dr.  Hickock,  we  find 
disquisitions  of  moral  science  im 
politics  as  a  part  of  it  which  is  u 
sophical.  Politics  is  a  science  b; 
having  its  own  distinct  and  defin 
jecta,  its  own  method,  and  its  owi 
and  sphere.  It  involves  simply  th 
tions  of  men  to  each  other,  as  tl 
organized  into  a  state,  and  the  fun< 
tal  idea  of  it  is  Justice  or  Equity ; 
moral  science,  as  it  is  called,  invoh 
moral  qualities  of  actions,  and  hac 
fundamental  idea,  Duty.  Politics, 
fore,  relates  to  questions  of  social 
ration  and  civil  administration,  but 
science  to  questions  of  personal  relAt 
life.  We  are  firmly  convinced  that 
as  the  science  of  politics  is  not  alio 
independent  and  substantive  ezist< 
its  own,  there  will  be  no  correct  th 
legislation,  nor  a  really  good  | 
ment  By  complicating  it  with  ott 
jects  the  minds  of  men  are  oonf 
regard  to  its  proper  means  as  ' 
ends. 

—  All  lovers  of  good  eating- 
numerous  class  it  is ! — know  of  '. 
Savarin's  famous  book,  called  the 
siologie  du  Gout"  and  will  be  pic 
learn  that  an  American  editk)n  of 
been  prepared  by  Mr.  Fayette  Ro 
It  was  among  the  earliest  of  those 
works  which  treated  gastronomy  a 
art,  and  we  cannot  recall  any  that 
peared  since,  more  alive  with  vivac 
more  sparkling  with  wit.  Its  autl 
a  member  of  nearly  all  the  learned  s 
of  France,  and  served  in  a  great 
legislative  and  legal  capacities ;  he 
man,  too,  of  eloquence,  of  chars 
wide  political  influence  ;  but  nothi 
he  ever  said  or  did  is  likely  to  give 
general  and  lasting  a  reputation 
brilliant  7'6iAr  d? esprit  on  the  art  ol 
His  personal  history,  by  the  wi 
full  of  adventure  and  vicissitude,  f 
being  a  member  of  the  Constitu 
sembly,  President  of  the  superic 
Court  of  Aix,  Justice  of  the  Court 
sation.  Mayor  of  Bellay,  &c..  1 
driven  into  exile  during  the  Reign 
ror,  came  to  the  UnitcS  States,  w! 
taught  the  languages  in  Boston,  P 
phia.  Hartford,  and  New- York,  anc 
the  first  violin  at  the  Park  Theatr 
then  finally  returned  to  France  to 
a  distinguished  politician  again,  m 
tary  of  the  General-in-Chief  of  the 
of  the  Kepublic,  and  as  Commis 
the  Department  of  the  Seine  and  ( 

—  There  are  few  authors  of  the 
day  who  write  with  more  eamesi 
convbtion  than  the  Rev.  Gharlbi 


1854.] 


BdUoriaL  NoUs-^IAUrature. 


118 


LIT,  Rector  of  Everslej  in  England,  but 
better  known  as  the  author  of  Alton  Locke. 
His  mastery  of  language,  his  liberal  and 
kindly  spirit,  his  boldness  in  facing  the  most 
difficult  questions  of  social  life,  his  keen 
perception  of  character,  and  his  occasional 
eloquence,  gi^e  an  originality  and  power  to 
his  books  that  place  them  among  the  best 
of  the  day.  Hypatia,  his  last,  is  worthy 
of  his  fame.  It  is  an  attempt  to  describe, 
by  means  of  a  story,  the  struggle  of  the 
Church  of  tlie  fourth  century,  against  its 
own  internal  temptations  and  the  over- 
whelming corruptions  of  the  Pagan  world. 
Hypatia,  the  heroine,  was  that  celebrated 
female  philosopher  of  the  Eclectic  School, 
whose  extensive  learning,  elegant  manners. 
ind  tragic  end,  have  rendered  her  name 
memorable.  She  was  the  daughter  of 
Them,  a  mathematician  of  Alexandria, 
who.  di-icovering  her  extraordinary  genius, 
had  her  taught  in  all  the  sciences  and 
irts  of  the  time.  The  reputation  she  soon 
ioquircd  caused  her  to  be  invited  as  a 
preceptress  to  the  school  in  which  Am- 
monias, Ilicrocles,  and  other  distinguished 
philosophers  had  presided.  There,  her 
Tast  erudition  and  graceful  address  won 
her  a  world  of  admirers,  so  that  her  house 
became  the  intellectual  centre  of  Alexan- 
dria. Orestes,  the  governor,  was  among 
her  friends,  but  she  was  bitterly  opposed 
by  Cyril,  the  patriarch  of  the  Church,  and, 
getting  involved  in  the  disputes  which 
raged  between  the  two  dignitaries,  she 
was  one  day  assaulted  by  the  adherents  of 
the  latter,  torn  almost  limb  from  limb, 
and  committed  in  that  mangled  condition 
to  the  flames. 

It  will  be  seen  that  the  time  and  the 
subject  allow  the  author  a  wide  scope  and 
an  admirable  opportunity  for  the  exercise 
of  his  imagination,  and  we  need  scarcely 
8ay  that  he  has  made  the  best  use  of  his 
learning.  The  life  of  those  stormy  days 
is  brought  vividly  before  us ;  the  charac- 
ters of  the  monks,  the  Jews,  the  heathen 
leaders,  the  philosophers,  and  the  true 
Christians,  are  strongly  contrasted;  the 
deep  religious  questions  involved  are 
treated  with  masterly  vigor  and  penetra- 
tion, while  the  artistic  eflfects  are  wrought 
out  with  exquisite  beauty.  In  his  exhi- 
bitions of  the  profligacy,  the  cruelty,  and 
the  selfishness  of  the  era,  he  spares  neither 
the  Church  nor  the  world ;  nor  does  he 
fail,  at  the  same  time,  in  showing  the  in- 
finite superiority  of  the  Christian  doctrine 
to  all  schemes  of  philosophy,  both  as  a 
purifying  faith  and  a  sustaining  principle. 
There  is  a  terrible  pathos  in  some  of  the 
incidents  too,  which  imparts  a  thrilling  in- 
terest to  the  book  as  a  mere  narrative, 

TOL.  IIL — 8 


though    its   abounding    merits   lie,    we 
thmk,  in  the  vivid  portraitures. 

—  The  French  have  had  the  monopoly 
of  books  relatmg  to  the  captivity  of 
Napoleon  in  St.  Helena,  and  have  given 
such  sketches  of  the  conduct  of  the  British 
jailor,  Sir  Hudson  Lowe,  as  suit  their  pre- 
judices. But  Sir  Hudson,  it  seems,  sus- 
picious of  the  representations  that  would 
be  made  of  him,  was  cautious  enough  to 
preserve  the  material  for  his  vindication. 
His  memoranda,  letters,  and  documents 
have  been  published  by  Mr.  William 
Forsyth,  and  put  quite  another  face  on 
the  question  of  treatment  received  by  the 
French  Emperor  at  the  hands  of  his  cap- 
tors. The  book  is  certainly  a  good  de- 
fence of  the  calumniated  Sir  Hudson, — 
who  flgures  so  conspicuously  and  ludi- 
crdusly  in  the  melodramas  of  the  minor 
theatres  of  the  Boulevards,  as  some  of  our 
readers  may  have  seen. 

—  The  Religions  of  the  World  and 
their  Relaiions  to  Christianity,  is  the 
title  of  a  small  volume  of  discourses, 
preached  as  a  part  of  the  Boyle  Lectures, 
by  Fredkbick  Denison  Maurice,  the 
distinguished  Professor  of  Divinity  in 
King's  College,  London,  who  has  recently 
been  removed  from  his  post  on  account  of 
his  heretical  opinions  on  the  subject  of  the 
eternal  duration  of  punishment.  He  had 
doubts  on  the  subject,  and  as  the  rulers 
of  the  University  had  not,  they  gave  him 
good  reason  for  believing  in  the  eternity 
of  intolerance  in  this  world,  let  the  case 
be  as  it  may  in  the  next.  Professor 
Maurice's  work  is  a  short,  but  intelligent 
and  original  discussion  of  the  principles 
of  Mahometanism,  Hindooism,  the  old 
Persian,  Greek,  and  Roman  faiths,  and 
Judaism,  and  of  their  bearings  upon  the 
establishment  of  a  pure  and  uncorrupted 
form  of  Christianity.  There  is  a  remark- 
able liberality  in  the  tone  of  these  lec- 
tures, as  well  as  an  unusual  clearness 
and  elevation  of  thought. 

The  author  first  attempts,  and  with 
much  success,  to  discriminate  the  funda- 
mental idea  of  each  of  the  great  forms  of 
religion,  and  to  account  for  the  chief  fea- 
tures they  have  developed.  He  finds  that 
in  each  of  these  systems,  at  least  in  its 
purest  form,  the  religious  want  of  the  soul 
has  reached  some  glimpse  of  its  real  ob- 
ject. In  opposition,  then,  to  most  religion- 
ists, he  reverences  a  base  of  reality  in  false 
faiths.  In  equally  marked  opposition  to 
a  late  form  of  disbelief,  which  regards  all 
religions  as  the  mere  theological  drapery 
with  which  certain  moral  emotions  clothe 
themselves — he  discovers  that  the  senti- 
ment towards  an  infinite  spiritual  objec- 


114 


Editorial  Notes — Literature. 


[Jannaiy 


tive  is  precisely  the  elemental  base  and 
power  of  all  theology,  and  any  thing;  but 
an  outward  form.  Here,  however,  thouprh 
his  aim  is  just,  ho  does  not  seem  to  be 
quite  master  of  his  topic,  llavinji;  settled 
what  the  false  faiths  are — he  arrays 
them  in  honest  collation  with  Christian- 
ity— thus  discovering  the  true  charac- 
ter of  the  revelation  in  Christ :  and  by 
fixing  the  amount  of  the  element  common 
to  them  and  it,  traces  the  way  by  which 
the  one  hijrh,  pure  faith  may  enter  power- 
fully throujrli  its  fK>ints  of  contact  into 
religions  apiMiruntly  the  most  alien. 

From  this  he  derives  just  judgments 
not  only  of  the  excellence  of  Chris- 
tianity, but  of  the  working  of  those  cha- 
racteristics which  it  shares  with  other 
religions ;  noting  by  their  experience  the 
tendency  to  excess  or  defect,  and  the  same 
elements  of  ours. 

—  So  much  has  been  said  of  the  eccen- 
tricities and  independence  of  Abemethy, 
that  we  are  surprised  no  good  biography 
of  him  has  been  printe<i.  Mr.  Gkorge 
Macilwains  has  trieii  to  supply  the 
dertciency  in  his  Memoirs  of  John 
Abernethy.  which  besides  giving  an  ac- 
count of  his  life,  presents  a  view  of  his 
lectuRvs  and  writings ;  but  his  execution 
of  tlie  last  is  not  the  most  successful.  He 
is,  in  fact,  strangely  dull  for  one  having 
so  lively  a  subject  in  hand.  Still  he  has 
managed  to  prescr\'c  some  of  the  anecdotes 
of  the  famous  Doctor's  rudeness  of  manner, 
a  few  of  which  we  extract.  Abemethy, 
it  seems,  would  sometimes  offend  (not  so 
much  by  the  manner  as  by  the  matter) 
by  saying  what  were  very  salutary-  but 
very  unpleasant  truths,  and  of  which  the 
patient  perhaps  only  felt  the  sting.  There 
was  a  gentleman,  an  old  fox-hunter,  who 
abuserl  Abemethy  roundly ;  but  all  that 
he  could  say  against  him  was:  "Why, 
sir,  almost  the  moment  I  entered  the 
room,  he  said:  *!  perceive  you  drink  a 
good  deal '  (which  was  very  true).  Now," 
added  the  patient,  very  iiaicely.  "  suppose 
1  did,  what  the  devil  was  that  to  him  I  " 

Another  gentlctnan  of  consiilemble 
literary  reputation,  but  who,  as  regarded 
drinking,  was  not  intempLTatc.  had  a  most 
unfortunate  appearance  on  his  no.se.  ex- 
actly like  that  which  accompanies  dram- 
drinking.  This  gentleman  u.'^d  to  bo 
exceedingly  irate  against  Al>crnethy, 
although  all  that  could  be  gathered  from 
him  amountefl  to  nothing  more  than  this, 
that,  when  ho  said  his  stomach  was  out  of 
order,  Abemethy  said:  **  Aye,  I  see  that 
by  your  nose,"  or  some  equivalent  cxpres- 
Bion. 

"Mr.  Abemethy,"  said  a  patient,  "I 


have  something  the  matter,  sir,  with  this 
arm.  There,  oh !  (making  a  particular 
motion  with  the  limb,)  that,  sir,  gives  me 
great  pain."  "  Well,  what  a  fool  you  must 
be  to  do  it  then,"  said  Abemethy. 

Of  the  humorous  stories  with  which  he 
sometimes  relieved  the  painful  details  cKf 
the  history  and  treatment  of  disease,  here 
is  a  characteristic  specimen : — 

**  Few  ohl  pupils  will  forgot  th«  Btory  of  the  Va^ 
who  Iiatl  dislocated  his  Jaw. 

**Tbis  accident  is  a  very  fimple  one,  and  eaefljpat 
right ;  but  having  once  happened,  is  ^>t  to  recur  on 
any  unusual  extension  of  th«>  lower  jaw.  Abemetbj 
useii  to  represent  tliid  as  a  fluent  oocnrrenoe  with 
an  hilarious  M^or;  but  as  it  generally  h^>peDed  «t 
ine.>«.  the  surgeon  went  round  to  him,  and  immedl- 
atoly  put  it  in  a^in.  One  day,  however,  the  M^Jor 
was  dining  about  fourteen  miles  Ihim  the  reglmenk, 
and  in  a  hearty  laugh  out  went  bis  Jaw.  They  aent 
for  the  medical  man,  whom,  Hdd  Abemethy,  we  moat 
caII  the  aijothecary.  Well,  at  tnt  he  thongfat  thet 
tlie  Juw  was  di!<locate<l,  but  bo  began  to  poll  and  to 
show  that  he  know  noUiing  about  the  proper  mode 
of  putting  it  right  again.  On  this  the  M^Jtn*  began  to 
bo  very  cxcitini,  and  vnoiforated  inarticalately  In  a 
Btran^o  manner ;  when,  all  at  once,  the  doctor,  as  if 
he  htul  Just  hit  on  the  naturo  of  the  case,  auggeited 
that  the  Minor's  complaint  was  on  his  brain,  and  that 
he  could  not  bo  in  his  right  mind.  On  hearing  thK 
the  Major  became  furious,  which  was  regarded  as  eon- 
firmatory  of  tho  doctor's  opinion ;  they  accordingly 
seized  him,  confined  him  in  a  strait-walstooat  ind 
put  him  to  btHl,  and  the  doctor  ordered  that  the  barber 
should  be  sent  for  to  shave  tlio  hea<l,  and  a  blister  to 
bo  applied  *  to  the  ]>art  affected' 

''Tho  Major,  fairly  beaten,  ceased  making  resist- 
ancc,  but  made  the  best  signs  his  situation  and  his 
inipenect  articulation  allowed,  for  jien  and  paper. 
Thifs  being  haileil  as  indicative  of  returning  ntio- 
nality,  was  procured ;  and  as  boon  as  he  wassafBdeirttf 
fh;ed  tVom  his  bond^  he  wrote—'  For  God's  sake,  lend 
for  the  surgeon  of  the  regiment'  This  was  aooord- 
iugly  done,  and  the  Jaw  roa<liIy  reduced,  as  it  had 
been  often  before.  *I  hope,'  ad<led  Abemethy,  *you 
will  never  forget  how  to  reduce  a  dislocated  Jaw.*  *> 

— Leigh  Hunt's  Religion  of  the  Heart 
is  not  well  received  by  the  orthodox 
writers  in  England,  because  it  seeks  to 
substitute  for  the  established  liturgy  a 
new  one,  in  which  the  prayers  and  relleo- 
tions  arc  said  to  be  more  sentimental  than 
devout. 

—  Walter  Savage  Landor,  the  Tete- 
ran,  now,  of  Enjijlish  prose  writers,  has 
just  issued  what  he  terms,  The  Last 
Fruit  off  an  Old  TVee,  embracing  many 
of  his  late  political  disquisitions  and  other 
miscellanies.  It  will  be  probably  repub- 
lisheii  in  this  country  by  Ticknor  &  Co. 
of  Boston. 

—  The  second  volume  of  Alison's  ffir- 
tory  of  Europe  is  out.  It  brings  the 
narrative  down  to  the  tune  of  Louis  Na- 
poleon. We  may  have  a  word  to  say  of 
it  when  it  gets  on  this  side  of  the  water. 

— HuFKLAMo's  Art  of  Prolonging  Ljft^ 


1854.] 


EdiUmdl  Notes^Mutk. 


115 


one  of  the  best  essajs  extant  on  the  sub- 
ject of  health, — full  of  sound  sense,  pro- 
TCssional  learning,  and  wv^  obscrTations. — 
has  been  retranslated,  and  published  under 
the  editorship  of  Erasmus  Wilson.  Hufe- 
land  was  not  only  an  excellent  physician. 
but  a  discerning  and  upright  man,  under- 
standing completely  what  ho  undertook 
to  write  about,  and  writing  about  it  with 
simplicity,  directness  and  taste. 

—  Christ  in  History,  by  Robert  Turn- 
bull.  I).  D.  Attempts  to  grasp  and  reduce 
to  a  (iixine  scheme  the  wild  outlines  of  his- 
tory are  characteristic,  and  will  be  yet  more 
80.  of  modem  philosophical  culture.  A 
theory  of  the  whole  story  of  man  has  be- 
come one  of  the  most  legitimate  and  fas- 
cinating aims  of  thought,  and  promises 
(indeed  has  in  part  realized)  rich  results. 
br.  TumbulPs  book  contains  a  Christo- 
logical  Theory  of  Ilistory.  He  llnds  Ohrist 
as  an  actual  and  also  formal  want  in  the 
rehgioos  thinking  and  aspiration  of  the 
old  world. — he  finds  this  want  partially 
radioed,  and  the  gift  broadly  promised  in 
and  through  a  selected  people,  all  the  first 
stage  of  man's  experience,  thus  point- 
ing to,  and  preparing  for  an  incarnation  of 
the  Divine.  He  finds  this  accomplished 
in  the  advent — all  need,  in  the  grandest 
manner,  met  in  Christ.  From  that  |)oint, 
to  which  all  history  had  converged,  it  now 
radiates,  and  the  whole  future  will  be  but 
the  chn)nicle  of  the  gradual  passajro, 
through  all  obstacles,  of  the  spirit  of  the 
revealed  God  into  the  life  of  the  nations. 
This  scheme  is,  of  course,  not  at  all  new, 
nor  is  it  original  in  the  manner  of  its 
treatment — the  somewhat  affected  titles 
and  some  of  the  minor  forms  of  thought 
excepted.  There  is,  too,  a  want  of  single- 
ness of  purpose — the  author  sometimes 
using  his  subject  as  a  thread  to  string  his 
thoughts  and  reading  ui)on  as  to  the  history 
and  proofs  of  religion  in  general.  Still 
the  book  exhibits  much  learning  in  a  very 
interesting  direction, — and  has  much  re- 
spectable thinking.  Indeed,  the  author 
seems  to  have  aimed  at  a  most  liberal  self- 
culture,  and  has  been  willing  to  let  in  on  his 
scheme  all  the  latest  and  highest  thought. 

MUSIC. 
Manager  Maretzek  has  kept  his  pro- 
mise, lie  has  given  us  Le  Prophcte  with 
all  the  strength  of  his  company  and  re- 
sources. Its  production  is  the  great  ojx^r- 
atic  event  of  the  year ;  and  it  can  no  long- 
er be  said  that  our  manager  is  of  tliose 
who  promise  so  superbly,  that  i)crform- 
tnce  would  be  entirely  inadequaU*  to  the 
expectation.  It  would  be  pleasant  to 
string  a  necklace  of  handsome   super- 


latives, and  hang  it  round  the  managerial 
neck  upon  this  occasion.  He  has  deserved 
well  of  the  public  by  his  energy,  and  care, 
and  unremitting  diligence  in  getting  up 
the  Prophet.  It  was  the  last  great  music- 
al triumph  in  Kuropc;  very  nnich  had 
been  said  about  it:  the  fame  of  Viardot 
Garcia,  as  Fith's,  had  crossed  the  sea ;  it 
was  knouTi  that  Roger,  promoted  from 
the  Opera  Comique,  had  succwded  at 
the  Grand  opera,  ui)on  the  production 
of  /*c  Pronhete ;  that  in  fact  he  had 
"  created  "  the  part  of  Jean,  the  Prophet 
King.'  Catharine  Hayes  had  sung  Ah  ! 
mon  Jils ;  and  Jul  Hen  had  played  the 
Coronation  March;  in  fact,  we  could 
all  talk  more  or  less  knowingly  about 
Meyerbeer's  last  great  opera.  Nay^  some 
of  us  had  even  l)een  in  Paris  ujwn  the 
night  it  was  bought  out ;  had  seen  the 
excitement  of  that  gay  metroiwlis,  the 
mounted  guards,  the  hurrying  crowds ; 
and  sitting  comfortably  after  dinner,  at 
the  great  comer  window  of  the  Maison 
Dorie.  had  seen  the  long  line  of  equipages 
rolling  to  the  temple  of  the  Muses. 

It  is  painfully  clear  that  we  are  not  sav- 
ing how  Jjc  Prophete  was  done  at  Niblo^s. 
But  we  have  struck  the  key-note  of  an 
unavoidable  criticism  by  what  we  have 
already  sai.l.  This  ojKTa  was  the  work 
of  many  years  of  a  nervous  care,  and  a 
practical  sagacity,  unequalled  in  a  com- 
poser. Meyerbeer's  fame  in  Paris,  the 
scene  of  the  triumph  o{  Robert  Le  Diahle^ 
and  Les  Jlu'^nenots^  was  colossal.  He  had 
not  produced  any  thing  for  many  years, 
except  an  opt»retta  sung  by  Jenny  Lind, 
in  Vienna.  As  time  i>as.sed,  the  prestige 
of  hia  c^c*  great  operas  constantly  in- 
crea.«;ed.  The  public,  which  is  a  chame- 
leon in  Paris,  by  the  rapidity  of  its 
changes,  could  not  help  adding  their  ima- 
ginations to  their  memorials  and  to  their 
hoiws.  The  success  of  Robert  was  conced- 
ed to  be  the  greatest  ui)on  record.  It  was 
sustained  by/y.'.f  Ilugitenots  ;  and  unav(>id- 
ably,  a  standard  of  expectation  almost  be- 
yond possible  fulfilment  existed  in  the 
Parisian  mind.  Fur  many  months,  the 
signs  of  preparation  were  discernible. 
Then  came  the  revolution,  and  threau?ned 
to  send  the  Muses  after  the  Bourbons. 
But  no  sooner  was  jwace  partly  assured, 
than  the  attention  to  the  opera  recom- 
menced ;  and  linall}'  it  was  produceii  with 
all  the  force  of  the  Grand  ojxira,  artistic, 
scenic,  instrumental,  Terpsichorean;  and 
whatsoever  other  force  there  may  be  in  a 
theatre. 

Jj€  Prophete  was  comjwsed  with  the 
magniticent  resources  of  the  Grand  o|)era 
constantly  in  view :  great  importance,  and 


116 


EdiUmal  Notes — Music. 


[Januaiy 


essential  importance,  was  attached  to 
them.  For,  whether  consciously  or  not, 
Meyerbeer's  operas  do  not  depend  solely 
upon  the  musical  interest  and  develop- 
ment, but  upon  many  accessories  of  the 
libretto,  so  to  speak ;  upon  the  opportunity 
of  great  scenic  display  ;  in  fact,  upon  an 
appeal  to  the  eye  as  well  as  to  the  ear,  in 
a  degree  not  consonant  with  our  idea  of 
pure  opera. 

The  first  and  permanent  impression  of 
Le  Prophite,  at  Niblo's,  was  therefore  in- 
adequacy. It  was  evident  fhat  unusual 
care  had  been  taken,  that  money  had  been 
spent,  scenes  painted,  and  choruses  drill- 
ed. We  have  seen  enough  of  Mr.  Maret- 
zek's  hard  working  in  the  preparation 
of  an  opera  to  infer  how  much  he  must 
have  suffered  and  exercised  during  the  re- 
hearsals of  this  work.  We  felt  this  all 
the  time.  We  saw  that  he  was  doing  his 
best ;  that  the  company,  excepting  Stef- 
fanone,  were  ne\'er  in  better  tune ;  and 
that  if  success  could  be  achieved  by  de- 
serving it,  the  opera  would  remunerate 
the  Manager  both  with  honor  and  profit. 
But  success  cannot  be  achieved  upon  that 
condition.  The  performance  was  only  a 
good  attempt.  It  was  a  faint  reminiscence 
of  the  original  thing  in  Paris.  It  is 
perfectly  true  that  we  had  no  right  to 
expect  a  rival  of  the  Grand  opera  at 
Ni bio's  ;  but  it  is  also  perfectly  true 
that  when  you  know  the  best,  you 
cannot  devote  much  enthusiasm  to  the 
pretty  good.  If  it  is  praise  to  say  that  it 
was  very  good  for  New- York,  or  for  Nib- 
lo's,  or  for  the  capital  at  command,  then 
we  say  all  that,  for  it  is  true.  But  with  a 
stage  not  half  large  enough,  with  an  or- 
chestra ditto,  and  chorus  ditto,  with  a  bal- 
let that  is  no  ballet,  and  scenery  which 
attempts  all  that  it  could  not  perform, 
with  every  thing,  except  the  singing,  taken 
with  great  reservation,  how  can  there  be 
much  praise  of  that,  which,  to  be  perfect, 
requires  stage,  orchestra,  chorus,  ballet 
and  scenery  of  the  finest  kind  ? 

For  instance,  the  fourth  act  is  the  cor- 
onation in  the  Cathedral  of  Munstcr.  The 
coronation  march  peals  through  the  open- 
ing of  the  act,  while  the  procession  enters 
and  occupies  the  edifice.  This  effect  must 
be  complete  or  it  is  ludicrous.  Nothing  is 
so  difficult  as  a  decent  procession  or  crowd 
upon  the  stage.  Now  at  Niblo's  the  low 
columns  suggest  a  vault,  there  is  no  sense 
of  loftiness ;  and  the  space  is  entirely  de- 
stroyed by  the  rising  series  of  railings 
directly  across  the  Cathedral,  from  column 
to  column,  so  that  there  is  no  more  of  the 
plane  of  the  stage  exposed,  and  suitable 
for  the  proper  action,  than  when  the  tent 


curtains  are  drawn  in  the  previous  act 
We  have  all  an  idea  of  a  cathedral,  whe- 
ther we  have  seen  one  or  not,  and  part  of 
that  idea  is  the  conviction  that  the  whole 
fioor  of  such  a  building  is  not  occupied  by 
transverse  railings  or  partitions  of  some 
kind.  And  we  know  farther  when  pro- 
cessions enter  such  edifices  they  do  not 
countermarch  across  what  is  intended  to 
represent  the  great  nave.  "  They  manage 
these  things  better  in  France."  An 
immense  stage-area;  a  high  springing 
series  of  columns ;  a  thronging  procession 
enters  (and  entered  when  we  saw  it)  at 
the  front  and  moved  back  into  the 
church ;  the  whole  resulting  in  an  impres- 
sion of  a  vast  cathedral  crowded  with  a 
glittering  multitude, — these  were  the 
peculiarities  of  this  act  there.  What  shall 
we  say  of  our  procession  ?  When  Shake- 
speare, says,  "alarum,  enter  an  army,"  the 
action  and  interest  of  the  play  depend 
very  little  upon  the  fact,  and  three  men  in 
buckram  answer  the  purpose  of  suggestion. 
But  Meyerbeer's  alarum  and  army- is  a 
distinct  part  of  the  play.  It  is  an  essential 
effect ;  and  is  fairly  to  be  judged  as  such. 
The  same  objection  lies  against  this  set, 
which  is  true  of  the  whole ; — it  was  inad- 
equate. We  do  not  use  a  harsher  word, 
because  the  evidence  of  good  intention 
was  so  plain.  And  yet  to  say  that  one  of 
Meyerbeer's  operas  was  inadequately 
done,  is  to  go  near  condemning  it 

Or  consider  the  skating  ballet  with  the 
beautiful  music ;  and  the  dancing  in  the 
last  act.  Or  had  we  better  not  consider 
it  but  pass  on  7 

It  is  pleasant  to  turn  to  the  singmg; 
Salvi  was  never  so  resolutely  good.  To 
witness  his  energy,  his  care,  his  conscience, 
tended  much  to  weaken  our  remembrance 
of  his  infamous  murder  of  Do7i  Ottavio 
upon  the  same  boards.  He  conceives  his 
character  admirably,  and  in  his  great 
scene,  in  the  fourth  act,  where  he  makes 
his  mother  disown  him.  ho  was  at  the 
height  of  his  power.  So  when  he  sings 
his  romanza  in  the  second  act  there  was 
a  purity,  pathos,  and  breadth  in  his  voice 
and  style  which  justly  charmed  the  audi- 
ence, and  drew  down  as  hearty  applause 
as  we  have  ever  heard  in  the  theatre. 
The  exquisite  morceau  of  the  last  act,  the 
half-frenzied  lyric,  was  rendered  with  a 
grace  and  melody  that  assured  us  of  the 
artist's  great  power.  There  is  a  strain  in 
the  air  which  recalls  the  conclusion  of  La 
ci  darem  from  Don  Giovanni.  Altogether, 
we  must  consider  Salvi's  Jean  as  his 
finest  part.  Our  only  quarrel  would  be 
with  his  co.slunic,  which  is  unnecessarily 
unhandsome  when  he  is  the  inn-kccper. 


Editorial  NoUs-^Fine  Art$. 


11» 


hree  Anabaptists,  Marini,  Rok!, 
tti,  were  admirable.  Their  tall 
figures  gliding  in,  always  at  the 
Mnent,  black  messengers  of  fate, 
>hetic  of  tragedy,  are.  of  them- 
•M  of  those  Rombi*e  effects  which 
he  meloflramatic  imagination  of 
loscr.  It  was  well  suggested  in 
NCfitf,  that  there  is  sometliing  akin 
ree  witches  in  Macbeth,  in  these 
imritions.  They  moved  and  sang 
at  unanimity  ;  and  although  there 
y  taking  nmsic  attached  to  their 
y  are  closely  listened  to  and  ap- 

ladies  we  would  rather  not  speak, 
^  therefore,  delayed  so  long,  put- 
Q  in  the  rear  of  the  gentlemen. 
b  is,  that  the  musical  rdle  o{  Fides 
iiich  of  the  opera,  in  the  very 
Tt  of  StefTanone's  voice.  It  sounds 
id  uncertain,  and  what  is  much 
t  was  shockingly  out  of  tune, 
r  we  heard  her  in  the  opera. 
Dg  in  the  great  scene  is  very  fine, 
I  the  situation  is  much  too  pro- 

Bertucca  as  Bertha  was  only 
w  This  lady  is  rarely  forgetful 
»f  herself,  and  yet  we  will  ascribe 
;unl  nervousness  and  sympathy 

husband's  effort,  the  evident  un- 
•  and  inadequacy  of  her  jKirfonn- 

et  she,  too,  did  well  in  the  duet 
ruses  were  very  good  and  exe- 
id.  At  one  point  we  .feared  the 
tation  must  pause,  they  were  so 
astray.      Each  one  was  singing 

tune  in  his  ovn\  key.  But  the 
chorus  was  done  firmly  and  with 

the  music  itself,  we  feel  as  we  al- 
1  about  Meyerbeer.  It  is  learned 
orate,  and  quaint,  and  grave,  and 
nd  imposing,  but  it  is  destitute 
ly  and  passion.  The  Coronation 
I  glittering  and  martial.     Jean^a 

is  a  tender  strain.  Ah  !  monjils  ! 
lly  artificial,  and  the  grand  aria 
ndividual.  It  is  such  music  as 
IS  talent,  unwearied  industry,  and 
I  science  can  produce.  But 
Sand  is  the  only  person  we  have 
»wn  to  pnifess  great  enthusiasm 
In  her  LeUres  iPun  Voyageur^ 
ks  rapturously  of  the  music  of 
which  had  then  rt»ccntly  ap|>eared. 
»rge  Sand\s  world  is  Paris,  and 
idards  are  Parisian.  Where  are 
iting  melodies ;  where  are  the 
id  subtle  harmonies  afterward 
remembered  like  the  palace's  we 
le  sunset ;  where  is  that  perma- 
»  of  an  addition  to  life  and  human 


experience  after  the  curtain  falls  upon  the 
scenery  and  the  dancing  girls, — Where? 

The  first  Philharmonic  Concert  of  the 
season  took  place  in  the  Metn)politan  Hall. 
It  was,  as  usual,  a  great  success.  This  or- 
chestra is  now  so  well  trained  to  the  per- 
formance of  the  best  music,  that  \%'e  could 
\insh  their  concerts  were  more  frequent  and 
at  lower  rates.  JuUien  has  demonstrated 
that  the  "  many  headed  "  have  ears  for  Men- 
delssohn and  Beethoven,  as  well  as  for  the 
Prima  DonnorKsi^  Yankee  Doodle.  The 
Philharmonic  in  its  high  prices  rather  per- 
petuates the  tradition  of  the  London  Phil- 
harmomc,  a  high  rate  and  an  exclusive  au- 
dience. Those  are  the  Scylla  and  Charyb- 
dis  upon  which  most  of  our  operatic  en- 
terorises  have  failed. 

In  the  foreign  musical  gos.sip,  there  is 
really  nothing  to  notice  but  the  new 
French  singer.  Mademoiselle  Cabal,  of 
whom  Hector  Berlioz  speaks  well.  It  is 
certainly  time  for  a  new  singer ;  but  every 
fresh  one  is  hailed  in  Paris  with  such 
stunning  thunders  of  applause,  that,  at 
this  distance,  wo  cannot  hear  the  voice  it- 
self, and  when  the  applause  has  subsided, 
so,  also,  we  sadly  discover,  has  the  voice. 
The  London  papers  wonder,  with  a  sneer, 
that  the  advertisement  for  the  leasing  of 
the  New- York  Acadcmpr  of  Music,  should 
appear  there,  and  inquire  sullenly,  '*  Are 
there  no  Yankees  who  can  manage  it  ?  " 
Sofl,  gentle  sirs !  There  are  plenty ;  but 
it  docs  not  seem  unwise  when  you  have 
built  a  house  for  a  particular  purpose,  to 
search  the  world  for  the  very  best  person 
to  take  care  of  it  It  is  our  way.  If  a 
Frenchman,  or  German,  or  Italian,  or  even 
an  Englishman,  can  do  better  by  the  in- 
terests of  music  in  this  country,  than  a 
native,  let  him  manage  the  new  opera- 
hou.sc.  If  you  prefer  to  close  your  opera- 
houses  under  the  auspices  of  bold  Britons, 
rather  than  keep  them  going  under  the  di- 
rection of  foreigners,  do  it  by  all  means. 
But  why,  as  usual,  expect  us  to  suffer  be- 
cause you  arc  sore  ? 

FINE  ABT& 
PowelVs  Painting  of  De  Soto,  We 
have  received  the  following  communica- 
tion from  Mr.  Powell  in  reference  to  his 
•'  great  national  painting,"  which  we  very 
cheerfully  publish,  although  it  is  giving 
rather  more  of  our  space  to  the  subject 
than  we  can  well  afford,  or  we  think  it  of 
sufficient  importance  to  demand ;  but  Mr. 
Powell  thinks  we  have  not  done  him  justice 
in  our  remarks  on  his  painting,  and  we  are 
quite  willing  that  the  public  who  have  not 
seen  his  picture,  and  who  never  may,  should 
hear  what  he  has  to  urge  in  its  defence. 


118 


Editorial  Note» — Fine  Arts. 


The  national  painting  of  Mr.  Powell  Is  from  a  rab- 
ject  selected  by  a  committee  of  Congreiw.  Drawings 
of  varlooB  subjects  were  submitted,  and  the  commit- 
tee com|Mi.s(Ml  of  Mr.  Pierce  of  Maryland,  John  Y. 
Ma:ion  an<l  •lufferson  Davis  of  tlie  Senate,  and  John 
Quincy  Adams  Mr.  Prcalon,  of  Virginia,  and  T. 
Butler  King  on  the  part  of  tlie  Ilonse  of  Uopreiwnta- 
tlvoa:  tlu'y  nnaniniously  agreed  tbat  the  subject 
should  be  the  I)isc<»very  of  the  Miwiwippi  by  De  Soto. 
Thecomini»$ion  was  y:iven  to  Mr.  Powell  by  an  slnu^t 
unaidmous  vote  of  Con|a'c:»— unanimoui«ly,  by  the 
Sonate,  and  11>S  out  of  212  votes  in  the  House.  IIo  is 
not  a  Wf>>torn  man,  although  cimsidered  a  western 
arti5t  from  the  fnct  that  ho  received  his  first  encour- 
ag'ement  from  the  citizens  of  Cincinnati  He  was 
bom  ill  Ncw-Yorls  and  has  resided  here  since  1$40. 
He  8tu<lied  with  Henry  Inman,  and  was  bis  favorite 
pupil.  In  \Mi  he  went  to  Italy,  and  studied  under 
the  best  masters  fur  three  years,  when  he  returned  to 
New- York,  bringing  with  him  several  oomiH>»ition 
picture^  among  which  were  **Salvator  Rosa  among 
the  Brltrnnds."  and  "Ck)lumbus  before  tlie  Council  at 
Salamanca*'— the  latter  painting  was  very  mucti  ad- 
mired, so  much  so,  that  among  others,  Washington 
Irving  having  cxauiined  it  carefully,  wrote  a  letter  to 
the  library  committee  of  Congress,  gre.-itly  prrilsiiig  its 
artistic  merits.  The  exhibition  of  this  picture  in  the 
library  of  the  Cuititol,  during  tlio  ncs^(ion  of  Coiigre.^ 
ft>r  1S4S-49,  secured  the  coramiraion  for  the  present 
painting: 

The  sum  of  forty  thousand  dollars  was  originally 
appropriated  by  Congress  for  the  purixwe  of  pniour- 
ing  fouriiistorical  pictures  painted  by  native  Ameri- 
can artis^tfs  to  fill  the  four  vacant  panels  of  the 
Rot  u  n<lo  of  the  Capitol  Chapman,  Wei  r,  Vamlerly  n , 
and  Inman  received  these  commissions— Mr.  Inman 
died  before  com[>leting  his  subject  on  canvas:  he 
had  received  the  sum  of  six  thousand  dollars.  In  the 
contract  witli  Mr.  Powell,  the  sum  of  six  tI)ou^and 
dollars  was  awanlcd  in  addition  to  the  uncxiwnded 
portion  of  ttie  former  api>ropriation  <»f  ten  thousand 
dollars.  The  artbt  has  already  received  eight  thou- 
sand dollars,  which  sum  he  has  expended  in  produ- 
cing the  work  Just  finished  The  re.Hidue  is  to  be  i>aid 
on  the  delivering  of  the  work.  Mr.  Huntington,  who 
was  a  pupil  of  Professor  Morse,  offered  to  complete 
the  i>icturc>  of  Boone's  Emigration  to  Kentucky,  begun 
by  Inman,  for  the  sum  of  ftMir  thousand  dollars. 

In  roganl  to  the  historical  accuracy  of  the  painting 
by  Mr.  Powell  we  give  ipiotations  fh)m  Bancroft's 
UnltCfl  States.  Irving'*  Conquest  of  Florida,  The 
Portuguese  Relation  (publislied  In  1557),  The  Account 
of  Luis  Ilornaiidex  du  Biwlma  whowas  present  in  the 
expedition  of  De  Soto  (published  in  1M4),  and  Tlic 
History  by  Garcilli'«o  de  La  Vega. 

When  Do  Soto  returned  to  Siwiin  tmm  Pern,  and 
the  design  wiu<  published  that  an  e\i»edition  of  ex- 
ploration to  Florida  was  dellnltely  li\<Ml  uimmi,  theu 
the  m«K»t  extravagant  iilcus  were .  entertained  To 
use  the  Inngnogo  of  Mr.  Bancroft:  "No  s«Kiner  was 
the  di*sign  of  a  new  exi-edltion  published  in  Spain 
than  the  wiMest  hoiH>s  were  indulged  How  brillinnt 
nm>t  be  the  prosiK'Ct  since  even  the  ctmqiien»r  of 
IVru  was  willing  to  ha/anl  his  fortunes  and  tho 
groutness  of  his  name!  Adventurers  asscmbUMl  as 
voUinlecns  many  of  them  of  noble  birth  ami  g(»od 
e:%tutc>.  Houses  an  I  vineyards,  laiuls  for  tillage  and 
Hiws  of  olive  trees  in  the  Ajnrralfe  «»f  Seville,  were 
Si>Ul,  ns  in  the  times  of  tho  CriiHadvs.  to  obtain  tho 
menus  of  iiillilary  equipment  The  [M>rt  of  San  Lncar 
of  Barameda  was  cn»w«liMl  with  tlm-o  who  hastiwunl 
to  solicit  permlssiim  to  share  in  the  eiitorprlse.  Even 
■uldicrs  of  Portugal  desireil  to  be  enrolled  for  tlic 
•errloa.    A  muster  was  held    Tbo  Portugueeo  ap- 


peared in  tho  glittering  array  of  bnmtsboil  I 
tlie  Castiliana  brilliant  with  boiMM  were  Ti 
with  bilk  u|M>n  silk.** 

Mr.  Irving,  in  Ids  OKiqnost  of  Fk>rlf] 
same  8ulij(?ct,  rcmark.s,  **  As  De  Sot<»  was  c 
the  gnllery  of  his  house  at  Seville,  bo  saw  : 
ban<l  of  cavaliers  enter  the  court-yanl,  sni 
to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  to  receive  them.  1 
Portngue-sj  hidal^is  led  by  Antlrcs  des  V« 
Swcral  of  them  had  served  In  the  wars 
M'lors  on  the  African  frontiers,  and  they  ha 
voliiiitei?r  their  servlcefl.  De  Soto  Joyftillj 
their  offer.  A  muster  being  called  of  all  1 
tlio  SiMinianls  ap|>eared  in  .«'plendid  and  aho 
with  silken  doublets  and  cassocks  pinke<l 
b»t»idere«l  The  Portuguese,  on  tho  cootr 
In  R«)ldirr-likc  style  in  complete  armor. 

They  arrived  an  the  coast  of  Florida  si 
barked  in  the  year  15.*i9.  After  many  inontl 
dering  they  rearhed  the  Mavllla— no4r  Mob 
they  hnil  a  d{'*afttrous  battle  with  the  Indli 
fire  that  oecumsl  at  the  time,  destn)yed  **tl 
collections  De  Soto  had  mmle.''  In  March, 
previous  to  the  discovery  of  tlie  Misslssipiil 
dem.indcd  of  the  chief  of  the  Chickasawa  twi 
Indians  to  carry  tho  bnggige  of  tho  compai 
same  time  taking  iwisscssion  of  their  villi 
deman<l  was  refused,  and  in  the  darkness  oi 
night  tlicy  were  assaulted  by  the  infUristc 
who  set  fire  to  tho  houses.  The  Sitanlanlsn 
completely  by  surprise.  De  Soto,  **  who  sli 
in  his  doublet  and  hose  that  he  might  be  pr 
such  emergencies,  claspe<l  on  his  casque,  i 
Burcoat  of  quilted  cotton  three  flngem  In  thfe 
best  defence  against  the  arrows  of  the  ssi 
seizing  buckler  and  lance,  mounte<1  his  1 
charged  fearlessly  into  tho  midst  of  the  en* 
seems  to  bo  a  iniHaiqindienshm  that  De  Set 
fultow^ers  lost  all  their  clothing  by  this  fire, 
quotations  we  have  given.  Some  of  them, 
did  lose  their  wearing  apparel,  lives  wcpb 
horses  and  swine  consumed.  The  skins  of 
mab  were  aftorwanls  use<l  by  those  who 
their  clothing;  and  Irving,  in  bis  **  Con 
Florida,**  thus  si>eaks  of  the  manner  in  t 
*'wild  ivy"  hapiwned  to  be  use<l  "^Besii 
unceasingly  lmnis«<5d  by  the  enemy,  the} 
biltorly  from  the  cold,  which  was  rlgi»runs  I 
treme,  i*s|»ecinlly  to  men  who  hail  to  jmas  ev 
under  anns  with  scarce  any  cli»thing.  Ii 
tremity,  however,  they  were  ndievcd  by  the 
of  one  of  the  common  stdiliiTs;  he  succ 
making  a  iii.itting,  fi>ur  iliigen  in  thickne««, 
kind  of  gniss  or  drlod  ivy.  one  half  of  which 
mattre»H  and  the  other  half  was  turned  ' 
blanket" 

In  about  ton  days  after  the  fire  at  Cliienza 
dirtcovcretl  the  Ml'^isj'ippi  River.  Here 
qtiote  the  languagt*  of  Mr.  Bancroft  **De 
tlic  tlrat  of  Kiiroiionns  to  behold  tho  ma;nifl< 
wliich  rolioil  its  linniense  maw  of  waters  thi 
splendid  veaotntlon  of  a  wide  alluvial  soil  ' 
of  three  wnturies  h.^s  not  changed  the  clia 
tho  stre.im;  it  w.os  thon  described  as  umm 
udle  bniiid.  tlowing  with  a  strong  current,  a' 
weight  of  it.s  wators  forcing  a  channel  of  gn 
Tlio  water  was  always  mudly,  trees  and  tin 
continually  fl«>ating  down  the  stream.  Tlio 
tho  stranjrors  .nwakened  curiosity  and  fbar. 
tude  «if  poojile  fh»m  the  western  bank  <»f  ' 
painted  and  jrsiyly  ilecorattsl  with  great  p 
whUe  feathers,  tlie  warriors  standing  in  i 
b«>ws  and  arrows  in  tliclr  hamla,  the  chl<^ 
under  awnings  as  msgnlflocnt  as  their  irt) 


1854.] 


Editorial  Notes— Fine  Arts. 


119 


factnren  eoulti  weave,  came  rowing  drwn  the  etroaip 
tr. !» f}*«t  of  two  hnndnyl  cum-vt.  mviiumi:  to  the  ad- 
Aittniu;  dpanbrds  Mike  «  (ku  arniv  im  jj^nlleyfl:*  they 
r>mni(ht  gifts  of  fiwh  ami  hiftvw  tniwlo  of  the  ponlm- 
ni'fi.  At  fint  they  suowud  a  Jesire  to  offer  resiet- 
atfK.-«s,  hut  '^Bfm.  becoming  oonscioos  of  their  relative 
vcj^ne'Vs  L^t'J  cvaiied  to  defy  an  enemy  they  could 
not  urerciMne,  and  suffered  ii^ury  without  attempting 
cipcn  retaliation." 

From  thl<«  quotation  It  is  not  to  be  inferred  that  De 
Soto  and  hi*  fDlUiwera  were  in  a  forlorn  condition. 
Tliej'  iMW  Ktained  sufficient  martiiU  array  to  intimi- 
dafto  tlie  hostile  savages  by  whom  tliey  were  sur- 
loandod.  They  bnilt  boats  birge  enough  to  convey 
seventy  or  elizhty  men  and  five  horses  in  each, 
aeru»«  the  river,  which  was  dosjribed  by  Blcduia  as 
being  a  league  in  t^idth.  Mr.  Irving  tlius  Bpe»k»  <<  a 
nrligioa^  ceremony  on  the  baiilcs  of  the  MisslMlpiiL 
It  seems  that  the  cacique  of  the  Indian  tribe,  accum- 
paiUed  by  his  princliwl  subjects,  cauio  into  the  pre- 
leiioe  of  De  Soto,  and  said,  ^  As  you  are  suiK^rior  to  ns 
in  iirowcsss,  and  snrpa-^s  us  in  arms  wo  likewise  be- 
bdieve  that  your  God  is  better  than  our  gotl  These 
yoQ  behold  before  you  are  the  chief  warriors  of  my 
duiiilniun^  Wc  snpi>Iicate  you  to  pray  to  your  God 
to  send  u^  rain,  for  our  flekb  are  piirche<i  for  i:>' 
want  of  water.**  De  Soto  replied,  that  he  would  pray 
to  tlie  God  of  the  universe  to  grant  thcii  request, 
humeiliately  he  ordered  his  chief  carix:ntoi,  ^amed 
FniicidO(\  to  fell  a  pine  tree,  and  construct  it  into  a 
erase.  **  Tliey  Ibmied  of  it  a  perfect  cross,  and  erected 
it  ua  a  high  hill  on  the  bank  of  the  river.  The  cacique 
»-alked  beeide  the  governor,  and  uuiny  of  the  warriors 
mingled  wiih  tlie  Spaniards.  Before  tliem  went  a 
dioir  of  prieato  and  fdars  chanting  the  litany,  wliilst 
the  soldiers  rcnponded."  Tlicy  formed  a  procession, 
aud  asi  lli<y  p:isseil  thoy  knelt  down  U'fijro  It  wl)Ilst 
prayers  were  hcin^  offered  up.  It  was  otimatc^i  that 
ttom  fifteen  to  twenty  thousand  Indians  witnes.<ed 
the  eoene.  The  equipment  of  the  Spaniards  must 
liave  bf-on  almost  perfect  to  inspire  awe  to  so  formi- 
dable an  army  of  hoelile  savagea, 

Mr.  Poweli  In  Ills  De  Sous  has  repreftentc<l  the 
Indians  <tffering  their  gifts  of  com,  flsh,  and  game, 
while  in  tlie  right-haad  corner  of  tlie  painting  is  the 
erection  of  the  cruM  as  on  incident  connected  with 
the  evenL  De  Soto  himself  rides  a  magnificent  hor»o 
—a  puTtrait  of  the  l>attle  lionre  of  Abd-cl-Ka<ler. 
The  artist  was  p<-nnitte<l  access  to  the  Imiierial  stables 
ml  Sl  Cloail,  by  LaiuI*  Naiioleon,  and  painted  It  from 
life.  All  Uk*  principal  Agures  in  the  picture  were 
fwinted  fk-om  living  models,  and  the  costumes,  anns, 
Ac  were  copied  from  tliuee  used  in  the  middle  of 
die  »ixU-enth  century  by  the  Spanianli*. 

In  regard  to  the  flue  hor!»es,  represented  in  the 
picture,  ttie  artbt  was  compelIe<l  to  use  the  best 
uio(K>l«  by  the  hlsu>ric.al  account  of  them  given  in 
•■  Iri-lng'a  Omquest  of  Floriila,'*  as  will  be  i<een  by 
Che  ftdlowing  incident  On  tlie  arrival  of  Dc  Soto  at 
Cuba,  on  his  way  to  Florida,  **he  found  a  beautiful 
borae,  richly  caparbouod,  waiting  for  him,  and  likewise 
Amnle  for  Donna  Isabella,whlch  were  furnished  by  a 
gentleman  of  the  town  "*  (Santiago).  He  was  e^-ortcd 
to  his  lodgings  by  the  burghers  on  horses  and  on 
fbot,  and  all  his  officers  and  men  were  h(M«pltably 
entertained  by  them,  some  being  quartered  in  tlie 
town  and  others  in  their  comitry  houses.  For  several 
days  It  was  one  continued  featlval;  at  night  there  were 
balls  and  Inaflqueratle^  by  day  tilting  m:itcIieH.  bull 
BghtSt  conteets  of  skill  in  horsemanshiii,  running  at 
the  Ting,  and  other  amusements  of  ii  chivaln>us  nature. 
The  young  cavaliers  of  the  camp  vied  with  eat^h  other 
and  with  the  youth  of  tlie  city  tn  the  gallantry  of  thebr 
eqalpment^  the  elegance  and  novelty  of  their  devices, 


and  the  wit  and  mgennity  of  their  mottoeSb  What 
gave  [K^euliar  8pi.)iidor  to  these  entertainments  was 
the  beanty,  n\An\  and  excellence  of  tlie  horsea. 
The  great  dnmnri'l  for  these  noble  animals  for  the 
conquests  of  Mexico  and  Peru,  and  other  parta.  ren- 
dered the  raising  of  them  one  of  the  most  profitable 
sources  of  spccuhition  in  the  isLiuda  The  Island  of 
Cuba  was  naturally  favorable  to  them,  and  ns  great 
care  and  attention  had  been  given  to  mnltiply  and 
improve  the  breed,  there  was  at  this  time  an  uniTom- 
mou  number,  .ind  of  remarkably  fine  qualities.  Many 
individuals  haa  from  twenty  to  thirty  horses  in  tlieir 
stables,  and  btrme  of  the  rich  had  twice  that  nuuiber 
on  their  esteu>a 

The  cavr..*'r'  of  the  army  had  Bparod  no  expense  in 
fhrnlshiiip  'liemsolvcs  with  the  most  ^uiMrb  and  gene- 
rous stee'1'4  tor  tlieir  Intende^l  •!Xi»e<litlon.  Many  in- 
dividuals ^>«i«M>jtm.Mi  throe  or  four,  c.iparisonod  in  the 
most  fft^\f  manner,  and  tlie  aovernur  aided  lilM^rally 
with  .•!«>  I  urife  such  as  had  not  the  means  of  equlppiog 
the'i-.<*'VOM  In  suitable  »>tylek  Thus  freshly  uri.l  inag- 
nl.v^-.tly  mounted  and  arraytnl  in  tlieir  new  drc.>i»es 
i*.<'  r;urni!4l)ed  annor.  the  cavaliers  ninde  a  brilliant 
tisplay,  and  carried  off  many  of  Uip  prizes  of  lorold  imd 
Silver,  and  silks,  and  brocftdes,  which  were  a.yud;^^ 
to  those  who  dIatUiKuislied  Uieinsolvee  in  tho>u  chiv- 
alrous games. 

In  these,  no  one  carri*^  off  the  prize  more  fVequontly 
than  Nufto  de Tolmr,  tlie  lleutenant-gonemL  lie  waa. 
as  has  been  said,  a  cavalier  of  high  and  generous 
qualities,  who  had  gained  laurels  iu  the  conquest  of 
Peru.  He  appeared  on  these  oocaAions  In  sumptuous 
array,  mounted  on  a  superb  horse  of  Mlver  gray,  dap- 
pled, and  was  always  noted  for  the  grai-efuln»'>»  of  hia 
carriage,  his  noble  demeanor,  ami  his  admliatile  ad- 
dress in  his  management  of  lance  and  (•tee<l. 

At  this  time  there  was  on  a  visit  to  the  governor  In 
tile  city  of  Santiago  a  cavalier  upwards  of  fifty  years 
of  age,  named  Vosco  Porcalo  de  Vegueora.  lie  was 
of  a  noble  fnmlly  and  of  a  brave  and  galliard  disposi- 
tion, having  seen  much  hard  fighting  in  the  Indies, 
in  Spain  and  Italy,  and  distinguished  himself  on  vari- 
ous wcjislons.  He  now  resided  in  the  town  of  Trini- 
dad In  Cuba,  living  opulently  and  luxuriously  upon 
the  wealth  he  had  gained  in  the  wars,  honored  for  hia 
exploit's  loved  for  his  social  qualities,  and  extoUed  for 
his  hearty  hospitality. 

This  magnificent  cavalier  had  como  to  Santiago 
with  a  poinjious  retinue,  to  pay  his  court  to  the  gove> 
nor,  and  wiiiies.s  the  festivities  and  rejoicings.  Ho 
passed  ftt)mc  days  in  the  city,  and  when  he  beheld  the 
array  of  gallant  cavaliers  and  hardy  soldiers  assembled 
for  the  enterprise,  the  splendiir  of  tlioir  equipments, 
and  the  martial  style  in  which  they  acquitted  them- 
selves in  public;  his  mllltar/  spirit  again  to<ik  fire, 
and  fiirgettlng  hb  years,  his  |x»st  t«)lls  aud  troubles, 
and  his  present  ease  and  opulence,  he  volunteered  his 
services  to  De  Soto  to  follow  him  in  his  anticipated 
career  rif  concpicst  He  was  magnificent  in  all  his 
apiK.Intnienta— camp,  equipage,  armor,  and  equip- 
ments: having  caught  the  gay  and  bniggjirt  spirit  of 
his  youllifiil  companions  In  arms.  He  carrle<l  with 
him  a  great  train  of  Spanish.  Indian,  and  Necro  ser- 
vantK  and  a  stud  of  thlrty-sIx  h<irs«>9  for  his  <»wn  nse, 
while  with  the  open-hamled  liberality,  for  which  ho 
wa*k  notcl,  he  gave  upwards  of  fifty  horses  as  presents 
to  various  cavaliers  of  the  army."* 

From  these  quotations  we  are  led  to  .l>ellcve  that 
the  followers  of  Do  Soto  were  the  flower  of  Spanish 
chivalry. 

The  p.iintlnR  of  Mr.  Powell  Is  In  strict  keeping  viith 
the  spirit  of  that  age.  In  reganl  to  the  anatomy  of 
the  figures,  Kobin  of  Paris,  and  other  distinguished 
anatomlata,  have  prononnoed  the  anatomy  of  hia 


190 


Bdilf/nal  N'tUt—FiM  ArU. 


I 


Mr.  l'ow*:l\  i*.  »K/t  <|«jit^  tftTTi^-X  in  all 

ltu*'it*'.  v.*",  fj'/l  ;fiv«:n  t//  h.rri  wi'h  f^iijtc 
fcu'li  iifj;iiiiffitt/  k.\  In:  htkVr-. :  ih';  f'-'/I'l- 
Ij'^h  tfi>.ir<i<-i.iii/  Ui«  |jhf»ry  ('omrnkW:  to 
f/niirttrl  wait  liif/j  I//  f/iiirit  b  pMufi;  for 
It**'  \u/'»fit  f/arji'l  of  th'j  Hoturi'lo,  wai 
U'I'C'l  oil  r1i<; /rivil  and  'liplomati':  appr>' 
|/M:iljoh  liiii  oji  Ui':  lant  day  butoii'rof  the 
twenty  iiiiith  ('on^rrchH,  uiifl  \fns.-ftl  aini'l 
lh<;  tniMjijIf  anrj  ^rfxifusioii  which  always 
aft<'i»d  ihi'  I'lo  <;  of  (*(;njfn!HS.  by  a  vok*  of 
H'.i  f.o  i/^.  urcordiii^  t<i  th<j  <''>fi;^:ssioiial 
<j|oUf,  aii'l  not,  HH  Mr.  TowcII  states,  hy 
tt  voUi  of  h/H  out  of  212,  On-at  ojifKAsitioii 
wan  niiifli*  Ut  it,  and  it  <v>iild  hardly  have 
hi-mi  pa  ^^•l•d  nndi-r  othor  nniuinsUiiKTS. 
•liid|/<*  ritinphf'll  of  thJH  <!iiy,  and  Mr.  In- 
frrriMfll  of  IMiilnflidpJiia,  jiroposiMl  an  open 
r^)iii|xtlili()n  ttnit  nhould  j^ivc  all  tlu*  artists 
in  I  hit  country  an  opixirtunity  to  ronipctc 
for  Iht'  work,  hy  MMidin^  in  <tart<)ons  of 
fJi'Mi^ni:!,  n'oin  whidi  a  ronunittcr  Khould 
rh'NiKo  I  ho  one  that  was  lM>st  adaptixl  to 
tlio  purjMwr.  Thin  niolhod,  whirh  would 
havr  hiM'ji  hoiiorahlo  to  (<on);n'ss,honc'flrial 
to  thr  nation,  and  juNt  touur  nativo  artists, 
wuH,  in  tho  rxcitnnont  of  tho  nionu-nt, 
tliNn'^anlod,  and  tho  work  waM  hitrustod 
lo  tho  di.M'n^tion  tif  Mr.  Powoll,  who,  hy 
(h(t  toruis  of  tho  n^Nolution,  had  full  ]H)wor 
to  rhoo.so  his  (»wn  HuljcH't.  Wo  do  not 
wondor  at  his  nttoniptin};  to  throw  the 
hiaino  of  ho  Soto  on  tho  lahmry  Tom- 
inittro  ;  if  thoy  ohoso  tho  8uhjivt,  so  muoh 
tho  worso  tiirthoni;  hut  thon  the  artist 
hiuisolf  .should  ha\o  pnUostod  against  it, 
1^  \w\\\^  uoithor  suitahlo  in  itsv'lf,  nor 
iMlaptod  to  his  oai^oitios.  Tho  work  itM.4f 
in  iMTtHif  that  ho  wnM  imo()ual  to  it ;  and 
hU  his(oru*al  sunnuarv  ivntirms  our  ol>- 
jivti\»ns  to  his  mannor  of  tn^atiuj::  tlio 
huhjtvt.  NYo  havo  foxmd  no  n^asou  lo 
vhauk^v  tho  opinion  which  wo  originally 
ft»rimHl  \>f  (ho  pio(urt\  and  tho  divisions 
of  all  uaolhj^vnt  jHvplo  who  haw  siuvv 
luvu  \\  i\\\\\  jusiitios  what  wo  !;;ud  of  it. 
Thvvio  who  \\ould  torm  a  ivrrvvt  op;nvu 
*»(otUo  hi'*tori\*4l  (uloht\  of  Mr.  IVw.irs 
ix'piVNOUUlivUi  of  tho  AviH*  which  ho  hiS 
a(toini>t^Nt  10  ds*'iiu*Atv\  shvHild  read  r!u\>- 
iK^JX*  iv\u\<*>  h!>tv*r\  of  tho  Ooiu;Uk\<c  of 
WrKiA.  ami  thoy  w:U  Iv  ablo  lo  ju•-:J^'  of 
Oio  jyvo.ib;li;\  of  suoh  a  )>a^'aQt  a<  iV.a: 
r\Y*v«i«.*iiivx;  l\\  Mr.  IVwvU.  hiv.v.^  Kva 
«^vu  Oil  tho  Ndutis  ox  tho  M:j<si^('^*i  wh^.  ;i 


De  f^^Uj  founi  himscBf  tbere  i 
ytAn'  wanfkrinz  through  the  Sm 
.■warrip^  of  the  wiI<ienM3B&,  Act 
his  own  « ho  wins  he  h&s  mtpodoc 
dd«-nt  into  hi?  picttsre.  the  nisi] 
crii'.'ifix  and  bles.-dng  it.  which 
fy:*:nr  UhiW  «orac  time  after  the  d 
d<:.^;rilx:d  touk  place,  and  whic 
liave  }yf'('n  physically  impossible  : 
dfpiol«,d  it.  The  picture  is.  in 
*:vt.'Ty  T(:>\)Qct  bad,  and  is  unw 
>><,'iiig  placed  in  the  national  capi 
ha/l  always  understood  that  1 
mission  was  given  to  the  artis 
tional  grounds,  on  the  supposit 
he  was  a  AVcstcrn  man ;  the  T 
1^)0  was  introduced  into  the  I 
Htfprcsentativcs  by  Mr.  McDowel 
and  it  was  carried  as  a  Western 
As  the  vote  was  passed  on  tl 
March,  1847,  it  could  not  haTC 
cfrtisemioncc  of  the  exhibition  ol 
ture  of  Columbus  in  1848-49,  as  1 
As  U)  tho  letter  of  Mr.  Irving  ft) 
by  Mr.  Powell,  in  praise  of  the  j 
Columbus,  we  do  not  see  what  i 
do  with  the  business.  Mr.  Inri 
a  likely  person  to  interfere  in  i 
this  kind,  unless  solicited  in  a 
which  rendered  it  difficult  for  h 
cline.  Mr.  Powell  should  be  con 
having  received  the  commission  I 
ed  the  picture  ;  he  shows  a  very  i 
mentary  distrust  of  his  own  per 
in  endeavoring  to  fight  his  crii 
his  pi«n  instead  of  his  pencil.  1 
Soto  be  worthy  of  praise^  it  will 
arm  censure  if  left  to  itself.  ] 
Won  a  private  work,  we  should 
dwmeil  it  entitled  to  our  notice ;  I 
a  "great  national  painting."  an 
projvrty,  we  could  not  ignore  it 
wo  wore  com|)elled  to  notice  it, 
not  do  less  than  speak  candidly  < 
wi.<h  it  had  been  l»etter.  If  *•  the 
artists  of  the  Old  World  have 
montiil  him  on  the  vigorous  i 
and  artistic  fniish  of  the  painting 
have  to  say  aKnit  it  is.  that  the 
artists  of  the  Old  World  an?  ti 
wajis  ;  aii'.i  if  it  bo  true,  as  has  be 
by  S4.^:i;o  of  tho  gentlemen  who  1 
dcrtukcn  tho  defence  of  Mr. 
iui:\::iig,  that  the  a^li:^:s  of  Ti 
tho:r  piiptls  to  scu-iy  the  anatOB 
S-.^:o.  i:  muse  have  K>fa  for  the  f 
sou  that  the  Spartans  permkt 
ohtl'lrvn  to  sire  the  antii&>oc  tbebr 
Helots. 


PUTNAM'S  MONTHLY. 


VOL.  III.— FEBRUARY  1854.— NO.  XIV. 


WASHINGTON'S   EARLY   DAYS. 
(Gontinae<l  tram  page  10  ) 


lUASUINGTOX  had  but  two  teachers, 
*»  one  an  old  fellow  named  Hobby, 
0110  of  his  father's  tenants,  sexton  as  well 
•8  BchooIma««tcr  of  the  neighborhood,  who 
aied  to  boast,  after  he  wa<i  superannuated 
iad  somewhat  addicted  to  strong  potations, 
cqwdally  on  the  general's  birthdays,  that 
k  was  he  who,  l)ctween  his  knees,  had 
Ud  the  foundation  of  George  Washing- 
ton's greatness,  by  teaching  him  his  letters ; 
aid  the  other  the  Mr.  Williams  already 
mentioned,  who  was,  according  to  Mr. 
Weems,  "  a  capital  hand "  at  reading, 
q;teUing,  English  grammar,  arithmetic, 
isarreymg.  bookkeeping,  and  geography, 
nd  often  boasted  that  he  had  made  (t oorgo 
Washington  as  great  a  scholar  as  himself. 
We  cannot  doubt  that  to  his  thorough- 
Bern  in  teaching  what  he  did  know,  his 
great  pupil  owed  much  of  his  accjuireil 
power;  for  a  good  foundation  in  a  few  im- 
portant things  is  the  best  possible  hegin- 
niBg  for  a  boy  of  ability  and  enti'q)rise. 

As  to  grammsr,  though  ^Ir.  Williams 
may  haTe  been  a  proficient,  it  is  certain 
that  Washington's  early  compositions  are 
by  no  means  perfectly  grammatical,  though 
by  hicessant  care  he  became  an  excellent 
and  most  lucid  writer  at  a  later  perioiL 
Some  minds  seem  to  come  at  the  philo- 
sophy of  grammar  more  easily  than  they 
can  master  the  technical,  school-statement 
of  it.  When  Washington  began  to  have 
fanportant  things  to  say,  his  great  good 
sense  showed  him  that  they  must  l>e  ex- 
pressed so  as  to  leave  no  possibility  of 
misunderstanding,  and  this  we  take  to  be 
the  highest  ground  and  object  of  grammar. 
The  office  of  taste  is,  afterwards,  to  guard 
againiit  jarring  and  tautological  expres- 
sions; and  the  study  of  the  standard 
writers,  with  the  aid  of  conversation  with 
weil-bred  people,  will  generally  suffice  for 

VOL.   III. — 9 


this.  So  that  in  the  end,  Washington, 
ever  seeking  improvement  and  alive  to  his 
own  deficiencies,  became  a  great  writer, 
in  addition  to  his  other  accomi)lishments ; 
and  has  left  us,  among  other  precious 
legacies,  a  ma<vs  of  wise,  manly,  generous 
and  patriotic  thoughts  expressed  in  clear, 
dignified  language,  and  inclu<ling  so  much 
practical  wlsiloin  and  high  suggestion  that 
it  is  well  worthy  to  be  treasured  as  our 
national  palladium. 

Laurence  Washington,  naturally  ambi- 
tious for  the  tall,  handsome,  athletic  boy, 
already,  at  sixteen,  endowed  with  strength 
and  discretion  Iwyond  his  age,  had  pro- 
cured for  his  favorite  half-brother,  who 
was  fourteen  years  his  junior,  a  midship- 
man's warrant  for  the  British  nav}',  then 
the  most  direct  path  to  preferment ;  and 
all  was  prepared  for  the  dcimrture  of  the 
youth,  when  his  mother's  courage  gave 
out,  or  her  judgment  demurred,  and  the 
project  was  abandoned,  nuioh  to  the  regret 
of  every  btnly  else  conccrneil  in  the  trans- 
action. One  gentleman  writes  to  I^urence 
thus:  "1  am  afraid  Mrs.  Wasliington 
will  not  keep  up  to  her  first  resolution. 
She  seems  to  dislike  George's  going  to 
sea,  and  says  several  persons  have  told 
her  it  was  a  bad  scheme.  She  offers 
several  trifling  objections,  such  as  fond, 
unthinking  mothers  habitually  suggest; 
and  1  find  that  one  word  against  his 
going  has  more  weight  than  ten  for  it." 
"  Fond,  unthhiking  mothers !  "  George 
was  his  widowed  mother's  eldest  son,  a 
boy  of  noble  promise,  and  by  no  Tneaiis 
destitute  of  fortune.  Why  sliould  she 
have  coiLsente<l  to  send  him  fn)m  her  at 
sixteen,  to  enter  on  a  career  which  would 
for  ever  separate  him  from  her  and  his 
family  ?  Truly  there  is  a  worldly  wisdom 
which  is  sadly  shortsighted,  and  we  can- 


122 


Wanking  tofCs  Early  Days. 


[Febniaiy 


Rf>«iii<nre  of  th«  Wasliinstun  Fminly.* 


not  but  think  the  mother's  instincts  de- 
served more  respect  than  they  received 
from  her  ad\*iscrs.  The  yonng  man  him- 
self seems  to  hjive  shown  his  jcrood  sense, 
by  submitting,  first  to  the  advice  of  his 
family  friends,  then  to  the  wishes  of  his 
mother,  for  we  hear  nothing  of  any  re- 
pining on  his  part.  Mr.  Fairfax  writes 
of  liim  to  Laurence — "  George  has  been 
with  us,  and  says  he  will  be  steady,  and 
thankfully  follow  your  advice  as  his  best 
friend."  So  a  project  which  must  have 
been  very  fascinating  to  a  young,  warm 
uuagination  was  quietly  abandoned,  and 
the  youth,  in  the  dutiful  spirit  which  ever 
characterized  him,  entered  at  once  upon 
the  comparatively  humble  business  of  a 
surveyor. 

In  March,  1748,  he  went  into  the  woods 
with  Mr.  George  Fairfax,  to  explore  lands 
among  the  Alleghany  Mountains,  in  Vir- 
ginia. A  diary  kept  by  him  during  this 
his  first  tour  has  some  interest,  because  it 
tells  of  the  personal  experiences,  and  be- 
trays something  of  the  turn  of  thought  of 
Washington  at  sixteen. 

"  15th.— Worked  hard  till  night,  and 
then  returned.  After  supper  we  were 
lighted  into  a  room,  and  1,  not  being  so 
good  a  woodsman  as  the  rest,  stripped 
myself  very  orderly  and  went  into  the 
bed.  as  they  called  it.  when,  to  my  sur- 
prise, I  found  it  to  be  nothing  but  a  little 
straw  matted  together,  without  sheet  or 
any  thing  else  but  only  one  threadbare 


blanket.  I  was  glad  to  get  up  and  put  on 
my  clothes,  and  lie  as  my  companions  did. 
Had  we  not  been  very  tired,  I  am  sure  we 
should  not  have  slept  much  that  night  I 
made  a  promise  to  sleep  so  no  more,  choos- 
ing rather  to  sleep  in  the  open  air  before 
a  fire." 

**21st. — We  went  over  in  a  canoe,  and 
travelled  up  the  Maryland  side  all  day,  in 
a  continued  rain,  to  Colonel  Cresap's  over 
against  the  South  Branch,  about  forty 
miles  from  our  place  of  starting  in  the 
morning,  and  over  the  worst  road,  I 
believe,  that  ever  was  trod  by  man  or 
beast." 

"23d.— Rained  till  about  two  o'clock, 
and  then  cleared  up,  when  we  were  agree- 
ably surprised  at  the  sight  of  more  than 
thirty  Indians,  coming  from  war  with  only 
one  scalp.  We  had  some  liquor  with  us, 
of  which  we  gave  them  a  part.  This, 
elevating  their  spirits,  put  them  in  the 
humor  of  dancing.  AVe  then  had  a  war- 
dance.  After  clearing  a  large  space  and 
making  a  great  fire  in  the  middle,  the  men 
seated  themselves  around  it,  and  the 
speaker  made  a  grand  speech,  telling  them 
in  what  manner  they  were  to  dance. 
Af^er  he  had  finished,  the  best  dancer 
jumped  up,  as  one  awakened  from  sleep, 
and  ran  and  jumped  about  the  ring  in  the 
most  comical  mimncr.  He  was  followed 
by  the  rest.  Then  began  their  music, 
which  was  i)crformed  with  a  pot  half  ftill 
of  water,  and  a  deerskin  stretched  tight 


*  Tho  sketch  of  this  liousu,  which  has  long  since  disappeared,  is  copied  frooi  Uiat  by  Chapnian  In  Lonlof^ 
lovMiuaXAe  Field  Bo(^  of  the  Kevolution. 


1864.] 


WaihingUnCs  Early  Days. 


128 


Prinmry  LcHons. 


orer  it,  and  a  gourd  with  Romc  shot  in 
it  to  r»ttlc,  and  a  piece  of  horsc^s  tail 
tied  to  it,  to  make  it  look  ftnc.  One  por- 
8on  kept  rattling,  and  another  drunniiiug, 
all  the  while  they  were  dancing." 

"  26th.— Travelled  up  to  Solomon 
Hedge's,  Esquire,  one  of  his  Majesty^ s 
Justices  of  the  Peace  in  the  county  of 
Fraieric,  where  we  cam{>ed.  When  we 
came  to  supper,  there  was  ncitlicr  a  knife 
on  the  table  nor  a  fork  to  eat  with,  hut 
as  good  luck  would  liavc  it,  we  had  knives 
of  our  own." 

"  April  2d. —  A  blowy,  rainy  night 
Onr  straw  upon  which  we  were  l3'ing, 
took  fire,  but  I  was  luckily  pi-cscr\'e(l  by 
one  of  our  men  awaking  when  it  was  in  a 
flame." 

*^  8th.— We  breakfasted   at   Gassey's, 


and  rode  down  to  Vanmetcr's  to  get  our 
company  together,  which,  when  we  had 
accomplished,  we  rode  down  below  the 
Trough  to  lay  off  lots  there.  The  Trough 
is  a  couple  of  ledges  of  mountains  impas- 
sable, rimning  side  by  side  for  seven  or 
eight  miles,  and  the  river  iKJtween  them. 
You  must  ride  round  the  back  of  the 
mountains  to  get  l)elow  them.  We  cam])ed 
in  the  wooils,  and,  after  we  had  ])itched 
our  tent  and  made  a  large  fire,  we  pulled 
out  our  kiia{)sacks  to  recruit  ourselves. 
Every  one  was  his  own  cook.  Our  spits 
were  forked  sticks  ;  Our  plates  were  large 
cliips.     As  for  dishes,  we  had  none." 

We  have  j)ickwl  out  only  here  and  there 
an  item  from  this  part  of  the  Diary  as 
beuig  more  personal  than  the  rest.  Ilere 
is  the  rough  copy  of  a  letter,  giving  a 


124 


WashingtmCs  Early  Days, 


[Febroaij 


general  description  of  the  excursion.  No 
date. 

"  Dear  Richard, — The  receipt  of  your 
kind  favor  of  the  2d  instant  afforded  me 
unspeakable  pleasure,  as  it  convinces  me 
that  I  am  still  in  the  memory  of  so  worthy 
a  friend, — a  friendship  I  shall  ever  be 
proud  of  increasing.  Yours  gave  mc  the 
more  pleasure  as  I  received  it  among  bar- 
barians and  an  uncouth  set  of  people. 
Since  you  received  my  letter  of  October 
last,  I  have  not  slept  above  three  or  four 
nights  in  a  bed.  but  after  walking  a  good 
d^  all  day,  I  have  lain  down  before  the 
fire  upon  a  little  hay,  straw,  fodder,  or  a 
bear-skin,  whichever  was  to  be  had,  with 
man,  wife,  and  children,  like  dogs  and 
cats ;  and  happy  is  he  who  gets  the  berth 
nearest  the  fire.  Nothing  would  make  it 
pass  off  tolerably  but  a  good  reward.  A 
doubloon  is  my  constant  gain  every  day 
that  the  weather  will  permit  of  my  going 
out,  and  sometimes  six  pistoles.  The  cold- 
ness of  the  weather  will  not  admit  of  my 
making  a  long  stay,  as  the  lodging  is 
rather  too  cold  for  the  time  of  year.  I 
have  hever  had  my  clothes  off,  but  have 
Iain  and  slept  in  them,  except  the  few 
nights  I  have  been  in  Frederictown." 

Among  the  influences  that  conspired  to 
mature  the  mind  and  refine  the  manners 
of  Washington,  we  must  account  his 
intimacy  with  the  Fairfax  family,  sen- 
sible as  well  as  well-bred  people,  and 
living  on  a  large  fortune  in  the  exer- 
cise of  liberal  hospitality.  Lord  Fairfax, 
besides  the  social  advantages  w^hich 
resulted  from  his  rank,  had  had  a  Uni- 
versity education,  when  such  culture  was 
a  distinction,  and  he  seems,  moreover, 
to  have  been  a  person  of  independent 
ways  of  thinking,  and  a  discernment  and 
practical  sagacity  not  always  found  in 
high  places.  His  nephew,  William  Fair- 
fax, was  wealthy,  and  held  a  high  position 
in  the  colony.  The  family  was,  altogether, 
the  first  in  the  district  where  they  lived, 
and  one  such  family  inevitably  does  much 
towards  raising  the  general  standard  of 
manners  and  ideas  in  its  neighborhood. 
A  young  man  must  be  dull  indeed,  if  the 
society  of  gentlemen  and  elegant  women 
has  no  inspiration  for  him.  AVhen  we 
read  George  Washington's  "  Rules  of 
Civility  and  decent  Behavior  in  Company 
and  Conversation,"  we  need  no  assurance 
that  no  grace  of  manner,  refinement  of 
expression,  or  conventional  improvement, 
that  came  under  his  observation  at  Mr. 
Fairfax's,  passed  unaoted.  The  exquisite 
propriety  of  address  and  conduct,  so  often 
mentioned  as  having  distinguished  him, 
may  not  improbably  have  owed  no  little 


of  its  finish  to  these  early  opportimities; 
to  suppose  so  much  elegance  the  natonl 
product  of  innate  refinement,  in  spite  of 
plain  farmer's  living  in  earl^  youth,  and 
the  rough  career  of  a  practical  surveyor 
afterwards,  might  be  more  complimentary 
but  scarcely  so  rational.  Lord  Fairfax 
was  not  a  courtier,  any  more  than  his 
American  planter  nephew ;  and  Washings 
ton  never  became  one,  but  only  in  all 
circumstances  a  gentleman.  This  is  as 
evident  in  the  early  journal  from  which 
we  have  just  quoted  a  few  passages,  as  in 
the  letters  written  in  after  life  to  ladies 
and  the  most  distinguished  men.  Self- 
respect  ever  regulates  and  limits  his  com- 
plimentary expressions,  as  it  had  in  early 
life  afforded  the  standard  by  which  he 
judged  so  unerringly  the  dispositions  of 
others  towards  himself,  and  decided  on 
the  fitness  of  the  circmnstanoes  in  which 
he  was  placed.  He  had  an  exquisite 
sense  of  personal  res])ect,  and  as  he  never 
forgot  or  was  mistaken  about  the  apiount 
of  it  due  to  others,  so  he  never  hazarded 
his  own  claims  by  requiring  more  than  he 
knew  himself  entitled  to  and  able  to  exact 
In  reading  his  correspondence,  so  volumi- 
nous and  various,  as  well  as  so  remark- 
able in  other  respects,  this  propriety  is 
ever  most  striking. 

Speaking  of  the  attachment  of  Lord 
Fairfax  to  the  young  surveyor,  who  spent 
much  time  at  his  house,  Mr.  AVeems  re- 
marks,— "Little  did  the  old  gentleman 
expect  that  he  was  educating  a  youth  who 
should  one  day  dismember  the  British 
empire  and  break  his  own  heart — which 
truly  came  to  pass.  For  dn  hearing  that 
Washington  had  captured  Comwallis  and 
all  his  army,  he  called  out  to  his  black 
waiter,  *  Come,  Joe !  carry  me  to  my  bed, 
for  I'm  sure  it  is  high  time  for  me  to  aie ! '" 
And  die  he  did,  certainly,  but  not  prema- 
turely, for  Mr.  Sparks  saj'S  he  lived  to  be 
ninety-two,  a  much  respected  and  very 
benevolent  i)erson.  though  rather  eccentric 

George  Fairfax  was  the  companion  of 
Washington's  first  expedition  through 
the  forest.  How  old  was  the  companion 
we  are  not  informed,  but  the  chief  was 
just  turned  of  sixteen,  an  age  at  which 
most  boys  are  in  need  of  tutors  and  guar- 
dians if  ever.  Mrs.  Washington  seems  to 
have  made  no  particular  objection  to  this 
undertaking,  the  exposures  of  which  were 
nevertheless  formidable,  to  health  at  least, 
as  the  result  proved.  Lodging  on  the 
ground,  night  after  night,  in  the  month  of 
April,  is  no  agreeable  variety  in  our  cli- 
m.ite,  and  we  can  hardly  doubt  that  in 
this  and  similar  journeys,  which  occupied 
a  larga  portion  of  his  time  for  throe  years, 


1854.] 


WathinffUm^M  Early  Dayt. 


185 


^rere  laid  the  foandations  of  that  liability 
to  intermittents,  which  pursued  Washing- 
Con  through  life.    The  severity  of  a  sur- 


•▼eyor's  duty,  at  that  early  period,  were      sary 


mvich  as  could  hardly  be  encountered  at 
the  prefient  time  on  this  side  the  Missis- 
sippi, and  such  also  as  forbade  a  long 
persistence  at  any  one  time.  The  inter- 
Tals  Washington  spent  partly  at  Frederics- 
burgh   wiUi  his  mother,  and  partly  at 


Mount  Vernon,  with  his  brother  Laurence, 
always  much  attached  to  him,  and  to 
whom  he  shortly  became  peculiarly  neces- 


Lauronce  Washington  had  been  in 
active  service  in  the  West  Indies,  where 
he  passed  about  two  years,  as  a  captain 
in  the  British  army,  in  the  expedition 
against  Carthagcna.  He  returned  home 
in  1742,  that  is  to  say,  when  his  brother 


WaihlntrV.B'i  Sunreyinjr  EvpMlitioa. 


Qeorge  was  about  ten  years  old,  intending 
to  sail  for  England  to  join  his  regiment 
there ;  but  happening  to  fall  in  love  with 
Miss  Anne  Fairfax,  a  soldier's  roving  life 
lost  its  charms  for  him,  and  he  settled 
quietly  down  as  a  planter.  Having  a 
colonial  appointment  as  adjutant,  he  de- 
clined slmring  the  half-pay  grante^l  to 
hii  brother  officers  of  the  British  army. 


on  the  ground  that  he  could  not  consci- 
entiously tiike  the  oath  required.  So  it 
seems  that  the  young  George  had  worthy 
examples  near  home.  After  the  death  of 
his  father,  Laurence  purchased  the  estate 
on  the  Potomac,  and  named  it  as  already 
mentioned,  and  here  (Jeorge  spent  much 
of  his  interval  time,  doubtless  improving 
himself  in  every  way  that  offered. 


126 


Wadiington^s  Early  Days. 


[Febniaiy 


But  the  elder  brother's  health  suddenlj 
foiled,  and  symptoms  of  consumption 
alarmed  him  and  his  friends.  He  tried  a 
voyage  to  England  without  benefit,  and 
in  September,  1751,  a  trip  to  Barbadoes, 
accompanied  in  the  latter  by  his  brother 
George,  who  seems  to  have  felt  such  in- 
terest and  solicitude  as  only  a  tender  and 
loving  heart  can  suggest. 

His  journal  of  this  time,  when  he  was 
in  his  nineteenth  year,  is  very  character- 
istic. All  the  voyage  over  he  copied  the 
log  each  day  into  his  note-book,  with  his 
own  comments  on  the  weather,  Ac,  and 
during  his  short  stay  on  the  island  he 
seems  to  have  occupied  himself  in  observ- 
ing the  manners  of  the  inhabitants,  and 
especially  in  criticising  the  modes  of  cul- 
tivation, economy  and  government.* 

"The  Governor  of  Barbadoes  seems 
to  keep  a  proper  state,  lives  very  retired 
and  at  little  expense,  and  is  a  gentleman 

of  good  sense By  declining  much 

familiarity,  he  is  not  over-zealously 
beloirecU'* 

This  Is  a  Washingtonhm  touch;  it 
breathes  the  very  spirit  of  the  whole  prac- 
tice of  the  writer's  after  life,  so  often 
complained  of  by  those  who  would  fain 
have  been  allowed  familiarity  with  him. 
He  felt  no  disapprobation  of  the  trait  he 
thus  noted,  but  rather  concluded,  we  may 
presume,  that  by  living  retired  and  not 
courting  mere  popularity  or  private  ad- 
herency,  the  governor  gained  in  dignity 
and  saifety  what  be  lost  in  momentary 
service  and  following. 

The  journal  goes  on  to  say — "  There 
are  several  singular  risings  in  the  island, 
one  above  the  other,  so  that  scarcely  any 
part  is  deprived  of  a  beautiful  prospect, 
both  of  sea  and  land^  and,  what  Ls  con- 
trary to  observation  m  other  countries, 
each  elevation  is  better  than  the  next  be- 
low  The  earth  in  most  parts  is 

extremely  rich,  and  as  black  as  our  richest 

marsh  meadows How  wonderful 

that  such  people  should  be  in  debt,  and 
not  be  able  to  indulge  themselves  in  all 
the  luxuries  as  well  as  necessaries  of  life. 
Yet  so  it  happens.  Estates  are  often 
alienated  for  debts.  How  pei-sons  com- 
ing to  estates  of  two,  three  and  four  hun- 
dred acres,  (which  are  the  largest,)  can 

want,  is  to  me  most  wonderful 

There  are  few  who  can  be  called  middling 
people.  They  are  very  rich  or  very  poor ; 
for,  by  a  law  of  the  island,  every  gentle- 
man is  obliged  to  keep  a  white  person 
for  every  ten  acres,  capable  of  acting  in 


the  militia,  and,  consequently,  the  persons 
so  kept  cannot  but  be  very  poor.  They 
are  well  disciplined  and  appomted  to  their 
several  stations,  so  that  in  any  alarm  every 
man  may  be  at  his  post  in  less  than  two 
hours." 

These  few  extracts  serve  to  show  the 
unaffected  and  simple  style  in  which 
Washington  was  thus  early  in  the  habit 
of  recording  his  impressions — an  example 
which,  if  well  followed  by  all  the  young 
gentlemen  of  our  day  who  travel  the 
world  over,  would  be  better  even  than  a 
Smithsoniim  Institute  ''  for  the  advance- 
ment of  knowledge  among  men."  The 
conscientious  (not  constitutional)  modera- 
tion of  Washington's  expressions  has 
often  been  remarked ;  only  once  in  the 
course  of  this  record  of  a  visit  to  the 
tropics,  by  one  who  so  loved  the  face  of 
nature  that  he  never  remained  in  a  city 
but  at  the  call  of  duty,  does  a  gleam  of 
enthusiasm  betray  itself,  where  he  says — 
"  In  the  cool  of  the  evening  we  rode  out. 
....  and  were  perfectly  enrapturei 
with  the  beautiful  prospects  which  every 
side  presented  to  our  view, — the  fields  of 
cane,  corn,  fruit-trees,  &<;.,  in  a  delightful 
green." 

But  the  most  characteristic  parts  of  the 
journal  are  the  following  entries : — 

^^  November  4th,  1751. — This  morning 
received  a  card  from  Major  Clarke,  with 
an  invitation  to  breakfast  and  dine  with 
him.  We  went^ — myself  with  some  re- 
luctance, as  the  small-pox  was  in  his 
family." 

....  "17/^. — Was  stnpngly  attacked 
with  the  small-pox.  Sent  for  Dr.  Lana- 
han,  whose  attendance  was  very  constant 
till  my  recovery  and  going  out,  which 
were  not  till  Thursday  the  12th  of  De- 
ccnilHjr." 

"  December  12/A.— Went  to  town  and 
called  on  Major  Clarke's  family,  who  had 
kindly  visited  me  in  my  illness,  and  con- 
tributed all  they  could,  in  sending  me  the 
necessaries  the  ilisorder  required." 

And  this  is  all.  The  small-pox  —  a 
"strong"  attack — is  passed  over  as  a 
small  interlude,  not  worthy  of  being 
noticed  in  particulars,  or  calling  for  the 
slightest  exprCvKsion  of  self-pity.  Yet, 
throughout  Washington's  whole  life  he  is 
rather  remarkable  for  the  interest  he  takes 
in  the  health  of  his  friends  and  servants. 
We  have  before  us,  as  we  write,  a  letter 
written  by  him  to  General  Greene.  Jan. 
22d,  1780,  from  Head  Quarters  at  Morris- 
town,  remonstrating  very  warmly  on  the 


*  It  may  be  proiier  to  meoUon  Uiat  tbe  extriMsts  in  Uiese  iMgos  tm  taken,  not  fruiu  tlie  uiigloala,  but  fioin 
BparkB'  ••  WriUngs  of  Waslilngtoo,"  vol.  I  p.  4. 


1854.] 


WoMhinffUm^s  Early  Day9. 


187 


Babj«ct  of  the  discomfort  saffered  bj  his 
•enrants  for  wmnt  of  additional  quarters. 
"Nor  is  there  at  this  moment,"  he  writes, 
in  that  tine,  bold,  measured  hand  that  he 
learned  at  Mr.  Williams's  school,  "  a  place 
in  which  a  servant  can  lodge  with  anj 
decree  of  comfort  ....  Hardly  one  of 
them  able  to  speak  for  the  colds  they  have 
caught." 

After  Mr.  Laurence  Washington  was 
establi^^hed  in  lodginp;s,  under  the  care  of 
a  physician,  his  brother  left  him  to  return 
home,  to  await  the  result  of  the  experi- 
ment; but  no  benefit  resulting  to  the 
invalid  from  his  West  Indian  sojourn,  it 
was  arranged  that  his  wife,  under  George's 
escort^  should  meet  him  at  Bermuda, 
where  a  new  attempt  was  to  be  made. 
But  all  these  efforts  gained  not  even  a 
reprieve.  The  progress  of  the  disease 
was  so  rapid,  that  nothing  remained  but 
a  hurried  return  home,  where  death  put 
a  speedy  termination  to  hopes  and  fears, 
and  the  elder  brother,  who  had.  since  the 
father's  death,  been  a  second  parent  and 
worthy  guide  for  George,  was  removed, 
on  the  2Gth  of  July,  1752,  at  the  early 
aire  of  thirty-four.  This  occurred  at 
Mount  Vernon,  and  Washington,  who 
was  evidently  the  main  dependence  and 
a<v<iistant  in  his  brother's  affairs  through- 
out his  illness,  now  took  charge  of  his 
business  and  also  of  his  family,  consisting 
of  his  widow  and  one  daughter,  sickly 
fr>m  her  birth.  The  widow  married  again, 
the  daughter  died,  and  the  estate  at  Mount 
Venion  became,  by  Laurence's  will,  the 
property  of  George  Washington,  and  an 
mseparable  appendage  to  that  illustrious 
name  for  ever. 

Washington  had  even  earlier  than  this 
commenced  his  military  career,  by  accept- 
ing an  appointment  in  the  militia — that  of 
one  of  four  adjutants-general,  carrying  the 
rank  of  migOr.  This  brought  him  back 
to  his  old  school-day  business  of  drilling 
and  inspecting  troops,  and  we  find  him  as 
active  and  zealous  in  it  as  in  every  thing 
else  that  he  undertook.  No  perfunctory 
service  was  his,  in  this  or  any  other  case. 
lie  fitted  himself  for  his  duties  by  practice 
in  military  exercises  and  the  study  of 
writers  on  tActk»,  as  if  he  had  foreseen 
that  he  must  one  day  command  armies. 
lie  travelled  through  the  counties  included 
in  his  district,  receiving  his  recruits,  in- 
specting their  accoutrements,  and  acquaint- 
ing himself  diligently  with  the  whole  state 
of  things  as  it  regarded  his  official  duties. 
Wherever  he  went  the  first  place  was  ac- 
corded to  l\up,  and  he  took  then,  as  ever, 
the  position  of  comnuind,  without  the  least 
•Kumptioo  or  offence.      From  the  very 


begmning,  men  seem  to  have  been  as  will- 
ing to  come  under  his  influence  as  he 
could  possibly  be  to  have  them  there.  If 
we  can  gather  any  thing  distinct  from  the 
accounts  of  those  times  in  Virginia,  duties 
and  instruments  seem  to  have  tended  to- 
wards him  as  towards  a  centre  of  attrac- 
tion, making  goo<l  the  observation  of 
Fouriei*,  that  some  people  are  natural 
foci — a  fact  which  is  very  evident,  and 
by  no  means  unaccountable. 

All  this  drilling  was  by  no  means 
fruitless  or  premature.  Warlike  doings 
on  the  part  of  the  French  upon  the  fron- 
tiers soon  began  to  call  for  some  attention 
from  the  authorities,  and  it  was  necessary 
at  least  to  ask  the  aggressors  what  they 
meant.  The  Virginia  Governor,  Dinwid- 
die.  not  quite  so  well  skilled  in  his  busi- 
ness as  was  at  least  one  of  his  adjutants 
in  the  preparation  of  soldiers,  had  already 
sent  a  messenger  with  presents  to  the 
Indians,  and  the  ulterior  design  of  dis- 
covering the  intentions  of  the  French,  but 
the  returns  were  unsatisfactory,  and  the 
information  manifestly  fallacious.  The 
French  were  represented  as  hopelessly 
formidable  and  rapacious,  allowing  no 
Englishman  to  trade  beyond  the  moun- 
tains, on  the  ground  that  all  west  of  the 
Alleghanies  belonged  to  the  domains  of 
their  master.  The  truth  was.  that  the 
French  had  begun  the  formation  of  the 
famous  cordon  of  military  posts  from 
Canada  to  the  southern  part  of  the  Missis- 
sippi and  that  they  had  in  this  operation 
managed  to  get  very  much  the  start  of 
the  not  very  warlike  colonists,  who  at  a 
somewhat  late  hour  began  to  feel  that 
both  honor  and  interest  required  an  im- 
mediate check  upon  such  encroachments. 

Both  French  and  FiUglish  had,  before 
it  came  to  this,  made  treaties  with  the 
Indians,  sometimes  with  tribes  rival  or 
inimical  to  each  other,  sometimes  with 
those  whose  only  object  was  to  obtain 
the  largest  possible  amount  of  presents 
from  both  parties,  whether  for  aid  on  the 
one  hand  or  betrayal  on  the  other.  What 
the  Indians  in  general  thought  of  this  con- 
test between  two  great  nations  for  their 
hunting-grounds,  may  be  gues.sed  from  the 
shrewd  question  put  by  one  of  them  to 
a  gentleman  on  a  tour  of  observation 
among  them — '•  Whereabouts  do  the  In- 
dian lands  lie,  since  the  French  claim  all 
the  land  on  one  side  the  Ohio  River,  and 
the  English  all  on  the  other  ?  " 

Indian  alliances  complicated  the  coming 
war  a  good  deal,  for  messengers  and  re- 
connoitring parties  were  sure  to  fall  in 
with  plenty  of  red  men,  and  it  was  often 
very  difiicult  to  distinguish  friend  from  foe, 


]28 


Washington's  Early  Days, 


[February 


especially  when  both  were  found  under 
the  same  ochre  and  feathers  at  an  interval 
of  a  few  hours.  The  business  of  travers- 
ing the  woods  was  almost  as  hazardous  as 
in  the  time  of  Tancred,  when  the  trees 
could  hear  and  talk.  But  Governor  Din- 
widdie  had  sagacity  enough  to  know 
where  to  apply  after  his  first  messenger 
failed,  and  Major  George  Washington 
required  no  second  bidding  to  become 
his  honor's  commissioner,  to  ascertain  the 
intentions  of  the  Indians  in  certain  quarters, 
and,  a  still  more  delicate  errand — to,  de- 
mand of  the  French  commandant  by  what 
authority  and  with  what  design  he  pre- 
sumed to  invade  British  dominions. 

Here  is  the  conmiission  of  the  youthful 
major,  only  just  major  in  the  legal  sense: 

'•  I.  reposing  especial  trust  and  confi- 


dence in  the  ability,  conduct,  and  fidelitr 
of  you,  the  said  George  Washington,  hATe 
appointed  you  my  express  messenger,  and 
you  are  hereby  authorized  and  empowered 
to  proceed  hence,  with  all  convenient  and 
possible  dispatch,  to  that  part  or  place  on 
the  river  Ohio  where  the  French  have 
lately  erected  a  fort  or  forts,  or  where  the 
commandant  of  the  French  forces  resideft. 
in  order  to  deliver  my  letter  and  message 
to  him,  and  after  waiting  not  exceeding 
one  week,  for  an  answer,  you  are  to  take 
leave  and  return  immediately  back. 

"  To  this  commission,  I  have  set,"  &o« 
&c. 

**  All  his  Majesty's  subjects,  and  all  in 
amity  or  alliance  with  the  crown  of  Great 
Britain,"  were  also  charged  to  further 
"George  Washington.  Esquire,  commis- 


Tb«  Sonrtjon*  Caniik 


Washington's  Early  Days. 


129 


ler  the  great  seal,'*  and  "  to  be 

1  assisting  to  the  said  George 

on  and  his  attendants,  in  his 

assagc  to  and  from  the  river 

foresaid." 

rty  consisted  of  eight  persons — 

the  same  who  received  from 
OS  the  posing  question  as  to  the 
>  of  the  lands  on  either  side  the 
ixpericnced  woodsman,  and  valu- 
Jolm  Davidson,  an  interpreter 
idians,  and  Jacob  Van  Braam, 
3m  Washington  learned  the  art 
I,  a  Dutchman,  who  could  spe.ik 
'hich  Washington  himself  could 
ise.  with  four  attendants,  com- 
chicf  s  party,  which  set  out  from 
»m^,  Virginia,  October  31st, 
nust  have  required  some  courage 
tie  confidence  in  ono*s  resources 

strength,  and  perseverance,  to 
amcy  of  five  hundred  and  sixty 
t)ugh  woods  and  over  moun- 
lorseback,  in  the  winter  season, 
prospect  of  camping  out  nearly 
It.  Wo  have  seen  a  charming 
r  the  party  making  their  slow 
igh  the  woods  in  a  heavy  snow- 
5  of  the  most  lifelike,  expressive, 
aberable  of  pictures,  yet  we  have 
ly  forgotten  to  what  American 

pleasure  was  due.  Let  this 
e  our  atonement  for  the  fault 
a  fortnight  before  the  cavalcade 
bill's  Creek,  the  confines  of  civi- 
nd  plunged  into  the  pathless 
the  Alleghanies,  to  encounter  all 
rs  of  cold,  fatigue,  and  danger. 
^mency  of  the  season,"  says  Mr. 
the  Alleghanies  covered'  with 
the  valleys  flooded  by  the  swell- 
s,  the  rougfi  passages  over  the 
,'aiMl  the  difficulties  in  crossing 
IS  by  frail  rafts,  fording  or  swim- 
abstacles  that  could  be  overcome 
r  and  with  patience."  And  by 
1  patience  they  were  overcome, 
img  soldier  found  himself,  on  the 
(h  day  after  leaving  Williams- 
ogstown,  an  Indian  settlement, 
'orders  required  him  to  hold 
i0Bwith  Tanackarison, — known 
If-lung, — and  other  sachems  of 
ratkms,  and  obtain  from  them 
d  guards  for  the  remainder  of 
nr,  tA  well  as  all  possible  infor- 
t6  the  intentions  of  the  French. 
crag's  intelligence  was  that  the 
d  already  built  several  forts  on 
rippi  and  one  on  the  Ohio ;  and 
jired  to  pilot  the  messenger's 
le  quarters  of  the  French  com- 
IB  said  that  the  nearest  and  most 


level  road  was  now  impassable,  by  reason 
of  great  marshes,  so  that  it  would  take  five 
or  SIX  **  nights'  sleep  "  to  reach  the  nearest 
fort,  where  visitors  must  not  count  upon 
a  very  civil  welcome. 

lie,  the  Half-king,  had  been  received 
very  sternly  by  the  commander,  and  in  re- 
ply to  the  abrupt  question,  what  his  busi- 
ness was,  had  replied  by  a  speech  which, 
as  recorded  from  his  own  lips  by  the 
severely  veracious  pen  of  Washington,  pre- 
sents as  remarkable  dignity  and  good  sense 
as  ever  novelist  put  into  the  mouth  of  the 
ideal  red  man, — a  style  of  eloquence  which 
we  are  in  the  habit  of  classing  as  the  mil- 
lionth dilution  of  the  Ossianic  poetry, 

"  Fathers,"  he  said,  "  I  have  come  to 
tell  you  your  own  speeches,  what  your 
own  mouths  have  declared.  Fathers,  you, 
in  former  days,  set  a  silver  basin  before 
us,  wherein  was  the  leg  of  a  beaver,  and 
desired  all  the  nations  to  come  and  eat  of 
it,  to  eat  in  peace  and  plenty,  and  not  to 
be  churlish  to  one  another ;  and  that  if 
any  such  person  should  bo  found  to  be  a 
disturber,  I  here  lay  down  by  the  edge 
of  the  dish  a  rod  which  you  must  scourge 
them  with ;  and  if  your  father  should 
get  foolish  in  my  old  days,  I  desire  you 
may  use  it  upon  me  as  well  as  others. 

"  Now.  fathers,  it  is  you  who  are  the 
disturbers  in  this  land,  by  coming  and 
building  your  towns,  and  taking  it  away 
unknown  to  us,  and  by  force. 

"  Fathers,  we  kindled  a  fii-e  a  long  time 
ago,  at  a  place  called  Montreal,  where  we 
desired  you  to  stay,  and  not  to  come  and 
intrude  upon  our  land.  I  now  desire  you 
may  dispatch  to  that  place,  for,  be  it 
known  to  you,  fathers,  tliat  this  is  our 
land  and  not  yours. 

'*  Fathers,  I  desire  you  may  hear  me  in 
civilness,  if  not,  we  must  handle  that  rod 
which  was  laid  down  for  the  use  of  the 
obstreperous.  If  you  had  come  in  a 
peaceable  manner,  like  our  brothers,  the 
English,  we  would  not  have  been  against 
your  trading  with  us  as  they  do ;  but  to 
come,  fathers,  and  build  houses  on  our 
land,  and  take  it  by  force,  is  what  wv can- 
not submit  to. 

^*  Fathers,  both  ^ou  and  the  English  are 
white;  we  live  m  a  country  between j 
therefore,  the  land  belongs  neither  to  the 
one  nor  the  other.  But  the  Great  Being 
above  allowed  it  to  be  a  place  of  residence 
for  us ;  so,  fathers,  I  desire  you  to  with- 
draw, as  I  have  done  our  brothers,  the 
English;  for  I  will  keep  you  at  arm's 
length,  I  lay  this  down  as  a  trial  for 
both,  to  see  which  will  have  the  greatest 
regard  to  it,  and  that  side  we  wilL  stand 
by,  and  make  equal  8haier«^V:bL\i&.  Q\a 


180 


WashingUmU  Early  Days. 


brothers  the  English,  have  heard  this,  and 
I  oome  now  to  tell  it  to  you ;  for  t  am 
not  afraid  to  discharge  you  off  this  land." 

The  French  commandant  seems  to  have 
replied  in  a  very  truculent  spirit^  as  re- 
ported by  the  Indian  chief: 

"Now,  my  child,  I  have  heard  your 
speech ;  you  spoke  nrst,  but  it  is  my  time 
to  speak  now.  Where  is  my  wampum, 
that  you  took  away  with  the  marks  of 
towns  upon  it  ?  This  wampum  I  do  not 
know,  which  you  have  discharged  me  off 
the  land  with ;  but  you  need  not  put  your- 
self to  the  trouble  of  speaking,  for  I  will 
not  hear  you.  I  am  not  afraid  of  flies  or 
musquitoes,  for  Indians  are  such  as  those ; 
I  tell  you,  down  that  river  I  will  go,  and 
build  upon  it,  according  to  my  command. 
If  the  river  was  blocked  up,  I  have  forces 
sufficient  to  burst  it  open,  and  tread  under 
my  feet  all  that  stand  in  opposition,  to- 
gether with  their  alliances ;  for  my  force  is 
as  the  sand  upon  the  sea-shore ;  therefore 
here  is  your  wampum ;  I  sling  it  at  you. 
Child,  you  talk  foolish ;  you  say  this  land 
belongs  to  you,  but  there  is  not  the  black 
of  my  nail  yours.  I  saw  that  land  sooner 
than  you  did.  before  the  Shannoahs  and 
you  were  at  war ;  Lead  was  the  man  who 
went  down  and  took  possession  of  that 
river.  It  is  my  land,  and  I  will  have  it, 
let  who  will  stand  up  for  or  say  against 
it.  I  will  buy  and  sell  with  the  English. 
If  people  will  be  ruled  by  me  they  may 
expect  kindness,  but  not  else." 

Mr.  Sparks,  remarking  upon  these 
speeches,  says  well,  "The  high-minded 
savage  was  not  aware  that,  as  far  as  he 
and  his  race  were  concerned,  there  was 
no  difference  between  his  professed  friends 
and  open  enemies.  lie  had  never  studied 
in  the  school  of  politics,  which  finds  an 
excuse  for  rapacity  and  injustice  in  the 
Uw  of  nations,  nor  learned,  that  it  was 
the  prerogative  of  civilization  to  prey  upon 
tfae  ignorant  and  deicnceless." 

On  the  26th  a  council  was  held,  and 
Washington  in  his  turn  made  a  speech, 
with  the  usual  sprinkling  of  "  Brothers," 
but  stating  succinctly  and  candidly  the 
objects  of  his  journey.  The  Half-king 
desired  him  not  to  be  in  a  hurry,  and 
suggested  some  reasons  for  delay,  to  which 
Washington,  after  much  argument  and 
remonstrance,  was  obliged  to  yield,  for 
fear  of  defeating  the  object  of  his  jour- 
ney. "  As  I  found  it  was  impossible,"  he 
says,  "  to  get  off  without  aflfronting  them 
in  the  most  egregious  manner.  I  consented 
to  stay." 

Three  chiefs  and  one  of  the  best  hunters 
were  at  length  appointed  to  oompoBe  the 
eoawoy,  aad  on  the  4th  of  December  they 


arrived  at  Venango,  an  old  I 
at  the  mouth  of  French  Creek,  < 
"  without  any  thing  remarkal 
ing^"  says  Washington,  "  but  i 
series  of  bad  weather." 

Here  they  fell  in  with  Capta 
an  interpreter,  and  one  who  hi 
fluence  over  the  Indians.  He 
be  the  commander  of  the  01 
commended  to  the  young  comi 
carry  his  business  to  the  gener 
his  quarters  at  the  near  fort 
French  were  extremely  civil, 
the  wine  began  to  go  round,  ti 
the  proverb  by  telling  much  th 
intended  to  conceal:  that  it 
absolute  design  to  take  possesi 
Ohio,  and  that  they  would  do 
although  they  knew  the  Ed] 
raise  two  men  for  their  on 
motions  were  too  slow  and 
prevent  any  undertaking  of  t 
Captain  Joncaire  plied  the  In 
liquor,  and  used  every  possibh 
entice  them  to  go  no  furthei 
much  difficulty  Sie  party  was 
on  the  road,  and,  travelling 
more  through  "  excessive  rains, 
bad  travelling  Uirough  many 
swamps,"  they  at  length  reach 
and  found  the  French  comi 
knight  of  St.  Louis,  Lcgard« 
Pierre,  a  gentlemanly  old  sol 
fort  was  a  considerable  one,  gt 
that  time  by  about  one  hundre 
a  large  number  of  officers, 
officers  were  debating  upon  the 
missive,  Washington  was  rec 
in  every  direction,  taking  the 
of  the  fort,  counting  the  canoef 
latter  amounted  to  about  fifty 
readiness  to  convey  the  forces 
river  in  the  Spring.  On  W 
inquiring  of  the  commandant 
authority  he  had  made  prisoner 
English  subjects,  he  said  that  t 
belonged  to  the  French,  and  t 
orders  to  make  prisoners  of  evei 
man  who  attempted  to  trade  on 
of  the  Ohio. 

The  Siemr  St.  Pierre  was 
civilities,  but  did  every  thing  ii 
to  separate  the  Indian  oonvo 
party.    Washington  says,  in  tl 

"  I  cannot  say  that  ever  in 
suffered  so  much  anxiety  as  I 
affair."  His  life  had  not  been 
but  his  expressions  were  al 
moderate,  so  that  we  may  i 
perplexity.  To  leave  the  Ha 
hind,  was  to  give  him  and  hif 
over  to  the  French  interest, 
not  to  be  thou^t  ot    Wash! 


1854.] 


WoMnfftoti^i  Earfy  Dayt. 


181 


to  the  general  and  remonstrated,  was  met 
with  fiur  words  and  professions  as  nsu^ 
hot  still  could  not  get  his  Indians  ofi^ 
Uqnor  heing  agahi  put  in  requisition  to 
incapacitate  t^m  for  every  thing  bu( 
qoarrelling  or  sleeping. 

At  length  the  Half-khig,  for  shame's 
sake,  put  an  end  to  the  delay,  and  the 
party  set  out  on  their  return,  to  travel  one 
hundred  and  thirty  miles  in  canoes,  tho 
horses  having  been  exhausted  and  sent  on 
before.  They  were  destined  to  encounter 
new  hardships  in  the  new  way  of  travel. 
"  Several  times,"  writes  the  chief,  in  his 
Report,  "  we  had  like  to  have  been  staved 
against  rocks ;  and  many  times  we  were 
^igod,  all  hands,  to  get  out  and  remain 
in  the  water  half  an  hour  or  more,  getting 
over  the  shoals.  At  one  place  the  ice  had 
lodged  and  made  it  im^Missable  by  water ; 
we  were  therefore  obliged  to  carry  our 
canoe  across  the  neck  of  land,  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  over.  We  did  not  reach  Venango  till 
the  2'2d.  where  we  met  with  our  horses." 

The  iiorses  being  nearly  useless  from 
&t^ne  and  poor  feeding,  the  cold  increas- 
ing every  day,  and  the  roads  blocked  up 
hj  a  heavy  snow,  Washington,  anxious  to 
nt  back  and  make  his  report  to  tho 
Qovemor,  resolved  upon  attempting  the 
remainder  of  the  journey  on  foot,  accom- 
panied only  by  Mr.  Gist,  the  most  experi- 
enced of  the  party,  and  leaving  the  baggage 
and  efiects  in  charge  of  Mr.  Van  Braam. 
With  gnn  in  hand,  and  the  necessary 
papers  and  provisions  in  a  pack  strapped 
on  his  back,  he  set  out,  with  a  single  com- 
panion, to  thread  the  trackless  forest,  on 
the  twenty-sixth  of  December,  not  with- 
out some  misgivings,  as  we  may  well  be- 
lieve. On  the  second  day  the  two  travel- 
lers encoantercd  a  party  of  Indians  in 
kagae  with  the  French,  who  were  lying 
IB  wait  for  them.  One  of  the  savages 
fired  st  them,  not  fifteen  paces  cfl^  and 
missed ;  but  instead  of  returning  the  fire, 
which  might  have  brought  the  whole  pack 
upon  them,  they  simply  took  the  fellow 
mto  mistody  and  kept  him  till  nine  o'clock 
in  the  evening;  then  let  him  go,  and 
walked  all  ni^t  to  get  the  start  of  who- 
tver  might  attempt  to  follow.  The  next 
day  they  walked  on  until  dark,  and 
leikched  the  river,  about  two  miles  above 
the  Fork  of  Uie  Ohio,  the  ice  driving 
down  in  ^reat  quantities. 

Here  it  was  that  the  incident  of  the 
whirling  raft  occurred,  which  had  so 
nesriy  changed  the  fortunes  of  our  first 
straggle  for  independence,  if  not  the  whole 
dertmy  of  our  oountrv  for  an  age  or  two 
at  least    The  Jonmalist  states  the  occor* 


"  There  was  no  way  for  getting  over  but 
on  a  raft,  which  we  set  about  with  one 
poor  hatchet,  and  finished  just  after  sun- 
setting.  This  was  one  whole  day's  work. 
We  next  got  it  launched,  then  went  on 
board  of  it  and  set  off;  but  before  we 
were  half  way  over,  wo  were  jammed  in 
the  ice  in  such  a  manner  that  we  expected 
every  moment  our  raft  to  sink  and  our- 
selves to  perish.  I  put  out  my  setting- 
pole  to  try  to  stop  the  raft,  that  the  ice 
might  pass  by,  when  the  rapidity  of  the 
stream  threw  it  with  so  much  violence 
against  the  pole,  that  it  jerked  me  out  into 
ten  feet  water,  but  I  fortunately  saved 
myself  by  catching  hold  of  one  of  the  raft- 
logs.'  Notwithstanding  all  our  efforts,  we 
could  not  get  to  either  shore,  but  were 
obliged,  as  we  were  near  an  island,  to 
quit  our  raft  and  make  to  it.  The  cold 
was  so  extremely  severe  that  Mr.  Gist 
had  all  his  fingers  and  some  of  his  toes 
frozen,  and  the  water  shut  up  so  hard 
that  wo  found  no  difficulty  in  getting  off 
the  island  on  the  ice  in  the  morning." 

We  have  seen  several  picturings  of  the 
scene  on  the  rail,  and  one  of  Washington 
struggling  in  the  icy  water,  but  we  should 
like  to  sec  one  that  would  express  the 
condition  of  the  two  half-frozen  travellers 
on  the  island  through  that  night,  without 
tent  or  fire,  and  wrapt  in  the  stiflf,  I'rozen 
clothes  with  which,  one  of  them,  at  least, 
must  have  come  on  .shore.  Not  a  word  is  said 
of  this  in  the  journal ;  of  the  horrors  of  cold, 
fatigue  and  hunger  all  at  once  ;  the  long 
hours  till  morning,  the  reasonable  dread 
of  such  savage  dan^^ors  as  had  already 
been  encountered.  Well  may  Wa.shington 
say  this  travel  of  eleven  weeks  had  been 
**  as  fatiguing  a  journey  as  it  is  possible  to 
conceive ; "  and  he  adds.  "  From  the  first 
day  of  December  to  the  15th,  there  was 
but  one  day  on  which  it  did  not  rain  or 
snow  incessantly;  and  throughout  the 
whole  journey  we  met  with  nothing  but 
one  continued  series  of  cold,  wet  weather, 
which  occa.sioned  very  uncomfortable 
lodgings,  especially  after  we  had  quitted 
our  tent,  which  was  some  screen  from  the 
inclemency  of  it." 

Uncomfortable  lodgings ! 

On  his  return  to  Williamsburg,  Mr. 
Robertson,  speaker  of  the  House  of  Bur- 
gesses, took  the  opportunity  of  Washing- 
ton's being  in  the  gallery  of  the  house  to 
pay  him  a  high  compliment,  by  proposing 
that  the  thanks  of  the  House  should  be 
presented  to  the  youthful  major.  This 
was  instantly  acceded  to,  and  besides  the 
usual  form  of  words,  we  are  told  "the 
House  rose,  as  one  man^  axvd  toriATx^  \x>- 
wsrdi  Washington,  saXutod  Yma  nh^  % 


192 


WashinffUm^i  Early  Days 


[F< 


general  bow."  It  is  hardly  Decessary  to 
obserye  that  this  must  have  been  far  more 
embarrassing  than  gratifying  to  a  modest 
man  of  one  and  twenty,  and  it  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at  that  the  recipient  of  so  un- 
usual a  testimonial  of  approbation  was 
orerwhelmed  with  confusion,  as  he  rose 
to  attempt  the  impromptu  reply,  which 
he  knew  would  be  expected  by  these 
good-hearted  gentlemen.  He  blushed, 
stammered,  stopped ;  and  had  succeeded  in 
uttering  no  more  than,  "Mr*  Speaker! 
Mr.  Speaker!"  when  Mr.  Robertson 
kindly  called  out  —  **Sit  down.  Major 
Washington,  sit  down  I  your  modesty  is 
equal  to  your  merit." 

They  reached  Williamsburg  on  the  Kth 
of  January,  1754,  and  Major  Washington 
made  his  report  to  Governor  Dinwiddie, 
delivering  also  the  letter  of  the  French 
commandant  The  Council  ordered  the 
raising  of  two  companies  of  men,  by  way 
of  preparation  to  resist  the  encroachments 
of  the  French,  now  perceived  to  be  assum- 
ing a  hostile  attitude  toward  the  colonists. 
Major  Washington  was  at  once  appointed 
to  the  command  of  these  troops,  and  by 
way  of  informing  the  people  of  the  prob^ 
able  designs  of  the  French,  and  exciting 
their  indignation  to  the  pitch  of  war,  the 
(Jovornor  ordered  the  journal  from  which 
we  have  quoted  a  few  passages,  to  be 
published  entire,  much  against  the  in- 
clination of  the  writer,  who  thought 
very  poorly  of  it  It  was  reprinted  in* 
England,  and  attracted  much  attention 
there.  The  Governor's  orders  to  the  young 
commander  and  his  subordinates  were, 
"  to  drive  away,  kill,  and  destroy  or  seize 
as  prisoners,  all  persons  not  the  subjects 
of  the  king  of  Great  Britain,  who  should 
attempt  to  settle  or  take  possession  of  the 
lands  on  the  Ohio  River,  or  any  of  its 
tributaries." 

But  the  country  in  general  was  not 
particularly  well  disposed  towards  the 
warlike  manifestations  planned  by  Gover- 
nor Dinwiddie.  who  writes  somewhat  pite- 
onsly  to  the  Lords  at  home ;  ^'  I  am  sorry 
to  find  them  very  much  in  a  republican 
way  of  thinking."  He  persevered,  how- 
ever, and  enlistments  went  on ;  the  forces 
were  increased,  and  demands  for  aid  made 
on  the  neighboring  States.  Washington's 
experience  in  raising  and  equipping  troops 
without  money  commenced  here ;  he 
writes  from  his  head-quarters  at  Alexan- 
dria, to  the  Governor,  that  his  men  are 
much  discouraged  for  want  of  pay,  and 
that  "  many  of  them  are  without  shoes  or 
stocking,  some  without  shirts,  and  not 
M  few  without  coats  or  waistcoats."  Wash- 
io£;tanwM8nJaedtotbennko{]kia\miMJi^ 


colonel,  second  in  command  nndier 
Fry,  an  excellent  officer.  Cann 
other  military  equipments,  recently 
from  England,  were  sent  to  Ale: 
for  the  use  of  the  growing  army, 
aggressions  on  the  Ohio  preciptKl 
tilities  somewhat  Some  men  wl 
building  a  fort  were  attacked  by 
sand  French  under  Captain  Conti 
and  forced  to  yield  the  ground,  the 
staying  to  finish  the  works,  whic 
named  Fort  Duquesne,  in  compUi 
the  Governor  of  Canada.  Colond 
ington  occupied  an  outpost,  much  e: 
and  his  force  was  quite  insufficient 
serious  resistance ;  but  he  lost  no 
ment  in  pushing  forward  into  the 
ness  to  clear  and  prepare  a  road— i 
which  would  at  least  give  active  b 
to  his  men,  and  keep  off  diseonti 
timidity.  To  all  other  hardshi] 
superadded  that  of  scanty  fare,  th 
tolerable  ill. to  the  laborer.  But  the 
chief  thought  there  was  "no  such  ^ 
fail,"  for  him,  at  least,  and  he  tried 
an  expeditious  passage  by  the  Youg) 
River,  in  the  course  of  which  he  < 
tered  rocks  and  shoals,  and  at  lengt 
to  a  fall,  which  rendered  farther  e 
tion  impracticable.  When  he  n 
to  the  camp,  he  received  a  wamin 
sage  from  the  Half-king  importh 
the  French  were  marching  toward 
determined  upon  an  attack.  On 
information  of  the  near  approach 
enemy.  Washington  set  off  to  jc 
Half-king,  a  task  of  no  snaall  dii 
as  the  march  was  to  be  performed 
night,  in  a  violent  storm  of  rai 
through  an  almost  trackless  wild 
That  the  state  of  affairs  at  this  tii 
not  wholly  satisfactory  may  be 
from  the  following  passage  in  a  lei 
dressed  by  Colonel  Washington 
Governor :  "  Giving  up  my  commi 
quite  contrary  to  my  intention, 
ask  it  as  a  greater  favor  than  any  a; 
the  many  I  have  received  from  your 
to  confirm  it  to  me.  But  let  n 
voluntarily ;  then  I  will,  with  theg 
pleasure  in  life,  devote  my  servloef 
expedition,  without  any  other  rewa 
the  satisfaction  of  serving  my  cc 
but  to  be  slaving  dangerously 
shadow  of  pay,  through  wooda, 
mountains — I  would  rather  pre 
great  toil  of  a  daily  laborer,  and  d 
maintenance,  provided  I  were  red 
the  necessity,  than  serve  upon  snch 

terms I  hope  what  I  ha 

will  not  be  taken  amiss,  for  I  rei 
liere,  were  it  as  much  in  your  p 
it  18  in  your  inclination,  we  m 


1854.] 


Wtuhin^UmU  \Barly  Days. 


183 


treated  as  gentlemen  and  officers,  and  not 
haye  annexed  to  the  most  trifling  pay 
that  ever  was  giyen  to  English  officers^ 
the  glorious  allowance  of  soldiers'  diet, — 
a  poond  of  pork,  with  bread  in  proportion, 

rvr  6xy.  Be  the  consequence  what  it  will, 
am  determined  not  to  leave  the  regiment, 
but  to  be  among  the  last  men  that  shall 
quit  the  Ohio." 

A  painful  occurrence  at  this' stage  of  the 
border  war  was  the  death  of  M.  Jumon- 
vQle,  a  French  captain,  who  fell  in  an  afr 
tadc  led  by  Washington  himself,  the 
whole  circumstances  of  which  have  been 
strangely  misrepresented  by  the  French 
historians.  They  assert  that  Jumonville 
advanced  in  the  pacific  character  of  a  mes- 
senger ;  Washington  observes — "  TViirty- 
fix  men  would  lumost  have  been  a  retinue 
for  a  princely  ambassador  instead  of  a 

petit An  ambassador  has  no  need 

of  spies;  his  character  is  always  sacred. 
Since  they  had  so  good  an  intention,  why 
should  they  remain  two  days  within  five 
miles  of  us,  without  giving  me  notice  of 
the  summons,  or  any  thing  that  related 

to  their  embassy  1 They  pretend 

that  they  called  to  us  as  soon  as  we  were 
discovered,  which  is  absolutely  false ;  for  I 
was  at  the  head  of  the  party  approaching 
them,  and  I  can  affirm  that  as  soon  as 
they  saw  us,  they  ran  to  their  arms  with- 
out calling,  which  I  should  have  heard 
had  they  done  so." 

The  short  and  simple  account  ^iven  by 
Washington  to  Governor  Dinwiddie  is 
this :  *•  I  set  out  with  forty  men  before  ten, 
and  it  was  from  that  time  until  near  sun- 
rise before  we  reached  the  Indians'  camp, 
having  marched  in  small  paths,  through  a 
heavy  rain,  and  a  night  as  dark  as  it  is 
possible  to  conceive.  We  were  frequently 
tumbling  one  over  another,  and  often  so 
lost  that  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes'  search 
would  not  find  the  path  again. 

"  When  we  came  to  the  Half-king,  I 
counselled  with  him,  and  got  his  assent  to 
go  hand-in-hand  and  strike  the  French. 
Accordingly  he,  Monacawacha,  and  a  few 
other  Indians,  set  out  with  us,  and  when 
we  came  to  the  place  where  the  troops 
were,  the  Half-king  sent  two  Indians  to 
follow  the  tracks  and  discover  their  lodg- 
ment, which  they  did,  at  a  very  obscure 
place,  surrounded  with  rocks.  I  thereupon. 
m  conjunction  with  the  Half-king  ana 
Monacawacha,  formed  a  disposition  to  at- 
tack them  on  all  sides,  which  we  accord- 
ii^jly  did,  and  after  an  engagement  of 
fifteen  minutes,  we  killed  ten,  wounded  one, 
and  took  twenty-one  prisoners.  Amongst 
those  killed  was  M.  Jumonville,  the  com- 
mander.   The  principal  officers  taken  are 


M.  Drouillon  and  M.  La  Force,  of  whom 
your  Honor  has  oft^n  heard  me  speak,  as 
a  bold  enterprising  man,  and  a  person  of 
great  subtlety  and  cunning.  These  officers 
pretend  they  were  coming  on  an  embassy ; 
but  the  absurdity  of  this  pretext  is  too 
glaring,  as  you  will  see  by  the  Instructions 
and  Summons  inclosed.  Their  instructions 
were  to  reconnoitre  the  country,  roads, 
creeks,  and  the  like,  as  far  as  the  Poto- 
mac, which  tl^ey  were  about  to  do.  These 
enterprising  men  were  purposely  chosen 
out  to  procure  intelligence,  which  they 
were  to  send  back  by  some  brisk  de^ 
spatches,  with  the  mention  of  the  day 
that  they  were  to  serve  the  summons, 
which  could  be  with  no  other  view  than 
to  •  get  a  sufficient  reinforcement  to  fall 
upon  us  immediately  after." 

History  is  really  disgraced  by  the  at- 
tempt to  represent  the  death  of  the  com- 
mander of  such  a  party  under  such  cir- 
cumstances an  "assassination;"  yet  Mr. 
Sparks  mentions  MM.  Flassan,  Lacretelle, 
Montgaillard,  and  a  recent  writer  in  the 
Biographie  Universelie,  as  only  a  few  of 
the  French  historians  that  have  fallen  into 
this  gross  error,  the  sole  authority  for 
which  is  a  letter  written  by  M.  Contre- 
coeur  to  the  Marquis  Duquesne,  which 
letter  gives  the  Governor  the  report  of  a 
Canadian  who  ran  away  at  the  beginning 
of  the  skirmish,  and  the  rumors  gathered 
among  the  Indians. 

Not  content  with  this  prosaic  slander, 
M.  Thomas  wrote  an  epic  (I)  entitled 
^^  Jumonville,"  the  subject  or  which  he 
states  as,  '•  IJAssassinat  de  M.  Jumon- 
ville en  Amerique,  et  la  Vengeance  de  ce 
Meurtre,"  a  poem  which  Zimmermann 
cites  as  a  remarkable  instance  of  the  effect 
of  national  antipathy.  "The  preface," 
observes  Mr.  Sparks,  "contains  an  ex- 
aggerated paraphrase  of  M.  Contrecoeur's 
letter,  as  the  groundwork  of  the  author's 
poetical  fabric.  With  the  materials  thus 
furnished,  and  the  machinery  of  the  deep 
and  wild  forests,  the  savages,  the  demon 
of  battles  and  the  ghost  of  Jumonville, 
his  epic  speedily  assumes  a  tragic  garb, 
and  the  scenes  of  horror  and  the  cries  of 
vengeance  cease  not  till  the  poem  closes." 

Washington,  with  his  usual  self-abne- 
gation in  cases  merely  personal,  never 
took  the  least  pains  io  justify  himself  by 
declaring  publicly  the  falsity  of  the  stain 
thus  sought  to  be  fixed  upon  his  character. 
He  had  the  unqualified  approbation  of  the 
authorities  under  whose  orders  he  acted, 
and  of  the  government  at  home,  and  he 
was  content.  Governor  Dinwiddie  wrote 
thus  to  Lord  Albemarle :  "  The  prisoners 
said  they  were  come  as  an  embassy  from 


184 


WashingUm^s  Early  Day$. 


[Fetmfij 


the  fort ;  but  vour  Lordship  knows  that 
ambassadors  do  not  come  with  such  an 
armed  force,  without  a  trumpet  or  any 
other  sign  of  fHendship  \  nor  can  it  be 
thought  they  were  on  an  embassy,  by 
staying  so  long  reconnoitering  our  small 
camp,  but  more  probably  that  they  ex- 
pected a  reinforcement  to  cut  them  all 
off." 

Washington's  private  journal  of  the 
affairs  of  the  time,  which  was  lost  at  the 
fatal  defeat  of  General  Braddock,  was 
many  years  afterwards  discovered  in  Paris, 
and  found  to  confirm  the  statement  given 
in  his  letter  to  the  Governor.  So  it  is  to  be 
hoped  future  French  historians  will  be  con- 
tent at  least  to  reduce  the  depth  of  color 
which  their  predecessors  have  thought 
suitable  to  this  event,  and  allow  the  death 
of  M.  Jumonville  to  assume  its  true  aspect 
and  position,  as  one  among  the  legitimate 
horrors  which  follow  in  the  train  of  war — 
horrors  which  Washington  was  never 
known  wilfully  or  carelessly  to  deepen. 

It  Is  most  interesting  to  observe,  in 
stuflying  the  career  of  Washingon  from 
the  very  beginning,  how  entirely  he  was 
a  man  of  peace,  though  so  much  of  his 
life  was  pas.sed  in  making  war,  and  that 
with  an  iron  will  and  unJBIinching  thorough- 
ness. He  seems  to  have  done  his  duty  in 
the  character  of  a  soldier  just  as  coolly  and 
regularly  as  he  did  it  in  that  of  a  surveyor. 
He  knew  his  work,  and  he  set  about  it 
with  all  his  powers  of  mind  and  body, 
but  wo  never  feel  for  a  moment  that  it 
was  work  that  he  loved.  He  loved  rural 
life,  the  occupations  of  the  farm,  the  sports 
of  the  field,  the  enjoyments  of  the  fireside. 
Much  has  been  said  of  his  reserve,  as  if  it 
were  exclusiveness ;  but  his  letters  and 
his  constant  home  practice  show,  conclu- 
sively, that  no  man  depended  more  upon 
friendship,  or  found  society  more  necessary 
to  his  enjoyment.  He  kept  only  his  cares 
to  himself,  and  those  only  when  to  impart 
them  would  have  been  ii\jurious  or  un- 
profitable. As  he  grew  older,  weighty 
business  made  him  more  grave  and  silent ; 
but  we  should  always  carry  with  us,  in 
attempting  to  appreciate  his  chAracter  as 
a  man,  the  idea  of  him  that  we  gather 
from  the  record  of  his  earlier  days ;  the 
kindliness,  the  sociability,  the  generous 
confidence,  the  courageous  candor  that 
marked  him  then,  and  evidently  formed 
part  of  the  very  structure  of  his  being. 
Whoever  can  read  his  journals  and  early 
letters  without  imbibing  an  aficction  as 
well  as  reverence  for  him,  must  have  sat 
down  to  the  task  with  enormous  prepos- 


sessions, derived  from  the  aooonnts  of  hit 
later  life. 

Horace  Walpole,  that  inveterate  pointer 
of  anecdotes,  says — *'  In  the  express  whidi 
Major  Washington  despatched  on  the  pro- 
ceding  little  victory,  he  concluded  with 
these  words:  ^JheardthebuUeUwhutle, 
and,  believe  me,  there  is  something 
charming  in  the  sound.^  On  heanng  of 
this,  the  king  said,  sensibly,  ^He  would 
not  say  so  if  he  had  been  used  to  hear 
many?  "  Mr.  Sparks  remarks  that  the 
despatch  communicated  by  Major  Wash- 
ington to  Governor  Dinwiddie,  giving  an 
account  of  the  encounter  with  Jumon- 
Tjlle,  contains  nothing  about  the  tohist^ 
ling  of  buUetSy  nor  is  such  a  sentiment 
contained  in  any  of  his  letters  that  have 
been  preserved.  "  As  the  writer  refers  to 
no  authority,  it  may  be  presumed  that  ho 
had  none  but  rumor,  either  for  the  saying 
of  Washington  or  for  the  more  sensiblo 
reply  of  the  king.  Yet  this  knecdote  is 
not  wholly  without  foundation,  if  we  may 
rely  on  a  statement  of  Gordon,  who  says— 
^  A  gentleman  who  had  heard  the  Rever- 
end ^Ir.  Davies  relate  that  Col.  Washing 
ton  had  mentioned  he  knew  of  no  music 
so  pleasing  as  the  whistling  of  bullets^ 
being  alone  in  conversation  with  him  in 
Cambridge,  asked  him  whether  it  was  as 
he  had  related.  The  General  answered. 
"  If  I  said  so,  it  was  when  I  was  young." ' " 

In  his  maturcr  years,  the  report  of  a 
fowling-piece  was  the  only  warlike  sound 
that  had  any  music  for  his  oars,  and  he 
loved  the  lowing  of  kine.  and  the  cracklmg 
of  a  bright  wo<Mi  fire  better  still.  Not  a 
letter  of  his  that  contains  any  allusion  to 
his  private  and  personal  tastes  but  bseathes 
the  very  spirit  of  a  love  of  retirement  and 
domestic  repose.  In  1790  somebody  cavil- 
led at  the  etiquette  observed  at  his  levees 
in  New- York,  to  which  he  replies :  "  That 
I  have  not  been  able  to  make  bows  to  tho 
taste  of  poor  Colonel  B.  (who,  by  the  by, 
I  believe,  never  saw  one  of  them),  is  to 
be  regretted,  especially,  too,  as  upon  thoee 
occasions  they  were  indiscriminately  bo- 
stowed,  and  the  best  I  was  master  oL 
Would  it  not  have  been  better  to  throw 
the  veil  of  charity  over  thenk  ascribing 
their  stiffness  to  the  effects  of  age,  or  to 
the  unskilfulness  of  my  teacher,  rather 
than  to  pride  and  dignity  of  offioe,  which| 
God  knows,  has  no  charms  for  me  ?  For 
I  can. truly  say  I  had  rather  be  at  Monnt 
Vernon,  with  a  friend  or  two  about  me^ 
than  to  be  attended  at  the  seat  of  eovern- 
ment  by  the  officers  of  state  and  the  rep- 
resentatives of  every  power  in  Europe." 


1854.] 


135 


MODERN   GHEEK   CUSTOMS. 


A  WEDDING  IN  THX  UPPKR  CIRCLES. 

AM  ARRIAGE  ceremony  at  Athens  is  a 
very  dififerent  celebration  from  one 
in  the  country.  In  the  former  we  find 
that  there  is  exhibited  somewhat  of  Euro- 
pean civilization  and  cultiyation ;  while 
the  influence  of  foreign  customs  has  not 
yet  penetrated  into  the  remote  villages. 
There  men  are  married,  as  well  as  ba[>- 
tized  and  buried,  accoraing  to  the  good 
old  traditionary  forms  of  their  ancestors. 
And  yet  there  have  been  preserved,  even 
in  the  city,  so  many  characteristic  pecu- 
ijariUes,  that  they  appear  novel  and  inter- 
esting to  a  stranger.  I  was,  therefore, 
lery  much  pleased  to  receive  one  day  an 
invitation  to  the  wedding  of  a  young 
Greek  couple,  which  was  to  take  place  a 
few  evenings  Uter. 

The  ceremony  is  generally  performed 
b  the  house  of  the  bridegroom,  though  in 
some  provinces  the  parish  church  is  re- 
sorted to.  But  in  this  respect,  as  in  most 
others,  each  petty  district  has  its  own 
customs,  as  inmiutable  as  the  laws  of  the 
Medes  and  Persians.  We  went  at  an 
early  hour  to  the  house  of  the  evening's 
fisstivitics.  It  was  a  mansion  of  the  old 
style,  all  of  stone  and  stucco,  and  faced 
one  of  the  narrow  streets  that  abound  in 
the  more  ancient  part  of  the  town.  A 
crowd  of  the  lower  classes,  who,  though 
they  were  not  among  the  invited,  made 
bold  to  collect  in  force  about  the  door, 
seemed  to  preclude  all  entrance.  A  small 
company,  some  distance  down  the  street, 
were  keeping  up  their  spirits  with  frequent 
potations;  and  made  merry  with  the 
music  of  a  stringed  instrument,  whose 
notes  grated  harshly  on  our  ears.  It  was 
ever  and  anon  interrupted  by  the  jocose 
comments  which  the  party  uttered  upon 
the  appearance  of  the  guests,  as  they  suc- 
cessiTely  came  into  the  light  cast  b^  a 
flaming  torch  set  in  a  convenient  position. 
When  we  had  succeeded  in  working  our 
way  up  the  thronged  staircase,  we  foimd 
some  sixty  or  eighty  persons  already  con- 
gregated in  the  moderately  large  parlor, 
whicli,  though  it  seemed  rather  bare  of 
oniament  and  furniture  to  one  who,  like 
myself,  had  come  from  the  West,  had 
some  pretensions  in  common  with  the 
drawing-rooms  of  Paris  and  London.  The 
isscmblcd  company,  composed,  as  usual, 
of  a  much  greater  proportion  of  ladies 
than  gentlemen,  were  mostly  dressed  in 
the  last  style  of  Parisian  fashions.  Yet 
there  was  a  sprinkling  of  gentlemen  in  the 


genuine  Albanian  dress,  comprising  your 
free  and  easy  people,  who  wish  to  pass 
for  the  most  independent  class  of  society, 
and  scorn  to  adopt  the  continually  chang- 
ing mode.  There  were  not  wanting  a 
considerable  number  of  pretty  faces  among 
the  ladies  (who,  according  to  the  common 
practice,  congregated  on  one  side  of  the 
room);  but  it  was  a  beauty  consistine 
rather  in  freshness  of  colour,  and  a  good 
healthy  look,  than  in  delicacy  of  feature. 
If,  however,  rumor  tells  true,  some  of  the 
tmts  are  borrowed ;  and  the  belle  of  the 
ball-room  makes  but  a  sorry  figure  the 
next  morning.  All  the  tight  lacing  in  the 
world  could  not  give  an  Athenian  damsel 
the  wasp-like  contour  of  figure,  which  is 
the  admiration  of  all  your  French  dress- 
makers and  misses  in  their  teens.  Dis- 
guise it  as  they  may,  there  is  a  tendency 
to  the  en  bon  point  among  the  ladies, 
many  of  whom  waddle  about  wiih  a  grace 
which  would  have  seemed  charming  in  the 
eyes  of  our  worthy  Duteh  progenitors.  The 
men,  on  the  other  hand,  are  a  lean,  lank 
race,  whose  dark-complexioned  faces  ac- 
quire an  additional  touch  of  ferocity  from 
the  formidable  moustaches  they  wear,  and 
which,  when  their  hands  are  not  other- 
wise employed,  they  may  be  seen  twirling 
by  the  hour. 

The  company  were  all  assembled,  and 
on  the  tiptoe  of  expectation,  when  the 
bridegroom  and  bride  entered,  and  took 
their  stand  at  the  further  extremity  of  the 
room.  Each  of  them  held  a  long  lighted 
waxen  taper,  and  the  groomsman  and 
bridesmaid  carried  similar  ones.  The 
bride,  arrayed  in  a  white  satin  dress, 
covered  with  lace,  and  having  for  a  head- 
dress a  wreath  of  flowers,  from  behind 
which  a  long  white  veil  hung  down  over 
her  shoulders,  looked  charming, — as  what 
bride  does  not  ?  She  bore  the  classic  name 
of  Athend.  The  bridegroom  was  dressed 
in  Frank  costume. 

The  priests  came  in  at  the  same  time 
with  the  couple, — or,  more  properly,  there 
were  present  at  the  commencement  of  the 
service  two  priests^  with  a  deacon  and  a 
young  man  who  read  the  responses,  and 
corresponded  to  the  enfant  de  cha&ur  of 
the  Latin  Church. 

There  are  two  distmct  services  in  the 
Greek  Church  pertaining  to  this  cere- 
mony ;  and  the  rite  of  marriage  cannot 
take  place,  unless  the  parties  have  been 
previously  betrothed.  Sometimes,  how- 
ever, as  in  this  instance,  the  one  service 
takes  place  immediately  before  the  other. 


136 


Modem  Greek  Customs. 


[Febmaiy 


The  liturgy  was  read  by  one  of  the  priests 
from  an  elegantly  bound  service  book.  In 
one  part  of  the  ceremony  he  stopped,  and, 
taking  up  a  ring  from  the  small  table,  on 
which  were  deposited  the  various  utensils 
which  the  deacon  had  brought  in,  he 
thrice  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  over 
the  book.  Then  he  touched  it  to  the 
forehead  of  the  bridegroom,  and  to  that 
of  the  bride.  Last  of  all  he  placed  it  suo- 
cessively  upon  the  finger,  first  of  one  and 
then  of  the  other,  after  divers  crossings 
performed  in  the  air. 

When  the  parties  were  thus  lawfully 
betrothed,  there  was  a  short  pause,  and 
then  the  bishop,  whom  the  relatives  had 
invited  to  officiate  in  order  to  give  more 
brilliancy  to  the  wedding,  entered  the 
room,  and  the  priests  hastened  to  do  him 
homage.  He  is  usually  dressed  in  the 
ordinary  episcopal  costume,  wearing  his 
black  cloak  and  gown,  and  the  clerical 
cap,  over  which  a  black  veil  hangs  down 
behind,  as  a  distinguishing  mark  of  his 
office.  But  on  this  occasion  his  head  was 
covered  with  a  crown,  and  he  carried  a 
heavy  silver  crozier,  such  as  is  only  to  be 
seen  in  the  Greek  Church — Iloman  Catho- 
lic bishops  rarely  appearing  in  public  with 
it  The  handsome  dresses  of  the  priests 
added  to  the  singularity  of  the  scene. 
The  bishop  now  took  the  principal  part  in 
the  services,  reading  from  a  book  covered 
with  a  solid  silver  binding,  which  one  of 
the  priests  held  before  him.  Whenever 
he  found  it  necessary  to  lay  aside  his  cro* 
zier,  one  of  the  attendant  ecclesiastics 
took  it  at  tho  same  time  kissing  his  supe- 
rior's hand.  And  when  he  resumed  it 
the  same  ceremony  was  repeated,  to  the 
no  small  disgust  of  those  of  us  who  were 
not  accustomed  to  such  abject  servility. 
The  service  was  a  long  one ;  and  we  be- 
came quite  tired  of  it;  for  it  consisted 
chiefly  of  prayers,  which  were  hurried 
through,  and  of  passages  of  Scripture 
mumbled  in  such  a  maimer  as  to  be 
quite  unintelligible.  Some  portions  of  the 
written  form  are,  in  themselves,  so  utterly 
senseless,  that  no  one  has  the  least  idea  of 
what  they  mean. 

The  great  and  essential  part  of  the  rite 
was  the  crowning  of  the  couple.  The 
crowns  were,  in  this  case,  merely  wreaths 
of  artificial  flowers,  numbers  of  which 
may  be  seen  in  the  shops  every  day.    The 

Cmsman  held  one  over  the  head  of  the 
egroom,  and  the  bridesmaid  held  a 
similar  one  over  the  bride's  head,  during 
the  whole  time ;  and  they  appeared  quite 
weary  before  the  conclusion  of  the  cere- 
mony was  reached.  At  last,  when  the 
proper  time  came,  the  bishop  took  one  of 


the  wreaths,  and  touching  it  to  the  forehead 
of  the  bridegroom,  and  afterwards  to  that 
of  the  bride,  made  with  it  the  sign  of  the 
cross  between  the  couple.  This  he  thrice 
repeated,  while  at  the  same  time,  he  recited 
the  words  which  follow :  "  Thou,  the  ser- 
vant of  the  Lord.  Gregory,  art  crowned 
(or  married)  to  the  servant  of  the  Lord, 
Athen^  in  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of 
the  Son,  and  ofthe  Holy  Ghost."  He  then 
crowned  the  bridegroom  with  this  wreath ; 
and  with  the  other  performed  the  same 
ceremony  with  the  bride.  Later  the 
groomsman,  who  is  usually  the  godfather, 
or  nonnosj  of  the  bridegroom,  and  is  ex- 
pected to  be  hereditary  sponsor,  exchanged 
the  two  wreaths,  and  then  replaced  t^ni 
on  the  heads  of  the  couple.  A  cup  was 
then  handed  by  the  bishop,  first  to  the 
man,  and  then  to  the  woman ;  and  each 
of  them  drank  a  portion  of  the  wine  it 
contained.  This  very  pretty  ceremonr 
was  symbolical  of  the  obligation,  whicn 
both  parties  enter  into,  to  participate 
equally  in  all  the  pleasures  and  sufienngs 
of  life,  in  its  joys  and  its  sorrows.  I  hibd 
heard  it  stated  that  a  bitter  ingredient  is 
mingled  with  the  wine,  typical  of  life's 
vicissitudes.  But  those  of  whom  I  in- 
quired,  assured  me  that  nothing  of  the 
kind  is  customary.  It  was  singular  that 
with  so  affecting  an  incident,  there  shoola 
be  closely  connected  another  of  a  ludicrous 
character.  The  bishop  took  the  hand  of 
the  priest ;  Ive  in  turn  grasped  that  of  the 
deacon ;  and  so,  with  the  married  ooaple^ 
the  singers  and  all,  a  string  vrss  inade^ 
which  the  chief  ecclesiastic  lA  around  tbs 
table  in  the  centre  of  the  room.  The 
whole  resembled  in  a  ludicrous  manneri 
some  of  those  games  which  the  children 
play  in  America. 

With  this  the  service  came  to  an  end,  to 
the  satisfaction  of  every  one  present 
While  the  priests  retired,  all  pressed 
around  the  bridegroom  and  bride  to  ofier 
congratulations,  some  formal,  and  others 
afiectionate.  The  company  remained  but 
a  few  moments  more.  A  servant  came 
bringing  in  a  large  tray,  covered  with 
candies:  and  each  guest  was  expected 
to  help  himself  plentifully  to  them,  and 
to  carry  some  home.  A  few  seemed  to 
measure  their  kind  feelings  to  the  cou- 
ple, by  the  quantity  which  they  heaped  to- 
gettier.  Judging  by  this  criterion,  their 
benevolent  feelings  were  not  small.  Out 
or  two  drew  forth  their  handkerchieft, 
and  carried  them  away  full.  After  which 
the  company  began  to  disperse,  and  I  fol- 
lowed the  general  example. 

It  struck  me  as  a  very  singular  circum- 
stance, that  during  the  entire  service  whidi 


1854.] 


Modem  Ghreek  CusUms, 


187 


I  had  been  listening  to,  not  a  single  re- 
sponse had  been  made  by  the  couple,  nor 
had  the  consent  of  the  parties  been  ex- 
pressed, or  any  promise  exacted  of  th<An. 
In  (kct)  the  bridegroom  may  arrange  the 
whole  matter  with  the  parents  or  guar- 
dians of  the  lady,  without  her  knowledge, 
and  eyen  against  her  will.  And  let  not 
any  one  suppose  that  such  a  thing,  though 
sanctioned  by  law,  never  actually  occurs 
in  practice.  We  assure  them  that  such 
things  do  happen,  and  not  unfrequently 
cither.  A  case  of  this  kind  was  related 
to  me,  as  having  taken  place  not  long 
since  at  Smyrna,  which  was  so  romantic  in 
its  details,  that  it  might  have  formed  the 
plot  of  a  tale  of  no  ordinary  interest.  A 
wealthy  inhabitant  of  that  city,  an  old 
Qreek  subject,  had  an  only  daughter, 
named  Theodosia,  whose  hand  had  been 
sought,  and  whose  affections  had  been 
gained  by  a  respectable  young  English 
resident  of  the  place.  But  the  father  was 
too  proud  to  let  his  daughter  marry  a 
foreigner,  and  a  heretic,  too ;  and  he  com- 
manded her  to  think  no  more  of  him.  As 
an  offset,  he  promised  his  daughter  in 
marriage  to  a  boorish  Greek  from  the 
East.  But,  it  is  well  known,  the  affec- 
tions are  sometimes  most  unreasonably 
stabbom  ;  and  the  young  lady  preferred 
an  elopement  to  remaining  with  her 
parents,  under  such  circumstances.  A 
rendezvous  was  fixed  upon  by  the  two 
lovers;  but,  unfortunately,  there  was  a 
misunderstanding  as  to  the  spot,  and 
Theodosia,  after  waiting  for  hours  at  the 
place  agreed  upon,  was  finally  discovered 
and  brought  back  to  her  father's  house. 
Threats,  and  even  chastisement,  were  em- 
ployed, ineffectually,  with  the  hope  of 
gaining  her  consent  Notwithstanding 
this  a  day  was  appointed  for  the  nuptials, 
the  priests  were  called  in  to  perform  the 
rite,  and  the  young  girl  was  brought  into 
the  room  by  main  force.  While  the  ser- 
Tice  was  being  read  Theodosia  fainted,  and 
the  priests  stopped  until  she  recovered  her 
senses,  when  they  proceeded ;  and  she 
was  wedded  to  a  man  whom  she  loathed. 
These  circumstances  may  appear  the  more 
remarkable,  from  the  fact,  that  at  this 
time  the  young  lady  was  nineteen  or 
twenty  years  of  age.  So  inauspicious  a 
marriage  was  not  likely  to  prove  a  fortu- 
nate union.  It  was  not  long  before  the 
wife  was  forced  to  be  separated  from  her 
husband,  who  had  treated  her  in  the  most 
cruel  manner.  Her  father  became  the 
strenuous  advocate  of  this  measure ;  but 


for  a  long  time,  he  found  himself  utterly 
unable  to  persuade  her  to  leave  the  man 
whom  he  had  compelled  her  to  wed.* 

MARRIAGE   AMONG   THE   LOWER    ORDERS. 

The  customs  which  characterize  any 
country  are  to  be  found  in  their  purity, 
only  in  those  remote  portions,  into  which 
the  manners  of  other  lands  liave  not  as 
yet  penetrated.  The  increasing  facilities 
of  intercommunication,  while  they  ame- 
liorate the  condition  of  the  poor,  so  far  as 
mere  material  interests  are  affected,  de- 
stroy in  Greece,  as  well  as  in  Switzerland, 
those  striking  contrasts  in  the  mode  of 
living,  which  excite  the  curiosity  of  the 
stranger.  The  American,  walking  the 
streets  of  Athens,  hears  at  every  turn  the 
cry  of  the  peddler,  who,  under  the  name  of 
"pania  Americanica,"  hawks  the  fabrics 
of  the  Lowell  mills;  and  the  Grecian 
mother  finds  it  cheaper  to  clothe  her 
daughters  in  them,  than  to  occupy  her 
leisure  hours  at  the  loom. 

In  the  secluded  villages,  the  ceremony 
of  marriage,  which  in  the  capital  has  be- 
come gradually  assimilated  more  and  more 
to  the  stereotyped  form  of  other  countries, 
includes  a  number  of  ancient  customs. 
Every  petty  hamlet  or,  at  least,  every 
small  district,  possesses  some  of  its  own, 
which  entirely  regulate  tlic  performance 
of  the  ceremony,  and  which  none  of  even 
the  more  polished  citizens  attempt  to 
abrogate.  It  would,  therefore,  be  quite 
a  hopeless  task  to  describe  a// the  diller- 
ent  modes ;  and  the  customs  prevailing  in 
the  province  of  Maina,  at  the  southerly 
extremity  of  the  country,  may  be  taken 
as  a  fair  specimen  of  the  rest.  The  wed- 
ding has  long  since  been  projected,  and 
afler  having  been  fully  discussed  in  family 
council,  on  either  side,  the  connection  has 
been  approved,  and  the  time  for  its  con- 
summation determined  by  all  the  nearest 
relatives  of  the  interested  parties.  For 
such  a  thing  as  a  clandestine  marriage,  or 
one  celebrated  without  the  authorization 
of  friends,  is  almost  unheard  of.  Whoever 
should  marry  a  young  lady,  without  first 
asking  the  consent  of  even  her  third 
cousins,  would,  in  Maina,  inevitably  draw 
upon  himself  their  fierwst  animosity ;  and 
cause  an  irremediable  breach,  which  would 
sooner  or  later  end  in  revenge  and  blood- 
shed. We  have  even  heard  mentioned 
the  instance  of  a  young  man.  who  eloped 
with  a  girl  of  his  acquaintance,  and  who 
afler  forty  years    had    passed,   and    he 


*  This  Is  the  story,  as  related  by  one  who  had  been  a  neighbor  and  acquaintance  of  the  parties;  and  it  wm 
MBfirmed  by  some  esteemed  Athenian  Mends. 
VOU  III. — 10 


188 


Modem  Oreek  Customs. 


[Fcbroaiy 


was  surrounded  by  grown-up  sons  and 
daughters,  fell  a  victim  to  the  unrelenting 
hatred  of  those  whom  he  had  so  long  since 
offended.* 

Tlie  first  preparations  commence  a  week 
beforehand,  and  as  the  ceremony  occurs 
on  Sunday,  these  take  place  on  the  same 
day  of  the  week.  The  bridegroom  and 
his  intended  father-in-law  each  invite  their 
friends  to  their  houses.  If  they  live  in 
the  same  village,  this  is  accomplished  in 
person ;  but  if  they  live  too  far  off  for 
that,  the  invitation  is  equally  well  under- 
stood, on  the  reception  of  a  small  caka 
which  in  these  regions  takes  the  place  of 
the  gilt  and  crested  envelope,  and  the  "  At 
home,"  card  of  our  more  refined  countries. 
Upon  its  reception,  every  one  is  in  duty 
bound  to  go  the  same  day  to  the  house  to 
which  he  is  bidden,  where  a  convivial 
party  is  thus  assembled.  Their  occupa- 
tion for  the  afternoon  consists  in  cleansing, 
and  somethnes  grinding,  the  wheat,  though 
this  latter  operation  is  often  deferred  for 
a  day  or  two.  While  performing  these 
offices  of  friendship,  the  company  enliven 
their  labors  by  singing  various  songs,  for 
the  most  part  curious  and  characteristic ; 
few  of  which  have  ever  yet  been  collected 
in  a  permanent  form. 

The  remamder  of  the  week  is  spent  in 
a  quiet  manner,  and  it  is  not  until  the 
ensuing  Saturday,  that  the  same  parties 
reassemble  at  the  house  of  bridegroom  or 
bride,  as  the  case  may  l>e :  for  no  one  is 
invited  to  both  places.  The  bridegroom, 
who,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  dis- 
trict, bears  all  the  expenses,  has  previously 
agreed  to  provide  a  stipulated  number  of 
rams  or  sheep,  which  are  never  less  than 
three,  and  rarely  exceed  a  dozen.  These 
he  now  sends  to  the  house  of  his  intended 
fatheMn-law,  and  with  them,  three  times 
as  many  loaves  as  there  are  sheep,  and 
three  times  as  many  okes  of  wine  *  as  there 
are  loaves  of  bread.  The  men  who  are 
dispatched  with  these  gifts — which  are 
intended  for  immediate  consumption,  are 
expected  to  be  entertained  and  lodged  at 
the  house  of  the  bride,  for  the  night.  Such 
an  addition  to  the  household  might,  in- 
deed, disturb  an  American  housekeeper. 
But  as  beds  are  an  unknown,  or  unusual 
commodity,  as  far  ns  the  greater  part  of 
the  population  are  concerned,  even  a  large 
number  of  guests  can  easily  be  admitted. 
Provided  the  Greek  peasant  finds  plenty 
to  eat,  and  especially  to  drink,  he  lays 
himself   down    in    perfect    contentment, 


wrapped  up,  as  he  is^  in  a  huge  capote^  or 
shaggy  coat,  by  the  side  of  the  fire,  kindled 
on  a  stone  hearth,  in  the  middle  of  the 
room.  Meanwhile  the  family  oocufyy. 
perhaps,  a  small  inclosed  space  at  one  of 
the  ends  of  the  house,  to  which  aooess  is 

f  lined  by  a  ladder  of  two  or  three  steps. 
am  alluding  here,  of  course,  only  to  Um 
habitations  of  the  lower  and  poorer  dan, 
which  occasion  may,  perhaps  bo  taken  sX 
a  future  time,  to  describe  more  fullr. 
Even  in  retired  districts,  one  oocask>naUy 
finds  a  house  with  much  greater  preten- 
sions to  comfortable  arrangement 

About  midnight,  another  set  of  men  are 
dispatched  from  the  bridegroom*8  housa. 
They  carry  a  complete  attire  for  the  bride^ 
who  is  dressed  up  in  it  immediately. 
Then,  on  Sunday  morning,  at  about  three 
or  four  o'clock,  the  bridegroom  proceeds 
thither  in  person,  accompanied  by  a  few 
of  his  more  intimate  friends.  And  now 
the  marriage  ceremony,  that  is  the  stepluk' 
noma,  or  crowning,  takes  place  in  the 
presence  of  all.  The  parish  priest  who 
has  been  called  to  quit  his  slumbers  al 
this  early  hour,  officiates.  Upon  the  con- 
clusion of  the  service,  the  priest  retires  to 
his  home,  and  so  does  the  bridegroom, 
leaving  his  lady  behind  at  her  father*! 
house.  But  at  perhaps  nine  o'clock,  in 
broad  daylight,  he  proceeds  on  horseback, 
and  attended  by  all  his  friends,  to  claim 
and  carry  home  his  newly  married  wife. 
By  his  side  walk  two  of  his  nearest  female 
relatives,  on  his  father's  and  mother's 
side.  When  the  procession  reaches  the 
house,  the  bridegroom  must  not  enter,  but 
must  stop  in  some  part  of  the  court,  where 
the  guests  of  the  bride's  father  come  each 
to  greet  him.  First,  his  mother4n-]aw 
embraces  him,  at  the  same  time  pladng 
about  his  neck  a  silk  handkerehief,  as  a 
gift.  All  the  women  follow  her  example, 
and  place  a  like  present  on  his  shoulders; 
so  that,  before  they  get  through,  he  will 
find  himself  loaded  with  a  pile  of  handker- 
chiefs. These,  of  course,  he  does  not  wish 
to  keep,  and  within  a  few  days  disposes 
of  them,  without  compunction,  by  sals. 
As  the  custom  is  universal  in  the  region, 
it  becomes  merely  a  matter  of  excbangi^ 
for  every  one  receives  in  the  end  about  at 
much  as  he  gives.  And  now  the  bride- 
groom and  his  friends  may  enter  the  housiL 
where  they  are  generou.<%ly  entertained,  and 
conviviality  reigns  awhile. 

But  now  this  must  end.  The  &ther 
takes  his  daughter,  and  committing  her  to 


*  Thi.H  story  is  emboiUcd  in  one  of  those  pnthetlc  maerologiik,  or  laincntfi,  which  are  repeated  over  Uat 
tombs  of  Uie  (Icccascd.  In  thiit  poetic  history,  tlio  leiMling  evontii  of  the  maa's  life  are  related  in  coasidMiU* 
SaCaiL    Munj  jperauna  have  acquired  a  singular  reputation  for  their  sliill  in  eomjHninir  them. 

t  Wine  and  oil  are  in  Greece  measured  by  weight,  and  an  ok4  Is  aaarly  •qua!  to  threo  uf  <mr  pooada 


3854.] 


Modem  Greek  Oustcms. 


180 


lier  hosband's  care,  gives  him  such  advice 
and  exhortation  as  ho  thinks  proper. 
Then  leading  them  both  into  the  court,  he 
makes  them  tread  on  some  firm  stone; 
^which  form,  if  it  has  anj  meaning  at  all, 
(as,  with  regard  to  many  of  the  more 
trifling  particulars  of  such  ceremonies  as 
these,  seems  rather  improbable),  is  in- 
tended to  convey  the  idea  of  the  unanimity 
necessary  to  both  parties.  The  parents 
now  take  leave  of  their  daughter,  and  the 
friends  accompany  the  newly  married 
couple  to  their  home.  The  guests  of  the 
bridegroom  divert  themselves  as  they  go, 
by  singing  songs,  possessing,  in  truth, 
little  poetical  merit,  but  lively  enough  ;  in 
which  they  represent  themselves  as  having 
"robbed  a  village,  and  despoiled  a  country, 
to  carrj-  off  the  bride,  whose  praises  thou- 
sands sing."  This  nettles  the  friends  of 
the  bride's  father,  who  retort  upon  them 
by  wishing,  "  May  the  bride  shiuo  ujx)n 
joa  like  the  moon,  and  illuminate  you  as 
the  sun.  May  she  trample  you  imder  foot 
like  the  earth ;  and  be  in  no  way  depend- 
ent upon  you  for  aught." 

The  ceremony  which  took  place  at  the 
&ther's,  is  now  repeated  at  that  of  the 
bridegroom;  and  the  bride  is  not  pcr- 
mitt^  to  enter  her  new  home,  before  her 
hiisband\s  friends  have  all  pressed  around 
her  to  shower  presents  upon  her,  consisting 
of  various  little  commodities,  or  of  money. 
All  the  assembled  company  follow  the 
oouple  into  the  house,  and  after  a  few  un- 
important forms,  they  sit  down  to  a  colla- 
mi,  with  which  the  entire  ceremonial 
onnes  to  an  end. 

Those  who  are  acquainted  with  the 
eostoms  of  the  ancient  Greeks  and  Ro- 
mans, will  scarcely  fail  to  observe  the  very 
striking  pouits  of  resemblance  which  those 
I  have  been  relating  present.  The  wedding, 
the  bridal  procession,  the  songs  of  the 
friends,  and  many  of  the  inferior  details, 
preserve  a  similarity  truly  wonderful, 
when  the  varied  circumstances,  and  the 
long  intervening  space  of  time,  are  taken 
into  consideration.  The  fact  must,  how- 
ever, be  borne  in  nnnd,  that  the  habits  of 
the  people  in  various  districts  are  so  ex- 
tremely diverse,  that  the  description  of 
those  which  prevail  in  one  place,  by  no 
means  conveys  a  correct  idea  of  those  of  a 
Tillage  only  a  few  miles  distant 

A  GREEK  BAPTISM. 

One  of  the  tenants  of  a  friend  intended 
to  have  his  child  baptized ;  and  we  were 
included  among  those  who  were  requested 
to  witness  the  ceremony.  The  small 
cottage,  wluch  stood  with  its  end  to  the 


street  was  entered  from  the  court  on  its 
side.  Here  a  part  of  the  family,  in  their 
gala  dresses,  were  awaiting  the  arrival  of 
the  priest  who  was  to  officiate.  There  is 
a  large  fund  of  kindness  in  the  Grecian 
heart,  even  among  the  poorest ;  and  the 
inmates  of  the  cottage  received  us  with 
pleasure,  and  exerted  themselves  to  the 
utmost  to  entertain  us.  The  priest  kept 
us  waiting  for  him.  When  he  did  come. 
I  found  that  he  was  an  acquaintance,  ana 
officiated  in  the  neighboring  church  of  St 
Nicholas  Rangaves ;  whose  shrill  little 
bell,  ringing  to  call  the  people  to  their  de- 
votions, used  to  break  in  upon  my  morning 
slumbers.  A  good  heart  beats  within 
that  coarse  black  go\ni,  and  a  ruddy  face 
beams  with  good  nature  from  under  the 
priestly  cap ;  but  a  plentiful  use  of  the 
snuff-l)0x  does  not  improve  his  appearance 
for  cleanliness. 

A  large  brass  vessel,  a  couple  of  feet  in 
diameter,  was  brought  in  by  a  young  man, 
and  placed  in  the  centre  of  the  room. 
Several  bucketsful  of  warm  and  cold 
water  were  poured  in.  until  the  tempera- 
ture was  judged  suitable.  But  before  the 
water  was  fit  for  using,  another  operation 
was  necessary ;  for  the  presence  of  any 
evil  spirits  or  magic  in  the  water  would 
infallibly  impair,  if  not  destroy,  the  effect 
of  the  ordinance.  If  any  such  beings  or 
influence  lay  concealed,  they  were  assur- 
edly dispelled  by  the  manipulations  of  tho 
priest,  who,  baring  his  arm.  three  times 
drew  it  through  the  water,  making  tho 
sign  of  the  cross.  And  if  this  had  been 
ineflectual,  they  could  not  remain  after 
that  he  had  blown  upon  the  surface,  so  as 
to  repeat  the  same  sacred  sign  upon  it 
The  water  being  thus  consecrated,  the 
child  was  brought  in,  neatly  dressed  in 
white,  and  presented  by  its  godfather  for 
baptism.  And  now  it  was  stripped  of 
every  particle  of  clothing,  then  tatven  by 
the  priest,  who  held  it  up  before  the  whole 
company,  in  order,  I  presume,  that  all 
might  be  witnesses  to  the  act  A  small 
bottle  of  oil  was  presented  to  the  ecclesi- 
ustic,  and  after  its  contents  had  been 
sanctified  by  receiving  an  apostolic  bene- 
diction, the  infant's  entire  Ixnly  was  an- 
ointed with  it.  This  is  not,  however,  con- 
sidered an  integral  part  of  the  religious 
rite ;  but  is  merely  intended  to  prevent 
any  injurious  effects  from  the  application 
of  water  at  so  tender  an  age,  as  is  custom- 
ary among  the  Greeks.  And  the  precau- 
tion, if  it  he  of  any  avail,  is  certainly 
needed.  The  common  people  consider  the 
performance  of  the  ceremony  almost,  if 
not  quite,  a  sine  qua  non  of  salvation,  be- 
liering  in  its  regenerating  influence.    So 


140- 


Modem  Greek  Chutoms. 


[Pel 


the  more  delicate  the  babe's  constitution, 
the  more  anxious  are  the  parents  to  have 
the  rite  performed  as  early  as  possible. 
Notwithstanding  all  their  precautions, 
however,  I  have  heard  that  great  numbers 
of  infants  yearly  die  in  consequence  of  the 
shock  they  receive. 

The  act  of  baptism  itself  consisted  in 
three  times  entirely  immersing  the  child. 
The  priest  managed  this  very  adroitly, 
and  prevented  its  strangling  by  covering 
its  mouth  and  whole  face  with  one  of  his 
hands.  After  this  was  done  (the  name 
being  given  at  the  same  time),  the  priest 
returned  the  crying  and  shivering  baby 
into  the  hands  of  the  godfather,  and  the 
others  who  stood  near,  by  whom  he  was 
speedily  wiped  and  clothed.  The  baptism 
was  completed  by  the  application  to  the 
child's  forehead,  ears,  hands,  and  feet,  of 
a  little  of  the  •'  holy  unguent,"  which  is, 
or  was  until  lately,  compounded  only  by 
the  Patriarch  of  Constantinople,  and  dis- 
pensed once  a  year  to  all  the  churches. 

The  infant  being  now  removed,  the  god- 
father presented  to  each  of  the  persons 
present  a  bright  silver  coin  of  the  date  of 
the  current  year,  and  a  ribbon  passed 
through  a  small  hole  in  it  The  person 
who  receives  this  little  piece  of  money  is 
bound  to  keep  it  safely,  that  it  may  re- 
mind him  of  his  having  witnessed  the  bap- 
tism of  that  child.  This  testimony  he  is  ex- 
pected to  render,  if  necessary,  before  men, 
and  also  before  the  angels  at  the  last 
Judgment.  And  now  the  glittering  coin, 
as  it  lies  glittering  on  the  table  before  me 
as  I  write  this,  with  the  neat  knot  of  blue 
ribbon  tied  to  it,  recalls  the  image  of  that 
departed  innocent,  which  no  longer  needs 
any  to  witness  to  its  christening  here 
below. 

The  godfather  bore  all  the  contingent 
expenses,  which  were  in  this  case  but 
small,  though  they  sometimes  amount  to 
a  considerable  sum.  So  it  is  esteemed 
quite  a  mark  of  friendship  to  stand  as 
sponsor  for  your  neighbor's  child.  But 
the  most  important  consideration  by  far, 
is  that  the  connection  thus  formed  is  as 
binding  as  a  natural  relationship,  and  for 
ever  precludes  all  intermarriages  between 
those  thus  allied  to  each  other,  even  to 
the  same  degree  as  with  members  of  the 
same  stock — that  is,  according  to  Greek 
law,  to  the  ninth  degree,  I  believe. 

rUNERAL  PROCESSIONS,  AND   OFFERINGS  TO 
THE  DEAD. 

Look  with  me  for  a  moment  at  the  pro- 
cession, which  is  this  moment  passing  on 
its  way  to  the  cemetery  beyond  the  nisisus. 


Duriiig  the  hot  months,  seven 
may  be  counted  every  day.  The  i 
choly  nasal  chant  of  the  prieats  m 
come  alone,  betokens  the  approach 
train ;  and,  as  it  comes  nearer  and  i 
the  litanies  which  are  recited  becom 
distinguishable.  The  corpse  of  ti 
ceased  is  borne  in  a  light  woodeta  I 
coffin,  upon  the  shoulders  of  men. 
body,  decorated  with  flowers  and  c 
in  white,  is  exposed  to  the  gaze  of  a 
the  lid  has  been  removed,  and  is  i 
by  a  man  or  boy  in  the  van  of  the  j 
sion.  It  has  a  large  cross  invi 
pamted  upon  it.  As  it  approadies^ 
bystander  reverently  raises  his  ha 
stands  uncovered  until  it  has  pasaec 
this  mark  of  respect  is  paid  not  to  t 
parted,  but  to  the  sign  of  the  cross, 
Greek  friends  assure  me.  It  must  1 
fessed,  there  is  something  rather  rej 
in  this  parading  of  death  throug 
thronged  street,  especially  where  it 
ject  has  been  chosen  from  amoc 
aged,  or  bears  the  marks  of  gr» 
recent  struggles  for  dear  life.  Si 
the  manner  in  which  the  common 
are  carried  to  their  last  resting-placi 
the  death  of  a  bishop  occasions 
greater  pomp.  He  is  carried  throu 
most  public  thoroughfares ;  and,  d 
as  in  the  discharge  of  his  eodesi 
functions,  he  is  placed  in  a  sitting  p 
upon  the  bier.  Upon  reaching  toe  t 
tery  where  he  is  privileged  to  enter 
buried  in  the  same  position, — a  disti 
allowed  to  no  one  else. 

The  interest  entertained  by  soi 
for  the  memory  and  souls  of  the  d 
evinced  by  the  prayers  that  are  c 
their  behalf,  though  the  Greeks  c 
profess  to  believe  in  the  czistenoi 
purgatory.  A  singular  practice  a 
their  remembrance  yet  more  vividly, 
ral  successive  Fridays  arc  set  «p 
especially  devoted  to  the  dead,  ifi 
of  the  church  of  St.  Nicolas,  situs 
the  very  base  of  the  Acropolis,  att 
my  attention  on  one  of  these  oca 
Upon  entering  the  church,  which 
small  edifice  scarcely  exceeding  in  i 
ordinary  room,  I  found  a  few  p 
waiting  for  the  commencement  < 
services,  the  men  and  boys,  as 
standing  near  the  altar,  while  the  i 
kept  at  a  more  respectful  distance, 
and  anon  some  person  would  oo 
carrying  a  small  dish  covered  with 
kin ;  and  after  devoutly  crossing  h 
place  the  dish  upon  the  floor,  in  fr 
the  screen  of  the  hieron  or  holy 
These  plates  contain  a  peculiar  s 
oompound  or  cake,  which  is  calli 


1854.] 


Pla€$t  of  PMie  Amumnent. 


141 


OoUjfva.  It  is,  in  fiust^  an  ofibring  made 
to  the  ^  manes  "  of  the  dead,  and  can  cer- 
tainly claim  a  pagan,  rather  than  a  Chris- 
tian origin.  It  is  carefully  made,  the 
principal  ingredients  being  boiled  wheat 
and  currants.  The  surface  of  the  top  is 
ornamented  with  various  degrees  of  neat- 
tteas,  by  means  of  the  eatable  red  grains 
ct  the  pomegranate,  almonds,  or  any  thing 
of  that  kind.  These  cakes  were  sent  by 
the  relatives  of  those  who  had  died  within 
a  year  or  two;  and  if  handsome,  were 
allowed  to  remain  before  the  chancel.  If 
more  commonly  prepared,  the  contents 
was  thrown  into  a  basket  In  every  plate 
of  CoUyva^  and  in  every  basket  were 
stuck  a  number  of  little  lighted  waxen 
tapers,  which  burned  during  the  service 
time. 
The  notion  of  the  common  people  was 
to  me  by  a  person  whom  I 


asked  to  explain  the  purport  of  the  cere- 
mony. "  The  soul  of  the  deceased,"  said 
he,  "for  whom  the  Colly va  is  offered, 
comes  down  from  heaven  during  the  ser- 
vice, and  eats  a  single  grain  of  the  wheat" 
But  what  manner  of  good  this  could  do 
the  disembodied  spirit,  he  could  not  inform 
me ;  nor  did  he  give  any  satisfactory  reason 
for  offering  so  large  a  quantity,  when  the 
spirit  is  so  moderate  in  its  desires.  The 
parish  priest,  during  the  short  prescribed 
forms  took  notice  of  the  names  of  all  those 
for  whom  Collyva  had  been  offered.  At 
the  conclusion,  he  helped  himself  to  his 
share  of  the  cakes,  after  that  the  spirits 
had  enjoyed  an  ample  opportunity  of  eat- 
ing to  their  hearts'  content.  The  rest  was 
distributed  by  the  handful  to  every  one 
present,  to  be  carried  away  and  eaten  at 
home, — a  feast  for  the  dead. 


PLACES  OF  PUBLIC  AMUSEMENT. 


THEATRES  AND  CONCERT  ROOMS. 


IF  labor  for  labor's  sake  is  against  nature, 
as  Locke  says,  amusement  for  amuse- 
ment^s  sake  is  equally  unnatiu-al.  Amuse- 
ment that  has  to  be  sought  becomes  labor, 
while  labor  becomes  an  amusement  when 
properly  directed.  A  Down  East  captain 
said  to  his  crew,  "  Come,  men,  knock  off 
work  and  go  to  piling  staves."  We  seek 
amusement  in  a  similar  manner,  by  change 
of  occupation,  and,  in  dancing  all  night 
for  pleasure,  we  work  much  harder  than 
we  have  done  during  the  day  at  our  regu- 
lar business.  Amusements  are  as  often 
oalled  recreations,  which  Is,  perhaps,  a 
better  term;  and  the  great  point  to  be 
determined  is  what  kind  of  amusement 
will  yield  the  greatest  amount  of  enjoy- 
ment, or  recreation,  affording  the  overtaxed 
mind  and  body  opportunity  to  recover 
their  elasticity  after  having  been  subjected 
to  too  ticht  a  strain.  A  moment's  thought 
bestowed  upon  this  subject  will  at  once 
tend  to  the  conclusion  that  amusements 
must  be  as  varied  as  the  employments  of 
tibe  people  to  be  amused.  Our  friend 
Snip^  the  tailor,  whose  employment  con- 
flnes  him  six  days  out  of  seven  to  his 
shop-board,  as  well  as  Cocker,  the  book- 
keeper, can  conceive  of  no  more  delightful 
rocreation  than  a  target  excursion  or  a 
party  to  the  Fishing  Banks ;  while  Sam. 


Jones,  the  fisherman,  and  Bob  Brown,  the 
omnibus  driver,  imagine  that  the  highest 
heaven  of  enjoyment  might  be  found  in 
the  gallery  of  a  theatre,  where  the  air 
would  be  hot,  and  the  shifting  scenes  as 
unlike  as  possible  to  any  thing  they  had 
ever  seen  from  a  smack's  deck  or  the  top 
of  an  omnibus.  The  amusements  of  a 
people,  therefore,  while  they  must  be  con- 
genial to  their  habits,  must  also  be  antago- 
nistical  to  their  employments;  fanners' 
boys  would  never  go  into  the  fields  for 
recreation,  nor  students  to  a  lecture  room  ; 
and  hence  the  impossibility  of  transplant- 
ing national  pastimes,  or  even  of  reviving 
them  when  they  have  fallen  into  disuse. 
If  people  are  let  alone,  they  will  find 
amusements  best  adapted  to  their  neces- 
sities, and  therefore  any  legal  restraints 
placed  upon  the  natural  tendency  of  a 
people  in  seeking  for  recreations  must  be 
productive  of  mischief. 

Bull-baitings,  and  cock-fightings,  and  the 
sports  of  the  turf,  are  revolting  to  certain 
classes  of  people,  but  they  are  essential 
'  means  of  recreation  to  certain  other  classes, 
who,  when  deprived  of  such  legitimate 
amusements  will  seek  the  gratification  of 
their  instincts  in  a  more  ol^ectionable 
manner.  Instead  of  boisterous  enjoyments 
in  the  fields,  they  will  create  riota^  moba^ 


142 


Places  of  Public  AmnaemeiU. 


\Fk 


and  rows  in  the  streets.  On  board  of  men 
of  war  it  Ls  the  custom  to  pipe  all  hands 
to  mischief,  occasionally,  when  the  crew 
have  been  a  long  time  on  shipboard,  that 
the  necessity  for  abandonment  and  fun 
may  be  spent  in  harmless  excitement 
But  for  such  safety  yalves,  the  irritation 
of  constant  restraint  would  lead  to  insub- 
ordination and  mutiny.  Commanders  of 
fleets  and  armies  make  timely  arranp;e- 
ments  for  the  recreation  of  the  men  under 
them,  and  it  would  be  wise  in  our  muni- 
cipal governors  if  they  would  do  the  same. 

In  most  of  the  despotic  countries  of 
Europe,  the  monarch  finds  it  to  his  interest 
to  provide  means  of  recreation  to  the 
people  free  of  cost,  and  these  are  generally 
on  a  scale  of  inverse  liberality  to  the 
illiberal  ity  of  the  government  In  no  other 
part  of  the  world  are  the  amusements  of 
the  people  more  generously  attended  to 
than  in  France,  while  in  no  other  does  the 
individual  enjoy  so  httle  of  his  individu- 
ality. 

In  this  happy  country  of  ours,  where  all 
the  natural  instincts  arc  allowed  their 
utmost  expansion,  it  is  ver}'  remarkable 
that  the  amusements  of  the  people  are  the 
only  affairs  that  are  hampered  by  statutory 
restrictions.  One  may  follow  any  business 
he  likes,  embrace  any  religion,  jom  any 
party,  or  engage  in  any  enterprise ;  but 
the  law  fixes  the  boundary  of  his  amuse- 
ments and  forbids  his  recreating  himself 
in  certain  ways.  In  the  State  of  Connec- 
ticut, the  law  prohibits  all  amusements 
and  recreations  of  a  theatrical  or  dramatic 
nature ;  Shakespeare  may  be  read  in  the 
parlor,  or  from  the  pulpit ;  but  to  present 
Shakespeare^s  plays  in  the  way  they  were 
intended  by  their  author  to  bo  represented, 
is  unlawful  and  would  subject  those  guilty 
of  so  wrong  an  act  to  fine  and  imprison- 
ment Horse  jockeying  is  an  indigenous 
trade  in  Connecticut,  but  riding  horses  for 
the  amusement  of  others  is  there  an  inter- 
dicted employment.  In  the  State  of 
Massachusetts,  the  laws  are  less  rigorous, 
and  Shakespeare's  plays  may  be  repre- 
sented acconling  to  their  author's  inten- 
tions, by  the  pajTnent  of  a  fee  and  under 
a  special  license,  on  any  night  of  the  week 
but  Saturday  and  Sunday.  On  those  two 
evenings  Shakespeare  is  interdicted  as  an 
amusement  in  the  good  Old  Bay  State. 
In  this  city,  a  man  may  establish  a  dozen 
whisky  distilleries,  or  manufacture  fire- 
arms, or  quack  medicines  with  perfect 
freedom,  without  fee  or  license;  but  no 
one  can  establish  a  place  for  theatrical 
amusements  without  a  special  license  and 
paying  for  the  privilege.  Every  theatre, 
And  open,  houae,  and  drcos  in  N6w-York 


has  to  pay  a  yearly  fee  which  is  tf 
ated  to  the  use  of  some  public  chai 

The  theatre  is  one  of  the  greate 
malies  of  modem  civilization.  It  h 
an  established  institution  m  all  c 
countries,  in  the  face  of  an  oppositi 
ing  through  500  years,  and  it  still 
Next  to  the  sports  of  the  diase  i 
oldest  of  all  human  recreations^  and 
for  its  votaries  the  loftiest  geniu» 
have  blessed  mankind.  The  instinct 
people  demand  its  pleasures,  and 
find  a  footing  wherever  it  is  not  ei 
by  law.  The  taste  for  Uie  stage 
merely  a  love  of  tinsel  and  inex] 
dumb  show — it  is  the  universal  di 
see  the  bright  side  of  the  world, 
travel  out  of  ourselves  into  the  airy 
of  poetry  and  romance. 

The  persecution  it  has  met,  ha 
deserved,  where  it  fell  upon  the  im 
ties  unhappily  united  with  it:  b 
undiscriminating  hostility  to  all  di 
representations  of  human  life,  as  son 
iniquitous  per  se,  is  a  mere  folly,  ii 
able  were  it  not  for  something  wo; 
the  feeling  from  which  it  sprung.  I 
stage  been  rescued  to  the  purposes  of 
instead  of  having  sufferea  ouUawry 
the  good,  a  powerful  instrument 
have  been  saved  to  the  better  sidi 
only  for  the  purposes  of  amusement 
mental  culture,  dramatic  show  is  ai 
and  efficient  means.  Regardless  or  tli 
less  of  this,  good  men  have  let  it  < 
to  base  uses  and  then  blamed  tl 
which  in  some  measure  at  least,  th^ 
have  prevented.  Were  every  dc 
taste  or  art  abandoned  on  the  samef 
as  the  drama,  our  life  would  be  bei 
the  benefit  and  solace  of  the  wh 
them.  There  are  great  difficuiti 
doubt,  in  giving  to  the  stage  a  hij 
pure  character — but  are  thev  insupc 
Is  there  any  reason  why  this  as  \ 
any  other  natural  taste  may  not  be 
and  made  a  "minister  of  grace? 
there  be,  still  let  us  discriminate  b 
the  thing  itself  and  our  own  weakn 
It  is  a  strange  circumstance  thai 
music,  painting,  poetry,  elocatioi 
dancing,  are  not  only  considered  as 
less,  but  as  elevating  and  benefidi 
in  themselves,  yet.  when  they  are  a 
bined  in  the  production  of  a  dram 
are  regarded  as  fit  only  to  be  ana* 
tized.  The  church,  too,  combines 
ceremonials  all  these  arts  but  th 
and,  in  all  Catholic  countries  eclip 
feeble  attempts  of  the  stage,  in  thei 
bination  to  dazzle  the  senses  and  th 
imagination.  Of  course  there  can 
comparison  between  the  theatre  i 


1864.] 


Pkuei  of  Pnblie  AmtuemenL 


143 


Ghorch,  because  it  is  the  proyince  of  the 
one  to  amuse,  and  the  other  to  instruct 
the  believer  in  the  solemn  mysteries  of 
eternal  salvation.  The  stage,  too,  pro- 
fesses to  be  moral,  and  the  punishment  of 
vice  is  the  inevitable  end  of  all  dramas. 
There  is  no  such  hims  as  an  immoral 
drama.  It  is  the  delight  of  the  coarsest 
natures  to  see  poetical  justice  dealt  out  to 
the  wicked,  and  the  sufferings  of  the  vir- 
tuous form  the  great  staple  of  all  tragedies. 
There  is  nothing  that  so  certainly  com- 
mands the  tears  of  an  audience,  as  the  un- 
deserved calamities  of  the  innocent  One 
of  our  theatres  has  been  reaping  a  harvest 
of  nightly  benefits  by  exhibiting  the  un- 
timely death  of  a  little  girl,  and  the  hard- 
ships of  a  virtuous  slave.  The  public  go 
to  the  National  Theatre,  in  one  of  the 
Artiest  streets  of  the  city,  where  they  sit 
in  not  over-clean  boxes,  amid  faded  finery, 
and  tarnished  gilding,  to  weep  over  Little 
Eva  and  Uncle  Tom.  It  takes  us  back  to 
the  days  .£schylus,  and  convinces  us  that 
the  love  of  the  drama  is  as  strong  as  it 
ever  was,  and  that  it  must  remain  for  ever 
while  men  have  hearts  capable  of  being 
moved  by  human  suffering.  The  descent 
from  Prometheus  to  Uncle  Tom,  dramati- 
cally considered,  is  not  a  very  violent  one, 
nor  80  long  as  some  may  imagine. 

It  is  the  fashion  with  a  certain  class  to 
speak  of  the  theatre  as  having  outlived  its 
thne,  and  being  no  longer  necessary  to  the 
people ;  but  a  reference  to  the  history  of 
the  stage,  and  an  investigation  into  the 
eondition  of  our  theatres  would  prove  that 
the  theatre,  as  we  observed  just  now,  was 
never  before  in  so  thriving  a  condition  as 
at  present.  Players  are  no  longer  vaga- 
bonds by  act  of  parliament,  nor  are  they 
exx)osed  to  any  legal  indignities  here  on 
the  ground  of  their  profession.  An  actor 
may  now  be  buried  in  consecrated  ground 
in  France,  but  this  privilege  was  denied  his 
poor  corpse  in  the  days  of  Moliere.  Some 
of  our  actors  are  men  of  large  fortune,  and 
oar  actresses  make  themselves  independent 
and  retire  to  private  life  while  they  are 
yet  young;  and  our  managers  become 
millionaires,  and  men  of  social  standing. 
It  is  said  that  the  stage  pays  well  as  a 
profession  to  those  who  are  tolerably  well 
qualifled  for  it,  and  men  of  capital  are  not 
averse  to  investing  their  money  in  theatri- 
cal property.  There  are  many  pains-tak- 
ing, well-intentioned  men  who  have  gone 
upon  the  stage,  as  coolly  and  deliberately 
as  other  men  have  gone  to  the  bar  or  the 
polptt,  as  a  business  pursuit,  and  have 
mamtained  themselves  and  families  respect- 
ably by  enacting  the  parts  of  ^' heavy 
CUfaers/'  and  fillmg  the  posts  of  "  utility 


men."  It  must  be  a  sorry  business,  to  be 
sure,  but  hardly  worse  than  being  a 
drudge  in  any  other  profession.  The 
vagabondage  of  the  theatrical  profession, 
which  is  generally  supposed  to  be  the 
necessary  condition  of  all  its  members,  is 
rather  imaginary  than  real.  Actors  are, 
generally,  when  off  the  stage,  the  most 
matter  of  fact  and  serious  people  to  be 
seen ;  many  of  them  have  other  callings, 
they  engage  in  trade,  or  manufacturing, 
and  perform  the  parts  of  good  citizens  with 
as  much  success  as  thotje  of  the  stage  vil- 
lains and  heroes  whom  they  personate  for 
a  living.  It  was  lately  revealed  to  the 
public  that  Salvi,  the  fascinating  tenor  of 
the  Italian  Opera,  when  not  employed 
before  the  foot  lights  in  fancy  costume,  was 
superintending  his  large  soap-boiling  and 
tallow  candle  establishment  on  Staten 
Island  —  a  revelation,  that  may  here- 
after mar  the  effect  of  his  spirto  gentiX 
in  the  ears  of  the  listeners  who  have  so 
often  been  charmed  by  his  tender  voice. 
But  it  is  not  every  actor  who  has  the  good 
fortune  to  be  connected  with  so  substan- 
tial a  business  as  that  of  Salvi's ;  the  ac- 
tual life  of  too  many  presents  a  melan- 
choly contrast  to  the  stage  splenrlors  with 
which  they  are  associated  in  the  minds 
of  the  public,  who  imagine  it  is  all  fun  and 
hilarity  behind  the  scenes. 

Mrs.  Mowatt,  in  her  autobiography, 
gives  some  instructive  glimpses  of  the 
private  life  of  the  heroes  of  the  stage,  and 
bears  her  testimony  to  the  general  good 
character  of  the  greater  part  of  the  mem- 
bers of  the  profession  which  she  joined  as 
a  means  of  honorable  independence.  £ven 
in  the  profession  of  the  ballet  dancer, 
which  is  looked  upon  as  the  lowest  and 
most  degraded  of  the  whole  class  of  indus- 
trials who  draw  their  support  from  the 
theatre,  she  says  "  there  is  nothing  neces- 
sarily demoralizing  and  degrading,"  and 
she  gives  a  slight  skcteh,  but  perfect  as 
far  as  it  goes,  of  a  poor  ballet  girl,  who  dis- 
played such  a  heroic  spirit  in  the  discharge 
of  her  humble  duties,  that  her  history 
should  be  sufficient  to  ennoble  her  despised 
occupation.  Mrs.  Mowatt  states  that  she 
knew  this  real  heroine  of  the  stage,  and 
had  the  opportunity  of  watching  her  con- 
duct for  several  years. 

^^She  had  been  educated  as  a  dancer 
from  infancy.  She  had  been  on  the  stage 
all  her  life ;  had  literally  grown  up  bo- 
hind  the  scenes  of  a  theatre.  Her  parents 
were  respectable,  though  it  is  difficult  to 
define  their  position  in  the  social  scale. 
At  the  time  I  knew  her,  her  mother  was 
paralytic  and  bedridden.  The  father  was 
enfeebled  by  age,  and  could  only  earn  a 


144 


Plaee9  of  Public  Amusement 


[Febroaiy 


pi ttance  by  copying  law  papers.  G eorgina, 
the  ballet  prf,  their  only  child,  by  her 
energetic  exertions,  supplied  the  whole 
wants  of  the  family.  And  what  were 
those  exertions  ?  The  mind  of  the  most 
imaginative  reader  could  hardly  picture 
what  I  know  to  be  a  reality.  Georgina's 
parents  kept  no  servant;  she  discharged 
the  entire  duties  of  the  household — cook- 
ing, washing,  sewing,  every  thing.  From 
daylight  to  midnight  not  a  moment  of  her 
time  was  uncmploj-ed.  She  must  be  at 
rehearsal  every  morning  at  ten  o'clock,  and 
she  had  two  miles  and  a  half  to  walk  to 
the  theatre.  Before  that  hour  she  had  the 
morning  meal  of  her  parents  to  prepare, 
her  marketing  to  accomplish,  her  house- 
hold arrangements  for  the  day  to  make ; 
if  early  in  the  week,  her  washing;  if  in 
the  middle  of  the  week,  her  ironing ;  if  at 
the  close,  her  sewing;  for  she  made  all 
her  own  and  her  mother's  dresses.  At 
what  hour  in  the  morning  must  she  have 
risen? 

'•  Iler  ten  o'clock  rehearsal  lasted  from 
two  to  four  hours — more  frequently  the 
latter.  But  watch  her  in  the  theatre,  and 
you  never  found  her  hands  idle.  When 
she  is  not  on  the  stage,  you  were  sure  of 
discovering  her  in  some  quiet  comer — 
knitting  lace,  cutting  grate  aprons  out  of 
tissue  paper,  making  artificial  flowers,  or 
embroidering  articles  of  fancy  work,  by 
the  sale  of  which  she  added  to  her  narrow 
means.  From  reliearsal  she  hastened  home 
to  prepare  the  midday  meal  of  her  parents 
and  attend  to  her  mother's  wants.  After 
dinner  she  received  a  class  of  children,  to 
whom  she  taught  dancing  for  a  trifling 
sum.  If  she  had  half  an  hour  to  spare, 
she  assisted  her  father  in  copying  law 
papers.  Then  tea  must  be  prepared,  and 
her  mother  arranged  comfortably  for  the 
night.  Her  long  walk  to  the  theatre  must 
be  accomplished  at  least  half  an  hour  be- 
fore the  curtain  rose — barely  time  to  make 
her  toilet.  If  she  was  belated  by  her 
home  avocations,  she  was  compelled  to  run 
the  whole  distance.  I  have  known  this 
to  occur.  Not  to  be  ready  for  the  stage 
would  have  subjected  her  to  a  forfeit 
Between  the  acts,  or  when  she  was  not 
on  the  stage,  there  she  sat  again,  in  her 
snug  corner  of  the  greenroom,  dres.sed  as 
a  fairy,  or  a  maid  of  honor,  or  a  peasant 
or  a  jMige,  with  a  bit  of  work  in  her  handsj 
only  laying  down  the  needle,  which  her 
Augers  actualU'  ma<le  fly,  when  she  was 
summoned  by  the  call  boy.  or  required  to 
change  her  costume  by  flie  necessities  of 
the  play.  Sometimes  she  was  at  liberty 
at  ten  o'clock,  hut  oftener  not  until  half- 
pant  cloven,  and  then  there  was  the  long 


walk  home  before  her.  Iler  mother  gene- 
rally awoke  at  the  hour  when  Gcorgina 
was  expected,  and  a  fresh  round  of  filial 
duties  were  to  be  performed.  Had  not 
the  wearied  limbs  which  that  poor  ballet 
girl  laid  upon  her  couch  earned  their  sweet 
repose  ?  Are  there  many  whose  refresh- 
ment is  so  deserved — whose  rising  up  and 
lying  down  arc  rounded  by  a  drue  m 
holy? 

"  Xo  one  ever  heard  her  mormur.  Her 
fragile  form  spoke  of  strength  overtasked ; 
it  was  more  careworn  than  her  faoe. 
That  had  always  a  look  of  busy  serenity 
off  the  stage,  a  soflly-animated  expressioa 
when  occupied  before  the  audience  in  the 
duties  of  her  profession.  She  had  a  readj 
smile  when  addressed — a  meek  reply  when 
rudely  chided  by  the  churlish  ballet  master 
or  despotic  stage  manager.  Many  a  time 
I  have  seen  the  tears  dropping  upon  her 
work ;  but  if  they  were  noticed,  she  would 
brush  them  away,  and  say  she  was  a  fool 
and  cried  for  nothing.  Iler  devotion  to 
her  parents  was  the  strongest  impulse  of 
her  nature.  In  her  early  youth  she  had 
been  engaged  to  a  young  man,  a  musician, 
belonging  to  the  orchestra.  They  had 
been  betrothed  for  several  years.  Some 
fairer  face,  though  he  could  scarcely  have 
found  a  sweeter,  had  rendered  him  faith- 
less. She  bore  her  deep  sorrow  with  that 
lovely  submission  which  elevates  and 
purifies  the  spirit  but  gave  her  heart 
away  no  more.  The  breath  of  slander 
had  never  shadowed  her  name.  Youiger 
and  ga3'er  girls  in  the  theatre  used  to 
designate  her  as  the  ^old  maid,'  but  this 
was  the  hardest  word  that  any  one  ever 
applied  to  Georgina.  Was  not  such  a 
heart  as  hers  what  Elizabeth  Barrett 
Browning  has  described  as 

*  A  fiilr,  still  house,  well  kept. 
Which  huinblti  thoughts  had  swept, 
And  holy  pnyen  mado  clean  ?  * 

"  Her  answer  to  a  sympathizing  *  How 
weary  you  must  be  at  night ! '  was,  *  Yes; 
but  I  am  so  thankful  that  I  have  health 
to  get  through  so  much.  What  would 
become  of  my  poor  mother  or  of  my  father, 
if  1  fell  ill?' 

"  IIow  many  are  there  who  can  render 
up  such  an  account  of  their  stewardship 
as  this  poor  girl  may  give  in  the  hereafter? 
IIow  many  can  say  with  her  that  life  has 
been 

*  One  perpetual  growth 
Of  bcavcnwanl  enterprise  ? ' 

*'  And  this  flower  blossaomed  within  the 
walls  of  a  theatre — was  the  iitdigenous 
growth  of  that  theatre — a  tralljiotper,  if 
you  like — but  still  sending  up  the  rich 


1854.J 


Places  of  Public  AmusctneHL 


145 


Ultro-  H..ut     Kn.iil  ..f  M.ir  {..litnii  II..1I. 


frasTimcc  of  jfralitude  to  Him  l»y  vvliose 
haml  it  was  fashioncci.  To  tho  eyes  of 
the  Pharisee,  who  denounces  all  dramatic 
representations,  while  with  sdf-iipplandinj; 
righteousness  he  Iwldly  ai)proaehes  the 
throne  of  mercy,  this  "'ballet  pirl.'  like 
the  p«)or  pal»liran.  stoo<l  'afar  off.'  To 
the  eyes  of  the  great  judge,  which  stooil 
the  neaixT  ?  " 

The  thoatrii'al  business  in  New- York 
hr*"^  until  within  a  short  time,  lieen  almost 
entirely  in  the  hands  of  Knglishmen.  and 
f'v»*n  the  majoritv  of  the  players  are  still 
fureij^TS,  and  it  is  doubtless  owing  in  a 


jrrt'nt  di'irnK'  to  this  fuet.  that  the  stajro 
has  continnnl  to  lajr  in  the  ntar  of  all 
(»thi'r  institutions  on  tliis  siile  of  the 
Atlantic;  it  has  not  a])]M>al(Ml  to  tlie  sym- 
]>athies  and  tastes  of  the  jK'oplc ;  the  actors 
have  been  aliens,  and  the  pie<vs  they  [kt- 
fonned  hav<*  all  bo«»n  fon*ipi ;  to  go  inside 
of  our  theatres  was  like  stepping  out  of 
New- York  into  London,  where  the  scene 
«>f  nearly  all  the  iN)me<lies  pivsenteil  is 
laid.  Knglisli  lords  and  ladies,  Engli.sb 
.s<|uires.  clo*lhop[)ers.  and  (*«H*kneys ;  Enjr- 
li-ih  r<»gues.  Emrlish  heri>es.  an'l  Enjrlish 
humors  form  the  staple  of  nearly  all  the 


146 


Places  of  Public  Amusement 


[February 


plays  put  upon  our  8tag;c.  Tlic  actors 
and  actresses  speak  witli  a  foreij;n  accent, 
and  all  their  allusions  and  asides  are 
foreign.  The  only  places  of  amusement 
where  the  entertainments  arc  indigenous 
are  tlie  African  Opera  Houses,  where  na- 
tive American  vocalists,  witli  blackened 
faces,  sing  national  songs,  and  utter  none 
but  native  witticisms.  These  native  thea- 
tricaKs,  which  resemble  the  national  pluys 
of  Italy  and  Spain,  more  than  the  per- 
formances of  the  regular  theatres,  are 
among  tlie  best  frequentetl  and  most  pro- 
fitable places  of  amusement  in  New- York. 
While  every  attempt  to  establish  an  Italian 
Opera  here,  though  originating  with  the 
wealthiest  and  best  educated  classes,  has 
resulted  in  liankruptcy.  the  Ethiopian 
Opera  has  flourished  like  a  green  hay 
tree,  and  some  of  the  conductors  of  these 
establishments  have  become  millionaires. 
It  was  recently  proved  that  one  of  the 
"  Bone  soloists  "  attached  to  a  company  of 
Ethiopian  minstrels,  ha<l  spent  twenty- 
seven  thousand  <lollurs  of  his  income  within 


two  years.  It  is  surprising  that  the 
managers  of  our  theatres  do  not  take  a 
hint  from  the  success  of  the  Ethiopiar 
()|M^ra,  and  adapt  their  performances  tc 
the  public  tastes  and  sympatliies.  The 
manager  of  the  National  Theatre,  one  of  th< 
least  attractive  of  all  the  places  of  public 
amusement,  has  made  a  fortune  by  putting 
Mrs.  Stowe's  Uncle  Tom  upon  his  stage. 
Uncle  Tom,  as  a  drama,  has  hardlj 
any  merit,  it  is  rudely  constructed,  with- 
out any  splendors  of  sc!enery  and  cos- 
tume, or  the  fjLscinations  of  music;  the 
dialogue  is  religious,  and  the  Bible  fur- 
nishes its  chief  illustrations;  but  it  15 
American  in  tone,  all  the  allusions  have  i 
local  significance,  and  the  symimthies  of 
the  iKHiple  are  dinn^tly  appealed  to.  The 
result  is  an  unheard-of  success,  such  as 
has  never  l)cfore  been  accorded  to  anv 
theatricsil  |KTforniance  in  tlie  New  World. 
The  mnnagtr  of  the  National  Theatre  i* 
himself  an  American,  and  nearly  all  hi; 
corps  of  actors  are  also  natives,  and  though 
he  only  aims  at  the  tastes  of  the  lowest 


ln»rri..r  of  .M.tn.i<.>h»M  H«ll. 


1854.J 


Places  oj  Public  Ammtement. 


147 


A\i^i 


BrowiwHy  Tht-alri-. 


classes  of  the  people,  yet  liis  theatre  has 
lieen  daily  and  iii^^htly  filk-<l  with  the 
elite  of  our  society,  who  are  willinjj:  to  en- 
dure all  the  inconvenienci»s  which  a  visit 
to  the  place  imposes  for  the  sake  of  enjoy- 
Mi^  an  eiuotion.  such  as  neither  the  pi'oarh- 
ipjr  of  their  clergy,  nor  the  sinirinjc  of 
Italian  artists  coiilrl  create.  A  slight  re- 
action of  popular  favor  towards  the  theatre 
has  lieen  caused  by  the  presence  of  Mr. 
Bourcicault    among    us,   the  author   of 


liondon  Assurance.  To  witness  the  first 
representation  of  a  new  conicily  by  a 
]M>pu)ar  Kn;;lish  dramatist  has  attracted  a 
class  of  jKjople  to  the  theatre  who  have 
not  iK'cn  in  the  habit  of  frefpienting  it. 
Ihit  Mr.  Boureicanlt's  come<lies  are  not 
calculated  to  ivvive  an  interest  in  the 
stage  ;  tliey  are  artificial  in  their  construc- 
tion, their  characters  are  mere  conven- 
tionalities of  the  stain*,  the  dialocrue  lai^ks 
sincerity  and  wit,  and  the  entire  tone  and 


148 


Placcn  of  Public  Amuacment. 


[Februar? 


sontiniCTit  of  liis  plays  art*  fnreijrn  to  ii5<. 
lie  nowlit-n'  jrives  that  tonoli  nf  nature 
which  i»ak<.v<  ilu*  wliole  world  kin.  but 
roiniM'ls  u>  all  the  whih;  tofoel  that  wc»  an* 
assi-stinirat  an  alien  i»iM*lbnnan(T.  Then:!  is 
om.*  |K»int.  hijwover.  he  may  elaini  the  credit 
<»f  havinic  e<tal>lis]ie»l ;  he  has  jireatly  ini- 
pmved  the  uphoNterv  of  the  sta.ire.  ami. 
hy  the  introduction  of  "ival  furniture" 
transforuieil  the  hefiux^  hare-lookinir  .scenes 
of  hiteritu's  inti»  soniethinir  which  hears  a 
n»coj«:ni/.ahle  n*senihlance  to  a  modern 
drawin}r-r»joni.  Mr.  Uourcieault  is  the 
most  smvcssful  of  the  jnvsent  class  of 
Enjilish  dramatists  ;  hut.  tlic  ivj^ular 
drama  died  with  Sheridan ;  sin<v  tlie 
Scht)ol  for  Scandal  was  produced,  there 
lias  iM'en  no  play  written  in  Knjrlautl  which 
.stands  tlie  remotest  chance  of  beinir  kn«»wn 
by  name  half  a  century  hen«'e.  The  n'jru- 
lar  drama  is  as  forcijin  now  to  ihe  wants 


of  tlie  theatre,  as  tlie  Greek  tragedy,  or 
the  mediaeval  mysteries.  The  theatre 
survives  lor  «)t}ier  puriM>se.<;  than  the  res 
pivsentati(m  of  the  drama ;  its  prc.sf»iita- 
tions  are  merely  sensuous,  and  not  intol- 
lc<.'tual ;  ShakesiK*an?  is  only  endure<l  f<)r 
tlie  sake  of  the  star  actor  who  im]M'r.^n- 
ates  the  one  character  suited  to  his  physi- 
cal p<-»wer.s.  The  piei\.*s  which  attract 
audieuivs  and  iill  the  treasury  are  as  nn- 
Shakespoarian  as  |>ossible.  Ta)>leaux, 
burlesques.  thrillin<r  melo-ilramas.  ballets, 
spectacles,  liorses.  dwarfs,  giants.  rt)j)C- 
dancers.  any  thinjr  that  is  monstrous  and 
wonderful,  form  now  the  pvat  attractions 
of  the  theatres,  and  any  thinj»  is  consider- 
ed as  ••  legitimate "  by  the  puldic.  which 
affords  amusement,  and  as  proi^T.  l>y  the 
manap:er,  which  tills  liis  house. 

The   lectun*-rcx>m   has   now  l>ccome  a 
kind  of  c(»m]iromise  betwi^i^n  the  theatre 


h..H-<T^  Tli'-atn-. 


Places  of  Public  Amusefnent, 


140 


Iiiti-ri-  r  vi  C.-i.t  I-  f.ixTtli 


L^hurch.  it  is  a  neulnil  ^rrount]. 
ich  all  |)artii's  aii«l  roivlitions 
.  do  mectt,  aii«1  tlie  ])cripaU*tic 
rer  occupies  nearly  tlie  saino  posi- 
K  Koscius  did  in  tlie  early  days 
■ge.  The  jjivatest  achievements 
are  the  plays  which  were  never 
for  print ;  an<I.  dmihtless.  the 
lions  to  onr  literature  will  he  the 
rhich  wen*  only  written  to  amuse 
oe,  and  not  intended  fur  pulilioii- 
othcr  form. 

ire  innmnerablo  places  of  re<Tea- 
ach  cities  as  N<nv-York.  which 
t)perly  entitled  to  be  classed  iin- 
cad  of  places  of  public  amu»e' 
lich  we  are  considerinjr  now. 
trc  has  always  In-en.  and  still 
nncipal  place  of  public  amuse- 
.il.  thon>;^h  its  chara<*ter  has 
ianji^*d.  and  its  fi\'ijuentei<  are 
of  the  class  who  once  jrave  it  its 
ort,  it  oci-Mipies  to«i  prominent  a 
the  social  orpmi/atinn  of  our 
ns  to  be  overlooked  by  j)rofe*iM'd 
and  religious  teachers.  Its  exis- 
thc  fact  of  its  being  frequented 


by  immense  numl)ers  of  people  whose 
morals  ninnl  h)okin}r  after,  should  Iw  suffi- 
ciently stronp  reasons  for  the  clergy,  awl 
all  others  who  are  by  virtue  of  their  ottice 
jMiblic  teachers,  to  exert  themselves  to 
render  it  as  little  hannful  as  possible. 
To  stand  outside  ami  denounce  the  theatie 
without  knowing  any  thing  of  its  interior, 
is  not  the  true  way  to  improve  it.  The 
repn-'sentation  of  moral,  and  even  religious 
plays  has  lK*en  ftumd  not  only  very  etlec- 
tive  ujv>n  the  audiences  who  attend  uik^u 
them,  but  pnititable  to  the  manager  who 
brinirs  them  out. 

As  religious  novels  f<»rm  a  very  ctmsider- 
able  part  of  the  popular  books  of  the  cLay. 
we  si*e  no  ivason  why  ivligious  drama.n 
.^should  not  alst»  form  an  inqiortant  part 
of  theatrical  entertainments.  The  fact 
that  such  a  dnima  as  Tncle  Tom*s  Cabin 
can  Ik*  i-epresi-nted  two  hundred  nights  in 
MinM'<<ion.  at  one  of  the  lowest  theatres  in 
N(;w-Vork.  i-onvertinir  the  place  into  a 
kind  of  conventicle,  and  Imnishing  fnmi  it 
the  degraded  class,  who.se  pn'Si'mt'  has 
been  (»ne  of  the  stromrt'st  objeetions  ti»  the 
theatre  which  lia.^  been  made  by  morali.sts, 


150 


Places  of  Public  Amiutement 


[Febniaiy 


is  sufficient  to  show  that  religious  pla^'H, 
like  religious  novels,  may  be  pressed  into 
the  service  of  education  with  powerful 
effect  It  is  stated  by  Mrs.  Mowatt,  in 
her  autobiography,  from  which  wo  have 
already  quoted,  that  in  the  catalogue  of 
English  dramatic  authors  there  arc  the 
names  of  two  hundred  clergymen.  But 
wo  imagine  that  none  of  these  have  written 
any  religious  plays.  There  are  six  regular 
theatres  in  New- York,  which  are  open 
nearly  every  night  in  the  year,  excepting 
Sundays,  for  dramatic  representations,  and 
the  public  that  sit  night  after  night  with  a 
fortitude  and  good  nature  to  us  incre<lible, 
to  see  the  School  for  Scandal  and  the  Lady 
of  Lyons  woidd  l)e  but  too  happy  to  vary 
their  amusements  by  a  religious  drama,  if 
it  were  only  new  and  intelligible.  The 
chief  of  our'city  theatres,  which  clahns  to 
be  the  Mctrojwlitan,  since  the  destruction 
of  the  Old  Park,  is  the  Broadway.  It  is 
a  very  large  house,  capable  of  seating 
.some  43(.K)"  persons.  It  was  built  by 
Col.  Alvah  Mann,  a  gi-eat  circus  pro- 
prM?tor,  who  ruine<l  himself  b}'  the  specu- 
lation, and  is  now  the  projieity  of  Mr. 
Raymond,  another  millionaire  of  the  ring. 
Broadway  is  a  '•  star  house,"  and  depends 
more  upon  the  attraction  of  a  single  emi- 
nent performer  than  upon  the  general 
character  of  its  |)erformances.  or  its  stock 
cora()any ;  and  it  is  at  one  time  a  ballet, 
another  a  tragedian,  again  an  ofiera,  then 
a  spectacle,  that  forms  its  attractions. 
Forrest  has  here  api^ared  one  Inmdrefl 
nights  in  succession  ;  here  too  Lola  Mon- 
tex  ma<le  her  debut  in  America,  and  any 
wandering  monstrosity  is  sei7A*d  upon  by 
the  manager  to  secure  an  au<lience.  The 
regular  drama,  excepting  with  the  attrac- 
tion of  a  star,  is  found  to  be  a  regular  lx>re 
to  the  public,  and  a  regular  loss  to  the 
hou.se.  The  manager  of  the  Broadway, 
E.  A.  Marshall,  Esq..  is  neither  an  ac- 
tor nor  a  dramatist,  but  dimply  a  man 
of  business ;  and.  besides  the  Broadway 
Theatre,  he  is  also  i>roprietor  of  the  ^Vai- 
nut  Street  Theatre,  Philadelphia.  an<l  of 
the  theatres  in  Baltimore  and  Washington. 
Neither  the  exterior  nor  interior  of  this 
house  is  at  all  creditable  to  the  city ;  it 
has  a  shabby  and  temporary  look  exter- 
nally, and  the  ornamentation  of  the  audi- 
torium is  both  mean  and  tawdry.  No 
class  of  people  seem  to  frequent  it  for 
recreation  but  only  to  gratify  an  excited 
curiosity. 

The  "  Bowery,"  which  is  the  oldest  of 
all  the  theatres  in  New- York,  is  alK)ut 
the  same  dimensions  as  the  Broadway, 
but  has  a  stage  of  much  greater  depth, 
and  better  adapted   to  .spectacle.     It  is 


frequented  chiefly  by  the  residents  of  the 
eastern  side  of  the  city,  and  its  pit  is  gene- 
rally fille<l  with  lioisterous  repreMntatives 
of  the  tirst  families  in  the  city — that  lAj  the 
first  in  the  ascending  scale.  The  perfor- 
mances at  the  Bowery  are.  of  course, 
adapted  to  the  tastes  of  its  audiences,  who 
have  a  keen  relish  for  patriotic  devotion, 
terrific  combats,  and  thrilling  effects,  and 
are  never  so  jubilant  as  when  suiferine 
virtue  triumphs  over  the  machinations  of 
perst'cuting  villainy.  It  was  for  such 
audiences  as  these,  with  a  slight  infusion 
of  better  natures,  that  Shak.speare  wrote 
his  dramas,  and  for  whose  amusement  he 
was  willing  to  personate  the  humblest  of 
his  creations.  The  present  edifice  is  the 
fourth  that  has  been  erected  on  the  same 
ground,  since  the  tirst  one  was  erected  in 
the  year  1820,  the  others  having  been 
destroyed  by  fire.  The  late  proprietor 
of  the  Bowery  Theatre  amassed  a  fortune 
here,  and  le'fl  the  establishment  to  his 
heirs,  to  whom  it  now  belongs.  It  is  un- 
derstood to  be  a  very  profitable  concern, 
as  it  has  been  from  its  first  erection.  It 
was  in  the  Bowery  Theatre  where  Madame 
Ilutin.  the  first  opera  dancer  seen  on  this 
side  of  the  Atlantic  made  her  debut^  and 
where  the  first  ballet  was  performed,  one  of 
the  troupe  being  the  then  unknown  Celeste. 
It  was  here,  too,  that  Malibran  made  her 
first  apjKjaranct*  on  the  stage  after  her  unfor- 
tunate marriage,  and  filled  the  house  with 
the  l>eauty.  Ikshion,  and  intellect  of  the 
city.  Such  audiences  have  never  since 
graced  its  pit  and  galleries.  It  was  on  tlic 
stage  of  the  I^)wery  that  Forrest  achievcti 
his  greatest  triumphs,  and  laid  the  founda- 
tion of  his  fame.  But  it  is  long  since  stars 
of  such  magnitude  have  shed  their  sweet 
influences  on  Bowery  audiences. 

Niblo's  is  not.  strictly,  a  theatre^  but  a 
.show  house,  open  to  any  body  that  may 
choo.se  to  hire  it.  It  is  one  night  a  circus, 
another  an  Italian  Opera  House ;  then  a 
dramatic  temple,  and  then  a  lecture  room. 
It  is  called  a  '* garden."  but  it  is  one  of 
the  roomiest,  best  constructed,  and  most 
CTHivenient  of  all  the  places  of  amusement 
in  the  city,  and  is  unexceptionable  in  its 
character.  Its  interior  decorations  are 
very  inferior  to  the  other  threatres.  but  it 
has  the  great  advantage  of  Iniing  clean  and 
well  ventilated.  The  entrance  to  it, 
through  the  Metn)|X)litan  Hotel,  is  ex- 
tremely elegant  and  cajmcious.  Under 
the  same  rtK)f,  within  the  walls  of  the 
sjime  hotel  is  Niblo's  Saloon,  a  splendid 
room  used  for  cfmcerts  ami  balls.  The 
whole  ground  now  covered  by  the  Metro- 
|K)litan  Hotel  was  once  Niblo's  Garden, 
and  the  theatre  was  merely  an  appendage 


1654.] 


Place*  ^  Public  AmuMment, 


151 


to  it  to  draw  custom  to  the  refreshment 
Ubles. 

There  are  two  theatres  in  New- York, 
and  but  two  which  are  devoted  exclusively 
to  the  performance  of  the  regular  drama ; 
these  are  Burton's  in  Chambers-street,  and 
Wallack's  in  Broadway.  Burton's  Thea- 
tre was,  orig:inaI1y,  a  liath-house,  and  was 
afterwards  turned  into  ait  Italian  Opera 
House,  in  the  management  of  which  a 
good  deal  of  money  was  lost,  and  Palmo, 
the  proprietor  ruined.  Burton  then  took 
possession  of  it,  and  made  a  fortune.  It 
was  the  first  instance  in  which  a  theatre 
in  this  city  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  a 
manager  of  scholarly  attainments  and 
artistic  instincts,  ana  the  result  of  his 
management  shows  what  may  be  effected 
by  talent  turned  in  the  right  direction. 
Mr.  Burton  has  not  only  enriched  himself, 
but  h.is  done  the  public  a  service  by  af- 
fording them  a  place  of  harmless  and  ele- 
Tating  amusement  One  of  the  first  pieces 
that  he  put  upon  his  stage  was  Milton's 
Comus.  which  gave  the  public  aissurance 
that  the  new  manager  was  a  person  of 
education  and  refinement;  and  the  uni- 
form good  iudgment  shown  by  him  in  the 
pieces  he  has  selected,  and  the  superior 
manner  in  which  they  have  been  costumed, 
have  made  his  theatre  a  superior  place  of^ 
intellectual  entertainment  for  people  of 
educated  tastes.  Mr.  Burton  is  one  of  the 
best  low  comedians  on  the  stage,  and  is, 
himself,  one  of  the  strongest  attractions 
of  his  theatre.  But.  like  a  true  artist,  he 
never  hesitates  to  take  a  subordinate  part, 
when  it  is  necessary  to  give  completeness 
and  effect  to  a  performance.  lie  has  a 
devoted  attachment  to  his  art  and  goes 
through  with  his  nightly  performances, 
sometimes  appearing  in  three  different 
pieces,  with  a  degree  of  vigor,  and  careful 
attentk)n  to  all  the  minute  accessories  of 
his  part,  which  wo  could  only  look  for 
in  an  enthusiastic  acolyte  in  the  temple 
of  art  Mr.  Burton  is  an  Englishman ; 
but  unlike  most  of  his  countrymen,  he 
left  his  native  country  behind  him,  when 
he  crossed  the  Atlantic,  and  became 
thoroughly  American  in  his  feelings.  He 
was  bred  to  the  profession  of  a  printer, 
and,  after  his  arrival  in  this  country  en- 
gaged in  several  literary  enterprises.  He 
established  the  Gentleman's  Magazine, 
now  called  ''  Graham's." 

Wallack's  Lyceum,  in  Broadway,  is  an 
exceedingly  elegant  little  house,  the  style 
of  the  interior  decoration  is  in  excellent 
taste,  and  the  effect  of  a  full  house  is 
light  cheerful,  exhilarating,  and  brilliant 
James  Walladc,  the  manager  and  proprie- 
tor, is  the  head  of  a  large  family  remark- 


able for  the  possession  of  theatrical  talent. 
He  was  a  celebrated  actor  in  Ix)ndon  more 
than  thirty  years  ago,  and  Is  still  one  of 
the  best  players  in  his  line, — the  genteel 
heroes  of  melo-drama, — on  the  stage.  But 
he  rarely  makes  his  appearance  before  the 
foot  lights.  Wallack's  Lyceum  is  Burton's 
without  Burton.  Great  attention  is  al- 
ways paid  to  the  production  of  pieces  at 
this  brilliant  little  house,  and  the  costumes 
and  scenery  form  an  important  part  of  the 
attraction.  English  comcd}'  and  domestic 
dramas  form  the  chief  attractions  at  Wal- 
lack's, and  the  house  is  generally  full. 
The  utmost  order  and  decorum  are  main- 
tained, both  at  this  house  and  Burton's, 
and  every  tiling  offensive  to  the  most  deli- 
cate taste  carefully  excluded  from  the 
stage. 

the  National  Theatre  in  Chatham-street 
has  long  been  the  resort  of  newsboys  and 
apprentices,  and  the  style  of  performances 
has  been  very  similar  to  those  of  the 
"  Bowery ;"  but,  in  a  happy  moment,  the 
manager,  a  good  natured  native  whom  they 
call  Captain  Purdy,  put  Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin  upon  his  stage  and  at  once  raised 
his  fortune  and  changed  the  character  of 
his  house.  As  it  has  played  this  piece 
twice  a  day  for  nearly  six  months,  and  is 
now  the  family  resort  of  serious  family 
parties,  it  would  be  rather  hazardous  to 
predict  what  its  future  course  may  be ; 
the  old  Chatham  Theatre  was  converted 
into  a  chapel,  and  Captain  Purdy's  is 
half  way  towards  the  same  destiny. 

Attached  to  Banium's  Museum  there 
is  a  large,  well  arranged,  and  showily  de- 
corated theatre  for  dramatic  representa- 
tions, where  domestic  dramas  of  a  moral 
character  are  performed,  and  a  version  of 
Uncle  Tom  adapted  to  Southern  tastes  has 
been  a  long  time  running.  The  "St. 
Charles,"  is  a  small  theatre  in  the  Bowery 
which  was  built  for  an  actor  named  Chan- 
frau,  who  was  the  creator  of  the  univer- 
sally recognized  charact^jr  of  Mosc,  the 
type  of  the  New- York  gamin. 

The  Italian  OjHjra  House  in  Astor  Plac« 
has  been  adapted  to  the  uses  of  the  Mer- 
cantile Library  Association  ;  and  the  new 
opera  house  m  Irving-place,  which  bids 
fair  to  be  one  of  the  most  magnificent 
structures  devoted  to  music  in  the  world, 
is  not  yet  sufficiently  built  to  be  described ; 
but  we  shall  describe  it  hereafter. 

Since  we  commenced  writing  this  article 
the  most  beautiful  and  spacious  place  of 
popular  recreation  in  New- York  has  been 
swept  out  of  existence  by  one  of  those 
sudden  and  disastrous  conflagrations  which 
have  earned  for  New- York  the  appellation 
of  the  City  of  Fires.     Metropolitan  Hal). 


152 


Places  of  Public  AmusemenU 


[ 


which  was  unrivalled  for  its  extent  and 
splendor  by  any  concert  room  in  the 
world,  together  with  the  superb  marble- 
fronted  hotel  in  which  it  was  inclosed, 
with  all  their  wealth  of  embellishment 
and  taste,  the  embodied  forms  of  labor, 
genius,  and  skill  were  suddenly  whiffed 
out  of  existence  on  the  morning  of  the 
8th  of  January.  The  engravings  which  we 
have  the  good  fortune  to  possess  of  these 
superb  structures  are  all  that  now  remain, 
but  tlie  memories  of  those  ornaments  of 
our  city. 

Castle  Garden,  the  unique,  remains, 
where  opera,  music,  and  the  drama  are 
presented  by  turns.  It  is  a  hall  of  un- 
equalled advantages  for  public  exhibitions, 
which  was  originally  a  fort,  but  has  long 
been  appropriated  to  the  refining  arts  of 
peace. 

The  Ethiopian  minstrels  have  become 
established  entertainments  of  the  public, 
and  amon;;  them  are  three  permanent  com- 
panies in  Broadway;  the  Buckleys,  Chris- 
ty's, and  Wood's,  where  the  banjo  is  the 
first  fiddle,  and  the  loves  of  Dinah  and 
Sambo  form  the  burthen  of  the  perform- 
ances. 

The  Italian  Opera,  too,  is  now  an  estab- 
lished institution  in  the  New  World,  but 
it  leads  a  vagabondish  kind  of  a  life  at 
present,  and  has  no  permanent  house  of 
Its  own,  although  one  is  erecting  for  it 


We  are  neither  wealthy  enough 
cieutly  educated  in  music  to  m 
an  Italian  troupe  at  present,  but 
pelled  to  share  this  luxury  in 
with  our  neighbors  of  Boston, 
phia,  Havana,  Mexico,  Valpon 
Lima.  The  Italian  Opera  is  the 
onier  of  theatrical  entertainment 
mands  a  class  of  educated  and 
people  for  it,s  proper  support  moi 
rous  than  v^'^  have  yet  been  able 
of.  There  are  never  more  thai 
dozen  good  singers  before  the  pu 
time,  and  in  comjKJting  for  their 
we  have  to  contend  with,  not  tl 
of  other  cities,  but  with  their  n: 
the  Emperor  Nichola*<os  and  Emp 
poleons,  who  never  hesitate  to  s] 
money  of  their  subjects  to  purchi 
sures  for  themselves. 

The  circus  is  still  the  most  po 
public  amusements,  and  it  is  o 
on  a  magnificent  scale  as  a  reguj 
ness  speculation  bv  enterprising 
The  most  famous  nders  now  in  Ei 
graduates  of  the  American  riD( 
Hippodrome,  in  the  Fifth  Avenae 
attempt  to  transplant  Franconi 
Paris.  But  the  Hippodrome  y 
exotic  to  thrive  in  our  climate,  a: 
a  season  of  doubtful  success,  it  hi 
probably  for  ever. 


Hlppodronw. 


1854.] 


153 


MEMOIRS   OF   DR.    TERON. 


KnufirM  dTun  BaurgenU  ds  Parin  par  U  Doeteur 
L  Vbeo!«,  comprenant:  Ltt  Jin  rf«  rKmjrire,  la 
RfMUiurttiion^  l«i  Momtrchi^  d«  Jniflft,  et  la 
R*pultllqH«  JuA'iH'tiH  riUihlin^tnneRt  ds  VSm' 
pin.    Tome  rrvmler.    Parldi   ISKL  pp.  SSa 

IT  is  scarci'l}'  ncccs.'Wiry  to  .say  tliat  we 
have   rirarl   witli   great    interest    Dr. 
Veron'-s  memoirs.     They  arc  a  gossipping 
ntrrative  of  tlie  last  thirty  years  of  French 
life.     The  first  vohimc  only  has  apjwared, 
which  is  rather  a  preface   to  the  other 
Toliimcs  than  a  chnmological  relation  of 
its  parts  to  this  perio«l  of  time ;  it  never- 
theless  contains   a  great   many  curious 
pictiircs   of   French   society  during  this 
perioil,  wliich  we,  who  are  separated  from 
Paris  bv  a  winter's  Atlantic,  could  scarcely 
finfl    aiiv    where   else.     A    great    many 
Frenchmen  hold  that  French  history  be- 
gins only  with  the  advent  of  Xaiwlcon, 
and  they  reckon  the  antece<lent  years  as 
merely  the  history  of  the  Iy)uises  and  the 
Henrys  and  the  Charleses  who  have  sat 
npon  the  throne.     Gross  as  is  this  mis- 
take (which,  by  the  way,  has  just  been 
clearly  cxjiosod'hy  M.  August  in  Thierry*), 
it  is  very  certain' that  French  society  has 
nnderfro'ne  several  radical  clianges   binoe 
the  Eighteenth   Brumairc.  and  that  the 
national  character  differs  nearly  as  much 
from  that  of  the  Frenchman  of  the  reign 
of  Lonis   XIV.  as  he  dillered   from  the 
Gaul  descriljCfl  by  Cjesar.     The  general 
specimen  of  a  Frenchman  given  by  our 
school  books  of  geography,  and  which  rep- 
resent   hun   with  a  cocked  hat  and    a 
rulHed  bosom,  and  dancing  under  a  tree,  is 
quite  a-s  inapplicable  to  a  Frenchman  of 
the  present  da}'  as  it  would  be  to  a  Sioux 
Indian.      The  gaycty,  and  contentment, 
and  careless  generosity,  which  once  were 
the  prominent  traits  of  the  Fren<rh  char- 
acter, have  completely  disappeared ;   he 
has  bcrumc  ambitious.  an<l  discontented, 
and  avaricious.   Successive  radical  revolu- 
tions, which,  by  the  most  fonnal  laws,  ex- 
pressed in  the  most  absolute  terms,  arid  in 
moro  than  one  instance  |«ssed  by  the  .self- 
same body  of  men,  have  dethn)ued  every 
ruler  of  the  country,  and  have  in  turn 
exalted  to  the  skies  and  debased  to  the 
acwer  every  form  of  government  and  every 
family  of  governors  known  to  the  country : 
more  than  onco  the  traitor's  gaol  has  been 
the  footstool  to  the  throne ;  the  futil  in- 
fluence of  the  article  of  the  Code  Nap<)leon. 
which  provides  an  equal  distribution  of 


estates  among  the  decca.sc<rs  male  and 
female  children,  share  and  share  alike,  has 
dilapidated  every  fortune,  and  Ixr^igared 
the  lower  cla.ssi\s  of  the  rural  ix>iiulation  ; 
the  complete  loss  of  power  and  of  position 
of  the  ari.stocracy  of  the  nation;  the 
number  of  successful  adventuRTS  the  re- 
volutions have  tossed  to  jyower,  and  the 
con.scquent  demoralization  of  all  cIjisscs  of 
society ;  the  insatiable  thirst  for  wealth 
(now'  the  only  social  distinction  in  a 
country  where  quite  as  many  ex-cabinet 
ministers  arc  rotting  in  gaols,  or  living  by 
their  wiUs  in  an  exile's  a>)ode.  as  may  be 
found  in  fashionable  drawing-rooms),  and 
the  inexorable  demands  of  money  nuule 
by  all,  even  the  least  social  positions,  havft 
corrupted  the  French  nation  to  an  mcon- 
ccivable  degree — we  had  almost  said,  have 
made  them  as  a.stutc  and  as  unprincipled 
as  the  modern  (ireek.  Our  reader  will 
sec  we  are  very  far  removed  from  the 
cocked  hat  and  rullled  shirt  Frenchman 
who  capered  gayly  under  a  tree. 

A  truce,  however,  to  these  general  re- 
flections. Let  us  trace  this  society  from 
the  end  of  the  pjupirc  to  the  ju'csent  time, 
by  the  examples  Dr.  Veron  i)]aces  before 
us;  let  us  carefully  mark  the  different 
pha.<!c.s  he  presents,  and  we  may,  at  the 
en«l  of  the  work,  be  better  enabled  to 
form  an  idea  of  that  strange  phenomenon 
— Fi-ench  society. 

Before  dippnig  deep  in  his  lx)ok  of  me- 
moirs, let  us  stay  a  moment  to  examine 
the  cluiracter  of  the  writer:  indctMl  his 
first  chapter  provokes  the  incpiiry ;  it  is  en- 
titled, Qui  jt:  till  is,  ••  Who  1  am.''  Dr. 
lx)uis  Veron  was  born  the  5th  Ajiril. 
17y8.  lie  chose  medicine  as  a  pmfe.^- 
sion,  and  prostvutcd  it  with  energ}-  and 
succe.<.s.  lie  tells  us  tliat  when  he 
saw  all  the  volumes  which  comix>se  a 
student's  lirst  library  hg  felt  that  it  was 
necessary  he  .shoidd  give  himself  up  com- 
pletely to  study,  and  lead  a  quiet.  soUt. 
and  uninteiTUpted  life ;  getting  up  early 
in  the  morning,  shunning  exciting  dinners, 
and  hastening  to  his  gairet  imme<liaioly 
afterwards,  and  tiiking  good  care  to  fin«l 
no  society  there  hut  his  books,  lie  con- 
fesses he  found  the  study  of  anatomy  and 
of  pathology  r;ither  diifl ;  ho  hit  upon  a 
plan  to  enliven  them :  to  read  some  of  the 
great  writers  of  the  seventeenth  and  of 
the  eighteenth  o-nturies,  ami  never  to 
have   a  cent  of   money   in   his   ]K)oket ; 


•  iC9»ai  Mur  Fiiidoirg  ds  In  /[fnnatUm  «t  d§9  ProgrU  du  lUrt-Eiat^  Par  A  uguBtin  Th  terry. 
TOL.  III. — 11  ' 


154 


Memoirs  </  Dr.  Veron. 


[Fd 


**  poverty  has  made  a  great  many  great 
men."  His  parents  gave  him  twenty 
francs  the  first  of  every  month,  and  the 
day  he  received  them  ho  lived  like  a  lord ; 
they  were  spent  with  the  day :  he  dined 
with  some  of  his  friends  at  a  restaurant, 
and  went  to  some  theatre,  and  finished 
his  day  at  the  Cafg  da  Roi,  then  the 
favorite  resort  of  the  wits  and  the  men  of 
letters.  In  1821  he  was  appointed  au 
cancours  first  interne  of  the  hospitals; 
he  was  made  a  doctor  0/  medicine  in  1823. 
He  went  every  morning  in  winter  from  the 
Rue  da  Bac  to  the  H6pital  de  la  Piti6 
by  five  o'clock,  that  ho  might  reach  there 
before  the  van  which  takes  off  from  the 
hospitals  all  the  unreclaimed  bodies  of  the 
deceased  patients,  that  he  might  select  the 
best  of  them,  and  with  his  scalpel  prepare 
them  for  the  students  studying  anatomy. 
He  remained,  too,  for  some  time  in  the 
Hospice  des  Knfans-Trouv^s ;  every  morn- 
ing, thermometer  in  hand,  he  gave  some 
fifteen  of  these  foundlings,  affected  with 
a  hardening  of  the  cellular  tissue,  a 
vapor  bath;  during  one  year,  he  dis- 
sected at  the  least  a  hundred  and  fifty 
foundlings,  and  studied  in  a  spoon  the 
milk  of  more  than  two  hundred  nurses. 
Dr.  Veron,  however,  abandoned  his  am- 
bition of  becoming  a  professor  of  the  Medi- 
cal school,  in  consequence  of  a  defeat  in  a 
eoncoure  for  the  prizes  of  anatomy,  natural 
history,  natural  philosophy,  and  chemis- 
try; his  rivals  were  MM.  Andral  and 
Bouillaud,  and  they  carried  off  all  the 
prises ;  M.  Orfila  however  afterwards  told 
him  that  he  had  voted  for  him  for  the 
first  prize  in  natural  philosophy  and 
chemistry,  and  his  fortunate  rival,  M. 
Andral,  complimented  him  on  his  lecture 
on  electricity.  The  result  of  this  concoure 
persuaded  Dr,  Veron  he  had  powerful 
enemies  among  the  Faculty ;  he  did  not 
appear  at  another  concours,  and  shortly 
after  published  a  pamphlet  upon  the  dis- 
eases of  infants,  containing  notes  on  croup 
and  on  an  abscess  in  the  thymus.  (At  the 
birth  of  the  Connt  de  Paris,  the  Duke 
d'Orleans,  being  anxious  about  the  health 
of  his  first  child,  asked  Dr.  Blache  which 
was  the  last  and  the  best  treatise  upon  the 
croup :  Monseigneur,  replied  the  Doctor, 
the  last  and  the  best  treatise  upon  the 
croup  is  by  Dr.  Veron,  the  manager  of  the 
opera.)  He  removed  from  the  Quartier 
Latin  to  the  Ohauss6e  d'Antin,  where  he 
opened  a  doctor's  office,  but  he  avows  in 
ail  humility  that  no  client  ever  paid  him 
a  visit.  One  night,  however,  about  three 
o'clock  A.  M.,  he  was  called  up  by  his  porter 
and  two  or  three  old  women  to  go  and 
■ee  aa  old  porter's  wife  hard  by,  whose 


nose  had  been  bleeding  for  more  11 
hours ;  he  arrested  the  bleeduig,  a 
the  old  women  of  the  quarter  sooim 
praises  with  feminine  volubility, 
reputation  rose  from  the  porter's  k 
the  first  floor,  and  it  was  not  long 
he  had  three  patients :  one  of  the 
a  rich  woman,  who  was  no  longer  ; 
and  rather  corpulent ;  it  was  neoes! 
bleed  her : — 

"£very  body  is  talking,"  she  s 
me,  "  Monsieur,  of  your  sluU  and  0 
learning,  and  1  have  quitted  my  ph^ 
to  receive  the  care  of  a  gentleman  e 
brated  as  you  already  are.  All  1 
acquaintances  will  follow  my  ezamp 
in  a  very  short  time  you  will  hv 
most  brilliant  practice  in  Paris."  I 
often  heard  his  old  professor  and 
M.  Roux,  the  most  skilful  surgeon 
world  say,  that  when  he  had  to  t 
person  he  always  was  uneasy ;  ai 
Veron  began  now  to  be  nervous ;  ho 
he  was  obliged  to  make  the  attem] 
took  hold  of  the  patient's  arm;  sli 
tinned  to  overwhelm  him  with  pi 
he  plunged  in  the  lancet ;  he  did  not 
the  vein ;  he  plunged  in  the  lancet 
no  blood  came.  Oh!  then  the 
changed :  "  You  are  a  miserable  aw 
fellow ;  the  meanest  surgeon  bleeds 
than  you.  How  I  pity  the  patient 
confide  themselves  to  your  care.  Bi 
mv  arm  up  as  quickly  as  you  ca 
take  yourself  off;  you  have  doi 
maimed  me."  "  The  day  of  my  gran 
says  the  Doctor,  "was  the  eve 
fall,  and  an  unsuccessful  bleedini 
wrecked  all  my  castles  in  the  air 
miliation  was  mixed  with  nnr  d 
and  when  1  returned  home,  1  sai< 
very  decided  tone  to  poor  Justii 
porter,  whom  I  afterwards  made  00 
of  the  opera :  "  Justin,  1  do  not 
practising  medicine  any  more,  1 
never  bleed  again,  and  if  any  bod, 
for  a  doctor,  say  there's  none  J 
house." 

After  thus  bidding  adieu  to  the  ] 
sion  of  medicine,  Dr.  Veron  found* 
Revue  de  Paris  in  1829.  There  wa 
but  one  literary  journal  publisl 
France,  Le  Mercure,  which  was  pul 
under  the  editorship  and  *'  by  the  c 
ents  "  of  M.  Gentil,  whom  M.  Veror 
wards  made  the  keeper  of  the  "  j 
ties"  at  the  opera;  M.  Gentil,  ho 
could  give  the  young  writers,  his  coi 
tors,  nothing  but  praise  and  pub 
but  he  was  a  firm  partisan  of  Um 
mantic  school,"  as  may  bo  seen,  wl 
are  told  that  he  is  the  author  of  tha 
and  celebrated  judgment  which  m 


1854.] 


Memoin  of  Dr.  Vertm. 


155 


much  noise  in  its  day :  "  Racine  est  un 
fioliuon.^'*  The  Revue  de  Paris  was  a 
joint  stock  company,  with  a  capital  of 
80,000  francs,  and  Dr.  Veron  took  20,000 
francs  of  shares ;  he  was  presented  to  the 
wealthy  M.  Aguado,  Marquis  de  Las  Mar- 
ismas,  who  took  some  shares  in  the  enter- 
prise. We  shall  hereafter  frequently  find 
the  Aguado  family  in  relations  with  Dr. 
Veron.  Some  of  our  readers  may  remem- 
ber that  the  latter  years  of  the  Restora- 
tion saw  the  commencement  of  the  famous 
war  of  the  Romantics  and  the  Classics, 
which  excited  a  great  deal  of  passion,  and 
occupied  the  public  mind  even  in  the 
midst  of  the  crisis,  which  lasted  during  the 
last  years  of  the  Restoration  and  the  first 
years  of  the  Monarchy  of  July.  Victor 
Hugo,  Alexandre  Dumas,  and  Alfred  de 
Vigny,  were  the  leaders  of  this  war  waged 
on  the  dramatic  unities  enforced  by  Aris- 
totlCj  and  which  were  defended  by  the 
French  Academy,  with  a  great  deal  more 
bitterness  than  judgment.  The  foundation 
of  the  Revue  do  Paris  rendered  a  great 
deal  of  service  to  the  Romantic  school,  and 
indeed  to  French  literature,  as  it  was  in  its 
pages,  and  on  the  editor^s  annual  budget  of 
40,000  francs,  that  MM.  Prosper  Merim^e, 
Samte-Beuve,  Saint-Marc-Girardin,  Casi- 
mir  Delavigne.  Arnault,  Charles  Nodier, 
Jules  Janin,  and  Eugene  Delacroix  com- 
menced, or  increased  their  reputation. 
MM.  de  Lamartine,  Victor  Hugo,  and 
Rossini  were  also  among  the  contributors. 
Dr.  Veron  promises  to  speak  in  due  time 
of  all  the  eminent  writers  and  artists,  with 
whom  he  lived  in  a  daily  intimacy,  and  to 
give  a  great  many  of  theur  letters,  which 
will  place  in  a  new  and  a  clearer  light  the 
secret  history  of  French  literature  during 
the  last  twenty-five  years.  He  gives  us 
a  taste  of  these  future  revelations  by  these 
letters:— 


FROM  A.  DUMAS. 

"  My  dear  Veron, — See   how  men 


of 


talent  work.  I  send  you  a  hundred  and 
twenty  pages  of  blank  paper,  have  them 
stamped  by  your  servant  in  the  corner 
opposite  to  the  numbers.  Return  them  to 
me  Thursday  morning  by  the  first  train. 
You  will  find  your  volume  commenced 
when  you  come  to  dine  with  me  Thursday 
14th,  and  I  will  return  it  to  you  finished 
when  I  go  to  dine  with  you  Thursday  the 
21st— Yours.  A.  Dumas."  ♦ 

FROM  GEO.  SAND. 

"Monsieur,  —  You  vex  me  extremely 
by  asking  for  a  novel  a  month  earlier  than 
our  common  engagements  provide.  It  is 
a  great  inconvenience  to  my  health,  and  a 
great  danger  for  the  merit  of  the  story  to 
work  in  this  hurry,  without  having  had 
the  time  to  mature  my  subject,  and  to 
make  the  necessary  researches ;  for  there 
is  no  subject,  however  small  it  may  be, 
which  does  not  require  a  great  deul  of 
readinpj  and  of  reflection.  I  think  you  treat 
me  a  little  too  much  like  a  stop-gap  ;  my 
amour  propre  does  not  suffer  by  it,  and  I 
have  too  much  esteem  and  friendship  for 
Eugene  Sue  to  be  jealous  of  all  your  pre- 
ferences for  him.  But,  if  you  give  liim 
the  time  necessary  to  develope  fine  and 
great  works,  time  is  also  necessary  to  me 
to  arrange  my  little  studies,  and  1  cannot 
engage  to  be  ready  whenever  the  suppres- 
sions of  the  Ju\f  Errant  may  require  it, 
nor  to  have  it  terminated  when  the  Jutf 
Errant  is  ready  to  commence  his  tour 
around  the  world.  All  that  I  can  pro- 
mise is  to  do  my  best,  because  I  sincerely 
desire  to  serve  you :  I  pass  by  in  silence 
the  annoyance  of  setting  again  to  work, 
when  1  reckoned  upon  another  month  of 
very  necessary  repose.  I  have  already 
abandoned  it ;  I  have  been  working  since 


*  This  chaniGterlBtlo  letter  of  th«  most  proUflo  writer  of  this  century  will  suggest  to  our  reader's  mind  an 
iuddent  the  newsftapera  recently  mentioned.  M.  Alexandre  Dumas  is  at  present  living  in  Bru!«clA ;  a  forced 
expatriation,  we  bclieye,  in  consequence  of  Uie  involved  state  of  his  pecuniary  affaire.  He  engaged  with  the 
manager  of  the  Theatre  Fran^ais  tu  deliver  a  five  act  comedy  by  an  appointed  dav,  and  he  received  a  large 
■dTanee  fn  money  for  the  forthcoming  woric  Two  days  before  tlio  delay  expired,  \llle.  Polra  Camera,  an  ao- 
eompMshed  Snanl^b  danaeuw,  who  appears  to  have  half-crnzed  Pariis  came  to  Brussels,  and  M.  Dnmas  gave 
her  ft  lioDte^hritto  fite,  at  which  every  body  eat,  drank,  danced,  and  sung  until  four  o'clock  in  tlio  morning, 
when,  bis  guests  having  retireti,  M.  Dumas  sot  at  his  writing  desk,  and  wrote  the  fourth  act,  and  the  flftli  act 
to  ttie  enarse  of  the  ensuing  day.  The  Censors  interdicted  the  comedy ;  whereupon  he  wrote  this  letter  to  the 
MMMoer  of  the  Theatre  Fran^ais  :— 

"My  dear  Manager,— I  haveinst  come  from  Brussels,  having  received  notice  that  the  Censors  have  stopped 
JA  Jewmetm  de  LouU  XI V,  This  Is  Tuesday,  I  ask  leave  to  read  to  yon  next  Monday.  1  will  rend  yon  tive 
•Ota  I  dun*t  know  yet  what  I  shall  read  you,  for  this  news  has  taken  me  by  Buri>rise ;  but  the  five  acis  shall 
be  called  La  Jeunesse  de  Loub  XV.  I  shall  take  care  that  the  scenery,  dec.  you  have  ordered,  and  which  I 
■m  told  to  all  ready,  may  be  nsed  in  this  pky.  I  need  not  say  that  there  will  not  be  in  ^  Jeuu*^Hse  de  Ltmit 
Xr.  a  word  or  a  sitaation  from  ^  tAnmeaM  <f0  Z^m^^  XT  FT,  which  shall  remain  intact  until  it  pleases  the 
Ceraon  to  return  it  to  yoo.  If  I  am  ready  before  Monday  I  will  have  the  honor  to  inform  you.  Wholly 
yoan,  Alkxandkk  Dimas.*" 

**Taeaday,  11  o*clock^—Bzert  a  little  diligence  on  yonr  part  and  the  piece  may  be  represented  in  throe 
weriia.^ 

Friday  evening  he  wrote  the  following  note  to  the  manager : — 

**  My  dear  HoiuMy^— Aa  I  foresaw,  l  shall  have  finished  the  piece  before  Monday.  So  you  may  appoint 
file  raiding  of  La  Jeoncate  de  Lools  XY.  for  to-morrow,  Satorday.    Wholly  yoora, 

JWrfay  JWwiiig.  ALsxAiroBa  Dvhai.** 


156 


Memoirs  cf  Dr.  Venm. 


[Fel 


I  receiTed  your  letter,  bnt  can  I  send  you 
in  six  weeks  a  work  with  which  I  am 
satisfied,  and  with  which  yon  yourself 
shall  be  pleased  ?  I  do  not  think  it  is  the 
interest  of  your  paper  to  press  me  in  this 
way.  So  I  am  rather  angry  with  you,  and 
yet  I  do  not  refuse  to  do  what  is  within 

human  possibility A  thousand 

kind  compliments,  and  some  reproaches, 
"  Gkorge  Sand." 

from  eugene  sue. 

"  I  have  thought,  my  dear  Veron,  that 
Martin^  VEnfant  Trouve^  would  be  a 
better  title,  and  it  is  very  impartant  that 
this  rectification  be  made;  you  will  see 
why.  I  shall  send  you,  at  the  end  of  this 
week,  about  a  half  volume.  Have  com- 
posed for  me  a  double  proof  on  my  paper. 
Read  it  and  give  me  your  opinion  in  notes, 
when  you  send  me  my  two  proofs.  I 
think  I  am  in  quite  a  good  vein ;  however, 
you  will  judge,  and  you  will  tell  me  very 
frankly^  as  always^  what  you  think,  for 
the  commencement  is  very  important,  as 
it  is  necessary  the  reader  should  be  en- 
listed  I  am  as  happy  as  ten 

kings ;  I  have  excellent  dc^s  ;  I  work  a 
great  deal ;  and  my  green-house  plants 
are  in  full  llower.  I  assure  you,  ten  o'clock 
at  night  comes  with  an  incredible  rapidity, 
and  at  six  o'clock,  whether  it  is  day  or 
not,  I  am  up.  But  the  great  business 
with  me  is  work ;  and  when  I  am  satis- 
fied with  what  I  have  written  in  the 
morning,  I  ride  or  I  hunt  with  a  double 
pleasure.  Isn't  this  a  great  life !  Adieu, 
my  dear  Veron ;  when  the  railway  is  estab- 
lished you  must  come  and  see  my  house. 
Believe  in  my  very  sincere,  very  afiec- 
tionate  sentiments.  Wholly  and  faith- 
fully yours,  ,        E.  Sue.* 

**  What  do  they  say  about  the  title  of 
the  Memoires  (T  un  Vakt'de-ChambreV^ 

FROM  LOUIS  napoleon. 

£l7sce,14th  December,  1S51. 
"My  dear  Monsieur  Veron, — I  wish 
to  announce  to  you,  myself,  that,  wishhig 
to  show  you  all  my  gratitude  for  the 
services  you  have  rendered  to  the  cause 
of  order  and  of  civilization,  I  have  ap- 
pointed you  an  officer  in  the  Legion  of 
Ilonor.  Receive  this  promotion  as  a  proof 
of  my  affectionate  sentiments. 

Louis  Napoleon  B." 

from  a.  thiers. 
"  My  dear  Monsieur  Veron.f — ^I  charged 


M.  Etienne  to  oompliment  jovl  on  the 
talents  with  which  the  ConsiituHonnei  is 
written.  Unluckily  my  letters  have  flown 
to  the  department  of  the  Meuse.  I  there- 
fore address  my  compliments  directly  to 
you.  I  add  two  modificationa  to  them. 
You  praise  M.  M0I6  too  much,  and  you 
use  Belgium  ill.  I  know  M.  MoU  ha» 
more  mind  than  his  colleagues,  but  he  is 
incapable  of  supplying  their  place ;  be  has 
not  talents  enough  for  that ;  their  weak- 
ness which  crushes  them,  crushes  him 
too.  No  one  shines  by  the  side  of  feebler 
colleagues  unless  he  supplies  their  place ; 
but  M.  M0I6  knows  how  to  do  nothing, 
but  to  elude ;  one  may  elude  difSculties 
for  a  moment,  but  never  for  a  long  time. 
M.  M0I6  is  weak  in  consequence  of  the 
weakness  of  his  colleagues  and  also  of 
himself.  At  the  same  time  I  like  him 
well  enough,  I  do  not  want  to  see  him  ill- 
treated,  but  I  don't  want  to  have  it 
thought  that  we  have  an  understanding 
with  him.  If  your  praises  are  designed 
to  excite  difficulties  between  him  and  M. 
de  Montalivet  I  am  sorry  I  am  not  hi 
Paris  that  I  might  tell  you  what  praises 
of  that  sort  are  worth ',  it  is  lost  labor. 
Junctures  of  affairs  embroil  men;  but 
praises  given  to  one  and  against  another 
is  a  force  given  to  them,  without  increas- 
ing their  variance,  which  is  always  great 
enough  when  the  juncture  of  affairs  leads 
to  it ;  should  we  come  to  an  understand- 
ing with  M.  Mold  to-morrow,  we  should 
wait  until  day  after  to-morrow  before 
praising  him.  As  for  Belgium,  it  must 
not  be  forgotten  that  with  its  disagreeable 
character  it  is  nevertheless  our  ally, — that 
its  dignity,  its  interests  are  ours, — that  our 
cabinet  should  not  be  weakened  in  a  very 
difficult  posture  of  affairs, — and  especially 
that  the  Belgians  should  not  be  encour- 
aged to  be  feeble,  by  being  maltreated. 
Such  are  the  homilies  of  an  old  parson ;  I 
repeat  to  you  the  paper  is  admirable,  well 
written,  very  courageous ;  that  I  applaud 
it  in  every  respect  but  two.  I  should  like 
to  send  you  something,  but  I  should  like 
to  know  by  a  letter  from  you,  what  is  the 
exact  situation,  and  what  are  your  cal- 
culations.— Adieu,  je  vouxfais  mille  com" 
pliments,  A.  Thiers." 

Doctor  Veron  made  the  Revue  de  Pari» 
not  only  a  brilliant  review,  but  a  souire 
of  a  considerable  pecuniary  profit  to  him* 
self,  and  he  found  in  the  relations  he  there 


*  "*  I  am  glad,""  Mys  Dr.  Veron,  "  to  •xhlblt  have,  depicted  bj  bimaelA  one  of  our  great  and  proUfle  wilten^ 
whiMKi  name  will  ri'uialn  after  him.  Laborious  and  iuipafisiuuedf  a  great  philoeopher,  loving  woinen,  dug% 
borses,  ami  flowery  pre-eminently  a  gallant  man.  Eugene  8ao  is  penonally  no  dangerous  politician.  May  tbee^ 
true  rv4narka  about  that  dlsUngoishea  writer  end  hia  aad  exile.**  M.  Sue  was  exiled  from  Frmnce  Immediatoly 
after  the  C\m/>  <rstui  made  the  2d  December,  1851. 

t  Tbie  letter  bean  no  date ;  it  was  written  the  a4tb  June  1886.    Oooat  M0I6  was  then  Prime  lOalilar. 


1864.] 


MemoiM  f)f  Dr.  Feron. 


157 


formed  some  very  efficient  aids  when  he 
issomed  the  managership  of  the  Grand 
Opera,  or  ikt  Ope^  as  we  believe  it  is  the 
fiishion  in  Paris  to  call  it,  while  the  guide- 
books inform  us  that  its  official  name  is 
L'  Academic  Imperiale  de  Musique. 

In  1831,  Dr.  Veron  solicited  and  ob- 
tained the  privilege  of  the  Grand  Opera. 
He  owed  tlus  place,  in  a  great  measure, 
to  the  footing  on  which  ho  stood  with 
Count  de  Montydiyet,  then  the  Minister  of 
the  Interior,  and  who  was  under  some 
obligations  to  Dr.  Veron  for  the  kind  re- 
ception he  had  given  to  the  former's  lucu- 
brations, while  he  was  the  editor  of  the 
Revue  de  Paris,  M.  Aguado  seconded 
M.  Veron  in  this  enterprise  with  a  great 
deal  of  zeal :  he  placed  two  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  in  his  hands  as  a  portion  of 
the  collateral  security  the  French  govern- 
ment always  requires  from  the  manager 
of  the  Grand  Opera ;  and,  in  return  for 
this  favor,  besides  paying  the  legal  rate 
of  interest  for  the  use  of  this  money,  M. 
Veron  gallantly  insisted  that  M.  Aguado 
should  take  the  best  box  of  the  theatre 
(and  which  is  now,  we  believe,  the  Em- 
peror's box)  and  occupy  it  during  his 
whole  administration.  We  would  remark, 
for  the  benefit  of  those  readers  who  may 
be  surprised  at  this  zeal  on  the  part  of  Af . 
Aguado,  that  the  purse-holder  of  a  Paris 
theatre  is  reported  to  hold  a  very  enviable 
position  (and  to  whose  mysterious  advan- 
tages, we  hope  M.  Veron  will,  in  tim^ 
initiate  us) ;  it  is  certain  that  from  1831 
to  the  present  day  the  members  of  the 
Aguado  family  have  found  it  so  agreeable 
a  position,  they  have  not  ceased  to  occupy 
it  at  some  theatre  or  another.  Rumor 
alleges  they  are  now  the  purse-holders  of 
the  Italian  Theatre.  M.  Veron  made  a 
great  deal  of  money  at  the  Grand  Opera ; 
and  he  promises  us  some  very  piquant 
details  touching  his  managership.  They 
cannot  well  be  otherwise:  he  was  thrown 
into  almost  hourly  communication  with 
Harold  (sometime  maitre  de  chant 
during  his  administration),  Ilal^vy  (who 
succeeded  H6rold  in  his  functions,  and 
brought  out  during  his  management  La 
Juive)j  Cherubini  (who  also  brought  out 
there  Alt  Baba).  Meyerbeer  (whose 
Robert  le  Diable  then  coined  money  for 
the  opera),  Rossini  and  Auber,  and  espe- 
cially during  the  three  or  four  months  of 
rehearsals  of  their  operas,  during  all  of 
which  "  they  are  incessantly  agitated  by 
joy,  or  by  fear,  or  by  despair."  And 
during  his  management  Mme.  Cinti- 
Damorean,  M.  Nourrit,  M.  Duprez,  Mile. 
Falcon,  Mile.  Taglioni,  Mile.  Fanny 
Eltalcr,  were  m  all  the  beauty  and  the 


force  of  their  talents.    M.  Veron  betrays 
the  secret  of  his  success : — 

"  While  I  was  manager  of  the  opera,  I 
enjoyed  the  most  delicate  perfumes  of 
praise ;  all  the  newspapers  celebrated  with 
warmth  my  great  administrative  talents, 
and  my  intelligent  passion  for  arts  and  for 
letters.  The  members  of  the  then  govern- 
ment, whom  I  saw  a  great  deal  of  either 
at  their  houses  or  in  my  house,  often  said 
to  me :  '  How  do  you  manage  to  make 
the  newspapers  such  good  friends  of 
yours  ?  they  praise  you  so  much,  we  feel 
jealous  of  you.'  I  was  merely  cordial  and 
polite  to  every  body ;  and  1  paid  courte- 
ous attentions  to  every  one.  I  never  sent 
a  box  to  a  literary  man,  without  writing 
him,  myself,  a  note,  and  reproaching  him 
for  not  coming  to  the  opera  more  fre- 
quently." 

We  presume  M.  Veron  will  give  us 
further  conlidences  in  his  art  of  sSducing 
the  press  of  Paris,  ''  the  most  fearful  wild 
beast  flying,"  into  unanimous  and  unvaried 
applause.  We  have  reason  to  believe  M. 
Veron  ascertained  that  dinners  and  sup- 
pers are  as  powerful  friends  as  M.  Cardme 
urges  they  are  to  all  difficult  enterprises. 
We  believe  the  tradition  of  his  entertain- 
ments is  still  fresh  in  Paris ;  certain  it  is, 
distant  as  we  are  from  the  scene  of  his 
triumphs,  we  have  heard  of  them.  One 
day  after  Mile.  Fanny  Ellssler  had  fulfilled 
a  brilliant  engagement,  M.  Veron  gave  a 
grand  dinner  in  her  honor ;  at  the  dessert  a 
basket  full  of  jewelry  was  handed  around 
to  all  of  the  lady  guests.  Mile.  Ellssler 
modestly  took  a  small  ring  worth  perhaps 
a  louis  d'or,  but  a  Mile.  Adeline  from 
some  of  the  minor  theatres,  whose  face 
was  her  fortune,  and  who  was  invited  to 
the  dinner  to  ornament  the  table,  impu- 
dently seized  a  bracelet  of  some  five  hun- 
dred louis  d'or,  and  which  was  destined 
to  the  celebrated  danseuse.  She  is  said 
to  have  been  shown  the  door  immediately 
afterwards:  Frenchmen  do  not  relish 
jokes,  whoso  cream  is  gold  out  of  their 
pockets.  And  a  supper  given  by  M. 
Veron  has  been  so  famous  as  to  reach 
even  our  ears :  he  assembled  around  him 
the  most  brilliant  literary  men  of  Paris, 
and  the  most  beautiful  actresses ;  after  a 
luxurious  supper,  card- tables  were  brought 
out,  and  after  groups  were  formed  around 
each  of  the  tables,  a  valet  in  livery  handed 
around  a  silver  waiter  filled  with  louis 
d'ors;  some  of  the  vaudeville  actresses 
helped  themselves  plentifully ;  the  gaming 
went  on  briskly ;  Mile.  Page  [an  actress  of 
the  Variet6s  Theatre,  as  remarkable  for 
her  beauty  as  she  is  notorious  for  the  use 
die  makes  of  it]  won  a  great  deal  of  money, 


168 


Memoirs  of  Dr.  Veron. 


[Febnmy 


and  then  lost  more  than  she  had  won ; 
she  took  the  silver  waiter  and  emptied  its 
contents  in  her  lap;  which  made  M. 
Veron  so  angy,  that  he  gave  her  a  sharp 
lecture,  and  instantly  retired  to  bed. 

After  M.  Veron  had  made  a  fortune  at 
the  Grand  Opera,  he  became  ambitious. 
He  had  enjoyed  so  intimate  a  social  com- 
merce with  political  men,  he  felt  a  longing 
to  be  of  them  as  well  as  with  them ;  and 
perhaps  a  tribune  surrounded  by  an  ap- 
plauding audience  occupied  a  large  hall  in 
one  of  his  castles  in  the  air.  "  In  1837, 1 
sot  out  for  La  Bretagne;  I  purchased 
estates  there;  I  sent  to  them  valuable 
stallions,  I  improved  the  land.  I  laid  out 
money  on  them,  to  improve  the  condition 
of  the  laborers,  le  tout,  jtour  ne  pas  ttre 
nomme  depute  d  Brest  extra  muros?^ 
M.  Veron  was  imsucccssful.  The  passage 
we  have  quoted  is  none  the  less  curious  as 
showing  the  preliminary  steps  deemed 
necessary  under  the  reign  of  Louis  Philippe 
to  reach  the  Chamber  of  Deputies.  Bun- 
combe is  in  France  as  well  as  in  regions 
with  which  we  are  more  familiar. 

The  12th  March.  1838,  M.  Veron  at  the 
suggestion  of  MM.  Thiers  and  Etienne  pur- 
chased two  shares  of  the  Const itution- 
nel^  for  which  he  paid  262,000  francs. 
That  paper  then  reckoned  6,200  subscrib- 
ers ;  its  property  was  divided  into  fifteen 
parts.  lie  was  immediately  admitted  to 
the  editorship  of  the  paper ;  but.  as  he  was 
not  the  principal  editor  he  soon  saw  him- 
self unable  to  enforce  the  measures  he 
deemed  necessary  ;  the  number  of  sub- 
scribers daily  diminished,  notwithstanding 
the  public  and  the  avowed  patronage  of  M. 
Thiers  ;  and  it  became  so  involved  it  was 
set  up  at  public  auction,  and  sold  the  15th 
March,  1844.  We  have  omitted  to  men- 
tion that  M.  Aguado  purchased  from  M. 
Veron  tlie  half  of  one  of  his  shares  when 
the  latter  purchased  the  two  shares  of  the 
Constituitonnel :  and  that  before  M.  Ve- 
ron became  an  editor  and  proprietor,  M. 
Aguado  proposed  to  him  to  become  the 
editor  of  two  newspapers  he  then  owned. 

M.  Veron  purchased  the  Constitution- 
nel.  at  auction,  for  432,000  francs.  A  new 
stock  company  was  formed ; .  a  deed  made 
M.  Veron  absolute  master  of  the  political 
conduct  of  the  newspaper ;  he  abandoned 
this  power  to  M.  Thiers,  and  contented 
himself  with  being  the  administrator  of  the 
paper ;  indeed,  he  so  completely  abandon- 
ed all  influence  touching  the  politics  of  the 
paper,  he  received  the  sobriquet  of  ie 
pere  aux  ecus.  M.  Thiers  appointed  M. 
Charles  Merruau  (now  the  Secretary  Gene- 
ral of  the  Prefecture  of  the  Seine)  the  chief 
editor ;  and  he  regularly  reported  the  de- 


bates in  the  Chambers ;  he  kept  m  inti- 
mate relations  with  all  the  deputies  of  his 
party ;  he  consulted  i^jth  M.  Thiers  eveir 
morning;  and  he  admitted  or  rejected  tSl 
political  articles.  Although  M.  Veron  had, 
after  three  years  of  editorship,  increased 
his  subscription  list  to  25,000  subscribers, 
his  losses  had  amounted  to  290,000  francs, 
and  consequently  no  dividends  had  been 
divided  among  his  stockholders,  who  na- 
turally were  dissatisfied,  and  compelled 
him  to  limit  his  editorial  expenses  to 
110.000  francs  ;  they  were  in  reality 
160,000  francs.  It  may  be  curious  to 
glance  at  these  details  of  the  domestic 
economy  of  a  French  newspaper.  M.  Ve- 
ron announced  to  his  editorial  corps  that 
he  intended  to  diminish  their  salaries.  M. 
Merruau  replies  by  telling  him  that  the 
party  he  represented  (i.  e.  M.  Thiers)  had 
determined  to  place  100,000  francs  in  his, 
M.  Veron's  hands,  and  which  would  re- 
main his  property  so  long  as  the  ConstU 
tutwnnel  followed  the  line  of  policy  pur- 
sued by  the  Centre-Left  Party,  of  which, 
as  our  readers  will  remember,  M.  Thiers 
was  the  leader ;  taking  the  care,  however 
(and  this  artful  precaution  is  eminently 
characteristic  of  M.  Thicrs's  astuteness),  to 
provide  that  M.  Thiers  alone  should  be  the 
arbiter  to  decide  whether  and  when  the 
ConstitiUionnel  deviated  from  the  policy 
of  the  Centre-Left  Party,  and  consequently 
to  decide  when  M.  Veron  should  return 
the  100.000  francs  he  was  allowed  to  use. 
From  the  12th  March,  1838,  until  the  9th 
November,  1849,  never  had  any  public 
man  so  devoted  a  servant  as  M.  Thiers 
found  in  the  ConstitiUionnel.  To  borrow 
a  low,  but  expressive  phrase,  it  defended 
him  through  thick  and  thin:  the  13th 
May,  1839,  the  morning  after  the  emeute 
.  of  Barber,  the  M(>niteur  announced  that 
the  King  had  framed  a  new  cabinet,  the 
party  of  M.  Thiers  had  reached  power,  but 
he  was  ostracized;  yet  the  Constitution' 
net  even  then  remained  faithful  to  him. 
Hippolyte  Royer  Collard  had  taken,  the 
pains,  at  no  inconsiderable  expense  of 
time  and  labor,  to  assemble  all  the 
grammatical  faults,  and  the  mistakes 
of  events  and  of  dates  in  the  first  volumes 
of  Thiers's  History  of  the  Consulate  and 
tlie  Empire;  M.  Thiers  heard  of  it, 
and  was  alarmed ;  and,  at  his  entreaty, 
the  Constitutionnel  engaged  M.  Rover 
Collard  to  suppress  his  criticisms.  But 
the  9th  November,  1849,  M.  Veron 
wrote,  and  published,  in  the  Constituiionr 
nely  notwithstanding  the  resistance  of  M. 
Merruau,  a  leading  article,  approving  the 
message  addressed  by  the  President  of 
the  Republic  to  the  National  Assembly 


1854.] 


Menunri  of  Dr.  Verm, 


159 


file  3l8t  October,  1849.    That  very  day 
M.  TYaxm  doclared  he  would  cease  all  con- 
nection  with  the  ConstitiUionnel,  and  he 
demanded  the  retom  of  the  100,000  fhmcs. 
They  were  returned.    We  understand  the 
Count  de  Momay  (who  played  so  active 
a  part  in  the  events  of  December,  1851), 
if  indeed  his  name  was  not  a  mask  of 
Prince  Louis  Napoleon  himself,  then  ad- 
vanced M.  Veron  100,000  francs,  and  the 
Const Uuiionnel  became  the  most  zealous 
supporter  of  the  Bonapartist  cause.     A 
letter  we  have  quoted  shows  how  those 
services  were  rewarded.    From  this  time 
forth  M.  Yeron  took  an  active  part  in  the 
editorial  department  of  the  Constitution- 
net;  and  his  editorials  were  always  re- 
marked Tour  reEuiers  are  aware  the  French 
law  on  tne  press  requires  writers  to  sign 
their  articles),  and  they  were  rudely  at- 
tacked by  the  pen  and  b^  the  pencil ;  it  is 
the  fashion  among  certam  circles  in  Paris 
constantly  to  hold  up  M.  Veron  to  ridi- 
cule.    Another  newspaper,  Le  Pays,  was 
founded,  and  which,  after  wavering  a  veir 
long  time  between  the  republic  of  M., 
Lamartine,  and  the  republic  of  General 
Cavaignac,  and  the  republic  with  Prince 
Louis  Napoleon  as  the  president,  as  soon 
as  it  was  very  evident  the  coup  d*  itai  of 
December  was  completely  successful,  be- 
came a  zealous  supporter  of  Prince  Louis 
Napoleon,  and  one  of  the  loudest  petition- 
ers for  the  re-establishmcntof  the  Empire. 
It  injured  the  subscription  list  of  the  Con- 
stitutionnel  a  great  deal :  in  six  months 
it  lost  10,000  subscribers ;  and  the  Con- 
Mtitutionnel  determined  to  break  down  the 
rival  paper ;  to  do  this  it  reduced  its  sub- 
scription price  from  40  francs  to  32  francs 
a  year — a  measure  which  added  to  its  sub- 
scription list  twenty  thousand  new  sub- 
scribers, at  a  loss  not  only  of  all  its  pro- 
fits, but  of  80,000  francs  of  its  reserved 
fund.   Tired  of  this  unsuccessful  and  costly 
warfare,  M.  Veron  proposed  to  the  pro- 
prietors of  Le  Pays  to  purchase  it  from 
them ;  or  to  agree  to  a  common  rate  of 
subscription.    This  was  declined ;  but  the 
proprietors  of  Le  Pays  proposed  to  pur- 
chase the  Constitutionnel  for  1,900,000 
francs ;  of  this  amount  M.  Veron  received 
776,000  francs.    The  sale,  and  its  condi- 
tions, was  no  sooner  made  public,  by  ru- 
mor, than  the  Aguado  family  ^^the  M.  A- 
guaao  who  hitherto  figures  in  the  preceding 
pages  died  some  years  before  these  events ; 
and  we  are  now  speaking  of  his  widow  and 
his  sons)  brought  a  suit  against  M.  Veron 
to  recover  more  money  than  they  received, 
as  shareholders,  on  the  ground  that  M. 
Veron  had  received  more  than  his  share. 
Tbe  suit  was  no  sooner  instituted  than  the 


most  odious  libels  were  forged,  and  were 
applied  to  M.  Veron :  his  character  was 
atUcked  in  every  way  ;  and  none  were 
more  ardent  and  none  were  more  embitter- 
ed in  these  attacks  than  the  press  of  which 
he  had  long  been  a  faithful  representative, 
and  the  literary  men  to  whom  he  had  al- 
ways been  a  friend.  Besides,  M.  Veron 
had  never  allowed  his  paper  to  stoop,  and 
he  has  never  stooped  himself  to  any  man ; 
he  has  always  preserved  his  dignity,  and 
the  dignity  of  Ws  paper,  even  when  in  com- 
merce with  Prime  Ministers,  in  the  days 
when  Prime  Ministers  were  all-powerful 
in  France :  he  obliged  the  haughtiest  and 
the  most  powerful  to  treat  hmi  as  their 
peer ;  and,  under  his  management,  the  Con- 
stitutionnel was  never  a  slave,  potent  aid 
as  it  might  have  been  to  its  party. — It 
would  seem  to  an  impartial  observer  that 
these  reasons  alone,  were  none  else  want- 
ing, would  have,  at  the  least,  made  writers 
so  cautious  as  to  examine  the  foundation 
of  the  charges  made  before  they  reported 
them. 

But  it  is  one  of  the  most  curious  traits 
pf  French  society,  that  envy  is  so  promi- 
nent in  every  member  of  it,  both  in  the 
capital  and  m  the  most  secluded  villa^^. 
No  country  in  the  world  offers  such  bit- 
terness of  feeling  between  the  different 
classes,  nor  such  obsequiousness  of  the 
lower  to  the  higher  classes,  when  they  are 
brought  immediately  in  contact.  The 
habits  of  French  life  afford  ample  oppor- 
tunity to  envy,  as,  apart  from  the  national 
obtuscness  to  all  those  principles  of  deli- 
cacy which  with  us  flow  from  hospitality, 
the  life  on  *'  flats,"  the  custom  of  resorting 
to  cafes  and  to  restaurants,  the  frequent- 
ing of  other  public  places,  or,  in  a  word, 
the  excessive  publicity  of  even  the  humblest 
particular  life,  and  the  absence  of  a  cen- 
sorious public  opinion — that  national  con- 
science which  avenges  outraged  laws,  and 
outraged  decorum,  in  those  delicate  cases 
for  which  the  statutes  cannot  provide  pun- 
ishment, except  at  the  risk  of  opening  the 
door  to  graver  offences — which  encourages 
to  post  connections,  which  elsewhere  men 
conceal  in  some  obscure  alley,  and  even 
from  their  nearest  friends,  advertises  to 
the  world  one's  tastes,  and  fortune,  and 
character,  with  an  abundance  of  details 
which  startles  our  home-keepmg,  privacy- 
loving  notions.  Few  of  our  readers,  be- 
sides those  who  have  resided  abroad  for  a 
long  time,  are  aware  of  the  gossiping  m 
which  the  French  newspapers  indulge,  and 
the  ruthlessness  with  which  they  lay  their 
hands  on  the  most  delicate  details  of  do- 
mestic life,  and  blazon  them  to  their  read- 
ers.    At  ^is  moment  we  have  several 


160 


Memoirs  of  Dr.  Veran. 


[Fofamtiy 


files  of  French  newspapers  by  us,  whose 
contents  never  cease  to  astonish  us  by  the 
familiar  details  they  give  of  the  life  of  per- 
sons moving  in  Paris  society. 

It  is  true  M.  Yeron  has  some  salient 
points  of  character,  which,  in  the  peculiar 
constitution  of  Paris,  invite  attacks.  He 
is  rather  eccentric,  he  is  somewhat  vain  of 
his  luxury^  he  seems  to  spread  before  the 
public  his  fortune,  and  his  tastes,  and  his 
free  habits.  Every  day  while  the  Rue  de 
Rivoli  and  Rue  do  Castiglione  are  filled  with 
the  throng  which  flows  through  them  be- 
tween noon  and  four  o'clock,  M.  Veron  in 
his  robe  de  chambre  leans  negligently  on 
his  balcony,  and  enjoys  the  animated  scene. 
In  the  evening  he  is  always  to  be  seen  at 
a  table  in  the  comer  of  the  second  salon  of 
the  Caf(&  de  Paris,  surrounded  by  feome  of 
the  most  celebrated  writers,  or  artists,  or 
wits  of  the  day :  M.  Scribe,  the  dramatist ; 
M.  Jules  Janin,  and  M.  Armand  Berlin  of 
the  Journal  dcs  Dehats,  M.  Malitourne 
of  the  Constituiionnely  M.  Eugene  Dela- 
croix, the  painter;  M.  Ilalevy,  and  M. 
Auber,  and  M.  Meyerbeer,  the  composers ; 
M.  Gilbert  des  Voisins,  the  witty  husband 
of  the  famous  Taglioni,  and  some  fifty 
others  of  the  celebrated  persons  of  Paris, 
alternately,  for  he  gives  one  of  these  din- 
ner parties  every  day,  having  commonly 
three  guests.  After  dinner  he  retires  to 
his  box  at  the  Grand  Opera,  or  at  the 
Opera  Comique  ;  and  is  thus  in  public 
nearly  all  the  day  long.  Besides,  M.  Ye- 
ron'9-  pug  nose,  and  obesity,  and  enormous 
shirt-oollar  have  been  niade  very  ridicu- 
lous, by  one  of  those  statuette  caricatures, 
by  M.  Dantan,  the  sculptor  (who  has 
amused  his  leisure  with  making  laugh- 
able statuettes  of  all  the  celebrated  per- 
sons of  France),  who,  not  content  with 
exaggerating  them  in  a  droll  manner, 
encumbers  M.  Veron's  hands  with  a 
huge  umbrella,  a  clyster- syringe,  and  a 
box  of  quack  cough  paste  Tan  allusion  to 
M.  Veron's  profession,  ana  to  a  report 
which  ascribes  to  him  the  invention,  and 
original  proprietorship  of  the  quack  reme- 
dy). As  all  of  the  satirical  papers  of 
Paris  have  adopted  M.  Dantan's  staluette 
as  their  model  of  M.  Veron,  and  as  they 
attack  him  daily,  the  publicity  in  which  he 
lives  is  increased  in  intensity,  by  his 
never  losing  his  personality  (for  every 
body  knows  him  by  sight),  while  their  pens 
and  their  pencils  have  exaggerated  his 
harmless  eccentricities  to  ridicule.  After 
M.  Veron  lost  the  power  and  the  position 
his  place  at  the  head  of  the  Constitution- 
net  gave  him,  he  found  himself  greatly 
abandoned,  and  especially  before  the  Agua- 
dos'  suit  against  him  was  compromised, 


and  while  it  seemed  to  menace  him  with  dis- 
honor, the  number  of  his  daily  guests  and 
fiatterers  jwas  considerably  diminished. 
His  time  hung  heavy  on  his  hands.  He 
began  to  experience  the  isolation  unmar- 
ried men  experience  even  in  Paris.  Thus 
he  was  led  to  write  his  memoirs.  We  have 
now  exhibited,  as  well  as  we  may,  the 
character  and  the  life  of  the  person  who 
presents  himself  to  conduct  us  through 
the  varying  phases  of  French  society,  from 
the  end  of  the  Empire  down  to  some  time 
last  year.  We  would  fain  hope  that  our 
reader  has  not  deemed  the  space  too  lons^ 
which  we  have  given  to  M.  Veron.  It 
could  not  well  have  been  curtailed,  and 
have  given  the  reader  the  necessary  know- 
ledge of  the  previous  history,  and  the  dia- 
racter  of  the  historian : — "  The  revolutions 
which  this  half  century  has  seen,"  says  M. 
Veron,  "are  not  only  the  revolutions  of 
governments,  and  of  dynasties,  but  they 
have  caused  the  profoundest  changes  in 
our  ideas,  in  all  of  our  philosophy,  in  our 
literature,  in  our  moeurs,  and  even  in  our 
hygiene."    Let  us  turn  to  his  memoirs. 

We  have  nowhere  read  a  sadder  pic- 
ture of  the  days  of  the  Empire,  whoso 
efiulgence  so  dazzles  our  eyes ;  we  cannot 
readily  conceive  the  social  state  of  the 
country  whose  flag  was  floating  on  every 
pubhc  edifice  of  western  continental  Eu-  ^ 
rope,  whose  polished  tongue  was  the 
official  language  of  every  court,  whose 
admirable  Code  Napoleon  protected  pro- 
perty, and  reputation,  and  life  every 
where.  It  would,  however,  have  re- 
quired no  great  deal  of  reflection  to  have 
deduced  that  as,  of  necessity,  the  butchers 
of  a  hundred  fields,  living  on  blood,  and 
familiar  with  murder,  and  other  scenes  of 
violence  which  follow  war  as  inevitably  as 
the  night  the  day,  could  not  have  h&ca 
softened  to  courtiers  by  the  first  whiff  of 
the  perfumed  air  of  a  flower-decked  draw- 
ing-room. Our  utter  ignorance  of  the 
state  of  society  during  the  Consulate  and 
the  Empire,  is  partly  owing  to  the  com- 
plete severance  of  relations  between  Eng- 
land and  France  (on  the  former  we  were 
mainly  dependent  for  all  we  know  about 
Europe  during  that  period),  and  partly 
that  the  French  wrote  all  the  history  we 
have  about  their  nation  during  that  time, 
and  because  the  dgantic  genius  of  Napo- 
leon completely  ab^rbed  all  attention,  as 
we  have  just  said.  But  who  is  there  that 
does  not  feel  every  drop  of  blood  in  his 
veins  tingle,  when  he  is  told  (and  by  a  fa- 
vorable witness,  who,  in  his  blind  admira- 
tion of  the  extraordinary  man  who  rescued 
France  from  anarchy,  seems  insensible  of 
the  enormities  he  is  narrating), — who  is 


Memoin  of  Dr.  Veron, 


161 


we  saYj  that  does  cot  feel  every 
r  blood  m  his  yeins  tingle  when  he 
thmt  during  the  time  of  the  Empire, 
entered  the  public  places  and 
i  saying  a  word  snatched  news- 
from  the  hands  of  civilians,  and 
the  theatres  thcj  pushed  the  latter 
id  entered  before  them  in  the  rudest 
r,  while  the  civilians  were  forced  to 
leee  impertinent  insults?  When 
js  that  if  a  dishonored  husband 

0  complain  of  his  wrongs  ho  was 

1  out  of  the  window ;  and  that  it 
frequently  happened  that  when  the 
ous  loves  of  these  martial  heroes 
ed  to  give  them  dissatisfaction, 
;  was  more  common  than  to  correct 
irith  the  horsewhip?  Who  can 
HI  the  sentiments  of  a  profound 
.  while  hearing  that  it  was  deemed 

talent  to  have  a  digestive  appara- 
lich  could  withstand  any  amount 
1;  that  many  men  had  obtained 
re  offices  after  swallowing  at  one 
Mt  a  hundred  dozen  oysters ;  that 
I  Dumesnil  gave  an  oyster-break- 
iie  cellars  of  Lcs  Trois  Frdres  Pro- 
z  to  all  the  officers  of  his  regiment ; 
cellars  were  illuminated,  and  upon 
leap  of  bottles  were  placed  tickets 
Dg  their  age  and  their  growth; 
kt  all  ages  and  growths  were  emp- 
sfore  the  officers  of  his  regiment 

the  cellars ;  that  none  but  hercu- 
en  were  deemed  handsome,  that 
shoulders,  a  prominent  belly,  and 
iant "  calves,  were  a  sure  passport 
nilino  and  to  feminine  favor  ;  that 
lan  one  literary  man  of  the  Empire 
is  literary  fame  and  fortune  to  an 
md  well  made  leg ;  that  an  excel- 
Qcer  was  assured  of  success  in  the 
r  in  the  diplomatic  corps ;  that  rope 
;  were  the  favorite  amusers  of  the 
What  uncontrollable  indignation 
itempt  take  possession  of  even  the 
uggish  mind  while  hearing  tliat  it 
ommon  occurrence,  and  deemed  no 
:h  to  a  young  man  of  the   best 

to  live  at    the  expense  of   the 

(invariably  a  married  woman) 
bom  he  was  on  a  criminal  footing ; 
at  he  would  task  his  ingenuity  to 
9  new  expedients  of  procuring 
from  her  and  to  lavish  on  his  other 
es;  and  descending  to  such  expe- 
as  these :  a  favorite  way  with  one 
e  persons  was  to  give  orders  to  his 

to  burst  into  his  mistress's  boudoir 
le  was  in  the  midst  of  a  most  af- 


fectionate and  a  most  impassioned  pro- 
testation of  love,  and  to  say:  The  con- 
stables (he  had  taken  care  beforehand  to 
hire  three  or  four  and  to  post  them  in  the 
street)  are  coming  to  arrest  Monsieur  le 
Comte  for  a  note  for  twenty-five  thousand 
francs.  The  poor  duped  woman  manages  to 
procure  the  twenty-five  thousand  francs ; 
and  the  shrewd  servant  receives  a  handsome 
commission  from  his  master.  Another  of 
these  fellows  engaged  his  physician  to  be 
his  confederate :  I  wish  you  would  say  to 
Madame  *  *  ♦  that  you  find  me  greatly 
changed,  and  that  you  cannot  account  for 
my  sadness  or'my  unusual  thoughtfulness. 
The  physician  lied  as  his  friend  desired 
him ;  Madame  *  *  *  was  greatly  annoy- 
ed ;  she  could  not  sleep,  until  by  falling 
on  her  knees,  and  weeping  and  imploring 
her  lover,  she  extorted  his  secret :  I  have 
some  creditors,  and  my  family  whom  I 
refuse  to  have  any  thing  to  do  with,  places 
insuperable  obstacles  in  the  way  of  my 
selling  some  of  my  extensive  landed 
estate ;  they  even  prevent  my  mortgag:ing 
it  And  what  shall  be  said  of  this 
paternal  homily  addressed  by  a  well- 
known  person,  who  made  a  large  for- 
tune in  more  than  one  trade  during  the 
Directory  and  the  earlier  days  of  the  Em- 
pire. It  would  appear  that  his  son,  who 
liad  run  largely  in  debt,  avowed  to  his 
father  that  his  creditors'  clahns  on  him 
were  for  a  hundred  thousand  francs. 
How  have  you  managed  to  spend  a  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  ?  Why,  father,  my 
cab,  my  mistresses What,  mis- 
tresses! Spend  money  on  mistresses  at 
3'our  age !  In  my  day,  persons  of  your 
age,  sir,  made  their  mistresses  pay  for 
their  cab,  and  spend  money  on  them.  M. 
Veron  also  mentions  a  celebrated  author  of 
the  "  books  "  of  Operas  Comiqncs,  as  say- 
ing to  a  common  friend :  I  am  going  to 
cut  my  old  hag !  my  last  piece  has  made 
a  woman  desperately  in  love  with  me. 
From  the  third  story,  I  am  goinjj  to  the 
first,*  and  she  is  going  to  give  me  a  cab- 
riolet. 

The  state  of  social  opinion  exhibited  by 
these  anec<lotes  (whose  authenticity  has 
not  been  challenged  for  a  moment)  is  in 
such  harsh  conflict  with  every  pnnciple 
of  religion  and  honor,  and  with  even 
the  most  elementary  notions  of  what 
we  have  been  in  the  habit  of  regarding 
as  the  foundations  of  self-respect  and 
delicacy,  and  common  honesty,  and  of 
the  true  relations  of  the  different  sexes  and 
several  stages  of  life,  and  of  the  paternal 


—dim  era  aware  that  In  Paris  fkinilles  liye  In  storiea  or  flats,  a  good  mmj  fiuniUef  Uvlog  in  the  aame 
rbe  moit  arlttooratlc  habitation  is  the  first  iloor  (oor  seoond  floor). 


162 


Memoirs  qf  Dr.  Vercn. 


[Fabhinj 


duties,  we  do  not  feel  ashamed  of  our- 
selves or  of  our  language,  to  confess  we 
are  utterly  at  a  loss  for  the  appropriate 
accents  which  might  express  the  storm  of 
indignation,  and  pity,  and  loathing,  and 
contempt  which  they  have  excited. 

M.  Vcron  publishes  several  contem- 
porary letters  which  give  striking  pictures 
of  the  course  of  Napoleon's  life : — 

"  Lefebvro  proposed  introducing  me  to 

the    Consul I  confess  I  was 

frightened,  but  his  (Napoleon's)  affable 
manner  soon  put  me  at  ease ;  he  said :  I 
have  heard  about  you ;  I  am  glad  to  see 
you,  come  and  dine  with  me  to-morrow. 
So  I  shall  go  and  dine  with  him  to-day, 
when  I  shall  examine  with  greater  ease 
that  extraordinary  man.  He  works 
eighteen  hours  a  day.  Ho  sees  his  minis- 
ters only  at  night :  the  night  is  long,  he 
says.  lie  never  goes  to  bed  before  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning ;  he  holds  six  or 
seven  councils  of  state  every  decode,  and 
disctisses  there  himself  all  objects  of  ad- 
ministration with  a  precision  and  a  clear- 
ness which  astonish  the  most  skilful 
persons  there.  The  dccadi  is  given  to 
rather  more  repose ;  he  {msscs  that  day 
in  the  country ;  Mme.  Chabaud  dined 
with  him  day  before  yesterday ;  there 
was  a  singular  assortment  of  guests :  the 
Turkish  ambassador,  two  chiefs  of  the 
pacified  Chouans,  senators,  legislators, 
painters,  poets,  and  his  very  large  family. 
Such  are  his  pleasures ;  day  before  yester- 
day, they  remained  an  hour  at  the  table, 
but  commonly  he  ends  his  meal  in  twenty 
minutes I  reached  the  Luxem- 
bourg rather  late ;  they  were  at  table,  I 
saluted  the  Consul ;  he  pointed  me  to  a 
place.  Twenty  plates  were  set  at  the 
table,  but  we  were  only  eight  including 
his  step-daughter  (afterwards  Queen  Hor- 
tense)  and  his  brother.  Bonaparte  was 
in  a  bad  humor ;  he  did  not  speak  until 
towards  the  end  of  the  dinner,  when  he 
talked  about  Italy.  He  eats  rapidly  and 
he  eats  a  great  deal,  especially  of  pastry. 
The  dishes  were  simple,  but  delightfully 
cooked.  There  was  only  one  service,  com- 
posed of  ten  dishes,  which  was  followed 
by  a  dessert.  We  were  only  eighteen 
minutes  at  table.  Bonaparte  was  waited 
on  by  two  young  Mamelukes,  and  two* 
small  Abyssinians.  It  is  not  true,  he  eats 
only  dishes  prepared  expressly  for  him.  He 
eat,  among  other  dishes,  of  a  mushroom  pie, 
of  which  I  eat  very  heartily,  for  you  know 
I  love  them.  He  drinks  a  very  little  wine, 
but  he  drinks  it  pure ;  he  got  up  as  soon 
as  he  had  finished  his  dessert.  We  went 
int^the  drawing-room.  He  said  a  few 
iTOrds  to  me^  a^ut  the  sitoAtion  of  my 


regiment,  while  we  were  taking  coffee, 
and  then  he  went  at  once  into  his  study ; 
the  whole  affair  did  not  last  longer  than 
twenty-five  or  thirty  minutes." 

We  must,  however,  return  to  other 
scenes  of  that  day.  Our  readers  have 
seen  how  thoroughly  corrupted  society 
had  become.  This  corruption  pervaded 
all  the  nation.  Every  thing  too  was  un- 
hinged. France  was  a  great  hive  swarm- 
ing with  adventurers.  None  perhaps 
were  more  meanly  corrupt,  and  none  are 
more  characteristic  of  the  period  than  the 
furnishers  of  the  army.  The  most  astute 
and  the  most  successful  of  these  appears 
to  have  been  a  certain  M.  Paulee,  who  was 
bom  in  Douai,  and  where  he  was  for 
some  time  employed  as  a  servant  in  one  of 
the  taverns  of  the  place,  from  which  he 
rose  to  be  the  butler  of  the  inn,  made 
his  first  fortunate  step  m  marrymg  the 
cook  of  the  establishment,  by  which  con- 
nection he  became  quite  an  important 
character,  and  it  became  worth  the  while 
of  his  customers  to  court  his  favor,  if  they 
were  partial  to  good  dishes  and  to  choice 
wines.  The  inn  was  frequented  by  a  good 
many  oflScers  of  the  army,  and  by  a  good 
many  grain  dealers.  He  won  the  confi- 
dence of  those  who  had  grain  to  sell,  as 
of  those  who  wished  to  purchase.  In- 
fluential generals  patronized  him.  and 
gave  him  small  orders  for  grain;  his 
affairs  prospered  and  increased  in  import- 
ance; he  took  a  partner,  a  M.  Vanler- 
berghe ;  he  bought  largely  of  ecclesiastical 
and  national  estates  sold  in  the  depertr 
ment  of  the  Nord,  and  which  he  had 
selected  so  judiciously,  it  was  estimated 
that  his  income  was  $100,000  per  annum ; 
the  marriage  portion  he  gave  his  son 
was  worth  $50,000  a  year,  and  the  mar- 
riage contract  of  his  son  and  Mile.  Yan- 
lerbcrghe  cost  $1G,000  as  Uegistrar's  tax. 
We  may  imagine  how  this  shrewd  cook 
(he  could  neither  read  nor  write)  made 
this  fortune,  when  we  read  that  he  bad 
constantly  about  him  able  lawyers,  expe- 
rienced managers,  and  intelligent  clerks, 
who  (the  latter)  received  some  $8,000  a 
year,  a  splendid  apartment  and  ^*  he  (M. 
Paulee)  secured  for  them  the  favors  of 
some  of  the  young  actresses  of  the  Theatre 
Francaise,"  and  that  several  of  his  more 
confidential  clerks  still  receive  from  his 
heirs  large  pensions  to  keep  secret  what 
they  may  know. 

Ouvrard  was  a  more  celebrated  annj 
contractor  (to  use  the  modem  wordl 
Ouvrard  was  firmly  persuaded  that  fritn 
money  every  thing  was  possible.  He  had 
profoundly  studied  and  had  accurately 
calculated  all  its  power  on  the 


1854.] 


Mitnoirs  of  Dr.  Veran, 


163 


heart  M.  Yeron  says  it  almost  seemed 
he  had  studied  under  the  professor  of 
chemistry  who  said,  Gold  has  the  pro- 
perty of  gladdening  the  sight  of  man ;  and 
he  gires  a  late  instance  of  Ouvrard's  phi- 
losophy :  During  the  war  with  Spain,  in 
1823,  he  reached  Tolosa  on  the  eve  of  the 
day  his  service  as  contractor  commenced ; 
the  army  bivx>uackod  in  the  suburbs  of 
the  town  ;  it  had  no  stores  nor  provisions. 
Ouvrard  was  angrily  examined :  To-mor- 
row the  army  will  receive  its  ordinary 
rations.  But  the  second  corps  requires 
ten  days'  rations.  To-morrow  the  second 
corps  will  receive  its  ten  days'  rations. 
He  went  to  all  tf^e  authorities  of  the  place, 
to  the  clergy,  to  the  lawyers,  to  the  shop- 
keepers :  Tell  every  body  you  know,  said 
be,  that  I  shall  pay  in  cash  every  thing  I 
take ;  what  is  delivered  to  me  before  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  I  will  pay  ten 
times  its  value ;  nine  times  its  value  what  is 
delivered  before  nine  o'clock,  eight  times 
what  is  delivered  before  ten  o'clock,  and 
BO  on  diminishing  one  tenth  per  hour. 
The  army  had  an  abundance  of  stores  and 
of  provisions  during  the  whole  campaign. 
He  frequently  used  to  say:  "There  are 
but  two  ways  of  carrying  on  war,  by  pil- 
laging or  by  paying;,  it  is  cheapest  to 
pay.  Between  Ouvrard  and  Seguin  (an- 
other celebrated  contractor,  whose  house 
was  filled  to  encumbrance  with  violins 
and  music,  and  who  constantly  kept  some 
thirty  or  thirty-five  horses  in  his  stables 
which  he  never  rode  or  drove)  there  were 
frequently  contested  accounts.  It  appeared 
from  the  last  account  between  them  that 
Oavrard  owed  Seguin  $1,000,000;  now 
Ouvrard  had  lost  all  of  his  fortune  except 
a  last  million  of  dollars.  He  pretended 
the  government  owed  him  a  million  of 
dollars,  and  he  referred  Seguin  to  the 
public  treasury.  Legal  proceedings  were 
instituted  against  Ouvrard ;  at  their  ma- 
turity, a  writ,  like  our  Ca.  <Sa.,  was  issued 
against  him,  and  it  was  confided  to  the 
most  skilful  constable  of  Paris.  The 
latter  dogged  Ouvrard  from  eight  o'clock 
b  the  evening,  following  him  to  the 
Rocher  de  Cancale  and  to  theatres,  until 
he  returned  home  at  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  Every  night  Ouvrard  returned 
to  the  same  house,  and  a  posse  of  con- 
stables watched  the  door  until  daybreak. 
One  morning  they  sought  the  Juge  de 
Paix  (whose  presence  is  indispensable 
whenever  a  house  is  to  be  entered  by 
force)  that  they  might  enter  the  house ; 
ihcy  entered  without  difficulty,  they 
searched  all  the  rooms,  all  the  closets, 
they  made  a  mason  sound  all  the  walls. 
To  hftTe  arrested  Ouvrard  it  would  have 


been  necessary  to  have  pulled  down  the 
whole  house :  he  had  constructed  a  mov- 
able chimney  back,  which  afibrded  him  a 
secure  retreat  Furnished  with  an  almanac 
indicating  the  hours  of  sunset  and  of  sun- 
rise, and  an  excellent  pocket  chronometer, 
Ouvrard  never  left  his  retreat  except  at 
the  indicated  hours ;  but  this  almanac  was 
inexact,  and  one  evening  when  he  came 
into  the  street,  he  was  arrested,  it  was  ten 
minutes  to  sunset.  While  so  pursued, 
Ouvrard  always  carried  about  with  )iim 
fifty  thousand  francs  in  bank-notes;  he 
ofibred  them  to  the  constable  if  he  would 
release  him :  I  cannot  take  them,  sir,  re- 
plied the  constable ;  besides  Seguin  has 
given  me  sixty  thousand  francs  to  arrest 
you.  Ouvrard  had  not  left  the  gaol- 
registrar's  office,  when  one  of  his  nephews 
came  to  console  him.  Don't  feel  grieved, 
said  Ouvrard.  don't  you  sec  I  shall  not  be 
afj-aid  now  of  being  arrested.  No  insolvent 
debtor  had  ever  been  admitted  as  a  pri- 
soner in  the  Conciergeric  (a  famous  gaol 
immediately  back  of  the  Palais-du- Justice ; 
insolvent  debtors  are  commonly  sent  to 
the  prisrfti  at  Clichy)  ;  Ouvrard  procureti 
the  favor  of  being  transferred  there.  The 
gaoler  was  even  authorized  to  rent  him  a 
large  and  well  distributed  suite  of  rooms 
and  for  six  thousand  francs  a  year.  This 
apartment  was  soon  richly  decorated.  So 
many  visitors  came  to  see  him,  the  im- 
prisoned insolvent  debtor  was  sometimes 
so  tired  of  receiving  company,  he  would 
order  the  gaoler  to  say  :  ^lonsieur  Ouv- 
rard has  gone  out.  The  Rocher  de  Can- 
cale furnished  Ouvrard's  dinner,  and  the 
choicest  brands  of  the  Clos-Vougeot ;  cele- 
brated persons,  wits,  noblemen,  distin- 
guished artists,  appeared  every  evening. 
These  epicurean  dinners  became  very  cele- 
brated, and  Ouvrard  told  me  that  one  day 
Seguin  himself  asked  the  favor  of  being 
invited  to  them.  Seguin  received  his  in- 
vitation immediately ;  the  dinner  was  one 
of  the  gayest  and  most  splendid  which 
had  been  given  there.  There  is  but  one 
drawback  to  the  dinner,  said  Ouvrard, 
Lucullus  is  obliged  to  dine  every  day  at 
home ! 

''  What ! "  replied  Seguin,  "  how  can 
you,  now  fifty-five  years  old  and  having 
before  you  scarcely  five  good  years,  how 
can  you  be  content  to  spend  them  in  gaol ! 
Now  see  here,  I  am  a  good  fellow  and  I 
feel  anxious  to  pay  my  share  of  the 
reckoning ;  give  me  three  millions,  and  to- 
night you  sleep  in  your  own  bed." 

"  Monsieur  Seguin,"  said  Ouvrard,  *'  you 
are  some  years  older  than  1  am ;  if  you 
were  ofiered  a  speculation  which  would 
assure  you  a  clear  profit  of  five  millions^ 


164 


Boarding-SchooiSy  French  and  Other. 


[Felmuuy 


would  you  refuse  it  because  ft  would  ob- 
lige you  to  make  a  voyage  to  Calcutta?" 

"  No,  certainly  not" 

"  And  3-et,  you  would  be  obliged  to  cm- 
bark  on  the  ocean,  to  go  four  thousand 
leagues,  to  leave  your  family,  your  chil- 
dren, your  friends,  to  abandon  an  excel- 
lent cuisine  such  as  we  have  before  as, 
and  such  choice  wine  as  this,  and  perhaps 
encounter  the  yellow  fever." 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes ;  but  five  millions,  fis^e 
millions ! " 

"  Eh  bien  !  "  replied  Ouvrard,  in  a  victo- 
rious tone,  "  without  quitting  terra  firma^ 
without  changing  sky  or  clime,  without 
bidding  adieu  to  my  family  or  friends, 
without  even  being  deprived,  Monsieur 
Seguin,  of  the  pleasure  of  receiving  and 
dining  gayly  with  you,  out  of  the  reach  of 
all  disastrous  chances  and  perils,  I  earn 
here,  in  this  delightful  retreat,  the  five 
millions  for  which  you  would  expose  your- 
self to  such  rude  sacrifices." 


There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Segnin 
became  serious  and  pensive,  and  at  last 
said,  coldly :  ^^  Eh  bien,  Monsieur  Ouvrard, 
perhaps  you  are  in  the  right" 

^'  There  is  in  the  life  of  Ouvrard  a  pa^ 
which  will  fedeem  many  faults,  and  will 
appease  many  enmities.  Ouvrard  knew 
Colonel  Lab6doy^re.  After  the  Uundred 
Days,  Lab^doydre  sought  him,  to  ob- 
tain his  advice :  Leave  France,  said  Out- 
rard  to  him,  at  once,  go  to  the  United 
States ;  here's  a  letter  of  credit  for  fiitj 
thousand  francs,  and  fifteen  hundred  lonis 
d'or.  The  next  day  the  Prince  de  Tallej^ 
rand  sent  for  Ouvrard,  and  demanded  ex- 
planations about  the  letter  of  credit  foimd 
among  Labddoy  cre's  papers,  for  he  was  ar- ' 
rested :  It  is  not  before  you.  Prince,  said 
he,  that  I  need  justify  myself,  for  having 
endeavored  to  save  a  proscribed  man 
whose  head  is  menaced.  Prince  Talley- 
rand felt  this  reply ;  and  Ouvrard  was  not 
disturbed." 


BOARDING-SCHOOLS,  FRENCH  AND  OTHER. 


THE  Indians  say,  "  Winter  cannot  come 
till  the  ponds  are  full,"  and  an  equally 
infallible  preliminary,  to  us  citizens  of 
New- York,  is  the  filling  up  of  our  various 
boarding-schools,  French  and  other,  before 
the  holidays. 

The  process  begins  early.  With  the 
first  falling  leaf,  the  curious  in  such  things 
may  observe,  in  front  of  certain  tall  and 
elegant  houses  in  conspicuous  or  retired 
situations,  tracks  that  show  the  incessant 
wheeling  of  carriages,  every  one  of  which 
has  been  freighted  with  its  fluttering 
damsel  or  two,  an  anxious  papa  or  mam- 
ma, or  guardian,  and  a  cloth-enveloped 
trunk,  whose  fresh  appearance  proclaims 
that  the  owner  has  not  yet  been  much  of 
a  traveller.  And  "  about  these  days,"  as 
the  Almanac  says,  or  indeed  a  little  earlier, 
the  newspapers  break  out  with  a  new  ad- 
vertisement, simultaneously,  as  if  they 
had  all  been  inoculated  in  a  batch — '*  Mrs. 

's  Boarding  and  Day  School  for  Young 

Ladies  will  reopen  on  the  15th  of  Sep- 
tember." The  initiated  are  in  nowise 
puzzled  to  account  for  the  accumulated 
carriag^tracks. 

But  who  can  tell  what  sighs  of  little 
beating  hearts  load  those  first  cool  breezes 
of  autumn;  or  count  the  hundreds  of  pairs 


of  tearful,  pretty  eyes  that  gaze  wistfully 
out  of  those  carriage  windows  upon  our 
streets  of  palaces,  finding  all  barren  be- 
cause it  is  not  '*home?"  It  is  the  first 
lesson,  to  many  of  these  little  thoaghtfbl 
ones,  on  the  value  of  homej  up  to  this 
time,  perhaps,  considered  a  stupod  old 
place,  where  there  is  no  fun  going  on  that 
is  comparable  with  the  doings  of  the  gaj, 
free  world  beyond  its  careful  walls.  F^ipd) 
whose  occasional  snnbbings  have  some- 
times  been  rebutted  with  gentle  pouti^ 
and  mamma,  not  always  pleasantly  tnank- 
ed  for  her  maternal  reproofs  and  cautions, 
are  seen  transfigured  through  those  tears, 
till  their  faces  are  as  the  faces  of  angols.  a 
class  of  beings,  by  the  by,  of  whom  hardlr 
any  body  knows  so  much  as  school-gim 
seem  to  do,  perhaps  because  they  are 
specially  favored  with  a  good  many,  not 
needless,  to  keep  watch  and  ward  over  their 
young  steps.  What  questioning -glanest 
are  thrown  up  at  the  cold  freestone  fiwa 
of  the  new  home,  which  the  perverse  little 
heart  has  already  vowed  shall  never  seem 
home,  whatever  kindness  or  pleasure  nunf 
be  found  in  it ;  though  indeed  prejudice  la 
too  apt  to  decide  at  once  that  there  caa 
be  neither  kindness  nor  pleasure  than^ 
thanks  to  the  benevolent  pains  taken  lij 


1854.] 


Boardinff-SekoolBj  French  and  Oihir. 


U5 


gpnerml  liteimtore,  to  represent  the  board- 
inc-acliool  u  a  sort  of  intermediary  state^  to 
which  a  moderate  purgatory  were  paradise. 
How  the  countenance  of  the  mistress,  we 
beg  her  pardon,  "principal"  (we  wish  to 
be  set  down  at  once  as  a  deyoted  disciple 
of  the  Woman's  Rights  doctrine),  comely 
and  kind  to  other  eyes,  gleams  with 
incipient  cruelty,  and,  pah!  self-interest, 
that  odious  and  uncommon  quality! 
Thanks  to  general  literature  again,  which 
has  labored  to  show  that  the  profession 
needed  almost  a  new  invention  in  the 
shape  of  woman — ^a  woman  in  whose  com- 
position all  the  better  feminine  traits 
shonld  be  omitted.  How  the  tasteful 
qilendors  of  the  reception  rooms  are  dis- 
paraged, in  comparison  with  the  home 
parlors,  even  though  the  great  home  study 
and  effort  has  been  to  bring  those  parlors 
up  to  a  faint  imitation  oi  such  achieve- 
ments of  upholstery  and  cabinet  work! 
The  very  tail  of  Madame's  lap-dog  is  sup- 
posed to  curl  with  preternatural  stiffness ; 
the  effect  of  an  awful  disciplinary  atmos- 
phere, by  which  dogs'  caudal  appendages 
and  young  misses'  wills  must  expect  to 
be  controlled  and  forced  into  unnatural 
shapes.  And  these  other  scholars — anti- 
quated denizens,  '^  oldest  inhabitants," 
whose  faces  are  plump  and  rosy,  and 
whoso  eyes  show  no  traces  of  weeping  ? 
Ah !  but  "  they  have  got  used  to  it ! "  or, 
perhaps,  they  never  had  homes !  At  all 
events  their  very  contentment  is  stolid; 
they  are  not  of  the  finer  clay  that  asks 
tears  for  the  moulding ! 

Poor  child !  you  waJk  in  a  vain  show, 
tnd  disquiet  yourself  for  naught  Stern 
papa  and  secretly-weeping  mamma  knew 
all  this  must  come,  when  tho  time  arrived 
fw  the  little  home-bird  to  try  her  wings, 
ud  they  have  sturdily  agreed  to  push  the 
fledgling  from  the  nest,  spite  of  her  reluc- 
Uot  cries.  She  must  kiss  wild  good-byes 
into  the  very  substance  of  their  cheeks 
ind  lips,  and  watch  the  carriage  drive  off, 
thitragh  eyes  that  see  prismatic  colors  on 
tho  panels  and  all  about  the  horses'  ears, 
tnd  then  turn  sadly  in,  no  longer  "  Fanny  " 
or  « Jalia,"  but  "Miss  Budd,"  or  "Miss 
Midge,"  or  "  Number  54," — transformation 
Strang  and  hateful. 

Up  to  this  time  of  life  our  dibutanie 
itts  seen  a  friend  in  every  new  face ;  now 
she  sees  only  enemic^  antagonists,  plotters 
against  her  peace.  To  him  who  will  wear 
rid  spectacles,  the  landscape  is  for  ever 
lurid.  The  much  lauded  maxim,  *^In 
pesos  prepare  for  war" — reverend  as  is 
ita  arigio,  is  a  war  maxim,  at  least  in 
lodety.  Countenances  look  forbiddine 
whni  the  J  are  forbidden.   The  distrustful 


thoughts  of  the  new-comer  being  painted 
on  her  face,  all  her  compeers  resent  her 
unhappiness.  They  aro  not  going  to  coax 
her,  not  they !  They  have  forgotten  their 
own  first  days.  If  a  teacher  try,  woe  be 
unto  her !  Gorgons  can  only  turn  their 
victims  to  stone,  and  she,  being  a  gorgon 
to  Fanny's  weeping  eyes,  will  only  make 
her  heart  the  harder. 

"But  what  does  all  this  mean?"  says 
Cousin  Kitty,  at  whose  request  we  sat 
down  to  write  a  tirade  against  Boarding- 
Schools,  all  and  several.  "  Seems  to  me," 
she  says,  looking  over  our  shoulder, 
"  seems  to  me  you  mean  to  take  their  part^ 
after  all  I "  Not  so  fast  Miss !  Not  so 
much  of  a  Balaam  as  your  ladyship  sup- 
poses !  Let  us  get  at  the  truth  and  then 
deal  out  justice.  "  Justice ! "  says  Kitty, 
poutingly.  We  knew  very  well  that  was 
not  what  she  wanted,  but  wo  shall  have 
our  own  way. 

Let  us  then  take  a  fair  and  sober  look 
at  some  young  ladies'  boarding-schools 
French  and  other. 

The  first  French  one  that  we  know 
much  about  is  that  of  St.  Cyr,  established 
by  Louis  XIV.  under  tho  influence  of 
Madame  dc  Maintcnon,  a  lady  who  was 
more  of  a  woman  than  some  people  sup- 
pose, as  one  easily  learns  by  studying  the 
plan  and  history  of  this  one,  single  insti- 
tution. If  she  did  sanction  the  revoca- 
tion of  the  Edict  of  Nantes,  it  was  because, 
on  various  accounts,  she  could  not  help 
it ;  if  she  did  give  up  her  generous  advo- 
cacy of  Madame  Guyon  and  Fenelon,  it 
was  not  until  the  whole  power  of  church 
and  king  was  turned  against  them  and 
herself,  and  her  habitual  deference  to  both 
authorities,  and  the  terrible  fear  of  losing 
her  soul,  which  always  haunted  even  a 
mind  so  brilliant  and  enlightened  as  hers, 
proved  too  much  for  her  resolution,  though 
working  no  change  in  her  affections.  But 
at  St.  Cyr  we  have  the  flower  and  fruit  of 
her  genius  and  her  benevolence,  and  the 
crowning  object  of  her  life,  from  the  mo- 
ment that  she  came  into  power  by  her 
marriage  with  the  king.  It  was  about 
this  time  that  Louis  XIV.  bethought  him 
of  making  a  sort  of  peppercorn  atonement 
for  the  decimation  and  impoverishment 
which  the  nobility  had  suffered  through 
his  wars,  by  the  establishment  of  throe 
charitable  institutions — a  Military  Hos- 
pital (the  Invalidcs),  a  scliool  for  young 
gentlemen,  and  another  for  young  ladies — 
the  last  two  for  the  children  of  noblemen 
who  had  been  killed,  crippled,  or  beggared 
in  the  service  of  the  state.  Madame  de 
Maintenon  had  already  become  interested 
in  a  charity  school,  to  which  ibi^  Vatv^ 


IM 


Boarding-Schooliy  French  and  Other. 


[Febmaiy 


granted  the  domain  of  Noisy,  (not  intend- 
ing a  sarcasm,  we  dare  saj,  Kitty !)  and 
from  this  comparatively  small  beginning 
grew  the  great  school  and  convent  of  St. 
<Jyr.  When  Madame  de  ^faintenon  rep- 
resented to  the  king  her  idea  of  what  it 
would  become  him  to  do  in  the  premises, 
ho  checked  her  with  the  remark  that  no 
Queen  of  France  had  ever  attcmpte<i  any 
thing  so  magnificent ;  but,  nothing  daunt- 
ed, she  reminded  him,  in  turn,  of  what  he 
had  been  doing  for  the  young  men.  and 
of  his  own  projects  for  the  reform  of 
society  and  the  re-establishment  of  reli- 
gion ;  wisely  arguing  that  the  culture  of 
women  was  at  least  as  likely  to  be  effec- 
tual in  this  direction  as  that  of  the  other 
sex,  and  that  the  planting  of  noble  senti- 
ments in  the  minds  of  people  of  rank,  was 
especially  important  because  of  the  power 
of  their  example.  As  soon  as  the  royal 
consent  was  obtained,  the  plan  was  laid 
before  the  council,  who  were  naturally 
appalled  at  the  expense  to  be  incurred  at 
the  close  of  the  war,  which  had  left  the 
treasury  empty.  In  the  end,  the  king's  ori- 
ginal notion  of  adopting  five  hundred  young 
ladies,  was  modified  by  the  deduction  of 
one  half.  Two  hundred  and  fifty  were 
then  invited  to  repair  to  St  Cyr,  a  vil- 
lage within  the  limits  of  the  park  of  Ver- 
sailles, where  a  great  house  was  built  by 
Mansard,  under  the  joint  direction  of 
Madame  de  Main  tenon  and  the  king. 
The  occupation  took  place  in  1686. 

The  special  intents  connected  with  the 
establishment  of  this  school  have  little  to 
do  with  our  sketch  of  it  for  the  present 
purpose.  What  we  desire  is  to  ascertain 
the  governing  ideas  of  a  boarding-school 
for  girls,  under  the  auspices  of  a  French 
woman,  holding  the  highest  rank  in  the 
kingdom,  yet  finding  time  for  the  closest 
attention  to  this  great  undertaking.  "  Pro- 
vidence," she  says,  "  which  had  destined 
me  for  St  Cyr,  has  given  me  special 
qualifications  for  such  an  institution." 
And  according  to  our  notion  no  one  should 
undertake  such  things  without  a  sjiedal 
vocation.  This  was  no  temporary  fancy — 
no  court-lady's  whim,  in  Madame  de 
Maintenon.  For  thirty  years  she  visited 
the  school  nearly  every  morning,  and 
very  generally  retaained  there  the  greater 
part  of  the  day.  inspecting  the  classes, 
overseeing  the  kitchen,  caring  for  the  sick, 
and  often  with  her  own  hands  ministering 
to  the  comfort  of  the  convalescent.  She 
taught  the  teachers  and  drilled  the  schol- 
ars, and  she  says,  in  her  naice  way.  *^  I 
prefer  these  duties  to  all  the  amusements 


of  Versailles."  The  king  gave  mnch  of 
his  attentk)n  to  the  school,  and  it  was  on 
hi9  first  visit  there  in  state  that  the  muse 
now  familiar  to  us  as  "  God  save  the  king," 
composed  by  Lulli,  was  originally  per- 
formed,* the  words,  by  Madame  de  Brinon, 
then  principal  of  St  Cyr,  oommendng 
thus : — 

"  Grand  TMea,  nam  to  Boi  1 
Grand  Dleu,  T«ngc«  1«  Boll 

V!v6leR<HI 
Qir.1  jamais  itrlorlenx, 
Louis  vlct(vleuz« 
Yujre  sea  cnnemts, 

•  Tui^oan  Bouuita,'*  Ae. 

The  original  scope  of  instruction  included 
"religion,  the  French  language,  a  little 
arithmetic  and  music,  and,  above  all 
(8urtout)j  needle- work,  including  plam 
sewing,  embroidery,  knitting,  laoepmaking, 
and  tapestry  or  worsted- work."  Ma- 
dame's  own  sketch  of  her  aims  reads  thus 
— *•  What  we  desire  is  solid  piety,  far  re- 
moved from  all  the  pettiness  of  convents ; 
spiritual  elevation ;  the  most  careful  selec- 
tion of  maxims ;  real  eloquence  in  our  in- 
structions ;  great  freedom  in  our  conversa- 
tions ;  an  agreeable  tone  in  society."  Be- 
sides all  this,  she  wished  to  allow  a  noble 
freedom  in  their  studies,  their  recreation^ 
their  relations  with  their  instructresses. 
All  should  be  dignified,  easy,  smiling,  natu- 
ral, whether  in  piety,  writings,  behavior, 
or  language.  ^*  No  tedious  minuteness,  no 
narrow  and  onerous  devotk>n,  no  vulgar 
restrictions  or  reprehensions."  The  sdiol- 
ars  were  to  be  allowed  a  select  variety  of 
reading,  for  the  purpose  of  forming  an 
elegant  style ;  they  were  to  be  encouraged 
to  converse  on  worthy  and  elevating 
topics;  their  deportment  was  to  claim 
careful  training,  and  the  cultivation  of 
personal  elegance  and  grace  by  no  meani 
to  be  neglected.  "  Noble  sentiments,  gen- 
erosity, disinterestedness,  probity,  com* 
passion,  mildness,  afiability," .,  were  the 
burden  of  her  song,  but  she  disdained  not 
*'  the  exercises  calculated  to  inspire  them 
with  a  politeness  r^uired  by  gocKl  sodetr, 
and  which  is  not  incompatible  with  reu- 
gion." 

When  we  remember  'that  the  epodi  of 
St.  Cyrian  glory  was  the  age  of  Madame 
de  Sevigne,  we  are  not  surprised  to  find 
how  much  stress  was  laid  on  langnagi^ 
and  the  graces  of  converse  *^ion  and  writing. 
Racine  even  condescended  to  become  one 
of  the  instructors  or  the  young  ladiot 
honored  by  the  protection  of  Madame  de 
Mahitenon.  "  She  desired,"  says  the  hisfo- 
rian,  '*  that  her  beloved  pupils  should  undei^ 
stand  their  native  tongue,  not  so  mnch  in  its 


•  LftvalUr  HJftoIra  da  te  IfdMB  BojaU  da  Bt  Pn; 


1854.] 


Boarding-Sehools,  French  and  Other, 


1«7 


grammatical  subtleties,  as  in  its  fine  turns 
of  expression,  in  its  titinsparency  and  its 
abundance,  in  the  weight  of  its  words  and 
the  significance  of  its  phrases."  "  They 
were  required,"  says  Racine,  "to  talk 
oyer  the  histories  they  had  studied,  and 
the  important  truths  that  had  been  taught 
them;  to  recite  and  declaim  the  finest 
passages  of  the  best  poets."  And  to  this 
desire  to  perfect  them  in  all  that  was  ele- 
rant  and  inspiring  in  language,  we  owe 
Esther  and  Athaliej  which  were  written 
at  the  desire  of  Madame  de  Maintcnon, 
for  the  young  ladies  of  St.  Cyr.  and  per- 
formed by  them  under  the  personal  direc- 
tion and  instruction  of  Racine  and  Boilcau. 
At  first  entirely  private,  these  representa- 
tions were  soon  the  highest  amusement  of 
the  court,  and  contests  for  the  honor  of 
admission  soon  became  troublesome. 

Biahopc  and  priests  in  their  mitred  mrray 

By  Uie  canllnal  legato  recruited, 
(Flnser-post».  pointing  to  heaven  the  way, 

WUle  tlMir  hei  in  the  earth  are  ruoted>— 

as  sings  an  irreverent  poet,  crowded  the 
benches,  Bossuct  and  Bourdalouc  includ- 
ed. The  king  himself  stood  inside  the 
door,  holding  his  cane  across  it  for  a  bar- 
rier, to  see  that  no  one  found  entrance 
whose  name  was  not  upon  Madame  de 
Haintenon's  list  for  the  evening,  and  that 
the  doors  were  closed  as  soon  as  the  invit- 
ed gaests  had  all  arrived.  At  the  fourth 
representation  of  Esther,  February  5th, 
16iS9,  James  II.  of  England,  and  his  queen 
'^assisted,"  escorted,  with  great  pomp  and 
honor,  by  Louis  XIV.,  and  his  court." 
"Three crowned  heads,  and  nearly  all  the 
princes  and  princesses  of  the  blood ! "  says 
the  delighted  Madame  de  Pcrou,  one  of  the 
instructresses :  and  Madame  de  Sevign6 
—"The  king,  appearing  to  be  quite  at 
home,  which  gave  him  the  most  amiable 
»ir,  camo  to  where  we  were  sitting,  and 
aid  to  me :  "  Madame,  I  am  sure  you  have 
been  pleased."  A/oi,  sana  m*  etonner. 
ft  repondis,     "  Sire^  je  suia  charmee. 

The  prince  and  princess  came  to 

nre  me  a  word ;  Madame  de  Maintcnon  a 
flash.  She  retirwi  with  the  king."  There 
ii  DO  need  of  further  unfolding  here  the 
histoiy  of  thU  great  t'rench  boarding- 
achooi,  except  to  say  that  these  public-pri- 
vate theatricals  were  very  soon  found  in- 
imical to  the  worthy  progress  of  the  young 
ladies  in  the  solider  branches  of  education, 
which  the  enlightened  mind  of  the  foun- 
dress valued  above  all  others.  The  pupils 
became  Tain  and  haughty,  fancying  that 
the  eyes  of  all  the  world  were  upon  them, 


and  that  their  proper  object  in  life  was  to 
be  charming,  and  to  make  grand  mar- 
riages. They  scorned  every  thing  that 
savored  of  labor,  and  objected  to  singing 
psalms  in  church,  for  fear  of  spoiling 
their  voices.  Madame  de  Maintcnon  was 
for  a  while  almost  in  despair  at  this  result 
of  all  her  cares  and  prayers,  but.  sum- 
moning courage,  she  resolved  upon  a  thor- 
ough reform;  commencing  with  the* re- 
moval of  the  Lady  Superior,  by  a  lettre  de 
cachet^  that  dame  hautaine  having  round- 
ly refused  to  modify  her  practice  by  the 
ideas  of  the  foundress  of  the  institution. 
Far  stricter  and  graver  rules  now  came 
into  fashion.  '•  We  must  rebuild  from  the 
foundation,"  said  Madame  ;  "  cultivate  hu- 
mility and  simplicity,  renounce  our  grand, 
self-sufficient,  worldly  airs,  and  our  ambi- 
tion of  wit.  We  must  reprehend  our  girls 
more  decidedly,  and  be  less  familiar  with 
them.  They  must  retrench  their  ribbons, 
their  pearls,  their  tassels,  and  draw  their 
veils  more  closely.  We  must  not  give  them 
new  clothes  so  often,  but  rather  let  them 
go  a  little  shabby.  They  must  not  write 
so  much,  lest  they  become  too  ambitious  of 
being  rhetoricians ;  they  must  not  acquire 
too  much  taste  for  conversation,  or  they 
will  die  of  ennui  when  they  return  to  their 
homes.  Even  poetry  is  not  good  for  them ; 
it  puts  high  notions  in  their  heads.  They 
must  be  put  to  domestic  affairs,  working 
with  their  hands,  and  learning,  above  all 
things,  to  live  Christian  lives,  and  fit  them- 
selves to  take  care  of  families."  Madame's 
resumi  of  her  plan  of  reform  concludes 
w^ith  these  characteristic  words : — "  Lea 
femmes  ne  aa vent  jamais  qu^d  demi^et 
le  peu  qWelles  savent  les  rend  commu- 
nement  Jieres^  dedaig-neuses,  cauaeuaea^ 
et  degotUee  dea  choaea  aolides?''* 

Whew !  Miss  Kitty,  how  do  you  relish 
that  compliment  from  one  of  your  own 
sex  ?  Ilaiefid  old  thing  !  She  is  said  to 
have  been  "  aussi  spirituellc  que  modeste" 
in  her  youth,  and,  at  the  age  of  fifty,  she 
is  thus  described  by  impartial  judges  : 
"  She  was  still  very  beautiful,  ^vith  the 
sweetest  and  most  agreeable  voice,  aflbo- 
tionate  manners,  an  open  and  smiling  as- 
pect, eyes  of  fire,  graceful  and  elegant 
movements,  a  beautiful  hand,  which  she 
used  with  much  grace  j  altogether  a  charm 
which  threw  the  greatest  belles  of  the 
court  quite  into  the  shade.  At  first  glance 
her  air  was  imposing,  and  somewhat  tinc- 
tured with  severity,  but  the  smile  and  the 
voice  unveiled  her.  And,  further,  she  was 
of  a  most  equable  humor,  mistress  of  her- 


know  only  by  halT«a.  and  the  little  they  do  know  only  Benres  generally  to  make  them  proud,  dls- 


l  wltb  Mrtotu  thiaci. 


168 


Boarding- Schools^  French  and  Other. 


[Febroaij 


self,  modest,  reasonable ;  and,  in  addition 
to  these  rare  attractions,  she  was  witty, 
intellectual,  and  highly  cultivated." 

When  we  add  to  all  this  the  fact  that 
she  reigned  over  the  affections,  and  enjoyed 
the  respect  of  Louis  XIV.  for  thirty  con- 
secutive years,  we  must  allow,  gentle  Kitty, 
that  she  was — well,  well !  we  will  not  in- 
sist. But  just  think  for  a  moment  what  a 
fine,  generous,  high-souled  boarding-school 
this  must  have  been;  how  far  removed 
from  the  petty,  penurious,  torturing,  soul- 
less image  that  has  full  possession  of  yoxxr 
silly  little  brain,  when  such  a  thing  is  men- 
tione^l.  What  a  thorough  understanding 
of  what  should  be  the  end  and  aim  of  edu- 
cation, and  what  constitutes  the  perfection 
of  female  loveliness,  is  here  displayed. 
Tliere  are  none  such  m  this  country! 
There  are  no  Madame  de  Maintenons,  I 
grant ;  they  do  not  belong  to  our  age ;  but 
tliere  will  always  be  springing  up  among 
your  sex,  wise  and  good  women,  whose  best 
thoughts  and  labors  will  be  given  to  the 
improvement  of  the  rising  race.  What 
has  been,  shall  be,  Kitty.  The  worst  edu- 
cational system  cannot  spoil  all  the  women. 
You  may  be  assured  that  there  will  always 
be  some  who  undertake  teaching  without 
the  least  desire  to  make  little  girls  miser- 
able, or  to  do  them  any  thing  but  good. 

But.  let  us  look  a  little  at  another  great 
boarding-school,  one  of  somewhat  similar 
general  aims,  undertaken  in  the  nineteenth 
century  in  our  young  republic.  Mount 
Holyokc  Seminar}--  was  founded  by  Miss 
Mary  Lyon,  not  with  the  aid  of  a  royal 
treasury,  but  by  the  contributions  of  the 
public,  whom,  by  the  power  of  her  en- 
thusiasm, she  succeeded  in  interesting  in 
her  benevolent  project  Miss  Lyon  was  a 
very  plain  Yankee  girl,  without  personal 
charms  or  social  graces,  whose  strength 
lay  in  her  honest  and  religious  purpose, 
and  the  passionate  zeal  with  which  she 
entered  upon  the  business  of  education. 
When  she  was  about  twenty  years  of  age, 
somebody  remarked  of  her,  '•  She  is  all  in- 
tellect ;  she  docs  not  know  that  she  has  a 
body  to  care  for."  She  lived  as  a  sort  of 
servant  in  her  brother's  family,  while  she 
earned,  by  spinning,  weaving,  teaching, 
&c.,  the  money  that  was  to  buy  her  own 
education.  Her  struggles  for  this  great 
end  were  immense  ;  the  family  with  whom 
she  boarded  thought  that  for  months  she 
slept  not  more  than  four  hours  out  of  the 
twenty -four.  Such  was  her  energy,  that 
in  three  days'  time  she  committed  to  me- 
mory, with  the  utmost  accuracy,  all  that 
portion  of  Adams's  Latin  Grammar  usu- 
ally recited  by  students.  She  soon  be- 
came a  regular  and  acceptable  teacher  in 


various  schools,  but  not  without  inienn 
application  to  study  in  those  hours  which 
others  would  have  devoted  to  recreation 
or  repose,  and  her  progress  in  self-know- 
ledge, self-control,  and  deep  interest  in  the 
welfare  of  others,  kept  pace  with  her  Hte- 
rary  advancement  All  this  was  prepar- 
ing her,  more  and  more  deeply  and  per- 
fectly, ^r  the  realization  of  an  idea  which 
early  dawned  in  her  mind,  of  establishing 
a  school,  "  which  should  be  so  moderate 
in  its  expenses,  as  to  be  open  to  the  daugh- 
ters of  farmers  and  artisans,  and  to  teach- 
ers who  might  be  mainly  dependent  on 
their  own  exertions."  In  a  letter  she  savs^ 
"  O  !  how  immensely  important  is  this 
great  work,  of  preparing  the  daughters  of 
the  land  to  be  good  mothers !  If  ther 
are  prepared  for  this  situation^  they  will 
have  the  most  important  preparation  that 
they  can  have  for  any  other ;  they  can 
soon  and  easily  become  good  teachers, 
and,  at  all  events,  good  members  of  socie- 
ty." The  difficulties  and  di.scouragements 
likely  to  beset  such  an  enterprise,  were 
none  of  them  spared  her.  Hesitating 
friends,  jealous  or  sneering  foes,  honest 
doubters,  and  lukewarm  helpers  there 
were,  in  plenty.  No  one  who  has  ever 
tried  to  begin  any  thing,  however  useful, 
that  required  the  consent  and  contribution 
of  many  minds  and  purses,  need  be  assur- 
ed that  her  path  was  no  primrose  one ;  but 
she  had  the  spirit  that  could,  like  the  good 
clergyman  described  by  Vinet,  reply  to 
the  severe.«5t  animadversions, — "  Et  mes 
panvres  ?  "  I  may  be  all  you  insinuate, 
but — my  object  1  And  in  the  end  she 
triumphed,  as  such  advocates  must  They 
bring  with  them  the  fire,  before  which  ice, 
and  harder  things,  melt.  Money  came, 
and  co-operation  and  aid  of  all  needed 
kinds ;  a  great  building  was  erected,  in  a 
confusion  of  tongues,  that  makes  one  think 
of  Babel,  so  many  were  the  doubts  and 
fears  and  varieties  of  opinion  that  hinder- 
ed it  for  a  while ;  and  teachers  were  found, 
who  were  willing  to  serve  for  the  smallest 
kind  of  earthly  consideration,  and  Miss 
Lyon  laid  her  head  on  the  hard  pillow  of 
the  principalship,  with  a  glorious  feeling 
of  success,  and  a  perfect  willingness  to  en- 
counter all  that  the  position  was  sure  to 
bring  upon  her — a  rare  example  of  female 
energy,  wisdom,  love  and  devotion,  the 
memory  of  which  will  be  always  green 
and  fragrant  in  New  England. 

The  most  distinctive  feature  of  the  new 
boarding-school,  was  the  arrangement  by 
which  all  the  household  labor  of  the  in- 
stitution M'as  performed  by  the  pupiks. 
This  it  was  that  at  first  occasioned  such 
infinite  discussion  and  caviL    Young  la- 


1854.] 


Boardinff'SchoolSj  French  and  Other. 


169 


dies  do  housework !  Shocking !  Shock- 
ing even  to  those  3roung  ladies  whose  mo- 
tbm  were  doing  the  yery  same  thing  daily ; 
niy  more,  to  those  who.  hehind  the  scenes, 
and  always  with  an  anxious  protest  in  be- 
half of  their  gentility,  were  themselves 
obliged  to  be  intimately  acquainted  with 
kitchen  affairs,  as  well  as  with  the  lighter 
labors  of  the  upper  chambers.  It  is  cu- 
rious that  in  our  country,  where  so  much 
of  the  ordinary  domestic  labor  is,  in  one 
way  and  another,  performed  by  the  ladies 
of  the  family,  there  should  be  so  much 
fidse  pride  and  mean  concealment  about 
it,  but  so  It  is ;  and  this  item  of  the  plan 
fti"  the  new  seminary, — an  indispensable 
one  for  a  school  which  was  intended  to  be 
all  but  a  charity-school, — came  near  ren- 
dering the  whole  scheme  abortive.  The 
feeling  of  quality,  though  so  anxiously 
cherished,  and  so  prevalent  in  our  com- 
munity, is  yet  not  deep  and  sincere  enough 
to  rid  women  of  the  fear,  that  by  perform- 
ing such  labors  as  princesses  of  old  did 
not  disdain,  they  may  lose  cctste^  and  be 
considered  as  inferiors  by  the  least  valu- 
able of  their  acquaintances.*  This  part  of 
Miss  Lyon's  plan  seemed  original,  yet  it 
was  only  so  in  this  country.  In  all  the 
convents, — i.  c,  institutions  having  for 
their  object  the  religious  retirement  and 
education  of  women,  the  inmates  have 
shared  among  themselves  the  domestic  la- 
bor. In  the  Beguinages.  whose  members 
are  ladies  of  noble  and  even  royal  blood, 
the  whole  round  of  household  duty  is  per- 
formed by  themselves  in  turn ;  thus  avoid- 
ing the  introduction  of  inimical  or  discor- 
dukt  elements,  dishonesty,  or  ignorance. 
The  very  idea  of  a  perfectly  organized  re- 
ligions community,  such  as  Miss  Lyon  de- 
rigned,  almost  demands  this  arrangement, 
for  reasons  too  obvious  to  need  insisting 
on.  And  she  saw  this,  and  persisted, 
much  to  the  advantage  of  the  institution 
and  its  pupils.  Madame  de  Maintenon  in- 
troduced the  requisition  into  the  school  at 
St  Cyr,  for  the  sake  of  the  scholars  ;  she 
considered  it  a  necessary  part  of  a  young 
woman's  education,  and,  queen  as  she  was, 
personally  taught  and  assisted  in  such 
labors.  *•  We  must  teach  them  all  sorts 
of  things,"  she  said ;  "  put  them  to  hard 
work  to  make  them  healthy,  strong,  and 
intelligent.  Their  instruction  in  the  class- 
es must  be  the  first  object,  but  beyond 
that,  let  them  work."  "  At  certain  times." 
says  the  historian  of  St.  Cyr,  '*  as  reward, 
as  exercise,  or  for  the  regulating  of  the 
house,  they  allowed  a  whole  class,  or  di- 


vision of  a  class,  to  scrub,  wash,  clean  the 
infirmary ;  arrange  the  closets,  the  refec- 
tory, and  the  sacristy ;  sweep  the  house 
from  top  to  bottom — and  all  this  was  per- 
formed in  silence."  "  Employ  them,"  said 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  "  without  scruple ; 
all  that  you  can  make  them  do  at  St  Cyr 
will  be  but  trifling,  compared  with  what 
they  must  do  in  after  life.  Make  them 
thri  fty  and  industrious.  By  all  means  hin- 
der them  from  being  proud  and  squeam- 
ish ;  let  them  eat  any  thing ;  let  them 
have  hard  beds  and  chairs  ;  do  not  allow 
them  to  stoop,  or  to  go  to  the  fire  to  vrarm 
themselves,  unless  it  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary; let  them  wait  upon  one  another, 
sweep,  and  make  beds, — all  this  will  make 
them  strong,  adroit  and  humble.  But  do 
not  neglect  them,  or  make  them  work 
through  a  spirit  of  penury.  They  must 
serve  the  house,  but  they  are  also  to  be 
served.  Spare  nothing  for  their  souls  or 
their  bodies."  St.  Cyr  was  filled  with 
the  daughters  of  the  nobility  and  of  army 
officers. 

Horrible.  Yes,  I  dare  say-  you  think 
so,  Kitty.  Old  bachelor!  Yes — and 
I  mean  to  be  one,  until  there  are  some 
young  ladies  educated  after  some  such 
plan  as  this.  If  I  want  a  doll  I  can  buy 
one — a  beautiful  waxen  image,  with  pink 
cheeks,  a  mouth  always  showing  a  set 
smile,  and  eyes  that  will  open  and  shut  by 
the  pulling  of  a  string.  I  can  dress  such  a 
thing  in  velvet  and  lace,  and  put  diamonds 
upon  her  little  useless  hands,  and  feathers 
on  her  empty  head.  But  will  she  talk  to 
me,  feed  my  soul  with  sweet,  womanly 
thoughts,  kiss  away  the  frown-wrinkles 
from  my  forehead,  and  charm  down  the 
angry  or  disappointed  passions  that  the 
turmoil  of  life  is  apt  to  bring  into  men's 
minds  ?  What  can  she  do  for  me  when  I 
am  sick  and  cross,  or  poor  and  afflicted, 
and  thrown  upon  homo  resources?  To 
smile  and  look  pretty  is  not  enough.  It 
is  part  of  a  woman's  duty,  I  own,  as  silks 
and  ribbons  are  a  part  of  her  dress.  I 
would  not  divest  her  of  feminine  graces 
any  more  than  I  would  wrap  her  in  per- 
petual linsey-woolsey. 

Here  was  the  fault  in  Miss  Lyon  and 
her  system.  She  herself  felt  no  interest 
in  dress  or  fine  manners;  her  impulses 
were  towards  great  things,  to  the  exclu- 
sion of  little  ones,  which  her  own  early 
circumstances  had  taught  her  to  disparage. 
Utility,  immediate  and  obvious,  was  her 
aim.  She  had  not  that  wider  view  which 
takes  in  the  whole  nature,  and  seeks  to 


•  Tet,  we  know  (mo  young  lady  In  Fifth  Avenue,  who  gives  orders  to  the  servant,  on  certain  days,  to  excoao 
to  to  visitors,  oo  the  ground  that  she  is  making  cake  / 
TOL.  III. — 12 


110 


Notes  frwn  my  Knapsaek. 


[Fei 


glorify  God  by  cultivating  every  power 
and  grace  he  has  bestowed.  But  what  a 
soul  she  had  !  What  a  spirit  of  self-sacri- 
fice^— ^what  singleness  of  eye, — what  a 
heavenward  aspect !  "  Do  not  think  of 
filthy  lucre  and  immortal  minds  together," 
she  would  say ;  "  Teach,  as  Christ  taught, 
to  do  good.  Dollars  and  cents  can  never 
pay  the  faithful  minister  nor  the  foithful 
teacher."  This  was  no  affectation,  or 
word-virtue.  Her  generous  soul  felt  it 
all.  Her  own  money,  hard-earned  as  it 
was,  had  no  whit  of  preciousncss  in  her 
eyes,  save  as  an  instrument  of  doing  good, 
and  when  she  had  educated  a  young  girl 
as* a  teacher,  her  next  thought  was  of  an 
outfit  that  would  enable  the  debutante  to 
go  forth  creditably,  to  educate  others  in 
her  turn,  for  she  had  no  Louis  XIV.  to 
dower  her  youthful  graduates. 

The  darling  object  of  this  noble  crea- 
ture's life,  Kitty,  was  that  terrible  thing, 
a  boarding-school.  For  this  she  livea 
and  labor^  suffered,  prayed,  and  died — 
died  in  the  midst  of  such  love,  honor, 
gratitude  and  reverence  from  her  pu- 
pils, that  we  can  almost  fancy  her  borne 
to  heaven  on  these  feelings,  as  in  a  lumi- 
nous cloud,  or  like  St  Catherine,  by  a  choir 
of  white-robed  angels.  Plain  and  homely 
in  body,  and  tasteless  in  outward  guise, 
yet  pure  and  glorious  within,  and  with  a 
soul  that  would  have  become  an  empress ; 
was  she  one  of  your  female  Herods,  Kitty, 
a  victimizcr  of  young  hearts  ? 

If  there  are  some  good,  there  are  a 
great  many  bad  ones.  Yes,  indeed;  I 
concede  so  much.  There  are — ^hard,  sor- 
did, mean,  selfish  people,  who  dare  to  un- 
dertake the  care  of  tender,  helpless  daugh- 
ters, without  a  thought  beyond  the  stipend 
which  is  to  reward  their  treachery, — at 
least  we  must  believe  there  are  such,  we 
hear  it  so  oflen.  Tet  even  such,  you  must 
remember,  are  necessarily  influenced  by 
the  very  self-interest  which  is  their  snare, 
to  a  certain  amount  of  kindness,  for  they 
would  soon  sit  alone  else.  This  country  has 


no  female  Squeerses,  nor  any  nool 
could  hide  such  monsters  and  theiz 
strous  doings.  There  may  be  starvin 
snubbings  and  neglect)  but  it  muBt  I 
very  moderate  scale  among  us.  An 
parents  do  not  err  on  the  severe  side, 
greatest  cruelty  to  their  children 
Qie  most  absurd  and  ruinous  indii] 
an  indulgence  that  can  end  only  ii 
and  weakness.  The  most  sordid  te 
are  those  who,  knowing  this  our  ni 
foible,  cater  to  it  most  unblushing!; 
I  think  you  can  hardly  make  oui 
case  against  the  whole  army  of  boi 
schools  and  their  proprietors.  The 
undertake  the  ofiBce  from  good  n 
the  bad  are  induced  to  perform  it  i 
as  they  can,  fix>m  bad  motives ;  na 
can  the  scholars  be  much  abused? 
After  alL  what  do  I  reaUy  i 
Why  I  think  that  there  are  as  max 
sons  who  have  a  natural  bias  towai 
act  of  teaching,  as  those  who  by 
are  poets  or  painters.  People  Cff 
tion,  who  have  occasion  to  do  soin 
for  their  own  support,  are  led  bj  a 
taneous  impulse  to  the  use  of  uid 
power,  and  to  the  attempt  to  commi 
to  others  that  which  they  thems^T 
to  be  the  best  earthly  acquisition, 
profession  is  as  legitimate  a  one,  « 
as  good  a  right  to  share  in  the  emol 
and  the  respect  of  the  community,  a 
Physic,  or  Divinity  5  and,  as  the  woi 
vances  in  civilization,  this  will  be  the 
ral  feeling.  And  when  that  time  < 
Kitty,  even  foolish  little  girls  will 
more  apt  to  speak  ill  of  all  teachers  tl 
all  clergymen  or  all  phyrfdans ;  will  n 
suspect  the  mistress  of  a  boarding 
of  treating  her  pupils  unkindly,  thi 
clergyman  of  preaching  ruinous  doc 
to  his  people,  or  the  doctor  of  si 
poison  mto  lus  patients'  doses, 
used  to  be  a  story  that  the  Jews ' 
steal  little  Christian  children,  an 
them ;  but  I  don't  think  it  was  tr 
you? 


NOTES  FROM  MY  KNAPSACK. 

NUMBER   I. 


A  BROKER  in  meteorological  phenome- 
na at  Labaca,  Texas,  might  have  tele- 
graphed his  correspondent  on  the  morning 
of  the  11th  of  August,  1846,  after  this 


fashion: — Rain  steady,  but  still  i 
and  terra  firma  any  thing  but  firm. 
spite  the  weather,  however,  the  orda 
to  march,  and  camp  Irwin — Mrbk 


1854.] 


Notes  from  my  Knapsack. 


171 


days  and  weeks  had  presented  a  series  of 
dj^lving  views — was  abruptly  dissolved 
for  ever.  Thus  far  campaigning  had  been 
"as  easy  as  rolling  off  a  log."  From 
Alton  to  Labaca  was  very  plain  sailing 
so  far  as  we  volunteers  were  concerned : 
thenceforth  was  to  be  the  "  tug  of  war." 
The  incidents  connected  with  the  passage 
down  the  Mississippi  and  the  transit  across 
the  Gulf,  are  scarcely  worthy  of  a  place 
in  these  recollections;  but  as  the  future 
was  to  unfold  novelty  of  scene  and  variety 
of  circumstance,  our  pens  were  put  in  re- 
quisition with  our  legs.  The  ten  compa- 
nies of  a  regiment  derive  their  patronymics 
from  the  alphabet,  and  ai-e  known  as  "A." 
"  B."  "  C.»  &c,  and  as  we  of  "  Company  I." 
may  be  regarded  as  the  optics  of  the  com- 
mand, it  may  be  presumed  that  whatever 
occurred  must  have  passed  under  our  ob- 
servation, and,  therefore,  our  qualifications 
as  historians  ought  not  to  be  questioned. 

At  an  early  hour  we  began  our  march 
upon  San  Antonio.  The  rain  had  been 
fiJling  in  merciless  torrents  for  weeks,  and 
the  large  portion  of  a  flat  and  barren  prai- 
rie, was  covered  with  water  to  an  average 
depth  of  three  or  four  inches.  The  mo- 
notony of  an  unbroken  level  was  relieved 
at  intervals,  by  what  are  called  "  hog- 
wallow  prairies."  These  are  formations 
of  pitfalls  and  elevations,  hollows  and 
hillocks  of  every  variety,  which  succeed 
each  other  like  cups  and  saucers  turned 
topsy-turvy.  A  transition  over  such  a 
region,  on  foot,  horseback  or  wheels,  is 
munly  suggestive  of  reflections  touching 
the  ups  and  downs  through  life,  and  adven- 
tures by  flood  and  fleld,  and  recalls  the  lines 
in  Don  Juan,  slightly  modified, 

**  II  ow  man  falls  and  ripea, 
Teraa  hog-wallows  place  beyond  disgulaes.'* 

These  eronps  of  irregular  elevations  and 
depressions,  with  so  much  of  the  country 
submerged,  present  an  enlarged  view  of 
the  map  of  a  State,  after  having  been  sub- 
jected to  that  felicitous  operation  in  polit- 
ical surgery,  known  as  Gerrj'mandcring. 
The  soil  appears  to  be  of  indifferent  qual- 
ity, and  must  be  comparatively  valueless, 
if  liable  to  these  inundations  once  in  a 
quarter  of  a  century.  The  vegetation 
principally  consists  of  a  stunted  growth 
of  Uve-oak,  richly  canopied  and  curtained 
with  the  luxuriant  moss  of  the  morass. 
This  timber  is  probably  unfit  for  any  use 
in  naval  constructions,  being  small,  crook- 
ed, and  brittle,  but  is  doubUess  a  fair  spe- 
dmen  of  those  inexhaustible  and  invalu- 
able live-oak  forests,  which  figured  so  cou- 
qncuously  in  the  diplomatic  correspond- 
ence touching  annexation,  during  Mr.  Van 
Bnzen's  admmistration. 


Victoria^  is  a  village  of  five  or  six  hun- 
dred inhabitants^  who  are  huddled  together 
somewhat  promiscuously,  in  small,  rudely 
constructed  dwellings,  many  of  which 
seem  to  have  "  passed  into  a  decline."  It 
was  originally  a  Mexican  settlement,  but 
the  transforming  process  has  been  so  com- 
plete, that  but  few  of  its  paternal  linea- 
ments are  remaining. 

The  celebrated  battle  ground  of  the 
chivalric  but  unfortunate  Fannin,  is  about 
four  days  journey  from  Labaca.  It  is 
marked  by  a  natural  monument  of  three 
live-oaks,  which,  however,  must  be  spe- 
cially pointed  out  by  the  guide,  or  the 
traveller  has  nothing  to  remind  him  that 
he  is  treading  one  of  the  few  hallowed 
spots  in  Texas.  Here,  on  the  19th  of 
March,  1836,  Colonel  Fannin  with  a  force 
of  less  than  four  hundred  men,  was  at- 
tacked by  one  thousand  Mexicans,  com- 
manded by  a  treacherous  foreign  merce- 
nary, and  after  an  obstinate  and  sanguinary 
conflict,  was  compelled  to  surrender  as 
prisoners  of  wai*.  By  one  ,of  the  most 
atrocious  acts  of  perfidy  which  history 
reconls,  the  terms  of  the  capitulation  were 
infamously  violated  by  the  Mexican  com- 
mander— a  miscreant  of  an  Italian — and 
all  except  six  of  that  gallant  band  were 
deliberately  put  to  death  at  Goliad,  upon 
the  principle,  perhaps,  that  no  faith  is  to  be 
kept  with  heretics. 

About  ten  miles  hence,  a  solitary  farm- 
house in  1846  stood  by  the  wayside,  just 
opposite  the  town  in  which  the  terrible 
tragedy,  just  referred  to,  was  enacted. 
Goliad — the  scone  of  so  much  perfidy  and 
so  much  heroism — is  on  the  right  bank  of 
the  San  Antonio  River,  and  exhibited  from 
the  other  side  only  a  few  irregular  brick 
or  stone  structures,  apparantly  crumbling 
into  ruin.  Tradition  makes  it  a  place  of 
much  former  splendor  and  renown,  but  one 
now  finds  it  hard  to  believe,  that  with- 
in its  shattered  and  dilapidated  walls, 
once  thought  and  smoked,  danced,  dreamed 
and  sinned,  fifteen  thousand  of  the  mixed 
descendants  of  Cortez  and  Montezuma. 
There  is  an  old  church  or  Spanish  mission 
in  the  neighborhood,  erected  by  the  Jesu- 
its for  the  conversion  of  the  Indians, — 
which,  with  an  increase  of  Anglo-Saxon 
population,  may  yet  become  in  reality, 
tributary  to  the  cause  of  education,  mo- 
rality, and  a  pure  Christianity. 

The  prospect  improves  as  we  advance 
westward.  We  enter  upon  a  purer  atmos- 
phere, the  land  rises,  its  surface  becomes 
more  varied  and  broken  ;  and  though  the 
soil  is  neither  rich  nor  productive,  the  views 
are  strikingly  picturesque.  The  level  plain, 
the  swelling  hill,  and  the  sunken  valley, 


172 


Notes  from  my  Knapsack. 


[Felniiaiy 


with  now  and  then  a  quiet  little  stream, 
clear  as  crystal  and  flowing  over  snow- 
white  gravel,  which  ever  and  anon  greet 
the  eye,  form  a  succession  of  natural  land- 
scapes of  rare  and  unrivalled  beauty.  A 
spire  in  the  distance — ^a  moss-grown  ruin, 
and  .1  waterfall,  would  present  a  combina- 
tion of  loveliness,  on  which  the  eye  of  a 
painter  or  the  lover  of  nature  might  linger 
with  unmixed  pleasure.  But  these  arc 
matters  foreign  to  the  matter-of-fact  busi- 
ness of  a  campaign,  and  to  the  cogitations 
of  a  ploughman  turned  patriot. 

For  two  or  three  days  occasional  ranches 
had  indicated  an  approach  to  civilization, 
or  the  settlements,  and  on  the  morning  ot 
August  24th,  we  came  in  sight  of  the 
long  looked  for  San  Antonio.  As  the  per- 
manent camp  could  not  be  selected  before 
consultation  with  Oeneral  Wool,  our  tents 
were  temporarily  pitched  near  the  "  Mis- 
sion Concepcion,"  in  the  vicinity  of  a  de- 
tachment of  regular  dragoons.  Our  first 
stride  towards  Chihuahua,  has  been  ac- 
complished in  less  than  a  fortnight,  one 
day's  experience  of  which,  will  illustrate 
the  process  of  initiation  through  which  the 
volunteer  enters  upon  the  path  to  glory. 

The  prairie  partakes  of  but  few  of  the 
characteristics  which  had  been  anticipated. 
Instead  of  boundless  plains  covered  with 
carpets  of  perpetual  verdure,  and  enam- 
elled with  flowers  of  various  and  gorgeous 
colors,  over  which  the  wild  horse  may  be 
seen  careering  in  his  untamed  strength, 
and  herds  of  deer  bounding  in  their  native 
grace  and  beauty  (see  writers  on  Texas 
passim'),  there  is  before  you,  for  the  most 
part,  nothing  but  barrenness,  stretching 
away  in  the  distance  until  the  eye  aches 
with  vacancy.  Down  come  the  rays  of  the 
sun,  scorching  and  scathing  every  thine 
on  which  they  fall.  All  of  animal  and 
vegetable  life  seem  gasping  for  a  moment's 
respite  from  heat,  or  for  one  priceless  drop 
of  moisture ;  but  there  is  no  grateful  shade, 
no  passing  cloud — no  bubbling  fountain- 
visible  over  the  wide  waste  of  that  arid 
plain.  The  atmosphere  seems  on  fire,  and 
even  in  its  rare  intervals  of  motion,  when 
a  current  of  air  strikes  the  cheek,  it  is 
like  burning  lava.  Yet,  on  we  go,  taking 
no  heed  of  toil,  or  heat,  or  distance.  That 
we  advance  is  hardly  known  by  any  change 
of  scene,  though  sometimes  the  phantom 
of  a  lifeless  shrub  rises  along  our  path. 
Clouds — few  and  far  between — soar  above 
us,  fly  away,  or  evaporate  into  nothings ; 
the  air  is  roused  for  a  moment  from  its 
stagnation,  but  the  stifling  solitude,  the 
vast  vacuity  of  the  desert,  the  suspension 
as  It  were  of  vitality,  cling  to  you  with  an 
oppressive  reality  that  is  almost  vnthering. 


If  it  were  not  for  the  native  oi  the  animal 
kingdom — noxious  as  is  the  vegetable, 
meagre  and  worthless — ^life  would  seem 
extinct ;  but  the  fly  alone,  as  if  feeding 
fat  the  grudge  of  some  ancient  hate  and 
long  deferred  vengeance,  heeds  not  the 
scorching  vapor  and  fiunished  earth,  but 
preys  with  active  unceasing  vigor,  upon 
the  wasted  energies  of  our  toil-worn  beasts. 
What  cares  he  for  water,  when  he  may 
gorge  himself  on  blood  ?  Still  the  column 
drags  its  slow  length  along,  cheered  by  the 
ever  hopeful  presence  of  its  leader,  who, 
mounted  on  his  white  charger,  leads  the 
way,  or  moves  to  and  fro  along  the  line 
with  words  of  encouragement  for  alL — 
Qlie  fire  of  his  eagle  eye  was  quenched  on 
the  bloody  field  of  Bucna  Vista,  where, 
with  so  many  others,  he  who  had  over 
borne  himself  as  a  gallant  soldier  and 
Christian  gentleman,  scaled  his  devotion 
to  his  country's  honor  with  his  blood. 
And  those  who  served  with  him  on  that 
campaign,  will  pardon  and  appreciate  this 
passing  but  imperfect  tribute  to  the  noble 
heart  and  heroic  virtues  of  John  J.  Har- 
din. 

Wearied  almost  to  exhaustion^  panting 
and  gasping  under  the  rarefied  air — a  halt 
to  droop,  if  not  to  die,  seems  ine\'itable ; 
when  a  tree  is  revealed  in  the  distance,  a 
cloud  is  waited  into  bein^,  and  before  Uie 
change  is  completely  realized,  dark  masses 
are  piled  up  and  lowering  all  around  the 
horizon.  The  sun  is  hidden,  the  air  cools — 
lightning  dances  in  the  distance,  and  flash 
after  flash  keeps  time  to  the  music  of  elec- 
tric artillery.  Drop  by  drop  the  rain  iaUs 
at  first,  and  disappears  beneath  the  gap- 
ing and  famished  earth.  Anon  it  quickens, 
and  soon  the  entire  firmament  appears 
converted  into  a  fountain ;  every  sunbeam 
has  become  a  cataract,  and  torrents  follow 
fast  and  follow  faster,  until  the  scorched 
plain  is  transformed  into  a  hissing  lake. 
The  rivulet,  whoso  proximity  has  l^cn  ap- 
parent for  some  time,  in  the  quickened  v^e- 
tation  along  its  banks,  and  which  vnthin 
a  few  moments  one  of  our  famished  beasts 
might  almost  have  drunk  dry,  is  swollen 
into  a  river,  rolling  on  with  a  constantly 
accelerating  impulse,  and  of  sufficient  T<j- 
ume  and  power  to  arrest  the  progress  of 
an  army.  The  day's  march  is  done. 
Slowly  the  stragglers  come  in  from  the 
rear,  and  preparations  are  made  for  a  bi- 
vouac. A  few  tents  are  pitched  on  the 
soft  and  slippery  earth.  The  soil,  satur 
rated  with  water,  yields  at  every  step,  so 
that  one  position  cannot  be  abandoned 
without  danger  of  being  mired  in  another. 
Such  a  night  is,  perhaps,  as  disagreeable 
as  any  part  of  a  soldiers  troubles.    Won 


1854.] 


Notes  Jrom  my  Knapsack, 


lis 


down  by  the  exertions  of  a  long  day's 
march,  parched  by  the  heat  of  a  tropical 
son;  buried  ankle  deep  in  mud,  except 
where  the  long  rank  grass  waves  its  wet 
drapery  around  you ;  to  raise  a  fire  on  the 
damp  ground,  to  kindle  into  a  blaze  the 
green  and  hissing  wood,  and  to  find  a  spot 
where  the  water  does  not  ooze  from  beneath 

Qas  from  a  wet  sponge  in  the  grasp  of  an 
washcrowman;  are  assaults  of  no 
ordinary  magnitude  upon  a  voluntcer^s 
philosophy,  and  degrees  of  misery  of  which 
our  pampered  legislators,  and  pigeon-hole, 
red-tape  and  soft-cushion  statesmen,  who 
annex  empires  and  wage  wars,  with  no 
knowledge  of  either,  have  but  very  im- 
perfect conceptions. 

If  Texas  may  be  judged  by  the  speci- 
men between  San  Antonio  and  Labaca,  its 
principal  feature  must  be  its  grazing  ter- 
ritory, which  probably  includes  two  thirds 
of  its  area.  Cotton  may  be  grown  in  the 
valleys  of  many  of  its  shallow  streams, 
but  the  vanablcness  of  the  seasons,  and 
the  consequent  uncertainty  of  the  crops, 
will  not  justify  the  farmer,  who  is  already 
well  located,  in  disposing  of  improvements 
at  a  sacrifice,  for  the  purpose  of  making 
the  dangerous  experiment  of  producing 
more  at  less  cost.  Many  a  man  it  is  said 
has  been  seduced  by  the  promise  of  the 
spring,  and  the  golden  prospect  then  pre- 
sented, to  part  with  his  old  homestead, 
sever  for  ever  the  most  sacred  associations, 
and  turn  over  the  graves  of  his  fathers 
to  the  keeping  of  strangers,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  removing  hither,  who  has  found 
on  his  arrival,  that  the  desolating  drought 
has  blighted  the  hopes  predicated  on  the 
vernal  bloom ;  and  while  bitterly  lament- 
ing the  folly  of  his  course,  finds  his  sole 
consolation  in  the  feet,  that  if  he  saves  one 
crop  out  of  two  or  three,  he  is  doing  quite 
as  well  as  his  neighbors.  If  the  former 
trusts  his  seed  to  the  high  grounds,  the 
crop  is  endangered  by  the  parching  rays 
of  the  sun  and  the  total  absence  of  rain 
for  months ;  if  he  plants  in  the  low  grounds, 
the  chances  are  equal  that  ruin  will  come 
from  floods  and  freshets.  lie  has  to  run 
the  gauntlet  between  Scylla  and  Chary bdis 
— to  be  drowned  by  the  one  or  burned  by 
the  other.  He  has  no  surety  in  either 
position,  and  the  maturity  of  the  crop  de- 
pends upon  accident  rather  than  upon  in- 
dustry. But  in  these  regions,  there  is  cue 
harvest  that  never  fails,  that  owes  its  suc- 
cess neither  to  deluge  nor  to  drought; 
its  products  are  not  exposed  for  sale  in  the 
market-place,  nor  quoted  on  the  exchange : 
it  is  the  harvest  of  bilious  fever.  Where 
the  lands  are  rich  and  fertile,  and,  per  se. 
w<Mrtby  of  cultivation,  there  sickness  and 


disease  flourish  with  rampant  vigor ;  and 
where  people  can  live  unmolested  by  these 
unwelcome  attendants,  the  soil  will  scarce- 
ly repay  the  labor  of  cultivation.  It 
may  be  true  that  Texas  has  the  purest 
air,  and  finest  land  on  the  continent — ^but 
they  appear  to  repel  each  other,  like  the 
opposite  poles  of  a  magnet. 

There  is  another  point  in  relation  to  the 
habitable  portion  of  Texas,  so  peculiar  in 
itself,  and  so  important  even  now  to  the 
emigrant  in  all  its  bearings,  that  it  is  en- 
titled to  special  attention.  It  is  the  fact 
so  forcibly  presented  by  ^fr.  Senator  Ben- 
ton in  his  celebrated  speech  at  Boonville, 
in  1844,  that  to  almost  every  acre  of  land 
here,  there  are  innumerable  claimants 
under  innumerable  titles.  There  is  an 
original  Spanish  grant,  then  a  Mexican 
grant,  then  a  Texan  grant  or  "head- 
right,"  and  the  latter  transferred  perhaps 
so  often  that  the  actual  fee  simple  is  in- 
volved in  a  labyrinth,  the  clew  to  which 
can  only  be  found  in  the  tortuous  track  of 
winding  wickedness,  which  Justice  so  often 
adopts  as  the  only  avenue  to  her  temple. 
If  the  current  reports  be  true,  the  pur- 
chaser of  Texas  lands  has  secured  to  him- 
self a  lasting  lien  upon  litigation,  a  legacy 
of  lawsuits  in  reversion  for  ever,  and  in- 
volving the  combined  obliquity  of  the  civil 
and  common  law.  If  the  titles  of  the 
numerous  claimants  to  the  best  parts  of 
Texas,  could  be  actually  spread  out  on 
the  country,  they  would  envelope  the  soil 
like  the  coats  of  an  onion ;  and  some  en- 
thusiastic geologist,  eager  for  novelties  and 
discoveries,  stumbling  upon  the  exhibition, 
would  imagine  that  he  had  added  a  few 
centuries  to  the  age  of  the  world  in  find- 
ing a  new  formation,  which  he  might  pos- 
sibly designate  as  the  titular-aqua-igneous- 
bi-transition-revolutionary  series.  What- 
ever lands  here,  not  now  covered  by  this 
multiplicity  of  claims,  may  be  considered 
as  a  legitimate  and  acknowledged  range 
for  the  Comanches;  since  it  cannot  be 
presumed  that  the  holders  of  '•  floats  "  and 
"  head-rights,"  which  may  be  located  at 
will  on  lands  not  taken  up,  would  invoke 
the  expense,  delay,  and  harassing  anxieties 
of  litigation,  and  risk  the  total  loss  of 
their  investments,  when  other  lands  of 
even  inferior  value  could  be  secured  in- 
volving no  questions  of  title. 

In  every  view  in  which  Texas  may  be 
considered,  with  reference  to  fertility  of 
soil,  geniality  of  climate,  freedom  from 
disease,  regularity  of  crops,  validity  of  land 
titles,  facilities  for  transportation,  conveni- 
ence and  safety  of  harbors,  and  proximity 
to  markets^  it  is  probably  equal  to  but  few 
of  the  States  and  superior  to  none.    These 


lU 


Notes  from  my  Knapsack. 


[Febniai7 


facts  explain  the  great  secret,  why  the 
people  with  a  unanimity  unparalleled  on 
any  other  subject,  and  in  opposition  to 
the  behests  of  their  political  leader  who 
carries  the  ballot-box  in  his  breeches 
pocket,  joyfully  relinquished  their  sove- 
reignity, and  Toted  for  annexation.  None 
knew  so  well  as  they — for  their  know- 
ledge was  experience — that  the  country 
was  almost  wholly  destitute  of  the  essen- 
tial elements  and  resources  of  an  independ- 
ent power,  and  was  utterly  exhausted  by 
a  trivial  contest  with  an  imbecile  foe.  Its 
actions  for  years  had  been  but  the  convul- 
sions of  expiring  energy,  and  when  it  was 
Tylerizcd  into  the  Union,  it  was  in  its  last 
paroxysm.  The  people  of  Texas  imagined 
that  annexation  would  heal  all  their  dis- 
eases, and  that  the  gold  to  be  introduced 
by  two  inevitable  if  not  immediate  conse- 

Suences — a  war  with  Mexico  and  with 
le  Comanches — would  infuse  its  own 
warmth  and  vigor  into  the  torpid  and 
prostrate  corpse  of  the  body  politic. 

Life  has  its  varieties  even  in  San  Anto- 
nio. The  fandango  of  last  night  is  followed 
by  the  funeral  of  this  morning; — thus 
sorrow  treads  on  the  heels  of  joy,  and 
checkers  with  black  and  white,  the  uni- 
versal picture  of  human  life. 

"  Fandango  "  is  the  term  given  in  the  dic- 
tionaries for  a  "  lively  Spanish  dance,"  but 
is  here  applied  to  nocturnal  gatherings  for 
dances,  "lively"  enough,  certainly,  but 
possessing  very  few  of  the  qualities*  of  the 
"poetry  of  motion."  The  women  who 
Attend  these  assemblies  are  seen,  with 
their  rebozos  drawn  closely  over  the  face, 
serving  for  bomiets,  which  they  never 
wear,  wending  their  way  early  in  the 
evening,  by  the  light  of  their  own  cigar- 
retas,  and  puffing  most  industriously,  to 
the  place  of  rendezvous.  These  are  of 
a  class  not  definable,  as  in  Mexican  female 
society  here,  there  apj)eared  to  be  little  dis- 
tinction between  vice  and  virtue,  and  the 
chaste  matron  or  maiden  (if  there  be  such), 
and  the  leprous  prostitute,  seemed  to  be  on 
terms  of  social  Cijuality.  The  young  girl 
not  yet  indoctrinated  in  the  ways  of  vice, 
finds  ready  instructors  at  these  gatherings, 
where  she  soon  loses  the  mo<:lesty  of  feel- 
ing and  purity  of  heart,  innate  in  the  sex, 
and  by  degrees  falls  at  last  into  that  pit 
from  which  there  is  no  recovery.  Fan- 
d.ingoes,  as  conducted  here,  are  mere 
schools  of  corruption  and  immorality  for 
the  destruction  of  the  younger  attendants, 
soul  and  body ;  in  which  the  alphabet  of 
vice  and  the  rudiments  of  prostitution  are 
acquired  with  fatal  facility.  Yet  there  is 
positively  nothing  more  attractive  in  them, 
than  the  discordant  tones  produced  by  the 


untutored  hand  of  a  village  blacksmith, 
upon  fibres  of  untanned  catgut.  The 
males  were  drawn  entirely  from  the  Ame- 
ricans ;  the  few  Mexicans  who  were  prowl- 
ing round  the  outside  of  the  building^ 
seemed  to  surrender  without  a  struggle  or 
a  regret  their  wives,  sisters,  and  daughters 
to  hopeless  pollution  and  degradatioD.  In 
the  dance,  the  females  arc  ranged  in  a  rieht 
line  on  one  side  of  the  room,  and  the  males 
opposite  theur  respective  partners ;  then  to 
the  soimds  of  unearthly  music,  Uicy  pro- 
ceed to  go  through  with  the  most  labonous 
antics  and  gyrations;  motions  fore  and 
afl  and  up  and  down,  vulgar  if  not  volup- 
tuous ;  and  having  succeeded  in  wci||dng 
themselves  up  to  the  proper  point  ofper- 
spiration — thereliy  generating  a  species  of 
perfumery  less  delicious  than  the  ^*  gales 
of  Araby" — the  dance  ceases,  and  each 
man  conducts  his  partner  to  a  refreshment 
table,  where  he  purchases  a  dime's  worth 
of  cake  or  tortillas,  which  she  receives  in 
her  handkerchief  or  hands,  and  proceeds 
to  deposit  under  a  bencn,  or  with  a 
friend,  for  safe  keeping,  so  that  it  may  not 
encumber  her  performances  in  the  next 
dance.  This  pile  accumulates  durine  the 
evening,  if  she  is  tolerable  good-lookinc. 
to  a  mass  large  enough  to  feed  a  small 
family  of  Mexicans,  until  the  next  fan- 
dango. The  dance  is  thus  considered  a 
business  transaction,  conducted  on  the 
cash  system. 

Tortillas  constitute  the  ordinary  Mexican 
bread.  They  are  of  com,  and  as  thin  as 
pancakes,  which  in  appearance  (onlv^  they 
resemble.  The  grain  is  first  soaked  m  ley, 
until  it  becomes  soft  and  loses  the  outer 
covering;  it  is  then  thoroughly  washed 
in  water,  and  made  ready  for*  the  milL 
This  consists  of  a  flat  stone,  the  upper  sur- 
face slightly  concave,  and  a  cylmdrical 
crusher  of  the  same  material.  A  woman 
places  the  com  thus  prepared  beside  her, 
and  with  the  stones  before  her,  she  crashes 
about  a  handful  at  a  time,  when  it  becomes 
pulpy  and  sofb.  It  is  then  turned  into  a 
trough,  and  after  a  little  additional  mani- 
pulation, is  ready  for  the  oven.  Apropos 
of  this  operation,  one  of  our  countrymen 
was  in  a  sort  of  cake  shop  belonging  to  a 
native,  where  the  woman  was  making 
pies.  There  being  no  chairs,  he  was  about 
to  make  use  of  the  bed  as  a  substitute, 
when  the  woman,  under  an  unaccountable 
excitement  earnestly  begged  him  to  desist 
As  her  language  was  wholly  unintelligible, 
she  was  compelled  at  last  to  reveal  the  canse 
of  her  uneasiness  and  opposition,  by  ex- 
hibiting a  layer  of  pies  which  she  had  snug- 
ly stowed  away  between  the  sheets,  pre- 
paratory to  transferring  them  to  the  oven. 


1854.} 


Notes  from  my  Knapsack, 


1Y5 


The  cracked  bell  of  the  old  church  rang 
out  early  the  morning  following  the  fan- 
dango, a  cry  of  distress,  in  broken  accents, 
and  abont  nine  o'clock  a  stragglmg  pro- 
cession moved  from  the  western  entrance, 
which  proved  to  be  a  funeraL  The  priest, 
preceded  by  three  boys— one  bearing  the 
cross,  the  others  swinging  their  censors — 
was  in  advance  of  the  body^  garnished  in 
faded  robes,  and  chanting  m  a  sing-song 
tone,  in  company  with  another,  the  ritual 
of  the  dead.  A  few  uncovered  men  and 
noisy  boys  followed :  the  affair  presenting 
none  of  the  solemnity  to  which  we  are 
accustomed  in  the  performance  of  the  last 
duty  to  departed  friends.  The  coffin  was 
uncovered,  and  exposed  the  corpse  of  an 
aged  female,  of  a  haggard  and  emaciated 
appearance.  She  was  clothed  in  an  or- 
dinary calico  dress,  as  unlike  a  corpse 
as  possible,  while  a  man  bearing  the  top 
of  the  coffin,  trotted  along  heedlessly  b<^- 
side  it 

While  the  troops  were  "  marking  time" 
at  San  Antonio,  the  town  was  usually  be- 
sieged on  Sunday  by  the  military  from 
Camp  Crockett,  who  in  the  course  of  their 
rambles,  generally  dropped  into  the  Roman 
church,  during  a  few  minutes  of  the  ser- 
vice. The  building  is  without  a  floor,  and 
was  originally  without  seats;  but  the 
vicmity  af  Protestantism  has  recently 
partially  supplied  the  latter  deficiency,  a 
few  rough  benches  having  been  constructed 
near  the  altar.  The  audience,  save  those 
belonging  to  the  army,  was  mostly  females. 
These  were  squatted  on  their  hams  on  the 
ground,  and  appeared  humble  and  atten- 
tive listeners  to  the  harangue  of  the  priest 
His  address  was  in  Spanish,  and  delivered 
in  the  monotonous,  sing-song  tones  of  his 


The  building  is  of  stone  or  adobs^  and  be- 
longs to  that  class  of  architecture  common 
to  the  "missions"  in  the  vicinity,  though 
of  more  limited  capacity.  Its  walls  are  of 
great  thickness,  but  the  material  is  soft, 
and  in  many  places  crumbling  away. 
Over  the  principal  or  eastern  entrance, 
there  is  a  small  niche,  occupied  by  a  very 
comical  statue  of  his  holiness  the  succes- 
sor of  Saint  Peter  in  general.  He  has  lost 
the  fraction  of  one  arm  below  the  elbow, 
and  a  portion  of  his  nose ;  his  robes  are 
rent  in  many  places,  and  other  fractures 
are  visible  about  his  person.  There  is  no 
sadness,  however,  amid  so  much  dilapida- 
tion; and  the  figure  reminds  one  of  a 
doiltni,  drawing  down  the  usual  thunders 
of  applause  from  the  juveniles,  in  the  very 
facetious  act  of  placing  his  thumb  on  his 
Dose,  and  extending  his  fingers,  while  he 
pantomimes  "you  can't  come  it" 


The  dty  of  San  Antonio  de  Bexar 
differs  from  all  other  towns  in  the  United 
States,  unless  possibly  Texas  may  possess 
its  parallel.  The  streets  are  narrow  and 
crooked,  and  the  houses,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  four,  are  of  one  story,  built  of 
stone  or  mud,  or  of  a  combination  of  mud 
and  wood.  To  construct  those  of  the 
latter  class,  long  poles  are  driven  into  the 
ground,  as  close  as  their  crookedness  will 
permit,  and  the  intervals  are  then  filled 
up  with  clay.  The  surface  of  the  interior 
is  smothly  plastered,  and  looks  passably 
well,  but  the  exterior  has  the  appearance 
of  a  pig-pen  rather  than  the  abode  of  man. 
The  roofs  are  thatched,  and  afford  but 
miserable  protection  from  the  weather. 
The  stone  and  adobe  (unbumed  brick) 
buildings,  are  generally  plastered  and 
whitewashed  on  the  outside,  and  of  course 
present  a  more  comfortable  aspect  than 
the  others.  The  side  walls  rise  higher 
than  the  lower  line  of  the  roofs — which 
are  almost  flat — forming  a  kind  of  parapet 
with  openings  at  regular  intervals  for  the 
passage  of  the  water.  The  roofs  incline 
only  in  one  direction ;  they  are  formed  by 
heavy  rafters  laid  a  few  inches  apart,  upon 
which  boards,  running  in  the  same  direc- 
tion, are  firmly  nailSd,  the  joints  being 
immediately  above  the  rafters.  The  whole 
then  receives  a  covering  of  cement,  and 
perhaps  a  foot  or  two  of  clay.  Wooden 
gutters  pass  through  the  holes  left  in  the 
parapet  walls,  and  project  several  feet 
into  the  street,  so  that  at  a  short  distance 
the  houses  present  somewhat  the  appear- 
ance of  a  fortification,  bristling  with  artil- 
lery. With  few  exceptions,  they  have  no 
floors  other  than  the  ground.  This,  when 
dry,  forms  a  hard  surface ;  but  in  many 
houses  they  have  worn  away  so  much  as 
to  bring  the  level  below  that  of  the  streets, 
which  are  thus  drained  into  the  houses. 
All  of  the  buildings  of  Mexican  origin  are 
without  windows,  and,  while  they  look 
very  like  prisons,  are  indeed  little  better. 

On  the  whole,  this  place,  though  nearly 
as  old  as  Philadelphia — it  was  settled 
about  1685 — presents  to  the  stranger  only 
ideas  of  abject  poverty  and  wretchedness. 
Whether  it  is  due  to  the  stagnant  char- 
acter of  the  people,  their  imbecile  govern- 
ment, or  the  tyranny  of  their  religion ;  the 
fact  cannot  be  denied,  that  the  native 
Mexicans  are  in  an  extremity  of  degrada- 
tion, rarely  reached  even  by  the  semi- 
civilized.  Instead  of  having  advanced 
with  the  world,  they  actually  appear  to 
be  less  civilized  and  enlightened  than 
were  the  Aztecs  when  they  fell  before  the 
power  of  Cortez.  They  seem  to  be  sub- 
ject to  some  mysterious  influence  which 


lie 


Nbtesfrom  my  Knapwck, 


[Fel 


hangs  like  an  incubus  upon  tiiem,  paralyz- 
ing their  physical  and  stultifying  their 
intellectual  energies.  They  live,  nobody 
knows  how,  transmitting  from  one  genera- 
tion to  another,  mere  cumberers  of  the 
earth.  It  may  be  doubted — whatever 
may  be  our  hopes — whether  the  galvan- 
izing power  of  our  own  republic  will  ever 
be  able  to  infuse  into  them  any  thing  of 
life  or  activity.  Like  the  aborigines, 
whose  blood  they  so  largely  share,  they 
appear  to  be  fast  dwindling  into  mere 
wrecks,  monuments  of  greatness  that  has 
passed  away  for  ever. 

The  Inspector  General  arrived  on  the 
31st  of  August,  and  commenced  his  duties 
at  once,  by  mustering  and  inspecting  the 
troops.  Ilis  presence  created  no  little  ex- 
citement among  those  of  the  regulars  who 
had  recently  had  notliing  to  do  with  razors, 
and  had  cut  the  acquaintance  of  the  barber. 
Even  the  few  who  presented  no  Esau  de- 
velopment, save  a  graceful  tuft  pendent 
from  the  salient  point  of  the  chin,  trembled 
with  anxiety,  lest  that  little  might  bo 
shorn  of  its  fair  proportions.  All  save  the 
volunteers,  (lucky  fellows,  who  regulate 
themselves !)  who  in  any  degree  swerved 
from  the  form  and  dimensions,  so  accu- 
rately and  perspicuously  described,  as  I 
find  it  to  be,  in  the  Army  Regulations, 
above  a  line  [straight  curved,  broken  or 
disjointed,  the  book  says  not],  drawn  from 
**  the  lower  tip  of  the  ear  "  to  "  the  curve 
of  the  mouth,"  were  in  great  trepidation. 
They  had  very  reasonable  doubts  as  to 
th&  reading,  and  very  unwholesome  fears 
as  to  the  construction.  The  article  is 
almost  as  unmeaning  as  '*  the  resolutions 
of  '98,"  and  must  certainly  have  originated 
with  a  Virginian.  If  the  line  had  to  be 
drawn  "/o  the  vunUhj^^  it  might  be  under- 
stood ;  but  to  have  it  to  what  any  military 
anatomist  may  be  pleased  to  consider  the 
'^curve^^  of  that  beautiful  and  essential 
facial  appendage,  is  rather  too  general  for  a 
strict  constructionist.  The  "  curve  of  the 
mouth,"  moreover,  has  never  been  deter- 
mined. It  is  not  discussed  as  any  one  of 
the  conic  sections,  nor  does  it  figure  among 
lines  of  the  transcenclental  order.  It  is 
neither  algebraic  nor  logarithmic,  and  its 
properties  appear  to  have  been  investigated 
only  in  relation  to  military  whiskers.  The 
scarcely  fledged  subaltern,  in  the  chrysalis 
state  from  adolescence  to  manhood,  sighs 
as  he  thinks  the  silky  down  upon  his  upper 
lip,  which  he  has  reared  with  so  many 
delicate  attentions,  must  be  nipped  by  the 
early  frost  of  a  general  order.  The  offen- 
der more  daring  perhaps,  but  not  more 
confident,  who  in  adhering  to  the  "  regu- 
lation whisker,"  hopes  to  force  through  a 


contraband  moustache,  shudders  i 
crisis  arrives  which  must  expose  th< 
mity  to  the  Argus  of  the  Army, 
the  hardened  and  reckless,  whose 
visages  present  a  growth  untouched 
barl^r's  blade,  and  as  undefiled  sc 
son's  when  it  fell  before  the  she) 
Delilah^s  treacherous  confederate 
with  philosophic  but  desperate  unoi 
upon  the  alarm  of  others,  and  with 
firmness,  hold  themselves,  as  repre 
by  their  beards,  ready  for  the  gaill< 

The  "Mission  Concepcion"  is  c 
the  numerous  structures  for  quasi  re 
purposes,  created  by  the  Spanish  J 
for  the  conversion  of  the  India 
Komanism.  They  are  all  now  do 
and  abandoned  literally  *^  to  the  mol 
the  bats,"  and  there  is  nothing  yis 
the  condition  of  Mexican  or  Indian, 
dicate  any  knowledge  or  any  appro 
of  the  pure  doctrines  and  divine  mc 
of  the  New  Testament  From  an  im] 
inscription  now  almost  obliterated.  • 
building — which  is  of  stone  and  ott 
appearance — it  seems  to  have  been  e 
or  completed  in  the  year  1754.  Bu 
is  left  of  the  interior  finish,  and  that  ] 
visible,  as  the  building  was  so  dai 
b}'  bats  and  so  offensive  that  entraiu 
almost  impossible.  Near  this  pla 
the  28th  of  October,  1835,  occur 
brief,  but  hotly  contested  engage 
between  a  party  of  about  one  hu 
Texans  under  Fannin  and  Bowie 
three  hundred  Mexicans,  in  whic 
latter  were  defeated  with  a  loss  ol 
one  hundred  killed  and  wounded, 
small  piece  of  artillery. 

On  the  right  bank  of  the  rivw 
about  six  miles  below  San  Antonio,  i 
the  "  Mission  of  San  Jose."  It  is  a 
ing  of  more  pretension  in  its  size  anc 
of  architecture  than  the  other,  and  c 
less  retains  at  present  much  of  the  i 
ing  appearance  designed  for  effect  o 
Indians.  The  front  is  of  elaborate  ; 
the  doorway  being  surrounded  wil 
figures  in  alto  relievo^  and  other 
sculptured  ornaments.  The  ground 
the  only  floor,  except  at  the  altar, 
an  area  of  twenty-five  or  thirty  feet  s 
is  covered  with  stone.  As  you  ent 
apartment  at  the  right  displays  th 
a  grated  door,  a  statue  of  the  Virgi 
parcllcd  in  an  old,  faded  calico  gown 
as  well  calculated,  perhaps,  to  stifl 
sentiments  of  devotion,  and  subs 
those  of  derision,  as  any  design  that 
be  erected  in  a  temple  to  the  Aim 
There  are  small  chapels  on  either  s 
the  principal  aisle,  but  untenanted 
by  the  symbol  of  a  saint  in  sadf 


1854.] 


ybtes  from  my  Ehaptaei. 


Ill 


The  roof  is  formed  by  three  cloistered 
arches,  resting  upon  massive  pillars,  and 
a  dome,  of  perhaps  thirty  or  forty  feet  in 
diameter.  The  altar  still  preserves  its 
eUborate  workmanship,  but  the  rich  gild- 
ii^  is  seen  only  in  a  few  spots,  which  have 
eluded  the  corroding  touch  of  time.  Back 
of  the  main  building,  extends  a  long  wing, 
to  which  arched  porticoes  are  appended, 
which  an  old  negro,  sole  occupant,  and  not 
onworthy  successor  of  the  Jesuits,  repre- 
sents as  having  been  constructed  for,  and 
occupied  as,  a  convent  By  the  aid  of 
steps  cut  into  a  log,  extending  from  the 
ground  to  a  stone  stairway,  the  visitor  is 
enabled  to  ascend  to  the  tower.  He  there 
finds  two  cracked  bells,  bearing  date, 
"  Seville,  1782."  A  largo  stone  cross, 
which  originally  rose  over  the  entrance, 
has  been  broken  off,  and  its  fragments 
still  remain  on  the  roof.  Here,  too,  may 
be  best  seen  how  the  old  pile  is  crumbling 
into  ruins,  from  the  devastations  which 
time  and  neglect  have  already  wrought. 
There  is  a  broad  fissure  in  one  of  the 
arches,  which  must  be  constantly  widen- 
ing, and  unless  speedily  arrested,  will  not 
k>ng  hence  bring  the  old  edifice  to  the 
ground.  Peach-trees  are  springing  from 
the  roof^  and  round  the  highest  point  of 
the  turret,  the  nopal^  or  prickly  pear,  is 
winding  its  branches,  and  yielding  a  most 
abundant  growth  of  fruit. 

In  any  other  part  of  the  United  States, 
s  building,  so  venerable  and  classical  in 
appearance,  rising  as  it  were  from  the 
midst  of  a  vast  solitude,  yet  in  the  vicinity 
of  hundreds  starving  for  the  bread  of  life, 
would  become  an  object  of  wide-spreaa 
interest,  and  might  perhaps  induce  some 
liberal  man  of  wealth  to  interpose  the 
^  almighty  dollar,"  to  arrest,  if  possible, 
its  downward  progress,  and  convert  it  not 
only  in  name  but  in  reality  to  the  uses  of 
a  pure  Christianity.  But  here  it  is  only 
a  haunt  for  the  half-starved,  semi-civi- 
lixed,  mongrel  and  dissolute  descendants 
of  the  Spaniards  and  Aztecs,  whose 
stagnant  energies  would  permit  the  golden 
finit  of  Hesperides,  to  remain  unplucked 
for  ever. 

We  were  soon  initiated  into  another 
phase  of  military  life,  that  of  a  court 
martial,  which  was  ordered  from  the 
Arkansas  cavalry,  on  two  Illinois  officers. 
Colonel  Yell  was  president,  and  Lieut 
Kingsbury  of  the  army,  judge  advocate 
of  the  court  The  most  striking  member 
of  the  body  was  Captain  Albert  Pike,  a 
man  of  original  genius  and  varied  powers, 
already  distinguished  as  a  poet  and  a  law- 
yer, and  only  waiting  for  the  opportunity, 
to  weave  with  his  civic  wreath,  tiie  laurels 


of  the  soldier.  He  is  tall,  broad  chested, 
and  well  developed,  with  a  most  exuberant 
growth  of  dark  hair  about  his  face,  and  in 
his  military  costume,  certainly  looks  more 
like  a  corsair  than  a  poet  The  power  of 
genius,  however,  is  unmistakably  en- 
throned upon  his  brow,  and  its  fire  flashes 
from  his  eye. 

The  Alamo  is  by  far  the  most  interest- 
ing object  in  the  vicinity  of  San  Antonio, 
though  rapidly  losing  the  romance  con- 
nected with  its  historical  recollections. 
It  is  now  a  shapeless  mass  of  ruins. 
The  walls  on  the  north-eastern  side  are 
level  with  the  ground,  and  there  aro 
broad  openings  on  the  other  fronts,  which 
preserve  only  detached  portions  of  their 
original  dimensions.  The  entrance  to  the 
chapel,  the  remains  of  which  are  at  the 
northern  angle  of  the  work,  still  shows  the 
elaborately  cut  stone  which  formed  the 
facade,  and  indicates  no  ordinary  degree 
of  taste  and  skill.  The  doorway  is  arch- 
ed, supported  by  two  lofty  columns.  The 
Mexicans  have  a  tradition  that  the  ce- 
ment of  the  walls  was  mixed  with  goats' 
milk,  by  which  some  peculiar  sanctity, 
if  not  strength,  was  given  to  the  struc- 
ture ;  but  how  much  or  how  little  of  tho 
tale  is  true,  cannot  now  be  determined. 
Extending  from  the  western  side  of  the 
chapel  is  a  wing,  similar  to  that  at  the 
old  mission,  used  as  a  convent,  according 
to  some,  and  by  others,  supposed  to  have 
been  a  barrack  for  soldiers.  Gibbon 
observes  in  substance,  that  the  barbarian 
now  stables  his  steed  in  the  palaces  of  tho 
Cesars  ;  and  within  this  consecrated  inclo- 
sure,  the  hammer  of  the  quarter-master 
now  rings  upon  the  anvil,  and  the  sacred 
retreats  of  the  Mexican  vestals  (?)  are 
decorated  by  the  rude  presence  of  the 
grim  followers  of  Vulcan.  Sic  transit, 
&c. 

Of  the  ditch  which,  it  is  affirmed, 
originally  surrounded  the  work,  all  signs 
have  so  completely  disappeared,  that  one 
may  be  pardoned  for  doubting  whether  it 
ever  had  an  existence.  There  is  a  rank 
growth  of  weeds  within  the  outline  of  the 
walls,  and  a  few  Mexican  hovels  on  one 
side,  which  seem  to  have  been  erected 
from  its  fallen  materials.  Every  thing 
around  it  Is  stamped  with  gloom  and 
desolation.  The  solemn  chant,  the  lofty 
swell  of  the  organ,  the  prayer  which  daily 
rose  to  heaven,  have  vanished  for  ever  from 
the  church ;  the  glitter  of  the  soldier,  or  tho 
veiled  faces  of  the  nuns,  will  be  seen  no 
more ;  and  the  fire  of  musketry  and  the 
roar  of  artillery,  are  hushed,  until  a 
mightier  power  than  man  shall  causo 
these  dry  bones  again  to  revive,  and  re- 


178 


Notes  from  my  Knapmck. 


[Pel 


people  the  habitations  which  are  now 
desolate.  Time  and  the  elements  will 
soon  complete  what  the  Mexican  army 
commenced,  and  this  spot,  which  is  worthy 
to  be  reverenced  as  a  second  Thermopylro, 
will  present  but  a  shattered  and  crum- 
bling monument  to  the  immortal  memory 
of  its  defenders. 

On  the  23d  day  of  February,  1836  ♦ 
General  Santa  Anna  entered  San  Antonio 
de  Bexar,  and  took  possession  of  the  town 
without  nring  a  gun.  The  small  garrison 
of  one  hundred  and  thirty  men,  under 
the  command  of  William  Barret  Travis, 
retired  as  he  advanced  to  the  Alamo,  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  determined 
there  to  offer  such  resistance  to  the  pro- 
gress of  the  tyrant,  as  their  energies  and 
resources  should  permit  by  a  direct  appeal 
to  the  God  of  battles.  Flushed  with  the 
conquest,  so  easily  effected,  of  the  town, 
the  Mexican  Commander  prepared  for  an 
immediate  attack  upon  the  Alamo.  He 
ordered  breastworks  to  be  thrown  up  on 
every  oommandmg  point,  and  artillery  to 
be  planted,  wherever  it  could  be  made 
most  effective.  One  battery  was  com- 
pleted on  the  right  bank  of  the  river,  by 
the  25th,  and  without  waiting  for  others, 
the  siege  was  at  once  commenced. 

It  Ls  a  dark  and  gloomy  morning, 
devoted  to  a  dark  and  unholy  purpose. 
Exulting  in  the  work  of  death  upon  which 
ho  is  entering,  Santa  Anna  crosses  the 
river  in  person,  and  establishes  his  head- 
quarters in  a  small  stone  building — ^yet 
standing — from  which  he  may  the  more 
accurately  perceive  the  progress  of  his 
designs,  without  exposing  himself  to  his 
enemies.  The  signal  is  given,  and  ere  the 
sun  has  risen  upon  those  hostile  hosts, 
the  roar  of  the  Mexican  battery  awakens 
the  echoes  far  and  wide,  and  rouses  from 
their  slumbers  the  yet  unconscious  inhab- 
itants. But  the  defenders  of  the  Alamo 
have  not,  for  a  single  moment,  lost  sight 
of  the  movements  of  their  wily  and  im- 
placable foes — they  watch  the  studied 
direction  of  every  gun;  they  see  the 
match  lighted,  they  listen  breathless,  as 
if  even  at  that  distance,  they  could  hear 
the  command  to  fire ;  and  when  the  walls 
of  the  citadel  tremble  under  the  shock  of 
the  iron  hail,  and  the  fragments  of  the 
parapet  are  whirled  aloft  by  the  sudden 
impulse;  they  send  back  a  shout  of 
defiance,  mingled  with  a  discharge  from 
their  own  guns,  as  distinctive,  if  not  as 
deafening,  as  the  thunder  of  their  assail- 
ants. Before  the  smoke  rolls  away,  and 
the  reverberations  are  lost  in  the  distance ; 


while  the  shouts  of  the  besiegec 
linger  in  the  ears  of  the  besi^er 
cannonade  is  renewed,  and  for  seven! 
without  pause  or  relaxation,  fieroel 
tinned  upon  the  walls  of  the  i 
But  these  walls  yield  no  more  tin 
spirits  of  their  aefenders.  The  i 
steadily  returned ;  and  though  stoo 
shivered  around  them,  there  are 
hearts  and  vrilling  hands  ready  to 
every  breach,  and  to  restore  from  1 
terior  whatever  may  have  been  dee! 
from  without.  Earth  is  throws 
every  crack  or  fissure  is  closed  as  f 
created,  by  the  eager  efibrts  of  thos 
will  permit  no  evidence  of  success  tc 
the  hopes  of  their  enemies.  The  si 
almost  sunk  behind  the  western  ] 
when  there  is  a  pause  in  the  wc 
demolition.  The  firing  of  the  bee 
ceases  for  the  day,  with  the  Mexican 
for  blood  unsatiated:  not  a  single 
has  been  shed  within  the  Alamo, 
of  Santa  Anna's  own  men  have  I 
dust,  before  the  artillerists  and  ril 
of  the  fort ;  but  thus  far  they  ai 
avenged.  Darkness  falls  upon  be 
and  besieged.  The  former  raisi 
intrenchments  to  prosecute  the  as 
the  latter  establish  a  close  watch  fi 
night,  and  endeavor  to  seek  that  ; 
which  shall  renew  their  vigor  for  tt 
test  which  they  know  will  come  t( 
row. 

The  morning  of  the  2Cth  dawn 
reveals  to  the  occupants  of  the  fo 
effect  of  the  midnight  labors  of  thei 
mies,  in  the  establishment  of  two 
tional  batteries  within  the  Alame 
the  Alamo.  The  bayonets  of  the  in 
which  have  crossed  the  river  durh 
night,  glitter  in  the  morning  beam 
the  plumes  of  the  cavalry  are  seen  v 
on  the  eastern  hills,  to  intercept  tl 
pected  aid  fix>m  that  quarter.  Th) 
test  is  renewed  by  a  slight  skirmii 
tween  a  small  party  of  Texans,  f 
quest  of  wood  and  water,  and  a  M 
detachment  under  General  Sesma 
this  is  a  mere  overture  to  the  gran 
formance  of  the  day.  The  thund 
the  heavy  ordnance,  under  the  dii 
of  Colonel  Ampudia.  are  soon  rouse 
action ;  volley  after  volley  is  poure 
the  fort,  and  answered  only,  exa 
rare  intervals,  by  the  shouts  of 
within.  There  is  no  pause — no  ces 
Still  the  cannonade  goes  on ;  she 
hissing  through  the  air,  and  balU 
themselves  within  the  ramparts;  bn 
again  comes  on,  and  the  I^Iexican  G 


*  The  details  of  the  following  sketch,  iro  dorived  ftom  Almonte's  Joonia],  and  from  Hving  Tezn 


18d4.] 


Ncite$  frfim  my  Knapiack* 


no 


in  Tftin  looks  for  eridenoe  of  suooesB. 
Bftffled,  Imt  not  discouraged,  he  adTances 
his  line  of  intrenchmenti,  and  prepares, 
with  the  morning  light,  to  resume  his 
bloody  task.  The  north  wind  sweeps 
over  the  prairies,  as  it  only  sweeps  in  Texas, 
a  stormy  lullaby  to  the  stormy  passions 
of  those  contencUng  hosts.  The  darkness 
is  broken  only  by  the  feeble  blaze  of  a 
few  huts, — fired  by  the  Texans, — which 
had  furnished  a  cover  to  the  enemy. 
The  flames  curl  upwards  with  a  sickly 
elare,  and  their  fitful  flashes  throw  a 
mrid  light  for  a  moment  upon  the  slum- 
bering army,  and  expire.  The  reign  of 
darkness  and  of  silence  is  restored. 

The  next  day  the  Mexicans  appear  in- 
actaye,  though  engaged  in  the  construction 
of  additional  batteries.  There  is  but  little 
firing  on  either  side.  Travis  and  his  men, 
with  spirits  unsubdued,  and  with  energies 
weakened,  but  not  exhausted,  are  apply- 
ing their  contracted  resources  to  the  pur- 
poses of  defence.  No  heart  falters;  no 
poise  throbs  with  dimmished  power ;  no 
hand  shrinks  from  the  labor  that  neces- 
sity imposes.  All  is  confidence  and  de- 
temunation ;  and  in  every  breast  there  is 
firm  reliance  springing  from  the  holiness 
of  the  cause  and  the  certamty  of  its  final 
triumph. 

Sunday  follows ;  but  brings  no  rest  to 
those  whom  God  has  created  in  His  own 
image,  and  who  in  violation  of  Ilis  com- 
mands, are  thus  yielding  to  their  erring 
and  unhallowed  passions.  Perhaps  with- 
in the  chi^xil  of  the  Alamo,  consecrated 
to  the  worehip  of  the  Almighty,  and  dis- 
tin&;uishcd  by  the  emblem  of  suffering 
and  of  salvation,  which  surmounts  the 
dome,  heads  may  be  bowed  in  prayer  to 
the  God  of  battles  for  deliverance  from 
their  sanguinary  foe :  but  that  foe  takes 
DO  heed  of  Sabbaths.  Exclusive  follow- 
ers, as  they  proclaim  themselves,  of  the 
true  church,  they  doom  to  destruction 
the  very  temple  they  have  erected  for  its 
worship ;  and  kissing  the  cross  suspended 
from  their  necks,  and  planted  before  every 
camp,  they  point  their  guns  upon  the  very 
symbol  for  which  they  profess  such  un- 
bounded reverence.  The  fire  of  the  Mex- 
ican artillery  keeps  company  with  the 
minutes  as  they  roll  on.  Morning,  mid- 
day, and  evening  are  passed,  yet  there  is 
DO  Altering  among  those  who  are  defend- 
ing the  Thermopyla3  of  Texas  hberty. 
Another  sun  rises  and  sets,  and  yet 
another ;  still  the  indomitable  hearts  of 
Travis  and  his  companions  quail  not  be- 
fore the  untiring  efforts  of  their  enemy. 
In  spite  of  that  enemy's  vindictive  vigi- 
lance, the  little  garrison  receives  from 


Gonzales  a  reinforcement  of  thirty-three 
men;  additional  victims  for  the  funeral 
pyre,  soon  to  be  kindled  by  Santa  Anna, 
on  the  surrounding  hills,  as  a  human 
hecatomb  to  Mexican  vengeance. 

Now  batteries  are  erected  by  the  be- 
siegers ;  from  eveiy  point  around,  the 
missiles  of  dcstrucfion  concentrate  upon 
the  Alamo.  The  circles  grow  smaller  and 
smaller.  The  final  hour  must  soon 
come.  Provisions  are  not  yet  exhausted, 
but  the  ammunition  cannot  last  many 
days  longer.  Water  has  long  been  sup- 
plied solely  by  the  daring  efforts  of  a 
Mexican  woman,  who,  through  showers 
of  grape  and  musketry,  has  threaded  the 
way  to  and  fro  between  the  river  and  the 
citadel,  while  her  own  blood  has  marked 
the  path.  She  bears  within  her  the 
stem  and  lofty  spirit  of  her  illustrious 
ancestor,  stretched  upon  the  racks  of 
Cortez,  and  it  is  not  the  fear  of  torture 
or  of  death,  that  can  swerve  her  firom  her 
purpose. 

The  siege  has  continued  for  ten  days. 
The  Mexican  General  has  received  large 
reinforcements,  and  his  army  now  num- 
bers thousands.  Ho  has  been  unceasing 
in  his  efforts  to  batter  down  the  walls, 
but  has  thus  far  failed.  The  triumph  is 
with  Travis;  but  it  is  written  in  the 
heart  of  his  ruthless  foe  that  he  must  die, 
and  when  the  cannonade  is  suspended  on 
the  Gth  of  March,  a  small  broach  has  been 
effected,  and  Santa  Anna  has  determin- 
ed, without  a  summons  to  surrender,  that 
the  hour  for  the  assault  has  arrived.  Dur- 
ing ten  days  a  blood-red  flag  has  been 
streaming  from  the  spire  of  the  church  in 
San  jVntonio,  proclaiming  that  no  quarter 
is  to  be  given  to  the  champions  of  the 
Alamo — that  blood  alone  will  appease  the 
fury  of  Mexican  malice.  When  the  sun 
again  goes  down,  the  flag  is  no  longer  seen, 
for  the  deed  of  which  it  was  the  sign  has 
been  accomplished. 

It  is  midnight.  Stars  are  smiling  in 
the  firmament,  and  the  repose  of  paradise 
seems  hovering  over  the  armed  hosts,  and 
hills,  and  plains  which  encircle  the  Alamo. 
The  calm  is  so  deep  and  solemn,  that  the 
angel  of  death  seems  to  pause  before  the 
strife  and  carnage  which  are  to  follow.  A 
low  mui-mur  rises  upon  the  air,  which 
gradually  becomes  more  and  more  distinct 
Lights  are  glancing  mysteriously  in  the 
distance^and  indicate  some  unusual  move- 
ment. The  besieging  army  is  in  motion. 
There  is  no  advance  by  columns:  the 
force  of  the  Mexicans  is  so  great  that  the 
fort  may  be  completely  surrounded,  leav- 
ing intervals  only  for  the  fire  of  artillery. 
The  place  is  girdled  by  a  deep  line  of  in- 


180 


Noiea  from  my 


[Feb 


fantry,  and  those  are  hemmed  in  and 
encompassed  by  another  of  cavalry.  If 
the  first  falter  or  shrink,  they  must  be 
thrust  forward  to  the  assault  by  the 
sabres  and  lances  of  their  comrades. 
Suddenly  the  batteries  are  in  a  blaze,  and 
from  their  concentric  positions,  pour  forth 
radii  of  fire  from  the  curcle  of  Santa  Anna's 
ven|;eancc,  verging  to  a  single  centre. 
Amid  the  thunders  thus  created,  their 
own  shouts  hardly  less  terrible,  and  the 
martial  blasts  of  a  hundred  bugles,  the 
Mexicans  advance  to  the  Alamo.  A  sheet 
of  flame,  from  rifles  that  never  foiled,  is 
the  answer  to  the  charge.  The  infentry 
recoil,  and  fall  back  upon  the  cavalry; 
their  ranks  broken  and  disordered  by  the 
deadly  fire  of  the  besieged.  The  shouts 
from  the  fort  are  mingled  with  the  groans 
of  the  wounded  and  dying  on  the  plain, 
while  the  officers  arc  endeavoring  to  reform 
their  scattered  masses.  They  return  to 
the  attack,  but  the  leaden  shower  which 
they  again  encounter,  fells  them  to  the 
earth  by  platoons.  Travis  shows  himself 
on  the  walls,  cheering  his  undaunted  fol- 
lowers. Around  him  are  Crockett,  Evans, 
and  Borham,  roused  to  a  last  struggle,  for 
they  know  their  doom  is  sealed.  In  quick 
succession  rifle  after  rifle  is  discharged, 
sending  hundreds  to  their  long  account 
The  Mexicans  are  again  repulsed;  they 
fall  back,  dismayed  and  disheartened  by 
the  dead  and  dying  around  them.  The 
battalion  of  Toluca — the  flower  of  Santa 
Anna's  army — is  reduced  from  four  hun- 
dred to  twenty-three.  Men  have  become 
for  a  moment  regardless  of  their  officers, 
and  are  almost  delirious  from  the  cries  of 
anguish  of  their  fallen  and  expiring  com- 
radesy  yielding  to  influences  which  no  dis- 
cipline can  restrain,  and  no  efibrts  repress. 
But  the  breach  now  appears  practicable ; 
the  disjointed  forces,  by  the  aid  of  threats 
and  entreaties,  are  rallied,  and  once  more 
return  to  the  assault.  The  fire  from  the 
Alamo  has  for  some  time  been  growing 
slower  and  slower.  Rifles  have  dropped 
from  many  a  vigorous  hand,  now  cold  in 
death,  while  others  cling  to  their  weapons 
even  in  the  agonies  of  dissolution.  Am- 
munition, too,  has  been  failing;  one  by 
one  the  muzzles  drop ;  and  ere  the  last 
rifle  is  loaded  and  discharged,  the  Mexi- 
cans have  gained  the  wall.  Fearfully 
conspicuous  in  that  awful  moment,  Travis 
receives  a  shot,  staggers  and  falls.  He 
dies  not  unavenged.  A  Mexican  officer 
rushes  upon  him,  and  is  about  to  plunge 
his  sabre  into  the  bosom  of  the  fallen  man ; 
when  gathering  his  remaining  energies  for 
a  desperate  eflbrt,  he  bathes  the  sword  to 


which  he  still  clings,  in  the  blood  < 
enemy,  and  they  die  together. 

In  the  mean  time,  Uie  conflict  hi 
come  hand  to  hand,  and  has  been  i 
hot  and  thick.  The  Mexicans  have  p 
into  the  citadel  like  famished  wolvei 
ous  for  their  prey.  Each  man  Btn 
with  his  adversary,  with  the  ener 
despair,  dealing  the  death  stroke 
rifles,  sabres,  or  whatever  mi&sileB  m 
within  reach.  The  Texans  are  a 
buried  beneath  the  numbers  of  the 
ponents.  The  carnage  has  been  sc 
nble  that  the  slain  are  piled  up  in  1 
Death  stares  each  survivor  in  the 
yet  still  he  struggles  on.  Crocket 
been  conspicuous  in  the  mel§e,  whi 
the  blows  fell  hottest  and  fastest  £ 
force  his  way  over  piles  of  the  dead  1 
of  his  enemies,  and  has  reached  the 
of  the  chapel.  Here  he  determii 
make  his  last  stand.  At  one  glau 
his  eye,  he  sees  that  the  fate  of  the  1 
rests  upon  himself  alone,  and  that 
fate  nothing  can  avert.  Travis  has  i 
Evans  is  no  more ;  Bowie  expires 
a  bed  of  sickness,  pierced  to  th^  hei 
a  Mexican  bayonet ;  Borham  falls  di 
before  him,  and  he  finds  himself  the 
living  warrior  of  the  one  hundro 
sixty-three  who  had  been  his  compe 
Perhaps,  at  that  moment,  the  life- 
creeps  to  his  heart  by  a  natural  im] 
but  it  is  only  for  a  moment.  The  de: 
tion  of  his  position  sends  it  back  wil 
force  of  an  avalanche.  His  foes  gla 
him  with  the  fierceness  of  demom 
assault  him  with  blows  from  mu 
lances,  and  sabres.  The  strength 
hundred  men  seems  concentrate  i 
single  arm,  as  he  deals  out  death  i 
pitiless  and  unsparing  assailants, 
bodies  have  grown  into  a  rampart  1 
him.  Blackened  with  fire  and  srook 
smeared  with  blood,  and  roused 
frenzy,  he  stands  like  some  fable* 
of  antiquity,  laughing  to  scorn  the  n 
and  the  power,  and  the  fury  of  his  eiK 
New  fire  flashes  from  his  eye,  and 
vigor  nerves  his  arm.  On  his  assa 
rush,  but  it  is  upon  death,  certain  an 
mediate.  They  fall,  but  their  plao 
still  supplied;  and  so  quickly,  the 
seem  to  rise  up  before  him,  like  i 
men  from  the  teeth  of  Cadmus.  At  1 
a  ball  from  an  unseen  rifle  pierces  1 
the  forehead;  he  falls  backward  1 
earth,  in  the  streams  of  gore  which  i 
around  him.  No  groan  escapes  hii 
no  cry  of  agony  gratifies  the  impli 
rancor  of  his  enemies :  he  dies,- 
Alamo  has  fallen. 


(To  be  ocmtlniMd.) 


18ii4.] 


Austrian  Salt  Mines, 


181 


AUSTRIAN   SALT   MINES. 


HAVING  enjoyed  an  excellent  oppor- 
tunity for  exploring  the  curious 
mineral  treasure-house  near  Salzburg,  it 
is  natural  to  desire  that  others  should  be 
interested  in  the  same  scenes,  and  if  pos- 
sible drawn  into  a  region  which  Sir  Hum- 
phrey Davy  pronounced  unequalled  by 
Switzerland  itself  for  romantic  views,  sub- 
lime mountain-heights,  and  lakes  that 
Italy  might  envy.  Intelligent  travellers, 
who  have  tired  of  the  hackneyed  route  by 
railroad,  and  crossed  from  the  Danube  by 
way  of  Lintz  and  GonQnden  to  Salzburg, 
have  wanted  words  to  express  their  ad- 
miration of  scenery  continually  changing 
from  sublimity  to  loveliness — the  greenest 
and  best  tilled  fields,  the  most  picturesque 
httle  lakes,  the  marble  crests  of  snow-clad 
Alps,  the  frowning  gloom  of  vast  forests, 
uniting  the  beauty  of  various  lands  in  one. 
That  our  enjoyment  of  these  less-visited 
German  beauties  is  not  exaggerated,  may 
be  considered  proved  by  the  preference 
shown  among  the  cultivated  Viennese  to 
Tschl  upon  this  route,  the  regular  sum- 
mer resort,  not  only  of  nobles,  but  of 
sovereignty  itself.  At  the  time  at  which 
we  write,  the  salt-baths  are  filled,  or  the 
trout-streams  thronged,  or  the  summer 
theatre  crowded  by  the  nobles  of  Germany, 
and  princes  from  the  south  or  the  east, 
fiockmg  together  for  their  annual  holiday. 
Salzburg,  the  nearest  city  to  the  princi- 
pal salt-mines,  is  really  unequalled  for 
beauty  of  position  by  any  inland  town  in 
the  world.  A  romantic  castle,  once  be- 
longing to  the  archbishops,  and  built  eight 
hundred  years  ago,  towers  over  the  city — 
in  one  of  the  dungeons  of  which  an  arch- 
bishop suffered  a  long  confinement  for 
having  tidcen  to  himself  a  wife :  in  other 
apartments  many  of  the  instruments  of 
torture  remain  by  which  Protestants  were 
worried  out  of  life  not  very  long  ago.  A 
better  memorial  of  their  pious  lordships  is 
a  tunnel  cut  through  the  native  rock  more 
than  four  hundred  feet  long,  bearing  the 
bust  of  its  builder,  Archbishop  SigsmuncL 
with  the  inscription,  "  The  rocks  tell  ot 
thee ! "  I  was  still  more  interested  by  an 
ordinary,  comfortable-looking  house,  the 
birthplace  of  Mozart,  whose  bronze  statue 
by  Schwanthaler,  struck  me  as  one  of 
the  noblest  in  £uropc.  Nor  is  this  the" 
only  master  of  song  whose  memorials 
Salzburg  rejoices  to  treasure:  a  mean- 
looking  tomb  was  shown  in  one  of  the 
city  churches  as  that  of  the  great  Uaydn, 
bat  I  suspect  it  is  some  other  personage 
of  his  name,  as  the  composer  of  "The 


Creation''  died  at  Vienna,  and  would 
hardly  have  remained  to  this  time  with 
so  poor  a  monument 

All  the  walks  and  gardens  of  the  town 
are  arranged  so  as  to  display  the  magni- 
ficence of  surrounding  nature,  showing 
how  busy  the  hand  of  taste  has  been; 
while  ruder  art  has  carved  half  a  street 
of  dwellings  out  of  the  lime  rock,  erected 
two  imposing  castles  and  a  famous  old 
riding-school  of  solid  stone. 

Nor  is  it  a  mere  fancy,  that  even  the 
humblest  citizens  through  this  section  of 
country  are  remarkable  for  kindness  and 
courtesy :  they  have  not  been  "  ridden  to 
death"  by  cockney  travellers — ^have  not 
come,  like  the  Parisian,  to  depend  upon 
the  stranger  for  their  principal  support — 
are  not,  like  the  Oriental  peasant,  driven 
to  beggary  in  order  to  meet  the  extortions 
of  an  insatiable  despotism.  Much  as  the 
republican  has  cause  to  detest  Austria, 
she  does  not  seem  so  hateful  at  home :  the 
people  are  remarkably  light-hearted  and 
joyous ;  upon  the  surface  you  detect  none 
of  that  detestation  of  oppression,  that  sense 
of  degradation  under  a  grinding  yoke,  felt 
by  so  many  in  their  secret  hearts.  More 
pleasure-gardens,  more  crowded  dances, 
more  love  of  innocent  relaxation,  more 
earnestness  of  devotion,  more  through- 
going  honesty  are  hardly  to  be  found  any 
where, — in  proportion  of  course  to  the 
population, — than  through  the  district 
bearing  tne  inodorous  name  Salzkam- 
mergut. 

But,  we  must  hasten  to  Ilallein,  the 
salt- village,  over  which  towers  the. salt 
mountain  Dumbcrg,  which  we  have  first 
to  walk  up  on  the  outside,  and  then  de- 
scend through  its  hollow  heart.  Fortu- 
nately again  for  a  lonely  traveller,  the 
church  had  availed  herself  of  the  constant 
necessity  of  ascending  this  lofty  hill,  and 
erected  what  she  calls  "  a  Calvary  "  along 
the  way,  and,  being  at  the  right  season 
when  the  Catholic  heart  of  Germany 
pours  itself  out  with  a  peculiar  and  re- 
freshing enthusiasm,  fair  village-maidens, 
and  sometimes  tottering  village  sires  were 
my  companions  up  the  steep  road ;  and, 
every  little  while,  a  rude  shrine  stood  at 
my  side,  with  a  crucifixion  rudely  carved, 
and  some  scene  from  the  "  Last  Suffering" 
painted  beneath.  And  here,  this  unso- 
phisticated devotion  gave  free  vent  to  itself 
m  groans,  and  prayers,  and  sighs,  and 
tears,  then  passed  on  refreshed  and  light- 
ened to  the  next  lowly  altar,  where  an- 
other  picture  carried  the  Saviour  still 


182 


Austrian  Salt  Mines, 


[Feb 


nearer  to  his  crucifixion-agony.  And 
so  I  had  company  enough,  and  of  those 
whOj  though  differing  from  me  entirely  in 
opinion,  I  could  have  fellowship  with  at 
the  heart — not  questioning  their  sincerity, 
and  rejoicing,  as  I  did,  at  the  joy  which 
their  religion  evidently  gave  their  child- 
souls,  ^d  so  the  four  miles  were  soon 
finished^  and  I  was  in  the  office,  asking 
permission  to  inspect  subterranean  worlM 
which  were  six  centuries  old ;  and  though 
I  was  en  solitaire,  and  my  visit  would 
require  just  as  many  attendants  and  nearly 
as  much  artificial  light  as  the  usual  quota 
of  twelve,  I  was  at  once  robed  in  a  miner's 
dress  of  white  duck,  my  right  hand  guarded 
by  a  thick  mitten,  and  my  head  protected 
by  a  well  wadded  cap  of  coarsest  frabric. 

The  first  process  was  to  walk  through 
a  long,  narrow,  dark,  cool  passage  way, 
gently  descending  for  three  thousand  feet, 
into  the  mountain's  heart.  As  the  work- 
men passed  me  on  their  way  to  dinner, 
we  had  to  make  the  best  of  our  poor  can- 
dle light  to  get  by  one  another  in  the  con- 
fined path,  and  each  said  "  laub,"  a  hasty 
contraction  for  the  (German  "with  your 
leave,  sir."  And  now  came  the  curiosity 
of  this  underground  journey.  The  gently 
sloping  path,  sustained  by  boards  and 
beams,  and  just  wide  and  high  enough  for 
one  beef-eating  Englishman  at  a  time, 
made  a  sudden  dip,  and  the  guide  threw 
himself  down  and  made  me  do  the  same ; 
slipped  his  right  leg  over  a  smooth  wooden 
rail,  and  grasped  with  his  right  hand  a 
cable  supported  on  rollers ;  and  thus  W3 
slid  down  as  fast  or  slow  as  we  pleased,  a 
depth  of  a  hundred  and  forty  feet  at  an  an- 
gle of  forty-one  degrees.  It  was  not  \CTy 
funny  to  see  your  only  dependence  in  hu- 
man shape  sinking  out  of  your  sight  into 
the  bowels  of  the  earth ;  but,  I  found  the 
exercise  delicious,  and  would  recommend 
it  to  all  good  people  who  have  mines  to 
exhibit  or  sunken  caves  to  explore,  as  cer- 
tam  to  bestow  upon  them  an  unprecedent- 
ed popularity. 

This  was  succeeded  by  another  gallery- 
walk,  then  a  second  descending  shaft — 
again  a  nearly  horizontal  footpaUi,  follow- 
ed by  a  third  "coast"  downwards — and 
so  on,  the  longest  walk  being  the  first  of 
about  three  thousand  feet,  and  the  greatest 
descent  at  one  time  falling  short  of  two 
hundred  feet.  In  no  part  was  the  air  un- 
pleasant ;  the  greater  coolness  was  com- 
pensated by  the  constant  exercise  and  the 
thick  miner's  dress.  Several  times  we 
came  upon  large  chambers,  which  showed 
with  no  brilliancy  as  our  poor  candles 
made  their  darkness  visible,  because  the 
saltspar  is  mixed  up  with  large  masses  of 


earth,  though  some  fine  crystals  are  i 
at  a  little  museum^  in  the  centre  < 
mountain.  After  this  succession  of  8 
passages  had  begun  to  be  monoton 
number  of  little  lip:ht8  began  to  spri 
all  around  me,  as  if  in  fairy  land ;  m 
^ide  to  a  fiat  boat,  which  an  in' 
Charon  set  in  motion  at  once  acroe 
lake  of  salt,  over  three  hundred  1 
length.  Here  was  the  secret  of  a 
A  chamber  is  excavated,  wooden 
are  led  to  it  and  from  it — the  first  of 
bring  the  fresh  water  fix>m  moi 
springs  whk^h  gradually  impregnai 
self  with  strong  brine ;  then  after  a 
of  months  the  lower  pipes  are  opene 
the  manufactured  little  ocean  runs 
some  place  where  wood  is  plenty — 
I  had  already  seen  it  a  distance  of 
miles,  boiling  down  into  a  beautiful, 
white  article  for  commerce.  I  was 
little  perplexed  at  first,  and  I  find 
travellers  have  come  away  without 
taining  how  the  salt  was  procured,  1 
seeing  the  whole  process  going  on  al 
and  from  supposmg  that  this  pon 
made  b^  nature,  and  had  no  speca 
cem  with  the  government  manoB 
But  as  fast  as  this  lake  is  formed  a 
fresh  water  dissolving  the  salt  and 
rating  it  from  the  clay,  another  i 
pared  where  the  mineral  is  thought 
more  abundant ;  and,  only  the  woi 
earth  is  seen  in  process  of  removal  t 
carts,  while  the  precious  salt  carries 
out,  silently  and  away  from  obser 
in  hollowed  trunks  of  trees.  Th< 
care  is  to  prevent  the  earth  from  fal 
upon  the  workmen  and  crushing  th 
has  been  the  case  repeatedly;  h 
most  surprising  puzzle  to  an  unin 
observer  is,  why,  in  the  process 
months  or  a  year,  this  water  does  u 
off"  through  some  natural  outlet  1 
solving  the  salt  in  its  way.  These 
must  sometimes  lie  very  near  tO| 
and  directly  above  one  another :  I 
as  their  roofs  are  entirely  flat,  freq 
destitute  of  ai*tificial  support,  anc 
rock  there  is  crumbles  to  the  too* 
might  expect  these  wide  sheets  of 
would  sometimes  break  through, 
dents,  however,  are  rare,  though 
are  sometimes  forty  excavations  in  i 
mountain. 

IIow  parties  of  pleasure  feel  in  c 
over  this  deathlike  lake  at  such  i 
real  pace,  with  not  a  sound  to  bn 
oppressive  stillness,  and  rarely  a 
crystal  reflecting  the  feeble  twinkle 
illumination  for  which  you  have 
cannot  say — but,  to  a  lone  voyag 
myself  it  was  one  of  the  most  solei 


1854.] 


Annexation, 


188 


ments  of  life — darimess  seemed  to  rest 
like  a  tombstone  upon  me — none  but 
fiMrfiil  images  filled  my  visions — the  re- 
pose of  my  bodj  added  to  the  gloom  of 
mj  mind — and  it  was  a  blessed  relief  when 
I  could  use  my  own  limbs  on  what  seemed 
lolid  earth  again. 

Still  other  slides  came,  one  at  an  angle 
of  fifty  degrees,  and  one,  the  longest  in  all 
the  works,  of  four  hundred  and  suctj-eight 
feet  This  brought  me  as  far  down  as  the 
ibnr  miles  of  winding  road  had  carried 
me  up;  but,  as  there  was  none  of  its 
sudden  changes  of  yiew,  no  wild  forest, 
meny  mountain-stream,  knot  of  cherry- 
fiioed  peasant-girls,  laughter  of  happy 
diildhood  to  "cheer  the  toil  and  cheer  the 
way,"  I  may  be  pardoned  for  wishing  my- 
self out 

But,  now  came  a  new  yehicle.  I  stood 
•lone  in  the  yery  heart  of  this  mountain 
of  limestone,  gypsum  and  marl,  when  two 
wild  boys  mounted  me  between  them 
upon  a  wooden  horse,  on  a  rude  enough 
wooden  railway,  and,  in  a  moment,  my 
steeds  began  to  show  their  mettle,  and  I 
was  run  through  a  passage  of  a  mile  tun- 
nelled in  the  solid  stone:  once  only  the 
ragged  colts  paused  to  take  breath,  and  to 
let  me  admire  the  light  from  the  mouth, 
which  seemed  nothing  else  than  a  bright 
blue  star.  Very  soon  genuine  daylight 
came  to  our  relief;  and,  but  slightly 
wearied,  I  bounded  from  the  cavern  mouth 
to  take  the  £ilwagcn  on  its  return  to 
Salibuig. 


I  learnt  little  more  of  the  salt-trade  in 
Austria.  It  is  a  government  affair,  and 
six  thousand  men  are  said  to  be  employed, 
some  in  preparing  the  rock  crystal  for  the 
market,  some  in  boiling  or  evaporating 
the  sea  water,  and  more  in  connection 
with  mines  like  the  Duniberg.  The  men 
did  not  seem  very  healthy,  and  one  part 
of  the  process  must  oflen  cause  the  sacri- 
fice of  life.  At  Ebensee  I  found  them 
boiling  down  the  water  brought  from 
Hallcin  in  thirty  miles  of  pipes,  and  I 
learnt  that  whenever  the  iron  vat  leaks,  a 
workman  is  obliged  to  wade  through  the 
boiling  liquid  to  the  injured  place  upon  a 
kind  of  stilts — if  his  feet  should  slip,  he 
would  certainly  boil  to  death,  and  if  not 
of  strong  lun^  he  is  likely  to  stifle — a 
horrible  &te  either  way.  For  more  than 
a  week  these  fires  are  continued  day  and 
night,  eating  sadly  into  the  forest,  the  salt 
being  removed  as  fast  as  it  is  crystallized, 
and  fresh  brine  poured  in.  Then  the 
fire  is  extinguished,  the  pan,  which  is  a 
foot  deep  and  sixty  round,  thoroughly  re- 
tinkered,  the  calcareous  crust  which  ad- 
heres to  the  bottom  and  sides  broken  of^ 
and  poor  plates  replaced  by  new. 

So  much  for  the  great  Salt  Mine  of 
central  Europe,  a  great  source  of  wealth 
to  its  Government,  and  a  main  de- 
pendence for  a  prime  necessary  of  life  of 
Southern  Germany,  and  the  countries  to 
the  eastward  upon  the  Mediterranean 
Sea. 


ANNEXATION. 


HOW  many  and  loud,  are  the  objurga- 
tiODS  which  that  pattern  father  of  a 
femily,  Mr.  Bull,  visits  upon  the  maraud- 
ing propensities  of  his  disinherited  son, 
Jonathan  ?  "  The  graceless  urchin,"  the 
old  gentleman  is  constantly  saying,  ^^  who 
Itts  already  grown  so  large  that  his  feet  stick 
out  hr  beyond  his  trowsers,  is  as  greedy 
as  <»ie  of  his  own  turkey-buzzards,  and  as 
ahirp  and  unconscionable  as  one  of  his 
own  peddlers.  He  has,  during  the  very 
dort  time  that  he  has  lived,  cheated  the 
poor  Indians  out  of  twenty  or  thirty 
States,  has  flogged  Mexico  into  the  relin- 
onishment  of  half  a  dozen  more,  is  bullying 
mm  tor  the  surrender  of  Cuba,  has  hood- 
wmked  Kamehameha  I.,  until  he  scarce- 
^  knows  whether  the  l^andwich  Islands 


are  his  own  or  not,  and  has  deliberately 
surveyed  Japan  with  a  view  to  some  fu- 
ture landing !  "Was  there  ever  a  more  im- 
principled,  insatiable,  rapacious,  gonnan- 
dizing  Filibuster  than  that  same  Jonathan, 
who  fancies  that  the  whole  world  was 
made  for  use,  and  his  use  too,  and  has  no 
more  scruple  about  la>nng  his  hands  upon 
any  part  of  it,  than  a  fox  has  in  satisfying 
his  hunger  in  a  hen-roost  I " 

Having  said  this,  Bull  rolls  up  his  eyes 
in  the  most  moral  manner,  heaves  a  lugu- 
brious sigh,  and  sits  down  to  read  the 
THmes^  which  contains  several  long  col- 
umns of  dispatches  from  India,  and  a  gen- 
eral account  of  the  troubles  in  the  colonies 
from  Australia  and  the  Cape,  to  the  most 
northern  iceberg  on  which  Capt  Macluro 


184 


Annexation. 


[FebmAiy 


has  recently  hoisted  the  "meteor-flag." 
He  is,  however,  considerably  consoled  by 
the  perusal,  and  especially  by  the  com- 
ments of  the  editor  on  the  inappeasablo 
ambition  of  republics,  and  their  eager  spirit 
of  self-aggrandizement.  These  encourage 
him  into  a  sound  appetite  for  his  rolls  and 
coffee,  after  which  he  smilingly  turns  to 
Punchj  whose  jokes  upon  Yankce-doodle- 
dom  arc  exceedingly  mirthful,  causing  John 
to  split  his  fat  sides  almost,  over  its  cun- 
ning exposures  of  American  hypocrisy, 
boastfulness,  negro-driving,  and  land- steal- 
ing. Meantime,  the  entertaining  volumes 
of  some  traveller  in  "  the  States  "  are  laid 
upon  his  table,  hot  from  the  ])rcsSj  and 
brilliant  with  the  keenest  sarcasms  pro- 
voked by  our  vulgarity,  which  the  face- 
tious Cockney  (who.  if  he  were  called  upon 
to  read  aloud  what  he  had  written,  could 
not  pronounce  his  own  mother  tongue), 
shows  up  in  a  variety  of  the  most  amus- 
ing lights. 

Well,  touching  a  great  deal  of  this, 
which  gives  John  a  good  laugh,  we  shall 
have  nothing  to  say ;  many  of  us  cnioy  it 
quite  as  much  as  he  can,  and  for  better 
reasons ;  but  on  the  subject  of  Annexation, 
or  the  imputed  zeal  of  republics  to  grasp 
all  they  can  get.  we  mean  to  put  in^ 
an  apology,  using  the  word  in  its  ancient 
sense  of  a  denial  and  a  justification.  We 
mean  to  prove,  firstly,  that  a  willingness 
on  the  part  of  nations  to  take  the  proj)crty 
of  their  neighbors  is  no  new  thing  under 
the  sun,  so  that  if  the  United  States  had 
been  guilty  of  it.  they  would  have  been 
acting  only  in  aline  of  decided  precedents. 
But  the  truth  is.  as  wo  shall  prove  .second- 
ly, that  we  have  not  been  guilty  of  it  at 
all,  in  any  injurious  sense,  while  our  en- 
tire national  action  and  diplomacy  have 
been  more  liberal,  just,  candid,  and  forlx'ar- 
ing  than  those  of  any  other  nation.  Yes ; 
vou  facetious  and  vituperative  Bulls !  ue 
have  been  the  first  among  nations  to  set 
the  examine  of  an  open,  generous,  equita- 
ble international  policy,  and  whatever  ad- 
vances modern  statesmen  may  have  made 
towards  the  substitution  of  highminded 
negotiation  for  overreaching  intrigue  and 
secret  diplomacy,  they  have  learned  from 
us  much  calumniated  republicans!  Of 
that,  however,  by  and  by. 

Many  of  the  foreign  tourists  and  e^litors, 
who  chatter  of  Ameri(ran  annexation,  real- 
ly seem  to  suppose  that  annexation  has 
never  before  been  heard  of  in  the  history 
of  the  world.  '•  Did  you  ever !"  they  ex- 
claim in  tones  of  otlended  virtue,  like  an  old 
lady,  who  has  just  bwn  told  some  precious 
piece  of  scandal,  forgetting  in  the  excess 
of  her  indignation  and  surprise,  the  small 


indiscretions  of  her  own  youth.  "  Did  yea 
ever  ?  These  republicans  most  be  actually 
insane  in  their  avidity  for  more  land! 
Not  satisfied — the  cormorants ! — with  the 
immense  slice  of  the  western  continent 
they  now  possess,  they  warn  us  Europeans 
off  the  rest  of  it.  and  are  ooosumed  with 
fiery  desires  for  the  islands  of  the  set. 
Like  the  republics  of  old — like  the  repub- 
lics of  Italy,  this  modem  republic  gives 
token  of  the  characteristic  weakness  of 
its  kind ;  it  must  live  by  conquest,  and, 
like  all  its  forerunners,  swell  until  it 
bursts." 

Oh !  Crapaud  and  Bull,  how  can  you 
utter  such  nonsense  ?  Annexation  is  no 
new  thing,  nor  is  it  peculiarly  repub- 
lican !  Eveiy  page  of  nistoiy  is  fuU  of 
it,  from  the  time  of  the  earliest  vagabond 
and  fugitive,  Cain,  who  built  a  city  in  the 
land  of  Nod,  which  was  not  his,  until  the 
latest  English  war  in  Bunnah !  It  is  the 
one  subject,  indeed,  the  burden  of  huDnan 
annals.  The  first  command  given  to 
Noah,  after  the  flood,  was  to  be  fruitful, 
and  multiply,  and  replenish  the  earth ;  or 
as  it  may  be  translated,  take  possession 
of  the  earth ;  and  ever  since,  that  divine 
injunction,  if  no  other,  has  been  faithfully 
and  incessantly  obeyed  by  his  descendants. 
Do  we  not  all  remember,  that  the  condi- 
tion of  the  magnificent  blessings  which  the 
Lord  promised  to  Abram,  was,  that  he 
should  begin  a  long  process  of  annexation, 
by  '*  setting  out  of  his  own  country,  and  his 
own  kmdrSi,  and  his  father's  house,"  and 
settling  in  another  land  ?  What  was  the 
Exodus  of  the  Children  of  Israel,  under 
Moses,  but  a  preparatory  step  to  the 
seizure  of  Canaan,  which  was  no  sooner 
taken,  than  it  was  divided  by  lot  among 
the  nine  and  a  half  tribes,  the  other  two 
and  a  ha>f  having  already  pocketed  their 
allowance  on  this  side  the  Jordan?  and 
what  the  whole  subsequent  career  of  the 
Hebrews  under  Joshua,  but  a  scries  of 
skirmishes  with  their  amiable  neifrhbors, 
the  Amorites,  the  Ilittites,  the  Hivites, 
the  Jebusites,  &c,  whose  country  they 
had  invaded,  annexing  ^'  all  the  land,  the 
hills,  the  south  country,  the  valley' and 
the  plain,  and  the  mountain  of  Israel  and 
the  valley  of  the  same;"  appropriating 
the  cattle,  despoiling  the  cities,  smiting 
the  kings,  and  utterly  routing  and  rooting 
out  the  people,  so  that,  as  we  are  told. 
"  not  any  one  was  left  to  breathe ! "  Nor 
was  this  wholesale  and  slaughterous  policy 
much  changed  under  the  Judges  and  tlie 
Kings,  in  spite  of  the  reverses  expcrienoed 
at  the  hands  of  the  Moabites,  the  Midian- 
ite.s,  and  the  Philistines ;  for.  scarcely  had 
they  recovered  their  power  under  Saul  and 


1854.] 


AnnexaUan, 


185 


DmTid,  before  they  strack  out  again  to  the 
light  and  loft,  burning  cities,  levying  bond- 
aervioe,  and  converting  every  body's  terri- 
tory to  their  own  use.  Jerusalem,  their 
great  dty,  fell  a  prey  at  last  to  the  same 
spirit,  manifested  by  their  Roman  neigh- 
bors ;  yet  in  the  heels  of  tliis  overwhelming 
disaster,  the  last  vaticination  of  the  apostle 
of  Patmos,  as  his  prophetic  eyes  swept  down 
the  nebulous  tracks  of  time,  was,  that  good 
Christians  every  where  should  not  only 
be  *^  priests  and  kings  unto  God."  but 
**  inherit  all  things." 

The  fact  is,  that  none  of  those  Orientals 
were  ever  over  particular  as  to  seizing  the 
territories  of  a  friend.  If  they  wanted 
what  he  possessed,  they  took  it,  and  gave 
him  a  drubbing  besides,  if  he  made  any 
outcry  about  the  process.  As  far  back  as 
we  can  penetrate  in  their  annals,  even  to 
those  remote  periods  when  the  twilight  of 
tradition  itself  merges  in  the  primeval 
darkness ;  we  find  that  their  kings  and 
leaders  were  capital  adepts  in  the  annex- 
ing business,  carrying  it  on  on  a  prodigious 
anle,  and  quite  re^utllcss  of  the  huge 
rivers  of  blood,  which  they  often  had  to 
wade  through,  in  the  accomplishment  of 
their  purposes.  Some  of  them,  indeed, 
have  left  no  other  name  behind  them,  for 
the  admiration  of  posterity,  than  that  ac- 
quired in  these  expeditions  of  butchery 
and  theft,  undertaken  with  the  laudable 
desien  of  stripping  a  neighbor  of  his  pos- 
sessions. We  know  little  of  Scsostris  and 
Semirainis;  but  that  little  is  enough  to 
justify  Edmund  Burke,  in  setting  over 
against  the  conquests  of  the  former,  about 
one  million  of  lives,  and  against  those  of 
the  latter  about  three  millions.  All  ex- 
pired, he  exclaims,  in  quarrels  in  which 
the  sufferers  had  not  the  least  rational 
ooDcem.  Old  Nebuchadnezzar,  too,  who 
flourished  in  Babylon,  according  to  the 
Bible,  what  a  thriving  fellow  ho  was,  in 
this  line !  The  little  state  of  Judea  was 
scarcely  a  flea-bite  for  him ;  and  though 
he  despoiled  £gypt,  and  demolished  Tyre, 
he  was  quite  uncomfortable  until  Phoenicia, 
Palestine,  Syria,  Media.  Persia,  and  the 
greater  part  of  India,  were  added  to  his 
already  considerable  farm.  But  what 
was  he,  after  all,  to  that  scries  of  magni- 
ficent Persian  mouarchs,  who  thought  no 
more  of  razing  hundred-gated  cities  to 
the  earth,  and  laying  hold  of  vast  empires, 
than  Barnum's  lazy  anaconda  docs  of 
bolting  a  rabbit?  There  was  Cyrus,  a 
most  prosperous  gentleman,  as  the  good 
Xenopbon  relates,  who  overran  pretty 
modi  the  whole  of  Asia,  and  his  promising 
no,  Cambyses,  who  took  Tyre,  Cyprus, 
lETpt^  Macedonia,  Thraoe,  S^  and  hia  son 

▼OL.  III. — 13 


again,  Xerxes,  "  a  chip  of  the  old  block," 
and  then  his  descendants  once  mora. 
Artaxerxes,  first,  second,  and  third, — all 
"  chips  of  the  old  block," — what  unscru- 
pulous ways  they  had  of  sacrificing  mil- 
lions upon  millions  of  people  in  their  little 
territorial  disputes?  It  was  well,  indeed, 
that  Alexander  of  Maccdon  put  a  stop  to 
these  ravages,  or  there  is  no  telling  to 
what  extent  they  might  have  carried 
their  sanguinary  sports, — perhaps  as  far 
as  Alexander  himself,  who  beginning  with 
a  small  strip  in  the  south  of  Europe,  an- 
nexed patch  after  patch,  until  he  became 
beyond  all  question  the  largest  landed  pro- 
prietor in  the  known  world.  A  bird  fly- 
ing for  several  days  together  in  a  straight 
line,  could  scarcely  have  passed  from  the 
western  to  the  eastern  boundaries  of  his 
dominions.  A  splendid  anncxationist| 
trulj',  was  the  great  Alexander ! 

He  was  not  a  whit  in  advance,  how- 
ever, of  a  famous  Tartar  captain,  who 
called  himself  Genghis  Khan,  and  who 
achieved  prodigies  of  brutality  and  crime. 
In  advance  of  him  ?  No !  For  the 
magnitude  of  his  rapacity,  for  the  rapidity 
of  his  slaughters,  and  for  the  exquisite 
refineincnt  of  cruelty  which  attended  his 
marches,  he  was  as  superior  to  Alex- 
ander as  the  wild  tiger  is  to  the  domestio 
cat.  Genghis,  we  all  remember,  ruled 
over  the  Alongols  of  Tartar}-,  and  signal- 
ized his  accession  to  power  by  putting 
seventy  chiefs  of  an  opposite  faction  into 
as  many  caldrons  of  lx)iling  water.  He 
next  seized  the  vast  dominions  of  Vangf- 
Khan,  or  Prester  John  of  Austria ;  aftSr 
which  he  reduced  the  kingdoms  of  Hya  in 
China,  Tangan.  Turkay,  Turkistan,  Kara- 
zin.  Bukaria,  Persia,  and  a  part  of  India ; 
killing  upwards  of  fourteen  millions  of 
people  in  the  process,  and  annexing  eight- 
een hundred  leagues  of  territory  east  and 
west,  and  about  a  thousand  leagues  north 
and  south ;  and  when  he  had  died,  one  of 
his  sons  sulxlued  India,  and  another,  after 
crossing  the  Wolga,  laid  waste  to  Russia, 
Poland,  Hungary,  and  Bohemia,  while  a 
third  enlarged  the  patrimonial  possessions 
by  Syria,  and  the  maritime  provinces  of 
the  Turkish  empire. 

There  was  one  of  the  ancient  nations, 
more  modest  than  the  rest  which  we  ought 
to  except  from  this  career  of  conquest  and 
spoliaJon ;  for  .aring  the  greater  part  of 
its  existence  it  was  content  with  its  own 
moderate  limits,  and  the  production  of 
Iliads,  Prometheus  Vinctuses,  Parthenons, 
and  Orations  de  Corona.  We  refer  to 
Greece,  which,  being  more  republican  than 
the  rest  of  the  world,  ought  to  have  been, 
according  to  the  modem  theory,  more 


186 


JnnexaHan* 


[Fel 


omnivoroui  than  the  rest  But  Greece 
was  poor-spirited  in  comparison.  She  had 
become  so  enamored  with  her  own  glori- 
ous skies  and  hills,  was  so  delighted  with 
her  own  fair  climate,  and  so  besotted  with 
a  certain  dreamy  notion  of  beauty  and 
self-perfection,  that,  like  a  woman  as  she 
was,  she  seldom  passed  beyond  her  own 
threshold.  Not  that  she  was  afraid  of 
fighting,  cither,  as  certain  places  named 
Thermopylse  and  Marathon  hear  witness ; 
but  that  she  was  quite  destitute  of  that 
grandeur  of  soul  which  led  Belus,  Sesos- 
tris,  and  the  other  illustrious  individuals 
to  whom  we  have  referred,  to  cut  their 
way  to  glory,  by  cutting  the  throats  of 
80  many  of  their  fellow  humans. 

We  shall  have  to  dismiss  republican 
Greece,  then,  as  rather  an  untoward  case, 
and  turn  to  imperial  Rome.  Ah!  how 
her  records  blaze  with  examples  of  a 
thorough  spirit  of  annexation !  Suckled 
by  a  wolf  in  the  beginning,  Rome  never 
lost  her  original  vulpine  nature,  but  to  the 
day  of  her  dissolution,  went  prowling  about 
the  world,  wherever  there  was  a  sheep- 
fold  to  break  into,  or  an  innocent  lamb  to 
be  eaten.  Look  into  the  index  of  any 
popular  history  of  her  triumphs,  and  mark 
now  it  is  composed  of  one  unbroken  series 
of  annexations !  Thus  it  reads :  b.  c.  283, 
the  Gauls  and  Etrurians  subdued;  b. c. 
278,  Sicily  conquered;  b.c.  266,  Rome 
mistress  of  all  Italy ;  b.  c.  264.  the  First 
Punic  War ;  b.  c.  231,  Sardinia  and  Corsica 
conquered;  b.c.  224,  the  Romans  first 
cross  the  Po;  b.c  223,  colonies  of  Plar 
tontia  and  Cremona  established ;  b.  c.  222, 
Insularia  (Milan)  and  Liguria  (Genoa) 
taken ;  b.  c.  283,  the  Second  Punic  War ; 
B.C.  212,  Syracuse  and  Sicily  conquered ; 
B.C.  210,  Scipio  takes  New  Carthage ;  b.  c. 
204^  Scipio  carries  the  war  into  Africa; 
B.C.  195,  war  made  upon  Spain ;  b.c  188, 
8yna  reduced  to  a  Roman  province ;  b.  c. 
168,  Macedon  becomes  a  Roman  province ; 
B.  c.  149,  Third  Punic  War,  and  conquest 
of  Corinth ;  b.  c.  146.  Greece  becomes  a 
Roman  province ;  b.  c.  135,  Spain  a  Roman 
province;  b.c.  133,  Pergamus  a  Roman 
province;  b.c  118,  Dalmatia  a  Roman 
province;  b.c.  105,  Numidia  becomes  a 
Roman  province;  b.c.  99,  Lusitania  be- 
comes a  Roman  province ;  b.  c  80,  Julius 
Caesar's  first  campaign, — and  after  that 
the  reduction  of  the  world,  from  the  hot 
sands  of  the  desert  South  to  the  fogs  of 
Britain  in  the  North,  and  from  the  Eu- 
phrrtes  to  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  in  the  other 
direction.  The  ve7ii  vidi  vici,  in  short, 
was  not  an  individual  saying,  but  a  uni- 
Tersal  Roman  maxim. 

We  might  refer,  too,  now  that  we  are 


on  the  train  of  historical  looomot 
those  extraordinary  migrations  i 
German  races^  who  seem  to  have  I 
other  object  m  life,  than  to  overr 
territories  of  others^  and  who,  in  tl 
coming  on  like  whu*ling  sand-stor 
the  desert,  paid  Rome  in  her  owx 
or  to  those  exciting  episodes  of  the  ] 
Ages,  when  myriads  of  pious  and 
thirsty  Crusaders  flung  themselTe 
Asia,  with  an  entire  looseness,  to  i 
the  Holy  Land ;  or  to  the  impartial  i 
of  the  Spanish  and  Portugese  in  th* 
cursions  over  South  America;  or 
entertaining  annals  of  treachenr,  fri 
ing,  and  assassination  by  which  the 
great  and  royal  houses  of  Europe  b 
their  power. — such  as  the  house  of 
bon,  which  gradually  enlarged  its  r 
a  few  acres,  to  a  nght  coextensiv 
France — or  the  house  of  Hapsburg,  ] 
German  dukedom  at  the  start,  but 
mighty  empire  in  which  a  dozen  kii 
are  absorbed — or  to  the  house  of 
parte,  which  began  without  a  sous  t 
its  stars  with,  but  which  speedily  ei 
its  phylactaries,  and  got  itself  wi 
nearly  all  the  tbrones  of  the  Com 
or,  in  brief,  to  a  hundred  other  ini 
of  enormous  adventure  and  giganti 
andage.  But  the  truth  is,  that  thi 
of  thing  is  the  staple  and  uniform 
annals. 

Rabelais,  in  his  famous  outline  < 
quest,  which  the  gallant  statesmen  « 
ricole  presented  to  that  chivalric  m< 
though  he  has  caught  the  spirit 
national  Rob-Koyism,  combining  i 
largeness  of  view  with  the  easy  efTi 
of  the  swell-mob,  hardly  equals  vi 
history.  "You  will  divide  your  i 
said  the  Duke  of  Smalltra^,  Uy 
of  Swashbuckler,  and  Captain  Du 
who  were  Pichricole's  advisers,  "  in 
parts.  One  shall  fall  upon  Gram 
and  his  forces ;  and  the  other  shal 
towards  ^Onys,  Xaintoigne,  Angc 
and  Gascony.  Then  march  to  Pei 
Medos.  and  Elanes,  taking  wherev 
come,  without  resistance,  towns,  * 
and  forts;  afterwards  to  Bayon: 
John  de  Luz,  to  Fuentarabia,  whe 
shall  seize  upon  all  the  ships,  and, 
ing  along  Gallicia  and  Portuj^  st 
lage  all  the  maritime  places  e^ 
Lisbon,  where  you  shall  be  suppik 
all  necessaries  befitting  a  conquero 
Copsodie,  Spain  will  yield,  for  tl 
but  a  race  of  boobies !  Then  are 
pass  by  the  Straits  of  Gibraltar, 
you  shall  erect  two  pillars  more 
than  those  of  Hercules,  to  the  pe 
memory  of  your  goodness,  and  the : 


1854.] 


jtmntxtUioH, 


187 


entnnoe  there  shftll  be  called  the  Pichrioo- 
UnalSea.  Having  passed  the  Pichricolinal 
Sea^  behold  Barbarossa  yields  him  your 
slave !  And  ^ou  shall  conquer  the  King^ 
doms  of  Tunis,  of  Hippo,  Argia,  Bomine, 
Corone,  yea,  all  Barbary.  Furthermore, 
Tou  shall  take  into  your  hands  Majorca, 
Minorca,  Sardinia,  Corsica,  with  the  other 
islands  of  the  Ligustic  and  Balearian  seas. 
Going  along  on  the  left  hand,  you  shall 
rule  all  Gallia,  Narbonensis,  ProTcnce.  the 
Allobrogrians,  Genoa,  Florence,  Luccia; 
and  then— God  be  wi'  ye— Rome !  Italy 
being  thus  taken,  behold  Naples,  GalabriiL 
Apulia,  and  Sicily  all  ransacked,  ana 
Malta,  too !  From  thence  we  will  sail  east- 
ward, and  take  Candia,  Cyprus,  Rhodes, 
and  the  Cyclade  Islands,  and  set  upon  the 
Morea.  It  is  ours,  by  St.  Irenaeus !  and 
the  Lord  preserve  Jerusalem!"  With 
the  enumeration  of  Lesser  Asia  and  the  en- 
tire east  of  £urope,  the  imagination  of  the 
moaurch  was  excited,  and  he  shouted,  ^'  On, 
OD,  make  haste  my  lads,  and  let  him  that 
bves  me,  follow  me ! " 

No !  the  fertile  fimcy  of  Rabelais,  in  the 
wklest  circuit  of  its  fun,  does  not  equal 
the  serious  doings  of  some  even  of  our 
modem  nations.  "  A  century  ago,"  savs 
the  latest  Blackwood,  <<  Russia,  still  in  the 
infancy  of  civilization,  was  scarcely  counted 
m  the  great  European  family.  Gigantic, 
indeed,  have  been  the  forward  strides  she 
has  since  made,  in  power,  influence,  and 
territory.  On  every  side  she  has  extended 
herself;  Sweden,  Poland,  Turkey,  Persia, 
have  all  in  turn  been  despoiled  or  partially 
robbed  by  her.  North  and  south  she  has 
fleixed  upon  some  of  the  most  productive 
districts  of  Europe ;  the  Baltic  provinces 
on  the  one  hand,  Bessarabia  and  the 
Crimea  on  the  other." 

Be  it  observed,  however,  in  justice  to 
critic  and  criticized  alike,  that  Russia  is 
beshful,  self-denying,  almost  ascetic  in  her 
lost  of  annexation,  compared  with  another 
power,  which  we  shall  not  name,  lest  we 
should  shock  its  delicate  sensibilities.  But 
we  could  tell,  "  an  we  would,"  of  a  certain 
Utile  island  of  the  North  Atlantic,  in  itself 
scarcely  bigger  than  a  bed-spread,  yet 
iMMisting  of  an  empire  on  which  the  sun 
ntwer  sets.  It  has  annexed  to  its  slender 
ehalk-cli^  from  year  to  year,  one  country 
after  another,  undl  now  it  exclaims  in  the 
pride  and  plenitude  of  its  dominion, — 

**Qasi nfk) in  terris,  nostra non  plena  laboiis? " 

which,  in  its  own  vernacular,  means,  "  on 
what  part  of  the  earth  have  we  not  gained 
a  foothold  ?"  In  Europe,  there  are  Scot- 
had,  Ireland,  the  Orkneys,  Gibraltar, 
Mail%  Heligoland,  and  the  Ionian  Isles; 


in  America,  there  are  Upper  and  Lower 
Canada,  Nova  Scotia,  Cape  Breton,  New 
Brunswick,  Prince  Edward's  Island^  New- 
foundland, and  the  Bermudas;  m  the 
West  Indies,  there  are  Jamaica,  Barbadoes, 
St  Vincent,  Tobago,  Trinidad,  Antigua, 
Dominica,  the  Bahamas,  Guiana,  and  a 
dozen  more;  in  Africa,  there  are  Good 
Hope,  Mauritius,  Sierra  Leone,  Gambia, 
and  St.  Helena;  in  Australia,  there  are  New 
South  Wales,  Western  Australia,  Southern 
Australia,  and  Van  Dieman's  Land ;  and 
in  Asia,  there  are,  most  monstrous  of  all, 
Ceylon  and  India,  with  its  dependencies. 
Enough,  one  would  say,  in  all  conscienoe 
for  a  reasonable  ambition ;  but  it  is  not 
enough  for  the  people  of  that  little  island 
— that  model  of  ail  the  national  proprie- 
ties— which  omits  no  opportunity  now  for 
extending  its  possessions,  and  almost  with 
every  steamer  sends  us  word  of  new  a^ 
quisitions  in  the  East ! 

Alas !  wo  must  repeat  it,  annexation  is 
not  a  new  thing,  not  a  peculiarity  of  re- 
publicans, and  of  late  American  republi- 
cans, in  particular ;  not  in  any  sense  a 
novel  iniquity  over  which  we  are  just 
called  to  moralize!  It  is  a  practice  as 
old  as  our  race  and  as  broad  as  our 
race ;  known  to  every  people  and  every 
age;  and  as  invariable,  in  its  prompt- 
ings, if  not  its  effects,  as  a  natural  law. 
Wherever  there  have  been  weak  nationa 
to  pillage,  and  strong  nations  to  pillage 
them ;  wherever  there  have  been  men,  like 
those  splendid  robbers  of  antiquity,  will- 
ing to  otfer  hecatombs  of  lives  to  toeir  in- 
sane will  to  rule;  wherever  there  have 
been  chances  opened  to  military  genius,  to 
rapacious  selfishness,  to  the  love  of  a  row, 
to  the  hope  of  plunder,  to  the  appetite  for 
distinction  and  blood,  to  the  mere  vague 
restless  feeling  for  movement  and  change, 
— there  annexation  has  flourished,  in  one 
form  or  another,  and  the  relations  and 
destinies  of  empires  have  been  relaxed,  or 
enlarged,  or  revolutionized.  But,  God  in 
heaven !  what  a  phantasmagoria  of  wrong, 
outrage,  and  despotism  it  has  been !  What 
spoliations,  ravages,  wars,  subjugations, 
and  miseries  have  marked  its  course ! 
What  crimson  pictures  it  has  painted  on 
every  page  of  almost  every  history !  In- 
deed, when  we  look  at  it,  how  the  whole 
past  comes  rushing  down  upon  our  vision, 
like  a  vast,  multitudinous,  many-winged 
army ;  with  savage  yells,  with  wild  pier- 
cing whoops,  with  ringing  war-cries,  with 
sackbuts,  and  cymbals,  and  trumpets,  and 
gongs,  and  the  drowning  roar  of  cannon ; 
naked  heroes,  shaggy  sheep-skinned  war- 
riors, glittering  troops,  phalanxes  and 
serried  legtons,  colossal  cavalries;  now 


188 


Annexation, 


[Febraavj 


sweeping  like  frost-winds  across  the 
plains — now  hanging  like  tempests  on  the 
mountains — now  breaking  in  torrents 
through  rocky  defilos — and  now  roaring 
like  seas  around  the  walls  of  cities, — on- 
ward and  downward  they  come,  irresist- 
ible, stormy,  overwhelming :  the  mighty 
host,  the  stupendous  vanguard  of  never- 
ending  annexationists ! 

Note,  also,  that  it  is  not  in  conquest 
alone  that  this  spirit  of  aggrandizement 
has  been  exhibited ;  for  next  to  the  his- 
tory of  conquest,  the  most  terrible  book 
that  could  be  written,  would  be  a  narra- 
tive of  national  colonization,  or  of  the  peaco- 
fhl  attempts  of  nations  to  create  auxiliaries 
on  distant  shores.  It  would  be  a  second 
Book  of  Martyrs,  eclipsing  in  atrocities 
the  rubric  of  Fox.  It  would  show  us 
innumerable  homes,  in  all  lands,  made 
Ttcant  by  forced,  or,  quite  as  dreadful, 
voluntary  exiles  :  the  pathways  across 
the  lonely  seas,  lined,  like  the  accursed 
middle  passage  of  the  slave-trade,  with 
the  bones  of  victims  cast  down  to  watery 
deaths ;  the  inoffensive  natives  of  many  a 
continent  and  island  driven  mercilessly,  by 
intruders,  to  the  jungles,  or  the  swamps, 
or  to  the  solitary  fastnesses  of  the  moun- 
tains ;  weary  years  of  struggle  on  the  part 
of  the  intruders  themselves  against  dis- 
ease, against  poverty,  against  capricious 
and  persecuting  climates  and  intractable 
soils,  and  against  the  cruel  extortions  and 
oppressions  of  remote  administrations ; 
tnd,  as  the  end  of  all,  failure,  in  its  worst 
forms,  of  industrial  bankruptcy  and  social 
rain.  Many,  indeed,  is  the  colony,  to 
which  we  might  apply  the  heated,  but 
not  overdrawn  language  of  Sheridan,  in 
describing  the  desolations  wrought  by 
Hastings  in  the  province  of  Oude.  ^*  Had 
a  stranger."  he  exclaims,  "entered  that 
land,  and,  observing  the  wide  and  general 
devastation  of  fields,  unclothed  and  brown 
— of  villages  depopulated  and  in  ruin — of 
temples  unroofed  and  perishing — of  reser- 
voirs broken  down  and  dry ;  had  he  in- 
quired, 'what  has  thus  laid  waste  this 
beautiful  and  opulent  country ;  what 
monstrous  madness  has  ravaged  with 
wide-spread  war ;  what  desolating  foreign 
foe;  what  civil  discords;  what  disputed 
succession ;  what  religious  zeal ;  what 
fiibled  monster  has  stalked  abroad,  and 
with  malice  and  mortal  enmity,  withered 
by  the  grasp  of  death,  every  growth  of 
nature  and  humanity?'  The  answer 
would  have  been,  not  one  of  these  causes ! 
No  wars  have  ravaged  these  lands  and 
depopulated  these  villages  1  no  desolating 
foreign  foe !  no  domestic  broils !  no  dis- 
puted anooession!  no  religions  snperser- 


viceable  zeal !  no  poisonous  monster!  no 
affliction  of  Providence,  which,  while  it 
scourged  us,  cut  off  the  sources  of  resus- 
citation !  No !  this  damp  of  death  is  the 
mere  effusion  of  British  amity.  We  sink 
under  the  pressure  of  their  support !  We 
writhe  under  their  perfidious  gripe ! 
They  have  embraced  us  with  their  pro- 
tecting arms ;  and  lo !  these  are  the  fruits 
of  their  alliance ! " 

Now,  compared  with  the  Brobdignagian 
scoundrclism  of  the  older  nations,  both  in 
the  way  of  conquest  and  colonization, 
what  have  we  poor  republican  Americans 
done  ?  Why  are  we  stigmatized,  as  of- 
fenders above  all  others,  or  as  the  special 
representatives  of  that  national  avidus 
alienuniy  which  confesses  neither  limit 
nor  principle  ?  We  have,  smce  the  com- 
mencement of  our  political  existence,  per- 
fected three  things  :  we  have  entered  the 
lands  of  the  Indians ;  wo  have  acquired 
Louisiana,  Florida,  and  Texas ;  and  we  have 
beaten  Mexico  out  of  California  and  a  few 
other  morsels  of  earth ;  to  which  let  us 
add,  that  we  meditate  some  time  or  other 
getting  possession  of  Cuba,  and  perhaps 
of  the  Sandwich  Islands.  That  is  posi- 
tively the  front  and  substance  of  all  our 
trespasses!  But  in  what  manner  have 
they  been  committed  ? 

No  one,  we  suppose,  will  question  the 
propriety  of  our  mode  of  acquiring  Flori- 
da and  Louisiana,  which  were  purchased 
honorably  in  the  open  market ;  therefore 
wo  will  begin  with  the  poor  Indians.  We 
have  robbed  them  of  their  lands,  it  is  said. 
But  it  is  not  so ;  not  a  rood  of  their  land 
have  we  which  has  not  been  honestly  paid 
for,  and  more  than  paid  for,  as  land  goes^ 
and  a  thousand  times  paid  for  in  superior 
returns !  De  Tocqueville  made  this  cnarge 
in  his  book,  and  led  Mr.  Benton,  who  was 
then  in  the  Senate  of  the  United  States, 
to  call  for  a  full  ^  numerical  and  dirono- 
logical  official  statement  of  all  our  deal- 
ings with  the  Indians,  from  the  origin  of 
the  federal  government  m  1789  to  his  day, 
1840,"  which  he  procured  from  the  depart- 
ment, making  a  full  and  accurate  list  of 
every  acre  that  we  had  ever  taken  from 
any  Indian  tribe  or  individual.  What  is 
the  result  ?  Why,  it  appears  from  the 
document,  that  the  United  States  had  paid 
to  the  Indians  eighty-five  millions  of  dol- 
lars for  land  purchases  up  to  the  year 
1840,  to  which  five  or  six  millions  may  be 
added  for  purchases  since — say  ninetr 
millions.  This  is  near  six  times  as  mucli 
as  the  United  States  gave  Napoleon  for 
Louisiana,  the  whole  of  it,  soil  and  jnri»- 
diction,  and  nearly  three  times  as  much  u 
all  three  of  the  great  foreign  purdiMM 


1854.] 


jiMH0xaUo>iL 


189 


LoaisimnA,  Florida,  and  California,— cost 
lis !  and  that  for  soil  alone,  and  for  so 
much  as  would  only  be  a  fragment  of  Lou- 
isiana or  California.  "  Impressive,"  sajs  the 
distingnished  statesman^  to  whom  we  are 
indebted  for  this  exposition  of  an  Indian 
policy,  "as  this  statement  is  in  the  gross,  it 
becomes  more  so  in  the  detail,  and  when 
i^iplied  to  the  particular  tribes  whose  im- 
puted sufferings  have  drawn  so  mournful 
a  picture  from  Mons.  de  Tocqucville."  Fif- 
ty-six millions  went  to  the  four  large 
tribes,  the  Creeks,  the  Cherokees,  the  Choc- 
taws  and  the  Chickasaws,  leaving  thirty-six 
millions  to  go  to  the  small  tribes  whose 
names  are  unknown  to  history,  and  which 
it  is  probable  the  writer  on  American  de- 
mocracy had  never  heard  of  when  sketch^ 
ing  the  picture  of  their  fancied  oppressions. 
Mr.  Benton  adds,  in  respect  of  these  small 
remote  tribes,  that,  besides  their  proportion 
of  the  remainmg  thirty-six  millions  of 
doll&rs,  they  received  a  kind  of  compen- 
sation suited  to  their  condition,  and  in- 
tended to  induct  them  into  the  comforts  of 
y  civilized  life.  He  gives  one  example  of  this 
drawn  from  a  treaty  with  the  Osages  in 
1839.  which  was  only  in  addition  to  simi- 
lar benefits  to  the  same  tribe  in  previous 
treaties,  and  which  were  extended  to  all 
the  tribes  which  were  in  the  hunting  state. 
These  benefits  were,  "two  blacksmith- 
shops,  with  four  blacksmiths,  five  hundred 
pounds  of  iron  and  sixty  pounds  of  steel 
annually ;  a  grist  and  a  saw-mill,  with 
millers  for  the  same;  1,000  cows  and 
calves;  2,000  breeding  swine;  1,000 
ploughs ;  1,000  sets  of  horse-gear ;  1,000 
axes;  1,000  hoes;  a  house  each  for  ten 
chiefs,  costing  two  hundred  dollars  a  piece ; 
with  six  good  wagons,  sixteen  carts,  twen- 
ty-eight yokes  of  oxen,  with  yokes  and 
log-chains  for  each  chief;  besides  agreeing 
to  pay  all  claims  for  injuries  committed 
by  the  tribe  on  the  white  people,  or  on 
other  Indians,  to  the  amount  of  thirty 
thousand  dollars;  to  purchase  their  re- 
served lands  at  two  dollars  per  acre ;  and 
to  give  them  six  thousand  dollars  more 
for  certain  old  annuities.  In  previous 
treaties  had  been  given  seed  grains  and 
seed  vegetables,  with  fruit  seed  and  fruit 
trees,  domestic  fowls,  laborers  to  plough 
vp  their  ground  and  to  make  their  fences, 
to  raise  crops  and  save  them,  and  teach 
the  Indians  how  to  farm ;  with  spinning, 
weaving  and  sewing  implements,  and  per- 
sons to  show  their  use."  Now  all  this, 
observes  our  authoritv,  was  in  one  single 
treaty,  with  an  inconsiderable  tribe,  which 
]nd  been  largely  provided  for  in  the  same 
way  in  six  different  previous  treaties !  But 
9Si  the  rode  tribes — those  in  the  hunting 


state,  or  just  emerging  from  it,  were  pro- 
vided for  with  cqiml  solicitude  and  liber- 
ality, the  object  of  the  United  States  being 
to  train  them  to  agriculture  and  pasturage 
— to  conduct  them  from  the  hunting,  to 
the  pastoral  and  the  agricultural  state. 
Not  confining  its  care,  however,  to  this,  and 
in  addition  to  all  other  benefits,  the  United 
States  have  undertaken  the  support  of 
schools,  the  encouragement  of  missiona- 
ries, and  a  small  annual  contribution  to 
relip^ous  societies  who  take  charge  of  their 
civilization.  Moreover,  the  government 
keeps  up  a  large  establishment  for  the  spe- 
cial care  of  the  Indians,  and  the  manage- 
ment of  their  affairs ;  a  special  bureau, 
presided  over  by  a  commissioner  at  Wash- 
ington City ;  superintendents  in  different 
districts;  agents,  sub-agents,  and  inter- 
preters, resident  with  the  tribe ;  and  all 
charged  with  seeing  to  their  rights  and 
interests — seeing  that  the  laws  are  observ- 
ed towards  them ;  that  no  injuries  are 
done  them  by  the  whites ;  that  none  but 
licensed  traders  go  among  them ;  that  no- 
thing shall  be  bought  from  them  which  is 
necessary  for  their  comfort,  nor  any  thing 
sold  to  them  which  may  be  to  their  detri- 
ment Had  the  republic  been  actuated, 
in  its  intercourse,  by  any  of  that  selfish 
and  infernal  spirit,  which  animates  the 
old  monarchies,  it  would  have  swindled  or 
beaten  the  Indians  out  of  their  possessions 
at  once,  and,  in  case  of  resistance,  put  the 
whole  race  to  the  sword. 

But  it  will  be  answered,  "  You  have 
carried  them  by  force,  from  their  ancient 
homes,  from  the  graves  of  their  sires,  and 
planted  them  in  new  and  distant  regions  ! " 
We  reply,  that  we  have  done  so,  in  the 
case  of  a  few  tribes,  or  rather  remnants  of 
tribes,  as  a  matter,  however,  of  absolute 
necessity,  and  not  in  any  grasping  or  un- 
kind spirit.  A  small,  but  savage  and  in- 
tractable, race  suddenly  surrounded  in  the 
Providence  of  God  by  a  powerful  and  civi* 
lized  people,  whose  laws  and  customs  it 
cannot  or  will  not  accept,  but  whose  vices 
are  readily  spread  among  them,  has  no 
other  destiny  but  to  die  of  its  corruptions, 
to  perish  :n  arms,  or  to  be  removed  by 
gentle  methods  to  some  more  remote  and 
untroubled  hunting  grounds.  It  was  at 
the  option  of  the  United  States  to  choose 
either  of  these  courses,  and  its  choice,  on 
the  advice  of  Jefferson,  whoso  noble  for- 
tune it  has  been  to  initiate  so  much  of  our 
most  wise  and  beneficent  policy,  fell  upon 
the  most  humane,  peaceful,  and  considerate 
of  the  three.  Indecid,  the  language  in  which 
this  plan  was  urged,  in  the  second  inaugu- 
ral address  of  the  eminent  democrat  we 
have  just  named,  may  be  used  also  as  ths 


100 


AnnesMticm, 


[Pebninj 


language  of  the  history  which  records  its 
execution.  "  The  aborigines  of  these  coun- 
tries," said  he.  "  I  have  regarded  with  the 
consideration  their  position  inspires.  £n- 
dowed  with  the  faculties  and  the  rights  of 
men,  breathing  an  ardent  love  of  liberty 
and  independence,  and  occupying  a  coun- 
try which  left  them  no  desire  but  to  be  un- 
disturbed, the  streams  of  overflowing  po- 
pulation from  other  regions  directed  itself 
on  these  shores.  Without  power  to  di- 
Tert,  or  habits  to  contend  against  it,  they 
have  been  overwhelmed  by  the  current, 
or  driven  before  it  Now  reduced  within 
limits  too  narrow  for  the  hunter  state, 
humanity  enjoins  us  to  teach  them  agn- 
culture  and  the  domestic  arts — to  encou- 
rage them  to  that  industry  which  alone 
can  enable  them  to  maintain  their  place  in 
existence,  and  to  prepare  them  in  time  for 
that  state  of  society  which,  to  bodily  com- 
ibrts,  adds  the  improvement  of  the  mind 
and  morals."  We  have  therefore  liberally 
furnished  them  with  the  implements  of 
husbandry  and  householdure ;  we  have 
placed  instructors  amongst  them  in  the 
arts  of  first  necessity ;  and  they  are  co- 
yered  with  the  segis  of  the  law  against 
aggressors  from  among  ourselves.  A  few 
stubborn  individuals,  misled  by  prejudice 
or  ambition,  and  carrying  with  them  frag- 
ments of  their  tribes,  have  resisted  the  in- 
evitable fate  of  their  race,  and  have  com- 
pelled our  authorities  to  subdue  them  by 
arms ;  but  the  greater  part  of  the  tribes 
have  gone  to  their  new  homes  beyond  the 
Mississippi  cheerful! v,  and  in  peace.  Some, 
like  the  Cherokees,  have  been  raised  to  a 
higher  European  civilization ;  and  all  are 
in  a  condition  superior  to  that  in  which 
they  were  found  by  our  people. 

The  annexation  of  Texas,  secondly,  it  is 
needless  to  dwell  upon,  because  it  was  an 
event  so  inevitable  as  a  historical  develop- 
ment, and  so  clear  in  all  its  principles, 
that  it  requires  no  justification.  A  bor- 
dering people,  in  the  natural  increase  of 
population  and  trade^  settle  in  a  foreign 
state,  where  they  acquire  property  and  rear 
families ;  they  gradually  become  citizens, 
and  look  upon  the  place  as  their  home ; 
but  they  are  oppressed  by  the  govern- 
ment, and  rise  in  revolt ;  they  carry  on  a 
successful  revolution ;  they  organize  and 
maintain  a  free  and  stable  government : 
they  are  acknowledged  as  independent  by 
all  the  leading  powers  of  Christendom ; 
and  then  to  secure  themselves  from  exter- 
nal assault,  and  to  acquire  additional  in- 
ternal strength, — led  too,  by  old  and  natu- 
ral affinities, — they  seek  a  constitutional 
alliance  with  the  people  to  whom  they  for- 
Bierij  belonged,  and  are  still  cordially  at- 


tached. That  is  the  whole  history  of 
Texas,  and  we  see  nothing  in  our  jrielding 
to  her  request  for  admission  to  the  rights 
and  protection  of  the  Federal  Union,  that 
is,  in  the  least,  extraordinary,  or  atrocious, 
or  particularly  greedy.  As  a  question  of 
domestic  policy,  the  annexation  may  haye 
properly  divided  opinion ;  but  as  a  ques- 


tion of  international  relations,  nothing 
could  have  been  more  simply  and  obvious- 
ly just 

Again :  in  respect  to  conquests,  we  have 
but  one  to  answer  for — that  of  Mexico, — 
and  there  is  nothing  in  either  the  com- 
mencement, the  course,  or  the  end  of  that 
— if  even  it  may  be  called  a  conquest — for 
which  the  lover  of  his  country  or  humani- 
ty, needs  to  blush.  It  was  a  regular  war, 
begun  in  vindication  of  the  clearest  na- 
tional rights,  which  had  been  outraged; 
carried  on  with  vigor,  but  with  the  strict- 
est regard  also  to  the  most  just  and  hon- 
orable principles ;  and  closed  by  a  deliber- 
ate treaty,  in  which,  though  it  was  in  our 
power  to  confiscate  the  whole  nation,  by 
reducing  it  to  the  state  of  a  dependent 
province,  we  refrained  from  all  arbitrary 
or  exorbitant  demands,  and  agreed  to  pay 
generously  for  every  acre  of  land  that  we  re- 
tained, and  for  every  iota  of  loss  we  had  oc- 
casioned !  It  is  true  that  the  territories  thus 
acquired  proved  subsequently,  through 
their  unexampled  mineral  deposits,  to  be 
of  priceless  worth ;  but  this  peculiar  source 
of  value  was  unsuspected  at  the  time,  while 
it  is  probable  that,  if  they  had  remained 
in  the  same  hands,  they  might  have  been 
imknown  to  this  diay. 

Compare,  then,  the  "  annexation  "  of  the 
United  States,  for  which  it  is  so  largely 
ridiculed,  or  so  roundly  abused,  with  the 
same  process  as  it  has  been  conducted  by 
other  nations !  Not  with  those  predatory 
expeditions  of  the  magnificent  buidits  of 
the  East ;  not  with  the  Roman  conquests, 
which  were  incessant  scenes  of  spoliation, 
violence,  subjugation  and  tyranny;  not 
with  the  irruptions  of  the  northern  hordes, 
whose  boast  it  was  that  no  grass  grev 
where  they  had  trod ;  not  with  the  merci- 
less and  gory  marches  of  Pizarro  or  Cortes. 
because  those  were  the  deeds  of  rude  and 
brutal  ages ;  nor  yet  even  with  the  stormy 
anabasis  and  ratabasiSj  as  De  Quinc^ 
somewhere  calls  it,  when, 

•*  Tho  Emperor  Nap.  he  did  set  off 
On  A  pleasant  exounion  to  Moscow;** 

but  compare  it  with  the  more  modern, 
and,  therefore,  we  may  suppose,  the 
more  just  and  humane  management  of 
their  external  relations,  by  any  of  the 
most  advanced  nations  of  Europe !  With 
the  treatment  of  Algiers  by  the  French| 


1854.] 


JtMMXotUm, 


191 


) 


fbr  instance ;  or  of  Poland  by  Russia ;  or 
of  Hangary  and  Italy  by  Austria:  or  of 
Ireland  and  India  by  England !  We  shall 
see  the  latter  subduing,  plundering,  depo- 
pulating, carrying  decay  or  death  where- 
eyer  they  spread,  maintaining  their  supre- 
macy only  by  armies  of  functionaries  and 
soldiers,  who  consume  the  substance  and 
blast  the  industry  of  their  dependents; 
and  shaping  their  entire  policy  with  a 
single  eye  to  their  own  interests.  We 
shall  see.  also,  that  they  are  hated  and 
cursed,  with  unrelenting  bitterness,  by 
their  victims.  On  the  other  side,  we  own 
no  subject  nations,  no  colonial  victims,  no 
trembling  provinces — and  we  never  desire 
to  own  them ; — we  waste  no  fields,  we 
min  no  cities,  we  exhaust  no  distant  set- 
tlements ; — the  weak  Indian  tribes  among 
us  we  have  striven  to  redeem  and  civil- 
ize ;  the  weak  Mexican  and  Spanish  races 
about  us,  a  prey  to  anarchy  and  misrule. 
we  offer  the  advantages  of  stable  govern- 
ment, of  equal  laws,  of  a  flourishing  and 
refined  social  life ;  and  we  aim  at  no  alli- 
ances which  are  not  founded  on  the  broad- 
est principles  of  reciprocal  justice  and 
goodwill.  Away,  then,  with  the  base 
calumnies  which  hold  us  up  to  the  world 
as  a  nation  of  reckless  filibusters !  Away 
with  the  European  cant  of  the  invading 
tendencies  of  Republicanism ! 

*•  Our  past,  at  least,"  as  Webster  said, "  is 
secure."  It  brings  no  crimson  to  our  cheeks : 
not,  however,  that  our  people  are  any  better 
m  themselves  than  other  people — human 
nature,  we  suppose,  is  much  the  same  every 
where — but  because  our  free  and  open  in- 
stitutions, through  which  the  convictions 
of  men  and  not  the  interests  of  monarchs 
or  &milies  are  expressed,  incite  no  sinister 
and  iniquitous  proceedings.  The  glory  of 
Republicanism  is,  that  it  is  aboveboard, 
r^cting  solely  the  extant  wisdom  and 
justice  of  the  aggregate  of  its  supporters. 

Thus  far,  we  have  only  disposed  of  the 
invectives  of  foreigners,  showing  what 
gratuitous  and  unfounded  malice  they  are ; 
but  we  have  yet  to  consider  our  subject 
in  its  most  important  aspects,  or  in  its 
bearings  upon  the  internal  policy  of  the 
State.  The  annexation  of  contiguous  ter- 
ritories, in  one  shape  oi  another,  is  a 
question  that  must  constantly  arise  in  the 
course  of  our  progress,  and  it  is  well  for 
us  to  know  the  true  principles  on  which  it 
ahould  be  managed. 

From  the  time  that  Adam  was  sent  out 
of  the  sunset  gate  of  Eden ;  from  the 
earliest  descent  of  the  Scythians  upon 
the  plains  of  Iran;  from  the  Phcenician 
settlements  in  Greece ;  the  tremendous 
invasions  of  the  Mongolians  in  Russia ;  and 


the  dispersion  of  the  Teutonic  races  over 
Italy,  France,  and  England ;  down  to  the 
exodus  of  the  Pilgrims,  and  the  hegira 
from  all  lands  into  the  golden  reservoirs 
of  California,  there  appears  to  have  been 
a  decided  movement  southward  and  west- 
ward of  the  populations  of  the  world.  It 
was  never  constant  and  continuous,  and  yetj 
contemplated  in  large  epochs,  it  was  always 
discernible.  Sometimes,  creeping  slowly 
like  a  silent  brook  in  the  shade  of  forests ; 
sometimes  arresting  itself  like  pools  in  the 
hollows  of  rich  valleys;  sometimes,  in- 
deed, seeming  to  recede,  and  then  springs 
ing  suddenly  from  hill-top  to  hill-top,  as 
the  lights  which  bore  the  news  of  Gre- 
cian victory,  in  old  Homer's  poem,  it  has 
gone  forward,  to  the  gradual  civilization 
of  the  earth.  By  natural  growth,  by  the 
multiplying  ties  of  trade,  by  warlike  ex- 
cursions, by  voluntary  migrations,  by  re- 
volutions and  by  colonizations,  the  supe- 
rior races  of  the  great  central  cradles  of 
Western  Asia  have  spread,  pursuing  the 
paths  of  the  sun,  until  they  now  quite 
circle  the  globe.  Nor  is  there  any  rei^- 
son  for  believing  that  this  diffusive  can- 
ncUus  will  be  stopped,  while  there  remains 
a  remotest  island,  or  secluded  western 
nook,  to  be  reduced  to  the  reception  of 
Christianity  and  European  arts.  An  in- 
stinct in  the  human  soul,  deeper  than  the 
wisdom  of  politics,  more  powerful  than 
the  sceptres  of  states,  impels  the  people 
on,  to  the  accomplishment  of  that  high 
destiny  which  Providence  has  plainly  re- 
served for  our  race. 

Annexation,  consequently,  is  an  inevi- 
table fact,  and  it  would  be  in  vain  for  the 
American  people  to  resist  the  impulses 
which  are  bearing  all  nations  upward  and 
onward,  to  a.  higher  development  and  a 
closer  union.  Nor,  when  we  consider  the 
attitude  in  which  we  are  placed  towards 
other  nations  of  the  earth,  is  it  desirable 
for  us,  or  them,  that  this  expansive,  yet 
magnifying  influence,  should  be  resisted  t 
As  ihe  inheritors  of  whatever  is  best  in 
modern  civilization,  possessed  of  a  political 
and  social  polity  which  we  deem  superior 
to  every  other,  carrying  with  us  wherever 
we  go  the  living  seeds  of  freedom,  of  in- 
telligence, of  religion ;  our  advent  every 
where,  but  particularly  among  the  savage 
and  stationary  tribes  who  are  nearest  to 
us,  must  be  a  redemption  and  a  blessing. 
South  America  and  the  islands  of  the  sea 
ought  to  rise  up  to  meet  us  at  our  coming, 
and  the  desert  and  the  solitary  places  hi 
glad  that  the  hour  for  breakmg  their  fatal 
enchantments,  the  hour  of  their  emanci- 
pation, had  arrived. 

If  the  Canadas,  or  the  provinces  of  Soutk 


102 


Annexation. 


[Febnmy 


or  Central  America,  were  gathered  into 
oar  Union,  by  this  gradual  and  natural 
absorption,  by  this  species  of  national  en- 
doitnosiSj  they  would  at  once  spring  into 
new  life.  In  respect  to  the  former,  the 
contrasts  presented  by  the  river  St.  I>aw- 
rence,  which  Lord  Durham  described,  and 
which  are  not  yet  effaced,  would  speedily 
disappear.  "  On  the  American  side,"  he 
says,  "  all  is  activity  and  bustle.  The  fo- 
rests have  been  widely  cleared  ;  every  year 
numerous  settlements  are  formed,  and 
thousands  of  farms  are  created  out  of  the 
waste ;  the  country  is  intersected  by  roads. 
On  the  British  side,  with  the  exception  of 
a  few  favored  spots,  where  some  approach 
to  American  prosperity  is  apparent,  all 
soems  waste  and  desolate.  .  .  The  an- 
dent  city  of  Montreal,  which  is  naturally 
the  capital  of  Canada, will  not  bear  the  least 
comparison  in  any  respect  with  Buffalo, 
which  is  a  creation  of  yesterday.  But  it 
18  not  in  the  difference  between  the  larger 
towns  on  the  two  sides,  that  we  shall  find 
the  best  cndence  of  our  inferiority.  That 
painful  but  undeniable  truth  is  most  mani- 
fest in  the  country  districts,  through  which 
the  line  of  national  separation  passes  for 
%  thousand  miles.  There  on  tlie  side  of 
both  the  Canadas,  and  also  of  New  Bruns- 
wick and  Nova  Scotia,  a  widely  scattered 
population,  poor,  and  apparently  unenter- 
prising, though  hardy  and  industrious,  se- 
parated by  tracts  of  intervcnmg  forests, 
without  town  or  markets,  almost  without 
roads,  living  in  mean  houses,  drawing  lit- 
tle more  than  a  rude  subsistence  from 
ill-cultivated  land,  and  seemingly  incapa- 
ble of  improving  their  condition,  present 
the  most  instructive  contrast  to  their  en- 
terprising and  thriving  neighbors  on  the 
American  side."  The  Canadas  have  rap- 
idly improved  since  Durham  wi-ote,  gal- 
Tinized  into  action  chiefly  by 'American  ex- 
ample and  energy,  and  the  larger  freedom 
they  now  enjoy ;  but  what  might  not  their 
development  be  if  wholly  emancipated  and 
rcpublicanized  ?  Or,  still  more,  in  respect 
to  the  silent  and  baiTcn  regions  of  the 
Southern  Continent,  what  magical  trans- 
formations, a  change  of  political  relations 
would  evoke  ?  The  rich  wastes  given  over 
to  the  vulture  and  the  serpent, — where  the 
nmshine  and  air  of  the  most  delicious  cli- 
mate fall  upon  a  desolation, — would  blos- 
som and  put  forth  like  the  golden- fruited 
Hesperides,  opening  a  glorious  asylum  to 
the  over-crowded  labor  of  Southern  Eu- 
rope ;  the  immense  rivers  which  now  hear 
no  sound,  save  their  own  complaining  moan 
as  they  woo  in  vain  the  churlish  banks  that 
spurn  their  offers  of  service,  would  then 
laugh  with  ships  and  go  rejoicing  to  the 


sea ;  the  palsy-smitten  Tillages  broken  into 
pieces  before  they  are  built,  would  teem 
like  hives  with  "  singing-masons  building 
golden  caves;"  and  the  scarcely  human 
societies,  leprous  with  indolence,  or  alter- 
nately benumbed  by  despotism,  or  con- 
vulsed by  wild,  anarchical  throes,  would 
file  harmoniously  into  order,  and  like  en- 
chanted armies,  when  the  spells  of  the  sor* 
cerers  are  gone,  take  up  a  march  of  triumph : 

*•  Such  power  there  Is  in  heavenly  polity." 

Nor  would  the  incorporation  of  these 
foreign  ingredients  into  our  body, — we 
mean  by  regular  and  pacific  methods,  by 
a  normal  and  organic  assimilation,  and 
not  by  any  extraneous  force  or  fraud, — 
swell  us  out  to  an  unmanageable  and  ple- 
thoric size.  It  is  the  distinctive  beauty  of 
our  political  structure,  rightly  interpreted, 
that  it  admits  of  an  almost  indefinite  ex- 
tension of  the  parts  without  detriment  to 
the  whole.  In  the  older  nations,  where 
the  governments  assume  to  do  every  thin^ 
an  increase  of  dimensions  is  always  accom- 
panied by  an  increase  of  danger. — the  head 
IS  unable  to  control  the  extremities,  whk*h 
fly  off  into  a  St.  Vitus's  dance  of  revolu- 
tion, or  the  extremities  are  paralyzed, 
through  a  congestion  of  despotic  power  in 
the  head.  But  with  us  there  is  no  such 
liability :  the  political  power,  dispersed  and 
locali/x^d,  the  currents  of  influence  pass 
reciprocally  frc-n  the  centre  to  the  circum- 
ference, and  frpm  the  circumference  to  the 
centre,  as  in  the  circulation  of  the  blood ; 
and  whether  the  number  of  members  in 
the  system  be  more  or  less,  the  relations 
of  strength  between  them  and  the  head 
remain  pretty  much  the  same ;  or,  rather, 
as  our  federal  force  is  the  net  result  and 
quotient  of  the  contributions  of  the  sepi^ 
rate  States,  it  is  rather  strengthened  than 
weakened  by  the  addition  of  now  elements. 
Our  circle  of  thirty-one  integers  works  aa 
hannoniously  as  it  did  when  it  was  com- 
posed of  only  thirteen,  while  the  probabil- 
ity of  rupture  is  lessened,  from  the  greater 
number  which  ure  interested  in  the  UnioD. 
A  powerful  community,  like  New- York  or 
Ohio,  might  have  its  own  way  opposed  to 
a  mere  handful  of  smaller  communities ; 
but  opposed  to  a  vast  network  of  commu- 
nities, though  never  so  small  in  themselves, 
it  would  be  compelled  to  listen  to  reason. 
Indeed,  the  dangers  likely  to  arise  in  the 
practical  workings  of  our  system,  will  re- 
sult from  an  excessive  ccnlripetal.  rather 
than  centrifugal  tendency,  and  the  annex- 
ation of  new  States  is,  therefore,  one  of  the 
best  correctives  of  the  vice. 

But  be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  clear  that 
we  must  maintain  some  relations  to  the 


1854.] 


Armexaticn, 


108 


other  natkms  of  the  world,  either  under 
the  existing  international  law,  or  by  treaty, 
or  else  by  regular  constitutional  agree- 
ment Now,  which  of  the  three  is  the 
best?  International  law,  as  we  all  know, 
is  the  merest  fi^ent  in  practice,  pro- 
verbially uncertain  in  its  principles,  with- 
out sanctions  or  penalties,  and  wholly  in- 
effective when  it  conflicts  with  the  will  of 
powerful  states,  of  which  fact  the  whole 
oontincnt  of  Europe  is  witness.  Treaties 
of  amity  and  commerce  are  often  only 
temporary,  and  may  be  abrogated  at  the 
option  of  the  parties  to  them,  or  openly 
Tiolated,  when  one  of  the  parties  is  strong 
and  unscrupulous.  But  a  constitutions 
imion,  an  eternal  and  brotherly  league  of 
independent  and  equal  sovereignties,  is  the 
most  permanent,  peaceful,  and  unoppres- 
sive  in  which  states  can  be  joined, — the 
wisest,  strongest,  and  happiest  relation 
that  can  bo  instituted  among  civilized  na- 
tions. We  are,  therefore,  decidedly  in  favor 
of  its  adoption  in  settling  the  terms  of  our 
intercourse  with  all  the  people  who  are 
around  and  about  us ;  carrying  our  faith 
in  its  efficacy  and  beneficence  so  far,  in 
Act,  that  we  expect  to  behold,  at  no  dis- 
tant day,  the  whole  earth  encompassed, 
not  bjr  warring  tribes  and  jealous  nation- 
mliticS;  but  by  a  glorious  hierarchy  of  free 
and  independent  republics. 

The  fears,  therefore,  that  some  express 
at  our  assumed  velocity  and  breadth  of 
expansion,  would,  if  they  were  well-found- 
ed, be  ungenerous,  as  well  as  unmanly 
iuid  un-American.    They  arc  petty,  un- 
reasoning, and  extra-timid.    If  we  ever 
liad  swept  or  were  likely  to  sweep  over 
the  earth,  8ux>oco-wise,  drinking  the  dews, 
"Vrithering  the  grass,  blearing   the  eyes 
cf  men,  or  blistering  their  bodies,  there 
>rould  then  be  some  excuse  for  such  apprc- 
liensions ;  or,  if  in  the  might  and  intensity 
«f  the  centrifugal  impulse  there  were  danger 
f>f  dislocating  our  own  system,  whirlmg 
the  fragments  off  into  measureless  space, 
it  would  become  the  character  of  every 
patriot   to  shout  an  earnest  halt     But 
Caucasians  as  we  are,  carr>nng  the  best 
blood  of  time  in  our  veins, — Anglo-Saxons, 
the  inheritors  of  the  richest  and  profound- 
est  civilizations:  Puritans,  whose  religion 
is  their  most    imperishable   conviction: 
native  Yankees  of  indomitable  enterprise, 
and  a  capacity  for  government  and  self- 
government,  which  masters  every  element 
— the  effeminacy  of  climate,  the  madness 
of  gold-hunting,  the  spite  and  rage  of 
seas  and  windsw — we  go  forth  as  a  bene- 
ficent, not  a  aestructive  agency;  as  the 
bearers  of  life,  not  death,  to  the  prostrate 
nations — to  the  over-ripe  or  the  under-ripe 


— to  all  who  lie  on  the  margins  of  Beth- 
esda.  waiting  for  the  good  strong  arm  to 
thrust  them  in  the  invigorating  pool. 

Precisely,  however,  because  this  ten- 
dency to  the  assimilation  of  foreign  ingre- 
dients, or  to  the  putting  forth  of  new 
members,  is  an  inevitable  incident  of  our 
growth, — ^because  too,  of  the  manifest  ad- 
vantages to  all  concerned, — there  is  no 
need  that  it  should  bo  specially  fostered  or 
stimulated.  It  will  thrive  of  itself:  it 
will  supply  the  fuel  of  its  own  fires :  it 
requires  only  a  wise  direction.  A  mas- 
terly inactivity  is  here  emphatically  the 
rule,  for  it  will  better  secure  us  the  desir- 
ed result  than  the  noisy,  proselytizing, 
buccaneering  zeal  of  over  hasty  dema- 
gogues. The  fruit  will  fail  into  our 
hands,  when  it  is  ripe,  without  an  officious 
shaking  of  the  tree.  Cuba  will  be  ours, 
and  Canada  and  Mexico,  too, — if  wo  want 
them, — in  due  season,  and  without  the 
wicked  impertinence  of  a  war.  Industry, 
commerce,  silent  migrations,  the  winning 
example  of  high  prosperity  joined  to  a  Free- 
dom which  s{)orts  like  the  winds  around 
an  Order  which  is  as  firm  as  the  Fynr 
mids,  are  grappling  them  by  imseen  ties, 
and  drawing  them  closer  each  day,  and 
binding  them  in  a  unity  of  intercourse, 
of  interest  and  of  friendship,  from  which 
they  will  soon  find  it  impossible  to  break, 
if  they  would,  and  from  which,  also,  veiy 
soon,  they  would  not  break  if  thoy  could. 
Let  us  then  await  patiently  the  dowries 
of  time,  whose  promises  are  so  complar 
cent  and  decided, 

"  Nor  weave  with  bloody  hands  the  tissue  of  our  line." 

"  It  should  be,  moreover,  always  borne  in 
mind,  as  the  truth  most  certain  of  all  the 
truths  that  have  been  demonstrated  by 
the  experience  of  nations,  that  their  homo 
policy,  their  domestic  relations,  their  in- 
ternal development,  the  concentration,  not 
the  dispersion,  of  their  energies,  are  the  ob- 
jects to  which  they  should  devote  their  first 
and  last,  most  earnest  and  best  regards. 
It  is  the  most  miserable  and  ruinous  of  all 
ambitions,  which  leads  nations  into  dreams 
of  external  domination  and  power.  ._  The 
wars  they  engender,  deadly  as  they  may 
be,  are  comparatively  nothing  to  the  sap- 
ping, undermining,  exhaustinpj  drains  and 
sluices  they  open  in  the  whole  body  and 
every  limb  and  member  of  the  state. 
"Ships,  colonies,  and  commerce,"  has 
been  the  cry  of  the  old  world  cabinets, 
and  the  effects  are  seen  in  bankruptcies, 
in  Pelion-upon-Ossas  of  debt,  in  rotten 
courts,  in  degraded  and  impoverished 
peoples,  and  in  oppressed  and  decajring 
neighbor-nations.    Thus,  France,  instead 


IM 


Aamexaiion. 


of  giving  a  chance  to  her  thirty-six  mil- 
lions of  lively  and  industrious  people,  to 
recover  and  enrich  their  soils,  to  open 
roads,  to  make  navigable  their  streams, 
and  to  build  themselves  up  in  knowledge 
and  virtue,  has  ever  been  smitten  with  an 
insane  love  of  foreign  influence ;  but  might 
rather  have  been  smitten  with  the  plague. 
She  has  overrun  and  ruinod  Lombaray ; 
she  has  overrun  and  paralyzed,  if  not 
ruined,  the  Netherlands  and  Holland ;  she 
has  overrun  and  arrested  the  civilization 
of  Catalonia ;  she  has  overrun  and  deeply 
wounded  Belgium ;  she  has  been  the  per- 
petual enemy  of  the  free  cities  of  Germany, 
stirring  up  thirty  years  wars,  and  assist- 
ing Austria  in  infamous  schemes  of  de- 
struction ;  she  has  invaded  (}enoa,  Sicily, 
Venice,  Corsica,  Rome,  suppressing  them 
time  and  again  with  her  armies;  she 
hangs  like  a  nightmare  upon  Algeria; 
she  maintains  penal  colonies  at  Guiana— 
and  all  with  what  gain  to  herself?  With 
what  ^in  ?  Heavens !  Look  at  the  semi- 
barbarism  of  her  almost  feudal  rural  popu- 
lation; at  the  ignorance,  licentiousness, 
and  crime  of  her  cities ;  at  her  vast  agri- 
cultural resources,  not  only  not  developed, 
but  laden  with  taxes  and  debt ;  at  her 
unstable  governments,  shifting  like  the 
forms  of  a  kaleidoscope ;  at  her  Jacqueries, 
her  St.  Bartholomews,  her  dragonades, 
her  Coups  cPEtat;  her  fusiladed  legis- 
lators, and  her  exiled  men  of  science  and 
poets !  Prance,  under  a  true  decentralized 
freedom,  with  the  amazing  talents  of  her 
quick-witted  and  amiable  people,  left  to 
tne  construction  of  their  own  fortunes, 
might  now  have  been  a  century  in  advance 
of  where  she  is ;  but  she  followed  the  ignis 
fatuus  of  glory,  of  power  abroad  instead 
of  industry  and  peace  at  home !  England, 
too,  in  spite  of  her  noble  qualities  and  gi- 
gantic industry,  has  depopulated  Ireland, 
starved  India,  ruined  her  West  India 
islands,  hamstrung  the  Canadas,  in  order 
to  make  distant  markets  for  her  trade, 


and  yet,  her  poor  at  home  are 
half-«tarved.  earning  only  one 
what  they  might  for  her,  whil 
and  freer  nations  are  enticing 
commerce  of  the  very  dependen 
it  has  taken  whole  generations 
torture,  and  bloodshed  to  creati 
On  the  other  hand,  the  Unit 
refraining  from  the  spoliation  of 
bora,  devoting  herself  steadily  U 
of  industry  set  before  her,  welc 
people  of  all  nations  poor  and 
stricting  government  to  its  simp] 
securing  every  man  by  equal 
giving  to  every  citizen  oppori 
honor,  fortune,  self-culture, — ^1 
short  fifty  yeara,  overtaken  the 
vanced  nations,  has  left  the  otl 
the  rear,  and  in  less  than  ten  yeai 
date  at  which  we  write,  will  tak< 
as  the  first  nation  of  the  earth— 
rival — without  a  peer — as  we  ha\ 
an  enemy, — but,  whether  with  < 
enemies, — able,  single-handed, 
her  terms,  on  any  question,  to 
the  self-seeking,  and  therefon 
monarchies  of  Europe.  By  not 
foreign  aggrandizement,  of  whk 
often  recklessly  accused,  she  b 
a  position  which  puts  it  easilT  in 
Her  strength  has  been  in  her 
her  ability  to  cope  with  the 
grown  out  of  her  unwillingness  t 
attempt ;  and  behold  her  now  a  n 
example  of  the  superior  glory  of 
tice,  ^x>d  will  and  honest  hard  y^ 
grant  that  she  may  never  find  < 
walk  in  the  devious  paths  of  i 
raise  the  battle  cry  of  invasion 
grant  too, — we  ask  it  with  a  doul 
ness, — that  she  may  not,  in  her] 
forget  those  that  are  in  advereitj 
may  never  take  part  with  the 
but  give  her  free  hand  of  sympa 
oppressed,  whenever  they  shall 
the  struggle  for  their  rights ! 


AT   REST. 


With  folded  hands  the  lady  llet 

In  flowing  robes  of  white, 
A  globed  lamp  beside  her  ooaeh, 

A  round  of  tender  light 

With  snch  a  light  above  her  head, 

A  little  year  ago, 
She  walked  adown  the  shadowy  rale, 

Where  the  blood-red  roses  grow  I 

A  shape,  or  shadow  Joined  htr  there, 
To  fiiiek  the  royal  flower» 


Bat  stole  the  lily  firom  her  braM^ 
Which  was  her  only  dower. 

That  gone,  all  went :  her  falsa  lore  i 
And  then  her  peace  of  heart ; 

The  hard  world  fh>wned,  her  Mend 
She  hid  in  tears  apart: 

And  now  she  lies  upon  her  ooaob, 

Amid  the  dying  light. 
Nor  wakes  to  hear  the  little  volet 

That  moaas  throughoat  tiM  Blglil 


1864.]  JM 

THE    MAYFLOWER. 

DOWN  in  the  bleak  December  bay 
The  ghostly  vessel  stands  away ; 
Her  spars  and  halyards  white  with  ioe. 
Under  the  bleak  December  skies. 
A  hundred  souls,  in  company, 
Have  left  the  vessel  pensively — 
Have  touched  the  frosty  desert  there, 
And  touched  it  with  thie  knees  of  prayer. 

And  now  the  day  begins  to  dip, 
The  night  begins  to  lower 
Over  the  bay  and  over  the  ship 
Mayflower. 

Neither  the  desert,  nor  the  sea 
Imposes ;  and  their  pravers  are  free ; 
But  sternly  else,  the  wild  imposes ; 
And  thorns  must  grow  before  the  roses. 
And  who  are  these  ? — ^and  what  distress 
The  savage-  acred  wilderness 
On  mother,  maid,  and  child,  may  bringi 
Beseems  them  for  a  fearful  thing ; 

For  now  the  day  begins  to  dip, 
The  night  begins  to  lower 

Over  the  bay,  and  over  the  ship 
Mayflower. 

But  Carver  leads  (in  heart  and  health 
A  hero  of  the  commonwealth) 
The  axes  that  the  camp  requires. 
To  build  the  lodge,  and  heap  the  fires. 
And  Standish  from  his  warlike  store 
Arrays  his  men  along  the  shore — 
Distributes  weapons  resonant, 
And  dons  his  harness  militant ; 

For  now  the  day  begins  to  dip, 
The  night  begins  to  lower 

Over  the  bay,  and  over  the  ship 
Mayflower ; 

And  Rose,  his  wife,  unlocks  a  chest — 
She  sees  a  Book,  in  vellum  drest, 
She  drops  a  tear  and  kisses  the  tome, 
•    Thinking  of  England  and  of  home — 
Might  they — ^the  Pilgrims,  there  and  then 
Ordained  to  do  the  work  of  men — 
Have  seen,  in  visions  of  the  air. 
While  pillowed  on  the  breast  of  prayer 

(When  now  the  day  began  to  dip, 
The  night  began  to  lower 
Over  the  bay,  and  over  the  ship 
Mayflower), 

The  Canaan  of  their  wilderness 
A  boundless  empire  of  success ; 
And  seen  the  years  of  future  nights 
Jewelled  with  myriad  household  lights ; 
And  seen  the  honey  fill  the  hive ; 
And  seen  a  thousand  ships  arrive ; 
And  heard  the  wheels  of  travel  go ; 
It  would  have  cheered  a  thought  of  woe, 

When  now  the  day  began  to  dip. 
The  night  began  to  lower 

Over  the  bay,  and  over  the  ship 
Mayflower. 


IM 


[TabniiiEy 


A  POT   POURRI   OP   POETRY   AND   PARODY. 

IfAROARKT. — CLAKIBEL. — ZOE. 


CLARIBEL.— -Zoo,  may  I  ask  why,  in 
spite  of  the  promise  that  you  early 
gave  of  poetical  ability,  no  one  has  seen  of 
iate  any  of  the  productions  of  your  pen  7 

ZoE  (with  animation) — Pretty  good 
poetry  is  like  a  pretty  good  egg.  Who 
ever  relished  an  egg  that  was  at  idl  doubt- 
ful? 

Claribel. — True:  poetry  is  a  luxury; 
one  must  have  it  of  the  best,  or  not  at  all. 

ZoE. — I  have  been  looking  this  even- 
ing through  this  volume.  'Tis  one  of  the 
old  Annuals  so  popular  in  England,  when 
poetical  glow-worms  were  treated  as  great 
lights,  and  shams  of  every  kind  were  in 
fashion,  for  Royal  Turveydrop  was  "  first 
gentleman  of  Europe,"  and  England  is  too 
loyal  not  to  follow  the  example  of  her 
kings.  In  those  days  poetastering  was  at 
its  height,  and  society  was  afflicted  with 
a  flux  of  rhyme. 

Bh«  put  him  on  a  little  shrond, 

A  chaplet  on  his  head. 
And  gathered  early  violets 

To  strew  above  the  dead. 

True  poetry  ought  to  be  tonic — strength- 
ening, refreshing,  and  stimulating.  Such 
things  as  this  once  honored  ^Mittlc 
shroud,"  do  not  even  rise  to  the  dignity 
of  bosh: — they  are  mere  twaddle, — the 
paper  baskets  of  poetry;  trumpery  no- 
things, made  out  of  materials  the  most 
flimsy  which  become  in  the  making  flim- 
sier still. 

Claribel. — Bosh !    What  is  bosh  ? 

ZoE. — The  Turkish  word  for  nothing. 
Bosh  is  a  wind-bag  composition,  whether 
in  poetry  or  prose. 

Margaret. — There  is  great  distinction 
to  be  drawn  between  "  twaddle "  and 
"  bosh."  Of  the  former  any  poet's-comer 
in  Annual,  or  Country  Newspaper,  will 
furnish  us  a  prompt  example — some  af- 
fecting historic^  or  familiar  incident  done 
into  fluent  rnyme.  The  latter  is  less  com- 
mon. It  has  sound  and  fury — but  not 
sense.  It  partakes  of  galimatias  and 
phebus.*  It  soars  into  the  regions  of 
the  incomprehensibly  sublime.  It  has 
varieties.  The  Bosh  grandiloquent  and 
the  Bosh  transcendental  being  prominent 


kinds.  Of  the  former,  many  admirable 
specimens  may  be  found  in  modem  fiction. 
^  ^  Isabel,'  he  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  that 
ran  through  her  heart  like  ice  " — is  an  in- 
stance I  read  recently  in  a  popular  work. 
But  the  richest  preserve  of  striking  pas- 
sages of  '^ bosh"  is  to  bo  found,  I  thmk,  in 
the  works  of  a  modem  Bard,  called  the 
"Poet  of  the  West"  by  his  admirers. 
Hear  him  describing  the  sensations  of  » 
bridegroom. 

He  stood  before  the  altar ;  and  a  shade 

Of  darkness  flashed  one  moment  o*er  hit  tomr. 
Then  molted  into  beanty  on  his  Up, 

And  by  the  same  author  is  a  poem  call- 
ed the  "  Wreck  at  Sea  "  of  which  the  first 
verse  and  the  last  are  printed  and  pab- 
lished  as  follows : 

The  son  was  low— a^lood  of  light 

SUpt  on  the  glittering  ocean— 
And  nighVi  dark  robM  %Der€J<mnuiffimg  up 

With  slow  and  solemn  motion. 

Gaped  wide  the  deep— down  planged  the  vm^ 

Up  roee  afeaiftal  yell — 
Zkath't  ycingnjlapped  o*er  that  sinking  deck, 

A  shndder  I— all  was  stUL 

ZoE. — ^To  write  "  twaddle  "  is  so  easy, 
and  the  public  grew  so  tolerant,  that  I  am 
astonished  donkeys  did  not  leara  to  braj 
in  rhyme.  Select  a  well-known  incident ; 
historical  should  be  preferred.  Carefollj 
cut  off  the  point,  strip  it  of  individoality, 
lard  it  with  "  prithees,"  "  mayhaps  "  and 
"perchance"  Don't  flavor  it  with  any 
thing.  Serve  it  in  lines  of  six  and  ei^t| 
with  manners  of  romance,  and  moral  saoot 
in  the  concluding  line. 

Margaret.— It  is  surprising  that  some 
of  our  best  modem  authors  have  oocaskm- 
ally  degenerated  into  this  kind  of  compo- 
sition. Byron's  Hours  of  Idleness,  and 
half  the  Hebrew  Melodies,  are  twaadle ; 
and  Campbell's  works  contain  poems  in 
the  most  approved  poetastical  style.  Yom 
know  his  Adelgitha, 

The  ordeaTs  fatal  trumpet  sounded, 

And  sad,  pale  Adelgf  tha  came,     _ 
When  Ibrth  a  valiant  champion  bounded 

And  slew  the  sUnderer  of  her  fiuncc 
Bbe  wept  delivered  from  the  danger ; 

But  when  he  knelt  to  claim  her  glore, 


*  La  galimatias  rcnferme  une  obscurity  profbnde,  et  n*a  de  soi-m(me  nul  sens  raisonable.  Le  ph^bna  n'seC 
pas  si  oMcnr  et  a  un  brlllant  qui  signlflo  ou  semble  signlflcr  quolque  obose,  Ic  soleil  y  entre  d'ordlnaiie  et  e'seC 
oe  qui  a  donn6  lieu  en  notro  langue  au  nom  de  phubus,  ce  n'est  pas  que  quelquo  fois  le jpbebua  ne  devleBBe 
obsour  Jusqu'&  n'etre  patt  enteDUu,  raois  alors  lo  galimatias  s*  en  Joint,  ce  ne  sent  que  brillans  et  t^Ddbnt  de 
teas  ootte.    Bo-uoM.  EntretUn  cTAt-Ut^  et  (tSvgiiu, 


1854.] 


A  Pot  Pourri  of  Poetry  and  Parody. 


in 


•8«ek  not,**  ihe  criAd  **oh  gaUant  ttnuiger, 

For  haplMS  Adelgitha^s  love. 
F6r  be  is  In  »  foreign  Ckr-land, 

Whoee  enn  ehould  now  hare  set  me  free, 
And  I  most  wear  the  willow's  garland 

For  him  who's  dead  or  ftlse  to  me.'' — 
*  Nay,  say  not  that  hU  &ith  is  tainted  ;** 

He  raised  his  vizor.— At  the  sight 
8be  fell  into  his  arms  and  fidnted  :— 

It  was  indeed  her  own  trae  knight 

ZoE. — T%i8  from  the  man  who  wrote 
"The  Rainbow,"  the  "Last  Man,"  » Ho- 
heolinden,"  "  Lord  UlUn's  Daughter,"  "  O'- 
Connor's Child!"  Oh!  the  corruptive 
influences  of  second-rate  adulation.  One 
wonders  in  what  frame  of  mind  ho  could 
hare  been,  to  sit  down  and  write  any  thing 
in  this  strain.  Perhaps  it  was  penned  af- 
ter the  excitement  of  some  great  effort, 
and  so  served  the  purpose  of  the  block- 
beads  whose  society  was  a  relief  to  Ma- 
dame du  Barry,  "  J'aimais  ^  leur  voir," 
said  she,  "  car  me  reposait  Timagination." 
It  needs  no  tax  upon  one's  wits  to  write 
verses  of  that  kind.  Trepan  me,  and  I 
coald  compose  you  portfolis  of  such  stuff 
without  a  brain« 

Margaret. — Claribel  smiles. 

ZoE. — Don't  you  know,  my  dear  Clari- 
bel, that  the  criticisms  of  an  amateur  are 
sharper  than  those  written  by  the  ever- 
pointed  pencil,  or  sharpest  steel  pen  of  a 
critic  by  profession?  Just  as  in  speech 
and  private  correspondence,  we  say  a  thou- 
sand things  more  cutting  than  any  we 
should  choose  to  print  and  publish  to  a 
friend's  disadvantage.  In  private  life  we 
are  all  of  the  family  of  Bludyer.  We 
may  not,  indeed,  cut  up  a  thrce-volumed 
book,  and  take  a  dinner  and  pint  of  sher- 
ry oat  of  it  at  a  coffee-room,  but  we  make 
onrselves  agreeable  guests  at  the  expense 
of  the  victim  we  discuss,  and  amass  con- 
versationid  capital  out  of  the  weakness  of 
oar  associates.  Bludyer  would  go  dinner- 
kflB  if  authors  had  no  faults,  and  some  of 
08  would  be  unwelcome  company  enough 
b«t  for  our  little  talent  in  exposing  the 
liait  foibles  of  a  friend.  But  to  prove  to 
yoa  the  worth  of  my  recipe — the  facility 
of  "  doing"  an  incident  into  fluent  rhyme — 
let  OS  each  take  a  pen,  and  see  how  many  of 
mch  thmgs  we  can  strike  off  this  evening. 

Margaret. — On  what  subjects. 

ZoB.--On  any;  "The  Fall  of  Wolfe," 
**  The  Death  of  Guatamozin" — any  of  the 
stock  subjects  to  be  found  in  every  book 
of  history,  or  amongst  the  "  examples"  in 
toy  grammar. 

[A  paitse  of  Jive  tninitteSy  during  which 
ike  scratching  of  pens  is  heard,) 

ZoB. — I  have  done. 

Margaret. — And  so  have  L  Read 
ToanfliB^Zoe. 


ZoE. 

Upon  the  sward,  beside  a  rill 

Tbe  dying  Hero  lay, 
The  life-blood  fW>m  his  wounded  side 

Was  ebbing  fast  away ; 
When  through  the  startled  air  a  cry 

Of  sudden  triumph  ran : 
**They  run— our  foemen  run  1  **  was  passed 

Along  the  struggling  van. — 
"Who  run  ?  "  exclaimed  the  dying  chief, 

"  The  French  I "  was  the  reply ; 
"  Once  more  on  England's  pennon  lights 

The  bird  of  Victory." 
**  Then  I  die  happy f**  cried  the  BraTe, 

^  I  am  content  to  dle.^ 
A  glow  of  triumph  tinged  bis  cheek. 

His  spirit  soared  on  high. 

Margaret. — Mine  is  by  no  means  so 
successful.  I  attempted  a  different  style ; 
the  imitation  of  a  Poetess  guiltless  of 
either  "  bosh"  or  •*  twaddle."  She  affects 
the  rugged  grief  style  of  composition. 
My  sympathies  cannot  follow  her  through 
such  a  '*  Vale  of  Misery."  Indeed,  I  see 
no  necessity  for  inviting  me  to  the  journey. 
But  some  women  prefer  walking  abroad 
in  storm  and  rain,  when  they  had  better 
be  at  home ;  forgetting  what  Archbishop 
Leighton  has  so  beautifully  said.  That 
like  the  bees  '*  when  there  is  foul  weather 
abroad  wc  should  be  busy  in  the  hive." 

Claribel. — Your  temperament,  Mar- 
garet, disposes  you  to  make  yourself  com- 
fortable. Had  you  been  here,  you  would 
have  put  up  an  umbrella  to  break  the 
fury  of  the  storm.  Something  in  miti- 
gation of  the  ills  of  life,  always  turns  up 
for  such  as  you. 

ZoE. — But  the  poem. 

Margaret. — 

ONK    moment's    consolation. 
Soul  of  my  soull  Why  wert  thou  made  too  dead ; 

Why  was  my  soaring  spirit  linked  to  thine? 
Why  am  I  taught  to  fear— ay— taught  to/ear 

The  tender  tones  that  used  to  answer  minei 
Come  blackness— come  despair— sweep  o*er  my  brow, 

Sad  night,  thou  gazest  on  a  shivered  soul. 
Tears — tears  unsluiced  my  spirit  overflow, 

The  big  drr»pe  slow  adown  my  sad  face  rolL 
Meseemeth  that  I  stand  on  yon  lone  shore 

Where  once  we  stood  together— thou  and  I— 
Oaost  thou  recall  the  place  ?    No  more— no  more ! 

Away  sad  thoughts !— weak  waters  dim  mine  eye. 
Come  storm— come  darkness— hide  ye  in  mine  heart, 

Make  there    your   nest— nurse    there  your  sable 
brood, 
TJndaanted  yet  my  soul  shall  bear  her  part. 

And  reap— aye  reap— her  heritage  of  good. 

Claribel. — I  am  ashamed  of  you,  Mar- 
garet. Have  you  never  read  her  lines  on 
"  Absence" — lines  which  ring  through  my 
memory  a  daily  chime,  calling  me  apart 
from  worldly  things  to  better  thoughts, 
and  those  brave  deeds  which  are  the  com- 
plement of  better  thoughts,  and  ought  al- 
ways to  succeed  them. 


106 


A  Pot  Pourri  cf  Poetry  and  Pofoif. 


[FdbnMBy 


Oh !  how  and  by  what  means  nuy  I  eontrlTe 

To  bring  the  hoar  that  calls  thee  back  more  near; 
How  may  I  teach  my  drooping  hope  to  live 

UnUI  that  bleased  time-«nd  thoa  art  here? 
ni  tell  thee  :  for  thy  sake  I  will  lay  hold 

Of  all  good  aims,  and  consecrate  to  thee 
In  worthy  deeds  each  moment  that  is  told, 

While  thoa  belovM  one  art  hx  from  me. 
80  may  this  doomed  time  build  np  in  me 

A  thousand  graces  which  shall  yet  be  thine ; 
80  may  my  love  and  longing  hallowed  be, 

And  thy  dear  thoaght  an  inflnenee  dirine. 

Margaret. — Nobody  can  appreciate  the 
beauty  of  that  poem  more  entirely  than  I, 
nor  that  of  the  other  little  gem,  which  a 
Christian  Minerva  might  inscribe  upon  her 
aegis,  and  carrying  it  before  her  into  the 
battle  of  life,  keep  herself  unspotted  from 
the  world. 

Better  trast  all  and  be  deceived. 
And  weep  tliat  trust  and  that  deceiving, 

Than  doubt  one  heart  which  if  believed 
Had  blessed  ono*B  life  with  true  believing. 

Zo£. — ^It  is  a  question  of  taste,  and  not 
of  appreciation.  Margaret  does  not  like 
to  see  grief  bowing  at  the  foot-lights,  and 
wUl  not  throw  her  a  bouquet  But  see 
what  I  have  done  while  you  were  talking. 

A   DREAM    OF   THE    INFINITE. 
Deep  hidden  in  the  clouds  of  circumstance, 
My  captive  spirit  pined  Its  strength  away, 
Waiting  the  coming  of  the  glory  ray. 
Wrapt  in  a  fixed  ImmuUbility— 

An  awfhl  deathlike  trance — 
Till  the  fkint  spirit  tones  came  rushing  by 
And  actuated  by  its  own  Intensity 
My  spirit  soared  on  high  I 

Far  out  into  the  Dread 

Their  mighty  pinions  spread. 
Crowned  with  the  lightnings— and  the  nnceotinf 

roll 
Of  the  immeasurable  in  our  track  I 

Till  whirling  echoing  back. 
Pealed  the  great  spirit-minor  o*er  my  head. 
Striking  the  knell  of  earthly  hopes  and  fears, 
While  the  pale  glister  of  an  Angel's  tears 

Shone  o'*er  the  conquered  soul ! 

There  !  I  maintain  that  that  produc- 
tion is  not  one  whit  more  incomprehensi- 
ble than  the  song  of  the  Morning  Star  to 
Lucifer  in  the  "  Drama  of  Exile." 

Margaret  (hesxiaiingly). — I  do  not  de- 
fend the  "  Song  of  the  Morning  Star,"  nor 
many  other  things  in  the  "  Drama  of  Ex- 
ile," but  I  think  that  there  are  admira- 
ble beauties  in  that  poem,  which  should 
have  kept  it  sacred  from  your  satiric 
pen.  The  moment  that  the  author's  muse 
comes  down  from  the  shadowy  into  the 
human,  leaving  the  "  Desertness "  and 
"  spectral  Dread,"  the  poem  becomes  full  of 
a  beauty  and  pathos  unequalled  as  I  think 
by  any  other  poem  by  a  woman's  pen. 
There  is  a  passage  in  Adam's  blessing  to 
the  Woman,  which  ought  to  be  printed  on 


broad-sheets,  and  scattered  by  colporteun 
throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  these 
United  States,  till  a  copy  were  in  the  hmndi 
of  every  individual  tainted  or  taintable 
with  the  prevailing  heresies  on  the  posi- 
tion of  woman. 

IfwoebytbM 
Bad  issue  to  the  woild,  thou  ahalt  go  Ibfth 
An  angel  of  the  woe  thoa  didst  achieve ; 
Found  acceptable  to  the  world  ioitead 
Of  others  of  that  name,  of  whoee  bright  rtept 
Thy  deed  made  bare  the  hill&    Be  satltfled; 
Something  thou  hast  to  bear  throng  womaaliood 
Peculiar  Buffering  answering  to  the  tin ; 
Some  pang  paid  down  for  each  new  huntii  liii 
Some  weariness  in  guarding  such  a  lifo ; 
Some  coldness  fh>m  the  guarded ;  some  miatnuit 
From  those  thou  hast  too  well  served;  from  thoie 

beloved 
Too  loyally  some  treason :  feebleneea 
Within  thy  heart,  and  cruelty  witboot, 
And  pressures  of  an  alien  tyranny 
With  its  dynastic  reasons  of  larger  bones 
And  stronger  sinews.    But,  go  to  1  thy  lore 
Shall  chaunt  itself  its  own  beatitude* 
After  its  own  life-working.    A  child^  klas 
Set  on  thy  sighing  lips  shall  make  thee  glad; 
A  poor  man,  served  by  thee,  ahall  make  thee  ildi; 
An  old  man,  helped  by  thee,  shall  make  thee  atrMg; 
Thou  Shalt  be  served  thyself  by  eveiy  aenae 
Of  service  which  thou  renderoat 

ZoE. — The  tears  are  in  oor  eyes,  Ifai^ 
garet.  I  too  propose  to  benefit  my  sex  by 
a  speech  I  shall  have  the  questionabie 
honor  to  deliver  some  day  at  Syrmcoaei 
the  capital  of  the  Amazons.  "Fellow- 
women,"  I  shall  say,  "did  it  ever  chanoe 
to  you  to  find  yourselves  singly  or  in  pain 
in  the  midst  of  a  wide  solitaiy  field,  sur- 
rounded by  moderately  excited  cattle? 
and  did  you  render  a  philosophical  aocoiuit 
to  yourselves  of  the  relief  you  experienced 
on  seeing  a  small  boy  advancing  tovrards 
you?  Tell  me,  fellow-women,  has  not 
nature  implanted  in  us  a  conscbus  sense 
of  difference  on  some  points— ^may  I  not 
say  inferiority?" 

Margaret. — Zoe,  do  yoa  imagine  that 
a  woman,  who  has  stCKxl  unmoved  fiv 
hours  on  a  platform  before  a  raging  as- 
sembly of  the  other  sex,  is  to  be  daunted. 
as  you  or  I  would  be,  by  a  drove  of  cattle  ? 

Olaribel. — You  are  more  severe  on 
them  than  Zoe  is.  She  gave  them  credit 
for  retaining  some  of  the  most  natoral 
feelings  of  womanhood.  But  I  have  heard 
that  some  of  those  who  wish  to  create 
perfect  equality  between  the  sexes  are 
very  exxgearUea  in  society,  where  they 
are  great  sticklers  foi  the  present  code  or 
Ladies'  Rights,  en  attendant  the  redress 
of  the  Wrongs  of  Women. 

Margaret. — It  seems  to  me  that  if  yoa 
make  the  solution  of  the  question  to  eOB- 
sist,  as  some  do,  in  "  ignoring  the  habitiisl 
discrimination  of  men  and  women  M  f 


1854.] 


A  Pot  Powrri  of  Poetry  and  Parody. 


199 


ing  separate  ckuteSy  and.  regarding  all 
alike  as  simply  penona — numan  beings,"* 
that  the  argument  becomes  in  danger  from 
both  horns  of  a  dilemma.  Once  place  the 
sexes  on  all  points  on  an  equality  as 
'^  simply  persons — ^as  human  beings,'^  and 
the 

DysMtle  reuons  of  larger  bon€S 

destroy  the  equality  at  once,  by  creating 
the  relation  of  protector  and  protected. 

ZoB  {catching  a  moth^  which  has 
heenjluttering  about  the  light^  and  shak- 
ing him  from  her  handkerchief  into  the 
open  air). — If  I  never  speak  at  Syracuse 
on  Woman's  Rights,  at  least  I  will  aspire 
to  the  presidency  of  a  society  for  the  pro- 
per r^;ulation  of  insect  suicide.  Gray 
millers  shall  not  grill  themselves  at  an 
expense  of  human  feelings  in  our  lights,  and 
flies  shall  be  restricted  to  the  use  of  water, 
and  not  cream  or  milk,  for  purposes  of^^^ 
de  se.  "By  the  way,  "  to  the  great  mind 
every  thing  becomes  an  incident."  Is  not 
that  in  Emerson  1 

Margaret. — I  never  found  it  in  his 
works. 

Claribbl. — Margaret,  you  once  owned 
a  very  capital  imitation  of  transcendental 
yersery. 

Margaret. — Yes ;  in  the  days  of  the 
Dial.  "Ecstasy  the  law  of  Nature."  It 
contained  all  the  catch  words  of  the  sect, 
and  was  written  by  a  witty  friend. 

Single,  malttform  creation  I 

SoaI-difl8o1ving  ecstasy  I 
How  shall  our  souls  come  fhll  circle, 

If  we  dwell  not  orbed  In  tbee  ? 

Strttb  of  kings  and  crime  of  nations, 

Weakness,  wickedness  of  heart, 
AH  are  adjuncts  to  this  power, 

All  in  ecstasy  have  part 
An-penrading,  ever-flowing^ 

OrUng,  circling  ecstasy  I 
Mortal  props  and  rafters  Tanisb, 

Prone  wa  cast  oorselyea  on  tboe  1 

Claribel. — That  is  not  more  incom- 
prehensible than  the  usual  run  of  trans- 
cendental poetry.  I  remember  a  few  lines 
of  "  The  Sphynx,"  a  poem  much  admired 
by  the  understanding  few  when  it  came 
out  in  the  Dial. 

The  Journeying  atoms 
Primordial  wfaole^ 
Firmly  draw,  firmly  drive 
By  their  animate  polea. 

Margaret. — Transcendentalism  is  as  a 
lamp  gone  out.  It  was  a  protest  against 
Unitarianism,  which  in  the  preceding  gen- 
eration had  been  a  protest  against  Puri- 
tanism. It  cast  a  wide  glare  over  New 
England,  but  the  smoky  flame  died  out  as 
^eedilj  as  it  had  kindled,  attesting  at 


once  the  wide-spread  feeling  of  a  tDani, 
and  the  insufficiency  of  the  new  faith  for  its 
satisfaction.  Transcendental  poetry  was 
never  of  much  account.  It  was  mere 
prose  snipped  into  verse  and  metre,  tagged 
with  indifferent  rhyme. 

Claribel. — I  have  been  reading  Mar- 
garet Fuller's  Life,  of  late,  and  have  been 
disappointed  very  much.  Its  defisct  is  m 
its  plan.  It  is  like  a  "  Long  Thursday  " 
London  opera  night,  distracting  one  with 
acts  from  half  a  dozen  operas.  Margaret 
was  eminently  a  progressive  person.  The 
interest  of  the  first  thirty-five  years  of  hep 
life  consists  almost  entirely  in  the  de- 
velopment of  her  character.  Either  of 
the  three  distinguished  gentlemen,  Clarke, 
Emerson,  and  Channing,  who  wrote  the 
book,  might  have  written  her  biography  5 
but  from  the  system  pursued  of  a  plurahty 
of  authors,  it  is  entirely  impossible  to  fol- 
low out  her  development.  As  soon  as  we 
fancy  we  have  gained  a  certain  insight 
into  her  character,  the  clew  is  broken  off 
and  another  fastened  on. 

Margaret. — She  died  with  Yanitas 
Vanitatum  inscribed  on  all  her  labor,  with 
no  wish  granted  her  on  earth  except  that 
touching  prayer  for  death  with  her  husband 
and  her  child.  And  in  the  hour  of  ship- 
wreck her  pride  of  intellect — her  habit  of 
command,  may  have  been  fatal  to  herself 
and  those  she  loved.  She  had  not  learned 
her  woman's  lesson  of  implicit  obedience 
in  time  of  danger,  es|)ecially  at  sea.  An 
ignorant  emigrant  mother  might,  with  a 
kiss  of  agony — a  prayer  of  trust,  have 
given  up  her  baby  into  the  hands  of  the 
good  steward  who  pledged  his  life  to  save 
the  boy.  and  have  rc-einbraced  her  little 
one  on  the  sand-hills  of  Fire  Island ;  but 
nothing  would  induce  Margaret  to  part 
from  her  husband  and  her  child. 

Claribel. — It  is  a  touching  fact,  that 
the  only  papers  of  any  value  which  escaped 
the  wreck,  were  the  love  letters  that  had 
passed  between  her  and  Ossoli. 

Margaret. — Yes;  and  these  records 
of  a  late  but  tender  married  love,  and  the 
marble  form  of  her  dead  infant,  seem  like 
a  mute  plea  for  sisterhood  and  gentle 
judgment  made  by  this  woman,  so  beloved 
yet  so  calumniated,  whose  own  mind,  like 
a  troubled  sea,  cast  up  mire,  and  dirt,  and 
gold,  and  gems.  ^'  Walking  through  dry 
places,  seeking  rest,  and  finding  none," 
might  be  the  motto  for  her  biography. 
The  book,  such  as  it  is,  is  the  saddest 
thing  I  ever  read,  not  only  from  the  cir- 
cumstances of  her  life,  which  were  of 
themselves  sufficiently  trying,  but  from 
her  entire  and  constant  disappointment  in 
her  own  theories.     She  constantly  ex- 


900 


A  Pot  Pourri  of  Poetry  and  Parody. 


[Fe 


pressed  strongly  her  weariness  of  life — 
now  all  had  failed ;  but  there  is  no  look- 
ing beyond ;  no  resting  on  the  hope  of  an 
eternal  home,  where  we  shall  see  all  things 
in  the  light  of  God. 

Claribel. — For  some  months  before 
the  wreck,  her  boy  had  been  teaching  her 
the  lessons  she  should  have  learned  in  her 
own  infancy.  Her  heart  had  been  bom 
old,  and  it  was  growing  young.  He  might 
also  have  led  her  to  a  simple  faith.  She 
might,  guiding  his  infant  steps,  have  en- 
teml  "  as  a  little  child  "  the  kingdom  of 
God. 

ZoE. — While  you  have  been  talking,  I 
have  made  another  poem. 

LINES  ON  SETTING  A  CAPTIVE  MILLER  FREE. 

*'  Put  oat  the  \ig\kt,*^SUte$ptmrt, 

FI7,  ally  sprite ;  Imprisoned  now  no  morei 
Ilssto  to  tlie  miMMy  ddls  where  vlolots  lic^ 

Upon  the  pinions  of  the  »outh  wind  soar, 
And  all  rejoicing  in  thy  liberty ; 
Hence,  cliild  of  froedom,  fly  1 

Ilie  to  the  Rn>enwood,  where  the  gushing  rillB 
Flow  swiftly  onward  on  their  gentle  way, 

Where  the  glad  nightingale  hor  vesper  trills, 
And  flowerets  fold  tholr  leaves  at  close  of  day; 
Haste  Joyously  away  I 

Where  the  pine  forest  rears  ltd  stately  head. 
Where  the  pale  primnMe  ponn  its  rich  peif  ume, 

Where  tullfM  bright  their  gaudy  petals  shed, 
And  the  younie  roses  all  unreckcd  of  bloom 
Amid  Uie  deepening  gloom. 

Hence  I  cleave  once  more  the  blue  ethereal  air, 
And  when  the  moon  Illumes  the  ocean's  breast, 

Seek  thee  simie  bed  beside  the  waters  fair. 
And  when  the  earth  in  her  dark  robes  Is  drest 
Fold  thy  light  wings  and  rest  I 

Margaret. — That  is  so  speciously  non- 
sensical, that  it  would  be  worth  while  to 
try  if  it  might  not  impose  on  the  editor  of 
some  literary  journal,  who,  deceived  by  the 
sweetness  of  the  metre,  might  print  it  in 
good  faith  as  the  production  of  a  disciple 
of  Mrs.  Ilcmans. 

ZoE. — Multitudes  of  published  poems 
are  to  the  full  as  absunl.  Did  we  ever 
show  you,  Claribel,  the  poem  Margaret 
and  I  once  wrote  to  see  what  we  could  do 
as  a  bona  fide  joint  impromptu  ?  Vile  as 
it  is,  it  is  an  average  specimen  of  the  stylo 
of  poem  to  which  it  belongs.  We  agreed 
to  compose  in  alternate  lines.  Neither 
was  to  hesitate  or  change  a  word.  We 
started  without  any  design,  nor  did  we 
find  one,  till  I  gave  the  two  last  lines  in  a 
breath  and  wrote  over  it  a  title. 

THE   ORIGIN    OF   PEARLS. 

They  wandered  slowly  o'er  the  plain, 

The  father  and  the  duogbter, 
Until  they  reached  a  silvery  ]ak» 

Of  dear  and  placid  water. 


Where  Bitting  uidly  l^  its  aide 
Her  tears  dropped  slowly  in ; 

They  were  soft  tears  of  woman^i  pridi^ 
Of  sorrow,  not  of  dn. 

There  came  a  naiad  fhrni  the  wtvc^ 
And  caught  them  in  a  shell  I 

More  pnroly  white  than  moantala-na 
She  caught  them  as  they  fell 

The  fkther  watched  the  glancing  sprite 
And  bending  o'er  his  child. 

He  said  with  accents  low  and  soft, 
And  Ups  that  Ikintly  smiled— 

**  Behold,  sweet  girl,  the  ways  ofloT*; 

Those  tears  that  sadly  fell. 
Shall  prove  bright  gems  of  predoni  wt 

Hid  in  that  prison  sbelL** 

Claribel. — Was  that  reallj 
promptu  7 

ZoE. — I  hope  you  don't  suppose 
any  thing  else.  It  was  repeated  ofl 
out  pause,  as  I  have  said  it  to  you* 

Maroaket. — I  can  be  more  len 
ori^nal  trash,  I  think,  than  to  th( 
which  spoils  a  foreign  poet  by  trans 
I  greatly  prefer  to  read  the  works  < 
foreign  bard  (if  I  cannot  understanc 
in  his  own  tongue),  through  the  m 
of  a  prose  translation  in  a  third  lai^ 
One  IS  not  annoyed  by  awkward  £] 
and  the  poetry  retains  a  sort  of  1 
flavor. 

Claribel. — By  the  way,  Gcrmui 
may  be  literally  translated^  and  the  1 
version  of  a  German  work  &;aiiu 
little  foreign  flavor ;  but  Frenchifiec 
lish  is  a  caricature  of  fine  writini 
justice  may  be  best  done  to  a  1 
author  by  rendering  his  work,  not 
for  word,  but  idiom  for  idiom. 

ZoE. — I  seldom  read  poetical  ti 
tions  without  thinking  of  what  the 
ney  draper  aptly  said,  that  Homer  t 
Pope  was  ^*  unclassickedj  not  transl 

Margaret. — A  few  years  since 
literary  miss,  and  forward  schoolbo] 
their  hands  upon  translation,  and  1 
suit  was,  both  so  vile  and  so  volum 
that  it  is  a  mercy  the  task  of  compfl 
edition  of  the  "  Poets  and  Poetry  0 
rope  "  was  not  appropriated  by  oim 
as  Carlyle  says,  would  have  edited 
as  one  *'  edits  wagon  loads  of  brokeo 
and  dry  mortar,  simply  by  tumbli 
the  wagon." 

Claribel. — One  of  our  very  best 
lish  transl-itions,  is  Leigh  Hunt's  si 
version  of  Redi's  Bacchanalian  0 
praise  of  the  wines  of  Tuscany. 

And  drink  of  the  wine  of  the  Tine 
That  sparkles  warm  in  Bansovine  I 

Those  lines  are  more  musical  thi 
Italian — and  think  of  the  old  gent 
having  been  a  water-drinker  tS&r  a 


1854.] 


A  Pot  Pourri  of  Poetry  and  Parody. 


561 


ZoE. — He  sings  the  praise  of  ice  as 
masically  and  enthusiastically  as  that  of 
the  vine*  If  I  were  a  member  of  the 
skating  club,  I'd  skate  an  inscription  from 
the  Ode  on  Lake  Wenham. 

Margaret.— Reading  a  translated  poem 
ought  to  be  made  a  punishment  for  not 
having  studied  the  language  of  the  origi- 
nal, and  therefore  I  would  never  find  fault 
with  a  translation^  like  Gary's  Dante,  in 
which  the  strained  mvolved  English  makes 
the  author's  meaning  harder  to  get  at  than 
it  would  be  to  a  student  with  common 
sense  in  the  original  with  even  an  imper- 
fisct  knowledge  of  the  poet's  tongue ;  but 
the  huge  mass  of  modem  poeti^  trans- 
lation is  in  the  ^lib  versification  of  the 
Laura  Matilda  soiool.  I  speak  feelingly 
upon  this  subject  because  I  number 
amongst  the  sins  or  my  youth  a  transla- 
tion, which  I  suffered  to  appear  in  print,  of 
what  was  probably  in  the  original  a  rude, 
roug^  broken,  and  effective  ejaculatory 
people's  ballad.  I  reduced  it  to  smooth 
annual-like  stanzas — reminding  me  when- 
ever I  think  of  it,  of  Champagne  or  spark- 
lii^  Moselle  in  a  cut  glass  decanter.  It 
was  courteously  alluded  to,  too,  at  the-time, 
by  no  less  an  authority  than  a  London 
Quarterly  Reviewer ! 

ZoE.~Who  can  write  a  respectable  im- 
itation of  the  national  poetry  of  the  old 
Sherwood  Forest  days?  Why  is  it  that 
the  Ballad,  the  earliest  expression  of  pop- 
ular feeling  dies  out  at  the  approach  of 
civilization  ?  Sir  Walter  Scott's  "  Glcn- 
finlas "  is  scarcely  worth  the  trouble  of 
reprint — and  if  you  want  to  see  degenera- 
tion, compare  the  fragment  "  Baruiram'a 
Dirge"  with  "Elfinland  Weed."  or  «  Ru- 
dicer,"  or  the  "Eve  of  St  John." 

Margaret. — ^It  was  always  a  proof  to 
me  how  greatly  the  national  taste  for  poe- 
try was  ux  gone  from  original  simplicity 
in  Johnson's  days,  that  Chatterton's  imi- 
tation was  so  widely  mistaken  for  a  gen- 
uine old  Ballad.  Kny  one  familiar  with 
Ellk,  Ritson,  and  Bishop  Percy  could,  it 
seems  to  me,  detect  the  forgery  in  half  a 
line.  There  is  another  vice  of  ordinary 
translation — ^I  mean  expansion — which  in- 
terfores  with  our  rendering  the  lays  of  an 
earlier  day.  A  nation  in  its  infancy  lisps 
in  numbers,  intent  not  on  its  form  of 
speech,  but  the  expression  of  its  feeling. 
When  it  has  acquired  greater  command  of 
language  it  is  so  pleased  by  "  the  beauty 


and  newness  of  its  art "  that  it  floods  its 
ideas  with  words,  and  loses  the  conciseness 
and  simplicity,  and  at  the  same  lime  the 
pre-Raphaelitic  attention  to  details,  which 
characterized  its  earlier  poetry. 

ZoE. — To  resume  your  champagne  simile 
it  would  be  well  if  our  translators  in  de- 
canting would  be  content  to  give  us  du 
champagne  non  mousseau  at  least  free 
from  the  adulteration  of  their  own  turnip 
juice  or  gooseberry. 

G*e8t  le  bon  rol  Dagobert 
Qui  mit  8a  cnlotte  A  ronvera. 

Translate  that,  Margaret 
Margaret. — 

The  Monarch  roused  him  from  hisslambers. 
The  foe  came  on,  and  great  tholr  numbers. 
Good  was  the  king— a  -warrior  bravo, 
Bold  Dagobert  the  name  they  gave. 
8o  hasty  dressed  he  for  the  row,  etrs, 
That  wrong  side  out  ho  donned  his  trowsers. 

ZoE. — You  are  not  competent  to  the 
task,  Margaret.  You  have  no  genius  for 
redundancy.  The  nursery  distich  has  five 
principal  words.  These  you  have  only 
expanded  into  a  line  a-piece  with  one  to 
spare  for  the  interpolation  of  your  own 
giratuitous  supposition.  You  have  given, 
however,  the  jerky  way  in  which  some 
folks  translate  epigrams : 

Claribel. — It  is  nearly  twelve  o'clock, 

"Bee,  we  have  wasted  half  a  summer's  night  1 " 

may  we  not  say  with  Artevcld.  You 
have  damaged  the  reputation  of  poets  we 
all  love;  and  mercy  and  truth  have  not 
met  together  in  your  estimate  of  the  poet- 
lings.  What  good  docs  it  do  to  point  out 
spots  in  the  sun?  Leave  us  to  fancy  him 
all  brightness. 

ZcE. — What  good  may  I  have  done  to 
poetlings?  Such  good  as  may  be  done 
by  nailing  a  dead  hawk  to  a  barn  door ! 
Nor  does  it  do  us  harm  to  turn  our  opin- 
ion of  our  favorites  sometimes  wrong- 
side  out,  and  ravel  out  unsightly  threads. 
And  principally  good  is  done  by  reflections 
on  this  subject,  because  young  writers  may 
be  warned  to  have  an  eye  to  sense,  and 
some  may  be  scared,  as  Margaret  and  I 
have  been,  from  second-rate  attempts  at 
versification.  A  verse  containing  bits  of 
broken  similes  is  not  redeemed  by  unim- 
peachableness  of  rhyme — or  sweetness  of 
rhythm. 


▼OL.  IIL— 14 


902 


The  Lateit  mstorie  Ihubt : 


[Pel 


THE   LOST   PRINCE. 

[We  shall  probftblj  not  again  bo  called  upon  to  glre  place  to  another  article  on  the  snbject  of  the  I 
and  wc  odIj  do  so  now  in  Jnstioe  to  our  readers,  whose  cmiosit/  has  been  exdted  by  the  two  prerioni 
from  Mr.  Hanson,  and  who  may  consider  themselvee  entitled  to  know  all  the  developments  which  ha 
made  in  tliis  strange  history  since  his  last  commnnication.  The  first  article  which  we  published  on  t 
Ject,  '*  Have  wc  a  Bourbon  amongst  us  t  **  was  Introduced  by  a  letter  fh>m  one  of  the  most  distingoiahe^ 
men  of  the  Episcopal  Cbu^cl^  vouching  for  the  respectability  and  dbinterested  zeal  of  the  author,  aac 
lowing  review  is  by  another  eminent  clergyman  of  the  same  church,  who,  as  will  be  seen,  has  had  tb« 
tage  of  knowing;  Mr.  Williams  from  his  boyhood,  and  whose  testimony  is  beyond  the  sospicloa  of 
motives  or  partisan  zeal— Ed.  P.  H.} 


Teb  Lost  rnnrcs :  fiicts  tending  to  prove  the  iden- 
tity of  Louis  the  Seventeenth  of  France,  and  the 
Bev.  Elcazer  William^  Missionary  among  the  In- 
dians of  North  America.  By  John  H.  Hanson. 
New- York :  O.  P.  Fatnam  &  Ga    ISdi.    pp.  478. 

THE  Rev.  Mr.  Hanson,  author  of  the 
articles  on  this  subject  published  in 
this  magazine  in  February  and  April  of 
last  year,  avowed  his  deep  interest  in  the 
question  from  the  start,  and  has  not  hesi- 
tated to  declare  his  conviction,  that  the 
Rev.  Eleazer  Williams  is  the  son  of  Louis 
Sixteenth  of  France,  and,  consequently, 
the  Dauphin,  who  was  alleged  to  have 
died  in  the  tower  of  the  Temple  at  Paris,  on 
the  8th  of  June  1795.  Under  such  an  im- 
pression, it  was  not  to  be  expected  that 
Mr.  Hanson,  after  all  that  he  had  done, 
would  let  the  subject  sleep.  He  has,  ac- 
cordingly, given  it  diligent  attention — has 
examined  critically  all  that  has  been  writ- 
ten and  said  against  the  claims  of  Mr. 
Williams — has  travelled  extensively,  to 
look  up  additional  evidence — and  has  fi- 
nally come  forth  with  the  result  of  his  in- 
vestigations, in  a  handsome  duodecimo  of 
479  pages,  in  a  little  less  than  a  year  after 
his.  first  article  on  the  subject  was  pub- 
lished. The  volume  bears  the  title  of  the 
TBOtto  at  the  head  of  this  article.  The 
Lost  Prince..  And  Mr.  Hanson  has  not 
labored  in  vain.  He  has  certainly  accom- 
plished something.  We  may  even  say, 
he  has  done  a  good  deal.  Where  his  work 
does  not  produce  conviction,  it  will  at 
least  command  respect  He  has,  we  think, 
cleared  the  way  for,  and  abundantly  justi- 
fied the  following  propositions : 

L  The  Dauphin  did  not  die  in  the 
Temple,  as  the  French  Government  alleged 
at  the  time,  and  as  has  been  commonly 
suppcsed. 

2.  The  child  that  died  there  was  clan- 
destinely introduced  as  a  substitute  for 
the  Dauphin,  while  the  Dauphin  was  se- 
cretly carried  away. 

3.  Ho  was  brought  to  America,  and 
disposed  of,  with  the  intent  that  he  should 
never  appear  as  a  claimant  of  the  throno 
of  France. 


4.  Two  French  refugees,  as  thei 
supposed  to  be,  a  man  and  woma 
peared  in  Albany,  N.  Y.,  in  17 
charge  of  two  children,  a  boy  an 
under  such  circumstances  as  to  just 
theory,  that  the  boy  was  the  Dai 
and  that  they  left  Albany  for  par 
known. 

5.  In  the  same  year,  1795,  two  F 
men,  one  of  them  having  the  appe 
of  a  Roman  Catholic  priest,  brouf 
weak,  sickly  boy,  in  a  state  of  men* 
becility,"  to  l^conderoga,  and  lej 
with  the  Indians.  The  child  was  a 
by  an  Iroquois  chief,  named  Thomii 
liams. 

6.  This  child  is  proved  to  be  tb 
Eleazer  Williams. 

7.  Mr.  Williams  is  not  an  Indian 

8.  The  Duchess  D'Angonl^me,  a 
other  members  of  the  French  Bonrl 
mily,  have  always  known  that  th 
phin  did  not  die  in  the  Temjdo,  and  i 
was  carried  to  America. 

9.  The  same  members  of  the  ! 
Royal  family  have  always  been  w 
vised,  so  as  to  believe  the  fact,  th 
Dauphin  was  still  alive,  in  the  pei 
the  Rev.  Eleazer  Williams. 

We  do  not  say  that  all  these  p 
tions  are  clearly  demonstrated ;  fo 
there  would  be  no  remaining  qo 
Some  of  them  are,  doubtless,  bett€ 
blished  than  others.  Some,  indei 
proved  beyond  the  possibility  of 
But  the  sum  of  probabilities  which 
around  the  more  doubtful,  is  of  a 
and  character  fully  to  justify  the  ( 
sion,  that  Mr.  Williams  may  be  tb 
phin,  and,  perhaps,  to  justify  the 
that  he  actually  is  so.  Mr.  Hans 
prefaced  his  argument  by  the  fol 
two  mottos,  which  appear  on  hif 
page :  ^^  There  is  no  historical 
against  which  obstinacy  cannot  rais 
objections.  Many  people  think  thex 
justified  in  asserting,  against  an 
historical  fact,  its  impossibility,  v 
considering,  that  nothing  is  true  or 
in  the  eye  of  history  becmase  it  is  p 


1854.] 


Problem  of  the  Loet  Prmee. 


208 


or  improbable,  bat  simplj  because,  as- 
suming its  general  logical  possibility,  it 
can  be  proved  to  be  or  not  to  be  a  fact" — 
Buruen.  '*  On  appealing,  after  a  number 
of  years,  to  the  evidence  of  facts,  it  will 
always  be  found,  in  the  end,  that  proba- 
bility is,  in  all  tilings,  the  best  symptom 
of  truth." — Lamartine.  According  to 
the  principle  of  these  two  mottos,  wherein 
the  above  propositions,  as  stated  by  us, 
are  not  clearly  demonstrated,  they  may 
be  safely  weighed  in  the  balance  of  proba- 
bilities ;  and  it  is  on  this  principle  that  we 
have  thought  proper  to  give  them  form 
and  place.  The  negative  of  either  of  them 
cannot  be  established  by  like  probabilities, 
as,  for  example,  in  the  contradiction  be- 
tween Mr.  Williams  and  the  Prince  de 
Joinvillc,  which,  indeed,  has  no  direct 
bearing  on  either  of  the  propositions  we  have 
laid  down,  though  it  may  passibly  be  re- 
nrded  as  having  an  incidental  relation. 
But,  assuming  that  the  Prince  de  Join- 
ville  was  disappointed  in  the  result  of  his 
interview  with  Mr.  Williams^  it  is  easy  to 
Me,  that  he  was  forced  into  this  contradio- 
tion  by  his  plan  and  policy,  admitting  the 
facts  allf^ed  by  Mr.  Williams.  Here  the 
role  of  probability  applies  with  great 
force  in  favor  of  Mr.  Williams'  account,  as 
it  is  very  improbable  that  the  Prince 
would  assent  to  its  truth.  He  could  not 
do  it,  in  consistency  with  the  alleged  pur- 
pose of  his  mission. 

Mr.  Hanson,  by  his  industry  and  zeal 
in  this  cause,  has  certainly  collected  most 
important  and  vital  evidence  pn  this  ques- 
tion, since  his  first  papers  were  published, 
m  February  and  April  of  last  year ;  ana 
m  the  volume  now  under  consideration, 
he  has  grouped  all  the  testimony  in  the 
case  with  great  skill  and  with  telling  ef- 
fect For  his  jseal  he  needs  no  apology ; 
for  he  professes  to  believe  in  his  story, 
vfaich,  if  true,  is  worthy  of  any  man's 
enthusiasm.  The  first  item  of  additional 
evidence  brought  forward,  which  we  pro- 
pose to  notice,  is  the  second  affidavit  of 
iCr.  Williams'  reputed  mother,  Mary  Ann 
Williams,  which  was  made  by  her  to  cor- 
rect the  fiilse  statements  of  the  first  To 
apeak  in  the  mildest  terms  that  will  pro- 
perly characterize  the  discrepancy  be- 
tween the  two  documents,  as  it  applies  to 
the  question  at  issue,  it  is  a  most  as- 
tooncung  disclosure — astounding  not  onl^ 
Ifor  the  sudden  flood  of  light  which  it 
easts  on  the  main  question,  but  especially 
aod  altogether  more  astounding  for  the 
audacity  of  the  fraud  practis^  in  the 
means  of  obtaining,  and  in  the  mode  of 
uttering,  tlie  first  affidavit  This  docu- 
■MD^  it  would  6eem,  was  obtained  at  the 


instance  of  M.  De  Courcy,  though  there 
is  no  evidence  that  he  gave  instructions 
that  would  suggest  or  justify  the  fraud. 
It  appears,  however,  to  have  been  quite 
acceptable  to  him.  as  might  have  been 
expected  from  his  known  feelings.  For 
what  reasons  he  took  it  to  France,  before 
it  was  published  here,  or  whether  he  went 
expressly  on  that  errand,  we  are  not  in- 
formed. It  is  natural  to  suppose,  from 
the  fact  of  his  going  to  France  with  this 
document  in  his  pocket,  that  it  required 
to  bo  submitted  there.  He  then  returned 
it  to  New- York,  to  be  published  in  the 
Courrier  dea  EtcUa  Unis^  from  which 
journal  it  went  the  rounds  of  the  papers 
of  the  country,  silencing,  as  was  supposed 
at  the  time,  the  pretensions  of  Mr  Wil- 
liams, and  overwhelming  them  with  ridi- 
cule and  contempt.  The  history  of  this 
remarkable  document  is  sufficiently  indi- 
cated by  the  following  certificate : 

*^  I  certify  that  the  aflSdavit  sworn  to  before  me  ia 
March  last,  by  Mrs.  Mary  Ann  Williams,  was  in  the 
English  language.  She  came  to  my  office  in  Hi)gan»- 
bnrgh,  either  in  companj  with,  or  met  there,  the 
Bev.  Francis  Marcoux,  Roman  Catholic  priest  at  St 
Bcgis.  Two  Indians  wero  also  present  Mr.  Mar> 
coux  acted  as  Interpreter,  and  put  the  qneetions  to  her 
in  the  Indian  language,  and  interpreted  them  in  Eng- 
lish. A.  FULTOX,  J.  P. 

*•  Hogansburgh,  Julj/  8, 16M.'' 

It  will  be  observed,  that  Mrs.  Williams 
gave  her  evidence  in  the  Indian  language, 
not  understanding  English  ;  and  that  >Ir 
Marcoux  interpreted  it  to  the  Justice  of 
the  Peace,  Mr.  Fulton,  in  English,  to  be 
put  down,  sworn  to,  and  published  in 
that  language.  It  was  executed  and  pub- 
lished accordingly,  but,  in  all  the  par-' 
ticulars  mentioned  in  this  affidavit,  touch- 
ing the  question  before  the  public,  Mrs. 
Williams  is  made  to  contradict  her  re- 
puted son,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Williams,  and  to 
implicate  him  in  false  statements.  She  is 
made  repeatedly  to  declare,  that  Eleazer 
Williams  is  her  own  son;  to  deny  the 
story  to  the  contrary,  and  to  maintain 
June  as  the  month  in  which  she  thinks 
he  was  bom.  Suffice  it  to  state,  that  she 
is  made  to  say  and  swear  to  in  English,  a 
language  which  she  did  not  understand, 
many  things  important  to  the  point  in 
issue,  which  she  did  not  say  in  her  own 
tongue,  which  she  did  not  intend  to  say, 
and  which  she  could  not  say  with  truth 
and  a  good  conscience ;  all  which,  when 
she  came  to  have  it  explained  to  her,  as  it 
really  was,  she  entirely  repudiated,  and 
went  before  the  same  magistrate,  Mr. 
Fulton,  a  second  time,  and  made  a  new 
affidavit  in  her  own  language;  and  not- 
withstanding she  was  followed  up  by  Mr. 


804 


The  Latest  HieUmc  Doubt : 


[Fefbnuny 


Marconz's  friends,  with  assiduous  efforts 
to  embarrass  her,  and  to  prevent  her  from 
purging  her  conscience,  she  nevertheless, 
in  her  second  affidavit,  declared,  that  the 
Rev.  Eleazer  Williams  was  an  adopted 
child,  and  corrected  all  the  other  points  in 
which  she  had  been  misinterpreted  by  Mr. 
Marcoux  in  her  first  affidavit.  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams swears,  in  her  second  affidavit,  that 
Mr.  Marcoux,  with  others,  some  women, 
persuaded  her  to  make  the  first  and  that 
she  found,  when  the  first  was  explained 
to  her,  that  it  contained  things  which  she 
did  not  intend  to  say,  and  which  were  not 
true;  that  is,  all  the  material  points  of 
the  case.  These  two  affidavits,  and  the 
history  of  them,  are  given  in  the  twentieth 
chapter  of  the  book  now  under  notice,  and 
they  claim  an  attentive  perusal  by  those 
who  desire  to  understand  the  merits  of 
this  controversy.  We  need  not  name  the 
legal  or  technical  denommation  which 
characterizes  this  fraud,  as  all  know  that 
it  constitutes  a  very  high  crime.  Mr. 
Hanson  might  well  be  eloquent,  as  he  is, 
on  this  branch  of  his  argument  We  cite 
a  single  sentence :  ^'  Taking  advantage  of 
her  ignorance  of  all  languages,  but  Indian, 
and  relying  upon  the  obscurity  of  a  bar- 
baric tongue,  to  hide  from  the  world  his 
imposture,  this  clergyman  falsely  inter- 
prets her  answers  to  the  magistrate,  sub- 
stitutes wholesale  statements,  adapted  to 
his  own  ends,  for  those  which  she  in  real- 
ity makes;  then  falsely  interprets  his  in- 
terpretation to  her,  procures  her  oath  to 
his  fabrication,  poisons  the  fountains  of 
truth  and  justice  at  their  primal  and  most 
sacred  source,  add  seeks  to  send  the  poor 
woman  into  the  grave  with  a  sworn  lie 
upon  her  lips,  against  the  child  of  her 
adoption,  that  he  might  at  once  destroy 
his  reputation,  and  deceive  the  world 
upon  a  grave  question  of  history."  And 
when  M.  De  Courcy  gets  possession  of 
this  precious  document,  ho  goes  on  a  mis- 
sion to  France,  peradventure  to  have  it 
determined  there  when  and  where  it  shall 
be  published ;  and  it  is  sent  back  to  be 
published  in  New-York. 

It  is  true  that  this  enormity  in  the  social 
state  docs  not  prove  that  the  Rev.  Eleazer 
Williams  is  the  son  of  Louis  Sixteenth ; 
but  it  does  prove  that  man  must  have  a 
strong  motive,  and  should  receive  no  tri- 
fling compensation,  to  practice  subornation 
of  perjury  to  prevent  the  establishment  of 
such  an  historical  fact  It  proves,  more- 
over, that  there  is  some  stupendous  wrong 
in  this  business,  be  it  to  rob  a  bom  prince 
of  his  right  to  a  throne,  or  a  private  and 
humble  individual  of  his  character,  the  lat- 
ter of  which  may,  possibly,  in  this  case,  be 


more  highly  priz^  than  the  former.  So 
palpable  a  fraud  too,  and  a  fraud  of  such  a 
character,  will  naturally  lead  men  to  think, 
that,  after  all,  there  is  something  in  this 
question  not  only  deserving  of  oonsidera- 
tioion,  but  of  very  grave  import  There  is 
not,  perhaps,  in  the  whole  history  of  this 
complicated  affair,  another  incident  of  a 
more  striking  and  impressive  character. 
Every  one  will  ask,  what  could  be  the  mo- 
tive of  this  subornation  of  peijury  ?  and 
let  him  who  can,  answer. 

Another  interesting  and  instructive  part 
of  the  additional  evidence  adduced  by  Mr. 
Hanson,  is  the  narrative,  and  more  sucdnGt 
affidavit,  of  Mrs.  Brown,  of  New  Orleans, 
also  given  in  the  twentieth  chapter  of  the 
book,  and  in  Appendix  N.,  Mrs.  Reid  certi- 
fies by  affidavit  to  the  (^aracter  of  Mrs. 
Brown,  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Whitall,  in  the 
same  way,  to  that  of  Mrs.  Rdd.  The  credi- 
bility of  the  testimony  is  well  guaranteed. 
Mrs.  Brown  was  formerly  wife  of  the  Secre- 
tary of  Count  D'  Artois,  and  resided  six 
years,  from  1804  to  1810,  at  Holyrood 
House,  Edinburgh,  with  the  royal  exiles ; 
and  for  nearly  as  long  a  time  afterwards,  she 
was  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  the  Bourbon 
family,  and  did  them  seme  service,  whick 
was  highly  appreciated.  Her  position  as 
wife  of  the  Secretary  of  the  Count,  was 
doubtless  above  that  of  a  domestic  Hence^ 
while  in  exile,  the  Dudiess  d'AngouI^me 
seems  to  have  admitted  her  to  some  de- 
gree of  confidence.  The  knowledge,^how- 
ever,  which  she  attained  from  the  Duchess^ 
and  through  other  channels,  while  in  this 
relation  to  the  royal  family,  of  the  Rer.  . 
Eleazer  Williams,  as  the  recognized  Dau- 
phin, seems  to  have  been  purely  accidental, 
and  it  is  all  the  more  valuable  on  that  ac- 
count. She  testifies  that  the  Duchess 
d'Angouldme  told  her,  that  ^She  knew 
the  Dauphin  was  alive  and  safe  in  Ameri- 
ca." The  affidavit  also  proves,  that  the 
royal  family  knew  that  he  was  called  bj 
the  name  of  Williams ;  but  they  said  "  he 
was  incompetent  to  reign ;"  or  as  detailed 
more  particularly  by  Mr.  Hanson,  page 
420,  ^^  Mrs  Brown  went  on  to  say,  that, 
according  to  Mrs.  Chamberlain's  state- 
ment (Mrs.  Chamberlain  was  wife  to  the 
Secretary  of  Count  De  Coigny.)  the  sub- 
ject had  been  much  discussed  in  the  pal- 
ace, and  that  the  royal  family  said,  Wil- 
liams was  incompetent  to  reign,  and  his 
elevation  to  the  throne  would  only  increase 
the  difficulties  of  the  times — that  a  man 
had  come  out  from  America  to  confer  with 
them  on  the  sul^ect,  and  that  she  had  seen 
him.  Money  was  given  to  this  man,  and 
he  returned  to  America."  Mrs.  Brown 
had  often  heard  m  the  royal  ikmil  j,  that 


1854.] 


PrtjhUm  <^  the  Lost  Prinoe. 


206 


Bellanger  was  the  name  of  the  man  who 
carried  the  Dauphin  to  America.  Mrs. 
Brown  was  an  old  and  retired  lady,  had 
passed  through  many  trying  vicissitudes 
of  life,  and  had  nothing  more  to  hope  for 
from  the  world,  being  on  the  borders  of 
the  grave,  and  dying  of  a  cancer  in  the 
breast  Her  testimony  is  simple,  and  ap- 
parently honest  It  is  entirely  indepen- 
dent of  all  other  sources ;  and  yet,  so  ffur 
as  it  goes,  it  is  perfectly  coincident  with 
the  history  of  Mr.  Williams'  life.  She  was 
never  before  acquainted  with  anybody, 
except  the  members  of  the  royal  family, 
who  knew  any  thing  about  Mr.  Williams. 
This,  certainly,  is  a  very  remarkable  fact 
The  name  of  Williams  she  knew  well  as 
being  that  under  which  the  Dauphin  was 
known  to  the  royal  family ;  but  his  Chris- 
tian name  she  had  forgotten.  When  asked 
if  it  were  Joseph,  or  Aaron,  or  some  oth- 
ers, she  promptly  said.  No;  but  when 
Eleazer  wias  mentioned,  her  memory  seem- 
ed to  brighten  up,  and  she  said,  "  It  seems 
to  me  it  was  Eleazer."  If  Mrs.  Brown's 
evidence  is  to  be  received,  it  proves,  that 
the  history  of  Mr.  Williams  was  as  well 
known  to  the  royal  family,  as  to  any  of 
those  who  have  been  personally  acquaint- 
ed with  him  all  his  life  in  this  country. 
It  is  probable,  from  all  accounts,  that  the 
Duchess  d'Angoul^me,  while  a  young  per- 
son, supposed  her  brother  the  Dauphin 
iras  dead.  But  the  Duke  do  Provence, 
who  came  to  the  throne  as  Louis  the 
Eighteenth,  who  plotted  against  his  broth- 
er, Louis  the  Sixteenth,  in  the  progress  of 
the  Revolution,  and  who  is  supposed  to 
have  intrigued  to  get  Bellanger  into  the 
Tower,  in  charge  of  the  Dauphin,  is  known 
to  have  had  the  care  of  his  niece  till  her 
marriage ;  and  it  were  strange,  if  he  could 
not  prepare  her  mind,  after  the  horrors  of 
the  Revolution  were  chiefly  obliterated, 
and  when  she  herself  was  interested  in  the 
exclusion  of  the  Dauphin  from  the  throne, 
to  receive  the  intelligence,  that  her  brother 
was  yet  alive,  but  in  a  condition  that  un- 
fitted him  for  the  assumption  of  regal 
Kwcr.  But  the  Duchess  was  not  a  Lady 
icbeth,  and  conscience  will  always  work 
in  tender  minds.  It  is  in  evidence,  that 
she  went  down  to  the  grave  with  a  weighty 
sorrow  upon  her  heart. 

Mrs.  Brown  never  had  supposed  that 
the  information  she  possessed  on  this  sub- 
ject could  be  of  any  practical  importance. 
She  obtained  it  accidentally,  and  had  oc- 
casionally spoken  of  Mr.  Williams  acci- 
dentally. Mrs.  Rcid  had  heard  her  speak 
of  him  for  the  last  fifteen  years,  as  an  in- 
teresting item  in  the  history  of  the  royal 
Cunily,  in  whidi  she  83rmpathized ;  but 


neither  she  nor  her  auditors  ever  supposed 
that  any  thing  would  come  of  it.  All  this 
— and  it  is  by  no  means  inconsiderable — 
is  manifestly  a  distinct  and  independent 
chapter  in  the  field  of  evidence  on  this 
subject;  and  being  perfectly  and  even 
strikingly  coincident  ^^ith  all  the  rest,  it 
adds  to  the  sum  of  probabilities  belonging 
to  the  question  a  quantity  of  great  weight 
and  force.  It  is  more  especially  important, 
as  it  shows,  first,  that  the  royal  family 
never  had  any  doubt  that  Mr.  Williams 
was  the  Dauphin ;  and  next,  that  they  have 
never  failed  to  keep  themselves  well  in- 
formed about  him.  Admitting  these  facts, 
the  theory  of  the  case  supposes  that  he  was 
sent  here  to  get  rid  of  him,  and  that,  so 
long  as  this  purpose  could  be  maintained, 
there  was  humanity  enough  in  the  family 
to  take  some  interest  in  his  obscure  and 
humble  fortunes,  and  in  an  indirect  way, 
and  by  occult  agencies,  to  administer  oc- 
casionally to  his  support  and  comfort.  It 
will  be  seen,  also,  that  this  theory  tallies 
exactly  with  the  interest  in  Mr.  Williams 
shown  by  the  Louis  Philippe  family,  and 
with  the  alleged  mission  of  the  Prince 
de  Joinville  to  Green  Bay. 

We  will  now  return  to  propositions  laid 
down  by  us,  in  the  former  part  of  this 
article. 

1.  The  Dauphin  did  not  die  in  the  Tem- 
ple. The  evidence  on  this  point  must,  we 
think,  now  be  regarded  as  conclusive.  Mr. 
Hanson  has  collected  and  arranged  it  most 
satisfactorily.  It  amounts  to  demonstra- 
tion. We  may  perhaps  say,  that  the  in- 
stincts of  historical  acumen  have  long 
since  decided  this  point  against  the  alleged 
death  of  the  Dauphin  in  the  Temple ;  or 
rather,  they  have  never  been  able  to  enter- 
tain it  as  a  fact.  Even  to  superficial  ob- 
servers, it  has  always  seemed,  more  or  less, 
as  a  got  up  affair,  or  political  trick  played 
off  on  the  public.  In  view  of  the  allq^ed 
facts  of  the  case,  wrapped  in  so  much  ob- 
scurity, no  strong  mind  has  ever  been  sa- 
tisfied with  the  proces  verbal  ordered  and 
sanctioned  by  the  Convention.  The  theo- 
ry of  the  Dauphin's  escape  supposes  that 
the  Duke  de  Provence  had.  by  his  intrigues, 
outwitted  the  Convention.  The  Duke  had 
got  rid  of  his  brother,  Louis  XVI..  as  he 
had  wishedj  without  having  the  responsi- 
bility of  his  decapitation;  and  the  only 
obstacle  now  in  his  way  to  the  throne  was 
the  Dauphin.  But  Dessaux,  the  first 
physician  in  all  France,  had  pronounced 
that  his  disease  was  not  incurable,  and 
that  with  proper  treatment,  he  might  get 
well ;  or,  as  the  Duchess  d'  Angoullmesays, 
"he  undertook  to  cure  him."  Dessaux 
suddenly  dies,  with    rumors  whispered 


206 


The  Latest  HUtoric  Doubt: 


[Febmaij 


about,  that  he  had  been  poisoned.  His 
medical  pupil.  M.  Abcill^,  uniformly  said 
he  was  poisoned.  The  appointed  physi- 
cian of  the  Dauphin,  attached  to  the  roy- 
al family,  who  would  naturally  feel  the 
strongest  interest  in  the  life  and  health  of 
the  child,  who  had  pronounced  his  com- 
plaints by  no  means  alarming,  and  who 
manifestly  felt  a  confidence  that  he  could 
raise  him  up  again,  is  out  of  the  way.  They 
who,  in  so  great  an  emergency  as  that  of 
opening  the  way  to  a  throne  for  a  favorite, 
would  not  pause  at  the  secret  disposal  of 
the  life  of  a  private  citizen,  might,  never- 
theless, shrink  from  imbruing  their  hands 
in  the  blood  of  a  prince ;  more  especially, 
if  that  prince  could,  by  any  means,  be 
spirited  away,  put  beyond  sight  and  hear- 
ing of  the  public,  and  a  sickly  child  be 
made  to  die  in  his  place  as  the  Dauphin. 
Certain  it  is.that  Bellangcr,  in  the  interest 
of  the  Duke  du  Provence  and  of  his  party, 
and  by  their  influence,  was  introduced  to  the 
Temple,  just  at  this  time,  as  commissary, 
and  spent  a  day  there,  having  every  thing 
his  own  way.  while  others  acting  in  concert 
with  him  were  in  and  about  the  Temple. 
If  the  Dauphin  was  not  carried  off  at  this 
time,  and  another  sick  child  substituted, 
it  was  not  because  they  had  not  the  most 
favorable  opportunity.  It  is  no  less  cer- 
tain, that  the  archives  of  police  in  France 
will  show  the  record  of  an  order,  dated 
the  8th  of  June,  1795,  the  day  on  which 
the  child  in  the  Temple  died,  which  was 
sent  out  to  the  departments,  to  arrest,  on 
every  high-road  in  France,  lany  travellers 
bearing  with  them  a  child  of  eight  years 
old  or  thereabouts,  as  there  had  been  an 
escape  of  royalists  from  the  Temple.  But, 
if  it  was  important  to  the  Duke  de  Pro- 
vence that  the  Dauphin  should  be  carried 
off,  as  he  was  not  likely  to  die  a  natural 
death,  it  was  equally  important  to  the  Con- 
vention, that  he  should  be  supposed  to 
have  died  in  the  Temple ;  and  a  child  did 
die  there  on  the  8th  of  June.  Hence  the 
sham  of  the  procds  verbal,  and  the  hasty 
and  irreverent  funeral  of  the  child.  Hence, 
when  Louis  XVIU.  ordered  prayers  for 
the  souls  of  those  members  of  the  royal 
family  who  perished  in  the  Revolution,' ho 
was  not  impious  enough  to  order  pray- 
ers for  the  soul  of  Charles  Louis,  the 
Dauphin.  Hence  the  searching  eye  of 
astute  historians  has  never  been  able  to 
find  the  death  of  the  Dauphin.  Hence 
the  studious  abstinence  of  the  Bourbons, 
when  in  power,  from  too  much  pains  of 
search  for  the  bones  of  the  Dauphin.  And 
hence  the  uniform  belief  of  the  Bourbon 
family  of  France,  down  to  this  time,  that 
the  Dauphin  waa  alive,  and  in  America. 


Should  they  not  know  where  they  had 
sent  him  ?  And  should  not  the  common 
dictates  of  humanity,  even  in  such  aa 
iniquitous  plot,  prompt  them  to  observe 
the  track  of  their  victim,  so  long  as  be 
did  not  threaten  to  rise  and  compass  thdr 
deep  damnation  1  They  must  watch  kim 
any  how,  to  see  that  he  had  no  chance  of 
doing  so.  We  may,  perhaps,  be  justified 
in  saying,  that  a  clearer  case  was  never 
made  out,  in  the  records  of  historical  evi- 
dence, than  that  the  alleged  death  of  the 
Dauphin  was  a  political  &brication,  which 
the  French  Convention,  since  the  Dauphin 
had  slipped  through  their  fingers,  and  the 
royal  family  were  all  that  time  equally 
interested  in  maintaining  before  the  world. 
We  have  no  space  to  present  even  a  tithe 
of  the  evidence  on  the  point 

2.  Our  second  proposition  is,  that  the 
child  that  died  in  the  Temple  was  clan- 
destinely introduced  as  a  substitute  for  the 
Dauphin,  while  the  Dauphin  was  secretlj 
carried  away. 

Even  Beauchesne  has  left  a  chasm  in 
his  narrative,  amply  sufficient  for  the  ac- 
complishment of  this  object,  viz.,  from  the 
31st  of  May,  when  Bellanger  lefl  the  Tem- 
ple, to  the  5th  of  June.  In  pandering  to 
the  tastes  of  that  class  of  religionists  in 
the  Church  of  Rome,  who  delight  in  no- 
thing so  much  as  in  the  supernatural  and 
miraculous,  Beauchesne  has  utterly  min- 
ed himself  in  the  estimation  of  all  sober 
and  right-minded  men,  Christians  and 
others.  That  want  of  honesty  whidi 
could  revel  in  such  arrant  fictions,  destroys 
his  character  for  credibility  in  all  things 
else,  except  as  verified  by  other  author- 
ities. He  was  undoubtedly  the  paid  agent 
of  his  employers,  and  wrote  for  a  puly. 
This  is  all  we  choose  to  say  of  a  man  who 
could  be  guilty  of  such  rant,  except  that 
we  have  no  objection  to  any  of  the  things 
he  has  chosen  to  put  in  the  mouth  of  the 
child  which  Bellanger  left  behind  him 
when  he  took  away  the  Dauphin,  as  they 
cahy  the  stamp  of  their  fictitious  and  ut- 
terly incredible  character  on  the  lace  of 
them.  For  nursery  tales  they  might  do 
very  well ;  but  to  be  put  forward  as  his- 
tory, is  an  insult  to  every  lover  of  truth. 
For  the  multifarious  evidence  which  Mr. 
Hanson  has  adduced  on  the  disappearance 
of  the  Dauphin,  and  the  introduction  of 
another  sick  child  in  his  place,  who  died 
there  on  the  8th  of  June,  we  must  refer 
to  his  o^-n  argument,  after  remaining 
that,  in  our  opinion,  no  question  of  history 
ever  had  a  more  satisfactory  solution. 

3.  The  Dauphin  was  brought  to  America 
with  the  intent  that  he  should  never  ap- 
pear asa  claimant  of  the  throne  of  Fraaos. 


1854.] 


Problem  of  the  Loei  Prince. 


Ml 


We  do  not  claim  for  this  proposition 
any  thing  more  than  the  sum  of  probabili- 
ties which  arise  from  previous  and  subse- 
quent history.  From  the  nature  of  the 
transaction,  as  a  secret  mission,  wo  do  not 
expect  to  find  the  name  of  the  ship,  or  a 
history  of  the  voyage,  or  a  publicly  au- 
thenticated record  of  the  names  of  the  per- 
sons in  charge  of  the  child.  What  is  cer- 
tain Ls,  that  the  ambitious  and  unscrupu- 
lous Duke  de  Provence  found  his  brother, 
Louis  XVI.,  and  the  Dauphin,  in  his  path 
to  the  throne  of  France  ;  that  he  connived 
at  the  Revolution,  so  far  as  it  tended  to 
remove  his  brother  out  of  his  way  ;  that, 
without  authority  of  law  or  precedent,  he 
set  up  his  own  court  and  issued  his  pro- 
dmmations  as  Regent,  after  his  brother 
was  beheaded  ;  that  the  Dauphin  was 
gtill  in  his  way ;  that  Dessaux,  the  most 
eminent  physician  of  France,  had  been  in 
attendance  on  the  Dauphin  for  nearly  the 
whole  of  the  month  of  May — and,  let  it  be 
known,  that,  although  he  found  the  Dau- 
phin suffering  under  mental  imbecility, 
and  tumors  on  the  knees  and  wrists,  as 
the  result  of  long  confinement  and  bad 
treatment,  he  did  not  consider  his  physical 
constitution  essentially  impaired,  or  his 
life  in  danger ;  that,  consequently,  it  was 
naturally  expected  the  Dauphin  would  be 
restored  to  health,  under  the  treatment  of 
Dessaux  ;  that  Dessaux,  when  asked  one 
day,  on  leaving  his  patient,  if  he  thought 
the  child  would  die,  expressed  himself  in  a 
low  voice,  that  he  feared  there  were  those 
who  wished  him  dead  ;  that  Dessaux  died 
on  the  thirty-first  of  May,  in  a  mysterious 
manner,  and  that  Abeill^  his  pupil,  said 
he  was  poisoned ;  that  the  Duke  de  Pro- 
vence intrigued  successfully  to  get  his  own 
tools  in  and  about  the  Temple,  till  they 
had  possession  and  control  of  the  person 
of  the  Dauphin ;  that  Bellanger,  his  em- 
ploy6  in  the  arts  of  painting  and  design, 
obtained  the  place  of  Commissary  of  the 
Temple,  under  the  Convention,  surrounded 
by  his  associates  in  and  outside  of  the 
prison ;  that  he  was  alone  with  the  Dau- 
phin a  whole  day,  including  a  night,  seek- 
ing and  succeeding  to  amuse  the  child 
with  specimens  of  his  art ;  that,  on  the 
8th  of  June,  the  very  day  when  the  child 
in  the  Temple  died,  the  whole  police  of 
France  was  put  on  the  qui  vive^  by  order 
of  the  agents  of  the  Convention,  to  arrest 
any  travellers  on  the  high-roads,  bearing 
a  child  with  them  of  eight  years  old  or 
more,  as  some  of  the  royal  family  had  es- 
OLpcd  from  the  temple ;  that,  afterwards, 
in  the  same  year,  1795,  a  French  gentle- 
man and  lady  appeared  at  Albany,  N.  Y., 
wader  noticeable  circumstances,  in  charge 


of  two  French  children,  a  boy  and  girU 
the  boy  about  the  age  of  the  Dauphin,  but 
disposed  to  amuse  himself  after  the  man- 
ner of  a  child  of  two  or  three  years  of  age, 
and  refusing  to  notice  any  attentions  and 
addresses  of  strangers ;  that  the  boy  pass- 
ed under  the  name  of  Monsieur  Louis ; 
that  this  party  left  Albany  for  parts  un- 
known ;  that,  not  long  after,  two  French- 
men, one  taken  for  a  Roman  Catholk; 
priest,  appeared  at  Ticondcroga,  in  charge 
of  a  boy  answering  to  the  description  of 
the  one  brought  to  Albany,  who  was  left 
with  the  Indians,  and  adopted  by  an  Iro- 
quois Chief,  of  the  name  of  Thomas 
Williams ;  that  the  same  French  gentle- 
man— apparently  the  same — who  disposed 
of  the  boy  to  Thomas  Williams,  came  to 
visit  him  afterwards,  when  the  family 
were  at  Lake  George,  where  a  touching 
interview  ensued ;  and  that  the  Rev. 
Eleazer  Williams  is  the  same  person  as 
the  boy  thus  adopted.  Moreover,  it  is 
certain  that  the  royal  family  of  France 
have  always  known  and  believed  that  the 
Dauphin  was  alive,  and  that  he  was  car- 
ried to  America ;  that  they  have  always 
kept  themselves  informed  of  his  history, 
and  known  him  under  the  name  of  Elea- 
zer Williams,  afterwards  Reverend  and 
Missionary  among  the  Indians ;  and  that 
Bellanger,  above  named,  has  always  been 
recognized  by  the  royal  family  and  other 
parties,  as  the  agent  who  brought  the 
Dauphin  to  America,  took  him  to  Ticon- 
dcroga, and  disposed  of  him  as  the  adopted 
child  of  Thomas  Williams.  Still,  the  Rev. 
Eleazer  Williams  may  not  be  the  same 
person  with  the  Dauphin  who  was  con- 
fined in  the  Temple,  and  who  is  alleged  to 
have  died  there.  There  are  those  who 
say  that  he  is  not:  and  Beauchesne  hat 
told  us,  not  only  that  the  Dauphin  died  in 
the  Temple,  but  how  he  died.  Unfortu- 
nately for  Beauchesne,  he  has  spoiled  hia 
story  by  his  zeal  and  extravagance.  No 
man  of  sober  judgment  can  believe  a  word 
of  it  And  this,  now,  is  the  chief  reliance 
for  that  side  of  the  question. 

Let  any  candid  person  review  the  items 
above  stated,  as  verified  by  history,  in 
connection  with  many  other  things  of  the 
kind  too  numerous  to  mention,  and  he 
may  safely  be  left  to  the  necessary  opera- 
tions of  his  own  mind  on  the  question, 
whether  they  do  not  amount  to  a  sum  of 
historical  evidence,  or  of  probabilities,  if 
you  please  to  call  them  so,  or  to  a  chain  of 
circumstances,  which  are  often  the  strong- 
est kind  of  evidence ;  in  view  of  which 
there  is  no  escape  from  the  conclusion, 
that  the  Rev.  Eleazer  Williams  is  the  son 
of  Louis  Sixteenth. 


208 


The  Labut  Eistcric  Doubt: 


[Febniaqr 


As  the  ground  of  all  the  propodtioDB 
laid  down  in  the  former  part  of  this 
article,  subsequent  to  the  third,  excepting 
only  the  seventh,  is  chiefly  ooyered  in  the 
statements  above  made  under  the  third ; 
and  as  it  is  not  our  purpose  to  give  the 
whole  of  Mr.  Uanson's  argument,  but 
only  to  call  attention  to  some  of  its  main 
points,  we  will  now  close  our  remarks  on 
the  aforesaid  propositions  in  form,  in  a 
long  notice  of  the  seventh : 

That  the  Kev.  Eleazer  Williams  is  not 
an  Indian.  This  is  determined,  in  the  first 
place,  by  the  instincts  of  that  portion  of 
the  public,  not  small,  who  have  known 
Mr.  Williams,  in  the  course  of  his  some- 
what eventful  life.  The  value  of  this 
feeling,  in  the  present  argument,  consists 
chiefly  in  the  fact,  that  it  has  been  spon- 
taneous, and  nearly  or  quite  uniform.  So 
long  as  he  was  supposed  to  be  an  Indian, 
in  his  childhood,  in  his  youth,  and  in  his 
riper  years,  incredible  as  it  might  and  al- 
ways did  seem  to  observers,  the  belief  in 
it  could  be  entertained  only  as  one  of  the 
unaccountable  varieties  and  freaks  of  na- 
ture. He  an  Indian  ?  every  body  thought 
or  said,  with  some  sign  of  incredulity; 
and  there  is  probably  not  a  person  within 
the  entire  range  of  his  acquaintance, 
daring  a  long  life  and  much  intercourse 
with  the  world,  who  does  not  remember 
that  this  question  had  its  place  in  his  own 
mind,  and  that  it  has  been  frequently  a 
topic  of  conversation.  That  Mr.  Williams 
ha<d  a  predominance  of  European  and 
French  blood,  has  almost  universally 
been  beUcved,  before  the  question  of  his 
belonging  to  the  Bourbon  family  was 
agitated,  and  back  even  to  his  earliest 
years.  All  the  people  of  Longmeadow, 
now  living  and  old  enough,  remember 
well  the  difTcrcnce  between  him  and  his 
reputed  brother  John,  as  long  as  John 
stayed  there,  which,  we  believe,  was  some 
years — at  least  four  or  five.  While  Elea- 
zer took  to  civilized  life  naturally,  John 
was  always  averse  to  it ;  and  though  the 
latter  was  a  mere  child  when  he  came  to 
Longmeadow,  probably  about  ten  j^ears  of 
age,  his  discontent  was  so  abi^mg  and 
stubborn,  that  he  was  finally  sent  homo 
to  his  father,  to  live  and  enact  the  Indian. 
But  Eleazer  could  only  be  happy  in  civil- 
ized society.  Being  thought  much  of  as 
a  promising  Indian  youth,  he  was  much 
cherished  by  the  best  society  in  New 
England,  particularly  by  the  clergy,  who, 
on  account  of  his  religious  disposition, 
expected  he  would  be  an  Indian  mission- 
ary. As  if  he  had  been  rocked  in  the 
cradle  of  the  Tuilleries,  he  was  never  so 
much  at  home,  as  when  he  received  the 


kind  attentions  of  highly  coltivated  socie- 
ty, and  with  all  such  he  was  a  universal 
pet  As  if  some  mysterious  Providenoe 
presided  over  his  destiny,  and  gave  him 
favor  with  the  kind  and  gentle,  all  such 
had  an  instinctive  feeling,  not  only  that 
ho  wa8  something,  but  that  he  would  b€ 
something.  With  the  religious  portion  €i 
the  community  he  was  the  nursling  of 
piety  and  prayer.  Nature  in  those  whost 
hospitality  he  enjoyed,  forgot  that  he  was 
an  Indian,  and  never  felt  it  He  was  ever 
cherished  as  the  best  of  human  kind. 

All  these  feelings^  we  think,  may  be 
put  down  as  the  instmct  of  nature,  which 
overrides  the  barriers  of  conventional 
caste,  supplies  the  lack  of  history  where 
it  is  wanting,  and  arrives  precisely  at  the 
same  result  where  true  history  would 
guide  us.  Eleazer  Williams  would  not 
have  been  cherished  more  in  New  Eng- 
land, while  in  a  course  of  education  ther^ 
if  it  had  been  known  that  he  was  a  son  oi 
Louis  XVI.  Who  will  deny,  that  there 
is  argument  in  these  revelations  of  in- 
stinct so  fiir  as  the  historical  problem 
now  before  us  is  concerned?  Nobody 
felt  that  Eleazer  Williams  was  an  Indian. 
Add  to  this  common,  universal,  and  abid- 
ing feeling,  the  opinion  of  numerous  and 
well-known  professional  gentlemen  of 
great  eminence  in  the  M^ical  Faculty, 
who  have  examined  Mr.  Williams  care* 
fully  for  that  object.  They  unanimously 
declare  that  there  is  no  Indian  blood  in 
him,  and  that  he  belongs  to  a  superior 
class  of  European  society.  As  is  well 
known  in  the  medical  profession,  there 
are  certain  infallible  indications  on  a 
question  of  this  kind,  in  the  texture  of 
the  skin,  in  the  articulations  of  the  body, 
and  in  general  anatomy,  all  of  which 
have  been  applied,  in  a  scientific  examinar 
tion  of  Mr.  Williams,  and  which  prove 
that  he  is  not  an  Indian,  but  a  European 
of  an  elevated  class.  It  will  be  seen  that 
this  is  an  important  point  in  the  general 
argument,  and  we  think  it  must  be  admiW 
ted,  that  it  is  conclusively  settled. 

The  writer  of  this  article  has  known 
Mr.  Williams  firom  the  time  when  be  was 
brought  to  Longmeadow  to  be  educated ; 
was  for  some  years  intimately  acquainted 
with  him ;  is  well  versed  in  his  history 
from  beginning  to  end ;  has  always  entej^ 
tained  respect  for  him ;  in  the  mutations 
of  life  has  occasionally  lost  sight  of  him; 
and  has  had  a  little  correspondence  ¥rith 
him,  since  this  Bourbon  question  came 
up.  But,  bemg  otherwise  occupied,  he 
has  never  taken  much  interest  in  it.  Hit 
first  impression  was,  that  Mr.  Williami 
could  not  have  been  old  enou^  to  hava 


1854.] 


PrMem  of  the  Zo9t  PHum. 


209 


been  born  in  1785,  which,  if  true,  would 
cf  coarse  exclude  him  from  the  pale  of 
this  question.  But  having  made  repeated 
inquiries  at  Longmeadow  on  this  point,  of 
persons  of  Mr.  Williams'  own  age,  and 
cldet,  who  know  him  well  and  have  a  dis- 
tinct remembrance  of  him  when  he  came 
there,  and  as  long  as  he  made  a  home 
there,  the  writer  has  been  convinced,  that 
Mr.  Williams  might  have  been  born  in 
1785.  That  difficulty  being  settled,  he 
was  foroed  to  the  conclusion,  that  there 
were  facts  enough  in  this  case,  of  a  re- 
markable character,  to  make  it  worthy  of 
»  full  and  fair  hearing,  and  he  has  read 
most  that  has  been  written  on  the  subject 
with  care.  During  the  agitation  of  this 
question,  down  to  this  time,  he  has  had 
no  personal  intercourse  with  Mr.  Wil- 
liams, except  once  for  a  few  minutes,  when 
we  talked  on  this  subject,  and  a  second 
time  in  the  street,  when  we  had  no  time 
to  speak  of  it 

In  the  remarks  above  made  on  the 
common  instinctive  feeling,  that  Mr.  Wil- 
liams is  not  an  Indian,  the  writer  has 
given  a  copy  of  the  workings  of  his  own 
mind,  and  thinks  he  is  not  mistaken,  that 
he  has  described  those  of  all  others  who 
have  known  Mr.  Williams.  In  reading 
Mr.  Hanson's  late  work,  under  the  title 
of  the  Lost  Prince,  the  writer  is  con- 
vinced that' the  sul^ect  has  received  much 
new  light,  and  that,  if  Mr.  Williams  is 
not  the  son  of  Louis  XVL,  here  is  the 
most  marvellous  combination  and  con- 
catenation of  evidence  on  a  historical 
problem,  which  the  world  has  ever  wit- 
nessed. 

An  examination  of  the  claims  of  the 
other  pretenders  to  the  rights  of  the  lost 
Daophiu,  has  never  failed  to  expose  their 
impostures,  as  in  the  cases  of  NaundoriT 
tod  Richemont  Not  so  in  the  case  of  Mr. 
Williams ;  but  time,  events,  and  scrutiny 
are  constantly  throwing  new  light  on  the 

2aestion,  and  augmenting  the  evidence  in 
iTor  of  the  claioL  When  the  fraudulent 
affidavit  procured  from  Mr.  Williams'  re- 
puted mother  by  the  Rev.  Francis  Mar- 
ooox,  was  published,  it  was  thought  the 
question  was  settled ;  but  now  wlicn  the 
fraud  is  exposed,  it  has  only  helped,  and 
greatly  helped,  that  which  it  was  intended 
to  injure.  It  is  seen  and  felt,  that  such 
in  atrocious  transaction  would  never  have 
been  ventured  on,  if  the  claims  of  Mr. 
Williams  had  been  without  foundation. 
The  contradiction  of  the  Prince  de  Joinville 
to  Mr.  Williams'  statement,  is  only  con- 
firmative of  the  theory  which  it  was  in- 
tended to  overthrow,  and  places  the  Prince 
i&amost  onfavorable  position.  For  here  are 


numerous  disinterested  witnesses  against 
him  as  an  interested  one.  Besides,  his 
denial  is  absiurd.  What !  not  know  the 
name  of  Williams,  when  his  own  Secre- 
taries had  been  and  were  in  correspondence 
with  Mr.  Williams,  by  his  order,  and  when 
his  father  was  doing  the  same  thing !  He 
ignorant  of  a  name  which  was  a  house- 
hold word  with  the  entire  family  of  the 
French  Bourbons !  Bat  the  position  of  the 
Prince  in  this  matter  is  well  understood 
at  the  first  glance,  by  all  the  world.  It 
was  with  him  and  his  family  a  question 
of  policy  and  interest  Humane  though 
they  might  be,  they  never  intended  to 
commit  themselves.  All  know  that  in 
State  diplomacy  there  is  no  forum  of  con- 
science, and  that  the  simple  truth  may  be 
an  unpardonable  blunder.  The  Prince's 
contradiction  of  Mr.  Williams  proves  noth- 
ing against  Mr.  Williams ;  it  only  shows 
that  the  Prince  was  careful  of  his  own  se- 
crets, after  having  failed  in  his  mission. 

On  the  whole,  the  field  is  entirely  clear 
for  Mr.  Wilhams.  There  is  not,  so  far  as 
we  can  see,  a  single  fact  that  militates 
against  his  claim,  while  a  world  of  facts 
indicate  its  validity  ;  and  what  is  remark- 
able, new  facts  of  the  same  class  are  con- 
stantly transpiring.  The  question  is  not, 
whether  Mr.  Williams  be  qualified  by 
education  and  life  to  rule  an  empire ;  or 
whether  there  be  any  chance,  that  ho  will 
ever  attain  that  high  dignity  ;  but  whether 
he  is  the  son  of  Louis  XVI.  The  theory 
of  his  being  the  Dauphin  supi)oses  that 
his  mental  structure  was  crushed  and 
broken  down  in  childhood,  by  inhuman 
treatment.  Even  if  the  throne  of  the 
Capets  were  open  to  the  legitimate  claim- 
ant, and  Mr.  Williams  were  the  man,  his 
life  has  been  a  poor  school  for  the  cares 
and  responsibilities  of  tliat  place,  and  he 
is  a  Protestant.  These  facts  must  be  in- 
superable obs tides  in  the  minds  of  the 
French  Bourbons  and  of  French  states- 
men. They  may  rcsjiect  misfortune,  and 
be  willing  to  alleviate  it ;  and  that,  proba- 
bly, is  the  sentiment  which  has  actuated 
some  of  the  members  of  the  royal  family 
of  France  in  the  interest  they  would  seem 
to  have  taken  in  the  fortunes  of  Mr.  Wil- 
liams. While  Louis  XVIII.  was  living, 
who  is  supposed  to  have  sent  the  Dauphin 
to  America  to  get  rid  of  him,  nothuig  of 
course  would  be  done  to  bring  him  back ; 
and  when  he  was  dead,  it  was  too  late. 
The  hypothetical  heir  of  the  throne  was 
then  disqualified  to  occupy  it.  Humanity 
might  have  its  claims ;  but  the  state  was 
supreme.  A  sense  of  a  mighty  wrong  might 
rest  on  the  conscience  of  those  concerned 
who  had  a  conscience ',  but  the  reparation 


210 


The  Latest  JERstorie  IhM: 


[Fd 


of  such  wrong  would  be  controlled  and 
limited  by  considerations  of  policy.  Here- 
in, probably,  may  be  seen  the  motives  of 
the  treatment  of  Mr.  Williams  by  the 
royal  family  of  France  down  to  this  time, 
on  the  supposition  that  they  knew  he  was 
the  son  of  Louis  XVI.  They  have  not  failed 
to  keep  themselves  informed  of  his  histo- 
ry, and  in  some  instances,  apparently,  have 
manifested  compunctious  visitings  of  re- 
morse, as  for  example,  the  Duchess  d'An- 
goul^me,  who.  doubtless,  was  for  a  long 
time  too  much  under  the  influence  of  her 
imcle,  Louis  XVIII. — so  long  as  to  lose 
for  ever  the  opportunity  and  hope  of  doing 
justice  to  her  brother.  She  is  said  never 
to  have  smiled  for  many  of  the  last  years 
of  her  life.  Alas  for  those  who  are  bom 
to  a  high  condition ! 

Like  the  fraudulent  affidavit  obtained 
from  Mrs.  Williams,  the  elaborate  work 
of  Beauchesne,  prepared  evidently  in  the 
same  interest,  by  the  same  party,  and  for 
the  same  purpose,  has  served  only,  can 
only  serve,  in  the  view  of  fair  and  sober 
minds,  to  open  the  eyes  of  the  public  on 
this  question,  and  to  impart  an  immense 
additional  force  to  the  argument  in  favor 
of  Mr.  Williams'  claim.  A  desperate  cause 
requires  a  desperate  remedy.  Look  on 
Mrs.  Williams'  affidavit — the  first  one — 
said  the  opponents  of  Mr.  Williams  tri- 
umphantly, when  it  first  appeared.  But 
her  second  affidavit  overwhelmed  them 
with  confusion  and  dismay,  and  proved 
what  was  intended  to  be  disproved  by  the 
first.  It  did  vastly  more.  No  one  can  look 
at  that  fraud,  without  feeling,  believing 
even,  that  they  who  devised  and  carried 
it  into  execution,  knew  that  Mr.  Williams 
was  the  son  of  Louis  XYI.  What  else 
would  have  prompted  such  an  atrocious 
crime?  And  read  Beauchesne's  book, 
says  the  private  Secretary  of  the  Prince 
de  Joinville,  by  his  master's  order.  And 
who,  in  following  this  advice,  is  not  as 
fully  convinced,  that  Beauchesne's  account 
of  the  Dauphin's  death  is  an  unadulterated 
fiction,  as  that  Mrs.  Williams'  first  affida- 
vit was  a  forgery,  after  having  read  the 
second?  Beauchesne  had  the  folly — the 
infatuation,  we  might  say — to  construct  a 
drama  of  supernatural  agencies,  to  honor 
the  death-bed  of  the  Dauphin.  For  the 
dark  ages  this  might  have  been  well 
enough,  and  it  might  have  been  after  the 
taste  of  those  times.  But  to  demand  such 
credulity  now.  is  preposterous.  Such  a 
book,  except  as  it  may  answer  the  pur- 
poses of  a  party  and  of  interested  persons. 
or  entertain  the  miracle-loving  portion  ot 
Papists,  can  produce  no  other  eflect  than 
to  excite  disgust,  and  to  help  forward  the 


very  cause  it  was  designed  to  di 
as  does  the  second  affidavit  of  Mn 
liams  in  relation  to  the  object  of  tb 

Look  at  Beauchesne's  book  I  Ia 
Marcouz's  forgery!  They  both  1 
to  the  same  category,  were  prompt 
the  same  interests,  and  will  prodcM 
same  efiect.  The  motive  of  one 
more  transparent  than  that  of  the  • 
and  that  of  the  poorest  fraud — proi 
the  solemnities  of  the  public  judicial 
surely,  sufficiently  patent  Nothis 
the  imperative  necessity  and  iniat 
of  a  bad  cause  would  have  encoa: 
such  a  risk.  It  is  a  virtual  conoesfii 
the  validity  of  Mr.  Williams'  clainc 
if  there  were  nothing  in  it,  the  prop 
the  only  wise  course  was  to  do  notl 
to  allow  the  pretension  to  wear  itsd 
as  it  necessarily  would.  A  fids 
groundless  claim  of  such  magnituc 
importance  could  never  make  any  eC 
headway,  or  produce  any  uneasiness 
minds  of  interested  parties,  who  k 
to  be  false  and  groundless.  It  wo 
fit  only  for  ridicule  and  contempt, 
here  are  fraud  and  fiction, — the  fom 
a  most  grave,  and  the  latter  of  a 
elaborate  character, — got  up  atinflni 
to  encounter  an  imposture,  which 
only  to  be  left  to  itself  to  fall  a 
crushed  under  the  weight  of  its  o^ 
firmities,  if  it  be  an  imposture ! 

The  sum  of  the  evidence  on  this 
tion,  as  it  now  stands  before  the  wo 
as  follows : — The  Dauphin  did  not 
the  Temple,  but  was  carried  away  1 
party  attached  to  the  Duke  de  Pro 
afterward  Louis  XVIII.  This  is  d 
strated  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  rcasi 
minds.  There  are  few  who  now  1 
that  the  Dauphin  died  there,  «e 
death  has  always  been  doubted, 
events  have  since  proved  that  he  d 
die  there.  Being  in  the  hands  and 
disposal  of  the  self-styled  Regent^  i 
his  way  to  the  throne,  we  have  o 
consider  the  probable  course  he 
pursue,  from  what  we  know  of  his  c 
ter.  It  was  evident,  that  if  the 
whose  mind  had  been  thus  crush 
cruel  treatment,  could  be  transpor 
a  remote  part  of  the  world,  and  di 
of  among  barbarians,  under  false  pre) 
he  would  never  be  likely  to  troab 
usurper  of  his  rights.  To  asstJ 
him,  therefore,  would  be  a  wanton  m 
as  well  as  a  more  shocking  and 
aggravated  crime.  Precisely  in  couk 
with  this  theory,  we  find  Bellang 
tool  of  the  Duke,  and  by  his  ini 
Commissary  of  the  Temple,  in  cha 
the  Daapbiin,  surrounded  bj  otb 


1854.] 


PrMem  ^  ths  lost  Prince. 


211 


Ills  own  dass,  and  together  with  hun,  hav- 
ing power  to  remove  the  child  and  suhsti- 
tate  another.  We  find,  on  the  very  day 
€f  the  alleged  death  of  the  Dauphin,  and 
iHien  a  chud  did  die  in  the  Temple,  the 
whole  police  of  France  put  in  action  with 
<Nrder8  to  arrest  any  travellers  on  the 
bigh-road,  hearing  a  child  of  eight  years 
of  age  or  thereabouts,  acting,  of  course, 
under  authority  of  the  Convention,  who 
had  made  the  discovery  of  the  escape  of 
■ome  members,  as  idleged,  of  the  royal 
fioiily  fh)m  the  Temple.  Nest  we  lind 
Monsieur  Louis,  a  boy  of  the  same  age 
with  the  Dauphin,  apparently  non  compos 
mentis,  and  a  little  girl,  in  charge  of  a 
gentleman  and  lady,  at  Albany,  New-York, 
all  French,  who  leave  there  for  parts  un- 
known. Next  we  find  two  French  gentle- 
men, one  a  Roman  Catholic  priest,  visiting 
■ome  Indians  at  Ticonderoga,  with  a  little 
boy  of  like  age  as  above,  whom  they  leave 
with  Thomas  Williams,  an  Iroquois  chief, 
by  whom  the  boy  was  adopted,  and  is  now 
living,  and  known  as  the  Rev.  Elcazer 
Williams.  This  boy  is  afterwards  visited 
by  a  French  gentleman,  and  caressed 
with  great  aficction  and  with  tears.  We 
find,  from  various  independent  sources  of 
eviffence,  that  the  royal  family  of  France 
have  always  known  that  the  Dauphin  was 
living  and  in  America,  and  that  they  have 
uniformly  identified  him  with  Mr.  Wil- 
liams. We  find,  too,  that  the  name  of 
Bellanger  is  always  coupled  with  the 
Dauphin*s  transport  to  America,  as  the 
agent  in  this  transaction.  Every  item  of 
evidence  on  the  subject — and  it  is  a  large 
dbaptor  constantly  augmenting  as  time 
advances — is  perfectly  harmonious  with 
the  theory,  that  the  Rev.  Eleazer  Wil- 
liams is  the  son  of  Louis  XVI.  We  are 
disposed  to  say,  nay  we  are  confident,  that 
wch  harmony  of  evidence,  from  so  many 
independent  sources,  and  so  much  of  it, 
could  never  be  accounted  for,  except  on 
that  supposition.  All  parts  of  it  coi-robo- 
rate  the  hypothesis,  and  reduce  it  to  a 
ehi4»ter  of  well  authenticated  history. 
Every  circumstance  tallies  with  the  theory, 
and  all  the  parties  in  the  drama  enact 
piedsely  th^  parts  which  the  theory  re- 
quires as  natural  and  probable.  Bellanger 
in  the  Temple,  after  having  obtained  in- 
troduction there  as  Commissary,  and  his 
aiBistants  in  and  about  the  Temple,  enact 
precisely  the  parts  which  the  hypothesis 
requires.  The  Convention,  also,  having 
diaoovered  the  escape  of  the  Dauphin,  do 
frecisely  what  might  be  expected,  in  order- 
ing the  sham  procis  verbal  of  the  death 
oCthe  Danphin,  alias  of  the  stranger  child 
thai  was  found  there,  in  arranging  the 


funeral  solemnities,  not  very  solemn,  and 
in  putting  the  public  police  on  the  track  of 
the  fugitive.  But  they  did  not  find  him. 
Bellanger — for  it  was  doubtless  he— did 
exactly  what  might  be  expected  at  Albany, 
at  Ticonderoga,  and  in  his  subsequent  visit 
to  the  child.  The  royal  famiiy,  while  in 
exile,  and  at  other  times,  would  naturally 
speak  on  the  subject,  in  their  own  circle,  as 
we  find  they  do ;  and  it  comes  to  us,  in  a 
most  credible  form,  from  those  who  were 
a  long  time  inmates  of  the  family.  When 
Louis  Philippe  comes  to  the  throne,  he  in- 
herits the  obligation  of  looking  after  the 
Lost  Prince,  who  is  known  not  to  be  lost* 
except  to  his  rights.  He  writes  to  him. 
He  entertains,  perhaps,  the  benevolent  de- 
sign of  calling  him  home,  and  treating  him 
like  a  prince  on  condition  that  he  will  re- 
sign all  right  to  the  throne ;  and  he  sends 
his  son,  the  Prince  de  Joinville,  to  treat 
with  him  for  this  object,  not  doubting, 
from  his  knowledge  of  his  position,  that 
his  proposal  ought  to  be,  and  probably 
would  be,  accepted.  All  this  was  per- 
fectly natural ;  it  may.  perhaps,  be  called 
generous  and  noble.  Louis  PhUippe  having 
come  to  the  throne,  as  an  elective  mon- 
arch, without  having  had  any  personal  re- 
sponsibility in  the  wrong  of  Ix>uis  XVIL, 
if  living,  as  he  believed  he  was,  could  not 
be  expected  to  impair  his  own  rights,  or 
those  of  his  family,  in  treating  with  Mr. 
Williams ;  and  he  doubtless  knew  enough 
of  history  to  be  of  the  opinion,  that  the 
idea  of  restoring  the  son  of  Louis  XVI.  to 
the  throne  of  his  father,  after  all  that  had 
passed,  could  not  be  entertained  by  any 
parties  of  influence  in  France,  the  people 
or  others.  The  mission  of  the  Prince  de 
Joinville,  therefore,  may  have  been  prompt- 
ed by  humanity  and  benevolence.  But  it 
failed ;  and  when  the  nature  of  it  became 
public,  and  being  incapable  of  verification, 
for  lack  of  witnesses,  it  would  of  course 
be  denied  from  motives  of  policy.  That, 
too,  was  natural.  Unfortunately,  how- 
ever, for  the  Prince,  he  said  too  much  in 
his  denial,  and  brought  down  upon  him- 
self several  witnesses  of  a  most  credible 
character,  to  impeach  his  statements. 
Some  of  them  also  were  absurd,  in  view 
of  known  facts  of  history.  In  this  predi- 
cament of  affairs,  the  forged  affidavit  of 
Mrs.  Williams  was  also  a  natural  expe- 
dient, though  a  very  unwise  one.  It  was 
thought  it  would  settle  the  question,  and 
it  certainly  has  done  so,  in  a  very  great 
degree,  if  not  conclusively,  though  directly 
on  the  opposite  side  from  that  intended. 
Beauchesne's  work,  too,  was  a  natural 
expedient  in  the  same  cause,  and  though 
its  fictions  are  not  so  criminal  as  thoaa 


212 


Staff&-Coach  Storm. 


[Fel 


of  the  affidavit,  because  not  uttered  under 
like  solemnities,  they  are,  nevertheless, 
equally  transparent,  and  both  are  doomed 
to  the  same  stamp  of  reprobation  in  his- 
tory, so  far  as  Beauchesne's  work  bears 
on  this  question.  It  is  impossible  to  im- 
pair the  force  of  such  accumulated  evidence, 
running  in  so  many  independent  channels, 
over  such  a  length  of  time,  and  such  a 
broad  field,  all  coinciding  harmoniously  to 
establish  the  same  fact  More  especially 
is  it  impossible,  when  the  expedients 
adopted  to  impair  it  are  so  easOy  proved 
to  be  wicked  and  false. 

When  we  have  spoken  of  the  claim  of 
Mr.  Williams  in  this  article,  we  have 
used  the  word  in  its  appropriate  technical 


sense  on  a  (question  of  this  kind,  ai 
as  a  pretension  put  forward  by  hin 
far  as  we  know,  he  has  been  chiefl 
sive  in  this  agitation,  except  when  pi 
ed  to  act  by  others.  All  who  kno 
Williams,  must  also  know,  that  he  is 
of  great  simplicity  of  character,  an* 
he  is  totally  unskilled  in  control 
tactics.  "He  is  not  able,"  sayj 
Hawks,  "  to  invent  a  complicated  m 
circumstantial  evidence  to  sustun  a 
catod  story."  There  would  oei 
seem  to  be  no  demand  for  it  in  this 
as  all  the  evidence  reijuired  turns  up 
dentially  without  bemg  invoked,  ax 
turally  fidls  into  its  pl^e  without  a; 
of  arrangement 


STAGE-COAOH   STORIES. 
(Oontiniied  from  page  91) 


PRESENTLY  I  discovered,  that  where- 
evcr  a  turn  of  the  road  made  a  favor- 
able light,  I  could  see,  notwithstanding 
the  barege  veil,  the  large  eyes  of  the 
fair  lady  lookius  at  me  curiously  from 
under  their  dark-friugcd  lids,  and  the 
brunette,  whose  veil  was  often  drawn 
aside,  would,  when  replying  to  Cranston, 
sitting  before  her,  allow  her  glance  to  pass 
by  him,  and  rest  fairly  on  mo.  From  these 
circumstances,  and  an  occasional  look  of 
intelligence  which  they  exchanged,  a  cor- 
ner of  which  I  thought  included  me,  I  con- 
jectured that  I  was  the  subject  of  their 
observation  and  remarks. 

I  flattered  myself  too,  that  this  atten- 
tion, with  which  I  was  favored,  was  some- 
what more  distinguished  than  the  notice 
that  ladies  are  wont  to  bestow  on  strange 
young  gentlemen,  and  upon  this  my  spirit 
rose,  and  I  began  to  pull  up  my  shirt-col- 
lar to  a  corresponding  elevation,  until  pre- 
vented by  a  dismal  recollection,  that  in 
the  privacy  of  my  bedroom,  that  very 
mominsr,  on  an  inspection  and  count  of 
my  stock  of  clean  sliirts,  I  had  decided 
that  the  two  days*  worn  article  of  that 
species,  doffed  the  previous  night,  would 
do  well  enough  to  take  a  dusty  stage-ride 
in. 

"  However,"  thought  I,  partially  re- 
covering from  the  confusion  into  whach  I 
had  been  plunged  by  this  humiliating  re- 
miniscence, "  I'm  clean  shaven  at  any  rate, 
if  my  Uncn  bo  not  as  immaculate  as  the 


daguerreotype  man's.  Fm  not  go 
stand  back  for  the  Judge  and  Cra 
They,  themselves,  are  bachelors  bot 
for  all  old  Walker's  fatherly  airs  to 
the  young  women,  he's  but  fifty 
very  outside,  and  looks  at  them  very 
in  the  same  way  that  I  do,  I  rcckoi 

As  for  the  artist:  since  he  had  ti 
force  a  laugh  at  the  clock  story,  I 
remained  under  a  cloud,  with  no  ap 
intention  of  making  his  light  shine  tt 
it 

«  By  dash ! "  thought  I,  "  what , 
say.  I  must  b^n  a  talk  somehc 
not  sit  here  like  a  deaf  mute." 

I  took  advantage  of  a  turn  of  th( 
which  brought  into  view  a  long  an 
turesque  reach  of  the  river. 

"  iJiem !"  I  began,  clearing  my 
of  the  dust  "  this  is  a  beautiful  w 
Judge." 

'<£h?"  said  tjie  Judge,  tumii 
wards  me,  and  intercepting  the  1 
glance  wliich  I  threw  at  the  ladies, 
der  to  notice  what  effect  the  sound 
voice  would  have.  "  Oh !  the  pn 
yes,  a  cHSlrming  view  from  where  y 
but  looking  from  my  position,  now, 
with  my  face  forwards,  it  iscompaxi 
uninteresting." 

The  wick^  Cranston,  who  divin 
motive  I  had  in  dipping  my  oar  in 
current  of  conversation,  turned  hi 
carefuUv  from  the  ladies,  put  his  i 
in  his  (^eek,  looked  out  qnizmcally 


1864.] 


Stage- Ooaeh  Stariei. 


218 


his  eyebrows  and  did  his  best  to  make  me 
laugh. 

"  The  foreground  of  the  picture,  viewed 
from  my  position,"  I  returned,  as  mali- 
doosiy  as  I  dared.  ^'  is  anything  but  beauti- 
ful, but  beyond  tnat  it  is  enchanting." 

"  And  don*t  it  make  you  melancholy, 
my  dear  fellow,"  inquired  Cranston,  with 
a  hateful  grin,  "to  think  that  you  are 
not  getting  anead  at  all  in  the  direo- 
liOQ  you  are  looking  ?  " 

*'  Speaking  of  pictures,"  interrupted  the 
artist,  feeling  in  town  on  this  subject  and 
lightening  up;  "I  took  a  daguerreotype 
of  this  YaUey  last  summer,  while  I  was 
stopping  at  Byfield,  from  that  high  hill 
over  yonder,  and,  as  this  gentleman  says, 
the  background  is  really  lovely,  but  the 
foreground  is  confused  and  did  not  take 
weU  at  all." 

"  Well,  if  I  might  advise,  gentlemen," 
said  Cranston,  "  as  you  both  seem  to  pre- 
fer the  background,  perhaps  you'd  better 
keep  there— or,  by  the  bye,  sir,  "  he  ad- 
ded, turning  to  the  artist,  "  are  you  quick 
enough  to  1^  able  to  take  yourself  on  ?  " 

*  Oh  yes,  sir,"  replied  the  daguerreo- 
type man,  "there's  no  difficulty  about 
that     I've  done  it  repeatedly,  sir." 

"Perhaps  you'll  be  so  good,  sir,"  said 
Cranston,  "as  to  do  it  again  at  the  next 
stopping  place." 

The  artist  began  to  explain  that  his  ap- 
paratus was  not  in  order,  but  the  half 
suppressed  smiles  of  the  Judge  and  the 
lames  suggested  the  malicious  meaning  of 
Cranston's  remark,  and  he  was  straight- 
way enveloped  in  the  cloud  again. 

The  kind-hearted  Judge,  to  cover  his 
discomfiture,  resumed  the  conversation. 
^  It  is,"  said  he,  "  one  of  the  pleasantest 
rides  I  know  of.  You  never  were  in  Guild- 
kfd.  I  think  I  heard  you  say,  Lovel  ?" 

"Never,"  I  replied;  "my  practice  is 
confined  pretty  much  to  my  own  comer  of 
the  SUte." 

"  It  is  a  grand  old  place,"  pursued  the 
Judge ;  "  in  the  midst  of  a  charming  coun- 
try ;  rather  dull  and  quiet  to  be  sure,  but 
they  live  on  the  fiit  of  the  land  down  there. 
I  like  to  hold  the  term  in  Guildford." 

"  They  feed  the  bench  better  than  they 
fee  the  bar,"  said  Cranston.  "  There's  a 
aoore  or  two  of  rich  old  codgers  in  the 
Tillage,  all  with  lots  of  unmarried  daugh- 
ters. The  sons  all  emigrate  as  soon  as 
they  Are  sixteen.  So  there's  a  plentiful 
hck  of  beaux,  and  a  marketful  of  belles. 
The  Judge,  being  a  bachelor,  the  patri- 
ardis  and  deacons  give  him  rich  dinners, 
fti^  dose  him  with  old  Madeira ;  and  the 
mis  set  their  caps  at  him  and  call  him 
that  dear,  old  judge ;  they  make  him  watch- 


cases,  pen-wipers  and  book-marks,  knit 
him  purses,  and  quarrel  among  themselves 
who's  to  have  hun.  Their  not  being  able 
to  decide  that  question  is  the  only  reason 
why  he's  at  large  yet." 

"  Pooh !  pooh ! "  said  the  Judge,  fiimb- 
ling  at  his  watch-guard  and  looking 
round  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  at  the 
ladies.  "  Though  I  mxist  own,"  he  added, 
thoughtfully,  "  the  village  is  remarkable 
for  its  hospitality." 

"  And  for  the  number,  beauty  and  ex- 
ceeding amiability  of  its  young  ladies," 
said  Cranston. 

The  eyes  of  the  artist  glimmered  tran- 
siently as  if  he  were  about  to  shine  through 
the  cloud  once  more,  his  lips  parted,  but 
encountering  the  short  glance  of  Cranston, 
he  inserted  between  them  the  head  of  his 
cane  and  remained  silent. 

"  Guildford  is  a  fine  place  to  pick  up  a 
wife  in,"  continued  Cranston ;  "  plenty  of 
candidates,  many  of  them  rich  and  hand- 
some,— many  a  man  out  of  hand  before  he 
knows  it,  sometimes,  I'm  told.  Perhaps, 
Lovel,  you'll  meet  the  twin  of  your  soul 
down  there." 

"  To  tell  the  truth,"  said  I, "  some  years 
ago,  I  did  intend  to  visit  Guildford  on  a 
most  particular  errand." 

"  Eh  ?  "  cried  the  Judge,  briskly,  ex- 
tremely willing  to  escape  the  chance  of 
taking  his  turn  again  with  the  common 
enemy,  Cranston.  "  Eh  1  What  was  it  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  I,  with  some  embamiss- 
ment,  for  I  saw  the  four  eyes  of  the  ladies 
bent  upon  me ;  "  the  fact  is,  that  I  had 
formed  a  plan — an  intention,  to  go  to 
Guildford,  for  the  purpose  of— to  visit  a 
lady." 

"In  a  word,  a-courting,"  cried  Cran- 
ston, looking  back  at  the  ladies;  "and 
now  you  are  merely  going  to  court — a  dis- 
tinction not  without  a  difiercncc." 

"  Why,  didn't  you  go  ?  "  suddenly  in- 
quired the  artist,  with  a  look  of  manifest 
interest. 

"  Exactly,"  laughed  Cranston ;  "  a  very 
pertinent  question,  *  why  didn't  you  go  7 ' 

If  any  one  else  had  told  in  my  presence, 
under  similar  circumstances,  such  a  story 
about  himself  as  I  began  to  tell,  I  should 
not  have  failed  to  detect  and  appreciate  the 
folly  of  the  act.  But  the  occasion  came 
suddenly.  I  was  possessed  of  an  insane 
desire  to  attract  and  retain  the  attention  of 
the  ladies  on  the  back  scat.  "  These  pret- 
ty girls."  thought  I,  "  shall  remember  me 
as  someoody  else  than  a  green,  awkward, 
silent,  stiff,  country  lawyer,  tno  helpless, 
harmless  butt  of  a  fluent  city  advocate.'' 
I  didn't  stop  to  consider  whether  the  re- 
gard I  should  be  apt  to  win  would  be 


814 


Stagt-Coach  Storiei. 


P 


farorable  or  not  A  man,  sometimes, 
rather  than  remain  in  obscurity,  will  be 
content,  for  the  sake  of  cutting  a  figure, 
to  expose  himself  to  disHke  and  even  ridi- 
cule. 

"  Do  you  know  Frank  Eliot,  of  Guild- 
ford ?  "  I  inquired,  addressing  myself  to 
the  Judge. 

"  Of  course  he  does,"  interrupted  Cran- 
ston ;  "  if  he  has  marriageable  daughters." 

"  I  know  him  very  well,"  said  the  Judge ; 
"  a  very  good  fellow ;  was  bred  to  the  bar 
and  makes  the  best  country  magistrate  I 
know  of.  I've  dined  with*  him  several 
times  since  I've  been  on  the  bench.  lie 
has  the  best  cellar  in  the  country,  and 
now  I  think  of  it,  I  remember  of  his  in- 
quiring once  about  you  very  particularly, 
and  whether  you  were  doing  welL  and  all 
that." 

"  Ha !  ha ! " shouted  Cranston,  "hasn't 
be  a  notion  of  commencing  a  breach  of 
promise  suit  in  the  name  of  his  daughter  ?  " 

"  You're  mistaken  this  time,  my  fine 
fellow,"  said  I.  "  If  Eliot  has  a  daughter 
she  must  be  altogether  too  young  to  be 
the  plaintiff  in  a  breach  of  promise  suit. 

"  Ay — but  he  has  a  sister  though,  or 
cousin,"  said  the  Judge,  smiling,  "  a  very 
beautiful  girl,  I've  heard.  I  never  hap- 
pened to  see  her." 

'*  Eliot  has  no  sister,  I  know,  and  as  for 
cousin,"  said  I,  "  I  suppose,  of  course,  that 
he  has  them  like  other  people,  but  I  never 
heard  of  more  than  one,  and  she  is  married. 
You  have  seen  Eliot's  wife,  I  suppose, 
Judge." 

"Frequently,"  replied  Judge  Walker; 
"  a  remarkably  fine-looking  woman ;  con- 
Bidcrably  younger  than  her  husband,  I 
should  think." 

"  Just  so,"  said  I  "  ten  years  or  more." 

"  Nearly  that,  I  should  think." 

"  Well,"  I  resumed ;  "  for  a  whole  year 
together,  in  my  younger  days,  I  fully  in- 
tended to  go  to  Guildford,  court  and  marry 
Eliot's  wife," 

"Come,"  cried  the  lawyer,  "thereby 
hangs  a  tale !  Begin,  Lovel ;  so  you  were 
nonsuited  even  before  you  filed  a  declaration. 
Well,  God  willing,  I  humbly  trust  you'll 
not  have  much  better  luck  m  yoiu*  court- 
ing this  term." 

"We'll  talk  to  the  Judge  about  that 
on  Monday,"  I  returned. 

"  Right,"  said  the  Judge ;  "  nbw  go  on, 
just  give  us  the  facts  of  the  case." 

So,  gentlemen,  like  a  fool,  I  proceeded 
to  tell  a  story,  which  I  will  endeavor  for 
your  amusement  to  repeat  in  as  nearly  the 
same  words  as  I  can. 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  stout  gentleman,  who 
it  seems  had  not  yet  gone  to  sleep. 


Thus  encouraged  the  lawyer  p 
as  follows : — 

CHAPTRBIIL 

A  TWIOB-TOLD  TAL& 

"You  must  know,"  I  began, 
slyly  around  to  see  that  all  were  1 
and  vastly  gratified  to  observe  tb 
attention  of  the  lady  passenger 
must  know  that  Eliot  and  I  wen 
lege  together.  To  be  sure,  he  is  ol 
I  am  by  several  years,  and  wai 
class  two  years  ahead  of  me ;  but 
chums  awhile,  belonged  to  the  e 
ciety,  and  were  of  course  intimate  a 
ances  and  very  good  friends.  B 
he  left  college  I  heard  and  saw  no 
him  until  the  occasion  of  which 
speak  presently. 

"  From  the  time  when  I  was  old 
to  read  llobinson  Crusoe,  the  Be 
and  Peter  Simple,  all  through  m}^ 
boy  days,  I  had  a  strong  inclini 
a  seafaring  life,  which  manifesti 
chiefly  in  frequent  truant  wanderin 
the  wharves  of  my  native  city,  < 
the  shrouds  and  exploring  the  d« 
holds  of  vessels  in  charge  of  good- 
mates  and  ship-keepers,  and  comii 
late  at  night,  if  not  captured  eariie 
anxious  father  or  some  of  his  mjn 
with  trousers,  hands,  and  hair  be 
with  pitch  and  molasses,  or  stair 
bilge  water  and  iron  rust;  in 
stealthy,  but  timely  discovered  pac 
an  old  chest  in  the  garret,  with 
clothes  within  my  reach  ;  and  in  : 
declarations  to  the  servants,  duly  i 
to  the  higher  powers  in  the  parioi 
would  be  a  sailor  in  spite  of  opposi 
denial.  In  consequence  of  this  I  ik 
ty  closely  watch^  by  my  revered 
and  reverend  schoolmasters,  lest 
run  away  to  gratify  this  untowan 
and  was  finally  promised,  that  if 
go  to  college  like  a  steady  boy, 
have  myself  with  propriety,  as  m 
and  grandfather  had  done  before 
the  end  of  the  tedious  four  years  ] 
be  pennitted  to  make  the  tour  of 
and  indulge  my  fancy  for  rambl 
seeing  the  world.  As  soon,  therel 
had  got  my  {Mirchment,  I  claimed 
filment  of  this  promise ;  and  foe 
to  a  day  after  Commencement^  I 
away  my  trunks  in  a  stateroom  oi 
Liverpool  liner.  Independence." 

"  Why  didn't  you  go  in  a  ste 
asked  the  artist ;  "  the  voyage  is ) 
shorter  in  them." 

"Pooh! "said  Cranston;  «dc 
know  that  the  longer  the  voyage  t 
you  get  for  your  money  ?  " 


1854.] 


Stage- Coach  Stones. 


815 


"  I  went  aboard  while  the  Bhip  lay  at 
the  pier,"  I  continued,  without  heeding 
the  interruption,  *^  three  days  before  the 
time  of  sailing.  I  solicited  permission  to 
eat  and  sleep  aboard,  but  this  being  re- 
fused, I  put  upi  hard  by,  at  the  United 
States  Hotel,  aeriying  extreme  comfort 
and  satisfaction  from  the  circumstance  of 
Bitting  at  table,  each  day  at  dinner,  bo- 
tvreen  two  nautical  gentlemen.  All  day 
long  I  haunted  the  deck  of  the  ship,  get- 
ting into  every  body's  way,  inquiring  the 
names  and  uses  of  the  ropes ;  causing,  I 
have  no  doubt,  vast  annoyance  and  some 
oountenrailing  amusement  to  the  mates 
and  stevedores,  but,  nevertheless,  enjoying 
myself  intensely  in  my  maritime  fancies, 
the  bustle  and  hurry  of  getting  the  freight 
and  stores  on  board,  the  smell  of  tar  and 
dock  mud,  and  the  brilliant  anticipations 
of  the  voyage.  Finally,  to  my  infinite  do- 
l^fat,  the  day  of  departure  arrived.  Early 
in  the  morning  the  crew  came  on  board, 
we  hauled  out  into  the  stream  and  drop- 
ped down  with  the  tide,  and  before  aligjfit 
ureeze,  to  the  quarantine-ground,  where 
we  aiM^hored  to  wait  for  the  steamboat 
which  was  to  bring  aboard  the  rest  of  the 
passengers. 

"  About  two  o'clock  the  steamboat  came 
alongside.  There  were  a  good  many 
people  on  her  decks,  and  among  them  I 
Tery  soon  recognized,  somewhat  to  my 
sorprise,  my  old  friend  Eliot,  in  company 
wiu  an  elderly  ladpr  and  gentleman  and 
two  very  pretty  girls.  I  stood  on  the 
quarter-deck  of  the  ship,  and  forthwith 
hailed  him.  Frank  looked  up  in  surprise, 
recognized  me,  called  my  name,  and  then 
eagerly  pointed  me  out  to  the  elderly  lady, 
who  was  leaning  on  his  arm.  '  Isn't  it 
lucky,  mother,'  I  heard  him  say,  ^  there's 
my  old  chum.  Level,  going  out  in  this 
alup.  Now  you'll  certainly  feci  easy  about 
me.'  Upon  this  the  old  lady  and  gentle- 
man and  the  two  pretty  girls  looked  up. 
ind  stared  at  me  with  great  interest,  and 
Frank  sung  out,  ^  Come  aboard  the  boat, 
Lorel,  and  I'll  introduce  you  to  my  folks. 
If  y  mother  here  will  want  to  give  me  into 
your  charge.'  'Oh  yes,'  cried  the  old 
ndy.  '  do  come  here  Mr.  Level,  I  want  to 
qpeak  with  you  very  much  indeed,  and  I'm 
■>  thankful  you  are  going  abroad  ;  but  I 
ihall  never  be  able  to  climb  the  side  of 
your  big  ship.'  The  old  gentleman,  too, 
flourished  his  cane,  and  had  something  to 
ny,  that  ?ras  lost  in  the  sudden  whiz  of  fhe 
iteam-pipe  and  the  shouting  of  the  sailors. 
Ab  for  the  pretty  girls  they  looked  at  me 
iteadily,  but  waited  before  speaking,  for  a 
more  formal  introduction. 

It  woald  have  been  very  easy  for  me  to 


go  around  to  the  gangway,  and  get  aboard 
the  boat  by  the  safe  means  an  ordinary 
landsman  would  have  chosen  to  use.  But 
I  had  been  three  days  afloat  and  was  too 
much  of  a  sailor  to  consult  convenience 
and  security.  Besides,  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  a  crowd  at  the  p:angway.  So  I 
climbed  over  into  the  mizzen-chains,  in- 
tending to  jump  from  thence  to  the  prom- 
enade deck  of  the  little  steamer.  The 
pretty  girls  watched  my  motions  atten- 
tively, of  which  I  was  by  no  means  un- 
conscious. Whether  it  was  that  their 
bright  eyes  dazzled  me,  or  that  the  dis- 
tance between  the  ship  and  the  steamboat 
was  wider  than  it  appeared  to  be,  I  know 
not  I  sprang  out  gallantly  over  the  gulf 
— my  feet  touched  the  railing  of  the  steam- 
er's promenade  deck.  I  wavered  a  mo- 
ment and  threw  up  my  anns.  I  saw 
Eliot  and  the  old  gentleman  spring  for- 
ward, and  the  younger  of  the  pretty  girls 
cover  her  blue  eyes  with  her  hands.  Tha 
next  thing  that  I  recollect  were  the  figures 
marking  the  vessel's  draught  on  the  stem- 
post,  and  the  gleam  of  bright  copper  over 
my  head,  seen  through  the  green  water  in 
which  I  was  strugglmg,  ten  feet  below  tha 
surface." 

"But  you  wasn't  drowned — at  least," 
said  the  artist 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,"  said  Cranstoi^ 
"there  is  a  class  of  people  proverbially 
exempt  from  casualties  of  that  sort." 

"I  could  swim  very  well,"  I  resumed, 
"and  a  boat  being  lowered.  I  was  soon 
taken  on  board,  a  little  confused  in  my 
ideas,  my  head  bleeding  slightly  and  my 
clothes  in  a  very  damp  condition.  The 
remedies  for  these  misfortunes  being  duly 
applied,  with  the  assistance  of  my  friend 
Eliot,  in  the  course  of  an  hour  I  left  my 
state  room  and  went  on  deck  again,  to  find 
the  ship  under  way,  and  running  down  tha 
narrows  with  a  favorable  wind. 

"Eliot  and  I  very  naturally  became 
close  friends.  He  agreed  to  vary  his  plans 
somewhat — I  changed  some  of  my  pur- 
poses and  we  resolved  to  keep  together 
during  our  travels. 

"The  voyage  was  an  uneventful  and 
pleasant  one.  Nevertheless,  I  was  surprised 
to  find  at  the  end  of  it  how  much  my 
passion  for  the  sea  had  abated.  I  was  as 
ready  to  leave  the  ship  at  Liverpool,  as  I 
had  been  eager  to  join  her  at  New- York. 

"  We  staid  in  London  a  little  too  late  for 
Eliot's  good,  and  were  obliged  to  travel 
hastily  to  Naples.  Here  Frank  took  a 
hard  cold,  having  been  caught  in  a  shower, 
while  on  an  expedition  with  me  to  the 
crater  of  Vesuvius.  I  nursed  him  care- 
fully, kepi  by  him  day  and  night  for 


316 


Stage-Coaeh  SioriM. 


[F, 


three  weeks,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time,  I 
think,  we  loved  each  other  richt  heartily. 

"  One  evening,  when  he  had  got  nearly 
well  we  were  sitting  together  tidkinc  over 
old  times,  and  comparing  them  with  the 
present,  when  Eliot  suddenly  inquired — 

"'Charlie,  are  you  in  love  with  any 
body?' 

"  Now,  it  so  happened  that  our  land- 
lady's daughter  had  a  pair  of  large,  dark 
eyes,  a  well  proportioned,  rounded  form, 
a  taper  waist,  a  most  bewitching,  soft, 
white,  plump  little  hand — yes,  two  of  them 
^and  the  same  number  of  adorable  little 
feet ;  and  it  also  happened,  that  a  few  dajrs 
before  the  unlucky  excursion  to  the  vol- 
cano, I  had  endeavored  to  express  to  the 
young  woman  my  perception  of  the  exist- 
ence of  these  various  charms,  and,  in  some 
faint  degree,  the  Yemarkable  effect  which 
the  sight  of  them  had  had  upon  my  feel- 
ings ;  and  although  my  knowledge  of  the 
language  of  the  countiy  often  failed  to  aid 
me  in  making  the  mother  comprehend  my 
wishes  with  respect  to  clean  linen,  fuel, 
water^  and  such  necessary  matters,  I  had 
expenenced  no  diflBcultv  whatever  in  con- 
veying to  the  daughter's  mmd  a  vivid  im- 
pression of  the  fact,  that  she  was,  in  my 
estimation,  an  angel  and  divinity,  and  the 
object  of  my  most  fervent  adoration.  In- 
deed, since  Frank's  illness,  and  especially 
during  the  period  of  his  convalescence,  I 
had  occasionally  met  the  damsel  in  the 
long  corridor,  and  on  the  stairs,  and  wo 
had,  by  means  of  the  few  words  of  Italian 
that  I  could  utter  and  understand,  as  well 
as  by  appropriate  signs,  tokens  and  ges- 
tures, given  each  other  assurances  of  dis- 
tinguished consideration  and  regard. 

"  I  looked  at  my  interrogator,  who  was 
leaning  forward  in  his  chair,  waiting,  with 
an  appearance  of  much  interest,  mr  my 
reply. 

" '  Why,'  said  I,  a  good  deal  oonfhsed ; 
<what  makes  you  ask  that  question. 
Prank?' 

"  '  Because  I  want  to  know,'  said  he,  in 
his  quiet  way,  '  I've  an  object  in  it' 

"  *  The  deuce  you  have,'  thought  I,  *  you 
are  going  to  read  me  a  lecture.  Master 
Frank.' 

''  Eliot  was  a  prime  good  fellow ;  free, 
social,  generous^  and  of  a  lively  disposition, 
lie  liked  the  things  that  yoimg  men  are 
wont  to  like — a  fast  horse,  a  glass  of  wine, 
a  pretty  face — but  then  he  was  seldom 
guilty  of  nonsense,  and  never  of  extrava- 
gances. He  had  always  carefully  avoided 
sprees  when  in  college.  I  had  never 
luiown  him  to  flirt,  and  I  was  aware  that 
he  denounced  without  mercy  any  thmg  in 
the  way  of  gambling.    He  was  set  down 


by  his  classmates  and  others  as 
but  rather  steady  fellow.  In  fin 
no  reason  to  expect  much  spap 
encouragement  f^om  him,  if  I  she 
him  of  my  flirtation,  and  I  suspect 
he  was  paving  the  wa^  for  a  friei 
monition  and  rebuke  m  relation 
very  matter. 

"'Did  you — have  you  —  notk 
thing  in  my  manner  ? '  I  asked. 

"'Bless  the  boy,  no;'  rejdiec 
laughing. 

"'Why,'  said  I,  greatly  enoc 
'  the  fact  is,  that  I  am — at  least,  I 

" '  Pray  excuse  me,'  continued  £ 
I  venture  to  call  your  passion  fo 
see — what's  her  name?' 

"'Rosetta,'  I  replied,  a  little  i 
*  and  its  a  very  pretty  name,  but  n 
pretty  for  her.' 

"'For  the  charming  Rosetta, 
really,   Charlie    a  very  pretty  | 
merely  a  transient  matter;    soz 
from    which    you    will    surely 
speedily.    You've  had  an  inflamnu 
the  heart,   Charlie,  while  I've  l 
malady  on  my  lungs.    We  shall  b 
well,  I  trust ;  though  let  me  say  n 
don't  look  so  cross,  or  take  it  i 
must  both  be  careful.    These  vital 
of  ours  should  not  bo  trifled  with, 
think  it  is  wise  to  let  one's  fancy  n 
the  pretty  girls  one  sees  in  travelli 

" '  Perhaps  not,'  said  I ;  *  still  oi 
help  it  sometimes.' 

" '  Very  well,'  said  Eliot,  lauehin 
Rosetta  affair,  for  which  you  i£all 
special  dispensation,  is  the  only  love 
that  you  have  on  hand,  is  it  f  No 
heart  at  home,  who  has  your  ha 
locket  and  your  heart  in  keeping? 

" '  Why^  as  to  that,'  I  answered 
less  the  gu'ls  have  burnt  them  u] 
are  locks  enough  of  my  hair  i 
Haven  to  make  a  wig  of;  but  t 
one  I  gave  avray  was  when  I  was  i 
and  I  went  to  the  lady's  wedding  j 
fore  last  May  vacation.' 

" '  Qood,'  said  Eliot,  sinking  bad 
chair.     '  I'm  heartily  glad.' 

"'Why  so?'  I  asked,  somewh 
prised  at  the  manner  of  my  frie 
not  a  little  curious  to  know  the  re 
it. 

" '  Because,'  replied  Frank,  as  e< 
you  please, '  I've  found;  a  plan  fo: 
in  fact,  I've  picked  you  out  a  wife 

"'Eh?'  said  I, 'what!' 

'"I've  got  a  cousin  at  home^' 
tinned ;  '  she's  a  charming  little  | 
orphan,  and  my  father  is  her  guar 

"'How  old  is  she?'  I  inqain 
much  interest. 


1854.] 


Stage-Coach  Stories. 


ill 


"  *  I  should  say  not  more  than  fifteen, 
ibongh  she  may  be  a  year  more.' 

" '  Pooh !'  said  I,  with  all  the  contempt 
that  young  gentlemen  of  twenty  are  wont 
to  feel  for  young  ladies  of  fifteen. 

"*Why,  what's  the  matter?'  asked 
Eliot 

" '  She's  decidedly  too  young,  Frank,'  I 
relied,  stroking  a  carefully  cherished  and 
▼cry  downy  moustache  that  was  budding 
on  my  upper  hp. 

"*But  she'll  mend  of  that  fault,  daily,' 
said  Eliot,  encouragingly.  'When  you 
are  twenty-three,  and  you'll  not  think  of 
marrymg  before  then,  she  will  be  just 
eighteen.' 

"  *  Indeed,  that's  true,  very  true,'  I  re- 
plied ;  '  you  say  she  is  handsome  ? ' 

" '  She  is  very  beautiful,  I  think.  But 
you  have  seen  her ;  rather  briefly  though, 
I  must  own.' 

"'What!'  said  I,  you  don't  mean  to 
say — it  must  be  though — that  she  was 
one  of  those  pretty  girls  with  you  on  the 
steamboat?' 

"£Uot  nodded. 

" '  Which  one  ? '  I  asked,  with  animation. 

"  *  Which  would  you  rather  have  her  to 
be?'  asked  Eliot,  leaning  forward  in  his 
chair,  and  waiting  for  my  decision  with  an 
air  of  eager  curiosity. 

"  *  Oh !  the  blue-eyed  one — the  younger 
one  by  all  means.' 

"  *  All  right,'  cried  Eliot,  joyously ;  '  you 
shall  have  her,  Charlie.  I  can  bring  it 
about  No  fear  of  rivals  at  home ;  those 
few  fifteen  years  keep  beaux  at  a  distance 
for  the  present  Aha!  old  Lovel,  we'll 
be  brothers-in-law  after  all.' 

".  *  No,'  said  I,  correcting  him,  '  cousins- 
in-law.' 

" '  WeU,  well,'  said  Eliot, '  it  will  amount 
to  pretty  much  the  same  thing,  you'll 
&ia.     She  has  been  as  a  sister  to  me.' 

"  *  And  who  was  the  other  girl,  Frank  ? ' 
I  asked  after  a  while. 

«'0h— ah!'  rephed  Eliot,  blushing  a 
little,  and  stooping  to  pull  up  the  heel  of 
bis  slipper ;  *  the  other  one  ?  She  is  a — a 
friend  of  Helen's.' 

**' Helen!'  said  I,  who  the  dash  is 
Helen?' 

" '  Helen  Eliot,  you  stupid  fellow — ^your 
Helen.' 

"*Oh-ho!  exactly.  Helen  Eliot;  a 
mighty  pretty  name.  It  runs  off  the  tongue 
toently.  Helen  Lovel — Mrs.  Helen  Lovcl. 
Qood.  But  now,  Frank,  isn't  this  other 
one  a  friend  of  one  Francis  Eliot,  of  my 
acquaintance — a  particular  friend — come, 
oMchtm?' 

"*  Well,' said  Eliot,  afler  a  moment's 
hesitation,   'I'U    enlighten  you   on    this 
▼OL.  m. — 15 


pomt  if  you  won't  ask  me  any  thing  more. 
She  is  a  lady  that  I  believe  I  love  very 
dearly.  I  think  she  loves  me.  Whether 
we  ever  marry  depends  upon  circumstan- 
ces. I  hope  so — Ibut  we  are  not  engaged, 
as  the  term  is — there  you  have  it' 

"'Good,  old  fellow!'  I  shouted,  clap- 
ping his  back  until  I  set  him  coughing. 
*  Now  just  tell  me  her  name.' 

"  *  No,  ugh — ugh — *ir,'  coughed  Frank, 
any  thing  but  doubtfully.  '  Recollect  the 
bargain.  She  is  Helen  Eliot's  friend. 
That's  all  you  can  know.' 

" '  But  what  shall  I  call  her  when  I 
speak  of  her  ? '  said  I. 

"  *  You  needn't  go  out  of  your  way  to 
speak  of  her  at  all,'  replied  Eliot  *  But 
if  you  must  have  something  to  distinguish 
her  by,  call  her  the  other  one.' 

*•  Well,  in  a  few  days  afterward,  Frank 
wrote  home  and  told  them  all  about 
his  having  been  sick,  and  how  I  had 
tended  him  like  a  orother,  and  how 
grateful  he  was  to  me,  and  how  much 
he  loved  me,  and  how  well  and  strong 
he  had  got  to  be,  and  that  he  was 
never  heartier  in  his  life.  He  stretched 
the  truth  a  little  with  respect  to  his  ren- 
ovated health,  but  that  was  natural,  writ- 
ing to  an  anxious  mother  four  thousand 
miles  away.  And  he  wrote  to  Cousin 
Helen,  too,  and  told  her  to  mind  her  books, 
and  her  music,  and  take  care  of  her  heart, 
for  that  he  had  a  lover  chosen  for  her, 
his  dearest  friend — meaning  me — whom 
he  specified,  and  that  I  had  tumbled  over- 
board on  her  account  solely,  wishing  to 
distinguish  mvsclf  in  her  eyes,  and  a  good 
many  other  things  that  pleased  me  very 
much  when  Frank  read  them  to  me. 
And  he  wrote  a  very  long  letter  besides, 
which  I  surmised  was  to  the  Other  One, 
and  tried  to  get  a  look  at  the  superscrip- 
tion of  it,  and  didn't  succeed  in  the  at- 
tempt. 

"  And  the  next  month,  having  a  chance 
to  send  parcels  as  well  as  letters  home  by 
a  returning  government  vessel,  he  wrote 
again  to  father  and  mother,  to  Cousin 
Helen,  and,  I  had  no  doubt^  to  the  Other 
One ;  and  I  added  a  postscript  in  my  own 
handwriting,  ostensibly  for  the  purpose 
of  indorsing  Frank's  boastings  of  his  ex- 
ceedingly robust  health,  though,  strange 
to  say,  this  document  was  appended,  not 
to  the  letter  to  the  old  gentleman  and 
lady  but  to  the  one  to  Cousin  Helen. 
And  I  sent  her  a  little  heart  made  of  a 
piece  of  lava  from  Herculaneum,  all  set  in 
gold — the  shape  and  material  of  which  I 
exulted  in  thinking  was  very  expressive, 
and  was  terribly  cut  up  when  Frank 
hinted,  that  considering  the  lava  had  once 


918 


Stage-Coach  Storiet. 


[FA 


been  melting  but  now  grown  cold,  may  be 
it  would  be  more  appropriate  to  give  it  to 
Eosetta. 

"And  in  due  course  of  time,  when 
Frank  got  letters  from  home,  if  there 
wasn't  a  postscript  by  Helen  herself,  not 
to  me,  directly,  in  the  second  person,  to 
be  sure;  but  which,  nevertheless,  began 
forthwith  —  *  Tell  your  friend,  Cousin 
Frank,  that,'  &c.,  &c.  It  was  signed 
'Helen;'  and  I  asked  Frank  to  let  me 
look  at  it  so  often,  that  he  finally  tore  it 
off  and  gave  it  to  me. 

'•So,  for  a  year  the  postscripts  went 
back  and  forth.  Cousin  Helen's  second 
one  commenced,  'Tell  our  friend.'  and 
the  third,  'Tell  Charlie  for  me,'  and  so 
on. 

"  In  the  mean  time  wo  had  made  the 
usual  continental  tour,  and  got  back  to 
Paris.  Eliot's  health  was  now  estab- 
lish^ and — " 

"  Would  you  be  so  kind,  sir,  as  to  tell 
us  what  became  of  Rosetta?"  inquired 
the  artist,  with  some  hesitation. 

"  Ah  !  pray  now  ! "  said  Cranston, 
"you  arc  indiscreet  to  press  such  a  ques- 
tion on  the  gentleman." 

"  I  will  tell  all  I  know,  with  pleasure," 
I  replied.  "  When  we  returned  to  Naples 
after  a  cruise  up  the  Mediterranean,  I 
found  that  Rosetta  had  married  a  rich 
maccaroni  manufacturer. 

"Wo  found  in  Paris,"  I  continued, 
"  several  countrymen  of  our  acquaintance. 
There  were  an  attache  to  our  Legation, 
and  several  medical  students  whom  we 
had  formerly  known  in  college.  It  was 
not  long,  therefore,  before  we  found  our 
time  fully  occupied  in  one  way  and  an- 
other, and  had  more  engagements  on  hand 
than  we  were  able  to  fulffi. 

"  Among  the  number  of  our  new  female 
friends  there  was  one  Madame — I'll  call 
her  Madame  La  Vigne.  Her  Christian 
name  was  Sophie — but  whether  she  is 
still  Madame  La  Vigne  or  not,  I  shouldn't 
dare  take  upon  myself  to  say.  Now  this 
lady  was  young,  rich,  and  a  widow — ^young, 
for  she  had  seen  less  than  thirty  summers ; 
rich,  for  she  had  a  clear  income  of  more 
than  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year,  be- 
sides a  pretty  estate  in  the  provinces 
and  a  fine  hotel  in  the  city  proper.  She 
was  a  widow.  Moreover,  Madame  La 
Vigne  was  gay,  coquettish  and  very  hand- 
some. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  the  possession 
of  these  desirable  qualities  by  the  charm- 
ing widow  will  seem  to  you  a  satisfactory 
reason  for  what  I  am  about  to  tell  you — 
nevertheless,  so  it  was,  that  my  friend 
Eliot  being  presented  to  the  lady  was 


presently  fascinated,  and  being  appa 
encouraged  thereto  became  speedil 
completely  bewitched,  bewildered 
enchanted  by  her  graces  and  cl 
I  saw,  at  the  very  first,  that  he 
smitten  youth,  but  putting  great  tm 
reliance  on  his  steady  temperamen 
especially  on  the  influence  of  his  liki 
the  Other  One,  I  felt  nowise  uneasy 
him,  but  supposed  that  this  unex 
aberration  would  be  as  transient  as 
been  sudden.  Indeed,  I  amused  i 
exceedingly  in  observing  the  adn 
with  which  the  coquettish  widow  8 
to  lure  him  on,  and  the  change  in  F 
speech  and  conduct  to  me,  respectii 
matter,  from  the  transparent  attec 
concealing  the  nature  of  his  &nctes 
checked  expressions  of  admiratia 
passion. 

"At  last,  one  night  after  our 
from  the  opera,  where  we  had  be 
the  whole  evening  favored  occupai 
the  widow's  box,  when  Eliot,  as  hm 
usual  of  late,  began  to  let  off  som> 
rocketing  praises  of  Sophie's  eye 
hah-,  and  lips,  and  hands  and  so  € 
got  a  little  alarmed  at  his  extrava 
and  began  to  rally  him. 

"  '  Suppose,'  said  I,  '  that  the  0th 
could  hear  you  now ;  wouldn't  she 
that  there  was  some  danger  of  her  j 
the  go  by  ? ' 

"  '  Nonsense ! '  repled  Frank, 
moderated  tone  and  reddening ;  '  yoi 
suppose  that — that  the  Other  One,  i 
call  her,  has  any  claims  on  me,  < 
her?' 

"'Oh!  she  hasn't  then!'  said 
thought  you  told  me  once  that  you 
to  marry  her  ? ' 

" '  That  was  a  mere  boyish  fane 
turned  Eliot,  with  an  air  of  irritatic 
beg  you  won't  mention  it.  The 
One  is  my — that  is  to  say,  your  I 
friend,  that's  all.' 

" '  And  for  that  reason  I  must  sti 
for  her.  Come,  Frank ;  you're  get 
too  deep.  Let's  leave  this  wicked 
and  go  home.' 

" '  Come,  come,'  cried  Eliot,  impat 
'  a  truce  with  your  nonsense.     Go 
I  want  to  sit  up  and  write  a  letter.' 

"'Nonsense!'  I  repeated.  'P« 
my  wise  friend,  you  don't  rememl 
talk  we  had  in  Naples  a  year  ago. 
you  then  that  if  you  should  happen 
in  love  with  some  pretty  Parisia; 
would  not  incline  to  call  it  nonsen» 

" '  Preposterous ! '  cried  Frank,  bi 
up  to  hide  his  embarrassment ;  '  yc 
pretend  to  institute  a  comparison  b 
that  Rosetta  of  yours  and ' 


1854.] 


Stage- Coach  Stories, 


210 


"*No,  no,*  I  interrupted,  'not  mine, 
she  belongs  to  the  maccaroni  man  now.' 

"  '  And  Madame  La  Vigne  ? '  continued 
Prank,  finishing  his  interrogatory  with 
undiminished  fierceness. 

"  *  By  no  means,'  I  replied ;  ^  but ' 

"  *  But  wliat,  sir  ? '  said  Frank,  with 
«n  inflamed  countenance.  I  had  turned 
the  tables  so  completely  on  him  that  he 
was  as  cross  as  a  bear. 

'* '  But  if  I  should,'  said  I,  with  a  mock- 
ing laugh,  'I  don't  think  that  Madame 
La  Vigne  would  have  any  reason  to  com- 
plain. And  then  again — '  but  here  I 
stopped,  for  Eliot  made  a  sudden  moj^ion 
that  had  the  appearance  of  looking  after 
something  to  throw  at  my  head. 

"  •  And  then  again,'  I  continued  cau-» 
tiously,  when  my  companion  had  recovered 
his  thoughts  a  little ;  ^  suppose  I  should 
compare  Madame  La  Vigne  with  Rosetta, 
or  any  body  else,  what  have  you  got  to  do 
or  say  about  it  ? ' 

"  *I  have  not  got  the  trick,'  he  exclaimed, 
^of  disguising  my  feelings  when  I  am 
strongly  excited,  and  let  me  tell  you  that 
you  mustn't  speak  lightly  of  Madame  La 
Vigne  in  my  presence.  I  can't  suffer  it 
1  love  her — yes — I  love  her !  Let  me 
alone  ;  I  am  resolved.' 

^'  Eliot  continued  to  pace  to  and  fro, 
and  plainly  endeavored  to  hear  me  pa- 
tiently. He  winced  when  I  spoke  of  the 
Other  One,  and  when  I  asked  him  if 
he  thought  his  father  and  mother  would 
like  a  gay  Parisian  belle  for  a  daughter, 
let  her  be  ever  so  rich  and  handsome,  I 
saw  that  I  had  touched  a  tender  place  in 
his  heart. 

"  *  Charlie,'  said  he,  interrupting  me 
suddenly,  *■  don't  waste  your  brei^h  and 
torment  me  by  talking  in  this  way.  It  is 
all  in  vain-  I  know  my  own  mind.  I 
did  think  I  loved — the  Other  One ' — he 
brought  out  these  last  words  with  a  queer 
attempt  at  a  smile — '  but  I  see  now  how 
mfinitely  I  was  mistaken.  Love !  Great 
God !  To  call  by  the  same  name  the  quiet 
sentiment  which  we  entertained  for  each 
other — which  I  have  still,  for  I  like  her 
as  well  as  ever — and  the  burning,  all-ab- 
sorbing passion  that  consumes  me  now. 
It's  of  no  use,  Charlie,'  he  continued, 
rapidly,  as  he  saw  me  about  to  speak. 
'I've  thought  over  all  you  have  said  and 
a  good  deal  more  besides — but  I  love  this 
lady — ^love,  love^  love  her,  Charlie!  Do 
you  know  what  that  means  ?  I  cannot 
live  without  her !  I  am  willing  to  give  up 
every  thing  for  her.  I  wish  that  she  were 
poor — a  peasant  girl,  a  grisctte,  any  thing, 
10  that  I  might  show  her  how  much  I  love 


her,  and  how  cheerfully  I  would  make 
any  sacrifice  for  her  sake.  I  am  resolved 
to  win  her  or  die ! ' 

"  I  saw  that  talking  was  useless,  indeed ; 
but  after  another  pause  I  put  a  good  face 
on  the  matter,  and  said, 

'•'Well,  well,  Frank;  you're  in  love, 
there's  no  mistake ;  all  of  a  glow,  but 
mind  you,  I  shall  do  all  in  my  power  to 
cure  you  of  your  passion.' 

"'Look  you,  Lovel,'  said  he,  through 
his  shut  teeth,  walking  up  to  the  so& 
where  I  was  lounging,  'Let's  have  no 
hypocrisy.  If  you  are  my  rival,  be  an 
open  and  avowed  one.' 

" '  Good  night,  Frank,'  said  I,  pleasantly, 
turning  towards  him  in  the  doorway. 

" '  Wait  a  moment,'  said  Eliot.  '  On 
your  word,  now,  old  friend,  do  you — have 
you  any — liking  for  Sophie  yourself? ' 

"  '  Why  no,  you  jealous  fool'  cried  I, 
laughing.  Have  all  your  senses  left 
you?' 

'"On  your  honor,  Lovel ? ' 

" '  On  my  honor,  Eliot,  or  if  you  prefer 
it,  I'll  swear  to  it.' 

" '  And  you've  never  thought  that  So- 
phie seemed  to  favor  you — to-night,  for 
instance — you  know  what  I  mean,'  per- 
sisted Eliot  anxiously.  - 

" '  What  a  ffooso  love  will  make  a  man,' 
I  replied.  '  I'm  going  to  bed,  and  you'd 
better  follow  my  example,'  and  so  I  left 
him  to  walk  the  room  and  recover  his 
equanimity  as  best  ho  might. 

"I  felt  seriously  uncomfortable  about 
this  extraordinary  passion  which  I  had  so 
unexpectedly  discovered  was  entertained 
by  my  friend.  I  could  see  very  plainly 
that  it  was  all  passion.  The  object,  to  be 
sure,  was  not  so  exceptionable.  She  was 
rich,  handsome,  and  respectable.  But 
then  what  a  wife  for  the  staid  Frank  Eliot ! 
What  a  daughter,  half  skeptic,  half  Catho- 
lic, for  the  strict  old  descendants  of  the 
Puritans,  his  worthy  Presbyterian  parents ! 
What  a  probable  contrast  between  the 
gay,  frivolous,  Parisian  belle  and  the 
Yankee  bred,  modest  Other  One.  I  was 
conscious  that  Eliot,  blinded  as  he  was  by 
passion,  was  yet  secretly  and  vehemently 
dissatisfied  with  himself  for  yielding  to 
its  promptings,  and  with  the  choice  that 
he  had  made.  It  was  evident  that  there 
had  been  a  severe  conflict  between  his 
judgment  and  his  feelings,  and  that  he 
had  wilfully  permitted  the  latter  to  con- 
quer. I  could  not  doubt  that  he  was 
resolutely  bent  upon  marrying  the  widow 
if  he  could,  and  running  the  risk  of  repent- 
ing his  pi*ecipitation  at  his  leisure. 


CTo  be  oonttnned.) 


sso 


[Febmiiy 


EDITORIAL   NOTES. 


LITEBATUSE. 
American. — Mrs.  Mowatt's  Autobt- 
ography  of  an  Actress  is  one  of  the 
f^fihest  and  most  readable  books  that  the 
season  has  produojd ;  it  is  precisely  such 
a  volume  as  its  title  does  not  promise,  for 
we  naturally  anticipate  a  piquant^  ego- 
tistical, frivolous  and  green-roomish  narra- 
tive, full  of  rouge,  spangles,  and  f  ilse  senti- 
ment; but,  instead,  we  have  a  simply-told 
story  of  an  earnest  and  heroic  woman, 
whose  life  has  been  one  of  contention  with 
adverse  fortune,  sweetened  by  many  bril- 
liant successes,  which  were  the  result  of 
her  own  exertions.  It  will  prove  a  most 
profitable  book  to  a  very  numerous  class 
of  readers,  by  teaching  them  the  impoi^ 
tance  of  self-dependence,  and  the  folly  of 
caring  what  Mrs.  Grundy  may  say.  There 
are  a  few  little  disclosures  of  the  earlier 
years  of  the  autobiographer,  and  the  par- 
ticulars relating  to  her  marriage,  which 
are  neither  essential  to  the  understanding 
of  her  character,  nor  particularly  edifying 
in  themselves,  but  they  do  no  harm,  and 
are  not  discreditable  to  the  persons  in- 
volved. Mrs.  Mowatt  is  yet  a  young 
woman  to  write  her  own  history ;  but 
being  on  the  eve  of  retiring  to  private  life, 
she  publishes  her  autobiography  in  obe- 
dience to  the  request  of  her  husband. 
Her  actual  entrance  upon  the  stage  of  real 
life,  her  debut  in  public,  took  place  on  the 
reverses  of  fortune  which  befell  her  hus- 
band soon  after  their  marriage ;  she  then 
gave  readings  in  public,  then  commenced 
her  career  as  an  author,  which  furnishes 
the  most  interesting  and  instructive  part 
of  her  history.  She  employed  her  pen 
with  great  diligence,  and  produced  novels, 
essays,  cookery  books,  books  of  needle- 
work, and  became  a  hack  for  a  cheap 
publisher,  and  at  last  tried  her  hand  upon 
a  comedy,  which  proved  successful,  and 
was  the  means  of  turning  her  thoughts  to 
the  stage  as  a  profession.  The  simple 
narrative  of  her  trials  and  successes  as  an 
actress  has  all  the  interest  of  a  romance, 
and,  if  published  anonymously  would 
hardly  be  taken  for  truth.  But,  it  has 
also  the  appearance  of  truth,  and  we  no- 
where discern  any  evidence  of  exaggera- 
tion, or  attempts  to  sacrifice  truth  to 
dramatic  effect.  The  admirable  charac- 
teristic of  Mrs.  Mowatt's  confessions  is  the 
union  of  a  highly  wrought  romantic  sen- 
timent with  a  sweetly  simple  style,  and  a 
degree  of  practical  good  sense  which  might 
be  envied  by  a  denizen  of  Wall-street. 
She  is  always  true,  candid,  and  tender, 


but  always  keeps  an  eye  upon  the  main 
chance;  and,  better  than  all,  she  never 
whines,  but  has  a  high-hearted  and  reli- 
gious trust  that  doing  right  will  lead  to 
right  results.  We  should  be  glad  if  our 
space  would  allow  us  to  give  a  few  charac- 
teristic extracts  from  her  aulobiographj^ 
but  we  can  give  but  one,  the  account  of 
her  debut  in  England,  which  shows  how 
difierently  our  brethren  across  the  Atlantic 
receive  an  adventurer  from  the  New 
World,  to  the  manner  in  which  all  adven- 
turers from  the  Old  World  are  received 
here.  The  contrast  is  by  no  means  favor- 
able to  the  other  side. 


"Previous  to  our  diXmi,  Mn.  8— n  enteitmin«d 
undisguised  fears  thst  we  would  receive  harsh  treat- 
ment St  the  hands  of  the  proverhially  caustic  ICan- 
Chester  critics.  She  called  upon  the  most  ascetic  of 
the  cynical  brotherhood,  to  *  smooth  the  raven  down,* 
by  interesting  him  in  my  history.  The  experiment 
was  only  calculated  to  render  him  more  uneompro- 
mi&ing.  In  another  field  she  was  more  snooessftiL 
Her  wonuwly  efforts  raised  me  up  an  army  of  d«' 
fenders  amongst  the  members  of  her  husband^  coo- 
gregatlon.  They  were  prepared  to  support  me  if  I 
betrayed  the  fSdntest  glimmering  of  geninai 

*"  Another  anxious  friend  called  upon  the  theatrical 
critic  of  the  Manchester  Guardian,  the  leading  oracle 
of  the  press,  and  offcre<l  to  present  him  to  me.  The 
cautious  and  conscientious  critic  declined  the  intio- 
dabtlon  until  t{fUr  my  dibvi,  remarking  that  a  per- 
sonal acquaintance  might  prepossess  bim  in  my  ikvor, 
and  interfere  with  the  justice  of  his  criticlsoL  And  of 
such  Judges  was  the  tribunal  composed  before  which 
we  were  to  be  dfled,  scanned,  and  tested.  In  raek 
hands  was  placed  Distinction's 


<  Broad  and  powtrfbl  fiu,* 


that, 


■tan,  win 


t  Um  Uitht  away.* 


If  our  talents  fell  short  In  their  *fkirproporti<mt*  of 
some  fkbulous  or  imaginary  standard,  we  were  to  be 
annihilated  by  a  paragraph— stabbed  by  thnuts  of 
steel  in  the  formsof  pens— exterminated  by  the  almoooi 
of  a  criUc's  breath.  Pleasant  augnriea.  these,  to  nolMr 
in  our  career  in  a  land  of  strangers. 

"  The  theatre  was  a  remarkably  beautifhl  onei  The 
play  selected  for  our  dibut  was,  as  usual,  the  Lady  cf 
Lyons.  Our  only  rehearsal  took  place  on  the  day  of 
performance.  We  could  not  but  notice  the  half  sneer 
that  flitted  across  the  fiices  of  the  English  acton  dur- 
ing that  rehearsal  They  were  incredulous  as  to  nor 
abiIitie^  an«l,  perhaps,  not  without  some  cause.  Now 
and  then  there  was  a  contemptuous  Intonation  in 
their  voices  that  seemed  to  rebuke  us  for  presumptloQ. 
Their  shafts  *  hit,  but  hurt  not'  Our  American  Inde- 
pendence was  an  cgla,  ftrom  which  tlie  arrows  fell 
without  producing  any  effect  but  merriment  Ho 
hand  of  welcome  was  extended — no  word  of  encoor^ 
agemcnt  was  spoken  to  the  intruding  "Yankees." 
We  were  surrounded  by  an  atmosphere  of  impene- 
trable fHgldlty.  And  yet  there  were,  no  doubt,  kind 
hearts  among  the  doubters.  But  the  *  stars*  wwe 
transatlantic  and  their  light  was  unacknowledged  in 
that  bemlsphem     Even  the  aubordinatee  of  tho 


1854.] 


Editorial  Notu — American  Literature, 


221 


theatre  gave  It  as  their  private  opinion  that  theee  new 
Inminaxics  wonld  be  extinguished  without  trouble. 

**  At  night,  when  the  curtain  rose  upon  Pauline,  the 
greeting  of  the  audience  said  plainly,  'Let  us  see 
what  you  can  do  I '  and  It  said  nothing'more.  Claude 
reeeired  the  same  gracious  though  proiniseless  per- 
mlsion.  But  even  that  greeting  assured  us  of  that 
downright  generous  trait  in  John  Bull  which  makes 
him  the  fkirest  of  umpires,  even  where  be  is  a  party 
to  the  contest.  Once  make  it  plain  to  him  that  he  is 
beaten,  as  in  the  ease  of  the  trial  with  the  New-Tork 
yacht,  and  be  will  huzza  fur  the  victor  as  vociferously 
as  he  would  have  done  for  himself  had  he  been  on  the 
winning  side. 

**  Before  the  fall  of  the  curtain  on  the  fourth  act,  It 
was  decided  that  the  *  stars  *  were  not  to  be  *  put  out* 
At  the  fdl  on  the  flfUi,  they  had  taken  an  honorable 
place  in  the  theatrical  firmament,  and  were  allowed 
to  sfaise  with  undisputed  light** 

Her  reception  in  London  by  the  actors 
and  the  managers  was  the  same  as  in 
Manchester,  and  as  we  cannot  doubt  the 
correctness  of  her  narrative,  we  can  only 
wonder  at  the  want  of  courtesy  exhibited 
towards  the  young  debutant  by  a  class  of 
Englishmen  who  have  been  accustomed  to 
the  most  indulgent  reception  on  this  side 
of  the  Atlantic  But  Mrs.  Mowatt  was 
confident  of  her  power  to  win  applause 
from  the  public,  and  she  bravely  encoun- 
tered the  rudeness  of  professional  jealousy 
and  hostility.  We  are  tempted  to  give 
another  extract  describing  her  debut  at 
the  Princess's  Theatre  in  London,  for  it  is 
not  only  an  interesting  story  in  itself,  but 
it  will  serve  as  an  illustration  of  national 
character. 

**  Our  first  rehearsal  in  an  English  provincial  theatre 
had  not  proved  particularly  dellghtftiL  But  it  was  a 
foresliadowing  o^  and  a  needful  preparation  for,  the 
more  aggravated,  temper-trying  inflictions  that  await- 
ed us  at  a  London  rehearsal.  The  stage  aristocrats- 
of  the  company  made  no  effort  to  conceal  their  ab- 
solute contempt  fur  the  American  aspirants. 

**  Figuratively  speaking,  we  were  made  to  walk 
through  a  lane  of  nettles,  so  narrow  that  we  could  not 
avoid  getting  scratched.  The  more  gently  they  were 
touched,  the  more  deeply  they  stung.  At  the  requ^ 
politely  urged,  of  *  Be  so  good  as  to  cross  to  the  right 
—I  occupy  the  left'— the  answer  dryly  returned  was, 
'Excuse  mo;  I  played  this  part  originally  with  Mrs. 
Butler,  at  Dmry  Lane— I  always  kept  this  position- 
it  Is  (A«  proper  situation.*  Then  there  was  a  signlfl- 
eant  look  at  the  prompter,  which  said,  '  This  republi- 
can dost  offends  us !    We  must  got  rid  of  it !  * 

**Tlie  more  mildly  Mr.  Davenport  and  mjrself  ut- 
tered our  unavoidable  reque^'ts,  the  more  decidedly 
we  were  answered  M-ith  objections  to  our  wishea, 
ftxinded  upon  tlie  autliority  of  some  mighty  precedent 
Neither  patience  nor  gentleness  could  disarm  our 
antagnniets.  Wearied  out  with  hearing  that  Mrs. 
Butler  9ai  during  her  delivery  of  a  certain  speech, 
and,  therefore,  that  nobody  else  could  stand— or  that 
Miss  Fandt  fainted  with  her  hea<l  leaning  forwards, 
and,  therefore,  no  Julia  could  faint  with  her  head  in- 
ettned  backwards— or  that  Mrs.  Kean  threw  herself 
It  a  eertain  point  into  tlie  arms  of  Master  Walter, 
and,  therefore,  tlie  embrace  was  a  necessity- 1  at  last 
ktdly,  and,  I  confess,  with  some  temper,  said,  *  Sir, 
Vhcn  I  bsv«  made  np  my  mind  to  become  the  mere 


imitator  of  Mrs.  Butler,  or  of  Miss  Fandt  or  of  Ite 
Kean,  I  shall,  perhap^  come  to  you  for  Instructioa. 
At  present  it  is  for  the  public  to  decide  upon  the 
faultiness  of  my  conception.  I  shall  not  alter  it,  in 
spite  of  the  very  excellent  authority  you  have  cited.* 

"This  determined  declaration  (it  was  certainly  a 
*  declaration  of  independence*)  silenced  my  principal 
tormentor.  He  made  up  his  mind  that  if  I  was  want* 
ing  in  talent  I  ^^  not  deficient  in  spirit  He  would 
have  bowed  before  the  one,  but  he  at  least  yielded  to 
the  other. 

**  But  this  was  not  my  only  or  most  serious  annoy- 
ance. Miss  Susan  Cushman  was  to  enact  the  charac- 
ter of  Helen.  She  sent  an  apology  for  her  absence  at 
rehearsal  on  the  plea  of  indisposition.  The  manager 
chose  to  Imagine  that  she  entertained  some  theatrical 
Jealousy  towards  a  countrywoman,  and  purposed  to 
absent  herself  on  the  night  of  our  first  appearanoa 
No  substitute  for  so  Important  a  part  as  Helen  could 
be  provided  at  short  notice,  and  the  play  would  neceft* 
sarily  have  to  be  withdrawn— the  antidpated  d&mt 
postponed. 

"  I  see  no  reason  for  supposing  that  Miss  Cushmta 
meditated  any  such  unamlable  intentions  as  wer« 
attributed  to  her  by  the  manager.  We  were  very 
slightly  acquainted,  but  our  intercourse  had  been 
agreeable. 

"  Miss  Cushman's  name  was  unceremoniously  ex- 
punged from  the  *  cast ;  *  and  Miss  Emmellne  Mon- 
tague, the  leading  lady  of  the  theatre,  was  persuaded 
by  Mr.  Maddox  to  undertake  the  r6U  of  Helen. 

**  At  Uie  last  rehearsal,  for  we  had  several.  Just  at 
Miss  Montague  commenced  rehearsing.  Miss  Susan 
Cushman  walked  upon  the  stage.  She  inquired  by 
what  right  the  character  belonging  to  her  was  given 
to  another  lady.  The  manager,  who  was  not  cele- 
brated for  a  conciliatory  demeanor  towards  his  com- 
pany, bluntly  informed  her  of  his  suspicions.  An 
angry  scone  ensued,  such  as  I  never  before,  and  I  re- 
joice to  say,  nerer  a/Ur^  witnessed  in  any  theatre. 
Behearsal  was  interrupted.  I  sat  down  at  the  promp- 
ter's table  in  a  must  unenviable  state  of  mind.  The 
actors  stood  in  clusters  around  the  wings,  enjoying  the 
dispute.  Miss  Cushman  and  Mr.  Maddox  occupied 
the  stage.  A  casual  spectator  might  have  supposed 
they  were  rehearsing  some  tempestuous  passages  of  a 
melodrama.  Miss  Cushman  declared  that  she  tDotUd 
play  Helen,  for  that  she  had  done  nothing  to  forfdt 
her  right  to  the  performance.  Mr.  Maddox  maintain- 
ed that  the  part  should  be  played  by  Miss  Montague. 
Miss  Cushman  was  very  naturally  exasperated.  I 
remalne<l  silent  but  internally  wishing  that  the  dla- 
putanls  might  suddenly  disappear  through  some  of 
the  trap  doors  that  checkered  the  stage  and  were  de- 
voted to  the  use  of  fairies  and  hobgoblins. 

"Finally  Mr.  Maddox  ordered  that  the  stage  should 
be  cleared  and  rehearsal  continued.  Miss  Cushman 
was  forced  to  retire.  Just  as  she  readied  the  wing, 
she  turned  back  and  offered  me  her  hand  I  gave  her 
mine— she  departed,  and  rehearsal  proceeded.  This 
extraordinary  scene  in  the  drama  of  real  life  thorough- 
ly unnerve<l  and  unfitted  me  for  the  business  of  the 
hour ;  and  that  night  I  was  to  make  my  London  d4- 
butr' 

—  Poole's  Index. — A  simple  account 
of  the  contents  of  this  volume  is  the  best 
eulogium  that  we  can  bestow  upon  it.  The 
title  tells  its  object  and  it  is  strictly  what 
it  professes  to  be,  an  Index  of  Periodical 
Literature.  Mr.  Poole  has  made  a  careful 
examination  of  all  the  standard  periodicals 
which  have  appeared  since  the  be^^inoing 


22S 


Editorial  Notes — American  Literaiure. 


[FetHToaty 


of  the  century ;  classified  the  articles  of 
each  number ;  and  arranged  all  the  sub- 
jects treated  in  them  under  their  appro- 
priate heads.  The  result  is,  an  index 
which  carries  you  to  the  opinions  of  the 
reviewers  and  essayists  of  this  long  period 
as  readily  as  a  table  of  contents  does  to 
the  chapters  and  sections  of  a  single  work. 
The  name  of  the  author  has  been  given 
wherever  it  has  been  possible  to  ascertain 
it ;  and  for  one  review,  the  North  Ameri- 
can, the  list  is  complete.  Mr.  Poole  must 
be  a  lover  of  hard  work,  and  what  many 
people  would  think  dry  work,  or  he  would 
never  have  had  the  courage  to  do  this. 
But  he  has  done  it  well,  and  produced  a 
volume  which  wDl  necessarily  become  a 
manual  for  every  thorough  scholar. 

The  inevitable  errors  of  a  work  like  this 
must  be  errors  of  omission.  "VVo  had 
noticed  a  few  which  wo  should  have  in- 
serted, if  it  had  not  occurred  to  us  that  it 
would  bo  more  courteous  to  send  them 
directly  to  the  author.  We  will,  however, 
make  one  suggestion.  Let  every  body 
that  has  ever  ^vritten  for  a  review,  even 
though  it  should  be  no  more  than  a  single 
article,  examine  Mr.  Poole's  Index,  and  if 
he  finds  his  name  omitted  send  him  the  cor- 
rection. In  a  few  months  the  omissions 
or  mistakes  might  all  be  corrected,  and 
then  the  addition  of  a  short  appendix 
would  make  this  volume  as  complete  as  a 
work  of  this  nature  over  can  be. 

We  must  add,  that  the  work  is  printed 
just  as  works  of  permanent  value  always 
ought  to  be ;  and  if  the  meeting  of  a  great 
and  acknowledged  want  is  a  guarantee  of 
success,  both  author  and  publisher  will  be 
amply  rewarded  for  their  labors. 

—  Grace  Greenwood's  Haps  and 
Mishaps  of  a  Tour  in  Europe,  has  the 
quality  of  readableness,  wnich  many  books 
of  much  greater  pretensions  lack ;  but  the 
^  books  of  almost  all  lady  authors  are  read- 
able, just  as  the  conversation  of  all  women 
is  entertaining ;  the  errors,  volubility  and 
misconceptions,  which  we  will  not  tolerate 
in  men,  become  amusing  and  entertaining 
in  the  case  of  a  lady,  or  a  child.  Grace 
tells  us  nothing  new  about  Europe,  and 
even  her  own  haps  and  mishaps  are  with- 
out piquancy  or  wonder,  but  her  impetu- 
osity, good-hcartedness,  and  freshness  of 
feeling  iinpait  to  her  letters  the  charm 
and  fascination  of  a  private  communication. 
Such  candor,  prittle-prattle,  and  unreserve 
seem  to  have  been  intended  for  private 
reading,  and  not  for  the  eye  of  the  great 
republic  of  readers.  She  hurries  through 
England,  Ireland,  Scotland,  France,  and 
Italy,  taking  no  distinct  or  definite 
not^  of'^any  thing,  but  mingling  up  in 


a  hasty  kind  of  pot-pourri,  remarks 
about  every  thing  and  every  body.  No 
future  author  will  ever  quote  any  thing 
from  the  Haps  and  Mishaps,  as  reliable 
information,  but  those  who  read  her  book 
will  have  many  old  memories  freshened 
by  her  allusions,  and  gain  new  ideas  of 
persons  and  places  that  they  have  not 
known  from  personal  acquaintance.  She 
is  a  right-feeling,  generous,  and  impulsive 
woman,  who  jots  down  upon  paper  her 
vivid  impressions  without  mugh  concern 
about  the  profundity  of  her  opinions,  or 
their  correctness.  She  knows  she  is  right 
in  her  intentions,  and  goes  ahead.  It  is 
the  better  way,  for  stopping  to  consider  in 
such  cases  would  be  fatal  to  letter-writing 
and  book-making.  It  is  better  that  the 
public  should  be  at  the  trouble  of  verify- 
mg  facts  and  justifying  criticism.  Like 
all  European  tourists,  Grace  dabbles  in 
art  and  politics,  showing  much  more 
knowledge  and  judgment  in  the  latter 
than  in  the  former;  she  is  a  radical  in 
politics,  a  vehement  Protestant  in  religion, 
and  a  Catholic  in  art.  She  laughs  at  the 
Pope,  pities  the  poor  people  who  are  op- 
pressed by  their  rulers,  and  glorifies  all 
the  pictures,  churches,  and  statues  she 
encounters.  If  ever  there  should  be  a  con- 
cordance made  of  her  book,  the  repetition 
of  the  word  gorgeous  would  be  startling. 
It  occurs  on  almost  every  page,  and  only 
yields  now  and  then  to  such  mild  adjec- 
tives as  grand,  sui^rb,  and  delicious. 
These  terms  arc  applied  without  discrim- 
ination to  every  thing  that  catches  her  eye. 
But  her  favorite  expletive  is  gorgeous.  In 
one  place  there  are  '*  glorious  Vandykes," 
in  another  "  delicious"  pictures  of  Andrea 
dol  Sarto,  Rafiaelle  is  ''grand,"  Michael 
Angelo  "sublime,"  and  Scott's  Monu- 
ment in  Edinburgh  "gorgeous."  Sun- 
sets, mountains,  trees,  churches,  paintings, 
music,  and  pyrotechnics,  are  all  gorgeous. 
But,  as  we  have  no  standard  by  which  to 
measure  the  value  of  her  expletives,  we 
do  not  know  what  they  are  worth,  and 
their  frequent  use  raised  a  suspicion  that 
they  are  worth  nothing  at  aU,  but  are 
merely  used  to  simulate  a  real  sentiment 
In  architectural  drawings  it  is  necessary 
either  to  introduce  a  human  figure  that 
the  relative  size  of  objects  may  be  judged 
by  the  eye,  or  a  scale  given  of  so  many 
feet  or  miles  to  the  inch,  that  the 
size  of  objects  may  be  determined.  It 
would  be  well  for  authors  to  introduce 
some  such  contrivance  into  their  descrip- 
tions, that  some  idea  may  be  formed  of 
their  meaning  by  the  adjectives  they  em- 
ploy in  conveying  their  ideas.  A  writer 
who  commences  bj'  calling  a  small  mono* 


1854.] 


EdUorial  Notes — American  Literature, 


221 


ment  gorgeous,  loses  all  chance  of  convey- 
ing an  idea  of  the  greater  works  which  he 
will  be  shortly  called  upon  to  describe. 
The  most  brilliant  red  would  appear  dall 
painted  on  a  vermilion  background.  The 
defects  of  Grace's  letters  are  that  they  tell 
us  nothing  which  has  not  already  been  told 
by  others,  and  the  most  hackneyed  themes 
receive  the  same  attention  at  her  hands 
as  the  most  novel.  It  is  quite  a  useless 
labor  to  attempt  to  describe  the  Louvre, 
Hampton  Court,  or  the  Vatican,  but  a 
description  of  Stafford  House,  the  town 
residence  of  the  Duke  of  Sutherland, 
which  has  recently  become  a  point  of 
mat  interest  to  Americans  from  the 
honors  paid  to  Mrs.  Stowe  by  its  noble 
owner,  as  it  has  long  been  to  the  polite 
world  from  the  treasures  of  art  which  it 
contains,  would  have  been  something  new. 
But  Grace,  who  had  the  privilege,  which 
few  travellers  have  ever  enjoyed,  of  visit- 
ing this  magnificent  mansion,  with  Lord 
Carlisle  for  a  cicerone,  makes  no  more  of 
her  opportunity  than  she  did  of  her  visit 
to  the  Louvre,  which  thousands  of  tourists 
have  already  wearied  the  reading  public 
by  describing.  To  criticize  works  of  art 
requires  first  a  natural  capacity  which  is 

Suite  as  rare  as  the  genius  to  produce 
tiem,  and  then,  an  education,  which  few . 
have  the  opportunities  to  gain,  without 
which  it  is  impossible  to  judge  correctly 
of  the  relative  excellence  of  the  produc- 
tions of  the  artists.  But  all  our  travellers 
who  go  to  Europe,  whether  they  have  any 
of  the  requisite  qualifications  or  not,  feel 
themselves  not  only  qualified  to  form  opin- 
ions of  works  which  they  merely  glance  at, 
and  which  artists  study  with  care,  but 
think  it  their  duty  to  publish  their  opinions 
to  the  world.  Grace  Greenwood  is  a  lady 
of  too  much  natural  good  sense  and  right 
instincts  to  have  fallen  into  such  bad 
habits ;  but  she  runs  through  the  Louvre 
and  other  great  collections  of  art,  and 
publishes  her  opinion  about  the  works 
which  she  rapidly  glanced  at  with  as  much 
flippancy  and  freedom  as  though  she  had 
made  art  the  study  of  her  life,  and  had  a 
right  to  speak,  ex-cathedra,  upon  all  sub- 
jects that  come  within  the  province  of 
criticism,  from  St.  Peter's  at  Rome  down 
to  Scott's  Monument  in  Edinburgh. 

— **Ik.  Marvel"  founded  a  school  of 
litterateurs,  whose  peculiar  characteris- 
tics are,  much  sentimentality,  and  a  little 
thought  about  nature  and  the  poetic  side 
of  every -day  life,  expressed  in  the  form  of 
soliloquy,  although  occasionally  breaking 
mto  the  colloquial,  the  author  addressing 
his  words  to  some  imaginary  hearer.  "VVe 
have  read  the  works  of  the  founder  of  the 


school,  we  cannot  say  with  pleasure,  but 
with  respect,  because  so  many  people  liked 
them.  It  was  the  first  sentimentalism, 
the  dawn  of  the  school,  when  there  was 
some  freshness  and  glow  in  it,  though  not 
much,  and  before  every  man,  woman,  and 
child,  who  had  experienced  a  vague  sensa- 
tion of  satisfaction  at  the  sight  of  a  sunrise 
OP  a  mountain,  attempted  a  vague  render- 
ing of  the  impression  upon  paper,  and  pub- 
lished it  with  success.  Reveries,  musings, 
and  thinkings,  memories,  mysteries,  sha- 
dows, and  death — old  times,  voices  from 
the  past,  stars,  moonlight,  night  winds, 
old  homesteads,  flowing  rivers,  and  prime- 
val forests,  filled  the  pages  of  the  new 
books,  and  the  columns  of  the  daily 
papers.  fS&.  delighted  the  readers  of  a 
morning  paper  with  a  deer,  a  dog.  and  a 
dead  girl,  served  up  in  every  conceivable 
style  of  sorrow,  sadness  and  sighs,  for  a 
whole  year,  at  least  once  every  week. 
This  may  be  called  the  middle  sentiment- 
alism. Latterly,  the  disciples  of  the 
school,  sinking  to  a  lower  point,  have 
broken  out  with  increased  vigor  and  popu- 
larity, and  are  now  filling  the  news- 
papers with  tiresome  and  salacious  namby- 
pambyism,  which  has  neither  simplicity 
nor  sentiment  to  recommend  it.  This 
is  the  newest,  and,  we  hope,  the  last 
sentimentalism.  January  and  June,  a 
new  work,  by  Benjamin  F.  Taylor,  be- 
longs to  the  middle  stage,  and  is  a  good 
specimen  of  its  class,  and  will  be  relished 
by  those  who  like  such  writing.  As  to 
the  "  Hot  Com"  writers,  we  shall  pay 
our  respects  to  them  and  their  patrons 
at  another  time,  to  which  the  reader 
is  referred ;  and  to  the  admirers  of  the  new 
sentimentalism,  we  would  recommend  a 
course  of  Sterne,  which  will  effectually 
cure  them  of  their  unwholesome  fondness 
for  diluted  sentiment,  by  teaching  them 
the  difference  between  the  true  and  the 
false  in  this  kind  of  literature. 

— On  takinj]^  up  a  book  called  Old 
Sights  with  New  Eyes,  our  attention  was 
attracted  to  the  introductionj  by  Dr.  Ro- 
bert Baird,  in  which  he  commends  the 
work  in  the  highest  terms.  Among  other 
things  he  says :  "  The  style  is  pure  and 
beautiful,  and  the  descriptions  of  places 
and  things  are  exact,  concise,  and  highly 
interesting.  It  is  manifest  that  the  worlc 
is  the  production  of  a  well  cultivated  and 
superior  mind.  It  is  altogether  the  most 
readable  and  instructive  book  of  travels, 
embracing  the  same  field,  which  the  sub- 
scriber has  seen  for  a  long  time.  None 
but  the  most  important  places  and  objects 
are  made  to  occupy  the  attention  of  the 
reader,  and  these  are  always  s^V^^ii  ol  Vsx 


924 


Editorial  Nates — American  Literature, 


[Febroaiy 


the  fewest  words  possible,  so  that  the  in- 
terest is  well  sustained  from  the  begin- 
ning to  the  end  of  the  volume.  The  discri- 
mination with  which  the  author  treats  of 
the  various  objects  of  art  which  he  saw,  dis^ 
plays  no  ordinary  cultivation  of  judgment 
and  tsiste.  In  this  respect,  the  book  be- 
fore U.S  reminds  one  of  Mathews'  Diary 
of  an  Invalid^  a  bbok  of  surpassing  inte- 
rest, even  yet,  one  of  the  best  works  of 
art  to  be  seen  in  Italy."  Again,  ho  says, 
^none  can  read  it  without  pleasure  ana 
profit."  Now,  what  will  be  the  surprise 
of  readers  to  learn  that  there  Ls  no  truth 
whatever  in  these  panegyrics,  to  which 
Dr.  Baird  has  lent  the  high  authority  of 
his  name.  The  book  is  one  of  the  most 
entirely  commonplace  books  that  was  ever 
written  about  Europe.  It  is  common- 
place in  its  selection  of  topics,  common- 
place in  style,  commonplace  in  sentiment, 
and  as  utterly  dry  and  uninteresting  as  it 
could  well  be  made.  The  meanest  six- 
penny "  Guide  "  that  you  may  buy  on  the 
bookstalls  of  any  European  city,  will 
give  you  the  same  information  as  this  au- 
mor,  and  in  much  the  same  style,  only 
with  greater  fulness  of  detail.  The  title 
is  a  misnomer,  too,  and  ought  to  have 
been,  "  Old  Sights,  with  very  Old  Spec- 
tacles," for  we  defy  any  body  to  find  a 
single  new  view  in  the  volume. 

— Passion- Flowers  is  the  title  of  a 
small  anonpnous  volume  of  Poems,  pub- 
lished by  Ticknor,  Reed  and  Fields,  of  Bos- 
ton, to  which  we  have  only  time  to  allude. 
The  book  is  full  of  a  remarkable  power 
and  an  unusual  experience,  and  is  evident- 
ly the  work  of  a  woman.  It  betrays 
more  subtlety  of  emotional  analysis,  than 
we  had  anticipated  from  the  title.  For,  if 
we  are  not  mistaken,  the  title  was  the  re- 
sult of  consideration.  But  it  does  not  de- 
scribe the  book.  The  poems  indicate  a 
shrewd  intellectual  sympathy  with  pas- 
sion, but  they  are  not  passionate.  They 
are  the  result  of  a  searching  glance  upon 
the  author's  shifting  moods  of  experience, 
and  a  glance  determined  that  these  moods 
shall  be  variations  of  passionate  emotion. 
But  they  do  not  scorch  the  eye  and  pene- 
trate the  heart.  Their  entire  subjectivity 
would  lead  us  to  suspect  this,  at  first ; 
but  they  are  so  full  of  life,  so  audacious, 
so  evidently  the  natural  product  of  the 
author's  experience  and  self-knowledge; 
they  are  so  full  of  a  generous  human  sym- 
pathy, such  an  unblenching  heroism  and 
social  independence,  that  it  is  impossible 
not  to  hail  them  with  the  heartiest  wel- 
come. We  do  the  a*  thor  and  ourselves 
the  greatest  iiyustice  in  so  fragmentary  a 
natioe  as  this,  and  it  is  our  intentioa  at 


the  earliest  moment,  to  consider  more  at 
length  the  recent  American  Poetesses^  if 
we  may  use  a  disagreeable,  but  convenient 
word.  Meanwhile  we  urge  our  readers  not 
to  fail  to  know  this  new  book,  which  offers 
in  so  many  ways  so  singular  a  contrast  to 
Mrs,  Whitman^s  Poems,  lately  noticed  in 
these  pages. 

— It  is  the  fate  of  our  successful  poets, 
after  running  a  career  of  small  editions,  to 
receive  at  last  a  typographical  apotheosis 
in  some  large  volume,  profusely  illustrat- 
ed, and  richly  bound.  This  has  been  the 
history  of  Bryant,  Longfellow,  Willis, 
Halleck,  Whittier,  Mrs.  Osgood,  Mrs. 
Sigoumey,  and  now  of  General  Geobge 
P.  Morris.  It  would  be  superfluous  for 
us,  at  this  late  day,  to  attempt  to  charac- 
terize the  merits  of  a  writer,  whose  songs 
have  become  literally  "  household  words," 
and  who  has  never  appeared  before  the 
critical  tribunal,  without  being  greeted  by 
the  chorus  of  applaudine:  voices ;  but  we 
may  say  of  them,  that  his  verses  never 
seemed  more  graceful  or  striking  than  they 
do  in  the  handsome  volume  before  us. 
One  merit  that  Morris  has — in  our  esti- 
mation a  great  one — is  the  local  and  na- 
tional interest  of  his  subjects.  He  writes 
about  things  that  concern  us  in  our  own 
.homes,  not  about  the  distant  and  hack- 
neyed themes  furnished  by  old  world 
models.  It  is  this  homeliness  and  famili- 
arity of  his  themes  that  has  made  him 
popular  with  the  generality  of  his  readers 
— more  perhaps  than  any  felicities  of  exe- 
cution that  might  move  the  critical  mind. 
Other  writers  would  do  well  to  copy  his 
example  in  this  respect 

Reprint. — The  Appletons  have  re- 
published an  abridged  translation  of  the 
Positive  Philosophy  of  Augusie  ConUe. 
by  Harriet  Martineau.  It  is  more  full 
and  detailed  than  the  small  popular  expo- 
sition of  Mr.  Lewes,  which  we  have  lately 
noticed,  and  is,  of  course,  for  that  very  rea- 
son a  more  faithful  representation  of  the 
labors  of  the  great  French  thinker.  Di- 
gesting the  substance  of  some  six  thou- 
sand pages  of  French  into  about  as  many 
hundred  of  English,  it  must  omit  many 
illustrations,^ and  give  only  an  outline  of 
the  original.  Yet,  on  the  whole,  it  pre- 
sents as  much  as  those  who  are  not  spe- 
cial students  of  philosophy  will  care  to 
read.  Comto's  own  works  are  quite  dif- 
fuse: having  been  prepared^  too.  originally 
as  lectures,  they  abound  m  repetitions; 
while  a  great  many  of  his  references  to 
the  current  scientific  facts  of  the  time  in 
which  they  were  written  have  been  super- 
seded by  the  progress  of  discovery.    jB»> 


1854.] 


Editorial  Notes — JSn^Uak  Literature. 


225 


sides,  the  substance  of  all  Comte's  theory 
is  contained  in  what  he  calls  his  three 
fundamental  laws,  and  these  once  mastered, 
any  body  tolerably  informed  of  the  intel- 
lectual history  of  his  race  can  supply  the 
needful  proofs  and  illustrations.  One  spe- 
cial disadvantage,  however,  the  compend 
labors  under  is  that  of  excessive  dryness. 
The  original  is  quite  destitute  of  any  of 
those  charms  of  style,  which  relieve  the 
dull  discussions  of  science,  and  in  the  con- 
densed state  it  has  become  literally,  to  use 
a  homely  phrase,  "as  dry  as  a  basket  of 
chips." 

Miss  Martineau,  in  her  preface,  explains 
her  motive  in  giving  this  version  of  Comte, 
as  follows : 

**  seldom  as  CoznteV»  name  Is  mentioned  fn  Eng- 
Imnd,  tliero  b  no  doubt  in  the  minds  of  students  of 
bb  great  work  tbat  most  of  all  of  those  who  have 
added  substantially  to  oar  l;nowlodge  for  many  years 
past  are  fully  acquainted  vrith  it,  and  arc  under  obll* 
gatiun^  to  it,  which  they  would  have  thankfully  ac- 
knowliHljnrd,  but  fur  the  fvar  of  ofTonding  the  preju- 
dices of  the  society  in  which  they  live  Whichever 
way  we  lo«»lt  over  the  whole  field  of  science,  we  see 
the  truths  aud  Ideas  presented  by  Comte  cropping 
oat  fr«)m  the  surface,  and  tacitly  rect^nized  as  the 
fiiundtttion  of  all  that  is  systematic  in  our  knowIe<igo. 
This  bein^  the  ca<<o,  it  may  appear  to  be  a  nee<licss 
labor  to  render  into  our  own  ton<;riie  wliat  is  clearly 
existing  in  so  many  of  the  mimls  which  are  guiding 
and  forming  popular  views.  But  it  was  not  without 
Tvvm  that  I  undertook  so  serious  a  labor,  while  so 
much  work  was  waiting  to  be  done  which  might 
K'efn  to  be  m«»re  urgent 

**  One  rea^n,  though  not  the  chU-t,  wa<«  that  it  seems 
to  me  unfair,  through  fear  or  indolence^  to  use  ttie 
benefits  conferred  on  ns  by  >L  Gointe  without  ac- 
knowledgment Ills  £smo  is  no  doubt  safe.  Such 
a  work  as  this  Ia  sure  of  receiving  duo  honor,  sooner 
cr  later.  IWforo  the  end  of  the  century,  society  at 
large  will  have  become  aware  that  this  work  Is  one  of 
tbe  chief  honors  of  tlie  century,  and  that  its  author's 
Damo  will  rank  with  those  of  the  worthies  who  havo 
illu8trate«l  former  aces :  but  it  d4>e.'«  not  seem  to  mo 
right  to  assist  in  delaying  the  recognition  till  the 
author  of  so  noble  a  service  is  beyond  the  reach  of 
cor  gratitude  aud  honor ;  aud  tliat  it  i^  demoralizing 
to  ourhelve«  to  accept  and  use  t^nrh  a  boon  as  he  has 
given  us  in  a  silence  which  is  in  fact  in^rttitude* 
His  faononi  we  eannot  share :  they  am  his  own  and 
iDoommunicabla  Ills  trials  we  may  share,  and,  by 
sharing,  lighten ;  and  he  has  the  stron^'est  claim  upon 
us  for  5ympatliy  and  fellowship  In  any  jtopular  dUro- 
pnte  which  in  this  cose,  an  in  all  ciHe^^of  signal  so- 
cial service,  attends  upon  a  first  movement." 

It  is  a  curious  piece  of  liter ar}'  history, 
which  she  mentions,  that  after  she  had 
undertaken  the  work,  her  purpose  was 
mentioned  to  a  Mr.  I^ombc.  an  English- 
man residing  at  Florence,  who  had  con- 
ceived the  same  project.  But  as  soon  as 
he  heard  that  she  was  engaged  in  it,  ho 
sent  her  a  check  for  X50<),  to  assist  in  its 
publication.  He  afterwards  made  an  olfer 
of  a  further  advance,  to  assist  in  the  pro- 


mulgation of  its  principles,  but  died  before 
any  plan  on  the  subject  could  bo  matured. 
Comte's   three   fundamental  laws    to 
which  we  have  referred  are  these :  First, 
that  human  knowledge  is  limited  strictly 
to  the  phenomena  of  the  universe,  of  which 
we  can  learn  only  their  laws,  or  their  re- 
lations of  co-existence  or  sequence,  and 
not  their  causes.    The  entire  duty  of  Phi- 
losophy, then,  is  to  inquire  what  exists  or 
how  it  exists^  according    altogether  the 
question  why  it  exists  or  by  whom  it  was 
established.    Second,  that  human  intelli- 
gence, in  the  acquisition  of  this  knowledge 
passes  through  three  stages  of  develop- 
ment ;  first,  a  thcolo^cal  or  fictitious  stage, 
second,  a  metaphysical  or  critical  stage, 
third,  a  positive  or  scientific  stage,    in 
other  words,  it  is  the  nature  of  the  mind, 
in  its  progress,  to  employ  three  methods  of 
philosophizing,  or  of  accounting  for  what 
it  sees  and  hears,  the  character  of  which 
is  essentially  different  or  radically  oppos- 
ed— the  theological,  the  metaphysical  and 
the  positive.    Third.  The  science,  or  the 
generalizations  of  our  knowledge,  follow 
each  other  in  a  regular  series,  from  the 
most  simple  and  general  to  the  most  com- 
plex and  special,  beginning  with  the  3fa- 
tliematics  as  the  foundatxni,  and  pa>sin'»' 
through  Astronomy,  Physica,  Chemistry! 
and   JJiology,  to  Sociology,  which  is  the 
summit  of  all  the  sciences.    (We  should 
add  that  since  the  "Positive  Pliilosophv.-' 
Comte  has  constructed  in  **' Festive  Po- 
litics,"  in  which  he  adds  "Morals and Ik-^ 
ligion"  to  his  scientific  hierucj.) 

As  wo  propose  to  make  the  tbeorv  of 
Comte  the  subject  of  an  eliborateoonsi-iA^ 
ration  in  the  body  of  tbe  m^iziix:  we  w-jj 
not  remark  upon  its  obriou  Dents  a-  1 
extraordinary  defects  in  ths  liace     \V  ■ 
have  no  doubt  that  bit  thne  Jaws  ^Z 
scientific  truths,  oouGmw aaee  ^>  •--' 
mere  study  of  the  phana^  wo-'-»  -'-'  ^ 
yet  so  far  are  they  fiw  abK--".  "^V ' 
intelligence,  that  tWas  lo  uT*^'  -'^ 
have  reached  the  th^gjd  tf  -n^^     " 
knowledge.     They  n  nstr  l^^l 
though  not  withouti  evte  v"/.'::"-' 
as  we  shall  hemfiv  ^r->.c^»!l .' '  ^.  ■  ." 
the  last  dee;ree. i  *  -^»»-r..    i  : . 

of  philosophy. ' 

lume  is  Nlmaii^^ 

Philosoriby  «  fc  rSZ-.  ' 
burgh.  VA^^^ 
in  1851  in 
turesqoe  c 
seqiienQyi 


a^  ::., .  ::l 


:  ■:<  f 


226 


Editorial  NotM — French  Literature. 


[Febrnaiy 


illastrated  throughout,  though  its  litera- 
ture is  scientific  rather  than  popular.  The 
important  phenomena,  the  glaciers,  which 
were  the  chief  objects  of  the  traveller's 
search,  were  never  before  more  profoundly 
investigated  or  more  beautifully  described. 

— Mr.  Bartlett,  known  by  his  famous 
Views  of  Switzerland,  the  Danube,  the 
United  States,  &a,  generally  poetic  rather 
than  accurate  treatments  of  their  subjects, 
has  issued  an  illustrated  volume,  that  pos- 
sesses more  interest  for  Americans  than 
Englishmen.  It  is  called  The  Pilgrim 
Fathers^  or  the  Founders  of  New  Eng- 
land in  the  Reign  of  James  the  Mrst. 
He  has  gathered  together  all  the  most  re- 
markable memorials  of  these  renowned 
men,  private  narratives  as  well  as  rare 
pictures ;  and  has  thus  presented  a  com- 
plete account  of  their  doings,  their  depar- 
ture out  of  England,  their  voyage  to  Hol- 
land, their  brief  residence  in  the  quaint  old 
Dutch  cities,  their  perilous  ocean  passage, 
and  of  their  final  settlement  in  the  Ne^ 
World.  The  etchings  and  plates  which 
accompany  the  volume,  give  curious  copies 
of  many  things  relating  to  them,  from  the 
sliips  they  sailed  in  to  the  chairs  they  sat 
upon,  the  dishes  and  kettles  they  used, 
and  the  very  cradles  that  rocked  their 
babies.  It  is  a  volume,  of  course,  that 
will  be  speedily  republished  in  this  coun- 
try. 

— The  author  of  the  suppressed  memoirs 
of  the  first  wife  of  Milton,  of  Mrs.  Moore, 
and  of  Madame  Palissy,  aud  other  bygone 
dames,  has  just  put  forth  a  new  work  of 
the  same  character,  called  Cherry  and 
Violet.  It  relates  to  the  time  of  the 
great  plague  in  I/)ndon,  and  is  written  in 
the  style,  and  printed  in  the  type,  of  that 
period.  The  narrative  is  artless  and  veri- 
similar ;  and  the  incidents,  especially 
those  which  relate  to  domestic  life,  full  of 
pathos  and  beauty  ;  while  the  writer 
wisely  avoids  any  attempts  to  describe 
the  terrible  desolations  of  the  pestilence, 
already  handled  in  a  manner  so  masterly 
by  Defoe,  as  to  render  rivalry  a  mere  pre- 
sumption. 

— A  Peep  at  the  Pixies^  is  a  pleasing 
and  successful  attempt  by  Mrs.  Bray  to 
revive  the  legends  of  certain  western  loca- 
lities of  England,  and  make  them  instruc- 
tive to  children.  Her  little  book  is  well 
illustrated  by  Browne. 

— A  movement  has  been  for  some  time 
silently  in  progress  in  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land, which,  we  are  told,  is  likely  to  pro- 
duce a  greater  sensation  than  the  celebrat- 
ed Oxford  schism,  which  resulted  in  what 
is  termed  Puseyism.  It  takes  a  different 
direction  from  that,  however,  and  indicates 


a  tendency  not  to  higher  views  of  charch 
prerogative  and  discipline,  but  to  more  lati- 
tudinarian  doctrines.  The  leader  of  it  is 
the  Rev.  Professor  Denison  Maurice,  wbo 
has  been  recently  dismissed  from  his  place 
in  Ring's  College,  London,  on  account  of 
the  imputed  heterodoxy  of  his  opiniona 
touching  the  nature  and  extent  of  future 
punishment  A  series  of  ^^  Theolodod 
Essays"  by  him.  going  over  the  woole 
ground  of  theological  controversy,  arejast 
out,  and  will  be  speedily  reissued  in  thia 
dty  by  Redfield.  His  previous  works 
leaves  us  in  no  doubt  as  to  his  rare  and 
large  abilities,  as  well  as  to  his  sincere  and 
deep  piety ;  and  we  may  expect  in  his  vo- 
lume, a  profoimd  discussion  of  the  points 
to  which  it  relates.  We  hope  that  the  cor- 
respondent of  the]  Christian  Intelligencer, 
who  objected  to  an  allusion  to  Professor 
Maurice,  last  month,  will  read  these  essays, 
when  tliey  appear,  that  he  may  have  a 
better  understanding  of  the  subject  than 
he  appears  to  have  at  present 

French. — "  The  Abbe  Cochet,  Inspector 
of  Historical  Monuments  of  the  Seine-Tn- 
fgrieure,"  says  the  London  Athenaeum,  "so 
well  known  for  his  researches  in  France 
among  the  cemeteries  of  the  Gallo-Roman 
and  lilerovingian  period,  announces  for 
publication  a  work  in  octavo,  under  the 
title  of  "La  Normandie  Souterraine'*  in 
which  he  proposes  to  give  the  result  of 
his  experience  in  that  department  of  ar- 
chasology.  It  is  a  somewhat  singular  fact 
that  France,  so  much  alive  to  the  impor- 
tance of  classical  antiquities,  remained  so 
long  dead  to  those  which  are  peculiarly 
her  own — namely,  the  remains  of  tlie 
Frank  period.  For  some  time  her  eavane 
were  disinclined  to  believe  that  the  wea- 
pons and  personal  ornaments  found  in  the 
Frank  graves  of  Envermeu  and  Londini- 
dres  were  of  the  period  to  which  thw  are 
now  ascribed ;  but  they  are  at  lengu  sen- 
sible of  their  value,  the  hint  having  doubt- 
less been  conveyed  to  them  by  the  r^ 
searches  of  our  English  antiquaries  in  An- 
glo-Saxon burial-grounds.  The  Abbe  pro- 
poses to  divide  his  work  into  three  parts : 
the  first  to  sepulchres  in  general,  the  se- 
cond to  the  Roman  and  Gallo-Roman 
cemeteries  in  Normandy,  and  the  third  to 
the  Frank  and  Carlovingian  cemeteries  of 
Londinidres,  Parfondcval,  and  Envermeu. 
The  volume  is  to  be  published  by  sub- 
scription, and  will  appear  during:  the  pre- 
sent winter. 

A  question  of  considerable  literary  in- 
terest has  been  just  decided  in  France,  af- 
ter many  months'  litigation.  Messrs.  Di- 
dot,  the  eminent  Paris  publishers, 


1854.] 


BdiUmal  NoUb — French  Literaiurt, 


227 


menoed  some  time  ago  the  publication  of 
a  "New  Universal  Biography,"  to  be 
bronght  down  to  the  present  time,  and  to 
be  made  more  complete  and  exact  than 
any  previous  one.  For  the  first  Toluraea 
of  the  work,  they  made  no  scruple  in  bor- 
rowing a  number  of  biographies  from  the 
famous  ^^  Biographie  Uniycrselle,"  of  the 
Messrs.  Michaud,  such  articles  having, 
they  thought,  become  public  property. 
owing  to  the  length  of  time  which  had 
elap^  since  the  death  of  their  authors. 
Messrs.  Michaud  objected  both  to  the  title 
of  the  new  Biography,  which  they  said 
was  a  plagiarism  of  theirs,  and  to  the 
taking  of  the  articles  from  it,  which  thev 
said  were  still  their  property,  as,  though 
the  authors  were  dead,  they  formed  part  of 
a  collective  work  which  they  had  revised 
and  paid  for.  The  question  as  to  the  title 
was  at  onoe  decided  against  Messrs.  Mi- 
chaud, the  courts  holdmg  that  they  could 
not  monopolize  the  words, "  Universal  Bio- 
graphy ; "  but  that  respecting  the  proprie- 
torship of  the  articles,  drew  forth  contra- 
dictory decisious,— one,  to  the  effect  that 
they  were  right,  the  other,  that  they  were 
wrong.  A  third  court  has  settled  the  mat- 
ter by  laying  down,  that  the  right  of  pos- 
session of  articles  by  deceased  authors 
ceases  after  the  number  of  years  from 
their  death  fixed  by  law,  though  forming 
part  of  a  work  in  which  copyright  still  re- 
mains. 

— M.  Edgar  Quinet  has  given  to  the 
public  the  fruits  of  his  exile  in  the  publica- 
tion at  Brussels  of  a  dramatic  poem,  whose 
hero  is  Spartacus  and  whose  title  is  Les 
Esclaves.  It  represents  the  famous  gladia- 
tor and  rebel,  as  history  shows  us  he  really 
was,  a  man  of  large  genius,  and  of  ideas  ex- 
panded under  the  hard  lessons  of  bondage 
and  degradation,  till  he  was  able  to  com- 
prehend the  liberation  of  all  bondmen,  and 
the  existence  of  society  without  chains  or 
scourges.  The  interest  of  the  piece  turns 
also  on  the  conflict  which  really  rendered 
the  efforts  of  the  heroic  leader  nugatory 
after  all  his  triumphs,  the  resistance  of  his 
followers  to  the  discipline  he  sought  to  en- 
force, and  the  purposes  to  which  he  desired 
to  form  them.  The  catastrophe  consists 
in  his  fall,  amid  the  maledictions  of  the 
creatures  who  could  not  understand  him ; 
while  his  daughter  is  tortured  by  them 
for  having  i^lowed  a  captured  Koman, 
whom  she  loves,  to  escape ;  and  the  play 
concludes  with  the  entrance  of  the  Roman 
general  Crassus  upon  the  scene,  and  the 
nailing  of  the  still  warm  body  of  Sparta- 
cus to  a  crucifix. 

— M.  VioLLET  LR  Due,  is  pubUsliing  in 
numbers   a  Dictionnaire  RaUonni  of 


French  architecture  from  the  eleventh  to 
the  fifteenth  century.  The  engravings 
are  all  from  the  designs  of  the  author. 
The  work  will  be  in  two  volumes  of  500 
pages  each,  costing  about  .$12.  No  man 
is  more  competent  to  such  an  undertaking 
than  M.  Viollet  Ic  Due. 

— M.  De  Barante  has  completed  his 
history  of  the  Convention,  by  the  publica- 
tion of  the  sixth  and  last  volume.  It  is  a 
careful  and  valuable  work.  Its  author, 
who  is  a  constitutional  monarchist,  is  far 
from  sharing  the  admiration  with  which 
revolutionary  writers  treat  the  leading  ac- 
tors of  that  vast  and  bloody  drama,  min- 
gling horror  for  their  sanguinary  acts  with 
exultation  at  their  noble  phrases.  The 
character  of  Robespierre  is  here  exhibited 
in  the  most  odious  light ;  all  (rcncrous  as- 
pirations are  denied  him  ;  all  humane  im- 
pulses are  represented  as  strangers  to  his 
bosom ;  no  good  end  sheds  its  light  over 
the  dark  and  sanguinary  path  of  his  pol- 
icy ;  no  large  idea  penetrated  the  gloom 
of  his  narrow  and  relentless  mind :  he  was 
great  only  in  hatred ;  he  was  enthusiastic 
only  in  cruelty;  he  labored  for  nothing 
but  the  extermination  of  his  enemies  ;  and 
all  were  his  enemies  who  were  superior  to 
himself;  if  he  was  dexterous  in  conducting 
the  furious  elements  of  the  i-evolution, 
envy  alone  gave  him  skill ;  if  he  was  ever 
eloquent,  it  was  the  rajre  of  envy,  alone, 
which  warmed  him  out  of  the  monotonous 
coldness  of  his  ordinary  life.  Two  things 
were  intolerable  to  him,  a  rival,  and  con- 
tradiction. Such  is  the  picture  of  the  re- 
doubtable revolutionist,  as  drawn  by  M.  De 
'  Barante;  it  is  very  difiercnt  from  that  by 
Lamartine  in  the  Girondins,  and  we  think 
not  so  just.  The  truth  docs  not  lie  in  an 
extreme  view  even  of  such  a  man  as  Ro- 
bespierre; and  they  who  utterly  condemn 
him,  are,  as  well  as  those  who  make  him  an 
angel,  led  astray  only  by  the  force  of  cir- 
cumstances. The  present  history  of  the 
Convention  should,  however,  be  consulted 
by  all  who  would  thoroughly  understand 
the  most  remarkable  and  deeply  interest- 
ing portion  of  all  human  experience,  the 
French  Revolution. 

— M.  GustavePlanciie  is  theauthorof 
a  vigorous  and  severe  essay  in  the  Revxie 
des  Deiuv  Mondes^  on  the  dramatic  pieces 
which  the  last  year  has  added  to  French 
literature.  It  condemns  at  the  outset  the 
entire  drama  of  France  since  the  Restora- 
tion, as  having  ridiculously  failed  to  keep 
the  pompous  promise  with  which  the  new 
school  began  its  career,  to  furnish  a  dra- 
matist who  should  not  merely  rival  Cal- 
dcron  and  Lope  de  Vega,  Schiller  and 
Groethe,  but  should  even  transcend  Shak- 


228 


JSdUorial  Notes — French  Literature. 


[Fehmaiy 


gpearc,  as  much  as  Napoleon  was  superior 
to  Charlemagne.  All  this  wealth  of  boast- 
ing has  resulted  in  nothing  but  the  miser- 
able poverty  which  puts  the  costumer  and 
machinist  above  human  nature.  It  has 
produced  tragedies  in  which  the  faith  of 
history  has  been  rigorously  observed,  but 
the  truth  of  the  heart  and  soul  entirely  for- 
gotten. It  has  produced  comedies — and 
Messrs.  Ponsard  and  Augier's  Honneur 
f.t  ArgeiU  and  Philiberte.  brought  outlast 
year,  are  examples, — which  have  exhibited 
talent,  and  enjoyed  success,  but  have  not 
contained  one  real  personage  nor  a  single 
spark  of  genuine  life.  Madame  George 
Sand's  last  comedy,  Le  Pressori,  is  an 
ingenious  assemblage  of  true  details  and 
good  sentiments,  but  there  is  no  action  and 
no  object  in  it;  and  it  might  as  well  have 
been  extended  to  two  acts,  or  reduced  to 
one.  The  thousand  other  pieces  of  the 
year  M.  Planciie  deems  unworthy  of 
notice.  Finally,  he  considers  the  method 
by  which  dramatic  writing  may  regain 
its  lost  worth  and  excellence.  Tragedy 
cannot  be  M-ritten  any  longer  by  preten- 
tious ignoramuses,  but  must  be  based  on 
thorough  study  and  thoughtful  digestion 
of  history  and  philosophy  ;  nor  should  it 
confine  itself  to  Greek  antiquity.  The  Bible 
is  rich  in  tragic  subjects,  and  ancient  Italy 
can  as  well  serve  for  the  renewal  of  the  tragic 
drama,  as  ancient  Greece.  As  for  comedy, 
while  France  abounds  in  that  of  manners 
and  that  of  fantasy,  it  no  longer  has  the  co- 
medy of  character ;  and  to  this  the  authors 
of  the  day  are  recommended  to  turn  their 
attention.  In  justice  to  M.  Planche,  we 
ought  to  add,  that  Molidre's  School  of  Wo-  * 
men,  and  Shakespeare's  Ilamlet,  form  his 
standard  of  dramatic  excellence. 

— If  there  are  any  admirers  of  Russia, 
who  desire  to  find  their  affection  for  that 
country  expressed  in  a  high  key,  we  com- 
mend them  M.  Zando's  Russie  en  1850, 
which  has  recently  been  translated  from 
German  into  French  by  the  author  him- 
self. Here  they  will  learn  that  Russia  is 
not  only  perfect  in  every  moral  and  intel- 
lectual respect,  but  enjoys  the  most  deli- 
cious climate  in  the  world.  M.  Zando 
ought  at  once  to  get  an  ukase  from  the 
Czar,  changing  his  name  into  the  more 
ancient  and  well-known  one  of  Ferdinand 
Mendcz  Pinto. 

— M.  Tegoborski,  the  eminent  Russian 
economist  and  statistician,  has  published 
the  third  volume  of  his  Etudes  sur  I es  for- 
ces productices  de  la  Russie.  It  is  a  work 
which  every  publicist  should  possess, 
though  it  cannot  be  relied  on  as  revealing 
the  whole  truth  with  regard  to  its  subject 
M.  Tegoborski  is  too  ardent  a  Russian, 


and  too  faithful  to  his  o£Bcial  obligatioiis 
(ho  is  a  Councillor  of  State),  to  give  pub- 
licity to  any  truths  which  might  be  appa- 
rent to  one  of  equal  ^knowledge,  whose 
judgment  was  not  influenced  by  any  pa- 
triotic illusions. 

— M.  Viollet  le  Due  has  just  publiah- 
ed  a  romance,  written  thirty-five  years 
ago,  entitled  Histoire  de  six  mots  de  la 
vie  d^unjeune  homme  en  1797.  (History 
of  Six  Months  in  the  Life  of  a  Young  Man 
of  1797.)  We  have  not  seen  it,  only  a 
limited  edition  having  been  published,  and  , 
not  a  copy  having  as  yet  made  its  way  to 
America.  But  we  find  it  warmly  recom- 
mended by  no  less  a  critic  than  M.  Saint- 
Marc  Girardin,  who  praises  it  as  a  fitithful 
picture  of  the  manners  and  ideas  of  the 
remarkable  epoch  in  winch  the  scene  is 
laid. 

— M.  Saint-Reve  Taillandier  has  col- 
lected, in  two  volumes,  the  essays  on 
German  politics  and  literature,  whidi, 
since  the  end  of  the  last  German  rerolu- 
tion,  he  has  published  from  time  to  time 
in  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes.  It  is  a 
book  which  may  be  read  with  instmction, 
though  it  is  impossible  always  to  agree 
with  the  writer  in  his  criticisms  or  bis 
hopes.  The  latter  are  directed  to  the  re- 
storation, in  Germany,  of  what  the  an- 
ther calls  spiritualism,  by  which  he  seems 
to  mean,  that  vague  philosophy  about 
which  Cousin  makes  so  much  ado— a  kind 
of  dilettante  and  transcendental  apotheosis 
of  the  soul,  without  any  definite  religion, 
or  any  precise  view  of  the  nature  of  man 
or  his  relations  with  God.  M.  TaOlan- 
dier  is  apparently  neither  Catholk;  nor  Pro- 
testant neither  orthodox  nor  heterodox ; 
but  a  sort  of  tertium  quid  superior  to  both; 
above  all,  superior  to  the  German  Hege- 
lians and  Rationalists  in  general.  He  is, 
however,  well  worth  reading,  particulariy 
by  those  who  are,  unfortunately,  unable  to 
study  the  German  literature  for  them- 
selves. Some  of  his  descriptions  of  noted 
personages  are  true  and  striking,  among 
the  rest,  that  of  Goethe. 

— A  new  edition  of  the  CEuvres  Ckmr 
pleteSj  of  Mathurin  Regnier,  has  appear- 
e<l  at  Paris,  accompanied  by  explanatory 
notes.  He  was  a  satiric  poet  of  the  time 
of  Henri  IV.,  and  his  art  and  eloquenoe 
arc  fresh  to  this  day.  The  volume  opens 
with  an  interesting  history  of  Satire  in 
France,  from  the  pen  of  M.  YioUet-le- 
Duc. 

— An  association  has  been  formed  at 
Paris  to  publish  the  voluminous  posthu- 
mous works  of  Arago,  the  astronomer. 
Among  them  is  a  Treaiise  of  Popular 
Astronomy^  on  whkh  the  highest  Tains. 


I 


Editanal  Nates — German  Literature. 


I  Bet  by  all  who  know  the  admi- 
K)iwer  which  Arago  brought  into  the 
ir  explanation  of  scientific  subjects. 
is  idso  a  larpfo  work,  entitled  No- 
fthe  Most  Famotis  Discoverers, 
n  account  of  Arago's  own  youth, 
ill  sorts  of  piquant  anecdotes  ana 
tkms.  His  memoirs  and  reports  to 
sdemy,  most  of  which  have  never 
ablished,  will  also  be  given  in  fUll. 
[emoirs,  autobiographies,  and  per- 
revelations,  are  now  in  fashion  at 
YiLLEMAiN,  the  accomplished  and 
Academician,  is  about  to  publish 
book,  we  may  be  sure,  that  will 
its  mark,  both  in  respect  to  the 
Tigor  and  perfection  of  its  style,  and 
in^on  of  its  ideas  and  tone.  The 
of  Pasquier  also  announces  his  Me- 
L'in  three  volumes.  lie  was  Grand 
ulor  of  France  under  Louis  Phi- 
and,  among  other  attractions  in 
1  of  five,  promises  a  complete  list  of 
ret  agents  employed  by  the  govem- 
)f  that  virtuous  monarch. 
Te  hear  from  Paris  that  the  transla- 
te French  of  Dante's  Divina  Com- 
,  on  which  Lamenais  has  for  some 
een  engaged,  is  advancing  with  all 
[■dity  possible,  in  the  rather  uncer- 
salth  of  the  illustrious  translator. 

LMAN. — A  book  quite  unique  in  its 
B88  and  beauty  is  Das  Tkierleben 
Ipenwelt  (Animal  Life  in  the  Alps), 
[EnRicH  VON  TscHUDi.  It  reminds  us 
M  of  Henry  Thoreau's  sketches  of 
England,  though  the  Yankee  natu- 
tndpoet  is  inferior  to  the  Switzer  in 
h  of  culture  as  he  is  in  glow  of  feel- 
d  beauty  of  style.  Of  all  the  books 
re  looked  into  in  the  discharge  of  our 
Q  the  preparation  of  these  Notes  of 
n  Literature,  this  is  the  one  which, 
all  others,  we  have  read  with  en- 
am.  It  is  a  poem,  a  romance,  a 
fie  treatise  all  in  one,  full  of  the 
J  air  and  exciting  grandeur  of  the 
9at  withal  as  genial  as  the  sunshine. 
I  lovely  and  refreshing  as  the  sum- 
lowers  of  Swiss  valleys.  Afler  an 
netory  account  of  the  mountain 
■  of  Switzerland,  and  of  their  vege- 
we  are  led  through  the  entire  circle 
ir  animal  inhabitants,  including  the 
jf  the  brooks  as  well  as  the  eagles 
B  difis,  and  the  chamois  and  goats, 
he  inaccessible  heights,  concluding 
he  dogs  of  St  Bernard.  We  quote  a 
p  from  the  introductory  chapter : — 

Alps  are  the  pride  of  the  Switzer,  who  has 
Is  home  at  their  feet  Their  neighborhood 
i  as  indescribable,  fiv-reaobing  Influence  on 


his  whole  existence.  Parttally  at  least,  they  form 
the  conditions  of  his  natural  and  intellectual,  his  social 
and  political  life.  He  loves  them  almost  as  if  by  In- 
stinct ;  the  secret  roots  of  his  affections  cling  to  them, 
and  when  he  leaves  them  he  lungs  to  be  back  with  his 
beloved  hills.  His  love  for  them  Is  perhaiM  greater 
than  his  knowledge  of  their  nature.  Even  now  when 
search  is  made  for  the  slope  in  which  the  locomoUve 
can  easiest  wind  its  way  over  the  saddle  of  the  Cen- 
tral  Alps,  and  the  galvanic  stream  be  led  along  tho 
wires— even  at  this  day,  after  tlie  weariless  ardor  of 
our  many  great  naturalists  have  led  thousands  of  ex- 
ploratlng  parlies  to  the  shining  peaks  of  their  highest 
ranges,  a  deep  mystery  rests  upon  them.  Their 
wonderful  structure,  tho  stratification  of  Uieir  rocks, 
the  formation  of  their  ley  diwlems,  the  part  tiiey  play 
in  varying  the  course  of  nature,  their  relation  to  living 
oiganlsms,  their  earliest  and  latest  history— all  form  a 
riddle  which  has  hardly  begun  to  be  solved.  There 
are  mighty  mountain  masses  which  have  never  yet 
been  trodden  by  a  human  foot,  and  nameless  horns 
rise  in  the  air  that  never  echoed  to  the  sound  of  a 
human  yoice,  or  to  any  sound  but  the  rushing  flight 
of  the  royal  eagle.  There  are  icy  seas  stretching  their 
motionless  waves  for  miles,  that  no  wanderer  has 
seen  and  no  observer  has  ever  studied  the  animal  and 
vegetable  life  of  their  stony  island.  There  is  many  a 
valley  reposing  In  the  torn  and  Jagged  anfts  of  the 
high  Alps  that  scarce  a  hunter's  foot  has  visited  and 
that  is  less  known  than  the  shores  of  the  remotest 
countries,  or  the  banks  of  the  Nile  or  tho  MIssissippL 
And  besides  this,  the  regions  under  our  very  feet  and 
eyes,  the  fiunlliar  world  of  tho  Alps  with  its  super- 
ficial and  subterranean  mineralogical  relations,  its  Ice- 
formatlona,  procecera  of  vegetation,  meteorologic  laws, 
climatic  changes  and  gradations,  the  series  of  develop- 
ment of  its  living  creatures  and  their  varying  relations 
to  the  scries  below  them,  their  dilTcrcnccs  according 
to  difference  in  mountain  position  and  peculiar  Alpine 
form,— all  these  are  yet  flir  from  being  well  under- 
stood ;  we  are  only  at  the  doors  of  knowledge,  and 
there  are  few  who  seriously  knock  and  desire  admis- 
sion. ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦ 

**  This  mountain  world  is  so  extraordinarily  varied, 
its  phenomena  so  remarkable  and  peculiar,  that  every 
excursion  into  it  has  its  profit  and  reward.  From  its 
woody  base,  and  from  the  genial  hills  with  which  it 
first  rises  from  the  valley,  to  the  icy  crown  of  its  sum- 
mits, it  nourishes  according  to  fixed  laws  and  climate 
conditions,  a  changing  and  infinite  wealth  of  lifeu 
Hero  in  the  ascent  <^  a  few  miles  we  often  find  a 
gradation  of  animal  phenomena  which  in  the  low 
country  we  should  either  not  find  at  all,  or  only  in 
distances  of  hundreds  of  miles.  A  few  hours'  travel 
takes  us  from  the  last  chestnut  grove,  where  the  Italian 
scorpion  climbs  along  the  wall,  to  the  pigmy  vegetable 
and  animal  forms  of  the  polar  regions.  The  great 
variety  of  the  mountain  localities,  their  central  posi- 
tion between  Northern  and  Southern  Europe,  their 
multiform  climatic  and  meteorologic  relations  con- 
dition and  fovor  this  magnificent  richness  of  oTganlo 
phenomena,  extending  as  it  does,  v/ttL  incredible 
economy  and  pertinacity  into  domalLS  shut  up  in  ice, 
which  we  usually  suppose  devoid  of  all  life,  and  sink 
in  the  desolation  of  death.  What  a  range  of  animal 
individualities  is  that  which  includes  the  mighty  eagle 
floating  in  the  morning  clouds  and  watching  his  prey 
in  some  far-off  valley,  and  tlio  glacier  flea  that  lives  in 
the  minutest  crevices  of  the  ice— which  extends  from 
tho  fleet  and  watchftil  chamois  to  the  microscopic 
animalculsB  of  the  iced  snow  I  Let  us  then  attempt  to 
comprehend  this  stupendous  world  of  mountains  In 
the  outlines  of  their  animal  life,  and  in  the  connection 
of  all  tholr  phenomena.  Though  we  make  but  a  sUgbt 


S30 


Editorial  Notes — Qerman  Literature, 


[Febraaiy 


advance  toward  an  anderstanding  of  them,  It  will  yet 
be  a  satlsfiiction  to  study  them  and  to  combine  in- 
creasing knowledge  with  tliat  inborn  Jove  wc  devote 
to  them  as  the  cradle  of  Swiss  flreedom  and  nation- 
ality." 

—  Karl  Tiieodor  von  Kuestner  gives 
in  his  newly  published  Vierunddreissig 
Jahre  meiner  Theaterleitung  (Thirty- 
four  Years  of  my  Theatrical  Management), 
a  pretty  complete  view  of  the  condition  of 
the  German  stage,  with  an  endless  stock 
of  anecdotes  of  actors  and  actresses.  The 
difference  between  the  mechanical  and 
scenic  resources  of  the  stage  at  the  time 
Mr.  von  Kflstncr  began  his  career,  is  strik- 
ing ;  but  wc  do  not  find  that  dramatic  art 
has  advanced  in  any  thing  like  the  same 
proportion ;  he  himself  admits  that  the 
acting  and  singing  of  thirty  years  ago 
were  about  as  good  as  those  of  the  present 
day.  And  yet  it  would  seem  that  the 
enormous  sums  which  the  governments 
of  France  and  Germany  spend  in  support 
of  theatres  ought  to  produce  some  im- 
provement The  French  government  gives 
the  Grand  Opera  $120,000  a  year,  or 
more  than  a  third  of  its  whole  expenses, 
and  to  the  Opera  Comique,  the  Odeon,  the 
Italian  Opera,  and  the  Theatre  Fran^ais 
$10,000  each.  The  Prussian  government 
gives  the  Royal  Theatre  at  Berlin  $100,000 
yearly;  this  establishment  Mr.  von  Kflstner 
regards  as  the  most  perfect  in  the  world, 
emplo3'ing  more  persons  and  doing  a  more 
varied  and  extensive  business  than  any 
other.  In  the  little  city  of  Mannheim,  a 
place  of  24,000  mhabitants,  $10,000  is 
contributed  to  the  theatre,  the  government 
paying  a  fifth  and  the  municipal  treasury 
the  remainder.  This  is,  of  course,  in  ad- 
dition to  what  is  received  at  the  doors 
as  the  price  of  admission. 

— A  complete  account  of  the  new  way 
of  raising  and  multiplying  fish,  discovered 
and  practised  in  France,  is  given  in  a 
work  by  Dr.  Ilaxo,  published  at  Leipzic 
under  the  title  of  Die  Befruchtung  und 
Ausbriitung  der  f\schcier  auf  Kunact- 
lichem  Wege  als  eiiie  der  Nutzhringend- 
sten  entdeckiingen  dargestelU,  It  is  il- 
lustrated with  engravings. 

— The  fifth  volume  of  the  present  se- 
ries of  Fredkrick  vox  Raumer's  HistO' 
risches  Taschenbuch  contains  a  number 
of  interesting  and  valuable  articles,  first 
among  which  is  one  on  the  English  in  the 
Indian  Archipelago,  and  especially  in  Bor- 
neo, by  Dr.  Neumann  of  Munich.  Rau- 
MER  himself  contributes  an  account  of  a 
ioumey  to  South  America.  Dr.  Soldan 
has  an  article  on  the  Massacre  of  St.  Bar- 
tholomew, which  casts  new  light  on  that 
monstrous  crime.    The  concluding  article 


of  the  book  is  by  Dr.  Colloff  on  Rem- 
brandt's Life  and  Works,  based  on  docu- 
ments not  used  by  former  writers.  The 
Taschenbuch  this  year  fully  sustains  its 
reputation. 

— Great  attention  will  be  roused,  espe- 
cially in  the  Catholic  Church,  by  a  pam- 
phlet of  which  Prof.  Leu,  of  Luzerne,  is 
the  author,  entitled  Wamung  vor  Never- 
ungen  und  Uebertreibungenin  der  Ka* 
tholischen  Kirche  Deutechlands.  (A 
Warning  against  Innovation  and  Extnir 
vagance  in  the  Catholic  Church  of  Ger- 
many.) The  author  we  hold  to  be  the 
ablest  Catholic  writer  in  the  German  lan- 
guage, as  well  as  one  of  the  soundest  scho- 
lars in  the  Church.  A  great  part  of  this 
I^mphlet  is  occupied  by  local  controver- 
sies; but  such  is  the  keenness  of  the  sa- 
tire, and  the  vigor  of  the  reasoning,  that 
it  interests,  if  it  does  not  edify,  even  thedts- 
tant  Protestant  reader,  l^rof.  Len  is  a 
decided  ultramontane,  and  contends  thai 
the  attempt  to  separate  the  Chmt^  from 
the  State,  and  under  the  pretence  of  ren- 
dering it  more  independent,  is  an  error 
and  absurdity,  especially  in  Germany  at 
the  present  time.  The  bishops,  who  are 
in  the  hab^t  of  declaiming  against  the  Pro* 
testant  governments  under  which  they 
live,  are  handled  with  great  severity,  as 
contrary  to  the  traditions  and  the  inter- 
ests of  the  Church.  The  Jesuits  are  cri- 
ticized for  their  insubordination  to  the 
decrees  of  Rome,  which  they  have  mani- 
fested on  several  recent  occasions  in  Ger- 
many. 

— An  excellent  popular  manual  of  as- 
tronomy is  Meyer's  Die  Erd€  in  ihrem 
VerMltniss  zum  Fixstemhimmel^  zur 
Sonne  und  zum  Mond.  (The  Eaiih,  in 
its  relation  to  the  Fixed  Stars,  to  theSim 
and  Moon.)  In  no  country  has  the  popo- 
larization  of  the  natural  sciences  advanced 
with  such  admirable  rapidity  as  in  Get* 
many  since  the  appearance  of  Humboldt^t 
Cosmos.  There  are  many  works  in  regard 
to  the  various  kingdoms  of  nature,  iv^idi 
might  veiy  advantageously  be  rendered 
into  English,  and  the  present  is  one  of 
them. 

— Wo  commend  Klippel's  DeuUckt 
Ijebens-und  Characterbilder  (Pictures  of 
German  Life  and  character)  to  whomso* 
ever  would  read  an  agreeable  collection  of 
biographies  of  men,  most  of  whose  names 
are  strange  to  him.  The  author  covers 
the  last  three  centuries  in  the  plan  of  his 
work,  and  of  course  begins  at  the  begin- 
ning in  the  first  volume,  which  is  now 
published. 

— We  learn  that  Tauchnitz  of  Leipsio 
has  published  an  edition  of  Mr.  B.  B. 


1854.] 


Editorial  Ifotes—Fine  Arts. 


231 


Kimball's  novel  of  St.  Leger,  or  the  Threads 
of  Life,  and  that  he  has  remitted  a  volun- 
tarj  remuneration  to  the  author,  whose 
Romance  of  Student  Life  is  about  to  be 
published  by  the  same  publisher.  Tauch- 
nitz  has  published  editions  of  nearly  eycry 

S>palar  English  author,  and,  unlike  the 
mssels  and  American  piratical  publishers, 
in  all  cases  makes  a  remuneration  to  the 
author. 


ihe  growth  <^  the  arts  which  are  not  so 
call^  The  future  uses  of  the  Crystal 
Palace  are  not  yet  exactly  determined 
upon ;  but  agents  are  now  in  Europe  to 
secure  articles  for  another  Exhibition,  and 
it  will,  doubtless,  become  a  permanent  in- 
stitution ;  that  is  as  permanent  as  a  bubble 
of  glass  ribbed  with  iron  can  be  expected 
to  be. 


FINE  AET8. 

Music  and  Art  are  now  suffering  "a 

r^ope  and  awful  pause,"  very  natural  to 
excitement  of  the  past  season,  for  after 
goch  storms  there  must  always  come  a 
aOm.  The  Crystal  Palace  has  fulfilled  its 
mission  and  ceased  to  exhibit  its  wealth 
of  artistic  merchandise ;  the  Opera  artists 
have  all  deserted  us  to  sing  to  the  Cubans, 
the  Mexicans,  and  the  Peruvians,  making 
^sooveries  and  achieving  victories  that 
their  great  predecessors,  Columbus  and 
Cortez,  never  aspired  to;  Metropolitan 
Hkll,  the  beautiful,  the  gilded  cage  that 
has  held  so  many  singing  birds,  has  been 
burned  down,  and  JulBen's  grand  balpari 
has  ended  in  smoke.  Jullien  himself  has 
given  his  farewell  concert,  for  the  present, 
and  gone  South ;  Sontag  is  concertizing  in 
the  backwoods  somewhere  among  the 
mocking-birds ;  even  Powell's  "  great  na- 
tional painting "  has  been  taken  to  New 
Orleans ;  our ''  resident  artists  "  arc  quietly 
preparing  for  the  next  exhibition,  and 
there  is  nothing  left  for  our  public  but 
Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,  which  has  a  fascina- 
tk)n  beyond  the  reach  of  philosophy  to  ac- 
ooont  for.  The  genius  of  Meyerbeer  and 
the  united  talent  of  the  best  opera  troupe 
that  has  been  heard  in  New- York,  failed 
to  fill  one  place  of  amtisement  with  paying 
audiences,  while  Uncle  Tom  fills  three  of 
oar  theatres  nightly  and  gives  fortunes  to 
their  proprietors,  thus  reversing  the  old 
proverb,  for  "the  Prophet"  was  without 
nonor  in  a  strange  country,  while  Uncle 
Tom  is  not  without  profit  at  home.  We 
have  not  the  shadow  of  a  misgiving  as 
to  the  future  of  Art  in  this  progressing 
ooontry  of  ours;  but,  at  present,  there 
seems  to  be  a  determination  by  our  enter- 
prising countrymen  not  to  put  too  fine  a 
point  upon  it,  for  all  our  art  tends  to  a 
rather  coarse  development,  and,  instead  of 
producing  Sevres  vases  and  Gobelin  tap- 
cstries,  or  operas  and  oratorios,  we  are 
rather  ambitious  to  develope  ourselves  in 
the  form  of  Pacific  railroads  and  monster 
steamships.  But  these  things  call  for 
artistic  embellishments,  and  the  fine  arts 
will  flourish  all  the  more  vigorously  by 


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with  Observations   on  Setting  and  Painting  the 

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Condition,  also  Practical  Suggestions  ifi  Regard  to 
InsnUUion  and  Protection  from  the  EfTecta  of  Light- 
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A.  Hart  IbSa 

Ladds'  Oleb  Book.  A  New  Collection  of  Choice 
and  beautiftil  Music  in  English,  French,  and  Italian* 
with  an  Accompaniment  for  the  Pianoforte.  By 
Henry  C.  Watson.  New-York:  Lamport,  Blake- 
man  d;  Law.  1854 

Thx  HsABTn-ST0N&  Thoughts  upon  Home-Life  in 
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BsPTXM  CoMTBA  TuBBAS.  A  Tragedy  of  Esohylua. 
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Elbxxktb  or  Rhrobio  ;  Comprising  an  Analysis  of 
the  Laws  of  Moral  Evidence  and  of  Persuasion, 
with  Rules  for  Argumentative  Composition  and 
Elocution.  By  Richard  Whately,  D.  D.,  Archbishop 
of  Dublin.  Boston  and  Cambridge :  James  Munroe 
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esthetic  pursuits.  From  the  New-York  DrUmru* 
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and  PortraH  of  Edwin  Poireet     New-Yc 

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Cabl  Ejukkbk:   His  Christmas  Sto^inf. 

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illustrations.     Boston:  Tieknor,  Bead  * 

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1861 


PUTNAM'S  MONTHLY. 

%  UagHjme  of  yiteratun,  ^tienrt,  anlr  3^rt. 


VOL.  m.— MARCH  1854.— NO.  XV. 


NEWYORK    DAGUERREOTYPED. 


PRIVATE  BESIDENCB8, 


PRIVATE  dwellings  in  a  country  like 
the  United  States,  where  CYcry  man 
labors  for  his  own  individual  comfort,  and 
not  for  the  glory  of  tlie  state,  or  the  ambi- 
tion of  a  monarch,  offer  the  best  evidences 
of  the  prosperity,  the  intelligence,  and  the 
general  taste  of  the  people.  It  is  in  the 
priyate  mansions  which  are  built,  oma- 
nented,  and  furnished  to  conform  to  the 
tastes,  the  incomes,  and  the  exigencies  of 
their  occupants,  and  not  in  the  public 
edifices  that  we  must  look  for  the  true 
developement  of  the  national  taste.  The 
case  is  different  in  other  countries ;  even 
in  England,  the  residences  of  the  most 
noble  and  wealthy  are  of  secondary  im- 
portance when  compared  with  the  palaces 
of  the  monarch,  and  the  edifices  appro- 
priated to  state  uses.  But,  a  traveller 
from  the  old  world  sees  at  a  glance,  in 
landing  in  our  city,  that  here  every  man 
is  a  monarch  in  his  own  right,  and  that 
palaces  are  built  by  the  people  for  their 
own  enjoyment  ana  not  for  the  comfort  of 
ft  prince.  Hence  we  have  an  immense 
number  of  very  fine  houses ;  which,  in  the 
•ggregate,  form  streets  of  greater  beauty 
than  any  city  of  the  old  world  can  boast 
oi^  but  no  single  building  to  be  compared 
with  the  splendid  triumphs  of  architecture 
which  constitute  the  glory  and  attraction 
of  Paris.  Splendors  of  architecture  are 
not  to  be  looked  for  here,  excepting  in  the 
shape  of  bridges  and  aqueducts,  until  we 
Rhall  have  been  educated  to  the  point  of 
discovering  the  superior  advantages  of  a 
oombination  of  interests  in  our  private 
dwelfings,  to  the  present  independent  and 
isolated  style  of  construction ;  when  it 
shall  be  £}und  that  twenty  or  thirty 
fiunilies  may  live  in  a  palace  by  combining 
their  means,  in  the  construction  of  one 
ctptcKMis  dwelling,  while  they  would  be 
VOL.  III. — 16 


compelled  to  live  in  an  inconvenient  and 
plain  house,  if  each  one  built  separately. 
Our  hotels  arc  an  indication  of  what  might 
be  done  by  the  plan  we  have  hinted  at ; 
btit,  in  the  mean  while,  we  are  living  and 
learning  at  a  very  fast  rate,  and  building, 
like  bees,  better  than  we  know.  The  exi- 
gencies of  our  rapid  growth,  the  sudden 
accumulations  of  large  fortunes,  and  the 
instincts  of  our  building  architects,  are 
daily  manifesting  themselves  in  some  re- 
markable exi^mplcs  of  architectural  inge- 
nuity and  external  ornamentation,  which 
put  all  precedent  at  defiance,  and  set  at 
naught  established  rules.  New- York  is 
continually  rising  like  a  phcnix  from  the 
ashes,  and,  at  each  revival  with  increased 
elegance  and  splendor.  The  old  economi- 
cal style  of  buildings,  without  a  shadow 
of  ornament,  which  succeeded  the  more 
imposing  structures  of  ante-revolutionary 
times  have  nearly  all  disappeared,  and 
scarcely  a  vestige  of  old  New- York  re^ 
mains.  Stores  and  warehouses  occupy 
the  sites  of  the  houses  in  which  the  kh^ 
generation  lived,  and  the  new  city  has 
risen  up  like  enchantment  telling  of  new^ 
times,  a  new  people,  new  tastes,  and  new 
habits.  The  old  houses  in  Broadway 
were  all  of  brick,  and  plain  in  their  ex- 
teriors beyond  belief;  and  the  cheapest 
"colony  houses"  of  the  present  day,  built 
for  the  accommodation  of  poor  emigrant 
families,  are  elegant  structures,  externally, 
compared  with  the  city  residenees  d*  ottr 
wealthiest  families  but  few  years  sinoe. 
Plain  brick  fronts  have  been  succeeded  by 
dressed  freestone  and  sculptured  marble ; 
plate  glass  has  become  universal,  and 
lace  window  drapery  has  displaced  the 
old  chintz  curtains  which  once  flaunted 
their  bright  colors  through  small  window 
panes. 


284 

The  introduction 
of  pure  Greek  mo- 
dels into  England 
and  this  country, 
produced  sotnc  slight 
improvement  on  this 
plain  brick  style,  and 
in  houses  of  the  best 
elass  exhibited  de- 
signs similar  in  cha- 
racter to  those  in 
Bond  and  Great 
Jones  streets,  liut 
the  most  elegant 
Grecian  mansion  in 
New- York  is,  with- 
out doubt,  that  in 
(Jollege  Place,  at  the 
corner  of  Murray- 
street.  The  Grecian 
style,  however,  is 
not  easily  adapted  to 
modem  uses,  though 
more  so  than  the 
Kgyptian,  which  has 
l>een  less  success- 
fully adopted  by  Mr. 
K.  L.  Stevens  in  his 
house  in  IJarclay- 
street.  The  semi- 
circular Corinthian 
portico  of  the  house 
in  (/ollege  Place  has 
a  l)old  and  graceful 
appearance.  Ijeing  as- 
cended by  a  hand- 
some flight  of  steps 
in  front,  to  the  old  level  of  the  College 
ground,  on  which  it  is  built.  Although 
two  stories  of  architravud  windows  are 
not  in  strict  acconlance  with  a  single 
AJrecian  order  of  columns,  we  should  have 
preferred  them  to  the  mere  slits  between 
pilasters  which  arc  made  to  serve  for  win- 
dows in  this  building.  The  conservatory 
to  the  right,  and  the  dome  up<m  the  ro()f 
4*ztendand  raise  the  tX)mposition  to  a  good 
proportion.  The  opj^osite  view  from  Mur- 
ray-street, in  which  the  p<irtico  appears 
backed  by  the  tr<.'<\<5,  is  even  more  pictu- 
resque tiian  the  one  here  given. 
■  Twenty  years  ago.  the  houses  in  Waverley 
Place,  foruiiug  the  north  side  of  Washing- 
ton iSquai-e  were  among  the  linost  private 
dwellings  in  New- York.  These  somewhat 
resemble  the  Philadelphia  style  of  build- 
ing, being  of  the  smi.K)thest  R'd  britrk.  with 
white  marble  {torches,  steps,  and  Imtels : 
— too  \-iolent  a  contrast  of  color,  and  made 
worse  by  the  addition  of  gn-en  blind.s, 
instead  of  the  Philadelphia  white  or  brown 
sliades.  But  Waverley  Place  is  still  the 
moftt  uniform  and   imposing  side  of  a 


New-York  Daguerreotyped. 


[March 


Co11>-fr<'  V\mc*'  Mid  MuiT»y-ktr«:«<t. 


square  that  New- York  can  boa.st  of,  and 
])resents  a  solid.  re.*ipectable.  and  cheerful 
as^tect ;  while  the  interiors  of  .some  of 
the  hou.ses.  for  spaciousness  and  decora- 
tion, are  not  excelled  by  many  in  the 
Fifth  Avenue. 

Al>out  IHleen  years  ago,  the  white 
marble  colonnaile  row  in  I^fayette  Place 
was  pointed  out  as  the  most  ornamental 
block  of  that  part  of  the  city.  In  itself, 
this  Corinthian  colonnade  is  undoubtedly 
of  great  Ijeauty ;  but  it  darkens  the  rooms. 
is  of  exi>ensive  and  not  solid  construction, 
and  assumes  too  much  the  character  of  a 
single  public  building.  Tlio  balcony  rail- 
ings ought  not  to  have  conceded  the 
ba.ses  of  the  columns,  but  to  have  been 
placed  U^tween  them,  or  else  omitted. 

The  (irecian  taste,  in  which  the  above 
buildings  are  erected,  has  witliin  the  last 
few  years  been  succeeded  and  almost  en- 
tirely superseded,  lioth  here  and  in  Eng- 
lauX  by  the  revival  of  the  Italian  st3'lc, 
of  which  the  man.sion  in  University  Place. 
at  the  comer  of  Tenth-street,  is  one  of  our 
best-proportioned  and  most  correct  imita- 


1854.] 


Private  BesideneeB. 


235 


tions ;  more  particularly  of  that  modifica- 
tion of  it  which  prevails  at  Florence, 
which  is  visible  in  the  circnlar-hcaded 
windows,  and  grooved  stones  of  the  prin- 
cipal story,  and  the  carved  torus  string- 
course above  them.  The  balcony,  sup- 
ported by  brackets,  over  the  door,  is  the 
best  specimen  of  that  kind  of  Italian  portal 
that  has  been  yet  introduced:  they  are 
sometimes  made  so  heavy,  as  to  seem  as 
if  they  would  fall  on  our  heads.  The 
basement,  ptindpal  story,  dressings,  and 
cormce  of  this  building  are  of  brown  stone, 
while  the  plain  wall  above  is  of  red  brick. 
In  this  case,  as  in  many  others,  we  prefer 
this  mixture  of  brick  and  stone  to  an  en- 
tire stone  front:  the  brown  stone  har- 
moniaes  well  in  color,  and  appears  more 
brilliuit  bv  the  contrast.  We  do  .not  ap- 
prove of  the  outside  window-blinds,  espe- 
cially to  cireular^headcd  windows,  as  they 
form  a  disagreeable  shape  when  thrown 
open.  Tbe  dormer  windows  are  not  in 
accordance  with  the  Italian  style,  but  are 
small  and  unobtrusive,  The  area  railings 
are  very  elegantly  formed  of  small  twisted 
pillars,  and  colored  bronze. 

At  the  comer  of  Tenth-street  and  Fifth 
Avenue  stands  a  large,  quaint,  old-  fashioned 
bingle  house  of  red  brick  and  brown  stone, 


with  a  steep  slated  roof,  and  conspicuous- 
ly ornamented  dormer  windows;  which, 
w^hen  time  shall  have  destroyed  its  fresh- 
ness, and  mellowed  its  tone,  may  appear 
to  some  stranger,  from  his  native  south 
or  west,  a  relic  of  ante-revolutionary  times. 
This  is  the  residence  of  a  French  gentle- 
man ;  which  may  account  for  the  owner's 
adoption  of  a  style  of  building  which 
would  remind  himof  the  courtly  formality, 
and  solid  gentility  of  the  olden  time  in  his 
native  country.  The  style  of  this  build- 
ing is  a  mixture  of  French  and  Italian, 
with  a  remnant  of  the  Gothic  principle 
traceable  in  the  kneed  architraves  over 
the  third  story  windows.  Its  general 
good  effect  will  be  found  to  arise  from 
Uie  windows  not  being  too  close  together, 
and  from  the  string-courses  at  every 
floor,  which  seem  to  bind  it  together, 
and  form  agreeable  subdivisions  of  the 
whole  mass.  The  railings  and  entrance 
steps  are  very  rich  and  effective.  A  con- 
servatory may  be  seen  in  the  rear :  there 
is  also  an  entrance  into  the  coach-yard 
beyond,  not  delineated  in  our  cut 

"  Every  man's  house  is  his  castle,"  says 
the  law-maxim ;  but  in  these  days  of 
peace-societies,  we  cannot  think  the  cas- 
tellated Gothic  the  best  style  to  build  it 


W«v«ri«]r  PUm. 


286 


NeuhYwrk  Daguervtoiyped. 


[Mareh 


ID  !  This  observa- 
tion applies  to  the 
two  houses  at  the 
corner  of  Twelfth- 
Btreet  and  Fifth  Av- 
enue ;  in  which,  even 
if  we  excused  the 
choice  of  style,  to 
which  we  have  sev- 
eral objections  to 
offer,  we  are  obliged 
to  notice  several 
faults  that  might 
easily  have  been  a- 
voided.  The  attic 
windows  are  too 
wide ;  and  all  arc 
without  stone  mul- 
lions,  which  are  es- 
sentials in  Gothic 
construction ;  while  ' 
the  external  blindsi 
— inappropriate  for 
Gothic  windows, 
when  closed,  destroy 
all  depth  and  sha- 
dow. The  balconies 
and  porches  have  no 
connection  with  the 
general  design.  In 
point  of  sdlid  execu- 
tion the  buildings 
deserve  praise,  being 
entirely  of  brown 
stone,  and  the  doors 
of  real  oak. 

Our  view  of  West  Fourteenth-street 
from  Fifth  Avenue,  exhibits  one  of  the 
handsomest  ranges  of  buildings  of  this 
size  in  the  neighborhood.  The  doors  and 
windows  of  this,  as  of  many  of  our  ex- 
amples, are  more  enriehed  by  carving  than 
the  small  scale  of  our  engravings  can 
show.  If  the  apertures  of  houses  of  this 
class  were  a  little  reduced  in  width  and 
height,  the  construction  and  effect  would 
l)e  greatly  improved,  anrl  the  cost  of  the 
building  diminished  The  brackets  to  the 
cornice  of  the  nearest  houses  are  too  far 
apart,  and  placed  at  unequal  distances, 
which  is  against  all  rule.  The  balus- 
trades to  the  area  and  steps  are  of  iron, 
but  solid  and  effective. 

The  fine  residence  at  the  comer  of 
Fifth  Avenue  and  West  Fifteenth-street  is 
a  massive  and  dignified  structure  in  the 
Italian  style,  of  brown  stone.  The  win- 
dows are  simple,  and  uniform  on  every 
story,  and  are  better  proportioned,  that  is, 
narrower  compared  with  the  piers,  than 
they  are  shown  in  our  engraving.  The 
principal  decoration  of  the  building  is  con- 
centrated upon  the    entrance    £K>rway, 


L«fey0ito-pliie«. 

which  consists  of  an  arched  recess  between 
half-columns  or  pedestals,  projecting  from 
pilasters,  of  the  Corinthian  order.  Two 
circular  flights  of  steps  with  balustradeR 
and  pedestals,  lead  the  eye  in  a  graceful 
manner  to  tliis  handsome  entrasfoe,  and 
add  apparent  breadth  to  the  base  of  the 
building.  The  only  alteration  we  oould 
desire  to  this  house,  would  be,  to  have 
omitted  some  of  the  supemamcruy  blank 
windows  on  the  side. 

The  Palladian  residence  of  Mr.  Haigfat. 
at  the  south  comer  of  East  Fifteenth^ 
street  and  Fifth  Avenue,  erected  some  five 
years  ago,  was  among  the  first  mansioiiB 
in  the  Italian  style  built  in  this  city ;  and 
though  it  may  have  been  since  exceeded 
in  richness  of  decoration,  we  doubt  if  it 
ha<$  been  in  good  proportion,  and  poritr 
of  design.  The  ample  space  afforded  be- 
tween the  windows  countenances,  if  not 
demands  the  slight  projection  of  the  wall 
in  the  centre  of  each  side,  which  is  alao 
made  available  in  assisting  the  effect  of 
the  central  door,  wide  windows  and  chim- 
nica  of  the  entrance  front ;  and  in  group- 
ing  together   the   centre  windowR  •»! 


1854.] 


Private  Remdences, 


237 


balconies  of  the 
other  front,  upon 
the  Avenae.  The 
arched  entrance 
between  twoTus- 
can  half-colomns 
is  in  the  true  Ita- 
lian taste,  and  far 
preferable  to  a 
projecting  por- 
tico in  this  situ- 
ation :  pilasters 
of  the  same  order 
on  the  other  front 
preserre  a  due 
correspondence. 
A  lower  range  of 
oflBces,  and  a 
stable-yard  en- 
trance is  seen 
down  the  street ; 
while  there  is  al- 
so anotlrar  arch- 
ed entrance  for 
carriages  be- 
tween two  pro- 
jecting columns, 
on  the  right,  not 
included  in  our 
view.  The  wide 
Kcmi-circular 
basement  win- 
dows are  judici- 
i>usly  introduced. 
The  building  is  of  brown  stone. 

The  brown  Ktone  mansion  of  Colonel 
Thome,  in  West  Sixteenth-street,  near 
Fifth  Avenue,  shares  the  merit  of  Mr. 
HaightV  in  being  one  of  the  first  erected 
in  the  Italian  style ;  and.  though  its  situa- 
tion is  more  retired,  and  it  only  presents 
a  single  ornamented  front  to  the  street,  yet 
in  cluuitcncss  and  elegance  of  design  it  is 
fully  equal  if  not  superior.  It  has  the  ad- 
vantage of  standing  back  in  an  inclosed 
fore- court,  with  double  gates  and  a  car- 
riage-drive sweeping  under  a  portico,  of 
the  Tuscan  order;  the  shaded  recess  behind 
is  an  open  vestibule,  with  the  same  order 
continued  round  the  inside,  supporting  a 
panelled  ceiling.  On  each  side  of  the 
entrance  door  is  a  niche,  with  a  bronzed 
figure  of  a  Mercury,  holding  a  lamp :  there 
are  also  two  recumbent  figures  of  dogs  on 
the  landing  before  the  door.  A  pretty 
white  marble  basin  and  fountain  stand  in 
front  of  the  portico,  which  arc  omitted  in 
oar  engraving. 

East  Sixteenth-street,  opposite  St. 
George's  Church.  This  is  a  wcU-propoi^ 
tioned  row  of  houses,  and  the  uniformity 
of  BiKh  an  extent  of  wall  is  pleasing  and 
^fictive.    The  iron  balconies  appear  solid, 


Conwr  of  UDivaraity  Plfteewid  Twelfth  ■trMt 


and  form  a  horizontal  bond  to  the  com- 
position, in  the  place  nearest  above  tlio 
eye.  where  it  is  most  required.  But  the 
cast-iron  window  heads,  and  the  brackets 
to  the  cornice  of  the  houses  are  very  offen- 
sive to  good  taste,  being  of  a  nondescript 
upholsterer's  style,  and  seeming  as  if 
stuck  on,  as,  indeed,  they  are,  and 
they  are  only  allowable  on  the  score  of 
economy. 

St.  (.Jeorge's  Rectory,  the  residence  of 
Dr.  Tyng,  opposite  the  houses  just  men- 
tioned, is  a  plain  brown-stone  building, 
not  remarkably  pleasing  in  itself,  nor  suc- 
cessful in  the  vain  attempt  to  harmonize 
a  moilem  five-story  house  with  the  Italian 
Gothic  style  of  the  church  adjoining. 
This  imitation  has  only  been  made  in  the 
porch,  the  architraves  of  the  windows,  and 
the  cornices  to  the  gables.  But  we  have  no 
authority  in  antiquity,  nor  reason  in  com- 
mon sense  to  apply  church  ornaments  to 
domestic  dwellings.  What  the  domestic 
architecture  of  the  so-called  Byzantine 
period  really  was,  would  puzzle  the  enthusi- 
astic but  paradoxical  author  of  "  The  Stones 
of  Venice  "  to  inform  us.  But  judging  by 
analogy  from  the  old  English,  French, 
and  Netherlands  remains,  it  probably  re- 


288 


NeuhYork  Daguenreoiyped, 


[Maieh 


sembled  any  thing  rather  than  their 
church  architecture. 

For  a  similar  reason,  we  cannot  com- 
mend the  attempt  at  Gothic  street-archi- 
tecture, at  the  comer  of  Twentieth-street 
and  Sixth  Avenue,  opposite  the  church  of 
the  Holy  Communion ;  althoueh  its  nov- 
elty and  prettiness  may  b3  taking  to  an 
inexperienced  eye.  In  placing  the  gables 
towarcjs  the  street,  it  is  far  more  true  to 
principle  thin  the  Gothic  row  in  Fifth 
Avenue.  But  this  mod^  of  roofing  is  very 
objectionable,  as  tending  to  accumulate 
snow  and  rains  in  the  intermediate  hol- 
lows. The  details  of  these  buihh'ngs, 
however,  are  incorrect,  and  flimsily  exe- 
cuted ;  bemg  onlv  of  stuccoed  brick,  and 
snndcd  wood.  We  know  of  no  successful 
efforts  in  Gothic  street-architecture,  in 
England  or  in  this  county :  we  have  no 
models  in  antiquity  of  this  kind  except 
coll^iate  buildings ;  and  for  churches 
and  colleges  we  are  of  opinion  that  the 
Gothic  style,  if  used  at  all  in  cities,  should 
be  kept  sacred. 

The  view  of  West  Twenty-first-street 
from  Fifth  Avenue  afibrds  an  averaged 
specimen  of  domicils  in  this  neighbor- 
hood, but  we  regret  that  the  scale  of  our 
engraving  is  too  small  adequately  to  re- 
present the  variety  of  styles  and  decora- 
tions that  arc  here  found  within  a  small 
compass :  some  of  the  fronts  being  of  the 
purer  Italian,  others  of  the  French  style 


CoffiMrof  riflh  Atcbm  hmI  Twitii-«tro«L 


of  I/>uis  XTV.  or  XV,,  and  others  with 
spurious  Gothic  labels  over  the  windows, 
supported  by  Grecian  brackets!  But 
in  spite  of  these  incongruities,  the  quiet 
tone  of  color  of  these  buildings,  the  invit- 
ing elegance  of  the  doorways  and  flights 
of  steps,  the  absence  of  noise,  the  verdure 
of  the  shade  trees  against  the  brilliant 
sky,  and  some  spire  or  tower  pictarcsquely 
terminating  the  vista — all  combine  to  pro- 
duce an  agreeable  frame  of  mind  in  the 
passer-by ;  who,  while  mentally  penetrat- 
ing within  these  handsome  exteriors,  and 
reflecting  upon  all  the  **  appliances  and 
means ''  of  happiness  contained  there,  may 
well  be  reconciled  to  any  incongruities  of 
style  in  the  dwellings  in  remembering 
the  fortunate  condition  of  those  who  in- 
habit them. 

Adjoining   the  right-hand    homes   in 
this  street  there  is  now  in  process  of  eroc- 
tk>n,  but  not  sufficiently  forward  for  illus- 
tration when  these  engravings  were  made, 
a  work,  which  in  point  of  grandeur  of 
scale,  and  magnificence  of  design,  will  sur- 
pass any  former  effort  of  the  kind  that 
we  |)ossess.    We  allude  to  the  New  Club 
House  at  the  comer  of  West  Twenty-first- 
street  and  Fifth  Avenue;  of  which,  to  con- 
vey some  general  idea,  we  subjoin  a  brief 
description.      The  building  is  of   three 
stories  in  height  above  the  basement ;  but 
the  two  principal  stories  are  nearly  equal 
in  height  to  four  of  the  ailjoining  dwelling- 
houses.  The  longest 
front      is    towards 
Twenty-first  -  street 
^%\^  of  five  windows  in 

width,  the  two  ex- 
ternal ones  being 
wider  Venetian  win- 
dows of  three  com- 
partments,  and 
placed  in  the  centre 
of  two  slight  pro- 
jections from  the 
main  wall.  The 
front  to  the  Avenue 
has  three  windows 
in  ^-idth,  and  no 
break  in  the  line  of 
wall.  The  entrance 
doorway  is-  in  the 
centre  of  the  long 
front,  with  an  arched 
hearl  and  two  three- 
quarter  Corinthian 
.  columns,  projecting 
from  pilasters,  a 
pediment  above,  and 
the  entablature  con- 
tinued round  the 
two  fixmts.     There 


1864.] 


Private  Reddenctn, 


289 


Fifth  Arennc,  corner  Twtlftb-ttreeC 


are  coupled  Corinthian  pilasters  at  all 
the  angles  of  the  building,  ranging  with 
the  oolumns  at  the  door ;  and  two  isolated 
oolamns,  with  their  entablature,  project- 
ing out  from  the  centre  of  the  narrowest 
front;  between  these  columns  is  a  Tcry 
rich  arched  Venetian  window,  supported 
by  smaller  Ionic  columns.  The  win- 
dows of  the  second  story  have  circular 
pediment  heads,  those  of  the  upper  story 
angular  pediments ;  all  of  them  supported 
by  very  rich  brackets  and  architraves. 
Grooved  comer-stones  are  continued  up 
the  angles  of  the  building  over  the  coupled 
pilasters,  till  they  reach  a  grand'  Corin- 
thiaa  entablature  and  cornice,  which 
crowns  the  whole  edifice.  The  general 
effect  is  that  of  a  Venetian  paiazzo :  we 
only  wish  it  had  been  of  white  marble, 
instead  of  brown  stone.  This  superb  build- 
ing has  been  erected  for  the  Union  Club. 
The  extensive  row  of  dwellings  in  West 
Twenty-thhrd-street,  called  London  Ter- 
race, was  erected  by  Mr.  Horseley  Palmer, 
of  the  Bank  of  England.  It  has  a  more 
imposing  effect  in  the  engraving  than  the 
reality  warrants,  the  houses  being  of  but 
moderate  dimensions.  The  centre  of  the 
row  is  indicated  by  a  raised  parapet  (over 
the  carriage  in  our  cut),  the  farthest  ex- 
tremity having  a  hexagonal  bow  similar 
to  that  of  the  nearest  corner  house ;  with 
and  ineffective  projeo- 


tioDS  from  the  general  line  of  the  front  on 
each  side  of  the  centre.  The  design  con- 
sists of  Grecian  pilasters  and  entablature 
of  the  height  of  three  stories ;  but  the 
pilasters  are  too  tall  and  too  close  together, 
and  the  windows  have  the  appearance  of 
the  stage-boxes  of  a  theatre,  and  the  whole 
front  the  flat  character  of  joiner's  work. 
The  buildings  are  of  brick  stuccoed,  of  an 
agreeable  light  tint,  and  appear  to  stand 
the  weather  well :  the  basements  are  of 
brown  stone  ;  the  attics  of  wood. 

Mr.  Waddell's  residence,  at  the  comer 
of  Fifth  Avenue  and  Thirty-eighth-street 
may  be  called  a  suburban  villa,  and  is  re- 
markable for  being  inclosed  in  its  own 
garden  ground,  which  is  as  high  as  the 
original  level  of  the  island,  and  descends 
by  sloping  grass  banks  to  the  grade  of 
the  street.  Our  objections  to  rows  of 
houses  in  the  Gothic  style,  do  not  apply 
to  this  case.  The  genera]  composition 
and  effect  is  picturesque  and  commendable, 
notwithstanding  an  occasional  want  of 
character  and  correctness  in  the  details. 
It  is  built  of  brick  stuccoed,  with  brown 
sand-stone  dressings,  the  color  of  which 
does  not  quite  harmonize  with  the  yellow- 
ish gray  of  the  walls :  external  blinds  wc 
have  already  noticed  as  incompatible  with 
Gothic  mullioned  windows.  A  conserva- 
tory, and  various  offices  extend  to  the 
the  left:  there  is  also  a  Gothic  cottage 


840 


NeW'Yark  Daguerreotyped. 


Phrdi 


EMt  Fourt««Dtb-atra«t,  from  Fitth  Av«-bu«. 


lod^  on  the  north  side  of  the  garden,  of 
which,  and  of  the  whole  ground,  a  fine 


Fiilk  ArtBiM,  eoravr  FifUnth-atrtet 


view  is  obtained  from  the  terrace  of  the 
Croton  Reservoir ;  while  two  or  three  old 
trees  still  standmg  in  the 
garden  on  that  side  add  to 
the  semi-rural  character  of 
the  edifice. 

The  ahove  is  a  specimen 
of  our  "Domestic  Ardii- 
tecture ;"  which,  we  think, 
considering  its  very  recent 
pretensions  to  attractipn  as 
a  fine  art,  has  made  a  far 
more  satisfactory  progress 
than  our  public,  commer- 
cial, or  ecclesiastical  struc- 
tures, except  in  a  few  in- 
stances. For  the  sake  of 
our  distant,  and  foreign 
readers,  we  may  add,  that 
the  interiors  of  the  stores, 
hotels,  and  private  dwell- 
ings we  have  represented, 
are,  besides  being  replete 
with  every  modem  con- 
venience, in  point  of  deco- 
ration and  furniture,  of  a 
more  eIal>orate,  showy,  and 
generally  tasteful  character 
than  the  exteriors;  and, 
owing  to  the  greater  dif- 
fusion of  wealth  and  luxury, 
more  rich  and  costly  than 
those  of  corresponding 
buildings  in  Europe. 


1854.] 


Private  Rendenees, 


241 


Objections  have  been  made,  on  moral  and 
eoonomical  grounds,  to  the  display  of 
wealth  and  splendor  in  architectural  de- 
coration, but,  we  cannot  think  with  jus- 
tice :  we  regard  it  as  the  mere  natural 
and  normal  expression  of  progress,  the 
counterpart  of  that  formerly  exhibited  by 
the  great  commercial  republics  of  Italy 
and  Holland.  Luxury  is  a  vice,  only 
when  it  is  extraTagance  in  an  individual : 
the  private  vices  of  ostentation  and  extra- 
vagance become  public  benefits  to  trade 
and  industry.  The  due  scale  of  expense 
for  every  grade  of  society  can  never  be 
fixed  by  lawgiver  or  moralist    The  sumj^- 


tuous  environments  of  the  richest  mer- 
chant are  by  use  and  familiarity  no  greater 
luxuries  to  him,  than  more  homely  com- 
forts are  to  the  mechanic ;  and  in  a  coun- 
try, where  all  are  striving  to  get  rich,  it 
may  seem  to  be  hypocrisy  and  envy,  to 
cavil  at  the  use  and  display  of  riches. 
But  viewed  in  a  public  light,  every  ex- 
ternal indication  of  prosperity  tends  to  add 
attractions  to  a  city,  and  to  promote  its 
increase  and  influence  in  more  important 
objects. 

The  Bowery  Savings'  Bank  was  not 
included  in  our  former  illustrations  of  pub- 
lic buildings  of  that  kind.    We  venture 


Comer  of  Fifth  ATenu  «nd  Fifte«nth-«tre«t. 


to  pronounce  this  one  of  the  most  original 
and  successful  compositions  of  its  size  and 
class  which  we  hitherto  possess.  It  may 
be  a  little  overloaded  with  ornament  not 
of  the  best  taste,  but  it  has  higher  claims 
to  praise,  than  the  mere  application  of 
ornament  It  is  a  well  studied  design, 
and  unites  variety  and  uniformity,  relief 
and  prominence,  light  and  shade,  in  a  re- 
markable degree.  It  will  be  observed 
that  the  main  division  of  the  front  into 
three  compartments  is  not  arbitrary,  but 
suggested  and  demanded  by  the  three 
doorways  reauired.  This  is  also  a  suffi- 
cient reason  for  making  the  windows  over 


the  doors  larger  and  richer,  and  of  differ- 
ent shape  from  the  intermediate  ones. 
But  the  centre  doorway  and  windows  are, 
besides,  made  wider  than  the  two  side  ones, 
with  the  addition  of  three-quarter  columns 
to  the  door  to  make  it  the  main  point  of 
attraction.  The  entablature  over  these 
columns,  and  the  upper  cornice  of  the 
bnilding,  are  the  bonds  of  unity  to  the 
composition ;  while  the  parapet  is  divided 
by  the  balustrades  into  five  compartments 
to  corresptond  to  the  first  story  below. 
The  variation  of  the  upper  window-h^s, 
and  the  insertion  of  the  two  small  panels 
in  blank  spaces  otherwise  too  bare,  are 


242 


NevhTwrh  Ikigufirrwiyped. 


[Maidi 


finishing  touches 
to  design,  which 
show  the  hand  of 
an  artuft. 

It  is  very  na- 
tural and  very 
proper  that  the 
commercial  buil- 
dings of  a  com- 
mercial cit^, 
should  be  m 
themselves  the 
embodiments  of 
the  city's  great- 
ness and  wealth. 
We  are  a  church- 
going  people,  un- 
deniably, and  our 
churches  are  a- 
mong  the  roost 
conspicuous  mo- 
numents of  our 
thrill  and  pros- 
perity; but  it  is 
m  our  stores  and 
banking-houses 
that  the  real  feel- 
ing of  our  merch- 
ants is  most  pal- 
pably embodied. 
Our  banks  for 
savings,  which 
mightreasonably 
be  plain  and  un- 
ostentatious, are 
among  the  most 
showy  and  beau- 
tiful of  our  finan- 
cial buildings. 
The  savings-bank  in  OhamberS'Strcet  is  a 
grand  and  solid  structure  of  granite,  and 
there  is  a  highly  ornamental  facade  of 
polished  white  marble,  now  in  course  of 
erection,  in  Broadway,  for  the  Broadway 
Savings  Bank.  The  Seamen's  Savings 
Bank  on  the  comer  of  Pearl  and  Wall- 
streets,  of  brown  free-stone,  is  one  of  the 
handsomest  and  most  imposing  buildings 
in  the  business  quarter  of  the  city. 

While  "  Broadway,  New- York,"  is  the 
most  famous  and  oftenest-borrowed  name 
of  any  street  in  the  United  States,  and 
perhaps  the  only  one  that  has  any  Euro- 
pean name  and  celebrity,  the  curiosity  of 
our  untravelled  ixjaders  may  be  excited 
to  inquire,  what  street  and  city  in  Europe 
do  Broadway  and  New- York  most  re- 
semble ?  Formerly,  when  so  many  trees 
were  on  the  sidewalks,  our  first  impres- 
sion was  its  resemblance  to  a  Parisian 
Boukoard ;  that  is,  one  of  those  wide 
streets,  lined  with  trees,  that  form  a  belt 
round  the  city  of  Paris.    And,  from  the 


W«ii  Slzto«nUi-rtr««t  new  Ftftk  Atmim. 


abundance  of  its  foreign  population,  we 
still  think  the  general  aspect  of  our  city  a 
medium  between  that  of  Paris  and  a 
sea-port  of  the  Netherlands ;  with  the 
addition  of  an  atmosphere,  not  second  in 
brilliance  to  Italy.  But  the  peculiarity 
of  Broadway  consists  in  its  being  not 
onl}'  the  principal^  but  the  only  main 
artery  of  the  city,  not  only  the  focus,  but 
the  agglomeration  of  trade  and  fashion, 
business  and  amusement  public  and  pri- 
vate abodes,  churches  and  theatres,  bar- 
rooms and  exhibitions,  all  collected  into 
one  promiscuous  channel  of  activity  and 
dissipation.  As  Paris  is  France,  so  is 
Broadway  New- York ;  but  this  should 
not  be.  Fresh  channels  are  imperatively 
demanded  by  its  present  over-crowded 
state,  when  carts  and  omnibuses  are  daily 
at  a  dead-lock  for  half  an  hour  togelher, 
and  the  pedestrian,  desirous  of  crossings 
stands  in  the  situation  of  the  rustic  in 
Horace,  waiting  upon  the  bank  until  the 
^ver  has  run  by!     Whether  the  with- 


1854.] 


Private  Besideneei. 


248 


drawal  of  the  licences  of  so  many  omni- 
buses, the  sabstiti^tion  of  a  railvray,  or 
the  widening  and  continuing^  of  other 
streets  to  the  Battery,  are  to  effect  this  im- 
provement, or  whether  they  arc  not  all 
required  together,  this  is  not  the  place  to 
determine.  Wo  would  only  hint  at  a 
few  other  improvements  required,  before 
Broadway  can  be  a  thoroughfare  worthy 
of  the  city :  such  as  the  perfect  cleansing 
of  the  streets,  the  removal  of  obstructions 
from  the  side-walks,  of  the  few  still  re- 
maining wooden  shanties,  and  low  grog- 
geries,  as  well  as  of  vulgar,  obtrusive,  and 
disg;usting  exhibitions,  that  disgrace  the 
name  of  Museums,  As  in  trade  we  put 
our  best  goods  foremost,  so  let  us  at  all 
events  keep  our  inevitable  vices,  follies, 
and  vulgarities  in  the  background.  \ 
great  metropolis  must  have  its  bright  side. 
Bat  there  are  no  evils  without  corres- 
ponding advantages ;  and,  viewed  in  con- 
nection with  the  influence  of  New- York 
upon  the  whole  United  States,  all  such 
evils  sink  into  signiflcancc.  compared  with 
the  national^  liberal  and  cosmovolilan 
ejririi  that  is  generated  only,  by  one 
aeknoK^edged  central  city  of  a  great 
country ;  that  shall  frown  donn  all  local 
animosities,  and  sectarian  bigotries,  and 
give  its  stamp  of  approval  to  tiie  political 
will  of  the  majority,  to  commercial  credit 
and  enterprise,  to'  medical  and  judicial 
knowledge,  and  to  general  literature  and 


education ;  as  well  as  become  *^  the  glass 
of  fashion  and  the  mould  of  ibrm ''  in 
matters  of  taste,  and  in  the  fine  arts ;  the 
value  of  which  is  now  universally  attested 
in  teaching  the  world 

**  To  live  like  brothers,  and  co^JunctlTe  all 
Emb«llbh  life." 

Bat,  as  we  have  before  observed,  New- 
York  is  only  beginning  to  devulope  her- 
self, and  Qyary  dJay  is  tending  to  make  her 
what  she  inevitably  must  l)e,  in  spite  of 
the  jealous  op^wsition  of  neighboring 
towns,  the  queen  city  of  the  Atlantic — the 

?-eat  metroix)lis  of  the  West.  New- 
orkers  are  too  much  absorbed  in  their 
schemes  of  business  and  pleasure  to  take 
heed  of  the  rivalries  and  jealousies  of  their 
neighbors;  they  find  the  wealth  of  the 
world  pouring  mto  their  hands,  and  have 
no  time  to  waste  upon  the  angry  feelings 
of  those  who  envy  their  more  fortunate 
condition.  The  comjJaint  that  New- York 
is  the  worst  governed  city  in  the  Union, 
and  the  most  neglected  by  its  own  inhabi- 
tants, is,  unquestionably,  well  founded  as 
relates  to  the  management  of  its  munici- 
pal affairs ;  but  then  this  mismanagement 
and  neglect,  however  much  they  lead  to 
inconveniences  and  disorders,  are  owing 
to  the  rapid  growth  of  the  city,  and  the 
overwhelming  flood  of  business  constantly 
pouring  in  upon  the  people  which  give 
them  no  time  to  attend  to  public  affairs. 


Fjut  Siit^enth  ttrset  rppodtr  Si.  G*cr](ii'a  Phur'-b. 


New- York  Da^erreoiyped. 


244 

Tf  things  go  wrong 
in  the  citv  goyem- 
ment,  if  the  streets 
are  neglected,  if  the 
public  purse  is  phm- 
dered,  if  the  taxes 
are  high,  our  citizens 
console  themselves 
with  the  reflection 
that  their  own  pri- 
vate affairs  are  all 
right,  their  private 
residences  are  ex- 
ternally beautiful 
and  internally  well 
arranged,  and  the 
taxes  can  easily  be 
borne. 

Broadway  will 
soon  cease  to  be  the 
main  artery  of  the 
city  and  will  become 
a  mere  channel  for 
the  commercial  life 
of  the  city  to  ebb 
and  flow  in ;  it  ter- 
minates, properly,  at 
Union  Square,  and 
above  this  point  lies 
now  the  most  beau- 
tiful part  of  the  city ; 
nearly  every  one  of 
the  illustrations  we 
have  given,  in  this 
article,  of  the  domes- 
tic architecture  of 
New- York  are  of 
examples  in  streets 

above  Union  Square.  The  finest  residen- 
ces are  to  be  found  in  the  magnificent 
avenues  which  stretch  away  through  the 
centre  of  the  island  towards  the  Ilarlem 
river ;  of  these  the  Fifth  and  Second  ave- 
nues are  now  the  noblest,  and  present  the 
most  splendid  ranges  of  private  residences. 
Crossing  these  magnificent  streets  at  right 
angles,  and  leading  fiDm  river  to  river, 
are  Fourteenth.  Twenty- third,  and  Thirty- 
seventh  streets,  each  of  them  a  hundred 
feet  in  width,  and  containing  residences  of 
great  beauty  and  truly  splendid  propor- 
tions. Every  street  below  Union  Square 
is  destined  to  be  converted  to  business 
purposes,  but  it  must  be  many  years  be- 
fore commerce  will  invade  the  sanctity  of 
the  great  avenues  above  it,  excepting 
those  that  have  been  devoted  to  trade  in 
the  beginning,  such  as  the  Third,  Fourth. 
Seventh,  and  Ninth  Avenues;  regions  or 
which  many  old  inhabitants  who  reside 
below  Union  Square  know  hardly  more 
than  they  do  of  Belgravia  or  the  Boule- 
vards.   The  illustrations  in  this  article  do 


[Maich 


St.  G«orK**»  Rectory,  StxtoenUi-«ln«U 


but  indicate  the  general  character  of  oar 
new  streets,  for  there  are  many  nol^le 
squares  and  places  from  which  we  have 
not  taken  a  single  example.  Union 
Square,  Madison  Square,  (jmm&tcy  Park, 
Stuy vesant  Square,  and  Tompkins  Square 
all  contain  private  residences  of  palatial 
pretensions,  which  have  been  erected 
within  these  few  years  past ;  then,  there 
are  the  Second  Avenue,  Madison  AvenDe, 
Fourteenth-street,  and  Lexington  ATenae, 
from  which  we  have  borrowed  nothing, 
although  cither  of  them  might  have  fur- 
nished a  greater  number  of  examples  of 
fine  houses  than  we  have  given.  New- 
York  is  no  longer  what  Cooper  the  novel- 
ist called  it,  "an  extension  of  common 
places ; "  wealth  and  fashion  have  begim 
to  crystallize  in  certain  spots  which  they 
have  appropriated  as  their  own  domain, 
and  natural  centralization  is  accomplish- 
ing for  our  society  what  laws  could  never 
effect. 

The  growing  scarcity  and  deamess  of 
building  lots  are  producing  a  great  rerolo- 


1864.] 


Private  Bemdencei, 


245 


tion  in  the  economy  of  domestic  d  weUinp:s ; 
the  whole  city  is  laid  oat  in  lots  of  twenty- 
five  feet  front  and  a  hundred  feet  in  depth, 
on  the  supposition  of  a  perfect  equality  in 
the  social  condition  of  every  family.  But,  it 
has  been  found  convenient  for  some  fami- 
lies to  live  in  houses  of  smaller  dimensions, 
while  some  others  require  larger;  and 
two  houses  are  now  sometimes  constructed 
on  one  lot,  while  the  majority  of  the  new 
buildings  are  not  more  than  twenty  feet 
in  front;  and  it  has  been  found  that  quite 
as  spacious  rooms  may  be  had  in  a  house 
of  twenty  feet  front,  as  in  the  old  style  of 
houses  built  on  a  full  sized  lot.  The  new 
style,  instead  of  cutting  off  a  hall  or  entry 
of  five  feet  from  the  parlors,  divides  the 


basement  story,  or  first  fioor,  into  two 
apartments  of  equal  width,  one  serving  as 
a  hall  and  the  other  as  an  office,  and 
putting  the  parlors  on  the  second  floor, 
the  whole  width  of  the  house,  with  a  ves- 
tibule between  the  two,  making  a  suite  of 
three  handsome  rooms  when  the  sliding 
doors  arc  thrown  open.  The  houses  in 
Sixteenth- street,  of  which  we  have  given 
an  engraving,  are  constructed  in  this 
manner,  on  lots  but  nineteen  feet  in  width, 
and  are  much  more  spacious,  elegant,  and 
convenient  than  any  of  the  old  style  of 
twenty-five  feet  houses  we  have  ever  seen. 
Many  of  the  new  blocks  on  the  Fifth 
Avenue  constructed  in  this  manner,  though 
of  even  a  smaller  frontage,  have  a  very 


Block  in  Tw«Bti0tb-«tre«t  eora^r  Siith  Awnue. 


hnposing  and  elegant  appearance,  while 
the  interiors  are  finished  with  a  degree  of 
splendor  which  could  not  have  b^n  in- 
dulged in  by  their  owners  in  houses  of 
gremter  extent  The  improved  methods 
of  lighting  and  warming  houses,  and  the 
use  of  Oroton  water,  together  with  the 
(eenerml  system  of  drainage  now  almost 
universally  adopted  have  led  to  great 
eoonomy  of  space  in  the  construction  of 
city  dwellings,  and  it  seems  hanlly  pos- 
sible that  any  thing  more  compact,  cosy, 
oomfbrtable  and  elegant  in  the  shape  of 
1  dwelling  house  will  ever  be  invented, 
tkan  the  first  class  houses  now  built  in 
the  upper  part  of  the  dty.    Painted  ceil- 


ings, gilded  cornices,  and  floors  of  colored 
marbles,  or  inlaid  with  vari-colored  woods 
were  once  very  rare,  even  in  the  houses 
of  the  wealthiest  merchants ;  but  now 
these  elegancies  arc  so  conunon  that  their 
absence  would  be  much  more  likely  to 
excite  remark  than  their  presence. 

Too  many  of  the  better  class  of  houses 
in  New- York  are  of  a  monumental  cha- 
racter, solid  in  structure,  massive  in  ap- 
pearance, and  calculated  only  for  the  oc- 
cupancy' of  families  with  almost  princely 
incomes.  They  are  too  costly  to  bo  occu- 
pied by  the  descendants  of  those  who  con- 
struct them,  and  can  be  turned  to  no  pro- 
fitable account  by  any  one  who   may 


246 


New-Ywh  Daguerrtoiyped, 


[March 


purchase  them ;  the 
absence  of  a  law  of 
primogeniture  will 
prevent  them  from 
ever  gaining  an  hifs- 
torical  interest,  for 
they  cannot  remain 
long  in  the  occu- 
pancy of  the  same 
family,  and  must  of 
necessity  come  to  an 
ignoble  destiny  very 
soon  after  their  own- 
ers have  deserted 
them.  Wo  should 
imagine  that  such 
considerations  as 
these  would  be  an 
effoctual  bar  to  the 
ci-ection  of  large  and 
costly  houses  in  such 
a  city  as  New- York, 
where  fortunes  are 
no  sooner  accumu- 
lated than  they  are 
dispersed,  on  the 
death  of  their  pos- 
sessors, and  families 
rise  and  fall  continu- 
ally like  the  waves 
of  the  ocean.  The 
wealthy  merchant 
builds  himself  a  pal- 
ace to-day  which 
will  be  inhabited  by  the  son  of  his  porter 
to-morrow ;  or  at  the  best  be  used  as  a 


WmI  Twtnty-flnUttfMt  ften  Fiftk  Avcbm. 


boarding-house  by  the  widow  of  his  derk. 
There  are  now  remaining  in  New- York 


'^—  -^-  ^li^i^i^^Sr^^' 


Loodoa  Ttrnm,  Wwt  TwrntT-tliirri-ilrMt. 


18A4.] 


Private  Besidenees. 


247 


bat  two  of  the  fine  old 
mansions  which  wore  built 
before  the  Revolution,  nnd 
one  of  them  is  occupied  as  an 
emigrant  boarding-houfle. 
and  the  other  as  a  restaur- 
ant. If  their  builders  could 
hare  foreseen  the  base  uses 
to  which  they  have  come, 
they  would  probably  have 
taken  less  pains  and  pride 
in  their  erection.  Where 
the  laws  of  primogeniture 
prevail,  a  man  may  well 
take  pride  in  building  and 
ornamenting  a  mansion 
which  he  feels  assured  will 
be  inhabited  through  all 
time  by  his  descendants; 
but  where  it  is  quite  cer- 
tain that  his  house  must 
pass  into  the  possession  of 
strangers  as  soon  as  he 
leaves  it,  it  can  hardly  be 
expected  that  one  should 
build  as  though  he  were 
founding  a  dynasty.  Yet  our 
merchants  and  limd  specu- 
lators do  build  themselves 
houses  of  sufficient  solidity 
and  grandeur  to  satisfy  the 
architectural  sentiment  of 
even  the  exacting  author 
of  the  ''Seven  Lamps,"  who 
maintains  that  dwelling 
houses  ought  to  be  built  as 
durably  as  the  pyramids. 
For  our  own  part,  we  ought  to  feel 
grateful  to  these  men  who  arc  willing 
to  lavish  their  wealth  in  the  erection  of 
costly  houses  which  so  beautify  our  streets 
and  thoroughfares,  and  render  a  walk 
through  our  avenues  as  agreeable  as  a  visit 
to  a  gallery  of  art ;  vet  we  cannot  help 
thinking  that  so  much  wealth,  such  stores 
of  valuable  materials,  and  so  much  intelli- 
gent Iftbor  as  they  have  cost,  might  better 
serv«  the  cause  of  human  happiness  by 
being  employed  in  other  ways.  But  we 
will  not  qnaml  with  those  who  contribute 
in  any  manner  to  the  public  welfare,  even 
though  in  doing  so  they  have  no  higher 
object  than  self-glorification.  The  exces- 
sive omamentatkm  cf  the  street  fronts  of 
some  of  the  new  houses  '*  up  towu,"  re- 
mind one  of  the  anecdote  of  a  noble  archi- 
tect in  London,  who  built  himself  a  very 
showy  house  after  his  own  designs,  and 
was  advised  by  Lord  Chesterfield  to  hire 
the  house  opposite,  that  he  might  enjoy 
the  view  of  his  own  mansion. 

The  use  of  iron  and  glass  are  effecting 
an  ardiitectural  revolution  in  the  con- 


Boweiy  Savinipi'  Bank. 

stniction  of  stores  and  warehouses,  and  it 
will  not  be  long,  wo  imagine,  before  these 
materials  will  enter  more  largely  than 
they  have  done  into  the  construction  of 
private  dwellings ;  and  the  time  is  prob- 
ably not  vcr}'  fur  distant  when  we  shall 
have  to  live  in  those  brittle  mansions 
which  make  people  proverbially  cautious 
about  throwing  missiles  at  their  neighbors. 
In  the  meanwhile,  the  new  city  that  is 
springing  up  beyond  the  sound  of  the 
busy  wheels  of  trade,  consists  of  solid  and 
substantial  structures,  which  will  outlast 
many  generations  of  our  posterity,  if  no 
disturbing  causes  interfere  to  prevent 
their  gradual  decay.  A  law  has  been  en- 
acted authorizing  the  formation  of  a  park 
beyond  the  present  lines  of  city  improve- 
ment which  will  convert  the  central  part 
of  the  island  on  which  New- York  is  built 
into  a  pleasure  ground,  around  which  will 
spring  up  terraces,  villas,  and  blocks  of 
dwelling  houses  excelling  in  beauty  and 
magnificence  any  we  can  now  boast  of 
in  the  New  World,  and  giving  new 
ideas  of  the  beneficent  principle  of  de- 


848 


NeW'Tork  Daguerreotyped, 


[Mareh 


mocracy,  which  permits  the  mind  to 
expand  to  its  utmost  possibilities.  The 
great  obstacle  to  architectural  improve- 
ment and  embellishment  in  this  countr}*^, 
has  heretofore  been  the  existing  structures 
of  the  Old  World,  in  imitation  of  which 
nearly  all  our  public  and  private  edifices 
have  been  built.  Hence  our  streets  have 
been  filled  with  costly  and  meaningless 
copies  of  Grecian  porticoes,  of  Qothicized 
dwellings,  of  ambitious  imitations  of  ba- 
ronial castles,  Egyptian  tombs,  turreted 
churches^  useless  campanile  towers,  and 
every  thmg  else  in  the  shape  of  a  house 
of  which  a  drawing  could  be  found  in  a 
book.  Our  architecture  can  hardly  be 
called  eclectic,  though  it  is  composed  of 
parts  of  every  known  style  that  has  been 
in  vogue  since  the  days  of  Noah,  because 
it  is  rather  a  jumble,  than  a  selection 
of  peculiarities.  The  great  hope  of  our 
national  success  in  art  rests  upon,  our 
achievements  in  ship-building,  the  greatest 
of  the  arts,  for,  in  that  department  of  in- 
dustry, wo  have  been  thrown  directly 
upon  the  resources  of  our  own  genius. 
Europe  and  the  past  had  nothing  to  offer 
us  worthy  of  imitation ;  we  were  placed 
in  circumstances  wholly  new,  and  we  re- 
quired new  instruments  to  enable  us  to 
achieve  our  purposes.  The  merchant  who 
saw  no  absurdity  in  going  back  to  the 
time  of  Pericles  or  Queen  Elizabeth  to 


find  a  model  for  his  town  house  or  ooimtry 
villa,  would  have  laughed  at  the  folly  of 
building  his  packet  sUp  after  the  manner 
of  a  Greek  galley,  or  in  the  shape  of  the 
gallant  vessels  that  were  to  encounter  the 
Spanish  Armada.  Yet,  in  the  esthetic 
sense,  there  would  be  no  greater. folly  in 
one  case  than  in  the  other.  The  difierence 
in  the  two  cases  is  that  the  ship  would  be 
unprofitable,  but  the  house  might  be  in- 
habited. When  we  shall  have  outgrown 
our  childish  dependence  upon  the  Old 
World,  then  we  shall  be  able  to  boast  of 
our  own  architects  as  we  do  now  of  our 
ship-builders.  As  yet,  there  is  no  such 
person  as  an  American  architect  whose 
name  is  known  beyond  the  circle  of  his 
own  employers ;  nobody  a.sks  who  de- 
signed this  building  or  that,  our  Wrens, 
Joneses,  and  Palladios  have  yet  to  be  de- 
veloped ;  bift  the  names  of  our  ship- 
builders are  among  our  national  boasts, 
and  George  Steers,  the  yacht  builder,  has 
become  renowned  wherever  the  art  of 
navigation  is  practised. 

As  private  dwellings  form  the  subject 
of  the  present  article,  we  have  not  felt  at 
liberty  to  give  any  statistics  of  the  cost 
of  the  buildings  noticed,  or  to  make  any 
part  of  them  the  subject  of  illustration  or 
remark,  excepting  such  as  are  exposed  to 
the  public  eye  and  which  may  be  regarded 
as  legitimate  objects  of  public  comment 


of  FtAh  Atcbm  lad  Thin]r-««TMiA-4UXw«u 


1654.] 


249 


THE   GREAT   CEMETERY. 


P<a<mmMogy  ^  New-  Tort :  eorUaininff  dsteHp- 
tian§  of  (V  Organic  Semaint  qf  the  Lowmr  and 
MidUtU  JHvMan*  qf  Iks  Nem-Yorh  Sygtem ; 
equiwUmt  to  tiks  Silurian  and  Lower  Devonian 
Boeke  of  Jfurope.  By  Jambb  Hall.  Yolumes  L 
•ad  IL  ARmqj  :  PnbUsbed  on  Behalf  of  the  State 
ofNew-Yovfc. 

THERE  is  a  place  of  burial,  older  and 
i  grander  tluui  the  uninstructed  mind 
of  man  ever  imagined,  ordained  when  the 
foundations  of  the  earth  were  laid,  destined 
to  receive,  and  to  perpetuate  to  the  end, 
the  nkortal  frames  of  all  living  forms  which 
our  planet  has  sustained.  And  in  their 
preaervmg  epitaphs  which  cannot  bo  dis- 
trusted, monumental  statues  and  relievos 
above  the  suspicion  of  incorrectness,  nature 
herself  has  provided  for  those  who,  dur- 
ing all  time,  shall  desire  to  trace  back  the 
long  order  and  sequence  of  the  past ;  a 
series  of  inscriptions,  from  which  the 
patience  of  the  student  and  the  earnest 
Tienl  of  the  historian  may  form  a  record 
of  most  certain  authenticitv. 

By  a  singular  paradox,  the  conservative 
agent  by  which  all  the  past  is  made  per- 
manent, the  repository  of  alphabets  whidi 
can  never  become  obsolete,  and  of  inscrip- 
tions which  can  never  bo  effaced,  is 
the  element  which  has  been  proverbially 
the  type  of  wasting  restlessness  and  in- 
stability. 

The  ram  which  dashes  on  the  hills, 
slowly,  but  surely,  wears  away  their  sub- 
stance. The  originally  pure  element  de- 
scends every  slope,  loaded  with  solid  earth, 
eiUier  dissolved  in  a  limpid  stream,  or 
suspended  in  a  turbid  torrent  The  mould 
of  every  field,  the  banks  of  every  ravincL 
the  snraoe  or  ev^y  rock  are  wasting  and 
wearing.  Slowly  indeed,  for  in  few  in- 
gtaaoes  can  the  brief  experience  of  man's 
obwrvation  percdve  the  change.  But  it 
it  not  tiw  lete  real  and  certain.  Since  the 
daj  when  the  first  clouds  shed  their  bur- 
den an  tiie  earth,  and  the  eldest  of  rivers 
begm  to  ifeel  its  «low  way  to  the  deepest 
basin,  the  work-  of  abrasion  has  gone 
steadky  on  imtil  now,  and  it  must  go  on 
yMHb  earth  and  ocean  remain.  Every 
exposed  indi  of  the  earth's  surface  is  send- 
ii^its  tribute  through  the  ever-flowing 
men  to  the  sea.  Out  horn  myriads  of 
estuaries  pour  the  fr-esh  floods  laden  with 
tlie  waste  of  the  land.  Far  away  iW)m 
shore,  swept  out  by  tides  and  cufirents, 
float  the  particles  brought  from  the  pla- 
tesos  of  Central  Asia,  or  the  prairies  of 
Nebraska;  mii^led  with  others,  worn 
firom  myriads  of  leagues  of  coast  by  the 

▼OL,  ui.— 17 


unceasing  action  of  the  billows.  In  the 
still  deptibs  of  ocean  they  settle  down,  pre- 
cipitated in  an  impalpable  sediment  but 
so  slowly,  that  months  elapse  while  it  at- 
tains the  thickness  of  the  pulp  which  on 
the  paper-cylinder  formed  this  white  sheet 
Though  m  many  local  instances,  near  the 
mouths  of  rapid  rivers,  or  coasts  worn  by 
impetuous  currents,  coarse  and  heavy 
sands  are  deposited  much  more  rapidly, 
the  general  process  must  be  exceedingly 
slow.  For  the  sea-deposits  can  be  formed 
no  faster  than  the  waste  of  the  dry  land 
supplies  material,  and  the  filling  up  of  the 
ocean's  bed  must  be  as  imperceptible  in 
its  progress  as  is  the  wearing  down  of  the 
continents.  Slow  as  the  change  is,  yet 
year  after  year,  century  after  century, 
cycle  after  cycle  it  contmues,  and  new 
layers  are  added  to  the  increasing  pile  in 
every  age.  The  deposits  formed  durine 
this  century  overlie  and  conceal  those  or 
the  last ;  beneath  these  lie  those  of  pre- 
ceding ages ;  and,  at  the  base  of  all,  are 
buried  those  of  the  first  period  of  creation. 

But  it  is  not  only  the  inanimate  dust  of 
earth  which  is  thus  carried  into  this  great 
storehouse.  There  the  remains  of  innu- 
merable forms  of  fishes  and  all  aquatic 
things  lie,  and  settle  into  the  oozy  bottom. 
Thither  fioat  reeds,  and  leaves,  and  tree- 
trunks,  drifted  from  every  shore.  Thither 
tend  the  skeletons  of  drowned  quadrupeds 
of  a  thousand  species,  swept  down  the 
swollen  rivers  and  across  the  surf  far  out 
to  sea.  There,  too,  sink  the  bones  of  sea- 
fowl  and  exhausted  land  birds.  And 
there,  in  this  latter  age  of  roan's  dominion, 
lie  scattered  over  the  bottom  the  lonely 
remains  of  thousands  who  die  on  the 
ocean ;  and  thither,  year  after  year,  de- 
scend hundreds  of  dhips,  to  leave  their 
oaken  ribs  for  ever  in  that  region  of  nether 
gloom. 

Over  all  ^reads  the  sediment  Softly 
and  slowly  through  the  green  middle 
depths  it  settles  downward,  and  enshrouds 
every  relic  in  its  folds.  Film  on  film, 
inch  on.  inch,  fiithom  on  fathom,  from  the 
beginning  of  the  world  it  has  accumulated, 
while  the  relics  of  all  living  forms  of  earth, 
or  air,  or  ocean,  have  been  committed  to 
its  keeping.  And  just  as  the  earth  now 
borne  to  the  Atlantic  from  the  rivers  of 
Europe  and  America,  is  beginning  to  bury 
the  huge  timbers  of  the  lost  steamer  Pre- 
sident and  the  skeletons  of  her  crew, — so 
does  the  deepest  and  oldest  layer  hidden 
below  contain  the  remains  of  those  races 
which  populated  land  and  sea,  when  that 


d50 


The  Great  Ometery. 


[ 


first  and  lowest  foot  of  the  series  was 
deposited. 

There  is  the  Great  Cemetery.  Layer 
above  layer  are  spread  its  grare^  over 
millions  of  square  miles.  Tier  above  tier 
lie  its  tenants  in  one  great  series,  from 
the  lowest  to  the  highest  in  place,  from 
the  earliest  to  the  latest  in  date.  There 
are  buried  in  darkness  the  records  of  all 
past  time.  The  once  soft  ooze  and  silt 
which  enveloped  them,  has  been  setting 
and  hardening  through  unknovm  ages, 
until  its  contents  are  now  hermetically 
sealed  up,  as  closely  and  imperishably  as 
the  heart  of  Bmce  was  bound  in  its  invest- 
ing mass  of  hardened  bitumen. 

These  relics  lie  beyond  our  grasp.  No 
sounding  lead  or  dredge  can  reach  below 
the  newest  and  softest  layer  of  their  burial 
ci&y.  They  are  inaccessible,  and  while 
the  imagination  is  excited  at  the  thought 
of  their  existence,  the  mind  admits  the 
hopelessness  of  solving  the  mystery  which 
surrounds  them. 

Tet  is  there  no  possibility  of  obtaining 
some  glimpses  of  these  secrets?  In  some 
quarter  of  the  dobe  where  volcanic  fires 
bum  fiercest,  where  their  forces  have  de- 
pressed the  land  beneath  the  sea,  and 
mled  up  the  ocean-bed  to  become  dry 
land, — perhaps  on  the  coast  of  Chili  or 
among  the  islands  of  the  Pacific, — ^may 
not  the  elevation  of  some  old  searbottom, 
and  its  breaking  up  by  clefts  and  fissures, 
have  exposed  some  part  of  this  vast  necro- 
polis? Is  it  not  practicable  to  find  some 
such  locality,  where  we  may  trace  back 
the  downwaini  series,  and  distinguish  the 
remains  of  later  centuries  from  the  deeper 
buried  relics  of  more  distant  ages  ?  And, 
—as  the  antiquary  digging  in  tne  mounds 
near  the  Ohio  or  the  Dnieper,  or  in  the 
long-accumlating  sands  which  overspread 
the  shores  of  the  NUcl  recognizes  in  the 
Cushion  and  workmansnip  of  the  articles 
which  he  finds,  evidence  of  the  character 
of  vanished  nations  and  the  civilization  of 
•ante-historic  periods. — ^may  we  not,  from 
tthe  relics  of  these  old  ocean-sands,  learn 
whether  the  living  things  of  the  early 
ages  were  like  those  of  our  own  day ;  or 
whether  a  variety  of  plan  and  different 
forms  of  animated  existence  have  main- 
tamed  a  perpetual  change,  and  the  present 
tenants  of  earth  are  but  the  latest  develop- 
ment of  one  long  and  varying  series? 

This  is  not  a  dream,  but  a  reasonable 
speculation.  That  such  remains  exist, 
seems  almost  certain.  That,  though  inac- 
cessible in  their  original  position,  the^  may 
b^  natural  causes  be  brought  withm  our 
view,  is  not  improbable. 

And,  to  drop  at  once  the  theoretical 


course  of  thought  which  we  hav< 
pursuing,  and  pass  abruptly  to  the 
ment  of  proved  facts,— they  are 
our  reach.  Not  only  in  remote  m 
lated  localities,  but  almost  every ' 
the  successive  tiers  of  this  Great 
tery.  with  the  remains  of  its  innun 
dead,  have  been  uplifted  to  light  a: 
Every  hill  built  up  of  layers  of  stoi 
portion  of  this  universal  monument 
maining  mass  of  vast  uplifted  tra 
old  sea-deposits ;  which,  originally  i 
from  the  waste  of  earlier  continents 
since  their  upheaval  been  in  turn 
into  ravines  and  valleys ;  and  from 
our  rivers  are  daily  returning  thei 
stance  to  the  sea  whence  thev  arose 
to  entomb  anew  the  forms  of  later  i 

In  spite  of  au  hundred  scientific 
and  of  the  boasted  diffusion  of  pr 
knowledge,  this  simple  assertion  v 
read  by  many  with  entire  incredolii 
score  of  difficulties  and  objection 
suggest  themselves,  to  all  of  whi< 
answer  is  sufficient,  '*  Qo  and  see." 
evidence  is  open  to  all,  in  the  g/orgp 
cascades  of  Trenton, — along  the 
banks  of  Lake  Erie, — in  the  ledges 
Genesee. — in  almost  every  quarry  b( 
the  Hudson  and  the  Rocky  Mounti 

There  are  to  be  exammed  the 
relics  hoarded  up  by  the  primeval 
There,  from  its  hardened  slime  and 
may  be  collected  in  abundance  thi 
tered  fitunes  and  imprints  of  its  U 
Each  stony  cast  was  a  living  thing 
that  rock  was  a  loose,  soft  mass 
the  water,  thousands  of  feet  bel 
present  place. 

There  in  abundance  are  shells, 
entire  and  closed  as  when  living, 
open  an4  fiattened  out,  others  Sai 
their  valves  separated  and  mixed  < 
edly  together. 

There  the  large  and  beantifol  m 
lies  clenched  in  the  hardened  o* 
which  it  sank,  which  at  the  applical 
the  chisel  parts  off  and  reveals  the 
ful  outline,  the  striated  surfiice,  a 
curiously  chambered  interior.  Wit 
cavity  perhaps  lie  some,  tiny  contei 
ries,  forced  in  vrith  the  mud  whid 
its  apartment  when  first  vacated 
death  and  decay  of  its  builder  tenai 

There  are  spread  out  the  jointed  oo 
and  graceful  tufted  heads  of  the  enci 
— those  singular  links  between  ani 
beings  and  lower  organic  forms,  so 
dant  and  varied  during  early  perk 
few  and  rare  in  our  mcKlem  seas, 
are  the  vague  and  half  defined  impii 
of  the  seaweeds  of  that  ancient 
There  are  its  corals,  perfisct  in 


1854.] 


The  Oreat  Cemetery, 


251 


branch  and  pore, — some,  which  were  of 
parasitic  character,  still  attach^  to  the 
shell  on  which  they  began  to  grow.  There 
are  the  dissevered  joints  and  plates,  some- 
times the  entire  forms,  of  its  crustaceans, 
their  many-fiicetted  eyes  yet  distinct  as 
when  they  first  admitted  the  light  There 
are  the  oldest  of  all  starfishes,  with  their 
symmetrical  fonii  and  complicated  struc- 
tore  perfectly  preserved.  And  there,  on 
the  sandy  slab  which  was  once  the  mar- 
gin of  a  shoal  or  beach, — and  yet  retains 
the  ripple-marks  of  the  waves, — are  plain- 
ly visible  the  trails  of  shellfish,  which 
crawled  upon  it,  when  it  was  as  soft  and 
yielding  as  it  now  is  hard  and  unchange- 
able. We  have  said  that  it  is  a  seeming 
paradox  that  the  wasting  and  restless  sea 
should  be  the  means  of  perpetuating  the 
forms  of  the  beginning  even  to  the  end ; — 
it  is  also  the  strangest  of  truths,  that  the 
print  on  the  tidewashed  sands,  the  very 
proverbial  type  and  symbol  of  evanes- 
cence, should  thus  become  an  imperishable 
record. 

All  these  relics  which  occur  within  the 
limits  of  New- York,  collected  with  the 
utmost  patience,  studied  with  the  minutest 
care,  scrupulously  compared  with  both 
living  and  fossil  analogues  from  all  ex- 
plore regions,  grouped  together  in  their 
natural  association,  accurately  described 
and  figured,  fonn  the  subject  and  contents 
Of  the  work  referred  to  at  the  head  of 
this  article.  Belonging  to  some  of  the 
earliest  deposits  of  the  Great  Cemetery, 
they  are  of  the  most  interesting  and  in- 
structive character,  and  form^  so  far  as 
yet  finished,  the  most  valuable  collection  of 
their  kind  yet  made  in  any  country.  The 
form  of  the  territory  comprised  within  the 
state  of  New- York  displays  the  order  and 
suooession  of  the  layers  which  underlie  it 
with  remarkable  clearness,  while  the  relics 
imbedded  in  them  are  abundant  and  well 
preserved.  So  fortunate  an  opportunity 
for  research  occurring  within  this  State, 
has  been  prosecuted  with  a  liberality  of 
patronage  honorable  to  an  enlightened 
commonwealth,  and  with  an  ability  honor- 
able to  the  earnest  students  of  nature  to 
whom  the  task  has  been  committed ;  and 
the  result  is  a  contribution  of  the  first 
value  to  the  great  cause  of  "the  in- 
\  and  diffusion  of  knowledge  among 


lliese  handsome  yolumes  are  in  &ct  a 
collection  of  authentic  monumental  in- 
scriptions; not  indeed  a  history,  but  a 
magazine  of  historical  facts.  And  as  the 
splendid  works  depicting  the  remains  of 
Roman  art  disinterred  from  the  ashes  of 
YesaviuS;  furnish  the  historian  with  a 


multitude  of  facts  from  which  to  restore 
the  ago  of  the  Osasars — so  the  descriptions 
and  illustrations  of  this  and  similar  works 
will  supply  materials  from  which  the  in- 
finitely older  story  of  the  earth's  progress 
will  one  day  be  compiled. 

It  is  not  our  purpose  in  this  brief  article 
to  speak  of  the  details  of  these  volumes. 
The  most  cursory  reader  will  be  impressed 
with  the  evidence  of  care  and  accuracy 
presented  in  the  minute  descriptions  of 
some  seven  hundred  different  species  of 
fossils  which  they  comprise,  and  the  con- 
stant reference  to  European  works  in 
which  information  illustrative  of  the  sub- 
ject may  be  obtained.  The  engravings, 
(over  two  hundred  plates,  comprising  on 
an  average  six  or  eight  figures  each), 
not  only  present  striking  pictorial  repre- 
sentations, but  show  every  detail  of  struc- 
ture, and  the  very  texture  of  the  speci- 
men, so  that  the  plate  will  sometimes  bear 
magnifying  almost  like  the  original.  A 
little  examination  of  the  illustrations  of 
the  corals  and  crinoids  of  the  Niagara 
rocks,  and  of  the  trilobites  of  these  and 
of  the  Trenton  limestone,  will  show  how 
high  a  degree  of  artistic  excellence  has 
been  attained. 

We  have  spoken  of  this  work  as  a  valu- 
able contribution  to  the  general  and  catho- 
lic cause  of  science.  It  is  worth  a  few 
minutes'  reflection,  to  note  from  how 
many  quarters  contributions  of  the  same 
character,  drawn  from  widely-separated 
portions  of  the  same  vast  field,  are  being 
added  to  the  common  stock  of  know- 
ledge. 

Among  the  old  deposits  known  to  bo  of 
similar  antiquity  with  those  of  New-York 
(the  unbroken  continuity  of  which  to  the 
Mississippi  has  been  traced  bv  HaJl,  Owen, 
Whitney,  and  others),  are,  first,  tiiose  so 
early  explored  in  the  southwest  of  Eng- 
land by  Sir  Roderick  Murchison,  and  after- 
wards in  the  same  region  and  in  Ireland 
by  the  British  Geological  Survey.  In  the 
north  of  Russia,  Murchison  and  Dever- 
neuil  have  fojund  strata  with  similar  re- 
mains extending  for  hundreds  of  leagues. 
The  existence  of  extensions  of  the  same 
deposits  has  long  been  known  in  Scandi- 
navia and  near  the  Rhine.  Barrande  now 
sends  the  most  ample  illustrations  of  a 
vast  scries  of  the  same  age  in  Bohemia ; 
and  even  from  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope, 
and  the  stony  layers  of  the  Table  Moun- 
tain, arc  brought  relics  similar  to,  if  not 
identical  with,  those  of  the  slates  of  Cen- 
tral New- York.  The  separate  investiga- 
tions of  all  these  scattei^ed  observers  are 
gradually  consolidating  into  a  general  sys- 
tem, which  not  only  restores  the  living 


252 


Notes  from  my  Knapsack, 


[March 


forms  of  the  earliest  period,  bat  displays 
their  prevalenoe  over  half  the  globe. 

Amonp  the  higher  and  more  recent  lay- 
ers of  the  same  great  magazine  of  the 
past,  similar  explorations  lead  to  a  like 
result.  The  beautiful  yoge table  remains 
of  the  coal  rocks,  in  which  every  leaf  is 
perfect  in  all  its  nervures  and  fUrrows,  (for 
the  leaf  proves  to  be  no  more  a  consistent 
emblem  of  evanescence  than  the  footprint 
in  the  sand !)  are  traced  in  our  own  land, 
in  Oregon,  in  the  now  ice-bound  ledges  of 
Melville  Island,  in  Europe,  in  the  East 
Indies,  and  in  China. 

The  later  generic  forms  of  the  Jurassic 
period  were  not  less  cosmopolites  in  their 
day,  for  they  are  identified  in  the  Alps, 
the  Andes,  and  the  Himalayas. 

And  in  a  still  newer  department  of  the 
vast  series,  our  explorers  are  now  annu- 
ally bringing  from  the  Upper  Missouri 
•  numbers  of  skulls  and  bones,  which,  com- 
pared with  those  collected  byCuvier  in 
the  quarries  of  Paris,  prove  that  at  the 


same  period  the  "^  mighty  rhinoceros  wal- 
lowed at  will "  among  a  herd  of  nameless 
associates,  at  the  remote  points  where  now 
are  the  ravines  of  Nebraska,  and  the  fertile 
meadows  on  the  Seine. 

Fifty  years  since,  but  a  glimmer  of  light 
hung  around  a  feW  celebrated  localities, 
where  the  relics  of  extinct  races  were  too 
conspicuous  to  be  overlooked  —  barely 
enough  to  excite  curiosity,  and  fieuntly 
suggest  the  possibility  of  further  dis- 
covery. We  now  see  the  darkness  of  the 
past  dissolving,  and  the  outlines  of  the 
long-vanished  world  with  its  tenants  gra- 
dually and  dimly  appearing.  Every 
^ear  return  the  ardent  explorers,  report- 
ing further  progress  than  before,  bringing 
more  remains  discovered,  more  lost  forms 
restored^  more  truths  established.  And 
every  ensuing  year  will  show  a  still  fur- 
ther advance,  and  a  fuller  and  clearer 
revelation  of  the  mysteries  hidden  for  my- 
riads of  ages,  in  the  faithful  repositories  of 
the  Great  Cemetry. 


NOTES   PROM  MT  KNAPSACK. 

NUMBKX   U. 


BATTUl  OF  THB  PRBIDIO— C08TUMB— MSZIOAH  DXST— CLDCATB— A  DUKL— LAW^MXUTJLXT  B&USDnr— KSnSIT 
— OOLOmEL  HAKITBT— HULD  QUABTBtS    XH   UOnOK^OASTBOYILUI^THX    LADXB— HIQIR  AITS  MOBXIX»— 


THE  ordinary  incidents  of  Camp  Crockett 
— guard  duty,  drills,  and  parades — 
were  so  much  alike,  one  aay  with  another, 
that  we  were  indebted  to  the  town  for 
whatever  of  novelty  or  excitement  re- 
lieved our  sdoum  in  the  vicinity  of  San 
Antonio.  Of  excitement  there  was  cer- 
tainly no  lack,  whether  due  to  rumor  or 
reality ;  and  fact  and  ficticm  generally 
vied  with  each  other  in  givlhg  zest  to  the 
entertainment. 

Before  General  Wool's  arrival,  an  ex- 
pedition had  been  planned,  to  effect  the 
conquest  of  Mexico,  with  about  nine  hun- 
dred men.  Things  having  somewhat 
changed  since  the  time  of  Cortez,  the 
leader  had  returned  without  the  anticipated 
spoils.  Three  companies  of  the  command, 
however,  had  remained  near  the  Presidio 
de  Rio  Grande,  and  on  the  5th  of  Septem- 
ber, an  officer  arrived  from  that  point, 
witn  the  intelligence  that  the  detachment 
had  been  compelled  to  withdraw.  Two 
or  three  hundred  armed  Mexicans  very 


unexpectedly  made  their  appearance,  drove 
the  Texans  across  the  river,  and  captured 
the  supplies  which  had  been  accumulated 
on  the  southern  bank.  According  to  re- 
port, the  affair  was  the  closest  approziina- 
Uon  to  a  victory  that  the  Mexicans  made 
during  the  war,  the  Texans  having  retired 
in  such  hot  haste,  that,  although  the  enemy 
had  no  means  of  crossing  the  river,  and 
though  their  firing  had  been  fatal  to  one 
poor  mule,  every  thing  was  destroyed  or 
lelt  behind  that  mi^ht  b^  possibility  en- 
cumber the  fugitives  m  their  niffht.  HorsAs 
were  saddled  at  the  report  of  the  first  gun, 
and  the  redoubtables  ready  to  start  at  the 
earliest  glimpse  of  a  sombrero. 

The  result  of  the  court-martial  was 
what  had  been  fore^n,  and  the  facility 
with  which  the  American  mind  can  tdM>t 
itself  to  any  contingencv,  was  hazily 
illustrated  in  the  course  of  the  trial.  Uere 
was  a  purely  military  tribunal,  constituted 
of  men  taken  at  random  fix)m  the  various 
pursuits  of  lifo— fiumers,  laborers,  physi- 


1854.] 


Notes  from  my  Knapmck, 


253 


cians,  merchants,  and  lawyers,  but  no 
practical  military  men — and  ca^ed  upon 
to  decide  intricate  questions  of  fact  and 
law,  according  to  a  code  with  which  hardly 
one  could  have  had  any  previous  acquaint- 
ance; yet  the  proceedings  were  marked 
by  dignity,  decorum,  and  impartiality. 
Technical  distinctions,  legal  evasions,  or 
judicial  minimums,  may  possibly  some- 
times have  taken  the  place  of  what  in 
ordinary  military  courts  is  regulated  by 
the  usage  of  service,  but  it  may  safely  be 
affirmed  that  the  sound,  practical  common 
sense  of  the  members,  reached  a  correct 
conclusion.  Nor  is  it  improbable  that 
among  the  learned  Thebans,  thus  assem- 
bled, one  of  whom  is  not  less  celebrated 
in  the  literary  than  in  the  legal  world,  and 
whose  shrewdness  and  acumen  were  con- 
spicuous during  the  trial^ — the  judge  advo- 
cate— unread  in  the  pages  of  Coke,  Chitty, 
or  Blackstone — may  have  felt  himself,  in 
what  the  adjutan^general  of  the  army 
calls,  an  "  anomalous  position.'' 

There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and 
earth  than  were  dreamed  of  in  the  philo- 
sophy of  Horatio,  and  a  rare  thing  some- 
times turns  up  even  now,  foreign  to  the 
philosophy  of  Horatio's  successors.  What 
would  the  fair  Ophelia  have  thought  of 
straps  to  her  pantalettes  ?  Yet  this  fanci- 
ful idea  found  illustration  in  the  streets  of 
San  Antonio,  among  other  pleasing  varie- 
ties in  costume.  The  arrangement  may 
have  reference  to  exercise  on  horseback, 
the  damsels  riding  after  the  manner  of 
some  oriental  ladies,  not  sidewise,  but 
otherwise ;  or  possibly  in  this  warm  region 
of  rarified  atmosphere,  the  specific  gravity 
of  the  material,  may  give  it  a  tendency  in 
the  wrong  direction,  and  hence,  4c. 

This  mongrel  population,  realizes  any 
ideal  embodiment  of  laziness  and  vaga- 
bondism, of  which  the  elements  of  loafer- 
ism  may  be  considered  capable.  The  huts 
in  which  the  people  vegetate,  appear  to  be 
the  first  fruits  of  the  rudest  civilization, 
and  it  is  not  known,  even  by  old  residents 
from  the  United  States,  how.  or  why  the 
natiTes  subsist  They  neither  sow  nor 
reap ;  Tisible  occupation  they  have  none ; 
they  are  too  lazy  even  to  live  by  fishing. 
The  essence  of  their  vitality  is  probably 
found  in  red  pepper  or  chili,  £very  dish 
with  them  is  a  stew,  and  this  is  the  staple 
of  all  the  stews,  which  are  usually  fabri- 
cated in  quantities  to  supply  the  family  a 
week.  During  this  period  the  overt  efforts 
of  men  and  women  are  limited  to  roammg 
about  the    streets,  with    their  children 


sometimes  almost,  and  sometimes  alto- 
gether naked,  or  puffing  their  cigarritca 
— ^made  of  paper  and  tobacco — at  their 
own  doors.  Their  entire  lives  are  con- 
tinuous episodes  of  viciousness  and  indo- 
lence. A  fearful  number  of  the  females 
are  given  over  to  hopeless  prostitution; 
there  are  no  well  defined  distinctions  of 
class,  and  vice  and  virtue  are  indiscri- 
minately thrust  into  the  same  wretched 
kennel. 

Fandangoes  were  a  frequent  source  of 
trouble,  in  consequence  of  the  mixed  cha- 
racter of  our  troops,  and  on  one  occasion, 
ji  very  serious  disturbance  had  its  origin  at . 
"one  of  these  fashionable  assemblies.  So 
much  of  martial  law  had  been  introduced 
into  that  obsolete  mass  of  mud,  masonry, 
and  mankind,  as  the  establishment  of  a 
nightly  patrol  for  the  preservation  of  or- 
der, there  being  no  civil  police ;  and  hearing 
an  unusual  demonstration  at  the  nightly 
gathering,  a  sergeant  and  file  of  men  re- 
paired to  the  spot.  A  gentleman  just  dis- 
charged from  a  Texas  company,  beautifully 
excited  by  whiskey,  with  all  his  latent 
chivalry  roused  to  fever  heat,  was  found 
making  night  hideous  with  a  party  of  his 
drunken  associates.  The  sergeant  of  the 
guard,  after  repeated  admonitions  to  him  to 
be  silent,  without  effect,  proposed  arresting 
him  and  transferring  him  to  the  guard- 
house. But  the  gallant  son  of  the  south, 
"  ardent  as  a  southern  sun  "  and  stiff  po- 
tations "could  make  him,"  declined  ac- 
ceding to  so  fair  a  proposition,  and  threat- 
ened to  shoot  the  first  man  who  should 
attempt  to  execute  it  He  was  taken  at 
his  word,  and  the  sergeant  being  the  "  first 
man,"  received .  a  pistol  ball  in  his  knee. 
The  bone  was  much  shattered,  and  though 
amputation  did  not  follow,  the  man  was 
made  a  cripple  for  life.*  The  chivalric 
brawler,  as  soon  as  he  had  perpetrated 
the  act,  began  begging  most  piteously  for 
his  life,  fearing  that  he  might  be  sacrificed 
at  once  to  the  just  indignation  of  the 
Illinois  volunteers.  They  did  not,  how- 
ever^ extend  to  him  this  sort  of  summary 
justice,  but  kept  him  in  custody,  until 
General  Wool  directed  his  delivery  to  the 
sheriff.  Proper  deference  to  the  civil 
authority,  doubtless  indicated  this  dispo- 
sition of  the  case,  though  the  immediate 
consequence  thereof  was  perhaps  unfor- 
tunate. Much  of  the  civil  power  of  Texas 
was  at  that  time  in  the  transition  state 
from  Lynch  to  Littleton,  and  this  was  too 
large  a  demand  upon  its  authority.  After 
three  weary  days  of  ermined  industry,  of 


*  TliroQgb  the  patriotio  exertions  of  tbe  gallant  Colonel  Biwell,  of  lUinola,  it  1b  believed  tfa«t  •  pension  to 
tUi  irartfay  man  was  granted  at  tbe  last  session  of  Oongresa 


254 


Notes  from  my  Knapsack, 


[March 


legal  labor  and  judicial  incubation,  the 
blind  representatives  of  a  legal  fiction,  re- 
cognized by  courtesy  as  a  court,  arrived 
at  the  sage  conclusion  that  the  man  ought 
to  be  "  ^und  over."  The  recognizance 
was  supposed  to  be  imaginary,  and  thus 
the  "  bright  particular  star"  of  this  south- 
em  constellation,  was  again  permitted  to 
shed  forth  his  lambent  rays  with  undi- 
minished effulgence  over  the  society  of 
which  he  was  so  eminently  the  ornament. 
Our  experience  of  the  health  of  San 
Antonio  and  its  vicinity,  was  very  much 
at  variance  with  the  reports  we  had  re- 
ceived of  its  salubrity,  before  our  arrival. 
Burials  occurred  in  camp  almost  daily. 
Of  one  company,  numbering  about  eighty, 
upwards  of  forty  were,  at  one  time,  on  the 
sick  report.  Regulars  and  volunteers, 
officers  and  men,  suffered  alike.  Many 
were  compelled  to  resign  or  to  get  their 
•  discharge  on  account  of  sickness.  Not- 
withstanding the  thousand  and  one  reports 
industriously  circulated  by  Texans  and 
Texan  editors,  about  the  health  of  this 
place,  as  surpassing  that  of  any  portion 
of  the  North  American  continent,  and 
notwithstanding  certain  facetious  gentle- 
men have  laid  a  very  heavy  tax  upon 
their  humor  and  their  brains,  to  prove 
that  a  residence  there  is  almost  equivalent 
to  taking  a  bond  of  fate,  and  that  the 
spring  of  Ponce  de  Leon  is  no  longer  a 
fable  since  the  elixir  vitce  is  found  near 
the  head  waters  of  the  San  Antonio ;  it  is 
a  fact  that  in  the  army  assembled  there  of 
less  than  three  thousand  men,  the  average 
number  of  sick  ^as  very  near  four  hun- 
dred. Nor  can  it  be  urged  that  the  illness 
of  these  people  vras  due  to  their  want  of 
acclimation,  or  to  the  exposures  and  irre- 
gularities of  camp  life ;  for  this  proportion 
was  probably  not  greater  than  that  among 
the  older  mhabitants  of  the  town.  In- 
deed, there,  it  is  said,  coffins  were  called 
for  faster  than  the  lumber  could  be  pro- 
cured for  their  fabrication^  and  the  cracked 
bells  of  the  old  Cathohc  church,  were 
almost  daily  heard  tinkling  the  morning 
and  evening  requiem  over  the  departed. 
Yet  this  was  in  the  most  salubrious  part 
of  Texas ;  that  portion  to  which  all  eyes 
are  directed  by  the  inhabitants,  whenever 
any  thing  is  insinuated  prejudicial  to  the 
country.  Health  blooms  there,  every 
stranger  is  assured,  in  perennial  freshness 
and  vigor ;  and  the  invalids  of  every  clime, 
and  victims  of  every  disease,  are  invited 
to  resort  thither,  as  to  the  fountain  visited 
of  old  by  the  angel,  and  be  healed.  They 
come,  and  find  the  firuits  are  but  apples 
on  the  Dead  Sea's  shore. 
On  the  12th,  an  unfortunate  difficulty 


occurred  between  two  of  our  Dlinois  phy- 
sicians ;  one  a  surgeon  regularly  appointed 
by  the  president,  the  other  an  acting  sur- 
geon temporarily  commissioned  by  the 
governor  of  Illinois,  to  accompany  the 
regiments  until  superseded  in  the  regular 
way.  The  latter  had  iust  been  relieved 
from  duty,  and  deeminghimself  wronged  in 
some  manner  by  his  successor^  he  assault- 
ed him,  according  to  report,  with  his  cane. 
"  Satisfaction  "  must  of  course  be  had,  "  in 
the  mode  usually  adopted  by  gentlemen," 
and  to  establish  an  approximate  equality 
between  the  two,  the  one  being  a  large 
and  the  other  a  small  man,  an  appeal 
must  be  made  to  the  ordeal  of  gunpowder. 
The  challenge  passed  on  Saturday;  the 
parties  met  the  following  Monday.  The 
secret  was  tolerably  well  kept ;  but  mur- 
der will  out. 

In  the  midst  of  a  cluster  of  live  oaks, 
about  a  mile  from  Camp  Crockett,  and  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  river,  was  the  spot 
selected  for  the  trial.  There  was  but  a 
brief  interval  between  the  arrival  of  the 
antagonist  parties  on  the  ground,  which 
was  a  few  minutes  after  five  o'clock.  The 
stars  were  yet  visible,  and  twinkled  merri- 
ly in  the  heavens.  The  waning  moon 
gave  a  fitful  light,  as  she  emerg^  from 
the  flying  douds,  by  which  she  was  at 
intervals  obscured.  In  the  indistinctness 
of  the  darkness  that  precedes  the  dawn, 
the  figures  moving  among  the  trees  ap- 
peared like  phantoms.  Yet  the  snapping 
of  a  broken  limb,  the  rustling  of  the  dry 
leaves,  the  neighing  of  a  horse,  or  ihe 
clatter  of  his  equipage,  and  the  low  hum 
of  human  voices,  in  earnest  and  deliberate 
converse,  gave  evidence  of  flesh  and  blood 
realities.'  Perhaps  it  was  fancy,  but  men's 
motions  seemed  cautious  ana  subdued, 
even  to  stealthiness,  as  if  conscious  ot 
being  engaged  in  unholy  means  for  the 
accomplishment  of  unholy  purposes.  £adh 
one  of  the  parties,  nevertheless,  was  calm. 
collected,  and  determined,  and  appeared 
satisfied  that  his  position  was  the  tme 
one ;  that  it  was  the  only  altematiTe  per- 
mitted him.  Wo  know  that  this  Tiew 
has  been  taken  by  many,  otherwise  gifWd 
with  clear  perceptions  of  the  right,  imd 
fearless  in  its  defence,  but  who  hare  sacri- 
ficed the  noblest  part  of  their  int^jHy  to 
the  tyranny  of  a  false  and  unnatural  state 
of  society,  which  takes  to  its  bosom  the 
wrongdoer,  and  visits  but  too  often  the 
injured  party  with  undying  scorn,  onless 
he  dares  to  violate  the  commana  of  his 
Maker,  and  seek  to  imbrue  his  hands  In 
another's  blood.  There  is  no  thought  of 
the  great  tribunal  for  the  final  adjndka- 
tion ;  of  the  vast  and  awful  responsibility 


1864.] 


NotM  from  my  KnaptaeL 


255 


incoired  in  the  attempt  to  diyoroe  that 
union  which  God  himself  hath  made ;  the 
onion  of  soul  and  body. 

The  choice  of  position,  and  the  giving 
of  the  word,  were  determined  by  the  toss 
of  a  dollar:  on  such  chances  man  chooses 
to  fix  the  destiny  of  human  life!  The 
parties  were  stationed  at  a  distance  of  ten 
paces  from  each  other,  back  to  back ;  the 
fire  of-  both  to  be  delivered  between  the 
wwd8'*Firel— one — two— three.^*  As  the 
principals  take  their  positions,  a  cloud 
suddenly  appears  in  the  east,  and  the 
rising  sun  is  veiled  before  such  a  scene. 
But  there  is  one  solitary  star  yet  blazing 
above  the  horizon,  and  perhaps  many  of 
those  who  saw  it  at  that  moment  were 
reminded  of  the  lines  here  so  sadly,  but 
truthfully,  illustrated : 

«*  Between  two  worlds  life  boven  like  a  star, 
^Twtzt  nigbt  and  morn  upon  the  horizon's  rerge." 

The  word  was  distinctly  and  deliberately 
given:  the  challenger  fired  immediately, 
and  without  effect ;  his  antagonist  appear- 
ed startled  for  an  instant  by  the  shot,  re- 
covered himself  in  time,  and  discharged  his 
datol  as  the  word  "  three "  fell  from  the 
npa  of  the  second.  A  moment  later,  and 
it  is  said  the  fire  would  have  placed  him 
beyond  even  the  pall  and  panoply  of  the 
"code  of  honor.''  His  opponent  stood 
erect  for  an  instant,  his  face  assumed  a 
pallid  hue,  and  an  expression  of  extreme 
agony;  he  took  one  step  forward,  and 
sunk  to  the  ground.  His  friends  rushed 
to  him,  and  bore  him  away.  It  was  found 
that  the  ball  had  entered  the  right  side 
ioat  above  the  hip,  and  passed  out  in 
nont :  the  wound  was  not  mortal 

I  have  no  disposition  to  indulge  in  any 
reflections,  oommon*plaoe  as  they  must 
be^  over  the  scene  of  which  I  have  given 
but  a  brief  and  imperfect  description.  The 
fiicts  in  themselves  suggest  more  thought 
tlum  can  be  written.  Like  ninety-nine 
cues  out  of  the  hundred,  of  resorts  to  this 
Draconian  code,  the  verdict  is  against  the 
iijured  or  challenging  party.  In  this  in- 
itanoe,  we  have  seen  an  individual  sub- 
jected to  a  most  cruel  and  mortifying 
aflBMilti  and  in  the  efibrt  to  obtam  "  satis- 
fiM^txm  by  the  laws  of  honor  " — for  the 
laws  of  the  land  afford  no  compensation 
kx  wounded  pride  and  insulted  feelings, 
if  society  would  not  laugh  to  scorn  the 
innocent  victim  who  might  seek  such  re- 
dress— be  is  severely,  if  not  mortally 
wounded,  by  the  same  hand.  He  is  thus 
compeUed  by  the  tribunal  to  which  he  has 
resorted,  to  wash  out  the  iiyurv  which  he 
has  received  with  his  own  blood,  while 
tfaB  tnmsgressor  not  only  leaves  the  field 


unscathed,  but  perfa^M  revels  in  the  eokt 
of  bemj;  a  '*ci^tal  shot"  Such  is  the 
restitution  which  this  last  relic  of  barba- 
rism and  chivalry  yields  to  wanton  insult 
and  personal  outnige.  And  thus  right 
and  justice  become  shuttlecocks,  to  be 
bandied  about  by  the  criminality  of  so- 
ciety, and  thus  is  human  life  sported  with 
by  the  hypocrisy,  the  weakness,  and  the 
charlatanry  of  enlightened  civilization,  not 
subject  to  the  teachings  and  restraints  of 
Christianity. 

Duties  of  all  sorts  were  multiplied  as 
the  time  of  departure  drew  near,  and  in- 
creased activity  prevailed  throughout  all 
the  departments.  General  Wool'^s  long 
experience  as  inspector-general  of  the 
army,  seems  to  have  given  him  a  know- 
ledge of  the  details  of  service,  scarcely  to 
be  acquired  in  any  other  capacity;  and 
this  knowledge  was  in  daily  recjuisition  in 
the  organization  and  preparation  of  his 
troops  for  the  campaign.  With  a  view 
to  a  proper  determination  of  the  extent  of 
his  resources,  he  appears  to  have  estab- 
lished a  complete  surveillance  ov^r  everv 
corps  and  department  of  his  command, 
requiring  the  most  minute  details  to  be 
given  him  of  the  daily  condition  and  pro- 
gress of  affairs  in  the  various  supply 
branches  of  the  service,  and  which,  fit>m 
the  grumbling  that  was  not  always  whis- 
pered, many  staff  gentlemen  did  not  seem 
to  digest  with  peculiar  delectation. 

The  genius  of  a  commander  may  be 
displayed  not  only  in  his  capacity  to  grasp 
at  once  the  complicated  materials,  and 
comprehend  the  varied  machinery  of  an 
army,  but  in  the  facility  with  which  he 
traces  out  the  details,  and  discovers  the 
lesser  wants,  which  are  lost  sight  of  by 
the  incompetent  ofScer.  But  it  is  not  to 
be  presumed  that  the  most  insignificant 
matters  of  execution  require  his  personal 
attention,  or  that  such  attention  is  given 
them,  if  the  proper  industry  and  capacity 
exist  in  other  quarters.  General  ideas 
and  directions  in  relation  to  these  matters, 
ought,  it  is  supposed,  properly  to  come 
from  head  quarters ;  but  Uie  chief  of  an 
army  shoula  not  be  harassed  with  the 
issue  of  a  ration  of  beans,  or  of  a  cartridge, 
the  purchase  of  a  few  bushels  of  com,  or 
the  expenditure  of  a  few  feet  of  plank: 
these  matters  might  be  intrusted  to  quali- 
fied officers  of  the  proper  departments. 
The  necessity  that  has  apparently  com- 
pelled General  Wool  to  take  these  affairs 
to  a  certain  extent,  inta  his  own  hands,  is 
to  be  regretted,  as  diere  ave  those  who  are 
not  indisposed  to  complain,  under  a  small 
pretext,  of  improper  interference  with 
their  own  duties.    Some  who  appear  to 


966 


Notes  Jrom  my  Knapsack. 


[lianh 


think  that  a  general  has  nothing  to  do, 
but  to  lead  his  troops  against  the  enemy, 
may  be  'surprised  at  the  unexpected  quali- 
ties which  are  found  necessary  to  consti- 
tute the  chief  of  an  army.  It  is  true 
that  his  mere  attention  to  the  minutia — 
however  necessary — may  not  have  con- 
vinced the  grumblers  of  his  fitness  for  a 
commander,  any  more  than  the  fact  that 
he  happened  to  have  "men  about  him 
that  are  fat,"*  like  Julius  Csesar,  demon- 
strated that  he  must  therefore  be  as  bald 
as  that  illustrious  hero,  or  that  he  must 
be  slaughtered  in  the  Senate  chamber. 

The  great  blunder — originating  at 
Washington  and  growing  out  of  an  insane 
desire  to  concentrate  troops  in  advance 
as  rapidly  as  possible — in  ordering  us  to 
San  Antonio,  before  a  proper  accumula- 
tion of  sup()lies,  was  with  much  difficulty 
finally  overcome,  even  by  the  energy  of 
General  Wool.  The  governmental  folly 
of  marching  more  than  two  regiments 
from  Labaca,  a  month  before  their  servk»s 
were  required,  was  not  only  ruinously 
expensive,  but  materially  retarded  the 
operations  of  the  campaign.  The  conse- 
quence was,  that  for  a  time  rations  were 
consumed  as  fast  as  they  arrived ;  whereas 
if  we  had  remained  at  Camp  Irwin,  where 
we  might  have  been  equally  well  instruct- 
ed, the  wagons  employed  in  hauling  pro- 
visions for  our  daily  consumption,  could 
have  been  engaged  in  addine  that  quantity 
— probably  not  less  than  forty  thousand 
rations — to  the  supplies  destmed  to  ac- 
company the  army. 

Preparatory  to  a  speedy  advance,  a 
eenend  review  of  all  the  troops  was  or- 
dered to  come  off  on  Sunday,  the  20th  of 
September.  The  commanaing  general, 
in  costume  and  bearing  worthy  of  his 
position,  with  a  portion  of  his  staf^  ap- 
peared in  full  uniform;  the  remaining 
portion  might  have  been  taken  for  harlo- 
quins,  such  was  the  ridiculous  variety  of 
tneir  uniformity.  One  thing  or  the  other 
ought  to  prevail.  If  the  fidl  dress  is  not 
to  be  taken  into  the  field  and  worn  by  all, 
it  ought  to  be  abolished.  It  is  the  popular 
opinion  that  an  army  is  intended  for  war 
rather  than  for  peace,  and  a  stylo  of  dress 
adapted  only  to  the  latter  vocation,  ought 
to  be  banished  from  the  service.  Whether 
caps  or  chapeaus,  dress  coats  or  fi*ocks, 
pompons  or  plumes,  are  worn,  all  should 
fare  alike  in  the  finery.  It  is  certainly 
more  in  accordance  with  the  dictates  of 
good  taste,  if  not  with  military  pro- 
priety, to   make  a  display  of  uniform 


simplicity,  rather  than  of  mongrel  mag- 
nificence. 

With  the  thermometer  stretching  to 
ninety-six  degrees  of  Fahrenheit,  and  ev- 
ery sunbeam  plunging  torrents  of  caloric 
upon  the  earth,  the  motley  cavalcade  left 
town  about  2  o'clock,  p.  m.  Half  way  to 
the  camp,  an  ugly  cloud  made  its  appear- 
ance, and  before  the  party  came  in  sight 
of  the  tents,  every  member  of  it  was 
thoroughly  drenched.  Polished  steel  sa- 
bres were  for  the  time  lustreless,  and  epau- 
lettes wept  in  sorrow  over  the  desUtio- 
tion  of  their  brightness ;  plumes,  which 
a  few  moments  before  rose  with  eonsdoos 
gracefulness  above  the  arched  necks  (^ 
gallant  steeds,  now  drooped  mournfully 
towards  the  earth,  and  white  pantaloons 
were  starchless,  which,  when  donned,  bad 
the  form  and  pressure  of  a  Corinthian 
column.  The  sun,  however,  soon  dispelled 
these  watery  appliances — though  without 
restoring  the  starch — and  before  the  grand 
exhibition  commenced,  the  moisture  had 
almost  entirely  evaporated  from  the  reek- 
ing limbs  of  horse  and  rider,  and  the  party 
entered  upon  the  field  almost  as  brilliant 
— ^if  not  quite  as  beautiful — as  a  rainbow 
from  the  shower. 

The  display,  considering  the  character 
of  the  troops — the  volunteers  constitutiDg 
much  the  larger  portion, — and  from  neces- 
sity but  imperfectly  drilled — was  respect- 
able and  imposing.  Having  passed  from 
the  right  down  the  front  of  the  line,  and 
back  by  the  rear,  the  general  took  his 
position  opposite  the  centre.  The  line 
then  wheeled  into  column,  preparatory  to 
passing  in  review.  The  battery  of  artillery 
was  in  advance ;  their  bronze  pieces  and 
glittering  sabres  flashing  back  the  rays 
of  the  sun  as  proudly  as  they  were  re- 
ceived ;  while  the  martial  bearing  of  the 
men,  and  their  precise  and  accurate  ev^ii- 
tions,  vindicated  their  right  to  the  post  <^ 
honor.  Then  came  the  two  squadrons,  one 
fix>m  each  regiment  of  dragoons.  Anned 
with  pistol,  carbine,  and  sabre,  whose 
bright  blades  and  barrels  gleamed  in  the 
sunbeams,  each  man  seemed  a  host  sad 
looked  the  hero.  After  these  followed  the 
infantry  with  measured  tread  and  statdy 
bearing :  each  company  moving  as  if  by 
machinery,  controlled  by  an  invisible 
power.  To  those  familiar  With  army  openb- 
tions,  this  may  have  seemed  a  small  affiur, 
but  the  effect  during  the  march  of  the 
column  far  surpas^  in  beauty  the 
military  displays  to  which  we  are  aoens- 
tomed  at  home.    In  the  background  rose 


*  The  reader,  may  perhaps  be  reminded  of  the  inspector-general,  the  chief  quarter-master,  the  aJitede- 
nq^  AoLi  hc» 


1854.] 


Notes  from  my  KnapBode. 


25ir 


%  range  of  hills,  carpeted  with  yerdure, 
and  relieyed  by  groups  of  trees,  pictu- 
resquely planted  by  the  hand  of  nature. 
Prairies  stretched  away  to  the  right,  far 
as  the  eye  could  reach,  swelling  into  hil- 
locks or  sinking  into  valleys,  in  a  series 
of  liyely  and  romantic  undulations.  In 
front  the  silyer  waters  of  the  San  Anto- 
nio flowed  in  quiet  beauty,  through  banks 
gorgeously  decked  with  the  yaried  foliage 
of  autumn.  Upon  a  plain  thus  bound^ 
the  column  moyed  to  the  stately  notes  of 
martial  music,  with  waving  plumes  and 
floating  banners ;  rattling  sabres  and  glit- 
tering bayonets;  the  "war  horse  whose 
neck  is  clothed  with  thunder,"  champing 
at  his  bit,  and  the  "ear-piercing  fife  and 
^irit-etirring  drum,"  all  contributed  to 
lithe  perfection  of  the  spectacle,  and  made 
one  that  will  not  soon  be  forgotten  by  the 
lookers  on — ^nor  by  those  probably  who 
\  so  thoroughly  soaked  in  the  prelimi- 


But  there  is  ever  but  one  step  between 
the  Bublime  and  the  ridiculous,  and  our 
review  was  but  another  illustration  of  the 
ftet  There  is  no  way  of  controlling  the 
ooriosity  of  a  recruit ;  it  runs  through  all 
the  feminme  degrees,  from  fifteen  to  fifty, 
and  soch  turning,  and  twisting,  and  dodg- 
ing, and  squinting,  to  see  all  that  was 
gmng  on,  while  the  general  was  riding 
up  and  down  the  line,  could  only  be  rival- 
led by  a  battalion  of  the  happy  inmates  of 
another  Capsicum  Hall.  '  One  cocks  up 
the  visor  of  his  cap  here,  and  another 
throws  back  the  broad  brim  of  a  chip  hat 
there ;  a  third  performs  a  semi-revolution 
to  the  great  peril  of  his  perpendicularity  in 
one  place,  while  perhaps  a  fourth  whirls 
enthrely  around  upon  lus  axis,  causing  the 
whole  company,  like  the  plane  of  the 
ediptic,  to  make  a  very  variable  angle 
with  the  regimental  equator. 

The  order  for  the  advance  to  march  on 
tiie  26th,  was  issued  on  the  22d:  the  body 
to  consist  of  the  artillery,  2d  dragoons 

ae  squaditm),  three  companies  of  the 
infimtry,  one  KentucW  company,  two 
companies  from  each  of  the  Illinois  regi- 
ments, and  six  companies  of  the  Arkansas 
esfalry. 

A  sort  of  cabinet  council — a  conclave 
of  the  ''ten" — vras  ordered  to  convene 
the  same  evening  at  head  quarters.  The 
oommanding  geMral  appeared  determined 
to  shake  the  staff  napkin,  to  discover  if 
posBible  what  gem  was  hidden  in  it  If 
all  were  present,  it  would  not  be  difficult 
to  fimcy  the  character  of  the  proceedings. 
We  may  imagine  that  the  same  stale  sug- 
gestions, the  same  sage  questions,  the 
solemn   responses,  were  repeated 


which  had  monopolized  certain  brains  for 
weeks,  and  then  an  adjournment  Pens 
were  probably  often  dipped  into  ink  and 
applicKi  to  paper,  and  the  higher  orders 
of  arithmetical  addition  and  subtraction  in- 
voked ; suggested  the  weight  of 

a  ration,  and that  of  a  cartridge, 

for  discussion ;  the  motive  power  of  a  mule 
afforded  an  appropriate  topic  for  the  owl- 
like eloquence  of ,  whose  dis- 
course may  be  supposed  to  have  abounded 
in  many  grave  suggestions  touching  the 
number  of  wagons  on  hand,  and  how  many 
might  probably  be  wanted  j per- 
haps inquired  how  many  common  tents  a 

common  wagon  will  carry,  while 

was  curious  to  know  how  many  shirts  an 
officer  should  take  into  the  field,  and  prob- 
ably quoted  the  example  of  Frederick  the 
Great :  these  themes  having  afforded 
matter  for  s^ous  thought  and  specula- 
tion, the  assembled  military  wisdom 
doubtless  dispersed  to  their  respective 
quarters  to  dream  of  "  fifth-chains," 
"  mule-wagons,"  "  hard-bread,"  "  gun- 
powder," and  glory. 

The  weather  did  not  smile  upon  our 
incipient  effort  at  the  conquest  of  Mexico. 
For  weeks  we  had  had  no  rain,  and  the 
troops  that  marched  the  26th.  were  antici- 
pating fine  roads  and  a  pleasant  promenade 
to  the  Rio  Grande.  Their  hopes  suddenly 
submerged,  as  on  the  night  of  the  24th 
we  were  visited  with  a  miniature  deluge, 
and  the  streets  for  two  days  were  mud — 
no  one  knows  positively  how  deep — but 
to  the  depth  of  every  man's  specific  gravity. 
Wagon  masters,  teamsters,  and  mule- 
drivers,  and  every  other  camp  retainer 
busy  for  the  march,  wore  visages  as  long 
and  wo-begone,  as  Bon  Quixote's  in  his 
greatest  tribulations.  San  Antonio'  was 
perhaps  never  before  the  scene  of  so 
much  life  and  activity,  but  in  the  midst 
of  the  bustle,  all  was  dejection  and 
disgust.  The  speedy  prospect  of  "en- 
larging the  area  of  freedom,"  an  object 
so  dear  to  many  of  our  patriotic  hearts, 
was  incapable  of  relaxmg  any  man's 
grim  visage  into  a  smile.  The  effect  of 
the  weather  was  too  deep,  and  so  was  the 
mud. 

The  troops  left  in  the  morning,  as  pre- 
scribed m  the  order  of  the  22d.  The 
roads  were  bad.  but  the  temperature  was 
much  improved  by  the  rain.  The  differ- 
ent detachments  were  directed  to  meet  at 
the  Medio.  When  united  they  came  under 
the  command  of  Colonel  lAuney,  whose 
patriotic  exertions  a  few  weeks  before,  in 
attempting  "  on  his  own  hook,"  the  con- 
quest of  Goahuila,  were  not  crowned  with 
complete  success.    He  is  a  dashing  ofSoer, 


258 


Notes  from  my  Knapsack. 


[Haroh 


however,  but,  acting  from  impalse.  he  may 
sometimes  err  in  his  views  of  duty.* 

The  order  of  march  was  promulgated 
in  a  "memoranda,"  from  the  adjutant- 
general's  office,  in  which  the  "  pioneers  " 
were  placed  nearly  in  the  rear.  From  the 
position  to  which  they  were  thus  assigned, 
it  may  be  presumed  that  they  had  in  some 
way  forfeited  their  proper  fanctions,  as  a 
"pioneer"  is  defined  to  be  "one  who 
marches  in  advance  of  an  army,  to  hew 
down  woods,  clear  roads,  &c"  If  these 
were  mere  nominal  pioneers,  it  was  of 
little  consequence  perhaps,  whether  they 
were  in  front  or  rear ;  but  if  they  were 
intended  to  be  of  practical  utility,  the 
propriety  of  their  position  must  be  found 
in  the  apparent  slip  of  the  pen,  to  which 
they  must  be  indebted  for  it 

Apropos  of   pioneers : and  — 

had  a  tavorite  way  of  pronouncing  this 
word,  as  if  the  o  preceded  the  i;  and 
though  no  order  was  issued  regulating 
the  orthography,  we  of  the  "  optics "  ex- 
pected one  roakmg  the  word  "/)ot?iccr»," 
by  "  particular  request "  as  the  play  bills 
have  it 

At  8  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  29th, 
the  escort  of  the  commanding  general 
was  drawn  up  in  line  in  the  lower  plaza. 
The  town  was  of  course  agog.  Streets, 
doors,  and  windows,  were  lined  with 
wagons,  carts  and  cattle,  loafing  Tezans. 
and  sombreroed  Mexicans,  seftoras  ana 
sefioritas,  muchachas  naked  and  half- 
naked,  all  staring  as  if  an  event  as  won* 
derful  as  the  inauguration  of  a  President 
was  occurring.  The  result  probably 
disappointed  many,  as  the  affair  passed 
off  quietly  and  without  display.  The 
cavalcade  moved  from  town  a  few  minutes 
before  nine,  with  clanging  arms  but  with- 
out music  or  banners. 

Three  miles  from  San  Antonio,  we 
Grossed  the  bed  of  the  arroyo  Alazan,  now 
reduced  to  a  dry  mass  of  gravel.  Near 
the  rising  and  open  grounds  in  the  vicinity, 
which  derive  their  name  from  the  some- 
time stream,  Santa  Anna  encamped  with 
his  army,  in  1836,  prior  to  his  descent 
upon  the  town,  and  the  siege  of  the  Alamo. 
It  is  affirmed,  by  the  way,  of  this  most 
remarkable  shuttlecock  of  fortune,  that  a 
night  or  two  before  the  arrival  of  his 
forces  at  the  heights  of  Alazan,  he  entered 
San  Antonio  in  disguise,  was  present  at, 
and,  not  being  then  troubled  with  a  wooden 


leg,  participated  in  the  gyrations  of  a 
fandango,  with  those  who  a  few  weeks 
later  became  the  victims  of  his  barbarity. 
These  heights  are  also  famed  as  the  scene 
of  a  conflict  which  occurred  in  1814,  be- 
tween the  troops  of  two  rival  Mezicaii 
factions. 

After  leaving  this  place,  the  coantry 
becomes  higher  and  broken,  but  except 
where  relieved  at  distant  intervals  by  the 
vegetation  which  skirts  an  occask>nal 
stream,  is  one  vast  prairie,  treeless,  herUess. 
lifeless,— diversified,  it  is  true,  by  hill  ima 
dale,  but  suggesting  no  ideas  save  those 
of  sterility  and  desolation.  Several  firw 
were  blazing  amid  the  grass,  and  the 
flames  were  whirled  aloft  in  spiral  oolumns, 
as  the  wind  caught  the  fire,  creeping  snake^ 
hke  over  the  ground ;  but  there  was  no- 
thing of  the  frightful  rapidity  which  Mr. 
Cooper  so  graphically  describes ;  nothing 
to  produce  frantic  terror,  even  in  a 
child,  nor  an  approach  to  the  sublimity 
of  horror  which  he  has  so  vividly  and 
fearfully  portrayed.  Night  perhaps  woaM 
have  added  to  the  magnificence  of  the 
scene,  but  unfortunately  we  could  not 
pause — our  motto  bemg,  business  belmre 
beauty. 

The  picturesque  valley  of  Oulebrm, 
through  which  ^ws  a  small  stream  that 
falls  into  the  Medina,  lies  a  mile  or  two 
from  the  Wool  f  road,  and  aboat  fifteen 
miles  northwest  from  San  Antonio.  It 
was  formerly  occupied  as  an  extensive 
stock  rancho,  attached  to  the  Mission  of 
San  Jose.  This  rancho  was  near  the 
centre  of  eleven  leagues  of  land  granted 
by  the  Spanish  government  to  the  Indians 
of  this  region,  subject  to  the  control  and 
ministrations  of  the  pous  fitthera,  who 
celebrated  their  orgies  and  their  orisooB 
within  the  consecrated  widls  of  that  miid 
and  gloomy  structure.  Immense  herds 
of  sheep,  goats  and  cattle,  at  that  time 
covered  the  plains,  over  which  barrennesa 
flourishes  now  in  uncontested  dominion. 

We  forded  the  Medina  about  four  o'do^ 
m  the  afternoon.  It  is  a  beautiiul  Uttk 
stream,  rolling  over  a  bed  of  solid  lime- 
stone at  the  crossing  place,  dear  as  orystal, 
and  flowing  with  a  very  rapid  current. 
Our  route  lay  through  the  village  now 
growing  up  here^  to  the  spot  chosen  for 
our  encampnoent,  about  a  mile  beyond. 

This  village  (Oastroville)  was  founded 
m  1844^  by  Mr.  Henry  Castro,  of  Paris. 


*  In  the  daring  charge  at  Cerro  €k>rdo— perhaps  the  meet  brilliant  single  achievement  of  the  war— eonpared 
with  which  the  celebrated  canter  at  Beaaca  sinks  into  comparatlye  intlgnifloance,  OoL  Haniej  has  ettabflilMd 
his  olalms  to  the  first  rank  as  a  cavalry  officer,  and  there  his 

"  Sabn't  whirliaf  tway, 

8lMd  Ibat  atoaMiMiit  for  ita  fint  dbUjr." 

tSo  oiUed  becMse  cot  by  Oen.  Wool  on  Mb  manh  into  Tana  In  1841 


1854.] 


Nckt  from  my  KnapMck, 


251^ 


The  locatmi,  eonsidflired  in  reference  to 
the  ronuuiee  of  reality,  is  Terr  beautiftil. 
It  lies  in  a  lovely  Talley,  the  pellucid 
waters  of  the  Medina  tumbling  over  the 
rocks  on  one  side,  and  gracefully  undulat- 
ing plains  and  hills  stretching  in  eveij 
direction  on  the  other.  The  settlement  is 
in  extreme  infancy,  and  one  cannot  well 
judge  how  the  experiment  will  terminate, 
but  at  present,  the  eyidenoes  of  prosperity 
are  not  very  satisfactory.  The  buildings 
are  all  small,  of  gossamer  materials  and 
rudely  put  together,  the  timber  of  the 
ooontoy  being  hardly  large  enough  for 
ruls.  The  products  of  the  last  year  haTe 
consisted  mostly  of  a  few  hundr^  bushels 
of  com,  and  it  is  not  probable  that  the 

Snandty  will  soon  be  materially  increased, 
[otwithstanding  the  apparently  liberal 
offers  of  the  proprietor — three  hundred 
and  twenty  aeres  to  every  married  man 
who  will  domiciliate  himself— the  popula- 
tion increases  but  slowly,  the  inducements 
fiv  agricnlturists  to  settle  here  being  so 
few.  The  soil  is  only  of  moderate  fer- 
tility, and  the  means  of  getting  produce 
to  market,  worse  than  wretched. 

The  camp  was  honored  about  sunset 
by  a  visit  finom  the  daughter  and  grand- 
danghter  of  Mr.  Castro,  to  pay  their  re- 
spects to  the  commanding  general.  They 
were  apparelled  in  neat  riding  costume,  and 
moonted  on  small  Mexican  ponies,  and 
accompanied  by  several  attendants.  The 
daughter  had  all  the  complimentary  exu- 
benuioe  of  the  French  character,  and  with 
less  experienced  veterans,  there  might 
have  beoi  fears  for  their  blushes.  There 
was  no  difficulty,  however,  in  this  instance 
in  appreciating  the  fine  thin^  that  were 
said,  as  General  Wool  having  himself 
flonridied  in  the  aalons  of  Paris,  was 
quite  able  to  repay  them  in  kind. 

The  incident  just  related, sug- 

gtats,  presents  a  strong  invitation  to  in- 
dolge  in  a  little  classical  pedantry,  by 
way  of  introducmg  some  very  pretty  and 
prafoond  reflections  upon  the  striking  re- 
semUaooe  of  this  viat  to  that  of  Agrippina 
to  the  Roman  legions.  But  as  we  are  in 
Texas  now  and  not  on  the  Tiber,  our 
troops  Steen's  cavalry  and  not  Cesar's 
oobcvts,  the  occasion  must  pass  unim- 
proved. Neither  is  it  conceived  necessary 
to  indulge  in  a  chapter  of  lamentations 
over  the  troubles,  and  inconveniences,  and 
perplexities,  and  privations  incident  to  a 
transition  firom  the  halls  of  Paris  to  the 
huts  of  prairiedom :  this  was  doubtless  a 
matter  of  choice  and  speculation,  and  those 
who  seek  notoriety  or  profits  from  such 
migrations,  must  find  their  recompense  in 
the  particnlar  gratification. 


The  call  of  the  ladies  was  retomed  in 
the  evening  bv  General  Wool  and  his 
aide-de-camp,  the  latter,  it  is  said,  an  ac- 
complished French  scholar,  whose  fluency, 
for  a  while,  may  have  beguiled  the  damsels 
into  the  sweet  delusion  that  they  were 
once  more  in  the  land  of  their  nativity. 
Thus  auspiciously  closed  the  first  day  of 
our  advance,  distance  marehcd  twenty- 
seven  miles. 

The  stars  were  yet  twinkling  when  our 
camp  was  first  in  motion  the  next  morn- 
ing. The  air  was  raw  and  chilly,  and 
the  long  rank  grass  drooping  witn  the 
heavy  deposits  of  dew.  The  river  here 
is  about  three  feet  deep,  foaming  like  a 
torrent,  and  the  music  of  its  waters  roll- 
ing over  the  white  pebbles  of  its  bottom, 
gjives  to  the  wild  and  romantic  scene  a 
singular  fascination.  Many  of  us  made 
our  toilet  on  the  bank,  the  river  forming 
a  natural  mirror,  and  the  foliage  above 
and  around,  a  more  magnificent  boudoir 
than  art  has  ever  conceived.  The  deep 
repose  and  quiet  grandeur  with  whicn 
nature  was  here  imbued  gave  new  force  and 
beauty  to  Bryant's  exquisite  thought — 

**  Tho  groves  were  God's  first  temples.*^ 

On  such  a  morning  as  this,  and  with  the 
scene  before  me  as  memory  now  recalls 
it,  seated  upon  tho  bended  trunk  of  an 
overhanging  ash,  there  is  a  sense  of  awe, 
of  reverence,  and  of  devotion  excited,  sur- 
passing any  which  htts  its  origin  in  the 
loftiest  and  proudest  stnictui-os  of  man. 
The  place  seems  formed  for  prayer  and 
meditation,  and  I  could  not  resist  ofiering 
an  humble  invocation  to  the  Supremo 
Ruler  of  the  universe,  for  strength  and 
guidance  for  the  future,  and  presenting 
the  ofierings  and  acknowledgments  of  a 
grateful  heart  for  the  blessings  of  the  past. 

All  would  fain  have  lingered  longer 
round  the  lovely  spot,  but  breakfast  had 
to  be  disposed  of,  when  the  tents  were 
struck  and  the  wagons  loaded,  and  we 
were  off  at  seven  o'clock.  Soon  after 
lofiving  camp  we  ascended  the  highest 
point  yet  seen  in  Texas,  the  view  from 
which  presented  a  grand  panorama  of 
hills  clothed  with  verdure,  and  valleys 
garnished  with  rich  foliage  of  varied  hues, 
almost  equal  to  a  prospect  from  the  tops 
of  the  AUeghanies.  In  descending  this 
eminence,  however,  the  poetry  was  ex- 
tinguished by  the  breaking  down  of  a 
wagon. 

After  a  three  hours'  mareh,  we  rested 
a  short  time  at  the  Quihi,  a  small  stream 
about  nine  miles  from  the  Medina.  It  is 
said  to  abound  in  fish,  though  our  stop 
was  not  long  enough  to  prove  the  fieust 


260 


Notes  from  my  Knapsack, 


[Maidi 


Up  to  this  point  the  country  is  rolling 
and  the  soil  rich.  On  the  north  a  range 
of  hills  has  been  visible  since  morning, 
which  in  its  progress  farther  west  takes 
the  name  of  San  Saba.  Between  the 
Quihi  and  the  Alamos,  a  distance  of  four 
or  five  miles,  the  roadway  is  bordered  by 
a  species  of  sumach,  though  very  little 
like  the  plant  of  that  name  foui^d  at  the 
north.  Its  leaves  are  mixed  with  tobacco 
by  the  Indians,  and  are  found  to  be  agree- 
able for  smoking ;  it  thus  forms  an  article 
of  traffic 

A  solitary  house  stands  on  the  west 
bank  of  the  Quihi,  the  pattern  for  a  Ger- 
man settlement,  where  we  were  fortunate 
enough  to  procure  a  quarter  of  a  pound 
of  butter  for  the  quid  pro  quo  of  the 
same  fraction  of  a  dollar,  while  others 
purchased  a  few  eggs  at  the  same  liberal 
rate.  The  sellers  were  German  women, 
who  although  unable  to  understand  Eng- 
lish, found  no  difficulty  in  apprehending  our 
wants,  through  the  medium  of  the  univer- 
sal interpreter — cash.  From  the  Alamos 
to  the  Hondo,  the  distance  is  about  seven 
miles:  the  country  generally  stony  and 
broken.  It  abounds  principally  in  Texas 
live  oak,  in  other  words,  a  scraggy,  stunt- 
ed, knotty,  and  crookea  specipien  of  the 
quercus  virens,  which  probably  grows 
nowhere  else,  and  even  here  is  a  cumberer 
of  the  earth. 

The  Hondo  at  present  appears  to  have 
lost  the  character  of  a  stream,  and  con- 
sists only  of  a  series  of  basins  formed  in 
the  limestone  rock,  evaporation  and  the 
current  having  probably  broken  the  con- 
nection, though  it  is  not  impossible  there 
may  be  a  subterraneous  channel.  Some  of 
the  party  have  secured  fish  enough  for 
supper,  but  the  angler  not  being  of  my 
mess  we  are  without  perch.  This  even- 
ing we  were  enabled  to  enjoy  a  most  de- 
licious bath,  in  one  of  the  marble  basins, 
as  it  were,  to  which  the  Hondo  here  ac- 
commodates itself.  The  pool  or  fountain 
is  bounded  on  one  side  by  a  rock  rising 
almost  perpendicularly  to  the  height  of 
twenty-five  or  thirty  feet,  while  the  other 


is  approached  by  a  gentle  slope,  descend- 
ing in  the  water  to  a  depth  of  five  feet 
It  is  impossible  to  conceive  any  thing 
more  delightfully  arranged  for  the  luxury 
of  a  bath.  The  water  is  A  perfect  trans- 
parency, revealing  the  pebbles  of  the 
bottom  with  the  distinctness  of  day-light. 
The  scenery  on  a  small  scale  is  surpass- 
ingly beautiful,  and  a  succession  of  such 
spots,  with  a  fertile  and  productive  country 
around,  might  justify  the  erection  of 
country  seats  and  villas  vying  with  those 
of  the  Delaware  and  the  Hudson. 

It  is  a  received  fact  among  prairie  tra- 
vellers and  the  inhabitants  of  Texas  gen- 
erally, and  is  therefore  recorded  for  what 
it  may  be  worth  on  such  highly  respect- 
able authority,  that  a  hair  rope,  stretched 
upon  the  ground  so  as  to  envelope  the 
person,  is  a  sovereign  protection  against 
snakes.  This,  it  is  said,  may' be  demon- 
strated by  placing  a  snake  within  a  cirde 
of  rope,  and  then  attempting  to  drive  him 
over  it  The  result  is,  according  to  the 
testimony  aforesaid,  that  as  soon  as  his 
head  touches  the  hair,  he  turns  aside  in 
disgust,  and  takes  a  new  direction.  This 
may  or  may  not  be  a  fiction ;  but  even 
the  incredulous  are  not  unwilling  to  avail 
themselves  of  a  doubtful  truth,  though 
the  success  of  the  experiment  may  depfsod 
entirely  on  faith.  One  of  the  part^  last 
evening  proposed  to  appropriate  to  himself 
at  once  tne  advantages  of  this  remarkable 
prairie  discovery  in  physics  and  natural 
history,  and  accordingly  after  going  to 
bed  requested  that  he  might  be  surrounded 
and  protected  from  nocturnal  invasioii,  hv 
this  magic  girdle.  On  awaking  the  fol- 
lowing morning  he  was  somewhat  suiv 
prised  to  find  four  uprights  planted  near 
his  bed,  from  which  the  rope  was  sos* 
pended  in  a  series  of  graceful  festoons,  the 
lowest  point  being  a  foot  or  two  from  the 
ground.  The  sleeper  at  any  rate  was  not 
disturbed  by  snakes,  and  Uie  sucoess  at- 
tending the  experiment  renders  it  not  im- 
possible that  the  hair  may  be  just  as 
effectual  above  the  ground  as  upon  it.  Of 
course  the  rope  was  hung  by  an  Irishman. 


1804.] 


261 


THE   OOOEED-HAT   GENTRT. 


AM ERIOANS  of  the  present  day  give 
litUe  thought  to  the  past:  the  age  is 
tn  age  of  progress — forests  are  to  be  hewn 
down,  rivers  spanned  with  bridges,  rail- 
roads and  canals  to  be  webbed  all  across 
the  land.  The  practical  overthrows  and 
pats  to  rout  what,  for  the  want  of  a 
better  word,  we  most  style  the  poetical. 
The  poetry  most  popalar  with  the  men 
to-day,  is  that  of  marble  custom-houses, 
telegraphs,  and  iron  horses  annihilating 
nice  and  time  for  us.  This  is  the  new 
j&erican  poesy,  and  it  recommends  itself 
more  powerfully  to  the  advocates  of  pro- 
gress, than  all  the  chants  of  Homer  and 
Ariosta 

Let  us  not  complain  of  it — it  is  not  un- 
worthy of  the  admiration  of  its  disci- 
ples ;  bat  still  we  may  find  both  pleasure 
and  profit  in  occasionally  losing  sight  of 
tiie  great  elements  of  wealth  and  power 
arooiid  as,  of  the  tel^raph,  the  railway, 
the  ''thoughts  that  shake' mankind " — 
girmgoar  attention  for  a  space  to  the  past 
times  of  the  land  we  live  in.  Justly 
proud  as  we  may  be  of  what  our  era  has 
•ooomplished,  it  is  not  the  part  of  true 
phOosopihy  to  disr^ard  the  past  Rather 
kt  us  endmivor  to  penetrate  its  character, 
and  derive  firom  it  a  lesson: — from  its 
bright  deeds  and  celebrated  men,  the 
niodels  for  our  own  lives,  from  its  ignor- 
ance azMl  weakness,  a  warning  to  avoid 
such  ourselves. 

Bat  it  is  not  an  easy  thins  to  return  to 
Ibnnerdays,  and  realize  in  tneir  full  force 
those  strange  peculiarities 'of  character 
whidi  made  them  so  different  from  our 
own  times.  Books  scarcely  furnish  us 
any  assistance : — mere  historical  facts  are 
Ilka  skeletons,  which,  doubtless  were  a 

gnoine  portion  of  the  body  now  crumbled 
to  dost,  but  can  afford  no  adequate  idea 
of  the  once  Urine  and  breathing  form — of 
the  bright  eve,  the  eloquent  lip,  the  locks 
aroond  the  rorehead^  the  graceful  and  easy 
movement  of  the  hmbs.  To  get  at  the 
blood  of  lustory  we  must  seek  elsewhere : 
— ^we  must  explore  old  letter-chests :  go 
into  dark  closets  where  mouldering  doub- 
lets, and  rust-eaten  swords  have  long  been 
sospended,  the  prey  of  oblirion  and  the 
moth;  scan  the  odd  costumes,  and  the 
noble  features  of  old  dusty  portraits,  which 
leave  a  white  space  on  the  wall  when  they 
are  taken  down.  In  presence  of  these 
obfeets,  the  past  again  rerives  in  some  de- 
gree ;  their  warmu  penetrates  the  yellow 
pait^ment,  and  the  sympathetic  traces 


slowly  reveal  themselves: — for  the  first 
time  we  begin  to  realize  the  fact,  that  this 
elder  day  actually  existed,  characterized 
by  a  thousand  peculiarities  of  thought 
and  usage  quite  as  good  or  bad,  as  admir- 
able or  ridiculous  as  the  habitudes  of  our 
own  era.  The  old  sword  flashed  above 
the  head  of  some  valiant  soldier,  in 
times  beyond  the  recollection  of  any  one 
of  the  present  generation.  The  rusty 
doublet)  with  its  hanging  cufi&  and  em- 
broidery, enveloped  the  broad  shoulders 
of  some  well-known  ancestor,  as  he  moved 
nimbly  in  the  gavotte  and  reel,  or  bowed 
low  in  the  stately  minuet :  the  discolored 
portrait  was  ^*  considered  an  excellent 
likeness  of  that  rufiScd  and  be-powdered 
worthy,  now  almost  as  completely  forgot- 
ten as  the  painter,  whose  name  &e  mer- 
dless  hand  of  time  has  obliterated  fit>m 
the  canvas.  The  sword,  and  doublet, 
and  portrait  assist  the  imagination  power- 
fully, indeed  seem  to  open  and  illuminate 
some  hidden  oypt  of  memory.  Looking 
upon  them,  we  are  carried  away  from  the 
present  to  the  past— just  as  we  return 
almost  in  reality  to  some  scene  of  sorrow 
or  joy  as  we  listen  to  the  strain  of  music 
associated  with  it  in  our  memories. 

There  are  great  numbers  of  these  por- 
traits in  Virginia  homes:  in  the  broad 
halls  of  some  mansions,  they  com{detely 
banish  the  deer-antlers,  fishing-rods,  guns, 
and  pictures  of  celebrated  races,  immemo- 
rial ornaments  of  halls  generally.  Ranged 
in  long  lines,  they  look  down  perseveringly 
with  never-winking  eyes  upon  the  hurry- 
ing, bustling  household :  comprehending, 
you  would  say,  plainly,  every  thing  whi£ 
IS  going  on  before  them,  but  forbidden  by 
some  magical  spell,  to  speak,  or  close  their 
eyes,  or  move.  There  are  chevaliers  of 
the  time  of  Captain  Smith,  with  bright 
steel  cuirasses  and  ferocious  fringes  on 
their  upper  lips : — ^ladies  with  high  towers 
of  lace  and  curls  reared  on  their  heads : 
and  courtly  gentlemen  with  rufiSes  and 
cocked-hats,  and  hair  gathered  in  a  queue 
behind,  and  tied  with  bows  of  ribbon. 
Some  grasp  swords,  others  rest  their  white 
hands,  heavily  ruffled  as  in  Vandyke's 
pictures,  on  excellently  bound  books — 
others  again  hold  hunting  horns  burnished 
still  by  the  bright  October  sunlight.  The 
sofl-eyed  dames  float  in  clou£  of  pale 
saffron  lace,  and  sparkle  all  over  with 
diamond  bracelets,  breastpins,  and  rings : 
they  hold  m  their  delicate  taper  fingers 
rose-buds  and  other  flowers ;  or  else  caress 


262 


The  Cocked-Hat  Gentry. 


[Haich 


with  Bnowy  hands  the  narrow  heads  of 
greyhounds,  or  curling  backs  of  little 
poodle-dogs!  There  they  all  are  quite  as 
natural  as  life.  We  have  read  of  them  in 
books,  and  gazed  upon  their  portraits,  but 
who  has  seen  them  in  their  homes  ? 

No  one  of  the  present  generation : — for 
alas !  those  gallant  cavaliers  and  excel- 
lent dames  have  long  since  "  gone  to  sup- 
per" with  PoUmiua  in  the  play.  The 
bright  roses  are  withered: — the  grey- 
hounds have  coursed  their  last  hare,  and 
been  in  turn  run  down  by  a  brace  more 
fleet: — the  lapdogs  no  more  snarl  and 
sleep  away  their  idle  aristocratic  days, 
gone  long  ago  to  sleep  on  colder  and  harder 
beds  than  l^es'  laps.  The  rich  laces  have 
regaled  some  royal  family  of  dainty 
moths — gone  in  their  turn,  and  forgotten 
even  by  the  annalists  of  Mothland : — the 
books  the  fisdr  hand  held,  in  which  the 
words  all  ended  with  an  ^  are  now  un- 
opened, being  far  from  easy  to  peruse — 
the  hunting  bugles  no  longer  echo  through 
the  hills,  chronicling  the  death  of  Reynard, 
their  gay  music  is  no  more,  and  hke  those 
"horns  of  Elfland  faintly  blowing,"  dies 
away  in  the  far  distance  of  the  Past  All 
are  gone ;  and  in  their  turn  too,  the  stal- 
wart soldiers,  and  fine  courtly  gentlemen 
— men  who  looked  around  upon  their 
broad  possessions,  and  thought  the  sun 
would  shine  for  them  always,  not  push 
them  soon  into  night,  to  make  room  for 
those  other  actors  waiting  for  their  time 
to  make  an  entrance  on  the  sta^  of  life. 
They  are  all  crumbled  along  with  their 
nobleness  and  meanness — their  thousand 
conspicuous  faults  and  bright  virtues. 
They  empty  no  more  goblets :  hunt  no 
more :  league  no  more  against  royal  op- 
pression^ or  the  encroachment  of  the  pea!s- 
ant  gallmg  the  courtier's  heel.  They  are 
all  gone  long  ago,  like  the  days  they 
filled  with  their  gay  revels  and  great 
deeds. 

Let  us  endeavor  to  return  for  a  moment 
to  the  times  thev  moved  in,  and,  if  possi- 
ble, look  upon  the  old  race  in  their  homes. 
To  accomplish  any  thing  like  a  complete 
picture  of  their  manners,  would  require, 
of  course,  much  space — ^far  more  than  wo 
have  on  the  present  occasion ;  but  we  may 
find  something  to  interest  us,  even  in  a 
hasty  glance  at  a  single  period.  Let  us 
select  the  commencement  of  the  Eigh- 
teenth Century,  before  there  were  any 
cities  in  Virginia,  and  when  the  royjd 
Governors,  like  moons  shining  with  hot- 
rowed  light,  held  their  miniature  vice- 
regal courts  in  Williamsburg— or  as  they 
called  it  then.  Middle  Plantation.  The 
wealthy  Virginian  did  not  live  at  Middle 


Plantation — having  an  unconquerable 
aversion  to  assemblages  of  houses.  He 
resided  in  baronial  splendor  on  his  large 
estate,  surrounded  by  i^  small  army  of 
"  followers  " — ^in  other  words,  of  blade  and 
white  indented  servants.  He  went  to 
Middle  Plantatk>n  on  all  occasions  of 
ceremony,  and,  of  course,  'resided  tempo- 
rarily there,  when  he  chanced  to  be  a 
member  of  the  House  of  Bumtsses,  but 
he  was  by  no  means  fond  of  the  place. 
He  was  much  more  at  home  on  his  plan- 
tation, and  we  will  go  to  find  him  in  his 
comfortable  home. 

He  sits  there,  in  the  long  portico  whose 
trellis  is  covered  all  over  with  bright 
flowering  vines — a  tall,  fine-looking  cava- 
lier, with  open  honest  features  and  a  pleas- 
ant smile.  He  is  dad  in  rich  doth  and 
velvet,  with  silk  stockings,  rufQes  at  wrist 
and  breast,  and  his  long  waistcoat,  fitting 
easily  over  his  portly  figure,  reaches  to 
the  knees ;  it  is  of  exactly  the  same  length 
with  his  square-cut  coat,  and  of  the  same 
material,  but  ornamented  with  fllgoreB 
worked  with  silver  thread.  The  hair  is 
brushed  back  finom  the  forehead^  eovered 
with  powder,  and  tied  behind  with  plain 
black  ribbon.  On  days  of  ceremony  he 
wears  a  handsome,  but  strong  and  ser- 
viceable sword,  suspended  fhrni  a  bitMd 
belt,  buckled  over  the  coat  and  fiillipg 
down  very  low  on  the  left  side.  When 
he  visits  Middle  Plantatkm  he  wean  fine 
shoes  of  Spanish  leather,  ornamented  with 
diamond  buckles;  those  which  he  goes 
about  his  plantation  in  are  much  stronger 
and  plainer.  Thus  dressed,  with  his  comrt- 
ly  smile,  {feasant  openness  of  laoe,  and 
good-humored  air  of  self-importanoe,  en- 
gendered by^  long  sway  upon  his  large 
estate,  he  is  as  elegant  an  old  cavalier  as 
could  be  well  ima^ned.  Place  him  sur- 
rounded by  his  fkmily  in  the  wide,  oak- 
wainscoted  dining-room  of  his  maiiakMiy 
with  a  volume  of  the  new  serial  of  Mr. 
Joseph  Addison  in  his  hand,  and  we  have 
a  tolerable  idea  of  the  external  appeannoe 
of  the  worthy  gentleman,  at  home  on  his 
plantation,  or  at  Williamsburg. — ^Lei  us 
now,  after  speaking  of  his  costume,  niend 
a  few  words  on  his  diaracter.  The  "Old 
Virginia  gentlemen,"  as  the^  are  now 
often  called,  were  a  race  of  men  with 
probably  more  good  and  bad  qoalities, 
and  with  those  good  and  bad  qualities  in 
greater  excess,  than  an^  other  dass  of 
human  beings  that  ever  hved.  Thej  were 
brave,  true,  honest,  and  open-hearted — 
better  men  in  every  way  than  their  Eng- 
lish prototypes.  The  V gentlemen"  of 
England — the  untitled  nobility,  as  some 
one  calls  them— were  men  of  great  oour- 


1854.] 


Tk$  Coched-ITai  QttUry. 


268 


age  and  extreme  ambition,  if  we  oould  get 
at  the  truth  of  the  matter,  m  all  times  and 
places ; — ^but  with  this  courage,  they  pos- 
sessed Tices  and  meannesses  which  make 
the  reader  of  the  present  day  hesitate 
whether  to  admire,  pity,  or  despise  them. 
The  Virginian  was  unproyed  by  his  dis- 
tance from  the  vices  and  temptations  of  a 
corrupt  and  dissolute  court :  in  Virginia 
there  were  no  lords  to  bend  to,  no  rapa- 
ckms  ministries  led  on  by  scheming  Boling- 
brokes  to  flatter  or  be  rumed  by.  There 
were  no  palaces  which  made  him  ashamed 
isi  his  comfortable  manor-house ;  no  maids 
of  honor,  fiur  and  frail,  to  make  his  daugh- 
ten  blush  for  their  country  manners  and 
iuluona,  or  corrupt  their  pure  morals ;  no 
elegant,  perfumed,  fine  gentlemen  to  lead 
his  sons  into  wild  revels  and  contami- 
aaling  purlieus,  or  to  gambling-houses, 
fliere  to  fleece  them  after  the  fashion  ver  v 
much  in  TOfue  with  '*  roystering  blades '' 
and  ^  jolly  Mohocks."  His  wife  was  not 
•objected  to  the  insulting  admiration  and 
insidwos  compliments  of  some  notorious 
rake — admiratiou  just  of  that  description, 
and  carried  just  so  fiu*,  that  the  indignant 
huaband  must  feign  not  to  see  it,  and 
■nQe,  and  be  the  excellent  good  friend  of 
hia  inanltmg  guest  on  pain  of  being  sub- 
jected to  that  most  dreadful  of  ordeals, 
ridicule.  His  daughters  oould  grow  up 
with  unblemished  reputations,  as  well  as 
pore  hearts,  safe  from  the  shameless  hints 
and  inoendoes,  then  fashionable  talk  with 
ladieB  in  their  morning  calls — safe,  more 
than  all,  frtHn  the  trained  skill  and  dia- 
bolical canning  of  those  men  whose  enoiv 
mities  the  comedy  of  the  time  could  not 
oaricatore:  ever^  thing  was  purer  fiur  o£^ 
hne.  in  Virgima.  The  inane  jests  and 
iM^tar  of  a  social  organization  which 
trM  ti^us  to  conceal  its  unbelief  in  man 
or  woman,  or  in  Qod — to  drown  the  stings 
of  conacienoe  in  wine  and  revel — were  not 
heard  across  the  wide  Atlantic:  the  at- 
iDoq)herB  laden  with  the  odor  of  a  oor- 
ropt,  IMering  court,  vainly  endeavoring 
to  smother  its  rank  effluvia  in  perfume, 
^  not  extend  as  fiu*as  the  fresh  '*  Virgin 
Land."  And  so,  with  all  around  him 
pomr  and  fresher,  like  the  bright  morning 
wliidi  blessed  him,  the  Old  virginii^  gen- 
tleman became  himself  much  more  pure. 
He  was  a  simple,  worthy  man  in  heart — 
with  chivalry  for  ladies  and  honesty  for 
dl  men  with  whom  be  dealt  His  door 
was  never  closed,  and  the  broad  board 
vas  spread  for  every  comer  throughout 
te  year.  No  bemr  ever  went  away 
knngfy  from  his  dmn*,  or  asked  in  vain 
far  a  night's  lod^g  in  winter.  That  is 
the  plam,  nnvamished  picture ;  we  can 


only  lament  the  shadows  which  deform- 
ed it 

There  were  dark  colors  in  the  picture, 
which  I,  for  one,  will  not  suppress.  The 
Virginia  gentleman,  so  honest,  hospitable, 
generous,  and  estimable,  was,  with  all 
this,  intensely  aristocratic  in  the  very 
worst  aooeptation  of  the  word.  Not  aris- 
tocratic in  the  sense  which  should  attach 
to  the  term  truly — a  sense  in  which  every 
one  should  regard  it,  which  should  make 
us  cling  to  the  doctrine  of  aristocracy — 
power  to  the  Best— as  the  greatest  hope 
and  stay  of  nations :  the  Virginia  gentle- 
man did  not  so  translate  it  With  him 
the  apttrroi  were  the  gentlemen  by  birth, 
the  hereditary  landed  proprietors,  the  men 
whose  forefathers  were  "  gentlemen  "  be- 
fore them — who  oould  bow  elegantly  over 
a  lady's  hand,  and  tread  a  minuet  grace- 
frilly.  I  know  that  in  the  characters  of 
this  old  race  of  men  were  to  be  found  a 
thousand  conspicuous  virtues  and  bright 
graces,  making  them,  as  far  as  these  things 
went,  undeniably  the  *^  foremost  men  of  idl 
the  world:"  I  have  no  desire  to  question 
the  existence  of  those  virtues,  for  many 
reasons.  They  did  possess  them ;  I  know 
it,  I  do  not  denjr  it  Tliey  are  justly  en- 
titled to  the  praise  of  having  been  a  cour- 
ageous and  honest  race  of  men — as  true, 
and  honest,  and  courageous  as  the  world 
has  ever  seen,  when  duty  called  on  them. 
But,  what  was  wicked,  what  was  shame- 
ful, what  was  unchristian,  here  as  else- 
where, was  that  contempt  they  felt  to- 
ward every  man  who  chanced  not  to  be 
bom  a  "gentleman."  It  was  wicked  and 
shameful,  because  it  mortified  and  hum- 
bled noble  natures  sprung  from  low  es- 
tate— a  thousand  times  unchristian,  be- 
cause opposed  directly  in  the  very  teeth  to 
what  onr  Saviour  taught  men  in  bis  life  and 
words.  Nothing  excuses  it ;  scarcely  any 
thing  palliates  it  It  was  not  concealed, 
or  pretended  to  bo  denied.  It  was  a  con- 
tempt and  disregard,  as  genuine  in  its  char- 
acter and  excessive  in  degree  as  any  other 
trait  of  the  "  cocked-hat  gentry."  It  was 
indiscriminate  in  its  exercise — ^no  excep- 
tion was  permitted  to  assert  itself^  and 
no  genius,  no  nobility  or  elevated  purity 
could  cause  the  taint  to  be  lost  sight  of 
for  a  moment  A  man  of  the  people  might 
distinguish  himself  never  so  much,  but 
the  invisible  barrier  between  himself  and 
the  "gentry"  defied  his  utmost  efibrts  to 
remove  it.  This  cannot  be  denied,  and 
will  not  be ;  because  in  our  vastly  liber- 
alized day  and  generation  much  of  the 
same  prejudice  exists  among  many  of  the 
best  men,  not  only  in  Virginia,  but 
throughout  the  Umon.     It  was  no  less 


264 


The  Cocked-Hat  Gentry. 


piudi 


trae  of  them  than  contracted  and  un- 
manly. That  was  the  feeling  of  the 
whole  race,  the  dark  shade  in  the  picture ; 
the  shadow  which  history,  when  she  be- 
gins to  speak,  not  stammer,  will  vainly 
endeavor  to  remove. 

But  to  leave  this  part  of  the  subject 
and  pass  on.  The  daily  habits  of  the  old 
Virginia  gentleman  are  not  without  inter- 
est, and  suggestiveness.  The  stout  plant- 
er rose  with  the  sun,  made  a  hearty 
ploughmanlike  breakfast,  surrounded  by 
his  brightfaced  wife  and  children,  then 
mounting  his  easy-going  cob,  made  the 
tour  of  his  plantation,  seeing  that  the  lit- 
tle army  of  white  and  black  laborers  were 
at  their  work  in  the  wheat,  com,  or  to- 
bacco field.  He  gave  his  orders  to  the 
overseer,  saw  to  his  stock,  caressed  the 
glossy  necks  of  his  hunters  and  race- 
horses who  whinnied  at  the  sound  of  his 
well-known  voice,  and  then  with  a  healthy 
color  reddening  his  open  face,  rode  once 
again  into  the  field,  and  so  came  home  to 
dinner.  The  wits  and  beauties  of  Eng- 
land had  lately  introduced  the  fashion  of 
going  to  dinner  at  the  late  hour  of  two  or 
three  o'clock :  but  Virginia  was  not  quick 
to  follow  every  caprice,  and  "  new  fangled 
notion  "  of  the  Mother  Country.  The  old 
Virginian  dined  still,  as  his  fathers  had 
done  before  him,  at  the  honest  hour  of 
noon.  And  plainly  too: — we  verv  much 
fear  that  the  "  silver  and  gold  plate  ^'  which 
so  figure  in  rhetorical  diatribes  against  the 
class  were  more  imaginary  than  real. 
True,  the  tea-service  was  of  silver,  and 
more  valuable  for  the  workmanship  than 
the  material,  like  Cellini's  chisellings  to- 
day :  but  plain,  trenchers,  and  steel  forks 
were  used  at  dinner.  After  the  hearty 
meal  the  old  gentleman  betook  himself  to 
the  Library,  or  hall  or  portico,  and  whiled 
away  an  hour  or  two  with  the  assistance 
of  his  pipe  over  some  thrce-months-old 
journal  from  England  which  told  him 
what  was,  or  had  been,  going  on  in  Par- 
liament— or  in  reading  his  news  letter 
from  Williamsburg  alias  Middle  Planta- 
tion, swearing  audibly  the  while  at  some 
proclamation  of  "His  Excellency;" — or 
else  some  old  neighbor  came  in  and  they 
talked  together  of  plantation  matters,  and 
the  blood  of  horses,  and  breeds  of  slieep 
and  cattle:  the  conversation  ending  usu- 
ally in  a  visit  to  the  stable,  and  a  critical 
examination  of  the  limbs  and  movements 
of  the  slim-legg'd  race-horses,  led  out  by 
a  rising  generation  of  small,  monkey-like 
black  grooms.  At  sunset  or  soon  after 
came  supper,  and  quiet  social  enjoyment 
by  the  cheerful  fire  of  winter  or  the  open 
window  in  the  summer  time :  and  games 


of  ombre  or  tictac.  and  music  on  the 
harpsichord — and  then  with  devotion  from 
the  "  Book  of  Common  Prayer  "  the  house- 
hold separated  for  their  chambers.  The 
"  Squire "  as  he  was  often  called  varied 
this  routine  by  occasionaHy  spending  an 
hour  in  reading  Shakspeare,  or  Horace  in 
hand,  endeavoring'  to  give  the  Oxford 
sound  to  the  ringing  odes :  or  he  attended 
races ;  or  followed  the  fox-hounds,  drink- 
ing in  with  much  delight  their  mnsica] 
cry;  or  presided  at  the  county  courts, 
and  visited  Avith  great  complacency  the 
utmost  penalties  of  the  law  on  trespassers, 
and  other  invaders  of  the  sacred  right  of 
property.  On  Sunday  he  rolled  grandly 
to  church  in  his  fine  chariot  with  its  four 
glossy,  long-tailed  horses :  and  devoutly 
made  the  responses :  and  after  servkse— 
talking  with  the  fox-hunting,  card-playii^ 
parson  of  the  parish — fulminated  terrible 
menaces  against  those  audacious  "New 
Lights"  who  presumed  to  dissent  fi?om 
the  doctrines  or  regulations  of  the  great 
Established  Church  of  England.  Thus 
the  old  Virginia  gentleman  passed  his  tune 
at  peace  with  all  men  for  the  most  part, 
and  in  his  own  estimation  as  wortiiy  in 
the  sight  of  God  as  fallen  man  can  be  in 
this  world.  Let  us  not  discuss  the  ques- 
tion :  the  lights  and  shadows,  the  strength 
and  weakness  of  the  individual  are  all 
manifest 

The  eldest  son  of  the  worthy  now 
claims  our  attention.  That  young  gentle- 
man was  not  accustomed,  formerly  during 
his  lifetime,  to  neglect;  and  would,  if 
that  were  possible,  resent  any  disregard  of 
his  claims  to  notice,  any  ulenoe  on  the 
subject  of  his  manifold  graces  and  attrac- 
tions. He  is  quite  a  difierent  person  ftom 
his  father:  there  is  no  sturdinessin  his 
form  or  air,  no  healthy  ruddy  color  in  his 
cheeks — at  least  natural  color,  of  iHiich 
we  shall  come  to  say  a  few  words  present- 
ly. He  cordially  disdains  plantation  af> 
fairs,  and  considers  conversation,  generally 
speaking;  horribly  wearisome.  He  has 
just  returned  from  Oxford  and  a  season 
m  London,  where  he  made  the  aoqnaint- 
ance  of  all  the  more  celebrated  bucks,  and 
even  himself  achieved  no  slight  suocesa 
^*  in  the  nice  conduct  of  a  clouded  cane." 
Master  Hopeful  has  a  languid  manner,  and 
patronizes  with  an  air  of  good-hmnored 
superiority  his  younger  brothers  and  sis- 
ters. Why,  indeed,  should  he  work  or 
worry  himself  about  his  future?  The 
estate  comes  naturally  to  him,  as  he  is  the 
eldest  son.  He  is  the  heir  nearest  the 
throne,  the  succession  is  his  own  beyond 
cavil  or  dispute — and  so  he  looks  down 
kindly  on  the  household  and  practises  ths 


1854.] 


The  Oocked-JOai  Gentry. 


265 


royal  manner  in  advanoe.  Besides,  his 
travels  in  Eorope  have  made  him  much 
the  saperior  of  those  oountry-bred  yoaths 
and  diumsels.  He  has  seen  life  and  is  a 
deep  philosopher.  He  has  long  since  learn- 
ed to  look  upon  human  life  as  a  comedy 
where  A.'8  business  is  to  make  lore  to  the 
irife  of  B.,  and  where  clearing  out  the 
pockets  of  C.  at  cards,  is  the  most  rational 
employment  to  which  D.  can  dedicate  his 
time  and  talents.  His  religious  opinions 
are  not  decided  in  their  cha^act^r,  but  he 
is  rather  inclined  to  think  the  Established 
Ohnrch  what  we  modems  call  a  hum- 
bug >— an  ofHnion,  however,  which,  be  it 
said  to  the  ca'edit  of  his  oomkton  sense,  he 
has  far  too  much  tact  to  advance  in  the 
mseoce  of  his  Church  of  England  sire. 
He  has  not  yet  forgotten  the  unpleasant 
feelings  he  experienced  some  years  since 
when  the  gold-headed  cane  was  applied 
vigorously  to  his  shoulders  by  the  irate 
Squire.  He  preserves,  therefore,  a  politic 
silence  on  the  subject  of  religion,  and  goes 
willingly  to  church,  where,  lounging  m  the 
vdvetHSUshioned  pew,  he  amuses  himself 
by  staring  out  of  countenance  the  young 
damsels  ^m  the  neighborhood  who  are 
criticising  under  cover  of  their  silken 
hoods,  the  returned  traveller's  appear- 
ance:—or,  tired  of  this,  composes  himself 
in  a  graceful  attitude  to  quiet  sleep,  lulled 
pleasantly  by  Parson  Tythetobacco's 
drowsy  homilies. 

But  if  Master  Hopeful's  opinions  on  Re- 
l^on  were  undefined,  which  sprung  na- 
turally firom  his  never  having  thought 
upon  the  subject,  his  criticisms  on  dress 
and  fashion,  literature  and  art,  displayed 
the  knowledge  of  a  master.  In  art,  he 
was  an  adept:  he  could  talk  of  '^color- 
ing" and  ^'etfect'*  "interiors"  and  "pei> 
spectiTe  "  by  the  hour :  he  approved  uncon- 
ditionally of  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller's  style 
in  portrait-painting,  and  was  reported  to 
have  once  descended  to  a  favorable  criti- 
cism of  some  comic  sketches  shown  to  him 
privately  by  a  young  painter  of  the  name 
of  Hog^urth.  If  you  could  believe  him, 
he  bad  been  hand  in  glove  with  all  the 
literary  men  of  ^e  Town,  and  he  threw 
oat  at  times  mysterious  intimations  that 
the  finest  papers  in  the  '*  Spectator  "  were 
by  no  less  a  personage  than  himselfl  Joe 
AddiaoUj  and  Dick  Steele,  as  ho  called 
tiieoi  with  an  easy,  careless  familiarity, 
wwe  his  &st  friends ;  the  three  were  in- 
•enarable  night  and  morning,  ho  said,  and 
ttos  was  so  far  true  that  they  met  often  in 
the  Play-hoose,  where  joviid  Sir  Richard 
had  once  borrowed  ten  guineas  of  him. 
and  Miene  Mr.  Joseph  Addison  had  saia 
on  one  occasion  to  him :    "  From  Virginia, 

VOL.  III.— 18 


sir?  'tis  doubtless  a  fair  land  to  live  m: 
oommend  me  to  your  worthy  &ther,  whose 
relatives  in  England  here  have  done  me 
many  gracious  acts  of  kmdness."  But  if 
again  in  art  and  literature  his  parts  shone 
with  great  brilliance,  in  all  nuitters  con- 
nected with  dress  his  merits  entitled  him 
to  the  praise  due  to  a  great  genius.  Here 
he  was  Sir  Oracle:  when  l^  opened  his 
mouth,  no  one  could  speak,  much  less 
controvert  him.  He  was  learned  in  cos- 
tume, as  a  great  scholar  is  in  Umguages  or 
philosophy.  He  would  hold  forth  on  the 
subject  to  admiring  audiences  for  hours — 
flowing  on  serenely  master  of  his  subject 
and  triumphing  in  the  superiority  his 
knowledge  of  the  subject  gave  him  over 
the  barbarian  inhabitants  of  the  Colony. 
What  a  barbarous  place  Virginia  was! 
The  men  still  wore  the  sword-belt  over  the 
coat,  and  hanging  down  on  the  left  side 
instead  of  underneath,  and  covered  uf 
from  view.  Unfortunate  provincials !  he 
felt  no  contempt  for  one  guilty  of  such  a 
thing:  he  pitied  him  !  Some  of  the  wo- 
men still  raised  those  preposterous  towers 
of  curls  upon  their  heads  gone  out  of 
fiishion  at  least  a  month  ago,  and  wor« 
no  hoops,  now  universally  used  by  the 
fair  dames  of  London.  Poor  country 
girls ! — ^they  would  be  the  laughter  and 
u^nical  delight  of  London  galluits  and 
beauties.  If  ever  Master  Hopeful  dedi- 
cates himself  to  a  great  object  in.  life  it 
will  be  reform  in  the  barbarian  costume 
of  his  countrymen  and  women : — and  as 
the  first  step  in  this  elevated  enterprise, 
he  shows  them  in  his  own  person  what 
a  gentleman  of  fashion  and  distinction 
looks  like.  He  is  a  model  worthy  of  imi- 
tation. Look  at  him !  He  wears  a  pow- 
dered peruke  which  falls  down  in  a  queue 
behind,  two  feet  long,  and  is  tied  with  a 
long  orange-colored  ribbon.  His  cheeks, 
gently  rubbed  by  the  "  drop  curls"  of  the 
wig,  are  slightly  rouged,  a  fashion  just 
imported,  and  are  as  rosy  and  feminine- 
looking,  contrasted  with  the  aristocratic 
whiteness  of  the  forehead,  as  those  of  a 
young  ^rl.  His  lace  is  Flanders  or  Point 
de  Venise,  of  marvellous  fineness  and  as 
yellow  as  safiron :  his  vest  is  gold-floweiv 
ed  velvet :  his  coat  heavy  with  embroidery 
and  with  ample  cufis  which  turn  back  to 
the  elbow,  and  are  stiff  with  ornaments 
all  worked  in  silver  thread :  his  hands  are 
cased  in  delicate  fringed  gloves,  and  not 
seldom  hold  a  small  fashionable  muff  of 
leopard  skin :  his  pantaloons  are  of  blue 
satin,  and  his  scarlet  silk  stockings  are 
held  up  by  red  velvet  garters,  clasped 
with  diamond  buckles.  Add  Spanish  lea- 
ther shoes  with  heels  two  or  three  inches 


2M 


Th$  Cocked-Hat  Gentry. 


I 


high,  which  enable  him  to  assume  easily 
the  fashiomible  tiptoe  attitude,  and  the 
social  Adonis  of  the  Eighteenth  Century 
is  before  you. 

His  costume,  it  is  very  plain  from  this 
sketch,  does  not  resemble  very  closely  that 
of  his  father;  the  habits  of  the  young  squire 
differ  finom  those  of  his  father  in  a  man- 
ner no  less  striking.  Be  does  not  attend 
to  plantation  affiurs,  rarely  visits  the 
county  courts,  and  considers  fox-hunting 
an  amusement  only  fit  for  country  sentle- 
mcn,  unskilled  in  the  pursuits,  and  igno- 
rant of  the  delights  of  good  society.  He 
dawdles  in  bed  in  the  morning,  takes 
three  hours  to  dress,  and  makes  his  ap- 
pearance at  the  breakfast-table  when  the 
rest  of  the  world  are  getting  ready  to  go 
to  dinner.  He  takes  snuff  from  a  beluiti- 
ful  snuff-box  with  a  picture  on  the  lid, 
which  had  better  not  be  spoken  of  further, 
and  applies  the  aromatic  dust  to  his  nos- 
trils with  a  delicate  grace^  which  displays 
the  diamond  rings  upon  his  fijigers  to  the 
best  advantage:  he  does  not  like  snuff, 
and  never  partakes  of  it  without  sneezing 
with  such  violence  that  his  peruke  be- 
comes awry.  But  it  is  the  fashion  among 
the  London  gallants  and  literary  men,  to 
smear  the  upper  lip  with  it — it  looks  criti- 
cal and  knowing.  He  never  visits  Middle 
Plantation  without  his  snuff-box  and  nar- 
row-edged cocked  hat  with  its  bright  fea- 
ther, and  small  muff  such  as  the  ladies 
used.  He  salutes  his  Lordship  the  Go- 
vernor with  ease  and  politeness,  and  will 
even  dance  a  gavotte  or  minuet  if  he  meets 
with  some  young  damsel  whose  dress  and 
style  of  conversation  please  his  critical 
taste;  though  his  ofVexpressed  opinion  of 
the  minuet  is  not  favorable  to  the  chums 
of  that  divertisement  Still  he  dances 
with  much  grace  and  ease,  as  he  handles 
gracefully  and  with  ease  the  small  sword. 
These  things  are  a  part  of  his  superior 
education.  In  addition  to  all  these  attrac- 
tions and  accomplishments,  the  youthful 
hope  of  his  house  plays  well — and  deep ; 
often  sitting  up  all  mght  at  ^ictac  with 
his  admiring  friends,  and  rising  next 
morning  or  afternoon  with  empty  or  full 
pockets,  and  that  buzzing  in  the  ears  and 
swimming  of  the  head  wmch  even  the  best 
Rhenish  and  Claret,  taken  in  excess,  are 
apt  to  visit  on  their  votaries. 

But  enough  of  young  Master  Hopeful : 
the  difference  between  himself  and  his 
sturdy  sire  is  very  plain.  It  remains, 
however,  to  be  said^  that  these  follies  did 
not  very  long  survive  the  return  of  the 
English-educated  youths  to  their  colonial 
homes.  They  were  mere  wild  oats,  such 
as  young  men  have  been  engaged  in  sow- 


ing from  the  earhest  ages  of  the 
once  fairly  scattered,  these  youth 
"men  again."  Before,  their  very  s 
doubtful  so  completely  had  they  di 
their  manhood  with  those  curls,  axM 
colorings,  and  ladies'  mufi^ ;  tl 
passed  away  soon,  and  they  too) 
places  as  sturdy  country  gentlemen ; 
planters  with  hard  muscles  and 
digestions;  ruddy  faces^  not  rec 
rouge  but  exercise ;  with  "  plai 
talk"  in  abundance,  when  their  nei 
came  to  chat  with  them  over  their 
and  a  dedded  propensity  for  sitting  i 
great  dining  rooms  as  solemn  Ji 
and  committing  trespassers  or  othei 
factors;  and  presidmg  "with  be 
formal  cut "  at  county  courts,  and 
down  the  law  there  dictatorially 
pompous,  wordy  discourses  "  full  < 
saws  and  modem  instances."  Ah 
young  blade  soon  became  recreant 
splendid  London  circle,  which  ha 
him  forth  like  a  missionary,  to 
civilized  Christians  of  the  barbari 
Virginia.  He  took  off  deliberat 
Spanish  leather  slippers,  and  dom 
father's  old  serviceable  shoes,  wl 
"  stood  in"  thenceforth  as  the  nead 
house.  Abjuring  his  former  skef 
he  became  an  intolerant  advocate  a 
holder  of  the  union  between  Chun 
State ;  rode,  to  cover  with  his  nei 
joyouslys  and  nourished,  in  full  foi 
vigor,  that  good  old  English  oontei 
common  people  which  had  been 
him  as  an  article  of  his  Creed  of  i 
man. 

Master  Hopeful  in  the  third  gei» 
runs  the  same  course,  except  Uiat 
nia  has  now  a  college  of  its  own,  and  I 
not  visit  England.  He  is  quite  as  ea 
gant,  however,  as  hisfather  was ;  an 
old  gentleman,  with  fatherly  serioi 
takes  him  to  task  for  the  heavy  dn 
the  paternal  purse  his  losses  at  cai 
casion,  the  young  man  points  to  t] 
trait  of  a  gay  gallant  on  the  wall, 
elderly  ori^nal  now  stands  befor 
and  asks  with  great  interest  the  nai 
the  chief  wits  and  beauties  of  the  ti 
good  Queen  Anne.  But  he,  in  tai 
swears  his  old  companions,  and 
racing  and  revelling,  and  settles 
the  same  sturdy  planter,  with  th( 
creed  of  gentleman  but  now  spol 
Then  comes  the  Revolution,  and  th< 
worthies  rising  everywhere  like  a 
man  against  the  oppression  of  lb 
These  were  the  men  who  set  in  ) 
the  ball  of  the  Revolution,  and  evi 
polled  it  onward  with  their  at 
shoulders,  who  poured  out  their  b! 


1854.] 


Mm  nf  OmmeUr. 


Wl 


freely  as  tbe/  MTe  their  means;  who, 
throwing  aside  all  affection,  as  all  fear  for 
England,  risked  every  thing  in  life,  and 
gained  hy  that  deyotion — what  ? 

For  us  many  things ;  and  for  them- 
selyes — what  for  their  great  self-sacrificing 
patriotism  they  deserve — a  charitahle  view 
of  their  &alts  and  fiiilings.  Not  a  con- 
cealment of  their  faults — not  silence  when 
after  speaking  of  the  hright  portions  of 
the  picture,  tibe  shadows  come  to  he  ad- 
verted to  in  their  turn.  History  based 
vpon  such  theory  were  a  mere  party  pam- 

gilet,  a  mockery  of  what  it  should  be. 
ut  at  least  we  need  not  dwell  bitterly 
on  that  conspicuous  weakness,  any  more 
than  on  their  religious  intolerance,  and 


other  narrow  views  of  life  and  goYem- 
ment  It  was  the  fault  as  much  of  their 
&thers  and  the  times,  as  of  tbemselvesy 
Dead  and  gone  long  ago,  they  may  still 
speak  to  us  from  the  dust,  and  teach  us 
many  noble  precepts — as  fidelity  to  the 
land,  self  sacrificing  patriotism,  honesty 
in  all  things.  Americans  of  the  present 
day  and  hour  are  not  pure  enough  to  turn 
from  such  precepts,  thanking  God  they 
are  not  as  those  men.  Let  the  world 
take  the  lesson  which  those  dead  lives 
give  itj  thankfully;  let  it  admire  that 
great  vigorous  past  wherever  it  is  possible 
—not  seek  to  drag  it  down,  rather  endea- 
vor to  rise  up  superior  to  it 


MEN  OF   CHARACTER. 


TBLERE  is  nothing  we  more  quickly  recog- 
nize in  an  individual  than  character ;  and 
we  hardly  know  of  any  thing,  so  palpable 
to  the  senses,  that  is  so  hard  to  define 
clearly.  It. is  much  easier  to  tell  who 
have,,  and  who  have  it  not,  than  what  it 
is.  Great  intdlect  alone,  does  not  give  it, 
nor  great  intellect  combined  with  great 
moral  worth.  Goldsmith  was  almost 
wholly  devoid  of  it ;  Bacon,  Rousseau, 
and  Sneridan,  had  but  very  little  of  it ; 
Bolingbroke,  Burke,  and  Pitt,  a  good  deal. 
Chesterfield,  the  "  perfect  gentleman,''  and 
Pr.  Johnson,  the  "  respectable  Hottentot," 
both  had  a  large  share  of  it  Bonaoarte 
had  mudi  more  genius  than  Frederick  the 
Great;  but,  as  we  thinlc  less  character. 
The  Doke  of  Marlborougn  had  a  frtir  share 
of  it)  but  very  much  less  than  his  extra- 
ordinary wife.  The  Tudors  all  had  a  good 
deal  of  it ;  the  Stuarts  were  all  wanting 
in  it  Csdsar  had  it  in  an  almost  unpre- 
cedented degree ;  Brutus  and  Cicero  had 
bat  little,  especially  the  latter.  The  words 
Shakspeare  puts  into  the  mouth  of  CsBsar, 
give  an  imperfect  idea  of  it. 

"I  eoold  b«  well  moved,  if  I  were  m  yon: 

If  I  eoold  pnj  to  moTO,  prayers  would  move  me ; 

But  I  am  eonetant  aa  Uie  Northern  Stai; 

Of  wboee  tme  fixed  and  resting  quality, 

There  la  no  fellow  In  the  firmament. 

The  aUee  are  painted  with  onnumberod  qparks ; 

Tbey  are  all  fire,  and  every  one  doth  shine ; 

But  there's  but  one  in  all  doth  hold  his  plaoe: 

Bo  In  the  world.    Tis  fhmlshed  well  wiUi  men. 

And  men  are  flesh  and  blood,  and  apprehenaiTO ; 

Tet  in  the  number,  I  do  know  but  one 

That  nnasMilable  holds  on  his  rank 
.  UMhaked  of  motion." 


Character  is  what  involuntarily  com- 
mands respect.  It  implies  something  more 
than  great  capyity  and  great  learning. 
It  is  what  makeis  itself  felt^  whether  its 
owner  be  clothed  in  rags,  or  m  purple  and 
fine  linen.  It  is  sometimes  associated 
with  vanity,  but  generally  separated  from 
it  Pride  and  self-relianoe  almost  always 
accompany  it.  Its  possessor  is  not  easily 
moved  by  either  censure  or  applause,  and 
is  utterly  indifierent  to  what  Mrs.  Grundy 
will  say.  He  is  not  elated  by  little  dis- 
tinctions and  honors  that  may  be  confer- 
red upon  him,  and  cares  nothing  for  the 
loss  of  them.  Character  must  be  associat- 
ed with  great  firmness  and  decision,  and 
the  man  who  has  ft  will  not  be  turned 
from  his  course  by  any  amount  of  abuse, 
ridicule,  or  **'  paper  bullets  of  the  brain." 
"My  people  and  I,"  said  Frederick  the 
Great,  "  have  come  to  an  agreement  which 
satisfies  us  both.  They  are  to  say  what 
they  please,  and  I  am  to  do  what  I  please." 
And  he  suffered  all  sorts  of  lampoons  and 
satires  to  be  written  upon  him.  Even  the 
terrible  sneers  of  Voltaire,  when  directed 
against  him  after  their  quarrel,  he  suffered 
to  be  sold  by  the  booksellers,  in  his  own 
city,  with  impunity.  Bonaparte,  on  the 
contrary,  was  cut  to  the  quick  by  the 
newspaper  attacks  of  the  English  press 
upon  him,  and  would  suffer  no  jest  at  his 
expense  to  bo  published  in  his  own  king- 
dom. 

The  man  who  has  character  must  be 
independent,  fearless,  and  discriminating 
in  his  judgment  He  is  not  influenced 
by  the  posiUon  a  man  holds,  or  the  dothes 


268 


Men  of  Character, 


[March 


he  wears,  in  forming  his  estimate  of  him. 
He  looks  quite  through  the  "  linen  decen- 
cies," or  the  want  of  them,  that  environ  a 
man,  to  the  man  himself.  History  in- 
forms us  with  what  singular  and  extra- 
ordinary judgment  great  statesmen  hare 
sometimes  selected  men  for  important  sta- 
tions from  among  convicts  and  criminals. 
These  statesmen,  we  suspect,  almost  in- 
variably, had  a  good  deal  of  character. 
Napoleon's  selection  of  his  marshals  and 
generals  evinced  it.  A  man  with  a 
large  endowment  of  it  may  be  rich  or  poor, 
thrifty  or  unthrifty,  lazy  or  industrious, 
discreet  or  indiscreet ;  but  no  peculiarity 
of  circumstances  or  change  in  them,  can 
produce  any  visible  effect  upon  him.  John 
Quincy  Adams  was  rich,  thrifty,  indus- 
trious, prudent  and  discreet.  Dr.  John- 
son was  poor,  unthrifty,  lazy,  imprudent 
and  indiscreet ;  yet  the  latter  had  no  less 
character  than  the  former.  Dr.  Johnson 
was  uncouth  in  figure,  slovenly  in  his  ha- 
bits, awkward,  rude,  and  ill-bred  in  his 
manners ;  but  he  felt  such  a  conscious  su- 
periority, that  these  drawbacks  did  not 
annoy  him, — in  feet  he  did  not  seem  to  be 
conscious  of  their  existence,  although  one 
of  the  sharpest  of  observers,  where  he  was 
not  himself  concerned.  He  was  the  butt 
of  every  species  of  ridicule  and  sarcasm, 
but  they  fell  as  harmless  upon  him  as  rain 
upon  a  duck's  back.  He  could  not  con- 
ceive, he  said,  how  any.body  could  be  the 
worse  for  being  talked  uncharitably  of, 
and  did  not  sec,  for  his  part,  what  harm 
there  was  in  calling  a  man  nicknames. 
Chesterfield,  as  every  one  knows,  was  the 
exact  opposite  of  Dr.  Johnson,  yet  wo 
tbuik  he  had  as  much,  if  not  more,  char- 
acter. His  manner  of  treating  the  letter 
which  the  great  lexicographer  wrote  him, 
is  enough,  of  itself,  to  evince  it.  Call  his 
conduct,  on  that  occasion,  affectation,  if 
you  will ; — there  must  have  been  charac- 
ter to  have  prompted  such  affectation. 
^  Paint  me  as  I  am,"  said  Cromwell  to 
the  artist,  who  evinced  a  disposition  to 
smooth  over  a  little  the  scars,  deep  wrin- 
kles and  pimples  on  his  face.  There  was 
character  in  that  expression.  But  what 
a  testimony  it  was  to  the  character  De 
Retz  possessed,  when  he  said,  "  De  Betz 
is  the  only  man  in  Europe  who  despises 
me"  He  could  have  been  no  ordinary 
great  man  who  made  Cromwell  feel  that 
he  despised  him.  Character  implies  great 
self-possession,  and  the  man  who  has 
much  of  it  is  not  often  impatient  and  irri- 
table, but  generally  calm  and  cheerful; 
though  it  is  found  in  persons  both  grave 
and  gay,  taciturn  and  talkative,  sociid  and 
unsoda].      Beau  Brummel    and    Count 


D'Orsay  were  men  of  character,  and  so 
were  Tecumseh  and  Davy  Crocket 

The  following  is  one  of  the  paradoxes 
Emerson  has  hugged  to  his  bc^m,  and 
we  quote  it  as  having  some  bearing  on  the 
subject  we  are  treating  upon. 

"  A  man  passes  for  that  he  is  worth. 
Very  idle  is  all  curiosity  concerning  other 
peoples'  estimate  of  us,  and  all  fear  of  re- 
maining unknown  is  equally  so.  If  a  man 
know  that  he  can  do  any  thing — ^that  be 
can  do  it  better  than  any  one  else — ^he  has 
a  pledge  of  the  acknowledgment  of  that 
feet  by  all  persons.  The  world  is  full  of 
judgment  days,  and  into  every  assembly 
that  a  man  enters,  in  every  action  he  at- 
tempts, he  is  gauged  and  stamped.  In 
every  troop  of  boys  that  whoop  and  run 
in  each  yard  and  square,  a  new  comer  is 
as  well  and  accurately  weighed  in  the 
course  of  a  few  days,  and  stamped  with 
his  right  number,  as  if  he  had  undergone 
a  formal  trial  of  his  strength,  speed  and 
temper." 

If  a  man  passes  for  that  he  is  worth, 
why  is  it  that 

**  Ten  andent  towns  contend  for  Homer  dead, 
Throngh  which  the  liring  Homer  begged  bSsbrMd.** 

Was  not  CaBsar  looked  upon  by  the 
Romans  generally  as  a  dissolnte,  prodigal 
youth,  who  was  fest  ruining  himself? 
Did  Shakspoare  pass  for  all  he  was  worth 
in  the  estimation  of  a  single  person  who 
lived  in  the  same  age  with  him  ?  John 
Hampden,  we  are  told,  was  the  only  one 
who  had  any  idea  of  the  metal  Cromwell 
was  made  of.  until  he  began  to  disUngoish 
himself;  ana  he  lived  in  oomparative  in- 
significance until  he  was  upwards  of  forty. 
Alison  says  Dr.  Johnson  was  the  finvmost 
man  of  the  eighteenth  century ;  yet  it  is 
well  known  that  he  lived  more  than  fifty 
years  m  great  poverty  and  obscarity, 
oftentimes  in  absolute  want  of  enoo^  to 
eat,  and  in  the  absence  of  better  lod^gs^ 
obliged  to  find  what  rest  he  oonld  on  the 
ashes  from  a  glass  house.  Who  had  any 
suspicion  of  the  indomitable  soul  Cortei 
possessed  during  his  residence  of  several 
years  in  Cuba,  when  he  had  nearly  reach- 
ed middle  age  ?  Why  was  every  one  at 
first  so  thunderstruck  with  the  proposition 
of  John  Adams  to  make  Washingt^  Com- 
mander-in-Chief of  the  American  Ibroes, 
if  he  passed  for  that  he  was  worth?  His 
selection  for  that  office  vras  a  compromise 
measure,  like  that  of  Pierce's  nomination ; 
a  good  many  more  eminent  men,  who 
thought  that  they  had  strong  claims  for 
the  appointment,  were  induced  to  unite 
upon  one  who  was  not  great  enouefa  to 
be  thought  a  very  formid&le  liral.  What 


1864.] 


Men  of  Character. 


S69 


are  Gray's  qpecalations  in  the  Coantrj 
Ohurchyard  good  for.  if  men  always  pass 
for  that  they  are  worth  ?  If  Wordsworth 
passed  for  that  he  was  worth  when  a 
young  man,  he  passed  for  a  good  deal 
more  than  he  was  worth  when  an  old  one. 
John  Adams  once  when  in  a  room  where 
a  portrait  of  Washington  was  hanging, 
approached  it,  and  laying  his  finger  on  the 
mouthy  remarked  to  a  friend,  that  if  he 
liad  kept  his  lips  as  close  togetncr  as  that 
man  did  his,  he  might  have  been  re-elected 
President  We  have  no  doubt  that  the  ob- 
stacles which  prevented  both  the  Adamses 
from  being  elected  President  a  second  time, 
were  to  some  extent,  expressed  about  their 
mouths  (for  the  mouth  is  the  feature  most 
expressive  of  the  disposition) ;  but  we  sus- 
pect something  else  stood  in  the  way 
of  the  elder  Adams's  re-election  besides  the 
want  of  tightness  with  which  his  lips  ad- 
hered to  eadi  other.  To  be  sure,  the  suc- 
cess of  a  statesman  sometimes  depends,  in 
some  degree,  upon  the  skill  with  which  he 
avoids  committing  himself  to  this  or  that 
measure  on  which  public  opinion  may  be 
decided ;  but  a  non-committal  policy  is  not 
often  the  wisest — ^in  fact,  it  is  an  exceed- 
ingly difficult  matter  to  be  non-committal 
at  all ;  for  those  who  know  a  man  best, 
always  know  which  way  his  sympathies 
tend  on  most  questions.  Jefferson  did 
not  keep  his  lips  any  closer  together  than 
John  Adams  did  his.  IIo  was  full  as 
frank  and  imprudent  in  the  expression  of 
his  opinions,  as  indiscreet  and  uncalculat- 
ine  in  the  manifestation  of  his  anger  and 
indignation  towards  his  opponents,  as  his 
onsuocessful  rival.  Is  a  man  any  the  less 
known  for  keeping  his  lips  tightly  closed  ? 
Is  his  rcAl  disposition  any  more  concealed 
for  being  extremely  prudent  and  reserved  ? 
Jackson  was  frank^  impetuous,  and  head- 
strong in  disposition;  Van  Buren  cooL 
wary,  and  discreet  Was  the  character  of 
the  one  any  better  understood  than  that 
of  the  other  ?  Is  there  any  enemy  of  the 
ktter  foolish  enough  to  suppose  that  the 
nomerons  friends,  who  have  adhered  to 
him  through  all  his  life,  have  done  so  be- 
eause  he  pretended  to  be  what  he  was  not 
— because  he  concealed  his  bad  qualities^ 
and  made  pretensions  to  good  ones  he  did 
Dot  possess  ?  How  lone  was  any  virtue 
that  was  not  real,  ever  Known  to  be  suc- 
cessfully feigned  i  "  How  can  a  man  be 
oonoealed  ? '*  exclaimed  Confucius,  more 
tlum  twenty-three  centuries  ago.  "  How 
can  a  man  be  concealed  ?  "  There  is  no 
audi  thing  as  concealment;  nature  revolts 
at  it  A  man  may  not  pass  for  that  he 
it  worth,  t.  e.,  the  full  extent  of  his  capa- 
city may  not  be  appreciated,  but  his  good 


or  bad  qualities  cannot  be  kiddeo.  Akeen 
and  artful  politician  haroens  to  obtain 
high  places  and  power.  Those  who  look 
only  at  the  surface  of  things,  ascribe  his 
success  chiefly  to  his  craft,  when  probably 
if  the  truth  was  kupwn  ho  obtained  them 
in  spite  of  it  His  energy,  liberality,  and 
broad  sympathy  with  his  fellow  men,  quite 
likely,  overbalanced  the  drawback  which 
his  craft  may  actually  have  made  to  his 
popularity. 

Character  is  a  much  more  rare  article 
in  the  best  society,  even,  than  many  sup- 
pose. We  know  of  no  better  satire  in  fash- 
ionable society,  or  society  generally,  than 
that  afforded  by  a  slight  sketch  of  Lord 
Chesterfield,  drawn  by  one  who  knew  him 
well,  Lord  Hervey.  He  said.  "Lord  Ches- 
terfield was  allowed  by  every  body  to  have 
more  conversable,  entertaining  table  wit, 
than  any  man  of  his  time.  His  propen- 
sity to  ridicule,  in  which  he  indulged  him- 
self with  infinite  humor  and  no  distinc- 
tion, and  with  inexhaustible  spirit  and  no 
discretion,  made  him  sought  and  feared, 
liked  and  not  loved,  by  most  of  his  ac- 
quaintance. No  sex^  no  relation,  no  rank, 
no  power,  no  profession,  no  friendship,  no 
obligation  was  a  shield  from  the  pointed, 
glittering  weapons  that  seemed  to  shine 
only  to  a  stander  by,  but  cut  deep  in  those 
they  touched.  All  his  acquaintance  were 
indifferently  the  object  of  his  satire,  and 
served  promiscuously  to  feed  that  vora- 
cious appetite  for  abuse  that  made  him  fall 
on  every  thing  that  came  in  his  way,  and  ^ 
treat  every  one  of  his  companions  in  rota- 
tion at  the  expense  of  the  rest." 

A  fine  picture  this  of  one  of  the  most 
distinguished  men  of  the  time  in  whk^  he 
lived.  As  a  statesman,  Chesterfield  had 
but  one  or  two  equals ;  as  a  vigorous  and 
polished  writer,  but  few  men  surpassed 
him.  Ho  was  the  first  gentleman  of  the 
age,  the  delight  of  every  social  circle,  the 
"  mirror  of  politeness,"  "  the  lord  among 
wits  and  the  wit  among  lords.^'  Yet 
what  a  sublime  groundwork  of  foith  and 
truth  underlaid  his  whole  character !  and 
what  a  commentary  upon  the  society  in 
which  he  moved;  though  it  was.  prob- 
ably, somewhat  superior  to  that  Mrs.  Poti- 
phar  drew  around  her. 

Notwithstandmg  Chesterfield's  faithless- 
ness and  want  of  sincerity,  but  fow^  men 
have  had  more  character ;  and,  compared 
with  Lord  Byron,  whom  we  now  propose 
to  consider  in  that  relation,  it  was  fourfold 
greater,  wo  think,  in  the  former  than  in 
the  latter. 

Character  necessarily  makes  a  man  some- 
thing of  a  hero,  though  heroes  oftentimes 
do  not  possess  much  character.    Charles 


270 


Men  of  Character, 


[Haidi 


Xlt.  of  Sweden  lacked  it,  and  not  one  in 
ten  of  Kapoleon's  marshals  and  cenerals 
had  much  of  it.  Byron  certainly  nad  but 
a  small  share  of  it.  That  he  had  unusual 
strength  and  acutcness  of  intellect,  and  al- 
most unequalled  abilities  as  a  poet,  no  one 
presumes  to  doubt.  But  he  had  none  of 
that  fixed  earnestness  of  purpose,  that 
calm  but  resolute  energy,  that  repose  and 
self  reliance  which  is  the  characteristic  of 
Ivim, 

**That  anasBailable  holds  oo  hlarank 
Unahaked  of  motioQ.^ 

Of  real  pride  Byron  had  but  little ;  but 
he  had  an  intensely  craving  vanity. 

Men  who  are  really  indifferent  whether 
"courts  and  crowds  applaud  or  hiss," 
seldom  say  so ;  and  those  who  really  feel 
such  a  profound  contempt  for  their  fellow- 
men  as  Byron  pretended  to,  do  not  take  the 
pains,  in  the  most  elaborate  efforts  to  inform 
them  of  it  two  or  three  times  a  year,  or 
oftener.  His  strong  passions,  which  are 
held  out  as  an  extenuation  for  his  outrage- 
ously immoral  conduct,  we  confess  that  we 
have  looked  in  vain  for  much  evidence  of. 
He  was  shamefully  licentious,  to  be  sure ; 
but  his  licentiousness  instead  of  proceed- 
ing, from  an  all  engrossmg  passion  for  the 
"  sex,"  like  that  which  governed  the  Marc 
Antonys,  the  Mirabeaus,  and  such  men, 
seemed  to  be  more  an  offspring  of  the 
vanity.  Steele  somewhere  says,  "I  have 
observed  that  the  superiority  among  these 
c6£Eee-house  politicians  proceeds  from  an 
opinion  of  gallantry  and  fashion."  We 
suspect  that  Byron's  licentiousness  was  to 
be  attributed  in  no  small  degree  to  a  de- 
sire of  gaining  the  applause  of  "  these 
oofiee-house  politicians."  His  intense  van- 
ity craved  admiration  from  every  class 
in  the  community, — from  hard  drinkers 
and  pugilists  up  to  every  thing  that  was 
refined  and  great  It  was  this  vanity  that 
prompted  him  to  be  ever  hinting  at  dark 
events  in  his  life,  which  never  took  place 
out  of  his  imagination.  Moore  tells  us, 
that  sometimes  after  dinner,  when  a  little 
excited  with  wine,  he  would  oommenoe 
throwing  out  mysterious  insinuations  df 
dreadful  secrets  his  bosom  was  the  reposi- 
tory of; — ^if  so  inclined  he  "could  a  tale 
unfold,  whose  lightest  word  vrould  harrow 
up  thy  soul ; "  but  Moore,  who  understood 
him  well  enough  to  know  that  all  the 
dreadful  nonsensical  revelations  he  might 
make,  would  be  purely  creations  of  the 
brain,  gave  him  to  understand  that  all 
that  prevented  him  from  laughing  in  his 
face  was  politeness.  Being  keenly  sensi- 
tive to  ridicule.  Moore's  reception  of  his 
marvellous   fabrications    prevented   him 


from  attempting  to  palm  them  off  upon 
him  too  often,  but  Moore  suggests,  that  as 
his  wife  might  have  been  more  credulous, 
a  belief  in  these  silly  self-disparaging  sto^ 
ries,  might  in  some  measure  have  been 
the  cause  of  their  divorce. 

Goethe's  absurd  conjectures  about  the 
double  murder  that  he  supposed  him  to 
have  been  implicated  in  at  Florence,  no 
doubt  gratified  his  vanity,  and  he  seemed 
to  be  anxious  that  Murray  should  give 
them  all  tbe  publicity  he  could. 

It  is  unpleasant  to  associate  an  idea  of 
the  greatest  poet  of  the  age,  with  such  a 
pitiful  weakness  as  this.  From  all  the 
particulars  that  Moore  and  others  have 
given  us,  we  infer  that  he  was  a  man  of 
weak  passions,  i.  e..  feeling  of  any  kind 
was  not  lasting  with  him.  It  took  but 
little  to  make  him  intensely  angry  and  in- 
dignant ;  but  his  anger  and  indignation 
were  very  evanescent.  He  had  none  of 
that  calm  and  silent  rage  which  betokens 
an  indignation  that  will  last  as  loi^  as  life. 
His  anger  was  very  violent  while  it  lasted, 
and  so  was  his  love,  but  they  both  Msily 
evaporated  in  a  few  Verses.  The  "  harems^ 
he  in  so  melancholy  a  way  hints  at  having 
broken  up,  in  the  first  canto  of  Childe 
Harold,  it  appears  consisted,  in  Mo,  d 
one  mdid  of  all  work ;  and  she  veryun- 
sentimcntally  transferred  her  charms  finom 
her  loving  lord  to  a  very  ordinary,  every- 
day sort  of  lover.  She  took  in  fact  a  step 
from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous,  lor  the 
young  man  to  whom  she  made  over  the 
attractions  that  Byron  had  possessed,  was 
either  a  servant  of  his,  or  employed  in 
some  capacity  to  work  upon  his  estate  at 
Newstead.  This,  very  likely,  vrastb^  best 
experimental  knowledge  he  had  for  think- 
ing men  and  women  so  little  reliable,  and 
for  doubting  whether,  *  two  or  one  are  al- 
most what  they  seem." 

When  the  public  discovered  that  his  U- 
oentiousness  was  not  so  great  as  he  had 
pictured  it  in  his  poetry,  he  probably  de- 
termined to  give  more  reality  to  it  and  for 
a  short  time  in  Venice  did  keep  a  "  harein  " 
of  the  worst  possible  description ;  but  we 
are  told  that  he  often  spent  the  night  in 
his  gondola  on  the  vi;ater,  to  get  rid  of  the 
company  of  this  "  harem."  The  Wilkeses 
and  the  Bolingbrokes  were  libertines  of  a 
different  stamp  from  this.  There  was  a 
good  deal  of  affectation  about  his  lioentions- 
ness.  as  well  as  every  thing  else  relating 
to  him.  He  was  contending  all  his  life 
against  the  laws  of  nature ;  he  seemed  to 
believe  himself  able  by  the  force  of  his  in- 
tellect and  genius  to  compel  water  to  run 
up  hill.  He  was  just  discovering  the  im- 
possibility'of  the  thing  when  he  &d.     If 


1(NI4.3 


Men  of  Character, 


9U 


he  had  liyed  ten  years  longer  he  would 
hare  been  a  man  of  a  great  deal  more 
character,  for  character,  like  most  all  our 
other  qualities,  is  to  a  certain  extent  **  a 
D&anofiusturcd  article."  The  shrewd  practi- 
cal wisdom  contained  in  the  following  ex- 
tract from  a  letter  he  wrote  his  business 
affent,  evinces  growth  of  character,  and  be- 
tdcens  a  change  in  his  views,  which  if  he 
had  lived  and  acted  upon,  would  unques- 
ticniably  have  had  the  effect  to  reconcile 
all  his  relations  and  friends  to  him : 

'^  I  have  lived  long  enough,"  said  he, 
"to  have  an  exceeding  respect  for  the 
OnaUeat  current  coin  of  any  realm,  or  the 
least  sum,  which,  although  I  may  not 
want  it  myself^  may  do  something  for 
others  who  may  need  it  more  tlum  L" 
"  Hiey  say  *  knowledge  is  power :  '—1  used 
to  think  so ;  but  I  now  know  that  they 
meant  ^money^^  and  when  Socrates  de- 
dared  'that  all  he  knew  was  that  he 
Imew  nothing,'  he  merely  intended  to  de- 
dare  that  he  had  not  a  drachm  in  the  Athe- 
nian world.  My  notions  upon  the  score 
of  moneys  coinddes  with  yours,  and  with 
all  men's  who  have  lived  to  see  that  every 
guinea  is  a  philosopher's  stone,  or  at  least 
his  tottc^-stone.  You  will  doubt  me  the 
less  iHien  I  pronounce  my  firm  belief  that 
eaeh  is  viriueJ^ 

This  now  sounds  quite  sensible  when 
compared  with  a  good  deal  of  the  dismal 
etottttical  whining  in  his  poetry.  We 
ahould  say  at  once  that  it  must  have  been 
written  by  a  man  of  character.  If  Byron 
had  kept  out  of  debt,  if  there  had  been 
no  executions  in  his  house,  it  is  possible 
that  the  English  public  would  not  have 
been  so  mu^  shocked  at  his  bad  morals ; 
though,  of  course,  his  lit«-ary  brethren 
never  could  have  forgiven  him,  because  he 
10  mnch  exodled  them.  He  tells  us  that : 

"B«  who  turpa$aM  or  nibduet  mankind, 
Um^  look  down  on  the  hate  of  those  below.^ 

We  recollect  no  allusion  in  any  of  the 
works  or  letters  of  Byron  to  Chesterfield's 


letters  to  his  son,  and  we  doubt  if  he  ever 
read  them.     We  know  of  no  man  who 

we  think  could  have  read  them  to  greater 
advantage.  Chesterfield  had  a  thorough 
contempt  for  misanthropes,  and  affectation 
in  all  its  various  disguises.  There  is  no 
feeling  having  less  occasion  for  its  indul- 
gence, and  none  that  less  charity  should 
be  extended  towards,  than  a  misanthro- 
pic one.  In  this  country,  at  least,  per- 
sons who  are  industrious  and  honest,  will 
have  no  oppressor's  wrong  to  complain  of, 
and  nothmg  affording  the  shadow  of  a 
basis  for  misanthropy  to  rest  upon.  By- 
ron's works  have  a  more  injurious  effect 
in  encouraging  sour  and  morose  feelings 
in  the  minds  of  young  men  of  little  expe- 
rience and  immature  judgment,  than  the 
writings  of  all  other  authors.  In  every 
new  edition  of  his  works  there  should  ac- 
company them  some  particulars  of  his 
scandalous  and  outrageous  life, — not 
smoothed  over  by  partial  biographers,  but 
appearing  in  all  their  naked  deformity. 
It  will  then  be  seen  how  easily  reconcilable 
his  misanthropy  was  with  his  conduct  and 
vanity.  His  gross  sensuality  and  drunken 
debaucheries  are  without  a  parallel  in  one 
so  gifted  He  crowded  all  the  life,  vivacity 
and  animation  that  belonged  to  the  system 
properly  used,  for  a  week,  into  a  single 
day,  and  then  in  the  periods  of  exhaustion 
which  followed,  his  misanthropic  "  inspi- 
rations "  were  produced.  "  I  have  not 
lov'd  the  world — nor  the  world t me  I" 
The  world  is  not  very  apt  to  love  those 
who  outrage  all  its  decencies,  and  proprie- 
ties, and  who  go  about  seeking  whom  they 
may  devour.  We  think  the  writings  of 
no  other  author  produced  so  much  ii^ury 
as  those  of  Byron.  What  is  called  the 
"Yellow  Covered  Literature,"  is  compara- 
tively harmless,  from  the  ignorance  and 
imbecility  of  most  of  the  writers  who  pro- 
duce it ;  but  Byron's  prodigious  power,  and 
the  splendor  of  his  genius,  make  his  works 
almost  irresistible,  especially  to  the  young 
and  inexperienced. 


872 


[Mmh 


THE   VALLEY   OF   THE   AMAZON. 


A  ITarraHw  ofTrawiU  on  fhe  Amaaan  and  Bio 
Jfiffro,  ^e.  By  Altxhd  B.  Wallaos.  London, 
Beeye  A  Co.,  1856. 

Exploration  of  the  Valley  af  ihs  AinoMon.  By 
WiLUAH  Lswis  HrauTDox  and  LAU>im  OmBOir. 
WashlogtoB,  Robert  Armstrong,  1654. 

WE  class  these  two  books  together,  not 
only  because  they  relate  to  the 
same  subject,  but  because  they  arc  ad- 
mirable complements  of  each  other — the 
one  furnishmg  what  the  other  lacks,  and 
the  two  in  connection  giving  a  complete 
view  of  the  vast  and  almost  unknown 
regions  to  which  they  relate. 

Mr.  Wallace  is  a  naturalist,  who  went 
to  South  America  to  collect  specimens  of 
birds  and  insects,  and  during  his  sojourn 
of  some  years,  had  his  att^tion  cniefly 
directed  to  the   natural  history  of  the 
country.      Lieutenant  Hemdon,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  sent  out  under  the  di- 
rection of  the  Navy  Department  of  the 
United  States,  to  explore  its  agricultural 
resources    and    commercial    capabilities, 
and  the  probable  influence  of  the  free 
navigation  of  the  Amazon  upon  the  trade 
of  the  world,  and  of  the  United  States  in 
particular.    Mr.  Wallace  landed  at  PanL 
on  the  Atlantic  side  of  the  continent,  and 
confined  his  researches  mainly  to    the 
northern  tributaries  of  the  great  stream, 
while  Lieut  Hemdon,  set&g  out  from 
Santiago,  on    the    Pacific,   "a  pleasant 
place  of  residence,"  as  he  naively  observes, 
"  with  the  exception  that  it  is  subject  to 
earthquakes  and  civil  wars,"  proceeded  to 
Lima^  and  thence  across  tne  Andes,  to 
the  nver  Huallaga,  one  of  the  most  west- 
em  branches  of  the  Amazon.    It  will  be 
seen,  therefore,  that  the  joumeyings  of 
the  two  travellers  cover  the  entire  valley, 
except  the  part  drained  by  the  Madeira 
and  other  southern  forks,  which  Lieut. 
Gibbon,  who  was  joined  with  Mr.  Hem- 
don as  far  as  Terma,  explored,  but  whose 
report  is  not  yet  published.    When  the 
latter  shall  have  appeared,  our  knowledge 
of  the  Valley  will  be  more  comprehensible. 
We  were  not  wholly  ignorant  of  the 
regions  of  the  Amazon  before  these  ex- 
plorations.   The  interesting  work  of  Von 
Tschude  had  made  us  familiar  with  the 
country  about  Lima   and   the    Sierras. 
Smith's  "  Peru  as  it  is,"  was  also  full  of 
information  on  the  same  points,   while 
Humboldt's  Narrative,  Prince  Adalbert's 
Travels,  Southey's  Brazil,  and  the  jour- 
nals of  the  English  lieutenants,  Smyth 
and  Maed,  had  furnished  us  with  a  mass 
of  valuable  details  in  regard  to  the  more 


eastern  parts  of  the  great  basin ;  but  in 
none  of  these  do  we  find  as  ample  and 
authentic  accounts  of  the  whole  river  %t 
in  the  two  works  before  us. 

The  Pemvians  at  an  ^carly  day,  eren 
before  the  time  of  the  Spanish  conquest, 
made  attempts  to  explore  the  coimtrj 
east  of  the  Andes.  The  sixth  Inca,  we 
are  told  by  Garcilaso  de  la  Vega,  sent  his 
son  Yahuar  Hucu:cac,  with  a  force  of 
fifteen  thousand  men,  to  its  conquest  and 
the  young  prince  added  some  thirty 
leagues  in  that  direction  to  the  dominions 
of  his  father.  Under  the  tenth  Inca.  alsoi 
the  great  Yupaumtij  an  expedition  forced 
its  way  into  me  Montaiia,  and  embarkhig 
on  rafts  on  the  river  Amarumayo,  pene- 
trated through  hostile  tribes  of  Indiana 
into  the  territory  of  the  Musa&  whoni 
they  subdued  and  partly  civilized.  But 
these  attempts  were  merely  predatory 
incursions,  and  led  to  no  important  re- 
sults, although  they  left  behind  them,  to 
incite  the  cupidity  of  the  Spaniard, 
stories  of  great  empires  filled  wiu  popu- 
lous cities,  whose  streets  were  pavea  with 
gold,  and  whose  monarchs,  when  thejfr 
rose  in  the  morning,  were  smeared  with 
oil  and  covered  with  gold  dust,  which 
their  courtiers,  having  brou^t  it  frtnn  a 
lake  of  pure  golden  sand,  blew  upon  them 
from  long  re^s. 

Excited  by  these  traditions,  Pizarro 
fitted  out  two  expeditions,  whidb  entered 
the  country  as  far  as  the  Beni,  but  whkh, 
overcome  by  danger,  privation  and  soflbr- 
ings,  returned  worse  than  they  went. 
Gonzalo  Pizarro  also  fitted  out  an  expe- 
dition from  Quito,  of  which  Prescott  gires 
a  brilliant  account,  shovring  how  they 
found  the  rumored  gold,  but  were  them- 
selves cruelly  murdered.  The  first  per- . 
son  who  reached  and  descended  the  Ama- 
zon was  Lope  de  Aguirre,  the  lieutenant 
of  a  company  fitted  out  by  the  Viceroy  of 
Pern,  the  Marquis  of  Caliete,  about  1560. 
Having  assassinated  his  captain,  he  pro- 
secuted the  enterprise  on  his  own  respon- 
sibility, as  far  as  the  Huallaga,  which  he 
descended  to  the  Amazon,  and  thenoe 
floated  down  the  Amazon  to  its  mouth. 
The  information  given  by  this  adventorer, 
however,  was  not  of  much  worth,  and 
the  task,  "  which  had  baffled  the  ambition 
and  power  of  the  Incas,  and  the  love  of 
gold,  backed  by  the  indomitable  spirit 
and  courage  of  the  hardy  Spanish  sol- 
dier," was  accomplished  by  missionary 
zeal,  and  the  love  of  propagating  the  tnie 
faith.    As  early  as  1637,  miasionaiy  Btft- 


1854.] 


Thi  VaUey  of  the  Amatcn. 


278 


tkms  were  established  ill  the  Montafia, 
and  in  less  than,  a  oentniy  afterwards, 
nearly  every  Indian  town  and  Tillage  was 
surmounted  by  the  cross,  and  a  large  part 
of  the  inhabitants  rudely  indoctrinated 
into  the  belief  of  the  Church. 

"The  difficulties  of  penetrating  into 
these  countries,"  says  Lieutenant  Hem- 
don,  "  where  the  path  ft  to  be  broken  for 
the  first  time,  can  only  be  conceived  by 
one  who  has  travelled  over  the  roads  al- 
ready trodden.  The  broken  and  precipi- 
tous mountain  track — the  deep  morass — 
the  thidc  and  tangled  forest — the  danger 
tnm  Indians,  wild  beasts,  and  reptiles — 
the  scarcity  of  provisions-rthe  exposure 
to  the  almost  appalling  rains — and  the 
navigation  of  the  impetuous  and  rock-ob- 
■tmeted  river,  threatening  at  every  mo- 
men^  shipwreck  to  the  fi^l  canoe — ^form 
obstacles  that  might  daunt  any  heart  but 
that  of  the  gold-hunter  or  the  mission- 
ary." 

The  most  remarkable  voyage  down 
the  Amazon,  according  to  the  same 
authority,  was  made  by  a  woman.  Ma- 
dame Godin  des  Odoniuus^  wife  of 
one  of  the '  French  commissioners  who 
was  sent  with  Condamine  to  mea- 
sure an  arc  of  the  meridian  near  Quito, 
started  in  1769,  from  Bio  BambOj  in 
Eqaador,  to  join  her  husband  in  Cayenne, 
by  the  route  of  the  Amazon.  She  em- 
barked at  CandoSj  on  the  Borbonaza, 
with  a  company  of  eight  persons ;  two, 
besides  herself^  being  females.  On  the 
third  dayj  the  Indiuis  who  conducted 
their  canoe  deserted;  another  Indian, 
whom  they  found  sick  in  a  hovel  near  the 
bank,  and  employed  as  a  pilot,  fell  from 
the  canoe  in  endeavoring  to  pick  up  the 
hat  of  one  of  the  party,  and  was  drowned. 

The  canoe,  under  their  own  management, 
soon  capsized,  and  they  lost  all  their 
clothing  and  provisions.  Three  men  jof 
the  party  now  started  for  Andoas,  on  the 
Pasfauca,  ^diich  they  supposed  themselves 
to  be  within  five  -or  six  days  of  and 
merer  retomed.  The  party  left  behind, 
now  consisting  of  the  three  females  and  two 
Inothers  of  Madame  Qodin,  lashed  a  few 
logs  together,  and  attempted  again  to  na- 
vigate ;  bat  toeir  firail  vessel  soon  went  to 
pieces  by  strikiut  against  the  fallen  trees 
m  tiie  river.  Tney  then  attempted  to 
Jouiney  on  foot  along  the  banks  of  the 
river,  but  finding  the  growth  here  too 
tindc  and  tangled  fbr  them  to  make  any 
wm%  tfaej  stnick  off  into  the  forest,  in 
hemes  of  finding  a  less  obstructed  path. 

They  were  soon  lost ;  despair  took  pos- 
SBMion  of  them,  and  they  perished  miser- 
abljof  hunger  and  ezhiuistion.  Madame 


Godin,  recovering  from  a  swoon,  which 
she  supposes  to  luive  been  of  many  hours' 
duration,  took  the  shoes  firom  lier  dead 
brother's  feet,  and  started  to  walk,  she 
knew  not  whither.  Her  clothes  were 
soon  torn  to  rags,  her  body  lacerated  by 
her  exertions  in  forcing  her  way  through 
the  tangled  and  thorny  undergrowth, 
and  she  was  kept  constantly  in  a  state  of 
deadly  terror  by  the  howl  of  the  tiger  and 
the  hiss  of  the  serpent.  It  is  wonderful 
that  she  preserved  her  reason.  "Eight 
terrible  days  and  nights  did  she  wander 
alone  in  the  howling  wilderness,  support- 
ed by  a  few  berries  and  birds'  eggs.  Pro- 
videntially Tone  cannot  say  accmcntally) 
she  struck  tne  river  at  a  point  where  two 
Indians  (a  man  and  a  woman)  were  just 
launching  a  canoe.  They  received  her 
with  kindness,  furnished  her  with  food, 
gave  her  a  coarse  cotton  petticoat,  which 
she  preserved  for  years  afterwards  as  a 
memorial  of  their  goodness,  and  carried 
her  in  their  canoe  to  Andoas,  whence  she 
found  a  passage  down  the  river,  and 
finally  joined  her  husband.  Her  hair 
turned  gray  from  suffering,  and  she  could 
never  hear  the  incidents  of  her  voyage 
alluded  to  without  a  feeling  of  horror  that 
bordered  on  insanity." 

The  river  Amazon,  as  we  all  know 
from  our  school-books,  is  the  second  lar- 
gest river  in  the  world,  being  second  only  to 
the  Mississippi,  and  with  its  numerous  and 
mighty  tributaries,  drains  a  basin  which 
surpasses  in  its  dimensions  that  of  any  other 
river.  Situated  in  the  tropics,  alternately 
on  both  sides  of  the  equator,'  it  is  sup- 
plied by  abundant  rains  throughout  its 
whole  extent,  and  pours  a  flood  of  water 
into  the  ocean,  to  which  the  magnificent 
streams  of  the  Mississippi,  the  Hoang  Ho, 
the  Ganges,  and  the  Danube,  afford  scarce- 
ly a  comparison.  From  the  fourth  ^do- 
gree  of  north  latitude  to  the  twentieth 
south,  all  the  rivers  that  flow  down  the 
eastern  slope  of  the  Andes,  are  its  con- 
fluents, which  is  as  if,  says  Mr.  Wallace, 
every  river  of  Europe,  from  St  Peters- 
burg to  Madrid,  united  their  waters  in  a 
single  flood.  Considering  the  Marafion 
as  its  true  source,  we  find  its  whole 
length  about  2,740  English  miles,  while 
its  tributaries  on  the  north  and  south, 
cover  a  space  of  1,720  miles.  The  whole 
area  of  its  basin,  is  2,330,000  English 
square  miles,  or  more  than  one  third  of  all 
South  America,  and  equal  to  two  thirds 
of  all  Europe.  "  All  western  Europe," 
sap  Mr.  Wallace,  "  could  be  placed  m  it 
without  touching  its  boundanes,  and  it 
would  even  contain  the  whole  Lidian 
empire." 


2T4 


The  ValUy  of  the  AnujooK. 


pCaroh 


The  same  writer  remarks  upon  a  cu- 
rieuB  contrast  in  the  colors  of  the  Ama- 
zon and  several  of  its  branches :  the 
waters  of  the  former  are  of  a  yellowish 
olive  hue,  while  those  of  the  Rio  Brancho 
are  almost  milk-white,  those  of  the  Yua- 
cali  a  transparent  blue,  and  those  of  the 
Nigro,  as  the  name  imports,  quite  black. 
The  difiference  of  color  does  not  depend 
entirely  on  fi'ee  earthy  matter,  but  on 
some  material  which  they  hold  in  solu- 
tion; for  in  lakes  and  inlets  where  the 
waters  are  undisturbed,  and  can  deposit 
all  their  sediment,  they  stUl  retain  the 
same  tints.  This  material  is  evidently 
derived  from  the  soils  through  whid^ 
they  flow;  a  rocky  and  sandv  district 
always  giving  clear  water — a  clayey  one 
the  yellow  or  olive  colored,  while  the  in- 
fusion of  decaying  leaves  and  other  vege- 
table matter,  makes  the  black.  The  Rio 
Brancho  looks  likes  a  stream  of  dissolved 
chalk,  and  the  Madeira  and  Puros  are 
also  white.  The  Tocantins,  the  Xingu, 
and  the  Tapigoz,  which  rise  in  the  moun- 
tains of  Brazil,  are  blue  and  clear ;  while 
the  Nigro,  the  Coary,  the  Teffe,  the 
Jutoi,  uid  some  others,  are  black  as  ink, 
only  getting  a  little  paler  in  shallow 
places. 

The  velocity  of  the  Amazon  varies 
with  the  width  of  the  current  and  the 
time  of  the  year,  but  is  nowhere  and  at 
no  time  so  great  as  it  has  been  represent- 
ed in  the  older  accounts.  A  large  num- 
ber of  people  think  of  it  only  as  pouring 
down  with  the  fierce  flow  of  a  torrent^ 
but  the  trath  is,  that  its  average  flow  is 
about  three  and  a  half  miles  an  nour,  and 
its  fleetest,  not  more  than  five  or  six 
miles.  This  opinion  of  its  rapidity  rose 
probably  from  the  fact,  that  it  carried  its 
nnefih  waters  far  out  to  sea,  discoloring 
the  ocean  to  the  distance  of  one  hundred 
and  fifty  miles ;  yet  it  would  appear  that 
the  rush  is  never  sufllciently  strong  to 
impede  navigation,  even  b^  sail,  and 
much  less  by  steam.  The  mighty  stream 
may  be  ascended  almost  to  its  source, 
wiUiout  an  obstruction— at  least  this  is 
the  prevailing  impression  both  of  travel- 
lers and  of  the  dwellers  upon  its  banks — 
though  it  must  be  confessed  that  our 
knowledge  of  the  courses  of  the  tributaries 
is  quite  incomplete.  The  main  stream, 
with  the  Madeura  and  the  Nigro,  and  we 
now  add,  since  the  exploration  of  Lieut 
Hemdon,  the  Huallaga,  and  part  of  the 
Yuacali,  aro  tolerably  well  ascertained  and 
laid  down  upon  the  maps;  but  of  the 
Xingu.  the  Tapajoz,  the  Coary,  the  Puros, 
the  Jiitai,  the  Jabari,  the  lea,  and  others, 
we  possess  only  vague  oozyectures.    Be- 


tween the  Toctntins  and  the  Madeira, 
says  Mr.  Wallace,  and  between  the  Ma- 
deira and  the  Yuacali,  thero  are  two  tracts 
of  country  of  five  hundred  thousand 
square  miles  each,  and  each  twice  as  large 
as  France,  and  as  completely  unexplored 
as  the  interior  of  Africa.  It  is  probable, 
however,  from  their  size,  and  the  reports 
of  the  Indians,  that  the  greater  part  of 
them  are  navigable  for  many  miles  from 
their  discharge  into  the  main  stream. 
*' As  a  general  rule,"  says  Lieut  Hemdon, 
"  large  ships  may  sail  thousands  of  miles 
to  the  foot  of  the  falls  of  the  gigantio 
rivers  of  this  country ;  and  in  Brazil  par- 
ticularly, a  few  hundred  miles  of  canal 
would  open  to  the  steamboat,  and  rendor 
available,  thousands  of  miles  more." 

But  though  the  velocity  of  the  / 
is  not  so  great  as  is  commonly  supppeed, 
the  first  sight  of  it  produces  an  miprw- 
sion  of  awiul  grandeur  and  force,  tieo- 
tenant  Hemdon  writes : 

**The  march  of  the  great  river  In  Hi  tfleDifpaii- 
dear  was  aablime;  but  In  the  untamed  mii^t  ef  Hi 
turbid  waters  as  Uiey  cat  awi^  its  bankai  ton  dewn 
the  gigantic  denizens  of  the  forest,  and  boUt  19  JaU 
ands,  it  was  awfhL  It  rolled  throogh  the  wUden^eis 
with  a  stately  and  solemn  a!r.  Its  waters  looked 
angry,  saUen,  relentlece ;  and  the  whole  terae  awoke 
mnotlons  of  awe  and  dread— each  as  are  caused  by 
the  Mineral  solemnitlca,  the  minnte  gan,  the  bgwl  i 
the  wind,  and  the  angry  toesing  iji  the  waTse^  wiien 
all  hands  are  called  to  baiy  the  dead  In  a  troobled 
sea. 

<*!  wsB  reminded  of  oar  Mississippi  at  Its  topmoit 
flood;  the  waters  are  qoite  as  maddy  and  qoKe  ai 
tarbid ;  bat  this  stream  lacked  the  eharm  and  the 
ftsohiatlon  which  the  plantation  upon  the  bank,  tha 
dty  npon  the  blafl;  and  the  steamboat  apon  Its  w»> 
ters,  lend  to  its  fellow  of  the  K(»th ;  neTertbekaf^  I 
felt  pleased  at  its  sight  I  had  already  travdled  seven 
handred  miles  by  water,  and  flmded  that  this  power- 
ftal  stream  woald  soon  carry  me  to  the  ocaaa;  bat 
the  water-travel  was  comparattrely  joat  began ;  nsaay 
a  weary  month  was  to  elapse  ere  I  sboald  again  k»k 
apon  the  femlliar  fkoe  of  the  sea;  and  many  atima, 
when  worn  and  wearied  with  the  canoe  Uk^  did  I 
ezdalm,  *Th]s  river  seems  intermlnablel  *  * 


The  whole  of  the  region  throu^  whidi 
this  magnificent  stream  flows  appears  to 
be  one  of  unexampled  fertility,  for  it  is 
covered  by  a  rich  and  tangled  v^tatioo, 
forming  the  mo8t  dense  and  ezteosivv 
forest  m  the  world.  One  may  traTd  to 
weeks  and  months,  in  any  direction,  witfat- 
out  discovering  more  than  a  rood  of 
ground  unoccupied  by  trees.  On  the 
coasts  of  Southern  Brazil,  and  on  the  Vtr 
dfic  coasts,  you  encounter  rocky  moan- 
tain  ridges,  and  immense  plams  that  are 
parched  and  barren;  but  in  the  interior, 
comprising  an  area  of  some  2^700  milea  in 
one  direction,  and  from  400  to  1,700  in 
another,  the  entire  surface  is  a  virgiD 
forest    What  are  the  woods  of  ceDtiml 


1854.] 


Hk  VaJUy  of  the  Jma$m. 


S75 


Europe^  whai  those  of  Africa,  what  the 
immense  forests  of  Asia  even,  compared 
with  this?  In  North  America  alone  is 
there  a  pacallel,  in  the  vast  wooded  coun- 
try, west  of  the  Mississippi. 

This  vast  forest  is  distinguished  for 
the  Tariety  as  well  as  the  size  of  the 
trees  of  which  it  is  composed.  Hem- 
don  enumerates  of  trees  fitted  for  nauti- 
cal constructions,  twenty-two  kinds;  for 
the  construction  of  houses  and  hoats, 
thirty-three;  for  cabinet  work,  twelve 
(some  of  which,  such  as  the  jcuxiranddy 
the  tortoise-shell  wood,  and  the  mctca- 
amba,  are  very  beautiful) ;  and  for  mak- 
ing coal,  seven.  There  are  twelve  kinds 
of  trees  that  exude  milk  from  some  of  their 
bark ;  though  the  milk  of  sOme  of  these — 
SDbBh  as  the  arvoeiro  and  assucii — is  poi- 
sonous. One  is  the  seringa,  or  India-rub- 
ber tree,  and  one,  the  murur6,  the  milk 
of  which  is  reported  to  possess  extraor- 
dinary virtue  in  the  cure  of  mercurialized 
Ktients.  ''  It  is  idle,"  he  says.  *'  to  give  a 
t  of  the  medicinal  plants,  for  their  name 
is  legion."  Tet,  he  proceeds  to  describe 
more  than  two  dozen  species  of  plants 
which  already  furnish  valuable  additions 
to  our  materia  medico, 

**This  Is  Um  eoantiy,"  adds  the  aathor,  '*of  rioe, 
of  urMpmlllai  of  Indfai-rabber,  iMUsam  oopidba,  gum 
eopi3,Miiiiud  andrageUble  wax,  oocoa,  BrazUlan  nnt- 
■<g^  Tonka  baana,  finger,  black  pepper,  arrowroot, 
tipioea,  aimatto,  Indigo,  aapaoala,  and  Brasil  nats; 
4f ea  of  the  gayeat  oolora,  drugs  of  rare  virtne,  rarie- 
iHad  eablnet  woods  of  the  finest  grain,  and  sosoepti- 
Ua  of  the  highest  polish.  The  forests  are  filled  with 
fsoM,  and  the  riTeia  stocked  with  tartle  and  fish. 
Han  dwell  the  anta,  or  the  wild  oow,  the  peixe  bol, 
srflrfi  ox,  the  aloth,  the  ant-eater,  the  beaatlfhl  black 
tlgar,  the  niTaterioas  electric  eel,  the  boa-oonatrictor, 
the  anaeonda,  the  deadly  coral  snake,  the  Toradoai 
iUgitor,  monkeys  in  endlesa  rariety,  birds  of  the 
■foak  bfiniant  plumage,  and  Insects  of  the  strangeat 
knm  and  gayaet  coloia** 

Of  the  Zoology  of  the  region,  however, 
Ifr.  Wallace  fbmishes  us  the  most  oopi- 
0118  deteils,  while  both  of  our  authorities 

rik  of  productions,  not  mentioned  in 
above  list,  which  are  more  important 
thin  any  other  in  the  view  of  commerce. 
We  rerar  to  a  species  of  wild  cotton. 
edled  Huimba  in  Peru,  which,  mixed 
with  sQk,  can  be  spun  into  a  tough  yet 
delksate  nbric;  tolMCco,  which  ^ws  in 
eroborance  and  of  excellent  quality ;  the 
mgar-cane,  of  which  plentiful  crops  are 
galh»ed  in  the  province  of  Gercado ;  and 
cofiee,  which  is  easily  cultivated.  There 
are  three  kinds  of  indigo  yielding  in  great 
abondaiioe ;  maize  is  produced  every  three 
months  ajl  the  year  round ;  the  cassave. 
CM  kind  able  to  replace  the  potato,  ana 
the  other  giving  out  starch,  is  prolific; 


wheat,  Barley,  and  oats  may  be  raised  hi 
many  districts;  while,  in  respect  to  froits, 
grapes,  oranges,  lemons,  pomc^nates,  me- 
lons, figs,  papaws,  chiromas,  pine-apples, 
&c^  there  is  no  end  to  the  supply,  at  the 
same  time  the  climate  is  spoken  of  as 
very  salubrious  and  agreeable.  The  en- 
tire valley  is  remarkable  for  the  uniform- 
ity of  its  temperature  and  the  regular 
supply  of  moisture.  Neither  the  wet  nor 
the  dry  seasons  are  as  severe  as  in  other 
tropical  countries,  and  the  stranger  seldom 
suffers  from  either  excessive  heat  or  ex- 
cessive cold. 

An  admirable  country  to  live  in— our 
readers  will  see,  presenting  rare  opportu- 
nities for  agriculture  and  commerce,  and 
promising  to  be  in  the  future  the  seat 
of  a  prosperous  empire.  But  as  yet,  we 
must  confess,  it  holds  forth  few  tempta- 
tions to  settlement :  or  rather  it  exhibits 
certain  peculiarities  not  entirely  compati- 
ble with  our  ideas  of  civilized  comfort  and 
refinement.  In  the  first  place,  the  pre- 
sent inhabitants  do  'not  invite  a  more  fii- 
miliar  acquaintance.  The  greater  part  of 
them  are  Indians,  and  Indians  generally 
of  worthless  and  debased  characters.  Mr. 
Wallace,  who  describes  some  thirty  dif* 
ferent  tribes,  saying  at  the  same  time  that 
there  are  "countless  varieties  of  others 
with  peculiar  languages  and  customs,  and 
distinct  physical  characteristics,"  thinks 
them  superior  on  the  whole  to  the  Indi- 
ans of  South  Brazil,  and  more  like  "  the 
intelligent  and  noble  races"  of  the  North 
American  prairies;  but  he  admits,  also, 
that  they  are  for  the  most  part  lazy, 
squalid,  savage,  polygamic,  superstitious, 
fond  of  caa:apa,  which  is  native  for  bad 
rum,  licentious,  and  what  is  most  shock- 
ing of  all,  the  rascals,  male  and  female  go 
about  as  naked  as  they  were  bom,  with 
the  exception  that  they  wear  sometimes 
a  brilliant  head-dress  of  parrots'  tail  fea- 
thers. Some,  indeed,  tattoo  their  car- 
casses, in  red,  yellow,  and  blue,  until  they 
look  as  much  dressed  as  the  clown  of  a 
drcus :  there  are  one  or  two  tribes,  too, 
such  as  the  Purupuru^  who  are  infected 
universally  with  a  scrofula,  or  itch,  spot- 
ting their  bodies  with  white,  blacL  and 
brown  patches,  and  who  bore  large  holes 
in  theur  lips,  the  septum  of  the  nose,  and 
in  their  ears,  out  of  which  sticks  five  or 
six  feet  long,  dangle  as  ornaments ;  while 
the  Xim&nas,  and  Cauxafias,  kill  thehr 
first-bom  children,  and  the  Miraubas  eat 
the  first  friend  tney  can  lay  theur  laws 
upon!  Precious  neighbors  these  fellows 
would  make ! 

In  short,  if  we  must  tell  the  whole 
truth  about  these  Indians,  let  us  say  tJbal 


276 


ne  Valley  of  (he  Amassm. 


[Haroh 


Mr.  Herndon  quotes  from  the  work  of 
Count  Castelnau,  a  Frenchman  who  as- 
cended the  Amazon  some  years  since,  an 
account  going  to  show  that  some  of  them 
are  lineal  descendants  from  the  monkey. 
Here  is  the  passage : 

**  M.  Castelnaa  collected  lonie  very  omious  stories 
oonoorning  the  Indians  who  dwell  upon  the  hanks  of 
the  Jarnl  He  sajs,  (vol  6,  p.  106,)  *  I  cannot  pass 
over  in  silence  a  very  carioas  passage  of  Padro  No- 
ronha,  and  which  one  is  astonished  to  find  in  a  work 
of  BO  grave  a  character  in  other  respects  I'he  Indians, 
Cauama9  and  Uginas  (says  the  padro),  live  neartbo 
soarcos  of  the  river.  The  first  are  of  a  very  short 
statare,  scarcely  exceeding  five  palms  (about  three 
and  a  half  feet) ;  and  the  last  (of  this  there  is  no  doubt) 
have  tails,  and  are  produced  by  a  mixture  of  Indians 
and  (hata  monkeys.  Whatever  may  be  the  cause 
of  this  fact,  I  am  led  to  give  it  credit  for  three  reasons : 
first,  because  there  is  no  physical  reason  why  men 
should  not  have  tails;  secondly,  becaufe  many  In- 
dians, whom  I  have  interrogated  regarding  this  thing, 
have  assured  me  of  the  fact,  telling  me  that  the  tali 
was  a  palm  and  a  half  long ;  and,  thirdly,  because^  the 
Reverend  Father  Friar  Jos6  de  Santa  Theresa  Ribeiro, 
a  Carmelite,  and  Curate  of  Castro  de  Avelaefla,  assured 
me  that  he  saw  the  same  thing  in  an  Indian  who 
came  Arom  Japurd,  and  who  sent  me  the  following 
attestation : 

"•I,  Jo86  de  Santa  Thereea  Ribeiro,  of  the  Order 
of  our  Lady  of  Mount  Carmcl,  Ancient  Observance, 
Jbo,  certify  and  swear,  in  my  quality  of  priest,  and  on 
the  Holy  Evapgelists,  that  when  I  was  a  missionary 
In  the  ancient  village  of  Parauad,  where  was  after* 
wards  built  the  village  of  Nognera,  I  saw,  in  1756,  a 
man  called  Manuel  da  Silva,  native  of  Pemambuco^ 
or  fiahia,  who  came  from  the  river  JapurA  v^ith  some 
Indians,  amongst  whom  was  one— an  Infidel  brute — 
who  the  said  Manuel  dedared  to  me  bad  a  tail ;  and 
as  I  was  unwilling  to  believe  such  an  extraordinary 
fkct,  he  brought  the  Indian  and  caused  him  to  strip, 
on  pretence  of  removing  some  turtles  fh>m  a  *pen,* 
near  which  I  stot^d  to  assure  myself  of  the  truth.  There 
I  saw,  without  possibility  of  error,  that  the  man  had  a 
tail,  of  the  thickness  of  a  finger,  and  half  a  palm  long, 
and  covered  with  smooth  and  naked  skin.  The  same 
Manuel  assured  me  that  the  Indian  had  told  him  thtt 
every  month  he  cut  his  tall,  because  he  did  not  like 
to  have  it  too  long,  and  it  grew  very  &st  I  do  not 
know  to  what  nation  this  man  belonged,  nor  if  all  his 
tribe  had  a  similar  tail ;  but  I  understood  afterwards 
that  there  was  a  tailed  nation  upon  the  banks  of  the 
Jura& ;  and  I  sign  this  act  and  seal  it  in  aflOrmation 
of  the  truth  of  all  that  it  contains. 

*"EflTABLIBIDaEKT  OF   CASTBO  DK  AtXLAKKB)  OC- 

toberli,1768. 
"•FE.  JOSE  DE  STA.  THERESA  RIBEIRO.' 
**  M.  BaeAa  (Corog,  Para)  has  thought  propisr  to  re- 
peat these  strange  assertions.  *  In  this  river,*  says  he, 
speaking  of  the  JuruA  (p.  487X  'there  are  Indian^ 
called  Canamas,  whose  height  dees  not  exceed  five 
pslms ;  and  there  are  others,  called  Uglnas,  who  have 
a  tail  of  three  or  four  polois  (four  palms  and  an  inch, 
Portuguese,  make  nearly  an  English  yard),  according « 
to  the  report  of  many  personsi  But  I  leave  to  eveiy 
one  to  put  what  faith  he  pleases  in  these  aas6rtion&* 

"M.  Castelnau  says,  after  giving  theee  relations,  *  I 
wUI  add  but  a  word.  Descending  the  Amazon,  I  saw, 
one  day,  near  Fonteboa,  a  black  Coata,  of  enormous 
dimensions.  He  belonged  to  an  Indian  woman,  to 
wiiooi  I  offesKd  •  large  price,  for  th«  oonntrj,  for  the 


eorions  beast;  but  she  refbaed  me  wUh  a  bant  of 
laughter.  *  Your  eflbrts  are  useless,*  said  an  Indian 
who  was  in  the  cabin ;  *  that  is  her  husband.*  ** 

Mr.  Herndon  himself  does  not  confirm 
this  story,  which  we  suspect  tiie  Count 
borrowed  from  Voltaire's  Candide,  but 
he  narrates  that  when  he  was  at  £ch^ 
nique  he  bought  a  young  monkey  of  an 
Indian  woman,  which  refused  to  eat  plan- 
tain when  he  offered  it,  whereupon  ^  the 
woman  took  it  and  put  it  to  her  breast, 
where  it  sucked  away  manfully  and  with 
great  gusto.  She  weaned  it  in  a  week,  ao 
that  it  would  eat  plantain  mashed  up  and 
put  into  its  mouth  in  small  bits:  but  the 
little  beast  died  of  mortification,  beouiae 
I  would  not  lot  him  sleep  with  his  arms 
round  my  neck ! " 

Mr.  Wallace,  in  the  course  of  his  de- 
scription of  one  of  the  tribes  on  the  rtTer 
Uaup6s,  gives  so  rational  a  conjecture  as 
to  the  origin  of  the  fable  about  a  nation 
of  Amazons,  or  fighting  females,  that  we 
extract  his  words : 

**  The  use  of  ornaments  and  trinkets  of  ' 
kinds  is  almost  confined  to  the  men.  The  ^ 
wear  a  bracelet  on  the  wrists,  but  none  on  the  neek, 
and  no  comb  in  the  hair;  they  have  a  garter  below 
the  knee,  worn  tight  Arom  inikncy,  for  the  pnrpoie  <rf 
swelling  out  the  calf,  which  they  consider  a  groat 
beauty.  While  dancing  in  their  feativals,  the  women 
wear  a  small  tanga,  or  apron,  made  of  beads,  prettily 
arranged :  it  is  only  about  six  inches  aqnare,  bnt  la 
never  worn  at  any  other  time,  and  immediately  the 
dance  is  over  it  is  taken  olt 

The  men,  on  the  other  hand,  have  the  hair  eara- 
ftdly  parted  and  combed  on  each  side,  and  tied  in  m 
queue  behind.  In  the  young  men,  it  hangs  in  long 
locks  down  their  necks,  and,  with  the  comb,  which  le 
invariably  carried  stuck  in  the  top  of  tbeJiead,  gtres 
them  a  most  ftminine  appearance:  this  la  incremd 
by  the  large  necklaoea  and  bracelets  of  beads,  and  tke 
careAU  extirpation  of  every  qrmptom  of  beaid.  Ttkr 
ing  theee  clrcumstanoea  into  eonsldanlion,  I  am 
strongly  of  opinion  that  the  story  of  the  Amawwii  haa 
arisen  fh>m  these  feminine-looking  wanlott  eneoon- 
tered  by  the  early  voyager.  I  am  Indined  to  lldi 
opinion,  from  the  ef9RBct  they  fint  prodnoed  en  mymH 
when  it  was  only  by  close  ezamlnatian  I  ■■«  that 
they  were  men;  and,  were  the  tnmt  pert  of  llieir 
bodies  and  their  breasts  covered  with  ahieUii  tmA  m 
thoy  always  use,  I  am  convinced  any  pevaim  ie 
them  for  the  first  time  would  oondnde  tiiejr  i 
women.  We  have  only  therefore  to  anppo 
tribes  having  similar  customs  to  those  now  « 
on  the  river  Uaup^  inhabited  the  regloas  where  tbe 
Amazons  were  reported  to  have  been  seen,  and  we 
have  a  rati(Nial  explanation  of  what  baa  so  moeb 
puzzled  all  geogra^ hezs.  The  only  oljeotioa  to  this 
explanation  la,  that  traditions  are  said  to  eadsi  tmtmg 
the  naUves,  of  a  nation  of  *  women  withoot  hvsbenda.* 
Of  this  tradition,  however,  I  waa  myself  nnsble  to 
obtain  any  trace,  and  I  can  easily  imagine  It  entirely 
to  have  risen  from  the  suggestions  snd  Inquiries  of 
Europeans  themselveSL  When  the  story  of  the  Ama- 
zons was  first  made  known,  it  became  of  oonrse  a  point 
with  sll  fhture  travellers  to  verify  it,  or  If  possible  to 
get  a  gUmpse  of  these  warlike  ladleiL  The  Indtans 
must  no  doabt  hsre  beda  orerwhehned  wttfa  qMe> 


1854.] 


Th$  Valley  of  the  Amazon. 


27? 


QoBt  and  luggMUoM  aboot  tbem,  and  thff ,  tblnUiig 
tiiat  th«  white  men  moat  know  baat,  would  tranmit 
to  their  deaeendanta  and  fiuniUea  the  idea  that  each  a 
nation  did  ezlat  In  some  distant  part  of  the  coontiy. 
Sooeeeding  travellera,  finding  tracoe  <tf  this  Idea  among 
the  Indiam,  woold  take  It  as  a  proof  of  the  existenee 
of  the  Amaxons ;  Instead  of  being  merely  the  effect  of 
a  mlatake  at  the  first,  which  had  been  onknowingly 
spread  among  them  by  preceding  trayellera,  seeking 
to  obtain  some  eridenoe  on  the  subject** 

Next  to  the  hum&n  or  demi-human  in- 
habitants the  greatest  annoyances  are  the 
animals.  There  are  alligators,  in  some  of 
the  streams,  big  enough  to  bolt  an  Indian 
warrior;  there  are  yampire  bats,  which, 
in  spite  of  what  some  naturalists  assert, 
will  phlebotomize  a  horse  until  he  dies ; 
there  are  jaguars,  which  are  quite  as  fierce 
and  strong  as  the  royal  Bengal  tiger ;  and 
there  are  snakes,  which  the  good  Father 
Vemazza  avers  (and  he  wrote  as  late  as 
1845^  are  fbrty-fiye  feet  long  and  five  and  a 
half  ttiick,  and  who  suck'in  their  prey,  man, 
bird,  or  beast,  by  mere  inhalation,  from  a 
distance  of  fifty  yards.  Yet  the  plague 
of  the  country  are  the  smaller  vermin,  the 
anta,  the  ticks,  and  the  mosquitoes.  Our 
readers  will  probably  remember  Sidney 
Smitii's  description  of  the  insectivorous 
tribes,  where  he  says,— 

**TbebMe  ronge  lays  the  foundation  of  a  tremen- 
dona  nicer.  In  a  moment  yon  are  covered  with  tickSb 
Ghlgoea  bnry  themselyee  in  your  flesh,  and  hatch  a 
colony  of  young  chigoes  in  a  few  bonri.  They  will 
not  lire  together,  but  erery  chico  sets  up  a  separate 
ulcer,  and  haa  his  own  private  portion  of  pus.  Flies 
gat  entry  into  your  mouth,  into  your  eyes,  into  your 
Mae:  yon  eat  flioe,  drink  files,  and  breathe  files. 
Liwrda,  cockroaches,  and  snak^  got  Into  the  bed : 
anta  eat  np  the  books:  scorpions  sting  yon  on  the 
t>oC  Every  thing  bites,  stings  or  bruises:  eveiy 
second  of  yoor  existence  you  are  wounded  by  some 
plaoe  of  animal  lifSs  that  nobody  has  ever  seen  before 
eseept  Bwammerdam  and  Meriam.  An  Insect  with 
alran  legs  is  swimming  in  your  toacnp,  a  nonde- 
aerlpt  of  nine  wings  is  struggling  in  the  small  beer,  or 
a  caterpillar  with  several  dozen  eyce  in  his  belly  la 
hatltirfrg  over  the  bread  and  butter.  All  nature  Is 
iHtc^  and  aeems  to  be  gathering  her  entomological 
tedi  to  cat  yon  np^  as  you  are  standing,  out  of  your 
^  and  1»>eecho8i    Such  are  the  tropics.** 


Now  this  is  all  bad  enough ;  but  Mr. 
Wallace  complains  of  another  nuisance. 
whidi  asMiled  his  ears.  '*  Every  night,^^ 
1m  saj^  speaking  of  a  voyage  up  the 
Tbeantins,  ''we  had  a  concert  of  frogs, 
which  make  most  extraordinary  noises. 
There  are  three  kinds,  which  can  be  heard 
all  at  once.  One  makes  a  noise  somewhat 
Ifln  what  one  would  expect  from  a  frog, 
namely,  a  dismal  croak,  but  the  sounds 
Qttered  by  the  others  were  like  no  animal 
that  I  ever  heard  before.  A  distant  rail- 
way train  approaching  and  a  blacksmith 
hammering  on  his  anvil,  are  what  they 
eaetly  Teeemble.     They  are  such  true 


imitations,  that  when  lying  half-dozing  in 
the  canoe,  I  have  often  fancied  myself  at 
home,  hearing  the  familiar  sounds  of  the 
approaching  mail-train,  and  the  hammer- 
ing of  the  boiler-makers  at  the  iron- works. 
Then^  we  often  had  the  "  guarhibas,"  ot 
howlmg  monkeys,  with  their  terrific 
noises ;  the  shrill  grating  whistle  of  the 
cicadas  and  locusts,  and  the  peculiar  noto^ 
of  the  suacdras  and  other  aquatic  birds . 
add  to  these  the  loud  unpleasant  hum  of 
the  mosquitoes  in  your  immediate  vicinity, 
and  you  have  a  pretty  good  idea  of  oui 
nightly  concert."  A  serenade  of  that 
sort,  however,  seems  to  us  only  a  propei 
accompaniment  to  the  general  experiences 
of  life  m  those  latitudes. 

For  there  is  another  sense  that  must  be 
sometimes  revolted,  in  spite  of  the  luxu- 
riant fruits  that  we  read  of, — the  sense  ot 
taste.  A  break&st  of  alligator-tail  is  not 
perhaps  objectionable  when  you  are  hard 
pressed ;  nor  a  dinner  of  raw  turtle,  which 
is  so  excellent  when  broiled  or  made  into 
soup,  that  it  may  be,  possibly,  somewhat 
of  a  dainty  when  underdone ;  but  heaven 
preserve  us  from  monkey  chops  or  a  salad 
of  nut-oil  and  river-hog  I  Mr.  Hemdon 
informs  us  that  monkeys  are  rather  tough, 
though  the  livers  he  found  tender  ana 
good.  Yet,  even  after  a  luxurious  ban- 
quet on  liver,  Jocko  was  sure  to  have  his 
revenge  on  the  feeder,  who  always  nearly 
perished  of  nightmare.  ^'Some  devil," 
says  the  gallant  Lieutenant,  "  with  arms 
as  nervous  as  the  monkey's,  had  me  by  the 
throat,  and  staring  on  me,  with  his  cold 
cruel  eye,  expressed  his  determination  to 
hold  on  to  the  death." 

Still,  an  enthusiast  may  tell  us  that  the 
glorious  imagery^  which  nature  every 
where  in  the  tropics  addresses  to  the  eye, 
is  a  compensation  for  the  defeats  suffered 
by  the  other  senses.  The  eye,  as  in 
Macboth's  soliloquy,  ''is  worth  all  the 
rest;"  for  the  grand  forms  of  the  trees, 
the  varied  hues  of  the  foliage,  the  endless 
brilliancy  of  the  birds  and  butterflies,  and 
the  deep  azure  of  the  skies,  present  a 
panorama  which  quite  overwhelms  the 
mind  with  its  beauty  and  magnificence. 
But  Mr.  Wallace,  in  spite  of  the  enthu- 
siasm of  earlier  travellers,  is  inclined  to 
think  that  ho  found  quite  as  much  pictu- 
resque landscape  at  home  as  in  the  tropics. 
"  It  is  on  the  roadside,  and  on  the  river's 
banks,"  he  says,  ^'that  we  see  all  the 
beauties  of  the  tropical  vegetation.  There 
we  find  a  mass  of  bushes,  and  trees,  and 
shrubs  of  every  height,  rising  one  over 
another,  all  exposed  to  the  bright  light 
and  fresh  air,  and  putting  forth  within 
reach  their  flowers  and  fruits,  which,  in 


in 


The  VaUei^  pf  the  Amtuon. 


[Harab 


the  forests,  onlj  grow  fiur  np  on  the  top- 
most branches.    Brightflowers  and  green 
foliage  oombme  their  charms,  and  climbing 
with  their  flowery  festoons,  coyer  over  the 
bare  and  decaying  stems.    "Yet," — and 
here  comes  in  his  protest, — "pick  out  the 
loyeliest  spots  where  the  most  dorious 
flowers  of  the  tropics  expand  then*  glow- 
ing petals,  and  for  eyery  scene  of  this 
kind,  we  may  find  another  at  home  of 
equal  beauty,  and  with  an  equal  amount 
of  brilliant  color.      Look  at  a  field  of 
buttercups  and  daisies, — a  hill-side  covered 
with  gorse  and  broom, — or  a  forest  glade 
azure  with  a  carpet  of  wild  hyacinths, 
and  they  will  bear  a  comparison  with  any 
scene  the  tropics  can  produce.     I  have 
never  seen  any  thing  more  glorious  than 
an  old  crab-tree  in  full  blossom,  and  the 
horse-chestnut,  lilac,  and  laburnum,  will 
vie  with  the  choicest  tropical  trees  and 
shrubs.     In  the  tropical  waters  are  no 
more  beautifiil  plants  than  our  white  and 
water  lilies,  our  irises  and  the  flowering 
rush ;  for  I  cannot  cousider  the  flower  of 
the  Victoria  Regia  more  beautifiil  than 
that  of  the  Nymphoui  Alba,  though  it 
may  be  larger ;  nor  is  it  so  abundant  an 
ornament  of  tropical  waters  as  the  latter 
is  of  ours."    Our  author  then  adds,  that 
the  changing  hues  of  autumn,  and  the 
tender  green  of  spring  are  never  seen  in 
the  tropics;  while  the  rich  expanse  of 
green  meadows  and  rich    pastures  are 
wanting,  and  the  distant  landscape  fails 
in  tbe  soft  and  hazy  effects  which  so  ex- 
cite the  imagination  in  the  more  temperate 
latitudes.    Mr.  WaUace  leaves  out  of  his 
description  the  numerous  and  splendid 
flEunilies  of  birds, — the  taniujers,  the  tou- 
cans, the  macaws,  and  the  parroquets, — 
but  we  are  still  inclined  to  concur  in  the 
spirit  of  his  remarks.    Even  for  exquisite 
scenery  "  there  is  no  place  like  home." 

We  cannot  quit  the  birds  without  quot- 
ing fix)m  Hemdon  a  little  legend  which 
he  heard  of  one,  which  had  a  peculiarly 
plaintive  note,  and  was  called  by  the 
Spaniards  "  the  lost  soul." 

**  After  we  had  retired  to  our  mats  beneath  the  shed 
for  the  night,  I  asked  the  governor  if  he  knew  a  bird 
called  Ja  alma  perdida.  He  did  not  know  It  by  that 
name,  and  requested  a  description.  I  whistled  an 
Imitation  of  its  notes;  whereupon,  an  old  crone, 
ttretohed  on  a  mat  near  us,  commenced,  with  animat- 
ed tones  and  gestures,  a  story  in  the  Inca  language^ 
which,  translated,  ran  somehow  thus : 

**  *  An  Indian  and  bis  wife  went  out  ttom  the  village 
to  work  their  chacra,  carrying  their  inlknt  with  them. 
The  woman  went  to  the  spring  to  get  water,  leaving 
the  man  in  charge  of  the  child,  with  many  cauUons 
to  take  good  care  of  it  When  she  arrived  at  the 
spring  she  found  it  dried  up,  and  went  fUrther  to  look 
for  another.  The  husband,  alarmed  at  her  long  ab- 
ienee,  left  the  child  and  went  in  search.    When  they 


ratamed  the  child  wai  ffon«;  and  to  their  fepeatad 
cflM  aa  thfy  wandered  throng  the  woods  in  soirrh, 
they  ooold  get  no  response  save  the  wailing  cry  of 
this  litUe  bird,  beard  for  the  first  time,  whoso  notes 
their  anxions  and  ezdted  ima^ation  'syllabled* 
into  porpa,  ma-ma  (the  present  Qolchna  naose  of 
the  bird).  I  suppose  the  Spsnisids  hesrd  this  story, 
snd,  with  that  religioos  poetio  turn  of  thought  which 
seems  peeollar  to  this  pec^e^  called  the  bird  'The 
losteouL' 

**Tbe  drcnmstances  under  which  the  story  was 
told— the  beautlftil,  still,  stazUght  nic^t-the  deep^ 
dark  forest  sronnd— the  lUnt-red  g^immexlng  of  the 
fire,  flickering  np<m  the  old  woman^  gray  hair  and 
earnest  Usee  as  she  poured  forth  the  gnttoial  tunea  of 
the  language  of  a  people  now  passed  away— ^ve  it  a 
soffldently  romanUo  interest  to  an  imaginative  xnan.* 

The  object  of  Hemdon's  visit  was,  as 
we  have  said,  to  explore  the  resources  of 
the  valley,  and  to  ascertain  to  what  ex- 
tent it  invited  the  commerce  of  foreign 
nations.  Our  distinguished  astronomer, 
Lieutenant  Maury,  had  long  been  of  the 
opmion  that  this  region  opened  the  finest 
opportunities  for  trade,  and  was  eager  to 
dvect  the  attention  of  capitalista  to  the 
importance  and  prospective  value  of  a 
steam  navigation  of  the  Amazon.  It  was 
at  his  mstance,  therefore,  as'  we  suspect) 
that  Lieutenants  Hemdon  and  Gibbon 
were  selected  for  the  expedition.  Their 
reports  strongly  confirm  his  anticipations 
as  to  the  wealth  of  the  whole  immense 
district  Our  present  trade  with  Para, 
the  city  at  the  mouth  of  the  river,  already 
amounts  to  about  one  million  of  dollars  a 
year,  but  if  the  productions  of  the  int^or, — 
the  India-rubber,  the  sarsaparilla,  thecoooa. 
and  a  thousand  other  commodities.—- coula 
be  readily  exchanged  by  means  or  steam- 
boats, for  our  goods,  the  trade  might  be 
prodigiously  increased.  The  several  gov- 
ernments having  jurisdiction  over  the 
river  and  its  tributaries,  those  of  Pern  and 
Bolivia  in  particular,  are  disposed  to  pursue 
a  liberal  policy  in  regard  to  compames 
which  will  undertake  the  steam  navigataon 
of  it,  and  it  only  requires  the  cooperation 
of  Brazil  to  throw  open  the  entire  valley 
to  the  navigation  of  the  world.  Brazil 
has  foolishly  made  a  contract  with  one  De 
Sousa  for  the  exclusive  navigation,  but  it 
appears  to  be  doubtful  whether  he  will  be 
able  to  fulfil  his  part  of  the  bargain,  even 
if  it  should  not  turn  out  that  the  said 
contract  is  an  infiingement  of  the  treaty 
with  Peru,  which  stipulates  for  a  joint 
action  of  the  two  nations  in  all  that  con- 
cerns the  subject  Tirade,  who  was  , 
foreign  minister  of  Peru  last  year,  is  op- 
posed to  the  contract  of  De  Souin,  and 
will  succeed,  we  trust,  in  getting  it  dis- 
avowed. Lti  the  mean  time  the  President 
of  Pern,  Don  Jose  Rufino  Echiniqae,  has 
issued  a  patriotic  and  enlightened  decres^ 


1854.] 


Borodino. 


9f0 


whioh  offers  the  most  liberal  indooe- 
ments  to  the  navigation  of  the  riyer,  and 
to  settlements  in  the  districts  oyer  which 
Pera  has  control.  It  opens  the  ports  of 
Nauta  and  Loreto  to  conmieroe,  abandon- 
ing all  import  or  export  duties,  aAd 
making  concessions  of  lands,  accompanied 
by  a  certain  exemption  from  taxes,  to  all 
settlers.  Bolivia  has  made  a  decree  to 
the  same  effect,  and  it  is  hoped  that  Brazil 
will  not  long  continue  to  stand  in  her  own 
%ht    Hemdon  writes, — 

**  Warn  tlM  to  adopt  a  liberal  liiKtead  of  an  ezelaslTe 
pdk^,  throw  open  the  Ainaion  to  foreign  oommeroe 
•nd  eompetitioii,  inyite  settlement  upon  its  banks, 
and  aooonniga  onigr^tlon  by  liberal  grants  of  land^ 
and  aOdent  protection  to  person  and  property,  backed 
a  ibo  la  by  saeh  natural  advantages,  imagination 
«oald  searoely  follow  her  giant  strtdea  towards  wealth 


>*8be,  together  with  the  fire  Spanish  American 
repubUca  above  named,  owns  in  the  valley  of  the 
Amawm  more  than  two  millions  of  square  miles  of 
land,  Intaneeted  in  every  direction  by  many  thonaand 
milaa  of  what  might  be  called  canal  navigation. 

M  Thia  land  is  of  anri vailed  fertility ;  on  account  of 
lia  geographical  dtnation  and  topographical  and  geo- 
logical formation.  It  produces  nearly  every  thing 
lawiitfal  to  the  comfort  and  well-being  of  man.  On 
tiia  top  and  eastern  dope  of  the  Andes  lie  hid  nnim- 
ifliiabia  quantities  ot  silver,  iron,  coal,  oopper,  and 
qnkksUrer,  waiting  but  the  appUcatlpn  of  sdence 
and  the  hand  of  industry  for  their  development  The 
ioeoeasfbl  working  of  the  quicksilver  mines  of  Huan- 
cavdlca  would  add  several  millions  of  silver  to  ttie 
annual  product  of  Gerro  Pasco  alonck  Many  oi  the 
itreama  that  dash  from  the  summits  of  the  Cordilleras 
wish  gold  ikom  the  mountain-side,  and  deposit  it  in 
the  iK^lowa  and  gulches  as  they  paaSb  Barley,  quinna, 
aad  potatoes,  best  grown  in  a  cold,  with  wheat,  rye, 
maiza,  clover,  and  tobacco,  products  of  a  temperate 
regkm,  deck  the  mountain-side,  and  beantlQr  the 
valley;  whfla  Immense  herds  of  sheep,  Uamis,  alpacas, 
and  vicunas  feed  upon  those  elevated  plains,  and  yield 
wool  of  the  flneat  and  longest  staple. 

**  Descending  towards  the  pUdn,  and  only  for  a  few 
ttSim,  the  eye  of  the  traveller  flnom  the  temperate  zone 


is  held  with  wonder  and  delight  by  the  beantiAil  and 
strange  produotiona  of  the  torrid.  He  sees  for  the 
flnt  time  the  symmetrical  ootfoe-bush,  rich  with  its 
dark-green  leaves,  its  pure  white  blossoms,  and  its 
gay,  red  fruit  The  prolifie  pkntain,  with  its 
great  waving  fkn-Iike  leaf;  and  immense  pendant 
branches  of  golden-looking  ftnit,  enchalna  hia  atten- 
tion. The  sugar-cane  waves  ia  rank  luxuriance  be- 
fore him,  and  if  he  be  fomillar  with  Southern  planta- 
tions, hlfl  heart  swells  with  emotion  as  the  gay  yellow 
blossom  and  white  boll  of  the  cotton  set  before  his 
mind's  eye  the  flunHiar  scenes  of  home. 

**  Fruits,  toOb  of  the  finest  quality  and  most  luscious 
ilavor,  grow  here;  oranges,  lemon^  bananas,  plne- 
apple^  melons,  chirimoya^  granadillaa,  and  many 
others  which,  nnplessant  to  the  toate  at  first,  become 
with  use  exceedingly  gratefoi  to  th»  accustomed 
palate.  The  Indian  gets  hero  his  indiq>ensable  coca, 
and  the  forests  at  certain  seasons  are  red<dent  with 
tho  perfome  of  the  vaniUa.** 

Neither  of  the  South  American  nations 
alone  will  be  able  to  accomplish  much 
towards  the  introduction  of  an  energetic 
foreign  population,  but  with  the  assistance 
of  northern  or  European  enterprise  might 
make  the  most  gigantic  strides.  Thoir 
hihabitants  are  not  maritime ;  thej  haye 
no  skill  in  steam  narigation;  they  are 
destitute  of  the  necessary  capital.  But 
let  them  encourage  the  commerce  of 
others,  and  they  will  instantly  procure 
all  the  assistance  that  they  need.  Let 
them  say  to  the  people  of  the  United 
States,  afready  their  best  customers  and 
most  natural  allies,  ^*Come  with  your 
steamers  laden  with  manu&ctures  to  our 
free  ports,"  and  their  grand  riyer  would 
no  longer  roll  in  loneliness  through  the 
sullen  solitudes,  but  grow  white  with 
ships,  tho  precious  harbingers  of  ciyiliza- 
tion  and  progress.  Only  giye  the  Yankee 
a  chance,  and,  in  spite  of  insects,  snakes, 
frog-concerts,  and  dirty  Indians,  he  will 
raise  you  to  power  and  glory. 


BORODINO. 

ONE  foot  in  the  stirrup,  one  hand  on  the  mane, 
One  toss  of  white  plumes  on  the  air ; 
Then  firm  in  the  saddle — and  loosened  the  rein ; 
And  the  sword-blade  gleams  bare ! 

A  white  face  stares  up  frt>m  the  dark  frozen  ground ; 

The  prowler  will  shadow  it  soon : 
The  dead  and  the  dying  lie  writhen  around, 

Cold  and  bright  shines  the  moon ! 

There^s  laurels  and  gold  for  the  liying  and  proud : 
But  the  ice-wreath  of  Fame  for  tiie  slain ; 

Onhr  Loye  turns  away  from  the  reyelling  crowd 
To  her  own  on  the  plain ! 


880 


WHO   WAS   JULIET'S    RUNAWAY? 
Qunror  folio  of  le&^ooiLixB's  folio  ik^^bakiospeabjs's  jtam 


LET  the  Jurors  at  the  Crystal  Palace 
rest  in  peace.  The  exhibitors  to 
whom  they  award  an  honorable  mention 
will  not  be  thereby  made  their  enemies 
for  life.  Mr.  Punchy — high  authority, — 
assured  us  that  John  Bull  became  furious 
at  ^an  honorable  mention,'  and  even 
furnished  us  with  the  portrait  of  a  gentle- 
man in  a  rage  at  having  attained  that  dis- 
tinction. But  it  seems  indeed,  that — to 
use  two  very  trite  quotations, — nous  avons 
changi  tout  cela^  and  that  it  is  no  longer 
true  that  caelum  non  animum  mulantur 
qui  trans  mare  currunt.  In  the  last 
November  number  of  this  Magazine,  we 
said  that  '*  he  who  discovers  thci  needful 
word  for  the  misprint  "  runatDoyes  eyes" 
in  the  second  Scene  of  the  third  Act  of 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  will  secure  the  honor- 
able mention  of  his  name  as  long  as  the 
English  language  is  read  and  spoken." 
This  opinion  has  been  regarded  as  a  pre- 
'  diction  by  several  enthusiastic  Shakes- 
perians ;  and  in  fact  we  have  been  address- 
ed as  if  we  had  at  least  a  certain  amount 
of  a  certain  grade  of  immortality  in  our 
keeping,  a  portion  of  which  we  had  pro- 
mised to  bestow  upon  the  lucky  conjcc- 
turer  who  should  supply  the  needful  word 
in  poor  JulieVs  soliloquy.  Aspirants 
after  so  much  immortality  as  is  implied  in 
coexistence  with  the  English  language, 
have  offered  themselves  from  all  quarters 
of  the  country.  Massachusetts,  Rhode 
Island,  and  Missouri.  South  Carolina, 
and  New  York  and  Maine  all  furnish  can- 
didates. 

Since  the  subject  seems  to  have  awak- 
ened so  general  an  interest,  we  give  our 
readers  the  benefit  of  the  conjectures  of 
our  correspondents,  and  the  arguments 
with  which  they  sustain  them.  But  we 
can  by  no  means  consent  to  be  ^  counted 
out '  of  the  contest  Long  before  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  article  which  has  directed 
a  renewed  attention  to  the  notorious 
error  in  question,  we  had  ventured  upon 
a  conjectural  emendation  of  the  passage, 
which  seemed  to  us  not  only  unobjection- 
able, but  eminently  suited  to  the  exigencies 
of  the  case  j  and  under  the  circumstances  . 
we  shall  be  obliged  to  present  our  readers 
with  a  page  or  two  from  a  volume  of 
Historical  and  Critical  Comments  upon 
the  Text  and  Characters  of  Shakespeare 
now  passing  through  the  press.  But  first 
for  a  glance  at  the  efforts  of  some  of  our 
rivals 


Our  Western  correspondent  i 
us  through  the  columns  of  the  i$ 
Intelligencer,  After  a  short  de] 
introduction,  he  says : 

"Without  further  circumstance 
you  my  substitute,  for  what  is  • 
aeutly  a  misprint  The  sentence  r 

'*  Spread  thy  close  cnrtain,  love-perfonn!n 
That  run-away'B  [noonday'ti]  eyes  maj 

Borneo 
Leap  to  these  arms,"  Ac 

**  Now,  gentlemen,  if  you  read  i 
speech  set  down  to  Juhet  of  whi 
a  part,  the  entire  context,  I  thin 
the  substitution  of  'noonday's*  ) 
away's.'  ** 

He  sustains  his  reading  by  ra 
what  is  sufficiently  obvious,  til 
feverish  impatience"  of  Juliet 
what  to  her  are  the  tedious  I 
garish  day,"  and  that  "  she  inv 
coming  of  the  night  as  the  bes 
because  it  would  bring  Borne* 
longing  arms.  "What  then,** 
"  more  likely,  than  that  this  love 
man  should  call  upon  night  to  let 
curtain,  and  put  out,  or  make  v 
eye  of  day — the  *  noon-day's  son 

The  conjectured  reading  of 
Louis  critic  is  not  without  soiim 
bility;  and  it  resembles  somev 
proposed  by  the  Rev.  Alex«Dd< 
which  will  be  noticed  hereafter, 
the  words  which  have  occurred  t 
our  New  England  corresponden 
^'•noondaxfs  eyes"  will  not  wii 
proposer  Uie  distinction  which  he  c 
and  for  very  sufficient  reasons, 
there  were  no  objection,  as  to  time 
th^  word  "  noonaay,"  there  is  a  li' 
and  particularity  about  it  which  i 
cally  out  of  place  in  the  passage  f< 
it  is  proposed.  Juliet  is  using  li 
general  terms :  she  calls  the  Wesl 
bus'  mansion,"  and  her  thought 
directly  from  day  to  "  cloudy  nig] 
is  affected  only  by  the  ideas  of  1 
obscurity :  she  does  not  consider 
parts  of  the  day  or  night  To  1 
is  but  one  grand  division  of  time 
make  her  specify  noontime,  in  at 
eyes  to  day,  is  to  introduce  a  i 
into  her  speech  incongruous  with 
of  thought  But  supposing  such 
larity  not  objectionable  on  th* 
ground  of  criticism,  the  time  ra 
the  term  is  inoonsisteut  with  it 


1854.] 


W%o  was  Julie  fa  Runaway  f 


S61 


ments  of  the  scene ;  and  therefore  Shake- 
speare would  have  been  particular,  onlj  to 
be  particularly  wrong.  This  is  eyident 
from  the  fact,  which  a  short  examination 
will  bring  to  light,  that  Juliet  was  not 
married  until  afterjnoondaj;  and  that 
some  hours  elapsed  oetwcen  ber  marriage 
and  the  time  of  this  soliloquy.  In  the 
garden  scene  on  the  previous  night  Juliet 
says  to  Romeo^ — 

"At  what  o'clock  to-morrow 
BbaUlMndtotbee?*" 

And  he  replies, — 

•*  By  Uie  hour  of  nine.' 

Juliet^  in  the  fifth  Scene  of  the  second 
Act,  in  her  impatience  to  hear  from  her 
lover,  says, — 

"The  clock  strack  nine,  when  I  did  send  the  nurse; 
In  half  an  hour  she  promised  to  return. 
Perehanee  she  cannot  meet  hlm,^  Ac. 

So  that  it  was  well  on  towards  ten  o'clock 
before  Juliet  received  Romeo's  message. 
But  what  was  that  message?  We  find  it 
in  the  fourth  Scene  of  this  same  Act. 

**  Bid  her  devise  some  means  to  oome  to  shrift 
This  ajtemoon  : 

And  there  she  shall,  at  Friar  Lanrenoe^s  cell, 
Be  shTlv'd  and  married." 

It  was  then  some  time  past  noonday  be- 
fore Juliet  went  to  the  Friar's  cell.  There 
she  was  married ;  and  we  ma^  be  sure  that 
she  did  not  hasten  away  agam.  But  after 
she  and  Romeo  had  parted,  and  in  the 
long  first  Scene  of  the  next  Act,  the  brawl 
takes  place  in  which  Mercutio  is  killed 
by  T)/baU  and  Tybalt  by  Romeo.  This 
all  intervenes  between  the  parting  of 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  after  their  marriage  in 
the  afternoon,  and  Juliefs  soliloquy: 
quite  enough  to  show  that  "noonday" 
is  not  tiie  word  which  she  uses.  But 
she  herself  ^ves  the  coup  de  grace  to 
this  supposition ;  for  in  the  very  scene  of 
ho*  soliloquy,  having  been  betrayed  into 
upbraiding  Romeo,  hy  hearing  from  the 
Nurse  that  he  has  killed  Tybalt,  she 
remorsefiiUy  exclaims, — 

"Ah,  poor  mj  lord,  what  tongue  shall  smooth  thy 


When  I,  thy  three  hourt^  voife^  hare  mangled  it?  " 

Under  the  circumstances,  Juliet  would 
certainly  name  a  shorter  time  than  had 
actually  elapsed  since  she  became  Romeo's 
wife;  and  therefore,  she  having  been 
married  in  the  afternoon,  it  is  plain  that 
her  soliloquy  is  spoken  toward  evening. 

But  what  need  of  this  comparison  of 
hours  and  minutes!  Is  not  the  soliloquy 
itself  steeped  in  the  passionful  languor  of 

YOL.  ni. — 19 


a  summer's  afternoon  just  melting  into 
twilight  ?  Is  it  not  plain  that  Juliet  has 
been  watching  the  sun  sink  slowly  down 
to  the  horizon,  and  gazing  pensively  into 
the  golden  air,  until  her  own  imaginings 
have  taken  on  its  glowing  hue,  and  that 
then  she  breaks  out  into  her  longing 
prayer  for  night  and  Romeo  ?  Facts  and 
figures  tell  us  that  her  soliloquy  is  spoken 
just  before  sunset;  but  what  reader  of 
the  whole  soliloquy  will  not  set  aside  the 
evidence  of  facts  and  figures  as  superfluous 
— almost  impertinent  ? 

Our  Southern  correspondent  suggests 
"'run-i'- way's"  for  "runaways,"  and 
would  read, 

*  Spread  thy  close  curtain,  loTe-performlng  night, 
That  ruH'i'-tDaya  eyes  may  wink,'  ko. 

He  makes  this  suggestion  in  a  very  plea- 
sant letter,  indicative  of  fine  taste  and 
feeling  on  the  part  of  the  writer,  the 
length  of  which,  however,  precludes  our 
use  of  it.  He  supposes  that  Juliet  is  ex- 
pressing a  wish  that  run-in-the-ways',  t.  c, 
interlopers',  eyes  may  wink ;  and  that "  run- 
awaycs  "  is  the  contracted  word,  with  the 
mere  typog]*aphical  error  of  a  single  letter. 
The  contraction  he  arrives  at  thus : — ^run- 
in-the-ways,  run-in-th'-ways,  run-i-th'- 
ways,  run-i'- ways.  This  is  ingenious;' 
but  such  a  contraction  and  such  an  idea 
are  hardly  in  the  manner  of  Shakespeare ; 
and  we  therefore  postpone  an  elaborate 
consideration  of  it  until  all  more  probable 
suggestions  have  been  set  aside. 

Boston  furnishes  the  next  candidate  for' 
honorable  mention,  who  thus  cleverly, 
directly,  and  modestly  withal,  asserts  his 
claim. 

"The  closing  sentijiice  of  the  article  on 
Shakspeare,  in  your  November  number,  is 
responsible  for  this :  so  if  this  be  a  bore,  act 
accordingly. 

"  Instead  of  *  i-un-away's  eyes,*  I  would 
read  wan  day's  eyes.  The  word  day^  makes 
the  sense  perfect  and  plain.  The  use  of 
*  day's  eye  *  for  light  is  not  an  uncommon 
figure ;  it  may  be  found  in  most  poets  of 
that  time, — and  of  a  later  time  also.  Milton 
takes  it  even  farther.  He  calls  day-break 
the  *  opening  eyelid  of  the  mom.*  Wan  is 
the  very  adjective  that  Juliet  would  apply 
to  day,  considering  it  as  opposed  to  *  love- 
performing  night*  Carelessly  written,  *rtm- 
away*s  eyes,*  has  much  the  same  appearance 
as  *  wan-day*s  eyes.* 

*  Spread  thy  close  cortain,  love-peribrming  night  I 
That  wan  day's  eyes  may  wink.* 

As  a  consequence  of  this,  Romeo  is  to 
come — 'unwatched,*  <&c.  Does  not  this 
make  the  image  plain?  The  thought  ia  in. 
Milton: 


882 


Who  was  JuUeVs  Runaway  f 


'  What  has  night  to  do  with  sleep? 
•       ••••• 

*ri8  onlf  day  light  that  makes  dn, 
Which  theu  dim  ihadst  udU  ns'er  rsporC 

"  This  {>a88age  is  almost  the  same  as  Ro- 
meo's coming  unnoted.  The  whole  speech 
is  an  expression  of  impatience  at  the  linger- 
ing of  Jay,    Juliet  says : 

*  Bo  tedions  is  this  day. 
As  is  the  night  bcibre  some  festival, 
To  an  impatient  child.' 

"  Now,  then, — if  you  believe  aa  I  do, — I 
claim  the  reward.— Very  respectfully, 

"G.  N.  H." 

This  Suggestion  is  good.  Eyidently, 
"  wan  days,"  if  indistinctly  written,  might 
be  mistaken  for  "  runawaycs."  lAie  idea 
of  "  the  eye  of  day  "  is  also  quite  suitable 
to  the  passage;  and  indeed  it  has  been 
before  suggested  by  the  Rev.  Alexander 
Dyoe.  Our  Boston  correspondent  also 
sustains  his  conjecture  ably  by  the  au- 
thority of  Milton  and  of  Shakespeare  him- 
self. But  this  and  all  the  other  hypothc- 
tioal  readings  knovi*n  to  us  before  the 
receipt  of  the  letter  of  our  Southern  cor- 
respondent, fail  to  meet  the  demands  of 
one  essential  part  of  the  context ;  and  we 
are  thus  brought  to  the  extract  from 
the  unpublished  Shakesperian  yolume,  to 
which  we  have  alluded.  It  was  written, 
with  the  exception  of  a  few  lines  touching 
a  recent  suggestion  of  Mr.  Dyce's  and  a 
statement  of  the  reading  of  Mr.  Collier's 
folio,  three  years  and  more  ago,  merely 
as  a  part  of  the  author's  Shakesperian 
studies,  and  with  no  thought  that  it  would 
ever  see  the  light  in  this  shape.  Here  is 
the  extract : 

**«/iiM«<L— Spread  thy  cloeo  curtain,  love-perfbnnlng 

night, 
That  ronaway's  eyes  may  wink,  and  Romeo 
Lm^  to  these  arms,  untaJkcd  of  and  nnseou* 

Of  the  incomprehensible  "runaways  "  in 
the  second  line,  an  obvious  misprint,  many 
explanations  and  many  emendations  have 
been  offered.  Warburton  thought  that 
the  runaway  was  the  sun:  Steevens 
thought  that  Juliet  meant  to  call  the 
night  a  runaway :  Douce  insists  that  she 
applies  that  term  to  herself,  as  a  runaway 
firom  her  duty  to  her  parents.  But  no 
explanation  will  obviate  the  difficulty. 
There  is,  unquestionably,  a  misprint,  and 
a  gross  one.  The  conjectural  emendations 
have  been  as  diverse  a.s  numerous.  Monck 
Mason  proposed  Renomy*8,  that  is  Ren- 
nome^8 ;  Zachary  Jackson,  unawares^ 
which  was  adopted  by  Mr.  Collier  and 
Mr.  Knight,  in  spite  of  the  feeble  sense  it 
gives ;  and  Mr.  Collier's  folio  has  "  enemies^ 
eyes.*'    All  the  coi\jectures  have  been  un- 


satisfactory, rather  on  account  of  tlM 
which  they  give,  than  the  improbi 
of  the  mistake  which  they  involved 
most  plausible  .suggestion  yet  made, 
to  me  to  be.  "  rude  dav^s^^^  by  Mr. 
in  his  Remarks  on  Sir.  Colliers 
Mr  C.  Knight's  Editions  of  & 
speare.  In  his  last  publication,  A 
Notes  on  Shakespeare,  he  offers  "» 
eyes."  But  it  is  surely  much  bet 
read — 

Spread  thy  dose  curtain,  loTe-pcrformlng  i 
That  rude  day*»  eyes  may  wink, 

than. 

That  roving  eyes  nuy  wink. 

Neither  of  these,  however,  is  more 
factory  to  me  than  they  appear  to 
Mr.  Dyoe  himself.  The  error  will 
ably  remain  for  ever  uncorrected,  ui 
word  which  I  venture  to  suggest  sei 
others  as  unexceptionable  as  it  does 
JtUiet  desires  that  somebody's  eye 
wink,  so  that  Romeo  may  leap  i 
arms  "  untalked  o/J"  as  well  as  "  im 
She  wishes  to  avoid  the  scandal,  the 
which  would  ensue  upon  the  discoi 
her  new  made  husband's  secret  Tisii 
I  think,  therefore,  and  also  becau 
misprint  is  by  no  means  improbabU 
know  from  experience)  that  Shake 
wrote  ^^rumoures  eyes,"  and  tlu 
should  read, 

*  Spread  thy  close  cartaln,  loTe-perfonnlag  i 
That  ramoar*s  eyes  may  wink,  and  T 
Leap  to  these  arms,  nntalk'd  of  and  i 


This  occurred  to  me  in  conseqoe: 
an  endeavor  to  conjecture  what 
satisfy  the  exigencies  of  the  last  as  i 
of  the  second  Hne  of  these  three ;  an 
haps  I  yield  <}uite  as  much  to  the 
diate  impression  which  the  word 
upon  me,  and  which  all  other  oonje( 
whether  of  others  or  myself,  had  ill 
the  least  to  do,  as  to  the  reasons 
have  confirmed  my  first  opinion. 

The  absence  of  a  long  letter  in 
moures,"  to  correspond  with  the 
"runawayes,"  does  not  trouble  n 
have  repeatedly  found  in  my  proofs 
containing  long  letters  when  the  v 
wrote  contained  none,  and  vice  i 
and  yet  my  manuscript  is  welcom 
the  compositor  on  account  of  its  1^ 
It  should  be  noticed,  too,  that  i 
Jackson's  unawares  ^accepted  b; 
Collier  and  Mr.  Knight),  nor  Mr.  O 
Folio  Corrector's  enemies  contains 
letter.  Those  who  understand  the 
my  of  the  composing  case  will  see 
long  letter  is  not  necessary  in  the  n 
be  substituted  here,  because  most 


1854.] 


Who  wu  JuUefi  Runaway  f 


268 


orrore  in  type  setting  are  on  aooount  of 
preTious  mistakes  in  the  distribation  of 
the  type :  the  letters  haying  been  placed 
in  the -wrong  boxes.  Rumor  was  spelt 
ruiTumre,  and  the  possessive  case  ru- 
mourea,  of  course,  in  Shakespeare's  day. 

As  to  Rumor's  eyes,  they  are  as  neces- 
sary to  her  ofSce  as  are  her  ears  or  her 
tongues.  Virgil's  Fame  is  but  Rumor, 
and  of  her  he  says, 

*■  Cai  qaoi  sunt  oorporo  planuM 
7U  piffOsa  ocuU  sabter,  minbile  dlota. 
Tot  linguae,  totldem  on  sonant,  totidem  snbrlglt 
ftorea.* 

And  in  Shakespeare's  day  Rumor  was  rep- 
resented with  tongues ;  as  we  know  by 
the  following  description  of  that  character 
as  she  was  represented  in  a  Masque ;  and 
whidi  was  evidently  founded  on  Virgil's 
impersonation. 

'Dlrectlf  under  her  In  a  cart  hj  benelfe,  Fame 
itood  upright:  a  woman  in  a  watohet  roabe,  tbl^lj 
get  with  op&n  eyf  and  tongues,  a  payre  of  large 
golden  winges  at  her  backe,  a  trumpet  In  her  hand,  • 
mantle  <^  sundry  cnllours  traverBing  her  body:  all 
theee  ensigns  dlq)laying  but  the  propertie  of  her  swi/t- 
oease  and  aptnesse  to  disperse  Rwnwwrt: 

T%s  %ohole  nuxffnijtoent  EnteriaintMni  given 
to  King  Jcmea  and  Vu  queen  hie  W^fe^ 
<^  ItiiA  March,  1008.  By  Tkomae  Dedter, 
Ho.    1604. 

Shakespeare,  however,  needed  no  precedent 
or  hint  to  give  eyes  to  Rumor.  These 
quotations  merely  show  that  the  idea  was 
sufficiently  familiar  to  his  auditors,  un- 
learned and  learned,  for  him  to  use  it  in 
this  manner. 

But  these  considerations  arc  not  urged 
to  gain  acceptance  for  the  reading  which 
I  propose ;  their  office  is  but  to  meet  pos- 
sible objections  to  it.  If  it  do  not  com- 
mend itself  at  once  to  the  intelligent 
readers  of  Shakespeare,  with  a  favor  which 
increases  upon  reflection,  no  argument 
can,  or  should,  fasten  it  upon  the  text. 

Such  being  our  own  view  of  the  pas- 
sage, which  we  were  about  to  give  to  the 
world  through  another  channel,  we  were 
both  surprii^  and  gratified  to  receive 
the  following  confirmation  of  our  conjec- 
ture from  the  hands  of  an  intelligent  and 
tocomplished  lover  and  student  of  Shake- 
tpeMie  in  Providence,  R.  I. 

**  What  objection  is  there  to  the  substitu- 
tion of  rumar'e  for  runatoayea,  in  the  Second 
Scene  of  the  Third  Act  of  Romeo  and 
Jnliett 

Spread  thy  dose  curtain,  loTe-performlng  night  I 
That  rumor^i  eyea  may  wink ;  and  Borneo 
Leap  to  these  arma,  untalked  of  and  unaeon  I 

"VirmTs  description  of  mmor,  as  per- 
•oniilMDji'baM^  m  the  fourth  book  of  the 


.£neid,  would  justify  the  poet  in  the  adop- 
tion of  the  ezpressioo,  rumor'e  eyee, 

Monstrum  horrendam,  ingens:  cul  quot  sunt  coipore 

plumfte, 
Tot  9igiU9  oeuU  subter,  mirabile  dictu ! 
Tot  linguae,  totldem  ora  sonant,  tot  subrlglt  anres. 

"  It  is  also  certain  that  a  word  of  two 
syllables  is  required,  whereas  runawayee  is 
a  word  of  three  syllables,  and  is  only  ren- 
dered tolerable  in  its  position  here  by 
clipping  or  passing  lightly  over  the  first  a. 
Rumor  $  is  mach  more  agreeable  to  the  ear. 

"The  difference  in  the  orthography  of 
the  two  words  is  not  so  g^eat,  but  tnat  the 
change  of  one  for  the  other,  is  easily  ac- 
counted for  as  a  typographical  error. 

"The  emendation  seems  to  me  so  plausi- 
ble, that  I  presume  it  must  have  been  made 
long  ago.  I  have  not  been  able  to  find  it 
anywhere,  however,  and  I  address  you  for 
the  purpose  of  learning  the  objection  to  it 

Respectfully  yours,  H.  H. 

Mr.  Collier  claims,  with  reason,  that 
the  occurrence  of  the  same  coi\jectural 
emendation  to  two  readers  of  Shakespeare, 
without  consultation,  is  cumulative  evi- 
dence in  its  favor ;  and  we  therefore  give 
the  above,  exactly  as  we  received  it^  with 
the  coincident  quotation  from  Virgil.  It 
is  not  at  all  surprising  that,  the  word 
rumor's  having  occurred  to  two  students 
of  Shakespeare  who  had  read  Virgil,  his 
well  known  passage  descriptive  of  Fame 
should  have  been  brought  to  the  minds 
of  both.  The  description  of  Fame  in 
Decker's  Entertainment  which  is  pointed 
out  by  the  present  writer,  is,  we  think,  of 
great  value  as  showing  the  familiarity  of 
the  public  of  Shakespeare's  day  with  the 
character. 

But  we  owe  to  our  Southern  corres- 
pondent the  knowledge  that  the  conjec- 
ture as  to  the  word  rumor^s,  although 
original  both  with  H.  H.  and  ourselves, 
has  been  suggested  before,  and  as  long 
ago  as  the  middle  of  the  last  century. 
The  letter  of  our  Southern  co-laborer  con- 
tains a  quotation  from  a  letter  of  Mr. 
Samuel  Weller  Singer's,  which  was  pub- 
lished in  2^U8  ana  Queries.  This  pub- 
lication, some  numbers  of  which  we  nave 
seen,  is  a  receptacle  of  odds  and  ends 
about  literature,  verbal  criticism,  antiqui- 
ties, &c,  &c.,  Ac,  published  in  London. 
Mr.  Singer,  in  his  letter  upon  this  passage 
says, 

"In  the  course  of  his  note  he  [Monok 
Mason]  mentions  that  Heath,  the  author 
of  the  Bevieal,  reads  '  Rumour' t  eyes  may 
wink ;  *  which  agrees  in  sense  with  the  rest 
of  the  passage,  but  differs  widely  from  run- 
aways in  the  trace  of  the  letterSi 

"  1  waa  not  conscious  of  having  «a«bl^]^ 


284 


Who  was  Julie  ft  Runaway  f 


piaieb 


Buggestion  of  Heath's,  when,  in  consequence 
of  ft  question  put  to  me  by  a  gentleman  of 
distinguished  taste  and  learning,  I  turned 
my  thoughts  to  the  passage,  and  at  length 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  word  must 
have  been  rumourertf  and  that  from  its  un- 
frequent  occurrence  (the  only  other  example 
of  It  at  present  known  to  me  being  one 
afforded  by  the  poet),  the  printer  mistook  it 
toT  runawdyea  ;  which,  when  written  indis- 
tinctly, it  may  have  strongly  resembled.  I 
therefore  think  that  we  may  read  with 
some  confidence : 

*  Bproad  thy  dose  curtain,  love-perfbnning  night, 
Tb«t  rumourttrtt^  eyes  may  wink,  and  Borneo 
Leap  to  these  arms,  vfUaU;'d  of  and  wfMMn.* 

It  fulfils  the  requirements  of  both  metre 
and  sense,  and  the  words  urUaWd  of  and 
vnteen  make  it  nearly  indisputable.  I  had 
at  first  thought  it  might  be  *  rumoiir<nis 
eyes ; '  but  the  personification  would  then 
be  wanting.  Shakspearc  has  personified 
Rumour  in  the  Introauction  to  the  Second 
Part  of  King  Henry  IV. ;  and  in  Coriolanus 
Act  IV.,  Sc.  6,  we  have, 

"  *  Go  see  this  nunoww  whlpp'd.' " 

The  present  writer  was  not  only,  like 
Mr.  Singer,  unconscious  of  having  seen 
Mr.  Heath's  suggestion,  but  had  never 
read  Mr.  Heath's  notes  upon  this  play. 
On  referring  to  the  volume,  however,  (A 
Reviaal  of  Shakeapear^a  Text^  &c.,  8vo. 
London,  1765,)  we  find,  p.  511,  that  Mr. 
Heath  merely  says — 

*'I  think  it  is  not  improbable  that  the 
poet  wrote, 

Thai  Bamoar*s  eyu  may  tidnk  ; 

which  agrees  perfectly  well  with  what  fol- 
lows." 

He  giveB  no  reason  for  his  supposition, 
and  offers  no  support  for  it  Here,  then, 
we  have  three  coincident  conjectures  from 
three  persons,  each  ignorant  of  the  other's 
suggestion;  which,  if  the  word  which 
the^  propose  to  substitute  be  acceptable 
in  itself  adds  greatly  to  the  probability 
that  it  restores  the  true  reading.  Mr. 
Singer's  independent  conjecture  that  ru- 
mourer^s  is  the  word,  also  affords  collateral 
support  to  the  former,  the  idea  being  the 
same  in  both.  But  it  should  be  remarked 
that  the  line  does  not  need  a  word  of 
.  three  syllables : 

That  Ba  |  mourns  eyee  |  may  wink,  |  and  Bo  |  meo. 

The  typographical  error  which  gave  us 
runaways,  and  which  Mr.  Singer  would 
correct  by  substituting  rumourera^  almost 
certainly  loaded  the  line  with  a  redundant 
syllable.  Notice  also,  that  the  addition  of 
an  r  diminishes  the  chances  for  an  error  by 
th^  compositor.  It  would  be  far  more  likely 


that  "rumoured"  should  be  mistaken  for 
"  runawayeff  "  than  that  **  rumonrciY " 
should  cause  the  same  error.  Yet  another 
objection  against  "rumourers"  is,  .that  its 
particularity  is  inconsistent  with  the  poeti- 
cal character  of  the  passage,  in  which,  as 
we  before  remarked,  Juliet  uses  only  large 
and  general  terms.  She  would  hardly  de- 
scend from  the  generic  personification  of 
Rumour  to  the  particularity  of  a  nimourer, 
or,  what  is  worse,  several  rumourers. 

But,  whatever  may  be  the  decision  be- 
tween Mr.  Singer  on  the  one  hand,  and 
Mr.  Heath,  H.  H.,  and  the  present 
writer  on  the  other,  we  think  it  is  quite 
evident  that  the  word  demanded  by  the 
context  is  either  Rumour's  or  rumour- 
era  ;  and  we  are  quite  willing  to  fore- 
go our  claim  upon  immortality  in  favor 
of  Mr.  Benjamin  Heath,  to  whom  the 
credit  of  first  'guessing'  at  the  idea  be- 
longs ;  and  we  have  no  doubt  that  H.  H. 
is  &e  minded  with  us.  Let  those  dispute 
or  sneer  about  priority  of  coi^ecture  whose 
minds  and  natures  fit  them  to  snarl  over 
trifles, — the  scraps  and  crumbs  of  reputar 
tion :  our  object,  and  that  of  all  who  have 
the  true  enthusiasm  of  Shakesperian  stu- 
dents, is  not  personal  credit,  but  the  in- 
tegrity of  Shakespeare's  text. 

[While  correcting  the  proof  of  this  paper 
we  received  a  communicatk>n  from  an 
evidently  thoughtful  and  intelligent  stu- 
dent of  Shakespeare  in  Maine,  in  the 
course  of  which  occurs  the  following  pas- 
sage, relative  to  this  heretofore  modi  de- 
bated word. 

"  I  am  not  about  to  lay  claim  to  an  hon- 
orable mention,  and  to  a  crown  of  olorv ; 
however,  I  suggest  that  rucMnee*  UuLe  the 
place  of  runawa}fa,  Jivdeeby  is  a  Shak- 
sperian  word ;  and  the  meaning  of  its  plural 
is  just  that  required  to  complete  the  in- 
complete sense  of  the  passage  m  which  the 
misprint  occurs.  Juliet  desired  that  night 
might  come,  bringing  the  time  when  rude 
fellows  should  be  asleep,  and  thus  not  see, 
or  talk  (scandalously)  o^  nor  (perhaps) 
murder  her  lover  Romeo  while  climbmg 
into  her  chamber  by  the  ladder  set  for  him. 
Further,  rudetbyes,  as  the  word  was  prob- 
ably written  originally,  would  be  very 
easily  mistaken,  by  the  compositor,  for 
ntnaioayet — ^not  only  have  the  two  words 
an  equal  number  of  letters,  but  the  two 
first  and  the  three  last  letters  of  one,  are 
identical  with  the  two  first  and  three  last 
of  the  other.  Still  further,  it  is  quite  rea- 
sonable to  suppose  that  the  compositor  had 
in  his  mind  an  outline  of  the  story,  so  far 
as  this  had  proceeded — ^he  knew  that  Juliet 
had  run  away — ^had  gone  unbeknown  to  her 
parents — to  be  married  to  Jiomeo ;  and. 
very  likely,  he  hence  suppoaed  JuliH  to 


1864.] 


Mr.  Quincy'a  Folio  of  1685. 


2d5 


wish  for  night*B  oloee  curtain  to  be  spread, 
that  her  own — the  rtinotoay't — eyes  might 
wink  (for  modesty,  perchance),  and  that 
Romeo  might  leap  to  ner  arms  untalked  of 
and  unseen  (by  herself)." 

We  must  needs  say  that  our  corre- 
spondent's ideas  with  regard  to  all  the 
other  passages  upon  which  he  has  written 
are,  in  our  judgment,  far  more  creditable 
than  this  is  to  his  appreciation  of  Shake- 
speare and  his  critical  acumen.  He 
thinks  with  us, — as  what  intelligent 
Shakesperian  scholar  does  not, — about  the 
worth  and  the  authority  of  Mr.  Collier's 
folio,  and  even  takes  issue  with  us  with 
regard  to  some  of  the  few  changes  in  it 
which  we  spoke  of  as  "  plausible."  But 
we  chose  our  word  carefiilly.  *  Plausible' 
means — specious,  superficially  pleasing, 
having  a  semblance  of  right ;  and  thou^ 
we  desired,  both  from  fairness  and  policy, 
to  takeu  in  our  second  paper  on  Mr.  Colliers 
folio,  tne  most  favorable  view  possible  of 
its  cnanges,  we  by  no  means  wished  to  be 
considered  as  advocating  these  merely 
plaasible  changes,  few  even  as  they  were. 
Oar  correspondent  and  ourselves  agree 
entirely,  except  upon  two  or  three  points. 
Those  we  cannot  discuss  here;  he  will 
find  them  touched  upon  in  the  volume  tb 
which  we  have  alluded,  and  will  soon 
welcome  the  severest  scrutiny  of  such  fair, 
courteous,  and  intelligent  critics  as  he, 
and  be  utterly  indifferent  to  any  other. 

MR.  QUINCY's  folio  OF   1685. 

To  the  general  remarks  made  in  the 
January  number  of  Putnam's  Monthly 
upon  the  pamphlet  containing  the  princi- 
pal MS.  corrections  in  this  folio,  we  pro- 
pose to  add  an  examination  of  some  of  the 
least  unimportant  and  impertinent  readings 
which  ta^ed  the  feeble  ingenuity  and 
gratified  the  monstrous  conceit  of  the 
corrector.  At  the  first  blush,  it  seemed 
as  if  the  possessor  and  editor  had  been 
very  superfluous  in  giving  the  firuits  of  so 
much  stupidity  to  the  world ;  but  it  must 
be  oonfessed  that  the  "lyttel  paunfiet" 
has  at  least  a  temporary  value  beyond 
that  which  belongs  to  it  as  a  mere  literary 
cariosity.  SuooMding  Mr.  Collier's  pub- 
lication, it  is  useful  as  showing  the  utter 
worthlessness  of  his  folio,  as  fiur  as  its 
clums  to  authority  are  concerned,  and  as 
confirming  the  statement  made  in  the 
Shakesperian  article  in  our  October  num- 
ber, that  ^^  during  the  latter  half  of  the 
seventeenth  century  and  the  first  years  of 
the  eighteenth,  the  manuscript  correction 
of  folios  seems  to  hi^ve  been  not  uncom- 
iQon."  And  we  properly  introduce  hero 
ft  note  upon  the  subject  of  Mr.  Dent's  qpr- 


rected  folio,  spoken  of  in  the  same  article, 
which  we  have  received  from  Mr.  Halli- 
well,  the  distinguished  Shakesperian  and 
archaeologist;  and  which  bears  another 
testimony  to  the  number  of  these  folios 
and  their  worthlessness. 

"Sir, — ^It  may  interest  the  readers  of 
your  able  article  on  the  Shakespeare  read- 
ings to  know  that  the  curious  annotated  copy 
formerly  belonging  to  Mr.  Dent,  noticed  at  \\, 
400  [October  1848],  is  being  carefully  used 
by  me  in  the  folio  edition  of  the  poet's  works 
I  am  now  passing  through  the  press.  I  have 
also  collated  several  other  annotated  copies, 
but  I  find  them  all,  without  exception,  to 
be  of  very  small  critical  value. 

"J.  O.  HALLiwmi.'' 

Although  the  modesty  with  which  the 
editor  of  the  new  corrected  folio  sets  forth 
the  claims  of  his  treasure  to  attention,  and 
disclaims  all  pretence  to  authority  for  it, 
are  worthy  of  commendation,  we  must 
express  our  unqualified  surprise  at  his 
regarding  the  corrector's  labors  in  the 
light  of  ^ clever  conjectures,"  and  his  con- 
clusion that  ^^from  the  petty  character 
and  perfect  unimportance  of  many  of  the 
changes,"  "  there  seems  reason  to  suppose 
them  copied  fix>m  some  source  whic^  the 
writer  considered  as  furnishing  a  purer 
text."  This  supposition  mdicates  a  happy 
forgetfulness,  on  the  part  of  the  editor,  or 
a  still  happier  ignorance,  of  the  labors  of  a 
majority  of  Shfdcespeare's  editors  and  ver- 
bal critics.  No  d^ree  of  pettiness  and 
unimportance  has  been  able  to  restrain 
the  restless  anxiety  of  those  who  have  de- 
voted themselves  to  the  improvement  of 
the  authentic  text  of  Shakespeare ;  they 
seem  to  delight  to  trouble  themselves 
de  minimis;  and  so  far  from  finding  in 
the  puerility  of  a  large  number  of  the 
changes  recorded  in  this  pamphlet,  pre- 
sumptive evidence  that  they  were  taken 
firom  some  source  supposed  to  be  authori- 
tative, there  is  in  that  very  character  a 
self-borne  testimony  that  they  are  the 
legitimate  offspring  of  the  corrector's 
emasculated  brain. 

Let  us  examine  the  pretensions  of  a  few 
of  them.  The  pamphlet  gives  us  only  the 
most  important  of  those  readings  which 
occur  in  ei^ht  of  the  sixteen  of  Shake- 
speare's thirty-seven  plays  which  have 
been  corrected  in  Mr.  Quincy's  folio. 
There  is  occasionally  one  not  absolutely 
ridiculous ;  and  two  or  three,  perhaps, 
present  claims  to  a  place  in  the  text. 
Indeed  it  would  be  strange  if  a  man 
able  to  read  Shakespeare  should  not,  in 
attempting  to  correct  the  numerous  errors 
of  the  press  which  deform  the  earlier  edi- 
tions of  his  works,  have  hit  onoe  vel  ^ 


286 


Mr.  Quincy's  Folio  of  1685. 


[Mait^ 


while  upon  the  misprinted  word.  We 
must  only  be  careful  that  Vo  are  not  be- 
guiled into  accepting  his  'niiiny  presuming 
decisions  as  to  what  Stildiespeare  should 
have  written  with  his  rarely  successful 
conjectures  of  what  Shakespeare  did  write. 
To  examine  all  of  those  fruits  of  his  labor 
which  his  editor  has  made  public  were  to 
waste  the  time  of  critic  and  reader ;  and 
we  shall  pick  out  only  those  which  are 
most  absurd  and  those  which  are  most 
plausible. 

TEMPEST.— Act  L  Bosmv  1. 
The  insignificant  and  belittling  cha- 
racter of  the  corrector's  labors  is  shown 
by  his  change  of  "Play  the  men"  into 
"  Ply  the  men,"  by  which  he  obtains  only 
the  substitution  of  a  hteral  command  for 
an  inspiriting  exhortation.  But  even  if 
the  change  were  the  other  way,  what 
right  has  he  or  any  one  else  to  make  it? 
Either  phrase  is  easily  understood,  and 
either  would  be  in  place.  We  must  re- 
ceive that  which  the  authentic  copy  gives 
us.  The  proposed  change  does  not  de- 
mand even  these  few  words  of  criticism 
and  reprehension ;  for  no  one,  nowadays, 
except,  perhaps,  Mr.  Collier  and  some  of 
his  blind  followers,  would  be  mad  enough 
to  make  it  upon  the  authority  of  an  un- 
known writer  of  marginal  notes.  It  affords, 
however,  a  good  opportunity  for  the  re- 
iteration of  the  cardinal  canon  of  Shake- 
sperian  criticism, — adhesion  to  the  authen* 
tic  text  when  that  is  comprehensible.  It 
is  not  one  whit  more  or  less  defensible  to 
change, 

T  fB  but  the  pale  reflex  of  Cjnthia's  brow,** 
into, 

rris bat  the  pele  reflex  of  OynthU's  &av," 

or  to  make  any  other  similar  change,  at 
the  bidding  of  Mr.  Collier's  unknown 
marginal  corrector,  than  to  put,  "  Ply  the 
men,"  for,  "  Play  tne  men,"  at  the  bidding 
of  Mr.  Quincy's  equally  unknown  book 
defaoer.  The  fact  that  Mr.  Collier  made 
such  a  change  on  such  grounds,  only 
shows  how  presuming  even  such  an  in- 
defatigable Shakesperian  scholar  as  he 
can  be ;  and  had  he  Theobald,  JohnsoxL 
Malone,  Douce,  Coleridee,  Knight,  ana 
Dyce  at  his  back,  it  would  not  add  the  least 
strength  to  his  position.  The  multiplica- 
tion of  nothing  into  itself  a  hundred  fold 
will  not  make  it  something ;  and  m  this 
matter  the  highest  conjectural  opinion  is 
of  absolutely  no  authority.  Changes  in 
the  consistent  and  comprehensible  text 
of  the  authentic  folio  can  only  be  admitted 
on  the  well  established  testimony  of 
Shakespeare  himself  or  the  editors  of  that 


folio ;  otherwise  we  had  better  at  once  and 
openly  employ  a  council  of  the  most  emi- 
nent English  scholars,  dramatists,  and 
poets  to  rewrite  Shakespeare's  works  for 
us,  and  for — him. 

BosxbS. 
^'ArieL  Notaaool 

Bat  felt  a  fever  of  the  mad,  and  play'd 
Some  trickjB  of  deq>eratlon.** 

"  'A  fever  of  the  mind*  is  substituted,  by 
the  corrector.** — P.  6. 

Is  "  a  fever  of  the  mad"  comprehensible 
or  explicable  in  any  way?  If  not,  the 
conjecture  must  be  received  as  the  best 
possible  correction  of  a  probable  typo- 
paphical  error.  There  is  no  oUier  word 
m  the  language  which  in  manuscript  looks 
so  much  like  '*  mad "  as  mind^  and 
which  would  also  perfect  the  sense  of  the 
passage. 

The  change  in  this  scene  o^ 


into, 


M  Hb  genUe,  and  not  fMiftd,* 
**  He's  genUe  the'  not  fearfU,** 


is,  like  the  majority  of  those  in  Mr.  Col- 
lier's folio,  so  pitiful  as  to  be  unworthy 
even  of  condemnatory  notice,  if  it  were 
not  that  it  so  strikingly  shows  the  pueril- 
ity, ignorance,  and  presumption  of  the 
mind  which  made  it.  Of  a  similar  nature^ 
although  it  does  not  so  pervert  the  sense: 
is  the  change  of  "  plantation  of  this  isle'' 
to  ^'  the  planting  of  this  isle,"  in  the  first 
Scene  of  the  next  Act  But  in  the  first 
Scene  of  the  fourth  Act,  the  mutilation  of 
the  following  passage, 

**Thla  la  a  moat  mi^estlc  vlrioo,  sad 
Harmoniooa  oharminglj,** 

in  which  the  last  line  is  made, 

**  Harmoniooa,  charming  lof^ 

capt]  the  climax  of  atrocity.  The  ocmj 
which  contains  such  a  suggestion,  like 
that  which  in  Henry  F.'«  description  of 
the  slave, 

«« Who  with  •  bodj  fllTd,  and  vacant  mind 
Gets  him  to  rest  cramm*d  with  dirtnirfhl  bnsd,** 

changes  the  last  line  into, 

**  Gets  him  to  reet  cnunm*d  with  dlalMMtal  btMd," 

should  be  burned  by  the  common  hang- 
man, and  its  ashes  scattered  to  the  four 
vrinds  of  heaven,  lest  by  any  chance  thej 
should  be  gathered  together  again. 

MEASUBE  FOB  MSASUBX. 

It  is  worthy  of  particular  remark,  that 

in  this  folio,  as  in  Mr.  Collier's,  a  minority 

of  the  changes,  so  large  that  the  minority 

seem  but  nu^  exceptions  to  a  general  rnk^ 


1854.] 


Mr.  Quinc^i  Folio  of  1686. 


887 


ire  identical  with  the  conjectural  readings 
of  editors  and  critics  of  the  last  and  pre- 
sent centuries.  Only  sixteen  of  the 
changes  which  this  folio  makes  in  the  text 
of  MtasuTtfor  Measure  have  been  made 
public  bj  the  editor,  the  remainder  being 
"  such  gross  and  obvious  misprints  as  are 
corrected  in  all  modem  editions;"  and 
yet  of  these  sixteen,  all  but  three  were 
suggested  long  ago ;  and  of  the  three,  only 
two  are  worthy  of  having  their  unfitness 
exposed. 

Act  IIL  Scsni  8. 
**Xtfe<o.— A  shy  fellow  was  the  Dnko ;  and  I  believe 
I  know  the  cause  of  his  withdrawing.^ 

This,  the  corrector  changes  into  "  A  sly 
fellow  was  the  Duke."  &c.,  and  the  editor 
says  that  this  is  "a  reading  that  accords 
much  better  with  the  context "  than  that 
which  appears  in  the  original,  because 
iMcio  has  previously  "  stated  the  vicious 
propensities  of  the  absent  Duke?^  Surely 
the  editor  must  have  forgotten — and  the 
corrector,  if  he  ever  knew, — that  shyness 
is  a  marked  trait  of  the  Duke's  character ; 
and  that  this  very  Lucia  calls  him  (Act 
lY..  Scene  3)  Hhe  old  fantastical  Duke 
of  dark  comers."  "  Shy"  is  evidently  the 
very  word  which  Shakespeare  intended 
to  pat  into  the  mouth  of  Lmcio.  But  it 
is  not  for  us  to  determine  whether  it  is 
or  is  not.  That  has  been  determined  by 
the  best  authority, — the  authentic  folio. 
There  "  shie "  stands,  plainly  and  intelli- 
gibly; and  what  shadow  of  a  reason  is 
there  for  changing  it  ? 

Act  Y.  Soxini  1. 
"^ii^efo.— These  poor  informal  women  are  no  more, 
Bat  Instnmients  of  sonoe  more  mightier  member, 
That  sets  them  on.** 

For  this,  the  corrector  would  read, 

**Theee  poor  ir^fbrminif  women  are  no  more, 
But  instroments  of  some  more  mighty  member, 
Thftt  sets  them  on.** 

Here,  after  the  fashion  of  Mr.  Collier's 
folio,  we  have  a  change  from  a  suggestive 
and  picturesque  term  to  one  which  is  literal 
and  common-place.  Shakespeare's  "in- 
formal women"  gives  us  an  idea  of  a  fe- 
male trait :  we  see  that  the  women  have  re- 
lied rather  upon  the  justness  of  their  cause 
and  the  earnestness  of  their  appeal,  than 
the  form  of  the  latter  or  the  proofs  of  the 
former.  The  corrector's  "  informing 
women "  merely  tells  us  that  they  come 
to  inform  against  Angela:  and  that  we 
know  without  being  told  of  it.  To  change 
^more  mightier"  into  '*more  mighty^"  is 
merely  to  abandon  the  phraseology  of 
Shakenware's  day  for  that  of  the  time 
whea  this  corrector  flourished — his  qmll. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHmO. 
"  In  Dogberry's  speech  [Act  TV.  Scene  2,1 

*  Yea,  marry,  that's  the  eitest  way,*  deften 
has  been  substituted  for  'eftest,'  agreeing 
with  the  suggestion  of  Theobald."— P.  12. 

A  very  admirable  and  astute  suggestion 
this !  Let  it  be  adopted  without  hesita- 
tion !  Also,  when  Dogberry  is  made  to 
say  in  the  original,  that  "  for  the  watch  to 
babble  and  talk  is  most  tolerable,  and  not 
to  be  endured,"  let  us  read,  "most  in- 
tolerable, and  not  to  be  endured  j"  be- 
cause Dogberry  is  remarkable  for  the 
clearness  of  his  ideas  and  the  correctness 
of  his  language.  Thp  received  reading  is 
absurd ; .  and  could  Shakespeare  write  ab- 
surdity? As  the  authentic  text  gives 
these  passages,  one  would  think  that  he 
meant  to  excite  unseemly  mirth  at  />o^- 
fccrry'*  expense.  Let  us  have  'ctefetest' 
and  '  intolerable'  by  all  means ! 

AS  TOU  LIKE  IT.— Act  L  8o»«  1. 
'*  Orlando,  speaking  of  the  cruel  treatment 
of  his  brother,  says,  'The  something  that 
nature  gave  me,  his  countenance  seems  to 
take  from  me  ; '  should  it  not  be  according 
to  the  opinion  of  Warburton  and  our  cor- 
rector— 'his  diwounienanee  seems  to  take 
frommef*"— -P.  18. 

No!  most  distinctly,  no!  It  was  the 
countenance,  the  very  look  of  his  brother 
which  almost  deprived  poor  Orlando  of 
the  command  of  the  good  parts  that  na- 
ture gave  him. 

SosNia 

«*  OUi&— Boealind  lacks  then  the  love 
Which  teaches  thee,  that  thou  and  I  am  one.** 

"  Evidently  according  to  Theobald's  sug- 
gestion, 

*  Which  teaches  me  that  thou  and  I  are  one.*  **— P.  1& 

With  deference  to  the  editor — evidently 
not,  according  to  any  body's  suggestion. 
Celia  was  not  talking  dialectics.  She 
spoke  according  to  the  colloquial  fashion 
of  Shakespeare's  day.  The  change  "  takes 
the  ancient  aroma  and  flavor  out  of  the 
language." 

Act  IIL  Bosnb  6. 

**  Roealind.—'^hKi  though  yon  have  no  beanty, 

(As,  by  my  fidth,  I  see  no  more  In  yon,  dto.**) 

This  the  corrector  would  change  to, 

**  What,  though  yon  have  more  beanty 
(F^  by  my  fidth,  I  Bee  no  more  in  you,  Ac.)  ** 

More  beauty  than  who?  With  whom 
does  Rosalind  compare  her?  No  one. 
But  as  many  an  editorial  Qiant  Maul  has 
been  frightened  at  this  word,  we  must  not 
•  find  fault  with  Mr,  Feeble-mind  for  try- 
ing to  dodge  it.  The  possibility  of  mis- 
understancSng  the  passage  is  incompre- 
hensible. 


268 


Mr,  Quinci/'9  Folio  of  ltf85. 


[BCarch 


**  What  though  yon  haye  no  beauty, 
(Ai^  by  my  fidtli,  I  see  no  more  In  yon 
Than  without  candle  may  go  dark  to  bed.) 
Most  yon  be  therefore  prood  and  pltileas? 
Why,  what  means  this  ?  Why  do  you  look  on  me  f 
I  see  no  more  in  you  than  in  the  ordinary 
Of  nature*s  sale- work." 

RoscUind  tells  the  girl  plainly  that  she 
has  no  beauty :  repeats  it,  by  saying  that 
she  has  no  more  than  without  candle  mav 
go  dark  to  bed, — that  is  none :  repeats  it 
again,  by  saying  that  she  is  but  the  ordi- 
nary of  nature's  sale  work ;  and  asks  her, 
in  the  first  place,  ifj  because  she  is  thus 
unattractiye,  she  must  therefore  take  on 
the  airs  of  a  reigning  belle ;  and  yet  it 
has  been  proposed  to  read  "  some  beauty  " 
or  "wore  beauty."  Why?  Because 
Phebe  had  some  beauty  ?  But  Rosalind 
did  not  mean  to  tell  her  the  truth.  She 
meant  merely  to  take  the  conceit  out  of 
her.  It  would  seem  trifling  and  super- 
fluous to  point  this  out,  were  not  the 
necessity  for  doing  so  apparent 

Act  IV.  ScKKE  1. 
**  *  Make  the  doors  upon  a  woman's  wit^ 
and  it  will  out  at  the  easement'  The  cor- 
rector supplies  a  word  that  seems  to  have 
been  dropped,  '  Make  the  doors  fast  upon 
a  womau's  wit,'  Ac." — P.  15. 

Yes,  he  supplies  a  word  that  seems  to 
have  been  dropped  by  the  author;  and 
thus  obtains,  instead  of  an  old  and  ex- 
pressive colloquialism,  a  very  literal  and 
precise  phraseology.  "Making  a  door," 
IS  very  much  like  an  Oxonian's  "  Sporting 
his  oaJc." 

Act  IV.  SoKNB  8. 
**  The  first  Bpeech  of  Rosalind  is  as  fol- 
lows, '  How  saj'  you  now  ?  Is  it  not  past 
two  o'clock?  And  here  much  Orlando.' 
Some  modern  editors,  not  being  able  to 
make  any  thing  oat  of  the  phrase,  *And 
here  mucn  Orlando,'  have  supplied  its  place 
with  *  /  wander  much  Orlando  U  not  here,*  a 
change  for  which  there  is  not  a  particle  of 
authority.  The  substitution  of  a  single 
word  removes  all  difficulty. 

*  Is  it  not  past  two  o*clock  ?  And  here's  no  Orlan- 
do."*—pi  15. 

Much  difficulty  this  removes !  and  here 
much  difficulty  to  be  removed,  indeed  ! 

TWKLFTH  night.— Act  L  BoMini  1. 
**  I}uts.—8o  taVL  of  shapes  is  hncj. 
That  it  alone  is  high  fkntastioaL" 

*' 'Alone'  is  changed  to  all  o*er  in  the 
last  line."— P.  16. 

Quite  right !  Fancy's  outside  is  full  of 
shapes ;  or,  as  the  second  line  would  then 
beautifully  expand  the  idea, — Fancv  has 
been,  and  gone,  and  broken  out  all  oyer 


fantastical  shapes  and  things!  Happy 
restoration  of  the  dainty  thought  of  the 
poet !  How  much  better  than  that  con- 
veyed by  the  authentic  text,  where 
"  fancy,"  according  to  the  pretty  fashion 
of  Shakespeare's  time,  is  put  for  the  spirit 
of  love  itself,  so  fruitful  of  fancies  that  **  it 
alone  is  high  fantastical ! " 

'*  O  q>irit  of  love,  how  quick  and  fteah  art  thoul 
That  notwithstanding  thy  capacity 
Receiveth  as  the  sea,  nought  enters  there, 
Of  what  validity  and  pitch  soever. 
But  flJls  into  abatement  and  low  pxloo, 
Even  in  a  minute  I  So  ftdl  of  shaposislkncj. 
That  it  alone  is  high-fkntasticaL" 

SOKXXS. 

•*  FW<i.-Oh  that  %  served  that  lady 
And  might  not  be  delivered  to  the  worid." 

"The  corrector  reads 

*  And  *t  might  not  be  delivered  to  the  worid' 

"Meaning,  that  the  fact  of  her. entering 
the  service  of  Olivia,  might  for  a  time  be 
concealed." — P.  16. 

What  petty,  contemptible  meddling  with 
the  text,  only  to  degrade  ViokCa  wish  that 
she  might  be  guarded  from  the  nxde 
handling  of  the  world,  into  a  literal  state- 
ment that  she  would  rather  that  nothing 
should  be  said  about  her  living  with  the 
Countess  ! 

SCXNVS. 

«  Sir  7b&y.— What  wench  ?  Oastiltano  rnlgo ;  fat 
here  comes  Sir  Andrew  Agne-fhoe.** 

The  corrector  makes  the  knight  ghre 
Sir  Andrew  "  his  proper  title  of  *Ague- 
cheek?^^  Certainly!  Highly  proper! 
For  Sir  Toby  is  rarely  guilty  of  a  jest^ 
and  never  takes  a  liberty. 

**  Floto.— My  Master  loves  her  dearly ; 
And  I,  poor  monster,  fond  as  much  on  Idm." 

"The  correction  changes  'monster'  to 
'minitter* — a  word  that  expresses  exaetly 
the  relation  that  Viola  sustained  to  the 
passion  of  the  duke." — P.  18. 

Again  a  most  felicitous  restoration! 
There  is  nothing  monstrous,  or  at  all  oat 
of  the  course  of  nature  in  Viola's  bcang  m 
woman  and  appearing  as  a  man,  loving  as 
a  woman,  and  being  loved  as  a  man ;  and 
it  is  quite  improbable  that  in  a  fit  of 
mingled  whim  and  melancholy,  she  shook], 
with  rueful  pleasantry,  call  herself  *^  poor 
monster  I "  So  let  us  be  thankful  for  ^e 
prosaic  word  which  "expresses  exactly 
the  relation  that  Viola  sustained  to  the 
passion  of  the  DukeJ^ 

The  passages  upon  which  we  have  com- 
mented vvill  have  given  our  readers  a  yerr 
just  idea  of  the  character  of  the  oorrectorTi 
labors ;  and  we  must  select  firom  the  re- 


1854.] 


Mr,  Quinq/'s  Folio  of  1C85. 


289 


sninder  of  the  pamphlet  with  a  sparing 
hancL  To  do  more  would  indeed  be  *^  to 
waste  criticism  upon  unresisting  imbecility. 
upon  fiiiults  too  evident  for  detection,  ana 
too  gross  for  aggravation/ '  But  in  Henry 
IV.  Part  I.  Act  IV.  Sc.  3,  it  seems  to 
08  that  in  Douglas*  speech, 

^  Yon  do  not  ooobmI  well ; 
Toa  speak  it  out  of  few  and  a  cold  heart," 

the  supplied  article,  which  does  not  appear 
in  the  folio,  is  unquestionably  necessary, 
and  a  fortunate  correction  of  an  obvious 
error  of  the  press. 

JULIUS  C-fiSAB.— Act.  L  Scnni  2. 
*Bnau9.—&ei  honor  In  one  eye,  and  death  V  the 


And  I  wUl  look  on  both  indifferently:  *" 

'*It  ia  not  easy  to  see  how  Brutus  could 
have  looked  on  honor  and  death  indiffer- 
emtly,  for  could  "he  have  chosen  between  the 
two,  he  would  undoubtedly  have  preferred 
honor. 

"The  meaning  of  the  passage  of  course  is, 
that  a  sacrifice  of  honor  would  be  too  dear 
a  price  to  pay  for  the  preservation  of  life. 
Is  not  this  more  clearly  expressed  by  the 
corrector  f 

*8«t  haaor  In  one  eye^  and  death  V  the  other, 
And  I  will  look  on  dMth  indilferentiy.'  "—P.  3L 

When  a  gentleman  possessing  the  in- 
tcUigenoe  of  the  editor  of  this  pamphlet 
makes  such  a  comment  upon  such  a  pas- 
sage, it  is  indeed  almost  enough  to  deter 
any  dhe  firom  putting  on  record  his  con- 
struction of  a  line  in  Shakespeare.  This 
is  almost  as  bad  as  Mr.  Collier's  adyocacy 
of  the  chanse  in  his  folio  of  "  oppression,'' 
in  HandeVs  declaration^  that  he  lacked 
gall  "to  make  oppression  bitter,"  into 
transgression^  on  the  ground  that "  it  was 
not '  oppression,'  but  crime,  that  was  to 
be  punished  by  him."  Brutus  evidently 
means,  and  says,  that  he  will  look  on 
honor  and  death  with  equal  indifference 
as  far  as  his  own  fate  is  concerned.    He 

*For,let  the  goda  so  q>eed  me,  as  I  love 
The  name  of  honor  more  than  I  flsar  death." 

Act  IV.  SoKxs  8. 
''In  the  quarrel  scene  between  Brutus 
lad  Casaius,  the  change  of  a  single  word 
makes  an  in^portant  difference  in  the  cha- 
racter and  temper  of  one  of  the  persons. 
Cassius  says — • 

*  A  MeDd  ahonld  bear  hia  friend's  infirmities, 
But  Bratoa  makea  mine  greater  than  they  ara* 

To  which  Brutus  replies, 

*I  do  not^  till  yoa  practise  them  on  mo.* 

"  According  to  this  reading,  Brutus  seems 
to  aelmowlec^e  that  he  has  been  ezaggerat- 


inff  the  frailties  of  Cassius;  a  confession 
which  hardly  seems  to  belong  to  the  cahn 
character  of  the  'Noblest  Roman,'  or  likely 
to  be  made  at  the  height  oi  the  dispute. 
"  The  line  corrected  reads  thus, 

*  I  do  not ;  though  you  practise  them  on  me.*  **— P.  88w 

But  Brutus,  whether  it  "  seems  to  bo- 
long  to  the  calm  character  of  the  ^  Noblest 
Roman ' "  or  not  has  been  "  exaggerating 
the  frailties  of  VassiuSj  as  will  appear  to 
any  one  who  will  be  at  the  pains  of  read- 
ing the  previous  part  of  the  scene.  Brutus, 
too,  in  spite  of  his  "  calm  character  "  had 
been  hasty  and  ill-tempered  in  this  inter- 
view; and  showed  his  nobility  by  the 
manly  openness  of  his  after  oonlession  of 
his  fault 

**  When  I  spoke  that,  I  was  lU-tempei'd  toa** 

MACBETH.— Act  L  Soxxs  L 

**Soldier,'-So  they  doubly  redoubled  strokes  upon 

the  foe.** 

"  Steevens  would  strike  out  *so  they/  and 
read  *  redoubling  *  for  '  redoubled,'  in  order 
to  ^t  rid  of  the  irregularity  in  the  metre. 
This  is  accomplished  by  the  corrector,  by 
the  simple  erasure  of  the  word  *  doubly,*  '* — 
P.  24. 

Unquestionably.  And  by  the  brief, 
easy,  and  justifiable  process  of  "  the  simple 
erasure "  of  the  word  which  he  finds  in 
the  authentic  text,  he  also  loses  the  accu- 
mulative force  which  that  word  gives  to 
the  description,  and  destroys  the  allusion 
to  the  previous  line. 

*■  As  cannons  o«0rcharg*d  with  doubU  cracks, 
So  they  doubly  redoubled  strokes  upon  the  foa** 

SocoeS. 
**jraebeth.—l  am  Thane  of  Cawdor  : 
If  good,  why  do  I  yield  to  that  snggeetion. 
Whose  horrid  image  doth  unfix  my  hair, 
And  make  my  seated  heart  knock  at  my  liba, 
Against  the  use  of  nature  f    Present  fears 
Are  leas  than  horrible  imaginings : 
My  thought,  whoee  murder  yet  is  but  fkntastloal. 
Shakes  so  my  single  state  of  man,  that  Amotion 
la  smothered  in  surmise ;  and  nothing  is 
But  what  is  not** 

"  Tlie  correction  of  three  blunders  which 
the  copyist  may  readily  have  committed, 
makes  tiiis  passage  more  simple  and  con- 
sistent 

*  Whose  horrid  image  doth  a-ffko  my  hair, 
And  make  xxij  aeated  heart  knock  at  my  ribs, 
Against  the  use  of  nature  ?    Present/Mls 
Are  less  than  horrible  imaginings ; 

My  thought  whose  burthen  yet  is  but  Ikntastical,*  dm. 

"By  changing  a  single  letter  in /ears  wc 
greatly  increase  the  anitthesis,  and  get  rid 
of  the  obscurity  which  has  always  called 
for  a  note  upon  this  line.  The  substitution 
of  *  burthen,  for  the  *  murther,'  of  the  folio^ 
must  be  regarded  as  a  happy  emendation.' " 
—P.  25. 


290 


Mr.  Quinq/*9  Folio  of  1685. 


[Blaidi 


The  passage  is  indeed  rendered  "  more 
simple ; "  but  hardly  in  the  sense  in  which 
the  editor  uses  the  word.  Was  Macbeth^a 
hair  in  continual  danger  of  flying  o^  that 
it  needed  some  horrid  image  to  (iffuc  it? 
WhKt  fecU8  had  he  performed  that  were 
less  than  his  "  horrible  imaeinings  ?  "  As 
to  the  change  of  "  murder  "into  burthen^ 
it  is  atrocious.  The  corrector  and  his 
editor  seem  to  have  been  ignorant  of  the 
meaning  of  "phantasy"  in  Shakespeare's 
time.  They  might  have  found  it  defined 
inPhiUips'  New  World  of  Words  as  "an 
inwu*d  Sense  or  Imagination,  whereby 
any  thine  is  represented  to  the  Mind  or 
imprinted  on  it."  The  murder  of  Duncan 
was  yet  "  but  fantastical "  to  Macheth'9 
thought,— that  is,  it  was  only  "  represented 
or  imprinted  "  on  his  mmd.  The  changes 
achieve  nothing  but  inconsistency  and 
nonsense. 

In  the  fifth  Scene  of  this  Act  how  the 
corrector  impoverishes  Lady  macheWa 
invocation,  by  changing,  "And  take  mv 
milk  for  eall,"  into,  *'  And  turn  my  milk 
to  gall!"  and  how  plainly  he  points  out 
the  way  to  impair  strength  by  addition, 
in  making  "  This  i^orant  present,"  "  This 
ignorant  present  time  !  " 

Act  IIL  Sons  4. 
*"  Lady  jr<2e&«(A.— The  feast  is  sold, 
That  is  not  often  Toiched,"— 

'* '  Sold '  might  have  been  nuBtaken  for 
'  coldt*  as  the  corrector  and  Pope  have  Bug- 
gested."— P.  28. 

Certainly  ;  and  it  might  also  have  been 
mistaken  for  bold,foldy  gold,  hold,  mold, 
told  or  wold.  How  gratifying  that  it  was 
not  mistaken  for  either ! 

Act  Y.  Sons  8. 

**  AfacM^— Send  bat  mora  homes :  akirr'the  oonn- 
tiyroand.** 

For  "  skirr "  tl^e  corrector  puts  skirt, 
being  evidently  ignorant  that  "skirr," 
"  ficur,"  "  skur,"  are  but  old  forms  of  the 
word  ^  scour,'  meaning,  *  to  move  rapidly 
oyer,'  as  for  instance, 

**The  light  ahadowB 
That,  in  a  thooght,  icur  ore  the  fields  of  corn." 
Beaom.  4  Fletcher,  Bonduect^  Act  L  Boi  1. 

HAMLET. 
There  are  several  changes  made  in  the 
text  of  this  tragedy ;  but  they  are,  with 
two  exceptions,  unworthy  of  notice;  and 
upon  one  of  these  we  shall  defer  our  re- 
marks at  present.  The  other  is  made  in 
the  foUowing  passage  in  the  fourth  Scene 
of  the  third  Act 

*  EdmUt—Whj  look  70a  thera  I  Look  how  it  steals 

awaj; 
Uj  fkther  in  his  habit  as  he  Uved  I 
Look,  where  he  goes,  even  now,  oat  at  the  portall  ** 


"The  ezpresBion  'Look  how  it  steak 
away/  accords  little  with  the  general  de- 
meanor of  the  ghost,  or  the  peculiar  cir- 
cumstances under  which  it  was  then  refer- 
red to.  The  apparition  was  not  disappear- 
ing in  some  remote  corner  of  the  chamber, 
but  advancing  to  the  door  of  the  apartment^ 
as  the  natural  mode  of  exit  It  is  not  diffi- 
cult to  believe  that  Shakspeare  wrote  the 
line  as  it  stands  corrected  in  this  folio : 

'  Why  look  yon  there  I  Look  how  it  ttaJka  awaj.' 

"  It  may  be  remarked  that  the  movement 
of  the  ghost  is  described  by  this  word  in  an 
earlier  part  of  the  play  : 

*  With  martial  Btalk^  hsth  he  gone  by  oar  watch.***— 
P.  81 

Under  favor^ — ^it  would  indeed  be  yery 
difQcult  to  beheve  that  Shakepeare  wrote 
the  line  thus ;  and  the  word  in  the  ordinal 
accords  exactly  with  the  demeanor  of  the 
Ghost  under  the  circumstances  taking 
place  when  it  was  spoken.  There  is  a 
peculiarity  about  the  Ghost  in  HamUi 
which  is  well  worth  consideration.  It  is 
not,  like  the  ghosts  which  appear  to  Afoc- 
beth  and  to  Richard^  the  creation  of  m 
guilty  and  disturbed  brain.  The  efaoet  of 
HamleVs  father  appears  first  to  the  senti- 
nels, and  then  to  Horatio  with  them,  and 
then  to  Hamlet,  Horatio,  and  the  senti- 
nels together ;  and  yet  when  he  remf^iearB 
to  Hamlet,  the  Qt^^en  cannot  see  him. 
Without,  at  the  present  time,  pursoing 
this  subject,  which  furnishes  oociskm  for 
interesting  speculation,  we  will  only  re- 
mark that  the  bearing  of  the  Ghost  upon 
the  first  two  occasions  of  his  appearance 
in  the  tracedy,  is  no  criterion  by  wbidi 
to  judge  of  the  propriety  of  a  wora  which 
describes  his  movement  during  the  last^ — 
the  scene  in  question;  because  the  cir- 
cumstances and  the  conditions  of  the  last 
apparition  are  so  widely  different  from 
those  of  the  first  two.  And  that  Shake- 
speare conceived  the  third  iq)pearaoce  with 
a  yery  different  design  from  that  whidi 
controUed  the  others,  is  evident  from  ths 
stage  direction  in  this  scene  of  the  plaj:  as 
it  it  was  first  published  in  1603,  bmre 
being  "  enlarged  to  almost  as  much  asaine 
as  it  was,"  and  worked  into  the  wonStHis 
form  in  which  it  has  come  down  to  us. 
In  that  edition,  the  direction  in  this  noene 
is.  Enter  the  ghost  in  his  night  gowne; 
but  in  the  previous  scenes  he  araeared 
armed  "  firom  top  to  toe,  from  head  to 
foot"  Now  it  is  very  proper  that  a  figure 
armed  cap-a-pie  should  "stalk,"  and 
equally  so  that  one  in  a  night  gown  dioiild 
"  steal ; "  and  in  this  very  edition  of  1603, 
Hamlet  says  of  the  Qhost  in  this  scene, 


■*Bee  how  ha  steales  swi^  out  or  tiM  Pwtil 


1854.] 


Mr.  Quincj^s  Folio  </  1685. 


291 


So  that  Shakespeare  in  workmg  over  the 
tragedy,  plainly  retained  both  the  idea  and 
the  word  of  his  first  conception. 

KINO  LEAR.— Act  L  Bcbsx  4. 
**X«ar.— Hear,  ii«tiir«,bMr  I  dear  godd««  hear  I 
Snapend  thy  parpoae,  If  thoa  didst  Intend 
To  make  thia  ereatuie  fraltftO.** 

*'  Two  words  added  to  the  malediction 
of  Lear,^^  says  the  editor,  "  serve  to  com- 
plete a  Ime." 

"Hear  nature  heart  dear  goddeaa hear  aybiWr/** 

They  do  serve  to  complete  a  line  of  five 
feet ;  bat  they  serve  for  nothing  else,  ex- 
cept to  weaken  the  invocation  by  adding 
to  it,  and  to  destroy  a  fine  dramatic  effect 
by  filling  up  a  pause. 

Aor  IL  SoxHn  4. 

*L»ar,  To  he  •  comrade  with  the  wolf  and  owl ;  (S.) 

To  wage  againat  the  enmitj  o*  the  air  ;**  (t) 


"The  figures  placed  agaiDst  these  lines 
by  the  corrector,  indicate  that  their  order 
should  be  reversed.  If  this  is  done,  it  de- 
stroys the  emendation  in  Mr.  Collier*s  folio, 
where  the  wolf  is  made  to  kowl^  *  necessity's 
sharp  pinch."*— P.  88. 

It  is  said  that  there  is  nothing  without 
its  use ;  and  here  at  last  appears  a  use  to 
which  Mr.  Collier's  folio  can  be  put.  The 
fear  of  destroying  one  villainous  emen- 
dation, can  deter  us  from  perpetrating 
another.  Truly  nothing  is  made  in  vain ! 
"^  Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity." 

Aor  III-  Sosn  7. 
*  tfloifir.— The  sea  with  each  a  storm  aa  his  baro 
head 
In  haU  black  night  endured,  woold  have  baoj*d  np 
And  gaanched  the  etUled  fires,'* 

The  corrector  for" buoy 'd  up"  reads 
^boil'd  up,"  which  is  certainly  a  very 
clever  guess ;  and  we  confess  that  there 
seems  good  reason  for  taking  the  sugges- 
tioQ  into  consideration.  The  change,  for  a 
wonder,  is  not  from  poetry  to  prose :  the 
idea  of  the  sea  boiling  up  to  and  quench- 
ing the  stars  being  quite  in  Shakespeare's 
bold  manner,  and  not  unlike  that  in  the 
lines  in  the  Tempest: 

""Ae  akj  it  aeema  woold  poor  down  stinking  pitch, 
Bot  that  the  sea,  moonting  to  the  welkin's  cheek, 
DMriiaa  tfaa  fire  oaf— 

or  that  in  this  passage  in  Pericles  : 

**  But  sea  room,  sn  the  brine  and  doadj  billow  kin 
tbe  BMoa,  I  cars  not" 

Is  it  quite  sense  to  make  the  sea  at 
once  buiy  up  and  quench  "the  stilled 
fires  **?  Does  not  the  quenching  them, 
the  puttifig  them  out  of  existence,  preclude 
altogether  the  idea  of  buoying  them  up? 


— for  buoying  is  not  a  momentary  act, 
but  is  in  its  essence,  more  or  less  prolong- 
ed. And  is  it  at  all  natural  to  connect 
the  idea  of  a  violent  storm  at  sea  with 
that  of  the  buoying  power  of  the  angry 
waters  ?  One  thing  is  certain. — that  if  the 
word  be  not  '*  buoy'd,"  it  must  be  boiPcL 
The  mistake  of  printing  one  for  the  other 
might  be  easily  made. 

OTHELLO.— Act  IV.  Bckks  2. 
"  DMd€mona,—U  e'er  mj  will  did  trespass  *gainst 
lUalore, 
Either  in  dbconrse  of  thought,  or  aotoal  deod ;  dto. 

*•  The  line,"  says  the  editor,  "is  certainly 
plainer  and  stronger,  if  we  read  with 
Fope  and  the  corrector. 

'Either  in  diaooorBe,  or  thought,  or  aetoal  deodP" 

Beyond  a  question;  and  let  us  also,  in 
HamleVs  first  soliloquy,  for, 

**  A  beast  that  wants  diaconrse  of  reason 
Would  have  monm'd  longer,** 

read, 

**  A  beaat  that  wants  diacoarao  or  reason,**  && 

BOBIfB& 

"  Desdemona's  song  is  described  as  an  'old 
thing;'  this  the  corrector  alters  to  *odd 
thinff.'  *Mo  women '  and  'mo  men'  in  the 
last  line  of  the  song  are  changed  to  *no 
women  *  and  '  no  men.* — P.  46." 

Hamlel  again  comes  to  our  aid,  and  in 
the  words  of  the  Ghost  we  exclaim,  "  0 
horrible !  0  horrible !  most  horrible  ! " 

Act  Y.  Bona  2. 
••  OAaUo.- Pat  oat  the  light,  and  then,  pat  out  the 

light! 
If  I  quench  thee,  thou  flaming  minister,**  && 

"  It  is  possible,"  says  the  editor,  "  that  the 
line  should  read," 

*"  Put  out  the  light,  and  then  pat  out  thy  light  1  ** 

A  legal  Shakesperian  writes  to  us  upon 
this  passage,  that  he  thinks  that  Othello 
designed  to  damage  ^  the  ancient  lights'  of 
Desdemona ;  which  wo  were  at  loss  to 
understand,  until  Yankee  Sullivan,  having 
fallen  in  with  the  fashion  of  Shakesperian 
annotation,  informed  us,  that  Othello  evi- 
dently meant  *  to  shut  up  her  peepers : ' 
while  a  nautical  friend  of  his  reads, 

**Pat  out  the  light,  or  rather  dou9s  ths  glim  !  •* 

All  of  which,  together  with  the  emenda- 
tion of  the  corrector,  we  commend  to  the 
serious  consideration  of  the  next  editor 
of  Shakespeare. 

-  (HhMo.  one,  whoae  hand, 

Like  the  base  Jndean,  threw  a  pearl  away 
BIcher  than  aU  bis  tribe.** 


292 


Mr.  Odlier^s  Folio  of  1632. 


[Mardi 


"The  corrector  substitutes  *  Egyptian* 
for  'base  Judean.  *" 

*  Like  the  SffypUan^  threw  a  pearl  ftwtf  .* 

At  the  bottom  of  the  page  he  writes  this 
Dote :  '  Alluding  to  the  ttory  of  the  JEgyp- 
tian  thief,*  It  will  be  remembered  that  a 
reference  to  this  story  occurs  in  the  Twelfth 
Night. 

'*Like  to  the  Egyptian  thief  at  point  of  death, 
Kill  what  I  love.''— P.  47. 

In  the  names  of  Shaeffer,  Guttenberg 
and  Dr.  Faustus,  how  could  Egyptian 
have  been  mistaken  for  "  base  Indian,"  or 
"  base  Judean  ?  "  The  allusion  to  throw- 
ing away  a  pearl,  and  to  the  baseness  and 
the  tribe  of  the  reckless  thrower,  make 
it  plain  to  us  that  the  poet  had  in  his 
mind  the  murder  of  Marianne  by  Herod,  as 
many  others  have  supposed  before  us ;  but 
whether  this  opinion  be  correct  or  not, 
Egyptian  is  as  much  out  of  the  question 
as  Kamachatkan  or  Califomian. 

We  are  aware  that  we  have  devoted 
more  attention  to  these  emendations  than 
their  intrinsic  importance  justifies;  but 
as  we  went  over  them,  they  seemed  to 
offer  eligible  opportunities  to  show  into 
what  absurdities  these  attempts  to  mend 
the  authentic  text  of  Shakespeare  are  al- 
most sure  to  lead  those  who  make  them. 
If  we  have  done  this  effectually,  our  time 
and  that  of  our  readers  has  not  been  thown 
away. 

MR.  collier's  folio  X)F  1632. 

It  may  interest  our  readers  to  know 
that  since  the  appearance  of  our  last  article 
upon  Mr.  Collier's  folio,  we  have,  by  the 
kindness  of  Mr.  Collier  and  through  the 
courtesy  of  the  Earl  of  Ellesmere,  had  the 
opportunity  of  examining  impressions  of 
some  private  plates  of  facsimiles  from 
several  pages  of*  that  volume.  They  con- 
tain brief  extracts  from  seventeen  plays : 
Tempest,  1\do  Gentlemen  of  Verona.  As 
You  Like  It^  Taming  of  the  Shrew^ 
Thoelfth  Night,  Winter's  Tale,  Henry 
F.,  Richard  III.^  Troilus  and  Cressida, 
Coriolanus,  Titus  Androniais,  THmon 
of  Athens^  Macbeth,  Hamlet,  Othello^ 
Anthony  and  Cleopatra,  and  Cym- 
beline.  A  close  examination  of  these  fac- 
similes, has  furnished  us  with  cumula- 
tive evidence  in  favor  of  the  conclusions 
to  which  we  had  previously  arrived.  In 
our  article  of  October  last  we  remarked. 
"  The  corrections  appear  in  various  colored 
inks,  as  Mr.  Collier  admits,  and,  as  we 
shall  presently  see,  in  the  writing  of  vari- 
ous hands."  Mr.  Collier  makes  this  ad- 
mission on  p.  viil  of  the  Introduction  to 
his  Notes  and  Emendations,  where  he 


says:  "The  ink  was  of  various  shades, 
differing  sometimes  on  the  same  page,'' 
&c.  That  the  emendations  were  in  vari- 
ous hands,  we  saw,  it  will  be  remembered 
from  a  comparison  of  the  several  emenda- 
tions upon  the  single  facsimile  page  pub- 
lished by  Mr.  Collier.  He  himself  was, 
to  use  his  own  words,  "  once  disposed  to 
think  that  two  distinct  hands  hiad  been 
employed  upon  them,"  but  as  he  warmed 
into  the  study  and  support  of  them,  ho 
changed  his  mind.  The  additional  fiu>- 
similes  from  these  seventeen  plays  show 
the  same  difference  in  the  character  of  the 
handwriting  which  we  previously  pointed 
out ;  and  it  is  worthy  of  especial  remark 
that  in  those  cases  in  which  entire  lines 
are  supplied,  the  manuscript  is  in  that 
painstaking  but  feebler  hand  in  which  the 
line  "So  rushing  in  the  bowels  of  the 
French  "  appears  upon  the  published  fiu>- 
simile  page.  These  whole^e  interpola- 
tions are  evidently  the  conCHbutk>n  of  one 
person,  who  perhaps  did  not  trouble  him- 
self about  the  smaller  changes.  The 
want  of  space  for  a  whole  line  will  nofc 
account  for  this  change  of  hand,  because 
stage  directions  of  much  greater  length 
than  any  line  are  inserted  in  the  bold, 
free  hand  in  which  "  same  "  appears  at  the 
top  of  the  published  facsimile  paoe. 

The  very  look  of  one  of  these  ncsimiles 
would  seem  fatal  to  the  least  pretence  in 
favor  of  the  authority  of  the  volume. 
Types  can  but  poorly  convey  the  effect  of 
the  changes  upon  the  eye ;  but  they  may 
help  the  imagination  to  picture  the  appear- 
ance of  the  page.  The  passage  which  we 
refer  to  is  the  following,  from  7\iu9  An- 
dront'cus,  Act  II.  Sc.  2. 

**  7U— The  hunt  la  ap,  the  morn  is  bright  sadfqr. 
The  fields  are  fragrant,  and  the  woods  are  grain: 
Uncoaple  here,  and  let  lu  make  %  haj. 
And  wake  the  f  mperor  and  his  loraly  brld% 
And  rouse  the  prinoe ;  and  ring  s  himter^  pMH^ 
That  all  the  court  may  echo  with  the  noia^. 
Bona,  let  it  be  your  charge,  as  it  la  oura, 
To  tend  the  emperor^  person  carefoUj : 
I  have  been  troabled  in  mj  sleep  this  nl^l; 
But  dawning  day  new  oon^fort  baa  iospfaU* 

This  is  thus  changed  in  Mr.  Collier's  folio ; 
the  original  words  being  erased,  and  the 
substitutes,  here  in  italics,  written  in  the 
margin : 

"  Til—The  bant  is  np,  the  mom  is  bright  and  gay. 
The  fields  are  fragrant,  and  tho  woods  are  aeicEc 
Uncouple  here,  and  lot  us  make  a  bqr» 
And  wake  the  emperor  and  his  loToly  bride^ 
And  rouse  the  prince,  and  etnff  a  bonterli  mwid. 
That  all  the  court  may  echo  with  the  sowndL 
Sons,  let  it  be  your  charge,  and  so  wttt  J^ 
To  Attend  the  emperor^  person  carafbUy : 
I  hare  been  troabled  in  my  sleep  thia  nighty 
But  dawning  day  hrofugJd  eomlbrt  tad  dsH^Al** 


1854.] 


Mr.  Collier's  Folio  of  1632. 


298 


Ctn  any  man  in  his  senses  believe  that 
''green"  ooold  be  misprinted  for  wide. 
"peal"  for  rounds  "noise"  for  aoundy 
"  as  it  is  ours  "  for  cmd  so  will  /,  "  new  " 
for  brought^  and  "  inspired  "  for  delight ; 
9nd  that  all  these  errors,  with  two  others, 
ooald  occur  in  ten  lines  ?  The  supposition 
is  too  absurd  for  a  moment's  consideration. 
The  words  do  not  bear  the  slightest  pos- 
sible likeness  to  each  other ;  and  besides, 
we  must  remember  that  if  Mr.  Collier's 
folio  be  worth  any  thing  as  an  authority, 
the  compositor  made  these  mistakes,  which 
are  impossible  under  any  circumstances, 
eren  when  he  had  rhymes  to  guide  him^ 
And  yet  we  are  asked  to  believe  that  this 
is  possible ;  and  also  that  the  author  in- 
stutd  of  writing  such  sense  as, 

**  Bona,  let  it  be  your  charge,  as  it  is  oozb, 
To  tend  the  emperor's  person  oarefkilly,** 

wrote,  for  the  sake  of  rhyme,  such  non- 
sense as, 

**  8on^  let  It  be  joor  charge,  and  «o  iciU  /, 
Tk>  tend  the  emperor*8  person  careftilly  **  I 

and  that  the  compo^tor  ^  set  up '  "  and  so 
will  /"  when  " as  it  is  ours  "  was  before 
hueyes. 

It  looks  fatally  absurd^too,  in  the  fac- 
nmile  from  Hamlet,  Act  V.  Sc.  2,  to  see 
"sweet  Prince"  obliterated  with  a  stroke 
of  the  pen,  and  be  blest  substituted  for  it, 
for  the  sake  of  a  rhyme  to  "  rest "  in  the 
next  line,  which  is  then  foUowed  by  an 
impudent,  gag-like 


U^^ 


the  rest  of  the  plav  being  stricken  out. 

But  if  the  folio  tave  any  authority,  we 
must  believe  in  all  these  impossible  errors 
of  the  press^  and  believe  that  Shakespeare 
did  not  wnte  the  last  part  of  the  last 
scene  to  be  played.  For  authority  implies 
a  rig^t  to  submisfflon,  irrespective  of  any 
exercise  of  reason  or  preference  on  the 
part  of  the  person  submittmg.  To  contend 
for  the  authority  of  a  part  only^  greater 
or  less,  of  the  emendations  in  this  or  any 
other  folk),  is  to  contend  for  a  patent,  pal- 
pable absurdity ;  just  as  if  a  legatee  were 
to  claim  that  such  parts  of  the  will  of  the 
testator  as  accorded  with  his,  the  legatee's, 
views,  had  authority,  but  that  those  which 
be  did  not  like  had  no  authority.  If  we 
defer  to  a  single  change  in  Mr.  Collier's 
or  in  Mr.  Quincy's  rolio  because  of  its 
authority,  we  mmst  defer  to  all ;  for 
we  have  the  same  testimony,  or  rather 


want  of  testimony,  to  the  authenticity  of 
all  the  changes  that  wo  have  to  that  of 
any  one  of  them.  Therefore,  as  the  few 
and  rapidly  diminishing  believers  in  Mr. 
Colliers  folio,  can  bnng  themselves  to 
contend  for  only  a  majority  of  its  changes 
of  the  authentic  text,  and'  as  Mr.  Collier 
himself  says  that  "  it  is  not  to  be  under- 
stood that  he  approves  of  all  the  changes 
in  the  text,"  *  even  the  discoverer  and  the 
advocates  of  this  volume  exercise  their 
individual  judgment  in  accepting  or  re- 
jecting the  changes  of  the  text  in  it ;  and, 
by  their  own  confession^  do  not  defer  to 
its  authority.  Thus  they  yield  the  only 
essential  point.  There  can  be  no  objection 
to  any  man,  or  any  number  of  men,  amus- 
ing themselves  by  making  needless  and 
absurd  changes  in  the  text  of  any  author, 
so  long  as  they  do  not  contend  for  the 
authenticity  of  those  changes,  and  insist 
upon  their  usurpation  of  the  authority 
of  the  original  text.  As  Mr.  Collier  and 
his  dwindling  band  of  submissive  followers 
acknowledge  that  they  do  not  contend  for 
all  the  changes,  the  only  important  point 
in  dispute  is  gained ;  and  they  themselves, 
by  their  exercise  of  judgment  as  to  which 
they  should  approve  and  which  they 
should  condemn,  have  applied  Malone's 
unexceptionable  rule  to  them  as  "  arbitrary 
emendations,  ....  made  at  the  will  and 
pleasure  of  the  conjecturer,  ....  not  au- 
thorized by  authentic  copies  printed  or 
manuscript,.  .  .  .  and  to  bo  judged  of  6  v 
their  reasonableness  or  probability^ 
The  verdict  of  Shakesperian  scholars  upon 
their  "reasonableness  or  probability" 
has  been  unanimous,  that  about  one  thou- 
sand of  the  one  thousand  and  thirteen, 
are  unreasonable  and  improbable ;  and 
the  good  sense  and  instinctive  perception 
of  the  intelligent  readers  pf  Shakespeare 
is  fast  leading  them  to  the  same  conclu- 
sion. 

We  have  heard  it  objected  to  the  una- 
nimous opinion  of  the  editors  and  critics 
against  the  worth  of  Mr.  Collier's  folio, 
though  never  by  an  intelligent  and  unin- 
terested man,  that  the  majority  of  the  ob- 
jectors were  biased  by  the  fact  that  they 
were  about  themselves  to  publish  edi- 
tions of  Shakespeare's  works.  The  mix- 
ture of  folly  and  audacity  in  this  attack 
upon  the  motives  instead  of  the  arguments 
of  the  Shakesperian  editors  passes  un- 
derstanding. Because  a  volume  has  been 
discovered  containing  changes  in  the  text, 
all  of  which  (accoMine  to  Mr.  Collier) 
should  not  be  received,  but  some  of  whkh 


•  PNfiwe  to  The  Plays  of  Shakespeare ;  the  text  regolated  \>j  the  old  copies  and  br  the  Becentlf  Dlsoorered 
FoUo  of  1681.  A«.    Edited  bj  John  Faf  ne  OoUier,  Esq.,  F.  &  A.    Bra    London :  1808. 


294 


Mr.  CoUUr^s  Folio  of  1682. 


[Maidi 


are  changes  for  the  better,  editors  of 
editions  about  to  appear  are  interested  in 
decrying  those  changes — the  very  changes 
which  would  (according  to  Mr.  Collier) 
give  value  to  new  editions,  and  in  the 
choice  of  which  a  new  and  wide  field  is 
opened  for  the  labors  of  editors  and  com- 
mentators !  The  absurdity  of  the  objection 
is  so  obvious  as  only  to  need  pointing  out 
Why !  there  is  not  an  editor  or  Shake- 
sperian  scholar  in  England  or  America  who 
is  not  personally  interested  in  the  attention 
directed  to  Mr.  Collier's  folio ;  and,  with 
the  possible  exception  of  Mr.  Knight,  not 
one  who  does  not  look  upon  that  folio  as 
furnishing  a  few  happy  conjectural  emen- 
dations to  be  embodied  in  the  text  of  his 
forthcoming  edition,  and  as  requiring  from 
him  much  additional  editorial  labor.  But 
because  there  are  a  dozen  or  even  twenty 
happy  conjectural  corrections  of  the  typo- 
graphical errors  in  the  original  folio,  no 
intelligent  reader,  not  to  say  critic,  of 
Shakespeare,  will  quietly  submit  to  the 
wanton  alteration  of  a  thousand  words 
and  phrases  which  need  no  correction. 

A  passage  in  the  Stationer's  address  to 
the  Reader  in  the  first  folio  of  Beaumont 
&  Fletcher's  Plays,  published  in  1647, 
which  we  have  never  seen  noticed,  has  an 
important  bearing  upon  Mr.  Collier's  folio, 
and  adds  greatly  to  the  evidence  in  favor 
of  the  absolute  authority  of  the  original 
folio  of  Shakespeare's  works^  and  against 
that  of  the  early  quarto  editions.  Here 
is  the  passage. 

"  One  thing  I  must  answer  before  it  bee 
objected;  'tis  this:  When  these  Comedies 
and  Tragedies  were  presented  on  the  Stage, 
the  Actours  omitted  some  Scenes  and  Pas- 
sages (with  the  AtUhour's  consent)  as  occa- 
sion led  them;  and  when  private  friends 
desired  a  copy,  they  then  (and  justly  too) 
transcribed  what  tney  Acted  But  now 
you  have  both  AH  that  was  Acted,  and  all 
that  was  not;  even  the  perfect  full  ori- 
ginalls  without  the  least  mutilation." 

It  has  been  reasonably  conjectured  by 
his  editors  and  commentators,  that  the 
early  quarto  editions  of  Shakespeare's 
plays  were  surreptitiously  printed  from 
the  actors'  parts,  which  were  obtained 
separately,  and  written  out  in  proper  order 
to  form  the  entire  play.  Here,  however, 
wo  have  positive  and  direct  contemporary 
evidence  that  it  was  the  habit  of  the  actors 
in  Shakespeare's  time  and  in  the  succeed- 
ing generation,  to  give  copies  of  the  acting 
copy  to  their  private  friends,  and  that  in 
so  doing  they  'transcribed  what  they 
acted?^  omitting  such  scenes  and  passages 
as  were  omitted  in  the  representation. 
Here  we  have  the  sorreptitidus  appearance 


of  the  quartos  and  their  disagreement  with 
the  text  of  the  authentic  folio  of  1623y 
(published  by  Shakespeare's  friends,  fel- 
low-actors, and  business  partners,  from 
his  own  manuscripts,  with  '^hardly  a 
blot "  in  them,)  and  also  a  great  number 
of  the  changes  in  Mr.  Collier's  folio 
clearly  accounted  for. 

The  process,  as  this  important  passage 
shows,  was  this.  The  author  fumishei 
the  original  MS.  This  was  copied  and 
cut  down  for  stage  use ;  frt>m  this 
copy  the  actors'  parts  were  taken ;  and 
"  when  their  private  friends  desired  a  copy, 
they  then  transcribed  what  they  acted,*^ 
and  thus  their  friends  had  for  their  own 
use  and  that  of  such  printers  as  would 
pay  for  it,  the  copy  of  a  copy  of  part  of 
a  mutilated  copy. 

Such  "authorities"  evidently  directed 
the  labors  of  the  first  corrector  who 
worked  on  Mr.  Comer's  folio.  In  the 
succeeding  generation,  (for  it  should  be 
remembered  that  Shakespeare  had  been 
dead  sixteen,  and  had  ceased  writing 
nearly  thirty  years  before  this  famous  fol£ 
was  printed,)  he  obtained  copies  of  copies 
of  the  mutilated  sta^e  copy  of  the  day^ 
and  made  the  text  of  his  (olio  conform  to 
it.  This  accounts  for  the  changes  for  the 
sake  of  rhyme  (made  by  the  caprice  of 
the  actors),  the  striking  out  of  portions 
of  the  text,  and  the  cutting  off  of  all  that 
part  of  the  final  scene  of  Hamlet,  which 
occurs  after  the  action  is  finished,  and 
thereby  spoils  what  in  histrionic  phrase  is 
called  ^  the  tag'  of  the  piece.  It  is  quite 
natural  that  such  a  copy  should  contain 
many  acceptable  corrections  of  the  typo- 
graphical errors  in  the  original ;  and  wis 
does  contain  about  two  hundr^  such,  at 
least  one  hundred  and  seventy-three  of 
which,  as  we  have  seen  by  collation  (FtU- 
nanCs  Mag-azine  for  October,  1853X  had 
been  made  by  modem  editors  previoiis  to 
Mr.  Collier's  discovery  of  the  Tolume.  It 
is  also  quite  natural  that  a  yolome  so 
corrected  in  the  beginning,  and  whidi 
afterward  was  evidently  subjected  to  the 
conjectural  manipulation  which  the  many 
copies 'still  existing  in  the  possession  of 
Mr.  Halliwell.  Mr.  Singer  and  Mr.  Quincy 
prove  to  have  been  the  common  lot  of  folios 
in  the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth  century 
— it  is  natural  that  such  a  volume  should 
contain  the  thousand  needless  and  inso£fer- 
able  mutilations  which,  embodied  in  the 
text  which  Mr.  Collier,  in  spite  of  his  ad- 
mission that  he  cannot  approve  of  all  the 
changes,  has  presumed  to  publish  as  ^*  The 
Plays  of  Shakespeare,"  make  that  edition 
incomparably  the  worst  of  the  many  had 
editions  which  have  been  pablii^ed. 


1854.] 


Orihograpky  of  Shaketpearei  Kame. 


ORTHOGRAPHT  OF  SHAUESPJCARE's  NAME. 

Those  who  hare  read  with  attention  the 
nrerioas    Shakesperian   papers   in    this 
Magazine,  and  are  paying  the  same  com- 
pliment to  this,  will  observe  that  we  now 
spell  the  poet's  name  Shakespeare,  though 
heretofore  we  have  spelled  it  Shakspere. 
For  sach  a  change  it  is  right  to  render  a 
reason.    We  used  the  latter  orthography, 
— Shakspere, — on  the  ground  that  it  is 
but  proper  ^to  spell  a  man's  name  as  he 
himself  q)ells  it ;  and  Sir  Francis  Madden 
has  shown,  beyond  a  question,  that  in 
firar  of  the  six   eenume  signatures  of 
Shakespeare  which  have  come  down  to 
118,  the   name   is   written  by  the  poet 
himself  Shakspere.    The  remaining  two, 
though  most  illegibly  written,  eyidently 
contiun  eleyen  or  twelve  letters.     More 
than  this,  it  is  very  evident  that  the  name 
was  originally,  and,  indeed,  as  late  as  the 
earlier  years  of  William  Shakespeare  him- 
self nronounced  Shak-sper.    The  manner 
in  wnich  it  is  spelled  in  the  old  records 
in  which  it  is  found,  varies  almost  to  the 
extreme   capacity  of  letters  to   diange 
places  and  produce  a  sound  approximating 
to  that  of  the  name  as  we  pronounce  it 
It   appears  as   Chacksper — Shaxpur — 
Shaxper  —  Schaksper  —  Schakcsper  — 
Schakespeyr  —  Shagspere  —  Saxpere  --- 
Shaxpere — Shaxpeare — Shaxsper — Shax- 
spere — Shaxespere — Shakspere  —  Shak- 
mar  —  Shakspeere  —  Shackspeare  — 
l&ackespeare  —  Shackespere — Shakspeyr 
— Shaksper — Shakespere— rShakyspere — 
Shakespire — Shakespeire — Shakespear — 
fiSiakaspeare;   and  there  are  even  other 
varieties  of  its  orthography. 

It  is  remarkable  that  the  older  the 
record,  the  more  the  spelling  con- 
forms to  the  pronunciation,  Shak-sper  or 
Shax-pnr.  But  it  is  equally  remarkable 
that  on  the  title-pages  of  all  the  editions 
d  Shakespeare's  plays  published  during 
his  life,  almost  without  exception,  as  well 
as  upon  that  of  the  original  folio,  his  name 
18  smiled  Shakespeare.  More  than  this: 
in  the  first  fblio  edition  of  Ben  Jonson's 
works,  published  in  1616,  and  carefully 
edited  by  Jonson  himself;  Shakespeare's 
omme  occurs  twice  in  the  lists  of  principal 
actors,  and  is  in  both  instances  spelled 
with  the  e  in  the  first  syllable  and  the  a 
in  the  second ;  and  not  only  so,  but  in  the 
second  list,  that  appended  to  Sejantis, 
the  syllables  are  separated  with  a  hyphen, 
and  the  second  begins  with  a  capitsJ 
letter^  thus — SaAuc-SpicARE. 

This,  when  taken  in  connection  with 
the  evidence  of  the  title-pages  of  the 


295 


quartos  and  the  original  folio,  and  also 
of  the  list  of  actors  pven  in  the  latter, . 
shows,  beyond  a  question,  that  the  name 
was  pronounced  and  written  Shake-speare 
in  Shakespeare's  day,  and  by  those  who 
were  in  habits  of  constant  intercourse  with 
him  who  made  it  illustrious.  For  it  is 
impossible  to  pronounce  Shake-speare. 
Shak-9per.  It  is  also  important  to  notice 
that  in  all  the  lists  of  actors  given  in  Jon- 
son's folk)  of  1616,  nine  in  number,  the 
several  names,  which  are  frequently  re- 
peated, are  always  spelled  in  the  same 
twiy»— a  rare,  in  fact,  an  unparalleled  co- 
madence  in  any  book  of  the  time.  This 
shows  how  carefully  Jonson  corrected  his 
proof  5  and  also  that  the  spelling  Shake- 
speare was  not  the  result  of  capricious 
orthography. 

Bu^  it  may  be  asked,  did  not  Shake- 
speare  know  how  to  write  his  own  name? 
and  must  we  not  conform  to  his  mode  of 
spelling  it  7    To  the  hist  query  we  answer 
no ;  not  of  necessity.    For,  as  Mr.  Hunter 
asks,  shall  Lady  Jane  Grey  become  Lady 
Jane  Groye  ?  shall  the  Dudleys  become 
Dudcfeleyi  or  the  Cromwells,  Crumwells, 
&c,  &c,  &c,  because  it  is  certain  that 
they  spelled  their  names  thus  ?    This  is  a 
decisive  question.     As  to  Shakespeare's 
knowledge  of  the  mode  of  writing  his  own 
name,  it  must  be  remembered  that,  in  his 
lifetime,  there    arose  a  necessity  for  a 
change  m  the  spelling.     When  Robert 
Cook,  Clarencieux  King  at  Arms,l)ecause 
John  Shaksper  had  become  a  man  of 
substance    and    consideration,   and    had 
married  into   the  gentle    blood    of  the 
Ardens,  gave  him  armorial  bearings,  he 
saw  and  seized  the  opportunity  which  the 
name  afibrded  for  punning  blazonry;  and 
giving  the  worthy  high  bailiff  the  right  to 
bear  a  spear  or  on  a  bend  sable,  he  changed 
him  and  his  descendants  from  Shakspers 
to  Shake-speares  from  that  time  forward. 
But  old  customs  change  with  difficulty, 
and  endured  longer  then  than  now ;  and 
thus  it  was  that  something  of  the  old  style 
of  spelling  the  name  clung  to  the  Shake- 
speares  in  Stratford ;  and  even  that  Wil- 
liam Shakespeare  himself  when  he  went 
to  London  did  not  entirely  lay  aside  the 
habit  of  his  early  youth ;  though  all  those 
to  whom  his  name  then  was  new  wrote  it, 
as  they  and  he  pronounced  it,— Shake- 
speare.    These  reasons,  and  the  explicit 
testimony  of  Jonson,  the  printers  of  the 
quartos,  and  the  editors  of  the  original 
felio,  have  convinced  us  almost  against 
our  will,  that  Shakespeare,  not  Shakspere 
is  the  better  mode  of  writing  the  name. 


296 


VISIT   TO   THE   IRON   MOUNTAINS   OF   MISSOURI 


FOR  maDj  years,  I  had  desired  to  visit 
the  noted  mineral  regions  of  South 
Eastern  Missouri,  but  professional  engage- 
ments had  hitherto  prevented.  Mj  long 
cherished  design  was  accomplished  in  the 
autumn  of  1853.  In  company  with  a 
friend,  I  left  home  in  my  buggy,  equipped 
with  all  necessary  appurtenances  for  a 
somewhat  tedious  journey,  through  a  wild 
rough  region.  Desiring  to  see  somewhat 
of  "  Egypt,"  we  kept  the  Illinois  side  of 
the  Mississippi  River,  as  far  as  St.  Gene- 
vieve, which  lies  sixty  miles  south  of  St 
Louis.  The  first  night  we  passed  at  Wa- 
terloo, a  thriving  county  seat  twenty-five 
miles  southeast  from  St.  Louis.  The 
town  and  neighboring  county  are  fast 
filling  up  with  the  lower  order  of  Ger- 
mans, a  hard  working  and  hard  drinking 
people,  who  seem  to  be  about  to  take 
complete  possession  of  the  best  portions 
of  Illinois  and  Missouri.  Southern  Illinois, 
long  before  the  German  invasion,  was 
known  as  "  Egypt"  by  all  outsiders ;  its 
settlers  being  mostly  from  the  ground 
tier  of  the  population  of  Kentucky  and 
Tennessee,  poor,  shiftless,  ignorant  and 
indolent.  In  moral  and  intellectual  cul- 
ture, and  also  in  horti-  and  agriculture^ 
the  State  of  Illinois  iapera  off"  as  you 
travel  southward,  just  as  it  does  topo- 
graphically and  geographically  upon  the 
maps,  till  you  get  to  Cairo.  Tins  is  its 
present  status — what  it  may  be  when  our 
system  of  railroads  shall  be  completed, 
is  a  question ;  let  us  postpone  an  answer 
for  ten  years,  , 

The  next  day  we  rode  over  a  hilly  and 
heavily  timbered  country,  sparsely  settled 
even  by  Germans,  until,  at  about  noon, 
we  came  in  sight  again  of  the  American 
Bottom,  at  the  verge  of  the  steep  bluffs 
which  every  where  inclose  the  river. 
Here  we  had  one  of  those  magnificent 
views  which  are  only  to  be  found  in  the 
vicinity  of  western  rivers.  Little  lakes 
hero  sparkled  in  the  sunshine,  and  there 
darkened  in  the  shade  of  passing  clouds. 
Broad  meadows,  green  and  cheerful, 
spread  out  in  all  directions,  losing  them- 
selves only  under  the  shadow  of  giant 
cypresses,  moisture-loving  cotton  woods, 
and  in  the  embrace  of  tangled  vines. 
Here  the  vegetable  luxuriance  of  the  tro- 
pics is  tempered  and  diminished  but 
slightly  by  the  blasts  and  chills  of  our 
uncertain  winter.  We  ought  to  have 
tigers,  lions,  and  anacondas  m  these  jun- 
gles and  marshes,  and  the  fact  of  their 
pertinacious  avoidance  of  our  excellent 


accommodations,  can  only  be  ac 
for  by  their  lack  of  an  educated  ta 
decided  want  of  natural  judgment 
With  some  diflBculty  we  desoei 
precipitous  hill,  the  road  being  ba 
lied  by  a  recent  rain,  but  at  lengf 
ourselves  riding  along  a  narrow  ] 
rectly  under  ragged  cliflfe  of  carbo 
limestone,  which  every  where  thj 
to  topple  down  and  put  a  sudden 
on  us  and  our  journey.  The  i 
masses  of  rock,  thrown  promiscoc 
around,  and  the  smaller  fragmenti 
the  size  and  shape  of  a  blacksmith 
which  constituted  the  pavemei 
which  we  rode,  reminded  us  of  i 
Niagara  under  the  cliffs — ^not  < 
smooth  and  nicely  rolled  and  grai 
a  garden  walk.  We  found  a  so 
for  the  roar  of  the  falls,  in  the 
the  wind  among  the  thrifty  tpe« 
every  where,  in  spite  of  any  unc 
of  tenure,  had  planted  themsel^ 
forced  their  way  between  the  ed 
interstices  of  incumbent  rocks,  l 
came  to  a  little  stream  of Vate) 
crossed  our  track  with  such  swii 
to  attract  our  curiosity  towards  iti 
We  alighted  from  the  carriage,  ai 
yards  walk  brought  us  where  th< 
rushed  horizontally  from  the  bo 
the  bluff,  its  diameter  being  $k 
size  of  a  pipe  of  wine,  and  its  cu 
swift  as  the  arrow,  so  that  it  mad' 
respectable  cataract ;  in  fact,  it  se 
laugh  and  spread  itself  still  ma 
we  looked  on,  as  if  rejoicing  to  hi 
prove  even  to  two  admirers,  **  fit  t 
though  few,"  that  some  thinn  i 
done  in  Illinois,  as  well  as  in  otka 
Probably,  this  was  the  outlet  oj 
the  "sink-holes"  common  in  the  li 
regions.  In  dry  times,  donbtl 
stream  is  nowhere,  but  a  very 
rain  had  fallen  two  days  prevK 
caused  all  this  commotion,  and  nM 
as  will  be  seen  hereafter.  Horr 
as- fast  as  possible,  that  is,  nearly 
as  a  terrapin  with  a  live  coal  on  i 
we  arrived  at  length  at  a  little 
village  called  Prairie  de  Rocher,  i 
one  of  the  earliest  settlements  on 
sissipi,  being  nearly  150  years  c 
population  must  have  increased  i 
rather  unusual  to  western  towi 
being  nearly  twenty  houses  in  the 
1853.  The  inhabitants  are  old  I 
a  man,  woman  and  child — all 
with  a  stubborn  love  for  anam 
carts  and  white-wash.    We  din 


1864.] 


Vuii  to  the  Iron  Mountains  of  Missouri, 


297 


rerj  neat  little  tavern,  and  pushed  on. 
Passing  through  the  sloepy-loolcing  street 
of  the  village,  we  came  suddenly  on  the 
banks  of  the  little  stream  before  men- 
tioned, and  a  few  miles  further,  we  found 
it  directly  crossing  our  path,  as  it  did 
near  its  source;  but  here,  it  was  quite 
another  sort  of  thing,  it  had  spread  over 
a  breadth  of  a  hundred  yards,  besides 
scooping  out  for  itself  a  comfortable  bed 
in  the  middle,  which  two  Creole  French- 
men, whom  we  met  hunting,  assured  us 
would  not  be  so  very  comfortable  for  us, 
if  we  got  into  it,  the  water  being  deep, 
and  the  mud  under  it  deeper.  In  short, 
they  told  us  it  was  absolutely  impassable. 
It  was  very  easy  to  go  back  and  give  up 
the  o1  joct  of  our  journey  altogether.  We 
oould  take  another  road  and  go  down  to 
Kaskaskia,  twelve  or  fifteen  miles,  cross 
the  river,  and  come  up  on  the  other  side 
a  like  distance,  or  we  could  leave  our 
horse,  swim  the  stream  and  do  the  rest 
of  the  journey  on  foot,  neither  of  these 
plans  was  very  agreeable.  We  then  asked 
our  Frenchmen,  if  there  were  no  other 
place  to  cross  the  stream ;  they  told  us, 
p(Hn(ing  in  a  certain  direction,  that  we 
might  pc&ibly  cross  therCj  as  the  water 
was  not  so  deep.  •*  How  deep  is  it  ? " 
*•  Probably,  it  will  come  into  your  wagon 
a  leetle."  We  offered  money,  if  they 
would  go  in  and  sound,  which  they  res- 
pectfully declined,  though  with  assurances 
of  their  distinguished  consideration.  H. 
and  I,  then  held  a  council  of  war,  and 
came  to  the  decision  to  risk  crossing,  our 
Frenchmen,  agreeing,  like  some  other 
European  powers,  to  stand  by.  at  safe  dis- 
tance, and  see  us  iMto  or  out  of  this  "  free 
fight"  just  as  fate  might  order.  We  put 
our  luggage  on  the  seat,  I  plied  the  whip — 
the  horse  took  to  the  water,  and  in  a  few 
seconds,  he  was  floundering  in  the  mud, 
with  the  water  six  inches  deep  in  the 
bottom  of  the  buggy.  Bob  seemed  deter- 
mined to  drown  himself  endeavoring  all 
the  time  to  get  his  head  under  water. 
n.  being  a  man  of  enterprise  and  strong 
physical  force,  stripped  and  jumped  into 
the  vasty  and  nasty  deep,  with  intent  to 
take  the  horse  bv  the  head,  and  lead  him 
through.  But  Bob  probably  had  never 
seen  a  naked  man  before,  and,  being  a 
western  horse,  his  acquaintance  with  the 
best  styles  of  statuary  was  rather  limited. 
The  consequence  was,  that  our  nude 
ApoUo  80  terrified  the  horse,  that  he  gave 
a  BoddeQ  convulsive  plunge  which  broke 
a  shaft  of  the  touehest  material,  and 
greatly  damaged  the  liamess,  after  which 
strng^  he  quietly  settled  down  again 
into  the  mud,  I  b^ng  no  longer  able  to 
roL.  UL— 20 


keep  his  no.se  out  of  the  water.  H.  then 
released  him  from  the  thills,  and  fairly 
dragged  him  by  main  force  into  shoal 
water,  when  the  beast  got  up,  and  at- 
tempted to  run,  but  was  secured  by  the 
Frenchmen,  who  thus  manifested  a  dispo- 
sition, at  all  hazards,  to  preserve  a  balance 
of  power,  so  far  as  it  could  be  done  with- 
out detriment  to  themselves.  These  men 
then  consented  to  be  hired  to  come  in, 
and  help  us  out  of  our  predicament.  We 
had  now  to  follow  a  mere  bridle  path  for 
several  miles,  over  and  around  fallen  trees, 
and  through  brake  and  tangled  brier,  till 
we  arrived  on  the  bank  of  the  Mississippi, 
where  we  saw  the  long-hidden  sun  just 
dipping  his  disk  behind  the  hills.  For- 
tunately the  ferryman,  with  his  small 
fiat-boat,  was  ready,  and  we  were  safely 
rowed  across,  for  the  nice  little  sum  of 
$1,50.  On  our  complaining  somewhat  of 
the  exorbitance  of  this  tax,  he  informed 
us  that  he  had  only  a  dozen  jobs  or  so,  in 
the  course  of  a  year,  and  he  must  have 
enough  to  keep  up  the  concern. 

Immediately  on  landing  on  the  western 
bank  of  the  river,  we  met  with' decided 
evidence,  in  the  shape  of  huge  piles  of  pig- 
iron,  that  we  were  in  the  great  mineral 
region  of  the  West.  It  was  the  first 
place  we  had  seen,  except  Galena,  where 
pigs  of  metal  were  more  plentiful  than 
pigs  of  pork.  Two  miles  down  the  river, 
brought  us  to  St.  Genevieve,  where  we 
were  soon  comfortably  housed  in  the 
hotel  of  Mr.  Dutchaminny — no  Dutch- 
man at  all,  as  his  name  would  seem  to 
imply,  but  a  very  sociable,  gentlemanly 
Frenchman — a  politiean,  formerly  men^ 
ber  of  the  Senate  of  Missouri.  He  is  the 
best  specimen  of  landlords  to  be  found 
west  of  the  Alleehanics.  In  general,  our 
western  landlords  partake  of  the  careless, 
independent  manners  of  the  other  inhab- 
itants. They  behave  as  if  they  feel  they 
are  doing  you  an  extraordinary  and  un- 
deserved fevor,  by  allowing  you  to  star 
in  their  houses  at  all.  Traveller!  visit 
my  friend  Dutchaminny,  if  you  want  to 
find  a  courteous  landlord,  good  fare,  good 
beds,  and  good  servants,  at  reasonable 
rates.  H.,  who  is  an  ultra-abolitionist  and 
for  a  good  while  Director  of  the  Grand 
Junction  Underground,  did  not  relish  see- 
ing so  many  of  his  colored  brothers  and 
sisters  in  bonds,  and  I  was  in  great  fear 
lest  he  should  nuike  use  of  the  old  fiat- 
boat  in  the  night,  and  leave  me  and  good 
Mr.  Dutchaminny  in  the  lurch.  But  the 
cold  bath  and  other  toils  of  the  journey 
made  him  speedily  forget  his  colored 
brethren,  in  the  strong  embraces  of  Mor- 
pheus; and  as  I  hare  seen  no  advertise- 


208 


Visit  to  tJie  Iron  Mountains  of  Missouri. 


[March 


ment  of  ninaway  negroes  from  St.  Gen- 
evieve, I  infer  that  he  forgot  to  furnish 
any  tickets  during  his  stay.  We  left  St. 
Genevieve  at  7J  A.  M.,  in  excellent 
spirits,  at  the  thought  that  our  whole 
day's  journey  of  forty-three  miles  must  be 
accomplished  on  an  excellent  plank  road, 
surveyerl  and  laid  out  by  my  old  college 
friend,  Singleton.  A  few  miles  of  travel 
convinced  us  that  report  had  not  belied 
the  road.  We  had  both  travelled  on  four 
or  five  plank  roads  in  Illinois,  and  were 
obliged  to  yield  the  palm  to  this.  The 
planks  were  Tbur  inches  thick — the  grades 
all  easy,  though  the  natural  country  was 
abominably  hilly  and  broken — its  cul- 
verts, bridges,  &c.,  were  all  of  the  best 
material  and  workmanship.  The  whole 
affair  was  no  sixpenny  operation,  design- 
ed for  a  mere  beginning,  and  accommo- 
dated to  the  poverty  of  the  country 
through  which  it  passed.  It  cost  about 
8200,000,  and  was  designed  to  stand  a 
while  after  being  finished. 

About  five  miles  from  the  river,  we  met 
the  first  object  of  much  interest  to  a  mine- 
ralogist. It  was  a  fine  bed  of  pure  car- 
bonate of  lime,  very  white,  and  so  soft  as 
to  be  rubbed  off"  with  the  fingers  and  on 
our  clothes.  If  it  is  not  oolite^  it  an- 
swers the  description  of  it,  as  well  as  any 
thing  I  have  seen.  Here  was  a  steam 
saw-mill,  sawing  blocks  of  this  rock  into 
slabs  for  coping,  &c. 

The  country  for  twenty  miles  abound- 
ed in  oak  timber  of  various  species.  We 
saw  but  few  cabins  or  houses,  and  those 
were  inhabited  chiefly  by  Germans  and 
Frenchmen,  who  had  seized  on  the  only 
tillable  patches  of  earth  in  this  region — 
little  valleys  between  the  everlasting  hills ; 
and  who  eke  out  a  living  by  keeping  sheep 
and  cattle,  suffering  them  to  wander  at 
will,  in  summer  and  winter,  over  the  un- 
feno^  country.  As  to  the  amount  of 
com  and  potatoes  which  they  raise  on 
their  nineteen-comered  lots,  I  got  no  sta- 
tistics, but  I  reckon,  judging  from  the 
spindled  appearance  of  the  stalks  when 
we^passed,  that  this  year  they  must  have 
garnered  a  couple  of  bushels  to  the  acre. 
Limestone,  however,  is  plentiful  cropping 
out  very  conveniently,  all  around  and 
above  the  dwellings  ;  and,  in  some  places, 
we  observed  stone  walls,  a  great  rarity  in 
the  West,  and  a  pleasant  sight  to  an 
Eastern  man.  In  the  first  twenty  miles, 
we  met  more  than  fifty  teams,  loaded 
with  pig  and  bloom  iron,  after  which  wo 
ceased  to  count  them,  tliough  they  con- 
tinued as  abundant  to  the  end  of  our  jour- 
ney. The  wagons  are  generally  drawn 
by  four  or  six  mules,  though  sometimes 


by  oxen,  and  they  haul  an  average  of 
1000  lbs.  to  each  mule,  though  often 
much  more.  The  wagoners  are  allowed 
twenty  cents  per  hundred  for  hauling  to 
St.  Genevieve,  and  they  accomplish  the 
journey  there  and  back  in  three  days. 

We  began  now  to  pass  occasional  yel- 
low pine  trees,  gi-owing  out  of  beds  of 
gravel  (drift),  of  which  the  whole  rurface 
of  the  country  seemed  to  be  composed. 
In  this  gravelly  soil,  intermixed  with  red 
clay,  we  began  to  observe  very  plentiful 
traces  of  iron.  The  streams  also  were 
clear,  and  ran  swiftly  over  pebbled  beds, 
very  different  in  style  from  the  dull, 
muddy,  cat-fish  creeks,  so  common  in 
Illinois  and  Northern  Missouri.  Twenty- 
five  miles  from  St.  Genevieve  we  came  to 
a  pretty  extensive  forge,  owned  by  Baily, 
Prewitt  &  Co.,  who  produce  from  six  to 
eight  tons  of  iron  per  day.  Their  ore 
comes  exclusively  from  the  Iron  Moun- 
tain, by  arrangement.  From  July  1st  to 
October  1st,  1853,  249  tons  of  pig-metal 
and  blooms  were  sent  to  St.  Genevieve 
from  this  forge.  It  was  not  in  working 
order  when  we  arrived,  the  hammer  being 
broken. 

Three  miles  further  ride  brought  us  to 
Farmington,  a  pleasant  little  village,  lying 
in  a  fertile  basin  of  land,  and  aronnd 
which  were  some  very  respectable  and 
productive  farms.  After  dinner,  we  com- 
menced our  travels  again,  and  six  miles 
east  of  Iron  Mountain,  came  upon  the 
first  formation  of  granite.  For  this,  our 
eager  eyes  had  been  on  the  watch  ever 
since  we  left  St.  Genevieve,  and  it  gave 
us  as  much  joy  as  the  first  sight  of  the 
hills  of  New  England  gives  to  him  who 
has  been  long  absent,  living  in  regions 
where  for  years  he  has  seen  nothing  but 
monotonous  stratifications.  This  old  hill 
was  surmounted  by  a  cap  of  rod  granite, 
resting  on  a  bigger' head  and  body  of  the 
same,  and  all  covered  with  mosses  and 
lichens.  Wo  mounted  the  highest  pin- 
nacle, and  made  the  woods  resound  with 
three  cheers  for  old  Massachusetts.  The 
rock  here  is  sienite  rather  than  granite — 
hornblende  taking  the  place  of  mica, 
which  is  absent.  It  disintegrates  easily, 
in  consequence  of  the  softness  of  the  feld- 
spar, and  the  action  of  the  weather  upon 
it  here,  and  throughout  this  region,  has 
given  a  peculiar  rotundity  to  every  mass 
of  rock,  great  or  small. 

About  sunset,  we  arrived  at  Iron 
Mountain  village.  We  found  at  the  sup- 
per table  a  very  intelligent  German,  who 
was,  like  ourselves,  on  a  tour  of  observa- 
tion. He  had  just  come  down  from  the 
Iron  Mountain,  but  offered  to  escort  us  to 


1854.} 


Visit  to  the  Iron  Mountains  of  Missouri, 


299 


the  summit,  and  as  it  was  bright  moon- 
light, wo  decided  to  forget  our  fatigue, 
and  accept  his  offer.  There  was  no  road, 
not  even  a  footpath,  any  where.  Trav- 
ellers here  are  all  men  of  genius,  who 
strike  out  original  tracks — never  follow- 
ing the  footsteps  of  their  predecessors, 
however  illustrious.  Consequently,  we 
had  to  toil  our  weary  way  through  the 
brush  to  the  very  top.  We  walked  the 
entire  distance  over  a  solid  iron  pave- 
ment, which  resounded  to  our  footsteps, 
like  a  brick  sidewalk  to  the  iron-heeled 
boots  that  tramp  over  it  in  the  still  mid- 
night. Occasionally,  we  paused  to  pick 
up  fragments  of  the  pavement,  to  assure 
ourselves  it  was  no  vulgar  stone  we  were 
walking  on.  and  we  found  it  always  solid 
iron  ore.  You  cannot  pick  up  a  stone 
any  where  on  the  surface  of  the  moun- 
tain, and  I  was  forcibly  reminded  of  the 
description  of  the  land  of  Canaan — "A 
land  whose  stones  are  iron."  Next  day, 
we  travelled  over  the  entire  surface  of 
the  mountain.  It  is  250  feet  high,  has  a 
superficial  area  of  500  acres,  and  seems 
to  be,  throughout  its  whole  length  and 
breadth  and  depth,  composed  of  specular 
peroxyd  of  iron.  So  far  as  any  excava^ 
tions  have  been  made,  the  same  appear- 
ances are  presented  as  at  the  surface,  viz., 
pieces  of  iron  ore,  from  the  size  of  a  Lidy's 
thimble  to  the  size  of  a  man's  head, 
closely  packed  together  with  a  slight  fill- 
ing-in  of  brown  clay.  On  the  very  top 
of  the  hill,  however,  the  masses  are  much 
larger,  some  of  several  tons  weight.  All 
the  diggings  are  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill, 
close  as  possible  to  the  only  furnace  yet 
erected  there.  The  workmen  seem  to  be 
digging  the  hill  down  bodily  with  mat- 
tocks, as  if  making  a  deep  cut  for  a  rail- 
road. The  hill,  however,  will  outlast 
several  generations  of  Irishmen  at  the 
rate  they  are  working  now. 

We  were  introduced  by  our  German 
friend  to  Mr.  Valle,  one  of  the  principal 
owners  of  the  works,  and  also  to  Mr. 
Scott,  manager  and  part  owner.  These 
gentlemen  were  very  civil  to  us,  and  in- 
vited us  to  witness  the  oj:KTation  of  cast- 
mg  the  melted  ore  into  pig-metnl,  pro- 
mising to  ring  the  bell  when  all  was 
ready,  while  we  amused  ourselves  by  ex- 
amining the  furnace  and  the  roasting-pits 
near  by.  It  is  not  my  intention  in  the 
present  article,  to  describe  minutely  all 
the  machinery  and  processes  of  iron-mak- 
ing. For  these,  vide  Encyclopedias,  &c. 
Let  it  suffice  to  say,  that  the  ore,  when 
taken  from  its  native  bed.  is  first  roasted 
in  heaps,  by  means  of  charcoal,  to  expel 
the  sulphur,  carbon,  water,  &c.,  and  to  ren- 


der it  more  friable.  It  is  then  macada- 
mized into  small  pieces  (by  hand  at  the 
Iron  Mountain,  by  hammers  or  stampers, 
worked  bv  steam,  at  Pilot  Knob),  after 
which  it  IS  put  into  the  blast  furnace,  to 
be  melted  and  separated  from  all  remain- 
ing earthy  matter.  When  the  crucible 
dr  '•  hearth  "  of  the  furnace  becomes  filled 
with  melted  metal,  the  mouth  is  unstop- 
ped, and  the  metal  is  suffered  to  run  out, 
down  a  slightly  inclined  plane,  into  a 
ditch  of  damp  sand,  which  has  lateral 
openings  or  gullies  to  receive  the  melted 
metal.  The  iron  which  has  thds  run  out 
into  these  moulds,  is  called  cast-iron,  or 
pig- metal.  As  soon  as  the  moulds  are 
filled,  the  mouth  of  the  furnace  is  stopped 
again,  and  the  workmen,  with  very  long- 
handled  hoes,  scrape  a  thin  covering  of 
sand  over  the  whole  surface  of  the  metal, 
and  leave  it  to  cool. 

The  operation  of  casting  is  interesting, 
particularly  by  night.  A  fierce  red  glare 
lights  up  the  interior  of  the  cavern-like 
building.  The  red-shirted  workmen  leap 
about  with  their  iron  rods  and  hoes,  like 
so  many  frolicsome  demons  stirring  up 
the  fires  of  Tartarus,  and  occasionally 
running  a  pitchfork  into  a  writhing  vic- 
tim ;  and  the  fiery  liquid  vomits  forth 
from  the  mouth  of  the  furnace  at  the  rate 
of  three  tons  in  three  minutes. 

Iron  Mountain,  the  works,  and  an  im- 
mense quantity  of  land,  are  owned  chiefly 
by  Choteau,  Harrison  and  Valle.  A  Mr. 
Van  Doren,  from  New- York,  laid  the  first 
foundation  of  the  enterprise  which  is  now 
going  on  so  prosperously.  At  all  events, 
to  him  belongs  the  undisputed  honor  of 
doing  the  principal  part  of  the  wt7id- 
work.  About  1836,  he  and  others,  by  the 
special  aid  of  my  friend  and  host,  lion. 
Mr.  Dutchaminny,  got  a  charter  from  the 
legislature,  on  the  basis  of  which.  Van 
Doren  created  a  breeze  in  the  eastern 
cities,  which,  to  use  the  language  of  the 
logbooks,  increased  to  a  perfect  hurricane. 
He  published  pamphlets,  articles  in  news- 
papers, &c.  He  calculated,  to  a  pound, 
the  quantity  of  ore,  and  its  value  to  a 
decimal  fraction.  He  broacl^d  the  project 
of  a  railroad  to  the  Mississippi,  to  trans- 
port the  iron.  But  the  grand  collapse  of 
18o7  came,  and  down  went  Mr.  Van 
Doren  and  his  projects,  without^  the  build- 
ing of  any  furnace  or  forge.  The  charter 
remained  unused,  till  as  late  as  the  year 
1845.  Then,  several  wealthy  men  of  St 
Louis,  Pierre  Choteau,  James  Harrison 
and  Lewis  V.  Bogy  bought  of  Messrs. 
Zeigler  and  others  land  and  stock,  and 
went  to  work  under  the  name  of  the 
American  Iron  Mountain  Company. 


800 


Vint  to  the  Iron  Mountains  of  Missouri, 


[Match 


The  metal  of  the  Iron  Mountain  ore, 
makes  what  is  called  red  short  iron ;  that 
is,  iron  which  breaks  too  easily  when  it  is 
at  a  cherry-red  heat  They  remedy  this 
fault,  by  mixing  about  half  Tennessee  pig- 
metal  with  it.  This  is  a  great  disadvan- 
tage, for  obvious  reasons.  When  metal 
reaches  a  very  high  price  as  now.  $40  to 
$50,  they  have  to  pay  this  extravagant 
price  for  stock,  out  of  which  to  make  bar 
iron,  besides  all  the  inconvenience  and  de- 
lays to  which  such  dependence  must  al- 
ways subject  them. 

The  Iron  Mountain  Company,  from  July 
1  to  October  1,  1853,  sent  to  the  river 
3,318  tons  of  iron.  Alost  of  this  goes  to 
St.  Louis  to  be  worked  up — some  of  it  is 
said  to  be  sent  up  the  Ohio  Kiver. 

On  Saturday,  we  left  Iron  Mountain 
for  Pilot  Knob,  six  miles  distant  The 
road  winds  all  the  way  through  a  valley, 
and  is  the  worst  road  I  ever  travelled, 
always  excepting  all  the  other  natural 
roads  in  this  vicinity.  To  say  that  the 
roacls,  for  thu-ty  or  forty  miles  around, 
are  bad,  expresses  no  meaning  whatever. 
They  are  a  continuous,  agonizing  colloca- 
tion of  all  the  rocks,  stumps,  roots,  and 
mud,  which  could  be  brought  together  for 
.  miles  and  miles.  You  come  down  from  a 
pile  of  paving-stoneSj  only  to  plunge  into 
a  hub-deep  gully  of  mud.  Your  wheels 
mount  a  big  log  lying  across  the  road, 
pnly  to  become  fast  between  a  stump  ana 
a  ledge  of  outcropping  rocks.  It  is  like 
following  the  bed  of  a  narrow  stream 
which  has  dug  out  its  own  course  among 
the  hills,  wrenching  it  step  by  step,  from 
the  unwilling  hand  of  nature.  Our  journey 
m  fact  resembled  that  of  Milton's  fiend, 
on  hie  travels  into  the  thinly  settled  teni- 
tory  of  Chaos  and  Old  Night 

*^0*er  botf  or  steep,  throngh  strait,  roogb,  dense,  or 
rare, 
'With  head,  hands,  winga,  or  feet  poFsaos  his  way, 
▲od  swims,  or  tiak%  or  wades,  or  creeps,  or  liiea  **~ 

all  but  the  flying.  Nothing  flies  in  these 
regions,  except  horse-flies  and  buffalo-gnats 
— even  the  birds,  at  least  those  we  saw, 
only  have  rq^m  to  dance  and  hop  a  little. 

However,  a  couple  of  hours  brought  us 
within  sight  of  the  gray  head  of  Pilot 
Knob,  700  feet  above  us,  looking  out  from 
its  clothing  of  verdure  like  the  head  of  the 
fat  woman  from  the  surrounding  mass  of 

green  and  striped  caUco.    We  could 

now  understand  whence  it  got  its  name. 
There  it  stood  just  as  it  did  a  hundred 
years  ago,  when  the  first  white  hunters 
saw  it  afar  off,  from  every  hill- top. 

We  left  our  horse  and  carriage  at  the 
tavern,  and  started  for  the  sununit)  leav- 


ing furnaces,  forges,  &c,  to  take  care  of 
themselves,  till  we  got  ready  to  attend  to 
them.  We  found  a  road  leading  nearly 
to  the  top,  for,  unlike  Iron  Mountain,  the 
diggings  here  are  more  than  half  way  up 
the  hill.  We  met  with  little  that  was 
interesting  on  this  rough  road  to  the  dig- 
gings, except  occasional  blocks  of  feldspar 
and  granite,  which  convinced  us  that  Pilot 
Knob  was  not  all  iron,  like  Iron  Mountain. 
In  fact,  the  first  point  where  iron  made  its 
appearance  in  workable  quantities,  was 
at  the  diggings  aforesaid,  and  from  this 
point  to  the  top  of  the  hilL  a  further 
height  probably  cf  150  feet,  the  Knob 
seemed  to  consist  of  solid  and  immense 
blocks  of  ore.  not  of  small  pieces  like  most 
of  the  Iron  Mountain.  Nothing  short  of 
the  furnace  of  the  last  day  will  ever  be 
able  to  smelt  it.  On  we  clambered,  toil- 
ing our  way  up  the  ascent,  which  was  all 
the  while  growing  steeper,  till  at  length 
we  gained  the  highest  pinnacle,  and  sat 
down  to  rest,  breathe,  and,  in  silence,  to 
admire.  Below  and  around  us,  rose  on 
all  sides  turrets  of  iron,  like  towers  of  a 
cathedral  or  castle— taking  more  shapes 
than  the  fancy  of  human  architect  ever 
devised — battlements,  buttresses,  and  bas- 
tions of  iron,  inclosing  a  natural  fortress 
of  several  acres ;  and  directly  beneath 
was  a  precipitous  gulf  threatening  death 
for  one  false  step.  Afar  ofi*,  all  around 
us,  rose  hill.s,  unnamed,  but  rivalling  in 
height  the  mount  on  which  we  sat.  West 
of  us  was  Shepard  Mountain,  named  for 
Shcpard  the  mineralogist  entered  and 
owned  till  lately  by  his  brother.  Sonth 
of  U.S,  a  few  miles  distant,  nestling  in  tlie 
valley,  lay  Arcadia,  the  seat  of  a  nourish- 
ing Methodist  Seminary. 

The  top  of  the  Knob  appears, 'from  the 
valley  below,  to  be  nearly  bare  of  vege- 
tation, and  one  is  surprised  on  arriving 
there,  to  find  thrifty  trees,  as  well  as 
flowers,  growing  out  of  the  interstices  of 
the  iron  rocks.  We  gathered,  finom  the 
very  apex,  an  abundance  of  mosses,  ferns, 
and  flowers  in  bloom,  for  our  female 
friends,  who  we  knew  valued  botanical 
mementoes  of  noted  places,  far  more  than 
mineralogical  specimens.  Before  we  be- 
gan to  descend,  we  noticed,  a  considerable 
distance  from  us,  an  apparently  small  and 
easily  movable  block  of  ore,  resting  on 
the  summit  of  one  of  the  natural  towers 
before  mentioned,  and  promisingan  easy 
tumble  into  the  gulf  below.  We  then 
determined  to  have  a  little  boyish  sport, 
to  crown  our  adventure.  Seeking  to  ap- 
proach the  object  of  our  anxiety,  we  crept 
along  sharp  and  dizzy  ridges  of  iron,  till, 
lo  I  we  found  the  tower  so  isolated  as  to 


1854.] 


Vmt  to  the  Iron  Mountains  of  Mtsmmri. 


801 


forbid  our  reaching  it ;  our  intended  vic- 
tim was  far  aIx)Ye  us,  from  the  nearest 
attainable  point  Scrambling  down  thirty 
or  forty  feet,  to  the  base  of  the  tower,  we 
observed  an  ominous  crack,  which  will 
soon  effect  the  object  we  had  in  view ;  and 
will  send  not  merely  that  block,  but  the 
whole  tower  thundering  and  crashing  into 
the  valley  below.  Stand  from  under, 
when  it  tumbles ! 

After  dmner  at  the  village  tavern,  we 
visited  one  of  the  forges,  of  which  there 
are  two  here,  to  observe  the  hammering 
of  the  ore  into  "blooms"  or  thick  lumps. 
The  ore  used  at  this  forge  comes  from 
Shepard  Mountain,  and  is  said  to  be  the 
best  for  the  manufacture  of  steel.  We 
were  informed  by  a  farmer,  that  a  plough 
manufactured  directly  from  the  blooms  of 
that  forge,  without  further  process,  made 
as  good  an  implement  as  any  body  need 
have.  The  ores  of  all  these  mountains, 
though  mineralogically  nearly  the  same, 
are  said  to  have  peculiarities  which  render 
each  preferable  for  some  specific  use.  Thus, 
Shepard  Mountain  is  said  to  make  the 
best  steel,  Pilot  Knob  is  preferred  for 
fbundry  purposes,  castings,  &c^  and  Iron 
Mountain  is  best  for  nails.  I  have  not 
been  able  to  obtain  a  correct  analysis  of 
each  of  these  ores,  though  such  analysis, 
I  suppose,  has  been  made.  Thcu*  appear- 
ance to  the  eye  is  very  different  The 
ores  are  said  to  contain  eighty  per  cent 
pure  iron,  though  some  of  the  managers 
said  they  obtained  but  fifty-six  per  cent, 
by  their  processes. 

Pilot  Knob  and  Shepard  Mountain  bo- 
long  to  the  Madison  Iron  and  Mining 
Company.  The  principal  owners  are 
Bogy,  Valle,  &  Zeigler.  Their  blooms 
they  sell  mainly  at  Cincinnati,  Wheeling, 
and  Pittsburg.  Jhe  blooms  made  at  the 
forge  of  Baily,  Prewitt  &  Co.,  go  to  the 
rolling  mill  of  Choteau,  Harrison  &  Valle, 
at  St.  Louis. 

Hot  and  weary,  we  then  started  on 
foot  for  Shepard  Mountain,  H.  to  see  the 
top  of  it,  and  I  to  stop  on  the  way  to  take 
a  sketch  of  Pilot  Knob,  for  my  own  pri- 
vate satisfaction.  I  may  as  well  say  here 
as  elsewhere,  that  I  did  take  that  sketch, 
and  also  one  of  Iron  Mountain,  and  a  huge 
rocking  stone  at  the  Quarry,  hereafter  to 
be  mentioned;  and  I  should  send  them 
also  for  publication  in  the  Magazine,  did  I 
not  know  that  Lossing  and  others,  supposed 
masters  of  the  pencil,  would  be  so  morti- 
fied at  being  completely  beaten  on  their 
own  ground,  that  the  country  would  for 
ever  be  deprived  of  their  services. 

Before  leaving  Pilot  Knob,  we  went,  in 
company  with  Mr.  Zeigler,  to  observe 


several  places  where  the  primitive  fbrma- 
tion  is  seen  overlying  the  limestone.  Dr. 
King,  of  St.  Louis,  in  1851  read  an  ingen- 
ious paper  before  the  American  Association 
for  the  Advancement  of  Science,  in  which 
he  argues  that* the  deposition  of  the  lime- 
stones and  sandstones  of  this  region  took 
place  since  the  primitive  formations  had 
assumed  the  form  they  now  have.  I  be- 
lieve, however,  that  it  is  still  the  general 
opinion  of  scientific  men,  that  these  moun- 
tains of  iron  and  of  primitive  rock  were 
upheaved  through  the  sedimentary  and 
stratified  crust  of  limestone,  which  "seems 
to  form  the  floor  of  all  the  valleys.  At  all 
events,  the  strata  at  the  base  of  Pilot 
Knob,  and  also  of  Iron  Mountain,  appear 
very  much  tilted  up,  as  if  they  had  been 
subjected  to  great  disturbance  since  their 
deposition ;  though  at  the  distance  of  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  you  may  find  beds  of 
limestone  lying  in  almost  horizontal  strata, 
as  if  they  had  been  witnesses  of,  though 
not  partakers  in,  the  tremendous  convul- 
sions which  hurled  these  solid  mountains 
into  the  air. 

We  went  back  to  Iron  Mountain  to 
pass  the  Sabbath,  and  on  that  day  one 
of  us  preached  to  a  select  audience,  con- 
sisting mostly  of  women  and  children,  for  * 
the  Iron  workers  have  no  Sabbath,  except 
when  the  "hearth"  of  the  furnace  is  burnt 
out,  and  they  are  obliged  to  stop  till  a 
new  one  can  be  built  The  proprietors 
have  built  a  commodious  house  of  woi^ 
ship  in  the  village,  where,  however,  the 
visits  of  preachers  are  few  and  far  between. 

On  inquiring  of  some  of  the  mothers 
and  children  if  they  had  a  Sunday  School, 
they  replied  in  the  negative,  there  being 
not  a  single  religious  man  in  the  vicinity 
to  superintend  one.  On  Monday  morning 
we  started  homewards  by  way  of  the 
Rocking  Stone  Quarry.  A  toilsome  drive 
of  five  miles  brought  us  to  the  place. 
Our  carriage  was  running  over  limestone 
beds  in  place,  when,  at  our  right  hand, 
on  the  hill  above  us,  rose  dome-like  eleva- 
tions of  red  granite.  I  cal  1  i t  granite  because 
it  IS  generally  so  called.  Mineralogically 
it  is  granulite — quartz  pebbles  cemented 
together  with  feldspar — a  very  coarse  rock, 
easily  broken  with  the  fingers  wherever  it 
is  exposed  to  the  weather.  This  place  is 
called  a  quarry,  but  we  could  find  no 
place  where  it  had  ever  been  quarried.  It 
seems  too  soft  for  any  economical  purpose. 
Yet  it  is  from  this  rock,  I  believe,  that  the 
St  Louis  people  propose  building  a  monu- 
ment to  Henry  Clay.  How  much  better, 
and  more  appropriate  to  his  life  and  deeds, 
to  build  it  of  the  iron  ore  of  Pilot  Knob, 
which  would  outlast  this  rock  thousanda 


302 


Visit  to  the  Iron  Mountains  of  Missouri. 


[March 


of  years.  There  are  rocking  stones  of 
various  sizes  here — the  largest  would 
weigh  probably  thirty  tons,  and  yet  it  is 
easily  moved  with  one  hand. 

We  travelled  all  the  rest  of  the  day, 
through  a  region  abounding  in  valuable 
iron  ore,  magnesian  limestone  and  galena, 
and  before  night  arrived  at  Potosi,  the 
central  city  of  the  lead  mines  of  this  re- 
gion. Here,  a  New- York  company,  have 
begun  mining  in  a  thorough  and  scientific 
manner ;  hitherto  the  miners  or  farmers 
(for  the  farmers  are  all  miners)  have  only 
scratched  the  surface,  and  yet  have  found 
it  profitable. 

At  Potosi,  we  saw  the  grave  of  Moses 
Austin,  the  projector  of  the  first  Texan 
colony  from  the  United  States,  but  he 
died,  like  ancient  Moses,  before  entering 
the  land  of  promise,  leaving  to  his  son, 
Stephen  F.  Austin,  the  labor  and  glory  of 
the  adventure.  Next  day,  we  travelled 
still  through  a  lead  region,  and  examined 
the  diggings  of  old  mines,  and  then  rode 
on  northward,  toward  lIillsl>oro,  where 
»  we  expected  to  dine.  Near  Hillsboro, 
"while  descending  a  very  steep  hill,  com- 
pletely paved  with  loose  quartz  boulders, 
each  ^jigger  than  a  quart  bowl,  the 
breeching  strap  of  the  harness  gave  way, 
and  our  horse  started  into  a  full  run  down 
the  hill.  A  single  glance  at  the  gullies 
and  log  bridge  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill, 
convinced  us,  that  death  was  our  portion 
if  we  undertook  to  keep  our  seats,  and 
though  a  leap  from  the  buggy  upon  these 
rocks  was  dangerous,  yet  it  seemed  the 
wiser  course,  and  both  leaped  out  without 
much  injury,  while  Bob,  having  it  all  his 
own  way,  phmged  down  the  hill,  over  the 
bridge,  and  part  way  up  the  next  hill,  till 
he  brought  up  against  a  sapling,  and  then 
tearing  away  from  buggy  and  harness, 
continued  on  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  till 
he  come  in  full  view  of  the  town  of  Hills- 
boro, where  he  paused  to  reflect  I  fol- 
lowed and  caught  him,  while  H.  stopped 
to  bandage  a  somewhat  damaged  knee. 
On  arriving  at  the  top  of  the  hill  just 
south  of  llillsboro,  I  heard  many  voices, 
crying  out,  "  there  he  is.  there's  the  man  i" 
and  looking  forward,  I  saw  not  less  than 
a  hundred  men  (it  was  court-week),  who 
having  seen  the  horse  flying  with  the 
tattered  harness,  were  doubtless  ready 
now,  like  good  Samaritans,  to  set  the 
rideu  on  his  own  beast,  whenever  he 
should  come  up.  Not  one,  however,  had 
started  toward  the  animal  to  secure  him, 
or  gone  to  see  whose  head  was  off",  or 
whose  bones  broken. 


On  returning  to  the  buggy,  I  found 
both  .shafts  broken  short  off,  the  whiffle- 
tree  and  cress-piece  broken  in  two,  and 
great  damage  done  otherwise  to  carriage 
and  harness.  In  fact,  the  concern  ap- 
peared a  complete  wreck,  and  I  thought 
it  would  cost  us  a  delay  of  some  days  to 
repair  damages. 

Our  first  business  in  the  village  was  to 
inquire  for  a  wagon  maker;  there  was 
none.  Our  next,  for  a  blacksmith ;  he 
was  so  busy  he  could  do  nothing  till  next 
day.  Next,  for  a  harness  maker ;  there 
was  none.  For  a  shoemaker;  one  lived 
a  mile  and  a  quarter  from  the  village, 
but  nobody  knew  whether  he  were  at 
home.  Nobody  offered  assistance  of  any 
kind.  In  this  dilemma,  we  determined  to 
be  our  own  mechanics,  and  to  shake  off 
the  dust  of  our  feet  as  a  testimony  against 
this  evil  and  wicked  generation.  II.  is 
an  old  pioneer,  and  of  a  very  constructive 
turn  of  mind.  To  him,  therefore,  getting 
broke  down  was  mere  pastime — a  plea- 
sant variation  of  an  old  tune.  So  by 
means  of  several  split  hickory  poles,  and 
an  immensity  of  strong  cord,  we  fastened 
the  broken  shafts  into  their  old  places, 
and,  in  fact,  made  them  quite  as  good  as 
new,  only  increasing  their  diameter  about 
six  inches,  more  or  less.  A  colored  indi- 
vidual patched  up  the  harness  with  twine 
and  jack-knife ;  a  white  man  aided  us  to 
give  the  finishing  touches  (Hercules,  even 
after  dinner,  will  help  those  who  help 
themselves)  !  and  in  about  three  hours ; 
we  were  on  the  road  again,  bound  for  St. 
Louis,  where  we  arrived  next  day,  safe 
and  sound. 

The  tourist  for  pleasure  or  for  science 
may  learn  one  moral  from  our  experience, 
and  if  he  goes  to  the  iron  regions  of 
Missouri,  will  take  care  not  to  go  in  a 
buggy. 

A  railroad  is  about  commcncmg  from 
St.  Louis  to  these  regions ;  travellers  need 
it  greatly,  so  also  do  the  iron  men,  to 
transport  their  metal  and  provide  a  feasi- 
ble carriage-way  for  fuel,  of  which  they 
use  immense  quantities,  having  already 
greatly  thinned  out  the  forests  for  miles 
around  the  furnaces  and  forges. 

It  is  both  amusing  and  mortifying  to 
think  that  the  rails  are  to  come  from 
England,  tq  build  a  road  to^he  mightiest 
mass  of  iron  in  the  world ;  nevertheless, 
"patience,  perseverance  and  sweet  oil" 
will,  in  time,  cure  this  and  all  other 
absurdities  and  evils  in  Missouri,  or  under 
the  sun. 


1854.] 


ao3 


THE   GAMBLING   HOUSES   OF   PARIS. 


JT  was  during  the  Consulate  and  the 
Empire,  that  the  gambling  houses  of 
Paris  were  in  their  heyday.  As  none  of 
our  readers,  fortunately,  have  seen  those 
theatres  of  terrible  and  absorbing  pas- 
sions, we  quote  the  account  M.  Veron  gives 
of  them: — 

The  first  day  of  the  month,  I  found 
myself  richer  than  usual :  I  had  sold  a 
very  excellent  skeleton  for  twenty- five 
francs;  and  I  was  able  to  invite  two 
friends  to  dinner.  Rousseau  (one  of  his 
school  comrades)  was  one  of  my  guests. 
He  was  anxious  to  return  me  the  dinner : 
the  day  was  appointed  ;  the  rendezvous 
was  at  six  o'clock,  at  the  Cafe  du  Roi. 
There  were  three  of  us,  Rousseau,  I,  and 
a  youncj  medical  student,  who  was  fast  dy- 
ing with  a  galloping  consumption,  which 
had  been  brought  on  by  fatigues  in  the 
hot  sun  during  the  revolution  of  July. 
All  of  us  were  punctual  at  the  rendezvous. 
Our  host  was  sad,  and  embarrassed.  At  last 
he  said  to  us :  I  have  invited  you  to  dine 
with  me  ;  but  my  purse  is  empty.  In  this 
alarming  situation,  the  young  physician 
said,  it  is  probable  we  are  both  (looking  at 
me)  in  the  same  position  as  Rousseau  (ho 
spoke  the  truth),  eh  bien  !  there  is  but  one 
thing  to  be  done  ;  I'll  go  and  borrow 
twenty  francs  from  the  keeper  of  the  cafe. 
I  doubted  very  much  whether  he  had  any 
credit  there ;  but  he  came  back  with  a 
gold  piece  in  his  hand.  We  started  off  to 
dinner.  We  crossed  the  garden  of  the 
Palais  Royal.  Suppose  we  go  up  stairs, 
said  one  of  us,  and  risk  at  the  rouge-et- 
noir  half  of  our  fortune — say  ten  francs  ? 
The  proposal  was  unanimously  accepted. 
Rousseau  was  sent  off  to  try  our  fortune ; 

he  soon  returned; he  had  lost 

Our  situation  became  a  bad  one ;  we  met, 
feeling  all  the  pleasures  of  hope,  one  of  our 

comrades,  the  tall  G ,  a  charming 

young  fellow,  and  the  son  of  a  gramma- 
rian. We  told  him  our  story;  unfortu- 
nately he  could  add  to  our  purse  only  three 
francs  and  a  half,  and  he  gave  us  to  under- 
stand, by  a  gesture,  that  his  watch  was  at 
the  pawnbroker's.  We  soon  induced  our 
new  comrade  in  misfortune  to  club  his 
money  with  ours,  and  to  go  and  risk  the 
thirteen  francs  and  a  half  at  the  rapid 
diances  of  the  roulette.  Our  player  did 
not  return ;  it  was  past  seven  o'clock  ;  * 
shall  we  dine  or  not  ?  Our  friend  appear- 
ed ;  he  showed  us  sixty  francs.  We  gayly 
went  to  V6four's  for  our  dinner.  I  scarcely 
know  why,  but  we  all  resolved  to  dine 
very  economically We  knew  not 


what  else  to  do,  but  to  return  to  a  gambling 
house.  Our  friend  G was  charg- 
ed to  play  all  that  remained  in  our  com- 
mon purse :  35  francs ;  and  we  would  share 
our  earnings.    In  a  very  few  minutes  our 

friend  G had  won  eight  hundred 

francs  at  roulette  ;  the  share  of  each  of 

us  was  two  hundred  francs.     G 

and  Rousseau  boldly  played  their  two 
hundred  francs,  and,  in  a  few  minutes,  they 
each  had  fifteen  hundred  or  two  thousand 
francs,  of  winnings.  Rousseau  was  greatly 
indebted  at  the  Caf6  du  Roi,  and  at  the 
Cafe  des  Varietes ;  we  tore  him,  so  to  say, 
from  the  gambling  house,  and,  by  paying 
a  large  sum  on  account,  he  opened  a  new 
credit  at  both  of  the  caf6s.  Head  and  ears 
in  debt,  without  a  cent  of  money  in  his 
pocket,  and  without  credit  in  the  morning, 
in  the  evening  he  was  rich,  and  cstcem'ed. 
Such  wonders  easily  turn  one's  head. 

The  next  day,  after  leaving  the  hos- 
pital, I  returned  alone  to  the  same  gam- 
bling house,  to  risk  the  hundred  and  odd 
francs  which  remained  to  me,  after  the 
division  of  the  evening's  spoils;  I  won 
some  twelve  louis  d'or ;  it  seemed  like  a 
di-eam  !  The  next  day,  I  was  at  noon  at 
the  same  place ;  I  had  taken  the  precau- 
tion to  have  it  retained  for  mo.  For  nearly 
three  months,  I  won  in  this  way,  never 
less  than  a  hundred  francs  a  day,  and 
oft^n  much  larger  sums.  I  still  continued 
to  perform  my  duties  as  an  interne  in  the 
hospitals  ;  but  on  ill  terms  with  my  books, 
leading  what  is  called  a  "  fast "  life,  fre- 
quenting the  restaurants,  and  the  theatres, 
having  for  the  first  time  gold  coins  in  my 
pocket,  and,  for  a  student,  largo  sums  in 
my  secrctar}'.  The  tailleurs  and  the  louts 
de  tables  praised  my  game.  A  ponte,  a 
professional  gambler,  whom  I  had  never 
seen,  stopped  me  one  day,  about  dinner- 
time, in  the  arcades  of  the  Palais  Royal. 
"Monsieur,"  he  said,  "I  have  nothing  to 
ask  from  you ;  but  I  saw  you  play  this 
mornii)g,  allow  me  to  shake  hands  with 
you ;  it  is  impossible  to  play  with  more 
good  luck  and  more  good  sense."  I  knew 
how  to  stop  in  my  winnings :  and  so  I 
often  had  the  chagrin  of  playing  only  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  a  day.  How  heavily 
the  time  hung  on  my  hands  during  the 
rest  of  the  day  !  Roulette  winnings  excite 
all  sorts  of  immoralities  in  the  heart,  and 
nothing  more  brutalizes  the  mind ;  no- 
thing sooner  extinguishes  all  love  of  labor 
and  of  study ;  nothing  inspires  greater 
contempt  of  all  business,  a  greater  loathing 
for  all  duty,  than  these  riches  of  an  hour 


804 


Tkt  OamhUng  Mouses  of  Paris. 


[March 


which  fortune  gives  you,  that  she  may 
have  the  pleasure  of  despoiling  you  of 
them.  I  speak  only  of  the  player  who 
wins ;  what  would  I  have  to  say  of  the 
pla3'er  who  loses !  In  this  intoxicated 
idleness,  fevered  and  disquieted  by  con- 
stant winnings,  I  had  daily  greater  diffi- 
culty to  keep  within  limited  wiimings. 
Had  I  played  higher,  said  I  to  myself,  I 
would  have  won  a  large  fortune.  I  had 
resolved  never  to  stake  more  at  first  than 
ten  louis  d'or ;  and  during  two  or  three 
days,  I  daily  won  some  fifteen  hundred 
or  two  thousand  &ancs.  Then  I  deter- 
mined never  to  stake  more  at  first,  than 
five  hundred  francs ;  for  two  days  that 
montante  was  completely  successful.  Al- 
though during  three  months,  I  had  lived 
like  a  millionnaire,  and  like  a  generous 
miUionnaire^  I  still  had  in  my  safe  (fori 
had  a  safe)  some  nine  or  ten  thousand 
francs  in  gold  or  in  notes,  which  I  had 
won.  I  again  determined  that  I  would 
never  stake  more  than  ^  tliousand  francs 
at  first.  From  the  first  thousand-franc- 
Dote  I  staked,  I  doubled :  I  still  won.  .  . 
But  soon  the  strangest  coups,  two  and 
one,  nine  and  forty  (I  played  only  at 
trente-et-un),  appearea  against  me  on  the 
tapis  vert.  I  went  home  to  get  more 
inoney.  I  returned  a  second  time  ...  a 
third  time,  and  as  I  had  invited  several 
friends  to  dine  with  me  that  day,  and  as 
the  dinner  was  ordered,  I  left  in  my  safe 
only  some  louis  d'or,  persuaded  that  I 
should  conquer  fortune  with  courage  and 
large  forces.  There  was  not  even  a  com- 
bat! I  lost  eveiT  time.  A  gambler's 
idea  suggested  itself  to  my  mind !  I  vis- 
ited that  day  every  gambling-house  in 
Paris;  at  six  o'clock  I  had  scarcely 
enough  money  left  to  pay  for  the  dinner  I 
bad  ordered.  Rich  with  nine  or  ten  thou- 
sand francs,  and  a  great  many  castles  in 
the  air  in  the  morning,  in  the  evening  I 
bad  not  a  cent  nor  an  illusion.  We  gayly 
buried  at  table  my  fortune  and  my  gam- 
bling luck,  and  the  next  morning  I  awoke, 
my  heart  and  my  mind  free,  almost  glad 
to  resume  my  past  life  of  labor  and  of 
study,  and  to  end  that  care-worn  and 
agitated  life  of  a  professional  gambler.  .  . 
I  did  not.  however,  open  my  books  agun 
without  feeling  my  mind  wander.  The 
gambler  reappeared:  I  reproached  my- 
self bitterly  for  having  failed  to  play  well 
— for  having  run  after  my  lost  money.  I 
no  longer  laid  the  blame  on  fortune ;  I 
imputed  it  all  to  myself!  I  even  thought 
it  would  continue  to  protect  me.  I  found 
means,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  to 
borrow  a  thousand  6cus,  and  notwith- 
Btanding  all  my  vows,  notwithstanding 


my  evening's  experience,  I  lost  these 
thousand  6cus  in  one  single  day.  Behold 
whither  a  friendly  dinner,  and  the  sale 
of  a  skeleton  may  lead  one  !  Happily 
these  rude  adventures  restored  me  to  my 
senses,  and  I  felt  alarmed  at  the  dangers 
I  had  run.  During  these  three  months, 
of  dissipation  I  have  at  least  witnessed  all 
madness  of  gamblers ;  I  have  met  in  these 
gambling  houses,  artisans,  &thers,  young 
men,  gray-beards,  soldiers,  literary  men. 
some  physicians,  and  more  than  one  public 
functionary.  Every  house  had  its  regular 
frequenters ;  we  were  all  equal  in  the  eyes 
of  the  "  Bank,"  and  perhaps  the  ruined 
gambler,  with  disordered  clothes,  and  a 
thin  and  pained  face,  was  the  most  re- 
spected. Under  the  regime  of  1840,  M. 
Thiers,  president  of  the  cabinet,  and  who 
was  under  obligations  to  me,  offered  me 
several  places  in  the  gift  of  the  govern- 
ment ;  I  spoke  of  the  place  of  maitre  des 
requites.  "  You,  maitre  des  requites  !  " 
said  M.  Thiers,  **the  thing  is  impossible." 
The  severe  traditions  of  the  state  council 
would  not  allow  an  ex-manager  of  the  op- 
era to  be  appointed  a  maitre  des  requites^ 
and  M.  Thiers  instanced  to  me,  among 
others,  the  name  of  a  state  councillor, 
whose  learning  and  virtue  commanded 
the  greatest  reserve  and  the  greatest  re- 
spect. I  contented  myself  with  smiline; 
and  I  left  M.  Thiers  to  his  illusions.  This, 
very  virtuous  state  councillor,  whose 
name  I  shall  suppress,  had  been  like  me, 
one  of  tfie  most  assiduous  frequenters  of 
the  gambling-house  I  have  just  mentioned; 
I  even  had  had  a  difficulty  with  him  one 
day.  I  placed  twenty  francs  on  the  ronee 
— I  won ;  I  was  paid.  I  wished  to  take 
up  my  twenty  francs;  they  had  disap- 
peared. The  deal  end^.  a  player  spon 
to  me :  ^'  See  here,  Monsieur,"  said  be  to 
me,  "  here  are  the  twenty  francs  you  were 
looking  for ;  I  took  them  up  bj  mistake ! " 
This  absent-minded  player  wak  M.  Thiers's 
virtuous  state  councillor  !  ! 

Gamblers  are  cordial  and  talkative, 
with  other  players.  They  communicate 
to  each  other  their  joys,  faults,  and 
chagrins,  their  successful  or  their  aban- 
doned systems  ;  but  their  conversations 
never  quit  this  theme — gaming.  One  has 
in  gambling  houses,  a  number  of  friends 
of  whom  he  knows  neither  the  name,  nor 
the  residence,  nor  the  profession,  nor  the 
past  life,  nor  the  present  situation.  A 
gambler  never  speaks  to  another  gambler 
in  the  street.  The  servants  of  the  gam- 
bling houses  were  called  Messieurs  de  la 
chambre ;  in  all  the  gambling  hoases, 
even  at  Frascati's  and  at  the  Cercle  des 
Etrangers,  one  was  obliged  to  give  them 


The  Gambling  Souies  of  Parti. 


805 


They  gave  him  a  check  every 
aoept  at  Frascati's  and  at  the 
where  they  remembered  every 
Old  his  hat.  Some  very  distin- 
strangers  entered  the  salons  with 
ts  in  their  hands ;  but  this  tole- 
as  an  honor  rendered.  Messieurs 
aMre,  in  all  of  the  houses  served 
d  sugar  and  water  gratuitously, 
icati's.  any  sort  of  refreshment 
le  called  for;  at  the  Cercle  des 
rs,  one  dined  or  supped,  if  person- 
ited.  In  the  houses  of  the  second 
Musieurs  de  la  chambre  lent 
ipon  pledges.  At  Frascati's  and 
'eicle,  Messieurs  de  la  chambre 
honi  receipt,  very  large  sums  of 

0  known  players ;  these  pecuniary 
"ere  always  recompensed  at  the 
the  borrower.  At  No.  113,  at 
he  first  stake  could  be  so  low  as 
ts ;  at  roulette,  the  first  stakes 
i  be  under  two  francs ;  at  trente- 
tie  first  stake  could  not  be  less 
9  francs ;  at  No.  154,  there  was  a 
here  gold  only  was  played  for; 
mti's.  besides  roulette  and  trente- 
nte,  they  played  at  crcps ;  at  the 
hey  played  only  trente-et-un  and 
k  the  house  in  the  Rue  de  Mari- 
lere  was  only  one  roulette.  At 
le  games,  the  first  stakes,  or  the 
doubling  of  stakes,  could  not  ex- 
)1to  thousand  francs.  Under  the 
tte  first  stakes  were  unlimited 
■mount.  Every  gambling  house 
h/tf  de  partie,  roulette  iailleurs, 
rvai  tailleurs,  creps  tailleurs. 
dUeurs,  and,  lastly,  bouts  de  ta- 
irged  with  attending  to  the  stakes 
payments.  Each  chef  de  partie 
or  twelve  thousand  francs  salary ; 
cure  had  not  less  than  six  thou- 
mcs — some  of  them  had  seven 

1  francs ;  the  boiUs  de  tables  had 
iome  of  them  were  old  ruined 
Bi  who  every  now  and  then  would 
m  under  the  table  five  or  ten 
and  ask  you  to  play  for  them. 
these  bouts  du  tahle  was  at  the 
M  porter  at  the  Sorbonne.  All 
ihhng  houses  of  Paris  opened  at 
id  dosed  at  midnight  Frascati's 
«inained  open  a  part  of  the 
yooording  to  the  number  of  the 
and  the  importance  of  the  stakes 
at  two  deals  were  announced  in 
.  At  the  Cercle  des  Etrangers 
imbling  commenced  only  at  eight 
the  days  they  gave  dinners,  and 
dock  the  other  days.    Balls,  with 

were  occasionally  given  at  Fras- 
ad  at  Uie  Cercle.     Under  the  ^ 


Empire,  No.  9,  also  remained  open  all 
night  The  Yenuses  of  the  arcades  of  the 
Palais  Royal  had  their  entries  to  them, 
and  they  danced  there.  The  Restoration 
suppressed  the  ball  of  No.  9,  and  the  gam- 
bling ended  at  midnight.  The  passion  of 
gaming  is  one  of  the  strongest  passions  of 
the  hiynan  heart,  and  all  great  passions 
are  solitary;  except  in  the  gambling  houses 
the  gambler  likes  to  be  alone ;  alone  with 
his  visions  of  wealth  and  his  despair,  as 
the  lover  with  his  happy  or  his  betrayed 
love,  as  the  drunkard  with  his  fantastic 
dreams,  with  his  madness  and  his  degra- 
dation ;  like  the  miser  with  his  treasures, 
with  his  delights  and  his  fears. 

All  gamblers,  in  the  gambling  houses, 
pass  through  three  very  different  periods. 
The  gambler  without  experience,  playing 
with  the  confidence,  the  audacity,  and 
the  spirit  of  youth.  After  some  terrible 
lessons,  the  gambler  plays  with  the  calcu- 
lation of  mature  years ;  he  is  wedded  to 
systems,  he  takes  notes  upon  the  infinite 
caprices  of  chance,  he  studies  and  follows 
its  motions.  Some  have  confidence  in 
paroliy  others  in  the  tiers  et  le  tout ;  these 
m  the  montante  et  descendante;  those 
have  calculations  based  on  the  points  which 
have  come  out  as  being  the  signal  for  the 
points  which  are  to  come  out.  I  have  seen 
some  gamblers  consult  a  pack  of  cards  un- 
der the  table ;  and  others  make  rapid  cal- 
culations between  thcr  deals,  to  ascertain 
where  to  place  their  stakes.  At  roulette, 
their  preferences  for  numbers,  or  for  the 
colors,  are  founded  on  the  most  singular 
reasonings ;  some  never  play  others  than 
les  voisins  du  cylindre.  Last  of  all,  the 
worn-out  gambler,  ruined  and  full  of  con- 
tempt for  all  calculations,  the  gambler  who 
has  tried  every  thing,  undergone  every 
thing,  and  plays  only  with  the  distrust 
and  the  nervous  trembling  of  old  age.  I 
have  seen  some  of  them  close  their  ears, 
that  they  might  not  hear  the  decrees  of 
fate ;  their  pain  was  less  to  see  the  result 
of  the  deal  on  the  table.  The  desponding 
old  player  frequently  contents  himself 
with  observing  the  game  played  by  a  de- 
butant^ or  by  a  lucky  player;  he  even 
goes  so  far  as  to  propose  to  him  to  join 
their  stakes.  The  professional  gambler 
is  anxious  to  persuade  himself  that  the 
probabilities  of  gain  are  certainties,  and 
the  slang  of  professional  gamblers  among 
themselves,  is  founded  on  their  persever- 
ing and  unshaken  confidence.  A  gambler 
never  avows  he  loses :  *'  he  has  been  put 
aside."  A  gambler  who  has  ceased  to  lose 
says :  **  I  have  come  in  again."  A  gam- 
bler, who  has  lost  a  good  deal,  says :  ^  I 
am  engaged."    A  gambler  who  would  en- 


806 


The  Gambling  JSouses  of  Paris, 


[liarch 


gage  you  to  furuish  him  with  money  for 
a  game,  proposes  to  communicate  to  you 
his  '*  practical  studies,  and  assured  calcu- 
lations upon  liunian  probabilities."  The 
gambler  whose  game  lias  absorbed  all  the 
money  he  staked,  never  says  he  has  "lost," 
but  that  he  has  '  blown  up."  The  gam- 
bler cannot  say.  nor  can  he  bear  to  hear, 
the  wonl ''  lose :  "  he  has  a  horror  of  it. 
The  professional  gambler  pretends  he  is 
not  the  slave  of  vici^  or  of  a  passion — Ho 
calculates  and  siKJculatcs.  The  gambler 
who  has  lost  never  feels  tlie  least  envy  to 
see  another  win.  The  gambler  who  is 
winning  feels  boundless  commiseration  for 
him  who  loses.  Loss  urges  gamblers  to 
the  most  singular,  to  the  saddest,  and  to 
the  gravest  exti*emitios.  I  often  met  at 
No.  121).  a  literary  man,  with  powdered 
hair,  advanced  in  years,  and  who  in  his 
lucky  bets  would  rejoice  over  his  winnings 
in  Latin.  lie  was  a  poor  wretch,  whom 
the  least  loss  would  make  penniless. 
One  day  he  touched  me  on  the  shoulder, 
and  he  led  me  out  into  the  hall :  see  here, 
said  he.  take  this  Persius  and  this  Juve- 
nal and  give  me  forty  cents.  I  refused 
to  pay  less  than  a  dollar  for  these  two 
Latin  poets.  His  joy  was  excessive;  but 
in  a  half  hour  he  returned  to  me,  putting 
his  hand  in  his  pocket :  sec  here,  said  he, 
take  that  pair  of  black  silk  stockings,  and 
give  me  what  you  please.  I  had  consent- 
ed to  diminish  liis  library,  but  I  could  not 
agree  to  wear  his  old  clothes.  One  day, 
I  had  forty  louis  d'or  on  the  black  of 
trente-et-un :  I  left  it  thei-e  to  double. 
An  old  frequenter  of  tlie  house  came  up  to 
me.  Do  you  want  to  win  ?  said  he ;  I  have 
a  disease,  promise  me  ten  francs,  that  I 
may  purchase  a  bandage.  I  won,  and  he 
soon  lost  his  bandage  at  roulette.  I  have 
been  obliged  in  the  course  of  my  life  to 
study  and  to  console  a  great  many  sor- 
rows ;  I  have  never  teen  any  anguish  more 
poignant  than  that  of  the  player  who 
loses,  than  that  of  the  player  who  lias  lost. 
Some  unfortunate  players  bear  their  fate 
without  uttering  a  word  of  complaint.  I 
saw  an  Englishman,  sitting  next  to  mo 
(our  elbows  touched),  lose  at  trente-et-un, 
a  hundred  thousand  francs,  without  open- 
ing his  mouth,  and  without  a  gesture  of 
impatience  or  of  anger ;  reduced  to  his  last 
five  hundred  franc  bank  note,  he  took 
gold;  reduced  to  his  last  gold  piece  of 
twenty  francs,  he  took  silver ;  reduced  to 
his  last  ten  francs,  he  played  only  at 
roulette  and  with  forty-cent  pieces.  Other 
players  on  the  contrary  insult  fortune,  and 


even  the  taiUeur,  and  at  the  sight  of  the 
card  which  makes  them  lose  they  break 
the  rakes.  The  clerk,  who  loses  at  rouge- 
et-noir  another  person's  money;  the 
speculator  who  seeks  at  the  gambling  ta- 
ble to  re-establish  his  fortune,  may,  after 
ill  fortune,  commit  suicide,  but  the  pro- 
fessional gambler  lives  a  long  while.*  For- 
tune has  very  unexpected  turns  of  fa- 
vor; its  caprices  are  unlimited,  and  it 
often  takes  pleasure  in  making  the  gam- 
bler's last  ecu  the  source  of  his  largest 
winnings.  I  have  often  had  pointed  out 
to  me,  fathers  who  have  voluntarily  exiled 
themselves  from  Paris,  far  from  the  gam- 
bling-houses, that  they  might  no  longer 
play,  but  who,  every  two  or  three  months 
returned  to  Paris,  to  see  again  the  rou- 
lette and  the  trente-et-un.  They  remain- 
ed in  Paris  only  a  few  hours,  just  long 
enough  to  exhaust  the  contents  of  their 
purse ;  sometimes  fortune  retained  them 
here  by  enormous  winnings.  The  pontes 
would  instance  in  my  day,  with  pride  and 
with  joy,  a  young  countrj'man,  who, 
about  being  married  in  his  province,  camo 
up  to  Paris  with  fifteen  hundred  francs 
to  purchase  his  wedding  gifts;  and  who 
returned  home  only  at  the  end  of  a  week, 
and  who  carried  back  with  him  his  wed- 
ding gifts  and  ninety  thou.sand  francs  of 
vrinnings.  They  adduced  also  a  Strasbourg 
coffee-house  keeper,  who,  at  the  end  of  a 
month,  returned  home  with  more  than  two 
hundred  thousand  francs  of  winnings. 
The  names  of  the  fortunate  alone  were 
mentioned ;  the  list  of  the  ruined  would 
have  iKsen  too  long.  Ever}'  gambling 
house  had  its  celebrated  men:  we  often 
met  at  No.  129,  a  roulette  player  whom 
they  called  Massina;  he  playc<l  only  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  and  these  fifteen  min- 
utes he  either  lost  two  or  three  thousand 
francs,  or  he  won  twelve  or  fifteen  thou- 
sand francs.  It  is  justice  to  say  that  the 
gambler  need  fear  in  the  public  "  Hells  " 
no  irregularity,  no  surprise,  nor  error; 
the  Bank  alone  was  exposed  to  pay  twice, 
and  it  was  not  comj)letely  protected  from 
swindling.  Two  young  men  entered  Frts- 
cati's  one  evening;  one  staked  on  the 
rouge  fifty  louis  d*or  in  double  louts; 
the  other  staked  on  the  noir  the  same  sum 
in  similar  coins.  The  rouge  won,  and 
fifty  louis  were  paid  to  the  rouge;  the 
stakes  and  the  money  won  were  imme- 
diately taken  away.  A  banker  took  up 
the  stakes  lost  on  the  noir ;  but  he  soon 
perceived  that  these  double  louis  were 
merely  forty-cent  pieces  well  gilded.     The 


•  Among  the  exceptions  to  M.  Veron's  general  rule,  the  fate  of  the  anhftppy  Colton  (the  Mitlior  of  Laeon) 
will  sujrgtMit  itMflf  tu  uiir  roadc»'  luinda. 


The  Gambling  Houua  of  F^rit. 


807 


who  had  won,  had  instantly  dis- 
d;  the  other  was  arrested.  Ho 
no  loss  for  arguments :  I  did  not 
1  he,  that  I  staked  fifteen  loiiis; 
lot  given  you  counterfeit  money, 
lose  an  hundred  francs.  It  was 
iisiness  to  be  more  careful  before 
the  person  opposite  to  me.  The 
nded  here,  and  the  Bank  lost  its 
mdrcd  francs;  the  lesson  was 
t.  A  celebrated  general  invented  a 
lich  still  bears  his  name.  One  day, 
the  Empire,  he  staked,  at  the 
des  Etrangers,  at  rouge-et-noir  a 
xmleaxi^  sealed  at  both  ends,  and 
ooked  exactly  like  a  rouleau  d^or 
usand  francs ;  if  he  lost,  he  took 
)1L  and  gave  the  banker  a  thousand 
ote ;  he  won,  and  he  said  to  the 
who  in  turn  oifered  him  a  thousand 
I  be":  your  pardon,  I  staked  more 
it  He  opened  his  roll,  and  he  drew 
t,  in  the  midst  of  some  gold  pieces, 
r  twenty  notes  of  a  thousand  francs 
rho  general  was  paid ;  but  the 
rtks  not  forgotten,  and  no  one  was 
to  play  except  with  his  money 
id  with  limited  stakes.'  During 
idred  Days,  a  trick  was  played  on 
ik,  and  which  still  bears  the  name 
avcntor.  One  of  his  accomplices 
5  a  piece  of  money  to  fall  on  the 
•etended  to  hunt  for  it  on  the  floor, 
ilo  he  was  apparently  so  engaged, 
id  there  an  infernal  machine.  At 
moment,  another  accomplice  acted 
one  harl  just  done ;  and  when  he 
,  he  fired  the  powder.  In  the 
r  the  general  friglit  and  confusion, 
hors  of  this  explosion  alone  were 
hey  screamed,  "  Save  the  money ! " 
y  fan  oft*  with  all  the  gold  and  the 
a  the  table.  After  this  coup  de 
he  money  of  the  Bank  ceased  to  be 
id  on  the  table ;  it  was  inclosed  in 
boxes,  whose  ample  interstices, 
r.  sufficiently  tempted  the  gamblers' 
All  the  professional  gamblers  are 
lable  for  the  suppression  of  the  gam- 
oases  A  marriage  was  recently 
d  to  a  young  man,  and  in  my 
5,  to  a  well  born  and  elegant  young 
bo  in  his  life  of  gambling  had  many 
astonished  the  spectators  by  his 
as  game,  and  his  enormous  win- 
the  lady's  fortune,  her  friends  said 
is  two  hundred  thousand  francs, 
id  he  sadly,  such  a  marriage  would 
ible  only  iif  the  gambling  houses 
opened.  In  1849,  while  travelling 
Rhine,  I  visited  all  the  gambling 
in  Grermany ;  I  found  there  a  great 
f  the  persons  I  had  seen  here  in 


the  gambling  houses  in  1818 ;  the  same 
tailliurs,  the  same  bouts  de  tables,  the 
same  Messieurs  de  la  chambre.  and,  es- 
pecially, the  same  old  players.  The  pas- 
sion of  gambling,  like  avarice,  almost 
places  the  human  heart  beyond  the  other 
miseries  of  life;  the  gambler,  and  the 
miser,  live  on  chimeras,  their  pleasure  is 
the  only  one  which  fears  no  satiety ;  their 
unmixed  passion  is  always  lively.  Let  us 
remark,  for  the  honor  of  justice  and  mo- 
rality, the  durable  joys  of  the  avaricious 
cost  privations  and  sorrows  to  none  but 
himself.  The  very  fugitive  pleasures  of 
the  gambler  may  cost  the  honor  and  the 
ruin  of  families,  and  may  lead  by  an  in- 
sensible declivity  a  heart  bom  honest,  to 
the  profoundest  calculations  of  dishonesty 
and  of  crime.  While  I  gambled,  I  was 
often  the  neighbor  of  a  well-bred  young 
man  of  a  goodfamily  and  of  a  very  agreeable 
face.  lie  played  a  game  which  was  long 
successful,  the  montante  and  the  descen- 
diinte.  Meeting  recently  a  lady  who  had 
been  one  of  his  friends,  I  asked  her  what 
had  become  of  my  gambling  companion : 
she  turned  pale,  tears  rolled  down  her 
cheeks,  she  leaned  forward  and  whisjwred 
in  my  ear :  lie  was  hung  in  London  for 
forgery. 

Public  eambling  was  authorized  before 
1789.  The  21  Messidor  An  Vll.,  the 
Central  Office  of  the  Canton  of  Paris  pro- 
hibited gambling  on  the  ground  of  its  im- 
morality. Fouche,  under  the  Consulate, 
gave  them  without  the  form  of  a  public 
letting,  to  a  certain  Perrin,  who  was  soon 
called  Perrin  of  the  games  ;  and  especial- 
ly enjoined  him  to  open  a  Cercle  des 
Etrangers.  This  authorization  to  open 
public  gambling  houses  was  not  however 
gratuitous.  I  have  heard  Benazt^t,  who 
was  the  farmer  of  the  gambling  houses, 
during  the  Restoration,  say,  that  Perrin 
gave  to  Fouche  fifty  louis  d'or  e'<iQTy 
morning  without  taking  a  receipt.  Fouche 
also  made  Perrin  pay  occasionally  police 
drafts  on  him  for  ten  or  twenty  thousand 
francs.  The  Cercle  des  EtrangCrs,  then 
situated  in  the  old  Hotel  Aguado.  Rue 
Grange  Batelii-re,  had  three  presidents. 
These  were  the  Marquis  de  Tilly-Blaru, 
Count  Esprit  de  Castellane,  and  the 
Marquis  de  Livry ;  each  of  them  received 
fifty  thousand  francs  as  their  annual 
salary.  Nothing  was  played  there  but 
trente-et-un  and  creps.  The  stakes  were 
not  limited.  There  was  a  supper  every 
night;  fashonable  women,  Clotildes  of  the 
Opera,  were  admitted  to  these  suppers. 
Three  dinners  a  week  were  given  at  this 
club.  Prince  de  Talleyrand,  and  his 
friend  De  Montrond  played  heavily  thsr^* 


^-^ 


806 


TIu%Oamhling  Mouses  of  Paris. 


[Maicb 


The  Cercle  des  Etrangers  frequently  gave 
masked  balls ;  they  were  called  the  Bals 
Livry.  During  the  Directory  and  during 
the  Consulate,  masked  balls  were  all  the 
rage.  Baronne  Uamelin,  Madame  Tallien, 
all  the  distinguished  ladies  of  society, 
were  invited  to  these  balls.  During  the 
Consulate,  and  during  the  first  days  of 
the  Empire.  Napoleon  visited  them  for  a 
few  moments  several  times,  leaning  on 
Duroc's  arm.  both  being  masked.  The 
president  of  the  Cercic  des  Etrangers 
rarely  allowed  Perrin  to  show  himself. 
If  I  may  trust  the  unanimous  testimony 
of  all  the  contemporaries  of  the  Directory 
and  of  the  Consulate,  nothing  can  give  an 
idea  of  the  pleasures,  of  the  brilliancy, 
and  of  the  intoxication  of  this  period  of 
revival.  One  day  the  First  Consul  wish- 
ed to  suppress  the  gambling  houses,  but 
Fouch6  declared  to  Bonaparte  that  they 
were  his  best  aids,  and  the  surest  re- 
sources of  the  police ;  the  gambling  houses 
were  maintained.  A  certain  Bernard 
succeeded  Perrin,  and  after  Bernard 
came  Chalabre,  Boursault,  and  B^nazct 
We  should  not  confound  the  Chalabre  of 
the  gambling  houses  with  the  noble  family 
of  the  Marquis  de  Chalabre.  The  Cha- 
labre of  the  gambling  houses  was  the  son 
of  a  certain  Chalabre  to  whom  Louis 
XVI.  granted  the  title  of  a  colonel,  that 
he  might,  without  offending  etiquette,  deal 
pharaon  before  the  Queen.  Queen  Marie 
Antoinette  played  pharaon  nearly  every 
evening  at  the  Tuileries,  at  Versailles,  and 
especially  at  the  Trianon.  The  farming 
of  the  gambling  houses  was  publicly  let 
afterwards.  The  four  farmers  of  the 
gambling  houses  who  succeeded  each 
other  during  the  Restoration  and  the 
Monarchy  of  July,  were  MM.  Bernard, 
Chalabre.  Boursault,  and  B6nazet  Cha- 
labre was  in  every  respect  a  man  of  the 
old  regime.  I  dined  once  at  the  Cercle 
with  him ;  he  was  powdered,  and  a  man 


of  fine  manners.  Bom'sault,  whose  cu- 
rious and  splendid  house  I  visited  several 
times,  was,  on  the  contrary,  a  man  of  the 
present  time.  With  a  very  marked  face, 
violent  passionate,  always  ready  to  speak 
in  a  voice  of  thunaer,  he  must  have  made 
himself  heard,  and  perhaps  applauded,  in 
more  than  one  club,  during  the  Revolu- 
tion. He  had  acted  in  tragedy,  and  he 
had  even  composed  a  tragedy.  In  a  pri- 
vate conversation,  or  in  a  discussion  on 
business,  and  without  the  least  connec- 
tion, he  woiild  declaim  Voltaire's,  or  his 
own  poetry.  Under  the  Directoiy,  and 
during  the  Empire,  and  even  during  the 
Restoration,  Boursault  attached  himself  to 
every  enterprise  which  could  give  large 
profits.  In  his  opinion,  large  profits  en- 
nobled and  moralized  eveir  enterprise :  ho 
contracted  for  the  mud  of  Paris,  for  the 
night  soil  of  Paris,  and  for  the  gambling 
houses  of  Paris.  Boursault's  house  was 
magnificent,  and  with  an  intelligent  lux- 
ury. One  noticed  in  his  gallery  some 
good  paintings ;  but  he  especially  was  re- 
markable for  having  the  richest  green- 
houses, and  the  rarest  flowers,  at  a  time 
when  horticulture  was  a  rare  luxury,  and 
very  far  removed  from  all  the  prog;res8 
we  daily  see  produced.  It  was  in  Boor- 
sault's  green-houses  that,  during  the  lat- 
ter days  of  the  Empire,  an  interview  took 
place  between  the  Duke  de  Rovigo  and 
Chateaubriand,  by  the  activity  of  the 
Baronne  Hamelin.  This  interview  had 
no  result.  Montrond  always  had  a  cmel 
mot  for  the  fatuity  or  the  insolence  of 
the  possessors  of  newly  acquired  wealth, 
and  oi  parvenus;  he  gave  Boorsaalt  a 
nick-name  which  made  Paris  roar  with 
laughter.  This  nick-name  recalled  both 
the  origin  of  Boursault's  fortune,  his 
luxury  of  rare  flowers  of  delickms 
odors.  Montrond  called  Bonrsanlt, 
"Prince  Merdiflore."*  I  knew  the  last 
fiurmer  of  the  gambling  houses,  M.  B^ 


*  M.  de  Montrond,  %  name  which  we  believe  win  fW^qnently  appear  In  the  raoeMding  vohuMB  of  K. 
Ycrnn's  mtiinoirs  waH  a  roenibvr  of  one  of  the  nioet  ancient  and  aristttcmtlo  fkmlUea  of  Frutoa.  Biiidt  tht 
advantAges  of  birth  and  of  fortune,  he  po9se9sed  brilliant  talents,  nolished  and  engaging:  maiinara.  aad  •  ku4> 
eoinc  perM>n ;  he  seemed,  however,  to  bo  altoiccether  devoid  of  auibitlon.  Karlv  attached  br  fHemWitp  to  tiM 
celebrated  Prince  de  Talleyrand,  ho  altogether  effu^d  his  own  perronalltv,  an'd  contented  UmMdf  wlui  bate 
the  shadow  <if  that  well-known  diplomatist,  when  he  was  every  way  fitted  to  have  vAnjeA  a  brilliant  pMt  boa 
on  the  political  and  the  diplomatic  theatre.  Love  of  pleasure,  however,  abi^orbed  all  of  his  time :  tho  tabto  and 
the  sex  entrrossed  all  of  his  attention.  His  successes  with  the  latter  were  so  numerons  as  to  havo  prooarod  iir 
him  fh>m  his  contemporaries  the  nickname  of  '^the  De  Lauzun  of  the  Directory.**  Ho  died  at  an  extremo  oU 
age,  in  1&47,  at  one  of  his  family  estates,  having  survived  all  of  his  oontemporariea,  and  himself— for  tho  liit 
veara  <^  his  Ilfo  were  years  of  tho  second  childhood  when  the  dotard  is  dependent  on  his  nursea.  Sevofal  ef  Mi 
oon  mots  will  make  his  name  Ii%-e,  and  we  may  repeat  an  accredited  rumor,  that  more  than  one  of  tho  Pitn^ 
de  Talleyrand's  gooi  sayings  are  due  to  his  witty  and  MtliAil  friend.  We  mentioned  in  a  nreoedinc  ps>*  ^^ 
brutal  mannent  of  the  empire ;  the  Count  de  Montrond  was  intimate  with  the  Marquis  de  M  .  .  .  .  ;  ooo  d^ 
he  enteretl  hb  ai^artments  unceremoniously,  and  found  the  Marqnts  and  the  Baronneas  H(amoUn)  tbrowUif 
candle-sticks  ana  plates  at  each  other ;  the  gay  wit  exclaimed  when  he  saw  their  animoeitT :  I  waa  right  whooi 
I  said  yoa  were  well  matched  (cT  av<iU  lien  ration  ds  dire  que  vou*  etlez  bien  enaem&M).  Ooont  do  Mio- 
trond  was  prone  to  play  unfairly  at  canls— deemed  no  vice,  M.  Veron  assures  ua,  in  the  days  of  the  Empiro.  One 
day  he  sousht  the  Prince  de  Tal1e\Tand :  My  dear  Tallejrrand,  I  have  had  a  narrow  ooeape,  I  waa  pfaijlaf 
cards  with  a  cursed  raitcal  of  the  Ctiirassiers  {yoxL  know  they  are  all  Hercules*),  he  said  I  ohoated,  and  awuto  be 
would  throw  me  out  of  the  window;  and  I  Delieve  he  would  have  done  so,  if  hia  partnor  hod  not  ptvrmico I 
him.— Ah  I  Montrond,  Montrond,  replied  the  Prlnco,  havo  not  1  always  told  joa  novor  to  plaj  osoopi  oa  tbt 


1854.] 


7%«  Gambling  Souses  of  Paris. 


809 


naset,  very  well.  He  died  a  few  years 
ago.  He  was  an  ez-attornej  of  fiour- 
deaiuc ;  a  man  of  talents  and  of  enterprise ; 
he  was  obliging  and  generous;  he  was 
the  Mecsenas  of  several  men  of  letters. 
At  the  revolution  of  July,  M.  Benazet 
was  elected  the  coiynandant  of  one  of  the 
legions  of  the  National  Guard  of  the  en- 
Ttrons  of  Paris.  Cassimir  Perier  ap- 
pointed him  Chevalier  in  the  Legion  of 
Honor.  Harel,  ex-auditor  of  the  Council 
of  State,  a  prefect  during  the  Hundred 
Days,  an  ex-political  exile,  an  ex-man- 
ager of  the  Odeon.  and  of  the  theatre  of 
the  Porte  Saint  Martin,  and  lastly,  to- 
wards the  end  of  his  life,  a  laureate  of  the 
French  Academy,  for  an  eloge  of  Vol- 
taire ;  Harel  was  very  intimate  with 
Benazet,  and  he  received  more  than  one 
fiivor  from  the  latter.  One  night,  in  the 
foyer  of  tlie  opera,  a  circle  was  formed 
aroand  Benazet,  when  he  put  his  fingers 
in  a  gold  snuff-box ;  Harel  suddenly  in- 
terrupted the  conversation :  *•  Messieurs," 
he  exclaimed,  "  don't  B6nazet  look  rich  ?  " 
When  alone  together,  or  when  laugh- 
ing, B6nazet's  intimate  acquaintances  call- 
ed him  the  Emperor.  At  the  cheque- 
office  of  the  Theatre-Franqais.  they  in- 
variably said  to  him,  "  Mon  Prince  !  " 
The  fiurm  of  the  gambling  houses  included 
the  following  houses:  Maison  du  Cercle 
des  Etrangers,  Rue  Grange  Bateli^re,  No. 
6 ;  Maison  de  Livry,  or  Frascati's,  Rue 
Richelieu,  No.  108 ;  Maison  Dunans.  Rue 
da  Mont  Blanc.  No.  40;  Maison  kari* 
vaux.  Rue  Marivaux,  No.  13 ;  Maison 
Sapphos,  Rue  du  Temple,  No.  110;  Mai- 
son Dauphine,  Rue  Dauphino.  No.  36; 
and  in  the  Palais  Royal  No.  9,  including 
all  the  arcades  to  No.  24;  No.  129,  in- 
cluding all  the  arcades  to  No.  137 ;  No. 
113,  including  all  the  arcades  from  No. 
102  to  No.  118;  and  No.  154,  including 
all  the  arcades  from  No.  145  to  154. 
YThile  Benazet  was  the  farmer,  the  Mai- 
son Dunans,  Rue  du  Mont- Blanc,  No. 
40,  was  closed ;  all  the  others  remained 
open.  Under  the  two  last  farmers  of  the 
eambling  houses,  the  lease  contained  the 
allowing  provisions :  The  farmer  of  them 
j»id  to  &e  Treasury,  by  equal  monthly 
mstalments,  the  annual  sum  of  5,550,000 
fruics.  Upon  this  sum,  appropriated  to 
the  dty.  the  Minister  of  the  Interior,  and 
tmder  tne  Restoration,  the  Minister  of 


the  King's  household,  received  annually, 
and  by  equal  monthly  instalments,  a  sum 
of  1.660,000  francs,  as  an  appropriation 
to  tne  theatres,  to  the  Conservatoire  de 
Musique  et  de  Declamation,  and  to  the 
Institution  des  Quinze-Vingts.  The  Min- 
ister of  the  Interior  took  from  it  a  good 
deal  more  money  for  the  political  refu- 
gees, for  the  disasters  in  the  departments, 
and  for  charity  to  all  sorts  of  misfor- 
tunes. The  expenses  of  the  administra- 
tion of  the  gambling  houses  was  fixed  in 
the  lease  at  the  sum  of  2,400,000  francs. 
The  farmer  also  received  out  of  the  net 
receipts  100,000  francs  as  interest.  lie 
was,  indeed,  obliged  always  to  have 
either  upon  the  gaming-tables,  or  in  his 
safe,  1.291,000  francs.  He  was  also  obli- 
ged to  deposit  a  security  of  600,000 
francs  in  the  Caisse  des  Consignations. 
The  result  of  the  gambling  per  day,  and  , 
per  gaming  table,  was  stated  by  formal 
journals,  of  the  total  capital  at  the  bcgui- 
ning  and  at  the  end  of  the  gambling, 
which,  written  in  the  presence  of  the 
city's  comptrollers,  established  the  net 
proceeds.  The  ninth  article  of  the  lease 
stated  that  all  expenses  of  the  adminis- 
tration, all  expenses  of  interest,  and  the  an- 
nual sum  of  5,550.000  francs  appropriated 
to  the  city  being  paid,  there  should  fur- 
ther be  appropriated  to  the  city,  upon  the 
total  of  the  net  profits,  when  there  were 
profits,  one  halfj  when  the  total  annual 
net  profits  did  not  exceed  nine  millions 
of  francs,  and  three  fourths  of  the  sum 
above  these  nine  millions ;  all  the  remain- 
der belonged  to  the  farmer.  The  gam- 
bling liouses  of  Paris  were  closed  the 
31st  December,  1837,  by  a  vote  of  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies.  We  give  the  fol- 
lowing exact  table  of  the  net  profits  of 
the  farming  of  the  gambling  houses — in 
other  words,  the  sums  lost  annually  at 
them  from  1819  until  1837 : 

)  Franca.  FnwcA. 

1819 7,6«'J.688|182« T.l-SO.ISJ 

18«0 7,S(»1,752  IdiJO 6,44i8,()2» 

1821 8.724,ft04  1S81 6,(»56,100 

1829 8,66l,aw'l882 «.U<»,100 

16i8 7,408,  W4;i;«3 6,18S,479 

1824 8,222,889  1H84 «,546,819 

1826 9.008,628 '1835 6.680,8^ 

1826 7346,41111836 6.116,792 

1827 7.218.264  1687 6,841,8US 

18« 7,887,M6l  

Total 187^18.408 

«The  money  of  foreigners  formed  a  great 


lEroiiiHl  floor.  Do  yoa  know,  M.  de  Montrmd,  Mid  the  Ihichess  de  Ln^nm  to  blm,  one  ii%j^  that  M.  de  Talloj- 
nod  MTi  he  Ukce  yon  so  much  hecause  yon  have  bo  few  Di^adicea.  A\i\  Madam,  if  yon  were  iotlinate  with 
11.  de  Talleyrand,  rtm  woald  find  hira  as  charming  as  I  do:  he  has  not  a  sintcle  prejudice.  Dnrinv  tlie  last 
war  between  Knxland  and  France,  he  was  the  only  Frenchman  present  at  a  dtplom.itic  dinner  given  by  s 
German  diplomatist  in  B4rHn.  Among  the  gneata  preaeDt  was  an  Englishman.  I  d^ito^  France  and  oi 
Frenchmen  toUhaut  exeeifUon^  said  be,  gUndna:  florcely  on  M.  de  Muntn>nd.  How  different  we  are,  sail 
IL  de  Moocroiid.   I  ISlu  Bngiand  and  Uie  KagUah  very  much,  bal  I  make  excoptiuoa. 


I 


310 


The  Chimhling  Houses  of  Paris. 


[}ta^ 


part  of  this  sum.  TVe  would  remark, 
that  the  profits  of  the  farmers  of  the 
gambling  houses  were  especially  assured 
to  them,  by  the  allowance  of  2.400,000 
francs  for  their  expenses,  which  were  far 
from  beiiij:^  so  much.  The  extension  of 
the  passion  of  gambling,  under  the  Em- 
pire and  under  the  Restoration,  was  so 
great  that,  besides  the  public  gambling 
houses,  there  then  flourished  what  were  ^ 
called  Maisons  de  BouUlotte,  dangerous 
houses-of-ease  to  the  authorized  and 
police-insj^ected  gambling  houses.  These 
maisoiis  de  bouiUotte  were  founded  as 
tables  (Phole.  But  after  the  dinner,  the 
card-taliles  were  brought  out,  and  the 
gambling  commenced;  icarte  was  their 
favorite  game.  After  the  Hundred 
Days,  the  "commandants"  and  the 
*•  widows  of  colonels  or  of  generals  killed 
at  Waterloo,"  were  common  in  these  low 
resorts,  and  they  were  greatly  frequent- 
ed by  gambling  women  and  professional 
swindlers.  Every  maison  de  bouUlotte 
had  its  "commandant."  You  found  in 
them  the  venerable  "  commandant "  with 
gray  hairs,  and  the  "commandant"  with 
curled  moustaches — the  duellist  The 
venerable  "commandant"  decided  with- 
out appeal  upon  all  contested  errors — 
upon  all  doubtful  deals.  Kind  and  pater- 
nal, he  appeased,  he  conciliated,  he  recon- 
ciled quarrellers,  and  all  those  whom  loss 
of  money  made  noisy.  The  venerable 
"commandant"  took  all  sorts  of  liber- 
ties ;  he  played  on  his  word ;  he  was  the 
friend  and  the  counsellor  of  successful 
women :  he  rarely  abused,  and  only  on 
sure  occasions,  the  confidence  he  inspired ; 
new  comers  deemed  themselves  sdmost 
fortunate  to  bo  "  spunged "  on  by  him ; 
all  those  who,  when  playing  with  him, 
lost  some  gold  pieces,  he  thoiCd,  he  in- 
demnified them  in  familiarities,  he  reim- 
bursed them  in  sounding  their  praises. 
The  "  commandant "  with  curled  mous- 
taches was  the  second  in  all  duels;  ho 
often  gave  an  account  of  his  campaigns. 
Every  one  trembled  before  those  "  com- 
mandants "  especially,  who  prided  them- 
selves on  having  escaped  from  the  burn- 
ing of  Moscow,  and  from  the  ice  of  the 
Beresina.  The  **  commandant "  with 
curled  moustaches  wore  the  coat  button- 
ed up  to  the  chin.  He  spoke  short; 
every  body  thought  it  right  that  he  never 
folded  his  napkin,  that  he  never  paid  his 
dinner,  and  that  he  poured  in  his  cofiee, 
as  gloria^  a  great  many  glasses  of  brandy. 
Nobody  doubted  but  that,  during  the 
Ilundrcd  Days,  his  name  had  been  noted 
as  one  to  receive  the  cross  of  the  Legion 
of  Honor.    All  successful  lovers  took  him 


as  their  confidant,  and  opened  a  credit  for 
him,  which  ended  only  with  a  ruptured 
liaison^  and  to  be  liquidated,  and  to  be  in- 
creased to  a  larger  amount  by  a  new 
liaison.  The  "  widows  of  colonels  and  of 
generals  killed  at  Waterloo,"  were  all  of 
middle  age.  They  supplied  what  they 
had  lost  of  their  youth  and  of  their  beauty 
by  the  touching  narratives  the}-  gave  of 
their  situation.  They  took  or  they  re- 
ceived sobriquets,  such  as  La  Veute 
dela  Grande  Armie^  la  Beresitm,  A  .so- 
briquet is  often  a  source  of  celebrity  and 
of  fortune  for  a  woman  whose  character  is 
compromised.  One  of  the  most  celebrated 
maisons  de  bouiUotte  during  the  Empire 
and  the  Restoration  was  kept  by  Madame 

M  ....  S  ...  .    Madame  M 

S.  .  .  .  was  the  eldest  sister  of  a  celebrat- 
ed actress ;  she  was  every  way  a  more  beau- 
tiful woman  than  her  sister ;  during  the 
unhappy  days  of  the  one  and  indivisible 
Republic,  she  was  compromised  in  an 
affair  of  false  assignats.  but  she  was  ac- 
quitted ;  an  acquittal  she  owed  to  her 
innocence  and  not  to  her  beauty.  Madame 
M  ....  S  ...  .  kept  winter  and  sum- 
mer a  maison  de  bouillotlc,  Gavaudan 
the  actor  was  one  of  the  most  assiduous 
frequenters  of  it.  She  thou'd  (JLutoyaU) 
every  body,  and  all  thou'd  her.  As  in 
the  time  of  the  Chevalier  de  Qrammont, 
and  in  the  days  of  Desgrieux,  no  one  was 
then  dishonored  by  cheating  at  cards. 
But  she  would  not  take  advantage  of 
these  frauds  which  she  knew  very  well ; 
nay,  she  would  stop  you  on  the  very  edge 
of  the  precipice,  saying :  "  Don't  do  that ! " 
The  maisons  die  bouiUotte  and  of  baccarat 
still  flourish  in  Paris ;  roulette,  trente^t- 
un,  and  crops  are  no  longer  played ;  but 
in  all  the  restaurants,  in  all  the  clubs, 
men  stake  their  patrimony  upon  parole 
at  whist,  and  sometimes  at  baccarat  In 
the  licensed  gambling  houses,  men  lost  all 
their  stake  whenever  a  refait  of  thirty- 
one  came  up,  and  at  roulette  at  the  zero 
and  at  the  double  zero ;  this  was  a  sort 
of  tax  levied  upon  the  players ;  but  at  the 
least  no  one  could  play  on  parole.  Some 
gamblers  overwhelmed  with  debts,  retire 
from  France  to  some  foreign  land,  without 
paymg  any  one  of  theu:  debts ;  or  some 
mother,  anxious  to  pay  her  son's  debts, 
sends  for  you,  but  she  seems  to  consider 
you  responsible  for  his  foolish  extrava- 
gance, and  which  she  does  not  forgive  him. 
I  have  often  heard  it  said,  that  if  pablic 
gambling  houses  were  opened,  there  would 
be  less  to  fear  from  clandestine  bells. 
These  clandestine  bells  were  qoite  as 
numerous  during  the  (arming  of  the  pablic 
gambling  houses,  and  yet  the  dty  expend- 


1854.] 


The  JSncantadaSy  or  Enchanted  lehs. 


811 


ed  Urge  snmtf  of  money  to  detect  them. 
A  spe^  police  against  Uie  illidt  gambling 
houses  was  constantly  maintained.  To 
reOpen  one  or  several  public  gambling 
houses  would  be  to  give  a  new  gambling 


fever  to  this  country,  it  would  be  with  a 
forethought  to  train  up  a  new  generation 
of  gamblers,  to  prepare  new  sources  of 
despair  to  families,  and  to  furnish  forth 
occasions  of  new  suicides." 


THE   EXCANTADAS,    OR   ENCHANTED    ISLES. 

BT  SALVATOR  R.  TARNMOOR. 


SKETCH  FIRST. 

TUX  X8LZS   AT   LAEOX. 

— **That  mmj  not  be,  said  tb«i  the  fenyman, 
Jjeut  we  nnweetlng  h»p  to  be  fordonne ; 
For  those  name  Ukuids  seeming  now  and  than. 
Are  not  flrnie  land,  Dor  anj  certeln  wonne, 
Bat  stragling  plots  which  to  and  tro  do  ronne 
In  the  i*ide  wattrs ;  therefore  are  they  hl^ht 
The  WanderiDC  Islands ;  therefore  do  them  sbonne ; 
For  ther  have  oft  drawne  many  a  wandring  wight 
Into  mo!*t  deailly  dannger  and  distrettsed  plight ; 
For  wh«*>evcr  once  hath  fastened 
lib  foot  tluTer>n  may  never  it  socnre 
But  wandrcth  evermore  uncertein  and  nnsare.^ 
***** 
■Darke,  dolofhll,  droary,  like  a  greedy  grave, 
That  Killl  for  carrion  carca&^s  doth  crave ; 
On  top  whereof  ay  dwelt  the  ghastly  owl, 
Shrieking  liis  baler.ill  note,  which  ever  dravo 
Far  from  that  haunt  all  other  clieerful  fowl. 
And  all  about  it  wan<lring  ghosb)  did  wayle  and 
howl." 

TAKE  five-and-twenty  heaps  of  cinders 
dumped  licrc  and  there  in  an  outside 
city  lot ;  iniai^ne  some  of  them  magnified 
into  mountains,  and  tho  vacant  lot  the 
sea ;  and  you  will  have  a  fit  idea  of  the 
general  aspect  of  the  Encantadas,  or  En- 
chanted Isles.  A  f2;roup  rather  of  eictinct 
Tolcanoes  than  of  isles ;  looking  much  as 
the  world  at  large  might,  after  a  penal 
conflagration. 

It  is  to  be  doubted  whether  any  spot  of 
earth  can.  in  desolateness,  furnish  a  parallel 
to  this  group.  Abandoned  cemeteries  of 
long  ago,  old  cities  by  piecemeal  tumbling 
to  their  ruin,  these  are  melancholy  enough ; 
bat,  like  all  else  which  has  but  once  been 
associated  with  humanity  they  still  awaken 
in  OS  some  thoughts  of  sympathy,  how- 
ever sad.  Hence,  even  the  Dead  Sea, 
along  with  whatever  other  emotions  it 
may  at  times  inspire,  does  not  fail  to  touch 
in  the  pilgrim  some  of  his  less  unplcasure- 
able  feelings. 

And  as  for  solitariness ;  the  great  for- 
ests of  the  north,  the  expanses  of  unnavi- 


gated  waters,  the  Greenland  ice-fields,  are 
the  profoundest  of  solitudes  to  a  human 
observer ;  still  the  magic  of  their  change- 
able tides  and  seasons  mitigates  tlieir 
terror ;  because,  though  un visited  by  men, 
those  forests  are  visited  by  the  May  ;  the 
remotest  seas  reflect  familiar  stars  even  as 
Lake  Erie  does ;  and  in  the  clear  air  of  a 
fine  Polar  day,  the  irradiated,  azure  ice 
shows  beautifully  as  malachite. 

But  the  special  curse,  as  one  may  call 
it,  of  the  Encantadas,  that  which  exalts 
them  in  desolation  above  Idumea  and  the 
Pole,  is  that  to  them  change  never  comes ; 
neither  the  change  of  seasons  nor  of  sor- 
rows. Cut  by  the  Equator,  they  know 
not  autumn  and  they  Know  not  spring ; 
while  already  reduced  to  the  lees  of  fire, 
ruin  itself  can  work  little  more  upon  them. 
The  showers  refresh  the  deserts,  but  in 
these  isles,  rain  never  falls.  Like  split 
Syrian  gourds  left  withering  in  the  sun, 
they  are  cracked  by  an  everlasting  drought 
beneath  a  torrid  sky.  "Have  niercy 
upon  mo,"  the  wailing  spirit  of  the  En- 
cantadas seems  to  cry,  *•  and  send  Lazarus 
that  he  may  dip  the  tip  of  his  finger  in 
water  and  cool  my  tongue,  for  I  am  tor- 
mented in  this  flame." 

Another  feature  in  these  isles  is  their 
emphatic  uninhabitablcness.  It  is  deemed 
a  fit  type  of  all-forsaken  overthrow,  that 
the  jackal  should  den  in  the  wastes  of 
weedy  Babylon ;  but  the  Encantadas  re- 
fuse to  harbor  even  the  outcasts  of  the 
beasts.  Man  and  wolf  alike  disown  them. 
Little  but  reptile  hfe  is  here  found : — tor- 
toises, lizards,  immense  spiders,  snakes, 
and  that  strangest  anomaly  of  outlandish 
nature,  the  aguano.  No  voice,  no  low, 
no  howl  is  hoasd }  tho  chief  sound  of  life 
here  is  a  hiss. 

On  most  of  the  isles  where  vegetation 
is  foimd  at  all,  it  is  more  ungrateful  than 
the  blankness  of  Aracama.  Tangled 
thickets  of  wiry  bushes,  without  fruit  and 
without  a  name,  springing  up  among  deep 


812 


The  Bneantadas,  or  Enchanted  I$li8, 


[Maicb 


fissures  of  calcined  rock,  and  treacherously 
masking  them;  or  a  parched  growth  of 
distorted  cactus  trees. 

In  many  places  the  coast  is  rock-bound, 
or  more  properly,  clinker-bound ;  tumbled 
masses  of  blackish  or  greenish  stuff  like 
the  di'oss  of  an  iron-furnace,  forming  dark 
clefts  and  ca?es  hero  and  there,  into  which 
a  ceaseless  sea  pours  a  fury  of  foam ; 
overhanging  them  with  a  swirl  of  gray, 
haggard  mist,  amidst  which  sail  screaming 
flights  of  unearthly  birds  heightening  the 
dismal  din.  However  calm  the  sea  with- 
out, there  is  no  rest  for  these  swells  and 
those  rocks;  they  lash  and  aro  lashed, 
even  when  the  outer  ocean  is  most  at  peace 
with  itself.  On  the  oppressive,  clouded 
days,  such  as  are  peculiar  to  this  part  of 
the  watery  Equator,  the  dark,  vitrified 
masses,  many  of  which  raise  themselves 
among  white  whirlpools  and  breakers  in 
detached  and  perilous  places  off  the  shore, 
present  a  most  Plutonian  sight.  In  no 
world  but  a  fallen  one  could  such  lands 
exist. 

Those  parts  of  the  strand  free  from  the 
marks  of  fire,  stretch  away  in  wide  level 
beaches  of  multitudinous  dead  shells,  with 
here  and  there  decayed  bits  of  sugar-cane, 
bamboos,  and  cocoanuts,  washed  upon  this 
other  and  darker  world  from  the  charming 
palm  isles  to  the  westward  and  south- 
ward ;  all  the  way  from  Paradise  to  Tar- 
tarus ;  while  mixed  with  the  relics  of  dis- 
tant beauty  you  will  sometimes  see  frag- 
ments of  charred  wood  and  mouldering  ribs 
of  wrecks.  Neither  will  any  one  be  sur- 
prised at  meeting  these  last,  after  observ- 
ing the  conflicting  currents  which  eddy 
throughout  nearly  all  the  wide  channels 
of  the  cntiro  group.  The  capriciousness 
of  the  tides  of  air  sympathizes  with  those 
of  the  sea.  Nowhere  is  the  wind  so  light, 
baffling,  and  every  way  unreliable,  and  so 
given  to  perplexing  calms,  as  at  the  £n- 
cantadas.  Nigh  a  month  has  been  spent 
by  a  ship  going  from  one  isle  to  another, 
though  but  thirty  miles  between ;  for 
owing  to  the  force  of  the  current,  the 
boati}  employed  to  tow  barely  suffice  to 
keep  the  craft  from  sweeping  upon  the 
cliffs,  but  do  nothing  towards  accelerating 
her  voyage.  Sometimes  it  is  impossible 
for  a  vessel  from  afar  to  fetch  up  with  the 
group  itself,  unless  large  allowances  for 
prospective  lee- way  have  been  made  ero  its 
coming  in  sight  And  yet,  at  other  times, 
there  is  a  mysterious  indraft,  which  ir-. 
resistibly  draws  a  passing  vessel  among 
the  isles,  though  not  bound  to  them. 

True,  at  one  period,  as  to  some  extent 
at  the  present  day,  large  fleets  of  whale- 
men cruised  for  Spcrmaati  upon  what 


some  seamen  call  the  Enchanted  Ground. 
But  this,  as  in  due  place  will  be  described, 
was  off  the  great  outer  isle  of  Albemarle^ 
away  from  the  intricacies  of  the  smaHer 
isles,  where  thero  is  plenty  of  sea-room ; 
and  hence,  to  that  vichiity,  the  above  re- 
marks do  not  altogether  apply ;  though 
even  there  the  cunrent  runs  at  times  with 
singular  force,  shifting,  too,  with  as  singu- 
lar a  caprice.  Indeed,  there  are  seasons 
when  curronts  quite  unaccountable  prevail' 
for  a  great  distance  round  about  the  total 
group,  and  are  so  strong  and  irr^lar  as 
to  change  a  vessel's  course  against  the 
helm,  though  sailing  at  the  rate  of  four  or 
five  miles  the  hour.  The  difference  in  the 
reckonings  of  navigators  produced  by  these 
causes,  along  with  the  light  and  variable 
winds,  long  nourished  a  persuasion  that 
thcro  existed  two  distinct  clusters  of  isles 
in  the  parallel  of  the  Encantadas,  about  a 
hundred  leagues  apart  Such  was  the 
idea  of  their  earlier  visitors,  the  Bucca- 
neers ;  and  as  late  as  1750,  the  charts  df 
that  part  of  the  Pacific  accorded  with  the 
strange  delusion.  And  this  apparent 
fleetingness  and  unreality  of  the  locality 
of  the  isles  was  most  probably  one  reason 
for  the  Spaniards  calling  them  the  En- 
can  tada,  or  Enchanted  Group. 

But  not  uninfluenced  by  their  charac- 
ter, as  they  now  confessedly  exists  the 
modem  voyager  will  be  indmed  to  fancy 
that  the  bestowal  of  this  name  might  have 
in  part  originated  in  that  air  of  speU-bound 
desertness  which  so  significantly  invests 
the  isles.  Nothing  can  better  suggest  the 
aspect  of  once  living  things  malignly 
crumbled  from  ruddiness  into  ashes. 
Apples  of  Sodom,  after  touching^  seem 
these  isles. 

However  wavering  their  place  may 
seem  by  reason  of  the  currents,  they 
themselves,  at  least  to  one  upon  the  shore, 
appear  invariably  the  same:  fixed,  castj 
glued  into  the  very  body  of  cadaTerous 
death. 

Nor  would  the  appellation,  enchanted, 
seem  misapplied  in  still  another  sense. 
For  concerning  the  peculiar  reptile  inhabit- 
ant of  these  wilds — whose  presence  gives 
the  group  its  second  Spanish  name,  Galli- 
pagos — concerning  the  tortoises  found 
hero,  most  mariners  have  long  cherished 
a  superstition,  not  moro  frightful  than 
grotesque.  Tliey  earnestly  believe  that 
all  wrecked  sca-offioers,  more  especially 
commodores  and  captains,  are  at  death 
(and  in  some  cases,  beforo  death)  trans- 
formed into  tortoises ;  thenceforth  dwell- 
ing upon  these  hot  aridities,  sole  solitary 
Lords  of  Asphaltum. 

Doubtless    so    quaintly   dolorous    a 


1854.] 


ThB  SkHsantadaSf  or  JBnchanied  I$le$. 


U8 


thought  w»8  origiinJly  inspired  by  the 
woe-bq^ne  landscape  itself,  but  more 
mrticularly,  perhaps,  by  the  tortoises. 
For  apart  from  their  strictly  physical 
features,  there  is  something  strangely 
self-condemned  in  the  appearance  of  these 
creatores.  Lasting  sorrow  and  penal 
hopelessness  are  in  no  animal  form  so  sup- 
pliantly  expressed  as  in  theirs ;  while  the 
thought  of  their  wonderful  longevity  does 
not  fail  to  enhance  the  impression. 

Nor  even  at  the  risk  of  meriting  the 
charge  of  absurdly  believing  in  enchantr 
ments,  can  I  restrain  the  admission  that 
sometimes,  even  now,  when  leaving  the 
crowded  city  to  wander  out  July  and 
August  among  the  Adirondack  Mountahis, 
Ut  from  the  influences  of  towns  and  pro- 
portionally nigh  to  the  mysterious  ones  of 
aature ;  when  at  such  times  I  sit  me  down 
in  the  mossy  hc^td  of  some  deep-wooded 
gorge,  suiTOunded  by  prostrate  trunks  of 
blasted  pmes,  and  recall,  as  in  a  dream,  my 
other  and  far-distant  rovings  in  the  baked 
heart  of  the  charmed  isles ;  and  remember 
the  sudden  glimpses  of  dusky  shells,  and 
long  languid  necks  protruded  from  the 
leafless  tfiickets;  and  again  have  beheld 
the  vitreous  inland  rocks  worn  down  and 
grooved  into  deep  ruts  by  ages  and  ages 
of  the  slow  drag^ngs  of  tortoises  in  quest 
of  pools  of  scanty  water;  I  can  hardly 
resist  the  feeling  that  in  my  time  I  have 
indeed  slept  upon  evilly  enchanted  ground. 

Nay,  such  is  the  vividness  of  my  mem- 
ory, or  the  magic  of  my  fancy,  that  I 
know  not  whether  I  am  not  the  occasional 
victim  of  optical  delusion  concerning  the ' 
Oallipagos.  For  often  in  scenes  of  social 
merriment,  and  especially  at  revels  held 
by  candle-light  in  old-fashioned  mansions, 
so  that  shadows  are  thrown  into  the  fur- 
ther recesses  of  an  angular  and  spacious 
room,  making  them  put  on  a  look  of 
haunted  undergrowth  of  lonely  woods,  I 
have  drawn  the  attention  of  my  comrades 
by  my  fixed  gaze  and  sudden  change  of 
au*,  as  I  have  seemed  to  see,  sk>wly 
emerging  from  those  imagined  solitudes, 
and  heavily  crawling  along  the  floor,  the 
ghost  of  a  gigantic  tortoise,  with  "Me- 
mento •  ♦♦♦♦"  huminir  in  live  letters 
upon  his  back. 


*  bumix^  in  live  letters 


flKSTOH  SECOND. 

TWO  BIDZS  TO  ▲  TOETOISa. 

**lloit  11^7  shapes  and  horrible  sapeets, 
Bach  as  Dame  Katan  selfe  mote  feare  to  see, 
Or  sbame,  that  ev«r  sboold  so  fowls  delbots 
From  her  most  eaaning  hand  eseapod  bee ; 
M  dfcadfoll  poartraicts  of  delbrmiteei 

VOL.  III. — 21 


li«  wonder  if  these  do  a  man  appall ; 
For  all  Ihat  here  at  home  we  dresdAiIUhoId 
Be  bat  ss  bogs  to  fearen  babes  wlthsll 
Compared  to  the  creatures  in  these  isles*  eatrall 

Fesr  naught,  then  said  the  palmer,  well  aTiied« 
For  these  same  monsters  are  not  there  indeed, 
Bat  ere  into  these  fearfbl  shapes  dlagoiied. 

And  lifting  np  his  yertaons  staffe  on  high« 
Then  all  tltat  dreadAiI  armie  ihst  gan  flye 
lato  great  Zethy's  bosom, where  they  bidden  lye.^ 

In  view  of  the  description  given,  may 
<me  be  gay  upon  the  Encantadas  ?  .  Tes  *. 
that  is,  find  one  tne  gayetv,  and  he  will 
be  gay.  And  indeed,  sackcloth  and  ashes 
as  they  are,  the  isles  are  not  perhaps  un- 
mitigated gloom.  For  while  no  spectator 
can  ^eny  their  claims  to  a  most  solemn 
and  superstitious  consideration,  no  more 
than  my  firmest  resolutions  can  decline  to 
behold  the  spectre-tortoise  when  emerging 
from  its  shado?ry  recess;  yet  even  the 
tortoise,  dark  and  melancholy  as  it  is  upon 
the  back,  still  possesses  a  bright  side ;  its 
calapee  or  breastplate  being  sometimes 
of  a  faint  yeUowish  or  golden  tmge. 
Moreover,  every  one  knows  that  tortoises 
as  well  as  turtle  are  of  such  a  make,  that 
if  you  but  put  them  on  their  backs  you 
hereby  expose  their  bright  sides  witlM>at 
the  possibility  of  their  recovering  them- 
selves, and  turning  into  view  the  other. 
But  after  you  have  done  this,  and  because 
you  have  done  this,  you  should  not  swear 
that  the  tortoise  has  no  dark  side.  Enjoy 
the  bright,  keep  it  turned  up  perpetually 
if  you  can,  but  be  honest  and  don't  deny 
the  black.  Neither  should  he  who  cannot 
turn  the  tortoise  from  its  natural  position 
80  as  to  hide  the  darker  and  expose  his  . 
livelier  aspect,  like  a  great  Octob^  pump- 
km  in  the  sun,  for  that  cause  declare  the 
creature  to  be  one  total  inky  blot  The 
tortoise  is  both  black  and  bright.  But 
let  us  to  particulars. 

Some  months  before  my  first  stepping 
ashore  upon  the  group,  my  ship  was 
cruising  in  its  close  vicinity.  One  noon 
we  found  ourselves  ofi*  the  South  Head  of 
Albemarle,  and  not  very  far  from  the  land. 
Partly  by  way  of  freak,  and  partly  by 
way  of  spying  out  so  strange  a  countiy,  a 
boaf  8  crew  was  sent  ashore,  with  orderB^ 
to  see  all  they  could,  and  besides,  bring 
back  whatever  tortoises  they  could  con^ 
▼eniently  transport. 

It  was  after  sunset  when  the  adventu^- 
rers  returned.  I  looked  down  over  the 
ship's  high  side  as  if  looking  down  over^ 
the  curb  of  a  well,  and  dimly  saw  the 
damp  boat  deep  in  the  sea  with  some  un-^ 
wonted  wei^ t  Ropes  were  dropt  over,  and 
presently  three  huge  antediluvian-looking- 
tortoiseB  after  much  straining  were  landed  i 


814 


l%e  Enemiadasy  or  Enchanted  Aki. 


[Modi 


on  deck.  They  seemed  hardly  of  the 
seed  of  earth.  We  had  been  broad  upon 
the  waters  for  fire  long  months,  a  period 
amply  sufficient  to  make  all  things  of  the 
land  wear  a  fabulous  hue  to  the  dreamy 
mind.  Had  three  Spanish  custom-housiB 
officers  boarded  us  then,  it  is  not  unlikely 
that  I  should  have  curiously  stared  at  them, 
felt  of  them,  and  stroked  them  much  as 
savages  serve  civilized  guests.  But  in- 
stead of  three  custom-house  officers,  be- 
hold these  really  wondrous  tortoises— 
none  of  your  schoolboy  mud-turtles — ^but 
black  as  widower's  weeds,  heavy  as  chests 
of  plate,  with  vast  shells  medalUoned  and 
orbed  like  shields,  and  dented  and  blistered 
like  shields  that  have  breasted  a  battle, 
shaggy  too,  here  and  there,  with  dark 
green  moss,  and  slimy  with  the  spray  of 
the  sea.  These  mystic  creatures  suddenlj^ 
translated  by  night  from  unutterable  soli- 
tudes to  our  peopled  deck,  affected  me 
in  a  manner  not  easy  to  unfold.  They 
seemed  newly  crawled  forth  from  beneath 
the  foundations  of  the  world.  Tea,  they 
seemed  the  identical  •  tortoises  whereon 
the  Hindoo  plants  this  total  sphere. 
Widi  a  lantern  I  inspected  them  more 
closely.  Such  worshipful  venerableness 
of  aspect !  Such  furry  greenness  mantling 
the  itide  peeUngs  and  healing  the  fissures 
of  their  snatterod  shells.  I  no  more  saw 
three  tortoises.  They  expanded — became 
transfigured.  I  seemed  to  see  three  Ro- 
man Coliseums  in  magnificent  decay. 

Ye  oldest  inhabitants  of  this,  or  any 
other  isle,  said  I,  pray,  give  me  the  free- 
dom of  your  three-walled  towns. 

The  great  feeling  inspired  by  these 
creatures  was  that  of  age: — dateless,  in- 
definite endurance.  And  in  hct  that  any 
other  creature  can  live  and  breathe  as 
long  as  the  tortoise  of  the  Encantadas,  I 
will  not  readily  believe.  Not  to  hint  of 
their  known  capacity  of  sustaining  life, 
while  going  wiwout  food  for  an  entire 
year,  consider  that  impregnable  armor  of 
their  living  mail.  What  other  bodily 
being  possesses  such  a  citadel  wherein  to 
resist  the  assaults  of  Time  ? 

As,  lantern  in  hand,  1  scraped  among 
the  moss  and  beheld  the  ancient  soars  of 
bruises  received  in  many  a  sullen  fall 
among  the  marly  mountains  of  the  isle — 
scars  strangely  widened,  swollen,  half 
obliterate,  and  yet  distorted  like  those 
sometimes  found  in  the  bark  of  very  hoary 
trees,  I  seemed  an  antiquary  of  a  geologist, 
studying  the  bird-tracks  and  ciphers  upon 
the  exhumed  slates  trod  by  incredible 
creatures  whose  very  ghosts  are  now 
defunct 

As  I  lay  in  my  hammock  that  nighty 


overhead  I  heard  the  slow  weary  draggings 
of  the  three  ponderous  strangers  along 
the  encumbered  deck.  Their  stujudity  or 
their  resolution  was  so  great,  that  Uiey 
never  went  aside  for  any  impediment 
One  ceased  his  movements  altogether  just 
before  the  mid-watch.  At  sunrise  I  found 
him  butted  like  a  battering-ram  against 
the  immovable  foot  of  the  foremast,  and 
still  striving,  tooth  and  nail,  to  force  the 
impossible  passage.  That  these  tortoises 
are  the  victims  of  a  penalj  or  malignant, 
or  perhaps  a  downright  diabolical  endian- 
ter,  seems  in  nothing  more  likely  than  in 
that  strange  in&tuation  of  hopeless  toil 
which  so  often  possesses  them.  I  have 
known  them  in  their  joumeyiDgB  ram 
themselves  heroically  against  rodn,  and 
long  abide  there,  nudgmg,  wrigi^g, 
wedging,  in  order  to  displace  them,  and 
so  hold  on  their  infiezible  path.^  Their 
crowning  curse  is  their  drudging  impulse 
to  straightforwardness  in  a  beliUered 
world. 

Meeting  with  no  such  hinderanoe  as 
their  companion  .did,  the  other  tortmses 
merely  fell  foul  of  small  stumblm|^bk)cks ; 
buckets,  blocks,  and  coils  of  riggmg ;  and 
at  times  in  the  act  of  crawling  over  them 
would  slip  with  an  astoundmg  rattle  to 
the  deck.  listening  to  these  draggings 
and  concussions,  I  thought  me  of  the 
haunt  from  whidi  they  came ;  an  isle  full 
of  metallic  ravines  and  guldies^  sunk 
bottomlessly  into  the  hearts  of  splintered 
mountains,  and  covered  for  many  miles 
with  inextricable  tlnckets.  I  then  pic- 
tured these  three  straightforward  moi^ 
sters,  century  after  centuiy,  writhing 
through  the  shades,  grim  as  bladcsmiths; 
crawling  so  slowly  and  ponderously,  that 
not  only  did  toadstools  and  all  rangons 
things  grow  beneath  their  feet,  but  a 
sooty  moss  sprouted  upon  thdr  backs. 
With  them  I  lost  myself  in  voleanio 
mazes ;  brushed  away  endless  boughs  of 
rotting  thickets ;  till  finally  in  a  dream  I 
found  myself  sitting  crossl^ged  upon  the 
foremost,  a  Brahmin  similariy  moonted 
upon  either  side,  forming  a  tripod  of  fore- 
heads which  npneld  the  universal  oope. 

Such  was  the  wild  nightmare  negol 
by  my  first  impression  of  the  JBneanta- 
das  tortoise.  But  next  evening,  strange 
to  say,  I  sat  down  with  my  uiipmatM, 
and  made  a  merry  repast  nom  tortoise 
steaks  and  tortoise  stews;  and  supper 
over,  out  knife,  and  helped  oonvert  the 
three  mighty  concave  shells  into  three 
fanciful  soup-tureens,  and  pdished  t^ 
three  fiat  yellowish  calapees  into  three 
gorgeous  salvers. 


1854.] 


Th$  JSneantadoi,  ot  JSnchan^d  liUi. 


'S15 


8KBTCH   THIBD. 


mOCK  SODOHDO. 


M  Fw  they  this  bight  tb«  Book  nTyfle  B«prOMh, 
A  dangeroos  and  dreadltil  place, 
TV>  which  nor  fish  nor  fowl  did  onoe  approach, 
But  yelling  meawB  with  aea-gulls  hoars  and  baoe 
And  oorznoyrants  with  birds  of  ravenous  race, 
Which  still  sit  wsiting  on  that  dreadftil  dift.'' 

•  ••*•♦ 

**  With  that  the  rolling  sea  resonnding  soft 
In  his  big  vise  them  fitly  answered, 
And  on  the  Bock,  the  wayes  breaking  aloft, 
A  solemn  mesne  unto  them  measured." 

•  ••••• 
'"Then  be  the  boteman  bad  row  easily, 

And  let  him  hears  some  part  of  that  rsre  melody.** 

•  •       •       •       •       • 
**8uddeinly  an  innomemble  flight 

Of  harmeAiU  fowles  about  them  flattering  cride, 
And  with  their  wicked  wings  them  oft  did  smigfat 
And  snre  annoyed,  groping  in  that  griesly  night" 

**  Bren  all  tiie  nation  of  anfortanate 
And  fatal  birds  about  them  flocked  wera" 

To  go  up  into  a  high  stone  tower  is  not 
only  a  very  fine  thing  in  itself,  but  the 
very  best  mode  of  ^ning  a  comprehen- 
fiive  view  of  the  region  round  about  It 
is  all  the  better  if  this  tower  stand  solitary 
and  alone^  like  that  mysterious  Newport 
one.  or  else  be  sole  surviTor  of  some 
perished  castle. 

Now,  with  reference  to  the  Enchanted 
Isles,  we  are  fortunately  supplied  with 
just  such  a  noble  point  of  observation  in  a 
remarkable  rock,  from  its  peculiar  figure 
called  of  old  by  the  Spaniards,  Rock  Ro- 
dondo,  or  Round  Rock.  Some  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  feet  high,  rising  straight 
from  the  sea  ten  miles  from  land,  with  the 
whole  mountainous  group  to  the  south 
and  east,  Rock  Rodondo  occupies,  on  a 
large  scale,  very  much  the  position  which 
the  fiunous  Campanile  or  detached  Bell 
Tower  of  St  Mark  does  with  respect 
to  the  tangled  group  of  hoary  edifices 
around  it 

Ere  ascending,  however,  to  gase  abroad 

rn  the  Encantadas,  this  sea-tower  itself 
ms  attention.  It  is  visible  at  the  dis- 
tance of  thirty  miles ;  and,  fully  partici- 
pating in  that  enchantment  which  pervades 
the  groups  when  first  seen  afar  invariably 
is  mistaken  for  a  sail.  Four  leagues  away, 
of  a  golden,  hazy  noon,  it  seems  some 
Spanish  Admiral's  ship,  stacked  up  with 
mttering  canvas.  Sail  ho !  Sail  ho !  Siul 
ho!  from  all  three  masts.  But  coming 
n^gh,  the  enchanted  fi*igate  is  transformed 
apace  into  a  craggy  keep. 

My  first  visit  to  the  spot  was  made  in 
the  gray  of  the  morning.  With  a  view 
of  fishing,  we  had  lowered  three  boats, 
and  pulling  some  two  miles  firom  our  ves- 


sel, found  our&i^lves  just  before  dawn  of 
day  close  under  the  moon-«hadow  of  Ro- 
dondo. Its  aspect  was  heightened,  and 
yet  softened;  by  the  strange  double  twi- 
>  light  of  the  hour.  The  ereat  full  moon 
burnt  in  the  low  west  like  a  half-spent 
beacon,  casting*  a  soft  mellow  tinge  upon 
the  sea  like  that  cast  by  a  waning  fii-e  of 
embers  upon  a  midnight  hearth;  while 
along  the  entire  east  the  invisible  sun  sent 
pallid  intimations  of  his  coming.  The 
wind  was  light ;  the  waves  languid ;  the 
stars  twinkled  with  a  faint  enulgenoe; 
all  nature  seemed  supine  with  the  lone 
night  watch,  and  half  suspended  in  jaded 
Expectation  of  the  sun.  This  was  the 
critical  hour  to  catch  Rodondo  in  his  per- 
fect mood.  The  twilight  was  just  enough 
to  reveal  every  striking  point,  without 
tearing  away  the  dim  investiture  of  won- 
der. 

From  a  broken,  stair-like  base,  washed, 
as  the  steps  of  a  water-palace,  by  the 
waves,  the  tower  rose  in  entablatures  of 
strata  to  a  shaven  summit.  These  uni 
form  layers  which  compose  the  mass 
form  its  most  peculiar  feature.  For  at 
their  lines  of  junction  they  project  flatly 
into  encircling  shelves,  from  top  to  bottom, 
rising  one  above  another  in  graduatea 
series.  And  as  the  eaves  of  any  old  bam 
or  abbey  are  alive  with  swallows,  so  were 
all  these  rocky  ledges  with  unnumbered 
sea-fowl.  Eaves  upon  eaves,  and  nests 
upon  nests.  Here  and  there  were  long 
birdlime  streaks  of  a  ghostly  white  stain- 
ing the  tower  from  sea  to  air,  readily  ac- 
counting for  its  sail-like  look  afar.  All 
would  hxve  been  bewitchingly  quiescent, 
were  it  not  for  the  demoniac  din  created 
by  the  birds.  Not  only  were  the  eaves 
rustling  with  them,  but  they  flew  densely 
overhead,  spreading  themselves  into  a 
winged  and  continually  shifting  canopy. 
The  tower  is  the  resort  of  aquatic  birds 
for  hundreds  of  leagues  around.  To  the 
north,  to  the  east,  to  the  west,  stretches 
nothing  but  eternal  ocean;  so  that  the 
man-of-war  hawk  coming  fh)m  the  coasts 
of  North  America,  Polynesia,  or  Peru, 
makes  his  first  land  at  Rodondo.  And 
yet  though  Rodondo  be  terra-firma,  no 
land-bird  ever  lighted  on  it  Fancy  a  red- 
robbin  or  a  canary  there !  What  a  fUling 
into  the  hands  of  the  Philistines,  when 
the  poor  warbler  should  bo  surrounded 
by  such  locust-fiiphts  of  strong  bandit 
birds,  with  long  bills  cruel  as  daggers. 

I  know  not  where  one  can  better  study 
the  Natural  History  of  strange  sea-fowl 
than  at  Rodondo.  It  is  the  aviary  of 
Ocean.  Birds  light  V^re  which  never 
toudied  mast  or  tree  *  hermit-birds,  miiich 


316 


Tk$  EncantadtUy  or  Enchanted  Idett. 


piaieh 


ever  fly  alone,  cloud-birds,  familiar  with 
unpierced  zones  of  air. 

Let  us  first  glance  low  down  to  the 
lowermost  shelf  of  all,  which  is  the  widest 
too,  and  but  a  little  space  from  high-water 
mark.  What  outlandish  beings  are  these? 
Erect  as  men.  but  hardly  as  symmetrical, 
they  stand  all  round  the  rock  like  sculp- 
tured caryatides,  supporting  the  next 
range  of  eaves  above.  Their  bodies  are 
grotesquely  misshapen ;  their  bills  short ; 
their  feet  seemingly  legless;  while  the 
members  at  their  sides  are  neither  fin, 
wing,  nor  arm.  And  truly  neither  fish, 
flesl^  nor  fowl  is  the  pengum ;  as  an  edi- 
ble, pertaining  neither  to  Carnival  nor 
Lent;  without  exception  the  most  am- 
biguous and  least  lovely  creature  yet  dis- 
covered by  man.  Though  dabbling  in  all 
three  elements,  and  indeed  possessing  some 
rudimental  claims  to  all,  the  penguin  is  at 
home  in  none.  On  land  it  stumps ;  afloat 
it  sculls;  in  the  air  it  flops.  As  if  ashamed 
of  her  failure,  Nature  keeps  this  ungainly 
child  hidden  away  at  the  ends  of  the  earth, 
in  the  Straits  of  Magellan,  and  on  the 
abased  sea-story  of  Rodondo. 

But  look,  what  are  yon  wobegone  regi- 
ments drawn  up  on  the  next  shelf  above  ? 
what  rank  and  file  of  large  strange  fowl  ? 
what  sea  Friars  of  Orders  Gray  ?  Pe- 
licans. Their  elongated  bills,  and  heavy 
leathern  pouches  suspended  thereto,  give 
them  the  most  lugubrious  expression.  A 
pensive  race,  they  stand  for  hours  together 
without  motion.  Their  dull,  ashy  plumage 
imparts  an  aspect  as  if  they  had  been  pow- 
dered over  with  cinders.  A  penitential 
bird  indeed,  fitly  haunting  the  shores  of 
the  clinkered  Encantadas,  whereon  tor- 
mented Job  himself  might  have  well  sat 
down  and  scraped  himself  with  potsherds. 

Higher  up  now  we  mark  the  gony,  or 
gray  albatn^  anomalously  so  eidled,  an 
unsightly  unpoetic  bird,  unlike  its  storied 
kinsman,  which  is  the  snow-white  ghost 
of  the  haunted  Gapes  of  Hope  and  Horn. 

As  we  still  ascend  from  shelf  to  shelf, 
we  find  the  tenants  of  the  tower  serially 
disposed  in  order  of  their  magnitude : — 
gannets,  black  and  speckled  haglets,  jays, 
sea-hens,  sperm-whale-birds,  gulls  of  all 
varieties: — thrones,  princedoms,  powers, 
dominating  one  above  another  in  senatorial 
array;  while  sprinkled  over  all,  like  an 
ever-repeated  fly  in  a  great  piece  of  broid- 
ery, the  stormy  petrel  or  Mother  Gary's 
chicken  sounds  his  continual  challenge 
and  alarm.  That  this  mysterious  hum- 
ming-bird of  ocean,  which  had  it  but  bril- 
liancy of  hue  might  from  its  evanescent 
liveliness  be  almost  called  its  butterfly, 
yet  whose  chirrup  under  the  stem  is  omi- 


<  nous  to  mariners  as  to  the  peasant  the 
death-tick  sounding  from  b^iind  the  chim- 
ney jam — should  have  its  special  haunt  at 
the  Encantadas,  contributes  in  the  sea- 
man's mind,  not  a  little  to  their  dreary 
spell. 

As  day  advances  the  dissonant  din  aug- 
ments. With  ear-splitting  cries  the  wild 
birds  celebrate  their  matins.  Each  mo- 
ment, flights  push  from  the  tower,  and 
join  the  aerial  choir  hovering  overhead, 
while  their  places  below  are  supplied  by 
darting  myriads.  But  down  through  ail 
this  discord  of  commotion,  I  hear  dear 
silver  bugle-like  notes  unbrokenly  falling, 
like  oblique  lines  of  swift  slanting  rain  in 
a  cascading  shower.  I  gaze  far  up,  and 
behold  a  snow-white  angelw  thing,  with 
one  long  lance-like  feather  thrust  out  be- 
hind. It  is  the  bright  inspiriting  chanti- 
cleer of  ocean,  the  beauteous  bird,  from 
its  bestirring  whistle  of  musical  invocation, 
fitly  styled  the  "  Boatswam's  Mate." 

The  winged  life  clouding  Rodondo  on 
that  well-remembered  momine.  I  saw  had 
its  full  counterpart  in  the  finny  hosts 
which  peopled  the  waters  at  its  base.  Be- 
low the  water-line,  the  rock  seeoEied  one 
honey-comb  of  grottoes,  afibrding  laby- 
rinthine lurking  places  for  swarms  of  fairy 
fish.  All  were  strange ;  many  exoeeding- 
1 Y  beautiful ;  and  would  have  well  graced 
Uie  costliest  glass  globes  in  which  gold- 
fish are  kept  for  a  show.  Nothing  waa 
more  striking  than  the  complete  novelty 
of  many  individuals  of  this  multitude. 
Here  hues  were  seen  as  yet  unptttniedy 
and  figures  which  are  unengraved. 

To  show  the  multitude,  avidity,  and 
nameless  fearlessness  and  tamenesa  ai 
these  fish,  let  me  say,  that  often,  marking 
through  clear  spaces  of  water— tempo- 
rarily made  so  by  the  conoentric  dartinga 
of  the  fish  above  the  surface — certain  1m^ 
ger  and  less  unwary  wights,  which  swam 
slow  and  deep;  our  anglers  would  cau- 
tiously essay  to  drop  their  lines  down  to 
these  last.  But  in  vain;  there  was  no 
passing  the  uppermost  zone.  No  sooner 
did  the  hook  touch  the  sea,  than  a  hun- 
dred infatuates  contended  for  the  honor 
of  capture.  Poor  fish  of  Rodondo  1  m 
your  victimized  confidence,  you  are  of 
the  number  of  those  who  inconsiderately 
trust,  while  they  do  not  understand,  hu- 
man nature. 

But  the  dawn  is  now  fairly  day.  Band 
after  band,  the  sea-fowl  sail  away  to  for- 
age the  deep  for  their  food.  The  tower 
is  left  solitary,  save  the  fish  caves  at  its 
base.  Its  birdlime  gleams  in  the  golden 
rays  like  the  whitewash  of  a  tall  lijriit- 
house,  or  the  lolly  sails  of  a  cruiser.    This 


] 


The  Enemtadas^  or  Enchanted  hies. 


817 


nt,  doabtless,  while  we  know  it  to 
lead  desert  rock,  other  voyagers  are 
;  oaths  it  is  a  glad  populous  ship. 
;  ropes  now,  and  let  us  ascend.    Yet 
bis  is  not  so  easy. 


SEETCn  FOUBTH. 

▲  riMAH  YIXW  FROM  TBI  BOCK. 

hat  done,  h«  leads  him  to  the  h^best  mount, 
I  whenee,  hx  off  he  onto  him  did  show  '^ 

rou  seek  to  ascend  Rock  Rodondo, 
he  following  prescription.  Go  three 
68  round  the  world  as  a  main-royal- 
f  the  tallest  frigate  that  floats ;  then 
a  year  or  two  apprenticeship  to 
udes  who  conduct  strangers  up  the 
of  Teneriffe ;  and  as  many  more,  re- 
rdy,  to  a  rope-dancer,  an  Indian  Jug^ 
md  a  chamois.  This  done,  come  and 
vsrded  by  the  yiew  from  our  tower. 
ire  get  there,  we  alone  know.  If  we 
t  to  tell  others,  what  the  wiser  were 
■  Suffice  it  that  here  at  the  sum- 
ni  and  I  stand.  Does  any  balloon- 
68  the  outlooking  man  in  the  moon, 
,  broader  view  of  space  ?  Much  thus, 
Dcies,  looks  the  universe  from  Mil- 
odestial  battlements.    A  boundless 

r  Kentucky.  Here  Daniel  Boone 
have  dwelt  content, 
rer  heed  for  the  present  yonder  Burnt 
ct  of  the  Enchanted  Isles.  Look 
rays,  as  it  were,  past  them,  to  the 
You  see  nothing ;  but  permit  me 
at  out  the  directiou,  if  not  the  place, 
tain  interesting  objects  in  the  vast 
'hich  kissing  this  tower's  base,  we 
1  nnscroUing  itself  towards  the  An- 
B  Poles. 

I  stand  now  ten  miles  from  the  Equa- 
Tonder,  to  the  East  some  six  bun- 
Biles,  lies  the  continent ;  this  Rock 
jost  about  on  the  parallel  of  Quito, 
lerve  another  thing  here.  We  are 
of  three  uninhabited  clusters,  which, 
atty  nearly  uniform  distances  from 
am,  sentinel,  at  long  intervals  from 
»ther,  the  entire  coast  of  South  Ame- 

In  a  peculiar  manner,  also,  they 
late  the  Soath  American  character 
mtry.  Of  the  unnumbered  Poly- 
1  chains  to  the  westward,  not  one 
cea  of  the  qualities  of  the  Encanta- 
*  Gallipagos,  the  isles  St  Felix  and 
mbrose,  the  isles  Juan  Fernandes 
bMBafuero.  Of  the  flrst  it  needs  not 
bo  speak.    The  second  lie  a  little 

the  Southern  Tropic ;  lofty,  inhos- 
B,  and  uninhabitable  rocks,  one  of 
,  presenting  two  round  hummocks 


connected  by  a  low  ree^  exactly  resembles 
a  huge  double-headed  shot  The  last  lie 
in  the  latitude  of  33^ ;  high,  wild  and 
cloven.  Juan  Fernandes  is  sufficiently 
famous  without  further  description.  Mas- 
isafuero  is  a  Spanish  name,  expressive  of 
the  fact,  that  the  isle  so  called  lies  more 
without^  that  is,  further  off  the  main  than 
its  neighbor  Juan.  This  isle  Massafuero 
has  a  very  imposing  aspect  at  a  distance 
of  eight  or  ten  miles.  Approached  in  one 
direction,  in  cloudy  weather,  its  great  over- 
hanging height  and  rugged  contour,  and 
more  especitUly  a  peculiar  slope  of  its  broad 
summits,  give  it  much  the  air  of  a  vast 
iceberg  orifting  in  tremendous  poise.  Its 
sides  are  split  with  dark  cavernous  recesses, 
as  an  old  cathedral  with  its  gloomy  lateral 
chapels.  Drawing  nigh  one  of  these  gorges 
from  sea  after  a  long  voyage^  and  behold- 
ing some  tatterdemallion  outlaw,  staff  in 
hand,  descending  its  steep  rocks  toward 
you,  conveys  a  very  queer  emotion  to  a 
lover  of  the  picturesque. 

On  fishing  parties  from  ships,  at  vari- 
ous times,  I  have  chanced  to  visit  each  of 
these  groups.  The  impression  thejr  give 
to  the  stranger  pulline  close  up  in  his  boat 
under  their  grim  clifS  is,  that  surely  he 
must  be  their  first  discoverer,  such  for 

the  most  part  is  the  unimpaired 

silence  and  solitude.  And  here,  by  the 
way.  the  mode  in  which  these  isles  were 
really  first  lighted  upon  by  Europeans  is 
not  unworthy  mention,  especially  as  what 
is  about  to  be  said,  likewise  applies  to  the 
original  discovery  of  our  Encantadas. 

'Prior  to  the  year  1663.  the  voyages 
made  by  Spanish  ships  irom  Peru  to 
Chili,  were  full  of  difficulty.  Along  this 
coast  the  winds  from  the  South  most  gene- 
rally prevail ;  and  it  had  been  an  invariable 
custom  to  keep  close  in  with  the  land, 
from  a  superstitious  conceit  on  the  part  of 
the  Spamards,  that  were  they  to  lose 
sight  of  it,  the  eternal  trade  wind  would 
waft  them  into  unending  waters,  from 
whence  would  be  no  return.  Here,  in- 
volved among  tortuous  capes  and  head- 
lands, shoals  and  ree&.  beating  too  against 
a  continual  head  wina,  often  light,  and 
sometimes  for  days  and  weeks  sunk  into 
utter  calm,  the  provincial  vessels,  in  many 
cases,  suffered  the  extremest  hardships,  in 
passages,  which  at  the  present  day  seem  to 
have  been  incredibly  protracted.  There  is 
no  record  in  some  collections  of  nautical 
disasters,  an  account  of  one  of  these  ships, 
which  starting  on  a  voyage  whose  duration 
was  estimate  at  ten  days,  spent  four 
months  at  sea,  and  indeed  never  again  en- 
tered harbor,  for  in  the  end  she  was  cast 
away.    Singular  to  tell,  this  craft  never 


S18 


Tk$  EneantadaSj  or  EnchanM  Mts. 


[Bfarok 


eDOOuntered  a  gale,  but  was  the  vexed 
sport  of  malicioas  calms  and  currents. 
Ilurice,  out  of  provisions,  she  put  back  to 
an  intermediate  port,  and  started  afresh, 
but  only  vet  again  to  return.  Frequent 
fbgs  enveloped  her ;  so  that  no  observation 
could  be  had  of  her  place,  and  once,  when 
all  hands  were  joyously  anticipating  sight 
of  their  destination,  lo !  the  vapors  lifted 
and  disclosed  the  mountains  from  which 
they  had  taken  their  first  departure.  In 
the  like  deceptive  vapors  she  at  last  struck 
ujpon  a  reefj  whence  ensued  a  long  series 
of  calamities  too  sad  to  detail. 

It  was  the  famous  pilot,  Juan  Feman- 
des,  immortalized  by  the  island  named  af- 
ter him,  who  put  an  end  to  these  coasting 
tribulations,  by  boldly  venturing  the  ex- 
periment— as  De  Qama  did  before  him 
with  respect  to  Europe— of  standing  broad 
out  from  land.  Here  he  found  the  winds 
favorable  for  getting  to  the  south,  and  by 
running  westward  till  beyond  the  influ- 
ence of  the  trades,  he  regained  the  coast 
without  difSculty ;  making  the  passage 
which,  though  in  a  high  degree  dircuitous, 
proved  far  more  exp^itious  than  the  no- 
minally direct  one.  Now  it  was  upon 
these  new  tracks,  and  about  the  year  1670 
or  thereabouts,  that  the  Enchanted  Isles 
and  the  rest  of  the  sentinel  groups,  as 
they  may  be  called,  were  discovered. 
Though  1  know  of  no  account  as  to  whe- 
ther any  of  them  were  found  inhabited  or 
no,  it  may  be  reasonably  concluded  that 
they  have  been  immemorial  solitudes. 
But  let  us  return  to  Rodondo. 

Southwest  from  our  tower  lies  all  Poly- 
nesia, hundreds  of  leagues  away;  but 
straight  west,  on  the  precise  line  of  his 
parallel,  no  land  rises  till  your  keel  is 
beached  upon  the  Kingsmills,  a  nice  little 
sail  of  say  5,000  miles. 

Having  thus  by  such  distant  references 
— with  Rodondo  the  only  possible  ones — 
settled  our  relative  place  on  the  sea,  let  us 
consider  objects  not  quite  so  remote.  Be- 
hold the  grim  and  charred  Enchanted  Isles. 
This  nearest  crater-shaped  headland  is 
part  of  Albemarle,  the  largest  of  the  groua 
being  some  sixty  miles  or  more  long,  and 
fifteen  broad.  Did  you  ever  lay  eye  on 
the  real  genuine  Equator?  Have  you 
ever,  in  the  largest  sense,  toed  the  Line  ? 
Well,  that  identical  crater-shaped  head- 
lands there,  all  yellow  lava,  is  cut  by  the 
Equator  exactly  as  a  knife  cuts  straight 
through  the  centre  of  a  pumpkin  pie.  If 
you  could  only  see  so  far,  just  to  one  side 
of  that  same  headland,  across  yon  low 
dykey  ground,  you  would  catch  sight  of 
the  isle  of  Narborough,  the  loftiest  land 
of  the  cluster  ;    no  soil  whatever ;   one 


seamed  clinker  from  top  to  bottom; 
abounding  in  black  oaves  like  smithies; 
its  metallic  shore  ringing  under  foot  like 
plates  of  iron ;  its  central  volcanoes  stand- 
mg  grouped  like  a  gigantic  chimney-stack. 
Narborough  and  Albemarle  are  neigh- 
bours after  a  quite  curious  fashion.  A  fa- 
miliar diagram  will  illustrate  this  strange 
neighbourhood. 

Cut  a  channel  at  the  above  letter  joint, 
and  the  middle  transverse  limb  is  Narbor- 
ough, and  all  the  rest  is  Albemarle.  Vol- 
canic Narborouffh  lies  in  the  lUnbk  jaws 
of  Albemarle  like  a  wolf's  red  toi^e  in 
his  open  mouth. 

If  now  you  desire  the  populatkm  of 
Albemarle,  I  will  give  you^  m  round  num- 
bers, the  statistics,  aocordmg  to  the  most 
reliable  estimates  made  upon  the  spot : 

Men,  .   .    . 

MM-baten,  . 

LIzardfl, flOQ^OOa, 

BnakM, 
Bpidart, 

DeTila*   .    .    .    .  ^   .   .   ;   .   .   •         4a 
leaking  a  deu  total  of Ujmjm 

exclusive  of  an  incomputable  host  of 
fiends,  ant-eaters,  man-haters,  and  salir 
manders. 

Albemarle  opens  his  month  towards  the 
setting  sun.  His  distended  jaws  Ibrm  a 
great  bay,  which  Narboroogh,  his  tOQgtML 
divides  into  halves,  one  whereof  is  OMled 
Weather  Bay.  the  other  Lee  Bay ;  while 
the  volcanic  promontories  terminatiiiff  his 
coasts  are  styled  South  Head  and  North 
Head.  I  note  this,  because  these  Bays 
are  fiunous  in  the  annals  of  the  Spans 
Whale  Fishery.  The  whales  oome  here 
at  certain  seasons  to  calve.  When  ships 
first  cruised  hereabouts,  I  am  told,  tbiy 
used  to  blockade  the  entranoeof  Lee  Bi^, 
when  their  boats  going  itnmd  by  Wea- 
ther Bay,  passed  through  Narborough 
channel^  and  so  had  the  Leviathans  very 
neaUy  m  a  pen. 

The  day  aOer  we  took  fish  at  the  base 
of  this  Round  Tower,  we  had  a  fine  wind, 
and  shooting  round  the  north  headland, 
suddenly  descried  a  fleet  of  full  thirty  sail, 
all  beatmg  to  windward  like  a  squadron 
in  line.  A  brave  sight  as  ever  man  saw. 
A  most  harmonious  concord  of  rushing 
keels.  Their  thirty  kelsons  hummed  like 
thirty  harp-strings^  and  looked  as  straight 
whilt  they  left  their  parallel  traces  on  the 
sea.  But  there  proved  too  many  hunters 
for  the  game.  The  fleet  looked  up,  and 
went  their  separate  ways  oat  of  sight 


] 


I%e  Mncantadas^  or  Enchanted  Isles. 


S19 


I  my  own  ship  aad  two  trim  gen- 
of  London.  These  last,  finding  no 
ither,  likewise  vanished;  and  Lee 
rith  all  its  appurtenances,  and  with- 
■ival.  devolved  to  us. 
way  of  cruising  here  is  this.  You 
hovermg  about  the  entrance  of 
jr,  in  one  beat  and  out  the  next. 
t  times — ^not  always,  as  in  other 
f  the  group — a  race-horse  of  a  cur- 
eeeps  right  across  its  mouth.  So, 
U  sails  set,  you  carefully  ply  your 
How  often,  standing  at  the  fore- 
[lead  at  sunrise,  with  our  patient 
winted  in  between  these  isles,  did  I 
pon  that  land,  not  of  cakes  but  of 
«,  not  of  streams  of  sparkling  wa- 
it arrested  torrents  of  tormented 

he  ship  runs  in  from  the  open  Sea, 
rough  presents  its  side  in  one  dark 
mass,  soaring  up  some  five  or  six 
od  feet,  at  which  point  it  hoods  it- 
heavy  clouds,  whose  lowest  level 
as  clearly  defined  against  the  rocks, 
BDOw-line  against  the  Andes.  There 
oiischief  going  on  in  that  upper  dark, 
toil  the  demons  of  fire,  who  at  in- 
irradiate  the  nights  with  a  strange 
1  illumination  for  miles  and  miles 
,  but  unaccompanied  by  any  fur- 
imonstration ;  or  else,  suddenly  an- 
themselves  by  terrific  concussions, 
»  full  drama  of  a  volcanic  eruption, 
icker  that  cloud  by  day,  the  more 
ou  look  for  light  by  night.  Often 
len  have  found  themselves  cruising 
at  burning  mountain  when  all  aglow 
ball-room  blaze.  Or,  rather,  glass- 
you  may  call  this  same  vitreous 
Narborough,  with  its  tall  chimney- 
ire  we  still  stand,  here  on  Rodondo, 
not  see  all  the  other  isles,  but  it  is 
.  place  from  which  to  point  out- 
they  lie.  Yonder,  though,  to  the 
,  I  nuurk  a  distant  dusky  ridge.  It 
igton  Isle,  one  of  the  most  northerly 
group;  so  solitary,  remote,  and 
it  looks  like  No-Man's  Land  seen 
northern  shore.  I  doubt  whether 
man  beings  ever  touched  upon  that 
So  &r  as  yon  Abington  Isle  is  con- 
Adam  and  his  billions  of  posterity 
micreated. 

I^mg  south  of  Abington,  and  quite 
light  behind  the  long  spire  of  Albe- 


marle, lies  Jameses  Isle,  so  called  by  the 
early  Buccaneers  after  the  luckless  Stuart, 
Duke  of  York.  Observe  here,  by  the 
way,  that  excepting  the  isles  particularized 
in  comparatively  recent  times,  and  which 
mostly  received  the  names  of  famous 
Adnrirals,  the  Encantadas  were  first  chris- 
tened by  the  Spaniards ;  but  these  Spanish 
names  were  geneiully  efiaced  on  English 
charts  by  the  subsequent  christenings  of 
the  Buccaneers,  who,  in  the  middle  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  called  them  after 
English  noblemen  and  kmgs.  Of  these 
loyal  freebooters  and  the  things  which 
associate  their  name  with  the  Encantadas, 
we  shall  hear  anon.  Nay.  for  one  little 
item,  immediately ;  for  between  James's 
Isle  and  Albemarle,  lies  a  fantastic  islet 
strangely  known  as  **  Cowley's  Enchanted 
Isle."  But  as  all  the  group  is  deemed 
enchanted,  the  reason  must  be  given  for 
the  spell  within  a  spell  involved  by  this 
particular  designation.  The  name  was 
bestowed  by  that  excellent  Buccaneer 
himself;  on  his  first  visit  here.  Speaking 
in  his  published  voyages  of  this  spot  he 
says— "  Mv  fancy  led  me  to  call  it  Cowley's 
Enchanted  Isle,  for  we  having  had  a  sight 
of  it  upon  several  points  of  the  compass, 
it  appear^  always  in  so  many  different 
forms ;  sometimes  like  a  ruined  fortifica- 
tion; upon  another  point  like  a  great 
city  "  &c.  No  wonder  though,  that  among 
the  Encantadas  all  sorts  of  ocular  decep- 
tions and  mirages  should  be  met. 

That  Cowley  linked  his  name  with  this 
self-transforming  and  bemocking  isle,  sug- 
gests the  possibility  that,  it  conveyed  to 
him  some  meditative  imaee  of  himself. 
At  least,  as  is  not  impossible,  if  he  were 
any  relative  of  the  mildly  thoughtful,  and 
self-upbraiding  poet  Cowley,  who  lived 
about  his  time,  the  conceit  might  seem 
unwarranted ;  for  that  sort  of  thing  evin- 
ced in  the  naming  of  this  isle  runs  in  the 
blood,  and  may  be  seen  in  pirates  as  in 
poets. 

Still  south  of  James's  Isle  lie  Jervis  Isle, 
Duncan  Isle,  Crossman's  Isle,  Brattle  Isle, 
Wood's  Isle,  Chatham  Isle,  and  various 
lesser  isles,  for  the  most  part  an  archipelago 
of  aridities,  without  inhabitant,  history, 
or  hope  of  either  in  all  time  to  come.  But 
not  far  from  these  are  rather  notable  isles 
— Barrington,  Charles's,  Norfolk,  and 
Hood's.  Succeeding  chapters  will  reveal 
some  ground  for  their  notability. 


CTo  be  oontinaad.) 


890 


[Ifaidi 


HOW  I  live;  and  with  whom. 


I  SHALL  not  begin  by  giving  in  tedious 
detail  a  minute  and  circumstantial  ac- 
count of  my  previous  life,  of  my » birth, 
parentage,  and  eariy  childhood  and  educa- 
tion. Neither  Shall  I  attempt  a  descrip- 
tion of  my  personal  appearance,  traits  of 
character,  or  of  those  thousand  and  one 
ct  ceteras  which  constitute  a  person's  iden 
tity  and  individuality. 

My  station  in  life  is  an  humble  one, 
almost  as  lowly  and  unpretending  as  my 
name,  which  is  simply  Bags.  My  station 
is  low,  socially,  and  my  aspirations  are 
not  high. 

I  have  an  even,  cheerful  temper;  a 
make-the-best-of-every-thing  sort  of  dis- 
position, which  leads  me  to  enjoy  to  the 
utmost,  and  without  a  thought  for  the 
future,  whatever  falls  in  my  way ;  and  at 
the  same  time  prevents  my  envying  the 
superior  good  fortune  of  those  who  are 
able  to  purchase  more  pleasures,  it  is  true, 
but  no  more  enjoyment  I  think. 

I  am  bock-keeper  for  the  highly  re- 
spectable and  successful  dry-goods  firm 
of  Tarleton.  Muslin  &  Co.  Of  my  em- 
ployers it  is  necessary  to  say  very  little 
more  than  that,  like  all  other  dry-goods 
dealers,  they  invariably  sell  their  goods, 
of  which  they  have  the  largest  and  most 
complete  assortment  to  be  found  in  the 
city,  at  ^  an  immense  sacrifice ; "  "  posi- 
tively at  a  price  just  above  cost;"  and 
that  they  are  induced  to  adopt  so  ruin- 
ous a  practice  from  the  fact  that  "they  are 
every  day  expecting  fresh  supplies,  and 
are  anxious  to  make  room  on  their  shelves, 
by  getting  rid  of  the  old  stock.^ 

Of  course  we  occupy  the  whole  of  our 
immense  building,  and  we  can  boast,  as 
we  very  often  do,  that  Our  Store  has  a 
wider  width,  a  deeper  depth,  a  more  lofty 
height,  and  has  cost  more  money  than 
any  one  or  any  two  in  the  vicinity. 

And  the  members  of  the  firm,  who 
of  course  have  a  better  right  to  "brag" 
than  we  have,  make  a  larger  boast  than 
that. 

I  live,  or  rather  sleep,  and  take  my 
breakfast  and  tea,  away  up  town,  but  not 
in  a  fashionable  street  And  though  it  is 
often  a  lon^  and  dreary  walk  to  my  room, 
or  from  it,  it  is  much  oftener  pleasant  and 
full  of  interest  to  me.  I  like  so  much  to 
meet  and  observe  all  sorts  of  people.  And 
if  there  Ls  not  variety  on  Broadway,  where 
in  the  world  will  you  find  it  ? 

By  a  stroke  of  luck,  the  like  of  which 
seldom  happens  to  gentlemen,  young  or 
old,  and  less  frequently  to  ladies,  who  live 


in  lodgings,  I  have  fallen  in  with  h  board- 
ing place  which  is  all  that  a  boarding- 
house  should  be.  The  house  is  small, 
neat,  clean,  and  well  furnished.  The 
breakfasts,  at  which  I  meet  two  other 
gentlemen,  who  also  take  then*  rest  and 
the  refreshment  of  sleep  upon  the  premises, 
are  well  cooked,  substantia],  and  whole- 
some. The  one  item  of  coffee,  in  the  per- 
fection in  which  it  is  served  up  to  us,  would 
of  itself  lead  me  to  decide  m  favor  of  Mr. 
Squab's  establishment,  and  the  additiona) 
luxury  of  excellent  bread  would  alone  in- 
duce me  to  descend  into  the  kitchen  and 
declare  myself,  in  common  with  the 
cat,  the  familiar  spirit  of  the  cook  who 
makes  it 

•  Mr.  Squab  is  a  small  man.  His  wife  is 
a  small  woman.  His  family  is  a  small 
family.  It  seems  to  be  the  aim  of  the 
establishment  to  attain,  though  on  a  small 
scale,  the  highest  perfection  to  which 
boarding-house  keeping,  as  a  system,  can 
be  raised ;  and  to  ray  mind  the  efforts  of 
the  projectors  of  a  scheme  so  visionary, 
have  been  crowned  with  flattering  suo- 
oess. 

Mr.  Squab,  our  landlord,  h  a  man  among 
a  thousand.  He  is  short  and  stout  par- 
ticularly in  the  legs,  uid  his  walk  for 
that  reason  has  degenerated  into  a  waddle; 
or  rather  a  roll.  His  red^  good-hnmored 
hce,  set  between  a  mighty  pair  of  shoul- 
ders, shines  and  smiles  upon  you  as  kindly 
and  benignantly  as  the  sun  HseHl  H» 
small,  sharp,  and  deep-set  eyes  roll  about 
restlessly  and  from  side  to  side,  for  owii^ 
to  the  absence  of  his  neck  his  head  does 
not  turn  easily  upon  its  pivot  He  is  the 
very  quintessence  of  fim  and  joUity.  The 
very  soul  of  good-humor  and  kind-heart- 
edness. His  voice  has  a  richneas,  a  mel- 
lowness, and  an  oily  smoothness  whidi 
seem,  when  he  bids  you  welcome,  to  set 
before  you  the  fat  of  the  land.  He  does 
not  slake  you  placidly  by  the  hand,  say- 
ing calmly,  "  How  do  you  do  ?  "  but  meets 
you,  even  though  he  never  saw  you  before 
in  the  most  cordial  and  uproarious  manner. 
As  soon  as  you  come  in  sieht  he  shouts 
out,  "  HullOa !  How  are  ye  V^  and  laughs 
as  though  he  considered  it  an  exceltent 
joke.  Aiid  what  a  laugh  his  is !  To  hear 
it  as  it  rings  through  the  house,  almost 
stopping  the  draught  of  all  the  chinmeys 
and  taking  their  breath  away )  to  hear  it 
would  cure  any  one,  even  the  most  hypo- 
chondriacal, of  his  melancholy,  and  tnms- 
form  him  into  an  entertaining  and  agree- 
able member  of  society. 


HcfW  I  Idve^  and  with  Wham. 


821 


ftagh  seems  to  be  the  god  of 
himself  and  his  chuckle  Afomus's 
son.  Such  mighty  convulsions  so 
us  frame,  when  from  some  reason 

to  contain  himself  and  remain 
with  that  chuckle,  that  we  all  re- 
as  a  dangerous  experiment ;  and 

him  rather  to  laugh  out,  and 
»iir  feelings,  perhaps,  than  to  run 
df  suffocation,  or  of  causing  the 
some  among  the  important  organs 
temal  anatomy. 

Squab  is  also  short  An  easy, 
on-tempered,  kind-hearted  soul  as 
d.  Ready  to  greet  her  greatest 
if  she  knew  who  it  was.  with  a 
I  €i  real  love  too,  and  a  kind  ac- 
Jwmys  afraid  that  we  young  men 
nt  something  and  not  let  her  know 
1  always  wishing  that  we  may 
,  that  she  may  prove  to  us  how 
.  nurse  she  is,  and  what  excellent 
P7  messes  she  can  concoct !  She 
;  yet,  that  is  )br  a  married  woman 
)  children,  and  her  husband  is  by 

18  a  patriarch.  Mrs.  Squab  does 
^  80  loudly  as  her  husband.  And 
It  satisfied  with  a  quiet  smile,  but 
uink  that  she  takes  a  joke  as  oer- 
f  not  so  speedily  as  he  does. 
Iqoab  is  a  generous  and  liberal 
r,  and  his  wife  makes  a  careful 
(al  use  of  his  provisions,  husband- 
resources  with  great  skill,  and 
a  vigilant  watch  over  the  Irish 
who,  like  others  of  her  class,  is 
ving  to  throwing  provisions  out  of 
low,  and  fuel  up  the  chimney. 

ou  nave  probably  had  enough  of 

19  avesy  such  Black  Swans,  such 
a  of  boarding  housekeepers  as  my 
bib  Squabs  are.    And  I  can  only 

an  excuse  for  my  garrulity^  the 
nd  almost  filial  attachment!  feci 
Mir,  after  so  many  years  of  con- 
kd  familiar  intercourse  with  them. 
if  the  other  two  boarders  is  a  stu- 
law.  He  has  a  seat  and  smokes 
in  a  distinguished  lawyer's  ofSce 
town,"  and  will,  before  long,  be 
d  to  the  bar,  with  full  permission 
tise  in  all  the  courts  of  law  in 
irk.  He  is  large,  stout,  and  not 
■aoefnl  in  his  movements.  His 
rge  even  in  proportion  to  the  rest 
lody,  is  barely  covered  by  a  thin 

€i  sandy  hair,  and  contains  a 
iSBure  engine  of  thought  of  a  great 
ommon-sort-of-men  power.  His 
I  bright  and  blue,  not  bright  bltte, 
wtei  smile  lingers  in  them  afler 
round  his  mouth,  which,  though 
18  a  tender  and  beautiful  expres- 


sion. His  name  is  Docket  He  tells  a 
good  story,  and  has  an  inexhaustible  fund 
contributed  by  his  fellow  students,  and 
his  own  rich  and  creative  imagination. 
But  unfortunately  he  laughs  as  much  as 
his  hearers  at  his  own  wit,  and  long  be- 
fore he  has  told  them  the  point  of  the 
joke. 

But  Mr.  Squab  is  before  Docket,  even 
with  his  laugh,  for  such  is  his  confidence 
in  that  gentleman's  capacity  for  humor, 
that,  assured  of  something  good,  he  b^ns 
with  his  chuckle  as  soon  as  Docket  b^ns 
to  talk,  and  is  in  good  and  easy  laughing 
order  bv  the  time  the  cream  begins  to 
rise,  and  the  rest  of  us  begin  to  see  the 
fun. 

The  other  boarder's  name  is  Scribbner. 
He  is  cast  in  a  finer  mould  than  Docket, 
at  least  he  thinks  so,  for  he  is  a  "literary 
gent,"  and  has  written  poetry.  And  ho 
looks  back  with  some  pnde  upon  his  ear- 
lier productions,  of  which  he  keeps  copies 
cut  out  from  the  newspapers  m  whiph 
th^  appeared. 

He  is  rather  shy  and  retiring.  His  is 
the  awkwardness  of  bashfulness,  while 
Docket's  is  owin^  to  his  ungainly  size,  and 
to  his  former  retired  and  country  life  and 
education. 

Scribbner  is  slight,  thin,  pale,  and  deli- 
cate, and  is,  what  ladies  call,  ^  interesting 
looking."  For  this  reason  he  is  a  great 
favorite  with  them,  and  is  much  in  their 
society.  But  these  appearances  only  lead 
Mrs.  Squab  to  insist  upon  it,  that  he  is  a 
fit  subject  for  her  tender  mercies.  And  if 
he  happen  to  cough,  or  say  that  he  didn't 
sleep  well  the  night  before,  she  looks  over 
her  druffs,  and  carries  him  up  the  next 
night  a  large  bowl  of  chamomile  or  some 
other  tea. 

His  dark  thick  hair,  parted  in  the  mid- 
dle, falls  in  heavy  masses  upon  his  coat, 
and  stretches  its  graceful  length  over  his 
shoulders,  in  striking  contrast  to  the 
snowy  whiteness  of  his  collar,  which  very 
much  turned  over,  displays  the  beautiful 
proportions  of  his  slender  neck. 

He  has  a  quick  nervous  manner,  a  rest- 
less uneasy  moving-about  all  the  time. 
He  is  never  quiet  and  happy  unless  some 
part  of  him  is  in  motion,  therefore,  he 
usually  has  something  in  his  hand.  I 
have  heud  that  he  has  been  called  insane, 
though  that,  I  suppose,  was  during  a  fit 
of  poetic  madness. 

The  two  eentlemen  are  disposed  to  be 
companionable  and  friendly,  and  are  cer- 
tainly entertaining,  each  in  his  own  way. 
The  same  remark  will  hold  good  with  r&- 
^urd  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Souab,  with  whom 
it  is  absolutely  impossible  to  be  reserved 


822 


How  I  Live,  and  with   Wham, 


[MuA 


.  and  stiff.  And,  as  for  myself^  I  am  so 
free,  easy,  and  accessible,  that  no  one 
makes  a  stranger  of,  or  is  a  stranger  to 
me. 

Accordingly,  oar  breakfast  tables  are 
very  pleasant,  social,  and  very  often  not- 
ous  and  almost  convi?ial  occasions. 

Docket  "  posts  us  up  "  in  Police  and 
Criminal  Report ;  relates  all  the  stories 
which  were  told  in  "  old  attorney's  "  of- 
fice yesterday  after  dinner  as  they  smoked 
their  afternoon  ci^rs ;  lets  us  know  how 
counsel  What's-his-namc  delivered  his  ar- 
gument; how  Judge  So-and-So  summed 
up ;  and  what  a  stupid  set  of  fools  the 
Jurymen  were,  not  to  find  a  verdict. 
While  Scribbner,  hesitatingly,  and  by 
snatches,  when  Docket  isn't  talking,  in- 
forms us  upon  matters  of  fashionable 
<m-dit,  and  the  social  movements  of  the 
haul  ton.  He  enlightens  us  upon  fbreign 
politics  and  diplomacy,  upon  the  proceed- 
ings abroad,  as  contained  in  the  telegra- 
phic reports ;  and  repeats,  for  our  b^e- 
fit  and  instruction,  the  speculations  there- 
on which  are  rife  in  Wall-street,  as  well  as 
those  which  have  arisen  in  his  own  mind. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Squab  have,  perhaps,  the 
night  before  visited  'Burton's,  the  Broad- 
way, the  Hippodrome,  or  some  other  place 
of  entertainment,  to  which  Scribbner  has 
furnished  them  with  passes  as  he  is  in  the 
habit  of  doing,  and  have  taken  Master 
Tommy  with  them.  And  at  breakfast 
the  next  morning,  they  amuse  us  with 
descriptions  of  what  they  have  seen  and 
heard,  and  with  amicable  disputes,  in- 
terspersed with  many  "  but  my  dears," 
and  '*  my  loves."  as  to  which  was  Ranter 
the  great  tragedian,  and  whether  it  was 
the  Prince  who  fell  in  love  with,  and  mar- 
ried the  Peasant's  Daughter,  or  vice  versil 
the  Peasant  the  Prince's. 

And  Master  Tommy, — who  has  laid 
awake  all  night,  contriving  plans  for  the 
rescue  of  the  distressed  damsel  with  the 
beautiful  face,  who  was  so  ill  treated  by 
those  awful  ruffians,  so  stony-hearted  that 
neither  her  beauty  and  tears,  nor  Tommy's 
blubbering,  for  the  matter  of  that,  could 
soften  them  in  the  least ;  and  who,  the 
more  he  tossed  about  and  thought,  came 
no  nearer  a  feasible  conclusion,  but  only 
knew  how  wildly  he  loved  her, — Master 
Tommy,  who  has  laid  awake  all  night 
suffering  such  torments,  is  always  refeired 
to  in  these  disputes,  and  since  his  father 
is  disposed  to  indulge  him  in  his  taste  for 
the  drama,  and  his  mother  thinks  that 
theatres  are  not  the  place  for  little  boys, 
he  unhesitatingly  decides  in  favor  of  his 
male  parent,  and  is  sure  to  be  of  the  party 
the  next  time  it  goes. 


While  I,  in  my  turn,  not  to  be  behind- 
hand,— and,  I  must  confess,  that  in  my 
eagerness  not  to  be  outdone,  I  often 
draw  upon  my  imagination, — I,  Bags, 
relate  for  the  public  good,  any  thine  of 
interest  or  out  of  the  common  line  which 
may  have  happened  at  the  store. 

With  such  little  things  do  we  amuse 
ourselves,  for  the  recital  of  them  often  ex- 
cites much  noisy  laughter.  And  such 
jolly  times  do  we  have  at  those  free-and- 
ca.sy  breakfasts,  and  so  long  do  we  sit  at 
table,  that  I  am  often  forced  to  jump  up 
in  the  middle  of  one  of  Docket's  funny 
stories,  and  hunr  down  to  the  store. 

And,  as  I  said  before,  that  vndk  down 
Broadway — for  who  would  walk  in  any 
other  way  while  there  is  that? — that 
walk  down  Broadway  in  the  momiQg  bai 
a  charm  for  me,  and  confers  a  pleasure 
upon  me  which  carries  me  through  the 
day,  and  for  which  I  wouldn't  aepriw 
myself  for  a  situation  in  a  bank. 

To  be  sure  almost  every  one,  at  least 
until  I  get  pretty  well  down,  waJka  inmj 
direction.  But  they  are  usually  bnsiiMai 
men  for  whom  I  care  but  little,  and  I 
know  the  back  view  of  almost  ev^  man 
1  come  up  with.  Every  day  of  my  Ufe^ 
if  I  am  not  a  little  late,  I  pass  old  Consols 
as  he  toddles  along  with  his  heavy  ivoij- 
headed  cane  under  his  arm,  the  saine 
stoop  in  his  back,  and  on  hjsliead  the 
same  old  hat  he  had  last  year.  He  does 
not  walk  with  his  cane,  because  it  wears 
down  the  ferule.  He  always  dresses  in 
black,  and  has  a  new  suit  on  the  first  ol 
May  of  each  year,  and  from  under  his 
pantaloons,  wluch  do  not  quite  reach  the 
tops  of  his  high  cut  shoes,  there  idwmys 
straggles  down  short  white  tape,  the  espe- 
cial delight  of  little  dogs.  His  lips  are 
always  at  work,  as  though  he  were  taUdng 
to  himself^  and  as  I  pass  him  I  hear  hnn 
mutter.  "  6,  and  bring  over  the  7,  it  13^ 
and  a  o  is " 

After  I  have  passed  Consols^  if  I  walk 
fast  I  come  up  with  Per  Oentom,  the 
Broker.  But  it  is  impossible  to  get  bj 
him,  for,  with  his  coat  tightly  buttoned 
up  round  his  tall  spare  form,  his  hands 
thrust  far  down  into  his  pockets^  and  his 
white  hat,  with  the  broad  weeo,  drawn 
down  over  his  eyes,  he  strides  along  as 
though  he  were  walking  for  a  wager^  and 
takes  steps  like  a  pair  of  stilts.  He  al- 
ways has  one  eye  half  closed,  which  nves 
him  a  knowing  look,  and  has  perhapa  beoa 
acquired  by  a  constant  attendance  unon 
auctions.  When  in  the  street  he  makes 
a  blowing  noise  through  his  puckered 
lips,  as  though  he  had  once  hewd  some 
music  besides  that  of  the  dollar,  and  wocdd 


I 


Bow  I  Liv$y  and  with  Whom, 


898 


whistle  it,  if  he  oould  recollect  ^  it 
I  been  blowing,  and  has  remained 
;  pudcered  state  eyer  since  I  first 
lim,  but  not  a  note  has  he  emitted 

)  members  of  firms  with  which  our 

on  indifferent  terms,  and  wouldn^t 
of  them  a  favor  to  save  them  from 
.  How  they  scowl  when  they  meet 
ind  I  dare  say  they  predict  for  me 
ad  and  moneyless  end  just  as  Tarle- 
rfonns  the  same  thankless  office  for 
ang  men  in  their  employ. 

we  young  men  have  immensely 
rmntage  of  our  employees ;  for  while 
re  almost  at  swords'  points,  and 
t  apoken  to  each  other  pleasantly 
in,  we,  the  retainers  and  under- 
sn  of  the  several  establishments, 
the  best  of  terms,  and  discuss  the 
of  the  heads  of  the  concerns,  in 
olations  to  each  other,  with  more 
ij  and  freedom  *  of  speech  than 
lemselves  would  be  likely  to  sub- 
ta 

dinner  I  of  course  take  down  town, 
wonld  rather  eat  that  meal  than 
af  it;  and  it  is  while  so  engaged 
a  young  fellows  discuss  and  tear  to 
Ate  characters  of  our  rulers.  How 
rs  of  Gimp,  Tulle  &  Co.  must  bum 
t  time  ',  and  how  rapidly  Double 
r,  the  worsted  merchant,  would 
color  if  he  could  hear  us. 
aa  time  I  turn  my  face  homewards 

But  if  business  is  heavy  I  am  de- 
lator, and  have  to  drink  my  tea 
mless  Scribbner  comes  in  late  and 
ne  company. 

\  then,  is  my  daily  life.  It  isn't 
setting,  I  think^  nor  liable  to  in- 
a  fellow's  imagination,  and  make 
raamy  and  romantic  I  sit  on  my 
ated  stool  all  day,  balancing  ac- 
,  making  out  bills,  looking  over  in- 

reoeiving  and  making  payments, 
w  and  then  taking  a  look  out  of  my 
r-— which  doe8  not  look  into  Broad- 
to  see  what  is  going  on.  But  it  is 
than  folding  and  unfolding  and 
■ing  off  silks  and  ginghams  ;  and  I 
nr  m3r6elf  a  higher  order  of  being 
KMe  poor  salesmen,  the  only  object 
iM  existence  it  is  to  make  a  quick 
I,  and  whose  highest  ambition  it  is 
able  to  purchase  an  embroidered 
ith  gilt  buttons,  and  to  have  a  bow- 
loaintance  with  some  young  lady 
iking  and  fashionable  exterior. 
i  then:  superior  in  another  respect, 
I  the  size  of  my  salary :  tor  as  an 
lent  for  the  punctual  performance 
daties  above  enumerated,  I  receive 


the  sum  of  $900  per  annum,  payable 
quarterly,  not  in  advance,  together  with  a 
small  percentage  upon  the  profits  over  and 
above  a  certain  amount 

As  I  haven't  much  leisure  time,  the  al- 
lowance is  amply  sufficient ;  and  if  I  were 
so  inclined,  I  might  wear  velvet  vests 
and  bright  buttons  every  day  in  the  year, 
and  crow  over  my  less  fortunate  compan- 
ions ;  but  my  tastes  do  not  run  that  way. 

My  duties,  though  confining  me  within 
doors  much  of  the  time,  arc  not  heavy 
nor  irksome,  and  are  lightened,  to  some 
extent,  by  the  presence  of  my  fellow- 
laborers.  In  consequence  of  that,  and  my 
easy  and  contented  disposition,  I  am  satis- 
fied with,  and  really  enjoy,  my  position. 

Among  the  salesmen  and  clerks  who 
ornament  and  adorn  the  establishment  by 
the  beauty  and  correct  taste  displayed  in 
their  attii^B,  the  easy  and  assured  grace  of 
their  manners,  the  smoothness  and  soft- 
ness of  their  voices,  their  deferential  polite- 
ness to  ladies,  and  their  peculiar  treatment 
of  gentlemen  who  wish  to  make  a  pur- 
chase; there  is  one  individual  who  id- 
ways  attracts  my  attention,  and  whom  I 
always  look  up  to  with  a  respectful  won- 
der and  admiration,  as  one  who  has  been 
selected  by  a  higher'  power  for  the  dis- 
play of  one  of  the  most  remarkable  and 
astonishing  of  the  miraculous  and  un- 
fathomable phenomena  of  nature.  The 
^oung  man  in  question  is  a  German,  and 
IS  very  little  older  than  I.  When  he  first 
made  his  appearance  in  his  present  capa- 
city, his  hair,  beard,  and  moustache  were 
all  of  a  beautiful  blonde  color.  Now  their 
color  is  a  deep  and  most  glorious  brown, 
and,  in  the  shade,  black.  The  change  has 
been  gradual  and  imperceptible.  Can  it 
be  the  effect  of  age  ?  And  has  the  hand 
of  Time  laid  on  that  tint  ?  The  change 
must  have  been  made  at  night,  and  in  the 
dark  the  old  gentleman  with  the  forelock 
might  very  easily  mistake  his  colors. 

The  number  of  these  assistants  amounts 
to  a  dozen  or  so;  and  in  bad  weather, 
when  business  is  dull,  they  congregate  in 
groups  to  talk  over  their  last  ball — ^who 
were  their  partners — ^how  they  looked 
and  were  dressed,  and  what  they  them- 
selves had  on — and  perhaps  make  pro- 
posals for  the  loan  of  some  little  articles 
of  jewelry  for  the  next  dance. 

They  sometimes,  towards  dark  on  a 
stormy  day,  get  very  confidential  as  they 
gather  round  the  register ;  and  they  re- 
late, in  low  vokses,  for  each  other^s  benefit 
and  excitement  to  greater  stories,  some  of 
their  past  experiences — their  amours — and 
perhaps  read  fragments  of  a  note  from 
some  anonymous  fair  one  who  admires 


324 


How  I  Live,  and  with   Wham. 


[Blaidi 


them,  and  makes  an  appointment  in  some 
retired  street 

But  Sunday !  Sunday,  the  whole  holiday, 
is  the  day  to  which  they  look  back  with 
pleasure  mingled  with  the  fondest  regrets, 
and  whose  approach  they  wait  for  with 
ill-restrained  impatience  andHhe  most  en- 
thusiastic anticipations. 

And  they  tell  each  other  of  the  drive 
they  took  out  to  High  Bridge  last  Sunday, 
and  hint,  in  a  tantalizing  manner,  at  the 
beauty  and  agreeableness'of  their  compan- 
ion; or  how  they  visited  Iloboken  with 
'  Mary, — and  what  she  gave  them  for  a  love 
token. 

Or  perhaps  two  of  them  spent  the  day 
in  each  other's  company.  And  eagerly, 
and  with  many  interruptions  from  each 
other,  they  tell  of  their  drive  on  the 
Bloomingdale  Road,  and  how  their  journey 
was  marked,  not  by  the  mile-stones  they 
passed,  but  by  the  drinking  houses  they 
did  not  pass  ;  and  they  dispute  which 
drank  more  than  the  other.  And  the 
glasses  of  "  cobblers,"  ** juleps,"  "  smash- 
es," "  punches."  &c.,  are  added,  and  add- 
ed with  frightful  recklessness,  until  I  be- 
g^n  to  think  their  heads  may  be  stronger 
than  I  had  suspected  they  were,  if  they 
can  bear  so  much  stimulation.  Though  I 
will  say — and  perhaps  it  may  account  for 
the  phenomena — that  the  landlords  of  the 
houses  referred  to  have  a  tender  regard 
for  the  safety  of  their  young  patrons,  since 
they  would  like  much  to  have  them  come 
again,  and  very  considerately  make  but 
little  use  of  their  strong  liquors.  So  that 
the  beverages  above  mentioned  usually 
contain  a  large  proportion  of  sugar  and 
water,  with  a  generous  supply  of  nutmeg 
and  lemon-juice,  and  are  therefore  com- 
paratively innocent  and  innocuous. 

Mr.  Squab's  family  is  a  small  one,  I 
have  already  said,  and  consists  of  the 
small  boy.  Tommy,  who  is  perhaps  eight 
or  ten  years  old,  and  is  sharp  and  wily 
enough  for  double  that  number  of  years ; 
and  of  Tommy's  "darling  little  baby" 
sister,  who  is  just  beginning  to  walk  alone. 

But  what  shall  I  say  of  the  baby  ?  I 
shall  never  do  it  justice  in  the  world,  and 
I  will  not  attempt,  therefore,  an  account 
of  its  beauties  and  virtues.  And  how  it 
will  sleep  all  day  as  good  as  a  kitten — 
how  it  will  lisp  "  Papa,"  "  Mamma,"  and 
"  Tuder  " — how  it  toddles  about,  tumbling 
over  on  its  nose,  up  and  down  stairs,  and 
against  the  sharp  comers  of  furniture— 
and  how  it  is  the  best  of  company  for  its 
"  poor  old  mother, — the  blessed  little 
sweetin'."  I  will  not  attempt  to  describe, 
but  will  leave  all  these  to  be  imagined  by 
the  superior  experience  of  those  who  have 


babies  themselves — babies  who  do  these 
very  same  things,  but  with  an  archness^  t 
grace,  and  a  cnnningness  which  throws  all 
other  babies  into  the  shade. 
.  But,  if  I  can  say  nothing  of  the  good 
qualities  of  this  prodigy,  since  I  know  but 
few  of  them,  I  do  know  something  of  its 
bad  points,  and  will  enlarge  upon  one  of 
them,  and  that  is,  its  objection  to  being 
left  alone  and  in  the  dark  at  night 

Susy,  for  that  is  her  name — thoogfa 
she  is  oftener  called  "Sis"  or  " Totty *— 
Susy,  as  the  shades  of  the  night  and  thoM 
of  the  windows  begin  to  fall,  is  sang  to 
sleep  with  much  trouble  and  considerable 
noise ;  for  she  is  rocked  backwards  and 
forwards  in  a  chair  with  a  Ticor  which 
threatens  to  send  the  front  legs  of  it 
through  the  floor,  and  places  the  little  iimo- 
oent's  neck  in  imminent  danger  of  disloea- 
tion.    She  is  sung  to  sleep. 

And  the  performance  of  that  daty  ex- 
hausts all  the  melodies  with  whkrh  Mfb. 
Squab  or  her  Irish  servant  have  enough 
acquaintance  to  give  utterance  to,  how- 
ever imperfectly.  They  reach  the  <9id  of 
their  list  full  soon,  for  Mrs.  Sonab  is  not 
an  "  American  Songster,"  witn  its  1000 
songs,  and  Bridget  has  depended  upon 
itinerant  hand-organs  for  the  education  of 
her  ear.  At  last  Susy  sleeps,  but  not  the 
sleep  that  knows  no  wakmg. 

For  such  is  the  provoking  disposition 
of  this  unpleasant  infant,  that  when  both 
those  females  have  exhausted  their  riprr- 
toirCj  and  dare  to  b^n  again  or  sing  a 
song  a  second  time — such  is  the.  humor  of 
the  darling  Susy,  that  if  they  attempt  any 
such  infringement  of  her  right  to^  perpe- 
tual novelty,  that,  apparenUy  from  the 
deepest  slumber,  the  little  dear  wOl  sod- 
denly  arouse  herself  with  a  shout,  and  ad- 
monish her  unhappy  attendant  and  sooth 
(not  sayer)  -suiger,  that  she  has  bend 
that  strain  before,  and  will  thank  her  not 
to  repekt  it  over  and  over  agam,  lOce  a 
"demned  old  grinding  organ.**  Hani^ 
given  vent  in  expressive  pantonume  to 
this  severe  and  stinging  rebuke,  she  will 
quietly  compose  herself  to  be  sung  to 
sleep  again. 

When,  at  last  Katy  Darling,  Ok !  Su- 
sannah, &Cj  have  produced  their  somnolent 
effect  again,  the  little  cherub  is  careAillj 
carried  up  stairs  and  laid  in  its  crib ;  ura 
the  mother,  or  Bridget,  the  maid  of  all 
work,  trip  lightly  down  stairs,  breathing 
as  theygo->at  least  Mrs.  Squab  doeo— n 
prayer  of  thanks  for  their  delireranoe. 
which,  alas  I  is  interrupted  before  it  has 
reached  the  top,  or  they  the  first  fiiffht  of 
stairs,  by  the  screams  of  the  deeper 
awakened. 


How  I  Livty  and  with  WJiom. 


825 


little  peculiarity  of  disposition  is 
J  oonoealed  from  those  admirers 
f,  who,  seeing  her  in  the  day  time. 
lously  pronounce  her  a  darling  ana 
dear. 

»boer,  who  is  closely  connected  with 
tiie  most  respectable  and  widest 
«d  erening  journals  of  the  city, 
makes  his  appearance  at  tea  time, 
•JBB  that  refireshment  down  town,  or 
)  gets  home  from  the  office,  where 
sry  often  detained.  Besides,  in  his 
f,  he  is  often  obliged  to  be  out  late 
trical  or  other  entertainments,  and 
dn't  pay  for  him  to  make  the  long 
r,  up  and  back,  merely  for  tea ;  so 
Br  wait  for  him. 

r  lea  I  usually  retire  to  my  room, 
Idom  spend  the  evening  out,  unless 
ce  up  a  party  and  go  to  the  theatre. 
M  in  my  own  room  I  smoke  a  pipe 

and  read  until  I  go  to  bed.  Some- 
Docket  and  Scribbner,  if  he  is  at 
N>me  in  to  smoke  and  talk  with  me, 
it  them  in  their  room  which  they 

common. 

there,  for  their  acquaintance  is  large 
posed  to  visit  them,  there  I  often 
itertainingand  improving  company. 
tio  talk  of  something  besides  horses, 
iris,  and  themselves.    I  hear  im- 

and  interesting  subjects  discussed, 
astions  of  morals  and  law  debated 
I  who  have  studied  them.  By  law- 
liters  and  others,  all  thinkers,  gra- 
of  colleges,  and  men  liberally  edu- 

By  men  who,  young  perhaps,  are 
■DMt  and  enthusiastic  in  their  fa- 
ir chosen  pursuit. 

■  men  analyzed,  their  minds  gaug- 
r  force  computed  and  their  princi- 
inions  and  secret  motives  brought 
.  and  taken  account  of. 
nirse  I  am  not  fitted  by  education 
ion  to  take  a  part  in  these  learned 
,  but  I  listen,  sometimes  putting  in 

and  am  instructed  and  improved 
thoughts  suggested  to  me.  And 
I  future  time  I  will  astonish  my  less 
te  friends,  by  advancing  an  opinion 
playing  a  wisdom  they  can  neither 
and  nor  appreciate. 
bey  sit  with  their  cigars  or  pipes, 
t  upon  scientific,  literary  or  politi- 
jacta^  while  I  listen,  resolving  to  re- 
r  every  word  they  say,  and  for  the 
o  pay  some  attention  to  those  sub- 
yselL  And  as  the  evening  passes 
'e  have  for  refreshment  a  few  oys- 
umbler  of  ale  or  a  glass  of  Dock- 
perior  sherry ;  and  after  another 
separate,  mutually  pleased  with 
lier. 


On  a  former  one  of  these  occasions,  j 
was  introduced  by  Scribbner  to  an  ac- 
quaintance of  his,  who,  I  think,  must  have 
been  favorably  impressed  by  my  appear- 
ance and  conversation.  I  told  him,  among 
other  thines,  that  I  had  met  him  before, 
riding,  and  thought  he  sat  and  mani^cd  a 
horse  uncommonly  well. 

But  I  think  he  was  pleased  with  me. 
for  some  reason  or  other,  for  shortly  after 
Scribbner  brought  me  a  note  from  his  mo- 
ther, Mrs.  Spindle,  containing  a  request 
that  I  would  confer  upon  her  the  pleasure 
of  my  company,  to  witness  some  private 
theatricals  at  her  house.  Time  8^  punc- 
tually. 

I  receive  the  invitation  on  Tuesday, 
the  entertainment  is  advertised  for  Wed- 
nesday of  the  next  week,  and  from  that 
day  until  I  finally  make  up  my  mind,  my 
doubts  and  indecision  whether  to  go  or 
not  are  agonizing  beyond  description. 

I  have  oeen  into  very  little  company ;  I 
know  that  Scribbner  has  friends  and  moves 
in  a  sphere  much  above  me ;  that  he  has 
effected  an  entrance  into  veiy  good  if  not 
the  very  best  society ;  and  I  doubt  the  pro- 
priety, and  fear  the  result,  of  my  being 
lifted  so  suddenly  out  of  and  above  my 
proper  and  accustomed  station,  especially, 
when  I  remember  the  splendor  and  mag- 
nificence of  Mr.  Augustus  Spindle's  at- 
tire, and  the  beauty  and  probable  cost  of 
the  animal  he  so  gracefully  bestrode  that 
day  when  first  we  met 

But  Scribbner  assures  me  that  the  fami- 
ly is  "nothing,"  merely  well  off;  and 
Docket  kindly  offers  to  take  me  undev 
his  protection,  though  friendship  prompts 
him  to  say,  with  how  much  truth  the  re- 
sult will  show,  that  I  need  no  supervision, 
and  can  deport  myself  as  well  as  any  one. 
These  remarks,  part  of  them  so  flattering, 
soothe  me,  and  I  resolve  to  go. 

"  Sink  or  swim,  live  or  die,  survive  or 
perish,"  I  resolve  to  go. 

The  eventful  Wednesday  at  last  arrives, 
I  leave  the  store  early,  meaning  to  dress 
before  tea,  and  am  laughed  at  by  my  two 
friends  for  my  pains.  *'You  needn't  be 
afraid  of  being  late,"  Docket  says,  "  they 
won't  think  of  beginning  before  Scribbner 
makes  his  appearance." 

At  the  tea  table  I  alarm  Mrs.  Squab  by 
refusing  to  eat  or  drink,  and  as  soon  as  the 
others  have  satisfied  their  appetites,  I  Tvuah 
up  to  my  room  to  adorn  myself. 

I  array  myself  in  a  suit  of  plain  black 
^^wUhoiU  any  ornaments ^^^  and.  am  r^v 
almost  before  Scribbner  has  finished  his 
paper,  and  he  won't  dress  until  he  has 
done  so;  When  he  and  Docket  have  com- 
pleted their  toilettes.  I  go  into  their  room 


S26 


How  I  Livej  and  with  IF%om. 


[Ifncfc 


to  be  passed  in  reyiew  and  commented 
upon.  Scribbner  ties  my  crayat  in  a  most 
magnificent  bow,  wants  mh  to  tarn  down 
my  collar,  says  that  my  boots  will  never 
do  in  the  world,  and  forces  me  into  a  pair 
of  his  varnished  shoes  which  pinch  my  feet 
infernally,  but  Docket^s  are  as  much  too 
long;  and  Docket,  who  is  more  useful 
than  ornamental,  takes  a  tuck  in  my  shirt- 
sleeves. At  last  they  both  pronounce  me 
ready,  and  we  start 

On  the  way  Soibbner  coolly  propo&es 
a  smoke,  and  he  and  Docket  follow  the 
suggestion.  But  I  am  nervous  enough  al- 
ready without  resorting  to  any  stimulants, 
and  decline,  thinking,  that  smce  I  am  go- 
ing among  strangers  I  can^t  be  too  care- 
ful in  what  state  I  make  my  first  appear- 
ance. We  reach  the  house.  The  door 
flics  open  as  we  reach  the  top  of  the  steps. 
We  are  met  by  a  "  cullered  pusson,"  wno 
says  "two  pair  stairs  if  you  please,"  and 
is  possessed  of  an  case  of  manner  and 
polish  of  address  and  deportment,  which 
puts  me  to  the  blush,  and  excites  my  deep- 
est adiniration  and  envy. 

We  mount  the  stairs  and  enter  the  gen- 
tlemen's room.  And  here  I  discover  that 
I  have  no  white  kids.  Alas !  what  shall 
I  do  ?  Docket  comes  to  my  rescue,  saying 
that  he  won't  put  his  on,  and  that  I  may 
have  one  of  them  to  hold  in  my  hand. 

I  know  none  of  the  gentlemen,  of  whom 
there  are  a  few  in  the  room,  and  I  only 
try  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  one. 
This  gentleman  is  vainly  endeavoring  to 
catch  a  view  of  the  back  of  his  head,  in 
the  only  glass  unoccupied,  for  the  puriwse 
of  finding  out  whether  his  **  back  part " 
is  in  the  middle  and  strikes  an  exact  per- 
pendicular with  the  collar  of  his  coat  I 
am  sure  he  can  never  effect  his  object  with 
only  one  glass,  and  after  witnessing  for 
some  time  his  fearful  contortions,  politely 
offer  my  assistance. 

Does  he  decline  my  offer  with  civil,  or 
accept  it  with  grateful  acknowledgments? 
He  does  neither  the  one  nor  the  other. 
With  his  handkerchief  thrown  over  his 
shoulders,  and  an  enormous  hair-brush  in 
each  hand,  he  seems  petrified.  After  star- 
ing at  me  steadily  for  a  few  minutes,  he 
coolly  turns  on  his  heel^  and  for  the  next 
ten  minutes  belabors  with  great  vigor  and 
his  two  brushes,  for  he  brought  them  in  a 
small  valise  which  contains,  among  numer- 
ous other  articles  of  the  toilette,  his  beauti- 
fol  head  of  hair.  At  last  we  '*are  ready, 
and  descend  to  the  regions  below.  Arm 
in  arm  we  advance,  to  go  through  with 
the  ordeal  I  have  been  dreading  so  long. 
Hardly  any  one  has  come  in  yet  We  all 
three  incline  onraelTes  before  Mr.,  Mrs., 


and  Miss  Spindle — ^Augustus  is  dreaaiiig 
for  his  part — who  in  tl^  torn  bow  their 
awful  heads.  Why  should  sneh  a  Cet- 
berus  stand  before  the  gates,  not  of  HeD, 
but  of  that  Paradise  of  beauty  and  |dea- 
sure  I  am  about  to  enter  ?  Neither  Dock- 
et nor  Scribbner  mention  my  tdmple  name, 
each  thinking,  as  they  afterwards  confess. 
that  the  ceremony  of  introdnetion  would 
be  performed  wit^  more  grace  by  the 
other.  And  if  we  had  been  near  enongh, 
we  might  have  heard  Mrs.  Spmdle  wmi- 
per  to  her  husband,  "  My  dear,  who  ii 
that  with  Scribbner  and  Dodcet?  I  don^ 
recollect  his  fhoe.  How  did  he  happen  to 
be  invited?  You  must  know  him."  "ttnr 
should  I  know  who  you  ask  to  yoiir  par- 
ties. Mrs.  S  ?  "  Mr.  Spindle  petolaiitij  re- 
sponds. "  Not  because  I  am  consulted,  at 
any  rate.  You  or  Mary  must  know  mm, 
he  spoke  to  you."  And  Mrs.  Spindle  tma 
to  persuade  Mary,  who  is  so  near-aig^ted 
that  she  can't  see  her  own  mistakee,  nor 
the  stars  which  usually  follow  a  blow  on 
the  head,  that  I  am  a  friend  of  hen,  and 
that  she  ought  to  be  aoconntable.ftr  my 
behavior. 

The  company  gradually  come  in.  In- 
quiring and  critical  glances  are  cast  to- 
wards me,  and  I  fbel  that  I  have  acqoired 
an  enviable  notoriety  as  the  unknown  to 
any  one.  For,  after  my  reboff  np  stan^ 
I  do  not  try  to  make  aoqaintanoes. 

The  play,  "The  Party  Wall,"  begins. 
The  rising  of  the  curtain  is  very  fine.  It 
goes  up  pretty  much  as  curtains  do  at  real 
theatres,  and  being  r^arded  as  a 
ful  experiment,  raises  a  storm  of  applai 
Unfortunately^  though  it  only 
the  applause,  it  catches  when  Uttto  more 
than  half  way  up.  and  cannot  be  indooed 
to  move  on.  And  there  we  see  tlie  kigs 
of  Mr.  Augustus,  who  is  "first  on,"  and 
has  a  soliloquy  which  he  is  rapidly  fOrgetr 
ting.  At  last  the  machinery  is  pot  mto 
running  order  once  more,  the  cnrtahoi  it 
lowered,  and  then  rises  slowly  aoid  graofr- 
fully  to  its  full  height,  and  the  performers 
begin  to  entertain  us.  Unfortunatdy  thej 
have  forgotten  one  thing,  sometimes  con- 
sidered St  the  first  importance,  viz..  their 
parts.  The  omission  may  have  been  in- 
tentional, and  designed  to  make  the  decep- 
tion more  deceptive,  that  it  may  be  a  ques- 
tion with  us  when  we  reach  home  whether 
we  have  not,  after  all,  been  to  a  real  the- 
atre. 

With  this  exception,  and  the  additional 
fact  that,  as  a  general  thing,  the  performers 
might  just  as  well  be  repeating  some  of 
Mre.  Barbauld's  pretty  hymns,  so  entMy 
innocent  are  they  of  any  thing  like  dra- 
matic action  or  expression,  all  goes  on 


1854.] 


Bow  I  IAv€^  and  with  Wkonk 


889 


smoothly*  Thunnaj  be  o?nng  in  part  to 
the  ftathor  of  the  pUi^,  for  sucE  a  mess  of 
▼a{»d  and  ridiculous  nothings  has  he  put  in- 
to the  months  of  his  characters,  that  it  isn't 
strange  thej  hesitate  to  pronounce  them 
with  any  Tigor,  and  avoid  as  much  as  pos- 
sible throwing  themselves  into  their  parts.' 

The  author  attempts  to  conceal  or  make 
up  for  his  weakness  and  want  of  dramatic 
skill,  by  the  introduction  of  a  sufBcient 
quanti^  of  oaths  of  the  strongest  kind, 
and  of  Uie  deepest  dye.  To  the  male  per- 
formers these  seem  like  green  spots  in  the 
desert  Here  they  identify  themselves 
with  the  conceptions  of  the  author,  and 
with  a  high  sounding  voice  roll  them  out 
with  a  p^oliar  reliw. 

These  few  drawbacks  there  are  to  the 
perfect  and  unalloybd  enjoyment,  which 
woold  otherwise  be  complete,  of  those  few 
tiiTice  blessed  individuals,  wno  have  been 
provided  with  tickets,  standing  or  other- 
wise (my  feet  ache  as  I  think  of  it),  to  this 
doliehtral  entertainment 

With  these  few  exceptions  and  the  mis- 
haps caused  by  the  stupidity  of  young 
Distaff  Augustus's  cousin,  all  goes  merry 
as  a  pnmipter's  bell.  For  this  young  gen- 
tleman in  the  confusion  caused  by  his  no- 
vel situation,  instead  of  exiting  L.  U.  £. 
thronrii  the  door,  kindly  and  at  some  ex- 
pense I  suppose,  provided  for  his  egress, 
makes  a  short  ciit^  and  plunges  mildly 
through  a  paper  side  scene,  just  about 
where  the  chimney  is  supposed  to  be. 

Miss  Kitty  Spindly  niece  of  our  hostess, 
and  cousin  of  Mary,  is  the  only  one,  with 
the  exception  of  Augustus,  who  attempts 
any  vocal  or  fecial  expression  of  those 
emotions  which  agitate  her  bosom  and  are 
too  strong  for  concealment  She  seems 
to  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  her 
part  prescribes  archness,  and  so  she  does 
It  And  this  archness  she  assumes  in  in- 
credible quantities  m  the  after-piece  of  Per- 
fection, in  which  she  takes  the  part  of  the 
servant 

It  is  very  well  done,  too,  this  archness, 
except  in  that  particular  wherein  she 
seems  most  to  pride  herself,  viz.,  in  the 
expression  of  her  countenance,  which  she 
illumines  by  a  perpetual  smirk  and  grin ; 
which,  however  fascinating  in  themselves, 
become  really  painful  when  persisted  in 
for  the  whole  of  a  long  evening. 

At  last  the  plays  are  over.  The  per- 
formers in  all  the  glory  of  stage  properties, 
cork  moustachios,  felse  hair  and  jewels, 
winder  among  the  audience,  and  receive 
the  oonsratulations  of  their  friends  and 
the  thaiuu  of  the  company  for  the  pleasure 
they  have  afforded.  And  then  we  go  down 
to  supper. 


I  have  recovered  in  a  dense  from  the 
efiect  produced  by  the  Dovelty  of  my  sit- 
uation. I  have  observed,  with  some  sur- 
prise, that  the  people  about  me  are  mudi 
like  those  I  have  been  used  to  meet,  and 
I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
Spindles  and  their  friends  are  but  com- 
mon people,  after  all.  Accordingly,  and 
in  consequence  of  these  cheering  reflec- 
tions, I  take  courage,  since  people  no  long- 
er look  at  me  as  they  did,  and  escort 
back  to  the  room  overhead  the  lady 
whom  Scribbner  introduced  me  to,  and 
whom  I  took  down  to  supper  and  pro- 
vided with  refreshments.  Shall  I  ever 
forget  the  Herculean  kbors  I  performed 
in  her  behalf?  A  slight,  delicate-looking 
girl  she  was  too.  You  would  almost  think 
that  the  near  approach  of  a  plate  of  ice 
would  convert  her  into  hoar-frost  Yet 
she  withstood  the  advance  of  pyramid 
after  pyramid,  and  cast  lingering  glances 
towaitls  the  table  as  I  forced  her  away. 

After  performing  this  little  duty  of  po- 
liteness I  returned  to  the  supper-room,  as 
is  the  custom  with  those  who  do  not  dance, 
for  the  purpose  of  satisfying  my  own  hun- 
ger, and  to  drink  a  glass  of  wine  with  Mr. 
Augustus  and  my  friends  Scribbner  and 
Docket,  whom"  I  find  just  beginning  upon 
a  fresh  bottle  of  Heidack. 

The  scalloped  oysters,  the  chicken  salad, 
and  the  champagne  go  round,  and  so  do 
many  pleasant  and  wicked  stories.  And 
we  hear  two  jolly  red-nosed,  white-headed, 
old-gentlemimly  reprobat^  using  lan- 
guage I  know  I-ou^t  not  to  listen  to,  so  I 
devote  myself  to  young  Spindle. 

Augustus  enlightens  me  as  to  the  names 
and  true  rank  of  the  company  assembled, 
and  almost  petrifies  me  and  brings  back 
all  my  feelings  of  one,  by  repeating  names 
which  I  know  stand  almost  at  the  head 
of  the  social  and  fashionable  list  And  I 
go  up  stairs  again  ^^  a  sadder  and  a  wiser 
man,"  overwhelmed  with  a  sense  of  my 
own  insignificance,  and  a  feeling  of  wonder 
that  people  so  great,  so  rich,  and  so  noble, 
should  so  unbend,  and  descend  from  the 
high  and  haughty  position  which  they  oc- 
cqpy  through  wealth,  good-breeding,  and 
descent.  And,  although  overcome  by  a 
sense  of  my  situation,  I  consider  myself 
fortunate  in  having  been  present  at  so  in- 
teresting a  spectacle,  and  in  having  seen 
the  nobility  of  the  city,  at  play  as  it  were. 
And  I  wonder  that  these  haughty  aristo- 
crats shou]4  condescend  so  far  as  to  wink 
at,  or  regard  with  only  an  astoni^ied  stare, 
my  person  ainone  them,  and  should  al- 
low me  to  move  about  and  eat  ices  in  their 
august  presence. 

I  am  glad  f  did  not  know  what  maimer 


828 


A  Winter-JSpenififf  Hymn  to  my  Fire. 


yVjKKtk 


of  persons  they  were  sooner,  fbr  I  should 
not  have  enjoyed  the  plays  at  all.  As  it 
is,  when  I  go  up  stairs  again  my  eyes  are 
dazzled  by  their  brilliancy.  The  little 
girl  whom  I  took  down  to  supper  has  ac- 
quired a  new  and  fearful  attraction  for  me. 
Her  mouth  seems .  to  drop  pearls,  and  I 

seem  to  be  the but  I  won't  pursue  the 

comparison  any  further.  My  brain  fairly 
whirls  with  the  sight  and  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  my  enviable  position.  If 
Tape,  our  head  clerk,  could  only  see  me, 
I  would  die  willingly  of  that  charlotte 
russe  I  ate  for  supper. 

Luckily  for  me,  Scribbner  and  Docket 
take  me  away  before  I  have  committed 
any  indiscretion.  So  intoxicated  am  I  by 
the  glimpse  I  have  had  of  society  so  high, 
mighty  and  exclusive,  and  so  excited  by 
the  information  and  list  of  names  so  in- 
discreetly furnished  by  Mr.  A.  Spindle, 
that  I  am  obliged  on  the  way  home  to  re- 
sort to  the  soothfng  influence  of  an  ex- 
cellent agar.  I  arrive  at  the  house  in 
very  good  condition,  and  without  any  very 
violent  outbreak  on  the  road.  I  dream 
all  night  of  kings  and  queens,  and  titled 
dames  and  lords  of  high  degree,  and  wake 
up  in  the  morning  unrefreshed,  and  dis- 
satisfied with  my  own  lot  in  life,  which 
obliges  me  to  visit  Tarleton,  Muslin  & 
Oo.'s,  not  to  make  a  purchase,  but  to  stay 
there. 

I  fear  that  some  of  these  '^  nobs,"  as 
Docket  calls  them,  may  see  me  in  the  store 
and  prosecute  me,  or  have  me  incarcerated 
in  some  gloomy  dungeon,  for  having,  by 
some  underhand  means,  obtained  admis- 
sion to  and  enjoyed, — though  I  think  I 


should  plead  "  not  guilty"  to  that  charge, 
their  select  acquaintance,  to  say  nothing  of 
^  the  cake  and  wine. 

These  reflections  embitter  my  existence, 
and  cast  a  gloomy  veil  over  my  hitherto 
cheerful  countenance.  And  I  rapidly  re- 
view, and  feel  remorse  and  regret  for  my 
conduct  of  the  night  before. 

That  I,  a  simple,  unpretending  worker 
for  my  daily  bread,  Bagges, — ^you  see  I 
have  added  a  g  and  an  e  to  my  name — 
that  I,  Bagges,  should  shove  a  Knicker- 
bocker one  side  in  order  to  pass  to  the  ice 
cream !  That  I  should  stumble  over  the 
toes  of  a  Rip  Van  Winkle,  and  plant  my 
foot  upon  her  aristocratic  and  family 
corns ! !  That  I  should  spill  champagne 
down  and  over  the  back  breadths  of  Mrs. 
Winslow  Plantagenet^  brocade  !! ! — Mrs. 
W.  Plantagenet,  Mrs.  Spindle's  fnend  from 
Boston,  who,  I  believe,  came  over  in  the 
Mayflower  herself,  and  ovnied  all  the  old- 
fashioned  furniture  with  which  that  capa- 
cious craft  was  so  abundantly  suppUed--- 
that  I  should  spill  champagne  over  this 
great  lady's  new  silk ;  a  silk  she  bought 
at  Tarleton's  only  the  week  before,  and 
which  cost  her,  even  ypon  Tarleton's  lib- 
eral terms,  more  than  my  whole  year's 
salary  \  That  I,  Bagges,  should  do  these, 
and  a  dozen  other  awKward  and  disgrace- 
ful things !  I  am  conscious  I  shouldn't. 
And  what  is  more,  never  will  I  expose 
myself  again  to  the  chance  of  so  violating 
the  rules  of  society  and  propriety ;  and 
never  will  I.  even  upon  Docket's  solicita- 
tions, venture  among  bis  married  and  Fifth 
Avenue  acquaintance. 


A   WINTER-EVENING   HYMN   TO   MY  FIRE 


BEAUTY  on  my  hearthstone  blazing ! 
To-night  the  triple  Zoroaster 
Shall  my  prophet  be  and  master : 
To-night  will  I  pure  Magian  be. 
Hymns  to  thy  sole  honor  raising, 
While  thqp  leapest  fast  and  faster 
Wild  with  selfAielighted  glee, 
Or  sink'st  low  and  glowest  faintly 
As  an  aureole  still  and  saintly. 
Keeping  cadence  to  my  praising 
Thee !  still  thee !  and  only  thee  I 


1854.]  A  WmUr-Eveninff  Hymn  to  my  Fin,  320 

n. 
Elfish  daughter  of  Apollo ! 
Thee,  from  thy  father  stolen  and  bound 
To  serve  in  Vulcan's  clangorous  smithy, 
Prometheus  (primal  Yankee)  found, 
And,  wlien  he  had  tampered  with  thee, 
(Too  confiding  little  maid  !) 
In  a  reed's  precarious  hollow 
To  our  frozen  earth  conveyed : 
For  he  swore  I  know  not  what, — 
Endless  ease  to  be  thy  lot, 
Pleasure  that  should  never  falter. 
Lifelong  play,  and  not  a  duty 
Save  to  hover  o'er  the  altar, 
Vision  of  celestial  beauty, 
Fed  with  precious  woods  and  spices, — 
Then,  perfidious !  having  got 
Thee  in  the  net  of  his  devices, 
Sold  thee  into  endless  slavery. 
Made  thee  a  dnidge  to  boil  Uie  pot, 
Thee,  the  Sun's  daughter,  who  dost  bear 
His  likeness  in  thy  golden  hair ; 
Thee,  b}'  nature  wild  and*wavery. 
Palpitating,  evanescent 
As  the  shade  of  Dian's  crescent. 
Life,  motion,  gladness,  every  where ! 


Fathom  deep,  men  bury  thee, 
In  the  furnace  dark  and  still. 
There,  with  dreariest  mockery, 
Making  thee  eat,  against  thy  will. 
Blackest  Pennsylvanian  stone : 
But  thou  dost  avenge  thy  doom. 
For.  from  out  thy  catacomb. 
Day  and  night  thy  wrath  is  blown 
In  a  withering  simoom, 
And.  adown  that  cavern  drear. 
Thy  black  pitfall  in  the  floor, 
Staggers  the  lusty  antique  cheer 
Despairing,  and  is  seen  no  more ! 

IV. 

Elfish,  I  may  rightly  name  thee. 
We  enslave,  but  cannot  tame  thee ; 
With  fierce  snatches,  now  and  then. 
Thou  pluckest  at  thy  right  again. 
And  thy  downtrod  instincts  savage, 
To  stealthy  insurrection  creep 
While  thy  wittol  masters  sleep, 
And  burst  in  undisceming  ravage : 
Then  how  thou  shak'st  thy  bacchant  locks ! 
While  brazen  pulses,  far  and  near. 
Throb  thick  and  thicker  with  blind  fear 
And  dread  coiyecture,  till  the  drear. 
Disordered  clangor  every  steeple  rocks ! 


But,  when  we  make  a  friend  of  thee, 
And  admit  tkee  to  the  hall 
On  our  nights  of  festival, 
Then,  Cinderella,  who  ooqld  aee 
VOL.  in.— 22 


380 


A  Winter- Evening  Hymn  to  my  Fire.  [Marci 

In  thee  the  kitchen's  stunted  thrall  ? 
Once  more  a  Princess  lithe  and  tall 
Thou  danccst  with  a  whispering  tread, 
While  the  bright  marvel  of  thy  head 
In  crinkling  gold  floats  all  abroad; 
And  gloriously  dost  vindicate 
The  legend  of  thy  lineage  great. 
Earth-exiled  daughter  of  the  Pythian  god  I 
Now  in  the  ample  chimney-place, 
To  honor  thy  acknowledged  race, 
We  crown  thee  high  with  laurel  good, 
Thy  shining  father's  sacred  wood, 
Which,  guessing  thy  ancestral  right, 
Sparkles  and  snaps  his  dumb  delight, 
And,  at  thy  touch,  poor  outcast  one, 
Feels  through  his  gladdened  fibres  go. 
The  tingle  and  thrill  and  vassal  glow 
Of  instincts  loyal  to  the  sun. 

VI. 

Oh,  thou  of  home  the  guardian  Lar, 

And — when  our  earth  hath  wandered  far 

Into  the  cold,  and-  deep  snow  covers 

The  walks  of  our  New  England  lovers, — 

Their  sweet  secluded  evening-star ! 

'Twas  with  thy  rays  the  English  muse 

Ripened  her  mild  domestic  hues ; 

'Twas  by  thy  flicker  that  she  conned 

The  fireside  wisdom  that  enrings 

With  light  from  heaven  familiar  things , 

By  thee  she  found  the  homely  faith 

In  whose  mild  eyes  thy  comfort  stay'th, 

When  death,  extinguishing  his  torch, 

Gropes  for  the  latch-string  in  the  porch  ; 

The  love  that  wanders  not  beyond 

His  earliest  nest,  but  sits  and  sings 

While  children  smooth  his  patient  wings : 

Therefore  with  thee  I  love  to  read 

Our  brave  old  poets :  at  thy  touch  how  stirs 

Life  in  the  withered  words !  how  swift  recede 

Time's  shadows !  and  how  glows  again    . 

Through  its  dead  mass  the  incandescent  verse, 

As  when  upon  the  anvils  of  the  brain 

It  glittering  lay,  cyclopically  wrought 

By  the  fast -throbbing  hammers  of  the  poet's  thought! 

Thou  murmurest,  too,  divinely  stirred, 

The  aspirations  unattained. 

The  rhythms  so  rathe  and  delicate 

They  bent  and  strained 

And  broke  beneath  the  sombre  weight 

Of  any  airiest  mortal  word. 


What  warm  protection  dost  thou  bend 
Bound  curtained  talks  of  friend  with  friend, 
While  the  gray  snowstorm,  held  aloof^ 
To  softest  outlines  rounds  the  roof. 
Or  the  rude  North,  with  baffled  strain 
Shoulders  the  frost-starred  window-pane ! 
Now  the  kind  Njrmph  to  Bacchus  borne 
By  Morpheus'  daughter,  she  that  seems 
Gifted  upon  her  natal-mom. 
By  him  with  fire,  by  her  with  dieama, 


4.]  A  Wmter-JSvening  Hymn  to  my  Fire.  331 

Niootia,  dearer  to  the  Muso 

Than  all  the  grape's  bewildering  juioe. 

We  worship,  unforbid  of  thee ; 

And,  as  her  inceni^e  floats  and  curls 

In  airy  spires  and  wa^-ward  whirls, 

Or  poises  on  its  tremulous  stalk 

A  flower  of  frailest  reverie, 

So  winds  and  loiters,  idly-free, 

The  current  of  unguided  talk, 

Now  laughter-rippled,  and  now  caught 

In  smooth  dark  pools  of  deeper  thought 

Meanwhile  thou  mellowest  cYcry  word, 

A  sweetly  unobtrusive  third ; 

For  thou  hast  magic  beyond  wine 

To  unlock  natures,  each  to  each ; 

The  unspoken  thought  thou  canst  divine ; 

Thou  fill'st  the  pauses  of  the  speech 

With  whispers  that  to  dreamland  reach. 

And  frozen  fancy-springs  nnchain 

In  Arctic  outskirts  of  the  brain: 

Sun  of  all  inmost  confidences ! 

To  thy  rays  doth  the  heart  unclose 

Its  formal  calyx  of  pretences, 

That  close  against  rude  day^s  ofifenoes, 

And  open  its  shy  midnight  rose. 

VIII. 

Thou  holdest  not  the  master-key 

With  which  thy  sire  sets  free  the  mystic  gates 

Of  Past  and  Future :  not  for  common  fates 

Do  they  wide  open  fling,  • 

And,  with  a  far-heard  ring, 

Swing  back  their  willing  valves  melodiously : 

Only  to  ceremonial  days 

And  great  processions  of  imperial  song, 

That  set  the  world  at  gaze, 

Doth  such  high  privilege  belong : 

But  thou  a  postern-door  can'st  ope 

To  humbler  chambers  of  the  sel^rae  palace 

Where  Memory  lodges,  and  her  sister  Hope 

Whose  being  is  but  as  a  crystal  chalice. 

Which,  with  her  various  mood,  the  elder  fills 

Of  joy  or  sorrow, 

So  coloring  as  she  wills, 

With  hues  of  yesterday,  the  unconscious  morrow. 

IX. 

Thou  sinkest,  and  my  fancy  sinks  with  thee: 

For  thee  I  took  the  idle  shell. 

And  struck  the  unused  choras  again. 

But  they  are  gone  who  listened  well ; 

Some  are  in  heaven,  and  all  are  far  from  mc : 

Even  as  I  sing,  it  turns  to  pain, 

And  with  vain  tears  my  e^-elids  throb  and  swell  : 

Enough ;  I  come  not  of  the  race 

That  hawk  their  sorrows  in  the  market-place : 

Earth  stops  the  ears  I  best  had  loved  to  please, — 

Then  break,  ye  untuned  chords,  or  rust  in  peace ! 

As  if  a  whitehairod  actor  should  come  back, 

Some  midnight  to  the  theatre  void  and  black, 

And  there  rehearse  his  youth's  great  part 

'Mid  thin  applauses  of  the  ghosts, — 

So  seems  it  now :  ye  crowd  upon  my  heart, 

And  I  bow  down  m  silence,  shadowy  hosts ! 


932 


[llaNh 


LETTER   TO   THE   EDITOR. 


MR.  Editor:  The  reading  of  Mr.  Henry  C. 
Carey's  notes  in  your  Maj^zine  sug- 
gested to  me  some  questions  touching  that 
gentleman's  views  upon  International 
Copyright.  These  questions  I  put,  by 
letter,  to  Mr.  Carey.  He  has  been  so 
kind  as  to  forward  me  his  pamphlet  con- 
taining his  answer  to  Senator  Cooper's  in- 
quiries concerning  the  Copyright  Treaty. 
In  a  note  accompanyinnj  the  pamphlet  Mr. 
Carey  says : — "  You  will  find  in  the  pam- 
phlet that  accompanies  this,  a  reference 
to  Mr.  Kirk  wood,  school-teacher,  who  has 
given  to  science  a  highly  important  law, 
but  is  5'et  entirely  unknown.-  Read  that 
pamphlet,  and  you  will  find  an  answer  to 
your  questions  on  copyright ;  after  which 
you  can  tell  me  whether  they  are  answered 
satisfactorily.  Your  view  of  the  copy- 
right matter  is  the  common  one,  but  it  is 
not,  you  may  be  assured,  the  correct  one. 
In  writing  as  I  have,  I  have  gone  in  oppo- 
sition to  all  the  popular  prejudices.*' 

Since  those  questions  have  reference  to 
a  matter  of  public  interest,  I  indicate 
publicly  my  opinion  as  to  how  they  are 
met  in  Mr.  Carey's  pamphlet. 

First,  an  inference  from  a  statement  of 
the  gentleman  in  his  note  to  you,  Mr. 
Editor,  published  in  your  issue  of  last 
September — namelv,  the  statement  that 
he  had  never,  until  then,  written  for  pub- 
lication a  line  on  copyright — there  is  a 
possibility  of  his  not  having  examined 
thoroughly  the  subject,  preparatory  to  his 
writing  upon  it  in  accordance  with  the  re- 
quest of  Senator  Cooper. 

The  premises  taken  by  Mr.  Carey  in 
his  pamphlet  are,  that  the  ideas  contained 
in  a  book,  the  facts  which  constitute  its 
body,  are  the  common  property  of  the 
world ;  and  that,  therefore,  no  mere  clother 
of  the  book's  body,  no  mere  arranger  of 
those  ideas,  has  any  exclusive  right  in  the 
book.  These  premises  are  false  entirely. 
The  world  has  not  a  jot  of  ownership  m 
a  fact,  unless  by  discovery,  or  by  piurchase, 
or  by  gift,  any  more  than  it  has  to  a  piece 
of  gold  which  has  been  quarried,  or  to  a 
steam-engine  which  has  been  invented,  by 
an  individual.  Y'et,  the  world  has  kid 
claim  to  such  ownership  from  time  im- 
memorial ;  and  Mr.  Carey  is  but  continu- 
ing the  rule  of  his  masters  and  his  compeers 
— the  self-appointed  judges  in  the  case — 
in  allowing  the  claim.  It  is  high  time 
that  these  judges  were  impeached.  I 
clothe  myself  with  authority,  and  pitch. 
eyes  fore  most,  into  the  impeachment  of 
them,  thus : — Suppose   the   sun    to   be 


burned  up  completely — that  is,  to  have 
evaporated  all  away,  and  reoondensed 
into  planets,  comets,  and  the  zodiacal  light 
(By  the  way  I  would  inform  whomsoever 
it  may  concern,  that  the  spots  observed 
upon  the  sun  are  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
huge  meteorolites  which  have  formed  firom 
the  gases  and  mineral  vapors  sent  off  from 
the  naming  orb,  and  fallen  back  into  the 
abyss ;  hence  the  reason  why  the  smi  was 
not  exhausted  myriads  of  centuries  aeo — 
the  "  Monthly  "  is  copyrighted ;  so  have 
a  care,  Air.  World,  how  you  be  appro- 
priating this  my  fact .')  The  earth  is 
without  light,  save  that  from  close  stoves, 
tallow  candles,  and  from  the  far  away 
glimmering  stars.  Suppose  the  Yankees 
own  the  western  hemisphere,  and  the 
English  own  the  eastern  hemisphere,  con- 
stituting this  darkened  earth.  Suppose 
Henry  Paine  to  be  an  Englishman,  dwell- 
ing upon  his  portion  of  the  eastern  half 
of  the  sphere.  Suppose  that  Paine  has 
discovered  the  process  of  making  fire  out 
of  water — that  he  has,  in  fact,  found  or 
manufactured  something  which  answers 
every  way  for  the  sun  to  his  side  of  the 
earth.  The  light — light  white  and  light 
analyzed — of  this  substitute  for  the  sun 
is,  exclusively,  Enghsh  property.  Suppose 
the  English  should,  by  an  agreement  be- 
tween themselves  and  some  individual,  or 
some  company  of  individuals,  amo^g  ur, 
see  fit  to  pass  a  tube  through  the  earth, 
such  as  would  convey  to  this  individual 
or  company  portions  of  their  red  and  blue 
light.  We  western  hemispheriMlM  have 
just  as  much  right  to  use  these  {direct) 
red  and  blue  lights,  as  the  individual  or 
company  owning  them  has  a  mind  to  grant 
us ;  but  we  have  no  right,  present  or  pros- 
pective, either  to  pass  a  tul)C  for  their  con- 
veyance from  their  fountain  in  England, 
or  to  reflect  them  (translate  them — note 
Mi-s.  Stowe's  case)  from  their  resenoir 
here.  The  purchaser  of  them  may  ex- 
periment with  them  in  whatever  way  he 
chooses,  so  long  as  he  confines  his  opera- 
tions to  his  own  domain — he  may  combine 
them  into  purple  ;  which  purple  light  will 
be  his  own  exclusive  property.  Neither 
the  "sovereign  people"  of  Yankeedom 
nor  the  representatives  of  Mr.  Paine  in 
England  can  have,  naturally,  the  smallest 
share  in  it. 

So,  precisely,  of  a  book — its  liody,  which 
constitutes  it  a  book,  not  by  any  means 
its  clothing,  is  the  undivided  possession  of 
its  producer,  whether  this  producer^  be 
Ibi^isb,  American,  French,  or  Hindoo — 


1 


EdiUnial  iVotoa — American  LiUralure. 


8SS 


tfi,  taken  singly,  are  his,  if  disoovered 
n ;  so  the  several  facts,  though  not 
pttrately,  when  fused  into  one  fact) 
la,  if  the  fusion  has  been  done  br 
If— the  book  is  his,  and  nobody^ 
rhethcr  appearing  ia  his  own  lan- 
or  translated  into  another ;  this,  in 
yi  the  decision  of  Mr.  Carey,  and  of 
adge  of  Mrs.  Stowe's  cause,  that  it 
dress  of  a  book  which  constitutes  it 
rty.  Let  us  find  the  pith  of  such 
MH— "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  "  has  beea 
ated  into  the  German;  has  the 
ator  gained  property  in  the  work  by 
vcess  ?    No ;  any  German  publisher 

light  to  copy  and  issue  it;  any 
ican  publisher  has  a  right  to  retrans- 
ad  issue  it ;  then,  where  is  Mrs. 
?u  property,  even  in  the  clothing  of 
lOok?    It  has  taken  to  itself  the 

of  a  quibble  of  law,  and  flown 

course,  I  am  ready  to  admit,  and  I 
•rry  to  have  to  admit,  the  truth  of 
larey's  statement,  to  the  eflect  that 
it  part  of  the  matter  of  modern  po- 
baoks  is  but  the  rehash  and  the 
'•clothing  of  old  ideas — ideas  whose 
hi  awuert  have  lived  and  died  in 
ty ;  and  it  is  the  very  continuance 
iiding  by  the  decision  escposed,  as 
,  which  makes  the  necessity  of  such 
UBOB.  Let  it  bo  conceded,  as  it  is, 
iwery  original  idea  may  be  laid  hold 
h  impunity,  by  every  prowler  about, 
Mr  £Bglish  or  American ;  whether 
ry  or  lay ;  and  there  must  be,  cer- 
',  very  little  to  encourage  any  one  to 
Ate ;  on  the  contrary,  he  will  be  in- 
.  to  enlist  in  the  ranks  of  the  ma- 


rauders, and  to  steal  (I  can  call  it  by  no 
truer  name),  to  steal  whatever  may  serve 
his  purpose,  and  from  whatever  source 
which  may  lie  in  hia  way — in  effect,  the 
English  book-makers  are  invited  to  pur- 
loin the  ideas  of  our  original  thinkers,  and 
our  readers,  the  iovereign  people^  are 
invited  to  purloin,  through. their  publish- 
ers, the  English  stolen  property.  Here, 
one  remark  upon  Mr.  Carey's  complaint, 
that  the  House  of  Representatives  is 
denied  the  privilege  of  acting  in  the  trial 
for  an  international  copyright — It  is  the 
people  of  the  United  States,  who  are  the 
direct  trespassers  upon  the  rights  of  Eng- 
lish authors,  and  the  indirect  U-espassers 
upon  the  rights  of  our  authors ;  the  mem- 
bers of  the  House  of  Representatives  are 
the  attameySy  merely,  of  these  trespassers 
— attorneys  should  not  certainly,  be  judges 
in  the  cases  of  their  own  clients.  /  insist 
upon  it  that  the  people  are  not  (unless  as 
criminals — I  beg  their  pardons  \)  entitled 
to  any  voice  in  the  matter  of  international 
copyright — this  is,  rather,  a  matter  of 
State,  and  comes  for  settlement  more  pro- 
perly before  the  tribunal  of  the  States, 
than  before  that  of  the  people. 

I  have.  Mr.  Editor,  fiUiilled  my  original 
design — that  of  simply  indicating  my  opin- 
ion as  to  how  my  questions,  proposed  to 
2^Ir.  Carey,  are  met  in  his  pamphlet.  It 
appears  to  me  that  the  subject  of  that 
pamphlet  is  entitled  to  a  full  investiga- 
tion ;  and  I  hope  to  see  soon  in  your 
Magazine,  an  article  answering  such  end. 
Yours  cordially, 

G.  W.  E. 
PbUlipt,  Me^  Janaarj  21,  16M. 


EDITORIAL   NOTES. 


LITERATURE. 

[S&iCAN. — We  make  it  a  point  to  read 
e  new  American  novels  that  come 
irith  the  hope  of  by-and-by  lighting 

one  which  deserves  to  be  called 
riean.  But,  the  coming  novel  has 
ret  appeared;  and  we  almost  fear, 
like  the  American  drama,  which  we 

been  looking  for,  it  will  not  come 
L     Our  climate,  or  our  institutions, 

ht  at  fault ;  we  have  too  much  na- 
1  pride  to  impute  our  short-comings 
MB  deiMtrtments  of  letters  to  inierior- 
fcrgaiuzation  in  the  American  mind ; 


and  we  may  always  be  dependent  upon 
tlie  old  world  for  these  luxuries,  as  we  are 
for  olives  and  claret.  The  title  of  the  last 
native  attempt  at  novel- writing  is  by  no 
means  promising.  EnglUk  Serfdom  and 
American  Slacerjf^  or  Ourselves  aa 
Others  See  Us,  docs  not  awaken  brilliant 
anticipations — the  title  is  too  suggestive  of 
partisanhip  and  prejudice ;  but  Mr.  Chase, 
the  author,  shows  in  his  pre&ce  that  he 
properly  appreciates  the  advantages  of 
fiction  in  embodying  great  truths,  and 
fully  comprehends  the  duties  and  respon- 
sibilities of  the  novelist)  let  his  own  per- 


834 


Editorial  Notes-- American  Literature. 


fMareh 


formance  be  as  it  may.  The  Hon.  Lucien 
B.  Chase  is  a  lawyer,  who,  though  yet 
young,  distinguished  himself  at  the  bar, 
in  Tennessee,  and  twice  represented  that 
State  in  Congress,  and,  like  most  Northern 
men  who  have  gone  to  the  South- West,  has 
thoroughly  identified  himself  with  the 
people  among  whom  he  sought  his  fortune. 
In  the  novel  before  us  he  has  attempted 
to  exhibit  the  odiousness  of  English  serf- 
dom, and  the  beneficence  of  our  own  sys- 
tem of  black  slavery ;  he  has  signally 
failed  to  do  either,  fi-om  not  properly 
understanding  the  nature  of  his  subject, 
rather  than  from  a  lack  of  literary  ability. 
His  example  of  English  serfdom  is  a  pore 
figment  of  his  own  fanc}*^,  and  consequently 
fails  to  create  the  feelings  which  he  aimed 
at.  He  exhibits  to  us  the  horrors  and 
atrocities  of  the  impressment  system, 
which  was  an  accidental  necessity  of  the 
British  government  some  half  a  ccntur>' 
ago.  The  scene  of  his  story  is  England, 
in  1853  ;  but  no  such  event  as  th^t  upon 
which  the  main  interest  of  his  novel  hinges, 
has  occurred,  or  could  have  occurred,  in 
any  part  of  the  British  dominions  during 
the  past  forty  years ;  and,  even  when  such 
offences  were  committed,  they  were  in 
opposition  to  the  law,  antl  not  sanctioned 
by  it.  Mechanics  are  no  more  impressed 
and  forced  on  board  of  men  of  war  in 
England,  now-a-days,  than  heretics  are 
roasted  in  Smithfield,  or  the  heads  of 
traitors  exposed  on  the  top  of  Temple-bar, 
as  they  were  in  the  time  of  Goldsmith  and 
Johnson.  Mr.  Cha,>e's  other  example  of 
serfdom  is  an  unfortunate  one  for  his  own 
side  of  the  story ;  his  independent,  higli- 
mettled,  and  hard-working  serf,  who  ap- 
pears to  livfr  in  rather  bettpr  style  than 
our  own  farmers,  and  who  has  pride 
enough  to  be  a  Virginian,  turns  out  to 
be  the  heir  of  a  dukedom,  while  the  sup- 
posed duke  is  a  cowardly,  drivelling  knave, 
and — one  of  the  people !  There  is  very 
little  of  American  slavery  in  the  book, 
though  a  considerable  talk  about  the  sub- 
ject, chiefly  based  on  the  ''  Household 
Words."  Mr^  Chase  has  made  the  same 
mistake  that  Cooper  did,  in  his  first  novel, 
in  attempting  to  describe  the  manners  and 
habits  of  a  people  to  whom  he  is  evidently 
a  stranger.  Let  him  take  example  by 
Cooper's  second  attempt,  and  confine  him- 
self to  the  scenes  and  the  people  where  he 
is  at  home  and  to  the  "  manor  born,"  and 
we  have  no  doubt  he  will  succeed  better. 
Even  though  the  impressment  of  seamen 
were  still  the  practice  of  England,  the  navy 
would  be  an  unfortunate  contrast  to  otter 
to  our  own  institutiojis ;  for  the  navy  of 
England  is  a  much  moi-e  republican  insti- 


tution than  our  own.  and  the  Engh'sh  are 
not  half  so  much  serfs  as  the  sailors  in 
our  own  service.  The  Hon.  F.  P.  Stan- 
ton, of  Tennessee,  who  was  a  congressional 
coadjutor  of  Mr.  Chase's,  who  was  alw 
chairman  of  the  naval  committee,  said,  in 
his  lecture  before  the  New- York  Mercan- 
tile Library,  last  month,  "  It  must  never 
be  forgotten,  that  a  navy  cannot  be  orpa- 
nized  upon  aemocratic  or  republican  prin- 
ciples." A  slight  acquaintance  wiili 
Burke's  Peerage  would  have  supplied  Mr. 
Chase  with  a  "  commodity  of  names  '* 
much  better  adapted  to  English  lords  than 
those  he  has  invented  for  his  aristocratic 
characters. 

—  A  short  work  on  slavery,  or,  as  the 
author  denominates  it,  the  bound  labor 
system  of  the  United  States,  has  been 
sent  forth  by  M.  M.  A.  Juge,  under  the 
name  of  The  American  PUmter.  The 
author  is  an  intelligent  foreigner,  who; 
unlike  most  foreigners,  considers  the  bound 
labor  interest  as  of  the  first  importance 
to  the  economy  of  human  society.  What- 
ever may  be  its  historical  basis,  he  says, 
its  necessity  is  yet  so  urgent,  its  utility  so 
great,  and  its  vitality  so  vigorous,  that  it 
is  now  intimately  connected  with  the 
prosperity  and  social  culture  of  the  whole 
world,  ^his  view  he  developes  at  con- 
siderable length,  and  with  no  little  show 
of  argument.  At  the  same  time,  be  does 
not  uphold  the  abuses  of  slavery,  and  pro- 
poses a  scheme  by  which  he  supposes  so- 
ciety can  reap  all  the  advantages  of  bound 
labor,  without  the  disadvantages  of  a 
condition  of  perpetual  servitude.  Our 
limits  will  not  permit  us  to  enter  into 
the  discussion,  but  we  may  state,  that  we 
do  not  believe  the  conclusions  of  M.  Juge 
will  be  accepted,  either  by  the  aboli- 
tionists or  the  slaveholders.  They  will 
not  be,  certainly,  by  the  abolitionists,  who 
are  uncompromising  in  their  assertion  of 
the  moral  principles  opposed  to  slaver}-, 
while  the  slaveholders^  who  largely  profit 
by  the  present  system,  do  not  care  to  listen 
to  any  suggestions  as  to  its  improvement 
or  future  termination.  Besides,  his  plan 
for  the  successive  importation  and  exporta- 
tion of  negroes  to  and  from  Africa,  under 
a  complicated  arrangement  of  laws,  will 
seem  to  both  parties,  quite  impracticable. 

—  We  know  of  few  better  writers  as  to 
style  than  Henry  James,  whose  last 
publication,  entitled  The  Church  cf 
Christ,  not  an  Ecclesiasiicism,  is  an 
admirable  specimen  of  his  pc>culiaritics  of 
manner  and  thought.  It  is  in  the  Ibrm  of 
a  letter  addressed  to  "a  member  of  the 
soi  disant  New  Church,"  but  has  a  gen- 
eral application  and  interest;  for,  in  de- 


1854.] 


Editorial  Notes — American  Literature. 


885 


moEshing  the  sectarian  tendencies  of  the 
Swedenborgians,  it  fights  equally  against 
the  exclusive  pretensions  of  all  other  de- 
nominations. Mr.  James's  fundamental 
view  is,  that  the  Church  of  Christ  is  not 
an  ecclesiastical  hierarchy,  with  an  in- 
separable external  organization,  but  a 
spiritual  economy,  identical  with  all  that 
is  humble  and  tender  and  excellent  in  the 
human  soul,  and  which  consequently  must 
never  be  confounded  with  particular  per- 
sons, places,  or  rituals.  If  the  church, 
according  to  Mr.  James,  be  an  external 
constitution,  an  organization  of  clergy  and 
laity,  through  which  alone  the  divine  life 
is  communicated,  then  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church  has  the  best  claim  to  the  title  of 
the  only  true  church.  But  if  it  be,  what 
Christ  designed  it  should  be,  a  spiritual 
church,  consisting  of  all  persons,  who  at 
any  time  or  in  any  land,  work  the  works 
of  charity,  having  but  one  priesthood,  the 
priesthood  of  goodness,  and  but  one  bap- 
tism and  communion,  that  which  unites 
instead  of  dividing  the  household  of  faith, 
then  all  exclusive  pretensions,  on  the  part 
of  any  assemblage  of  worshippers,  that  ic 
alone  has  the  approbation  of  God,  is  a 
falsehood  and  cheat.  Mr.  James  does  not 
deny  the  propriety  of  an  external  visible 
worship ;  on  the  contrary  he  says,  that  it 
is  inevitable  that  those  who  sympathize 
with  each  other's  views  of  Christ's  doctrine 
should  come  together  at  suitable  times 
and  places  for  social  worship ;  nothing 
could  be  more  delightful  than  an  assembly 
of  this  sort,  when  animated  by  a  spirit  of 
charity  towards  all  other  similar  assem- 
blies. But  what'  he  complains  of,  as  an 
imsuitable  and  indecorous  thing,  is  this 
company's  arrogating  to  itself  the  author- 
ity and  name  of  the  Lord,  in  a  sense 
which  prejudices  the  right  of  any  other 
worshipping  assembly  to  do  the  same 
thing.     Uc  says ; 

**  /  believe  very  ftillj  In  the  f oterior  tmtbs  of  the 
Scripture  as  thej  are  unfolded  bj  dwedenborg,  and  I 
ioatruct  my  fiunilj  in  tbo  knowledge  of  those  trathfl, 
•o  fitr  aa  their  tender  anderstandings  are  capable  of 
receiving  thera.  Have  I  thereapon  the  right  to  say 
tliat  mj  family  worship  is  one  whit  truer  or  inwa 
acGei>Ubl«i  iu  a  heavenward  way  than  that  of  my  next 
door  neighbor,  who  never  heard  of  any  interior  sense 
\a  tlie  Scriptore,  or  if  he  has,  deems  it  a  very  great  snare 
aud  delubion,  and  steadily  worships,  notwltlistanding, 
acour«iing  to  ^e  plenary  Presbyterian  platform  ?  As- 
eur<rdly  DoL  Shall  the  truth  of  any  man's  reverence 
Mid  worship  of  the  great  Being  who  croatea,  and  re- 
deemjs  and  preserves  him,  hinge  apon  his  possessing 
adt^aate  conceptions  of  the  divine  perfections,  and 
oflbring  a  homage  therefore  which  shall  bo  worthy  of 
lliorstf  perfections?  God  help  the  best  of  as  in  that 
ctue  I  say  1.  For  this  is  to  place  worship  on  a  new 
ground  enUrely — no  longer  in  a  sonso  of  the  profound 
M;iati  of  tht)  boart— no  longer  in  the  deep  and  cordial 


aad  overwhelming  sense  of  onr  own  deflclenolea,  of 
oar  own  relaUve  nothingness  and  vanity,  and  of  God's 
boundless  sufilciency— but  rather  in  one's  iutellcctual 
acquisitions,  in  the  sentiment  of  possessing  a  superior 
illumination  to  other  people. 

But  if  he  has  no  right  to  defame  his 
neighbor's  femily  worship,  on  the  ground 
of  its  utter  unconsciousness  of  the  trutj^s  he 
holds,  what  right  has  he  to  suppose  that 
the  Lord  views  his  social  worship  with  any 
more  complacency  than  that  of  the  Bap- 
tists, Catholics,  Unitarians,  Presbyterians, 
and  Mohammedans  ?  If  he  has  no  right 
in  his  private  worship  to  stigmatize  that 
of  his  neighbor,  as  worthless,  formal  and 
dead,  what  right  has  he  to  do  so  in  his 
public  worship  7  He  would  be  ashamccl 
to  go  before  God  to  say,  "  I  am  a  much 
better  man  than  Smith  or  Jones,  my 
neighbor ; "  and  he  would  be  equally 
ashamed  to  claim  a  similar  superiority  for 
his  Church.  It  is  an  insult  to  God  to 
suppose  that  he  is  a  respecler  of  persons 
— that  any  one  of  Ilis  creatures  is  at  a 
less  infinite  remove  from  God  or  a  greater 
nearness  to  God  than  another;  and  no 
sect  has  a  rijrht  to  glory  over  another  in 
the  sight  of  Heaven.  Neither  Protestant 
nor  Catholic  has  the  slightest  reason  •  for 
boasting,  save  on  the  ground  of  a  spiritual 
superiority,  or  a  more  eminent  Ufe  of  char- 
ity,— and  eminence  in  that  life  is  scarcely 
consistent  with  ecclesiastical  or  any  other 
sort  of  boasting,  being  identical,  in  fact, 
with  the  greatest  humility. 

The  only  true,  new,  and  everlasting 
Church,  then,  according  to  Mr.  James,  Ls 
that  church  which  is  constituted  of  the 
regenerate  life  in  all  her  members,  or  a 
heart  fiill  of  love  to  God  and  love  to  man. 
It  is  identical  with  what  the  mystical 
Scriptures  call  the  New  Jerusalem,  nteaii- 
ing  by  that  carnal  symbol  nothing  indeed 
appreciable  to  the  carnal  eye,  nor  at  all 
germane  to  the  carnal  heart,  but  a  truly 
divine  life  in  the  soul  of  man.  It  is  also 
called  anew  church,  both  because  it  is  the 
crown  and  fulfilment  of  all  past  churches, 
and  because  a  church  in  the  spiritual  idea 
invariably  signifies  a  regenerate  life  in 
man,  or  the  life  of  charity.  This  church 
is  not  aristocratically  constituted  like  the 
Romish  Church,  nor  yet  democratically 
like  the  Protestant  churches.  It  is  not 
made  up  of  clergy  alone,  nor  of  clergy  and 
people  jointly;  but  simply  of  goodness 
and  truth  in  the  soul  of  every  individual 
member. 

Mr.  James  adds : 

*•  In  short,  the  true  or  final  church  Is  not  in  the  least 
degree  an  ecclesUstidsm,  is  not  in  any  outward  sense 
a  hierarchical  institution.  Were  it  so,  it  would  havu 
existed  from  the  beginning  of  the  world,  for  the  world 


336 


Editorial  Notes — American  Literature, 


[March 


has  been  withoataathontie  hlerarohiesi,  or  trno  cccle- 
stsstical  iDStitutlon&  I  do  not  6e«  \rhat  readonable 
fault  is  to  be  found  with  either  the  Jewish  worship,  or 
with  tliat  uf  the  Christian  church,  if  they  arc  to  be 
replaced  only,  by  other  external  worship.  The  JewMi 
prieata  reflected,  no  doubt,  the  prevalent  arrogance 
and  selflshnesa  of  the  national  hope,  but,  I  preaurae, 
were  otherwise  a  superior  class  of  men.  And  the 
OhrlstiAn  priesthood,  although  the  temptations  inci- 
dent  to  their  conventional  elevation  have  served  to 
develope  amon^  them  piany  of  the  subtler  fcx'ms  of 
evil  latent  in  the  undisciplined  human  heart,  liave 
yet,  on  the  whole,  been  lustrous  with  many  vircuea 
You  will  occasionally  find  one  among  tliem  with  a 
consdenoe  like  the  hide  of  a  rhinoceros,  and  a  lust  of 
dominion  able  to  sminount  tlie  tallest  btar,  and  annex 
it  to  the  bishopric  of  his  conceit  And,  what  is  re- 
markable, the  smaller  the  sect^  the  plcntier  you  And 
this  sort  of  men,  as  if  the  divine  Providence  purposely 
limited  a  stomach  so  gigantic  to  the  mcagorest  pos- 
bible  pasture.  '  But,  on  the  whole,  what  sweetness  has 
baptized  the  clerical  ftmction  in  the  past  I  What  for- 
titude, what  self-dehial,  what  patience,  what  labor  in 
season  and  out  of  season,  have  been  the  heritage  of 
the  great  mass  of  these  men  I  W  hat  stores  of  learning 
tliey  have  accumulated ;  what  splendid  additions  they 
have  made  to  the  host  literature  of  every  land ;  how 
they  have  enriched  the  sciences  by  their  ob?ervatloa 
and  btudions  Inquiries ;  how  they  have  kept  the  ilamo 
of  patriotism  aglow ;  how  thc-y  have  encouraged  the 
generous  ambition  of  youth,  and  directed  it  to  worthy 
and  useful  ends ;  bow  they  have  digniiled  the  family 
;dta{,  and  cherished  the  purity  of  woman,  and  dllTused 
throQgh  society  the  charm  of  honest  and  gentle  man- 
ners ;  all  these  things  must  be  cordially  acknowledged 
by  every  one  comx>etent  to  si>eak  on  the  question. 
Where  would  be  the  sense  of  ousting  such  a  body  of 
inon,  native,  as  it  were,  and  to  the  manner  btirn,  in- 
heriting a  grace  and  dignity  A-om  their  Ume-houored 
places,  embalmed  in  the  kindly  reverence  and  good 
will  of  the  community,  only  fi>r  the  purpose  of  intro- 
ducing a  new  and  undisciplined  body,  hone^it  and 
well-intentioned,  no  doubt,  and  in  many  respects 
intelloctually  well'  qualified,  but  aggressive  by  the 
\  ery  necessity  of  their  birth,  contemptuous  and  insult- 
ing by  the  inseparable  theory  of  their  oflke? 

**  All  the  world  will  bid  Go«i-i«peod  to  the  new  aspi- 
rants, provided  they  will  honestly  and  modestly  apply 
such  Ceaching-faculty  as  they  possess  to  the  dissemina- 
tion of  original  truths  on  the  subject  of  man's  roUtiona 
to  God  and  his  fellow-man.  But  if  they  are  not 
content  with  this — if  they  immodestly  claim  to  be  a 
newer  and  more  authentic  priesthood  as  well ;  U^  in- 
stead of  6lnH)ly  shedding  new  and  gratefUl  light  on 
previously  insoluble  problems,  they  seek  a  private 
*nd  aUOf  %9hich  i*  the  exalUUion  of  their  own  order 
in  pubUc  regard^  and  to  this  end  represent  baptism 
and  the  Lord*  Supper  to  poe$e»e  a  different  virtue, 
a  diviner  unclioiiy  \tnder  their  administration 
Vuin  under  that  qf  the  eaeUAing  priesthood  ;  then 
the  iusulte<l  common  sense  of  the  public  will  conclude 
that  truth  informed  and  urged  by  such  a  temper  can 
hardly  be  worth  a  reasonable  man's  attention ;  and 
ihat  if  wo  can  never  attain  to  a  netcneM  of  ajnrit  in 
religious  matters  without  necessitating  a  correspond- 
ing neumesM  of  letter  also,  the  sooner  we  abandon  all 
hope  of  spiritual  progress  the  better,  and  so  get  well 
rid  fur  ever  of  tlie  interminable  quarrel  and  iitigue.^ 

Oiir  author  next  inquires  into  the  mean- 
ing of  '•  the  great  phenomenon  which  we 
c-jill  a  church/'  showing  in  what  sentiments 
of  the  human  soul  it  takes  its  rise,  and  to 


what  rational  uses  it  ineyitablj  points ; 
but  our  space  will  not  allow  us  to  follow 
him  in  the  inquiry.  But  we  most  cheer- 
fully commend  the  whole  pamphlet  to 
our  readers;  not  because  we  ooucur  in 
the  views  of  its  writer ;  but  because  it 
is  written  in  such  a  noble  and  generous 
spirit — with  so  easy  a  mastery  of  all  the 
depths  and  bearings  of  the  subject— and 
in  a  style  which,  for  purity  and  beauty  of 
language,  might  sei-re  as  a  model  in  any 
literature.  Indeed,  we  are  disposed  to 
regard  Mr.  James  as  the  ablest  rbetoricUm 
in  this  country ;  one  whose  rhetoric  is 
not  a  mere  vehicle  of  display,  but  the 
graceful  and  proper  expression  of  bis-pro- 
found thought  and  his  deeply  poetical  and 
religious  nature. 

—  A  large  volume  is  pat  forth  by  Mr. 
Andrew  Brown,  whose  title  is,  perhaps, 
the  best  account  of  it  that  we  can  give. 
It  runs  as  follows :  "  TVie  Philosophy  qf 
Physics^  a  process  of  creative  derelop- 
vient,  by  which  the  first  principles  of 
physics  are  proved  beyond  controversy^ 
and  their  effect  in  the  formation  of  cui 
physical  things  made  comprehensme to 
all  intelligent  ndnds,  as  in  phenomenal 
nature.'*''  The  author  seems  really  to 
suppose  that  he  has  solved  the  great  enig- 
ma of  creation,  and  made  it  plain  to  the 
commonest  apprehension.  But  let  us 
say  to  him,  that  either  on  account  of  our 
own  stupidity  or  his  want  of  clearocss.  we 
have  read  some  oi^e  or  two  hundred  pages 
out  of  his  five  hundred,  without  findins 
ourselves  a  whit  tlie  wiser.  The  physical 
world  is  no  more  intelligible  to  us  than  it 
was  when  we  began,  and  wo  shall  there- 
fore dismiss  the  remainder  of  his  volume, 
as  not  presenting  us  any  very  alluring 
hopes.  On  the  other  hand,  we  are  con  vmced 
by  Mr.  Brown's  attempts,  if  we  were  not 
before,  that  the  dj:;rion  process  of  dealing 
with  nature  is  not  likely  to  lead  to  any 
substantial  results.  It  is  easy  enough  to 
imagine  a  scheme  or  philosophy  of  nature, 
if  you  are  allowed  to  assume  what  first 
principles  you  please,  which  shall  be  con- 
sistent and  even  beautiful, — which  indeed 
shall  seem  to  explain  all  the  ordinary 
facts  of  nature ;  some  of  the  ancient  phi- 
losophers and  many  of  the  German  phy- 
sicians have  done  that  time  and  again ; 
but  the  question  yrW  be,  after  all,  Is  it 
true  1  Thus,  Mr.  Brown  assumes  certain 
attributes  of  Deity,  as  he  calls  them,  or 
first  principles  which  he  names,  ^^mind, 
matter  and  energy,"  and  by  means  of  the 
action  and  interaction  of  these,  he  deduces 
an  explanation  of  natural  phenomena ;  but 
his  explanation,  as  far  as  we  have  followed 
it,  is  no  more  satisfactory  than  «&  doacii 


Editorial  Note^ — Anierkan  Literature. 


887 


that  wc  have  read  in  books  of  me- 
cs.  It  strikes  us  as  nothing  more 
I  arbitrary  fancy  of  the  inventor, 
raid  be  at  much  better  work  if  he 
tudying  nature,  instead  of  trying 
lin  it,  and  to  arrive  more  speedily 
i  aound  philosophy.  Hegel  thouglU 
entire  development  of  the  universe, 
drew  Jackson  Davis  dreamed  it ; 
do  not  see  but  that  their  views  of 
;ter  are  quite  as  authoritative  and 
»  as  Mr.  Brown's.  How  long  will 
ifore  men  learn  that  these  conjeo- 
^losophies — these  systems  spun 
the  brain,  and  on  the  meagercst 
f  &cts — are  a  dreadful  waste  of 
itience  and  printing  ink  ?  If  they 
at  forth  simply  as  hypotheses,  as 
les,  as  modest  suggestions,  they 
perhaps,  answer  a  purpose;  but 
sd  in  huge  tomes,  and  with  all  the 
ion  and  positivencss  of  absolute 
I  of  truth,  they  provoke  either  pity 
He — a  smile  at  the  author's  vanity, 
for  his  delusion. 

her  work  on  a  branch  of  physical 
—Mr.  T.  Bassuett's  *•  Outlines  of 
Sanical  Tl^eory  of  Slorvui,^' — is 
m  to  these  objections.    It  is  a 

presentation  of  a  new  theory  of 
»logy,  which  the  discoverer  believes 
ain  the  most  important  practical 
He  says  that  his  theory  has  been 
)y  a  large  number  of  experiments, 
ihow  it  to  be  perfectly  sound,  and 
ce  him  in  propounding   it  to  the 

He  has  rejieatedly  predicted  the 
d  place  of  the  occurrence  of  great 
and  is  enabled  by  means  of  it  to 

navigators  how  to  calculate  the 
:;hange  of  wind  and  weather,  for  any 
ly,  and  for  any  part  of  the  ocean, 
dements  of  the  theory  are  these : 
amett  supposes,  1st,  that  space  is 
ith  an  elastic  liuid,  possessing  in- 
thout  weight ;  2d,  that  the  parts 
luid  in  the  solar  system,  circulate, 
e  manner  of  a  vortex,  with  adii-cct 
;  3d,  that  there  are  also  secondary 
in  which  the  planets  are  placed ; 
\t  the  earth  is  also  placed  in  a 
>f  the  ethereal  medium ;  and  5th, 
B  satellites  are  passively  carried 
thar  primaries  with  the  ethereal 
,  and  have  no  rotation  relative  to 
ar,  and,  therefore,  they  present  the 
oe  to  their  primaries  and  have  no 

iKsimiing  that  the  dynamical  axis 
tenal  voirtex  passes  through  the 
if  gravity  of  trie  earth  and  moon, 
i  it  oontmoally  circulates  over  the 
■orboa  in  both  hemispheres  in  a 


spiral,  its  latitude  and  longitude  will  de- 
pend at  any  particular  time,  1st,  on  the 
relative  mass  of  the  moon  ;  2d,  on  the 
inclination  of  the  axis  of  the  vortex  to  the 
earth's  axis ;  3d,  on  the  longitude  of  the 
ascending  node  of  the  vortex  on  the  lunar 
orbit ;  4th,  on  the  longitude  of  the  ascend- 
ing node  of  the  lunar  orbit  on  the  ecliptic ; 
5th,  on  the  eccentricity  of  the  lunar  orbit 
at  the  time  5  6th,  on  the  longitude  of 
the  perigee  of  the  lunar  orbit,  at  the 
time ;  and  7  th,  on  the  moon's  true  anom- 
aly at  the  time.  But  all  these  circum- 
stances can  be  approximately  determin- 
ed, and,  consequently,  the  physical  cause 
which  disturbs  the  equilibrium  of  our 
atmosphere,  and  is  the  principal  agent 
in  the  production  of  storms.  As  a  proof 
of  this,  Mr.  Bassuett  gives  the  calculations 
for  several  of  the  most  violent  storms  that 
occurred  during  the  past  year,  made  by 
him  before  their  occurrence,  but  adduced 
now  simply  as  examples  of  the  method 
of  calculation.  We  are  not  sufficiently 
familiar  with  the  subject  to  decide  upon 
the  degree  of  his  success,  but  are  still  not 
so  ignorant  as  not  to  know  that  his  little 
book  deserves  the  attention  of  scientific 
men. 

—  An  excellent  edition  of  the  "  Poeti- 
cal Works  of  Thomas  CamphelV*  has 
been  prepared  by  Epes  Sargent,  who 
has  also  prefixed  an  agreeable  memoir. 
It  is  chiefly  taken  from  the  materials  of 
Dr.  Bcattie,  but  is  most  skilfully  and  en- 
tertainingly put  together,  with  incidents 
from  other  sources  of  information.  About 
fifty  poems  not  contained  in  any  previous 
edition  are  included,  having  been  sent  to 
the  editor  by  Dr.  Beattie.  Campbell  is 
not  among  our  most  favorite  poet<5,  and 
we  think  only  a  few  of  his  poems  destined 
to  a  long  life,  and  yet  he  was  so  graceful 
a  versifier,  and  so  thorough  and  consist- 
ent a  lover  of  liberty,  that  we  are  glad  to 
possess  any  thing  that  he  wrote. 

—  Professor  Hitchcock  has  performed 
an  acceptable  service  in  his  "  Outline  of  the 
Geolog^y  of  the  Globe  and  of  the  United 
States  inparticular,'^  for  he  presents  with- 
in the  compass  of  a  small  volume,  a  general 
statement  of  an  important  science,  which 
almost  any  intelligent  reader  can  compre- 
hend. It  is  founded  on  the  labors  of  M. 
Bon6,  a  distinguished  French  geologist,  but 
with  corrections  as  to  the  geology  of  North 
America.  But  the  most  valuable  parts  of 
this  little  work  are  two  cok)red  maps, — the 
one  representmg  the  geology  of  the  globe, 
and  the  other,  the  geology  of  the  Nortli 
American  continent, — which  teach  more 
at  a  glance  than  could  be  got  out  of  whole 
reams  of  letter-press. 


838 


Editorial  Notes — English  Literaturt, 


[Match 


—  Such  of  our  readers  as  adopt  the 
Homoeopathic  system  of  medicine  will  find 
the  series  of  manuals  and  elementary 
books,  recently  translated  and  prepared 
by  Dr.  Charles  Jilius  IIempel,  invalu- 
able assistants.  The  first  consists  of 
Jahr  and  PossaWa  New  Manual^  which 
has  been  received  with  most  distinguished 
favor  by  the  French  and  German  practi- 
tioners. The  first  part  is  a  compendium 
of  the  Materia  Medica  Pura,  including  all 
those  symptoms  that  are  known  to  yield 
to  the  action  of  drugs,  and  ihc  second  is  a 
repertory  of  the  leading  general  indica- 
tions. Another  work,  is  Jahr^s  Manual, 
in  a  larger  form,  intended  as  the  repertory 
and  third  volume  of  the  Symptomen- 
codex,  which  appeared  some  time  since. 
It  is  the  most  comprehensive  and  thorough 
digest  of  the  Homoeopathic  system  that 
has  been  prepared ;  Dr.  Hempel  has  spared 
no  pains  in  the  translation  and  editorship, 
and  deserves  the  thanks  of  his  branch  of 
the  profession  for  his  unwearied  mdustry, 
intelligence,  and  faithfulness. 

English. — Now  that  the  great  "beard- 
question  "  is  the  question  of  the  day  in 
England,  Mr.  Alexandku  Rowland  has 
published  a  work  on  The  Human  Hair, 
which  is  a  complete  and  systematic  treatise 
on  the  subject,  anatomical,  physiological, 
ethnological,  and  esthetic ;  giving  not  only 
accurate  views  of  the  structure  and  uses  of 
hair,  its  diseases  and  history,  but  narra- 
tives of  tlie  fashions  which  have  prevailed 
in  regard  to  the  wearing  of  it,  both  on  the 
head  and  face.  The  author  is  a  decided 
advocate  of  the  beard  and  moustache,  and 
looks  upon  it,  as  a  kind  of  insult  to  the 
Creator,  to  apply  the  razor  to  the  "  human 
face  divine."  "  No  man  in  the  world,  ho 
argues,  would  shave  himself,  if  he  were 
not  an  arrant  coward,  afraid  of  the  ap- 
parent singularity  of  the  beard,  and  the 
,  world's  dread  laugh.  In  England,  before 
the  time  of  George  the  First,  no  full  grown 
man  ever  thought  of  smoothing  his  chin, 
and  then  it  was  done  in  imitation  of  the 
practice  of  that  monarch,  who  had  some 
special  reason  for  it, — perhaps  an  ugly 
beard,  or  a  handsome  mouth.  A  beard 
grows  naturally  on  the  face,  and  for  some 
good  and  wise  purpose,  and  ought  no  more 
to  be  removed  than  the  hairs  of.  the  eye- 
brows or  the  head.  Furthermore,  adds 
our  author : 

"  There  Is  one  certain  fact  I  would  mcnUon  with 
regard  to  beards.  It  id  thk  As  a  general  mlo, 
every  man  with  a  beard  \s  a  man  of  strongly-marked 
individuality — frequently  genius — has  furniod  his  own 
opinions — is  straisrhtfor ward—to  a  certain  degree, 
frequently  n^ckless — but  will  not  fawn  or  cringe  tu 
any  man.    I'be  yery  fiict  uf  bis  wearing  a  beard.  In 


tho  fltce,  as  it  were,  of  societj,  is  a  pfooT  that  hb  hf«rt 
and  conscience  are  above  Um  paltry  aid  ot  a  dalty 
penny  shavec 

**  If  men  would  not  share  from  boyhood  up,  tbcy 
would  find  their  boards  would  be  flowing,  tbetr  moo- 
staches  light  and  airy,  both  adding  a  dignity  to  man- 
hood and  a  venerablcnesB  to  age,  to  which  iboni  bn- 
manlty  must  be  strangera 

^  But  the  beard  is  not  merely  for  onuirocnt,  It  is  for 
use.  Nature  never  does  any  thing  in  Tain ;  she  ti 
economical,  and  wastes  nothing.  She  would  never 
erect  a  bulwark  were  her  domain  unworthy  <jf  pro- 
tection, or  were  there  no  enemy  to  lovade  it  I  slian 
proceed  to  show  that  the  beard  is  intended  as  a  bnl' 
wark,  and  designed  for  the  protectloo  of  the  hcaUli. 
The  beard  has  a  tendency  to  prevent  diseases  of  the 
lungs  by  guarding  their  portalSw  The  mo«i8taelie 
particularly,  as  we  have  already  seen,  prevents  the 
admission  of  particles  of  dust  into  the  Inngs,  yliieh 
are  the  frnltftd  cause  of  disease.  It  also  furms  a  reipi- 
rator  more  efficient  than  the  cunning  hand  of  man 
can  flibricate.  Man  fkshlons  his  respirator  of  win, 
curiously  wrought;  nature  makes  hers  of  hair  plaesd 
where  it  belongs,  and  not  requiring  to  be  put  on  llk« 
a  muzzle.  Diseases  of  the  head  and  throat  ars  alio 
prevented  by  wearing  the  beard.** 

In  this  country,  since  tho  Mexican  war 
and  Califomian  adventure,  the  beuti  is 
quite  generally  worn, — at  least  m  the 
cities  and  large  towns, — and  we  have  no 
necfl  of  formal  treatises  to  commend  it  to 
public  favor.  Besides,  as  every  man 
among  us  does  pretty  much  as  he  pleases, 
the  fashion  of  wearing  tho  hair  is  quite 
as  infinitely  varied  as  the  tastes  of  the 
people. 

This  writer  gives  some  curious  accounU 
as  to  the  trade  and  commerce  in  hair, 
which  we  extract  from  for  the  entertain- 
ment of  our  readers : 

**  Formerly,  the  manu/hctnrers  of  arttfldal  liair  int't 
wigs,  ladies*  cnrU,  Ac,  obtained  a  conMdcrablo  por- 
tion uf  their  supply  at  homo  A*oni  hospitals,  priMiikN 
and  workhouses ;  but  now  the  hair  is  not  cropped 
compulsorily,  as  was  formerly  the  case,  and  the  poor 
and  dbtressed,  or  criminal,  are  not  deprivi>d  of  their 
fair  and  valued  tresses.  It  must  be  understood  that 
female  hair  alone  is  of  any  use  to  the  hslr-workcr, 
from  its  length  and  curling  propertiesL  That  most 
prized,  is  the  gray  hsir  of  aged  porsonSt  which  can  be 
prcparod  to  any  shade. 

^  Light  hair  all  comes  from  Germany,  where  It  b 
collected  by  a  company  of  Dutch  fixrmer^  who  coma 
over  for  orders  once  a  year.  It  would  appear  tliat 
either  tho  fii»hion  or  tho  necessity  of  Eo^and  has. 
within  a  recent  period,  completely  altertxl  the  relative 
demands  from  the  two  countries.  Forty  years  agtv 
according  to  one  of  the  fln«t  dealers  in  the  trade,  tl>e 
light  German  hair  alone  was  called  for,  and  he  almost 
raved  about  a  peculiar  golden  tint  which  waa  fo- 
premely  prized,  and  which  his  fothcr  used  to  keep 
very  close,  only  producing  it  to  fkvorite  costomers. 
in  the  same  manner  that  our  august  sherry-lord  or 
hock-herr  sfmres  to  parUcular  friends— or  now  and 
then,  it  is  said,  to  influential  literary  character»— a  fbw 
magnums  of  some  rare  and  renowned  mintage.  Tbt« 
treai«ure«l  article  he  sold  at  84.  an  ounce~-neari>' 
double  tho  price  of  silver.  Now  all  thto  has  pa«s«-l 
away,  and  the  dark  shades  ni  brown  fhun  France  ar« 
chiefly  called  fur. 


Editorial  N0U9 — English  Literature, 


339 


uisUnt  and  regular  is  this  traffic,  that  the 
era  in  France  know  exactly  where  to  go  for 
r'scrop. 

•log  an  account  of  the  rllla^ea  fW)m  which 
tered  their  supply  for  a  certain  year,  they 
It  they  will  not  he  ahle  to  cut  in  the  same 
1  the  arrival  of  another  given  year.  And 
can  they  calculate  as  to  quantity,  hut  the 
each  local  harvest  is  also  well  known,  and 
ced ;  for  within  a  space  of  fh>m  ten  to  fifteen 
ht  quality  varie.\  as  we  are  told,  so  much  as 
a  difference  of  trom  ten  to  twenty  sons  per 

Bight 

vlginal  price  of  the  hair,  as  purchased  from 
|e  maidens,  is,  as  we  have  seen,  ahout  five 
per  ponncL  The  tradesmen  engaged  in  the 
Ions  of  sorting,  curling,  and  dr^«Ing  it,  pur^ 
at  a  price  of  ten  shillings  per  pound ;  and 
las  gone  through  their  hands,  it  acquires  a 
ttom  twenty  to  eighty  shillings  per  pound 
and  this  is  at  the  rate  it  is  purchased  hy  the 
Mr. 
M  skill  of  the  hair-dresser,  the  price  is  again 

an  almost  indefinite  extent,  and  must  he 
1  hy  the  degree  of  labor  and  dexterity  em- 
lit 

a  peruke,  containing  only  three  ounces  of 
Loally  costing  less  than  a  shilling,  is  frequently 
price  of  twenty -five  to  thirty  shillings 
quantity  of  hair  produced  by  the  annual 
(calculated  at  two  hundred  thousand  poundii^ 
The  sales  of  one  house  alone,  in  Paris,  wiiich 
tour  hair-cutting  establishments  in  the  west- 
try,  amount  to  four  hundred  thousand  francs 


is  an  evidence  of  the  feeling  which 
8  a  great  deal  of  the  English  criti- 
r  America,  that  a  late  Athenoium 
\  a  miserable  catch-penny  pamphlet, 
m  account  of  the  rich  men  of  Bos- 
a  specimen  of  "  transatlantic  pub- 
8,"  and  calls  the  fellow  who  put 
her  an  "American  author."  We 
5xt  expect  to  see  the  catalogue  of 
rj-good  auctioneer  quoted  as  the 
>rm  of  American  journalism. 
•e  the  times  of  the  old  Grecian 
lists  or  the  northern  scalds  to  be 
,  or  are  the  tale-tellers  of  the  East, 
improvisatores  of  Italy,  to  be  trans- 
,  into  England  ?  Air.  Dickens,  we 
been  reading  one  of  his  Christmas 
before  immense  audiences  at  Bir- 
m,  and  with  great  success.  Xo 
r,  it  is  said,  ever  commanded  so 
te  and  rapt  an  attention.  But  there 
iisearch  made  by  the  newspapers, 
tias  struck  us.  He  lopped  off  in- 
ely,  in  the  reading,  under  the  pres- 
'  a  public  ordeal,  every  thing  to 
the  knife  of  the  critic  would  be  ap- 
curtailing  his  needless  amplifica- 
mitting  passages  of  mere  dcscrip- 
it  have  nothing  to  do  with  advan- 
0  main  purpose,  and  subduing  the 
rations,  and  over-colorings, — so  that 
ty  as  received  was  shorter,  and  far 


more  interesting,  than  as  originally  pub- 
lished !  Would  it  not  be  a  useful  discipline 
then  for  all  popular  writers  to  be  required 
to  read  their  works  to  a  public  audience  ? 
It  is  commonly  supposed  that  that  which 
is  prepared  for  verbal  communication,  is 
more  diffuse  than  what  is  intended  for  the 
closet;  but  our  experience , has  been  dif- 
ferent There  is  nothing  that  more  leads  a 
writer  to  condensation  and  vigor,  than  the 
consciousness  that  a  large  audience  is  to  sit 
for  an  hour  or  two  under  its  delivery.  It 
forces  him  to  leave  out  all  unnecessary 
passages,  and  to  say  as  much  as  he  can 
as  well  as  he  can,  within  the  time  pre- 
scribed  to  him.  Extemporary  speakers, 
it  is  true,  get  into  loose  habits  of  thought 
and  utterance,  but  speakers  who  prepare 
their  addresses  with  deliberation  and  judg- 
ment do  not;  and  it  is  remarkable,  that 
among  the  best  specimens  of  composition 
on  the  records  of  literature,  are  those 
dramas  and  orations  which  were  put  to- 
gether to  be  re<ad  or  ^§oken  to  popular 
audiences.  For  condensed  energy  of  ex- 
pression, a  vivacity  of  style,  we  possess 
nothing  superior  to  the  tragedies  of  the 
Greek  Dramatists,  and  the  orations  of 
Demosthenes,  which  were  originally  de- 
livered to  the  most  popular  of  all  audi- 
ences— those  of  the  Agora  and  the  Games. 
A  man  who  writes  for  the  closet  merely, 
is  apt  to  get  prosy  and  dull :  he  allows 
many  sentences  to  remain  that  would  be 
extremely  tedious  in  a  public  assembly ; 
and  he  is  controlled,  too,  in  the  estimate 
of  his  own  powers,  very  much  by  the 
opinions  of  the  coterie  to  which  he  be- 
longs. On  the  other  hand,  if  he  were  forced 
to  come  personally  with  his  production 
before  a  miscellaneous  tribunal,  he  would 
impart  to  his  style  all  the  grace  and  power 
of  which  he  was  capable.  It  is  for  this 
reason  that  we  look  with  some  degree  of 
hope  to  the  influences  of  the  system  of 
lecturing  in  which  so  many  of  our  literary 
men  are  engaged,  believing  that  it  will 
be  a  benefit  to  them  no  less  than  to  the 
community  at  large. 

—  A  Magazine  mania  seems  to  rage  in 
England  just  now,  for  we  have  to  chron- 
icle the  appearance  during  the  last  month 
or  two,  of  some  half  dozen  new  periodicals. 
First  comes-  the  National  Miscellany^ 
which,  however,  has  reached  its  eighUi 
number ;  then  the  Home  Companion^  an 
illustrated  magazine;  then  Cruikshank^s 
Magazine^  with  sketches  from  the  pencil 
of  the  great  caricaturist ;  then  the  Family 
Friend ;  and  then  Our  Circle  of  ttut 
Sciences,  In  shoit,  new  magazines  in 
England  appear  to  be  as  plentiful  as 
almanacs  in  Franco. 


340 


JSditarial  Note^-'French  lAUnstun. 


[Maicfa 


Irench. — A  work  of  rare  utility  and 
interest  is  the  M.  P.  Froussacs  *'  De  La 
A/eteorologie  dans  sea  rapports  avec  la 
^Science  de  V Homme,  et  prindpalement 
avec  la  Medecine  et  V Hygiene  Publique,'*^ 
or,  of  the  Influence  of  Meteorology  on  the 
Science  of  Man.  It  is  an  elaborate  trea- 
tise on  the  whole  subject  as  far  as  our 
knowledge  of  it  extends,  showing  how  the 
condition  of  man  and  society  is  aifected  by 
the  air,  the  water,  electricity,  galvanism, 
climate,  and  all  other  external  physical  in- 
fluences, and  giving  the  most  precise  and 
valuable  details  in  respect  to  the  entire 
series  of  meteorological  phenomena.  Tho 
author  is  favorably  known  by  his  previous 
works  on  climate,  animal  magnetism,  gym- 
nastics, &C. 

—  We  trus-t  that  we  have  no  occasion 
of  calling  to  the  mind  of  French  scholars 
in  this  country  the  Revue  des  deux  Mon- 
des,  one  of  the  ablest  of  the  Parisian  pe- 
riodicals. It  is  published  twice  a  month, 
and  is  one  of  thrfibest  depositories  of  the 
current  literature  of  France  that  we  know. 
A  large  number  of  the  most  accomplished 
scholars  contribute  to  it.  Such  men  as 
Cousin.  Guizot,  De  Ilonmsat,  St  Marc 
Girardin,  Henr}'  Heine,  Madame  Rc3*baud, 
Ampere,  Lettre,  Leon  Fauchcr,  and  oth- 
ers, and  it  embraces  among  its  topics,  po- 
litical economy,  literature,  religion,  science 
and  art,  besides  occasional  fictions. 

—  A  gentleman  who  calls  himself  Mon- 
sieur A.  Bellkgarri(;uk.  has  written  a 
book  on  "American Women"  {Les  Femmes 
rPAmeriquf')^  in  which  he  ttvata  of  our 
[K)or  benighted  females,  and  America  gen- 
ei-ally,  as  something  newly  discovered; 
as  we  might  treat  of  the  women  of  Pata- 
gonia, or  the  Aleutian  islands.  Concurring 
entirely  in  the  belief  that  American  men 
are  wholly  absorbed  in  the  tout-puissant 
ecu^  vulgarly  rendered  the  "almighty 
dollar,-'  he  finds  the  women  of  course  des- 
titute of  all  moral  elevation,  and  only  a 
slight  degree  raised  above  the  sex  of  the 
primitive  inhabitants.  This  is  an  ex- 
aggerated representation,  indeed,  and  yet, 
as  there  is  something  to  be  learned  out  of 
every  opinion,  there  are  certain  classes  of 
women  who  might  profit  by  a  perusal  of 
its  unfriendly  criticism. 

—  M.  Eugene  de  Mirecourt  proposes 
to  write  a  history  of  the  literature  of  the 
Nmeteenth  Century,  and  as  a  specimen 
brick  out  of  the  edifice,  has  presented 
the  public  with  a  small  volume  on  some 
contemporary  men  of  letters  (^Les  Con- 
tempo  rains  Hommes  des  LettreSy  Publi- 
cistcs,  etc).  Ilia  first  selection  is  M<;ry, 
an  inconsiderable  French  poet,  whose  works 
wo  sus^Hsct  will  be  forgotten,  long  before 


M.  de  Mirccoart's  larger  book  shall  have 
made  its  appearance. 

— The  history  of  the  Girondists  and  of 
the  Restoration,  have  been  followed  up  bj 
Lamartine.  with  a  History  of  the  Con- 
stituent Assembly,     It  is  of  the  same 
general  character  as  his  previoos  works ; 
not  very  precise,  and  disclosing  no  new 
facts  or  variety,  but  full  of  popiJar  efiects. 
On  the  whole,  however,  it  must  be  re- 
garded as  inferior  to  the  Girondists,  and 
not  better  than  the  Restoration.  Lamartine 
was  never  meant  for  a  historian,  or  if  he 
was,  is  either  too  idle  or  too  much  occu- 
pied, to  devote  to  his  task  the  necessary 
labor.    It  is  not  easy  to  be  an  histonaiL 
to  possess  a  captivating  style,  to  abound 
in  sentimentality,  or  to  be  able  to  draw 
striking  pictures.    Some  research  is  abo 
requir^.    But  Lamartine  seems  to  de- 
spise all  research.    He  catches  up  a  few 
of  the  best  known  authorities  on  the  epodu 
he  is  writing  about;  tells  their  stories 
over  again ;  puts  in  a  charming  bit  of  ro- 
mance here  and  there,  and  then  sends  forth 
his  book  as  a  history.     He  is  diffuse,  in- 
accurate,  theatrical,   and  wholly  suner- 
ficial.    We  suspect,  indeed,  that  he  ooes 
not  much  care  whether  his  representa- 
tions are  correct  or  not,  and  that  he  adopts 
and  discards  views  of  historical  person- 
ages and  events,  just  as  they  may  be 
telling  or  not,  and  ouite  without  reference 
to  their  truth.    If  ne  can  produce  a  sen- 
sation, can  drape  his  figures  picturesquely, 
or  describe  a  transaction  with  dnunatic 
point,  he  accomplishes  his  purpose.    Yet. 
in  spite  of  these  drawbacks,  wo  confess  to 
a  certain  fascination  which  we  find  in  his 
pages.    He  is  seldom  guilty  of  the  beset- 
ting sin  of  historian»--dnlness :  his  narra- 
tive is  always  animated ;  he  contriTes  to 
invest  whatever  he  touches  with  a  deep 
interest, — a  romantic  interest,  it  mar  b^ 
and  yet  powerful.    Even  in  the  ycuume 
before,  us,  which  opens  with  the  convoca- 
tions of  the  States-General,  and  ends  with 
the  destruction  of  the  Bastilc, — though 
there  is  no  want  of  histories  in  r^;ard  to 
that   period — though  we   have  r^ul  all 
Mignet,   Thiers,   Michelet,   Louis    Blanc, 
and  Carlyle  have  to  say  of  it, — we  find 
our  attention  at  once  riveted.    The  stir- 
ring and  earnest  nature  of  the  e^'ents  may 
account  for  some  of  this  interest,  and  the 
political  treatment  of  these  by  the  author 
for  the  rest  ' 

— An  imperishable  curiosity  attaches, — at 
least,  in  the  French  mind. — to  every  thing 
that  relates  to  Napoleon.  In  order  to 
gratify  it,  M.  Keiinozan  has  commenced 
the  publication  of  all  his  letters,  procla- 
mations and  state  papers,  under  the  nauie 


jSdiiorial  JVbtor — French  Literature, 


341 


Moriy  recuil.  par  ordre  chronola- 
de  sea  Lettrea,  FroclamcUionSy 
InSf  Discaurs  eur  les  matierea 
et  volUiqiieSj  etc,  Formant  une 
e  ae  son  regne  ecrUe  par  lui 
et  accompagnee  de  notes  hieto- 

The  first  volume  only  has  thus  far 
id,  commencing  with  the  campaign 
'•  of  1796,  and  entiing  with  the  bat- 
.osterlitz ;  but  as  this  is  confined  to 
f  details  altogether,  while  the  work 
»  full  particulars  of  all  that  the 
bief  said  or  did,  in  war,  politics  and 
itrstion,  there  is  no  telling  when 
II  reach  the  last  volume.  It  will 
wrevj  an  unquestionably  valuable 
ation  to  history.  It  will  give  us 
HI  as  he  appeared  in  his  own  works, 
t  as  he  is  estimated  by  writers.  By 
f .  there  is  a  curious  passage  in  the 
ai,  in  which  he  speaks  of  the  dif- 
riew8  that  had  already  been  taken 
his  lifetime,  of  his  character  and 

"  I  am  disputed  on  every  hand," 
,—- "  the  thoughts  of  my  battles,  the 
m  of  my  orders,  arc  all  decided 
me.  They  often  ascribe  profun- 
1  sublimity  to  things  which  on  my 
rre  the  most  simple  in  the  world : 
ipite  to  me  projects  which  I  never 
ined;  and  they  question  whether 
t  contemplate  a  universal  monarchy. 
m9on\ediously  about  the  poiut  whe- 
'  absolute  authority  or  arbitrary  acts 
from  my  character  or  my  calcula- 
rhether  they  were  produced  by  my 
ion  or  the  force  of  circumstances, 
r  my  constant  wars  came  from  my 
r  were  simply  defensive, — and  who- 
y  inordinate  ambition,  so  reproach- 
ie  from  avidity  of  conquest,  lust  of 
love  of  order,  or  devotion  to  gcne- 
{Hness,"  &c.  He  then  says  subse- 
r,  that  "  these  men  in  their  posi- 
Irmations  are  more  skilful  than  I, 
lould  be  often  greatly  ^nbarrassed 
•rhat  my  full  purposes  were.  I  did 
ive  to  bend  circumstances  to  my 
but  allowed  myself  to  be  led  by 
stances ;  for  who  can  beforehand 
(ftuitous  occurrences,  wholly  unex- 
accidents  7  How  many  times  have 
compelled  to  change  essentially? 
led  general  views,  rather  than  any 
ormined  plans.  The  man  of  com- 
lerests,  what  I  thought  to  be  for 
»d  of  the  greatest  number,  these 
le  works  to  which  I  was  anchored, 
mad  which  I  floated  for  the  greatest 
r  the  time  at  hap-hazard."  This 
km  is  curious,  because  it  shows  how 
nniiis  is,  after  all,  a  mere  ability  to 
iTsntage  of  tyents,  and  how  little 


any  preconc^ved  plan  of  human  action 
has  to  do  with  the  development  of  events. 

— The  lovers  of  Montaigne  will  find  no 
little  pleasant  reading  in  M.  Etienne  Cat- 
alan's Manuel  des  honnetes  gens,  which 
is  an  attempt  to  inform  the  practical  phi- 
losophy of  the  great  French  essayist  lie 
gathers  together,  as  he  says,  the  elements 
which  properly  constitute  the  philosophy 
of  Montaigne,  interpreting  and  developing 
them,  and  introducing  such  maxims  and 
sentences  as  may  be  entitled  to  special  re- 
gard, either  for  their  excellent  sense  or  the 
propriety  of  their  expression.  His  book 
takes  its  name  from  a  mot  of  Cardinal  du 
Perron,  that  Le  livre  des  Essais  doit  dtre, 
le  brdviaire  des  honndtes  gens." 

— The  Athenaum  Frangaise,  under  tho 
bead  of  studies  of  "  Anglo- American  Fe- 
male Poets,"  gives  an  elaborate  account, 
with  translations,  of  the  life  and  writ- 
ings of  Lucretia  Maria  Davidson,  by  M. 
Thales  Bernard  ;  who  begins  bv  aver- 
ring that  '''America  is  the  daughter  of 
France,'-  and  that  the  latter,  having  warm- 
ly received  "Cooper,  Emerson.  Poe  and 
Prescott,"  ought  not  to  slight  the  obscure 
names  of  our  literature.  He  then  nar- 
rates the  principal  incidents  of  Lucretia's 
history,  mterspersing  the  recital  with 
translations  of  her  verses  into  prose. 

— The  book  of  the  month  in  Paris  is 
the  Souvenirs  of  M.  Killemain,  the  dis- 
tinguished histonan  and  professor,  who, 
like  Dr.  Veron,  Dumas,  Lamartine,  and 
all  other  Frenchmen,  does  not  consider  his 
literary  life  complete  without  an  autobiog- 
raphy. Ha\ing  been  connected  for  the 
last  fifty  years  with  many  of  the  roost 
important  personages  of  the  age,  a  man 
himself  of  character  and  standing  as  a 
Writer  of  remarkable  talent,  his  book  is 
at  once  piquant  and  reliable.  We  shall 
give  some  account  of  it.  as  soon  as  it 
reaches  this  side  of  the  Atlantic. 

— The  Swixs  Remew  narrates  an  anec- 
dote of  B^rongcr.  the  great  song-writer 
of  France,  which  is  an  honorable  testi- 
mony to  tho  character  of  the  venerable 
poet.  He  had  placed  all  his  savings,  to 
the  amount  of  about  thirty  thousand 
francs,  at  interest  in  the  hands  of  a  mer- 
cantile friend,  who  came  to  him  one  day, 
and  returned  tho  money.  But  why  do 
you  do  80  ?  asked  the  poet  Because,  was 
the  reply,  "  My  house  is  likely  to  fail,  and 
as  you  are  old  and  poor,  I  have  thought 
you  ought  to  be  secured  in  time."  No ! 
returned  B^ranger,  I  am  only  one  of  your 
creditors,  and  must  take  my  chanoe  with 
the  rest.  The  consequence  was,  that  after 
the  failure  he  received  merely  his  ten  piT 
oent  wluch  was  the  regulajr  division  of  thu 


842 


Editorial  Notes — Oerman  Literature. 


[March 


assets  of  the  firm.  He  lives  now  on  the 
scantiest  pittance  derived  from  the  sale  of 
his  works.  Ts  there  a  merchant  amone 
ns  who  would  have  acted  as  honorably  i 
We  fear  not 

— The  Abbe  Fallar  has  written  a 
history  of  the  Church  in  North  America, 
entitled.  Memmres  particuliers  pour 
nerrir  a  V  histoire  de  V  EgUse  dans  P  . 
Atneriqite  du  Nord.  It  is  not  however, 
a  regular  history,  so  much  as  a  contribu- 
tion to  history,  as  its  name  imports ;  and 
is  occupied  chiefly  with  the  biography  of 
important  personages,  and  monographs 
of  the  principal  ecclesiastical  establish- 
ments, especially  in  Canada.  Sister  Bour- 
geoys^  the  founder  of  the  first  congrega- 
tion established  at  Villemarie  for  the  edu- 
cation and  conversion  of  the  savages,  and 
Ma'mselle  d'  Youville,  founder  of  tlie  com- 
munity of  the  Sisters  of  Charity,  furnish 
the  materials  for  his  first  three  volumes, 
with  incidental  references  to  the  fortunes  of 
the  establishments  to  which  they  belonged. 

— A  classic  romance  under  the  name  of 
Olympia  has  been  published  by  M.  Louis 
Saulirr.  with  a  view  to  the  illustration 
of  female  life  among  the  ancient  Greeks. 
Olympia  is  a  Spartan,  who  is  painted  in 
the  three-fold  character  of  a  young  girl, 
a  wife,  and  a  mother.  We  first  encounter 
her  participating  in  the  games  of  the  gym- 
nasium, with  her  young  female  compan- 
ions ;  we  next  find  her  accepting  a  hus- 
band obediently  from  the  hands  of  her 
father,  although  she  was  in  love  with 
somebody  else ;  and  then  we  see  her,  as 
the  wife,  rejecting  a  base  proposal  of  her 
husband,  and  yet  as  the  mother  disclos- 
ing to  the  State  a  conspiracy  in  which  her 
only  son  was  implicated.  The  object  of 
the  author,  in  this  two-fold  dilemma,  is' 
to  show  the  despotism  oP  the  idea  of  the 
State,  in  ancient  times,  and  at  the  same 
time  to  depict  the  sentiment  of  the  true 
woman  trampling  over  the  law  as  present- 
ed in  the  proposition  of  her  husband. 
The  work  is  written  with  facility  and  ele- 
gance, but  the  details  are  not  always  of 
the  most  edifying  kind,  out  of  France. 

—  A  report  of  the  proceedings  of  the 
Academy  of  Sciences  in  Paris,  on  the  5th 
December,  speaks  in  the  most  favorable 
terms  of  a  paper  read  by  Dr.  D.  Brainard, 
President  of  the  Rush  Medical  College  of 
Chicago,  on  the  treatment  of  bites  made 
by  venomous  serpents.  His  experiments, 
it  appears,  were  made  generally  on  pigeons, 
which  he  caused  to  be  bitten  by  serpents 
known  technically  as  of  the  species  of 
crotolaphertuf  trigeminus,  rigidly  observ- 
ing the  efifects,  and  then  applying  his 
Dr.  Brainard's  mode  of  re- 


covering his  pigeons  was  by  the  infiltra- 
tion into  the  wounds  and  the  surrounding 
parts  of  the  lactate  of  iron  and  iodine  of 
potassium,  both  in  a  state  of  aqueous  so- 
lution. He  caused  them  to  penetrate  by 
means  of  a  small  83rringe,  and  in  nearly 
every  instance  succeeded  in  saving  the  life 
of  the  poisoned  animal.  A  committee, 
consisting  of  Dameril.  Magendie,  Flourens 
and  Deleure,  was  appointed  to  consider 
the  subject  of  his  paper. 

German. — From  the  press  of  Ammi  at 
Berlin,  we  have  three  characteristic  Ger- 
man tales  (Drei  Mdrchen),  or  legends^  as 
they  are  more  properly  called,  which  are 
full  of  fantastic  spirit  and  hiiroor.  The 
first  of  them  *'  The  daughter  of  the  King 
of  the  Moon,"  which  is  to  be  read  at  night 
as  the  anonymous  author  advertises  us,  is 
almost  as  wild  as  the  best  stories  of  Hoff- 
man, with  a  touch  of  the  graceful  legen- 
dary feeling  of  Tieck.  They  are  all,  how- 
ever, so  marked  by  local  peculiarities  that 
they  would  hardly  repay  translation  into 
English. 

—  There  is  in  course  of  publication  now 
in  Germany,  a  work  on  the  Memoriais  of 
the  Old  Christian  Architecture  in  Ow*- 
stantinople.from  thefjtk  to  the  t-wtlfih 
century,    (AU-christnche  Baudenkmale 
Const antinopels  vom  V. — XII,  Jahrhuth- 
derte,)     This  magnificent  worltf  will  ex- 
hibit in  forty  plates  of  the  largest  folio- 
size,  cither  engraved,  lithographed,  or  iza 
colored  impressions,  delineations  of  vari- 
ous   architectural    remains,    particularly 
views  and    details  of   Agios    Johannes, 
Agios  Sergius  and  Bacchus,  Agia  Sophia, 
Agia  Irene,  Agia  Theotokos,  Agios  Pan- 
tokrator,  as  well  as  of  the  hall  of  the  Heb- 
demon,  and,  for  comparison,  churches  in 
Asia  Minor  from  the  work  of  Texier.  The 
importance  of  the   Byzantine   stj'le  has 
long  been  acknowledged  by  modem  Art. 
There    have,    notwithstanding,    hitherto 
been  wanting  geometrical  surveys  of  the 
most  prominent  monuments  of  this  style, 
to  enable  the  student   to  appreciate  its 
peculiarities  and  minor  details.      Deeply 
as  this  want  has  been  felt,  there  stood  ob- 
stacles almost  insurmountable  in  the  way 
of  its  being  remedied,  particularly  with 
regard  to  a  geometrical  survey  of  St  So- 
phia's Catheciral  at  Constantinople.    Gei^ 
man  assiduity  and  perseverance  has  at  last^ 
under  the  auspices  of  the  King  of  Prussia. 
succeeded  in  clearing  those  obstacles,  and 
effecting  a  most  accurate  survey  of  that  pro- 
totype of  Byzantine  Architecture,  descend- 
ing to  the  minutest  particulars,  and  alf^ 
of  the  rest  of  the  Christian  architectural 
remains  of  Constantinople. 


1 


MiiUjrial  Notes. 


848 


Between  1762  and  1766,  August 
[o  VON  ScHLdzKR  prepared  a  Rus- 
Grammar  during  his  stay  in  St 
burg.  This  first  part,  as  well  as  the 
jncement  of  the  second,  was  printed 
)  Imperial  Academy  of  Sciences  of 
Jaoe;  the  work  had  proceeded  as 
the  eleventh  sheet,  when  its  con- 
ion  was  prohibited,  and  the  whole 
i  suppressed.  A  copy  of  these  ele- 
leets,  which  nearly  comprehended 
tiad  been  completed  in  MS.  is.  there- 
rarity;  and  one  single  copy  only 
kr  as  we  are  aware,  at  present  cx- 
This  work,  as  is  well  known,  was 
st  to  venture  on  a  scientific  treat- 
»f  the  Russian  language,  and  is  there- 
•  be  published  by  the  family  of  the 

lie  sixth  and  concluding  part  of  the 
olume  of  J.  Venedey's  Uistory  of 
•rmans  from  the  earliest  times  to 
resent  {Geschichte  dcs  deutschen 
t  von  den  dltesten  Zeiten  bis  a.uf 
•genwart),  has  just  been  issued.  It 
oes  Gennan  antiquity  from  the  first 
«nce  of  Germans  on  the  stage  of 
r,  to  the  downfall  of  the-  Carloving- 
The  second  volume,  already  com- 
in  MS  »  will  contain  the  history  of 
snuan  Emperors  and  the  contest  of 
>pes  against  the  empire.  The  third 
B  will  comprise  the  history  of  the 
nation  to  the  Westphalian  Peace ; 
urth  volume  will  contain  modern 
r.  This  work  is  distinguished  by 
t  research,  and  a  vigorous  and 
c  style. 

nother  volume,  the  fourth  of  Ber- 
Auerbach's  Village  Stories  (f  the 

Forest,  {Schwa  rzwdlden  I)orf- 
thten),  has  just  appeared. 
!he  correspondence  of  Goethe  must 
xhaustible ;  for  in  addition  to  his 
oecksel  with  Schiller,  Zelter.  Bet- 
Carus,  and  others,  we  are  now 
ted  with  his  letter,  to  Councillor 
■Xy  Briefwecksel  Zwischen  Gothe 
atsralh  v.  C.  L.  F.  SchuUz. 
he  comparative  study  of  languages, 

more  than  any  thing  else  has  fur- 
a  key  to  the  origin  of  races,  is  no- 
pfrosecnted  with  so  much  industry 
gor  as  in  Germany.  The  gram- 
id  vocabularies  of  Bopp,  and  other 
1  authorities,  have  solved  many 
ms  on  which  tradition  is  silent,  and 
d  among  the  most  curious  monu- 
of  nations.  One  of  the  latest  works 
B  kmd  is  the  Grammatica  Ccltica 
.  J.  0.  Zcuss,  of  Leipzic,  who  has 
ed  from  the  various  libraries  of 
9^  the  most  interesting  particulars 


in  regard  to  the  ancient  Irish,  British, 
Cambrian,  and  Cornish  dialects.  It  is 
divided  into  six  parts :  the  first  treats  of 
letters  and  their  permutations  from  one 
dialect  to  another;  the  second  treats  of 
the  noun  and  pronoun ;  the  third  of  the 
verb;  the  fourth  of  particles;  the  fifth 
of  derivation  and  composition;  and  the 
sixth  of  the  construction  of  prose  and 
verse.  The  difterent  dialects  are  com- 
pared with  each  other,  in  every  respect, 
and  their  analogies  and  diversities  clearly 
marked. 


A  SPECIAL  EDITORIAL  NOTE  FOE  THE 
PEOPLE  SOUTH  OF  MASON  AND  DIXON'S 
LINE. 

A  Southern  paper,  in  giving  a  very 
favorable  and  discriminating  criticism  of 
our  February  Number,  adds  to  it  the  fol- 
lowing P.  S. : — 

**In  acknowledging  the  receipt  of  the  Jannaiy 
number  of  "Putnam,"  we  commended  it  to  public 
patronage  on  the  ground  that  it  was  wholly  an  Am&' 
rican  publication.  We  have  recentij  receired  a  com- 
munication declaring  that  this  is  an  error— that  Put- 
nam is  wholly  a  Korthem  publication,  and  that 
Southern  writers,  who  propose  to  contribute  to  its 
columns,  are  not  only  excluded,  but  treated  with  ne- 
glect and  discourtesy.  We  hope  that  there  is  some 
error  or  mistake  in  the  cose,  and  that  Putnam  will  be 
able  to  place  himself  rectus  in  curia  with  his  Soutb 
em  readers  and  contributors." 

The  personal  feeling  manifested  in  this 
complaint  will  be  sufficient  to  divest  it  of 
all  force,  for  it  was  evidently  written  by 
some  person  who  fancied  he  had  been  ne- 
glected by  us,  or  that  his  merits  had  not 
been  properly  appreciated.  And  we  do 
not  pretend  to  say  that  he  was  not  quite 
right  in  thinking  so.  We  know  very  well, 
that  a  good  many  worthy  people,  and  ex- 
cellent writers,  have  had  to  wait  much 
longer  for  a  reply  to  their  communications 
than  was  at  all  agreeable  to  our  own  sense 
of  propriety  ;  but  the  seeming  neglect 
which  they  might  with  reason  complain 
of  has  been  a  matter  of  absolute  neces- 
sity ;  for  we  make  it  a  point  to  read  the 
articles  that  are  sent  to  us  before  deciding 
whether  or  not  they  can  have  a  place  in 
our  Monthly,  and  we  have  adopted  the 
democratic  principle  of,  first  come  first 
served.  Reading  manuscripts,  in  nine 
cases  out  of  ten  illegibly  written,  and 
writing  letters  to  their  authors,  requires  a 
good  deal  of  time ;  and  then,  too,  when  an 
article  may  be  regarded  as  desirable  on 
account  of  its  literary  merits  or  its  sub- 
ject, the  exigencies  of  the  Monthly  may 
prevent  its  immediate  use  ;  it  may  be  too 
long,  or  too  short,  or  it  may  be  too  similar 
in  its  character  to  another  article  wbicii 


zu 


Editorial  Notes — Books  Received, 


[Siuch 


had  been  accepted  before  it ;  all  these  con- 
siderations must  often  perplex  the  editor 
of  a  magazine,  and  prevent  his  giving  an 
instant  reply  to  a  correspondent  and  also 
compel  him  to  reject  communications 
which  would  be  otherwise  desirable.  But 
it  was  not  for  the  purpose  of  saying  these 
very  obvious  truths  that  we  have  noticed 
the  Southern  complaint  in  question.  We 
arc  accused  of  not  being  American  because 
we  are  Northern.  The  South,  or  at  least 
that  part  of  it  which  is  embodied  in  the 
person  of  our  particular  friend  in  question, 
will  not  permit  us  to  enjoy  the  common 
instincts  of  patriotism,  but  will  cut  us  off 
from  our  inheritance,  because  we  happen 
to  live  on  the  wrong  side  of  Mason  and 
Dixon's  line.  It  was  a  son  of  New  Eng- 
land who  uttered  the  patriotic  sentiment, 
**  I  know  no  North,  no  South  ; "  but  our 
Southern  friends  say  they  ^*  know  no 
North,  only  a  South."  There  are  number- 
less publications  calling  themselves  after 
the  South,  to  indicate  their  sectional  cha- 
racter and  their  antagonism  to  the  North. 
The  Southern  Quarterly^  the  Southern 
Literary  Messenger^  and  so  on ;  but  if 
there  be  a  single  periodical  or  other  insti- 
tution north  of  Mason  and  Dixon,  whose 
title  breathes  such  an  un-American  and 
sectional  spirit,  we  are  ignorant  of  its  ex- 
istence. As  to  the  particular  charge 
against  ourselves,  nonsensical  as  it  will 
sound  to  every  body  who  has  been  in  the 
habit  of  reading  our  Magazine,  we  have 
only  to  reply,  that  the  present  number  of 
the  Monthly  contains  four  articles  which 
were  sent  to  us  from  as  many  slave  States, 
and  that  every  number  of  the  work,  from 
the  beginning,  has  contained  one  or  more 
articles  from  the  pens  of  Southern  writ- 
ers. Our  sole  aim  is  to  publish  the  best 
literary  productions  which  the  country 
can  afford ;  and  whether  they  come  from 
Maine  or  Missouri,  Vermont  or  Virginia, 
is  a  matter  of  not  the  slightest  weight  in 
deckiing  on  their  availability.  As  to  our 
mere  personal  interests,  we  can  very  well 
afford  to  be  perfectly  independent  of  all 
Eectk>nal  preferences,  for  at  least  seven 
eighths  of  our  circulation  is  in  the  free 
States ;  and,  if  we  could  be  influenced  by 
any  such  paltry  motives  as  the  "somebody 
down  South"  imputes  to  us,  the  result 


would  not  be  to  our  peconlary  dimdTan- 
tage.  But  our  great  aim  in  the  oondoct 
of  this  Magazine  has  been  to  make  it,  first, 
purely  Amencan  and  original ;  and,  next 
to  render  it  as  profitable  to  the  public  and 
ourselves  as  it  could  be  done.  We  have, 
thus  far,  abundant  cause  for  being  satis- 
fied with  our  exertions,  and  for  entertain- 
ing increased  hope  in  the  literary  resources 
and  intellectual  activity  of  our  thriving 
nation.  Wherein  we  may  possibly  have 
erred,  has  been  in  giving  place  to  con- 
tributions from  the  &r  East,  the  iu 
West,  the  far  North,  and  the  far  South, 
that  our  Magazine  might  properly  repre- 
sent the  whole  Umon,  which,  if  written 
nearer  our  own  door,  might  not  have  been 
accepted. 

BOOKS  BECEITED. 

T&K  Ambbioax  Plaktsb  ;  or  tb«  Bound  Libor  Is- 
terest  of  the  United  States.  ByM.  A.Jng«L  New- 
York:  Long  ft  Brother.  1854. 

TiiK  PuiLoeoPHT  or  Phtmcs.  Bj  Andrew  Brown. 
New- York:  Redfleld.  1854 

Ax  OuTUNK  OF  TUB  Gbolo«t  or  THB  Olobb,  and  of 
the  United  States  In  particalar.  By  Edward  Hf teb- 
cock.  D.  D.   Boston :  Phillips,  Sampson  &  Oa  1888. 

Thk  Complzts  Poktical  Works  or  Thomas  Camt- 
BBLL,  with  an  Original  Biography  and  KoCes^ 
Kdtte<l  by  Epes  Sargent  Boston:  PbiUtpOi  8«np- 
son  ds  Ga  1854. 

OimjMA  or  A  MsoHAMicAL  Thboet  am  Svoua. 
By  T.  Baasaett  New- York:  D.  A^ktcm  *  Cou 
1854 

HUMAX  AXATOMT,  PhTBIOLOGT,  AKD  HTOTKinL      Bf 

T.  S.  Lambert     Uartford:  Brodcett,  HutehliiMn 

ft  Co  1854. 
LixxT  LocxwooD.    A  NoTel.    By  CtthertBe  Okow. 

New-York:  D.  Appleton  ft  Ca  1854 
Tub  Pbotbbtaxt  Episcopal  QgAKBU.T  Sxnsw. 

Vol  L,  No. L    New-York:  H.  Dyer.  1954 
Htdropatiiio   Cook-uook.     By  Dr.   B.  T.  TrtH 

New-York:  Fowlers  A  Wells.  1854 
PoKMS,  Saobbd,  Pasuoxatb,  ako  Lboxm]»abt.    Bf 

Mary  E.  Hewett     New- York:  Limport,  Blake- 

man  ft  Law.  1854  ^ 

A  School  Ck>iirKKDiuM  or  Natcbal  axd  Bzmf- 

mental  Philosopiit.    By  Richard  Oreon  PiikiB. 

New- York:  A.  S.  Barnes  ft  Co.  1854 
Bbnkdictioxs,  or  thk  Bl»«bd  Litb.    By  Ber.  Mm 

Cnrntnlag.  D.D.,  F.KaR.    BuaUio:  J.  P.  Jewvit 

ft  Co.  1854 

POBMS,  DbSC&IPTITR.  DRAMATIC,   LMnBHOAET,    AJK9 

CoxTP.MriJkTiTE.    By  W.  Gilmore  Simina.    S  Tola. 
New- York:  Redfleld.  1854 
LrrTLK  Blossom's  Reward.    A  Christmas  Book  fbr 
Childrvn.     By   Mni.   Emily   Hare.      Ulnetnled. 
BoAton:  Phillips.  Sampson  ft  Ca  1854 


% 


PUTNAM'S  MONTHLY. 

int  of  yitature,  ^tmtt,  anlr  .^rt. 


VOL.  m.— APRIL  1854.— NO.  XVI. 


THE   ENCANTADAS,    OR   ENCHANTED   ISLES. 

BT  8ALVAT0R  R.  TARNMOOR. 
(OontlDiMd  from  page  819.) 


SKETCH  FIFTH, 
mz  raiaATi^  aitd  amp  fltawat. 

"  Looking  &r  forth  Into  the  ocean  wide, 
A  goodly  ship  with  bannen  bravelj  dlght, 
And  flag  in  her  top-gallant  I  esplde, 
Ttooagh  the  main  sea  making  her  merry  flight" 

ERE  quitting  Rodondo,  it  must  not  be 
omitted  that  here,  in  1813,  the  U.S. 
frigate  Essex.  Captain  David  Porter,  came 
near  leaving  ner  bones.  Lying  beodmed 
one  morning  with  a  strong  current  setting 
her  rapidly  towards  the  rock,  a  strange 
sail  was  decried,  which — ^not  out  of  keep- 
ing with  alleged  enchantments  of  the 
neishborhood — seemed  to  be  starring 
under  a  violent  wind,  while  the  ni^to 
lay  lifeless  as  if  spell-bound.  But  a  light 
air  springing  up,  all  sail  was  made  by  the 
frigate  in  duise  of  the  enem^,  as  supposed 
— he  being  deemed  an  English  whide-ship 
— ^bat  the  rapidity  of  the  current  was  so 
great,  that  soon  aU  sight  was  lost  of  him ; 
and  at  meridian  the  Essex,  spite  of  her 
drags,  was  driven  so  close  under  the  foam- 
lashed  cliffs  of  Rodondo  that  for  a  time  all 
hands  gave  her  up.  A  smart  breeze,  how- 
ever, at  last  helped  her  of^  though  the 
escape  was  so  critical  as  to  seem  almost 
miraculous. 

Thus  saved  from  destruction  herself^ 
she  now  niade  use  of  that  salvation  to 
destroy  the  other  vessel,  if  possible.  Re- ' 
Hewing  the  chase  in  the  direction  in  which 
the  stranger  had  disappeared,  sight  was 
caught  of  him  the  foUowine  morning. 
Unon  being  descried  he  hoisted  American 
cmors  and  stood  away  fit>m  the  Essex. 

VOL.  III.    -23 


A  calm  ensued ;  when,  still  confident  that 
the  stranger  was  an  Englishman,  Porter 
despatched  a  cutter,  not  to  board  the 
enemy,  but  drive  back  his  boats  engaged 
in  towing  him.  The  cutter  succeeded. 
Cutters  were  subsequently  sent  to  capture 
him ;  the  stranger  now  showing  English 
colors  in  place  of  American.  But  when 
the  frigate's  boats  were  within  a  short 
distance  of  their  hoped-for  prize,  another 
sudden  breeze  sprang  up;  the  stranger 
under  all  sail  bore  off  to  the  westward, 
and  ere  ni^ht  was  hull  down  ah^  of  the 
Essex,  which  all  this  time  lay  perfectly 
becalmed. 

This  enigmatic  craft — American  in  the 
morning,  and  English  in  the  evening — her 
sails  full  of  wind  in  a  calm — was  never 
again  beheld.  An  enchanted  ship  no 
doubt    So  at  least  the  sailors  swore. 

This  cruise  of  the  Essex  in  the  Pacific 
during  the  war  of  1812,  is  perhaps  the 
strangest  and  most  stirring  to  be  found  in 
the  history  of  the  American  navy.  She 
captured  the  furthest  wandering  vessels ; 
visited  the  remotest  seas  and  isles ;  long 
hovered  in  the  charmed  vicinity  of  the 
ttichanted  group;  and  finally  valiantly 

Sve  up  the  ghost  fighting  two  English 
gates  in  the  harbor  of  Valparaiso. 
Mention  is  made  of  her  here  for  the  same 
reason  that  the  buccauijers  will  likewise 
receive  record  j  beeaus^  like  them,  by 
long  cruising  among  the  isles,  t«ftoba» 
huliiting  upon  thtir  shores^  and  geticraJly 
exploring  them  ;  for  th&m  md  other  reo^ 
sons,  the  Essex  Is  poeiUiiurly  Msooiated 
with  the  Encant4das. 

Here  be  it  ^ojd  that  ycm  Jiave  but 
three  eye-witness  fluthorfties  wOittb  men- 


846 


The  EncantadaSy  or  Enchanted  lUee. 


[Apiil 


tioning  touching  the  Enchanted  Isles : — 
Cowley,  the  buccaneer  (1684) ;  Colnet, 
the  whaling-ground  explorer  (1 1 98) ;  Por- 
ter, the  post  captain  (1813).  Other  than 
these  you  have  but  barren,  bootless  allu- 
sions from  some  few  passing  voyagers  or 
compilers. 


SKETCH  SIXTH. 

BAKRIKOTON  ISLE  AND  THX  BVCOMJXZEaa. 

**  Let  OS  all  servile  base  sabjectioa  scorn, 
And  as  we  bo  sons  of  the  earth  so  wide, 
Let  ns  onr  fiither^s  heritage  divide, 
And  challenge  to  onrselvee  our  portions  dew 
Of  all  the  patrimony,  which  a  few 
Now  hold  on  hugger-mugger  in  their  band." 
•       •*•♦•••• 

**  Lords  of  the  world,  and  so  will  wander  free, 
Where— «o  us  llsteth,  uncontrolled  of  any." 

**  How  bravely  now  we  live,  how  Jocund,  how  near 
the  first  inheritance,  without  fear,  how  free  from  little 
troubles  I" 

Near  two  centuries  ago  Harrington  Isle 
was  the  resort  of  that  famous  wing  of  the 
West  Indian  buccaneers,  which,  upon 
their  repulse  from  the  Cuban  waters, 
crossing  the  Isthmus  of  Darien,  ravaeed 
the  Pacific  side  of  the  Spanish  colonies, 
and.  with  the  regularity  and  timing  of  a 
moaern  mail,  waylaid  the  royal  treasure 
ships  plying  between  Manilla  and  Aca- 
poloo.  Afber  the  toils  of  piratic  war, 
here  they  came  to  say  their  prayers,  enjoy 
their  free-and-casies,  count  their  crackers 
from  the  cask,  their  doubloons  from  the 
keg,  and  measure  their  silks  of  Asia  with 
long  Toledos  for  their  yard-sticks. 

As  a  secure  retreat,  an  undiscoverable 
hiding  place,  no  spot  in  those  days  could 
have  been  better  fitted.  In  the  centre  of 
a  vast  and  silent  sea,  but  very  little  tra- 
versed ;  surrounded  by  islands,  whose 
inhospitable  aspect  might  well  drive  away 
the  chance  navigator;  and  yet  within  a 
few  days'  sail  of  the  opulent  countries 
which  they  made  their  prey ;  the  unmo- 
lested buccaneers  found  here  that  tran- 
quillity which  they  fiercely  denied  to  every 
civilized  harbor  in  that  part  of  the  world. 
Here,  after  stress  of  weather,  or  a  tem- 
porary drubbing  at  the  hands  of  their 
vindiotiTe  foes,  or  in  swift  flight  with 
golden  booty,  tmwe  old  marauders  came, 
and  ]«r  Mingly  out  of  all  harm's  reach. 
But  l^ft  Qidy  was  the  place  a  harbor  of 
la  how«r  of  ease,  but  for  utility 
iiittp  it  was  most  admirable. 
Ide  is  in  many  respects 
singdvly  iiuBtod  to  careening,  refitting, 
refreiAiiliil^  «jM  other  seamen's  purposes. 
Not  on^  haa  it  good  water,  and  good 


anchorage,  well  sheltered  frt>m  all  winds 
by  the  high  land  of  Albemarle,  bat  it  is 
the  least  unproductive  isle  of  the  group. 
Tortoises  good  for  food,  trees  good  fbr 
fuel,  and  long  grass  good  for  bedding, 
abound  here,  and  there  are  pretty  natural 
walks,  and  several  landscapes  to  be  seen. 
Indeed,  though  in  its  locality  belonnng  to 
the  Enchanted  group,  Barrington  Isle  is 
so  unlike  most  of  its  neighlwrs,  that  it 
would  hardly  seem  of  kin  to  them. 

"I  once  landed  on  its  western  stde^" 
says  a  sentimental  voyager  long  aga 
"where  it  faces  the  black  buttress  of 
Albemarle.  I  walked  beneath  groves  of 
trees ;  not  very  lofty,  and  not  palm  trees^ 
or  orange  trees,  or  peach  trees,  to  be  sure ; 
but  for  all  that,  after  long  sea-fa] ' 
very  beautiful  to  walk  under,  even  tho 

they  supplied  no  fruit    And  here,  in  c 

spaces  at  the  heads  of  glades,  and  on  the 
snkded  tops  of  slopes  oommandinff  the 
most  quiet  scenery — what  do  you  thmk  I 
saw?  Seats  which  might  have  served. 
Brahmins  and  presidents  of  peace  societies. 
Fine  old  ruins  of  what  had  once  been 
symmetric  lounges  of  stone  and  turf; 
they  bore  every  mark  both  of  artifidalness 
and  age,  and  were  undoubtedly  made  by 
the  buccaneers.  One  had  been  a  loQg 
sofa,  with  back  and  arms,  just  such  a  so& 
as  the  poet  Gray  might  have  loved  to 
throw  himself  upon,  his  Crebillon  in  hand. 

"  Though  they  sometimes  tarried  here 
for  months  at  a  time,  and  used  the  mot 
for  a  storing-place  for  spare  spars,  sails, 
and  casks;  yet  it  is  highly  improbable 
that  the  buccaneers  ever  erected  dwelling^ 
houses  upon  the  isle.  They  never  were 
here  except  their  ships  remained,  and 
they  would  most  likely  have  slept  on 
board.  I  mention  this,  because  I  cannot 
avoid  the  thought,  that  it  is  hard  to  im- 
pute the  construction  of  these  romantic 
seats  to  any  other  motive  than  one  of 
pure  peaceftilness  and  kindly  fellowship 
with  nature.  That  the  buccaneers  perpe- 
trated the  greatest  outrages  is  very  true ; 
that  some  of  them  were  mere  cut-throata 
is  not  to  be  denied ;  but  we  know  that 
here  and  there  among  their  host  was  a 
Dampier,  a  Wafer,  and  a  Cowley,  and 
likewise  other  men,  whose  worst  reproadi 
was  their  desperate  fortunes ;  whom  per- 
secution, or  adversity,  or  secret  and  nn- 
avengeable  wrongs,  had  driven  from 
Christian  society  to  seek  the  melanch<^y 
solitude  or  the  guilty  adventures  of  the 
sea.  At  any  rat^  long  as  those  ruins  of 
seats  on  Barrington  remain,  the  most 
singular  monuments  are  furnished  to  the 
hc%  that  all  of  the  buccaneers  were  not 
unmitigated  monsters. 


The  ^neantatUu,  or  JSnehtmUd  Jde$. 


8*1 


t  daring  my  ramble  on  the  isle  I 
t  long  in  discovering  other  tokens, 
gs  quite  in  accordance  with  those 
aits,  popularly,  and  no  doubt  truly 
.  imputed  to    the  freebooters   at 

Had  I  picked  up  old  sails  and 
loops  I  would  only  have  thought 
ship's  carpenter  and  cooper.  But 
I  old  cutlasses  and  daggers  reduced 
d  threads  of  rust,  whidb  doubtless 
ick  between  Spanish  ribs  ere  now. 
were  signs  of  the  murderer  and 
;  the  reveller  likewise  had  left  his 

Mixed  with  shells,  fragments  of 

jars  were  lying  here  and  there, 
ip  upon  the  beach.  They  were 
ly  like  the  jars  now  used  upon  the 
b  coast  for  the  wine  and  Pisco 
of  that  country. 

ith  a  rusty  dagger-fra^ent  in  one 
md  a  bit  of  a  wine-jar  in  another,  I 

down  on  the  ruinous  green  sofa  I 
poken  of;  and  bethought  me  long 
eeply  of  these  same  buccaneers, 
it  be  possible,  that  they  robbed 
ordered  one  day,  revelled  the  next, 
sted  themselves  by  turning  medita- 
tUlosophers,  rural  poets,  and  seat- 
's on  the  third  ?  Not  very  improb- 
fter  alL  For  consider  the  vacillar 
f  »  man.  Still,  strange  as  it  may 
I  must  also  abide  by  the  more 
hie  thought;  namely,  that  among 
dventurers  were  some  gentlemanly, 
iionable  souls,  capable  of  genuine 
illity  and  virtue.*^ 


SKETCH  EIGHTH. 

dMAmLlB*  ISLB  AKD  THX  DOO-XIKO. 


So  with  ontragloiu  cry, 

1  Tilleins  round  aboat  him  swarmed 
'the  rocks  and  caves  adjoining  nje ; 
litiTe  wretches,  ragged,  mde,  deformed ; 
rettnlng  death,  all  in  straongc  manner  armed; 
wttfa  anweldy  clnbs,  some  with  long  speares, 
mty  knlTea,  some  staves  in  fler  warmd. 
•  •  «  •  • 

01  not  be  of  any  occupation, 
eb  Tile  vassals,  born  to  base  vocation, 
;e  in  the  world,  and  for  their  living  droyle, 
I  have  no  wit  to  live  wltliouten  toyleu 

THWEST  of  Barrington  lies  Charles' 
And  hereby  hangs  a  history  which 
lered  long  ago  from    a   shipmate 
1  in  all  the  lore  of  outlandish  life. 
ing  the  successful   revolt  of  the 


Spanish  provinces  from  Old  Spain,  there 
fought  on  behalf  of  Peru  a  certain  Creole 
adventurer  from  Cuba,  who  by  his  bravery 
and  good  fortune  at  length  advanced  him- 
self to  high  rank  in  the  patriot  army. 
The  war  being  ended,  Peru  found  herself 
like  many  valorous  gentlemen^  free  and 
independent  enough,  but  with  few  shot  in 
the  locker.  In  oUier  words,  she  had  not 
wherewithal  to  pay  off  her  troops.  But 
the  Creole — I  forget  his  name — volun- 
teered to  take  his  pay  in  lands.  So  they 
told  him  he  might  have  his  pick  of  the 
Enchanted  Isles,  which  were  then,  as  they 
still  remain,  the  nominal  appanage  of  Peru. 
The  soldier  straightway  embarks  thither, 
explores  the  group,  returns  to  Callao,  and 
says  he  will  take  a  deed  of  Charles'  Isle. 
Moreover,  this  deed  must  stipulate  that 
thenceforth  Charles'  Isle  is  not  only  the 
sole  property  of  the  Creole,  but  is  for  ever 
free  of  Peru,  even  as  Peru  of  Spain.  To 
be  short)  this  adventurer  procures  himself 
to  be  made  in  effect  Supreme  Lord  of  the 
Island,  one  of  the  princes  of  the  powers 
of  the  earth.* 

He  now  sends  forth  a  proclamation  in- 
viting subjects  to  his  as  yet  unpopulated 
kingdom.  Some  eighty  souls,  men  and 
women,  respond ;  and  being  provided  by 
their  leader  with  necessaries,  and  tools 
of  various  sorts,  together  with  a  few  cattle 
and  goats,  take  ship  for  the  promised 
land ;  the  last  arrival  on  board,  prior  to 
sailing,  being  the  Creole  himself,  aocom- 
panied,  strange  to  say,  by  a  disciplined 
cavalry  company  of  large  grim  dogs. 
These,  it  was  observed  on  the  passage, 
refusing  to  consort  with  the  emigrants, 
remained  aristocratically  grouped  around 
their  master  on  the  elevated  quarter-deck, 
casting  disdainful  glances  forward  upon 
the  inferior  rabble  there ;  much  as  from 
the  ramparts,  the  soldiers  of  a  garrison 
thrown  into  a  conquered  town,  eye  the  in- 
glorious citizen-mob  over  which  they  are 
set  to  watch. 

Now  Charles'  Isle  not  only  resembles 
Barrington  Isle  in  being  much  more  in- 
habitable than  other  parts  of  the  group ; 
but  it  is  double  the  size  of  Barrington ; 
say  forty  or  fifty  miles  in  circuit 

Safely  debarked  at  last,  the  company 
under  direction  of  their  lord  and  patron, 
forthwith  proceeded  to  build  their  capital 
city.  They  make  considerable  advance 
in  the  way  of  walls  of  clinkers,  juid  hva 
floors,  nicely  sanded  with  einaers.     On 


s  American  Spaniards  have  long  been  in  the  habit  of  making  presents  of  islands  to  ilaiei  ilim  IndiTMO' 
•  pilot  Juan  !<  emandez  procured  a  deed  of  the  isle  named  dter  him,  and  for  stmie  jean  rtSdcd  fhero 
•durk  came.  It  is  supposed,  however,  that  he  eventually  contracted  the  bhiM  iqkio  bk  pHMtl^  pto- 
ir  after  a  Ume  he  retomed  to  the  main,  and  as  report  goes,  became  a  very  garmlons  bwbor  la  tlM  dtj 


8i8 


Tke  ISneantadaSj  or  Ihiehanted  Idtt, 


[kgA 


the  least  btrren  hills  they  pasture  their 
catUe,  while  the  goats,  adyenturers  hj 
nature,  explore  the  far  inland  solitudes 
for  a  scanty  livelihood  of  lofty  herbage. 
Meantime,  abundance  of  fish  and  an  in- 
exhaustible tribe  of  tortoises,  supply  the 
adventurer's  other  wants. 

The  disorders  incident  to  settling  all 
primitive  regions,  in  the  present  case  were 
heightened  by  the  peculiarly  untoward 
character  of  many  of  the  pilgrims.  His 
Majesty  was  forced  at  last  to  proclaim 
martial  law,  and  actually  hunted  and  ^ot 
with  his  own  hand  several  of  his  rebellious 
subjects,  who,  with  most  questionable 
intentions,  had  clandestinely  encamped  in 
the  interior ;  whence  they  stole  by  night, 
to  prowl  barefooted  on  tiptoe  round  the 
precincts  of  the  lava-palace.  It  is  to  be 
remarked,  however,  that  prior  to  such 
stem  proceedings,  the  more  reliable  men 
had  been  judiciously  picked  out  for  an 
infantry  body-guard,  subordmate  to  the 
cavalry  body-guard  of  dogs.  But  the 
state  of  politics  in  this  unhappy  nation 
may  be  somewhat  imagined  from  the  cir- 
cumstance, that  all  who  were  not  of  the 
body-guard  were  downright  plotters  and 
malignant  traitors.  At  length  the  death 
penalty  was  tacitly  abolished,  owing  to 
the  timely  thought,  that  were  strict  sports- 
man's justice  to  be  dispensed  among  such 
subjects,  ere  long  the  Nimrod  Ring  would 
have  little  or  no  remaining  game  to  shoot. 
The  human  part  of  the  hfe-guard  was  now 
disbanded,  and  set  to  work  cultivating  the 
soil,  and  raising  potatoes;  the  regular 
army  now  solely  consisting  of  the  dog- 
regiment  These,  as  I  have  heurd,  were 
of  a  singularly  ferocious  character,  though 
by  severe  traming  rendered  docile  to  their 
roaster.  Armed  to  the  teeth,  the  Creole 
now  goes  in  state,  surrounfied  by  his 
canine  janizaries,  whose  terrific  baying 
prove  quite  as  serviceable  as  bayonets  m 
keeping  down  the  surgings  of  revolt 

But  the  census  of  the  isle,  sadly  lessened 
by  the  dispensation  of  justice,  and  not 
materially  recruited  by  matrimony,  began 
to  fill  his  mind  with  sad  mistrust.  Some 
way  the  population  must  be  increased. 
Now,  from  its  possessing  a  little  water, 
and  its  comparative  pleasantness  of  aspect, 
Charles'  Isle  at  this  period  was  occasion- 
ally visited  by  foreign  whalers.  These 
His  Majesty  had  always  levied  upon  for 
port  charges,  thereby  contributing  to  his 
revenue.  But  now  he  had  additional  de- 
signs. By  insidious  arts  he  from  time  to 
time  ciyoles  certain  sailors  to  desert  their 
ships  and  enlist  beneath  his  banner.  Soon 
as  missed,  their  captains  crave  permission 
to  go  and  hunt  Uiem  up.    Whereupon 


His  Majesty  first  hides  them  yvtj  cin- 
fully  away,  and  then  freely  permits  the 
search.  In  consequence,  the  delinqaemtB 
are  never  found,  and  the  ships  retire  with- 
out them. 

Thus,  by  a  two-ed^  policy  of  this 
crafty  monarch,  foreign  nations  wen 
crippled  in  the  number  of  their  subjects,  nd 
his  own  were  greatly  multiplied.  He  par- 
ticularly petted  these  ren^ido  strangers. 
But  alas  for  the  deep-laid  schemes  of  am- 
bitious princes,  and  alas  for  the  yanity  of 
glory.  As  the  for^gn-bom  Pretoriansof 
the  Roman  state,  unwisely  introdnoed  into 
the  commonwealth,  and  still  more  unwise 
ly  made  favorites  of  the  Emperors,  at  last 
insulted  and  overturned  the  throne^  even 
so  these  lawless  mariners,  with  all  the 
rest  of  the  body-guard  and  all  the  popu- 
lace, broke  out  into  a  terrible  mutiny,  and 
defied  their  master.  He  marched  acainst 
them  with  all  his  dogs.  A  deadly  battle 
ensued  upon  the  beach.  It  raged  for 
three  hours,  the  does  fighting  with  deter- 
mined valor,  and  the  sailors  reddess  of 
every  thing  but  victory.  Three  men  and 
thirteen  dogs  were  left  dead  npon  the  Add. 
many  on  Iwth  sides  were  wounded,  ana 
the  king  was  forced  to  fly  with  m  re- 
mainder of  his  canine  regiment  The 
enemy  pursued,  stoning  l£e  dogs  with 
their  master  into  the  wilderness  of  the 
interior.  Discontinuing  the  pursoit,  the 
victors  returned  to  the  village  on  the 
shore,  stove  the  spirit-casks,  and  pro- 
claimed a  Republic.  The  dead  men  were 
interred  with  the  honors  of  war,  and  the 
dead  dogs  ignominiously  thrown  into  the 
sea.  At  last,  forced  by  stress  of  suffering^ 
the  fugitive  Creole  came  down  from  the 
hills  and  offered  to  treat  for  peace.  But 
the  rebels  refused  it  on  any  other  terms 
than  his  unconditional  banishment  Ac- 
cordingly, the  next  ship  that  airiTed 
carried  away  the  ex-king  to  Peru. 

The  history  of  the  king  of  OharW 
Island  furnishes  another  illustratwn  of  the 
difficulty  of  colonizing  barren  islands  with 
unprincipled  pilgrims. 

Doubtless  for  a  long  time  die  exiled 
monarch,  pensively  ruralizing  in  Pern, 
which  afforded  him  a  safe  asylum  in  his 
calamity,  watched  every  arrival  from  the 
Encantadas,  to  hear  news  of  the  fiulure 
of  the  Republic,  the  consequent  penitenoe 
of  the  rebels,  and  his  own  recall  to  royal^. 
Doubtless  he  deemed  the  Republic  but  a 
miserable  experiment  which  would  soon 
explode.  But  no,  the  insurgents  had 
confederated  themselves  into  a  democracy 
neither  Grecian,  Roman,  nor  American. 
Nay,  it  was  no  democracy  at  all,  but  a 
permanent  Riotocrtuy^  which  gloried  in 


] 


Tke  JSnecuUadas,  or  Ihiehanted  liles. 


S49 


I  no  law  but  lawlessness.  Great 
uments  being  offered  to  deserters, 
ranks  were  swelled  by  accessions 
nps  from  every  ship  which  touched 
riiores.  Charles'  Island  was  pro- 
d  Uie  asylum  of  the  oppressed  of  all 
.  Each  runaway  tar  was  hailed  as 
^  in  the  cause  of  freedom,  and  be- 
immediately  installed  a  ragged 
i  of  this  universal  nation.  In  vain 
ptains  of  absconding  seamen  strove 
;am  them.  Their  new  compatriots 
^eady  to  give  any  number  of  omar 
1  eyes  in  their  behal£  They  had 
UDon,  but  their  fists  were  not  to  be 
with.    So  at  last  it  came  to  pass 

0  vessels  acquainted  with  the  cnar- 
of  that  country  durst  touch  there, 
tt  sorely  in  want  of  refreshment, 
ime  Anathema — a  sea  Alsatia — the 
liled  lurking-place  of  all  sorts  of 
•does,  who  in  the  name  of  liberty 
lat  what  they  pleased.  They  con- 
I7   fluctuated    in    their   numbers. 

1  deserting  ships  at  other  islands, 
boats  at  sea  any  where  in  that 

Yf  steered  for  Charles'  Isle,  as  to 
sure  home  of  refuge ;  while  sated 
the  life  of  the  isle,  numbers  from 
to  time  crossed  the  water  to  the 
KMring  ones,  and  there  presenting 
sites  to  strange  captains  as  ship- 
Mi  seamen,  often  succeeded  in  getting 
ard  vessels  bound  to  the  Spanish 
and  having  a  compassionate  purse 
ap  for  them  on  landing  there. 
>  warm  night  during  my  first  visit 
group,  OUT  ship  was  floating  along 
giud  stillness,  when  some  one  on 
:«casUe  shouted  "  Light  ho ! "  We 
[  ajid  saw  a  beacon  burning  on  some 
le  land  off  the  beam.  Our  third 
i?as  not  intimate  with  this  part  of 
t>rld.  Gomg  to  the  captain  he 
Sir,  shall  I  put  off  in  a  boat?  These 
be  diipwrecked  men." 
I  captain  laughed  rather  grimly,  as, 
ig  nis  fist  towards  the  beacon,  he 
1  out  an  oath,  and  said — "  No,  no, 
redous  rascals,  you  don't  juggle  one 
'  boats  ashore  this  blessed  night. 

0  well,  you  thieves — ^you  do  benevo- 
to  hoist  a  light  yonder  as  on  a 

nous  shoal.    It  tempts  no  wise  man 

1  off  and  see  what's  the  matter,  but 
im  steer  small  and  keep  off  shore — 
s  Charles'  Island ;  brace  up,  Mr. 
and  keep  the  light  astern." 


BKETOH  NINTH. 

MOIPOLK  VLB  AXD  TUB  CHOIA  -WIDOW. 

**  At  iMt  thej  in  an  isUnd  did  «sp7 
A  seemly  woman  sitting  by  the  shore, 
That  with  great  sorrow  and  sad  agony 
Seemed  some  great  misfortune  to  deplore, 
And  load  to  them  for  saccor  called  eyermore.* 

**  Black  his  eye  as  the  midnight  sky, 
White  his  neck  as  the  driven  snbw, 
Bed  his  cheek  as  the  morning  light  ;-< 
Cold  he  lies  in  the  groond  below. 
My  love  ia  dead, 
Gone  to  his  death-bed. 
All  under  the  cactus  tree.*" 

Far  to  the  northeast  of  Charles'  Isle, 
sequestered  from  the  rest,  lies  Norfolk 
Isle ;  and,  however  insignificant  to  most 
voyagers,  to  me,  through  sympathy,  that 
lone  island  has  become  a  spot  made  sacred 
by  the  strongest  trials  of  humanity. 

It  was  my  first  visit  to  the  Encantadas. 
Two  days  had  been  spent  ashore  in  hunt- 
ing tortoises.  There  was  not  time  to  cap- 
ture many ;  so  on  the  third  afternoon  we 
loosed  our  sails.  We  were  just  in  the  act 
of  getting  under  wajr,  the  uprooted  anchor 
yet  su^>eiided  and  mvisibly  swaying  be- 
neath the  wave,  as  the  good  ship  gn^ual- 
ly  turned  her  heel  to  leave  the  isle  behind, 
when  the  seaman  who  heaved  with  me  at 
the  windlass  paused  suddenly,  and  directed 
my  attention  to  something  moving  on  the 
land,  not  along  the  beach,  but  somewhat 
back,  fluttering  from  a  height. 

In  view  of  the  sequel  of  this  little  story, 
be  it  here  narrated  how  it  came  to  pass, 
that  an  object  whidi  partly  from  its  being 
so  small  was  quite  lost  to  every  other 
man  on  board,  still  caught  the  eye  of  my 
handspike  companion.  The  rest  of  the 
crew,  myself  included,  merely  stood  up 
to  our  spikes  in  heaving;  whereas,  un- 
wontedly  exhilarated  at  every  turn  of  the 
ponderous  windlass,  my  belted  comrade 
leaped  atop  of  it,  with  might  and  main 

S'vmg  a  downward,  thewey,  perpendicu- 
r  heave,  his  raised  eye  bent  in  cheery 
animation  upon  the  slowly  receding  shore. 
Being  high  lifted  above  all  others  was  the 
reason  he  perceived  the  object,  otherwise 
unperceivable :  and  this  elevation  of  his 
eye  was  owins  to  the  elevation  of  his 
spirits;  and  this  wun — ^for  truth  must 
out — to  a  dram  of  Peruvian  pisoo,  in 
guerdon  for  some  kindness  done,  secretly 
administered  to  him  that  morning  by  our 
mulatto  steward.  Now,  certain^,  pisoo 
does  a  deal  of  mischief  in  the  world ;  yet 
seeing  that,  in  the  present  case,  it  was 
the  means,  though  indirect,  of  rescuing  a 
human   being  trom  the  most  dreaSol 


850 


I%e  JS^neantadaSf  or  Enchanted  I9U9, 


[April 


fate,  must  we  not  also  needs  admit  that 
sometimes  pisco  does  a  deal  of  good  ? 

Glancing  across  the  water  in  the  direc- 
tion pointed  out,  I  saw  some  white  thing 
hanging  from  an  inland  rock,  perhaps  half 
a  mUe  horn  the  sea. 

'^It  is  a  hird;  a  white-winged  bird; 
perhaps  a ^no;  it  is it  is  a  hand- 
kerchief!" 

"  Aye,  a  handkerchief ! "  echoed  my 
comrade,  and  with  a  louder  shout  appris^ 
the  captain. 

Quickly  now — like  the  running  out  and 
training  of  a  great  gun — the  long  cabin 
spy-glass  was  thrust  through  the  mizzen 
rigging  from  the  high  platform  of  the 
poop;  whereupon  a  human  figure  was 
plainly  seen  upon  the  inland  rock,  eagerly 
waving  towards  us  what  seemed  to  be  the 
handkerchief. 

Our  captain  was  a  prompt,  good  fellow. 
Dropping  the  glass,  he  lustily  ran  forward, 
ordering  the  anchor  to  be  dropped  again ; 
hands  to  stand  by  a  boat,  and  lower 
away. 

In  a  half-hour's  time  the  swift  boat  re- 
turned. It  went  with  six  and  came  with 
seven ;  and  the  seventh  was  a  woman. 

It  is  not  artistic  heartlessness,  but  I 
wish  I  could  but  draw  in  crayons ;  for  this 
woman  was  a  most  touching  sight ;  and 
crayons,  tracing  softly  melancholy  lines, 
would  best  depict  the  mournful  image  of 
the  dark-damasked  Chola  widow. 

Her  story  was  soon  told,  and  though 
given  in  her  own  strange  language  was  as 
quickly  understood,  for  our  captain  from 
long  trading  on  the  Chilian  coast  vras 
weU  versed  in  the  Spanish.  A  Cholo.  or 
half-breed  Indian  woman  of  Payta  in 
Peru,  three  years  gone  by,  with  her  young 
new-wedded  husband  Felipe,  of  pure  Oas- 
tilian  blood,  and  her  one  only  Indian  bro- 
ther, Truxill,  Hunilla  had  taken  passage 
on  the  main  in  a  French  whaler,  com- 
manded by  a  joyous  man ;  which  vessel, 
bound  to  the  cruising  grounds  beyond  the 
Enchanted  Isles,  proposed  passing  close 
by  their  vicinity.  The  object  of  the  little 
party  was  to  procure  tortoise  oil,  a  fluid 
which  for  its  great  purity  and  delicacy  is 
held  in  high  estimation  wherever  known ; 
and  it  is  well  known  all  along  this  part  of 
the  Pacific  coast.  With  a  chest  of  clothes, 
tools,  cooking  utensils,  a  rude  apparatus 
for  trying  out  the  oil,  some  casks  of  bis- 
cuit, and  other  things,  not  omitting  two 
favorite  dogs,  of  which  faithful  animal  all 
the  Cholos  are  very  fond,  Hunilla  and 
her  companions  were  safely  landed  at  their 
chosen  place;  the  Frenchman,  acoordine 
to  the  contract  made  ere  sailing,  engaged 
to  take  them  off  upon  returning  from  a 


four  months'  cnuae  in  the  westward  seas ; 
which  interval  the  three  adventorers 
deemed  quite    sufficient  for  their  par- 


On  the  isle's  lone  beach  they  paid  him 
in  silver  for  their  passage  out,  the  stran- 
ger having  declined  to  carry  them  at  all 
except  upon  that  condition ;  though  wil- 
ling to  take  every  means  to  insure  the  doe 
fulfilment  of  his  promise.  Felipe  had 
striven  hard  to  have  this  payment  pat  off 
to  the  period  of  the  ship's  return.  Bat  in 
vain.  Still,  they  thought  they  had,  in 
another  way,  ample  pledge  of  the  ^Md 
faith  of  the  Frenchman,  it  was  arranged 
that  the  expenses  of  the  passage  hooie 
should  not  be  payable  in  silver,  but  in  tor- 
toises ;  one  huncired  tortoises  ready  cmj^ 
tured  to  the  returning  captain's  band. 
These  the  Cholos  meant  to  secore  alter 
their  own  work  was  done,  against  the 
probable  time  of  the  Frenchman's  coming 
back ;  and  no  doubt  in  prospect  already 
felt,  that  in  those  hundred  tortoisefi — 
now  somewhere  ranging  the  isle's  interior 
— they  possessed  one  hundred  hostages. 
Enough:  the  vessel  sailed;  the  ga&QS 
three  on  shore  answered  the  load  glee  w 
the  singing  crew ;  and  ere  evening,  the 
French  craft  was  hull  down  in  the  dis- 
tant sea,  its  masts  three  faintest  lines 
which  quickly  faded  firom  Hunilla's  eye. 

The  stranger  had  given  a  blithesome 
promise,  and  anchored  it  with  oaths ;  bat 
oaths  and  anchors  equally  will  drag; 
nought  else  abides  on  fickle  earth  bot  on- 
kept  promises  of  joy.  Contrary  winds 
from  out  unstabled  skies,  or  contrary 
moods  of  his  more  varying  mind,  or  ship- 
wreck and  sudden  death  in  solitanr  waves ; 
whatever  was  the  cause,  the  blithe  stran- 
ger never  was  seen  again. 

Yet,  however  dire  a  calamity  was  here 
in  store^  misgivings  of  it  ere  due  time 
never  disturbed  we  Cholos'  bosy  mind, 
now  all  intent  upon  the  toilsome  matter 
which  had  brought  them  hither.  Nay, 
b^  swift  doom  coming  like  the  thief  at 
night,  ere  seven  weeks  went  by,  two  of 
the  little  party  were  removed  Anom  all 
anxieties  of  land  or  sea.  No  more  tb^ 
sought  to  gaze  with  feverish  fear,  or  stm 
more  feverish  hope,  beyond  the  present^s 
horizon  line ;  but  into  the  fhrthest  ftitare 
their  own  silent  spirits  sailed.  By  perse- 
vering labor  beneath  that  burning  son, 
Felipe  and  Truxill  had  brought  down  to 
their  hut  many  scores  of  tortoises,  and 
tried  out  the  oil,  when,  elated  with  their 
good  success,  and  to  reward  themselves 
for  such  hard  work,  they,  too  hastily, 
made  a  catamaran^  or  Indian  raft,  modi 
used  on  the  Spanish  main,  and  mervlj 


] 


The  JEncantada^  or  JSnchanUd  Isles, 


861 


d  on  a  fishing  trip,  just  without 
reef  with  many  jagged  gaps,  run- 
Murallel  with  the  shore,  about  half  a 
rom  it  By  some  bad  tide  or  hap, 
tural  negligence  of  joyfulness  (for 
h  they  could  not  be  heard,  yet  by 
^tures  they  seemed  singing  at  the 
forced  in  deep  water  against  that 
ar,  the  ill-made  catamaran  was  over- 
id  came  all  to  pieces ;  when,  dashed 
"oad-chested  swells  between  their 
1  logs  and  the  sharp  teeth  of  the 
both  adventurers  perished  before 
la's  eyes. 

ore  Hunilla's  eyes  they  sank.  The 
tM  of  this  event  passed  before  her 
18  some  sham  tragedy  on  the  stage. 
as  seated  on  a  rude  bower  among 
itiiered  thickets,  crowning  a  lofly 
Uttle  back  from  the  beach.  The 
is  were  so  disposed,  that  in  looking 
^e  sea  at  large  she  peered  out  from 
;  the  branches  as  from  the  lattice  of 
1  balcony.  But  upon  the  day  we 
of  here,  the  better  to  watch  the  ad- 
•e  of  those  two  hearts  she  loved, 
^  had  withdrawn  the  branches  to 
le^  and  held  them  so.  The^  form- 
oval  frame,  through  which  the 
boundless  sea  rolled  like  a  painted 
And  there,  the  invisible  pamter 
d  to  her  view  the  wave-tossed  and 
ited  raft  its  once  level  logs  slanting- 
teaved,  as  raking  masts,  and  the  four 
|mg  arms  undistinguishable  among 
and  then  all  subsided  into  smooth- 
g  creamy  waters,  slowly  drifting 
tintered  wreck ;  while  first  and  last, 
nd  of  any  sort  was  heard.  Death 
lent  picture ;  a  dream  of  the  eye ; 
vanishing    shapes  as  the    mirage 

QStant  was  the  scene,  so  trance-like 
Id  pictorial  effect,  so  distant  from 
isted  tower  and  her  common  sense 
iffs,  that  Hunilla  gazed  and  gazed, 
lued  a  finger  or  a  wail.  But  as 
0  sit  thus  dumb,  in  stupor  staring 
It  dumb  show,  for  all  that  other- 
Dight  be  done.  With  half  a  mile 
between,  could  her  two  enchanted 
kid  those  four  fated  ones  ?  The  dis- 
long,  the  time  one  sand.  After  the 
ng  is  beheld,  what  fool  shall  stay 
ihunderbolt?  Felipe's  body  was 
d  ashore,  but  Truxill's  never  came ; 
is  gay,  braided  hat  of  golden  straw 
i  same  sunflower  thing  he  waved 
,  pashing  from  the  strand — and  now, 
last  gallant  it  still  saluted  her. 
'elipe's  body  floated  to  the  marge, 
me  arm  encirclingly  outstretched. 
awed  in  grim  death,  the  lover-hus- 


band, softly  chisped  his  bride,  true  to  her 
even  in  death's  dream.  Ah,  Heaven, 
when  man  thus  keeps  his  faith^  wilt  thou 
be  faithless  who  created  the  fiuthful  one  ? 
But  they  cannot  break  faith  who  never 
plighted  it 

It  needs  not  to  be  said  what  nameless 
misery  now  wrapped  the  lonely  widow. 
In  telling  her  own  story  she  passed  this 
almost  entirely  over,  simply  recounting 
the  event  Construe  the  comment  of  her 
features,  as  you  might;  from  her  mere 
words  little  would  you  have  weened  that 
Hunilla  was  herself  the  heroine  of  her 
tale.  But  not  thus  did  she  defraud  us  of 
our  tears.  All  hearts  bled  that  grief 
could  be  so  brave. 

She  but  showed  us  her  soul's  lid.  and 
the  strange  ciphers  thereon  engraved ;  all 
within,  with  pride's  timidity,  was  with- 
held. Yet  was  there  one  exception.  Hold- 
ing out  her  small  olive  himd  before  our 
captain,  she  said  in  mild  and  slowest 
Spanish,  "Sefior,  I  buried  him;"  then 
paused,  struggled  as  against  the  writhed 
ceilings  of  a  snake,  and  cringing  sudden- 
ly, leaped  up,  repeating  in  impassioned 
pain,  "I  buned  him,  my  life,  my  soul  1 " 

Doubtless  it  was  by  half-unconscious, 
automatic  motions  of  her  huids,  that  this 
heavy-hearted  one  performed  the  final  of- 
fices for  Felipe^  and  planted  a  rude  cross 
of  withered  sticks — no  green  ones  might 
be  had — at  the  head  of  that  lonely  grave, 
where  rested  now  in  lasting  uncomplaint 
and  quiet  haven  he  whom  imtranquU  seas 
had  overthrown. 

But  some  dull  sense  of  another  body 
that  should  be  interred,  of  another  cross 
that  should  hallow  another  ^ve — unmade 
as  yet; — some  dull  anxiety  and  pain 
touching  her  undiscovered  brother  now 
haunted  the  oppressed  Hunilla.  Her 
hands  fresh  from  the  burial  earth,  she 
slowly  went  back  to  the  beach,  with  un- 
shap^  purposes  wandered  there,  her  spell- 
bound eye  bent  upon  the  incessant  waves. 
But  they  bore  nothing  to  her  but  a  dirge, 
which  maddened  her  to  think  that  mur- 
derers should  mourn.  As  time  went  by, 
and  these  things  came  less  dreamingly  to 
her  mind,  the  strong  persuasions  of  her 
Romish  uuth,  which  sets  peculiar  store 
by  consecrated  urns,  prompted  her  to  re- 
sume in  waking  earnest  that  pious  search 
which  had  but  been  begun  as  in  sonmam- 
bulism.  Day  after  day,  week  after  week, 
she  trod  the  cmdery  beach,  till  at  length 
a  double  motive  edged  every  eaeer  glance. 
With  equal  longing  she  now  looked  for  the 
living  and  the  dead ;  the  brother  and  the 
captain ;  alike  vanished,  never  to  return. 
Little  accurate  note  of  time  had  Honilla 


/52 


J%e  BnecMtadaSj  or  SnchaaUed  Idet. 


y^- 


taken  under  sach  emotions  as  were  hers, 
and  little,  outside  herself^  served  for  ca- 
lendar or  dial.  As  to  poor  Crusoe  in  the 
self-same  sea,  no  saint's  bell  pealed  forth 
the  lapse  of  week  or  month ;  each  day 
went  hj  unchallenged ;  no  chanticleer  an- 
nounced those  sultry  da¥ms,  no  lowing 
herds  those  poisonous  nights.  All  wonted 
and  steadily  recurring  sounds,  human,  or 
humanized  by  sweet  fellowship  with  roan, 
but  one  stiired  that  torrid  trance, — the 
cry  of  dogs ;  save  which  nought  but  the 
rolling  sea  invaded  it,  an  all  pervading 
monotone;  and  to  the  widow  that  was 
the  least  loved  voice  she  could  have  heard. 

No  wonder  that  as  her  thoughts  now 
wandered  to  the  unretuming  ship,  and 
were  beaten  back  again,  the  hope  against 
hope  BO  struggled  in  her  soul,  tluit  at 
length  she  desperately  said,  '*  Not  yet,  not 
yet ;  my  foolish  heart  runs  on  too  fast" 
So  she  forced  patience  for  some  further 
weeks.  But  to  those  whom  earth's  sure 
indraft  draws,  patience  or  impatience  is 
still  the  same. 

HunUla  now  sought  to  settle  precisely 
in  her  mind,  to  an  hour,  how  long  it  was 
since  the  ship  had  sailed ;  and  then,  with 
the  same  precision,  how  long  a  space  re- 
mained to  pass.  But  this  proved  impos- 
sible. What  present  day  or  month  it 
was  she  could  not  say.  Time  was  her 
labyrinth,  in  which  Hunilla  was  entirely 
lost 

And  now  follows 

Against  my  own  purposes  a  pause  de- 
scends upon  me  here.  One  knows  not 
whether  nature  doth  not  impose  some  se- 
crecy upon  him  who  has  been  privy  to 
certain  things.  At  least,  it  is  to  be 
doubted  whether  it  be  good  to  blazon 
such.  If  some  books  are  deemed  most 
baneful  and  their  sale  forbid,  how  then 
with  deadlier  facts,  not  dreams  of  dotine 
men  ?  Those  whom  books  will  hurt  wiU 
not  be  proof  against  events.  Events,  not 
books,  should  be  forbid.  But  in  all  things 
man  sows  upon  the  wind,  which  bloweth 
just  there  whither  it  listeth ;  for  ill  or 
eood  man  cannot  know.  Often  ill  comes 
Snom  the  good  as  good  firom  ill. 

When  Hunilla 

Dire  sight  it  is  to  see  some  silken  beast 
long  dally  with  a  golden  lizard  ere  she  de- 
vour. More  terrible,  to  see  how  feline 
Fate  will  sometimes  dally  with  a  human 
soul,  and  by  a  nameless  magic  make  it  re- 
pulse one  sane  despair  with  another  which 
is  but  mad.  Unwittingly  I  imp  this  cat- 
like thing,  sporting  with  the  heart  of  him 
who  reads ;  for  if  he  feel  not,  he  does  read 
in  vain. 

— "  The  ship  sails  this  day,  to-day,"  at 


last  said  Hunilla  to  herself;  <'thiig;im 
me  certain  time  to  stand  on ;  witfaooft  cor^ 
tainty  I  go  mad.  In  loose  isDorMioe  I 
have  hoped  and  hoped ;  now  in  firm  know- 
ledge I  will  but  wait  Now  I  live  and  no 
longer  perish  in  bewilderings.  Holy  Vir- 
gin, aid  me!  Hiou  wilt  waft  bade  the 
ship.  Oh,  past  length  of  weary  weeks— 
all  to  be  dragged  over — to  buy  the  cer- 
tainty of  to-day,  I  freely  give  ye,  though 
I  tear  ye  from  me ! " 

As  mariners  tossed  in  tempest  on  some 
desolate  ledge  patch  them  a  boat  out  of 
the  remnante  of  their  vessel's  wredc,  and 
launch  it  in  the  self-same  waves,  see  here 
Hunilla,  this  lone  shipwrecked  aonl,  oat 
of  treachery  invoking  trust  Hnnuuu^, 
thou  strong  thing.  I  worship  thee^  not  m 
the  laurelled  victor,  but  in  mis  vanqnidied 
one. 

Truly  Hunilla  leaned  upon  a  reed,  a  real 
one;  no  metaphor;  a  r^  Eastern  reed. 
A  piece  of  hollow  cane,  drifted  fimn  nn- 
known  isles,  and  found  upon  the  beach, 
its  once  jagged  ends  rubbed  smoothly 
even  as  by  sand-paper ;  its  golden  glazing 
gone.  Long  ground  between  the  sea  and 
land,  upper  and  nether  stone,  the  mivar- 
nished  substance  was  filed  bare,  and  wore 
another  polish  now,  one  with  itself  the 
polish  of  its  aeony.  Circular  lines  at 
intervals  cut  all  round  this  snrfiux,  di- 
vided it  into  six  panels  of  nneqnal  length. 
In  the  first  were  scored  the  dayE,  each 
tenth  one  marked  by  a  longer  and  deeper 
notch ;  the  second  was  scorcn  fyrihit  num- 
ber of  sea-fowl  eggs  for  sustenance^  nicked 
out  from  the  rocky  nests ;  the  tlura,  how 
many  fish  had  been  caught  fixnn  the 
shore ;  the  fourth,  how  many  small  tor- 
toises found  inland;  the  fifth, how  many 
days  of  sun ;  the  sixth,  of  clouds ;  which 
last,  of  the  two,  was  the  greater  one. 
Long  night  of  busy  numbering,  miaevy's 
mathematics,  to  weary  her  too-waketbl 
soul  to   sleep;  yet  sleep  for  that  was 


The  panel  of  the  days  was  dee^y  worn, 
the  long  tenth  notches  half  ^GiuDed,  as 
alphabets  of  the  blind.  Ten  thousand 
times  the  longing  widow  had  traced  her 
finger  over  the  bamboo ;  dull  flute,  which 
played  on,  gave  no  sound ;  as  if  counting 
birds  flown  by  in  air,  would  hasten  tor- 
toises creeping  through  the  woods. 

After  the  one  hundred  and  dghtieth 
day  no  further  mark  was  seen ;  that  last 
one  was  the  faintest,  as  the  first  the 
deepest 

"  There  were  more  days,"  said  onr  Cap- 
tain ;  *'  many,  many  more ;  why  did  you 
not  go  on  ana  notch  them  too^  HaniUa?" 

"Scfior,  ask  me  not." 


1854.] 


l%e  JEneantadaSj  or  EnchanUd  Ides. 


358 


^And  meantime,  did  no  other  vessel 
pass  the  isle?" 

"Nay,  Seflor;— but " 

"  You  do  not  speak ;  but  whaX^  Hu- 
nflla?" 

«  Ask  me  not,  Seflor." 

"  You  saw  ships  pass,  far  away ;  you 
waved  to  them;  they  passed  on; — was 
thatit,Hunilla?" 

"  Seflor,  be  it  as  you  say." 

Braced  against  her  woe,  Hunilla  would 
not,  durst  not  trust  the  weakness  of  her 
tongue.  Then  when  our  Captain  asked 
whether  any  whale-boats  had 

But  no,  I  will  not  file  this  thmg  com- 
plete for  scoffing  souls  to  quote^nd  call 
It  firm  proof  upon  their  side.  The  half 
diall  here  remain  untold.  Those  two  un- 
named events  which  befell  Hunilla  on  this 
isle,  let  them  abide  between  her  and  her 
God.  In  nature,  as  in  law,  it  may  be 
]3)ellous  to  speak  some  truths. 

StilL  how  it  was  that  although  our 
vessel  nad  lain  three  days  anchored  nigh 
the  isle,  its  one  human  tenant  should  not 
have  discovered  us  till  just  upon  the  point 
of  sailing,  never  to  revisit  so  lone  and  far 
ft  spot;  this  needs  explaining  ere  the 
sequel  come. 

The  plaoe  where  the  French  captain  had 
landed  the  little  party  was  on  the  farther 
and  opposite  end  of  the  isle.  There  too 
it  was  that  they  had  afterwards  built 
their  hut  Nor  did  the  widow  in  her 
solitude  desert  the  spot  where  her  loved 
ones  had  dwelt  with  her,  and  where  the 
dearest  of  the  twain  now  slept  his  last 
long  sleep,  and  all  her  plaints  awaked 
him  not,  and  he  of  husbands  the  most 
faithful  during  life. 

Now,  high  broken  land  rises  between 
the  opposite  extremities  of  the  isle.  A 
ship  anchored  at  one  side  is  invisible^  firom 
the  other.  Neither  is  the  isle  so  small, 
bat  a  considerable  company  might  wander 
for  days  through  the  wilderness  of  one 
side,  and  never  be  seen,  or  their  halloos 
heard,  by  any  stranger  holding  aloof  on 
the  oUier.  Uenoe  Hunilla,  who  naturally 
associated  the  possible  coming  of  ships 
with  he^  own  part  of  the  isle,  might  to 
the  end  have  remained  quite  ignorant  of 
the  presence  of  our  vessel,  were  it  not  for 
a  mysterious  presentiment,  borne  to  her, 
80  our  mariners  averred,  by  this  isle's 
enchanted  air.  Nor  did  tne  widow's  an- 
swer undo  the  thought 

"  How  did  you  come  to  cross  the  isle 
this  morning  then,  Hunilla?"  said  our 
Captain. 

^  Seflor.  something  came  flitting  by  me. 
It  touched  my  cheek,  my  heart,  Seflor." 

"What  do  you  say,  Hunilla?" 


^  I  have  said,  Seflor ;  something  came 
through  the  air." 

It  was  a  narrow  chance.  For  when  in 
crofisix^g  the  isle  Hunilla  gained  the  high 
land  in  the  centre,  she  must  then  for  the 
first  have  perceived  our  masts,  and  also 
marked  that  their  sails  were  being  loosed, 
perhaps  even  heard  the  echoing  chorus  of 
the  windlass  song.  The  strange  ship  was 
about  to  sail,  and  she  behmd.  With  all 
haste  she  now  descends  the  height  on  the 
hither  side,  but  soon  loses  sight  of  the 
ship  among  the  sunken  jungles  at  the 
mountain's  base.  She  struggles  on  through 
the  withered  branches,  which  seek  at 
every  step  to  bar  her  path,  till  she  comes 
to  the  isolated  rock,  still  some  way  from 
the  water.  This  she  climbs,  to  reassure 
herself.  The  ship  is  still  in  plainest  sight 
But  now  worn  out  with  over  tension, 
Hunilla  all  but  famts ;  she  fears  to  step 
down  fix)m  her  giddy  perch ;  she  is  fieign 
to  pause,  there  where  she  is,  and  as  a  last 
resort  catches  the  turban  from  her  head, 
unfurls  and  waves  it  over  the  jungles  to- 
wards us. 

During  the  telling  of  her  story  the 
mariners  formed  a  voiceless  circle  roimd 
Hunilla  and  the  Captain;  and  when  at 
length  the  word  was  given  to  man  the 
fastest  boat,  and  pull  round  to  the  isle's 
thither  side,  to  bring  away  Hunilla's 
chest  and  the  tortoise- oU;  such  alacrity 
of  both  cheery  and  sad  obedience  seldom 
before  was  seen.  Little  ado  was  made. 
Already  the  anchor  had  been  recommitted 
to  the  bottouL  and  the  ship  swung  calmly 
to  it 

But  Hunilla  insisted  upon  accompany- 
ing the  boat  as  indispensable  pilot  to  her 
hidden  hut.  So  being  refreshed  with  the 
best  the  steward  could  supply,  she  started 
with  us.  Nor  did  ever  any  wife  of  the 
most  famous  admiral  in  her  husbahd's 
barge  receive  more  silent  reverence  of 
respect,  than  poor  Hunilla  from  this  boat's 
crew. 

Rounding  many  a  vitreous  cape  and 
bluf^  in  two  hours'  time  we  shot  inside 
the  fatal  reef;  wound  into  a  secret  cova 
looked  up  along  a  green  many-gabled 
lava  wall,  and  saw  the  island's  solitary 
dwelling. 

It  hung  upon  an  impending  cliff,  shel- 
tered on  two  sides  by  tangled  thickets,  and 
half-screened  firom  view  in  front  by  jut- 
tings  of  the  rude  stairway,  which  climb- 
ed the  precipice  from  the  sea.  Built  of 
canes,  it  was  thatched  with  long,  mildew- 
ed grass.  It  seemed  an  abandoned  hay- 
rick, whose  haymakers  were  now  no 
more.  The  roof  inclined  but  one  way ; 
the  eaves  coming  to  within  two  feet  of 


854 


The  EncantadoB^  or  Enchanted  Idee, 


[April 


the  ground.  And  here  was  a  simple  ap- 
paratus to  collect  the  dews,  or  rather 
douhlj-distilled  and  finest  winnowed  rains, 
which,  in  mercy  or  in  mockery,  the  night- 
skies  sometimes  drop  upon  these  lilighted 
Encantadas.  All  along  heneath  the 
eayes,  a  spotted  sheet,  quite  weather- 
stained,  was  spread,  pinned  to  short,  up- 
right stakes,  set  in  the  shallow  sand.  A 
small  clinker,  thrown  into  the  cloth, 
weighed  its  middle  down,  therely)r  strain- 
ing all  moisture  into  a  calabash  placed 
bdow.  This  vessel  supplied  each  drop  of 
water  ever  drunk  upon  the  isle  by  the 
Cholos.  Hunilla  told  us  the  calabash 
would  sometimes,  but  not  often,  be  half 
filled  over-night  It  held  six  quarts,  per- 
haps. "  But,"  said  she,  "  we  were  used  to 
thirst.  At  Sandy  Payta,  where  I  live, 
no  shower  from  heaven  ever  fell :  all  the 
water  there  is  brought  on  mules  from  the 
inland  vales." 

Tied  among  the  thickets  were  some 
twenty  moaning  tortoises,  supplying  Hu- 
nilla's  lonely  larder ;  while  hundr^  of 
vast  tableted  black  bucklers,  like  displaced, 
shattered  tomb-stones  of  dark  slate,  were 
also  scattered  round.  These  were  the 
skeleton  backs  of  those  great  tortoises 
from  which  Felipe  and  Truxill  had  made 
their  precious  oil.  Several  large  cala- 
bashes and  two  goodly  k^  were  filled 
with  it.  In  a  pot  near  by  were  the  caked 
crusts  of  a  quantity  which  had  been  per- 
mitted to  evaporate.  ^*They  meant  to 
have  strained  it  off  next  day,"  said  Hunil- 
la, as  she  turned  aside. 

I  forgot  to  mention  the  most  singular 
sight  of  all,  though  the  first  that  greeted 
us  after  landing;  memory  keeps  not  in 
all  things  to  the  order  of  occurrence. 

Some  ten  small,  soft-haired,  ringleted 
dogs,  of  a  beautiful  breed,  peculiar  to 
Peru,  set  up  a  concert  of  glad  welcom- 
ings  when  we  gained  the  beach,  which 
was  responded  to  by  Hunilla.  Some  of 
these  dogs  had,  since  her  widowhood 
been  bom  upon  the  isle,  the  progeny  of 
the  two  brought  from  Payta.  Owing  to 
the  jagged  steeps  and  pitfalls,  tortuous 
thickets,  sunken  clefts  and  perilous  intri- 
cacies of  all  sorts  in  the  interior ;  Hunilla, 
admonished  by  the  loss  of  one  &vorite 
among  them,  never  allowed  these  delicate 
creatures  to  follow  her  in  her  occasional 
birds'-nests  climbs  and  other  wanderings ; 
so  that,  through  long  habituation,  they 
offered  not  to  follow,  when  that  morning 
she  crossed  the  land ;  and  her  own  soul 
was  then  too  full  of  other  things  to  heed 
their  lingering  behind.  Yet,  all  along  she 
had  so  clung  to  them,  that,  besides  what 
moisture  they  lapped  up  at  early  day- 


break from  the  small  sooop-hbles  among 
the  adjacent  rocks,  she  had  shured  the  dew 
of  her  calabash  among  them ;  never  lay- 
ing by  any  considerable  store  against 
those  prolonged  and  utter  droughts,  which 
in  some  di«istrous  seasons  waip  these 
isles. 

Having  pointed  out)  at  our  desire,  what 
few  things  she  would  like  transported  to 
the  ship— her  chest,  the  oil,  not  omitting 
the  live  tortoises  which  she  intended  for  a 
grateful  present  to  our  Captam — ^we  im- 
mediately set  to  work,  carrying  them 
to  the  boat  down  the  long,  Roping  stair 
of  deeply-shadowed  rock.  While  my 
comrades  were  thus  employed,  I  lookeo, 
and  Hunilla  had  disappeared. 

It  was  not  curiosity  alone,  but,  it  seems 
to  me,  something  different  mingled  with  it) 
which  prompted  me  to  drop  my  torUnsefl^ 
and  once  more  gaze  slowly  around.  I  re- 
membered the  husband  buried  by  HnnlU 
la's  hands.  A  narrow  pathway  led  into  a 
dense  part  of  the  thickets.  Following  it 
through  many  mazes,  I  came  out  upon  a 
small,  round,  open  space,  deeply  diam- 
bered  there. 

The  mound  rose  in  the  middle ;  »  bare 
heap  of  finest  sand,  like  that  unverdnred 
heap  found  at  the  bottom  of  an  honr- 
glass  run  out  At  its  head  stood  the 
cross  of  withered  sticks ;  the  dxy,  pealed 
bark  still  fraying  from  it;  its  transverse 
limb  tied  up  with  rope,  and  forlornly 
adroop  in  the  silent  air. 

Hunilla  was  partly  prostrate  upon  the 
grave ;  her  dark  head  bowed,  and  lost  in 
her  long,  loosened  Indian  hair;  her  hands 
extendi  to  the  cross-foot,  with  a  little 
brass  crucifix  clasped  between ;  a  crucifix 
worn  featureless,  like  an  ancient  mven 
knocker  lone  plied  in  vain.  She  £d  not 
see  me,  and  I  made  no  noise,  but  slid 
aside,  and  left  the  spot 

A  few  moments  ere  all  was  ready  for 
our  going,  she  reappeared  among  us.  I 
looked  into  her  eyes,  but  saw  no  tear. 
There  was  something  whidi  seemed 
strangely  haughty  in  her  air,  and  yet  it 
was  tiie  air  of  woe.  A  Spanish  and  an 
Indian  grief,  which  would  not  visibly  la- 
ment Pride^s  height  in  vain  abased  to 
proneness  on  the  rock ;  nature's  pride 
subduing  nature's  torture. 

Like  pages  the  small  and  silken  dogs 
surrounded  her,  as  she  slowly  descended 
towards  the  beach.  She  caught  the  two 
most  eager  creatures  in  her  arms : — '^  Mia 
Teeta !  Mia  Tomoteeta ! "  and  fondling 
them,  inquired  how  many  could  we  take 
on  board. 

The  mate  commanded  the  boat's  crew ; 
not  a  hard-hearted  man,  but  his  way  of 


1854.] 


Sorrento. 


855 


lifb  had  been  such  that  m  most  things, 
eren  in  the  smallest,  mmple  utility  was 
his  leading  motive. 

^We  cannot  take  them  all,  Hunilla; 
oar  supplies  are  short ;  the  winds  are  un- 
reliable; we  may  be  a  good  many  days 
|pmg  to  Tombez.  So  take  those  you  have, 
Humlla ;  but  no  more.'' 

She  was  in  the  boat;  the  oarsmen  too 
were  seated ;  all  save  one,  who  stood  ready 
to  push  off  and  then  spring  himself.  With 
tiie  saeacity  of  their  race,  the  dogs  now 
seemed  aware  that  they  were  in  the  very 
instant  of  being  deserted  upon  a  barren 
strand.  The  gunwales  of  the  boat  were 
high;  its  prow — presented  inland — was 
lifted ;  so  owing  to  the  water,  which  they 
seemed  instinctively  to  shun,  the  dogs 
oould  not  well  leap  into  the  little  craft. 
Bat  their  busy  paws  hard  scraped  the  prow, 
as  it  had  been  some  farmer^s  door  shut- 
ting them  out  from  shelter  in  a  winter 
storm.  A  clamorous  agony  of  alarm. 
They  did  not  howl,  or  whine ;  they  all 
but  spoke. 

"Push  off!  Give  way!"  cried  the 
mate.  The  boat  gave  one  heavy  drag  and 
larch,  and  next  moment  shot  swiftly  from 
the  beach,  turned  on  her  heel,  and  sped. 
The  dogs  ran  howling  along  the  water's 
marge ;  now  pausing  to  gaze  at  the  fl;^- 
ing  boat,  then  motioning  as  if  to  leap  in 
diase,  but  mysteriously  withheld  them- 
selves ;  and  again  ran  howling  along  the 
beach.  Had  they  been  human  beings 
hardly  would  they  have  more  vividly  in- 


spired the  sense  of  desolatioD.  The  oars 
were  plied  as  confederate  feathers  of  two 
wings.  No  one  spoke.  I  looked  back 
upon  the  beach,  and  then  upon  Hunilla, 
but  her  face  was  set  in  a  stem  dusky 
calm.  The  dogs  crouching  in  her  lap 
vainly  licked  her  rigid  hands.  She  never 
looked  behind  her ;  but  sat  motionless, 
till  wo  turned  a  promontory  of  the  coast 
and  lost  all  sights  and  sounds  astern. 
She  seemed  as  one,  who  having  experi- 
enced the  sharpest  of  mortal  pangs,  was 
henceforth  content  to  have  all  lesser  heart- 
strings riven,  one  by  one.  To  Hunilla, 
pain  seemed  so  necessary,  that  pain  in 
other  beings,  though  by  love  and  sympa- 
thy made  her  own.  was  unrepiningl^  to 
be  borne.  A  heart  of  yearning  m  a 
frame  of  steel.  A  heart  of  earthly  yearn- 
ing, frozen  by  the  frost  which  falleth  from 
the  sky. 

The  sequel  is  soon  told.  After  a  long 
passag^  vexed  by  calms  and  baffling 
vnnds,  we  made  the  little  port  of  Tombez 
in  Peru,  there  to  recruit  the  ship.  Payta 
was  not  very  distant  Our  captain  sold 
the  tortoise  oil  to  a  Tombez  merchant; 
and  adding  to  the  silver  a  contribution 
from  all  hands,  gave  it  to  our  silent  pas- 
senger, who  knew  not  what  the  mariners 
had  done. 

The  last  seen  of  lone  Hunilla  she  was 
passing  into  Payta  town,  riding  upon  a 
small  gray  ass;  and  before  her  on  the 
ass's  shoulders,  she  eyed  the  jointed 
workings  of  the  beast's  armorial  cross. 


CTo  be  oontfniied.) 


SORRENTO. 


PASS,  hazy  dream  of  drowsmg  noon ! 
Wake.  Waples,  with  thy  ni^tly  glow ! 
O'er  Capri's  stately  cloud  the  moon 
Her  golden  crescent  raises  slow. 

Those  stars  among  the  orange  blooms 
Outshine  the  wanderers  of  the  skies ; 

More  sweet  than  evening's  still  perfumes 
Love's  voiceless  longings  rise. 


Of  white  and  tremulous  hopes  she  weaves 
Her  bridal  crown  the  moon  beneath. 

Shine  on,  bright  moon !  those  buds  and  leaves 
Will  be  fair  in  a  funeral  wreath ! 


856 


[April 


OONNEOTICUT   GEORGIOa 


I  *< FARMED  it"  two  summers,  when 
I  was  eleven  and  twelve  years  old.  I 
had  been  brought  up  within  a  paved  city ; 
was  lean,  white,  slender,  sdiool-wom. 
bookish.  Analyzing  now  the  phases  or 
interior  life  which  I  only  experienced 
then,  I  seem  to  have  been  impregnated 
with  city  associations ;  or  rather  the  boy's 
soul  in  me  was  paved  over  with  brick  and 
stone,  like  the  walls  whose  hot  reflections 
smote  my  eyes  in  summer,  and  girded  me 
in  always.  I  can  remember  how  I  shed  a 
shrunken  epidermis,  as  it  were,  like  a 
moulting  crab,  as  if  I  really  grew  inward- 
ly by  the  fresh  fulness  of  the  country.  I 
found  that  besides  the  side  of  human  life 
on  which  1  had  theretofore  been  gazing ; 
dry  and  scaly  with  brick  and  stone,  dead 
and  still  on  Sundays,  dinning  and  resound- 
ing all  the  week  with  the  clash  tf  pave- 
ments under  armed  heel  and  hoof,  with 
rattle  and  groan  of  wheels — the  unrelent- 
ing and  desperate  onwardness  of  the  great 
Yankee  dolWchase ; — that,  besides  this, 
there  was  another — infinite,  calm,  peace- 
ful, sun-lighted,  dewy^  free,  full  of  life, 
unoonstramed,  fresh,  vigjorous — the  worla 
of  (Jod ;  as  the  city  is  me  world  of  men — 
and  of  devils. 

I  was  to  enter  upon  m^  agricultural 
novitiate  under  the  tutorship  of  an  uncle, 
a  fimner  near  the  south  shore  of  Connec- 
ticut I  departed  for  my  destination  early 
one  morning  in  the  end  of  Spring,  from  my 
city  home  in  the  interior  of  the  State,  rid- 
ing in  the  wagon  of  a  certain  landholder 
from  my  uncle's  vicinity,  who  had  come 
thither  on  business  in  hjs  private  convey- 
ance. All  the  day  I  rode  southward, 
through  town  and  village,  wood  and  field, 
m  the  absorbing  trance  of  deep  delight 
which  a  child  enjoys  in  any  discursive  or 
adventurous  enterprise,  however  humble. 
Every  thing  was  enjoyable.  The  steady, 
binary  progression  of  the  old  farm-horse's 
persistent  trot ;  the  rattlins  of  the  bones 
of  the  hard-seated  and  spnngless  wagon ; 
the  boundless  woods,  full  of  new  forms 
and  offers,  on  rocks,  branches  and  leaves ; 
sprinkled  on  surface,  and  permeated 
through  unfathomable  depths,  with  spark- 
ling specks  of  sunlight;  the  occasional 
chip  squirrel,  provincially  called  "chip- 
munk," jerking  or  gliding  along  the  fenc- 
es; sometimes  a  '-very  magnificent  three- 
tailed  bashaw  " — a  red  or  gray  compeer 
of  the  rodent  tribe — a  beast  which  I  was 
almost  as  much  surprised  to  see,  at  least 
outside  of  a  rotatory  tin  gymnasium,  as  if 
he  had  been  a  giraffe  or  an  omithorhyn- 


chus;  the  wide,  open  fields,  with  their 
<< industrial  regiments"  on  active  aervkxt 
in  undress  uni£>rm;  the  twisting  and 
writhing  trout-brooks ;  the  quiet  and  com- 
posed rivers;  the  steep  hiUS)  and  deea 
still  ponds,  of  each  of  which  the  nekm- 
bors  aver  with  pride  that  the  bottom  Eta 
never  been  found — a  fact,  perhaps,  to  be 
accounted  for  by  its  never  havizig  been 
considered  worth  looking  i^r ; — all  weie 
new,  all  overflowing  wim  light^  and  lifei 
and  joy. 

I  was  startled  at  being  vanquished  bf 
my  companion  in  a  strife,  with  whose  we^ 

r>ns  I  had  presumed  him  nnacqnamtad. 
began  to  "  tell  stories,"  and  at  first  ao- 
quitted  myself  to  my  satis&ctkm ;  b«t 
soon  I  found  that  I  had  met  my  match. 
Mr.  N.'s  talents  as  a  reuumteta*  were  in- 
finitely above  my  own.  Not  only  weie 
his  stories  funnier  than  mine,  bat  wim- 
ever  I  boggled,  he  kindly  suggested  the 
missing  matter ;  and  when  I  m  not  bog^ 
gle,  he  invariably  furnished  an  improTM 
catastrophe. 

We  stopped  to  dine  at  the  house  of  a 
farmer,  ^d  then  and  there— with  shame 
I  tell  it — did  I  first  feel  the  excitement  of 
the  intoxicating  cup.  That  excitement^ 
however,  did  not  in  the  present  ""^t^^i^ 
exhibit  itself  in  the  gorgeous  colors  poeti- 
cally supposed  to  clothe  it  Th&  flowii^ 
bowl  was  represented,  upon  the  pine 
"  mahogany  "  of  our  Connecticat  Amphi- 
tryon, by  a  broken-nosed  earthen  pitc&er: 
and  the  mighty  wine,  by  equally  mjghtj 
cider,  of  so  hard  a  texture  that  oorhost 
stated  that  it  could  only  with  great  difB- 
culty  be  bitten  off  by  the  partaker,  at  the 
end  of  his  draught  Of  this  sedncthfo 
fluid  I  drank  two  tumblers-full;  and  to 
me,  unconscious  and  verdant,  it  tasted 
good,  as  sour  things  are  wont  to  do  to 
children.  But  a  quick  retribution  came 
upon  me.  The  puckery  stuff  began  to 
bite  like  a  serpen^  and  sting  like  an  ad- 
der, with  a  promptitude  not  adverted  to 
by  Solomon. 

We  came  safe  to  our  journey's  end;  ar- 
riving, as  the  evening  fell,  at  the  fium- 
stead,  my  summer  home.  Darkness 
was  already  gathering  among  the  thidc 
shadowing  of  great  elms  and  prim  locosts 
in  the  wide  dooryard.  Piles  of  saw-mill 
slabs  fortified  the  woodpile,  which,  paved 
with  chips,  the  mangled  remains  of  slaug^ 
tered  King  Log,  spread  before  the  "  stoop" j 
a  facade  of  lofty  bams — the  <*oid" 
bam  and  the  ^'new"  —  were  ranged 
across  the  background  in  the  north,  shel- 


I 


OonmeHcut  Oeorpies. 


857 


the  lane,  into  which  we  had  driTcn, 
hidi,  leaving  woodpile  and  stoop  to 
it,  led  northward  to  the  abuttmg 
of  the  two  barnjrards.  A  wood- 
ipening  to  the  south,  ran  out  from 
Ni8e,  £splajing,  within,  a  vast  and 
laneous  concourse  of  firewood,  lum- 
ols,  and  all  the  mechanico-agricul- 
ipparatus  of  a  farmer's  tinkering 

Entering  the  house,  after  greeting 
id  a  proper  refection  for  my  inner 
!  was  speedily  asleep;  and,  next 
ig  early,  was  enrolled  in  the  ranks 
istry,  and  detailed  for  skirmishing 
itpost  service:  in  other  words,  I 
romoted  to  the  captaincy  over  a 
1  of  "milky  mothers,"  whose  daily 
to  and  from  near  and  distant  pas- 
!  was  to  guard  and  guide.  By  ap- 
ite  degrees,  I  was  led  deeper  and 

within  the  agricultural  mysteries 
iting  and  hoeing,  and  the  aftercom- 
rk  of  haying  and  harvest 
ttps  descriptions  of  a  few  separate 
xzperience  will  best  portray  what 
r  of  life  I  led. 


THE  FRESH  MEADOW. 

empty  cart  and  full  dinner-pails, 
oat  early  for  the  assault  upon  the 
rtffi.  The  "  fresh  meadow  "  was  a 
Dtervale,  the  road  to  which  ran 
h  a  large  upland  mowing  lot,  de- 
1  through  a  secret  chasm  in  a  ledge 
k8  crowned  with  trees,  and  led  us 
\o  the  open  sunny  meadow  behind, 
9  downward  paths  by  which  princes 
f  tales  descend  into  realms  of  un- 
and  loveliness,  ruled  by  expectant 

odi  expeditions  I  took  my  first  les- 
i  the  ox-compelling  art.  The  mys- 
of  "haw"  and  "gee,"  of  "hwo" 
hwish" — the  last  an  outlandish 
ntese  barbarism,  signifying  "  back," 
uly  explained.  The  cartwhip  exer- 
18  demonstrated ;  whose  adaptation 
intellectual  capacities  of  the  bovine 
marked  by  the  simplicity  of  genius. 
B  sinele  lesson  taught  the  ox  appeals 
letaphysical  truth  to  the  desire  of 
ess  common  to  beasts  with  men ; 
tfa  practical  wisdom  developes  in  a 
ian  direction  his  natural  instinct  to 
ay  finom  what  hurts  him.  If;  there- 
insh  him  to  go  forward.  I  "  flick  " 
posteriori;  if  I  would  have  hun  re- 
8, 1  pound  his  nose  with  the  whip- 
ijf  he  should  come  towards  me,  I 
iim  up  on  the  further  side  with  the 
Dd  if  he  should  go  from  me,  I  prod 
ber  ribs  with  the  butt    These  ma- 


noeuvres havmg  been  accompanied  with 
dexterous  intonations  of  the  four  aforesaid 
sounds,  together  with  "go  'lang ! "  "  what 
are  ye  'ba-a-a-ut  ?  "  and  other  interjections 
hortatory,  mandatory,  and  sometimes,  I 
grieve  to  say,  imprecatory,  all  developed 
by  skilful  teamsters  into  many  wonderful, 
intricate,  and  imaginative  variations  exe- 
cuted through  the  nose,  the  intelUgent 
beast  graduidly  learns  to  do,  at  the  sound 
alone,  what  he  did  at  first,  at  the  sound 
accompanied  with  action.  Some  imagine 
that  herein  is  the  true  solution  of  the 
myth  of  Amphion's  song,  viz. :  He  played 
— a  Greek  prototype  of  the  great  Italian 
fiddler — a  pagan  Paganini — upon  a  one- 
stringed  frXcm-pov,  plectrum^  or  whip 
(comp.  plcLgo,  plagare^  to  scourge),  which 
he  accompanied  with  the  voice,  probaby  in 
the  Lydian  mode;  and  as  he  worked 
powerfully  upon  the  feelings  of  his  cattle, 
by  his  vigorous  instrumental  performance, 
executed  fortissimo^  forestissimo,  sfor- 
zandoj  and  confuoco  moltOj  so,  when  he 
performed  as  vocal  solos  these  impassioned 
variations  upon  one  string,  the  vivid  recol- 
lections of  his  masterly  instrumentation 
induced  his  cattle  to  manoeuvre  with  such 
remakable  agility,  as  to  give  rise  to  the 
present  slightly  varied  account  that  he 
placed  to  the  beasts,  instead  of  on  them. 
This,  however,  is  a  digression,  for  which, 
now  that  I  have  follow^  it  out  to  my  sat^ 
isfaction,  I  ask  pardon. 

TheoiT  such  as  I  have  adverted  to  was 
imparted  to  me ;  and  very  soon  1  flourished 
the  pliant  hickory,  and  bawled  out  the 
scientific  monosyllables  with  a  nasality  as 
easy  and  workmanlike  as  that  of  any  Bill 
or  Joe,  to  the  manner  born. 

The  meadow  is  entered ;  the  cart  lefl  in 
a  comer,  resting  on  its  wheels  and  long 
nose,  like  that  Australian  bird  who  locates 
himself,  for  his  ease,  tripodwise  upon  his 
two  legs  and  his  bill ;  the  dinner-pails  are 
sheltered  in  its  shadow ;  scythes  are  hung 
and  whetted,  and  "  forward  four."  The 
best  man  goes  foremost ;  and  the  strong- 
backed  scythemen,  each  with  "  rifle  "  or 
whetstone  in  his  red  right  hand,  girded 
low  and  tight,  stepping  wide  and  oending 
forward,  seem  to  gesture  the  falling  grass 
into  the  long  straight  swaths  which  grow 
close  under  and  after  the  left  hand  of 
each. 

**  And  forward,  and  forward, 
Beatotleuly  they  go; 
For  strong  arms  wave  the  long  keen  glaive 
That  vibrates  down  below."* 

Is  any  thing  more  inspiriting  than  the 
*•  rhythmic  sweep  "  of  a  platoon  of  mow- 
ers ?  They  seem  to  beat  the  time  to  some 
mysterious  marching  music.    Strength  is 


358 


Connecticut  Oeargics, 


[i^ 


magnificently  shown ;  no  labor  will  better 
test  the  thews  and  sinews  of  a  man.  The 
same  indescribable  joy  arises  from  the 
simultaneous  steady  movement  that  pul- 
sates out  from  the  heavy  tread  of  march- 
ing men,  and  the  symmetrical  involutions 
of  a  hall  of  dancers.  And  there  is  rapid 
and  continual  progress.  Abundant  con- 
ditions of  excitement  are  in  the  operations 
of  a  band  of  mowers.  If  strength,  action, 
rhythm,  simultaneity,  and  success,  in  con- 
crete and  vivid  presentation,  will  not  stir 
pulses  of  deep  pleasure  in  a  man's  soul,  he 
should  be  kicked  out  of  decent  society  as 
an  undoubted  treasoner  and  incendiary,  or 
sent  to  the  School  for  the  Training  and 
Teaching  of  Idiots,  as  a  piUable  instance 
of  that  anticlimax  of  mental  negation 
whose  two  higher  degrees  are  (see  Dr.  S. 
G.  Howe's  Reports)  simpleton  and  fool — 
as  a  fully  undeveloped  idiot. 

Away  go  the  mowers,  halfway  round 
the  field ;  and  now  they  stand  erect,  and 
the  ringing  reduplicating  clash  of  the  whet- 
stones comes  back  upon  their  steps.  But 
I  too  must  perform  my  office.  With  ardor 
I  inquire,  like  the  revolutionary  orator, 
"  Why  stand  we  here  idle  1 "  and  with  a 
"  peaked  stick  "  I  descend  in  fury  upon  the 
slain.  The  red-top  and  daisies  are  tossed 
abroad  upon  the  four  winds ;  and  with  an 
ennoblmg  consciousness  of  power,  and 
working  out  certain  dim  conceptions  of  a 
grand  military  march,  by  brandishing  my 
stick  in  unison  with  the  alternation  of  ad- 
vancing steps,  I  sweep  up  and  down  the 
field  in  a  centrifugacious  halo  of  scattered 
gramincaB,  feeling,  as  nearly  as  I  can  judge, 
very  much  like  a  cyclone. 

But  over  what  tremendous  volcanoes  of 
thinly  covered  agonies  and  horrid  throes 
of  pain  are  all  hollow  human  exultations 
enacted !  In  the  midst  of  m^  stormful 
march,  a  frightful  dart  of  Ebbs,  a  sharp 
sudden  stroke,  precipitated  as  by  diabolical 
propulsion  from  some  far  distent  sphere 
of  malignant  wrath,  smites  me  full  upon 
the  forehead.  A  shrieking  diphthongal 
OU I  and  a  lofty  entrechat  are  the  invol- 
untary introductories  of  my  debut  Bs"Le 
danseur  niaigrS  /mi."  Several  millions 
of  minute  yellow  devils,  with  black  stripes 
and  a  '•  voice  and  hideous  hum,"  stimulate 
me  into  an  inconceivably  rapid  and  intri- 
cate war-dance,  accompanied  by  a  solo  ob- 
ligato  upon  the  human  voice.  I  have,  in 
short,  trodden  upon  a  yellow  hornets'  nest 
The  Briarean  evolutions  of  my  hands 
knock  off  my  hat  An  enterprising 
"  bird  "  forthwith  ensconces  himself  among 
my  locks,  and  proceeds  to  harpoon  me  at 
his  leisure.  I  seem  to  scrub  out  every 
hair,  such  is  the  promptitude  and  velocity 


of  the  firiction  which  I  appl^.  But  I  de- 
spair of  maintaining  my  position,  the  enemy 
having  made  a  lodgment  within  the  dtar 
del.  I  run  as  nobody  ever  ran  before,  and 
suddenly  turn  and  flee  at  a  sharp  angle  to 
my  first  course,  in  order  that  the  momen- 
tum of  my  foes  may  throw  them  off  my 
track.  But  they  turn  as  (juickly  as  1 
sticking  much  doser  than  either  a  fnena 
or  a  brother  would  dow  I  see  the  brook 
before  me,  I  go  headforemost  splash  1  into 
a  deep  hole,  where  I  stumble,  fall,  choke, 
and  am  picked  out  by  the  mowcora,  who 
are  nearly  helpless  with  laughter.  I  have 
swallowed  several  quarts  of  warm  brook- 
water,  screeched  until  I  cannot  whisper, 
expended  more  strength  and  breath  than 
it  seems  possible  that  I  should  ever  re- 
cover; have  endured  and  am  enduring 
more  pain  than  ten  hydrophobiacs;  aad 
with  one  eve  fast  shut  and  swelled  into  a 
hard  red  lump  of  agony,  and  sundry  ab- 
normal ^'organs"  extemporLong  cranial 
evidence  of  a  most  unsymmetricid  diazao- 
ter,  I  lie  helpless,  blind,  sopping,  and  sob* 
bin^  in  a  swath  of  fresh,  cool^  green  grassy 
untd  time,  salt,  and  plantain  leaves  as- 
suage most  of  the  pain.  I  know  what 
hornets  are,  at  least  in  their  foreign  rda- 
tions ;  but  the  single  item  of  knowledge  Is 
no  equivalent  for  the  difficulties  under 
which  it  was  pursued.  What  fiends  they 
are !  Did  the  Inquisition  ever  try  hoiv 
nets  on  any  particularly  refractory  cap- 
tive? 

Soon  comes  the  dinner  time,  indicated 
to  the  observant  farmers,  by  the  propor- 
tions of  shadow  and  sunlight,  upon  the 
roof  of  a  certam  barn.  We  mam  a  nest 
in  bushes  and  long  grass,  within  the  diir 
dow  of  great  trees,  and  squatted  Tork-^flra 
around  a  service  of  tin  crockery,  bitmn 
paper  and  bark,  whereon  were  displajed 
salt  beef,  cold  boiled  potatoes,  bread  and 
butter,  and  a  spedmen  of  rye  ginger- 
bread, which,  for  weight  and  tenacrty, 
might  be  a  mass  of  native  copper,  finoan 
Lake  Superior.  The  food  disappem  ra- 
pidly, under  the  direction  of  jack- knifes 
and  one-pronged  forks,  whittled  from 
sticks.  The  jug  clucks  and  chuckles  to 
the  affectionate  kisses  of  the  thirsty  work- 
men, and  much  refreshed,  they  take  a 
short  "  nooning  "  to  tell  stories,  gossip  or 
sleep,  and  go  to  work  again. 

Haymakers  cure  in  the  afternoon  what 
they  kill  in  the  morning.  At  two  or 
three  o^clock  the  mowing  ceases,  and  the 
raking  begins.  In  this  operation,  the 
weakest  goes  first,  that  the  strongest  man 
may  take  the  heaviest  raking;  so  I  am 
ex  officio  leader.  I  must  fall  smartly  teL 
to  keep  ahead,  or  my  rear-rank  man  will 


] 


ConneeUcut  Oeorg%c8. 


859 


117  heels  off;  and  for  a  while  I  go 
7  on.  But  the  peculiar  hold,  and 
J  manipulation  of  the  **  rake's-tail " 
tell  on  my  city-bred  hands.  The 
I  of  my  thumbs,  and  the  space  be- 
them  and  my  fingers,  is  first  red 
len  raw ;  and  by  the  time  that  the 
ties  in  winrows,  I  have  done  enough. 
I  sunset  the  winrows  are  rolled  into 

which  are  shaped  conewise,  and 
I7  shingle-laid  for  shedding  of  rain ; 
ith  a  small  load  of  new  hay,  hastily 
1  upon  the  cart,  for  immediate  use, 
am  home. 

le  after  sunset  is  milking;  after 
g,  supper;  after  supper,  prayers; 
tor  prayers,  sleep;  which,  indeed. 
•de  an  irruption  from  its  legitimate 
0,  in  the  chambers  above,  and  tak- 

at  a  disadvantage — when  I  vras 
1,"  on  my  knees,  as  in  duty  bound. 
ieady  unmodulated  evenness  of  my 
\  reading — for  the  family  was  Epis- 
in — and  the  full  melody  of  the 
(  put  me  quickly  asleep ;  and  I  re- 
tlv  rise,  retire,  and  undress ;  reluc- 
,  because  the  motion  charms  away 
rowsy  god  into  whose  embrace  I 
o  softly,  and  leaves  me  broad  awake 
down  in  bed.  But  I  soon  forget 
od  every  other  trouble,  and  know 
re  until  daybreak. 


THB   SALT   MEADOW. 

m  sood.  Men  like  it  and  beasts. 
tie,  however,  near  the  sea,  is  often 
in  allowance  of  "  salt  hay,"  instead 
pure  condiment.  Salt  hay  is  of 
indpal  sorts,  called,  where  my  in- 
lon  was  obtained,  "salt  grass"  and 
c-grass."  There  is  also  a  sedge, 
grows  along  the  river-sides  and  in 
\  and  marshes;  a  coarse,  sword- 
1  grass,  used  for  thatching  or  litter. 
ilt-grajBS  and  black-grass,  are  fine 
prasses,  growing  upon  the  level  sur- 
«lled  "  salt  m^ows."  These  are 
I  deposits  of  a  strange  unctuous 
t  mao,  stretching  along  the  coast  in 
s,  and  up  river  valleys ;  a  curious 
^getable  earth,  soft,  black,  slippery, 
itf-foot  pole  may  be  often  thrust 
nto  it  without  finding  bottom.  In- 
t  sometimes  does  a  very  fair  busi- 
1  the  quicksand  line.  Somewhere 
the  surface  of  a  very  smooth-faced 
«dow,  a  little  east  of  New  Haven, 
»  duplicate  and  triplicate  of  some 
PB  of  embankment,  swallowed  down 
unexpected  abyss  beneath,  at  the 
e  and  to  the  chagrin  of  the  New 


Haven  and  New  London  Railroad  Com- 
pany. 

The  salt  grass  is  of  a  bright  yellowish 
green ; — a  beautiful  hue  in  healthy  veg- 
etation, although  elsewhere  peculiarly 
sickly — and  the  black-grass,  as  its  name 
imports,  of  a  very  cUurk  green.  The 
stretches  of  meadow  are  like  great  patch- 
es of  particolored  velvet,  so  soft  is  the 
tone  of  color  given  by  the  fineness  of  the 
grass  and  the  delicacy  of  its  tints.  Rocks, 
and  patches  of  upland  called  islands  by 
the  farmers,  stand  out  here  and  there, 
above  the  level  line  of  the  salt  land,  as 
distinctly  as  any  sea-island  from  the  wa- 
ter ;  and  as  into  the  sea,  points  and  pro- 
montories of  upland  project  into  it. 

The  salt  haying  is  later  than  the  upland 
haying,  and  in  sundry  details  varies  from 
it.  The  day  in  the  salt  meadow  was  an 
adventurous  expedition  to  me;  for  we  had 
to  start  early  and  return  late,  living  sev- 
eral miles  up  the  country.  The  scene  of 
action,  too,  was  strange  and  new ;  open  to 
the  sea  on  one  side,  swept  by  the  salt 
breezes,  looked  in  upon  by  the  ^ent  ships 
that  all  day  long  went  trooping  by, 
haunted  by  queer  shore-birds  and  odd 
reptiles,  covered  and  edged  by  grotesque 
plants ;  a  whole  new  world  to  an  up-coun- 
try boy.  My  work  was  light,  for  the  grass 
was  thin  and  easy  to  spread ;  and  I  used 
to  spend  much  of  the  day  in  the  desul- 
tory wanderings  that  children  love.  I 
strolled  among  the  sedge  and  sought  mus- 
cles ;  poked  sticks  down  by  the  "  fiddlers' " 
holes,  and  caught  the  odd  occupant  by  his 
single  claw,  as  he  fled  up  fi*om  the  sup- 
posed earthquake ;  chased  the  said  fiddler 
— ^a  small  gray  one-dawed  crab,  who 
scuttles  and  dodges  about  as  jerkingly 
and  nimbly  as  a  fiddler's  elbow,  whence 
his  name — as  he  ran  about  the  banks ; 
raked  out  oysters  from  the  river-bed  close 
by,  and  learned  the  inhuman  art  of  eating 
them  raw ;  investigated  the  scabby  patch- 
es of  naked  mud,  which  lie  here  and  there 
among  the  grass;  rheumy  sore-looking 
places,  plantless,.  crusted  over  with  dry 
scales,  as  if  a  cutaneous  disease  had  de- 
stroyed the  life  of  the  surface,  from  an  ex- 
cess, perhaps,  of  salt,  causing  humors  in 
the  ground,  and  exanthematous  disorders. 
Or  I  watched  the  boatmen,  who  occasion- 
ally "dropped  kellick"  in  the  river  chan- 
nel, and  plied  the  oyster-tongs.  These  are 
a  ferocious  hybrid  between  an  iron-tooth- 
ed rake  and  a  pair  of  scissors ;  ha  vine 
the  long  handles,  cross-head  and  teeth  of 
the  former,  and  the  pivotal  interduplica- 
tion  of  the  latter ;  so  that  at  fifteen  or 
twenty  feet  under  water^  the  iron  teeth 
bite  between  each  other,  like  the  fingers 


860 


CcnneeUevLt  Otorffies. 


of  clasped  hands,  griping  flnnly  whatever 
is  between  them.  Or  I  rambled  oflf  to  one 
of  the  tree-crowned  "  islands  "  afore  men- 
tioned— I  always  fancied  that  they  were 
not  standing  still,  but  slowly  gliding  along 
the  meadow,  wandering  on  down  to  the 
sea — and  explored  their  nooks  and  cor- 
ners. The  day  waned  pleasantly,  under 
strange  influences.  A  ya^e  and  dreamy 
feeling  of  exploratory  desire  pervaded  the 
atmosphere.  The  level  land,  the  level  sea, 
Uie  bnght  horizon  afkr  over  the  water,  the 
wide  and  open  views,  the  dancing  of  the 
distance  in  the  hot  air,  the  silent  motion 
of  the  winced  ships,  the  sighing  of  the 
steady  win^  as  if  it  felt  relief  at  gliding 
unbroken  over  the  expanse;  the  notion 
of  vastness  and  the  dim  sugsestion  of  the 
distance,  spoke  to  all  the  mekncholy  long- 
ings, and  questioning,  yearning  thoughts 
that  sleep  m  children's  minds — but  are  too 
often  murdered  by  ungenial  training  be- 
fore they  wake. 

Then  there  were  curious  inventions  of 
husbandry.  The  meadow  is  often  too  soft 
to  bear  the  loaded  cart  Sometimes  the 
elastic  greasy  crust  unexpectedly  lets 
through  the  wheel,  or  the  feet  of  the  cat- 
tle. Then  the  lofty  load  careens,  and 
slides  off;  the  oxen  lack  and  plunge  while 
the  meadow  holds  them  fast  by  the  heels, 
or  sink  to  their  bellies,  and  stand  still  un- 
til unyokedj  and  left  to  crawl  unimpeded 
out  Sometimes  all  the  chains  in  the  mea- 
dow are  hitched  to  the  cart-tongue,  lead- 
ing to  firm  ground;  and  hidf-a-dozen 
teams  united  <£rag  the  distant  load  ashore. 
But  if  the  danger  of  the  muddy  depths 
has  been  wisely  foreseen,  a  ^  meadow  sled  " 
carries  the  burden  safely  over.  This  is  a 
stout  draff,  consisting  of  two  wide  run- 
ners well  nramed  together,  and  so  made 
as  to  fit  under  the  aide-tree  without  lifting 
the  wheels  from  the  ground.  It  is  chain- 
ed to  its  place,  like  a  peddler's  bull-dog ; 
and  on  this  additional  bearing,  the  cart  goes 
securely  sliding  about  over  smooth  grass 
and  slimy  mud,  almost  as  easily  as  over 
snow,  if  even  that  precaution  is  judged 
insufficient,  the  hay  is  ^^  poled  out''  Two 
stout  "  hay  poles  "  are  thrust  beneath  the 
heap,  and  two  men,  one  behind  and  one 
before  canying  it,  as  upon  a  sedan,  to 
terra  nrma.  This  is  sometimes  a  trouble- 
some business.  Mosquitoes  are  terrifi- 
cally rife  in  some  ports  of  the  salt  mea- 
dows. They  will  rise  on  one^s  track  al- 
most in  a  solid  mass,  and  pursue  with  a 
wolfishly,  bloodthirsty  pertinacity,  which 
is  pretty  sure  to  result  in  anger,  slaps, 
and  blood.  This  may  not  be  absolutely 
unendurable,  so  long  as  the  hands  are  free 
to  slap ;  but  when  you  have  a  heavy  hay 


cock  squatting  on  the  poles,  ol 
carry  one  end,  yx>u  are  pinned 
of  the  above  mixture,  slaps 
vailable.  there  remains  only 
and  the  blood ;  of  which  you 
the  former,  and  the  gentiema 
"littie  bill"  the  ktter.  Ther 
ugly  insect,  rarely  seen,  at  le 
necticut,  except  upon  the  sal 
It  is  an  enormous  black  fly,  hi 
again  as  a  "  bull  bumble-bee,^ 
deal  more  troublesome.  He  i 
villain,  and  a  truculent  He 
his  snout  a  machine  compounds 
awl  and  a  pump,  with  which  h 
and  depletes  his  victims;  an 
bass.  One  of  these  rascals  y 
horse  or  a  yoke  of  oxen  nc 
They  will  bear  tolerably  well 
speckled  over  with  mosquitoes 
heads,"  if  they  can't  get  rid  ol 
this  monster  carries  too  many 
cannot  stand  so  deliberate  aiid 
stab  as  his ;  and  unless  he  i 
dispatched  or  driven  of^  they 
pected  to  execute  antics  m<N 
than  useful. 


THE   WHITEFISHIHO 

Sucn  was  a  day  in  the  salt 
But  the  pleasantest  days  of  i 
were  days  of  fishing.  The  m 
exhaustible  storehouse  of  ferti 
farmers  of  the  coast  Rockwei 
mud,  shells  and  whitefish,  an 
the  country  as  far  as  eight  o: 
and  spread  upon  the  land,  or  < 
the  barn-yard.  Thus  the  boi 
sea  balances  the  sterility  of 
formation  along  the  sound. 

The  whitofish  is  a  herrii 
very  bony  and  oily,  which  « 
summer  in  shoals,  called  by  Ui 
"  schools,"  from  unknown  regi 
the  ever  mysterious  East,  • 
realms  of  the  sea.  They  are 
millions  and  sold  by  thousand 

a  st smell,  I  mean,  in  the 

those  who  flee  by  railroad  fit>n 
city  to  Sachem^s  Head,  and  U 
shoreward  haunts  of  the  '*i 
But  they  make  com  and  pot 
nicely:  and  I  found  that  after 
day  or  two  amone  their  unbori 
I  was  not  affected  either  menti 
ghastiy  appearance  of  the  defm 
ically,  by  their  exhalations. 

They  come  up  into  harbon 
to  feeo,  as  is  supposed — for  I  • 
that  any  body  has  actually  see 
— and  while  they  are  at  table^ 
is  dropped  round  them,  and  t! 


1854.] 


ConMctieut  Oeorffies, 


361 


snared.    But  all  this  does  not  giTe  the 
history  of  my  day. 

We  rise  in  advance  of  the  regular  hours, 
for  the  "  fish-house  "  is  five  miles  away, 
and  the  day  must  needs  he  long.  Well 
provisioned  in  stomach  and  basket,  we  set 
out  before  light  afoot.  Our  way  lies  for 
some  distance  along  one  side  of  a  river  val- 
ley, down  a  crooked  straggling  country 
road,  dodging  about  through  patches  of 
woods,  round  hard-headed  rocky  ledges, 
and  passing  here  and  there  a  solitary 
house  yet  alone  in  the  perfect  stillness  of 
early  morning.  The  trampling  steps  and 
rustic  voices  of  our  party  broke  rudely 
forvrard  into  the  yet  unviolated  silence  of 
the  night ;  which  seemed  to  flee  along 
wood  and  field,  and  always  to  be  couch- 
ing shyly  before  us,  hoping  to  rest  at  last 
undisturbed.  We  came  to  a  cross-road, 
at  which  our  former  path  ended;  but 
our  veteran  leader  unfalteringly  guided 
us  across  it,  through  a  barn-yard  op- 
posite, around  the  cow-shed,  down  the 
lane,  through  a  pair  of  bars  under  an  ap- 
ple-tree ;  and  we  entered  upon  one  of  the 
footpaths  that  mark  up  all  country  neigh- 
borhoods— sneaking  about  under  mys- 
terious shades  and  remote  hill  sides,  or 
edging  along  by  pasture  fences,  and  dis- 
appearing under  a  log,  or  tapering  off  into 
a  mouse  track ;  but  which  lead  the  initi- 
ated to  many  a  destination  much  to  be 
desired  for  work  or  for  sport.  This  one 
led  us  under  an  orchard  of  apple-trees  all 
drenched  in  dew,  through  a  mowing-lot 
or  two,  over  a  ridge  thinly  set  with  trees, 
and  out  upon  the  last  swell  of  the  sinking 
upland,  where  it  sloped  away  into  the 
wide  open  level  of  the  salt  meadows,  and 
looked  out  upon  the  sea  beyond,  which 
gleamed  out  from  under  the  morning 
mists  (for  by  this  time  the  sun  looked  out 
upon  the  landscape),  and  came  brim- 
ming up  in  the  fulness  of  the  flood-tide 
to  the  limit  of  the  low  beach,  as  if  medi- 
tating a  good  run  and  roll  across  the 
meadow.  Now  we  could  see  the  river 
again,  all  swollen  and  black  with  the  re- 
goi^ged  salt  water,  creeping  half  choked 
and  crookedly  about  in  the  meadow,  be- 
tween two  narrow  edgings  of  sedge,  as 
you  may  see  a  burly  face  within  a  slender 
rim  of  whisker.  As  we  descended  upon 
the  salt  alluvium,  the  plague  of  mosqui- 
toes arose  upon  us.  After  eveiy  man,  as 
alter  Fergus  Maclvor  Yich  Ian  V  ohr,  went 
a  tail  of  devoted  followers :  and  like  his, 
ours  proposed  to  make  a  living  out  of  their 
leader.  Content  now  dwelt  in  cowhide 
boots;  much  grumbling  and  some  blood 
oame  from  those  whose  ankles  were  yam* 
definided  only ;  and  an  irregular  fire  of 

TOL.  III.— 24 


slaps  did  considerable  execution  among 
the  foe,  as  they  came  piping  and  singing 
to  the  onset,  like  Milton's  devils.  Thus 
escorted,  in  the  style  of  Bon  Gaultier's 
Thairshon — 

**  With  four  and  twenty  raen, 
And  five  and  twenty  pipen," 

we  crossed  the  marsh  to  the  stygian  seem- 
ing river,  crossed  the  river  in  a  stygian 
seeming  skifiT,  rickety  and  patched,  which 
was  dislodged  from  a  cunning  concealment 
in  a  sedgy  ditch  and  "  sculled"  (not  an  in- 
appropriate motive  power  for  the  skiff  of 
the  dead ;  undoubtedly  Charon's  method 
of  propulsion)  with  one  hand  by  our  dex- 
trous chief,  and  resumed  our  dreary  and 
slippeiT  walk  on  the  other  side.  Now 
the  fish-house  loomed  up  on  the  neigh- 
boring beach,  looking,  on  its  solitary  rocky 
perch,  as  large  as  a  farm-house,  but  shrink- 
mg  as  we  approached,  until  as  we  entered 
it  it  became  definitely  about  twelve  feet 
square,  and  seven  feet  "  between  joints." 
It  was  fitted  up  with  half  a  dozen  bunks 
filled  with  salt  hay  for  bedding,  a  table 
and  chairs  rather  halt,  a  fire-place,  a  closet, 
an  attic,  a  kettle,  a  fryingpan,  sundry  other 
cooking  utensils,  and  an  extensive  assort- 
ment of  antique  and  grotesque  garments. 
Hats  consisting  of  a  large  hole  edged  with 
a  narrow  rim,  great  rusty  boots,  trowsers 
such  as  if  a  young  tornado  had  worn  and 
torn  them,  and  horrid  red  shirts,  sat, 
stood,  lay  and  hung,  on  floor,  chairs,  bed- 
side or  rafters,  as  though  a  troop  of  imps 
had  been  rioting  up  and  down  in  them, 
and  at  the  opening  of  the  door  by  mortal 
men,  had  instantaneously  jumped  out  and 
fled. 

The  provisions  were  stored  in  the  closet, 
and  the  members  of  the  "  fish-gang"  dis- 
guised themselves  in  piratical  outfits  from 
the  aforesaid  ready-made  stock,  leaving 
their  decent  clothes  for  their  return  home, 
and  becoming,  in  their  wild  and  ragged 
gear,  entirely  independent  of  moisture  and 
of  mud.  Next,  they  hauled  up  the  boat 
— a  great  clumsy,  fiat-bottomed,  heavy- 
stemed  scow,  equipped  with  a  capstan  for- 
ward and  a  platform  aft  to  carry  the  seine 
— and  having  beached  her  in  front  of  the 
reel,  proceeded  to  unreel  and  ship  the 
seine,  ready  for  setting.  We  boys  armed 
ourselves  with  old  hoes  and  tin  pots,  and 
marched  ofi*  to  dig  long  clams,  with  an  eye 
to  a  stew  at  home,  and  to  the  inveigling 
of  certain  blackfish,  sea-bass,  and  other  of 
the  Neptunian  herds,  understood  to  be 
lurking  and  wandering  around  the  rocks 
in  front  of  the  fish-house,  at  proper  times 
of  tide.  When  the  seine  was  all  aboard, 
the  fishermen  sat  down  on  the  sand  ana 


862 


QmneeUcut  Owrgia. 


[AfA 


rocks,  and  one  climbed  the  signal-pole,  to 
look  out  for  a  "  schooP'  of  fish. 

The  fish-house  was  on  a  point  at  the 
western  end  of  a  somewhat  shallow  bay, 
whose  shore,  a  silver-sanded  beach,  ran 
curving  round  to  the  pomt  on  the  other 
side.  The  fish,  as  before  mentioned,  al- 
ways come  from  the  eastward ;  working 
up  into  the  shallows,  skittering  and  skim- 
niing  in  sport  along  the  surface,  or  fleeing 
in  haste  before  the  sharks  or  porpoises  or 
other  great  fish  who  follow  after  them  for 
their  meals :  and  the  wide  dark  ripple  of 
the  whole  shoal,  the  racing  spatter  of  a 
fiightened  few,  or  the  bay  all  dotted  with 
the  quietly  emergent  little  black  black- 
fins,  or  tails  flourishing  alofl  preparatory 
to  a  dive  after  lunch,  are  the  signs  that 
betray  his  booty  to  the  fisherman's  eye. 
"  I  see  a  flag ! "  sings  out  an  ardent 
youth.  Flag  is,  metaphorically,  tail,  from 
its  flaunting  display  by  the  ambitious 
owner.  The  experienced  elders  don't  see 
it,  probably  because  the  young  man  saw  it 
first ;  but  immediately  the  great  "  school" 
with  one  consent  deploys  upon  the  smooth 
surface  of  the  bay,  and  ten  thousand  back 
fins  and  tails  dot  the  quiet  water,  which 
ripples  and  rustles  with  the  glancing  mass 
of  life  within  its  bosom.  Hoes  and  tin 
pots  are  cast  aside,  as  we  rush  to  see  the 
sport ;  for  the  fishermen  have  sprung  for 
the  boat,  in  excitement  intense,  but  re- 
pressed for  fear  of  alarming  the  timid  fish. 
They  launch  their  awk^^ird  craft,  and 
softly  pull  away  to  seaward,  amid  smoth- 
ered prophecies  of  from  ten  to  a  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  fish,  and  under  the 
captaincy  of  steady  old  Uncle  Jim  Lang- 
don,  who  stands  in  the  stern-sheets  to 
direct  the  rowers  and  to  deliver  over  the 
net  He  guides  the  boat  by  ordering  the 
oarsmen ;  not  with  the  salt  phrases  of 
oceanic  seamanships,  but  with  the  same 
words  that  rule  old  JBuck  and  Bright,  at 
his  farmstead  up  by  the  East  Woods. 
"  Haw  now.  Bill  a  little ;  haw  I  tellyou ; 
there,  go  'long."  Now  he  lifts  off  the 
wide  net,  as  the  "  warp,"  left  fastened  to 
the  capstan  ashore,  under  the  reel,  drags 
it  silently  down  into  the  water,  and  the 
lengthening  line  of  floats,  bobs  and  wavers 
upon  the  sea.  "  Haw  a  little ;  haw  boat; 
pull  now ;  pull !  Con-found  their  darned 
picters,"  says  Uncle  Jim,  in  a  sudden  re- 
vulsion of  wrath,  for  all  the  fish  have 
suddenly  sunk,  and  there  is  danger  that 
they  will  disgracefully  sneak  out  under 
the  lower  edge  of  the  net  while  it  hangs 
in  deep  water,  and  walk  away  each  with 
his  tongue  in  his  cheek,  leaving  the  fisher- 
men only  "  fisherman's  luck."  "  There, 
there  they  are  ag'in,"  says  the  old  man, 


as  the  black  points  stick  out  onoe  more : 
— <'Goit  Come,  pull  ahead."  And  the 
heavy  boat  sweeps  slowly  round  the  fish, 
until  the  whole  seine,  eighty  rods  long, 
just  a  quarter  of  a  mile^  hangs  in  the  sea 
around  them. 

**  Unooudoiu  of  their  Ikte,  tU  Uttto  vlotlaM  pi^,** 

and  the  fishermen  beach  the  boat  at  the 
other  side  of  the  bay,  carry  the  warp  at 
that  end  to  the  further  capstan,  and  pre- 
pare to  haul.  Now  there  is  need  of  ^  all 
hands  and  the  cook ; "  for  the  sooner  the 
warp  can  be  wound  in  upon  the  capstans, 
the  sooner  the  net  will  range  up  info  shal- 
low water,  where  the  danger  of  losingfish 
under  the  lead-line  will  be  over.  ^Both 
capstans  are  manned,  and  boys  and  men 
shove  round  the  bars  on  the  "keen  jump," 
until  soon  the  staff  at  either  end  of  the 
net  comes  riding  up  the  beach.  Now 
comes  hard  pulling;  for  the  rest  of  the 
net  must  be  drawn  in  by  hand,  and  it 
holds  many  fii^h  and  much  water,  besideg 
the  drag  of  the  corks  on  the  suruboe  and 
of  the  lead-line  on  the  bottom.  Slowly 
and  steadily  come  the  two  ends  of  the  net, 
hand  over  hand,  piled  up  as  it  comes  in 
on  the  beach.  A  fish  or  two  i^peara, 
hung  by  the  gills  in  the  meshes.  A  troop 
of  innocent-looking  fellows  come  daA*t]ng 
along  from  the  middle  of  the  net,  having 
just  discovered  that  they  are  inside  of 
something.  Now  the  fact  becomes  uni- 
versally known  among  the  ensnared ;  and 
they  dart  backward  and  forward  by  hon- 
dr^  and  by  fifties,  seeking  escape.  There 
is  none.  They  are  crowded  doser  and 
closer  within  their  narrowing  prison-houae. 
The  water  thickens,  rustles,  boils  with 
them.  And  now^  a  great  throbbing  slip> 
pery  mass,  they  lie  squeezed  up  together 
in  the  bag  of  Uie  net,  while  two  exultant 
captors  run  for  baskets.  And  a  boat-hook ; 
for  Uncle  Jim  points  out  a  long  black 
thong  like  a  carter's  whip,  slung  out  once 
or  twice  above  the  seeUiing  whitefish, 
announcing  the  dreaded  sting-ray;  and 
certain  wallops  elsewhere  advise  of  the 
presence  of  a  shark.  The  baskets  come. 
Two  men  take  each,  dip  them  full  of  fii^ 
ping  fish,  carry  them  up  the  beach,  and 
throw  them  down  to  die,  between  hot  sun 
and  hotter  sand.  After  twenty  minutes 
of  such  work,  the  dippers  dip  carefully, 
lest  they  get  a  stroke  from  the  ray,  who 
has  sunk  quietly  to  the  bottom,  or  a  nip 
from  his  cousin  tJ^e  "  sea-attorney."  Some- 
body has  hit  the  "  stinger,"  as  they  call 
him,  and  he  wallops  up  to  the  surfiuse^ 
and  snaps  his  long  tail  about  Suddenly 
a  bold  young  fellow  grips  the  extremihr 
of  it,  and  with  both  hands  holds  t^t 


1854] 


ConnecHeut  O^orgicM, 


868 


singing  out  sharply,  wbfle  the  great  flat 
diimsy  fish  wabbles  and  ^  flops  "  this  way 
and  that  way,  nearly  hanling  his  captor 
over  upon  his  nose  among  \&  fish,  **  Jab 
the  boat-hook  into  him,  quick,  will  ye?" 
Chunk !  it  goes,  fairly  into  the  creature's 
back ;  four  men  seize  the  hook-stafij  and 
walk  the  big  sting-ray  bodily  out  ashore, 
his  firet  friend  steering  him  behind  by 
the  tail.    Poor  old  ray !  he  lies  wounded 
and  bleeding  on  the  dry,  hot  sand,  gug- 
gling and  choking,  helpless  and  doomed. 
I  run  and  jump  up  before  him,  whereupon 
he    unexpectedly  gives  a  strange  loud 
watery  snort,  and  wallops  almost  off  the 
ground,  as  if,  like  Mr.  Briggs'  pickerel  (see 
London  Punch),  he  were  going  to  "fly  at 
me,  and  bark  like  a  dog."    It  scares  me, 
until  I  reflect  upon  his  locomotive  disad- 
vantages, and  so  I  repeat  my  irritating 
gambadoes,  until  the  monster  is  too  dead 
to  notice  them.    He  weighs  at  least  five 
hundred  pounds ;  and  is  long  enough  and 
broad  enough  to  cover  a  table  for  six. 
His  three  "stings"  are  cut  off  and  given 
me  to  scrape,  wash  and  preserve,  with 
strict  cautions  from  the  friendly  fisher- 
men against  allowing  the  sharp  points  or 
barbs,  or  the  poisonous  black  slime  ad- 
hering to  them,  to  get  through  my  skin. 
These  "stings"  are  tapering  two-edged 
daggers  of  hard  white  bone,  set  flatwise 
one  over  the  other  upon  the  upper  side  of 
the  ray's  tail,  and  so  jointed  on  that  they 
can  be  erected  and  made  to  stand  out  like 
three  flngers  stretched  apart.    The  ends, 
and  the  barbs  that  point  backwards  along 
the  sides,  are  as  sharp  as  needles,  and 
will  inflict  a  frightful  ragged  cut     No 
wound  is  more  dangerous  or  more  dreaded. 
The  slimy  black  venom  which  sticks  all 
over  the  stings  lodges  in  the  lesion,  and 
the  unlucky  recipient  of  the  ray's  blow  is 
in  imminent  danger  of  lock-jaw.   A  friend 
of  mine  was  hit  by  one  of  these  ugly 
things  in  the  ancle.     The  barbed  blade 
caught  among  the  sinews,  and  drew  one 
of  Uiem  fairly  out  from  the  leg — a  red 
and  white  string  a  foot  long.      He  was 
laid  up  long  with  the  consequent  inflam- 
mation and  fever ;  had  lock-jaw ;  almost 
died ;  and  halts  yet  upon  the  leg  which 
the  "  stinger  "  stung.    Of  the  three  stings 
which  the  fishermen  gave  me,  I  send  one 
to  the  Editor  of  Putnam's  Monthly  vrith 
these  sheets. 

The  whitefish  are  all  deposited  upon 
the  beach,  in  silvery,  sliddering  heaps; 
choking,  gasping  and  jumping ;  or  curling 
into  shuddering,  agonized  rings  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  quietly  straightening  out 
to  die.  Last  of  all,  the  sneaking  shark, 
who  had  nosed  off  to  the  furthest  comer 


and  wound  lumself  up  in  the  net,  hoping 
to  be  hidden,  is  hauled  up,  and  turned 
kicking  and  kicked,  out  from  the  twist^ 
meshes,  to  share  the  fate  of  those  he  had 
desired  to  destroy.  It  is  pitiful  to  see  the 
little  whitefish  gape  and  tumble  and 
bounce  about  in  innocent  agony.  The 
clumsy  ray  never  troubles  any  body  ex- 
cept in  self-defence,  and  gets  some  sym- 
pathy ;  but  nobody  sympathizes  with  the 
pig-eyed,  shovel-nosed  villain  who  now 
spats  the  sand,  and  winks  and  nips  with 
his  three  rows  of  thorny  teeth,  as  he  feels 
his  thievish  life  slipping  away  from  him. 
I  sarcastically  hint  that  he  must  be  hun- 
gry, since  he  opens  his  mouth  so  wide ; 
and  I  cautiously  insert  therein  a  white- 
fish  or  two,  and  set  them  well  down  with 
a  stick.  He  has  no  appetite,  after  all, 
and  spits  them  out ;  and,  as  I  renew  my 
attentions,  he  gathers  himself  up  in  a 
rage,  and  springs  at  me  so  strongly  that 
the  grinning  jaws  snap  together  within 
an  inch  of  my  fist.  A  little  more  strength 
in  the  old  scoundrel's  tail,  and  I  should 
have  repented  me  of  catering  for  the 
shark.  I  recommend  nobody  to  feed 
sharks  fr^>m  his  fingers. 

The  net  is  empty — all  but  sundry  non- 
descripts of  the  sea  which  stick  here  and 
there  upon  the  meshes.  A  "  sea-spider  " 
or  two,  like  a  large  mouldy  acorn  with 
six  long  legs ;  red  starfish ;  varieties  of 
seaweed ;  a  stick  and  a  fragment  of  old 
rope,  are  all.  Half  the  hands  count  the 
fish,  putting  them  in  piles  of  four  or  five 
thousand  each,  and  the  rest  replace  the 
seine  upon  the  boat,  in  readiness  for  ano- 
ther haul. 

Dinner  is  cooked  in  a  great  iron  pot. 
It  is  a  chowder,  of  course — fisherman's 
food  5  what  should  it  be  ? — Not  the  "  old, 
original"  chowder,  the  codfish  aristocrat 
of  chowders,  whose  idea  is  consecrated  by 
the  masterly  manipulations  and  majestic 
name  of  the  mighty  man  of  Marshfield — 
the  "Republican  King  "—but  still  a 
chowder,  a  delicious  dish  to  appetites 
sharpened  by  sea  air  and  sea  water.  It  is 
a  many-sided  dish ;  of  pork  and  fish,  po- 
tatoes and  bread,  and  onions  and  turmps 
— "all  compact" — "chequits"  and  sea- 
bass,  blackfish,  long  clams,  "pumpkin- 
seeds,"  and  an  accidental  eel,  all  contri- 
bute. Pepper  and  salt,  but  especially 
hunger,  are  the  seasoning :  and  I  firmly 
believe  that  no  such  flavorous  food  ever 
slid    tickling    down    mortal    throat,    as 

E lopped  out  from  the  canted  chowder- 
ettle  in  the  solitary  flsh-house  by  the 
sea. 

Late  at  night  we  returned  home ;  the 
gain  to  the  fishers  being  about  a  hundred 


864 


Sehnaucht, 


[April 


thousand  fish,  worth  some  forty  or  fifty 
dollars,  and  the  gain  to  me  being  a  store 
of  happy  memories ;  not  so  salable,  per- 
haps, as  the  fish,  but  lasting  longer  and 
fresher,  neither  by  me  willingly  to  be  ex- 
changed for  any  ordinary  tangible  com- 
modity. 

Such  was  my  life  with  the  farmers  by 
the  sea.  The  time  and  space  fail  me  to 
tell  of  the  rockweeding  expeditions;  the 
wanderings  after  lost  cattle  in  the  woods; 
the  wood-cutting  in  the  same ;  the  whor- 
tleberry parties ;  the  numberless  delight- 
ful and  adventurous  occupations  in  which 
my  farming  summers  passed.  It  was 
pleasure  unspeakable.  And  not  that  only, 
but  I  gained  a  store  of  strength,  ana 
hardy  habits  to  keep  it  good,  which  sub- 
sequent years  of  study  and  confinement 
have  not  hitherto  exhausted.  I  never 
can  see  a  thin,  white-faced  schoolboy  of 
twelve  or  fifteen,  that  I  do  not  long  to  ex- 
ile him ;  to  expatriate  him  for  a  year  or 
two  from  the  pie  and  cake,  the  coddling 
and  cookery  of  home,  the  weary,  brain- 


baking  of  his  school,  out  into  the  healthy 
world  of  the  workers  in  the  soil.  Hia 
parents  would  be  glad,  however  indignant 
or  sorrowful  at  the  parting,  when  he 
should  return,  as  brown  as  a  berry, 
straight,  strong  and  hearty,  almost  able 
to  eat  his  former  sel^  if  he  were  forth- 
coming. 

I  also  gained  an  invaluable  agricultural 
bias ;  so  that  I  am  ready,  when  my  ex- 
pected competence  shall  have  been  accu- 
mulated, to  betake  myself  to  the  shadow 
of  my  trees  and  vines,  and  to  the  sunshine 
of  my  tilled  land,  and  there  in  peace  to 
end  my  days,  living  in  the  world  of  Qod, 
among  the  trees,  the  plants,  the  dumb 
beasts,  the  earth,  the  ii^Qnitude  of  beauty 
and  vigor  and  youth,  designed  by  him ;  as 
much  superior  to  architectural  and  artis- 
tic parrotries  of  stone  and  canvas,  as  the 
pure,  mystic  beauty  of  Mont  Blanc,  the 
glories  of  the  sea,  of  storms,  and  of  the 
evening  clouds,  are  superior  to  the  gor- 
geous drapery  and  gilt  gmgerbread  of  a 
hotel  bridal-chamber. 


SEHNSUCHT. 


VOME,  beauteous  d&j ! 
Never  did  lover  on  his  bridal  night 
So  chide  thine  over-eager  light 

As  I  thy  long  delay  I 

Bring  me  my  rest ! 
Never  can  these  sweet  thorny  roses 
Whereon  my  heart  reposes 

Be  into  slumber  pressed ! 

Day  be  my  night  I 
Night  hath  no  stars  to  rival  with  her  eyes, 
Night  hath  no  peace  like  his  who  lies 

Upon  her  bosom  white. 

She  did  transmute 
This  my  poor  cell  into  a  paradise. 
Gorgeous  with  blossommg  lips  and  dewy  eyes 

Ajad  all  her  beauty's  fruit. 

Nor  dull  nor  gray 
Seems  to  mine  eyes  this  dim  and  wintry  mom. 
Ne'er  did  the  rosy  banners  of  the  Dawn 

Herald  a  brighter  day ! 

Gome,  beauteous  day ! 
Come,  or  in  sunny  light,  or  storm  eclipse ! 
Bring  me  to  the  immortal  summer  of  her  UpB| 

Then  have  thy  way ! 


1854.] 


NOTES  FROM  MY  KNAPSACK. 


NUMBER  III. 


auoB— MAP  rLAST—Jxnxcnon  with  thi  AxyrAHos— xminoHT  gbt— xtlitast  nrGnmEsnio— owis — oaxf 

OK  THS  inntOn— FXRIL0U8  PAMAGB— PSIOKLT  PBAB— YSQSTABLX  XOMSim— OITR  PLAO— TABAITTtrLA— 
BBT — ^BAOB— TH>  BIO  GBAHDB — ^WBITB  PLAO — TBM  PBXBIDXO— WOMXX  AND  CHILDSZN — PBOBLBM  IK  POUTI- 
OAI.  BOOKOKT—XIUTABY  PUKBBAL— POBDIKG— XBZIOAK  BMBAMT— TUB  ALOA]J>B-^niB  PADBB— Kl 
— TBAPPIO— POPVLATIOK— ADMIKIBTBATIOK  OP  JVSnOI-HPAZAB  ALABM. 


AT  six  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  1st 
of  October,  we  took  our  last  look  at 
the  lofty  precipices,  giant  boulders,  and 
crystal  fountains  which  are  the  minister- 
ing spirits  of  the  Hondo.  After  emerging 
from  the  long  grass  amid  which  our  tents 
were  pitched,  we  entered  upon  an  open 
prairie,  partaking  of  the  genuine  "hog- 
wallow  "  characteristics,  and  in  wet  wea- 
ther doubtless  offering  to  the  traveller  the 
most  cogently  cohesive  arguments  against 
progress.  An  interval  of  about  seven 
miles  separates  the  Hondo  from  the  Seoo. 
Apropos  of  Rio  Seco,  it  is  said  that  these 
words  constitute  the  original  name  of  that 
great  battle-field,  known  as  Resaca  do  la 
Falma,  but  that  the  Mexican  who  first 
communicated  the  name  was  not  under- 
stood, and  that  '^  Resaca"  was  as  near  the 
truth — Mexican  truth — as  the  translator 
could  come.  This  explanation — whether 
accurate  or  not — does  not  appear  improb- 
able, inasmuch  as  the  position  taken  by 
General  Arista,  when  driven  from  Palo 
Alto,  was  in  the  rear  of  the  bed  of  a  de- 
funct rivulet,  the  banks  of  which  formed 
a  natural  semi-circular  parapet,  with  the 
concavity  towards  the  Americans. 

This  day  we  first  observed  a  few  speci- 
mens of  the  "soap  plant" — a  bulbous 
root  extensively  used  among  the  Mexicans 
as  a  substitute  for  soap.  The  plant,  it  is 
said,  seldoifk  grows  more  than  a  foot  high; 
the  stalk  and  leaves  drop  off  in  the  spring, 
though  the  bulbs,  it  is  said,  remain  in  the 
0ound  an  entire  season  without  decaying. 
The  mode  of  using  it  is  to  peel  off  the  skin 
or  exterior  coating,  then  immerse  the  root 
in  water  until  it  is  somewhat  softened, 
and  apply  to  clothes  in  the  same  manner 
as  soap.  Woollen  fabrics  alone,  we  are 
told,  are  washed  with  it,  the  colors  of 
which  when  but  slightly  faded,  are  restored 
to  nearly  their  original  brightness. 

We  arrived  at  the  Sabinal  between 
twelve  and  one  o'clock,  on  the  banks  of 
which  the  advance  troops  were  comfort- 
ably encamped.    The  highest  and  hottest 

points  in  the  vicinity, succeeded 

m  finding,  for  pitching  the  tents  of  the 
new  arrivals  and  also  the  farthest,  or  as 


—  - —  says,  the  furthcrest,  from  wood 
and  water. 

A  blast  from  the  bugles  of  the  2d 
Dragoons,  which  drew  forth  a  universi^ 
tremor  of  disgust  from  the  whole  camp, 
and  which  was  answered  from  the  lungs 
of  a  hundred  echoes,  rang  out  clear  and 
shrill  the  next  morning  about  three  o^clock. 
In  a  few  minutes  the  entire  body  was  in 
motion :  mules  snorting,  horses  snickering, 
harness  rattling,  teamsters  cursing,  cooks 
growling,  men  grunting,  and  officers 
grumblmg,  shivering,  and  dressing.  Venus 
was  the  solitary  sovereign  of  the  firma- 
ment, as  we  filed  into  the  road  at  half- past 
five  o'clock.  When  the  sun  rose  upon 
the  column,  as  it  appeared  for  the  first 
time  after  the  junction,  the  spectacle  was 
spirited  and  attractive.  At  the  head  of 
the  army,  the  bright  barrels  and  bayonets 
of  the  regular  infantry,  under  the  veteran 
Bonneville,  of  Rocky  Mountain  memor3r. 
gave  proudly  back  the  glancing  rays  or 
the  morning  sun :  then  followed  the  bat- 
talion baggage  wagons,  and  to  these  suc- 
ceeded the  bronzed  corsairish  visages  and 
heavy  armor  of  the  1st  Dragoons.  Next 
came  thundering  on  Washington's  artil^ 
lery,  officers  and  men  in  full  uniform, 
their  red  horse-hair  plumes  waving  like 
crescent  flags  in  the  eastern  breeze,  and 
their  polished  pieces  reflecting  the  passing 
images  of  the  surrounding  landscape. 
Immediately  behind,  the  heavy  clattering 
of  horses'  hoofs,  and  the  clangor  of  mount- 
ed troops,  indicated  the  approach  of  the 
2d  Dragoons,  the  rear  being  marked  by  a 
long  line  of  white — the  covers  of  the  prin- 
cipal train  of  wagons,  amounting  to  one 
hundred  and  fifty,  and  stretching  over  an 
extent  of  nearly  two  miles.  Last  of  all 
came  the  rear-guard — itself  no  mean  epi- 
tome of  army  variety — rivalling  in  cos- 
tumes and  appointments  the  platoons  of 
Falstaff. 

We  arrived  at  Stony  Greek,  after  m 
march  of  seven  miles,  about  eight  o'clock. 
The  intervening  country  presents  very 
little  novelty.  There  is  a  sort  of  wild 
luxuriance  abroad  over  the  prairie,  which 
ezhansts  thQ  energy  of  the  soil  by  a  spe- 


866 


Noks  from  my  Knapsack. 


[Apifl 


cies  of  prolific  unproductiyeness.  The 
grass  is  of  sickly  growth,  and  almost 
parched  to  a  cinder ;  amid  which,  how- 
ever, several  new  varieties  of  plants  made 
their  appearance.  The  wild  sage  may  be 
mentioned  as  found  here,  and  the  abolo, 
or  buffalo  herb.  The  latter  derives  its 
name  from  the  resemblance  of  its  odor  to 
that  of  a  herd  of  buffaloes.  A  variety  of 
the  mimosa  sensiiiva  has  also  been  no- 
ticed, but,  like  other  occupants  of  this 
region,  not  very  sensitive.  About  a  mile 
east  of  the  stream  stood  a  stately  elm, 
and  as  the  largest  tree  yet  seen  in  Texas 
and  strikingly  conspicuous  from  its  isola- 
tion, this  passing  notice  seems  to  be  due 
to  the  legitimate  monarch  of  the  prairies. 
Like  Napoleon,  according  to  orator  Phil- 
lips, it  stands  "  grand,  gloomy,  and  pecu- 
liar ; "  and  as  no  well-bred  man  ought  to 
pass  under  the  shadow  of  a  full-grown 
survivor  of  a  forest  that  has  passed  away, 
without  doffing  his  hat,  so  few  were  dis- 
posed to  withhold  proper  homage  and  re- 
spect in  presence  of  its  venerable  and  ma- 
jestic form. 

The  approach  to  the  Kio  Frio  was 
by  a  gradual  slope,  with  a  natural  pave- 
ment of  snow-white  gravel.  The  water 
is  clear,  cool,  and  delicious,  and  flows 
over  a  bed  rivalling  the  whiteness  of 
Parian  marble.  The  fish  sporting  in 
such  a  medium  would  have  driven  old 
Izaak  Walton  into  ecstacies,  and  the  fine 
practical  and  praticable  stone  which  lines 
the  shores  so  abundantly,  would  have 
made  Mr.  McAdam  sigh  that  nature  had 
here  made  her  own  turnpikes. 

At  this  point  a  portion  of  the  dragoons 
and  infemtry  were  halted,  while  the  Gen- 
eral with  the  remaining  detachments  and 
artillery,  pushed  on  to  the  Leona,  where 
they  arrived  about  noon.  Nearly  the  enr 
tire  distance  between  the  Rio  Frio  and 
the  Leona,  the  road  passes  over  a  lime- 
stone formation,  with  a  very  superficial 
covering  of  soil.  The  growth  of  timber 
is  scattering  and  scraggy.  The  pioneers 
who,  from  bringing  up  the  rear,  have 
finally  floundered  into  their  appropriate 
position,  reached  here  in  the  morning. 
Owing,  however,  it  is  said,  to  a  difference 
of  opinion  as  to  the  best  method  of  arran- 
ging the  approaches  so  as  to  be  able  to  ford 
the  stream  with  the  train,  nothing  had 
been  done  on  our  arrival,  and  it  therefore 
became  necessary  for  the  troops  themselves 
to  cut  down  the  banks  on  either  side  so  as 
to  fit  them  for  the  passage  of  the  artillery 
and  baggage-wagons.  This  operation  was 
conducted  under  the  immediate   super- 

Tision  of  Captain Corps  of  Engineers, 

whose  .^fnoctioiis"  (yidt  the  63d  Artide 


of  War)  ''are  confined  to  the  more  elevated 
branches  of  military  science."  It  must 
be  confessed  that  our  friends  of  the  shovel 
and  pick-axe  did,  in  their  first  experi- 
ment, very  forcibly  illustrate  their  famil- 
iarity with  the  "  elevated  branches,"  and 
have  acted  with  becoming  regard  to  idl 
the  requirements  of  ^science,"  particu- 
larly in  reference  to  the  C»sarean  maxim 
festina  lente.  Fording  a  river  is  doubt- 
less a  serious  busmess,  and  the  resources 
of  science  ought,  of  course,  to  be  made 
available  in  its  accomplishment.  Should 
any  of  the  streams  ahead  of  us,  however, 
require  bridging,  the  problem  was  sog^ 
gested  whether  it  would  be  necessary  to 
make  drawings  and  specifications,  and  ad- 
vertise for  '^  sealed  proposals  " — as  that  is 
the  usual  method — which,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, would  be  exceedingly  inoon- 
venient 

It  has  been  asserted  on  the  authoritj 
of  "Deaf  Smith"— the  celebrated  Texan 
spy — that  eighteen  years  since,  there  was 
no  water  in  Uie  channel  of  the  Leona,  and 
that  he  had  frequently  slept  upon  it — then 
dry  ground.  According  to  this  traditioiL 
it  burst  forth  at  once  with  a  depth  of 
three  or  four  feet,  which  it  very  nearly 
preserves  throughout  the  year.  Others 
affirm  that  it  consisted  at  that  time  of  a 
series  of  basins,  subterraneously  connected, 
and  that  the  rotten  limestone  has  since 
crumbled  away  from  above,  and  united 
the  whole  into  a  running  stream. 

The  pure  water  and  shaded  borders  of 
this  little  river,  seduced  many  into  the 
luxury  of  a  thorough  ablution  this  even- 
ing, and  while  enjoying  a  solitary  bath 
just  before  tattoo,  two  huge  owls  perched 
upon  a  tree  overhanging  the  water^  gave 
several  most  unmistakable  hints,  m  the 
way  of  unearthly  and  unmusical  sounds, 
that  I  was  an  intruder  on  forbidden  r^;ionA. 

The  artillery  and  dragoons  resumed 
their  march  at  sunrise,  but  owing  to  the 
problem  to  be  solved,  to  wit  wither  oir 
not  the  principal  wagon  train  could  cross 
the  Leona  witfkout  a  bridge,  the  command- 
ing general  remained  until  the  arrival  of 
the  troops  in  rear,  which  was  about  eight 
o'clock.  After  felling  a  couple  of  trees 
across  the  stream,  the  men  were  all  enabled 
to  pass  over  dryshod,  but  the  wagons 
were  not  so  easily  disposed  of.  It  was 
found  necessary  to  cut  down  the  banks 
still  more,  throwing  the  gravel  into  the 
river,  so  as  to  form  ^opes  of  easy  declivity, 
before  the  crossing  could  be  commenced. 
Very  precise  instructions  touching  the 
mode  of  locking  wheels ;  the  proper  method 
of  addressing  the  mules;  the  number  of 
"gees,"  "haws,"  "ups,"  ^'lips,"  As.,  &c,to 


ia64.] 


NqU9  frmn  my  EnapmiA 


MT 


be  given  in  a  minute ;  how  to  hold  the  reins ; 
when  to  start  and  when  to  stop,  and  other 
details,  to  be  thoroaghly  comprehended 
only  by  those  yehicular  quadrupeds  and 
their  (hivers,  in  the  service  of  Uncle  Sam. 
were  next  given  with  great  energy  and 
effect,  after  which  the  whole  body  moved 
forward.  As  soon  as  the  immediate  valley 
of  the  river  is  left  behind,  the  country 
igain  becomes  prairie,  and  continues  to 
the  Nueces,  of  the  same  sterile,  stony 
texture,  with  the  exception  of  a  narrow 
belt  of  red  clay,  indicating  the  probable 
proximity  of  iron  ore. 

At  noon  we  came  in  si^ht  of  the  Nueces, 
its  winding  course  beautifully  outlined  by 
the  mass  of  foliage  with  which  its  western 
bank  is  embroidered.  Beyond  it,  the 
ground  rises,  so  that  the  towering  elms 
along  the  shore  are  overtopped  by  the 
less  ambitious  growth  of  the  distant 
prairie.  In  the  foreground  of  the  lovely 
landscape  were  the  white  tents  of  the 
troops,  the  horses  and  mules  grazing 
lazily  around,  the  men  engaged  in  their  ap- 
propriate duties,  and  a  solitary  sentinel  at 
his  post,  and  just  life  enough  visible  in  all, 
to  relieve  the  repose  of  inanimate  nature. 
Behind  us  a  cloud  of  dust  distinctly 
marked  the  sinuous  road-way  we  had 
just  passed  over,  beneath  which  the  re- 
mainder of  the  troops  then  *'  dragged  their 
slow  length  along,"  while  the  distant  hill- 
tops before  us  were  shaded  with  a  misty 
curtain,  so  clear,  and  soft,  and  ethereal,  it 
seemed  as  if  torn  from  the  azure  drapery 
of  heaven  with  which  its  hues  were  ming^ 
ling.  The  scene  might  well  remind  one  of 
Byron's  beautiful  and  inimitable  descrip- 
tion, in  that  sad  and  sombrous  picturo- 
^ery  of  the  "  Dream." 

**  There  wu  •  maas  of  many  images 
Growded  like  wares  upon  me. 
Bepoilng  from  the  noonttde  saltrineas 

Btood  osmeils  graadng^  and  some  goodly  steeds 
Were  listened  near  a  foantain ;  and  a  man 
Clsd  in  a  flowing  garb  did  watch  the  whiles 
While  many  of  his  tribe  slnmberod  aroond , 
And  they  were  canopied  by  the  bloe  sky, 
Bo  olondless,  dear,  and  pnrely  beantiAil, 
That  Ood  alone  was  to  be  seen  in  Heayon." 

The  different  corps  and  detachments  were 
in  camp  by  four  o'clock,  except  the  strag- 
glers, who,  as  usual,  kept  coming  until 
sunset 
The  position  of  our  camp,  though  highly 

creditable  to  the  artistic  eye  of  — ^ ^ 

had  littie  to  recommend  it  practically. 
The  grazmg  was  scanty  and  burnt  up, 
the  fuel  not  abundant,  and  the  water, 
though  good  and  plenty  of  it,  when  reach- 
ed, was  rather  too  fiur  from  our  tents,  to 
pilMae  the  oooks.    Indeed,  it  appears  that 


l^exas,  poor  as  we  have  found  it  thus  far, 
becomes  worse  as  it  approaches  Mexico. 
One  may  travel  from  Dan  to  Beersheba, 
or  from  the  Sabine  to  the  Nueces,  and 
exclaim  with  a  great  deal  of  truth  as  well 
as  sorrow,  All  is  barren.  The  country  is 
a  great  thorn  in  the  side  of  the  body  poli- 
tic, and  nearly  every  vine,  or  shrub,  or 
bush,  or  plant,  that  draws  its  nounsh- 
ment  from  the  soil  is  a  subdued  image  of 
its  mother ;  and  at  the  same  time  almost 
every  insect,  reptile,  or  animal,  that  is 
found  within  its  borders,  is  venomous  and 
vindictive. 

Another  innovation  upon  the  constitu- 
tion and  habits  of  man,  horse  and  mule, 
was  perpetrated  the  ensuing  morning,  by 
rousing  the  camp  from  its  slumbers  at 
three  o'clock.  There  is  no  surety  for 
nocturnal  rest  in  the  vicinity  of  Major . 

As  we  marched  from  camp  the  fires 
were  still  blazing ;  a  smoky  vapor  from 
the  Nueces,  hung  like  a  veil  over  the 
plain;  many  tents  were  not  yet  struck; 
mule  drivers  were  running  about,  yelling 
and  cursing,  in  pursuit  of  lost  animals ; 
teams  half  harnessed  and  but  half  made 
up,  on  account  of  the  strays,  were  standing 
in  confusion  along  the  path,  and  a  perfect 
Babel  of  sounds  and  kaleidoscope  of  sights, 
assailed  us  at  every  point  The  scene  at 
the  ford  was  fertile  in  materials  of  the 
grotesque  and  ridiculous.  The  regular 
infantry  passed  into  the  water  with  the 
counterfeit  presentment  of  a  grin,  and  went 
over  without  much  hesitation.  The  volun- 
teers, however,  though  amiable  enough  in 
the  abstract,  did  not  take  it  so  kindly.  A 
very  few  of  them  seemed  to  think  a  cold 
bath  by  starlight  a  most  felicitous  con- 
ception, but  the  larger  portion  entered  the 
stream  with  as  much  suspicious  reluctance 
as  if  about  to  take  passage  with  old  Charon 
across  the  impalpable  Styx. 

A  German  captain,  not  satisfied  with 
his  observations  upon  the  depth  of  the 
water,  after  seeing  two  or  three  companies 
effect  a  crossing,  began  his  own  perilous 
passage,  by  probing  or  sounding  with  his 
sword.  This  idea  had  probably  been 
•  suggested  by  hearing  many  of  those  who 
had  preceded  him,  and  who  had  doubtiess 
been  Mississippi  ^* deckers"  before  they 
became  soldiers,  singing  with  the  genuine 
twang  as  they  strided  through  the  river, 
"quarter  less  twain;"  "no  bottom;" 
"  by  the  mark  three,"  &c,  &c.  The  cap- 
tain made  tiie  first  plunge  with  admirable 
coolness  and  perfect  military  caution.  He 
had  evidenUy  determined  to  "feel  his 
way,"  and  had  resolved  not  to  put  himself 
knowingly  in  the  power  of  the  enemy. 
Bjb  legs  were  aa  bare — thou^^  perhaps  not 


868 


JVotei  from  mif  Enapaadt^ 


[April 


quite  so  accurately  outlined — as  those  of  the 
Apollo  Belyidere.  The  swallow-tail  skirts 
of  his  coat  were  carefully  "  tucked  up ; " 
no  fancy  ornament  was  suflTered  to  come 
within  reach  of  the  treacherous  clement ; 
and  thus  ^^  accoutred  as  he  was,  he  plunged 
in."  His  trusty  sword  he  grasps  with  a 
nervous  clutch  in  his  right  hand,  and  with 
his  left,  like  a  performer  on  the  rope,  he 
strives  to  preserve  the  centre  of  gravity 
in  such  position  as  will  enable  him  to 
maintain  a  stable  equilibrium.  As  he 
-  creeps  over  the  stones,  the  hand  flies  up 
and  down,  right  and  left,  and  by  its  rapid 
and  irregular  gyrations,  you  are  almost 
able  to  take  the  soundings  of  the  ford,  to 
trace  its  tortuous  course,  and  discover  its 
ups  and  downs.  With  tremulous  motions 
he  thrusts  the  sword  into  the  stream,  and 
follows  on  with  tottering  and  unsteady 
step.  He  falters,  his  pace  slackens,  he 
halts,  and  looks  wildly  and  anxiously 
around.  The  shores  are  lined  with  spec- 
tators watohing  his  precarious  progress. 
He  turns  his  eyes  from  one  side  to  the 
other ;  he  meets  no  sympathy,  and  the 
waters  roll  fiercely  and  pitilessly  on:  he 
looks  forward,  and  the  ripples  are  rising 
higher  before  him,  yet  there  is  no  retreat. 
Again  he  nerves  himself  to  renew  his  task, 
still  stealthily  advancing  like  a  man  grop- 
ing his  way  in  the  dark.  The  march  of 
those  in  the  rear  is  suspended  to  mark  his 
progress.  Again  ho  pauses;  and  shouts 
from  front  and  rear  assail  his  ears.  "  For- 
ward ! "  says  one ;  "  right  face ! "  shrieks 
another;  *'go  it  while  you're  young!" 
says  a  third ;  "  to  the  rear  open  order ! " 
exclaims  a  fourth ;  "  halt ! "  roars  a  fifth ; 
"  mark  time ! "  shouts  a  sixth.  The  poor 
man  is  in  agony.  Big  drops  of  perspira- 
tk>n  start  from  his  brow,  and  trickle  down 
his  face.  Unconscious  of  any  distinct 
direction,  his  actions  indicate  a  desire  to 
obey  them  all.  He  trembles ;  he  waves 
to  and  fro ;  he  is  not  so  much  a  bubble 
on  the  stream,  as  something  between  a 
snag  and  a  sawyer.  He  makes  another 
effort,  as  if  to  concentrate  his  energies  for 
a  final  struggle.  But  the  waters  are 
around  him,  and  he  reels  hke  a  drunken 
man.  The  stones  appear  to  glide  from 
under  him  as  easily  as  the  ripples  float 
before  him ;  he  sinks,  he  groans,  he  strug- 
gles; he  throws  out  his  right  arm  in  fran- 
tic strokes,  and  with  his  left  he  brandishes 
— a  grasp  of  vapor.  Once  more  he  heaves 
himself  like  Samson  among  the  columns 
of  the  Philistines,  and  with  headlong  des- 
peration plants  his  foot  upon  dry  land. 
The  joy  of  Columbus  when  he  beheld  for 
the  first  time  the  shores  of  the  New 
World,  or  of  Wellington  when  he  hetid 


the  wild  cry  of  Waterloo,  sauve  qui  peui^ 
was  tame  compared  with  that  whidi  at 
that  moment  filled  the  breast  of  the  hero 
of  the  Nueces.  And  as  the  great  achieve- 
ment was  completed,  a  shout  burst  forth 
from  the  admiring  crowd ;  the  laughter 
that  had  hitherto  been  oozing  out  in  broken 
doses  and  half-suppressed  spasms  could 
no  longer  be  restrained,  and  both  banks 
gave  forth  a  tempest  of  acclamations. 

We  crossed  the  river,  and  entered  upon 
the  disputed  territory  about  rix  o'dodc 
There  was  about  thu^y  inches  of  water 
at  the  deepest  point  of  the  fordj  and  a 
hard,  gravelly  bottom.  On  leavmg  the 
river,  the  road  passes  at  once  into  an 
extremely  barren  prairie,  poor  in  soil,  but 
rich  in  the  diversity  of  stunted  and  nozioas 
specimens  of  mezquit  and  chaparral.  Th» 
growth  is  very  dense,  and  where  the 
ground  is  not  cumbered  with  these  excres- 
cences, the  prickly  pear  rears  ite  horrid 
front,  to  the  axmoyanoe  and  terror  of  man 
and  beast 

The  Mina,  or  as  it  is  sometimes  called, 
the  Espantosa,  of  which  the  Mina  is  pro- 
perly a  tributary,  is  about  nine  miles  ran 
the  Nueces.  The  banks  at  the  ford  were 
steep  and  rugged,  and  the  labors  of  the 
pioneers  were  again  in  requisition.  The 
General  remain^  here  to  observe  the  pas- 
sage of  the  train,  while  the  advance  troops 
pushed  on.  The  same  barren  and  de- 
late waste  presented  itself,  through  whidi 
we  threaded  our  weary  way  as  we  hwt 
could.  The  guide  hiui  reported  water 
nine  miles  from  the  Minl^  and  we  were 
on  the  visual  stretch  to  discover  it.  At 
length  a  line  of  darker  green  rose  before 
us,  and  we  fancied  the  end  attained  ;  bnt 
on  our  arrival,  it  proved  to  be  nothing 
but  foliage  which  owed  ite  growth  to 
the  water  that  once  flowed  tlm>ugh  the 
bed  below.  Now  there  was  not  a  drop 
remaining,  to  wet  the  parched  lips  of 
hundreds  almost  famished.  This  was  the 
channel  of  the  Esquipula — a  name  cer- 
tainly pretentious  enough  to  belong  to  a 
river — but  alas !  the  "  piteher  was  broken 
at  the  fountain,  and  the  bowl  broken  at 
the  cistern."  Our  hearte  well-nigh  sank 
within  us — after  a  march  of  so  many 
miles  beneath  a  burning  sun — at  the 
grievous  disappointment ;  but  there  was 
no  alternative,  and  the  word  was  still  on. 
Every  blade  of  grass,  every  drooping  twi^ 
was  parched  to  crisp.  Mile  after  mile  « 
the  thorny  chaparrel  we  traversed,  and 
at  length  again  emerged  upon  an  open, 
sandy  prairie.  The  dragoons  were  in  ad- 
vance of  us,  but  were  nowhere  visible.  We 
quickened  our  pace :  a  group  of  towering 
and  aged  oaks  crowned  the  simnnit  of  m 


Noi$9  from  my  Knaptaek. 


869 


lb  we  were  approaching,  and  the 
stored  our  hopes.  We  reached  the 
;  point,  not  doabting  that  the  pro- 
tream  would  be  in  full  view  before 
thing  was  to  be  seen  except  the  too 

burning  expanse  of  barrenness, 
rancing,  we  swept  the  horizon  with 
!8,  and  far  ahead  we  could  once 
stinctly  trace  the  winding  outline 
ener  foliage,  in  broad  contrast  with 
rched  vegetation  of  the  prairie. 
t  hope  WOP.  now  before  us,  and  we 
sd  our  march.  A  few  miles  further 
t  US  to  the  trees,  but  we  found  no 

After  beating  about  among  the 
for  a  while,  we  discovered  the  camp 
st  Dragoons,  and  continued  search- 
ealed  a  few  ponds  of  water  green 
&y  upon  the  surface ;  but, 

^  in  deserts  found  seem  sweet,  all  brackish 
-htbeybe.'' 

yet  potable,  afler  so  long  and 
a  march.  Its  foulness,  however, 
ilieved  somewhat  by  a  brilliant 

of  lilies,  resting  on  its  bosom, 
B  iris  athwart  the  clouds.  It 
w  late  in  the  afternoon.  Steeds 
isaddled,  and  turned  loose  upon 
tirie,  knapsacks   tumbled  to  the 

with  no  great  regard  to  their  con- 
od  each  man  strove  to  get  into  a 
able  place,  with  as  little  delay  as 
ble,  as  a  compensation  for  a  day's 
)f  twenty-two  miles. 
fi  determined  late  at  night  to  pro* 
th  the  troops  then  in  camp  to  the 
distant  about  fifteen  miles.  The 
of  the  dragoons  sounded  to  horse 
past  six  o'clock  the  next  morning, 
9  squadron  filed  out  of  camp  in 

the  infantry.  We  left  the  banks 
>itter  Chaparrosa  without  regret, 

to  find  an  improvement  in  the 
kt  oar  next  stopping-place.  The 
I  remained  behind  to  await  the 

of  Ck>lonel  Harney's  command, 
re  pushed  along,  at  first  over  a 
d  specimen  of  the  *'  hog-wallow  " 

and  then  through  the  thorny 
which  we  had  been  so  long  accus- 
»Yer  aflat,  sandy  prairie,  productive 
og  but  noxious  plants^  the  prickly 
log  pre-eminent.  This  plant  has 
some  such  a  nuisance,  that  it  may 
bty  be  affirmed,  that  no  member  of 
ly — however  amiable  or  sentimental 
perament— can  hereafter  bestow  a 
t  of  admiration  upon  any  woman, 
lis  knowledge  shall  cultivate  a  single 

of  the  cactus.  The  prickly  pear 
8  enouffh  to  answer  for,  to  damn 
ole  fiumly  and  consign  its  patrons 


to  a  penitentiary  or  nunneir.  It  is  worthy 
alone  of  the  countrv  which  has  emblazoned 
it  upon  its  coat  of  arms,  as  the  national 
plant  To  cultivate  such  a  monster,  with 
ho^  house  delicacy  and  attention,  is  worse 
even  than  fondling  a  lap-dog,  or  making 
a  pet  of  a  snarling  grimalkin.  All  who 
participate  in  the  preservation  or  propaga- 
tion of  such  a  species,  ought  to  be  con- 
sidered as  voluntary  accessories  to  a  crime 
of  the  first  magnitude,  against  the  laws 
of  taste  and  propriety,  and  ought  to  be 
condemned  to  a  three  aays'  march,  bare- 
foot, between  the  Nueoesand  Rio  Qrande. 

At  eight  o'clock  we  reached  the  Salidito. 
This  stream,  as  its  name  indicates,  was 
represented  as  brackish;  but  travellers 
have  libelled  it,  as  the  water  is  as  good 
as  any  on  the  route.  The  engineers  were 
called  upon  here  to  make  such  an  applica- 
tion of  "  the  more  elevated  branches,"  to 
wit,  spades  and  pick-axes,  as  would  en- 
able the  wagons  to  cross  with  facility. 
We  then  passed  on  through  the  dust, 
bound,  as  we  supposed,  to  a  halting-place 
ten  miles  distant,  which,  we  understood 
the  topographical  party  ahead  had  rcportea 
as  abounding  in  wood,  water,  and  grazing. 
We  had  not  gone  many  miles,  however, 
before  an  irregular  clatter  or  hollow  rum- 
bling was  heard  behind  us,  which  was 

soon  explained  by  the  appearance  of 

,  mounted  upon  a  black  charger  very 

much  addicted  to  falling  upon  his  knees 
at  inopportune  moments,  and  hence  pretty 
general] V  known  throughout  camp  as  the 
"camel,'*  or  "hoofs."  From  him  (the 
rider,  not  the  horse^  we  learned  that  the 
order  of  inarch  had  been  changed,  that 
new  information  had  been  communicated 
to  the  commanding  general,  the  effect  of 
which  was  to  prolong  the  march  several 
miles.  This  was  of  course  gratifying  in- 
telligence to  those  already  wearied  with 
the  day's  labors,  and  whose  imaginations 
had  been  prematurely  excited  by  visions 
of  a  not  &r  distant  cup  of  coffee  and  a 
blanket.  The  night's  work,  however,  of 
Lieutenants  Fraimin  and  Bryan,  was  ef- 
fectually extinguished,  not  unlike  the  snuf- 
fing out  of  a  candle ;  and  we  passed  the  Pi- 
coso,  then,  like  so  many  other  streams  in 
,  the  country,  a  broken  chain,  of  which  a  few 
stagnant  pools  were  the  separated  links. 

The  sun's  rays  came  down  with  the 
power  of  a  steam  engine,  as  we  halted 
about  three  o'clock.  Not  a  tree  nor  shrub 
was  visible,  as  large  as  a  rose-bush,  beneath 
which  one  could  crawl  for  protection. 

With  the  exception  of  a  suooessful  effort 
on  the  part  of  a  topographical  messenger 
to  the  commanding  general,  to  make  night 
hideous  by  ruddly  severing  a  nap  ap- 


870 


Notes  jftram  my  JTnopfodk. 


[April 


proaching  to  mataritj,  the  mtenral  of 
darkness  passed  quietly  into  the  wallet  of 
oblivion.  The  column  passed  out  of  camp 
at  half-past  seven  o'clock.  The  aspect  of 
nature  was  any  thing  but  cheerful.  There 
was  a  dull,  heavy,  ague-and-feverish  sort 
of  tog  hanging  over  us,  and  when  the  sun 
lifted  this  curtain,  in  which  for  a  few 
miles  we  were  enveloped,  we  were  able  to 
perceive  only  a  vast  waste,  presenting,  at 
distant  intervals,  slight  and  irregular  de- 
rations and  depressions.  A  barren,  desert 
sterileprairie  was  again  before  and  around 
ns.  The  prickly  pear  and  the  dwarf  sun- 
flower, worthy  of  their  distinction,  held 
almost  unaccompanied  possession  of  the 
soil,  a  single  new  and  insignificant  plant 
being  assigned  to  the  intervals,  the  name 
of  which  I  could  not  learn.  Like  its  pre- 
decessors and  associates,  it  possessed  a 
thorn  wherever  there  was  room,  and  the 
process  of  laceration  lost  nothing  in  its 
vicinity. 

It  having  been  determined  to  unite  the 
troops  of  Colonel  Harney's  command 
with  those  under  General  Wool,  before 
reaching  the  Rio  Grande,  the  encampment 
survived  the  rising  of  the  sun  on  the  7th 
of  October. 

The  flag  of  the  United  States,  or  a  very 
uncertain  number  of  stars  and  stripes  on 
a  cotton  eround,  was,  for  the  first  time  on 
the  march,  given  to  the  breeze  this  morn- 
ing, from  a  staff  erected  in  front  of  the 
tent  of  the  commanding  general.  Not  a 
single  cheer  greeted  it  as  it  rose,  not  a 
gun  was  fired  ;  and  the  only  remark 
which  the  incident  appeared  to  call  forth 
was  from  one  of  the  soldici-s,  who— prob- 
ably glad  that  the  job  was  over — very 
patriotically,  and  with  an  enthusiasm  cor- 
responding to  the  sentiment,  exclaimed. 
<'  There  goes  the  star-spangled  blanket ! '' 
This,  though  not  strictly  true,  was  re- 
ceived with  a  due  measure  of  applause^ 
which  in  some  sort  atoned  for  the  absence 
of  a  volley  fit)m  the  battery.  The  fact  is^ 
there  was  not  a  government  fiag  in  the 
entire  command.  The  one  just  hoisted 
was  the  property  of  a  volunteer  company 
— whose  members  appeared  not  to  think 
that  our  national  flag  ought  not  to  be 
prostituted  to  such  an  e^)edition — and, . 
though  resembling  a  "blanket"  in  size 
if  not  in  material,  was  quite  as  far  from 
"  bunting."  It  bore  the  emblems  never- 
theless, and  though  they  were  apportioned 
according  to  the  taste  of  the  maker,  rather 
than  in  reference  to  the  statute,  and  put 
together  on  very  primitive  principles,  it 
was  "  a  good  enough"  flag  for  our  present 
purposes. 

liiere  was  also  a  pleasant  little  eixate- 


ment  in  camp  during  the  monuDg,  from  a 
report  that  we  were  already  realizing  ov 
proximity  to  the  enemy,  as  the  Mexicans 
had  driven  off  our  beef  cattle  during  the 
night,  thus  leaving  us  to  the  uninterrupled 
mercy  of  pork  and  bacon.  This  was  a 
matter  appealing  directly  to  the  stoiii- 
ach,  in  and  through  whidi  every  emotin 
of  chivalry  has  its  origin,  and  was  then- 
fore  of  the  most  absorbing  interest  fi»r  Che 
time. 

Barren,  sterile,  desolate,  and  destitotB 
as  this  position  was,  in  reference  to  eveiy 
species  of  vegetation,  the  noxious  qnalitiei 
of  the  soil  vindicated  themselves  in  the 
sustenance  afforded  to  the  venomoiu  rq^ 
tiles,  which  are  there  indigenoos.     A 
black,  bloated,  hairy  tarantula,  of  gigantk 
dimensions,  was  discovered  near  one  of 
the  tents,  almost  realizing  the  descriptioQ 
in  the  Apocalypse  of  the  monster  with 
"seven  heads   and    ten   horns."      This 
poisonous  and  diseusting  object  had  a 
small  head,  lighted  up  with  two  fiery 
little  eyes,  and  from  the  mouth  a  pair  of 
forked  &ngs  projected,  more  deadly  m 
their  assault  than  the  bite  of  the  rattle- 
snake.   Ten  legs  radiated  from  an  odkms 
and  revolting  body,  covered  with  loqg 
black  hair,  the  entire  creature  as  unsightly 
and  loathsome  in  all  its  parts,  as  any 
combination  of  animal  life  well  can  be. 
But  this  was  not  the  only  spedmea  of 
native  society  to  which  we  were  introduced. 
The  centipedes  were  scattering  their  foot- 
prints wherever  flesh  and  blo<M  woold  kt 
them ;   rattlesnakes  were  making  their 
music  in  the  grass;  and  the  soorpions 
playing  antics  with  their  tails,  and  [Hrob- 
mg  every  surface  on  which  they  ooold 
fiksten  themselves. 

The  day  was  one  d  unoompramifling 
do-nothingness.  At  five  o'clock  p.  m.,  the 
camp  might  have  been  thus  daguerreo- 
typed :  Most  of  the  men  are  onnged  in 
idle  and  doubtless  agreeable  reuaation. 
The  notes  of  a  violin,  not  very  tastefhlly 
extracted,  are  gushing  forth  from  serwal 
tents,  round  which  divers  gnnqps  are 
gathered,  eagerly  absorbing  the  ezhalir 
tions  of  catgut  Songs— or  rather  tiwir 
fragments — ^are  being  emitted  m  paren- 
thetical snatches  firom  a  hundred  sooroeB^ 
the  intervals  supplied  with  the  hearty 
joke,  the  "rough  and  rea^r"  repwts^ 
and  boisterous  laughter.  The  anvil  oi 
the  artillery  battery  is  ringing  with  the 
heavy  strokes  of  some  milituy  Oyokpii 
who  has  doubtless  taken  a  day  of  resfr^ 
not  for  him— to  repair  the  wear  and  tear 


of  the  march.  Tents  are  flapping  softly 
in  the  vrind ;  officers  are  in  groups  m 
search  o(  or  fiuocyuig  they  hkjt  taaofdit 


Jfotajrom  my  KnoupmUk. 


zn\ 


8  which  oombme  the  two  proper- 
t»reeze  and  shade,  smoke  rises  fit- 
om  the  camp  fires,  and  an  odor 
ioiially  wafted,  strongly  saggestiye 
I  aoup^  and  the  approach  of  the 
Kmr. 

onset  a  most  amusing  farce  was 
«d, — an  experiment)  for  the  first 
\  the  march,  of  a  general  guard 
ig.  Regular  and  Tolunteer  in- 
dragoons  mounted  and  on  foot; 
3r  cavalry  in  full  costume ;  and,  in 
representation  fVom  each  variety 
fbrce,  were  assembled  upon  the 
{round,  where  most  of  the  parties 
leir  dihuU  in  the  operations  of 
ranks,  inspection  of  arms,  salut- 
■ing  m  review,  &c.,  under  the 
I  of  an  experienced  oflBccr.  Of 
he  adjutant-general  had  as  much 
\  hands,  as,  being  a  modest  man, 
[  desire ;  having  not  only  to  give 
mmand  with  detailed  instructions 
le  method  of  execution,  but,  in 
gtanoes.  to  go  through  the  move- 
nsel^  before  reaching  the  compre- 
of  hjs  pupils.  At  the  command 
"  some  would  move  to  the  right 
and  at  the  word  '^  halt,"  perhaps 
lid  just  commence  moving.  Fast 
wy  should  be  slow,  and  in  "  rear  " 
MY  should  be  at  the  "front;" 
t  the  "right"  when  the  order  was 
tiie  "left,"  and  wheeling  one  way 
le  command  was  another:  these 
irt  of  other  operations  of  like  cha- 
aTe  to  the  ceremony  the  appear- 
\  satire  on  soldiering,  and  stripped 
auy  to  its  cuticle,  of  all  dignity  or 
r. 

commotion  ruled  in  the  camp  at 
'  hour  the  next  morning.  An 
much  had  been  prescribed  for  the 
nnmand,  with  a  view  to  the  pro- 
of the  maximum  effect  upon  the 
B^  whom  we  might  perchance  en- 
tn  the  vicinity  of  the  Rio  Grande, 
s  much  labor  had  been  bestowed 
sting  the  arrangements  for  the 
mmes  appeared  a  little  more  ob- 
od  contrary  than  usual,  and  the 
nfiuuty  of  tiie  teamsters  of  course 
I  in  a  similar  proportion.  There 
ry  among  the  dragoons  and  delay 
)  artillery;  the  infantry  was  in 
itioii  which  was  wrong,  and  the 
B  cavalry  in  that  which  was  far 
ing  right  Wagons  were  just 
bey  ought  not  to  have  been,  and 
lating  boys,  and  supernumeraries. 
rped  the  position  of  the  general 
Mers  and  counter-orders  in  all 
were  given  and  countermanded 


in  a  breath*  Aideg-de-camp,  extra  and 
real,  were  ridmg  in  all  directitms  but  the 
right  ones,  and  as  fast  as  they  followed 
each  other,  perhaps  undoing  what  each 
one^s  predecessor  had  effected.  The  Gen- 
eral wondered  why  the  Colonel  did  not 
move  on,  and  the  Colonel  in  his  turn  could 
not  for  the  life  of  him  perceive  what 
detained  somebody  else.  However,  the 
confusion  of  tongues  at  Babel  terminated 
with  the  dispersion  of  the  talkers  through- 
out the  land  of  Shinar,  and  in  spite  of 
darkness  and  misf^prehension,  the  great 
snake—to  which  tiie  column  might  be 
compared— finally  uncoiled  itself,  and  be- 
gan its  winding  course  along  the  road  at 
seven  o'clock. 

The  country  becomes  more  broken  aa 
the  "Great  River  of  the  North"  is  ap- 
proached ;  the  road  winds  around  numer- 
ous hills  and  traverses  many  deep  ravines. 
The  vegetable  growth  near  the  Cuevas.  as 
has  been  already  observed,  is  very  sl^t: 
the  prickljr  pear— that  unmatched  bane 
to  prairie  life  and  physical  comfort — almost 
creeps  along  the  ground  at  that  point,  but 
before  reaching  the  river  it  again  becomes 
a  monster,  and  rears  its  hideous  arms  to 
the  height  of  six  or  eight  feet  A  small 
bush  called  by  the  Mexicans  chaparra 
cenizUj  was  seen  for  the  first  time  to-day. 
It  bears  a  beautiful  violet-colored  little 
flower,  and  deserves  honorable  mention, 
as  growing  in  Texas  or  Mexico,  and  free 
from  the  deformity  of  thorns. 

To  enable  the  troops  to  keep  in  compact 
ordc^  the  column  was  frequently  halted, 
and  during  one  of  these  intervals,  an  inci- 
dent occurred  which  excited  deep  interest 
throughout  the  entire  command.  At  no 
great  distance  from  the  head  of  the  line,  a 
young  fawn  was  bounding  over  the  prairie^ 
pursued  by  a  meaxL  sneaking,  vicious, 
ravenous-looking  wolf.  With  eye  dilatea 
and  swelling  nostril,  the  deer  glided  along 
with  almost  the  speed  of  the  wind,  while 
her  ferocious  enemy  kept  on  the  path 
with  a  determination  which  seemed  to 
evince  no  fears  of  the  loss  of  his  intended 
prey.  Now  the  fawn  sweeps  along  like  a 
bird,  and  now  she  bounds  over  the  cactus 
and  chaparral,  as  if  she  were  an  element 
of  the  air:  forward  she  goes,  leaping  ob- 
stacles and  threading  mazes  which  would 
appear  to  defy  her  powers,  yet  as  she 
touches  the  earth,  it  seems  to  our  fimcy 
and  our  fears,  that  she  gains  nothing  in 
advance  of  her  voracious  foe.  Her  flight 
is  directed  towards  a  group  of  mezquit 
trees  in  the  distance,  as  if  there  was  the 
last  citadel  of  her  hopes.  Her  speed  now 
becomes  phantom-like.  Terrmed  wiHh 
the  doom  whidi  she  seems  wilh  hmnan 


Sf2 


JToteff  from  my  Knapm/ek. 


instinct  to  apprehend  as  meyitable,  she 
flies  OYcr  bash  and  brier  and  from  peak 
to  peak,  with  an  energy  wrun^  from 
despair.  Bat  without  some  foreign  aid 
all  her  agile  powers  must  &il  before  the 
eool,  calm  and  persevering  efforts  of  her 
enemy.  He  wastes  no  strength  in  flying 
leaps;  but  with  steady  strides,  his  eye 
flxed  on  his  yictim,  his  scent  sharpened 
and  appetite  quickened  by  the  race,  he 
pursues  with  untuing  pace  his  object. 
The  chase  continued  until  the  dust  from 
the  rear  of  the  column  had  almost  hidden 
the  pursuer  and  pursued  from  view,  when, 
in  spite  of  orders,  the  rifle  could  no  longer 
be  restrained,  and  a  whizzing  bullet  from 
a  sympathizing  yolunteer,  suddenly  re- 
lieved the  wolf  and  his  intended  victim. 
This  incident,  the  starting  of  a  hare,  and 
the  death  of  a  rattlesnake,  were  the  most 
marked  features  of  the  day's  march. 

As  we  approached  within  a  few  miles 
of  the  river,  all  were  on  the  qui  vive; 
every  eye  was  strained  to  catch  the  first 
glimpse,  but  many  a  distant  hill  and  jut- 
ting bluff  disappeared  before  the  object 
was  attained.  The  road  runs  nearly  par- 
allel with  the  river  for  several  miles,  the 
heights  on  the  opposite  shore  being  a  long 
time  visible,  without  any  apparent  dimi- 
nution of  distance.  A  mile  or  two  from 
the  ford  we  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  house, 
from  which  appeared  to  be  streaming  a 
white  flag.  This  of  course  was  far  from 
being  gratifying  to  those  who  wished  the 
passage  to  be  disputed,  as  it  was  death  to 
immediate  glory  if  not  to  the  Mexicans, 
and  those  maiden  swords  must  yet  remain 
nnfleshed.  We  came  upon  a  full  view  of  the 
river  at  eleven  o'clock,  and  as  we  reached 
the  bank,  a  man  appeared  on  the  Mexican 
side  waving  the  emblem  of  peace.  A  short 
colloquy  ensued  between  him  and  our 
interpreter.  To  an  invitation  to  come 
over,  he  seemed  at  first  to  object^  on  ac- 
count of  "  mtuJut  agua^^  but  soon  con- 
sented, and,  naked  as  the  horse  on  which 
he  rode,  he  entered  the  river,  still  bearing 
his  pacific  credential  before  him,  which 
proved  on  his  arrival  to  be  a  shirt — which 
had  probably  been  washed  for  the  occa- 
•ion.  He  bore  a  letter  from  .the  Alcalde 
of  the  Presidio,  to  the  commanding  gen- 
eralj  couched  in  very  humble  terms,  pro- 
testmg  that  the  people  of  that  region  bore 
no  arms  against  the  United  States,  were 
peacefully  pursuing  their  usual  occupa- 
tions, and  begging  that  General  Wool 
would  treat  them  with  as  much  consider- 
ation as  Colonel  Harney  had  previously 
done,  &c.,  Ac  The  General  made  an  ap- 
propriate verbal  reply,  and  desired  that 
the  Alcalde  would  praent  himaelf  in  per- 


son. The  messenger  then  retarned,  I 
began  pitching  our  tents. 

A  few  minutes  before  sunset|  tht 
of  the  Presidio  municipality  made  ] 
pearance  accompanied  by  a  single : 
dual,  who  was  probably  another  < 
functionary,  though  his  position  wi 
very  clearly  defined.  The  Aleak! 
prised  us  with  the  first  intellieenoe 
fall  of  Monterey,  having  a  Mexicai 
of  the  articles  of  capitulation.  1^ 
of  the  event  spread  rapidly  over 
and  created  great  exultation. 

The  Alcalde  returned  some  tinu 
dark,  and  a  dragoon  who  assisted 
conve^ng  him  across  the  river,  diai^ 
on  his  return,  between  ten  and  • 
o'clock,  and  it  was  feared  mj^ 
drowned. 

For  the  first  time  since  we  Id 
Antonio,  there  was  a  slight  shower  • 
9th,  with  indication  of  prolongei 
weather. 

The  2d  Dragoons  under  Colonel 
ney  were  the  first  to  cross  the  rmr. 
water  was  about  four  feet  and 
inches  deep,  and  quite  as  high  as : 
or  convenient  for  fording.  Many 
contrived  to  elude  official  vigilano 
steal  off  under  cover  of  the  cavalr 
entered  the  enemy's  oountrj  wi£ 
troops.  To  accomplish  the  crosBini 
dry  feet,  it  was  necessary  to  take  a 
constrained  and  painful  position  c 
horse,  and  one  that  would  have  bea 
to  the  deportment  of  Mr.  Tonen 
As  we  did  not  consult  attitudes  hoi 
so  much  as  prospective  comfinrt^  tfai 
not  considered  an  insuperable  oljed 
the  movement. 

The  village  or  city  of  the  Pren 
about  five  miles  from  the  river,  in  a  dh 
from  the  ford,  a  little  west  of  south.  . 
three  hundred  yards  north  of  the 
stand  the  ruins  of  an  old  "misaiaii' 
other  monument  to  the  ubiquitous  \ 
of  the  Jesuits.  Originally  a  m 
mixture  of  stone  and  mortar,  tun 
added  nothing  to  its  beauty  or  its  m 
try,  though  it  has  curtailed  somewl 
first  proportions.  The  body  ai  the  < 
is,  as  usual,  connected  with  a  ser 
arched  ways,  cells,  chambers,  tn 
purposes  doubtless  well  known  to  t 
cupants,  but  which  at  this  time 
speculation.  The  swelling  notes  • 
organ  are  no  longer  heard  witfai 
stately  walls,  but  the  vrind  ho^ 
mournful  requiem  throujrii  its  \ 
arches,  over  the  grandeur  wat  hssj 
away.  The  imposing  ceremonisl 
pomp  and  drcumstanoe  of  prsjet 
morning  and  evening  diimes}  ihm 


1864.]      , 


NqUb  frmn  my  Kwip^aA 


8f9 


pered  confession  and  the  muttered  absolu- 
tion ;  the  tonsured  priest  and  the  besotted 
people,  haye  disappeared  for  ever;  and 
min  with  its  inexorable  grasp  has  given 
walls  and  arches,  corridors  and  columns, 
to  the  wild  flowers  for  their  dominion, 
and  to  the  birds  of  heaven  for  their  revels. 

The  cavalcade  entered  the  town  with 
ipidons  flying,  and  the  band  playing  "  Hail 
Columbia."  The  doors  and  windows 
were  planted  thickly  with  the  mhabitant& 
eager  to  see  the  invading  **  barbarians  ot 
the  North."  By  the  time  we  reached  the 
plasa,  the  whole  place  was  in  motion,  and 
e?ery  house  had  disgorged  its  occupants. 
The  children  were  most  conspicuous  in 
Bombers,  and  not  least  striking  from  their 
^yparel— or  the  want  of  it.  The  Indian 
mother,  nurtured  only  in  the  school  of 
nature,  gives  to  her  child  a  girdle  about 
tlio  middle:  the  Mexicans,  inheritors  of 
Spanish  civilization  and  refinement,  dis- 
pense with  so  superfluous  a  garment 
The  Colonel  presented  to  the  Alcalde  a 
letter  from  General  Wool,  whereupon,  as 
QU  Bias  says,  were  many  compliments  on 
both  sides.  The  official  was  as  conde- 
scending and  affectionate  as  a  stump  can- 
didate three  weeks  before  the  election,  and, 
notwithstanding  we  were  all  on  horseback, 
passed  round  most  graciously,  careful  to 
omit  none,  shaking  every  one's  hand  and, 
leading  us  to  infer  that  if  we  had  been  on 
foot,  we  should  have  had  still  more  touch- 
ingevidence  of  his  esteem. 

The  buildings  are  generally  of  a  similar 
diaracter  to  those  of  San  Antonio,  many 
of  which,  of  the  better  looking  class,  were 
deserted;  the  inhabitants  who  hiid  the 
means  apparently  thinking  it  preferable 
to  leave  their  homes,  rather  thaa  see  them 
desecrated  by  the  presence  of  a  military 
rabble,  judging  our  troops  by  the  charac- 
ter of  their  own.  None  of  the  houses  have 
wooden  floors :  the  arrangements  for  light 
in  those  of  most  pretensions,  are  gratings 
rising  from  a  broad  sill  projecting  a  foot 
or  two  frt>m  the  walls,  the  bars  of  which 
■re  elaborately  carved  or  turned.  These 
wmdow  recesses  are  also  useful  to  the 
yoong  ladies  in  another  way ;  as  the  be- 
witchmg  sefloritas  may  frequently  be  seen 
there  in  the  oool  of  the  day,  puffing  their 
Ottarritas.  and  ogling  the  passers  by. 
luny  of  the  doors  are  rudely  ornamented 
with  men's  heads,  the  figures  of  animals, 
4c.,  intended  to  resemble  perhaps,  as  near 
■s  any  thing  else,  the  ancient  gods  of  the 
Aitecs.  I  observed,  as  at  San  Antonio, 
that  the  chief  occupation  of  the  women 
within  doors,  consists  in  looking  the 
heads,  or  taking  the  census  per  capites 
of  tbeir  children,  and  of  each  other. 


The  problem  of  the  existence  of  the 
Mexican  people,  as  illustrated  in  those  of 
the  Presidio  de  Rio  Grande,  is  of  no  simple 
solution.  Food  and  clothing  are  univenal 
necessities  of  mankind^  to  which  this  por- 
tion of  the  human  family  is  no  exception ; 
but  while  they  are  in  possession  of  both, 
the  mystery  is,  whence  they  are  procured. 
There  are  no  indications  of  mechanical 
industry — I  saw  but  one  approach  to  it 
in  the  case  of  a  man  who  was  mending  a 
woman's  shoe — there  are  no  workshops 
and  no  stores ;  no  gardens  and  no  fields : 
idleness  and  indolence  are  every  where 
lords  of  the  ascendant.  There  was  one 
place  of  general  resort,  and  it  appears  to 
be  common  to  all  latitudes  and  to  every 
people:  it  was  the  village  grog  shop. 
Muscal,  or  Mexican  whiskey,  distilled 
from  a  wild  plant  indigenous  to  the  countiy, 
forms  the  staple  article  of  this  establish- 
ment, though  nuts,  rice,  sugar.  &c.,  are 
kept  in  small  quantities.  Sweet  potatoes 
were  also  disposed  of  here  at  a  picayune 
a  pound.  In  the  distillation  of  their 
alcoholic  products  however,  it  must  be 
acknowledged  that  the  Mexican  people 
act  with  more  wisdom  than  ourselves,  and 
that  in  one  thing  at  least,  we  may  derive 
from  them  a  wholesome  example.  They 
do  not  make  the  staff  of  life  its  destroyer, 
and  so  abuse  an  inestimable  blessing  that 
it  becomes  a  withering  and  deadly  curse. 
No :  instead  of  perverting  what  may  be 
called  pre-eminently  the  great  North 
American  plant,  which  Providence  has 
given  for  man's  subsistence,  to  the  uses 
of  evil  habits,  the  production  of  vice  and 
misery,  and  the  d^radation  and  prostitu- 
tion of  humanity,  they  apply  it  to  its 
legitimate  ends,  and  ^tify  their  depraved 
appetites  by  extracting  their  intoxicating 
drinks  from  the  more  natural  source  of  a 
wild  plant  of  the  prairies.  What  little 
labor  is  rendered  by  the  people,  is  chiefly 
agricultural,  and  a  fertile  soil  and  geniu 
climate,  doubtless  yieM.  at  a  trifling  cost 
rich  returns  to  the  toil  of  the  cultivator. 
The  habits,  manners,  and  costume  of  the 
people,  are  simple  in  the  extreme,  and  a 
small  infusion  of  Anglo-Saxon  energy, 
could  it  possibly  be  effected,  might  per- 
haps be  followed  by  a  corresponding  in- 
fusion of  Anglo-Saxon  intelligence  and 
prosperity.  So  much  would  certainly  be 
gained  in  purity  of  morals,  government, 
and  religion,  that  a  revolution  of  this  sort 
ought  to  be  encouraged  by  every  Mexican 
who  loves  his  country.  Every  philan- 
thropist must  desire  that  the  present  in- 
dolent effeminacy  may  soon  cease  to  exist, 
and  that  the  energies  of  a  people  who  may 
boast  of  the  <<  Great  Admiral,^  the  <<  OiMt 


S94 


yote$  Jrom  my  Xiupmiek. 


[April 


Oftptain,"  Cortex,  Alrarado,  and  a  host 
of  other  illustrioas  names,  may  once  more 
be  quickened  into  life.  And  though  they 
have  known  us  only  as  enemies,  let  us 
hope  now  that  peace  is  restored,  they  may 
take  an  example  from  us  in  activity,  in 
industry,  in  enterprise,  and  resolve  to 
elevate  their  country  to  the  position  which 
Providence  has  assigned  it,  and  to  leave 
our  vices — if  any  they  have  observed — to 
moulder  in  the  grave  in  which  their  own 
ignorance  and  lethargy  would  then  be 
biried.  Then  indeed  would  Mexico  be 
worthy  of  her  ancient  renown ;  and  though 
she  might  not  attain  to  the  pre-eminent 
position  which  she  held  in  the  days  of 
Aztec  splendor  and  power,  towards  the 
other  nations  of  America,  she  would  be 
able  to  engage  in  honorable  rivalry  with 
the  Republic  of  the  North,  in  advancing 
the  common  wealth  and  common  intelli- 
gence of  nations ;  in  the  prosecution  of  the 
arts  and  the  cultivation  of  science;  in 
rendering  the  whole  people  industrious 
and  intelligent;  in  contributing  to  the 
universal  amelioration  of  mankind,  by 
securing  with  a  panoply  of  law,  virtue  and 
true  rehgion,  the  person  and  property  of 
every  individual. 

The  Rio  Grande  at  the  ford,  is  by  cal- 
culation two  hundred  and  seventy-two 
yards  wide ;  the  current  rapid,  and  the 
bottom  hard.  The  water  b  much  like 
that  of  the  Missouri,  and  after  filtration 
is  probably  quite  as  good.  A  substitute 
for  this  operation  is  furnished  by  the 
prickly  pear,  which,  stripped  of  its  skin, 
and  deposited  in  the  vessel  of  water,  venr 
soon  precipitates  the  earthy  matter,  it 
is  perhaps  the  only  known  application  of 
the  plant — except  the  torture. 

The  dragoon  who  so  mysteriously  ' 
vanished  aller  disposing  of  the  Alcalde, 
turned  up  the  next  day  and  exhibited  no 
signs  of  having  passed  the  night  under 
water.  He  was  only  classifying  and 
qualifying  himself  as  an  old  soldier ;  and 
being  on  guard,  very  sagely  concluded, 
that  a  night  in  the  chaparral  was  prefer- 
able to  one  on  post. 

One  of  the  Arkansas  volimteers  died 
just  after  reaching  the  Rio  Grande,  and 
on  observing  a  man  carrying  a  barrel  on 
his  shoulder  to  their  late  camp,  I  was  told 
on  inquiry,  it  was  for  a  coffin, — that  no 
otiier  material  was  to  be  had,  and  that 
his  comrades  were  about  to  inclose  a  por- 
tion of  his  form  thus,  rather  than  leave  it 
to  the  cold  embraces  of  the  earth.  Poor 
fellow!  he  doubtless  left  home,  like  the 
most  of  us,  with  high  anticipations  and 
ohivalric  hopes ;  joyfully  enrolling  himself 
among  those  who  were  going  forth  to 


fight  the  battles  of  their  country,  and  per- 
haps with  honorable  aspirations  after  a 
distinction  that  might  survive  him.  Ha 
arrives  in  sight  of  the  soil  of  the  enemj, 
but  his  foot  is  not  permitted  to  touch  it 
Death  strikes  him  at  the  very  threshold. 
The  tender  cares  and  sacred  affecticnis  of 
a  mother  or  a  sister  are  not  present  fo 
hallow  or  to  soothe  his  dying  hours ;  but 
stretched  upon  a  blanket,  on  the  bosom 
of  the  cold  earth,  to  which  the  body  mmt 
so  soon  return,  he  yields  up  his  last  hnaStk 
among  his  comrades,  and  his  "  spirit  to 
Him  who  gave  it."  Then,  indeed,  the 
martial  mockery  of  a  military  lunenl 
docs  honor  to  his  remains :  music^  in 
melancholy  and  mournful  strains,  piecedci 
him  to  the  grave,  and  volleys  of  musk^iy 
eloquently  tell  of  a  country's  gratitndi^ 
and  the  Republic's  respect  for  her  patriotiB 
defenders.  The  clods  of  earth  fall  oddlj 
— not  upon  his  coffin,  for  that  his  countiy 
denies  him — but  upon  the  pittance  of  pro- 
tection which  his  comrades  have  procnied 
for  his  mortal  remains ;  the  grave  doML 
the  procession  returns  with  the  gayeK 
music,  and  the  soldier  is  forgotten.  Ota 
the  wild  and  solitary  banks  of  the  Bio 
Grande,  in  a  grave  perhaps  onsanctified 
by  one  tear  of  affection,  and  unhallowed 
by  the  rites  of  Christian  burial,  he  sleq* 
the  sleep  that  knows  no  waking. 

On  the  11th  of  October,  at  eleven  o'clock, 
the  main  body  crossed  the  river.  At  tiie 
right  bank  we  found  Captain  Moi^gan  and 
his  company,  of  the  1st  regiment^  sti^pped 
to  their  shirts  and  drawers,  engaged  iB 
getting  a  wagon  out  of  the  river,  whibb 
the  mules  had  not  been  able  to  extricate. 
They  had  blocked  up  the  point  of  exit 
from  the  stream,  and  those  in  the  rear 
therefore  were  compelled  to  await  tlMor 
movements.  The  Captain  in  his  red  flannal 
seemed  to  waive  all  considerations  of  rank, 
and  was  in  the  midst  of  his  company,  set- 
ting the  right  sort  of  an  example,  and 
making  himself  not  only  ornamental  but 
useful.  On  ascending  the  bank,  in  the 
midst  of  dragoons  and  infimtry,  teamsters 
and  baggage  wagons,  a  dozen  or  more 
Mexican  carts  were  discovered,  loaded 
with  sugar-cane,  chickens,  sweet  potatoes^ 
com  and  wheat  bread,  a  variety  of  which 
was  very  like  the  ^'ginger  cake"  bo^Jit 
and  sold  by  the  boys  at  '^  general  train- 
ing." The  latter  was  decidedly  the  most 
popular  purchase — partly,  perhaps  be- 
cause it  could  be  eaten  on  the  ground^  and 
partly  on  account  of  early  asaociatiOiM. 
While  the  larger  portion  of  us  were  en- 
gaged in  the  vigorous  mastication  of  the 
various  viands  before  us,  we  obserred  oar 
gallant  commander,  aeated  in  a  small  a]df( 


1«'.'.J 


NoiMfrcm  my  Xnt^Moek. 


8Yft 


towed  by  a  horse,  making  his  entrance 
into  Mexico.  Not  many  minutes  after  his 
arrival,  ho  was  met  by  a  Mexican  Teniente 
(Lieutenant)  with  an  escort  of  two  men, 
who  brought  a  complete  copy  of  the 
articles  of  capitulation  at  Monterey,  with 
a  letter  from  a  Mexican  colonel. 

The  General  soon  put  himself  at  the 
head  of  the  battery,  the  dragoons  being  in 
front,  and  with  the  military  ambassador  in 
his  immediate  Ticinity,  and  the  cavalcade 
enveloped  in  impenetrable  clouds  of  dust, 
advanced  towards  the  Presidio.  It  was 
nearly  one  o^dock  when  the  party  left  the 
river,  and  the  green  tops  of  the  lofty  pecan 
trees  of  the  town  became  visible  in  a  little 
less  than  two  hours. 

Just  before  entering  the  principal  street^ 
we  passed  on  our  right  a  large  reservoir, 
formed  by  a  high  embankment  or  dam 
across  a  small  stream  that  winds  around 
the  place,  from  which  the  irrigating  canals 
radiate  over  the  surrounding  region. 
Above  the  gate  or  sluice-way,  there  is  a 
conspicuous  wooden  cross,  which,  with  an 
inscription  below,  indicates  the  usual  tinc- 
ture of  priestcraft  and  superstition.  On 
the  southern  side  of  the  town,  at  the  ex- 
tremity of  a  street  leading  to  the  plaza, 
stands  a  small  stone  building,  evidently 
constructed  for  defence,  to  which  is  attach- 
ed a  castellated  tower.  The  position  is  an 
important  one,  and  would  permit  an  effec- 
tive fire  in  almost  every  direction. 

The  residence  of  Miguel  Arsiniega,  Gefe 
PolUico,  the  Political  Chief  of  Department 
and  commonly  known  as  the  Alcalde,  to 
which  the  colunm  proceeded,  is  a  one  story 
building  of  stone  or  adobe,  in  the  form  of 
a  hollow  square,  with  an  interior  court  of 
twelve  or  fifteen  hundred  square  feet 
Availing  myself  of  the  broad  shoulders 

of ,  I  was  permitted  to  enter 

with  the  crowd.  The  rooms  are  spacious 
and  airy.  On  being  ushered  into  the 
parlor,  the  carpet  of  which  was  of  good 
hard  Mexican  day,  we  met  the  Alcalde, 
clad  in  a  white,  homespun  frock  coat, 
decorated  with  immense  black  buttons, 
his  nether  proportions  encased  in  similar 
material,  but  of  variegated  hues ;  his  wife, 
a  not  ill-looking,  buxom  specimen  of  her 
sex,  and  several  younger  females,  whom 
we  presumed  to  be  her  daughters.  One 
of  them — a  youthful  mother — was  yield- 
ing from  the  lacteal  fountains  that 
nourishment  of  a  maternal  nature  which 
comes  from  no  other  source,  and  which 
the  baby  in  her  arms  was  extracting  with 
as  much  vigor  as  might  have  been  looked 
tar  in  one  east  of  the  Sabine. 

The  furniture  of  the  room  consisted  of 
a  ]i%^-po8t  bedstead,  embellished  with  a 


gay,  checkered  quilt )  three  or  four  wooden 
benches,  like  those  found  in  a  back-woods 
meetinghouse  in  Georgia ;  a  looking-glass, 
nine  by  fourteen  inches;  a  rude  table, 
upon  which  writing  materials  were  spread 
alongside  of  one  of  Mr.  Fenimore  Cooper's 
novels ;  a  wooden  image  of  Christ  on  the 
cross,  and  a  picture  of  the  pope  or  some 
other  respectable  gentleman,  which  might 
very  well  be  taken  for  the  "  man  of  sin." 
There  was  also  a  stone  or  earthen  jug 
standing  in  the  window-sill,  from  which 
we  supplied  ourselves  with  water  out  of 
a  broken  tumbler.  The  interview  lasted 
but  a  short  time ;  the  object  of  it  was  ap- 
parently not  very  dearly  comprehended, 
even  when  we  rose  to  depart.  The  Gene- 
ral gave  each  of  the  ladies  a  very  affec- 
tionate squeeze  of  the  hand,  and  the  less 
favored  members  of  the  party  bowed 
themselves  out  of  the  room. 

As  we  were  leaving,  we  observed  in  the 
court  a  remarkable  looking  man,  oblivious 
of  all  things  going  on  around  him,  walking 
to  and  fro,  with  a  wisdom-giving  pair  of 
spectades  astride  his  nose,  and  an  andent 
volume  in  his  hands,  with  numerous  leaves 
turned  down,  and  ^ps  of  paper  inserted, 
to  mark  the  places.  He  was  without  coat 
or  hat  His  gray  hair  was  "cropped 
short"  enough  to  excite  the  admiration 
of  a  writer  of  army  regulations,  and  in  his 
round,  rubicund  face,  there  twinkled  two 
cunning  little  eyes,  above  which  hung  a 
pair  of  brows  in  overshadowing  humility. 
He  proved  to  be  the  priest  of  the  village, 
conning  over  his  paternosters,  and  so 
laboriously,  that  it  appeared  to  be  an  act 
of  self-imposed  penance.  Notwithstanding 
the  gravity  of  his  appearance,  and  his 
yerj  derioLl  austerity  of  demeanor,  it  is 
said  he  is  decidedly  a  jovial  companion, 
and  for  this  reason  likes  San  Fernando, 
his  previous  parish,  much  better  than  the 
Presidio.  He  states  that  there  were  in 
the  former  place  a  few  worthy  and  con- 
genial associates,  with  whom  he  could 
play  a  game  of  cards  or  take  a  sodal  glass 
without  scandal  upon  his  profession,  but 
he  adds — with  perhaps  not  so  much  truth 
— that  here  such  innocent  enjoyments  are 
loooked  upon  with  great  horror.  Some 
who  were  disposed  to  sympathize  with 
him  in  his  unaccustomed  privations,  invited 
him  to  camp,  where  he  would  be  permitted 
to  indulge  his  animal  propensities  to  "  the 
top  of  his  bent"  From  him  we  learned 
that  the  old  "Mission  "  was  erected  early 
in  the  eighteenth  century,  and  had  been 
abandoned  for  nearly  fifty  years. 

After  leaving  this  pious  father  to  his 
pages,  his  penance,  and  his  paternosters, 
we  continued  our  route  through  the  town 


976 


NoUs  from  my  Knapmck, 


towards  the  encampment  The  hoases 
were  filled  with  spectators,  gazmg  at  the 
unusual  exhibition ;  pigs  and  poultry  were 
picking  up  com,  with  the  naked  children 
on  the  floors  and  in  the  streets,  and  the 
usual  process  of  gathering  in  the  harvest 
of  the  hair,  was  going  on  industriously 
among  the  women.  Thnese  were  generally 
dressed  with  less  regard  to  neatness  and 
display,  than  when  Colonel  Harney  arrived, 
on  which  occasion  the  newest  calicoes 
seem  to  have  been  in  requisition.  The 
females  to-day  were,  in  most  cases,  reduced 
to  the  last  layer  of  drapery,  while  from 
the  waists  of  a  few,  there  hung  a  petticoat 
in  addition. 

About  a  mile  from  town,  it  became 
necessary  to  cross  one  of  the  irrigating 
ditches,  over  which  the  Mexicans  had  con- 
structed a  rude  but  practicable  bridge. 
We  found,  however,  on  our  arrival  that 

the  genius  of had  been  moved 

as  usual,  to  leave  the  impress  of  his  mind 
and  power,  upon  the  stumps  and  logs  be- 
fore him,  and  he  was  actively  enga^  as 
the  chief  pioneer.  From  almost  the  com- 
mencement of  the  march,  he  had  become 
the  absorbent,  whenever  the  opportunity 
offered,  of  all  the  operations.  Snatching 
from  the  commanding  general  his  commis- 
sion, from  the  engineer  his  compass,  from 
the  quarter-master  his  responsibility, 
from  the  adjutant-general  his  pen,  from 
the  ordnance  officer  his  powder,  from  the 
wagon  master  his  whip,  from  the  surgeon 
his  lancet,  from  the  teamster  his  reins, 
and  from  the  pioneer  his  pickaxe  and 
shovel,  he  appropriated  to  himself  the 
functions  of  the  whole — a  self-constituted 
itinerant  military  pantheon.  If  Leonidas 
could  have  had  three  hundred  such,  the 
story  of  Thermopylad  would  have  a  differ- 
ent conclusion.  ^ 

The  encampment  was  upon  an  open 
prairie,  with  mezquit  trees  scattered  in 
clustered  coruscations,  and  with  a  sprink- 
ling of  the  prickly  pear,  and  a  new  variety 
of  the  chaparral,  more  thorny  if  possible 
than  any  of  its  predecessors.  The  water 
was  of  a  rich  sulphurous  taste  and  odor, 
and  might  well  lay  claim  to  medicinal 
virtues.  It  was  nearly  dark  before  we 
completed  the  pitching  of  our  tents,  and 
night  with  a  thick  garniture  of  clouds, 
fell  long  before  we  received  our  suppers. 

On  Friday  morning  we  had  something 
like  an  April  shower ;  which  was  followed 
by  a  regular,  sober,  steady,  energetic  rain, 
combining  the  power  of  the  storm  with 
the  pertinacity  of  the  drizzle.  It  proved, 
however,  no  obstacle  to  the  out-door  efforts 
of  the  Mexicans,  who  swarmed  into  camp 
to  8dl  their  figs,  cakes,  bread,  potatoes, 


ftc.  They  seemed  not  atall  dianel 
furnish  supplies,  according  to  tl 
extent  of  their  abilities,  and  on  remi 
terms.  Indeed,  they  did  not  erinc 
such  a  mercenary  disposition,  sac 
termincd  pertinacity  for  public  p 
as  our  friends  in  Texas.  There  a 
of  com  cost  a  dollar  and  fifty  oenti 
it  could  be  bought  for  about  hi 
sum. 

It  was  ramored  that  there  wm  a 
difficulty  at  head-quarters,  in  tru 
the  communications  received  by  tb 
ente,  as  Tony  Lumpkin  once  enom 
in  reading  a  certain  **  cramped  pi 
penmanship."  The  conclusion,  n 
arrived  at  by  all  the  interpreten 
ported,  was  that  the  Mexican  offlc 
wrote  the  letter,  and  who  somewbtt 
signed  himself  *'  Francisco  de  Cm 
Colonel,  commanding  the  left  wing 
I^orthera  army,"  entertained  the 
that  the  articles  of  capitulation  m\ 
terey,  prohibited  by  iinplicatkm  i 
Wool  fi^m  crossing  the  Rio  Gnm 
that  such  a  movement  would  far 
violation  of  their  spirit  and  intent 
not  known  what  reply  the  oomn 
general  made ;  but  we  may  inftr 
informed  Colonel  Castafieda  th«t  b 
construe  those  articles  without  1 
assistance ;  that  he  had  ctosboA  th 
and  that  if  the  ^'  Commander  of  i 
wing  of  the  Northern  army**  c 
thereto,  he  might  resort  to  sudi  in 
should  seem  proper  to  him,  to  pat  i 
Wool  on  the  other  side. 

As  the  sun  rose  on  the  13th,  f 
of  the  United  States  rose  upon  the 
Mexico :  as  the  stars  of  heaven  pi 
fore  the  great  luminary  of  the  q 
the  stars  of  the  Republic  waved  i 
foreign  horizon.  There  may  be  aoi 
grand  and  poetkad,  perhaps,  to  a  ] 
man.  in  the  idea  that  the  govemmi 
symbolled  forth,  should  be  diapb 
such  an  hour,  saluted  with  the  ro 
blaze  of  gunpowder,  and  the  virgiB 
of  the  mommg ;  but  if  there  be  %  i 
or  association  of  power  or  protect* 
the  flag,  why  should  it  not  be  u 
by  night  as  well  as  by  day  ?  Ac 
to  Walter  Scott,  such  was  the  ] 
with  the  Cmsaders :  why  and  wl 
it  discontinued  ? 

The  morning  was  fair  and  du 
the  air  pure  and  bracing.  Every 
tion  seemed  to  give  new  vigor  to  1 
tem.  The  dew-drops  sparkled 
erass,  and  hung  like  dusters  of 
from  the  branches  of  the  chapam 
birds  had  caught  the  inspiration 
hour,  and  made  nature  too!  wl 


1854.] 


Noiu  from  my  Kmipmuik. 


«» 


gntefnl  and  joyous  melody.  Not  to  trifle 
away  in  camp  such  opportunities  for 
rmtmial  enjoyment,  and  such  an  inyoca- 
tion  to  a  proper  acknowledgment  of  the 
bflnerolence  of  the  Creator,  by  a  contem- 
plation of  His  works,  a  party  was  made 
«p  lor  town.  The  road  was  alive  with 
the  industrious  Mexicans  of  all  sizes,  bring- 
ing in  the  surplusage  of  their  labors  for 
■ue.  Boys  with  unripe  melons,  sweet 
poutoes,  dgarritas,  eggs,  chickens,  pol- 
ODoes  (sugar  in  the  form  of  truncated 
Qones  about  the  size  of  a  common  tumbler). 
preaerred  pumpkin,  dried  figs,  looking  and 
iMting  lilce  prunes,  tortillas,  tamales,  &c., 
4c.,  and  men  with  the  more  bulky  and 
■Bbatanttal  products,  were  rushing  into 
eamp,  to  reap  the  harvest  while  it  lasts. 

Before  arriving  at  the  Presidio,  cdicu 
Juan  de  Bautista,  aliaa  Villa  del 
for  the  town  is  known  by  the 
les,  we  met  Oeneral  Shields,  with 
two  or  three  officers,  just  from  Gamargo 
lo  join  this  column.  We  thus  gathered 
many  particulars  of  the  great  £ittle  or 
imtlier  battles  of  Monterey,  of  a  victory  to 
osr  arms  which  was  purchased  at  the 
price  of  some  of  the  best  blood  of  the  na- 
tioo,  and  which  carried  grie^  and  sorrow, 
•ad  lamentation,  and  brokenness  of  heart, 
lo  many  a  widowed  wife  and  childless 
mother.  The  son,  the  husband,  the  lover, 
•ad  the  brother  had  fallen,  and  the  glory 
of  such  a  triumph  is  wrung  from  bitter 
tears  and  written  in  priceless  blood.  Nu- 
merous instances  of  the  thrilling  horrors 
of  the  scene  were  described,  but  there  is 
none  perhaps  more  affecting  than  the  fate 
of  Lieutenant of  the Infantry. 

Aoeording  to  report,  he  was  wounded 
eariy  in  the  action  by  a  musket  ball,  and 
strelcbed  almost  lifeless  upon  the  eieirth. 
In  the  heat  and  mel6e  of  the  carnage,  it 
was  impossible  to  remove  him  from  the 
field,  and  thus  weak  from  loss  of  blood 
and  suffering  the  most  intense  agony,  he 
remained  an  entire  day;  balls  hurtling 
through  the  air,  and  the  rain  falling  in 
torrents  nearly  the  whole  time.  Almost 
exhausted,  he  was  an  agonized  spectator 
of  the  battle  rap;ing  fiercely  around  him, 
and  of  the  warrmg  of  the  elements,  rival- 
ling that  of  man  with  man.  When  taken 
np,  life  was  nearly  extinct,  and  the  affec- 
txmate  efforts  of  his  friends  seemed  only 
to  prolong  agony  with  which  he  had 
wrestled  in  vam. 

The  heart  turns  with  horror  from  the 
oootemplation  of  such  details,  and  which, 
terrific  and  revolting  as  they  are,  are  too 
often  aggravated  by  the  consideration 
that  they  arise  from  tiie  mad  ambition  and 
petty  poli^  of  those  who,  secure  in  their 

TOLtin. — 2& 


own  positbns,  trifle  with  human  life  as 
they  would  amuse  themselves  with  the 
balls  of  a  billiard  table.  Yet  these  men 
we  are  told  are  "  Christian  Statesmen ;  ^' 
looking  to  divine  law  as  their  rule  of  ac- 
tion ;  professing  to  ask  and  to  do  nothing 
but  what  is  right,  while  forgetting,  yea 
trampling  deliberately  under  foo^  the 
edict  which  was  thundered  forth  in  sudb 
terrible  sublimity  from  the  throne  of  Om- 
nipotence, "  Thou  shalt  not  kill.'^ 

The  population  of  the  Presidio  is  prob- 
ably not  fiir  from  two  thousand ;  but  the 
juvenile  proportion  is  enormous,  if  not 
alarming.  Nearly  every  house  displays 
three  or  four  naked  boys  and  girls,  at  the 
doors  and  in  the  court  yards,  all  appa- 
rently of  the  same  age,  as  they  are  of  tiie 
same  size.  It  would  appear  from  the 
fecundity  here,  that  the  population  of 
Mexico  must  reduce  itself  elsewhere  in  a 
most  mysterious  way,  if  at  present,  as  has 
been  estimated,  it  does  not  amount  to 
more  than  seven  or  eight  millions.  And 
whatever  process  they  may  have  for  cur- 
tailing numbers,  a  disciple  of  Malthus 
would  be  very  apt  to  complain  in  the 
most  deprecatory  terms  of  the  frightful 
consequences  that  must  ensue  from  the 
masses  of  juvenility  presented  here,  and 
would  doubtless  suggest  remedies  not  en- 
tirely in  accordance  with  the  tastes  and 
appetites  of  the  people. 

The  jurisdiction  of  the  Alcalde,  or  Pre- 
fect of  the  Presidio,  extends  over  a  depart- 
ment comprising  six  towns,  in  which  he 
is  the  chief,  if  not  the  only  civil  officer. 
The  precise  nature  of  his  duties  and  ex- 
tent of  his  powers  cannot  be  very  accu- 
rately defined;  but  in  addition  to  the 
function  of  judge  and  juror,  he  has  the 
general  supervision  of  the  revenues,  and 
is  responsible  within  his  department  for 
the  faithful  execution  of  the  laws,  particu- 
larly those  in  reference  to  government  dues. 
The  truth  is,  there  is  very  little  of  law  in 
the  country,  except  the  forms,  and  these 
it  may  be  feared  will  not  long  survive. 
The  canon  [query — cannon  ?j  law  really 
prevails  over  every  other,  ana  there  is  no 
functionary  whose  power  is  so  unlimited 
as  that  of  the  priest. 

At  a  short  distance  from  the  road, 
about  half  a  mile  this  side  of  the  town, 
are  the  ruins,  or  rather  the  remnants  of 
the  foundation  of  one  of  the  earliest  mis- 
sions erected  on  the  continent.  It  was 
known  as  the  church  of  San  Juan  Bau- 
tista ;  and  was  built,  it  is  supposed,  in  the 
latter  part  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
Nothing  remains  at  present  but  a  shape- 
less pile  of  rubbish  and  stones.  We  were 
furnished  here  with  another  sad  illustra- 


878 


NoU$  from  my  Knapmek. 


[April 


tion  of  the  casualties  incident  to  %  cam- 
pMgn.  even  when  not  actiYelj  engaged 
wi&  the  enemy.  One  of  the  Illinois  vol- 
unteers attached  to  Captain  Lee's  corps 
of  pioneers,  was  cruelly  mutilated  hy  a 
ponton  sliding  from  a  wagoxi^  which  struck 
nim  near  the  abdomen,  forcing  out  his  in- 
testines, and  otherwise  lacerating  his  per- 
son in  the  most  frightful  manner.  He 
suryivcd  seyeral  days,  suffering  the  most 
acute  pain,  and  subjected  to  all  the  tor- 
ture tlmt  such  an  injury  could  inflict. 

Two  or  three  days  before  the  march 
was  resumed,  several  volleys  of  musketry, 
fired  in  quick  succession,  were  heard  by 
the  sentinels,  early  in  the  morning,  in  the 
direction  of  the  town.  At  first  no  notice 
was  taken  of  the  fact,  but  from  the  re- 
peated discharges,  it  was  deemed  proper 
to  report  it  to  the  commanding  general, 
who  with  all  his  watchfulness  was  caught 
napping  for  once.  Though  it  could  haidly 
be  possible  that  an  armed  enemy  should 
be  m  that  quarter,  in  a  few  moments  the 
camp  was  in  commotion.  The  bugles  of 
the  dragoons  sounded  "to  horse;"  the 
drums  of  the  infantry  beat  "  the  general." 
The  horns  of  the  Arkansas  regiment 
emitted  certain  sounds  understood  by 
themselves,  for  they  were  very  soon  in 
their  saddles.  In  the  mean  time,  men 
half-dressed  were  hurrying  to  and  fro,  all 
knowmg  there  was  an  excitement,  but 
very  few  knowing  why.  Some  were  in 
pursuit  of  horses,  grazing  beyond  the 
camp;  some  returning  from  the  water, 
and  all  apparently  busy  about  every 
thing,  save  preparation  for  a  battle.  The 
mounted  troops  were  ordered  to  town  to 
investigate  the  affair  which  seemed  to  in- 
volve so  much  mystery,  and  the  artillery 
and  infantry  were  formed  in  line  of  battle 
to  await  events.  Each  man  was  ready  at 
the  signal  to 

«  Let  sUp  tb«  dogs  of  war.** 
The  report  finally  came,  and  lo !  the  oon- 
fltemation  had  b^  created  by  a  salute — 


common,  it  is  said,  in  this  oonntxy — fired 
over  the  grave  of  a  Mexican  baby.  A 
very  lame  and  impotent  oondosion  cer- 
tainly, but  how  could  it  have  been  other- 
wise ?  There  was  no  one  with  whom  an 
enemy  could  engage  except  ourselves,  and 
we  had  not  been  invited  to  such  an  enter- 
tainment. 

Captain and  Lieutenant of 

the  Topographical  Engineers,  escorted  bj 
a  squadron  of  cavalry,  the  whole  under 

,  left  on  a  reconnaissaDoe  in  the 

direction  of  San  Fernando  and  Santa 
Rosa,  one  day  in  advance  of  the  army. 

A  new  turn  was  also  given  to  the  na- 
chinery  of  monotony,  in  the  way  of  a 
review,  the  great  feature  of  whidi  was 

the  performanoe  of  one  of  the oom- 

panies.  At  the  head  of  the  detariiment 
with  which  this  company  was  embodiBd. 

rode ,  in  his  round  hat  aaa 

black  coat;  having  too  keen  aaenaeof 
the  ridiculous  not  to  know  that  in  \m 
position  it  would  be  a  burlesque  to  aflbot 
the  soldier  even  in  appearanoa.  Thn 
came  the  main  body.  Covered  with  biti^ 
broad  brim,  narrow  brim,  and  no  brim  al 
all,  straw,  chip^  felt,  and  fhr,  the  wholi  of 
the  dass  known  as '^shocking  bad;**  with 
coats  of  eveiy  shape,  of  eveir  hoe^  and  of 
every  material,  and  not  a  few  ooatiiM; 
jackets  without  skirts  and  with  one  aUrt 
— razeed  from  necessity,  with  ooUan  and 
without;  trousers  like  Jacob's  eatHe^ 
*' ring-streaked,  speckled,  and  grisded;'* 
white,  black,  blue,  brown,  and  dipgji  in 
short,  it  may  be  doubted  if  herom 
ever  more  thoroughly  disguised  or  i 
tically  arrayed.  Amone  the  ~ 
doubtably  borne  <m  this  occasKML  one 
blazed  with  the  inscription  ''Try  n^  and 
another,  that  had  probably  served  a 
similar  purpose  during  the 
campaign,  flaunted  the  i 
false  and  hypocritical  s 
the  area  of  FreedouL" 


fIV>  be  Oontlnoed.) 


1854.] 


dl9 


FIRESIDE  TRAVELa 
CAMBBIDQE  THntTT  TXASS  AOa 


A  MEMOIR  ADDRBSgED  TO  THE  EDELMANN  STOBO  IN  ROME. 


IN  those  quiet  old  winter  evenings, 
around  our  Roman  fireside,  it  was 
not  seldom,  my  dear  Storg,  that  we  talked 
of  the  advantages  of  travel,  and  in  speeches 
not  so  long  that  our  cigars  would  forget 
their  fire  (the  measure  of  Just  conversa- 
tion) debated  the  comparative  advantages 
of  the  Old  and  the  New  Worlds.  You  will 
nmember  how  serenely  I  bore  the  impu- 
tation of  provincialism,  while  I  asserted 
that  those  advantages  were  reciprocal; 
that  an  orbed  and  balanced  life  would  re- 
solve between  the  Old  and  the  New  as  its 
opposite,  but  not  antagonistic,  poles,  the 
true  equator  lying  somewhere  midway 
between  them.  I  asserted  also  that  there 
were  two  epochs  at  which  a  man  might 
travel, — ^before  twenty,  for  pure  enjoy- 
ment, and  after  thirty,  for  instruction. 
At  twenty,  the  eye  is  sufficiently  delighted 
with  merely  seeing ;  new  things  are  pleas- 
ant only  because  they  are  not  old ;  and  we 
take  every  thing  heartily  and  naturally 
in  the  right  way,  events  being  always  like 
Imives,  which  either  serve  us  or  cut  us,  as 
we  grasp  them  by  the  blade  or  the  handle. 
After  thirty,  we  carry  with  us  our  scales 
with  lawful  weights  stamped  by  experi- 
ence, and  our  chemical  tests  acquired  by 
study,  with  which  to  ponder  and  assay  all 
arts,  and  institutions,  and  manners,  and  to 
ascertain  either  their  absolute  worth,  or 
their  merely  relative  value  to  ourselves. 
On  the  whole,  I  declared  myself  in  fiivor 
of  the  after-thirty  method, — was  it  partly 
(so  difficult  is  it  to  distinguish  between 
opinions  and  personalities)  because  I  had 
tried  it  myself  though  with  scales  so  im- 
perfect and  tests  so  inadequate  ?  Perhaps 
so,  but  more  because  I  held  that  a  man 
should  have  travelled  thoroughly  round 
himself  and  the  great  terra  incognita 
jost  outside  and  inside  his  own  threshold, 
before  he  undertook  voyages  of  discovery 
to  other  worlds.  Let  him  first  thoroughly 
explore  that  strange  country  laid  down 
on  the  maps  as  Seauton  ;  let  him  look 
down  into  its  craters  and  find  whether 
they  be  burnt  out  or  only  sleeping ;  let 
him  know  between  the  good  and  evil  fruits 
of  its  passionate  tropics ;  let  him  experi- 
ence how  healthful  are  its  serene  and 
high-lying  table-lands ;  let  him  be  many 
times  driven  back  (till  he  wisely  consent 
to  be  baffled)  from  its  metaphysical  north- 
west passages  that  lead  only  to  the  dreary 


solitudes  of  a  sunless  world,  before  he 
think  himself  morally  equipped  for  travels 
to  more  distant  regions.  But  does  he 
commonly  even  so  much  as  think  of  this, 
or,  while  buying  amplest  trunks  for  his 
corporeal  apparel,  does  it  once  occur  to 
him  how  very  small  a  portmanteau  will 
contain  all  his  mental  and  spiritual  outfit? 
Oftener,  it  is  true,  that  a  man  who  could 
scarce  be  induced  to  expose  his  unclothed 
body,  even  in  a  village  of  prairie-does,  will 
complacently  display  a  mmd  as  luuLed  as 
the  day  it  was  bom,  without  so  much  as 
a  fig-leaf  of  acquirement  on  it,  in  every 
sailer^  of  Europe.  If  not  with  a  robe 
dyed  m  the  Tyrum  purple  of  imaginative 
culture,  if  not  with  the  close-fittine.  active 
dress  of  social  or  business  traimng, — at 
least,  my  dear  Storg,  one  might  provide 
himself  with  the  merest  waist-cloth  of 
modesty! 

But  if  it  be  too  much  to  expect  men  to 
traverse  and  survepr  themselves  before  they 
go  abroad,  we  might  certainly  ask  that 
they  should  be  famihar  with  their  own 
villages.  If  not  even  that,  then  it  is  of 
little  import  whither  they  go,  and  let  us 
hope  that,  by  seeing  how  calmly  their 
own  narrow  neighorhood  bears  their  de- 
parture, they  may  be  led  to  think  that  the 
circles  of  disturbance  set  in  motion  by  the 
fall  of  their  tiny  drop  into  the  ocean  of 
eternity,  will  not  have  a  radius  of  more 
than  a  week  in  any  direction ;  and  that 
the  world  can  endure  the  subtraction  of 
even  a  justice  of  the  peace  with  provoking 
equanimity.  In  this  way,  at  least  foreign 
travel  may  do  them  good,  may  make  Ihem, 
if  not  wiser,  at  any  rate  less  fussy.  Is  it 
a  great  way  to  go  to  school,  and  a  great 
fee  to  pay  for  the  lesson?  We  cannot 
pay  too  much  for  that  genial  stoicism 
which,  when  life  flouts  us  and  says — Put 
THAT  in  your  pipe  and  smoke  it ! — can 
puff  away  with  as  sincere  a  relish  as  if  it 
were  tobacco  of  Mount  Lebanon  in  a  nar- 
ghileh  of  Damascus. 

After  all,  my  dear  Storg,  it  is  to  know 
things  that  one  has  need  to  travel,  and 
not  men.  Those  force  us  to  come  to  them, 
but  these  come  to  us — sometimes  whether 
we  will  or  no.  These  exist  for  us  in  every 
variety  in  our  own  town.  You  may  find 
your  antipodes  without  a  voyage  to  China ; 
he  lives  there,  just  round  the  next  comer, 
precise,  formal,  the  slave  of  precedent 


880 


Fireside  Travels. 


[April 


makiDg  all  his  tea-cups  with  a  break  in 
the  edge,  because  his  model  had  one,  and 
your  fancy  decorates  him  with  an  endless- 
ness of  airy  pigtail.  There,  too,  are  John 
Bull,  Jean  Crapaud,  Hans  Sauerkraut, 
Pat  Murphy,  and  the  rest 
It  has  been  well  said — 

**  He  needs  no  ship  to  oran  the  tide, 
Who,  in  the  lires  •round  him,  sees 
Fair  window-prospects  opening  wide 
0*er  liifltorj's  fields  on  every  side, 
Some,  EgTpt,  England,  Ind,  and  Grseoe. 

*  Whatever  moolds  of  varioos  brain 
Wer  shaped  the  world  to  weal  or  woe, — 
Wliatover  Empires  wax  and  wane, — 
To  him  who  li»th  not  ejres  in  Tain 
Bis  Tillage-microoosm  can  show.** 

But  things  are  good  for  nothing  out  of 
their  natural  habitat.  If  the  heroic  Bar- 
num  had  succeeded  in  transplanting 
Shakespeare's  house  to  America,  what 
interest  would  it  haye  had  for  us,  torn  out 
of  its  appropriate  setting  in  softly-hilled 
Warwickshire,  which  showed  us  that  the 
most  English  of  poets  must  be  bom  in 
the  most  English  of  counties?  I  mean 
by  a  T%ing  that  which  is  not  a  mere  spec- 
tacle, that  which  the  mind  leaps  forth  to^ 
as  it  idso  leaps  to  the  mind,  as  soon  as 
they  come  within  each  other's  sphere  of 
attraction;  and  with  instantaneous  coali- 
tion form  a  new  product — knowledge. 
Such,  in  the  understanding  it  gives  us  of 
early  Roman  history,  is  the  little  territory 
around  Rome,  the  girUis  cunabula^  with- 
out a  sight  of  which,  Livy  and  Niebuhr 
and  the  maps  are  vain.  So,  too,  one  must 
go  to  Pompeii  and  the  Museo  BorbonicOj 
to  get  a  true  conception  of  that  wondrous 
artistic  nature  of  the  Greeks,  strong 
enough,  eren  in  that  petty  colony,  to  sur- 
▼iye  foreign  conquest  and  to  assimilate 
btfbarian  blood,  showing  a  grace  and 
fertilitr  of  invention,  whoso  Roman  copies 
Ri^idlo  himself  could  only  copy,  and 
endiantmg  even  the  base  utensils  of  the 
kitchen  with  an  inevitable  sense  of  beauty 
to  which  we  subterranean  Northmen  have 
not  yet  so  much  as  dreamed  of  climbing. 
Mere  sights  one  can  see  quite  as  well  at 
home.  Mont  Blanc  does  not  tower  more 
grandly  in  the  memory,  than  did  the 
dream-peak  which  loomed  afar  on  the 
morning-horizon  of  hope;  nor  did  the 
smoke-palm  of  Yesuyius  stand  more  erect 
and  fair,  with  tapering  stem  and  spreading 
top,  in  that  Parthenopeian  air  than  under 
the  diviner  sky  of  imagination.  I  know 
what  Shakespeare  says  about  home-keep- 
ing youths,  and  I  can  fanc^  what  prou  will 
add  about  America  being  interesting  only 
as  a  phenomenon,  and  uncomfortable  to 
live  in,  because  we  have  not  yet  done  with 


getting  ready  to  live.  But  is  not  your 
Europe,  on  the  other  hand,  a  place  where 
men  have  done  living  for  the  present,  and 
of  value  chiefly  because  of  the  men  who 
had  done  living  in  it  long  ago  ?  And  if, 
in  our  rapidly-movine  country,  one  fed 
sometimes  as  if  he  had  his  home  in  a  nU- 
road  train,  is  there  not  also  a  satiafactioii 
in  knowing  that  one  19  going  somewhtnl 
To  what  end  visit  Europe,  if  peq[^  cuiy 
with  them,  as  most  do,  their  old  parodiial 
horizon,  going  hardly  as  Americans  evcn^ 
much  less  as  men?  Have  we  not  both 
seen  persons  abroad  who  pat  um  in  mind 
of  pu>lor  goldfish  in  their  vase^  iadated 
in  that  little  globe  of  their  owB  *»— iwrt^ 
incapable  of  communication  wHh  ths 
strange  world  around  them, »  show  then- 
selves,  while  it  was  alwayi  donbtftd  if 
the^  could  see  at  all  beyond  the  limits  of 
then:  portable  prison?  The  wise  nsn 
travels  to  discover  himself;  it  is  to  find 
himself  out  that  he  poes  out  of  himself 
and  his  habitual  assoaations,  trying  every 
thmg  in  turn  till  he  find  that  one  as- 
tivity,  sovran  over  him  by  divine  ri^ht| 
toward  which  all  the  disbanded 
of  his  nature  and  the  irregular  i 
of  his  life  gather  joyfully,  as  to  the  < 
mon  rallying^point  of  their  loyalty. 

All  these  things  we  debated  while  the 
ilex  logs  upon  the  hearth  burned  down  to 
tinklmg  coals,  over  which  »  gray,  sirft 
moss  of  ashes  grew  betimes,  mockmg  the 
poor  wood  with  a  nale  travesty  of  thit 
green  and  gradual  decay  on  forest-floon^ 
its  natural  end.  Already  the  dodc  at  the 
Capuccini  told  the  morning  qoariers,  and 
on  the  pauses  of  our  talk  no  soimd  inter- 
vened but  the  muffled  hoot  <^  an  owl  is 
the  near  convent-garden,  or  the  ratUiqg 
tramp  of  a  patrol  oi  that  Frendi  army 
which  keeps  him  a  prisoner  in  his  own 
city,  who  daims  to  lock  and  nnlodc  the 
doors  of  heaven.  But  still  the  diaooane 
would  edd^  round  one  obstinate  rwkj 
tenet  of  mme,  for  I  maintahied.  yon  re- 
member, that  the  wisest  man  vras  he  who 
stayed  at  home ;  that  to  see  the  antiqui- 
ties of  the  old  world  was  nothing,  since 
the  youth  of  the  world  was  really  no  fiv- 
ther  away  firom  us  than  our  own  yoath; 
and  that,  moreover,  we  had  also  in  Ame- 
rica things  amazingly  old,  as  our  bovs,  fcr 
example.  Add,  that  in  the  end  this  an- 
tiquity is  a  matter  of  comparison,  wliich 
skips  from  place  to  place  as  nimbly  as 
Emerson's  sphinx,  and  that  one  dd  Uiing 
is  good  only  till  we  have  seen  an  oldo 
England  is  ancient  till  we  go  to  Bomti 
Etruria  dethrones  Rome,  but  only  to  pan 
this  sceptre  of  Antiquity  which  so  lords  it 
over  oar  fancies  to  the  Pelasgi,  from  whom 


] 


FireMe  TrmveU. 


881 


i  straightway  wrenches  it  to  give  it 
turn  to  older  India.  And  whither 
As  well  rest  upon  the  first  step, 
tile  effect  of  what  is  old  upon  the 
8  angle  and  positive,  not  cumulative, 
on  as  a  thing  is  past,  it  is  as  in- 
f  fiur  away  from  us  as  if  it  had  hap- 
millions  of  years  ago.  And  if  the 
d  Huet  be  correct,  who  reckoned 
yvery  human  thought  and  record 
be  included  in  ten  folios,  what  so 
lilly  old  as  we  ourselves,  who  can, 
choose,  hold  in  our  memories  every 
ti  of  recorded  time,  from  the  first 
t  of  Eve's  teeth  in  the  apple,  down- 
being  thus  ideally  contemporary 
totriest  Eld  1 

ke  pymnidB  bailt  up  with  newer  might 
t»  w  are  nothing  novel,  nothing  Btnnge.** 
r,  my  dear  Storg,  you  know  my 
the  phrenologists  call)  inhabitive- 
Bd  adnesiveness,  how  I  stand  by  the 
jog^t  the  old  thing,  the  old  place, 
M  old  friend,  till  I  am  very  sure  I 
At  a  better,  and  even  then  migrate 
by.  Remember  the  old  Arabian 
tiid  thmk  how  hard  it  is  to  pick 
Ae  pomegranate-seeds  of  an  oppo- 
argument  and  how,  as  long  as  one 
ifl,  you  are  as  far  fivom  the  end  as 
Since  I  have  you  entirely  at  my 
(for  you  cannot  answer  me  under 
Beks)  you  will  not  be  surprised  at 
tent  of  this  letter.  I  had  always 
pregnable  position,  which  was,  tbiat 
BT  ^od  other  places  might  be,  there 
ily  one  in  which  we  could  be  bom, 
luch  therefore  possessed  a  quite 
ir  and  inalienable  virtue.  We  had 
tone,  which  neither  of  us  have  had 
to  call  other  than  good,  to  journey 
BT  through  the  green,  secluded  val- 
boyhood ;  together  we  climbed  the 
lin  wall  which  shut  it  in,  and  looked 
Qpon  those  Italian  plains  of  early 
oa ;  and,  since  then,  we  have  met 
[nee  by  a  well,  or  broken  bread  to- 
at  an  oasis  in  the  arid  desert  of 
it  truly  is.  With  this  letter  I  pro- 
»  make  you  my  fellow-traveller  in 
tliose  fireside  voyages  which,  as  we 
ilder,  we  make  oftener  and  oftener 
h  our  own  past.  Without  leaving 
Ibow-chair,  you  shall  go  back  with 
hiy  years,  which  will  bring  you 
tlungs  and  persons  as  thoroughly 
te  as  Romulus  or  Numa.  For,  so 
ire  our  changes  in  America,  that 
nsition  from  old  to  new,  the  change 
abits  and  associations  to  others  en- 
liiferent)  is  as  rapid  almost  as  the 
g  in  of  one  scene  and  the  drawing 
mother  on  the  stage.    And  it  is 


this  which  makes  America  so  intere8tii)g 
to  the  philosophic  student  of  history  a^ 
man.  Here,  as  in  a  theatre,  tbe  great 
problems  of  anthropology,  which  in  the 
old  world  were  ages  in  solving,  but  which 
are  solved,  leaving  only  a  dry  net  result; 
are  compressed,  as  it  were,  into  the  enter- 
tainment oi  a  few  hours.  Here  we  have 
I  know  not  how  many  epochs  of  history 
and  phases  of  civilization  contemporary 
with  each  other,  nay,  within  five  minutes 
of  each  other  by  the  electric  telegraph. 
In  two  centuries  we  have  seen  rehearsed 
the  dispersion  of  man  from  a  small  point 
over  a  whole  continent ;  we  witness  with 
our  own  eyes  the  action  of  those  forces 
which  govern  the  great  migration  of  the 
peoples,  now  historical  in  Europe ;  we  can 
watch  the  action  and  reaction  of  different 
races,  fbrms  of  government,  and\^h«r  or 
lower  civilizations.  Over  there,  you  have 
only  the  dead  precipitate,  demanding 
tedious  analysis ;  but  here  the  elements 
are  all  in  solution,  and  we  have  onlv  to 
look  to  know  them  alL  History,  whidi 
every  day  makes  less  account  of  governors 
and  more  of  man,  must  find  here  the  com* 
pendious  key  to  all  that  picture-writing  of 
the  Past  Theref<Mre  it  is,  my  dear  Storg, 
that  we  Yankees  may  still  esteem  our 
America  a  place  worth  living  in.  But 
calm  your  apprehensions :  I  <k>  not  pro- 
pose to  drag  you  with  me  on  such  an  his- 
torical circumnavigation  of  the  globe,  but 
only  to  show  you  that  ^however  needful 
it  may  be  to  go  abroad  for  the  study  of 
aesthetics)  a  man  who  uses  the  eyes  of 
his  heart,  may  find  here  also  pretty  bits 
of  what  may  be  called  the  social  pictur- 
esque, and  little  landscapes  over  which 
that  Indian-summer  atmosphere  of  the 
Past  broods  as  sweetly  and  tenderly  as 
over  a  Roman  ruin.  I^et  us  look  at  the 
Cambridge  of  thirty  years  since. 

The  seat  of  the  olaest  colk^  in  Amer- 
ica, it  had,  of  course,  some  of  that  clois- 
tered quiet  which  characterizes  all  univer- 
sity.towns.  But,  underlying  this,  it  had 
an  idiosyncrasy  of  its  own.  Boston  was 
not  yet  a  city,  and  Cambridge  was  still  a 
country  village,  with  its  own  habits  and 
traditions,  not  yet  feeling  too  strongly  the 
force  of  suburban  gravitation.  Approach- 
ing it  fi^m  the  west  b^  what  was  then 
called  the  New  Road  (it  is  called  so  no 
longer,  for  we  change  our  names  whenever 
we  can,  to  the  great  detriment  of  all  his- 
torical association)  you  would  pause  on 
the  brow  of  Symonds'  Hill  to  enjoy  a 
view  singularly  soothing  and  placid.  In 
front  of  you  lay  the  town,  tufted  with 
elms,  lindens^  and  horse^chesnuts,  which 
had  seen  Massachusetts  a  ooloiiy^«Dd.^«M 


882 


Firetide  TraveU. 


[April 


fortunately  unable  to  emigrate  with  the 
tories  by  whom,  or  by  whose  fathers, 
they  were  planted.  Over  it  rose  the  noisy 
belny  of  the  college,  the  square,  brown 
tower  of  the  church,  and  the  slim,  yellow 
spire  of  the  parish  meeting-house,  by  no 
means  ungraceful,  and  then  an  invariable 
characteristic  of  New  England  religious 
architecture.  On  your  ri^t,  the  Charles 
slipped  smoothly  through  green  and  pur- 
ple salt-meadows,  dan^ened,  here  and 
there,  with  the  blossoming  black-grass  as 
with  a  stranded  doud-shadow.  Oyer 
these  marshes,  leyel  as  water,  but  without 
its  glare,  and  with  softer  and  more  sooth- 
ing gradations  of  perspectiye,  the  eye  was 
earned  to  a  horizon  of  softly-rounded 
hills.  To  your  left  hand,  upon  the  Old 
Road,  you  saw  some  half-dozen  dignified 
old  houses  of  the  colonial  time,  all  com- 
fortably fronting  southward.  If  it  were 
2»ring-time,  the  rows  of  horse-chesnuts 
ong  the  fronts  of  these  houses  showed, 
through  eyery  crevice  of  their  dark  heap 
of  fobage,  and  on  the  end  of  every  droop- 
ing limb,  a  cone  of  pearly  flowers,  whQe 
the  hill  behind  was  white  or  ro^  with 
the  crowding  blooms  of  various  fruit 
trees.  There  is  no  sound,  unless  a  horse- 
man clatters  over  the  loose  planks  of  the 
bridge,  while  his  antipodal  shadow  glides 
silently  over  the  mirrored  bridge  l^low, 
or  unless 

**  Oh,  wlBg«d  rapture,  fetthered  soul  of  springy 
Blithe  Totco  of  woods,  fields,  wsten,  sU  in  one, 
Pipe  blown  through  bj  the  warm,  mild  breath  of 

Jane, 
Shepherding  her  white  flocks  of  woollf  olonda, 
The  Bobolink  has  come,  and  climbs  the  wind 
With  rippling  wings,  that  quiver,  not  for  flight, 
Bat  only  joj,  or,  yielding  to  its  will. 
Bans  down,  a  brook  of  Uughter,  throagh  the  air." 

Such  was  the  charmingly  rural  picture 
which  he  who,  thirty  years  ago,  went 
eastward  over  Symonds'  Hill,  had  given 
him  for  nothing  to  hang  in  the  Gallery  of 
Memory.  But  we  are  a  city  now,  and 
Common  Councils  have  yet  no  notion  of 
the  truth  Heamed  long  ago  by  many  a 
European  namlet)  that  picturesqueness 
adds  to  the  actual  money-value  of  a  town. 
To  save  a  few  dollars  in  gravel,  they  have 
cut  a  kind  of  dry  ditch  urougn  the  Mil, 
where  you  suffocate  with  dust  in  summer, 
or  flounder  through  waist-deep  snow- 
drifts in  winter,  with  no  prospect  but  the 
crumbling  earth-walls  on  each  sida  The 
landscape  was  carried  away,  cartload  by 
cartload,  and,  deposited  on  the  roads, 
forms  a  part  of  that  unfathomable  pud- 
ding, which  has,  I  fear,  driven  many  a 
teamster  and  pedestrian  to  the  use  of 
phrases  not  commonly  found  in  English 
dictioiuuies. 


We  called  it  ''the  Village"  then  (I 
speak  of  Old  Cambridge),  and  it  was 
essentially  an  English  village,  quiet  mi- 
speculative,  without  enterprise,  saflScing 
to  itself  and  only  showinjg  such  differ- 
ences from  the  original  type  as  the  pablie 
school  and  the  system  of  town  eovem- 
ment  might  superinduce.  AfewhouBes^ 
chiefly  old,  stood  around  the  bare  com- 
mon, with  ample  elbow-room,  and  M 
women,  capped  and  spectacled,  still  peered 
through  the  same  windows  from  wbkh, 
they  had  watched  Lord  Percy's  artfllery 
rumble  by  to  LezingtoiL  or  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  handsome  Virginia  General 
who  had  come  to  vrield  our  homeepim 
Saxon  chivalry.  People  were  stiU  Uring 
who  regretted  the  late  unhappy  sepm- 
tion  from  the  Mother  Island,  who  hid 
seen  no  gentry  since  the  Vassals  went^  and 
who  thought  that  Boston  had  ill  kept  the 
day  of  her  patron  saint,  Botolph,  on  the 
17th  Jmie,  1775.  The  hooks  were  to  be 
seen  from  which  had  swung  the  hammocks 
of  Burgoyne's  captive  red-coats.  If 
memorr  does  not  deceive  me,  women  still 
washed  clothes  in  the  town-qnriug,  dear 
as  that  of  Bandusia.  One  coach  sidBced 
for  all  the  travel  to  the  metropolis.  Com- 
mencement had  not  ceased  to  be  the  grsat 
holiday  of  the  Puritan  CommoQWcmlth, 
and  a  fitting  one  it  was — the  festlTil  of 
Santa  ScolastKa,  whose  triumphal  path 
one  may  conceive  strewn  with  leaTes  of 
spelling-book  instead  of  bay.  The  stu- 
dents f  scholars  they  were  called  then) 
wore  tneir  sober  uniform,  not  oetentir 
tiously  distinctive  nor  capable  of  rousing 
democratic  enry,  and  the  old  lines  of  caste 
were  blurred  rather  than  rubbed  out,  as 
servitor  was  softened  into  beneficiary. 
The  Spanish  kmg  was  sure  that  the  ges- 
ticulating student  was  either  mad  or  read- 
ing Don  Quixotte.  and  if,  in  those  daya 
you  met  a  youth  swinging  his  arms  and 
talking  to  himself^  you  might  condnde  that 
he  was  either  a  lunatic  or  one  who  was  to 
appear  in  a  "part"  at  the  next  Com- 
mencement. A  favorite  place  for  the  re- 
hearsal of  these  orations  was  the  retired 
amphitheatre  of  the  Gravelpit,  perdied 
unregarded  on  whose  dizzy  edge,  1  have 
heard  many  a  burst  of  pliu-quam-Cicet- 
onian  eloquence,  and  (often  repeated)  die 
regular  ecutUo  voa  praestantUnmaSj  ftc, 
which  every  year  (with  a  glance  at  the 
gallery)  causes  a  nutter  among  the  fons 
innocent  of  Latin,  and  delights  to  ap- 
plauses of  conscious  superiority  the  youth 
almost  as  innocent  as  they.  It  is  curious, 
by  the  way,  to  note  how  plainly  one  can 
feel  the  pulse  of  self  in  th«  phraditsof  an 
At  a  poUtksal  nweth^  if  the 


1854.] 


FireiuU  Trwfeli. 


888 


enthusiasiii  of  the  li^^es  lumg  fire,  it  may 
be  exploded  tt  onoe  bjan  aUnsion  to  their 
intelUgexioe  or  patriotism,  and  at  a  literary 
festivid,  the  first  Latin  quotation  draws 
the  first  applause,  the  clapping  of  hands 
bemg  intended  as  a  tribute  to  our  own 
fkmiDarity  with  that  sonorous  tongue,  and 
not  at  all  as  an  approval  of  the  particular 
sentiment  conveyed  in  it  For  if  the 
orator  should  say,  "  Well  has  Tacitus  re- 
marked, Americani  omnes  sunt  naturali' 
terjures  et  slulti,^*  it  would  be  all  the  same. 
Bat  the  Gravelpit  was  patient,  if  irrespon- 
are,  nor  did  the  decliumer  always  fall  to 
bring  down  the  house,  bits  of  loosened 
earth  fiJling  now  and  then  fi*om  the  pre- 
cipitous waUs,  their  cohesion  perhaps  over- 
come by  the  vibrations  of  the  voice,  and 
biq>pily  satirizing  the  effect  of  most  popu- 
lar discourses,  which  prevail  rather  with 
the  day  than  with  the  spiritual  part  of 
the  h<^nsr.  Was  it  possible  for  us  in 
those  days  to  conceive  of  a  greater  poten- 
tate than  the  President  of  the  University, 
m  his  square  doctor's  cap,  that  still  filially 
recalled  Oxford  and  Cambridge  ?  K  there 
wwe  a  doubt,  it  was  suggested  only  by  the 
Governor,  and  even  by  him  on  artillery 
election  days  alone,  superbly  martial  with 
^Millets  and  buckskin  breeches,  and  be- 
striding the  war-horse,  promoted  to  that 
solemn  duty  for  his  tameness  and  steady 
habits. 

Thirty  years  ago,  the  Town  had  indeed 
a  character.  Always  and  omnibuses 
had  not  rolled  flat  all  uttle  social  promi- 
nences and  peculiarities,  makmg  every  man 
as  much  a  citizen  every  where  as  at  home. 
No  Gharlestown  boy  could  come  to  our 
smiual  festival,  without  fighting  to  avenge 
a  oertain  traoitional  porcme  imputation 
against  the  inhabitants  of  that  historic 
locality,  and  to  which  our  youth  gave 
vent,  in  fimciful  imitations  of  the  dialect 
of  the  sty,  or  derisive  shouts  of  "  Gharles- 
town hogs!"  The  penny  newspaper 
had  not  yet  silenced  the  tripod  of  the 
barber,  oracle  of  news.  Every  body 
knew  every  body,  and  all  about  every 
body,  and  village  wit,  whose  high  'change 
was  around  the  little  market-house  in  the 
town-square,  had  labelled  every  more 
marked  indiriduality  with  nick-names  that 
dung  like  burrs.  Things  were  establish- 
ed then,  and  men  did  not  run  through  all 
the  figiuvs  on  the  dial  of  society  so  swift- 
ly as  now,  when  hurry  and  competition 
■Bern  to  have  quite  unhung  the  modulat- 
faig  pendulum  of  steady  thrift,  and  com- 
petent training.  Some  slow-minded  per- 
sons^ even  followed  their  father's  trade,  an 
humiliating  spectacle  rarer  every  day. 
We  had  our  established  loafers,  topers, 


proverb-mongers,  barber,  parson,  nar, 
postmaster,  whose  tenure  was  ror  life. 
The  great  political  engine  did  not  then 
come  down  at  regular  quadrenmal  inter- 
vals, like  a  nail-^mtting  machine,  to  make 
all  official  lives  of  a  standard  length,  and 
to  generate  lazy  and  intriguuig  expectan- 
cy. Life  flowed  In  recognized  channels, 
narrower,  perhaps,  but  with  all  the  more 
individuality  and  force. 

There  was  but  one  whitc-and-yellow- 
washer,  whose  own  cottage,  fresh-gleam- 
ing every  June  through  grape-vine  and 
creeper,  was  his  only  sign  and  advertise- 
ment He  was  said  to  possess  a  secret, 
which  died  with  him  like  that  of  Luca 
della  Robbia,  and  certainly  conceived  all 
colors  but  white  and  yellow,  to  savor  of 
savagery,  dvilizing  the  stems  of  his  trees 
annually  with  liquid  lime,  and  meditet- 
ing  how  to  extend  that  candid  baptism 
even  to  the  leaves.  His  pie-plants  (the 
best  in  town),  compulsory  monastics, 
blanched  under  barrels,  each  in  his  little 
hermitage,  a  vegetable  Certosa.  His  fowls, 
his  ducks,  his  geese  could  not  show  so 
much  as  a  gray  feather  among  them,  and 
he  would  have  given  a  year's  earnings  for 
a  white  peacock.  The  flowers  ^hich 
decked  his  little  door-yard^  were  whitest 
China-asters  and  goldenest  sun-flowers, 
which  last  backsliding  from  their  tradi- 
tional Parsee  foith,  used  to  puzzle  us  ur- 
chins not  a  little,  by  staring  brazenly 
every  way  except  toward  the  sun.  Cele- 
ry, too,  he  raised,  whose  virtue  is  its  pale- 
ness, and  the  silvery  onion,  and  turnip, 
which,  though  outwardly  conforming  to 
the  green  heresies  of  summer,  nourish  a 
purer  faith  subterrancously,  like  early 
Christians  in  the  catacombs.  In  an  ob- 
scure corner  grew  the  sanguine  beet,  tol- 
erated only  for  its  usefulness  in  allaying 
the  asperities  of  Saturday's  salt  fish.  He 
loved  winter  bettor  than  summer,  because 
nature  then  played  the  whitewasher.  and 
challenged  with  her  snows  the  scarce  in- 
ferior purity  of  his  over-alls  and  necl^ 
cloth.  I  fancy  that  ho  never  rightly  liked 
Commencement,  for  bringing  so  many 
black  coats  together.  He  founded  no 
school.  Others  might  essay  his  art,  and 
were  allowed  to  try  their  'prentice  hands 
on  fences  and  the  like  coarse  subjects,  but 
the  ceiling  of  every  housewife  waited  on 
the  leisure  of  Newman  {ichneumon  the 
students  called  him  for  his  diminutiveiiess) 
nor  would  consent  to  other  brush  than 
his.  There  was  also  but  one  brewer, — 
Lewis,  who  made  the  village  beer,  both 
spruce  and  ginger,  a  grave  and  amiable 
Ethiopian  making  a  discount  always  to 
the  boys,  and  wisdy,  for  they  were  his 


884 


Firuide  Travdi. 


[April 


chiefest  patrons.  He  wheeled  his  whole 
stock  in  a  white-roofed  handcart,  on  whose 
front  a  signboard  presented  at  either  end 
an  insurrectionary  bottle,  yet  insurgent 
after  no  mad  Gallic  fashion,  but  soberly 
and  Saxonly  discharging  itself  into  the 
restraining  formulary  of  a  tumbler,  sym- 
bolic of  orderly  prescription.  The  artist 
had  struggled  manfully  with  the  difficul- 
ties of  his  subject,  but  had  not  succeeded 
so  well  that  we  did  not  often  debate  in 
which  of  the  twin  bottles  Spruce  was 
^pified,  and  in  which  Ginger.  We  al- 
ways believed  that  Lewis  mentally  distin- 
gmshed  between  them,  but  by  some  pecu- 
Earity  occult  to  exoteric  eyes.  This  am- 
bulatory chapel  of  the  Bacchus  that  gives 
the  colic,  but  not  inebriates,  only  appear- 
ed at  the  Commencement  holidays.  And 
the  lad  who  bought  of  Lewis,  laid  out 
hb  money  well,  getting  respect  as  well 
as  beer,  three  sirs  to  every  glass — "  beer 
sir  ?  yes,  sir :  spruce  or  ginger,  sir  ?  "  I 
can  yet  recall  the  innocent  pride  with 
which  I  walked  away  after  that  some- 
what risky  ceremony  (for  a  bottle  some- 
times blew  up),  dilated  not  alone  with 
carbonic-acid  gas,  but  with  the  more 
ethereal  fixed  air  of  that  titular  flattery. 
Nor  was  Lewis  proud.  When  he  tri^ 
his  fortunes  in  the  capital  on  Election  days, 
and  stood  amid  a  row  of  rival  vendors  in 
the  very  flood  of  custom,  he  never  forgot 
his  small  fellow-citizens,  but  welcomed 
them  with  an  assuring  smile,  and  served 
them  with  the  first 

The  barber's  shop  was  a  museum, 
scarce  second  to  the  larger  one  of  Green- 
woods in  the  metropolis.  The  boy  who 
vras  to  be  clipped  there,  was  always  ac- 
companied to  the  sacrifice  by  troops  of 
friends,  who  thus  inspected  the  curiosities 
gratis.  While  the  watchful  eye  of  R. 
wandered  to  keep  in  check  these  rather 
unscrupulous  explorers,  the  unpausing 
i^ears  would  sometimes  overstep  the 
boundaries  of  strict  tonsorial  prescription, 
and  make  a  notch  through  which  the 
phrenological  developments  could  be  dis- 
tinctly seen.  As  Michael  Angelo's  design 
was  modified  by  the  shape  of  his  block, 
so  R.  rigid  in  artistic  proprieties,  would 
contrive  to  give  an  appearance  or  design 
to  this  aberration,  by  making  it  the  key- 
note of  his  work,  and  reducing  the  whole 
head  to  an  appearance  of  premature  bald- 
ness. What  a  charming  place  it  was,  how 
full  of  wonder  and  delight !  The  sunny 
little  room,  fronting  southwest  upon  the 
common,  rang  with  canaries  and  javarspar- 
rows,  nor  were  the  familiar  notes  of  robin, 
thrush,  and  bobolink  wanting.  A  huge 
white  cockatoo  harangued  vaguely,  at  in- 


tervals, in  what  we  believed  (on  R.^  an- 
thority)  to  be  the  Hottentot  langua^ 
He  had  an  unveradous  air,  but  wluit  in- 
ventions of  former  grandeur  he  was  in- 
dulging in,  what  sweet  South-African 
Arsos  he  was  remembering,  what  tropi- 
cal neats  and  giant  trees  by  unoongectared 
rivers,  known  only  to  the  wallowing  hip- 
popotamus, we  could  only  ^oess  at.  The 
walls  were  covered  with  curious  old  Dotdi 
prints,  beaks  of  albatross  and  pengqfn, 
and  whale's  teeth  fantastically  engrmved. 
There  vras  Frederick  the  Great,  wiUi  head 
drooped  plottingly  and  keen  side-long 
glance  from  under  the  three-cornered  hat. 
There  hung  Bonaparte,  too,  the  long-hair- 
ed, haggard  General  of  Italy,  his-  eyes 
sombre  vnth  prefigured  destiny ;  and  tMre 
was  his  island  grave  ;  the  dream  and  the 
fulfilment  Good  store  of  sea-fights  tiieie 
was  also ;  above  all,  Paul  Jones  in  the 
Bonhomme  Richard;  the  smoke  rolling 
courteously  to  leeward,  that  we  might  see 
him  dealing  thunderous  wreck  to  the  two 
hostile  vessels,  each  twice  as  large  as  his 
own,  and  the  reality  of  the  scene  corrobo- 
rated by  streaks  of  red  paint  leaping  from 
the  mouth  of  every  gun.  Suqp^ddedoifer 
the  fireplace  with  the  curling-tongs,  wen 
an  Ladian  bow  and  arrows,  and  in  the  ooi^ 
ners  of  the  room  stood  New-Zealand  Mid- 
dles and  war-dubs  quaintly  carved.  The 
model  of  a  ship  in  glass  we  variously  es- 
timated to  be  worth  from  a  hundred  to  a 
thousand  dollars,  R.  rather  favorinff  liie 
higher  valuation,  though  never  distmetly 
committing  himself.  Among  these  won- 
ders, the  only  suspicious  one  was  an  In- 
dian tomahawk,  which  had  too  mndi  the 
peaceful  look  of  a  shingling-hatchet  Did 
any  rarity  enter  the  town,  it  gravitated 
naturally  to  these  walls,  to  the  veiy  nail 
that  waited  to  receive  it,  and  whrni  the 
day  after  its  accession,  it  seemed  to  naifs 
hung  a  lifetime.  We  always  had  a  fhtih 
ry  tnat  R.  was  immensely  rich,  Amw 
could  he  possess  so  much  and  be  cImf- 
wise  ?)  and  that  his  pursumg  his  cid]^ 
was  an  amiable  eccentricity.  He  was  a 
conscientious  artist  and  never  submitted 
it  to  the  choice  of  his  victim  whether  he 
would  be  perfumed  or  not  Faithfully  wis 
the  bottle  shaken  and  the  odoriferous  mix- 
ture rubbed  in,  a  fact  redolent  to  the  whole 
school-room  in  the  afternoon.  Sometimes 
the  persuasive  tonsor  would  impress  one 
of  the  attendant  volunteers  and  rednoe 
his  poll  to  shoe-brush  crispness,  at  cost 
of  the  reluctant  ninepence  hoarded  fbr 
Fresh  Pond  and  the  next  half-holiday. 

Shall  the  two  groceries  want  tlMir  vofet 
scuxr^  where  £.  &  W.  L  goods  and 
country  prodooce  were  sold  with  an  i 


1654.] 


Firende  IhuveU, 


886 


mitigated  by  the  quiet  genius  of  the  place, 
Aod  where  strings  of  urchins  waited,  each 
with  cent  in  hand,  for  the  unweighed 
dates  (thus  giving  an  ordinaij  business 
transaction  all  the  excitement  of  a  lottery), 
and  buying,  not  only  that  cloying  sweet- 
ness, but  a  dream  also  of  Egypt,  and 
palmtrees,  and  Arabs,  in  which  vision  a 
print  of  the  pjrramids  in  our  geography 
tyrannized  like  that  taller  thought  of 
Oowper*s? 

At  one  of  these  the  unwearied  students 
used  to  ply  a  joke  handed  down  from 
class  to  dass.  £n/fr  A.  and  asks  gravely, 
^Have  you  any  sour  apples.  Deacon?" 

"  Well,  no,  I  haven't  any  just  now  that 
are  Exactly  sour;  but  there's  the  bell- 
flower  apple,  and  folks  that  like  a  sour 
apple  generally  like  that"  (Exit  A,) 

Enter  B.  "Have  you  got  any  sweet 
vppl^  Deacon?" 

"  Well,  no,  I  haven't  anv  just  now  that 
ire  exactly  sweet;  but  there's  the  bell- 
flower  apple,  and  folks  that  like  a  sweet 
apj^e  generally  like  that"  (ExU  B.) 

There  is  not  even  a  tradition  of  any 
one^s  ever  having  turned  the  wary  dea- 
con's flank,  and  his  Laodicean  apples  per- 
riated  to  the  end,  neither  one  thing  nor 
another.  Or  shall  the  two  town-con- 
stables be  forgotten,  in  whom  the  law 
stood  worthily  and  amply  embodied,  fit 
either  of  them  to  fill  the  uniform  of  an 
English  beadle?  Grim  and  silent  as 
Nmevite  statues  they  stood  on  each  side 
of  the  meeting-house  door  at  Commence- 
ment, propped  by  long  staves  of  blue 
tod  red,  on  which  the  Indian  vnth  bow 
and  arrow,  and  the  mailed  arm  with  the 
sword,  hinted  at  the  invisible  sovereignty 
of  the  state  ready  to  remforce  them,  as 

"For  AchillM'  portrait  stood  a  spew 
Ontfped  In  an  armM  hand.", 
Stalwart  and  rubicimd  men  they  were, 
second  ovily,  if  second,  to  S.,  champion  of 
the  oounty,  and  not  incapable  of  genial  im- 
bendings  when  the  fasces  were  laid  aside. 
One  of  them  still  survives  in  octogenarian 
vi|^r,  the  Herodotus  of  village  and  college 
legend,  and  may  it  be  long  ere  he  depart, 
to  carry  with  him  the  pattern  of  a  cour- 
teay*  no^}  ^*^  ^  old-fiishioned,  but  which 
might  profitably  make  part  of  the  in- 
struction of  our  youth  among  the  other 
humanities  I 

In  those  days  the  population  was  almost 
wholly  without  foreign  admixture.  Two 
Scotda  g^eners  there  were, — Rule,  whose 
daughter  (glimpsed  perhiuss  at  church,  or 
possibly  the  mere  Miss  Harris  of  ian<^) 
the  students  nicknamed  Anarchy  or  Miss 
Roli^— «ad  later  Fraser,  whom  whiskey 
sablimed  into  a  poet,  fbll  of  bloody  his- 


tories of  the  Fortv-twa,  and  showing  an 
imaginary  French  bullet,  sometimes  in  one 
leg  and  sometimes  in  the  other.  With 
this  claim  to  military  distinction  ho 
adroitly  contrived  to  mingle  another  to  a 
natural  one,  asserting  double  teeth  all 
round  his  jaws,  and  having  thus  created 
two  sets  of  doubts,  silenced  both  at  once 
by  a  single  demonstration,  displaying  the 
grinders  to  the  confusion  of  the  infidel. 

The  old  court-house  stood  then  upon 
the  square.  It  has  shrunk  back  out  of 
sight  now,  and  students  box  and  fence 
where  Parsons  once  laid  down  the  law, 
and  Ames  and  Dexter  showed  their  skill 
in  the  fence  of  argument  Times  have 
changed,  and  manners,  since  Chief  Justice 
Dana  (^ther  of  Richard  the  First,  and 
grandfather  of  Richard  the  Second)  caused 
to  be  arrested  for  contempt  of  court  a 
butcher  who  had  come  in  without  a  coat 
to  witness  the  administration  of  his 
country's  laws,  and  who  thus  had  his 
curiosity  exemplarily  gratified.  Times 
have  clianged  also  since  the  cellar  beneath 
it  was  tenanted  by  the  twin  brothers  Snow. 
Oyster-men  were  they  indeed,  silent  in 
their  subterranean  burrow,  and  taking 
the  ebbs  and  floods  of  custom  with  bival- 
vian  serenity.  Careless  of  the  months 
with  an  R  m  them,  the  maxim  of  Snow 
(for  we  knew  them  but  as  a  unit)  was, 
'*  when  'ysters  are  good,  they  are  good ; 
and  when  they  ain't,  they  wn'^"  Grecian 
F.  (may  his  shadow  never  be  less !)  tells 
this,  his  great  laugh  expected  all  the 
while  fit>m  deep  vauUs  of  chest,  and  then 
coming  in  at  the  close,  hearty,  contagious, 
mounting  with  the  measured  tread  of  a 
jovial  but  stately  butler  who  brings 
andentest  goodfellowship  from  exhaust- 
less  bins,  and  enough,  without  other 
sauce,  to  give  a  flavor  of  stalled  ox  to  a 
dmner  of  herbs.  Let  me  presekre  here 
an  anticipatory  elegy  upon  the  Snows, 
written  years  ago  by  some  nameless 
college  rhymer. 

DirrUGERS  VTYTS,        \ 

**  Hare  Ilea,  or  lie,— dedde  the  question,  700, 
If  they  were  two  in  one,  or  one  in  two,— 
P.  A  8.  Snow,  whose  memory  shall  not  Aide, 
Castor  and  Follnx  of  the  oyster-trade : 
Hatched  from  one  egg,  at  once  the  shell  they  bnn^ 
(The  last,  porbaps,  a  P.  8.  to  the  flxat,) 
80  bomoooslan  both  in  look  and  sonl, 
80  undlscemibly  a  sinf^  whole, 
That,  whether  P.  was  8.  or  8.  was  P., 
Surpassed  all  skill  in  etymology; 
One  kept  the  shop  at  once,  and  all  we  know 
Is  that  together  they  were  tKe  Great  Snow, 
▲  snow  not  deep,  yet  with  a  crastsa  thkk 
It  nerer  melted  to  the  son  of  Tick; 
Perpataal?  nay,  oar  region  was  too  low, 
Too  warm,  too  loatfaeiii,  fbr  perpetual  8iiov\ 


386 


The  Great  Paris  (kfes. 


[April 


still  like  Iklr  LedA's  sons,  to  whom  twas  given 
To  take  their  tarns  in  Hades  and  in  Heaven, 
Oar  new  Dioecnri  would  bravelj  share 
The  cellar's  darknesB  and  the  upper  air ; 
Twice  every  year  would  each  the  shadee  eecape 
And,  like  a  aeabird,  seek  the  wave-washed'Cape, 
Where  (Rumor  voiced)  one  spouse  sufficed  for  both ; 
No  higamlBt,  for  she  upon  her  oath, 
Unskilled  in  letters,  could  not  make  a  guess 
At  any  differonoe  twixt  P.  and  8.,— 
A  thing  not  marvelloua,  since  Fame  agrees 
They  were  as  little  dUSarent  as  two  pea^ 
And  she,  Hke  Paris,  when  his  Helen  laid 
Her  hand  *mid  snows  iW)m  Ida's  top  conveyed 
To  eool  their  winp  at  Chios,  could  not  know, 
Between  those  rival  candors,  which  was  Snow. 

Whichever  behind  the  counter  chanced  to  be 
Oped  oysten  oft,  his  clamshells  seldom  he; 


If  e'er  he  laughed,  *twas  with  no  lood  guflkw. 

The  ftm  wsrmed  through  hi  m  with  a  gradoal  tkMT ; 

The  nicer  shades  of  wit  were  not  his  gift, 

Nor  was  it  hard  to  sound  Snow^  simple  drift; 

His  were  plain  Jokes,  that  many  a  time  before 

Had  set  his  tairy  meesmatea  in  a  roar. 

When  floundering  cod  besUmed  tbo  deek^  m* 

planka,— 
The  humorous  wpetie  of  Newfoundland  baaki. 

But  Snow  Is  gone,  and,  let  us  hope,  deepa  wdl 
Buried  (his  last  brmith  ssked  it)  in  a  ahell ; 
Him  on  the  Stygian  shore  my  flmcy  sees 
Noting  choice,  shoals  for  oystery  oolooka, 
Or,  at  a  board  stuck  fhll  of  ghostly  foriu^ 
Opening  for  practise  visionary  Torks, 
And  whither  he  has  gone,  may  we,  too,  (»* 
Since  no  hot  place  were  fit  for  kec^tng  BbovI 
Jam  satis  nivU. 


(Concloded  next  month.) 


THE   GREAT   PARIS   CAFES. 


IF  the  ccifee  and  the  restaurants  owe 
their  origin  to  the  storms  of  1789, 
when,  in  the  raging  fever  which  then  mad- 
dened the  French  nation,  eveiy  one  was 
aiudoos  hoth  in  the  morning  and  the  even- 
mg,  to  learn  the  news  (news  such  as  the 
worid  had  never  read  the  like  hefore), 
and  to  read  the  different  exponents  of  the 
several  public  men ;  and  to  discuss  the 
politics  of  the  day,  and  to  indulge  in  liter- 
ary debates ;  if  they  owe  their  origin,  we 
say,  to  the  storms  of  '89,  it  was  especially 
under  the  Empire  and  the  Restoration, 
that  these  establii^ments  multiplied,  ana 
appeared  in  the  brilliancy  and  the  luxury 
for  which  they  are  now  celebrated.  The 
most  of  them  were  founded  by  the  chefs 
de  cuisine,  or  the  head  cooks  (to  use  our 
more  homely  phrase),  of  the  great  aristo- 
cratic houses,  whose  names  had  become 
extinct  in  the  prison  massacres,  or  on  the 
guillotine,  or  whose  fortunes  had  been 
melted  iy  the  agrarian  crucible  of  the  re- 
volutionary decrees :  Beauvilliers  had  been 
the  dief  de  cuisine  of  the  Prince  de 
Gond6,  and  his  restaurant  was  chiefly 

Sktronized  by  distinguished  persons ;  the 
uke  d'Angoul6me  and  M.  de  Chateau- 
briand dined  there  together,  more  than 
once,  and  in  the  public  room.  Robert  had 
been  the  chef  de  cuisine  of  M.  de  Chal- 
andray,  an  ex-farmer-general :  on  his  re- 
turn from  exile,  M.  de  Chalandray,  with- 
out more  than  the  shadows  of  his  former 
fortune,  went  into  Robert's  restaurant  and 
recognized  his  old  cook ;  Robert  served 
his  old  master  a  most  exquisite  dinner 


and  placed  before  him  his  finest  ^ 
and  when  the  bill  came,  its  total  was  on^ 
six  francs :  the  rich  cook  treated  the  poor 
farmer-general.  But  the  caf6s  and  the 
restaurants  of  the  Empire  shared  the 
common  grossness  of  that  epoch ;  dnmk- 
enness  and  gluttony  were  common  vioeB 
to  all  of  them,  until  the  Restoration  in- 
troduced more  courtesy,  and  more  of  tlie 
arts  of  peace.  Our  reader  is  aware  that 
cafSs  and  restaurants  are,  perhaps,  tlie 
most  characteristic  feature  of  Frendi  lifb ; 
there  is  nothing  which  an  absent  Frendi- 
man  more  regrets  while  wandering  from 
home,  than  the  cafi§s  and  the  restanrantSi 
where  his  meals  were  taken,  and  hk  idle 
hours  passed  away,  and  his  friends  en- 
countered, and  himJself  seeing  and  seen. 
Besides,  ibeing  the  Temples  of  Fame  of 
the  town,  they  are  the  chapels  of  ease  to 
limited  fortunes:  their  ample  poicdiin 
stoves,  piled  high  with  plates,  their  bril- 
liant gas  chandeliers,  the  numenms  news- 
papers, their  well-stufied  seats,  their  ex- 
cellent attendance,  enable  those  ai  strait- 
ened circumstances  to  efface  from  ibmr 
account- books  many  sources  of  expense^ 
without  in  the  least  suppressing  (ao 
blunted  are  the  Frendi  people  to  Ums 
sense  of  the  observation  of  others)  anr 
of  their  comforts.  We  are  persoaded, 
that  our  reader  will  find  the  same  sos- 
tained  interest  which  we  took  in  readiw 
M.  Veron's  account  of  ih»  oetebratod 
cal(§s  and  restaurants  of  Paris,  where  he 
enables  us  to  form  a  qnito  dear  ooncep- 
tion  of  those  stages,  where^  more  thutny 


1854.] 


Tk§  Ortai  Paru  Ca/St. 


887 


where  else,  *'  men  and  women  are  merely 
players ; "  a  far  clearer  conception,  we  dare 
say,  than  many  of  our  countrjrmen  who 
are  in  the  city  of  Paris  itself,  are  able  to 
frame  in  consequence  of  the  ignorance  of 
the  French  language,  and  their  position  as 
foreigners.  We  abandon,  then,  our  read- 
er to  the  admirable  guidance  of  M.  Ve- 
ron:^ 

—  For  now  some  thirty  years  I  have 
lived  in  Paris  almost  as  if  I  had  been  a 
foreigner,  and  since  1823  (under  the  Res- 
toration), I  have  indulged  my  passion  of 
observation,  in  those  numerous  restauror 
teun  which  are  peculiar  to  Paris.  None 
of  the  great  capitals  of  Europe  are  adorn- 
ed with  these  sumptuous  establishments, 
with  a  luxurious  service,  open  day  ana 
night,  where  a  meal  is  ready,  at  all  hours, 
where  mlence  and  solitude  may  be  enjoy- 
ed in  the  midst  of  a  crowd.  Writers, 
princes,  artists,  magistrates,  mmisters^  le- 
gislators, diplomatists,  warriors,  foreign- 
ers from  every  quarter  of  the  globe,  Croe- 
80868  of  every  rank  and  of  every  age,  beau^ 
ties  from  the  North,  and  beauties  from  the 
South,  how  many  generations,  how  many 
original  characters,  have  offered  themselves 
to  the  observer,  inter  pocula  before  those 
tables  open  to  the  first  and  to  all  comers. 
There  is  not  a  bourgeois  of  Paris,  who 
on  some  days  does  not  treat  himself  to 
a  dinner  at  the  Caf6  de  Paris,  or  at  the 
Frdres  Provencauz,  or  at  the  Gaf6  An- 
rlais.  or  at  Riche's  or  Vary's,  or  at  Ve- 
fonr's.  I  have  easily  collected  some  very 
cnrions  historical  details  about  the  restau- 
raUurs  and  the  celebrated  caf§s  of  Paris, 
and  I  must  initiate  my  readers  to  this 
eradition  which  I  have  gained  at  the  sour- 
ces, and  which  throws,  too,  some  light 
upon  other  times.  Let  us  enter  as  chance 
may  direct  into  all  of  these  establish- 
ments ;  the  origin  of  many  of  them  dates 
many  years  l»ck.  The  establishment, 
known  under  the  name  of  the  Frdres 
Proven^aux  was  founded  in  1786;  three 
young  men  bom  in  Provence,  united  to- 
gether by  a  warm  friendship,  but  without 
the  least  fraternal  relation,  MM.  Barth61- 
emy,  ManneiUes,  and  Simon,  rented  a 
hoose  near  the  Palais  Royal  and  served 
meals  there.  When  the  stone  arcades 
were  constructed^  they  opened  in  them 
some  saloons,  which  still  form  a  portion 
of  the  splendid  and  vast  apartments  of 
the  Frdres  Proven^aux.  One  of  these 
three  friends  was  charged  with  the  man- 
agement and  the  ntrveiUance  of  the  es- 
tablishment, the  two  others  were  attach- 
ed, in  the  house  of  the  Prince  de  Conti, 
to  the  service  of  the  kitchen  and  the  offi- 
oas.    In  1786  the  saloons  of  the  Trois 


Frdres  Proven9aux  were  far  from  resem- 
bling the  present  saloons  of  that  well- 
known  restaurant ;  the  furniture  was  ex- 
ceedingly modest,  the  tables  were  covered 
with  oil-cloth,  the  salt-cellars  were  of 
wood,  silver-plate  was  rare.  The  Trois 
Frdres  Proven9aux,  nevertheless,  already 
numbered  a  la^  number  of  customers ; 
the  wine  there  was  unadulterated,  and  the 
vaults  were  rich  in  vintages  of  good  years 
and  good  growths ;  the  cooking  was  high- 
ly esteemed ;  and  the  Trois  Frdres  Pro- 
ven^anx  was  instanced  for  the  excellence 
of  its  dishes  d  la  Provenfole,  General 
Bonaparte  and  Barras  often  dined  toge- 
ther at  the  Proven9aux,  and  from  there 
they  both  went  to  the  neighboring  ther 
atre  of  Mademoiselle  Montansier.  The 
great  fortune  of  the  Trois  Frdres  Proven- 
caux,  dates  especially  from  1808,  from  the 
nrst  war  with  Spain.  Troops  for  that 
war  were  summoned  from  idl  parts  of 
Germany;  these  troops  passed  through 
Paris :  generals  and  ofiBcers  selected  the 
saloons  of  the  Trois  Frdres  Provenqaux  for 
their  junketmgs.  Gold  was  rare  at  this 
period,  and  the  receipts  were  so  large  that 
several  times  during  the  day  and  evening, 
they  were  oblieed  to  empty  the  safe  whidi 
overflowed  with  silver  into  additional  safes. 
The  receipts  were  not  less  than  twelve  or 
fifteen  thousand  francs  a  day  (some  $2400 
or  POOO).  The  Trois  Frdres  Proven- 
qaux  also  saw,  with  all  the  then  fiuned 
restaurants,  the  fortunate  days  of  1808 
reproduced  m  1814  and  1815.  This  es- 
tablishment was  managed  and  kept  by  its 
founders,  for  fifty  years.  A  man  nam^ 
Lionnet,  still  the  butler  of  the  establish- 
ment, has  occupied  that  same  post  for  for- 
ty-eight years.  About  1836  the  restau- 
rant of  the  Trois  Frdres  was  purchased 
by  the  brothers  Bellenger,  who  kept  it 
only  a  year ;  the  title,  name  and  the  res- 
taurant were  then  sold  by  them  to  M. 
Gollot;  who  for  the  last  fifteen  years  has 
succeeded  in  maintaining  the  brilliant  re- 
putation and  prosperity  of  this  house. 

It  was  only  in  1805  the  restaurant  V6ry 
was  founded ;  it  was  situated  in  the  Gar- 
den of  the  Tuileries^  Terrasse  des  Feuill- 
ants ;  its  rival  and  neighbor  on  this  terrace 
was  the  restaurant  L^acque.  Vary's  soon 
became  feshionable ;  it  obtained  the  orders 
for  all  the  great  dinners  frequently  given 
at  the  Ecole  Militaire  during  the  first 
years  of  the  empire.  The  higher  function- 
aries, generals,  and  especially  Marshal 
Duroc,  were  the  constant  frequenters  of 
y^ry-s.  It  was  indeed  Marshal  Duroa 
the  Grand  Master  of  the  Palace,  who  haa 
obtained  for  Vdry  the  permission  to  open 
what  was  then  caUed  Ia  Ttetadc&Tw&s^ 


888 


The  Cheat  Parte  Cq/gi. 


[April 


eries.  The  cooking  was  exquisite  and  sci- 
entific ;  the  wines  were  excellent,  and  the 
guest  was  kindly  received  b^  the  dame  du 
comptoir,  Madame  V^ry  m  those  days, 
whose  grace  and  beautiful  eyes  were  much 
landed.  It  was  only  in  1808  that  Y^ry 
founded  in  the  Palais  Royal  the  house 
which  still  exists  there,  and  until  1817  he 
kept  at  the  same  time  the  establishment 
of  the  Garden  of  the  Tuileries  and  that 
of  the  Palais  Royal.  In  1817  Vary's  and 
Legacque's  shanties  on  the  Terrasse  des 
Feuillants  were  demolished.  At  this  time 
y^ry  retired  from  business,  the  possessor 
of  a  large  fortune,  whicn  his  son  soon  in- 
herited. V6ry  was  bom  in  1760,  in  a  vil- 
lage of  the  Meuse;  he  came  to  Paris 
wearing  eabote  (wooden  shoes),  and  not 
less  thfui  thirty  years  old ;  he  took  a  place 
as  an  assistant  cook,  and  soon  became  a 
skilful  cook.  V6ry  sold  his  establishment 
to  his  three  nephews,  the  brothers  Meu- 
nier ;  of  these  three  brothers,  one  died 
shortly  after  this  purchase^  the  other  sold 
his  share  to  the  third,  who  thus  remained 
the  sole  proprietor ;  he  retired  in  1843 ; 
his  successor  was  M.  Neuhaus,  the  pre- 
sent proprietor.  Vdry's  continues  to  be 
one  of  the  best  restaurants  of  Paris. 

In  1749  an  old  officer,  M.  de  Foy, 
founded  the  Caf<&  du  Fo^,  whidi  since  be- 
came so  celebrated.  This  caf(&  then  occu- 
pied the  whole  of  one  story  of  a  house 
situated  in  that  portion  of  the  Rue  Riche- 
lieu which  ran  by  the  side  of  the  G^arden 
of  the  Palais  Royal ;  a  private  staircase 
led  from  th^  Cafe  du  Foy  to  one  of  the 
entrances  to  the  Garden,  the  stone  arcades 
of  the  Palace  not  being  tnen  built  About 
1774  tiie  Cafe  du  Foy  eot  into  the  hands 
of  a  M.  Jossereau;  mis  Jossereau  had 
just  married  a  young  and  pretty  girl, 
whose  beauty  made  a  good  deal  of  noise. 
The  Duke  of  Orleans,  the  father  of  King 
Louis  Philippe,  wishea  to  see  the  beautiful 
Madame  Jossereau;  one  evening  he  en- 
tered the  cM  and  ordered  an  ice.  He 
returned  there  several  times,  and  gave 
the  caf6  his  protection;  Madame  Jos- 
sereau had  a  private  audience  of  the 
prince ;  she  obtained  for  her  husband  the 
permission  to  sell  refreshments  tiiod  ices  in 
the  Horse-Chestnut  Tree  Row,  in  the  Gar- 
den of  the  Palais  Royal,  where  the  stone 
arcades  have  been  since  built.  Jossereau 
was,  however,  expressly  interdicted  from 
placing  tables  in  the  Garden,  he  was  Al- 
lowed to  introduce  only  chairs.  The  stone 
arcadeswere  completed  about  1792.  When 
they  were  completed,  the  CM  du  Foy  was 
established  in  the  apartments  it  still  occu- 
pies. The  Gaf6  du  Foy  is  the  first  estab- 
fishment  of  the  kind  opened  in  the  PlUaia 


Royal ;  among  other  celebrated  freqimt- 
ers  it  numbers  the  whole  generation  of  ths 
Vemets,  the  painters,  Joseph,  Carle,  and 
Horace.  In  the  midst  of  the  ceiling  oif  the 
ground-floor  a  bird  may  still  be  aeeD, 
which  Carle  Yemet  painted  from  finend- 
ship  to  the  proprietor.  It  was  from  the 
Cafe  du  Foy  that  (the  eve  of  the  takiBg 
of  the  Bastille)  Camille  Desmoulins  lei 
out,  wearing  a  ^;reen  leaf  in  his  hat,  and 
followed  by  an  immense  crowd ;  he  called 
the  baurgeoie  of  Paris  to  arms.  Madame 
Lenoir  succeeded  M.  Jossereau,  who  wis 
in  turn  succeeded  by  M.  Lemaitre ;  lastly, 
M.  Questel  purchased  the  house  from  the 
latter;  he  is  the  present  proprietor,  and 
he  has  now  kept  the  housb  fbr  neutj 
twenty-five  years. 

In  the  Palais  Royal  another  caft  was 
founded  in  1805,  which  afterwards,  trndv 
the  Restoration,  became  a  political  catk 
I  refer  to  the  Caf6  Lemblm.  In  the  Ga^ 
erie  de  Chatres  No.  100  and  No.  101,  was 
a  small  caf6  of  the  third  or  fourth  rank: 
a  man  named  Perron  vegetated  theie  for 
some  twelve  years  or  more ;  his  leaaa  ea> 
pired;  the  landlord  refused  to  renew  it 
except  upon  the  payment  of  a  premium  of 
a  thousand  icue^  which  Perron  ooold  not 
pay.  One  of  the  waiters  of  the  Oa£&  de 
la  Rotonde,  named  Lemblin,  hearing  of 
this  aflbir,  found  resources  and  aid;  he 
went  to  this  exacdne  landlord,  paid  him 
the  three  thousand  francs  premlnm,  ind 
obtained  a  lease  for  twenty  years.  &ob- 
fidence  began  to  be  restored ;  the  ¥ekm 
Royal  wea  the  rendezvous  of  all  foreign- 
ers and  of  the  gamblers  of  the  wink 
world.  Lemblin  undertook  to  transform 
the  dirty  old  caf6  into  a  brilliant  saiooQ } 
the  plans  were  soon  prepared  by  ths  si^ 
chitect,  Alavoine,  the  same  who  was 
charged  by  the  government  to  erect  on 
the  Place  de  la  Bastille  a  colosaal  olo- 
phant  m  bronze,  whose  plaster  modd  was 
m  existence  in  1830,  when  it  served  as  tbe 
barracks  to  an  army  of  rats.  The  Oaf§ 
Lemblin  owed  its  success  at  first  solely  to 
the  exquisite  quality  of  its  chocolate,  tes^ 
and  cofiee.  But  after  1814  this  esUblidi- 
ment  had  two  classes  of  frequenters,  thai 
of  the  morning  and  that  of  the  evemBg; 
In  the  morning  no  one  was  seen  there  fani 
grave  persons,  academidana,  etHxmtei 
judges,  enjoying  the  choootiate  made  l^ 
the  fiuzious  Judk»lli,  and  the  coffiM  pre- 
pared by  Viante,  a  Piedmontese,  who  was 
mitaated  into  his  art  in  Rome  by  thechirf 
cook  of  the  Vatican.  Among  the  most 
faithful  morning  frequenters  were  Chsppe, 
the  inventor  of  the  tel^raph,  Boi^men, 
Martinville,  Jouy.  of  the  Acaifemie  Fran- 
^aise^  who  was  tnen  writing  his  ErmUe 


1854.] 


7%e  Greai  Pom  C<rf69. 


880 


de  la  Ckauuie  tPAtUin  in  La  Gazette  de 
Franee ;  Ballanche.  now  a  member  of  the 
Acadtoie  Fran^aiae;  Brillat  Sayarin,  a 
nidge  of  the  Gour  de  Cassation,  whom 
&8  Pkifnologie  du  gout  had  not  yet 
made  fiunous.  In  the  evening,  under  the 
floods  of  light  poured  down  by  the  orstal 
chandeliers,  the  brilliant  uniforms  of  the 
higher  ranks  of  officers  of  all  branches  of 
the  seryioe  were  assembled.  Among  them 
might  be  seen  General  Cambronne,  Gene- 
ral Fburnier,  the  brilliant  Colond  (and 
afterwards  General)  Dulac,  Colonel  Sau- 
aet,  who  was  also  made  a  general  after 
having  undergone  ten  years  of  imprison- 
ment, from  1820  to  1830 ;  Colonel  Dufiu. 
and  a  host  of  others  whose  blood  had 
flowed  on  every  battlefield  of  Europe. 
Among  the  waiters  of  the  Caf<^  Lemblin 
was  one  named  Dupont^  a  first  cousin  of 
M.  Dupont  (de  l'£ure),  then  a  deputy, 
and  who  has  since  been  elected  the  presi- 
dent of  two  provisional  governments. 
One  evening  in  1817,  M  Dupont  (de 
I'Eure)  having  dined  at  the  restaurant 
Trois  Frdres  with  several  deputies,  en- 
tered with  them  the  CafS  Lemblin.  The 
coffee  ordered  by  M.  Dupont  (de  PEure) 
was  served  by  Dupont  the  waiter.  The 
latter  recognized  his  illustrious  cousin, 
blushed  and  trembled  so  much  the  tray 
almost  fell  out  of  his  hands.  The  deputy 
also  had  recognized  his  relation.  M.  Du- 
pont (de  I'Eure)  got  up,  and  holding  out 
both  hands  to  the  abashed  waiter,  said, 
^  Eh !  good-day.  cousm ;  I  am  glad  to  see 
you,  and  to  let  you  know  that  all  are  well 
at  Neubourg"  (a  hamlet  of  the  depart- 
ment of  the  Eure,  the  birthplace  of  the 
Dupont  family).  M.  Dupont  (de  I'Eure) 
has  always  aided  his  poor  relations.  In 
1848  he  gave  a  place  of  porter  in  the 
Hotel  de  Ville  to  this  same  waiter  of  the 
Cafi&  Lemblin,  who  had  become  almost 
blind ;  he  still  occupies  that  post.  It  was 
in  the  Caf6  Lemblm  the  first  Russian  and 
Prussian  officers,  who  entered  Paris  in 
1815.  showed  themselves.  It  was  in  the 
evenmg ;  the  caS^  was  filled  with  officers 
who  had  returned  from  Waterloo,  their 
arms  in  slings,  their  caps  and  helmets 
riddled  with  balls.  They  allowed  the 
four  foreign  officers  to  take  their  seats  at 
a  table ;  but  in  a  minute  every  body  rose 
up  as  if  strudc  by  the  same  electric  spark, 
and  a  formidable  ay  of  Vive  V  Emper- 
eurl  made  every  window  rattle ;  twenty 
offioera  sprang  towards  the  four  foreign- 
ers ;  a  captain  of  the  National  Guard,  a 
very  Uercules  in  size  and  strength,  placed 
himself  before  them.  ''  Gentlemen."  said 
be^  «yoa  have  defended  Paris  abroad,  it  is 
oar  antj  to  have  it  respected  at  home ! " 


Then  turning  towards  the  foreign  officers, 
he  said,  '*  Gentlemen,  your  premature  pre- 
sence (mends  the  bourgeois  of  Paris,  and 
a  bourgeois  of  Paris  demands  satisfaction 
from  you."  Lemblin,  who  was  a  senreant 
in  the  National  Guard,  then  interfered, 
and  under  the  pretext  of  obtaining  quieter 
explanations,  he  carried  the  Russians  and 
Prussians  into  his  kitchen,  from  whence 
they  escaped  into  the  street  Although 
the  Caf6  Lemblin  was  the  rendezvous  of 
officers  of  the  Empire,  Gardes  du  Corps 
and  Mousquetaires,  with  curled-up  mus- 
tache and  disdainful  lip,  came  there  to 
seek  adventures.  One  evening  the  Gardes 
du  Corps  came  in  a  large  body  and  an- 
nounced that  the  next  day  they  would  in- 
augurate above  the  comptoir  the  bust  of 
Louis  XVIII.  The  next  day  nearly  three 
hundred  officers  of  the  Empire  occupied 
the  menaced  place;  but  the  autbonties 
had  received  warning,  and  the  Gardes  du 
Corps  did  not  appear. 

Under  the  Restoration,  the  Caf6  Valois 
fiourished  in  the  Palais  Royal  as  apolitical 
club,  and  as  the  antagonist  of  the  CM 
Lemblin.  It  was  the  very  pacific  and 
calm  club  of  the  old  emigris^  who  were 
then  called  the  voltigeurs  of  Louis  XIY. 
The  Caf6  Valois  no  loneer  exista 

About  1805  or  1806,  the  Caf6  du  Ca- 
veau  and  the  Caf6  do  la  Rotonde  were 
opened  near  the  Cafg  Lemblin ;  these  two 
houses  were  soon  purchased  by  M.  Angil- 
bert,  who  in  1822  founded  the  Caf6  de 
Paris.  The  Caf6  du  Caveau  especially  was 
fi^uented  by  officers  of  the  Imperial 
Guard;  all  the  celebrated  men  of  the 
day  in  letters  and  the  arts  meet  there ; 
Demame,  the  landscape  painter,  presided 
there  for  thirty  years,  in  a  small  comer, 
where,  from  ten  o'clock  until  midnight,  all 
the  painters  and  amateurs  of  the  di^ 
were  wont  to  meet.  It  was  at  the  Caf6  de 
la  Rotonde  a  subscription  was  opened  for 
the  first  ascension  of  the  Brothers  Mont- 
golfier.  This  circumstance  was  inscribed 
upon  a  marble  table.  The  busts  of  Phili- 
dor,  Gluck,  Piccini,  G  retry,  and  Sacchini 
were  placed  in  one  of  the  saloons  of  the 
Caf(&  de  la  Rotonde;  the  Gluckists  and 
the  Piccinists  often  came  to  quarrel  about 
music  there,  on  their  return  from  the 
opera,  which  was  then  situated  in  the 
Palais  Royal.  M.  Angilbert  kept  this 
establishment  from  1806  until  July^  1815. 
In  1814^  M.  Angilbert  found  himself  in  a 
bad  state  of  fortune  and  of  health; 
obliged  to  keep  his  bed,  he  was  also 
obliged  to  abandon  the  management  of 
his  house  to  his  head  servant,  Casimir 
B  .  .  .  Shortly  after  this  the  allies  en- 
tered Paris,  and  from  the  31st  March, 


800 


Tha  OrtaJt  Paris  CafSt. 


[Apta 


1814,  to  the  15th  July,  1815,  when  M. 
Angilhert  began  to  recover,  his  house  had 
made  467,000  francs  profits.  This  fortune 
of  M.  Angilhert  came  to  him  while  he  was 
asleep  and  suffering. 

The  CM  des  Milles  Golonnes  was, 
under  the  Empire  and  the  Restoration,  the 
most  brilliant  and  the  best  natronized 
caffe  of  all  those  on  the  second  noor  of  the 
Palais  Royal.  For  more  than  twenty 
years  it  was  very  fashionable ;  it  owed  its 
ibrtune  to  the  beauty  of  the  mistress  of  the 
house,  Madame  Romain,  whose  husband, 
by  a  sort  of  compensation,  was  small, 
lean,  and  one-armed.  This  very  ill-assort- 
ed couple  had  just  kept  the  CM  du  Bos- 
quet in  the  Rue  Saint  Honor6,  a  third- 
rate  house,  and  where  the  beauty  of  Mar 
dame  Romain  soon  attracted  a  crowd.  A 
^ueite  *  was  formed  early  in  the  morning 
m  front  of  the  door  of  this  cM  by  the 
throng  anxious  to  gain  admittance,  the 
concourse  of  the  people  was  so  great  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  cafe,  the  authorities 
were  obli^  to  interfere.  The  beautiful 
Ivnumadicre  formed  the  object  of  more 
than  one  song : 

**Et  son  nom  par  U  vUlo, 
Ooart  1^0816  snr  I'alr  d^nn  yftadevillei*' 

About  the  end  of  1817,  the  vogue  of  the 
Cafd  des  Milles  Golonnes  diminished^  al- 
though Madame  Romain,  scarcely  thu*ty- 
four  years  old,  was  in  all  the  bloom  of  her 
beauty.  An  intelligent  man,  Romain  dis- 
dained half  measures :  he  closed  his  cafS. 
and  in  a  few  days,  aided  by  an  army  ot 
skilful  workmen,  his  saloons  were  trans- 
formed into  a  real  palace  of  the  Arabian 
Nights'  Tales ;  the  beautiful  limonadiere 
was  seated  on  a  regal  throne.  About 
1824,  the  glory  of  the  Caf6  des  Milles 
Golonnes  was  extinguished,  as  all  glories 
are  extinguished  !  In  1824,  the  one- 
armed  Romain  died  by  a  fall  from  his 
horse,  and  two  years  afUrwards  the  beau- 
tiful iimonadUre  entered  a  convent 

The  next  most  popular  caf6  of  those  on 
the  second  floor  of  the  Palais  Royal,  after 
the  Gaf6  des  Milles  Golonnes,  was  the 
Gaf6  de  la  Montansier.  It  was  in  the  be- 
ginning of  1813  that  a  man  named  Ghe- 
valier  opened  a  caf§  in  the  room  where  for 
several  years,  Brunet,  Tiercelin,  Baptiste, 
jr.,  and  even  Mademoiselle  Mars  (then  a 
mere  child),  had  pcrfomed  Vaudevilles. 
In  1831  this  cafe  became  the  Theatre  du 
Palais  Royal.    Ghevalier  desired  to  trans- 


form this  room  mto  a  caf^theatreu  but  the 
authorities  would  allow  him  only  to  oon- 
vert  it  into  a  caf<N;hantant,  or  cm  where 
singing  is  served  up  with  the  coffee.  The 
singers  were  placed  upon  the  sta^  of  the 
old  theatre ;  and,  as  duos  and  trios  were 
not  interdicted,  they  easily  contrived  to 
play  small  lyrical  dramas  without  ctmtn^ 
vening  the  letter  of  the  license.  This 
state  of  things  lasted  from  the  oommenoe- 
ment  of  1813  to  the  20th  March.  1815. 
From  the  20th  March,  some  warm'  parti- 
sans of  the  Empire — officers,  and  non- 
commissioned officers  —  extemporind  » 
rostrum  in  this  caf§,  from  whkh  the 
Bourbons  were  daily  insulted,  finom  six 
o'clock  in  the  evening  until  midnig^i. 
Hired  singers  no  longer  appeared;  the 
stage  was  filled  by  customers  who  i 
alternately  different  songs,  wh^ 
very  often  repeated  by  all  the  persons 
present  joining  in  chorus.  I  heard  ft  c^H 
tain  of  the  confederates  sing  these  ooop- 
lets,  with  the  choruses : 

Do  jovL  think  a  Bourbon  can  b« 
King  of  a  grand  nation? 
Ckonf  qf  Outtomsrt. 
No,  no,  no,  no,  no,  no,  na 

Oaptain. 
Bnt  perhiqia  be  can 
Gorom  a  mall  cantnnt 
Okonu. 
No,  no,  no,  no,  no,  no,  na 
Captain. 
Tben  the  dOTll  take  bhn  off 
To  Ploto^  aombre  palace  I 
Ckonu. 
Done,  done,  done,  done,  done,  done,  dona 
Captain. 
And  let  xa  dng  with  all  oar  bearl* 
Vive  le  grand  Napoleon  I 
Chorut, 
Done,  done,  done,  done,  done,  done,  dontw 

Another  officer  succeeded  to  this  csptsin, 
who  declared,  in  the  first  place,  he  did  not 
know  how  to  sing,  but  that,  added  he^  does 
not  hinder  lea  aentiments,  and 

I  don*t  oare  a  d-— >n  ft»r  the  klng^ 
Nor  the  Count  d*  Artoia, 
Nor  the  Dnke  d"  AngooltaM, 
Nor  the  Dake  de  Berrj, 
Nor  the  DocheM  neither, 
Nor  all  thoae  who  love  them. 

These  saturnalia  lasted  a  hundred  dsySi 
that  is,  until  the  return  of  Louis  XVuL 
Then  the  hour  of  reprisals  came;  the 


*  The  French  call  a  queu^  or  a  tail  (we  use  the  French  word  in  speaking  of  the  old-ftshtoned  appeadaga  U 
a  wiff  which  streamed  down  oar  forefiOhers*  backs),  the  dooble  file  (ooinmonlv  marshalled  botweea  Hoot 
wooden  barriers,  Jost  wide  enough  apart  to  admit  two  persona  abreast)  thepolloe  force  the  epeetotora  of  all 
public  amusements  to  take,  wheneyer  a  crowd  seems  likely  to  be  formed.  This  arranflement  ] 
mlrable  order  and  comfort,  to  which  we,  as  jet,  are  ttraagera  on  **Lind"  or  **8ontag  Nlghta^** 


1854.] 


The  Great  Paris  Oafii. 


891 


MoosqueUires  and  ttie  Gardes  du  Corps 
wished  in  turn  to  avenge  royalty  from 
these  insults,  as  if  such  insults  oould 
reach  royalty.  In  the  blindness  of  their 
leal,  they  forgot  themselves  so  far  as  to 
invaide.  in  armed  force,  the  Oafd  Montan- 
sier ;  tney  broke  the  mirrors,  and  threw  a 
portion  of  the  furniture,  of  the  linen,  and 
of  the  silver,  out  of  the  windows. 

*Ih»  Caf^  de  Chartres,  situated  in  the 
Palais  Royal,  on  the  ground-floor  of  the 
atone  arcades,  still  maintains,  under  the 
name  of  V^four's,  its  old  reputation.  Few 
were  met  at  the  Caf6  de  Chartres  other 
than  the  higher  classes  of  office-holdep, 
gienerala,  w^thy  financiers,  and  distin- 
guided  foreigners.  Murat,  when  as  yet 
only  Grand  Duke  de  Berg,  frequently 
break&sted  there  in  company  with  his 
aides-de-camp.  The  celebrated  gastrono- 
mers,  Berchouj^  the  poet,  and  Grimod  de 
hi  Regnidre,  practised  there  the  art  of  din- 
ing well. 

The  CM  de  la  R^gence,  on  the  Place 
du  Palais  Royal,  but  now  being  demolish- 
ed, was  founded  m  1718,  and  took  its  his- 
torical name  from  the  Regency  of  the 
DoJce  d'  Orleans.  It  almost  immediately 
became,  and  has  still  remained,  the  ren- 
dezvous of  chess-players.  At  different 
periods,  quite  a  large  number  of  celebrat- 
ed  persons  visited  this  caf6  to  play  chess. 
Among  other  names  may  be  instanced, 
Jean  Jacques  and  J.  B.  Rousseau,  Vol- 
taire, the  Marshals  de  Richelieu  and  de 
Saze,  the  Emperor  Joseph  II.,  Franklin, 
Marmontel,  Diderot,  Chamfort.  Saint 
Foix,  the  three  celebrated  players,  Phili- 
dor,  Deschappelles,  and  La  Bourdonnais, 
Bemadin  de  Saint  Pierre,  Louvet,  the 
Marquis  de  Bidvre,  General  Bonaparte, 
Dumont  d'  Urville,  the  architects  Percier 
and  Fontaine,  the  painter  Regnault,  Cham- 
pion, the  man  with  the  small  blue  cloak, 
AC  Such  are  the  celebrated  caf6s  and  the 
restaurants  whose  history  is  connected 
with  the  annals  of  the  Palais  Royal  and 
which  have  more  or  less  contributed  to  illus- 
trate it  by  their  scientific  culinary  disguises. 

In  the  first  years  of  this  century,  the 
caf^s  and  the  restaurateurs  were  as  nu- 
merous as  at  present  upon  the  Boulevard 
des  Italiens.  In  the  first  place  were  the 
CM  Hardi,  which  has  been  replaced  for 
the  last  ten  years  by  the  Maison  Dor6e, 
and  the  CM  Riche,  and  the  Caf<^  Anglais. 
M.  Hardi,  the  founder  of  the  caf6  of  his 
name,  had  constructed  in  the  largest  of 
his  saloons,  a  splendid  white  marble  chim- 
ney, where,  from  ten  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing until  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  an 
enormous  silver  gridiron  constantly  stood 
over  the  glowing  coals.    Near  this  chim- 


ney was  a  bufiet,  where  the  guest  selected 
the  varied  and  the  appetizing  meats  which 
he  desired  to  have  broiled.     Hardi  took 
them  up  on  his  lone  silver  fork,  and  pro- 
pared  them  before  his  guest,  whose  appe- 
tite, in  this  manner,  was  greatly  increaised. 
The  most  singular  one  of  the  frequenters 
of  the  CM  Hardi  about  1815  or  1816,  was 
an  £nf;lishman,  named  Schmitt  or  Smith, 
who  lived  close  by  the  caf(§.    He  arose 
every  day  at  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
sat  down  to  table  at  Hardi's  at  six  o'clock 
in  the  evening,  and  in  the  saloon  with  the 
marble  chimney,  at  ten  o'clock  he  finish- 
ed dinner,  but  not  drinking ;  at  midnight 
he  ordered  a  pickled  herring.    At  day- 
break he  went  home,  leaving  on  his  table 
at  the  least  a  dozen  bottles  empty  of  Bor- 
deaux wine.    About  1798,  there  was  also 
opened  on  the  Boulevard  des  Italians,  at 
the  comer  of  the  Rue  Taitbout  a  caf6  kept 
by  a  man  named  Velloni,  the  first  Neapo- 
litan   ice-maker   who   came    to    Paris. 
This  Velloni,  who  founded  successively 
in  different  quarters  of  Paris,  several  cMb 
where  ices  were  sold,  had  constantly  been 
unfortunate  in  business,  and  he  was  forced 
to  place  the  establishment  at  the  comer 
of  the  Rue  Taitbout.  under  the  name  of 
Tortoni,  who  had  managed  the  establish- 
ment for  a  long  time.      At  the  com- 
mencement of  this  century,  under  the 
Empire  and  under  the  Restoration,  the 
CM  Tortoni  was  the  rendezvous  of  more 
than  one  celebrated  man  and  of  the  dan- 
dies of  the  day.     MM.  de  Saint  Didier, 
Riboutt^,  the  author  of  the  ^*  Assemble 
de  Famille,"  Delrieu,  Lacretelle,  Harel, 
Jouy,  met  there  almost  every  night    In 
one   of  the  saloons  on  the  second  floor 
there  was  a  billiard  table,  whose  reputa- 
tion was  made  by  a  person  named  Spolar. 
The  highest  bets  were  made  there.    This 
Spolar  had  been  quite    a    distinguished 
member  of  the  Rennes  bar,  and  had  been 
forced  to  quit  Rennes  in  consequence  of 
his  misconduct    Tortoni  had  given  him 
in  his  house    his    meals  and   lodgings. 
Prince  de  Talleyrand  and  Montrond  went 
to  Tortoni 's  more  than  once  to  see  Spolar 
play.    Prince  de  Talleyrand  even  invited 
Spolar  to  his  house,  and  presented  him  to 
one  of  his  friends,  the  Receiver-General 
of  the  department  of  the  Vosges,  who 
thought  himself  the  better  player  of  the 
two.    The  Prince  betted  for  Spolar.  and 
won  from  the  Receiver-General  40,000 
francs  ($8,000).    Spolar  was  appointed 
in  1809  the  billiard  professor  of  Queen 
Hortense;  he  died  in  1811.    Under  the 
Empire  and  the  Restoration,  Provost,  one 
of  the  waiters  of  the  CM  Tortoni,  created 
for  himself  an  historical  fiune. 


802 


Tke  Great  Parti  Caffy. 


[Apia 


He  wms  powdered;  he  was  a  model  of 
respectful  and  incessant  obsequiousness; 
he  never  addressed  one  but  with  this 
phrase:  "  I  beg  pardon !  .  .  .  .  Is  Mon- 
sieur so  good  as  to  wish  for  something." 
When  customers  of  the  house  laughed 
among  themselves,  Provost,  out  of  respect 
to  them  would  put  his  napkin  in  his  mouth 
to  keep  from  laughing  with  them.  He 
paid  hnnself  for  his  humble  civility.  Pr^ 
vost  levied  night  and  morning  a  small  tax 
upon  the  regular  frequenters  of  Tortoni's : 
when  he  had  to  return  them  the  change, 
he  never  gave  but  fifteen  sous  pieces  for 
twenty  sous  pieces  ;  but  in  doing  this,  he 
constantly  repeated :  "  I  beg  {Mutlon  !  I 
beg  pardon !  Pardon  a  thousand  times ! "  * 
Provost  ended  his  life  badly.  The  caf§ 
Tortoni  has  made  the  fortune  of  every 
person  who  has  owned  it 

About  1816  and  1817,  the  Paris  hour- 
geoia  willingly  halted  and  gave  expression 
to  his  enthusiasm,  before  rich  and  vast 
apartments  on  the  ground-fioor  of  the 
house  upon  the  corner  of  the  Boulevard 
des  Italiens  and  the  Rue  Taitbout  These 
apartments  were  occupied  by  M.  D§mi- 
doff,  a  Russian  Croesus,  who  owed  his 
immense  riches  to  the  returns  from  his 
mines  of  coal,  copper,  iron  and  malachite. 
He  had  two  sons,  MM.  Paul  and  Ana- 
tole  Demidoff ;  f  M.  Anatole  Demidoff  is 
the  sole  survivor.  M.  Demidoff,  the  Ci- 
ther, lived  alternately  in  Paris  and  in 
Florence ;  he  had  in  his  pay  a  company 
of  playactors  who  were  called  the  Denu- 
doli  troop ;  they  played  in  his  palace  in 
Florence,  comedies,  vaudevilles,  and  comic 
operas.  A  whole  hdtel  was  allotted  to 
the  actors'  lodgings.  In  M.  Demidofif 's 
house,  especially  in  Florence,  there  was 
an  uninterrupted  round  of  dramatic  per- 
formances, sumptuous  balls,  and  brilliant 
concerts.  Worn  out,  prematurely  old, 
and  gouty,  M.  Demidoff  was  borne  to  all 
of  these  ffttes  in  a  rolling  armchair,  from 
which  he  did  not  move ;  he  retired  early 
and  the  fite  continued;  nay.  sometimes 
he  would  fall  into  a  syncope,  and  become 
insensible,  but  the  orchestra  and  the  dan- 
ces moderated  neither  their  gaiety  nor  their 
vivacity.  M.  Demidoff  was  carried  out  et 
voila  tout.  Warned  from  all  pleasures, 
he  delighted  in  the  animated  spectacle  of 
another's  pleasures.  A  Russian,  a  man 
of  talents,  was  his  friend  and  companion. 
This  friend  lodged  in  his  house  and  near 
M.  Demidoff 's  bedroom.  When  this 
poor  rich  man,  tortured  by  the  gout  and 


by  pam  as  the  Laocoon  was  by  the  mt- 
pents,  found,  which  happened  very  fine- 
quently,  that  he  could  not  sleepy  he  call- 
ed  his  friend  at  any  and  all  hours  of  the 
m'ght :  ^'See  here,"  said  he  to  him,  ''  in  the 
first  place,  here  are  two  or  three  romU- 
aux  of  a  thousand  francs  for  you  to  amuee 
yourself   to-morrow  at  the  card-table; 
now,  to  amuse  me,  tell  me  what  yon  did 
yesterday  and  what  you  intend  doing  to- 
morrow."   M.  Demidoff  was  a   sort  of 
martyr  to  opulence;  he  would  {[ladly 
have  given  for  a  good  m'eht's  rest,  his  pre- 
cious paintings  by  the  old  masters,  his  iwe 
and  marvellous  curiosities,  his  admirmble 
works  of  art,  even  the  treasures  whidi  in 
Florence  were  placed  in  the  middle  of  hk 
drawingroom  and  protected  by  aglass  cue ; 
where  he  had  taken  pleasure  to  o(dlector 
rather  to  heap  up  brilliant  necklaoee,  ftnd 
bracelets,  collars,  rings,  turquoises,  np* 
phires,  emeralds,  rubies ;  in  a  word.  treft> 
sures  enough  to  save  an  empire.    The  15 
July,  182^  the  vast  apartments  of  If. 
Demidoff  received  a  new  and  a  public  de^ 
tination ;  bills  posted  on  the  walls  in  the 
morning   announced:    ^To-day   at  flTS 
o'clock,  opening  of  the  saloons  of  the 
Gafg  de   Paris."     MM.  AneUbert  ftnd 
Gu6raz  were  the  founders  of  Uie  Cafe  de 
Paris.    From  the  15  March,  1837,  M. 
Angilbert,  jun.,   managed  the  establiflli- 
ment  alone;  the  15  July,  1838,  M.  Alex- 
ander Kratocville  succeeded  him ;  and  sinoe 
the  18  November,  1845,  the  Cafi^  de  Paris 
has  been  owned  by  M.  Martin  Qo^pet 
The  Caf6  de  Paris— known  to  all  Europe— 
is  now  in  the  height  of  prosperity.    The 
English  officer  who  figits  against  the. 
Birmans,  the  Russian  officer  who  fights 
at  Khiva,  beyond  the  sea  of  Arad.  on  the 
banks  of  the  Oxus,  dream  in  toeir  bi- 
vouacs of  the  pleasures  of  a  good  dimier  at 
the  Gaf6  de  Paris. 

We  should  also  instance  among  the  po-> 
litical  caf)§s  under  the  Restoration,  the 
Cafe  Desmares,  situated  at  the  comer  of 
the  Rue  de  l'Univer8it6  and  the  Roe  da 
Bac  It  has  its  regular  frequenters  of  the 
morning  and  of  the  evening,  at  break&st 
and  at  dinner ;  the  morning  visitors  were 
composed  of  the  officers  of  the  hjdier 
ranks  in  the  Gardes  du  Corps,  and  ofue 
garde,  and  the  heads  of  the  divisions  of 
the  different  ministries  situated  on  tiie  left 
bank  of  the  Seine.  M.  Desmares  was  the 
brother  of  Mademoiselle  Desmares,  an 
agreeable  actress,  who  for  fifteen  years 
was  applauded  at  the  Vaudeville  Tfa!eatre. 


•  We  are  penaaded  Uiat  onr  readera  will  share  our  sorpiise  at  the  eaphonlooa  tferma  IC.  Yeroii  emplofi  Is 
•peaking  of  this  waiter's  cheating.  ^  *    "     " '  *^  --  - .    «  -. 


We  are  inclined  to  sospeot  it  bo  rare  Tiee  in  PartSk 
t  The  hasband  uf  the  Prlnoeaa  Mathilde  of  France  (a  daughter  of  Manhal  JerooM  Booaparta). 
•aparated  fh>m  hb  wifb. 


H«l 


1854.] 


Tke  Great  Paris  Cc^Ss. 


nn 


Mademoiselle  Desmares  used  to  saj  of 
her  brother:  "  I  cannot  bear  a  hot-water 
sdler."  M.  Desmares  was  wont  to  say 
of  his  sister :  "  I  cannot  bear  a  woman 
who  appears  on  the  boards."  The  Gaffe 
Desmares  had  as  an  assiduous  guest,  a 
colonist,  an  old  war  commissary,  a  man  of 
talents  and  a  great  philosopher ;  he  had 
little  money  (&s  pension  was  small),  but 
he  had  many  friends.  He  was  the  Yi- 
comte  L6aumont.  Eyery  day  a  plate  was 
set  for  him  at  Desmares'  table.  "  Des- 
mares is  very  kind  to  me ;"  said  he  to  me ; 
*<  he  gives  me  good  dinners ;  but  a  few  days 
ago  I  found  out  how  to  express  my  grati- 
tude to  him.  Poor  Desmares  is  very  il- 
literate, I  even  doubt  whether  he  can  read 
or  write.  A  few  mornings  ago,  I  came  in- 
to the  Oaf6,  all  the  tables  were  filled  with 
people,  and  as  soon  as  I  saw  Desmares.  I 
bawled  out  to  him  before  every  boay, 
*good  day,  my  dear  old  college  chum.'  '* 
'Ae  Vicomte  L^aumont  wrote  poetry,  but 
his  poetical  efforts  never  soared  so  high 
as  die  Alexandrine  verse;  his  lines  had 
onlv  eight  syllables.  "  I  write  my  poetry, 
saici  he,  only  on  my  knees,  and  my  poverty 
is  so  great,  my  thigh  has  become  so  lean 
that  I  am  obUged  to  stop  writing  at  the 
fourth  foot,  for  my  table  then  fails  me." 
The  Caf§  Desmares  was  of  Legitimist  poli- 
tics; it  furnished  more  than  one  table 
daily  in  the  palace  of  the  Tuileries. 
Agier*  was  the  protector  of  the  Caf§ 
Desmares.  On  the  election  days  of  the  de- 
partment of  the  Seine,  the  CM  De5«nares 
kept  open  house  to  him  and  his  friends. 

There  were  more  than  nine  hundred 
restaurants  in  Paris  in  1825;  those  we 
have  named  were  the  most  celebrated,  and 
their  prosperity  has  survived  all  the  revo-^ 
lutions  which  have  passed  over  us.  The 
Restaurant  Lointier,  the  Restaurant  Beau* 
villiers,  the  Restaurant  Grignon,  the 
Rocher  de  Cancale,  all  of  which  enjoyed 
a  great  deal  of  celebrity  during  the  Em- 
pire and  the  Restoration,  are  no  longer  in 
existence. 

My  habit  of  dining  at  the  restaurants 
has  been  to  me  a  never  failing  source  of 
surprises,  of  discoveries,  and  of  revelations 
of  JDuman  nature.  How  many  original 
characters,  whimsical  and  grotesque  people 
have  I  not  met!     The  human  mind  is 

infinity  itself  I And  yet  anat- 

<nny  and  chemistry  show  us  in  the  human 
brun,  in  that  organ  of  the  mind,  nothing 
but  almost  inappreciable  differences  of 
Ibrm  and  of  weight,  of  consistency  and  of 
organic  elements.     The  most  prominent 


fact  anatomy  reveals  to  us  is  the  varia- 
tions of  the  volume  of  the  brain.  More 
than  one  physiologist  measures  the  forces 
of  the  mind  bv  the  quantity  of  the  cere- 
bral mass :  I  hold  that  besides  quanti^, 
quality  must  also  be  considered.  Air, 
water,  and  locality  exert  an  influence  upon 
the  development  and  the  quality  of  the 
brain.  Do  we  not  see  generation  after 
generation  of  cretins  begotten  and  per- 
petuated in  Le  Valais  at  the  foot  of  the 
Alps?  The  abundance  of  wealth,  the 
satiety  of  all  pleasures,  and  especially  the 
torments  of  idleness,  exert  upon  the  cha- 
racter and  upon  the  mind  more  unforeseen, 
stranger,  and  more  singular  influences  than 
poverty  and  privations.  "  An  oyster  may 
be  unhapp;^  from  love,"  says  Lord  Byron, 
"because  it  dreams  idly  in  its  shelL" 
With  the  madmen,  there  are  in  this  world, 
the  quarter-mad,  the  third-mad,  the  half- 
mad,  who  live  together,  who  seek  each 
other's  society,  who  rally  each  other 
and  deem  themselves  to  preserve  a  half 
portion  of  good  sense  in  the  midst  of 
those  who  have  only  a  third  or  a  quarter 
part  sound.  Like  the  poor  consumptive 
patients  who  enjoy  themselves,  and  ame- 
liorate their  disease  at  the  Eauz  Bonnes : 
those  who  have  only  a  lung  and  a  half, 
deem  themselves  happy,  and  console  them- 
selves by  the  sight  of  those  who  have 
only  one,  or  the  half  of  one. 

I  dined  every  day,  for  more  than  two 
years,  at  Vfery's,  always  at  the  same 
hotlr  and  the  same  table.  I  had  for  some 
months  as  a  neighbor,  an  Englishman  as 
exact  and  as  regular  as  myself  One  day. 
my  neighbor  bade  me  adieu:  "I  am 
about  embarking  on  a  voyage  of  circum- 
navigation of  the  globe."  In  eighteen 
months  afterwards,  when  he  returned  to 
Paris  he  found  me,  as  at  a  rendezvous,  at 
the  same  hour  and  at  the  same  table. 
He  had  gone  around  the  world;  I  had 
scarcely  changed  my  place.  However, 
by  dinmg  for  a  long  time  at  more  than 
one  restaurant,  I  have  been  enabled  to 
circumnavigate  the  human  mind,  and 
especially  the  minds  of  those  "  four  thou- 
sand rich  and  idle"  of  whom  Byron 
speaks,  who  seek  in  life  naught  but  plea- 
sures which  last,  at  the  longest,  five  min- 
utes, and  for  whom  the  world  is  made. 
When  education,  family  duties,  religion, 
or  morality,  do  not  incite  to  virtue^  do  not 
serve  as  restraints,  the  human  mmd  and 
heart,  without  check  or  control,  stray  at 
hazard,  and  do  not  know  what  to  do  with 
their  life.    They  touch  every  passion  and 


*  The  son  and  the  coufiln  of  two  oelehrated  Legitiintot  Jadges,  the  Mthon  of  law  tracts  of  nnqaestlonsble 
•bOtty;  the  son  here  ^oken  of  wss  afterwards  promoted  to  the  €k>art  Bofale  of  Pariai 
VOL.  III. — 26 


804 


n$  Great  Paris  Ca/ii. 


[Apd 


efwy  yioe ;  they  myent  new  ones ;  they 
oare  for  nothing  bat  that  which  has  the 
merit  of  noTelty ;  and  novelty  is  refine- 
ment, excess,  abuse ;  most  commonly  it  is 
the  wrong  side  of  every  thing.  The 
wealthy  persons  Byron  speaks  of,  would 
willingly  fire  a  city,  not  to  porify  nor  to 
rebuild  it  but  for  the  five  minutes'  plea- 
sure of  seeing  it  bum.  Xerxes  is  said  to 
have  promised  immense  treasures  to  any 
one  who  would  invent  a  new  pleasure  for 
him.  The  little  pleasures  and  the  little 
joys  are  the  only  ones  which  are  moral, 
respectable,  and  human;  and  they  are 
easily  procured,  even  in  the  saddest  and 
the  most  painful  circumstances.  In  the 
hospitals,  I  have  seen  the  invalids  procure 
themselves  little  pleasures  by  cultivating 
a  flower,  by  the  slight  work  their  disease 
allowed  them  to  undertake,  by  the  allow- 
ance of  a  desired  dish.  I  have  seen  many 
patients  happy  for  a  day  and  more,  when 
the  physician  spoke  to  them  in  encoura- 
ging terms,  or  with  the  consoling  and 
Christian  accents  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity, 
who  rival  each  other  in  examples  of  every 
kind  of  virtue  and  of  courage.  Medicine, 
like  charity,  inspires,  and  accomplishes 
miracles  of  compassion  and  of  heart-reliev- 
ing. Let  us  study  some  of  these  persons, 
maddened  or  brutalized  by  their  wealth ; 
let  us  show,  for  the  honor  of  morality, 
their  miseries  and  their  sufferings.  It 
may  be  remarked,  that  all  the  natural  in- 
clinations of  man  cause  him  to  commit  ex- 
cesses, which,  renewed  and  prolonged,  be- 
come vices.  The  savage,  as  well  as  the 
civilized  man,  is  obliged  constantly  to  ap- 
peal to  his  reason.  The  fruitful  vine, 
changing  its  savor  and  its  perfume  in 
the  nortii  and  in  the  south,  an^  so  to  say, 
even  on  neighboring  hill-sides,  is  one  of 
the  richest  gifts  made  to  France.  It  is 
neither  vicious  nor  sinful  to  love  wine. 
Religion,  morality,  and  good  education 
mer^y  require  the  exercise  of  temper- 
ance. The  vine  especially  hasj  for  many 
ages,  made  songs  flounsh  m  France. 
Wine  and  songs  are  brothers  and  sisters. 
We  saw,  under  the  Empire  especially,  a 
good  deal  of  celebrity  given  to  the  song 
writers  of  the  Caveau.  Desaugiers  and 
B^ranger  were  the  poets  of  these  sodeties. 
which  honored  our  celebrated  wines  and 
gay  songs.  But  excesses  in  wine  bnita- 
lize  the  mind,  and  dishonor  humanity. 

I  was  introduced,  in  the  house  of  Count 
Torreno, — ex-minister  of  Queen  Christi- 
na of  Spain,  who  died  in  Paris  from 
an  anthrax. — to  an  English  &mily,  com- 
posed of  the  husband  and  the  wife,  people 
of  an  immense  income,  who  resided  but 
a  &w  days  at  Paris,  and  who  the  rest 


of  the  time  travelled  about  in  Fruieeu 
They  cared  for  nothing  but  the  bottle^  and 
they  never  quitted  the  table  nntil  tbej 
had  lost  their  reason.  In  their  travds  m 
France,  they  sought  only  the  moat  ode- 
brated  vineyards,  and  the  length  of  tiie^ 
stay  in  a  province  was  calciSated  upon 
the  quality  and  the  fame  of  the  wine  nnde 
there.  I  pray  the  reader  to  allow  me  to 
make  this  distinction  :  they  were  not 
drunkards  J  they  w&refuddlers. 

Observation  has  proved  there  is  a  das- 
sification  to  be  established  for  all  tiioae 
who  cannot  live  except  in  the  midst  of  in- 
toxication. I  call  those  fiiddUrs  tHio 
love  wine  only,  and  who  drink  their  fiU  of 
it  The  Juadler  is  merry  when  he  is 
drunk;  he  is  fond  of  the  company  of 
drinkers,  where  he  appears  almost  divert- 
ing, by  dint  of  his  fixed  ideas,  his  xasK^ 
pected  sallies,  and  his  spirttudle  singu- 
larities. These  wealthy  yiMid^rt  aonio- 
times  conciliate  their  excesses  <^  wine 
with  a  fiourishing  health.  The  drwdutrd 
dififers  in  every  respect  from  iheJuddUr^ 
The  drunkard  pushes  intoxication  to  the 
brutalization  of  his  mind,  and  to  the  mo- 
mentary paralysis  of  the  whole  mnacnlar 
system  ;  he  despises  wine,  and  sadsfies 
his  passion  for  intoxication  with  nothing 
but  brandy  or  with  absinthe.  Those  who 
intoxicate  themselves  with  absinthe  readi 
a  state  of  madness  which  is  so  singulaify 
characterized  that  it  is  called  the  inaanity 
of  absinthe.  One  of  those  unhappy  peo- 
ple, who  give  themselves  up  to  a&tiilA& 
said  to  me  one  day,  **  I  never  fed  idiat  I 
eat,  I  fbel  only  what  I  drink."  I  oooe 
sought  to  cure  one  of  these  drunkards ; 
I  wished  to  convert  him  to  the  use  of 
wine :  we  dined  together,  and  his  convet- 
sation,  even  after  dinner,  was  wanCinff 
neither  in  vrit  nor  in  reason.  I  woald 
quit  him  for  an  instant,  and  give  lenta- 
vous  at  the  Grand  Opera.  He  woidd 
come  there,  his  legs  staggering,  and  he  in 
a  state  of  complete  insensibili^.  Foil  of 
contempt  for  the  dinner  I  had  given  Ub, 
he  would  go  and  swill  absinthe  as  sood  as 
I  quitted  him.  This  young  drwAard 
was  not  more  than  thirty  years  old ;  he 
had  an  aristocratic  name;  hewaswdl  ed- 
ucated, and  vritty  in  his  Incid  intervals ; 
and  his  income  was  not  less  than  twenty 
thousand  dollars  a  year.  Like  all  great 
passions,  drunkenness  seeks  solitnde;  the 
drunkard  takes  pleasure  only  in  the 
company  of  drunkards.  I  knew  very  welL 
while  I  was  the  manager  of  the  Grand 
Opera,  one  of  these  young,  aristocratic 
drunkards.  He  was  a  nobleman.  He 
often  gave  the  same  orders  to  seven  or 
eight  hackn^  ooadiesi  and  so  went  oiU^ 


lBd4.] 


The  Great  ParU  OafU 


U6 


and  was  accompanied  by  seyen  or  eight 
hack-drivers  to  a  drinking  shop  outside  of 
the  dty  wall,  where  he  passed  away  all 
the  night  drinking  brandy,  and  stupefyii^ 
himself  in  the  midst  of  his  drunken  oom- 
panions.  In  my  opinion,  this  sort  of  in- 
toxication, some  of  whose  traits  I  haye 
just  indicated,  is  not  a  yice,  it  is  a  disease ; 
it  is  a  disease  which  excites  the  greatest 
disorders  in  the  digestive  functions — in 
the  functions  of  the  mind — in  the  funo- 
tkm&  of  the  heart — and  which  leads  to  a 
premature  old  age,  to  the  contempt  of  life, 
and  to  an  early  death.  Do  not  ask  from 
a  drunkard  an  abrupt  return  to  sobriety 
and  temperance ;  some  days  of  diet  would 
produce  rather  a  paroxysm  than  a  cure. 

A  prelate  had  hisensibly  contracted  in 
his  solitude  the  habit  of  becoming  intoxi- 
cated every  evening;  and  he  imagined 
qoite  an  ingenious  method  of  restoring 
himself  to  temperate  habits.  He  took  as 
his  drinking  cup,  a  gold  mug ;  he  dropped 
in  it  every  day  a  drop  of  wax,  and  so  di- 
minished insensibly  the  capacity  of  the 
g^ass  and  the  quantity  of  the  wine  he 
drank.  The  only  difficulty  with  him  was 
not  to  make  amends  for  the  diminished 
capacity  of  the  cup  by  the  number  of 
times  he  emptied  it. 

I  exchanged  some  civilities  with  an 
Englishman,  who  seemed  to  me  to  merit 
some  study.  He  sent  me  his  card :  his 
name  was  surrounded  by  bottles,  slightly 
dressed  and  capering  dancing-girls,  flowers 
and  birds,  and  all  admirably  engraved. 
He  resided  at  the  Hotel  Meurice,  and  he 
often  gave  there,  to  his  English  friends. 
dinners  which  commenced  at  eight  o'clock 
in  the  evening  and  ended  only  at  eight 
o'clock  the  next  morning.  His  father,  the 
possessor  of  one  of  the  largest  fortunes  in 
England,  also  possessed  the  richest  collec- 
tion of  birds.  This  Englishman,  like  his 
fiither,  had  only  two  passions,  wine  and 
ornithology.  He  invited  me  one  morning 
to  breakfast ;  nothing  was  served  on  the 
table  but  hard-boiled  eggs  of  the  rarest 
birds,  from  the  egg  of  the  partridge  to  the 
egg  of  the  swan.  I  breakfasted  as  one 
should  breakfast :  I  did  not  breakfast  at 
all.  Pitt,  who  was  called  in  his  twenty- 
aeoond  year  to  deliberate  on  the  great  af- 
fiyra  oc  his  country,  allowed  himself  aa 
hn  advanced  in  life,  to  be  seduced  into  in- 
temperance ;  he  would  lock  himself  up  to 
dnnJ£,  and  he  often  quitted  the  House  of 
CkKnmons  to  go  to  his  club  and  get  drunk. 
One  day,  he  returned  from  it  to  the  House 
of  Commons  in  company  with  a  friend  as 
drunk  as  himself;  when  he  entered  the 
House,  Pitt  exclaimed  with  astonishment : 
^By ,  I  see  no  Speaker!"  To  whkh 


his  friend  replied:  '^ By , I  see  two!'' 

One  had  lost  his  si^t,  the  other  saw 
double.  Pitt  endeavoured  to  forget  in 
drunkenness  all  the  teachings  of  his  noble 
mind  and  his  experience  of  men.  It  is 
not  surprising  to  see  the  artisan  or  the 
soldier  sometimes  guilty  of  drunken  ex- 
cesses. Unaccustomed  to  wine  in  the 
ordinary  course  of  their  life,  it  soon  makes 
them  lose  their  mind,  their  powers  of 
speech,  and  the  steadiness  of  their  gait. 
But  must  we  not  conclude  that  wcudth 
cannot  supply  that  moral,  beneficent  and 
antispasmodic  influence  of  labor,  when 
we  see  some  idle  men  of  wealth  endeavor 
to  forget  the  vacancy  of  their  heart  and  to 
lose  their  reason  in  the  ignoble  and  the 
disgraceful  habits  of  drunkenness.  I  long 
knew,  and  frequently  met  in  a  restaurant 
a  half-crazy  man  full  of  original  and  some- 
times witty  repartees.  One  day  he  came 
into  the  Caf6  Anglais :  "  I  am  very  tired," 
said  he  to  me,  ^' I  have  been  walking  ever 
since  eight  o'clock  this  morning."  And 
taking  from  his  pocket  a  bottle  of  Bor- 
deaux wine,  '^  See  here,"  said  he,  ^'  here 
is  some  excellent  wine,  which  I  want  you 
to  taste;  every  body  knows  that  Bor- 
deaux wine  improves  by  travelling,  and 
I  have  been  travelling  this  ever  since 
eight  o'clock  this  morning."  It  was  this 
fellow,  who  interrupted  the  actors  of  the 
Theatre  Fran^ais,  the  first  night  of  some 
new  piece,  getting  up  in  his  box  and  say- 
ing to  the  public :  "  Acknowledge,  gentle- 
men, that  it  is  very  unlucky  the  author 
of  this  new  piece  has  not  an  income  of 
fifty  thousand  francs  a-year,  perhaps  he 
might  then  be  brought  not  to  write  so 
pitiful  a  piece."  I  inquired  after  a  com- 
mon friend  of  one  of  these  young  madmen, 
always  agitated  by  a  febrile  motion,  pasa^ 
ing  their  nights  gambling,  and  going  from 
one  excess  to  another:  ^^ Don't  talk  to  me 
about  our  friend,"  he  replied,  "he  is 
stupefying  himself  reading."  An  English- 
man whom  I  met  several  times,  exchanged 
with  me  some  confidences  about  situation 
and  character.  His  fortune  was  immense, 
he  had  no  near  relations,  he  was  a  bache- 
lor. Life  hung  heavy  on  his  hands,  he 
had  no  vice,  no  taste  to  satisfy.  I  was 
for  a  moment  afraid  that  he  was  about 
confiding  to  me  some  plans  of  suicide; 
but  I  was  mistaken :  ^^  I  have  found  out," 
said  he  to  me,  '*  a  way  of  supporting  life ;  I 
have  conceived  a  scheme  to  accomplish, 
which  will  take  me  so  many  years  that  I 
shall  be  a  very  old  man  before  I  can  do  so. 
I  have  constructed  three  travelling  car- 
riages, which  I  have  planned  myself  in 
their  every  part ;  I  have  imposed  on  my- 
Mlf  the  task  of  gathering  in  diffisrest 


896 


A  Toss-^p  for  a  Husband. 


[April 


▼ials  the  water  of  all  the  riyers  and 
streams  in  the  world ;  but  I  shall  unfor- 
tunately have  the  regret  of  dying  before 
my  collection  is  complete."  Is  not  that 
a  very  intelligent  and  a  very  noble  use  to 
make  of  life  and  a  large  fortune  ?  I  also 
met  another  millionnatre  who  travelled 
a  great  deal.  He  traced  at  haphazard  the 
plan  of  a  voyage :  he  never  stopped  in  any 
town  except  to  eat  and  to  remain  there  in 
bed  two  or  three  days;  he  ordered  his 
servant  to  visit  the  curiosities  for  him 
and  to  purchase  the  richest  pipes  and  the 
finest  segars  he  could  find.  Science,  and 
letters,  and  arts,  will  not  be  much  en- 
riched by  the  narratives  of  the  voyages  of 
this  new  Christopher  Columbus,  of  this 
new  Humboldt  I  let  the  curtain  fall  on 
all  these  depraved  tastes  of  the  human 
imagination  and  mind,  the  fhiits  of  idle- 
ness and  of  wealth  dissipated  in  the 
saddest  and  the  most  stupid  manner. 
"  What  good  can  a  sage  do  who  is  poor?  " 
says  Pindar,  "  what  evil  may  a  wealthy 
man  not  do  if  he  is  not  a  sage  ?  "  How  often 
do  we  not  see  wealthy  idlers  throwing  a 
large  estate  or  an  ample  fortune  to  the 


dogs,  ruining  themselves  in  ezpensm 
dmners,  in  stage-boxes,  in  elegant  norsefl^ 
and  in  rich  carriages.  Verily,  it  must  be 
a  lively  pleasure  to  these  young  madmen 
to  place  the  soles  of  their  patoit  leather 
boots  on  the  steps  of  the  handsomest 
equipage!  How  many  of  these  young 
spendthrifts  have  I  not  known  dissipating 
in  a  year,  sometimes  in  a  quarter,  a  pater- 
nal fortune  acquired  by  tiiirty  years  of 
labor,  and  who  after  this  short  intoxica- 
tion of  vanity,  one  day  dine  alone,  shake 
hands  with  you  tranquilly  and  bid  yon 
adieu,  and  then  go  home  and  hang  or 
shoot  themselves? 

These  singular  pictures,  and  the  felicity 
with  which  M.  Yeron  has  sketched  them, 
seduced  us  further  from  the  RestoratioD 
than  at  first  we  had  intended  to  wander. 
We  are  prsuaded  that  our  r^er  wiU 
have  pardoned  us.  Of  a  truth,  we  do  not 
remember  to  have  read  this  many  a  long 
day  a  more  forcible  homily  on  content- 
ment, and  in  the  praise  of  humble  fortone 
—every  envious  desire  dies  away  within 
us  at  the  sight  of  these  martyrs  of  wealth. 


A   TOSS-UP   FOR   A   HUSBAND. 


FROM  THE  FRENCH  OF  VISCOMTE  F0N80N  DU  TERRAIL. 


THE  Marchioness  was  at  her  toilet. 
Florine  and  Aspasia,  her  two  ladies'- 
maids.  were  busy  powdering,  as  it  were 
with  hoar-frost,  the  bewitching  widow. 

She  was  a  widow,  this  Marchioness,  a 
widow  of  twenty-three ;  and  wealthy,  as 
very  few  persons  were  any  longer  at  the 
court  of  Louis  XV.,  her  godfather. 

Three-and-twenty  years  earlier,  his  Ma- 
jesty had  held  her  at  the  baptismal  font 
of  the  chapel  at  Marly,  and  had  settled 
upon  her  an  income  of  a  hundred  thousand 
livres,  by  way  of  proving  to  her  father, 
the  Baron  Fontevrault,  who  had  saved  his 
life  at  the  battle  of  Fontcnoy,  that  Kings 
can  be  grateful,  whatever  people  choose 
to  say  to  the  contrary. 

The  Marchioness  then  was  a  widow. 
She  resided,  during  the  summer,  in  a 
charming  little  chateau,  situated  half-way 
up  the  slope  overhanging  the  water,  on 
the  road  from  Bougival  to  Saint  Germain. 
Madame  Dubarry's  estate  adjomed  hers ; 


and  on  opening  her  eyes  she  oonldseoL 
without  rising,  the  white  gable-ends  ana 
the  wide-spreadmg  chestnnt-trees  of 
Luciennes,  perched  upon  the  heights.  On 
this  particular  day — ^it  was  noon— the 
Marchioness,  whilst  her  attendants  dressed 
her  hair  and  arranged  her  head-dress  with 
the  most  exquisite  taste,  gravely  emidojed 
herself  in  tossing  np,  altmiatdj,  a 
couple  of  fine  oranges,  which  crossed  eadi 
other  in  the  air,  and  then  dropped  into 
the  white  and  delicate  hand  that  cani^t 
them  in  their  fall. 

This  sleight-of-hand — which  the  Mar- 
chioness interrupted  at  times  whilst  die 
adjusted  a  beauty-spot  on  her  lip,  or  cast 
an  impatient  glance  on  the  crystal  dod^ 
that  told  how  time  was  running  away. 
with  the  fair  widow's  precious  moments — 
had  lasted  for  ten  mmutes,  when  the 
folding-doors  were  thrown  open,  and  a 
valet,  such  as  one  sees  now  only  on  the 
stage,  announced  with  pompous  ymoe — 
"The  King!" 

Apparently,  the  MsrohkniesB  wis  to- 


1854.] 


A  Toss-up  for  a  EMand, 


897 


customed  to  such  visits,  for  she  but  half 
rose  from  her  seat,  as  she  saluted  with 
her  most  gracious  smile  the  personage 
who  entered. 

It  was  indeed  Louis  XV.  himself— Louis 
XV.  at  sixty-five;  but  robust,  upright, 
with  smiling  lip  and  beaming  eye,  and 
jauntily  clad  in  a  close-fitting,  pearl-grey 
hunting-suit,  that  became  him  to  perfec- 
tion. He  carried  under  his  arm.  a  hand- 
some fowling-piece,  inlaid  with  mother-of- 
pearl;  a  small  pouch,  intended  for  am- 
munition alone,  hung  over  his  shoulder. 

The  King  had  come  firom  Luciennes, 
almost  alone,  that  is  to  say  with  a  Captain 
of  the  Guard,  the  old  Marshal  de  Riche- 
lieu, and  a  single  equeny  on  foot  He 
had  been  amusing  himself  with  quail- 
shooting,  loading  his  own  gun,  as  was  the 
fiwhion  with  his  ancestors,  the  later  Valois 
and  the  earlier  Bourbons.  His  grandsire, 
Henry  IV.,  could  not  have  been  less  cere- 
monious. 

But  a  shower  of  hail  had  surprised 
him ;  and  his  Majesty  had  no  relish  for 
it  He  pretended  that  the  fire  of  an 
enemy's  battery  was  less  disagreeable 
than  those  drops  of  water,  so  small  and 
so  hard,  that  wet  him  through,  and  re- 
minded him  of  his  twinges  of  rheumatism. 

Fortunately,  he  was  but  a  few  steps 
firom  the  gateway  of  the  chateau,  when 
the  shower  commenced.  He  had  come 
therefore  to  take  shelter  with  his  god- 
daughter, having  dismissed  his  suite,  and 
only  keeping  with  him  a  magnificent 
pointer,  whose  genealogy  was  fully  estab- 
lished by  the  Duke  de  Richelieu,  and 
traced  back,  with  a  few  slips  in  ortho- 
graphy, directly  to  Nisus,  that  celebrated 
greyhound,  given  by  Charles  IX.  to  his 
mend  Ronstuxl,  the  poet 

'*  Good  morning.  Marchioness,"  said  the 
Kinff,  as  he  entered,  putting  down  his 
fowhng-piece  in  a  corner*  **  1  have  come 
to  ask  your  hospitality.  We  were  caught 
in  a  shower,  at  your  gate — Richelieu  and 
L    I  have  packed  off  Richelieu." 

"Ah,  Sire,  that  wasn't  very  kind  of 
you." 

"Hush  I"  replied  the  Rin|,  in  a  good- 
humored  tone.  "  It's  only  mid-day ;  and 
if  tlw  Marshal  had  forced  his  way  in 
here  at  so"  early  an  hour,  he  would  have 
bragged  of  it  every  where,  this  very  even- 
ing. He  is  very  apt  to  compromise  one, 
and  he  is  a  great  coxcomb  too,  the  old 
Duke.  But  don't  put  yourself  out  of 
the  way,  Marchioness.  Let  Aspasia  finish 
this  becoming  pile  of  your  head-dress,  and 
Florine  spread  out  with  her  silver  knife 
the  scented  powder  that  blends  so  well 
with  the  lilies  and  the  roses  of  your  be- 


witching face  ....    Why,  Marchioness, 
you're  so  pretty,  one  could  eat  you  up  1 " 
"  You  think  me  so.  Sire?" 
"I  tell  you  so  every  day.    Oh.  what 
fine  oranges ! " 

And  the  King  seated  himself  upon  the 
roomy  sofa,  by  the  side  of  the  Marchioness, 
whose  rosy  fiuger-tips  he  kissed  with  an 
infinity  of  grace.  Then  takmg  up  one  of 
the  oranges  that  he  had  admired,  he  pro- 
ceeded leisurely  to  examine  it. 

"But,"  said  he  at  length,  "what  are 
oranges  doing  by  the  side  of  your  Chinese 
powder-box  and  your  scent-bottles?  Is 
there  any  connection  between  this  fruit 
and  the  maintenance — easy  as  it  is,  Mar- 
chioness— of  your  charms  ?  " 

"  These  oranges,"  replied  the  lady, 
gravely,  "fulfilled  iust  now,  Sire,  the 
functions  of  destiny.'' 

The  King  opened  wide  his  eyes,  and 
stroked  the  long  ears  of  his  dog,  by  way 
of  giving  the  Marchioness  time  to  explain 
her  meaning. 

"  It  was  the  Countess  who  gave  them 
to  me,"  she  continued. 
"  Madame  Dubarry  ?  " 
"Exactly  so.  Sire." 

"  A  trumpery  gift,  it  seems  to  me.  Mar- 
chioness." 

"I  hold  it,  on  the  contrary,  to  be  an 
important  one;  since  I  repeat  to  your 
Majesty,  that  these  oranges  decide  my 
fate." 

"  I  give  it  up,"  said  the  King. 
"  Imagine,  Sire  ;  yesterday  I  found 
the  Countess  occupied  in  tossing  her 
oranges  up  and  down,  in  this  way."  And 
the  Marchioness  recommenced  her  game 
with  a  skill  that  cannot  be  described. 

"  I  see,"  said  the  King ;  "  she  accom- 
panied this  singular  amusement  with  the 
words,  *  Up,  Choiseul !  up,  Praslin ! '  and, 
on  my  word,  I  can  fancy  how  the  pair 
jumped." 

"  Precisely  so.  Sire." 
"  And  do  you  dabble  in  politics,  Mar- 
chioness ?    Have  you  a  fancy  for  uniting 
with  the  Countess,  just  to  mortify  my  poor 
ministers  ?  " 

"  By  no  meansj  Sire ;  for,  in  place  of 
Monsieur  do  Choiseul  and  the  Duke  de 
Praslin,  I  was  saying  to  myself  iust  now, 
*  Up,  Menneval !  up,  Beaugency  1 ' " 

"Ay.  ay."  returned  the  King;  "and 
why  tne  deuce  would  you  have  them 
jumping,  those  two  eood-looking  gentle- 
men— ^Monsieur  de  Menneval,  who  is  a 
Croesus,  and  Monsieur  de  Beaugency,  who 
is  a  statesman,  and  dances  the  minuet  to 
perfection." 

"I'll  tell  you."  said  the  dame. 
"  You  know,  Sire,  that  Monsieur  de  Mexk- 


898 


A  To99^p  far  a  Buaband. 


TApA 


neral  is  an  aooomplished  gentleman,  a 
handsome  man,  a  gallant  cai^ier,  an  inde- 
fiitigable  dancer,  witty  as  Monsieur  Arouet, 
and  longing  for  nothmg  so  moch  as  to  liye 
in  the  country,  on  his  estate  in  Touraine, 
on  Uie  banks  of  the  Loire,  with  the  woman 
whom  he  loves  or  will  love,  far  from  the 
Oourt,  from  grandeur  and  from  turmoil." 

"  And,  on  my  life,  he's  in  the  right  of 
it,"  quoth  the  King.  ^  One  does  become 
so  wearied  at  Court" 

"Aye,  and  no,"  r^oined  the  widow, 
as  she  put  on  her  last  beauty-spot.  .  .  . 
'*  Nor  are  you  una?rare,  Sire,  that  Mon- 
sieur de  Beaugency  is  one  of  the  most 
brilliant  courtiers  of  Marly  and  of  Yer^ 
saiUes ;  ambitious ;  burning  with  zeal  for 
the  service  of  your  Majesty ;  as  brave  as 
Monsieur  de  MennevaJ;  and  capable  of 
going  to  the  end  of  the  earth.  .  .  .  with 
the  title  of  Ambassador  of  the  Kifig  of 
France." 

"  I  know  that,"  chimed  in  Louis  XV., 
with  a  laugh.  "But,  alas,  I  have  more 
ambassadors  than  embassies.  My  ante- 
chambers overflow  every  morning." 

"  Now,"  continued  the  Marchioness,  "  I 
have  been  a  widow  .  .  .  these  two 
years  past" 

"  A  long  time,  there's  no  denying." 

"Ah."  sighed  she,  "there's  no  need  to 
tell  me  so,  Sire.  But  Monsieur  de  Men- 
neval  loves  me  ...  at  least  he  says 
so.  and  I  am  easily  persuaded." 

"  Very  well ;  then  marry  Monsieur  de 
Menneval." 

"I  have  thought  of  it.  Sire;  and,  in 
truth,  I  might  do  much  worse.  I  should 
like  well  enough  to  live  in  the  country, 
under  the  willow  trees,  on  the  borders  or 
the  river,  with  a  husband,  fond,  yielding, 
loving,  who  would  detest  the  philosophers 
and  set  some  little  value  on  the  poets. 
When  no  external  noises  disturb  the 
hone^oon,  that  month,  Sire,  may  be  in- 
defimtely  prolonged.  Li  ihe  country,  you 
know^  one  never  hears  a  noise." 

"Unless  it  be  the  north-wind  moaning 
in  the  corridor,  and  the  rain  pattering  on 
the  window-panes." — And  the  King  shiv- 
ered slightly  on  his  sofa. 

"But,''  added  the  dame,  "Monsieur  de 
Beaugency  loves  me  equally  well." 

"  Ah,  ha !  the  ambitious  man ! " 

"  Ambition  does  not  shut  out  love.  Sire. 
Monsieur  de  Beaugency  is  a  Marqms ;  he 
is  twenty-five ;  he  is  ambitious.  I  should 
like  a  husband  vastly  who  was  longing  to 
reach  high  offices  of  state.  Greatness  has 
its  own  particular  merit." 

"  Then  marry  Mon^eur  de  Beaugency." 

"  I  have  thought  of  that,  also ;  but  this 
poor  Monsieur  de  Menneval."    .    .    • 


"  Very  good,"  exclaimed  the  Kii^ 
laughing :  "  Now  I  see  to  what  purpose 
the  oranges  are  destined.  Monsiear  de 
Menneval  pleases  you ;  Monsieiir  do 
Beaugency  would  suit  you  just  as  well ; 
and  since  one  can't  have  more  than  one 
husband,  you  make  them  each  jump  m 
turn." 

"  Just  so.  Sire.  But  observe  what 
happens." 

"  Ah,  what  does  happen  ?  " 

"That,  imwilling  and  unable  to  plaj 
unfairly.  I  take  equal  pains  to  catch  toe 
two  oranges  as  they  come  down;  and 
that  I  catch  them  both,  each  time." 

"  Well,  are  you  willing  that  I  dioold 
take  part  in  your  game  ?  " 

"You,  Sire?  Ah,  what  a  joke  tiiat 
would  be ! " 

"  I  am  ver^  clumsy,  Marchkmess.  Tb 
a  certainty,  in  less  than  three  mmulH 
Beaugency  and  Menneval  will  be  roUiag 
on  the  floor." 

"Ah!"  exdauned  the  lady;  <<aiidif 
you  have  any  preference  for  one  or  the 
other?" 

"No;  we'll  do  better.  Look,  I  taka 
the  two  oranges  .  .  .  you  mark  tium 
carefully — or,  better  still,  ^ou  stidL  into 
one  of  tliem  one  of  these  toilet-piiis,  mak- 
ing up  your  own  mind  whidi  of  Uie 
two  is  to  represent  Monsieur  de  Beangn- 
py,  and  leavmg  me.  on  that  point,  entroy 
in  the  dark.  If  Monsieur  de  Bemageomr 
touch  the  floor,  you  shall  marry  his  rival ; 
if  it  happen  just  otherwise,  you  shall  re- 
sign   yourself   to    become    an   ambas- 


"  Excellent !  Now,  Sire,  let's  see  the 
result" 

The  King  took  the  two  oraif;es  sad 
plied  shuttle  with  them  above  his  head. 
But,  at  the  third  pass,  the  two  rolled 
down  upon  the  embroidered  carpet|  md 
the  Marchioness  broke  out  into  a  hwrj 
fit  of  laughter. 

"  I  foresaw  as  much,"  exclaimed  his 
Majesty.  "What  a  clumsy  fellow  lam!" 

"  And  we  more  puzzled  than  ever, 
Sire!" 

"  So  we  are.  Marchioness ;  bat  the  best 
thing  we  can  do,  is  to  slice  the  oranm^ 
sugar  them  well,  and  season  them  wiu  a 
dash  of  West  India  mm.  Then  yon  oan 
beg  me  to  taste  them,  and  offer  me  some 
of  those  preserved  cherries  and  peadies 
that  you  put  up  iust  as  nicely  as  my 
daughter  Adelaide." 

"  And  Monsieur  de  Menneval  ?  and 
Monsieur  de  Beaugency  ?  "  said  the  Mar- 
chioness, in  piteous  accents.  "  How  is 
the  questk>n  to  be  settled?  " 

Loois  XV.  began  to  oogitala. 


1954.] 


A  Toi9-iip  for  a  Sutbcmd. 


S99 


^  Are  70a  quite  sure,"  said  he,  "  that 
both  of  them  are  in  love  with  you  ?  " 

"Probably  so,"  returned  dieL  with  a 
little  coquettish  smile,  sent  back  to  her 
from  the  mirror  opposite. 

''  And  their  love  is  equally  strong  ?  *^ 

"I  trust  so,  Sire." 

"  And  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it" 

<'Ah!"  said  the  Marchioness,  "but 
that  is.  in  truth,  a  most  terrible  supposi- 
tion. Besides,  Sire,  they  are  on  their  way 
hither." 

"Both  of  them?" 

"  One  after  the  other :  the  Marquis  at 
one  o'clock  precisely ;  the  Baron  at  two. 
I  promised  them  my  decision  to-morrow, 
on  condition  that  they  would  pay  me  a 
final  visit  to-day." 

As  the  Marchioness  finished,  the  valet, 
who  had  announced  the  King,  came  to  in> 
form  his  mistress  that  Monsieur  de  Beau- 
gency  was  in  the  drawing-room,  and  soli- 
cited the  favor  of  admission  to  pay  his 
respects. 

"  Capital  I  "  said  Louis  XV.,  smilmg  as 
though  he  were  eighteen;  "show  Mon- 
fiear  de  Beaugency  in.  Marchioness,  you 
will  receive  him,  and  tell  him  the  price 
that  you  set  upon  your  hand." 

"  And  what  is  this  price,  Sire  1 " 

"  You  must  give  him  the  choice— either 
to  renounce  you,  or  to  consent  to  send  in 
to  me  his  resignation  of  his  appointments 
in  order  that  he  may  go  and  bury  himselt 
with  his  wife  on  his  estate  of  Courlac,  in 
Poitou,  there  to  live  the  life  of  a  country 
gentleman." 

"And  then.  Sire?" 

"  You  will  allow  him  a  couple  of  hours 
for  reflection,  and  so  dismiss  him." 

"And  in  the  end?" 

"The  rest  is  my  concern." — And  the 
King  got  up,  taking  his  dog  and  his  gun, 
and  concealed  himself  behind  a  screen, 
drawing  also  a  curtain,  that  he  might  be 
completely  hidden. 

"  What  is  your  intention,  Sire  ?  "  asked 
the  Marchioness. 

"I  conceal  myself,  like  the  Kings  of 
Persia,  from  the  eyes  of  my  subjects," 
replied  Louis  XV.  "  Hush  !  Marchion- 
ess." 

A  few  moments  later,  and  Monsieur  de 
Beaugency  entered  the  room.  * 


The  Marquis  was  a  charming  cavalier ; 
talL  slight,  with  a  moustache  black  and 
curling  upwards,  an  eye  sparkling  and  in- 
telligent, a  Roman  nose,  an  Austrian  lip, 
afirai  step,  a  noble  and  imposing  pres- 


The  Blarchioness  blushed  slightly  at 
81^  of  him,  bat  offered  him  her  hand  to 
kiss ;  and  as  she  begged  him  by  a  ges- 
ture /So  be  seated,  thus  inwardly  took 
counsel  with  herself. 

"Deddedly,  I  believe  that  the  testis 
useless;  it  is  Monsieur  de  Beaueency 
whom  I  love.  How  proud  shall  I  be  to 
lean  upon  his  arm  at  the  court-ffttes! 
With  what  delight  shall  I  keep  long 
watches  in  the  cabinet  of  his  Excellen<r^ 
the  Ambassador,  whilst  he  is  busy  wim 
his  Majesty's  affairs ! " 

But  after  this  "  aside,"  the  Marchioness 
resumed  her  gracious  and  coquettish  air; 
as  though  the  woman  comprehended  the 
mission  of  refined  sallantry  which  was 
reserved  for  her  seductive  and  delicate 
epoch  by  an  indulgent  Providence,  that 
laid  by  its  an^r  and  its  evil  days  for  the 
subsequent  reign. 

"'  Marchioness,"  said  Monsieur  de  Beau- 
eency, as  he  held  in  his  hands  the  rosy 
fingers  of  the  lovely  widow,  "  it  is  fully  a 
week  since  you  received  me ! " 

"  A  week?  why,  you  were  here  yester- 
day!" 

"  Then  I  must  have  counted  the  hours 
for  ages." 

"  A  compliment  which  may  be  found  in 
one  of  the  younger  Crebillon's  books ! " 

"  You  are  haiS  upon  me,  Marchioness." 

"  Perhaps  so, ....  it  comes  naturally, 
...  I  am  tired." 

'*  Ah,  Marchioness  !  Heaven  knows 
that  I  would  make  of  your  existence  one 
never-ending  fdte ! " 

"  That  would,  at  least  be  wearisome." 

"  Say  a  word.  Madam,  one  single  word, 
and  my  fortune,  my  future  prospects,  my 
ambition ! " — 

"You  are  still  then  as  ambitious  as 
ever?" 

"  More  than  ever,  since  I  have  been  in 
love  with  you." 

"  Is  that  necessary  ?  " 

"  Beyond  a  doubt.  Ambition — what  is 
it  but  honors^,  wealth,  the  envious  looks 
of  impotent  rivals,  the  admiration  of  the 
crowd,  the  favor  of  monarchs  ?  .  .  .  And 
is  not  one's  love  unanswerably  and  most 
triumphantly  proved,  in  laying  all  this  at 
the  feet  of  the  woman  whom  one  adores?" 

"  You  may  be  right." 

"  I  may  be  right.  Marchioness !  Listen 
to  me,  my  fair  lady-love." 

"  I  am  all  attention,  sir." 

"  Between  us,  who  are  well-born,  and 
consort  not  with  plebeians,  that  vulgar 
and  sentimental  sort  of  love  which  is 
painted  by  those  who  write  books  for 
your  mantuamakers  and  chambermaids, 
would  be  in  exceedingly  bod  taste.    It 


400 


A  Tou-a^  for  a  ffusband. 


[April 


would  be  but  slightmg  love  and  making 
no  account  of  its  enjoyment^  were  we  to 
go  and  bury  it  in  some  obscure  comer  of 
the  Provinces,  or  of  Paris — we,  wbo  be- 
long to  Versailles — ^living  away  there  with 
it,  in  monotonous  solitude  and  unchanging 
contemplation ! " 

^^Ah!"  said  the  Marchioness,  ^^you 
think  so?" 

"Tell  me,  rather,  of  fStes  that  dazzle 
one  with  lights,  with  noise,  with  smiles, 
with  wit,  through  which  one  glides  in- 
toxicated, with  the  fair  conquest  in  tri- 
umph on  one^s  arm.  .  .  .  Why  hide  one's 
happiness,  in  place  of  parading  it?  The 
jealousy  of  the  world  does  but  increase, 
and  cannot  diminish  it.  My  unde,  the 
Cardinal,  stands  well  at  court  He  has 
the  Kin^  ear,  and  better  still,  the  Coun- 
tess's. He  will,  ere  long,  procure  me  one 
of  the  Northern  embas^es.  Cannot  you 
fancy  yourself,  Madame  the  Ambassadress, 
treading  on  the  platform  of  a  drawing- 
room,  as  royalty  with  royalty,  with  the 
highest  nobility  of  a  kingdom — having  the 
men  at  your  feet,  and  the  women  on 
lower  seats  around  you,  whilst  you  your- 
self are  occupant  of  a  throne,  and  wield 
a  sceptre  ?  " 

And  as  Monsieur  de  Beaugency  warmed 
with  his  own  eloquence,  he  gently  slid 
from  his  seat  to  the  knees  of  the  Mar- 
chioness, whose  hand  he  covered  with 
kisses. 

She  listened  to  him,  with  a  smile  on  her 
lips,  and  then  abruptly  said  to  him : 

"  Rise,  sir,  and  hear  me  in  turn.  Are 
you  in  truth  sincerely  attached  to  me  ?  " 

"  With  my  whole  soul.  Marchioness ! " 

"Are  you  prepared  to  make  every 
sacrifice?" 

"  Every  one,  Madam." 

"That  is  fortunate  indeed;  for  to  be 
prepared  for  all,  is  to  accomplish  one, 
without  the  slightest  difficulty ;  and  it  is 
but  a  single  one  that  I  require." 

"Oh,  speak!  Must  a  throne  be  con- 
quered?" 

"By  no  means,  sir.  You  must  only 
call  to  mind  that  you  own  a  fine  chateau 
in  Poitou." 

"  Pooh ! "  said  Monsieur  de  Beaugency, 
"ashed." 

"  Every  man's  house  is  his  castle,"  re- 
plied the  widow.  "  And  having  called  it 
to  mind,  you  need  only  order  post-horses." 

"  For  what  purpose  ?  " 

"To  carry  me  oflf  to  Courlac  It  is 
there  that  your  almoner  shall  unite  us, 
in  the  chapel,  in  presence  of  your  domes- 
tics and  your  vassals,  our  only  witnesses." 

"  A  singular  whim,  Marchioness ;  but  I 
submit  to  it" 


''Very  well.  We  wiU  set  out  this 
evening.  ...  Ah !  I  forgot" 

«•  What,  further?" 

*'  Before  starting  ^ou  will  send  in  your 
resignation  to  the  Kmg." 

Monsieur  de  Beaugency  almost  boimded 
from  his  seat 

"  Do  you  dream  of  that,  Marchioiiess?  " 

"  Assuredly.  You  will  not,  at  Courlac^ 
be  able  to  perform  your  duties  at  court" 

"  And  on  returning  ?  " 

"  We  will  not  return." 

"We will — not — return!"  slowlydacn- 
lated  Monsieur  de  Beaugency.  ^yfhen 
then  shall  we  proceed  ?  " 

"  Nowhere.  We  will  remain  at  Ck>iir- 
lac" 

"All  the  summer?" 

"And  all  the  winter.  I  count  upon 
settling  myself  there,  after  our  mairiaceb 
I  have  a  horror  of  the  court  I  do  not  lun 
the  turmoil.  Grandeur  wearies  me.  •  .  • 
I  look  forward  only  to  a  simple  and  charm- 
ing country  life,  to  the  tranquil  and  happy 
existence  of  the  forgotten  lady  of  the 

castle What  matters  it  to  yoal 

You  were  ambitious  for  my  love's  sake. 
I  care  but  little  for  ambition;  you  oug^t 
to  care  for  it  still  less,  since  you  are  in 
love  with  me." 

"  But,  Marchioness — " 

"  Hush  !    it's  a  bargain Stall, 

for  form's  sake,  I  give  you  one  hour  to 
reflect  There,  pass  out  that  way;  go 
into  the  winter  drawing-room  that  yoa 
will  find  at  the  end  of  the  gallenr,  and 
send  me  your  answer  upon  a  leaf  of  your 
tablets.  I  am  about  to  complete  my 
toilet,  which  I  left  unfinished,  to  receive 
you.'' 

And  the  Marchioness  opened  a  dooTi 
bowed  Monsieur  de  Beaugency  into  the 
corridor,  and  closed  the  door  upon  him. 

"Marchioness,"  cried  the  King,  from 
his  hiding-place  and  through  the  screeiL 
"you  will  ofier  Monsieur  de  Menneval 
the  embassy  to  Prussia,  which  I  promiae 
you  for  him." 

"  And  you  will  not  emerge  from  your 
retreat?" 

"  Certainly  not,  Madame ;  it  is  &r  more 
amusing  to  remain  behind  the  scenes. 
One  hears  all,  laughs  at  one's  ease,  and  ia 
not  troubled  with  saying  any  thing." 

It  struck  two.  Monsieur  de  Menneral 
was  announced.  His  Majesty  remained 
snug,  and  shammed  dead. 


III. 


Monsieur  de  Menneval  was,  at  all  pointy 
a  cavalier  who  yielded  nothing  to  hit 
rival,  Monsieor  d(e  Beangeooj.    He  was 


I 


A  Ton^p  far  a  Husband. 


401 


Qe  had  a  blue  eye,  a  broad  fore- 
\  mouth  that  wore  a  dreamy  ex- 
n,  and  that  somewhat  pensive  air 
became  so  well  the  Troubadours 
loe  in  the  olden  time, 
cannot  say  whether  Monsieur  de 
vml  had  perpetrated  yerse ;  but  ho 
he  poets,  the  arts,  the  quiet  of  the 
the  sunsets,  the  rosy  dawn,  the 
sighing  through  the  foliage,  the 
1  mysterious  tones  of  a  harp,  sound- 
eve  from  the  light  bark  shooting 
be  blue  waters  of  the  Loire — all 
in  short  that  harmonize  with  that 
>as  concert  of  the  heart,  which 
by  the  name  of  love, 
ras  timid,  but  he  passionately  loved 
autiful  widow;  and  his  dearest 
was  of  passing  his  whole  life  at  her 
well  chosen  retirement,  far  from 
mvious  lookers-on,  who  are  ever 
to  fling  their  sarcasms  on  quiet 
iss,  and  who  dissemble  their  envy 
doak  of  a  philosophic  skepticism, 
x^embled,  as  he  entered  the  Mar- 
s's  boudoir.  He  remained  stand- 
ire  her,  and  blushed  as  he  kissed 
nd.  At  length,  encouraged  by  a 
emboldened  by  the  solemnity  of 
reted  interview,  he  spoke  to  her  of 
),  with  a  poetic  simplicity  and  an 
teditated  warmth  of  heart — the 
\  enthusiasm  of  a  prie  t,  who  has 
the  object  of  his  adoration. 
as  he  spoke,  the  Marchioness 
and  said  within  herself: 
is  right.  Love  is  happiness. 
to  be  two  indeed,  but  one  at  the 
me ;  and  to  be  free  from  those  im- 
ite  intermeddlers,  the  indifference 
noddng  attention  of  the  world." 
remembered,  however,  the  advice 
Sjng,  and  thus   addressed    the 

lat  will  you  indeed  do,  in  order  to 
e  me  of  your  affection  ?  " 
that  man  can  do." 
Baron  was  less  bold  than  Monsieur 
»ngency,  who  had  talked  of  con- 
;  a  throne.    He  was  probably  more 

n  ambitious,"  said  the  widow. 

I"  replied  Monsieur  de  MennevaL 

Villy. 

1  I  would  that  the  man  whom  I 

should  aspire  to  every  thing,  and 

•rery  thing." 

ill  tiT  so  to  do,  if  you  wish  it* ' 

ten;  I  give  you  an  hour  to  reflect. 

(m  know,  the  King's  god-daughter. 

Mffged  of  him  an  embassy  for  you." 

I ''^  said  Monsieur  de  Menneval, 

iiflbrenoe* 


^'  He  has  granted  my  request  If  you 
love  me,  you  will  accept  the  offer.  We 
will  be  married  this  evening,  and  your 
Excellency  the  Ambassador  to  Prussia 
will  set  off  for  Berlin  immediately  after 
the  nuptials.  Reflect;  I  grant  you  an 
hour." 

'^  It  is  useless,"  answered  Monsieur  de 
Menneval ;  "  I  have  no  need  of  reflection, 
for  I  love  you.  Your  wishes  are  my 
orders:  to  obey  you  is  my  only  desire. 
I  accept  the  embassy." 

"Never  mind!"  said  she,  trembling 
with  joy  and  blushing  deeply.  ^^  Pass  into 
the  room,  wherein  you  were  just  now 
waitine;.  I  must  complete  my  toilet  and 
I  shall  then  be  at  your  service.  I  will 
summon  you." 

The  Marchioness  handed  out  the  Baron 
by  the  right-hand  door,  as  she  had  handed 
out  the  Marquis  by  the  left ;  and  then  said 
to  herself: 

"I  shall  be  prettily  embarrassed,  if 
Monsieur  de  Beaugency  should  consent  to 
end  his  days  at  Courlac  I " 

Thereupon,  the  King  removed  the  screen 
and  reappeared. 

His  Majesty  stepped  quietly  to  the 
round  table,  whereon  he  had  replaced  the 
oranges,  and  took  up  one  of  them. 

"  Ah !"  exclaimed  the  Marchioness,  "  I 
perceive.  Sire,  that  you  foresee  the  diffi- 
culty that  is  about  to  spring  up,  and  go 
back  accordingly  to  the  oranges,  in  order 
to  settle  it." 

As  his  sole  reply,  Louis  XV.  took  a 
small  ivory;handlea  pen-knife  from  his 
waistcoat  pocket,  made  an  incision  in  the 
rind  of  the  orange,  peeled  it  off  very  neatly, 
divided  the  fruit  into  two  parts,  and  of- 
fered one  to  the  astonished  Marchioness. 

"  But,  Sire,  what  are  you  doing  ?  "  was 
her  eager  inquiry. 

"  You  see  that  I  am  eating  the  orange." 

"Butr-" 

"  It  was  of  no  manner  of  use  to  us." 

"  You  have  decided  then  ?  " 

'^Unquestionably.  Monsieur  de  Men- 
neval loves  you  bettor  than  Monsieur  de 
Beaugenc]^." 

"  That  is  not  quite  certain  yet ;  let  us 
wait" 

^'  Look,"  said  the  Eang,  pointing  to  the 
valet,  who  entered  with  a  note  from  the 
Marquis.    '*  You'll  soon  see." 

The  widow  opened  the  note,  and  read : 

"  Madam,  I  love  you — Heaven  is  my 
witness ;  and  to  give  you  up  is  the  most 
cruel  of  sacrifices.  But  I  am  a  gentle- 
man. A  gentleman  belongs  to  the  King. 
My  life,  my  blood  are  his.  I  cannot, 
without  forfeit  of  my  loyalty,  abandon  his 
service ." 


402 


I%e  Vision  of  JBdiheeth. 


[April 


<<Et  cetera,"  chimed  in  the  King,  '<as 
was  observed  by  the  Abb6  Fleury,  my 
tutor.  Marchioness,  call  in  Monsieur  & 
Menneyal." 

Monsieur  de  Menneyal  entered,  and 
was  greatly  troubled  to  see  the  Kmg  in 
the  widow's  boudoir. 

"  Baron,"  said  his  Majesty,  **  Monsieur 
de  Beaugency  was  deeply  in  love  with  the 
Marchioness;  but  he  was  more  deeply 
still  in  love — since  he  would  not  renounce 
it,  to  please  her — with  the  embassy  to 
Prussia.  And  you,  you  love  the  Mar- 
chioness much  better  than  you  love  me, 
since  you  would  only  enter  my  service  for 
her  sake.  This  leads  me  to  believe  that 
you  would  be  but  a  lukewarm  public  ser- 
vant, and  that  Monsieur  de  !Beaugexicy 
will  make  an  excellent  ambassador.  He 
will  start  for  Berlin  this  evening;  and 


YOU  shall  marry  the  MarcfaioiiesB.    I  wil 
be  present  at  the  ceremony." 

"Marchioness^"  whispmd  Lauis  XY. 
in  the  ear  of  his  god-daughter^  "^  true  lope 
is  that  which  does  not  shrmk  finm  a 
sacrifice." 

And  the  King  peeled  the  second  < 
and  eat  it,  as  he  placed  the  hand  of  1 
widow  in  that  of  the  Banm. 

Then  he  added: 

"I  have  been  makmg  three  perBoni 
happy:  the  Marchioness,  whose  indeci- 
sion I  have  relieved;  tbe  Baron,  wiio 
shall  marry  her ;  and  Monsieiir  de  fieaa- 
gency,  who  will  perchance  wove  a  miy 
ambassador.  In  all  this,  I  have  oafy 
neglected  my  own  interests,  for  I  have 
been  eating  the  oranges  witboot  sngv 

And  yet  they  pretend  to  ay 

that  I  am  a  sdfish  Monarch !" 


THE   VISION   OF  HASHEESH. 

**£xaltiiig,  trtinbtin&  ngiog,  fklntlng, 
Poasened  beyond  the  MiueiB  painting." 


DURING  my  stay  in  Damascus,  that 
insatiable  curiosity  which  leaos  me 
to  prefer  the  acquisition  of  all  lawful 
Imowledgc  through  the  channels  of  my 
own  personal  experience,  rather  than  in 
less  satisfactory  and  less  laborious  ways ; 
induced  me  to  make  a  trial  of  the  cele- 
brated Hasheesh — that  remarkable  drug 
which  supplies  the  luxurious  Syrian  with 
dreams  more  alluring  and  more  gorgeous 
than  the  Chinese  extracts  from  his  dajrling 
opium  pipe.  The  use  of  Hasheesh — which 
is  a  preparation  of  the  dried  leaves  of  the 
cannabis  indica — has  been  familiar  to  the 
East  for  many  centuries.  During  the 
Crusades,  it  was  frequently  used  by  the 
Saracen  warriors  to  stimulate  them  to  the 
work  of  slaughter,  and  from  the  Arabic 
term  of  "  HashasJieen,^^  or  Eaters  of 
Hasheesh,  the  word  "  assassin  "  has  been 
naturally  derived.  An  infusion  of  the 
same  plant  gives  to  the  drink  called 
^  hhang^^  which  is  in  common  use  through- 
out India  and  Malaysia,  its  peculiar  pro- 
perties. Thus  prepared,  it  is  a  more  fierce 
and  fatal  stimulant  than  the  paste  of  su- 
gar and  spices  to  which  the  Turk  resorts, 
as  the  food  of  his  voluptuous  evening  re- 
veries. While  its  immediate  effects  seem 
to  be  more  potent  than  those  of  opium, 


its  habitual  use,  though  attended  with  ^ 
timate  and  pennanent  injury  to  ^  a^ 
tern,  rarely  results  in  sudi  utter  wieek  d 
mind  and  body  as  that  to  whidi  ttie  voti- 
ries  of  the  latter  drug  inevitiMy  ttw^Amtim 
themselves. 

A  prevKMis  ezperience  of  the  eiflbei  d 
hasheesh — whicm  I  took  onoe,  and  in  a 
very  mild  form,  while  in  BgjrpI  wma  ao 
peculiar  in  its  character,  tfauat  my  ci]fioriiy« 
mstead  of  being  satisfied,  only  ynmylm 
me  the  more  to  throw  myself,  to  onoi^ 
wholly  under  its  influence.  The  asM^ 
tions  it  then  produced  were  thoee^  pfaTS- 
caUy,  of  ezouisite  liffhtness  and  airinHS— 
mentally  of  a  wondeHiillT  keen  peiQep- 
tion  of  the  ludicrous,  in  the  most  aimpli 
and  familiar  ol^jects.  During  the  half 
hour  in  which  it  lasted,  I  was  at  no  tane 
so  &r  under  its  control  that  I  ooold  not, 
with  the  clearest  perc^tion,  atndj  llie 
changes  through  whidi  i  passed.  I  notod^ 
with  careful  attention,  Uie  fine  senaatfaM 
which  spread  throughout  the  whole  tim 
of  my  nervous  fibres,  each  tlurill  helpiiic 
to  divest  my  frame  of  its  earthy  and  ma* 
terial  nature,  till  my  substance  ■ihimimI 
to  me  no  grosser  than  the  t Wffa  of  thi 
atmosphere,  and  whik  sittta^  fai  the  calm 
of  tiie  Egyptian  twilii^t,  lei^nlidta  bo 


] 


7%$  Viihn  of  Ba^ee$L 


40S 


up  and  carried  away  bj  the  first 
I  ttiat  should  ruffle  the  Nile.  While 
rooess  was  going  on,  the  objects  by 
I  was  surrounded  assumed  a  strange 
^himsioftl  expression. — My  pipe,  the 
rhich  my  boatmen  plied,  the  turban 
l^  the  captain,  the  water-jars  and 
ry  implements,  became  in  them- 
80  inexpressibly  absurd  and  comi- 
lat  I  was  provoked  into  a  long  fit  of 
tier.  The  hallucmation  died  away  as 
dly  as  it  came,  leaving  me  overcome 
i  toft  and  pleasant  drowsiness,  trom 
I  sank   into   a  deep,   refreshing 

0  friends — one  a  fellow-countryman, 
le  other  an  English  gentleman,  who, 
lis  wife,  was  also  residing  in  Anto- 
fdeasant  caravanserai — agreed  to 
M  in  the  experiment  The  dragoman 

1  latter  was  deputed  to  procure  a 
ent  quantity  of  the  druff.  He  was 
I  Egyptian,  speaking  only  the  /iV 
ranca  of  the  East,  and  asked  me.  as 
»k  the  money  and  departed  on  his 
•D.  whether  he  should  get  hasheesh 
ndere,  o  per  dormire  1 "  "  Oh,  per 
5,  of  course"  I  answered;  "and  see 
t  be  strong  and  fresh."  It  is  cus- 
y  with  the  Syrians  to  take  a  small 
n  immediately  before  the  evening 
as  it  is  thus  diflUsed  through  the 
fsh  Kod  acts  more  gradually,  as  well 
re  gently,  upon  the  system.  As  our 
vhour  was  at  sunset  I  proposed  tak- 
Aheesh  at  that  time,  but  my  friends, 
;  that  its  operation  might  be  more 
f  upon  fr«sh  subjects,  and  thus  be- 
hem  into  some  absurdity  in  the  pro- 
of the  other  travellers,  preferred 

f  until  after  the  meal.  It  was  then 
that  we  should  retire  to  a  room 
I  the  other  American  occupied  joint- 
li  myself,  and  which,  as  it  rose  like 
or  one  story  higher  than  the  rest  of 
nilding,  was  in  a  manner  isolated, 
xrald  screen  us  from  observation. 

commenced  by  taking  a  tea-rooon- 
idi  of  the  mixture  which  Abdallah 
rocued.  This  was  about  the  quan- 
had  taken  in  Egypt,  and  as  the  ef- 
icn  iMd  be^  so  slight,  I  judged  that 
lO  no  risk  of  taking  an  over-dose, 
treogth  of  the  drug,  however,  must 
been  far  greater  m  this  instance,  for 
tm  I  could  in  the  former  case  distin- 

no  flavor  but  that  of  sugar  and 
iKVes,  I  now  found  the  taste  intensely 
tnd  repulsive  to  the  palate.  We  al- 

the  paste  to  dissolve  slowly  on  our 
Bi,  and  sat  some  time,  quietly  wait- 
e  reaolt  Bu^  having  been  taken 
afbn  stcunadi,  its  operatk>n  had  been 


hindered,  and  after  the  lapse  of  nearly  an 
hour,  we  could  not  detect  the  least  change 
in  our  fbelmgs.  My  friends  loudly  ex- 
pressed their  conviction  of  the  humbug  of 
hasheesh,  but  I,  unwilling  to  give  up  the 
experiment  at  this  point  prop(»ed  that  wo 
should  take  an  additional  half  spoonful, 
and  follow  it  with  a  cup  of  hot  tea,  which, 
if  there  were  really  any  virtue  in  the  pre- 
paration, could  not  fiul  to  call  it  into  ac^ 
tion.  This  was  done,  though  not  without 
some  misgivings,  as  we  were  all  ignorant 
of  the  precise  quantity  which  constituted 
a  dose,  and  the  limits  within  which  the 
drug  could  be  tidcen  with  safety.  It  was 
now  ten  o'clock ;  the  streets  of  Damascus 
were  gradually  becoming  silent,  and  the 
fair  city  was  bathed  in  the  yellow  lustre 
of  the  Syrian  moon.  Only  in  the  marble 
court-yard  below  us,  a  few  dragomen  and 
mukkairee,  or  muleteers,  lingering  under 
the  lemon-trees,  and  beside  the  fountain 
in  the  centre. 

I  was  seated  alone,  nearly  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  talking  with  my  friends,  who 
were  lounging  upon  a  sofa  placed  in  a  sort 
of  alcove,  at  the  fiurther  end,  when  the 
same  fine  nervous  thrill  of  which  I  have 
spokcni,  suddenly  shot  through  me.  But 
this  time  it  was  accompanied  with  a  burn- 
ing sensation  at  the  pit  of  the  stomach, 
and  instead  of  growing  upon  me  with  the 
gradual  pace  of  healthy  slumber,  and  re- 
solving me,  as  before,  into  air,  it  came 
with  the  intensity  of  a  pang,  and  shot 
throbbing  along  the  nerves  to  the  extre- 
mities of  my  body.  The  sense  of  limi- 
tatiott — of  the  ooxmnement  of  our  senses 
within  the  bounds  of  our  own  flesh  and 
blood — ^instantly  fell  away.  The  walls  of 
my  frame  were  burst  outward  and  tum- 
bled into  ruin,  and  without  thinking  what 
form  I  wore — losing  sight,  even,  of  all 
idea  of  form — ^I  felt  that  I  existed  through- 
out a  vast  extent  of  space.  The  blcrad, 
pulsed  from  my  heart,  sped  through  un- 
counted leagues  before  it  reached  my  ex- 
tremities ;  the  air  drawn  into  my  lungs 
expanded  into  seas  of  limpid  ether,  and 
the  arch  of  my  skull  was  broader  than 
the  vault  of  heaven.  Within  the  concave 
that  held  my  brain  were  the  fathomless 
deeps  of  blue ;  clouds  floated  there,  and 
the  winds  of  heaven  rolled  them  to- 
gether, and  there  shone  the  orb  of  the 
sun.  It  was — though  I  thought  not  of 
that  at  the  time  —  like  the  revelation 
of  the  mystery  of  omnipresence.  It  is 
difficult  to  describe  this  sensation,  or  the 
rapidity  with  which  it  mastered  me.  In 
the  state  of  mental  exaltation  in  which  I 
was  then  plunged,  all  sensations,  as  they 
rose,    suj^jested  more  or  leas  coherent 


404 


Ths  Vuion  of  ffasheeih. 


[April 


images.  They  presented  themselves  to 
me  m  a  double  form — one  physical,  and 
therefore  to  a  certain  extent  tangible ;  the 
other  spiritual,  and  revealing  itself  in  a 
succession  of  splendid  metaphors.  The 
physical  feeling  of  extended  being  was  ac- 
companied by  the  ima^  of  an  exploding 
meteor,  not  subsiding  mto  darkness,  but 
continuing  to  shoot  from  its  centre  or  nu- 
cleus—which corresponded  to  the  burning 
spot  at  the  pit  of  my  stomach — ^incessant 
adumbrations  of  light  that  finally  lost 
themselves  in  the  infinity  of  space.  To 
my  mind,  even  now,  this  image  is  still  the 
best  illustration  of  my  sensations,  as  I  re- 
call them;  but  I  greatly  doubt  whether 
the  reader  will  find  it  equally  clear. 

My  curiosity  was  now  in  a  way  of  b^ 
ing  satisfied ;  the  spirit  (demon,  shall  I  not 
rather  say  ?  )  of  Hasheesh,  had  entire  pos- 
session of  me.  I  was  cast  upon  the  flood 
of  his  illusions,  and  drifted  helplessly 
whithersoever  they  might  choose  to  bear 
me.  The  thrills  which  ran  through  my 
nervous  system  became  more  rapid  and 
fierce,  accompanied  with  sensations  that 
steeped  my  whole  being  in  unutterable 
rapture.  I  was  encompassed  in  a  sea  of 
light,  through  which  played  the  pure,  har^ 
monious  colors  that  are  bom  of  light 
While  endeavoring,  in  broken  expressions, 
to  describe  my  feelings  to  my  friends,  who 
sat  looking  upon  me  incredulously — ^not 
yet  having  been  affected  by  the  diTig--I 
suddenly  found  myself  at  the  foot  of  the 
great  Pyramid  of  Cheops.  The  tapering 
courses  of  yellow  limestone  gleamed  like 
gold  in  the  sun,  and  the  pile  rose  so  high 
that  it  seemed  to  lean  for  support  upon 
the  blue  arch  of  the  sky.  I  wished  to 
ascend  it,  and  the  wish  alone  placed  me 
immediately  upon  its  apex,  lifted  thou- 
sands of  feet  above  the  wheat- fields  and 
palm-groves  of  £gypt  I  cast  my  eyes 
downward,  and  to  my  astonishment  saw 
that  it  was  built  not  of  limestone,  but  of 
huge  square  plugs  of  cavendish  tobacco  I 
Words  cannot  paint  the  overwhelming 
sense  of  the  ludicrous  which  I  then  experi- 
enced. I  writhed  on  my  chair  in  an  agony 
of  laughter, which  was  only  relieved  by  the 
vision  melting  away  like  a  dissolving  view, 
till  oat  of  my  confusion  of  indistinct  im- 
ages and  fragments  of  images,  another  and 
more  wonderful  vision  arose. 

The  more  vividly  I  recall  the  scene 
which  followed,  the  more  carefully  I  re- 
store its  different  features,  and  separate 
the  many  threads  of  sensation  which  it 
wove  into  one  gorgeous  web,  the  more  I 
despair  of  representmg  its  exceeding  glory. 
I  was  moving  over  the  Desert,  not  upon 
the  rockmg  dromedary,  but  aeated  in  a 


barque  made  of  mother-of-peMi,  and  stod- 
ded  with  je?rels  of  surpassing  lustre.  Tha 
sand  was  made  of  grains  of  fM,  and  mj 
keel  slid  through  them  without  jar  or 
sound.  The  air  was  radiant  with  exoeas 
of  light,  though  no  sun  was  to  be  seen.  I 
inhaled  the  most  delicious  perfumes ;  and 
harmonies,  such  as  Beethoven  may  have 
heard  in  dreams  but  never  wrote,  floated 
around  me.  The  atmosphere  itaelf  wu 
light,  odor,  music ;  atid  each  and  all  sub- 
limated beyond  any  thing  the  sober  seoMi 
are  capable  of  receiving.  Before  me— fcr 
a  thousand  leagues,  as  it  seemed— fiticteb- 
ed  a  vista  of  rainbows,  whose  colon 
gleamed  with  the  splendor  of  gems^ 
aiches  of  living  amethyst,  sapphire,  on- 
erald,  topaz  and  ruby.  By  thouauids 
and  tens  of  thousands  they  flew  past  me^ 
as  my  dazzling  baige  sped  down  the  ms^ 
nificent  arcade,  yet  the  vista  still  stretdwd 
as  far  before,  as  ever.  I  fevelled  in  a  hd- 
suous  elysium,  which  was  perfect,  be- 
cause no  sense  was  left  ungratified.  Bet 
beyond  all,  my  mind  was  filled  with  a 
boundless  feeling  of  tnumph.  Mj  jour- 
ney was  that  of  a  conqueror — not  of  a 
conqueror  who  subdues  his  race,  eithor  by 
love  or  by  will,  for  I  forgot  that  Man  ex- 
isted—but one  victorious  over  the  grand- 
est as  well  as  the  subtlest  forces  of  nir 
ture.  The  spirits  of  Light,  Color,  Odor. 
Sound  and  Motion  were  my  slavee ;  aw 
having  these,  I  was  master  of  the  uni- 
verse. 

Those  who  are  endowed  to  any  eztBoft 
with  the  imagmative  faculty,  must  have 
at  least  once  in  their  lives  experienoed 
feelings  which  may  give  them  a  clue  to 
the  exalted  sensuous  raptures  of  my  tri- 
umphal march.  The  view  of  a  sahUiM 
mountain  landscape,  the  hearing  of  a  i 


orchestral  symp 


.  or  of  a  ch< 


borne  by  the  "  full-voiced  organ,''  or  < 
the  b«iuty  and  luxury  of  a  doodleai 
summer,  suggest  emotions  similar  in  kind 
if  less  intense.  They  took  a  warmth  ana 
glow  firom  that  pure  animal  joy  whidi  de- 
grades not,  but  spiritualizes  aiid  •a^wn^i^ 
our  material  part,  and  which  differs  from 
cold,  abstract  intellectual  eiyoyment.  as 
the  flaming  diamond  of  the  Orient  dimB 
from  the  icicle  of  the  North.  Those  finor 
senses,  which  occupy  a  middle  gnmnd  be* 
tween  our  animal  and  intelleSoal  s^pe* 
tites,  were  suddenly  developed  to  a  pmi 
beyond  what  I  had  ever  dreamed,  nod 
bemg  thus  at  one  and  the  same  time  gi»- 
tified  to  the  fullest  extent  of  their  pretar- 
natural  capacity,  the  result  was  a  single 
harmomous  sensation,  to  describe  whicb 
human  language  has  no  epithet  Mabih 
met's  Paradise,  with  ite  palaces  of  xvUbj 


1 


The  Visum  of  Hasheesh. 


405 


nerald,  its  airs  of  musk  and  cassia, 
fcs  rivers  colder  than  snow  and 
ir  than  honey,  would  have  been  a 
sd  mean  terminus  for  my  arcade  of 
W8.  Yet  in  the  character  of  this 
EM^  in  the  gorgeous  fancies  of  the 
m  Nights,  in  the  glow  and  luxcury 
Oriental  poetry,  f  now  recoenize 
tr  less  of  the  agency  of  hasheesh. 

fulness  of  my  rapture  expanded 
188  of  time ;  and  though  the  whole 
was  probably  not  more  than  five 
S8  in  passing  through  my  mind,  years 
1  to  have  elapsed  while  I  shot  under 
nling  myriads  of  rainbow  arches. 
j  by,  the  rainbows,  the  barque  of 
Old  jewels,  and  the  desert  of  golden 
ranished ;  and,  still  bathed  in  light 
ofome,  I  found  myself  in  a  land  of 
■nd  flowery  lawns,  divided  by  hills 
ttly  undulating  outline.  But,  al- 
I  the  vegetation  was  the  richest  of 
there  were  neither  streams  nor 
ins  to  be  seen ;  and  the  people  who 
firom  the  hills,  with  brilliant  gar- 
that  shone  in  the  sun,  besought  me 
)  them  the  blessing  of  water.  Their 
were  full  of  branches  of  the  coral 
mdde,  in  bloom.  These  I  took; 
Nmking  off  the  flowers  one  by  one, 
«m  in  the  earth.  The  slender, 
et-like  tubes  immediately  became 
of  masonry,  and  sank  deep  into  the 

the  lip  of  the  flower  changed  into 
liar  mouth  of  rose-colored  marble, 
e  people,  leaning  over  its  brink,  low- 
lieir  pitchers  to  the  bottom  with 
and  drew  them  up  again,  filled  to 
nan,  and  dripping  with  honey. 
most  remarkable  feature  of  these 
18  was,  that  at  the  time  when  I  was 
sompletely  under  their  influence,  I 
myself  to  be  seated  in  the  tower  of 
id's  hotel  in  Damascus,  knew  that 

taken  hasheesh,  and  that  the 
B,  gorgeous  and  ludicrous  fancies 
possessed  me.  were  the  effect  of  it 
very  same  instant  that  I  looked  upon 
jley  of  the  Nile  from  the  pyramid, 
•er  the  desert,  or  created  my  mar- 
I  wells  in  that  beautiful  pastoral 
y,  I  saw  the  furniture  of  my  room, 
MIC  pavement,  the  quaint  Saracenic 
in  the  walls,  the  painted  and  gilded 
of  the  ceiling,  and  the  couch  in  the 
before  me,  with  my  two  companions 
ng  me.  Both  sensations  were  simul- 
8,  and  equally  palpable.  While  I 
08t  given  up  to  the  magnificent  de- 
I  mw  its  cause  and  felt  its  absnrd- 
9et  clearly.  Metaphysicians  say 
16  mind  is  incapable  of  performing 
erntioDS  at  the  same  time,  and  may 


attempt  to  explain  this  phenomenon  by 
supposing  a  rapid  and  incessant  vibration 
of  the  perceptions  between  the  two  states. 
This  explanation,  however,  is  not  satisfac- 
tory to  me ;  for  not  more  clearly  does  a 
skilful  musician,  with  the  same  breath 
blow  two  distinct  musical  notes  from  a 
bugle,  than  was  I  conscious  of  two  distinct 
conditions  of  being  in  the  same  moment 
Yet,  singular  as  it  may  seem,  neither  con- 
flicted with  the  other.  My  enjoyment  of 
the  visions  was  complete  and  absolute, 
undisturbed  by  the  faintest  doubt  of  their 
reality ;  while,  in  some  other  chamber  of 
my  brtin.  Reason  sat  coolly  watching 
them,  and  heaping  the  liveliest  ridicule  on 
their  fantastic  features.  One  set  of  nerves 
was  thrilled  with  the  bliss  of  the  gods, 
while  another  was  convulsed  with  un- 
quenchable laughter  at  that  yery  bliss. 
My  highest  ecstasies  could  not  bear  down 
and  silence  the  weight  of  my  ridicule, 
which,  in  its  turn,  was  powerless  to  pre- 
vent me  from  running  into  other  and  more 
gorgeous  absurdities.  I  was  double,  not 
'^  swan  and  shadow,"  but  rather,  Sphinx- 
like, human  and  beast  A  true  Sphinx, 
I  was  a  riddle  and  a  mystery  to  mv- 
self. 

The  drug,  which  had  been  retarded  in 
its  operation  on  account  of  having  been 
taken  after  a  meal,  now  began  to  make  it- 
self more  powerfully  felt  The  visions 
were  more  grotesque  than  evei\  but  less 
agreeable ;  and  there  was  a  painful  tension 
throughout  my  nervous  system — the  ef- 
fect of  over-stimulus.  I  was  a  mass  of 
transparent  jelly,  and  a  confectioner  poui^ 
ed  me  into  a  twisted  mould.  I  threw 
my  chair  aside,  and  writhed  and  tortured 
myself  for  some  time  to  force  my  loose 
substance  into  the  mould.  At  last,  when 
I  had  so  far  succeeded  that  only  one  foot 
remained  outside,  it  was  lifted  off,  and 
another  mould,  of  still  more  crooked  and 
intricate  shape,  substituted.  I  have  no 
doubt  the  contortions  through  which  I 
went,  to  accomplish  the  end  of  my  gelati- 
nous destiny,  would  have  been  extremely 
ludicrous  to  a  spectator,  but  to  me  they 
were  painfUl  and  disagreeable.  The  sober 
half  of  me  went  into  fits  of  laughter  over 
them,  and  through  that  laughter,  my 
vision  shifted  into  another  scene.  I  had 
laughed  until  my  eyes  overflowed  pro- 
fusely. Every  tear  that  dropped,  immedi- 
ately became  a  large  loaf  of  bread,  and 
tumbled  upon  the  shop-board  of  a  baker 
in  the  bazaar  at  Damascus.  The  more  1 
laughed,  the  faster  the  loaves  fell,  uiitil- 
such  a  pile  was  raised  about  the  baker, 
that  I  could  hardly  see  the  top  of  his 
head.    ^The  man  will  be  suffocated,''  I 


406 


The  Vision  of  Ouheeih. 


tApia 


cried,  '*but  if  he  were  to  die,  I  cannot 


My  perceptions  now  became  more  dim 
and  confused.  I  felt  that  I  was  in  the 
grasp  of  some  giant  force;  and,  in  the 
glimmering  of  my  fading  reason,  grew  ear- 
nestly alarmed,  for  the  terrible  stress 
under  which  my  frame  labored  increased 
every  moment.  A  fierce  and  furious  heat 
radiated  from  my  stomach  throughout  my 
system;  my  mouth  and  throat  were  as 
dry  and  hard  as  if  made  of  brass,  and  my 
tongue,  it  seemed  to  me,  was  a  bar  of 
rusty  iron.  I  seized  a  pitcher  of  water, 
and  drank  long  and  deeply ;  but  I  might 
as  well  have  drunk  so  much  air,  for  not 
only  did  it  impart  no  moisture,  but  my 
palate  and  throat  gave  me  no  intelligence 
of  having  drunk  at  all.  I  stood  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  brandishing  my  arms 
convulsively,  and  heaving  sighs  that  seem- 
ed to  shatter  my  whole  being.  "  Will  no 
one,"  I  cried  in  distress,  ''cast  out  this 
devil  that  has  possession  of  me  ?  "  I  no 
longer  saw  the  room  nor  my  friends,  but 
I  heard  one  of  them  saying,  '*  It  must  be 
real ;  he  could  not  counterfeit  such  an  ex- 
pression as  that  But  it  don't  look  much 
like  pleasure."  Immediately  afterwards 
there  was  a  scream  of  the  wildest  laugh- 
ter, and  my  countryman  sprang  upon  the 
floor,  exclaiming.  *'0.  ye  gods!  I  am  a 
locomotive ! "  This  was  his  ruling  hallu- 
cination ;  and,  for  the  space  of  two  or 
three  hours,  he  continued  to  pace  to  and 
fro  with  a  measured  stride,  exhaling  his 
breath  in  violent  jets,  and  when  he  spoka 
dividing  his  words  into  syllables,  each  of 
which  he  brought  out  with  a  jerk,  at  the 
same  time  turning  his  hands  at  his  sides, 
as  if  they  were  the  cranks  of  imaginary 
wheels.  The  Englishman,  as  soon  as  he 
felt  the  dose  beginning  to  take  effect,  pru- 
dently retreated  to  his  own  room,  and  what 
the  nature  of  his  visions  was,  we  never 
learned,  for  he  refused  to  tell,  and,  more- 
over, enjoined  the  strictest  silence  on  his 
wife. 

By  this  time  it  was  nearly  midnight.  I 
had  passed  through  the  Paradise  of  Ha- 
sheesh, and  was  plunged  at  once  into  its 
fiercest  hell.  In  my  ignorance  I  had 
taken  what,  I  have  since  learned,  would 
have  been  a  sufficient  portion  for  six  men, 
and  was  now  paying  a  frightful  penalty 
for  my  curiosity.  The  excited  blood  rush- 
ed through  my  frame  with  a  sound  like 
the  roaring  of  mighty  waters.  It  was 
projected  into  my  eyes  until  I  could  no 
longer  see ;  it  beat  thickly  in  my  ears,  and 
so  throbbed  in  my  heart,  that  I  feared  the 
ribs  would  give  way  under  its  blows.  I 
tore  open  my  vest,  placed  my  hand  over 


the  spot,  and  tried  to  count  the  pnlaationi; 
but  there  were  two  hearts,  one  beating  at 
the  rate  of  a  thousand  beats  a  minnfee^  and 
the  other  with  a  slow,  dull  motion.  Mj 
throat,  I  thought,  was  filled  to  the  biin 
with  blood,  and  streams  of  blood  were 
pouring  from  my  ears.  I  felt  them  gash- 
ing warm  down  my  cheeks  and  necL 
With  a  maddened,  desperate  feelings  I 
fled  from  the  room,  and  walked  over  thi 
flat,  terraced  roof  of  the  house.  My  hodw 
seemed  to  shrink  and  grow  rigid  ai  X 
wrestled  with  the  demon,  and  mjr  &oe  to 
become  wild,  lean  and  haggard.  Some 
lines  which  had  struck  me,  years  before, 
in  readine  Mrs.  Browning's  ^  Rhyme  a 
the  Duchess  May,"  fli^ed  into  my 
mind: — 


**  And  the  hono,  In  stuk  despdr,  with  Ml  1 
polaed  in  ftir, 
On  the  laat  veifg^  nun  anudn. 
And  he  hangs,  the  rocks  between, — end  hit  BOMrih 

cardie  in, — 
And  he  sblvera,  head  and  hoo(  and  the  flakes  cf  Jboi 
lUloff; 
And  his  Ihoe  grows  fleree  and  thin.** 

That  picture  of  animal  terror  and  agonty 
was  mine.  I  was  the  horse,  hai^iif 
poised  on  the  verge  of  the  giddy  tower, 
the  next  moment  to  be  borne  sheer  down 
to  destruction.  Involuntarily,  I  raised 
my  hand  to  feel  the  leanness  and  shaip- 
ness  of  my  face.  Oh  horror !  the  flbeu 
had  fellen  from  my  bones,  and  it  was  a 
bKeleton  head  that  I  carried  on  my  shoul- 
ders !  With  one  bound  I  sprang  to  the 
parapet,  and  looked  down  into  the  silent 
courtyard,  then  filled  with  the  shadows 
thrown  into  it  by  the  sinking  mooo. 
Shall  I  cast  myself  down  headlong?  was 
the  question  I  proposed  to  myseUI  but 
though  the  horror  of  that  skeleton  delu- 
sion was  greater  than  my  fear  of  death, 
there  was  an  invimble  hand  at  my  breast 
which  pushed  me  away  fitmi  tlie  brmL 
Besides,  there  were  watdiers  near,  thoi^ 
I  saw  them  not^  nor  knew  it  nntil  after* 
wards.  The  noise  we  made  had  attracted 
attention,  and  the  host^  Antonio,  with 
Francisco,  our  dragoman,  apprehensive  of 
some  accident,  followed  and  watched  us. 

I  made  my  way  back  to  the  room,  in  a 
state  of  the  keenest  suffering.  My  com- 
panion was  still  a  locomotive,  rusluog  to 
and  fro,  and  jerking  out  his  syllables  with 
the  disjointed  accent  peculiar  to  a  steam- 
engine.  His  mouth  had  turned  to  brasii 
like  mine,  and  he  raised  the  pitdier  to  his 
lips  in  the  attempt  to  moisten  it,  bat  be* 
fore  he  had  taken  a  mouthful  set  the 
pitcher  down  aciin  with  a  yell  of  langhter, 
cr^'ing  out :  "  How  can  I  take  water  into 
my  boiler,  while  I  am  letting  off  steam?" 


I 


The  Ftf»Mi  of  Hasheesh. 


407 


was  now  too  far  gone  to  feel  the 
ii^  of  this,  or  his  other  exdamar 
I  was  sinking  deeper  and  deeper 
mi  of  unutterable  agonj  and  de- 
For,  although  I  was  not  conscioos 
1  pain  in  any  part  of  my  body,  the 
boision  to  whidi  my  nerves  had 
objected  filled  me  through  and 
;h  with  a  sensation  of  distress  which 
r  more  severe  than  pain  itsel£  In 
m  to  this,  the  remnant  of  will  with 
I  struggled  aeainst  the  demon,  be- 
2;radually  weaker,  and  I  felt  that  I 
soon  be  powerless  in  his  hands, 
effort  to  preserve  my  reason  was 
papiod  by  a  pang  of  mortal  fear,  lest 
.  now  experienced  was  insanity,  and 
hold  mastery  over  me  for  ever.  The 
it  of  death,  which  also  haunted  me, 
IT  less  bitter  than  this  dread.  I 
that  in  the  struggle  which  was  go- 
in  my  frame,  I  was  borne  fearfully 
M  dark  gulf,  and  the  thought  that, 
1  a  time,  both  reason  and  will  were 
;  my  brain,  filled  me  with  an  agon  v. 
[>th  and  blackness  of  which  I  should 
attempt  to  portray.  I  threw  my- 
I  my  bed,  with  the  excited  blood 
«ring  wildly  in  my  ears,  my  heart 
TDg  with  a  force  that  seemed  to  be 
f  wearing  away  my  life,  my  throat 
a  potsherd,  and  my  stiffened  tongue 
ig  to  thp  roof  of  my  mouth — resist- 
longer,  but  awaiting  my  fate  with 
ithy  of  despair. 

companion  was  now  approaching 
mo  condition,  but  as  the  effect  of 
]g  on  him  had  been  less  violent,  so 

Sof  suffering  was  more  clamor- 
cried  out  to  me  that  he  was  dy- 
^ored  me  to  help  him,  and  re- 
ad me  vehemently,  because  I  lay 
Biknt  motionless,  and  apparently 
B  of  nis  danger.  "Why  will  he 
>  me?"  I  thought;  "he  thinks  he 
i|^  but  what  is  death  to  madness  ? 
m  die;  a  thousand  deaths  were 
•sily  borne  than  the  pangs  I  suffer." 
I  was  sufficiently  conscious  to  hear 
elamations,  they  only  provoked  my 
bnt  after  a  time  my  senses  became 

I  and  I  sank  into  a  stupor.     As 

I I  can  judge  this  must  lutve  been 
I'dock  in  the  morning,  rather  more 
te  hours  after  the  hasheesh  began 
i  effect  I  lay  thus  all  the  foUow- 
j  and  night,  in  a  state  of  gray, 
oblivion,  broken  only  by  a  single 
ring  gleam  of  consciousness.    I  re- 

hnaring  Francisco's  voice.  He 
e  afterwards  that  I  arose,  attempted 
m  myself^  drank  two  cups  of  cofieo, 
en  fell  back  into  the  same  death- 


like stupor;  but  of  all  this  I  did  not  re- 
tain the  least  knowledge.  On  the  mor- 
ning of  the  second  day,  after  a  sleep  of 
thirty  hours^  I  awoke  again  to  Uie  world, 
with  a  system  utterly  prostrate  and  un- 
strung, and  a  brain  clouded  with  the 
lingering  images  of  my  visions.  I  knew 
where  I  was,  and  what  had  happ^ied  to 
me,  but  all  that  I  saw  still  remained 
unreal  and  shadowy.  There  was  no  taste 
in  what  I  ate,  no  refreshment  in  what  I 
drank,  and  it  required  a  painful  effort  to 
comprehend  what  was  said  to  me  and  re- 
turn a  coherent  answer.  Will  and  reason 
had  come  back,  but  they  still  sat  un- 
steadily upon  their  thrones. 

My  countryman,  who  was  much,  fur- 
ther advanced  in  his  recovery,  accompa- 
nied me  to  the  adjoining  bath,  which  I 
hoped  would  assist  in  restoring  me.  It 
was  with  great  difficulty  that  I  preserved 
the  outwa^  appearance  of  consciousness. 
In  spite  of  myself,  a  veil  now  and  then 
fell  over  my  mind,  and  after  wandering 
for  years,  as  it  seemed,  in  some  distant 
world,  I  awoke  with  a  shock,  to  find  my- 
self in  the  steamy  halls  of  the  bath,  with 
a  brown  Syrian  polishing  my  limbs.  I 
suspect  that  my  language  must  have  been 
rambling  and  incoherent,  and  that  the 
menials  who  had  me  in  charge  understood 
my  condition,  for  as  soon  as  I  had  stretched 
myself  upon  the  couch  which  follows  the 
bath,  a  glass  of  very  acid  sherbet  was 
presented  to  me,  and  after  drinking  it  I 
experienced  instant  relief.  Still  the  spell 
was  not  wholly  broken,  and  for  two  or 
three  days  I  continued  subject  to  frequent 
involuntary  fits  of  absence,  which  made 
me  insensible,  for  the  time,  to  all  that  was 
passing  around  me.  I  walked  the  streets 
of  Damascus  with  a  strange  consciousness 
that  I  was  in  some  other  place  at  the 
same  time,  and  with  a  constant  effort  to 
reunite  my  divided  perceptions. 

Previous  to  the  experiment,  we  had  de- 
cided on  making  a  journey  to  Palmyra, 
which  lies  in  the  desert,  150  miles  to  the 
north-cast  of  Damascus.  Owing  to  the 
hostility  between  the  Arabs  of  the  villages 
and  the  desert  tribes  of  Ancyzeh,  it  was 
necessary  to  make  the  journey  by  stealth, 
under  the  guidance  of  a  shekh  belonging 
to  some  one  of  the  former  tri))es.  Three 
English  travellers  had  just  returned  in 
safety,  and  the  shekh  was  willing  to  ac- 
company us.  The  state,  however,  in 
which  we  now  found  ourselves,  obliged  us 
to  relinquish  the  plan.  Perhaps  the  ex- 
citement of  a  forced  march  across  the 
desert,  and  a  conflict  with  the  hostile 
Arabs,  which  was  quite  likely  to  happen, 
might  have  assisted  us  in  throwing  off  the 


408 


Review  of  Reviews. 


[Ata 


baneful  effects  of  the  drug;  but  all  the 
charm  which  lay  in  the  name  of  Palmyra 
and  the  romantic  interest  of  the  trip,  was 
gone.  I  was  without  courage  and  without 
energy,  and  nothing  remained  for  me  but 
to  leave  Damascus. 

Two  days  afterwards,  weak  in  body 
and  still  at  times  confused  in  my  percep- 
tions, I  started  for  Baalbec.  On  the  first 
day  we  visited  the  fountains  of  the  Bar- 
rada,  or  Pharpar,  and  slept  at  Zebdeni,  a 
village  in  an  upland  vaJley  among  the 
peaks  of  the  Anti-Lebanon.  The  pure 
mountain  air,  and  the  healing  balm  of  the 
night's  sleep  completed  my  cure.  The 
next  morning,  as  I  rode  along  the  valley, 
with  the  towering,  snow-sprinkled  ridge 
of  the  Anti-Lebanon  on  my  right,  a  cloud- 
less heaven  above  my  head,  and  meads 
enamelled  with  the  asphodel  and  scarlet 
anemone  stretching  before  me,  I  felt  ihat 
the  last  shadow  had  rolled  away  from  my 
brain.  My  mind  was  now  as  clear  as 
that  sky,  my  heart  as  free  and  joyful  as 
the  elastic  morning  air.  The  sun  never 
shone  so  brightly  to  my  eyes,  the  fair 
forms  of  nature  were  never  penetrated 
with  so  perfect  a  spirit  of  beauty.  I  was 
again  master  of  myself,  and  the  world 


glowed  as  if  new-created  in  the  lisht  of 
my  joy  and  gratitude.  I  thanked  (JM 
who  had  led  me  out  of  a  darkness  more 
terrible  than  that  of  the  VaUey  of  the 
Shadow  of  Death,  and  while  my  Ml 
strayed  among  the  flowery  meadows  of 
Lebanon,  my  heart  walked  on  the  De- 
lectable bills  of  His  mercy. 

Yet,  fearful  as  my  rash  experiment 
proved  to  me,  I  did  not  regret  having  mide 
it  It  revealed  to  me  deeps  of  rapture 
and  of  suffering  which  my  natoral  neol- 
ties  never  could  have  sounded.  It  has 
taught  me  the  muesty  of  human  reasoD 
and  of  human  will,  even  in  the  wedmi^ 
and  the  awful  peril  of  tampering  with 
that  which  assails  their  int^inty.  I  have 
here  faithfully  and  fully  written  out  nr 
experience,  on  account  of  the  lesson  iHiia 
it  may  convey  to  others.  If  I  have  mh 
fortunately  fiuled  in  my  design,  and  have 
but  awakened  that  restless  coriodty 
which  I  have  endeavored  to  forestaD,  let 
me  beg  all  who  are  thereby  led  to  repeat 
the  experiment  upon  themselves,  tfaet 
thev  be  content  to  take  the  portion  of 
ha^eesh  which  is  considered  sinftdeotibr 
one  man,  and  not,  like  me,  swallow  eooi^ 
for  six. 


REVIEW    OF   REVIEWS. 


"TITHAT  did  his  contemporaries  think 
M  of  him?"  "IIow  were  his  first 
productions  received  ?  "  IIow  naturally 
these  queries  occur  to  us,  when  contem- 
plating the  literary  character  of  those  who 
have  inscribed  their  names  upon  the 
scroll  of  Fame  !  Gould  there  be  a  more 
delightful  book  than  ^'  The  Judgment  of 
Contemporaries  upon  the  Great  Writers 
of  the  World  1 "  In  English  literature 
alone,  what  a  Boswellian  popularity 
would  that  work  —  not  secure,  but  — 
"jump  into,"  which  should  give  us  — 
"Things  said  and  written  of  British 
authors  and  their  works,  during  their 
lives."  Or,  if  our  prospectus  be  too  am- 
bitious, let  us  have  Dicta  Collectanea 
concerning  any  dozen  of  the  most  re- 
nowned heroes  of  the  "  grey  goose  quill." 
In  this  point  of  view,  how  rich  a  mine  of 
literary  wealth  have  wo  in  the  237  vo- 
lumes of  the  '*  Monthly  Review ; "  con- 
taining contemporary  opinion  upon  the 
productions  of  genius  for  almost  a  cen- 
tury (1740-1842). 


We  do  not  refer  simply  to  the  ^  Month> 
ly  Reviewers' "  opinions ;  but,  be  it  re- 
membered, they  record  and  jndge^  not 
only  any  particular  author's  wovvs^  hot 
also  the  answers,  attacks,  and  private  re- 
views of  all  kinds,  which  the  said  aaflMr^ 
works  elicited.  For  instance:  did  Sam- 
uel Johnson,  LL.D.,  vindicate  the  soicidal 
policy,  against  which  Chatham  and 
Burke  protested,  in  his  ^  Taxation  no 
Tyranny."  published  March  1,1775?  The 
**  Monthly  Review  "  of  only  two  monthi 
later,  proves  that  we  "  rebels  ^  bid 
stanch  champions  of  the  "  Bie  dat^  am 
cito  dat "  school ;  for  the  May  nomber 
records  no  less  than  five  responses  to  the 
grufi*old  doctor,  the  very  titles  of  vrfaich 
stir  our  blood,  as  did  the  first  PittV- 
^^  I  rejoice  that  America  has  resisted !  "— 
nerve  the  arms,  and  strengthen  the  heard 
of  our  patriot  forefathers!  £.0.  «  Re- 
sistance no  Rebellion,"  "  Taxation  Tf- 
ranny,"  &c  But  we  anticipate.  Indeed, 
no  one  can  have  a  correct  idea  of  the  liter- 
ary career  of  any  eminent  author,  whhooi 


1854.] 


JBivietv  of  Beviews. 


409 


ft  knowledge  of  the  opposition  and  criti- 
cism he  elicited,  as  well  as  of  the  praise 
with  which  his  efforts  were  rewarded. 
^BLnowledge  of  this  kind  can  onlj  be 
Ground,  in  extenso,  in  the  reviews  of  the 
dfty.  We  shall  greatly  err  if  we  seek  for 
both  sides,  where  we  have  a  right  to  look 
for  only  one, — in  literary  biographies.  The 
post  of  biographer  generally  presupposes 
that  of  admirer.  Men  do  not  often  write 
lives  of  those  whom  they  despise  or  hate. 
Gibber  may  write  "  Letters  to  Pope,"  and 
P<^  may  return  the  compliment  by  im- 

eing  his  martyred  correspondent  on  the 
best  stake  of  that  ^'  infernal  machine" 
—that  poetical  *•  Cheval  de  Frise"— the 
terrible  ^'  Dunciad ; "  but  we  should  not 
expect  either  to  become  the  other's  bio- 
grapher. The  biographer  naturally  be- 
comes, if  he  do  not  commence,  a  partisan ; 
ftnd  Uie  tendency  of  pariiaanship  is,  to 
engender  contempt  for  the  opinions  of 
those  who  do  not  share  our  enthusiasm. 
Boewell  was  a  most  minute  and  painstak- 
ing chronicler ;  but  had  he  not  more  re- 
spect for  that  gigantic  cat  *'  Hodge,"  of 
which  his  ^^  guide,  philosopner,  and  friend 
was  so  fond,"  than  for  any  score  of  the 
doctor's  hterary  assailants?  We  shall, 
therefore,  proceed  to  glean,  for  our  read- 
ers' edification,  from  the  ^*  Monthly  Re- 
Tiew  "  (principally),  what  he  will  in  vain 
seek  in  other  departments  of  literature,  a 
catalogue  raisonne  of  contemporary 
opinions  upon  the  productions  of  a  man, 
who  will  always  be  admired,  often  loved, 
as  frequently  diisliked,  but  never  despised. 
We  gaze  upon  the  serene  radiance  of  the 
star  with  complacency ;  with  terror  upon 
the  lurid  glare  of  a  comet ;  with  contempt 
enl^  upon  the  "  ineffectual  fire "  of  the 

]gD18-&tUUS. 

We  shall  not  confine  ourselves  to  the 
''Beyiew,"  but  shall  draw  from  other 
sources,  or  intersperse  our  own  comments, 
as  we  may  think  fit.  The  first  notice 
which  we  find  of  Johnson  as  a  writer 
("Irenes"  and  some  periodical  contribu- 
tioiis,  had  been  previously  composed),  is  in 
the  '*  Q^iUeman's  Magazine "  for  May, 
1738  ;  where,  on  page  269,  we  have : 
"  Short  ExTKkCTS from  London  :  a  Poem, 
written  in  imitation  of  the  third  Satire 
of  JuYEMAL  ;  and  become  remarkable 
for  having  got  to  the  second  edition  in 
the  space  of  a  week,"  This  was  a  good 
beginning,  surely !  It  is  on  page  156  of 
this  Tolume  rMarch,  1738),  that  we  find 
our  author's  first  ascertained  contribution 
to  this  venerable  magazine ;  a  history  of 
irliich  periodical  would  be  most  interest- 
iog,  and  may  hereafter  be  attempted  for 
Hpatnam's  Monthly."    The  contribution 

▼0L.III-— 27 


referred  to,  "  Ad  Urbanum^^  is  thus  prc- 
fiiced :  "  All  men  of  sense^  as  far  as  we 
can  findj  having  condemned  the  rude 
treatment  given  to  Mr,  Urban  by  certain 
booksellers^  whose  names  are  not  worth 
the  mention  already  made  of  them^  we 
hope  it  will  not  be  thottght  any  ostenta- 
tion to  let  the  reader  see  a  few  of  the 
pieces  sent  in  his  favor  by  correspond- 
ents of  all  degrees;  especially  as  no  ob- 
jection can  be  made  to  some  of  them  but 
/lis  being  accessory  to  their  publication,'" 
It  is  worthy  of  note,  that  he  who  was  so 
largely  beholden  to  booksellers^  and  to 
whom,  in  return,  booksellers  were  so 
largely  indebted,  thus  at  the  outset  of  his 
literary  career,  took  up  his  lance  in  de- 
fence of  a  bookseller,  against  his  rivals  in 
the  same  trade. 

Nearly  four  years  before  this,  the  young 
author  had  endeavored  to  form  a  con- 
nection with  Cave's  successful  monthly 
pamphlet ;  for  in  November,  1734,  he  gives 
the  publisher  a  hint  that  no  common 
talents  were  in  the  market  place,  *'  because 
no  man  had  hired  them." 

"  Sir, — As  you  appear  no  less  sensible 
than  your  readers  of  the  defects  of  your 
poetical  article,  you  will  not  be  displeased, 
if,  in  order  to  the  improvement  of  it,  I 
communicate  to  you  the  sentiments  of  a 
person  who  will  undertake,  on  reasonable 
terms,  sometimes  to  fill  a  column. 

"  This  opinion  is,  that  the  public  would 
not  give  you  a  bad  reception,  if,  beside  the 
current  wit  of  the  month,  which  a  critical 
examination  would  generally  reduce  to  a 
narrow  compass,  you  admitted  not  only 
poems,  inscriptions,  &c.,  never  printed  be- 
fore, which  he  will  sometimes  supply  you 
with,  but  likewise  short  literary  disserta- 
tions in  Latin  or  English,  critical  remarks 
on  Authors  ancient  or  modem,  forgotten 
poems  that  deserve  revival,  or  loose  pieces, 
like  Floyer's,  worth  preserving.  By  this 
method,  your  literary  article,  for  so  it 
might  be  called,  will,  he  thinks,  be  better 
recommended  to  the  public  than  by  low 
jests,  awkward  buffoonery,  or  the  dull 
scurrilities  of  either  party. 

**  If  such  a  correspondence  will  be  agree- 
able to  you,  be  pleased  to  inform  me  in 
two  posts  what  the  conditions  are  on 
which  you  shall  expect  it.  Your  late  offer 
^ves  me  no  reason  to  distrust  your  gene- 
rosity. FA  prize  of  £50  for  the  best 
poem.]    If  you  engage  in  any  literary 

Srojects  beside  this  paper,  I  have  other 
esigns  to  impart,  if  I  could  be  secure 
from  having  others  reap  the  advantage  of 
what  I  should  hint  Your  letter  by  being 
directed  to  jS.  Smith,  to  be  left  at  the 
Castle,  in  Birmingham,  Warwickshire,  will 


410 


lUvievf  <f  BemetM. 


[Apffa 


reach,  &c"  (BoraelPa  Life  of  John- 
son,) 

To  us,  there  is  something  exceedingly 
touching  in  this  modest  attempt  to  gain 
the  uncertain  bread  of  a  literary  hack. 
Poor  Johnson!  perhaps  he  could  have 
signed  this  letter,  as  he  did  a  later  one  to 
Cave,  "  Impransiis."  We  remember  that 
Walter  Scott,  somewhere  speaks  of  the 
effect  which  this  little  word  had  upon  his 
feeling.  Many  a  breakfiEist.  no  doubt,  he 
ladced  in  this  straitened  season  of  his 
life.  Are  there  not  many  such  sons  of 
want,  even  now,  around  us  ?  And  shall 
wff^not  willingly  communicate  of  that 
which  hath  been  bountifully  intrusted  to 
our  stewardship  ? 

'*•  London,  a  Poem,  in  imitation  of  the 
third  Satire  of  Juvenal,"  was  published 
in  May,  1738 ;  and  we  have  seen,  to  re- 
peat the  quaint  language  of  the  '^  Gentle- 
man's Magazine,"  that  it  had  "become 
remarkable  for  having  got  to  the  Second 
Edition  in  the  space  of  a  week." 

The  young  author  thought  it  prudent 
to  see  what  reception  his  offspring  would 
meet  with  in  the  world,  before  he  acknow- 
ledged paternity.  In  his  letter  to  Cave 
ho  says  that,  ho  has  *^  the  inclosed  poem 
in  my  hands  to  dispose  of  for  the  benefit 
of  the  author  (of  whose  abilities  I  shall 
say  nothing,  since  I  send  you  his  perform- 
ance.) ....  I  cannot  help  taking  notice, 
that  besides  what  the  author  may  hope 
for  on  account  of  his  abilities,  he  has  like- 
wise another  claim  to  your  regard,  as  he 
lies  at  present  under  very  disadvantageous 
circumstances  of  fortune By  ex- 
erting on  this  occasion  your  usual  gene- 
rosity, you  will  not  only  encourage  learn- 
ing and  relieve  distress,  &c."  Cave  would 
not  venture  to  publish  the  poem,  but  he 
seems  to  have  *•  exerted  his  generosity ; " 
for  Johnson  returns  thanks  for  "  the  pre- 
sent you  were  so  kind  as  to  send  by  me."  "  I 
am  very  sensible  from  your  generosity  on 
this  occasion,  of  your  regard  to  learning, 
even  in  its  unhappicst  state ;  and  cannot 
but  think  such  a  temper  deserving  of  the 
gratitude  of  those  who  suffer  so  often  from 
a  contrary  disposition." 

How  little  did  the  obscure,  yet  kind, 
bookseller  then  foresee,  that  this  halt 
famished  youth  should  become  so  illus- 
trious in  the  world  of  letters,  that  the 
greatest  honor  which  attaches  to  the 
name  of  Cave,  should  be  the  fact  of  the 
object  of  his  opportune  bounty  becoming 
his  biographer!  To  say  that  the  book- 
sellers refused  to  purchase  "London," 
is  to  say  but  little.  A  curious  work 
tDOiUd  that  be,  which  should  give  us  a 
full  list  of  the  great  works  which  have 


been  refused  by  a  dozen  of  bookse^lerSj 
each.  Boswell  quotes  Derrick  ms  aiming 
a  poetical  dart  against  this  Opproborium 
Bibliopolarum  (to  coin  a  new  phrase) :— ^ 

**  Will  no  kind  patron  Johnson  own  ? 
Bball  Johnson,  Mendlessi  nmfe  Um  town  ? 
And  every  pabUsher  reftisa 
The  Oflbpring  of  his  bsppy  Mom  t " 

No !  Dodsley  will  take  it !  and  what'i 
more,  he  will  give  ten  guineas  for  it  I 
The  author  says :  "  I  might  perhaps  ha?9 
accepted  of  less ;  but  that  Paul  Whitdiead 
had  a  little  before  got  ten  guineas  for  a 
poem,  and  I  would  not  take  less  than 
Paul  Whitehead."  Ten  guineas  strikes 
us  as  cheap  for  *' London:"  and  yet  it 
was  as  much  again  as  Milton  got  fiv 
"Paradise  Lost'  (saving  contingeixM& 
which  increased  the  sum,  afterwards.)  ' 
"  London"  was  published  on  the  same  day 
with  Pope's  Satire  of  "1738;"  and  HhB 
youthfhl  satirist  did  not  suffer  by  IliA 
comparison;  for  people  said:  ^'Here  is 
an  unknown  poet,  greater  even  tiisn 
Pope."  General  Oglethorpe  (wh»t  Geor- 
gian does  not  feel  his  heart  beat  &ster  aft 
the  name?)  adopted  <^  London"  atonoe; 
and  lived  to  see  its  author  among  the 
foremost  in  rank;  surviving  him  about 
six  months. 

Pope  set  youn^  Richardson  to  work,  to 
find  out  who  this  formidable  rival  was. 
Mr.  Richardson  brought  back  the  infoir- 
mation,  that  he  had  discovered  only  that 
his  *^  name  was  Johnson,  and  that  he  was 
some  obscure  man."  ^*He  will  soon  be 
diterriV  replied  Pope.  This  was  not 
the  only  instance  in  which  he  disj^yed 
a  commendable  generosity  to  the  risins 
star ;  for  from  the  perusal  of  "  London," 
alone,  he  recommended  him  to  Earl  Gh>wer, 
when  Johnson  (in  the  next  year)  soiighl 
a  degree  *^  to  qualifv  him  for  the  master- 
ship of  a  Charibr  School."  The  similarity 
between  "London"  and  Pope's  ^vle  is 
very  observable.  The  ^'  Vanity  of  Humaa 
Wishes,"  essays  a  more  dignified  strain. 
Garrick  accounts  for  this  in  his  own  man- 
ner. "When  Johnson  lived  much  with 
the  Herveys,  and  saw  a  good  deal  of  what 
was  passing  in  life,  he  wrote  his  ^Lon- 
don,' which  is  livbly  and  easy :  when  be 
became  more  retired,  he  gave  ns  his 
*  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes,'  which  is  as 
hard  as  Greek :  had  he  gone  on  to  hnitate 
another  satire,  it  would  have  been  as  hard 
as  Hebrew." 

And  vet,  fiippant  little  David  I  thy  old 
school-fellow  wrote  a  hundred  lines  a  day 
of  this  poem,  if  it  is  "all  Greek"  to  theel 
Hard  as  it  was  to  thee,  David,  it  softened 
a  greater  man  to  tears :  for  Walter  SootI 
tells  us:  *<  The  deep  and  pathetio  morality 


1854.] 


Beview  of  Reviews* 


411 


of  T%e  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes,  has 
often  extracted  tears  from  those  whose 
eyes  wander  dry  over  pages  professedly 
sentimental."  Aye,  it  drew  tears  from 
the  eyes  of  the  author  himself.  George 
Lewis  Scott  describes  a  Tery  interesting 
little  family  gathering  at  Thrale's.  when 
Dr.  Johnson  read  aloud  his  satire ;  when 
he  recounted  the  difficulties  of  the  poor, 
strugglmg  scholar,  he  •*  burst  into  a  pas- 
sion of  tears."  Poor  fellow !  he  remem- 
bered those  days  when  he  subscribed 
himself  impransus  !  No  longer  subiect 
to  the  pangs  of  hunger,  he  now  had  "  all 
that  heart  could  wish:  Aplenty'  honor, 
loTe,  obedience,  troops  of  friends;"  but 
his  mind  reverted  to  those  bitter  days  of 
penury,  when  he  wandered  in  the  streets 
for  want  of  a  lodging,  and  in  the  garb  of 
ix)verty,  devoured  his  dinner,  furnished 
by  the  hand  of  charity,  behind  the  curtain 
at  good  Mr.  Cave's !  How  had  his  con- 
dition changed !  We  need  not  marvel  at 
those  outpourings  of  a  grateful  heart, 
which  gush  forth  in  his  quiet  hours  of 
meditation,  and  solemn  seasons  of  prayer. 
The  great  Being  on  whose  goodness  and 
protection  he  confidently  relied  in  the  day 
of  destitution,  and  hour  of  trial,  had  not 
disappointed  his  hope !  He  had  "  brought 
him  to  great  honor,  and  comforted  him 
on  every  side!"  This  he  deeply  felt; 
and,  however  at  times  arrogant  and  harsh 
to  his  fellow  men,  he  ever,  as  Bishop 
Home  well  says,  "  walked  humbly  before 
the  Lord  his  God." 

We  must  not  quit  the  "  Vanity  of  Hu- 
man Wishes,"  without  quoting,  also, 
Walter  Scott's  remark  to  Ballantyne; 
"  he  had  often  said  to  me,  that  neither  his 
own,  nor  any  modern  popular  style  of 
composition,  was  that  fix>m  which  he 
derived  most  pleasure.  I  asked  him 
what  it  was.  He  answered,  Johnson's; 
and  that  he  had  more  pleasure  in  read- 
ing ^London^  and  the  ^  Vanity  of  Human 
Wishes,^  than  any  other  poetical  com- 
position he  could  mention ;  and  I  thmk  I 
never  saw  his  countenance  more  indicative 
of  high  admiration,  than  while  reciting 
aloud  from  these  productions."  (Lock- 
htft's  Soott)  Lord  Byron  gives  us  his 
opinions  in  his  Ravenna  Diary:  "Read 
Johnson's  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes,  all 
the  examples  and  mode  of  giving  them  are 
sablime,  as  well  as  the  latter  part,  with 
the  exception  of  an  ocasionu  couplet 
"TLei  a  grand  poem — so  true  !  True  as  the 
10th  of  Juvenal  himself.  The  lapse  of 
agesdianges  all  things — time — language 
— the  earu — the  bounds  of  the  sea — the 
stars  of  the  sky,  and  every  thing  about, 
afomidy  and  nndemeath  man,  except  man 


himself  who  has  always  been,  and  always 
will  be,  an  unlucky  rascal.  The  infimte 
variety  of  lives,  conduct  but  to  death, 
and  the  infinity  of  wishes,  leads  but  to 
disappointment." 

Lockhart  informs  us  that,  the  last  line 
of  MS.  that  Scott  sent  to  the  press,  was  a 
quotation  from  the  "  Vanity  of  iluman 
Wishes."  We  must  apologize  for  linger- 
ing so  long  on  the  way ;  but  where  there 
are  so  many  flowers  on  every  side,  solicit- 
ing our  notice,  it  is  difficult  to  make  much 
speed.  ^ 

The  first  notice  of  Johnson  which  we 
find  in  the  "  Monthly  Review,"  is  in  VoL 
6  (1752).  "Four  volumes  of  the  Ram- 
bler, 12mo.  12s.  Payne  &  Bouquet 
These  four  volumes  contain  136  numbers 
of  this  excellent  paper,  out  of  200  now 
published;  and  still  continued  on  Tues- 
days and  Saturdays."  The  first  number 
of  the  "Rambler"  was  published  on 
Tuesday,  March  20, 1749-1750,  and  the 
last  on  Saturday,  17th  (14th  in  fact) 
March,  1752 ;  208  numbers  in  all ;  never 
having  missed  a  publication  day.  Would 
that  all  authors  who  seek  to  advance  the 
interests  of  religion  and  morality,  were  as 
conscientious  as  the  author  of  the  "  Ram- 
bler "  in  imploring  the  aid  of  that  Divine 
grace,  "  without  which,  nothing  is  strong, 
nothing  is  holy."  •'  Grant,  I  beseech 
thee,"  supplicates  the  pious  writer,  "  that 
in  this  undertaking,  thy  Holy  Spirit  may 
not  be  withheld  from  me,  but  that  I  may 
promote  thy  glory,  and  the  salvation 
[both]  of  myself  and  others." 

The  "Rambler"  excited  but  little  at- 
tention at  first  Croker  seems  to  ques- 
tion Payne's  assertion  to  Chalmers,  that 
Richardson's  essay,  No.  97,  was  the  "  only 
paper  which  had  a  prosperous  sale,  and 
was  popular."  But  the  ladies  will  side 
with  Payne,  when  they  discover  by  in- 
spection what  "No.  97"  is  about.  We 
shall  not  inform  them ;  and,  indeed,  we 
strictly  forbid  any  of  our  female  readers 
to  turn  to  this  mysterious  paper.  If  in  this 
Blue-Beard  prohibition,  we  meet  with  the 
same  measure  of  obedience  which  was  ac- 
corded to  our  "illustrious  predecessor," 
we  must  e'en  digest  it  as  we  may.  Bos- 
well,  who,  with  Croker,  has  our  general 
acknowledgments,  enlarges  upon  this  and 
other  publications  of  Us  Dominie's,  at 
ereater  len^  than  we  can  a£ford.  Suf- 
fice it  to  give  a  few  interesting  facts,  for 
which  the  busy,  or  the  idle  reader  who 
will  not  take  the  trouble  to  look  for  him- 
self, will  please  consider  himself  obliged. 
The  good  Doctor  was  sorely  put  to  it  to 
find  a  name  for  his  child.  He  told  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  "What  must  be  done, 


412 


Beviiw  of  JReviews. 


[April 


sir,  twtt  be  done.  When  I  began  publish- 
ing that  paper,  I  was  at  a  loss  how  to 
name  it  I  sat  down  at  night  upon  my 
bedside,  and  resolved  that  I  would  notgo 
to  sleep  till  I  had  fiiced  its  title.  Tlie 
Rambler  seemed  the  best  that  occurred, 
and  I  took  it" 

The  Doctor  wrote  the  whole  of  the  208 
papers,  with  the  exception  of  **  four  billets 
m  No.  10,  by  Miss  Mulso  (afterwards 
Mrs.  Chapone) ;  No.  30,  by  Mrs.  CaUie- 
rine  Talbot  \  No.  97  by  Richardson,  and 
Nos.  44  and  100,  by  Mrs.  Elizabeth 
Carter."  Of  the  204,  thirty  only  were 
"worked  up"  from  previously  prepared 
materials.  The  "  Rambler  "  soon  became 
appreciated  by  those  who  were  capable 
of  discerning  merit  "The  Student" 
speaks  of  it  as  "a  work  that  exceeds  any 
thing  of  the  kind  ever  published  in  this 
kingdom.  May  the  public  favors  crown 
his  merits,  and  may  not  the  English  under 
the  auspicious  reign  of  George  the  Second, 
neglect  a  man,  who,  had  he  lived  in  the 
first  century,  would  have  been  one  of  the 
greatest  favorites  of  Augustus."  Cave 
received  letters  of  commendation,  news- 
paper verses  appeared  in  its  praise,  and 
Elphinston  superintended  an  Edinburgh 
edition,  which  followed  the  London  issue. 
Richardson  wrote  to  Cave,  that  Johnson 
was  the  only  man  who  could  write  them; 
which  Cave  admitted,  but  complained 
that,  good  as  they  were,  they  were  very 
slow  sale.  Even  corpulent  Mrs.  Rambler, 
who  has  never  been  suspected  of  very  ex- 
quisite literaiy  sensibilities,  was  moved 
by  these  effusions  of  the  "  gude  man's," 
and  rewarded  his  labors  with  the  very 
handsome  speech, — "  I  thought  very  wdi 
of  you  before ;  but  I  did  not  imagine  you 
could  have  written  any  thing  equal  to 
this."  Notwithstanding  the  tardy  sale, 
at  first,  the  author  had  the  satis'&ction 
of  surviving  ten  editions  in  London  alone. 
We  must  not  conceal  the  fact  that,  some 
unreasonable  beings  complained  of  the 
erudite  dignity  of  the  style ;  and  declared 
that  the  author  fa  true  "  Yankee  trick," 
we  should  call  it)  used  the  "  hard  words 
in  the  *  Rambler,'  in  order  to  render  his 
Dictionary  indispensably  necessary ! "  Mr. 
Burke,  who,  like  most  truly  great  men, 
excelled  in  wit  and  humor,  said  that 
Johnson's  ladies, — his  Miselhis,  Zorimas 
Properantias,  and  Rhodoclias,— were  all 
"  Johnsons  in  petticoats."  This  is  much 
of  a  piece  with  Goldsmith's  tellmg  John- 
son that  if  he  were  to  write  a  piece  in 
which  little  fishes  had  to  talk,  he  would 
make  them  all  talk  like  great  whales  ! 

In  his  contributions  to  the  "Adven- 
turer," the  Doctor  uses  the  stilts  less;  he 


walks  more;  perhaps  oocasionally  runs. 
Tet  are  we  great  admirers  of  "John- 
sonese." Majestic  diction  was  as  natural 
to  a  man  who  thought  in  rounded  perv- 
ods,  as  was  a  disjointed  chaos  of  the  parts 
of  speech,  to  many  of  his  critics.  So  fiir 
fi?om  the  elaborate  verbal  architecture, 
anxiously  built  up,  and  painfully  oemeDted^ 
which  the  reader  supposed,  the  Ramblers 
were  written  just  as  the^  were  wanted 
for  the  press ;  indeed,  at  times,  the  first 
half  was  in  type  before  the  remainder  was 
on  paper !  fioswell  gives  us  an  amnsipg 
anecdote  relative  to  the  Italian  edition  of 
the  Rambler.  "  A  foreign  minister  of  no 
very  high  talents,  who  had  been  in  his 
company  for  a  considerable  time,  qnite 
overlooked,  happened,  luckily,  to  mention 
that  he  had  read  some  of  his  '  Rambler* 
in  Italian,  and  admired  it  much.  This 
pleased  [Johnson]  him  greatly;  he  ob- 
.  served  that  the  title  had  been  translated 
It  Genio  errante,  though  I  have  been 
told  it  was  rendered  more  ludicrously,  H 
Yagabando ;  and  finding  that  this  minister 
gave  such  a  proof  of  his  taste,  he  was  all 
attention  to  him,  and  on  the  first  remaric 
which  he  made,  however  simple,  exclaimed, 
^  The  ambassador  says  well ;  his  Excel- 
lency observes — ; "  and  then  he  expanded 
and  enriched  the  little  that  had  been  said, 
in  so  strong  a  manner,  that  it  appeared 
something  of  consequence.  This  was  ex- 
ceedingly entertaming  to  the  company  who 
were  present,  and  many  a  time  afterwards 
it  furnished  a  pleasant  topic  of  merrimoit 
*  The  ambassador  says  uelV  became  a 
laughable  term  of  applause  when  no 
mighty  matter  had  beoi  expressed." 

It  deserves  to  be  noticed,  that  the  llOtb 
number  of  the  "  Rambler  "  (on  Repentr 
ance)  was  the  means  of  dedding  the  Rer. 
James  Compton,  of  the  English  Beaedae- 
tine  Monks,  at  Paris,  to  leave  that  body, 
and  embrace  the  Protestant  fiuth.  How 
many  devotees  of  the  Greek  Church  it 
would  have  converted,  we  have,  mifortn- 
nately,  no  means  of  Knowing;  yet  the 
author  thought,  at  one  time,  that  it  was 
about  having  the  opportunity  presented 
to  it  Somehow  or  other,  he  beard  that 
the  Empress  of  Russia  had  ordered  a 
translation  of  the  Rambler  into  the  Rus- 
sian language.  "So,"  says  the  aothnr 
with  a  complacent  smile  "I  shall  be  read 
on  the  banks  of  the  Wolga.  Horaee 
boasts  that  his  fame  would  extend  as  far 
as  the  banks  of  the  Rhone;  now  Uie 
Wolga  is  farther  from  me  than  the  Rhone 
was  from  Horace."  Whether  this  was 
the  work  of  some  wicked  wag,  or  not  we 
cannot  tell ;  but  we  believe  that  the  Rus- 
sian edition  of  the  "Rambter"  is 


1854.] 


Bevievf  of  Beviewg. 


418 


scarcer  than  any  "  liber  rarissimos  "  which 
tmntalizes  the  ^*  belluo  librorum  "  in  the 
^  choice  catalogue  of  Thomas  Thorpe." 

**The  Literary  Magazine,  or  Uni- 
versal Review  "  made  its  first  appear- 
ance May,  1756,  and  its  last,  July,  1758. 
For  this  periodical  Johnson  wrote  five 
essays  and  some  twenty-five  reviews. 
We  have  adverted,  heretofore,  to  the  temp- 
tation under  which  a  reviewer  lies,  to  abuse 
his  position  to  personal,  and  often  un- 
worthy, ends.  Candor  compels  us  to  ad- 
mit that,  even  our  stem  moralist  was 
not  proof  against  what  has  so  often  se- 
duced the  fidelity  of  smaller  men. 

Jonas  Hanway,  a  man  with  more  than 
ordinary  pretensions  to  the  character  of  a 
philanthropist,  as  his  introduction  of  um- 
orellas  into  Britain  demonstrates, — a  man 
who  had  heretofore  ranked  as  a  decent, 
well-deserving,  "  highly  respectable  "  citi- 
zen,— actually  had  the  hardihood,  malig- 
nity and  effrontery,  to  publish  a  violent 
attack  upon — what  think  you,  gentle 
reader  ?  public  morality,  or  private  char- 
acter ?  neither,  but  an  attack  upon  "  Tea- 
Drinking.^^  Whether  he  forgot  the 
Doctor's  propensity,  or  was  ignorant  of 
his  being  a  reviewer,  or  was  determined 
to  brave  the  matter  out  in  his  zeal  for  the 
public  good,  does  not  appear.  To  suppose 
that  our  Doctor  would  tamely  bear  this 
terrific  attack  upon  his  favorite  beverage, 
was  reckoning  without  his  host.  He 
came  down  with  such  sledge-hammer 
blows  upon  Jonas,  that  the  latter  rea- 
lized that,  now,  at  least,  if  never  when  in 
Russia,  he  had  "  caught  a  Tartar."  John- 
son describes  himself  as  ^'a  hardened  and 
shameless  tea- drinker  ;  who  for  many 
years  diluted  his  meals  only  with  the  in- 
fusion of  this  fascinating  plant;  whose 
kettle  has  hardly  time  to  cool ;  who  with 
tea  amuses  the  evening,  with  tea  solaces 
the  midnight ;  and  with  tea  welcomes  the 
momine."  Tyens  parodied  the  last  phrase 
"  te  veniente  die — te  decedente."  Imagine 
the  stupefaction  of  horror  into  which  the 
xeiUous  Jonas  was  thrown,  by  this  un- 
blushing avowal  of  unrepented  profligacy ! 
He  girded  on  his  sword  afresh,  and  at- 
tacked the  TeormoTister  with  all  the  zeal 
of  a  true  imitator  of  Saint  George.  The 
great  dragon,  in  this  instance,  however, 
held  with  feline  tenacity  to  life ;  and  con- 
tinued to  toss  off  his  dozen  or  twenty  cups 
of  "  bohea,"  or  "  young  hyson,"  without 
earing  a  rush  for  Jonas  Hanway  and  his 
Gaastic  strictures. 

The  "  Monthly  Review"  for  April,  1755. 
was  enlarged  *'  four  pages  extraordinary," 
and,  even  at  that,  the  usual  "catalogue" 
omitted,  to  make  room  for  a  copious  no- 


tice of  Johnson's  Dictionary.  The  want 
of  a  good  dictionary,  before  Johnson^s 
made  its  appearance,  need  not  be  enlarged 
upon  here.  Those  who  are  versed  in 
pnilology  will  not  need  our  learning  upon 
the  subject ;  and  those  who  have  no  taste 
for  it,  would  vote  us  a  bore.  So  we  resist 
the  temptation  of  a  vast  parade  of  learning, 
which  would  be  about  as  profound  as 
much  smattering  we  meet  with  in  this 
day  of  universal  scholarship.  Cooper 
says,  somewhere,  that  an  American  would 
consider  himself  as  ignorant,  indeed,  if  he 
did  not  feel  competent  to  talk  upon  any 
subject,  whatsoever;  so  our  "  clever  young 
men,"  range,  at  will,  from  "  Shakespeare 
and  the  musical  glasses,"  to  the  Greek 
particle ;  and  from  "  Toilette "  critiques, 
to  the  differential  calculus.  To  show 
how  reviewers  worked  in  those  days,  al- 
though the  dictionary  was  published  only 
on  the  15th  of  the  month,  the  review  of 
thirty-two  pages  (principally  quotations, 
inde^)  was  ready  for  the  press  by  the 
24th.  It  is  much  to  the  credit  of  the 
^  Monthly  Review,"  that,  notwithstanding 
its  Whig  principles,  Johnson  was  always 
treated  with  a  marked  consideration; 
which  in  days  of  excited  party  spirit,  is 
not  often  accorded  to  political  opponents. 
In  regard  to  lexicography,  all  literary 
men.  Whig  and  Tory,  were  ready  to  hail 
with  gratitude  one  who  should  promise 
order  and  certainty  where  there  reigned 
obscurity  and  confusion.  English  scholars 
had  to  endure  in  silence  the  sarcasm  of 
the  Abb^  le  Blanc,  who  declares  that, 
such  was  the  passion  for  the  English 
tongue  that  the  French  had  made  it  one 
of  the  learned  languages,  and  that  even 
their  women  studied  it;  and  yet  that 
there  was  not  so  much  as  a  good  diction- 
ary, or  hardly  a  tolerable  grammar.  The 
Reviewer  foresees  a  brighter  state  of 
affairs,  since  the  valiant  doctor  had  come  to 
the  rescue  : — "  But  these  reproaches,  we 
hope,  will  in  a  great  measure  be  removed^ 
as  well  as  the  acquiring  a  competent 
knowledge  of  the  genius  of  our  tongue, 
facilitated  by  the  work  before  us;  a 
work  that  has  been  much  wanted,  and  no 
less  eagerly  expected,  especially  by  those 
who  are  acquainted  with  Mr.  Johnson's 
literary  abilities."  After  copious  quota- 
tions, the  reviewer  thus  proceeds :  '*  Such 
is  Mr.  Johnson^s  account  of  what  he  has 
endeavored;  and  barely  to  say  that  he 
has  well  performed  his  task,  would  be  too 
frigid  a  commendation  of  a  performance 
that  will  be  received  with  gratitude,  by 
those  who  are  sincerely  zealous  for  the 
reputation  of  English  literature:  never- 
theless, lavish  as  we  might,  justly,  be  in 


414 


Beview  of  Beviewi, 


[Afril 


its  praise^  we  are  not  blind  to  its  imper- 
fections ;  for  some  we  have  observed,  even 
in  the  short  time  allowed  us  for  the  in- 
spection of  this  large  work,  nor  are  all  of 
them  equally  imimportant.  Some  may, 
perhaps,  expect  that  we  should  point  out 
what  appear  to  us  defects;  but  this  we 
decline,  because  most  of  them  will  be  ob- 
vious to  the  judicious  and  inquisitive 
reader ;  nor  are  we  inclinable  to  feed  Uie 
malevolence  of  little  or  lazy  critics:  be- 
sides which,  our  assiduous  and  ingenious 
compiler,  has,  in  a  great  measure,  antici- 
pated all  censure  by  his  apologetical  ac- 
knowledgments. Upon  the  whole,  if  the 
prodigious  extent  of  this  undertaking,  and 
the  numerous  difficulties  necessarily  at- 
tending it,  be  duly  considered ;  also  that 
it  is  the  labor  of  one  single  person  Twho 
himself  tells  us  it  was  written  with  little 
assistance  of  the  learned,  and  without  the 
patronage  of  the  great;  not  in  the  soft, 
obscurities  of  retirement,  nor  under  the 
shelter  of  academic  bowers,  but  amidst  in- 
convenience and  distraction,  in  sickness 
and  in  sorrow),  instead  of  affording  matter 
for  envy  or  malignancy  to  prey  upon,  it 
must  excite  wonder  and  admiration  to  see 
how  greatly  he  has  succeeded."  The  re- 
viewer proceeds:  "His  grammar  is  con- 
cise, yet  far  from  being  obscure ;  several 
of  his  remarks  are  uncommon,  if  not  new, 
and  all  of  them  deserving  particular  at- 
tention. The  prosody  is  treated  with  an 
accuracy  we  do  not  remember  to  have 
met  with  in  other  grammarians ;  and  the 
whole  appears  to  us  well  calculated  to 
serve  its  professed  purpose,  which  is,  that 
the  English  language  may  be  learned,  if 
the  reader  be  acquamtcd  with  graiymati- 
cal  terms,  or  taught  by  a  master  to  those 
who  are  more  ignorant." 

The  Doctor,  with  his  usual  foresight, 
had  adopted  an  excellent  mode  of  dis- 
couraging all  adverse  criticism,  by  admit- 
ting in  his  preface,  that,  a  few  wild  blun- 
ders and  risible  absurdities  might  for  a 
time  furnish  folly  with  laughter,  and 
harden  ignorance  into  contempt.  Now  as 
no  reviewer  is  particularly  desirous  of 
being  considered  either  a  fool,  or  an  igno- 
ramus, we  may  suppose  that  the  Jeffreys 
of  the  day  were  contented  to  praise  where 
they  could,  and  be  silent  where  they  dis- 
approved. 

Thomas  Warton,  in  a  letter  to  his 
brother,  after  admitting  that  "  the  preface 
was  noble  and  the  history  of  the  language 
pretty  full,"  complains  that,  "  strokes  of 
laxity  and  indolence "  were  plainly  to  be 
perceived.  "  Laxity  and  indolence  "  there 
will  always  be  in  the  work  of  man ;  but 
vigor  and  industry  also  there  were,  else 


the  dictionary  had  never  seen  the  light 
The  author  cctmmenced  with  a  good  stodc 
of  confidence.  When  Dr.  Adams  started 
back  aghast  at  the  stupendous  character 
of  the  scheme,  exclaimiDg,  "This  is  a 
great  work,  sir.  How  are  you  to  get  all 
&e  etymolqgies? — Johnson.  Why,  sir, 
here  is  a  shelf  with  Junius  and  Skinner, 
and  others ;  and  there  is  a  Welsh  ^tie- 
man  who  has  published  a. collection  of 
Welsh  proverbs,  who  will  help  me  with 
the  Welsh. — Adams.  But,  sir,  how  can 
you  do  this  in  three  years  ?---Johnsok. 
Sir,  I  have  no  doubt  that  I  can  do  it  in 
three  years. — Adams.  But  the  Fraich 
Academy,  which  consists  of  forty  members, 
took  forty  years  to  compile  their  Diction- 
ary.— Johnson.  Sir,  thus  it  is.  This  is 
the  proportion.  As  three  to  sixteen  hun- 
dred, so  is  the  proportion  of  an  Engliab- 
man  to  a  Frenchman." 

The  history  of  Lord  Chesterfield's  oon- 
nection  with  Johnson's  first  philological 
aspirations;  the  tardy  patronship,  and 
the  severe  epistle  to  his  Lordship  an 
well  known.  Although  a  bigoted  John- 
sonite,  we  consider  that  the  lexicographflr 
was  not  free  fh)m  fault  in  this  business. 
We  have  no  space  to  spare,  however,  for 
any  argumentation  upon  the  point  Tha 
EarPs  suggestions  upon  the  prospectus 
were  all  adopted  by  the  author. 

The  Doctor  displayed  no  little  ingenuilT 
in  the  preliminary  arrangement  of  hv 
materioL  Bishop  Percy  tells  us :  "  Bos- 
well's  account  of  the  manner  in  whicli 
Johnson  compiled  his  Dictionary,  is  con- 
fused and  erroneous.  He  began  his  task 
(as  he  himself  expressly  descnbed  to  me) 
by  devoting  his  first  care  to  a  diligent 
perusal  of  all  such  English  writers  as 
were  most  correct  in  their  language,  and 
under  every  sentence  which  he  meant  to 
quote,  he  drew  a  line,  and  noted  in  the 
margin  the  first  letter  of  the  word  under 
which  it  was  to  occur.  He  then  ddivered 
these  books  to  his  clerks^  who  trans- 
scribed  each  sentence  on  a  separate  sl^ 
of  paper,  and  arranged  the  same  under 
the  word  referred  to.  By  these  means^ 
he  collected  the  several  words  and  their 
different  significations;  and  when  the 
whole  arrangement  was  alphabetlcaUv 
formed,  he  gave  the  definitions  of  their 
meanings,  and  collected  their  etymologies 
from  Skinner,  Junius,  and  other  writm 
on  the  subject" 

Andrew  Millar's  exclamations  of  delight 
at  the  reception  of  the  last  sheet,  was  less 
reverent  than  Johnson's  pk>us  rejoinder. 
We  do  not  wonder  at  Millar's  impatience. 
The  "three  years,"  proved  to  be  more 
tjiui  seven;  and  the  copy-right  money 


m*. 


BevUw  of  Bniewt. 


i.\^ 


^£1575,  equal  perhaps  to  $15,000  in  our 
oay)  had  long  been  in  the  hands  of  the 
lexicographer.  Here  was  an  opportunity, 
m  the  pages  of  a  work  of  ^neral  refer- 
ence, too  good  to  be  lost,  of  givine  vent  to 
some  of  the  strong  prejudices  which  the 
Doctor  adhered  to  with  a  pertinacity 
worthy  of  a  worthy  cause;  accordingly 
we  have  some  curious  definitions: 

"  Oats.  A  grain  which,  in  England,  is 
generally  given  to  horses,  but  in  Scotland, 
supports  the  people." 

"  Whig.  The  name  of  a  Action." 

"  Pension.  An  allowance  made  to  any 
one  without  an  equivalent.  In  England, 
it  is  generally  understood  to  mean,  pay- 
given  to  a  state  hireling,  for  treason  to  his 
country." 

We  may  be  sure  that  the  last  definition 
was  not  forgotten  by  the  lexicographer's 
friends,  or  enemies,  when  a  pension  of 
X300  was  graciously  bestowed  upon  the 
author  of  the  "Rambler,"  by  George 
Third.  Nor  did  Johnson  himself  forget 
his  unhappy  definition ;  for  he  consulted 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  as  to  the  proprietr 
of  the  author  of  such  a  sweeping  attack 
upon  pensioners  becoming  one  himself. 

•The  Dictionary  sold  well ;  for  a  second 
folio  edition  was  published  within  a  year. 
This  was  a  triumph  for  the  author ;  who 
declared  that,  of  all  his  acquaintances, 
there  were  only  two  who,  upon  the  publi- 
eation  of  the  work,  did  not  endeavor  to 
depress  him  with  threats  of  censure  fix)m 
the  public,  or  with  objections  learned 
fiwn  those  who  had  learned  them  from 
his  ovm  preface. 

He  complains,  in  1771,  that,  "my 
summer  wanderings  are  now  over,  and  I 
am  engaging  in  a  very  great  work,  the 
xevision  of  my  Dictionary ;  from  which,  I 
loiow  not  at  present  how  to  get  loose." 
In  the  next  year,  the  work  had  reached 
its  fourth  edition,  but  was  much  the  same 
•8  when  first  published ;  for  he  tells  Bos- 
well  :  "A  new  edition  of  my  great  Diction- 
ary is  printed  fi?om  a  copy  which  I  was 
persuaded  to  revise ;  but  having  made  no 
preparation,  I  was  able  to  do  very  little. 
Some  superfluities  I  have  expunged,  and 
some  faults  I  have  corrected,  and  here  and 
there  have  scattered  a  remark ;  but  the 
nudn  fabric  of  the  work  remains  as  it  was. 
X  had  looked  very  little  into  it  since  I 


wrote  it,  and  I  think,  I  fbund  it  fiill  as 
often  better,  as  worse,  than  I  expected." 
"  The  world,*'  he  tells  Mr.  Bagshaw,  "must 
at  present  take  it  as  it  is." 

Mrs.  Piozzi  tells  a  curious  anecdote 
upon  this  point.  "As  he  was  walking 
along  the  Strand,  a  gentleman  stepped  out 
of  some  neighboring  tavern,  with  his  nap- 
kin in  his  hand,  and  no  hat,  and  stopping 
him  as  civilly  as  he  could, — "  I  beg  your 
pardon,  sir ;  but  jrou  are  Dr.  Johnson,  I 
believe."  "  Yes,  su-."  "  We  have  a  wager 
depending  on  ^our  reply :  pray,  sir,  is  it 
irriparable  or  irrep^able  that  one  should 
say  ?  "  «  The  last,  I  think,  sir,"  answered 
Dr.  Johnson,  "for  the  adverb  [adjective] 
ought  to  follow  the  verb;  but  you  had 
better  consult  my  Dictionary  than  me ;  for 
that  was  the  result  of  more  thought  Uian 
you  will  now  give  me  time  for.°'  "  No, 
no,"  replied  the  gentleman  gayly,  "the 
&oo/r  I  have  no  certainty  at  all  of;  but 
here  is  the  author  to  whom  I  referred :  I 
have  won  my  twenty  guineas  quite  fairly, 
and  am  much  obliged  to  you,  sir,"  so  shad- 
ing Dr.  Johnson  kindly  by  the  hand,  he 
went  back  to  finish  his  dinner,  or  dessert" 
Croker  comments :  "  The  Dictionary  gives, 
and  rightly,  a  contrary  decision." 

Robert  Dodsley  is  entitled  to  our  grati- 
tude^ for  suggesting  the  publication  of  a 
Dictionary  to  Johnson ;  although  the  latter 
declares  that  he  had  long  thought  of  it. 
Boswell  one  day  ventured  one  of  his  usual 
sapient  remarks:  "You  did  not  know 
what  you  were  undertaking."  Johnson. 
"  Yes,  sir,  I  knew  very  well  what  I  was 
undertaking,  and  very  well  how  to  do  it, 
and  have  aone  it  very  well."  When 
Johnson  asked  Garrick,  what  people  said 
of  the  new  book,  he  replied,  that  it  was 
objected  to  as  citing  authorities  which 
were  beneath  the  dignity  of  such  a  work ; 
Richardson,  for  example.  "  Nay,"  said  the 
lexicographer,  "I  have  done  worse  than 
that :  I  have  cited  thee,  David." 

But  all  did  not  find  fault.  Sheridan 
paid  a  compliment  to  the  author,  in  his 
prologue  to  Savace's  tragedy  of  "Sir 
Thomas  Overbury,"  worthy  of  both  the 
donor  and  the  recipient — 

**8o  pl«ftd8  the  tale  that  giree  to  Itatnre  timoe 
The  8on*8  misfoxianes  and  the  parent's  crimee; 
There  ahall  hia  flune  (if  own'd  to-night)  sanrire ; 
FU*d  bj  the  hand  that  bids  oar  language  liva** 


410 


[April 


THE   TWO   ANGELS. 

TWO  angels,  one  of  Life  and  one  of  Death. 
PassS  o'er  the  village  as  the  momingoioke; 
The  dawn  was  on  their  faces,  and  beneath, 
The  sombre  houses  hearsed  with  plumes  of  smoke» 

Their  attitude  and  aspect  were  the  same, 
Alike  their  features  and  their  rob^  of  white; 

But  one  was  crowned  with  amaranth,  as  with  flame, 
And  one  with  asphodels,  like  flakes  of  light 

I  saw  them  pause  on  their  celestial  way ; 

Then  said  I.  with  deep  fear  and  doubt  oppressed : 
"  Beat  not  so  loud,  my  heart,  lest  thou  betray 

The  place  where  thy  beloved  are  at  rest !" 

And  he,  who  wore  the  crown  of  asphodels. 
Descending,  at  my  door  began  to  knock, 

And  my  soul  sank  within  me,  as  in  wells 
The  waters  sink  before  an  earthquake's  shock. 

I  recognized  the  nameless  agony. 
The  terror  and  the  tremor  and  the  pain, 

That  oft  before  had  filled  and  haunted  mc^ 
And  now  returned  with  threefold  strength  again. 

The  door  I  opened  to  my  heavenly  guest, 
And  listened,  for  I  thought  I  heara  God's  voice ; 

And  knowing  whatsoe'er  he  sent  was  best, 
Dared  nei&er  to  lament  nor  to  rejoice. 

Then  with  a  smile,  that  filled  the  house  with  light 
"  My  errand  is  not  Death,  but  Life,"  he  said ; 

And  ere  I  answered,  passing  out  of  sight 
On  his  celestial  embassy  he  sped. 

'Twas  at  thy  door,  0  friend  !  and  not  at  mine, 
The  angel  with  the  amaranthine  wreath, 

Pausing  descended,  and  with  voice  divine. 

Whispered  a  word  that  had  a  sound  like  Death. 

Then  fell  upon  the  house  a  sudden  gloom, 
A  shadow  on  those  features  fair  and  thin ; 

And  softly,  from  that  hushed  and  darkened  room, 
Two  angels  issued,  where  but  one  went  in. 

All  is  of  God !  If  He  but  wave  his  hand 
The  mists  collect,  the  rain  falls  thick  and  loud, 

Till  with  a  smile  of  light  on  sea  and  land,  , 
Lo !  he  looks  back  from  the  departing  cloud. 

Anecls  of  Life  and  Death  alike  are  His ; 

Without  his  leave  they  pass  no  threshold  o'er ; 
Who,  then,  would  wish  or  dare,  believing  this. 

Against  his  messengers  to  shut  the  door? 


417 


OF    FITNESS   IN  ORATORY. 


mere  prudential  maxim,  but  an 
>w,  that  in  undertaking  to  act 
3,  we  must  paj  attention  to  the 
oes  under  which  our  attempts 

These  circumstances  are  noth- 
an  our  relations,  which  again 
ined  by  the  personal  character 
d  by  our  influence  upon  that 

But  now  every  one  requires 
rsonality  be  respected,  and  if  he 
.t  it  can  and  must  undergo 
t  he  demands  that  this  shall  be 
pass,  not  in  suppressmg,  but  in 
.nd  expanding  his  existing  tibt 
)  this  is  a  universal  demand,  and 
b  moral  law  to  adjust  our  de- 
that  they  can  consist  with  the 
f  the  other  party,  we  are  sub- 
his  law  to  the  duty  of  respect- 
irsonality ;  that  is,  of  adapting 
of  procedure  to  relations  and 
388.  For  in  the  effort  to  put  an 
actice,  we  assert  our  own  per- 
at  m  order  that  this  may  not 
it  the  expense  and  through  the 
.  of  the  personality  of  others,  we 
»vor  by  a  most  thorough  ad- 
eretO;  to  extenuate  and  to  make 
the  preponderance  we  strive  to 
»  arose  the  first  duty  to  make 
nsort  with  theirs ;  hence  arises 
ond  duty,  in  asserting  our  per- 
acknowledge  theirs  and  to  ap- 
ry  thing  which  belongs  to  it 
satest  care.  Since  now,  accord- 
previous  position,  the  highest 
10  the  highest  prudence,  it  fol- 
ihis  roond  propriety  or  appro- 
in  action,  will  be  the  surest 

the  indispensable  condition  of 
is  this  by  which  the  practical 
i  higher  and  better  sense  of  the 
inguishes  himself;  and  if  his 
irays  exhibits  this  feature,  and 
it  means  invariably  successful, 
uld  not  simply  ascribe  to  him 
[id  forget  the  moral  power  of 
.  There  are  men  of  this  sort, 
I  confidence  at  the  first  look, 
I  reason ;  because  while  main- 
r  own  personality  with  dignity 
aphasis,  they  do  not  forgot  that 
uch  yields  to  the  personality 
ler  individual  its  fullest  rights. 
ive  these  men  undertaken  to 
fficult  matter,  when  difficulties 
id  opposition  vanishes,  because 
rho  observes  their  proceedings 
I  that  his  own  interests  will  be 
tor«bj.     These  are  the  men 


who  guide  and  govern  social  life:  and 
from  such  an  example  as  theirs  we  must 
take  our  start,  in  order  to  form  a  lively 
idea  of  the  distinctive  features  of  the  ora- 
tor. On  the  contrary  there  are  men 
enough  who  are  ever  ready  and  anxious 
to  accomplish  some  good  end,  but  who, 
because  they  always  bring  forward  their 
plans  at  an  unsuitable  season,  and  because 
they  are  not  capable  of  adapting  them  to  the 
peculiarities  of  those  with  whom  they  deal 
are  perpetually  baffled  in  theu*  plans  and 
underts^ings ;  good  men,  if  you  will,  yet 
men  who,  beyond  a  doubt,  stand  in  need 
of  a  higher  moral  cultivation.  These  are 
the  genuine  unrhetorical  natures,  well 
adapted  to  illustrate  in  the  clearest  man- 
ner, what  the  orator  may  not  be. 

As  it  applies  to  all  moral  activity,  so 
does  this  law  of  propriety,  hold  gooa  in 
rhetoric,  and  imparts  to  the  rhetoric  which 
is  framed  in  accordance  with  it,  certain 
characteristics  which  are  of  ethical  origin, 
and  which,  at  the  same  time,  may  be  re- 
garded as  the  best  means  of  moving  the 
hearer's  heart 

In  the  first  place,  a  discourse  construct- 
ed in  accordance  with  existing  relations, 
will  be  so  adapted  to  the  capacity  of  the 
hearer,  that  it  will  neither  tax  it  too  se- 
verely nor  leave  it  too  little  employed.  For 
the  capacity  is  dependent  upon  the  know* 
ledge  and  mental  culture  of  the  hearer; 
forming  a  very  important  part  of  his  per- 
sonality, which  the  orator  is  bound  to  re- 
spect, and  which  he  will  unpardonablj 
ofiend  if  he  wearies  him  with  excessive 
obscurity  or  excessive  simplicity  in  his 
discourse.  And  as  a  very  complete  ac- 
quaintance with  his  public  is  necessary  in 
order  to  avoid  both  these  errors,  it  is  obli- 
gatory upon  the  orator  to  use  .all  diligence 
in  acquiring  a  knowledge  of  the  same. 
Otherwise  he  will  subject  himself  to  the 
reproach  of  one  who  has  undertaken  a 
business,  and  has  neglected  to  obtain  the 
information  necessary  in  the  case.  It  is 
true  indeed  that  among  the  same  class  of 
hearers  the  degree  of  culture  attained  will 
vary  in  each  individual  case ;  yet  a  middle 
course  is  not  difficult  to  be  found,  and  ac- 
cordingly a  fictitious  general  or  normal 
hearer  may  be  imagined,  which  may  be 
kept  constantly  in  view,  and  to  which 
every  thing  may  be  addressed ;  by  which 
device  one  may  escape  error  in  either  of 
the  directions  adverted  to. 

When  an  orator  is  not  in  a  position 
rightly  to  judgje  of  his  public,  or  is  inca- 
paUe  of  engagmg  its  attention  in  a  soitablo 


418 


Of  Fitness  in  Oratory. 


[April 


manner,  we  cannot  regard  it  simply  as  a 
natural  deficiency,  nor  express  regret  mere- 
ly, but  it  must  be  viewed  as  a  moral  and 
a  culpable  deficiency;  one  is  bound  to 
observe  such  incompetence  in  one's  seli^  and 
one  should  abandon  an  employment  which 
is  found  to  be  beyond  his  reach :  particu- 
larly as  in  most  cases,  perseverance  and 
application  would  have  compensated  for 
what  was  lacking  to  him  of  native  talent 
And  indeed  were  his  native  talents  of  the 
greatest)  it  would  still  and  forever  be  im- 
possible for  him,  te  appreciate  the  habits 
of  thought  prevailing  in  a  circle  of  cultiva- 
ted hearers,  and  to  adapt  his  own  to  the 
same,  unless  himself  the  possessor  of  a 
scientific  and  a  learned  education.  This 
then  he  is  under  obligation  to  obtain; 
ignorance  with  him  is  to  be  considered  as 
a  defect  in  character,  and  to  be  visited  as 
such  with  reprobation.  And  this  shows 
us  again  how  in  the  case  of  the  orator  the 
activity  of  all  his  mental  faculties  is  under 
a  moral  guidance. 

In  the  acquisition  of  a  learned  and  scien- 
tific culture,  we  have  absolutely  no  limit 
to  propose  to  him ;  let  him  proceed  as  far 
as  he  can ;  let  him  keep  pace  with  his  age 
or  outstrip  it ;  only  let  him  never  forget 
that  for  him  as  orator,  learning  and  science 
arc  simply  means,  not  end,  and  that  he 
should  not  make  an  exhibition  of  these 
various  attainments  at  the  expense  of 
those  moral  ideas  which  must  form  the 
staple  of  his  discourse.  This  would  bo  in 
itself  immoral  as  an  exhibition  of  vanity : 
it  would  also  be  to  overlook  the  capacity 
of  the  hearer,  and  would  lead  to  the  in- 
troduction of  topics  and  discussion  which 
would  fatigue  the  attention  of  the  public 
without  any  good  result,  or  would  give 
rise  to  indistinct  ideas  instead  of  clear  con- 
ceptions ;  this  would  be  the  second  and  as 
is  self-evident,  the  equally  moral  error 
which  is  forbidden  by  the  canon  of  fitness 
in  reference  to  the  capacity  of  the  hearer. 

In  this  adaptation  of  the  discourse  to 
the  capacity  of  the  hearer,  which,  as  we 
^  have  seen,  is  of  moral  origin,  we  discover 
the  first  means  of  exciting  the  feelings. 
In  order  to  promote  the  hearer's  uiterest 
in  a  train  of  ideas,  it  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary that  the  activity  required  of  him 
should  not  be  wearisome ;  in  that  case, 
he  would  soon  become  tired  of  it,  and  re- 
lapse into  an  inactivity  which  would  ren- 
der fruitless  all  further  attempts  made  to 
interest  him  by  the  orator.  And  should 
he  be  disposed  to  pay  attention  to  a  dis- 
course which,  by  its  obscurity,  puts  his 
faculties  on  the  rack,  yet  these  extraordi- 
nary efforts  of  his  understanding  will  ope- 
rate to  suppress  the  activity  of  imagina- 


tion and  feeling,  so  that  it  will  be  impossi- 
ble to  affect  them.  In  a  similar  manner, 
also,  will  attention  fiag,  under  an  exoessire 
simplicity  of  address,  and  the  finer  move- 
ments of  the  affections  will  ever  refuse 
the  bidding  of  a  man  who  cannot  satisfy 
even  the  understanding. 

Here  I  must  expect  the  objection,  that 
the  man  who  is  prudent  enough  to  make 
the  above  observations  himself^  needs  no- 
thing beyond  this  very  prudence  in  order 
to  act  in  accordance  with  them,  and  to 
adapt  his  discourse  to  the  comprehensioD 
of  the  hearer — thus  leaving  the  monl 
qualities  of  the  orator  entirely  out  of  the 
question.  Wo  admit  that  with  many  a 
demagogue  in  Athens  and  Kome,  sndi 
might  really  have  been  the  case :  such  an 
example,  however,  proves  nothing  for  us; 
for  there,  if  any  one  had  ventured  to  utter 
any  thing  unintelligible,  he  would  have 
been  driven  from  the  forum  by  the  hoot- 
ings  of  the  impatient  assembly.  In  such 
a  situation,  where  the  absolute  necessity 
of  following  such  a  rule  was  apparent 
one  might,  perhaps,  .dispense  with  the 
assistance  of  moral  qualities,  which,  mider 
other  circumstances,  are  indispensable; 
but  because,  forsooth,  a  bad  man  is  driven 
by  constraint  to  adopt  a  particular  course, 
it  does  not  follow  that  there  is  nothing 
of  a  moral  nature  involved  in  it^  and  that 
if  restrictions  were  removed,  both  bad 
and  good  would  succeed  in  it  alike.  Con- 
sider for  a  moment  the  pulpit  oratw  of 
our  day,  whose  relation  to  his  hearers  is 
far  less  restricted,  their  reaction  upon 
him  being  by  no  means  so  offensive ;  bow 
difficult,  and,  indeed,  impossible  it  seems 
to  be.  often  for  men  of  the  ^^eatest  wis- 
dom, and  not  at  all  wanting  m  aUlitj,  to 
judge  of  the  public,  to  keep  their  disooune 
at  a  just  elevation,  mounting  neither  too 
high  nor  descending  too  low  fbv  their 
hearers.  Carried  away  by  their  own 
passion  for  scientific  inquiry,  tliey  at  one 
time  imagine  their  hearers  poss^aed  of 
like  interest  and  capacity  with  themaelTes; 
at  another  time,  they  sink  into  common- 
place, and  tediously  repeat  and  prolong 
the  discussion  of  points  already  dear  to 
the  hearer's  mind :  and  is  not  the  first 
an  indication  of  excessive  vanity,  self-con- 
ceit— acknowledged  offences  against  mo- 
rality 1  And  does  not  the  next,  as  every 
Ufeless  adherence  to  custom,  b^ray  a 
want  of  wholesome  energy  of  character  ? 

Hence  it  appears,  that  this  which  is  a 
very  subordinate  quality  of  eloquence,  the 
adaptation  of  the  discourse  to  the  under- 
standing  of  the  hearer,  cannot  be  aoqinrsd 
without  the  possession  of  moral  exoeUenoe. 
Should  I  succeed  in  creating  a  oonnotioB 


1854.] 


Of  Fitness  in  Oratory. 


419 


of  the  oorrectncss  of  this  position,  I  doubt 
not,  I  shall  have  performed  no  trifling 
service  for  those  youths  who  design  de- 
TOting  themselves  to  eloquence.  Science 
and  scholarship  prepare  them  for  an  office, 
in  which  science  and  scholarship  may  no 
longer  be  the  chief  object  of  their  exertions, 
but  must  be  made  secondary  to  the  higher 
object  which  they  are  to  aid  in  reaching. 
But  it  will  be  exceedingly  difficult  for 
them  to  understand  that  this  is  a  higher 
object,  so  long  as  they  are  taught  in  their 
preparatory  course  that  science  and  scho- 
Lunship  are  absolutely  highest,  taking  pre- 
cedence of  every  thing,  not  excepting 
religion  and  morality  themselves.  Vainly 
now  arc  they  admonished  to  exclude  every 
thing  scientific  in  matter  and  in  form  from 
their  discourses ;  they  despise  this  canon, 
which,  in  then*  view,  savors  of  a  weak 
i^irit  of  compliance,  and  which,  in  truth, 
is  habitually  denounced  as  such  by  their 
instructors.  In  the  lack  of  a  professor's 
chair,  they  appropriate  the  pulpit  to  such 
a  use,  and  heroically  attempt  to  draw  up 
the  people  to  the  elevated  sphere  in  which 
they  float.  If  at  last  they  recover  from 
their  folly,  they  frequently  sink  dispirited 
into  flat  and  insipid  commonplace.  Now, 
if  this  adapting  of  one's  discourse  to  the 
comprehension  of  the  auditors  is  not  a 
mere  pohtic  compliance,  but  a  truly  moral 
proceeding,  if  the  opposite  course  is  un- 
justifiable, and  if  the  question  is  presented 
m  ttiis  light  to  a  youth  of  noble  spirit,  he 
will  readily  conform  to  a  rule  which  he 
finds  instead  of  lowering,  only  dignifies 
and  exalts  him. 

But  the  law  of  fitness  requires  not 
merely  that  the  discourse  should  be  adapted 
to  the  understanding,  but  also  that  the 
entire  individuality  of  the  hearer,  his  situ- 
ation, his  relations,  the  circumstances  which 
affect  his  destiny,  and  which  especially 
concern  him.  should  be  observed  by  the 
orator.  And  this  kind  of  adaptedness  is 
hx  more  difficult  to  secure  than  the  first ; 
fiw  this,  it  is  necessary  that  we  should 
know  and  keep  in  view  the  manifold  ele- 
ments of  which  the  social,  moral,  and  re- 
ligious condition  of  man  is  composed, 
namely,  the  circle  of  his  ideas  and  his 
experiences,  the  conceptions  which  are 
fiuniliar  or  unusual  with  him,  the  images 
with  which  his  imagination  is  mostly  oc- 
copied,  the  more  or  less  accurate  ideal  of 
good  he  has  formed  of  social,  moral,  and 
religkma  perfection,  his  virtues  and  vices, 
Mi  wishes  and  appetites,  together  with 
those  special  situations  which  are  the  re- 
sult of  rank,  of  wealth,  of  political  events, 
cf  the  condition  of  one's  country  and  the 


This  fitness  of  the  discourse  seems  to 
have  been  admitted  to  be  a  means  of  ex- 
citing the  afiections  ^  which,  indeed,  m 
then*  sense  mean  passions)  by  the  best 
masters  of  rhetoric ;  at  least,  I  should  be 
able  to  assign  no  other  reason  why  Aris- 
totle (Rhet.,  Lib.  II.,  ch.  12-17)  follows 
up  his  theory  of  the  passions  with  a  de- 
scription of  the  moral  condition  of  men  as 
it  is  varied  by  their  age,  their  rank,  and 
their  wealth,  while  he  gives  no  clear  ac- 
count of  any  use  which  the  orator  is  ex- 
pected to  make  of  this  knowledge. 

Cicero  (De  Orat  i.  5.),  too,  desires  the 
orator  to  be  an  accomplished,  sagacious 
man,  who  has  comprehended  the  charac- 
ter of  his  hearers,  their  modes  of  thought, 
according  to  their  age  and  rank ;  and  he 
errs  in  this  alone,  that  he  expects  from 
shrewdness  and  sagacity  results  which 
are  best  secured  by  morality.  It  is  not 
at  all  impossible  that  a  crafty  spirit  may 
succeed  in  discovering  one  or  another 
weak  side  of  a  character^  with  the  design 
of  bringing  it  into  leading-strings ;  yet, 
to  gain  an  enlarged  appivciation  of  the 
views,  feelings,  and  condition  of  a  man,  so 
as  to  be  able  to  operate  with  beneficent 
and  ennobling  results  upon  his  character, 
something  more  than  cunning  is  neces- 
sary ;  prudence,  indeed,  is  necessary,  but 
such  a  prudence  as  follows  the  guidance 
of  conscientious  feeling,  and  of  a  disinter- 
ested spirit  which  looks  with  a  genial 
sympathy  upon  the  various  circumstances 
of  men. 

Nor  may  the  knowledge  thus  attained 
of  the  hearer  be  employed  to  give  counte- 
nance to  his  errors,  or  to  flatter  his  pas- 
sions ;  but  it  must  be  used  in  the  excite- 
melit  of  his  affections,  first,  negatively,  in 
order  to  avoid  every  thing  which  woifid 
woun(^or  ofiend  the  hearer,  and  in  regard 
to  things,  which  though  at  first  view  seem- 
ingly indifferent,  might  be  disagreeable  to 
him.  Without  such  forethought,  it  is  vain 
to  think  of  exciting  the  affections.  It  is 
in  vain  to  speak  with  warmth  and  empha- 
sis, in  vain  to  the  hearer,  himself  perfectly 
well  disposed  to  the  truth  you  are  pre- 
senting, if,  on  the  road  to  the  object  whidi 
is  sought  to  bo  gained,  he  is  hindered  or 
vexed  by  all  sorts  of  annoyances,  great 
and  small.  And  this  is  not  a  faulty  sent 
sitiveness  on  his  part,  for  the  very  demand 
I  make  upon  him,  to  surrender  himself  up 
entirely  to  me  in  one  respect,  imposes  up- 
on me  the  duty  of  acting  considerately 
towards  him  in  every  other  respect,  so  far 
as  possible.  Hence  it  is  the  duty  of  the 
orator  also,  acting  under  the  dictates  of 
true  moral  wisdom,  to  circumvent  aB 
those  obstacles  which  at  the  moment  he 


420 


Of  Fitnesi  in  Oratory. 


[April 


cannot  overthrow — this  is  at  once  duty 
and  wisdom.  The  apostle  Paul,  to  attain 
his  great  objects  the  easier,  practised  this 
considerateness  towards  the  prejudices  of 
his  contemporaries,  and  became  all  things 
to  all  men  that  by  all  means  he  might 
save  some. 

The  orators  of  antiquity,  with  perhaps 
the  single  exception  of  Demosthenes,  m 
their  ignorance  of  the  true  ground  upon 
which  this  obligation  of  propriety  is  based, 
practised  a  kind  of  artifice  and  coquetry, 
alike  unbecoming  in  a  person  of  dignity, 
as  unsuitcd  to  the  attainment  of  their  end. 
When  Cicero  assumes  an  inability  to  re- 
call the  name  of  Polycletus  ( Verrina  iv.  3, 
Wolf  ad  Leptineam,  p.  300)  and  proceeds 
as  if  it  had  been  called  out  to  him  by  some 
one  in  the  crowd,  ho  intended,  without 
doubt,  by  this  show  of  ignorance  of  Gre- 
cian history,  to  signify  his  assent  to  the 
opinion  of  the  citizens,  namely,  that  it 
was  unworthy  of  a  statesman  to  occupy 
himself  with  such  matters.  For  my  own 
part,  I  can  discern  in  it  only  an  excuse  for 
that  compliance  which  in  a  right  degree 
is  proper  to  the  orator — in  this  instance  a 
moral  wrong.  Nor  can  I  divine  what  ad- 
vantage he  could  expect  to  derive  from 
such  toying  who  knew  how  to  put  in  ope- 
ration the  most  powerful  of  motives. 
But  such  is  the  fate  of  all  such  endeavors 
after  an  object  which  has  been  too 
narrowly  conceived  of;  they  become  a 
mere  eftbrt  after  the  form,  without  regard 
to  substance.  And  this  was  early  the  fate 
of  ancient  oratory,  because  its  moral  ele- 
ment was  overlooked,  and  because  it  was 
esteemed  merely  an  instrument  in  attain- 
ing ambitious  ends.'*' 

If  compliance  pushed  to  such  an  ex- 
treme is  to  be  condemned,  so  the  opposite 
error^  namely,  that  of  offending  against 
existmg  and  unalterable  relations  among 
the  hearers,  is  to  be  expounded  as  morally 
wrong  and  as  unwise.  An  offence  of  this 
kind  ruins  at  once  the  operation  of  the 


most  powerful  disconrse;  and  we  need 
only  examine  the  kind  of  dislike  that  il 
excited,  in  order  to  see,  that  it  is  not  the 
result  of  a  lack  of  acuteness  or  of  prodno- 
tive  genius  in  the  orator,  but  far  worse^ 
of  moral  feeling.  Were  a  public  too  ob- 
tuse to  find  cause  of  offence  in  such  blun- 
ders (and  this  is  the  case  oftener  thttuwe 
are  apt  to  suppose),  it  might  indeed  light- 
en the  labors  of  the  orator  in  one  re- 
spect, while  in  another  it  would  impede 
them ;  for  just  as  the  public  would  be  in- 
sensible to  improprieties  in  the  discoorse^ 
so  it  would  fail  to  appreciate  its  fitnesiL 
Hence 'we  cannot  but  desire,  for  the  orar 
tor,  an  audience  so  refined  as  to  take  of- 
fence at  the  least  unsuitable  expression. 
If  such  is  not  to  be  found,  then  he  must 
seek  to  elevate  his  public  to  that  standing 
by  manifesting  a  degree  of  res^t  for  it 
which  it  will  soon  learn  to  prize  and  to 
understand. 

What  he  may  venture  upon,  and  what 
he  must  withhold,  is  a  question  to  be  de- 
cided not  according  to  the  conjectures  of  a 
worldly  wisdom,  but  according  to  the 
principles  of  good  morals ;  the  severest 
and  the  strongest,  if  it  is  but  appropriate^ 
if  by  his  ofSce  and  his  calling  he  is  requir- 
ed to  say  it  will  not  prove  offensive;  it 
will  not  weaken,  it  will  further  the  opar»- 
tion  of  the  discourse  and  promote  the  feel- 
ing intended  to  be  aroused.  How  refined 
was  the  feeling  for  appropriateness  among 
the  Athenians  in  the  days  of  DemoBthenei^ 
and  yet  never  did  this  orator  hesitate  to 
charge  upon  them  with  the  greatest  fbroe 
and  plainness  their  degeneracy,  their  er- 
rors and  their  weaknesses ;  and  I  am  not 
aware  that  his  success  was  at  any  time 
hindered  by  this  frankness,  interwoven  aa 
it  plainly  was  with  his  love  to  his  oountiT 
and  to  its  existing  constitution.  Moca 
less  should  the  pulpit  orator  hesitato 
truthfull}'  to  depict  the  corruption  dT  the 
moral  and  religious  nature  of  man,  and  to 
threaten  the  impenitent  sinner  with  the 


*  An  artifice  of  like  character,  onlj  iax  more  subtle  and  crafty,  has  been  ascribed  to  Demoatbenti^  fbr  ttt 
porpoRe  of  explaining  the  ft>llowini;  passage  In  the  oration  fur  Kt^pbon :  **  Fot  I,"*  lays  the  speaker  to  Mt' 
efalnee,  *'an(i  h11  them  with  mc,  call  thee  a  hirolinff  first  of  Philip  and  now  of  Alexander  I  If  tboadiMdilM^ 
put  the  quo5tion  to  the  audienc^t ;  or  I  will  put  it  for  thee ; — Is  it  your  opinion,  O  men  ^  Athena  I  tl  '  "  " 
was  a  hireling  or  a  guest  of  Alexander?  Thou  hearest  what  they  say.*'  Here,  say  the  Scholia,  ] 
Intentionally  placed  the  accent  fxlscly  in  pronouncing  the  word  /iKr^err^r,  and  be  annoonoed  the  « 

of  the  bystuiiders  who  repeated  the  word  with  the  correct  accent,  as  an  answer  to  his  Inqoiry,  and  ft  < 

tion  of  their  opinion  that  ^schincs  was  a  hireling.  This  explanation  lias  been  received  by  many  ob  tb« 
aathority  of  the  Scholia,  and  because  the  reader  finds  a  certain  entertainment  in  tlio  discoTery  of  meb  triekill 
the  orators :  it»  correctness  I  must  seriously  question.     Without  doobt,  that  misplacement  of  t 


hare  extremely  oflWndcd  tlio  ears  of  the  Athenians,  and  have  brought  out  a  clamor  of  correctlona:  bateoiiM 
•Ten  this  mobile  priimlaoe  have  suffered  its  words  to  have  been  perverted  in  its  mouth,  and  fhuned  Into  n  d»- 
otsion  adverse  to  ^^liinea,  when  it  simply  aimed  to  correct  the  accents  of  Demosthenes  f  Bat  leaTiog  tU^ 
If  we  only  rt'flect  upon  what  is  due  to  the  known  character  of  Demosthenes  in  expUinlng  bis  orationa,  ltad%[Bi||', 
if  only  the  half  of  it  be  acknowledged,  is  suflieient  to  clear  him  of  the  suspicion  of  having  employed  anch  pltli- 
ble  devicvs ;  let  us  reflect  that  in  tfii^  most  tragical  hour  of  his  existence,  his  intensely  ocenpied  son]  might  wtl 
have  emitted  lightning-thooghta,  but  not  have  trifled  with  accents  And  besides,  what  were  moi«  Mtml 
than  to  conit'cturc  in  expUmiuion  of  this  luw^age,  than  that  among  the  audience  be  bad,  even  at  the  bcclnBti^ 
a  strong  iiarty  upon  whom  he  conld  depend  for  an  appropriate  recqponse  f  This  &r  moreaaltabla  mxaSaMm. 
is  IlkewiM  found  in  the  SchoUai  who  ascribe  the  reaponae  to  M«nand«r,  the  oomie  poet,  oaa  of  tba  Mtaiiif 
the  orator. 


1864.] 


Of  I%tne88  in  Oratory. 


421 


terrors  of  a  ftttare  judgment.  Whoever 
omits  to  do  this  tot  fear  of  estranging  his 
hearers  from  him,  overlooks  the  fact  that 
the  hearer  involuntarily  judges  the  orator 
by  moral  rules  only,  and  grants  to  him  to 
utter  whatever  he  may  utter  with  propri- 
ety ; — that  the  most  energetic  reproofs 
will  not  wound  him,  if  he  but  sees  that 
they  are  justified  by  the  relation  in  which 
the  speaker  stands  to  him;  indeed  that 
in  the  moral  and  religious  nature  of  man 
there  exists  a  certain  tendency  closely  al- 
lied with  the  taste  for  the  sublime  and 
the  terrific,  by  reason  of  which  the  hearer 
is  better  content  with  an  abasement  of  his 
feelings,  such  as  may  lead  to  an  improved 
state  of  mind,  than  with  that  superficial 
emotion  which  is  caused  by  the  approach- 
es of  the  flatterer.  Thus  the  renowned 
orator  who  preached  before  Louis  XIV. 
and  his  court, — an  audience  which  would 
never  have  forgiven  the  slightest  impropri- 
ety, employed  all  the  terrors  of  religion, 
ana  often  exercised  the  full  judicial  power 
of  their  office,  and  always  with  great 
effect  \/ 

While  the  fitness  of  a  discourse  jrfS- 
vents  any  occasion  of  offence  which  might 
interfere  with  the  desired  movement  of  the 
feelings,  it  contributes,  moreover,  directly 
to  promote  such  a  movement.  For  exam- 
ple, if  the  orator  confines  himself  to  such 
thoughts,  images  and  allusions  as  calls  up 
to  the  hearer's  memory  his  own  experi- 
ence and  his  own  personal  observations, 
the  discourse  must  operate  with  preatly 
increased  power.  For  the  truth  is  thus 
sot  merely  rendered  clear  to  his  mind,  but 
whilst  he  associates  it  with  all  which  ho 
himself  has  thought  and  felt,  it  takes  a 
hold  upon  his  entire  inner  nature,  and 
creates  that  very  ferment  and  agitation 
which  we  have  named  the  ejected  con- 
dition.  Many  an  expression  may  be  ap- 
propriate to  the  thoughts  and  intelligible 
to  tne  hearer ;  there  may  however  be  still 
another,  by  the  employment  of  which,  a 
region  of  his  thoughts  before  covered  up 
in  obscurity,  piay  suddenly  be  brought  to 
light,  and  which  touches  upon  some  of 
t£e  manifold  threads  of  which  the  web  of 
his  feelings  is  composed;  this  expression 
the  orator  should  endeavor  to  find,  and  he 
18  enabled  to  do  this  by  studying  his 
hearer  under  the  influence  of  a  true  zeal 
lor  his  welfare.  Should  he  prefer  to  this 
A  different  style,  as  easier  and  more 
agreeable  to  hunseli^  his  course  would 
M  that  of  an  egotist,  and  the  inoperative- 
IIM8  of  the  discourse  would  be  his  just 
punishment.  How  powerful  is  the  im- 
nession  made  by  the  wise  use  of  the 
Mrars'  existing  feelings,  may  bo  seen  in 


occasional  discourae&  In  a  sermon  de- 
signed for  the  openmg  of  a  campaign,  for 
a  victory,  or  an  occasion  of  public  rejoio- 
ing,  the  preacher  can  take  for  granted  in 
his  hearers,  with  far  greater  certainty  than 
on  ordinary  occasions  when  the  relations 
are  not  so  definite,  certain  prevalent  views 
and  opinions,  certain  hopes  and  fears,  cer- 
tain sentiibents  of  joy  and  thankfulness ; 
and  if  he  can  only  in  the  exercise  of  a 
little  wisdom,  draw  together  all  their  dif- 
ferent rays,  and  throw  these  upon  the 
truth  in  hand  as  upon  a  focal  point,  he 
will  make  it  exceedingly  effective  in  the 
hearers'  minds.  Thus  we  explain  why  it 
is  that  the  effects  of  discourses  preached 
on  feast  days  are  often  more  decided 
than  are  those  of  the  usual  Sabbath-day 
sermons.  It  is  because  to  the  first,  the 
hearer,  however  perverted  he  may  be, 
nevertheless  brings  with  him  certain  reli- 
gious sentiments  upon  which  the  orator 
can  easily  fasten  the  thread  of  his  dis- 
course. 

It  is,  moreover,  a  part  of  this  matter 
of  fitness  that  the  speaker  should  never 
suffer  himself  to  be  elevated  in  his  ex- 
pressions, turns  of  thought  and  images, 
above  the  language  of  social  intercourse 
among  educated  persons ;  even,  if  before 
an  audience  competent  to  follow  in  such  a 
flight,  and  to  understand  more  refined 
modes  of  expression.  I  am  constrained  to 
refer  to  this  on  account  of  those  who  ex- 
pect by  poetical  ornament,  by  words  which 
they  have  collected  with  great  research 
from  the  dust  of  past  centuries,  and  by 
constructions  which  are  foreign  to  pure 
prose,  to  give  their  discourses  a  peculiar 
weight  and  dignity.  This  is,  however, 
nothing  more  than  a  cold  and  powerless 
display,  if  indeed,  as  I  take  for  granted, 
power  means  nothing  but  the  efficacy  of 
the  discourse  in  affecting  the  mind.  In 
the  press  of  active  life,  under  circum- 
stances of  deep  affliction,  in  the  calm 
hours  of  meditation,  did  ever  the  hearer 
express  his  thoughts  and  feelings  to  him- 
self or  to  others  in  a  highly  figurative 
language,  and  in  far-fetched  modes  of 
speech  ?  Assuredly  not.  The  expression 
which  couples  itself  with  the  quiet  move- 
ments of  the  mind  as  they  present  them- 
selves in  our  consciousness,  is  ever  noble 
as  it  is  simple;  if  the  orator  therefore 
would  penetrate  into  our' inner  life  and 
renew  there  the  traces  of  forgotten  thoughts 
and  feelings,  if  he  would  indeed  address  us, 
let  him  mane  use  of  the  familiar  and  cus- 
tomary words  in  which  we  are  wont  to 
hold  converse  with  ourselves.  Every 
strange  expression,  every  singular  turn, 
hurries  us  as  it  were  out  of  ourselves 


422 


Of  Fitness  in  Oratory. 


[April 


instead  of  turning  us  inward,  and  the 
stream  of  inner  harmonies,  perhaps  al- 
ready brought  to  flow,  is  suddenly  inter- 
rupted and  dispersed.  To  this  is  added 
tlie  feeling  of  dislike  to  a  man  who  decks 
himself  out  with  a  parade  of  sounding 
phrases,  which  after  all  it  is  not  difficult 
to  gather  up.  instead  of  speaking  to  his 
own  as  well  as  to  my  real  advantage  in 
my  own  familiar  language.  Those  very 
rare  instances  in  which  we  choose  a  rare 
expression  for  an  unusual  thought^  must 
here,  of  course,  bo  excluded ;  but  to  allow 
one's  self,  without  a  very  peculiar  inten- 
tion in  view,  to  deviate  in  the  slightest 
degree  from  the  prevailing  usage  in  lan- 
guage is,  in  my  opinion,  improper,  contra- 
ry to  a  speaker's  aim,  and  hence  liable  to 
a  moral  reproach. 

The  employment  of  the  language  of 
Scripture  is  by  no  means  included  in  this 
expression  of  disapproval ;  on  the  con- 
trary, if  the  expressions  and  figures  of 
Holy  Writ  arc  not  introduced  simply  to 
fill  up  a  vacant  place,  but  if  retaining  a 
sense  of  their  true  worth  and  power,  they 
arc  inwrought  into  the  discourse,  their  fre- 
quent use  is  to  be  recommended  to  pulpit 
orators,  as  a  highly  suitable  and  efficaci- 
ous method  of  exciting  the  hearer's  affec- 
tion. Highly  suitable ;  for  Scripture  lan- 
guage can  never  grow  old,  presenting  as 
it  does  so  many  expressions  full  of  mean- 
ing for  the  manifold  conditions  of  life  and 
of  the  human  spirit,  not  a  few  of  which 
are  current  proverbs  in  the  language  of 
every-day  intercourse ;  and  though  reli- 
gious education  and  the  reading  of  the 
Bible,  may,  to  some  degree,  be  neglected, 
yet  the  orator  may  count  securely  upon 
having  his  thought  understood  far  sooner 
in  a  Scriptural  than  in  a  philosophical 
garb.  But  the  great  power  of  Scripture 
language  to  move  the  afiections,  consists 
mainly  in  this,  that  in  it  the  expression 
for  the  understanding,  and  that  for  the 
feeling  is  not  distinct  as  in  human  modes 
of  presenting  truth,  but  is  always  one  and 
the  same ;  the  images  of  which  it  makes 
such  frequent  use,  combine  with  the  accu- 
racy of  an  abstract  terminology,  the  ad- 
vantage of  interweaving  the  idea  into  the 
web  of  human  relations,  and  of  associa- 
ting it  with  all  the  conceptions  which  have 
power  to  work  upon  the  emotional  nature 
of  man.  They  are  a  ray  of  combined 
light  and  heat  that  passes  from  the  spirit 
into  the  heart  and  how  should  it  not  in- 
flame the  whole  man  ?  If  now  it  should 
happen,  as  indeed  is  often  the  case,  that 
an  expression  drawn  from  Scripture,  up- 
on first  acquaintance  with  it,  or  upon 
soooeeding   occasions,  has   awakened    a 


train  of  pious  emotions,  the  speaker,  as 
often  as  he  fittingly  introduces  it,  is  en- 
abled to  call  up  that  movement  of  the 
feelings  which  has  already  so  often  been 
connected  with  it,  and  thus,  further,  the 
operation  of  the  truth  he  is  discnsan^ 
On  account  of  this  great  advantag^i 
should  deem  it  advisable  to  use  Scriptore 
language  even  in  those  cases  where  we 
cannot  presuppose  an  acquaintance  with 
it  on  the  part  of  the  hearer,  and  where 
it  has  never,  as  yet,  contributed  to  tiw 
awakening  of  his  inner  life ;  for  thus  bj 
employing  it  more  frequenUy,  that  more 
thorough  acquaintance  with  it,  and  thai 
influence  upon  the  emotional  natoie 
which  we  have  described,  will  by  degrees 
be  efiected. 

But  now  the  thing  which  hinders  the 
orator  in  thoroughly  understanding  his 
hearer's  views,  is  learning  to  speak  their 
own  language,  and  in  exciting  the  feelings 
by  the  appropriateness  of  his  style :  this 
again  is  naught  but  moral  delinqoeD^. 
Especially  prominent  is  that  self-pleasiiig 
vanity  which  desires  only  the  gr&tificatioii 
of  expressing  itself  easily  and  agreeably, 
and  which  shuns  the  difficult  and  often 
violent  eflbrt  which  is  needful  in  ordw  to 
come  forth  out  of  one's  self  and  enter 
sympathizingly  into  the  circle  of  another's 
individuality.  From  this  defect  it  is  that^ 
among  other  specimens  of  pulpit  eloquenot 
we  have  those  artfully  constructed  and 
flowery  discourses,  which,  although  in 
consequence  of  their  adaptednoss  to  woik 
upon  the  hearer's  fancy,  they  often  receive 
enthusiastic  commendation  (thus  men  gen- 
erally, under  the  blinding  inflaence  d 
their  own  vanity,  fail  to  judge  and  to 
punish  that  of  others  so  severely  as  it 
deserves),  yet  their  idle  trifling  with 
thoughts  and  words  can  produce  only  an 
imbc^Ie  void;  never  a  state  of  feding 
favorable  to  great  and  noble  dedskms  in 
the  mind.  In  the  next  place  we  mentiott  a 
kind  of  shyness  un&vorable  to  this  actim 
method  which  is  to  be  found  in  noble  and 
refined  natures,  which  embarrass  them 
in  entering  upon  the  relations  of  their 
hearers,  in  grasping  their  hearts  with  a 
strong  hand,  and  so  m  giving  to  their  mode 
of  discourse  a  fitness  such  as  will  mof« 
the  emotions.  In  case  the  speaker  en- 
tirely abandons  himself  to  the  truth  under 
discussion,  unfolds  it  with  the  s;reate8t 
care,  but  touches  only  supcrfiduly  and 
in  general  terms  upon  the  relations  under 
which  it  should  be  realized,  so  that  he 
hits  nowhere  and  hurts  no  one,  then  we 
may  assuredly  suspect  the  existence  d 
this  timidity.  Similar  reprobation,  if  no 
greater  is  deserved,  and  like  enerViting 


I 


Of  Fikiesi  in  Oratory. 


4» 


are  produced  upon  the  style  by  too 
x>ncessioD  on  the  part  of  the  orator ; 
mag  his  idea  and  his  own  person- 
he  busies  himself  only  with  his 
*s  relations  and  preferences,  in  order 
something  which  will  be  appropriate 
'  good  tendency ;  this  is  a  low  ambi- 
hich  seeks  perishable  praise  and  not 
ae  and  imperishable  glory  of  en- 
g  the  nature  of  men ;  an  orator  who 
afly  led  by  such  an  impulse  will 
melt  his  hearers  into  weak  senti- 
bat  will  never  kindle  them  into  a 
iOnd  passion,  for  the  glance  of  ideal 
b»T  which  alone  this  sentiment  is  to 
shed,  never  breaks  through  the  in- 
»  with  which  he  surrounds  it  Thus 
mrong  courses  are  indicated;  that 
ler  becoming  engrossed  with  one's 
'  with  the  idea,  or  with  the  relations 
hearer  exclusively ;  whenever  a 
rse  claiming  to  be  rhetorical  inclines 
ily  in  one  of  these  three  directions, 
inappropriate  and  powerless.  In 
iierefore  to  speak  with  entire  pro- 
ti^  orator  should  so  comprehend, 
16^  and  mediate  among  the  three 
» claims  which  his  own  personality, 
A,  and  the  relation  of  his  hearers 
apon  him,  that  each  one  of  these 
da  would  be  satisfied  without  loss 
or  of  the  others ;  and  this  is  con- 
ly  nothing  else  than  what  is  indis- 
le  to  a  really  virtuous  transaction, 
oh  a  clear,  continuous  sense  of  our 
sraonality.  of  the  principle  according 
di,  and  tne  relations  in  which,  we 
tMolntely  requisite.  The  solution 
problem  requires  really  great  energy 
ncter  in  rhetorical  as  well  as  in 
acts;  and  how  justly  they  may  be 
vnd  as  of  the  same  nature,  appeai-s 
ftct  that  both  the  discourses,  which 
salient  in  this  respect,  as  also  truly 
IS  actions,  are  distinguished  by  no 
4  glare  and  brilliancy;  for  here, 
thiee  difllsrent  elements  are  blended, 
olon  melt  into  each  other ;  on  the 
ry,  those  faulty  discourses,  fbr  the 
macm  that  one  of  these  elements  ap- 
irominent  above  the  rest,  let  tiiem 
composed  with  a  little  talent,  may 
ladily  possess  a  certain  brilliancy, 
let  of  admiration  with  the  unintelfi- 
ofc  which  warms  neither  him  nor 
ebeodes. 


Demosthenes,  in  this  connection,  deserves 
the  highest  praise  with  the  least  blame ; 
for  surely  never  an  orator  united  with 
such  a  dignified  assertion  of  his  own 
personality,  such  a  luminous  develop- 
ment of  his  idea,  and  such  a  comprehensive 
view  of  the  existing  relations.  And  it  is 
from  this  sustained  combination  of  these 
three  elements  that  his  powerful  and  pro- 
foundly attractive  simplicity  arose ;  which 
would  have  disappeared  the  moment  a 
separation  of  the  lyric  and  philosophic 
pui»  from  the  matters  of  fact  had  taken 

C*  »  in  his  discourse.  On  the  other 
d,  Cicero  is  far  less  deserving  of  the 
rank  of  a  model  of  appropriateness ;  not 
as  though  he  elevated  himself  above  the 
oomprehensk>n  of  his  hearers  or  uttered 
any  thing  unsuitable  and  violent ;  but 
because  with  him,  now  his  personality, 
now  the  truth,  and  now  the  circumstances 
become  too  prominent,  and  the  element  at 
any  time  preponderating  invariably  throws 
the  others  into  the  shade.  By  this  very 
failing  he  is  found  to  possess  a  more 
showy  coloring  than  Demosthenes,  and 
can  be  understood,  in  the  general,  with 
far  less  effort  and  pains  to  penetrate  the 
relations  of  his  times. 

Without  in  the  least  intending  to  com- 
pare Massillon  with  Demosthenes,  or  Bos- 
suet  with  Cicero,  they  have  these  points 
of  similarity:  Massilon,  like  the  Greek 
orator,  without  giving  up  himself  or  his 
idea,  placed  before  his  eyes  in  the  fullest 
manner  the  life  of  his  hearers;  on  the 
contrary,  Bossuet,  and  indeed  (as  I  sus- 
pect) on  account  of  an  inferior  purity  of 
character,  almost  entirely  overlooked  this 
last  consideration.  Hence  men  were  car- 
ried away  by  Massilon  and  fbrgot  to  ad- 
mire him,  the  best  praise  an  orator  can 
receive;  on  the  contrary,  Bossuet  in  his 
sublimest  flights  can  only  excite  a  cold 
admiration,  or  at  most  a  ferment  of  the 
imaginative  powers,  entirely  useless  for 
moral  ends.  IfJ  moreover,  the  French 
themselves  almost  universally  prefer  Bos- 
suet to  Massilon,  this  only  shows,  what 
appears  from  many  other  decisions  of  their 
critics,  how  little  they  understand  and 
appreciate  what  of  real  excellence  they 
have  among  them. 


484 


[April 


OUR    EXODUS    FROM    JERICHO. 

▲  RAZORIAL  RHAF80DT. 
**Dozr  UunAotnoBJ^^TlkB  Spaniard, 


THE  news  of  the  day  is  not  one  of  the 
recognized  departments  of  '^  Putnam's 
Monthly,"  but  there  is  one  local  fact  so 
striking — so  patent,  in  the  face  and  under 
the  eyes  of  the  people,  that  we  step  aside 
to  make  it  History. 

So  some  fat  band-leader,  hidden  by  his 
trombone — oblivious  as  to  his  boots — 
reckless  as  to  his  path — ^purple  as  to  his 
fiice,  and  puffed  out  as  to  his  cheeks  to 
such  extent  that  his  beard  looks  strag- 
gling ;  will  sometimes  intermit  his  profes- 
sional labors,  to  give — perhaps  a  glance 
at  his  following — perhaps  a  moment  to 
his  handkerchief— perhaps  a  turn  to  his 
perched-up  music-book — perhaps  an  un- 
expected attention  to  some  too  prominent 
Tocal  and  personal  imitator  among  the 
urchins,  and  then  fall  back  to  his  spas- 
modic sound-volcano,  as  if  his  tortured 
lips  had  never  before  quitted  the  sonorous 
metal  since  they  were  transferred  from 
the  maternal  bosom. 

Be  it  known  then,  that  this  instant 
month  of  March,  1864, — the  time  of  ges- 
tation of  the  current  number  of  **  P.utnun's 
Monthly;"  to  wit,  Number  XVL— is  to 
be  known  for  all  time,  and  noted  by  all 
future  Yalentines,  as  the  mouth  of  incipient 
mustachios!  Ono  half  the  men  you  meet 
in  New- York  to-day  (be  it  kalends,  nones, 
or  ides  of  March),  shave  not  their  lips. 
The  hirsute  growth  of  one  half  of  these  is 
not  yet  long  enough  to  begin  to  turn  down, 
or  is  down,  downy,  and  not  begun  to  turn 
to  any  thing  else.  Of  this  half;  one  half  left 
off  shaving  this  week,  half  of  whom  stop- 
ped day  before  yesterday !  (Let  the  wise 
and  statistical  air  of  this  statement  make  up 
for  its  concealed  looseness  and  unimpor- 
tance ;  it  will  not  be  the  first  trial  of  such 
an  expedient.)  So  one  sixty-fourth  of  the 
face  of  nature  (human  nature,  of  course, 
in  cities)  is  in  a  mere  cloudy  state;  or  in 
other  words,  the  reform  is  in  nubibus. 
One  thirty-second  part  bears  hairs  that 
look  as  if  they  had  come  out  wrong  end 
first,  or  were  in  a  surprised  state  at  not  find- 
ing themselves  nipped  in  the  bud.  Ono  six- 
teenth is  in  stubble  of  all  sorts  and  shades, 
and  one  eighth,  in  all,  is  now  unchecked  in 
its  persistent  efforts  to  produce  the  crop 
that  needs  no  planting.    As  is  dear  to 


every  deep  thinker  and  political  t 
(ana  to  whom  else  neea  we  try  to  speakl) 
this  leaves  one  half  to  be  counted  at 
minors,  and  one  quarter  as  adult  lbiiiak& 
amons  whom  the  beard  is  of  no  aoooont 
Not  uiat  they  oppose  by  indifimiioe,  the 
great  movement  No,  bless  tbem !  They 
are  right  now,  as  always.  To  be  sure,  at 
a  class,  they  say  '^  hoirid,"  bat  it  is  with 
an  air  that  rather  helps  than  hinden  its 
progress ;  an  air  that  says,  ^  we  set  our 
faces  against  it^"  and  so  suggests  disnn- 
ing  pictures.  They  like  beards,  but  each 
very  much  prefers  to  have  some  one  to 
carry  hers  for  her.  The  Mwrraf  is  a  tax 
she  likes  not  to  have  impoee4  on  herHl^ 
though  hirsute  she  likes  to  see  her  sailor. 

The  rubicund  is  past  (as  Brown  atid 
when  he  handed  the  claret  to  JonesX  snd 
the  manly  is  attained.  The  crisis  has  ar- 
rived— the  climax  of  the  shaying  edifice 
has  been  reached ;  let  us  hope  no  annihila- 
tor  may  be  nigh  when  it  is  set  fire  tou 
Its  fall  is  begun.  The  ^  EmoUieot''  the 
'<  Military,"  the  '<  Cream"  and  tlie  divers 
other  shaving-soap  ftctories  may  cease  to 
offend  olfactories — may  boil  their  lart  boil- 
ing— ^ley  their  last  ashes — in  sadDdoth, 
if  they  like.  There  shall  be  no  mora 
lather.  The  nose  of  the  raiOMrtrop 
man  is  out  of  ioint  and  he  had  better  raise 
a  moustache,  himself  to  hide  it.  Baaor 
factories  need  no  longer  raise  their  hideoas 
heads,  for  we  no  longer  raae  ours.  The 
barbers'  poles  shall  be  hereeiUr 
only  in  collections  of  anti<|ae  cnrioi 
The  barbarous  walls  of  Jencho  are  ( 
bling,  and  we  have  tarried  tliere  kqg 
enough.  We  are  oonung  out.  Sveryday 
of  this  blessed  month  has  seen  a  ddiveiy. 
It  is  as  if  thirty-one  gates  had  been  opened 
and  from  eadi  of  them  Nature  has  re- 
ceived a  cloud  of  returning  diildren;  tibo 
new  roughness  of  their  lips  gratiiVin^  ber, 
as  they  each  kissed  her  nur  hanos  m  re> 
pentant  submission,  with  a  titillatioa  that 
has  brought  tears  firom  her  ejres  and  mat 
sighs  from  hei;  bosom  unceaanglj.  Vide 
the  weather-gauge. 

The  modest  and  oonservatiye  person 
now  addressing  the  public  held  oat  with 
an  obstinacy  of  opposition  that  seems  in- 
credible when  looked  badL  vpOEL    Km 


1854.] 


Our  Ihfodiu/rom  Jmeho, 


4M 


smoe  he  first  scraped  an  aoquaintaiioe  with 
his  chin,  had  he.  each  morning,  thwarted 
the  purposed  kindness  of  Nature,  and  each 
night  had  she  come  again  with  her  gentle, 
timid  o£fering — it  oflen  reviled  and  cursed, 
bat  she  never  disheartened.  How  I  thank 
thee,  kind  mother,  that  on  no  morning  of 
those  weeks,  and  months,  and  years,  didst 
thou  turn  away,  saying  "  Qo  to,  sco£fer ! 
I  come  nigh  thee  and  thy  fellows  no  more !'' 
Think  of  the  loud  consternation,  if  thou, 
repulsed  and  insulted,  hadst  turned  away 
thy  face  from  us ;  thyself  from  our  faces ! 
But  no,  indeed,  that  is  not  like  thee !  Thine 
erring  and  rebellious  child  laid  down  his 
arms — ^his  sharp  blade  and  his  leather — 
and  instantly  it  was  to  him  almost  as  if 
he  had  never  taken  them  up.  A  tear 
trickles  down  and  mingles  with  thy  gift  as 
he  thinks  of  these  things — a  simple  tribute 
to  its  generous  and  unmerited  luxuriance. 
Mvstax.  as  has  been  hinted,  is  a  Greek 
word.  Thence,  by  most  obvious  grada- 
tions, have  we  my-tax  (semper-matutin- 
ally  submitted  to)  and  meai-aoce;  an 
allusion  to  the  sharpened,  gaunt,  and 
polished  appearance  of  my  jaws  after  the 
amercement  Some  go  still  farther,  and 
trace  it  to  the  moustache,  and  the  mystery 
it  is  that  we  have  enslaved  oui*sclves  so 
long ;  but  I  am  not  one  of  those  who  pro- 
fit in  distant  philological  analogies. 

"  Let  Dot  the  oornen  of  your  wbisken  be  marred, 
When  it*B  so  mock  handflomer  and  healthier  and 

easier  and  cheaper  and  better  every  way  to  go 

beaided  like  the  pard.** 

These  two  lines  of  poetry,  drawn  (by 
an  imminent  modem  poet)  with  much 
research,  the  first  line  from  the  Bible  and 
the  last  from  Shakespeare,  show  the  whole 
case  in  a  few  words  and  a  clear  light 
Not  to  speak  of  the  two  influential  au- 
thorities adduced,  what  can  more  clearly 
express  the  (growing)  necessity  of  having 
some  insuperable  distinction  between  the 
sexes  ?  And  look  at  its  allusion  to  the 
influence  on  children !  How  necessary  to 
them  to  have  some  emblem  of  the  strength 
of  ^  par"  as  contra-distinguished  from  the 
gentle  smoothness  of ''  mar  " ! 

How  art  thou  fallen,  oh  thou  razor; 
now  raise  thyself  if  thou  canst !  Little 
didst  thou  think  when  last  I  shut,  with 
its  usual  and  peculiar  *'phlemp"  thy 
leathern  case ;  that  the  rattle  thou  gavest 
was  against  the  sides  of  thy  coflSn — that 
thou  quittedst  my  sesophagus  for  thy  sar- 
cophagus !  So  when  some  poor,  crest-fall- 
en cur,  a  mongrel  rough  and  valueless, 
comes  trotting  soft  behind  his  lord,  obe- 
dient, and  suspecting  nought  till  on  the 
bridge,  the  which  they've  passed  a  hun- 
dred times  on  other  day^  the  keystone 

?oi^  ni. — 27 


reached,  amaied  he  sees  his  master  stoa 
and  crouching  low  lay  hands  on  him.  witn 
what  intent  he  can  but  dream.  With 
upturned  eyes  and  piteous  cries  he  feels 
the  rope  his  neck  about.  Then  if  his 
master  softens  down,  so  is  our  simile  car- 
ried out  Yes,  razor;  from  destruction  I 
spared  thee,  for  the  sake  of  the  aflbction 
with  which  in  my  boyhood  I  regarded  thee ; 
but  never  shalt  thou  be  unsepulchred.  but 
for  low  and  menial  services ;  to  cut  another 
growth  than  that  thou  hast  heretofore 
reaped,  and  not,  like  that,  one  that  is  spon- 
taneous and  thrives  without  cultivation.  It 
is,  however,  a  meek  plant,  that  loves  to  be 
oppressed,  and  that  is  fostered  by  abuse. 
It  is  the  com !  With  this  must  thou  be 
contented,  for  even  this  is  only  a  tempo- 
rary salvation  from  utter  oblivion.  When 
nature  ceases  to  be  maltreated  even  in  her 
care  of  our  foundations,  then  thou  shalt 
indeed  be  laid  up.  But  good  sense  de- 
scends to  us,  so  I  am  afraid  that  about  our 
feet  thou  hast  a  long  office  to  perform  be- 
fore it  gets  down  there.  After  that,  shalt 
thou  be  even  as  an  unmatched  scissor,  or 
an  old  bachelor — thy  fang  removed 
(across  the  poker)  and  thy  cold  bright- 
ness dimmea  with  the  mst  of  neglect 
Perhaps  my  great-grandchildren  may 
sometimes  climb  prattling  upon  my  knees, 
touching  with  reverent  hands  my  mouth's 
bleached  curtain,  and  say,  ^'  show  us  the 
razqi;,  Qrandpa,  and  tell  us  all  about  it." 
Then  will  it  be  held  up  to  fresh  marvel 
that  these  things  should  have  been.  And 
at  some  of  those  times  thou  wilt  be  for- 
gotten to  be  put  back,  and  wilt  go  un- 
heeded to  that  bourne,  "  lost,"  which  is  the 
ultimate  destination  of  all  manufactured 
things — an  insatiable  grave — a  bottomless 
pit,  from  which  nothing  ever  comes  out. 
and  where  so  few  things  ever  are  heard 
of. 

^'Some  trayeHer  there  may  find  thy  bonea, 
Whitening  amid  dl^ointed  stones ; 
And,  ignorant  of  man's  emelty, 
Manrel  such  relies  there  should  be.** 

But  enough.  It  is  history.  Monthly, 
return  to  thy  trombone.  Blow  thine 
own  trumpet — my  pipes  are  broken. 

It  has  been  reserved  for  this  great  nation 
to  complete  the  beard  reform,  and  restore 
man  to  his  primitive  manliness.  The 
clergy  are  at  last  aroused  to  the  impor- 
tance of  the  great  movement  of  the  age, 
and  are  about  to  board  the  lion  in  the 
pulpit  We  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
the  Rev.  Orson  Truman  in  the  street^ 
when  that  zealous  gentleman  put  his 
hands  to  his  face  to  hide  his  bald  and 
emasculate-looking  jowls.     He  informed 


4M                                        Without  and  WUhiim.  [Api 

08  that  he  had  set  the  day  for  barying  picturesque  vagabonds  had  got  the  start 
the  rasor,  after  which  he  should  allow  his  of  the  cleigy  in  oommencmg  the  great  re- 
beard  to  grow  as  God  intended,  feeling  form,  in  going  back  to  Nature,  amd  tfaroir- 
ashamed  to  acknowledge  that  the  loose  ing  off  the  effeminate  habits  of  a  oormiit| 
fish  of  society,  the  artists,  authors,  pick-  and  luxurious  century.  The  beard  mofe- 
pockets,  musicians,  reporters,  editors,  ment  may  be  looked  upon  as  fiuiiy  mm- 
gold-miners,  Hungarian  patriots,  and  other  gurated. 


WITHOUT   AND   WITHIN. 


MY  coachman  in  the  moonlight,  there, 
Looks  through  the  side-light  of  the  door; 
I  hear  him  with  his  brethren  swear, 
As  I  could  do, — but  only  more. 

Flattening  his  nose  against  the  pane 

He  envies  me  my  brilliant  lo^ 
And  blows  his  aclung  fists  in  vun, 

And  wishes  me  a  place  more  hot 

He  sees  me  to  the  supper  go, 

A  silken  wonder  by  my  side, 
Bare  arms,  bare  shoulders,  and  a  row 

Of  flounces,  for  the  door  too  wide. 

He  thinks,  how  happy  is  my  arm 
'Neath  its  white-gloved  and  je¥relled  load, 

And  wishes  me  some  dreadful  harm, 
Hearing  the  merry  corks  explode. 

Meanwhile  I  inl^  curse  the  bore 
Of  hunting  still  the  same  old  ooon. 

And  envy  him,  outside  the  door. 
In  golden  quiets  of  the  moon. 

The  winter  wind  is  not  so  cold 
As  the  bright  smiles  he  sees  me  win, 

Nor  our  host^s  oldest  wine  so  old 
As  our  poor  gabble — watery — thin. 

I  envy  him  the  ungyved  prance 

By  which  his  freezing  feet  he  warms, 

And  drag  my  lady's-chains  and  dance 
The  galley  slave  of  dreary  forms. 

0 !  could  he  have  my  share  of  din 

And  I  his  quiet ! — past  a  doubt 
'Twould  still  be  one  man  bored  within, 

And  just  another  bored  without 


1804.] 


4iY 


A  GHAT  ABOUT  PLANTS. 


LONG  years  ago  I  was  in  the  Holy  Land. 
It  was  the  last  day  I  was  to  spend 
near  Jerusalem,  and  as  the  sun  sank  to- 
wards the  blue  waters  of  the  Meditem^ 
nean,  I  found  myself  once  more  sitting  on 
the  banks  of  the  Jordan.  The  air  was 
perfectly  calm ;  the  tolling  of  a  convent 
bell  came  faintly  over  the  plain  from 
Bethlehem,  and  mingled  its  well-beat 
cadences  with  the  gentle,  pla3rful  mur- 
muring of  the  sacred  stream  at  my  feet 
By  my  side  sat  an  Arab,  tranquilly  fol- 
lowing with  his  eye  the  light  clouds  of 
his  pipe,  as  they  gracefully  rose  up  in  the 
dear,  blue  ether,  but  apparently  buried  in 
deep  thought  Abu  Abdallah  was  his 
name ;  so  I  said.  *'  Abu  Abdallah,  do  you 
believe  in  Qod  i^  "  Thou  sayest  it,  oh 
brother ! "  was  his  quiet  answer.  "  But  Aba 
Abdallah,  I  fear  you  do  not  believe  that 
your  soul  is  immortal ; "  for  the  old  Arab, 
though  my  friend  for  the  while,  was  a  sad 
thief^  and  when  he  swiftly  rode  through 
the  desert,  there  were  voices  heard,  it 
was  said,  mournful  voices  of  men,  who 
called  for  the  sweet  life  he  had  taken 
from  them.  He  gazed  at  me  for  an  instant 
from  the  depth  of  that  unfathomable  eye, 
the  precious  heirloom  of  a  son  of  the 
Orient)  but  vouchsafed  not  a  word.  I  was 
struck  by  his  silence,  and  asked  again. 
"  Oh  brother,  oh  brother,  thou  wrongest 
me ! "  he  said,  and  quietly  rising,  he  seized 
upon  a  little  stiapeless  mass,  that  lay  half 
hid  in  the  fragrant  herbs  at  our  feet,  and 
gently  pushing  it  into  the  purh'ng  stream, 
he  added :  '*  Has  not  the  Qod  of  our  fethers, 
whose  prophet  is  Mahomet,  given  us  the 
Rose  of  Jericho  ?  And  does  not  my  brother, 
who  reads  the  books  of  the  wise  men  of  the 
Fruiks,  know  that  the  bummg  sands  of 
the  desert  are  its  home,  and  that  it  de- 
Ikhts  in  the  fiery  winds  of  the  west, 
lAiich  scatter  the  caravan,  and  strew  the 
sands  of  the  Sahara  with  the  bones  of  the 
traveller  ?  There  it  grows,  and  blossoms, 
and  our  children  love  it  But  the  season 
comes  again,  and  it  withers  and  dies.  And 
the  dr^d  simoom  rises,  and  seizes  the 
dry,  shrivelled  roots,  that  my  brother  be- 
holds there,  and  on  the  wings  of  the  tem- 
pest the  Rose  of  Jericho  rides  far  far  east, 
until  it  falls  npon  holy  soil.  Now  let  my 
brother  wait  and  he  shall  see !" 

And  we  did  wait,  waited  until  the  sha- 
dows grew  long,  and  dreamy  dusk  cover- 
ed mountain  and  plain.  And  the  little 
shapeless  mass  became  a  miracle  in- 
deed, and  right  before  our  eyes!  The 
roots  had  expanded,  the  leaves  had  on- 


folded,  life  and  breath  had  returned  to  the 
dead  child  of  the  Sahara,  and  the  very 
blossoms  began  to  show,  and  to  rival  the 
feint  rosy  tints  of  the  evening  sun ! 

I  never  forgot  that  lesson  of  immortality 
— ^I  never  forgot  that  Rose  of  Jericho.  On 
my  return  to  Europe  I  learned  that  bota- 
nists called  it  ^^  Anaslatica,"  the  flower  of 
resurrection.  I  wished  to  know  more 
about  it,  and  that  was  the  way  I  first 
learned  something  about  plants. 

I  found  botany  very  little  attractive^- 
very  little  deserving  of  its  ancient  name 
of  Uie  '^  lovely  science."  I  found  that  bota- 
nists would  go  out  into  the  fields,  their 
text-books  in  their  pockets,  and  gather  the 
tender  children  of  Flora  into  huge  masses^ 
then  dry  them  and  classify  them,  describe 
their  head-dress  and  uniform,  tneir  rank 
and  dignity,  and  finally  deposit  them  in 
magnificent  herbariums.  There  they 
were,  well  dried  and  well  pasted,  clad,  to 
be  sure,  in  all  the  pomp  and  circumstance 
of  high-sounding  names — so  much  Latin 
hay.  But  where  was  their  color  and  grace- 
ful shape  ?  where  the  breath  of  air  that 
made  them  gently  wave  to  and  fro  ?  where 
the  sweet  perfumes  they  gratefully  sent 
up  to  their  Maker  ?  where  the  bright  water 
at  their  side,  in  which  they  reflected  their 
lovely  form?  where  the  whole  glorious 
scene  for  which  they  were  intended  by 
Nature,  and  to  which  they  lent,  in  return, 
life  and  beauty? 

Thus  it  was  that  botanists  of  old  col- 
lected the  material  only — not  without  be- 
stowing unceasing  industry  upon  it,  not 
without  making  unheard  of  sacrifices, 
often  of  the  very  lives  of  devoted  laborers 
in  f^at  field  of  science — but  they  were 
content  with  a  form  only  and  a  name. 
They  were  like  the  French  officer,  who  in 
one,  I  forget  which,  of  the  French  revolu- 
tions, came  to  Rome  and  there  had  the 
good  fortune  to  discover  a  precious  inscrip- 
tion on  a  monument,  dating  far  back  into 
antiquity.  Proudly,  and  carefully,  he  de- 
tached one  bronze  letter  after  another, 
then  slipped  them  into  a  bag,  and  sent 
them  to  the  antiquarians  of  Paris  to  be 
deciphered. 

But  there  have  arisen,  within  the  last 
thirty  years  especially,  men  who  have 
studied  plants  with  the  view,  not  only  to 
know  who  they  were,  but  rather  what 
they  were,  how  they  lived  and  how  they 
died,  what  their  relation  was  to  the  world, 
and  what  their  purpose  in  the  great  house- 
hold of  Nature.  Kindred  sciences  have 
lent  their  aid }   the  miscroscope  has  laid 


4t8 


A  Chat  about  PUmU. 


[Apfi 


open  the  innermost  recesses  of  plants; 
travellers  have  brought  home  new,  gene- 
ralizing views,  and  an  insight  has  at  last 
been  gained  into  the  life  of  the  vegetable 
world.  Great,  startling  discoveries  have 
there  been  made,  new  truths  and  new 
beauties  have  been  revealed  to  us,  and 
natural  science  has  unfolded  the  most 
delicate  resources  and  most  curious  rela- 
tions in  the  vegetable  kingdom. 

Thus  we  have  learned,  that  it  is  a  fal- 
lacy— to  be  sure  as  old  as  botany  itself— 
that  plants  have  no  motion.  Old  Aristo- 
tle, it  is  true,  had  a  curious  idea,  that  they 
were  buried  in  deep  slumber,  out  of  which 
nothing  could  awake  them,  and  that  thus 
by  a  kind  of  enchantment  they  were  spell- 
bound, until  the  great  word  should  be 
spoken,  that  was  to  restore  to  them  life 
and  motion.  Modern  science  also  teaches 
that  the  characteristic  of  organic  bodies 
is  independent  motion,  that  of  inorganic, 
rest  But  plants  have  both  life  and  mo- 
tion ;  we  dare  not  as  yet  say  whether  it 
be  the  effect  of  a  mere  dream,  of  a  mechan- 
ical pressure  from  without,  or  of  instinc- 
tive life  within.  For  what  do  we  as  yet 
know  of  the  simplest  functions  of  the 
inner  life  of  plants  ?  Who  has  not,  how- 
ever, observed  how  the  pale  sap  courses 
through  the  colossal  stems  of  gigantic  trees 
and  the  delicate  veins  of  a  frail  leaf,  as 
rapidly  and  marvellously  as  through  the 
body  of  man?  Take  a  microscope  and 
you  will  see  the  plant  full  of  life  and 
motion.  All  its  minute  cells  are  filled 
with  countless  little  currents,  now  rotary 
and  now  up  and  down,  often  even  appa- 
rently lawless,  but  always  distinctly 
marked  by  tiny  grains  which  are  seen  to 
turn  in  them  or  to  rise  without  ceasing. 
In  this  world  nothing  is  motionless,  says 
a  modem  philosopher.  Let  the  air  be  so 
still,  that  not  a  breath  shall  be  felt  to 
creep  through  it,  and  yet  the  forest  leaves 
will  seem  stirred  as  if  in  silent  prayer. 
The  earth  moves  small  things  and  great, 
all  obey  the  same  law,  and  the  little  blade 
of  grass  goes  around  the  sun  as  swiftly 
as  the  tallest  pine.  The  very  shadow 
dances,  as  if  in  idle  mockery,  around  the 
immovable  flower,  and  marks  the  passing 
hours  of  sunshine. 

But  plants  move  not  only  where  they 
stand — they  travel  also.  They  migrate 
from  land  to  land,  sometimes  slowly,  inch 
by  inch,  then  again  on  the  wings  of  the 
storm.  Botanists  tell  us  of  actual  migra- 
tions of  plants,  and  a  successive  extension 
of  the  domain  of  particular  floras,  just  as 
we  speak  of  the  migration  of  idioms  and 
races.  Individual  plants,  however,  travel 
only  as  man  ought  to  travel,  when  they 


are  young.  If  they  have  once  found  » 
home,  they  settle  (juietly  down,  grow,  blos- 
som, and  bear  fruit  Therefore  it  is,  that 
plants  travel  only  in  the  seed;  For  this 
purpose,  seeds  possess  often  special  Qr> 
gans  for  a  long  journey  through  tlie  air. 
Sometimes  they  are  pu^  like  small  bomb- 
shells, into  little  mortars,  and  fired  oif 
with  great  precisu)n.  Thus  arise  the  well- 
known  emerald  rings  on  our  greenswardi, 
and  on  the  vast  prairies  of  the  West, 
which  some  ascribe  to  electricity,  whilst 
the  poet  loves  to  see  in  them  traces  of  the 
moonlight  revels  of  fairies.  The  truth  is 
scarcely  less  poetk^al.  A  small  drralar 
fungus  squats  down  on  a  nice  bit  of  Uut 
It  prospers  and  fills  with  ripening 


When  it  matures,  it  discharges  the  tiny 
balls,  already  mentioned,  in  a  drde  sa 
around,  and  then  sinks  quietly  in  the 
ground  and  dies.  Another  season,  and 
its  place  is  marked  by  an  abundance  of 
luxuriant  grass,  feeding  upon  its  remain^ 
whilst  around  it  a  whole  ring  of  yoong 
fungi  have  begun  to  flourish.  Tbteydb 
in  their  turn,  and  so  the  circle  goes  on 
enlarging  and  enlarging,  shifting  rapidly. 
because  fungi  exhaust  the  soil  soon  of  ali 
matter  necessary  for  their  growth,  and 
closely  followed  by  the  rich  grass,  that 
fills  up  their  place,  and  prevents  them 
from  ever  retracing  their  steps. 

A  similar  irritability  enables  other 
plants  also  to  scatter  their  seeds  ftr  and 
near,  by  means  of  springs  bent  back,  until 
a  breath  of  wind,  a  fidling  leaf,  or  tiie  wins 
of  an  insect,  causes  them  to  rebound,  ima 
thus  to  send  the  pollen  with  whidi  they 
are  loaded  often  to  a  great  distance.  T^ 
so-called  Touch-me-not  balsam  scatters 
its  ripe  seeds,  by  such  a  contrivance,  in  all 
directions,  and  the  squirting  cucumber  is 
furnished,  for  the  same  purpose,  witik  a 
complete  fire-engine.  Some  of  the  ge- 
raniums^ also,  of  our  greenhouses  have 
their  fiiiit- vessels  so  curiously  oonstmot- 
ed,  that  the  mere  contact  with  another 
object,  and  frequently  the  heat  of  the  son 
alone,  suffices  to  detach  the  carpels,  one 
by  one,  with  a  snapping  sound,  ai^  so 
suddenly  as  to  cause  a  considerable  jerk, 
which  sends  the  seeds  far  away. 

Other  fruit-vessels  again,  have,  as  is 
well  known,  contrivances  the  most  cari- 
ous and  ingenk>us,  by  which  they  press 
every  living  thing  that  comes  near  them 
into  their  service,  and  make  it  convey 
them  whithersoever  they  please.  Evenr 
body  is  familiar  with  the  bearded  vari- 
eties of  wheat  and  other  grain ;  they  are 
provided  with  little  hooks  which  they 
cunningly  insert  into  the  wool  or  hair  of 
grazing  catUe,  and  thus  they  ere  canisd 


1 


A  Ohdt  about  PlanU. 


489 


until  they  find  a  pleasant  place  for 
Ihture  home.  Some  who  do  not  like 
ain  services  thus  by  hook  and  crook, 
d  by  pretended  friendship,  sticking 
r  to  their  self-chosen  companions. 
co?er  their  little  seeds  with  a  most 
ive  glue,  and  when  the  busy  bee 
to  gather  honey  from  their  sweet 
ms,  which  they  jauntily  hang,  out 
:h  the  unwary  insect,  the  seeds  ad- 
0  its  body,  and  travel  thus  on  four 
in^  through  the  wide,  wide  world, 
noers  know  very  well  the  common 
>  of  their  sweet  friends,  when  so 
pollen  adheres  to  their  head  that 
jannot  fly;  and  must  miserably 
,  one  by  one,  under  the  heavy  bur- 
tiich  these  innocent-looking  plants 
ompelled  them  to  carry.  We  have 
tie  Knowledge  as  yet  of  the  activity 
in  the  vegetable  world,  and  of  its 
itoos  influence  on  the  welfare  of 
m  race.  Few  only  know  that  the 
r  of  Asia  Minor  decides  on  the  ex- 
of  ten  thousands  of  human  beings, 
r  clippers  and  steamers  carry  the 
e  of  the  land  from  continent  to 
int,  so  these  tiny  sailors  of  the  air 
n,  under  the  direction  of  Divine 
ence,  the  important  duty  of  carry- 
Uen,  or  fertilizing  dust,  from  fig- 
i  %-tree.    Without  pollen,  there 

0  figs,  and,  consequently,  on  their 
r  and  number  depends  the  produo- 
8  of  these  trees ;  they,  therefore, 
»  in  fikct  the  extensive  and  profit- 
};  trade  of  Smyrna.  A  little,  ugly 
of  Kamschatka  has,  in  like  man- 
lore  than  once  saved  the  entire 
tion  of  the  most  barren  part  of 
and  from  apparently  unavoidable 
ion.  He  is  a  great  thief  in  his  way, 
most  fastidious  gourmand,  more- 
Nothing  will  satisfy  him  on  a  long 
evening — and  we  must  charitably 

1  mind  that  these  evenings  some- 
last  five  months  without  interrup- 
mt  a  constant  supply  of  lily  bulbs. 
ies  are  well  content  with  this  ar- 
lent,  for  the  being  eaten  is  as  natu- 
hem  as  to  a  Feejee-islander ;  and 
«,  as  compensation,  saved  from  be- 
wded  to  death  in  a  narrow  space, 
those  that  escape  the  little  glutton, 
ip  merrily,  next  summer,  in  rich 
8.  Still  better  content  are  the 
inders ;  for,  when  their  last  mouth- 
neat,  and  their  last  drop  of  train- 
gone,  they  dig  and  rob  the  littleL 
mt  beetle  of  his  carefully  hoardea 
6,  and,  by  its  aid,  manage  to  live 
lother  season.  It  is  thus  that  we 
ry  where  the  beautiful  and  dose 


bonds  of  love  connecting  even  those  parts 
of  creation,  that  seem  to  be  wiUiout  sense 
or  voluntaiy  motion,  humble  subjects  of 
the  dominion  of  the  elements,  and  which  }'et 
respond  to  the  action  of  those  mysterious 
powers,  that  rule,  under  Qod,  in  nature. 
The  flower  opens  its  gorgeous  chalice, 
filled  with  rich  honey,  to  the  tiny  insect ; 
the  insect,  in  return,  carries  the  fructify- 
ing pollen  to  the  flower's  distant  mate, 
and  thus  propagates  it  anew.  The  herbs 
of  the  field  send  forth  their  luxuriant 
tufts  of  leaves  for  the  browsing  cattle, 
and  sheep  and  oxen  carry  the  seed  in  their, 
hides  from  meadow  to  meadow.  The 
trees  themselves,  planted  by  stones  that 
birds  have  dropped,  grow  and  flourish 
until  ^'they  are  strong,  and  the  height 
thereof  reaches  unto  heaven,  and  the 
beasts  of  the  field  have  shadow  under 
it,  and  the  fowls  of  heaven  dwell  in  the 
boughs  thereof-' 

When  neither  quadruped  nor  insect 
can  be  coaxed  or  forced  to  transport  the 
young  seeds  that  wish  to  see  the  world, 
they  sometimes  launch  forth  on  their  own 
account,  and  trust  to  a  gentle  breeze  or  a 
light  current  of  air,  rising  from  the  heated 
surface  of  the  earth.  It  is  true,  nature 
has  given  them  wings  to  fly  with,  such  as 
nian  never  yet  was  skilful  enough  to  de- 
vise for  his  own  use.  The  maple — our 
maple,  I  mean — has  genuine  little  wings, 
with  which  it  flies  merrily  about  in  its 
early  days ;  others,  like  the  dandelion  and 
the  anemone,  have  light  downy  appen- 
dages, or  little  feathery  tufts  and  crovms, 
by  which  they  are  floated  along  on  the 
lightest  breath  of  air,  and  enjoy,  to  their 
heart's  content,  long  autumnal  wander- 
ings. These  airy  appendages  are  marvel- 
lously well  adapted  for  the  special  pur- 
pose of  each  plant :  some  but  just  large 
enough  to  waft  the  tiny  grain  up  the 
height  of  a  molehill,  others  strong  enough 
to  carry  the  seed  of  the  cedar  from  the 
low  valley  to  the  summit  of  Mount  Leb- 
anon. The  proudest  princes  of  the  vege- 
table kingdom  often  depend  for  their  con- 
tinuance on  these  little  feathery  tufts, 
which  but  few  observers  are  apt  to  notice. 
A  recent  writer  tells  us  that,  a  few  years 
ago,  the  only  palm-tree  the  city  of  Paris 
could  then  boast  of,  suddenly  blossomed. 
Botanists  were  at  a  loss  how  to  explain 
the  apparent  miracle,  and  skeptics  b^;an 
to  sneer,  and  declared  that  the  laws  of 
nature  had  failed.  An  advertisement  ap- 
peared in  the  papers,  inquiring  for  the 
unknown  mate  of  the  solitary  tree.  And 
behold,  in  an  obscure  court-yard  away  of^ 
there  had  lived,  unknown  and  unnoticed^ 
another  small  palm ;  it  also  had  blo68om- 


4S0 


A  Chat  about  Pktntt. 


[April 


ed  apparently  alone,  and  in  vain — bat  a 
eentle  breeze  had  oome,  and  carried  its 
nower-dust  to  its  distant  companion,  and 
the  first  palm- flowers  ever  seen  in  France 
were  the  result  of  this  silent  mediation. 

Reckless  wanderers,  also,  there  are 
among  the  plants,  who  waste  their  sub- 
stance, and  wildly  rove  about  in  the  world. 
The  rose  of  Jericho,  which  we  haye  already 
noticed,  and  a  club  moss  of  Peru,  are 
such  erratic  idlers  that  wander  from  land 
to  land.  When  they  have  blossomed  and 
borne  frnit»  and  when  the  dry  season 
comes,  they  wither,  fold  their  leaves  to- 
gether, and  draw  up  their  roots,  so  as  to 
n>rm  a  light,  little  ball.  In  this  form  they 
are  driven  hither  and  thither  on  the  wings 
of  the  wind,  rolling  along  the  plains  in 
spiritlike  dance,  now  whirling  in  great 
circles  about,  now  caught  by  an  eddy  and 
rising  suddenly  high  into  the  air.  It  is 
not  until  they  reach  a  moist  place  that 
they  care  to  rest  a  while,  but  then  they 
settle  down  at  once,  send  down  their  roots, 
unfold  their  leaves,  assume  a  bright  green, 
and  become  quiet,  useful  citizens  in  their 
own  great  kingdom  of  plants. 

There  are,  however,  thousands  of  plants 
that  have  neither  servants  nor  wings  to 
gratify  their  vrishes,  and  who  seem  con- 
demned to  see  their  offspring  die  at  their 
feet  But  here  again  we  see  how  the  re- 
sources of  nature  are  always  far  superior 
to  the  apparent  difficulty.  These  very 
seeds  wMch  seemed  so  hopelessly  lost, 
often  travel  fastest  of  all ;  they  travel  on 
the  wings  of  birds.  The  latter  steal  our 
fruit,  our  cherries  and  grapes ;  they  carry 
them  off  to  some  convenient  place,  eat  the 
pulpy  part,  and  drop  the  stone  with  the 
seed  in  it,  where  it  is  most  likely  to  find  a 
genial  soil  and  a  sheltered  home.  Even 
their  evil  propensities  must  thus  serve 
the  purposes  of  nature.  Jays  and  pies, 
it  is  well  known,  are  fond  of  hiding  grains 
and  acorns  among  grass  or  moss  and  in 
the  ground,  and  then,  poor  things,  forget 
the  hiding  place,  and  lose  all  their  trea- 
sure. Squirrels,  also  marmots  and  mice, 
bury  nuts  under  ground,  and  often  so  deep 
that  neither  light  nor  warmth  can  reach 
the  hidden  grain.  But  then  comes  man, 
and  cuts  down  the  pinewood,  and  lo !  to 
the  astonishment  of  all,  a  young  coppice 
of  oaks  shoots  np,  and  the  wonder  is, 
where  all  the  acorns  have  so  suddenly 
come  from.  It  is  not  without  its  ludicrous 
side,  to  see  even  the  ingenuity  of  men 
baffled  by  these  unconscious  but  faithful 
servants  of  nature.  We  are  told  that  the 
Dutch,  with  a  sublime  kind  of  political 
wisdom,  destroy  the  plants  which  produce 
our  nutmeg,  for  the  purpose  of  keepmg  up 


their  monopoly,  and  high  prices  into  tha 
bargain,  by  the  limited  amount  of  the  an- 
nual produce,  which  is  entirely  in  tiidr 
own  hands.  With  this  view,  they  cut 
down  every  tree  of  the  kind  in  the  Moloo- 
ca  Islands,  where  it  was  originally  inifi- 
genous,  and  punish,  to  this  day,  with 
the  severest  penalties  the  mere  pnsneoaon 
of  a  nut  But  it  so  happens  that  a  little 
bird  of  the  same  Moluccas  also  is  fimd  of 
these  nuts ;  and  as  the  air  camiot  voy 
well  be  guarded  and  watched,  even  by 
Dutch  ingenuity,  he  insists  upon  eatiqg 
them,  and  carries  the  seed  to  distant 
islands  of  the  ocean,  causing  the  stapid 
Hollanders  infinite  trouble  and  annoyance. 
Seeds  that  have  not  learned  to  fly  with 
their  own  or  other  people's  wings,  it  seems 
are  taught  to  swim.  Trees  and  boAm 
which  bear  nuts,  love  low  groonds  and 
river  banks.  Why?  Because  tbeff firnit 
is  shaped  like  a  small  boat,  and  the  rivu- 
let playing  with  its  tiny  riples  over  sil- 
very sands,  as  well  as  the  broad  ware  of 
the  Pacific,  carry  their  seed  alike,  saftly 
and  swiftly,  to  new  homes.  Rivers  fk)at 
down  the  fruits  of  mountain  regions^  into 
deep  valleys  and  to  far  off  coasts,  and  the 
Gulf  Stream  of  our  own  Atlantic  oanias 
annually  the  ridi  products  of  the  torrid 
zone  of  America  to  the  distant  shores  of 
Iceland  and  Norway.  Seeds  of  plants 
growing  in  Jamaica  and  Cuba  have  ben 

gathered  in  the  quiet  coves  of  the  He- 
rides.  The  fruit  of  the  red  bay  has  the 
form  of  a  pirogue;  at  first  it  sinks  to  the 
bottom,  but  nature  has  given  it  a  small 
hole  in  the  upper  part ;  a  little  air-bobble 
forms  there^  and  causes  it  to  rise  again- 
The  gigantic  cocoa-nut  itsd^  wei^ung 
not  rarely  more  than  five  pounds,  hot 
air-ti^ht  in  its  close  shell,  and  buoy- 
ant by  its  light,  fibrous  coat,  is  thus 
drifted  from  island  to  isknd,  and  rides 
safely  on  the  surges  of  the  ocean  firam 
the  Seychelles  to  the  distant  coast  of 
Malabur.  There  it  lodges,  and  genu* 
nates  in  the  light  moist  sano,  so  that  tha 
Indians  of  old  fimcied  that  they  grew  on- 
der  water,  and  called  them  sea  cocoas.  A 
still  more  striking  provision  of  nature  is 
this,  that  there  are  some  seeds  of  this 
kind  so  exquisitely  adjusted  to  their  fu- 
ture destmation^  as  to  smk  hi  salt  water, 
while  they  swmi  with  safety  in  sweet 
water. 

Large  vegetable  masses  even  travel  on 
the  great  waters  of  the  ocean.  Crompact 
fields  of  marine  plants  are  oeoasionaUy 
met  with  in  the  Southern  seas,  and  on 
the  coast  of  Florida,  large  enough  to  im- 
pede the  progress  of  vessels,  imd  filled 
with  millions  of  crostaoen.  Th^  are  not 


I 


A  Chat  about  Plants. 


481 


oenUy  so  firm  and  so  extensiye  u 
rd  a  bailding  place  for  the  nests  of 
3  birds  and  for  quadrupeds,  who 
oat  at  the  mercy  of  wind  and  waves 
r  new,  unknown  home.  Amid  the 
pine  Islands,  also,  after  a  tjrphoon, 
;  islands  are  fallen  in  with,  consist- 
matted  plants  and  wood,  with  tall, 
■ees,  growine  on  them.  These 
e,  insular  rafts,  are  carried  along 
ift  cnrrents,  or  wafted  onward  by 
^test  breath  of  air  which  fans  the 
of  their  dense  woods,  until,  after  a 
e  of  weeks  or  months,  they  land, 
EMW  ark,  on  some  distant  shore, 
we  need  not  go  to  far-off  countries 

plants  wandering  about  in  the 
:  our  own  gardens  afford  us,  though 
■nailer  scale,  many  an  instance  of 
UttBsness  of  these  very  plants  that 

much  commiserated  because  they 

move  about  and  choose  their  own 

Every  casual  observer  even  knows 
any  bulbs,  like  those  of  crocus,  tu- 
narcissus,  rise  or  sink  by  forming 
albs  above  or  below,  until  the^ 
readied  the  proper  depth  of  soil 

best  suits  their  constitution — or 
8  their  fancy.  Some  orchids  have 
lar  locomotion:  the  old  root  dies. 
If  one  forms  invariably  in  one  and 
ae  direction,  and  thus  they  proceed 
la  year  after  year,  though  at  a  very 
;,  stage-coach  rate.  Strawberries, 
contrary,  put  on  seven-league  boots, 
mi  escape  from  the  rich  man's  gar- 
refresh  the  weary  traveller  by  the 
le.  Raspberries,  again,  mine  their 
Bilthily  under  ground,  by  a  subter- 
,  molelike  process ;  blind,  but  not 
ed,  for  they  are  sure  to  turn  up  in 
ightest,  sunniest  spot  they  could 
shosen,  had  their  eyes  been  wide 
nd  their  proceedings  above  ground. 
f  in  return  for  the  manifold  servi- 
Jeh  plants  require  and  receive  from 
dlow  creatures,  they  show  kindness 
rown  to  animal  life,  and  shelter  and 
e  most  timid  as  well  as  the  noblest 
igB,  with  the  hospitality  of  their 
OS  life.    In  early  childhood  already 

taught,  that  even  the  smallest  of 
he  mustard  seed,  grows  up  to  be  a 
in  whose  branches  the  fowls  of  the 
s  have  then*  habitation,"  that ''  both 
and  Israel  dwelt  safely,  every  man 
his  vine  and  under  his  fig-tree,  all 
fs  of  Solomon,"  and  that  Deborah, 
phetess,  ^  dwelt  under  a  pahn-tree." 
1  science  has  furnished  us  numerous 
S  and  detailed  instances  of  the  great 

of  Ufe,  which  is  thus  intimately 
ted  with  the  vegetable  kingdom. 


It  18  not  only  that  the  plaintive  nightin- 
gale sings  m  the  murmuring  poplar,  whilst 
the  gay  butterfly  loves  the  sweet-scented 
rose,  Uiat  the  sombro  yew  hides  the  owl's 
nest,  and  the  dark  northern  phie  harbors 
the  fur-clad  squirrel.  Animals,  invisible 
to  the  naked  eye,  have  been  found  to  float 
in  the  sap  of  trees,  and  even  the  smallest 
moss  has  its  own  tiny  insect,  which  it 
boards  and  lodges.  Aphides  and  gall  in- 
sects live,  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  on 
the  leaves  of  plants,  flies  and  butterflies 
on  their  flowers,  and  anta  and  worms 
crowd  upon  them,  after  death,  in  countless 
multitaoes.  Every  plant,  moreover,  is  in- 
habited by  some  insect,  to  which  it  affords 
an  exclusive  home.  Many  caterpillars  are 
bom  and  die  with  the  leaf  on  which  they 
live,  whilst,  on  the  other  hand,  the  proua 
monarch-oak  alone  supports  seventy  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  insects— a  swarm,  which 
sets  all  measurement  at  defiance,  and. 
^moreover,  replaces  by  numbers  and  the 
enormous  voracity  with  which  they  are 
endowed,  what  they  want  in  bodily  mag- 
nitude. 

Already  Pliny  was  surprised  to  see 
small  ants  run  up  the  tall  cypress,  and 
devour  its  rich  firmt  with  surprismg  avidi- 
ty ;  he  wondered  that  so  insignificant  an 
insect  should  be  allowed  to  destroy  the 
seed  of  the  largest  tree  of  his  country. 
But  plants  have  to  support  guests  of  every 
size  and  shape.  The  buttery  and  its  less 
gaudy  relations,  drink  with  their  long 
trunks  sweet  honey  out  of  gorgeously  oo£ 
ored  flower-cups ;  four-winged  bees  carry 
away  the  precious  dust  ofanUiers  in  large 
spoons,  fastened  to  their  thighs ;  gall  in- 
sects pieroe  with  sharp  daggers  the  tendw 
lea^  drink  its  refreshing  juice,  and  deposit 
their  eggs  in  the  delicate  tezturo ;  beetles 
gnaw  and  saw  with  a  hundred  curiously 
shaped  instruments  through  the  hardest 
wood  of  noble  trees ;  nake^  helpless-look- 
ing worms  make  the  very  trunk  thdr 
cover  and  their  home,  and  vrith  sharp 
augers  often  destroy  whole  forests.  The 
ingenious  ant  of  ^uth  America  has  its 
winter  residence  in  the  virarm  ground,  and 
its  cool  summer  house  on  tall  plants.  For 
thero  grows  on  the  banks  of  the  Amazon 
River  a  gigantic  reed,  nearly  thirty  feet 
high,  which  is  frequently  crowned  with  a 
large  ball  of  earth,  like  the  golden  globe 
on  the  utmost  end  of  a  lofty  church  staple. 
This  is  the  comfortable  home  of  myriads 
of  antSj  which  retiro  to  these  safe  dwell- 
ings, hig^h  and  dry,  at  the  time  of  rains 
and  during  the  period  of  inundatkm,  rising 
and  descending  in  the  hollow  of  the  reed, 
and  living  on  what  they  find  swimming 
on  the  sorfaoe  of  the  water.    Another 


488 


A  Chat  about  Plants. 


[April 


curious  lodger  of  a  South  American  plant  is 
the  famous  cochineal  bug,  well  known 
from  the  precious  red  color,  that  bears  its 
name,  and  which  it  draws  from  a  certain 
cactus  until  its  body  becomes  impregnated 
with  the  briUiant  scarlet  It  is  probably 
the  most  sedentary  of  all  insects,  making 
but  one  short  journey  in  early  life,  and 
Uien  settling  down  for  ever  upon  one  and 
the  same  spot.  As  soon,  namely,  as  the 
young  insect  leaves  its  egg,  it  manifests 
great  activity  and  a  restless  desire  to  tra- 
vel. But  alas !  it  finds  itself  upon  a  prick- 
ly, thorny  stem,  hanging  high  in  the  air, 
and  in  contact  with  no  other.  But  nature 
soon  comes  to  its  aid,  and  sends  a  small 
spider  to  spin  a  silken  thread  from  branch 
to  branch.  Upon  this  slender,  trembling 
bridge,  the  young  cochineal  wanders  bold- 
ly out  to  a  new  world,  seeks  a  promising 
spot,  deliberately  sinks  its  fragile  trunk 
into  the  juicy  leaf— and  never  draws  it 
back  again,  drinking,  drinking,  hke  a 
toper  as  he  is,  through  his  whole  exis- 
tence. 

Even  larger  inhabitants  are  often  found 
on  quite  small  plants.  Thus  England 
produces  a  slight  but  well-supported 
thisUe,  which  is  frequently  found  to  have 
little  elaborate  nests  hanging  down,  at  an 
elevation  of  a  few  inches  from  the  ground. 
These  contain  not  insects,  but  mice,  though 
of  the  smallest  variety  known,  and  are 
occasionally  large  enough  to  hold  as  many 
as  nine  young  ones,  carefully  stowed  away 
and  well  secured  against  all  enemies  and 
dangers. 

Birds  seem,  of  course,  the  most  natural 
lodgers  of  plants ;  they  find  there  abun- 
dai^  of  nourishment,  all  the  material  for 
building  then:  nests,  and  a  well-protected 
home.  The  eagle  gathers  the  knotted 
branches  of  oaks  or  pines,  to  bring  up  his 
fierce  brood  upon  the  hard,  uncushioned 
couch;  the  thorn  tears  a  handful  of  wool 
firom  the  passing  sheep,  for  its  tiny  inhab- 
itants, and  the  ^pised  mullein  covers  its 
broad  leaves  with  the  softest  of  downs,  to 
line  the  bed  of  the  delicate  children  of  the 
humming  bird.  There  is  probably  no  bush 
and  no  tree,  that  has  not  its  own,  particu- 
lar bird ;  every  where  do  the  fowl  of  the 
air  find  a  foliage,  thicker  or  thinner,  to 
shelter  them  against  rain,  heat  and  cold ; 
a  hollow  trunk  afibrds  safe  and  warm  lodg^ 
ings;  soft  moss  carpets  their  dwellings, 
aod  insects  and  worms  swarm  around,  to 
o£fer,  at  the  same  time,  food  in  abundance. 
The^  give,  in  return,  life  and  sound  to 
the  immovable  plant  Son^  birds  of  many 
kinds  perch  and  sing  their  beautiful  an- 
thems on  every  spray ;  locusts  thrill  their 
monotonous  and  yet  pleasing  note  among 


a  world  of  leaves  through  long 
noons,  and  the  katy-did  utters  its  shrill  o^ 
during  sultry  nights.  They  all  love  tfacnr 
home,  making  it  their  dwelling  by  night 
and  by  day,  and  many  aro  the  instanoei 
m  which  birds,  that  had  long  lived  in  cer- 
tain trees,  have  died  from  hom«-sickiiei% 
when  they  wero  felled. 

Monkeys  also,  it  is  well  known,  are  frn- 
giverous  animals,  and  by  their  food  as  well 
as  by  the  peculiar  structure  of  their  body, 
so  closely  bound  to  trees  that  they  bat  aor 
dom  leave  them.  The  tree-frog  clings  to 
the  rugged  trunk,  mingling  its  &ded  oolorB 
with  those  of  the  bark,  and  feastii^  npon 
the  insects  hid  in  each  crevice.  The  mt- 
sightly  sloth  fastens  its  enormous  daws 
to  the  branches,  and  passes  thus,  head 
downward,  with  astounding  alacrity,  from 
tree  to  tree ;  whilst  even  the  blad(  tiger  of 
South  America,  findmg  the  undergrowth 
too  dense  and  impenetrable,  lives  on  trees, 
and  coursing  on  his  bloody  race,  leaps  from 
branch  to  branch,  until  he  has  huntfld 
down  his  exhausted  prey. 

Nor  has  man  himself  neglected  to  avail 
himself  of  trees,  as  a  dwelling  or  a  home. 
Already  Lucinius  Mutianus,  an  ex-Consul 
of  Lycia,  took  special  pleasure  in  feastng 
twenty-one  guests  in  a  hollow  plane-tree; 
and  modem  travellers  tell  us  of  a  gigantic 
Boabal  in  Senegambia,  the  interior  of  which 
is  used  as  a  public  hall  for  nalioiial  meet- 
ings, whilst  its  portals  are  onuunoited 
with  rude,  quamt  sculptures,  cut  out  d 
the  still  living  wood.  The  sacred  flg-dta 
of  India,  which,  as  Milton  says, 

<*  Bnnching  so  1>r<Md  along,  that  in  the  gnmnd 
The  bending  twigs  take  root,  and  dangfatan  giov 
About  the  mother  tree,  a  piUar^b  ahada 
High  overarched,  with  echoing  walks  between,* 

is  worshipped  as  sacred,  and  the  lasy ,  help- 
less priest,  the  Bonre,  builds  himself  a 
hut,  not  uxilike  a  bird's  cage,  in  its  bvan- 
dies,  where  he  spends  his  Ufe,  dreamiag 
in  contemplative  indolence,  under  its  coo% 
pleasant  shade.  Nay,  whole  nations  live 
in  the  branches  of  trees.  There  is  a  raoa 
of  natives  of  South  America,  west  of  the 
mouth  of  the  Orinoco,  the  Quaranis,  who 
have  never  yet  been  completdy  sabdnedy 
Uianks  mainly  to  their  curious  habitatiooi. 
The  great  Humboldt  tells  us.  that  thaj 
twine  most  skilfully  the  lea&talks  of  tM 
Mauritius  pakn  into  cords,  and  weave 
them  with  great  care  into  mats.  Then 
they  suspend  high  in  the  air  frt>m  bnmdl 
to  branch,  and  cover  them  with  day  ;hcn 
they  dwell  and  in  a  dark  night  the  amaad 
and  bewildered  traveller  may  see  the  flrea 
of  their  dwellings  high  in  the  tops  of  loAj 
trees. 


1 


A  Ohat  about  PkuUi. 


43$ 


re  civilized  conntries  even  have  not 
s  without  similar,  though  isolated 
068  of  men  who  have  found  a  dwel- 
a  the  trees  of  the  forest  Evelyn 
«  of  the  huge  trunk  of  an  oak  in 
ishire,  which  served  long  as  a  pris- 
r  felons  ;  and  he  who  lived  in  the 
I  of  old  Selbome  so  lovely  and  sweet, 
ms  an  elm  on  Blechington  Green, 
gave  for  months  reception  and  shel- 
a  poor  woman,  whom  the  inhospi- 
people  would  not  receive  into  their 
u  When  she  reappeared  among  them 
g,  she  held  a  lusty  boy  in  her  arms. 
ire,  however,  more  frequently  bu- 
han  bom  in  trees.  The  natives  of 
istem  coast  of  Africa,  hollow  out 
rorm-eaten  Baobabs,  and  bury  in 
those  who  are  suspected  of  holding 
union  with  evil  spirits.  Their  bo- 
hos  suspended  in  the  dry  chambers 
trunk,  soon  become  perfect  mum- 
The  Indians  of  Maine  had  a  more 
Dg  custom  of  the  kind.  They  used 
1  up  a  young  maple-tree,  place  the 
>f  a  dead  chief  underneath,  and  then 
I  roots  spring  back,  thus  erecting  a 
I  monument  to  his  memory. 
8  it  is  that  vegetable  and  animal  life 
id  in  hand,  showing  that  beautiful 
if  love,  which  pervades  all  nature, 
1  its  minor  parts ;  where  there  is  life, 
in  plants,  and  on  land  and  on  water, 
)  loftiest  mountain  top,  and  in  the 
9wel8  of  the  earth,  every  where  does 
[id  a  plant  to  minister  to  his  support 
foyment,  ev^ry  where  he  sees  plants 
r  and  mysteriously  perform  their 
e  duty  in  the  great  household  of 
.  Plants  alone — it  would  at  first 
ppear — have  no  home,  for  they  seem 
kt  home  every  where.  Turn  up  the 
here  you  will,  to  any  depth,  and 
rich  abundance  of  vegetable  life  is 
with  the  loam,  that  almost  instan- 
tly plants  innumerable  spring  up 
eeda,  which  may  have  lain  slumber- 
thousands  of  years  in  the  warm 
of  our  mother  earth.  Man  himself 
;  master  this  exuberance  of  vegeta- 
I.  He  may  change  it  by  cultivation, 
tie,  bnt  that  also  only  for  a  time. 
iiat  is  a  generation,  or  two,  in  com- 
1  with  the  eternal  earth  ?  Do  not 
I  our  day,  and  before  our  eyes,  lofty 
aiae  their  proud  heads,  where  our 

I  cut  the  green  turf  with  their  sharp 

I I  In  vain  does  man  take  the  Al- 
m  finom  the  banks  of  its  pure  moun- 
tN>k  and  plant  it  in  the  lowly  valley; 

does  he  bring  costly  seeds  from  the 

And  the  warm  climes  of  the  tro- 

rm  to  the  ice-clad  coast  of  Norway. 


They  live  and  pine  and  die.  It  is  true,  he 
sometimes  seeks  to  reverse  nature  itself. 
He  places  bubbling  fountains  on  the  top 
of  high  hills,  and  plants  lime-trees  and  pop- 
lars between  great  masses  of  rocks ;  vine- 
yards must  adorn  his  valleys,  and  meadows 
spread  their  soft  velvet  over  mountain 
sides.  But  the  poet  of  old  already  has 
taught  us,  that  you  may  drive  out  nature 
even  with  the  pitchfork,  and  yet  she  will 
ever  return.  A  few  years'  neglect,  and  how 
quickly  she  resumes  her  sway !  Artifi- 
cial lakes  become  gloomy  marshes,  bow- 
ers are  filled  with  oounUess  briers,  and 
stately  avenues  overgrown  with  redcless 
profusion.  The  plants  of  the  soil  declare 
war  against  the  intruders  from  abroad, 
and  claim  once  more  their  birthright  to 
the  land  of  their  fiithers.  The  fine  well- 
trimmed  turf  is  smothered  under  a  thou- 
sand coarser  plants,  rank  grass  and  fat  clo- 
ver overspread  the  exotics ;  briers  climb  up 
with  the  ud  of  hooks  and  ladders,  as  ii 
they  were  storming  a  fortress;  nettles  fill 
the  urns  of  statues  with  their  thick  tufts, 
and  unsightly  mosses  creep  upon  the  very 
faces  of  marble  beauties.  Wild  cherry- 
trees  and  maples  seize  on  every  cornice 
and  cleft  of  every  stately  mansion ;  hardy 
invincible  roots  penetrate  into  the  slightest 
opening,  nntil  at  last  victory  is  declared, 
and  the  trees  of  the  forest  wave  their  rich 
foliage  over  the  high  turrets,  and  raise  tri- 
umphantly on  spire  and  pinnacle,  the  gor- 
geous banner  of  Nature. 

There  is  high  life  and  low  life  among 
plants,  as  among  men.  The  stately  pakn 
raises  its  high,  unbroken  pillar,  crowned 
with  scolpturea  verdures,  only  in  the  hot 
vapors  of  Brazilian  forests  and  tropical 
dimes,  and  like  a  true  ''king  of  the 
grasses,'*  as  the  ancient  Indians  called  the 
noble  tree,  it  must  need  fare  sumptuous- 
ly and  upon  the  richest  of  earth's  gifts, 
before  it  justifies  the  prophet's  saying, 
that  ''the  righteous  shall  flourish  like  the 
palm-treei"  How  humble,  by  its  side,  the 
lowly  mosS)  barely  visible  to  the  naked 
eye.  clad  in  most  modest  garb,  and  yet 
fai^ifully  covering  with  its  warm  mantle 
the  dreiry,  weatherbeaten  boulders  of 
northern  granite,  or  carpeting  our  damp 
grottos,  and  making  them  resplendent 
with  its  phosporescent  verdure!  The 
brilliant  flower  of  Queen  Victoria's  name- 
sake, the  most  superb  cradle  in  whic^ 
child  was  ever  rocked,  must  needs  float  its 
rosy  leaves  on  the  warm  bosom  of  the  si- 
lent lakes  of  GuianiL  and  the  Aristolochia 
of  South  America,  wnose  flowers  are  large 
enough  to  serve  Indian  boys  as  hats  or 
helmets,  dei^  not  to  live,  unless  it  can 
bathe  its  delicate  roots  in  the  shady  waters 


484 


A  Ohai  about  Plants. 


TApril 


of  the  Magdalen  River.  Theirs  is  the  warm 
golden  light  of  the  sun,  theirs  the  rich- 
est of  soils,  the  purest  of  waters,  an  ever- 
lasting summer,  an  unbroken  enjo3rment 
And  yet,  are  they  really  more  beauteous 
and  graceful  than  the  humble  house-leek, 
which  flourishes  under  circumstances  that 
would  be  fatal  to  almost  all  other  plants? 
In  the  very  driest  places,  where  not  a 
blade  of  grass,  not  a  spire  of  moss  can 
grow,  on  naked  rocks,  old  crumbling  walls, 
or  sandy,  scorched  plains,  these  step-chil- 
dren of  nature  are  seen  to  prosper  and  to 
thrive.  Alternately  exposed  to  the  heavi- 
est dew  at  night,  and  the  fiercest  rays  of 
the  noonday  sun,  they  withstand  all,  and 
live  upon  so  small  a  particle  of  soil,  that 
it  seems  to  them  more  a  means  of  keep- 
hig  them  stationary,  than  a  source  of  nu- 
triment. Rock-roses  bear  that  name,  be- 
cause they  will  only  flourish  in  dry,  ro^ 
places,  where  other  plants  would  never 
find  a  due  supply  of  moisture.  These 
rocks  they  are  industriously  engaged  in 
ornamenting  with  a  profusion  of  brilhantly 
colored  flowers,  for  nature  loves  to  com- 
bine every  where  the  beautiful  with  tiie 
useful.  Still,  their  beauty  is  but  short- 
lived ;  their  blossoms  usually  expand  at 
night,  and  after  a  few  hours'  exposure  to 
the  sun,  they  perish.  But  their  long 
evergreen  branches,  trail  vear  after  year, 
with  great  beauty  over  the  rough  banks 
and  rocky  cli£fs  that  give  them  a  shelter 
and  a  home.  The  very  sand  of  the  sea, 
dry,  and  drifting  at  the  mercy  of  the 
waves,  fickle  and  fiilse  to  a  proverb,  is 
not  too  poor  for  a  most  useful  plant,  the 
so-called  sand-reed.  It  has  no  beauty  of 
form  to  please  the  eye,  no  delicacy  of 
structure  to  engaee  our  attention,  the  cat- 
tle themselves  will  not  touch  it  But  when 
pkmted  by  the  hand  of  man,  to  give  firm- 
ness to  dikes  and  embankments,  it  pierces 
them  with  an  entangled  web  of  living 
structure,  which  offers  a  resistance  stroi^ 
ger  than  that  of  the  gigantic  walls  of  Um 
bled  Cyclops,  and  is  but  rarely  overcome 
by  the  violence  of  the  storm  and  the  fury 
of  the  waves.  The  loose  sand  of  South 
American  deserts  still  harbors  little  cacti, 
so  small,  and  so  slightly  rooted  in  their 
unstable  home,  that  they  get  between  the 
toe  of  the  Indian — and  even  the  fearful 
deserts  of  Africa,  those  huge  seas  of  sand 
without  a  shadow,  are  at  least  surrounded 
by  forest  shores,  clothed  in  perpetual 
verdure ;  even  there  a  few  solitary  palm- 
trees,  sighing  in  loneliness  for  the  sweet 
rivulets  of  the  oasis,  are  scattered  over 
the  awful  solitude,  and  wherever  a  tiny 
thread  of  water  passes  half  concealed 
through  the  endless  waves  of  sand,  a 


line  of  luxuriant  green,  marics  it  to  the 
exhausted  traveller,  ana  reminds  him  of 
the  green  pasture  and  still  waters  of 
Holy  Writ 

Nor  are  plants  dwellers  upon  land 
only :  the  waters  also  teem  wito  vegeta- 
ble life,  and  the  bed  of  the  mighty  ocean 
is  planted  with  iomiense  submarine  for- 
ests, and  a  thousand  varied  herbs,  from 
the  gigantic  fucus,  which  grows  to  the 
length  of  many  hundred  feet,  and  Ur  ex- 
ceeds the  height  of  the  tallest  tree  knowi^ 
to  the  little  yellow  blossom  of  the  dodc- 
weed  on  our  ponds.  Every  river  has  its 
own  reed ;  some,  covered  with  snow  fior 
part  of  the  year,  hardly  rise  above  the 
sluggish,  silent  waters  of  the  Irtis  in  oold 
Siberia;  others  form  ever-muimnriBK 
forests  of  graceful  bamboo  on  the  banks  of 
the  Qanges.  For  the  earth  opfMses  eveiy 
where  to  the  encroaching  tides  of  the 
ocean,  another  sea  of  restless  vegetalMOy 
yielding  constantly,  and  yet  never  nviog 
way ;  with  its  green  waves,  so  deiicati^ 
fragile  and  airy,  and  yet  as  strong  in  their 
very  weakness  as  the  deep-bloe  waves 
of  the  ocean.  Further  out  at  sea,  enom- 
ous  sponges  fill  vast  spaces  of  the  watay 
realm,  and  when  mature  break  loose  from 
their  safe  anchorage,  to  float  in  ooontlen 
myriads  through  the  surrounding  sea. 
For  here  also  nature  pours  oat|  with  a 
lavish  hand,  livmg  food,  storin|;  even  the 
waves  with  nutriment  lor  their  gigantio 
denizens,  and  literally  casting  bread  upon 
the  waters  for  the  living  world  of  the 
ocean.  In  other  zones,  immense  and  per- 
manent banks  of  verdure  are  met  with, 
by  far  exceeding  the  largest  prairies  on 
kmd.  true  oceanic  meadows.  For  twenty- 
throe  long  days  did  Columbus  sail  throng 
one  of  these  marvels  of  western  mbsn^ 
covering  an  area  like  that  of  all  Fkmnoe; 
and  yet  there  it  is,  even  now,  as  large  and 
as  luxuriant  as  it  was  more  than  three 
centuries  ago. 

Trees  and  shrubs  still  gather  aroond 
the  desolate  North  Cape  in  SfHte  of  eternal 
winter,  and  relentless  storms.  loe-dad 
Spitzbergen  even  boasts  still  of  a  wiUow, 
the  giant  of  these  Arctic  forests,  the  woody 
stems  of  which,  it  is  true,  creep  so  close 
on  the  ground,  and  conceal  thonaelves  so 
anxiously  in  the  turf  bog&  that  the  small 
leaves,  never  rising  more  tnan  an  indi  or 
two.  are  l^urdly  discoverable  amid  the 
thick  moss.  The  plains  bordering  on  the 
Icy  Sea  are  full  of  cryptogamous  plants, 
and  show  even,  here  and  there,  patdies  of 
green  turC  a  most  riadsome  signt  to  the 
weary  traveller.  The  swampy  distrieti^ 
also,  which  there  extend  further  than  m 
can  reach,  are  covered  with  a  ckMBiy 


] 


A  Choi  about  PlanU. 


435 


I  carpet  of  mosses,  mfnute  in  sise, 
et  BO  abundant,  that  they  support 
ise  herds  of  reindeer  for  ft  whole, 
r  season.     Even  the  perpetual  snow 

polar  regions  is  often  adorned  with 
ful  forests  of  diminutive  plants,  and 
live  fields  of  bright  scarlet  are  seen, 
tii^  of  myriads  of  minute  fbngi  ana 
iooinc  mushrooms,  which  form  the 
ed  "gory  dew."  beheld  by  early 
.tors  with  a  wonder  nearly  akin  to 
Capt.  Eichardson  found  the  ground 
he  Arctic  circle,  though  it  remains 

throughout  the  whole  year  to  a 

of  twenty   inches,  covered    with 

flowering  plants;  and  the  great 
oldt  saw  at  a  height  of  more  than 
)  feet,  on  the  uncovered  rocks  of 
fhimborazo,  traces  of  vegetation 
K  through  the  eternal  snow  of  those 
itable  regions.  So  far  from  ice  and 
«ng  hostile  to  plants,  it  has  even  been 
ed  that  some  of  the  most  beautiful 
i  on  earth  grow  in  the  very  highest 
leakest  parts  of  the  Alps.  There 
3w  has  hardly  melted,  and  lies  still 
U  hand,  when  these  Alpine  roses 

Uieir  brilliant  flowers,  with  a  haste, 
liey  knew  how  costly  were  the  mo- 
ot their  short  summer-time.  They 
bo  devote  their  whole  strength  to 
relopment  of  their  flowers,  and  as 
items  are  but  short  and  partially 

in  the  ground,  their  bright  blos- 
»ften  appear  to  spring  immediately 
lie  unsightly  dnfl  and  gravel,  in 
tber  live.  Thus  bare  steep  clifls, 
izzling  snow  fields,  and  dark-blue 
B,  are  seen  in  immediate  contact 
raceful  little  plants,  decked  with  a 
ion  of  flowers  of  the  purest  and 
»t  colors.  The  tiny  forget-me-not 
Alps  blossoms  by  the  side  of  huge 
rs  of  rock,  and  sweet  roses  unfold 
idi  crowns  at  the  foot  of  massive 

of  ice,  exhibiting  a  beautiful  pio- 
'kyveliness  mated  with  grandeur. 

vegetable  kingdom  extends  its 
B  even  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth 
io-called  subterranean  flora  is  large 
aatifuL  Wherever  rain  or  surface 
am  percolate,  either  through  natu- 
ities  or  openings  made  by  the  hand 
,  there  plants  will  appear,  and  busi- 

the  nakedness  of  the  rock.  Far 
the  soil  on  which  we  tread,  plants 
and  adorn  our  globe.  When  the 
Brst  opens  his  shaft,  or  the  curious 
ST  discovers  a  new  cave — every 
they  &id  the  rough  rock  and  the 
iiite  stalactite  covered  with  a  deli- 
•ftoeful  network  of  an  usnea,  or,  as 
ooftl  mines  near  Dresden,  ft  lumi- 


nous ftm^  shines  brightly,  and  turns 
these  regions  of  darkness  into  the  sem- 
blance of  a  begemmed  and  illuminated 
enchanter's  palace.  The  narrow,  deep 
crevices  of  the  glaciers,  have  a  vegetation 
of  their  own.  and  even  in  the  thick-ribbed 
ice  of  the  Antarctic  seas,  marme  plants 
have  been  found  floating. 

Heat  deters  plants  as  little  as  cold ;  the 
flery  furnace  of  volcanoes  is  tapestried 
with  oonfervsB,  and  hot  springs,  whose 
breath  is  certain  destruction  to  animal 
life,  feed  plants,  and  water  the  roots  of 
ethers,  which  bear  beautiful  blossoms. 
There  are  springs  in  Louisiana,  whose 
temperature  is  1458,  and  yet  not  only 
mosses,  but  shrubs  and  trees  are  seen  to 
bathe  their  roots  in  their  boiling  waters. 
In  the  Fumarole,  or  the  fairy  island  <^ 
Jschia,  near  Naples,  a  sedge  and  a  fern 
grow  in  the  midst  of  ascending  vapors, 
and  in  a  soil  so  hot  that  it  instantly  bums 
the  hand  which  attempts  to  touch  their 
roots !  Nay.  in  the  very  geysers  of  Ice- 
land, which  boil  an  egg  in  a  few  minutes, 
a  small  plant  grows,  blossoms,  and  repro- 
duces itself  annually. 

If  land  and  water  abound  thus  with 
vegetable  life,  the  realms  of  the  air  are 
not  less  well  peopled,  at  least  with  genns 
and  seeds  of  plants ;  they  float  upon  every 
breeze,  are  wafted  up  and  down  the  heav- 
ens, and  round  and  about  our  great 
mother  earth.  Nothing  is  more  startling, 
more  wonderful,  than  the  almost  omni- 
presence of  fungus  germs  in  the  atmos- 
phere. A  morsel  of  ripe  flruit,  a  little 
water  spilt  on  a  crumb  of  bread,  a  drop 
of  stale  ink,  a  neglected  bottle  of  medicine, 
afford  at  once  ample  evidence  of  this  teem- 
ing, living  world  around  us.  In  a  very 
short  time,  a  delicate,  velvet-like  covering, 
envelopes  the  decomposing  mass,  and  pre- 
sently acquires  the  utmost  luxuriance  of 
growth.  And  a  wonderful  race  are  these 
fungi,  the  earth's  vegetable  scavengers; 
called  upon,  by  the  mysterious  distribu- 
tion of  duties  in  nature,  to  destroy  all  de- 
caying matter,  and  to  absorb  noisome  ex- 
halations, they  grow  with  a  rapidity  that 
outstrips  decay  itself.  A  very  common 
kind  of  puff-ball  swells,  in  one  night,  from 
a  mmute  speck  to  the  size  of  a  gourd,  and 
there  is  a  fungus  at  home,  on  the  conti- 
nent of  Europe,  which  has  ^n  known  to 
increase  firom  a  point  invisible  to  the  nak- 
ed eye,  to  a  weight  of  more  than  a  hun- 
dred pounds  I  Or  take  the  simple  mould 
of  every  dav's  life.  Arm  your  eye,  and 
you  will  behold  myriads  of  delicate  forms, 
standing  np  m  jaunty  attitudes,  and  i^ar^ 
ing  their  tender  filaments  over  the  decay- 
ing mass,  in  which  they  are  living  in  lux- 


i86 


A  Chat  about  PlanU. 


[April 


uriotis  plenty.  They  lengthen,  the^ 
swell)  they  burst,  and  again  scatter  their 
light  and  invisible  ^erms,  like  a  cloud  of 
smoke,  into  the  air.  There  they  float 
around  us,  like  motes  in  the  sunbeam ; 
there  we  breathe  them,  for  they  have 
been  found  in  the  membranes  of  the  lungs 
of  living  men.  Our  common  house-fly 
may  be  seen  in  fall,  glued  by  cold  and 
inertion  to  the  window-pane,  and  at  once 
coTered  with  its  own  appropriate  mould ; 
in  the  West  Indies,  wasps  have  been  ob- 
served flying  about  with  plants  of  their 
own  length  hanging  down  firom  behind 
their  hei^s.  It  is  a  fungus,  the  germs  of 
which  was  introduced  through  the  breath- 
ing pores  into  the  body  of  the  poor  victim, 
where  it  takes  root  and  feeding  upon  the 
living  substance,  developes  its  luxuriant 
vegeUtion. 

Heat  and  moisture  are  the  two  great 
requisites  of  plants:  without  them  no 
vegetation  is  possible — heat,  especially,  is 
of  all  their  necessaries  of  life  the  most  im- 
portant: it  is  the  iron  sceptre  which  rules 
the  vegetable  kingdom,  whether  the  plant 
hangs  in  the  air,  is  naif  buried  in  the 
ground,  or  for  a  lifetime  covered  with  wuter. 
The  same  degree  of  heat  produces  every 
where  the  same  union  of  kindred  plants ; 
hence  the  arrangement  of  all  vegetables 
according  to  zones  on  our  globe.  The 
Arctic,  nearest  to  the  poles  where  the 
lichens  still  support  the  reindeer,  and 
cheerful  mosses  cover  the  bare  rock,  is 
destitute  of  trees, — but  it  has  dwarfish 
perenniid  plants,  with  large  flowers  of 
beautiful  colors ;  it  has  its  gentle  smiling 
meadows  and  green  pastures,  which  we 
miss  so  sadly  in  the  sunny  South.  More 
varied  and  of  higher  order  is  the  flora  of 
the  temperate  zone,  though  not  approach- 
ing in  luxurious  abundance  and  gorgeous 
brilliancy  the  splendor  of  the  torrid 
aone.  But  what  can  compensate  for  the 
periodical,  anxiously  awaited,  reawaken- 
ing of  nature,  at  the  first  breath  of  the 
mild  air  of  spring?  What  is  more  beauti- 
ful than  the  fresh  evergreen  foliage  of  firs 
and  cypresses,  so  rare  in  the  tropics, 
which  cheer  up  the  desolate  winter  land- 
scape, and  loudly  tell  the  nations  of  the 
North,  that,  though  snow  and  ice  cover 
the  earth,  the  inwiurd  life  of  plants  is  never 
extinguished,  and  that  spring  will  come 
after  winter  as  surely  as  eternity  comes 
after  death  ?  The  great  leading  features 
of  the  temperate  zone  are  its  vast  plains 
and  steppes,  which  the  eye  of  man  cannot 
compass,  and  where  he  feels  himself,  as  on 
the  high  sea,  face  to  face  with  his  Maker. 
These  large  prairies,  or  savannahs,  are 
covered  with  luxuriant  waving  grass,  ex- 


pressive of  all  that  is  cheerful  in  their 
airy  grace  and  tremulous  lightness.  In 
other  r^ons,  strange,  fantastic-looking 
soda  plants,  succulent  and  evergreen, 
strike  the  eye  and  dazzle  it  with  their 
brilliant,  snow-white  crystals— or,  as  on 
Russian  steppes,  plants  of  ^  kinds  are  so 
densely  crowded  on  the  unmeasured  plain, 
that  the  wheels  of  the  traveller's  carriage 
can  but  with  difficulty  crush  them,  and 
he  himself  is  half  buried  in  the  dose,  high 
forest  of  grapes,  too  tall  to  allow  him  to 
look  around. 

In  the  torrid  zone  all  vegetable  life  at- 
tains the  highest  development,  from  the 
exclusive  and  constant  union  of  a  high 
temperature  with  abundant  moisture. 
Here  we  find  the  greatest  size  combined 
with  the  greatest  variety,  the  most  grace- 
ful proportions  by  the  side  of  the  most 
g^rotesque  forms,  decked  with  every  pos- 
sible combmation  of  brilliant  oolonng. 
Here  also— and  here  alone--are  limmd 
truly  primeval  forests,  impeDetrable  to 
man  and  beast  from  the  luxuriaiioe  of 
thickly  interwoven  creepers  above  and 
the  density  of  a  ligneous  undermwth, 
through  which  not  a  ray  of  li^t  can 
penetrate. 

As  the  distribution  of  plants  in  lones 
depends  almost  exclusively  on  the  amount 
of  heat  which  they  require  for  their  de- 
velopment, we  find  that  Uie  succession  of 
plants  from  the  foot  of  mountains  upwards 
to  their  summit,  is  nearly  the  same  as  that 
from  the  middle  latitudes  to  the  pokt. 
For  heat  decreases  in  the  same  proportion 
by  height  above  the  level  of  the  sea  as  by 
latitude;  and  the  horizontal  aones  on  a 
mountain's  side  present  the  same  varie^ 
of  plants,  as  the  great  zones  mentionei 
only  in  a  much  smaller  space;  as  weM 
the  temperature  of  the  atmosphere  dimin- 
ish more  rapidly  in  asooiding  a  krfty 
mountain,  tlum  in  travelling  from  the  tro- 
pics to  the  poles.  Hence  ttie  same  pecu- 
liar plants  are  found  in  the  arctic  aoiie^  and 
on  the  highest  mountains  which  reach  the 
line  of  perpetual  snow ;  the  same  hmnUe 
but  no  less  beautiful  flowers  blossom  in 
Spitzbergen  and  on  the  icy  shores  of  Tio- 
ioria  Land,  as  on  the  desolate  clifb  of  the 
Andes,  the  Alps  and  the  snow-cowed 
heights  of  the  Himalaya.  Even  under 
the  tropics,  the  evergreens  of  the  North 
appear  again:  the  most  elevated  regwns 
of  Peru,  and  the  lofty  plains  of  Asiatic 
mountains  are  covered  with  superb  forests 
of  that  noble  tree  of  which  the  poet  says : 

**  Where  sammer  emllet  with  verdozv  erowa^ 
Where  winter  fltngs  htsatoraus  the  ptaotttwad; 
With  hesren  Mplrliif  heed  It  growi 
lUdl 


1 


A  Chat  about  Plants. 


4»1 


le  highlands  of  Mexico,  and  tho 
ains  of  Java,  the  traveller  from  the 
orth  meets  with  surprise  the  chest- 
d  the  noble  oak  of  his  own  distant 
It  is  one  of  the  most  interesting 
sents  offered  to  the  layman  as  well 
he  botanist,  thus  to  pass  from  zone 
e  in  the  course  of  a  few  hours  or 
\i  most  Rising,  for  instance,  from 
le  waters  of  the  Mediterranean,  his 
rells  at  first  with  wondering  delight 
fbmed  orange  gardens  and  dndcy 
rees,  •*  fair  and  of  goodly  fruit ; "  he 
through  thickets  of  fragrant  myrtle, 
and  evergreen  oaks,  above  which 
the  stone-pines  of  the  South,  and 
tid  there  an  isolated  date* palm,  lift- 
I  its  gently-waving  crown.  A  few 
drther,  and  the  aspect  changes;  he 
\  Uie  evergreens  of  the  milder  cli- 
lehind  him,  and  stepping  out  of  the 
K,  fiery  sunshine,  he  delights  in  the 
freshing  gloom  of  the  wide  branches 
'  diestnuts  and  proud  oaks,  the  veiy 
of  the  forest.  Revived  by  their 
mt  foliage, "  at  dewy  eve  distilling 
*  he  gazes  upwards,  where  their 
es  interlace  and  form  grand  cathe- 
slea  and  bows  down  in  awe  and 
loe  in  this  fit  temple  of  the  Most 

As  he  ascends  he  meets  yet  with 
pie,  spreading  out  its  broad  dome 
c  green  leaves  in  masses  so  thick, 
meath  it  he  fears  not  the  passing 
',  and  the  beech,  which  shows  its 
1  bark  and  bright  green  foliage. 
Ivery  trunk  of  some  white  birch, 
boughs  so  pendulous  and  fair" — 
already  to  gleam  among  the  under- 
irhen  he  leaves  behind  him  the  as- 
th  its  ever-quivering  leaves,  which 

shed  a  sense  of  breezy  coolness 
ti  the  sultry  day. 

next  step  leads  him  into  the  dark 
of  truly  northern  trees :  pines,  firs 
cbes.  Their  dense  shade  fills  his 
itb  jombre  thoughts;  the  gentle 
lihg  of  their  boughs  sounds  to  his 
I  low  complaint,  and  even  the  sweet 
that  perfumes  the  air,  brings  with 
knows  not  why — feelings  of  vague 
nd  sorrow.  He  gazes  up  with 
sent  at  the   tallest   of   the  tall, 

to  be 

m  NonregUn  hill^  to  be  the  mast  of  Mme 
ladmiraL' 

I  he  mounts  still  higher,  trees  grow 
dd  fewer ;  low  bushes  stand  scatter- 
it,  ibrlom  outposts  of  their  happier 
D  below;  they  also  soon  venture 
and  low  but  fragrant  herbs  alone 
to  greet  his  eye  and  cheer  him  on 


his  way  upward.  At  last  he  reaches  the 
eternal  snow,  that  knows  no  season  and 
no  change,  and  stands  in  unsullied  purity, 
dazzling  white,  high  in  the  clear  blue 
ether.  All  traces  of  life  are  left  behind— 
he  stands  there  alone  in  the  awful,  silent 
solitude,  alone  in  the  presence  of  his 
Maker. — Thus  he  has  seen  in  rapid  suc- 
cession, 4nd  in  a  few  short  hours,  what  it 
would  have  cost  him  months  to  behold, 
had  he  travelled  from  ^e  same  Mediter- 
ranean northward  to  the  frozen  Ocean. 

Still  more  striking  is  the  sudden  change 
in  high  northern  regions.  In  the  year  of 
revolutions  it  was  my  good  fortune  to 
cross  the  lofW,  snow-capped  mountains 
which  divkle  Sweden  and  Norway.  On 
the  south  we  left  summer  behind  us;  as 
we  climbed  up  the  steep  ascent,  misty 
autumn  and  cold  winter  seized  us  by 
turns.  At  last  we  stood  on  Uie  very  line 
that  forms  the  water-shed  between  the  two 
kingdoms,  and  parts  the  loving  sisters. 
Huge  boulders  of  dark  granite  lay  scat- 
tered about  in  wild  disoraer,  and  gigantic 
blocks  of  ice  rose  m  stem  miyesty  before 
us.  Beyond  was  Norway.  As  we  turn- 
ed round  one  of  these  awe-inspiring 
masses,  behold  1  a  si^ht  met  our  eyes  that 
froze  the  very  blood  m  our  veins.  A  vast 
table  land,  bare  and  silent,  spread  its  hor- 
rors before  us:  it  was  strewn  with  the 
bones  of  hundreds  of  men,  who  lay  there 
stiff  and  cold — not  a  feature  marred — 
"  death  had  put  on  so  dumber-like  a  form  " 
—but  unburied,  nncofi&ned  and  unknown. 
They  were  the  sad  relics  of  a  whole  regi- 
ment of  brave,  bloomine  sons  of  Sweden, 
who  had  marched  into  Norway.  It  was  a 
fierce,  bleak  day  of  winter,  and  as  com- 
pany after  company  defiled  from  the  well- 
protected  south  around  the  yery  rock,  by 
which  we  stood,  the  cold  blast  from  the 
pole  froze  their  breath  within  them,  and 
laid  them,  one  by  one,  lifeless  on  the  cold 
ground. 

And  yet,  within  a  few  hours'  ride  from 
this  most  melancholy  scene,  there  lay 
spring  and  summer  at  our  feet  We  de- 
scended rapidly,  from  the  eternal  snow, 
through  the  treeless  zones  into  the  faint, 
fairy  sheen  of  white  birchwoods,  and  the 
dark  shade  of  pine-forests,  brightened  up 
by  the  showy  blossoms  of  the  foxglove — 
when  all  of  a  sudden  the  sweet  odor  of 
fresh-mown  hay  was  wafled  upward  to 
greet  us.  A  short  hour  more,  and  the 
almost  mag^l  change  set  us  down  in  the 
midst  of  waving  fields  of  ripened  com,  and 
meadows  adorned  by  cherry-trees,  which 
bent  under  the  weight  of  their  luscious 
firuit,  and  luxuriantly-blooming  roses. 


488 


[Ape 


THE   BIG   BUCK. 


I  MET  my  friend  Jack  N.  at  »  wedding 
in  South  Kentucky.  It  wis  a  roUidc- 
ing  festivity,  held  at  the  house  of  a 
wealthy  tobacco-planter,  who  was  giving 
away  his  last  and  youngest  daughter  to  a 
fresh,  manly-looking  young  fellow,  who 
was,  as  usual,  a  second,  or  third  cousin ; 
for  your  true  Vii^ginian  never  marries 
"out  of  the  family,"  and  every  planter 
in  South  Kentucky  was  a  Virginian,  of 
course. 

Amidst  the  merry  crowd,  I  very  soon 
made  out  the  tall,  lank  figure  of  my  friend 
Jack  N.,  whom  I  had  not  met  for  several 
years.  Indeed  it  would  be  difiScult  to 
mistake  him  in  any  crowd,  for  he  was  as 
lean  and  as  sharp  as  a  rail-splinter,  with 
his  beaklike  nose,  and  projecting  chin. 
There  was  about  him,  too,  the  decided 
haughty  carriage  of  the  high-bloodea 
animal  and  with  his  head  thrown  back 
in  a  hearty,  fox-hunting  guffaw,  there 
was  something  indescribably  keen,  game, 
and  dashing  in  his  appearance. 

As  I  expected,  when  I  approached  him 
I  found  him  in  the  midst  of  a  glowing  de- 
scription of  his  last  run  with  his  dogs, 
and  clonely  surrounded  by  an  eager  audi- 
tory of  young  men,  for  Jack  was  no  great 
hand  with  the  women. 

"Spot"  had  just  seized  a  big  "ten- 
prong"  buck  on  the  bound,  by  the  throat, 
and  brought  him  to  his  knees,  when  Jack 
caught  my  eye.  The  names  of  "  Music,'' 
"Sound,"  and  "Rattler"  died  away  upon 
his  tongue,  in  thick-coming  utterance,  as 
he  star^  at  me  for  a  moment  of  doubt- 
ftd  recognition. 

"Halloa!  Charlie  W.!  by  old  Bell- 
Month!"  (Jack  always  swore  by  his 
fikvorite  slow-track  dog,  Bell-Mouth,  who 
never  gave  tongue  on  a  false  traiL) 
"  Why,  my  boy,  how  are  you  ?  Just  in 
time — the  bucks  are  just  in  the  '  blue.' 
The  dogs  are  as  lean  as  I  am,  and  as 
fierce  as  starved  tigers  for  a  chase !" 

"  I'm  your  man !— but  lean  as  you  are, 
Jack,  why,  you  make  them  carry  weight 
in  a  high  wind,  don't  you?  Glad  to  see 
you,  by  my  faith !  They  say  you've  got 
the  finest  pack  west  of  the  Alleghanies, 
now!" 

"  West  of  the  Alleghanies  I  Pshaw  1 
man,  nothing  to  equal  them,  on  top  of  the 
sod !  Twenty-five,  all  told^  with  throats 
like  the  trump  of  resurrection !  When 
they  open  in  full  blast,  tiiey  make  the 
hills  skip  like  young  lambs— ^and  the 
trees  bend  before  the  sonnd,  like  in  a 


hurricane!  I  tell  yoo,  they  make  the 
Mississippi  walk  ap  stream,  and  the  cat- 
fish stand  straight  up  on  thdr  tails,  ont 
of  the  water,  to  listen  to  them." 

"That '11  do,  Jack!  When  do  yoo  go 
back  home?" 

"Start  in  the  morning— yoall  be  lU 
ready? — Won't  let  you  off  under  three 
weeks — We  have  the  cream  of  the  hunt- 
ing season  now?" 

"  Won't  promise  Jot  all  that 
but  I  will  be  ready  for  you  m  the  : 
ing  I" 

"  That's  a  good  boy !  bring  nothii^  bni 
your  rifle — if  you  want  birds,  I  have  gnna 
enough,  and  Fonto's  nose  is  as  keen  as  a 
brier  !'^ 


A  two  days'  ride  through  the  wild  nd 
picturesque  "  Barrens  "  brought  us  to  the 
kMmks  of  the  Mississippi  River.  Here  «e 
entered  upon  a  long  deep  stretch  of  land, 
covered  with  the  most  tremendous  fixeit 
I  ever  saw.  It  extends  fitNn  Cdnmbiii^ 
or  the  "Iron  Banks"  as  they  an  called, 
up  some  thirty  miles,  neariy  iMralld  with 
the  present  course  of  the  Misrissip|»— 
though  greatly  elevated  above  the  praent 
bottom — and  constituting  what  is  thought 
to  be  the  old  bank  of  the  river. 

From  seven  to  ten  miles  in  width,  thii 
singular  tongue  of  land  is  withoat  a  siagfo 
inlubitant,  except  the  settlement  of  Sn 
N.'s  about  a  mile  from  Colnmbna — thoodi 
composing  some  of  the  xicheBt  land  of  & 
State— from  the  fact  of  its  being  an  oU 
military  reserve^  and  covered,  as  Jadcnid, 
"  six  deep  with  titles," — which  had  suf- 
ficed to  keep  at  bay,  even  the  unacrnmi- 
lous  squatters — so  that  it  was  literally 
given  over  to  the  possession  of  wild  ani- 
mals, and  constituted,  at  that  tiiD&  the 
greatest  hnnting-ground  within  hnooieds 
of  miles. 

Here,  the  N.'s — ^who  were  a  wealthy 
and  aristocratic  "  Old  Dominion  "  stock — 
had  opened  a  large  plantation,  immediate- 
ly upon  the  river  buik,  where  it  descended 
three  hundred  feet,  perpendk»lariy  to  the 
water. 

From  the  portico  of  the  Manaon-Houae 
placed  upon  this  lofty  perch,  you  ooold 
command  a  dear  view  of  the  mijeatic  riv- 
erj  to  its  junction  with  the  Oluo^  thirty 
miles  above.  This  was  no  inwgnifteant 
sight,  you  may  rest  assured,  with  aome- 
times  twenty  steamboats  in  view  at  a 
time— rcdling  like  huge  omnibuisa  akng 


] 


The  Big  Buck. 


489 


Broadway  of  Creation,"  as  Jack,  who 
tnoe  visited  New-Tork,  afterwards 
d  apon  calling  his  favorite  river, 
h  a  huUabuUoo,  as  greeted  us  when 
it  at  the  gate!  The  hounds  had 
ittcoyered  us,  and  to  the  shout  of 
naster  gave  us  a  reverberating  echo. 

the  picaninnies  came  pounng  in 
legions  out  of  the  cabins  of  the  ez- 
B  ^^  quarter  '^  which  flanked  the  man- 
I  the  back-ground — their  black,  shi- 
oes,  stretched  in  yells  and  grins, 
iting  an  ivory  ecstasy  of  delight  at 
»tum  of  '*  Massa  Jack  " — while  the 
Is  nearly  tumbled  us  into  the  dirt, 
their  rude  gambols.  In  a  moment 
^hole  plantation  seemed  alive,  and 
\  fikvonte  hunter  Lara,  which  had 
«edom  of  the  yard,  came  prancing 
10  melee. 

I  ladies  of  the  hospitable  mansion 
IS  at  the  door,  and  1  wlis  greeted 
hat  gentle  and  high-bred  frankness, 
liich  the  true  Virginia  woman  has 
B  been  noted — which  has  that  inde- 
bly,  motherly,  and  sisterly  some- 
in  it,  which  makes  the  stranger  feel 
e  that  he  has  found  home. 
V  his  mother  and  three  lovely  young 
^  Jack's  next  greeting  was  to  his 
to  foster-mother,  who  stood  with  a 

and  humble  smile,  upon  her  good- 

Llkce  in  the  back-ground,  along 
-  son,  Jack's  foster-brother  and 
leryant,  Cato. 
n  to  supper. 

1  that  delicious  supper!  the  firesh, 
yeniaon,  the  cakes  of  grated  green 
imeaded  in  its  own  sweet  milk  by 
mystenous  process,  known  only  to 
lia  women — and  coffee  that  is  a  re- 
ition  of  nectar,  thickened  with  gold- 
am! 
oiobed. 


o  roused  us,  with  the  dawn ;  and 
mi  out  to  see  the  dogs  fed,  prepara- 
br  the  morning  hunt  It  was,  in- 
a  magnificent  pack,  such  as  I  had 
seen  together  before.  Twelve  of 
were  of  the  same  family,  and  of 
Bse  and  power,  standing  very  high 
their  legs,  and  marked  with  great 
mity  with  black  spots,  upon  a  pure 
ground. 

lot,"  the  sire  and  leader  of  this  noble 
\  was  of  a  pure  white  body,  with  a 
black  spot  in  the  centre  of  the  fore- 
-from  which  he  took  his  name.  He 
most  powerful  animal,  and  able  to 
with  the  largest  buck,  alone.  He 
stag-hound,  carefully  crossed  npon 


the   short-legged  and   long- bodied   fox- 
hound. 

"  Mosic  " — the  dam — was  a  fox-hound 
of  the  *'  true  Spartan  breed,"  with  a  yoioe 
like  a  distant  alarm-bell ;  while  the  organ 
of  old  ''Spot"  was  as  sonorous  as  the 
boom  of  "  old  ocean  "  against  hollow  clifb. 

But  among  them  all,  my  eye  instantly 
detected  a  magnificent  creature — a  black 
tan  hound,  that  to  me  seemed  absolutely ' 
perfect,  as  a  specimen  of  canine  symmetry. 
His  coat  was  as  fine  as  the  most  glossy 
silk ;  from  his  head,  which  was  pointed 
like  a  serpent's,  his  fine,  broad,  and  thin 
ears,  with  their  great  swelling  veins,  de- 
pended more  than  an  mch  below  the  tip  of 
his  nose.  His  neck,  like  a  yoimg  stag's ; 
his  chest,  barrel-ribbed,  and  deep  as  a 
panther's;  his  loins  as  clean  as  a  gray- 
hound's,  with  a  broad,  strone  back ;  limbs 
that  seemed  to  have  been  hammered  by 
some  wondrous  skill  out  of  fine  steel ;  and 
such  a  yoice !  bugles,  clarions,  cymbals, 
bells,  winds,  waters,  echoes,  mingled,  clash- 
ing, rolling,  roaring,  in  one  tide  of  rush- 
ing sound ;  altogether,  they  were  nothing 
to  thatvoioe!  '^  Nowhere,  nor  nothing!" 
as  Jack  exclaimed.  "  to  the  voice  of 
'  Black  Terror,'  and '  Smile,' "  as  he  named 
a  beautiful  tan  slut  of  smaller  size,  which 
stood  beside  this  noble  animal. 

The  history  of  this  splendid  couple  was 
a  singular  one,  as  Jack  gave  it  to  me  on 
the  spot 

He  was  sitting  in  the  portico  one  morn- 
ing, looking  out  over  the  river,  which  was 
very  much  swollen,  and  filled  with  drift 
wood.  He  observe<l  some  strange,  black 
objectfiL  which  seemed  to  be  struggling 
with  the  current  He  called  to  Cato  for 
his  spy-glass,  and  saw  at  once  that  they 
were  two  animals  of  some  sort,  who  were 
trying  hard  to  climb  upon  the  drifl-wood 
which  floated  in  the  middle  of  the  mighty 
stream. 

Hero  was  an  adventure,  at  any  rate ; 
and,  followed  by  Cato,  Jack  descended 
the  steep  bank  of  the  river.  When  he 
reached  the  water,  he  found  that  his  boat 
had  been  torn  away  by  the  current 
Here  was  a  nonplus  with  a  vengeance ! 
Jack  was  staggered  but  for  a  moment^ 
when  the  low  plaintive  howl  of  a  houna 
reached  him  across  the  waters. 

It  was  a  terrible  venture ;  but  Jack's 
coat  was  oflf  in  a  minute,  and.  looking 
round  at  Cato,  he  only  heard  nim  say, 
"  Go  in.  Massa  Jack,  I'm  here,"  when  be 
plungea  into  the  turbid  current,  followed 
by  the  brave  boy.  Jack  said.  If  it  had 
been  a  man's  voice,  it  could  not  have 
''hurt  him  "  more  than  the  sound  of  thai 
hound'a  plaintive  howL 


440 


l%e  Big  Buck. 


[April 


Suffice  it  the  adventure,  after  having 
nearly  cost  them  both  their  lives,  was 
successfully  accomplished,  by  bringing 
these  two  hounds,  which  were  coupled 
together  by  a  chain,  to  shore,  some  four 
miles  below,  by  the  help  of  the  drift-wood, 
which  they  pushed  before  them.  The 
poor  animals  were  nearly  exhausted,  and 
had  probably  been  in  the  water  for  many 
hours. 

Jack  vowed  that  a  whole  plantation 
couldn't  buy  them.  They  had  probably 
fallen  fVom  some  steamboat,  and  had  got 
caught  by  their  chain  to  the  drift-wood, 
which  had  prevented  them  from  swim- 
niing  ashore. 

The  whole  kennel  was  fed  upon  bread 
exclusively,  during  the  hunting  season, 
and  were  never  permitted  to  touch  any 
meat  except  what  they  themselves  killed. 
This  kept  them  in  fine  bottom  and  wind 
for  running,  and  made  them  very  savage. 


CHASE   OF   THE   BIO   BUCK. 

A  delicious  breakfast  is  rapidly  dis- 
patched, the  horn  is  sounded,  and  we 
are  off  for  our  stands  in  the  deep  forest. 

Cato,  who  "  drives,"  turns  to  the  left, 
at  the  comer  of  the  plantation,  followed 
by  the  whole  pack,  while  "we  follow  a 
bridle-path,  leading  straight  ahead,  into 
the  depths  of  the  forest. 

In  a  half  a  mile  I  am  stationed  just  on 
the  verge  of  the  "  old  bank,"  as  it  is  call- 
ed, of  the  river,  with  the  deep  forest, 
through  which  Cato  is  driving,  on  my 
left,  and.  on  my  right,  after  a  sheer  de- 
scent of  twenty  feet,  a  tremendous  swamp, 
which  was  now  dry,  except  where  tra- 
versed by  deep  lagoons  filled  with  quick- 
sands. Jack  rode  on  some  half  a  mile 
farther  to  his  stand. 

My  instructions  were,  not  to  let  the 
hounds  pass  my  stand,  if  I  missed  the 
deer,  which  would  attempt  to  get  by  me 
into  the  almost  impenetrable  swamps, 
where,  if  the  dogs  followed  him,  they 
would  be  lost  for  the  remainder  of  the 
day. 

I  had  not  long  to  wait;  for  I  could  just 
begin  to  hear  my  heart  beat  in  the  restored 
silence,  and  a  neighboring  squirrel  had 
only  just  commenced  barking  at  me,  when 
a  low  and  distant  bay,  followed  by  a 
faint  whoop,  showed  that  a  trail  had  been 
struck.  Gradually  the  sounds  gathered, 
as  voice  after  voice  joined  in,  until  at  last 
the  thunder  bass  of  old  Spot  boomed 
out,  and  old  Music  followed  with  a 
blast ;  and  now  the  clashing  clangor  of 
Black  Terror's  tongue  leads  off  the 
bursting  symphony,  and  the  forest  rang 


to  reverberations  which  startled  the  hflui 
into  my  very  throat. 

Peal  on  peal,  and  now  a  snddeo  sfleooe— 
my  blood  is  running  like  mill-tails  tbroii|^ 
the  swollen  veins,  and  the  arteries  throb 
almost  to  bursting.  Crash !  there  it  joes 
again!  Heavens!  what  musk;!  How 
the  leaves  flutter,  and  the  trees  sway  to 
my  vision ! 

"  Whoop ! "  in  a  smothered  gasp.  If  I 
could  only  yell !  Here  they  oome ;  I 
wonder  the  forest  isn't  level  before  the 
mighty  roll  of  sound !  Ha !  lost  again ! 
No !  it  is  only  muffled  as  they  go  down 
some  valley!  Now  the)r  nse  again! 
Gods!  if  I  could  only  give  one  yeD! 
How  it  deafens  !  they  must  be  rig^ 
upon  me !  they  will  be  running  over  ma 
deer,  dogs,  anli  all !  I  am  no  Acteonl 
Oh,  hurricanes,  and  thunder-claps — hist! 
here  he  comes !  and  out  bounoed,  with- 
in ten  feet  of  me,  a  tremendous  hoA^ 
with  his  miehty  antlers,  like  forest-trees, 
thrown  back  upon  his  rump!  He  luu 
paused  an  instant 

Crack !  away  with  one  prodigious  bound, 
he  clears  the  twenty  feet  of  bank,  and  is 
crashing  through  the  swamp. 

What  a  roar!  here  they  are!  Mstles 
up,  tongues  out,  Black  Terror  ten  paces 
ahead.  Spot  next,  then  Musk,  and  all 
the  rest  in  a  crowd,  looking  savage  as 
harried  wolves.  You  might  as  well 
talk  of  stopping  the  Mississippi — they 
have  smelt  the  blood — what  a  terrific 
burst!  Black  Terror^s  leap  is  as  long 
as  the  buck's!  Old  Spot  roars  again! 
They  are  out  of  sight!  That's  Jadt's 
yell.  Hark  I  his  horse's  feet  already!  He 
IS  coming,  furious,  because  I  did  not  stop 
the  buck  I 

And  funous  he  was,  sure  enough!  I 
began  to  exdaun  at  the  top  of  mj  voioe, 
before  he  came  in  sight,  but  it  was  no  usa 
He  comes  clattering  up,  and  nearly  lides 
me  down. 

''Why  the  deuce  did'nt  you  stop  that 
deer  I  Are  the  dogs  gone?  Blacx  Tv- 
ror  will  never  stop.  OonfViaion,  man! 
were  you  asleep  ?  " 

'*  He  was  as  hie  as  an  ekphant,  Jack. 
Here's  plenty  of  blood,"  sakl  I,  trying  to 
appear  cool,  and  pointing  to  the  ground, 
with  my  gun,  '*  he's  done  for  I " 

Jack  sprang  to  his  feet  and  ^rmmiiMd 
the  signs.  "  Oh,  thunder  I  you  have  shot 
him  too  far  back,  and  through  Uie  kins; 
he  will  take  to  Uie  river — what  a  track! 
it  must  be  the  'big  budc,'  I  shAll  loie 
Black  Terror !  Come  ahead,  and  let^ 
cut  him  off  before  he  gets  there,  if  we  kill 
our  horses  I "  And  away  he  dashed  thiou^ 
the  wood. 


.] 


A  Letter  on  an  Important  Subject. 


441 


Uowed  as  fast  as  possible,  and  such 
as  that  was !  Through  Tine-matted 
tts,  over  dead  trees,  leaping  at  break- 
speed  the  wide  lagoons,  —  awajt 
I  we  clattered,  foaming  through  the 
swamp  like  wild  men  possessed  of 

18. 

length  we  burst  upon  open  ground, 
Tack  gave  a  jell  that  would  have 
I  the  dead.  ''Too  late!  too  latet 
ig  Buck,  bjold  Bell-Mouth!  he'll 
he  river. 

k's  yell  had  slightly  startled  the 
which  was  making  for  the  river, 
the  bank  of  a  wide  lagoon.  He 
1  sharp,  and  attempted  to  leap  the 
^  he  disappears — on  we  rush,  at 
ipeed — but  Jack  knows  what  he  is 
,  and  his  horse  too — while  my  mare 
Plump,  we  land  in  the  middle  of 
Eoon,  followed  by  a  roar  of  laughter 

est  time,  shoot  farther  forward,  if 

lease,  old  boy ! " 

;  it  was  no  joking  matter  for  me — 

d  landed  in  a  quicksand.    I  looked 

1  with  an  expression  of  terror  at 

for  I  felt  my  mare  rapidly  sinking 

me. 

ildi  that  limb  above  you,"  shouted 


he,  '^  and  tie  your  bridle  to  it,  or  you  will 
both  go  under." 

There  was  no  time  for  mincing  matters. 
I  let  00  my  gun,  which  sunk  out  of  my 
sight  forever.  Rising  in  my  saddle,  with 
a  desperate  effort  I  reached  the  stout  limb 
of  a  bending  cotton-wood  tree,  which  I 
dragged  down,  and  to  which  1  managed 
to  secure  my  bridle  by  a  strong  knot  I 
succeeded  filnally  by  the  aid  of  Uie  cotton- 
wood,  in  reaching  the  bank,  and  by  this 
time,  when  I  looked  back,  I  found  that  my 
poor  mare  had  sunk  nearly  up  to  her  eyes. 

I  now  looked  round,  and  saw  Jade, 
busy  enough,  between  beating  off  the 
dogs  and  attempting  to  secure  the  bu(^ 
which  had  stuck  fast  also  in  the  quick- 
sand. He  succeeded  in  throwing  a  rope 
about  his  horns,  and  when  the  '^driver" 
came  up,  we  dragged  it  out  at  our  leisure, 
after  having  rescued  my  poor  "  Celeste," 
who  from  hanging  so  long  by  her  head- 
stall, had  grown  quite  black  in  the  face. 

The  bu^  was  a  prodigious  animal,  and 
had  several  times  before  been  chased  by 
Jack,  when  it  always  took  to  the  nver, 
and  had  thus  lost  him  several  fine  hounds. 

We  had  many  a  hearty  laugh  over  my 
adventure  in  the  quicksand  and  the  chase 
ofthe«bigbuck.^ 


A   LETTER    ON   AN   IMPORTANT   SUBJECT. 


•  the  Editor  of  Putnam* s  Monthly, 
—I  do  not  know  of  any  medium  bet- 
calculated  to  convey  an  important 
loement  to  the  public  than  your  wide- 
ulated  and  most  popular  Magazine, 
I  understand  from  a  friend  of  mine, 
oraortunities  for  knowing  are  in- 
ib^  is  taken  and  read  b  v  all  the 
1,  wealthy,  and  refined  classes 
Jioat  the  country;  and  these  classes 
ate  the  very  public  whom  I  wish  to 
son. this  occasion, 
praent  age^  sir,  I  think  will  be 
I  m  future  times,  as  the  gold  tea- 
or  silver  pitcher  cra^  or  some  such 
i  by  which  the  peculiar  mania  of  the 
nay  be  distinguished  from  all  other 
in  history.  The  presentations  of 
srnoes  of  gold  and  silver  are  peculiar 
present  day.  The  passion,  or  mania, 
towing  a  service  of  plate  upon  every 
m.— 28 


•  BROWN,  ESQ. 

body  has  now  attained  so  high  a  pitch,  that, 
unless  it  shall  be  reduced  to  a  system,  it 
has  been  calculated  by  an  expert  actuary 
of  a  life  insurance  company,  all  the  pre- 
cious metals  in  the  world  will  soon  be  ab- 
sorbed in  the  manufacture  of  complimen- 
taiT  presents,  and  there  will  not  be  gold 
and  silver  enough  left  for  the  purposes  of 
a  currency.  We  do  not  open  a  daily  paper 
without  our  eye  filling  on  an  account  of 
a  presentation  of  plate  to  somebody ;  and 
the  alarming  part  of  the  matter  is,  that  these 
great  somebodies  and  their  meritorious  ser- 
vices, are  first  heard  of  by  the  public  in 
connection  with  the  complimentary  testi- 
monial in  the  shape  of  a  gold  teakettle,  a 
pair  of  gold  water-pots,  and  other  domestic 
utensils  of  the  same  precious  material.  In 
fact  I  am  told  by  one  of  the  members  of 
our  first  society,  that  m  the  Fifth  Avenue 
and  other  genteel  parts  of  the  dt^.  not  to 


442 


A  Letter  on  an  Important  SuhfeeL 


[Apfl 


hare  had  a  complimentary  testimonial  in 
the  shape  of  a  gold  teakettle,  or  some- 
thing of  the  kind,  is  to  be  most  undesira- 
bly notorious.  It  has  been  said  that  cer- 
tain persons  have  even  paid  for  a  service 
of  plate  to  be  presented  to  themselves,  and 
have'carried  the  delusion  to  the  extent  of 
inviting  a  party  of  friends  to  witness  the 
ceremonies  of  presentation,  and  partake  of  a 
superb  supper  served  up  on  a  scale  of  gran- 
deur commensurate  with  the  occasion.  The 
next  day  the  whole  affair  has  been  found 
reported  at  length  in  the  morning  papers, 
with  the  names  of  the  donors,  the  corre- 
spondence that  grew  out  of  the  presenta- 
tion, the  particulars  of  the  festival,  the 
toasts,  the  speeches,  and  the  services  of 
the  distinguished  recipient  of  the  splendid 
gift.  These  complimentary  gifts  were 
once  confined  almost  wholly  to  the  captains 
of  ships  and  steamboats,  and  took  the 
shape  of  silver  speaking  trumpets,  snuff- 
boxes, and  pitchers.  They  were  the  grate- 
ful and  spontaneous  offerings  of  timid  pas- 
sengers, who  regarded  themselves  as  spe- 
cial objects  of  divine  favor  in  having  been 
conducted  safely  across  the  Atlantic;  and 
as  their  gifts  cost  but  little,  and  could 
readily  be  converted  into  money,  they  caus- 
ed little  harm,  and  excited  less  attention. 
But  now  the  custom  has  expanded,  the 
magnificence  and  number  of  the  compli- 
mentary presents  daily  and  nightly  made 
are  producing  disastrous  effects  in  the 
commercial  world,  and  draining  our  banks 
of  their  specie.  I  was  assured  by  the  for- 
tunate recipient  of  a  modest  silver  service, 
whose  presentation  supper  I  had  the  honor 
of  attending  a  short  time  since  in  Avenue 
A.,  that  the  teapots,  salver,  goblets  and 
so  forth,  of  which  the  present  was  compo- 
sed, were  manufactured  from  forty-four 
hundred  American  half  dollars.  It  can 
easily  be  seen  where  all  our  specie  goes, 
the  loss  of  which  causes  such  disastrous 
reverses  in  the  commercial  world. 

In  consideration  of  these  very  alarm- 
ing circumstances,  and  in  anticipation 
of  greater  excesses  than  any  yet  heard  o^ 
a  movement  has  been  made  towards  ar- 
resting the  evil,  by  the  formation  of  a 
Grand  Consolidated  Association  for  the 
Promotion  of  Mutual  Admiration  and 
THE  Presentation  of  Gold  and  Silver 
Services  of  Plate.  The  capital  stock  of 
the  Association  to  consist  of  one  hundred 
thousand  shares,  at  one  dollar  each,  and 
every  subscriber  of  ten  shares  to  be  enti- ' 
tied  to  the  compliment  of  a  service  of  gold 
plate  upon  the  condition  of  his  giving  a 
supper  to  the  committee  of  presentation, 
who  shall  have  the  privilege  of  inserting 
an  account  of  the  whole  affair  in  the  daily 


papers  at  their  own  expense.  The  Amom- 
tion  has  been  already  organised,  and  flie 
greater  part  of  the  capital  subsmbed  lad 
paid  in.  I  am  not  at  liberty  at  present  to 
publish  the  by-laws  of  the  AssociatiQi^ 
but  any  gentleman  desirous  of  joining  the 
enterprise  may  do  so  by  applying  iS  flie 
OfSce  of  the  Company,  Brokers'  Court, 
Wall-street.  The  principal  object  of  flie 
enterprise  is  to  purchase  a  magmfioait 
service  of  gold  plate,  connsting  of  teaket- 
tles, water-pots,  salvers,  goblets,  pitdiara 
and  other  articles  usually  forming  a  presoh 
tation  service,  which  shall  be  of  such  a 
degree  of  magnificence,  costliness,  and 
splendor,  as  to  make  any  private  attempt! 
to  e(}ual  it  entirely  hopeless.  This  snp«b 
service  of  complimentary  gold  plate  ahiU 
remain  the  property  of  the  Associatioii  t» 
the  end  of  all  time,  and,  after  having  been 
used  at  a  presentation,  shall  be  immediatdj 
returned  and  locked  up  in  the  vaults  of  ae 
Company.  The  Association  pledges  itsdf 
to  furnish  complimentary  letters,  toasti^ 
speeches,  and  the  names  of  most  reepeo- 
table  committees,  and.  unlike  the  present 
loose  system  of  making  presentations  of 
gold  and  silver  services,  no  name  shall  eier 
be  found  on  more  than  one  committee. 
Members  who  wish  to  become  candidates 
for  complimentary  gifts  are  to  send  in  their 
names  to  the  committee,  stating  the  natme 
of  their  claims,  and  also  what  style  of  a 
compliment  they  prefer ;  whether  a  public 
dinner,  a  service  of  plate,  or  a  public  pro- 
cession. Gentlemen  belon^ng  to  the  Ar- 
my and  Navy,  and  the  Mihtia,  will  be  ac- 
commodated with  swords  and  epaulettes. 
The  profits  of  the  Association  are  to  be 
employed  in  making  complimentary  pre- 
sents to  eminent  public  men  who  hafe 
distinguished  themselves  in  the  public 
service,  or  who  have  rendered  their  names 
illustrious  by  their  genius.  The  followii^ 
list  of  names,  now  before  the  committefl^ 
will  be  the  first  attended  to,  when  the 
public  presentations  are  begun. 

His  Excellency  Governor  Bigler,  of 
Pennsylvania,  on  his  patriotic  sei'vkies  m 
the  great  Erie  war  of  185S-4. 

To  tMTHon.  J.  Y.  Mason,  our  Ambasn- 
dor  to  Louis  Napoleon,  on  his  •«gnmmy 
the  Court  costume.  A  large  qoantitj  oi 
gold  lace. 

Phineas  T.  Bamum,  Es^.,  on  his  intro- 
duction of  the  Fire  Annihilator,  wfaieh 
nearly  consumed  his  country  resideBoe 
in  Connecticut    A  gold  water-pot 

Henry  M.  Paine,  Esq.,  of  Worcester,  oo 
the  discovery  of  his  aquatic  light 

Mr.  Daniels,  our  charg6  at  Turin,  on  faia 
epistolary  correspondence. 

To  Captain  Encsson,  on  his  f 


Shahesperian  Notes  and  Queries, 


448 


vj  the  indention  of  the  Caloric  En- 
he  Hon.  Robert  J.  Walker,  on  his 
)d  Railroad  to  the  Pacific. 
Uderman  Sturtcvant,  on  his  mag- 
us contempt  case. 
udge  Edmonds,  on  his  remarkably 
tory  explanation  of  spiritual  mani- 
ns.     A  gold  tea  service. 
he  Manager  of  the  Perham  Gift 
rize,  in  the  name  of  the  Tickethol- 
A  gold  snuff-box. 

le  Architect  of  the  Smithsonian  In- 
on  his  brilliant  idea  of  making  a 
.seat  of  learning  to  resemble  an  old 
Cftstle.  A  tea  set  of  silver, 
[r.  Powell,  on  the  completion  of  his 
fational  painting.  A  gold  vase, 
enator  Douglas,  of  Illinois,  on  his 
ka  bill.  An  epergne,  half  gold  and 
ver,  emblematic  of  the  North  and 

earj  Arcularius,  Esq.,  the  Commis- 
of  Streets  and  Lamps,  on  his  re- 
m  of  ofBce.  Something  of  inesti- 
ralue. 

'•  Sou16,  our  Ambassador  at  Mad- 
his  Turgot  duel.  A  gold  sword, 
ohn  Mitchell,  on  the  establishment 
}itizen.  A  gold  ink-stand, 
ople  wreath  of  oak  or  laurel  leaves, 
yd  regarded  as  a  sufficient  testimo- 
public  gratitude  for  the  most  ex- 
.erits;  the  gift  of  a  garter  which 
I  purchased  for  a  shilling,  is  even 


now  an  envied  proof  of  Olustrioos  services 
in  a  certain  kingdom,  and  in  another  a  little 
silver  cross^  attached  to  i^bit  of  red  rib- 
bon, the  entire  cost  of  which  is  less  than  a 
dollar,  is  proudly  worn  as  a  mark  of  dis- 
tinction by  those  upon  whom  it  is  conferred 
in  acknowledgment  of  their  virtues  or 
genius.  But  here,  where  all  titles  of  nobil- 
ity, have  been  forbidden  by  our  glorious 
Constitution,  the  complimentary  gifts 
which  are  made  in  acknowledgment  of 
splendid  talents,  or  exalted  services,  must 
have  a.  positive  and  intrinsic  value,  bear- 
ing some  proportion  to  the  importance 
of  the  person  complimented.  Stars,  gar- 
ters, nbbons,  crosses,  and  titles  are  too 
aristocratic  for  our  simple  republican 
habits,  which  demand  solid  gold  and  sil- 
ver of  an  avoirdupois  value.  Fine  words 
butter  no  parsnips.  Our  practical  repub- 
licanism requires  something  solid  even  in 
compliments;  and  as  otir  great  men  are 
multiplying  at  a  fearful  rate,  it  will  be 
easily  seen  that  unless  some  method  of 
rewarding  distinguished  services,  simi- 
lar to  the  one  I  have  explkined,  shall  be 
adopted  by  the  public,  all  the  gold  of  Cali- 
fornia and  Australia  will  be  insufficient 
to  supply  even  a  teakettle  apiece  to  such 
as  may  fairly  be  entitled  to  a  compliment 
of  the  kind. 

I  have  the  honor  to  remain  the  public's 
obedient  servant^ 

Brown. 


SHAKESPERIAN   NOTES  AND   QUERIES. 


Ihakesperian  Miscellany  in  our  last 
iber  has  brought  us  correspondence 
lany  quarters,  and  through  divers 
A.  We  can  notice  but  little  of  it. 
n  intelligent  and  courteous  corre- 
it  of  the  Boston  Daily  Advertiser, 
ult  with  us  for  occasionally  suppos- 
t  the  editor  of  the  readings  of  the 
Folio,  "  supports  or  is  in  some  way 
ible  for  the  annotator  at  whose 
nous  nativity  he  assists."  Far 
We  would  as  soon  hold  a  medi- 
1  responsible  for  the  still-bom  babe 
Me  posthumous  nativitv  he  assists." 
U,  if  he  should  claim  that  the  sin- 
le  stranger  was  alive,  it  seems  un- 
d  that  he  should  be  held  responsi- 
that  assertion.  We  desire,  however, 
it  the  statement  made  in  the  March 


number  of  the  Monthly,  that  the  editor 
in  question  *^  disclaims  all  pretence  to 
authority "  for  the  readings,  and  to  add, 
that  his  defender,  or  apologist  in  the 
Boston  Advertiser,  who  evidently  is  fiiUy 
empowered  to  speak  for  him,  declares  that 
the  favorable  comment  which  he  made 
upon  one  of  the  most  objectionable  of  the 
corrections,  was  intended  *'  merely  to  show 
that  it  could  be  supported  quite  as  plausi- 
bly as  many  of  Mr.  Collier's."  For  "  many" 
the  writer  might,  with  more  propriety, 
have  written  "most!"  We  are  happy 
to  observe  the  declaration,  that  the  changes 
in  this  folio  "were  not  published  to  throw 
light  upon  the  text  of  Shakespeare,  but 
simply  as  a  pertinent  comment  upon  the 
valyie  of  Mr.  Collier's  discovery."  As 
such  we  regarded  it,  and  thought  that  we 


444 


Shdkt^periaa  Jfoies  and  Qwriei. 


[Apd 


hftd  stated  that  opinion  with  sufficient 
clearness,  when  we  said,  that  the  publica- 
tion had  "  at  least  a  temporary  value  be- 
yond that  which  belongs  to  it,  as  a  literary 
curiosity;'*  and  that  "succeeding  Mr. 
Collier's  publication,  it  is  useful,  as  show- 
ing the  utter  worthlessness  of  his  folio, 
as  far  as  its  claims  to  authority  are  con- 
cerned," &c. 

One  sentence  in  the  communication  in 
question  we  must  notice,  as  exhibiting  an 
erroneous  estimate  of  the  injury  which 
can  be  done  by  the  publication  of  even 
glaringly  mistaken  constructions  and  chan- 
ges of  Shakespeare's  text  The  writer 
says,  "  The  merit  of  exposing  the  impo- 
tence of  such  emendations  as  make  Dog' 
berry  talk  correctly,  or  convert  a  lively 
expression  of  pique  into  a  common-place 
statement  of  fact  (As  You  Like  II,  Act  iv. 
Sc.  3),  was  left  for  those  who  should  think 
it  worth  while  so  to  employ  themselves." 
That  he  who  undertakes  to  defend  the  in- 
tegrity of  Shakespeare's  text,  must  not 
disdain  to  expose  the  impotence  of  even 
such  corrections,  is  sufficiently  shown  by 
the  fact  that  one  of  these  very  changes,  that 
one  which  makes  Dogberry  talk  correctly, 
is  sustained  by  Theobald^  the  editor  to 
whom,  of  all  those  of  the  last  century, 
except  Malone,  the  text  of  Shakespeare 
is  most  indebted !  The  judicious  need  no 
warning  against  such  errors ;  but,  in  the 
words  of  another  of  our  correspondents, 
thanking  us  for  our  exposure  of  the 
worthlessness  and  presumption  of  these 
MS.  corrections,  "all  are  not  judicious 
till  judgment  is  whipped  into  them." 
The  editor  of  the  pamphlet  on  the  Quincy 
Folio  has  certainly  succeeded  in  his  lauda- 
ble design  of  making  his  publication  "a 
pertinent  comment  upon  the  value  of  Mr. 
Collier's  discovery."  "We  rc^grot  that  his 
desire  "  to  give  the  emendations  in  some 
instances^  the  same  sort  of  support  that 
Mr.  Collier  gave  his,"  should  nave  occa- 
sionally betrayed  him  into  the  use  of 
terms  which  certainly  express  a  faith  in 
the  value,  though  not  the  authority,  of 
the  changes  which  he  made  public. 

One  word  as  to  the  ^conservatism^ 
which  is  spoken  of  as  characteristic  of  our 
criticisms.  Conservatism  with  regard  to 
the  authentic  text  of  any  author  is  a 
charge  which  any  critic  may  be  well  con- 
tented to  sustain.  It  means  simply  that 
the  author  shall  be  allowed  to  speak  his 
own  thoughts,  and  not  those  of  some  one 
else.  But  with  regard  to  the  text  of 
Shakespeare,  we  arc  conservative  thus  far 
and  no  farther.  When  the  authentic  folio 
has  a  comprehensible,  and  consistent  read- 
ing, no  man  has  a  right  to  change  it^  oven 


for  one  which  is  better, — ^in  his  opinioD. 
When  the  folio  does  not  afford  such  a 
reading,  it  must  be  sou^t  fixxn  the  aoar- 
tos,  when  the  play  exists  in  that  nmn, 
and  next  through  conjectural  emendation. 
Such  emendation  must  take  the  form  of 
proof  reading. — That  is,  that  word  miut 
be  sought  which  best  suits  tho  context 
and  most  conforms  to  the  trace  of  the 
letters  in  the  word  found  in  the  oompted 
passage.  To  suppose  it  necessary  to  de- 
fend the  propriety  of  such  conserratisoL 
would  be  to  insult  the  understanding  of 
our  readers. 

That  Juliet's  Runaway  has  been  fiiriy 
caught  in  the  person  of  Rumor,  we  are 
glad  to  find  is  the  opinion  of  nearly  the 
entire  American  world  of  Shakesperien 
readers.  But  we  hear  from  three  or  ibnr 
who  are  yet  nnconviiKsed.  Our  corre- 
spondent m  Maine,  G.  W.  E^  writes: 
"  Rumor  is  associated  in  my  mind  (per- 
haps wrongly),  not  with  a  permm  who 
sees^  but  with  a  spirit  invisible^  intangiUe^ 
which  hears  and  tells^  of  ooune,  but  at  a 
concealed  wind  harp  hcarM  and  reports 
the  vibrations  of  the  air— the  very  word, 
runwr;  seems  to  me  (also  wr^gfuUy, 
perhaps),  to  be  a  sound  to  be  heard,  not 
a  thing  of  vision."  This  inyolTes  the 
mistake  made  by  so  many  critics  of  Shake- 
speare, that  in  deciding  upon  his  tezt^  or 
intcrpretinj^  it^  they  are  at  liberty  to  decide 
by  their  rcolmgs,  their  knowledge,  thor 
habits  of  thought ;  when,  on  the  oontmr, 
it  is  their  only  function  to  assimilate,  for  toe 
time,  their  feelings  and  thoughts  to  tboee 
of  their  author,  and  to  consult  the  mannera 
and  state  of  knowledge  in  his  day,  and 
among  the  very  people  for  whom,  as  a  play- 
wright and  a  manager,  he  wrote  his  {days. 
Now,  whatever  G.  W.  £.  or  any  one  else^ 
may  feel  or  think  about  Rumor,  the  people 
who  sat  m  the  Blackfriars  and  the  Globe 
theatres  in  the  days  of  Elizabeth  and  James 
were  in  the  habit  of  seeine  Rumor  repre- 
sented as  both  visible  and  tangible ;  and 
of  seeing  her  represented  not  only  with 
tongues,  but  with  eyes.  Shakespeare,  him- 
self, brought  Rumor  bodily  before  bos  au- 
dience, "  painted  full  of  tongues  "  (Henry 
IV.,  part  II.,  Induction),  and  his  contem- 
porary, Thomas  Decker,  represented  her, 
to  the  public  in  1603,  with  open  eyes^  as 
well  as  tongues,  as  we  pointed  out  in  oar 
last  number.  Shakespeare's  public  wooUL 
therefore,  instantly  both  apprehend  and 
comprehend  Julians  ¥^y^*  ^^^  '^Bn- 
mor's  eyes  may  wink,^  in  ortler  that  Ro- 
meo may  come  to  her  **  unlaXked  of  and 
unseerJ^ 

With  regard  to  other  toiHcs  in  our  oor- 
respondent's  letter,  we  can  only  point  out 


] 


EcUtoriai  Notes — American  Idterahire. 


446 


I  that  to  call  any  plea  or  suggestion 
sible "  is  necessarily  to  cast  doubt 
it;  that  to  call  it  both  "plausible 
igenious  "  expresses  not  a  whit  more 
enoe  in  its  soundness.  The  Devil 
If,  the  Father  of  Lies,  never  made  a 
hat  was  not  plausible  and  ingenious 
highest  degree.  Briefly,  however, 
)8e  cases  in  which  we  have  spoken 
t  changes  made  in  Mr.  Collier's  folio 
)laasible,"  we  do  not  agree  with 
I  except  in  two  instances, — Mea. 
ha.  Act  IV.,  Sc.  2,  and  Henry  VIII, 
\  Sc.  3.  Our  correspondent,  had  he 
•rith  the  attention  proper  in  one 
intended  to  criticise,  would  have 
that  not  only  in  one  instance  {King 
Act  III.,  Sc.  3,)  did  we  expose  the 
injuiT  to  the  text,  which  would  re- 
tmi  the  adoption  of  one  emendation 
we  styled  ^*  plausible,"  but  that  the 
B  in  withstanding  which  we  shed 
ak — "  idKo  smothers  her  with  paint- 
Cymbeline  (Act  III.,  Sc.  4),  we  ex- 
y  called  "  the  most  striking  and 
ble  of  all  the  inadmissible  changes 
led  by  Mr.  Collier."  All  our  readers 
ot  have  our  correspondent's  fondness 
I  snbject,  and  therefore,  in  spite  of  the 
ioB  which  it  is  receiving,  we  cannot 
M  not  to  comply  with  his  request 
Kre  Shakesperian  articles.  The  book 
which  he  asks  is  to  be  published 
)  Appletons,  and  will  be  issued  in  a 
eeks. 

to  his  suggestion  of  "  mdesbies^ 
for  runaway's  eyes,"  we  admit, 
I  demand,  that  one  word  might  be 
nted  for  the  other,  and  that  the 
i  not  too  coarse  to  be  used  by  Juliet, 
IS  we  have  pointed  out  was  a  very 
poken'  young  woman.  But  as  to  the 


fitness  of  the  word  for  the  text,  we  must 
really  be  excused  from  discussmg  that 
We  prefer  to  turn  its  advocate  over  to 
dispute  the  matter  with  another  corres- 
pondent, who  argues  that  because  "  the 
scene  of  the  play  is  Verona,  where  Juliet 
was  at  the  time  she  made  puzzling  invo- 
cation, and  she  would  naturally  have 
been  most  anxious  that  all  Verona's  eyes 
should  wink  on  that  occasion,"  and  be- 
cause *  runawaies '  is  almost  an  anagram 
of  Veronaise ;  that^  therefore,  it  is  the 
word  which  Shakespeare  wrote.  The  two 
can  settle  the  difference  between  them. 

From  "Wall-street"  we  have  the  sugj- 
gestion  that  it  would  be  well  to  read, 

**  That  «p<d«  otoo^M  67«s  mftj  wink ;"  Ao. 

It  is  quite  in  keeping,  that  this  wide 
awake  suggestion  should  come  from  a 
quarter  where  to  be  wide  awake,  is — must 
be,  the  cardinal  virtue,  and  where  wide 
awake  eyes  do  *•'  wink  "  when  they  see  a 
good  operation;  but  as  Juliet  was  not 
^bulling'  or  'bearing'  herself,  and  as  we 
have  no  ground  for  balieving  that  any  of 
her  townspeople  so  occupied  themselves, 
we  do  not  see  the  perfect  propriety  of  the 
suggestion. 

One  correspondent  winds  up  his  letter 
by  asking  our  opinion  of  "the  Spirit 
Alanifestations."  We  answer  that  we 
have  no  opinion  of  them ;  and  refer  the 
querist  to  Mr.  Owen  Glendower.  who 
once  advertised  that  ho  had  some  know- 
ledge of  those  matters,  and  whose  '  Card ' 
is  published  in  the  First  Part  of  King 
Henry  IV.,  Act  HI.,  Scene  I ;  but  it  is 
there  accompanied  with  a  running  com- 
mentary by  Henry  Percy,  yr,,  of  North- 
umberland, Esquire,  which  we  confess  wo 
think  very  mucn  to  the  purpose. 


EDITORIAL   NOTES. 


LITERATURE. 

BRICAN. — ^The  Barclays  of  Boston. 
arn  from  the  daily  papers  that  this 
Lmerican  novel  has  created  a  great 
ion  in  Boston,  and  that  the  first  edi- 
'  ftbnlous  thousands  was  immediate- 
taosted,  and  another  put  to  press  to 
f  the  demand.  But  books  that  sell 
they  are  published,  very  often  fail 
iiey  have  been  read ;  and  we  shoul(t 
DB  to  hazard  our  critical  reputation 


by  predicting  that  such  a  fate  will  not  be- 
fall The  Barclays  of  Boston.  The  author 
of  The  Barclays  is  Mrs.  Harrison  Gray 
Otis,  a  lady  of  high  social  standing,  and 
of  extensive  connections,  and  the  &ston 
public  was  naturally  in  a  feverish  state  of 
curiosity  to  know  who  and  what  the 
Barclays  of  Boston  would  prove  to  be. 
But  that  feverishness  must  soon  be  abated 
by  an  inspection  of  the  book,  and  then  it 
must  stand,  like  all  other  books,  upon  its 


446 


Editorial  Notes — Americcm  Literature. 


[Apd 


indiTidual  merits.  The  Barclays  of  Boston 
is  a  genuine  woman's  book,  not  only  in 
its  defects,  but  in  its  merits.  It  has  no 
story,  and  the  incidents  are  either  impos- 
sibly extravagant,  or  tamely  real.  Near- 
ly all  the  characters  get  married,  and 
there  is  an  immense  quantity  of  satin 
dresses,  orange  blossoms,  and  bride's 
cake.  Evidently  Mrs.  Otis  is  no  Mal- 
thusian.  Like  a  true  woman,  she  thinks 
the  great  aim  of  human  effort  is  a  wed- 
ding. Yet,  oddly  enough,  the  hero  and 
heroine  do  not  get  married,  and  for  a 
reason  that  none  but  a  woman  could  have 
invented.  Oeorgiana  Barclay  marries  the 
wrong  man,  by  mistake,  clandestinely,  in 
the  middle  of  the  novel,  and  in  a  manner,  too, 
which  would  be  both  legally  and  morally 
impossible  in  Boston ;  and  then,  to  show 
her  contrition  for  disobeying  her  parents, 
she  refuses  to  marry  the  man  with  whom 
she  was  in  love,  and  whom  they  wish  her 
to  marry.  But  the  book  is  full  of  cross 
purposes  and  every  thing  turns  out  not 
just  as  it  should,  in  a  novel,  but  just  as  it 
should  not  In  these  perversities  Mrs. 
Otis  has  shown  a  lack  of  true  artistic 
management  of  her  puppets,  for  the  rea- 
sonable anticipations  of  the  reader  must 
not  be  disappointed  in  the  denouement  of 
the  story,  or  his  feeling  will  be  one  of  dis- 
appointment and  disgust  instead  of  plea- 
sure. The  perplexities  of  the  reader  must 
arise  from  the  developments  of  the  plot, 
from  the  unanticipated  events  which  the 
art  of  the  writer  uses  to  bring  about  the 
denouement  which  all  parties  anticipated 
at  the  outset  In  the  Barclays  there  is 
no  plot  at  all,  and  the  surprises  are  in  the 
denouements  which  are  constantly  happen- 
ing, and  destroying  the  mterest  which 
should  be  felt  m  the  final  explosion  in 
the  last  chapter.  The  hero  and  heroine 
do  not  get  married;  a  widow  and  an 
old  bachelor  who  hate  each  other  very 
heartily,  all  through  the  volume,  marry 
each  other  at  the  close;  a  gay  young  crea- 
ture marries  a  sedate  clergyman,  and  a 
wealthy  old  miser  who  was  to  have  en- 
riched every  body  at  his  death,  proves  to 
be  next  door  to  a  beggar.  In  this  last 
character,  Philip  Egerton,  Mrs.  Otis  has 
created  a  new  being  in  fiction,  and,  if  she 
had  made  him  the  principal  personage 
of  her  novel,  she  might  have  given  us  a 
romance,  that  would  have  been  equal  to 
Hawthorn's  Scarlet  Letter.  Philip  Egerton 
is  a  retired  merchant  who  had  lived  in  In- 
dia, and  where  it  was  supposed  he  had 
accumulated  a  large  fortune ;  but  he  re- 
turns home  almost  a  beggar,  in  consequence 
of  various  losses,  and  finds,  to  his  morti- 
fication, that  he  is  regarded  as  a  million- 


aire. He  has  not  the  ooorage  to  confess 
the  truth,  and,  for  the  sake  orenjoyiDg  the 
reputation  of  a  man  of  wealth,  lie  assiimei 
the  character  of  a  hard-hearted  miser,  and 
knows  that  he  is  despised  and  hated  Ij 
those  who  pay  him  every  mark  of  oat' 
ward  respect  for  the  sake  of  his  imagined 
fortune.  This  character  is  finely  ooo- 
ceived  and  admirably  well  sustained,  ex- 
cepting in  a  few  incongruities  which  were 
unavoidable  in  a  womanly  delineation  of 
a  masculme  character;  but  he  plays  no 
important  point  in  the  novel,  sikI  m^t 
have  been  left  out  without  detriment  to 
the  other  characters.  Although  the  novel 
is  full  of  Boston,  and  the  rest  of  the 
world  is  nowhere,  yet  there  is  very  lit- 
tle of  local  coloring  in  the  descriptioiM^ 
and,  if  the  names  were  alt^«d,  the 
scene  might  be  changed  without  violence 
to  Liverpool  or  any  other  provincial  Eng- 
lish ijown.  The  truth  is,  that  Boston  is  a 
very  English  town,  and  as  the  characten 
in  The  Barclays  are  all  of  the  wealthy 
classes,  merchants,  lawyers,  and  professon^ 
they  are  not  essentially  American.  Na- 
tural characteristics  are  found  only  in  the 
lower  orders.  The  descriptions  of  local 
manners  in  The  Barclays,  are  not  so  good 
as  we  should  expect  from  so  clever  and 
observant  a  woman  as  the  authoress ;  for 
it  is  in  such  things  that  women  have 
evinced  their  greatest  power  in  literature. 
The  book  opens  at  a  children's  party, 
where  the  two  Barclay  sisters  are  intro- 
duced, but  the  scene  is  very  vaguely  de- 
picted, and  the  reader  is  left  to  fill  in  the 
coloring  from  the  resources  of  his  own 
imagination;  and  so  with  all  the  other 
"  set  scenes,"  where  we  should  have  had 
bright  and  distinct  pictures  of  ketl 
manners,  such  as  most  women  novelists 
have  given  us,  the  sketches  are  in  the 
flimsiest  outline.  There  is  one  very  great 
merit  in  The  Barclays  of  Boston ;  it  is 
entirely  free  from  the  fashionable  cant  of 
philanthropy,  and  there  are  none  of  those 
superangelic  little  creatures  who  have 
been  caUed  into  existence,  in  the  domain 
of  fiction,  by  the  success  of  Dickens's  Little 
Nell.  The  Barclays  of  Boston  is,  at 
least,  a  thoroughly  honest  book ;  it  is 
a  novel  and  not  a  sermon,  nor  a  treatise 
on  political  economy  in  disguise;  and, 
though  not  of  a  high  order  as  a  literary 
work  of  art,  it  displays  considerable 
knowledge  of  the  world,  and  contains 
many  sagacious  hints  on  the  conduct  of 
life  which  a  good  many  readers  may  pro- 
fit by. 

— Joel  Barlow  and  Pop  Emmons  are 
no  longer  to  stand  as  solitaiT^  authors 
of  American  epics,  for  Bfr.  Thomis  L 


] 


Editorial  NoUi — American  Literature. 


447 


18  has  recently  presented  us  with  a 
which  he  calls  ''  An  Epic  of  the 
y  Heavens,^''  We  say  Mr.  Thomas 
rris,  and  yet  we  are  not  quite  right, 
ie  the  hook  comes  to  us  in  the  double 
iter  of  a  revelation  from  the  "  spirit^ 
,"  and  a  poem.  Mr.  Harris  was 
jT  the  agent  by  whom  it  has  been 
to  us,  while  the  real  authors  were 
unknown  persons  beyond  the  grave, 
ti  it  is  intimated  that  Dante  is  one 
\  number.  In  the  introduction  we 
his  account  of  the  mode  in  which 
lie  was  dictated. 

poem  bearing  the  aboye  title  was  spoken  bj 
I L.  Habb»  in  the  coane  of  fourteen  conse* 
dftjra,  the  si)eaker  being  In  a  trance  siaU 
Ita  delivery.  From  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
two  hundred  and  fifty  lines  were  dictated  at 
■ion,  of  which  there  were  twenty-two  in  nnm- 
[  the  precipe  time  occupied  in  communicating 
l«  was  TWEirrT-erx  hours  akd  sixtkkn  min- 
)■  aeveral  occasions,  while  the  Epic  was  being 
id,  Mr.  Harris  was  unexpectedly  entranced, 
Ktber  unfavorable  circumstances,  and  in  two 
a,  as  will  appear  fh)m  the  Appendix,  he  was 
Vom  his  lodgings  when  the  trance  occurred. 
Mral  appearance  and  manner  of  the  impro- 
f  while  subject  to  the  influence  of  Spirita,  was 
](•  a  person  in  an  ordinary  magnetic  sleep, 
ras  a  slight  involuntary  action  of  the  nerves 
on,  chiefly  manifested  at  the  beginning  and 
sach  sitting,  or  during  brief  intervals  of  silence, 
me  new  seene  api)eared  to  the  vision  of  the 
L  The  eyes  were  cU«ed,  but  the  expression 
hee,  which  was  highly  animated  and  signifl- 
rl«d  with  every  change  in  the  rhythm,  and 
Ibly  influenced  by  the  slightest  modiflcation 
tmna.  The  voice  of  the  speaker  was  deep- 
id  musical,  and  his  enunciation  distinct  and 
&  Occasiionally  he  exhibited  considerable 
nee,  but  when  the  nature  of  the  subject  re- 
iwfclenesa,  his  voice  was  modulated  with  great 
;  and  at  times  his  whole  manner  and  utter- 
re  characterized  by  remarkable  solemnity  and 
>le  pathos.  The  writer  has  been  personally 
ted  with  Mr.  Harris  for  some  twelve-  years, 
Dever  witnessed  on  his  part  the  slightest  at- 

>  tinff  previous  to  the  delivery  of  his  Epic, 
of  which  were  chanted  in  a  low,  musical  voice, 
fa  remarkable  effect  Moreover,  our  friend 
ttmes  remarked,  during  the  progress  of  the 
Mt  the  invblble  powers  seemed  to  be  singing 
I  him,  and  that  all  his  nerves  vibrated  to  the 

M  reader  will  refer  to  the  Appendix,  he  will 
)  that  tho  particular  Spirits  whose  presence 
jk)Md  to  Mr.  Harris,  did  not,  strictly  speaking, 
licate  the  Poem  to  or  through  him.  This  is 
Mided.  It  is  merely  claimed  that  they  used 
laenoe — doubtless  in  harmony  with  existing 
i^eal  laws — ^to  entrance  the  medium,  and  that 
e  state  of  interior  perception  and  consclous- 
I  induced,  his  spirit— by  virtue  of  this  inward 
\a§  or  opening  of  the  interiors^was  brought 
iinate  relations  with  the  essential  principles, 

>  ibrma,  and  immortal  inhabitants  of  the 
orld.  While  in  this  condition  it  may  be  pre- 
hat  ha  was  as  well  qualified  to  obtain  correct 
ion  leepectlng  the  sphere  to  which  he  was 
Btttad,  aa  men  in  the  external  state  are  to  ra> 


celve  reliable  impreeilona  ftom  the  outward  world. 
Thus  the  primordial  elements  or  archetypal  Imagna 
of  the  thoughts  embodied  in  this  grand  Bpic  were 
commnnleated  to  the  rsoepUve  spirit,  and  the  proeeaa 
of  their  reo^tion  was  undoubtedly  as  strictly  moemal 
as  that  by  which  the  fbrms  and  qualities  of  outward 
things  are  perceived  through  the  ordinary  ayenuea 
of  sensation.** 

Alexander  Dumas  will  announce  a  five 
act  comedy  in  one  week  and  see  it  played 
at  tho  Theatre  Franpaise  the  next,  but 
what  is  his  rapidity  of  composition  com- 
pared with  that  of  a  medium,  like  Mr. 
Harris,  who  in  "twenty-six  hours  and 
sixteen  minutes  "  turns  off  an  epic  of  four 
thousand  lines?  The  spirits  are  great 
labor-saving  machines,  and  we  commend 
their  agency  to  the  editors  of  the  daily 
press  and  literary  men  in  general. 

As  to  the  epic  itself,  we  do  not  hold 
ourselves  competent  to  speak  of  its  merits 
as  a  revelation,  but  of  its  merits  as  a 
poem  we  have  formed  no  very  high 
opinion.  We  are  bothered  in  the  outset 
by  its  being  called  "  an  epic,"  seeing  that 
it  is  a  mere  collection  of  enthusiastic  lyrics, 
which  answer  to  no  single  requisite  of  the 
epic  order  of  poetry.  There  is  neither  be- 
gmnin^,  middle,  nor  end  to  it, — neither 
narrative  nor  catastrophe, — and  it  con- 
sists wholly  of  pleasant  vaticinations  on 
the  part  of  Mr.  Harris  and  his  angels,  in 
regard  to  the  futiu*e  well-being  of  the 
universe.  But  they  may  have  other 
notions  than  ours  in  the  land  of  spirits  as 
to  the  nature  of  epics !  "We  will,  therefore, 
say  no  more  on  that  head. 

Nor  are  we  greatly  impressed,  in  the 
second  place,  with  the  lyrics  of  "Jupiter, 
Mars,  and  the  electric  ocean  of  the  soUur 
system."  They  are  not  a  whit  better 
than,  nor  half  so  good  as,  many  lyrics 
that  we  know  of  on  this  plain,  common- 
place orb.  Here  and  there,  it  is  true,  we 
fall  upon  passages  of  considerable  vigor, 
but  the  CTeater  part  of  the  book  seems  to 
us  utterly  vague  and  unmeaning.  Any 
body  who  will  take  the  usual  "dis- 
closures" of  the  spirits  and  put  them  into 
agreeable  verse,  nmy  make  a  volume 
which  will  correspond  in  every  sense  with 
that  of  Mr.  Harris.  We  do  not  deny  that 
there  is  thought  in  it,  and,  occasionally, 
fancy,  but  the  impression  it  leaves  upon 
us,  as  a  whole,  is  that  of  a  pretentious 
rhapsody.  Like  the  talk  of  a  man,  in  a 
state  of  high  cerebral  fever,  it  gives  forth 
some  profound  suggestions,  and  some  bril- 
liant ima^ry,  but  the  general  effect  of  it 
is  confusmg  and  fugitive.  No  one  after 
reading  the  book  fcMols  himself  a  jot  the 
wiser ;  he  carries  away  with  him  no  single 
pregnant  thought;  on  the  contrary,  he 
feels  that  his  mind  has  been  jaded,  with- 


448 


Bditorial  NoUb — Ammcaoi  LUaraiwre. 


[April 


out  result  It  is  related  that  Mr.  Harris, 
after  his  trances,  immediately  fell  asleep, 
and  we  suspect  that  most  of  his  readers 
will  be  happy  to  escape  into  the  same 
gentle  oblivion. 

— ^Professor  Maurice's  77ieo/o^ca/£7»- 
says,  to  which  his  dismission  from  King's 
College  has  given  a  temporary  notoriefy, 
have  been  republished  in  this  country,  by 
Redfield.  They  are  sixteen  in  number, 
and  treat  of  all  the  prominent  topics  con- 
troverted between  the  Orthodox.  Unita- 
rians and  Universalists ;  Original  Sin,  the 
Trinity,  the  Atonement  the  Personality 
of  the  Spirit,  the  Judgment  Day.  Eternal 
Punishment,  and  the  relation  of  Faith 
and  Charity,  are  the  subjects  chiefly  han- 
dled :  and  handled,  too,  we  need  not  say, 
in  a  profoundly  religious  spirit,  yet  with 
independence  and  freedom.  The  author, 
it  is  evident  on  every  page  is  a  churchman, 
humble  and  reverent,  but  a  churchman, 
who  cannot  accept  the  traditional  inter- 
pretations of  his  creed.  He  does  not  se- 
perate  himself  from  orthodox  openly,  nor 
does  he  openly  reject  any  of  its  received 
doctrines,  but  he  questions  the  prevalent 
expression  of  those  doctrines,  and  endea- 
vors to  give  a  more  liberal,  and  as  he 
thinks,  a  profounder  significance  to  them. 
The  opinions  which  he  publishes  of 
the  Atonement,  of  the  Day  of  Judg- 
ment, and  of  Future  Punishment,  are 
not  the  views  which  nine  out  of  ten 
men  would  gather  from  a  reading  of  the 
English  symbols.  He  denies,  for  instance, 
the  vicarious  nature  of  Christ's  suffering, 
believing  the  essence  of  the  atonement  to 
consist  in  his  delivering  men  from  sin  and 
not  from  punishment  and  implanting  in 
them  a  true  righteousness ;  he  denies  the 
general  judgment,  as  a  special  day  set 
apart  for  the  final  decision  of  our  future 
destiny^  holding  that  judgment  is  perpe- 
tually decreed  in  the  course  of  human 
destiny;  and  he  denies  that  the  ^^ eter- 
nal "  of  the  Scriptures  carries  with  it  any 
idea  of  duration ;  and,  in  doing  all  this, 
we  conceive,  he  departs  from  the  tenets 
of  his  church,  as  they  are  almost  univer- 
sally taught  We  do  not  mean  that  his 
theology  is  any  the  worse  for  these  modi- 
fications, but  simply  that  it  is  not  the  old 
and  accepted  theology. 

There  is  one  thing  in  Professor  Mau- 
rice's controversial  writings  which  we  de- 
sire, especially  to  commend.  It  is  the 
tone  of  candor  and  tolerance  with  which 
he  speaks  of  all  adverse  views.  A  great 
many  of  his  remarks  are  levelled  directly 
at  the  Unitarians,  but  we  are  persuaded 
that  no  sincere  man  of  that  persuasion 
ooold  take  the  least  offence  at  any  thing 


he  says.  He  does  not  oonceal  orwHhhoU 
the  expression  of  his  total  disient  tnm 
the  Unitarian  theories,  yet  be  does  not 
consider  it  necessary,  on  account  of  that 
fundamental  difierence,  to  visit  those  who 
adhere  to  them,  with  the  oatpouringi  of 
his  wrath.  This  is  an  advance  in  the 
temper  of  theology  whidi  cannot  but 
be  regarded  as  a  fiivorable  sign  of  the 
times.  Nor  will  it  hurt  the  came  to 
which  he  is  so  evidently  devoted  in  the 
minds  of  his  readers,  of  any  denomina- 
tion. 

— Literature  is  making  its  way  into 
California,  for  the  last  mail  brings  us  the 
first  number  of  the  Pioneer^  or  Ofdyof 
nia  Monthly  Magazine,^^ — a  most  pio- 
misiug  periodical.  Its  matter  is  fomish- 
ed  by  resident  Califomians,  and  is  varioia 
in  its  nature  as  well  as  agreeable  in  its 
form.  Among  the  contributions  we  find 
one  relating  to  the  *'  Poetry  of  Califbrma." 
as  if  a  school  of  rhyme  had  almdy 
sprung  up  in  that  far  locality,  and  ano- 
ther is  a  notice  of  a  new  object  in  the 
animal  creation,  which  is  nothmg  lea 
than  a  viviparous  fish.  It  seems  that 
books  of  original  poems  have  alreadr 
been  published  at  San  Frandsoo,  whila 
the  '^California  Academy  of  Natonl 
Sciences "  has  also  been  occupied  with 
dissertations  on  certain  small  nsh,  whidi 
in  one  respect  are  wholly  different  from 
any  specimens  before  known  to  natmal- 
ists.  Dr.  Wm.  P.  Gibbons,  on  the  13th 
of  June,  1853,  read  to  the  Acactemy  a 
memoir  on  a  species  of  Percoides,  which 
produce  their  young  from  the  body,  and 
not  by  means  of  external  eggs ;  ai^  on 
the  5th  of  January,  he  described  five  new 
species  of  these  viviparous  novelties.  Pko- 
fessor  Agassiz  in  the  November  number 
of  Silliman's  Journal  refers  to  two  spe- 
cies of  these  fish,  but  he  was  clearly  an- 
ticipated in  the  discovery  by  Dr.  Gibfaooi^ 
who  also  rejects  the  name  of  EmbrioHaf, 
which  Agassiz  has  given,  and  daasea 
them  among  the  Labroides,  from  whkh 
they  scarcely  differ.  We  must  congratu- 
late the  California  Academy,  on  signalit- 
ing  its  advent  into  the  world  of  science^ 
by  this  interesting  discovery.  San  Fran- 
cisco is  only  five  years  old,  and  yet  it 
supporte  two  or  three  theatres,  an  opera, 
a  monthly  Magazine,  an  Academy  of 
Science,  thu-tcen  Daily  Papers,  ana  wo 
don't  know  how  many  weekly  papers. 

— Among  professional  books  we  are 
called  upon  to  notice,  the  HomcMpaMc 
Practice  of  Medicine,  embracing  ikB 
history^  diagnosis  arid  trealfnent  of 
Diseases  in  general,  including  those 
peculiar  to  iDomen,  by  M.  Fakzjuo^ 


.] 


JBiitonal  Nota — American  Literature. 


449 


^  who  is  reputed  to  be  a  gentleman  of 
igenoe  and  ability.  Our  acquaint- 
with  the  subject  is  too  limited,  to 
us  to  make  more  than  an  announce- 
of  the  work.  The  publishers  are 
K>rt,  Blakeman  &  Law. 
.8  it  not  significant  of  a  growing  de- 
fer poetry,  chat  the  stereotype 
I  of  Bryanfe  PoemSj  were  sold  at 
[Vade-sale  at  Philadelphia,  the  other 
\}y  Mr.  Hart,  who  is  retiring  from 
•ade,  for  Twenty-two  Hundred  Dol- 
which  is  more  than  their  original 

Dr.  Hempel,  of  whose  industry  as  a 
lator  we  have  before  spoken,  has 
'  made  an  original  contribution  to  his 
ssioiL  in  the  shape  of  an  Organon 
yecijw  HorrKBopathy,  It  is  an  am- 
atement  of  the  leading  doctrines  of 
emann,  with  a  criticism  of  their 
B  and  defects.    Dr.  Hempel  is  a  fol- 

of  the  great  German  medical  refor- 
but  not  a  blind  follower,  and  in  his 
points  out,  with  remarkable  shrewd- 
uid  ability,  the  weak  points  of  the 
n,  suggesting  at  the  same  time,  what 
»ems  a  profounder  and  juster  view 
5  science  of  healing.  Dr.  Hempel, 
;h  a  foreigner,  writes  the  English 
age  with  unusual  facility  and  force. 
ook,  if  we  mistake  not,  will  produce 
sation  among  his  fellow  practitioners. 
SVe  are  glad  to  see  the  Tkesaurua 
nglish  Worda^  by  Peter  Mack  Ro- 
one  of  the  authors  of  the  Bridge- 
'  Treatises,  republished  in  this  coun- 
It  is  a  most  valuable  work,  giving 
ssolts  of  many  years  labor,  in  an  at- 
;  to  classify  and  arrange  the  words 
9  English  tongue,  so  as  to  facilitate 
ractice  of  composition.    The  purpose 

ordinary  dictionary  is  to  explain 
oeaning  of  words,  while  the  object 
is  Thesaurus,  is  to  collate  all  the 
3  by  which  any  given  idea  may  be 
ssed.  Phrases  are  therefore  classed, 
xx»rding  to  their  sound,  or  their  or- 
aphy,  but  according  to  their  signifi- 
L  Thus,  supposing  a  writer  is  des- 
ig  the  general  form  of  some  object, 
wishes  to  vary  the  expression,  he 
Ind  under  the  term  "  form,"  a  large 
»er  of  related  words,  such  as  "  fig- 
shape,  configuration,  make,  forraa- 
frame,  construction,  conformation, 
let,  build,  trim,  stamp,  cast,  mould, 
>D,  structure,  &c"  He  finds  at 
,  on  every  topic,  a  copious  store  of 
lea,  adapted  to  express  all  the  more 
rtant  shades  and  modifications  of  the 
ml  idea  with  which  he  is  engaged. 
Is,  it  should  be  remembered,  are  not 


only  the  tools  of  the  writer,  the  vehicle 
or  medium  through  which  he  commu- 
nicates his  sentiments,  but  they  are  the 
very  instruments  of  thoueht  *  Few  in- 
tellectual operations  can  be  carried  on 
without  their  agency,  and,  consequently, 
a  facility  in  using  them  is  necessary  to 
precision  and  rapidity  of  thinking  as  well 
as  to  accuracy  and  grace  of  expression. 

The  American  edition  of  this  work  has 
been  edited  by  Dr.  Sears,  the  eminent 
secretary  of  the  Massachusetts  Board  of 
Education^  who  has  greatly  improved  it 
by  correctmg  numerous  errors,  and  enlarg- 
ing the  index.  But  there  has  been  one 
exercise  of  editorial  judgment  to  which 
we  decidedly  object.  Dr.  Roget  had  in- 
corporated mto  his  work  a  large  num- 
ber of  idiomatic  and  colloquial  phrases, 
which  Dr.  Sears  omits,  on  the  ground 
that  they  were  vulgar  and  low.  He  does 
so,  as  he  alleges,  because  such  phrases 
are  of  no  use  except  to  "  professed  au- 
thors who  have  occasion  to  represent  the 
language  of  low  life,-'  and  adds.  "  whom 
we  do  not  undertake  to  aid."  But  Dr. 
Roget  undertook  to  aid  them,  and  his  edi- 
tor had  no  right  to  deprive  any  class  of 
writers  of  the  assistance  he  meant  to  sup- 
ply. Vulgar  and  low  words,  as  they  are 
called,  are  often  the  most  expressive  words, 
and  so  long  as  they  are  not  positively  of- 
fensive or  incorrect,  ought  to  be  retained 
in  a  Thesaurus  of  this  kind.  Many  of  the 
best  writers  in  the  English  language, 
such  writers  as  Swift,  De  Foe,  Fielding 
and  Cobbett,  abound  in  words  and  phra- 
ses that  a  fastidious  taste  might  condemn 
as  vulgar,  but  which,  in  reality,  are  only 
idiomatic  and  popular.  Such  words  add 
a  great  deal  to  the  force,  the  ease  and  the 
picturesqueness  of  style,  and  are  always 
favorites  with  men  of  vivacious  as  well 
as  of  earnest  dispositions. 

We  regret  the  omission  of  them,  the 
more  because  one  great  defect,  in  the 
style  of  American  writers,  especially  those 
of  New  England,  arises  from  what  ap- 
pears to  be  a  careful  avoidance  of  easy 
and  familiar  terms.  They  are  uniformly 
too  stately  and  sustained,  and  give  a  look: 
of  stiffness  to  whatever  they  say.  Take  Dr. 
Channing,  as  an  instance, — who  was  cer- 
tainly a  writer  of  remarkable  elegauce  and 
force, — and  yet  one  can  hardly  read  more 
than  two  pages  at  a  time  of  his  essays 
without  a  sense  of  weariness.  The  reason 
is,  that  he  uses  no  colloquial  and  easy 
words — words  that  Dr.  Sears  would  call 
vulgar  or  trite — to  break  and  relieve  his 
lofty  and  sonorous  periods.  Even  in  the 
three  volumes  of  letters  addressed  to  his 
intimate  friends,  where  it  might  be  sup- 


450 


Editoriai  Notes — English  Literaiwrt. 


iAjA 


posed  he  would  naturally  descend  to 
the  talk  of  common  life,  there  is  but  one 
single  idiomatic  expression.  It  is  where 
he  says  that  ''  he  had  been  all  day  as 
busy  as  a  bee."  but  in  all  the  rest  he  is  as 
dignified  and  precise  as  in  his  most  solemn 
sermons.  Mr.  Everett  exhibits  the  same 
defect,  and  so  does  Webster,  but  neither 
of  them  to  the  same  extent  as  Dr.  Chan- 
ning.  Our  newspaper  writers,  on  the 
other  hand,  run  into  slangy  simply  for 
the  want  of  those  cozy  and  apt  idiomatic 
phrases,  which  cut  into  the  core  of  a  sub- 
ject, and  avoid  the  necessity  for  clumsy 
paraphrases  and  heavy  circumlocution. 
We  hope,  therefore,  that  in  the  second 
American  edition  of  Dr.  Roget's  book,  it 
will  be  given  to  the  public  without  the 
abridgments  of  which  wc  complain. 

— One  of  the  most  acceptable  additions 
recently  made  to  our  current  literature,  is 
the  translation  of  Weiss'  History  of  the 
French  Protestant  Refugees,  made  by 
Henry  W.  Herbert,  and  published  by 
Stringer  and  Townsend.  Such  a  book  as 
this,  which  gives  not  only  the  history  of 
one  of  the  most  important  episodes  in  the 
progress  of  Christianity,  but  an  authentic 
narrative  of  the  wanderings  and  fate  of 
those  who  were  the  subjects  of  the  most 
malign  persecution  of  modern  times,  many 
of  whom  were  the  founders  of  historical 
families  in  this  country,  cannot  fail  to  be 
most  favorably  received  by  American 
readers.  The  History  of  the  French  Pro- 
testant Refugees  has  already  become 
famous  in  Europe,  and  it  will  lose  nothing 
by  the  admirable  manner  in  which  it  has 
been  rendered  into  English  by  Mr.  Her- 
bert. 

English. — Now  that  the  English  people 
are  on  the  eve  of  war,  their  current  litera- 
ture is  running  almost  exclusively  into 
the  Eastern  Question.  Every  body  that 
has  ever  visited  the  Black  Sea,  or  so- 
journed in  the  Danubian  principalities,  or 
floated  down  the  great  river,  is  putting 
his  recollections  into  a  book,  while  old 
books  relating  to  the  same  subjects  are 
revived,  and  there  is  no  end  to  the  pam- 
phlets and  essays  on  the  comparative  re- 
sources of  Russia  and  Turkey.  Many  of 
these  publications  are  of  course  utterly 
worthless,  being  mere  fugitive  and  catch- 
penny attempts  to  take  advantage  of  a 
prevailing  excitement,  but  others  are  not 
only  appropriate  but  valuable,  and  furnish 
a  large  amount  of  necessary  and  useful 
information.  Some  of  the  latter  we  shall 
notice,  beginning  with  Tho  Russo-T^irk" 
ish  Campaigns  of  lS2S-^29^  with  a  view 
of  the  jfresetU  state  of  affairs  in  the 


East,  by  a  distinguished  ofScer  of  the 
British  army,  Col.  Chesnkt,  who  went 
to  Turkey  in  1828,  to  ofiTcr  his  servioes  to 
Mahmoud.  but  was  unfortunately  too 
late.  Yet,  being  on  the  spot  he  visited 
the  seat  of  war,  both  in  Asia  aud  Earope^ 
and  gathered  particulars  of  its  inctdenti 
from  Russian  and  Turkish  officers  as  well 
as  from  other  sources.  As  the  same 
countries  are  again  the  scene  of  conflict, 
his  descriptions  possess  a  present  intereit| 
while  his  critical  account  of  the  old  cam- 
paigns afford  us  grounds  of  conjecture  m 
to  the  probable  result  of  the  anticipated 
conflict.  Indeed,  it  is  in  the  latter  point 
of  view,  that  the  chief  value  of  the  work 
consists.  Col.  Chesney  estimates  the  rah 
pective  abilities  of  Russia  and  Turkey  so 
clearly,  that  he  leaves  little  doubt  in  the 
mind,  that  even  in  an  unassisted  encoun- 
ter between  the  two  nations,  the  Turks 
would  in  the  end  get  the  upper  hand.  In 
all  that  concerns  mere  fighting,  whether 
in  open  field,  behind  cover,  or  in  that  re- 
gular hand  to  hand  which  acoompaniet 
the  sally,  or  the  desultory  combat  <m 
broken  ground,  the  Turks,  according  to 
the  English  Colonel,  were  quite  equa^  if 
not  superior  to  the  Russians.  In  the  art 
of  quickly  covering  themselves  by  en- 
trenchments, he  also  adds,  they  are  supe- 
rior to  all  European  nations,  while  m  re- 
gular battle  they  are  not  inferior.  But 
what  they  wanted  thirty  years  ago,  was 
discipline,  which  has  since  been  supplied 
under  the  instruction  of  English  and 
French  officers,  so  that  they  are  now  first- 
rate  and  eflective  soldiers.  With  the  as- 
sistance of  France  and  England,  Colonel 
Chesney  thinks  they  will  have  an  ea^ 
time  in  routing  the  forces  of  the  Czar.  We 
are  not  so  sure  of  that  ourselves,  though 
quite  willing  that  the  gallant  Colonel 
should  prove  a  good  prophet.  It  would 
be  worUi  while  giving  Russia  a  drubbine, 
if  only  to  take  the  preposterous  conceit 
out  of  the  head  of  its  naif-barbarous  mon- 
arch. 

— A  later,  and  on  the  whole,  more  in- 
teresting book  on  the  East,  is  a  Jottnud 
of  a  Residence  in  the  Danubian  PriU' 
cipalities,  in  the  autumn  and  winter  <^ 
lb53,  by  one  who  is  obviously  an  Irish- 
man, if  we  may  judge  from  his  name, 
Patrick  O'Brien.  He  left  Constanti- 
nople last  September  for  Bucharest,  and 
was  fortunate  enough  to  be  present  at  one 
or  two  of  the  less  important  skirmishes 
which  have  taken  place  between  the  com- 
batants. But  without  dwelling  upon  anr 
details  of  battles,  let  us  extract  the  f(Ar 
lowing  striking  account  of  the  appearance 
of  a  small  body  of  Russian  troops,  while 


1854.] 


Mitorial  Notes— linglMh  lAUratwr^. 


451 


marching — which  seems  to  us  to  present 
a  suggestive  picture  of  character.  He 
says,  just  before  reaching  Bucharest 

**  There  were  aboat  five  hundred  BoAsiane  quartered 
la  the  neigbbarbood  of  the  khan.  They  had  that 
■tald,  soldierly  look  which  Is  the  effect  of  severe  dis- 
dpllJe.  This  I  observed  to  be  the  characteristic  of 
nearly  all  the  Baattian  soldiers  that  I  have  seen  in  the 
Principalities.  The  exceptions  are  the  young  recruits^ 
who  of  course  are  not  yet  properly  formed.  I  haro 
iMrer  observed  any  appearance  of  light- heartednesa 
aoM>ng  the  Bussian  soldiers  even  when  off  duty.  It 
\b  true  that  at  times,  in  marching,  whole  battalions 
ting  in  chorus  either  the  National  Anthem,  which  is 
%  fine,  solemn  air,  or  some  wild  melody,  generally  of 
»  warlike  character,  interspersed  with  sharp  cries  and 
an  occasional  shrill  whistle.  These  latter  songs  are 
partfcalarly  animated  andf  q>lrit  stirring,  and  the 
qaiac  rattle  uf  the  drum,  which  is  the  sole  instru- 
mental accompaniment,  increasee  their  ozciting  char 
racier.  To  the  listener  there  is  something  sublime  lu 
thus  hearing  thousands  of  manly  voices  blended  to- 
gether in  chorus  uttering  sentiments  of  devotion  to 
Ctod  and  the  Emperor,  or  of  fierce  defiance  to  the 
enemies  of  the  Czar.  But  even  in  these  exhibitions 
tbe  atemness  of  military  rule  is  seen.  Upon  the  faces 
of  the  men  thus  engaged  no  trace  of  emotion  is  visible ; 
their  tread  is  measured ;  their  forms  are  erect;  they 
■re  obeying  a  command,  and  not  an  impulse.  Tbe 
emotions  of  the  heart  seem  to  have  been  drilled  into 
order,  and  expressions  of  love  or  anger,  devotion  or 
revenge  are  only  awakened  by  tbe  voice  of  their 
oommander."^ 

Mr.  O'Brien  gives  a  spirited  description 
of  the  affair  at  Oltenitza,  for  which  we 
must  refer  our  readers  to  his  volume. 

—  Far  more  interesting  to  scholars 
than  the  whole  litter  of  books  on  the 
Eastern  Question,  is  a  work  with  the 
strange  title  of  the  Bhilaa  Topes ^  which 
will  doubtless  convey  no  meaning  to  the 
minds  ofa  large  number  of  our  readers.  But 
the  second  title,  or  Buddhist  Monuments 
of  Central  Asia^  will  elucidate  the  ob- 
scurity. Buddhism,  as  most  people  know, 
IS  one  of  the  superstitions  of  the  East 
which  formerly  controlled  the  faith  of 
more  than  one  half  the  human  race,  and 
which  Ls  still  a  matter  of  life  and  death  to 
some  two  hundred  and  fifty  millions  of 
votaries.  It  took  its  rise  in  India,  some 
two  thousand  years  ago,  and  flourished 
for  a  long  time  with  great  vigor,  but  it 
afterwards  decayed,  or  rather  migrated 
into  Thibet,  Siam,  Burmah,  Japan,  Ava, 
Ceylon,  and  Cochin  China ;  and  it  is,  at 
this  day,  the  most  widely-diffused  religion 
in  the  world.  If  truth  could  be  deter- 
mined, therefore,  by  a  majority  of  voices, 
we  ought  all  of  us  to  be  serenely  contem- 
j^ting  the  supreme  and  excellent  Buddha, 
let  truth  cannot  be  determined  in  that 
way,  and  prevailing  as  Buddhism  may  be, 
it  mu.st  be  regarded  as  rather  in  its  decay, 
voA  the  object  of  Major  Cunningham's 
book, — for  he  is  the  author  of  ^^Bhilsa 


Topes" — is  to  illustrate  the  monuments 
of  its  former  existence  and  glory.  These 
consist,  as  a  writer  in  the  AtheruBum  who 
condenses  Major  Cunningham's  accounts, 
says,  of  caves,  temples,  monastic  retreats 
structural  and  excavated,  inscriptions  on 
rocks  and  columns,  and  Topes  or  reli- 
gious edifices.  The  last  here  named, 
though  numerous,  are  contained  in  few 
localities.  They  are  found  in  Afghanistan, 
near  the  Indus,  near  the  Ganges,  at  Tirhut 
and  Bahar,  and  round  Bhilsa  in  Central 
India.  Of  the  Bhilsa  Topes,  the  largest 
was  examined  a  short  time  ago  by  Major 
Cunningham's  brother,  who  induced  the 
Court  of  Directors  to  carry  out  the  re- 
search. Lieut.  Maisey  was  therefore  em- 
ployed, and  Mfyor  Cunningham  joined 
him  in  January,  1853.  The  results  of 
their  labors  were  valuable,  and  the  record 
of  their  discoveries  is  intrinsically  of  un- 
common interest. 

The  Buddhist  Topes  are  of  three  kinds: 
the  first,  immense  hollow  mounds  of 
masonry,  dedicated  to  the  Eternal  Buddha ; 
the  second,  the  Funereal,  erected  over  the 
ashes  of  his  "  Mortal  Emanations "  and 
most  pious  saints;  and  the  third,  me- 
morials, raised  on  spots  sanctified  by  some 
extraordinary  religious  event  The  first 
are  the  largest,  and  placed  in  the  loftiest 
situations : — of  the  third  little  is  known. 

''The  Funereal  7bpe»  were  of  course  the  meet 
nnmerona,  as  they  were  built  of  all  sizes,  and  of  all 
kinds  of  materisJ,  according  to  the  rank  of  the  de- 
ceased and  the  means  of  his  firaternity.  At  Bhojpor, 
the  Topes  occnpy  four  distinct  stages  or  platforms 
of  the  bill  The  largest  Topes,  six  in  number,  occupy 
the  uppermost  stage,  and  were,  I  believe,  dedicated 
to  Buddha;  that  is,  either  to  the  celestial  Buddha 
AdindUh^  or  to  the  relics  of  the  mortal  Buddha, 
Sdkyci.  This  view  is  borne  out  by  the  fiicts  that  the 
laigest  Tope  contained  no  deposit ;  and  that  the  second 
and  third  sized  Topes  yielded  crystal  boxes,  one  of 
which,  shaped  like  a  Tope,  contained  only  a  minute 
p<Nrtion  of  human  bone  smaller  than  a  pea!  The 
second-rite  Topes,  sixteen  in  number,  stand  on 
the  second  stage.  According  to  my  view,  thcee 
Topes  contain  the  ashes  of  those  who  had  reached 
the  rank  of  Bodbisatwa.  We  discovered  relics  in  five 
of  these  Topes,  but  there  were  no  inscriptions  of  any 
historical  value.  The  third  stage  of  the  hill  is  occu- 
pied by  seven  small  Topea,  all  of  which  I  suppose  to 
have  built  over  the  remains  of  the  third  grade  of 
Pratyeka  Buddhas.  Of  the  eight  Topes  which  stand 
on  the  lowest  stage  of  the  hill,  one  is  much  larger  than 
any  of  those  on  the  third  stage.  These  Topes  were, 
I  believe,  built  over  the  ashes  of  the  lowest  grade  of 
the  Buddha  community,  the  Sr&waka  Buddbaa." 

They  were  built  at  a  vast  cost,  and 
with  infinite  ceremonies.  The  foundation- 
stones  were  trodden  down  by  elephants, 
and  milk,  oil,  vermillion,  and  precious 
gums  were  used  in  the  cement.  Like  the 
Egyptian  monarchs,  when  they  reared 


452 


JBSditarial  Note9 — French  Literatun. 


[ApA 


their  Pyramids,  the  Buddhist  Rajahs 
often  erected  these  structures  by  means 
of  forced,  unpaid  labor,  and  the  bones  of 
many  wretches  lay  on  the  earth  around 
them.  The  Topes  are  of  various  shapes, 
according  to  their  age.  The  most  ancient 
are  hemispherical,  forming  simple  mounds. 
Next,  in  point  of  antiquity,  are  those 
which  are  raised  a  few  feet  on  cylindrical 
plinths.  In  the  third  order,  the  height  of 
the  basement  is  equal  to  that  of  the  super- 
structure I  and  so  on,  until  in  the  latest 
we  find  a  tall,  round  tower,  surmounted 
by  a  dome. 

—  The  English  press  has  teemed  of  late 
with  poetry,  but  we  find  among  the  mass 
nothing  worthy  of  comment,  unless  it  be 
a  volume  of  Poems  by  Matthew  Arnold, 
who  not  only  writes  his  verses,  but  pre- 
fiioes  them,  like  Wordsworth,  with  a  long 
dissertation,  in  order  to  show  the  prin- 
ciples on  which  ho  has  written.  Mr. 
Arnold  is  a  disciple  of  the  classic,  as  con- 
tradistinguished from  the  romantic  school, 
and  ui^ges  with  no  little  earnestness  a 
more  sedulous  study  of  the  great  masters 
of  antiquity.  lie  even  questions  whether 
Shakespeare  is  a  good  model  for  young 
poets  (though  he  admits  him  to  be  "  the 
greatest  of  all  poetical  names"),  because 
the  mere  accessories  of  his  excellence,  ^*  his 
happy,  abundant,  and  ingenious  expres- 
sion'^are  more  likely  to  captivate  the  young 
imagination  than  his  more  real  and  suIh 
stantial  qualities  as  an  artist  Clearness  of 
arrangement,  vigor  of  development,  and 
simplicity  of  style,  can  be  better  learned, 
he  says,  from  the  ancients.  As  a  speci- 
men of  his  own  success,  in  this  study  of 
the  classic  authors,  we  give  Mr.  Arnold's 
"Ode  to  Philomela." 

*•  Hark  I  ah,  the  NlghUngale  I 
The  tawny-throated  1 

Hark  I  from  that  moonlit  cedar  what  a  bant  I 
Wbattriamphl  hark— what  pain  I 

"O  Wanderer  from  a  Grecian  shore, 

Still,  after  many  yean,  in  distant  Iand^ 

8U11  nourishing  in  thy  bewilder'd  brain 

That  wild,  unquench^d,   deep^onken,   old-world 
pain- 
Say,  will  it  never  heal? 

And  can  this  fragrant  lawn 

With  its  cool  treo^  and  night, 

And  the  swoet,  tranquil  Thames 

And  moonshine,  and  the  dew. 

To  thy  rack*d  heart  and  brain 
Afford  no  balm  t 
Doet  thou  to-night  behold. 

Here,  throogb  the  moonlight  on  this  English  graaSi 

The  unfriendly  palace  in  the  Thracian  wild? 
Doet  thou  again  peruse 

With  hot  cheeks  and  seared  eyes 

The  too  clear  web,  and  thy  dumb  Sister^  shamaT 
Doet  thou  once  more  assay 

Thy  flight,  and  feel  como  over  the«^ 


Poor  FogtUve,  the  ftathtrj  ehuft 
Once  more,  and  once  more  aeem  to  malMi 
With  lore  and  hate,  triumph  and  agonyt 
Lone  Daulis,  and  the  high  CepUaatan  valaf 

Listen,  Eugenia- 
How  thick  the  bunts  oome  etowJiug  tlira<i|k  At 

learesl 

Again— thou  hesiesfcl 
Etemsl  Passion  I 
Eternal  PalnP 

This  is  very  beautiful,  but  has  it  not 
the  defect  that  it  retains  the  dicUon  of  ths 
ancients,  while  it  is  altopether  too  sdiolariy 
and  remote  in  its  allusions  to  prodaoe  aoj 
popular  effect?  Comparing  it  with  Keatr 
Nightingale  or  Shelley's  Sky  Lark,  we 
feel  that  it  wants  much  more  than  rhysie 
in  order  to  win  it  a  place  in  the  endniny 
memories  of  our  race. 

—  Professor  Blackie,  of  Edinborglii 
says  the  Literary  Gazette^  has  been 
combating  the  alleged  heresies  and  pani* 
doxes,  delivered  in  that  city  by  Mr.  Rot- 
kin,  in  a  recent  course  of  lectures  be> 
fore  the  Philosophical  Association.  Mr. 
Blackie  read  a  paper  on  Mr.  Ruakm 
and  Greek  Architecture,  before  the  Ardii- 
tectural  Institute,  in  which  the  excessire 
laudation  of  Gothic,  at  the  expense  of 
Greek  architecture,  was  censured,  the 
beauty  and  effects  of  the  two  s^les  not 
being  subjects  of  comparison,  liu*.  Ras- 
kin's theory  about  religious  faith  beii^ 
necessaiy  for  high  art,  was  also  ^own  to 
be  fanciful,  some  of  the  noblest  works 
being  by  skeptics,  while  men  of  the  noblest 
faith  and  truest  piety,  such  as  the  Cove- 
nanters, abhorred  every  idea  of  the  fine 
arts.  Professor  Bladue  and  Mr.  Ruskin 
are  both  enthusiasts  in  tiieir  way,  and, 
by  their  earnest  advocacy  of  their  extreme 
views,  they  will  at  least  gain  more  general 
attention  to  questions  of  art,  in  connectioo 
with  history,  literature,  and  taste. 

French. — We  have  already  announced 
the  Reminiscences  of  Contemporaries  is 
History  and  Literature,  iSSotttJenirtCVfi^MH 
porains  dPHiatoire  et  de  Litteraturtf  by 
M.  ViLLEMAiN,  and  have  now  the  £M 
volume  of  the  work  before  us.  It  is  oo- 
cupied  chiefly  by  a  memoir  of  M.  de  Nar- 
bonne,  who  was  Minister  of  War  under 
Louis  the  XVI.,  and  whose  friendship 
Villemain  enjoyed  in  his  younger  days. 
He  is  scarcely  of  importance  cnoogh  in 
himself  to  be  entitled  to  the  front  rank  in 
a  volume  of  biography ;  but  as  he  was 
intimately  connected  with  Madame  De 
Stacl,  Napoleon.  Fox,  Lafayette,  and  other 
personages  of  note,  and  had  a  good  deal  to 
do  with  the  diplomacy  of  the  Great  Captain, 
his  position  rescues  him  from  his  nativa 
insignificance.    Napoleon  was  in  the  habit 


1804.] 


Editorial  NoteM — Frmch  LUerahure. 


453 


of  conversing  in  the  most  nnreseryed  man- 
ner on  all  his  projects  to  M.  de  Narbonne, 
who  transmitted  records  of  them  to  Yil- 
lemain^  by  whom  they  were  preserved  and 
are  now  published.  Of  course  they  give 
a  lively  and  faithfhl  idea  of  the  interior 
life  of  the  court  at  that  time,  and  of  that 
of  the  several  head-quarters  on  the  march 
to  Russia.  They  are  not  so  elaborate  as 
the  memoirs  of  Count  de  Segur,  but  they 
produce,  on  the  whole,  a  more  favorable 
impression  of  the  times.  A  great  many 
personal  reminiscences  and  anecdotes  are 
scattered  through  the  narrative,  but  YiUe- 
main  is  a  man  of  too  much  self-respect, 
and  too  high  a  position,  to  indulge  in  the 
scandals  which  form  the  chief  interest  of 
80  many  French  memoirs.  His  book  is 
not  likely  to  find,  therefore,  as  many 
readers  as  the  autobiography  of  the  more 
garrulous  and  less  conscientious  Veron, 
bat  it  will  take  a  more  permanent  place 
in  literature.  Appended  to  the  commem- 
oration of  Narboune,  is  a  chapter  entitled 
Demosthenes  and  General  Foix^  and 
another,  which  is  called  M  de  Feliez  and 
the  Salons  of  his  time,  which  are  both 
interesting.  The  subsequent  volumes  will 
enter  upon  the  subject  of  the  author's 
literary  history,  and  may  be  expected  to 
be  more  generally  entertaining  than  the 
first  volume. 

— The  literary  treaty  recently  concluded 
between  France  and  Spain  has  just  been 
formally  promulgated  by  the  French  Em- 
peror. It  gives  full  protection  in  France 
and  Spain  to  authors  of  books,  plays, 
musical  compositions,  pictures,  designs,  en- 
gravings, lithographs,  sculpture,  geogra- 
phical maps,  and  other  similar  productions ; 
the  protection  to  last  not  only  all  the  lives 
of  tiie  authors,  but  twenty  years  after 
their  death,  if  they  leave  direct  heirs,  and 
ten  years  if  they  have  only  collateral 
heirs.  Protection  is  also  extended  to 
translations,  and  authors  may  reserve  to 
themselves  for  five  years  the  right  of  . 
translating  their  works.  But  imitations 
of  works  are  to  be  tolerated,  provided  they 
be  not  made  with  the  evident  intention  of 
pirating  the  originals.  We  cannot  record 
this  honorable  agreement  between  two 
great  nations,  made  in  the  interest  of  their 
authors  and  artists,  without  expressing 
tihe  deep  mortification  we  feel  at  the  dila- 
tory movements  of  our  own  ^vemment 
in  recognizing  the  rights  of  foreigners  from 
whose  labors  we  are  constant^  reaping 
snoh  precious  harvests.  How  long,  oh, 
how  long,  American  legislators,  must  the 
world  wait  to  see  you  do  the  simplest  act 
of  jostk^?  Why  have  we  commercial 
traaties  with  nearly  all  the  nations  of  the 


globe,  but  literary  treaties  with  none? 
Are  books  an  object  of  less  impor- 
tance than  bales  of  wool  or  cargoes  of 
guano? 

— Cousin  has  commenced  in  the  Eevue 
des  Deux  Mondes,  a  history  of  the  literary 
saloons  of  the  17th  centuiy,  beginning 
with  the  Marchioness  de  Sabld,  who  was 
one  of  the  most  amiable  and  accom- 
plished women  of  the  first  half  of  that 
century.  She  did  not  possess,  as  he 
says,  the  beauty  of  Madame  de  Mont- 
bazon,  nor  the  audacity  of  Madame  de 
Chevreuse,  nor  the  virtue  of  Madame  de 
Rambouillet,  nor  the  genius  of  Madame 
de  SevignS ;  but  she  possessed,  in  the 
highest  degree,  what  was  then  called 
politesse,  and  was  a  happy  combination 
of  mind,  grace,  and  goodness.  At  the 
first,  a  brilliant  woman  of  the  world, 
living  in  the  very  centre  of  fashion,  she 
afterwards  became  the  centre  of  a  re- 
nowned intellectual  society,  the  Port- 
Royalists,  who  gave  a  new  phase  to 
literature.  Of  both  periods  of  her  ex- 
istence ample  memorials  have  been  pre- 
served, ana  these  Cousin  weaves  into  a 
most  entertaining  biography.  She  appears 
to  have  taken  a  live^  interest  always  in 

Sublic  affairs,  and  among  the  figures  who 
oat  about  among  the  scenes  of  her  ac- 
tivity are  the  Prince  de  Cond6,  Richelieu, 
BalziEtc,  Comeille,  Mam'sclle  de  Scudery, 
Pascal,  Nicole,  Amauld,  La  Rochefou- 
cauld, and  other  illustrious  personages. 
After  her  retirement  to  the  Port  Royal, 
she  became  very  devout,  but  she  managea 
at  the  same  time  to  live  in  the  greatest 
comfort,  drawing  around  her  a  most 
polished  and  aristocratic  society. 

—It  is  remarkable,  amid  the  variety  of 
writers  in  France,  that  no  good  history 
of  French  literature  is  extant.  There  are 
many  admirable  works,  such  as  the  Dis- 
cours  et  Mtlange  Litteraires  of  Ville- 
main,  on  particular  periods  of  literary 
history,  many  eloquent  and  instructive 
monographs  on  eminent  literary  men,  but 
a  connected  and  systematic  history  of  the 
entire  course  of  literature  has  yet  te  be 
written.  M.  Eugene  Geruzez  attempts 
in  two  volumes,  just  published,  Essais 
d^Histoire  Litteraire,  to  supply  the  de- 
ficiency, but  not  with  marked  success. 
His  work  is  well  written,  but  is  rather  a 
gdlery  of  portraits,  beginning  with  St 
£emard  and  ending  with  Rousseau,  than 
a  regular  history.  In  the  absence  of  a 
better  one,  however,  it  will  answer  a  good 
purpose,  for  it  gives  a  tolerably  clear  con- 
ception of  the  gradual  erowth  of  the  lan- 
guage, with  some  faithful  pictures  of  the 
more  impressive   periods.     The  author 


454 


Editorial  Notei^Frenck  Literature. 


[April 


evinoes  artistic  taste  and  critical  discrimi- 
nation. 

— We  know  of  few  French  authors  whose 
works  furnish  picasanter  reading  than 
those  of  M.  Emilr  Souvestre.  His  last 
book  is  a  series  of  literary  and  historical 
conversation  (Causeries  Historiquee  et 
Litth'aires)^  which  seem  to  have  been 
originally  given  as  lectures  in  Switzerland. 
They  make  no  pretensions  to  erudition, 
and  yet  they  discourse  of  the  principal 
writers  of  antiquity,  and  the  great  literary 
monuments  of  the  middle  ages,  with  the 
precision  of  a  scholar,  as  well  as  with  the 
liveliness  of  a  man  of  the  world.  The 
several  subjects  are  treated  with  anima- 
tion, while  many  obscure  points  of  history 
are  elucidated  with  a  clearness  of  language 
which  must  make  them  intelligible  to  the 
most  uninstructed  mind.  Another  recent 
work  of  his,  is  a  narrative  of  a  family,  Le 
Memorial  de  Families  which  takes  a 
young  household,  from  the  moment  it  is 
formed,  and  carries  it  along  through  a 
whole  career  of  varied  experiences,  some- 
times gentle  and  sometimes  rough,  show- 
ing the  dangers  to  which  it  is  exposed, 
describing  its  pleasures,  and  suggesting 
principles  for  its  guidance.  It  is  a  simple- 
hearth  and  honest  story,  meant  to  bo 
read  by  the  fireside,  and  though  it  con- 
tains many  scenes  of  domestic  life,  does 
not  offend  in  points  where  French  ro- 
mances are  most  apt  to  be  objectionable. 
It  may  safely  be  recommended,  both  for 
style  and  subject,  as  a  proper  subject  for 
translation. 

— We  cannot  say  as  much  of  M.  Arn- 
ouLD  Fremy's  Journal  of  a  Young  Girl, 
Journal  d*une  Jeune  FUle,  which,  posses- 
sing a  powerful  and  moving  interest,  is  yet 
tinged  occasionally  with  vulgar  and  trite 
phrases,  as  well  as  scenes  that  one  might 
as  well  not  read.  It  details  the  history 
of  a  young  woman  of  education  and  ele- 
vated tastes,  who  is  reduced  to  the  sup- 
port of  her  mother  by  giving  lessons  in 
music  This  resource  at  last  fails  and 
she  is  forced  to  accept  of  service  in  a 
chateau  in  the  country,  where  she  becomes 
the  victim  of  the  heir  of  the  house,  and 
afterwards  falls  into  dishonor  and  misery, 
and  destroys  herself  by  poison.  The  first 
part  which  relates  her  precarious  life  as  a 
music  teacher,  exhibits  a  rare  dramatic 
truthfulness,  and  pith;  but  the  subse- 
quent parts  are  not  so  well  executed.  The 
author's  apology  may  be,  that  his  work  is 
not  an  invention,  but  a  real  history ;  yet, 
we  cannot  conceive  that  truth  itself  is  any 
justification  for  a  violation  of  either  morals 
or  art 

— What  are  the  rights  of  temporal  power, 


and  what  those  of  the  religkms  pow«r, 
are  the  questions  discussed  by  H.  Thier- 
oelin,  in  a  book  entitled  Du  Manage 
Civil  et  du  Mariage  Helig-ieux,  which, 
however,  can  have  but  little  signifleanoB 
in  this  country,  where  the  law  has  km 
since  settled  the  respective  authorities  of 
Church  and  State. 

— A  history  of  Madame  de  MainteDaii  ii 
published  by  Gustave  Hequet,  whidi  ii 
the  most  complete  account  of  the  extra- 
ordinary life  of  that  woman  that  has  ap- 
peared. It  has  been  undertaken  by  H. 
de  Noailles,  but  of  such  enormous  no- 
portions,  that  no  one  can  tell  when  it  ii 
likely  to  be  finished.  The  recent  work  of 
M.  Lavill^e,  too,  is  rather  a  history  of  the 
Royal  Ilouse  of  St  Cyr,  than  of  its  oels- 
bratcd  founder.  But  M*.  H^uet  dcTOtn 
himself  to  a  bk)graphy  proper,  and  tells 
us  in  graceful  language,  and  with  ftill  de- 
tails, all  that  it  is  profitable  to  know  of 
the  career  of  Mam'selle  d'Aubign6.  tnm 
her  early  prison-house,  through  the'  mar- 
riage with  Scarron,  till  she  adiieved 
the  throne  of  France.  His  materials  an 
drawn  chiefly  from  her  own  correspond- 
ence, with  such  light  as  may  be  thrown 
upon  that  by  contemporary  memoini 
From  these  he  extracts  a  more  &vorable 
view  of  her  character  than  is  ordinarilj 
g[ivcn,  reliving  it  of  a  good  many  impata- 
tions  which  the  scandal  of  the  times  had 
fixed  upon  it,  and  showing  her,  indeed,  to 
have  been,  though  a  woman  of  ambitioii, 
selfishness  and  intrigue,  without  repraidi 
in  other  respects. 

— The  French  writers  of  the  period  of 
the  Reformation  have  found  a  diligent 
student  in  M.  Saxous,  whose  Etudee  Ut- 
teraires  eur  lee  ecrivaine  Jran  fate  de  U 
reformation,  contain  a  multitude  of  in- 
teresting particulars  in  respect  to  Cahin, 
Farol,  Viret,  Theod.  de  Beza,  Henri  Sti- 
enne,  Duplessis  Momay,  Ac.  kc  Hm 
author,  though  somewhat  of  a  polemic^ 
brings  to  his  task  great  sagacity,  mde- 
pcndence  of  judgment  and  a  sincere  km 
of  the  truth.  He  seems  to  have  can^ 
some  of  the  fire  and  spirit  of  his  illos- 
trious  subjects,  and  discourses  of  religioos 
truth  with  all  their  mingled  learning  and 
enthusiasm.  His  work  is  a  real  contri- 
bution to  theological  literature. 

— The  Atken€Bum  Prangaie  containB 
a  criticism  of  Mr.  Hawthorne's  Blithe- 
dale  Romance,  in  which  it  says  that  hii 
romance  "has  none  of  the  chann  of  a 
story  and  all  the  monotony  and  tediont* 
ness  of  real  life  without  its  truth."  The 
talent  of  this  author,  it  goes  on  to  say, 
"presents  smgular  anonuUies, — it  is  an 
assemblage  of  &talism,  socialism,  and 


1854.] 


Editorial  Notes — French  Literature. 


455 


magnetism,  mingled  with  an  excessiye 
puerility  in  its  material  details,  and  an 
inconoeivable  negligence  in  the  description 
of  important  situations  and  passionate 
sentiments.  His  action  never  advances ; 
from  time  to  time  the  author  is  obliged  to> 
introduce  some  unknown  to  whom  he  re- 
lates his  facts,  and  during  the  while,  his 
principal  personages  amuse  themselves 
with  disguises  and  travels,  even  in  the 
midst  of  events  the  most  important  for 
them."  The  critic  adds,  however,  in  res- 
pect to  the  Blithedale  Romance,  that  there 
are  passages  written  with  "  incontestable 
talent,  with  energy  and  vigor,  but  always, 
without  imagination."  In  short,  the 
whole  criticism  is  ludicrously  absurd. 
The  same  periodical  has  a  brief  notice  of 
Queechy,  by  Miss  Wetherell,  which  it 
says  has  "not  a  single  well-developed 
intrigue,  nor  one  moving  drama,  but  is  a 
series  of  monotonous  conversations." 
It  grants,  however,  that  the  writer  has  an 
excellent  spirit  and  a  maternal  heart. 
The  poetry  of  the  book  is  said  to  be  su- 
Derior  to  the  prose. 

— A  scientific  discovery  of  vast  prac- 
tical interest  is  reported  in  the  last  Compte 
Rendu  of  the  Academy  of  Science  at 
Paris.  It  is  nothing  less  than  the  ex- 
traction of  a  metal  Aluminum  from  com- 
mon clay.  Sir  Humphrey  Davy  long 
since  suggested  that  the  clays  might  be 
made  to  yield  metals,  and  now  M.  Wok- 
ler  has  shown  the  feasibility  of  his  sug- 
gestion. He  states  that  by  treating  clay 
with  a  chlouret  of  sodium,  heating  the 
compound  to  a  red  heat  in  a  porcelain 
crucible,  the  chlouret  of  aluminum  is 
disengaged,  and  there  remains  a  mass  of 
the  pure  metal  of  aluminum.  This  me- 
tal is  as  white  as  silver,  is  malleable  and 
ductile,  may  be  hardened  by  hammering 
like  iron,  does  not  change  in  damp  or  dry 
air,  does  not  oxydize  when  cast,  is  not  af- 
fected by  either  hot  or  cold  water,  and 
does  not  dissolve  in  ordinary  acids.  As 
it  is  widely  dispersed  throughout  nature, 
is  feasible  and  ductile,  while  it  is  also 
lighter  than  glass,  a  pure  white  metal, 
not  blackening  in  the  air,  it  must  suggest, 
sooner  or  later,  the  most  important  ap- 
plications in  the  arts.  The  discoverer  is 
about  to  institute  a  series  of  experiments 
on  all  the  argillaceous  or  clayey  substances 
with  a  hope  of  obtaining  other  similar 
results. 

— A  notable  specimen  of  conservative 
thinking  is  M.  Saint  Bonnet's  book  on 
the  decay  of  human  reason  and  the  de- 
dine  of  Europe  {De  Pqffaiblissement  de 
la  raison  ettfela  decadence  en  Europe). 
It  is  divided  into  three  parts,  the  first  of 


which  treats  of  the  prevailing  spiritual 
and  intellectual  maladies  which  are  has- 
tening the  dissolution  of  modern  society, — 
the  second  points  out  their  causes,  and 
the  third  suggests  the  remedy.  The  great 
disease,  as  he  considers  it,  is  the  want  of 
religious  faith,  or  rather  in  the  supremacy 
every  where  allowed  to  the  mere  intelli- 
gence, which  is  essentially  skeptical,  over 
the  reason,  which  is  essentially  religious. 
The  causes  of  this  disease  are,  first,  the 
study  of  pagan  authors,  second,  the  natu- 
ral sciences,  and  third,  the  German  phi- 
losophy. While  the  cure  for  these  aberra- 
tions must  be  the  substitution  of  the 
Christian  fathers  for  the  ancient  classics, 
as  the  grounds  of  education,  regenerating 
literature  thus  as  some  propose  to  regen- 
erate art,  the  conversion  of  the  sciences 
from  naturalism,  and  the  entire  exorcism 
of  those  Teutonic  monsters,  who  are  mak- 
ing all  the  world  pantheists.  What  non- 
sense !  As  if  the  whole  of  modem  litera- 
ture, science,  and  philosophy,  could  be 
suppressed  to  make  room  for  the  fathers ! 
M.  Bonnet  does  not  see.  as  he  ought,  that 
Christianity,  though  ever  the  same  in  its 
substance,  is  variable  in  its  form ;  and 
these  apparent  heresies,  of  which  he  com- 
plains, these  materializing  sciences,  and 
pantheistic  philosophies,  are  only  prepar- 
ing the  way  for  a  grander  manifestation 
of  Christ's  religion  than  the  world  has 
yet  seen.  The  great  truths  of  revelation, 
which  have  been  evangelical  at  one  time, 
political  at  another,  and  philosophical  at 
a  third,  are  yet  to  be  scientific,  and  after 
that  reconcile  all  views  in  a  transcendent 
unity. 

— Under  the  title  of  Stories  and  Travels, 
(  Conies  et  Voyages),  Mr.  Edmond  Texier 
has  collected  three  tales  of  different  ob- 
jects and  lengths.  The  first  is  called 
IVie  Golden  Fleece,  and  relates  the  ad- 
ventures of  two  Frenchmen  who  went  to 
seek  their  fortunes  in  California;  the 
second  is  Mademoiselle  d^Aulnay,  which 
describes  the  very  sentimental  love  of  a 
lady  of  quality,  and  the  third  is  the  le 
Didble  d  Paris,  which  gives  a  sad  ac- 
count of  the  discomfitures  of  a  rich  heir, 
who  falls  into  the  hands  of  a  loretie  at 
Paris.  Great  power  is  shown  in  the  in- 
vention of  characters,  and  in  the  charms 
of  style. 

— A  history  of  Canada  {Histdre  du 
Canada,  depuis  sa  cP  ecouverie  jusqu'd 
nos  jours)  has  been  published  by  M. 
Francois  Xavier  Garneau.  It  is  com- 
plete in  its  details,  and  written  with  ani- 
mation and  skill. 

— The  political  alliance  of  England  and 
France  has  had  its  effect  on  literature,  for 


456 


Editorial  Notes — Qtprman  Literature, 


[April 


we  see  that  M.  Francis  Wcy,  in  his  book, 
called  the  English  at  home  (Lee  Anglais 
Chez  eux\  treats  them  with  much  less 
severity  than  French  writers  have  been 
accustomed. 

German. — The  Brothers  Grimm,  among 
the  most  distinguished  philologists  of  the 
world,  have  issued  the  first  part  of  their 
ercat  dictionary  of  the  German  language 
{Deutsches  Worierhuch),  which  pro- 
mises to  be  an  exceedingly  valuable  con- 
tribution to  lexicography.  After  giving 
to  Germany  a  historical  grammar  which 
established  comparative  philology  on  its 
true  basis,  they  are  now  crowmng  their 
work  with  this  important  completion. 
It  is  needless  to  say  that  it  exhibits 
throughout  the  profoundest  erudition  and 
excellent  judgment. 

— An  able  work  is  "The  System  of 
Christian  Life"  (System  des  Christlichen 
Lebens)  by  Dr.  Wilhelm  Boemer,  a 
theological  professor  at  the  university  of 
Breslau.  It  can  hardly  be  called  a  trea- 
tise upon  Ethics^  because  the  author  con- 
siders Christian  principles  as  something 
superior  to  mere  moral  precepts,  and  yet 
he  is  careful  to  show  the  intnnsic  agree- 
ment of  his  results  with  human  reason. 
He  discusses  the  modifications  of  Christia- 
nity introduced  by  the  late  speculative 
philosophers,  Kant,  Fichte,  Schelling,  He- 
gel, and  Feuerbach,  as  well  as  by  the 
speculative  theologians,  Schleiermacher, 
Daub,  Marheinille  and  De  Wette,  showing 
wherein  he  conceives  them  to  be  wrong, 
and  deducing  a  more  evangelical  theory. 
Neander,  in  his  history  of  the  church 
speaks  of  Boemer  as  one  of  the  soundest 
of  the  modem  theologians. 

— ViEHOFF,  who  is  known  as  the  author 
of  a  life  of  Goethe,  is  publishing  a  new 
edition  of  the  poems  of  that  great  man, 
which  are  arranged  under  the  heads 
1st  of  natural-poetry  period. — 2d.  classi- 
cal and  artistic  poetry,  and  3d.  the  period 
of  eclectic  universalism.  A  full  conmien- 
tary  accompanies  each  volume. 

— An  instructive  account  of  Surinam 
{Seclis  Jahre  in  Surinam)  is  put  forth 
by  A.  Kappler,  whose  long  residence  in 
the  island  enables  him  to  speak  of  its  mili- 
tary and  social  condition  with  perfect 
understanding  and  completeness. 

— A  new  periodical,  under  the  title  of  the 
Protestant  Church-Gazette  for  Evangel- 
ical Germany  (Protestaniische  Kirchen- 
zeitung  fur  aas  evangelische  Deutsch- 
land)  is  published  in  Berlin,  under  the 
editorship  of  Mr.  Krause.  Its  aim  is  to 
defend  historic  Christianity  against  all 
those  tendencies,  which  seek  to  subvert 


Eeligion  and  Church,  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  to  support  liberal  Protestant  prin- 
ciples agamst  the  encroachments  of  secta- 
rianism and  ultramontanism. — One  of  its 
principal  objects  will  be,  to  combat  the 
attempts  of  modem  times  to  confine  the 
Protestant  Church  within  the  narrow 
limits  of  obsolete  ecclesiastical  formulas 
and  ordinances — attempts,  which,  if  suc- 
cessful, would  inevitably  destroy  Uie  inde- 
pendence and  cramp  the  free  development 
of  Protestantism. 

—The  fifth  edition  of  BurmeisUr*t 
Geschichte  der  Scha^fung  has  just  been 
published,  a  fact  whicn  proves  the  wide 
circulation  of  this  important  work. 

— The  first  volume  of  a  German  trans- 
lation of  Rev.  Theodore  Parker^s  Writ- 
ings has  just  been  issued,  containing  the 
critical  and  miscellaneous  essays.  A  se- 
cond edition  of  a  previous  truoslation  of 
his  Ten  Sermons  on  religious  subjects  is 
about  to  be  printed.  The  doctrines  of  this 
theologian  have  found  many  admirers  and 
adherents  in  Germany. 

— The  late  M.  E.  GuirrHER,  of  Leipzig^ 
is  the  author  of  an  excellent  translation  of 
Horace  into  German,  which  may  vie  with 
the  masterly  translation  of  Homer  by 
Yoss.  Like  that  famous  work  it  oombines 
a  faithful  version  with  a  truly  poetic 
diction,  and  is  greatly  distrnguished  fxtm 
all  similar  attempts. 

— A  continuation  of  Ehrkkberg's  lai^ 
Work  on  Infusoria  of  1838.  to  be  entitled 
Microscopic  Geology  (Mikroskopische 
Geologie)  will  be  published  in  a  few 
months.  The  first  volume  of  Uie  letter- 
press (95  sheets  folio)  will  bo  pubtid^d 
first;  It  treats  of  Australia,  Am^  and 
South  America.  At  the  same  time  an 
Atlas  containing  the  plates  which  bekng 
to  the  whole  work  will  be  issued.  This 
Atlas  is  to  contain  in  forty  eneraved  plates 
numerous,  mostly  colored,  ddineations  of 
the  results  of  the  famous  author's  geolo- 
gical researches  extending  to  all  parts  of 
the  globe. 

— The  portraits  of  Johan  and  Margaret 
Luther,  the  parents  of  the  great  Germtn 
Reformer,  Martin  Luther,  copied  from  the 
originals  of  Louis  Cranach,  have  just  been 
engraved  and  published. 

— ^The  second  part  of  a  work  that  has 
made  some  stir,  the  Free  Thinkers  in  Re- 
ligion (Die  Freidanker  in  der  religion^ 
oder  aie  representaten  der  relifidsen 
anjklarung  im  England^  FYawcreich 
and  Deutschlanct),  has  just  made  its  ap- 
pearance. It  relates  to  tbe  infidels,  as 
they  are  called,  of  France,  and  in  the  next 
part  those  of  Germany  will  be  treatedi 
The  author  is  Dr.  L.  Ihoack. 


PUTNAM'S  MONTHLY. 


VOL.  EL— MAY  1854— NO.  XVIL 


NEBRASKA. 

A  GLIMPSE   AT   IT  —  A   PEEP   INTO  ITS  UNWRITTEN    HISTORY  —  TOGETHER   WITH   A   FEW 
FACTS   FOR   THE   FUTURE   HISTORIAN. 


THE  programme  of  the  Age  is  Progress, 
and  again  a  new  star,  perhaps  several, 
is  about  to  be  added  to  our  national  en- 
sign. Nebraska  is  no  longer  a  mjth: 
she  claims  her  rights,  and  *'  manifest 
destinj''  is  about  to  allow  them. 

As  yet  the  abode  of  traders  and  trap- 
pers, red  men  and  buffalo — ere  many  days 
the  restless  tide  of  emigration  will  cross 
her  borders,  will  overrun  her  prairies  and 
plains,  will  float  up  her  broad  rivers  and 
sparkling  streams,  and  rest  beneath  the 
shade  of  her  forests  of  ancient  oak,  lofty 
cotton-wood,  and  graceful  willow.  Not  a 
spot  that  will  be  sacred  to  the  researches 
and  prying  curiosity  of  the  genius  of  the 
universal  Yankee  nation. 

Already  the  squatter,  afar  off  in  his 
log-cabin  ^* clearing"  in  tllmois  and  Mis- 
souri, is  grinding  his  axe,  fixing  up  his 
wagon,  and  making  ready  the  **  old  wo- 
man" and  '^ young  ones"  for  a  move. 
Away  down  in  Maine  they  are  thinking 
how  the  lumber  out  there  can  be  turned  to 
account,  and  rather  guessing  they'll  take 
a  look  that  way  some  of  these  days. 
The  broken-down  politician  is  getting 
ready  his  petitions  and  recommendations 
for  office  there,  and  is  certain  of  a  "judge- 
ship" or  something  ^Ise — in  fact  whispers 
his  friends  that  the  very  thing  he  wants 
has  been  promised  him. 

Let  us  leave  the  sage  politicians  at 
Wa^iington  squabbling  as  to  what  shall 
be  its  precise  bounds,  how  many  states  or 
territories  they  shall  make  of  it,  whether 
they  shall  be  free  or  slave,  and  discussing 
kamcdly  the  Missouri  compromise  ana 
other  matters ;  and  turn  we  to  examine 
a  little  into  this  new  member. 

Get  out  your  map,  reader,  school-boy 

VOL.  III. — 30 


fashion,  and  let  us  see  where  this  country 
lies  and  what  it  is. 

Begin  away  down  at  the  south-west 
comer  of  the  state  of  Missouri,  on  the 
37th  parallel  of  north  latitude,  near  the 
boundary  line  of  Arkansas,  trace  thence 
on  west  to  New  Mexico,  then  up  north 
with  the  boundary  of  New  Mexico ;  con- 
tinue on  north  along  the  summit  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  and  you  have  first 
Utah,  and  then  Washington  Territory,  as 
the  western  boundary,  until  finally  you 
reach  the  49th  parallel  of  latitude,  when 
you  turn  east  and  follow  along  the  southern 
boundary  of  Minnesota  down  the  muddy 
waters  of  the  "mad  Missouri"  to  the 
point  of  beginning.  This  is  what  has 
been  kno.wn  under  the  general  designation 
of  "  Nebraska,"  and  is  now  about  being 
offered  for  settlement  under  territorial  or- 
ganization, and  to  be  divided  into  two  or 
more  territories — hereafter  in  due  course 
of  time  to  come  into  our  union  of  States. 
And  a  nice  little  slice  of  territory  it  is, 
being  somewhat  larger  than  all  me  ori- 
ginal thirteen  States  that  achieved  our 
Independence  put  together. 

Here,  with  almost  every  vareity  of  soil, 
climate,  and  production,  our  expansive 
genius  will  find  "  ample  room  and  verge 
enough."  Why,  the  Boston  ice-merchant 
will  be  able  to  hew  huge  chunks  of 
solid  ice  from  the  topmost  peaks  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  for  shipment  to  India, 
China,  or  elsewhere ! 

Having  thus  "  located  "  the  region  which 
has  been  comprehended  under  this  general 
designation,  let  us  briefly  glance  now  at 
its  proposed  subdivisions.  It  is  proposed 
that  all  north  of  40^  parallel  of  north 
latitude  shall  be  known  and  organized  as 


458 


Nebraska. 


Pfaj 


«  Nebraska."  All  south  of  40^  as  «  Kan- 
sas." To  settle  up  the  region  which  will 
be  known  as  Nebraska,  except  certain 
portions  of  it,  will,  we  take  it,  be  a  work 
of  time  and  circumstances.  In  a  northern 
latitude,  cold  in  climate,  and  with  much 
sterile  soil,  whilst  at  the  same  time  the 
range  and  habitation  of  some  of  the 
wildest  and  most  savage  of  the  nomadic 
tribes  of  Indians,  but  few  at  present  look 
to  it  for  immediate  settlement.  But,  to- 
wards the  rich  and  fertile  region  south  of 
40^  squatters  and  speculators  are  alike 
looking  with  greedy  eyes. 

Listen  to  Fremont,  describing  (in  1842) 
a  part  of  this  region — that  on  the  "  little 
Blue"  river. 

"  Our  route  lay  in  the  valley,  which, 
bordered  by  hills  with  graceful  slopes, 
looked  uncommonly  green  and  beautiful. 
The  stream  was  fringed  with  cotton- wood 
and  willow,  with  frequent  groves  of  oak, 
tenanted  by  flocks  of  wild  turkeys.  Elk 
were  seen  on  the  hills,  and  now  and  then 
an  antelope  bounded  across  our  path,  or  a 
deer  broke  from  the  groves." 

Captain  Emory,  of  the  Topographical 
Corps,  describing  another  portion — that 
between  Fort  Leavenworth  and  the  Paw- 
nee Fork — says : 

^^The  country  is  high  rolling  prairie, 
traversed  by  many  streams.  Trees  are 
seen  only  along  the  margin  of  the  streams, 
and  the  generid  appearance  of  the  country 
is  that  of  vast  rolling  fields  inclosed  with 
colossal  hedges.  The  growth  along  these 
streams  as  they  approach  the  eastern  part 
of  the  section  under  consideration  consists 
of  burr  oak,  black  walnut,  chesnut  oak, 
black  oak,  long  leaved  willow,  sycamore, 
buckeye,  hackl^rry,  and  sumacn ;  towards 
the  west,  as  you  approach  the  99th  meri- 
dian of  longtitude,  the  growth  along  the 
streams  bea>mes  almost  exclusively  cot- 
ton-wood. At  meridian,  99  Greenwich, 
the  country  becomes  almost  entirely 
barren." 

A  tract  of  country  extending  300  miles 
north  and  south  afong  the  state  of  Mis- 
souri, and  about  40  miles  wide,  is  set  apart 
for  the  Indians  under  treaties  heretofore 
entered  into  between  them  and  the  govern- 
ment About  twelve  or  fourteen  thousand 
Indians  occupy  this  whole  section,  but 
will  soon  be  moved  elsewhere  by  other 
treaties.  The  land  thus  occupied  by  them 
comprises  some  of  the  richest  and  most 
desirable  portions  of  what  is  the  proposed 
Kansas  Territory. 

When,  during  the  session  of  1853.  leave 
was  asked  in  the  House  of  Bepresentatives 


to  introduce  a  bill  to  organize  "Nebraska," 
how  few  of  us,  comparatively,  cared,  or 
knew  very  definitely,  what  or  where  the 
proposed  Territory  was!  True,  we  all 
had  a  vague  sort  of  a  notion  that  it  lay 
somewhere  away  out  west  towards  Uie 
Bocky  Mountains,  but  it  was  then  a  matr 
tcr  that  did  not  concern  us  very  nearly. 
And  now  ^*  Nebraska"  has  been  echoed 
from  the  halls  of  Congress  to  the  people. 
and  from  the  people  back  to  the  halls  of 
Congress.  And  more  speeches  have  been 
made  about  it  than  could  have  been  im- 
agined six  months  ago.  Nebraska  has  be- 
come of  a  sudden  a  great  name  in  our 
history,  like  that  of  a  field  made  fiunous 
by  a  great  battle. 

Well  do  we  remember— rit  was  in  the 
spring  of  1851 — how  the  monotonous  life 
of  the  inhabitants  of  the  various  Missouri 
Biver  towns  was  broken  in  upon  by  the 
advent  among  them  of  a  mysterious  look- 
ing individual,  who  travelled  with  a  car- 
pet-sack slung  across  his  shouldere.  and 
who  paid  his  way  wherever  he  went  by 
'^  phrenologkad  "  lectures  and  examinations. 
At  each  place  where  he  was  wont  to  stop 
he  made  known  the  object  of  his  visit  out 
West,  stating  it  to  be  to  get  up  a  company 
of  explorers  and  settlers  for  Nebraska. 
He  claimed  to  belong  to  the  "  vote-yoor- 
self-a-fann"  party,  and  held  that  the  In- 
dians had  no  right  to  keep  such  fine  lands 
as  Nebraska  was  represented  to  ocmtain. 
Wherever  he  went  he  lectured  in  private 
on  the  rights  of  property,  and  in  public  on 
the  science  of  phrenology.  Whilst  just 
as  certainly  wherever  he  appeared  the 
boys  always  treated  him  to  a  little  oi  that 
peculiar  game  known  out  West  as  **  rot- 
ten-egging." Such  was  the  state  of  publiD 
opinion  in  regard  to  the  Nebraska  move- 
ment just  tl^  years  ago.  At  the  end 
of  some  months'  unsuccessful  efforts  be 
finally  started  from  Fort  Leavenworth  to 
accomplish  his  mission,  attended  bv  two 
or  three  followers  half-equipped.  A  few 
days  journeying  took  him  as  fiu"  as  the 
Iowa  Mission,  at  the  Nemahaw  agency ; 
here  he  was  seized  with  a  fever,  ami  died 
among  the  good  folks  of  the  Mission.  He 
was  buried  in  Nebraska,  and  with  him 
his  scheme. 

The  mysterious  indivklual*  we  have 
thus  introduced  to  the  reader  was  at  one 
time  of  considerable  notoriety ;  a  native  of 
New  York,  and  one  of  the  whilome 
Canadian  '-  Patriots,"  tried  some  years 
ago  for  engaging  in  the  project  of  annex- 
Bull's  little  strip  of  the  Canadas 


ing  John 

to  Brother  Jonathan's  broad  domain. 


So 


*  Ctoncnl  Thomia  Jeffmon  BomtlMiknd. 


1854.] 


Nebraska, 


459 


far  as  we  are  infoimed,  he  it  was  who  was 
the  first  public  advocate  for,  and  overt 
actor  in,  the  movement  to  organize  and 
settle  Nebraska.  But  the  politicians  have 
'-stolen  his  thunder,"  whilst  he  in  Ne- 
braska sleeps  the  sleep  that  knows  no 
waking. 

There  is  a  vague  suspicion  that  the 
chairman  of  the  committee  on  territories 
had  it  in  contemplation  in  1844  to  intro- 
duce a  bill  for  its  organization.  A  claim 
has  been  put  in  for  a  distinguished  sena- 
tor, who  is  said  to  have  had  it  in  view 
again  in  1850.  But  there  was  no  "  overt 
act" — as  the  lawyers  say — and  there  it 
rested  where  it  began,  in  the  minds  of 
those  who  had  conceived  it  No  one  was 
safely  delivered  of  the  grand  idea. 

Just  one  year  after  this  effort,  as  we 
have  narrated  it,  some  of  the  Indian  agents 
and  government  attach6s  at  the  various 
trading  posts,  along  with  the  traders, 
sommenced  agitating  the  subject  of  organ- 
ization, held  a  meeting  or  so,  and  shortly 
organized  primary  meetings  for  the  selec- 
tion of  a  delegate  to  go  on  to  Washington. 
The  thing  was  now  seriously  started. 
Half  a  score  or  more  entered  the  lists  as 
candidates,  and  finally,  after  the  usual 
amount  of  electioneering  and  "  treating," 
a  trader  living  happily  among  them  was 
chosen  to  the  honor  of  paying  his  own  ex- 
penses on  to  Washington  as  Nebraska 
Delegate.  This  was  in  1852.  When  the 
American  Representatives  met  at  Wash- 
ington in  "Congress  assembled"  the  Ne- 
braska Delegate  was  there  among  them  to 
attend  to  the  interests  of  his  constituents. 

On  the  2d  of  February.  1853,  unani- 
mous leave  of  the  House  of  Representa- 
tives was  asked  and  granted  to  introduce 
a  bill  '•  to  organize  the  Territory  of  Ne- 
braska." On  the  lOth  of  February  this 
bill  passed  by  a  large  majority,  but  was 
not  brought  to  the  vote  in  the  Senate. 
The  Territory  embraced  in  this  bill  ex- 
tended only  from  36''  30^  parallel  north 
latitude  to  the  43d  parallel,  and  from  the 
Missouri  River  to  the  Rocky  Mountains ; 
bearing  only  a  small  proportion  to  that 
which  is  now  proposed  for  organization. 

In  1853,  a  new  Delegate  was  chosen — 
in  fact  two  or  more  claimed  the  right  to 
the  post  of  honor — and,  on  the  4th 
of  January,  1853,  Douglass  of  Illinois 
introduced  in  the  Senate  his  Nebraska 
bill ;  followed  upon  the  23d  of  the  same 
month  with  certain  other  amendments, 
bounding  and  subdividing  the  Territory 
substantially,  as  we  have  herein  endeavor- 
od  to  set  forth. 

To  sum  up:  Thus  we  have,  in  the 
spring  of  1851,  just  three  years  ago,  an 


ex-Canadian  "  Patriot "  first  publicly 
agitating  the  subject  and  getting  "  rotten- 
©gg©^"  f*>r  his  pains.  One  year  there- 
after, the  traders,  agents,  and  missionai-ics, 
all  told  not  over  a  hundred,  electing  a 
Delegate.  Six  months  more,  the  first 
bill  for  organization  passing  the  House  of 
Representatives.  In  another  six  months, 
a  new  bill,  substantially'',  passing  the 
Senate,  and  perhaps  ere  this  reaches  the 
eye  of  the  reader  becoming  the  law  of  the 
land,  or  perhaps  lying  over  to  another 
Congress.    Truly  we  live  in  a  fast  age ! 

Six  months  ago,  on  his  return  to  Wash- 
ington from  Nebraska,  where  he  had  been 
looking  into  matters,  the  Commissioner 
of  Indian  Affairs  declared  that  there  were 
not  three  white  men  in  the  whole  Terri- 
tory, residents,  other  than  Government 
attach^.  It  would  be  a  matter  of  some 
curiosity  could  we  lay  before  the  reader 
a  copy  of  the  "  poll  books "  used  at  the 
recent  election  for  Delegate.  There 
would  be  found  on  them  some  very  eu- 
phonious and  poetic  names  of  half-breeds, 
and  braves — in  fact,  perfect  "jaw-break- 
ers." 

We  would  not  startle  our  reader  at  all, 
but  we  are  compelled  to  inform  him,  in 
vindication  of  the  truth  of  history,  that 
there  is  already  a  newspaper  published 
semi-occasionally,  bearing  at  its  head  in 
flourishing  capitals  "  Nebraska  City,  Ne- 
braska Ty."  We  are  afraid,  however, 
that  he  will  be  still  more  startled  when 
we  inform  him  that  the  city  has  its  exist- 
ence as  yet  only  in  imagination,  and  its 
only  citizen  a  solitary  army  supernumer- 
ary in  charge  of  the  remnants  of  what 
once  was  old  Fort  Kearney.  Sub  rosa, 
we  would  whisper,  that  the  thing  isn't  an 
impossibility  at  all.  It  is  only  ^'gotten 
up "  and  printed  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  Missouri  River,  at  a  printing  oflBoe  in 
the  State  of  Iowa,  and  there  dated  and 
purporting  to  be  published  in  Nebraska. 
Possibly,  at  some  future  day  it  may  be- 
come the  official  gazette,  and  receive  some 
of  the  crumbs  of  patronage. 

The  peculiar  physical  formation  and 
developments  of  the  vast  region  we  have 
been  considering,  have  long  excited  the 
wonder,  and  engaged  the  study  of  men  of 
science.  Its  celebrated  tnauvaia  terres 
— a  sort  of  geographical  sphinx  among 
the  scientific  world— its  vast  plateaus 
of  table  land — the  singular  saline  efflo- 
rescenses  of  its  low  lands,  and  the  crus- 
taceous  formations  and  shells  along  the 
margins  of  its  streams ;  have  all  been  re- 
garded with  much  interest  by  the  eye  of 
science. 

Its  broad  Platto  River,  or  Nebraskai 


460 


The  EncantadaM^  or  Enchanted  Idea. 


[U.J 


sweeping  eastwardly  through  its  centre, 
and  the  romantic  Kaw  or  Kansas  skirting 
its  southern  border,  each  with  innumer- 
able tributary  streams,  fringed  with  val- 
]e3'^s  luxuriant  with  vegetation,  and  set 
off  with  huge  conical  sand  hills  thrown 
up  at  some  remote  period  from  the  bed 
of  the  streams  by  the  action  of  the  wind, 
and  rising  like  tall  towers  to  the  view ; 
its  vast  plains  stretching  out  east  and 
west  between  these  rivers,  covered  with 
tall  prairie  grass,  rolh'ng  like  the  sea ;  its 
climate  cold  in  certain  latitudes  almost  as 
the  polar  r^ons,  in  others  mild  and 
genial,  and  in  summer  fanned  by  breezes 
fresh  from  the  ice-ribbed  mountains !  All 
impel  us  to  pronounce  Nebraska  an  in- 
tensely interesting  region,  and  its  settle- 
ment a  vast  acquisition  to  the  trade  and 
commerce  of  the  gr^t  Mississippi  Valley. 
Acquired  by  us  originally  by  purchase 


from  a  foreign  Government^  bang  one  of 
the  appendages  to  the  oelebnted  ^Lonisl- 
ana  purciiase,"  our  Qovemment  for  tbe 
last  half  century  has  been  unceasing  in 
its  efforts  to  acquire  informatbn  conoero- 
ing  it.  From  the  time  when  Lewis  and 
Clarke  were  sent  out  on  their  menKnrafale 
expedition,  paddling  their  canoe  u]>  the 
mad  Missouri,  treating  and  trading  with 
Indians  on  either  side,  we  come  down  to 
the  expeditions  of  Long,  and  of  BonneviUe^ 
and  still  later  to  those  of  Fremont.  Since 
the  expeditions  of  the  last,  our  informa- 
tion has  been  considerably  added  to,  and 
the  Government  now  has  out,  we  belieTfl^ 
no  less  than  four  topographical  partieB, 
on  as  many  different  routes,  oolle^ng  in- 
formation, which,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  wfll 
be  ready  to  be  laid  before  the  oonntiT 
previous  to  the  adjournment  of  the  preaenl 
Congress. 


THE   ENCANTADAS,    OR   ENCHANTED   ISLBS. 

BY  SALVATOR  R.  TARNMOOR. 


(Concloded  from  page  86&i) 


BKBTOH  TENTH. 
HOOD*s  mut  AKD  ms  nzunr  obkrlus. 

**Tbat  dariceflome  glen  they  enter,  where  tiioy  find 
Thateorsed  man  low  sitting  on  the  ground, 
MosiDg  fiill  sadly  in  his  snliein  mind ; 
His  griesly  lockes  long  groaen  and  onbonnd. 
Disordered  bong  about  his  shoulders  round. 
And  bid  his  face,  through  which  bis  hollow  eyno 
Lookt  deadly  dull,  and  stared  as  astound ; 
His  raw-bon<*  cheekes,  through  ponnrlo  and  pine, 
Wore  shr(Hike  into  the  Jawea,  as  he  did  neror  din& 
His  garments  nought  but  many  ragged  clouts. 
With  tiiomes  together  pind  and  patched  reads, 
Tbe  which  his  n«ked  sides  be  wrapt  abouts."* 

SOUTHEAST  of  Crossman*s  Isle  lies 
Hood's  Isle,  or  McCain's  Beclouded 
Isle ;  and  upon  its  south  side  is  a  vitreous 
cove  with  a  wide  strand  of  dark  pounded 
black  lava,  called  Black  Beach,  or  Ober- 
lus's  Landing.  It  might  fitly  have  been 
styled  Charon's. 

It  received  its  name  from  a  wild  white 
creature  who  spent  many  years  here ;  in 
the  person  of  a  European  bringing  into 
this  savage  region  qualities  more  diabolical 
than  are  to  be  found  among  any  of  the 
surrounding  cannibals. 


About  half  a  century  ago,  Oberlns  de- 
serted at  the  above-named  island,  then, 
as  now,  a  solitude.  He  built  hiinself  a 
den  of  lava  and  clinkers,  about  a  mfle 
from  the  Landing,  subsequently  called 
after  him,  in  a  vale,  or  expanded  gokfa, 
containing  here  and  there  amone  the  rodu 
about  two  acres  of  soil  capable  of  rode 
cultivation ;  the  only  place  on  the  isle  not 
too  blas'ted  for  that  purpose.  H«re  he 
succeeded  in  raising  a  sort  of  degenerate 
potatoes  and  pumpkins,  whidi  fi^  time 
to  time  he  exchanged  with  needy  whale* 
men  passing,  for  spirits  or  dollars. 

His  appearance,  from  all  aocountSi  was 
that  of  Uie  victim  of  some  malignant  sor- 
ceress; he  seemed  to  have  drunk  of  Ciroe's 
cup ;  beast-like ;  rags  insufficient  to  hide 
his  nakedness ;  his  befreckled  skin  blis- 
tered by  continual  exposure  to  the  son ; 
nose  flat;  countenance  contorted,  heavy, 
earthy ;  hair  and  beard  unshorn,  profbse, 
and  of  a  fiery  red.  He  struck  strangers 
much  as  if  he  were  a  volcanic  creafiire 
thrown  up  by  the  same  convulsion  whidi 
exploded  into  sight  the  isle.  AUbepatched 
and  coiled  asleep  in  his  lonely  lava  den 
among  the  mountains,  he  looked,  they 
say,  as  a  heaped  drift  ii  withered  leaveii 


1854.] 


ne  Encaniadas^  cr  Enchanted  hies. 


461 


torn  from  autumn  trees,  and  so  left  in 
some  hidden  nook  by  the  whurling  halt 
for  an  instant   of  a  fierce    night-wind, 
which  then  ruthlessly  sweeps  on,  some- 
where else  to  repeat  the  capricious  act 
It  is  also  reposted  to  have  been  the  stran- 
gest sight,  this  same  Oberlus,  of  a  sultry, 
cloudy  morning,  hidden  under  his  shock- 
ing old  black  tarpaulin  hat,  hoeing  pota- 
toes among  the  lava.      So  warped  and 
crooked  was  his  strange  nature,  that  the 
yery  handle  of  his  hoe  seemed  gradually 
to  have  shrunk  and  twisted  in  bis  grasp^ 
being  a  wretched  bent  stick,  elbowed  more 
like  a  savage's  war-sickle  than  a  civilized 
hoe-handle.    It  was  his  mysterious  cus- 
tom upon  a  first  encounter  with  a Istranger 
ever  to  present  his  back;   possibly,  be- 
cause that  was  his  better  side,  since  it 
revealed  the  least.      If   the    encounter 
chanced  in  his  garden,  as  it  sometimes 
did — the  new-landed  strangers  going  from 
the  sea-side  straight  through  the  gorge, 
to  hunt  up  the  queer  green-grocer  reported 
doing  business  here — Oberlus  for  a  time 
hoed  on,  unmindful  of  all  greeting,  jovial 
or  bland  ;  as  the  curious  stranger  would 
turn  to  face  him,  the  recluse,  hoe  in  hand, 
as  diligently  would  avert  himself;  bowea 
over,  and  sullenly  revolving  round  his  mur- 
phy hill.  Thus  far  for  hoeing.  When  plant- 
ing, his  whole  aspect  and  all  his  gestures 
were  so  malevolently  and  uselessly  sinister 
and  secret,  that  he  seemed  rather  in  act  of 
dropping  poison  into  wells  than  potatoes 
into  soil.     But  among  his  lesser  and  more 
harmless  marvels  was  on  idea  he  ever  had, 
that  his  visitors  came  equally  as  well  led 
by  longings  to  behold  the  mighty  hermit 
Oberlus  in  his  royal  state  of  solitude,  as 
simply  to  obtain  potatoes,  or  find  what- 
ever company  might  bo  upon  a  barren 
isle.     It  seems  incredible  that  such  a 
being  should  possess  such  vanity ;  a  mis- 
anthrope be  conceited ;  but  he  really  had 
his  notion ;  and  upon  the  strength  of  it, 
often  mve  himself  amusing  airs  to  captains. 
JBat  liter  all,  this  is  somewhat  of  a  piece 
with  the  weU-known  eccentricity  of  some 
convicts,  proud  of  that  very  hatefulness 
which  makes  them  notorious.    At  other 
times,  another  unaccountable  whim  would 
aeize  him,  and  he  would  long  dodge  ad- 
vancing strangers  round  the  clinkered 
corners  of  his  hut ;    sometimes  like  a 
atealthy  bear,  he  would  slink  through  the 
'Withered  thickets  up  the  mountains,  and 
vcfose  to  see  the  human  face. 

Except  his  occasional  visitors  from  the 
•ea,  for  a  long  period,  the  onl^  companions 
of  Oberlus  were  the  crawlmg  tortoises ; 
maiA  he  seemed  more  than  degraded  to 
Ueir  level,  having  no  desires  for  a  time 


beyond  theirs,  unless  it  were  for  the  stu- 
por brought  on  by  drunkenness.  But 
sufficiently  debased  as  he  appeared,  there 
yet  lurked  in  him,  only  awaiting  occasion 
for  discovery,  a  still  further  proncness. 
Indeed  the  sole  superiority  of  Olirlus  over 
the  tortoises  was  his  possession  of  a  larger 
capacity  of  degradation  ;  and  along  with 
that,  something  like  an  intelligent  will  to 
it.  Moreover,  what  is  about  to  be  re- 
vealed, perhaps  will  show,  that  selfish 
ambition,  or  the  love  of  rule  for  its  own 
sake,  far  from  being  the  peculiar  infirmity 
of  noble  minds,  is  shared  by  beings  which 
have  no  mind  at  all.  No  creatures  are  so 
selfishly  tyrannical  as  some  brutes ;  as  any 
one  who  has  observed  the  tenants  of  the 
pasture  must  occasionally  have  observed. 

"This  island's  mine  by  Sycorax  my 
mother ; "  said  Oberlus  to  himself,  glaring 
round  upon  his  haggard  solitude.  By 
some  means,  barter  or  theft — for  in  those 
days  ships  at  intervals  still  kept  touching 
at  his  Landing — he  obtained  an  old  musket, 
with  a  few  charges  of  powder  and  ball. 
Possessed  of  arms,  he  was  stimulated  to 
enterprise,  as  a  tiger  that  first  feels  the 
coming  of  its  claws.  The  long  habit  of 
sole  dominion  over  every  object  round 
him,  his  almost  unbroken  solitude,  his 
never  encountering  humanity  except  on 
terms  of  misanthropic  independence,  or 
mercantile  craftiness,  and  even  such  en- 
counters being  comparatively  but  rare; 
all  this  must  have  gradually  nourished  in 
him  a  vast  idea  of  his  own  importance, 
together  vrith  a  pure  animal  sort  of  scorn 
for  all  the  rest  of  the  universe. 

The  unfortunate  Creole,  who  enjoyed 
his  brief  term  of  royalty  at  Charles's  Isle 
was  perhaps  in  some  degree  influenced  by 
not  unworthy  motives;  such  as  prompt 
other  adventurous  spirits  to  lead  colonists 
into  distant  regions  and  assume  political 
pre-eminence  over  them.  Ilis  summary 
execution  of  many  of  his  Peruvians  is  quite 
pardonable,  considering  the  desperate 
characters  lie  had  to  deal  with ;  while  his 
ofiering  canine  battle  to  the  banded  rebels 
seems  under  the  circumstances  altogether 
just.  But  for  this  King  Oberlus  and 
what  shortly  follows,  no  shade  of  pallia- 
tion can  be  given.  He  acted  out  of  mere 
delight  in  tyranny  and  cruelty,  by  virtue 
of  a  quality  m  him  inherited  from  Sycorax 
his  mother.  Armed  now  with  that  sbodc- 
ing  blunderbuss,  strong  in  the  thought 
of  being  master  of  that  horrid  isle,  he 
panted  tor  a  chance  to  prove  his  potency 
upon  the  fh^t  specimen  of  humanity  whksh 
should  fall  unbefriended  into  his  hands. 

Nor  was  he  long  without  it.  One  day 
he  spied  a  boat  upon  the  beach,  with  one 


462 


The  Bneantada8,  or  Enchanted  Idee. 


[May 


man,  a  negro,  standing  by  it  Some  dis- 
tance off  was  a  ship,  and  Oberlus  imme- 
diately knew  how  matters  stood.  The 
yessel  had  put  in  for  wood,  and  the  boat's 
crew  had  gone  into  the  thickets  for  it 
From  a  convenient  spot  he  kept  watch 
of  the  boat  till  presently  a  straggling 
company  appeared  loaded  with  billets. 
Throwing  these  on  the  beach,  they  again 
went  into  the  thickets,  while  the  negro 
proceeded  to  load  the  boat 

Oberlus  now  makes  all  haste  and  ac- 
costs the  negro,  who  aghast  at  seeing  any 
living  being  inhabiting  such  a  solitude, 
and  especially  so  horrific  a  one,  immedi- 
ately falls  into  a  panic,  not  at  all  lessened 
by  the  ursine  suavity  of  Oberlus,  who  begs 
the  favor  of  assisting  him  in  his  labors. 
The  negro  stands  with  several  biUets  on 
his  shoulder,  in  act  of  shouldering  others ; 
and  Oberlus,  with  a  short  cord  concealed 
in  his  bosom,  kindly  proceeds  to  lift  those 
other  billets  to  thei^  place.  In  so  doing 
he  persists  in  keeping  behind  the  negro, 
who  rightly  suspicious  of  this,  in  vain 
dodges  about  to  gain  the  front  of  Oberlus; 
but  Oberlus  dodges  also  ;  till  at  last, 
weary  of  this  bootless  attempt  at  treach- 
ery, or  fearful  of  being  surprised  by  the 
remainder  of  the  party,  Oberlus  runs  off 
a  little  space  to  a  bush,  and  fetching  his 
blunderbuss,  savagely  demands  the  negro 
to  desist  work  and  follow  him.  He  re- 
fuses. Whereupon,  presenting  his  piece, 
Oberlus  snaps  at  him.  Luckily  the  blun- 
derbuss misses  fire;  but  by  this  time, 
frightened  out  of  his  wits,  tlie  negro,  upon 
a  second  intrepid  summons  drops  his  bil- 
lets, surrenders  at  discretion,  and  follows 
on.  By  a  narrow  defile  familiar  to  him, 
Oberlus  speedily  removes  out  of  sight  of 
the  water. 

On  their  way  up  the  mountains,  he 
exultingly  informs  the  negro,  that  hence- 
forth he  is  to  work  for  him.  and  be  his 
slave,  and  that  his  treatment  would  en- 
tirely depend  on  his  future  conduct  But 
Oberlus,  deceived  by  the  first  impulsive 
cowardice  of  the  black,  in  an  evil  moment 
slackens  his  vigilance.  Passing  through 
a  narrow  way,  and  perceiving  his  leader 
quite  off  his  guard,  the  negro^  a  powerful 
fellow,  suddenly  grasps  him  m  his  arms, 
throws  him  down,  wrests  his  musketoon 
from  him,  tics  his  hands  with  the  monster's 
own  cord,  shoulders  him,  and  returns  with 
him  down  to  the  boat  When  the  rest 
of  the  party  arrive,  Oberlus  is  carried  on 
board  the  ship.  This  proved  an  English- 
man, and  a  smuggler ;  a  sort  of  crau  not 
apt  to  be  over-charitable.  Oberlus  is 
severely  whipped,  then  handcuffed,  taken 
ashore,  and  compelled  to  make  known  his 


habitation  and  produce  his  property,  ffis 
potatoes,  pumpkins,  and  tortoises,  vrith  a 
pile  of  dollars  he  had  hoarded  from  his 
mercantile  operations  were  secured  on  the 
spot.  But  while  the  too  vindictiYe  smo^ 
glers  were  busy  destroying  his  hut  awl 
garden,  Oberlus  makes  his  escape  into  the 
mountains,  and  conceals  himself  there  in 
impenetrable  recesses,  only  known  to  him- 
self, till  the  ship  sails,  when  he  ventures 
back,  and  by  means  of  an  old  file  whidi 
he  sticks  into  a  tree,  contrives  to  free  him- 
self from  his  handcuffs. 

Brooding  among  the  rains  of  his  hnt^ 
and  the  desolate  dinkers  and  extinct  vol- 
canoes of  this  outcast  isle,  tbe  insulted 
misanthfope  now  meditates  a  signal  re- 
venge upon  humanity,  bat  oooceals  his 
purposes.  Vessels  still  toodi  tbid  TAwHwyg 
at  times ;  and  by  and  by  Oberlos  is  en- 
abled to  supply  them  vrith  some  Tcge- 
tables. 

Warned  by  his  former  failure  in  kid- 
napping strangers,  he  now  pursues  a  quite 
different  plan.  When  seamen  come  ashore^ 
he  makes  up  to  them  like  a  free-and-eaqr 
comrade,  invites  them  to  his  hut  and 
with  whatever  affability  his  red-haired 
grimness  may  assume,  entreats  them  to 
drink  his  liquor  and  be  merry.  Bat  his 
guests  need  little  pressing;  and  so,  soon 
as  rendered  insensible,  are  tied  hand  and 
foot  and  pitched  among  the  clinkers,  are 
there  concealed  till  the  ship  departs,  when 
finding  themselves  entirely  dependent 
upon  Oberlus,  alarmed  at  his  changed 
demeanor,  his  savage  threats,  and  above 
all,  that  shocking  blunderbuss,  they  will- 
ingly enlist  under  him,  becoming  his 
humble  slaves,  and  Oberlos  the  most  in- 
credible of  tyrants.  So  much  so,  that  two 
or  three  perish  beneath  his  initiatinr 
process.  He  sets  the  remainder — ^foar  oi 
them — to  breaking  the  caked  soil ;  trus- 
porting  upon  their  backs  loads  of  loamy 
earth,  scooped  up  in  moist  clefts  among 
the  mountains ;  keeps  them  on  the  roag^ 
est  fare ;  presents  his  piece  at  the  sl^htcst 
hint  of  insurrectk>n ;  and  in  all  reqiects 
converts  them  into  reptiles  at  his  feet; 
plebeian  garter-snakes  to  this  Lord  Ana- 
conda. 

At  last,  Oberlus  contrives  to  stock  his 
arsenal  with  four  rusty  cutlasses,  and  an 
added  supply  of  powder  and  ball  intended 
for  his  blunderbuss.  Remitting  in  good 
part  the  labor  of  his  slaves,  he  now  ap* 
proves  himself  a  man,  or  rather  devil,  of 
great  abilities  in  the  way  of  ogoling  or 
coercing  others  into  acquiescence  with  his 
own  ulterior  designs,  however  at  first  ab* 
horrent  to  them.  But  indeed,  prepared 
for  almost  any  eventual  evil  by  their 


1854.] 


The  Eneantadas^  or  Enchanted  Idee. 


408 


preyiotis  lawless  life,  as  a  sort  of  ranging 
Cow-Boys  of  the  sea,  which  had  dissolved 
within  them  the  whole  moral  man,  so  that 
they  were  ready  to  concrete  in  the  first 
offered  mould  of  baseness  now ;  rotted 
down  from  manhood  by  their  hopeless 
misery  on  the  isle ;  wonted  to  cringe  in 
all  things  to  their  lord,  himself  the  worst 
of  slaves ;  these  wretches  were  now  be- 
come wholly  corrupted  to  his  hands.  He 
used  them  as  creatures  of  an  inferior  race ; 
in  short,  he  gaffles  his  four  animals,  and 
makes  murderers  of  them ;  out  of  cowards 
fitly  manufacturing  bravos. 

Now,  sword  or  dagger,  human  arms  are 
but  artificial  claws  and  fangs,  tied  on  like 
false  spurs  to  the  fighting  cock.  So,  we 
repeat,  Oberlua,  czar  of  the  isle,  gaffles 
his  four  subjects ;  that  is.  with  intent  of 
glory,  puts  four  rusty  cutlasses  into  their 
hands.  Like  any  other  autocrat,  he  had 
a  noble  army  now. 

It  might  be  thought  a  servile  war  would 
hereupon  ensue.  Arms  in  the  hands  of 
trodden  slaves  ?  how  indiscreet  of  Em- 
perors, Oberlus!  Nay.  they  had  but 
cutlasses — sad  old  scythes  enough — he  a 
blunderbuss,  which  by  its  blind  scatter- 
ings of  all  sorts  of  boulders,  clinkers  and 
other  scoria  would  annihilate  all  four 
mutineers,  like  four  pigeons  at  one  shot 
Besides,  at  first  he  did  hot  sleep  in  his 
accustomed  hut ;  every  lurid  sunset,  for 
a  time,  he  might  have  been  seen  wending 
his  way  among  the  riven  moimtains, 
there  to  secret  himself  till  dawn  in  some 
sulphurous  pitfall,  undiscoverable  to  his 
gang ;  but  finding  this  at  last  too  trouble- 
some, he  now  each  evening  tied  his  slaves 
hand  and  foot,  hid  the  cutlasses,  and 
thrusting  them  into  his  barracks,  shut  to 
the  door,  and  lying  down  before  it,  be- 
neath a  rude  shed  lately  added,  sl^pt  out 
the  night,  blunderbuss  in  hand. 

It  is  supposed  that  not  content  with 
daily  parading  over  a  cindery  solitude  at 
the  head  of  his  fine  army,  Oberlus  now 
meditated  the  most  active  mischief;  his 
probable  object  being  to  surprise  some 
passing  ship  touching  at  his  dominions, 
massacre  the  crew,  and  run  away  with 
her  to  parts  unknown.  While  these  plans 
were  simmering  in  his  head,  two  ships 
touch  in  company  at  the  isle,  on  the  oppo- 
site side  to  his;  when  his  designs  undergo 
%  sudden  change. 

The  ships  are  in  want  of  vegetables, 
'Which  Oberlus  promises  in  great  abun- 
^lance,  provided  they  send  their  boats 
»ouud  to  his  landing,  so  that  the  crews 
xnay  bring  the  vegetables  from  his  garden ; 
Informing  the  two  captains,  at  the  same 
4ime,  that  his  rascals — slaves  and  soldiers 


— had  become  so  abominably  lazy  and 
good-for-nothing  of  late,  that  he  could  not 
make  them  work  by  ordinary  induce- 
ments, and  did  not  have  the  heart  to  be 
severe  with  them. 

The  arrangement  was  agreed  to,  and 
the  boats  were  sent  and  hauled  upon  the 
beach.  The  crews  went  to  the  lava  hut ; 
but  to  their  surprise  nobody  was  there. 
After  waiting  till  their  patience  was  ex- 
hausted, they  returned  to  the  shore,  when 
lo,  some  stranger — not  the  Good  Samari- 
tan either — seems  to  have  very  recently 
passed  that  way.  Three  of  the  boats 
were  broken  in  a  thousand  pieces,  and  the 
fourth  was  missing.  By  hard  toil  over  the 
mountains  and  through  the  clinkers,  some 
of  the  strangers  succeeded  in  returning  to 
that  side  of  the  isle  where  the  ships  lay, 
when  fresh  boats  are  sent  to  the  relief  of 
the  rest  of  the  hapless  party. 

However  amazed  at  the  treachery  of 
Oberlus,  the  two  captains  afraid  of  new 
and  still  more  mysterious  atrocities, — and 
indeed,  half  imputing  such  strange  events 
to  the  enchantments  associated  with  these 
isles. — perceive  no  security  but  in  instant 
flight ;  leaving  Oberlus  and  his  army  in 
quiet  possession  of  the  stolen  boat. 

On  the  eve  of  sailing  they  put  a  letter 
in  a  keg,  giving  the  Pacific  Ocean  intelli- 
gence of  the  affair,  and  moored  the  keg  in 
the  bay.  Some  time  subsequent,  the  keg 
was  opened  by  another  captain  chancing 
to  anchor  there,  but  not  until  after  he  had 
dispatched  a  boat  round  to  Obcrlus's  Land- 
ing. As  may  be  readily  surmised,  he  felt 
no  little  inquietude  till  the  boat's  return ; 
when  another  letter  was  handed  him, 
giving  Oberlus's  version  of  the  affair.  This 
precious  document  had  been  found  pinned 
half-mildewed  to  the  clinker  wall  of  the 
sulphurous  and  deserted  hut  It  ran  as 
follows ;  showing  that  Oberlus  was  at 
least  an  accomplished  writer,  and  no  mere 
boor ;  and  what  is  more,  was  capable  of 
the  most  tristful  eloquence. 

**Sir:  I  am  the  most  unfortunate  ill- 
treated  gentleman  that  lives.  I  am  a 
patriot,  exiled  from  country  by  the  cruel 
hand  of  tyranny. 

^*  Banished  to  these  Enchanted  Isles.  I 
have  again  and  again  besought  captams 
of  ships  to  sell  me  a  boat,  but  always 
have  been  refused,  though  I  offered  the 
handsomest  prices  in  Mexican  dollars. 
At  length  an  opportunity  presented  of 
possessing  myself  of  one,  and  I  did  not 
let  it  slip. 

"  I  have  been  long  endeavoring  by  hard 
labor  and  much  solitary  suffering  to  accu- 
mulate something  to  make  myself  com- 
fortable in  a  virtuous  though  uuhappy 


464 


7^  Encantadaa^  or  Enchanted  Islei. 


\Mmj 


old  age ;  bat  at  various  times  have  been 
robbed  and  beaten  by  men  professing  to 
be  Christians. 

"To-day  I  sail  from  the  Enchanted 
group  in  the  good  boat  Charity  bound 
to  the  Feejce  Isles. 

"Fatherless  Oberlus. 

*'  P,  S. — Behind  the  clinkers,  nigh  the 
oven,  you  will  find  the  old  fowl.  Do  not 
kill  it ;  be  patient ;  I  leave  it  setting ;  if  it 
shall  have  any  chicks,  I  hereby  bequeathe 
them  to  you,  whoever  you  may  be.  But 
don't  count  your  chicks  before  they  are 
hatched." 

The  fowl  proved  a  starveling  rooster, 
reduced  to  a  sitting  posture  by  sheer 
debility. 

Oberlus  declares  that  he  was  bound  to 
the  Feejce  Isles;  but  this  was  only  to 
throw  pursuers  on  a  false  scent.  For 
after  a  long  time  he  arrived,  alone  in  his 
open  boat,  at  Guayaquil.  As  his  mis- 
creants were  never  again  beheld  on  Hood's 
Isle,  it  is  supposed,  either  that  they  per- 
ished for  want  of  water  on  the  passage 
to  Guayaquil,  or,  what  is  quite  as  prob- 
able, were  thrown  overboard  by  Ober- 
lus, when  he  found  tlie  water  growing 
scarce. 

From  Guayaquil  Oberlus  proceeded  to 
Payta;  and  there,  with  that  nameless 
witchery  peculiar  to  some  of  the  ugliest 
animals,  wound  himself  into  the  affections 
of  a  tawny  damsel ;  prevailing  upon  her 
to  accompany  him  back  to  his  Enchanted 
Isle;  which  doubtless  he  painted  as  a 
Paradise  of  flowers,  not  a  Tartarus  of 
clinkers. 

But  unfortunately  for  the  colonization 
of  Hood's  Isle  with  a  choice  variety  of 
animated  nature,  the  extraordinary  and 
devilish  aspect  or  Oberlus  made  him  to  be 
regarded  in  Payta  as  a  highly  suspicious 
character.  So  that  being  found  concealed 
one  night,  with  matches  in  his  pocket, 
under  the  hull  of  a  small  vessel  just  ready 
to  be  launched,  ho  was  seized  and  thrown 
into  jail. 

The  jails  in  most  South  American 
towns  are  generally  of  the  least  whole- 
some sort.  Built  of  huge  cakes  of  sun- 
burnt brick,  and  containing  but  one  room, 
without  windows  or  yard,  and  but  one 
door  heavily  grated  with  wooden  bars, 
they  present  both  within  and  without  the 
grimmest  aspect  As  public  edifices  they 
conspicuously  stand  upon  the  hot  and 
dusty  Plaza,  offering  to  view,  through 
the  gratings,  their  villanous  ana  hopeless 
inmates,  burrowing  in  all  sorts  of  tragic 
squalor.  And  here,  for  a  long  time  Ober- 
lus was  seen;  the  central  figure  of  a 
mongrel  and  assassin  band;  a  creature 


whom  it  is  religion  to  detest,  sinoe  it  it 
philanthropy  to  hate  a  misanthrope. 

2Me,'-Tbty  who  mtf  b«  dfapowd  to  qnttttM  ttt 
possibility  of  the  chuseter  abm  dqrfetodt  an  n> 
temd  to  the  8d  ToL  of  PMter*t  Yojag*  Into  tk« 
Pacific  where  tbef  will  reoognlM  manj  aentaMM, 
for  expedition's  sake  derived  Terbatlin  Urom  theneiy 
and  incorporated  here;  the  main  differenee-4aT«  a 
few  passing  reflectiona— between  the  two  aeeuunh 
being,  that  the  present  writer  baa  added  to  Portei^ 
Dusts  accessory  ones  picked  np  in  tbo  Paeiile  ftoa  vt- 
liablo  sources ;  and  where  fkcta  eonfllet,  baa  naCanQf 
prolbrred  hla  own  antboritiea  to  Portet^ii  Am^  lot 
instance,  his  aathorlUea  pUoe  Oberioa  on  Hood^ 
Isle :  Porter's,  on  Charles's  Isle.  The  letter  JboBd  la 
the  hnt  is  also  somewhat  diflierent,  for  whde  at  tka 
Encantadas  he  was  informed  that  not  only  did  It 
evince  a  certain  derkllness,  bnt  waa  ftall  of  the  atna- 
gest  satiric  effrontery  which  does  not  adequately  ip* 
pear  in  Porter's  versioa  I  accordingly  attend  it  to 
salt  the  general  charaq^r  of  its  antlior. 


8K£TCn  ELEVENTH. 

SUKAWATS,    0ASTAWAT8,    SOUTAUH,    Q^kTB' 

BTONsa,  ara 

**  And  all  aboat  old  stocks  and  stnba  of  traea, 
Whereon  nor  fhiit  nor  leaf  waa  erar  aaan, 
Did  hang  upon  the  ragged  knotty  knaea, 
On  which  had  many  wrstdies  banged  been.* 

Some  relics  of  the  hut  of  Oberlus  par- 
tially remain  to  this  daj  at  the  head 
of  the  clinkercd  Talley.  Nor  does  the 
stranger  wandering  among  other  of  the 
Enchanted  Isles  fail  to  stumble  upon  still 
other  solitary  abodes,  long  abanckmed  to 
the  tortoise  and  the  lizard.  Probably  few 
parts  of  earth  have  in  modem  times 
sheltered  so  many  solitaries.  The  reason 
is,  that  these  isles  are  situated  in  a  dktant 
sea,  and  the  vessels  which  oocasioDally 
visit  them  are  mostly  all  whalers,  or  ships 
bound  on  dreary  and  protracted  Toyagifc 
exempting  them  in  a  good  degree  finom 
both  the  oversight  and  the  memory  of 
human  law.  Such  is  the  character  of 
some  commanders  and  some  seamen,  that 
under  these  untoward  drcumstanoes.  H  is 
quite  impossible  but  that  scenes  of  un* 
pleasantness  and  discord  should  occur  be- 
tween them.  A  sullen  hatred  of  the 
tyrannic  ship  will  seize  the  saiknr,  and  he 
gladly  exchanges  it  for  isles,  which  ihoa^ 
blighted  as  by  a  continual  sirocco  tad 
burning  breeze,  still  offer  him  in  their 
labyrinthine  interior,  a  retreat  beyond  the 
possibility  of  capture.  To  flee  the  ship 
in  any  Peruvian  or  Chilian  port,  even  the 
smallest  and  most  rustical  is  not  miat' 
tended  with  great  risk  of  apfHvhennoii, 
not  to  speak  of  jaeuars.  A  reward  of  five 
pesos  sends  fifty  dastardly  Spaniards  into 


1854.] 


Th£  SncanUxdaij  cr  Enchanted  Isles. 


465 


the  woods,  who  with  long  knives  scour 
them  day  and  night  in  eager  hopes  of 
secoring  their  prej.  Neither  is  it,  in 
genend,  much  easier  to  escape  pursuit  at 
the  isles  of  Polynesia.  Those  of  them 
which  have  felt  a  civilizing  influence  pre- 
sent the  same  difiBculty  to  the  runaway 
with  the  Peruvian  ports.  The  advanced 
natives  being  quite  as  mercenary  and 
keen  of  ki^e  and  scent,  as  the  retrograde 
Spaniards ;  while,  owing  to  the  bad  odor 
in  which  all  Europeans  lie  in  the  minds 
of  aboriginal  savages  who  have  chanced 
to  hear  aught  of  them,  to  desert  the  ship 
among  primitive  Polynesians,  is,  in  most 
cases,  a  hope  not  imforlom.  Hence  the 
Enchanted  Isles  become  the  voluntary 
tarrying  places  of  all  sorts  of  refugees ; 
some  of  whom  too  sadly  experience  the 
fact  that  flight  from  tyranny  does  not  of 
itself  insure  a  safe  asylum,  far  less  a  happy 
home. 

Moreover,  it  has  not  seldom  happened 
that  hermits  have  been  made  upon  the 
isles  by  the  accidents  incident  to  tortoise- 
hunting.  The  interior  of  most  of  them 
is  tangled  and  difScult  of  passage  beyond 
description ;  the  air  is  sultry  and  stifling ; 
an  intolerable  thirst  is  provoked,  for  which 
no  running  stream  oflers  its  kind  relief. 
In  a  few  hours,  under  an  equatorial  sun, 
reduced  by  these  causes  to  entire  exhaus- 
tion, woe  betida  the  straggler  at  the  En- 
chanted Ides !  Their  extent  is  such  as  to 
forbid  an  adequate  search  unless  weeks 
are  devoted  to  it  The  impatient  ship 
waits  a  day  or  two ;  when  the  missing 
man  remaining  undiscovered,  up  goes  a 
stake  on  the  beach,  with  a  letter  of  regret, 
and  a  keg  of  crackers  and  another  of 
water  tied  to  it,  and  away  sails  the  craft. 
Nor  have  there  been  wanting  instances 
where  the  inhumanity  of  some  captains 
has  led  them  to  wreak  a  secure  revenge 
upon  seamen  who  have  given  their  caprice 
or  pride  some  singular  offence.  Thrust 
ashore  upon  the  scorching  marl,  such 
mariners  are  abandoned  to  perish  out- 
right, anless  by  solitary  labors  they  suo- 
c^  in  discovering  some  precious  dribblets 
of  moisture  oozing  from  a  rock  or  stag- 
nant in  a  mountain  pool. 

I  was  well  acquainted  with  a  man,  who, 
lost  upon  the  isle  of  Narborough,  wa^ 
brought  to  such  extremes  by  thirst,  that 
mt  last  he  only  saved  his  life  bv  taking 
that  of  another  being.  A  large  hair-seal 
eaine  upon  the  beach.  He  rushed  upon 
It,  stabbed  it  in  the  neck,  and  then  throw- 
hag  himself  upon  the  panting  body  quaffed 
%t  the  living  wound ;  the  ^pitations  of 
the  creature's  dying  heart  injecting  life 
into  the  drinker. 


Another  seaman  thrust  ashore  in  a 
boat  upbn  an  isle  at  which  no  ship  ever 
touched,  owing  to  its  peculiar  sterility 
and  the  shoals  about  it,  and  from  wlxich 
all  other  parts  of  the  group  were  hidden ; 
this  man  feeling  that  it  was  sure  death  to 
remain  there,  and  that  nothing  worse  than 
death  menaced  him  in  quitting  it,  killed 
two  seals,  and  inflating  their  skins,  made 
a  float,  upon  which  he  transported  himself 
to  Charles's  Island,  and  joined  the  repub- 
lic there. 

But  men  not  endowed  with  courage 
equal  to  such  desperate  attempts,  And 
their  only  resource  in  forthwith  seeking 
for  some  watery  place,  however  precarious 
or  scanty;  building  a  hut;  catching  tor- 
toises and  birds ;  and  in  all  respects  pre- 
paring for  hermit  life,  till  tide  or  time,  or 
a  passing  ship  arrives  to  float  them  off. 

At  the  foot  of  precipices  on  many  of 
the  isles,  small  rude  basins  in  the  rocks 
are  found,  partly  filled  with  rotted  rub- 
bish or  vegetable  decay,  or  overgrown 
with  thickets,  and  sometimes  a  little  moist ; 
which,  upon  examination,  reveal  plain 
tokens  of  artificial  instruments  employed 
in  hollowing  them  out,  by  some  poor 
castaway  or  still  more  miserable  runaway. 
These  basins  are  made  in  places  where  it 
was  supposed  some  scanty  drops  of  dew 
might  exude  into  them  from  the  upper 
crevices. 

The  relics  of  hermitages  and  stone 
basins,  are  not  the  only  signs  of  vanishing 
humanity  to  be  found  upon  the  isles. 
And  cunous  to  say,  that  spot  which  of  all 
others  in  settled  communities  is  most 
animated,  at  the  Enchanted  Isles  presents 
the  most  dreary  of  aspects.  And  though 
it  may  seem  very  strange  to  talk  of  post- 
offices  in  this  barren  region,  yet  post- 
offices  are  occasionallv  to  be  found  there. 
They  consist  of  a  stake  and  bottle.  The 
letters  bemg  not  only  sealed,  but  corked. 
They  are  generally  deposited  by  captains 
of  Nantucketers  for  the  benefit  of  passing 
fishermen ;  and  contain  statements  as  to 
what  luck  they  had  in  whaling  or  tor- 
toise-hunting. Frequently,  however,  long 
months  and  months,  whole  years  glide  by 
and  no  applicant  appears.  The  staJce  rote 
and  falls^  presenting  no  very  exhilarating 
object. 

If  now  it  be  added  that  grave-stones, 
or  rather  grave-boards,  are  also  discoverea 
upon  some  of  the  isles,  the  picture  will 
be  complete. 

Upon  the  beach  of  James's  Isle  for  many 
years^  was  to  be  seen  a  rude  finger-post 
pointmg  inland.  And  prhaps  taking  it 
fbr  some  signal  of  possible  hospitality  m 
this  otherwise  desolate  spot — some  good 


406 


An  Hour  with  Lamennaia. 


p«*j 


hermit  living  there  with  his  maple  dish — 
the  stranger  would  follow  on  in  the  path 
thus  indicated,  till  at  last  he  would  oomo 
out  in  a  noiseless  nook,  and  find  his  only 
welcome,  a  dead  man ;  his  sole  greeting 
the  inscription  over  a  grave.  Here,  in 
1813,  fell  in  a  daybreak  duel,  a  Lieutenant 
of  the  U.  S.  frigate  Essex,  aged  twenty- 
one  :  attaining  his  majority  in  death. 

It  is  but  fit  that  like  those  old  monastic 
iostitutions  of  Europe,  whose  inmates  go 
not  out  of  their  own  walls  to  be  inumed, 
but  are  entombed  there  where  they  die ; 
the  Encantadas  too  should  bury  their 
•wn  dead,  even  as  the  great  general  mon- 
astery of  earth  does  hers. 

It  is  known  that  burial  in  the  ocean  is 
a  pure  necessity  of  sea-faring  life,  and  that 
it  is  only  done  when  land  is  far  astern, 
and  not  clearly  visible  from  the  bow. 


Hence  to  vessels  cruising  in  the  vicntity 
of  the  Enchanted  Isle&  they  afford  a  oon- 
venient  Potter's  Fiela.  The  mtennent 
over,  some  good-natured  forecastle  poet 
and  artist  seizes  his  paint-brash,  and  in- 
scribes a  doggerel  epitaph.  When  after  a 
long  lapse  of  time,  other  good-natoral 
seamen  chance  to  come  upon  the  qwt, 
they  usually  make  a  table  of  the  oKNind, 
and  quaff  a  friendly  can  to  the  poor  sooFs 
repose. 

As  a  specimen  of  these  epitaphs,  take 
the  following,  found  in  a  bleak  gorge  of 
Chatham  Isle : — 

M  Oh  Brother  Jack,  as  70a  pam  bj, 
Ab  70a  are  sow,  so  <mo6  was  L 
Jast  so  gEsme  and  just  so  gay. 
Bat  now,  alack,  thejVe  stopped  1117  pay. 
No  more  I  peep  oat  of  my  bUnkcv^ 
Here  I  be->talked  in  with  eHnkflnr 


AN    HOUR    WITH    LAMENNAIS. 


ONE  day,  in  Paris,  a  friend  proposed 
that  wc  should  make  a  call  upon  the 
famous  Abb6  de  Lamennais,  whose  recent 
death  restores  the  incident  to  my  memory. 
As  I  had  been  a  reader  of  his  books,  and  to 
some  extent  an  admirer  of  them,  and  knew 
the  extraordinary  vicissitudes  through 
which  the  distinguished  author,  the  ear- 
nest soldier  of  liberty,  had  passed,  I  readily 
consented  to  the  proposal. 

While  we  were  walking  across  the 
Tuileries  garden  and  up  Rue  de  Rivoli, 
towards  the  Palais  RoyaJe,  where  La- 
mennais lodged,  I  had  time  to  gather  out 
of  the  conversation  of  my  friend  and  my 
own  readings,  a  few  particulars  of  his  life. 
And  what  a  strange,  struggling,  sorrowful, 
tamest  life  it  was !  At  first  the  infidel, 
dazzled  by  the  flashing  witticism  of  Vol- 
taire,— next  the  priest,  almost  bigoted  in 
the  defence  of  his  order — then  the  Chris- 
tian reformer  thundering  his  anathemas 
against  the  abuses  of  his  mother  church, 
— next  the  republican  and  socialist,  striv- 
ing to  guide  the  wild  spirits  of  a  revolu- 
tion,— and,  finally,  the  retired  sage,  sad- 
fkned  but  not  subdued  by  disappointment, 
and  still  uttering  out  of  the  shadows  of 
the  night  that  was  £Eist  approaching,  such 
words  of  wisdom  as  had  come  to  him  in 
his  long  and  weary  seventy  years  of 
battle  !  There  was  surely  enough  in  such 
a  man  to  excite  my  curiosity  to  see  him ! 


Lamennais  was  bom  at  St  Malo^  about 
the  year  1782,  of  parents  who  were  not 
wealthy,  but  who  had  aocvimulated  suffi- 
cient property  in  trade,  to  put  it  in  their 
power  to  give  him  a  good  education.  His 
taste  for  reading  was  so  preoocioiis  that 
his  father,  abandoning  his  original  inten- 
tion of  making  a  merchant  of  him,  designed 
him  for  the  church.  But^  unfortonmy 
for  this  project,  the  readmg  which  was 
then  in  the  ascendant,  was  that  whSA 
origmated  with  Voltaire  and  the  other 
bnUiant  skeptics  of  the  eighteenth  oe&torj. 
Clear,  witty,  audacious,  seductive,  and  with 
just  enough  of  science  in  it  to  give  con- 
sistency to  its  frothy  but  piqoant  senti- 
ment, it  was  the  very  thing  to  capUvata 
the  admiration  of  the  ardent  but  shaUoir 
young  student  of  Bretagne.  He  wafl^ 
therefore,  (|uite  carried  away  at  first  by 
its  plausibihties,  but  being  of  a  profoondly 
religious  nature,  at  the  same  time,  he  soon 
began  to  feel  the  wants  of  the  new  litera- 
ture. With  all  its  smooth  logic,  and 
glowing  sentiment,  it  did  not,  somehow 
or  other,  touch  his  heart  A  deep  void 
was  there,  which  it  did  not  fill  up, — a 
yearning  for  something  purer,  noUer, 
higher,  which  it  could  not  satisfy. 

The  truth  vras,  that  the  word  Infinitc 
was  ringing  through  the  chambers  of 
Lamennais^s  hearts — as  it  does  so  often 
ring  through  the  nearts  of  all  men  who 


An  Hfuwr  with  Lamennaut. 


467 


k, — ^and  ho  felt  that  he  was 
reature  of  time  and  sense ; 
tn  awful  and  eternal  reality; 
d  beyond  the  interests  and 
•day,  there  was  a  world  of 
bs,  more  active  and  lasting 
and  that,  therefore,  no  phi- 
;h  looked  no  hifrher  than 
merely  natural  God,  could 
»blems  which  he  had  raised 
.ce.  He  discarded  the  ban- 
ng,  specious  philosophy  of 
)1, — but,  alas !  had  nowhere 
was  tormented  with  per- 
doubts.  lie  studied,  he 
thought,  he  consulted,  he 
.  but  a  disastrous  darkness 
tie  more  and  more  over  the 
orld,  and  he  was  about  to 
•ught  in  despair, 
idition  of  mind,  he  was  ac- 
idea  of  the  Christian  Church, 
deeply-moved  and  almost 
of  his  scnsibil.tics,  was  re- 
1  as  a  glory  fi*oni  the  skies, 
tal  of  life  so  beautiful,  so 
of  peace  and  pood  will,  that 
his  mind  all  the  ardor  of 
vast  brotherhood,  devoted 
to  the  love  of  God,  and  the 
sanctioned  by  the  holiest 
I  and  names  of  Christian 
jessing  throug;h  its  councils 
inspiration,  mighty  in  its 
and  spreading  itself  over  the 
in  order  to  fuse  the  separated 
humanity  into  a  great  living 
the  same  faith,  worshipping 
smple.  anticipating  the  same 
inony  and  happiness,  was  a 
I  magnificent  and  touching 
1  to  consecrate  himself  to  its 
plunged,  therefore,  at  once, 
8,  as  the  children  say,  into  . 
fRomc. 

a  professorship  of  mathe- 
ollege  of  St.  Malo,  he  partook 
imrounion  there,  and  began 
nself  for  the  priesthood.  In 
le  published  his  Prst  work, 
of  the  old  ascetic  book  of 
lois,  callwl  the  Spiritual 
be  next  year  (1808)  an  ori- 
ititled  Reflexions  sur  PStat 
or  reflections  upon  the  state 
ch.  The  latter  shows  to 
he  had  carried  his  ecclesias- 
fbr  he  condenms  the  vassal- 
he  conceived  the  Church  to 
iduced  under  the  reign  of 
I  boldly  asserte<l  the  doctrine 
:  supremacy  over  the  State. 
rent  of  God  u]jon  earth,  the 


Church,  he  roaintaioed,  was  an  aathority 
superior  to  any  political  body,  which 
should  never  be  made  a  mere  political 
machine,  and  never  subject  itself  to  any 
civil  laws,  but  on  the  contrary,  give  laws 
to  the  world.  The  vehemence,  however, 
with  which  he  assailed  the  despotism  of 
the  Emperor  in  behalf  of  the  despotism  of 
the  clergy,  caused  his  book  to  be  sup- 
pressed by  the  government. 

In  the  year  1811  he  assumed  the  ton- 
sure, but  retained  his  place  at  the  semi- 
nary, which  was  under  the  control  of  his 
brother,  in  coi\junctk>n  'with  whom  he 
wrote  a  book,  on  La  tradition  de  PEgiise 
ntr  VinstUution  dea  eveques,  or  the  doc- 
trine of  the  Church  on  the  in.stitution  of 
bishops;  displaying  great  leammg  and 
acuteness,  and  'receiving  the  most  un- 
limited applause  from  the  ultramontane 
section  of  Catholics.  It  shows  to  what 
extent  Laroennais  had  adopted  the  ancient 
theories,  that  he  was  earnestly  in  favor  of 
the  restoration  of  the  Bourbons,  and 
manifested  his  zeal  so  openly  in  their  be- 
half, that  when  Napoleon  returned,  during 
the  Hundred  Days,  he  was  compelled  to 
fly  to  England,  to  escape  the  persecutions 
of  the  imperialists.  There  he  lived  in  the 
greatest  indigence  and  obscurity,  for  seve* 
ral  months,  earning  a  miserable  pittance 
as  an  usher  in  a  school  kept  for  emigrants 
by  the  Abb6  Rcnnes  in  London.  It  is 
related  of  him.  that  in  the  course  of  this 
exile  he  applied  to  the  distinguished  Lady 
Jemingham,  a  sister  of  Lord  Stafford,  for 
the  place  of  tutor  in  her  family,  then 
vacant  He  was  small  and  thin  in  person ; 
his  face  pale  and  emaciated,  his  look  down- 
cast and  troubled,  his  gait  awkward  and 
shuffling,  and  his  dress  such  as  the 
dresses  of  those  who  have  not  a  cent  to 
get  bread  with,  are  apt  to  be.  In  other 
words,  it  was  out  at  the  clbowi?  and  seedy. 
The  dignifled  lady  gazed  at  him  with  sur- 
prise, not  unroingled  with  contempt,  and 
flually  ejaculating  that  ^he  looked  too 
much  like  a  fool  to  become  a  successful 
teacher,"  sent  him  away.  Poor  Lament 
nais, — subsequently  a  power  and  glory  in 
Paris,  to  be  dismissed  in  this  fashion  by 
a  fashionable  lady ! 

On  the  second  expulvion  of  Bonaparte 
he  returned  to  his  native  land,  and  the 
year  after  (1816)  was  formally  ordained  a 
priest  He  signalized  the  event  by  the 
publication  of  his  Essay  on  Religious  In- 
difference (Essai  aur  P  Indifference  en 
matieres  de  Religion),  which  excited  the 
most  lively  sensation  on  all  bides,  and  ^ve 
him  fame  and  p0fntk>n  at  once  as  a  wnter. 
Seven  or  eight  editions  were  immediately 
called  for,  and  innumerable  reviews  and 


468 


An  Sour  with  LamennaU. 


[Mv 


replies  attempted.  The  impetuous  bold- 
ness of  the  style,  the  precision  and  force 
of  the  reasoning,  the  rare  beauty  of  the 
language,  but  above  all.  the  warmth  and 
enthusiasm,  as  well  as  the  elevation  of  the 
sentiment,  startled  the  sensual  dreamers 
of  France,  while  they  won  and  captivated 
all  who  were  aspiring  to  a  purer  existence. 
Never  had  the  prevailing  immorality  been 
assaulted  in  more  vigorous  terms,  never 
had  skepticism  been  more  acutely  probed 
and  anatomized, — and  never  had  the  con- 
sistency and  the  glory  of  Christianity  been 
presented  in  strains  more  winning  and 
beautiful.  It  was  a  book  in  which  a  large, 
generous,  and  poetic  mind  poured  out  its 
lamentations  over  the  discords  and  disor- 
ders of  society,  expressed  its  thorough  dis- 
gust at  the  petty  aims  and  low  ambitions 
of  the  world,  and  proclaimed  with  the  jubi- 
lant elastic  joy  of  a  soul  emancipi^ted  from 
trammels  and  littleness,  the  exalted  solace 
which  it  had  foimd  in  the  bosom  of  God. 
Awake,  it  said  to  France,  so  long  im- 
mersed in  the  grossest  incredulity, — while 
the  fires  of  faith  had  almost  burned  out 
upon  the  altar, — "  awake  to  hope,  to  cha- 
rity, to  the  life  of  Qod  in  the  soul,  to  a  new 
career  for  our  humanity  on  earth  I  Be- 
hold the  Church,  venerable  with  years, 
yet  fresh  as  an  infant, — the  depository 
of  all  truth,  the  source  of  all  life,— 
which  the  storms  of  the  Past  have  not 
effected,  and  which  in  the  Future  is  des- 
tined to  an  imperishable  sway, — that 
Church  opens  her  arms  to  receive  you,  and 
will  bear  you  on  to  an  immortal  glory." 

The  eloquence  and  sincerity  of  this  ap- 
peal, won  for  the  author  the  title  of  the 
modem  Champion  of  the  Church,— the 
new  Bossuet,  or  as  Pope  Leo  XII.  him- 
self expressed  it,  "  the  latest  of  the  Fa- 
thers." A  cardinal's  hat  even  was  ofiered 
to  him,  but  he  refused  it,  because  he  had 
his  own  purposes  to  prosecute,  which 
could  best  be  prosecuted  out  of  office. 
He  hoped  under  the  government  of  the 
Restoration  to  brine  about  the  enfranchise- 
ment of  the  Church,  but  it  was  evident 
that  he  knew  little  of  the  spirit  of  a  ty- 
rannical government.  The  chiefs  of  the 
monarchy  were  just  as  eager  to  use  it  as 
a  tool  as  Napoleon  had  been,  and  when  he 
again  thundered  a  protest  in  his  Consid- 
erations on  the  relations  of  religion  and 
the  civil  order  (La  Religion  Considerie 
dans  ses  rapports  avec  Pordre  civile  et 
politique),  he  was  just  as  savagely  fined 
and  persecuted.  His  bold  and  burning 
sentences  fell  like  so  many  flakes  of  snow 
upon  the  rocky  breasts  of  Louis  and  hia 
ministers.  It  was  not  for  the  like  of  them. 
— ^not  at  all — to  relinquish  any  portion  of 


their  power  to  any  Church, — ^thoogfa  im- 
mediately descended  from  Hemven.  As  a 
convenience,  they  were  glad  to  keq>  on 
terms  with  the  Church ;  as  an  auziUmiy  in 
forcing  the  submission  of  the  people,  it 
was  really  quite  a  divine  and  useful  msti- 
tution, — but  when  it  undertook  to  set  up 
for  itself,  and  to  dictate  to  the  copwaenee 
of  kings,  it  was  carrying  the  matter 
altogether  too  far.  Religion  and  morals 
were  excellent  things  in  themsdvea^  but 
must  remain  subordinate  to  the  truuneod- 
cnt  virtues  of  state  craft  and  policy. 

Lamennais,  it  will  be  seen,  did  not  taks 
much  by  his  motion  with  his  firienda  the 
Bourbons.  Indeed,  nobody  except  tlMr 
few  male  and  female  &vorites  ever  did,^ 
and  80,  when  they  were  driven  out  a 
second  time,  in  1830,  and  he  was  omt 
more  allowed  to  speak,  he  turned  to  the 
Church  itself  with  an  appeal  that  it 
should  forthwith  declare  its  independenoa 
In  order  to  carry  on  the  persuasion  with 
more  effect  he  established  a  journal,  called 
L^  Avenir,  or  the  Future,  which  he  ed- 
ited with  characteristic  aseal  and  energy, 
having  the  occasional  assistance  of  Count 
Montalembert,  the  Abb6  Gkrdet,  and  the 
Abb6  Lacordaire,  since  become  so  fiunou 
in  Paris  for  his  oratory.  Their  leadinr 
object  was  to  arouse  the  Catholie  Chur^ 
to  a  feeling  of  the  moral  functions  of 
which  it  was  capable,  and  to  impel  it  ibr- 
ward  to  a  career  of  active  beneficence  and 
love;  or.  to  use  their  own  words,  thej 
hoped  "  to  batter  to  the  earth  the  empir» 
of  Force,  and  to  supply  its  PJMse  by  a 
reign  of  justice  and  charity,  which  shooU 
realize  among  the  members  of  the  great 
human  family,  individuals  and  praplc, 
that  unity,  in  which  each  man^  being  a 
part  of  the  life  of  all  men,  pArticipatea  in 
the  common  good,  under  circumstanoM 
more  favorable  to  the  development  of  this 
common  good," — in  shorty  to  give  fnt 
course  to  the  Qospel  of  Christ,  whidi  is  the 
great  bond  and  cement  of  a  glorious  human 
fhitemity.  They  spoke  boldly  to  all 
classes,  and  especially  to  the  Papacy  and 
its  friends,  neither  concealing,  slurriog. 
nor  mitigating  the  truth.  "  Your  power," 
they  exclaimed,  "is  fast  passing  away, 
and  with  it  the  holy  faith  f  Would  you 
save  both  ?  Unite  them  to  the  destinieB 
of  humanity.  Nothing  in  this  world, 
remember,  is  stationary.  If  your  religkm 
docs  not  advance  with  mankind,  if  it  does 
not  keep  time  with  the  pulsations  of  the 
human  heart,  it  must  fall  back  and  decay. 
You  have  reigned  over  kings,  and  now 
stretch  forth  your  hands  to  the  people ; 
they  will  sustain  you  with  their  stroqe 
arms,  and  what  is  better,  with  th«r  love! 


I 


An  Sour  with  Lamennaii, 


400 


ioayour  worldly  wrecks,  the  remains 
T  uicieiit  grandeur, — the  sombre 
•ies  of  the  past, — the  hope  of  re- 
splendors  that  are  utterly  ruin- 
Mini  them  all  with  your  feet  as  un- 
r  of  you, — and  advance  to  your 
ignity  and  power ! " 
mding  his  words  by  his  deeds,  Jjir 
is  founded  a  society  for  the  ''  De- 
f  Religious  Liberty,"  which  speedily 
red  a  multitude  of  adherents  in  all 
of  France.  Its  principal  objects 
»  redress  the  grievances  of  ecclo- 
I  improperly  restrained  of  their 
b;  to  establish  primary,  secondary, 
lerior  schools  among  the  people,  inde- 
nt of  the  state ;  to  maintain  the  right 
ten  to  assemble  peacefully  togetW, 
Mational,  social,  or  religious  pur- 
lad  to  promote  a  friendly  intercourse 
•  all  the  people,  and  particularly 
the  people  of  the  different  nations. 
tter  to  carry  forward  this  last  part 
idMme,  he  instituted  a  subscription 
starving  Irish,  which  soon  reached 
amount, — he  preached  in  aid  of 
lish  refugees, — and  he  proclaimed 
Mfity  of  intervening  m  behalf  of 
liao  states  who  were  the  victims  to 
ui  despotism.  Thus  it  will  be  seen 
e  was  getting  over  unconsciously 
le  most  democratic  grounds ;  yet  he 
nag  to  his  Chui-ch,  and  was  fond 
lo  believe  that  the  Church,  insti- 
u  it  had  been  for  the  good  of  all 
^■Id  yet  come  round  to  his  side. 
I  Misconceived  the  Church,  and  we 
ey  how  some  of  the  more  knowing 
as  they  watched  the  impotent 
of  his  young  enthusiasm,  from 
My  retreats,  laughed  with  an  inex- 
luible  guffaw!  Many  miracles 
Men  wrought  in  this  world,  but 
miracle  as  Lamennais  hoped  for, — 
ivvrsioQ  of  an  old,  wealthy,  and 
table  eoclesiastial  organization  into 
to  of  progress  and  humanity, — was 
ht  ease.  The  attempt  proves  him 
>  been  very  sincere,  but  very  green, 
be  at  all  relieved  oif  the  imputation 
Alley,  by  the  (act  that  he  made  a 
»  Bome,  to  see  Pope  Gregory  in 
and  to  explain  to  him  the  views 
MSed.  For,  unfortunately,  the  gov- 
ita  of  Austria,  Russia,  and  Prus- 
▼isited  Rome  before  him,  and  had 
told  Gregory  to  clap  an  extin- 
'  upon  his  head.  Any  man  who 
rodaim  the  doctrine  "  that  where 
rU  of  the  Lord  is,  there  is  liberty,'^ 
e  an  innovating  revolutionary  ras- 
L  priest  or  no  priest,  was  wholly 
or  respectable  society.     Gregory, 


therefore,  would  not  see  Lamennais, — 
would  not  read  his  memorial, — would  not 
give  him  the  slightest  countenance, — in 
short,  sent  him  away  with  a  big  flea  in 
his  ear.  Poor  fellow!  we  should  rather 
say,  with  a  stone  at  his  heart.  His  dream 
was  broken,  the  glory  that  had  gathered 
about  the  brow  of  mother  Church  was 
faded, — the  hopes  of  a  regenerate  future 
scattered  like  spray  by  the  wind.  De- 
jected and  baffled,  he  was  overtaken  on 
his  way  back  to  Paris  at  Munich,  by  the 
Encyclical  Letter  of  1832,  which  gave 
him  pretty  clearly  to  understand  what  the 
red-caps  of  Rome  throught  of  his  notions, 
— which  spoke  of  them  as  mere  "rav- 
ings,"— which  denounced  liberty  of  con- 
science as  '^an  absurd  maxim,"— the 
liberty  of  the  press,  as  "a  fiital  liberty, 
not  to  be  thought  of  without  horror,"  and 
which  also  declared  every  resistance  to  a 
legitimate  prince  to  be  ^*  a  crime."  What 
a  thunderbolt  for  the  priestly  reformer ! 

But  the  Church  was  not  done  with  him 
yetl  It  was  not  enough  for  it  to  have 
denounced  his  offence,  to  have  overturned 
all  his  plans,  and  to  have  exposed  his 
failure  to  the  mocking  world  It  most 
make  Lamennais  himself  acknowledge 
that  he  had  Iteen  an  idiot  and  a  goose, 
adding  to  the  terrible  mortification  of  de- 
feat, the  debasing  humiliation  of  a  peni- 
tential confession.  How  otherwise  could 
it  crush  his  soul?  He  suppressed  his 
paper,  he  broke  up  his  agency,  he  con- 
formed externally  to  all  requirements- 
was  not  that  sufficient  to  appease  the 
good  Lady?  No!  He  must  also  sub- 
scribe to  every  sentiment  and  letter  of 
the  encyclical  condemnation !  In  vain  he 
expostulated,  in  vain  he  entreated,  in  vain 
he  begged  for  time,  there  was  no  wavering 
or  relenting  in  the  Infallible.  At  las^ 
amid  many  qualms  of  conscience  and  over- 
whelming tortures  of  mind,  Lamennais, — 
'*to  give  his  troubled  spirit  peace,"  as 
he  said, — signed  his  adherence  to  the 
Church.  He  was  not  vet  able  to  sever 
the  ties  which  bound  him  to  the  foster- . 
mother  of  his  spirit 

Peace  I  great  God,  what  peace  can  there 
be  in  a  compromise  of  truth,  independence 
and  sincere  conviction  1  Instead  of  ex- 
tinguishing the  inward  fires  of  the  soul, 
by  the  concession,  he  had  only  kindled 
them  anew ;  they  raged  and  blazed  with 
tenfold  fury;  they  consumed  his  heart 
Retiring  to  the  solitudes  of  Brittany,  to 
Chenaye,  where  twenty  years  before,  full 
of  zeal  for  the  Church,  he  had  written  his 
first  work  on  the  Institution  of  Bishops, 
ho  communed  with  his  thou^ts,  and 
meditated  the  course  he  ought  to  pursue. 


410 


An  Hour  with  LamennaU. 


\Mmj 


It  was  impossible,  ho  saw,  to  tear  from 
his  mind  those  great  convictions  of  free- 
dom, duty,  right,  which  had  become  a 
part  of  his  life, — it  was  impossible  for  the 
Church  or  any  other  institution,  powerful 
as  it  might  be,  to  crush  his  aspirations 
and  the  aspirations  of  mankind  for  a 
better  future;  it  was  the  most  dreadful  of 
blasphemies  to  suppose  that  humanity 
must  be  for  ever  given  over  to  the  degra- 
dations and  wrongs  of  the  existing  state 
of  things,  and  he  could  not  would  not 
relinguish  his  hopes  of  a  truly  Christian 
emancipation  and  progress.  He  had  ap- 
pealed to  the  monarchs  to  take  the  leader- 
ship of  the  movement,  and  they  had  an- 
swered him  with  exiles  and  lines ;  he  had 
appealed  to  the  Church  itself,  to  act 
worthily  of  its  vocation  and  baptism,  and 
the  Church  had  crammed  his  woi-ds, 
wrapped  in  an  odious  recantation,  down 
his  throat,  for  an  answer ;  to  whom  then 
could  ho  make  a  last  appeal,  but  to  the 
People?  They  were  above  all  mon- 
archies and  churches, — the  universal  mind 
of  man  their  senate-house, — the  universal 
heart  of  man,  their  consistory  and  synod. 
Away,  then,  with  tiaras  and  red  cloaks, 
and  gowns  and  cowls,  and  all  the  trum- 
pery symbols  of  hardeued  and  deceitful 
power ! 

The  clergy,  not  hearing  from  Lamennais 
for  some  months^  had  fancied  that  he  was 
silenced ;  but  suddenly,  in  the  midst  of 
the  calm,  there  shot  forth  a  little  book 
called  the  "Words  of  a  Believer,"  (Pa- 
roles (Pun  Croyant),  which  fell  like 
lightning  from  a  clear  sky.  It  was  a  gage 
of  war  thrown  down  into  the  ecclesiastical 
arena,  against  all  comers, — a  shout  of 
defiance  screamed  against  the  Pope  and  his 
Cardinals, — a  declaratk)n  of  independence 
which  made  the  old  hierarchies  tremble 
in  their  scats.  Free  minds  every  where 
caught  it  up  with  rapture,  and  from  that 
time  forward  Lamennais  became  the  ac- 
knowleged  leader  of  the  liberal  religious 
movement  in  France.  The  singular 
purity  and  clearness  of  the  thought,  his 
moving  and  pathetic  eloquence,  his  strong 
poetical  and  religious  sentiment,  have 
given  a  wide  popularity  to  the  many 
books  that  he  has  since  published,  each 
one,  as  it  appeared,  enforcing  in  more 
vigorous  terms,  the  great  principles  of 
democracy,  which  are  the  principles  of 
humanity,  the  principles  of  Christianity, 
and  showing  that  his  manly  spirit  once 
emancipated  fn>m  its  early  fetters,  has 
advanced  with  a  certain  and  steady  pro- 
gress, in  the  path  of  a  true  Christian  free- 
dom. Ever  true  to  his  original  convic- 
tion of  the  brotherhood  of  man,  he  has 


never  once  swerved  from  any  oonduskw 
to  which  that  frontal  truth  may  lead.  No 
threats,  no  prosecutions,  no  prison-houaeft 
could  shake  him  from  his  pnrpos^es. 

During  the  revolution  of  1848,  Lamen- 
nais took  a  leading  part  acting  generally 
with  the  democratic  socialists,  but  too  in- 
dependent always  to  be  the  slave  of  any 
Itariy,  lie  was  a  member  of  both  the 
constituent  and  the  legislative  Assemblies, 
speaking,  however,  only  twice  io  those 
bodies;  once  against  the  dictatorship  of 
Cavaignac,  and  secondly  to  request  thai 
he  should  be  included  m  the  prosecution 
against  Le  Peuple  Consiituente,  a  news- 
paper of  whidi  ho  was  one  of  the  editors 
When  tlie  insurrection  of  Juno  waaforci- 
biy  suppressed,  by  those  who  pretended 
to  be  tho  friends  of  the  people,  he  letired 
from  public  life  with  extreme  mortification 
and  disgust  lie  passed  the  latter  pari 
of  his  days  in  tlie  revision  of  hia  worla^ 
and  in  the  preparation  of  a  translation  of 
Dante's  Divina  Commedia  for  the  presv 

At  the  time  of  the  visit  to  which  I  it- 
forred  in  the  outset  of  this  biografthicil 
sketch,  which  has  extended  beyond  my 
wish,  he  occupied  rooms  on  the  highest 
story  of  one  <>f  the  houses  of  the  Paiau 
Royale,  Like  his  fi*icnd  B€ranger,  then- 
fore,  ho  could  sing, 

**!  moant  to  mj  garret  on  thettxtfa  floor.* 

As  we  ascende(i  the  staircase,  we  awi  a 
lady  descending,  who  waa  dretaed  in 
black,  with  a  careworn,  but  most  ezpres- 
sive  and  intellectual  face,  and  who  sUgbCly 
bowed  to  us,  as  all  French  ladies  wonU 
under  the  same  circumstances^  as  wt 
passed.  Who  she  was,  you  aluiU  see  ia 
the  sequel. 

"Is  theAbb6at  honael"  we  inquired 
of  an  ancient  female,  when  out  of  breathy 
we  had  reached  the  last  of  the  six  flighla. 
"  He  is,"  sko  replied^  "  but  scareely  able 
to  see  any  one."  We  sent  in  our  namea^ 
however,  and  were  admitted. 

The  room  was  a  large  and  aiiy  one; 
overlooking  the  garden  of  the  Po/otf 
Royalty  neatly,  but  not  handsomely  fur- 
nished, with  a  few  engravings  upon  tbr 
walls,  and  an  extensive  bookcase  ia  one 
comer.  In  a  huge  easy  chair,  at  one  side 
of  the  fire-place,  buncd  in  cnshions  al- 
most, sat  the  venerable  Abb^.  His  body 
seemed  frail  and  light,  and  his  £Me  was 
pale  and  haggard,  as  if  he  had  bean 
long  unwell.  The  head  was  dispropor- 
tionably  large,  with  tho  brain  protrudiog 
into  the  forehead,  and  pressing  the  chia 
down  upon  the  breast  As  be  was  placed 
against  the  light,  we  did  not  at  first  dit- 
tmguish  his  features,  but  when  be  Bior«d 


An  Sb»r  tvith  Lammnaw. 


471 


and,  I  remarkod  that  they  were 
igly  expressive, — full  of  benevo- 
id  intellect,  but  very  sad.  It  is 
that  disease  might  have  given 
ected  and  melancholy  appearance 
oble  face,  but  my  impression  was, 
was  his  habitual  look.  Men  of 
rho  think  much,  and  whose  lives 
niggle  for  the  good  of  men,  nearly 
acquire  this  plaintive  and  serious 
OIL  The  woes  of  mankind  write 
fes  in  their  countenances, 
nnais's  voice  was  low  and  failing, 
apathetic  to  an  unusual  degree. 
Lings  seemed  to  tremble  along 
rds,  as  they  fell  from  his  lips. 
I  waves  of  heat  through  the  air! 
he  seemed  to  be  from  his  gray 
inkled  face,  and  feeble  body,  his 
was  as  fresh  and  enthusiastic  as 
\  boy.  He  had  lost  none  of  his 
in  the  current  events  of  the  day, 
kfi  of  contemporary  individuals  as 
things,  with  all  the  earnestness  of 
\  had  yet  many  years  to  live  in 
8t  of  the  controversy.  Any  one 
lembers  the  late  Dr.  C  banning,  as 
d  and  talked  towards  the  close  of 
will  have  a  pretty  faithful  image 
nnais  before  him,  with  the  excep- 
t  Lamennais  was  a  far  more  im- 
ind  lively  person  than  Dr.  Chan- 

igan  his  talk  with  us  by  express- 
general  admiration  of  the  United 
inalifying  the  sentiment,  however, 
le  remark,  that  the  American 
rere  still  in  a  youthful  or  infantile 
0,  and  that  they  ought  not  to  mis- 
e  characteristics  of  a  transitional 
or  those  of  their  maturity.  Their 
iness  to  the  criticism  of  foreigners 
ir  weakest  point,  and  was,  as  they 
»,  by  reflecting  on  it,  a  contempt- 
it  of  self-respect.  What  could  all 
cism  of  all  the  world  do  against  a 
o  grand  in  itself,  and  with  such 
promises.  Ought  the  lion  to  care 
>azz  of  a  gadfly,  or  the  eagle  heed 
lings  of  a  wren?  Besides,  that 
wa.<i  most  of  it  good,  was  intended 
;ood  of  the  Americans,  had  already 
sm  some  good,  and  they  ought, 
e  men.  to  be  glad  to  be  told  of 
alts.  My  friend  rather  coincided 
B  view,  though  I  thought  myself 
opinion  of  our  sensitiveness  was 
xamrated  in  Europe,  but  said 
tsl  wished  to  get  at  other  topics. 
It  of  the  Revolution?''  I  asked, 
»w  is  it  affected  by  the  Cowp 
4  Louis  Napoleon  ?  "  It  was  then 
t)  months  after  the  blow  of  De- 


cember. "The  Revolution,*'  he  replied, 
"  can  never  be  suppressed.  The  late  re- 
actions have  been  feeding  it  with  fuel. 
How  soon  it  may  break  out,  no  one  knows 
— such  things  are  not  to  be  calculated — 
but  when  it  does  come,  it  will  make  sure 
work.  It  will  not  stop  half-way,  as  in 
1848;  it  will  be  sweeping  and  final.  I 
have  lived  through  three  revolutions  in 
France, — was  a  boy  during  the  first  but 
remember  it  well ;  was  a  close  observer  in 
1830,  and  an  active  worker  in  '48, — and 
my  impression  is,  that  the  programme  of 
the  old  revolution  was  the  only  wise  one. 
The  aristocracy  must  be  put  out  of  the 
way.  Nothing  is  to  be  expected  of  them ; 
they  are  thieves  and  murderers,  and  like 
other  criminals,  should  be  executed.  I 
once  thought  otherwise ;  I  thought  that 
the  ruling  classes  could  be  won  over  ta 
justice  and  a  gradual  improvement  of  so- 
ciety, but  I  am  now  persuaded  that  they 
cannot  They  are  radically,  entirely,  at 
heart  opposed  to  the  people,  will  never 
yield,  and  must  be  set  aside.  Democracy 
and  aristocracy  cannot  subsist  together ; 
one  must  conquer,  and  the  other  must 
die.  When  the  revolution  comes,  then, 
there  will  be  no  temporizing,  no  compro- 
mises. The  republic  will  be  supreme  or 
nothing." 

"  But  do  you  not  thmk,"  said  one  of 
us,  ^^  that  this  ft'ank  expression  of  extreme 
opinions, — this  open  proclamation  of  death 
to  the  aristocrats,  is  what  frightens  many 
timid  men  away  from  republicanism, 
which  they  confound  with  rabid  socialism, 
and  so  go  over  to  the  other  side  ?" 

"It  may,"  answered  the  Abb6,  "but 
republicanism  is  socialism ;  it  is  the 
government  of  the  whole  people  by  them- 
selves and  for  themselves, — and  whatever 
differences  there  may  be  in  the  modes  of 
practically  getting  at  the  result,  the  prin- 
ciple is  the  same.  No  doubt  there  is  a 
great  deal  of  nonsense  uttered  in  socialist 
books,— there  is  in  all  books, — but  they 
who  oppose  the  republic  because  they 
dread  socialism  are  no  friends  to  the  re- 
public. It  is  a  mere  excuse  for  their 
cowardice." 

*'•  But,"  I  interrupted,  "  there  is  this  dis- 
tinction between  republicans  and  social- 
ists— the  former  would  leave  the  people 
to  accomplish  their  well-being,  by  volun- 
tary efforts  and  combinations ;  the  latter 
hope  to  do  the  same  thing,  through  the 
government  The  former,  therefore,  train 
the  whole  of  society  to  self-dependence 
and  control;  while  the  latter  still  leave 
them  children.  Socialism,  in  this  aspect, 
is  only  an  inverted  absolutism, — is  power 
directed  towards  the  good  of  the  mafloee, 


472 


An  Sour  with  LamennaiM. 


pbr 


instead  of  the  good  of  the  monarch, — while 
republicanism  is  the  denial  of  all  power, 
save  that  which  springs  spontaneously  out 
of  the  self-development  of  the  people." 

Lamennais  partly  admitted  the  justice 
of  this  view,  but  defended  himself  on  the 
ground,  that  in  Europe  society  had  been 
so  long  in  the  leading-strings  of  govern- 
ment, that  it  was  an  cosier  step  to  social- 
istic than  to  mere  republican  democracy, 
— a  fallacy  which  runs  through  the 
theories  of  nearly  all  the  Continental  re- 
formers, and  which  will  vitiate  every  at- 
tempt that  they  shall  make  at  a  social 
reconstruction.  Kossuth,  however,  is 
better  informed,  and  fully  perceives  the 
necessity  of  local  self-government  to  every 
construction  of  a  state. 

Lamennais,  then,  spoke  of  men, — was 
vehement,  of  course,  ap^ainst  the  bloody 
usurpation  of  Louis  Napoleon,  but  had 
still  a  secret  hope  that  he  would  by  and 
by  throw  himself  on  the  side  of  the  people. 
He  would  at  any  rate  gradually  kill  off 
all  the  leaders  of  legitimacy,  and  leave 
himself  only  to  be  disposed  of,  by  the 
democrats.  An  enemy  more  to  be  dread- 
ed than  Kapoleon  was  Cavaignac, — a 
hard,  cruel,  impassive  soldier,  who  had 
ordered  men,  women,  and  children  to  be 
butchered  in  Algiers,  and  who  defeated 
the  revolution  by  turning  the  army  against 
the  movement  in  June.  He  was  a  traitor 
to  the  republic,  and  would  betray  to  the 
end  every  noble  and  generous  cause  wHh 
which  he  was  intrusted.  As  for  Proud- 
kon.  he  was  an  impracticable,  a  good  fol- 
low, sagacious,  able,  and  not  to  be  con- 
quered, but  an  eccentricity, — incapable  of 
acting  and  thinking  with  others, — and 
full  of  individual  conceits.  Emile  de  Gi- 
rardin  was  somewhat  slippery  in  his  prin- 
ciples, but  a  man  of  prodigious  acutcness 
and  power.  Victor  Uugo  was  sound  to 
the  core,  and  Ledru  Rollin  was  a  reliable 
man ;  but  Lamartine.  you  see  what  he  is ! 
Lamennais's  sketches  of  character  were 
graphic  and  amusing,  and  given  at  great 
length,  but  I  only  recall  now  the  net  re- 
sult of  what  he  said.  lie  seemed  to  bo 
personally  embittered  against  Cavaignac, 
and  scarcely  did  him  justice. 

^*  Is  it  possible  to  see  George  Sand  ?  " 
I  asked,  when  he  replied,  "  She  does  not 
now  live  in  Paris ;  but  she  has  just  been 
here,  preparatory  to  going  to  Louis  Napo- 
leon to  intercede  for  an  old  friend.  \ou 
must  have  met  her  upon  the  stairs ! " 
Ah !  how  mortified  I  was  to  find  that  I 


had  been  so  near  to  that  most  eztnordi- 
nary  woman  of  the  age,  without  knowiqg 
it  and  had  missed  tibe  opportimity  of  a 
personal  interview.  Lamennais  spm  of 
her  with  discrimination,  but  witn  gnat 
kindness. 

We  continued  the  conversation  for  sobm 
time,  and  when  we  rose  to  retire,  the  cdki 
man  pressed  Our  hands  warmly,  and  aid. 
*'  Adieu,  gentlemen ;  we  shall  never  meet 
again."  His  words  were  prophetic,  kit 
he  died  on  the  28th  of  February  last  It 
is  said,  that  in  his  will  he  disinherited  all 
those  relatives  who  had  taken  part  in  sup- 

Eressing  the  insurrection  of  June,  and  that 
e  ordered  tlyit  his  body  should  be  taken 
directly  fronr  his  house  to  the  cemeterj 
of  P6re  la  Chaise^  without  stopping  at 
any  church.  He  steadily  rtfosed  any  re- 
ligious conferences  up  to  the  hour  of  his 
death,  and  was  only  aooompanied  to  hii 
last  resting-place  by  B4ranger,  Ganiier 
Pages,  Barbet,  and  a  few  other  of  his  old 
friends,  surrounded  by  a  ^pud  of  police- 
men and  well-anned  soldiers.  *'So  per- 
ished," says  one  of  the  English  letto^ 
writers,  "this  unreclaimed  infideL^  In- 
fidel !  '  Oh !  Bobus,  where  learned  you 
that?  He,  whose  whole  life  was  a  mu- 
tyrdom  for  the  truths  of  the  ChMpd, 
whose  inmost  heart  was  saturated  with 
their  spirit,  will  have  another  judgmcDt 
in  that  world  whither  he  has  gone!  He 
may  not  have  thought,  on  all  thuigflL  is 
vou  do,  or  as  your  dei^gynum  dottTbot 
he  was  a  sincere,  true  man,  penetrated 
to  the  last  fibre  with  the  principleB  of 
Christ's  religion,  and,  thank  HeaTen,  wiU 
not  be  damned  on  your  testimony. 

Lamennais's  writings,  besides  those  ira 
have  already  mention^  were  numerous}* 
that  they  were  effective  we  know,  because 
they  always  secured  him  the  hostility  of 
the  governments,  and  sometimes  a  yesr 
in  prison ;  but  his  &me  wiU  chie^  rest 
on  the  Paroles  cPun  Croyant^  the  Lrore 
du  Peuple,  and  the  Esquisse  iPune  Pidt- 
osophie.  The  former  have  a  cham  in 
the  style,  which  will  cause  them  to  he 
read  after  the  controversies  to  whidi  th^ 
relate  have  subsided.  Nor  will  thnr 
sentiments  be  soon  forgotten,  for  they  are 
allied  with  the  noblest  aspirations  of  the 
popular  heart  Their  glowing  eloquence, 
with  that  deep  undertone  of  sadness,  wili 
make  them  memorable  for  &  long  time^ 
They  sink  into  the  emotional  nature  of 
every  reader,  like  the  wild  plaintive  straiiBi^ 
of  the  windharp,  and  melt  and  subdue  ha^ 


*  His  prindnal  works  arc,  Ixnldcs  those  we  have  alrejuly  menUoned.  **  Critical  Dtsconkms  oo  BeUffloa  as 
PLilosonhy,*'  **  Modern  Slavery,*^  '*  Amscbaspands  and  Darvanda,^  **  The  Past  and  Future  of  tbe  People^**  **  Yc 
nntary  Bervitndo,''  "*  A  Voice  from  the  Prison,**  and  **  A  New  TranslaUon  of  the  Goapels,  wtth  Hotel  aa 
ILeflectiona.'* 


Fireside  Travels, 


413 


thoagh  they  may  not  cany  him 
like  more  impulsive  and  trumpet 

latter  book  to  which  we  have  re- 
the  "Sketch  of  a  Philosophy,"  is 
Daisys  most  ambitious  attempt,  but 
all  respects  his  happiest.  It  is 
prehensive  view  of  the  universe, 
ling  in  subtle  distinctions,  and  rigor- 


ous thoughts,  but  yet,  like  all  the  other 
universal  systems  that  one  reads,  con- 
strained, mechanical,  and  unsatisfactory. 
It  evinces,  however,  profound  learning  on 
the  part  of  the  author, — a  rare  power  of 
generalization,  and  the  tenderest  sensibil- 
ity to  whatever  is  poetical  and  grand  in 
the  aspects  of  life. 


FIRESIDE   TRAVEIA 
(Oonduded  from  page  886L) 


BRIDGE  has  long  had  its  port,  but 

greater  part  of  its  maritime  trade 
lirty  years  ago,  intrusted  to  a  single 
he  sloop  Harvard,  which  belonged 
college,  and  made  annual  voyages 
i  vague  Orient,  known  as  Down 
bringing  back  the  wood  that  in 
ays,  gave  to  winter-life  at  Harvard 
:le  and  a  cheerfulness,  for  the  loss 
;h  the  greater  warmth  of  anthracite 
compensates.  New  England  life, 
enuine,  must  have  in  it  some  senti- 
)f  the  sea, — it  was  this  instinct 
inted  the  device  of  the  pine  tree  on 
1  money  and  the  old  flag,  and 
leriodic  ventures  of  the  sloop  Har- 
lade  the  old  Viking  fibre  vibrate 

hearts  of  all  the  village  boys, 
a  vista  of  mystery  and  adventure 
nr  sailing  open  to  us !  With 
pride  did  we  hail  her  return  ! 
as  our  scholiast  upon   Robinson 

and  the  Mutiny  of  the  Bounty, 
iptain  still  lords  it  over  our  mem- 
£e  greatest  sailor  tliat  ever  sailed 
s,  and  we  should  not  look  at  Sir 
'nmklin  himself  with  such  admiring 
t  as  that  with  which  we  enhaloed 
irger  boy  who  had  made  a  voyage  in 
d  nad  come  back  without  braces  to 
wsers  (gallowses  we  called  them) 
odrting  ostentatiously  the  juice  of 
eed  which  still  gave  him  little  pri- 
itams  of  something  very  like  sea- 
s.     All  our  shingle  vessels  were 

and  rigged  by  her,  who  was  our 
r  naval  fashion  and  our  mould  of 
I  form.  We  had  a  secret  and  wild 
<  in  believing  that  she  carried  a  gun, 
agincd  her  sending  grape  and  canis- 
long  the  treacherous  savages  of 
m.  Inspired  by  her  were  those 
says  St  navigation  on  the  Winthrop 

HI.— 31 


duck-pond,  of  the  plucky  boy  who  was 
afterward  to  serve  two  famous  years  before 
the  mast. 

The  greater  part  of  what  is  now  Cam- 
bridgeport  was  then  (in  the  native  dilect) 
a  huckleberry  pastur.  Woods  were  not 
wanting  on  its  outskirts,  of  pine,  and  oak, 
and  maple,  and  the  rarer  tupelo  with 
downward  limbs.  Its  veins  did  not  draw 
their  blood  from  the  quiet  old  heart  of 
the  village,  but  it  had  a  distinct  being  of 
its  own,  and  was  rather  a  great  caravan- 
sary than  a  suburb.  The  chief  feature  of 
the  place  was  its  inns,  of  which  there  were 
five,  with  vast  bams  and  courtyards, 
which  the  railroad  was  to  make  as  silent 
and  deserted  as  the  palaces  of  Nimroud. 
Great  white-topped  wagons,  each  drawn 
by  double  files  of  six  or  eight  horses,  with 
its  dusty  bucket  swinging  from  the  hinder 
axle,  and  its  grim  bull-dog  trotting  silent 
underneath,  or  in  midsummer  panting  on 
the  lofty  perch  beside  the  driver  (how  ele- 
vated thither  baffled  conjectured  brought 
all  the  wares  and  products  of  the  country 
to  their  mart  and  sea-port  in  Boston. 
Those  filled  the  inn  yards,  or  were  ranged 
side  by  side  under  broad-roofed  shed^ 
and  far  into  the  night  the  mirth  of  their 
lusty  drivers  clamored  from  the  red-cur- 
tained bar-room,  while  the  single  lantern, 
swaying  to  and  fro  in  the  black  cavern  of 
the  stables,  made  a  Rembrandt  of  the 
group  of  hostlers  and  horses  below.  There 
were,  beside  the  taverns,  some  huge  square 
stores  where  groceries  wore  sold,  some 
houses,  by  whom  or  why  inhabited  was 
to  us  boys  a  problem,  and,  on  the  edge  of 
the  marsh,  a  currier's  shop,  where,  at  high 
tide,  on  a  floating  platform,  men  were 
always  beating  slans  in  a  way  to  remind 
one  of  Don  Quixote's  fulling-mills.  Nor 
did  these  make  all  the  port    As  there  is 


474 


Fireside  Travels. 


[ibr 


always  a  Coming  Man  who  never  comes, 
so  there  is  a  man  who  always  comes  (it 
may  be  only  a  quarter  of  an  hour)  too 
early.  This  man,  as  far  as  the  port  is 
ooncemedj  was  Rufus  Dayenport.  Look- 
ing at  the  marshy  flats  of  Cambridge,  and 
considering  their  nearness  to  Boston,  he 
resolved  that  there  should  grow  up  a 
suburban  Venice.  Accordingly,  the  mar- 
shes were  bought,  canals  wore  dug,  ample 
for  the  commerce  of  both  Indies,  and  four 
or  five  rows  of  brick  houses  were  built  to 
meet  the  first  wants  of  the  wading  settlers 
who  were  expected  to  rush  in — whence? 
This  singular  question  had  never  occurred 
to  the  enthusiastic  projector.  There  are 
laws  which  govern  human  migrations  quite 
beyond  the  control  of  the  speculator,  as 
many  a  man  with  desirable  building^lots 
has  discovered  to  his  cost.  Why  mortal 
men  will  pay  more  for  a  chess-board 
square  in  that  swamp  than  for  an  acre  on 
the  breezy  upland  close  by,  who  shall 
say?  And  again,  why,  having  shown 
such  a  passion  for  your  swamp,  they  are 
so  coy  of  mine,  who  shall  say?  Not 
certainly  any  one  who,  like  Davenport, 
had  got  up  too  early  for  his  generation. 
If  we  could  only  carry  that  slow,  imper- 
turbable old  clock  of  Opportunity,  that 
never  strikes  a  second  too  soon  or  too  late, 
in  our  fobs,  and  push  the  hands  forward 
as  wo  can  those  of  our  watches !  With 
a  foreseeing  economy  of  space  which  now 
seems  ludicrous,  the  roofs  of  this  forlorn 
hope  of  houses  were  made  flat  that  the 
swarming  population  might  have  where 
to  dry  their  clothes.  But  A.  U.  C.  30 
showed  the  same  view  as  A.  U.  C.  1 — 
only  that  the  brick  blocks  looked  as  if 
they  had  been  struck  by  a  malaria. 
The  dull  weed  upholstered  the  decaying 
wharves,  and  the  only  freight  that  heaped 
them  was  the  kelp  and  eelgrass  left  by 
higher  floods.  Instead  of  a  Venice,  be- 
hold a  Torzclo !  The  unfortunate  projec- 
tor took  to  the  last  refuge  of  the  unhappy 
— bookmaking,  and  bored  the  reluctant 
public  with  what  he  called  a  Rightaim 
Testament,  prefaced  by  a  recommendation 
from  General  Jackson,  who  perhaps,  from 
its.  title,  took  it  for  some  treatise  on  ball- 
practice. 

But  even  Cambridgeport,  my  dear 
Storg,  did  not  want  associations  poetic 
and  venerable.  The  stranger  who  took 
the  *•  Hourly"  at  Old  Cambridge,  if  he 
were  a  physiognomist  and  student  of 
character,  might,  perhaps,  have  had  his 
curiosity  excited  by  a  person  who  mounted 
the  coach  at  the  port.  So  refined  was  his 
whole  appearance,  so  fastidiously  neat  his 
upparel — but  with  a  neatness  that  seemed 


less  the  result  of  care  and  plan  than  a 
something  as  proper  to  the  man  as  white- 
ness to  the  lily, — that  you  would  have  at 
once  classed  him  with  those  individQali^ 
rarer  than  great  captains  and  almost  m 
rare  as  great  poets,  whom  nature  sendi 
into  the  world  to  fill  the  ardaous  olBce 
of  Gentleman.  Were  yoa  ever  emperor 
of  that  Barataria  which  under  jonr  peioa- 
ful  sceptre  would  present,  of  ooune,  a 
model  of  government,  this  rcmarkaUc 
person  should  be  Duke  of  Bicns^anoe  and 
Master  of  Ceremonies.  There  are  some 
men  whom  destiny  has  endowed  with  the 
faculty  of  external  neatness,  whose  dothca 
are  repellant  of  dust  and  mud,  whose  nn- 
withering  white  neck-cloths  persevere  to 
the  day's  end,  unappeasably  seeing  the 
sun  go  down  upon  their  starch,  and  whon 
linen  makes  you  fancy  them  heirs  in  tl» 
maternal  line  to  the*  instincts  of  all  tha 
washer^'omenfrom  Eve  downward.  Than 
are  others  whose  inward  natures  ponaaa 
this  fatal  cleanness,  incapable  of  x 
dirt-spot  You  are  not  long  in  disooT 
that  the  stranger  combines  in  hii 
both  these  properties.  A  nimhtu  of  hiir, 
fine  as  an  infant's,  and  early  white,  sfaoir- 
ing  refinement  of  organization  and  tlw 
pi^sdominance  of  the  spiritual  over  the 
physical,  undulated  and  floated  aroasd  a 
face  that  seemed  like  pale  flame,  and  Ofar 
which  the  flitting  shades  of  ezprenoD 
chased  each  other,  fugitive  and  gleaming aa 
waves  upon  a  field  of  rye.  It  was  a  oomite- 
nance  that,  without  any  beauty  of  featnn^ 
was  very  beautiful.  I  have  said  that  it  look- 
ed like  jpale  flame,  and  can  find  no  other 
words  for  the  impression  it  gave.  Here 
was  a  man  all  soul,  whose  Uxiy  seemed 
only  a  lamp  of  finest  clay,  whose  aerriee 
was  to  feed  with  magic  oils,  rare  and  far 
grant,  that  wavering  fire  which  hovued 
over  it  You,  who  are  an  adept  in  such 
matters,  would  have  detected  in  the  eyea 
that  artist-look  which  seems  to  see  pi^ 
tures  ever  in  the  air,  and  which,  if  it  iaO 
on  you,  makes  you  feel  as  if  all  the  wmrid 
were  a  gallery,  and  yourself  the  rattMria- 
difi*erent  Portrait  of  a  Gentleman  hmi 
therein.  As  the  stranger  brushes  hr  yoa 
in  alighting,  you  detect  a  single  moon- 
gruity — a  smell  of  dead  tobacoo-smoln. 
You  ask  his  name,  and  the  answer  is,  Mr. 
Allston. 

"  Mr.  Allston ! "  and  you  resolve  to  note 
down  at  once  in  your  diary  eveiy  look, 
every  gesture,  every  word  of  the  peat 
painter?  Not  in  the  least  Yoa  have 
the  true  Anglo-Norman  indifierenoe,  and 
most  likely  never  think  of  him  again  till 
you  hear  that  one  of  his  pictures  has  sold 
for  a  great  price,  and  then  contrive  to  i«^ 


] 


Fireside  Travels. 


4U 


grandchildren  know  twice  a  week 
fou  met  him  once  in  a  coach,  and 
le  said  "  Excuse  me,  sir,"  in  a  very 
esque  manner  when  he  stumbled 
'our  toes  in  getting  out  Ilithertb 
i\\  is  quite  as  unique  as  Shakespeare, 
ountry 'gentleman,  journeying  up  to 
»IL  inquires  of  Mistress  Davenant 
Oxford  inn  the  name  of  his  pleasant 
mion  of  the  night  before.  "  Master 
speare,  an't  please  your  worship," 
be  Justice,  not  without  a  sense  of 
ding,  says,  "Truly,  a  merry  and 
ted  gentleman  ! "  It  is  lucky  for  the 
of  great  men  that  the  world  seldom 
>ut  contemporaneously  who  its  great 
ire,  or,  perhaps,  that  each  man 
18  himself  the  fortunate  he  who 
Iraw  the  lot  of  memory  from  the  hel- 
*  the  future.  Had  the  eyes  of  some 
)rd  burgess  been  achromatic  tele- 
capable  of  a  perspective  of  two 
ed  years!  But,  even  then,  would 
s  record  have  been  fuller  of  says-Is 
isays-hest  Nevertheless  it  is  curi- 
consider  from  what  infinitely  varied 
of  view  we  might  form  our  estimate 
Teat  man's  character,  when  we  re- 
er  that  he  had  his  points  of  contact 
the  butcher,  the  baker,  and  the 
fttickmaker,  as  well  as  with  the  in- 
la  A,  the  sublime  B,  and  the  Right 
"able  G.  If  it  be  true  that  no  man 
dean  forgets  every  thing,  and  that 
t  of  drowning  (as  is  asserted)  forth- 
brightens  up  all  those  o^er-rusted 
isions,  would  it  not  be  a  curious  ex- 
3nt,  if,  after  a  remarkable  person's 
the  public,  eager  for  minutest  par- 
's, should  gather  together  all  who 
rer  been  brought  into  relations  with 
nd;  submerging  them  to  the  hair's- 
Ji  hitherward  of  the  drowning-point, 
t  them  to  strict  cross-examination 
)  Humane  Society,  as  soon  as  they 
e  conscious  between  the  resuscitat- 
ankets  ?  All  of  us  probably  have 
ed  against  destiny  in  the  street,  have 
1  hands  with  it  fallen  asleep  with 
ailway  carriages,  and  knocked  heads 
t  in  some  one  or  other  of  its  yet  un- 
dzed  incarnations. 

1  it  seem  like  presenting  a  tract  to 
x>rfeter,  my  dear  Storg,  if  I  say  ft 
or  two  about  an  artist  to  you  over 
in  Italy?  Be  patient,  and  leave 
Nitton  in  my  grasp  yet  a  little  longer. 
Mm  whose  opinion  is  worth  having 
Bftid  to  me,  that  however  one's 
OS  might  be  modified  by  going  to 
«»  one  always  came  back  with  a 
'  esteem  for  Allston.  Certainly  he 
B  far  the  greatest  English  painter 


of  historical  subjects.  And  only  consider 
how  strong  must  have  been  the  artistic 
bias  in  him  to  have  made  him  a  painter 
at  all  under  the  circumstances.  There 
were  no  traditions  of  art,  so  necessary  for 

fuidance  and  inspiration.  Blackburn, 
mibert,  Copley,  Trumbull,  Stuart,  —  it 
was.  after  all,  but  a  Brentford  sceptre 
which  their  heirs  could  aspire  to,  and 
theirs  were  not  names  to  conjure  with, 
like  those  through  which  Fame,  as  through 
a  silver  trumpet,  had  blown  for  three  cen- 
turies. Copley  and  Stuart  were  both  re- 
markable men,  but  the  one  painted  like 
an  inspired  silk-mercer,  and  the  other 
seems  to  have  mixed  his  colors  with  the 
claret  of  which  he  and  his  generation  were 
so  fond.  And  what  could  a  successful 
artist  hope  for  at  that  time  beyond  the 
mere  wages  of  his  work  ?  His  pictures 
would  hang  in  cramped  back-parlors,  be- 
tween deadly  cross-fires  of  lights,  sure  of 
the  garret  or  the  auction-room  ere  long, 
in  a  country  where  the  nomade  population 
carry  no  household  gods  with  them  but 
their  five  wits  and  their  ten  fingers.  As 
a  race,  we  care  nothing  about  Art,  but 
the  Puritan  and  the  Quaker  are  the  only 
Anglo-Saxons  who  have  had  pluck  enough 
to  confess  it.  If  it  were  surprising  that 
Allston  should  have  become  a  painter  at 
all.  how  almost  miraculous  that  he  should 
have  been  a  great  and  original  one.  We 
call  him  original  deliberately,  because, 
though  his  school  is  essentially  Italian,  it 
is  of  less  consequence  where  a  man  buys 
his  tools,  than  what  use  he  makes  of 
them.  Enough  English  artists  went  to 
Italy  and  came  back  painting  history  in  a 
very  Anglo-Saxon  manner,  and  creating 
a  school  as  melodramatic  as  the  French, 
without  its  perfection  in  technicalities. 
But  Allston  carried  thither  a  nature  open 
on  the  Southern  side,  and  brought  it  back 
so  steeped  in  rich  Italian  sunshine  that 
the  east  winds  (whether  physical  or  in- 
tellectual) of  Boston  and  the  dusts  of 
Cambridgeport  assailed  it  in  vain.  To 
that  bare  wooden  studio  one  might  go  to 
breathe  Venetian  air.  and,  better  yet,  the 
very  spirit  wherein  tne  elder  brothers  of 
Art  labored,  etherialized  by  metaphysical 
speculation,  and  sublimed  by  religious 
fervor.  The  beautiful  old  man!  Here 
was  genius  with  no  volcanic  explosions 
(the  mechanic  result  of  vulgar  gunpowder 
often),  but  lovely  as  a  I^pland  night; 
here  was  fame  not  sought  after  nor  worn 
in  any  cheap  French  fashion  as  a  ribbon 
at  the  buttonhole,  but  so  gentle,  so  retir- 
ing, that  it  seemed  no  more  than  an  as- 
sured and  emboldened  modesty ;  here 
was  ambition,  undebased  by  rivalry  and 


416 


Fireside  Travels, 


Pfay 


incapable  of  the  downward  look ;  and  all 
these  massed  and  harmonized  together 
into  a  purity  and  depth  of  character,  into 
a  to7ie.  which  made  the  daily  life  of  the 
man  the  greatest  master-piece  of  the 
artist. 

But  let  us  goto  the  Old  Town.  Thirty 
years  since  the  Muster  and  the  Comwal- 
lis  allowed  some  vent  to  those  natural  in- 
stincts which  Puritanism  scotched,  but 
not  killed.  The  Comwallis  had  entered 
upon  the  estates  of  the  old  Guy  Fawkes 
procession,  confiscated  by  the  Revolution. 
It  was  a  masquerade,  in  which  that  grave 
and  suppressed  humor,  of  which  the  Yan- 
kees are  fuller  than  other  people,  burst 
through  all  restraints,  and  disported  itself 
in  all  the  wildest  vagaries  of  fun.  It  is  a 
curious  commentary  on  the  artificiality  of 
our  lives,  that  men  must  be  disguised  and 
masked  before  they  will  venture  into  the 
obscurer  comers  of  their  individuality,  and 
display  the  true  features  of  their  nature. 
One  remarked  it  in  the  Carnival,  and  one 
especially  noted  it  here  among  a  race  nat- 
urally self-restrained ;  for  Silas,  and 
Ezra,  and  Jonas  were  not  only  disguised 
as  Redcoats,  Continentals,  and  Indians,  but 
not  unfrcquently  disguised  in  drink  also. 
It  is  a  question  whether  the  Lyceum, 
where  the  public  is  obliged  to  comprehend 
all  vagrom  men,  supplies  the  place  of  the 
old  popular  amusements.  A  hundred  and 
fifty  years  ago,  Cotton  Mather  bewails 
the  carnal  attractions  of  the  tavern  and  the 
training  field,  and  tells  of  an  old  Indian, 
who  imperfectly  understood  the  English 
tongue  but  desperately  mastered  enough  of 
it  (when  under  sentence  of  death)  to  ex- 
press a  desire  for  instant  hemp  rather 
than  listen  to  any  more  ghostly  consola- 
tions. Puritanism — I  am  perfectly  aware 
how  great  a  debt  we  owe  it — tried  over 
again  the  old  experiment  of  driving  out 
nature  with  a  pitchfork,  and  had  the  usual 
success.  It  was  like  a  ship  inwardly  on 
fire,  whose  hatches  must  be  kept  hermeti- 
cally battened  down,  for  the  admittance  of 
an  ounce  of  heaven's  own  natural  air 
would  explode  it  utterly.  Morals  can 
never  be  safely  embodied  in  the  constable. 
Polished,  cultivated,  fascinating  Mephisto- 
philes !  it  is  for  the  ungovernable  break- 
ings-away  of  the  soul  from  unnatural  com- 
pressions that  thou  waitest  with  a  patient 
smile.  Then  it  is  that  thou  oflferest  thy 
gentlemanly  arm  to  unguarded  youth  for 
a  pleasant  stroll  through  the  City  of  De- 
struction, and,  as  a  special  favor,  introdu- 
cesthim  to  the  bewitching  Miss  Circe,  and 
to  that  model  of  the  hospitable  old  En^ 
lish  gentleman,  Mr.  Comus ! 

But  the  Muster  and  the    Comwallis 


were  not  peculiar  to  Cambridge.  Com- 
mencement Day  was.  Saint  Pedagogog 
was  a  worthy  whose  feast  could  be  ode- 
brated  by  men  who  quarrelled  with  nun- 
ced  pics,  and  blasphemed  custard  throodli 
the  nose.  The  holiday  preserved  all  the 
features  of  an  English  fair.  Statioiu  wen 
marked  out  beforehand  by  the  town  eon- 
stables,  and  distinguished  by  numbered 
stakes.  These  were  assigned  to  the  dtf* 
fcrcnt  vendors  of  small  wares,  and  ezltt- 
bitors  of  rarities,  whose  canvas  booths,  be- 
ginning at  the  market-place,  sometunei 
half  endrcled  the  common  with  their  joviil 
embrace.  Now,  all  the  Jehoiadarbozes  in 
town  were  forced  to  give  up  all  their 
rattling  deposits  of  specie,  if  not  through 
the  legitimate  orifice,  then  to  the  brate 
force  of  the  hammer.  For  hither  wen 
come  all  the  wonders  of  the  world,  rsakr  < 
ing  the  Arabian  Nights  seem  possible,  and 
which  we  beheld  for  half  price,  not  with- 
out mingled  emotions — pleasure  at  the 
economy,  and  shame  at  not  paying  the 
more  manly  fee.  Here  the  mummy  un- 
veiled her  withered  charms,  a  more  mar- 
vellous Ninon,  still  attractive  in  her  three 
thousandth  year.  Here  were  the  Siamese 
Twins — ah,  if  all  such  enforced  and  un- 
natural unions  were  made  a  show  of! 
Here  were  the  flying  horses  (their  super- 
natural effect  injured — like  that  of  some 
poems — by  the  visibility  of  the  man  who 
turned  the  crank),  on  which,  as  we  tflted 
at  the  ring;  we  felt  our  shoulders  tmgle 
with  the  ctccolade,  and  heard  the  dink  of 
golden  spurs  at  our  heels.  Are  the  reali- 
ties of  life  ever  worth  half  so  much  as  its 
cheats  ?  and  are  there  any  feasts  half  so 
filling  at  the  price  as  those  Barmecide 
ones  spread  for  us  by  Imagination? 
Hither  came  the  Canadian  giant)  suirepti- 
tiously  seen,  without  price,  as  he  alighted, 
in  broad  day  (giants  were  always  foolish), 
at  the  tavern.  Hither  came  the  greet 
horse  Columbus,  with  shoes  two  incbei 
thick,  and  more  wisely  introduced  bf 
night.  In  the  trough  of  the  town-pomp 
might  bo  seen  the  mermaid,  its  poor 
monkey's  head  carefully  sustained  abore 
water  for  fear  of  drowning.  There  were 
dwarfs,  also,  who  danced  and  sang,  and 
many  a  proprietor  regretted  the  trans- 
audient properties  of  canvas,  which  allofr- 
ed  the  frugal  public  to  share  in  the  me 
lody  without  entering  the  booUi.  Isiti 
slander  of  J.  IL,  who  reports  that  be  onn 
saw  a  deacon,  eminent  for  psalmody,  lin- 
gering near  one  of  these  vocal  tents,  and, 
with  an  assumed  air  of  abstraction,  foT' 
tively  drinking  in,  with  unhabitual  ean.  i 
song,  not  secular  merely,  but  with  a  dish 
of  libertinism  1    The  New  England  pro- 


Fireside  Travels, 


477 


ITS,  *•  All  deacons  are  good,  but — 
I  diCFerenco  in  deacons.'^  On  these 
10 w  became  super- teiranean,  and 
and  in  the  square,  and  Lewis  tera- 
'  contended  with  the  stronger  fas- 
B  of  egg-pop.  But  space  would 
to  make  a  catalogue  of  every  thing. 
i>t,  Wisdom  also,  as  usual,  had  her 
x)th  at  the  comer  of  some  street, 

entrance  fee,  ana,  even  at  that 
t  never  a  customer  the  whole  day 
Per  the  bankrupt  afternoon  there 
ep-shows,  at  a  cent  each, 
ill  these  shows  and  their  showers 
!lean  gone  now  as  those  of  CsBsar 
lOur  and  Napoleon,  for  which  the 
aid  dearer.    They  are  utterly  gone 

leaving  so  much  as  a  snuff  be- 
8  little  thought  of  now  as  that 
obins,  who  was  once  so  consider- 
phenomenon  as  to  be  esteemed  the 
It  Antichrist  and  son  of  perdition, 
ntire  sect  of  Muggletonians.  Were 
Qcement  what  it  used  to  be,  I 
be  tempted  to  take  a  booth  my- 
l  try  an  experiment  recommended 
irist  of  some  merit,  whose  works 
ig  ago  dead  and  (I  fear)  deedeed 


011^  thon  who   fkin  woaId*8t  know  how 

Illy  men  can  iwtss 

(itlng  portraits  of  Uiemselves,  di^uised  as 

oraM,— 

ow  coin  enough  to  bay  afiiU-Iehgth  peyche- 

■i 

ft  rather  darkish  room  in  some  woU-sooght 
AkMi, 

the  town  break  ont  with  bills,  bo  much  per 
d  admlmlon — 

Natural  GuRiosrrr  1 1  Thb  Biooest  Liy- 
FooLllI 

I  jwu  mirror  cleverly,  before  it  set  a  stool, 
ib*  public  one  by  one,  place  each  upon  the 

« 

}  the  cnrtain,  let  him  look  his  fill,  and  then 

e«t: 

DoantB  and  takes  a  thorough  view,  then 

lea  serenely  down, 

HM  and  tells  his  wife  the  thing  is  curiously 

>  Brown, 

goes  and  stares,  and  tells  his  wife  the  won- 

s  eore  and  pith 

'tis  JOBt  the  counterpart  of  that  conceited 

Itb: 

•  OB  all  to  such  a  show ;  Menenius,  trust  in 

boa  to  see  thy  neighbor  smirst,  be  does  the 

•  fbrtheeP* 

r  Storg,  would  you  come  to  my 
id,  instead  of  looking  in  my  glass, 
a  taking  your  money's  worth  in 
it  the  exhibitor  ? 

east  among  the  curiosities  which 
brought  together,  were  some  of 
doat^,  posthumous  men,  as  it 
MOtombed  from  countr}'  parishes 


and  district  schools,  but  perennial  also,  in 
whom  freshly  survived  all  the  college 
jokes,  and  who  had  no  intelligence  later 
than  their  senior  year.  These  had  ga- 
thered to  eat  the  college  dinner,  and  to  get 
the  triennial  catalogue  (their  Libro  d'  oro) 
referred  to  oftener  than  any  volume  but 
the  Concordance.  Aspiring  men  they 
were,  certainly,  but  in  a  right,  unworldly 
way ;  this  scholastic  festival  opening  a 
peaceful  path  to  the  ambition  which  might 
else  have  devasted  mankind  with  Prolu- 
sions on  the  Pentateuch,  or  Genealogies 
of  the  Dormouse  Family.  For,  since  in 
the  Academic  processions  the  classes  are 
ranked  in  the  order  of  their  graduation, 
and  he  has  the  best  chance  at  the  dinner 
who  has  the  fewest  teeth  to  eat  it  with, 
so,  by  d^rees.  there  springs  up  a  compe- 
tition in  longevity,  the  prize  contended  for 
being  the  oldest  surviving  graduateship. 
This  is  an  ofQce,  it  is  true,  without  emo- 
lument, but  having  certain  advantages, 
nevertheless.  The  incumbent,  if  he  come 
to  Commencement,  is  a  prodigious  lion, 
and  commonly  gets  a  paragraph  in  the 
newspapers  once  a  year  with  the  (fiftieth) 
last  survivor  of  Washington's  Life  Guard. 
If  a  clergyman,  he  is  expected  to  ask  a 
blessing  and  return  thanks  at  the  dinner, 
a  function  which  he  performs  with  cente- 
narian longanimity,  as  if  he  reckoned  the 
ordinary  life  of  man  to  be  five  score  years, 
and  that  a  grace  must  be  long  to  reach  so 
very  far  away  as  heaven.  Accordingly, 
this  silent  race  is  watched,  on  the  course  of 
the  catalogue,  with  an  interest  worthy  of 
Newmarket ;  and,  as  star  after  star  rises  in 
that  galaxy  of  death,'*'  till  one  name  is  left 
alone,  an  oasis  of  life  in  the  Stellar  desert, 
it  grows  solemn.  The  natural  feeling  is 
reversed,  and  it  is  the  solitary  life  that  ' 
becomes  sad  and  monitory,  the  Stylites, 
there,  on  the  lonely  top  of  his  century- 
pillar,  who  has  heard  the  passing-bell  of 
youth,  love,  friendship,  hope— of  every 
thing  but  immitigable  eld. 

Dr.  K.  was  President  of  the  University 
then,  a  man  of  genius,  but  of  genius  that 
evaded  utilization,  a  great  water-power, 
but  without  rapids,  and  flowing  with  too 
smooth  and  gentle  a  current  to  be  set 
turning  wheels  and  whirling  spindles. 
Ilis  was  not  that  restless  genius,  of  which 
the  man  seems  to  be  merely  the  repre- 
sentative, and  which  wreaks  itself  in 
literature  or  politics,  but  of  that  milder 
sort,  quite  as  genuine,  and  perhaps  of 
more  contemporaneous  value,  which  is 
the  man,  permeating  a  whole  life  with 
placid  force,  and  giving  to  word,  look,  and 
gesture  a  meaning  only  justifiable  by  our 
belief  in  a  reserved  power  of  latent  rein- 


478 


Fireside  Travels. 


l¥v 


forccment.  The  man  of  talents  possesses 
them  like  so  many  tools,  does  his  job  with 
them,  and  there  an  end ;  but  the  man  of 
genius  is  possessed  by  it,  and  it  makes 
him  into  a  book  or  a  life  according  to  its 
whim.  Talent  takes  the  existing  moulds 
and  makes  its  castings,  better  or  worse, 
of  richer  or  baser  metal,  according  to 
knack  and  opportunity;  but  genius  is 
always  shaping  new  ones  and  runs  the 
man  in  them,  so  that  there  is  always  that 
human  feel  in  its  results  which  gives  us  a 
kindred  thrill.  JVhat  it  will  make  we 
can  only  conjecture,  contented  always 
with  knowing  the  infinite  balance  of  pos- 
sibility against  which  it  can  draw  at 
pleasure.  Have  you  ever  seen  a  man, 
whose  check  would  be  honored  for  a  mil- 
lion, pay  his  toll  of  one  cent,  and  has  not 
.  that  bit  of  copper,  no  bigger  than  your 
'  own  and  piled  with  it  by  the  careless  toll- 
man, given  you  a  tingling  vision  of  what 
golden  bridges  he  could  pass,  into  what 
Elysian  regions  of  taste,  and  enjoyment 
and  culture,  barred  to  the  rest  of  usi 
Something  like  it  is  the  impression  made 
by  such  characters  as  K.'s  on  those  who 
come  in  contact  with  them. 

There  was  that  in  the  sod  and  rounded 
(I  had  almost  said  melting)  outlines  of  his 
face  which  reminded  one  of  Chaucer.  The 
head  had  a  placid  yet  dignified  droop  like 
his.  He  was  an  anachronism,  fitter  to 
have  been  Abbot  of  Fountains  or  Bishop 
Golias.  courtier  and  priest,  humorist  and 
lord  spiritual,  all  in  one,  than  for  the 
mastership  of  a  provincial  college  which 
combined  with  its  purely  scholastic  func- 
tions those  of  accountant  and  chief  of  police. 
For  keeping  books  he  was  incompetent 
.  (unless  it  were  those  he  borrowed),  and 
the  only  discipline  he  exercised  was  by 
the  unobtrusive  pressure  of  a  gentlemanh- 
ness  which  rendered  insubordination  to 
him  impossible.  But  the  world  always 
judges  a  man  (and  rightly  enough,  too) 
by  his  little  faults  which  he  shows  a  hun- 
dred times  a  day,  rather  than  by  his  great 
virtues  which  he  discloses  perhaps  but 
once  in  a  lifetime  and  to  a  single  person, 
nay  in  proportion  as  they  are  rarer,  and 
as  he  is  nobler,  is  shyer  of  letting  their 
existence  be  known  at  all.  He  was  one 
of  those  misplaced  persons  whose  misfor- 
tune it  is  that  their  lives  overlap  two  dis- 
tinct eras,  and  are  already  so  impregnated 
with  one,  that  they  can  never  be  in  healthy 
sympathy  with  the  other.  lk)m  when 
the  New  England  clergy  were  still  an 
establishment  and  an  aristocracy,  and 
when  office  was  almost  always  for  life 
and  often  hereditary,  ho  lived  to  be  thrown 
upon  a  time,  when  avocations  of  all  colors 


might  be  shuffled  together  in  the  life  sf 
one  man  like  a  pack  of  cards,  so  that  jw 
could  not  prophesy  that  he  who  wis  or- 
dained to-day  might  not  accept  a  colonekj 
of  filibusters  to-morrow.  Such  tempen* 
meuts  as  his  attach  themselves  like  bur- 
nacles  to  what  seems  permanent,  but  pe- 
sently  the  good  ship  Progress  wc^ 
anchor  and  whirls  them  away  from  dnmtj 
tropic  inlets  to  arctic  waters  of  nnnatiinl 
ice.  To  such  cmstaoeous  natures,  created 
to  cling  upon  the  immemorial  rock  aaud 
softest  mosses,  comes  the  bustling  Iflae- 
teenth  Century  and  says,  "  Come,  cone; 
bestir  yourself  to  bo  practical :  set  out  of 
that  old  shell  of  yours  forthwith!'*  Ak^ 
to  get  out  of  the'shell  is  to  die ! 

One  of  the  old  travellers  in  South  Ane- 
rica  tells  of  fishes  that  bnilt  their  nests  id 
trees  {piscium  et  summa  haeni  gtns 
ulmo)  and  gives  a  print  of  the  mother  fish 
upon  her  nest,  while  her  mate  moiuts 
perpendicularly  to  her  without  aid  of  kgi 
or  win^.    Life  shows  plenty  of  soeh  ia- 
congruities  between  a  man's  place  and  his 
nature  (not  so  easily  got  over  as  hr  thi 
traveller's  undoubting  engraver),  and  om 
cannot  help  fancying  that  K.  was  an  in- 
stance in  point.     He  never  encountered^ 
one  would  say,  the  attraction  proper  to 
draw  out  his  native  force.    Certam^  km 
men  who  impressed  others  so  strongly, 
and  of  whom  so  many  good  things  are 
remembered,  left  less  behind  them  to  jas> 
tify  contemporary  estimates.     He  pinted 
nothing,  and  was,  perhaps,  one  of  tboee 
the  electric  sparkles  of  whose  bniuS}  di^ 
charged  naturally  and  healthily  in  eon- 
versation,  refuse  to    pass    through  the 
nonconducting  medium  of  the  inkstaixL 
His  ana  would  make  a  delightful  eoUec- 
tion.    One  or  two  of  his  oflScial  ones  will 
be  in  place  here.    Hearing  that  Porters 
flip  (which  was  exemplary)  had  too  pett 
an  attraction  for  the  collegians,  he  resSred 
to  investigate  the  matter  himself.  Aceord- 
ingly  entering  the  old  inn  one  day,  be 
called  for  a  mug  of  it,  and,  haying  dnrnk 
it,  said,  *'  And  so,  Mr.  Porter,  the  ^poong 
gentlemen  come  to  drink  your  fiifs  do 
they?" 

"  Yes.  sir — sometimes." 

"  Ah,  well  I  should  think  they  would. 
Good  day,  Mr.  Porter,"  koA  departed, 
saying  nothing  more,  for  he  always  wiselj 
allowed  for  the  existence  of  a  certain 
amount  of  human  nature  in  ingemioas 
youth.  At  another  time  the/^Harnrd 
Washington  "  asked  leave  to  go  into  Bos- 
ton to  a  collation  which  had  been  «Stfed 
them.  "  Certainly,  young  gentlemen,''  ^ 
the  President,  *^but  have  you  eopged 
any  one  to  bring  out  yout  muskets?"" 


FireMe  Travels, 


479 


;e  being  responsible  for  these 
which  belonged  to  the  State. 
hen  a  student  came  with  a 
s  certificate,  and  asked  leave  of 
C.  granted  it  at  once  and  then 
By  the  way.  Mr. ,  persons  ^ 

in  the  relation  which  exists 
states  of  the  atmosphere  and 
kve  noticed  a  curious  fact  in  re- 
be  climate  of  Cambridge,  espe- 
tiin  the  college  limits, — the  very 
iber  of  deaths  in  proportion  to 
of  dangerous  illness, **  This  is 
adge  W..  himself  a  wit,  and  ca- 
snjoying  the  humorous  delicacy 
roof. 

take  Brahmin  Alcott's  favorite 
call  him  a  daemonic  man  ?  No. 
1  genius  is  quite  oldfashioned 
r  me,  means  the  same  thing,  and 
tive  geniality  expresses,  mor^ 

base  of  K.'s  being.    How  he 

cloistered  repose  and  quad- 
ossy  with  centurial  associations ! 

he  was,  and  how  without  creak 
'  movement  of  his  mind !  This 
good  enough  for  him,  and  the 
too  good.  The  gentlemanlike 
even  his  prayers.  His  were  not 
?rs  of  a  man  of  the  world,  nor 

of  the  other  world  either,  but 
in  him  to  balance  each  other  in 
ill  equilibrium.  Praying,  he 
ward  upon  the  pulpit-cushion  as 
sation.  and  seemed  to  feel  him- 
lout  irreverence)  on  terms  of 
)ut  courteous  familiarity  with 
The  expression  of  his  face  was 
•anquil  contentment,  and  he  ap- 
»  to  be  supplicating  expected 
[lan  thankful  for  those  already 
If  he  were  saying  the  gratiaa  in 
ory  of  the  Abbey  of  Theleme. 
Q  flourished  the  Harvard  Wash- 
rps,  whoso  gyrating  banner,  in- 
Vam  Marti  quam  Mercurio 
2gts  Lyaeo  should  have  been 
I  the  evening  of  training-days, 
nirate  dynamometer  of  Willard's 
Porter's  flip.  It  was  they  who, 
;  royally  entertained  by  a  maiden 
e  town,  entered  in  their  orderly 
te  that  Miss  Blank  was  a  gentle- 
e  them  now,  returning  from  the 
deadly  breach  of  the  law  of 
cable  to  form  other  than  the  ser- 
le  of  beauty,  while  their  ofiBcers. 
rather  than  imperious,  instead 
anding,  tearfully  embraced  the 
mtric  wanderers  from  military 
Undpr  him  the  Med.  Facs. 
-  equal  place  among  the  learned 
»f  Europe,   numbering  among 


their  gratefal  honorary  members.  Alex- 
ander, Emperor  of  all  the  Russias,  who 
(if  college  legends  may  be  trusted)  sent 
them,  in  return  for  their  diploma,  a  gift 
of  medals,  oonflscated  by  the  authorities. 
Under  him  the  college  fire-engine  was  vigi- 
lant and  active  in  suppressing  any  tendency 
to  spontaneous  combustion  among  the 
freshmen,  or  rushed  wildly  to  imaginary 
conflagrations,  generally  in  a  direction 
where  punch  was  to  be  had.  All  these  use- 
ful conductors  for  the  natural  electricity  of 
vouth,  dispersing  it  or  turning  it  harm- 
lessly into  the  earth,  are  taken  away  now, 
wisely  or  not,  is  questk)nable. 

An  academic  town,  in  whose  atmosphere 
there  is  always  something  antiseptic, 
seems  naturally  to  draw  to  itself  certain 
varieties  and  to  preserve  certain  humors 
(in  the  Ben  Jonsonian  sense)  of  character, 
— men  who  come  not  to  study  so  much  as 
to  be  studied.  At  the  head-quarters  of 
Washington  once,  and  now  of  the  Muses, 

lived  C ,  but  before  the  date  of  these 

recollections.  Here  for  seven  years  (as 
the  law  was  then)  he  made  his  house  his 
castle,  sunning  himself  in  his  elbow-chair 
at  the  fi?ont-door,  on  that  seventh  day, 
secure  from  every  arrest  but  that  of  Death. 
Here  long  survived  him  his  turbaned 
widow,  studious  only  of  Spinoza  and  re- 
fusing to  molest  the  canker-worms  that 
annually  disleaved  her  elms,  because  we 
were  all  vermicular  alike.  She  had  been 
a  famous  beauty  once,  but  the  canker 
years  liad  left  her  leafless  too,  and  I  used 
to  wonder,  as  I  saw  her  sitting  always 
alone  at  her  accustomed  window,  whether 
she  were  ever  visited  by  the  reproachful 
shade  of  him  who  (in  spite  of  Rosalind) 
died  broken-hearted  for  her  in  her  radiant 
youth. 

And  this  reminds  me  of  J.  F.  who,  also 
crossed  in  love,  allowed  no  mortal  eye  to 
behold  his  face  for  many  years.  The 
eremitic  instinct  is  not  peculiar  to  the 
Thebais,  as  many  a  New  England  village 
can  testify,  and  it  is  worthy  of  considera- 
tion that  the  Romish  Church  has  not  for- 
gotten this  among  her  other  points  of  in- 
timate contact  with  human  nature.  F. 
became  purely  vespertinal,  never  stirring 
abroad  till  after  dark.  He  occupied  two 
rooms,  migrating  from  one  to  the  other  as 
the  necessities  of  housewifery  demanded, 
and  when  it  was  requisite  that  he  should 
put  his  signature  to  any  legal  instrument 
(for  he  was  an  anchorite  of  ample  means) 
he  wrapped  himself  in  a  blanket,  allowing 
nothing  to  be  seen  but  the  hand  which 
acted  as  scribe.  What  impressed  us  boys 
more  than  any  thing  was  the  rumor  that 
he  had  suffered  his  beard  to  grow,  such 


480 


Fireside  Travels. 


[ifar 


an  anti-Sheffioldism  being  almost  unheard 
of  in  those  days,  and  the  peculiar  orna- 
ment of  man  being  associated  in  our  minds 
with  nothing  more  recent  than  the  patri- 
archs and  apostles,  whose  effigies  we  wero 
obliged  to  solace  ourselves  with  weekly  in 
the  Family  Bible.  Ho  came  out  of  hia 
oystcrhood  at  last,  and  I  knew  him  well, 
a  kind-hearted  man,  who  gave  annual 
sleigh-rides  to  the  town  paupers,  and  sup- 
plied the  poorer  children  with  school- 
books.  His  favorite  topic  of  conversation 
was  Eternity,  and,  like  many  other  worthy 
persons,  he  used  to  fancy  that  meaning 
was  an  affair  of  aggregation,  and  that  he 
doubled  the  intensity  of  what  he  said  by 
the  sole  aid  of  the  multiplication-table. 
'*  Eternity  I "  he  used  to  say,  "  it  is  not  a 
day ;  it  is  not  a  year ;  it  is  not  a  hundred 
years ;  it  is  not  a  thousand  years ;  it  is 
not  a  million  years;  no  sir"  (the  «tr  being 
thrown  in  to  recall  wandering  attention), 
"  it  is  not  ten  million  years ! "  and  so  on,  his 
enthsiasm  becoming  a  mere  frenzy  when 
he  got  among  his  sextillions,  till  I  some- 
times wished  he  had  continued  in  retire- 
ment. Ue  used  to  sit  at  the  open  win- 
dow during  thunderstorms,  and  had  a 
Grecian  feeling  about  death  by  lightning. 
In  a  certain  sense  he  had  his  desire,  for  he 
died  suddenly, — not  by  fire  from  heaven, 
but  by  the  red  flash  of  apoplexy,  leaving 
his  whole  estate  to  charitable  uses. 

If  K.  were  out  of  place  as  president, 
that  was  not  P.  as  Greek  professor.  Who 
that  ever  saw  him  can  forget  him,  in  his  old 
age.  like  a  lusty  winter,  frosty  but  kindly, 
with  great  silver  spectacles  of  the  heroic 
period,  such  as  scarce  twelve  noses  of  these 
degenerate  days  could  bear  V  lie  was  a 
natural  celibate,  not  dwelling  ^'like  the 
fly  in  the  heart  of  the  apple,"  but  like  a 
lonely  bee,  rather,  absconding  himself  in 
Ilymettian  flowers,  incapable  of  matri- 
mony as  a  solitary  palm-tree.  There  was 
not  even  a  tradition  of  youthful  disappoint- 
ment I  fancy  him  arranging  his  scru- 
pulous toilet,  not  for  Amai'yllis  or  Neasra, 
but.  like  Machiavelli,  for  the  society  of  his 
beloved  classics.  His  ears  had  needed  no 
prophylactic  wax  to  pass  the  Sirens'  isle, 
nay,  he  would  have  kept  them  the  wider 
open,  studious  of  the  dialect  in  which  they 
sang,  and  perhaps  triumphantly  detecting 
the  Aeolic  digamma  in  their  lay.  A 
thoroughly  single  man,  single-minded, 
single-hearted,  buttoning  over  his  single 
heart  a  single-breasted  surtout,  and  wear- 
ing always  a  hat  of  a  single  fashion, — did 
he  in  secret  regard  the  dual  number  of 
his  favorite  language  as  a  weakness  ?  The 
son  of  an  olficer  of  distinction  hi  the  Revo- 
lutionary AVar.  he  mounted  the  pulpit 


with  the  erect  port  of  a  soldier,  and  aurried 
his  cane  more  in  the  fashk>n  of  a  weapon 
than  a  stafij  but  with  the  point  lowmd 
in  token  of  surrender  to  the  pcaoeM  pnh 
prieties  of  his  calling.  Yet  somctimef  tht 
martial  instincts  would  burst  the  one- 
^nents  of  black  coat  and  clerical  neck-Gk)tfa, 
as  once  when  the  students  had  got  into  a 
fight  upon  the  training-field,  and  tht 
licentious  soldiery,  furious  with  rani,1iad 
driven  them  at  point  of  bayonet  to  tht 
college-gates,  and  even  threatened  to  lift 
their  arms  against  the  Muse's  bower. 
Then,  like  Major  Gofle  at  Deerfield,  sud- 
denly appeared  the  grayhaired  P.,  all  hit 
father  resurgent  in  him,  and  shoate^ 
"  Now,  my  lads,  stand  your  ground,  yoaVe 
in  the  right  now  !  don't  let  one  of  tliem 
get  inside  the  college  grounds  ! "  Thai 
he  allowed  arms  to  get  the  better  of  the 
togOj  but  raised  it,  like  the  Prophet^ 
breeches,  into  a  banner,  and  caraaUy 
ushered  resistance  with  a  preamble  of  in- 
fringed right  Fidelity  was  his  stitn^ 
characteristic,  and  burned  equably  in  him 
through  a  life  of  eighty-three  years.  He 
drilled  himself  till  inflexible  habit  stood 
sentinel  before  all  those  postern-weak- 
nesses which  temperament  leaves  unbolted 
to  temptation.  A  lover  of  the  scholai't 
herb,  yet  loving  freedom  more,  and  know- 
ing that  the  animal  appetites  ever  hold 
one  hand  behind  them  for  Satan  to  dnp 
a  bribe  in,  he  would  never  have  two  segira 
in  his  house  at  once,  but  walked  evoj 
day  to  the  shop  to  fetch  his  single  diumtl 
solace.  Nor  would  he  trust  himself  with 
two  on  Saturdays,  preferring  (since  hi 
could  not  violate  the  Sabbath  even  by 
that  infinitesimal  traffic)  to  depend  oo 
Providential  ravens,  which  were  seldoai 
wanting  in  the  shape  of  some  black-coated 
friend  who  knew  his  need  and  honored 
the  scruple  that  occasioned  it.  He  was 
faithful  also  to  his  old  hats,  in  which  ap* 
pcarcd  the  constant  service  of  the  antique 
world,  and  which  he  preserved  for  em, 
piled  like  a  black  pagoda  under  his  dre«- 
ing-table.  No  scarecrow  was  ever  Um 
residuary  legatee  of  his  beavers,  thon^ 
one  of  them  in  any  of  the  ncighbonng 
peach-orchards  woiild  have  been  aovraa 
against  an  attack  of  freshmen.  He  won 
them  all  in  turn,  getting  through  all  in 
the  course  of  the  year,  like  the  sun  throng 
the  signs  of  the  Zodiac,  modulating  them 
according  to  seasons  and  celestial  pheno- 
mena, so  that  never  was  spider-web  or 
chickweed  so  sensitive  a  weather-gauge 
as  they.  Nor  did  his  political  party  find 
him  less  loyal.  Taking  all  the  tickets^  he 
would  seat  himself  apart  and  carefnUj 
compare  them  with  the  list  of  rpgolir 


1854.] 


Fireside  Travels. 


481 


nominations  as  printed  in  his  Daily  Adver- 
tiser before  he  dropped  his  ballot  in  the 
box.  In  less  ambitious  moments  it  almost 
seems  to  me  that  I  would  rather  have  had 
that  slow  conscientious  vote  of  P.'s  alone, 
than  have  been  chosen  alderman  of  the 
ward! 

If  you  had  walked  to  what  was  then 
Sweet  Auburn  by  the  pleasant  Old  Koad, 
on  some  June  morning  thirty  years  ago, 
you  would,  very  likely,  have  met  two 
other  characteristic  persons,  both  phan- 
tasmagoric now  and  belonging  to  the  Past. 
Fifty  years   earlier,    the    scarlet-coated, 
nipiered  figures  of  Vassall,  Oliver,  and 
Brattle,  creaked  up  and  down  there  on 
red-heeled  shoes,  lifting  the  ceremonious 
three-cornered  hat  and  offering  the  fuga- 
cious hospitalities  of  the  snuff-  box.    They 
are  all  sliadowy  alike  now,  not  one  of 
your  Etruscan  Lucumos  or  Roman  Con- 
suls more  so,  my  dear  Storg.   First  is  W., 
his  queue  slender  and  tapering  like  the 
tail  of  a  violet  crab,  held  out  horizontally, 
by  the  high  collar  of  his  shepherd's-gray 
overcoat,  whose  style  was  of  the  latest 
when  he  studied  at  Ley  den  in  his  hot 
youth.    The  age  of  cheap  clothes  sees  no 
more  of  those  faithful  old  garments,  as 
proper  to  their  wearers,  and  as  distinc- 
tive as  the  barks  of  trees^  and  by  long  use 
interpenetrated   with  their  very  nature. 
Nor  do  we  see  so  many  Humors  (still  in 
the  old  sense)  now  that  every  man's  soul 
belongs  to  the  Public,  as  when  social  dis- 
tinctions were  more  marked,  and  men 
felt   that  their  personalities  were  their 
castles,  in  which    they  could   entrench 
themselves  against  the  world.  Nowadays 
men  are  shy  of  letting  their  true  selves 
be  seen,  as  if  in  some  former  life  they  had 
committed  a  crime,  and  were  all  the  time 
afraid  of  discovery  and  arrest  in  this. 
Formerly  they  used  to  insist  on  your 
giving  the  wall  to  their  peculiarities,  and 
you  may  still  find  examples  of  it  in  the 
parson  or  the  doctor  of  retired  villages. 
One  of  W.'s  oddities  was  touching.    A 
little  brook  used  to  run  across  the  street, 
and  the  sidewalk  was  carried  over  it  by 
a  broad  stone.    Of  course,  there  is  no 
brook  now.     What  use  did  that  little 
glimpse  of  ripple  serve,  where  the  children 
used  to  launch  their  chip  fleets  ?    W..  in 
^ing  over  this  stone,  which  gave  a  hollow 
resonance  to  the  tread,  used  to  strike 
upon  it  three  times  with  his  cane,  and 
mutter  Tom!    Tom!    Tom!    I  used  to 
think  he  was  only  mimicking  with  his  voice 
the  sound  of  the  blows,  and  possiblyit  was 
that  sound  which  suggestixl  his  thought 
*• — for  be  was  remembering  a  favorite  ne- 
phew prematurely  dead.     Perhaps  Tom 


had  sailed  his  boats  there ;  perhaps  the 
reverberation  under  the  old  man's  foot 
hmted  at  the  hollowness  of  life ;  perhaps 
the  fleeting  eddies  of  the  water  brought  to 
mind  the  fagaces  annos.  W.,  like  P., 
wore  amazing  spectacles,  fit  to  transmit 
no  smaller  image  than  the  page  of  mighti- 
est folios  of  Dioscorides  or  Hercules  de 
Saxoni^  and  rising  full-disked  upon  the 
beholder  like  those  prodigies  of  two  moons 
at  once,  portending  change  to  monarchs. 
The  great  collar  disallowing  any  indepen- 
dent rotation  of  the  head,  I  remember  ho 
used  to  turn  his  whole  person  in  order  to 
bring  their  foci  to  bear  upon  an  object. 
One  can  fancy  that  terrified  nature  would 
have  yielded  up  her  secrets  at  once,  with- 
out cross-examination,  at  their  first  glare. 
Through  them  he  had  gazed  fondly  into 
the  great  mare's-nest  of  Junius,  publish- 
ing his  observations  upon  the  eggs  found 
therein  in  a  tall  octavo.  It  was  he  who 
introduced  vaccination  to  this  Western 
World.  He  used  to  stop  and  say  good 
morning  kindly,  and  pat  the  shoulder  of 
the  blushing  schoolboy  who  now,  with 
the  fierce  snow-storm  wildering  without, 
sits  and  remembers  sadly  those  old  meet- 
ings and  partings  in  the  June  sunshine. 

Then,  there  was  S.  whose  resounding 
"haw!  haw!  haw!  by  George!"  posi- 
tively enlarged  the  income  of  every  dweller 
in  Cambridge.  In  downright,  honest 
good  cheer  and  good  neighborhood  it  was 
worth  five  hundred  a  year  to  every  one 
of  us.  Its  jovial  thunders  cleared  the 
mental  air  of  every  sulky  cloud.  Perpe- 
tual childhood  dwelt  in  him,  the  childhood 
of  his  native  Southern  France,  and  its 
fixed  air  was  all  the  time  bubbling  up 
and  sparkling  and  winking  in  his  eyes. 
It  seemed  as  if  his  placid  old  face  were 
only  a  mask  behind  which  a  merry  Cupid 
had  ambushed  himself,  peeping  out  all  the 
while,  and  ready  to  drop  it  when  the  play 
grew  tiresome.  Every  word  he  uttered 
seemed  to  be  hilarious,  no  matter  what 
the  occasion.  If  ho  were  sick  and  you 
visited  him,  if  he  had  met  with  a  misfor- 
tune (and  there  are  few  men  so  wise  that 
they  can  look  even  at  the  back  of  a  re- 
tiring sorrow  with  composure),  it  was  all 
one ;  his  great  laugh  went  off  as  if  it  were 
set  like  an  alarum-clock,  to  run  down, 
whether  he  would  or  no,  at  a  certain  nick. 
Even  after  an  ordinary  good-morning! 
(especially  if  to  an  old  pupil,  and  in 
French,)  the  wonderful  haw!  Jiaw!  Iiaw! 
by  George  !  would  burst  upon  you  unex- 
pectedly like  a  salute  of  artillery  on  some 
holiday  which  you  had  forgotten.  Every 
thing  was  a  Joke  to  him — that  the  oath 
of  lUlogiance  had  been  administered  to  him 


482 


Coioa  de  Bspafla. 


Dbj 


by  your  grandfather, — that  he  had  taught 
Prescott  his  first  Spanish  ^of  which  he 
was  proud) — no  matter  wnat.  Every 
thing  came  to  him  marked  by  nature — 
right  side  up,  toitfi  care,  and  he  kept  it 
so.  The  world  to  him,  as  to  all  of  us, 
was  like  a  medal,  on  the  obverse  of  which 
is  stamped  the  image  of  Joy,  and  on  the 
reverse  that  of  Care.  S.  never  took  the 
foolish  pains  to  look  at  that  other  side, 
even  if  he  knew  its  existence ;  much  less 
would  it  have  occurred  to  him  to  turn  it 
into  view  and  insist  that  his  friends 
should  look  at  it  with  him.  Nor  was  this 
a  mere  outside  good-humor;  its  source 
was  deeper  in  a  true  Christian  kindliness 
and  amenity.  Once  when  he  had  been 
knocked  down  by  a  tipsily-driven  sleigh, 
and  was  urged  to  prosecute  the  offenders 
— ''No,  no, "  he  said,  his  wounds  still  fresh, 
"  young  blood  1  young  blood !  it  must 
have  its  way  ;  I  was  young  myself." 
Was  !  few  men  come  into  life  so  young 
as  S.  went  out  He  landed  in  Boston 
(then  the  front-door  of  America)  in  '93, 
and,  in  honor  of  the  ceremony,  had  his 
head  powdered  afresh,  and  put  on  a  suit 
of  court-mourning  before  he  set  foot  on 
the  wharf.  My  fancy  always  dressed 
him  in  that  violet  silk,  and  his  soul  cer- 
tainly wore  a  full  court-suit  What  was 
there  ever  like  his  bow  ?  It  was  as  if  you 
had  received  a  decoration,  and  could  write 
yourself  gentleman  from  that  day  forth. 
His  hat  rose,  regreeting  your  own,  and 
having  sailed  through  the  stately  curve 
of  the  old  regime,  sank  gently  back  over 
that   placid    brain  which    harbored   no 


thought  less  white  than  the  powder  whidi 
covered  it.  I  have  sometimes  imigiDed 
that  there  was  a  graduated  arc  over  hit 
'  head,  invisible  to  other  eyes  than  his,  by 
which  he  meted  out  to  each  his  rigfatfid 
share  of  castorial  consideration.  I  carry 
in  my  memory  three  exemplary  bows. 
The  first  is  that  of  an  old  beggar,  who 
already  carrying  in  his  hand  a  white  hat, 
the  gift  of  benevolence,  took  off  the  black 
one  from  his  head  also,  and  profoondly 
saluted  me  with  both  at  once,  giving  me, 
in  return  for  my  alms,  a  dual  benedictkni, 
puzzling  as  a  nod  from  Janns  Bifitms. 
The  second  I  received  from  an  old  Car- 
dinal who  was  taking  his  walk  just  oat- 
side  the  Porta  San  Giovanni  at  Rome.  I 
paid  him  the  courtesy  due  to  his  age  and 
rank.  Forth vrith  rose — first  the  Hat; 
second,  the  hat  of  his  confessor;  third, 
that  of  another  priest  who  attended  him; 
fourth,  the  fringed  cocked-hat  of  his  ooach- 
man ;  fifth  and  sixth,  the  ditto,  ditto,  of 
his  two  footmen.  Here  was  an  invest- 
ment, indeed;  six  hundred  per  cent  in- 
terest on  a  single  bow !  The  third  bow, 
worthy  to  be  noted  in  one's  almanac 
among  the  other  mirabilia^  was  that  of 
S.  in  which  courtesy  had  mounted  to  the 
last  round  of  her  ladder, — and  tried  ta 
draw  it  up  after  her. 

But  the  genial  veteran  is  gone  eren 
while  I  am  writing  this,  and  I  will  pity 
Old  Mortality  no  longer.  Wandoing 
among  these  recent  graves,  my  dear  fiiend, 
we  may  chance  to  — — ,  but  no,  I  will  not 
end  my  sentence.  I  bid  yon  heartily 
farewell! 


COSAS   DE   ESPAKA. 


OOINO   TO  SEA   IN   A   SPANISH  SHIP. 

BARCA,  the  father  of  Hannibal— Bar- 
cino.  Behold  the  origin  of  the  name 
of  the  steamer  which  was  destined  to  con- 
vey me  to  the  Spains.  Having  duly  ob- 
tained leave  of  the  Alarseillcs  police,  the 
American  consul,  and  his  Worship,  the 
Spanish  consul,  to  take  so  grave  a  step,  I 
engaged  a  berth  in  this  good  Spanish  ship, 
rather  than  run  the  risk  of  offending  the 
national  pride  of  my  Barcelona  friends  by 
arriving  in  a  French  one.  Had  there  been 
an  American  vessel,  by  the  by,  running 
in  opposition  to  the  others,  it  would  have 


been  still  more  impradent  to  hare  give^ 
it  the  preference,  for  the  di£Bcalties  b^^ 
tween  the  governments  of  Spain  and  tl^^ 
United  States,  growing  out  of  the  Lop^^ 
buccaneering  expedition  against  Oub^^ 
were  then  unsettled.  I  had  even  beer^ 
warned  at  Marseilles  that  in  the  ezasp^^ 
rated  state  of  the  public  mind  beyond  iSm-  ^ 
Pyrenees,  a  Yankee  might  be  welcome^ 
there  with  hands  which  the  next  raomei^' 
would  be  cold  from  the  steel  of  the  stilettC^ 
.  However,  naught  alarmed  by  the  advi^^ 
of  men  whose  minds  were  excited  by  tl^^ 
perils  of  a  threatened  insurrection  at  honiB^ 
— for  it  was  just  at  the  time  of  Napoleon^^ 
coup  dPitat — ^I  paid  down  my  hard  T 


1864.] 


Co9a8  de  Eapafia, 


488 


ish  dollars ;  and  to  all  warnmgs  gave  for 
my  only  reply, 

Carlos  StuArdo  sol, 
Qne  siendo  amor  mi  g:ala, 

Al  ciel  de  Espafia  vol. 
For  ver  mi  estrella,  Maria. 

An  explanatory  word,  at  the  outset, 
respecting  the  cosaa  de  Espana.  They 
are  the  strange  things  of  Spain,  which, 
being  utterly  incomprehensible  by  foreign- 
ers, are  never  even  attempted  to  be  ex- 
plamed  to  them  by  the  natives.  Should 
a  stranger  imprudently  seek  to  pry  into 
one  of  them,  he  would  get  in  return  merely 
a  long  string  of  polite  circumlocutions  and 
repetitions  of  words,  the  substance  and 
end  of  which  would  be,  that  the  matter  in 
question  was  a  cosa  de  Espana;  and 
wat  was  all  which  could  be  said  about  it. 

Now  the  traveller  cannot  take  the  first 
step  towards  this  land  of  whimsicalities 
without  encountering  a  cosa.    After  I  had 

rkid  for  my  passage  on  board  the  Barcino, 
was  informed  that  we  should  leave  the 
next  morning  at  daylight.  At  daylight ! 
Kow  what,  m  the  name  of  common  sense, 
thought  I,  could  be  the  reason  for  com- 

SiUing  the  passengers  to  turn  out  on  a 
ecember  morning  at  an  hour  so  uncom- 
fortable— and  that,  in  order  to  go  on  board 
a  ship  which  showed  by  the  number  of 
the  revolutions  of  her  paddles  per  minute 
that  she  was  not  in  the  least  possible 
hurry  to  reach  the  point  of  her  destination 
— ^and  that,  moreover,  in  order  to  go  to  a 
country  where,  as  the  reader  already 
knows  or  will  hereafter  be  fully  informed, 
time  is  of  no  sort  of  account  whatever, 
and  especially  the  time  which  is  spent  in 
journeying!  I  did  not  presume  to  ask 
for  an  explanation.  But  the  one  which 
occurred  to  me  was,  that  the  Spaniard 
having  been  accustomed  from  time  imme- 
morial to  take  the  road  at  break  of  day, 
in  order  to  save  himself  and  his  ass  from 
the  midday  heats,  he  could  not  think  of 
80  far  changing  old  established  habit  as 
to  set  out  even  by  steamer  at  any  other 
hoar. 

Knowing  the  thousand  causes  of  delay 
incident  to  all  Spanish  expeditions,  I  had, 
in  truth,  not  much  faith  to  believe  that 
we  should  get  off  before  noon ;  but  not 
wishing  to  run  any  risk  of  being  left  be- 
hind, I  thought  the  best  thing  to  be  done 
was  to  go  on  board  over  night,  and  get 
sach  sleep  in  the  narrow  cabin  as  fortune 
diould  send  me.    I  accordingly  did  so. 

It  is  a  strange  sensation — that  which 
comes  over  one  while  being  rowed  down 
the  harbor  of  Marseilles  at  night.    It  was 

Stting  towards  midnight  as  I  stepped  into 
D  heavy  barge  which  was  to  convey  me 


to  the  steamer  at  the  bottom  of  the  har- 
bor. Four  sailors  in  the  red  caps  and 
brown  jackets  of  Spain  were  at  the  oars ; 
and  a  steersman,  with  a  face  dark  as 
Charon's,  sat  muffled  in  his  capote  at  the 
helm.  Had  I  been  going  to  cross  the 
Styx,  I  could  not  have  chosen  a  better 
hour  or  man.  As  I  glided  down  the  har- 
bor, almost  as  narrow  and  well  filled  as  a 
dock,  no  noise  broke  the  stillness  of  the 
night,  save  that  of  the  slowlv  dipping  oars. 
The  use  of  fire  being  prohibited  within 
the  port  not  a  single  ship-light  -was 
seen  burning  from  deck  or  cabin.  Only 
the  stars  shone  upon  my  pathway,  and 
were  reflected  in  long  lines  of  light  from 
the  glassy  surface  of  the  sea.  The  big, 
black  hulks,  half  buried  in  the  darkness 
of  the  night,  seemed  to  be  sleeping  on  the 
silent  waters.  For  once,  a  sense  of  deso- 
latenesS;  which  will  sometimes  overtake 
the  solitary  traveller  -a  regret — a  vague 
feeling  of  dread  even,  was  rising  in  my 
breast,  when  all  at  once  the  similarity  of 
the  scene  recalled  to  my  recollection  the 
pleasant  summer  nights  spent  years  be- 
fore on  the  lagoons  of  Venice.  There  was 
a  resemblance,  yet  how  great  the  contrast 
For  instead  of  the  light  gondola,  and  the 
song  of  the  gay-throated  Italian,  I  had 
now  a  cumbrous  barge  with  a  helmsman 
as  silent  and  motionless  as  a  spectre. 
Instead  of  gliding  along  between  banks  of 
palaces,  with  pillar  and  cornice,  wall  and 
window,  urn  and  statue  shining  in  the 
moonbeams,  I  was  stealing  away  between 
a  double  row  of  black,  half-defined  masses 
which  lay  like  monsters  brooding  on  the 
deep.  Instead  of  the  passing  and  repass- 
ing of  pleasure  boats,  freighted  with  frolic 
or  with  love,  I  was  ploughing  a  solitary 
furrow  through  a  silent  sea,  meeting  no 
adventures,  and  looking  forward  to  no 
greetings. 

But  the  recalling  of  the  more  pleasing 
Venetian  scene  was  soon  interrupted  by 
the  arrival  of  the  boat  alongside  the 
steamer.  I  aroused  myself  from  my  re- 
verie just  long  enough  to  climb  the  ship's 
side — to  give  a  thought  to  Saint  Ferdi- 
nand— and  to  throw  myself  into  my  berth. 

It  was  not  until  the  Barcino  had  been 
several  hours  on  her  way  that  I  made  my 
appearance  on  deck  the  next  day.  And 
judge  of  my  surprise  on  observing  that  we 
were  then  steaming  directly  past  the  en- 
trance to  the  harbor  of  Marseilles.  I  rub- 
bed my  eyes ;  I  rubbed  my  glass,  but  could 
make  nothing  else  of  it  Then,  seeing  the 
Captain  standing  near  me,  I  went  up  to 
him,  and  asked  what  the  deuce  the  Bar- 
cino had  been  about  for  the  last  three  or 
four  hours.    To  which,  as  it  may  have 


484 


Cosas  de  Espafia. 


[Mv 


seemed  to  him,  very  strange  questioD, 
he  quietly  replied  that  wo  had  been  run- 
ning down  the  coast  to  the  port  of— I  for- 
get the  name — to  get  a  bill  of  health.  Go- 
ing half  the  way  to  Italy,  said  I  to  my- 
self, in  order  to  procure  a  bill  of  health  for 
a  port  in  Spain !  What  can  that  mean  ? 
Luckily,  an  instant's  reflection  suggested 
to  me  that  this  was  cosa^  number  two. 
So  I  spared  myself  the  mortification,  and 
the  captain  the  indignity  of  another  in- 
quiry. Calmly  turning  away,  I  congrat- 
ulated myself  with  the  reflection  that  a 
bill  of  health  was  undoubtedly  a  good 
thing ;  and  remembering  that  there  was 
an  extra  charge  of  several  francs  on  my 
passage-ticket  for  this  same  bill  of  health, 
I  had  also  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that 
I  had  got  what  was  bargained  for. 

Excepting  this  voyage  down  the  eastern 
coast  of  France,  the  day  wore  away  with- 
out any  sort  of  an  adventure — and  that, 
notwithstanding  the  ship's  cabin  doors  were 
ornamented  with  pictures  of  the  exploits 
of  Don  Quixote.  On  mine  was  painted  the 
scene  where  the  gallant  knight  attacked 
his  host's  pig-skins.  In  his  shirt-tails, 
and  the  innkeeper's  greasy  nightcap,  with 
his  good  blade  in  hand,  and  his  eyes  hurl- 
ing daggers  at  the  fancied  giant  Micomi- 
con,  he  was  ripping  up  the  innocent  wine- 
bags, which  hung  unsuspectingly  on  the 
walls  of  his  bed-room.  The  red  fluid, 
which,  to  the  astonished  eyes  of  Sancho 
Panza,  was  the  blood  of  the  giant,  but 
which  to  those  of  the  indignant  host,  was 
his  own  fruity,  full-bodied  and  high-color- 
ed Valdepefias,  was  gushing  from  the  fa- 
tal gash,  and  streaming  a  copious  current 
to  the  floor.  Alas,  what  waste  of  courage — 
and  what  waste  of  wine !  But  even  upon 
so  sad  a  sight,  it  was  some  relief  to  look  in 
the  intervals  of  sea-sickness.  And  before 
leaving  the  ship,  there  had  sprung  up  in 
my  mind  such  a  sympathy  for  the  Don  on 
my  cabin  door  that,  like  travellers  who 
go  about  pilfering  chips  from  the  tables  of 
the  illustrious  dead,  or  stones  and  mortar 
from  their  tombs,  I  was  more  or  less 
tempted  to  cut  out  the  precious  panel  and 
pocket  it  Had  I  had  done  so,  what  a  ca- 
pital coat  of  arms  I  should  have  had  for 
my  coach,  in  case  I  ever  came  to  set  up 
one ! 

Every  thing,  I  repeat,  went  on  aboard- 
ship  as  naturally  and  as  reasonably  as  if 
instead  of  going  to  Spain,  I  had  been 
bound  to  any  other  Christian  country.  I 
should  therefore  have  retired  at  night 
poorly  satisfied  with  my  first  day's  ad- 
ventures, but  for  the  enjoyment  all  the 
day  long  of  one  pleasure,  peculiarly 
Spanish.    I  refer  to  the  smell  of  gai-lic 


This  pervaded  the  whole  ship,  and  most 
have  perfumed  the  surrounding  sea  air  for 
as  many  leagues  as  do  the  odoriferous 
gales  which  blow  off  the  coast  of  MoaEam- 
bique  or  Araby.  The  privilege  of  inhaling 
it  was  as  free  as  the  air  it  so  strongly 
qualified  ;  and  was  about  the  only  a^ri- 
tnent  of  the  voyage  which  did  not  find  a 
place  in  the  steward's  bills.  At  dinner, 
however,  it  operated  as  too  much  of  a  gooa 
thing.  It  was  the  drop  of  excess.  Some- 
thing I  must  have  been  forced  into  mat- 
tering to  myself  at  table  about  the  odori- 
ferous bulb-— something  about  every  didi 
of  the  dinner  being  seasoned  with  it ;  for 
a  Spanish  gentleman  sitting  by  my  side^ 
who  by  some  extraordinary  chance  hap- 
pened to  speak  English,  very  politely  in- 
formed me  in  my  own  language  that  I  wis 
mistaken — that  there  was  no  garlic  in  any 
dish  on  the  table,  excepting  the  hare-stew 
— and  that  my  error  had  arisen  ftom  the 
circumstance  that  the  cook  and  waitere 
kept  themselves  constantly  rubbed  in  iL 

The  night,  indeed,  had  its  little  incident; 
for  in  the  course  of  it,  I  scraped  acquaint- 
ance with  my  first  Spanish  flea.  The 
previous  night,  as  the  ship  was  lying  in 
French  waters,  he  was  off  duty,  flirting 
no  doubt  with  the  grisettts  of  Marseilles, 
and  did  not  therefore  come  across  me. 
But  he  now  seemed  eager  to  embrace  the 
earliest  opportunity  of  flying  into  my 
arms,  and  making  my  personal  acquaint- 
ance. I  found  him  a  very  livdy  little 
person,  as  capering  as  a  Frenchman,  and 
not  at  all  aifectmg  the  stately,  measored 
movement  of  a  full-blooded  hidalgo.  As 
he  wore  his  face  muffled  by  the  cloak  of 
night,  I  could  not  get  a  sight  of  his  fea- 
tures, but  have  the  impression  that  he 
must  have  had  a  decidedly  hungry  look. 
At  any  rate,  he  proceeded  to  attack  the  ban- 
quet 1  had  spread  out  before  him  with  an 
appetite  such  as  his  countrymen  are  always 
happy  to  bring  to  your  eniertainment| 
but  which  you  rarely  have  an  opportuni^ 
of  displaying  at  theirs.  But  aiter  he  had 
enjoyed  the  satisfaction  of  drinking  my 
health  several  times,  I  made  some  remark, 
accompanied  by  some  movement,  wbidi 
he  took  in  ill  part ;  and,  thereupon,  yery 
abruptly  quit  my  company. 

On  going  on  deck  next  morning,*! 
found  the  steamer  off  Mataro,  and,  nm- 
ning  down  one  of  the  fairest  coasts,  wash- 
ed by  any  sea  or  ocean.  A  range  of  low 
mountains  stretched  away  to  the  South 
parallel  with  the  shore,  and  so  close  upon 
it  as  to  leave  but  a  narrow  fringe  of  lev^ 
land  between.  At  one  extremity  of  this 
lip  of  shore  stood  Mataro ;  and  on  the 
other,  just  visible  in  the  distance,  the  dty 


1864.] 


CoioB  de  EqMfia, 


480 


of  Barcelona.  Between  them  lay  a  large 
number  of  smaller  towns,  connected  by 
what  a  year  or  two  ago  was  the  only 
railway  in  Spain.  The  broi^n  mountain 
sides  were  terraced  ;  and  in  summer,  they 
are  draped  with  a  green  scarf  of  vineyards. 
Less  gay  in  winter,  they  nevertheless  pre- 
sented a  cheerful  appearance  ;  for,  besides 
the  numerous  towns  lying  at  the  foot  of 
the  mountains,  I  counted  some  dozens  of 
Tillages,  together  with  a  great  number  of 
hamlets  nestled  in  the  higher  valleys  or 
perched  on  the  lower  hill-tops.  These, 
looking  all  to  the  south  and  east,  were 
lit  up,  when  I  saw  them,  by  the  rising 
mom,  and  shone  on  their  back-ground  of 
brown  earth  like  gems  on  the  purple  of  a 
queen.  Beyond  the  mountains  of  the 
shore  was  to  be  seen  the  over-topping 
edge  of  more  distant  ranges,  clad  in  snow 
— thus  making  a  line  of  white  to  link  the 
darker  foreground  of  the  earth  with  the 
beautiful  azure  of  the  unclouded  sky. 
This  scene,  beheld  from  a  sea,  on  whose 
polished  surface  lay  reflected  all  the 
magnificence  of  both  sky  and  shore,  fur- 
nished my  first  view  of  the  ciel  de  Ea- 
paHa — the  *  heaven  of  the  Spains.' 


THRE£    DATS    OF   QUARANTINE. 

In  the  noontide  of  a  day,  as  sunny  as  if 
it  had  been  summer,  we  dropped  anchor  in 
the  harbor  of  Barcelona.  Enchanted  with 
the  sight  of  shores  so  fair,  I  hurried  my 
'  traps '  together,  and  was  going  to  call  a 
boat  alongside  for  the  purpose  of  disem- 
barking at  the  earliest  possible  moment, 
when  the  Captain,  observing  my  intentions, 
called  out,  "  No  correpriesa^  Sehor?^ 

"  There's  no  hurry — what  do  you 
mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  to  say  you  can't  go  ashore, 
sir.    Three  days  of  quarantine.'' 

"  Three  days  of  quarantine ! ! !  But 
haven't  we  got  a  clean  hill  of  health — a 
bill  of  healUi  we  went  half  the  way  to 
Italy  after — a  bill  of  health  duly  paid  and 
reoeipted  ?  " 

"  Ail  very  true,  sir ;  and  your  bill  of 
health  takes  off  two  days  from  the 
quarantine.  Do  you  see  that  English 
coaler  yonder?  He's  thirty  days  from 
Newcastle ;  and  he  has  to  ride  out  a  qua- 
rantinit  of  five  notwithstanding." 

*'  Bravo !  Newcastle  is  in  the  enjoyment 
of  the  best  of  health  ;  Marseilles  never 
was  in  sounder  condition ;  there  is  not 
a  single  infectious  disease  prevailing  on 
the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  or  even 
the  Atiantic  Ocean;   and  yet  the  com- 


merce of  the  whole  civilized  world  is  qua^ 
rantined  from  three  to  five  days  at  Barce- 
lona !  Only  answer  me  this  one  question. 
Why  did  we  leave  Marseilles  at  day- 
breakV 

But  here  was  another  cosa.  Of  course, 
I  got  no  explanations.  Nor  could  I  after- 
wards get  any — unless  it  was  that  the 
detention  of  vessels  answered  the  purpose 
of  increasing  the  port-charges ;  or  furnish- 
ed greater  facilities  for  smuggling ;  or  en- 
abled the  government  at  Madrid  to  crip- 
ple the  commerce  of  the  rival  capital  of 
Catalonia.  However  this  may  be,  I  did 
not  then  waste  much  time  in  reflecting 
upon  the  matter,  but  hastened  down 
stairs ;  took  to  my  berth ;  and  there,  by 
dint  of  frequent  shifting  from  one  side  to 
the  other,  I  reached  the  third  day— ^ay 
of  grace  and  pardon  for  having  presumed, 
being  in  full  health  of  body,  if  not  of 
mind,  and  having  a  bill  of  the  same  duly 
paid  in  my  pocket,  to  enact  such  a  stupid 
piece  of  knight-errantry,  as  to  come  to 
the  dominions  of  her  Most  Catholic  Ma- 
jesty ! 

At  an  early  hour  of  the  third  day — no 
plague  nor  pestilence  having  broken  out 
among  the  ship's  passengers,  though 
strong  signs  of  a  famine  had  begun  to 
show  themselves  in  the  steward's  depart- 
ment, where  little  was  left  beyond  an  in- 
exhaustible supply  of  garlic— our  term  of 
bondage  was  declared  to  be  finished,  and 
we  were  summoned  on  deck  to  pass 
through  the  formalities  of  manumission. 
After  an  hour  or  two  of  still  further  de- 
lay, the  doctor's  boat  was  at  last  spied 
slowly  pulling  off  to  the  steamer.  The 
doctor  leisurely  picking  a  late  breakfast 
out  of  his  teeth,  lounged  up  the  gangway ; 
and  having  comfortably  posted  himself 
against  the  railing  of  the  poop-deck,  as 
well  as  braced  himself  up  with  his  official 
walking-stick,  gave  orders  that  the  whole 
posse  of  us  should  be  made  to  pass  in  re- 
view before  his  Worship.  He  was  dress- 
ed, I  observed,  in  the  rusty  old  clothes  of 
Dr.  Sangrado.  But  how  many  pulses  he 
may  have  timed — how  many  tongues  he 
may  have  ordered  out — how  many  ribs  he 
may  have  felt  of— I  know  not.  Being 
among  the  first  to  *  pass  muster,'  I  can 
only  say  that  he  neither  looked  down  my 
throat,  nor  felt  of  my  teeth ;  but  that 
giving  me  the  benefit  of  a  rather  knowing 
squint  out  of  his  left  eye,  he  at  once  pro- 
nounced me  a  fit  subject  for  disembarka- 
tion. The  examination  was  as  good  a  farce 
as  you  may  see  in  Spain  even.  In  truth, 
how  could  a  Spanish  port-doctor,  whohaa 
ever  inspected  his  own  person,  or  the  per- 
sons of  Spanish  sailors,  the  greater  part  of 


486 


(7oMM  de  E^paifia, 


\Ums 


whom  are  black  enough  with  dirt  and 
sun  to  be  sent  to  prison  in  South  Carolma 
as  free  negroes  ?  now  could  he  cast  out  of 
the  country  as  unclean  any  foreigner  in 
the  daily  use  of  soap  and  water  ?  The 
thing  is  a  small  absurdity.  But  before  I 
could  have  time  to  make  this  or  any  other 
reflection,  I  was  over  the  ship's  side,  into 
the  boat,  and  had  a  ragged  barbarian  of 
the  country  pulling  me  ashore  as  for  dear 
life — though  in  fact  for  the  sum  of  four 
pesetas. 


THE    LANDING,   TOGETHER   WITH  A   DRIVE 
IN   A   SPANISH  COACH. 

The  distance  from  ship  to  shore  was  con- 
siderable. I  had,  therefore,  ample  time  to 
compose  my  mind,  slightly  rufiHed  as  it 
was  by  the  annoyances  of  the  quarantine ; 
and  in  the  exercise  of  perfect  good  will 
towards  all  Spaniards,  was  about  to  take 
peaceable  possession  of  the  shore,  when  I 
was  met  at  the  water's  edge  by  a  hostile 
army  drawn  up  for  battle.  It  consisted 
of  a  small  host  of  what  in  any  other 
country  would  pass  for  ragamuflBns,  but 
who  were  here  called  porters.  The  mo- 
ment my  foot  touched  the  shore,  the 
enemy  rushed  upon  me,  together  with  a 
Frenchman  whom  chance  made  my  ally 
for  the  moment,  and  completely  surround- 
ed us.  Spirited  as  the  French  arc  in  an 
attack,  it  is  well  known  that  they  make 
a  poor  defence.  My  experience  in  this 
particular  case  confirmed  the  truth  of  the 
general  impression  respecting  them.  The 
fat  travelling  merchant,  for  such  he  was, 
did  not  stand  his  ground  so  well  as  even 
I  did,  and  was  absolutely  borne  off  his 
feet  in  triumph  by  the  enemy.  But  after 
their  easy  success  against  us,  they  imme- 
diately fell  to  loggerheads  among  them- 
selves over  their  booty.  While  one  of  the 
scoundrels  had  succeeded  in  throwing  my 
trunk,  and  another  my  bag  over  his 
shoulders,  two  others  were  tugging  at 
each  end  of  my  umbrella,  and  other  two 
were  having  a  regular  stand-up  fight 
over  my  hat-box.  Taking  advantage  of 
this  contention,  I  escaped  to  a  slight  emi- 
nence, whence  I  could  survey  the  fray  b&- 
low.  In  the  midst  of  the  crowd  was  the 
fat  Frenchman  struggling  for  dear  life, 
and  his  still  dearer  parcels,  of  which  he 
had  a  most  embarrassing  number. '  All 
told,  boxes  and  packages,  they  might 
amount  to  well-nigh  a  dozen ;  and  every 
one  of  them,  besides  life  and  Umbs,  was 
in  imminent  peril.  There  he  was,  poor 
fellow  I  cannot  say,  but  fat  fellow,  his  hat 
carried  ofif  among  the  spoils  of  war,  and 


himself  jammed  into  the  centre  of  as  beg^ 
garly  a  platoon  of  rascals  as  ever  got  to- 
gether under  the  nostrils  of  a  gentleman. 
He  vociferated,  gesticulated,  and  I  am 
afraid  he  swore.  I  certainly  saw  him 
seize  one  poor  devil  by  the  collar ;  and  be 
was  so  over-excited,  that  he  seemed  to  be 
in  danger  every  moment  of  going  ofif  in  a 
fit  of  apoplexy. 

But  at  length  the  rage  of  battle  sub- 
sided. The  commis'voyageur  succeeded 
in  makmg  a  treaty  with  the  victors,  agree- 
ing to  give  on  both  his  account  simI  mine 
such  a  sum  as  on  subdivision  would  yield 
to  each  beggar  of  them  a  small  handnil  of 
reals.  Tins  amount  paid,  thoup;h  some 
still  clamored  for  more  grxUiJicacumcUaM^ 
he  eventually  got  a  release  ;  but  came  out 
of  the  crowd,  a  sight  to  behold,  puffing 
and  perspiring  like  a  patient  firom  Htm 
feather-beds  of  a  water-cure. 

Having  at  last  ransomed  ourselves  and 
effects  out  of  the  hands  of  these  PhilistineB| 
we  were  both  piled  up  with  bag  and  bac- 
gage  in  the  interior  of  an  omnibus.  It 
was  one  of  those  which  Noah  had  made 
use  of  in  going  into  the  ark,  and  still  had 
more  or  less  of  the  mud  of  the  first  flood 
about  it.  In  this  vehicle  we  had  to  nm 
two  lines  of  custom-houses  before  getting 
admittance  to  the  city.  The  firet  wis 
passed  with  tolerable  success.  By  simply 
standing  a  little  aloof,  and  keeping  perfect- 
ly cool.  I  managed  to  have  my  tronk 
overlooked  in  the  examination  of  the  lug- 
gage ;  but  my  companion,  whose  nenrei, 
never  strong,  had  just  before  been  unduly 
excited,  got  at  once  into  a  fluster,  and  was 
not  let  off  until  after  all  his  wares  hid 
been  most  faithfully  ransacked.  On 
reaching  the  second  line,  we  were  dmcD 
into  a  courtjard  where,  as  it  next  toneftf 
rains  in  this  part  of  the  world,  was  a^ 
cumulated  the  dust  of  all  the  feet  of  all 
the  sinners  who  had  ever  entered  Barce- 
lona. And  the  moment  after  our  entranoi 
a  set  of  sweeps,  well  instructed,  no  doubt 
in  this  part  of  their  duty,  beg^  to  raisB 
such  a  dust  in  the  four  comers  of  tho 
inclosure,  that  my  travelling  merchant, 
who,  besides  having  a  difliculty  in  his 
breathing,  had  a  collection  of  patterns 
which  would  suffer  more  from  oxposnro 
in  such  an  atmosphere  than  even  hi0 
mucous  membrane,  began  immediatdjT 
to  curse  and  swear,  and  almost  to  win 
himself  back  among  the  porters. 

As  he  had  voluntarily  assumed  tli9 
office  of  pay-master  general  until  our  ar^ 
'rival  at  the  hotel,  I  resolved  to  let  hiim. 
take  his  own  course,  and  see  how  he  woul^ 
get  us  out  of  this  second  scrape.  Thi^ 
time  he  resorted   to  his   pockets.    Hi0 


1854.] 


Oosaa  de  Etpafia, 


487 


fumbled  long  before  gettmg  hold  of  a  five 
franc  piece ;  but  when  he  did,  he  thrust  it 
into  the  sleeve  of  the  ofiQcial  with  for<^ 
enough  to  send  it  half-way  up  to  his 
shoulder.  At  the  same  instant,  he  shout- 
ed to  the  coachman  to  crack  his  whip  ; 
and  in  another,  we  cleared  the  gates  at  a 
bound. 

Our  driver  turned  out  to  be  a  veritable 
Jehu.  He  played  his  lash  around  the 
long  ears  of  his  animals  with  the  adroit- 
ness of  an  expert  He  shouted  to  his 
leaders,  calling  each  by  name : — "  Go  it, 
Gil— go  it,  Sancho."  And  all  this  while 
he  was  rattling  us  over  a  pavement  which 
had  been  laid  down  by  the  Phenicians,  and 
never  mended  since.  The  result  was  that 
the  Frenchman,  who  had  never  embarked 
on  such  a  sea  of  troubles  before,  was  in 
less  than  five  minutes  cascading  out  of  the 
window.  At  the  same  time  his  boxes,  no 
less  disturbed  than  their  owner,  were 
leaping  about  the  carriage  like  so  many 
frogs.  At  the  end  of  some  ten  minutes, 
however,  we  pulled  up,  all  standing,  in 
front  of  the  hotel.  Before  alighting,  m^ 
fellow-traveller  proceeded  to  examine  his 
legs  and  the  small  of  his  back,  to  see  if  he 
were  in  a  condition  to  move  from  his  seat 
But  finding  all  his  bones  safe  and  sound, 
though  his  shirt-collar  was  badly  broken 
down  by  the  perspiration  which  flowed  at 
every  pore,  he  descended.  I,  who.  in  all 
things,  let  him  take  the  lead,  followed  his 
example.  On  entering  the  house,  how- 
ever, I  found  that,  like  a  true  Frenchman, 
be  had  brought  me  to  an  inn  kept  by  one 
of  his  own  countrymen.  But  as  I  had  not 
come  to  Spain  to  keep  company  with  its 
mortal  enemies,  I  at  once  decided  to  seek 
a  lodging  elsewhere.  So  after  paying  the 
half  of  all  charges,  I  bade  him  good  morn- 
ing, and  drove  to  a  Fonda,  where  I  could 
have  my  stews  seasoned  by  a  native-bom 
Spaniard. 

"  One  hundred  soiiSy  SeHor,^  said  the 
'bus-man,  pushing  away  from  his  fore- 
head a  long  red  cap,  which  hung  down  his 
back  nearly  to  his  buttock.  One  hundred 
sotts,  said  I  to  myself,  for  being  driven  to 
town  by  a  fellow  in  a  cap  like  that !  A 
fellow  in  a  sheepskin  jacket,  and  an  ab- 
solutely unmentionable  pair  of  short- 
dothes !  One  hundred  sous  for  the  use 
and  enjoyment  of  such  a  wretched  piece 
of  joinery  as  was  the  fellow's  vehicle  ;  for 
the  service  of  mules  in  ropes,  and  spavined 
worse  than  ever  was  Rosinante ;  for  the 
pleasure  of  being  taken  over  a  pavement 
utterly  dislocated,  and  so  nearly  fatal  to 
my  spinal  marrow !  The  demand  seemed 
to  me  extortionate.  Having  been  long 
aocustomed  to  the  two  franc  fees  of  the 


Parisian  cabmen,  and  considering  that  I 
had  been  paraded  into  town  in  a  mere 
'bus,  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  forty 
sous — with  ten  more  to  be  added  for 
the  circumstance  of  being  in  Spain.  How- 
ever, thinking  that  I  would,  at  least,  get 
some  amusement  out  of  the  fellow  be- 
fore paying  his  fee,  I  resolved  to  try  my 
Spanish  on  him.  Accordingly  I  entered 
upon  a  semi-serious  argument  with  my 
claimant  of  the  hundred  sous,  and  was 
apparently  making  out  something  of  a 
case  in  my  favor,  when  I  very  imprudent- 
ly alluded  to  my  experience  in  Paris, 
where  for  forty  sous  one  may  drive  from 
one  end  of  the  city  to  the  other  in  a  cab  and 
two.  Now  in  arguing  with  a  Spaniard, 
nothing  is  so  ill  advised  as  any  compa- 
rison drawn  between  his  country  and 
France,  to  the  advantage  of  the  latter. 
Accordingly,  no  sooner  had  I  got  the 
words  out  of  my  mouth  than  my  little  man, 
drawing  himself  up  as  high  as  he  could 
get — which  was  not  more  than  five  feet 
two— and  cracking  his  cap  like  a  whip- 
lash, immediately  replied : — "  Fifty  sous 
may  do  for  Pans,  Senor ;  out  they 
wonH  answer  for  Barcelona  ! " 

Of  course,  after  being  so  fairly  floored 
in  the  argument,  I  had  nothing  to  do  but 
strike  my  flag.  I  did  so  most  cheerfully 
— paid  my  money — and  entered  upon  a 
new  scene  of  adventure  in  entering  my 
first  Spanish  Fonda, 


THE   FONDA — MY   ROOMS. 

The  Fonda  del  Grande  Oriente,  at  Bar- 
celona, was  formerly  a  monastery.  Little 
else,  however,  than  its  strong  stone  walls, 
inclosing  a  quadrangular  court,  and  its 
low-arched  corridors,  running  around  the 
four  inner  sides  of  the  building,  and  fur- 
nishing on  each  of  the  five  stories  a  long 
and  spacious  promenade,  now  remains  of 
the  original  edifice.  Still  the  air  of  good 
cheer,  which  in  earlier  days  must  have 
reigned  in  its  refectories,  continues  to  linger 
in  its  halls.  As  of  old,  its  cellars  are  well 
supplied  with  the  liquid  which  is  red  in 
the  cup  ;  its  larder  is  fat  with  good  Spa- 
nish pork  and  poultry ;  and  its  inmates, 
from  landlord  to  boot-cleaner,  retain  a 
good  degree  of  the  rubicund  rotundity  of 
the  ancient  priesthood.  As,  for  the  first 
time,  I  walked  thoughtfully  up  the  broad 
and  well-worn  stones  of  the  stairway,  so 
suited  by  its  gentle  ascent  to  the  weary 
feet  of  the  well-loaded  mendicant  or  the 
heavy  footsteps  of  the  short-winded  father 
confessor.  I  said  to  myself:  You  have 
come  to  l§pam  just  half  a  century  too  late. 


488 


Coaas  de  EspafUi, 


[MV 


The  publicans  havo  supplanted  the  priests ; 
and  instead  of  the  old  hospitality  of  monk 
and  hermit,  which  was  paid  for  in  ctiarities, 
you  will  now  have  to  sit  at  meat  with 
travellers  and  sinners,  at  a  daily  cost  of 
thirty-five  reals. 

I  was  somewhat  disappointed  to  per- 
ceive, as  I  did  at  a  glance,  that  mine  host 
of  the  Oriente  was  no  Spaniard.  Like 
most  of  the  better  landlords  of  this  part 
of  the  country,  he  was  a  native  of  Italy. 
But  thouf^h  foreign  bom.  both  he  and  his 
household  were  in  the  country  bred,  and 
had  taken  so  kindly  and  naturally  to  all 
good  Spanish  ways,  that  his  ollas  were 
the  envy  of  all  lovers  of  hare  in  Bar- 
celona.   • 

With  many  bows,  I  was  ushered  into 
the  best  rooms  vacant ;  and  in  the  face  of 
so  much  politeness  on  the  part  of  my  host, 
I  could  not  think  of  being  so  uncourteous 
as  to  turn  up  my  nose  at  his  accommoda- 
tions. By  a  native,  accustomed  to  travel 
with  bed  and  board  at  his  back,  the  apart- 
ments would  have  been  thought  princely ; 
but  to  me.  coming  from  a  civilized  country, 
they  seemed  but  holes  in  the  wall.  But 
I  politely  limited  my  objections  to  the 
rooms  to  inquiring  if  there  were  any  others 
at  the  moment  unoccupied.  The  land- 
lord's reply  was.  that  he  had  others,  but 
none  so  worthy  of  my  acceptance.  I 
therefore  prudently  made  a  virtue  of  ne- 
cessity— besides  a  civil  bow  to  my  host, 
in  return  for  a  very  large  number  of  his 
own — and  took  possession. 

The  door  of  my  apartment,  which  open- 
ed into  the  corridor,  was  without  a  latch. 
It  had,  however,  a  lock  strong  enough  to 
resist  a  catapult.  In  case  of  an  insurrec- 
tion, then  believed  by  many  persons  to  be 
imminent,  the  lock  and  hinges  of  that 
good  stout  door,  thought  I.  would  be  ca- 
pable of  doing  me  some  service.  I  should 
have  my  barricade  ready  made  at  mv 
hand.  It  had.  besides,  a  certain  monastic 
look,  in  harmony  with  the  thick  walls  and 
low  aisles  of  the  once  sacred  edifice.  At 
first  sight  I  felt  a  degree  of  respect  for 
it ;  and  have  no  doubt  but  what  it  will 
continue  to  swing  on  its  rusty  hinges  as 
long  as  the  Spanish  world  stands. 

There  was  no  bathing  tub  any  where 
to  be  seen  ;  but  there  was  the  possibility 
of  ablution.  For  in  one  comer,  conceal- 
ed by  a  curtain,  stood  the  slenderest  of 
stands,  supporting  the  narrowest  of  basins. 
I  should  be  able,  at  least,  to  wash  one  eye 
open  at  once  in  it  But  in  a  country  so 
much  better  provided  with  wine  than  it  is 
with  water — and  in  a  country  where  even 
the  highest  dames  are  said  merely  to  rub 
their  faces  with  a  moist  napkin  instead  of 


laving  them,  what  more  could  be  expect* 
ed?  I  should  have  been  thought  u 
crazy  as  he  of  La  Mancha  to  have  ibmid 
fault  with  such  arrangements. 

As  for  the  bed,  it  was  clean — and  that 
is  saying  a  great  deal  in  this  coontiT. 
The  Spaniard  is  not  accustomed  to  stretch- 
ing himself  on  the  soft  pile  of  deligfati 
which  is  built  up  for  his  neighbor,  the 
Frenchman.  When  he  travels,  he  often 
has  to  content  himself  with  the  ston 
floors  of  Ventas  and  Posadas  ;  nor  is  he 
always  a  great  deal  better  off  when  he 
stays  at  home.  His  rugged  country  oooU 
ill  supply  the  enormous  sacks  of  down  or 
feathers  beneath  which  your  Gennan 
sleeps  off  the  fumes  of  his  beer,  and  seeki 
to  sweat  down  the  thick  tallow  of  his 
kidneys.'  In  Spain  the  traveller,  accord- 
ingly, must  be  ready  to  curl  himself  id 
in  straw  with  the  same  satisfaction  with 
which,  in  his  own  country,  he  lies  dowi 
to  his  repose  in  purple  and  fine  linen.  If 
even  in  the  largo  towns  he  finds  lui 
mattress  thin,  he  should  nevertheless  re- 
turn thanks  that  it  is  not  a  board.  My 
bed,  therefore,  escaped  without  too  close 
an  inspection.  I  had  only  one  fear  in  en- 
tering it ;  and  that,  I  am  bound  in  jostioe 
to  the  country  to  say,  turned  oat  to  be 
utterly  groundless. 

The  floor  was  laid  in  tiles ;  but  it  was 
tolerably  well  covered  by  a  carpet.  Yet 
not  the  purple  rug  which  is  spread  in 
Turkish  bed-chambers ;  nor  the  soft, 
velvety  tapestry  of  Engli-sh  boudoirs; 
but  a  mat  woven  of  the  canes  of  Spain.  A 
similar  one  hung  rolled  up  above  the  win- 
dows on  the  external  wall  of  the  house. 
This  served  to  shield  the  room  from  the 
hot  rays  of  summer;  while,  withia  ft 
simple  white  muslin  curtain  sufficed  to 
keep  out  the  cold  of  winter.  There  were, 
indeed,  windows  and  shutters  besides;  but 
so  ill  contrived,  so  full  of  original  and  eo- 
quired  defects,  that  they  afforded  note 
great  deal  more  protection  than  the  open 
muslin. 

But  among  so  many  cracks  and  air-h<te 
there  was  not  that  one,  the  presence  of 
which  would  have  counterbalanced  all  the 
others.  There  was  no  fire-plaoe !  There 
was  none  in  any  of  the  rooms.  There  wu 
none  short  of  the  kitchen.  And  what  is 
more,  there  was  but  one,  as  I  afterwards 
learned,  in  the  whole  town  of  Barcelona. 
That  had  been  sot  up  by  an  Englishman, 
of  course.  Still,  there  are  two  methods 
for  wanning  apartments  in  this  part  of 
the  world.  One  is  by  sun-light,  and  the 
other  by  a  pan  of  coals.  The  former  iF 
the  more  agreeable  and  the  more  con- 
ducive to  health.     But  the  latter  must  be 


Comu  de  Espafla, 


480 


\  to  in  cases  of  extremity  and  days 
less.  In  the  morning,  I  used  to 
ral  pans  being  prepared  by  the 
;  in  the  court.  They  are  filled 
niperior  kind  of  charcoal,  which  is 
Knd  stirred  until  the  coals  are  so 
Bly  ignited  as  to  cease  giving  off 

Af^r  having  stood  long  enough 
themselves  with  a  white  film  of 
iey  are  brought  in,  and  set  in  the 
>f  the  room.  There  the  pan  stands 

being  disturbed  all  the  morning. 
ler  time,  it  is  stirred  up,  so  as  to 
be  bottom  coals  to  the  surface. 
;  will  continue  to  give  off  a  mo- 
legree  of  heat  until  late  in  the 
These  fires  are  never  allowed 
in  through  the  night  in  sleeping 
bot  are  not  thought  injurious  to 
[aring  the  day.  Still,  I  observed 
J  would  soon  give  a  foreigner  the 
e  ;  and  were  it  not  for  the  cracks 
mies  of  their  apartments,  must  long 
re  killed  off  all  the  natives.  Who- 
D  goes  to  Barcelona  in  winter,  must 
\  his  mind  to  sit  sometimes  over  the 
»al8.  As  his  feather-bed  has  not 
ftn  a  couple  of  inches  of  thickness, 
>t,  like  poor  Goldsmith,  crawl  into 
get  warm  ;  nor.  however  roman- 
ij  be  to  sit  out  an  evening  in  the 
-comer  of  a  country  venta^  will  he 
Qself  exactly  at  his  case  among 
h-pots  and  stew-pans  of  a  city 

v. 

MY  BALCONY. 

there  was  no  fire-place  in  my 
here  was  a  balcony.  A  balcony 
I  What  a  charm  in  those  words. 
em  are  associated  what  tales  of 
ian  love — what  secret  whisper- 
he  silent  night  between  enamored 
vhat  sighing  of  soft,  blue-ribboned 
and  voices  which  melt  with  ten- 
or rave  with  jealousy !  Let  the 
*  by  all  means  put  off  his  first 
his  balcony  until  evening.  Then 
e  stars  are  shining  in  the  sky,  or 
'  moon  reflects  from  her  silver 
light  not  strong  enough  to  dis- 
inoe  love,  let  him  step  out  upon 
it  of  enchantment.  The  flowers 
around  the  railing,  while  they 
eeal  his  person,  wrap  his  senses 
008  odors.    Thence  he  sees  the 

lover  watchmg  beneath  some 
ring  window.  He  hears  the  tink- 
» near  guitar.  He  thinks  he  hears 
ing  shutter.  He  imagines  he  has 
a  glimpse  of  a  white  mantilla, 
e  listens.  Voices  float  by  on  the 
11.— 32 


softly  breathmg  zephyrs  of  the  night— 
now  like  to  the  trembling  accents  of  a 
first  affection — now  resembling  the  deeper- 
toned  notes  of  impatient  passion.  There 
is  a  witchery  in  the  air.  His  own  heart 
gradually  catches  contagion  from  the  uni- 
versal love.  And,  at  last,  his  head  com 
plotely  turned,  he  can  resist  no  longer. 
Mastered  by  a  passion  like  that  which 
sent  the  hero  of  La  Mancha  out  upon  his 
expeditions  of  knight-errantry,  he  rushes 
to  his  bed — abstracts  the  cord — ties  a 
ladder — and  swinging  himself  from  bal- 
cony to  balcony,  goes  in  quest  of  a  Dul- 
cinea  over  half  the  town ! 

I  unfortunately  could  not  so  far  restrain 
my  impatience  as  to  wait  for  the  evening. 
The  moment  I  had  finished  my  toilette,  I 
went  to  the  balcony.  It  was  the  hour  of 
the  promenade ;  and  the  street  upon  which 
my  windows  opened  was  the  famous 
Rambla.  This  resembles  the  Unter  den 
Linden  of  Berlin ;  and,  like  that,  has  a 
spacious  foot-walk  m  the  centre,  flanked 
on  either  side  by  carriage  ways.  Rows  of 
shade-trees  intermingl^  with  shrubber}- 
prpetuallygreen,  and  even  in  mid-winter 
in  full  flower,  separate  the  central  firom 
the  side  avenues.  These  last  are  bounded 
by  two  lines,  nearly  a  mile  in  length,  of 
palaces,  colleges,  theatres,  public  oflBces, 
monasteries  now  converted  into  hotels, 
and  private  mansion-houses.  All  are 
either  bright  with  marble,  or  gay  with 
frescoes.  Running  through  the  centre  of 
the  city  from  gate  to  gate,  this  broad 
avenue  is  ever  filled  with  entertainment 
for  the  observer  of  men  and  manners.  At 
one  extremity  of  it  he  will  meet  the  gay 
throng  of  pleasure's  votaries;  while  at 
the  other,  he  will  find  himself  among 
beggars  and  laborers  standing  idle  in  the 
market  place.  Here,  may  be  seen  groups 
of  merchants  "  on  'change  "  well  wrapped 
in  cloaks  of  broadcloth ;  there,  collections 
of  gipsy  horse-jockeys  clad  in  sheepskins. 
On  this  side,  are  markets  for  the  sale  of 
fruits,  the  golden  orange  and  the  purple 
fig ;  on  the  other,  are  stalls  where  pretty 
payesaa  are  busy  weaving  the  gayest  of 
winter  bouquets.  It  is  a  world  in  miniature 
— ^with  the  representatives  of  every  grade 
of  life,  of  all  ages,  and  of  different  nations. 
And  as  work  in  this  country  has  very 
much  the  appearance  of  idleness  in  otheris 
— at  least  those  of  the  north — the  coe- 
tumes  of  business  are  more  picturesque 
than  the  adornments  of  pleasure  elsewhere. 
The  whole  scene  wears  an  air  of  festivity 
and  gala.  At  least,  so  it  seemed  to  me 
as  I  stood  in  my  balcony  looking  down 
upon  it  for  the  firet  time.  It  was  an  en- 
tertainment for  the  eye  more  attractive 


400 


CoioM  de  Espana. 


Phy 


than  the  shows  of  state  or  stage;  and 
what  it  was  the  first  day  I  saw  it,  it  con- 
tinued to  be  every  day  of  my  residence  in 
Barcelona.  It  was  my  play-house,  to 
which  I  resorted  by  daylight.  For  actors 
I  had  the  plumed  ofiBcer  and  the  cowled 
priest,  the  white-gloved  coxcomb  and  the 
veiled  belle,  beggar-boys  who  might  have 
been  transfernKl  to  the  canvas  of  Murillo 
as  they  sat,  and  hidalgos  standing  with 
cloaks  over  their  shoulders  after  the 
fitshion  of  the  Aristides  in  the  museum  at 
Naples.  It  was  my  opera  even ;  for  every 
day  at  twelve  o'clock,  a  battalion  of 
guards  came  dashing  down  the  avenue, 
with  banners  waving,  and  music  filling 
the  air  with  pleasant  revelry.  Yet  some- 
times they  came  with  slower  step,  beating 
on  mulfled  drums  the  march  of  the  dead, 
and  bearing  a  comrade  to  the  sepulchre. 
Or  a  company  of  white-rojbed  nuns  and 
sisters  of  charity  went  by,  chanting  the 
sweet  hymns  of  the  church ;  or  a  proces- 
sion of  priosts  in  inky  cloak,  and  faces 
veiled  in  black,  bearing  with  solemn  song 
the  sacramental  wafer  to  dying  lips.  Half 
an  hour  befoi-c,  the  cheerful  chimes  were 
calling  the  city  to  thanksgiving  and 
praise ;  now  they  are  tolling  the  slow 
knell  of  some  poor  soul  going  to  its  long 
home.  So  full  of  life,  and  of  its  contrasts 
is  this  Barcclonese  Eambla. 

VI. 
MT  TABLX. 

Fascinating  as  may  be  sight-seeing  firom 
a  Spanish  balcony,  it  does  not  necessarily 
prevent  one's  hearing  the  dinner  bell. 
In  the  midst  of  my  waking  reverie,  this 
summons  at  once  brought  me  to  my 
senses.  I  obeyed  its  voice,  and  descend^ 
io  the  dining-hall.  It  was  rather  a  small 
QDO,  with  painted  walls,  and  a  floor  of  stone 
partially  covered  with  a  mat.  But  what 
particularly  attracted  my  attention  was  a 
modem  improvement  which  had  recently 
been  introduced  into  iL  This  consisted 
not  in  a  stove,  but  a  stove-pipe.  It  was 
the  only  thing  I  noticed  in  the  room  which 
had  not  apparently  come  down  from  an 
earlier  age.  True,  its  calibre  was  of  the 
very  smallest ;  but  as  it  passed  up  through 
the  floor  to  the  ceiling  on  its  way  from 
the  kitchen  to  the  roof  of  the  house,  it 
took  off  the  chill  of  the  stone  walls,  and 
rendered  the  room  much  more  comfortable 
than  the  larger  dining-hall  used  in  summer. 
The  company  assembled  amounted  to 
some  five  and  twenty  gentlemen  and  ladies, 
the  majority  of  whom  were  Spaniards. 
Tahle  (Thdte  dinners  are  nearly  the 
same  thing  in  all  the  civilized  parts  of  the 
continent.    South  of  the  Pyrenees,  they 


are  more  remarkable  for  the  number  €f 
the  dishes  than  for  their  quality.    In  hii 
lean  country,  the  Spaniard  can 'rarely  pi 
enough  to  eat.    His  pig-skin  is  geDOiU^ 
tolerably  well  filled ;   but  his  larder  ■ 
too  often  empty.    The  lower  dasses  neivr 
taste  meat — \\\mg  exclusively  on  v^e- 
tables,  fruits  and  wine.    Therefore  yoor 
host  goes  generally  for  the  main  chanee; 
and  thinks  that  if  he  can  only  give  yoa  a 
plentiful  dinner,  you  will  be  sure  to  think 
it  a  good  one.    As  it  is  a  mark  of  %  poor 
man  to  eat  vegetable  food,  he  shows  hii 
respect  for  a  rich  one  by  serving  lum 
almost   entirely  with  animal.      Besides 
soup  and  fish,  you  are  treated  to  beef 
boiled  and  beef  roasted,  to  legs  of  mutton 
and  joints  of  pork,  to  kid  and  wfld  boir, 
to  hare  and  rabbity  to  chwkens  and  toriceji, 
to  grouse  and  snipe.    Not  that  mil  then 
dishes  make  their  appcaranoe  at  evajr 
dinner;    but  the  number  of  courses  ■ 
always  great  enoueh  to  render  the  enter- 
tainment gross  and  wearisome.    As  in  aU 
southern  countries,  the  meats  are  of  in- 
ferior quality— excepting  always  the  not- 
fed  pork.    This  surpasses  even  the  flesh 
of  the  wild  boar,    if  there  be  an^  trath 
in  the  Italian  saying  that  no  man  is  fit  to 
die  until  he  has  seen  the  bay  of  Naples, 
perhaps  what  the  Spaniard  says  is  no 
less  true,  that  he  ought  first  to  taste  a 
ham  of  the  Alpujarras.    But  with  this 
exception,  I  know  of  no  other  kind  of 
meat  in  the  country  for  the  sake  of  which 
one  would  at  all  care  to  defer  his  finil 
hour.    The  poultry,  though  not  bad,  will 
not  compare  with  that  of  Franoe;  snei 
the  beef  would  pass  in  England  for  in- 
different shoe-leather.    The  dried  friuts 
are  abundant  rether  than  good.    Tet  the 
oranges  from  Malaga  are  weU-flavored; 
and  the  grapes  of  the  country^hich  in 
some  sheltered  vineyards  near  JBaroeloos 
are  allowed  to  hang  upon  the  yines  until 
February,  are  truly  delicious. 

A  Spanish  dinner,  then,  is  deodedlj  a 
heavy  affair.  Luckily  t&e  stranger  ii 
rarely  asked  to  dine  out  The  natrtes 
seem  to  be  aware  that  the  dinner  is  their 
weak  point  They  are  sensitiTe  aboat 
exhibiting  the  leanness  of  their  lardera 
The  closeness  with  which  a  Cafaallero 
picks  his  bones,  and  the  frequency  frith 
which,  even  as  in  the  days  of  "Don  Qoixot^ 
he  is  obliged  to  content  himself  with  greens 
and  garlic,  are  matters  not  to  be  made 
known  out  of  the  family*  And  then  his 
desire,  whenever  he  does  go  to  the  ex- 
pense of  buying  flesh  or  fowl,  to  smother 
it  in  onions,  stands  directly  in  the  wajof 
the  entertaining  of  stransers.  For  he 
knows  Tery  weU  that  all  rore^gDers  hsve 


Ooioa  de  EspaHa, 


491 


1  his  national  dish  with  a 
•ee  of  suspicion  ever  since 
in  Gil  Bias  supped  on  a  cat. 
nt,  therefore,  could  he  ven- 
a  stew  under  any  nostril  not 

the  culinary  art  is  not  well 
south  of  the  Pyrenees.  In 
larger  hotels,  your  cook  will 
be  a  French  or  Italian  refu- 
levil  who  has  run  his  country, 
▼ing  had  at  home  more  to  do 
than  with  pastry,  has  brought 
ly  a  very  imperfect  knowledge 
t  practised  in  the  kitchens  of 
Italy.  The  greater  number 
»  will  be  bad  imitations  of 
ive  eaten  at  Paris  or  Naples. 
u  go  into  the  street,  you  see 
lat  beginning  to  supplant  the 
id  the  French  paletot  the 
ben  you  visit  the  theatre,  you 
se,  the  music  and  the  dancing 
[>anish,  so  at  the  dinner-table 
that  the  national  taste  is  fast 
er  the  dominion  of  foreign 
le  culinary  art.  The  Fondas 
Jready  to  be  ashamed  of  the 
sdf  a  century  hence  the  travel- 
bliged  to  descend  to  the  vcn- 

a  taste  of  it. 

■  advice  to  travellers  respect- 
U  Spanish  cookery  is  nothing, 
,  and  a  stew  is  nothing,  if  not 
^  let  the  foreigner  make  up 
3nco  to  like  it.  Let  him  eat 
n — without  making  up  wry 
do  what  he  will,  this  bulb 
,st  down  his  throat  by  every 
country — peaceably  if  he  can, 
e  must.  Every  sauce-pan  in 
a  smacks  of  it ;  and  no  con- 
»iint  of  scouring  would  suffice 
lit  Therefore  make  a  virtue 
Daily  practice  in  the  swal- 
16  delicacy  will  finally  make 
n  it    At  least,  all  travellers 

object  to  frogs,  cabbage,  or 
;ht  surely  to  be  capable  of 
ligest  garlic. 

Uien,  the  olla  podrtda  as  a 
And  there  is  one  other  in  Spain, 
locolate.  This  is  made  with 
or  milk ;  and  always  so  thick 
I  will  almost  stand  up  in  it 
cret  of  making  this  beverage, 
insists  in  knowing  how  to 
iken  afler  dinner,  it  would  be 
ion — with  the  breakfast  d  la 
t  would  be  no  better.  It  is  a 
lelf — the  smallest  cup  of  it. 

AS  such,  setting  apart  a  par- 
*  in  the  day  for  it,  and  giving 


it  the  honors  of  a  regular  and  separate 
entertainment,  you  find  this  drink  to  be 
truly  una  de  las  delicias  EapaHolas, 
It  is  worthy  of  the  fair  lips  which  so 
dearly  love  and  laud  it  Hot,  and  foamy, 
and  purple,  it  solaces  the  whole  inner 
man.  It  satisfies  at  the  same  time  the 
longings  of  the  stomach  and  of  the  soul. 
But  the  early  morning  is  the  hour  for 
this  cup  of  conso^tion.  When  you  have 
gotten  your  feet  into  your  slippers,  and 
have  girded  your  dressing-gown  around 
you,  and  have  arranged  the  morning's 
toilette — then  while  the  pleasant  sun 
streams  in  at  the  open  windows,  and  the 
morning  air  comes  in  to  refresh  your 
temples  and  regale  your  senses  with  the 
perfumes  of  the  balcony — then  as  you 
throw  yourself  into  the  embrace  of  the 
capacious  arm-chair,  and  open  book  or 
newspaper — then  let  your  Hebe  bring  in 
the  cup.  A  Spaniard  will  often  have  it 
handed  to  him  by  an  old  duenna  while  he 
is  still  in  the  sheets.  Many  a  one  can- 
not get  out  of  bed  without  help  of  it.  He 
cannot  muster  the  courage,  the  force  of 
will  to  raise  his  head  from  the  pillow, 
until  he  feels  in  his  vitals  the  working  of 
his  accustomed  stimulus.  But  the  other 
arrangement  is  much  to  be  preferred. 
You  gain  thereby  the  great  advantage  of 
being  served  by  the  younger  and  prettier 
hands  of  one  of  Spain's  dark  maidens — 
the  morning  dew  still  sparkling  on  the 
rose  leaves  in  her  hair.  For  my  part,  I 
always  thought  it  gave  a  better  flavor  to 
the  chocolate,  though  it  might  have  been 
mere  fancy. 

The  only  thing  which  may  be  taken 
with  chocolate  is  a  very  delkate  biscuit — 
a  mere  nothing.  Any  thing  else  is  a  pro- 
fanation, and  spoils  the  entertainment  If 
a  man  is  hunpry,  let  him  wait  for  his 
breakfast — or,  in  troth,  let  him  eat  it 
But  at  that  hour  he  ought  not  to  be  under 
the  dominion  of  a  rabid  appetite.  He 
should  have  a  season  of  tranquil  thought- 
fulness  after  rifdng  from  his  couch.  He 
should  give  a  few  fleeting  moments  to  the 
quiet  enjoyment  of  the  golden  light  and 
fragrant  air  of  the  Spanish  morning.  The 
duties,  the  amusements  of  the  day  are  to 
be  calmly  forecasted.  Perhaps  the  follies 
of  a  night  are  to  be  repented  of.  He  h^s 
some  theme  to  meditate — some  scribbling 
— letters — business.  Let  him  drink  his 
chocolate,  and  put  off  breakfasting  till 
mid-day. 

Twelve  o'clock  is  the  latest  hour  for 
breakfasting  d  la  fourchette.  For  &U 
good  Spaniards  are  early  up;  and  they 
dine  at  five  or  thereabouts.  I  speak  of 
the  higher  dasaes.    But  as  no  traTellfid 


492 


Co9a9  de  Etpafia. 


Pi«r 


man  can  breakfast  any  where  satisfactorily 
out  of  Paris,  it  would  not  be  of  any  use 
to  describe  the  Spanish  perfonnanoe.  It 
is  but  a  poor,  second-handed  affair.  For 
it  is  an  imitation  of  the  tedious,  many- 
coursed  dejeuners  of  the  south  of  France 
and  the  north  of  Italy.  If  you  prefer  to 
breakfast  by  yourself,  as  of  course  you  do, 
you  may  order  what  you  like — though 
you  will  not  get  it.  The  whole  blessed 
day  might  be  spent  in  calling  for  butter ; 
and  the  mozo  would  bring  you  oil.  You 
might  beg  for  cheese ;  and  he  would  give 
YOU  a  Dutch  stone.  You  might  order  the 
hen-coop  up.  to  watch  with  your  own  eyes 
the  laying ;  but  the  eggs  would  be  stale 
by  the  time  the  cook  had  boiled  them. 
Tell  him  to  serve  you  an  omelette ;  and 
unless  you  give  him  pesetas  as  well  as 
eggs  to  make  it  with,  it  will  prove  to  be 
a  great  deal  whiter  than  the  linen  of  either 
the  cocinero  who  stirred,  or  of  the  mozo 
who  served  it  The  yolks  will  have  been 
all  left  out  to  make  the  dinners  custards, 
and  you  will  breakfast  on  mere  albumen. 
You  decide  to  have  beef-steaks — you  have 
been  accustomed  to  them  at  home.  Good. 
An  hour  afterwards — should  you  live  so 
long — you  proceed  to  draw  your  boots  on, 
and  find  one  of  them  stript  of  the  under- 
leather.  Then  you  awake  to  the  convic- 
tion that  you  have  breakfasted  on  your 
own  heel-taps — you  have  eaten  your  own 
sole! 

Still,  I  will  give  you,  male  reader,  a  se- 
cret piece  of  advice  about  these  matters. 
First,  supposing  that  you  have  adopted 
the  plan  of  feeing  the  chefde  cuisine  one 
morning,  and  threatening  to  take  his  life 
if  he  do  not  serve  you  ^tter  the  next — 
then  I  say  to  you,  order  your  beef-steaks 
to  be  done  in  onions.  That  is  the  way  the 
natives  manage.  They  smother  them 
until  the  leathery  taste  is  completely  taken 
out,  and  they  have  no  idea  at  all  of  what 
they  are  eating.  Serve  your  mutton-chops 
the  same  way— only  have  them  buried  in 
mushrooms  instead  of  onions.  And  if  you 
insist  on  having  an  omelette  for  brcakutst, 
and  nothing  will  go  right  the  whole  day 
without  it — why,  then,  there  is  only  one 
absolutely  certain  course  that  can  be  pur- 
sued. What  a  man  does  himself  in  any 
country,  he  may  know  to  be  well  done. 
Therefore,  not  to  beat  the  eggs  and  slice 
in  the  truffles  with  your  own  hands,  see  it 
done  at  least  with  your  own  eyes.  Unless 
you  actually  stand  over  the  cocinero  with 
both  eyes  fixed  upon  him,  he  will  be 
sure  to  whip  the  yolks  out  of  the  eggs,  axKl 
to  substitute  gutta  percha  for  truffles. 
And  unless  you  dog  the  waiter^s  heels 
from  the  kitchen  to  the  parlor,  he  will 


certainly  contrive  on  the  way  to  exchange 
his  precious  charge  for  an  omelette  Hf- 
chau^ce,  lefl  over  from  the  day  helhtt. 
But,  if  you  will  take  these  precautknift— 
and  it  might  not  be  absolutely  impossitk 
to  have  the  thing  managed  by  your  own 
private  servant — ^you  may  safely  defy  tlie 
cooks  of  all  Christendom  to  prodnoeaoj 
better  omelettes  than  those  made  from 
Spanish  eggs — and  pesetas. 

The  ordinary  wme  of  Spain  is  bad. 
Whoever  goes  to  San  Luca  to  drink  tiie 
delicate  Manzanilla,  or  to  Xerez  to  taste 
in  the  bodega  of  Pedro  Domeoq,  the  gen- 
uine Amontillado,  will  certainly  get  good 
Sherris-sack.  But  I  very  much  Kar  that 
he  will  find  it  nowhere  else  in  the  coontrj. 
The  vino  ordinario,  when  new,  is  too 
sweet ;  when  old,  it  is  too  roogh.  This  is 
true  o^  all  the  wines  of  Spain  in  oommon 
use.  Of  course,  I  except  the  sweet  Musca- 
dels  and  Malvoisies,  the  las  Utgrimas  of 
Malaga,  which,  though  not  fit  to  be  used 
as  a  beverage,  are  delicioos  as  cordials. 
This  general  defect  arises  probably  not  so 
much  from  the  quality  of  the  grapes^  is 
from  lack  of  pains  in  the  manufacture  of 
the  juice.  Wines,  whk^h  might  be  made 
almost  as  good  as  those  which  are  export- 
ed, are  drank  new,  because  there  is  not 
sufficient  enterprise  or  wealth  to  store  and 
keep  them.  The  sherries  whicb  are  drank 
in  England  and  America  are  next  to  never 
seen  in  Spain.  The  natives  cannot  afod 
to  pay  the  prices  of  them. 

As  in  his  meat,  so  in  his  drink,  the 
Spaniard,  provided  he  can  get  enough  in 
quantity,  is  not  very  partkniJar  about  the 
quality.  Your  muleteer,  when  on  his 
journeys  he  comes  to  a  stream  of  water, 
will  lie  down  on  his  belly,  and  outdrink 
his  beast ;  so,  when  at  nigfat-fiiJl  ha 
reaches  his  inn,  he  wishes  to  sit  down  to 
an  entire  pig-sk!n.  His  countrymen  all 
have  the  same  disposition.  They  are 
alHicted  with  thirst  as  with  a  fever;  ind 
they  drink  off  thebr  well-brimmed  cups 
without  stopping  to  critisiae  too  dos^ 
their  flavor.  The  Catalonian  manaces  to 
swallow  his  wine  without  even  tastmg  it 
He  raises  his  leathern  bottle  with  both 
hands — throws  back  his  head— opens  his 
mouth — and  catches  the  *'  vinous  pan- 
bola,"  which,  issuing  from  an  onfloe 
about  as  large  as  the  hole  of  a  pipe-stem, 
passes  directly  from  the  neck  of  the 
bottle  to  that  of  the  drinker.  He  is  veiy 
expert  at  this  trick  of  the  perron  ;  Ibr, 
while  a  foreigner  would  be  sure  to  in- 
undate his  nose  and  neckcloth,  he  never 
wastes  a  drop  of  the  precious  liquid.  The 
boy  just  weaned  will  do  almost  as  wdl, 
and  seems  to  go  from  the  breast  to  the 


Hienry  Clay  <u  an  Orator, 


498 


natural  instinct  The  Cata- 
;ht  is  necessarily  a  long  one. 
had  the  curiosity  to  time  it, 
le  case  of  a  very  old  fogy  that 
;wo  minutes.  Even  then  he 
stop  drinking,  not  because  his 
ill,  but  because  his  arms  were 

}ugh  the  Spaniard  loves  to 
oorron,  he  does  not  drink  to 
This  is  a  vice  of  the  North, 
(-growing  countries.  On  the 
Lent)  the  Barcelonese — men, 


women  and  children — all  go  oat  to  the 
neighboring  village  of  Gracia  to  **  bury 
the  carnival.*'  This  means  to  eat  and 
drink  enough  to  last  them  through  the 
whole  fast  season.  Yet,  whoever  at  night- 
fall should  take  up  his  position  at  the 
Puerta  del  Angel  to  witness  the  return- 
ing thousands,  would  problably  fail  of 
detecting  one  single  instance  of  gross  and 
manifest  intoxication.  The  Barcelonese 
is  proud  of  his  sobriety,  and  looks  upon 
drunkenness  as  a  disgrace. 


HENRY  CLAY   AS  AN   ORATOR. 


*  good  fortune,  often  to  hear 
f  roeak  in  the  Senate,  in  the 
(8  Supreme  Court,  and  in  the 
1  although  we  have  listened 
speakers  of  the  day  at  home, 
!en  very  lucky  in  opportuni- 
tng  world-renowned  debaters 
always  seemed  to  us,  the 
tural  orator,  of  the  whole 
quent  men.  Two  occasions 
pon  which  he  put  forth  quite 
38  of  speech  and  manner,  are 
essed  on  our  mind,  and  may 
reduce  a  more  particular  de- 
bis  oratory. 

)f  these  occasions,  was  on  the 
.  was  announced  to  Congress 
thoun  was  dead.  It  had  been 
.e  city,  the  day  before,  which 
\  and  the  next  day  a  great 
gathered  in  the  galleries  and 
A  solemn  expectation  evi- 
ided  all,  of  hearing  the  most 
funeral  eloquence,  from  the 
sted  compeers  of  the  great 
ras  dead.  The  whole  scene 
ipiring.  Benton  was  in  his 
xm-looking  man — and  it  was 
hat  -in  the  new-made  grave, 
ironld  sink,  and  that  his  voice 
rise  in  the  chorus  of  eulogium. 
listance  from  him  was  a  single 
[tir,  the  only  spot  unoccupied 
[leed  halL  On  the  other  side 
aisle,  sat  Webster,  dressed  in 
nooming.  his  massive  features 

Swith  a  monumental  look ; 
^  oomier  and  more  sepulchral 
oked,  when  no  very  long  time 
Senatorial  costume,  his  own 
lay  out  beneath  the  mighty 


branches  of  his  patriarchal  elm.  Near 
him  was  Mr.  Clay.  When  the  formal 
announcement  was  made,  there  was  a 
profound  stillness.  No  one  seemed  wil- 
ling to  rise  first,  to  give  voice  to  the  sorrow 
of  the  Senate.  At  length  Mr.  Webster 
turned  his  head  toward  Mr.  Clay,  as  if  he 
would  say,  that  his  longer  Congressional 
career  entitled  him  peculiarly  to  open  the 
great  cadence  of  lamentation.*  Slowly 
and  quietly  he  rose.  He  began  very 
gently  in  instinctive  harmony  with  the 
universal  feeling.  His  rare  voice,  beauti- 
ful though  subdued,  and  as  it  wereinuffled. 
rose  gradually  as  he  pictured  the  younger 
scenes  of  his  association  with  his  friend. 
And  as  he  drew  a  rapid  view  of  his  domestic 
relations,  and  descanted  on  the  virtues  and 
agreeable  excellences  of  the  wife  who  had 
cheered  the  long  campaign  of  the  political 
soldier,  grateful  recollections  thickened  on 
his  mind;  the  life-blood  began  to  push 
its  way  into  dulled  memories,  and  his 
eye  began  to  shine,  and  his  whole  form  to 
sway  about  gently  and  gracefully,  while 
the  tones  waxed  louder,  though  not  at  all 
vehement,  but  rather  more  and  more 
pathetic  and  affecting.  Never  shall  our 
ears  forget  the  touching  melody  with 
which  he  pronounced  this  closing  period 
of  a  sorrowing  climax,  "  he  was  my  junior 
in  years, — in  nothing  else;"  and  then  he 
rested  in  the  gentle  tide  of  his  words,  he 
turned  his  eyes  on  the  empty  chair — a 
moment  of  silence  intervencxi— then  his 
accumulated  weight  of  feeling  gushed 
forth  in  one  brief  moving  question,  as  he 
gestured  toward  the  chair, — "  When  shall 
that  great  vacancy  be  filled  ?  "  For  ever 
shall  those  swelling  words,  ^Hhat  great 
vacancy"  sound  and  resound  in  oar  ears. 


494 


Henry  Clay  as  an  Orator, 


P% 


Their  tone  was  the  tone  of  a  dirpe,  and  of 
a  panepyi-ic.  and  a  prophecy  combined. 

The  other  occasion  of  which  we  wish 
now  to  speak  was  one  wliich  displayed 
quite  a  differcnt  order  of  talent  in  the 
speaker.  It  was  in  the  days  of  the  com- 
promise discussions  of  1850.  and  that 
famous  A  ^justment  Bill  was  under  debate. 
On  the  day  previous,  a  variety  of  dilatory 
and  opposing  motions  had  been  made  in 
the  Senate,  and  a  plentiful  second  crop 
had  been  promised  further,  by  Mr.  Ben- 
ton, the  active  leader  of  the  adverse  forces. 
Mr.  Clay  had  been  laborin;»  during  the 
intervening  night  to  conceive  some  plan 
which,  at  the  same  time  that  it  should  be 
"  in  onler."  should  head  off  this  kind  of 
opposition.  He  thouglit  he  had  hit  upon 
it.  and  at  the  first  opportunity  he  n)se  in 
his  place  to  present  it.  With  a  sweet 
voice  and  tranquil  manner  he  set  it  forth, 
and  ct)ncluderl  by  moving  its  adoption. 
Tlien  he  })aused — all  were  still.  lie 
looked  across  the  Senate  chamber,  he 
fixed  his  eye  on  the  hostile  leader,  who 
pat  on  the  other  extreme  of  the  semicircle, 
with  all  the  Bentonian  thunder  lowering 
on  his  resolute  brow.  As  their  eyes  met, 
Clay's  expression  changed — "Glory  and 
triumph  o'er  his  aspect  burst  like  an 
East  Indian  sunrise  on  the  main."  He 
lifted  his  arm,  he  shook  it  menacingly  at 
the  rival  chief— "and  now  let  us  see," 
.«;aid  he,  in  a  voice  of  thunder.  "  whether 
the  pacification  of  this  country  is  longer 
to  be  hindered."  And  then  with  eyes 
I)erfectly  in  a  blaze,  his  long  arms  swings 
ing  around  him,  his  gray  hair  Hurrying 
on  his  brow,  and  his  tall  form  swaying 
about  and  sometimes  bending  almost 
double  with  his  impassioned  vehemence, 
he  dashed  into  a  brilliant  picture  of  the 
prospect  which  he  thought  the  Compro- 
mise opened  for  America.  Soon,  however, 
he  seemed  to  be  admonished  that  his 
physical  vigor  was  no  longer  capable  of 
the  sustained  and  prolonged  flights,  in 
which  he  had  once  indulged ;  his  swelling 
voice  sunk  a  little,  and  in  a  tone  of  inex- 
pressible richness — "Ah,"  said  he,  "I 
left  a  sick-room  this  morning,  at  the  call/ 
of  my  country;"  for  a  few  broken  sen-^ 
tenccs  he  drooped,  then  once  more  he 
awoke  and  sprung  into  full  life;  once 
more  he  grew  menacing  and  triumphant ; 
his  form  expanded,  his  presence  grew 
loftier,  and  his  tones  were  trumpeted  forth 
with  an  exulting  confidence,  as  if  a  sort 
of  sibylline  inspiration  possessed  him; 
he  was  all  himself  again,  and  we  felt  that 
we  indeed  wei*e  looking  on  the  famous 
orator,  in  his  appropriate  scene. 

And  now  if  turning  from  these  spec- 


tacles of  his  eloquence,  we  consider  what 
it  did,  we  shall  see  Iiow  worthy  it  is  of 
careful  study.  Surely  we  may  well  study 
that  eloquence  which  infused  bis  oim 
electric  spirit  into  this  whole  natwD, 
muking  itself  felt  equally  on  the  floor  of 
lukewarm  State  legislatures  and  on  the 
deck  of  the  Constitution  frigate,  as  she 
cleared  for  action,  in  the  immortal  sea- 
fight:  an  eloquence  which  shivered  the 
dynasty  of  Jackson  in  the  perron  of  lus 
successor,  and  over  several  administratioiis 
exercised  the  influence  of  a  modem  '^  Mayor 
of  the  Palace;"  which  almost  alone  sus- 
tained what  was  termed,  The  American 
System  of  Politics;  and  aboTO  all,  an 
eloquence  which  through  many  changing 
years,  grappled  to  his  own  heart  as  with 
hooks  of  steel,  a  million  of  other  hearts ; 
forcing  a  great  party,  overflowing  with 
genius,  to  keep  the  broad  ensign  of"  Hanr 
of  the  West"  nailed  at  their  mast-head 
through  a  series  of  political  campaigna 
every  one  of  them  as  ruinous  to  the  auH 
bition  and  the  avarice  of  his  followers,  as 
tho.se  which  left  the  Great  Frederick  de- 
serted in  the  Palace  at  Potsdam,  to  drink 
the  poison  alone,  after  his  fatal  fields;— 
this  eloquence  surely  will  well  repay  our 
study. 

Henry  Clay  was  an  orator  by  nature. 
He  had  not  the  eloquence  of  the  schools. 
The  scholastic  precepts  of  Cicero  m  the 
treatise  on  oratory,  he  knew  nothing 
about.  No  concealed  and  flowing  rhythm 
gave  the  undefinable  charm  of  oompoatioD 
to  his  words;  they  trooped  forth  i^od* 
taneously,  gushing,  glowing,  conqneriog. 
lie  had  the  eloquence  of  character,  H 
visdom.  and  of  aciioiu  Those  were  the 
three  pillars  of  his  grand  power.  He  had 
a  character  magnanimous;  chivalric,  vana- 
hearted,  i-eminding  us  rather  of  some 
Homeric  hero,  than  a  Yankee  politician; 
a  sagacious  wisdom,  broad,  comprehenaTe. 
fore-casting,  ready,  and  intnitiTe ;  and 
lastl/,  an  action,  wholly  unstudied,  bated 
uM(h  extraordinary  native  gifts,  developed 
mbA  trained  up  by  exercise,  without  nue. 
f  The  simple  story  of  his  birth,  and 
growth,  and  glory  is  well  known  to  every 
American.  How  he  was  bom  in  Virginia; 
the  nursery  of  great  men,  and  was  bruogbt 
up  by  a  poor  but  proud  mother,  with  a 
very  elementary  and  meagre  education ; 
how  he  never  went  to  college,  bat  carried 
the  meal  bags  to  and  from  the  mill,  and 
was  called  *'  the  mill-boy  of  the  Slashes,** 
and  when  old  enough  studied  text-books 
a  little,  and  crossed  the  borders  to  Ken- 
tucky to  practise  law,  having  as  the  goal 
of  his  expectation,  as  he  afterwards  said, 
a  practice  of  three  hundred  dollara  a  year; 


Henry  Clay  as  an  Orator. 


495 


Ale  of  that  first  trembling  and 
ng  appearance  before  a  debating 
[|  which  three  times  he  vainly 
£  to  open  a  speech  with  the  in-> 
te  prefix  "  Gentlemen  of  the 
ind  finally,  how  his  genius,  all 
I  as  it  was,  broke  forth  with  in- 
splendor  upon  Kentucky,  and 
m  onward  from  glory  to  glory, 
IT  suffrage,  till  by  universal  ac- 
.  he  stood  confessed,  Chief  of  the 
id  Tribune  of  the  People;— all 
oe  of  his  life  is  universally  fami- 
we  explore  in  vain  therefore  the 
»f  his  eloquence  in  any  learned 
or  all-accomplished  art.      The 

of  that  Nile  spring  elsewhere. 
ipears  to  have  been  bom  with  a 

built  on  a  large  scale,  and  the 
aces  of  his  youth  and  his  early 
,  although  not  very  favorable  to 
al  growth,  were  peculiarly  cal- 

0  ennoble  and  to  expand  this, 
gift  of  character ;  for  there,  in 

icter,  thus  developed,  was  hidden 

spring  of  his  eloquence. 

he  stepped  out  into  life,  he  found 

1  the  midst  of  a  new  and  almost 
X)ciety,  ardent  and  passionate, 
brave ;  untrammelled  by  conven- 
I,  and  wild  and  free  as  nature 
hem,  invaded  only,  as  yet,  not 
L  Among  such  associations  the 
ments  of  a  man's  character  would 
spontaneously,  irregularly  but 
ike  the  luxuriant  growths  of 
1  forests.  A  large  and  liberal 
ildng  at  things,  a  bold  and  dash- 
er of  talking  about  them,  very 
firom  the  cramped  and  stilted 
gy  of  books;  a  courage  un- 
jid  kindred  to  that  of  the  imme- 
[eocssors  of  the  men  around  him, 
irers  of  forests  and  slayers  of 

yigorous  and  vehement  energy 
ig  out  every  enterprise,  whether 
or  of  action,  very  diflcrent  from 
y-pamby  araor  of  a  mere  book- 
tak  and  literary ;  and  a  habit  of 
Dm  desultory  "but  strong  and 
)  impulses; — these  were  the 
sbaractcr,  which  lying  originally 
rere  fostered  by  Kentuckian  life, 
^leedom  and  expansiveness  of  a 
imconfined  society  formed  by  no 
)  only  moral  atmosphere  of  his 
mt  The  Revolution  was  just 
is  youth  saw  what  was  still  the 
I  of  the  Republic.  The  heroes 
Birom  before  God,  that "  sink  or 
key  gave  their  lives  and  sacred 
their  country,  were  still  walking 
e  people ;  lingering  a  little  as  if 


to  give  their  farewell  benediction  to  the 
nation  whose  infancy  they  had  baptized 
with  blood.  Still  the  golden  age  of  the 
sentiments  of  the  people  continued,  still 
the  brazen  age  of  the  commerce  of  the 
people  had  not  opened.  They  huad  gone 
to  war  with  a  terrible  nation  for  an  opin- 
ion ;  they  had  kept  up  the  war  and  kept 
up  their  own  hearts  by  the  interchange  of 
sentiments,  such  as  had  been  uttered  in 
all  time,  by  the  most  noble  men  of  our 
race — by  Roman  and  Athenian  lovers  of 
libert}',  by  Christian  martyrs,  by  the 
Lovers  of  Democracies,  who  had  died  vic- 
tims of  tyrants.  Multitudes  still  lived 
who  had  heard  these  sentiments  echoing 
round  the  land.  Multitudes  of  memories 
and  traditions  of  the  great  deeds  done  to 
back  them,  were  still  current  The  whole 
heart  of  the  nation  was  warm,  the  whole 
mind  of  the  nation  was  lifted  up.  In  this 
national  atmosphere  of  noble  souls,  the 
high  heart  of  Clay  swelled  with  congenial 
fires. 

But  hardly  had  he  assumed  the  position 
of  one  of  the  leaders  in  Congress  when  he 
was  summoned  to  play  a  part  which  still 
more  fully  developed  all  the  grandeur  of 
his  qualities.  Our  new  nation  was  recog^ 
nized  as  existing  de  facto  and  dejure,  in 
fact  and  in  law,  but  it  had  no  social  posi- 
tion in  the  family  of  nations.  The  new 
fiag  seemed  to  fioat  timidly  among  the 
battle-stained  banners  of  the  ancient  coun- 
tries of  immemorial  renown.  Messages 
from  the  new  state  remonstrant  against 
the  violations  of  her  rights  were  indiff*er- 
ently  listened  to  by  princes  and  potentates. 
Upon  the  whole,  the  eagle  of  the  Republic 
had  no  thunderbolt  in  its  talons.  The 
eye  of  Henry  Clay  saw  this,  and  his  great 
heart  felt  it  keenly  and  sadly,  and  when 
the  presumption  of  Great  Britain  reached 
its  climax,  by  the  closing  of  the  ports  of 
the  Continent  to  our  struggling  commerce, 
and  invading  the  sanctity  of  our  ships, 
then  his  voice  rose  like  a  trumpet,  bidding 
his  countrymen  gird  on  the  sword  once 
more ;  then  he  flung  out  the  famous  motto 
of  our  second  war, "  Free  Trade  and  Sailors' 
Rights;"  then  he  declared  that  the  sailor 
on  the  deck  of  a  Yankee  ship  was  on 
sacred  ground ;  that  the  fiag  should  float 
like  a  protecting  -^gis  over  him.  His  in- 
spiring and  just  sentiments,  the  echoes  of 
the  Revolution,  rung  like  clarion  voices 
through  the  land.  He  wrested  from 
Madison  the  declaration  of  war,  and  took 
at  once  the  leadership  of  the  people.  His 
eloquence  was  then  like  the  pillar  of 
flame,  marshalling  them  to  their  proper 
place  among  nations.  The  close  of  that 
war,  by  its  moral  influence,  it  is  admitted, 


496 


Henry  Clay  as  an  Orator. 


[M.y 


gave  us  the  rank  of  a  first  class  power 
upon  the  earth,  and  all  the  time  the  seat 
and  fountain  of  that  splendid  struggle  of 
national  pride,  was  in  the  bosom  of  Henrj 
Clay.  He  chiefly  stirred  the  people  up 
to  it.  lie,  most  of  all  the  political  leaders, 
supported  it,  in  all  its  shifting  phases, 
with  undrooping  spirit  and  lion-hearted 
daring.  He  cheered  on  the  political  col- 
umns, and  upon  his  Atlantean  shoulders 
chiefly  the  contest  rested. 

The  conduct  of  this  vast  crisis  in  our 
national  destinies,  from  the  hour  when, 
as  some  say  on  his  knees,  he  wrung  from 
President  Madison  a  reluctant  assent  to 
the  first  declared  breach  with  England, 
on  through  the  fluctuating  vicissitudes  of 
the  struggle,  to  the  closing  and  crown- 
ing victory  of  New  Orleans,  taxed  and 
tried  his  noblest  qualities ; — his  love  of 
country,  the  "  charity  of  native  land,"  as 
Senator  Scwanl,  eulogizing  him,  said,  his 
courage,  the  piandeur  of  his  fortitude  and 
his  indomitable  resolution,  all  were  quick- 
ened into  new  life.  In  that  day  it  was 
that  his  character,  which  was,  as  we 
have  said,  the  mainspring  of  his  eloquence, 
took  its  la  t  development  Then  the 
seal  was  set  upon  it.  And  that  com- 
pleted character  proved  to  be  one  as  high- 
toned  in  its  honor  and  enterprise  as  the 
Cavalier  of  Virginia  in  his  chivalry,  as 
i*cligious  in  its  patriotism  as  the  Puritan 
of  New  Englunil  in  his  piety ;  a  Bayard 
he  was,  in  his  courage  and  gallantr}-,  and 
hardly  behind  Washington  in  his  love  of 
our  country.  We  have  heartl  his  earlier 
contemporaries  say  that  up  to  this  time, 
that  is,  the  tin\e  of  the  war,  his  eloquence 
was  milder,  more  deprecatory  and  per- 
suasive, as  became  a  young  man,  but  ever 
afterwards  it  was  lx)lder,  mightier,  more 
confident,  and  terrible.  In  this  respect 
his  career  somewhat  resembled  the  course 
of  Edmund  Burke ;  who  in  the  earlier 
half  of  his  life,  that  devoted  mainly  to 
literature,  was  much  more  amiable  and 
winning  than  storming  and  commanding ; 
but  whose  qualities,  rarefied  in  the  lighter 
air  of  letters,  seemed  to  condense  and 
darken  into  thick  clouds  of  passion,  in  the 
heavier  and  more  murky  atmosphere  of 
political  strife.  Originally  the  sunny, 
genial  nature  of  Clay  was  uppermost, 
but  afterwards  when  contest,  and  sorrow, 
and  growth  gave  him  his  full  develop- 
ment, he  had  the  volcano  as  well  as  the 
sunshine  in  his  composition. 

It  is  necessary  to  revive  these  reminis- 
cences of  the  opening  career  and  early 
education  of  Clay,  riglitly  to  estimate  his 
pecuUar  eloquence,  and  to  get  a  clear  idea 
of  its  sources.     Tliere  are  many  kinds  of 


orators.    There  is  the  magisterial  orator 
of  intellect,  imposing  and   WebMlerian; 
there  is  the  g^audy  and  polished  utterance 
of  the  rhetorician,  captivating  with  mere- 
tricious   ornament ;    and    there    is   the 
orator  of  character  and  manner,  swaying 
masses  like  a  conunander.     To  this  last 
order    Mr.    Clay    primarily    belonged. 
Though  we  sec  also  m  him  the  action  of 
an  intellect  free  and  large,  and  this,  as  wt 
shall  presently  notice  more  particularly, 
came  materially  to  the  aid  of  bis  effect. 
While  of  the  arts  and  graces  of  the  rhetori-. 
cian,  the  set  orator  of  the  schools,  tbJ 
ornament  rather  than  the  ruler  of  public 
bodies,  ho  had  nothing.    Of  narrow  edu- 
cation, not  bred  in  very  polished  scenes^ 
and  never  much  given  to  reading  books, 
his  culture  was  always  chiefly  gathered 
from  the  society  of  men,  with  whom  he 
came  in  contact,  and  the  enterprises  in 
which  he  was  engaged.    We  shall  look 
in  vain  in  his  reported  speeches  for  scho- 
lastic beauties  or  literary  gems.     In  vain 
shall  we  seek  to  trace  a  learned  fancy  in 
an  affluent  imagery.     Nothing  like  the 
polished  periods  of  Edward  Everett  wiU 
greet  our  sense  of  the  harmony  of  num- 
bers ;  nothing  like  that  phantom  pageant- 
ry conjured  up  by  the  impassioned  fancy 
of  Rufus  Choate,  will  stalk  in  grand  pro- 
cession before  our  mind's  eye,  as  on  some 
mimic  stage.    No,  his  eloquence  was  fed 
from  other  fountains.    Ho  had  the  wotds 
which  he  had  picked  up  from  a  few  books 
and  from  many  men ;  some  of  them  good, 
some  bad,  like  the  variety  of  human  na- 
ture which  he  had  fallen  in  with.    He 
shook  hands  with  the  hunters  of  the 
West,  and  the  scholars  of  the  East,  with 
wagon-boys  from   Ohio,  and  presidaiti 
from  Virginia,  and  from  them  all  be  had 
gathered  and  garnered  up  his  oomnoB 
but  copious  vocabulary.     He  had  the 
trite  figures  of  speech  and  turns  of  iQiu- 
tration  taken  from  translations  of  the 
classics,  and  the  crude  speeches  of  hitf- 
formed  rhetoricians,  and  both  words  and 
images  ho  used  off-hand.    He  nerer  ooold 
put  his  mind  into  the  harness  of  prepsred 
paragraphs.     Set  sentences  ^t  up  like 
Sheridan's,   or   even   premeditated   like 
G  rattan's,  never  rushed  with  prearranged 
fervor  from  his  lips.     Nor  in  any  way 
did  ho  indulge  in  epideictic  oratory,  or 
what  we  may  call  show-off  speeches.   He 
spoke  as  the  battle  of  debate  demanded, 
instant,  fervid,  to  the  very  point  of  the 
moment    He  had  not  time  for  preparation 
of  speeches,  for  choice  diction,  for  culled 
periods.    Indeed  the  warmth  and  move- 
ment of  his  powers  when  in  actk>n  was 
such,  that  he  could  never  get  along  very 


1864.] 


Henry  Clay  as  an  Orator. 


407 


satisfactorily  even  with  an  apt  or  elegant 
quotation.     A  little  anecdote  is  told  of 
h^PBrfoTcihly  illustrating  this.    Anticipat- 
-^Sg  a  speech  on  one  occasion,  he  laughingly 
asked  a  representative  from  Boston,  Mr. 
Winthrop,  to  give  him  the  quotation  about 
a  rose  by  any  other  name  smelling  as 
sweet.    This  he  wrote  out  on  a  little  slip 
of  paper,  and  when  in  the  march  of  his 
speech  he  arrived  at  its  point  of  introduc- 
tion, he  began  to  fumble  among  his  papers, 
still  talking  on  though,  for  his  poetry. 
Alas!  he  could  not  find  it;  but  as  un- 
fortunately, with  too  precipitate  a  confi- 
dence, he  had  started  in  the  quotation,  and 
had  already  got  off  the  words  "  A  rose," 
it  was  absolutely  necessary  to  finish  it 
somehow ;  something  at  all  events  must 
be  done  with  the   **Rose."     So  after  a 
momentary  balk  and  a  prodigious  pinch 
of  snulf,  he  abruptly  wound  up  his  at- 
tempted rhetorical  bravura,  by  saying,  to 
the  astonishment  of  ears  polite,  and  very 
much  we  may  imagine  to  the  enforcement 
of  his  argument,  *•  A  rose  where'er  you 
find  it,  still  is  sweet."     A  great  and 
scholarly  orator  of  New  England  we  have 
heard  say,  that  during  hLs  brief  term  in 
tlie  Senate,  he  has  more  than  once  seen 
the  moment,  in  listening  to  Clay,  when 
he  would  have  given  moneys  numbered 
for  the  privilege  of  thrusting  a  quotation 
in  his  lips.    Not  at  all  then  in  the  style 
of  thought,  the  composition,  or  the  diction 
of  Mr.  Clay's  speeches  shall  we  find  any 
marvels  of  eloquent  power.    That  power 
was  hidden  in  his  lofty  and  Roman-like 
character,  and  in  his  fervent  sensibility. 
He  always  appealed  with  electric  fervor 
to  the  nobler  thoughts  and  the  loftier 
|Nuasions  of  men.     Some  speakers  make 
their  onslaught  on  the  prejudices  and  the 
more  vulgar  passions  of  their  hearers ; 
some  to  the  higher  and  more  hallowed 
impulses — the  nobilities  of  human  nature. 
In  short,  some  appeal  to  men's  greatness, 
some  to  their  littleness.    And  those  who 
are  themselves  great  always  prefer  the 
former.    It  was  once  said  of  another  ora- 
tor, that "  the  man  seemed  always  greater 
bhan  his  word."    And  so  as  men  looked 
m  Clay's  chivalrous  and  dauntless  front, 
they  felt  that  there  was  something  behind 
the  sentences,  far  greater  than  the  sen- 
tences.   There  are  men  whose  speeches 
leem  to  us  richer  and  grander  than  they 
seem  themselves,   and  they  continually 
surprise  us.    In  studying  such  orators  we 
must  analyze  their  compositions  and  their 
Qalture  carefully,  if  we  want  to  find  them 
ont.    But  with  the  school  of  speakers,  in 
the  van  of  whose  ranks  Clay  stood,  we 
must  study  the  Tnen,  not  the  speeches ; 


we  must  look  at  character^  rather  than 
culture. 

The  intellect  of  Mr.  Clay  was  large. 
He  had  strong,  wise,  wide  views,  the  pro- 
duct of  his  understanding  and  his  judg- 
ment combined.  We  once  heard  a  senator 
say  of  his  eloquence,  that  its  predominant 
element  afler  all  was  wisdom.  And  we 
can  still  see  apparent,  through  even  the 
newspaper  reports  of  his  speeches,  a  large, 
broad,  capacious  comprehension  of  public 
affairs.  His  mind  on  three  capital  occa- 
sions, was  expanded  and  energized  to  its 
utmost  capacity.  These  were  the  critical 
times  of  the  war  of  1812,  the  Missouri 
Compromise,  and  the  Tariff  Compromise 
of  1832.  To  have  led  his  country  in  three 
such  hours  as  these ;  to  have  spread  his 
mind  over  the  whole  field  of  her  multi- 
tudinous and  jarring  interests,  and  grasped 
them  all,  and  provided  for  them  all,  was 
a  most  severe  discipline  of  all  the  intel- 
lectual powers.  Thus  his  mind  may  be 
said  to  have  had  three  great  periods  of 
stretching  and  strengthening.  Now  this 
widening  and  enlarging  of  mind  combined 
powerfully  with  his  tire  and  elevation  of 
character,  to  give  his  oratory  its  command- 
ing impressiveness ;  a  sort  of  attribute  of 
general  grandeur.  Men  felt  as  they  sat 
before  him,  that  no  smooth-lipped  Belial 
was  speaking,  whose  "tongue  dropped 
manna,  and  could  make  the  worse  appear 
the  better  reason,"  but  one  who  seemed 
for  dignity  composed,  and  from  whose 
lips  flowed  princely  counsel. 

We  said  in  the  beginning  of  this  paper, 
that  the  eloquence  we  are  trying  to  de- 
scribe, was  that  of  character,  of  wisdom, 
and  of  action.  And  in  this  last  term, 
**  action,"  we  include  the  whole  manage- 
ment and  display  of  the  body  of  the 
speaker.  The  body  is  the  machine  through 
which  all  the  soul  and  intellect  are  maSe 
palpable  to  us,  in  voice,  gesture,  and  in 
one  comprehensive  word — action.  More 
important  even  than  sagacious  thought, 
or  sublime  sentiment,  is  the  action  by 
which  it  is  expressed  and  made  visible. 
So  at  least  he  said,  whom  all  are  agreed 
to  call  the  foremost  speaker  of  all  this 
world.  And  this  action  was  in  Mr.  Clay 
admirable,  rising  often  to  a  dramatic  in- 
tensity and  beauty.  To  see  Edmund 
Kean  act,  it  was  said,  was  like  reading 
Shakespeare  by  flashes  of  lightning;  to 
hear  Henry  Clay  utter  the  sentiment  of 
America,  was  like  hearing  the  Sibyl  an- 
nounce the  oracles  of  the  Republic.  You 
felt,  as  it  were,  all  the  pulse-beats  of  a 
young  conUnent. 

How  shall  we  picture  that  magical 
manner?    How  describe  that  magnetism 


408 


Henry  Clay  as  an  Orator, 


[May 


which  radiated  from  his  soul  round  and 
round  among  hin  hearers,  through  their 
very  lifo-blood  ?  No  canvas  can  bodv 
forth  the  great  orator  in  action.  Hcaley's 
painting  of  Webster  replying  to  Ilayne, 
whatever  it  may  be  as  a  work  of  art, 
gives  no  notion  at  all  of  the  Demosthenic 
"action."  As  well  might  you  try  to 
paint  lightning  as  to  paint  the  flash  which 
for  an  instant,  from  the  true  orator's  eyes, 
blazes  into  your  very  soul ;  or  to  catch 
the  terrible  inflections  of  the  few  momen- 
tary tones,  which  storm  the  very  citadel 
of  your  mind  and  senses.  The  actor, 
Booth,  whom,  alas!  we  shall  never  see 
again,  in  the  play  of  Pescara,  when  the 
heroine  asks  her  father  who  shall  prevent 
her  nuptials  with  her  lover,  used  to  utter 
the  single  monosyllable  "  I "  in  such  a 
manner  that  it  struck  like  a  dagger  to 
the  heart  of  every  one  who  heanl  him. 
A  manner  though,  of  course,  utterly  in- 
capable of  being  described.  While,  then, 
we  do  not  undertake  to  give  any  thing 
like  a  daguerreotype  of  Mr.  Clay's  action, 
wo  may  by  trom»,  which,  according  to 
Edmund  Burke's  theory  in  the  Essay  on 
the  Sublime  and  Beautiful,  are  far  supe- 
rior, for  painting,  to  colors  and  canvas — 
by  words  we  may  present  a  faint  likeness 
of  that  wizard- like  manner.  Conspicuous 
among  his  physical   attributes  was  his 

^rdent  temperament.  His  blood  was 
warm,  and  as  easily  set  flowing  as  if  it 
had  been  distilled  in  tropical  airs ;  quick 
and  strong  were  his  pulse-beats.  lu  the 
iciest  days  of  winter,  ho  said  he  could 
always  keep  himself  physically  warm  by 
the  exercise  of  speaking.  This  heat  of 
temperament  is  indispensable  to  the  orator, 
to  enable  him  quickly  and  vigorously  to 
bring  into  play  all  his  intellectual  resour- 
ces.   A  fine  engine 'with  a  bad  furnace 

(would  be  a  pretty  poor  working  machine. 
A  lethargic  man,  even  if  endowed  with 
bright  wits  and  generous  sentiment,  can 
only  summon  them  to  action  on  high 
occasions.  But  the  genuine  orator  must 
kindle  always  at  the  word  of  command. 
This  liveliness  of  physical  sensibility, 
moreover,  enables  the  outer  world  to  act 
with  much  more  power  on  all  the  moral 
and  impulsive  sensibilities  of  one's  nature. 
A  man  whose  system  is  all  in  a  glow  feels 
all  that  is  going  on  around  him,  and  all 
the  thoughts  and  sentiments  thereby 
suggested  much  more  vividly  than  if  calm 
or  half  asleep.  Indeed,  we  have  seen  a 
celebrated  temperance  lecturer  hold  an 
audience  by  the  hour  together,  when  there 
was  neither  strength  in  his  thought  nor 
beauty  in  his  words,  solely  by  the  sympa- 
thetic fervors  of  physical  animation,  which 


his  screaming  energy  awoke  within  tbem. 
In  his  case  he  had  nothing  to  go  upon  bat 
temperament  It  was  merely,  if  we  ma)r 
be  allowed  the  phrase — the  eloquence  o(3 
blood.  When  Clay  spoke  he  was  often  in 
a  physical  fever;  as  he  went  on,  some 
great  thought  would  strike  athwart  his 
mind,  or  some  great  vision  flash  upon  his 
fancy  of  the  possible  programme  of  Ameri- 
can destiny,  and  then — ^heavens !  how  the 
blood  mounted  glistening  in  his  broad, 
bright  face,  and  gushing  on  his  burning 
brain.  Then  that  homely  phy8k>gnomy 
would  be  in  an  instant  illuminated  with  a 
sort  of  oratorial  sunshine ;  the  spirit  of  a 
commanding  grace  would  descend  upon 
him,  almost  it  would  seem  as  if  a  halo 
hovered  round  his  head,  and  with  an 
apostolic  beauty  it  were  absolutely  trans- 
figured. 

In  all  the  leading  bodily  essentials  of 
the  orator,  his  persanelle.  Nature  had 
been  prodigal  to  him  of  the  means  of  pro- 
ducing effects.  His  figure  was  tall  and 
lithe,  and  from  its  spareness  looked  even 
taller  than  it  really  was.  It  was  a|^ 
rently  easily  put  together,  so  as  to  swmg 
about  in  gesture  plflpitly.  and  with  mykcg 
but  dignified  grace  ;  although  obioradmd 
by  itself  when  not  in  actk>n,  it  would  by 
no  means  be  thought  a  symmetrically 
proportioned  form.  But  when  thus  mov^ 
ing  and  swaying,  its  angles  and  lengths 
disappeared,  and  the  high-towering  body, 
and  long-sweeping  arms  became  most 
eflicicnt  contributors  to  the  grand  resnlt 
Ilis  face  was  largo,  and  rendered  veiy 
striking  by  the  ample  and  lofty  brow 
which  surmounted  it ;  fit  temple  to  crown 
that  gallant  mind  which,  one  look  assored 
you,  it  enshrined.  Cicero's  month  and 
ears  were  remarkably  large,  and  stnnge 
to  tell,  some  critics  have  set  these  down 
as  points  in  a  true-bom  orator^s  make; 
marks  as  infallible  as  the  points  of  blood 
in  "a  thorough-bred."  If,  indeed,  tbeae 
are  unmistakable  tests — ear  marks  U  a 
native  orator — then  was  Mr.  Clay  vai^T 
the  debtor  of  Nature.  For  Us  mooth 
was — we  had  almost  said — gigantic  Cer- 
tainly it  was  huge.  It  always  reminded 
us  of  the  stone  mouth  of  Cheopo.  It 
looked  as  if  Nature  had  forgotten  to 
give  him  any  aperture  there,  on  his  first 
being  turned  off  from  her  monld,  and 
afterwards  let  some  journeyman  mend 
him,  by  splitting  an  opening  with  his 
broad-axe.  In  his  old  days,  w^n  the  men 
ci-owded  round  him  for  a  shake  of  bit 
hand,  and  the  ladies  beset  him  for  a  kin 
of  his  patriarchal  lips,  it  was  remarked 
that  his  capacity  of  araUfying  this  latter 
demand  was  unlinuted;   for  the  aaqplt 


1854.] 


Henry  Clay  as  an  Orator, 


499 


dimensions  of  his  kissing  apparatus  en- 
abled him  completely  to  rest  one  side  of 
it  while  the  other  side  was  doing  active 
duty.  But  there  have  been  times  when 
we  have  seen  that  broad  and  uncouth 
mouth  hurl  forth  words  so  sharp  and 
hard-hitting,  they  were  worthy  of  the 
orator  of  old  who  was  said  "  to  eat  swords 
and  iron,"  while  again  we  have  seen  it 
radiant  with  good-humor,  looking  abso- 
lutely handsome,  and  pouring  forth  tones 
which  called  right  up  before  you  the  very 
sunny-side  of  life.  His  eyes  were  power- 
ful. They  were  not  deep  set.  They  did 
not  lower  upon  his  enemy  from  cavernous 
depths  like  Webster's,  but  they  sparkled 
/  and  blazed  upon  the  adversary,  as  if  set 
Lin  the  very  front  rank  of  the  battle.  They 
were  of  a  grayish  blue,  and  in  his  excite- 
ments they  seemed  to  take  all  hues  of 
that  color,  from  the  light  and  sparkling 
to  the  deep  sea-blue ;  now  shining  like 
^the  glittering  eye"  of  the  ancient  mari- 
ner, and  again  growing  intense,  and 
"  darkly,  deeply  blue."  His  whole  head 
taken  together  was  large  and  rather  im- 
posing from  its  breadth,  and  its  height  in 
proportion  to  its  breadth.  Phrenologists 
used  to  estimate  it  at  over  seven  inches  in 
diameter,  while  its  height  gave  him  some- 
thing of  that  impressive  majesty  of  mien, 
which  history  has  attributed  to  the  whole 
family  of  the  first  Greek  Orator -States- 
man, Pericles.  The  complexion^  in  which 
often  so  much  of  the  impressiveness  of 
physiognomy  secretly  resides,  was  not  in 
his  case  peculiar,  or  marked.  Care  had 
Dot  withered  it  into  the  bloodless  parch- 
ment-hue of  Calhoun's  lineaments,  nor 
deepened  it  into  a  smoky  swarthiness. 
It  was  natural  and  healthy.  Years  wrote 
their  lines  about  the  face  well-defined  and 
square,  but  not  deep-furrowed.  His 
temperament  was  rather  of  the  sanguine 
than  the  bilious  order,  though  he  had 
enough  of  the  latter  for  hard  work. 
tfut  take  him  for  all  in  all.  "as  he  stood 
liis  boots,"  as  the  backwoodsmen  say, 
I  presence  was  magisterial.  And  some- 
nes  as  that  high  form  was  dilated  and 
lifted  up  in  some  grand  accent  of  command, 
^ht  looked  more  than  the  magistrate ;  he 
looked  like  a  more  than  mortal  lawgiver ; 
uid  he  presented  a  living  and  speaking 
exminple  of  the  truth  of  the  inspiring 
dbdantion,  man  is  bom  *'a  little  lower 
than  the  angels." 

But  after  all,  his  quick,  glowing,  tropi- 
cal temperament,  his  lofty  form  and  sway- 
ing arms,  his  glittering  eye  and  flurrying 
hair,  and  his  gallant  baring,  taken  all 
together,  were  not  a  more  efficient  arm 
of  oratorie  battle,  than  one  other  grand 


A 


element  of  his  power,  which  in  its  effec- 
tiveness equalled  all  the  rest  of  his  physi- 
cal qualifications ;  and  that  was  his  wonr 
derful  voice.  No  orator's  voice  superioA 
to  his  in  quality,  in  compass  and  in/ 
management,  has  ever,  we  venture  to  say, 
been  raised  upon  this  continent.  It 
touched  every  note  in  the  whole  gamut 
of  human  susceptibilities ;  it  was  sweet 
and  soft,  and  lulling  as  a  mothers  to  her 
bahe.  It  could  be  made  to  float  into  the 
chambers  of  the  ear,  as  gently  as  descend- 
ing snow-flakes  on  the  sea ;  and  again,  it 
shook  the  Senate,  stormy,  brain-shaking, 
filling  the  air  with  its  absolute  thunders. 
That  severe  trial  of  any  speaker,  to  speak 
in  the  open  air,  he  never  shrank  from. 
Musical  yet  mighty,  that  marvellous  organ 
ranged  over  all  levels,  from  the  diapason 
organ-tone  to  the  alto  shriek ;  from  the 
fine  delicacies  of  pathetic  inflections,  to 
the  drum-beat  roUsof  denunciatory  intona- 
tions. And  all  the  time  it  flowed  har- 
moniously. Its  ^^  quality,"  as  elocutionists 
would  say,  was  delicious,  and  its  modu- 
lations proved  that  the  human  voice  is 
indeed  the  finest  and  most  impressive 
instrument  of  music  in  the  world ;  more 
inspiring  than  the  clamorons  chimings  of 
Jullien  bands,  more  touching  than  the 
gentle  blowings  of  mellow  flutes.  This, 
his  great  possession,  the  unequalled  voic^ 
as  well  as  all  the  other  eminent  particu- 
lars of  his  unrivalled  physique,  he  had 
cultivated  with  assiduous  care,  from  his 
youth  up.  "Think  not,"  he  told  the 
students  of  the  Ballston  Law  School,  a 
few  years  before  his  death, "  think  not,  that 
any  great  excellence  of  advocacy  can  be 
attained  without  great  labor."  And  then, 
in  his  most  happy  narrative  manner,  he 
went  on  to  tell  them  how  he  always  prac- 
tised speaking  in  his  youth,  "  and  often," 
said  he,  "  I  made  the  hills  resound  in  my 
walks,  and  many  a  herd  of  quietly-grazing 
cows  has  been  the  astonished  audience  of 
my  outpourings."  The  old  story  of  the 
great  Athenian  shutting  himself  in  his 
cave,  for  five  years,  by  patient  discipline 
to  learn  to  wield  the  orator's  whole  thun- 
der, is  indeed  paralleled  in  a  greater  or 
less  degree,  in  the  career  of  all  the  orators. 
It  was  this  uncommon  scope  and  flexible- 
ness  of  his  voice,  at  once  strong  and  deli- 
cate, which  in  conjunction  with  his  other 
physical  endowments,  gave  him  the  ability 
of  satisfying  in  some  measure  in  his  de- 
livery, that  ideal  of  Cicero,  where  he  enu- 
merates in  the  epistle  to  Brutus,  on  "  the 
Orator,"  three  distinct  kinds  of  speaking ; 
the  neat,  the  moderate,  the  mighty.  And 
ibr  all  three  there  is  need,  each  in  their 
appropriate  place ;  the  conversational  the 


MO 


Henry  Clay  cu  an  Orator, 


[M«y 


RlTong  but  not  passionate,  and  the  head- 
lon.q:  torrent-like  rush,  which  the  Greeks 
called  ag-omzinsr  upon  the  Forum. 

Now.  having  tlius  seen  what  were  Mr. 
Clay's  native  pifU,  let  us  see,  with  some 
particularity,  how  he  put  them  into  play : 
his  manner  of  speaking.  His  manner  in 
delivery  was  eminently  natural.  There 
was  nothing  artificial  about  it;  nothing 
which  at  first  rather  shocked  you,  but 
whwh,  when  you  got  used  to  it,  pleased 
you ;  as  was  the  case  with  Mr.  Pinckney's 
studied  and  splendid  harangues  before  the 
Supreme  Court.  It  was  natural,  easy, 
graceful,  and  dignified.  He  never  seemed, 
as  some  ranters  do,  to  be  blowing  himself 
up.  He  never  seemed  to  be  trying  to  do 
any  thing.  It  was  all  as  if  he  couldn't 
help  it.  He  was  so  natural  and  appropri- 
ate in  delivery,  that,  in  his  wildest  out- 
bursts, nobody  would  ever  think  of  cry- 
ing out  to  him,  as  the  boy  in  the  crowd 
bawled  to  the  fuming  spouter  on  the 
stage,  "  Sir,  your  face  is  so  red,  it  makes 
me  hot."  No ;  if  Clay  was  furious,  you 
folt  that  he  ought  to  be  furious,  and  you 
would  as  soon  find  fault  with  a  caged  pan- 
ther, for  howling,  as  condemn  him  for  his 
outbreaks.  His  usual  delivery  was  quite 
deliberate  ;  every  word  golden  and  clean- 
cut  His  hands  played  all  ways  natural- 
ly ;  there  was  no  gesture  which  looked  as 
if  he  had  thought  of  it  over  night.  His 
figure  inclined  pliantly  and  with  a  digni- 
fied and  courtl}'  emphasis ;  though,  in  the 
moments  of  vast  passion,  it  would  bend 
almost  double,  and  for  an  instant  play  up 
and  down  like  the  walking-beam  of  a 
North  River  steamboat  His  eye  usually 
.^railed  with  an  expres.sion  of  inviting  good- 
humor  ;  alternating,  however,  with  an  ex- 
pression, at  times,  like  a  jet  of  flame.  He 
frequently  took  snuff,  and  would  walk 
some  distance,  while  speaking,  to  take  a 
pinch  from  some  friendly  senator's  box. 
Sometimes  he  held  in  his  hand  a  great  red 
handkerchief  (a  product  of  some  Kentucky 
loom,  we  should  think),  and,  often  forget- 
tiug  to  put  it  in  his  pocket,  in  his  rising 
raptures,  that  red  bandanna  would  flourish 
about,  with  a  sort  of  jubilant  triumph  of 
motion,  breathing,  by  the  spirit  of  its 
movement  as  much  confidence  into  his 
followers  as  the  white  plume  of  Henry  of 
Navarre  inspired  in  his  soldiers ;  and  sug^ 
gesting,  by  the  success  which  always  fol- 
lowed the  aroused  ardors,  of  which  its 
waving  was  the  evidence,  no  violent  ima- 
gination of  the  very  "crimson  wing  of 
conquest"  itself.  And  as  he  warmec^  his 
words  came  faster  and  faster,  yet  still 
articulated  harmoniously;  his  awkward 
arms  began  to  sweep  gracefully  in  wider 


and  wider  sweeps ;  the  prophctk  expres- 
sion of  his  feelings  darted  across  his  fea- 
tures in  the  advance  of  his  words;  single 
words  would  l)e  blazed  out,  yet  still  the 
general  level  of  the  utterance  was  low  and 
sweet;  his  uncomely  face  beamed  with 
animation,  and  his  homely  mouth  seemed 
to  shrink  and  curve  in  his  passion,  almost 
to  a  Grecian  chiselling. 

His  general  level  of  speech  was  conver- 
sational, like  animated  talk,  something  l&e 
what  the  great  Irish  orator,  Grattim,  in 
one  of  his  youthful  letters,  described  Lord 
Chatham's  to  have  been.  But  even  wfaOe 
upon  this  level,  so  silver-tongued  were  his 
tones,  so  easy  and  gliding  tfa^r  flow,  und 
so  varied  and  delicate  their  inflections, 
that  he  held  his  auditors'  attentiofi,  &s- 
cinated  and  unflagging.  When,  then,  he 
ro.se  above  that  subdued  level  the  efiect 
was  correspondingly  powerful;  and  in 
every  pitch  of  the  scale,  that  glorioos 
voice  was  unbroken :  he  had  never  iijnr- 
ed  it  by  bad  usuagc,  ho  had  never  roared 
it  into  gruffness,  nor  growled  it  into  hard- 
ness and  an  edgy  coarseness,  but  always 
he  was  golden-mouthed — a  modem  Chry- 
sostom.  in  that  point  at  least  There  are 
many  distinguished  speakers  who  arc 
never  extremely  interesting,  except  when 
making  a  point,  or  making  a  vehement 
burst,  but  all  really  great  speakers  can 
command  attention,  and  exhibit  charms 
on  thiiir  general  level;  and  in  the  highest 
degree  Clay's  average  level  was  griOefixl 
to  the  hearer.  He  did  not  like  some  quite 
popular  declaimers  indulge  in  violent  con- 
trasts of  pitch,  running  along,  for  instance, 
for  ten  sentences  on  one  level,  and  then 
abrugtiy  changing  to  another  and  remote 
level,  but  maintained  alwa3rs  this  melodi- 
ous general  level  of  spirited  oonverBatioo, 
from  which,  easily  and  gracefully,  and  bf 
gradations,  he  rose  and  fell.  Single  words 
and  tones,  however,  he  would  sometimes 
give  with  great  variety  of  modoUtion; 
for  his  voice  was  not  only  full  and  wide- 
ranging,  but  it  was  under  the  most  exsct 
command ;  from  his  low  and  sweet  kfol 
of  tone,  he  would  sometimes  strike  in- 
stantly a  tone  like  an  alanim-beU.  We 
remember  once  hearing  him  throw  q^tlie 
simple  words  " railroad  speed"  in  sodi  a 
manner  that,  in  an  instant,  he  made  the 
whole  express  train,  under  l^tning  bead- 
way,  dash  across  our  mind.  He  had,  toa 
a  faculty  of  crowding,  as  by  some  bydnh 
static  pressure  of  oratory,  an  miM^TFiig 
weight  of  expression  on  to  the  badbooa 
of  a  single  word.  Sometimes  mountiiig 
from  his  easy  level,  on  one  word  alona  be 
would  go  through  a  whole  pantomime  otao- 
tion ;  his  form  rises,  his  eye  bums,  bis  took 


1854.] 


Henry  Clay  as  a»  Orator. 


501 


strikes  awe,  while  the  final  ejaculation  of 
that  much-anticipated  word  would  hum 
it  into  the  very  fibre  ofLthe  brain,  for  an 
everlasting  memory.  In  boyhood^  we 
heard  him  thus  utter  the  word  *'cre- 
Tasse ;"  we  didn't  even  know  then  what  a 
"crevasse"  was,  biit  it  was  struck,  as  by 
(lome  tremendous  die,  into  our  mind,  and 
has  been  there  ever  since,  the  type  and 
synonyme  of  every  thing  appalling  and 
to  be  dreaded. 

Although,  as  we  have  said,  he  spoke  in 
the  open  air,  his  style  was  there  also  much 
the  same  as  with  chamber  audiences.  The 
sustained  tumultuous  frenzy  of  the  Irish 
school  of  eloquence  he  was  never  urged 
on  to,  even  by  the  shoutings  of  the  thou- 
sands in  the  open  air.  £ven  there,  be- 
neath the  blue  sky,  and  before  the  million, 
it  was  as  unlike  as  possible  to  the  rough 
hill-side  stormings,  with  which  we  may 
imagine  O'Gonnell  used  to  meet  and  grap- 
ple with  his  monster-gatherings.  In  the 
very  torrent,  tempest,  and  whirlwind  of 
his  oratory,  he  could  beget  the  Shakes- 
perean  temperance  which  could  give  it 
smoothness  and  beauty. 

His  management  of  his  body  was  very 
manly,  dignified,  and  graceful;  whether 
flinging  his  arms  about  in  the  storm  of 
passion,  or  pausing  in  his  course  to  take 
the  pinch  of  snuff,  so  indispensable,  his 
movement  was  fit  to  be  seen  by  a  thea- 
tric audience.  His  bye-play,  as  he  went 
along  in  his  speech,  was  capital ;  and,  in- 
deed, his  whole  expression,  by  face,  form, 
fingers,  and  arms,  added  so  prodigiously 
to  the  effect  of  what  he  was  saying,  that 
the  reporters  would  often  fling  down  their 
pens  in  despair,  declaring,  "  He's  a  great 
actor,  and  that's  the  whole  of  it."  That, 
however,  was  not  the  whole  of  it,  by  a 
good  deal ;  for  a  vast,  moral,  and  intel- 
uctual  steam-power  was  behind  all  this 
physical  machinery;  and  when,  at  one 
moment,  it  was  all  brought  into  full  play, 
the  effect  was  wondrous ;  then,  when  his 
mhid  was  full  of  broad  thoughts — when 
his  soul  was  all  aglow  with  burning  sen- 
timents, when  his  bodily  sensibilities  were 
all  np,  and  reacting  on  all  his  faculties, 
the  rapid  throb  of  his  pulse,  beating  a 
rereilld  to  all  his  powers— then,  indeed, 
tor  one  moment,  you  might  fancy  that 
Cieero's  splendid  dream  was  realized ;  that 
in  the  senate-house,  Roscius  was,  indeed, 
>!  action ;  that  the  all-perfect  combma- 
/tkm  of  the  statesman  and  the  actor  was 
>«tnDding  right  before  you.  In  those  mo- 
ments, the  genius  of  Clay— Harry  Clay, 
M  those  who  loved  him  fondly  called  him 
— ^wielded  an  imperatorial  supremacy  over 
the  sabdoed  qnrit  of  others ;  then,  like 


Andrew  Jackson,  his  sole  rival  in  the 
single  point  of  powerful  character,  he 
could  say,  with  defiant  fh)nt,  "By  the 
Eternal,  it  shall  be  so  !  "  and  no  man  dared 
gainsay  him. 

There  are  many  anecdotes  told  of  the 
wonderful  ascendency  of  his  character, 
when  expressed  in  eloquence,  which  in- 
.  dicate  its  practical  effect — instantaneous, 
lightning-like.  One  anecdote  may  be  re- 
lated of  circumstances  which  took  place 
many  years  since,  when  he  was  in  the  full 
flush  of  his  as  yet  unbroken  hope :  "  Hope 
elevating  and  joy  brightening  his  crest" 
As  it  took  place  in  secret  session  of  the 
Senate,  it  has  never  been  generally  known. 
It  happened  thus:  A  democratic  Presi- 
dent had  nominated  a  Virginia  democrat 
as  Minister  near  the  Court  of  St.  James. 
In  the  political  complexion  of  the  Senate, 
it  was  necessary,  in  order  to  secure  bis 
confirmation,  for  at  least  one  whig  vote 
to  be  thrown  for  him.  For  reasons  best 
known  to  himself,  a  very  leading  whig 
senator  had  been  induced  to  intimate  that 
he  would  fill  that  otherwise  fatal  chasm. 
Mr.  Clay  heard  of  this  bargain,  op  tacit 
understanding,  on  the  very  morning  upon 
which  the  question  was  to  come  up  for 
decision.  It  didn't  take  him  long  to  make 
ready  for  that  debate.  Indeed,  his  ora- 
torio forces  were  always  a  sort  of  flying- 
artillery.  Just  as  the  question  was  about 
to  be  put  to  the  senate,  he  towered  up  on 
the  whig  side  of  the  hall,  to  the  infinite 
anxiety  of  the  democratic  managers,  and 
the  deadly  heart-shaking  of  the  single  re- 
cusant, the  lone-star  whig.  Quite  con- 
trary to  his  usual  custom,  he  launched 
forth  at  once  into  a  tornado  of  denuncia- 
tion on  the  proposed  ambassador.  He 
made  not  the  faintest  allusion  to  the  un- 
derstood bargain;  but  he  reviewed  his 
whole  political  career,  bringing  out  into 
the  boldest  relief  the  steadfast  animosity 
to  the  whig  party  which  that  career  had 
consistently  displayed.  Every  act  of 
thorough-paced  anti-whiggism  he  dragged 
forth,  and  painted  in  the  most  glowing 
colors.  When  he  thought  he  had  laid  a 
foundation  impr^able,  then,  and  not  till 
then,  the  whirlwind  broke  upon  the  head 
of  the  hitherto  unsuspected  victim.  Fierce- 
ly  he  glared  round  on  the  rows  of  sena- 
tors. "  And  now,"  he  almost  screamed 
out,  **  and  now,  what  lohig  would  vote  for 
this  man  ?  What  whig  would  promise 
to  vote  for  this  man  ?  What  whig,  having 
promised,  would  dare  to  keep  that  pro- 
mise?" 

As  the  fierce  hawk  in  the  heavens  sur- 
veys (rom  the  sky  his  quarry  far  below, 
and  sweeps  towards  the  victim,  in  broaci 


502 


The  Ogar  and  the  Sulian. 


\Vmj. 


wheeling,  narrowing  momentarily  till  with 
one  fatal  plunge,  he  strikes  the  death-blow. 
— so  here  the  orator,  in  this  fierce  assault^ 
seemed  in  these  three  tremendous  inter- 
rogations to  approach  his  victim  with  three 
narrowing  sweeps  of  his  great  arm.  and 
with  more  and  mor^  certain  indications  of 
his  appalling  manner,  till,  as  he  came  to 
the  final — the  most  accusing  and  defying 
question, — he  turned  full  on  the  object  of 
his  wrath. 

The  oratorial  cannonade  was  too  tremen- 
dous to  be  endured,  and  the  senator,  leav- 
ing his  chair,  walked  round  behind  the 
Vice-President's  desk,  where  the  Corin- 
thian pillars  and  ample  curtains,  hiding 
him  from  that  brandishing  arm,  and  ac- 
cusatorial eye,  shrouded  him  its  in  some 
tranquil  heaven,  from  the  terrors  of  the 
tempest.  It  is  needless  to  add  that  no 
'^whig"  voted  that  day  for  that  man. 
The  nomination  was  rejected,  and  it  was 
further  whispered  about  at  the  time,  that 
a  long  and  violent  fever  supervened  to  the 
nominee,  upon  that  disappointment  and 
the  invective. 

As  we  said  at  the  outset,  Mr.  Clay  seems 
to  us  the  greatest  natural  orator  whom  we 
have  ever  heard.  And  we  think  him  more- 
over the  first  orator,  upon  the  whole,  for 
native  powers,  that  our  country  has  yet 
produced,  at  any  stage  of  our  history. 
We  shall  doubtless  be  told,  as  John  Ad- 
ams indignantly  wrote  to  Mr.  Wirt — when 
his  Life  of  Patrick  Henry  came  out,  "mul- 
ti  heroes  ante  Agamemnona," — there  were 
many  heroes  before  Agamemnon.    Per- 


haps there  were,  but  we  don't  beliefs  it 
W^hat  Patrick  Henry  really  was,  we  cu- 
not  tell.  Our  age  sees  him  only  through 
the  dazzling  haze,  which  the  S3rmpathetic 
genius  of  Wirt  himself — ^with  a  great  re- 
putation for  rhetorical  prowess  to  maintam 
— threw  around  his  subject.  Wirt  was 
then  a  young  man,  but  an  old  orator ;  and 
for  an  orator  to  write  about  a  departed 
orator,  and  not  apotheosize  him— the 
muse  of  eloquence  would  have  walked 
him  right  out  of  her  train.  As  for  James 
Otis,  he  is  a  sort  of  bright  myth.  To  be 
sure,  as  he  argued  the  famous  "Writs  of 
Assistance  "  in  the  old  State-hoose  in  Bos- 
ton, Adams  felt  that  <^  that  day  the  child 
Independence  was  bom,"  but  with  what 
agonies  of  eloquence  the  partarition  wis 
achieved,  we  really  know  as  little  accu- 
rately, as  we  know  how  Otis  himself  fel^ 
when  the  lightning  struck  him  dead,  as 
he  walked,  on  that  fatal  summer's  day. 

Indeed,  therefore,  we  must  place  Heniy 
Clay  first  on  the  American  Forom.  And 
if  a  Ciceronian  culture  had  fallen  to  his 
lot,  we  think  that  here  among  us,  the 
scenes  of  Athens  and  of  Perides  might 
possibly  have  been  repeated,  and  the  **  I^ 
Art "  of  Oratory  might  have  rolled  back 
upon  us,  like  recollected  music  Would 
it  had  been  so !  For  even  now,  we  mi^t 
be  placing  in  our  Pantheon  of  the  unfor- 
gotten  men  of  the  Republic,  a  statae  wor- 
thy to  stand  by  the  ade  of  the  f^reat  twin 
brethren  of  eloquence — the  pnde  of  the 
Grecian  Bema,  and  the  ornament  of  the 
Roman  Forum. 


THE    CZAR  AND  THE  SULTAN. 


EVERY  summer  a  series  of  military 
manoeuvres  is  executed  in  Russia, 
which  as  nearly  as  possible  resembles 
actual  warfare.  The  Czar  takes  com- 
mand of  an  army  of  twenty  thousand 
men.  and  the  Grand  Duke  Alexander  of 
another  army  of  equal  size.  They  fight 
mimic  battles — the  losing  party  (which  is 
alwa^'s  the  Grand  Duke's!)  retreats — is 
pursued  to  its  quarters — the  camp  is 
stormed,  and  the  war  terminates  amid  the 
roar  of  cannon,  the  explosion  of  mines, 
and  the  blaze  of  bonfires. 

This  extraordmary  but  characteristic 
pastime  of  the  Emperor's  occupies  about 
ten  days,  and  attracts  many  visitors  from 
England  and  the  Continent    If  they  are 


military  men,  whatever  be  their  nation, 
they  are  entertained  at  the  Csar's  ezpense^ 
furnished  with  horses  and  servants,  and 
have  every  facility  afforded  them  to  be- 
hold and  admire  the  discipline  of  the 
troops  and  the  tactics  of  the  generals. 

It  was  at  one  of  these  manGeuvres  that 
I  first  saw  the  Czar.  The  army  was  on 
the  march,  and  we  had  taken  liones  at 
Sarskasclo  to  follow  it  We  first  ofer- 
took  bands  of  peasants  with  carts  laden 
with  wood  and  provisions  for  the  troops; 
long  lines  of  baggage  and  amunition  wag- 
ons guarded  by  detachments  of  in&ntrf, 
carriages  containing  dozing  ofBcers  insidt 
their  chargers,  snorting  and  prancing^  ki 
behind.    We  next  came  up  with  the  nsr 


1854.] 


The  Czar  and  the  Sultan. 


503 


guard,  pontoon  trains,  heavy  dragoons 
with  helmets  and  cuirasses  of  polished 
steel,  gaily  dressed  hussars,  rumbling  ar- 
tillery, rank  and  file  of  foot  soldiers  plod- 
ding along,  tired  and  dusty. 

There  was  a  halt  at  a  cross  road  to 
wait  for  orders.  Many  soldiers,  and 
horses  too,  threw  themselves  upon  the 
ground  to  rest ;  a  scouting  party  of  Don 
Cossacks  were  shoeing  their  horses  at  a 
travelling  forge, — tall,  fierce-looking  men, 
dressed  in  plain  blue,  with  wild,  rough 
steeds.  As  we  kept  on  our  course  we 
heard  a  loud  shout  of  •'  Gossudar !  Gossu- 
dar ! "  (The  Lord !  the  Lord !)  our  postillion 
turned  the  carriage  aside ;  the  troops 
halted.  An  orderly  dashed  past  at  full 
speed,  and  close  behind,  a  carnage  was 
whirled  along  by  four  galloping  horses. 
It  contained  two  persons,  and  we  were  at 
no  loss  to  distinguish  the  "Gossudar," 
the  despotic  lord  of  so  many  millions  of 
subjects.  Tall  and  well  made,  with  no 
superfiuous  flesh  about  him,  with  a  high 
forehead,  piercing  gray  eyes,  and  an  intel- 
lectual face  marked  with  crowsfeet,  his 
appearance  would  draw  attention  any 
where ;  though  he  has  lost  that  youthful 
beauty,  which  gave  him  the  name  of  the 
handsomest  man  in  Europe.  lie  was 
plainly  dressed,  with  a  cloak  and  military 
cap,  looked  fixedly  at  our  party  and  gave 
the  military  salute,  by  raising  his  hand  to 
his  head,  in  answer  to  our  uplifted  hats. 
lie  was  on  his  way  to  dine  at  a  nobleman's 
residence  near  by,  and  was  travelling  at 
his  usual  rapid  rate.  Long  after  we  lost 
sight  of  the  dancing  plumes  in  the  out- 
rider^s  cap,  when  the  course  of  the  car- 
riage was  marked  only  by  a  cloud  of  dust, 
we  could  hear  the  shout  of  *'  Gossudar ! 
Gossudar! "  caught  up  by  file  after  file  of 
the  soldiery. 

There  was  nothing  save  this  to  show 
the  stranger  that  this  was  the  Emperor ; 
no  pomp,  no  parade ;  a  single  attendant 
and  a  plain  travelling  carriage  drawn  by 
four  posters.  The  personal  supervision 
of  the  troops,  the  fatigues  of  the  march 
and  the  camp  constitute  his  summer  pas- 
time. His  mode  of  living  is  always 
simple ;  his  dress,  on  ordinary  occasions, 
a  plain  military  uniform,  his  equipage 
when  in  town  a  one  horse  drosky.  He  is 
aooessible  to  his  subjects  and  constantly 
appears  in  public  unattended.  His  de- 
l^t  ia,  like  the  fabled  Haroun  Alraschid, 
to  Tisit  his  subjects  in  disguise  and  learn 
their  sentiments  and  feelings.  When 
omnibuses  were  first  introduced  in  St 
PMersbtirg,  they  were  voted  vulgar  and 
were  left  to  mujiks  (serfs).  To  check 
tidi  inling^  the  Czar  rode  in  one  himself 


and  they  at  once  became  the  rage.  It  is 
said  that  one  night  in  returning  from  the 
opera  he  took  a  hack  drosky  and  drove 
to  the  public  entrance  of  the  Winter 
Palace.  He  told  the  driver  to  wait  and 
he  would  send  him  down  the  fare  by  a 
servant.  "  That  won't  do,"  said  the  fel- 
low, '•  that's  what  all  the  officers  tell  me, 
and  I  may  wait  all  night  and  lose  my 
money."  **  Can  you  point  out  any  that 
have  served  you  thus  ?  "  said  the  Emperor. 
*•  To  be  sure  I  can,"  was  the  reply. 
Nicholas  threw  him  his  cloak  in  pledge, 
and  the  servant  that  brought  the  money 
ordered  him  to  appear  before  the  Czar  the 
next  day.  The  trembling  serf  obeyed,  and 
those  whom  he  pointed  out  were  severely 
punished  for  their  dishonesty. 

On  another  occasion  an  istvostchik 
(hack  drosky  driver)  told  him  he  thanked 
God  he  did  not  belong  to  the  Emperor, 
for  in  the  part  of  the  country  he  came 
from,  a  murrain  had  destroyed  the  cattle, 
and  the  crown  serfs  in  the  neighborhood 
had  suffered  great  hardships  in  conse- 
quence; but  his  master  had  sent  to  a 
distance,  purchased  new  herds,  and  sup- 
plied all  his  own  serfs.  Nicolai  (for  that 
is  the  name  which  we  translate  into 
Nicholas)  asked  his  owner's  name,  and 
that  night  the  nobleman  was  aroused 
from  his  bed  and  summoned  before  the 
Emperor.  *•  Alas,  Sire,"  cried  he,  "  what 
have  I  done  to  merit  your  displeasure  ?  " 
To  his  astonishment,  he  was  told  he  had 
been  sent  for  to  assume  one  of  the  chief 
offices  of  the  empire,  that  of  manager  of 
the  crown  lands.  The  Czar  told  him  the 
account  he  had  heard,  and  saying,  "  Treat 
my  serfs  as  you  have  treated  your  own," 
dismissed  him  to  the  enjoyment  of  his 
new  dignity. 

The  Emperor  is  worshipped  by  the 
middle  and  lower  classes  and  dreaded  by 
the  nobility.  If  one  will  study  for  a  mo- 
ment the  condition  of  Russia,  he  cannot 
but  admire  the  tact  and  wisdom  of  the 
man  that  controls  that  vast  empire.  A 
French  author  calls  the  Russian  form  of 
government  ^'a  despotism  tempered  by 
assassination."  Her  ruler  is  surrounded 
by  fierce  and  haughty  nobles,  feudal  prin- 
ces, that  never  have  hesitated  nor  would 
hesitate  to  use  poison  or  the  knife,  when 
it  might  further  their  ambitious  aims. 
The  people  are  corrupt  from  top  to  bottom. 
Bribery  is  open  even  in  the  courts  of  jus- 
tice. All,  from  the  highest  noble,  who 
receives  costly  presents  to  wink  at  fraud, 
to  the  lowest  policeman,  who  opens  his 
palms  and  shuts  his  eyes,  when  the  thief 
thrusts  a  few  kopecks  into  his  hand,  are 
dishonest    Are  not  the  Czar's  predileo- 


504 


The  Czar  and  the  Sultan. 


IMmj 


tions  for  absolute  monarchy  not  alone  sin- 
cere, but  correct  when  applied  to  a  people 
like  his?  Are  such  men  fit  to  govern 
themselves  ? 

The  past  of  Russia  is  but  a  day  in  the 
History  of  Europe.  It  is  less  than  two 
centuries  since  Peter  the  Great  ascended 
the  throne.  *'He  made  the  Russians 
Europeans,  as  Philip  made  the  Macedo- 
nians Greeks."  His  success  was  due.  not 
to  his  extensk)n  of  the  Russian  dominions, 
but  to  his  concentration  of  the  powers  of 
government.  He  reduced  the  overgrown 
power  of  the  Boiards ;  he  disbanded  the 
Strelitzes,  those  Janissaries  of  Europe. 
He  founded  St.  Petersburg,  he  built  ships 
and  armed  and  equipped  a  powerful  navy, 
making  Russia  for  the  first  time  a  mari- 
time country ;  he  raised  an  effective 
standing  army ;  and  more  than  all.  ho 
encouraged  science,  and  introduced  the 
mechanic  arts  among  an  almost  barbarous 
l)eopIe.  In  1721,  he  was  crowned  Em- 
peror, and  was  the  first  who  bore  the 
imposing  title  of  ''Emperor  of  all  the 
Russias." 

The  next  great  instrument  of  Russian 
civilization  was  Catharine  the  Great. 
Both  learned  and  warlike,  she  drew 
savans  to  her  court,  used  every  effort  to 
advance  the  diffusion  of  knowledge  in  her 
dominions,  and  improved  the  machinery  of 
government ;  while  she  quelled  insurreo- 
tions,  and  by  conquest  added  210,000 
square  miles  of  fertile  land  to  her  terri- 
tory. Now,  Nicholas  is  pursuing  the 
course  that  Peter  the  Great  marked  out. 
He  has  been  as  vigorous  in  government 
as  he  was  anxious  to  civilize  his  people. 

We  condemn  his  oppression  of  the  Poles, 
and  his  interference  in  the  Hungarian 
war.  But  while  the  true-hearted  Ameri- 
can sees  with  grief  these  two  great  nations 
reduced  to  slavery,  must  he  not  own  that 
if  he  occupied  the  Emperor's  position  he 
must  have  taken  the  same  course  1  The 
law  of  self-preservation  is  the  highest 
human  law.  In  obedience  to  its  dictates 
the  Poles  and  Hungarians  sought  their 
liberty,  and  in  obedience  to  tlie  same  law 
Nicholas  crushed  the  spirit  of  democracy. 

It  would  be  impossible  for  the  most 
far-seeing  politician  to  divine  the  future 
of  Russia.  Her  fate  must  depend  upon 
her  rulers.  Iron  may  be  welded  to  iron, 
but  when  wood  and  iron  are  joined,  their 
connection  lasts  only  with  the  rivet  that 
holds  them  together.  No  one  is  mad 
enough  to  suppose  that  all  the  Russias, 
extending  from  the  North  Pole  to  Persia, 
and  from  the  Baltic  to  our  own  frontier, 
comprising  one  seventh  of  the  globe,  with 
a    population    of   57,000,000,  could    be 


blended  together  into  one  great  republic 
Catharine  once  called  togeuier  a  oongren 
of  her  subjects  at  Moscow  to  devise  gen- 
eral laws  for  her  people.  It  represented 
twenty-seven  different  nations,  speaking 
as  many  different  languages,  and  after  a 
few  vain  attempts  at  organization  broke 
up  in  confusion.  Imagine  the  stolid  Es- 
thonian  fraternizing  at  the  polls  with  the 
fiery  Don  Cossack,  or  the  rude  fisherman 
of  Finland,  or  still  ruder  Kamtschatkan 
glorifying  the  double-headed  eagle  in  a 
political  speech  to  the  Modems  of  thft 
Caucasus ! 

But  let  us  turn  from  the  frozen  seas  and 
dreary  steppes  of  the  Czar's  domain ;  let 
us  cross  the  frontier  to  the  "  land  of  Uie 
olive  and  myrtle,"  the  golden  East 

It  was  on  Friday,  the  Mohamimedan 
Sabbath,  that  we  stepped  from  the  quay 
of  Tophana  into  a  light  caique  and  darted 
across  the  sparkling  waters  of  the  Golden 
Horn  into  the  rapid  tide  of  the  Bosphonia. 
It  was  a  day  of  idleness  for  all  good 
Mussulmen.  Thousands  were  thronging 
to  the  mosques ;  the  water  was  aJive  with 
caiques  conveying  the  inhabitants  of  Pera 
or  Stamboul  to  the  "sweet  waters  of 
Asia,"  to  the  heights  of  Bui^loo.  or  the 
"  Sweet  waters  of  Europe."  Suddenly  a 
fiash  of  light  from  the  Asiatic  shore,  fol- 
lowed by  the  dull  roar  of  a  cannon,  pro- 
claims that  the  Sublhne  Porte  has  M 
his  palace  to  visit  the  mosque.  A  large 
caique  darts  from  beneath  the  arches  of 
the  serai  and  cuts  the  water  into  foam  as 
it  heads  across  the  Bosphorus.  It  is  fol- 
lowed by  another  and  another.  The 
echo  of  the  first  cannon  has  hardly  died 
away  before  a  hundred  brazen  throatd 
reply.  The  huge  Turkish  men-of-war 
that  tower  above  the  waters  like  castles^ 
which,  but  an  instant  sinoe^  seemed  de- 
serted and  solitary,  now  swarm  with  men. 
Every  spar,  from  deck  to  mast4i«id,  beam 
a  living  load.  The  sailors  ding  to  the 
"ggiog  lil^o  ^^^^  ^<i  line  the  bulwarks. 
The  caiques  rapidly  approach.  They  are 
high-prowed  boats,  painted  in  white  and 
gold,  each  propoll^  at  great  speed  by 
sixteen  stout  rowers.  Astern,  is  a  crimson 
canopy,  under  which  recline  the  Sultan 
and  the  officers  of  state.  The  train  sweeps 
by,  and  the  roar  of  cannon  is  not  silenced 
till  the  Sultan  has  landed  and  entered  the 
mosque. 

Thus,  on  each  Mohammedan  sabbath 
through  the  year,  the  descendant  of  the 
Caliphs  and  head  of  the  church,  viats  a 
different  mosque.  The  prayers  lasted 
about  an  hour,  and.  in  the  mean  time,  we 
landed  and  securea  a  good  position  to  see 
Abdul  Megid,  on  his  departure.    IliefB 


Stage- Coach  Stories. 


50A 


arowd  assembled,  a  detachment  of 
I  was  under  arms,  and  five  horses 
I  and  bridled,  with  housings  thickly 
1  with  diamonds,  were  led  up  and 

0  await  the  choice  of  their  Imperial 

The  troops  wore  dark  blue 
(an  frock  coats,  and  trowsers,  and 
:  caps,  and  had  a  slouching  gait, 
kward  look,  in  their  ill-fitting  and 
habiliments, 
ist  the  doors  flew  open  and  a  crowd 

high  officers  of  state,  all  in  the 
lain  dress,  poured  out.    \Vlien  the 

came,  they  surrounded  him  and 
im  the  Eastern  salutation  by  touch- 

1  hand  first  to  the  breast,  and  then 
cap.  and  bowing  low,  a  substitute 

9  ancient  custom  of  prostration, 
assistance,  the  Commander  of  the 
il  mounted  a  white  steed,  who  was 
etly  to  the  serai  or  palace,  followed 
officers  and  the  guards,  and  a  band 
ic.  The  Sultan  is  a  man  of  middle 
dressed  something  after  the  Euro- 
ashion,  with  a  pale,  melancholy, 
e  face.  Ilis  head  drooped  on  his 
and  his  dark  eyes  gazed  vacantly 
him,  it  not  being  etiquette  for  him 
c  at,  or  show  the  least  recognition 
e  about  him.  A  man  came  forward 
k  paper,  some  petition,  which  was 
by  an  officer,  and  the  cortege  passed 
reminded  one  of  the  ancient  Egyp- 
drship  of  bulls.  The  animals  were 
,  their  passions  gratified,  and  the 
governed  for  them.  The  Sultan 
igned  to  the  pleasures  of  the  harem, 
bat  a  puppet  that  seems  to  act  and 
what  really  emanates  from  his 
srs  behind  the  scenes. 
he  feeble  Abdul  Megid,  surrounded 
has  and  soldiers,  attended  by  bands 
sic  and  cringing  favorites,  riding  a 
rhose  trappings  glitter  with  precious 
,  too  proud  to  recognize,  even  by  a 
,  the  bowing  multitude,  passes  by, 


and  we  remember  the  vigorous  Omar,  the 
second  of  the  Caliphs,  who  entered  Jeru- 
salem, as  a  victor,  seated  upon  a  camd, 
laden  with  a  bag  of  fruit,  and  another  of 
com,  his  only  provisions,  whose  only 
furniture  was  a  wooden  platter,  his  couch 
the  earth,  and  his  canopy  a  horse-hair 
tent,  we  see  how  nearly  pomp  is  allied 
with  weakness,  and  simplicity  with 
strength. 

The  sun  of  the  Ottoman  empire  rose  in 
splendor,  when,  in  1300,  the  robber  Emir 
Osman  ravaged  Asia  Minor,  and  proclaim- 
ed himself  Sultan ;  reached  its  meridian, 
when,  in  1453  Mohammed  the  Second 
crossed  the  Bosphorus  and  established  his 
capital  in  Stamboul ;  and  now  when  Ab- 
dul Megid  turns  pitcously  for  aid  against 
the  Russian  invader  to  the  Sovereign  of  a 
distant  isle  in  the  Northern  Ocean,  it  seems 
about  to  sink  below  the  horizon. 

Whatever  may  be  our  sympathies  with 
the  Sultan  who  sheltered  the  flying  Hun- 
garians, we  cannot  forget  that  the  Turks 
have  been  for  centuries  the  bitterest  ene- 
mies of  Christendom,  that  the  Greeks  long 
groaned  under  a  rule  far  more  galling 
than  Austrian  tjrranny,  :that  the  Mussul- 
man who  embraces  Christianity  is  doomed 
to  death,  and  that  this  very  Sultan  is  even 
now  the  oppressor  of  millions  of  Christian 
subjects. 

The  Frank  who  has  had  stones  cast  at 
him  in  the  streets,  and  tongues  thrust  out  at 
him  in  derision  as  the  "  Cluistian  dog,"  who 
has  seen  the  worse  than  anarchy  of  the 
Turkish  Empire,  who  has  been  driven 
with  contempt,  as  an  infidel,  from  th« 
mosque  of  St  Sophia,  once  a  temple  of  the 
true  faith,  will  never  regret  to  see  the 
sceptre  torn  from  the  hands  of  the  de-. 
scendant  of  the  Caliphs,  and  the  last  of 
the  Ottomans  driven  from  the  territory 
wrested  from  Europeans  by  ruthless  con- 
quest, and  forced  to  seek  refuge  in  the 
desert  plains  of  his  Turkoman  ancestors. 


STAGE-COACH   STORIES. 
(Gontlnaed  fyom  page  219.) 


ANK,  the  year  befbre,  had  had  so 
nuch  difficulty  in  persuading  me  to 
Naples,  and  my  regrets  at  parting 
ay  young  friend  Rosetta  had  been 
lent,  that  he,  the  wisehead.  alarmed 
Boft-heartedness,  had  forced  me  to 
to,  and  with  him  in  manner  and 
b^lowing ;  that  is  to  say :  If  either  of 
.  III.— 32* 


us  should  thereafter  chance  to  fall  in  love 
with  any  individual  of  the  fair  sex,  during 
the  remainder  of  the  time  of  our  travels, 
the  other  should,  by  virtue  of  the  compact 
have  full  permission  to  consider  him  as 
auasi  insane,  and  to  use  all  proper  means 
for  the  purpose  of  rescuing  the  afiected 
party  from  any  and  all  entanglements  in 


506 


Stage- Coach  Stories, 


[May 


which  he  might  become  inYolved  by  reason 
of  his  passion.  It  was  supposed,  to  be 
sure,  at  the  time  of  making  this  arrange- 
ment;  that  I  alone  would  1^  likely  to  re- 
ceive the  boncfit  of  its  operation.  But  as 
I  was  slowly  undressing  for  bed,  I  recalled 
to  mind  the  terms  of  the  agreement.  I 
determined  to  avail  myself  of  the  rights 
which  it  conferred  upon  me.  So  I  sat 
down  upon  a  chair,  constituted  myself  a 
commission  de  lunatico  inquiremlo, 
came  speedily  to  a  decision  that  Frank 
Eliot  was  not  in  his  right  mind,  formed 
an  inflexible  resolution  to  save  him  from 
the  fate  of  a  marriage  with  the  widow, 
blew  out  my  light  and  got  into  bed. 

**  I  proposed  to  myself  a  hundred  plans 
as  I -tossed  from  side  to  side,  but  failed  to 
suggest  one  that  satisfled  me — ^At  all 
events.  Master  Frank.'  thought  I,  as  I 
made  a  final  turn  over  in  bed,  and  seri- 
ously addressed  myself  to  slumber,  *  Ma- 
dame La  Yigne  shall  never  cut  out  the 
Other  One,  if  I  can  help  it.  Wheil  you 
marry,  your  wife  shall  be  a  Yankee  girl ' 
— and  so  she  was — no  less  than — but  I 
won't  anticipate. 

"The  next  morning  I  went  to  the 
American  Legation  and  got  my  friend 
Kane,  the  attache,  to  go  down  with  me  to 
call  upon  Jack  Cathcart,  a  former  college 
mate  of  Eliot's  and  mine,  who  was,  as  his 
parents  had  every  reason  to  believe  by  his 
letters,  diligently  employed  in  making 
himself  a  scientific  physician  and  surgeon, 
but,  in  point  of  fact,  walking  the  hospitals 
but  semi-occasionally,  and  seeing  Life  in 
Paris  very  constantly;  especially  that 
part  of  it  which  is  to  be  seen  by  gas  or 
lamplight.  We  found  the  medical  student 
at  his  lodgings,  sitting  at  a  table  in  the 
middle  of  a  very  disorderly  apartment 
making  believe  eat  a  late  breakfast,  ana 
really  imbibing  soda-water  with  an  exceed- 
ingly disconsolate  air." 

Here  the  narrator  paused,  and  taking 
out  his  watch,  looked  at  it  by  the  moon- 
light *•  I  fear,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  re- 
turning it  to  his  pocket,  "  that  a  fuU  re- 
petition of  the  story  which  I  told  Judge 
Walker  and  Mr.  Cranston  would  consume 
too  much  time.  Instead,  therefore,  of 
relating  to  you  as  I  did  to  them  the  con- 
versation which  took  place  in  the  council 
of  Eliot's  friends,  at  the  lodgings  of  Mr. 
Cathcart,  I  shall  content  myself  with 
stating  merely  the  conclusion  at  which 
that  delibei-ative  body  ultimately  arrived  j 
viz. :  that  I.  being  thereto  assisted  by  the 
potential  influence  of  Mr.  Kane,  should 
endeavor  to  supplant  my  friend  Eliot  in 
the  widow's  good  graces,  or,  in  other 
words,  should  try  to  cut  him  out    The 


few  objections  to  this  plan  which  I  at 
first  feebly  interposed  were  speedily  over- 
ruled. '  It  is  good  faith,'  said  Mr.  Kane 
Ho  act  with  reference  to  your  compact 
The  end  will  justify  the  means.' 

This  notable  scheme  was  completely 
successful,  and,  in  the  mean  time,  so  well 
were  affairs  managed  by  the  attach^ 
whose  diplomatic  tact  was  truly  wonder- 
ful, that  not  until  Frank  had  thrown 
himself  at  Madame  La  Yigne's  feet,  and 
his  ofler  of  heart  and  hand  had  been  re- 
jected by  her,  did  he  begin  to  suspect 
that  I  was  the  rival  who  stood  in  his  way. 
Even  then  it  happened  by  the  menst 
chance  that  my  interference  in  the  aflair 
was  discovered  by  him.  At  first  he  was 
frantic  with  rage  and  jealousy.  He  re- 
viled me,  accused  me  of  tneacheir,  Mid 
finally  he  sent  to  my  lodgings  (for  we 
had  separated)  a  hostile  message.  At 
this  juncture,  however,  Mr.  Kane  under- 
took the  office  of  mediation,  and  explained 
to  Frank  that  my  conduct  in  the  matter 
had  been  in  strict  accordance  with  tbe 
advice  of  what  he  chose  to  call  a  numerous 
council  of  friends.  He  even  hinted  that 
the  highest  officer  of  the  American  Lega- 
tion had  been  consulted  with,  and  finally, 
ho  argued  at  great  length,  and  with  in- 
finite fluency  and  acuteness,  that  my  in- 
tervention in  the  matter  was  fhlly  justified, 
and,  in  fact,  had  been  required  by  the 
terms  of  the  treaty  of  Naples,  and  was 
therefore  by  no  means  a  casus  belli 
Eliot  was  at  length  induced  to  withdraw 
his  challenge,  and  before  he  left  Paris, 
called  one  evening  with  Mr.  Kane  at  my 
lodgings.  He  had  just  got  a  letter  fitnn 
home,  he  said.  His  father  was  ill,  and  he 
hardly  expected  to  find  him  alive.  It  was 
evident  that  the  shock  of  this  heavy  news 
had  served  to  dissipate,  to  a  great  degrees 
the  mist  of  enchantment  in  which  he  had 
been  bewildered.  Once  or  twice  daring 
the  interview  I  thought,  from  his  manner, 
that  he  was  about  to  say  something  which 
would  have  healed  the  breach  between 
us.  But  he  was  too  proud,  I  suppose ; 
maybe  Kane's  presence  restrained  him; 
or,  perhaps,  bus  disappointment  had  left 
his  heart  too  sore.  When  he  rose  to  go, 
we  shook  hands,  rather  coldly,  for  I  was 
the  one  that  made  the  first  venture,  and 
he  at  first  hesitated  so  much  that  it  chilled 
me.  He  asked  me  to  call  and  see  him  if 
ever  I  came  to  Guildford,  and  whether  I 
had  any  letters  to  send  home,  bade  me 
*  good  bye.'  and  went  away  without  saying 
a  word  about  cousin  Helen.  The  next 
week  he  sailed  from  Havre,  and  two 
months  later  found  me  on  board  the  old 
Independence,  running  down  St  Gkorge's 


1854.] 


Stage- Coach  Stories, 


50lr 


Channel,  and  bothering  Captain  Nye  with 
questions  as  to  how  long  the  trip  would 
probably  be. 

But,  gentlemen,  though  I  refrain  from 
narrating  to  you  at  length  and  in  detail 
the  incidents  attending  my  endeavor  to 
gave  my  friend  from  matrimony,  I  was 
less  reserved  during  my  ride  to  Guildford. 
Upon  that  occasion  I  described  with  great 
minuteness  every  scene  and  recited  ey^ry 
conversation.  Where  the  plain  truth 
lacked  brilliancy,  I  was  at  the  trouble  to 
Tarnish  it,  and  once  or  twice,  fndeed,  my 
story  was  indebted  for  its  piquancy  to 
my  imagination.  The  young  ladies  on  the 
back  seat  of  the  coach,  although  at  times 
they  affected  inattention,  were  neverthe- 
less deeply  interested,  as  I,  who  closely 
^watched  them,   did  not  fail  to  observe.' 

"And  have  you  never  seen  Eliot  since  T' 
asked  the  Judge,  when  I  had  concluded. 

"  Never,"  I  replied. 

"  Nor  cousin  Helen  ?  "  inquired  Crans- 
ton. • 

"Ah!  the  worst  remains  to  be  told," 
said  I,  •*  About  a  year  after  my  return 
home,  my  mother,  one  evening,  as  was  her 
custom  whenever  she  discovered  in  the 
newspapers  a  notice  of  the  death  or  mar- 
riage of  anybody  she  had  ever  seen  or 
heard  of  read  aloud  to  me  the  announce- 
ment that,  on  such  a  date,  at  Guildford, 
Francis  Eliot,  Esq.  was  married  to  Miss 
Helen  Eliot,  both  of  Guildford.  The  editor, 
I  think,  acknowledged  the  receipt  of  cake 
and  wine.  I  must  own  that  for  a  moment 
my  heart  thumped  violently,  and  I  felt  a 
queer  choking  sensation  in  my  throat,  for 
the  sweet  face  of  cousin  Helen  had  never 
been  forgotten.  I  was  suddenly  deprived 
of  any  available  materials  for  building  one 
of  the  most  charming  castles  in  the  air 
that  was  ever  constructed.  My  mother 
handed  me  the  paper  but  though  I  pre- 
tended to  read,  there  was  a  blur  before 
my  eyes,  and  I  returned  it  with  a  slight 
remark,  without  having  seen  the  para- 
graph. At  the  next  Commencement  at 
New  Haven,  some  of  the  fellows  told  me 
that  it  was  no  mistake.  Frank  had  in- 
deed married  his  cousin  Helen,  an  orphan 
who  had  been  brought  up  at  his  father's 
house.  She  had  a  fortune  of  fifty  thousand 
dollars,  though,  orphan  as  she  was.  What 
became  of  the  Other  One  I  never  learned. 
I  suppose  Sophie  La  Vigne  cured  him  of 
his  first  love,  and  then  he  married  cousin 
Helen  to  spite  me.  Behold  the  reward 
of  faithful  friendship ! " 

**  And  now  is  that  all  ?  "  asked  Crans- 
ton, maliciously,  as  I  again  concluded. 

"  Why,  sir  ?  "  I  asked. 

<<  Because,  if  there's    another  supple- 


ment," said  he,"  youll  have  to  hurry.  I 
see  the  steeples  of  Guildford  yonder." 

"  That's  all,  then,  sir,"  I  replied,  a  good 
deal  nettled. 

"  May  I  ask,"  inquired  the  artist, 
"  what  become  of  Madame  La  Vigne  ?  " 

**I  am  unable  to  inform  you,  sir,"  was 
my  curt  reply ;  for  I  saw  the  cheeks  of 
the  ladies  .  dimpling  with  constrained 
smiles. 


OHAPTEB  IV. 

OinXJ>FOED. 

Before  I  had  fully  recovered  from  the 
confusion  into  which  I  had  been  plunged 
by  the  inopportune  queries  that  followed 
the  conclusion  of  my  narrative,  the  coach 
had  entered  the  long  village  street  of 
Guildford.  The  Colonel  gave  a  cheering 
whoop  to  his  horses,  and  we  drove  swiftly 
along  the  shaded  avenue,  until,  at  the 
end  of  half  a  mile,  we  arrived  at  the  Green, 
or  Public  Square.  This  place  was  the 
centre  of  the  town  of  Guildford ;  the  train- 
ing ground,  the  site  of  the  old  block-house 
of  the  early  settlers ;  and  ever  since,  as 
now,  the  grand  centre  of  Guildford  county. 
Stores,  shops,  and  houses  in  tolerably 
close  neighborhood  formed,  the  four  sides 
of  the  square,  in  the  middle  of  which  a 
white-painted  post-and-rail  fence  inclosed 
a  greenswarded  area  of  some  two  or  three 
acres,  crossed  in  all  directions  by  foot- 
paths, and  thickly  shaded  by  several  lofty 
elms  and  an  undergrowth  of  maples  and 
horse-chestnuts.  Upon  this  preen  stood 
the  greater  number  of  the  public  buildings 
of  Guildford  ;  that  is  to  say. — the  Presby- 
terian Meeting-House,  the  Court-House, 
the  Academy,  the  Liberty  Pole  and  the 
Whipping-Post.  The  meeting-house  was 
one  of  the  old-fashioned  sort,  full  of  small- 
paned  windows,  in  double  rows,  with  great 
double-leafed  doors  in  each  clapboarded 
broadside,  and  on  each  side  of  the  tower, 
which  stood  out  from  the  front  gable-end 
of  the  structure,  and  was  surmounted  by 
a  lofty,  tapering  spire,  shingled  from  the 
airy,  open  belfry  to  within  a  few  inches  of 
the  oversized  vane, — a  gilded  comet,  with 
an  immensely  long  tail.  The  court-house 
was  an  ancient-looking,  two-story  build- 
ing, which  had  been,  in  its  early  days,  an 
edifice  of  no  mean  architectural  preten- 
sions. It  stood  on  the  comer  of  the 
green  nearest  the  hotel.  A  broad  flight 
of  steps  reached  from  the  well-trodden 
space  in  front  to  the  wide  fiH)nt  door, 
around  which  was  gathered  a  little  group 
of  idle  men,  who  having,  probably,  been 
summoned  to  attend  at  the  term  of  court 
as  witnesses  or  jurors,  seemed  to  consider 


508 


S  tape- Coach  Stories. 


[May 


it  their  duty  to  stay  within  call  of  the 
court-house,  from  the  moment  of  their 
arrival  at  the  county-seat 

On  one  side  of  the  square  was  a  large 
country  store,  with  a  piazza  in  front, 
in  which  were  placed  for  exhibition  and 
sale, — it  being  the  haying  season, — bun- 
dles of  rakes  and  scythe-snaths,  stacks  of 
^  pitchforks,  and  a  rack  full  of  keen-looking 
scythes  and  cradle-blades.  Two  or  three 
men  in  shirt-sleeves,  blue-mixed  cotton 
trowsers,  and  palm-leaf  hats,  with  the 
brims  turned  up  behind,  were  standing 
about  the  stoop,  handling  and  examining 
these  tools  and  chaffering  with  the  clerk, 
who  stood  in  the  door  bareheaded,  his  pen 
stuck  behind  his  ear,  the  sleeves  of  his 
soiled  linen  sack  turned  up,  and  his  hands 
besmeared  with  molasses  and  rum.  A 
few  lumber-box  wagons  encumbered  the 
street  in  front  of  the  store,  the  horses 
standing  with  drooping  heads,  thinking 
over  the  day's  hard  work  in  the  hay  field, 
or  gnawing  and  cribbing  at  the  hitching- 
posts,  already  half  devoured.  Three  or 
four  village  dogs  were  prowling  about, 
around  and  under  the  wagons,  apparently 
asking  the  news  from  the  rural  districts 
of  the  farmers'  curs,  whose  minds  ap- 
peared to  be  distracted  between  a  desire 
to  be  civil  and  sociable,  and  a  sense  of 
duty  with  respect  to  watching  the  runlets, 
jugs,  codfish,  and  other  contents  of  the 
wagons  belonging  to  their  respective 
masters. 

This  store  was  also  the  village  post- 
office,  and  we  paused  here  a  few  minutes, 
while  the  driver  threw  ofi*  the  mail,  and 
dismounted  from  the  stage  to  canr  in  a 
heavy  box  of  whetstones,  which  had  kept 
company  all  the  way  from  the  city  with 
the  artist's  tripod  on  the  top  of  the  coach. 
He  tarried  but  a  moment  in  the  store,  and 
as  he  came  out,  the  fair  lady-passenger 
beckoned  to  him.  "Closer,  Colonel;''  I 
heard  her  say,  and  I  came  well  nigh  con- 
ceiving a  mortal  aversion  to  that  gallant 
ofilcer  when  he,  putting  his  foot  on  the 
hub  of  the  hind  wheel,  leant  over  the  rim 
of  it,  pitched  up  the  brim  of  his  white  hat, 
and  approached  his  russet  cheek  so  near 
the  red  lips  of  the  fair  lady,  that  he  must 
have  felt  every  expiration  of  her  balmy 
breath,  as  she  rapidly  whispered  some- 
thing in  his  ear.  "Hum — hey? — yes — 
ha — ho — well — 'sho — ^you  don't,  though — 
what?  —  oh,  yes — sartinly — jes  so — of 
course — I  sec — "  muttered  the  Colonel, 
at  short  intervals  as  he  listened,  the  ex- 
pression of  his  face  meanwhile  changing 
from  a  look  of  puzzled  wonderment  to  one 
of  pleased  intelligence.  "  All  right,"  he 
continued  with  an  emphatic  nod,  leaning 


off  the  wheel  and  brushing  the  dust  of  the 
contact  from  his  coat  He  then  proceeded 
to  roll  down  the  back  curtains.  "  I  may 
as  well  hev  'em  down  now,  and  then 
they'll  be  down,"  said  he,  "  unless  you've 
some  objections,  ladies."  He  gave  a  sly 
look  at  the  forward  seat  as  he  passed  the 
side  of  the  coach  on  his  way  to  remount 
his  box.  The  stage  started  off,  and  in  a 
minute  more  wo  dashed  up  at  a  mad  gal- 
lop in  front  of  the  piazza  of  the  tavem. 
which  stood  upon  another  side  of  the 
square.  The  hostler  started  to  open  the 
coach  door,  but  was  somewhat  rudely  re- 
pulsed by  the  Colonel,  who  had  hastily 
alighted  and  let  down  the  steps.  ^  Here 
you  are,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Colonel; 
"  you  all  stop  here,  I  expect" 

The  Judge  bade  the  ladies  ^  Good 
night,"  and  got  out  first,  followed  by 
Cranston,  who,  intent  on  catching  a  la^ 
look  at  the  brunette,  as  he  paid  his  part- 
ing salutations,  tripped  on  the  steps  and 
fell  into  the  brawny  arms  of  the  negro 
hostler.  The  daguerreotype  man  suc- 
ceeded Cranston,  and  forthwith  concerned 
himself  about  the  safety  of  his  tripod  and 
other  apparatus.  It  was  now  my  tnni, 
and  I  prepared  to  make  my  exit  Bat 
should  I  leave  without  once  saying  a  word 
to  the  ladies  ?  It  couldn't  be  thought  of 
"  Ahem,"  said  I,  therefore,  as  I  rosB  and 
prepared  to  descend  the  steps.  "Good 
night,  ladies ;  so  you  do  not  stop  here?" 
** No.  sir."  replied  the  brunette.  "I  trust 
we  may  meet  again,"  said  I,  looking  at 
the  fair  lady  whose  voice  I  wished  to  near 
addressing  me.  "Thank  you.  sir,"  re- 
sponded the  brunette  promptly.  "  Good 
night,  madam."  "Good  night  sir." 
"Good  night,  madam,"  I  said  again,  bow- 
ing directly  and  pointedly  at  the  fair  lady, 
who  then  slightly  bowed  in  return  without 
speaking.  "  Good  night,  LoTd,"  said 
Cranston ;  "  for  I  see  you  don't  intend  to 
stop  here."  I  fancied,  I  heard  the  bru- 
nette titter  behind  her  veiL  The  Colonel, 
who  stood  by  holding  the  door,  gnauei 
vehemently.  I  again  said  "  Good  night," 
and  descended  the  steps;  I  fear,  t^^ 
sheepishly.  The  Colonel  remounted  ikia 
box  and  away  went  the  stage,  and  its  two 
veiled  passengers,  at  a  rattling  pace  down 
the  street  over  the  brow  of  a  little  hill 
and  out  of  sight 

At  the  time  of  the  arrival  of  the  stage 
the  landlord  was  engaged  in  the  bar- 
room, administering  a  glass  of  spiritual 
consolation  to  a  ragged  colored  gentleman 
of  thirsty  habits,  but  hearing  the  clatter 
of  our  coming,  and  espying  through  the 
window  the  exodus  of  Judge  Walker 
himself  from  the  stage,  he  cut  his  cob- 


1854. 


Stage-Ooach  Stories. 


509 


tomer  short  in  an  extremely  tough  and 
long-winded  story,  with  respect  to  the 
number  of  serpents  destroyed  at  one  mas- 
sacre by  the  colored  gentleman  himself, 
in  the  neighborhood  of  his  shanty,  de- 
lightfully situated  on  the  margiji  of 
Rattlesnake  Swamp,  and  exhorted  him  to 
drink  his  liquor  speedily,  and  stand  out 
of  the  way. 

"  Come,  walk  in  gentlemen,"  cried  the 
Undlord,  appearing  on  the  stoop  at  last 
and  bowing  to  us  all,  but  with  especial 
courtesy  to  the  Judge  and  Cranston  ; 
"  walk  in ;  supper  wUl  be  ready  right 
away.'' 

We  found  the  tavern  crowded  with 
country  lawyers,  jurymen,  suitors  and 
witnesses,  assembled  to  attend  the  term 
of  court  which  was  to  commence  on  the 
first  day  of  tlie  next  week.  The  supper 
bell  rung  soon  after  we  had  completed 
our  ablutions  and  brushings,  and  the 
motley  throng  poured  into  the  long  din- 
ing-room, pushing  and  struggling,  each 
one  striving  to  be  foremost,  as  if  his  souPs 
salvation  depended  on  getting  a  seat  at 
the  table  before  the  others.  The  Judge, 
lawyers,  and  jurymen  were,  however, 
happily  exempted  from  mingling  in  this 
hazardous  rush,  having  been  previously 
escorted  through  a  side  door  and  directed 
to  seats  at  the  upper  end  of  a  long  table, 
and  when  the  doors  were  opened  to  admit 
the  multitude,  there  we  sat,  in  dignity 
and  silence,  like  the  grave  and  stately 
Roman  patricians,  when  Brennus  and  his 
hordes  made  their  irruption  into  the 
Senate  Chamber. 

Heavens !  what  a  famished  people  the 
Guildford  county  men  seemed  to  be. 
Beef  steaks,  pork  steaks,  veal  cutlets, 
and  mutton  chops ;  platters-full  of  ham 
and  eggs;  little  mountains  of  smoking 
potatoes ;  huge  piles  of  sliced  bread, 
and  cheese,  and  dried  beef;  and  cold 
ham,  and  cold  corned  beef,  stacks  of 
doughnutS;  and  great  heaps  of  blocks  of 
ginger-bread,  dried  apple  pies  and  green 
apple  pies,  rhubarb,  huckleberry,  black- 
berry, currant,  and  mince  pies ;  all,  all 
vanished,  as  if  by  magic,  at  the  touch  of 
the  glittering  knives  and  forks  so  fiercely 
braiulished  by  the  long  double  row  of 
hungry  men  that  lined  the  sides  of  the 
table.  There  were  a  half  score  of  hot, 
perspiring,  distracted-looking  young  men 
and  maidens,  hurrying  and  scurrying 
about  in  all  directions,  running  afoul  of 
each  other  and  against  the  elbows  of  the 
guests,  carrying  off  empty  cups  and  sau- 
cers to  a  side  table,  where  the  fat  land- 
lord was  sweating  dreadfully  behind  two 
great  urns  of  t^  and  coffee   and  then 


starting  back  with  cups  full  freighted  and 
brimming,  spilling  part  of  the  liquid  con- 
tents by  the  way,  and  half  the  remainder 
as  they  set  them  hastily  down  and  darted 
off  to  answer  a  new  demand  upon  their 
services,  deaf  to  entreaties  for  cream  and 
sugar. 

Sut  where  there  is  such  great  expedi- 
tion used,  much  labor  is  performed  in  a 
brief  space  of  time.  Fifteen  minutes  after 
the  ringing  of  the  supper  bell,  the  long 
table  was  deserted,  except  by  the  Judge 
and  a  few  members  of  the  bar,  and  half  a 
dozen  of  country  gentlemen,  who  had  got 
seats  near  the  head  of  the  table,  and  lin- 
gered to  hear  the  conversation  of  the 
lawyers,  the  anecdotes,  and  bantering, 
which  style  seemed  to  them  the  very  soul 
of  wit  and  humor. 

After  supper,  we  lighted  our  cigars,  and 
the  Judge,  Cranston  and  myself,  strolled 
out  to  the  coolest  end  of  the  long  front 
piazza,  where  it  was  shaded  by  a  big  but- 
ton-wood and  a  grove  of  thorn  locusts,  in 
the  garden  near  by,  seated  ourselves,  and 
began  to  describe  the  events  of  the  day. 

*•  I  wonder  who  those  ladies  could  be  ?  " 
said  Cranston. 

"  The  dark-eyei  one  particularly,  T  sup- 
pose," remarked  the  Judge  ;  "  and  I  sup- 
pose Level  would  give  his  ears  to  know 
the  name  and  residence  of  the  lady  with 
blue  eyes." 

"  Don't  you  know  them,  then.  Judge  ?  " 
saidT.  "According  to  Cranston,  if  they 're 
Guildford  girls,  you  should  be  extremely 
intimate  ?  " 

"  Never  saw  them  before,  that  I  know 
of,"  replied  the  Judge. 

"  I  tried  to  catch  a  sight  of  the  comers 
of  their  pocket-handkerchiefs  all  the  after- 
noon," said  Cranston  ;  "  but  it  was  of  no 
use.  However,  there  were  the  initials  *  M. 
S. '  on  the  end  of  one  of  the  trunks  in  the 
boot." 

"  I  say.  Deacon,"  cried  the  Judge,  ad- 
dressing the  landlord,  who  stood  at  a  little 
distance,  talking  with  the  driver,  "  come 
here  a  moment.  My  young  friends  here 
are  anxious  to  find  out  who  those  ladies 
were  in  the  stage  this  afternoon  ;  perhaps 
you  can  tell  them." 

"  Gals  in  the  fetage,  eh  ?  "Was  they  gals 
or  wimmen  ?  "  inquired  the  Deacon. 

"Young  women-girls,"  replied  the 
Jiidge. 

"  Well,  raly,  Judge,"  said  the  landlord, 
wiping  his  bald  head  with  a  red  bandanna, 
"when  the  stage  driv  up  I  was  in  the 
bar-room,  a  tendin'  on  a  pesky  nigger,  as 
a'erwards  cleared  out  without  payin'.  I 
wouldn't  ha'  cared  ef  the  lazy  skunk  had 
ony  turned  tu,  and  helped  us  about  ker- 


610 


Stage- Coach  Stories, 


[May 


ryin  the  baggage  in. — No,  Judge,  I  didn't 
see  a  Sou]  in  the  stage.  I  raly  can't  in- 
form you.  Why  don't  you  ask  the  kur- 
nel?  Hello!  look  here,  Kurnel !  Step 
this  way — the  Judge  wants  to  ask  you 
who-^" 

•'  Hush !  Deacon,"  said  the  Judge,  hasti- 
ly, in  confusion  at  having  our  curiosity 
imputed  to  him  before  the  crowd  within 
hearing. 

"Well.  Judge,  what  is  it?"  inquired 
the  smiling  Colonel,  advancing  to  where 
we  were  sitting. 

"  Come,  do  your  own  questioning,  gen- 
tlemen," said  Judge  Walker. 

"  I'll  ask  for  him,"  said  Cranston.  "  My 
bashful  young  friend  here,"  he  continued, 
addressing  the  Colonel,  and  nodding  at 
me.  ''seems  somewhat  curious  to  know 
who  those  ladies  are  that  came  out  with 
us  in  the  stage  this  afternoon." 

'*  Well,"  replied  the  worthy  driver,  tak- 
ing a  straw  that  he  had  been  chewing 
from  his  mouth,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
giving  me  a  short,  sharp,  merry  glance 
from  the  corner  of  his  shrewd,  gray  eye. 
"  Well.  I  s'pose  I  orter  know,  that's  a  fact ; 
but  I'm  allfired  forgetful  about  names  ; 
and  there's  so  many  folks  I  drive  over 
the  road,  that  I  fmd  I  get  a  good  deal  con- 
fused about  faces.  Didn't  you  see  'em, 
Deacon  7  "  ^ 

"  No."  replied  the  landlord,  upon  whose 
mind  the  defalcation  of  the  colored  gentle- 
man seemed  to  have  made  a  deep  imprcs- 
tion.  '•  I  was  in  the  bar-room  when  the 
stage  come  up,  a  gettin'  cheated  by  that 
everlastin',  mean  coot  of  a  Jake  Spicer, 
and  you  driv  off  a  good  deal  quicker  'n 
common.  It's  raly  strange  you  don't 
know  'em,  Kurnel,  I  du  say ! " 

"I  dunno  but  'tis,"  said  the  Colonel ; " 
and  I  don't  say  but  what  I  du  know  'em, 
but  a  feller  can't  alius  be  expected  to 
call  folks  by  name  that  he  actilly  does 
know." 

"  Ef  I  ever  du  kitch  him  on  the  primises 
agin,  by  the  life  of  Pharo !  I'll  take  his 
black  pelt  right  off,"  remarked  the  Dea- 
con, evidently  soliloquizing  about  the  de- 
faulting colored  gentleman. 

"Where  did  you  leave  them?"  inquir- 
ed the  Judge. 

"Jest  down  to  the  foot  o'  the  hill  a 
piece,"  replied  the  driver,  "  Hello !  there's 
a  feller  I've  got  tu  speak  tu  about  some 
oats,"  he  continued,  starting  suddenly  off 
towards  a  farmer-like  looking  man  that 
was  passing  by  in  a  lumber  box  wagon, 
and  following  him  around  the  corner. 

*•  Egad  !  "  said  Cranston,  biting  off  the 
end  of  his  cigar,  and  spitting  it  out  spite- 
fully, as  the  Deacon  also  turned  away. 


''  I'd  like  to  have  that  driver  on  the  stand, 
under  oath,  a  few  minutes.  If  I  wouldn't 
make  him  tell  who  those  girls  are,  to  their  . 
middle  initials^  there  isn't  any  science  in 
cross-questionmg.  He  knows  tm  well  as  the 
Lord  that  made  em." 

At  this  moment  a  lawyer  of  the  ooonty 
joined  our  group,  and  with  the  Judge  and 
Cranston  very  soon  fell  into  a  discussioa 
concerning  the  merits  of  a  certain  statute, 
recently  passed,  regulating  a  matter  of 
practice.  I  soon  grew  tired  of  the  learned 
debate,  and,  leaving  my  chair  to  another 
of  my  professional  brethren,  who  came  op 
to  listen,  I  threw  away  my  cigar,  and 
sauntered  into  the  house.  I  found  the  ar- 
tist alone  in  the  parlor,  trying,  in  spite 
of  the  annoyance  occasioned  by  two  or 
three  bedaz^ed  and  infatuated  millers,  to 
read,  by  the  light  of  a  flaring  lamp,  an 
odd  volume  of  Josephus  that  be  had 
picked  up  froip  the*  mantel-piece,  where  it 
usually  lay,  the  companion  of  a  dusty  Bi- 
ble and  an  odd  volume  of  Rollin's  An- 
cient History.  It  suddenly  occurred  to  o;^ 
that  the  artist  had  been  in  the  stage  be- 
fore any  of  the  rest  of  us,  and  might 
therefore  know  more  of  the  ladies.  At 
least,  he  may  be  able  to  tell  where  the 
stage  took  them  up.  "I'll  ask  him," 
thought  I. 

''  It's  very  warm,  sh-,"  said  I  alood,  by 
way  of  opening  the  conversation,  as  I 
lounged  into  a  rocking-chair,  and  oom« 
menced  using  a  palm-caffan. 

"  Remarkably,"  replied  the  artist  "It's 
what  you  call  oppressive  this  evening." 

"I'll  send  for  something  refresmug^* 
said  I ;  **  pray  what  do  you  prefer  ?  " 

"  A  brandy  punch,  now,"  suggested  the 
artist^  apparently  gratified  by  my  sodden 
affability. 

So  I  waylaid  a  chambermaid  in  Uie  ball 
and  sent  to  the  bar  for  two  pundies. 

"  We  had  a  beautiful  ride  from  the  dty 

to-day,  Mister ,"  said  I,  coming  bade 

into  the  parlor  again. 

"  Fitzhoward,"  said  the  artist,  supply- 
ing the  name.  "  Yes,"  he  continued,"  we 
had  a  remarkably  pleasant  time.  I  was 
really  remarkably  interested  in  youi^-a— 
history." 

"  The  presence  of  ladies  always  makes 
a  journey  agreeable,"  said  I. 

*'  Remarkably,"  returned  the  artist,  ^  es- 
pedal ly  if  ihe  weather  is  pleasant;  but  il 
it  rain^  and  you  have  to  ride  outside  to 
give  them  room,  it's  remarkably  tedious." 

"  By  the  by,  do  you  know-  who  those 
ladies  are  that  were  in  the  stage  to-day?  " 
I  asked  carelessly. 

"Then  you  didn't  find  out  by  the 
driver,"  said  the  artist,  who,  it  seems^  had 


1854.] 


Stage-Coach  Storiei. 


511 


pArtially  overheard  through  the  window 
our  conversation  on  the  stoop. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  I,  somewhat  stiflBy,  for 
the  landlord  came  in  while  the  artist  was 
speaking,  with  a  pitcher  of  punch  and  two 
glasses  on  a  tray. 

*^£venin'  agin,  gentlemen;"  said  the 
worthy  Deacon.  ''I  thought  I'd  bring 
the  punch  myself,  to  see  whether  I'd 
made  it  to  suit." 

"  Try  some  of  it,"  I  suggested. 

"I  declare  it  is  good,"  said  he.  "I 
raly  wish,  Squire,  that  I  could  find  out 
for  you  who  them  gals  is.  It  kind  o' 
worried  me,  myself^  that's  a  fact.  I  hate 
amazingly  tu  hev  any  thing  happen  that 
I  can't  see  intu;  and  there's  suthin  so 
mysterous  about  this,  that  I  can't  see 
intu't  a  speck." 

"Oh,  never  mind;  it's  of  no  conse- 
quence," said  I,  affecting  indifference,  the 
while  noticing  that  the  artist  stealthily  re- 
garded me  with  a  look,  the  precise  expres- 
sion of  which  I  was  at  a  loss  to  compre- 
hend. 

**  Lcs  see,"  said  the  Deacon,  heedless  of 
my  disclaimer;  "the  Kurnel  said,  you 
know,  that  he  left  ^em  down  at  the  foot  o' 
the  hill,  as  we  call  it,  though  'tan't  no  great 
fer  a  hill  neither — yes — well — the  first 
house  is  Captain  Bill  Smith's,  jest  at  the 
right  hand  as  you  go  down.  I've  been  a 
talkin'  with  my  wife,  Miss  Curtiss,  about 
it ;  fer,  as  I  said,  it  kcp  m  my  mind  and 
sort  o'  worried  me,  who  the  Kurnel  should 
leave  here  in  the  village,  and  not  know 
suthin  about  'em.  ^  Who  on  airth  can  it 
be?'  says  I  to  her.  ^I  dunno,'  says 
Miss  Curtiss,  says  she ;  *  but  you  say 
that  the  Kurnel  left  'em  down  the  hill, 
and  I  expect  it  must  be  Mary  Smith' — 
that's  Captain  Bill's  daughter  you  see. 
Squire — *  for  she  was  expected  hum  about 
tCMiay,'  so  Miss  Curtiss  said,  and  mab- 
by'd  bring  a  cousin  hum  with  her  from 
the  city  where  she'd  been  a  visitin." 

"  Very  likely  Mrs.  Curtiss  was  right, 
then,"  said  I. 

"  Like  enough,"  said  the  Deacon ;  "  but 
what  on  airth,  and  that's  what  I  said  to 
Miss  Curtiss,  what  on  airth  did  the  Kurnel 
act  so  pesky  clus  and  private  about  it,  ef 
'twas  Mary  Smith  ?-— •  Why,'  says  Miss 
Curtiss,  says  she,  *  you  know.  Deacon 
Curtiss,  that  the  Kurnel  is  one  of  the  most 
allurin'  creturs  that  ever  drew  breath ' — 
and  Miss  Curtiss  is  right  there  too,  for 
when  that  feller  does  get  a  kink,  he's  up 
to  all  sorts  of  hoaxes  and  burleskews 
that  ever  a  livin'  cretur  was  in  the  world. 
But  what  on  airth  he  wanted  to  be  so 
dreadful  secret  for,  when  he  knows  Mary 
Smith  as  well  as  he  docs  his  own  daughter" 


— and  here  the  Deacon,  whose  curiosity 
was  evidently  in  a  state  of  intense  excite- 
ment, paused  and  had  recourse  once  more 
to  the  broad-brimmed  hat. 

I  had.  of  course,  become  pretty  well 
convinced  in  my  own  mind  that  one  of 
these  ladies,  the  fair  one,  I  felt  sure,  was, 
must  be.  Miss  Mary  Smith.  I  called  to 
mind  her  whispered  conversation  with  the 
driver,  the  evident  desire  of  both  ladies  to 
keep  veiled — I  remembered  that  one  of 
the  trunks  was  marked  M.  S.  **  Egad ! " 
thought  I,  "  they  saw  us  young  fellows 
staring  at  them;  detected  and  baffled 
Cranston's  endeavors  to  see  the  marking 
on  their  handkerchiefs.  Miss  Smith  pro- 
bably felt  a  little  miffed  at  what  Cranston 
said  of  the  bright  lookout  that  Guildford 
eirls  kept  for  beaux,  and  cautioned  the 
oriver  against  telling  her  name;  made 
him  roll  down  the  curtains  so  as  not  to 
be  recognized  by  the  idlers  on  the  stoop, 
and  caused  her  cousin  to  say  ^  good  bye  ' 
for  both,  so  that  none  but  a  strange 
voice  should  be  heard  by  the  hostler,  or 
whoever  else  might  be  standing  near." 

"  Then,  agin,"  remarked  the  Deacon 
after  a  pause,  ^'  it's  a  good  deal  like  one 
of  Mary  Smith's  tricks;  she  alius  was  full 
of  the  white  boss  and —  "  here  the  Deacon 
suddenly  checked  hunself  in  full  career, 
and  nodding  towards  the  artist,  exclaimed 
emphatically,  "  Why  !  what  a  dumb 
fool!" 

"  Sir ! "  cried  the  artist,  reddening,  and 
evidently  appropriating  the  compliment 
to  himself. 

"  /  be,"  added  the  Deacon,  eking  out  his 
sentence.  "  I've  a  right  tu  say  so,  I  sup- 
pose, and  it's  a  fact.  Why,  Mr.  Fitzhow- 
ard !  ef  'twas  Mary  Smith,  you  must  ha' 
known  her,  speakiu'  of  her  tricks  put  me 
in  mind,  you  know —  " 

"  Yes.  yes;"  cried  the  artist  hurriedly, 
"  but  I  never  saw  her." 

"Sho!  no  you  didn't,  come  to  think 
on't ;  though  I  never  did  exactly  under- 
stand how  that  was  managed,  only  they 
du  say —  " 

"  Who  says  ?  "  asked  the  artist,  inter- 
rupting. 

"  Why,  the  Kurnel,  and  Bob  Williston 
and  them;  I've  hecrd  'em  laugh  about 
it,  and  say —  " 

^^  There'll  be  laughing  on  the  other  side 
of  their  mouths,  I  guess,  before  the  week 
is  out,"  cried  the  artist  in  a  spiteful  tone. 

"Well,  well,  I  thinks  likely,"  said  the 
Deacon  soothingly,  and  winking  facetious- 
ly at  me ;  "  ^  let  them  laugh  that  wins,'  is 
a  first-rate  motto,  and  ef  you  win  all  you 
daim,  you'll  hev  a  good  right  to  laugh 
like  a  boss.'' 


512 


Stage- Coach  Stories, 


Phy 


"  Yes,  sir-ee ! "  cried  the  artist  empha- 
tically, whose  irritation  seemed  greatly 
mollified  by  the  landlord's  last  remark. 

The  Deacon  again  winked  at  me,  and 
seemed  hugely  tickled;  but  the  humor 
was  entirely  lost  on  me. 

"I'm  sure,  though,  it  must  ha'  been 
her,"  said  the  Deacon,  picking  the  wick 
of  the  lamp  with  the  blade  of  his  jack- 
knife,  and  then  wiping  it  on  his  hair. 

'*  Is  she  a  blonde  or  a  brunette  ?  "  asked 
the  artist  after  a  while. 

"  A  what  ?  "  said  the  Deacon. 

"  Is  she  fair — light  ?  "  said  I,  by  way 
of  explanation. 

"  Oh— oh  yes,"  replied  the  Deacon, 
*  I'm  a  little  hard  o'  hearin — well,  yes, 
purty  fair,  purty  fair ;  more'n  middlin' ; 
and  as  fer  heft,  say  a  hundred  and  fifteen 
or  twenty ;  gals  aint  so  heavy  as  they 
look,  alius." 

At  this  moment  the  pretty  chambex^ 
maid  opened  the  parlor  door,  and  called 
the  Deacon. 

The  artist  having  grown  tedious,  I 
wished  him  good  night,  and  went  up  to 
my  room,  and  began  to  look  over  my 
brief  in  the  cause  I  was  to  try  on  the 
morrow.  I  must  own,  however,  that  in 
spite  of  the  efforts  which  I  put  forth'  for 
the  purpose  of  fixing  my  attention  on 
matters  and  things  pertinent  to  the  issue 
of  Peck  r*.  Harris,  the  image  of  the  fair 
Miss  Mary  Smith  would  often  obtrude 
itself,  in  the  most  bewildering  manner, 
between  my  eyes  and  the  pages  of  manu- 
script, that,  but  two  short  weeks  before, 
had,  in  the  solitude  of  my  office,  at  home, 
completely  absorbed  my  attention  for 
several  days.  Finally  I  gathered  up  my 
papers,  put  them  into  the  drawer  of  my 
toilet-stand,  and  dismissed  tlie  case  of 
Peck  V8,  Harris  from  further  considera- 
tion at  that  time. 

"  I  believe  I'm  in  love,"  said  I,  as  I 
threw  myself  into  a  rocking-chair  by  the 
window ;  and  then,  to  test  the  matter,  I 
tried  to  fancy  myself  departing  from 
Guildford,  after  a  sixty  hours'  sojourn, 
without  having  seen  Miss  Smith;  and 
leaving  Cranston  behind,  with  the  prospect 
dawning  on  his  horizon,  of  speedily  form- 
ing an  acquaintanceship  with  that  lady, 
and  with  abundant  opportunities  and  full 
purpose  of  improving  the  same  indefinitely 
durmg  the  term  of  court.  These  reflec- 
tions I  found  to  be  exceedingly  distasteful ; 
whereupon  I  reversed  the  picture,  sent 
Cranston  away  in  the  stage  with  the 
Colonel,  and,  being  presented  to  Miss 
Smith  at  a  party  the  same  evening,  be- 
came very  intimate  with  her  in  a  most 
indecorous  and  marvellously  short  space 


of  time,  rode  out  with  her  the  next  morn- 
ing, made  a  long  call  on  her  the  eveiUDg 
thereafter,  and,  before  I  knew  it,  I  was. 
in  imagination,  kneeling  at  her  feet,  and 
listening  with  throbbing  heart  and  eager 
delight^  ears,  to  a  half-audible  respon- 
sive admission  of  undying  aflfection — 
whereupon  I  drew  this  inference ;  that  I 
certainly  was  in  love;  and  instead  of 
being  dismayed  at  this  disooverj,  I  re- 
collect snapping  my  fingers  in  a  sort  of 
ecstasy,  and  on  looking  out  of  the  window 
and  seeing  Cranston  promenading  alone 
on  the  piazza  below,  smoking  a  cigar, 
and  humming  an  opera  tune  between  hii 
teeth,  and  his  paroxyms  of  expectoratioB. 
I  experienced  a  compassion  for  him,  until 
I  remembered  that  he  was  not  going  off 
the  next  Tuesday,  my  dreams  to  the 
contrary  notwithstanding;  but  that  he 
was  to  stay  at  Guildford  during  the  whde 
term,  whereas,  in  fact,  it  was  I  that  had 
intended  to  leave  that  morning;  that  I 
had  announced  this  intention,  and  had  no 
reasonable  excuse  for  any  delay  beyond 
that  time. 

"I'll  be  hanged  if  I  do  go,  though,'' 
thought  I,  bringing  my  fist  down  with 
violence  on  the  wmdow-sill — Cranston 
looked  up. 

"Have  you  found  her  out  yet?"  he 
asked,  coming  beneath  the  window,  and 
speaking  in  a  whisper. 

I  made  no  reply. 

"Hey?"  said  he. 

"  I  didn't  say  any  thing,"  said  I. 

"AVell,"  resumed  Cranston,  ^Vm 
posted  up.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  in 
the  morning — I'm  walking  out  here  and 
composing  a  sonnet  to  her  dark  eyes." 

Just  at  this  moment  there  came  a 
modest  knock  at  my  chamber  door,  and 
on  going  to  open  it  I  found  the  landlord, 
his  face  beaming  with  oily  perspiration 
and  a  mysterious  expression. 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  Squire,"  said  h^ 
"  but  I  see  a  light  in  your  room,  and  I 
thought  I'd  come  up  a  minute  and  teU 
ye." 

"Come  in  then,"  said  I,  a  little  an- 
noyed. 

"It's  her,  there  aint  a  doubt;  Miss 
Curtiss  says,"  whispered  the  Deacon, 
coming  in  on  tiptoe. 

"Is  it?"  said  I,  with  an  indifferent 
air ;  but  it  must  be  remembered  that  I 
had  come  to  the  same  conclusion  an  hour 
before. 

"  Then  tu  think  of  that  are  Fitzhoward's 
ridin'  down  all  the  way  from  the  city  with 
her !  Creation !  I  should  a  thought  she'd 
a  split." 

*Whyso?»  I  asked. 


Stage- Coach  Stories. 


518 


!  because  she's  the  masterest 
r  fun  and  carryin'  on  that  ever  ye 
iq)ect ;  and  she  must  a  known  him, 
it  seems  he  didn't  know  her,  sar- 
e  see.  he  was  here  and  staid  «ix 
)r  two  months  last  summer,  takin' 
and  he  undertook  to  shin  up  to 
3mima  Smith,  Cap'n  Bill's  sister,  a 
>ld  maid  as  ever  ye  see,  and  they 
,  the  old  cretur  actillj"  agreed  to 
him  ;  but  it  was  all  kep  secret  as 
tealin*  a  nest,  from  the  Cap'n,  un- 
y  got  home  from  the  Springs  and 
where  she'd  been  all  summer  a 
n'  round  with  the  Eliots ;  but  jist 
1  as  she  got  home,  she  lamt  all 
i,  and  the  upshot  was  that  the  same 
w  the  next  night,  I  dunno  which, 
n  Curtiss  knows  and  can  tell  ye  all 
k,  the  feller  was  round  serenadin', 
in',  and  Cap'n  Bill  sot  his  dog  on 
id  gin  him  Aleck,  and  the  feller 

round  and  brought  a  breach  of 
B  suit  sgin  the  hull   family,  the 

says,  dog  and  all,  and  it's  to  be 
lis  tarm,  and  that^s  what  he^s  here 

(arse  the  last  cloud  of  doubt  exhaled 
light  of  the  deacon's  explanation, 
>  identity  of  the  fair  lady  passenger 
iss  Mary  Smith  was  clearly  mani- 

t  it's  the  queerest  thing  on  airth," 
led  the  deacon,  "  why  the  Kumel 
clos  about  tellin'." 
in't  think  so.  On  the  contrary,  it 
to  me  the  most  natural  thing  in 
rid  that  Mary  Smith  should  wish 
fr.  Pitzhoward  remain  in  ignorance 
%ci  that  he  had  ridden  with  her  in 
ge  from  the  city.  **  That  accounts 
fun  the  girls  had  to  themselves," 
t  I,  "  and,  by  Jove !  after  we  get 
acquainted  will  have  a  laugh  in 
I  can  join." 

e  dumbdest  queerest  thing,"  mut- 
he  deacon,  rubbing  his  head. 
Miss  Smith  is  rather  given  to  high 
is  she  ?  "  said  I,  affecting  a  yawn, 
y  of  a  hint ;  for  I  was  getting  a 
reary  of  the  deacon,  who,  stupid 


fellow,  had  fallen  into  a  brown  study  on 
the  subject  of  the  Colonel's  most  trans- 
parent motives  for  secrecy. 

"  The  beatinest  cretur  for  carryin'  on 
that  ever  ye  see,"  replied  the  deacon, 
waking  up.  "The  Kumel  says  she's  a 
hull  team  and  a  boss  to  let,  besides  a  big 
dog  under  the  waggin.  I  heerd  him  say 
so  myself,  last  spring,  when  she  driv 
Squire  Eliot's  Morgan  colt  through  the 
streets,  the  first  time  he  was  ever  in  har- 
ness, to  go  out  of  the  yard  at  any  rate. 
She  got  Simon  Adams,  the  squire's  hired 
man,  to  put  him  intu  the  buggy,  and  what 
does  she  do,  before  he  knows  it,  but  takes 
the  lines  right  out  of  his  hand,  and  gets 
in  and  drives  right  up  the  hill,  and  round 
the  square,  and  back  agin,  and  the  way 
she  handled  that  are  colt  was  surprisin'. 
The  sowin'  circle  didn't  talk  of  nothm'else 
for  a  fortnit,  so  Miss  Curtiss  said,  and 
she  orter  tu  know,  for  she  alius  goes,  no 
matter  ef  the  house  is  full  o'  company  and 
runnin'  over ;  though  I  often  tell  her,  that 
though  I'm  in  favor  of  the  heathen,  I  don't 
believe  they'll  suffer,  in  them  warm 
climits,  ef  they  go  without  woollen  jackets 
and  yam  stockins  and  mittins  a  day  or 
two,  w:hile  she's  tendin  tu  company  tu 
hum.  But  she  says  it's  a  dooty,  and  she 
can't  in  conscience  neglect  it,  and  so  she 
goes  all  weathers.  Yes,  I  tell  you,  squire, 
Mary  Smith's  one  on  'em  now.  She 
bosses  Cap'n  Bill,  and  that's  a  pretty  con- 
siderable of  a  chore  when  he's  rampin. 

*•  I  expect  I've  been  a  keepin'  ye  up, 
squire." 

So,  bidding  good  night  again,  as  he 
softly  turned  the  handle  of  the  door, 
audibly  wondering  "  what  on  airth  could 
make  the  Kumel  so  dumb  ?  "  the  deacon 
departed. 

"Just  to  think  of  that  lovely  creature 
breaking  a  colt,"  thought  I,  as  I  bolted 
the  door  and  again  sat  down  in  the  rock- 
ing chair. 

"  But  she  had  fire  in  that  dark  blue 
eye  of  hers,"  said  I,  aloud,  unlacing  my 
patent  leathers — "  And  such  eyes,"  I  add- 
ed, untying  my  cravat. 


(To  be  oontlnaed.) 


5U 


pbr 


WHAT   WE   HAVE   TO    DO    WITH   THE   EASTERN    QUESTION. 


A  DISTINGUISHED  editor,  who  is  also 
a  general,  in  certain  letters  from 
London  addressed  to  his  readers,  takes  it 
for  granted  that  the  Americans  are  all  on 
the  side  of  England  and  France,  in  the 
great  European  controversy  now  raging, 
and  urges  them  to  give  some  visible  ex- 
pression of  their  sympathies.  Now  it  is 
quite  natural  that  one  who  eats  the  mut- 
ton of  British  ministers,  and  lives  in  the 
focus  of  a  warlike  excitement,  should 
speak  and  urge  in  this  wise ;  but  wj::,  who 
are  away  ftom  the  field  of  action,  who  are 
not  permitted  to  see  how  lovingly  the 
dapper  guards  of  the  saloon  take  the  huge 
paws  of  the  street-sweepers,  and  press 
tliem  with  all  the  fervor  of  a  common  en- 
thusiasm, may  consider  the  matter  with 
more  coolness,  and,  like  the  mouse  in  the 
fable,  suggest  modestly  whether  there 
may  not  be  a  cat  in  the  meal  tub. 

It  is,  no  doubt,  of  considerable  im- 
portance to  England  that  America  should 
think  well  of  her  present  movements ;  we 
believe,  too,  that  any  little  contribution 
of  ours  in  the  way  of  sympathy  or  active 
assistance,  will  be  thankfully  received  by 
Lord  Clarendon,  Louis  Napoleon,  and  a 
good  many  others,  yet  we  are  not  so  clear 
m  the  conviction  that  it  would  be  quite 
so  well  for  America  to  take  up  their  cud- 
gels. We  cannot  discover,  either  in  the  mo- 
tives of  the  original  dispute,  avowed  or 
concealed,  or  in  the  characters  of  the 
chief  parties  to  it,  or  in  the  objects  of 
the  powerful  Alliance  which  has  taken 
the  quarrel  upon  itself,  any  causes  that 
ought  to  move  us  to  so  much  as  even  a 
sympathetic  participation  in  the  mcl^e. 
Remote  as  we  are  from  the  theatre  of 
trouble,  disdaining  as  we  do.  the  selfish, 
petty,  and  malignant  policy  of  the  foreign 
djTiasties,  holding  iQ  equai  contempt  and 
abhorrence  the  principles  of  despotism, 
whether  the  machinery  be  controlled  by 
a  Czar,  a  Sultan,  a  usurping  Emperor,  an 
hereditary  aristocracy,  or  a  corrupt  mass 
of  bureaucrats, — we  are  at  liberty  to 
treat  their  squabbles  with  the  utmost  in- 
ditlerence,  or  to  mingle  in  them  only 
so  far  as  it  may  advance  our  own  solid 
interests,  or  our  own  distinctive  princi- 
ples, or  give  an  impulse  to  the  civiliza- 
tion of  the  world. 

The  ostensible  grounds  of  dispute  be- 
tween Russia  and  Turkey  at  the  outset 
were. — the  demands  of  the  former,  for  a 
more  eflicicnt  protection  by  the  latter,  of 
a  few  lazy  and  dirty  Greek  priests  in  the 


Holy  Land,--of  a  guaranty  for  the  eecoiity 
of  the  Russo-Greek  church  in  Turkey,— 
and  for  the  expulsion  of  political  refii- 
gees  harbored  at  Constantinople  and 
other  places.  As  the  Porte  bad  alretdy 
guaranteed  to  France,  in  behalf  of  the 
Latin  Church,  the  restoration  of  the  kef 
to  the  principal  gate  at  Bethlelem ;  and 
had  replaced,  at  the  same  ioKtanoe,  a  con- 
tain silver  star  in  the  grotto  of  the  Na- 
tivity, with  a  Latin  mscriptioo  (which 
had  been  displaced  in  1847) ;  and  hadooQ- 
sentcd  that  the  cupola  over  the  Sacred 
Sepulchre  should  be  constructed  in  tht 
ancient  and  not  in  the  Byzantine  order  of 
architecture  j — and  as,  moreover,  the  Porta 
had  eranted  to  Austria,  ooxisequent  upon 
the  Monten^n  insurrection  of  which 
she  complained— the  harbor  of  EJeeck 
and  the  Sutorian  ports,  with  a  control  of 
the  Bosnian  Catholics,  and  a  few  commer- 
cial facilities, — while  at  the  same  time  the 
Sultan  was  getting  more  and  more  thick, 
as  the  schoolboys  say,  with  the  clever  Eng- 
lish ambassador, — Russia  supposed  it  a 
good  opportunity  for  asserting  some  of 
her  own  old  clums  of  a  similar  character. 
She  accordingly  sent  Prince  Menchikoff  to 
Constantinople,  to  make  a  parade  of  the 
following  points:  "Look  you!  oh  Sultan 
Medul  Abjid,  illustrious  Padishaof  all  the 
Mohammedan  faithful, — my  augost  mas- 
ter Nicholas,  the  transparent  protector  of 
all  the  true  believers  of  Graaoo-Christeih 
dom,  not  wishing  that  France  or  En^aod 
should  take  the  wind  out  of  his  sails,  de- 
mands these  things :  Ist  a  oomroon  poe- 
session  with  the  I^tin  believers  of  the  key 
of  the  gate  at  Bethlehem,  of  the  silTer 
star  on  the  subterranean  altar,  and  of  the 
rites  of  worship,  with  a  supremacy  ofcr 
all  interlopers ;  2d,  the  immediate  repair 
of  the  cupola  of  the  sepulchre,  which  Ml 
the  rain  in  on  the  bare  heads  of  the  de 
vout,  and  the  walling  up  or  destmctioii  of 
certain  harems  whidi  overlook  that  sepul- 
chre, sometimes  to  the  scandal  of  the  moaikt 
and  pilgrims ;  and  3dly,  and  finally,  a  Sened 
or  convention  for  the  guaranty  of  the 
privileges  of  all  the  Catholic  Greek  wo^ 
shippers  and  their  priests  and  their  san^ 
tuaries,  both  in  Turkey  and  in  the  East" 
"But,''  added  the  good  Menchikoff;  "sinoi 
you  have  been  considerably  remiss  in 
this  part  of  your  duties  hitherto,  mj 
august  master  proposes  to  take  most  ci 
the  trouble  oif  your  hands  and  see  to  it 
himself!"  To  which  the  Padisha,  the 
mighty  and  the  illustrious!  through  his 


1 


Eastern  Question. 


515 


Airier  for  Foreign  Affairs — may  he 
i  be  blessed!  replied,  "that  there 
obody  in  the  world  for  whom  he, 
ather  of  the  Faithful,  had  an  in- 
admiration  and  respect  than  for  his 
le  friend,  the  most  Pious  Autocrat, 
lian  and  Protector  of  all  the  Rus- 
but  that  he  could  hardly  consent 
demands.  As  for  the  Holy  Shrines 
o\y  Places,  he  had  attended  to  them 
1  as  he  could,  considering  the  sev- 
asses  of  vagabonds,  lay  and  clerical, 
rhom  he  had  to  deal,  and,  as  to  the 
ians,  he  had  always  taken  the  best 
)f  them,  even  to  cutting  their  heads 
len  they  were  refractory,  and  he 
B  meant  to.  being  y^ry  much  obliged 
rhile  to  his  illustrious  Brother,  for 
nd  intentions  and  offers  of  assist- 
-but  he  had  rather  not,  if  it  were  all 
tme  to  him.  Besides,  the  internal 
of  Turkey  were  in  his  keeping,  and 
»uld  thank  his  illustrious  Brother, 
the  profoundest  deference,  if  he 
just  mind  his  own  business."  Men- 
t  then,  in  the  blandest  way,  re- 
d  precisely  the  same  things,  only  in 
nt  terms,  and  the  Sultan  made  pre- 
the  same  answer,  only  in  different 

Mcnchikoff  got  huffy,  and  threat- 
to  go  home, — the  ambassador  of 
ia  thought  he  had  better  not :  Count 
rode  wrote  a  plaintive  yet  furious 
3h  to  all  the  foreign  governments, 
;  the  Sultan  names,  and  threatening 
ince  him  if  he  did  not  come  to  rea- 
eight  days :  France  replied  spunkily 
here  were  two  who  could  play  at 
ing,  and  that  the  good  Suljtan  was  his 
:  En^and  remarked ;  "  Gentlemen, 
.  let  us  tread  upon  each  other,  there 
igh  of  Turkey  for  all  ^  us,  and  let 
re  an  amicable  talk  over  the  whole 
:."  They  accordingly  went  to  work 
rana  and  talked, — and  then  they 
again, — talked  for  a  whole  year, — 
ret  Abdul  Mejid  wouldn't  and  then 
Ias  wouldn't, — and,  finally,  neither 
m  would, — and  so  they  all  ordered 
eir  gunboats  for  a  free  and  general 

France  and  England,  that  had 
before  done  any  thing  but  void 
superfluous  rheum  in  each  other's 
shook  hands  like  brothers,  fell 
Mch  other's  necks,  swore  a  lasting 
ihip— swore  that  they  would  never 
allude  to  Waterloo  or  to  Perfide 

Sand  sent  their  fleets  into  the  Bal- 
Black  Seas,  where  we  will  leave 
for  the  present. 

ise  are  the  ostensible  grounds,  we 
>f  the  controversy,  as  they  strike 
(dependent   observer,  who    simply 


reads  the  documents  and  the  journals ;  but 
it  is  to  be  confessed,  at  the  same  time, 
that»  as  in  so  many  other  disputes,  the  out- 
ward pretexts  are  only  guys  or  coverings 
for  a  real  and  serious  secret  hostility. 
Every  body  who  has  read  the  history  of 
the  last  nfty  years,  is  aware,  that  the 
"  Eastern  Question  "  is  not  a  question  of 
recent  date.  It  is  as  old  as  the  century 
at  least  and,  in  various  shapes,  now  break- 
ing out  as  a  Question  of  maritime  juris- 
diction in  the  Black  Sea,  now  as  a  ques- 
tion concerning  the  integrity  of  the  Otto- 
man Empire,  and  now  again  as  to  the 
respective  rights  of  the  worthless  and  do- 
nothing  churches  of  Jerusalem, — involves 
a  complicated  theory  of  politics,  and  a 
profound  antagonism  of  interests  and 
principles.  Standing  between  Europe  and 
Asia, — as  an  oriental  European  power, — 
with  a  government  borrowed  from  the 
Caliphs  and  a  religion  borrowed  from  Mo- 
hammed,— Turkey  forms  the  barrier  to  the 
eastward  progress  of  Christian  commerce 
and  civilization.  It  is,  therefore,  the  seat 
of  battle  and  intrigue  to  all  those  western 
powers,  whose  simulated  zeal  for  religion, 
and  real  zeal  for  "  proviant,"  leads  thom  to 
covet  that  mysterious  and  dazzling  ab- 
straction called  The  East,  which,  from 
the  earliest  time,  has  had  a  strange  pow- 
er in  captivating  the  imaginations  and 
bewildering  the  judgments  of  rulers. 
No  Crockford's  or  Pat  Hearn's  was  ever  a 
more  desperate  scene  of  play  than  Con- 
stantinople has  been.  The  ambassa- 
dors of  every  power  gather  there,  as  the 
sporting-gentlemen  and  legs  gather  in 
the  betting-houses  of  London,  or  round  a 
sweat-cloth  at  a  race- course.  Every  one 
is  loud  in  professing  his  attachment  to 
the  Porte,  and  every  one  alternately  uses 
the  Porte  as  the  cat's-paw  of  his  own  rapa- 
cious designs.  Ready  at  all  times,  too,  for 
any  reckless  foray,  any  scheme  of  warlike 
aggression,  while  they  are  too  proud  and 
foolish  to  discover  their  own  abasement, 
the  Osmanlis  have  been  just  the  tools  to 
be  used.  Now,  France  would  inflame 
their  resentment  against  the  Muscovite, 
and  then  the  Muscovite  would  stir  them 
up  against  France.  England  would  impel 
them  one  way,  to  check  the  advances  of 
Russia,  and  Russia  threaten  them  another, 
to  embarrass  the  connnerce  of  England. 
But  the  uniform  and  remarkable  result 
of  every  movement,  of  every  battle, 
whether  instigated  by  others,  or  under- 
taken of  their  own  savage  ferocity,  has 
been  a  loss  of  some  part  of  their  territory. 
Conquerors  or  conquered,  these  infatuated 
noodles  always  managed  to  make  a 
cession  of  lands  to  the  enemy.  They  fought 


616 


Eastern  Question. 


[M«7 


Peter  the  Gre^t,  and  gave  him  Transyl- 
vania ;  they  fought  Venice,  and  gave  her 
the  Morea ;  they  fought  Poland  and  re- 
stored Podolia  and  the  Ukraine ;  they 
fought  Austria  and  surrendered  Belgrade 
and  a  part  of  Wallachia.  and  Scrvia; 
they  fought  the  Empress  Catharine  and 
yielded  the  free  navigation  of  the  Turkish 
seas  and  the  passage  of  the  Dardanelles ; 
they  fought  Mehemet  Ali  and  left  him 
Egypt ;  tiiey  fought  Alexander  and  pre- 
sented him  the  mouth  of  the  Danube ; — 
and  they  fought  Nicholas,  and  handed 
over  to  him  the  fortresses  of  Asia;  in 
short,  the  Turks,  with  every  struggle, 
vigorous  as  it  may  have  been,  and  bril- 
liant as  the  warlike  qualities  which  they 
displayed,  shook  off  some  portion  of  their 
own  dominions  and  found  themselves 
weaker  from  the  effort  Yet,  all  their 
treaties  with  foreign  powers  have  guar- 
anteed the  integrity  of  their  empire. 
"The  Integrity  of  the  Ottoman  Em- 
pire "  has  been  the  shibboleth,  from  the 
beginning,  of  every  one  of  their  allies.  A 
more  sounding  yet  hollow  pretence  was 
never  urged ;  for  while  every  European 
nation  agreed  to  it,  as  a  check  upon  every 
other  nation,  and  a  cloak  for  its  own  de- 
signs,— every  nation  was  the  more  busily 
plotting  in  consequence  of  it,  for  a  slice 
of  the  common  spoil ! 

This  famous  "  eastern  question,"  then, 
is  a  long-continued  scufllc  between  the 
great  powers  for  an  extension  of  Empire. 
Russia  especially,  from  the  acquisition  of 
Azof  by  Peter  the  Great,  has  had  no  other 
ambition  in  her  thousand  and  one  inter- 
ferences with  Turkey.  Iler  recent  scru- 
ples in  regard  to  the  Holy  Shrines  and 
the  protection  of  the  Greek  Christians, 
have  been  the  veriest  rigmarole  conceiv- 
able— the  most  transpai-ent  duplicity.  And 
now  that  the  battle  is  about  to  bo  joined 
with  England  and  France,  and  it  is  found 
necessary  to  defend  her  course,  she  open- 
ly confesses  that  religious  zeal  was  only 
one  of  her  motives.  An  official  article  in 
the  Journal  de  St.  Fetersbowg',  replying 
to  Lord  John  Russell's  speech  in  the 
House  of  Commons,  declares  that  it  was 
the  impression  of  the  Czar  long  since,  and 
before  Menchikoff  negotiated,  that  Turkey 
had  been  harassed  to  death  and  that  it 
was  time  for  him  and  the  other  sovereigns 
to  look  out  for  the  pieces.  "Let  Eng- 
land," he  says,  in  his  magnanimity, 
**take  a  wing,  and  France  a  leg,  and 
the  smaller  powers  some  of  the  feathers, 
while,  as  for  me,  I  shall  be  satisfied  with 
the  other  leg.  the  other  wing,  both  side- 
bones,  and  a  piece  of  the  breaist."  Illus- 
trious Czar !    It  would  have  been  more 


manly,  we  think,  to  announce  this  pro- 
spective division,  at  the  outset  of  the  gime^ 
to  enter  openly  upon  the  negotiation  as 
Catharine  and  Joseph  did  when  they  met 
on  the  Wolga,  eighty  years  ago — ^bat 
honesty,  as  we  have  seen,  is  not  the  we- 
vailing  weakness  of  those  who  conoDet 
the  "  Eastern  Question." 

Is  it  not  obvious  now,  from  this  viev 
of  the  origin  and  progress  of  the  PTMtmg 
war,  that  the  American  people  can  hivB 
no  sympathy  with  any  of  its  motivvs  or 
objects  ?  But  can  they  have  any  mora 
with  the  characters  of  either  of  tiie  prin- 
cipal combatants  ?  An  effort,  we  know, 
is  made  by  the  English  press,  and  by 
some  of  our  own  journals, — who  too  often, 
alas !  merely  reflect  the  scntinients.*^ 
if  not  the  sentiments,  the  one-sided  mfer- 
mation,  of  that  press, — to  enlist  our  fed- 
ings  in  behalf  of  the  Turks.  But  who 
are  the  Turks  ?  A  race  of  lazy,  corrvp^ 
truculent  and  semi-barbarous  Mohamme- 
dans, who  cherish  a  rooted  aversion  to 
all  the  arts  of  civilized  life,  and  an  invet- 
erate hatred  of  Christianity.  Since  their 
first  appearance  on  the  plains  of  Europe, 
their  whole  career  has  been  marked,  fint 
by  brutal  conquests,  and  secondly,  by  a 
rotting  and  sensual  indolence.  Lamartine 
said  truly,  that  ^the  Turics  for  four 
centuries  had  been  merely  encamped  in 
Europe,"  for  their  stay  there  has  not  been 
one  of  residence  but  of  military  posns- 
sion.  Appropriating  to  themselves  by- 
violence,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and 
fertile  regions  of  the  globe, — a  raion 
whoso  soil  is  as  productive  as  that  oftfaa 
United  States,  and  whose  climate  is  u 
genial  as  that  of  Italy^ — suirounded  by 
seas,  intersected  by  nvers, — rolling  op 
from  the  richest  valleys  into  fine  wow- 
crested  mountains, — abounding  in  minei 
of  copper,  silver,  iron  and  salt, — ^yielding 
to  the  first  touch  of  the  rudest  plongfai 
plentiful  harvests  of  the  cereals,  of  cotton, 
of  tobacco,  and  of  fruits  which  range  from 
the  olive  and  pomegranate  of  the  South, 
to  the  apple  and  cherry  of  the  North,— 
furnished  to  luxuriance  with  aromatic 
shrubs  and  useful  plants, — and  support- 
ing by  its  luscious  pastures  the  best 
breeds  of  cattle  in  Europe, — what  use  hate 
the  Turks  made  of  it  aU  to  justify  their 
stewardship  ?  What  has  the  Mussulmin 
returned  for  the  ten  talents  Providence 
committed  to  his  care  7  What  new  ad* 
ture  has  he  introduced ;  what  arts  has  be 
discovered  or  improved,  what  inroads  his 
he  made  upon  the  unfriendly  influenoei 
of  nature ;  what  wilderness  has  he  le- 
claimed,  what  marsh  redeemed,  what  hoe- 
tile  sea  disarmed;  what  distant  regioni 


Eastern  Question. 


517 


connected  by  roads,  what  desert 
Wanted  with  commerce,  what  naked 
applied  with  new  products  of  man- 
B  i  None  !  His  ceaseless  and 
x;tivity  has  been  that  of  war.  lie 
ed  and  despised  industry  with  a 
hatred.  He  has  not  only  rcmain- 
lout  improvement,  but  he  has  re- 
led.  The  arts  and  manufactures, — 
ices  and  public  works, — ^*  precious 
ns  of  former  Christian  genera- 
^which  he  found  at  the  conquest 
Eastern  Empire,  he  lias  neglected 
;royed, — the  jets  of  trade,  which 
me  to  time  have  sprung  up,  under 
paction  of  foreign  example  or  the 
"6  of  local  and  domestic  want, — 
(  sappressed,  and  none  but  the 
Bsultory,  precarious,  and  rude  spe- 
industry  have  been  sufibred  to 
der  his  hands.  Ilis  government,  a 
ind  unmitigated  military  despot- 
iis  religion,  a  fanatical  and  brutal 
0,  dis'laining  every  impulse  of  tol- 
and  every  weapon  of  propagation 
le  sword, — ho  has  degenerated, 
I  mingled  tyranny  and  self-corrup- 
itil  he  has  become  the  poorest,  the 
ital,  and  the  most  unpromising  race 
3pe.  Struggling  all  his  life  to  intro- 
baneful  super^ition  into  the  West, 
1^  with  determined  bigotry  all  the 
influences  of  the  West,  there  is 
nothing  in  his  history  or  character 
dilate  our  good  will  or  maintain  our 
;.  We  do  not  deny,  that  he  has  the 
<  of  a  semi-barbarous  people;  we 
forget  that  his  hospitality  was  nobly 
ed  to  the  exiled  Hungarians ;  but 
mot  find  in  his  rare  and  single  in- 
\  of  greatness, — an  apology  for  his 
rotracted  career  of  carnage  and  op- 
n.  We  strive  to  recall  the  good 
)  may  have  done  to  the  world,  but, 
midst  of  the  effort,  and  before  we 
are,  images  rise  before  us,  of  bloody 
ra  flashing  terror  through  the 
IBS  of  unhappy  Greece,  and  of  armed 
len  scouring  the  plains  of  Egypt 
liot  wind  from  the  desert.  Turkey 
aTe  suffered  wrong  at  the  hands  of 
^ — and  God  forbid  us  from  wishing 
il  on  account  of  her  past  transgres- 
-but  do  not,  *  an'  you  love  us,'  do 
1  upon  us  for  any  special  admira- 
the  Turks.  Let  them  fight  their 
)atUes,  if  they  will — but  ask  no 
ian  man  to  lend  them  a  finger  of 
No  !  th6  wails  of  Scio  still  ring  in 
n,  and  the  manes  of  Bozzaris  are 


will,  perhaps,  reply  that  Turks  are 
1  as  the  Kussians  any  day,  as  wise^ 


as  pure,  as  tolerant  as  industrious,  and  as 
agreeable  to  tlieir  fellow-men ;  but,  we  re- 
join emphatically  that  they  are  not.  The 
government  of  Russia  is  an  abominable 
absolutism,  we  admit, — atrociously  inhu- 
man in  its  principles  and  its  effects ;  and 
the  people  of  Russia  are  very  much  im- 
bruted  and  shrivelled  by  the  practical 
workings  of  that  absolutism ;  yet,  as  a 
race,  the  Russians  are  alive,  vigorous, 
hearty,  progressive.  Next  to  the  Ameri- 
cans they  are  the  most  ^'  go-ahead  "  nation 
on  the  face  of  the  earth.  They  are  grow- 
ing faster  in  population,  in  commerce,  in 
manufactures  and  art  in  all  the  ele- 
ments of  civilization,  despite  the  obsta- 
cles raised  by  tyranny,  than  any  other 
people  on  the  continent  While  other 
nations  are  retrograding,  or  remain  sta- 
tionary, or  increase  only  by  imperceptible 
degrees,  the  Russian  race  discovers  a  vital- 
ity like  that  of  the  old  Norman  or  Anglo- 
Saxon  races.  It  is  perpetually  doing 
something  for  itself  or  for  others ;  it  does 
not  rot  in  its  hole ;  but  it  is  pushing  forward 
innumerable  works  of  internal  or  self- 
amelioration,  and  for  the  external  redemp- 
tion of  warlike  tribes.  A  vast,  almost 
chaotic  mass  of  savages,  one  century 
since, — unheard  of  in  the  politics  of  Eu- 
rope,— contending  against  a  niggardly  soil, 
a  rigorous  climate,  anarchical  government 
and  enemies  on  all  sides, — the  Muscovites 
have  made  themselves,  not  only  a  most 
formidable  military  power,  but  what  is 
better,  they  have  worked  out  a  gigantic  and 
growmg  civilization.  They  have  built 
cities,  founded  fleets,  developed  agricul- 
ture, fostered  manufactures,  intr^uoed 
the  sciences,  the  fine  arts  and  belles- 
lettres. — and,  in  short,  appropriated  to 
themselves,  in  large  measures,  whatever 
was  good  and  great  in  the  civil  and  social 
life  of  Europe.  It  is  true,  that  they 
have  done  much  of  this  by  means  of  an 
imperious  domination ;  that,  in  their 
march  to  the  goal  they  have  set  them- 
selves, they  have  rudely  trampled  on 
many  a  noble  and  generous,  many  a  gentle 
spirit ;  that  they  have  crushed  to  the  earth 
the  Tartars,  the  Poles,  and  the  Georgians 
who  stood  in  their  way ;  that  thev  have 
peopled  the  distant  frozen  zones  of  Siberia 
with  the  victims  of  their  statecraft  and 
policy,— our  hearts  loathe  them  utterly 
for  it, — but  our  reason  tells  us,  at  the  same 
time,  that  this  trenchant  crushing  despot- 
ism is  but  an  incident  in  their  course — an 
ugly  and  venomous  but  necessary  feature 
of  their  transitional  development,  out  of 
Oriental  wildness  into  European  culture ; 
and  tliat  they  will  themselves,  sooner  or 
later,  throw  it  off",  and  then  stand  beforo 


518 


Eastern  Question, 


pi^ 


mankind  as  a  regenerated  and  grand  peo- 
ple, prepared  to  take  part  in  the  great 
work  of  redeeming  and  infusing  new  life 
into  the  stagnant,  filthy,  and  debased 
realms  of  Asia  and  £urope. 

This  last  suggestion,  however,  is  aside, 
and  we  mean  simply  to  say,  that  so  far  as 
the  interests  of  other  nations  are  con- 
cerned, of  ourselves  among  the  rest,  we 
ought  to  look  with  favor  rather  upon  the 
progress  of  Russia,  than  upon  the  cor- 
rupting immobility  and  decay  of  Turkey. 
A  huge  hullaballoo  is  raised  by  the  unen- 
terprising and  cirowsy  nations  of  Europe, — 
laggards  and  drones  who  are  willing  to 
see  the  earth  revert  to  primitive  rocks 
and  barren  sands, — about  the  territorial 
aggressions  of  Russia.  They  represent 
her  as  the  very  demon  of  devouring  con- 
quest. They  point  to  Crim-Tartary,  to 
Finland,  to  Poland,  to  Sweden,  to  Persia, 
to  Bessarabia,  to  the  Crimea,  to  the  Baltic 
provinces,  in  proof  of  her  omnivorous  am- 
bition, and  they  shout  '*  Beware  of  the 
tremendous  beast  which  is  swallowing  up 
tlie  globe."  But  we  Americans  know 
somethmg  of  this  subject  of  aggression : 
we  have  been  roundly  abused  for  it  the 
world  over  ourselves;  and  we  are  not 
easily  frightcnc<l.  in  consequence,  by  the 
cry  of  ''wolf."  We  arc  willing  that 
other  nations  should  acquire  as  much 
land  as  they  please  ;  we  arc  willing  that 
they  should  absorb  as  many  weak  and 
half-formed  neighbors  as  they  please; 
but  we  will  tell  them  that  they  do  not 
make  themselves  any  stronger  thereby. 
They  bloat  themselves,  they  make  a  great 
show  in  statistics  and  on  paper :  they  get 
a  terrible  name  among  smaller  states; 
but  in  reality,  they  only  fuultiply  their 
embarrassments  and  sow  the  seeds  of  a 
speedier  and  more  disastrous  dissolution. 
Russia,  for  instance,  when  we  reckon  the 
number  of  acres,  and  count  over  the  mul- 
titudes of  [)eoplc  over  which  she  exercises 
a  sway,  strikes  us  as  a  Colossus,  a  monster, 
horrendum^  ingens,  cui  lumen  ademp- 
turn  ;  but  when  we  reflect  upon  the  utter 
want  of  homogeneity  among  her  peo- 
ple— their  extreme  diversity  of  interests — 
their  bitter  traditional  animosities — the 
radical  impossibility  of  holding  them  to- 
gether when  the  mass  once  begins  to 
crumble,  we  see  that  the  alleged  encroach- 
ments of  Russia  have  been  the  sources  of 
her  weaknesses,  while  the  secret  of  her 
strength,  the  reason  why  she  is  terrible  if 
at  all  in  jKiwcr,  is  to  be  found  in  her  inces- 
sant and  availing  efforts  to  build  up  her 
internal  resources,  to  develope  her  indu.s- 
try,  fertilize  her  fields,  enrich  her  towns, 
connect  her  distant  provinces  by  canals  and 


railroads,  and  secure  the  serrices  of  sdenoe 
and  art.  Iler  stupendous  roilitar}'  organi- 
zation, originated  at  a  time  when  the  fei^ 
vor  of  war  had  eaten  into  all  brains,  hai 
been  for  the  most  part  a  burden  tod 
curse,  whilst  the  same  energy  which  it 
has  cost  for  its  support,  devoted  to  peace- 
ful pursuits,  would  have  lifted  her  to  in 
altitude,  in  power  as  well  as  dignity, 
vastly  superior  to  what  she  has  yet  at 
taincd.  No ;  the  Americans  are  not 
frightened  by  the  military  advances  of 
Russia,  which  con.stemate  parts  of  Eu- 
rope ;  they  know  precisely  what  they  an 
worth  ;  yet  they  have  a  genuine  respect 
for  the  vigor  and  persistency  diisplaved  m 
other  directions.  Their  radical  antipathy 
to  RuRRsian  principles  must  ever  prevent 
them  from  entering  into  any  close  alli- 
ances with  Russia — such  opposites  coald 
not  work  together — but,  if  they  are 
forced  to  take  sides,  as  between  Rus- 
sia and  certain  contemptible  nations  bj 
which  she  is  surrounded,  they  will  not 
hesitate  in  the  choice.  A  living  Iron,  ar- 
bitrary and  carnivorous  as  he  might  be,  is 
much  more  respectable,  either  as  a  friend 
or  an  enemy,  than  a  dying  or  half-potrid 
jackass.  The  earth  is  a  much  better 
earth,  too,  in  the  hands  of  an  active, 
though  a  despotic  ruler,  than  in  the 
hands  of  a  lazy  and  corrupt,  and  equally 
despotic  people.  Have  not  the  Black  Set, 
and  the  Alarmora,  been  useless  for  centuriei 
in  the  hands  of  Turks — useless  save  u 
imaginary  barriers  to  this  power  and 
that,  whilst  it  is  probable  that  in  the 
hands  of  Russia,  by  whom  they  were  JBrst 
forced  open,  they  could  contribute  some- 
thing to  the  life-giving  circulation  of  the 
world's  commerce?  Having,  therefcn^ 
no  great  admiration  or  love  for  Rnsai) 
detesting  indeed  her  scheme  of  govern- 
ment, let  us,  Americans,  not  be  blii^edbf 
the  jealousies  and  fears  of  Europe,  to  the 
true  bearing  and  the  probable  issue  of 
events.  The  idea  that  Russia  could  ore^ 
run  and  subject  the  whole  continent  ii 
too  absurd  to  be  entertained  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

There  is  nothing  in  the  origin  of  the 
existing  disputes,  as  we  have  seen,  and 
nothing  in  the  character  of  the  chief  poitiei 
to  it,  to  extort  any  strong  likings  from  us; 
and  now  let  us  add.  that  there  is  nothing 
in  the  objects  of  the  Turkish  allies  to  excite 
our  sympathies.  As  the  ofl'shoot  mainly 
of  England,  speaking  the  same  language^ 
and  intimately  connectetl  by  trade^— 
and  as  the  ancient  debtor  of  Frtnce, 
for  timely  revolutionary  assistance, — it  if 
natural  that  we  should  be  drawn  into  the 
same  channel  of  movement  with  theoh 


] 


Eattem  Question. 


619 


!.  They  are  our  nearest  neighbors, 
are    our    largest    customers,  they 

with  us  the  glories  of  the  most 
iced  civilization,  they  pretend  to 
I  the  name  of  humanity  and  re- 
— all  ties  calculated  to  grapple  us  to 
with  '•  hooks  of  steel.'?     And  if  we 

be  persuaded  that  the  people  of 
jid  and  France  were  profoundly  in- 
ed  in  the  movement,  we  should  be 
itibly  led  to  cast   in  our  lot  with 

;  but  the  present  European  move- 
is  not  a  popular  movement.  It  has 
1  out  of  no  respect  to  popular  rights ; 
{8  to  no  popular  emancipations ;  it 
ely  and  simply  a  squabble  of  rival 
ities  for  power.  All  the  combatants 
in  the  declaration  that  their  object 
f  the  status  quo.    They  all  want  to 

back  the  condition  of  1850,  when 
espots  were  universally  contented. 

Napoleon  announces,  in  so  many 
I,  that  the  allies  are  pledged  to  sup- 
every  symptom  of  revolt  in  Italy, 
ary,   Spain,    Greece,   or   Germany. 

troops  arc  ready  booted  and  spurred 
e  to  any  part  of  the  refractory  con- 
«.      The   infamous  surveillance  at 

is  still  enforced — the  noble  leaders 
Dgary  are  still  discountenanced — the 
watchful  eye  is  kept  on  Spain — the 
est  mo\'ings  of  Greece  are  put 
— a  numerous  army  patrols  the 
ices  of  Austria,  and  every  breath  of  • 
itionary  agitation  is  allowed  to  cool 
m  prison.  Is  it  not  then  ridiculous  to 
•f  popular  feeling  in  connection  with 
^Kt  ?   There  is  an  excitement  about  it 

newspapers,  in  the  vicinity  of  dock- 
,  on  the  Bourse,  along  the  quays 
J  ships  lie  idle, — but  the  great  mass 
iglishmen  and  Frenchmen,  if  they 
t  at  all,  can  have  no  other  feeling 
Qe  of  extreme  aversion  to  the  course 
leaders  have  pursued.  They  must 
that  their  bnital  passions,  their  false 
r,  their  John  Bull  ism  and  their  sensi- 
!fi8  to  "/a  gloire^^^  have  been  in- 
1,  by  wily  conspirators,  for  no  great 
lal  objects,  but  out  of  a  dynas- 
ilousy  of  Russia,  and  for  the  sake 

wretched  political  swindle  called 
Balance  of  Power."  The  Balance  of 
p  ?  Aye,  for  the  balance  of  Despot- 
for  the  right  of  a  few  potentates  to 
)1  two  hundred  millions  of  subjects ; 
ght  of  a  close  corporation  of  office- 
rg  to  extinguish    free   speech,   the 

and  all  association  of  the  people 
ade  or  any  other  purpose,  and  to 


grant  monopolies  of  trade  to  their  favor- 
iteSj  and  to  extort  luxurious  fortunes  by 
arbitrary  taxes.  It  is  for  these  paltry 
ends  that  France  and  England  are  banded 
together,  but  to  these  ends  they  will  never 
attract  the  sympathies  of  the  American 
people.  Our  hearts  are  knit  to  the  cause 
of  the  people  in  Europe,  and  not  to  the 
cause  of  their  oppressors. 

As  to  Louis  Napoleon,  we  should  as 
soon  think  of  joining  hands  with  a  foot- 
pad as  with  him,  and  how  the  British  na- 
tion, so  lately  apprehensive  of  an  invasion 
from  that  quarter,  can  put  the  least  faith 
in  a  fellow  who  violated  the  most  solemn 
oath  before  it  was  cold  upon  his  lips,  and 
imbrued  his  hands  in  the  blood  of  his 
innocent  countrymen,  is  one  of  the  mar- 
vels of  the  age.  And  though  England 
is  our  mother-country,  deserving  our 
veneration,  through  her  literature  and 
laws,  and  justly  winning  our  affections 
by  tho  manly  characteristics  of  her  hard- 
working people,  her  restless  eagerness 
to  interfere  in  the  affairs  of  mankind 
is  a  trait  that  we  ought  not  to  admire ; 
which,  on  the  contrary,  we  ought  to  rebuke 
on  every  offered  occasion.  An  exquisite 
esssayist*  humorously  describes  John 
Bull  as  '*a  busy-minded  personage,  who 
thinks  not  merely  for  himself  and  family, 
but  for  all  the  country  round.  He  is 
continually  volunteering  his  services  to 
settle  his  neighbors'  affairs,  and  takes  it 
in  great  dudgeon  if  they  engage  in  any 
matter  of  consequence  without  asking  his 
advice  ;  though  he  seldom  engages  in  any 
friendly  office  of  the  kind,  without  getting 
into  a  squabble  with  all  parties,  and 
then  railing  bitterly  at  their  ingratitude. 
Couched  in  his  little  domain,  with  fila- 
ments (of  finely  spun  rights  and  digni- 
ties) stretching  forth  in  every  direction, 
he  is  like  some  choleric  bottle-bellied  old 
spider,  who  has  woven  his  web  over  a 
whole  chamber,  so  that  a  fly  cannot  buzz 
nor  a  breeze  blow,  without  startling  his 
repose,  and  causing  him  to  sally  forth 
wrathfully  from  his  den."  There  is  as 
much  truth  as  humor  in  this  sketch  of  a 
peculiarity  which  Brother  Jonathan,  we 
trust,  1*411  never  imitate. 

Least  of  all,  should  we  be  misled  by  it 
at  this  time,  when  the  very  grounds  on 
which  the  allies  propose  to  resist  Russia 
are  grounds  that  could  be  used,  with 
equal  effect,  against  the  United  States. 
What  is  the  cry  against  the  Czar  ?  Why 
are  armies  and  fleets  mustered,  and  preju- 
dices aroused,  and  the  "  Qod  of  Battles" 


^Irvlns. 


520 


Eastern  Qitestion, 


[Mky 


Bolemnly  invoked?  Nicholas  meditates 
the  subversion  of  Turkey  !  That  is,  he 
would  build  a  great  maritime  capital  at 
Constantinople ',  he  would  cover  the  shores 
of  the  Mediterranean,  now  given  over  to  de- 
vastation and  the  Crescent,  with  thriving 
villages  and  an  active  people ;  he  would 
convert  the  forests  of  Bosnia  into  ships, 
and  open  new  and  immense  marts  for 
trading  and  manufacture  in  the  provinces 
of  the  Baltic  Well ;  this  might  interfere 
with  the  access  of  England  to  her  East 
Indian  possessions, — it  might  put  a  naval 
power  on  the  Mediterranean  capable  of 
holding  the  French  Navy  in  check, — it 
might  increase  vastly  the  wealth  and 
splendor  of  the  Muscovites, — but  we  do 
not  see  that  the  United  States  are  espe- 
cially concerned  in  helping  England  and 
France,  in  either  emergency.  We  do  see. 
on  the  other  hand,  that  they  are  directly 
concerned  in  the  speediest  and  largest 
development  of  civilization  and  trade, 
whether  it  be  done  by  Mongol  or  Cauca- 
sian ;  and  we  do  see.  that  the  ambition 
of  Russia,  to  acquire  an  outlet  for  her  im- 
mense territories  to  the  South,  is  a  nat- 
tural  ambition,  while  the  efforts  to  defeat 
it  are  justified  by  precisely  the  same  con- 
siderations which  might  be  and  are  used 
to  thwart  our  inevitable  extension  over 
Cuba  and  Mexico.  If  we  suppose  Eng- 
land and  France  to  succeed  in  arresting 
the  march  of  the  Emperor, — which  they 
likely  will  do  for  a  time, — what  is  to  pre- 
vent their  interposition  in  Central  Amer- 
ica and  the  Antilles  1  The  Republic  here 
is  quite  as  much  to  bo  dreaded,  by  the 
Balance-of-Power  nations,  as  the  Des- 
potism yonder ;  it  has  quite  as  much  ter- 
ritory,— half  as  many  people, — far  more 
commerce  and  more  wealth, — an^qual 
ambition,  and  more  decided  progressive 
tendencies.  Is  it  not  therefore  just  as 
dangerous  and  formidable  to  the  allies  as 
Russia  ?  Will  it  not  be  soon  considered 
just  as  necessary  to  snub  its  growing 
prosperity?  Shall  we  not  be  taken  in 
hand  when  Russia  shall  have  been  disci- 
plined ?  May  not  the  policies  of  the  Old 
World  be  transplanted  to  the  New? 
Perhaps  those  who  are  so  eager  to  in- 
volve us  in  the  Anglo-French  alliance  can 
answer  these  questions  !  Our  answer  to 
them  would  be  a  recommendation  against 
any  over-hasty  commitments  in  hostility 
to  Russia. 

These  solemn  warnings  against  Russian 
aggression,  moreover,  these  indignant  and 


objugatory  denunciations  of  Russian  en- 
croachment)  come  in  the  worst  grace  from 
England,  which,  as  Mr.  Cobden  has  shown 
by  the  statistics,  has,  "during  the  last 
hundred  years,  for  every  square  leagoe 
of  territory  annexed  to  Kussim,  by  foroa 
violence  or  fraud,  appropriated  to  herKU 
three  square  leagnes.  and  by  the  same 
reprehensible  means !  "*    Only  downright 
effrontery,  only  the  most  brazen  arro- 
gance and  egotism,  as  the  same  authority 
observes,  could  induce  one  nation  to  bring 
an  accusation  against    another    nation, 
which  recoils  with  threefold  criminality 
upon  itself.    It  is  the  greatest  rogue  of 
the  pack  crying  out  "  Stop  thief! "  It  is 
Captain  Macheath  assuming  a  Tirtixnu 
repugnance  towards  a  brother, — it  is  Ro- 
bert Macaire  belaboring  the    shoulders 
of  poor  Jacques  Strop !    And  what  gives 
the  hypocrisy  a  more  magnificent  cool- 
ness is  the  remarkable  fact,  that,  what- 
ever may  have  been  the  rapacity  of  Rus- 
sia, during  the  last  half-century,  when  her 
most  unblushing  enormities  are  alleced  to 
have  been  committed,  she  has  been,  mrect- 
ly  or  indirectly  sustained,  in  nearly  all  of 
them,  by  the  cabinets  of  Great  Britain. 
When  Russia  demanded  the  removal  of 
the  Ilospodars  of  Wallachiaand  Moldavia 
in  1806,  England  despatched  a  fleet  to  the 
Dardanelles  to  menace  the  Sultan  into 
compliance;  when  the  treaty  of  Bucha- 
rest in  1812  ceded  the  mouths  of  the 
Danube  to  the   Czar,  it   was  England 
that  forced  the  bitter  pill  down  the  throat 
of  the  Turk;  during  the  in&mous  con- 
spiracies of  the  sovereigns  at  Vienna  in 
1815,  Lord  Castlereagh  was   the  obse- 
quious tool  of  Alexander,  approving  the 
sacrifice  of  Poland,  and  the  forced  subjec- 
tion of  Norway  to   Sweden,  and   sug- 
gesting open  violations  of  the  treaty  for 
the  protection  of  the  King  of  Naples,  tnd 
of  the  treaty  with  Napoleon  at  Fontain- 
bleau,  while  Alexander,  less  perfidoos.  n- 
jected  both  plans  as  dishonorable ;  £o^ 
land  joined  the  cause  of  the  dynasties 
throughout,  as  we  know,  against  that  of 
Napoleon  when  Napoleon  was  still  ^  the 
soldier  of  democracy ; "  in  1848-49,  wbei 
she  might  have  saved    Hungary  by  a 
word,  her  connivance,  tergiversation  tnd 
duplicity   made  an  easy    path    for  the 
invading  hosts  of  the  Emperor,  while  ill 
the  more  recent  troubles  about  Turkey, 
could  have  been  prevented  by  a  determined 
course  at  the  outsetf    AVith  what  face, 
then,  does  England  raise  her  hands  to 


1  Psnicif 


*  See  "  llussia  and  tlio  Eastern  Qufrstion,""  a  pamphlet  pnbli!>hc<l  by  Robert  Cobden  In  188(L 
t  An  ancient  writer  dei^crihes  a  doM  of  iron,  who  are  -'  inhuinana  orudulitiit.  perfidla  pltuqa 
nihil  verl,  niliil  ^ancti.  niillus  doQin  Inetu^  nnllns  Ju^jurandum,  nulla  religio/*  and  tlie  London  Exunincr  a^ 
plle9  the  sentence  td  NiehohkH.     Uiit  u  iii(>re  happy  application  of  It  might  bava  beon  nuuie  to  the  dlplomaej 
of  Palmcrston,  in  relation  to  the  affairs  of  iluniniy. 


1854.] 


Eastern  Question. 


521 


€k>d.  and  with  ejacolations  of  holy  horror, 
imprecate  His  vengeance  upon  her  old  ac- 
oomplice?  Can  she  suppose  that  the 
world  is  to  be  deluded  by  such  transpa- 
rent humbuggery  ? 

Besides,  the  success  of  the  allies,  ac- 
cording to  their  own  confessions,  will  be 
as  complete  a  subversion  of  Turkey,  as 
any  conquest  contemplated  by  the  Czar — 
for  when  pressed  by  the  objection  that 
they  are  going  to  war  for  the  Crescent 
and  against  the  Cross,  they  announce  it 
as  one  of  their  chief  endR,  to  meliorate  the 
condition  of  the  Christian  subjects  of  the 
Porte.  But  how  can  they  meliorate  the 
condition  of  these  Christians,  except  by 
placing  them  upon  a  level  with  the  Mus- 
sulmans ?  Must  they  not  establish  both 
religions  on  a  footing  of  equal  privileges 
and  rights?  Must  they  not  separate 
Church  and  State,  or  in  other  words,  take 
the  control  of  ecclesiastical  affairs  out  of 
the  hands  of  the  Sultan  and  his  politi- 
cians, and  give  it  into  the  hands  of  each 
independent  denomination  ?  Yet,  if  they 
do  this,  and  nothing  short  of  this  can  l>e 
satisfactory,  they  will  revolutionize  radi- 
cally the  entire  nation !  Turkey  would 
not  be  Turkey — would  not  be  a  Moham- 
medan State,  unless  the  Koran  remained 
the  supreme  law,  and  unless  the  Sultan 
continued  the  irresponsible  head  of  both 
Church  and  State.  Destroy  the  supremacy 
of  the  Koran,  substitute  a  just  and  equal 
civil  code  for  the  arbitrary  rule  of  the  Sul- 
tan, and  you  inflict  the  coup  de  frrace  upon 
the  Ottoman  Empire.  Whether,  then,  it 
is  better  for  Russia,  or  for  England  and 
France  to  apply  this  finishing  stroke,  is 
not  a  subject  about  which  Americans 
need  cherish  any  intense  solicitude.  As 
impartial  onlookers,  however,  they  will 
probably  observe,  that  the  Greek  Catho- 
ucs  themselves  are  more  likely  to  prefer 
receiving  favors  from  the  Russians,  who 
are  of  the  same  religion,  than  from  France, 
which  is  Romanist,  or  England,  which  is 
Protestant 

We  conclude,  then,  from  every  view 
of  the  .case,  that  the  duty  of  this  coun- 
try is  to  maintain  a  strict  neutrality — a 
strict,  but  not  a  negative  one ;  1)ecause, 
keep  aloof  as  we  may  from  active  par- 
ticipation, we  shall  yet  be  indirectly  drawn 
into  some  controversy  by  our  widely  ex- 
tended commerce.  It  is  impossible  for 
Europe  to  go  to  war,  without  sending  a 
shiver  of  it  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  or  in 
other  words,  without  raising  questions  of 
international  law,  for  the  civilized  world  to 
settle.  During  the  extraordinary  foray  of 
Napoleon,  as  we  all  remember,  and  the 
counter  motions  of  his  adversarieSj  remote 

VOL.  III. — 33 


America  was  speedily  sncked  into  the 
vortex  of  agitation.  Her  rights  as  a 
neutral  were  invaded,  on  all  sides,  com- 
pelling her  to  protest  and  menace  with 
a  perpetual  vigilance,  and  ever-renewed 
vigor.  It  was  then,  too,  that  she  asserted 
for  herself  and  for  all  nations,  great  prin- 
ciples of  justice,  which  she  cannot  now 
desert.  Proclaiming  the  freedom  of  the 
seas,  the  inviolability  of  flags,  against  the 
enormous  and  haughty  pretensions  of  bel- 
ligerents, at  a  time  when  her  navy  was 
little  more  than  a  cipher,  and  her  govern- 
ment just  begun,  she  cannot  abandon  the 
stand,  when  her  fleets  have  become  fa- 
mous and  her  government  a  power.  Her 
own  vital  interests,  as  well  as  the  interests 
of  civilization  and  humanity,  and  the 
progress  of  that  melioration  which  is 
gradually  working  out  a  more  Christian 
system  of  international  relations,  demand 
no  less  than  this  at  her  hands.  Let  the 
trespasser  beware  !  Privateering,  that 
wholesale  species  of  frcebooting,  she  will 
not  sanction,  even  in  cases  where  treaty 
stipulations  have  not  provided  against  it ; 
nor  will  she,  on  the  other  hand,  suffer  her 
commerce  to  be  run  down  and  harried  by 
those  pretended  '•  rights  of  search  "  and 
those  "paper-blockades"  which  find  their 
only  warrant  in  an  old  and  inhuman 
code,  drawn  from  the  usages  of  the  most 
barbarous  times!  It  is  allowable  for 
belligerents  to  molest  each  other  as  much 
as  they  please,  for  they  are  the  judges  of 
their  own  duties  in  that  respect ;  but  they 
must  not  be  permitted  to  inflict  wide,  use- 
less, lasting,  often  irreparable  evils  upon 
their  innocent  neighbors.  No  divine  nor 
human  law  justifies  them  in  making  man- 
kind parties  to  their  quarrels  ;  and,  if  we 
understand  the  temper  of  the  people  of 
the  United  States,  they  will  rebuke  with 
prompt  and  telling  resentment,  every  at- 
tempt to  revive,  at  their  expense,  the 
odious  "continental  system,"  as  it  was 
called ;  when  mere  spurts  of  the  imperial 
pen  transfixed  the  navigation  of  the  world 
with  paralysis — and  retaliating  "orders 
in  council,"  banished  even  Neptune  from 
his  ocean.  The  day  for  such  brutal  inter- 
ference is  past.  It  was  a  system,  whose 
audacity  was  only  equalled  by  its  cruelty, 
which  converted  the  politicians  of  France 
and  England  into  so  many  Popes  dealing 
excommunications  and  interdicts  around 
the  earth,  and  causing  nations  every  where 
to  tremble  at  their  frowns.  Let  them 
tremble  no  more, — let  the  charter  for 
such  excesses  be  blotted  fron)  the  books, 
or  if  they  should  be  resorted  to  again,  let 
the  young  Republic,  which  thus  far  in  its 
intercourse  with  nations  has  set  an  exam- 


522  PescMera.  \Maj 

pie  of  large-minded  and  generous  policy,  first  among  the  nations,— -bat  she  caimoi 

be  prepared  to  resist  it  to  the  death.  The  in  consistency  or  honor  submit  to  aoj 

United  States  seeks  no  war — the  breath  offensive  revival  of  those  ancient  and  es- 

of  her  nostrils  is  peace — that  peace  which  ploded  theories, 
in  another  score  of  years  will  place  her 


PESCHIERA. 


WHAT  voice  did  on  ray  spirit  falL 
Peschiera.  when  thy  bridge  I  crost  ? 
"  Tis  better  to  have  fought  and  lost 
Than  never  to  have  fought  at  alL" 

The  Tricolor,  a  trampled  rag, 
Lies,  dirt  and  dust ;  the  lines  I  track, 
By  sentry-boxes  yellow-black, 
Lead  up  to  no  Italian  flag. 

I  see  the  Croat  soldier  stand 
Upon  the  grass  of  your  redoubts ; 
The  Eagle  with  his  black  wing  flouts 
The  breadth  and  beauty  of  your  land. 

Tet  not  in  vain,  although  in  vain 
0  !  men  of  Brescia,  on  the  day 
Of  loss  past  hope,  I  heard  you  say 
Your  welcome  to  the  noble  pain. 

You  said,  "  Since  so  it  is,  good-bye 
Sweet  life,  high  hope ;  but  whatsoe'er 
May  be  or  must,  no  tongue  shall  dare 
To  tell,  *  The  Lombard  feared  to  die.'  " 

You  said,  (there  shall  be  answer  fit,) 
"  And  if  our  children  must  obey 
They  must,  but  thinking  on  this  day 
'Twill  less  debase  them  to  submit." 

You  said,  (0  !  not  in  vain  you  said,) 
"  Haste,  brothers,  haste  while  yet  we  may ; 
The  hours  ebb  fast  of  this  one  day 
When  blood  may  yet  bo  nobly  shed." 

Ah !  not  for  idle  hatred,  not 
For  honor,  fame,  nor  self-applause, 
But  for  the  glory  of  your  cause. 
You  did  what  will  not  be  forgot 

And  though  the  strangers  stand,  'tis  true 
By  force  and  fortune's  right  he  stands ; 
By  fortune  which  is  in  God's  hands. 
And  strength  which  yet  shall  spring  in  you. 

This  voice  did  on  my  spirit  fall, 
Peschiera,  when  thy  bridge  I  crost, 
'•  'Tis  better  to  have  fought  and  lost 
Than  never  to  have  fought  at  aU." 


1854.] 


688 


THE    ZAY-NI8    OF    YAN-KY. 


TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    CHINESE    OF    TAT-KIN. 


THE  eminent  Chinese  philosopher  and 
traveller  Tay-Kin  has  recently  returned 
to  his  native  country  from  a  long  journey 
through  the  remote  and  unknown  regions 
of  Central  Tartary,  and  notwithstanding 
the  revolution  which  is  now  ravaging  Chi- 
na, has  succeeded  in  publishing  the  results 
of  his  observations.  They  are  so  graphi- 
cally and  forcibly  expressed  that  th^  vol- 
umes have  had  an  unprecedented  circula- 
tion ;  and  the  most  enlightened  critics  of 
Pekin  and  Shanghai  do  not  hesitate  to 
call  the  work,  which,  in  the  original  flow- 
ery Chinese,  is  entitled  Light  from  Dark 
Places  J  the  undoubted  Uncle  Tom  of  Chi- 
nese literature.  This  praise,  we  presume, 
is  awarded  to  the  book  on  account  of  its 
prodigious  sale,  rather  than  from  any  es- 
sential resemblf^nce  to  the  celebrated 
American  romance,  for,  although  we  have 
carefully  perused  the  odd  volume  which 
has  fallen  into  our  hands,  we  do  not  find, 
—except  possibly  in  the  title — any  reason 
for  comparing  it  with  Mrs.  Stowe's  novel. 
The  immense  popularity  and  interest  of 
the  work  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact 
that  the  Emperor  of  China  has,  according 
to  the  most  credible  rumors,  frequently 
suspended  operations  against  the  rebels 
when  he  came  to  an  absorbing  passage ; 
and,  on  one  occasion,  in  the  eagerness  of 
perusal,  he  was  known  to  have  burned  the 
imperial  mouth  by  omitting  to  cool  the 
tea,  which  he  sipped  as  he  read.  The  his- 
tory of  the  means  by  which  the  odd  vol- 
ume has  fallen  into  our  hands  shows  how 
the  book  has  bewitched  the  nation,  for  it 
fell  into  a  chest  of  superior  Gunpowder 
from  the  trembling  hands  of  a  laborer  who 
was  engaged  in  packing  the  tea,  and  en- 
deavoring at  the  same  time  surreptitiously 
to  devour  the  Light  from  Dark  Places. 
He  immediately  buried  it  in  the  tea-leaves 
that  it  might  not  be  discovered  by  the 
lynx  eyes  of  the  overseer,  who  would  not 
have  refrained  from  ordering  the  extreme 

Sunishment  allotted  to  such  neglect  of 
uty.  "  Whoever,"  says  the  first  section 
of  the  first  statute  of  the  Code  of  Confu- 
cius concerninp:  the  packing  of  tea,  "  shall 
fall  asleep  while  at  work,  he  shall  be  im- 
mediately awakened.  But  whosoever 
shall  be  detected  in  the  reading  of  novels 
or  any  other  exciting  books,  excepting  al- 
ways the  prolusions  of  the  priests,  he 
shall  incontinently  lose  his  cue."  To  this 
wholesome  fear  of  the  loss  of  the  cue, 
therelbre,  we  are  indebted  for  our  know- 


ledge of  the  present  volume,  from  which 
we  propose  to  lay  extracts  before  our 
readers. 

It  has  long  been  conceded  that  there 
are  no  more  interesting  works  than 
those  which  treat  of  the  life  and  customs 
of  foreign  lands.  The  Arabian  Nights 
have  an  exhaustless  charm  for  every  gen- 
eration ;  "  for  man,"  in  the  words  of  Con- 
fucius, ^^is  always  man."  These  tales 
deal  with  a  fairy  and  impossible  realm. 
Their  scenery  and  figures  have  sufficient 
resemblance  to  the  world  with  which  we 
are  familiar  to  arouse  our  sympathy  and 
pofoundest  interest,  yet  without  ever  ri»- 
mg  into  a  consciousness  of  absolute  real- 
ity. In  this  sole  respect  the  great  work 
of  Tay-Kin  may  be  called  superior  to  the 
Thousand  and  One  Nights.  For,  although 
he  describes  the  customs  of  countries  far 
beyond  the  influence  of  Christianity,  and 
into  which  the  bowie-knife  has  not  yet  cut 
a  way  for  civilization,  yet  he  tells  his  sto- 
ry so  simply  and  naturally  that  the  read- 
er could  almost  fancy  the  whole  thing  to 
be  within  a  day's  journey  upon  the  rail- 
way. At  the  same  time,  for  enlightened 
readers  like  ourselves,  who  live  in  the 
midst  of  humane  and  noble  institutions, 
in  a  land  where  social  prejudices  never 
compel  to  crime,  and  where  public  opin- 
ion respects  true  manliness  of  charac- 
ter so  wisely  as  to  know  that  it  cannot  be 
affected  by  passionate  slander, — ^in  a  coun- 
try where  it  is  universally  conceded  by 
the  practical  men,  that  the  good  name 
earned  by  an  upright  life  cannot  be  tar- 
nished by  a  single  word  spoken  in  anger 
bv  an  enemy ;  for  readers  so  fortunate  in 
all  this  as  we  are,  the  extracts  which  we 
have  selected  from  the  Chinese  work  will 
have  all  the  charm  of  an  incredible  ro- 
mance. 

A  deeply  seated  interest  in  China,  dat- 
ing from  the  time  when  we  are  first  con- 
scious of  having  eaten  meat,  and  long  and 
profound  study  of  the  willow-pattern 
plates  w^ich  illustrate  its  history,  have 
qualified  us,  we  flatter  ourselves,  to  pre- 
sent a  translation  so  accurate  and  so  often 
couched  in  the  familiar  English  idiom,  that 
we  are  induced  to  hope  the  reader,  as  his 
eye  passes  along  the  page,  may  gradually 
forget  that  he  is  reading  of  regions  so  ro- 
mote  and  of  a  race  so  barbarous,  and  con- 
fess with  a  throb  of  approval  or  condem- 
nation the  power  of  Tay-Kin. 

We  must  premise  that  our   traveller 


524 


The  Zay-ms  of  Yan-Ky. 


[May 


h^d  been  absent  more  than  a  twelvemonth 
from  China  travelling  toward  Yan-Ky.  a 
district  of  whose  people  and  customs  only 
the  vaguest  rumors  were  current  in  the 
polish^  circles  of  Pekin.  We  commence 
our  extracts  with  the  opening  of  the  thir- 
teenth volume, — for  to  each  month  of  his 
journey  the  philosopher  allotted  a  volume. 

I,  Tay-Kin,  was  now  turning  southward 
from  Thibet,  and  at  sunset  of  the  tenth 
day,  Whang,  my  faithful  interpi-eter  and 
guide,  pointed  toward  an  irregular  ridge 
of  dark  mountains  that  glistened  in  the 
fading  light,  and  said  sententiously : 

"  The  Bif-Tek  Mountains  in  Yan-Ky ! " 

Is  that  truly  Yan  Ky?  I  asked  myself 
musingly,  abandoned  to  that  pleasing 
melancholy  which  the  first  sight  of  famous 
places  is  sure  to  occasion.  Do  I  really  be- 
hold Yan-Ky  ? 

As  I  strained  my  eyes  pensively  toward 
that  illustrious  land.  I  recalled  the  words 
of  my  friend  the  mandarin  and  philoso- 
pher Tom-  rao,  who  sat  uj)on  the  top  of  the 
great  wall  of  China  dangling  his  heels,  as 
1  passed  out  of  the  northern  gate  toward 
Thibet,  and  shouted  after  me.  as  he  waved 
his  cue  freely,  like  a  banner,  over  the  land- 
scape: 

^*  Hi !  hi  I  so  you  are  going  to  travel ! 
Give  my  love  to  the  Grand  Lama !  Go- 
ing to  Yan-Ky  !  Hi !  hi !  In  Yan-Ky  a 
well  developed  woman  is  an  indecorum ! 
Mind  your  cue ! " 

And  so  the  lingering  winds  blew  me 
Tom-mo's  paternal  counsel  until  distance 
drank  his  voice. 

As  we  entered  the  land  of  Yan-Ky  I 
opened  my  eyes  and  my  ears  and  proceed- 
ed to  absorb  knowledge.  When  night  fell 
we  encamped  outside  the  chief  cit}'  of  the 
country,  and  the  next  morning  passed 
through  the  gates.  As  we  were  slowly 
advancing  along  the  street  to  the  great 
Khan  for  strangers,  I  observed  a  man  of 
lofty  mien  who  stood  by  the  wayside  curl- 
ing a  heroic  moustache.  I  was  so  struck 
by  his  warlike  aspect  that  I  summoned 
Whang,  and  pointing  out  to  him  the  man 
of  lofty  mien  inquired  his  name  and  posi- 
tion. '•  lie  is.  probably,  the  lord  of  Yan- 
Ky."  I  said  to  Whang.  , 

"That,*'  replied  Whang  deferentially, 
**is  Zay-ni,  which,  being  interpreted  into 
Chinese,  signifies  the  Soul  of  Honor." 

He  had  scarcely  done  speaking  when 
a  smaller  man,  whom  a  vivid  ftincy 
might  have  mistaken  for  an  off-shoot  of 
the  Soul  of  Honor,  a  sucker,*  approached 
me,  and,  lK)wing  courteously,  said  : 


"  Zay-ni  requests  me  to  invite  you  to 
name  time  and  place,  and  weapons." 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  demanded  I,  in  per- 
plexity, of  the  faithful  Whang. 

"Zay-ni."  explained  my  interpreter,  "or 
the  Soul  of  Honor,  conceives  that  the  char- 
acter of  your  glance  toward  him  demands 
the  arbitration  of  the  duello:^' 

"I  do  not  understand."  I  responded 
plaintively,  upon  which  the  Twig,  or  Suck- 
er, snuffed  the  air  impatiently,  and  said : 

"  You  are  no  Mandarin ! " 

"  You  are  perfectly  correct  in  your  re- 
mark." answered  I,  "I  am  only  Tay-Kin, 
the  Philosopher,  travelling  upon  a  tour  of 
observation." 

The  Twig  withdrew  toward  the  Soul  of  , 
Honor,  whose  moustache  glowed  along  bis 
lip  like  a  permanent  declaration  of  war ; 
and  I  rode  quietly  on  with  Whang  toward 
the  Khan  for  strangers,  much  meditating. 

At  length  I  said  to  him : 

"I  shudder,  my  dear  Whang,  with 
vague  apprehen.sion.  What  may  not  be 
true  of  a  land  of  which  Tom-mo's  parting 
remark  was  descriptive?  Have  we  not 
fairly  penetrated  the  outer  regions  of  civi- 
lization, or,  should  not  a  philo.<?opher  say, 
the  very  heart  of  barbarism  ?  SVas  ever 
such  welcome  before  ofl'ered  to  innocent 
philosopher?  0  Whang  !  is  not  Yan-Ky 
the  Barbary  of  which  we  read  ?  " 

"My  friend,"  returned  Whang,  fum- 
bling in  his  crimson  silk  tobacco- purse, 
"  before  lighting  the  pipe  of  discussion  let 
us  smoke  that  of  narration."  So  saying, 
he  piled  upon  the  Gozeh*  the  weed  of 
Tumbak  from  Persia,  and  we  sat  silently 
inhaling  and  expiring  that  aromatic  smoke. 
Then  I  ventured  to  ask  my  friend  and  guide : 

"What  is  that  duello  to  which  the 
Twig  referred  ?  " 

Whang  smoked  for  some  time  without 
replying ;  at  length  he  said : 

"It  is  a  venerable  and  honored  institn- 
tion  of  Ynn-Ky.  condemned  by  the  public 
opinion,  and  cherished  by  the  private  opin- 
ion of  the  Yan-Kyse.  They  who  invoke 
its  arbitration  upon  slight  cause,  like  our 
friend  Zay-ni,  are  held  in  contempt,  being 
supposed  privately  to  eat  fire.  They  who, 
being  grave  and  honorable  men,  of  long 
and  unsullied  lives,  invoke  its  aid  to  settle 
the  passionate  difference  of  a  moment,  are 
held  in  universal  veneration,  and  receive 
services  of  gold  and  silver,  or  the  equiva- 
lent admiration  of  all  Yan-Ky." 

«•  Truly?"  asked  I. 

"  Remember  that  you  are  in  a  remote 
and  savage  land,"  replied  Whang,  "nor 
be  surpri.sed  when  you  hear  the  priests  of 


♦  Yernacular  Yan-Ky. 


*  Eastern  pipe. 


J  854.] 


The  Zay-nis  of  Tan-Ky. 


525 


Yan-Ky  preaching  the  doctrine  of  the  cir- 
cular square.  Perpend  !  It  is  an  insti- 
tution holding  neither  by  logic,  humanity, 
nor  common  sense,  but  by  tlie  mystery  of 
honor,  of  which  words  can  give  no  ac- 
count Honor  belongs  not  to  nien^  like 
Dobility,  justice,  truth,  &c.,  but  to  gentler- 
men — one  of  the  inexplicable  institutions 
of  Yan-Ky.  With  the  gentleman,  the  nose 
is  the  most  sacred  part  of  the  person," 
continued  Whang  complacently. 

"How?"  interrupted  I,  fearful  that  I 
was  losing  my  senses,  and  shuddering  as 
I  remembered  that  I  was  distant  many 
months'  journey  from  the  most  distant 
prospect  of  the  Great  Wall. 

^*  The  gentleman  and  the  soul  of  hon- 
or," resumed  Whang,  "are  held  to  be 
synonymous  in  Yan-Ky.  If  I  render  the 
word  gentleman  in  pure  Chinese,  you 
have,  he  who  respects  his  nose.  It  is  the 
man  who  always  carries  that  member  be- 
fore him.  like  the  imperial  banner  of  the 
Celestial  £mperor,  and  defies  the  world  to 
criticise  or  touch  it.  The  Yan-Ky  doc- 
trine of  the  nose  is  subtle,  and  not  easily 
explained.  It  presents  strange  illustra- 
tions. It  often  appears  by  proxy.  Some- 
times, for  instance,  it  may  be  represented 
by  a  remark.  We  will  suppose  that  I 
declare  the  day  to  be  pleasant.  Into  that 
remark  I  am  held  figuratively  to  put  my 
nose.  You,  0  Tay-Kin,  instantly  shout 
otfensively,  that  I  am  wilfully  misstating 
the  fact  of  the  weather  ;  that,  in  truth,  it 
is  an  unpleasant  day.  Now,  figuratively, 
you  are  held  to  have  put  your  hand  into 
your  remark,  which,  as  it  conflicts  with 
mine,  is — clearly  enough — your  hand,  by 
proxy,  pulling  my  nose,  or  sacred  mem- 
ber, by  proxy.  At  this  point,  the  ques- 
tion of  fact  drops  out  of  the  discussion, 
and  without  reference  to  the  state  of  the 
weather,  we  each  proceed  to  show  that 
we  were  each  in  the  right ;  or,  in  other 
words,  we  go  out  to  defend  our  honor, 
which  is  the  figure  of  speech  used  to  ex- 
press the  nose  upon  such  occasions.  If  I 
succeed  in  destroying  you,  I  demonstrate 
by  the  argumentum  ad  hominem^  as 
Confucius  says,  that  the  day  is  pleasant." 

"  But  if  I  shoot  you  ?"  I  replied. 

**Ah!  in  that  case  the  day  is  not  so 
clear,"  rejoined  Whang,  emitting  a  heavy 
cloud  of  smoke. 

"But  observe,"  he  continued,  *-if  we 
only  shoot,  whether  damage  be  done  or 
not,  honor  is  held  to  be  satisfied ;  the 
nose  is  put  in  its  right  place  again.  I 
agree  in  the  most  gracious  manner,  that  I 
intended  to  remark  that  the  day  was  un- 


pleasant You  insist  that  the  first  sylla- 
ble of  your  adjective  was  superfluous. 
We  pay  profound  homage  to  each  other's 
noses,  and  Yan-Ky,  with  loud  acclaim,  re- 
ceives us  as  twin  souls  of  honor.  This 
case  involves  the  principle  of  the  duello. 
It  is  an  appeal  which  may  be  as  decently 
invoked  in  the  small  aspersion,  as  in  the 
large  defamation,  since,  as  the  Souls  of 
Honor  justly  declare,  a  lie  given  impeach- 
es honor,  whether  a  mill  or  a  million  be 
involved  in  the  question  of  fact  In  truth, 
the  original  fact  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  decision.  It  is  a  matter  of  the  nose.  My 
dear  Tay-Kin,"  said  Whang,  "  the  history 
of  the  father  of  Zay-ni,  which  I  shall  now 
relate,  is  the  best  illustration  of  the  subtle 
doctrine  of  the  nose,  or  of  a  life  regulated 
by  what  is  called  in  Yan-Ky,  the  Code  of 
Honor,  which  is  the  practical  contradic- 
tion and  denial  of  the  Law  of  Confucius, 
and  of  the  Eternal  Order  of  Things." 

Whang  refilled  the  Gozeh.  and,  after 
smoking  quietly  for  a  few  moments,  dur- 
ing which  my  memory  recurred  regret- 
fully to  China  and  Civilization,  he  thus 
commenced : 

"  The  family  of  Zay-ni,  which  is  one  of 
the  largest  and  the  most  respected  in 
Yan-Ky,  is  descended  from  a  king  of  some 
emerald  island  far  beyond  the  Lost  At- 
lantis, of  whom  it  is  recorded  that,  from 
time  to  time,  he  requested  the  leading  men 
of  his  kingdom  to  tread  upon  the  tail  of 
his  coat, — an  expression  of  which  there  is 
no  equivalent  in  Chinese.  From  extreme 
youth,  he  was  carefully  instructed  in  the 
orthodox  doctrine  of  the  nose;  and,  if 
any  companion  ridiculed  its  shape  or  col- 
or, he  instantly  vindicated  it  from  re- 
proach." 

"  In  what  manner  ?  "  I  asked. 

"By  transforming  his  companion  by 
means  of  a  few  magical  strokes,  into  a 
wine-butt,  and  then  decanting  claret  from 
his  nose,"*  rejoined  the  serious  Whang, 
while  I  fell  into  more  intolerable  perplex- 
ity with  every  word  he  uttered. 

"And  what  proved  him  to  be  the  Soul  of 
Honor?"  I  asked  faintly. 

Whang  did  not  condescend  to  reply. 

"As  the  youth  grew,  he  disclosed  a 
new  way  of  proving  the  pr&priety  of  his 
name.  If  any  man  brushed  him  roughly 
in  passing,  or  looked  at  any  lady  of  Yan- 
Ky,  or  trod  upon  his  foot  instead  of  his 
coat-tail,  in  passing,  Zay-ni  instantly 
called  him  to  account;  and  if  prompt 
reparation  was  not  made,  demonstrated 
that  he  was  the  Soul  of  Honor." 

"  By ?"  inquired  I,  doubtfully. 


•  TlM  tnuubitor  here  IntrodaoeB  EagUah  odiloqalal  piurMM»  ooqwpondl&g  to  the  Y«n-Kj  VMrnMolar. 


526 


The  Zay-nxB  of  Tan-Ky, 


[M«y 


"  By  shooting  him  dead,"  replied  Whang 
Bententiously.  and.  I  believe,  according  to 
the  strict  idiom  of  Yan-Ky. 

*•  But  the  wife  and  children  of  the 
dead?" 

"  0  Tay-Kin."  responded  Whang,  "  who- 
ever undertakes  to  live  in  Yan-Ky,  where 
the  nose  is  held  sacred,  must  not  entan- 
gle himself  with  domestic  alliances,  for  he 
can  never  tell  when,  where,  nor  in  what 
shape,  the  injured  nose  may  present  itself, 
and  demand  satisfaction.  The  prificiples 
of  the  nose,  or,  as  they  are  generally 
called,  the  Code  of  Honor,  declare,  that 
the  fact  that  wife  and  children  depend 
upon  the  tongue  of  a  man,  is  a  profound 
reason  for  his  holding  it  fast,  and  not  suf- 
fering it  to  wag  against  his  neighbors." 

"lYue,"  I  answered;  "but  if  your 
tongue  wags  against  me,  thereby  expos- 
ing your  wife  and  children,  it  may  be 
well  enough  that  you  and  your  fatuily 
suffer.  But  why  should  1  and  my  family 
suffer,  who  are  entirely  innocent,  and  are 
wagged  against  ?  or  why  should  the  de- 
cision be  left  to  a  chance  which  may  pun- 
ish the  of!*ended,  and  let  the  offender 
free?" 

"0  Tay-Kin,"  replied  Whang,  "you 
do  not  understand  the  sublime  mystery 
of  the  nose.  Rather  be  silent,  therefore, 
and  list^.  Long  after  Zay-ni  was  a 
full-grown  man,  which  in  Yan-Ky  is  upon 
the  completion  of  the  sixteenth  year,  he 
was  one  evening  assisting  at  the  frequent- 
ly-recurring fete  of  Hele-an-to,  the  great 
god  of  the  Yan-Ky  nobility.  In  the  midst 
of  his  devotions  to  that  deity,  while  he 
was  performing  the  priestly  function  with 
a  solemnity  and  religious  sadness  beyond 
all  praise,  another  of  the  absorbed  devo- 
tees encountered  him  suddenly,  and  for  a 
moment  they  both  tottered,  but  fortunate- 
ly neither  fell.  Now  during  the  perform- 
imce  of  the  solemn  rites  of  Hele-an-to,  the 
entire  person  of  the  devotee  partakes  of 
the  sacred  inviolability  of  the  nose,  and 
violently  to  touch  the  body,  is  an  aggra- 
vated assault  upon  that  member.  Zay- 
ni,  therefore,  having  concluded  the  cus- 
tomary genuflexion  to  his  partner,  who, 
in  these  Hele-an-to  ceremonies,  is  always 
of  the  other  sex,  slipped  smilingly  into 
an  adjoining  apartment,  and  there  met 
the  young  Spoonski.  He  requested  Spoon- 
ski  to  inform  Klumski,  who  had  encoun- 
tered him,  that  he  demanded  an  apology 
for  his  awkwardness.  Klumski,  whom 
every  bod}'  in  Yan-Ky  respected  and 
loved,  and  who  had  recently  married  a 
young  wife,  who,  with  her  infant,  was 


fondly  attached  to  him,  said  to  Spoonski, 
that  he  was  sorry  if  he  had  harmed  Zay- 
ni,  and  regretted  the  encounter,  but  that 
he  considered  Zay-ni  to  be  a  very  foolish 
fellow  to  demean  himself  so  like  an  empe- 
ror ;  adding,  that  he  feared*  Zay-ni  was  in 
the  habit  of  eating  fire,  and  cheri^fied  too 
exclusive  a  regard  for  his  nose ;  and  that, 
for  his  part,  he  should  as  soon  consider  a 
man  who  eat  fut^  as  much  beside  himself 
as  he  who  only  drank  it ;  and  precisely  as 
much  to  be  avoided,  and  treated  as  a  dan- 
gerous neighbor. 

"  When  Spoonski  repeated  this  message 
to  Zay-ni,  his  wrath  was  unbounded. 

" '  He  piles  insult  upon  insult^'  said 
Zay-ni.  He  then  departed  to  find  his 
friends,  while  his  nose,  angrily  flMniwg^ 
led  the  way  like  a  burning  torch. 

" '  He  bumps  me :  he  says  he  is  sorry 
in  an  insulting  manner;  and  my  out- 
raged nose  is  ready  to  drop,'  cried  Zay- 
ni,  fiercely.  *By  acknowledging  his  re- 
gret in  such  a  manner,  he  makes  his  of- 
fence a  deliberate  insult,  which,  if  I  en- 
dured, I  should  ill  deserve  to  be  called 
the  Soul  of  Honor.' 

" '  Perhaps  you  were  hasty,'  said  one. 
"  ^  He  is  a  coward ! '  said  Zay-ni,  in  the 
large  Yan-Ky  manner. 

"'But  his  wife  and  child?'  said  an-   ' 
other. 

"  *  But  my  nose ! '  shrieked  Zay-ni,  while 
that  sacred  member  kindled  and  flamed 
with  ardor. 

"  In  vain  the  thoughtful  of  his  friends 
quoted  the  sayings  of  the  wise  men,  and 
the  commands  of  Confucius.  Zay-ni 
snuffed  the  air,  and  said: 

"  •  Oh,  yes ;  that's  all  very  well :  bat 
we  understand  that  kind  of  thmg,  yon 
know.  Do  you  suppose  I  am  a  woman  ? ' 
" '  Your  sex  seems  to  be  a  little  uncer- 
tain,' said  the  oldest  friend.  *You  say 
that  you  are  not  a  woman,  but  is  this  the 
conduct  of  a  man  ? ' 

"  So  said  a  few  of  the  thoughtful  and 
the  best  But  Yan-Ky  at  large  said  that 
it  was  a  pity  Klumski  should  have  criti- 
cised the  conduct  of  Zay-ni.  No  man 
should  make  remarks  concerning  his 
townsmen  which  he  is  not  willing  to  stand 
by.*  Klumski,  on  the  other  hand,  said 
that  he  had  made  no  remark  that  he  was 
not  willing  to  stand  by ;  and  b^ged  to 
repeat  that  he  considered  Zay-ni  to  he  a 
very  foolish  fellow.  Upon  which  repe- 
tition, Zay-ni  sent  Spoonski,  siunmonn^ 
Klumski  to  the  duello. 

"'It  is  a  great  pity!'  said  Yan-Ky; 
^but  really,  what  can  a  man  do?     My 


*  YflrnMnlir  Tan-Kj. 


1854.] 


The  Zay-nU  of  Yan-Ky. 


587 


dear  (addressing  its  wife),  it  is  most  time 
for  the  temple-service:  you  had  better 
get  ready.'* 

"And  thereupon  Yan-Ky  decorously 
went  to  the  temple,  and  heard  the  priests 
read  the  laws  of  Confucius,  and  expound 
the  behest  of  the  Eternal  Order  of  Things ; 
and  coming  out  of  the  temple,  said,  each 
man  to  the  other, 

"  '  I  am  very  much  opposed  to  the  du- 
ello. You  know  we  have  laws  against  it 
But  in  this  case,  what  can  a  man  do  ? ' 

*'Klumski,  however,  smiled,  and  re- 
turned this  answer  to  Zay-ni,  that  he  had 
considered  him  a  foolish  fellow,  and  had 
therefore  called  him  so  when  occasion 
arose ;  but  that  now  he  had  taken  such 
pains  to  prove  it  to  all  the  world,  that  he 
trusted  there  would  be  no  longer  any 
difference  of  opinion. 

"Because  you  are  a  fool,'  said  he, 
gternly,  ^  I  shall  not  be  one ;  not  even  if 
all  Yan-Ky,  obeying  its  old,  stupid  super- 
stition, undertakes  to  be  foolish,  and  to 
condemn  me.  Their  tacit  opinion  justi- 
fies your  conduct,  thereby  giving  the  mea- 
sure of  the  worth  of  their  opinion.  I  pre- 
fer to  be  right  with  myself^  and  with 
Confucius,  and  with  the  wise  and  brave, 
who  perceive  the  Eternal  Order  of  Things, 
rather  than  with  those  who  support  Zay- 
ni  in  his  theory  of  the  nose.' " 

"Alas!  my  honored  Whang,"  inter- 
rupted I,  "  I  seem  to  be  listening  to  sto- 
ries of  animals,  and  not  of  men.  Who 
would  have  dreamed,  that  upon  the  same 
globe  with  our  placid  and  discreet  China, 
there  could  have  existed  a  nation  of  such 
moral  savages,  the  law  of  whose  religion, 
and  whose  statute-book,  was  set  aside  by 
a  dull,  unreasonable,  and  inexplicable  su- 
perstition ?  Wonderful  is  travel !  But 
pray,  proceed  with  the  story  of  Zay-ni, 
the  Soul  of  Honor." 

Whang  continued : 

"  Zay-ni  determined  that  he  would  take 
subtle  revenge  upon  KlumskL  He  rea- 
soned thus : 

"  ^  Klumski  has  put  a  mortal  slight  upon 
me,  by  bumping  me  in  the  solemn  service 
of  Hele-an-to ;  apologizing  with  an  insult ; 
and  then  refusing  to  abide  by  the  duello. 
I  may  have  been  hasty,  but  ho  has  been 
impertinent  beyond  account.  If  I  suffer 
this  offence  to  pass  unheeded,  all  Yan-Ky 
will  doubt  my  honor,  and  every  fool  will 
fisel  at  liberty  to  criticise  my  nose.  I 
most  assert  my  honor.  I  must  prove  the 
strict  inviolability  of  my  nose.  How  shall 
it  be  done?' 

^Here  he  paused.    It  was  clear  that 


but  one  way  remained.  Zay-ni  must  un- 
dertake to  obtain,  by  personal  chastise- 
ment, the  reparation  to  his  nose  which 
Klumski  dechned  to  give  with  the  instru- 
ments of  the  duello.  Now,  like  other 
Souls  of  Honor,  although  the  nose  of 
Zay-ni  had  a  self-asserting  and  audacious 
air,  a  kind  of  just-come-and-pull-me-if- 
you-dare  look,  derived  undoubtedly  from 
the  please-tread-on-my-coat-tail  trait  of 
their  common  emerald  ancestor,  yet  he 
was  not  a  brave  man,  but  was  extremely 
accomplished  in  the  use  of  the  instruments 
of  the  duello.  He  liked  an  encounter 
in  whkjh  he  enjoyed  all  the  advantage. 
Therefore,  as  the  project  of  personally  at- 
tacking Klumski  was  not  promising  for 
his  own  ease  and  security,  he  resolved 
upon  a  more  exquisite  revenge. 

"  Zay-ni  was  rich.  He  had  no  profes- 
sioa,  and  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  devote 
life  to  cherishing  his  nose. 

"  *  Klumski  laughs  at  the  duello,'  said 
Zay-ni,  with  a  sneering  smile.  *  Now,  no 
man  can  live  in  Yan-Ky  without  the  good 
opinion  of  the  Yan-Kyse.  /  will  there- 
fore force  him  to  propose  the  duello  to 
me,  himself  J 

"In  the  gay  circles  of  Yan-Ky,  the  ele- 
gant Zay-ni  was  more  polished  than  ever. 
The  beautiful  belles  of  Yan-Ky  agreed, 
that  of  all  loves  of  men  hitherto  encoun- 
tered, he  was  the  most  lovely.  ^  • 

"  *  So  handsome  ! '  they  said, — because 
his  cheeks  were  red,  and  his  hair  was 
black.   ' 

*•  *  So  well-dressed ! '  they  said.— because 
his  clothes  fitted  him  like  a  glove,  and  he 
seemed  to  have  been  dropped  into  them 
like  the  French  Count  d'Artois  into  his 
trousers. 

" '  So  gentlemanly ! '  they  said,— because 
he  said  nothing  in  a  low  tone,  without 
laughing,  and  with  a  semi-glance  of  well- 
bred  contempt  at  all  men  who  had  emo- 
tions. 

"  *Such  a  small  foot ! '  they  said.— be- 
cause a  small  foot  is  more  readily  com- 
prehended than  a  large  head. 

*•  *  Such  eyes ! '  they  said, — because  the 
eves  had  said  to  each  one  of  those  belles, 
I  love  you  best. 

"  *  So  fascinating ! '  said  they  all, — be- 
cause he  treated  each  as  if  she  were  the 
sole  charmer. 

"^A^d  such  a  sacred  respect  for  his 
nose ! '  chimed  in  the  tenor  chorus  of  the 
beaux  of  Yan-Ky,  whose  noses  were  gene- 
rally small. 

"Among  those  belles  Klumski  had  a 
sister,  young  and  tender  as  the  summer 


•  OoUogolal  Yan-Ky. 


528 


The  Zay-nis  of  Tan-Ky, 


[May 


dawn  when  it  smiles  over  the  mountains 
of  Bif-Tek,  which  guard  Yan-Ky.  All 
the  poets  sanjr  her  praises.     It  was  said, 

0  Tay-Kin,  that  the  sound  of  those  praises 
had  even  been  heard  in  the  streets  of  Pe- 
kin,  and  that  aged  mandarins  had  sighed 
as  they  listened,  remembering  the  days 
when  they  were  poets,  and  sang  of  beau- 
ty. She  had  the  auburn  hair  which  the 
sun  smiles  upon,  and  makes  golden.  She 
had  the  eyes,  soft,  humid,  lustrous,  which 
the  Hindu  poets  call  lotus  eyes.  The  tint 
of  her  cheeks  was  the  soft  creamy  hue  of 
sea-shells.  Like  a  sapling  upon  the  moun- 
tain her  figure  was  lithe,  and  round,  and 
alluring.  It  was  a  flowery  face,  a  flowery 
form,  a  flowery  grace,  and  there  was  no 
one  who  did  not  love  her,  and  agree  that 
Fior  was  the  flower  of  Yan-Ky." 

Whang's  voit«  .sank  into  silence,  and  wo 
both  sat  for  some  time,  silently  smoking. 

"  Confucius  says,"  he  resumed  at  Icnjrth, 
"  that  the  Eternal  Order  of  Things  suffers 
strange  events  to  occur.  But  he  adds, 
that  the  Order  of  Things  will  certainly 
justify  itself;  if  not  here,  then  elsewhere. 
Yet  what  an  Order  of  Things  does  not 
that  seem  to  be.  which  planted  the  pure 
Fior  among  the  people  who  hold  the  no.so 
in  a  morbid  sanctity  !  Which  of  our 
poets  is  it,  0  Tay-Kin,  who  says,  that  the 
Genius  of  Evil  is  surest  to  di.scover  and 
harm  whatever  falls  into  his  path  out  of 
the  Kingdom  of  Light.  Others  pass  by 
not  knowing  it,  but  the  instinct  of  repul- 
sion reveals  it  to  him." 

Whang  smoked  placidly,  and  I  aban- 
doned myself  to  the  consideration  of  the 
strange  chances  of  travel.    How  little  had 

1  dreamed,  0  male  readers  with  long 
cues!  and  0  female  readers  with  small 
feet !  that  my  utmost  wanderings  would 
ever  have  brought  me  into  a  country  of 
habits  so  inexplicable  &s  these.  To  climb 
to  the  top  of  the  Great  Wall,  is  a  stretch 
of  travel  forbidden  to  all  but  the  happy 
few.  The  philo.sopher  and  mandarin  Tom- 
mo,  sits  there  at  ease,  and  surveys  the 
world,  seeing  things  clearly  in  the  rare 
air  of  that  height.  But  to  descend  upon 
the  outer  side,  and  wander  beyond  its 
shadow — that  is  a  temerity  hardly  to  be 
justified  in  sane  men,  except,  like  my  un- 
worthy self.  Tay-Kin,  they  are  mere  phi- 
losophers, bent  ufK>n  doing  good,  and 
travel  to  accumulate  warnings,  and  relate 
wonders.  It  is  no  story  of  gnomes  that 
I  am  telling,  but  of  lands,  who.se  people 
complacently  suppose  themselves  to  be 
the  head  of  ci\'ilization,  because  they  cat 
meat  for  dinner  every  day !  Read  and 
reflect  1  and  thank  the  Eternal  Order  of 
Things,  that  placed  you  behind  the  Great 


Wall  of  China,  whose  name  be  praised, 
and  whose  top  be  covered  with  brokea 
bottles  for  ever,  to  keep  out  the  Yan- 
Kyse. 

Whang  continued : 

^'  Zay-ni  soon  resolved  what  his  reTenge 
should  be.  He  was  young,  handsome, 
graceful.  Was  he  not  the  Soul  of  Honor? 
Therefore,  upon  all  occasions,  whether  in 
public  or  in  private,  he  sought  to  win  the 
favor  of  Fior.  He  smiled  upon  Klumski, 
as  upon  a  man  whom  he  had  forgiven. 
But  Klumski  never  asked  him  to  return 
with  him  to  his  mutton ;  nor,  in  the  afie^ 
tionate  tutoying  phrase  of  Yan  Ky,  to 
take  pot-luck  with  him.  Klumski  treat- 
ed Zay-ni  as  men  treat  small  dogs. 

"  Ope  day,  Fior  was  surprised  by  a  risit 
from  the  aunt  of  the  Soul  of  Honor.  A 
man,  says  Confucius,  is  not  re.sponsib]c  for 
his  aunts.  They  are  pre-existent  facts, 
quite  beyond  his  discretion.  But  if  he  be 
ingenious,  he  can  make  them  serviccaUe 
to  his  purposes.  Under  the  shadow  of  an 
auift's  propriety,  says  the  same  authority, 
how  are  not  the  sweet  improprieties  of 
aflcction  indulged,  even  as  in  my  youth 
I  ki.ssed  the  daughter  of  the  mandarin 
Dul-dul,  in  the  shade  of  the  great  temple 
of  Pekin.  The  aunt  came  to  bid  Fior  to 
tea.  A  few  friends,  after  the  manner  of 
Y'an-Ky,  were  to  come  the  next  evening 
to  drink  her  tea,  instead  of  staying  at 
home,  and  drinking  their  own : — tea,  and 
a  few  gentlemen  in  the  evefSng. 

"  From  extreme  youth.  Fior  had  been  dis- 
ciplined to  these  social  sacrifices.  Aunts, 
like  Zay-ni^s,  are  distributed  in  this  world 
to  make  a  few  gentlemen  in  the  evening 
recognize,  by  contrast,  the  loveliness  of 
youth  and  the  eternal  youth  of  amiabil- 
ity. When  Fior  arrived,  the  aunt  com- 
menced by  stabbing  all  her  friends  with 
sharp  little  innuendoes.  Facts,  of  which 
no  one  should  have  betrayed  the  know- 
ledge, she  detailed  with  care.  The  small 
gossip  of  malicious  observation  and  criti- 
cism,— the  meanness  of  aspersion, — the 
wily  whisper, — the  loud  abuse, — they 
were  all  deployed  by  the  aunt  It  wis 
to  the  gentle  Fior  as  if  she  were  steeped 
in  the  fumes  of  a  hot  kitchen.  The  air 
was  gross  with  gossip.  The  aunt  treated 
men  and  women  as  if  they  had  been  bats 
and  lizards  ;  and  her  feline  eyes  glittered 
close  to  the  delicate  Fior,  who  shrank  and 
shuddered." 

"  Are  there  such  lands — such  people  ?" 
I  asked  of  Whang,  with  a  sad  sinking  of 
the  heart. 

"  You  are  in  and  among  them,"  he  re- 
plied sententiously,  whiffing  Yolumes  of 
smoke. 


The  Zay-ntB  of  TatirKy. 


529 


the  Eternal  Order  of  Things  get 
Y  back  again  over  the  Great  Chi- 
kll,*'  I  mentally  ejaculated,  while 
resumed : 

-ni  knew  his  aunt,  and  he  knew 
therefore,  when  he  entered  the 
le  saw  in  a  moment  the  state  of 
He  knew  that  Fior  was  shocked 
Her  mind  was  full  of  hateful 
and  unwelcome  fancies,  conjured 
int.  She  was  like  a  flower  choked 
fcir,  and  longing  for  the  sunlight, 
young,  and  handsome,  and  grace- 
AS  he  not  the  Soul  of  Honor  ?  So 
>y  her  side,  and  he  looked  so  gal- 
i  fresh,  and  fair,  that  his  mere  a.s- 
3  a  consolation  to  the  gentle  girl. 
e  began  to  speak,  his  voice  was  so 
I  sweet,  that  the  sharp  tones  of  ' 
ill  aunt  were  lost  like  noise  in 
What  could  such  a  voice  whisper 
aid  not  seem  noble  to  a  mind  so 
I?  And  when  a  shrewd  sense, 
a  Yan-Ky,  knowledge  of  men  and 
directed  the  whisperings  of  that 
mid  not  the  blindest  hawker  of 
Is  and  bird's  nests,  perceive  that 
)  fight  was  won  ?  The  aunt  had 
I  every  character  of  which  she 
but  Zay-ni  praised  so  cunningly, 
seemed  not  only  the  handsomest, 
isical-voiced,  and  most  winning,  but 
;  generous  of  men.  He  spoke  .so  ten- 
Klumski^imself, — not  too  broad- 
iring,  forZay-ni  understood  that 
'ht  have  noticed  that  her  brother 
lavish  of  commendation  nor  of  at- 
to  the  Soul  of  Honor.  Zay-ni  was 
lan.  even  as  snakes  are  wise.  The 
d  girls  read  of  the  serpent  charm- 
bird,  and  look  under  the  bushes 
m  the  boughs  of  trees  to  find 
But  the  serpents  and  birds  are 
of  doors.  Confucius  says,  that  in 
mth  they  sit  in  parlors,  and  talk 

Qt 

y  '  sat  together,  talking,  all  the 
;  evening.      Zay-ni  spoke  gently 

things,  and  warmly  of  righteous 
id  professed  principles  of  which 
mal  Order  of  Things  might  have 
oud.    Fior  listened,  and  wondered 

never  so  much  liked  the  fascinat- 
il  of  Honor.  Nobler  thoughts, 
enerous  judgments,  she  had  not 
rom  Klumski  himself.  What  a 
at  he  was  so  prejudiced  against 
lant  youth !  At  intervals,  Zay-ni 
id  to  his  aunt  to  come  over  and 
n.  She  came,  and  her  voice  pierced 
lar,  and  her  venom  stung  Pier's 


heart ;  and  when  she  went  away  again, 
the  music  of  the  other  voio**  was  sweeter 
for  the  contrast,  like  the  bells  of  the  tow- 
er of  Pekin  in  the  pauses  of  the  roaring 
Monsoon. 

*•  Ah  !  Tay-Kin,  my  illustrious  philoso- 
pher and  master,  even  in  Yan-Ky,  women 
are  women, — and,  sadder  truth,  men  are 
men !  The  heart  of  Fior  clung  to  the 
Soul  of  Honor.  In  vain  the  thoughtful 
Klumski  grew  grave  and  sorrowful,  and 
warned  his  gentle  si.ster.  She  wept  at  his 
words,  and  threw  her  arms  around  his 
neck,  but  only  to  whisper  in  his  ear  that 
she  loved  Zay-ni.  Then  there  was  a  look 
sadder  than  sorrow  in  his  eye.s,  and  he 
told  her  how  much  more  she  was  to  be 
pitied  than  blamed  ;  and  described  to  her, 
in  terrible  detail,  the  character  and  life  of 
the  Soul  of  Honor.  She  listened  with  the 
fond  incredulity  of  love.  Her  passion  was 
like  the  south  wind,  melting  every  thing 
upon  which  it  blew.  Ah  !  Tay-Kin,  my 
master,  in  Yan-Ky,  as  in  China,  love  is 
the  eternal  tyrant,  who  knows  no  reason 
and  no  law. 

"  Zay-ni  pursued  the  preparation  of  his 
sweet  revenge.  The  snake  had  charmed 
the  dove,  which  fiuttered — and  fiuttered — 
and  fell !  ^ 

'•  The  Soul  of  Honor  was  perfect  hi  the 
duello.  He  could  use  the  pistol  or  the 
sword*  with  equal  ease  and  certainty. 
Wo  to  him  upon  whom  fell  the  wrath  of 
Zay-ni!  His  nose  reigned  unquestioned  • 
and  serene  in  admiring  Yan-Ky. 

•'But  the  dove  fluttered — and  flat- 
tered— and  fell ! 

*•  That  fall  broke  the  heart  of  KlumskL 
A  sternness,  such  as  had  never  been  seen 
in  his  eyes,  now  took  the  place  of  the  sad- 
ness which  had  recently  filled  them.  All 
Yan-Ky  foresaw  that  some  terrible  event 
was  near.  It  was  so  cruel  an  outrage ! 
they  said :  and  since  the  laws  of  Yan-Ky 
cannot  touch  the  case " 

"  How  ?  "  cried  I.  '•  Am  I  in  a  land 
where  the  law  does  not  touch  a  case  so 
fearful  ?  Will  the  law  protect  a  man's 
purse,  and  not  his  honor  ?  Oh,  that  I 
might  once  more  behold  the  Great  Wall 
of  China!" 

Whang  little  heeded  my  interruption. 

'•How  can  law  protect  honor?"  said 
he,  as  contemptuously  as  comported  with 
propriety.  "  Honor  is  the  nose.  It  is 
the  private  privilege  of  every  man  to  keep 
it  unpulled.  The  law  cannot  touch  it 
How  can  the  law  tell  whether  the  bird 
fell  willingly,  or  was  nefariously  en- 
trapped ?      But  all  Yan-Ky  felt  that  a 


•  Names  of  the  weapoM  of  the  dmUo. 


530 


ITu  Zay^is  of  TanrKy. 


[Ifij 


tragedy  impended.  Klumski  did  not  weep 
over  his  sister's  fall ;  but  Zay-ni  smiled 
to  think  that,  by  dealing  the  deadliest 
blow,  he  had  forced  his  foe  to  propr)se  the 
duello.  '  The  law  gives  him  no  aid,'  said 
he ;  *  and  if  he  does  nothing,  he  will  be 
accounted  a  coward.'" 

*•  But,  Whang,"  I  asked,  "  what  says 
Confucius  about  doing  good  to  those  who 
dcspitefully  use  you,  and  about  forgiving 
your  enemies  ?  " 

"  0  Tay-  Kin  ! ''  cried  Whang,  with  un- 
disguised want  of  respect ;  "  have  you  yet 
to  learn,  that  the  doctrines  of  Confucius 
are  for  the  priests  to  expound  upon  the 
holy  days,  in  the  holy  places,  and  are  not 
to  be  mingled  with  life,  except  so  far  as 
they  are  pleasant?  They  belong  to  the 
abstract :  the  concrete  is  quite  another 
thing.  When  Confucius  says,  liCt  the 
servant  obey  the  brother  of  the  sun  and 
moon,  who  is  set  over  him,  all  Yan-Ky 
cries  decorously,  Amen,  and  quotes  Con- 
fucius against  the  disorganizers.  But  when 
he  says,  Happy  is  he  who  tells  the  truth 
in  business,  and  he  who  believes  that  hon- 
esty is  better  than  policy,  all  Yan-Ky 
smiles,  and  disbeheves,  and  declares  that 
Confucius  was  a  wag,  and  an  unpractical 
and  impracticable  person.  Yan-Ky  says, 
that  men  must  be  taken  as  they  are.  But 
if  you  ask,  Did  not  the  Eternal  Onier  of 
Things  take  men  as  they  are,  when  it  sent 
Confucius  to  preach  to  them?  Yan-Ky, 
"f  it  is  in  the  temple,  sa^'S,  *  Ah.  yes !  cer- 
tainly,' and  chastises  its  children  for  tell- 
ing lies.  But  if  you  ask  the  question  of 
Yan-Ky  in  the  mart,  it  smiles  patronizing- 
1}',  winking  its  left  eye,  and  says.  *  Good 
sir,  you  must  Cake  facts.  You  don't  quite 
understand  the  world.  There  is  a  public 
opinion,  which  a  man  cannot  withstand. 
On  the  whole,  do  you  not  see  our  whole 
life  proclaiming  this  doctrine,  against  that 
of  the  Eternal  Order  of  Things — happy 
is  he  who  lies  without  exposure,  for  ho 
shall  accumulate  stock,  and  live  in  fine 
houses,  and  have  the  front  seat  in  the 
temple  of  Confucius,  and  be  esteemed  of 
the  less  successful,  and  elected  director  in 
the  society  for  sending  missionaries  to  dis- 
seminate the  op|)Osition  doctrine  of  the 
Order  of  Tilings,  in  swamps  beyond  geo- 
graphy.' Every  day  and  every  hour,  all 
Yan-Ky  repeats  and  practices  this  gospel. 

"Klumski's  friends  came  to  him,  and 
asked  him  what  he  intended  to  do. 

*• '  What  do  you  advise  ? '  asked  he. 

"  *  There  is  but  one  course,'  said  they. 

"^Indeed!'  said  he. 

"  *  Yes,'  said  they.     *  We  are  very  sor- 


ry, and  are  very  much  opposed  to  till 
practice ;  bat  really,  in  this  case,  jou  cn- 
not  avoid  the  daello.'  And'  Yan-Ky 
looked  heroic  and  wise,  and  jingled  ki 
keys  in  its  breeches*-pocket. 

"  *  But  observe  a  moment.'  said  Kim* 
ski ;  ^  Za3'-ni  has  mortal] v  injured  iml 
Now,  according  to  Confuaus,  I  ought » 
forgive  him.  Just  in  the  degree  of  dM 
greatne.ss  of  the  offence,  is  the  TirtM  «f 
forgiveness,  says  Confucius.' 

"Yan-Ky  took  snuff,  shrugged  iti 
shoulders,  and  spoke  of  white  feathen^ 
contemptuously. 

"  ^  Confucius  is  right,'  resumed  Kluouldf 
^but  nevertheless,  I  do  not  forgire  Zaj-ni, 
and  I  shall  not  play  that  I  do.  He  hu 
mortally  injured  me,  and  I  must  have  atfe> 
isfaction.' 

"  All  Yan-Ky  patted  its  nose  with  pridi 
and  pleasure. 

" '  If  you  please.'  he  continued,  *  that 
is  no  question  of  honor  here.  The  fact 
cries  aloud,  that  Zay-ni  is  innocent  of  the 
lowest  idea  of  honor.  He  is  meaner  thn 
a  thief. — worse  than  a  murderer.  If 
Grabski,  the  house-breaker,  had  broken 
into  your  house,  and  stolen  your  wat^ 
would  you  have  felt  obliged  to  remt  \» 
the  duello?' 

"  *  No,'  cried  Yan-Ky,  <  because  the  law 
protects  us.' 

"  *■  When,  then,  Zay-ni  does  worse  this 
a  burglar,  and  the  law  does  not  protect 
me,  shall  I  allow  him  the  opportunity  of 
adding  to  his  crime,  and  crowning  the 
ruin  of  my  sister  with  the  brokenbcait 
of  my  wife,  and  the  destitution  of  my 
children  ?  If  the  burglar  ought  to  be  de* 
stroycd,  without  the  chance  of  cfaoldiif 
the  man  who  executes  the  will  of  Tan- 
K}",  ought  not  a  greater  than  Uie  bor]^ 
share  the  same  ignominious  &te  1 ' 

^^' Perhaps.  But  that  would  bemio^ 
der,'  pleaded  Yan-Ky. 

"  *  It  would  be  no  more  murder  wba 
it  proceeded  from  the  hand  of  one  nan, 
whom  he  had  mortally  injured,  than  whoi 
it  comes  from  the  hand  of  a  mortally  in- 
jured society.  Besides,  if  you  pennit 
this,  do  you  not  see  that  the  abandoned 
Zay-nis,  sumamed  the  Souls  of  Honor, 
will  perfect  themselves  in  the  use  of  the 
duello-weapons,  and  so  enjoy  an  immam- 
ty  of  social  crime — crime  licyond  the  law? 
It  is  not  the  want  of  religion,  nor  of  de* 
cency,  in  your  rule,  that  I  complain  of; 
it  is  its  want  of  common  sense.  It  is  the 
frightful  abuse  of  this  thing  that  yon  call 
honor  in  Yan-Ky.  which  appals  me.  Yan- 
Ky  says,  that  a  man  will  think  twice  be- 


'  Tlie  nether  integoiiMnti  of  Taa-Kj. 


1854.] 


The  Zay-m8  of  TanrKy, 


581 


fi>re  he  insults  his  fellow,  if  he  knows 
that  he  is  to  answer  for  it  at  the  mouth 
of  the  pistol.  Exactly ;  but  the  bully 
knows  the  influence  of  that  fear  quite  as 
well  as  any  body,  and  therefore  makes 
sure  of  his  skilful  use  of  the  weapons, 
before  he  does  the  deed,  and  then  laughs 
at  your  outraged  nose,  as  his  well-prac- 
tised pistol  sends  death  into  your  bosom. 
Yan-Ky  has  a  bully's  and  a  coward's  the- 
N  ory  T>f  this  matter  ! '.cried  Klumski,  with 
energy. 

"*But  what  are  we  to  do  when  our 
wives  and  daughters  are  insulted?'  de- 
manded Yan-Ky,  in  a  panic. 

"  I  am  going  to  show  you  what  to  do,' 
responded  Klumski,  so  grayely,  that  Yan- 
Ky  shuddered.  ^  A  man  who  does  what 
Zay-ni  has  done,  is  a  wild  beast  in  society. 
Do  you  hold  his  nose  sacred  ?  Do  you 
call  him,  in  the  old  vernacular,  a  gentle- 
fnan  t  Ho  has  proved  that  he  is  a  vil- 
lain, and  by  the  instinctive  moral  law  he 
is  a  criminal.  But  for  such  offenders  you 
provide  no  punishment  Therefore,  I  have 
provided  it  Don't  talk  to  me  of  honor," 
he  continued,  furiously.  "  Whoever  will 
suffer  such  an  offender  to  have  the  chance 
of  killing  him.  has  not  the  faintest  con- 
ception of  the  dear  and  sacred  word.' 

'^AIl  Yan-Ky  listened  in  amazement 

" '  For  what  is  the  significjince  of  the 
duello  ?  It  is  the  leaving  the  decision  of 
the  right  to  chance.  It  never  was  any 
thing  more.  It  originated  with  our  re- 
motest ancestors,  in  what  they  called  the 
Tournament  It  is  the  ancient  doctrine 
of  mieht  making  right' 

"  *  Excuse  us,'  said  Yan-Ky ;  '  it  is  the 
giving  an  equal  chance  to  both.  It  equal- 
ises might,  for  the  weak  man  stands  fair- 
ly with  the  strong.' 

**  *  But  in  the  name  of  Confucius,  why 
should  both  have  an  equal  chance  ? '  cried 
Klumski.  '  To  give  both  an  equal  chance, 
is  to  imply  that  there  is  an  equality  of 
guilt  or  rcspon.sibility.  Is  that  so  in  this 
case  ?  But  if  it  be  the  decision  of  chance, 
then  the  verdict  of  chance  must  be  con- 
sidered final.  If  any  one  of  you  declare 
that  I  am  not  a  Yan-Kian,  but  a  liar,  and 
I  call  him  to  the  duello,  what  do  I  mean 
to  do  ?  I  mean  to  summon  the  duello  to 
decide  whether  I  am  a  liar.  But  if  my 
pistol  chances  only  to  flash,  and  you  hit 
me,  it  follows  inevitably  that  I  am  a 
har.' 

« *  Not  at  all,"  said  Yan-Ky ;  '  the  fact 
of  your  going  out  to  stand  before  a  pistol, 
shows  thftt  you  have  the  heroism  which 
makes  it  impossible  that  you  should  be  a 


liar ;  and  that  fact  is  demonstrated,  wheth- 
er you  are  hit  or  not" 

"*Not  at  all,"  returned  Klumski;  *it 
merely  proves  that  I  have  the  hardihood 
to  stand  before  a  pistol ;  and  history  shows 
that  a  coward  will  do  that  as  well  as  a 
hero.  Besides,  if  a  Yan-Kian  gives  me 
the  lie.  and  we  go  out  to  fight,  what 
is  the  logic  of  the  thing  ?  It  is  this  :  I  go 
to  defend  my  honor,  assaulted  by  his  re- 
mark, and  he  goes  to  sustain  his  honor  in- 
volved in  the  same  remark.  I  expose  my 
life  to  show  that  I  am  not  a  liar ;  he  ex- 
poses his.  to  show  that  he  means  what  he 
says.  There  can  be  no  result  For, 
whatever  the  issue,  each  has  equally 
shown,  by  the  same  display  of  courage, 
that  he  is  right' 

" '  But  let  us  understand  you,'  said  the 
people  of  Yan-Ky  solemnly.  *Do  you 
mean  that  if  your  nose  wero  pulled  (a 
thrill  of  horror  shuddered  along  the  veins 
of  the  valiant  people  of  Yan  Ky),  you 
would  not  resort  to  the  duello  ? ' " 

" » Ye  men  of  Yan-Ky,'  thundered  Klum- 
ski, *  listen  to  my  words.  If  a  man  in- 
sults my  sacred  member  by  pulling*  it, 
he  means  to  express  that  I  am  a  con- 
temptible man  and  a  coward.  What  is 
the  obvious  and  natural  way  of  showing 
him  and  all  the  world  that  he  is  mistaken  i 
What  is  the  honorable,  manly,  and  instinct 
tive  way?  It  is  to  take  him  then  and 
there,  while  the  hot  blood  is  roused,  and 
when,  speaking  after  the  manner  of  men, 
and  not  of  Confucius,  that  hot  blood  justi- 
fies the  act ;  and  by  severe  personal  chas- 
tisement, disproving  his  words  and  expos- 
ing him  before  the  world  as  one  in  whom 
there  is  no  truth.' 

'• '  Yes,  but  if  he  be  stronger  and  chas- 
tise you  ? ' 

"  *  Well  then,  clearly,'  replied  Klumski, 
*  if  I  am  a  weaker  man,  and  valiantly  at- 
tack him,  the  whole  world  will  hold  me 
justified.  For  you-  will  remember  that 
even  your  Code  of  Honor  does  not  require 
that  the  offended  person  shall  always  be 
successful.  If  I  fall  dead  before  the  fire 
of  my  adversary  who  has  insulted  me,  I 
am  yet  held  to  be  a  man  of  honor ;  and 
equally  so,  if  I  am  overthrown  by  the 
man  whom  I  personally  attack.' 

"*My  dear  Klumski,'  now  said  the 
most  respectable  of  the  Yan-Kians,  *you 
wander  from  the  point  This  matter  of 
honor  is  not  to  be  reduced  to  strict  verbal 
discussion.  It  is  an  affair  of  instinct  and 
feeling.  We  do  not  say  that  it  is  essen- 
tially right,  nor  just,  and  certainly  we  al- 
low that  it  is  against  the  law  of  Confud- 


•  Ib  tlM  TCBueolir  Taii-Ky,  tuoMtin^ 


532 


The  Zay-nts  of  Yan-Ky. 


[Maj 


us,  but  the  whole  thing  is  here :  Society 
requires  that  no  man  shall  submit  to  an 
imputation  upon  his  veracity,  and  has  de- 
creed by  immemorial  custom  that  he  shall 
wipe  off  the  aspersion  by  the  duello.  If 
he  fails  to  do  so,  the  man  enjoys  no  social 
consideration  afterwards.  We  all  regret 
it,  we  are  all  very  much  opposed  to  shed- 
ding blood,  and  we  take  care  in  our  laws 
to  denounce  and  punish  the  custom  which 
we  all  cherish  with  the  utmost  force  of 
our  private  opinion  and  conduct.  I  repeat 
that  it  is  not  a  mattek*  to  be  deliberately 
reasoned  about.  It  must  be  felt,  and, 
Klumski,  you  must  obey  or  suffer.  It  is, 
pcrliaps,  a  cruel  necessity,  but  it  is  no 
harder  upon  you  than  upon  the  rest  of  us.' 
Khimski  laughed  gently  and  said : 
*'  •  You  allow  that  the  custom  is  unrea- 
sonable, beyond  logic  or  argument,  and 
against  the  law  of  Confucius,  the  order  of. 
nature,  and  the  well-being  of  society. 
You  grant  that  its  whole  force  lies  in  the 
consent  of  society,  and  yet  it  is  you,  re- 
spectable Y'an-Kians,  whose  sympathy 
imparls  that  force  to  it,  and  if  you  simply 
said,  it  shall  not  be  so  any  longer,  it  would 
immediately  cease  to  be.  You,  and  you 
alone,  are  responsible  for  all  the  woe  it  oc- 
casions ;  for  it  IS  your  opinion  which  makes 
the  opinion  of  that  society,  of  which  you 
so  vaguely  speak.  The  custom  does  not 
exist  by  the  support  of  blacklegs  and  bul- 
lies, but  by  your  sympathy.  You  assume 
a  state  of  things,  and  by  that  assumption 
creating  it,  proceed  to  argue  from  it.' 

'•'Stop!'  said  the  most  respectable  of 
the  Yan-Kyse.  *Tcn  ycar>ago  the  chief 
city  of  Y'an-Ky  seni  BuUski  to  the  great 
Pow-wow  of  the  land.  He  was  a  man  of 
assured  character,  of  the  clearest  integri- 
ty, worthy,  generous,  good ;  the  whole 
city  knew  liullski  and  honored  him.  Now 
to  the  same  l^ow-wow  came  Bearski  from 
the  other  great  city  of  Yan-Ky,  a  man 
equally  loved  and  honored  by  the  Beaj- 
skians,  his  friends.  The  old  grudge  between 
the  cities  was  never  more  venomously  as- 
serted* than  at  that  time.  There  were 
high  debates,  hot  words,  choking  rage  and 
wrath,  all  watched  by  the  Bullskians  at 
home  with  eager  interest.  '"  Those  Bear- 
skians  are  always  pulling  our  noses,  said 
the  Bullskians,  'and  we  are  always  tame- 
ly submitting  and  emboldening  them.' 
^  Those  Bullskians  are  dough,'  said  the 
Bearskians  contemptuously.  Suddenly 
Bearski  insulted  Bullski — in  open  Pow- 
wow insulted  him,  saying  that  Bullski 
was  not  a  veracious  person.  It  was  a 
premeditated  insult.*    But  Bullski,  who 


knew  that  Bearski  would  easily  destroj    | 
him  in  the  duello,  and  who.  because  fas    i 
was  a  man  of  long  settled  integrity,  de- 
tested the  duello,  returned  to  his  natift    \ 
city  without  fightinj;.' 

"•Well? 'said  Klumski. 

" '  Well,'  said  the  most  respectable  Yan- 
Kian,  '  he  was  instantly  dropped,  lost  aQ 
influence,  all  social  respect,  and  was  never 
heard  of  more.' 

^' '  Then  the  wrathful  word  of  an  enemy 
questioning  his  veracity  availed  more  with 
the  friends  of  Bullski  than  the  long-provtd 
character  of  years.  It  is  a  pleasant  pre 
mium  you  place  upon  that  character  to 
which  you  exhort  all  your  young  men  ti> 
attain,  when  a  single  word,  uttered  angrilj 
or  maliciously,  is  sufficient  to  destroy  it,' 
replied  Klumski  contemptuously. 

^'*I  don't  know  about  thatf'  rctuined 
the  ,«:pokesman  of  Y'an-Ky,  *  but  such  istha 
fact,  and  no  man  can  re.sist  this  demand.' 

''  *  As  for  that,'  returned  Klumski,'  I  am 
astonished  that  Bullski's  instinctive  rtge 
did  not  drive  him  upon  Bearski  to  punish 
his  insult  personally  and  directly.  For 
myself,  whatever  I  had  done,  if  I  found 
that  my  character  availed  nothing  with 
my  friends,  and  was  not  powerful  enough 
to  crush  such  an  imputation  utterly,  I 
certainly  should  not  have  valued  their 
opinion  enough  tc  purchase  it  by  a  cravcB 
compliance  with  a  foolish  custom.  For 
clearly,  the  good  opinion  of  those  who  will 
not  esteem  a  man  of  long-tried  probity  tf 
he  refu.se  to  expose  himself  to  be  shot  by 
any  man  who  questions  it,  when  they  coo* 
fess  that  their  requirement  is  sciiseless  and 
not  founded  in  religion,  decency,  or  law, 
— such  a  good  opinion  is  not  so  valuabla 
as  the  approval  of  Confucius  and  a  man'i 
esteem  for  himself.' 

"  Yan-Ky  smiled. 

" '  Y'our  words  are  brave,'  said  the  re- 
spectable Yan-Kyse,  ^  but  you  would  flnd 
it  unpleasant  to  be  shunned  and  dropped 
from  intercourse.' 

'' '  Undoubtedly  it  would  be  far  frai 
pleasant,'  returned  Klumski,  'yet  I  know 
that  the  noble  and  thoughtful  every  where 
would  be  on  my  side.  Those  whose  opin- 
ion is  truly  commendation  would  not  de* 
sert  me.  Of  course  I  should  value  yours 
less,  because  I  should  know  all  the'  time 
that  it  was  mere  obedience  to  a  dull  super- 
stition of  which  you  were  afraid,  and  which 
you  do  not  dare  to  investigate.  But  too 
know,  just  as  well  as  I,  that  the  deep 
sense  of  right  would  be  with  me.' 

»' '  What ! '  cried  Yan-Ky,  '  if  you  took 
no  notice  of  an  insult  1 ' 


•  Btrlet  Yaa-Ky  idlooi. 


The  Zay^m  of  YatirKy. 


fM 


I  a  very  different  thing,'  said 
'  have  already  said  that  the 
f  an  insulted  man  may  drive 
onal  chastisement  of  the  of- 

aid  Yan-Ky,  'but  that  leads 
»nd  street-shootings,  and  all 
onveniences.  If  a  man  knew 
e  gave  the  lie  he  was  liable  to 
wait  he  would  carry  weapons 
imself,  and  society  would  fall 
larchy.' 

>w  is  it  more  anarchical  for 
e  to  shoot  each  other  in  hot 
in  cold  blood?'  demanded 
'  It  is  much  more  natural  and 
And  of  this  you  may  be  well 
a  man  knew  that  another 
lim  to  account  at  the  moment 
he  would  be  much  more  wary 
Is  than  when  he  knew  that 
ifinite  chance  of  arrangement 
ion,  and,  at  worst,  the  chance 
>  against  his  adversary.' 
man.'  said  Yan-Ky  impatient- 
i\*e  an  equal  chance.' 
'  cried  Klumski,  *  why  should 
5qual  chance  ?  Why.  Ulecause 
8  me,  should  he  therefore  have 
•f  killing  nic  ?  Besides,  if  you 
I  man  offended  may  be  weak- 
i  offender,  and  therefore  not 
^ance  in  a  personal  fight,  so  I 
less  you  can  prove  that  both 
equal  nerve,  and  equal  skill, 
ractice  in  the  use  of  the  duello 
,  and  are  sure  of  an  equally 
•sition,  the  chances  are  just  as 
draw  up  two  men  in  battle 
more  to  give  them  an  equal 
to  let  them  settle  it,  naturally, 
latural  weapons.  It  is  to  put 
altogether  against  the  insult- 
or  can  I  well  understand  how 
murder  when  an  offender  is 
offence,  and  not  murder,  but 
in  the  offended  is  shot  for  be- 
.  The  chances  of  the  duello 
K>  even  approximately  equal 
ace  each  party  upon  a  keg  of 
and  touch  them  off,  and  then 
)f  justice  is  it  ?  For  one  was 
id  the  other  a  bully.' 
n  of  Yan-Ky  felt  their  noses 
id    pondered    the    words   of 

'  said  he:  "My  grcat-grand- 
iisin  was  sent  ambassador  to 
ry,  where  the  duello  also  pre- 
dhina,  where  my  family  origi- 
on  his  arrival  there   was  a 


stately  banquet  in  honor  of  the  birth  of  a 
daughter  to  the  Cham.  As  the  new  am- 
bassador was  a  stranger  he  provoked  ob- 
servation and  remark,  and  as  he  was  not 
pleasant  to  the  minds  of  the  Grim  Tartar 
mandarins  by  reason  of  his  well-known 
opinions  relative  to  the  shortening  of  the 
imperial  cue.  they  sought  occasion  to  an- 
noy him.  Therefore  the  chief  mandarin 
of  the  large  family  of  Dul-dul,  said  loudly 
to  the  nuncio  of  the  Grand  Lama  of  Thi- 
bet, ^*  Behold  the  wife  of  the  ambassador 
of  China,  (my  great-gsandmother's  cousin's 
wife),  she  resembles  a  slave."  Which, 
when  my  great-grandmother's  cousiin 
heard,  he  said  to  Dul-dul,  "  I  prithee  step 
this  way."  Thereupon  they  went  into  the 
pleasant  garden  of  the  palace,  among  the 
groves  of  tea,  then  in  full  blossom,  and 
my  relative  said  to  the  mandarin,  "  My 
nose  is  in  my  wife,  and  your  hand  was  in 
your  insulting  remark.  I  know  that  you 
are  expert  in  the  duello,  according  to  the 
customs  of  your  country.  You  know  that 
I  am  not  expert,  or  you  would  not  have 
said  that  word.  Even  had  I  been  so, 
however,  I  would  not  have  allowed  you 
the  chance  of  proving  your  word,  or  grati- 
fying your  malice,  by  slaying  me.  I  shall 
proceed  to  punish  you  that  you  may  per- 
ceive how  careful  a  mandarin  ought  to  be 
of  his  tongue." 

**  *  He  immediately  fell  upon  the  man- 
darin, who  was  the  larger  and  stouter 
man,  but  the  sense. of  injury  gave  moral 
power  to  my  great-grandmother's  cousin, 
.  and  he,  although  receiving  many  and  dire- 
ful blows,  did  effectually  punish  his  ad- 
versary. At  length  the  mandarin  by  a 
hard  blow  levelled  my  relative,  who  re- 
mained senseless,  and  the  battle  ended. 
But  when  he  recovered,  he  said  to  Dul- 
dul  :  "  Because  your  insult  was  verbal  on- 
ly, the  punishment  has  been  of  this  kind. 
Had  it  been  more  serious  I  should  have 
shot  you  as  I  would  shoot  a  mad  bull." 

" '  The  consequence  was,  men  of  Yan- 
Ky,  that,  although  severely  drubbed*  in 
the  contest,  my  great-grandmother's 
cousin  was  never  held  to  be  a  coward, 
and  was  no  more  insulted,  for  ^v^rj  man- 
darin knew  that  if  he  insulted  that  am- 
bassador, he  would  not  be  allowed  the 
surety  of  his  skill  in  the  duello  to  add 
murder  to  his  insult,  but  would  be  de- 
stroyed as  men  destroy  serpents.' 

"  After  a  pause  Klumski  added : 

^^ '  I  am  his  lineal  descendant  The  in- 
jury done  ^e  is  not  that  of  a  word  nor  a 
taunt  It  IS  a  bitter  woe,  a  crime  that 
nothing  can  undo — a  crime  of  which  your 


•Idiom. 


684 


The  Zay^nia  of  Tcm^Ky. 


\Umi 


laws  take  no  account,  and  which  must 
therefore  be  punished  or  left  unpunished, 
according  to  the  desire  of  the  injured.  1 
have  sufficiently  explained  to  you  why  I 
do  not  allow  Zay-ni  the  chance  of  the 
duello.' 

"As  Klumski  spoke,  he  saw  Zay-ni 
advancing.  All  Yan-Ky  paused  in  hor- 
ror. With  a  sneering  smile  Zay-ni  drew 
near,  confident  that  Klumski  must  at  last 
invite  him  to  the  combat  which  he  had 
before  declined,  and  which  would  now  be 
fatal  to  him,  for  2ay-ni  was  accomplish- 
ed in  the  duello.  As  he  stopped  near 
Klumski.  that  man  looked  at  him  with 
indignation  and  said : 

'• '  Zay-ni,  you  have  done  more  basely 
than  words  can  describe.  You  have  shown 
that  you  are  without  honor,  that  you  are 
not  a  gentleman,  that  you  are  not  fit  to 
dwell  among  men.  The  law  lets  you 
pass.  But  my  heart  revenges  my  sister's 
dishonor.' 

^'  As  he  spoke  he  thrust  his  hand  into 
his  bosom,  and  there  was  a  sudden  flash, 
a  report — a  smoke,  and  Zay-ni  fell  dead 
before  Klumski. 

'^  There  was  a  'pause,  a  rush,  a  mur- 
mur, a  confusion. 

"  '  It  is  murder ! '  cried  Yan-Ky  with 
one  voice. 

"*0  men  of  Yan-Ky!'  said  Klumski 
scornfully,  *  if,  besides  destroying  m}'  sis- 
ter's honor  he  had  destroyed  my  life,  ye 
would  have  said :  "  What  a  pity !  but  it 
was  unavoidable,"  and  settling  yourselves 
comfortably  into  that  conviction,  you 
would  have  gone  and  slept  quietly  in  the 
Temple  while  the  priests  read  from  Con- 
fucius "  Forgive  our  debts  as  we  forgive." 
Ye  hug  a  superstition  which  your  sense 
condemns,  and  which  exists  only  by  your 
allowance.  For  myself  I  prefer  the  society 
of  savages  and  beasts.  Yet  if  every  brave 
man  among  you,  choosing  to  renounce  the 
law  of  Confucius,  compels  every  man  to 
pay  the  penalty  of  his  insult  by  imme- 
diate personal  responsibility,  you  will 
cease  to  have  your  nose  pulled,  and  wine 
dashed  in  your  faces.' 

•'So  saying  Klumski  turned  away, 
doubly  desolated  by  Zay-ni's  crime  and 
its  punishment.  Neither  of  which  deso- 
lations he  would  have  known  except  for 
the  insane  custom  of  the  duello,  which 
directly  fosters  the  growth  of  Zay-nis 
and  Icfcds  straight  to  their  conduct. 

"  Yan-Ky  shook  iUs  respectable  head, 
and  said  that  it  would  be  murder  not  to 
give  every  man  a  chance. 

''  Stop,  stop  ! "  cried  I  here  to  Whang. 


"  Men  are  hard-hearted,  and  dull-headed, 
but  the  women  of  Yan-Ky,  why  dkt  they 
not  pour  balm  into  the  broken  heart  of 
Fior,  and  refuse  to  know  the  EfiffaBsin  of 
her  peace  ?  " 

Whang  smiled,  and,  smoking,  replied: 
^^  The  women  of  Yan-Ky,  when  a  sister 
falls,  trample  her  under  foot  until  shekMS 
her  human  likeness  altogether. 

"  Also  the  women  of  Yan-Ky  caress  the 
man  who  has  had  an  affair^  decree  that^ 
he  is  irresistible,  and  in  all  public  places 
and  upon  all  occasions  bestow  their  sweet- 
est smiles  upon  him. 

''  Also  the  women  of  Yan-Ky,  imitating 
the  words  of  their  elders,  say — '  it  ia  veiy 
bad,  perhaps,  but  the  duello  keeps  bnlli^ 
in  awe,  and  teaches  men  whom  the  lav 
cannot  touch,  that  there  is  something  to 
restrain  them.'  As  if  the  duello  were 
not  the  especial  institution  of  the  bully, 
always  flourishing  in  most  vigor  in  a  com- 
munity of  such. 

"  Also  the  women  of  Yan-Ky  say,  *  We 
know  it  may  be  bad,  but  what  are  yoa 
going  to  do  about  the  nose  ? ' " 

W^hang  paused,  and  I  remained  lost  in 
amazement  and  perplexity.  I  feared  to 
move  lest  I  should  fall  into  some  danger, 
and  unwittingly  touch  somebody's  nose. 
Visions  of  my  native  country  arose  in  my 
remembrance ;  a  land  where  men  are  in- 
stantly held  to  account  for  their  insulte 
by  the  hot-headed,  and  where  insults  are 
destroyed  in  the  force  of  character  by  the 
high-hearted, — a  land  of  peace  and  wil- 
low-pattern plates^f  tranquil  cares  and 
endless  gardens  of  tea — a  laud  of  Nankeen 
trousers  and  small  feet — of  Shan^iiis 
and  rioe-paper— of  bird's- nests  and  Con- 
fucius. May  I  safely  pass  your  wall,  0 
China,  my  country !  1  mentally  ejtcn- 
lated,  and  never  will  I  seek  Barbamn 
lands  ngain.  *^  0  Whang ! "  cried,  I,  aloud, 
"  I  will  travel  no  more ;  my  heart  acbes 
for  China.  I  remember  the  words  of 
Tom-mo  the  Mandarin  and  Philosopher, 
in  his  chapter  upon  Yan-ky,  ^  All  is  not 
nose;  also  there  is  another  counUr.' 
Tell  me,  Whang,  before  we  leave  this  iV 
surd  land,  can  nothing  be  done  to  show 
the  Yan-Ky se  the  true  character  of  their 
theory  of  the  nose  ?" 

Whang  smoked  scornfully. 

"Tay-Kin,"  replied  he,  •*  neither  piety, 
decency,  law,  wit,  nor  sense  will  pnsvent 
suffocation  in  bad  air, — nor  will  that  air 
be  purified  so  long  as  they  who  die  in 
breathing  it  believe  that  very  badness  to 
be  the  secret  of  health,  and  regard  the 
healthy  and  the  sound  as  invalids." 


•  Tan-Kj  Idiom. 


1854.] 


Spring  Fhwer$. 


585 


*^  Order  the  fleetest  pack-horses  for  the 
morning,"  cried  I,  "  and  let  u«  try  to  be 
€Q  the  side  of  Confucius." 

"  To  hear  is  to  obey,"  said  Whang,  as 
the  last  whiff  of  smoke  curled  away. 

To  enlightened  readers  who  dwell  in 
Christendom  and  obey  the  ten  command- 
ments, the  chapter  which  we  have  trans- 
lated from  this  singular  work  will  natu- 
rally seem  an  impossible  tale.  Yet  even 
to  those,  who  do  not,  perhaps,  think  with 
the  good  philosopher  Tay-Rin  that  to  live 
irit^n  the  great  wall  of  China  is  the  ex- 
treme of  human  felicity,  but  who  so  sed- 
ulously aim  to  throw  down  all  walls  that 
separate  man  from  man.  and  to  build  an 
honorable  and  manly  State  worthy  of  man 
and  of  his  present  development, — to  us 
whose  standard  of  public  character  is  so 
lofty,  and  who  so  sternly  reprobate  mean- 


ness and  deceit  m  private  intercourse; 
whose  public  men  by  the  dignity  and 
simplicity  and  purity  of  their  lives  worth- 
ily represent  the  humanity  of  the  national 
idea,  and  always  propose  the  measure 
which  is  smrest  to  secure  the  happiness 
and  freedom  of  man, — even  to  us  for 
whom  the  whole  world  was  made,  and 
who  are  the  greatest,  best,  truest,  most 
polished,  most  heroic,  and  most  pious  of 
people,  that  any  Tay-Kin  ever  saw  out- 
side the  Great  Wall  of  China, — tons  who 
call  ourselves  Christians  and  gentlemen, 
and  who  are  constantly  proving  it  by 
Christian  and  honorable  conduct,  always 
obeying  the  best  opinion  of  the  best  men, 
and  never  following  the  worst  whim  of 
the  worst  it  may  serve  to  give  us  even  a 
ereater  admiration  of  ourselves  to  laugh, 
for  a  moment,  at  the  solemn  follies  of 
Yan-Ky. 


NEW    ENGLAND    SPRING    FLOWERS. 


DOWN  in  the  lowlands  which  border 
the  long  stretches  of  forest  and  on 
the  banks  of  every  brook  in  New  Eng- 
land, may  be  found,  before  March  has 
done  blustering  and  roaring,  one  of  the 
most  curious  flowers  in  the  northern 
States.  It  is  the  first  child  of  spring,  and 
is  commonly  known  .by  the  unlovely  name 
of  Skunk  Cabbage.  {Synvplocarpua 
faUidu8.  Sails,) — You  may  smile,  gentle 
reader !— but  I  can  assure  you  that  even 
this  despised  plant  can  exhibit  a  blossom, 
§Kt  more  beautiful  than  many  of  your 
Ghok»  greenhouse  pets.  The  skunk-cab- 
bage sends  up  with  the  first  disappear- 
ance of  frost  its  singular,  large,  purple 
hoods.  Clustering  close  at  the  top  of  the 
aoakine  ground,  they  would  scarcely  be 
taken  ror  blossoms.  But  let  us  cut  one 
cff  deep  down  at  the  root  and  examine  it. 
The  stem  is  short,  and  entirely  hidden  in 
the  sheaths  of  the  3'oung  and  old  leaves. 
At  the  top  is  the  half  closed  hood  with 
ear-shaped  margins,  curving  obliquely  lit 
the  apex.  It  varies  from  a  dark,  blackish 
purple,  to  a  light  green  with  purple  spots ; 
and  these  colors  with  their  intermediate 
shades  are  very  beautiful.  On  dividing 
the  hood  horizontally,  the  real  flowers  are 
exposed,  and  we  must  acknowledge  that 
it  emits  a  compounded  odor  of  garlic  and 
the  effusia  of  the  animal  whose  name  it, 
▼ery  appropriately,  bears.  It  will,  cer- 
tainly, never  be  plucked  for  its  fragrance. 


But  you  hang  up  at  your  windows,  and 
stand  in  your  parlors  the  "  toad  cactus  " 
(Stapelia  punctata),  which  gives  forth 
an  oaor  far  more  intolerable.  So  let  us 
endure  its  flavor  for  a  while  to  examine 
its  pretty  blossoms. 

This  little  yellow  ball,  studded  with 
still  yellower  points,  is  a  compact  mass  of 
perfect  flowers,  which  touch  each  other  on 
all  sides,  forming  a  natural,  mosaic  globe. 
Each  little  flower  has  four  concave  sepals 
flattened  on  the  top,  in  front  of  which 
st^nd  the  stamens,  lighting  their  yellow 
anthers  above  the  level  surface  of  the 
flowers  in  a  regular  series  of  bristling 
points.  The  style  is  perfectly  square, 
tipped  with  a  minute  stigma.  The  ball 
of  flowers  we  call  a  spadix,  and  the  hood, 
a  apathe.  By  and  by,  the  spathe  will 
wither  and  decay,  leaving  exposed  the 
spadix,  which  ripens  its  seeds  underneath 
the  persistent  flowers,  immersed  in  the 
green,  pulpy  receptacle  upon  which  they 
stand.  The  leaves  will  soon  begin  to 
emerge  from  the  ground  and  grow  rapid- 
ly to  a  large  size,  ornamenting  with  their 
shining  green  the  meadows  and  water- 
courses. 

The  plant  belongs  to  an  extensive  fam- 
ily, best  represented  in  the  hottest  regions 
of  the  globe.  The  beautiful  white  calla 
in  our  greenhouses  is  near  kindred  to  the 
vulgar  skunk-cabbage.  That  is  the  high- 
bred, aristocratic   lady;    and    this    the 


536 


Spring  Flowers, 


[Vm, 


homely  country  cousin.  They  belong  to 
the  same  order,  called  by  botanists 
Arac££,  and  wear  the  same  heraldic 
crest. 

If  you  are  curious  to  sec  the  minute 
structure  of  this  unsavory  herb,  and  can 
manage  a  microscope,  you  will  find  the 
^ower  stalk  to  be  a  fine  example  of  the 
peculiar  characteristics  which  distinguish 
the  great  division  of  plants  to  which  it 
belongs ; — the  inside  growers,  or  in  tech- 
nical terms,  the  cndogcns.  A  cross  sec- 
tion will  exhibit  the  open  mouths  of  the 
very  large  juicy  cells,  in  the  midst  of 
which  are  grouped,  in  clusters,  the  close, 
firm  bundles  of  woody  fibre.  A  longi- 
tudinal division  will  show  these  elongated 
bundles  lying  continuous  for  some  length, 
while  the  soft,  spongy  mass  between 
them  is  made  up  of  short,  •  fragile,  juicy 
cells.  And  you  may  see  in  this  little, 
despised  stem,  the  counterpart  of  the 
mighty  palms  which  rise  to  a  lofty  height 
in  burning  climes,  and  yield  the  rich  fruits 
that  are  prized  as  luxuries  in  every  cor- 
ner of  the  globe. 

Almost  contemporary  with  this  well- 
known  plant,  may  be  found  in  the  bare, 
brown  woods  a  beautiful  little  flower 
whose  fragrance  is  as  sweet  as  the  other 
is  nauseous.  It  is  the  May  Flowrr, 
Trailing  Arbi'tus,  Ground  Laurel,  for 
it  is  known  under  all  these  names.  (^Epi- 
gcea  rcpens^  L.)  Amid  the  death  and 
desolation  around,  it  stands  alone  in  its 
beauty  the  herald  of  the  approaching 
army  of  blossoms.  Its  stem  creeps  along 
under  the  rustling  leaves  which  winter 
has  strown  in  the  woods,  sending  up  from 
time  to  time  a  slender  branch,  bearing  on 
its  summit  a  cluster  of  fragrant  flowers. 
The  leaves,  which  arc  about  an  inch  and 
a  half  long,  oval,  and  heart-shaped  at 
ba.se,  spring  alternately  from  the  ends  of 
the  branches.  They  are  sparsely  clothed 
with  rough  hairs  on  both  sides.  The 
stalks  are  thickly  covered  with  a  reddish, 
bristly  down  which  extends  over  the 
whole  branch,  and  even  covers  the  floral 
leaves  that  suiTOund  the  flower  cup.  The 
flower  is  about  half  an  inch  long,  tubu- 
lar, divided  at  the  lop  into  five  lobes, 
which  diverge  in  a  star-like  manner.  The 
throat  of  the  tube  is  lined  with  white 
down  concealing  the  stamens  within.  The 
color  varies  from  white  to  rose  pink.  It 
exhales  a  delightful  odor,  for  the  sake  of 


which  it  is  elderly  sought  for  in  the 
spring  time. 

One  of  the  first  intimmtions  of  Ternal 
life  to  the  city  folks,  comes  in  the  weloome 
form  of  the  May  Flower.  Thej  are  sent 
as  choice  presents  from  country  friends, 
and  they  are  sold  in  considerable  quanti- 
tios  in  the  stores.  Fathers  cmrry  home  a 
sprig  of  the  first  growth  of  spring  to  their 
children,  and  the  sweetest  gift  of  the 
season  from  the  lover  to  his  mistress  is'a 
nosegay  of  their  delir^ate,  fragrant  bloe- 
soms.*  Many  other  flowers  of  superior 
beauty  and  richer  fragrance  may  befouDd 
among  the  countless  forms  of  the  ripe 
season,  but  none  are  more  prised  than 
this  humble  little  plant;  for  it  eomes 
when  there  are  no  others  to  Tie  with  its 
sweetness,  when  we  are  long;ing  for  the 
bright  summer.  Who  does  not  weleome 
the  lovely  courier  that  she  sends  befiNe 
her! 

It  belongs  to  the  Natural  Order  £bi- 

CACE£. 

There  is  a  large  and  strongly  marked 
family  of  plants,  blossoming  very  early  ia 
the  year,  with  whose  peculiar  mode  of  in- 
florescence, few  beside  botanists  are  &mil- 
iar.  They  who  are  tempted  forth  into 
the  woods  by  the  young  April  snn,  may 
very  likely  notice  the  long.  wonn-Iikt 
tassels  which  hang  from  the  bare  branches 
of  certain  bushes  and  trees.  Some  are 
yellow,  some  brown  and  some  green,  and 
they  hang  drooping  from  the  trees,  sway- 
ing in  the  wind  that  sweeps  through  their 
leafless  boughs.  These  are  the  amenta- 
ceous plants;  thus  named  because  the 
tassels  are  termed  aments  by  botanists. 
They  comprise  a  large  portion  of  the  ibi^ 
ests  over  the  whole  northern  oountiy. 
The  alders,  birches^  bayberries.  horn- 
beams, poplars,  willows,  hazels  and  oaks 
are  all  members  of  this  extensive  race. 
Some  few  are  low  and  bushy,  bat  the 
greater  number  is  composed  of  fine,  \upt 
graceful  trees. 

Before  tlie  leaves  are  expanded,  and,  in 
some  instances,  before  they  have  even 
thrown  off  the  shelly  covering  whidi  has 
protected  them  through  the  winter,  these 
tassels,  formed  during  the  preceding  sum- 
mer and  remaining  through  the  winter, 
begin  to  elongate  rapidly.  The  male  or 
sterile  flowers  are  y^ry  similar  through- 
out them  all.  They  arc  composed  c^  ft 
central  stem  upon  which  are   arranged, 


•  Emerson  refers  very  ploaaantlj  to  ita  name.  In  his  admirable  work  on  the  Wort<ly  Plantt  of  Maanekv- 
wtt-v.  lie  »:iy!.:  '"Ofleu  from  beneath  the  e«lgo  of  a  snow -bank,  are  Si-en  rising  the  fhagnuit,  pearly,  whtte  «r 
nwo  coloretl.  crowded  tlowers  of  this  earliest  li;irbin;:er  of  (♦priug.  It  aboanil<«  In  the  etlg««  of  wood*  abaal 
Plymouth,  ha  el!*ewhere,  and  mn>t  have  been  the  firat  flower  to  italute  the  6tonn  bt'aten  crew  of  th«  Mif" 
flower,  on  the  conclusion  of  their  first  terrible  winter.  Their  descendants  have  thenoe  ploiulj  darlTWl  ti 
name,  although  litt  bloom  is  often  parsed  before  the  comluff  in  of  the  month  of  May.** 


1854.] 


Spring  Flowers, 


587 


generally  in  an  imbricated  manner,  a 
great  number  of  little  scales.  These  are 
either  entirely  naked,  as  in  the  alder,  or 
covered  with  long,  silken  hairs,  as  in  the 
willow.  At  first,  the  aments  are  rigid 
and  inflexible,  but  a  week  of  warm 
weather  will  cause  them  to  lengthen. 
Then  may  be  seen,  peeping  from  under 
each  scale,  a  cluster  of  stamens  springing 
,  often  Irom  second  thinner  scales,  and  pro- 
tected from  the  cold  by  the  stout  shield 
of  the  outer  one.  When  thus  expanded, 
the  ament  is  loose  and  flexible,  obeying 
the  slightest  impulse  of  the  wind.  At 
this  time  the  anthers  give  out  their  pol- 
len and  some  species  presents  a  most  beau- 
tiful appearance. 

Although  the  different  genera  differ 
widely  in  their  female  or  fertile  aments, 
the  sterile  ones  so  closely  resemble  each 
other  as  to  be  easily  confounded  by  an 
unpractised  eye.  The  alders,  birches, 
hazels  and  hornbeams  are  thus  closely 
alhed.  But  the  fertile  flowers  and  the 
fruit  are  wholly  unlike,  and  as  on  account 
of  these  differences  they  are  placed  in  dis- 
tinct orders,  we  will  briefly  recount  the 
peculiarities  of  each.  An  extended  notice 
of  their  minute  botanical  differences  will 
he  quite  needless  here,  as  these  differences 
are  such  as  will  interest  the  professed  bo- 
tanical student  alone.  Their  varied  uses 
might  furnish  a  subject  for  volumes. 
Those  who  desire  a  close  acquaintance 
with  this  vast  race  of  stately  plants,  will 
obtain  the  best  of  assistance  from  Em- 
erson's Report,  previously  mentioned, 
and  the  ••North  American  Sylva"  ot 
Michaux. 

The  alders  and  the  birches  are  put  to- 
gether in  one  order,  called  Betulaceje. 
The  principal  difference  between  them  is 
that  the  birches  lose  their  catkins  entire- 
ly at  the  end  of  the  season,  while  the  al- 
ders continue  to  bear  them  through  the 
winter. 

The  Black  Alder  {Alnws  serrulata, 
Willd.),  is  one  of  the  most  common  bushes 
in  the  country.  It  may  be  found  in  al- 
most every  patch  of  wet  woods,  and  along 
the  banks  of  every  brook.  Very  early 
in.the  year  its  long,  brown,  sterile  aments. 
whrch  we  have  bisfore  mentioned,  shea 
their  pollen,  and  then  may  be  seen  a  clus- 
ter of  much  smaller,  upright  catkins, 
about  half  an  inch  long,  standing  branch- 
like above  the  pendent  ones.  A  close  ex- 
amination will  detect  a  great  number  of 
red,  bristly  threads  covering  their  dark 
brown  surface.  These  are  the  stigmas 
which  issue  from  a  series  of  hard,  fleshy 
scales  compactly  laid  one  upon  the  other. 
Each  scale  covers  two   flowers,  whksh 

VOL.  ui. — 34 


consist  simply  of  the  ovaries  surmounted 
by  two  slender  stigmas.  After  the  pollen 
has  fallen  upon  these  delicate  organs,  the 
aments  gradually  increase  in  size  as  the 
season  advances,  taking  an  oval  shape  and 
becoming  green.  They  remain  thus  until 
maturity,  when  the  scales  become  hard 
and  woody,  shrinking  apart  and  allowing 
the  flat  nutlets  to  escape  between  them. 
They  remain  upon  the  bush,  dry  and 
black,  all  winter  long,  and  rear  their  un- 
sightly forms  amid  the  golden  bloom  of 
the  ensuing  spring.  They  are  liable  to  a 
peculiar  growth  which  frequently  takes 
place  in  the  flowers  and  fruit  of  many 
plants.  The  scales  of  the  cones  have  a 
tendency  to  become  leaves,  and  the  dead 
catkins  are  often  surrounded  with  thick, 
black  tufts  of  leaf-like  excrescences  which 
remain  as  long  as  the  cones  themselves. 

•  The  leaves,  which  do  not  appear  until 
after  the  bloom  is  over,  are  green  on  both 
sides,  rounded  and  widest  at  the  apex, 
three  or  four  inches  long,  with  the  edges 
cut  into  small  and  irregular  teeth. 

The  other  species,  the  Speckled  Alder 
(Alnus  incancL,  Willd,\  is  much  like  the 
first  in  general  characteristics.  It  may 
be  distinguished,  however,  by  the  leaves 
and  aments.  The  former  are  more  point- 
ed, more  strongly  toothed,  and  more 
downy  underneath  than  the  common 
alder.  The  female  aments  are  dependent, 
at  the  time  of  flowering,  instead  of  being 
erect.  There  is  still  a  variety  of  this 
{Alnus  glanca^  Mx,)  which  has  leaves 
smooth  and  of  a  bluish  green  color  be- 
neath. 

None  are  better  acquainted  with  the 
habits  of  the  alders  than  the  disciples  of 
old  Izaak  Walton.  If  they  cannot  all  tell 
the  story  of  aments  and  stamens  and 
stigmas,  they  can  often  relate  most  pite- 
ously  the  tale  of  their  mishaps  in  an 
alder  thicket  Many  a  viUage  angler  has 
cut  an  alder  pole  and  crept  quietly  into 
the  shade  of  overhanging  boughs  to  lure 
the  wary  trout ;  and  many  a  patience  has 
been  sorely  tried  as  the  lengthened  line, 
catching  in  the  once  friendly  branehes. 
has  thrown  back  the  speckled  prey  into 
its  native  stream. 

•  The  birches  of  this  part  of  the  country 
are  mostly  trees.  There  are  two  species 
found  west  and  north  of  us  and  on  the 
tops  of  mountains,  one  of  which  (Betula 
pumila,  Z/.)  is  a  low  shrub,  and  the 
other  {Betula  nanay  L.)  is  a  mountain 

'  plant,  reaching  only  a  foot  or  two  in 
height  Those  which  we  meet  in  our 
northern  woods  are  all  graceful,  ornamen- 
tal trees.  There  arc  five  species  more  or 
less  common  with  us.  These  are  the  white, 


538 


Spring  Flower$. 


Pbr 


canoe,  red,  yellow,  and  black  birchee. 
Common  as  these  are  around  our  houses, 
it  will  perhaps  repay  us  to  briefly  enu- 
merate the  characters  of  each. 

The  White  Birch  (Betulapopidifolia, 
Ait)  is  the  slenderest  and  most  graceful 
of  all.  The  snowy  whiteness  of  its  bark, 
the  numerous  slender  branches  and  tre- 
mulous leaves  distinguish  it  from  all  its 
brethren  of  the  forest.  Early  in  May, 
the  sterile  tassels  which,  closely  wrapped 
up  in  their  firm  scales,  have  been  awaiting 
all  winter  long  the  vernal  warmth,  elon- 
gate and  set  free  the  well  guarded  stamens. 
They  are  three  or  four  inches  long  and 
hanging,  like  streamers  in  the  wind,  from 
the  ends  of  the  slender  branchlets.  The 
fertile  aments  come  forth  with  the  leaves. 
They  are  short  and  somewhat  rigid,  re- 
sembling the  3'oung  alder  aments  in  pro- 
portions, though  larger.  They  are  slim' 
and  cylindrical  when  young,  covered  with 
the  minute  stigmas,  which  are  barely  per- 
ceptible as  they  peep  out  from  the  closely 
set  scales.  As  they  ripen,  they  increase 
hi  rotundity  as  befits  a  hearty  parent,  un- 
til they  become  an  inch  or  more  long  and 
a  quarter  of  an  inch  thick.  The  sc;ilcs, 
which  are  cut  hi  to  three  distinct  lobes 
like  all  the  birches,  are  not  thick  and 
bony  when  ripe ;  but  arc  thin  and  shelly, 
falling  away  from  the  central  stem  which 
supports  them,  with  the  nutlets.  These 
are  flat,  compressed  and  surrounded  with 
a  membranous  border.  The  leaves  are 
extremely  beautiful.  They  are  triangular 
in  outline,  tapering  to  a  long,  attenuated 
point.  The  margins  are  strongly  toothed 
and  serrated,  the  larger  teeth  alternating 
with  smaller  ones.  They  have  long, 
slender  leaf  stalks,  which,  obeying  the 
slightest  breeze,  suffer  the  graceful  foliage 
to  flutter  and  sparkle  in  the  sun's  rays. 
Their  resemblance  to  the  leaves  of  the 
common  poplar,  has  given  rise  to  its  bo- 
tanical name  of  papidifolia. 

The  White  Birch  flourishes  in  the 
poorest  soil.  It  is  found  in  extensive 
patches,  giving  a  light  and  airy  character 
to  the  scene.  In  the  spring,  before  it 
puts  on  its  summer  garb,  it  possesses  a 
beauty  peculiar  to  itself.  The  white 
trunks  gradually  lose  themselves  in  a 
thick  cluster  of  slender,  upright  branches 
©f  a  mottled  brown,  which  have  a  re- 
markably soft  and  plumose  appearance 
when  viewed  from  afar.  The  bark  is  of 
a  peculiar  structure;  but  as  the  next 
species  possesses  this  peculiarity  in  a 
greatetr  degree,  we  will  describe  them  to- 
gether. 

The  Paper  or  Canoe  Birch  {Betula 
papyrcLGsa,  Ait,)  is  not  so  common  south 


of  Maine  as  the  White  Birch.  Clnmpt 
are  frequently  found,  howoYer,  on  tw 
borders  of  woods.  When  youngs  it  re- 
sembles the  other  very  much,  and  an  un- 
practised eye  might  confound  them.  It 
is  a  larger,  bolder,  more  ^poassiTe  tne, 
with  larger,  thicker,  and  less  attenoatcd 
leaves,  which  are  dark  green  above  and 
paler  beneath.  Another  difference  is  nen 
in  the  bark,  which  is  tfaiin  and  of  a  dead, 
chalky  white  in  the  white  birch,  while 
that  of  the  canoe  birch  is  thick,  glo«f 
and  pliant  The  sterile  catkins  are  laiger 
and  thicker  than  those  of  its  ally,  with  a 
rougher,  coarse  appearance.  The  fertile 
catkins  are  also  longer  and  larger. 

This  is  the  kind  of  birch  whidi  Inr- 
nishes  the  northern  Indians  with  the  hark 
for  their  baskets,  boxes^  and  trinkets  of 
all  kinds,  which  they  ornament  with 
beads  and  colored  straws.  It  is  this  bnk 
also  which  served  their  progeniton  far 
the  much  more  important  stmctnre  of 
canoes.  This  tree  grew  here  in  great 
abundance  years  ago,  and  shaded  the 
streams  over  which  the  abtnrigines  of  this 
country  skimmed  in  the  light  &brie8 
made  of  its  bark ;  but  it  is  mostly  de- 
stroyed hereabouts,  although  it  still  grows 
in  vast  quantities  fartlier  north,  and  is 
sent  to  Boston  in  the  shape  of  *^  eastern 
wood.'* 

The  bark,  which  has  been  so  osefnl  (o 
the  race  of  men  before  us,  and  whidi  h 
still  used  to  a  great  extent  in  the  north 
and  west,  is  peculiarly  constructed.  Hie 
inner  and  thicker  portion  is  composed  cf 
straight  vertical  fibres,  running  in  the 
direction  of  the  trunk  and  similar  to  the 
inner  bark  of  deciduous  trees  in  genend. 
The  outer  layer,  is  made  up  of  tough, 
flexible,  horizontal  fibres  running  at  i^t 
angles  with  the  inner  bark,  and  enctrclii^ 
it.  Its  pliancy  and  strength  are  such  as 
to  allow  of  its  being  bent,  shaped  and 
sewed  together  like  a  thick  doth.  Ttkm 
whole  from  the  tree,  it  can  be  spiead 
open,  fashioned  into  a  graceful  shape,  and 
lined  with  wooden  ribs.  In  this  way  the 
slight  canoes  are  made  which  float  lightly 
on  the  water,  and  can  be  impelled,  by  ex- 
perienced paddles,  with  astonishii^  re* 
pidity.  Modem  improvement  has  super- 
seded the  use  of  these  frail  barks,  and  the 
race  which  employed  them,  and  them 
only,  on  our  waters,  is  disappearing  before 
the  tread  of  Saxon  energy.  Bot  for  the 
use  of  the  red  man  in  the  chase  or  in  war, 
for  lightness  and  convenience  in  his  loi^ 
journeys  on  the  still  waters  of  Uie  wilder- 
ness, no  modem  invention  has  surpassed 
them.  They  are  still  used  wherever  the 
Indian  yet  finds  an  abiding-plaoa. 


1854.] 


Spring  Flowers. 


589 


The  Red  ^irch  (Betula  nigra,  Ait) 
is  by  no  means  so  common  as  the  other 
species.  Emerson  states  that  it  is  found 
"growing  abundantly  on  Spicket  River 
and  the  neighboring  swamps  in  Methuen." 
Farther  south  it  may  be  found  in  abun- 
dance. The  common  name  expresses  the 
characteristics  of  the  tree  better  than  the 
botanical  one.  The  outer  bark  is  formed 
like  that  of  the  canoe  birch,  but  the  color 
distinguishes  it,  and  it  lacks  toughness 
and  cohesion.  It  cracks  away  from  the 
trunk  in  shelly  pieces,  which  curve  suf- 
ficiently to  expose  the  inner  surface.  This 
is  of  a  reddish  tint,  which  gives  a  marked 
distinction  to  the  tree  when  viewed  from 
below.  The  female  aments  differ  from 
those  of  the  white  and  canoe  birch,  in 
being  erect  upon  short  footstalks.  The 
bracts  are  cut  into  three  narrow,  woolly 
lob^  which  give  a  soft  downy  appear- 
ance to  the  catkin.  The  leaves  are  some- 
what triangular,  smooth  above  and  pale 
beneath,  with  downy  ribs  and  footstalks. 
Their  margins  have  large,  regular  teeth, 
which  are  finely  serrated.  This  species 
is  not  found  in  woods  like  the  others,  but 
grows  along  the  banks  of  streams. 

The  Yellow  Birch  (Betula  excelsa^ 
Ait,)  is  more  frequently  met  with  than 
the  last.  It  is  a  krge  and  graceful  tree, 
with  a  stately  trunk,  which  subdivides 
into  an  ample  spreaa  of  dark,  bronzed 
branches.  The  outer  bark  is  of  a  dingy, 
silvery  hue,  without  the  toughness  and 
cohesion  of  the  canoe  birch.  It  breaks 
away  in  patches,  and  curls  up  around  the 
trunk  in  soft,  loose,  ragged  fringes.  The 
inner  bark  hafi  a  spicy  flavor,  like  that  of 
the  black  birch,  though  not  so  strong. 
The  sterile  catkins  are  large  and  shorter 
in  proportion  to  their  size  than  any  others. 
The  scales  are  of  a  rich  chestnut  color, 
contrasting  finely  with  the  golden  yellow 
of  the  stamens.  The  fertile  catkins  are 
erect  upon  very  short  stalks,  and  thick  in 
proportion  to  the  length,  attaining  an 
OFsl  form  at  maturity.  The  bracts  are 
three  toothed  and  somewhat  downy.  The 
lanves  are  from  two  to  three  inches  long, 
oval,  with  an  abrupt  point,  and  sharply 
snd  irregularly  serrate.  They  are  smooth 
above  and  pale  beneath,  issuing  in  pairs 
from  the  sides  of  the  reddish  brown 
branchlets.  The  wood  is  extensively 
used  as  fuel  as  well  as  for  many  different 
fabrics. 

The  last  of  the  birches  which  we  are  to 
describe  is  perhaps  the  most  beautiful 
and  the  most  useful  of  all ;  the  Black 
Birch  (Betula  lenta,  L.).  It  is  also 
called  the  sweet  and  the  cherry  birch. 
In  its  leaves,  fructification  and  habit^  it  re- 


sembles the  yellow  birch,  but  the  sterile 
catkins  are  longer  and  browner,  and  the 
dark  colored  bark  is  destitute  of  the  soft 
and  curling  fringes  of  the  latter.  When 
it  first  opens  its  sterile  catkins  in  the 
spring,  they  resemble  those  of  the  alder 
so  much  as  to  be  easily  confounded.  The 
fertile  aments,  when  mature,  are  small, 
round,  oval,  and  thicker  in  proportion  to 
their  length  than  any  others,  and  smaller. 
Like  those  of  the  red  and  yellow,  they 
are  erect  upon  short  stalks,  The  leaves 
spring  in  pairs  from  the  scaly  buds 
or  the  last  year.  They  are  two  or  three 
inches  long,  acuminate,  downy  when 
young,  becoming  smooth  when  old,  with 
prominent,  parallel  veins,  and  sharp, 
double  serratures.  But  what  distin- 
guishes this  birch  from  any  other  is  the 
character  of  its  bark.  The  outer  cuticle 
has  the  same  horizontal  arrangement  of 
the  fibres,  but  it  is  very  thin  and  fragile, 
of  a  dark  brown  color,  and  dotted  with 
white  spots  like  the  wild  cherry  bark, 
which  gives  it  the  name  of  cherry  birch. 
It  never  flakes  off  like  the  others,  except 
when  quite  old,  and  then  in  hard,  woody 
pieces.  In  addition  to  this  difference,  the 
inner  bark  has  a  rich,  aromatic  flavor  and 
odor,  resembling  very  strongly  the  flavor 
of  the  Partridge  Berry  (Gaultheria  re- 
pens).  When  used  for  a  perfume,*  which 
IS  quite  common,  it  is  difficult  to  tell  them 
apart.  Like  the  whole  genus  to  which  it 
belongs,  the  black  birch  is  a  most  grace- 
ful and  ornamental  tree.  It  is  one  of  the 
first  to  put  forth  leaves,  and  is,  at  every 
season,  one  of  the  noblest  of  the  forest 
children. 

Before  we  leave  the  birches,  we  must 
mention  one  thing  which  has  made  nearly 
all  of  us  familiar  with  some  of  their  uses. 
They  have  from  time  immemorial  yielded 
a  pungent  oil,  which  has  been  freely  and 
extensively  used  wherever  the  rising  gen- 
eration has  gathered  together  in  the  tem- 
ples of  learning.  The  "  Oil  of  Birch  "  is 
an  article  of  a  bitter  and  irritating  na- 
ture. Many  an  unlucky  urchin  has  un- 
dergone its  forced  application  who  could 
scarcely  explain  the  texture  of  that  cuti- 
cle which  was  both  bark  and  bite  to  his 
own.  However,  -his  medical  knowledge 
may  have  undoubtedly  increased,  for  be 
could  have  eloquently  explained  the  effect 
of  its  application  to  the  human  skin. 

One  of  the  earliest  of  the  amentaceous 
plants  is  the  Hop  Hornbeam  (Oetrya 
Virginica^  Willd,),  which  is  common 
everywhere.  It  is  a  small  tree  of  slow 
growth,  and  from  its  Remarkably  tough 
and  hard  wood  is  sometimes  called  "  lever 
wood,"  and  **iron  wood."    The  bark  of 


540 


Spring  Flowers, 


[M»7 


the  trunk  is  broken  into  close  ridges  like 
that  of  the  white  ash,  while  the  branches 
resemble,  in  color  and  markings,  those  of 
the  black  birch.  The  sterile  aments  stand 
in  diverging  clusters  on  the  ends  of  the 
last  year's  shoots,  appearing,  before  they 
expand,  quite  rigid  and  hard.  They  are 
an  inch  or  more  long,  of  a  light  chestnut 
color,  straight  and  smooth.  When  the 
ihcerasing  warmth  has  brought  forth  the 
pistillate  flowers,  the  very  closely-set 
scales  separate,  the  aments  become  flaccid 
and  the  stamens  emit  their  pollen.  The 
fertile  amcnt  appears  with  the  leaves  on 
the  end  of  the  young  shoot  It  might 
easily  be  taken  for  the  yet  unexpanded 
leaves,  as  it  is  small  and  hidden  in  the 
leaf-like  bracts.  The  flowers  are  arranged 
loosely  in  a  short  ament  half  an  injh  long, 
with  two  kinds  of  bracts  or  scales.  The 
outer  ones,  which  are  long  and  hairy,  fall 
off  early,  leaving  the  inner  smaller  ones 
to  protect  the  peculiar  bladdery  covering 
of  the  nutlet  This  covering  is  at  first  a 
simple  tube,  open  at  the  top,  from  which 
project  two  stigmas.  They  grow  in  twos 
from  the  same  point  and  gradually  elon- 
gate and  inflate  with  age.  At  the  time 
of  maturity  the  ament  is  an  inch  or  two 
long,  composed  of  an  imbricated  cluster 
of  these  bladdery  sacs,  bristly  at  the  base, 
'  resembling  somewhat  the  fruit  of  the  hop 
vine,  whence  the  common  name  of  the 
tree.  The  nuUet  is  small,  light  brown  in 
color,  of  an  ovate,  compressed  form,  and 
situated  at  the  bottom  of  the  sac.  The 
leaves  are  ovate  with  a  tapering  point,  re- 
sembling those  of  the  yellow  birch,  but 
the  serratures  are  larger,  more  elongated 
and  spreading.  The  tree  is  common  all 
over  the  country,  but  is  not  of  great  utili- 
ty or  beauty. 

There  is  another  small  tree  very  com- 
mon at  the  South  and  extending  some 
hundreds  of  miles  north  of  us,  which  is 
closely  related  to  the  last,  and  bears  the 
same  common  name  of  Hornbeam  (Car- 
pinim  Ainericana^  Mx.),  It  has  the  same 
compact  toughness  of  fibre,  the  same  slow 
growth,  and  it  frequents  the  same  situa- 
tions. The  sterile  catkins  are  small,  ap- 
pearing before  the  leaves.  The  fertile 
ones  are  unlike  those  of  the  Hop  Horn- 
beam in  appearance.  They  spring  from 
the  ends  of  the  young  leafy  shoots,  at 
first  insignificant,  but  finally  hanging  in 
numerous  drooping  clusters  all  over  the 
tree.  The  flowers,  which  are  very  small, 
consisting  merely  of  the  ovary  with  its 
stigmas,  appear  in  the  axils  of  the  termi- 
nal leaves.  These  leaves,  which  in  most 
amentaceous  plants  take  the  form  of  scales 
or  cones^  in  this  plant  retain  their  l^y 


character,  although  they  differ  in  shape 
from  the  true  leaves.  They  are  of  a  tri- 
angular form  with  two  large  hastate  lobes 
at  the  base,  and  an  elongated  terminal 
point  which  is  cut  into  several  large  teeth 
at  the  sides.  The  ripe  nutlets  grow  in 
pairs  from  the  same  point  They  are 
naked  at  the  base  of  the  leaves,  not  tnily 
in  their  axils,  but  seated  at  the  junctoie 
of  the  leaf-stalk  and  the  leaf.  They  are 
an  eighth  of  an  inch  long,  compressed, 
with  several  prominent  ribs  on  each  side, 
and  of  a  dark  brown  color.  The  true 
leaves  of  the  tree  resemble  those  of  the 
other  Hornbeam,  though  somewhat  thin- 
ner. They  are  two  inches  or  more  long, 
half  as  wide,  doubly  and  yery  sharply 
serrate. 

This  tree  may  be  recognized  at  any 
season  of  the  year,  by  the  trunk  alone. 
The  bark  is  of  a  gray,  ashen  color,  smooth 
and  obscurely  spotted.  The  mode  of 
growth  is  what  distinguishes  it,  however, 
from  any  other  ti-ee.  Instead  of  being 
round,  or  equally  distributed  around  a 
common  centre,  it  grows  in  strong  and 
salient  ridges,  looking  sometimes  as  if  a 
powerful  hand  had  twisted  it  into  an  an- 
gular form.  The  ridges  commence  at  the 
juncture  of  a  branch  with  the  main  stem. 
There  is  a  doubt  existing  among  those 
who  have  sought  to  discover  the  origin  of 
its  name  whether  **  hornbeam  "  arose  from 
the  resemblance  of  these  ridges  to  those 
on  the  hoMis  of  some  animals,  or  whether 
it  merely  implied  a  hard,  homy  wood. 

The  tree  is  not  productive  of  much'  ben- 
efit to  man,  but  is  at  all  seasons  an  orna- 
ment to  our  woods  with  its  profuse  bloom 
and  rich  autumn  coloring.  Both  of  the 
Hornbeams  belong  to  the  order  Cupuu- 

FERJE. 

We  have  many  other  amentaceous  trees 
to  describe,  which  flower  at  the  same 
time ;  but  perhaps  it  will  be  interestii^ 
to  turn  for  awhile  from  this  extensive  race 
and  examine  some  of  the  humbler  but 
more  beautiful  flowers  that  bloom  at  their 
feet.  The  hazels,  poplars,  willows,  pines, 
oaks  and  bayberries  shall  come  in  their 
turn. 

Underneath  the  nodding  tassels  of  the 
alders  by  the  brook-side,  and  thickly 
spread  over  the  wet  meadows,  grows, 
early  in  the  year,  one  of  the  most  bril- 
liant of  our  wild  flowers,  the  Marsh 
Marigold,  or,  as  it  is  commonly  called, 
Cowslip  (Caltha  palnstris,  L.).  It 
spreads  extensively  in  the  low  grounds, 
covering  large  patches  with  its  bright 
golden  blossoms.  At  a  little  distance  a 
hasty  glance  might  think  it  was  a  large 
-  buttercup.    The  radical  le«Te%  which  in 


1854.] 


Spring  Flowers. 


541 


the  low  overflowed  woods  are  among  the 
first  eyidenoes  of  green  life,  are  rounded 
in  outline  with  a  serrated  edge  of  small, 
blunt  teeth.  They  are  on  footstalks  some- 
times more  than  a  foot  long.  The  stems 
are  of  about  the  same  length,  grooved  on 
the  outside  and  hollow  in  the  middle. 
They  fork  at  the  top  two  or  three  times, 
giving  forth  a  leaf  with  each  branch,  and 
finally  presenting  a  rounded  top  of  large, 
showy  flowers.  The  stem  leaves  are 
sometimes  quite  sessile,  and  sometimes 
with  stalks  an  inch  long.  They  are  round, 
heart-shaped,  with  siilh  ample  blades  that 
they  lie  in  folds,  the  margins  sometimes 
clasping  the  stem.  The  flowers  are  of  a 
fine  bright  yellow,  an  inch  broad,  com- 
posed of  from  four  to  ten  ovate  or  obovate 
sepals,  numerous  stamens,  and  an  irregu- 
lar number  of  pistils. 

When  we  say  that  these  gay  blossoms 
have  no  corolla,  perhaps  some  will  in- 
quire what  those  yellow  leaves  can  be 
that  so  much  resemble  one.  They  are 
the  colored  sepals,  which  are  the  separate 
parts  of  the  calyx,  as  the  petals  are  the 
divisions  of  the  corolla.  Many  plants 
have  this  change  in  the  coloration  and 
texture  of  their  parts.  It  is  peculiar  to 
whole  families,  and  sometimes  to  whole 
orders.  The  corolla  in  such  cases  is  gen- 
erally absent,  though  sometimes  it  is 
present,  but  so  like  the  calyx  as  to  be 
only  distinguished  by  its  position  on  the 
stem.  In  the  lily,  for  example,  there  are 
three  sepals  and  three  petals,  both  colored 
alike  and  of  the  same  shape,  but  it  will  be 
seen  that  one  set  slightly  overlaps  the 
other  at  the  base.  The  outer  set  is  the 
calyx,  the  inner  one  the  corolla.  Their 
position  in  respect  to  the  stamens  also  dis- 
tinguishes them.  The  cowslip  therefore 
has  no  petals,  the  yellow  veiny  parts 
being  termed  petaloid  from  their  resem- 
blance to  petals.  Colored  sepals  are  gen- 
erally destitute  of  fragrance,  not  possess- 
ing that  peculiar  organization  which  in 
the  true  corolla  so  often  secretes  a  volatile 
oil.  The  fruit  consists  of  a  cluster  of  flat, 
pointed  carpels,  which  diverge  as  they 
ripen  and  open  upon  the  inner  side,  ex- 
posing numerous  winged  seeds. 

It  is  used  y^ry  commonly  in  the  coun- 
try as  a  pot  herb,  being  among  the  ear- 
liest ^'  spring  greens  "  of  the  season.  It 
is  a  very  respectable  substitute  for  spin- 
ach, though  rarely  met  with  in  our  city 
markets.  The  name  of  Cowslip,  com- 
monly given  to  this4)lant  here,  is  wrongly 
applied ;  as  that  name  belongs  to  a  kind 
of  primrose,  common  in  Europe,  and  so 
christened  centuries  ago.  Marsh  Mari- 
gold is  a  more  appropriate  title.    The 


different  names  given  to  the  same  plants 
lA  different  places  cause  much  confu- 
sion in  identifying  them.  Scientific  men 
themselves,  are  often  vexed  with  the 
quadruple  baptism  which  the  same  natu- 
ral object  has  received,  and  is  acknow- 
ledged by,  in  different  localities.  Very 
frequently  the  same  name  is  given  to 
plants  of  a  widely  dissimilar  character, 
as  in  this  case.  *•*  Dogwood  "  is  a  name 
given  to  the  early  Cornel  tree  (Corntls 
florida,  L,)  and  also  to  the  poisonous 
sumach  {Rhus  venenata^  D,  C),  two 
entirely  distinct  plants  with  no  resem- 
blance whatever. 

Belonging  to  the  same  natural  order, 
Ranunculace£,  and  flowering  earlier 
than  the  last,  is  one  of  the  most  delicate 
flowers  of  the  whole  season,  the  Hepati- 

CA,  LiVERLEAF,  LiVERWORT,  EaRLY  AnE- 

MONB.  under  which  name  it  is  in  different 
places  known  (Hepatica  triloba,  Chaix), 
In  warm  situations,  where  the  snow  first 
melts  away  from  the  woods  in  the  spring 
sun,  this  elegant  little  flower  may  be 
found  sending  up  its  blue  blossoms  in 
abundance,  above  the  dead  leaves  around 
it.  The  young  leaves,  before  expanding, 
are  clothed  with  a  dense,  white,  silky 
down,  which  gives  to  them  a  plumose  ap- 
pearance. As  they  gradually  unfold, 
they  lose  this  covering  and  become  nearly 
smooth.  They  are  all  radical,  about  two 
inches  or  more  wide,  one  and  a  half  inches 
long,  and  cut  into  three  rounded  lobes. 
They  are  on  footstalks  four  or  five  inches 
long,  and  remain  after  the  flowers  have 
perished,  growing  thick  and  coriaceous, 
enduring  the  winter's  snow  unchanged, 
and  only  perishing  when  the  next  year's 
growth  pushes  them  aside.  The  flowers 
are  solitary,  on  the  top  of  downy  scapes 
four  or  five  inches  long,  several  of  which 
spring  from  the  same  root.  Like  the 
caltha  they  have  no  petals,  but  the  six  or 
eight  ovate  sepals  are  of  delicate  texture, 
and  tinted  with  a  beautiful  blue,  which 
varies  in  the  deepness  of  its  color.  Be- 
neath them,  at  so  short  a  distance  as  to 
appear  like  a  calyx,  is  an  involucre  of 
three  ovate,  hairy  leaves,  somewhat  shorter 
than  the  sepals.  The  stamens  are  numer- 
ous, as  are  also  the  pistils,  which  are 
small  and  downy  in  a  close  cluster. 
When  ripe,  they  become  short,  hairy, 
pointed  carpels,  inclosing  each   a  single 


There  is  a  variety  of  this  plant  which 
De  Candolle  has  raised  into  a  species 
(Hepatica  acutHoha^  De.  C.)  in  which 
the  lobes  of  the  radical  leaves  as  well  as 
those  of  the  involucre  are  pointed.  This 
seems  to  be  the  only  real  difference  be* 


542 


Spring  Fhwers. 


pb. 


tween  the  species,  and  intermediate  forms 
occur. 

The  Hepatica  derives  both  its  botani- 
cal and  its  common  names  from  a  remote 
resemblance  which  it  bears  to  the  liver, 
and,  from  some  strange  fancy  in  olden 
times,  it  was  thought  for  that  reason  to 
be  a  specific  remedy  for  the  diseases  of 
the  organ.  It  is  even  now  extensively 
used  as  a  popular  medicine,  though  pos- 
sessed of  no  very  active  properties.  The 
plant  is  easily  cultivated,  and  forms  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  of  the  garden  blooms 
in  early  spring. 

Vying  in  beauty  with  this  last  and  of 
yet  greater  purity,  is  the  Blood  Root 
(Sanguinaria  Canadensis,  Z/.),  which  is 
common  over  the  whole  country.  It  is 
often  found  growing  with  the  Hepatica, 
-  contrasting  its  snowy  blossoms  with  the 
■  cerulean  blue  of  its  neighbor.  The  root 
of  this  plant  deserves  our  first  attention, 
as  both  its  common  and  scientific  names 
are  derived  from  its  peculiarity.  We 
should  say,  however,  more  properly,  the 
rootstoch  as  this  plant  furnishes  an  ex- 
ample of  the  difference  between  the 
true  roots  and  the  subterranean  stem 
{rhizoma).  Just  beneath  the  surface 
of  the  ground  this  stem  grows  onward, 
never  rising  to  the  light  itself,  but  send- 
ing up  from  its  sides  and  apex,  the  leaves 
and  flowers  of  each  succeeding  spring. 
The  true  roots  are  the  irregular  fibres 
which,  springing  mostly  from  the  under 
side,  serve  to  keep  this  stem  firm  in  its 
bed,  and  also  to  supply  it  with  nutriment 
This  rootstock  is  rough,  with  irregular 
ridges,  of  a  dull  red  color,  ending  abruptly 
at  one  point  and  bearing  the  growing  bud 
at  the  other.  It  is  tough,  fleshy,  and 
gorged  with  a  copious  orange-red  juice, 
which  gives  it  the  name  of  Blood  Root 
This  rootstock  literally  travels  through 
the  ground.  Growing  from  one  end  only,  it 
moves  onward  in  that  direction  and  dies 
at  the  other.  The  side  buds  which  it 
gives  out,  grow  in  a  similar  manner  until 
they  have  become  separate  plants,  perish- 
ing at  their  birth-place.  In  the  young 
bud  at  the  apex,  lie  folded  together  the 
leaf  and  flower  soon  to  burst  forth.  They 
*  throw  off  the  embraces  of  several  long, 
sheathing  scales,  and  grow  up  rapidly  to- 
gether. The  bud  is  protected  from  the 
lingering  frost  by  the  tender  embraces  of 
the  enfolding  leaf,  which  rises  with  its 
ample  lobes  wrapped  closely  around  the 
'  unexpanded  blossom.  They  grow  thus 
together  until  the  genial  warmth  bids  the 
leaf  relax  its  care,  and  the  bud,  taking  a 
/more  rapid  growth,  shoots  beyond  its 
/  protective  b^  and  expands    its  snow- 


white,  starry  beautj  to  the  light  of  daj. 
The  two  obtuse  concave  sepals  open,  and 
almost  immediately  drop  away.  The  pe- 
tals are  from  eight  to  twelve  in  number^ 
ovate,  with  a  lengthened  base,  measoring 
an  inch  or  more  across  when  expanded. 
They  are  very  fugacious,  falling  with  the 
lightest  touch,  soon  after  they  have  opened. 
The  stamens  are  numerous,  snrroundine 
the  two-celled  ovary,  with  its  bilobed 
stigma.  The  leaves  are  heart-shaped,  and 
cut  into  from  five  to  nine  lobes.  Into 
these  lobes  the  stronely  marked  ribs  di- 
verge from  the  apef  of  the  leaf-stalk, 
which,  at  the  time  of  flowering,  is  three 
or  four  inches  long.  The  leaves  continue 
to  grow  during  the  summer  until  they  be- 
come three  or  four  inches  long  and  wide^ 
Like  those  of  the  hepatica,  they  are  highly 
ornamental  after  the  bloom  which  they 
at  first  protected  has  passed  away.  They 
fabricate  in  their  thick  green  blades  the 
copious  sanguinary  juice  which  is  stored 
in  the  underground  stem,  and  which  fur- 
nishes food  for  the  rapid  growth  of  the 
young  leaf  and  flower  of  the  following 
spring.  • 

The  Blood  Root  belongs  to  an  order  of 
plants — Papaveracea — ^which  furnishes 
one  of  the  most  useful  and  most  pemickNis 
substances  used  by  man,^K>pium.  The 
colored  or  milky  juice  is  common  to  them 
alL  That  which  is  found  in  the  stems  of 
the  common  Celandine,  introduced  into 
this  country  from  Europe  (Ckelidanium 
majus.  L.)  has  long  enjoyed  an  extensive 
reputation  among  boys  as  a  specific  euro 
for  warts.  The  juice  of  the  blood  root 
has  been  used  as  a  dye.  Taken  intemallj 
it  is  a  powerful  emetic. 

One  of  the  earliest  and  prettiest  of 
the  vernal  flowers  is  the  Mat  Wexd 
or  Early  Saxifbage  (Saxifrage  Fir- 
giniensis,  Mx.).  As  soon  as  the  snow 
melts  from  the  low  hill-tops,  and  the 
frost  has  set  free  the  thin  soil  be- 
neath, it  begins  to  show  signs  of  activity. 
Close  to  the  ground,  in  the  midst  of  the 
starved  grass,  its  httle  rosettes  of  downy 
leaves  are  found  in  great  abundance. 
They  are  an  inch  long,  of  an  oval  form, 
cut  into  rounded  teeth  above,  and  taper- 
ing at  the  base  into  broad  stalks  half  as 
long  as  the  blade.  In  the  centre  of  this 
little  circlet  lie  the  clustering  flower  buds^ 
insignificant  at  first  but  soon  rising  from 
their  leafy  bed.  They  are  borne  upon 
the  summit  of  a  naked  pubescent  stalk, 
which  grows  with  great  rapidity  to  a 
height  of  from  six  to  twelve  inches.  This 
stalk  gives  forth  branches  as  it  rises,  each 
one  accompanied  by  a  narrow,  threaidlike, 
downy  leaf,  until  the  plant  takes  a  panica- 


1854.] 


Spring  Mowers, 


548 


late  form,  sometimes  thin  and  loose,  and 
oftener  close  and  crowded.  The  flowers 
are  small  but  pretty,  arranged  in  clusters 
on  the  ends  of  the  branches.  The  calyx 
is  cut  into  five  oval  lobes,  which  are  some- 
times tinged  with  purple,  and  stand  some- 
what erect.  The  white,  oblong,  spreading 
petals  are  twice  the  length  of  the  calyx 
lobes,  and  alternate  with  them.  The 
stamens  are  ten  in  number,  and  the  two 
styles  ripen  into  a  pair  of  diverging  pods, 
united  at  the   base,  inclosing  numerous 


This  species  with  one  other  later  (Pentir 
sylvanica)  are  our  only  eastern  repre- 
sentatives of  a  vast  genus,  many  species 
of  which  belong  to  the  north  and  north- 
western part  of  this  continent,  and  which 
is  extensively  diffused  over  Europe.  The 
delicate  blossoms  of  many  small  species 
adorn  the  mountain-tops  with  their  sim- 
ple elegance  as  high  up  as  vegetation  is 
found.  Mr.  Oakes  found  one  small  spe- 
cies, the  S.  7'ivtUariSy  on  the  top  of  Mt. 
Washington ;  but  it  is  very  rare.  Others 
are  cultivated  in  our  gardens  for  their 
beauty.  They  belong  to  and  typify  the 
order  Saxifragacea:. 

The  summer  rambles  of  our  city  chil- 
dren begin  with  the  flowering  of  the 
May  Weed,  and  groups  of  sturdy  little 
fellows,  to  whom  the  riches  of  green- 
houses and  gardens  are  denied,  may  be 
seen  returning  from  their  holiday  strolls 
with  handfuls  of  its  drooping  blossoms. 

ADOther  of  the  equally  common  and 
beautiful  flowers  is  the  Wind  Flower  or 
Wood  Anemone  (Anemone  nemoroacL, 
Ij.y  It  grows  iir  profusion  by  the  road- 
sides and  in  the  open  woods,  spangling 
the  ground  with  its  pure  starry  blossoms 
in  early  spring.  No  one  is  better  known 
or  better  beloved  by  the  young  botanists 
who  go  *•  a  Maying ; "  and  should  "  win- 
ter, hngering,  chill  the  lap  of  May,"  it  is 
not  sure  to  be  found  at  that  season. 

The  underground  stem  is  long  and 
wormlike,  giving  forth  scattered  rootlets, 
and  sending  upwards  from  its  apex  a 
smooth,  slender  stem,  four  or  five  inches 
long.  From  its  summit  spring  forth,  in  a 
circle,  throe  or  five  compound  leaves  which 
diverge  horizontally  and  equally  around 
the  stem.  They  are  on  stalks  nearly 
half  an  inch  long,  and  are  composed  of 
three  smooth,  wedge-shaped  leafets,  which 
are  cut  into  large  teeth,  and  are  some- 
times three-lobed  at  the  apex.  From  the 
centre  of  these  leaves  rises  a  single  flower 
on  a  naked  downy  peduncle,  more  than  an 
inch  long.  The  bud  droops  gracefully  be- 
fore opening,  but  gradually  rises  in  bloom, 
expanding  its  snow-white  leaves,  from  four 


to  eight  in  number,  in  a  starlike  form. 
These  leaves  or  sepals,  for  the  flower  is 
only  a  petaloid  calyx,  are  of  an  ovate 
form,  delicately  veined  and  frequently  of 
a  purple  color  on  the  exterior,  which 
makes  the  young  bud  extremely  pretty. 
The  stamens  are  numerous,  surrounding 
a  cluster  of  fifteen  or  twenty  pistils. 
The  seed-vessels  ai'e  of  an  oblong  form, 
tipped  with  a  hooked  beak. 

There  is  a  delicacy  and  a  purity  in  thii" 
little  flower,  which  commends  it  to  thd 
affections  of  every  body.    Its  common  oo-\ 
currence  has  never  purchased  for  it  that! 
contempt  which  is  often  given  to  natural  I 
beauties  that  have  become  familiar.    Its ) 
simplicity    and    unobtrusiveness    make/ 
friends  of  every  one.    It  derives  its  name,} 
both  scientific  and  popular,  from  an  an-l 
cient  and  idle  notion  that  it  only  blos- 
soms while  the  wind  is  blowing.    It  be- 
longd  to  the  order  RANUNcuLACEiE,  and  to 
a  large  genus  of  plan^  which  has  given 
to  florists  some  of  the  choicest  ornaments 
of  their  gardens.    Many  of  the  foreign 
species  are  richly  colored.    Later  in  the 
year,  three  other  native  species  flower 
with  us:  the  Cylindrica,    Virgirmma. 
and  Pennsylvanica,    The  last  is  found 
only  towards  the  West     These  are  all 
less  beautiful  than  the  one  we  have  de- 
scribed, and  much  larger. 

The  first  tree  which  unfolds  a  perfect 
blossom  is  the  Red  Maple,  or  as  it  is 
sometimes  called  in  different  localities  the 
Swamp,  White,  and  Scarlet  Maple 
(Acer  rubrum,  L.).  It  is  one  of  the 
most  common  trees  in  the  country,  orna- 
menting the  swamps  and  low  woods  at 
all  seasons  of  the  year.  The  scaly  buds, 
which  stud  the  branches  in  profusion, 
swell  with  the  first  warmth  of  spring.  A 
few  days  of  uninterrupted  mildness  in 
April  will  cause  them  to  expand.  Each 
bud  discloses  four  or  five  small  red  flowers 
whic^  spring  on  short  pedicels  from  the 
same  point.  The  calyx  and  corolla  are 
similarly  colored,  though  the  petals  are 
of  a  more  delicate  texture.  The  number 
of  divisions  is  not  always  the  same,  rang- 
ing from  four  to  six.  The  stamens  are 
equal  in  number  to  the  calyx  lobes,  and 
stand  before  them.  They  are  two  or 
three  times  as  long  as  the  flower,  giving 
a  bristly  appearance  to  the  clusters.  The 
flowers  are  not  all  perfect,  in  fact  not  com- 
monly so.  Some  have  stamens  only,  some 
pistils  only,  and  seldom  both.  Some  trees 
bear  only  the  staminate,  some  the  pistil- 
late flowers,  and  others  both  of  them. 
They  are  termed  polygamous  in  botanical 
language.  The  fertile  flowers  have  two 
long  downy  styles  which  curve  outwards. 


544 


Spring  Flowers. 


\M»y 


When  the  stamens  are  present  also,  they 
are  shorter  than  in  sterile  flowers. 

Both  kinds  of  flowers  are  of  a  beauti- 
ful scarlet  hue,  and  as  they  spring  in 
great  numbers  around  the  bare  branches, 
they  give  to  the  whole  tree  a  brilliant 
coloring.  None  of  the  forest  trees  pro- 
sent  so  fine  a  view  as  the  red  maple  at 
this  period.  It  blooms  long  before  any 
verdure  has  appeared,  and  rears  its  flaming 
head  over  the  sleeping  life  around,  so 
bright  and  beautiful  as  to  distinguish  it 
at  a  great  distance.  But  not  in  bloom 
only  is  it  remarkable  for  its  elegance. 
When  the  flowers  have  fallen  awaj',  the 
peduncles  begin  to  elongate  rapidly,  bear- 
ing on  their  apex  the  swelling  germs, 
crowned  with  the  outcurving  stigmas.  At 
first  thoy  are  of  an  invcrsed  triangular 
form  ;  but  as  they  grow  larger  two  wings 
are  developed  at  the  outer  angles  which 
grow  very  rapidly,  diverging  as  they  in- 
crease, until  they  attain  a  curved,  spatu- 
late  form,  thickened  at  the  outer  edge, 
which  gives  rise  to  forking  veins  that 
curve  inwards.  They  bear  considerable 
resemblance  to  the  wings  of  some  in- 
sects. At  this  time  the  tree  presents 
again  a  mosi  beautiful  appearance.  The 
keys  or  samaras,  as  they  are  termed, 
hang  pendent  on  peduncles  which  grow 
from  an  inch  and  a  half  to  two  inches  long, 
clothing  the  tree  with  a  rich  crimson  tas- 
seling,  even  more  ornamental  than  its 
early  bloom.  The  se«d  vessels  themselves 
are  small  and  compressed,  growing  in 
pairs,  and  bearing  the  wings  on  their  out- 
er edge.     They  contain  one  seed  each. 

The  leaves,  which  appear  subsequently, 
are  on  long  petioles,  rounded  or  heart- 
shaped  at  base,  and  cut  into  three  or  five 
toothed  lobes,  which  are  separated  by  a 
sharply  indented  sinus.  They  vary  much 
in  outline,  though  always  preserving  their 
general  character.  Early  in  the  autumn, 
before  the  warm  weathpr  has  quite  de- 
parted, they  begin  to  assume  the  gay 
coloring  which  has  given  a  name  to  the 
tree.  This  rich  scarlet  is  first  seen  in  a 
few  leaves,  then  in  a  few  branches,  and 
finally  whole  trees  are  clothed  in  its  gor- 
geous magnificence,  when  the  foliage  of 
other  trees  still  retain  the  fresh  green  of 
midsummer. 

The  cause  of  this  change  in  the  color 
of  foliage  at  autumn,  has  given  rise  to 
much  speculation.  It  has  been  generally 
ascribed  to  the  action  of  frost,  inasmuch 
as  the  change  takes  place  at  the  time 
when  frost  generally  appears.  But  mod- 
ern research  and  observation  have  proved 
this  to  be  a  fallacy.  This  tree,  in  particu- 
lar, is  adduced  as  a  proof  that  frost  or 


even  cold  is  not  necessary  to  prodace  the 
change,  as  it  is  often  found  clothed  with 
its  autumn  dress  before  the  first  sign  of 
frost.  Leaves  may  be  found  at  all  seasons 
of  the  year,  which  have  changed  color 
from  premature  decay.  The  b^t  expla- 
nation yet  given,  is,  that  the  cellular  stroc- 
ture  of  the  leaf  becomes  gorged  with  an  in- 
ternal deposit  in  the  same  manner  as  the 
stony  portion  of  fruits  is  formed,  and  that  a 
subsequent  chemical  action  upon  the  green 
chlorophylle  produces  the  alteration.  The 
leaf  is,  in  fact,  ripe.  The  skins  of  many 
fruits  retain  their  green  hue  until  ripe, 
and  then  assume  a  bright  color,  which 
does  not  depend  on  cold,  but  on  maturity. 
The  texture  of  this  fruit  skin  does  not 
materially  difier  from  the  skin  of  a  leaf 
blade.  The  maturity  of  a  fruit  is  its  in- 
cipient decay.  It  no  longer  grows,  but 
decomposes.  Those  fruits  which,  like 
apples,  may  be  kept  for  a  long  whilc^  only 
resist  longest  the  action  of  decomposing 
agents:  they  are  not  living,  but  slowly 
decaying,  to  make  food  for  the  seeds  they 
contain.  The  chemical  action  which  the 
vitality  of  the  leaf  opposed,  begins  to 
take  place  at  once  on  its  death.  There- 
fore we  believe  that  the  forest  leaves  ripen 
and  perish  in  their  season,  and  that  their 
bright  beauty  is  the  result  of  their  death. 
The  cold  breath  of  winter  may  kill  them, 
but  it  is  not  that  cold  itself  which  paints 
them  with  purple  and  gold. 

One  other  early  species  of  maple  which  is 
found  in  the  western  part  of  the  State,  is 
the  White  or  Silver-Leaved  Maplk 
(Acer  dasycarpum,  Ehrhart),  It  grows 
more  loosely  than  the  red  maple,  and  is 
easily  distinguished  from  many  peculiar- 
ities. The  flowers  appear  before  the  leaves, 
and  are  of  a  greenish  yellow.  The  sama- 
ras are  always  green,  downy  when  young, 
but  smoother  when  mature,  with  two 
large,  thick,  diverging  wings,  on  pedioels 
an  inch  long.  The  leaves  are  more  deep- 
ly cut,  and  whitened  beneath  with  a  sil- 
very down,  which  glistens  in  the  sunlight 
when  the  wind  agitates  its  branches. 
Like  the  red  maple,  it  has  been  extensive- 
ly used  as  an  ornamental  shade-tree  ;  and 
though  destitute  of  the  gay  colors  of  the 
former,  its  foliage  and  mode  of  growth  are 
more  graceful. 

The  maples  typify  the  order  Aceracka, 
and  are  its  only  representatives  in  the 
North.  At  the  South  is  found  the  Ash- 
Leaved  Maple,  or  Box  Elder  {Negundo 
Aceroides,  Mcench.)^  which  was  classed 
with  the  acers,  by  Linnaeus,  and  differs  in 
its  pinnate  leaves,  and  constantly  disecious 
flowers.  No  single  genus  of  trees  is  of 
more  varied  importance  to  man.    They 


1854.] 


Spring  FhwerM, 


545 


furnish  one  of  the  most  useful  woods  for 
a  great  raricty  of  purposes ;  one  species 
(it.  aaccharinum)  yields  a  delicious  su- 
gar, and  all  are  highly  ornamental  in  cul- 
tivation. 

To  go  from  the  lofty  to  the  lowly,  let 
us  notice  a  charming  little  flower  which 
appears  very  early  upon  the  dry  hills — the 
Five  Finger,  or  Cinque-Foil  {Poientilla 
Canadensh^  L.) .  From  each  root  spring 
several  creeping  stems,  which  run  over 
the  ground,  giving  forth  leaves  and  flow- 
ers at  intervals,  which  become  longer  as 
the  plant  gains  strength.  The  leaves  are 
on  long  petioles,  and  are  cut  into  dye 
obovate,  wedge-shaped,  distinct  leaflets, 
which  are  shai^ly  toothed  at  the  top,  and 
covered  on  both  sides  with  a  silky  down. 
They  are  accompanied  by  two  downy 
stipules,  which  are  both  cut  into  three 
sharp,  lanceolate  lobes.  The  flower  is  on 
a  long  slender  peduncle,  springing  from 
the  axils  of  the  leaves.  The  calyx  is  cut 
into  five  lobes,  alternating  with  five  bracts, 
which  are  so  much  like  the  calyx  as  to 
make  it  seem  ten-Iobed.  The  five  petals 
are  rounded  and  obovate,  longer  than 
the  calyx,  and  of  a  bright  golden  yellow. 
They  are  lightly  attached  at  the  base,  and 
soon  fall  away.  A  second  bloom  appears 
at  the  end  of  the  summer.  The  numer- 
ous short  stamens  surround  a  cluster  of 
pistils,  which  become,  on  ripening,  a  close, 
flattened  head  of  small  pointed  seed-ves- 
sels. The  whole  plant  is  covered  with  a 
soft  silken  pubescence. 

We  have  described  only  one  variety  of 
this  species  of  Potentilla.  Modem  botan- 
ists have  placed  under  the  name  of  Canor' 
densis,  given  by  Linnaeus,  two  distinct 
varieties.  The  one  under  consideration  is 
the  sarmeritona  of  Muhlenberg.  It  is 
early,  never  erect,  always  in  dry  soils, 
and  of  a  slender,  starved  growth.  The 
other,  P,  simplex  of  Michaux,  appears 
later,  is  twice  as  large  in  every  part, 
greener  and  ranker,  standing  erect,  or 
leaning  upon  tlie  tall  grass,  and  growing 
in  damp  soils.  The  diflerence  between 
them  is  such  as  might  be  caused  by  the 
diflerence  of  situation  ;  yet  intermediate 
forms  do  not  so  often  occur  as  might  be 
expected.  When  plants  of  any  extended 
region  arc  examined  together,  many  nomi- 
nal species  are  found  to  run  gradually 
into  each  other,  which  would  l^  consid- 
ered certainly  distinct  in  an  plated  lo- 
cality. 

We  will  close  this  chapter  of  our  de- 
sultory descriptions,  with  an  account  of  a 
flower,  universally  known  and  esteemed 
as  one  of  our  sweetest  spring  beauties — 
the  Wild  Columbine  or  Honeysuckle 


(^Amiilegia  Canadtmsis^  L,).  It  grows i 
in  dry  places  from  the  crevices  of  rocks, 
sometimes  covering  a  loose,  crumbling  de- 
clivity, for  a  considerable  distance,  with 
its  brilliant  blossoms.  The  stem  is  smooth, 
a  foot  or  more  high,  branching  widely  at 
the  top.  and  bearing  on  its  ultimate  di- 
visions the  large  solitary  flowers.  Tho 
lower  leaves  are  twice  triply  divided,  the 
first  divisions  being  long,  and  the  second 
ones  short  stalked.  The  leaflets  are  vari- 
ously cut  and  lobed  at  the  apex.  Tho 
stem  leaves  are  gradually  reduced  to  three 
simple  lobes,  or  even  a  plain  ovate  form. 
They  are  all  smooth,  except  where  the 
petiole  embraces  the  accompanying  branch ; 
the  sheathing,  stipular  portion  is  there 
pubescent.  The  flowers  are  of  a  brilliant 
scarlet  on  the  outside,  and  a  rich  yellow 
within.  The  five  ovate  sepals  are  petal- 
oid  in  texture  and  color ;  they  curve  out^- 
ward  at  the  base,  and  become  nearly  erect, 
overlapping  and  exceeding  in  length  the 
yellow  petals.  These  are  peculiarly  formed. 
The  rim  Qf  each  would  give  the  outline  of 
any  common  form  of  leaf,  with  an  apex, 
two  sides,  and  a  base ;  but  the  blade  is 
drawn  downwards  into  a  long,  hollow, 
tubular  spur,  which  gradually  diminishes 
in  diameter,  and  is  thickened  at  the  point. 
These  were  termed  nectaries  by  the  older 
botanists.  Under  this  name  they  classed 
every  honey-producing  apparatus  of  the 
flower,  and  even  the  strange  or  uncommon 
appendages  which  produced  no  honey. 
Modem  writers  do  not  now  classify  these 
parts  under  a  general  name.  They  no 
longer  recognize  the  nectary  as  a  separate 
and  integral  portion  of  the  flower.  Tho 
parts  so  nam^  are  considered  to  be  mere- 
ly peculiar  developments  of  the  organs  on 
which  they  occur.  The  stamens  of  the 
columbine  are  numerous,  gathered  togeth- 
er in  a  conical  bundle  in  the  centre  of  the 
flower.  From  the  centre  of  these  spring 
five  long,  thread-like  styles.  The  flower 
hangs  drooping  from  the  apex  of  the  nod- 
ding stalk,  so  that  the  spurs  are  upright, 
and  tho  stigmas  pendent.  But  when  the 
flower  falls  away,  the  stem  resumes  its 
upright  position,  bearing  five  separable 
carpels,  erect  and  tipped  with  the  persist- 
ent styles.  They  open  inwards  like  a  dry 
pod,  exposing  numerous  seeds. 

All  the  May-day  ramblers  eagerly  seek, 
for  wild  columbines,  as  they  are  only] 
found  in  warm,  sunny  situations,  so  earlyl 
in  the  year.  It  flowers  profusely  a  weeki 
or  two  later.  Its  brilliant  colors  and  ele-  '• 
gant  foliage,  make  it  highly  prized  by  the  [ 
young  herborists  of  the  season.  Nor  is  it  • 
less  welcome  to  those  of  older  growth,  to 
whom,  more  than  to  children,  it  is  sigoifl- 


546 


CruUe  of  the  North  Star. 


[May 


cftnt  of  the  coming  season  of  beauty ;  to 
whom  its  grace  and  loveliness  are  an 
epitome  of  that  perfect  harmony  which 
reigns  in  the  whole  natural  world. 

I'he  columbine  is  another  representa- 
tive of  the  order  Ranunculacejk,  which 
furnishes  so  many  of  our  early  flowering 
plants.  The  European  species,  A.  vulga- 
ris^ is  very  common  in  our  gardens,  and 
is  an  instance  of  that  tendency  to  procure 
foreign  plants,  with  an  idea  that  they 
must  be  more  beautiful  than  our  own. 
Our  species  is  more  elegant  in  every  re- 


spect than  the  European  one,  and  better 
deserves  cultivation. 

We  have  by  no  means  described  all  the 
early  spring  blossoms.  There  are  others^ 
less  familiar,  but  equally  worthy  of  oor 
examination.  There  is  somi  thing  greatly 
attractive  in  the  first  signs  of  summer 
life,  and  we  feel  peculiar  gratification  at 
the  discovery  of  the  first  specimens  of 
favorite  flowers.  If  our  readers  are  will- 
ing to  again  look  over  our  shoulder  to  no- 
tice the  plants  we  cull,  we  will  at  oooe 
proceed  to  collect  another  bouquet. 


THE    CRUISE    OF    THE    STEAM    YACHT    NORTH    STAR. 


rh6  CnUse  of  the  Steam  Tac/U  Korth  Star;  a 
NarraUee  of  the  Excursion  qf  Mr.  Vand4rbUf$ 
Party  to  England^  BuMia^  Denmark^  France^ 
Spaitk,  Italy,  Malta,  Turkey,  Madeira,  etc  By 
tlio  Rkv.  John  Otrbtok  Cooulks,  D.  D.,  Author 
of  the  **  History  of  Missions"  "  Young  WLmerioans 
Abruiid,'*  etc:    Boston,  Oonid  4s  Unodn,  1854. 

"VTEVER,  since  the  day  when  Noah  took 
J-'  his  sons  and  his  sons'  wives  on  board 
the  Ark.  has  there  been  so  large  a  family 
party  afloat  as  that  which  embarked  with 
the  patriarch  Vanderbilt,  on  his  pleasure 
trip  to  Europe.  It  was  altogether  a  most 
memorable  and  remarkable  excursion,  and 
better  worth  being  commemorated  than 
many  voyages  of  greater  pretensions. 
When  the  North  Star  appeared  in  the 
British  waters,  the  London  journals  while 
chronicling  the  event  and  expressing 
their  admiration  of  the  yacht,  and  the 
splendid  liberality  of  its  patriarchal 
owner,  consoled  themselves  with  the  re- 
flection that  there  were  plenty  of  self- 
made  millionaires  on  the  London  Exchange, 
who  were  rich  enough  in  pocket,  but  too 
poor  in  spirit,  to  indulge  in  such  ostentar 
tious  pleasures. 

The  London  News  said.  "Those  who 
ought  to  be  the  Vanderbilts  of  England, 
would  shrink  from  employing  their 
wealth  in  the  magnificent  manner  adopted 
by  their  American  friend.  They  would 
dread  the  effect  of  making  any  unusual 
display  which  would  surely  subject  them 
to  the  reproach  of  being  millionaires  and 
parvenues."  Poor  creatures !  Our  Cosmo 
Vanderbilts  are  rather  proud  of  being 
parvenues  and  the  creators  of  their  own 
fortunes,  and  would  rather  than  not 
be  accounted  millionaires.  ''  Here  is  the 
great  difference  between  the  two  coun- 
tries," continues  the  News,  "  In  England 
a  man  is  too  apt  to  be  ashamed  of  having 


made  his  own  fortune,  unless  he  has 
done  so  in  one  of  the  few  roads  which  the 
aristocracy  condescend  to  travel  by — the 
bar,  the  church,  or  the  army." 

Think  of  getting  rich  by  the  church ! 
That  which  should  disgrace  a  Cbristiaii 
is,  it  appears,  one  of  the  three  paths  to 
honor  m  England.  God  be  praised  that 
we  were  bom  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic ! 
"And  if  he  is  vulgar  enough  not  to  fed 
ashamed  of  himself."  continues  the  can- 
did NetDS,  "his  wife  and  children  make 
amends  by  sedulously  avoiding  every  thing 
which  can  put  other  people  in  mind  of 
their  origin.  It  was  thought  something 
superhumanly  heroic  in  Sir  Robert  Ped 
to  confess  he  was  the  son  of  a  cotton  som- 
ner,  though  every  body  knew  if  Well 
then  might  John  Bull  open  wide  his  eyes 
at  the  apparition  of  the  North  Star  steam- 
ing into  Southampton  water ! 

The  North  Star  was  a  steamship  of  the 
first  class,  which  was  built  expressly  for 
her  owner  to  make  a  pleasure  voyage 
to  Europe  in,  and,  of  course,  combined 
all  the  requisites  to  insure  comfort  and 
safety  which  money  could  procure.  She 
left  New- York  last  May,  having  on  board 
Commodore  Vanderbilt^  his  wife  and  eigh- 
teen of  his  sons  and  sons-in-law  imd 
daughters  and  daughters-in-law ;  in  ad- 
dition there  were  Doctor  Linsly,  the  Ikmi- 
ly  physician,  and  his  wife,  and  the  Ber. 
John  Overton  Choules,  D.  D.  and  his 
wife. 

A  happier  party,  or  one  better  satisfied 
with  their  prospects,  according  to  Dr. 
Choules,  never  crossed  the  Atlantic. 

Hiss  went  the  steam,  round  went  the  wheeli^ 
Were  never  folk  so  glad. 

Doctor  Choules  was  to  ofiBciate  as  chap- 
lain and  historiographer  of  the  excursion 


1664.] 


Cruise  of  (ke  North  Star. 


54Y 


and.  if  ever  we  go  a  yachting  to  Europe, 
most  fortunate  shall  we  esteem  ourselves 
if  we  can  enfi^age  so  jovial  and  sunny- 
minded  a  D.  D.  to  act  in  a  similar  capa- 
city. We  fear  there  are  but  few  such 
chaplains,  and  wc  know  that  there  have 
never  been  many  such  good-natured 
chroniclers  of  voyages.  If  there  were  any 
disagreeables  attending  the  excursion,  our 
author,  for  one,  did  not  see  them.  He  saw 
nothing  but  a  nimbus  of  lambent  glory 
surrounding  the  ship  in  which  he  sailed, 
and  encircling  every  object  that  he  encoun- 
tered. His  glasses  were  tinged  with  rose- 
color,  all  odors  were  agreeable  that  saluted 
his  wide  nostrils,  and  none  but  the  sweetest 
and  genteetest  sounds  ever  reached  his 
ears.  His  presence  must  have  been  per- 
petual sunshine  in  the  saloons,  and  on 
the  deck  of  the  North  Star.  He  heard, 
we  have  not  a  doubt, 

** a  mermnid  on  a  dolphin's  back. 

Uttering  such  dulcet  and  barmonious  breath, 
That  the  rude  sea  grew  civil  at  her  song.** 

For  he  naively  remarks  at  the  close  of 
his  volume  that,  although  one  of  the 
passengers  "  reckoned  up  sixteen  days  of 
bad  weather,"  **he  did  not  remember 
one  he  should  call  a  regular  storm."  So 
uniform  is  the  chaplain's  amiable  tem- 
per, and  so  resolutely  was  he  bent  on 
looking  only  upon  the  silver  linings  of 
black  clouds,  that  he  has  even  a  good 
word  for  the  Emperor  Nicholas,  an  un- 
happy man,  whom  all  the  rest  of  the 
world  unites  in  execrating.  Dr.  Choules 
says,  he  has  "heard  anecdotes  in  plenty 
respecting  the  Czar,  and  all  of  them  re- 
flect great  honor  upon  the  qualities  of 
his  head  and  heart,"  and  he  left  Russia 
"  with  exalted  opinions  of  the  wisdom  and 
patriotism  of  the  Emperor." 

The  incipient  state  of  great  events  is 
always  a  subject  of  interest  to  the  world, 
and  Dr.  Choules  records  the  time  ana 
the  place  when  Mr.  Vanderbilt  first  re- 
vealed to  him  the  project  of  his  pleasure' 
voyage,  and  made  its  future  histori«w  ac- 
quainted with  the  happiness  which  was 
in  store  for  him. 

**  Early  in  the  spring  of  the  present  year,**  says  our 
author,  **  the  attention  of  the  country  was  directed  to 
an  item  in  the  daily  pax>erB  of  New  York,  contain- 
ing informaUon  that  Mr.  Vanderbilt  was  construct- 
ing a  bteam-sliip  of  large  dimensions,  which  he  in- 
tended as  a  yaclit  for  the  accommodation  of  hi)  ikm- 
lly  and  some  invited  fHends  in  a  vt^^age  to  the 
principal  sea-ports  in  Europe.  The  announcement 
of  this  project  excited  a  deep  interest  in  the  public 
mind,  and  the  excursion  became  a  prominent  subject 
of  conversation. 

••  Mr.  Vanderbilt  was  known  to  his  countrymen  af 
a  thoroughly  practical  man,  \rhose  energy  and  p^ae- 
vtranoe,  combined  with  strong  intellect  and  high  com- 


marctal  iategritj,  had  given  him  immense  wealth ; 
ftU  his  undertakings  had  been  crowned  with  sis^nl 
•nccesa,  and  his  great  enterprise  In  opening  a  com- 
mnnication  with  the  Pacific  bv  the  Nicaragua  route 
had  made  him  a  reputation  in  Europe ;  and  a  ^neral 
expectation  existed  that  he  would  carry  out  his  p1.in 
in  a  manner  that  would  redound  to  the  honor  of  the 
country.  Various  opinions  were  entertained  as  to  his 
ultimate  designa.  Many  imagined  that  Mr.  Vander- 
bilt proposed  to  effect  Some  great  mercantile  opera- 
tion,—he  was  to  sell  his  ship  to  this  inonari^,  or  that 
goTemroent,— or,  he  was  to  take  eo'itracts  Ibr  the 
supply  of  war  steamers ;  all  sorts  of  speculations  wero 
entertained  by  that  generally  mic^infurmed  character, 
—the  public  In  February  I  was  sitting  wkh  Mr. 
Vanierbilt  in  his  library,  when  be  gave  me  the  first 
information  I  had  received  of  bis  Intentions,  and  ho 
kindly  invited  me  and  my  wife  to  accompany  him  to 
Europe  in  the  niontb  of  May.  The  ship  was  then  on 
the  stocks,  but  ht  named  the  very  day  on  which  he 
should  sail,  and  gave  me  the  details  of  his  proposed 
route,  and  from  which  few  deviations  were  afterwards 
made.  Mr.  V.  expressly  infbrmed  me  that  his  solo 
olject  was  to  gratify  hb  finmily  ani  afRtrd  himself  an 
opportunity  to  see  the  coast  of  Europe,  which  ho 
could  do  in  no  other  way ;  aud  he  observed  that,  after 
more  than  thirty  years'  devotion  to  bosinessy  in  all 
which  period  he  had  known  no  rest  from  labwr,  be 
felt  that  he  had  a  right  to  a  complete  holiday.** 

The  style  of  Doctor  Choules  is  equal  to 
his  subject,  being  free,  flowing,  and  easy, 
and  though  here  and  there  a  sentence  oo- 
curs  to  which  a  severe  or  pedantic  critic 
might  object,  it  is  very  readable,  amiable 
and  pleasant.  It  would  be  impossible  for 
the  most  ill-natured  of  the  whole  tribe  of 
critics  not  to  relent  and  grow  tenderly 
good-humored  while  accompanying  the 
pleasant  author  on  his  rose-tinted  excur- 
sion. There  is  one  sentence  in  the  preface 
of  the  Doctor's  book  which,  we  roust  con- 
fess, rather  startled  us  before  we  got  en- 
tirely through  with  it  "  This  world  is 
full  of  beauty i'*  says  Doctor  Choules,  "  and 
it  teems  with  wonders  ;  and  I  never  see  a 
fresh  portion  of  God's  earth,  but  I  feel 
some  re-spect  for  the  old  gentleman's  opi- 
nion."— the  remainder  of  the  sentence 
leaves  us  room  to  imagine  what  the  good 
Doctor  means,  but  as  the  oddness  of  its 
phrasing  did  not  at  the  first  glance  permit 
us  to  discover  it,  we  were  rather  starred 
until  we  did — "  who,  on  going  from  Maine 
to  Albany  for  the  first  time  that  he  had 
left  his  native  State,  declared,  on  his  re- 
turn, that  the  world  was  more  extensive 
than  he  had  supposed." 

It  will  be  perceived  that  the  two  D.'s 
which  the  reverend  historian  wears  at  the 
end  of  his  name  are  no  hindrance  to  his 
enjoyment  of  a  small  joke.  There  arc 
several  like  it  in  the  volume. 

It  was  a  remarkably  fine  moonlight 
night  as  the  North  Star  steamed  past 
*•  one  of  the  sweetest  islands  of  the  world," 
where  the  venerable  mother  of  Mr.  Van- 
derbilt resided,  in  whose  honor  ''  rockets 


548 


Cruise  of  the  North  Star. 


FM., 


were  let  off  and  a  gun  fired ; "  and  when 
the  pilot  left  the  yacht  outside  Sandy 
Hook,  he  was  presented  with  a  "  purse 
of  gold,  which  was  intended  to  show  that 
no  blame  was  attached  to  him  by  Mr. 
Vanderbilt,"  for  an  accident  which  had 
delayed  the  steamer  the  day  before. 
**Soon  after  leaving  Sandy  Hook,"  says 
Dr.  Choules,  "Mr.  Vanderbilt  requested 
me  to  conduct  family  worship  on  board 
the  ship  throughout  the  voyage,  and  to 
appoint  such  an  hour  as  I  thought  most 
suitable.  It  was  accordingly  agreed  that 
prayers  should  be  attended  every  evening 
at  nine  oVlock,  and  that  grace  should  be 
said  at  all  the  meals  oiw  board  ship." 
The  voyage  commenced  most  auspiciously, 
and  Dr.  Choules  remarks,  on  the  very 
first  day  out,  ^'  it  seemed  a  happiness  to 
exist,"  and,  as  he  immediately  after  says, 
^^our  table  was  equal  to  that  of  any  hotel 
in  America,  and  the  desserts  rivalled  in 
richness  any  thing  that  I  have  witnessed 
in  the  Astor.  Metropolitan  and  St  Nicho- 
las ; "  we  have  no  doubt  that  the  seeming 
was  a  reality.  Not  only  were  the  desserts 
rich,  but  the  music  was  deliglitful.  "  One 
gentleman  of  the  party  possessed  a  fine 
taste  in  Italian  music — the  ladies  were 
ajwa^'s  in  voice — the  sailors,  too,  were  de- 
ci<Jedly  (bnd  of  negro  melody.  One  of 
them  who  answered  to  the  euphonious 
name  of  Pogee,  was  thought  to  be  quite 
equal  to  the  Christy  Minstrels."  J'he  first 
scnnon  preached  by  the  Doctor,  he  in- 
forms us,  was  on  the  22d  of  May.  '*  the 
text  selected  for  tlie  occasran,  Proverbs 
xvi.  32 ;  *  He  that  is  slow  to  anger  is  bet- 
ter than  the  mighty  ;  and  he  that  ruleth 
his  spirit  than  he  that  taketh  a  city.' 
The  singing  ^^-as  fine,  and  the  accompa- 
niment of  the  piano  very  acceptable." 
Doctor  Choules  had  a  very  natural  admi- 
ration for  his  generous  patron.  "  Often," 
.says  he,  "  did  1  wish  that  more  than  the 
members  of  our  privileged  company  could 
have  seen  him  day  by  day  kind  and  at- 
tentive to  his  officers,  polite  and  liberal 
to  his  guests.  Mr.  Vanderbilt  I  had  long 
known  to  be  possessed  of  great  qualities, 
a  mighty  grasp  of  intellect,  and  capabili- 
ties of  the  highest  order.  Yet  till  I  en- 
tered upon  this  vo^-age  I  did  not  adequate- 
ly appreciate  his  knowledge  of  men,  his 
fine  tact,  his  intuitive  perception  of  the 
fitting,  and  his  dignified  self-control ;  and 
I  felt  glad  that  such  a  man,  self-made  as 
he  is.  should  be  seen  by  the  accidental 
sons  of  nobility  and  fortune  in  the  Old 
World." 

The  amenities  and  splendors  of  the 
voyage  across  the  Atlantic  came  to  an  end 
on  the  1st  of  June,  and,  quite  as  a  matter 


of  course.  *^  it  was  one  of  England's  moat 
joyous,  brilliant  mornings,"  when  the 
doctor  and  his  companions  woke  up  in 
Southampton  water,  "and  gazed  out 
upon  as  richly  cultivated  a  landscape  as 
the  southern  coast  of  England  can  pre- 
sent." Here  the  party  "found  several 
fine  hotels ; "  but  we  are  sorry  to  learn 
that  one,  called  the  New  York  Hotel, 
whKh  had  the  star-spangled  banner  dis- 
played, did  not  favorably  impress  *'  some 
of  our  gentlemen  who  repair^  to  it  for  a 
lunch."  This  was  about  the  only  nnfavor- 
able  impression  which  seems  to  have  been 
made  upon  the  party  during  this  brilliant 
excursion,  but  the  Doctor  adds  that  "Rad- 
ley's  Hotel  near  the  railroad,  and,  I  think, 
the  Dolphin,  are  well-kept  houses."  The 
unfavorable  impression  caused  by  the  un- 
fortunate lunch  which  had  a  star-spangled 
banner  to  recommend  it,  probably  soon 
wore  off,  for  the  Doctor  immediately  grows 
amiable  again.  But  a  poor  lunch  was  not 
a  thing  to  be  passed  over  by  so  exempla- 
ry a  chaplain,  and  so  veracious  a  histo- 
rian. It  was  one  of  the  few  dark  spots 
in  the  bright  picture  he  has  given  us  of 
this  memorable  excursion.  Every  thing 
is  beautiful,  fine,  glorious  and  charming, 
excepting  that  unfortunate  lunch.  They 
see  some  soldiers,  and  the  Doctor  re- 
marks "they  looked  like  fine  fellows." 
He  calls  upon  the  Rev.  Thomas  Adkins 
in  Southampton,  whom  he  had  known 
many  years  ago.  "I  told  the  ladies," 
says  the  Doctor,  "  that  Mr.  Adkins  used 
to  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  noblest  look- 
ing men  in  England — and  our  ladies 
thought  him  one  of  the  most  splendid 
men  they  had  ever  seen."  The  next  day 
they  were  off  for  London,  and  in  Winches- 
ter  "  partook  of  the  hospitalities  of  Mr. 
Alderman  Andrews,  whose  name  is  so 
endeared  to  Americans."  The  Doctor  was 
anxious  to  "  get  in  "  at  his  "  old  favorite 
house,  the  Golden-Cross,  nearly  opposite 
to  NorthumberliEmd  House,  but  Mr.  Gardi- 
ner was  unable  to  take  even  half  oar 
number."  How  natural  that  he  should 
desire  to  get  in  at  the  Golden-Cross,  so 
fitting  an  emblem  of  that  cross  which  he 
bore  about  The  Doctor  informs  us  with 
much  satisfaction  that  the  house  where 
they  at  last  "found  good  accommoda- 
tions," was  the  St  James*  Hotel,  in  Ger- 
myn-street  "Two  or  three  noblemen  re- 
side in  this  hotel,  and  one^  Lord  BIom- 
ney,  has  made  it  his  city  residence  for 
many  years."  The  day  of  their  arrival 
in  London  happened  to  be  a  "drawing- 
room,"  "Every  street  was  throng«l 
with  carriages  (we  iitiagine  this  is  not 
to  be  taken  literally)  waiting  for  their 


1854.] 


Cruide  of  the  North  Star. 


549 


tarn  to  take  up  the  company  at  the  pal- 
ace. The  coachmen  and  footmen  all  had 
immense  bouquets  in  their  bosoms,  and 
the  splendid  liveries,  and  powdered  heads, 
and  white  wigs  of  the  drivers  were  novel- 
ties to  most  of  the  North  Star  party." 
The  Doctor  was  anxious  to  know  "  what 
would  be  the  first  object  of  curiosity  to 
the  ladies,  and  was  not  a  little  surprised 
to  find  that  the  Thames  Tunnel  was 
voted  for  as  the  primary  visit"  Doctor 
Choules  is  a  great  lover  of  rural  scenery, 
and,  while  the  other  members  of  the 
party  were  seeing  the  lions  in  London  he 
took  a  run  down  to  his  native  Bristol  to 
refresh  himself  with  views  of  the  scenery 
of  the  Avon.  In  the  ecstasy  of  again  be- 
holding the  scenes  of  his  boyhood  he  ex- 
claims. '*  I  really  believe  that  either  from 
the  impressions  which  I  received  in  child- 
hood in  this  glorious  region,  or  from  some 
peculiar  organization  (we  rather  imatgine 
it  ia  the  organization),  I  have  felt  so 
much  delight  in  rambling  abroad  among 
scenes  of  beauty,  sublimity,  and  historical 
interest.  0,  the  happy  hours  of  my  boy- 
hood that  I  have  passed  in  this  village,  on 
the  Avon's  banks !  And,  what  tea-drink- 
ings  have  I  had  in  these  cottages,  and  in 
the  arbors  which  surround  them ! "  The 
child  is  father  to  the  man  beyond  a  cavil. 
Returned  to  London,  the  excursionists 
went  to  hear  "  the  Hon.  and  Rev.  Baptist 
Noel,  brother  to  the  Earl  of  Gainsbo- 
rough," preach.  The  Rev.  gentleman 
"  has  a  fine  figure,"  and,  "  we  were  much 
gratified  with  the  prayer  offered."  The 
next  day  "Mr.  Peabody  proffered  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Yanderbilt  and  ladies  the  use 
of  his  boxes  that  evening  at  the  Opera, 
and  as  long  as  they  remained  in  town." 
Whether  Doctor  Choules  visited  the  opera 
or  not  we  are  not  informed,  but  we  are 
sorry  to  learn  from  "  a  notice  of  the  opera 
furnished  by  one  of  the  gentlemen  of  the 
party  who  was  present,"  that  the  splen- 
dor of  the  scene  was  not  quite  up  to  their 
expectations.  Like  the  lunch  at  South- 
ampton the  opera  was  a  failure.  "It  was 
the  height  of  the  season;  a  large  and 
fi^hionable  assemblage  filled  the  house ; 
England's  favorite  Queen  Victoria  and 
Prince  Albert  were  there ;  and  many  of 
the  fairest  and  noblest  of  the  land,  yet 
V)e  were  disappointed.  The  spectacle 
was  not  so  gorgeous  and  brilliant  as  we 
had  expected  on  a  court  night, — neither 
in  the  first  coup  d?cBil^  the  beauty  of  the 
ladies,  nor  the  elegance  of  the  toilet" 
This  is  not  Dr.  Choules ;  he  would  not 
have  been  disappointed,  neither  in  the 
first,  nor  the  second  coup  d^aiL  "  The 
Queen  "  we  are  informed,  by  this  disap- 


pointed gentleman,  '^vrore  a  rich  white 
dress,  exceedingly  decoltS,  covered  with 
point  lace,  and  an  ornament  of  great 
value, — a  magnificent  pearl—on  the  stom- 
acher. Prince  Albert  is  a  tall,  stout-looking 
man,  light-haired,  and  partially  bald. 
His  appearance  was  any  thing  but  aristo- 
cratic, notwithstanding  he  exhibited  a 
large  star  on  his  left  breast,  and  a  wide 
crimson  silk  ribbon  over  a  white  waist- 
coat We  searched  scrutinizingly  among 
the  noble  circles  to  discover  something 
inft)rm  or  feature  marking  the  stamp 
of  hereditary  nobility;  but  in  vain?* 
"  Four  of  the  party  dined  with  Mr.  Pea- 
lx>dy  at  Richmond  to  meet  Senator  Doug- 
las. The  dinner  was  an  elegant  repast." 
In  the  evening  they  went  to  a  levee  at 
Mr.  Ingersoll's,  our  Minister,  where  "  the 
display  of  diamonds  was  very  brilliant." 
On  the  8th  of  June  they  attended  a  soiree 
at  the  Lord  Mayor's ;  "  the  Lord  Mayor 
was  the  Right  Honorable  Thomas  Chal- 
lis,  a  wealthy  merchant  in  Hides."  Dia- 
monds and  dinners  did  not  absorb  all  the 
attention  of  our  chronicler,  he  "  was  es- 
pecially delighted  with  the  glorious  col- 
lection of  old  books  at  Mr.  Toovey's,  42 
Picadilly.  On  one  occasion  he  met  with 
three  distinguished  bibliopolists  at  this 
shop — Lord  Hastings,  Sir  David  Dundas, 
and  Mr.  Henry  Foss." 

The  party  were  greatly  favored  atmos- 
pherically during  their  stay  in  London. 
The  Doctor  sagaciously  remarks,  that  ••  the 
state  of  the  weather  is  in  England  a 
never  failing  subject  of  conversation  among 
her  population.  This  arises  from  its  fre- 
quent changes.  During  our  visit  in  Lon- 
don of  ten  or  twelve  days,  we  had  no  rea- 
son to  complain,  it  was  charming."  We 
are  informed  that  "  the  ladies  experienced 
much  enjoyment  in  a  visit  to  Madame 
Tussaud's  great  museum  of  notables  in 
wax."  On  their  return  to  Southampton 
the  party  had  the  gratification  of  hearing  a 
sermon  from  the  Rev.  Alexander  Maclaren, 
a  Scotch  Baptist,  and  "we  all  felt  the 
force  of  the  preacher's  subject ; —  T^e 
Dignity  of  Man,  But  when  he  described 
man's  apostacy  and  ruin,  no  one  could 
fail  to  experience  the  emotions  of  Isaiah, 
who  exclaimed,  ^  I  abhor  myself  in  dust 
and  ashes.' 

But  the  Doctor  soon  recovered  from  his 
state  of  self^abhorrence,  for,  on  the  next 
page  he  is  again  on  the  best  of  terms  with 
himself,  and  goes  off*  in  a  most  glowing 
and  appetizing  account  of  the  great  ban- 
quet given  by  the  Mayor  and  merchants 
of  Southampton  to  the  owner  of  the 
North  Star. 

«*0n  oar  ■nival  at  Soathamptoo,  wa  flmad  fh« 


550 


Cruise  of  the  North  Star. 


[May 


streets  plaearded  with  notioM  of  *  public  eiit«rtalii- 
nient  at  the  Victoria  Booms ;  and  a  very  8apert>1y> 
engraved  card,  in  gilt  letters,  with  a  fine  likeness  of  the 
North  Star  in  the  centre,  8arroiin<Ied  by  gilt  flags  and 
the  arms  of  Southampton,  was  addressed  to  each 
member  of  the  party.  As  a  memorial  of  tlie  voyage, 
I  annex  the  card  of  invitation  which  I  received  on 
the  occasion: 

TIIK  XATOS, 
XX«CnAl«TB  AND  TKADEB8  AT  BOUTHAMPTOK, 

Beqaest  the  pleasure  of  the  Kev.  Dr.  and  Mna. 

CHOULn*  company  at  a  Dusunkk,  on  Monday, 

18  June,  1S58,  at  the  Boyal  Victoria 

Assembly  Rooms,  in  honor 

of  the  visit  of 

COMMODORB  VANDBRBILT, 

In  his  splendid  Steam  Yacht  North  Star. 
At  8  o'clock. 

**  Monday,  the  18th  of  Jane,  was  a  moat  delightfhl 
day;  and  when  we  came  on  deck  we  found  the  flags 
of  the  shipping  in  dock  all  gayly  waving  to  the 
breeze,  and  noticed  banners  from  the  hotels  and  pnb- 
iic  buildings,  while  the  church-bells  were  ringing 
merry  peals  of  cheer  and  gladness.  Every  thing  de- 
noted mirth  and  holiday,  and  our  feelings  were  some- 
what peculiar  when  we  felt  that  all  this  was  a  matter 
in  which  we  were  personally  concerned,  and  was  In- 
tended for  the  h<»or  of  our  ship,  her  owner,  and  oar 
country.'* 

The  account  of  the  festivities  at  this 
place  occupies  some  forty  pages  of  the 
Doctor's  book.  From  Southampton  they 
go  to  Copenhagen,  Cronstadt  and  St. 
Petcrsburgh,  and  even  in  the  cold  Bal- 
tic Sea  there  is  sunshiny  splendor  to 
greet  the  North  Star.  At  Southampton, 
at  Bristol,  at  London,  and  at  Rome,  it  was 
the  loveliest  spot,  but  in  Petcrhoff,  says 
good  Dr.  Choules,  the  trees,  the  flowers, 
the  greensward,  &c.  '^  transcend  all  that 
I  have  known  of  the  beauty  of  country 
life  in  any  part  of  the  world."  At  the 
hotel,  "  the  provisions  were  excellent,  and, 
as  we  found  every  where  in  Russia,  en- 
tirely in  the  style  of  the  French  cuisine." 
Going  to  St  Petersburgh  they  went  to 
the  Hotel  des  Princes,  but  it  was  too. full 
to  receive  so  large  a  company,  and  they 
were  treated  to  a  splendid  lunch, — "  the 
waiters  spread  a  table  and  placed  on  it 
bread,  butter,  anchovies,  caviare,  claret, 
sherry,  brandy,  ice  and  cakes  in  variety. 
This  excellent  lunch  was  very  seasonable, 
as  it  was  now  twelve  o'clock,  and  the  day 
intensely  hot."  On  calling  for  the  bill 
the  host  refused  to  accept  of  any  pay ! 
The  Doctor  was  ravished,  charmed,  en- 
chanted, by  the  splendors  of  the  impe- 
rial residences,  and  particularly  by  the 
wonders  of  the  hermitage  of  Catharine  the 
Second.  "  The  room  containing  the  dia- 
monds and  regalia  excited  the  interest  of 
all  in  our  party  ;  and  on  no  consideration 
would  we  have  been  deprived  of  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  this  unrivalled  collec- 


tion of  treasures.  Hubies,  diamonds. 
emeralds  and  pearls — why,  the  room  was 
full  of  them.  The  imperial  crown  pleased 
us  better  than  any  diadem  I  have  seen  in 
the  regalia  of  other  kingdoms." — 0! 
prophet  Isaiah  !  The  Doctor  is  refreshed 
by  the  recollection  that  this  was  the 
palace  of  "the  Great  Catharine,"  who 
certainly  was  great  in  a  way  immor- 
talized by  Lord  Byron — and  in  presence 
of  its  three  thousand  pictures,  says,  ''I 
confess  that  the  Dutdi  school  is  my 
passion ! "  Pictures  of  game,  and  fhuts 
and  flowers  are  more  to  the  taste  of  the 
chaplain  of  the  North  Star,  than  saints. 
Magdalens  and  £cce  Homos;  the  pio^ 
ture  which  seems^to  have  interested  him 
most  was  ^  the  Interior  of  a  Stable,"  by 
Wouvermans.  His  rapid  enumeration  or 
the  riches  of  the  Imperial  palaces,  the 
gold,  silver  and  diamonds  in  the  churches 
is  really  dazzling,  and  they  seem  to  have 
made  an  indelible  impression  upon  his 
imagination.  In  describing  the  Isaac 
Church,  he  says :  "  No  man  can  fail  to 
bo  impressed  with  this  wonderful  pile. 
The  exquisite  proportions  of  this  chnrdi 
seem  to  diminish  its  apparent  size.  I 
have  only  to  say  that  here  are  monoliths, 
of  Finland  marble,  sixty  feet  high,ybrm- 
ing  peristyles  of  unsurpassed  beauty; 
and,  in  the  interior  are  columns  of  mala- 
chitie  fifty  feet  high,  which  adorn  the 
altars.  Malachite,  lapis-lazuli,  porphyry 
and  gold,  all  seem  to  vie  with  each  other 
for  pre-eminence  in  this  glorious  pile." 

Dr.  Choules  is  not  one  of  those  ascetics 
who  refuse  to  do  in  Rome  what  the  Ro- 
mans do.  "On  the  Sabbath  which  we 
spent  in  St  Petersburgh,  We  found  a 
wedding  feast  celebrated  at  our  hold; 
and,  in  going  to  our  dining>room  at  sup- 
per time,  the  waiters  took  us  through  the 
room  where  the  festivities  were  going  on. 
Excellent  music  and  spirited  dandi^ 
seemed  to  have  put  the  party  into  high 
spirits."  Lunches  appeju*  to  make  an 
indelible  impression  upon  his  mind.  ^At 
Mr.  Wilkins'  hospitable  abode  Ci4>tain 
Eldridge,  his  lady,  and  a  few  of  us,  par^ 
took  of  an  elegant  lunch  which  we  s^l 
oflcn  think  of  with  pleasure.  Such  sweet- 
meats I  never  tasted."  &c  But,  what 
were  the  lunches,  the  churches,  the  dia- 
monds, the  pictures,  the  sweetmeats,  the 
caviare,  the  brandy,  the  claret  and  the 
cakes  of  St  Petersburgh,  without  the 
good  genius  who  presides  over  all — the 
Czar  ?  Not  seeing  him  was  omitting  the 
Prince  of  Denmark  from  the  tragedy  of 
Hamlet  "Our  great  regret  at  leaving 
Russia,"  says  Dr.  Choules,  "  is  not  having 
seen  the  great  and,  I  believe,  good 


1854.] 


Crut»  of  the  North  Star. 


651 


the  emperor,  who  has  done  so  much  to 
elevate  the  condition  of  the  masses  in  his 
extensive  dominions,  and  to  improve  the 
entire  country.  I  leave  Russia  with  ex- 
alted opinions  of  the  wisdom  and  patriot- 
ism of  the  emperor,  and  doubt  not  that, 
if  his  life  be  spared,  Russia  will  continue 
to  advance  in  all  that  makes  a  country 
great  and  powerful  and  happy.  1  have 
heard  anecdotes  in  plenty  respecting  the 
Czar,  and  all  of  them  reflect  great  honor 
upon  the  qualities  of  his  head  and  heart ; 
but  I  do  not  feel  that  I  am  at  hberty  to 
state  them  in  this  public  manner,  as  they 
were  related  to  me  in  the  social  circle,  by 
men  who  are  favorably  situated  to  know 
their  truth.  Some  of  our  party  saw  the 
emperor  at  the  church  of  the  palace,  at 
Peterhoff ;  but  I  spent  that  Sabbath  in 
the  city.  Had  we  remained  a  day  or  two 
longer,  we  should  have  seen  the  emperor 
on  board ;  but  his  time  and  thoughts  had 
all  been  engrossed  with  the  pressing  afiairs 
of  the  great  vexed  question  between  Rus- 
sia and  Turkey." 

The  goo<l  chaplain  cannot  write  long  at 
a  time  without  introducing  something 
good  to  eat  or  drink,  and  occasionally 
creature  comforts  come  in  very  whim- 
sical juxtaposition  with  passages  of  senti- 
ment or  piety.  The  yacht  had  reached 
Copenhagen  when  they  were  called  upon 
to  part  with  one  of  their  members.  The 
event  is  thus  touchingly  mentioned : 
"  Here  we  parted  from  our  young  friend 
Allen,  who  was  to  proceed  from  this  city, 
by  way  of  Kiel  and  Hamburgh,  to  Leip- 
sic.  and  resume  his  studies.  We  found  a 
fine  supply  of  strawberries,"  &c.  &c.  From 
Copenhagen  the  yacht  went  to  Havre, 
and  the  excursionists  spent  three  delight- 
ful weeks  in  Paris ;  from  Havre  to  the  Medi- 
terranean, and  they  entered  the  "  charm- 
ing bay  of  Malaga  on  Sunday,  Julyi^lst." 
They  were  put  in  quarantine ;  but  what 
of  that  ?  *'  with  such  a  sky,  such  a  tem- 
perature, and  such  a  prospect,"  says  the 
Doctor,  "  I  never  could  be  better  off.  And 
there  came  a  boat  full  of  good  things, 
vegetables  of  all  sorts,  but,  best  of  all, 
of  grapes ;  the  grapes  of  Frontenac,  Mus- 
cat, and  Sweetwater."  The  good  things 
were  none  the  less  welcome  for  being 
brought  off  on  Sunday. 

We  should  be  most  happy  to  transfer  to 
our  pages  some  of  the  purple  tints  of  Ma- 
laga with  which  the  chronicler  of  the  cruise 
of  the  North  Star  has  illuminated  his  nar- 
rative ;  but  we  have  already  dipped  more 
freely  into  his  volume  than  we  intended 
doing.  From  Malaga  they  pursue  their 
course  to  Leghorn,  passing  (iorgona,  ^  so 
fiunous  for  its  anchovies;"  at  Leghorn 


they  find  *•  an  excellent  table,"  and  go  to 
the  Opera.  *-The  Sabbath-day,  Aug.  7, 
was  a  delightful  day.  At  our  breakfast 
we  had  a  fine  supply  of  figs  and  peaches." 
In  Leghorn  the  Doctor  had  the  pleasure 
of  preaching  the  gospel. 

•*  It  is  pleasant  to  know  that  pure  eyangellcal  troth 
is  here  proclaimed,  even  amid  the  black  darkness  of 
Popery ;  and  I  was  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  preach 
the  gospel  in  Italy,  and  there  to  Join  in  prayer  with 
Ood>  people,  that  He  would  soon  overturo  the  Man 
of  Sin,  who,  impiously  placing  himself  in  the  seat  of 
the  Almighty,  lays  claim  to  infallibility.  But  God 
declares  that  he  will  not  give  his  glory  to  another ; 
and  Popery,  by  th  s  fatal  ansumption  of  a  divine  at^ 
tribute,  has  tied  around  her  neck  the  apocalyptic 
millstone,  which  is  at  last  to  sink  her  to  the  boUum- 
lefls  abyss.  Mr.  Ilenderson  is  a  Scotch  gentl«*man. 
who  has  long  resided  here  ;  he  is  an  eminent  mer- 
chant and  banker,  and  has  a  mercanUle  house  in 
Uverpool  and  Canada.  He  sent  the  first  export  of 
marble  to  New  York,  and  a  small  quantity  orcr- 
•tocked  the  market"^ 

From  Leghorn  the  party  visited  Flor- 
ence, where  the  Patriarch  of  the  excursion 
sat  to  Powers  for  his  bust  and  Mrs.  Van- 
derbilt  to  our  countryman  Hart.  Naples, 
Valetta  and  Constantinople  were  next 
visited,  but  the  excursionists  were  denied 
a  sight  of  Rome,  much  to  the  regret  of 
Dr..  Choules  and  the  ladies'  maids.  On 
their  return  to  Gibraltar  they  had  delight- 
ful picnics  in  the  cork  woods,  and  ram- 
bles and  scrambles  about  the  rock ;  and, 
says  our  chaplain — 

•*0n  Thursday  evening,  Mr.  Gark,  Major  Labaa 
and  I,  accepted  an  invitation  to  dine  with  the  oflkcrs 
of  the  44th  at  their  quarters  upon  the  Rock.  At  six 
o^dock  we  repaired  to  the  Club-house,  where  wo 
were  to  meet  our  kind  friends,  who  would  take 
charge  of  US.  At  sundown  wc  had  the  pleasure  to 
listen  to  the  noble  band  which  plays  every  evening 
in  the  square,  and  never  did  music  sound  more 
sweetly  than  that  calm  night  Having  ordered  our 
boatmen  to  meet  us  at  the  Ragged  Stafl;  as  the  town 
gates  wouhl  be  closed  on  our  return,  we  at  a  little 
past  seven  got  into  tlie  carriage  and  ascended  the 
rock,  which  is  a  slow  process,  but  every  winding  turn 
showing  us  new  beauties,  and  at  ei^it  we  reached 
the  comfortable  quarters  of  the  regimental  mesa.  A 
more  superb  look-out  was  never  seen  than  this  build- 
ing affords. 

**  The  accommodations  are  very  fine,  and  all  that 
gentlemen  can  desire.  At  a  little  past  eight  we  were 
•uumoned  to  the  dining-room,  and  a  more  magnifi- 
cent one  is  not  easily  found.  It  was  a  company  night, 
of  which  there  are  two  every  week.  There  were 
twenty-two  or  twenty -four  oflioers  at  table,  all  In  uni- 
form. Tlie  table  was  loaded  with  massive  plate,  be- 
longing to  the  regiment,  which  is  distingnlsbed  fbr 
th«  elegance  of  its  equipage. 

**  Our  dinner  was  one  of  the  best  I  ever  met  oat  of 
Pftris;  indee<l,  it  was  thoroughly  ParisUn,  as  the  ar- 
nogements  of  the  mess  are  under  the  supervision  of 
an  artist  from  tlie  French  capital  The  epergnes 
were  very  Urge,  and  bear  the  name  of  the  regiment; 
and  the  immcnae  candeUbra  and  other  adommenta 
rendared  It  a  brilliant  soona. 


552 


Shakespeare  v.  Perkins, 


[May 


**I  am  quite  sare  that  the  kind  speeches  of  the 
generous,  high-mi ndod  officers  of  the  44th,  and  their 
ft-lends  of  other  regiments,  wlli  long  be  remembered 
by  each  of  their  American  gneata.  I  shall  never 
hear  the  Sock  of  Qibraltar  spoken  of  withoat 
thinking  of  the  44th  regiment,  and  oor  fHenda 
Brown,  Higgins,  Decring,  Thomhill,  and  others 
whose  faces  I  can  recall  much  easier  than  their 
namea.^* 

From  Gibraltar  the  yacht  proceeded  to 
Funchal,  Madeira,  and  here  they  encoun- 
tered a  most  remarkable  man  in  the  per- 
son of  a  publican. 

*•  We  all  dined  on  shore,  at  Mr.  Yates'  hotel,  and 
found  an  admirable  table,  with  the  best  of  atten- 
tion. 

*'  Mr.  Yates  was  formerly  a  sergeant  In  the  British 
anny,  and  resides  hero  on  account  of  his  health, 
which  is  much  improved  by  the  climate.  On  con- 
versing with  our  host,  I  was  surprised  to  find  him 
possessed  of  so  much  intelligence ;  and,  in  reply  to 
my  inquiries  on  many  subjects,  I  at  once  discovered 
that  he  was  a  man  of  considerable  reading.  Mr.  Yatea 
invited  me  into  his  study,  and  I  was  conducted  into 
a  very  charming  retreat,  where  I  met  with  a  far  finer 
library  of  the  best  books  than  can  usually  bo  mot 


with  In  a  clergyman's  study  in  New  England.  Tb» 
cast  of  the  proprietor's  mind  was  evidently  In  Ikvor 
of  theol(^  and  metiq>hy8ic8,  and  not  often  do  I  ftD 
In  with  a  better  collection  of  the  beat  satbon.  Mi. 
Yates  Is  a  hard  student,  a  close  thinker ;  afd,  dk 
though  at  least  fifty,  he  Is  diligently  employed  In  tlw 
acquisition  of  the  Latin  language.  I  waa  deUgbted 
with  my  visit  to  this  charming  study,  wbldi  oaoi- 
mands  a  view  of  the  ocean  and  the  nnrivalled  bcnnlj 
of  the  island  mountain  range.** 

On  Friday,  the  23d  of  September,  tht 
yacht  re-entered  the  bay  of  New  York,  and 
we  fully  coincide  in  the  opinion  expressed 
by  the  reverend  chronicler  of  this  remaris- 
able  and  happy  excursion,  that  ^*  such  a 
cruise  was  never  attempted  before ; "  but, 
if  Dr.  Choules'  good-natured  and  lively 
volume  should  be  extensively  read,  we 
have  no  doubt  that  some  other  of  oor 
generous  millionaires  will  be  tempted  to 
emulate  the  .splendid  liberality  of  the 
fortunate  owner  of  the  North  Star ;  but 
we  can  hardly  hope  ever  again  to  read 
such  a  volume  as  his  chaplain  has  pre- 
sented us. 


SHAKESPEARE     v.     PERKINS. 

[In  the  North  American  Beview.] 

THE    CONCLUDING    AROUMENT. 


LET  every  reader  who,  when  he  takes 
up  Hamlet^  or  Much  Ado  about  Noth- 
ing, or  Romeo  and  Juliet^  docs  not  care 
whether  he  reads  Perkins  or  Shakespeare, 
pass  by  this  brief  paper ;  it  concerns  him 
not, — is  not  addressed  to  him.  But  let 
him  who  does  prefer  Shakespeare  to  Per- 
kins, once  more,  '*  hear  us  for  our  cause." 
and  once  for  all. 

>\e  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing 
that  our  efforts,  made  in  an  humble  but 
earnest  spirit,  to  preserve  the  text  of 
Shakespeare  from  ruthless  mutilation, 
have  done  much  to  accomplish  their  ob- 
ject, both  at  home  and  abroad.  This  evi- 
dence of  the  success  of  our  labors  is  not 
confined  to  direct  assurances  from  Shake- 
spearian scholars  in  both  England  and 
America,  but  to  the  efforts  which  are 
made  to  do  away  the  influence  of  our  ar- 
gument against  the  authority  of  the  emen- 
dations in  the  Perkins  folio.  It  would  be 
strange  indeed  if  Mr.  Collier  had  no  adhe- 
rents, and  the  publishers  of  his  Shakespeare 
no  partisans.  We  were  not  surprised, 
therefore,  at  the  appearance  of  two  elab- 
orate papers,  one  in  the  North  British 
Beview  J  the  other  in  the  North  American 


JRcview  for  April,  1854^  devoted  to  the 
defence  of  Mr.  Collier's  position.  The 
former  of  these  is  of  little  consequence ; 
it  does  more  to  injure  Mr.  Collier,  than  to 
help  him.  The  latter,  however,  being 
often  sound,  generally  ingenious,  and,  with 
one  exception,  always  fair  and  courteous, 
and  being  chiefly  devoted  to  the  oonsider- 
at  on  of  our  argument  merits  respectful 
attention ;  especially  as  it  is  the  ablest 
support  which  Mr.  Colliers  folio  has  re- 
ceived, far  abler  than  that  given  by  the 
veteran  Shakespearian  scholar  himselC 
Our  brief  supplementary  notk»  of  the 
folio  in  the  number  of  March  last,  which 
had  evidently  not  been  seen  by  the  writer 
of  the  article  in  the  North  American  Rt' 
vtnr,  before  the  preparation  of  his  paper, 
renders  it  unnecessary  to  meet  all  the  posi- 
tions which  he  takes. 

We  must  first  point  out  the  angle  in- 
stance of  unfairness  and  discourtesy  on 
the  part  of  the  North  American  Review. 
The  writer  betrays  by  it  a  consciousness 
of  the  feebleness  of  his  cause,  and  a  fever- 
ish desire  to  make  out  a  case.  He  charges, 
that  those  who  have  opposed  the  adoption 
of  the  majority  of  the  changes  in  the 


1864.] 


Shakespeare  y.  Perkins. 


555 


Perkins  folio — nobody  has  opposed  them 
all — have  done  so,  because  they  are  editors 
of  Shakespeare,  and  if  these  changes  be  * 
received,  "  their  editions  wilt  become  value- 
less." What  is  the  truth  ?  Only  one  of 
the  opponents  of  Mr.  Collier  is  in  a  posi- 
tion to  have  this  impeachment  of  motives 
applied  to  him — Mr.  Knight.  Mr.  Sing- 
er's edition  of  1826  has  for  many  years 
been  out  of  print ;  and  he,  as  well  as  Mr. 
Halliwell  and  Mr.  Dyce,  were,  at  the  time 
of  the  publication  of  Mr.  Collier's  Notes 
and  Emendations^  and  are  still,  editors  of 
editions  to  he  published,  and  therefore  in 
a  position  to  derive  all  possible  benefit 
from  Mr.  Collier's  discovery.*  The  pre- 
tence, that  '-Mr.  Collier  possesses  the 
cypyright  in  England  of  his  newly  dis- 
covered emendations,"  is  preposterous. 
There  has  not  an  edition  of  Shakespeare 
appeared  in  England  for  the  last  century 
and  a  half,  the  editor  of  which  has  not 
availed  himself  at  pleasure  of  all  the  ori- 
ginal labors  of  his  predecessors,  giving 
credit  for  them;  and  the  excellent  little 
Lansdowne  edition  recently  published,  is, 
by  the  publisher's  advertisement,  "  based 
on  that  of  Mr.  Collier."  Mr.  Knight's 
editorial  labors  and  Mr.  Dyce's  comments 
being  also  used.  The  objection  is  equally 
futile  in  itself,  and' degrading  to  the  cause 
in  which  it  is  made.  It  impotently  at- 
tacks motives,  for  the  sake  of  disparaging 
arguments,  and  seems  to  justify  the  sus- 
picion, that  it  is  made  rather  to  bolster 
up  an  edition,  than  to  arrive  at  the  truth 
in  one  of  the  gravest  and  most  interesting 
literary  questions  ever  broached.  Espe- 
cially does  this  appear,  when  the  critic 
seeks  to  throw  discredit  upon  the  articles 
which  have  appeared  in  this  Magazine,  by 
the  same  impeachment  of  the  motives  of 
the  writer.  He  insinuates  that  our  oppo- 
sition is  that  of  one  who  is  "  also  an  edi- 
tor of  Shakespeare."  This  is  not  the 
case ;  but  suppose  it  to  be  so,  and  suppose, 
what  is  impossible,  that  Mr.  Collier  has  the 
copyright  of  the  Perkins  Emendations 
in  England ;  does  that  copyright  extend 
to  America  ?  How  foolish  and  how  piti- 
ful tnis  objection  is  !  And  now,  once  for 
all,  be  it  understood,  that,  as  we  remarked 
in  our  first  paper  upon  this  subject,  we 
consider  that  ^*  the  discovery  of  this  cor- 
rected folio  will  be  of  material  service  to 
the  text  of  Shakespeare,"  and  that,  should 
we  prepare  an  edition  of  his  works  for 
the  use  of  the  readers  of  Putnam's  Mag- 


azine, we  should  esteem  the  prior  discov- 
ery of  this  Perkins  folio  a  very  fortu- 
nate cireumstanoe  of  our  position,  and 
should  be  indebted  to  it  for  more  emenda- 
tions of  the  text  than  to  any  editor,  ex- 
cept Nicholas  Rowe ;  and  also,  that  were 
all  of  the  changeg  which  Mr.  Collier  has 
introduced  into  that  abomination  which 
he  calls  "  The  Plays  of  Shakespeare,"  in 
spite  of  his  own  confession  that  many  of 
them  are  indefensible,  and  that  the  cor- 
rector sometimes  seems  "  to  have  been  di- 
rected by  his  own,  often  erroneous^  sense 
of  fitness  and  expediency,"! — were  all 
these  changes  as  plausible  as  the  large 
majority  of  them  are  tasteless  and  wan- 
ton, the  previous  field  for  editorial  labor 
would  not  be  materially  diminished ;  be- 
cause it  is  remarkable,  that  the  acceptable 
emendations  peculiar  to  this  folio  are 
all  comparatively  insigrdjicant^  and 
that  it  leaves  all  the  more  important 
of  the  obscure  passages  either  un- 
touched,  or  changed  in  such  a  way  as 
to  transfer  the  obscurity  from  one  line 
to  another^  or  to  diffuse  it  through  many. 
Let  us  hear  no  more  of  this  ungenerous 
and  unfounded  objection.  The  case  is  sim- 
ply this: — Mr.  Collier  himself  admits 
that  there  are  many  readings  in  his  recent 
edition  which  are  entirely  indefensible :  no 
one  denies,  that  there  are  some  which 
Unquestionably  restore  the  genuine  text : 
finally  and  conclusively,  there  is  no  let 
or  hindrance  to  the  adoption  of  them 
all  by  any  editor  in  America,  with  the 
added  advantage,  if  he  possess  it,  of 
being  able  to  correct  the  more  impor- 
tant passages  which  the  corrector  or 
correctors  of  the  Perkins  folio  left  in 
utter  confusion.  It  is  in  no  captious 
mood  that  we  have  treated  this  im- 
portant subject.  The  reviewer,  in  stating 
that  Mr.  Collier's  discovery  was  not  wel- 
comed by  the  editors  and  critics  of  Shake- 
speare, misrepresents  the  fact — uncon- 
sciously, we  believe.  We,  with  all  lovers 
of  Shakespeare,  hailed  Mr.  Collier's  an- 
nouncement with  delight — a  delight  which 
was  changed  to  chagrin,  when  we  found 
out  what  it  was  that  he  had  so  announced. 
Mr.  Collier  is  not  censured  by  any  one.  as 
he  seems  to  think,  on  account  of  his  *'  ac- 
cidental discovery  of  the  corrected  folio, 
1632,"t  but  because  he  indorses  changes 
in  it  which  conflict  with  Shakespeareig 
own  design  and  language,  to  say  nothing 
of  common  sense ;  and  above  all,  because 


*  Mr.  Halll  weirs  edition,  It  ahonld  be  remembered,  eonefets  of  only  one  bandred  and  fifty  ooplee,  wbich  were 
•n  taken  up  before  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Collier*!  N0U9  and  Smendationa,  Mr.  U.  hae  nothing  to  gain  oc 
lote  with  regard  to  his  edition,  for  after  one  bandred  and  fifty  copies  are  atmck  ^  bia  platee  aie  broken  opi 

t  Notes  and  Emendations,  Ac,  Steond  edition,  p.  tIL 

X  Notes  and  Emendatlona,  Ac,  Stoond  edltkm,  pi  is. 
VOL.  III. — 35 


554 


Shakespeare  v.  Perkins. 


\itMJ 


he  boldly  incorporated  these  into  the  text 
of  a  popular  edition  in  one  volume,  when 
he  acknowledges  that  a  part  of  them,  at 
least,  have  no  business  there.  Of  his  op- 
ponents, Mr.  Singer  alone  has  been  un- 
gracious and  ungenerous  enough  to  im- 
peach his  motives ;  and  our  disapproba- 
tion of  such*  a  course  was  decidedly  ex- 
pressed in  our  first  paper.* 

The  North  American  Review  makes 
a  specious  but  unfair  comparison  of  the 
condition  of  the  text  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment with  that  of  Shakespeare,  in  order 
to  show  how  much  the  latter  is  in  need 
of  emendation.  In  the  first  place,  there 
are  at  least  five  times  as  many  words 
in  the  latter  as  in  the  former ;  next,  the 
former  is  received  as  the  word  of  God ;  and 
the  most  obscure  part  of  it,  the  Apoca- 
lypse, closes  with  a  curse  upon  the  man 
who  adds  to  or  takes  from  that  book, 
which  must  have  stayed  the  hand  of 
many  an  ambitious  manuscript  corrector ; 
and  last,  the  number  of  passages  in 
Shakespeare  about  which  there  is  any 
reasonable  dispute,  is  not  one  tithe  of  that 
which  the  Reviewer  states — one  hundred 
in  each  play.  Commentators  have  proposed 
changes  in  as  many  :  and  there  is  neither 
human  law  nor  divine  curse  to  prevent  them 
from  sa3nng  that  light  is  darkness ;  but 
because  they  do  so,  we  are  not  obliged  to 
admit  a  doubt  upon  the  subject.  So  any 
man,  if  he  choose,  may  declare  that  Shake- 
speare made  Prospero  say  that  his  broth- 
er was  a  sinner  '*  to  untruth,"  by  telling 
a  He,  and  Hamlet ^  that  he  lacked  "gall 
to  make  transgression  bitter ;"  but  we 
are  not  therefore  constrained  to  take  such 
nonsense  into  serious  consideration. 

The  Reviewer  concludes  from  the  ascer- 
tained history  of  the  Perkins  folio,  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  chirography,  the  nature 
of  the  erased  passages,  and  the  [assumed] 
fact  that  the  emendations  were  made  by 
a  player,  the  London  theatres  being  closed 
from  1642  to  1G58. — that  these  emenda- 
tions were  completed  before  1G64. 

But,  first,  the  ascertained  history  of 
the  volume  is  merely  that,  in  Mr.  Collier's 
own  words,  '*  it  is  probable"  that  it  came 
from  Upton  Court,  the  seat  of  a  distin- 
guished Roman  Catholic  family  named 
Perkins,  towards  the  end  of  the  last  cen- 
tury ;  that  the  volume  has  "  Thomas  Per- 


kins, his  Booke,"  written  upon  its  corcr, 
(which  cover,  be  it  remarked,  is  not  that 
in  which  it  was  first  bound  in  1632;)  and 
that  there  was  an  actor  of  some  distinc- 
tion, named  Richard  Perkins,  in  the  reign 
of  Charles  I.  This  only  proves,  as  any 
one  oan  see.  merely  that  it  is  possible,  bot 
not  even  that  it  is  probable,  that  there  is 
some  connection  between  the  actor  and 
the  Thomas  Perkins,  who  was  possibly  of 
Upton  Court,  whence  "it  is  probable" 
that  the  volume  came,  about  1780  or  1790. 
Thus  far,  then,  the  volume  is  as  modi 
without  a  "story"  as  Canning's  Knife 
Grinder. 

Second,  the  appearance  of  the  chirogn- 
phy,  we  mist  set  down  at  once  as  of  lit- 
tle worth  in  determining  the  date  of  the 
emendations,  for  all  valuable  purposes. 
The  form  of  the  long  »,  the  turn  of  the 
bow  of  the  e  to  the  lefl,  and  the  prolonga- 
tion of  the  second  stroke  of  the  h  below 
the  line,  cannot  be  relied  on  as  determin- 
ing the  date  within  fifty  years.  The  pres- 
ent writer  has  in  his  own  possession  a 
copy  of  the  first  edition  of  Paradise 
Lost^  with  the  fourt^  title-page,  1669,  in 
which  there  is  a  manuscript  annotation 
which  bears  all  these  marks.  He  also 
once  owned  an  old  and  very  dilapidated 
copy  of  the  first  folio  of  Ben  Jonson^s 
Plays,  which  had  evidently  belonged  to 
a  farmer,  or  the  steward  of  some  great 
household ;  for  there  were  on  all  the 
blank  spaces,  memorandums  of  the  pur- 
chase or  sale  of  beeves  and  muttons,  and 
tuns  of  ale,  &c.,  none  of  which  were  da- 
ted earlier  than  1662:  and  in  all  of  them 
the  e,  «,  and  h  were  formed  in  this  peculiar 
way.  More :  the  same  gentleman  has  in 
his  possession  a  fac-simile  of  a  MS.  by 
Thos.  Dekker,  signed  by  him,  and  dated 
Sept.  12,  1616,  in  which  the  h  is  never 
brought  brought  l)elow  the  line,  and  the 
long  8  is  made  in  the  modem  form.  The 
handwriting  of  the  emendations  in  this 
Perkins  folio,  if  upon  a  volume  without 
date,  would  therefore  fix  its  date  with 
certainty  only  at  some  time  between  1600 
and  1675 ;  and  in  this  case  it  is  worth 
nothing  against  internal  evidence,  which 
fixes  the  date  after  1662.t 

Third,  the  nature  of  the  erased  pas- 
sages. The  Reviewer's  statement  of  this 
point  assumes   so  much,  that  we  must 


*  P.  401. 

t  The  unanswerable  argument  against  the  date  of  the  MS.  corrector's  stage  direction  in  Lo90*»  Labof** 
Lont,  (where  ho  writes  tliat  /iiron  '"getn  Mm  in  a  tres^'''  and  si)oaks  "in  the  tree,^')  that  there  was  no  yrarti- 
cable  si-enery  in  English  theiitros  until  after  1662,  the  Kevlcwer  attempts  to  set  as-ide  in  thi*>  most  astounding 
ityle:  "  Wliy  not  argue  also,"  lie  :?uy8,  "tliat  the  whole  first  Scene  of  the  Tempent  is  spurioos,  because  lib 
^uppose<l  to  tulve  place  on  board  a  ship  r  or  that  many  scenes  in  An  You  JAk^  It  ought  to  be  rejected,  because  thef 
take  place  amid  a  whule  forest  of  trees  ?  It  is  evident  that  Bifon  I*  directed  to  »peak  '  in  a  tree,Maat  as  Juiid 
makes  love  *  in  a  balcony.' ''  But  the  Reviewer  do^  not  see  the  difference  between  the  Scen^  (1  <l,  the  place 
of  action,)  and  Hcen^ry.  It  is  one  thing  to  sup|)06e  an  action  to  take  place  on  board  a  sbiD«  and  another  to  airect 
one  of  the  actors  to  run  up  the  »hr<ma»  of  a  snip ;  any  dramatlBt  may  make  a  forest  the  locally  of  bis  play, 


1854] 


Shakespeare  v.  Perkins, 


555 


quote  it  in  full,  "il//  passages  of  an  in- 
decent, or  needlessly  licentious  character, 
are  carefully  struck  out,  evincing,  says 
Mr.  Collier,  'the  advance  of  a  better  or 
purer  taste  alK)ut  the  time  when  the 
emendator  went  over  the  volume.'  "  [/?cr. 
p.  397.]  But  Mr.  Collier  does  not  say 
so.  He  says:  "<S»ome  expressions  and 
lines  of  an  irreligious  or  indelicate  char- 
acter are  also  struck  out,  evincing,  per- 
haps,  the  advance  of  a  better  or  purer 
taste."  &c.*  This  is  very  far  short  of  the 
Reviewer's  statement ;  and  well  may  Mr. 
Collier  shelter  his  supposition  behind  a  con- 
tingency ;  for  his  own  Notes  and  Einen- 
dations  shows  that  the  corrector  left  un- 
touched very  many  more  profane  and  indec- 
orous expressions  than  he  struck  out ;  and 
also  that  he  did  strike  out  perfectly  unex- 
ceptionable passages,  too  brief  to  add  ap- 
preciably to  the  length  of  the  perform- 
ance; plainly  proving  that  he  was  gov- 
erned only  by  his  own  caprice  in  this  re- 
gard. The  Reviewer  most  strangely  con- 
cludes, that  these  erasures  of  a  few  indeli- 
cate passages,  forbid  the  conclusion  that 
these  marginalia  were  written  after  the 
Restoration,  and  shows  that  they  were 
made  rather  *•  in  Charles  the  First's  time, 
when  ♦  *  ♦  the  diffusion  of  Puritanism 
compelled  the  editors  of  the  first  folio  to 
strike  out  the  profane  ejaculations  of  Fal- 
staif.  and  some  minor  indecencies  which 
had  been  tolerated  in  the  publication  of  the 
earlier  quartos."  But  sui-ely,  a  writer 
who  undertook  to  handle  this  subject, 
should  have  known,  that  those  omi,ssions 
in  the  first  folio  were  only  made  in  com- 
pliance with  an  express  statute  which  was 
pas.sed  in  the  first  of  James  I.,  1604  ! — 
eight  years  before  Shakespeare  ceased  to 
write  ! — twelve  years  before  he  died  ! — 
nineteen  years  before  the  publication  of 
the  first  folio,  and  twenty-eight  years 
before  the  publication  of  the  volume  upon 
which  these  emendations  are  made  !  The 
"diffusion  of  Puritanism"  enforced  no 
other  erasures  nj)on  the  editors  of  the 
folios  of  either  1G23  or  1032  ;  neither  did 
it  forbid  the  publication  of  equally  indeli- 
cate passages  by  Davenant,  in  twelve 
plays  issued  between  1G34  and  lOGO,  nor 
the  issue  of  the  works  of  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher    in    folio    1037,   containing,   or 


rather  consisting  entirely,  of  plays  so  in- 
delicate in  their  very  structure  as  well  as 
language,  that  Shakespeare's  compared  to 
them  seem  "  whiter  than  new  snow  on 
a  raven's  back."  The  Reviewer  has  un- 
dertaken to  prove  too  much,  and  has  thus 
succeeded  in  proving  nothing  at  all. 

Fourth,  the  assumed  fact,  that  the 
emendations  were  made  by  a  player,  does 
not  help  to  give  them  any  authority,  or 
even  any  consequence,  except  as  auxilia- 
ries to  the  text  ol  the  original  folio  : — that 
is,  to  make  them  valuable  as  early  remin- 
iscences or  conjectures,  aided,  perhaps,  by 
copies  of  actors'  parts,  and  to  be  received 
when  the  text  of  the  original  is  incom- 
prehensible or  inconsistent,  and  when 
they,  by  probable  corrections,  make  it 
clear  and  congruous.  And  here,  for 
the  sake  of  the  argument,  let  us  grant 
that  these  changes  were  made  by  Richard 
Perkins,  an  actor  in  the  time  of  Charles 
I.,  between  the  years  1642  and  1658,  and 
that  he  had  copies  of  actors'  parts  and 
prompt  books  of  his  time  to  assist  him. 
What  '"authority"  do  his  labors  derive 
from  those  facts,  which  can  give  them  a 
feather's  weight  against  the  text  of  Shake- 
speare's fellow  actors  and  business  part- 
ners, who  had  "  scarce  received  from  him 
a  blot  in  his  popers^^^ — when  that  text  is 
comprehensible?  It  contains  many  de- 
fects, the  results  of  careles-sness ;  and  those, 
Mr.  Richard  Perkins,  or  Mr.  John  Jenkin^ 
may  correct  if  he  can ;  and  the  probabili- 
ties are  in  favor  of  the  former,  perhaps  be- 
cau.se  he  came  nearer  to  Shakespeare.  But 
when,  in  a  passage  not  obscure,  we  have  to 
decide  between  Richard  or  Thomas  Per- 
kins, his  Booke.  and  John  Heminge  and 
Ilenrie  Condcll,  their  Booke,  is  there  a 
question  which  must  go  to  the  wall  ?  The 
judgment,  the  memory,  the  very  copied 
part  of  an  actor,  even  as  to  a  play  in 
which  he  performed,  is  not  to  be  trusted 
thirty  years  after  its  production,  against 
such  testimony  as  we  have  in  favor  of  the 
copy  from  which  the  first  folio  was  print- 
ed. It  would  not  be  trusted  even  in  this 
century ;  much  less  two  hundred  years 
ago,  when,  as  we  know,  the  lines  of  the 
dramatist  were  wantonly  and  merciless- 
ly mutilated,  both  by  managers  and 
actors. 


but  to  make  end  of  his  acton  cUnib  a  tree,  he  nin!«t  have  the  tree  for  him  to  climb.  Should  a  copy  of  tho  Tern- 
pf«t  api*ear,  wlili  iMS.  directions  for  a  sailor  to  run  up  the  shmuds,  it  would  prove  po>iliveiy  tliat  those  direc- 
tions Were  written  aficr  1662.  But  tho  Kcviewer  constructed  tliis argument  witli  a  wnntnf  IcnoH  ledge  singular 
in  an  author  of  such  an  able  paper;  for  in  the  original  edition  of  the  T^ntpMt  ^the  dm  folio),  there  \s  vui  the 
Uighirttt  iwii'-atiou,  by  nctiy  o/»tage  direction^  that  thsjlrst  acme  ptiniteM  on  ehipbwird  ;^  in  tiie  first  edition 
ot  Ae  You  Like  It  (first  folio),  there  is  no  mention  of  a  fbreei  or  a  mngle  eaplim;  in  the  etage  directions; 
and  in  neither  tiie  fir>t  folio  nor  the  early  quartos  ci  Romeo  and  JiUiet,  Ia  there  the  tdightett  hint  that 
Juliet  makes  lopf.  in  a  haUntny.  All  these  stage  directions  are  deductions  ttom  the  text,  added  in  modern 
daya.  Did  the  Itcviewer  never  read,  in  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  Defenee  of  Poeey,  the  well-known  passage  al- 
luding to  the  appointments  of  tiie  stage  for  which  Shakespeare  wrote:  **  What  childe  is  there,  that,  coming 
to  a  play,  and  seeing  Thehea  written  in  great  letters  upoti  an  old  dot^t  doth  believe  that  It  is  Thebeat^ 
*  Notea  and  KmendaUona^  Saeand  Edition,  p.  zviiL 


556 


Shak&tpeare  y.  Perkins. 


[May 


It  is  important,  too,  as  affecting  the 
value  of  emendations  derived  from  actors' 
parts,  to  notice  that  Shakespeare's  plays 
were  acted  by  other  companies  than  that 
which  owned  the  right  in  them,  and  pos- 
sessed the  old  stage  copies.  For,  by  an 
entry  in  the  OflSce-book  of  Sir  Henry  Her- 
bert, who  was  Master  of  the  Revels  in 
the  reigns  of  James  I.  and  Charles  F.,  and 
which  will  be  found  in  Mr.  Collier's  An- 
nals of  the  Stage,  vol.  II.  p.  7,  we  know 
that  he  was  paid  £5  by  Ileminge,  on  the 
11th of  April,  1027,  ''to  forbid  the  play- 
ing of  Shakespeare's  plays  to  the  Red 
Bull  Company."  Now  this  Red  Bull 
Company,  or  any  other  which  would 
pirate  Shakespeare's  plays,  would  not 
scruple  to  mutilate  his  works,  after  the 
fashion  of  literary  pirates,  and  adapt  them 
to  the  capacities  of  their  histrionic  force 
and  the  taste  of  their  audiences,  just  as, 
we  know,  the  corrector  of  this  Perkins 
folio  did.  The  parts  of  such  mutilated 
plays  would  be  copied  out  for  the  actors  * 
and  what  would  such  actors'  parts  or 
prompt  books  be  worth  against  the  au- 
thority of  the  first  folio  ?  Indeed,  it  is  more 
than  probable  that  this  Perkins  folio  was 
submitted  to  the  treatment  which  it  has 
experienced,  for  the  double  purpose  of  a 
new  edition  for  readers  and  to  supply  the 
wants  of  the  companies  which  were  sure 
to  be  formed  afler  Davenant's  re-estab- 
lishment of  theatrical  entertainments, — 
the  rights  of  Shakespeare's  company  hav- 
ing determined  during  the  Protectorate. 

But  the  Reviewer  seeks  to  elevate  the 
authority  of  these  emendations,  by  drag- 
ging down  that  of  the  first  folio.  He 
says,  that  ''  all  the  twenty  plays  which 
were  first  printed  in  the  folio,  had  existed 
in  manuscript,  without  being  seen  by  their 
author,  for  at  least  eleven  years ; "  that  the 
TSdo  Gentlemen  of  Verona  had  "  existed 
only  in  written  copies  for  thirty-two 
years ;"  that  '*  the  G  lobe  Theatre  was  burnt 
down  in  1613,  and  it  is  more  than  proba- 
ble that  all  of  Shakespeare's  original 
manuscripts,  which  had  survived  to  that 
period,  were  then  destroyed,"  [this,  in 
spite  of  Heminge  and  Condell's  direct  tes- 
timony, that  they  had  his  papers.]  and 
that  *•  the  written  copies  were  multiplied  by 
careless  transcribers."  I^et  us  again,  for 
the  sake  of  the  argument,  grant  all  this ; — 
how  does  it  build  up  the  authority  of  the 


Perkins  folio?  The  Reviewer  goes  on 
very  reasonably  to  say,  ^'alterations  and 
omissions  were  made  from  time  to  time, 
to  adapt  the  performance  to  the  varying 
earigencies  of  the  theatre^  or  the  altered 
taste  of  the  times/^  This  is  very  likely 
to  be  true;  but  if  it  invalidate  the  aa- 
thority  of  the  manuscript  copy  from  which 
the  first  folio  was  printed,  with  what 
doubled  and  trebled  force  does  it  crush 
the  pretensions  of  those  used  by  a  player 
in  1642.  which  had  been  subject  to  nine- 
teen years  more  of  alteration  and  omi^ 
sion,  to  suit  the  exigencies  of  the  thea- 
tre^ and  the  taste  of  the  times! 

Again,  the  Reviewer,  attempting  to 
grapple  with  the  overpowering  argument^ 
against  both  the  authority  and  the  intelli- 
gence of  the  MS.  corrector,  that  so  many 
of  his  readings  are  inadmissible,  and  could 
not  possibly  have  formed  a  part  of  the 
text,  thinks  that  he  has  conquered  it  by 
fastening  the  same  defect  upon  the  first 
folio.  He  says :  "  We  admit  it,  [the  in- 
admissibility of  the  readings,]  but  We 
must  remind  the  objectors,  that  precisely 
the  same  thing  is  true  of  the  first  folio." 
To  a  superficial  glance,  this  seems  to  be 
*  a  crusher  ; '  but,  in  truth,  it  is  too  weak 
to  stand  alone.  For  we  know  that  the 
first  folio  was  authorized ;  and  its  errors 
are  corruptions^  the  results  of  accident 
and  carelessness^  of  which  they  are  them- 
selves the  best  evidence ;  while  the  ab- 
surd, inconsistent,  prosaic  and  ridiculous 
readings  of  the  MS.  corrector  are  de- 
liherntcly  formed. — the  fruits  of  pain- 
ful effort  to  correct  those  accidental  er- 
rors in  some  cases,  and  to  better  the  text 
in  others.  The  errors  of  the  first  folio 
are  casualties  ;  the  stupidities  of  the  Per- 
kins folio  are  perpetrated  with  malice 
aforethought.  The  former  prove  only  the 
absence  of  care ;  the  latter  exist  only  in 
consequence  of  care,  and  therefore  prove 
the  absence  of  authority. 

The  number  of  cases  in  which  we  are 
assumed  to  have  admitted  the  success  of 
the  MS.  corrector,  are  brought  up  as  evi- 
dence in  favor  of  his  ''  authority."  There 
are  173  of  his  acceptable  corrections  whick 
have  been  made  by  others,  and  1 17  which 
are  peculiar  to  him,  and  which,  in  our 
own  words,  "  seem  to  be  admissible  cor- 
rections of  passages  which  need  correc- 
tion."*— making  200  in  all,   [including, 


*  The  Reviewer  mj-s  that  this  is  **  grudging  language,  ^howing  rather  the  anwilHngness  of  the  oonoMsiao, 
than  any  doubt  as  to  its  JuMice  and  propriety."  Not  sa  We  (x>nc©di'd  only,  Uiat  these  changes  were  prob** 
biy  [i.  «.  they  seamed  to  be]  aduiisfiible,  an«i  that  the  pa'«ages  in  which  ihejioccurred  seeuKHi  to  need  conree* 
tlon;  or,  as  we  reinarliod  again  of  them  in  Uie  wime  pai)er,  they  ai\'  changes^ from  which  future  editors  may 
earffuUy  »«l«ct  cmendationB.*"  To  change  tlic  text  of  Miakes|>earc,  is,  in  our  estimation,  no  light  matter:  and 
it  is  not  to  be  attemptetl  upon  tht>  tln4  seeming  acceptability  of  a  propped  alteration.  That  Mr.  Collier  hm 
actei  on  other  grounds,  is*  Uie  gravamen  of  the  charge  again5t  liim.  Further  investigation  has  disoorenid  to 
us,  that  many  of  theee  117  seemingly  acceptable  changes  are  not  necnliar  to  the  MS.  corrector,  and  abo  eon- 
▼inoad  ua,  that  only  about  aoTonty-JlTe  of  them  have  cUdma  to  a  plaoa  in  th«  text 


1864.] 


Shakespeare  y.  Perkitu. 


557 


however,  the  numerous  restorations  from 
the  first  folio,  and  the  early  quartos.J 
What  one  editor,  critic,  or  commentator, 
exclaims  the  Reviewer,  can  claim  the  origi- 
nal suggestion  of  an  equal  number  of  con- 
jectural  emendations,  which  are  admitted 
to  be  sound  or  plausible  ?  We  answer,  with- 
out hesitation. — Nicholas  Rowe  ;  and  he 
only  forestalled  the  others  in  making  them, 
because  he  came  first.  The  most  of  these 
corrections  are  of  typographical  errors, 
such  as  no  intelligent  proof-reader  would 
fail  to  detect  and  rectify.  Rowe  and 
Theobald  made  nearly  all  of  them ;  and 
Rowe  would  have  almost  certainly  made 
them  all,  had  he  worked  with  half  the 
plodding  care  of  the  corrector  of  the  Per- 
kins folio.  As  it  was,  he  made  many 
which  his  predecessor  should  have  made. 
We  turn  to  the  Notes  and  Emendations^ 
and  notice  the  first  of  the  coincidences,  in 
the  Tempest,  Act  I.  Sc  2 : 

**  A  brave  vessel, 
Who  had,  no  doubt,  some  noble  ereatnre  lereaturM] 
in  her.'* 

Next  in  the  same  Scene, 

'*  Where  they  prepared 
A  rotten  carcass  of  a  butt  [ho<U],  not  ristg'd, 
Nor  tackle,  m\\,  nor  mast ;  the  very  rats 
InstincUvoly  liad  [hav^\  quit  It" 

What  boy  in  his  'teens,  having  these 
passages  given  him  to  copy,  would  not 
make  such  corrections  instinctively  ?  These 
are  fair  specimens  of  a  majority  of  his  [as- 
sumed] two  hundred  and  ninety  admissi- 
ble corrections;  so  does  the  first  folio 
swarm  with  typographical  errors.  But 
there  are  other  correct  ions  which  seem  to 
show  that  he  sometimes  conjectured  suc- 
cessfully, or  remembered  correctly,  or  had 
a  book  or  MS.  which  helped  him  to  the 
right  word-  We  think  that  it  is  more 
than  probable  that  he  was  indebted  to  all 
these  means.  Certainly  he  was  indebted 
both  to  conjecture  and  the  early  quar- 
tos,— his  restoration  of  the  readings  in 
the  latter  being  nothing  in  his  favor, 
AS  they  existed  in  his  time  in  hr  greater 
numbers  than  when  the  editors  of  the 
last  century  useti  them,  just  as  he  did. 

Assuming  that  the  MS.  corrector  was  a 
player,  •'  who  had  lived  in  an  age  (the 
first  half  of  the  seventeenth  century) 
when  conjectural  emendation  of  an  Eng- , 
lish  author  was  an  art  as  yet  unheard  of, 
and  when  the  writings  of  our  great  dra- 
matist were  so  little  known  or  prized, 
that  four  rude  and  uncritical  editions  of 
them  sufficed  for  a  century ;  '*  and  con- 
cluding that  it  is  impossible  ^*that  the 


whole  eight  [entire  lines]  should  have 
been  inventea^  or  made  up  by  mere  con- 
jecture, by  a  poor  player  in  the  earlier 
part  of  the  seventeenth  century,"  the  Re- 
viewer considers  it  established,  that  the 
corrector  could  not  have  conjectured,  but 
must  have  had  authority.  But  even 
granting  that  these  emendations  were 
made  '*  between  1642  and  1664,"  it  is  a 
well-known  fact,  that  at  least  a  dozen 
corrected  folios  of  the  second,  third  and 
fourth  editions  exist  at  present,  one  of 
them,  Mr.  Dent's,  being  not  only,  like 
the  others,  corrected  "  in  an  ancient 
hand,"  but  its  numerous  emendations  be-, 
ing  "curious  and  important,  consisting 
of  stage  directions,  alterations  in  the  puno- 
tuation,  &c"  Did  conjectural  emenda- 
tion spring  up  at  once,  armed  at  all  points, 
immediately  after  the  publication  of  the 
third  folio  ?  But  whether  it  did  or  not, 
the  man  who  made  some  of  the  oorreo- 
tions  in  the  Perkins  folio  did  conjecture ; 
and  has  left  irrefragable  evidence  that  he 
did.  FaC'Similes,  now  before  us,  of  a  pas- 
sage near  the  end  of  the  last  Scene  of  Hamr 
let,  and  of  another  in  Othello,  Act.  IV.* 
Sc.  1,  as  they  appear  in  this  Perkins  folio, 
show  this  undeniably.  In  the  first,  two 
-  lines  are  printed  thus : 

"Good  nltcht,  sweet  Prlenoe, 
And  flights  of  angels  sing  thee  to  thy  rest" 

The  corrector  at  first  rectified  the  mis- 
print by  striking  out  the  e  in  "  Prience ;  ^ 
but,  afterwards,  concluding  to  make  the 
line  rhyme  with  the  next,  he  struck  out 
"  sweet  Prience  "  and  substituted  be  blest. 
In  the  passage  in  Othello,  when  the  Moor, 
just  before  he  falls  in  a  trance,  says  "  Na- 
ture herself  would  not  invest  herselfe  in 
such  a  shadowing  passion,  without  some 
Instruction,"  the  corrector  first  changes 
"  shadowing  "  to  shuddering,  and  strikes 
out  the  comma  after  "  passion ; "  but,  con- 
cluding to  do  without  the  sentence,  draws 
his  pen  remorselessly  through  it.  And  in 
77i€  Merchant  of  Venice,  Act  V.  Sc.  1, 
the  folio  of  1632  has, 

"  Therefore  the  poet  did  feign 
That  Orphens  drew  Uart^  stonea,  floods,"*  Ae. 

Here  "tears"  is  a  misprint  for  trees, 
which  appears  in  the  first  folk),  and  in  the 
two  early  quartos ;  but  the  MS.  corrector 
deceived  by  the  likeness  of  tears  to  beasts 
substituted  the  latter  word  at  first ;  after 
referring  to  the  other  editions,  however,  he 
restores  the  right  word,  tears.  If  this  be 
not  conjecture,  Nahum  Tate  wrote  King 
Lear,  Conjecture  helped  or  hindered 
this  corrector  as  it  did  those  of  the  dozen 
or  more  copies  of  the  other  "  rude  and  un- 


58 


/ 


Shakespeare  v.  Perkms. 


[Migr 


critical  editions  "  which  "  sufficed  for  a  cen- 
tury." But  neither  the  number — four — 
of  these  editions,  nor  their  careless  print- 
ing, shows  that  Shakespeare's  works 
were  "  little  known  or  prized  ; "  for  half 
that  number  of  editions  sufficed  for  every 
other  dramatist  of  that  century ;  and  all, 
except  those  of  careful  Ben  Jonson,  were 
vilely  printed. 

Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  we  do  not.  as 
the  Reviewer  asserts,  by  a  gross  petitio 
frincipii  "  take  for  granted  the  two  chief 
points  at  issue,  namely,  that  the  first  folio, 
*  *  *  does  contain  the  text  of  Shake- 
speare, and  that  the  corrections  of  the  MS. 
Annotator  are  mere  guesswork."  We 
have  the  direct  and  explicit  testimony  of 
Shakespeare's  friends,  fellow  actors  and 
principal  partners  in  the  theatre,  that  the 
first  folio  was  printed  from  the  text  of 
Shakespeare,  and,  errors  excepted,  does 
contain  that  text :  we  have  proved  that  the 
corrector  did  indulge  in  "mere  guess- 
work," and  therefore,  as  against  the  au- 
thorized edition,  we  must  consider  all  his 
labors  as  merely  conjectural,  and  only  to  be 
received  when  they  consistently  correct  the 
milpable,  accidental  errors  of  .that  edition. 
but  were  this  not  so,  we  should  reject  nine 
tenths  of  those  peculiar  to  him  upon  their 
own  merits.  They  seem  to  be  modelled 
upon  the  conjectural  effort  of  the  man 
who,  not  being  able  to  understand  the 
strong  figure,  '*  strain  at  a  gnat  and  swal- 
low a  camel,"  amended  his  New  Testa- 
ment to  read,  "  strain  at  a  gcUt  and  swal- 
low a  saw-mill^^ 

But  after  all,  it  is  not  improbable  that 
Richard  Perkins  did  make  some  of  these 
corrections.  We  admitted,  for  the  argu- 
ment's sake,  that  he  did  make  them ;  but 
now  having  shown  that  his  making  them 
gives  them  no  semblance  of  authority,  we 
acknowledge  that  it  is  even  more  than 
probable  that  he  had  a  hand  in  them.  It 
seems  that  this  Richard  Perkins  was  not 
only  an  actor  but  ^*  also  in  some  measure  a 
poet,  as  he  wrote  a  copy  of  verses  prefixed 
to  Hey  wood's  Apology  for  Actors?"*  The 
murder's  out !  He  was  "  something  of  a 
poet!"  This  accounts  for  his  turning 
speech  after  speech  of  blank  verse  into 
rhyme,  for  his  makmg  Hamlet  bring  up 


with  a  jingle  after  first  correcting  the  line 
to  which  he  tacked  his  rhyme,  for  his  sub- 
mitting other  plays  to  similar  treatment, 
and  for  the  insertion  of  entire  lines  in  sev- 
eral cases,  which,  although  two  or  three 
of  them  are  not  unlike  what  Shakespeare 
might  have  written  in  those  particular 
passages,  are  not  at  all  beyond  the  reach 
of  any  man  who  is  "  something  of  a  poet " 
and  has  read  the  context 

It  seems  as  if  Master  Perkins  was  about 
to  bring  out  an  edition  of  Shakespeare's 
works  as  he  thought  they  should  have  been 
written  and  should  be  acted.  He  noodem- 
ized  the  language,  struck  out  whatever  he 
thought  uninteresting,  added  rhymes 
where  he  thought  they  were  needed,  added 
stage  directions  to  conform  to  the  custom  of 
the  day,  which  was  to  be  very  particular 
in  that  respect,*  attended  minutel}'  to  the 
punctuation,  corrected  even  the  turned 
letters,  as  Mr.  Collier  assures  us,  (not  at 
all  necessar}''  for  a  stage  copy),  changed 
the  old  prefix  of  Beggar  in  the  Induction 
to  the  Taming  €f  the  Shrew,  to  5/y 
(equally  unnecessary  for  the  stage),  under- 
scored the  old  rhymes  and  quotatk>ns 
(also  entirely  needless  in  a  stage  copyX 
and  thought  that  he  would  have  a  very 
fine  edition ;  and  it  would  have  been  quite 
as  good  and  of  the  same  kind  as  Pope's 
and  Warburton's.  But  the  publishers  of 
the  next  edition,  in  1664  did  not  believe 
in  ^Shakespeare  according  to  Perkins.' 
and  reprinted  the  old  folios,  adding  even  all 
the  plays  that  had  borne  Shakespeare's 
name  in  his  lifetime. 

Now  Perkins  may  have  acted  in  Shake- 
speare's plays  while  the  dramatist  was 
living,  he  was  doubtless  ^^  something  of  a 
poet,"  and  he  may  have  had  some  aetors' 
parts  which  were  "  copies  of  copies  of  a 
part  of  a  mutilated  copy ; "  but  in  spite 
of  all  this,  when  there  is  any  question  be- 
tween what  Hcminge  and  Condell  and  our 
own  souls  tell  us  is  Master  Shakespeare'.s, 
and  that  which  probability  and  our  own 
souls  tell  us  is  Master  Perkins's,  we  shall 
decide  in  favor  of  Master  Shakespeare. 
For  though  the  one  was  something  of  a 
poet,  wo  believe  that  the  other  was  a 
good  deal  more  of  a  poet.  And  all  the 
people  say  Amen ! 


*  It  is  only  necessary  to  look  at  the  first  editions  of  Shirley^  Shadweira,  and  Southome's  plays,  the  dates 
of  which  are  from  1630  to  1690,  to  i^ee  bow  tlie  custom  of  addlns  minute  stage  directions  to  the  printed  C(»pies 
arose  toward  the  middle  of  the  century.  Those  printed  about  tliat  time  and  thereafter  have  every  movement 
intNcated  with  the  greatest  (larticularity.  The  fnct  that  the  first  folio  has  few  stage  direcUons  sosiAins  the 
evidence  that  most  of  it  was  printed  from  tlu*  autlior's  manuscript  and  not  Prom  the  stnge  copy  or  actors'  {lerta, 
in  whicii  those  directions  would  necessarily  be  numerous;  and  this  is  again  confirmed  by  Uie  fact  that  the 
quartos,  evidently  printed  from  actors'  parts,  have  many  more  stage  directions  than  the  folio. 


18M.1  669 

WITHOUT    AND    WITHIN. 

NO.    II. 
THE  RESTAUR A2^, 

THAT  seedy  chap  upon  the  grating, 
Who  sniffs  the  odors  from  the  kitchen, 
Seems  in  his  hungry  thoughts  debating 
Of  all  he  sees  what's  most  bewitching. 

His  eyes  devour  the  window's  treasure, 

The  game,  the  cutlet,  and  the  salmon, — 
But  not  the  flowers,  which  give  me  pleasure,— 

Japonicas  to  him  are  gammon. 

I  hope  to  smashing  he's  not  given, — 

He  looks  so  like  a  hungry  terrier. 
For,  'twixt  him  and  his  seeming  heaven. 

There's  but  a  thin  and  brittle  barrier. 

He  smacks  his  lips — in  fancy  tasting. 

And  has  half  brought  his  mind  to  nab  it — 
My  game  he  thinks  the  cook  is  basting, 

While  'tis,  in  fact,  a  poor  Welsh  rabbit 

The  longing  wretch  leans  o'er  the  railing, 

And  thinks — '*  Is't  I  that  am  a  sinner  ? 
Or  is  it  for  my  father's  failing 

That  I  must  go  without  a  dinner  ?  " 

"  Look  at  that  scamp"  (he  means  me),  "  sitting 

Cramming  enough  to  feed  a  dozen, 
While  I  my  useless  teeth  am  gritting, 

And  yet  his  wife's  my  second  cousin. 

"  Now  he  pours  down  his  Medoc  claret. 

Now  what  to  order  next  he  ponders ; 
Prudhon  is  right ;  we  ought  to  share  it — 

The  gold  he  so  insanely  squanders ! " 

/  think. — "  0  !  Fortune,  why  presentest 

To  all  mankind  gifts  so  irrelevant  ? 
My  teeth  demand  a  constant  dentist, 

While  he  is  ivoried  like  an  elephant 

"  Why  probe  us  with  these  sharp  reminders. 

Why  still  in  cornu  habeafoenum  t 
Send  roasts  and  nuts  to  carious  grinders, 
'    While  millstone  jaws  get  naught  between  'em  ? 

"  By  all  the  wealth  I've  been  the  winner, 

I  would  without  a  moment's  question. 
Give  him  my  Medoc  and  my  dinner, 

To  have  his  molars  and  digestion. 

"  He  fancies  me  a  careless  feeder, 

While  the  Lord  knows,  he's  not  so  weary  ; 
I'm  worried  for  to-morrow's  leader. 

And  dished  by  that  last  fall  in  Erie." 


560 


[May 


EDITORIAL   NOTES. 


LITERATUBE. 

American. — Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  will 
have  more  to  answer  for,  than  the  unjust 
pictures  of  which  our  Southern  friends 
complain.  It  has  suggested  a  number  of 
replies  and  defences,  which  are  really  a 
greater  injury  to  the  cause  they  espouse, 
than  the  original  assailant.  They  are 
written  in  such  transparent  ignorance  of 
the  questions  at  issue,  give  such  false 
views  of  life  both  at  the  South  and  North, 
and  advance  such  unsound  arguments, 
that,  in  spite  of  their  amiable  intentions, 
they  must  do  good  to  few  only,  and  inju- 
ry to  many.  A  novel  is  not  an  appropri- 
ate vehicle  for  the  exposition  of  doctrine, 
at  the  best ;  and  when  it  happens  to  be 
badly  written,  is  an  exceedingly  inappro- 
priate one.  The  object  of  it  should  be 
to  represent  life  and  manners  as  they  are, 
and  not  to  advance  the  cause  of  a  party 
or  sect,  by  caricatures  of  its  opponents, 
or  flattering  likenesses  of  its  friends ;  for 
it  then  loses  its  character  as  a  work  of 
art,  and  sinks  to  the  level  of  a  polemical 
pamphlet. 

These  remarks  are  suggested  to  us  by 
Mrs.  Carolink  Lee  Hentz's  recent  novel, 
called  ''The  Planter's  Northern  Bride," 
not  because  they  are  applicable  to  it,  in 
their  whole  extent,  but  because  it  is  a 
type  of  a  large  class  of  works  which  have 
lately  overwhelmed  the  press.  It  is  a 
story  of  an  accomplished  and  wealthy 
Southerner,  who  marries  the  daughter  of 
a  New  England  abolitionist,  and  who,  by 
means  of  his  own  excellence,  and  the 
agreeable  light  in  which  his  relations  to 
his  slaves  are  placed,  by  actual  experi- 
ence, converts  the  entire  family  into  good 
pro-slavery  people.  The  intention  is,  to 
do  away  with  the  Northern  prejudices, 
which  are  supposed  to  exist,  and  to  exhibit 
society  at  the  South  in  its  true  aspects. 
But  we  object  to  the  book,  apart  from  our 
general  objection  to  all  novels  having  a 
set  moral  purpose,  that  it  proves  too  much, 
and,  consequently  proves  nothing.  It 
paints  the  South  so  entirely  couleur  de 
rose,  that  the  reader,  knowing  that  there 
are  some  and  great  evils  in  all  societies, 
suspects  it  to  be  untrue.  The  relation  of 
master  and  slave  is  made  so  agreeable, 
that  the  only  legitimate  inference  from  it ' 
is,  that  it  would  be  better  for  the  work- 
ing classes  all  over  the  world  to  be  re- 
duced to  the  same  condition.  Now,  we 
know  that  many  gross  misrepresentations 
have  been  given  in  respect  to  slavery,  and 
we  can  easily   pardon  a   little  reaction 


towards  a  favorable  view  of  it;  but  ft 
writer,  who  endeavors  to  persuade  us  to 
such  an  exti-eme  inference  as  this,  cannot 
be  a  reliable  teacher.  The  mina  rejects 
the  conclusion,  and  is  inclined  to  imagine 
that  the  whole  story  is  an  attempt  to  de- 
ceive. Thus,  the  very  purpose  of  the 
book  is  defeated,  and  the  cause  it  was 
meant  to  serve,  unintentionally  injured. 
Mrs.  Hentz  is  a  skilful  narrator,  of  ex- 
cellent sentiments  and  a  fine  poetic  vein ; 
but  we  would  counsel  her,  patriotic  as  her 
purposes  are,  to  leave  the  discussion  of 
slavery  to  other  |)ersons,  or  to  undertake 
it  in  some  other  form.  As  she  is  a  North- 
ern woman,  who  has  lived  many  years  at 
the  South,  her  personal  experiences  on 
the  subject  would  be  more  authentic  and 
valuable,  than  the  same  views  essentially 
presented  as  fiction. 

— Since  the  publication  of  the  Marquis 
de  Custine's  book  on  Russia,  no  more  en- 
tertaining or  valuable  work  on  that  sub- 
ject has  appeared,  than  '^Russia  As  It 
Is,''  by  CouKT  Adam  de  Gurowski.  It 
is,  indeed,  in  many  respects  superior  to 
the  celebrated  French  book,  because,  as  it 
seems  to  us,  it  is  moi-c  reliable  in  its  de- 
tails, and  more  philosophical  in  its  spirit. 
Custine.  like  other  Frenchmen,  loved  to 
tell  a  vivacious  story,  without  being  over- 
particular about  the  truth  of  it ;  and  thus, 
while  he  made  a  most  entertaining  narra- 
tive, he  did  not  alwa3's  impress  the  reader 
with  the  perfect  reliability  of  his  state- 
ments. The  famous  ''  iievelations  of  Rus- 
sia," on  the  other  hand,  written,  as  they 
are,  with  marked  ability,  betray  too  evi- 
dent a  bias  against  lite  Czar  and  all  his 
people,  to  be  accepted  with  the  most  en- 
tire confidence.  But  Gurowski,  a  Pole  by 
birth,  an  exile,  with  no  special  reasons  for 
liking  Nicholas  or  his  policy,  possessed  of 
large  experience,  and  accustomed  to  view 
the  political  questions  of  the  day,  in  the 
light  of  a  comprehensive  theory  of  the 
destinies  of  races  and  nations,  is  peculiar- 
ly fitted  to  give  us  a  thorough,  impartial, 
and  sound  judgment  of  the  omntry  which 
is  just  now  making  so  much  noise  in  the 
world.  Ilis  book,  therefore,  is  not  only 
a  timely,  but  a  most  important  contribu- 
tion to  our  knowledge.  It  is  no  rehash 
of  the  French  and  English  publications  on 
the  Eiust  no  echo  of  the  opinions  of  inter- 
ested parties,  but  an  independent  and  ori- 
ginal expression  of  the  views  of  one  who 
has  long  been  familiar  with  his  theme,  and 
who  speaks  entirely  from  his  own  stand- 
point. 


1854.] 


Editorial  Notes — American  Literature, 


561 


We  do  not  mean  to  say.  that  the  preju- 
dices of  the  Pole  and  the  exile  are  not  ap- 
parent in  this  work,  or  that  we  are  ready 
to  accede  to  all  it&  principles ;  but  what 
we  do  mean,  is,  that  the  book  is  written 
in  the  most  intelligent  and  earnest  spirit, 
by  a  strong-minded  thinker,  profoundly 
acquainted  with  the  past,  observant  of  the 
present,  and  hopeful  of  the  future. 

The  leading  thought  of  Count  Gurow- 
ski,  in  his  development  of  the  history  and 
condition  of  Russia,  is,  what  will  be 
found  elsewhere  expressed,  in  this  num- 
ber, that  Czarism,  or  autocracy,  has  been 
only  a  transitional  necessity,  while  the 
nation  at  large  is  in  the  process  of  work- 
ing out  its  own  emancipation,  as  well  as  a 
higher  destiny  for  Western  Europe.  Rus- 
sia, at  present,  by  her  compactness  and 
force,  powerfully  sustains  the  conservative 
or  retrograde  interests  of  the  continent, 
but  she  contains  within  herself  an  abun- 
dance of  fermenting  elements,  whose  ebul- 
lition is  becoming  daily  more  intense  and 
menacing.  A  social  commotion  is  immi- 
nent for  her,  and  for  all  the  Sclavic  races; 
and  when  it  shall  have  once  broken  out, 
and  accomplished  its  ends,  as  it  surely 
will,  the  hour  has  sounded  for  the  liber- 
ties of  all  the  rest  of  Europe.  It  is  a  pe- 
culiarity in  the  structure  of  Russian  soci- 
ety, that  the  ^'hole  controversy  there  is 
between  the  Despotism  and  the  People, 
trained  by  their  communal  organization 
to  some  degree  of  self-government ;  and 
when  the  latter  shall  begin  the  revolution- 
ary movement,  they  will  not  be  obliged, 
as  in  the  rest  of  Europe,  to  meet  the  op- 
posing combinations  of  royalty,  nobility, 
and  burghership,  but  will  simply  apply 
themselves  at  once  to  the  only  enemy, 
Czarism.  When  that  is  toppled  down, 
the  People  are  all  in  all,  for  the  aristocra- 
cy is  only  nominally  existent,  while  the 
peasants  and  the  middle  class  are  not  sep- 
arated. 

We  wish  we  had  space  to  extract  from 
this  book  the  interesting  details  given  of 
the  army  and  navy,  and  the  general  or- 
ganization of  the  government ;  but  we 
must  content  ourselves  with  referring  our 
readers  to  the  original. 

— An  English  translation  of  Guizot's 
^'History  of  Oliver  Cromwell."  has  been 
reprinted  by  Lea  &  Blanchard,  of  Phila- 
delphia. It  forms  the  second  part  of  the 
history  of  the  English  Revolution,  which 
the  distinguished  author  has  projected. 
The  first  embraced  the  reign  of  Charles 
I.  and  his  conflict  with  the  Parliament ; 
the  second  relates  to  the  Commonwealth, 
summed  up  in  Cromwell ;  the  third  will 
comprise  the  Restoration,  and  the  fourth 


the  Reign  of  Charles  IT.  and  James  IT.,  and 
the  final  fall  of  the  royal  race  of  Stuart 

Guizot  has  so  long  occupied  a  position 
among  the  first  historians  of  the  day,  that 
it  is  needless  now  to  remark  upon  his 
general  qualities  as  a  writer.  We  may 
observe,  however,  that  they  are  not  of  a 
kind  to  fit  him,  in  any  eminent  respect,  to 
be  the  biographer  of  the  greatest  of  the 
English  monarchs.  He  is  too  much  of  a  / 
doctrinaire^  too  much  controlled  by  tra- 
ditions and  authorities,  to  enter  complete- 
ly into  the  character  of  that  remarkable 
man,  or  of  the  unprecedented  times  in 
which  he  acted.  Cromwejl  was  so  whol- 
ly sui  generiSj  and  the  controversies  amid 
which  he  rose  to  power,  so  unlike  any 
that  had  before  prevailed,  both  in  their 
religious  and  political  elements,  that  they 
cannot  be  judged  by  the  usual  formulas 
of  philosophy  or  politics.  Any  interpre- 
tation of  either,  which  confounds  the  one 
with  common  tyrants  and  usurpers,  or 
the  other  with  common  revolutions,  must 
soon  be  involved  in  hopeless  perplexity 
and  trouble.  On  the  other  hand,  any  in- 
terpretation which  requires  an  enthusias- 
tic admiration  of  all  that  Cromwell  did, 
or  an  approval  of  all  the  movements  of 
the  Puritans,  is  likely  to  lead  into  similar 
difficulties.  Guizot  is  aware  of  this,  and 
by  a  cautious  balancing  of  authorities  and 
statements,  endeavoi*s  to  steer  a  middle 
course  ;  yet  we  cannot  add,  with  complete 
success.  In  his  very  effort  to  be  impar- 
tial and  just,  he  gets  too  cool,  and,  ar- 
rived at  the  end  of  his  volumes,  the  read- 
er finds,  after  all,  that  he  has  no  clearer 
views  of  the  Protector  and  his  times.  A 
satisfactory  life  of  Cromwell  has  yet  to 
be  written.  Carlyle's  collection  of  docu- 
ments, with  the  commentaries,  is  the  best 
memoir  pour  servir  that  we  have,  but 
can  hardly  be  called  a  biography. 

The  execution  of  Guizot's  book  is  for 
the  most  part  admirable :  the  narrative  is 
perspicuous  and  vigorous,  the  stj^le  sim- 
ple, without  inflation  or  forced  writing, 
and  the  groupings  generally  dramatic  and 
impressive.  His  picture  of  the  great  scene 
of  the  Dis.solution  of  the  Ix)ng  Parliament, 
Is,  perhaps,  too  much  encumbered  by  de- 
tails, to  be  efl'ective ;  but  the  several  views 
of  the  obstructions  raised  to  his  govern- 
ment by  the  squads  of  impracticables  and 
fanatics,  by  whom  he  was  surrounded,  are 
full  of  animation.  His  sketch  of  the  for- 
eign policy  of  the  Protector,  is  strikingly 
just,  too,  and  the  various  minor  incidents 
of  his  career  are  artistically  introduced. 
Here  is  an  anecdote,  which  the  reader  may 
have  seen  before,  but  which  seems  to  us 
well  told :  ^ 


562 


Editorial  Notes — American  lAterature. 


[May 


**BeiDg  Infonned  that  Harrington  vaa  about  to 
publish  Ills  republican  Utopy,  the  Oc^ana^  Cromwell 
ordered  the  manusicript  to  be  soi/.od  at  the  printor'a, 
and  brought  to  Whitehall  After  vain  endeavors  to  ob- 
tain its  restoration^  Harrington,  in  despair,  resolved  to 
apply  to  the  Protector's  favorite  daughter,  Lady  Oay- 
pole,  who  was  known  to  bo  a  friend  to  literary  men, 
and  always  ready  to  intorce<le  for  the  unfortunate. 
While  he  was  waiting  for  her  in  an  ante-room,  some 
of  Lady  Claypole's  women  passed  through  the  room, 
followed  by  her  daughter,  a  little  girl  tliree  years  of 
a^e.  Harrington  stopped  the  child,  and  entcrtAined 
«faer  so  amusingly,  that  she  remained  listening  to  him 
until  her  mother  entered.  *  Madam,*  said  the  philoso- 
pher, setting  down  the  child,  whom  he  had  taken  In 
his  arms,  •  'tis  well  you  are  come  at  this  nick  of  time, 
or  I  had  certainly  stolen  this  pretty  little  lady.'  '  Sto- 
len her!'  replied  the  mother;  'pray,  what  to  do  with 
her  ?  *  '  Madam,'  said  he,  '  though  her  charms  assure 
her  a  more  considerable  conquest  yet  I  must  confess 
it  is  not  love,  but  revenge,  that  prompted  me  to  com- 
mit this  theft'  'Lord!'  answered  the  lady  again, 
'what  injury  have  I  done  you,  that  you  should  steal 
my  child? '  'None  at  all,'  replied  he,  '  but  that  you 
might  be  induced  to  prevail  with  your  father  to  do 
me  justice,  by  restoring  my  child  that  he  has  stolen;* 
and  he  explained  to  Lady  Claypole  the  cause  of  bis 
complaint  She  immediately  promisetl  to  procure 
his  book  for  him,  if  it  contained  nothing  prejudicial 
to  her  father's  government  He  assured  hor  it  was 
only  a  kind  of  political  romance,  and  so  far  from  any 
treason  against  her  fkthcr,  that  he  hoped  to  be  per- 
mitted to  dedicate  it  to  him  :  and  he  promised  to  pro- 
sent  her  ladyship  with  one  of  the  earliest  copiosL 
Lady  Claypole  kept  her  word,  and  obtained  the  res- 
titution of  the  manuscript  an<l  Harrington  dedicated 
his  work  to  the  Protector.  'The  gentleman,'  said 
Cromwell,  after  having  read  it  'would  like  to  trepan 
me  out  of  my  power ;  but  what  I  got  by  the  sword, 
I  will  not  quit  for  a  little  paper  shot  I  approve  the 
government  of  a  single  person  as  little  as  any,  but  I 
was  forced  to  take  upon  me  the  office  of  a  high-'con- 
stable,  to  preserve  the  peace  among  the  several  par- 
ties in  the  nation,  since  I  saw  that  being  left  to  them- 
8olve.^  they  would  never  agree  to  any  certain  form  of 
government  and  would  only  spend  their  whole  pow- 
er in  defeating  the  designs  or  destroying  the  persons 
of  one  another.' " 

In  the  appendix  to  the  volumes  arcFev- 
eral  highly  interesting  documents,  taken 
from  the  Spanish  archives  of  Simancas, 
and  from  the  archives  of  the  Ministry  for 
Foreign  Affairs,  and  various  public  libra- 
ries in  Paris,  relating  mainly  to  the  for- 
eign relations  of  the  Protectorate,  which 
now  appear  for  the  first  time.  Among 
the  rest,  are  two  letters  from  Louis  XIV. 
to  Cromwell  and  Fairfax,  interceding  for 
the  life  of  Charles,  and  also  many  State 
papers  relating  to  the  intrigues  of  Spain 
and  France  to  secure  the  alliance  and 
favor  of  the  new  king,  as  he  was 
called. 

— A  work  destined  to  produce  a  sen.sa- 
tion  in  the  religious  as  well  as  scientific 
world,  is  the  one  on  "  Types  of  Man- 
kindW*^  just  publi.shed  by  Dr.  J.  C.  Nott 
and  George  R.  Gliddon.  It  is  altogeth- 
er the  most  elaborate  treatise  of  Ethnolo- 


gy that  has  yet  been  printed,  not  except- 
ing the  voluminous  essays  of  Prichani; 
and,  as  the  conclusions  at  which  it  arrives 
are  not  at  all  in  accordance  with  the  or- 
thodox standards,  we  may  look  forward 
to  considerable  controversy  in  regard  to 
it.  The  principal  contents  may  be  de- 
scribed as  follows :  1.  A  memoir  of  Dr. 
Samuel  G.  Morton,  the  distinguished  nat- 
uralist, written  by  Dr.  Henry  S.  Patter- 
son, and  giving  an  extended  account  of 
the  original  and  important  researches  of 
Morton  in  the  various  provinces  of  eth- 
nology and  natural  history.  2.  A  paper 
by  Agassiz,  on  the  natural  provinces  of 
the  animal  world,  and  their  relation  lo 
the  different  types  of  man,  in  which  the 
eminent  writer  developes  at  great  length, 
and  with  masterly  ability,  his  views  as 
to  the  coincident  distribution  of  certain 
fauncB.  or  groups  of  animals,  with  cer- 
tain permanent  human  species.  3.  Es- 
says by  Dr.  Nott,  combatting  the  com- 
monly received  ideas  of  the  unity  of  the 
human  races,  and  going  to  show,  by  a  vast 
variety  of  illustrations,  that  men  were 
created  in  groups  or  nations,  in  different 
parts  of  the  globe,  and  have  not  been 
propagated  from  a  single  pair,  placed  in  a 
single  centre  of  creation.  4.  Exccrpta 
from  the  unpublished  manu.«;cript  of  Mor- 
ton, setting  forth  the  sam^  views.  5.  A 
contribution  from  Dr.  William  Usher  on 
palaeontology  and  geology,  in  connection 
with  the  origin  of  man.  And  6.  A  vari- 
ety of  dissertations  by  Gliddon,  on  archa^ 
ology.  Biblical  ethnography,  and  chronolo- 
gy. Thus,  it  will  be  seen  that  the  work 
covers  a  vast  and  prolific  field  of  scien- 
tific investigation. 

The  general  results  at  which  the  au- 
thors arrive,  may  be  summed  up.  for  the 
sake  of  brevity  and  clearness,  under  the 
following  heads : 

1.  That  the  surface  of  our  globe  is 
naturally  divided  into  several  zoological 
provinces,  each  of  which  is  a  distinct  cen- 
tre of  creation,  possessing  a  peculiar  fauna 
and  flora ;  and  that  every  species  of  ani- 
mal and  plant  was  originally  assigned  to 
its  appropriate  place. 

2.  That  the  human  family  offers  no  excep- 
tion to  this  general  law,  but  fully  conforms 
to  it ;  mankind  being  divided  into  several 
groups  of  races,  each  of  which  constitutes 
a  primitive  element  in  the  fauna  of  its  pe- 
culiar province. 

3.  That  history  affords  no  evidence  of 
the  transformation  of  one  type  into  an- 
other, nor  of  the  origination  of  a  new  and 
permanent  type. 

4.  That  certain  types  have  been  per- 
manent through  all  recorded   time,  and 


1854.] 


Editorial  Hotn — American  Literature, 


563 


despite  the  most  opposite  moral  and  physi- 
cal influences. 

5.  That  permanence  of  type  is  accept- 
ed by  science  as  the  surest  test  of  specific 
character. 

6.  That  certain  types  have  existed  (the 
same  as  now)  in  and  around  the  valley  of 
the  Nile,  from  ages  anterior  to  3500  B.  C, 
and  consequently  long  prior  to  any  alpha- 
betic chronicles,  sacred  or  profane. 

7.  That  the  ancient  Egyptians  had  al- 
ready classified  mankindL  as  kno«m  to 
them,  into  four  races,  previously  to  any 
date  assignable  to  Moses. 

8.  That  high  antiquity  for  distinct 
races  is  amply  sustained  by  linguistic  re- 
searches, by  psychological  history,  and 
by  anatomical  characteristics. 

9.  That  the  primeval  existence  of  man, 
m  widely  separate  portions  of  the  globe, 
is  proven  by  the  discovery  of  his  osseous 
and  industrial  remains  in  alluvial  depos- 
its, and  in  diluvial  drifts ;  and  more  espe- 
cially of  his  fossil  bones,  embedded  in  va- 
rious rocky  strata,  along  with  the  vestiges 
of  extinct  species  of  animals. 

10.  That  prolificacy  of  distinct  species, 
inter  se^  is  now  proved  to  be  no  test  of  a 
common  origin. 

11.  That  those  races  of  men  most  sepa- 
rated in  physical  organization,  such  as' the 
blacks  and  the  whites,  do  not  amalgamate 
perfectly,  but  obey  the  laws  of  hybridity ; 
and  hence. 

12.  There  exists  a  genus  homo,  em- 
bracing many  primordial  types  or  species. 

These  positions,  it  is  obvious  at  a 
glance,  if  they  can  be  sustained,  overturn 
many  popular  theories  and  theological 
dogmas,  and  give  an  entirely  new  phase 
to  the  science  of  the  natural  history  of 
man.  The  Mosaic  account  of  the  deriva- 
tion of  all  men  from  a  single  pair — Adam 
and  Eve ;  of  the  deluge  and  destruction 
of  all  animals  and  men,  save  Noah,  and 
those  he  took  into  the  ark ;  of  the  build- 
ing of  Babel|  and  the  dispersion  of  na- 
tions, are  brought  into  dispute,  as  well  as 
the  chronology  of  the  Hebrew  and  Sep- 
tuagint  Scriptures.  These  positions  have 
also  a  vital  connection  with  the  prevailing 
interpretations  of  the  Bible,  and  scarcely 
less  with  many  accepted  ancient  histories. 
They  bear  with  peculiar  emphasis  on  the 
questions  which  are  agitated  in  regard  to 
African  slavery,  and  the  general  progress 
of  civilization.  They  will  be  canvassed, 
therefore,  with  the  keenest  scrutiny,  ana 
not  a  little  polemic  bitterness  and  pre- 
judice. The  Church  is  openly  dared  to 
&ie  issue,  and  scientific  men  will  find 
much  to  disturb  their  traditional  faiths. 

Whether  the  positions  are  sustained, 


we  shall  not  venture  to  say.  in  this  place, 
because  the  subject  is  one  which  requires 
an  elaborate  and  extended  notice,  and 
which  some  of  our  contributors,  we  hope, 
fully  qualified  for  the  task,  will  under- 
take. In  the  mean  time,  however,  we  will 
remark  as  critics,  that  the  volume,  as  a 
whole,  does  great  credit  to  the  literary 
and  scientific  attainments  of  the  country. 
It  is  marked  by  unusual  learning,  by  pro- 
found research,  and  by  an  independent 
spirit  But  there  are  two  defects  in  it  at 
least,  whk;h  ought  to  have  been  avoided. 
In  the  first  place,  coming  from  different 
contributors,  there  is  a  great  deal  of  need- 
less repetition,  which  a  more  careful  edi- 
torship would  have  pruned ;  and,  in  the 
second  place,  the  tone  of  Mr.  Gliddon's 
Biblical  criticisms  is  repulsively  flippant 
and  inflated.  They  sound  more  like  the 
pert  paragraphs  of  a  country  newspaper, 
than  the  wise  elucidations  of  science,  ana 
aim  at  a  wit  which  is  entirely  out  of  place 
in  discussions  of  such  a  nature.  As  the 
matter  of  the  volume  is  calculated  to 
arouse  many  animosities,  it  was  extreme- 
ly injudicious  to  add  to  the  offence,  by 
the  manner  of  it  No  one  doubts,  that 
theological  writers  have  fallen  into  many 
absurd  mistakes  and  grave  errors,  and 
that  they  are  sometimes  arrogant  and 
bigoted ;  but  a  scientific  man,  in  exposing 
their  errors,  or  in  controverting  their 
opinions,  is  not  called  upon  to  imitate 
their  example.  Ilis  duty  is  simply  to 
declare  the  truth,  as  he  has  learned  it 
leaving  the  task  of  ridicule  and  banter  to 
the  smaller  wits.  Both  editors  have  also 
mingled  with  their  more  strictly  scientific 
researches,  a  variety  of  opinions  and  con- 
jectures, not  directly  connected  with  the 
main  subject,  which  it  would  have  been 
better  to  suppress.  It  is  a  universal  re- 
mark, that  men  are  apt  to  speak  most 
dogmatically  on  the  abstrusest  subjects, 
while  they  are  satisfied  with  the  plainest 
terms,  and  the  most  unpretending  asser- 
tions, when  they  declare  what  they  really 
know.  We  are  sorry  to  see  the  scien- 
tific value  of  the  volume  depreciated  by 
impertinences. 


MUSIC. 

Thr  destruction  of  Metropolitan  Hall 
seems  to  have  paralyzed  music.  There 
has  been  no  recent  season  in  which  there 
was  so  little  to  hear  as  during  the  past 
winter.  With  the  exception  of  the  Phil- 
harmonic Concerts  and  the  Quartette 
Soirees  of  Eisfeld,  and  an  oratorio  by  the 
Harmonic  Society,  and  the  two  compli- 
mentary concerts  for  the  prima  donnas  of 


564 


Editorial  Notes — Music, 


[Miy 


two  fashionable  churches,  there  is  really 
nothing  to  record.  Meanwhile  the  Opera 
House  advances  rapidly  to  completion,  and 
the  passages  of  Grisi  and  Mario  are  al- 
ready reported  taken.  But  as  we  remem- 
ber to  have  heard  the  same  delightful 
rumor  a  year  since,  and  as  these  artists  are 
now  engaged  at  Covcnt  Garden,  we  post- 
pone faith  and  wait  for  sight.  The  daily  par 
pers  have  given  full  and,  doubtless,  accurate 
details  of  the  Opera  House.  The  great  ex- 
periment of  its  success  is  yet  to  be  tried.  In 
ourselves  we  confess  our  scepticism  as  to 
the  result.  In  New  York  the  Opera  can- 
not be  profitably  maintained  as  a  luxury, 
and  it  remains  to  be  proved  that  it  can  be 
made  attractive  enough  to  the  popular 
taste  to  secure  its  success.  Among  civil- 
ized nations  there  is,  probably,  none  so 
little  musical  as  the  American.  In  any 
company  of  a  score  of  men  the  chance  is 
that  not  one  sings.  It  may  be  assumed 
that  a  glee  is  impossible  among  them.  In 
Italy,  Germany,  France,  Spain,  in  all  the 
northern  nations,  and,  perhaps,  £ngland, 
the  chances  are  precisely  the  reverse. 
We  do  not  regard  the  {Ethiopian  opera 
and  the  popularity  of  Old  Folks  at  Home 
as  proof  of  a  general  musical  taste.  At 
the  concerts  of  ihe  Philharmonic  Society 
at  least  half  of  the  audience  is  German, 
and  at  the  Opera,  if  the  number  of  those 
who  go  in  obedience  to  fashion  and  from 
other  unmusical  notions,  is  deducted,  there 
is  not  a  large  audience  left.  But  we  do 
not  wish  to  decide  too  soon.  The  experi- 
ment of  the  best  artists  with  low  prices 
is  yet  to  be  tiied.  We  are  sure  of  one 
thing,  as  we  have  been  from  the  begin- 
ning, that  it  will  be  a  sad  failure  if  it  be 
attempted  to  base  the  success  of  the  un- 
dertaking upon  any  sympathy  or  support 
other  than  musical.  The  structure  of 
society  in  this  country  is  really  so  differ- 
ent from  that  of  other  countries,  that  any 
such  ellbrt  must  fail,  as  it  deserves  to 
fail. 

If,  however,  we  have  not  heard  much 
music  during  the  winter,  there  has  been  a 
musical  corrcsjKJndence  as  bitter  and  fierce 
as  the  doings  of  musicians  are  so  sure  to 
be.  It  commenced  by  a  notice,  by  Mr. 
Willis,  Editor  of  the  Musical  World  and 
Times^  of  Mr.  Fry's  music.  That  gen- 
tleman responded  in  defence  of  his  music, 
and,  in  the  course  of  the  correspondence 
claimed  a  position  as  a  comivoser,  which  Mr. 
Willis  would  by  no  means  allow.  Asser- 
tions were  made  to  the  effect  that  the  Phil- 
harmonic Society  gave  no  countenance  to 
American  productions,  which  drew  Mr. 
Bristow  and  the  Society  into  the  corres- 
pondence.      The    Editor    of    DwighVs 


Journal  of  Music,  published  in  Boston, 
had  a  word  to  say,  in  the  most  good- 
humored  manner ;  but  Messrs.  Fry  and 
Bristow,  who  pursued  the  subject  with 
great  ardor,  took  every  thing  in  ad 
seriousness,  and  the  latter  gentleman,  as 
we  understand,  resigned  his  connection 
with  the  Philharmonic  Society.  Whether 
Mr.  Fry  succeeded  in  establishing  the 
point  that  his  music  is  as  good  as  any 
body's  music,  we  are  unable  to  .<uiy.  It 
seems  to  us,  however,  that  he  mistook 
the  means  of  doing  so.  If  a  man  can  com- 
pose as  well  as  Mozart  and  Beethoven, 
let  him  do  it  If  a  man  can  paint  as 
Titian  painted, — let  him  paint  and  not 
talk  about  his  painting.  If  he  has  com- 
posed and  painted,  and  insists  that  the  re- 
sult is  as  good  as  Titian's  and  Mozart's, 
but  that,  of  course,  we  are  so  prejudiced 
in  favor  of  the  old  and  foreign  that  we 
will  not  recognize  the  excellence, — then, 
equally,  it  is  fbolish  to  argue  the  matter. 
for  the  very  objection  proposed,  proves 
the  want  of  that  critical  candor  which  can 
alone  justly  decide  the  question.  If  we 
like  music  because  it  is  old  and  foreign,  it 
is  clear  that  we  do  not  like  it  for  its  es- 
sential excellence.  But  Mr.  Fry  claims 
to  compose  fine  music, — why.  then,  should 
he  heed  the  opinion  of  tho.se  who  do  not 
determine  according  to  the  intrinsic  value, 
but  by  some  accidents  of  place  and  time? 
Why  does  he  not  go  on  comf)0.<ing,  and 
leave  his  works  to  appeal  to  the  di.scrimi- 
nating  and  thoughtful  both  of  this  and  of 
all  ages  ?  Burke  advised  Barry  to  prove 
that  he  was  a  great  painter  by  his  pendl 
and  not  by  his  jKin.  It  was  good  advice, 
we  think,  because  it  was  common  ^ense. 

We  are  glad  to  state  that  the  Philhar- 
monic was  never  more  flourishing  than 
it  is  now.  It  is  unfortunate  that  their 
concerts  were  given  in  the  Tabernacle, 
that  most  dingy  and  dreary  of  public 
halls.  But  the  music  performed  was  of 
the  best.  It  was  German  nusic.  most  of 
it,  it  is  true, — but  then,  German  music 
comprises  so  nuich  of  the  best  of  all  in- 
strumental com^K>sitions.  that  it  was  al- 
most unavoidable.  lias  Mr.  Fry,  and 
those  who  complain  of  over-much  Ger- 
man in  the  selections  of  this  Society,  yet 
to  learn  that  art  is  not.  in  any  hmitcd 
sense,  national  ?  "  RaphaePs  Trangfigura- 
tion  is  as  much  American  as  Italian.  A 
devout  Catholic  of  the  western  hemi- 
sphere foels  its  meaning  and  enjoys  its 
beauty  as  much  as  the  Pope.  Homer 
celebrates  events  occurring  before  Ameri- 
ca was  discovered,  but  he  is  much  dearer 
to  a  thoughtful  American  than  Joel  Bar- 
low.    In  the  realm  of  art  it  is  not  possi- 


1864.] 


tutorial  Notes— Music. 


565 


ble  to  introduce  distinctions  so  invidious. 
The  best  of  every  great  performance  in 
art  is  human  and  universal.  It  is  not 
what  is  local  and  temporary  which  makes 
the  fame  of  a  great  arcist,  but  it  is  that 
which  the  world  recognizes  and  loves,  and 
there  is  nothing  more  pernicious  to  the 
cause  of  real  culture  than  this  effort  to 
institute  a  mean  nationality  in  art.  Mr. 
Fry  may  be  very  sure  that  we  shall  pre- 
fer Shakespeare,  and  Mozart,  and  Michel 
Angelo.  whether  they  were  bom  in 
Greenland  or  Guinea,  to  any  American 
who  does  not  do  as  well  as  they. 

This  reminds  us  of  a  note  we  meant  to 
have  made  long  since  upon  the  success 
achieved  by  Mr.  Joseph  Duggan  (brother 
of  Professor  Duggan,  of  our  Free  Academy) 
at  the  St.  James'  Theatre,  in  London,  last 
November.  His  name  had  become  known 
to  us  by  the  report  of  his  successful  set- 
ting of  Tennyson's  Oriana — a  dangerous 
attempt — but  of  which  a  London  critic 
says :  *'  the  grandly  dramatic  spirit  of  the 
words  is  represented  by  music  as  sugges- 
tive in  purport  as  it  is  felicitous  in  effect" 
Mr.  Duggan  has  recently  attempted  a 
theme  of  greater  scope,  and  his  operatic 
sketch  of  Pieree^  was  produced  with  a 
success  "perfectly  well  deserved."  We 
have  seen  long  and  careful  criticisms  of 
this  performance,  and  the  sincerity  bf  the 
commendation  bestowed  is  unquestion- 
able. We  quote:  "He,  however,  appar 
rently  labors  to  be  the  imitator  of  no  one. 
There  is  a  rich  dramatic  vein  in  all  he 
writes,  especially  in  his  recitations  which 
are  full  of  truth  and  meaning.  *  *  *  * 
There  is  abundance  to  show  that  he  has 
both  fame  and  ability,  and  that  he  is 
likely  to  win  fame  in  the  portrayal  of  the 
melo-dramatic  and  the  romantic — to  which 
we  fancy  we  perceive  his  yearnings  chiefly 
tend."  Another  says :  ''  Throughout  the 
whole  piece  Mr.  Duggan's  music  is  full 
of  melody :  even  in  the  highest  portions 
it  is  elegant  and  graceful,  while  his  or- 
chestral writing  is  masterly,  rich,  varied, 
and  free  from  the  noisy  exaggerations  of 
the  ultra-modern  school." 

The  other  musical  news  from  Europe, 
during  the  last  four  months,  is  not  of 
great  importance.     The  chief  event  is  the 

Production  of  Meyerbeer's  Etoilt  du 
lord,  a  comic  opera,  ii^  Paris.  It  was  a 
triumph  in  every  respect.  But  we  are 
curious  to  hear  how  his  large  and  solemn 
phrasing  will  adapt  itself  to  the  buffa 
style.'  It  may  be  interesting  to  our  read- 
ers to  know  that  Meyerbeer  was  bom  in 
Berlin,  on  the  5th  September,  1794,  and 
IB  consequently  sixty  years  old.  His 
family  was  rich  and  of  good  social  posi- 


tion. His  musical  taste  was  early  de- 
veloped, and  he  became,  while  yet  youn^ 
the  pupil  of  the  Abb6  Vogler,  one  of 
the  most  eminent  teachers  of  Germany. 
Weber  was  his  inseparable  companion. 
Meyerbeer  went  to  Venice  in  1813,  while 
Rossini's  Tancredi  was  making  the  fame 
of  that  composer.  It  appears,  according 
to  M.  Scudo,  that  the  young  German  was 
enchanted  by  the  brilliancy  of  the  Italian 
composer,  and  after  devoting  himself  to 
the  closest  study,  produced  at  Padua,  in 
1818,  an  Italian  opera,  Rqmilda  e  Cos- 
tanza^  written  confessedly  in  the  style  of 
Kossini.  After  many  other  attempts  he 
brought  out  at  La  Scala,  in  Milan,  in 
the  year  1812,  Marguerite  d^Anjou^ 
which  increased  his  fame ;  and  in  1826, 
at  yenice,  //  Crocciato  confirmed  his  po- 
sition as  an  eminent  composer.  Appa- 
rently not  yet  satisfied  with  his  success 
and  the  extent  of  his  fame.  Meyerbeer 
worked  privately,  for  five  years,  and  al- 
though Robert  le  Diable  was  ready  in 
1828,  it  was  not  represented  until  the 
evening  of  the  21st  September,  1831,  and 
instantly  elevated  the  composer  to  the 
highest  rank  among  contemporary  com- 
posers. It  was  played  two  hundred  and 
fifty  times  with  undiminished  enthusiasm. 
On  the  29th  February.  1836,  it  was  fol- 
lowed in  popularity  ana  success  by  Lea 
Huguenots  and  Ac  Prophite,  in  May, 
1849.  In  1844  the  Camp  de  Silesce,  an 
opera  de  circonstance,  was  produced  at 
Berlin, — and  now  we  have  VEtoite  du 
Nord. 

Of  this  opera  Scudo  apostrophising  the 
composer,  says:  "As  to  the  EtoiU  du 
Nordj  posterity,  beheve  it,  will  not  rank 
it  with  your  most  beautiful  chef 
d'oBuvreSj  because  in  the  hierarchy  of 
the  creations  of  human  genius,  the  Last 
Judgment  is  below  the  Transjigura' 
tion,"  The  other  noticeable  item  is  the 
death  of  Kubini.  He  was  sixty  years 
old,  dnd  a  very  rich  man.  Tradition  is 
so  enthusiastic  about  his  singing,  that 
those  who  have  never  heard  him  will  al- 
ways hear  that  nothing  can  properly  com- 
pare with  the  effort  he  produced.  Cer- 
tainly the  description  of  his  voice  and  its 
effect  give  an  idea  of  something  that  is 
not  equalled  by  Mario,  who  is  usually 
considered  to  be  his  successor.  By  1820 
he  had  made  a  great  impression  at  Rome 
in  La  Gazza  Ladra,  and  in  October, 
1825,  appeared  for  the  first  time  in  Paris, 
the  most  illustrious  theatre  of  his  career, 
in  La  Ccnerentola,  He  was  immediate- 
ly triumphant.  Then  came  Bellini,  who 
wa^  the  nriend  of  Rubini,  and  i^  //  Pirata 
and  La  Samnambula  he  adiievod  hia 


566 


Editorial  Note* — Fine  Arts. 


[M.y 


most  enthusiastic  success.  In  1831  he 
came  and  conquered  London,  and  for  the 
next  ten  years  was  engaged  every  year 
six  months  in  Paris  and  six  months  in 
England.  Then  he  went  to  St.  Peters- 
burgh.  But  he  sang  in  Bellini's  last 
opera  /  Puritani  upon  the  scene  of  his 
Parisian  triumphs  with  even  more  suc- 
cess, and  in  1842,  when  at  the  height  of 
his  power  and  fame,  he  withdrew  from 
London  and  Paris.  It  was  a  few  years 
afterward  that  he  left  St.  Petersburgh, 
and  retired  to  his  native  place,  Bergamo, 
where  he  died. 

Those  of  our  readers  who  wish  to  in- 
form themselves  of  current  musical  news 
in  detail,  to  become  familar  with  musical 
history,  or  to  enjoy  intelligent  and  admi- 
rable criticisms  of  contemporary  musical 
composition  and  performance,  cannot  do 
better  than  to  consult  DwighVs  Joum(tl 
of  Music^  or  Willises  Musical  World  ^ 
TimeSj  the  former  published  in  Boston 
and  the  latter  in  New  York.  They  are 
weekly  Journals,  full  of  desirable  infor- 
mation conveyed  in  an  agreeable  way. 
They  address  themselves  to  somewhat 
different  audiences.  The  Boston  paper 
aims  at  high  aesthetic  criticism  ;  and  the 
New  York  at  a  popularization  of  the  art 
to  which  both  are  devoted.  It  is  pleasant 
to  record   their  continued  and  merited 


PINE  ARTS. 
The  National  Academy. — "Halci- 
biades  sat  to  Praxiteles,  and  Pericles  to 
Phridjas,"  says  Mr.  Gandish,  grandly, 
as  an  apology  for  his  abandonment  of 
"  high  art,"  and  follo\i^ing  the  low  busi- 
ness of  portraiture ;  and,  to  our  artists, 
who  do  the  same,  it  should  be  a  consola- 
tion that  Washington  sat  to  Stuart,  and 
all  the  surviving  heroes  of  the  Revolution 
to  Trumbull.  Pope  Julius  sat  to  Raphael, 
and  Francis  First  to  Titian  ;  all  the  wits 
and  great  men  of  Reynolds's  day  sat  to 
him,  and  our  great  grandmothers  sat  to 
Copley.  These  thoughts  should  be 
enough  to  reconcile  our  painters  to  poiv 
traiture,  and  save  their  annual  exhibitions 
of  heads  from  the  sneers  of  ignorant  cri- 
tics, who  imagine  that  it  is  the  subject 
which  dignifies  art,  and  not  art  the  sub- 
ject. But  artists,  themselves,  will  talk 
absurdly  about  high  art,  and  forget  Ilal- 
cibiades  and  Phridjas.  A  "portrait  of 
a  gentleman  "  may  or  not  be  a  work  of 
high  art :  that  depends  not  upon  the  sub- 
ject but  the  artiiJt.  An  indifferent  pic- 
ture is  an  indifferent  thing  to  look  upon, 
whether  it  be  the  portrait  of  a  gentleman 
or  the  representation  of  an  episode  of  hia- 


tory.  The  portrait  will,  at  least,  have 
some  likeness  to  nature,  and  the  ooRtnme 
will  possess  a  certain  arch acolpgicaltmlne^ 
but  the  historical  composition  may  haf« 
no  merit  whatever.  Portraiture  is,  ia 
truth,  the  highest  order  of  art,  and  the 
most  beneficent,  as  it  is  the  only  legiti- 
mate kind  of  historical  painting.  The 
finest  of  our  so-called  historical  pictures 
are  historical  absurdities  and  falsehoods; 
for,  the  first  requisite  of  history  is  truth, 
either  general  or  particular,  and  we  have 
not  many  of  the  kind  that#  possess 
enough  of  either  to  entitle  them  to  pre- 
servation. The  historical  paintings  in 
the  present  exhibition  would  be  worth 
very  little,  a  century  hence,  compared 
with  some  of  the  portraits  which  it  con- 
tains. Two  among  them  all  are  likely 
to  be  preserved ;  and,  hundreds  of  years 
hence,  when  we,  and  the  subjects,  and  the 
artists  will  all  be  forgotteni,  the  beaminr 
faces  of  Mayor  Kingsland  and  firienS 
Trimble  will  be  looking  out  of  the  can- 
vas upon  our  great-grandchildren,  who 
will  he  quizzing  the  Mayor's  bright  blue 
cravat  and  friend  Trimble's  straight  brown 
coat.  The  portrait  of  Mayor  Kingsland 
is  to  be  placed  in  the  City  HalL  among 
the  civic  and  gubernatorial  worthies^ 
whose  semblances  adorn  the  walls  of  the 
Governor's  Room.  It  is  one  of  the  best 
of  Elliott's  portraits ;  and  we  hope  that 
the  Mayors  of  a  hundred  years  hence 
will  fall  into  the  hands  of  so  capable  an 
artist :  few  of  our  civic  magistrates  have 
hitherto  been  so  fortunate.  The  portrait 
of  Mr.  Trimble  has  been  painted  for  the 
New  York  Public  School  Society,  by  Mr. 
Hicks,  and  it  will,  of  course,  be  preserred. 
It  is  a  full  length  of  a  very  tall  and  severe- 
looking  old  gentleman,  in  a  brown  suit 
and  a  white  cravat.  He  stands  staik 
and  stiff,  with  a  book  in  his  hand,  in 
which  he  is  not  looking.  As  he  is  neither  a 
pedagogue,  an  author,  nor  a  lecturer,  but  a 
merchant,  the  book  may  possibly  mislead 
future  generations  as  to  its  meaning.  The 
artist,  doubtless,  gave  it  to  him  to  hold 
because  he  was  at  a  loss  what  other  ose 
to  put  his  hand  to.  Most  awkward 
things  hands  are,  in  a  full  length.  The 
feet  are  naturally  enough  used  to  support 
the  body ;  but  painters  and  sculptors  are 
put  to  their  trumps  in  disposing  of  two 
dangling  arms,  which  always  seem  de 
trop  when  they  are  not  doing  something. 
Is  it  not  possible  for  these  pendulums 
of  the  human  body  to  hang  naturally  in 
absolute  repose,  to  correspond  with  the 
other  members?  In  a  portrait,  there 
should  be  neither  an  arrested  motion  of 
the  limbs,  nor  a  suspended  emotkm  in 


1864.] 


Editorial  Notes — Fine  Arts, 


667 


the  face.  Absolute  and  intentional  re- 
pose will  alone  give  an  absolute  likeness. 
When  a  man  sits  for  his  portrait,  he 
should  not  pretend  to  be  doing  any 
thing  else.  There  is  a  notable  instance 
of  the  impropnety  of  departing  from  this 
rule  in  Elliott's  portrait  of  Bryant  in 
this  exhibition.  The  poet  is  represented 
with  his  eyes  upturned  and  a  grim  smile 
on  his  face,  as  though  he  were  listening 
to  the  promptings  of  the  Muse.  But  that 
is  not  the  way  in  which  poets  receive  the 
divine  afflatus ;  the  eve  in  a  fine  frenzy 
rolling,  although  a  bold  and  beautiful  im- 
age of  one  who  had  the  right,  above  all 
others,  to  describe  the  manner  of  the  poet 
m  hLs  ecstatic  moments,  is  not  to  be  taken 
as  a  literal  fact ;  the  glancing  from  heaven 
to  earth  is  an  operation  of  the  mind's  vis- 
ual organ,  and  not  an  ocular  demonstra- 
tion. There  are  no  new  comers  in  por- 
traiture this  year,  nor  any  thing  new 
from  our  old  exhibitors.  The  old  exhi- 
bitors are  doing  about  as  well,  and  the 
new  ones  not  much  better  than  they 
did  a  year  ago  ;  and  all  their  pictures  are 
twice-told  tales.  But  we  have  no  right 
to  look  for  a  new  man  every  year ;  genius 
is  a  perennial  but  not  an  annual.  We 
hoped  to  see,  among  the  works  of  our 
artists  who  are  abroad,  something  from 
Page,  who,  according  to  verbal  reports, 
and  letters  from  Rome,  Ls  doing  wonders 
in  Italy.  But,  our  artists  abroad,  of 
whom  there  are  more  now  than  ever  be- 
fore, have  sent  us  hardly  any  thing  this 
year,  and  nothing  worthy  of  notice,  ex- 
cepting the  Cardinal  Mazarin,  by  £.  H. 
May,  who,  we  Icam,  is  in  Paris.  This 
picture  shows  a  very  great  improvement 
over  any  of  his  productions  which  we 
have  hitherto  seen.  It  is  evidently  the 
result  of  his  French  studies,  and  has 
nothing  in  it  of  American  feeling.  The 
color  is  superficial  and  chalky,  and  the 
subject  is  a  bad  one,  because  the  meaning 
of  the  artist  cannot,  or  is  not,  explained 
without  the  help  of  a  legend.  But  it  is 
well  drawn,  and  the  figure  of  the  Cardi- 
nal is  well  posed,  and  his  face  expres- 
sive, when  we  know  what  it  should  ex- 
press. It  has  been  objected  to  this 
picture,  that  the  paintings  on  the  wall, 
which  the  Cardinal  should  be  gazing  at 
are  too  indistinct ;  but  it  was  the  aim  or 
the  artist  to  make  the  figure  of  Mazarin 
the  sole  object  of  attention,  and  it  is  not 
just  criticism  to  object  to  his  having 
done  it.  The  eye  rests,  unavoidably,  upon 
his  figure,  because  there  is  nothing  else 
to  divert  it.  Among  the  heads  exhibited 
this  year,  are  two,  not  portraits,  by  a 
young  artist,  named  Qieene— Nob.  129, 


153 — which  promise  better  than  any 
thing  from  tne  younger  brood  of  our 
artists ;  but  we  do  not  know  what  may 
be  imitation  in  these  lovely  heads  and 
what  originality ;  but,  being  the  work  of 
a  new  hand,  they  are  at  least  very  pro- 
mising, and  indicate  a  pure  taste  in  color 
and  a  firm  hand  for  execution;  Our  ex- 
hibitions are  always  rich  in  landscape, 
but  there  is  nothing  new  even  in  this 
depai^tment  of  art,  which  the  Earl  of 
Ellsmere  good-naturedly  says,  in  his 
Crystal  Palace  report,  we  ought  to  ex- 
cel in,  because  our  scenery  is  so  fine — 
as  though  there  were  not  fine  scenery 
wherever  there  is  sun  and  sky :  even  on 
the  ocean.  We  say  there  is  nothing  new, 
although  there  is  one  landscape  which 
will  always  be  new,  fresh,  and  enchant- 
ing while  there  are  eyes  capable  of  re- 
ceiving delight  from  the  glorious  aspects 
of  external  nature.  No.  G4,  in  the  cata- 
logue, by  Church,  called  a  "Country 
Home  " — too  homely  a  name  for  such  a 
splendid  view,  which  contains  glimpses 
of  many  homes — iq  the  landscape  we  al- 
lude to.  It  is  the  great  work  of  the  year, 
and  fully  justifies  the  utmost  that  has 
been  anticipated  from  this  tnic  artist. 
Mr.  Church  is  not  content  to  paint "  bits 
of  nature,"  he  does  not  give  us  portraits 
of  blasted  trees,  with  indefinite  perspec- 
tives of  affairs  in  general,  but  broad  ex- 
panses of  out-door  nature :  woods,  hills, 
streams,  rocks,  all  bathed  in  glowing 
l%ht,  and  ^nth  a  sky  which  looks  deeper 
and  clearer,  and  more  real,  the  longer 
you  look  into  its  bright  depths.  There  are 
two  things  which  atlbrd  especial  satisfac- 
tion in  Church's  landscapes ;  in  the  first 
place,  we  see  that  the  artist  understands 
perfectly  well  what  he  is  about — that  he 
aims  at  certain  effects  and  succeeds  in 
producing  them ;  we  neither  wish  he  had 
taken  more  pains,  nor  remain  in  doubt  of 
his  meaning;  and  then  we  feel  that  he 
has  sufficient  respect  for  us,  who  are  to 
look  at  his  pictures,  to  do  the  best  he  can 
to  please  us.  He  respects  us,  and  we  re- 
spect him  for  it.  He  has  not  carelessly 
dashed  off  his  picture,  with  the  remark 
that  "  it  will  do  for  a  pot-boiler."  "  The 
Forest  Spring,"  No.  301,  by  W.  J.  Still- 
man,  who  is  neither  an  N.  A.,  an  A.,  nor 
an  H.,  is  a  marvellous  piece  of  greenery, 
in  which  every  object  is  represented  with 
a  degree  of  accuracy  and  beauty  which 
we  hardly  imagined  to  be  compatible 
with  such  a  breadth  of  effect  and  appa- 
rent freedom  of  touch.  It  is  a  httle 
clear  spring  of  pure  water,  whose  un- 
ruffled surfSoe  reflects  objects  like  a  mir- 
ror $  and  the  mosses^  leaves^  flow^xa^aaul 


568 


Death  of  Kit  North. 


[May 


grasses  are  painted  with  wonderful  deli- 
cacy and  accuracy.  We  have  heard  it 
called  a  pre-Raphaelite  picture ;  but  we 
should  like  to  learn  what  pre-Raphaelite 
artist  ever  attempted  any  thiug  in  this 
style.  There  is  a  small  sea  piece,  by  Dr. 
Ruggles,  representing  the  wreck  of  the 
San  Francisco,  after  she  had  been  deserted 
by  her  passengers  and  crew,  which  has 
much  merit,  particularly  as  the  work  of 
an  amateur.  The  motion  of  the  waves, 
and  the  details  of  the  wreck,  are  repre- 
sented with  remarkable  accuracy;  for 
there  are  very  few  of  our  painters  who 
give  any  proofs  in  their  pictures  of  ever 
having  looked  upon  the  ocean.  We  have 
seen  a  picture  of  this  same  scene,  with 
the  Three  Bells  lying  by,  and  the  yards 
placed  on  the  after-parts  of  the  mast.  R. 
W.  Hubbard  has  a  sober  little  landscape, 
called  "New  England  Hill  Scenery,'^ 
which,  without  any  brilliant  pretensions, 
is  a  very  excellent  picture,  evidently  the 
production  of  an  intelligent  student  of 
nature. 

As  compared  with  last  years'  exhibi- 
tion there  is  very  little  change  in  the 
general  look  of  the  galleries,  but  there 
are  fewer  pictures,  by  some  fifty,  the 
number  now  is  but  398 ;  it  has  been 
usually  above  400 ;  there  are  no  archi- 
tectural drawings  nor  designs,  and  but 
few  water-colors.  There  is  one  encouraging  . 
fact  connected  with  the  Academy,  it  is 
the  last  exhibition  that  will  ever  be  held 
in  the  present  building,  which  has  been 
sold,  leaving  the  Academy  some  fifty 
thousand  dollars  profit ;  and  we  hope  that 
when  they  erect  a  new  building  they  will 
make  some  changes  in  their  constitution 
and  adapt  their  institution  to  the  existing 
state  of  art  in  this  country.  What  they 
most  need  is  a  perpetual  exhibition,  for 
these  annual  shows  are  very  absurd  in 
an  artistic  view,  and  can  only  be  allow- 
ed on  the  score  of  profit  They  create  a 
temporary  excitement  which  subsides 
before  the  exhibition  is  half  over,  and 


the  so-called  patrons  of  art  imagine  that 
nothing  more  is  to  be  heard  of  art  and 
artists  until  the  next  opening.  There  is 
such  a  higgledy-piggledy  collection  of  all 
sorts  of  pictures  in  every  conceivable 
style  and  every  possible  size,  of  all  sort* 
of  subjects;  high,  low,  serious,  grim,  com- 
ic, historical,  animals,  fruits,  landscapes^ 
portraits,  miniatures,  and  full  lengths, 
high  toned,  and  low  toned,  that  it  is  a 
sheer  impossibility  for  one  piiir  of  eyes  to 
see  them  all  and  form  any  just  idea  of 
their  merits.  Such  an  exhibition  is  like 
a  concert  where  all  sorts,  of  music,  in  aU 
sorts  of  keys,  are  played  on  all  sorts  of 
instruments  without  the  slightest  con- 
nection witn  each  other.  To  look  at  a 
picture  properly  so  as  to  bo  able  to  appre- 
ciate the  design  of  the  artist,  provided 
he  have  any,  it  is  necessary  to  look  at  it 
by  itself,  from  the  point  of  view  wludi 
the  artist  intended ;  to  imbue  the  mind 
with  its  sentiment,  and  adapt  the  eye  to 
its  tone.  But  how  can  this  be  done  in  a 
gallery  of  four  hundred  new  painting 
all  differing  from  each  other  ?  How  is  it 
possible  to  pass  from  a  She^gueian 
group  of  infants  in  pink  fro^s  to  a 
Huntingtonian  scripture  piece  full  of 
dark  purple  tints,  and  enjoy  the  beauties 
of  both  ?  or.  after  filling  the  eye  with  light 
from  one  or  Church's  8unsjt«,  to  pass  (m 
to  Cropsey's  cold  and  rigid  Bay  of  Genoa; 
or  from  Mrs.  Spencer's  hvUghing  in&nt 
to  Hicks's  solemn  Bishop?  Such  rapid 
and  violent  contrasts  cause  people  to 
form  rash  and  unjust  opinions  of  artists 
whose  pictures  look  entirely  different  in 
their  studios  from  what  they  do  in  the 
Academy.  If  there  were  a  gallery  con- 
stantly open,  artists  might  send  their 
works  whenever  they  were  finished,  and 
the  public  could  then  look  on  one  picture 
at  a  time,  and  not  be  compelled,  as  they 
are  now,  to  take  in  at  one  rapid  glance 
a  view  of  every  thing  that  has  been  pro- 
duced by  all  the  artists  of  the  city  du- 
ring the  year. 


DEATH    OF    KIT    NORTH. 

AS  we  are  closing  np  the  last  sentence  of  onr  Monthly,  li^e  learn  that  the  great  HIerarch  of  Magazintetfi,  Chrto> 
topher  North,  is  dead.  As  the  greatest  of  oar  tribe,  and  as  the  man  who  did  most  to  elevate  the  character  and 
render  popular  Ma^^azino  Literature,  ho  is  entitled,  from  as  especially,  the  youngest  adventurer  among  Month- 
lioa,  to  one  melodious  tear,  at  least.  John  Wilson,  the  comijaratlvely  unknown  baptismal  name  of  the  worW- 
renowned  Christopher  North,  the  slashing  reviewer,  the  genial  essayist,  the  sturdy  moralist,  Uie  boon  eom- 
panlon,  the  hearty  lover  of  Nature,  the  stubborn  Tory,  the  gentle  poet,  the  rollicking  satirist,  the  learned 
critic,  the  wise  teacher,  the  author  of  the  Trials  of  Margaret  Lindsay  and  of  the  Noctea  Ambro6ian«\  the  eooi- 
panlonand  friend  of  Scott,  of  Hogg,  of  Wordsworth,  and  Maginn,  has  followed  his  illustrious  friend^  and,  Uke 
them,  left  us  the  wiser  and  the  happier  for  having  dwelt  among  us.  Trusty  Christopher  ia  dead,  and  it  will  be 
long  before  the  world  shall  see  another  like  him.  We  have  the  heart  to  say  more  if  we  bad  the  epace,  but  vc 
mifst  defer  to  another  time  the  expreasion  of  the  feelings  which  tb«  death  of  on«  of  tb«  moet  brilliant  i 
of  oar  time  has  caused. 


PUTNAM'S  MONTHLY. 

%  Www  ®^  %ittntnxt,  ^tkm,  uii  %xt. 


VOL.  m.— JUNE  1854.— NO.  XVIII. 


A   BIOGRAPHY— PART    I. 


EARLIER    YEARS, 


PLANTS  and  flowers  were  the  Earth's 
first-born  progeny ;  they  sprang 
out  of  her  bosom  and  crowned  her  with 
verdure  and  beauty.  The  plains  coveped 
themselves  with  waving  grasses,  and  the 
mountains  with  majestic  forests ;  the 
silvery  willow  and  the  lofty  poplar  bent 
over  the  banks  of  rivers,  and  repeated 
in  their  trembling,  murmuring  leaves, 
tlie  gentle  ripple  and  the  low  purling 
of  the  stream.  The  Ocean,  also,  had  its 
woods  and  its  prairies  in  the  depth  of 
its  abysses ;  purple  Algae  were  suspended 
in  festoons  from  the  sides  of  its  rocks, 
and  gigantic  fucus  rose  froq^  the  bottom 
of  the  sea  and  danced  upon  the  dark  green 
waves.  Cedars  and  pines,  with  their 
sombre  pyramids,  formed  dark  borders 
around  the  white  fields  of  eternal  snow 
and  dazzling  glaciers.  Humble  mosses 
and  lowly  lichens  covered  the  gray  gran- 
ite of  the  North,  and  offered,  in  the  midst 
of  unbroken  winter,  warmth  and  food  t^ 
the  reindeer  Qf  the  Laplander,  whilst  the 
palm  tree  of  the  South,  in  its  lofty  ma- 
jesty, defied  the  burning  sun  of  the 
tropics,  and  gave  shade  and  luscious  fruit 
in  abundance. 

So  much  Revelation  itself  has  told  us. 
The  rest  is  left  to  that  innate  thirst  of 
knowledge,  the  gratification  of  which  is 
the  highest  of  all  earthly  enjoyments. 
Still,  we  arc  not  quite  left  to  ourselves, 
for  aid  is  promised  us,  even  now,  from  on 
high.  "  Go  into  a  field  of  flowers,"  said 
the  Lord  to  Ezra,  "where  no  house  is 
built,  and  there  I  will  come  and  talk  with 
thee."  And  who  has  not  felt  the  truth 
of  good  old  Cowley's  quaint  verse : 

**If  we  could  open  and  intend  our  eye, 
We  all,  like  Moeea,  would  eq>jr 
£*en  in  a  bosh  the  radiant  Deity."* 
VOL.  UI.— 36 


Thus,  even  now,  travellers  tell  us  occa- 
sionally, a  wondrous  tale  of  barren  islands 
being  covered  with  luxuriant  forests,  and 
of  naked  rocks  being  clothed  with  nch 
-verdure.  We  have  learned  how  Nature 
proceeds,  even  in  our  day,  to  let  the  grass 
grow,  and  the  herb  and  the  tree  yielding 
fruit,  on  spots  where  before  all  was 
sterility,  or  the  elements  alone  reigned 
supremely. 

For  every  now  and  then  we  hear  of 
some  new  land,  fresh  from  the  hands  of 
the  Creator,  and  destined  for  ages  so  dis- 
tant that  human  knowledge  cannot  fore- 
see them.  Lava  streams  that  have  flown 
from  restless  craters,  begin  at  last  to  cool, 
and  life  takes  possession  of  them.  Thus 
in  the  still  hot  lava  of  Mt.  Etna  the  In- 
dian fig  is  planted  largely  by  the  Sicilians, 
to  render  those  desolate  regions  capable 
of  cultivation.  It  strikes  its  strong,  well- 
armed  creepers  into  the  fissures  of  the 
black,  fiery  mass,  and  soon  extends  roots 
into  every  crevice  of  the  rock.  Slowly, 
but  with  ever  increasing  force,  the  tender 
fragile  fibre  then  bursts  the  large  blocks 
asunder,  and  finally  covers  them  with 
fertile  soil  and  a  luxuriant  vegetation. 
At  other  times  vast  tracts  of  sea-bottom 
are  dyked  in  and  drained ;  a  thousand  va- 
rieties of  mosses  gradually  fill  it  up,  and 
form  hj  their  unceasing  labor  a  rich  v^e- 
table  mould  for  plants  of  larger  growth. 
Or  truly  new  lands  are  suddenly  seen  to  . 
claim  a  place  upon  our  globe.  An  earth- 
quake shakes  a  continent  and  upheaves 
the  mighty  ocean,  until  cities  crumble 
into  ruins  and  the  proud  ships  of  man  are 
ingulfed  in  the  bottomless  depths  of  \h» 
sea.  But  the  earthquake  rolls  away,  the 
storm  rages  itself  to  rest,  the  angry  bil- 
lows subside,  and  the  holy  calm,  whrch  is 


670 


A  Biography — Part  I. 


P" 


the  habitual  mood  of  Nature,  is  restored 
as  if  it  had  never  been  broken.  Only, 
where  yesterday  the  ocean's  mighty  swell 
passed  freely,  there  to-day  an  island  has 
risen  from  the  bosom  of  the  deep.  Vast 
rocky  masses  suddenly  raise  their  bare 
heads  above  the  boiling  waters  and  greet 
the  heavens  above.  Such  was  the  origin 
of  Stromboli,  of  St  Helena,  and  of  Tns- 
tan  d'Acunha.  Or  the  busy  host  of  co- 
rals, after  having  built  for  a  thousand 
years  the  high  ramparts  of  their  marvel- 
lous rings,  at  last  rise  to  a  level  with  the 
surface ;  they  die,  having  done  their  duty 
in  all  the  great  household  of  Nature,  and 
bequeathe  to  man  a  low,  flat,  circular 
island  which  now  first  beholds  the  sweet 
light  of  day,  above  the  dark  waves  of  the 
ocean.  TLen  come  other  hosts  of  busy 
servants  of  the  Almighty,  to  do  theur 
duty.  A  soft,  silky,  network  of  gay, 
bright  colors,  hides  after  a  few  days  the 
nakedness  jof  the  rock.  It  is  a  moss  of 
the  simplest  plants  we  know:  nothing 
but  simple  cells  and  wondrously  shorts 
lived.  They  die  and  disappear,  leaving 
apparently  no  perceptible  trace  behind 
them ;  still,  they  have  not  lived  and  la- 
bored in  vain.  A  delicate,  faint  tinge, 
little  more,  is  left  behind,  and  in  that 
mere  shadows  of  things  gone  by  lies  the 
germ  of  a  future,  mighty  growth.  Years 
pass,  and  the  shadow  grows  darker ;  the 
spots  begin  to  run  together,  and  then  fol- 
low countless  hosts  of  lichens,  a  kind  of 
humble  mosses,  which  the  great  and  pious 
Linnseus  touchingly  called  the  bondslaves 
of  Nature,  because  they  are  chained  to 
the  rock  on  which  they  grow,  and,  after 
death,  are  buried  in  the  soil  which  they 
make  and  improve  for  others  only.  Little 
ugly,  blackish-brown  or  pale-white  plants 
as  they  are,  but  niggardly  supported  by 
the  thin  air  of  mountain  tops,  they  show 
us  that  there  are  rich  garments  and  hum- 
ble wealth  and  poverty  among  plants  as 
well  as  among  men.  The  lowliest  and 
humblest  of  plants,  these  lichens  become, 
however,  the  most  useful  servants  of  Na- 
ture, which  here  in  an  equal  degree  as  in 
the  other  works  of  the  Almighty,  afibrd 
innumerable  proofs  that,  throughout  crea- 
tion, the  grandest  and  most  complicated 
ends  are  obtained  by  the  employment  of 
the  simplest  means.  These  tiny,  faintly 
colored  cups  live,  truly  aerial  plants,  on 
the  most  sterile  rock,  without  a  particle 
of  mould  or  soil  beneath  them,  nourished 
alone  by  invisible  moisture  in  the  atmo.s- 
phere.  Modestly  choosing  the  most  ex- 
poved  situations,  they  spread  line  by  line, 
inch  by  inch,  and  push  up  the  little  urns 
which  crown  their  short  stems,  amidst 


rain,  frost  and  snow.  In  these  urns  tbqr 
treasure  up  their  minute  dustlike  eeedi^ 
until  they  ripen ;  a  small  lid  which  haa 
until  then  been  held  back  Ixy  elastic 
threads,  now  suddenly  rises,  ana  ma  from 
a  miniature  mortar  they  shoot  forth  little 
yellow  balls,  which  cover  the  graimd 
around  them.  And  thus  they  wms  on, 
quiet,  unobserved  and  unthanked.  Dressed 
in  the  plainest  garb  of  Nature,  growing 
more  slowly  than  any  other  plant  on 
earth,  they  work  unceasingly,  until  as  their 
last  and  greatest  sacrifice,  they  have  to 
dig  their  own  graves!  For  Providence 
has  given  them  a  powerful  oxalic  add, 
which  eats  its  way  slowly  into  the  rock ; 
water  and  other  moisture  is  caught  in  the 
minute  indentations,  it  is  heated  and 
frozen,  until  it  rends  the  crumbling  stone 
into  fragments,  and  thus  aids  in  forming 
a  soil.  Centuries  often  pass,  and  gener^ 
ations  after  generations  of  these  humble 
bondslaves  perform  their  cruel  duty,  be- 
fore the  eye  can  see  a  real  change. 

Now,  however,  comes  a  faint  but  dear 
tinge  of  green.  It  is  a  mere  film  still,  but 
visible  to  the  naked  eye,  and  showine 
the  higher  and  more  luxuriant  forms  of 
graceful  mosses,  mixed  with  fungi  whi^ 
interpose  their  tiny  globes  and  miniature 
umbrellas.  Thtey  come,  we  know  not 
whence,  fer  the  slightest  crevice  in  the 
bare  rock  sufiBccs  to  arrest  some  of  the 
invisible  germs  which  are  constantly  float- 
ing in  the  air,  and  affords  them  a  home. 
They  yield  aothing  in  industry  and  per- 
severance to  their  humble  predecessors; 
hardy  little  laborers  in  tho  same  great 
worl^  they  seem  to  delight  in  the  doads 
and  storms  of  a  wintiy  season,  when  all 
oUier  verdure  fades.  They  find  a  home^ 
and  Uve  and  thrive  with  equal  content- 
ment in  the  burning  dnders  of  Tolcanic 
islands,  like  Ascension  Island,  on  whidi 
they  formed  the  first  green  crust  after  it 
had  risen  from  the  ocean,  and  on  the  tem- 
pest-beaten boulders  of  Norwegian  gran- 
ite, which  they  cover  with  a  soirlet  coat- 
ing, well  known  as  the  violet  stone  and 
full  of  rich,  sweet  perfume.  As  they 
wither  and  die,  minute  layers  of  soil  are 
formed,  one  after  another,  until  grasses 
and  herbs  can  find  a  foothold :  shrubs  with 
their  hardv  roots  now  begin  to  interlace 
the  loose  fragments  of  earth  and  to  bind 
the  very  stones  to  a  more  permanent 
structure.  The  ground  grows  richer  and 
richer,  until  at  last  the  tree  springs  from 
the  soil,  and,  where  onco  the  ocean  and 
the  tempest  alone  beat  on  the  bare  'rock 
there  we  see  now  the  lordly  monarch  of 
the  forest  raise  its  lofty  crown,  and  under 
its  ^  rich  foliage  shelter  bird  and  beast 


1854:] 


A  Biogrcqpki^Part  L 


571 


from  the  spray  and  the  storm.  Soon  all 
is  fertile  meadow,  tangled  thicket  and 
wide-spreading  forest.  Nor  is  this  always 
and  necessarily  a  slow,  painful  progress. 
The  bold  navigator  Boussingault  witness- 
ed once,  in  the  south  of  this  continent,  one 
of  those  stupendous  earthquakes  which 
seem  to  rend  the  the  very' foundations  of 
our  globe.  Mountains  rose  and  plains 
were  changed  into  lakes.  Huge  masses 
of  porphyry  were  scattered  over  fertile 
fields  and  covered  all  vegetation,  changing 
the  bright  prairie  into  a  scene  of  utter 
desolation.  Ten  short  years  later  the 
neat  captain  was  again  on  the  same  spot 
But  wluit  a  change!  The  bare  wild 
masses  were  covered  with  a  young  luxu- 
riant grove  of  locusts,  and  a  thousand  cat- 
tle were  grazing  on  the  hills. 

Thus  we  are  taught  how  Nature  pro- 
ceeds, in  our  day,  from  the  green  matter 
gathering  on  our  ponds  to  the  giant  tree  of 
the  forest.  But  if  we  turn  to  the  individ- 
ual plant— how  little  do  we  as  yet  know 
of  its  simple  structure!  Who  can  solve 
the  mystery  that  pervades  its  silent  yet 
ever-active  life?  There  is  something  in 
the  very  stillness  of  that  unknown  power 
which  awes  and  subdues  us.  Man  may 
Ibrcibly  obstruct  the  path  of  a  grow- 
ing twig,  but  it  turns  quietly  aside  and 
moves  patiently,  irresistibly  on,  in  its  ap- 
pointed way.  Wood  and  iron — even  pow- 
erful steam — ^they  all  obey  him  and  be- 
come the  crouching  slaves  of  his  intellect 
But  the  life  of  the  lowest  of  plants  defies 
him.  He  may  extinguish  it,  to  be  sure ; 
but  to  make  use  of  a  living  plant  he  must 
obey  it,  study  its  wants  and  tendencies, 
and  mould,  in  fact,  his  own  proud  will  to 
the  humblest  grass  that  grows  at  his  feet 
Thus  we  have  learned  £e  biography  of 
plants,  a  few  events  of  which  are  not 
without  interest  even  to  the  general  ob- 
server. 

When  on  old  walls  and  damp  palings, 
or  in  glasses  in  which  we  have  left  soft 
water  standing  for  several  days  in  summer, 
we  find  a  delicate,  bright-green  and  al- 
most velvety  coat— then  we  have  before 
us  the  first  beginning  of  all  vegetation. 
What  we  see  is  a  number  of  small  round 
cells,  and  one  of  these  delicate  cells,  a 
little  globe  as  large  as  the  thousanath 
part  of  an  inch,  is  the  beginning  of  every 

Slant  in  creation.  These  cells  are  the 
ving  stones  of  which  this  great  temple 
of  Nature  is  built  Each  minute  cell, 
moreover,  is  an  independent  plant,  vege- 
tating as  a  living  or^mism  and  having  a 
life  of  its  own.  There  are  whole  races  of 
plants,  like  the  Algae  and  the  common 
mould  forming  on  decaying  matter,  whidi 


consist  each  only  of  a  single  cell,  although 
in  varied  and  often  most  elegant  forms, 
with  a  brilliant  display  of  bright  color. 

The  first  germ  of  a  plant,  then,  has  al- 
ready a  life — ^for  it  feeds,  works  and  pro- 
duces. It  takes  all  its  nutriment  fh>m 
without  How,  we  know  not,  for  although 
plants  have  no  table  hanging  at  their 
gates  with  a  surly  No  admittance;  al- 
though they  work,  on  the  contrary,  before 
every  body*s  eyes,  unfortunately  human 
eyes  are  not  strong  enough  to  discern 
the  mysterious  process  that  is  going  on  in 
their  minute  chambers.  Even  armed  with 
the  most  powerful  microscope,  we  cannot 
penetrate  the  mystery,  and  know  not  yet 
by  what  incomprehensible  instinct  these 
diminutive  cells,  all  unaided,  pick  up  and 
select  their  food  and  arrange  the  new  mate- 
rial so  as  to  present  us  at  last  with  a  per- 
fect double  of  the  graceful  palm,  the 
queenly  Victoria  or  the  gigantic  Baobab. 
It  heightens  the  wonder  that  all  this 
power  lies  in  a  seed  minute  enough  to  be 
wafted  invisibly  by  a  breath  of  air.  And 
yet  it  must  be  endowed  with  most  subtle 
and  varied  gifts,  so  that  out  of  the  same 
food  plants  are  enabled  to  form  the  thou- 
sand rare  substances  they  produce  :  now 
bringing  forth  nutritious  and  agreeable 
food  for  man,  now3rielding  materials  most 
valuable  to  the  arts  of  life,  and  now  min- 
istering to  the  vilest  wants  of  degenerate 
man  and  arming  him  with  deadly  poison. 

But  these  little  cells  are  not  consumers 
only ;  they  live  and  work  not  for  the  day 
merely,  but  for  the  future  also.  An  almost 
invisible  point  in  the  cell  begins  to  swell 
and  to  increase,  as  it  consumes  first  the 
colorless  fluid,  then  the  soft  substance, 
and  at  last  even  the  tissue  of  the  outer 
walls  of  the  cell,  until — already  at  this 
early  stage  of  vegetable  life — death  ensues, 
and  out  of  death  comes  new  life.  The  old 
cell  dies,  giving  birth  indeed,  as  a  mother, 
to  other  cells,  and  thus  gradually  building 
up  the  full-grown  plant  The  young  ones 
leave  their  former  home,  iifter  an  equally 
mysterious  design,  according  to  the  posi- 
tion they  are  hereafter  to  occupy  in  the 
structure  of  the  plant,  and  the  function 
they  are  destined  to  perform. 

Here  is  the  great  turning  point  in  the 
history  of  vegetable  life.  All  plants 
consist  of  cells  of  the  same  kind  and  of 
the  same  round  or  oblong  form — ^but  the 
arrangement  and  the  subsequent  shape 
of  these  cells  differ  in  each  variety  of 
plants.  The  finger  of  the  Almighty 
writes  on  the  trani^Murent  walls  of  these 
microsoopic  cells  as  momentous  words  as 
those  that  appeared  in  flames  on  the  go^-.- 
geoos  walls  of  the  Syrian  palace.    Ovif 


612 


A  Biography — Pari  L 


pun 


ono  feature  of  this  wonderful  design  is 
permanent  and  common  to  all :  no  cell 
produces  more  than  two  others ;  of  these 
only  one  is  again  productive,  and  dies 
after  it  has  performed  its  duty.  The 
other  remains  within,  grows  harder  and 
thicker,  until  it  can  expand  no  longer; 
the  thickening  substance  coats  the  inner 
walls,  nils  up  the  interior,  and  thus  gives 
strength  and  finnness  to  the  beautiful 
structure.  In  some  plants  this  deyelop- 
ment  of  new  cells  goes  on  slowly ;  m 
others  with  truly  marvellous  rapidity,  as 
in  one  of  the  fungi,  which  forms  two 
thousand  visible  cells  in  a  single  minute ! 
But  the  minute,  delicate  form  would  be 
but  short-lived,  and  fall  an  easy  prey  to 
the  first  rude  breath  of  air,  if  Nature  did 
not  here  also  instil  the  great  lesson,  that 
Union  is  Strength.  That  wondrous  chem- 
ical laboratory,  contained  in  the  myste- 
rious seclusion  of  each  cell,  produces  next 
a  current  which  permeates  the  walls,  and 
glues  cell  to  cell,  so  that,  hardly  developed, 
it  cannot  move  from  the  spot,  and,  though 
providai  with  life  and  strength  for  long 
generations,  it  is  still,  like  Prometheus, 
bound  for  ever  on  the  rock  of  the  adjoin- 
ing cell.  At  the  extremities  of  plants 
this  glue  hardens  into  a  thick  varnish  ;  it 
is  this  material  whkh  gives  density  and 
mechanical  strength  to  the  so-called  woody 
fibres;  it  forms  the  bark  of  trees  and 
covers  the  plum  with  a  coating  of  wax. 
It  appears  like  a  viscid  layer  on  the  leaves 
of  water-plants,  which  are  thus  made 
slippery  to  the  touch  and  impermeable  to 
water,  or  as  a  blue  powder  on  our  cab- 
bage, which  can  be  wholly  immersed 
without  being  wetted.  Only  here  and 
there,  but  even  in  the  hardest  and  fullest 
cells,  tubes  of  a  spiral  form  are  left  open. 
Some  are  mere  small  jail  windows,  im- 
perceptible to  the  naked  eye,  and  only 
lately  discovered  ;  but  they  always  meet, 
in  unfailing  regularity,  with  a  similar  tiny 
lookout  from  the  neighbor,  so  that  Nature 
evidently  does  not  seem  to  approve  of 
solitary  confinement  Others  are  larger, 
and  serve  as  air-passages ;  for  nature,  a 
good  architect,  knows  the  necessity  of 
ventilation,  and  provides  for  it  iri*  the 
humblest  of  lowly  mosses  with  as  much 
care  as  in  the  lofty  dome  of  the  Universe, 
In  aquatic  plants,  moreover,  these  same 
tubes  render  them  buoyant,  as  in  one  of 
the  huge  fucui  that  grow  from  the  bottom 
of  the  ocean.  All  along  the  immense 
stem,  which  reaches  from  the  vast  deep 
up  to  the  light  of  day,  little  vessels  oc- 
cur, filled  with  air,  and  it  is  by  these 
tiny  balloons,  thus  continued  from  story 
to  story,  that  the  enormous  leaves  of  the 


giant  plant  are  buoyed  up  and  finally 
enabled  to  float  on  the  snrikoe,  ooreriiig 
the  waves  with  an  immense  carpet  of  ver- 
dure. And  thus,  with  unerriDff;  regu- 
larity, which,  in  an  almost  endJesi  va- 
riety of  forms,  still  maintains  those  great 
laws  of  Nature  that  betoken  the  will 
of  the  Most  High,  these  same  cells  have 
been  formed,  not  only  in  the  parent 
plant  for  its  next  successor,  but  daring 
thousands  of  generations ;  and  that  on 
all  parts  of  the  earth,  in  the  same  way, 
the  same  shape !  Well  may  we,  then,  with 
a  distinguished  German  botanist,  look 
upon  the  vegetable  world  as  the  rich  altar* 
cloth  in  the  temple  of  God  where  vre  w€r- 
ship  the  beautful  and  tlie  sublime,  be- 
cause it  is  His  handiwork. 

Plants  Zive,  then,  and  feed.  Little  do 
we  conunonly  think,  little  do  we  thereliue 
know  of  the  way  in  which  they  live  aiid 
f^d.  We  see  animals  take  their  fi)od 
openly  and  grossly,  in  the  most  con- 
spicuous and  eminent  part  of  their  body; 
they  tear  and  swallow,  ruminate  or  maa- 
ticate.  We  ourselves  do  somethiog  in 
that  line.  But  delicate  plants  hide  tin 
coarse  process  of  nutrition  under  ground, 
or  within  the  dose  walls  of  eaidi  tiny 
cell.  There,  with  wondrous  art,  and 
never  resting  day  or  night,  summer  or 
winter,  they  draw  a  few  simple  dementi^ 
mainly  water,  from  air  and  soil,  and  by 
their  own  power  and  labor,  live  upon 
them  not  only,  but  draw  all  the  matnial 
necessary  for  an  almost  unlimited  growth, 
until  the  smallest  seed  has  upreMd 
gigantic  masses  of  wood  and  folij^  and 
the  grain  of  mustard  has  grown  into  a 
tree,  in  whose  branches  uie  fowls  of 
heaven  have  their  habitation.  Each  little 
microscopic  cell  is  its  own  busy  chemist, 
dissolving  all  it  needs,  even  small  particles 
of  silica,  in  water,  and  changing  it  into 
food  and  new  substances.  The  material 
we  know,  and  the  fact  that  it  is  intro- 
duced— but  then  we  stand  again  at  the 
threshold  of  that  mystery  with  whidi 
Nature  surrounds  all  first  banning!. 
The  night  of  the  cell,  where  this  strange 
process  is  going  on,  is  the  same  as  that  m 
which  the  grain  has  to  be  buried,  in  order 
to  rise  once  more  to  light  as  a  tender 
blade.  We  are  again  taught  that  the 
knowledge  of  first  causes  belongs  to  ffim 
alone,  who  allows  the  eye  of  man  to  see 
final  causes  only,  and  even  those^  as  yet, 
merely  through  a  glass,  dimW'. 

The  genersd  process  of  feeding,  in  a 
plant,  as  far  as  known,  is  simply  this: 
The  universal  and  indispensable  nutrient 
substances,  and,  at  the  same  time,  that  by 
means  of  which  all  the  rest  are  conveyed 


1854.] 


A  Biography — Part  I. 


ms 


into  it,  is  water.  Without  water  there  is 
no  vegetation.  The  deserts  of  Arabia, 
the  west  coast  of  Bolivia,  and  similar  re- 
gions are  barren,  not  because  they  are 
rocky  and  sandy,  but  because  it  only 
rains  there  once  in  twelve  years,  and  that 
not  always,  and  they  have  neither  dew 
nor  watery  deposits. — This  water,  with 
all  the  materials  it  may  contain,  is  sucked 
up  by  the  delicate  fibres  at  the  end  of 
roots ;  thence  it  rises  by  capillary  attrac- 
tion upwards,  transuding  through  the 
cells  by  apertures  invisible  to  the  highest 
microscopic  power,  and  filling  cell  after 
cell.  Here  it  mingles  with  the  fluid  which 
they  already  contain,  produces  new  com- 
binations, and  is  then  called  sap.  Hence 
these  little  cells,  when  searched  with  the 
microscope,  are  found  to  be  filled  with  an 
almost  incredible  variety  of  good  things. 
Some,  it  is  true,  contain  apparently  no- 
thing but  a  watery  juice,  but  its  virtues 
may  yet  be  discovered ;  others  arc  little 
vials  nlldd  with  giun  or  sugar ;  in  many 
plants  they  are  found  to  hold  just  one 
drop  of  oil,  in  others  sugar,  to  inclose 
beautiful  crystals  of  every  possible  shape. 
Through  these  cells  the  sap  ascends,  until 
it  reaches  the  main  workshop  of  plants — 
the  leaves.  These  bring  it  in  contact 
with  the  air,  which  they  in  their  turn 
suck  in  by  minute  openings  and  exhale 
again,  after  it  has  combined  with  parts 
of  the  ascended  water.  It  is  this  con- 
tinued exhalation  of  the  leaves,  and  ab- 
sorption by  the  roots,  which  constitutes 
the  circulation,  the  Life  of  Plants.  The^r 
produce  a  constant  interchange  between 
soil  and  air,  and  stand  in  direct  proportion 
to  each -other.  This  sap  rises  with  a  ra- 
pidity corresponding  to  the  exhalation  of 
the  leaves.  Hence,  in  winter,  when  there 
are  no  leaves,  there  is  no  sap  ascending. 
Hence,  also,  in  spring  the  earth  sometimes 
opens  sooner  than  the  leaves  appear ;  the 
sap  ascends,  finds  no  outlet,  and  gorges 
the  tree  with  fluid.  Man  comes  to  its 
aid,  taps  the  dropsical  plant,  and  draws 
from  the  maple  its  sugar  and  from  the 
palm  its  sweet  wine.  That  part  of  the 
sap  which  is  not  absorbed  in  its  way  up- 
ward, and  not  given  out  to  the  air  through 
the  leaves,  returns  again  on  its  mysterious 
errand,  depositing  here  and  there  the  ma- 
terial most  needed,  and  hoarding  up,  at 
intervals,  latge  quantities  that  are  not 
immediately  required  for  future  wants. 
Such  provisions,  carefully  stowed  away, 
are  found  in  the  potato,  which  i&  little 
else  than  a  magazine  of  nutritive  matter, 
or  in  the  sage  of  palm  trees  and  the 
caoutchouc  of  South  America.  Lastly, 
that  part  of  the  material  imbibed,  which 


is  useless  or  might  be  injurious,  for  plants, 
like  animals,  may  be  poisoned,  is  thrown 
out  again  at  night  in  the  form  of  manna 
or  resin;  and  thus  restores  the  plant 
again  to  health. 

AH  these  features  in  the  life  of  plants, 
however,  are  visible  to  the  microscope 
onl}'.  What  we  see  with  the  unarmed 
eye,  is  not  less  wonderful.  The  tiny  seed 
once  intrusted  to  the  bosom  of  mother 
earth,  as  soon  as  the  sunlight  falls  upon 
it,  and  its  genial  beams  warm  the  light 
crust  under  which  it  is  buried,  begins  to 
move  and  to  change.  Its  starch  is  con- 
verted into  sugar  and  gum,  upon  which 
the  young  plant  is  to  feed  during  the  first 
days  of  its  existence.  The  tiny  root  peeps 
forth  from  the  husk,  and  by  a  myste- 
riously-directed powerj  plunges  downward 
into  the  fertile  soil,  whilst  the  slender 
plumule  pushes  upwards  towards  the  light. 
The  soil  cracks  and  heaves,  and  at  last 
the  infant  vegetable  being  emerges  fVesh 
and  moist  into  the  world  of  air  and  sun- 
shine with  the  unfolding  of  its  first  pair 
of  leaves,  and  with  the  first  lighting  of  a 
sunbeam  on  their  tender  tissues,  com- 
mences that  series  of  incessant  and  as  yet 
secret  chemical  operations,  to  which  we 
have  before  alluded.  And  the  marvel  is  still 
increased,  when  we  consider  how  strange- 
ly alike  thousands  of  seeds  are  one  to 
another,  how  slight  the  difierence  even  be- 
tween the  most  unlike.  And  yet,  two  such 
tiny  seeds,  planted  in  the  same  soil  and 
living  apparently  on  the  same  food,  pro- 
duce the  one  an  humble  herb,  the  other  a 
mighty  tree.  Well  may  we  ask,  what 
\^ondrous  formative  power  resides  there 
in  these  little  cells,  tending  exactly  in  one 
direction,  as  though  an  ideal  figure,  grad- 
ually to  be  realized,  floated  already  before 
their  infant  eyes  ? 

The  first  business,  then,  of  the  young 
plant  seems  to  be,  to  settle  firmly  down 
m  the  home  which  is  to  see  it  grow,  pros- 
per and  die.  It  sends  its  roots  down  into  the 
ground,  in  a  hundred  various  forms.  Some- 
times it  is  divided  into  a  number  of  slen- 
der threads,  to  penetrate  into  loose,  sandy 
soil,  as  e.  g.  in  the  grasses,  that  bind  the 
arid  sands  of  the  searcoast  together  with 
their  long,  articulated  roots,  and  thus  pro- 
tect the  dykes  of  Holland  agaii&t  the  fury 
of  the  ocean.  Others  are  in  the  form  of  a  sin- 

§le,  straight  and  powerful  taproot,  to  pierce 
rm,  solid  ground— or  even  in  long  flat 
scales,  which  adhere  and  fasten  themselves 
to  bare  rocks.  Tender,  delicate  fibres 
though  they  be,  these  roots  possess  an  in- 
credible power.  Even  in  the  tall,  slender 
grass  they  are  so  firmly  interlaced  with 
the  soil,  that  tiiey  cannot  be  torn  out 


6U 


A  Biography — Part  I. 


fJlM 


without  a  large  mass  of  earth,  and  there- 
fore compel  us  to  cut  br  saw  off  the  straw 
of  our  grain.  With  large  trees  they  serve 
as. gigantic  anchors,  chaining  the  mighty 
monarch  to  the  earth  by  their  powerful 
and  wide-spreading  arms,  and  firmly  sup- 
porting it  thus  against  the  immense  me- 
chanical force  of  wind  beating  above 
against  the  large  surface  presented  by  its 
huge  branches,  covered  with  dense  foliage. 
In  their  downward  progress  they  turn 
aside  from  no  obst^le.  The  roots  of  the 
colossal  chestnut-tree  on  A{t  Etna,  under 
whose  deep  shade  a  hundred  horsemen 
have  easily  found  shelter,  penetrate 
through  rock  and  lava  to  the  springs  at  the 
very  foot  of  the-mountain.  Massive  blocks 
are  lifted  up  b^  roots  as  if  with  irresisti- 
ble force.  The  beautiful  trees  that  flour- 
ish amid  the  ruined  temples  of  Central 
America,  upheave  huge  fragments  of  those 
enormous  structures,  high  into  the  air, 
and  hold  them  there  as  if  in  derision.  In 
fact,  the  latent  energy  and  slowly  accu- 
mulated force  of  these  slender  fibres  in 
the  process  of  forcing  their  way  through 
walls  and  rocks  of  vast  size,  is  only 
equalled  by  the  grace  of  their  movement 
and  form ;  and  this  union  of  power  and 
beauty,  the  one  latent  the  other  obvious, 
explains,  in  part  at  least,  the  singular 
charm  that  the  vegetable  world  exercises 
over  so  many  strong  but  susceptible 
minds. 

But  roots  serve  not  only  as  fastenings : 
they  are,  as  has  already  been  mentioned, 
the  principal  avenues  for  the  introduction 
of  food  into  the  plant.  They  operate  by 
means  of  most  delicate  fibres  at  the  end, 
called  spougioles,  endowed  with  so  minute 
openings,  that  all  nutriment  to  be  taken 
in  must  be  liquid.  Nor  is  it  the  least  of 
the  mysteries  of  plant  life,  that  these  fine, 
slender  roots  do  not  absorb  all  that  is 
presented  to  them  in  a  liquid  form,  but 
evidently  have  a  power  of  discrimination. 
They  open  or  close  their  minute  apertures 
at  will,  admitting  only  fluids  of  a  certain 
consistency,  and  thus  select  those  sub- 
stances which  are  best  adapted  to  the 
growth  and  welfare  of  the  plant  The 
finer,  suitable  material  is  taken  in,  the 
coarser  rejected.  Repeated,  careful  expe- 
riments have  proved  this  beyond  doubt 
A  grain  of  wheat  and  a  pea,  raised  in  the 
same  soil  and  under  absolutely  the  same 
circumstances,  draw  entirely  different  sub- 
stances from  the  earth.  The  wheat  con- 
sumes all  the  silica  or  flinty  matter,  that 
water  can  absorb,  while  the  pea  takes  up 
no  flint,  consuming,  on  the  other  hand, 
whatever  lime  or  calcareous  matter  the 
water  of  the  soil  may  contain. 


Thus  the  roots  of  a  plant  pam^  id 
nearly  all  the  nutriment  that  is  rcqmrML 
and  at  least  ninety-nine  per  cent  of  f^ 
the  water  which  the  plant  needs^  the  onlj 
other  part  needed  bemg  broueht  by  the 
vapors  of  the  atmosphere  ana  absorbed 
through  the  humus.  They  perform  tiui 
duty  with  a  vigor  little  sus^cted  br  the 
inattentive ;  but  if  we  cut  a  vine  and  fta- 
ten  a  bladder  to  the  wound  at  the  time 
when  the  sap  is  riang,  It  will  in  a  dioii 
time  be  filled  and  finally  burst ;  and  it 
has  been  stated  that  the  .root  of  an  ehn- 
tree  which  was  by  accident  badly  woood- 
ed,  poured  forth,  in  a  few  hours,  aevenl 
gallons  of  water. 

Not  all  roots,  however,  have  toperfonn 
this  difficult  and  responsible  task  of  ex- 
tracting food  fi*om  the  earth  around  tbem ; 
those  of  aquatic  plants  draw  it  directlj 
from  the  water  itself,  as  in  our  oommon 
duckweed,  where  eadi  little  leaf  has  its 
own  tiny  root,  a  single  fibre,  which 
hangs  from  the  lower  surface.-  In  the 
mangrove,  on  the  contrary^  they  form  a 
kind  of  enormous  network  m  the  water, 
which  intercepts  all  solid  matter,  that 
fioats  down  rivers  and  estuaries,  until  the 
thus  arrested  and  decomposing  substances 
form  fever-breeding  swamps.  When  the 
flood  recedes  the  roots  are  left  uncovered. 
and  often  found  filled  with  shellfiah—a 
fact  which  explains  the  wonderful  tales 
of  early  travellers  m  the  Tropics,  that 
there  were  trees  found  in  the  East  and 
West  Indies  on  whose  branches  oysters 
were  growing. 

Other  roots  have  no  home  on  land  or 
water;  they  must  ever  be  content  to 
hang,  all  their  lifetime,  high  and  dry  m 
the  air.  Some,  it  is  true,  accomplish  a 
firmer  settlement,  late  in  lif^  as  those  of 
the  screwpine,  which  grow  not  only  at 
the  foot  of  the  tree,  but  for  a  consideraUe 
height  from  all  parts  of  the  trunk,  to  pro- 
tect the  plant  from  the  violent  wmds. 
From  thence  they  hang  down  into  the  air 
and  furnish  us  with  a  beautiful  evidence 
of  creative  design  in  the  structures  of 
the  vegetable  world.  They  are,  name- 
ly, at  this  stage  of  their  growth,  provided 
with  a  kind  of  cup  at  each  extremity, 
which  catches  ever^  stray  drop  of  rain 
and  dew,  and  thus  enables  them,  both  to 
grow  themselves  and  to  furnish  nutriment 
to  the  parent  pDoint  In  the  course  of 
time,  however,  they  reach  the  sur&oe  of 
the  water,  and  instantly  these  cups  fall 
off,  as.  the  roots  now  need  such  extraordi- 
nary assistance  no  longer.  Others  spend 
their  lives,  literally,  in  building  castles  in 
the  air.  Almost  all  the  Orcluds  of  the 
Tropics  use  a  tree,  a  block  of  wood,  or  a 


1854.] 


A  Biography — Fart  I, 


57&. 


stone,  merely  as  a  support  on  which  to 
settle  down,  and  over  which  to  spread 
their  aaial  roots.  These,  however,  do 
not  penetrate  into  the  substance,  and  have 
no  other  source  of  nutriment,  than  the 
Ympor  of  the  damp,  heated  atm<^phere. 
which  constantly  surrounds  them,  and 
thus  serve  the  double  purpose  of  claspers 
and  feeders.  Even  law-defying  squatters 
are  found  among  the  plants,  like  the  mis- 
tletoe of  sacred  memory.  It  fastens  upon 
some  strong,  healthy  tree,  and  having  no 
power  of  forming  true  roots  for  itself, 
it  sends  out  branches  which  creep  through 
crevices  in  the  bark,  into  the  wood,  so 
that  the  roots  of  the  parent  stem  must 
supply  it  with  food,  and  the  parasitical 
plant  lives,  in  truth,  upon  the  very  life 
blood  of  the  tree  on  which  it  has  fastened 
itself.  Even  the  stately  palm  is  frequent- 
ly seen  in  the  murderous  embrace  of  a 
plant,  which  is  emphatically  called  the 
Parricide  tree.  It  commences,  like*  every 
thing  vicious,  with  a  small  and  rather 
pleasing  growth  on  the  trunk  or  among 
the  branches,  then  rapidly  extends  its 
sraceful  tendrils  in  every  direction,  and 
mcreases  in  bulk  and  strength,  until  at 
last  it  winds  its  serpent  folds  in  deadly 
embrace  around  the  parent  tree.  The 
conflict  lasts  sometimes  for  years,  but  the 
parricide  is  sure  to  be  victorious  in  the 
end,  and  to  strangle  the  noble  palm  in  its 
beautiful  but  deadly  coils.  The  prosper- 
ity of  the  Parasite  thus  becomes  an  al- 
most infallible  sign  of  the  decay  of  its 
victim,  and  a  most  affecting  image  of  life 
crushed  by  a  subtle.  br>ite  force.  And  yet 
it  has  its  redeeming  feature  in  the  remark- 
able fact  that  these  parasites  never  attack 
firs  or  evergreens,  but  only  cover  with 
their  foliage  those  which  wmter  deprives 
of  their  glory.  The  ivy,  which  often 
wraps  the  largest  giants  of  the  forest  in 
its  dark  green  mantle,  thus  appeared  to 
older  nations  as  the  symbol  of  generous 
firiendship,  attaching  itself  only  to  the  un- 
fortunate, and  making  its  early  protector, 
even  after  death,  the  pride  of  the  forests 
in  which  he  lives  no  longer, — it  gives  him 
new  life,  covering  his  lofly  trunk  and  broad 
branches  with  festoons  of  eternal  verdure. 
Still,  wherever  roots  may  be  lodged  in 
the  dark,  still  earth,  or  under  the  restless 
waves,  in  the  damp  air  of  the  Tropics,  or 
the  bark  of  a  foreign  tree — they  labor 
without  ceasing,  night  and  day,  summer 
and  winter.  For  the  life  of  plants,  and  the 
work  of  their  roots,  does  not  cease  in  win- 
ter as  is  commonly  believed,  and  deep* 
rooted  trees,  especially,  enjoy  the  benent 
of  the  warmth  which  is  laid  up  durine 
summer,  in  the  crust  of  the  earth,  and 


that  at  the  yery  time  when  their  branches 
groan  under  a  load- of  snow,  or  stand  en- 
cased  with  ice  and  fantastic  gUttering 
pendants.  Far  under  ground,  £ey  con- 
tmue  to  work  indefatigably,  until  the 
bright  sunshine  returns  once  more,  and 
they  feel  that  the  fruit  of  their  industry 
can  again  safely  ascend  through  the  dark, 
gloomy  passages  of  the  tree,  to  pass  at 
last  into  the  merry  green  leaves,  and 
there  to  mingle  with  the  balmy  air  of 
spring.  iPor  they  are  a  hardy  class  of 
laborers,  these  roots,  and  neither  cold  nor 
ill  treatment  checks  their  activity.  It  is 
well  known,  that  the  common  maple  tree 
may  be  completely  inverted ;  its  branches 
being  buried  under  ground  and  its  roots 
spread  into  the  air,  without  being  destroy- 
ed. The  finest  orange  trees  in  Europe, 
in  the  superb  collection  at  Dresden,  were 
brought  as  ballast,  in  the  shape  of  mere 
blocks  of  timber,  without  roots  or  branch- 
es, in  the  hold  of  a  German  vessel,  and 
found  their  way  to  Saxony.  Some  curious 
gardener,  anxious  to  know  what  plant  fur- 
nished this  new  wood,  planted  them,  but 
unfortunately,  mistook  the  upper  end  for 
the  lower,  and  thus  actually  turned  the 
poor,  mutilated  trees  upside  down.  Yet,' 
in  spite  of  all  this,  they  have  grown  and 
flourished  beyond  all  other  orange  trees 
on  the  continent. 

The  next  step  in  the  life  of  a  plant, 
after  it  has  thus  riveted  itself  firmly  and 
for  ever  to  its  mother  earth,  is  to  send  its 
stem  or  trunk  upwards.  In  doing  this,  it 
is  evidently  infiuenced  by  a  desire  to  ap- 
proach the  light  of  day.  This  has  been 
proved  by  experiments  as  cruel  as  those 
that  used  to  shock  our  sensibilities  in  the 
days  of  early  anatoihy.  Seeds  have  been 
so  placed,  that  the  light  reflected  from  a 
mirror  should  fall  upon  them  from  below, 
and  lo !  the  so-called  natural  direction  or 
the  growth  of  plants  was  completely 
changed;  the  stem  was  sent  down  and 
the  roots  grew  up !  When  Nature,  how- 
ever, is  allowed  to  have  her  own  way — 
which  we  humbly  surmise  to  be  the 
best — stems  grow  towards  the  light,  to 
support  the  plant  in  its  proper  position 
and  to  raise  it  to  the  requisite  height 
above  ground,  to  enjoy  air,  light  and 
heat  At  a  certain  point,  moreover,  it 
spreads  out  into  branches,  as  the  best 
mode  of  presenting  the  largest  surface, 
covered  with  leaves,  to  those  necessaries 
of  life.  They  are  thus  enabled  to  receive 
the  fullest  action  of  light  and  air,  and  the 
branches  are,  besides,  so  arranged  that 
they  yield  readily  to  the  fitful  unpulses 
of  winds,  and  return^  by  their  elasticity, 
to  their  natural  position. 


51Q 


A  Biography — Part  I, 


[Jam 


In  similar  beautiful  adaptation  to  out- 
ward circumstances,  we  find  that  the 
stem  of  the  graceful  palm  tree  is  high 
and  slender,  but  built  up  of  unusually 
tough,  woody  fibres,  so  that  it  sways 
gently  to  and  fro  in  the  breeze,  and  yet 
resists  the  fiercest  storms,  while  the  lofty 
bare  trunk  gives  free  passage  to  every 
breath  of  air,  and  the  broad  flat  top 
tempers  the  burning  sun  and  shades  the 
fruit  hanging  down  in  rich  clusters.  The 
solemn  and  imposing  fir  tree,  on  the 
other  hand,  branches  low,  but  just  high 
enough  to  let  man  pass  beneath,  and 
then  drops  its  branches  at  the  extremities, 
like  a  roof,  exposing  on  terrace  after  ter- 
race, its  small  fruit  to  all  aspects  of  the 
sun,  and,  in  winter,  letting  the  heavy 
snow  glide  down^on  the  smooth  polished 
leaves.  If  the  palm  were  a  pyramid  like 
the  pine,  it  would  fall  before  the  first 
storm  of  the  tropics ;  if  the  pine  were  tall 
and  shaped  like  a  broad  parasol,  the  snow 
and  ice  of  the  north  would  break  it  by 
their  heavy  weight. 

It  is  this  part  of  the  plant  which  gives 
it,  in  common  life,  its  proper  rank  and 
name  in  the  vegetable  kingdom.  When 
the  stem  is  not  woody  and  dies  after  the 
flowering  season,  we  speak  of  it  as  an 
herb,  while  a  shrub  has  already  a  greater 
size  and  a  stem  that  branches  at  the  base. 
The  tree  lifls  its  head  high  into  the  air, 
and  divides  mostly  above.  The  stems  of 
climbers  and  creepers  are  long,  thin  and 
winding,  whilst  runners  crawl  along  the 
ground  or  beneath  it,  and  produce  new 
plants  at  their  termination. 

The  stem  has  frequently  a  decided  ten- 
dency to  grow  spirally ;  in  creepers  it  is 
twisted  from  the  root  to  the  end,  the  bet- 
ter to  enable  them  to  lay  hold  of  and  to 
embrace  the  objects  around  which  they 
twine.  So  it  is  in  all  climbing  plants  and 
their  tendrils,  which  derive  from  this  pe- 
culiar structure  such  strength,  that  they 
serve  in  South  America  to  form  long, 
slender,  but  perfectly  safe  bridges  over 
broad  rivers.  Even  large  trees  have  fre- 
quently the  same  spiral  tendency,  as  we 
see  in  many  a  blasted  trunk  in  our  forests, 
or  when  we  attempt  to  remove  the  bark 
from  a  cherry  tree,  which  will  not  tear 
straight  and  must  be  torn  off  in  a  spiral. 

In  the  stem,  also,  we  see  the  main  dif- 
ferences of  the  growth  of  various  kinds 
of  wood  in  a  beautiful  variety  of  grain 
and  wavy  lines.  Its  outside  is  protected  by 
barky  sometimes  smooth  as  if  polished, 
in  others,  as  in  the  pine,  carved  in  huge 
square  pieces ;  hard  and  invulnerable  as 
stone  in  the  cypress,  but  cut  and  cracked 
in  the  elm.    Most  mountain  trees  have 


their  bark  deeply  furrowed  with  i 
channels^  to  lekd  the  moisture  of  rain  and 
dew  down  to  the  rocky  home  of  their 
deep  buried  roots.  Dark'  colored  and 
soft  in  tropic  climes,  to  resist  the  hemt^  it 
is  white  as  snow  in  the  Arctic  Fenooi^ 
and  in  northern  trees,  as  birches  and  wil- 
lows, in  order  to  reflect  what  little  heat 
is  found  in  such  high  latitudes.  The 
'  bark  is,  moreover,  the  last  part  of  a  plant 
that  decays,  and  in  some  trees  may  be 
called  almost  indestructible.  Thus  Plu- 
tarch and  Pliny  both  tell  us,  that  when, 
four  hundred  years  after  the  death  of  the 
great  lawgiver  Numa  Pompilius,  his  grave 
was  opened,  the  body  of  the  king  was  a 
handful  of  dust,  but  the  delicate  baric,  on 
which  his  laws  had  been  written,  wis 
found  uninjured  by  his  side. 

Not  all  stems,  however,  are  of  the  same 
firm,  upright  structure.  Nature  shows 
beauty  not  only  in  the  forms  themselves^ 
but  perhaps  still  more  in  their  endless  va- 
riety. In  the  cactus  family  they  are  rqsre- 
sented  by  what  we  commonly,  thooeh  er^ 
roneously,  call  their  leaves.  viz.j  fleshy 
expansions,  tumid  with  watery  juice,  and 
clothed  with  a  leathery  cuticle,  insteul 
of  bark.  Of  all  cactuses,  but  one  has 
real  leaves :  all  others  possess  little  more 
than  miserable  substitutes  in  the  form  of 
tufts  of  hair,  thorns  and  spines.  These 
only,  as  far  as  they  go,  are  their  true 
leaves.  The  stems,  it  is  well  knovno,  dis- 
play in  this  same  family  an  unusual  vsr 
riety  of  odd,  outlandish-looking  shapes. 
Now  they  rise,  under  the  name  of  torch- 
thistle,  in  a  single  branchless  column  to 
the  height  of  forty  feet ;  and  now  ther 
spread  their  ghastly,  fleshless  arms  in  uL 
directions,  like  gigantic  funereal  cande- 
labras.  The  meion-cactus  imitates  in 
shape  and  bristling  spines  the  hedgehog 
to  perfection,  whilst  the  so-called  mam- 
milearia  are  smooth  or  ribbed  globes  <tf 
all  sizes.  Others,  at  last,  grow  longi- 
tudinally, like  the  long  whip-like  serpent 
cactus,  which  swings  ominously  from  the 
trees  on  which  it  lives  a  parasite.  Na- 
ture, however,  has  made  them  ample  com- 
pensation for  their  uncouth  appearance 
and  gloomy,  wretched  aspect,  by  giving 
them  a  profusion  of  flowers  of  unsur- 
passed brilliancy. 

The  snake-like  form  of  the  last  men- 
tioned cactus  is  still  more  strikingly  pre- 
sented in  the  stem  of  the  lianes  of  South 
America.  They  are  almost  entirely  stem. 
Stretched  out  like  the  strong  cordage  of  a 
vessel,  on  which  tiger-cats  run  up  and 
down  with  wonderful  agility,  or  winding 
serpent-like  in  and  out,  now  as  cords  an3 
now  like  flat  straps,  they  extend  frequent- 


1854.] 


A  Biography — Pari  I, 


577 


ly  more  thftn  a  hundred  feet  without 
leaves  and  without  branches.  In  the  pri- 
meval forests  of  the  tropics  they  maj  be 
seen  hanging  from  tree  to  tree,  often  as- 
cending one,  circling  it  until  they  choke 
his  life's  blood  in  him — then  wantonly 
leaping  over  to  another — next  falling  in 
graceful  festoons  and  then  climbing  up 
again  to  the  topmost  summit  of  a  palm, 
where,  at  last,  they  wave  perhaps  their 
bunch  of  splendid  flowers  in  the  highest, 
purest  air.  Repulsive  in  themselves,  these 
lianes  also  grow  beautiful  by  the  con- 
trast they  present  with  the  sturdy  monarch 
of  the  forest,  around  which  the^  twine,  a 
contrast  which  yet,  as  every  thmg  in  na- 
ture, produces  harmony.  How  different 
are  these  stems  again  from  the  beautiful 
structure  of  the  various  grasses.  Here  a 
slender  column  rises,  sometimes  to  the 
height  of  a  few  inches  only,  as  in  our 
common  mountain  grasses,  and  then  again, 
in  the  bamboo,  to  a  towering  height,  wav- 
ing their  wide-spread  tops  in  the  evening 
breeze,  or  growing  like  the  gigantic  grasses 
on  the  banks  of  the  Orinoco,  to  a  height 
of  more  than  thirty  feet^  where  they  have 
joints  that  measure  over  eighteen  feet 
from  knot  to  knot,  and  serve  the  Indians 
of  that  country  as  blowpipes,  with  which 
they  kill  even  large  animals.  And  yet 
the  delicate  graceful  tissue  of  all  these 
grasses  resists  by  their  wondrous  struc- 
ture the  storm  that  would  break  columns 
of  granite,  of  the  same  height  and  thick- 
ness !  Nature  knows  full  well  that  a 
slender,  hollow  tube,  with  well  strength- 
ened walls,  the  most  soUd  parts  being 
placed  outside,  is  the  best  fbrm  to  give 
firmness  and  solidity  to  such  structiu'es. 
Hence  it  is  that  these  delicate  walls  are 
hardened  by  a  copious  deposition  of  silioL 
so  that  e,  g.  a  kind  of  rattan  has  solid 
lumps  of  it  in  joints  and  hollows,  and 
will  readily  strike  fire,  with  steely  and  the 
so-called  Dutch  rush,  a  horsetail  moss,  is 
largely  imported  from  Holland  for  its  use- 
fulness in  polishing  furniture  and  pewter 
utensils.  The  grass  which  grows  on  less 
than  half  an  acre  of  land  is  said  to  con- 
tain flint  enough  to  produce,  when  mixed 
with  sand  and  by  the  aid  of  the  blow- 
pipe, a  glass-bead  of  considerable  size; 
and  after  a  number  of  haystacks,  set  up 
by  the  river  side,  had  once  been  struck 
by  lightning  and  burned,  large  lumps  of 
glass  were  found  in  their  place.  Won- 
drous indeed  are  the  works  of  the  Al- 
mighty, and  well  can  we  understand  the 
deep  pathos  with  which  Galileo,  when 
questioned  as  to  his  belief  in  a  Supreme 
Being,  pointed  at  a  straw  on  the  floor  of 
his  dungeon  and  said :  "  From  the  struc- 


ture of  that  little  tube  alone  would  I  infer 
with  certainty  the  existence  of  a  wise 
Creator ! " 

Other  stems  grow  under  ground,  like 
our  bulbs,  whose  scales  are  the  real  leaves 
of  the  plants,  where  they  alone,  well  pro- 
tected from  cold  and  tempest,  live  through 
the  dreary  winter  season.  Or  they  are 
hid  by  the  water  in  which  they  live,  and 
then  frequently  reach  an  almost  incredible 
length.  Some  marine  Algae  have  been 
found  more  than  fifteen  hundred  feet 
long ;  they  branch  off*  as  they  approach 
the  surface,  until  they  form  a  floating 
mass  of  foliage,  hundreds  of  yards  square. 
These  stems  resemble  cords  in  every 
variety  of  form  and  twist,  and  are  used 
by  the  natives  of  the  north-west  coast, 
where  they  are  most  frequently  found, 
as  fishing  hnes — while  others  of  the  same 
kind  are  dried  to  serve  as  siphons,  or  are 
formed  by  the  natives  into  trumpets, 
with  which  they  collect  their  roving  cat- 
tle at  nightfall.  The  most  remarkable 
stem,  however,  of  all  more  common  plants, 
is  probably  that  of  the  Valisneria,  an 
aquatic  plant  which  grows  at  the  bottom 
of  rivers.  It  consists  of  long,  elastic 
cords,  twisted  like  a  corkscrew,  and  sends 
some  branches  up  to  the  surface,  whilo 
others  remain  below  and  are  completely 
submerged*  When  the  flowering  season 
approaches,  the  plant  shows  an  instinct 
so  closely  approaching  conscious  action  as 
to  startle  the  careful  observer.  Some 
flowers  also  are  produced  below,  where 
they  cannot  exhibit  the  beauty  of  their 
frail  blossoms ;  these  begin  to  stretch  and 
to  twist,  as  if  they  longed  for  the  bright 
sunshine  above,  and  at  last  they  'succeed 
in  breaking  loose  from  their  dark,  gloomy 
home.  In  an  instant,  they  rise  to  the 
surface,  being  lighter  than  water,  expand 
there  under  the  benign  influence  of  light 
and  air,  and  mingle  their  dust  with  other 
flowers,  which  are  already  floating  there. 
This  "  high  "  life  continues  until  the  seeds 
are  beginning  to  ripen,  when  the  elastic 
stems  contract  once  more,  and,  with  like 
wonderful  instinct,  carry  the  seed  vessels 
down  and  bury  them  in  the  watery  bed 
of  the  stream,  where  alone  they  can  hope 
to  find  all  the  requisites  for  their  future 
growth  and  welfare. 

The  stems  or  trunks,  finally,^  indicate 
in  all  long-lived  plants  the  age  with  un- 
erring accuracy.  Their  growth  being 
limited  only  by  external  causes,  the  years 
of  trees  are  seen  in  their  size,  and  this 
union  of  age  with  the  manifestation  of 
constantly  renewed  vigor,  is  a  charm  pe- 
culiar to  the  Life  of  Plants.  Animsds, 
however  curious,  beautiful  or  imposing^ 


578 


A  Biography — Pari  L 


[Ju 


have  still  a  limited  size  and  figure — plants 
alone  grow  without  limit,  and  bring  forth 
new  roots  and  new  branches  as  long  as 
they  live.  This  gives  to  very  ancient 
trees,  especially,  a  monumental  character, 
and  has  ever-inspired  nations  with  a  kind 
of  instinctive  reverence,  which  from  the 
days  of  antiquity  to  our  own  has  often 
degenerated  into  downright  worship.  Who 
has  not  heard  of  the  oaks  of  Mamre  and 
the  pilgrimages  made  to  them  from  the 
time  of  Abraham  to  that  of  Gonstantine — 
or  of  the  far-famed  cedars  of  Lebanon, 
which  have  always  been  distinguished  as 
objects  of  regard  and  veneration,  so  that 
no  threat  of  Sennacherib  was  more  dread- 
ed, than  that  ho  would  level  them  to  the 
ground?  Herodotus  dwells  with  de- 
lighted sympathy  on  the  marks  of 
respect  with  which  Xerxes  loaded  the 
famous  plane  tree  of  Lydia,  while  he 
decked  it  with  gold  ornaments  and  in-  • 
trusted  it  to  the  care  of  one  of  his  ten  thou- 
sand "  Immortals."  As  forest  trees  in- 
crease by  coatings  from  without,  the 
growth  of  each  year  forming  a  ring  round 
the  centre  of  Uie  stem,  the  number  of 
years  is  usually  ascertained — since  the 
well-known  author  Michel  Montaigne  first 
started  this  theory — by  counting  the  con- 
centric rings.  Care  must,  however,  be 
had  not  to  forget,  that  some  trees  begin 
to  form  these  only  after  several  years' 
growth,  and  that,  whilst  northern  trees 
shed  their  leaves  but  once  a  year,  and 
therefore  add  but  one  ring  during  that 
time,  those  of  the  Tropics  change  their 
foliage  twice  or  thrice  a  year,  and  form  as 
many  rings.  This  rend^  the  age  of 
such  tr^s,  as  were  heretofore  considered 
the  oldest,  somewhat  doubtful ;  still  there 
are  some  remarkable  cases  of  longevity 
well  authenticated.  Humboldt  measured 
a  gigantic  dragon  tree  near  the  peak  of 
Tenerifie,  and  found  it  possessed  of  the 
same  colossal  size,  forty-eight  feet  round, 
which  had  amazed  the  French  adven- 
turers, who  discovered  that  beautiful 
island  more  than  three  centuries  ago— 
and  yet  it  still  flourished  in  perpetual 
youth,  bearing  blossoms  and  fruit  with 
undiminished  vigor !  Some  yew  trees  of 
England,  and  one  or  two  oaJks,  claim  an 
age  of  from  one  thousand  four  hundred  to 
three  thousand  years,  and  would,  if  their 
claims  were  substantiated,  be  the  oldest 
trees  in  Europe — but  a  famous  Baobab 
on  the  banks  of  the  Senegal  is  believed  to 
be  more  than  six  thousand  years  old,  in 
which  case  its  seed  might  have  vegetated 
before  the  foot  of  man  trod  the  earth ! 
Its  only  rival  is  a  cypress  tree  in  the  gar- 
den of  Ohapultcpec,  which  Humboldt  con- 


siders still  older ;  it  had  already  icftdied 
a  great  age  in  the  days  of  Montezuma.  A 
curious  oki  age  ia  that  of  a  rose-bush  whidi 
grows  in  the  oypt  of  the  cathediml  of 
Hildesheim,  in  Germany ;  it  was  there 
planted  by  the  first  founder  of  the  diurdi, 
and  is  expressly  mentioned  in  the  MS. 
in  which  his  donation  and  the  building 
itself  is  described ;  it  also  flounsbes 
still,  and  bears  as  fragrant  roses  in  these 
years  of  change  and  revolution,  as  eight 
hundred  years  ago,  when  Qerniany  was 
one  and  great ! 

Most  plants  are  accustomed — we  hope 
not  for  their  sins — to  cover  themselves 
like  our  first  parents  with  leaves,  and  it 
is  well  established  now,  that  the  plant, 
properly  speaking,  consists  onlj  of  stem 
and  leaves — all  other  parts,  like  bnd& 
flowers  and  fruits,  being  only  modifiea 
forms  of  leaves.  These  are  mostly  green, 
and  the  depth  of  then-  color  is  an  indica- 
tion of  the  healthfulness  of  their  action. 
But  there  are  a  hundred  shades,  and 
the  color  invariably  contrasts  most  beau- 
tifully with  the  background,  on  whk^ 
the  plants  appear.  The  humble  moss 
shmes  with  its  brilliant  emerald  green  on 
the  dark  sides  of  rocks,  whilst  mushrooms 
display  their  gorgeous  scarlet  and  orange 
between  the  sombre  rugged  roots  of  the 
trees,  under  whose  shadow  they  love  to 
dwell.  The  glossy  color  of  the  ivy  looks 
all  the  mortf  cheerful  by  the  gray  l^k 
or  crumbling  ruins,  which  it  hid^  with 
the  folds  of  its  warm  mantle,  and  vies 
with  the  carpet  of  verdure  that  vines 
spread  over  old  turrets  or  the  fallen 
trunks  of  ancient  trees,  whilst  in  Fall  they 
reflect  permanently  the  gold  and  purple 
of  the  setting  sun.  But,  here  also,  beauty 
is  not  given  to  all  with  the  same  lavish 
hand.  Whilst  the  queenly  Victoria  floats 
its  richly-tinted  leaves  in  gorgeous  beauty 
on  the  dark  mirror  of  calm,  shady  lakes, 
the  poor  lichens  of  the  north  shiver  m 
their  scanty  coat:  my  and  withered  in 
the  shade,  they  look,  when  lighted  up  for 
a  brief  noonday  time,  like  gigantic  snow- 
crystalSj  and  cause  a  chilly  Judder.  In 
Australia^  where  all  extremes  meet,  from 
the  bird-fashioned  quadruped  to  the  mil- 
lionaire convict,  the  leaves  of  trees  and 
bushes  have  a  leathery  look  and  are  odd- 
ly twisted,  turning  Uieir  edges  up  and 
down,  instead  of  standing  horizontally  as 
with  us.  They  afford  no  shade,  and  are 
covered  with  a  white,  resinous  powder, 
which  gives  them  a  most  dismal  and  pal- 
lid appearance.  Yet — whatever  form 
leaves  may  assume — their  wonderful 
adaptation  to  their  great  duty  strikes  us 
in  aJl  plants  alike.    The  inunense  extent 


1854.] 


A  Biography— PaH  L 


dT0 


of  surface,  which  they  present  to  light 
and  lieat,  the  thinness  and  delicacy  of 
their  structure,  the  microscopic  beauty 
of  their  minute  apertures,  their  power  of 
breathing  in  and  out — all  answer  admira- 
bly the  great  purpose  of  exposing  the 
crude  sap,  that  rises  from  the  root,  to  the 
air  and  the  sun,  to  be  by  them  digested 
intct  highly  nutritious  food. 

All  leaves  chai^  their  color  in  autunm, 
when  a  peculiar  chemical  change  goes  on 
in  their  substance,  and  takes  the  bright, 
fresh  green  from  them,  to  leave  them  in 
sad-colored  livery,  or  to  clothe  them,  as  a 
parting  gift,  in  the  brilliant  drapery  of  an 
Indian  summer.  It  is  then  that,  espe- 
cially in  American  woods,  a  combmation 
of  hues  is  produced  which  no  painter  can 
hope  to  imitate,  when  the  maple  bums 
itself  away,  and  "  all  the  leaves  sparkle  in 
dazzling  splendor  with  downy  gold  colors 
dipped  in  heaven." — Not  a  less  variety 
may  be  perceived  in  the  $hape  of  leaves. 
Needle-shaped  in  northern  evergreens, 
they  are  there  gathered  like  .tiny  brushes 
to  collect  at  every  point  whatever  heat 
and  moisture  may  surround  them.  Plants 
growing  in  arid  places  or  high  mountains 
have  leaves  shaped  like  cups,  ^vith  broad 
channels  to  conduct  the  precious  fluid  to 
their  roots.  In  trees  bearing  cones  thev 
are  dry,  pointed  and  narrow;  they  sel- 
dom rustle,  being  silent ;  but,  as  a  com- 
pensation, they  are  ever  green.  Their 
high  polish  enables  them  to  reflect  what 
little  heat  they  can  gather  in  northern 
lands,  whilst  the  light  may  still  pass  be- 
tween them  withifase.  On  catkin- bearing 
tre^s  they  are  broad  and  tender,  so  that 
the  gentlest  wind  gives  them  motion  and 
sound,  a  charm  wholly  wanting  in  ever- 
greens ;  but  their  time  is  short,  and  thev 
perish  after  a  season !  As  we  approach 
the  Equator,  we  find  leaves  without  po- 
lish, so  as  to  reflect  no  heat,  placed  hori- 
zontally to  form  a  shading  roof.  They 
grow  broader  and  larger,  with  every  degree, 
until  the  cocoa-palm  has  them  more  than 
one  foot  square,  and  a  single  leaf  of  the 
tallipot-palra  of  Ceylon  can  cover  a  whole 
family.  Those  of  the  waxy  palm  of 
South  America  are,  moreover,  so  imper- 
meable to  moisture,  that  they  are  used  as 
coverings  for  houses,  and  have  been  known- 
to  stand  all  the  vicissitudes  of  the  weather 
for  more  than  twenty  years,  without  being 
renewed.  They  thus  form  a  screen  bjr 
day,  a  tent  by  night,  and  become  emi- 
nently useful  in  a  land  which  is  half  the 
year  burnt  by  a  scorehmg  sun,  and  the 
other  half  completely  under  water.  In 
like  manner  will  leaves  change  according 
to  the  wants  of  the  tree,  whose  ornament 


and  best  servants  they  are  at  the  same 
time.  The  oak  of  our  mountains  has 
thick,  broad  leaves — that  of  the  sea-shore, 
which  we  call  willow  and  live  oak,  is 
satisfied  with  thin  narrow  leaves.  The 
honeysuckle  changes  them  at  will  into 
tendrils,  the  pea  into  hands  with  three  or 
five  fingers,  with  which  to  grasp  its  sup- 
port, this  only  when  it  has  reached  a  cer- 
tain height,  and  needs  the  latter;  the 
passion  flower  converts  them  into  a  cork- 
screw, whilst  the  common  nasturtium  is 
content  with  a  simple  hook  at  the  end  of 
the  leaf.  Their  arrangement  also  around 
stem  and  branches  is  not  left  to  accident : 
a  distinguished  mathematician  of  our 
Cambridge  once  astonished  a  large  and 
learned  audience  not  a  little,  when  he 
informed  them  that  plants  knew  mathe- 
matics, and  arranged  their  leaves  accord- 
ing to  fixed  rules.  A  spiral  line  drawn 
from  the  base  of  one  leaf,  around  the 
stem,  to  that  of  another,  shows  regular 
intervals  between  them,  which  vary  in 
different  plants,  but  are  in  each  carefully 
and  strictly  observed. 

The  great  purpose  of  life  in  leaves  is 
to  carry  on  their  most  active  and  im« 
portant  vital  function — their  respiration. 
They  are  the  lungs  of  plants,  not  con- 
densed, as  in  man,  in  one  organ,  but 
scattered  independently  in  countless  num- 
bers over  the  branches.  For  the  purpose 
of  breathing  they  are  endowed  with  in- 
numerable and  often  invisible  little  open- 
ings, commonly  on  both  sides — in  aquatic 
plants,  however,  whose  leaves  float  on  the 
surface  of  the  water,  only  on  the  upper 
side.  In  the  cactus  tribe  they  are  al- 
most wholly  wanting,  hence  the  latter  are 
so  succulent,  because  they  retain  all  the 
fluid  that  their  roots  have  sucked  up,  and 
exhale  nothing.  Their  activity  is,  of 
course,  a  twofold  one,  as  they  both  take 
in  and  give  out  without  ceasing.  They 
inhale  atmospheric  air,  appropriate  its 
carbon  for  the  formation  of  their  juices, 
and  return  the  separated  and  disengagea 
oxygen  in  the  form  of  gas.  This  process, 
however,  can  only  go  on  during  daytime, 
as  light  is  indispensable — and  is  perform- 
ed by  all  the  green  parts  of  a  plant 
alike.  It  is  this  incessant  labor,  which 
makes  plants  not  only  an  ornament  of 
our  earth  and  a  food  for  man  and  cattle, 
but  renders  them  so  eminently  useful  in 
the  great  household  of  Nature.  Tii»y 
absorb  the  carbon,  that  man  cannot 
breathe,  and  furnish,  in  return,  the  oxygen, 
without  which  he  cannot  exist ;  thus  vir- 
tually, by  their  industry,  rendering  the 
atmosphere  fit  for  the  support  of  Animal 
Life.    Besides  the  exhalation  of  oxygen, 


580 


A  Biography — Pari  L 


[JoiM 


the  leaves  also  evaporate  nearly  two- 
thirds  of  the  water  which  the  roots  have 
imbibed,  and  sent  up  to  them  through  the 
interior  of  the  plant.  The  moment,  how- 
ever, this  now  perfectly  pure  water  is  ex- 
haled, it  is  dissolved  in  the  air  and  be- 
comes invisible  to  the  eye. 

Another  duty,  which  the  leaves  of 
plants  perform  with  still  greater  energy, 
is  the  drawing  of  water  from  the  atmos- 
phere. They  drink  it  m,  from  the  first 
moment  of  their  short  life,  to  the  last  day, 
by  all  possible  means  and  contrivances. 
The  young  leaves,  as  yet  wholly  or  in 
part  rolled  up.  are  but  so  many  cups  or 
spoons,  turned  to  heaven  to  gather  all  the 
moisture  they  can  hold.  As  the  young  . 
plants  grow,  they  unfold  leaf  after  leaf^ 
and  all  perform  the  same  duty  with  the 
same  eagerness.  From  the  cedar  of  Leba- 
non down  to  the  bashful  violet,  each  plant 
holds  forth  its  gigantic  mass  of  foliage  or 
its  tiny  goblet,  to  have  it8  share  of  the 
precious  moisture.  All  are  greedy  con- 
sumers of  water,  and  know  how  to  ob- 
tain it,  by  some  peculiar,  as  yet  unknown 
process,  even  in  such  regions  of  the  Trop- 
ics, where  for  half  the  year  no  cloud 
darkens  the  ever-serene  sky,  and  where 
not  even  dew  is  given  to  refresh  the  pant- 
ing vegetation.  Their  power,  in  this  re- 
spcct)  is  as  great  as  it  is  mysterious.  The 
most  succulent  plants  of  the  Tropics  cling 
to  the  faces  of  barren  clilTs,  or  rise  from 
dry,  dust-like  sand.  It  is  true,  thtir 
leaves  contain  both  caoutchouc  and  wax, 
and  are  covered  with  a  thin  layer  of  these 
substances,  as  with  a  water-proof  cloak, 
to  prevent  evaporation  under  a  burning 
sun.  Some  plants,  however,  support 
themselves  not  only,  but  actually  increase 
in  weight  when  suspended  in  the  air,  and 
unconnected  with  any  soil,  as  the  common 
houseleak  and  the  aloe.  The  so-called 
air-plant,  perhaps  the  most  remarkable 
of  the  whole  vegetable  kingdom,  is  but  a 
single  leaf,  without  stem  or  root,  and  yet 
it  is  able  to  maintain  life,  to  grow  and  to 
blossom,  if  only  hung  up  in  a  warm  and 
damp  atmosphere,  though  it  be  not  even 
in  contact  with  any  other  substance.  It 
puts  out  buds,  these  become  leaves,  drop 
tiny  roots  into  the  air,  and  soon  exist  as 
independent  plants. 

And  here  again  we  cannot  help  observ- 
Ihg,  how  quietly  the  work  of  Nature  is 
going  on,  unsuspected  and  unheeded  by 
us.  The  innumerable  leaves  of  our  forest 
and  arbor  trees  form  a  vast  summer 
laboratory,  in  which  the  great  work  of 
plants  is  incessantly  continued,  and  which 
contributes,  to  an  incalculable  extent,  to 
the  support  and  the  health  of  all  animal 


existence.    They  afibrd  us  thns  another 
of  the  thousand  proofs  of  creative  design. 
which  we  may,  at  a  glance,  obtain  from  the 
vegetable  world.    They  labor  and  work 
for  themselves  apparently  all  the  while, 
but  render  the  earth  and  all  life  there- 
on invaluable  service.    Even  when  they 
greedily  draw  up  all  moisture  by  roots 
or  leaves,  they  become  our  benefactors. 
The  despised  mosses  hold  up  their  little 
cups  to  drink  in.  the  waters  of  heaven, 
and  make  most  ample  return    for    its 
bounty.    They  clothe  the  steep  sides  of 
lofty  hills  and  mountain  ranges,  and  their 
densely-crowded  delicate  leaflets  attract 
and  condense  the  watery  vapors  constant- 
ly floating  in  the  au*,  and  thus  become 
the  living  fountains  of  many   a  proud 
stream.     The  tall  trees  of  the  forest  draw 
down  the  rain-flllcd  cloud,  as  the  light- 
ning-rod invites  the  thunder  cloud,  and 
the  moisture  so  distilled  is  condensed  into 
little  streamlets  which  trickle  down  from 
twig  and  bough,  even  when  the  ground  itt 
dry  and  dusty.    This  gives  fertility  also 
to  adjoining  fields.     The  heavy,  damp 
air,  gathered  by  the  woods,  sinks  down 
as  fog  or  mist  when  the  still  cool  evening 
comes,  and  rich  dew  pearls  in  the  morn- 
ing on  the  meadows  and  refreshes  the 
fields.    Trees  thus  affect  materially  the 
climate  and  general  character  of  countries. 
Thickly-wooded  regions,  like  our  own  con- 
tinent, are  colder  and  more  humid  than 
cultivated  or  broad  treeless  savannahs; 
they  abound  in  rain  and  fertile  dew ;  and 
to  cut  down  our  trees  is  seriously  to  im- 
pair the  supply  fumi^ed  by  them   to 
springs  and  rivers.    Some  lainds  wolild 
not  be  habitable  but  for  trees.    In  one  of 
the  Canarie^  neither  springs  nor  rivers 
are  found ;  but  there  grows  a  lai^  tall 
tree,  called  with  veneration  the  Saint^  in 
some  of  the  deep  recesses  of  the  moun- 
tains.   It  keeps  its  lofty  head  all  night 
long  wrapped  up  in  mist  and  clouds,  from 
which  it  dispenses  its  timely,  never-oeas- 
ing  moisture  m  little  rivulets,  running 
merrily  down   from  the  leaves.    Smau 
reservoirs  are  built  for  the  purpose  of 
catching  the  precious  gift,  and  thus  alone 
the  island  is  made  a  fit  dwelling-plaee  for 
man. 

Humbler  plants  store  up  water  in 
smaller  quantities,  but  not  the  less  pure  or 
welcome.  The  melon  cactuses  have  been 
called  the  vegetable  fountains  of  the 
desert  because  they  conceal  under  their 
hideous  prickly  envelope,  covered  with 
dry  lichens,  an  ample  supply  of  watery 
pith.  The  great  Humboldt  tells  us 
graphically,  how,  in  the  dry  season,  when 
all  life  has  fled  from  the  pampas,, and 


J1854.] 


A  Biographv — Part  /. 


58t 


even  snakes  lie  buried  in  the  dried-op 
mud,  the  wild  mule,  perishing  with  thirst, 
gallops  up  to  the  ill-shapcn  plants,  strikes 
with  its  hoofs  at  the  powerful  prickles, 
until  it  has  made  an  opening,  and  then 
warily  approaches  with  long  protruding 
lips,  to  drink  the  well-defended,  cool  and 
refreshing  juice.  Brazil,  also,  has  a  plant — 
the  Rainy  one,  it  is  called — which  is  re- 
markable for  a  constant  flow  of  water  from 
the  points  of  its  leaves,  which  falls  upon  the 
parched  ground  like  a  gentle  shower  of 
rain-drops.  Quite  a  number  of  plants,  it 
is  well  known,  have  regular  pitchers,  in 
which  they  accumulate  moisture — some 
fiom  within,  and  others  by  holding  them 
open  in  rain  or  damp  weather  and  closing 
a  curiously-fashioned  lid,  when  they  are 
filled.  Such  are  the  side-saddle  flower 
of  our  own  country,  with  leaves  like 
pitchers,  covered  with  a  top,  half  full  of 
water ;  the  monkey-cup  of  South  Ameri- 
ca, to  which  it  was  once  believed  the  mon- 
keys resorted  to  quench  their  thirst,  and 
the  distilling  nepenthe,  which  holds  up 
its  capacious  and  elegantly-formed  pitch- 
ers, full  of  a  cool,  colorless  water,  in  the 
burning  sands  of  the  desert.  A  few  trees 
change  the  nature  of  the  *  fluid,  and  one, 
the  cow- tree,  is  even  good  enou;!,h  to  sat- 
isfy hunger  as  well  as  tjiirst  It  yields  a 
rich,  bland  and  oily  juice,  closely  resem- 
bling milk,  and  that  in  sufficient  abun- 
dance to  refresh  and  to  satisfy  the  hun- 
ger of  several  persons.  But  if  the  leaves 
of  plants  are  so  industriously  and  inces- 
santly at  work,  it  must  not  be  forgotten, 
that  some  go  regularly  to  rest,  and  sleep 
so  profoundly  that  in  a  clover-field  not  a 
leaf  opens  until  after  sunrise,  and  others 
in  South  America  are  universally  known 
as  the  "  aleepersy  Most  mimosas  fold 
up  their  delicate,  feathery  leaves,  as  night 
approaches,  and  when  the  sun  rises  once 
more,  the  little  sleeping  ones  unfold  again, 
slowly,  and,  as  it  were,  reluctant,  like 
some  of  us,  to  begin  their  work  anew.  It 
has  even  been  observed,  that  these  so- 
called  sensitive  plants,  when  wounded  or 
otherwise  suffering,  cannot  sleep,  but  keep 
their  leaves  open  and  erect  all  night  long, 
until  they  perish.  Other  plants  close 
their  leaves  during  the  day,  and  awake 
from  their  slumbers  at  night,  while  a  few 
even  droop  and  clasp  the  stem,  as  if  seek- 
ing support  in  its  strength,  whenever 
the  sky  is  overcast  and  a  storm  is  threat- 
ening. 

This  peculiar  faculty  of  sleep,  stands  in 
immediate  connection  with  the  general 
power  of  certain  leaves  to  move,  either 
upon  coming  in  contact  with  other  bodies, 
or.    apparently,  in  spontaneous  motioii. 


All  the  above-mentioned  mimosas  fold  op 
their  leaves,  when  merely  touched ;  first 
onehttle  leaflet  will  be  closed,then  another, 
until  the  whole  leaf  proper,  with  its  deli- 
cate footstalk,  droops  down  and  clasps  the 
stem  of  the  parent  If  the  plant  be  very 
irritable — and  nervousness  is  liere  found 
to  be  in  proportion  to  good  health — the 
other  leaves  will  follow  the  example,  until 
the  whole  little  plant  plays,  to  use  a  Vir- 
ginia phrase,  *•  possum,"  and  looks,  for  all 
the  world,  as  if  it  were  asleep.  The  oxalis 
of  this  continent  requires  several  succes- 
sive strokes  to  produce  the  same  effect, 
and  the  robinia,  our  locust,  which  sleeps 
at  night,  must  be  riolently  shaken.  The 
common  wild  lettuce,  also,  shows  a  great 
irritability,  and,  curiously  enough,  only 
when  the  plant  is  in  flower.  Upon  being 
touched,  the  leaves  contract  beneath,  and 
force  out,  above,  a  milky  juice,  ynih.  which 
they  soon  become  covered. 

The  so-called  spontaneous  movements 
of  leaves  and  other  parts  of  plants  arise 
mostly,  though  not  always,  from  their  gen- 
eral tendency  to  turn  towards  the  light 
Little  is  as  yet  known  with  accuracy  of 
this  interesting  feature  in  the  life  of 
plants.  A  great  number  of  leaves,  how- 
ever, alter  their  position  by  night  and  by 
day.  Some  make  a  half,  some  a  quarter 
revolution,  and  then  turn  their  points 
downward.  Others  again  fold  up,  in 
regular  order,  the  youngest  leaf  first,  as 
if  it  required  most  rest,  whilst  the  oldest 
are  apt  to  do  entirely  without  it  In 
other  plants  it  is  the  state  of  the  atmos- 
phere, which  determines  such  movements 
— the  beards  of  the  geranium  and  the  wild 
oat,  curl  up  in  dry  weather,  and  straighten 
again  in  damp  days— other  plants  do  the 
contrary.  The  hygrometrica  of  South 
America  closes  the  leaflets  of  its  finely 
pinnated  foliage  long  before  the  clouds  rise, 
and  thus  foretells  the  impending  change 
of  the  weather,  and  the  plant,  known  among 
us  as  the  fly-trap,  is  called  in  its  homo  on 
the  warm  plains  on  the  banks  of  the 
Senegal,  the  good-morning  flower,  be- 
cause at  that  season  of  the  day  it  grace- 
fulQr  bends  over  and  lowers  to  the  passer- 
by. On  the  banks  of  the  Ganges,  how- 
ever, exists  a  vegetable  form,  so  quick  of 
life  as  to  resemble  some  of  the  minor  ani- 
mals in  its  motion.  The  leaflets  of  this 
singular  plant  are  in  perpetual  motion: 
one  leaflet  will  rise  by  a  succession  of 
little  starts  and  then  fall  in  like  manner ; 
while  one  rises,  another  droops,  and  thus 
the  motion  continues  and  extends  over  the 
whole  foliage.  Nor  does  it  cease  at  night ; 
in  fact  it  is  said  to  be  more  vigorous  even 
in  the  shade,  and  in  the  still,  hot  hours  of 


582  7%e  Garden  Walk.  |7nif 

an  Indian  summer-night  the  plant  is  full  above,  and  thus  seizes  upon  the  unlodgr 
of  life  and  incessant  motion.  Not  less  sin-  robber.  We  can  speak  no  longer  of 
gular  is  the  action — for  it  is  more  than  mo-  sweet  innocent  flowers — for  so  fond  are 
tion — of  plants,  like  Venus's  fly-trap  and  these  blood-thirsty  plants  of  their  fiivonte 
others.  The  flowers  are  covered  with  delicacies,  that  they  will  not  thrive  in 
sweet  honey,  and  thus  allure  many  an  green-houses  from  which  insects  are  ex- 
unfortunate  insect,  which  has  no  sooner  eluded,  and  gardeners  have  been  compelled 
touched  the  sweet  store,  than  the  plant  to  supply  them,  strange  as  it  may  sound, 
moves  either  the  lon^  stiff  hairs,  which  literally  with  animal  food,  to  see  them 
grow  along  the  middle  nerve,  or  clases  thrive  and  blossom  as  in  their  natiTe 
its  crown  of  gorgeously  colored  leaves  home! 


THE    GARDEN    WALK. 

I  SAUNTERED  down  the  garden  walk, 
Where  she  beneath  the  trees  was  sitting. 
The  faint  May  shadows  round  her  flitting, 
As  some  leaf  moved  upon  its  stalk. 

The  apple  blossoms,  falling  slow. 
Had  nestled  mid  her  sunny  tresses, 
Till  it  seemed  wondrous  such  caresses 

Did  never  melt  such  seeming  snow. 

She  read  a  book  upon  her  knee, 

I  knew  'twas  mine.    One  white  hand  listless 
Drooped  o'er  the  page  with  grace  resistless, 

As  she  had  died  to  all  save  me ! 

About  her  fell,  half  gold,  half  gray, 
Shadow  and  sun,  through  young  leaves  sifted^ 
While  she,  with  delicate  heisui  unlifted, 

Seemed  some  unblossomed  bud  of  May. 

The  very  birds  themselves  were  dumb, 
And  through  the  foliage  peeped  in  wonder, 
At  that  fair  student  shape  that  under 

In  search  of  quietude  had  come. 

I  stepped  upon  the  soundless  moss 
And  crept  behind  with  muffled  breathing, 
My  fingers  o'er  her  eyelids  wreathing. 

And  veiling  all  her  sight  across. 

"Wilt  have  him,  who  behmd  thee  stands?" 
I  cried,  half  laughing,  to  the  matden ; 
And  she,  in  voice  with  music  laden. 

Cried,  "  Take,  oh  I  take  away  thy  hands ! 

"  I  do  not  blush  to  speak  my  soul, 
Nor  need  a  veil  before  my  features. 
I  love  you  beat  of  all  God's  creatures, 

And  feel  no  shame  to  tell  the  whole." 

And  then  she  nestled  to  my  side 

And  told  me  all  her  soul  had  coffered ; 
The  sun  fell  round  us  as  I  ofiered 

My  heart,  and  she  with  hers  relied. 


1854.] 


58t 


OOSAS  DE   ESPAfTA. 
(Continiied  from  pago  49&) 


vn. 


THE  RAMBLA  kSJ)  THE  MURALLA  D£  TIERRA. 

BARCELONA  is  the  city  of  promenades. 
Lot  all  amateurs  of  the  walk  go  there, 
and  they  will  find  opportunities  for  their 
favorite  amusement  unsurpassed  by  those 
of  any  town  in  Europe.  First  is  the  imita- 
ble  Rambla.  Here  are  the  principal  hotels, 
the  theatres,  the  caf6s,  the  post-offlce,  the 
college,  the  library,  the  clubs,  the  reading 
rooms,  the  fruit  and  flower  markets ;  and 
here  at  different  hours  of  the  day,  or  in 
different  parts  of  the  walk,  are  to  be  met 
all  classes  and  conditions  of  men,  from 
hidalgos  to  gypsies,  from  Dulcineas  to 
ragazzas.  Even  the  day-laborers  who 
take  up  their  stand  at  certain  points  in 
the  spacious  avenue,  add  to  its  pictu- 
resqueness.  Of  these  none  are  more 
noticeable  than  the  whitewashers,  a 
group  of  whom  may  be  seen  at  almost 
any  hour  at  their  particular  rendezvous ; 
and  whoso  long  brushes  rise  in  the  air  al- 
most high  enough  to  remind  one  of  the 
masts  in  the  great  square  of  Venice.  But 
picturesque  as  they  are  at  a  distance,  on 
coming  near  enough  to  inspect  their  per- 
sons, one  is  tempted  to  suggest  to  them 
that  they  would  do  a  very  sensible  thing 
if  they  would  set  to  and  whitewash  one 
another.  Yet  whatever  may  be  the  con- 
dition of  their  persons,  their  dress  is 
always  of  the  gayest.  A  whitewasher's 
gamboUj  in  which  during  the  winter 
months  he  stands  wrapped  liko  a  Roman 
in  his  toga,  is  bright  with  more  colori — 
the  red  predominating — than  ever  was 
Joseph's.  A  cloak  by  day,  it  is  a  blan- 
ket at  night  It  is  wardrobe  and  bed- 
furniture  ;  mat  and  umbrella.  He  makes 
as  much  show  with  it  as  a  peacock  with 
his  tail.  And  well  may  he  be  proud  of 
it,  for  this  and  his  brush  constitute  well 
nigh  his  earthly  all.  This  winter  cloak 
is  worn  by  all  the  lower  classes;  and 
though  used  for  all  sorts  of  purposes,  it 
must  be  acknowledged,  to  the  credit  of 
the  wearers,  that  it  generally  has  a  clean 
look.  The  colors  seem  too  bright  to  be 
susceptible  of  tarnish.  Add  to  this  uni- 
versal garment  a  pair  of  breeches,  which 
may  be  plush — a  pair  of  leggings,  which 
may  be  leathern — white  hempen  sandals 
— and  a  brilliant  kerchief  twisted  gayly 
around  the  brows — and  you  have  l^iore 
you  that  coxcomb  of  day-laborers,  the 
Barcelonese. 

But  he  has  a  rival  in  the  Catalan  peas- 
ant, who  comes  in  from  the  country.  This 


fellow  is  all  velvet.  He  is  nothing  if  not 
tag  and  tassel.  And  yet  he  might  better 
be  described  as  a  walking  pair  of  trousers. 
These  come  fully  up  to  his  armpits,  redu- 
cing the  length  of  his  suspender  to  a 
span ;  and  they  descend  to  his  feet  with 
such  ample  folds  that,  if  inflated  with 
^as,  they  would  bear  aloft  the  wearer  as 
m  a  double  balloon.  His  feet  are  in  san- 
dals ;  his  breast  is  covered  with  a  short, 
richly  wrought  vest ;  a  braided  and  but- 
toned jacket  is  thrown  jauntily  over  his  left 
shoulder ;  and  a  long  woollen  gorro,  red 
as  heart's  blood,  or  purple  as  the  dye 
of  Tyre,  either  hangs  down  ovei^  one 
ear,  or  is  folded  regally  up  oft  the  fore- 
head. 

But  more  than  by  the  red  gambote  of 
the  hireling,  or  the  dark  velvets  of  the 
mountaineer,  will  the  stranger's  eye  be 
attracted  by' the  gay  moladoa  of  the  peas- 
ant girls,  and  the  unadorned  heads  of  the 
town  ragazzas.  He  will  not  fall  in  love 
indeed  with  either  of  them — for  they  are 
just  a  hairbreadth  too  tall.  To  tell  the 
truth,  they  border  on  the  strapping.  Not 
fltted  to  excite  the  passion  of  love  in  any 
but  vulgar  breasts,  they  are  made  to  give 
suck  to  a  half-gigantic  race  of  hewers  of 
wood  and  drawers  of  water.  Still,  if  you 
look  sharply  enough,  you  will  not  fail  of 
finding,  here  and  there,  a  ragazza  suffi- 
ciently picoto  to  please  your  fancy,  and 
to  miJce  the  promenade  graceful.  Unlike 
the  maid  of  softer  Andalusia,  the  Catalo- 
nian  does  not  deck  her  hair  with  fiowers. 
It  is  itself  its  only  ornament.  Black, 
flossy,  abundant,  it  needs  no  other  adom- 
mg.  She  wears  her  head  uncovered  by 
a  veil.  No  mantilla  graces  her  shoulders. 
Her  robe  is  a  simple  calico.  Only  Uie 
large  heavy  Moorish  ear-rings  of  amethyst 
or  emerald  set  ofi'her  natural  beauty,  and 
prove  her  not  destitute  of  the  vanity  of  a 
woman.  You  are  half  pleased.  And,  at 
last,  when  you  observe,  how  well  she 
walks — how.  easily  and  modestly  she  car- 
ries herself;  when  you  get  a  chance  of 
seehig  how  well  her  shoe  fits,  and  how 
neatly  her  hand  is  gloved,  you  hesitate  no 
longer.  Buying  the  neatest  bouquet  at 
hand,  you  despatch  the  first  errand  boy 
you  meet  with  after  the  fair  promenader, 
to  present  with  your  offering  of  flowers 
the  humble  and  respectful  compliments 
of  an  Eatrangero.  Of  course,  the  thing 
IS  utterly  absurd— or  would  be  out  of 
Spain ;  but  you  don't  think  twice  of  it, 
and  go  on  your  way  as  if  nothing  had 
happened. 


£84 


Coma  de  Espafla. 


PlIBt 


But  let  us  pass  the  gate  and  leave  the 
town  behind.  As  we  cross  by  the  draw- 
bridge beyond  moat  and  mound,  we  find 
ourselves  on  the  promenade  of  the  Muralla 
de  tierra — a  broad  belt  of  green  lying  be- 
tween the  walls  and  the  open  country. 
This  is  thrown  like  a  scarf  around  the 
city,  encircling  it  on  all  sides,  excepting 
that  which  looks  to  the  sea.  It  makes  a 
spacious  promenade  for  both  pedestrians 
and  equestrians ;  while  outside  of  it  runs 
a  road  for  carriages. 

It  is  a  winter  morning ;  but  the  sun 
shines  warmly  out  of  a  cloudless  sky  upon 
a  greensward  decked  with  daisies,  and 
upon  broad  fields  of  waving  wheat  be- 
yond. As  we  wind  up  the  hill  to  the 
overhanging  fortress  of  Monjuich,  how  fair 
the  scene !  Below  us  in  the  near  distance 
the  limestone-built  town  reflects  the  yel- 
low sunlight.  On  one  side  it  is  washed 
by  the  blue  Mediterranean,  and  on  the 
other  it  is  skirted  by  the  green  fields  of 
the  country.  In  the  harbor  rides  at 
anchor  a  small  fleet  of  vessels.  In  the 
offing  are  seen  a  goodly  number  of  sails 
bearing  in  for  the  port;  a  government 
steamer  is  running  up  the  coast  to  look 
for  smugglers ;  and  the  fishing  boats 
which  .went  off*  at  day-break  are  already 
bringing  in  their  freights  for  the  hour  of 
dinner.  K  turning  from  the  pleasant  sight 
of  the  sea,  we  look  along  the  winding 
shore,  we  see  it  thickly  settled  with  bright 
colored  towns  and  villages.  Hamlets 
innumerable  and  cits'  boxes  hang  suspen- 
ded half-way  up  the  sides  of  the  moun- 
tains, which  here  run  parallel  with  the 
shore.  And  over  the  tops  of  the  more 
distant  ranges  behind,  hangs  the  white 
fringe  of  that  mantle  of  snows  whkh  now 
overspreads  the  North. 

Retracing  our  footsteps,  we  meet  gei^- 
tlemen  prancing  on  Andalusian  horses 
over  the  green ;  we  see  oompanies  of  sol- 
diers, both  foot  and  horse,  exercising  on 
the  broad  parade  grounds ;  we  hear  the 
roll  of  practising  drummers ;  and  if  we 
stop  on  our  way  too  near  the  ramparts, 
we  are  ordered  to  move  on  by.  the  sentinel 
stationed  on  the  inner  wall.  Crowds  of 
idlers  are  attracted  outside  the  walls  to 
see  the  drill  and  listen  to  the  music.  Beg- 
gars, leaving  their  trade  in  town,  come 
here  to  change  the  scene,  and  bask  like' 
vermin  in  the  sunshine.  Unemployed  la- 
borers come  out  to  make  a  holiday  by 
sitting  about  in  squads  on  the  grass,  or 
lying  asleep  on  the  sunny  banks.  And 
so  gay  and  picturesque  is  the  costume  of 
the  lower  classes,  so  graceful  and  easy 
arc  their  attitudes,  that  wherever  as  many 
as  three  of  them  either  sit  or  stand  toge- 


ther, it  makes  a  group  worthy  of  being 
transferred  to  canvas. 

At  the  hour  of  nopn  many  of  them  wOI 
be  seen  in  places  a  little  retired  from  town 
collected  in  families  around  their  dinner. 
The  earthen  pot  has  been  set  up  on  three 
stones,  a  few  sticks  and  .dried  grape-yines 
have  been  placed  under  it  to  make  the  fin^ 
At  first  the  stranger  wonders  how  any 
thing  oould  be  cooked  by  the  use  of  ao 
little  fuel ;  but  he  soon  learns  that  it  is 
the  sun  which  makes  the  pot  boil  in  this 
country.  At  any  rate,  by  twelve  o'ckxdc 
the  dinner  is  always  forthcoming.  Cloaks 
are  spread  on  the  turf  around  the  steam- 
ing tripod.  The  father  reclines  on  his 
elbow ;  the  children  lie  and  sit  about  in 
every  conceivable  posture  which  is  not 
constrained  or  awkward.  The  mother 
serves  on  plates  of  tin  the  simple  pot-la<^ 
It  is  probably  beans.  If  not  that^  it  is  & 
vegetable  olio,  in  which  all  kinds  of  greens 
are  commingled.  The  substance  of  it  will 
be  cabbage ;  but  the  soul  and  relish  of  it 
is  garlic.  An  enormous  tortdl  loaf 
furnishes  a  supply  of  bread ;  oil  is  the 
only  additional  condiment;  and  wine 
takes  the  place  of  both  meat  and  water. 

The  physiologists  say  the  pure  juice  of 
the  grape  produces  in  the  animal  economy 
the  same  ultimate  eJQTects  as  roast  beef 
Napoleon's  soldiers,  we  know,  made  the 
tour  of  Europe  on  biscuit  and  brandy ; 
and  these  powerful  Spanish  frames  are 
reared  from  wine  and  onions.  One  thing 
is  certain,  that  the  Catalonian  is  too  poor 
to  have  his  joint  of  meat  at  dinner ;  and 
if  he  can  get  the  same  result  from  his 
bottle  of  vino  ordinario,  which  costs  him 
tuu)ence,  it  would  be  rather  a  hard  case 
to  oring  him  under  any  '*  teetotal  ^  law. 
To  take  away  his  porron^  would,  in  &et, 
be  taking  the  chicken  out  of  his  pot. 
However,  the  millennium  of  "  total  absti- 
nence" not  having  yet  dawned  on  the 
Spanish  coasts,  and  being  probably  des- 
tined to  bless  only  the  brandy  and  whiskey 
latitudes,  there  is  a  prospect  that  the 
happy  natives  of  these  wine-lands  will 
continue  to  sit  for  generations  to  come  in  the 
pleasant  and,  in  their  case,  very  innocent 
shade  of  their  own  vines  and  fig-trees. 

But  upon  entering  the  town,  let  us  sur- 
vey this  crowd  outside  the  Puerta  del  An- 
geL  It  is  a  hackney-coach  stand — if  such 
carriages  as  these  may  be  described  by 
so  dignified  an  appellation.  Strictly  speak* 
ing,  they  are  two-wheeled  carts,  with  a 
leathern  cover  to  keep  off  sun  and  rajn, 
and  an  entrance  from  behind  like  an  om- 
nibus. They  are  drawn  by  one  horse  or 
mule,  or  by  half  a  dozen  of  them,  and 
generally  with  a  good  degree  of  speed. 


1864.] 


Comu  de  JSqMifla, 


585 


Indeed,  they  go  altogether  too  fast  for 
comfort.  For  the  carriage  being  well  nigh 
destitute  of  springs,  and  the  roads  being, 
for  the  most  part,  as  uneven  as  the  waves 
of  the  sea,  the  passenger  is  most  unnier- 
cifnlly  jolted.  The  natives  seem  to  like 
the  fun  of  being  so  "  knocked  into  cocked 
hats ; "  and  go  gayly  over  the  road  at  a 
pace  which  would  make  a  jelly  of  a  for- 
eigner. My  advice  would  be  always  to 
keep  out  of  them.  For  now  the  dust  is 
wheel-rim  deep— just  about  as  deep  as  the 
mud  on  the  Boulevards  when  T  left  Paris ; 
and  after  the  first  rain — should  it  ever  rain 
again  in  Barcelona — what  is  now  dust  will 
be  turned  to  still  deeper  mire. 

There  are  so  many  carriages  on  the 
station  that  the  drivers  of  them,  besides 
furnishing  a.  certain  quota  to  sleep  on 
their  coach-boxes,  and  another  to  watch 
at  the  gate  for  passengers,  lie  about  in 
such  numbers  as  to  cover  half  an  Acre  of 
greensward.  There  they  play  at  cards 
and  coppers.  They  squeeze  a  bottle  toge- 
ther or  peel  an  onion.  With  sunlight  and 
a  paper  cigar  they  seem  perfectly  happy. 
Every  one  takes  care  to  be  ready  for 
business  when  his  turn  comes,  but  until 
that  time  he  is  as  independent  as  a  beggar. 
The  sunny  day  is  never  too  long  for  him. 
If  without  work,  he  talks  and  sings. 
He  cracks  his  whip.  He  trades  horses. 
The  sod  is  soft  to  his  back  ;' and  with  his 
bright  eyes,  he  can  even  look  the  noonday 
sun  in  the  face  without  winking.  Curl- 
ing himself  up  in  his  faithful  cloak,  he 
sleeps  the  hours  away,  if  he  happens  to 
be  an  old  stager  *,  or  wrapping  it  cavalierly 
around  him,  in  case  he  is  one  of  the  b'hoys, 
he  plays  the  gallant  to  the  damsels  who 
pass  the  gate.  He  may  not  earn  us  much 
money  as  his  brother  of  Paris  or  London, 
but,  surely,  his  is  no  harder  lot.  He  does 
not  wear  out  either  himself  or  his  beast  ^ 
with  too  much  work;  nor  ever  dies  a" 
broken-down  hack — the  one  or  the  other. 


THE   MURALLA    DEL   MAR   AND    LOVE-MAK- 
ING. 

The  walks  about  the  city  of  Barcelona, 
such  as  those  through  the  Rambla,  around 
the  Muralla  de  tierra,  to  Monjuich,  to 
the  Cementirio,  to  Gracia,  to  the  gardens 
of  San  Beltran,  to  the  fountains  of  Tro- 
bada,  to  the  torres  y  huertas,  and  to 
the  mountains,  may  be  enjoyed  every  fine 
day  in  winter — that  is  to  say,  every  nine 
days  out  of  ten.  But  to  go  to  the  Mu" 
rcUla  del  Mar,  one  must  select  a  holiday. 
Then  sU  the  beauty  and  fashion  of  the 

TOL.  111. — 37 


town  will  be  there.  The  walk  extends  a 
distance  of  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
in  a  straight  line,  ftnd  is  built  on  a  mural 
rampart  which  protects  the  town  from  the 
sea.  Broad,  level,  and  strewn  with  clear 
sand,  it  is  a  perfect  pathway  to  the  feet. 
Commanding  a  view  of  the  harbor,  opyen 
in  winter  to  the  sun,  and  cooled  in  summer 
by  a  breeze  from  the  sea,  no  more  luxuri- 
ous lounge  could  be  devised  for  leisure- 
no  fairer  scene  imagined  for  the  display  of 
beauty  by  sunlight.  On  some  state  occa- 
sions there  is  a  morning  reception  at  the 
palace  of  the  Captain  General,  which  is 
connected  with  the  terrace ;  and  then 
bands  of  music  play  in  the  balconies, 
while  the  crowd  passes  to  and  fro  beneath. 
On  all  high  festival  days  the  throng  is^ 
very  great.  The  walk  is  resplendent  with 
silks  and  velvets  of  the  most  brilliant  colors. 
The  dark  mantilla  and  the  white  veil  are 
mingled  with  the  gay  hats  of  France.  Flow- 
ers vie  in  the  hair  with  brilliants.  The 
plumes  of  the  officers  blend  with  the  fea- 
thers of  the  fair.  The  air  flashes  with 
epaulettes  and  jewelry ;  and  a  thousand 
glancing  eyes  add  to  the  brilliancy  of  even 
Spanish  sunlight.  There,  in  a  saloon 
roofed  by  the  sky,  and  walled  in  on  one 
side  by  palaces,  and  on  the  other  by  the 
sea,  one  pays  his  morning  court  to  the 
stately  dames  and  gentle  daughters  of 
Barcelona.  He  salutes  his  acquaint- 
ances, makes  his  visits — and  loses  his 
heart. 

It  is  a  peculiarity  of  Barcelonese  man- 
ners, that  the  fashionable  ladies  never  ap- 
pear on  this,  their  favorite  promenade  of 
the  Muralla — rarely,  in  fact,  are  to  be 
seen  in  the  street  at  all— on  any  days  not 
sacred  to  the  memory  of  some  eminent 
saint.  But  on  all  the  high  festivals  of 
the  church  they  always  pass  from  the 
mass  to  the  Muralla,  They  do  not  go  to 
church  to  see  and  be  seen,  as  it  is  some- 
times said  ladies  do  in  Protestant  coun- 
tries ;  for  they  repair  to  the  altar  to  pay 
their  devotions,  and  afterwards  to  the 
promenade  to  receive  them.  The  two 
modes  of  worship — not  to  say  kinds  of 
idolatry — are  kept  separate  in  Spain. 
Perhaps  in  the  warmer  Catholic  climes 
there  may  be  more  frailties  to  compound 
for  than  in  the  cold  Protestant  North ; 
and  the  more  exclusive  appropriation  of 
the  hour  of  public  prayer  to  the  duties  of 
confession  and  penitence  may  be  account- 
ed for  on  a  principle  which  will  not  com 
pel  us  to  acknowledge  the  inferiority  of 
our  own  piety. 

Yet  I  must  confess  that  I  have  nowhere 
been  more  impressed  by  the  solemnity  of 
Christian  worship  than  in  the  diurches 


|{80 


Co9a$  de  EspaSm, 


p« 


of  Spain.  The  Teiy  edifices  are  devotion- 
al— I  mean  the  interiors  of  the  finest  ca- 
thedrals. I  will  not  undertake  to  say 
whether  the  light  of  divine  truth  be  not 
shut  out ;  but  in  no  churches  is  the  day 
so  religiously  excluded.  A  solemn  twi- 
light pervades  the  lofty,  long-drawn  aisles. 
Burning  tapers  are  necessary  at  noonday 
to  dissipate  in  part  the  gloom  which 
shrouds  the  dying  Christ  above  the  altar. 
The  deeply  stained  glass  of  the  windows 
admits  just  light  enough  to  reveal  its  own 
gorgeousness ;  and  only  through  the 
painted  dove  in  the  ceiling  streams  a  sin- 
gle ray  of  sunshine  into  the  general  ob- 
scurity, now  falling  upon  the  white-clad 
priests,  and  now  lighting  up  a  Murillo  or 
,a  Velasquez  on  the  wall.  The  beau  can- 
not therefore  ogle  the  belle  half-way 
across  the  church;  and  should  he  even 
be  permitted  to  kneel  on  the  same  square 
of  pavement,  he  will  scarcely  recognize 
the  beloved  form,  wrapped  in  the  dark 
mantilla;  nor  hope  to  exchange  more 
than  quite  a  limited  number  of  glances 
with  eyes  veiled  in  such  very  long  black 
lashes. 

But  let  us  proceed  with  the  throng 
firom  the  Church  to  the  Muralla,  We 
shall  there  be  able  to  see  clearly  the  eyes 
6f  beauty  beaming  full  upon  us.  The 
glorious  sun  will  Jdss  away  the  peniten- 
tial tear  from  off  all  cheeks.  And  the 
hand  which  could  not  be  admired,  nor 
even  pressed  with  any  sort  of  propriety 
in  the  consecrated  shades,  will  now  be  re- 
vealed in  all  its  fair  proportions.  Vamos 
— let  us  hasten. 

You  are  in  white  kids  and  patent  lea- 
thers. Corriente — all  is  right.  Now 
adjust  your  glass.  Screw  it  firmly  into 
your  left  eyebrow;  and  make  it  doubly 
secure  by  a  well  set  scowl  which  you 
have  been  so  zealously  affecting  since 
your  arrival  in  Europe.  Muy  bien — that 
will  do.  Your  cloak  is  thrown  over  your 
shoulder  very  gracefully.  But  it  is  too 
warm  this  «January  day  for  that.  Come 
out  in  blue  and  brass  ;  it  is  Spanish  so  to 
do.  I  see  that  you  are  fresh  from  Figaro. 
lie  has  given  you  the  last  touch  and  pinch 
of  his  curling  iroqs ;  and  every  hair  of 
your  head  is,  as  it  should  be,  more  or  less 
started.  Come  on  then.  Give  your 
moustache  just  one  more  twirl,  and  you 
may  even  pass  for  one  of  the  nosotros — 
that  is  to  say,  we  ourselves^  the  Span- 
iards. 

And  now  that  I  have  set  you  fairly  on 
the  Afuralla,  Mr.  Bachelor,  I  leave  you 
to  your  fate.  The  first  persons  you  meet 
may  be  a  couple  of  stately  dames  in  vel- 
vets and  laces,  respecting  whom  you  sim- 


ply observe  that  they  are  fiit  enoagli  lo 
be  sold  to  the  Grand  Turk.  In  Baraio- 
na,  a  lady  is  fat  as  sure  as  she  is  forty. 
Do  what  she  will — paint  her  face,  dye 
her  hair,  roll  her  eyes,  play  her  ian — her 
age  cannot  be  disguised ;  it  is  measured 
by  the  length  of  the  ribbon  around  her 
waist.  Dawdling  her  time  away  in  the 
house,  where  the  customs  of  society,  or 
the  jealousy  of  her  husband,  condemn 
her  to  spend  her  days,  and  rarely  taking 
the  air  except  when  she  goes  to  church, 
or  passes  with  mincing  steps  over  tha 
easy  promenade,  she  almost  invariably 
becomes  with  advancing  age  a  couple  of 
stone  or  so  too  stout.  Smoking  paper 
cigarettes,  drinking  sour  lemonade,  dresft* 
ing  with  pulleys,  blood-letting — all  are 
unavailing  preventives.  Gc^d,  easy 
nature  will  distend,  and  gradnally  get 
plumpy,  and  come  to  waddling.  Fat 
and  forty — 'tis  the  lot  to  which  the  slen- 
der maiden,  whom  you  clasp  in  your  arm 
as  easily  as  a  nosegay  in  your  hand,  looks 
forward  as  the  certain  end  of  earthly  blias 
and  coquetry.  Press  my  hand  quick,  is, 
therefore,  the  motto  of  her  youth ;  for  she 
knows  full  well  that  after  a  few  revolving 
Carnivals,  the  dear,  dimpled  little  thine, 
with  its  rosy,  tapering  fingers,  and  naiu 
of  pink,  will  be  laid  up  for  ever  in  Number 
Eiffkts. 

Spanish  nature  admits  of  but  one  ex- 
ception to  this  law  of  increment.  The 
single  spinster — Ileaven  help  her ! — who 
is  now  passing  you  with  that  look,  half 
bashful,  half  imploring,  is  as  scraegy  as 
any  of  her  cousins  of  the  north,  w  heth- 
cr  it  be  by  innumerable  errands  of  chari- 
ty, or  of  gossip,  that  she  is  so  worn  down 
to  skin  and  bones;  whether  it  be  in 
prayers  for  poor  sinful  souls,  or  firom 
nursing  her  own  melancholy,  that  she  has 
sighed  her  nose  down  to  the  sharpness  of 
a  knife-blade,  is  no  business  of  mine  to  in- 
quire. I  simply  state  the  fact  as  it  came 
under  my  observation.  But  do  what  she 
will,  it  seems  certain  that  neither  beef  nor 
B^nicarlo  will  •make  her  fat  Three  thou- 
sand ducats — every  thing  she  has  in  the 
world,  excepting  her  hand — would  she 
give  for  a  "  pound  of  man's  flesh."  But 
capricious  nature,  which  bestows  on  the 
married  dame  more  muscle  than  she  can 
carry,  gives  to  the  single  one  scarcely 
enough  to  stand  up  with.  There  is  no 
help  for  it  But,  fortunately,  there  are 
only  a  few  of  this  class  in  Spain.  The 
Spanish  ladies,  for  reasons  best  known  to 
themselves,  always  accept  the  first  ofSbr 
of  marriage ;  and  by  following  this  excel- 
lent rule,  they  rarely  fail  of  getting  hus- 
bands.   It  would,  no  doubt,  be  so^  in  all 


1864] 


OosoB  de  EspafkL 


68Y 


countries — excepting,  perhaps,  England, 
when^  "old  maids  "  are  a  social  necessity, 
and  part  of  the  civil  constitution. 

But  look  out !  Ave  Maria  puriaima  ! 
There's  a  veritable  sefiorita  coming !  An 
Andalusian  maid,  and  child  of  the  sun. 
ValgarM  Dios!  How  airily  'she  comes 
gliding  on ;  and  with  what  a  dainty 
movement  of  the  feet  No  graceless  hat 
covers  her  head.  Only  the  rose  is  in  her 
hair.  A  black  mantilla  falls  over  her 
shoulders.  Her  waist  is  a  chef  cPcsuvre 
of  art — her  bosom  of  nature.  And  in  her 
little  hand  she  is  pla3'ing  you  her  fan 
with  a  coquetry  irresistible,  fatal.  All 
this  you  see  at  the  very  first  glance, 
but  as  you  get  nearly  abreast  of  her,  the 
silken  lashes  are  raised;  and  the  large 
dark  eyes  are  levelled  full  upon  you. 
The  shaft  goes  to  your  heart. 

Now  what  do  you  propose  to  do? 
There  is  but  one  thing  to  be  done,  con- 
sidering the  country  you  are  in.  You 
ogle  her.  For  the  next  fortnight  you 
ogle  heron  the  promenade, in  the  thear 
tre,  at  the  ball,  any  where  you  can  find 
her.  Perhaps  even  eight  days  will  suf- 
fice ;  for  love  is  no  laggard  in  these  lati- 
tudes. At  the  end  of  that  time,  you  slip 
your  billet-doux  into  her  hand  as  she  is 
leaving  the  theatre.  Or  you  may  go  on 
your  knees  to  her  duenna,  if  you  prefer  it 
iut,  one  way  or  the  other,  the  thing  is 
agreed  upon  between  you.  Night  and 
hour  are  fixed. 

It  is  all  plain  sailing  now.  Tou  have 
only  to  apply  to  the  watchman,  whose 
duty  it  is  to  go  bawling  out  the  hour  of 
the  night  and  the  state  of  the  weather  up 
and  down  the  street,  in  which  resides  your 
Dulcinea : 

"  Want  your  ladder  at  twelve,  sharp.'' 

"  Happy  to  serve  your  Worship." 
And.  at  the  same  time,  you  slip  into  his 
hand  a  persuader  and  cause  of  action.  At 
the  appointed  hour,  your  man  is  at  his 
post  of  duty.  If  the  piece  you  gave  him 
was  a  gold  one,  he  will  be  there  punctual- 
ly. And,  by  the  by,  it  may  as  well  be 
observed  here  for  the  benefit  of  all  travel- 
lers going  to  Spain,  or  even  to  Portugal, 
that  most  persons,  in  making  an  esti- 
mate of  their  probable  expenses  in  the 
Peninsula,  go  very  wrong  in  their  calcula- 
tions from  taking  into  the  account  the 
cheapness  of  provisions  there,  but  leaving 
out  the  very  exorbitant  prices  usually 
paid  for  ladders.     Verbum  sat. 

You  mount  to  the  first  balcony.  Un- 
ibrtunately.  young  Misses  in  Spain  are 
never  allowed  to  sleep  lower  down  than 
tiie  third  story.  Still,  where  there  is  a 
will,  there  is  a  way-^ven  to  tiie  top  of 


the  house.  Your  lady-love  lets  down  to 
you  her  rope-ladder !  One  desperate  effort 
more — don't  look  down,  or  you  may  have 
an  attack  of  vertigo — and  you  are  kneel- 
ing at  the  prettiest  pair  of  feet  that  ever 
walked  Spanish.  For  the  first  five  mi- 
nutes, you  may  be  too  much  overcome  by 
the  climbing  for  speech.  But  the  moment 
you  do  get  your  breath,  you  pour  out  such 
a  conflagration  of  hot  vows  as  would  in- 
evitably set  the  chimney  on  fire,  but  luck- 
ily there  are  no  such  things  in  the  country. 
You  are  now  an  accepted  lover — and 
get  down  the  ladder  the  same  way  you 
got  up.  You  will  next  day  be  introduced 
to  the  family — entering  the  house  by  the 
frontdoor — when  you  will  take  care  to 
observe  most  punctilk)us]y  all  the  for- 
malities in  such  cases  made  and  provided. 
From  that  point,  the  operations  of  court- 
ship are  carried  on  very  nearly  as  in  other 
Christian  countries.  It  is  only  the  admis- 
sion over  the  window-sill  which  is  a  cosa 
de  Espana.  By  the  end  of  a  twelve- 
month, or  before,  you  are  married ;  and. 
being  thoroughly  tired  of  the  tosses  and 
crosses  of  single  travel,  you  settle  down 
to  the  performance  .of  all  domestic,  social 
and  civil  duties  with  a  most  exemplary 
fidelity.  You  become  the  head  of  a  fine 
family  of  children.  Your  youngest,  dear 
little  rogue,  fills  up  the  measure  of  your 
delights,  as,  tugging  away  at  the  hair  of 
your  head  with  one  hand,  and  ramming 
the  fingers  of  the  other  up  your  nostrils, 
he  charms  yon  with  his  lisping  ofparpa, 
poor  pa  pa.  'Tis  a  consummation  of  tra- 
vel devoutly  to  be  wished. 


IX. 


THE  BEACH  AND  THB  DRAWING  OF.  NETS, 

At  Barcelona  the  winter  generally  lasts  a 
fortnight  The  perpetual  sunshine  of  the 
year  being  interrupted  for  about  that 
length  of  time  in  the  month  of  January, 
this  brief  interval  of  cloud  and  damp, 
whitened  once  in  a  quarter  of  a  century  by 
a  few  snow-^akes,  is  termed  in  the  lan- 
guage of  courtesy  el  inviemo. 
'  It  was,  I  remember,  a  day  or  two  after 
the  close  of  this  brief  season,  that  I  strolled 
out  of  town,  one  morning,  to  the  beach, 
for  the  purpose  of  seeing  the  fishermen 
draw  their  nets.  The  first  part  of  my  path 
lay  along  the  Muralla  del  Mar,  where 
the  gorgeous  scene  was  worthy  of  the  pen- 
cil of  a  Turner.  Out  at  sea,  the  horizon 
was  a  blaze  of  sunlight;  in  the  harbor, 
the  ships  had  unfurled  their  sails  to  dry 
in  the  golden  day ;  and,  m  all  directions, 
the  white,  brown  and  purple  of  the  canvas 
was  yiridly  painted  on  the  blue  of  there- 


588 


Cosca  de  Espafla, 


[Ame 


posing  waves.  Directly  before  me  was 
moored  a  large  ship  from  the  Levant,  the 
sailors  of  which  were  climbing  the  shrouds 
in  their  picturesque  but  unsailor-like  cos- 
tume; near  the  landing-place  a  goodly 
number  of  red-capped  boatmen  were  lying 
upon  their  oars,  idling  away  in  uncon- 
scious delight  the  sunny  hours;  porters 
in  cool  linen  were  piling  high  upon  the 
wharf  the  yellow  wheat  from  the  Ebro ; 
and  boys,  with  nothing  but  their  shirts  on, 
were  wading  for  muscles  about  the  rocks 
on  the  shore.  I  leaned  over  the  railing  of 
the  MuraMOy  and  gazed  long  at  this  beauti- 
ful sea  scene,  where  the  sailor,  no  longer 
tempest-tost,  or  drifting  upon  the  rock- 
bound  shore,  was  lying  safely  at  anchor 
in  a  peaceful  haven,  and  pouring  out  in 
laugh  and  song  the  natural  gaycty  of  a 
hei^  at  ease. 

I  lingered  another  half  hour,  too,  in  tho 
garden  del  general.  There  were  gathered 
together  birds  from  many  climes,  which 
were  making  the  morning  resound  with 
their  sweet  voices.  So  loudly  were  they 
vaunting  the  delights  of  their  imprisoned 
life,  that  even  the  free  wanderers  of  the 
air,  attracted  by  the  resounding  joy,  were 
fluttering  in  considerable  numbers  around 
— apparently  itching  to  be  caged.  The 
cypress  and  myrle  here  cast  a  mingled 
^de  of  melancholy  and  of  love.  Still, 
the  climbing  rose  peeping  into  every  bower 
was  smiling  too  brightly  on  the  scene  to 
leave  any  spot  for  sadioess.  The  orange 
thickets  were,  at  the  same  time,  golden 
¥nth  fruit  and  white  with  flowers ;  the 
pepper-tree  hung  out  over  the  humbler 
foliage  its  delicate  fringes ;  and  the  palm, 
towering  above  all,  spread  against  the  sky 
its  fan  of  leaves.  Swans  were  arching  their 
necks  over  the  surface  of  sunny  pools,  in 
which  gold  and  silver  fish  were  gamool- 
ling ;  and  one  could  have  the  satisfaction 
of  looking  upon  the  play  of  fountains  in 
mid-winter  without  exposing  himself  to 
an  attack  of  the  ague. 

The  gates  are  open  to  all  classes,  from 
beggars  to  hidalgos.  And  bow  luxurious 
is  the  life  of  the  former  in  this  bower  of 
flowers!  In  winter,  seeking  out  some 
warm  bench,  he  basks  with  his  fellows  in 
the  rays  of  the  cheerful  sun.  In  summer, 
lying  upon  some  fountain's  sheltered  bank, 
or  beneath  the  protecting  roof  of  over- 
hanging branches,  he  woos  the  shade, 
and  saves  himself  the  cost  of  perspiration 
he  can  so  ill  afford  to  lose.  He  entertains 
his  hours  with  the  cheap  music  of  birds 
and  falling  fountains.  He  sees  the  gay 
world  go  by.  And  with  an  onion  and  a 
crust  under  his  jacket,  he  looks  upon 
well-fed  lords  and  ladies  less  with  envy 


than  with  sympathetic  delight.  He  knows 
that,  ''  for  the  love  of  God  and  the  Blessed 
Virgin,"  some  pious  souls  will  have  pity 
on  him  in  his  extremities.  His  daily 
crumbs,  therefore,  are  as  sure  as  bond  and 
mortgage.  For,  indeed,  he  will  give  all 
good  chrisMans  who  come  near  his  bower 
no  peace  until  they  pay  toll  to  his  beaver. 
You  may  plead  poverty  for  the  moment ; 
may  put  him  off  till  Sunday,  when  you 
give  to  every  body ;  may  entreat;  inty 
threaten ;  may  get  into  a  passion,  or  may 
hold  your  peace,  and  affect  not  to  notice 
him.  It  will  not  all  do.  He  will  stick 
closer  to  you,  being  a  stranger,  than  a 
brother.  Yet  there  is  one  formula  which 
will  stop  his  importunities,  and  is  there- 
fore in  very  general  use  among  the  natives. 
Kyou  say  to  him  with  good  Castilian  ac- 
cent, Vaya  con  Dies — Be  off',  and  may 
the  blessing  of  God  go  with  you,  he  gives 
it  up  at  once.  I  have  often  tried  the  ex- 
periment, and  never  known  it  to  fail.  And 
what  is  still  more  strange,  I  have  found 
this  Spanish  form  of  words  to  succeed  even 
with  your  Irish  mendicant  Whether 
it  mystifies  poor  Paddy,  or  whether  it 
frightens  him,  and  makes  him  think  he 
has  fallen  in  with  the  devil's  first  cousin, 
I  know  not.  But  in  three  cases  out  o^ 
four,  I  have  found  this  Vaya  con  Dios  to 
act  as  a  perfect  charm.  I  doubt,  however, 
whether  a  Scotch  gaberlunzie  could  be 
put  off  with  any  such  nonsense;  and  I. 
have  also  observed  that  all  old  country 
be^rs,  once  landed  on  the  shores  of 
Yankeedom,  seem  to  regard  the  cabsdistic 
words  as  no  more  than  so  much  '*  palaver." 
Sauntering  on  through  the  garden  I 
passed  the  town-gates,  and  soon  gained 
the  open  shore.  A  gentle  swell  was  ri- 
ding into  land,  and  breaking  in  musical 
ripples  on  the  winding  beach.  Bright- 
looking  towns  and  villages  were  seen  in 
the  level  distance;  and  out  at  sea,  for 
many  a  league,  the  vaporless  expanse  of 
water  smiled  in  the  sunlight  Just  above 
the  sea-mark  on  the  shore  stand  the  homes 
of  the  fishermen,  built  on  the  sands.  They 
are  mere  huts  of  earth,  and  such  timber 
as  is  to  be  gotten  out  of  reeds,  cactus 
leaves,  corn-stalks,  matting  and  rags. 
The  materials  of  this  composite  order  of 
architecture  are  cemented  together  by  a 
few  rope-ends.  A  curtain  made  of  a  piece 
of  sackcloth,  or  an  old  petticoat,  does  the 
office  of  a*  door,  and  closes  at  night  the 
only  entrance  into  this  six-by-cight  ken- 
nel. Nevertheless  in  each  one  whole  fa- 
milies of  men,  women  and  children  are 
stowed  away.  Like  brutes  they  live — 
though  they  may  die  very  good  Catho- 
lics.   The  lutchen  of  one  of  these  domes- 


1854.] 


Gosas  de  Espafku 


689 


tic  establishments  is,  of  course,  outside. 
It  consists  of  three  stones  and  a  pot  on 
the  top  of  them.  Under  this  vessel  bum 
a  few  vines,  a  few  leaves,  a  little  dirt  In 
it  is  the  refuse  of  markets — wilted  vege- 
tables— garlia  The  grandmother  sits 
over  the  kettle,  keeping  the  three  stones 
and  the  Ijeach  sand  burning.  In  her  in- 
tervals of  leisure,  she  searches  the  heads 
of  her  grandchildren  to  expel  from  the 
family  those  siiperflous  members  which 
therein  do  burrow.  To  facilitate  this  im- 
portant labor,  the  urchins  are  kept  close- 
ly cropped,  like  the  beggar-boys  of  Mu- 
rillo.  The  dark,  glossy,  silken  locks  are 
mercilessly  shorn  off;  and  the  little  bar- 
barian has  nothing  left  him  but  his  ears 
and  his  eyelashes. 

While  the  aged  hag  is  thus  occupied, 
the  other  members  of  the  family  are  at 
work  upon  the  net  In  the  morning  this 
is  set  about  a  mile  out  at  sea ;  and  in  the 
afternoon  it  is  drawn  into  land.  The  two 
extremities  of  the  net,  when  it  is  stretched 
out  in  the  water,  are  about  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  distant  from  each  other.  At  these 
two  outer  ropes  commences  the  work  of 
drawing  in  the  whole  to  the  shore.  In 
the  early  part  of  the  operation,  the  labor 
is  facilitated  by  the  use  of  boats ;  but, 
later,  it  is  done  by  the  whole  posse  of 
men,  women  and  children  standing  upon 
,  the  beach.  The  two  extremities  gradu- 
ally approach  each  other  as  they  are 
hauled  in,  until  at  last  they  come  togeth- 
er ;  and  the  fish  are  brought  to  land  in 
Uie  centre  of  the  net  as  in  a  bag.  The 
operation  being  done  slowly  occupies  a 
space  of  several  hours. 

The  drawinpf  of  nets  is  like  the  drawing 
of  lotteries.  The  result  may  be  a  fish,  or 
it  may  be  a  stone.  Hence,  as  in  all  occu- 
pations where  the  issues  depend  largely 
upon  chance,  the  curiosity  of  the  persons 
ooncorncd  is  a  good  deal  excited.  Their 
imaginations  are  stimulated ;  and  the  body 
derives  new  vigor  from  the  cheerful  action 
of  the  mind.  The  young  fisherman,  as  he 
slowly  draws  to  shore  the  innumerable 
meshes,  ponders  in  his  heart  upon  the 
possible  value  of  his  draught  If  as  ima- 
ginative as  some  fishers  have  been,  he 
may  see  the  treasures  of  half  a  sea  coming 
in  to  shore.  He  may  really  catch  only  a 
few  sardines,  as  long  as  his  finger ;  but 
his  fancy  excludes  from  the  net  nothing 
short  of  behemoth  and  leviathan.  There 
may  even  be  dolphins  and  mermaids  in 
it  He  may  have  caught  a  nymph  of  the 
sea  napping,  and  bring  another  Venus  out 
of  the  foam.  His  dreamy  thoughts  wan- 
der down  into  the  deep  sea's  caverns,  and 
fish  up  pe&rls,  corals  and  shipwrecked 


doubloons.  In  every  fish's  mouth  he  will 
find  a  piece  of  money.  His  interest  rises 
with  every  additional  pull  at  the  ropes ; 
and  only  the  sight  of  simple  '*cod  and 
baddies,"  of  crabs  and  herrings,  of  a  floun- 
der or  two.  of  a  bushel  of  sardines,  will  at  ^ 
last  convince  him  that  his  prizes  are 
blanks,  and  that  his  treasures  still  lie  in 
the  bosom  of  the  ocean  buried. 

The  drawing  of  nets,  therefore,  is  gala- 
work.  Boys  like  to  have  a  hand  in  it 
It  is  done  with  gayety  and  song,  like  the 
labors  of  the  vintage.  At  any  rate,  it  is 
so  at  Barcelona.  The  whole  tribe  of  fish- 
ers, when  I  saw  them  at  work  on  the 
beach,  may  have  consisted  of  some  forty 
or  fifty  men,  women  and  children.  Though 
clad  like  gypsies,  they  were  all  as  m'erry 
as  the  best  of  Christians.  They  sang; 
they  called  and  answered  each  other; 
they  laughed  and  jested ;  they  ate,  and 
drank  and  smoked  at  the  ropes,  as  though 
the  easy  toil  were  no  interruption  of  their 
life  of  idleness  and  content.  Their  dress 
was  as  gay  as  their  hearts  were  merry. 
All  the  men  were  in  jackets  which  once, 
at  least,  had  been  velvet.  Caps  of  all  co- 
lors— white  only  excepted — graced  their 
heads.  Scarfs  were  bound  around  their 
loins ;  and  all  were  naked  to  the  knees. 

I  singled  out  one  fellow  for  my  special 
favorite.  His  cap  was  red ;  his  jacket 
yellow ;  his  breeches  green ;  his  sash 
purple.  All  were  sadly  the  worse  for 
wear ;  and  were  nearly  all  gone,  except 
the  colors.  These  stuck  fast ,  to  him. 
Feet,  legs,  hands,  breast  and  face  were 
bare — and -were  bronze.  A  short  cord, 
which,  passing  over  his  shoulder  and 
across  his  breast,  formed  a  loop,  was  at- 
tached behind  his  back  by  means  of  a 
slipknot  to  the  main  rope  of  the  net  By 
this  cord,  easily  fastened  on  to  the  cable, 
as  he  commenced  drawing  at  the  water's 
edge,  and  as  easily  detached,  when  he 
reached  the  limit  of  the  upper  beach,  my 
man  was  harnessed  to  the  common  load, 
and  did  his  small  proportion  of  the  gene- 
ral labor.  He  ate  his  dinner  at  the  same 
time  that  he  did  his  work.  For  his  hands 
being  free,  he  had  only  to  thrust  one  into 
one  pocket  and  pull  out  a  roll  of  bread ; 
and  the  other  into  another  and  fish  up  an 
onion  or  a  pepper.  His  bottle  also  was 
stowed  away  in  his  breeches,  and  was  in- 
variably brought  out  at  the  end  of  every 
course  in  the  feast — that  is,  after  every 
slice  from  his  loaf  and  peel  from  his  onion. 
There  was  no  hurry  in  the  service.  It 
took  about  as  much  time  for  his  bottle  to 
get  out  of  his  pocket  and  back  again,  as  it 
would  for  a  decanter  to  go  the  rounds  of 
a  dinner  table.    He  dkl  not  seem  to  be- 


590 


Cosas  de  Espana, 


gmdge  the  time.  As  he  walked  up  the 
beach,  harnessed  to  the  cable,  one  foot 
followed  the  other  with  a  slow  and  equal 
motion.  It  was  evident  that  he  was  not 
walking  for  a  wager.  It  was  equally 
plain  that  he  was  swallowing  his  dinner 
not  much  faster  than  he  could  comfort- 
ably digest  it.  When  his  repast  was  at 
last  brought  to  a  close,  that  is,  when  the 
bread  had  been  eaten  to  the  last  crumb, 
and  the  bottle  emptied  to  the  last  drop, 
he  drew  out  of  his  pocket  a  small  book, 
as  if  to  say  his  prayers.  But  ho  did  do 
such  thing.  It  was  his  smoking-book. 
Having  carefully  extracted  a  leaf,  he  pla- 
ced on  it  a  pinch  of  tobacco,  and  neatly 
rolled  up  a  cigarillo^  which  he  smoked 
apparently  with  as  much  relish  as  any 
hidalgo  could  his  Havana. 

By  the  time  my  baibarian  had  finished 
his  cigarillo,  the  net  had  been  nearly  all 
dragged  to  the  shore.  In  a  short  time, 
the  fish  were  seen  fluttering  in  the 
meshes.  The  march  of  the  men  at  the 
rope  was  now  slightly  quickened.  An- 
other pull — another,  still — and  the  shin- 
ing, scaly  booty  was  brought  to  land. 
Idlers  Qjad  fishermen  all  crowded  eagerly 
around  to  see  the  day's  result  Their 
curiosity  was  soon  satisfied,  for  the 
draught  turned  out  to  be  a  small  one. 
and  consisted  only  of  a  few  bushels  oi 
sardines. 

But  these  poor  people  seemed  well  sa- 
tisfied. If  they  earn  ten  or  twelve  cents 
a  day,  'tis  all  they  care  for.  With  three 
or  four,  they  can  buy  as  much  black 
bread  as  will  suffice  for  a  man  a  day. 
With  as  many  more,  a  big-bellied  bottle 
of  wine  can  be  purchased.  The  rest  will 
pay  for  the  garlic  and  the  tobacco ;  and 
any  still  remaining  surplus  may  go  to 
add  another  rag  to  their  backs,  or  their 
cabins.  The  whole  tribe  were  foreign- 
bom,  having  come,  a  few  years  before, 
from  the  neighboring  province  of  Valen- 
cia, in  consequence  of  the  higher  wages^ 
as  they  said,  of  the  city  of  Barcelona. 

Happy  are  they.  Every  day  of  the 
year,  they  draw  their  net.  The  sand 
of  the  beach  makes  them  a  soil  couch  at 
night.  The  murmuring  of  tl  le  sea  soothes 
their  slumbers.  Their  cabins  look  to- 
wards the  terra  caliente^  the  homes  from 
which  they  have  gone  out,  and  whither 
they  are  too  well  off"  ever  to  wish  to  re- 
turn. Children  of  the  sun,  they  ask  for 
no  higher  enjoyment  than  to  lie  on  the 
burning  beach,  and  to  bathe  in  the  tepid 
wave.  And  through  many  a  peaceful 
year  may  you  continue  to  drag  your  nets 
to  the  shore,  ye  simple  fishers !  The 
gammer's  sun,  i  know,  will  not  be  too 


hot  for  you  ;  may  the  winter  nerer  bs 
too  cold.  When  the  rain  descends  and 
the  floods  come,  may  your  huts  not  share 
the  fate  o^  the  houses  of  greater  sinners 
than  you  are.  May  you,  at  last,  all  die 
in  your  beds  on  the  sand,  and  your  final 
sleep  be  only  the  sounder  for  the  mur- 
muring waves  which  will  break  orer  your 
graves  on  the  shore. 

Even  if  admitted  into  the  cemenferiOy 
these  fishermen  will  not  fitil  of  being 
buried  by  their  beloved  Mediterranean. 
For  this  "  God*s  acre  ^  is  sitnated  hard 
by  the  sea,  and  near  to  the  place  of  tho 
drawing  of  nets.  Only  in  this  conse- 
crated retreat,  the  dead  sleep  their  sleep 
above  ground.  They  are  plastered  into 
niches  in  the  walls ;  and  if  they  were  to 
be  baked,  they  could  not  be  placed  in  se- 
pulchres more  resembling  ovens.  But, 
though  in  simple  holes  in  the  wall,  they 
doubtless  sleep  well.  In  roogh  weather, 
the  sea  chants  their  requiem,  and  will 
continue  to  do  so  until  its  voice  shall 
be  drowned  in  the  tumult  of  the  final 
trumpet.  At  all  other  times,  the  gentle 
ripple  which  tosses  its  bubbles  oo  the 
beach  will  not  disturb  so  much  as  the 
dreams  of  an  infant  sleeper.  And  whei^ 
in  the  general  resurrection  of  humanity, 
these  bodies  of  the  sons  of  God  come 
forth,  they  will  linger  a  moment,  I  am 
sure,  ere  taking  their  leave  of  this,  their 
fair  natal  shore.  •  Nor  will  any  souls, 
which,  from  the  four  quarters  of  the 
earth,  shall  then  ascend  the  skies,  find 
any  shorter  pathway  to  heaven  than  that 
travelled  by  the  simple  fishers,  who,  from 
this  spot,  shall  climb  the  Southern  Py- 
renees. 


nOLYDATS  AT  RASGELONA. 

Spanish  life  is  pretty  weU  filled  up/ 
with  holydays.  The  country  is  under 
the  protection  of  a  better-filled  calendar 
of  saints  than  any  in  Christendom,  Italy, 
perhaps,  excepted.  But  these  guardians 
do  not  keep  watch  and  ward  for  nau^t: 
they  have  each  their  "  solid  day  **  anna- 
ally  set  apart  for  them,  or,  at  least,  their 
afternoon,  wherein  to  receive  adoration 
and  tribute  money.  The  poor  Spaniard 
is  kept  nearly  haUT  the  year  on  his  knees. 
His  prayers  cost  him  his  pesetag,  too; 
for,  neither  the  saints  will  intercede  noi 
the  priests  will  absolve,  except  for  ca^ 
But  his  time  spent  in  ceremonies,  the 
Spaniard  counts  as  nothing.  The  tewer 
days  the  laborer  has  to  woric,  the  hap- 
pier is  he.  These  are  the  dull  prose  ol 
an  existence  essentially  poetie*  Onbolj- 


1854.] 


CoMt  d€  JSapaila. 


591 


dayB,  on  the  contnury,  the  life  of  the  low- 
est classes  runs  as  smootUy  as  yerses. 
If  the  poor  man's  porron  only  be  well 
filled  with  wine,  he  can  trust  to  luck  and 
the  saints  for  a  roll  of  bread  and  a  few 
onions.  Free  from  care,  he  likes,  three 
days  in  the  week^  to  put  on  his  best — 
more  likely,  his  only  bib-and-tucker — and 
go  to  mass,  instead  of  field  or  wharf  duty. 
He  is  well  pleased  at  the  gorgeous  cere- 
monies of  his  venerable  mother  church : 
at  the  sight  of  street  processions,  with 
crucifix  and  sacramental  canopy,  and 
priests  in  cloth  of  purple  and  of  gold. 
The  spectacle  also  of  the  gay  promenad- 
ing, t\\e  music,  the  parade  and  mimic 
show  of  war,  the  free  theatres,  the  bull- 
fights, the  streets  hung  with  tapestry, 
and  the  town-hall's  front  adorned  with' a 
fiaming  full-length  of  Isabella  the  Second 
— these  constitute  the  brilliant  passages 
in  the  epic  of  his  life.  Taking  no  thought 
for  the  morrow  after  the  holyday,  he  is 
wiser  than  a  philosopher,  and  enjoys  the 
golden  hours  as'  they  fly.  Indeed,  he  can 
well  afford  to  do  so ;  for,  in  his  sunny 
land  of  com  and  wine,  the  common  ne- 
cessaries of  life  are  procured  with  almost 
as  little  toil  as  in  the  bread-fruit  islands 
of  the  Pacific. 

All  the  Spaniard's  holydays  are  reli- 
gious festivals.  There  is  no  Fourth  of  July 
m  his  year.  Ilis  mirth,  accordingly,-  is 
not  independent  and  profane,  like  the 
Yankee's.  Being  more  accustomed  also 
to  playtime,  he  is  less  tempted  to  fill  it 
up  with  excesses.  It  is  in  the  order  of 
his  holyda}-  to  go,  first  of  all,  to  church ; 
and  a  certain  air  of  religious  decorum 
\9  carried  along  into  all  the  succeeding 
amusements.  Neither  is  his  the  restless, 
capering  enjoyment  of  the' Frenchman, 
who  begins  and  ends  his  holydays  with 
dancing ;  nor  the  chattering  hilarity  of  the 
Italian,  who  goes  beside  himself  over  a 
few  roasted  chesnuts  and  a  monkey.  The 
Spaniard  wears  a  somewhat  graver  face. 
His  happiness  requires  less  muscular 
movement.  To  stand  wrapped  in  his  cloak, 
statue-like,  in  the  public  square ;  to  sit 
on  sunny  bank,  or  beneath  shady  bower, 
is  about  as  much  activity  as  suits  his 
dignity.  Only  the  sound  of  castanets  can 
draw  him  from  his  propriety ;  and  the 
steps  of  the  fandango  work  his  brain  up 
to  intoxication.  Spanish  festal-time,  ac- 
cordingly, is  like  the  hazy^  dreamy,  vo- 
luptuous days  of  the  Indian  summer, 
when  the  air  is  as  full  of  calm  as  it  is  of 
splendor,  and  when  the  pulses  of  Nature 
beat  full  but  feverless. 

The  holyday  is  easily  filled  up  with 
pkuazea.    The  peasant  has  no  more  to 


do  than  to  throw  back  his  head  upon  the 
turfj  and  tantalize  his  dissolving  mouth 
by  holding  over  it  the  purple  clusters, 
torn  from  overhanging  branches.  The 
beggar  lays  down  against  a  wall,  and 
counts  into  the  hand  of  his  companion 
'the  pennies  they  have  to  spend  together 
during  the  day :  unconscious  the  while 
that  the  sand  of  half  its  hours  has  al- 
ready run  out.  The  village  beauty  twines 
roses  in  her  hair,  and  looks  out  of  the 
window,  happy  to  see  the  gay-jacketed 
youngsters  go  smirking  and  ogling  by. 
The  belles  of  the  town  lean  over  their 
■  flower  balconies,  chatting  with  neighbors, 
and  raining  glances  on  the  throng  of  ad- 
mirers who  promenade  below.  Town 
and  country  wear  their  holyday  attire 
with  graceful,  tranquil  joy.  Only  from 
the  cafes  of  tne  one,  and  the  ventarilloa 
of  the  other,  may  perchance  be  heard  the 
sounds  of  revelry ;  where  the  guitar  is 
thrummed  with  a  gayety  not  heard  in 
serenades ;  where  the  violin  leads  youth- 
ful feet  a  round  of  pleasures,  too  fast  for 
sureness  of  fboting ;  and  where  the  claque 
of  the  castanets  rings  out  merrily  above 
laugh,  and  song,  firing  the  heart  with  pas- 
sions which  comport  not  well  with  Casti- 
lian  gravity. 


XI. 


THE  ANNUAL   FAIR. 


All  days,  says  the  proverb,  are  not 
feasts  in  Barcelona — there  are  some 
which  are  fairs.  As  sure  as  the  twen- 
ty-first of  December  dawns  on  the  city, 
there  will  be  a  grand  market  held  in  it. 
The  Rambala,  the  Paseo  Nuevo,  and  all  the 
broader  streets  and  squares,  v^\\\  be  filled 
with  temporary  booths.  £very  thing  that 
can  be  wanted  for  a  supply  of  a  year's  life.* 
excepting  daily  bread,  will  there  be  spread 
out  before  the  purchaser.  From  silks  to 
rags,  from  new  platters  to  rusty  nails, 
from  the  books  of  the  day  to  those  print- 
ed in  1600,  from  the  furniture  for 
rich  men's  houses  to  the  beggar's  spoon 
and  blanket,  from  every  thing  at  first 
hand  to  every  thing  at  third,  what  is 
there  which  cannot  here  be  bought  for 
duroa  and  for  reals  f  Nothing  which  is 
made  for  use  is  ever  cast  ofi'  in  this  coun- 
try as  worthless.  What  is  first  manufac- 
tured for  the  rich  is  afterwards  sold  to 
the  poor.  A  crooked,  rusty  nail  has  here 
a  marketable  value.  A  cracked  kettle 
which  will  not  hold  the  rich  man's  water, 
will  cook  the  stews  of  a  beggar ;  and  be 
prized  as  was  the  barber's  basin  by  Don 
Quixote. 


592 


CoKLS  de  Espnfla. 


Pm. 


To  all  lovers,  therefore,  of  patched-up 
chinaware.  broken-backed  chairs,  and 
out-of-joint  chests  of  drawers — to  all  col- 
lectors of  uncurrent  coins,  books  in  black- 
letter,  swords  well  hacked  upon  the 
skulls  of  the  infidel,  and  old  pictures 
warranted  to  be  better  than  new — let 
me  say  Spain  is  your  El  Dorado.  But 
hasten ;  for  the  exchangeable  value  of  all 
this  ancient  dust  and  lumber  is  rapidly 
rising  in  the  home  market  Already,  in 
fact,  if  you  ask  a  Spaniard  to  sell  you  any 
old  stone  of  his,  three  times  out  of  four  he 
takes  the  alarm,  and  puts  an  "asking 
price "  upon  it  which  would  go  nigh  to 
purchasing  the  fabled  philosopher's.  K 
a  foreigner  should  propose  to  buy  the 
clouted  shoes  off  his  feet,  the  suspicion 
would  flash  across  his  mind  that  they 
were  a  pair  of  seven-league  boots  in  dis- 
guise ;  and  he  would  sooner  part  with  his 
honor  as  an  hidalgo  than  allow  them  to 
go  out  of  his  possession.  In  fact,  to  drive . 
a  bargain  with  a  native  for  any  venerable 
heirloom,  requires  as  much  strategy  as  to 
conduct  a  campaign.  Y  ou  must  approach 
the  subject  from  as  great  a  distance  as 
you  would  if  you  were  going  to  besiege 
a  town.  The  first  step  to^  be  taken  is  to 
make  a  direct  allusion  to  the  greatness  of 
the  Spanish  nation — as  it  was  in  the  days 
of  the  first  Isabella — and  promises  to  be 
in  those  of  the  second.  Then,  you  may 
dilate  at  large  on  the  fine  climate  of  thJe 
country,  the  bravery  of  the  army,  the 
beauty  of  the  women,  the  excellence  of 
vino  ordinario,  and  on  all  the  manifold 
attractions  of  the  heaven  of  the  Spains. 
At  length,  concentrating  your  forces,  you 
may  adroitly  address  a  few  rounds  of 
compliments  to  the  individual  Spaniard 
before  you ;  and  having  first  carried  all 
his  outworks,  you  will  have  every  chance 
^f  capturing  the  citadel  itself.  To  do 
this,  perhaps  no  more  will  be  necessary 
than  simply  to  intimate  that  the  posses- 
sion of  any  relic  which  bore  his  name,  or 
had  been  for  the  last  thousand  years  in 
the  keeping  of  his  family,  would  bo 
esteemed  by  you  an  honor  of  which  you  • 
would  be  no  less  proud  than  of  your  own 
birthright.  He  will  now,  out  of  personal 
regard  for  so  polite  a  gentleman,  be  most 
happy  to  part  with  the  oldest  parchment 
or  porcelain  in  his  family.  You  shall  have 
it  for  courtesy's  sake  —  and  the  good 
round  sum  you  have  offered.  So  that  at 
last  you  walk  off  relieved  of  the  load  in 
your  pockets,  and  the  fortunate  possessor 
of  some  old,  worm-eaten  volume  of  ghost- 
ly Commentarieij — some  rusty  Koman 
coin  manufactured  in  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury— some  antiquated  three-legged  stool, 


which  formerly  belonged  to  a  duenn*— 
some  rickety  set  of  drawers,  once  the 
property  of  a  dilapidated  old  bachelor— a 
big  carved  stone,  a  piece  of  the  rock  <tf 
Gibraltar,  or  a  picture  of  a  very  renownsd 
saint  in  a  high  state  of  ecstasy. 

But  to  return  to  the  fair — one  oi  the 
chief  articles  exposed  for  sale  is  live  poul- 
try. The  Catalonian  peasants,  men, 
women  and  children,  come  down  from  the 
mountains  with  stock  enough  to  supply 
a  fowl  for  every  pot  in  the  city.  After 
daybreak,  there  is  no  such  tiling  as  sleep- 
ing in  all  the  town  for  the  chanticlcering. 
You  cannot  take  your  stroll  through  th» 
Eambla  for  the  number  of  cocks  on  the 
walk.  However,  if  a  fowl  fancier,  yon 
push  your  way  through;  and  hare  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  roosters  carried  off 
at  a  price  far  more  reasonable  than  that 
which  you  had  to  pay  for  your  Shanghais. 
While  for  one  of  these  far-fetched  Grow- 
ers, you  have  been  fondly  giving  a  sum 
of  money  large  enough  to  buy  even  the 
Gallic  cock  hijnself  off  the  very  escutcheon 
of  France,  here  you  may  pick  up  any 
number  of  Catalans,  almost  as  big  and 
twice  as  saucy,  for  less  than  it  would  cost 
in  our  large  towns  to  supply  them  with 
gravel-stones.  They  are  cheaper  than 
dirt.  You  finally  refuse  to  look  at  them, 
therefore,  from  sheer  disgust ;  and  turn 
all  your  attention  to  the  peasant  girls^ 
who  have  them  in  charge. 

These  hold  themselves  less  cheap. 
They  are,  in  fact,  prouder  and  more  sa- 
vage than  any  fighting  cocks.  You  had 
better  catch  a  Tartar  than  attempt  to 
cage  one  of  them  for  any  purpose.  Thej 
are  perfect  Amazons,  and  wear  daggers 
in  their  garters.  Beware!  However, I 
will  say  this  of  them,  that  when  it  comes 
to  fighting,  they  are  no  match  for  their 
mothers.  The  quarrels  of  these  dames 
with  each  other  are  far  more  fierce,  as 
well  as  amusing,  than  those  of  their  own 
roosters,  and  reveal  a  peculiar  feature  of 
female  manners  in  Catalonia.  They  do 
not  end  in  words.  They  do  not  consist 
in  pulling  each  other's  hair.  These  are 
but  the  accidents  of  the  combat  The 
great  aim  and  efibrt  always  is  to  perform 
upon  each  other  in  public^  that  operation 
which  mothers  are  sometimes  obliged  to 
perform  on  crying  babies  in  private.  If 
they  do  not  succeed  in  doing  this,  there 
is  no  victory — ^but  merely  a  drawn  game. 

But  let  us  go  over  to  the  Paseo  Nueva 
and  sec  the  turkeys.  There  you  will  fina 
a  greater  number  of  these  birds  congre- 
gated than  you  supposed  to  exist  in  all 
Spain.  They  cover  this  extensive  pro- 
menade completely  over.     The  heavens 


I   . 


1854.] 


John  Vanderlyn. 


508 


are  filled  with  gobblings.  Never  was 
such  an  amount  (J  strutting  seen  on  any 
walk  as  this.  A  modest  man  might  be 
humiliated  in  the  presence  of  so  mudi 
pretension,  and  feel  ashamed  to  hold  his 
^  head  up.  lest  he  should  be  suspected  of 
attempting  to  carry  it  oyer  this  immense 
roost  of  rivals.  However,  he  is  kept  in 
countenance  by  the  haughty  dames  who 
in  full  dress  come  out  firom  church  to 
make  their  selections  for  the  spit    These 


pass  firom  drove  to  drove,  looking  where 
to  choose,  and  evidently  driving  close  bar- 
gains. The  peasant,  aided  by  wife  and 
children,  all  having  long  reed  poles,  keeps 
his  brood  together,  and  easily  catches  Jus 
gobblers  as  fast  as  they  are  wanted.  The 
weighing  is  done  by  hand.  When  bought, 
the  bird  is  carried  off  by  a  servant  in  at- 
tendance ;  and  the  fine  lady,  continuing 
her  promenade,  joins  the  company  on  the 
MuraUa  del  Mar. 


(To  be  oontlnaed.) 


JOHN   VANDERLYN. 


WE  accustom  ourselves  to  speak  of  the 
eccentricities  of  genius,  and  ascribe 
as  a  reason  for  the  peculiarities  of  gifted 
men,  either  that  they  are  the  voluntary 
bestowment  of  an  incomprehensible  Pro- 
vidence, or  else  attribute  them  to  influ- 
ences so  widely  removed  from  the  real 
cause,  that  when  we  come  seriously  to  ex- 
amine the  subject  we  can  hardly  help 
smiling  at  the  far-fetched  and  readily  ac- 
credited theories. 

Too  often  the  melancholy  effects  of  pen- 
ury and  want,  silently  endured,  mark  on 
the  surface  of  fine  and  sensitive  natures, 
hard  and  repulsive  lines,  even  while  the 
soul  wells  up  genially  and  kindly  as  be- 
fore ;  and  smothered  griefs  and  disappoint- 
ments, borne  alone  and  unshared,  have 
often  so  completely  shut  out  from  the 
sympathy  of  their  fellow-men,  the  most 
generous  and  beautifiil  of  characters,  that 
they  for  ever  moved  among  them  like 
frowning  clouds  along  the  open  sky,  or 
glittering  icebergs  across  a  summer  sea. 

It  was  my  pleasure  to  have  known 
Vanderlyn  in  the  latter  years  of  his  life, 
and  though  I  fully  appreciated  the  cheer- 
less and  unhappy  existence  he  led,  and 
could  sympathize  with  the  unsatisfied 
longings  he  still  cherished,  circumstances 
prevented  me  from  expressing  my  sympa- 
thy, or  of  adding,  as  I  gladly  would  have 
done,  an  occasional  ray  of  sunlight  to  his 
lonely  and  isolated  life.  I  have  regretted 
it  a  thousand  times  since,  but  console  my- 
self with  the  reflection  that,  perhaps,  any 
poor  effort  of  mine  to  win  him  back  in 
the  autumn  of  his  days,  to  the  serene  en- 
joyment of  his  earlier  Ufe,  before  he  took 
up  the  burden  of  his  great  disappoint- 
ments, would  be  both  futile  and  unavail- 
ing. 

When  a  child,  I  heard  with  interest  the 


story  of  the  humble  boy,  who  by  chance 
attracted  the  notice  of  Aaron  Burr,  and  I 
had  a  great  desire  to  see  the  man,  who  as 
the  prot6g6  of  this  child  of  destiny,  had 
linked  himself  so  intimately  with  his  for- 
tunes, and  his  checkered  history.  He  was 
in  France  then,  painting  his  picture  of  the 
"  Landing  of  Columbus  "  for  the  Capitol, 
but  returning  soon  after,  when  that  last 
great  work  of  his  life  was  accomplished, 
my  youthful  desire  was  gratified,  and  my 
father  introduced  me  to  Vanderlyn  one 
day  when  together  we  were  waiting  for 
the  steamboat  at  the  landing. 

"  Ho  has  a  great  reverence  for  you," 
said  my  father,  ^'  and  is  something  of  an 
artist  himself." 

The  old  man  smiled,  with  satisfaction,  I 
thought,  that  his  name  and  character  had 
made  an  impression  upon  even  so  humble 
an  individual  as  I,  and  directly  added  iii  a 
solemn,  regretful  voice,  '•  There  is  great  un- 
certainty attending  an  artist's  career  in 
this  country,  as  I  can  abundantly  attest." 

Our  interview  with  him  was  but  a 
brief  one,  yet,  I  recognized  in  the  man 
the  lingering  sparks  of  a  lofty  but  crushed 
ambition,  whose  great  disappointments 
were  silently  and  uncomplainingly  borne, 
even  in  the  view  of  the  not  yery  dis- 
tant termination  of  his  long  and  event- 
ful career.  I  met  him  frequently  after- 
wards, at  short  intervals,  until  his  death, 
and  can  attest  to  his  genial  and  compan- 
ionable deportment,  while  in  the  society 
of  those  he  deemed  his  equals.  In  the 
company  of  tl^se  who  were  really  his  in- 
feriors, and  with  whom  he  necessarily  had 
no  sort  of  sjrmpathy,  he  was  frequently 
petulant  and  morose.  Alas !  a  train  of 
unfortunate  and  untoward  circumstances 
forced  upon  him  the  companionship  of 
such  as  these,  in  the  latter  years  of  his 


6U 


John  Vanderlyn. 


i;> 


life,  and  then  he  acquired  a  reputation  for 
churlishness  and  moroseness,  as  universal 
as  it  was  unjust  and  undeserved. 

He  was  accustomed  to  speak  feelingly 
upon  the  subject  of  the  building  of  the 
Rotunda,  in  the  Park  in  New  Yor^  which 
was  a  darling  scheme  of  his  life.  Here 
he  hoped  to  exhibit  panoramas  and  pic- 
tures, from  the  emoluments  of  which  he 
might  be  enabled  to  devote  himself  to  the 
higher  walks  of  art.  In  this  transaction, 
whether  justly  or  not,  is  not  for  me  here 
to  decide,  he  imagined  himself  to  have 
been  grossly  wronged  by  the  authorities, 
and  the  disappointments  consequent  upon 
.  the  utter  and  ruinous  failure  of  that 
scheme,  exerted  an  embittering  influence 
over  all  his  after  life. 

It  was  my  privilege  to  have  seen  among 
his  private  papers,  after  his  death,  a  copy 

of  a  letter  addressed  to upon  the 

receipt  of  the  commission  from  Congress 
to  paint  the  Landing  of  Columbus,  in  which 
he  most  feelingly  alludes  to  his  disappoint* 
ments,  and  regretfully  deplores  that  Con- 
gress had  withheld  this  oft-coveted  boon 
until  the  freshness  and  vigor  of  his  years 
was  past ;  and  he  seems  to  have  set  about 
the  prosecution  of  the  work,  not  in  the 
spirit  of  pride  and  emulation  with  which, 
in  his  earlier  career,  he  would  have  seized 
this  opportunity  of  rendering  himself  im- 
mortal, but  rather  to  build  up  for  himself 
an  unsatisfactory  monument  from  the 
grudged  and  tardy  bequest  of  an  ungi-ate- 
ful  country.  He  felt  that  he  could  have 
done  it  better  years  before,  when,  in  the 
ardor  and  enthusiasm  of  his  inspiration, 
he  craved  the  opportunity ;  but  when  it 
did  come,  he  turned  sorrowfully  to  his 
canvas  to  fulfil  the  commission,  because 
he  felt  that  he  had  left  no  worthy  record 
of  his  life  behind  him. 

After  his  return  from  Europe^  and 
while  he  was  exhibiting  his  picture 
through  the  Atlantic  cities,  he  used  fre- 
quently^ to  come  to  Kingston,  his  native 
village,  to  remain  but  for  a  few  weeks  at 
a  time,  allured,  I  have  no  doubt,  by  the 
tender  associations  that  clung  around  the 
place  of  his  birth,  and  which  came  up 
Defore  him  with  a  grateful  freshness  after 
the  varied  events  of  his  life,  and  the  long 
years  of  voluntary  exile  from  his  native 
land.  His  last  great  work  was  accom- 
plished, and  the  most  of  his  early  friends, 
as  well  as  the  illustrious  companions  of 
his  honored  manhood,  were  sleeping  their 
last,  quiet  sleep;  and  here,  under  the 
shadow  of  his  loved  KaatskilLs,  among 
their  green  graves,  he  found  his  highest 
as  well  as  saddest  enjoyment,  commun- 
ing alone,  amid  the  scenes  of  his  lost  yet 


cherished  childhood,  with  the  fixmis  ol 
beauty  that  throngea  hiB  bouL 

Among  the  old  landmarks  of  the  his- 
tory of  Ulster  CouBty,  is  the  home 
where  he  was  bom,  standiiig  upon  the 
outskirts  of  the  vilkge,  interesUng,  be- 
sides, as  being  the  only  house  left  stahd- 
ing  when  Kingston  was  hnmed  bj  the 
British  in  the  Revolutioni 

After* he  had  exerdsed  the  privileige 
accorded  him  by  Congress,  of  exhibiti^; 
his  picture  through  the  United  States, 
and  it  was  at  last  placed  in  the  panel  cf 
the  Rotunda,  designed  for  its  receptioiL 
he  might  fitly  have  laid  down  his  pendl 
jand  his  aspirations.  He  stood  alone, 
with  more  than  seventy  varied  years  be- 
hind him.  The  star  of  Napoleon,  who 
had  encouraged  and  flattered  him,  had 
gone  down  in  obscurity ;  and  Burr,  his 
early  friend  and  patron,  had  died  in  ig- 
nominy ;  and  of  all  the  illustrious  com- 
panions of  his  proud  and  prosperous 
days,  but  here  and  there  a  few  remained, 
awaiting  serenely  their  final  summons. 
The  Stuarts,  the  Wests,  the  Reynoldses, 
the  Copleys,  the  Adamses,  the  Jefiersons, 
the  Burrs,  all  were  gone;  and  looking 
back  upon  the  days  when  he  enjoys 
their  companionship  and  encouragement, 
and  comparing  them  with  the  utter  lone- 
liness of  his  declining  years,  he  might 
well  have  sighed  for  the  closing  scene. 

But  it  was  otherwise  with  him.  The 
long  years  that  had  passed  since  he  re- 
ceived the  conmussion  for  the  National 
picture,  had  exhausted  the  appropriation 
Congress  had  made  for  the  artist,  and  in 
his  old  age  he  was  forced  to  take  upon 
himself  the  drudgery  of  portrait  paintii^ 
as  a  means  of  sustenanccL  the  intervals 
of  which  were  filled  up  oy  a  new  and 
more  gorgeous  dream  of  painting  a  large 
picture  of  the  discovery  of  the  Hudson 
river.  He  used  to  discourse  eamesUy 
about  it  in  his  visits  to  Kingston,  and 
seemed  to  be  preparing  to  imdertake  the 
work  upon  the  grandest  scale.  Death 
came,  and  buried  his  dream  in  oblivion. 

I  remember  him,  as  a  hale,  intelligent- 
looking  old  gentleman  of  the  old  school, 
with  erect  fbrm,  polite  bearing,  and  re- 
fined but  shadowed  countenance,  as  well 
it  might  be,  so  widely  difierent  nrom  the 
sprightly,  hopeful  expression  of  his  por- 
trait, painted  in  his  youth,  an  engraving 
firom  which,  and  executed  while  he  was 
in  Paris,  is  preserved  among  his  papers. 

One  morning  in  September,  1862,  hav- 
ing landed  from  the  steamboat  in  a  feeble 
condition,  he  set  out  to  walk  to  King- 
ston, two  and  a  half  miles  distant ;  but 
becoming  fatigued  in  a  short  time^  he 


1854.] 


Biape-Odaeh  Siories. 


M6 


stopped,  and  was  disoorered  by  a  friend, 
from  whom  he  craTed  a  shilling,  to  pay 
fbv  the  transportation  of  his  trunk,  add- 
ing, that  he  was  sick,  and  entirely  desti- 
tute of  money.  Here  was  the  companion 
of  kings  and  emperors,  the  friend  of  Mad- 
ison, and  prot6g6  of  Burr,  with  the  frost 
of  almost  eighty  winters  white  upon  his 
head,  a  heartbroken  suppliant  in  the  very 
Tillage  where  he  was  bom,  and  upon 
which  he  had  reflected  so  much  honor, 
discouraged  and  disheartened  by  the  cold- 
ness and  indifference  he  had  everywhere 
met  come  back  to  die  in  the  place  of-  his 
birtn,  to  lay  down  his  reverend  head,  a 
beggar  among  his  ungrateful  country- 
men. 

He  obtained  an  obscure  room  at  an  inn 
in  the  village,  and  the  friend  spoken  of 
went  about  quietly  among  a  few  of  his 


acquaintances,  with  a  subscription  for 
the  old  man's  maintenance;  but  it  was 
never  needed.  He  was  taken  ill  in  a  day 
or  two  after  his  arrival,  and  shutting  him- 
self in  his  room,  and  requesting  that  he 
might  not  be  disturbed,  he  died,  friend- 
less and  alone,  in  an  obscure  back  room 
under  the  low  roof  that  looked  out  into 
a  stable-yard,  possessing  not  even  the 
comfort  of  a  curtun  to  shield  the  glaring 
sunlight  from  his  dying  eyes. 

They  found  him  in  Qie  morning,  lying 
dead  in  his  bed,  but  with  a  look  of  such 
composure  and  serenity  upon  his  counte- 
nance, as  at  first  induct  them  to  believe 
he  only  slept.  His  left  hand  was  as  if 
grasping. his  palette;  but  his  soul,  in 
some'  mighty  vision  of  celestial  beauty, 
had  swept  grandly  and  silently  away. 


STAGE-COACH   STORIES 


(Continued  from  page  51&) 


OHAPTEB  y. 


A  SUNDAY   IN   THE   COUNTRY. 

UPON  going  down  the  next  morning,  I 
found  Cranston  still  walking  to  and 
fro  on  the  front  piazza. 

"  What ! "  said  I,  "  haven't  you  finished 
that  sonnet  yet  ?  " 

"Don't  distress  yourself  on  my  ac- 
count," said  he;  "I've  been  abed  and 
slept  soundly.  By  the  bv,  as  I  told  you 
last  night,  I've  found  them  out  know 
thehr  names,  and  all  about  'em.  If  you'll 
treat  to  the  bitters  now,  I'll  enlighten 
you." 

"  Thank  you  for  nothing,"  said  I,  "  I 
know  already." 

"  No  !  do  you  though  ?  Pooh  !  you're 
joking ;  it  can't  be  possible.  I'll  bet  you 
the  madeira  for  the  Judge,  you  and  I,  af- 
ter dinner  to-day,  that  you  can't  name 
them." 

"  Done,"  said  I,  "  they  are  a  Miss  Mary 
Smith,  of  this  town,  and  her  cousin  from 
the  city.  And  there  you  have  me ;  I  don't 
know  the  cousin's  name." 

** Never  mind,  the  bet  is  on  me;  we 
won't  be  nice  about  names.  You  have 
found  out  who  they  are,  and  that's  more 
than  I  was  able  to  do.  The  information 
is  cheap  at  three  bottles  of  madeira — or 
four — the  Judge  will  punish  two." 

*'  Then  you  didn't  know — " 

"  Not  a  syllable.    I  depended  <m  your 


acuteness,  and  was  not  disappointed.  Oh ! 
by  the  by,  which  was  which?  Is  the 
dark-eyed  damsel  Miss  Smith,  or  the 
cousin  ?  " 

"  Depend  on  your  own  acuteness  to  find 
out,"  said  I,  tumibg  on  my  heel. 

Cranston  was  a  good,  companionable 
fellow  enough,  but  he  had  sometimes  a 
bantering,  badgering  way  with  him,  a 
habit  contracted  at  the  bar,  I  suppose, 
and  a  sort  of  half  real,  half  afiected  as- 
sumption of  superior  tact  and  knowledge 
of  the  world,  which,  though  perfectly 
good-humored  in  itself^  was  often  any 
thing  but  gratifying  to  the  amour  propre 
of  others.  I  had,  the  day  before,  been 
secretly  uneasy  at  the  display  of  this  pe- 
culiarity at  my  expense,  and  was,  I  am 
almost  ashamed  to  confess,  a  good  deal 
nettled  at  being  told  in  so  nonchalant 
a  manner,  that  I  had  been  put  to  use. 
It  is  unpleasant  to  discover  that  one  has 
been  pumped.  Indeed,  so  great  was  my 
irritation,  that  I  forthwith  took  occasion 
to  see  the  Deacon,  and  requested  him,  as 
a  particular  favor,  to  conceal  from  Cran- 
ston all  information  with  respect  to  the 
identity  of  Miss  Mary  Smith.  The  Dea- 
con readily  promised  to  preserve  an  in- 
violable secresy  upon  this  point,  and,  it 
being  Sunday  morning,  said  but  little 
else.  NeverUieless,  I  perceived  t^t  my 
request  had  served  to  plunge  him  still 
deeper  into  the  state  of  perplexed  won- 


696 


Stage- Coach  Sfariei. 


Pom 


derment  first  prodaoed  bj  the  ColonePs 
'clusness.'  ''Take  it  by  a^  largo^"  said 
he,  in  a  whisper,  "  it's  the  most  cunousest 
affair  that  has  turned  up  in  Guilford  sin' 
Ensign  Phelan  had  his  hull  drove  of  tur- 
keys pizened.  Jest  tell  me  this,  Squire," 
he  asked,  "  is  thcr  law  tu  it  ?  "  I  nodded 
mysteriously.  "Cranston  thinks  he's 
shrewd  enough  to  get  it  all  out  of  you, 
but  if  I'm  not  mistaken,  he'll  find  his 
match." 

'^Depend  upon't  he  will,"  said  the 
Deacon,  with  an  air  of  mysterious -im- 
portance." And  I'll  tell  Miss  Curtiss  to 
be  keerful  and  keep  her  tongue  where  it 
belongs.  Women  are  so  apt  to  talk,  you 
know,  Squire.  She'd  look  purty,  wouldn't 
she,  a  cocked  up  in  that  ere  Witness- 
box!" 

With  a  duo  regard  to  the  sanctity  of  the 
day,  and  especially  that  I  might  avoid 
Cranston,  and  enjoy  my  own  thoughts 
undisturbed  by  the  crowd  in  the  bar- 
room and  upon  the  front  piazza,  I  strolled 
out  towards  the  poultry-yards  and  kitch- 
en-garden in  the  rear  of  the  house.  The 
E beacon,  besides  his  occupation  of  tavem- 
eeper,  owned  and  cultivated  an  exten- 
sive farm,  and  on  the  broad  stdop  of  the 
^L  part'  of  tlie  house  I  found  the  hired 
men  or  farm-laborers  gathered,  enjoyine 
the  leisure  of  the  Sabl^th  morning,  and 
reposing  after  the  toils  of  the  week. 

All  along  the  path  was  alive  with  busy 
ants,  repairing  the  damages  caused  by  the 
last  night's  shower,  and  heaping  anew 
their  little,  yellow  sand-hills.  Sometimes 
Duke  would  snuff  at  a  venerable  toad, 
that  tempted  abroad  by  the  fragrant 
dampness  had  wandered  too  far,  and  had 
not  yet  got  home  from  his  nocturnal  jour- 
ney, and  would  turn  him  over  with  his 
paw.  Now  and  then  a  long-legged  spider 
would  run  across  our  track  with  incredi- 
ble rapidity,  or  a  devil's-darning-needle 
would  pertinaciously  hover  about  our 
heads,  and  cause  me,  impressed  with  an 
old  nursery  caution  that  I  have  never  yet 
forgotten,  to  duck  and  dodge,  and  hold 
my  hands  over  my  ears  until  the  wing- 
ed spectre  would  lly  away  across  the  gar- 
den. 

At  the  farther  end  of  the  alley  stood 
an  open  summer-house,  with  a  grape-vine 
clambering  over  it  and  almost  hidifig  tho 
bars  of  trellis  work,  the  great  thick  clus- 
ters of  green  grapes  hanging  down  through 
the  gaps  in  the  roof,  and  giving  rich  pro- 
mise for  the  coming  autumn.  Near  by 
there  was  a  long  bee-house,  open  at  the 
front,  containing  two  shelves  of  hives, 
some  of  them  of  straw,  of  the  old-fash- 
ioned round-top  pattern,  such  as  we  see 


in  picture  books,  and  sheltered  by  a  littb 
grove  of  peach-trecg,  whose  frmfl  and 
brittle  boughs  were  propped  with  bouin 
and  forked  poles  to  help  them  snstain  tht 
burdensome  weight  of  rosy  and  golden 
fruit. 

I  stood  and  watched,  for  a  while,  tho 
active  citizens  of  this  insect  phalansteiy. 
that  unmindful  of  the  sanctity  of  a  New 
England  Sabbath-day,  and  that  their 
owner  was  a  deacon,  kept  up  a  steady 
hum  of  industry,  which,  like  all  other 
continued  sounds  of  busy  life,  beard  iron 
the  outside  and  at  a  distance^  had  a  most 
drowsy  and  soothing  effect.  I  sat  down 
on  the  grass  in  the  shade  of  the  grove  of 
fruit-trees,  and  of  some  tall  clamps  of 
fennel,  all  alive  with  bees  and  redolent 
with  aromatic  fragrance^  and  having  eaten 
my  fill  of  juicy  nectarines  and  apricoti, 
lit  a  fresh  Havana.  Duke  stretched 
himself  beside  me,  laid  his  muzzle  on  his 
paws,  and  betook  himself  to  meditation 
and  winking  lazily  at  tho  bees  as  they 
buzzed  by  him. 

I  lay  there  a  long  time,  and  let  my  fan- 
cy have  its  own  way  in  all  matters  con- 
cerning Miss  Mary  Smith,  and  watched 
the  window-curtains  in  the  house,  swell* 
ing  and  collapsing  in  the  slight  breeze,  at 
intervals  almost  regular,  as  if  the  great 
old  house  had  lungs  in  it  somewhere,  and 
was  alive  and  breathing  through  its  open 
doors  and  windows ;  but  presently,  as  the 
sun  climbed  the  sky,  the  heat  increased 
and  the  breeze  died  away.  The  locusts 
in  the  fields  hard  by  began  to  chirp!  The 
birds  ceased  their  Uvely  carols,  and  when 
they  sung  at  all  uttered  only  sleepy  notes. 
Even  a  cat-bird,  which  at  first  had  been 
greatly  disturb^  by  my  presence  near 
her  nest  somewhere  among  the  fruit-trees, 
reassured  by  my  quiet  bearing,  herself 
subsided  into  quiet.  The  hum  of  the 
aviary,  as  I  have  said,  disposed  me  to 
slumber.  The  sounds  or  ringing  bells  in 
distant  villages  came  booming  faintly 
through  the  still,  Sabbath-morning  air. 
My  eyelids  closed.  Tho  ashes  of  my 
cigar  dropped  upon  my  vest  I  roused 
myself  and  tried  to  brush  them  off.  Again 
the  busy  humming  of  the  bees  fell  upon 
my  d rowsy  ear.  Whit — whit — ip^-c-e-«-< 
some  little  bird  whistled  dreamily,  as  if 
he  were  singing  in  his  sleep.  Uz-z-z-z 
chimed  in  a  grasshopper  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, and  before  be  reached  the  cadence 
of  his  song  I  was  fast  asleep. 

I  slept  until  I  was  waked  by  the  sum- 
mons of  the  church-going  bell,  when  I  got 
up  from  the  grass,  brushed  off  the  fallen 
ashes  of  my  cigar,  and.  followed  by  Dulu^ 
retraced  my  steps  to  tno  house. 


1854" 


Stage- Coach  Storiei. 


691 


I  met  Cranston  in  the  halL  He  smiled 
when  he  saw  me.  "  Why,  Lovel,"  said 
he,  "  where  have  you  been  hiding  yourself? 
I've  been  looking  for  you  to  go  to  church 
with  me.  The  Deacon's  given  me  direc- 
tions to  find  a  pew  thtit  he  says  he  keeps 
expressly  for  lawyers  from  abroad.  No. 
47,  near  the  middle  of  the  church ;  good 
place  to  keep  a  look-out  for  pretty  girls, 
and  especially  for  Miss  Smith  and  that 
cousin  aforesaid." 

Ho  spoke  so  pleasantly  that  I  was 
ashamed  of  the  resentful  feeling  in  my 
heart,  and  so  dismissed  it  "  Let  me  go 
up  to  my  room  for  a  brushing,"  said  I, 
'•and  Pm  with  you." 

The  bell  was  tolling  for  the  minister 
when  Cranston  and  I  arrived  at  the  meet- 
ing-house door,  and  w6  paused  for  a  few 
minutes  to  observe  the  assembling  con- 
gregation, and  to  watch  for  Miss  Smith 
and  her  cousin,  though  the  latter  purpose 
neither  of  us  avowed. 

As  I  have  before  told  you,  the  meeting- 
house stood  in  the  centre  of  the  village 
square.  It  had  a  double-leaved  door  upon 
its  southern  side,  and  another  entrance  at 
the  end,  to  which  the  lower  story  of  the 
tower  formed  a  porch  or  entry.  The  con- 
gregation seemed  to  consist,  not  only  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  village,  but  also  of  a 
great  number  of  the  farmers  and  their 
fiunilics,  residing  outside  of  and  perhaps 
miles  away  from  the  village  itself.  Wagon 
after  wagon  arrived,  laden  with  country 
people,  and  drew  up,  one  after  another,  at 
the  different  entrances,  until  their  passen- 
gers were  discharged,  and  would  then  be 
driven  away  to  the  hitching-posts  on  the 
margin  of  the  green  and  in  front  of  the 
stores ;  or  to  a  range  of  horse-sheds  oppo- 
site. 

The  occupants  of  these  vehicles  were 
mostly  plain,  unpretending  people.  With 
few  exceptions,  the  men  appeared  to  be 
farmers.  Some,  to  be  sure,  wore  fine 
broadcloth  suits,  albeit  not  always  of  the 
latest  style  of  cut,  and  had  a  well-to-do 
manner  with  them,  significant  of  numerous 
acres,  thrifty  stocks  of  cattle,  large  bams, 
and  money  to  lend.  Their  wives'  gowns 
were  rustling  silk,  and  their  daughters 
were  dressed  in  a  way  that  evinced  an  in- 
telligent appreciation  of  fashions  not  yet 
gone  out  of  date.  Then  there  were  others 
with  coats  on  their  backs  that  had  never 
paid  a  duty,  and  some  again  there  were, 
clad  in  plain  homespun  cut,  mayhap,  at 
the  village  tailor's,  but  stitched  into  gar- 
ments by  the  fingers  of  some  itinerating 
seamstress,  or,  perhaps,  even  by  the  gooa 
wife  herself.  These  men  had  hard  hands 
and  sunburnt  faces,  and  were  accustom- 


ed to  toil,  yet  not  showing  its  traces  so 
plainly  as  'their  wives,  who,  whether 
middle-aged  or  old,  thin  or  stout,  smooth 
or  wrinkled,  invariably  looked  older  and 
more  worn  than  their  husbands. 

The  young  girls,  their  daughters,  on 
the  contrary,  were  pictures  of  blooming 
health  and  youth,  whose  ruddy  cheeks 
made  the  pink  ribbons  and  linings  of  their 
bonnets  look  pale  by  the  contrast  Trim 
damsels  were  they,  each  with  a  bunch  of 
caraway  in  her  plump  fingers,  or  else  a 
posy  5  with  round,  plump  forms,  for  the 
most  part  inclining  a  size  too  much,  if  any 
thing,  towards  stoutness,  and  ankles  and 
thereabouts  encased  in  snowy  cotton  hose, 
as  they  were  revealed  in  alighting  from 
the  wagons,  betokening  a  size  and  sym- 
metry of  limb,  to  possess  the  like  of* which, 
in  his  own  proper  person,  many  a  dandy 
would  barter  even  his  cherished  curls  and 
moustaches. 

Meanwhile,  as  the  bell  continued  its 
monotonous  tolling,  the  doors  of  the  houses 
surrounding  the  village  square  were 
thrown  open,  and  the  green  was  soon 
thronged  with  villagers  wending  their  way 
to  their  different  places  of  worship.  The 
aristocracy,  it  was  plain  to  see,  tended 
chiefly  towards  the  church  near  which  I 
was  standing.  It  was  easy  to  distinguish 
the  magnates  of  the  village,  the  retired 
city  merchants,  the  we^thy  country 
storekeeper,  the  postmaster,  the  judge  of 
probate  and  the  justice  of  the  peace  from 
the  rest  of  the  crowd.  I  was  surprised  to 
notice,  that  many  of  the  ladies  were  as 
carefully  and  modestly  dressed  as  the  same 
class  of  people  in  the  city.  So  it  would  not 
have  been  twenty  jrears  ago ;  but  month- 
ly magazines,  with  fashion-plates,  have 
effected  a  revolution  in  these  matters,  even 
in  such  out-of-the-way,  old  places,  as 
Guildford. 

Once  or  twice  the  arrival  of  some  peo- 
ple, evidently  persons  of  more  than  ordi- 
nary consideration,  caused  a  slight  sensa- 
tion in  the  throng  about  the  church  steps. 
I  noticed,  particularly,  one  tall  old  gen- 
tleman, with  a  chin  very  much  stained 
with  tobacco  juice,  who  walked  slowly  up 
the  path,  accompanied  by  his  wife  and 
daughter.  People  stood  back  a  little  to 
give  them  room.  The  farmers,  to  whom 
the  old  gentleman  bowed,  returned  the 
courtesy  promptly,  and  appeared  to  feel 
a  good  deal  gratified.  The  buxom  coun- 
try girls  looked  curiously  at  the  fashion- 
i^le  attire  of  the  ladies,  and  nudged  each 
other  with  their  elbows,  and  whispered 
together  out  of  the  comers  of  their  mouths 
as  they  stared.  The  elder  lady  was  a 
dampy,  over-dressed  woman,  with  a  faoa 


608 


Stage-Coach  Storiei. 


that  had  once  been  pretty,  and  she  and 
her  daughter,  a  showy,  handsome,  haugh- 
ty-looking girl  if  a  woman  of  twenty-five 
may  be  called  by  so  juvenile  a  name, 
looked  neither  to  the  one  side  nor  the 
other,  except  that  they  slightly  returned 
the  bows  of  a  group  of  three  or  four 
young  men,  and — I  may  be  vain — the 
young  lady  bestowed  a  quick  and  furtive 
glance  of  observation  on  Cranston  and 
myself. 

"Old  Governor  Headley,"  whispered 
my  friend,  mentioning  the  naipe  of  a  for- 
mer chief  magistrate  of  the  State  and 
senator  of  the  United  States,  but  who, 
for  ten  years,  as  I  now  remembered  to 
have  heard,  had  remained  in  private  life. 

The  three  or  four  young  men  that  I 
have  nientioncd  stood  together  in  a  group 
upon  one  side  of  the  steps.  They  re- 
sembled each  other  very  nearly  m  their 
general  appearance.  All  had  long  hair, 
downy  moustaches  or  budding  imperials, 
high,  stiff  shirt-collars  and  flashy  cravats, 
steel-bowed  spectacles,  tight  boots,  whale- 
bone canes,  white  vests,  odd  brooches,  os- 
tentatious watch-guards,  and  perfumed 
cambric  handkerchiefs,  with  the  comers 
sticking  out  of  the  bresist-pockets  of  their 
coats.  I  had  no  difficulty  in  guessing 
them  to  be  college  students,  at  home  m 
vacation.  They  were  regarded  with  con- 
siderable attention  by  the  other  young 
people  of  their  own  age,  their  former 
schoolmates  and  acquaintances  perhaps, 
and  enjoyed  it  keenly,  with  a  transparent 
affectation  of  indifference. 

Finally,  the  minister  himself  arrived. 
He  was  a  tall  man,  of  middle  age,  with 
an  unhealthy-looking,  fat,  white  face. 
His  large,  dull,  light  gray,  near-sighted 
eyes  protruded  half  way  from  their  sock- 
ets, almost  touching  the  glasses  of  his 
gold  spectacles,  as  if  his  stiff,  tight  white 
cravat  was  choking  him.  His  forehead 
was  low  and  retreating,  but  his  thick, 
iron-gray  hair  was  brushed  stiffly  up- 
wards, and  gave  at  first  sight  the  general 
effect  of  a  high  forehead.  lie  was  dressed 
in  black  of  course,  and  with  great  neat- 
ness and  precision.  His  wife,  who  walked 
by  his  side,  was  a  thin,  careworn  woman, 
considerably  younger  than  her  husband, 
but  evidently  broken  in  health  and  spirits. 
She  held  a  pretty  little  girl  by  the  hand, 
and  behind  them  followed  demurely  two 
boys,  whose  roguish  countenances  seemed 
to  indicate  that  the  well-known  proverb, 
with  respect  to  ministers'  sons,  would  not 
be  likely  to  fail  in  its  application  in  their 
particular  cases. 

The  sexton,  who  through  the  other 
door  in  the  porch  could  see  the  minister 


walk  up  the  broad  aisle^  therefore  gm 
the  bell-rope  a  stronger  poll  than  nml, 
by  way  of  salute,  and  then  hung  it  up  oi 
a  peg,  wiped  his  moist  brow,  put  on  lam 
coat,  and  slowly  mounted  the  giUloy 
stairs  in  the  midst  of  a  numerons  host  of 
young  men  and  boys,  who  speedily,  and 
with  much  tramping  of  feet,  and  haid 
breathing,  and  some  coughing,  began  to 
fill  the  pews  in  the  men's  gallery.  The 
organ  began  to  play  a  voluntary,  and  tfaa 
remainder  of  the  crowd  that  had  been 
loitering  about  the  steps  flocked  in  doors. 
Cranston  and  myself  followed  this  exam- 
ple. We  entered  the  church,  Cranston 
taking  the  lead,  and  walked  half-way  op 
the  broad  aisle,  then  turned  off  to  the 
right,  down  another  nuiin  isle,  mnniM 
lengthwise  the  church,  and  finally  arrived 
at  No.  47.  Cranston  opened  the  door,  I 
passed  in  and  seated  myself  by  the  side 
of  Judge  Walker.  I  don't  know  of  any 
situation  in  the  world  in  which  a  man  so 
entirely  surrenders  his  independent  voli- 
tion, imd  feels  so  much  as  if  he  didn't 
belong  to  himself^  as  when  entering  a 
strange  church  under  the  guidance  of 
another  person.  He  follows  his  conduc- 
tor, upon  whom  his  eyes  are  rigidly  fixed, 
with  an  irresolute  gait,  nervously  clutch- 
ing his  hat-brim,  having  no  purpose,  no 
will  of  his  own  except  to  turn  when  his 
leader  turns,  stop  when  he  stops,  wad  to 
be,  in  all  respects,  governed  by  his  mo- 
tions and  directions.  I  had  been  a  good  deal 
confused  by  the  unusual  intricacy  of  Uie 
aisles,  having  like  to  have  shot  by  the 
sidecut,  and  had  all  the  while  an  uncom- 
fortable consciousness  of  wearing  an  old 
blue  coat  After  gaining  my  seat,  there- 
fore, I  did  not  at  onoe  gather  courage  to 
look  about  me,  but  remained  yery  quietly 
hearing  the  minister  reading  m>m  the 
gospels  the  parable  of  the  unjust  judge, 
until  an  •  expressive  Jiem  Gcom  Cranston 
directed  my  attention  to  that  gentleman, 
who  was  seated  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  pew.  I  supposed,  of  course,  that  he. 
had  discovered  Mary  Smith  and  her 
cousin  among  the  congregation,  and  be- 
gan to  feel  my  nerves  tingle  and  the  blood 
rush  to  my  face.  As  he  caught  my  eye, 
however,  he  hemmed  again  and  nodded 
to  the  Judge ;  evidently  entertaining  at 
the  same  time  a  lively  recollection  of  some 
recent  decision  of  the  Circuit  Court,  in 
which  his  client  had  been  worsted. 

During  the  long  prayer,  after  the  vrel- 
fare  of  the  church  in  Guildford  and  of  the 
whole  church  militant  generally  had  been 
besought,  the  prosperity  of  our  own 
State,  and  of  sister  States,  and  of  the 
United  States,  duly  mentioned  as  Mng 


1854.] 


Stage- Coajch  Stories. 


59(K 


exoeedinglj  desirable;  and  while  the 
minister  was  engaged  in  presenting  the 
claims  of  the  heathen  and  other  anti* 
podean  matters,  I  ventured  to  look  about 
a  httle.  The  interior  of  the  meeting-house 
presents  a  curious  blending  of  ancient  and 
modem  fashions.    There  was  a  row  of 

Sews  next  the  wall  on  every  side  of  the 
ouse.  These  were  separated  from  thoso 
in  the  centre  by  an  aisle  running  com- 
pletely round  the  church,  while  two  other 
aisles  crossing  each  other  at  right  angles, 
divided  the  central  pews  into  four  blocks. 
The  pulpit  was  lofty  and  narrow,  and 
stood  upon  a  trunk  or  stem,  so  that  in 
shape  it  was  not  unhlce  a  wine-glass. 
There  were  one  large  and  two  smaller 
arched  windows  behind  it,  and  a  sound- 
ing-board overhead,  which,  like  the  wood- 
work of  the  pulpit,  was  elaborately  carved. 
So  far  all  was  of  the  style  of  a  hundred 
years  ago.  But  the  pulpit  was  painted 
and  grained  in  imitation  of  black  walnut ;. 
Uie  cushions  of  the  desk  were  of  rich 
crimson  velvet,  the  windows  behind  were 
handsomely  curtained,  the  sounding-board  . 
was  painted  white,  its  carvings  gilded, 
and  from  its  front,  just  over  the  desk, 
hung  a  small  but  elegant  chandelier,  the 
desk  itself  being  too  small  to  give  room 
for  standing  lamps  without  crowding  the 
gorgeously  gilt  and  embossed  Bible  and 
hymn  book.  Another  chandelier,  much 
hu^r,  but  of  similar  style  and  pattern, 
was  suspended  from  the  centre  of  the  ceil- 
ing. The  old-fashioned  square  pews  were 
grained  in  black  walnut  like  the  pulpit, 
and  the  doors  were  numbered  with  gilded 
Boman  numerals.  There  was  a  clock- 
dial  upon  the  front  of  the  choir  gallery, 
and  the  tall  gilt  pipes  and  richly  moulded 
cornice  of  a  good-sized  organ  showed  very 
handsomely  above  the  crimson  moreen 
curtains,  behind  which  the  modest  occu- 
pants of  the  singers'  seats  chose  to  hide 
themselves.  The  ceiling  and  walls  were 
fairly  painted  to  resemble  panel-work 
and  carved  mouldings.  The  aisles  and 
floor  about  the  deacons'  seats  and  marble- 
top  communion  table,  were  covered  with 
handsome  carpeting.  The  slender  Doric 
pillars  that  supported  the  lofty  galleries 
were  ornamented  with  gilt  brackets,  from 
which  depended  swinging  lamps,  with 
cut-glass  shades  of  uniform  pattern  with 
those  in  the  chandehers. 

Indeed,  the  ancient  meeting-house  had 
the  appearance  of  some  stem-faced,  plain, 
hard-featured  old  lady,  with  her  gaunt 
and  bony  frame  arrayed  in  a  showy  dress 
of  modem  fabric  and  ffishion,  and  bedeck- 
ed with  earrings,  necklaces,  bracelets, 
brooches  and  rings  brand-new  from  the 


jeweller's  shop.  Nevertheless,  the  people 
of  Guildford  seemed,  for  the  roost  part, 
extremely  well  pleased  with  their  place 
of  worship.  As  I  was  afterwards  inform- 
ed by  Deacon  Curtiss,  there  had  been  a 
stout  and  prolonged  contest  wac^ed  in  the 
ecclesiastical  society  some  two  years  be- 
fore, between  the  conservatism  of  the 
elders  and  the  progressive  spirit  and  mod- 
ern tastes  of  the  juniors.  The  latter  ad- 
vocated a  total  demolition  of  the  old  meet- 
ing-house, and  the  erection  of  a  new 
church  edifice  upon  another  site.  The  el- 
ders opposed  these  measures,  and  main- 
tained, with  invincible  obstinacy,  that  so 
long  as  the  venerable  meeting-house  was 
sound  in  every  one  of  its  huge  timbers, 
roomy,  and  full  of  the  sacred  associations 
of  former  generations,  and  the  tender  re- 
collections of  their  own  youth,  it  should 
stand,  where,  for  two  hundred  years,  the 
house  of  God  had  stood.  It  was  claimed 
on  the  one  hand,  that  the  old  meetings 
house  was  awfully  cheerless  and  uncom- 
fortable of  a  cold  day  in  the  winter,  and 
that,  by  reason  of  its  lack  of  window- 
blinds,  it  was  just  about  as  uncomfort- 
able of  a  hot.  glaring  day  in  July  or  Au- 
gust. In  reply  to  this  argument,  the 
elders  told  long-winded  stories  of  the 
hardships  endured  by  the  first  settlers, 
and  of  their  worshipping  in  the  log  mcet- 
ing-house,  with  a  sentry  at  the  door  to 
watch  for  Indians  during  King  Philip's 
war,  and  indulged  in  endless  reminiscen- 
ces of  their  own  youth,  when  a  fire  or  a 
stove  in  a  meeting-bouse  was  a  thing  un- 
known, and  very  delicate  ladies  some- 
times carried  foot-stoves  and  hot  bricks, 
but  the  greater  part  of  the  congrega- 
tion sat  still,  during  a  two-hours  sermon, 
while  their  breaths  were  congealing  and 
frx>sting  upon  their  hair.  When  one  party 
inveighed  against  the  lofty  galleries,  in 
'  which  mischievous  and  ungodly  youth 
and  naughty  boys  were  wont,  so  it  was 
said;  to  play  old-sledge  and  all-fours,  and 
serve  the  devil  generally,  in  sermon  time, 
secure  from  the  observation  of  the  rest  of 
the  congregation  by  their  elevated  and 
secluded  position,  and  the  high  railings 
of  the  gallery  pews,  it  was  replied,  that, 
if  the  old-fashioned  ofBce  of  tithing-man 
could  only  be  revived,  and  men  appointed 
thereto  who  would  exercise  the  pious  vig- 
ilance and  wholesome  vigor  that  htul 
characterized  the  official  conduct  of  tith- 
ing-men  in  the  good  old-times,  these  scan- 
dalous and  unseemly  practices  would 
right  speedily  be  abolished. 

The  juniors  were  earnest  and  deter- 
mined, and  the  elders  were  cross  and  ob- 
stinate.   At  last  the  progressives  threat 


600 


Staffe-Coach  Stones. 


Pime 


ened  secession,  and  a  division  of  the  so* 
ciety  and  church  seemed  inevitable.  But, 
finally,  by  the  strenuous  exertions  of  a 
few  trimmers,  belonging  neither  to  tho 
one  party  nor  the  other,  a  compromise  was 
agreed  lipon.  and  peace  was  happily  de- 
clared. •  It  was  decided  that  the  meeting- 
house should  stand,  and  that  the  desecra- 
tinj?  and  unholy  hands  of  carpenters  and 
joiners  should  not  bo  permitted  to  touch 
any  fixture  thereof;  but  it  was  conceded 
to  the  progressives  that  all  that  painters*^ 
and  upholsterers  conld  do  to  alter  its  ap- 
pearance might  be  done,  without  further 
let,  hindrance  or  opposition. 

So  it  happened  that  the  First  Ecclesi- 
astical Society  of  Guildford  preserved  its 
ancient  meeting-house,  built  in  the  year 
of  our  Lord  1756,  and  the  pulpit  from 
which  the  Rev.  Timothy  Edwards  had 
preached  the  ordination  sermon  of  the 
fourth  minister  of  the  parish,  where  his 
gifted'  son,  and  Dr.  Stiles,  and  a  host  of 
other  sainted  Presbytefian  worthies  of 
the  past  century  had  preached  and  prayed, 
and  yet,  the  while,  worshipped  the  God 
of  their  Puritan  fathers  sitting  in  pews 
closely  resembling  black  walnut,  beneath 
a  frescoed  ceiling  and  ch&ndeliers  of 
ormolu  and  cut-glass,  trod  the  way  to 
heaven  on  ingrain  carpeting,  and  listened 
to  the  devotion-iuvspiring  strains  of  one 
of  Hook's  double-banked  organs  with  two 
and  twenty  stops. 

The  meeting-house,  as  one  party  called 
it,  or  the  church,  as  it  was  now  styled  by 
the  juniors,  strikingly  resembled  in  its 
appearance  the .  congregation  assembled 
within  its  walls.  Old  fashions  and  new 
f&shions  sat  in  close  propinquity,  and 
made  strange  and  forcible  contrasts.  Sim- 
ple plainness  and  elaborate  richness  el- 
bowed each  other.  There  was  nothing 
but  that  was.  neat,  but  there  was  much 
that  was  splendid.  There  were  ladies  in 
one  pew,  the  ribbons  and  trimmings  of 
whose  bonnets  was  of  greater  cost  than 
the  whole  attire  of  other  well,  but  simply 
dressed  ladies  in  the  next  pew.  I  beheld, 
at  one  glance,  a  venerable  old  man  with 
his  thin,  gray  locks  queued  behind  and 
fastened  with  a  ribbon,  and  who  still 
wore  black  silk  breeches  and  stockings ; 
a  clerk  in  the  county  bank,  as  sleek  and 
finished  a  dandy  as  ever  wore  kid  gloves 
and  perfumed  the  air  of  a  church  with 
jockey-club  and  west-end;  and  a  plain, 
red-faced,  hard-fisted  farmer  in  a  brown, 
homespun  coat,  with  bra.ss  buttons. 

I  am  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  confess  that 
I  took  notice  of  all  these  things  while  tho 
minister  was  making  his  long  prayer; 
but  as  I  had  already  deprived  myselif  of 


the  chance  of  saying  that  my  obsenrmtioiii 
were  taken  before  the  arrival  of  the  min- 
ister and  the  commencement  of  the  ser- 
vice, and  as  nobody  would  have  believed 
me  if  I  had  pretended  that  my  regards 
were  bestowed  any  where  else  than  on 
tho  choir,  while  standing  up  in  singing- 
time  with  my  back  to  the  polpit,  as  the 
fashion  was  in  Guildford,  there  was  no- 
thing^ for  it  but  to  admit  my  inattentiott 
to  the  service  either  during  the  prayer  or 
the  sermon.  I  will  take  credit  to  myself 
by  saying,  that  after  being  fully  oonvinced 
that  neither  Mary  Smith  and  her  cousin, 
or  Frank  Eliot,  were  in  the  church,  I  did 
listen  to  the  sermon,  and  I  remember  to 
this  day  what  a  severe  handling  the  So- 
cinian  heresy  and  heretics  received  that 
morning  from  the  Rev.  Mr.  Wilson,  in 
his    discourse    of  forty    minutes. 

The  final  amen  being  pronounced,  Hm 
minister  closed  his  black  velvet-covered 
sermon  book,  and  his  dull  gray  eyes  at 
the  same  time,  and  uttered  a  short  but 
fervent  prayer,  in  which  he  gave  the  So- 
•  cinians  a  coup  de  grace^  and  then,  spread- 
ing out  his  arms  with  his  fingers  extended, 
said  the  benediction;  the  which,  being 
scarcely  finished,  there  was  heard  an  im- 
mediate stampeae  in  the  men's  gallery, 
that  startled  me  at  first  with  the  notion 
of  the  house  being  on  fire,  but  presently 
perceiving  that  the  rush  was  called  only 
by  a  desire  on  the  part  of  the  youth  to 
escape  as  speedily  as  possible  from  the 
confinement  of  the  meeting-house  into 
the  open  air,  my  alarm  su^ded,  and  I 
waited  until  the  jostling  throng  of  men  in 
the  aisl(»3,  scarcely  less  eager  to  escape 
than  their  sons  in  the  gallery,  had  gained 
the  door,  and  left  the  way  clear  for  the 
ladies  to  follow  at  their  leisure. 

During  the  intermission,  between  ser- 
vfces,  we  partook  of  a  very  nice  lunch, 
and  some  very  nice  something  else  which 
goes  very  well  and  moreover  rhymes  with 
lunch;  there  being  no  regular  dinner 
served  at  the  Deacon's  on  Sunday  noon. 
At  two  o'clock,  Cranston  and  I  again 
went  to  meeting ;  I,  at  least  in  the 
hope  that  Miss  Smith  would  have  recov- 
ered from  the  fatigue  of  her  joiuney  and 
give  me  the  opportunity  of  once  more  be- 
holding her.  But  this  hope  was  doomed 
to  disappointment.  Neither  Miss  Smith 
nor  her  dark-eyed  cousin  were  visible  any 
where  in  the  church,  a  fact  to  whkrh  I 
could  have  testified  on  oath  with  tho 
highest  degree  of  positiveness  and  certain- 
ty. I  failed,  moreover,  to  discover  any 
body  that  resembled  my  old  fnend  Eliot 

The  Judge  had  declined  going  to  meet- 
ing in  the   afternoon,  and  had  invited 


1864.] 


Stoffe-Coaeh  Stariei, 


601 


Gnmston  and  mjself  to  dine  with  him  at 
four  o'clock  in  his  own  apartments.  So, 
having  concluded  my  private  interview 
with  the  Deacon,  I  called  upon  his  honor 
in  Chambers.  Dinner  was  waiting  for 
me,  the  Judge  fidgeting  a  little  at  my  de- 
lay and  looking  at  his  watch,  while  Cran- 
ston was  out  on  ihe  verandah  upon  which 
the  windows  of  the  parlor  opened,  super- 
intending the  operations  of  a  pretty  ser- 
Tant  girl,  who  was  engaged  in  arranging 
decanters,  bottles,  glasses,  ice,  and  other 
pleasant  matters  of  the  sort  upon  a  small 
side- table. 

The  dinner,  as  the  Judge  himself  re- 
marked, was  a  most  capital  one  for  a  ^ew 
England  country  tavern ;  and  when,  as 
became  three  officers  of  a  court  of  law 
and  equity,  we  had  rendered  it  ample  jus- 
tice, we  adjourned  to  the  verandah. 

If  you  have  ever  been  in  love,  gentle- 
men, I  think  you  will  not  deny,  that  at» 
first  there  is  something  exceedingly  pleas- 
ant and  delightful  about  it.  One  is  apt 
to  be  hopeful  in  the  incipient  stages,  even, 
as  in  my  case,  without  being  able  to  give 
any  really  good  and  sufficient  reason  for 
the  hope  that  is  in  him.  If  this  were  not 
00,  the  newborn  sentiment  in  many  in- 
stances would  languish  for  want  of  suste- 
nance, and  so  die.  Perhaps  this  is  a  wise 
providence  of  the  gods.  A  man  of  cyni- 
cal temperament  might  be  disposed  to  call 
it  an  infatuation  devised  by  the  devil  him- 
self. However  this  may  be,  true  it  is 
that  a  man  newly  in  love,  unless  compel- 
led by  the  direst  necessity  to  feel  and  ac- 
knowledge to  himself  that  there  is  no 
hope,  will  hope  in  spite  of  what  seem  to 
other  men  to  be  impossibilities ;  and  if  ho 
have  among  his  faculties  any  thing  which 
stands  for  an  imagination,  will  straight- 
way begin  to  dream  dreams  of  the  softest 
hue,  until  he  lives  and  moves  encompass- 
ed by  a  rose-colored  cloud  of  fancies, 
through  which  he  beholds  all  substantial 
objects  and  sober  realities,  and  thinks 
that  every  thing  is  in  fact  as  pretty  as  it 
appears,  seen  through  this  tinted  medmm. 
To  the  lover  of  a  few  hours'  standing,  old 
things  seem  to  have  passed  away  and  all 
things  to  have  become  new.  There  is  a 
new  heaven  and  a  new  earth.  A  new  sun 
shines  with  a  brilliancy  that  the  old  in- 
stitution of  that  name  never  achieved. . 
Thera  is  a  new  tnoon,  even  though  the 
matter-of-fact  almanac  indicates  that  she 
is  in  her  third  quarter.  The  stars  seem  to 
iejox»  in  a  new  birth,  like  a  bevy  of  young 
oonverts  at  a  camp-meeting.  The  lover 
is  a  new  man  and  begins  a  new  life.  He 
has  renewed  his  youth  like  the  eagles,  and 
the  only  thing  in  all  the  glorious  world 

TQL.  111.— 38 


that  appears  sad-color^  is  his  past  exist- 
ence. Even  that  he  looks  back  upon  with 
an  exultant  feeling.  He  gives  a  glance 
of  scornful  pity  at  the  recollection  of  him- 
self as  he  was  before  he  fell  this  last  time 
in  love.  He  rejoices  in  the  great  change 
that  has  befallen  him.  He  wonders  how 
it  is  possible  that  he  has  lived  so  many 
years  in  the  world  with  her,  who  is  now 
the  sun  of  his  system,  the  centre  of  his 
universe,  apart  from  her.  ignorant  of  her 
very  existence  and  yet  imagine  that  he 
was  happy.  He  trembles  when  he  thinks 
how  many  times,  in  all  these  years,  a 
slight  deviation  from  the  actual  train  of 
events  would  have  resulted  in  an  eternal 
divergence  of  her  path  from  his  own. 
He  hardly  breathes.while  he  reviews  the 
providential  accidents,  at  the  time  so  ap- 
parently trivial  and  unimportant,  about 
which  he  felt  so  little  concern,  but  with- 
out which,  he  now  perceives,  that  most 
fortunate  event,  the  crisis  of  his  existence, 
the  epoch  of  his  new  life,  his  first  meeting 
with  her,  would  never  have  happened. 
He  calls  to  mind  some  past  occasion  or 
other,  in  the  day  and  time  of  which  he 
had  supposed  that  he  was  enjoying  him- 
self exceedingly,  and  the  memory  where- 
of he  had  ever  since  cherished  as  decided- 
ly pleasant,  and  laughs  at  the  folly  that 
dreamed  of  happiness  and  enjoyment, 
with  yet  no  idea  of  such  a  future  as  now 
he  may  dare  to  hope  for. 

It  was  in  such  a  happy  and  excellent 
frame  of  mmd  as  this,  that  I  seated  my- 
self in  one  of  the  three  rocking-chairs  that 
stood  upon  the  verandah,  put  my  feet 
upon  the  balustrade,  and  while  my  com- 
panions amused  themselves  with  a  discus- 
sion respecting  the  relative  merits  of  ma- 
deira and  sherry,  looked  out  upon  the 
beautiful,  wide-spread  landscape  before 
me,  slowly  puffed  my  cigar,  occasionally 
sipped  my  wine,  and  gave  myself  up  to 
my  thoughts. 

It  was  a  delightful  afternoon — one  of 
the  still,  warm  days  in  early  August, 
when  we  feel  that  the  summer  has  reach- 
ed its  prime ;  when  we  can  almost  hear 
the  heated  rays  as  they  strike  the  glow- 
ing earth  and  rebound  quivering  from  the 
contact,  and  the  lusty  corn  as  it  rejoicing- 
ly grows  and  thrusts  itself  gladly  upward 
into  the  warm  and  genial  air ;  when  lo- 
custs sing  all  day,  and  myriads  of  grass- 
hoppers among  the  parched  stubble  chirp 
a  monotonous  chorus ;  when  we  look  up^ 
between  the  spreading  branches  of  large 
trees,  deep  into  the  cool,  dark  bowers 
high  aloft  among  the  whispering  leaves^ 
and  envy  the  birds  and  squirrels  their 
privilege  of  hiding  in  those  solemn,  shady, 


602 


Stage-Coach  Sioriei. 


Urn 


breezy  nooks ;  when  no  thing  of  earth  is 
Tisiblc  beyond  the  tops  of  the  tallest  trees, 
no  fleecy  clouds  to  delay  and  intercept 
the  sight  as  we  gaze  upwards,  but  it  flics 
on,  and  on,  and  on,  until  it  is  lost  in  the 
blue  depths  of  infinite  space ;  when  the 
kine  stand  dozing  mid-leg  deep  in  the 
glassy  pools,  and  the  oolts  bineath  the 
spreading  oaks  in  their  pastures  meditate 
upon  the  mysterious  providence  of  fixes, 
and  whisk  their  tails  and  stamp-;  when 
it  is  a  pleasure  to  read  drowsily  the 
voyages  of  Captain  Parrv  and  the  lec- 
tures of  Dr.  Kane ;  when  habit  as  well  as 
heat  lends  a  gist  to  the  imbibing  of  iced 
punches,  and  mint  juleps,  though  long 
since  ceased  to  be  a  novelty,  possess  a 
flavor  like  nectar ;  and  when  the  clinking 
of  ice  in  a  tumbler  of  sherry-cobbler  has 
a  tone  more  musical  than  the  violin  of 
Ole  Bull  or  the  voice  of  Alboni. 

The  greatest  heat  of  the  day  had  passed. 
Above  was  the  sky  without  a  cloud, 
but  wo  were  on  the  shady  side  of  the 
house,  and  with  a  sofl  breeze  drawing 
through  the  open  windows  behind  us,  and 
with  plenty  of  oool  appliances  at  hand, 
the  weather  seemed  to  us  perfectly  fault- 
less. The  landscape  before  us,  though 
not  grand  in  many  of  its  features,  was 
one  of  remarkable  beauty  and  extent.  In 
the  foreground  was  a  lawn  sloping  gently 
towards  a  by-street  or  lane,  and  covered 
with  a  short,  velvety  crop  of  grass,  em- 
broidered with  daisies  and  red  and  white 
clover-heads,  the  bright  green  of  the  her- 
bage contrasting  prettily  with  the  more 
sober  hue  of  the  foliage  of  the  trees,  and 
the  dark-red  gravel  of  a  wide  foot-path, 
which  led  to  a  gate  opening  upon  the 
lane,  between  two  rows  of  graceful  young 
elms,  and  dividing  the  lawn  into  nearly 
equal  portions.  At  the  centre  of  each  of 
these  plats  was  a  large  circular  bed  of 
gorgeous  flowers,  looking  like  an  immense 
wreath,  and  here  and  there,  scattered 
about  the  lawn,  grew  little  clumps  of 
shade  trees,  alanthuscs,  locusts  and  chest- 
nuts. A  newly-set  willow  hedge,  and  a 
white  picket  paling,  fenced  the  grounds 
from  the  lane.  On  the  left  the  white 
houses  of  a  part  of  the  village  street 
peeped  between  the  old  trees  among  which 
they  stood,  and  the  spire  of  one  of  the 
churches  rose  above  the  gilded  crown  of 
a  majestic  elm.  Beyond  the  lane,  in  front 
of  us,  and  far  away  on  either  hand, 
stretched  a  wide  plain,  divided  by  num- 
berless walls  and  fences  into  the  farms  of 
the  rich  husbandmen  of  the  district.  The 
brilliant  colors  of  the  landscape  afforded 
many  pleasant  contrasts,  striking  but  har- 
monious.   Fields  of'tall  maize  and  broom- 


corn,  green  and  growing^  with  radir 
tasscled  plumes  waving  and  nodifiiig  a 
the  slight  breeze,  lay  side  by  side  nift 
other  fields  of  «>lden  cats  and  barfaj. 
ripe  and  ready  for  the  sickle.  Here  id 
early  meadow,  from  whidi  the  seooiid 
crop  of  grass  had  already  sprang  thriftily, 
was  surrounded  by  yellow  stubble-fields, 
dotted  with  shocks  of  sheaves,  reflecting 
the  sun's  rays  like  a  mirror.  Tender  the 
broad,  green  leaves  of  a  patch  of  tdbaooo- 
plants  were  neighbors  to  the  red  stafts 
and  milky  blossoms  of  a  field  of  hmk- 
wheat.  The  farm-houses,  white  and  red 
and  dingy  brown,  were  inTariably  em- 
bowered within  groves  of  trees  and  or- 
chards that  had  already  began  to  Uudi 
with  ripening  fruit;  all  but  one  new 
house,  on  the  summit  of  a  little  hill, 
whose  newly-shingled  roof^  and  pine^  un- 
painted  broadside,  pierced  with  many 
windows,  shone  like  a  point  of  light  with 
an  intolerable  and  dazzling  br^tness. 
In  the  midst  of  the  plain,  but  apparently 
near  its  farther  verge,  the  magnifiooit 
river  lay  glittering  in  the  son  like  astraun 
of  molten  gold.  The  white  glowing  sails 
of  the  small  craft  upon  its  waters  glided 
slowly  along  like  the  figures  of  a  panoraouL 
Once  in  the  afternoon  wo  saw  a  noble 
steamer  come  into  view,  and  with  a  grace- 
ful sweop  glide  up  to  the  wharf  of  the 
large  village  on  the  further  bank  oi*  the 
river.  Then)  was  such  a  hnsh  of  other 
sounds,  that  we  could  hear  £aintly  Uie 
whizzing  of  the  steam  as  it  escaped  from 
her  pipe  and  formed  a  little  silvery  dond, 
the  only  one  in  sicht,  and  tho  distant  peal 
of  her  boll  as  she  pushed  off  into  the 
stream  and  resumed  her  rapid  course. 
The  view  was  bounded  by  an  eastern 
horizon,  formed  by  the  ondulatii^  oat- 
line  of  a  range  of  blue  hills  twenty  miles 
awa}'.  It  was  still  and  quiet,  as  became 
the  close  of  a  sultry  summer's  day  in  the 
country,  but  there  was  a  delidons  under- 
tone of  all  manner  of  sweet,  mral,  Sab- 
bath-evening sounds.  Somewhere  at  a 
distance  a  choir  of  children  were  singing 
hymns  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  soft- 
toned  melodeon,  and  another  groop^  in  a 
neighboring  garden.  Tf^re  gathering  ber- 
ries and  talking  and  laughing,' with  voioes 
subdued  by  the  consciousness  that  thoa|^ 
after  meeting  it  was  yet  the  Sabbath  day. 
We  could  hear  the  cooings  of  the  nomer- 
ous  doves  and  pigeons  perched  upon  the 
sheds  surrounding  the  stable-yaids  near 
by,  but  out  of  sight ;  the  muffled  stamp- 
ing of  the  horses  in  the  stables^  the  ood 
splash  of  the  fountain  at  the  waterii^ 
trough,  the  murmur  of  a  distant  mill- 
dam,  the  lowing  of  the  kine  as  theyc 


1M4.] 


Stage- (Joaeh  Stories. 


603 


flocking  np  the  lanes  from  their  pastures, 
the  cries  and  whistling  of  the  boys  that 
drove  the  herds,  the  joyous  barking  of 
their  dogs  scampering  in  chase  of  some 
wayward  and  unruly  heifer,  and  the 
first  notes  of  the  evening  song  of  the 
iNrds. 

Meanwhile  the  golden  sunlight  in  which 
the  landscape  had  all  day  been  bathed  was 
grown  ruddy.  The  river  had  been  trans- 
muted fVom  gold  to  crystal.  The  white 
houses  and  the  church-spire  of  the  distant 
Tillage  upon  its  farther  shore,  all  tinged 
with  a  rosy  blush,  their  windows  spark- 
ling' like  rubies  and  diamonds,  were  mir- 
rored upon  its  glassy  surface.  The  vran 
pale  face  of  the  full  moon  rose  from  be- 
hind the  purple  hills.  Suddenly  a  gray 
ghadow  fell  upon  the  nearer  plain.  It 
crept  rapidly  athwart  the  landscape.  It 
reached,  it  crossed  the  river.  The  white 
cottages  turned  pale,  their  gleaming  win- 
dows were  extinguished.  The  gilded 
vane  of  the  church-spire  burned  for  a  mo- 
ment like  a  blazing  beacon  and  then  went 
cot  Slowly  the  shadow  crept  up  the 
ride  of  the  eastern  hills,  the  rosy  light 
lingered  for  a  space  upon  the  highest 
sammits,  then  vanished,  and  their  long, 
undulating,  gray  outline  showed  in  som- 
bre relief  against  the  blue  and  silver  sky. 
The  summer's  day  was  gone,  and  the 
fitint  shadows  of  the  vine  leaves  trembled 
in  the  moonlight  upon  the  floor  of  the 
verandah. 

''  Tea  is  ready,  gentlemen,"  said  a  pret- 
ty girl,  in  a  checked  apron,  coming  to  the 
window. 

The  Judge  snorted,  started  suddenly, 
roused  himself,  winked  hard  once  or 
twice,  rose  to  his  feet  and  volunteered  the 
supererogatory  remark  that  he  had  been 
afileep.  Cranston  put  up  his  tablets,  and 
we  all  followed  the  pretty  girl  in  the 
checked  apron  to  the  dining-room. 

After  tea  was  over  I  determined  to 
walk  down  the  hill  and  have  a  look  at 
tbe  house  of  my  old  friend,  Frank  Eliot 
I  think  I  should  have  formed  the  same 
resolution,  even  if  I  had  not  been  told  bv 
the  deacon  that  Captain  William  Smith 
lived  upon  the  opposite  side  of  the  street 
from  Eliot's  residence.  This  information, 
however,  by  no  means  diminished  the  de- 
sire that  I  already  felt  to  visit  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  old  mansion,  which,  in 
times  long  by-gone,  Eliot  had  so  often  de- 
■cribed  to  me. 

'•You'll  go  straight  down  the  hill," 
grid  the  Deacon,  '^and  jest  at  the  foot 
ott't,  where  the  road  takes  a  leetle  sorter 
bend,  you'll  discover  a  white,  two-story 
dwriiin'  on  the  light^  with  a  piazzy  on 


the  south  end.  That's  Cap'n  Bill's. 
Well,  right  over  opposite  you'll  notice  a 
long  range  of  white,  square-picket  fence, 
with  big  posts,  and  balls  on  the  top  of 
'em.  You  won't  sec  the  house  at  fust, 
there's  so  much  trees  and  scrubbery 
about  it,  and  it  stands  back  from  the  road 
a  piece ;  but  there's  a  carriage-drive  right 
up  tu  the  front  door,  with  big  trees  on 
^  each  side.  From  the  gate  you  can  look 
*  right  up  to  the  house.  It's  a  bit;,  gam- 
ble-roofed house,  and  you  can't  miss 
it" 

It  was  obvious  from  the  appearance 
of  Captain  Smith's  residence  that  its 
owner  was  a  man  of  wealth.  It  was 
a  large,'  square  house,  built  in  mod- 
em style,  with  the  grounds  about  it  laid 
out  fashionably,  with  summer-houses, - 
pavilions,  espaliers  and  nondescript  affairs 
of  trellis  work  here  and  there,  a  large 
green-house  plain  in  sight  and  plenty  of 
thrifty  young  trees  growing  all  about 
but  none  of  them  large  enough  yet  to 
shade  the  house,  the  tall  white  walls  and 
tinned  roof  of  which  gleamed  like  silver 
in  the  bright  rays  of  the  moon.  I  could 
see  a  very  tall  man,  in  a  white  jacket, 
walking  to  and  fro  on  the  south  piazza, 
with  a  regular  quarter-deck  gait,  smo- 
king a  cigar  and  hemming  at  every  turn 
so  loud  that  you  might  have  heard  him 
at  the  deacon's.  I  concluded  that  I  had 
the  honor  to  behold  Captain  Smith. 
*  Hem  away.  Captain  Bill,"  thought  I ; 
"but  I'll  be  your  son-in-law  this  night 
twelvemonth.''  I  sauntered  by  slowly,  and 
tried  to  guess  which  were  the  windows 
of  the  apartment  irradiated  by  the  pres- 
ence of  Mary  Smith ;  but  as  there  hap- 
pened to  be  no  light  visible  at  any  of 
them,  I  was  much  at  a  loss  to  determine. 
So  after  walking  back  and  forth  ^o  many 
times  that  I  at  last  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  the  gentleman  on  the  piazza,  who 
paused  in  his  own  promenade  to  observe 
me,  I  crossed  over  on  the  other  side  of 
the  way,  impressed  with  a  vague  fear  of 
being  mistaken  for  the  artist  and  conse- 
quently worried  by  the  dog,  and  directed 
my  regards  towards  the  house  of  Frank 
Eliot  It  stood,  as  the  Deacon  had  told 
me,  some  twenty  rods  from  the  street  at 
the  end  of  a  broad,  straight  avenue  of 
giant  elms.  All  along  by  the  fence  was 
planted  a  row  of  thorn  locusts,  so  that 
the  sidewalk  was  deeply  shaded.  I 
stopped  at  the  gateway,  at  the  street  end 
of  the  avenue,  leaned  over  the  gate,  looked 
up  the  arch  formed  by  the  spreading 
branches  of  the  elms,  and  watched  awhile 
the  play  of  the  m<X>nbeams  flickering  on 
the  white  front  of  the  house,  as  they 


604 


Sta^' Coach  Stories. 


[im 


t 


8truj;jrled  through  the  dense  and  breeze- 
stirred  foliage  by  which  it  was  shaded. 

I  stood  leaning  over  the  gate  and  look- 
ing up  the  avenue  a  good  while  ;  for  the 
house  and  grounds  immediately  surround- 
ing it  were  so  densely  shaded,  and  looked 
so  cool  and  pleasant  that  warm  summer 
CA'ening,  that  I  was  loth  to  turn  away. 
^'And  this  is  the  place  about  which 
Frank  Eliot  and  I  used  to  talk  so  much,", 
said  I  to  myself;  and  thereupon  I  fell 
into  a  reverie  for  I  don't  know  how  long, 
and  I  can't  tell  all  that  I  thought  about, 
but  the  nature  and  subject  of  the  latter 

iu-t  of  my  musings  may  be  guessed  at 
»y  an  exclamation  that  I  uttered,  as  I 
suddenly  moved  myself  on  hearing  the 
nine  o'clock  bell  ring  in  the  village, 
straightened  up,  brushed  the  white  paint- 
dust  from  my  coat  and  turned  quickly  to 
resume  my  walk.  "  No,  sir,"  said  I.  quite 
aloud,  and  very  emphatically;  **P11  be 
hanged  if  I  would  now — give  me  a  chance 
for  that  girl  in  the  coach  yesterday,  and 
Frank  Eliot  may  have  his  cousin  Helen 

and  be .  I  beg  your  pardon,  madam — 

ladies.' 

Tlie  last  six  words  formed  no  part  of 
my  soliloquy,  however.  They  were  ad- 
dressed, very  hastily,  to  a  brace  of  ladies 
that  I  had  all  but  run  against,  as  I  sud- 
denly wheeled  to  commence  my  return 
home,  and  stepped  forth  upon  the  side- 
walk from  behind  the  big  gate-post  near 
which  I  had  been  standing.  Qood 
heavens  !  they  were  none  other  than  Miss 
Mary  Smith  and  her  cousin.  My  appear- 
ance must  have  been  very  startling,  com- 
ing suddenly  out  of  ambush  and  speaking 
with  such  a  very  determine<l  tone,  and,  if 
I  remember  rightly,  also  flourishing  my 
walking-stick  to  give  emphasis  to  my  re- 
marks. Miss  Smith  screamed  almost, 
and  the  dark- eyed  cousin  recoiled  in  dis- 
may. I  touched  my  hat  in  extreme  con- 
fusion and  stepped  off  the  sidewalk  to 
give  them  room  to  pass.  The  cousin 
slightly  bowed  at  this,  and  both  rapidly 
crossed  the  street,  went  in  at  Captain 
Smith's  gate,  and  were  finally  going  in  at 
the  front  door  when  I  heard  the  Captain 
hail  them  from  the  piazza. 

After  talking  a  while  in  a  low  tone 
with  the  Captain,  that  gentleman  final- 
ly said  ''oh!"  and  hemmed  three  times 
in  a  manner  most  wonderful  to  hear,  and 
the  ladies  went  into  the  house. 

I  concluded  that  it  would  be  better  to 
moke  my  way  to  the  Deacon's  with 
all  convenient  despatch.  Accordingly  I 
stirtcd  up  the  hill,  when  I  met  about 
half  way,  my  friend  Cranston. 

I  explained  to  him  at  some  length  that 


I  had  given  way  to  a  Teiy  natural  i 
ity,  and  had  walked  down  to  look  at  II- 
iot's  house. 

"  Um,  um,  yes,"  said  he ;  "  didn't  hopi 
to  see  any  thing  of  a  pair  of  pretty  grt 
down  this  way,  I  suppose." 

"  Whether  I  did  or  not,"  said  I,  "I  did 
see  them." 

"No!"  said  Cranston,  with  interert; 
"  how  was  it  ?  "  "  Well,"  he  continued, 
after  I  had  briefly  related  my  adventure^ 
taking  care  however  to  suppress  that  put 
of  it  which  related  to  my  solikquy; 
'*  Well,  Lovol,  how  absurd  it  is  for  yon 
and  I  to  be  so  close  towards  each  other 
about  tliese  very  respectable  you^g  wo- 
men ;  eh !  I  think  so.  Come,  tell  me  nor 
'  which  of  them  you  fancy,  and  I'll  do  the 
same.  Come,  I'll  speak  first.  My  &- 
vorite  is ,"  here  he  hesitated  and  look- 
ed at  me  a  moment  with  his  usual  qaii- 

zical  expres.sion '^is    the    dark-eyed 

one — you  know  I  can't  distinguish  tbem 
by  name." 

"  The  cousin  ?  "  I  asked,  anxious  that 
there  should  be  no  mistake. 

"  You  forget  that  you  wouldn't  tell  mt 
which  the  cousin  was.  I  mean  the  dark- 
eyed  one,  the  brunette — the  one  that  nt 
on  the  leftrhand  side." 

*^  Very  well,"  said  T,  quite  satisfied  at 
this  explicit  declaration,  and  quite  carried 
away  by  my  friend's  frankness;  ^I-m 
willing  to  own  that  the  fiihr  one   has 

rather in  fine,"  I  added  with  a  hurst 

of  enthusiastic  confidence,  ^  Cranston,  I 
really  believe  that  I'm  clean  gone  with 
Miss  Smith — ^in  love,  for  earnest,  and  ao 
mistake  I " 

I  was  a  firood  deal  annoyed  bj  Cran- 
ston's laughter.  It  was  by  no  means 
the  proper  way  of  receiving  such  a 
communication.  I  think  he  percdTcd 
my  irritation,  for  he  evidently  strove  to 
repress  his  merriment,  and  after  a  while 
added: 

"I'm  going  to  call  on  Captam  Bill 
Smith!" 

^  What  do  you  mean  ? "  I  inqmred, 
surprised  out  of  my  reserre;  ^do  you 
know  him  ?  " 

••  Not  a  hair  of  him — still — neverthe- 
less, I  intend  to  call  upon  him,  and  I  in- 
tend to  have  him  retain  me  in  those 
cases — the  Fitz  Howard  ca.<)C8— you've 
heard  of  'em,  I  suppose,  you  sly  dog; 
you  find  out  every  thing."  an<i  with  this 
Cranston  burst  out  laughing  again. 

"  Yes.  1  have  hcanl  of  the  cases,"  said 
I,  gravely,  and  stcretly  uneasy  with  a' 
feeling  that  Cranston  was  makii^  fim  at 
or  out  of  me.  in  some  incomprehenoUt 
way.    It  couldn't  be  at  my  nmifaiirinn  dT 


1854.] 


Stage-Ooaeh  Stories. 


605 


being  in  love,  for  he  had  himself  made  a 
similar  avowal. 

"Well,  I  mean  to  he  retained — and 
further,  I  mean  to  have  yon  retained. 
WeMl  try  those  caRes.  Lovel,  and  if  we 
can't  get  a  verdict  there's  no  use  for  any 
body  to  try  'em — and  meanwhile  what  a 
chance  we'll  have  with  the  girls !  " 

"  It  would  be  capital,"  said  I,  « but 
reaTly.  if  you  attempt  what  you  purpose, 
you'll  be  more  likely  to  have  the  same 
cause  of  action  against  Captain  Smith  that 
Fitz  Howard  has.  instead  of  being  retained 
by  the  defendant." 

**  I've  a  good  mind  to  go  with  you," 
said  I. 

"Thank  you,  my  dear,"  said  Cran- 
ston, ^^  but  I'd  rather  go  alone." 

^  Why  ?  "  I  demanded,  my  suspicions 
aroused  at  once. 

"  Because  you'd  just  spoil  it  all — you 
•re  not  impudent  enough." 

"That's  true,"  said  I,  "but  is  that  all 
the  reason?" 

"  It's  reason  enough,  at  all  events,"  re- 

Picd  Cranston.  "  Come,  say  good-night 
must  go  along — it's  getting  late,  and 
once  more  let  me  beg  you  to  be  assured 
that  the  dark-eyed  maid  only  has  any 
chance  for  the  honor  oT  my  hand,  let  her 
be  Miss  Smith  or  Miss  Smith's  cousin,  or 
whoever  else  she  may  be.  Good-night 
I'll  see  you  in  the  morning  and  tell  you 
all  about  it  Go  to  bed,  dear — don't  sit 
up  for  me." 

So  saying  and  waving  his  hand,  Cran- 
ston left  me.  I  stood  still  and  watched 
his  progress.  By  Jove !  he  did  stop  at 
the  Captain's  gate,  opened  it,  went  in  and 
walked  up  the  footpath  towards  the 
piazza.  I  went  farther  down  the  hill 
that  I  might  have  a  better  view  of  the 
catastrophe  of  this  impudent  enterprise. 
I  saw  the  tall  form  of  Captain  Smith 
standing  on  the  edge  of  the  platform,  emit- 
ting stentorian  hema^  while  he  watched 
the  approach  of  his  visitor.  Cranston 
stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  piazza  step^;, 
bowed  and  lifted  his  hat  The  Captain 
.evidently  was  rather  gruff,  for  he  stood 
his  ground  as  if  to  bar  an  entrance  upon 
the  piazza ;  and  although  I  could  not  dis- 
tinguish words,  I  was  near  enough  to  hear 
that  the  part  of  the  short  colloquy  which 
ensued,  borne  by  the  Captain,  was  ut- 
tered at  first  in  a  very  unamiable  tone  of 
voice.  Finally  the  Captain  backed  a  step 
or  two,  and  Cranston  bowing  again  went 
up  on  the  piazza,  where  the  two  shook 
hands  with  great  apparent  cordiality ; 
after  which  the  Captain  pointed  to  a  chair. 
Granston  seated  himself,  took  off  his  hat, 
sriped  his  brow,  and  taking  advantage  of 


the  Captain's  back  being  tnmed  for  a 
moment  waved  his  handkerchief  at  me. 

The  Judge  was  standing  loiiesomely  in 
the  hall  door,  with  his  hands  in  his  pock- 
ets, when  I  arrived  at  the  Deacon's,  and 
appeared  quite  delighted  to  sec  me.  In 
the  course  of  a  brief  conversation  that 
ensued  between  us,  it  was  suggested  that 
a  glass  of  iced  punch  would  not  be  inap- 
propriate to  the  weather  and  the  occasion, 
and  it  was  thereupon  agreed  and  arranged 
to  have  a  small  pitcher  of  that  agreeable 
compound  sent  to  the  Judge's  room.  The 
necessary  orders  to  that  effect  having  been 
given,  we  adjourned  thither  to  await  its 
coming.  It  presently  arrived,  borne,  with 
the  proper  number  of  glasses,  upon  a  tray, 
by  the  pretty  servant  girl  of  whom  hon- 
orable mention  has  several  times  hereto- 
fore been  made. 

"  Well,"  said  the  Judge,  as  he  poured 
out  his  second  glass. 

"This  is  really  extremely  fine  punch. 
I  must  say,"  he  added  with  the  air  of 
candor  that  should  ever  characterize  the 
spoken  opinions  of  a  judicial  functionary, 
*•  I  must  say  that  Curtiss  keeps  remark- 
ably good  wines  and  liquors." 

I  expressed  a  coincidence  of  opinion,  and 
the  Judge  continued :  *•  By-the-by,  Lovel, 
have  you  found  out  yet  who  those  pretty 
girls  in  the  stage  were  ?  " 

"  Well — yes — "  said  I  with  some  hesi- 
tation. 

"  No !  who  are  they  though  ?  " 

"  A  Miss  Smith  and  her  cousin,"  said  I. 

"Smith?"  repeated  the  Judge,  biting 
up  a  strip  of  lemon  peel ;  "  Smith — what — 
of  Guildford?" 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "a  Mmjs  Mary  Smith 
of  Guildford  and  her  cousin  from  the 
city." 

"  Can't  be  Captain  Bill  Smith's  daugh- 
.ter?"  ^  ^ 

"  I  believe  she  is."  said  T. 

"  Ho ! "  said  the  Judge,  soflly,  as  if 
hcM  found  out  something,  and  then  he  be- 
gan to  sip  his  punch  with  an  air  of  ab- 
straction. 

"Hem— yea— Captain  Bill  Smith's 
daughter,"  said  I,  pretty  soon,  to  attract 
attention  and  get  the  Judge  to  speak,  for 
I  felt  curious  to  learn  what  he  was  think- 
ing about 

"So  it's  Captam  Bill  Smith's  girL 
eh?" 

"Yes,"  said  I. 

"  Hum — ha — ha,"  said  the  Judge,  giv- 
ing three  little  short  disconnected  laughs. 

I  began  to  feel  uneasy.  "What  the 
devil  does  the  old  covey  mean  with  his 
ho's  and  hum's?"  thought  I. 

"  How  did  you  find  her  out  ?  "  sudden- 


606 


Stage- Caach  Storki. 


[Jnna 


ly  inquired  the  Jadge,  comiqg  to  from  his 
absent  fit,  and  taking  a  full  swallow  of 
punch. 

"  Oh — T—met  her  this  evening,"  said  I, 
somewhat  loth  to  confess  to  the  pAins  I 
had  taken  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  in- 
forms tion. 

"  Where  ?  "  asked  my  companion  briefly, 
in  the  style  of  a  cross-examination. 

"  In— the  street,"  I  replied. 

'*  Oh,  met  her  in  the  street,  and  so' found 
out  her  name,"  repeated  the  Judge,  still 
pursuing  the  cross-examination ;  ''  had  it 
painted  on  her  somewhere,  probably,  like 
a  vessel,  for  instance." 

I  thought  it  the  best  way,  on  the  whole, 
to  confess  at  once,  and  so,  beginning  with 
the  night  before,  I  briefly  narrated  to  my 
companion  how  it  was  that  I  came  to  find 
out  the  name  of  Miss  Smith,  and  that  the 
other  lady  was  her  cousin,  and,  in  a  word, 
posted  him  up  to  the  time. 

"  Small  chance  for  you  I  fear,"  said  the 
Judge  when  I  had  concluded^.  ''In  the 
first  place,"  he  continued,  seeming  to  take 
it  for  granted  that  I  was  resolved  to  win 
Miss  Smith  if  possible;  "the  young  lady 
herself  is  a  belle  and  a  coquette,  as  I  have 
heard,  and  secondly,  her  father  is  a  re- 
tired whaling  captain  and  ship-owner,  rich 
as  a  Jew  and  cross  as  a  grizzly  bear.  One 
peculiarly  amiable  trait  in  his  character 
is,  that  on  account  of  some  old  lawsuit  or 
other  that  he  had  long  ago,  he  contracted 
a  dislike  to  the  whole  le;^  fraternity,  and 
in  a  word  hates  lawyers  as  bad  as  he  does 
cold  fresh  water.  He  won't  even  employ 
one  to  manage  the  cases  he  has  in  court, 
and  will  probably  be  saved  a  default  at 
this  term  only  by  your  old  friend  Eliot's 
appearing  for  him,  without,  as  I  suspect, 
his  knowledge  or  consent.  They're  neigh- 
bors you  know,  and  since  Eliot  has  ceased 
to  practise  law  have  been,  or  rather  their 
families  have  been,  very  intimate  and 
friendly. 

'^  By  George !"  said  I,  "•  it's  a  shame 
that  Eliot  and  I  should  persist  in  our 
stupid  misunderstanding.  Faith,  I  bo- 
lieve  t'll  call  on  him  before  I  leave 
town." 

*  Well,  I  would"  said  the  Judge; 
"  still,  I  don't  think  that  will  help  you 
with  the  Captain's  girl  a  great  deaJ." 

"  Oh,  I  wasn't  thinking  of  that,"  said  I, 
lying  most  outrageously. 

"No,  I  suppose  not,"  replied  tlie 
Judge,  committing,  I  fear,  the  same 
grievous  sin. 

"  She's  a  very  independent  sort  of  a 
character,  I've  heard,"  he  added,  after  a 
pause. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  L 


"  Ton  have  heard^  it  seems,  of  the  way 
he  served  that  artist^  eh? — ^what's  hu 
name?" 

"  Something  about  it" 

''Well,"  said  the  Judge,  first  going  to 
the  window  and  looking  around  him ;  ^  if 
you'll  be  as  close  as  if  I  were  your  cli- 
ent, I'll  tell  you  something  more  The 
Captain  has  a  sister,  an  old  maid,  about 
forty,  homely  as  a  hedge-fence,  but  with 
a  snug  little  fortune  of  her  own — ten 
thousand  in  bank  stock,  and  something 
handsome  besides.  Well  when  this  da- 
guerreotype fellow  was  nere  last  som- 
mer^  the  old  girl  went  np  to  have  her 
miniature  taken,  as  I  suppose  every  oth- 
er woman  in  the  village  did ;  but  some- 
how the  artist  couldn't  get  a  good  pic- 
ture, and  she  had  to  call  again  and  again; 
and  the  upshot  of  it  all  was^  that  she 
had  five  or  six  difi<^rent  miniatures  taken, 
and  had  to  sit  three  or  four  times  for 
each  one ;  and  every  other  old  maid  in 
town  got  envious, — for  the  fellow's  whis- 
kers were  irresistible, — and  began  to 
talk,  and  shake  their  heads,  and  raise  the 
deuce  with  Miss  Jemima's  reputation. 
So  she  had  to  discontinue  her  visits  to 
the  artist's  saloon  in  the  Deacon's  danc- 
ing-hall, and  he  in  turn  called  upon  her 
occasionally.  There's  no  doubt  that  the 
lady  was  smitten  with  the  fellow,  still  she 
rawer  hesitated  at  marrying  him ;  while 
he,  very  much  in  love  with  the  old  vir- 
gin's bank  stock,  and  perfectly  well 
aware  that  he  might  as  well  hope  to 
marry  the  queen  as  her,  if  the  Captain 
should  find  out  what  was  going  on,  was 
constantly  urging  an  elopement.  Just 
at  this  interesting  juncture,  Miss  Mary 
Smith  unexpectedly  arrived  at  home  from 
Newport,  where  she  had  been  all  sum- 
mer with  the  Eliots ;  and  the  black  ser- 
vant-girl, Dinah,  who,  by  listening  at 
key-holes,  and  the  artist's  trying  to  tam- 
per with  ner,  had  found  out  pretty  much 
what  was  going  on,  but  had  been  afraid 
to  tell  the  Captain,  lest  there  might  be  a 
murder  committed  forthwith,  revealed 
the  whole  afiair  to  her.  Indeed,  the  fact 
was,  that  the  worthy  wench  haa  written 
a  scrawl  to  Newport,  which  had  been  the 
cause  of  Miss  Smith's  sudden  return  be- 
fore the  fancy-dress  ball.  What  was  to 
be  done  ?  It  wouldn't  do  at  all  to  tell 
the  Captain ;  for  in  the  fit  of  rage  conse- 
quent upon  such  a  communication  to 
him,  something  would  be  broken— cither 
one  of  the  Captain's  own  bloodvessels, 
or  the  artist's  neck.  Miss  Mary,  for  a 
while  was  disposed  to  give  the  artist  a 
horsewhipping  with  her  own  fair  hands  ; 
but  at  Eliot's  suggestion,  milder  ooun- 


1854.] 


Stage- Coach  Stories, 


607 


eels  prevailed.  WhatVliis-name  was  to 
call  that  TCiy  eyening  on  the  old  maid, 
by  previous  arrangement.  Dinah  was 
despatched  to  the  artist's  saloon,  and 
that  gentleman  was  given  to  understand, 
that  in  consequence  of  the  niece's  re- 
tunij  he  had  better  defer  his  call  from 
eight  o'clock  to  precisely  twelve,  when, 
if  he  would  be  so  good  as  to  have  a  car- 
riage provided,  he  should  not  be  obliged 
to  go  away  without  the  society  of  a  lady. 
Imagine  the  delight  of  the  artist  at  Di- 
nah's yarded  but  intelligible  hints. 
Eight  o'clock  arrived — nine — ten  o'clock 
struck,  and  Miss  Jemima,  too  uneasy  to 
go  to  bed,  was  told  by  Dinah,  whom  she 
consulted  and  questioned,  that  the  artist 
had  been  seen  by  her  driving  out  another 
rich  old  maid  of  the  village.  Miss  Jemi- 
ma repaired  to  her  chamber,  but  sleep 
was  a  stranger  to  her  eyes,  and  repose 
to  her  pillow.  As  the  clock  struck 
twelve,  she  heard  a  carriage  stop  in  the 
street  She  got  out  of  bed,  went  to  the 
window,  saw  the  artist  walking  softly  up 
the  path ;  saw  him  wave  his  hand,  and 
cautiously  opening  her  blind  still  further, 
saw,  to  her  utter  amazement  and  un- 
bounded indignation,  another  hand  wav- 
ing a  handkerchief  from  the  window  of 
her  niece's  apartment  "What's-his-namc's 
treason  and  her  niece's  frailty  were  ap- 
parent. Nay,  she  heard  a  door  softly 
open,  and  the  tread  of  careful  footsteps 
descending  the  stairs.  She  instantly  re- 
paired, by  the  way  of  the  back  stairs,  to 
her  brother's  room.  The  Captain  had 
retired  to  rest  that  night  rather  more  sober 
than  was  his  wont,  and  so  was  awakened, 
and  made  to  comprehend  that  his  Jessica 
was  about  to  elope,  with  comparative  ease 
and  despatch.  He  rose  at  once,  and  rush- 
ing in  his  shirt  to  the  front  of  the 
house,  saw,  as  he  supposed,  his  daughter 
and  her  lover,  walking  swiftly  down  the 
path  to  the  street,  where,  sure  enough,  a 
carriage  was  in  waiting.  Conscious  that 
it  would  be  in  vain  for  him  to  pursue 
them,  he  called  upon  thexA  to  stop,  and 
shouted  lustily  for  his  dog,  which,  at 
this  summons,  at  last  succeeded  in  break- 
ing the  rope  by  which  he  had  been  tied 
in  the  woodshed  by  the  careful  Dinah ; 
and  being  thereto  incited  by  his  master, 
at  once  gave  chase  to  the  fugitives,  ana 
the  luckless  artist  would  probably  have 
been  killed  outright  by  the  savage  beast, 
that  seized  him  iust  as  he  was  getting 
into  the  carriage,  had  it  not  been  ^t  the 
skirts  of  his  coat  were  torn  off  in  the 
struggle.  As  it  was,  however,  he  suc- 
ceeded in  making  his  escape,  and  the  car- 
riage was  driven  ofif  with  tne  most  pre- 


cipitate haste,  leaving  the  lady  to  encoun- 
ter the  anger  of  her — remaster,  for — ^you 
mustn't  breathe  it,  or  it  will  spoil  the 
prettiest  piece  of  fun  that  ever  came  off 
in  a  court-room — the  errant  damsel  was 
none  other  than  the  black  wench,  Dinah, 
who,*  being  an  exceedingly  athl9tic  and 
two-fisted  young  lady,  had  been  by  no 
means  dismayed  at  the  proposition  made 
to  her  by  her  young  mistress,  to  person- 
ate Miss  Jemima  on  that  occasion,  until 
the  artist  had  ravished  at  least  one  fond 
kiss  from  her  delicate  lips.  It  is  to  bo 
presumed  that  the  scene  in  the  Captain's 
parlor  that  night,  between  the  hours  of 
twelve  and  one,  was  somewhat  piquant 
But,  however  that  may  have  been,  one 
thing  is  certain,  that  unless  the  artist 
should  get  wind  of  the  real  state  of  the 
matter  before  the  trial  of  his  cases, 
there'll  be  a  piquant  scene  in  the  court- 
house over  yonder,  when  that  Dinah  tes- 
tifies ;  for  the  artist,  still  believing  that 
Miss  Jemima  Smith  actually  started  to 
run  away  with  him,  has  encouraged  peo- 
ple to  believe  that  he  had  the  dog  sot 
upon  him  while  preparing  to  give  a  sere- 
nade, and  confidently  trusting  in  the  as- 
surance of  his  lawyers,  I  suppose,  that 
the  Smiths  will  never  permit  the  scandal 
of  having  the  truth  proclaimed,  as  he 
supposes  it  to  be,  especially  by  the  means 
of  so  public  a  proceeding  as  a  trial  to  a 
jury,  has  sued  the  captain  for  an  assault 
and  battery,  layine  damages  at  five  thou- 
sand dollars,  and  Miss  Jemima  in  anoth- 
er suit  for  breach  of  promise  to  marry, 
same  amount  of  damages  laid,  and  hopes 
to  worry  them  into  terms,  and  paying 
him  something  handsome.  Now,  sir, 
what  do  you  think,  isn't  Miss  Mary  a 
young  lady  of  spirit  ?" 

"But  who  told  you  so  much  about 
this  ?  How  came  you  to  know  so  much 
more  than  other  people  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  my  companion,  "  I  sup- 
pose, to  be  sure,  that  a  judge  who  may 
perhaps  try  these  cases,  ought  to  know 
less  than  other  people  about  'em,  before 
trial  at  least,  though  the  facts,  to  be  sure, 
are  thinra  for  the  jury  to  find  and  deal 
with.  But  I'll  tell  you.  EUot,  as  I  be- 
fore said,  has  probably  intended  to  ap- 
pear for  the  defendants,  without  being 
authorized  so  to  do  by  either  of  them  j 
and  he  has  been  afraid,  I  suppose,  that  the 
counsel  on  the  other  side  would  be  sharp 
enough  to  susjpect  this  want  of  authority, 
from  the  very  fact  of  his  appearing  in  them 
at  all.  So,  for  the  purpose,  as  we  suppose, 
of  not  having  a  default  ordered  imme- 
diately, if  the  question  should  be  asked 
him,  iukI  he  obliged  to  confess,  as  it  natu- 


i08                                              Wiko  ii  Bet                                           [Ifqr 

nXij  would  be  in  most  instanoea,  yon  he  had  not  pot  home  from  the  Captain't; 

know,  especially  after  the  first  teim  bat  so,  as  the  wmdow  of  my  room  orerioolced 

to  hayo  time  granted  in  which  to  obtain  the  front  piazza^  and  commanded  a  Tiew 

the  Captain's  consent  to  appear  l^  «a-  of  the  street  towards  Captain  Smith's  as 

thority,  he  took  occasion  to  tell  Judge  fiff  as  the  brow  of  the  hill,  and,  in  fibct,  of 

Wansley  at  the  last  term,  which  was  be-  the  upper  portion  of  the  houise  itaeU^  I 

fore   the   suits   were   commenced,  and  sat  down  br  it  in  my  rocking-ciudr,  lit  a 

Wansley  told  the  rest  of  us  pretty  much  cigar,  and  began  to  smoke,  to  wstdi  for 

what  I  have  been  telling  you.  Cranston's  return,  and  it  is  perhi^  need- 

The  Judge  finished  the  punch  and  his  less  to  add,  io  build  castles  in  the  air, 

narratiTe  at  about  the  same  moment,  and  of  which  ethereal  mansions  Miss  Maiy 

shortly  afterwards   I    bade    him   good  Smith,  under  ^e  name,  s^le  and  title  of 

night,  and  went    up  to  my  room.     I  Mrs.  Charles  Lovel,  was  mrariaibly  mia- 

knocked  at  Cranston's  door  as  I  passed,  tress, 
and  there  being  no  reply,  I  concluded  that 

(To  be  MBttamed.) 


WHO   IS  JIE? 

k    REPLY    TO    ftUSTZna 

A  SPANISH  writer  once  decided, 
In  flippant  song, 
That  woman's  lip,  or  tongue,  or  eye  did 

All  that  went  wrong. 
JN'ay,  that  the  true  mode  of  unmasking 

Her  wiles  would  be, 
On  all  occasions  simply  asking — 
Pray,  who  is  she  ? 

Now.  why  must  woman's  petticoats 

Aye  be  the  blamables  ? 
How  is't  Queredo  nerer  quotes 

Mankind's  unnamables  ? 
He  rates  the  sex,  and  certds  for  it  he 

Makes  a  good  plea ; 
But.  can't  I,  on  as  good  authority, 

Ask,  who  is  he  ? 

Queyedo  swears  that  Eye  and  Helen 

Wrought  dire  mishaps : 
That  Adam  and  the  Trojans  fell  in 

Their  deep-laid  traps. 
Eye  1 — why  Diabolus  beguiled  her ; 

You  know'st,  Quevedo ! 
Helen  ? — that  rascal  Paris  wiled  her ; 

That's  Homer's  credo  ! 

Trust  me,  man  causes  woman's  failing ; 

And,  on  my  life, 
He's  always  wantonly  assailing 

Maid,  widow,  wife. 
Beneath  the  surface  let  the  gazer 

Look  deep — he'll  see 
Some  stronger  vessel  that  betrays  her : 

Just  ask — who's  he  ? 


1864.]  Manners.  609 

Is  it  a  inilk-maid  drops  her  pailfbl  7— 

Lubin  ^8  love-making : 
Is  her  fate  scandalous  or  baleful  ? — 

Lubin  's  been  raking ! 
The  Rchool-gnrl  loathes  her  bread  and  butter, 

Pouts  o'er  her  tea, 
Mumbles  her  lessons  in  a  flutter — 

Ask.  who  is  he  ? 

Despite  experience,  what  can  set 
The  widow  hoping  ? 

Why  are  wives  sometimes  gadding  met, 
And  sometimes  moping  ? 

Don^t  ulk  of  widows'  amorous  bomp^ 
Of  wives  too  free ; 

But  pop  the  question  to  them,  plump- 
Pray,  who  is  he  ? 

/  We're  mighty  prompt  to  throw  the  blame  on 

The  weaker  fair  sex ; 

When  justice  ought  to  fix  the  shame  on 
Ours — not  on  their  sex. 

Ours  the  seduction  and  the  fooling, 
If  such  there  be: 

Come ;  your  exception  to  this  ruling- 
Pray,  who  is  he? 

The  old  and  hump-backed  ply  their  battery 

Of  gold  and  jewels ; 
Well-knit  young  fellows  deal  in  flattery. 

Dance,  song,  oaths,  duels. 
So,  to  conclude,  I'll  take  my  oath,  siri 

Upon  the  Bible, 
That  to  blame  one— in  place  of  both,  sir, — 

Is  a  gross  libel  I 


MANNERS. 

WITH   ▲  SQUINT  AT   CHESTEB FIELD. 


THE  duration  and  severii^  of  the  Ameri-  blooming  cheeks  and  captivating  (juali- 
can  Revolutionary  War,  we  are  in-  ties  of  &ir  women,  than  any  puticul^r 
clined  to  believe,  is  more  attributable  to,  sense  of  the  justice  or  injnstxse  about 
apparently,  a  trifling  and  insignificant  which  they  were  fighting.  It  was  the 
cause^  and  one  very  generally  overlooked  remark  of  a  very  mstinguished  states- 
by  historians,  than  to  any  other.  The  man,  that  ^  a  cliambermaid  has  some- 
cause  we  allude  to,  and  on  which  we  are  times  caused  revolutions  in  court,  whidi 
inclined  to  place  so  much  stress,  was  the  have  produced  others  in  kingdoms."  It 
manners  of  Lord  North.  is  said,  that  if  a  British  officer  had  not 
Many  suppose,  that  in  great  historical  stopped  to  make  love  to  his  sweetheart 
events,  causes  must  have  ^sted  com-  on  the  morning  of  the  battle  of  Bunker 
mensurate  in  importance  with  the  events  Hill,  the  attack  upon  the  Americans  would 
themselves ;  whereas  it  has  often  been  have  been  made  some  three  hours  soon- 
the  case,  that  the  most  important  events  er,  when  their  works  would  have  been 
were  traceable  directly  to  seemingly  the  in  a  very  imperfect  condition,  and  the 
most  trifling  causes.  The  cackung  of  result  entirely  difierent  YHio  is  pre- 
geese,  every  one  knows,  once  saved  Rome;  pared  to  estimate  the  moral  effect  of 
and  we  suspect  that  the  peace  and  war  that  battle,  or  calculate  what  it  might 
of  nations  has  oftener  depended  upon  the  have  been,  if  the  rebels  had  suffered  a 


610 


Moaners* 


P«nf 


defeat  ?  In  the  early  part  of  the  French 
Reyolution,  Robespierre  determined  on 
leaving  France,  and  was  taking  his  de- 
parture from  Paris,  when  his  attention 
was  arfested  by  a  political  wrangle  in  a 
cafg.  He  stopped  to  take  part  in  it,  and 
events  there  occurred  which  prevented 
him  from  leaving  Paris.  How  different- 
ly might  have  terminated  the  French 
Revolution,  if  Robespierre  had  b^n  left 
out  of  it 

Disraeli  the  younger,  in  one  of  his 
novels,  gives  an  account  of  a  distin- 
guished European  diplomatist,  who  was 
detected  in  cheating  at  gambling.  The 
threatened  expasure  caused  his  sudden 
departure  from  the  watering-place  where 
he  was  staying.  As  but  few  were  ac- 
quainted with  the  cause  of  his  sudden 
leaving,  his  departure  created  an  intense 
sensation,  and  gave  rise  to  the  most  ex- 
traordinary conjectures.  A  wealthy  Eng- 
lishman ^^  sent  immediate  orders  to  his< 
broker  in  England,  to  sell  two  millions 
of  Consols.  The  sale  was  of  course  ef- 
fected— the  example  followed;  stocks 
fell  ten  per  cent.  The  exchange  turned — 
money  became  scarce.  The  public  funds 
of  all  Europe  experienced  a  great  de- 
cline—smash went  the  country  banks — 
consequent  runs  on  the  London — a  dozen 
baronets  fiuled  in  one  morning — Portland 
place  deserted — the  cause  of  infant  lib- 
erty at  a  terrific  discount — the  Greek 
loan  disappeared  like  a  vapor  in  a  storm — 
ail  the  new  American  States  refused  to 
pay  their  dividends — manufactories  de- 
serted— the  revenue  in  a  decline — the 
country  in  despair — orders  in  council — 
meetings  of  parliament — change  of  min- 
istry— and  a  new  loan!  Such  were  the 
terrific  consequences  of  a  diplomatist 
turning  blackleg !  This  secret  history  of 
the  late  distress,  is  a  lesson  to  all  mod- 
em statesmen.  Rest  assured,  that  in 
politics,  however  tremendous  tne  efifects, 
the  causes  are  often  as  trifling,  and  some- 
times still  n)ore  despicable." 

We  are  told  of  an  instance  of  the  du- 
plicity of  Fouch^  with  Wellington,  which 
came  near  changing  the  fate  of  Europe, 
for  a  time,  at  least  And  we  suspect  that 
the  manners  of  Lord  North  had  a  more 
serious  effect  upon  the  i^airs  of  the 
world,  than  the  swindling  of  any  diplo- 
matists who  have  lived  smce  his  time. 
He  was  not  a  man  of  great  capacity,  but 
he  possessed  a  cheerfuhiess  and  suavity  of 
manner  that  nothing  could  disturb.  He 
was  at  the  head  of  afiaira  for  many 
years,  during  a  neriod  of  great  political 
excitement  and  fierce  strife ;— a  fact  that 
if  only  to  be  accounted  for  by  his  imper- 


turbable good  nature,  and  his  amiable 
and  pleasing  manners.     Men  of  mnch 
greater  ability,  but  with  less  good  nature 
and  afiability  of  manner — men  with  the 
temper  of  Burke,  Canning  or  Brougham, 
for  instance — could  not  have  kept  the 
place  for  six  months.    A  man  of  marked 
capacity,  but  of  a  less  indolent  and  easy 
temper  than  North  possessed,  could  not 
have  weathered  the  storm  that  Bnrke, 
Fox,  and  others,  raised  against  the  minis- 
ter on  account  of  the  American  war. 
But  he  received  all  with  a  bland  smile, 
oj  slept  quietly  through  the  denonda- 
fions,  invectives,  and  sarcasms  .that  were 
showered  upon  him  by  the  opposition. 
Men  soon  get  tired  of  assailing  another 
with  such  a  disposition  as  this.      On 
leaving  the  house,  upon  a  certain  occa- 
sion, after  a  loud  and  stormy  debate,  in 
which  the  minister  preserved  his  equa- 
nimity and  humor  to  the  last,  Burke 
said,  "  Well,  there's  no  denying  it,  gen- 
tlemen, this  man  has  certamly  more  wit 
and  good  nature  in  him,  than  all  of  us 
put  together."  He  would  reply  to  attacks 
the  most  bitter  and  virulent,  in  a  manner 
calm  and  gracious,  and  with  facetiousness 
and  pleasantry  that  no  political  animosi- 
ty could  withstand.     It  was  this  easy 
temper  that  nothing  could  ruffie,  joined 
to  his  bland  and  insinuating  manners, 
which  kept  the  tomahawks  and  scalping- 
knives  of  the  savages  so  much  employ«l 
between  the  years  1776  and  1783.    It  is 
doubtful  if  any  other  minister  could  have 
continued  the  American  war  half  as  long ; 
and  it  will  therefore  be  safe  to  suppose, 
perhaps,  that  every  one  of  his  gracious 
smiles  cost  America  the  life  of  a  patriot 
It  was  fortunate  for  the  United  States 
that   there  was    one  event  which  the 
courtesy  and  good  nature  of  North  could 
not  avert    Clive  committed  suicide  just 
after  North  had  given  him  the  command 
of  the  English  army  in  America.    If  the 
consummate  abilities  of  that  great  soldier 
had  blen  brought  to  bear  against  the 
people  of  the  United  Colonies,  then  fee- 
Dly  struggling  for  liberty,  the  histoxr  of 
the  Revolutionary  war  mi^ht  have  been 
very  different  from  what  it  now  is,  and 
the  pleasing  manners  of  North  still  more 
disastrous  to  this  country. 

It  is  well  known  what  three  requisites 
the  ancient  orator  said  were  necessary  to 
make  a  good  speaker ;  and  the  same  va- 
riety is  necessary  to  make  agreeable  and 
winning  manners.  Good  nature,  amiabil- 
ity, and  kindness  of  heart,  are  three  quali- 
ties no  less  important  and  indispensable  in 
producing  them,  than  action,  action,  aetioiL 
m  the  estimation  of  the  distingnlBhea 


1854.] 


JMiUlitiG^* 


•n 


ancient  in  producing  the  good  orator. 
The  most  elaborate,  assiduous,  and  untir- 
ing endeavors  to  cultivate  in  a  young  man 
pleasing  and  attractiTe  manners,  where 
there  is  but  little  benevolence  of  heart,, 
is  utterly  impossible.  A  generous  na- 
ture is  "the  leaven  that  leavens  the 
whole  lump."  Wherever  we  find  a  man 
who  eiyoys  a  wide  popularity,  we  may 
be  assured,  however  bad  his  reputation 
may  be,  that  he  has  some  good  qualities, 
in  an  eminent  degree.  Yet  it  is  not  un- 
usual to  hear  the  man  who  is  popular 
with  the  multitude,  and  odious  with  the 
(«oi  disanl)  respectable  few,  denied  all 
merit.    They  have 

**  Obsen'ed  his  courtship  to  the  cominoD  people  ;*- 
Ilow  be  did  seem  to  dive  into  their  heaka, 
With  bumble  and  flunillar  courtesy  -^     '* 

but  it  was  only  art  (they  say) — cool, 
premeditated  design,  that  prompted  the 
courtesy.  Now  it  would  not  seem  to  re- 
quire a  great  deal  of  wisdom  to  know 
that  counterfeit  virtue  will  not  pass  cur- 
rent any  better  than  a  counterfeit  coin  or 
counteifeit  bank  bill ;  and  the  "  common 
people  "  probably  detect  the  counterfeits 
sooner  than  the  exclusives,  because  they 
are  under  a  greater  necessity  to  keep 
them  circulating. 

A  French  writer,  we  believe,  has  the 
credit  of  first  having  said,  in  speaking  of 
style  in  authors,  "  The  style  is  the  man." 
Every  peculiarity  a  man  has,  of  course, 
must  be.^t  and  parcel  of  the  individ- 
ual ;  and  the  idea  of  regarding  them  as 
a  sort  of  extraneous  adjunct,  which 
might  be  dropped  or  resumed  at  pleasure, 
is  very  idle.  Tuckerman  has  written  a 
very  ingenious  and  interesting  essay  on 
"•  The  Hands."  Th^  particular  disposal 
one  makes  of  the  hands  in  walking,  sit- 
ting, talking,  is  full  of  expression,  and 
constitutes  an  important  part  of  one's 
manners.  And  the  manners  are  but  the 
disposition  and  character,  sticking  out^ 
as  it  were,  all  over  the  person.  The  feet, 
even,  are  made  expressive  in  our  manner 
of  using  them.   Ulysses  says  of  Cressida : 

**  There  is  language  in  her  eye,  her  cheek,  her  Up ; 
Nay,  herjbot  epeakt.'* 

"  Manners  make  the  man,"  is  a  very 
old  saying.  It  is  a  proposition  that  is 
undoubtedly  true ;  but  the  converse  of  it 
is  equally  true,  and  much  more  plausible, 
as  it  strikes  us.  The  man  makes  the 
manners.  A  man  with  such  a  character 
as  Cato's,  will  be  likely  to  have  man- 
ners like  Cato ;  and  a  man  with  a  char- 
acter similar  to  Caesar's,  will '  have 
similar  manners  to  Cesar.    We  recol- 


lect no  instance  of  the  onion  of  a  chano- 
ter  like  Cato's,  with  the  maimers  of 
Cfesar,  though  John  Hampden  comes 
nearer  to  such  a  union  than  any  that  now 
occurs  to  us.  Aaron  Burr,  we  think,  re- 
sembled Csesar  very  much  in  character, 
and  he  certainly  did  very  much  in  manners. 
John  Jay,  Hamilton,  Judge  Marshall, 
Pickering,  resembled  Cato  more  in  char- 
acter as  well  as  in  manners.  All  the 
training  in  the  world,  we  suspect,  from 
infamrv  upward,  could  not  have  infused 
into  Cato  the  manners  of  Caesar,  any 
more  than  the  persevering  efforts  of 
Chesterfield  in  coaxing,  flattering,  sneer- 
ing at  and  threatening  his  son,  could 
drive  "  the  graces"  into  that  slow-witted, 
pedantic  lout.  How  impossible  it  would 
have  been  for  Voltaire  to  have  had  the 
manners  of  Dr.  Johnson,  and  vice  cersm. 
What  a  combination  it  would  have  made 
for  each,  if  Pitt  and  Sheridan  had  changed 
manners.  Supposing  such  a  thing  possi- 
ble, we  are  inclined  to  believe  that  nei- 
ther of  them  would  have  died  so  much 
in  debt  and  that  the  debt  of  Great  Bri- 
tain would  be  something  less  than  it 
now  is. 

Bad  men,  as  well  as  good  men,  un- 
doubtedly sometimes  have  very  agree- 
able manners ;  but  we  should  be  unwil- 
ling to  believe,  ^that  very  bad  men  could 
long  prove  agreeable  companions.  Na- 
ture has  bounded  and  circumscribed  hy- 
pocrisy to  very  narrow  limits,  and  keep- 
mg  within  them  any  very  great  lengUi 
of  time,  is  extremely  difficult  We  sus- 
pect, if  those  persons  who  have  had  the 
reputation  of  being  very  fascinating  in 
manner,  and  very  vicious  in  character, 
were  fully  understood  and  appreciated, 
they  would  be  found  to  possess  more 
than  an  ordinary  share  of  kindness. 

We  are  too  much  of  an  optimist  to  feel 
a  very  great  distrust  of  the  world's  judg- 
ment ;  yet  we  cannot  help  looking  upon 
a  good  many  characters  famous  in  histo- 
ry, as  well  as  a  good  many  more  hum- 
ble individuals  of  our  acquaintance,  in 
a  more  favorable  light  than  they  are  re- 
garded by  the  world  generally. 

The  more  familiar  we  bedbme  with  the 
wickedness  and  tyranny  of  the  nobilitj 
of  France  previous  to  the  French  Revo- 
lution, the  more  charity  we  feel  towards 
Murat  and  Robespierre.  Shakespeare's 
poaching  and  supposed  backsliding  at  the 
country  inn,  the  world  is  disposed  to  re- 
gard more  leniently,  than  the  error  he 
committed  in  handing  down  to  posterity 
that  worthy  monarch  (as  it  now  appears 
he  was),  Richard  the  Third,  as  such  a 
monster  of  iniqui^. 


m 


Maimtn,, 


P- 


Lord  Chesterfield  wfts  a  man  against 
whose  reputation  the  most  violent  anath- 
emas and  denunciations  have  been  hurled. 
He  has  been  preached  against  as  the 
cold-blooded  and  systematic  corruptor 
of  his  own  son  ;  as  a  man  utterly  with- 
out religion,  virtue,  principle,  or  moral- 
ity. But  he  was  much  too  wise  a  man 
to  have  been  near  as  wicked  as  many 
have  represented  him.  A  candid  and 
careful  examination  of  his  life  and  works, 
leads  us  to  believe,  that  however  much 
he  may  have  been  wanting  in  virtue  and 
morality,  he  was  not,  in  these  respects  at 
least,  far  behind  many  other  distinguished 
men  of  his  time.  And  in  brilliant,  if  not 
solid  qualities,  he  surpassed  them  all. 
Now  if  Chesterfield  had  been  the  heart- 
less monster  many  believe  him,  and  yet 
possessed  of  such  an  engaging  addressL 
and  such  fascinating  manners,  it  would 
have  been  truly  surprising. 

The  ideas  most  commonly  associated 
with  Chesterfield,  are,  that  he  was  a  man 
possessed  of  a  highly  cultivated  but  su- 
perficial intellect,  and  the  perfect  master 
of  every  accomplishment ;  that  he  was 
an  effeminate,  fastidious,  highly  polished 
gentleman — a  sort  of  combination  of  the 
dancing-master  and  the  statesman — a 
cross  between  Beau  Kash  and  the  Duke 
of  Grafton.  A  lady's  boudoir,  many  have 
supposed,  was  the  field  best  calculated 
for  the  exhibition  of  his  exploits — a  field 
on  which  a  brilliant  display  of  his  pow- 
ers was  sure  to  be  afibrded,  apd  his  ut- 
most capabilities  elicited.  They  have 
supposed  that  he  could  make  a  bow  with 
inimitable  grace,  compliment  a  lady  vnth 
the  most  exquisite  delicacy,  and  utter  a 
witticism  with  charming  scng  froid. 
The  popular  fiincy  has  painted  him  as  an 
exceedingly  handsome  man,  dressed  with 
the  utmost  taste  and  elegance— "  the 
elass  of  fashion  and  the  mould  of  form," 
but  a  man  of  such  keenly  nervous  sus- 
ceptibilities as  to  be  greatly  shocked  by 
contact  with  the  least  approach  to  rude- 
ness and  vulgarity. 

Now  it  appears  to  us,  that  no  very 
profound  knowledge  of  human  nature  is 
necessary  to  know,  that  however  grace- 
ftd  and  accomplished  a  spooney  may  be, 
he  cannot  be  a  very  fascinatihg  man. 
Women  contrive  to  elicit  some  amuse- 
inent  fVom  shallow  fops  in  the  way  of 
ridicule  and  bantering,  but  they  seldom 
feel  any  admiration  for  a  man,  who  does 
not  command  the  respect  of  men. 

Women  almost  always  require  some 
^mption  (to  use  a  homely  but  expres- 
«ve  term)  in  the  men  upon  whom  they 
bestow  their  admiration.     To  be  sure, 


the  Queen  of  Spun  waa  enamored  with 
that  handsome  booby,  Godoy;  and  the 
Duchess  of  Castlemaine  was  smitten  with 
the  fine  proportions,  strength  and  agility 
of  thd  rope-dancer,  Hall ;  but  these  wo- 
men could  appreciate  nothing  but  animal 
qualities  in  a  man.  Lad}^  Essex  never 
would  have  fallen  in  love  with  the  hand- 
some person  of  the  adventurer,  Carr,  bat 
for  the  love  letters  Sir  Thomas  Overbury 
wrote  her  for  him.  It  was  not  an  idle 
boast  of  Wilkes's,  that  he  was  an  over- 
match for  the  handsomest  man  in  Eng- 
land, in  winning  the  affections  of  a  wo- 
man, although  he  was  one  of  the  ugliest 
men  in  the  kingdom.  But  he  was  a 
good-natured  rasc^  vnt\k  very  fascinating 
manners. 

The  impressions  stated  above  in  re- 
gard to  Chesterfield,  we  suspect,  are 
wholly  erroneous.  He  was  a  free  and 
easy  careless  gentleman,  with  all  class- 
es ;  had  no  troublesome  weight  of  digni- 
ty to  preserve,  and  was  an  exoeedi^y 
agreeable  companion  to  whomsoever  he 
might  be  thrown  among.  He  would  ex- 
hibit no  less  gusto  in  cracking  a  joke 
with  a  beggar  in  the  street,  than  he 
would  grace  and  elegance  in  exchanging 
repartees  with  the  lady  in  her  parlor. 
He  was  as  popular  with  the  Irish  squi- 
reens at  Dubhn,  as  he  was  with  Freder- 
ick the  Great  and  Voltaire ;  as  much  ad- 
mired by  his  servants  and  dependants,  as 
he  was  by  Lord  Hervey  and  Lady  Suf- 
folk. The  man  whose  societv  is  much 
sought  after  by  the  fashionable  and  the 
great,  must  have  in  him  elements  of  pop- 
ularity with  the  multitude ;  for  he  must 
possess  a  lai^  share  of  good  nature 
which  the  high  and  low  equally  appre- 
ciate. Politeness  has  been  defined  as 
benevolence  in  little  things — a  definition 
which  comprehends  the  full  meaning  of 
the  word.  That  Chesterfield  was  a  kind- 
hearted  man,  his  life  and  writings  clear- 
ly show. 

We  give  a  description  of  Chesterfield 
by  two  different  parties — both  very  reli- 
able authorities.  The  reader  can  recon- 
cile the  dissimilarity  in  the  descriptions 
as  best  he  may ;  we  cannot  help  him 
much.  Perhaps,  however,  Lord  Hervey, 
who  wrote  the  first  description,  may 
have  had  a  prejudice  against  ChCvSterfield, 
for  some  reason  or  other. 

'*  His  person  was  as  disagreeable  as  it 
was  possible  for  a  human  figure  to  be 
without  being  defomied.  He  was  very 
short,  disproportioned,  thick  and  clumsi- 
ly made,  had  a  broad,  rough-featured, 
ugly  face,  with  black  teeth,  and  a  head 
big  enough  for  a  Polyphemus.    One  Ben 


1854.] 


McamerB. 


611 


Ashurst,  who  said  a  few  good  things. 
thoufi;h  admired  for  many,  told  Lord 
Chesterfield  once,  that  he  was  like  a 
stunted  giant,  which  was  a  humorous 
idea,  and  really  apposite.'' 

The  other  description  we  think  is  by  a 
man  who  had  no  particular  prejudice  in 
the  matter.  Putthi^  the  two  together 
they  show  what  confidence  we  can  place 
in  all  we  read. 

''  His  figure,  though  on  a  small  scale, 
wa.s  very  good — every  limb  turned  by 
Nature's  daintiest  hand,  yet  full  of  vigor, 
till  it  paid  the  penalties  of  vice.  The 
head  is  inimitable — we  never  sawiany  en- 
graving of  him,  either  from  bust,  or 
medal,  or  picture,  that  gives  an  approach 
to  its  peculiar  expression.  The  features 
are  all  classical — the  eyes  full  of  ii»ftnes8, 
yet  of  fire — the  brow  and  eyebrows  grave 
and  manly,  the  mouth  small,  but  im- 
pressed with  such  a  mixture  of  firmness, 
sense,  wit.  gayety  and  voluptuous  delicacy 
as  few  artists  could  have  imagined — and 
no  one  of  that  day  but  Rosalba  could 
have  transcribed." 

A  very  charadteristic  anecdote  is  given, 
of  the  stratagem  he  resorted  to  to  obtain 
a  vote  against  Walpole,  whose  downfall 
he  was  very  zealous  in  promoting. 

"  The  late  Lord  R ,  with  many  good 

qualities,  and  even  learning  and  parts,  had 
a  strong  desire  of  being  thought  skilful  in 
physic,  and  was  very  expert  in  bleeding. 
Lord  Chesterfield,  who  knew  his  foible, 
and  on  a  particular  occasion  wished  to 
have  his  vote,  came  to  him  one  morning 
and  after  having  conversed  upon  indifier- 
ent  matters,  complained  of  the  headache, 
and  desired  his  lordship  to  feel  his  pulse. 
It  was  found  to  beat  high,  and  a  hint  of 
losing  blood  given.  «I  have  no  objection ; 
and  as  I  hear  your  lordship  has  a  master- 
ly hand,  will  you  favor  me  with  trying 
your  lancet  upon  me  ? 

^^ Apropos^  said  Lord  Chesterfield  after 
the  operation,  do  you  go  to  the  House  to- 
day ?    Lord  R answered,  I  did  not 

intend  to  go,  not  being  sufficiently  in- 
formed of  the  question  which  is  to  be  de- 
bated ;  but  you  who  have  considered  it, 
which  side  will  you  be  of?  The  Earl 
having  gained  his  confidence,  easily  direct- 
ed his  judgment ;  he  carried  him  to  the 
House,  and  got  him  to  vote  as  he  pleased. 
He  used  afterwards  to  say,  that  none  of 
his  friends  had  done  so  much  as  he,  hav- 
ing literally  bled  for  the  good  of  his  coun- 
try." 

It  is  putting  a  man's  politeness  to  a 
pretty  severe  tost  when  it  oomes  to  blood- 
letting. 

On  seeing  the  full-length  picture  of 


Bean  Nash,  between  the  busts  of  Pope 
and  Newton  at  Bath,  he  wrote  the  fol- 
lowing epigram : 

**  This  piotnre  placed  the  butts  b«twe«n, 
Gives  satire  all  its  strength  ; 
Wiadum  and  wit  are  little  seen, 
Bot  folljr  at  ftaU  length.** 

The  following  hon  mot  gives  another 
specimen  of  his  wit : 

On  hearing  of  the  marriage  of  a  man 
of  low  family,  with  the  daughter  of  a 
lady  whose  way  of  life  threw  doubts  on 
the  paternity,  he  observed  that  nobody's 
son  had  married  every  body's  daughter. 

No  one  doubts  Pope*s  appreciation  of 
wit,  and  he  wrote — 

**  Accept  a  miracle  instead  of  wit, 
Bee  two  doll  lines  bjr  8tanbope*s  pendl  writ** 

The  best  exhibition  afforded  of  the 
manners  of  Chesterfield  is  given  in  his 
manner  of  governing  Ireland.  He  was 
appointed  Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ireland  at  a 
very  critical  time — that  nation  being  in  a 
great  state  of  excitement  from  an  appre- 
hension that  the  Catholics  would  rise  in 
favor  of  the  Pretender.  He  was  the  man 
of  all  others  best  suited  to  the  post,  and 
Ireland  neither  before  nor  since,  was  ever 
better  governed  than  by  him.  His  pro- 
found knowledge  of  human  nature,  his 
sagacity  and  penetration,  his  great  tact, 
suavity  and  firmness,  a^lmirably  fitted 
him  to  govern  that  people  at  an^  time, 
but  more  especially  during  a  cnsis.  A 
man  of  less  discernment,  tact,  and  affabil- 
ity— a  well-meaning  but  dull-witted  gov- 
ernor at  that  nenod,  would  have  been 
pretty  sure  to  have  had  a  civil  war  to 
contend  with.  ^ 

We  give  two  anecdotes  illustrative  of 
his  manners !  while  he  was  Lord  Lieu- 
tenant of  Ireland.  Some  would  say  that 
it  evinced  how  ywj  efficacious  pleasantry 
often  is  in  averting  serious  difficulties. 
"  Why,  my  lord,"  said  some  one  to  him, 
"your  own  coachman  is  a  Papist,  and 
poes  to  mass  every  Sunday."  *•  Does  he, 
mdeed,"  replied  the  Lord  Lieutenant,  "  I 
will  take  good  care  that  he  does  not  drive 
me  there."  One  morning  early,  the  vice- 
treasprer,  Mr.  Gardner,  a  red  hot  Orange 
man,  waited  on  him,  and  assured  him  on 
the  best  authority  that  the  Papists  in  the 
province  of  Connaught  were  actually 
rising!  Upon  which  Lord  Chesterfield 
took  out  hi^  watch  and  composedly  ob- 
served, "  It  is  nine  o^clock,  and  certainly 
time  for  them  to  rise ;  I  therefore  believe 
your  news  to  be  true."  All  this  time  he 
was  watching  over  the  peace  of  the  ooim- 
try  with  Argus  eyes,  aad  the  sUghtoBt 


•14 


Manmr9, 


[June 


mcvement  towards  disaffection  was  ob- 
served. 

This  pleasantly  of  manner  in  these  in- 
stances, as  any  one  can  see,  was  the  re- 
sult of  the  shrewdest  observation  and  the 
deepest  reflection.  Some  of  the  jokes  of 
this  perfumed  milliner  Lord  (as  many 
suppose  him  to  have  been)  while  in  Ire- 
land, have  been  preserved,  but  they  are 
too  coarse  and  indecorous  for  publication 
nowadays. 

But  notwithstanding  his  appreciation 
of  coarse  jokes,  no  man  ever  whispered  in 
the  ear  of  woman  compliments  of  more 
exquisite  delicacy  than  he.  Good  nature 
without  wit,  grace,  or  refinement,  will  not 
enable  a  person  to  bestow  compliments 
well.  A  striking  illustration  of  this  fact 
is  aflbrded  in  the  case  of  the  Mayor  of 
London,  who  in  his  address  to  Queen 
Elizabeth  told  her  that  the  Spanish  Ar- 
mada got  the  wrong  sow  by  the  ear  when 
they  attacked  her. 

Chesterfield's  reputation  now  rests 
chiefly  on  his  letters  to  his  son ;  when  he 
lived  it  was  based  on  what  he  was,  with- 
out them. 

Of  course  it' was  much  mftre  splendid 
then,  than  it  has  been  since.  It  is  not 
likely  that  Chesterfield  placed  any  undue 
stress  upon  manners,  but  he  had  for  a 
son  a  dull-witted,  awkward,  clumsy 
down,  and  undoubtedly  few  sons  ever 
needed  more'  the  cultivation  of  graceful 
manners  than  he.  Hence  his  father's 
earnest  endeavors  to  force  them  upon 
him,  but  all  without  avail.  The  follow- 
ing lines  are  very  much  to  the  point : 

Yile  SUnbope— Demons  blush  to  tell 
In  twice  two  hundred  pieces, 
IIss  shown  his  son  the  road  to  h — , 
Ksoorted  by  the  Oraoee : 
But  little  did  the  ungenerons  lad 
Concern  himself  about  them ; 
^  For  base,  degenerate,  meanly  bad. 
He  sneaked  to  hell  without  them. 

The  difference  between  Dorset  and 
Rochester  illustrates  well  what  kind  of  a 
foundation  agreeable  manners  require. 
Rochester  was  one  of  the  most  brilliant 
wits  and  poets  of  the  court  of  Charles 
II. ;  but  he  lacked  that  good  nature  and 
broad  sympathy-  with  his  fellow- men 
which  made  Dorset  so  attractive.  We 
cannot  forbear  quoting  Macaulay's  de- 
scription of  the  latter.  Although  the 
reader  is  undoubtedly  familiar  with  it,  he 
will  not  object,  we  think,  to  have  his  at- 
tention often  called  to  it. 

"  None  of  the  English  nobles  enjoyed 
a  larger  measure  of  public  favor  than 
Charles  Saokville,  oarl  of  Dorset  He 
wiB,  indeed,  a  remarkable  man.    In  his 


youth  he  had  been  one  of  the  most  noto- 
rious libertines  of  the  wild  time  which 
followed  the  Restoration.  He  had  been 
the  terror  of  the  city  watch,  had  passed 
many  nights  m  the  round  house,  and  had 
at  least  once  occupied  a  cell  in  Newgate. 
His  passion  for  Betty  Morrice  and  for 
Nell  Gwynn,  who  always  called  him  her 
Charles  the  First,  had  given  no  small 
amusement  and  scandal  to  the  town. 
Tet,  in  the  midst  of  follies  and  vices,  his 
courageous  spirit,  his  fine  understanding, 
and  his  natural  goodness  of  heart  hM. 
been  conspicuous.  Men  said  that  the  ex- 
cesses in  which  he  indulged  were  common 
between  him  and  the  whole  race  of  gay 
young  cavaliers,  but  that  his  sympathy 
with  human  suffering  and  the  generosity 
with  which  he  made  reparation  to  those 
whom  his  freaks  had  injured  were  all  his 
own.  His  associates  were  astonished  by 
the  distinction  which  the  public  made  be- 
tween him  and  them.  ^  He  may  do  what 
he  chooses,'  said  Wilmot;  *he  is  never 
in  the  wrong.'  The  judgment  of  the 
world  became  still  more  favorable  to  Dor- 
set when  he  had  been*  sobered  by  time 
and  marriage.  His  graceful  manners,  bis 
brilliant  conversation,  his  soft  heart,  his 
open  hand,  were  universally  praised.  No 
day  passed,  it  was  said,  in  which  some 
distressed  fkmily  had  not  reason  to  bless 
his  name.  And  yet,  with  all  his  good 
nature,  such  was  the  keenness  of  his  wit, 
that  scoffers  whose  sarcasm  all  the  town 
feared,  stood  in  craven  fear  of  the  sar« 
casm  of  Dorset" 

The  manners  of  Charles  the  First  on 
the  scaffold,  and  of  his  son  Charles  the 
Second  on  his  deathbed,  both  did  much 
to  atone  for  the  errors  of  their  lives.  How 
much  kindness  of  heart  and  philosophical 
magnanimity  the  latter  exhibited  when 
he  begged  pardon  of  his  courtiers  for 
being  such  an  unconscionable  time  dying. 

Chesterfield,  in  his  old  age,  callei  his 
daily  drive  through  the  streets  the  re- 
hearsal of  his  funeral,  and  used  to  say 
of  Lord  Tyrawley  and  himself:  "Ty- 
rawley  and  I  have  been  dead  these  two 
years,  but  we  don't  choose  to  haive  it 
known." 

The  loss  of  sight  was  added  to  his 
other  miseries  ;  but  he  retained  his  mem- 
ory and  his  politeness  to  his  latest  breath. 
Only  half  an  hour  before  he  died,  Mr. 
Dnvrolles  came  to  see  him  and  the  earl 
had  just  strength  enough  to  gasp  out  in  a 
faint  voice  from  his  bed — "  (rive  Day^ 
roUes  a  chair,^^  "  His  good  breeding," 
said  his  physician,  "only  quits  him  with 
his  life."  He  was  in  the  <  9th  year  d  his 
age  when  he  died. 


1854.] 


615 


A    DAY    IN  THE    GBEAT    CEMETERY. 


IN  a  former  notice  of  this  subject,  we 
gave  a  brief  sketch  of  the  general 
prindples  of  the  historical  study  of  the 
natural  records  of  our  planet,  couched  in 
such  simple  language  as  might  convey 
some  idea  of  the  scope  and  interest  of  the 
pursuit,  without  appalling  the  reader  with 
names  and  terms  associated  in  most  minds 
with  a  strong  impression  of  dulness  and 
obscurity. 

Whether  justly  or  unjustly,  geology 
has  won  a  very  dry  reputation  with  the 
world  at  large,  and  is  often  regarded  as  a 
pursuit  appropriate  only  to  those  **sIow 
coaches"  which  can  succeed  in  nothing  usu- 
ally deemed  attractive  or  interesting. 
The  sly  hit  at  its  students  in  Vanity  Fair, 
where,  after  rendering  full  tribute  to  the 
merits  of  Mrs.  Eagles,  that  "  woman  with- 
out a  flaw  in  her  character  and  with  a 
house  in  Portman  Square,"  the  author 
stoops  for  an  instant  to  characterize  her 
ooi^ugal  appendage  as  *^a  quiet  old  gen- 
tleman not  tall  enough  to  reach  any  body's 
ears,  and  with  a  taste  for  geology ; "  is 
perhaps  a  fair  indication  of  the  estimation 
m  which  "polite  society"  holds  that 
small  class  of  persons  indulging  tastes 
similar  to  those  of  Mr.  Eagles.  Certain- 
ly the  philosopher  blowing  soap-bubbles 
was  not  a  better  subject  for  ridicule  than 
a  formal  professor,  toiling  with  hammer 
and  basket  ^^up  hill  and  down  dale, 
knocking  chucky-stones  to  pieces  to  see 
how  the  world  was  made,"  and  in  the 
minds  perhaps  of  most,  the  speculations 
of  the  erudite  and  enthusiastic  laird  of 
Monkbams  seem  authentic  compared  to 
those  of  the  geologist 

Perhaps  all  this  is  mainly  the  fault  of 
the  philosophers  themselves,  whose  so- 
called  elementary  books  on  the  subject 
are  often  admirably  calculated  to  quench 
curiosity  and  repel  investigation.  We 
remember  well  a  course  of  geology  in  our 
junior  year  at  college,  and  have  still  a 
strong  recollection  of  the  precise  defini- 
tions and  angular  diagrams  of  De  la 
Beche's  epitome  of  the  science ;  under  the 
influence  of  which  all  interest  formerly 
aroused  by  a  residence  where  fossils  were 
60  abundant  that  every  stone  was  marked 
by  their  mystic  forms,  was  fairly  extin- 
guished. The  only  application  ever  made 
of  our  learning  was  when,  on  some  Satur- 
day ramble,  we  amused  each  other  by 
^airing  our  Tocabulary,"  and  detecting 
the  most  remarkable  *- uplifts,"  "fiioltB, ' 
''contortions."  and  "schistose  cleavages" 
in  the  slaty  tMUiks  of  the  Mohawk.    The 


cloud  of  dulness  shed  over  the  science 
hy  the  college  manual  was  afterwards 
dissipated  by  a  very  different  book.  In 
accompanying  (m  imagination)  Dr.  Man- 
tell  along  the  cnalky  cliffs  of  the  channel 
or  the  inland  quarries  of  the  Oolite,  to 
pick  from  among  the  rocky  debris  the 
moulded  imprints  of  the  tenants  of  the 
ancient  oceans;  and  tracing  back  the 
chain  of  natural  causes  until  the  wonder- 
ful facts  were  made  to  explain  themselves 
by  a  yet  stranger  history,  the  true  char- 
acter of  the  science  was  understood.  We 
realized  at  once  the  fascinating  interest 
which  it  owes  to  the  manner  in  which  its 
best  established  truths  are  connected  with 
unexplained  phenomena ;  and  to  the  blend- 
ing of  the  satisfaction  resulting  from  truth 
attained,  with  the  eager  curiosity  excited 
by  mysteries  yet  unresolved. 

A  not  less  admirable  guide  is  the  ex- 
plorer of  the  opposite  extremity  of  Great 
Britain,  as  will  be  confessed  by  every 
reader  who  with  his  mind's  eye  follows 
Hugh  Miller,  along  the  cliffs  of  Cromarty 
and  among  the  isles  of  Orkney,  scanning 
closely  the  stony  layers  for  the  organic 
remains  which  their  waste  reveals,  yet 
constantly  awake  to  the  grand  scenery 
which  surrounds  him.  He  seems  to  rest 
on  some  high  hillside  ledge,  forgetting  his 
immediate  pursuit  while  looking  across 
the  Moray  Frith  on  mountains  crowned 
with  the  snows  of  spring  and  draped  with 
the  heather,  so  that  "  all  above  is  white, 
and  all  below  is  purple ; "  or  gazes  in  the 
evening  "on  the  three  great  Rossshire 
hills,  while  the  sunset  lights  up  their 
horizontal  strata  showing  like  courses  of 
masonry  in  gigantic  pyramids ; "  and  he 
reflects  how  vast  were  the  masses  of 
which  these  are  merely  the  detaohed 
relics.  He  works  with  the  author  among 
the  seaweed  on  the  rocky  beach,  eagerly 
breaking  the  nodules  and  finding  in  each 
some  before  unknown  organic  fragment, 
and  desists  only  when  the  rising  tide 
drives  him  away,  to  spread  out  on  some 
huee  boulder  the  spoils  of  the  morning, 
and  from  the  various  fragments  to  restore 
vague  outlines  of  the  vanished  forms  to 
which  they  once  belonged.  He  traces 
the  layer  which  contains  these  relics  deep 
into  the  country,  buried  under  hundreds 
of  feet  of  rock  in  the  walls  of  the  ravine 
of  Eathie,  but  disdains  not  to  stop  on  the 
seapch,  and  to  recount  the  fairy  legend 
which  haunts  the  glen. 

Such  writers  redeem  their  sdenoe,  and 
proTe  that  Bulwer  wm  fiur  finom  light 


eie 


A  Day  in  the  Cheat  Cemetery. 


fJiu&d 


when  he  described  their  study  as  "  that 
singular  pedantry  of  scienoe  which  strips 
nature  to  a  skeleton,  and  prowls  among 
the  d^ad  bones  of  the  world  unconscious 
of  its  living  beauty."  The  readers  of  the 
books  of  Mantell  or  Miller  need  no  ar-^ 
gument  to  show  how  the  charm  of  ro-' 
mance  may  be  interwoven  with  the  inter- 
est of  exact  study,  and  how  in  tracing  the 
mysterious  history  of  the  past,  the  geol- 
ogist is  brought  into  constant  intercourse 
with  all  that  is  beautiful  and  grand  in  the 
present  aspect  of  nature. 

Will  the  reader  spend  an  hour  with  us 
in  our  own  comer  of  the  Great  Cemetery  ? 
He  has  already  a  general  idea  of  its  huge 
series  of  layers,  spread  tier  above  tier  for 
thousands  of  mile^  in  extent  and  thou- 
sands of  feet  in  depth,^ach  successive 
stratum  an  old  ocean  bed,  inclosing  the 
remains  of  a  peculiar  group  of  living 
forms,  once  the  tenants  of  that  sea  or  its 
bounding  shores.  How  these  originally 
soft  masses  were  hardened,  how  raised 
above  the  waters  into  continents,  we 
wait  not  now  to  inquire.  They  are  now- 
ever  actually  and  undeniably  Aere,  form- 
ing the  stony  masonry  of  which  this  high 
slope  is  built  up,  this  northern  slope 
of  Pompey  Hill,  in  the  centre  of  New 
York,  a  thousand  feet  above  that  level  at 
which  the  nearest  waters  like  those  which 
deposited  them  are  now  heaving  and  roll- 
ins,  two  hundred  miles  away. 

Every  where  under  the  sod  and  mould 
of  this  green  hill,  and  under  those  of  all 
its  fellows  which  we  see  swelling  east- 
ward and  westward,  by  digging  but  a 
few  feet  we  come  upon  the  hardened  sea- 
slime,  which  we  know  as  rock,  with  its 
native  shells  and  weeds  and  corals  yet 
preserved  in  its  compact  embrace. 

That  valley  between  this  hill  and  the 
next,  hollowed  out  so  far  that  yonder 
church-spire  reaches  upward  not  a  third 
of  its  depth,  has  all  been  worn  out  of 
these  successive  layers  of  sediment,  the 
flinty  edges  of  which  appear  on  its  oppo- 
site slopes  at  corresponding  heights.  Once 
these  parallel  ridgy  hills  were  but  parts 
of  one  huge  mass,  hidden  within  it  like 
the  statue  in  the  block.  The  elements 
have  chiselled  away  the  greater  portion, 
worn  and  fretted  it  down  for  hundreds  of 
feet  until  it  has  assumed  its  present  un- 
even and  furrowed  form,  and  are  still 
working  at  it  day  by  day ;  while  the  busy 
stream  in  its  deepest  hollow  is  slowly  but 
increasingly  bearing  back  yet  more  and 
more  of  its  daily  waste  into  the  depths 
from  whence  it  rose. 

But  the  evidence  of  far  greater  wear 
and  erosion  is  before  us.    Yonder  at  the 


northward,  four  or  five  hundred  feet  be- 
lowj  spreads  so  far  as  the  eye  can  reach, 
a  level,  and  in  great  part  forest-covered 
plain.  Half  way  to  the  horizon,  stretches 
through  the  woods  from  cast  to  west,  a 
long  belt  of  light,  with  a  dark  spot  or  two 
near  its  western  extremity.  It  is  the 
Oneida  Lake,  and  those  spots  are  islands.  • 
Thirty  miles  beyond,  out  of  sight  beneath 
the  sharp  rim  of  Uie  horizon,  hes  On- 
tario. 

Just  below  us,  terraced  layers  of  hard 
limestone  jut  out  from  the  hill,  their  edges 
broken  oflr  in  a  sudden  cliff.  When  orig- 
inally deposited  at  the  sea-bottom,  these 
layers  must  have  extended  much  farther, 
"thinning  out"  very  gradually  toward 
the  shores  of  their  ocean.  Let  us  then, 
as  a  mathematician  would  say,  *'  produce 
their  plane "  to  the  northward,  and  see 
where  they  must  hare  reposed  when  first 
formed.  Extending  them  in  imagination, 
we  find  that  they  must  have  overspread 
the  plain  before  us  at  an  elevation  of 
many  hundred  feet  above  its  present  level. 
By  the  wearing  away  of  these  and  the 
masses  which  underlaid  and  supported 
them,  that  broad  plain  and  its  lake  basin 
must  have  been  formed.  This  region  is 
known  by  its  structure  to  have  been 
above  water,  exposed  to  the  elements, 
ever  since  the  era  of  the  coal  formatran. 
Since  then,  vast  tracts  of  our  earth  under 
the  newer  seas  have  been  filled  to  the 
aggregate  depth  of  miles  by  the  wear  of 
old  continents,  buildmg  up  the  great  for- 
mations known  as  the  secondary  and 
tertiary  strata.  ,  While  the  ocean  has 
thus  been  filled  in  one  region,  wide  terri- 
tories must  have  been  elsewhere  worn 
away  to  fumLsh  the  material, — and  here 
is  one  of  the  vacancies  left  by  the  process. 
What  bounds  are  we  to  set  to  the  por- 
tions of  yonder  airy  space  once  filled  by 
the  masses  of  which  these  hills  and  plains 
are  but  the  relics  ?  How  great  were  the 
masses  which  have  dissolv^  away  since 
the  *'  New  world  which  is  the  Old  "  first 
liaised  itselfabove  its  parent  ocean?  Prob- 
ably thousands  of  feet  of  rock  have  been 
worn  from  above  where  we  sit.  Probably 
their  northern  extension  once  spread  fit 
and  wide,  where  now  the  clouds  hover 
above  Lake  Ontario.  All  now  gone,  van- 
ished,— partly  perhaps  abraded  by  waves 
and  tides  while  first  emerging  above  the 
sea,  but  mostly  by  later  agencies ;  loosen- 
ed by  frost  and  storm  and  rain,  washed 
away  down  the  rivers  into  the  ocean,  and 
spread  by  currents  and  billows  over  tbon- 
sands  of  leagues.  The  hills  and  vaUevs 
we  see.  are  but  the  last  furrows  oi  tne 
wearing  agencies  of  nature,  as  th«  duaal- 


1854.] 


A  Day  in  the  Great  Cemetery. 


61» 


marks  on  the  granite  block  are  the  last 
traces  of  that  toil  which  reduced  it  from 
its  parent  mass.  The  surface  which  we 
inhabit  is  but  a  temporary  one,  constant- 
ly changing  for  a  lower.  The  powers 
which  have  reduced  it  thus  low,  will,  in  a 
far  less  period  than  that  past  of  which 
we  trace  the  record,  level  it  so  that  it 
shall 

**  Sink,  like  a  seawcod,  into  whence  it  rose," 

till  the  salt  billows  shall  again  sweep 
across  it,  and  the  continent  shall  be  ob- 
literated as  have  been  the  estates  of  the 
Saxon  earl  where  are  now  the  Goodwin 
sands. 

Enough  of  these  considerations  of  the 
mere  earthy  material  of  the  Great  Cem- 
etery. We  are  in  this  comer  of  it,  on 
this  actual  upland  farm,  in  the  town  of 
Manlius  and  county  of* Onondaga,  to  dis- 
inter some  of  the  relics  of  living  things 
which  were  buried  when  the  foundations 
of  these  monumental  hills  were  laid. 

We  turn  from  the  broad  landscape,  and 
follow  up  the  bed  of  a  shallow  brook 
which  comes  down  the  slope  from  the 
south,  emerging  from  a  ravine  which  it 
has  worn  in  the.black  slate  of  which  the 
hill  is  formed.  '  We  ascend  its  bed  for  a 
hundred  yards,  our  feet  plashing  on  its 
gravelly  bottom,  and  our  hats  swept  by 
pendent  boughs  of  birch  and  elm  grow- 
ing from  the  slaty  banks.  A  hundred 
yards  within  the  edge  of  the  hill, — and 
we  come  to  a  cascade.  A  layer  of  hard, 
black  limestone,  three  feet  thick,  lies  here 
in  the  midst  of  the  soft  slates,  its  edge 
projecting  like  a  course  of  stone  masonry 
from  a  brick  wall.  Its  greater  hardness 
eauses  it  so  to  outwear  the  shales  m 
which  it  is  imbedded,  that  they  are  swept 
clean  from  its  upper  surface,  and  excava- 
ted below  into  a  shallow  cave  or  recess 
behind  the  falling  waters, — a  miniature 
illustration  of  the  structure  of  Niagara 
itself. 

This  hard  layer  is  one  of  the  most 
crowded  repositories  of  the  Great  Ceme- 
tery. The  slates  both  above  and  below 
are  barren  of  fossils,  and  seem  to  have 
been  deposited  by  waters  almost  desti- 
tute of  animal  life.  But  the  limestone 
contains  the  proof  of  an  epoch  of  a  very 
different  character. 

On  breaking  its  upper  surfiu^,  we  find 
fragments  filled  with  tiny  shells,  which  a. 
casual  observer  would  compare  to  those 
of  snails.  They  bear,  however,  in  their' 
peculiar  spiral  form,  their  marlangs  and 
their  indented  aperture,  characteristics 
which  prove  their  affinity  with  a  family 
^  small  carnivorous  shdlfish  inhabiting 

TOL.  HI. — 39 


the  oceaii.  If  we  call  them  Pleuroto- 
maria,  the  general  reader  will  be  no 
wisei*,  but  naturalists  will  know  at  once 
what  they  are  like.  They  are  perfect  in 
every  particular,  though  bound  in  a  rock 
oC  the  hardest  texture.  A  pound  of 
stone  will  often  show  a  dozen  projecting 
from  its  ragged  sides.  From  most  of 
them  the  shell  itself  breaks  away  under 
the  hammer,  or  adheres  to  the  investing 
stone,  when  there  is  left  only  a  smooth 
spiral  coil,  which  is  an  interior  cast  of  the 
shell,  formed  by  the  hardening  of  the 
slime  which  filled  it  A  few  specimens 
however,  rescued  in  perfection,  preserve 
the  entire  shell  in  its  place,  its  jetty  sur- 
face marked  with  every  original  line  and 
furrow,  more  distinctly  under  the  magni- 
fier than  to  the  naked  eye. 

But  thes6  are  on  the  surface  of  the 
rock.  Let  us  raise  a  layer,  and  see  what 
other  relics  it  may  yield  us,  of  those 
forms  of  life  which  swam  or  dnfled  above 
the  depths  in  which  its  particles  were  ac- 
cumulated. 

It  is  a  hard,  tough  stone,  and  we  re- 
quire the  use  of  crowbar,  sledge  and  gun- 
powder, to  effect  any  considerable  im- 
pression upon  it  By  dint  of  much  pry- 
ing and  pounding,  we  are  able  to  loosen  a 
block  of  perhaps  three  or  four  square  feet, 
and  nearly  a  foot  in  thickness.  As  it  is 
torn  up  from  the  dark  bed  which  it  has 
occupied  so  long,  and  thrown  over  against 
the  bank,  the  dullest  eye  must  be  arrest- 
ed by  the  figure  in  bas-relief  which  shows 
upon  its  lower  surface.  The  outlines  of 
a  large  coiled  shell  are  perfectly  defined, 
and  no  one  who  has  seen  a  nautilus  can 
fail  to  recognize  a  closely  allied  form. 
There  is  the  coil,  beginning  at  the  centre 
in  a  tiny  circle,  and  expanding  at  every 
volution  until  it  terminates  in  a  wide 
mouth  with  a  gracefully  curved  margin. 
There  is  the  substance  of  the  shell,  its 
colors  indeed  lost,  and  itself  converted 
into  a  blade,  crysUlline,  stony  mass,  but 
preserving  its  original  thickness  and  form, 
and  showing  as  distinctly  as  ever  its  un^ 
dulating  stnations.  And  at  places  where 
the  outer  walls  of  this  old  tenement  are 
broken  away,  show  the  waving,  sinuous 
edges  of  tiiose  remarkable  partitions 
which  divide  its  interior  into  two  or  three 
score  of  saccessive  cells,  forming  that  ad^ 
mirable  float  by  whicn  its  tenant  was 
enabled  at  will  to  swim  basking  on  the 
sunny  surface  of  the  deep,  or  to  suik  to 
the  bottom.  These  cells  are  now  all 
filled  with  solid  stone ;  the  outer  cham- 
bers usually  with  the  same  material  with 
the  enveloping  rock,  which  must  have 
been  pressed  in  while  semi-fluid  through. 


618 


A  Day  in  the  Great  Cemetery, 


[June 


those  perforations  which  gave  {lassage  to 
the  tuhe  which  connected  the  whole  series 
of  chambers  together.  The  remains  of 
this  pipe  are  still  perceptible,  not,  as  in 
the  recent  nautilus,  piercing  the  partitions 
near  their  centres,  out  at  their  edges,  and 
lying  dose  within  the  rounded  back  of 
the  shelL  The  innermost  cells,  those 
penetralia  to  which  the  earthy  sediment 
could  not  gain  admittance,  are  filled  with 
black  calcareous  spar,  which  must  have 
percolated  in  solution  With  the  water 
through  the  pores  of  the  shell,  and  crys- 
tallized in  its  interior.  The  entire  or- 
ganism is  greatly  changed  from  its  origi- 
nal condition,  yet  it  is  unaltered  in  all  its 
more  characteristic  features.  Its  analogy 
is  complete  with  the  pearly  nautilus  which 
navigates  the  Indian  Ocean,  and  it  b^s 
a  still  closer  resemblance  to  the  umbili- 
cated  nautilus,  as  witnesses  one  of  the 
latter  from  the  sKores  of  New  Zealand, 
which  lies  amicably  in  the  same  drawer 
to  illustrate  our  best  specimens  from  the 
rocks  of  Central  New  York.  Still  they 
are  by  no  means  identical,  and  in  this  as 
in  other  instances,  the  ancient  fossil  is 
connected  with  its  modem  representative 
by  a  series  of  perhi^  a  hundred  more 
or  less  varying  species. 

The  abundance  of  these  relics  is  re- 
markable. In  a  block  of  three  or  four 
square  feet  may  often  be  seen  the  remains 
of  as  many  of  these  graceful  shells.  A 
mass  ^m  this  very  ledge,  contaming  four 
nautili  from  four  to  ten  inches  in  diam- 
eter, lies  on  the  floor  in  tha(  chilly  apart- 
ment of  the  old  State  Hall  at  Albany, 
which,  appropriated  to  the  State  collec- 
tion of  fossils,  is  consigned  to  dust  and 
neglect ;  while  the  attention  of  visitors  to 
the  State  Museum  is  mainly  directed  to 
,  the  inspection  of  bullets  from  old  battle- 
fields, '^  homed  frogs,"  rattlesnakes,  and 
bead  embroidered  Indian  leggins,  and  to 
the  inscription  of  their  viduable  auto- 
graphs in  a  register  kept  for  that  purpose, 
after  the  manner  of  hotels. 

The  disinterment  of  relics  of  such  evi- 
dent and  unquestionable  character  from  a 
ledge  of  the  hardest  rock,  two  hundred 
miles  inland  and  nearly  a  thousand  feet 
above  the  sea  level,  is  a  fact  to  fix  the  at- 
tentk>n  of  the  most  careless  observer.  To 
the  informed  and  thoughtful  mind  it  con- 
nects with  wonderful  freshness  and  reality 
the  two  almost  infinitely  remote  eras,  that 
of  the  nawitilus  sailing  gayly 

" In  son  and  breoz«, 

On  th«  new  created  seas," 

in  this  very  latitude,  43"  North,  76" 
West,  and  that  when  the  same  shell  is 


broken  out  in  the  same  place,  from  a  ledge 
loosened  by  the  severest  frosts  of  winter. 
In  a  museum  of  Egyptian  relics  but 
three  thousand  3'ears  old,  we  are  surpris- 
ed at  the  apparently  close  relation  of  the 
past  with  the  present,  as  shown  by  furni- 
ture and  garments  bearing  so  great  a  re- 
semblance to  those  now  in  use,  and  human 
remains  not  yet  quite  resolved  into  their 
elements.  But  what  comparison  bear  the 
famous  forty  centuries  invoked  at  the  bat- 
tle of  the  Pyramids  to  the  cycles  whidi 
have  crept  away  since  these'  courses  of 
masonry  were  laid  over  this  relic,  and  it 
was  L  ft 


r  ever  to  endtins 


Itself  its  monnmcnt?** 

Two  other  varieties  of  nautili  occur  in 
the  same  layer,  one  a  little  species  not 
larger  than  a  half  dollar,  in  which  (as  in 
the  pearly  nautilus)  every  whorl  enfolds 
and  entirely  conceals  those  within  it; 
another  much  larger,  in  which  the  suc- 
cessive volutions  lie  unobscured,  merely 
in  contact  with  each  other,  and  ornament- 
ed along  their  outer  edges  with  a  series 
of  knobs  or  bosses. 

Equally  abundant  with  the  nautili,  are 
some  shells  of  a  very  peculiar  form,  quite 
unknown  among  living  families,  though 
every  where  common  in  the  lower  and 
older  layers  of  the  Great  Cemetery.  They 
are  perhaps  two  inches  in  diameter,  two 
feet  long,  tapering  to  a  point,  and  divided 
by  internal  partitions  into  a  succession  of 
chambers  or  cells.  At  first  sight  Uiey 
appear  entirely  unlike  any  thing  else,  but 
on  close  examination  prove  to  have  pre- 
cisely the  structure  of  a  nautilus,  dipp- 
ing only  in  being  extended  in  a  straight 
line  instead  of  being  coiled  up. 

We  have  remarked  that  these  shells 
occur  in  so  great  abundance,  that  a  square 
yard  of  the  rock  n^ay  be  estimated  to  con- 
tain on  an  average  not  less  than  thrae, 
lying  within  a  thin  layer  of  but  a  few  in- 
dies. At  this  estimate  an  acre  of  this 
cemetery  must  contain  more  than  four- 
teen thousand  of  these  stony  skeletons, 
and  more  than  nine  millions  are  buried 
under  each  square  mile. 

The  fact  that  the  ocean  bottom  was  so 
thickly  strewed  with  these  remains  of 
animals  which,  being  camivorous  and  of 
wandering  habits,  could  not  have  existed 
in  very  dense  numbers  at  any  moment, 
proves  that  theii*  accumulation  must  have 
been  the  work  of  a  very  long  period  of 
time.  It  has  occurred  to  us  that  a  vague 
estimate  of  this  period  may  be  made. 

If,  in  a  district  supporting  a  human 
population  of  a  thousand  persons^  the  or- 


1854.] 


A  Day  tti  the  Great  Cemetery. 


610 


dinary  annual  mortality  among  whom 
would  be  perhaps  twenty,  we  should  find 
the  burying  ground  to  contain  a  thousand 
graves,  it  would  be  reasonable  to  conclude 
that  half  a  century  had  elapsed  while  this 
average  population  had  existed. 

Now,  before  applying  this  reasoning  to 
the  old  cemetery  of  the  nautili,  we  need 
two  facts  by  way  of  data ;  first  the  ave- 
rage  density  of  their  population,  secondly, 
their  average  duration  of  life.  We  have 
little  means  of  obtaining  practical  evidence 
of  either.  But,  being  large  floating  shell- 
fish cf  a  high  grade  of  organization,  and 
of  carnivorous  habits,  they  are  not  likely 
to  have  been  very  abundant ;  and  if  we 
assume  that  an  average  of  ten  may  at 
once  have  been  living  on  each  acre,  or  six 
thousand  four  hundred  on  each  square  mile, 
it  will  perhaps  be  a  reasonable  estimate. 
If  we  then  suppose  the  usual  longevity  of 
a  nautilus  to  have  been  ten  years,  it  fol- 
lows that  to  each  acre  of  the  cemetery  at 
the  sea-bottom  there  would  be  added  one 
dead  shell  annually,  so  that  more  than 
fourteen  thousand  years  would  elapse  be- 
fore such  an  accumulation  of  them  as  we 
find  in  this  rock  could  be  formed. 

This  is  a  mere  speculation,  perhaps  an 
extravagant  one,  founded  on  data  assumed 
without  much  authority.  But  whatever 
allowance  may  be  made  for  error,  there 
remains  evidence  of  a  very  long  period 
during  which  this  rock  was  being  deposit- 
ed, and  even  our  largest  estimate  seems 
to  be  supported  by  arguments  of  a  differ- 
ent character.  For  within  this  thin  layer 
is  comprehended  all  that  remains  of  four 
or  five  very  marked  and  conspicuous 
forms  of  life.  Their  whole  period  of  ex- 
istence seems  to  have  left  no  other  record 
than  is  contained  in  this  foot  of  hardened 
sea-slime.  They  are  not  found  above  or 
below,  they  did  not  exist  before  its  de- 
posit commenced;  they  became  extinct 
before  it  was  completed.  Now  what  du- 
ration may  we  allot  to  such  a  group  of 
apecies? 

Human  observation  has  detected  no  ap- 
preciable change  among  the  living  forms 
of  earth  during  the  period  of  history. 
The  mummied  animals  of  Egypt  are  pre- 
cisely identical  with  modem  species.  Ex- 
cept when  exterminated  by  man,  no  spe- 
cies is  known  to  have  disappeared.  We 
bftve  no  knowledge  of  the  appearance,  or 
extinction  from  natural  causes,  of  a  single 
form. 

And  though  this  is  merely  negative 
eyidenoe  of  little  value,  inasmuch  as  accu- 
rate observations  in  natural  history  are 
but  of  modem  date,  there  are  natural 
records  whk^  prove  a  very  protracted 


duration  for  species  of  shellfish  yet  exist- 
ing. When  the  Niagara  poured  over  the 
bluff  at  Lewistown,  its  waters  left  layers 
of  sand  and  clay  filkMl  with  the  shells 
which  then  inhabited  its  waters.  Since 
that  time,  it  has  worn  its  slow  way  back- 
wards, forming  a  ravine  six  or  seven  miles 
long,  which  at  a  reasonable  estimate  of 
•the  rapidity  of  its  recession,  must  have 
occupied  from' one  hundred  to  three  hun- 
dred centuries.  Yet  the  same  shellfish, 
undistinguishable  in  any  particular,  in- 
habit the  shores  of  Goat  Island  and 
Chippewa  to-day !  If  they  have  been  in 
the  full  vigor  of  existence  Yor  from  ten  to 
thirty  thousand  years,  how  long  a  period 
may  we  reasonably  suppose  to  have  com- 
prehended the  entire  duration  of  these 
races  of  nautili  and  the  deposition  of  that 
rocky  sepulchre  which  entombs  them 
all? 

If  such  deductions  in  Geology  lack  the 
accuracy  and  numerical  certainty  which 
are  found  in  the  conclusions  of  its  sister 
science  of  the  stars,  they  are,  at  least,  sug- 
gestive thoughts.  The  actual  evidence  of 
vast  duration  is  ample,  and  the  very  in- 
definiteness  and  vagueness  which  hang 
around  it,  heighten  the  impression  which 
it  produces,  of  the  majestic  slowness' with 
which  the  progress  of  earth's  changes  has 
gone  on,  and  still  goes  on, 

**  While  the  stars  bom,  the  moona  increase^ 
And  the  great  ages  onward  roll.** 

Yet  other  and  stranger  relics  of  life  lie 
hidden  in  this  layer.  Kude  black  car- 
bonaceous patches  occur,  which  to  the 
unpractised  observer  present  no  signs  of 
interest  On  these,  however,  the  keen 
eye  of  such  an  explorer  as  Agassiz  or 
Hall  fastens  instantly.  The  black  spot 
shows  an  organic  texture,  in  which  the 
microscope  reveals  the  perfect  structure 
of  bone.  Further  search  brings  to  light 
better  specimens,  showing  bony  plates 
united  at  their  edges  like  a  mosaic  pave- 
ment, and  marked  on  their  surface  with 
starlike  tubercles.  It  is  clearly  a  frag- 
ment of  one  of  those  strange  fossil  fishes 
described  by  Hugh  Miller,  which  had 
their  bones  mainly  external,  and,  like  the 
tortoise,  were  clad  in  their  own  skeletons 
as  in  plate  armor.  The  starlike  markings 
identify  it  as  a  speeies  of  Asterolepis,  a 
near  relative  to  that  which  the  author  of 
«The  Old  Red  Sandstone"  found  in  the 
hills  of  Orkney,  and  which  is  the  founda- 
tion of  his  volume,  "  The  Footprints  of 
the  Creator."  We  have  a  bony  plate 
found  in  this  rock,  once  belonging  to  the 
lower  jaw  of  one  of  these  mailed  crea- 
tures, which  must  have  rejoiced  in  an  e&- 


620 


A  Day  in  the  Great  Cemetery, 


[Jane 


tire  length  of  four  or  Ave  feet ;  while  a 
fragment  of  a  spine  which  grew  on  the 
back  of  another,  nearly  an  inch  broad, 
and  showing  little  diminution  in  size  in  its 
length  of  four  or  five,  indicates  one  of  much 
greater  size,  at  the  sight  of  whose  dark, 
shadowy  form,  as  ho  swam  about  in  the 
clear  l)nne,  the  sailing  nautili  may  have 
shrunk  back  into  their  shells,  and  sonirht 
the  bottom,  with  as  much  dread  as  their 
modem  successors  before  the  shark  of  the 
Indian  sea.  These  fragmentary  relics  are 
the  only  evidence  we  yet  have  of  the 
forms  to  which  they  belonged.  On  a 
sea-bottom  filling  so  slowly  and  imper- 
ceptibly, every  articulation  must  have 
yielded  to  decay,  and  each  bone  &llen 
from  its  fellow,  long  before  they  were 
buried  up  in  the  sediment.  It  is  there- 
fore hardly  to  be  expected,  that  future 
specimens  should  be  met  with,  still  re- 
taining the  natural  connection  of  their 
parts,  or  the  general  outline  of  their  form ; 
though  in  other  strata  of  dififerent  charac- 
ter, and  more  rapidly  deposited,  such  for- 
tunate instances  are  not  uncommon. 

We  must,  therefore,  be  content  to  re- 
store these  vanished  forms  from  such 
scattered  fragments  as  may  remain,  aided 
by  siich  hints  as  we  may  glean  from  the 
structure  of  their  nearest  living  ana- 
logues, and  the  more  entire  remains  of 
similar  species  found  in  rocks  which  have 
kept  their  organic  treasures  in  more  per- 
fect condition.  Every  day  spent  in  search- 
ing this  ledge,  however,  brings  to  light 
some  additional  scrap  or  fragment ;  now 
a  spine,  now  a  bony  plate,  now  a  few 
scales,  or  a  tooth,  all  which,  when  united, 
tike  the  fragments  of  a  shivered  statue,  or 
the  chips  of  a  broken  mosaic,  may  yet  re- 
produce with  considerable  completeness 
the  general  form  from  which  they  were 
detached.  In  the  hourly  hope  of  such 
gradual  discoveries,  days  of  laborious  ex- 
ploration pass  rapidly  away. 

No  rock  in  New  York  with  which  we 
are  acquainted,  contains  within  a  narrow 
space  a  more  striking  collection  of  relics, 
than  is  found  in  this  thin  ledge  of  lime- 
stone imbedded  between  its  bairen  slates, 
and  few  pleasanter  days  are  within  our 
memory,  than  those  spent  in  its  examina- 
tion. Much  labor  is  necessary  to  force 
open  the  grasp  in  which  its  contents  are 
held,  and  no  little  patience  and  care  are 
afterwards  required  to  chisel  away  the 
enveloping  stone  from  each  fossil,  or  to 
reunite  its  fragments  into  a  perfect  whole. 
Not  one  in  five  is  cxtricaU^l  in  a  condi- 
tion approaching  completeness.  But  the 
difficulty  enhances  the  interest,  and  the 
relic  is  not  the  worse  for  showing  some 


effects  of  its  long  burial  and  rough  .disin- 
terment As  one  would  not  choose  his 
penny  of  Alfred,  or  medal  of  Vespasian, 
quite  free  from  the  rust  and  corrosion  of 
ages,  untarnished  and  perfect  as  a  new 
dollar,  no  more  would  we  have  our  shell, 
preserved  in  its  rocky  sarcophagus  firora 
the  early  epochs  of  time,  as  bright  and 
fresh  as  one  dredged  up  last  year  ofT  the 
coast  of  Amboyna.  We  love  them  some- 
what as  Desdemona  did  Othello,  *-for 
the  perils  they  have  passed ; "  and  a  rea- 
sonable crack  or  scar  out  of  their  sym- 
metrical forms,  docs  not  diminish  their 
value  in  our  eyes.  They  lie  in  our  cabir 
net  drawers  by  the  half  dozen,  some  al- 
most perfect,  some  sadly  dilapidated,  some 
in  fragments, — casts  of  separate  cham- 
bers, thin  pieces  of  striated  sheU,  little 
coils  which  were  once  the  central  begin- 
nings of  large  nautili,  black  plates  of 
bone,  broken  spmes ;  in  short,  scraps  of 
ancient  mortality  of  all  sizes  and  degrees 
of  incompleteness.  Every  one  has  its 
reminiscence  of  the  day,  the  spot,  the 
associate  with  whom  we  labored.  As  we 
look  them  'over  on  some  stormy,  snowy, 
drifting  February  day,  the  time  and  place 
of  their  discovery  recur  vividly  to  mem- 
ory. It  is  again  June :  there  is  the  high 
grassy  brow  of  the  hill, — the  deep  valley, 
with  its  winding  stream  far  below, — the 
opposite  slope,  a  mile  in  mdual  ascent, 
patched  with  forest,  grainneld,  and  mea- 
dow,— the  broad,  weeded  lowland,  spread- 
ing away  from  the  mouth  of  the  valley, 
like  the  sea  from  the  entrance  of  a  bay, 
to  the  far,  sharp  horizon,  where  show 
dimly,  through  fifty  miles  of  atmosphere^ 
a  few  serrated  peaks,  which  lie  in  the 
wilderness  of  Hamilton  county.  In  the 
middle  distance  spreads  the  long  gleaming 
Oneida,  recalling  to  mind  the  forest-tales 
of  Cooper,  legends  of  woodland  explora- 
tion a  himdred  years  ago,  and  the  history 
of  the  campaigns  of  Brant  and  St  L^ger. 
We  again  seem  to  sit  hammering  at  the 
ledge,  to  hear  the  clink  of  the  ciowbir, 
and  the  dull  report  of  the  Uast  shaking 
up  the  rock,  and  summoning  us  to  look 
eagerly  for  new  revelatk>ns  among  the 
shattered  masses. 

The  momentary  reverie  fades, — we  are 
standing  at  our  window,  specimen  in  hand, 
clouds  of  drift  obscuring  the  dreary  snow- 
fields  before  us ;  but  we  mentally  resolve, 
as  soon  as  the  earth  is  green  and  the 
skies  are  mild,  again  to  draw  from  their 
dusty  winter  comer,  hammer  and  basket, 
sledge  and  drill,  and  toVansack  widi  new 
zeal  this  wonderful  repository  of  the  pri- 
mal ages. 


1854.] 


621 


COMTE'S   PHILOSOPHT. 


J%t  Po9iUiV4  PhUotophy  ^  AugwU  Qmte  ;  Frfl«- 
I7  TnuislAted  and  CoodenMd  by  Habuxt  Mab- 
TnrxAU.    2  yol& 

IT  is  some  ten  or  twelve  years  since 
entering  the  bookstore  of  Wiley  A  Put- 
nam, in  Broadway,  we  took  from  the 
shelves  four  large  and  dingy  volumes, 
printed  in  French,  and  bound  with  coarse, 
rose-colored  paper,  purporting  to  be  a 
treatise  on  the  entire  circle  of  the  sciences. 
The  first  page  we  opened  upon  contained 
a  statement  of  the  imperfections  of  ana- 
lytical geometry,  and  we  said,  '•  Here  is  a 
conceit^  fellow,  who  believes  himself  ca- 
rable  of  reforming  the  mathematics." 
But  on  reading  further,  we  discovered 
that  he  was  an  earnest  partisan  of  mathe- 
matics, carrying  his  respect  for  them,  m- 
dced,  so  far  as  to  assert,  when  he  came 
to  speak  of  the  progress  of  their  astronom- 
ical applications,  that  "the  heavens  de- 
clare the  glory  "—not  of  God,  as  the  good 
old  Bible  says,  but  "of  Hipparchus,  Kepler, 
and  Newton."  An  audacious  thinker,  at 
any  rate,  we  thought  to  ourselves,  and 
strove  to  penetrate  a  little  deeper  into  his 
book.  Repulsed  at  first  by  the  novelty 
and  boldness  of  his  remarks,  we  were  at 
the  same  time  held  fast  by  a  certain  as- 
surance of  movement,  as  he  passed  along 
the  dizzy  heights  of  the  most  adventurous 
speculation ;  we  were  convinced  tliat  no 
ordinary  thinker  held  us  in  his  hands; 
and  when,  towards  the  close  of  the  work, 
we  came  full-face  upon  the  announcement 
of  a  wholly  new  science,  for  which  all  oth- 
er sciences  were  but  preparatives — the 
Science  of  society — the  fact  jumped  in  too 
nicely  with  the  tenor  of  our  own  previous 
researches  and  hopes,  to  allow  any  dic- 
tates of  economy  to  hinder  us  from  be- 
coming the  owner  of  those  shabby-Iook- 
ingvolumes. 

We  read  them,  not  with  avidity,  be- 
ciause  they  were  written  quite  too  much 
in  "  the  dry-light,"  as  Bacon  calls  it,  for 
that^  and  yet  with  a  deep  though  forced 
attention.  It  seemed,  from  the  very 
outset,  that  the  author  was  no  ordina- 
ry thinker,  his  great  instrument  of  a 
mind  moving  with  the  regularity,  though 
by  no  means  the  velocity  of  a  machine, 
and  impressing  one,  as  it  drew  him  along, 
with  a  feeling  that  he  might  be  suppos^ 
to  have  when  caught  up  by  the  gearing 
of  some  monster  corn-mill  or  cotton  fac- 
tory. No  pleasant  episodes  of  the  imagi- 
nation adorned  the  way ;  no  scintillations 
of  fancy  sparkled  like  fire-flies  around  it  \ 


no  gentle  play  of  the  affections  warmed 
it,  and  no  beacons  of  hope  illuminated  the 
bleak  distance.  A  stem  and  relentless 
Intellect,  marching  remorselessly  along 
its  path,  was  treading  down  our  dearest 
hopes,  and  crushing  out  the  noblest  and 
sweetest  sensibilities,  and,  in  the  midst  of 
all  our  reluctance  and  horror,  dragging  us 
with  it  to  its  infernal  goal. 

As  we  became  more  familiar  with  our 
supposed  demon,  however,  we  found  that 
he  was  not  altogether  so  bad  a  3  he 
seemed ;  a  silver  hning  of  humanity  was 
now  and  then  turned  from  out  the  folds 
of  his  dark  frown ;  he  was  clearly  very 
much  in  earnest,  and  had  an  unquestion- 
able Ipve  for  the  truth.  He  spoke  ill  of 
nobody,  threatened  nobody,  and  pursued 
his  own  silent  and  impassive  wav,  among 
the  stars,  and  through  the  depths  of  the 
earth,  and  amid  the  busy  haunts  of  men, 
intent  only  on  his  purpose,  which,  the 
more  it  was  pondered,  appeared  to  be 
more  and  more  dignified,  noble  and  be- 
nevolent We  finally  dismissed  all  fears 
of  our  guide,  and  honestly  set  to  work  to 
discover  what  he  was  at.  When  we  add, 
that  those  volumes  were  the  "Positive 
Philosophy "  of  Comte,  a  most  original, 
profound,  and  comprehensive  philosopher, 
the  intelligent  reader  of  this  day  will 
need  no  fiuther  explanation  of  our  expe- 
rience. 

It  was  a  momentous  discovery  for  us, — 
this  of  a  new  and  really  great  thinker, — 
of  a  man  who  discussed  with  consummate 
familiarity  and  ease,  many  of  the  highest 
problems  of  science ;  and  we  naturally' 
turned  to  the  Records  to  see  what  the 
world  had  made  of  him, — to  ascertain  his 
whereabouts,  as  well  as  to  compare  our 
secluded  estimate  of  his  rank,  with  that 
of  the  accredited  standards  of  opinion  and 
criticism.  Alas !  We  searched  in  vain  for 
any  notice  of  him.  The  reviews  of  France 
and  England,  though  noisy  enough  in 
their  praises  and  Upraises  of  the  little 
tadpoles  of  literature,  had  no  word  for 
him ;  the  learned  societies  the  world 
over,  eager  as  they  always  are  to  rescue 
their  insig^nificance  from  utter  oblivion, 
by  blazoning  the  name  of  whoever  has 
won  imperishable  glory  in  deciphering  the 
wrappages  on  an  old  mummy,  or  dis- 
covering a  nation  in  Africa  one  degree 
nearer  the  monkey  than  any  before 
known,  were  unconscious  of  his  name; 
and,  in  private  circles,  few  persons  whom 
we  met  had  ever  heard,  or,  if  they  had 


622 


Comics  Philosophy, 


[Jn 


heard,  knew  any  thing  definite  of,  the 
star  which  had  risen  with  quite  portentous 
light  upon  our  small  horizon.  At  last, 
however,  we  did  find  in  the  Edinburgh 
Review  of  1838 — sixteen  years  after 
Com te's .  first  book  was  published,  and 
eight  'after  the  completion  of  the  last — a 
notice  of  the  Positive  Philosophy,  said  to 
be  written  by  Sir  David  Brewster,  which 
showed  plainly  enough  that  Sir  David  had 
failed  to  get  even  a  glimpse  of  the  pecu- 
liarity ofvthe  system.  When  Whewell, 
too.  published  his  "  Philosophy  of  the  In- 
ductive Sciences,"  it  was  evident  that  he 
had  read  Comte,  but  was  either  afraid  or 
not  honest  enough  to  own  it;  and  the 
first  public  recDgnition  of  him,  of  any  im- 
portance, we  found  in  the  Logic  of  Mills, 
who  borrows  largely  from  him,  but  with- 
out the  meanness  of  concealment  Indeed, ' 
no  attempt,  as  we  are  aware,  has  yet  been 
made  towards  an  elaborate  and  impartial 
judgment  of  Corate,  save  in  a  series  of 
able  articles  published  in  the  Methodist 
Quarterly  Review  of  this  city,  where  the 
writer,  disagreeing  with  many  of  his  con- 
clusions, frankly  and  admiringly  con- 
fesses his  merits.  Morell's  "  Philosophy 
of  the  Nineteenth  Century,"  fias  a  super- 
ficial account  of  Comte's  system,  and  Pro- 
fessor De  Saisset  has  written  something 
about  him,  in  the  Revue  dea  Deux 
Mondes^  which  we  have  not  seen. 

This  uniform  neglect  of  Comte,  durine 
the  quarter  of  a  century  in  which  he  had 
been  laboriously  working  out  his  views, 
struck  us  as  strange,  particularly  as  con- 
temporary literature  and  science  con- 
tainect  not  a  few  direct  appropriations  of 
his  labors.  We  tried  to  account  for  it,  on 
one  or  more  of  three  several  suppositions : 
either  that  his  works  were  intrinsically 
unworthy  of  study,  or  that  their  depar- 
tures from  the  accepted  and  reigning  opin- 
ions were  so  flagrant  as  to  excite  a  silent 
contempt  for  them,  or  that  the  range  and 
comprehensiveness  of  their  topics  lifted 
them  quite  above  the  ordinary  apprehen- 
sions and  intellectual  sympathies  of  the 
age. 

But,  on  reflection,  we  soon  saw  that 
neither  of  these  solutions  could  be  entire- 
ly satisfactory.  It  was  obvious,  at  a 
glance,  that  those  works  were  worthy  of 
study,  as  their  masterly  originality  and 
power,  their  logical  coherence,  their  dig- 
nity of  manner,  and  the  importance  of  the 
results  at  which  they  aimed,  abundantly 
proved.  A  rational  and  consistent  classi- 
fication of  the  sciences,  on  the  basis  of 
nature,  and  the  construction  of  a  new  sci- 
ence, destined  to  take  its  place  as  the 
queen  and  crowning  glory  of  all  other  sci- 


ences, even  if  they  had  been  unskilfoUy 
accomplished,  were  attempts  tiiat  deserved 
the  most  serious  attention.  It  was  so 
disposition,  then,  we  were  persuaded,  to 
pooh-pooh  Comte  out  of  sight,  which  had 
left  him  to  obscurity.  Nor  was  it,  again, 
the  offensive  nature  of  his  conclusions ; 
for,  hostile  as  these  were  to  existing  pre- 
judices and  creeds,  they  were  still  no 
more  so  than  the  systems  of  Fidite^ 
Schelling,  and  Hegel,  whose  speculatioDS 
have  gone  the  circuit  of  the  globe.  If  be 
was  atheistical,  they  were  pantheistical ; 
and  we  had-  yet  to  learn  that  the  one  was 
more  aooepteble  to  orthodoxy  than  the 
other.  Meanwhile,  it  was  to  be  observed, 
that  the  theories  of  Comte,  though  pro- 
found and  comprehensive,  and  marked  by 
great  logical  severity,  were  not  difficult  oi 
apprehension.  They  could  scarcely  be 
called  abstruse;  they  contained  no  ne- 
ologisms, did  not  abound  in  hard  words, 
while  in  their  general  aims  they  were  ad- 
dressed to  what  is  said  to  be  a  prevailing 
characteristic  of  the  present  era, — its  phy- 
sical or  materializing  tendency.  There 
was,  then,  more  reason,  or  at  least  as 
much  reason,  why  Comte  should  have 
been  well  known,  as  Cousin,  Hegel,  or 
Kant 

I  n  the  end,  two  considerations  occurred  to 
us,  as  better  explanatory  of  the  little  atten- 
tion he  had  received.  The  first  was,  the 
acknowledged  indisposition  of  scientific 
men  to  enter  into  large  or  general  views, 
absorbed  as  they  are  in  the  study  of  de- 
tails, and  distrustful  as  they  are  of  all  ap- 
plications of  the  inductive  method,  save 
the  most  elementary  and  simple.  The 
habit  of  petty  analysis^  which  has  been 
so  "  victorious"  in  physics,  has  finally  suc- 
ceeded in  conquering  its  masters,  so  that 
your  natinral  philosopher  is  quite  as  modi 
afraid  of  deserting  it,  for  higner  and  syn- 
thetic generalizations,  as  a  dave  is  to  rise 
against  his  keeper.  He  looks  upon  the 
^*  theorizer,"  consequently,  as  a  monster, 
and  is  glad  to  get  quit  of  him  as  soon  as 
possible.  Comte  could  expect  no  hospi- 
tality from  this  class.  But  among  those 
capable  of  general  views,  a  second  rea- 
son for  the  neglect  of  him,  was,  that  the 
reigning  science  could  not,  in  consistency 
with  its  own  principles,  deny  the  validity 
of  his  method,  while  to  admit  his  conclu- 
sions, was  to  fly  directly  into  the  fiMse  of 
the  reigning  theology.  Thus  there  was  a 
double  allegiance  to  be  maintained:  one 
of  consistency,  and  the  other  of  respecta- 
bility; and  we  can  readily  understand 
why  it  was  thought  best,  in  the  dilemma, 
to  say  as  little  as  need  be  about  Comte's 
inferences,  lest  the  secret  sympathy  of 


1854.] 


Comtek  Philosophy, 


623 


icience  should  be  ezponed  by  a  futile  at^ 
tempt  to  oontemn  them,  or  lest  on  the 
other  hand,  the  frowns  of  the  Church 
should  be  incurred  by  an  open  proclama- 
tion of  reTolt.  In  other  words,  Comte 
had  been  more  faithful  to  the  spirit  and 
method  of  modern  science,  as  it  is  gene- 
rally conceiTed  by  scientific  men,  than 
they  had  dared  to  be  themselves,  because 
of  their  theological  timidity.  His  con- 
clusions were  the  logical  outgrowth  of 
their  premises ;  but  while  they  persistent- 
ly held  to  the  premises,  they  cautiously 
aToided  the  conclusions.  A  dctcrmina-  . 
tion  between  Science  and  Faith  was  laid 
upon  them,  but  inasmuch  as  they  could 
relinquish  neither,  nor  reconcile  the  two, 
they  found  discretion  the  better  sort  of 
Talor.  They  retired  from  the  field  rather 
than  join  battle,  and  then  satisfied  their 
consciences  in  respect  to  theology,  by  per- 
petual bowings,  grimacings,  and  scrapings, 
m  token  of  a  fellowship  they  could  not 
justify.* 

We  do  not  mean,  by  these  assertions, 
that  Science  and  Faith  are  at  heart  in- 
compatible, or  that  there  is  any  logical 
hnpossibility  of  their  reconciliation.  On 
the  contrary,  we  maintain  that  there  is  a 
philosophy  which  fuses  them  distinctly 
mto  one ;  but  what  we  do  mean,  is,  that 
Science,  with  its  present  cowardly  methods, 
will  never  become  the  animated  body  of 
Faith  Hndeed,  any  thing  more  than  a  gal- 
vanized corpse),  nor  Faith  the  living  soul 
of  Science, — as  they  should  be,  and  will 
be,  respectively,  when  the  true  Christian 
Tiew  of  life  shall  obtain. 

Subordinate  to  this  conscious  impotence 
and  cowardice  of  Science,  were  other  more 
superficial  causes  which  contributed  to 
the  general  unmindfulness  of  Comte's 
daims.  Men  of  science,  regarding  his 
scheme  as  only  another  treatise  of  method, 
supposed  that  nothing  could  be  added  to 
the  achievements,  in  that  respect,  of  Ba- 
con, Descartes,  Sir  John  Herschell,  and 
Whewell.  If  it  differs  from  these  au- 
thorities, they  were  apt  to  argue,  it  can 
hardly  be  more  than  an  unfounded  refine- 
ment of  logic,  and  therefore  worthless ; 
while,  if  it  agrees  with  them,  it  only  re- 
peats their  principles,  in  other  words. 
Accordingly,  they  went  on  with  the  study 
of  their  specialities.  Philosophers  pro- 
per, on  the  other  hand,  finding  in  Comte 
none  of  their  usual  symbols, — none  of 
the  customary  hair-splitting  and  thim- 
ble-rig about  the  pure  reason,  and  the 
cat^;ories,  and  the  genesis  of  the  idea  of 
the  absolute,  into  which  philosophy  has 
degenerated,  retired  from  it  in  derision  to 
their  void  inane.     Thus,  physicists  and 


metaphysieists  were  alike  disdamful,  and 
consistently  enough  expected  neither  profit 
nor  entertainment  from  those  lumtoine 
octavos  of  a  poor  Parisian  teacher  of 
mathematics,  whose  style  was  not  the 
most  attractive  in  the  world,  and  whose 
matter  required  close  and  continued,  if 
not  subtle  study. 

Comte,  however,  is  at  last  famous.  He 
has  been  taken  under  the  especial  patron- 
age of  Miss  Martineau  —  '^philosopher 
Harriet,"  as  our  laughing  Howadji  has  it. 
His  books  are  available  in  tolerable  Eng- 
lish ;  the  diminutive  lights  of  small  cote- 
ries begin  to  jabber  of  the  virtues  of  in- 
tegral calculus ;  meUphysics  and  theolo- 
gy are  growing  decidedly  unfashionable ; 
and  young  men  and  women  will  soon  bo 
astonished  that  they  could  ever  have  en- 
tertained such  antiauated  notions  as 
those  of  God  and  Inanity,  or  ever  sup- 
pose any  thing  to  have  had  a  cause. 
Phenomena  and  their  laws  are  now  the 
gospel,  and  this  poor  universe  of  ours  is 
in  danger  of  becoming  the  veriest  g^ost 
or  cadavre  of  a  universe  imaginable. 

It  may  not  be  useless,  then,  for  several 
reasons,  to  undertake  a  brief  survey  of 
Comte  and  his  claims;  which  we  shall 
proceed  to  do,  with  a  premise,  however, 
that  we  have  no  strong  hope  of  admin- 
istering much  consolation  either  to  his 
extravagant  admirers  or  his  more  bigoted 
enemies. 

•The  first  question  with  a  philosophy 
always  is,  what  it  aims  to  do ;  and  here 
we  must  say,  that  Comte's  pretensions 
are  of  no  mean  extent.  He  aims  at  a 
systemization  of  human  knowlec^,  at  a 
reconstruction  of  the  human  understand- 
ing, and  at  the  determination,  through 
these,  of  the  true  order  and  evolution  of 
human  society.  His  ambition  ranges 
with  that  of  Spinoza  in  his  Reforme  de 
VErUendement^  with  Bacon^s,  in  his  In- 
Btauratio  Magna^  with  Fourier's,  in  his 
Unite  Universelle,  and  only  falls  short 
of  the  reach  of  Swedenborg's,  which  in- 
cluded the  economy  of  the  heavens  and 
the  hells.  Nor  does  the  execution  of  his 
plan  prove  him  an  unworthy  compeer  of 
those  exalted  men.  With  more  know- 
ledge than  Fourier,  and  a  soberer  judg- 
ment than  Spinoza,  he  is  less  than  l^acon 
only  in  that  rich  wit  and  fruity  imagina- 
tion, which  are  now  the  chief  charm  of 
his  works.  But  he  differs  most  eminent- 
ly from  all  previous  philosophers  in  the 
rigid  bounds  he  has  set  to  the  province 
of  knowledge.  All  the  rest,  **  leaping  the 
walls  of  time  and  space."  have  scaled  the 
heavens  of  the  infinite ;  vet  he  will  hear 
of  nothing  but  the  actual  and  the  condi- 


624 


Ccmi^9  Philosophy. 


[Jqua 


tioned.  They  have  endeavored  to  pene- 
trate into  causes  and  essences,  while  he 
admits  nothing  hut  phenomena.  They 
have  believed,  with  all  the  rest  of  man- 
kind, in  substance  and  beihg,  but  he 
belieyes  only  in  appearances  and  laws. 
He  calls  his  philosophy,  the  "Positive 
Philosophy,"  therefore,  because  it  avoids 
these  impalpable  realms,  and  is  real,  use- 
ful, certain,  definite,  and  organic ;  or,  as 
he  in  one  place  expresses  it  "  good  sense 
systematized." 

I.  The  first  fundamental  principle  of  it, 
then,  is,  a  determination  of  the  limits  of 
knowledge,  which,  it  assumes,  is  confined  to 
Vte  perception  of  phenomena,  and  their 
invariable  relations  or  laws.  Absolute 
knowledge  is  an  impossibility,  the  percep- 
tion of  things  in  themselves,  as  it  is  some- 
times termed,  a  phantasm ;  and  the  ex- 
clusive function  of  the  mind  consists  in 
observing  the  appearances  of  things,  and 
oo-ordinating  their  relations  of  existence 
or  succession.  When  we  have  determined 
uhat  a  thing  is,  i.  e.,  how  it  stands  rela- 
ted to  other  things,  as  an  existing  fact  or 
a  sequence,  we  have  exhausted  the  intelli- 
gible sphere.  We  cannot  tell  whence  it 
is,  nor  why  it  is,  but  simply  that'it  is,  and 
that  it  is  invariably  connected  by  certain 
resemblances  or  differences  with  other 
things,  or  by  a  certain  order  of  priority  or 
posteriority,  in  respect  to  other  things. 
We  cannot  say  that  it  is  a  substance,  a 
being,  a  cause,  an  essence,  but  only  a  phe- 
nomenon, which  exists  and  continues,  in 
certain  invariable  modes.  All  researches 
into  the  supposed  causes  of  that  phenome- 
non, whether  natural  or  supernatural,  are 
consequently  illegitimate,  an  endeavor 
after  the  unattainable,  a  pursuit  of  sha- 
dows and  dreams.  All  faiths,  opinions, 
aspirations,  &c.,  not  susceptible  of  being 
reduced  to  these  observed  relations,  tran- 
scend the  powers  of  the  intellect,  and 
may  be  dismissed  as  illusions,  or,  at 
best,  as  mere  transitional  and  infantile 
expedients,  helping  the  mind  on,  the  while 
it  is  learning  to  discern  its  true  beat. 

This,  we  say,  is  Comte's  starting  point,^ 
and  it  becomes  us  to  analyze  it,  before  ad-'' 
vandng  further.  Wo  will  admit,  that  all 
knowledge  is  relative,  i.  e.,  in  a  double 
sense,  first,  as  to  things  themselves,  which 
could  not  be  things  unless  they  were  fini- 
ted  or  distinguished  from  each  other  by 
sensible  differences ;  and  second,  as  to  per- 
ception, which  is  a  mere  relation  of  our 
sensitive  organization  to  nature,  whereby 
one  is  revealed  in  the  other.  Things  are 
in  virtue  of  their  relativity ;  for  if  they 
were  not  relative,  they  would  be  absolute, 
and  so  indistinguishable  as  things,  inap- 


preciable to  the  senses,  and  of  course  un- 
knowable. Our  sensitive  experience,  con- 
sequently, must  be  the  basis,  the  occasion, 
the  material  of  all  knowledge.  We  do 
not  bring  with  us,  when  we  are  bom, 
a  solitary  iota  of  thought,  except  what 
comes  to  us  from  our  relations  to  the  me- 
dium in  which  we  are  bom.'  Every 
thing  has  to  be  leamed  by  us,  and  that 
too,  by  the  "slow  coach."  Chickens  and 
puppies,  as  soon  as  they  break  the  shell, 
or  open  their  eyes,  have  a  complete  sci- 
ence of  their  lives ;  the  former  will  run 
about  to  pick  up  worms,  and  the  latter  to 
lap  milk,  as  confidently  on  its  first  as  on 
its  last  day ;  but  a  human  baby  does  not 
know  enough  for  years  to  keep  itself  from 
starving  to  death.  It  has  to  be  taught 
all  things.  It  is  a  mere  capacity  of  know- 
ing, and  a  mere  inclination  to  love,  and 
nothing  more.  Experience  awakens  its 
sensations,  gives  it  memory,  builds  up  its 
imagination,  developes  its  reason,  kindles 
its  desires,  and  creates  its  sciences.  In 
other  words,  our  existence,  being  phe- 
nomenal, is  constracted  by  our  experi- 
ence,— is  but  an  extension  and  envelop- 
ment of  nature, — a  part  and  parcel  of  na- 
ture,— its  finer  outgrowth,  its  crowning 
product  and  flower.  But  man,  as  we 
shall  see  by  and  by,  is  more  than  this, 
is  more  than  a  simple  animal  and  intel- 
lectual existence;  he  is  a  self-hood,  or 
personality. 

Oomte  is  right,  therefore,  in  assuming 
that  we  can  know  nothing  out  of  the 
sphere  of  our  sensitive  life,  or,  in  oth- 
er words,  which  does  not  come  through 
our  phenomenal  organization;  and  that 
all  d  priori  notions  of  what  things  are, 
apart  from  what  we  feel  or  see  them  to 
be,  are  gratuitous  and  idle.  But  he  is 
wrong  in  the  inference,  that  we  cannot 
properly  believe  what  we  do  not  know. 
The  intelligible  does  not  exhaust  the  real. 
Knowledge  is  not  the  equivalent  or  mcir 
sure  of  t^ing.  We  kfuno  sensible  facts, 
and  their  relations,  but  we  believe  truths 
or  propositions  which  transcend  those 
facts.  We  know  the  relations  of  differ- 
ence which  distinguish  things,  but  we  be- 
lieve in  a  unity  which  is  the  ground  or 
support  of  their  distinctions.  We  know 
the  finite,  the  conditioned,  the  relative^ 
the  multiple,  the  changeable,  but  we  be- 
lieve in  the  infinite,  the  unconditioned,  the 
absolute,  and  the  permanent,  not  as  con- 
tradictory or  antagonistic  to  the  former, 
but  as  contained  in  them ;  not  as  natural 
or  phenomenal,  but  as  rational  or  sfMrit- 
ual.  Indeed,  every  step  that  our  minds 
take,  beyond  the  first  intimations  of  sense, 
is  a  belief— is  a  credence,  well  or  ill  sup- 


1854.] 


Cimi^9  PhOoaoph/. 


62l( 


ported,  and  not  a  knowledge.  In  popular 
language,  we  are  accustomed  to  speak  of 
our  opinions  as  what  we  know;  but 
strictly,  they  are  only  what  we  opine, 
with  more  or  less  fixity  of  assent  They 
are  fiuths  accredited  to  us  by  certain  evi- 
dences. We  say  that  we  know  the  truths 
of  mathematics,  the  principles  of  astrono* 
my,  the  laws  of  chemistiy,  the  dictates 
of  morals,  &c.,  but  we  have  only  a  con- 
viction of  them,  founded  upon  our  rea^ 
sons.  They  do  not  fall  within  the  cogni- 
zance of  the  senses,  but  are  rationally 
discerned.  We  mean,  that  they  are  ra- 
tionally discerned  by  those  who  investi- 
gate and  authenticate  them,  for  the  larger 
part  of  mankind  are  satisfieid  to  take  them 
upon  the  testimony  of  others.  Perhaps 
one  man  in  ten  millions  of  Christendom 
has  demonstrated  the  theory  of  gravita- 
tion for  himself,  all  the  rest  believing  it 
because  they  have  been  so  taught  Thus, 
throughout  the  endless  ramifications  of 
practical  life,  we  walk  emphatically  by 
iaith,  and  not  by  knowledge. 

The  question  of  philosophy,  therefore, 
does  not,  as  it  is  commonly  stated,  refer 
to  the  validity  of  our  knowledge, — which, 
being  commensurate  with  our  sensible 
experience,  the  first  fool  can  determine  as 
well  as  the  last  philosopher, — but  to  the 
validity  of  our  beliefs.  Accepting  the 
vast  variety  of  credebces,  on  which  the 
whole  business  of  society,  its  trades  as 
well  as  its  sciences  and  religions,  proceed, 
what  ground  is  there  for  each  ?  In  what 
way  are  they  related  to  our  sensible  ex- 
perience, and  how  can  that  experience  be 
made  serviceable  to  them?  Which  are 
unsupported,  which  are  illusions,  which 
are  reliable  ?  Especially,  what  are  we  to 
make  of  our  transcendent  ideas?  All 
the  world,  for  instance,  at  every  period  of 
the  world,  has  professed  a  belief  in  that 
which  is  perfect  and  unconditioned,  which 
cannot  be  bounded  by  the  senses,  which 
the  senses  are  ignorant  of,  which  is  invisi- 
ble to  the  eye,  and  inaudible  to  the  ear, 
but  how  is  it  to  be  explained  ?  Must  we 
wink  it  out  of  sight,  or  may  we  refer  it 
to  a  life  within  us  which  is  supersensuous, 
which  is  a  window  of  the  soul,  if  we  may 
so  express  it,  opening  into  Qod  and  the  ab- 
solute, as  the  senses  are  the  windows  of  na- 
ture, opening  into  man?  Philosophy,  we 
say,  is  called  upon  to  answer. 

'Now,  Comte  shuts  this  upper  window 
almost  entirely.  He  is  quite  right  in 
considering  the  relations  of  phenomenal 
nature,  the  facts  furnished  to  us  by  the 
senses,  and  digested  by  reason,  as  the 
place  of  beginning  of  the  sciences ;  but  he 
18  wrong  in  restricting  thought  or  belief  to 


this  natural  sphere.  He  is  right,  in  the  first, 
because  phenomenal  nature  is  the  conti- 
nent or  base  of  all  truth,  in  which  it  re- 
sides as  in  its  body :  but  he  is  wrong  in 
the  second,  inasmuch  as  it  excludes  the 
deeper  truths,  which  are  the  soul  of  that 
body.  The  twenty-six  letters  of  the  al- 
phabet contain  the  whole  of  Shakespeare 
or  the  Bible,  but  he  would  be  a  wretched 
commentator  who  should  confine  our  at- 
tention to  the  names  of  the  letters,  and 
the  spelling  of  a  few  syllables,  or  to  the 
construction  of  a  few  sentences  even,  and 
not  lead  us  into  the  higher  combinations 
of  the  thoughts.  It  is  indispensable  to 
know  the  letters  or  the  words,  in  order 
to  understand  Shakespeare,  but  the  letters 
and  the  words  are  not  Shakespeare.  They 
are  only  instrumental  to  Shakespeare; 
they  are  the  external  collocation,  of  which 
he  is  the  interior  significance — nay,  more, 
they  are  the  condition  of  bis  existence, 
and  the  ladders  by  which  we  climb  to 
him,  but  not  the  immortal  spirit  of  the 
man,  which  is  alone  worth  our  seeking. 
Hence,  the  care  with  which  we  investi- 
gate his  text ;  but  should  we  not  despise 
the  man  who  could  spend  his  life  in  the 
pursuit  of  the  true  text,  while  he  neg- 
lected the  meaning  which  in)parts  to  the 
text  its  only  glory  ?  Thus,  Science  be- 
gins with  the  sensible  sphere,  because  it 
is  the  letter  and  text  of  truth,  but  it  as- 
cends from  that,  by  its  rational  processes,  to 
the  mental  or  spiritual  sphere,  which  is 
the  ground  or  meaning  of  the  former,  giving 
it  existence  and  reality.  Science  is  na- 
ture no  longer  seen  by  the  eyes,  but  by 
the  reason.  Let  it  be  observed,  however, 
that  in  ascending  fi*om  the  senses,  as  we 
have  termed  it,  we  do  not  recede  or  sepa- 
rate from  nature ;  we  do  not  run  away  into 
a  ghostland  of  abstractions,  but  we  simply 
look  through  nature's  superficial  aspects 
or  integuments,  into  its  realities,  or  rather 
its  rationalities,  into  its  substances  and 
ends,  which  constitute  it,  make  it  consis- 
tent and  significant,  and  show  it  to  be  a 
glorious  mirror  of  our  own  souls.  If  Sci- 
ence halts,  therefore,  at  the  tl^reshold ;  if 
it  dallies  with  the  outside  symbols,  or 
penetrates  only  to  its  inferior  grades  of 
reason,  it  misses  the  most  precious  part  of 
the  entertainment  It  sees  the  vast  !■•'> 
chanism,  the  prodigious  apparatus,  tbi 
great  gilt  candlesticks  of  the  heavens,  and 
the  four  s^>phire  walls,  and  the  multi- 
tudes that  walk  therein,  but  the  Divinity 
of  the  magnificent  temple,  who  is  tM 
light  and  heat  and  glory  of  it,  it  cannot 
behold ! 

Science,  we  repeat,  cannot  be  too  "posi- 
tive" in  the  study  of  phenomena,  too  ao- 


626 


Ccmi^s  Philosophy. 


[Jnne 


curate  or  oomprehensixe  in  its  generaliza- 
•  tions  and  researches;  cannot  tell  us  too 
plainly  what  the  actual  forms  and  se- 
quences of  the  universe  are,  but  it  does 
this,  not  for  the  sake  of  the  phenom- 
ena, which  are,  in  themseWes,  dead  and 
passive  surfaces,  obeisant,  mechanical, 
yehicular,  but  for  inner  worlds  of  ra- 
tional, civil,  moral,  and  spiritual  truth 
which  they  contain.  It  is  because  they 
arc  an  expression,  a  representative,  a 
bodying  forth  of  a  more  real  life,  the  vast 
depository  of  spiritual  forces  in  action,  a 
theatre  of  an  ascending  series  of  wisdom 
and  goodness,  the  supporting  bed  of  the 
eternal  marriages,  and  the  perpetual,  ever- 
renewed  miracle  of  divine  creation,  that 
they  deserve  our  elaborate  study  and 
care.  As  the  plane  on  which  all  effects 
are  wrought,  we  cannot  know  too  inti- 
mately their  great  leading  facts ;  but  to 
rest  in  those  facts,  is  to  abandon  reason 
to  a  barren  nominalism,  to  close  the  eyes 
of  the  soul,  and  shut  out  God  from  his 
own  universe. 

II.  Comte's  second  fundamental  princi- 
ple is,  that  each  of  our  leading  concep- 
tions^ each  branch  of  our  knowledge^ 
passes  successively  through  three  differ- 
ent theoretical  conditions:  the  Theo- 
logical or  fictitious^  the  Metaphysical 
or  abstract .  and  the  Scientific  or  posi- 
tive. In  other  words,  the  human  mind, 
by  its  nature,  employs,  in  its  progress, 
three  methods  of  philosophizing,  the  char- 
acters of  which  are  essentially  different, 
and  even  radically  opposed,  viz.,  the  theo- 
logical method,  the  metaphysical,  and  the 
positive.  "Hence  arise,"  he  adds,  "three 
philosophies,  or  general .  systems  of  con- 
ception, of  the  aggregate  of  phenomena, 
each  of  which  excludes  the  other."  The 
•first  is  the  necessary  point  of  departure 
for  the  human  understanding,  and  the 
third  its  fixed  and  definitive  state,  while 
the  second  is  only  transitional. 

In  the  theological  stage,  the  human 
mind,  seeking  the  essentia  nature  of  be- 
ings, the  first  and  final  causes  (the  origin 
and  purpose)  of  all  effects. — in  short,  ab- 
solute knowledge,  supposes  all  phenome- 
na to  be  produced  by  the  immediate  ac- 
tion of  supernatural  beings.  In  the  meta- 
physical state,  which  is  only  a  modifica- 
tion of  the  first,  the  mitid  supposes,  in- 
stead of  supernatural  beings,  abstract 
forces,  veritable  entities,  inherent  in  all 
beings,  and  capable  of  producing  all  phe- 
nomena. But  in  the  final  or  positive 
state,  the  mind  has  given  over  the  vain 
search  afler  absolute  notions,  the  origin 
and  destination  of  the  universe,  and  the 
causes  of  phenomena,  and  applies  itself  to 


the  study  of  their  laws, — that  is,  their  in- 
variable relations  of  succession  and  re- 
semblance. 

Comte  adds,  that  the  theological  state 
reached  its  highest  perfection,  when  it  sub- 
stituted the  providential  action  of  a  single 
Being  (monotheism),  for  the  varied  opera- 
tion of  numerous  divinities  (fetichism  and 
polytheism),  which  had  before  been  ima- 
gined. *  In  the  same  way,  in  the  last  stage 
of  the  metaphysical  system,  men  substi- 
tute one  great  entity,  Nature,  as  the 
cause  of  all  phenomena,  instead  of  the 
multitude  of  entities  at  first  supposed. 
And  thus  the  Positive  system  reaches  its 
ultimate  perfection  (if  such  perfection 
could  be  hoped  for)  in  the  representation 
of  some  single  general  law  (gravitation, 
for  instance),  as  the  unity  of  all  par- 
ticular phenomena. 

Waiving  the  question,  which  tradition 
and  some  schemes  of  philosophy  and  reli- 
gion raise  as  to  the  preliminary  existence  of 
a  golden  or  paradisiacal  age,  when  the  hu- 
man race  lived  in  the  immediate  bosom 
of  Qod,  as  the  infant  lives  in  the  lap  of 
its  mother,  we  must  confess,  in  respect  to 
the  strictly  historical  ages  of  humanity, 
that  there  is  a  degree  of  truth  in  this  law 
of** Comte,  as  a  general  fact  of  develop- 
ment Individuals,  as  well  as  nations,  in 
their  speculative  career,  begin  with  the 
imagination,  which  they  subsequently 
limit  by  reflection  or  criticism,  and  finally 
enlarge  and  correct  by  the  reason.  In 
other  words,  in  the  infantile  stages  of  our 
progress,  the  emotional  or  affective  nature 
is  predominant ;  the  intellectual  then  suc- 
cess, and  last  of  all  the  practical. 

It  is  the  instinct  of  childhood  to  person- 
ify every  thing, — to  drench  its  whole  out- 
ward existence  m  the  hueis  of  its  personal 
feelings,  and  to  invest  every  stone,  and 
tree,  and  shadow,  with  a  vague,  mysteri- 
ous life ;  but  in  youth,  as  the  reflective 
powers  are  developed,  we  begin  to  ques- 
tion these  creatures  of  the  imagination,  to 
strip  them  of  their  personal  individuality, 
and  to  refer  them  to  a  dead  external  me- 
chanism, which  we  call  nature ;  and  then, 
finally,  we  investigate  their  actual  proper- 
tics,  that  we  may  turn  them  to  use,  in 
furthering  the  practical  purpose  of  exist- 
ence. The  savage  sees  in  the  lightning 
the  glances  of  an  offended  deity,  whom  he 
propitiates  by  offerings ;  when  more  en- 
lightened, he  regards  it  as  a  destructive 
and  unmanageable  agent,  of  which  he  is 
afraid ;  but  when  more  enlightened  still, 
he  calls  it  electricity,  and  renders  it  harm- 
less by  an  iron  rod.  The  savage  consid- 
ers an  epidemic  as  a  direct  infliction  of 
the  gods,  "  the  sharp  arrows  of  Apollo's 


1854.] 


Cotnte^s  Philosophy. 


62^ 


silyer  bow;"  the  semi-barbarous  man 
calls  it  an  in^rutable  Providence;  but 
the  man  of  science  learns  that  it  is  a  sim- 
ple consequence  of  appreciable  causes,  and 
institutes  sanatory  regulations  to  prevent 
its  recurrence.  Thus,  in  regard  to  all 
other  phenomena,  the  progress  of  our  in- 
telligence is  marked  by  the  progress  which 
it  makes  in  referring  them,  from  arbitrary 
wills,  or  independent  and  inscrutable 
causes,  to  intelligible  and  invariable  laws. 

This  general  fact,  we  say,  we  admit, 
but  we  are  not  prepared  to  name  or  char- 
acterize it  precisely  as  Comte  does,  nor  to 
surrender  it  to  the  same  explanation.  He 
treats  the  theological  and  metaphysical 
states  as  exclusively  infantile  or  provision- 
al, and  the  positive  state  as  definite  or 
final,  while  we  regard  them  all  as  alike 
provisional,  and  included  in  a  more  gen- 
eral law,  which  we  shall  hereafter  name. 
It  is  an  unavoidable  inference  from  Com- 
te^s  view  that  the  idea  of  Deity,  and  the 
idea  of  Cause,  are  infantile  conceptions, 
which  it  is  the  function  of  science  to  su- 
persede ;  while  our  position  is,  that  these 
are  permanent,  controlling,  ineradicable 
instincts,  which  it^is  the  function  of  sci- 
ence to  illustrate,  fill  out,  and  intensify. 
In  other  words,  the  phenomenal  manifes- 
tations of  these  great  ideas,  their  appear- 
ances in  history,  are  the  variable  and  suo- 
cessive  stages  by  which  the  reason  of  the 
races  ascends  from  a  gpross  naturalism, 
from  a  blind  confusion  of  God  and  nature, 
or  of  cause  and  nature,  to  a  spiritual 
perception  of  the  living,  creative,  and 
all-sustaining  Soul  distinct  from  nature, 
and  one  with  man.  They  represent  the 
gradual  but  scientific  enfranchisement  of 
the  mind  from  its  primitive  subjection 
to,  or  immersion  in  nature,  to  its  final 
mastery  of  nature  and  identification  with 
God.  Thus  the  theological  conceptions 
exhibit  the  gropings  of  religion  for  a 
unitary  life,  which  will  explain  all  the 
Tast  variety  of  phenomenal  lives,  and  the 
metaphysical  and  positive  conceptions  ex- 
hibit the  gropings  of  philosophy'  for  a 
causative  wisdom  or  order,  which  will 
explain  all  the  vast  concatenations  of 
phenomenal  order.  Our  Humanity  is  in 
a  process  of  education,  is  growing  out  of 
its  infancy  into  its  manhood,  and  these 
theological  and  philosophical  systems  are 
the  tutors,  by  whose  assistance  it  attains 
its  majority.  They  are  not,  therefore,' 
radically  antagonistic  to  each  other,  but 
co-operative  from  distinct  spheres,  the  one 
preparing  the  heart,  and  the  other  the  in- 
telligence, for  the  whole  man's  final  asser- 
tion of  his  independence  and  fireedom. 

In  respect  to  the  theological  credences 


of  our  race,  it  is  evident  that  their  histori- 
cal development  has  not  exhausted  the 
conception  of  God,  but  refined  it  more  and 
more  from  all  mere  finite  adjuncts,  and 
filled  it  out  to  an  ideal  completeness. 
From  fetichism  tno  first  rude  personifica- 
tion of  stocks  and  stones,  through  Sabe- 
ism,  or  the  worship  of  the  stars,  and  the 
Polytheistic  deification  of  the  great  powers 
of  nature  and  heroes,  to  the  Monotheism 
of  Mohammed  and  the  Jews,  there  is  an 
almost  measureless  progress ;  while  in  this 
Monotheism  itself^  beginning  with  the 
conception  of  God,  as  the  special  and 
avenging  protector  of  a  nation,  of  Jewry 
or  Islam,  and  ending  with  it  as  the  im- 
partial fudfp  of  all  the  earth,  there  is  an 
equal  nse  m  the  purity  and  dignity  of  the 
thought.  The  conception  b^mes  less 
and  less  natural,  t.  e,  less  and  less  limited 
and  conditioned,  and  yet  more  and  more 
humane,  until  it  rises  to  the  highest  ex- 
pression which  it  has  yet  received  in  the 
orthodox  theism  of  the  Church,  where 
God  is  theoretically  the  merciful  and  uni- 
versal Father,  and  profoundly  interested 
in  the  fortunes  of  the  human  soul.  But 
he  is  still  a  God  ab  extra^  according  to 
this  faith,  a  God  above  and  separate  from 
humanity,  until  a  more  scientific  study  of 
the  thought  and  life  of  Christ  reveals  him 
as  the  Divine  Humanity,  or  the  essential 
unity  of  God  and  man. 

Again ;  the  natural  philosophy  of  our 
race  has  been  a  gravitation  of  thought 
towards  the  same  end.  At  first,  cosmo- 
logical,  explaining  the  universe  by  a  great 
controlling  force  or  phusis  external  to  it, 
and  then  metaphysical,  ascribing  each 
particular  efiect  to  its  particular  entities, 
residing  in  it  as  a  kind  of  physical  soul,  it 
has  gradually  relieved  itself  of  the  domi- 
nation of  nature,  and  discharged  phenom- 
ena of  every  extraneous  infiucnoe,  save 
what  is  called  Law.  Arrived  at  this  stage, 
it  is  Positivism,  which,  however  it  may  dis- 
claim all  metaphysical  parentage,  is  still 
a  phase  of  metaphysics ;  for  it  only  sub- 
stitutes law  for  cause  or  entity,  perpet- 
ually speaking  of  *•  the  laws  controlling 
phenomena." — "the  laws  which  subject 
properties,"  &c,  as  if  laws  were  an  ex- 
ternal and  authoritative  imposition, — in 
which  sense  they  are  just  as  metaphysical 
as  any  of  the  entities  of  the  school-men. 
Mr.  Lewes,  one  of  the  leadmg  teachers  of 
Positivism,  has  noted  this,  and  says  "  the 
conception  implied  in,  or  suggested  by  the 
phrase  '  Laws  of  Nature,'  is  the  last  and 
most  refined  expression  of  the  metaphysi- 
cal stage  of  speculation ;  it  I'eplaces  the 
tLiicieni  principle ;  it  is  the  delicate  ab- 
stract erUiiy  superadded  to  phenomena." 


628 


Camte's  Philosophy, 


[June 


It  is  something  which  "  coerces  the  facts, 
tnd  makes  them  to  be  what  they  are," 
"  a  more  subtle,  a  more  impersonal  sub- 
stitute for  the  supernatural  power,  which 
in  the  theological  epoch,  was  believed  to 
superintend  all  things."  "  If  the  savage 
says  it  is  a  demon  who  directs  the  storm, 
does  not  the  man  of  science  say  it  is  a  law 
which  directs  it  ?  These  two  conceptions, 
are  they  not  identical?"  Not  entirely, 
we  answer,  because  the  last  is  more  ra- 
tional than  the /first,  andbrin^  us  nearer 
to  a  true  theory  of  the  umverse;  but 
both  spring  from  the  same  source,  the 
irresistible  desire  of  the  mind  to  go 
behind  the  phenomenal  and  the  rela- 
tive to  the  rational  and  constitutive. 
Mr.  Lewes  proposes  to  relieve  himself,  but 
vainly,  by  the  employment  of  the  word 
"methods."  Vainly,  we  say — for  it  is 
quite  as  impossible  to  satisfy  the  philo- 
sophical mstinct  with  "methods"  as  with 
"laws,"  or  with  "entities"  or  "gods." 
What  it  demands  is  the  intrinsic  reason 
of  things,  the  why  as  well  as  the  what 
and  the  how^  He  is  a  poor  lawyer,  says 
Cicero,  who  knowing  iCll  the  extant  stat- 
utes or  the  realm,  does  not  know  the  rea- 
son of  the  law.  Thus,  behind  the  theo- 
rems of  the  mathematics,  there  is  a  phi- 
losophy of  mathematics  yet  to  be  reached ; 
behind  all  the  decompositions  and  recom- 
positions  of  chemistry,  a  philosoi^iy  of 
chemistry;  behind  all  the  sciences,  in 
short,  a  science  of  sciences  to  which  they 
are  only  subservient  Why  are  they, — 
those  sciences,  i.  e.,  for  what  end  are  they  ? 
Or,  in  popular  language,  what  is  their 
use  f  which  is  the  same  thing  as  to  ask, 
what  is  their  cause ;  for  as  the  end  for 
which  any  thing  is,  determines  its  exist- 
ence, its  form,  its  relations  to  other  things, 
its  rank  in  the  orders  and  series  to  which 
it  belongs, — that  end  must  be,  disguise  it 
as  we  may,  its  formative  principle,  its 
fundamental  idea,  its  soul.  "Are  you 
there,  old  truepenny  ?  "  Behold,  the  tise 
of  a  thing,  in  the  last  analysis,  is  its  ra- 
tional cause,  and  Positivism  does  not  say 
the  final  word  of  science  I  It  has  an 
eminent  function,  in  determining  what 
things  are,  what  the  forms  and  relations 
of  phenomena  arc,  in  teaching  philoso- 
phers to  stick  to  the  inquiry  in  hand,  and 
when  they  arc  investigating  a  thing,  not 
to  run  off  into  a  wild-goose  chase  after 
something  else ;  but  having  done  that,  it 
has  only  prepared  materials.  The  great 
work  has  yet  to  be  done.  Comte's  whole 
attempt  to  show  that  all  tHe  sciences  are 
made  for  the  last  science  or  the  science  of 
man — L  e.,  the  end  or  use  of  the  sciences — 
is  an  ample  confession  of  this  truth,  and 


an  abandonment  of  the  what  is,  for  the 
why  it  is.  But,  reaching  this  question 
of  the  why,  we  come  at  once  and  peremp- 
torily upon  the  great  truth  which  he  him- 
self educes,  that  all  the  sciences,  i.  e..  that 
all  the  reialms  of  creation  look  to  the 
aggrandizement  of  man ;  that  all  their  ar- 
rangements, all  their  efforts,  are  subser- 
vient to  his  development,  are  all  accom- 
modated to  his  growth,  all  culminate  in 
his  supremacy.  Thus,  again,  we  are 
brought  by  the  slow  evolutions  of  science 
to  the  same  landing-place  in  which  we 
were  left  •by  the  theological  series, — to 
man  as  the  Lord  and  I^Iaster  of  Nature, 
and*consequently  one  with  God. 

There  is  an  obvious  fallacy  in  the  sug- 
gestion that  these  three  states  are  exclu- 
sively successive;  for  they  have  all  ex- 
isted concurrently,  from  the  beginning  of 
the  world,  and  often  in  the  same  nation 
and  the  same  mind,  at  the  same  time. 
The  veriest  barbarian,  who  sees  a  fetish 
in  a  stone,  still  believes  that  if  it  falls  on 
his  head,  it  will  give  him  a  hurt,  thus 
proving  his  Positivism,  so  far  forth,  or  his 
sense  of  nature's  invariable  laws.  The 
most  flourishing  period  of  Greek  poly- 
theism was  precisely  the  time  when  the 
Greek  schools  were  most  devoted  to  inde- 
pendent metaphysical  studies.  Who  were 
more  theological  and  more  metaphysical 
at  the  same  time  than  the  school-men  ? 
Besides,  is  not  the  very  study  of  any  sub- 
ject, whether  theologioed  or  metaphysical, 
a  quiet  assumption  of  Positivism,  i.  e^ 
does  it  not  proceed  upon  the  supposition 
that  the  laws  of  the  mind  at  least  are  in- 
variable ?  Could  there  be  any  conclusion 
without  such  a  pre-supposition  ?  The 
"  three  states  "  consequently  are  succes- 
sive, in  this  respect  alone,  that  at  a  par- 
ticular period,  one  of  them  preponderates, 
while  the  others  are  held  in  abeyance. 
They  are  in  no  sense  radically  exdusive 
of  each  other,  for  a  man  may  investigate 
phenomena  positively,  and  believe  at  the 
same  time  in  causes  and  in  God.  All 
that  sound  science  requires,  and  what  we 
take  to  be  the  real  meaning  of  Positivism, 
is  this :  'that  a  man  should  stick  to  the 
facts  of  his  case,  that  he  should  not  gen- 
eralize beyond  those  facts;  but  it  does 
not  follow  from  this  that  he  has  no  right 
to  construct  a  philosophy  of  those  facts, 
to  refer  them  to^me  more  general  theory 
*of  the  universe  after  their  phenomenal 
relations  are  ascertained.  All  the  Posi- 
tivists  in  the  world,  and  to  the  end  of 
time,  will  not  succeed  in  eradicating  this 
notion  of  cause  from  the  human  mind. 
They  may  correct  the  misapplications  of 
it,  as  the  progress  of  Science  has  done  tnd 


1854.] 


ComU^s  Philosophy, 


689 


is  doing  perpetually ;  but  they  will  neyer 
persuade  men  to  relinquish  it, — for  the 
reason,  that  it  is  impossible,  and,  as  Cole- 
man says : 

"  What'a  ImpoMlblo  cannot  be, 
And  never,  never  cooios  to  paa&** 

If  we  have  rightly  apprehended  the  mat- 
ter then,  Comte's  '*  law  of  the  three  stages" 
is  a  very  inadequate  statement  of  the 
principle  of  successive  development.  The- 
ology and  metaphysics  do  not  look  to,  or 
terminate  in  the  elimination  of  Positivism, 
but  they  bear  entire  reference  to  the  elim- 
ination of  Man.  Positivism  itself  is  no 
less  a  propsedeutic  than  either,  and  only 
helps  to  carry  on  the  problem  to  its  final 
solution  by  a  more  comprehensive  philo- 
sophy. Theology,  all  drenched  and  dnp- 
ping  at  the  outset  in  fetichisms,  strug- 
gles to  read  the  riddle  of  the  universe, 
onward  through  sabeisms.  polytheisms, 
and  monotheisms,  until  it  finally  ceases 
to  conceive  of  God  at  all  under  sensible 
conditions,  or  as  a  finite  and  outward  be- 
ing, and  rises  to  the  thought  of  his  infinite 
inward  peJ-sonality.  Philosophy,  in  the 
same  way.  after  torturing  nature  for  the 
secret  of  her  existence,  after  striving  to 
explain  the  world  by  a  fate  superior  to 
the  gods ;  by  the  fortuitous  rencontres  of 
infinite  atoms  moving  freely  through 
space ;  by  a  plastic,  all-controlling  mun- 
dane soul ;  by  the  mathematics,  by  chem- 
istry, by  electricity,  by  physiology,  and 
lastly  by  a  tremendous  phantasm  of 
"  phenomena  and  laws,"  is  pointed  away 
from  nature  herself,  by  her  innumerable 
fingers,  to  him  for  whom  all  her  suns  have 
risen  and  set,  all  her  fields  waved,  and 
all  her  oceans  rolled.  Now  the  law  of  "  the 
three  stages  "  means  to  express  this  suc- 
cession of  theological  and  philosophical 
schemes,  but  does  sa  in  an  incomplete 
and  one-sided  way.  Its  proper  formula 
is,  that  man  stands  in  respect  to  all  the 
objects  of  his  belief  or  thought,  in  three 
great  orders  of  relation :  1st  to  the  invisi- 
ble world,  2d  to  nature,  and  3d  to  his  fel- 
low-man ;  that  each  of  these  dominates  him 
in  turn,  during  the  process  of  his  develop- 
ment ;  and  that  his  education  consists  in 
the  successive  reduction  of  each  to  unity, 
or,  which  is  the  same  thing,  in  the  gradual 
and  unlimited  subjection  of  each  to  his 
inmost  self-hood.  Thus,  neither  theology 
nor  metaphysics,  rightly  conceived^  are 
transitory;  they  abide  in  their  ultimate 
principles,  and  change  only  in  their  suc- 
cessive superficial  forms ;  thty  have  never 
been  deserted  or  left  behind  in  the  course 
of  our  progress ;  they  still  flourish,  and 
will  at  last  meet  in  that  Divine  Philoso- 


phy, which  has  ever  been  their  aim. 
Growing  pari  passu  with  man,  they  rock- 
ed the  cr»dle  of  his  infancy,  and  will  live 
to  witness  the  glory  of  his  crowning  man- 
liness, through  Christ. 

Nor,  let  us  add,  have  we  any  fears,  that  Un- 
der this  new  reign  of  God,  which  they  have 
found  for  us,  the  laws  of  the  universe  will 
be  administered  in  any  more  "  arbitrary  " 
or  "variable"  manner,  or  that  it  will  be 
any  more  difiBcult  to  foresee  the  certain  ac- 
tion of  phenomena  in  the  future,  than  under 
the  most  superlative  state  of  Positivism. 
Indeed,  deprived  as  we  are  by  Positivism 
of  all  intelligent  and  kindly  causes,  on 
^wbich.  amid  the  terrifying  vicissitudes  of 
human  afiairs,  our  perturbed  spirits  may 
rely,  we  are  sometimes  haunied  with  a 
vague  suspicion  that  this  huge  necessity, 
called  law.  may  itself  take  a  turn  for  the 
worse  by  and  by ;  that  instead  of  showing 
itself  on  the  side  of  good,  as  Comte  con- 
tends it  does,  it  may  show  itself  on  the  side 
of  evil,  and  then  what  is  to  become  of  us  ? 
We  greatly  prefer,  therefore,  to  consider 
law  as  the  perpetual  presence  of  a  sove- 
reign Life,  of  one,  who  is  Wisdom  itself 
and  Goodness  itself,  which  are  universal 
Order  itself,  and  whose  infinite  power  is 
intent  only,  though  all  the  crimes,  calami- 
ties and  changes  of  the  world,  on  educa- 
ting his  creatures  into  the  similitude  of 
his  own  immutable  perfection.  We  ima- 
gine, that  in  all  our  doings,  as  well  as  in 
all  our  reasonings,  we  can  trust  to  the 
fixity  of  his  statutes,  in  the  least  things 
as  well  as  the  greatest,  though  they  hap- 
pen to  be  living  forces  instead  of  a  sponta- 
neous mechanism,  with  as  sound  a  confi- 
dence as  the  best  of  the  positivists  on  the 
regularity  of  "laws."  Our  science  is 
as  capable  of  *•  prevision  "  as  his,  but,  wo 
suspect,  with  an  immeasurably  broader 
reach,  and  an  inexpressibly  sweeter  so- 
lace. 

III.  The  third  fundamental  view  of 
Comte  relates  to  the  hierarchy  or  classi- 
jicaiion  of  the  sciences  according  to  the 
order  of  the  dependence  of  their  phe- 
nqjnena.  It  is  clearly  his  most  brilliant 
achievement^  though  vitiated  in  some  re- 
spects by  the  preliminary  errors  to  which 
we  have  already  referred.  Ba6on,  Da- 
lembert,  Bentham,  Ampdre,  and  others 
have  attempted  a  similar  construction  of 
the  scale  of  knowledge,  but  with  vastly 
inferior  success.  Bacon  proceeded  upon 
a  tripartite  division  of  the  human  facul- 
ties mto  memory,  imagination,  and  reason, 
upon  which  he  founded  the  three  generic 
divisions  of  knowledge,  as  History,  Poesy, 
Science.  It  was  a  superficial  arranee- 
men,  and  incoherent  and  confused  to  we 


w' 


680 


Chmte^B  Philosophy. 


[June 


last  degree.  Dalembert^R  scheme  sabsti- 
tuted  philosophy  for  science  in  Bacon's 
division,  and  modified,  without  materially 
improving  the  details.  Bentham,  aban- 
doning Bacon's  trinity,  applied  a  dicho- 
tomic or  dual  classification,  but  his  ter- 
minology is  so  bizarre,  with  its  canon- 
tologies^  idiontologies^  hnd  anoopneuma- 
tologies,  that  no  one  has  cared  to  master 
its  meaning.  Ampdre's  scale,  better  than 
the  others,  makes  a  primary  order  of  the 
cosmological  and  the  noological  sciences, 
which  he  subdivides  into  the  mathemati- 
cal, the  physical,  the  natural,  the  medi- 
cal, the  philosophic,  the  dialegmatic,  the 
ethnological  and  the  political,  distributing 
these  again  into  subordinate  species.  But 
it  was  reserved  for  Comte  to  digest  these 
schemes  into  a  really  natural  order,  and 
superior  to  all  preceding  ones,  in  that  it 
works  upon  a  simple  and  definite  prin- 
ciple. 

His  arrangement  is  this :  1,  Mathe-» 
matics;  2,  Astronomy;  3,  Physics;  4, 
Chemistry;  5,  Biology;  and  6,  Sociolo- 
gy ;  to  which  he  has  subsequently  added, 
though  rather  as  parts  of  the  last,  Morals 
and  Religion.  The  subordinate  divisions 
in  their  order  are:  analysis,  geometry, 
and  mechanics ;  celestial  geometry  ana 
celestial  mechanics  ;  barology,  thermol- 
ogy,  acoustics,  optics,  and  electrology'; 
inorganic  and  organic  chemistry ;  anat- 
omy and  ph3\sioIogy.  including  the  cere- 
bral functions,  and  social  statics  and  dy- 
namics. These  divisions,  both  primary 
and  se<iondary,  rest  upon  the  comparative 
generality  or  complexity  of  the  phenomena 
to  which  they  refer.  Mathematics  is  put 
first,  because  it  considers  the  most  "  gen- 
eral, simple,  abstract  and  remote"  phe- 
nomena known  to  us ;  and  sociology  the 
last,  because  it  embraces  phenomena  the 
most  particular,  compound,  concrete  and 
interesting.  Now,  that  this  is  the  proper 
order,  he  argues,  is  proved  by  the  fact 
that  whatever  is  observed  in  the  most 
general  cases,  is  disengaged  from  the  in- 
cidents of  particular  cases,  and  may  be 
studied  with  the  greatest  facility.  Be- 
sides, being  more  remote  from  human  in- 
terests, the  study  is  less  liable  to  be 
warped  by  passions  and  prejudices.  More- 
over, this  is  the  order  of  the  dependences 
of  the  sciences  in  nature,  the  more  special 
and  complex  depending  upon  the  more 
general,  so  that  to  know  the  latter  per- 
fectly the  former  must  be  to  some  extent 


previously  known.  This  order,  again,  ig 
the  order  in  which  the  sciences  have  been 
chronologically  developed,  and  marks  the 
degree  of  precision  which  each  of  them 
has  attained.  Comte,  finally,  contends 
that  the  effect  of  pursuing  the  sciences  in 
this  order  ivill  be  to  improve  method, 
education,  and  morals,  demonstrating  it 
with  remarkable  force,  while  its  signal 
performance  is  that  it  necessitates  the 
discovery  of  a  new  science  to  complete 
the  rest,  viz.,  a  sound  doctrine  of  Social 
Progress  and  Order.* 

In  the  discussion  of  each  branch  of  this 
division,  Comte  treats,  in  the  most  lumi- 
nous manner,  of  the  nature  or  object  of 
each  science,  of  its  method  or  means  of 
exploration,  of  its  relations  to  the  forego- 
ing and  the  succeeding  sciences,  and  of  its 
prospective  improvements ;  and,  before 
proceeding  to  remark  on  his  general 
scheme,  we  must  say.  that  it  is  impossi- 
ble for  any  one  to  read  his  thorough  and 
masterly  criticisms,  without  being  deeply 
impressed  by  his  eminent  learning  and 
ability.  He  exhibits  throughout,  such  a 
comprehensive  grasp  of  principles,  such 
ready  sagacity,  such  consistent  logic,  such 
a  wonderful  steadiness  of  aim,  and  such 
an  easy  proficiency  in  all  the  minutest  de- 
.tails  of  his  subject — in  spite  of  a  few  mis- 
takes hero  and  there,  which  are  the  bat- 
tle-horses of  his  incompetent  critics — as 
to  rank  him  clearly  among  the  highest 
class  of  speculative  intellects. — at  least 
with  Pythagoras,  Aristotle,  ana  ScheUing, 
if  we  cannot  quite  equal  him  to  Plato,  B^ 
con,  Hegel,  and  Swedenborg.  '  Even  his 
deficiencies  are  suggestive,  and  his  errors 
open  up  a  way  to  the  most  valuable  and 
pregnant  thoughts. 

As  to  his  classification  of  the  sciences, 
we  know  of  no  better,  and  we  can  oon^ 
ceive  of  ite  being  improved,  as  a  whole, 
apart  from  a  few  though  quite  important 
modificatk)ns  of  detail,  only  by  a  larger 
and  more  rigid  application  of  the  princi- 
ple upon  which  it  proceeds.  We  can  con- 
ceive a  system  of  knowledge,  which  should 
treat  Logic,  or  formal  method,  distinctly 
as  the  Basis  of  all  the  sciences,  and  Phi- 
losophy, including  Theology,  as  their  Re^ 
suit — (a  distinction  which  points  out  at 
once  the  great  and  injurious  defects  of 
Comte's  scheme) — but  within  the  sphere 
of  strict  science,  we  cannot  suppose  it 
susceptible  of  improvement,  except,  as  we 
have  just  said,  upon  its  own  vital  prind- 


•  It  l«  qnlte  curiooA.  that  Hegel,  who  to  the  very  antlpode  of  ComU^  in  his  inetho«l  of  philoaophixiDg,— 
Hegel  beginning  with  the  most  abstract  conception  of  absomto  Being,  wliile  Comte  begins  wiih  the  most  eotf 
Crete  phenomena  of  the  Senses,— should  have  arrived  at  a  scientific  arrangement  nearly  resembling  Comte*^ 
Ifcgers  order  is,  1,  Logic  ;  2.  Mechanics  or  Mathematics ;  S,  Physios ;  4,  Chemistry  ;  0,  Organic  Physlol^  or 
Vegetable  and  Aaimal  life ;  6,  The  Mind  ;  7,  PoliUcs,— and  sabseqneotly,  Art,  Bellgion,  and  Philoiophy. 


ia54.] 


CoimU^B  Philoacphy. 


6S1 


pie.  In  other  words,  wo  believe  that  this 
proceeding  from  the  general  and  simple 
to  the  complex  and  special,  is  the  secret 
of  all  effective  organization,  whether  in 
natm^  in  method,  in  the  growth  of  the 
mind,  or  in  the  movement  of  societies.  It 
is  a  principle,  too,  let  us  here  observe^ 
which  will  carry  Comte  himself  clear  off 
the  legs  of  his  materialistic  Positivism, 
into  the  profoundest  depths  of  religion. 

A  complete  scheme  of  knowledge  or 
belief,  implies  three  things:  1st,  A  region 
to  be  explored ;  2d,  An  mstrument  to  ex- 
plore it  with  ;  and  3d,  A  method  of  work- 
ing that  instrument.  In  other  words, 
there  must  be  a  body  of  sciences,  a  doc- 
trine of  the  perceiving  mind,  and  a  method 
of  action ;  and  these  three,  if  there  be 
unity  in  the  constitution  of  the  scheme, 
must  prove  each  other,  in  the  last  result ; 
L  e.  they  must  correspond  with  each  oth- 
er in  the  procession  of  their  movements. 
Now,  Comte's  systemization,  tested  by 
this  criterion,  reveals  what  it  has  and  what 
it  has  not  done :  it  has  given  us  a  body 
of  science,  imperfect  to  the  extent  in 
which  it  has  excluded  a  large  class  of  our 
most  important  beliefs ;  it  has  given  us  a 
doctrine  of  the  perceiving  mind,  only  as 
a  subordinate  division  of  physiology,  car- 
ried forward  by  sociology;  while  his 
method,  admirable  in  many  respects,  we 
are  left  to  learn  from  its  practical  appli- 
cations, which  prove,  as  we  think,  that  it 
is  incomplete.  There  is  not,  consequent- 
ly, that  accordance  between  Comte's 
schemes  of  nature,  of  mind,  and  of  me- 
thod, which  we  consider  the  triple  test  of 
a  sound  systemization,  and  which  inevi- 
tably follows,  as  we  wish  we  had  space 
to  illustrate  from  his  own  law  of  "  de- 
creasing generality,"  &c. 

The  narrowness  of  Comte's  survey  of 
the  field  of  knowledge,  we  have  already 
remarked,  and  must  now  state  in  what 
respects  we  think  his  method  incomplete. 
He  has  shown,  in  an  admirable  manner, 
that  each  science  has  a  method  and  spirit 
of  its  own,  which  is  not  applicable  to  oth- 
ers ;  that  mathematical  method  is  'ono 
thing,  and  physical  another,  and  physio- 
logical another,  and  sociological  another ; 
that  the  method  of  one  should  not  be  al- 
lowed to  encroach  upon  the  domain  of  an- 
other, and  that,  as  we  ascend  in  the  scale 
of  the  sciences,  our  means  of  exploration 
increase  with  the  dignity  of  the  pursuit ; 
but  he  has  nowhere,  as  we  thiiuc,  view- 
ed method  in  its  highest  aspects.     In 


particular,  he  has  not  given  sufficient 
prominence  and  force  to  one  branch 
of  synthesis,  which  is  of  vast  impor- 
tance in  eliciting  truth.  We  refer  to 
the  method  of  analogy:  knowing  how 
scientific  men  are  apt  to  deride  it,  and 
how  easily  it  may  be  abused,  in  super- 
ficial hands,  but  believing,  at  the  same 
time,  that  it  is  an  instrument  of  inestima- 
ble efficacy  in  its  sphere.  No  one  can 
have  studied  nature  with  any  thorough- 
ness, without  having  perceived  that  her 
system  is  one  of  ascending  repetitions,  of 
of  progressive  orders  and  reduplications ; 
that  she  is  a  process  of  phenomenal  vari- 
ations, implicated  in  a  permanent  unity ; 
that  each  development  of  an  organic  form 
is  a  miniating  reproduction  of  its  whole ; 
that  every  higher  organism  again  carries 
forward  with  it  its  inferior  organisms ;  in 
short,  as  Goethe  expresses  it : 

**  Wie  All«e  Bich  znm  Oanzen  webt, 
Bins  in  dem  Midern  wirkt  und  lebt  I 
Wle  Uimmelluiifte  auT  und  nieder  steigen. 
Und  sich  die  gold'nen  Eimer  rcichen  I 
Mit  segenddaftenden  schwingen 
Tom  Hlmmel  darch  die  £rde  diingen, 
Hannontoch  all  das  All  dorcbklingen/* 

Goethe's  own  scientific  labors  were  ani- 
mated by  the  method  of  anafogy,  seeming 
in  their  results  like  poetic  intuitions ;  and 
a  most  exquisite  use  is  made  of  it  in  Mr. 
Wilkinson's  book,  "The  Human  Body, 
in  its  Connection  with  Man."  which,  we 
presume,  no  ono  can  read  without  enter- 
ing into  a  new  world  of  the  most  striking 
and  beautiful  truth.  It  is  this  method 
which  has  illuminated  the  gigantic  labors 
of  the  modem  German  naturalists,  such 
as  Cams,  Oken,  Schubert,  &c,  with  an 
almost  heavenly  light,  filling  the  universe 
of  natural  forms  with  humanitary  mean- 
ings, and  building  up  a  glorious  natural 
theology,  not  on  the  empirical  basis  of 
."  contrivance  proves  design,"  which  makes 
Deity  the  mere  minister  of  finite  necessi- 
ties, but  on  the  more  satisfactory  and  sci- 
entific ground,  that  man,  the  unage  of 
God,  is  also,  to  use  an  expression  of  No- 
vali's,  the  '* systematic  index*'  of  the  cre- 
ation, which  attests,  by  every  line  and 
movement,  that  he  is  tmly  the  son  of  an 
infinite  Father.  **  In  man,"  says  Profes- 
sor Stallo,  "  all  the  powers  of  the  uni- 
verse are  concentrated,  all  developments 
united,  all  forms  associated.  He  is  the 
bearer  of  all  dignities  in  nature.  There 
is  no  tone  to  which  his  being  is  not  the 


*  **  How  tba  all  weaves  Itself  into  the  whole,  and  one  Sn  the  other  acts  and  lives  I  How  celestial  forces  as 
oend  and  desoend,  and  pass  each  other  the  golden  palls  1  With  wings  perAimed  with  blessings,  they  pervad* 
the  earth  from  heaven,  all  ringing  banaonJeally  throngh  all"  , 


682 


Dick  Faster$  Story. 


[Jn 


response,  no  form,  of  which  he  is  not  the 
type ; "  but  he  does  not  give  the  reason, 
which  furnishes  the  ground  for  natural 
analogies,  as  well  as  for  a  deeper  spiritual 
correspondence,  viz.,  that  the  author  of 
nature  is  essentially  a  Man.  He  is  the 
supreme  Wisdom  and  Love,  of  which  the 
goodness  and  truth  of  our  humanity  is 
the  living,  active  form.  The  world  of  na- 
ture, therefore,  whose  unceasing  yearn- 
ings Kte  to  minister  to  the  spirit  of  man, 
is  mstinct  every  where  with  conspiring  hu- 
manities. 

It  would  be  unjust  to  infer  fxx)m  what 
we  have  said,  that  Gomte  has  no  percep- 
tion of  this,  and  other  among  the  higher 
applications  of  method ;  for,  he  dis- 
tinctly recognizes  an  elementary  form  of 
analogy  in  the  "  comparisons  "  instituted 
both  in  his  biology  and  his  sociology.  He 
even  speaks  of  the  comparative  method, 
as  "  one  of  the  greatest  of  logical  crea- 
tions," and  in  another  place,  as  "  a  tran- 
scendent method  of  logical  investiga- 
tion,"— but  it  is  at  the  same  time  clear 
from  the  sense  in  which  he  employs 
it  that  he  had  not  fully  penetratcKl  its 
more  fertile  uses.  The  inveterate  hatred 
with  which  he  is  imbued,  to  every  process 
hinting  the  slightest  approach  to  theologi- 
cal or  metaphysical  conception,  has  blind- 
ed his  eyes,  not  only  in  this  respect  but 
in  many  others,  to  the  most  beautiful  in- 
ductions contained  in  his  own  premises. 
It  will  be  the  immortal  honor  of  his  sys- 
tem, for  instance,  that  it  has  so  clear- 
ly demonstrated  the  science  of  society  as 
the  culminating  glory  of  all  the  sciences, 
without  which  they  would  have  under- 
gone their  long  and  painful  evolutions  in 
vain,  and  from  the  reflected  lustre  of 
which  they  derive  their  brightest  illus- 
trations and  surest  character;  but  with 
this  great  truth,  tingling  as  one  might 
suppose  in  every  vein,  announcing,  too, 


that "  the  fundamental  type  of  evolution  is 
found  in  the  increasing  preponderance  of 
our  humanity  over  our  animality," — he 
has  yet  failed  to  perceive  the  pre-eminent 
mark  and  distinction  of  that  humanity — he 
does  not  disoover^the  characteristics  whidi 
make  man,  a  man.  He  confesses  the 
superiority  of  his  physical,  intellectual 
and  social  attributes  (though  some  of 
these  he  intimates  are  obscurely  antici- 
pated by  the  brutes),  but  he  does  not  dis- 
cern, behind  these  attributes,  a  supremer 
life,  a  life  no  longer  held  in  bondage  to 
any  sensuous  or  finite  good,  no  longer 
subject  either  to  nature  or  society,  but 
which  feeds  upon  a  perfect  or  infinite 
goodness,  beauty,  and  truth.  His  loftiest 
conception  is  of  the  natural  or  scientific 
and  social  man,  but  of  the  arUst^  in  the 
genuine  sense,  or  of  the  truly  religious 
man,  whose  fountains  of  aspiration  are 
the  "All-Fair  and  the  All-Good,"— a 
beauty  and  loveliness  unconditioned  by 
any  evil  or  defect, — he  seems  to  entertain 
scarcely  an  inkling.  It  is  true,  that  he  is 
forced,  by  his  own  logic^  as  we  shall  see 
hereafter  in  his  "Positive  Politics."  to 
construct  as  the  final  and  comprehensive 
unity  of  thought,  a  "  Supreme  being  "  and 
a  "  religion,"  but  that  "  Grand-Etre  "  is 
no  more  than  the  visible  and  organized 
aggregate  called  Humanity, — a  humanity 
"  subject  to  all  the  fatalities,  mathemati- 
cal, physical,  chemical,  biological. .  and 
social," — and  that  ** religion"  ia  tl)^  re- 
flectiye  worship  of  that  stupendoos 
GrandrEtre  phenomenon  !  Strange,  in- 
deed, that  one  can  balance  so,  on  the  brink 
of  the  very  ocean  of  light,  without  tum- 
bling in  I 

But  a  final  and  full  estimate  of  Comte 
depends  upon  a  consideration  of  his  "  So- 
ciology," which  we  must  reserve,  if  hap- 
pily we  shall  be  permitted,  for  a  future 
opportunity. 


DICK    PASTEL'S    STORY. 


**  Wandering  to  holj  places,  and  bowing  down  to  images. 
Enough,  enough.^* 

[OUifU  qf  ConmerUd  Bimdoa, 


I  WISH  to  set  down  here  what  Dick 
Pastel  related  to  me  one  August  night, 
with  as  little  flourish  as  possible,  for  Dick 
is  a  quiet  man ;  and,  except  an  occasional 
flash  of  earnestness,  he  talked  in  a  mo- 
notonous undertone,  to  which  the  wind  in 
the  trees  near  us  kept  up  a  fit  mourning 
accompaniment — half  moc)ving,  and  filling 


up  all  pauses  with  its  eternal  rustling ;  as 
if  you  heard  a  girl  singing  old  ballads  by 
the  sea-shore  when  the  tide  is  coming  in. 
On  the  summer  night  mentioned.  I  had 
stepped  out  upon  the  second  story  piazza 

of  the  C House,  to  enjoy — what  was 

impossible  in  the  heat  of  the  day — the 
solace  of  a  choice  "  Noriega."    If  any  one 


1854.] 


Dick  Pasters  Story. 


688 


wishes  to  know  where  the  0 House 

is,  I  can  only  oblige  so  far  as  to  say,  it  is 
one  of  the  many  summer  haunts  where 
people  go  to  get  cool  in  the  hot  months, 
and  from  which  they  oflen  return,  I  fear, 
warmer  and  in  worse  humor  than  when 
they  went, 

A  grove  of  old  forest  trees  comes  quite 
up  to  the  house,  thrusting  its  branches 
through  the  lattice- work  of  the  balustrade. 
Toward  th^  west  it  slopes  into  a  valley 
where  patches  of  mist  lie  a  little  after 
sundown,  anf  I  beyond  a  heavy  fringe  of 
woods  prevents  the  meadow  from  running 
its  level  plane  into  the  sky.  It  is  a 
venerable  place  of  shade,  and  seemed  an 
Arcadia  to  me  some  summers  ago ;  and 
that  night  all  the  old  summers  came  b2u;k 
to  me  while  the  moonlight  lay  in  the  tops 
of  the  trees,  dimly  lighting  them  up — as 
the  mellowed  sunlight  of  many  summers 
might  lie  (in  the  memory)  upon  a  land- 
scape of  the  past.  And  the  stir  in  the 
leaves,  that  continual  talking  they  kept — 
could  not  one  hear  in  it  the  old  tones  and 
subdued  laughter  of  belles  and  beaux, 
voices  and  laughter  now  silent,  or  worse 
than  that,  passt  these  many  years  ? 

There  was  the  same  moonlight  now  as 
then,  and  the  same  lights  gleaming  from 
the  windows  below,  and  like  music  swell- 
ing up  the  air ;  and  I  could  hear  the  same 
quiet  movement  of  changing  feet — the 
same  movement,  but  changed  feet  indeed, 
and  always  changing.  And,  0  !  Qloriana 
of  to-night,  dashing  in  the  Polka,  volup- 
tuous in  the  waltz,  confidential  in  the 
pauses ;  you  but  tread  a  beaten  path,  in 
which  your  grandmother  has  gone  before, 
who  flirted  the  fan  and  fanned  the  flirts 
as  hopefully ;  and  even  now  a  new  Glori- 
ana  comes,  standing  on  tiptoe  with  eager- 
ness at  the  doorway,  for  whom  you  must 
gather  up  your  robes,  and,  with  what 
grace  you  may,  sail  away  from  our  sight 
into  the  darkness  without;  a  sad  thing 
to  think  of,  truly,  if  your  life  lies  wholly 
in  that !  But,  if  the  best  of  life  does  not 
lie  in  the  last  pew  dance,  in  rouge  (why 
will  the  noir  come  after  it?),  in  pomted 
lace  and  pointless  bagatelle?  It  were 
worth  thiriking  of,  at  all  events. 

I  thought  myself  alone,  but  at  the 
end  of  the  promenade  Dick  Pastel' sat 
in  the  shade  of  a  pillar,  silent  and  con- 
tracted. 

"  Pastel,  you  ?  I  thought  you  in  the 
saloon  with  the  new  arrival,  Miss  Haut 
Ton— I  declare,  I  believe  you — ^and  I  am 
a  matched  brace  to-night.  What  might 
be  your  particular  consolation  ?  " 

"Only  the  'old  story  about  a  fool  and 
a  woman,'  as  Mr.  Henry  £smond  has  it,*' 

VOL.  III. — 40 


said  Dick,  withont  moving  his  position. 
"Sit  down  here." 

"  You  see  that  old  tree  yonder  where 
the  light  falls?"  Dick  began  after  a 
little. 

"Yes,  that  and  the  green  sapling  by 
it." 

The  wind  sth-red  its  branches  a  little 
with  a  low  sound,  and  we  smoked  on  in 
silence.  Mr.  Pastel  was  neither  a  gloomy 
man,  nor  given  to  the  melancholy  vein,  as 
you  may  think,  nor,  what  is  worse,  did  he 
feign  being  so.  He  carried  in  all  compa- 
nies a  brave,  frank  &ce,  and  a  gallant  (not 
fiist)  bearing.  I  suppose  every  body,  once 
in  a  lifetime,  may  bo  a  trifle  misanthropic, 
and  look  through  the  wrong  end  of  the 
glass  for  a  time.  And,  at  times,  very 
honest  gentlemen,  aye,  the  gayest  of  them, 
will  fall  into  musings  over  a  mental  land- 
scape about  as  cheerful  as  that  of  the 
Dead  Sea.  Dick  was  a  painter,  or  trying 
to  be  one,  and  poor,  and  that's  the  whole 
truth  of  it 

He  was  an  enthusiast  in  his  art,  and 
cared  for  little,  else.  Indeed  he  had  no 
turn  at  all  for  business,  but  was  rather 
given  to  building  castles  in  the  air  and 
Uving  in  them.  I  am  afraid  you  will 
think  him  a  worthless  fellow,  and  per- 
haps he  is.  Although  he  never  seemed 
to  be  idle,  yet  I  often  noticed  something 
dreamy  in  his  eye,  but  never  any  "  spec- 
ulation "  there.  Dick  only  made  beauti- 
ful pictures.  He  showed  me  some  in  his 
studio.  Half-formed  faces,  beginning  to 
look  at  you  from  the  canvas,  and  land- 
scapes growing  to  completeness  as  real 
ones  grow  into  the  prime  of  summer. 
Faces,  that  to  see  once,  you  would  be  set 
a-longing  to  see  for  ever ;  and  landscapes, 
where  of  all  landscapes  in  the  world  you 
would  expect  to  see  just  such  faces.  And 
Dick  had  a  studio  full  of  these,  and  how 
many  more  in  his  he^  I  cannot  say. 
But,  after  all,  they  are  only  pictures,  and 
their  use  is  very  questionable ;  for,  will 
they  make  any  of  us  richer.  I  should  like 
to  know? 

•■•It  was  under  that  tree,"  Dick  broke 
out  in  the  train  of  his  thinking,  *^  that  I 
first  saw  her.  It  was  one  evening  as  I 
drove  young  Spooneye's  wagon  home 
from  a  day's  trouting.  (Good  fellow  that 
Spooneye — with  his  wagon.)  She  stood 
there,  leaning  lightly  against  the  tree  and 
looking  off  to  the  sunset  Three  or  four 
others  were  grouped  about  chatting  and 
loitering  in  the  lazy  air.  I  could  hear 
their  voices  as  I  turned  into  the  jnard 
(and  can  now  for  that  matter ) ;  and  as 
the  sunlight  played  upon  the  group  and 
glorified  for  a  moment  the  trees,  I  thought 


684 


Dick  FasUPs  Story. 


[June 


the  whole  scene  would  he  charming  on 
canvas. 

I've  seen  the  time  since  when  I  wished 
I  was  hanging  in  that  old  tree  with 
a  rope  round  my  neck — yes,  hy  Jove, 
swipging  there  like  an  old  tavern  sign. 
But  I  don't  nowj  and  I  shan't  run  myself  - 
into  that  or  any  other  noose  in  a  hurry. 

That  evening  I  was  presented  in  due 
form  to  Kate  Monde.  If  I  thought  her 
beautiful  as  she  stood  in  the  sunlight.  I 
hardly  knew  what  to  think  now.  She 
had  altogether  an  inexplicable  face.  There 
was  a  certain  hardness  in  its  expression 
as  her  eye  first  fell  on  me,  which  I  have 
seen  once  since,  that  was  any  thing  but 
beautiful.  But  it  vanished  so  suddenly,  I 
thought  it  must  have  been  some  stray 
shade  or  chance  disposition  of  the  light 
For  her  tone  was  cordial,  and  her  manner 
even  kind  as  we  moved  away  to  take  our 
places  in  the  next  quadrille. 

"  Even  now  I  can  hardly  say  whether 
she  was  quite  beautiful.  I  have  studied 
her  face  by  the  hour,  but  there  was  some 
strangeness  about  it  I  could  never  master. 
In  form,  she  was  a  fully  developed  wo- 
man, and  perhaps  you  would  call  her  too 
stout.  And  so  she  was  for  a  magazine 
angel.  But  I  hate  magazine  angels.  I 
want  real  flesh  and  blood  wome;i,  with 
the  pulse  and  plumpness  of  health ;  and 
I  assure  you  I  had  much  rather  my  lady 
should  eat  beefsteak,  even  at  the  risk  of  a 
fall  habit,  than  grow  interesting  and  an- 
gelic on  vinegar  and  poundcake  and  slate 
pencils.  Plain,  womanly  Eve  is  good 
enough  for  me  here,  and  as  for  the  other 
world,  why,  I  hope  we  shall  all  be  a  little 
glorified  there." 

^'Yet,  Dick.  I  fear  the  elegant  Miss 
Haut  Ton  would  think  it  a  great  scandal, 
if  you  hinted  that  she  might  be,  after  all, 
no  more  comely  an  angel  than  old  Cloe 
who  has  a  pug  nose  and  a  waist  like  a 
wash-tub  in  dimensions." 

"  Still,"  Dick  prosed  on  without  heed- 
ing me;  '^  there  was  that  grace  about  her 
every  movement,  if  she  was  a  trifle  stout, 
that  I  never  saw  in  any  creature  with 
wings — not  even  the  flying  angels  in  altar 
pieces."  And  Dick  laugh^  quietly. 
*^  And  her  waltzing !  She  floated  about 
the  room  like  a  dream,  like  part  of  the 
very  music  it  seemed  to  me — if  music 
could  be  addressed  to  the  eye." 

And  Mr.  Pastel  paused  for  a  moment, 
emphasizing  with  his  head  the  time  in 
some  ethereal  strain  of  Strauss,  which  he 
heard,  evidently,  and  I  did  not 

"  Her  face,  1  think,  had  ten  thousand 
expressions.  If  not  always  lovely,  it  was 
new.  and  worth/  to  be  studied  each  time. 


It  was  a  face  yon  never  would  tire  of,  and 
therein  lay  its  charm  for  me.  Most  wo- 
men appear  (to  me)  like  paintings — always 
the  same.  There  they  hang  (the  pic- 
tures) upon  the  wall,  staring  at  you  with 
that  predetermined,  set  look.  For  my 
part  it  matters  little  whether  I  am  driv- 
en to  desperation  by  an  eternal  sweetness, 
or  a  squint 

'*  I  should  say  of  Kate's  face,  that  it  was 
a  Northern  one,  witti  a  Southern  com- 
plexion— I  mean  a  rich  complexion,  ripened 
by  sunlight  She  had  a  heavy  mass  of 
dark  hair,  which  would  have  fallen  in 
full  ringlets,  had*' not  a  better  taste  con- 
fined it  Her  lips  were  firm,  and  not  too 
full ;  her  forehead  too  high  and  broad  for 
female  beauty,  and  her  nose  regular.  Her 
eyes  I  can  tell  you  still  less  about.  They 
were  either  hazel,  or  black,  or  dark  gray, 
all,  at  time&  I  think,  and  sometimes  nei- 
ther; but  I  could  never  fathom  them. 
There  was  that  peculiar  fulness  beneath 
the  eyebrows  that  produced  all  the  effect 
of  sadness  or  tearfulness  in  them.  Ever 
full  of  the  archest  laughter  and  mischief^ 
one  saw  behind  it  all  that  old  look  of  tear- 
fulness, ready  to  be  sadness.  Somehow, 
the  whole  face  bafiSed  me.  In  the  gayest 
times,  when  it  was  lit  up  as  by  sunlight, 
I  have  seen  the  old  shadow  come  over  it 
so  suddenly,  as  to  startle  me,  and  retreat, 
as  shadows  will.  And  I  could  never  tell 
whether  it  was  a  mere  physical  habit,  or 
a  changing  temper  of  the  soul,  that  flung 
it  there. 

"  I  tell  you  this  now  connectedly,  but  I 
didn't  see  it  all  that  night,  nor  for  many 
nights  after  that  I  only  had  then  a  con- 
fused idea  of  grace  and  enchantment  and 
a  general  impression  that  my  time  had 
come.  It  was,  altogether,  a  famous  even- 
ing ;  and  I  thought,  as  I  set  my  boots  oat- 
side  the  door  that  night,  that  it  had  done 
the  business  for  me.    That  was  in  June. 

*^  And  I  fell  in  love  in  June,  and  fell 
out  in  October.  I  was  in  the  i)oat  even 
longer  than  our  grandfathers  used  to  be 
in  crossing  from  Finisterre  to  tiie  Nar- 
rows. I  am  aware  it  was  a  most  unfash- 
ionable length  of  time.  The  thing  is  com- 
monly better  done  now-a-days.  We  make 
both  voyages  (Atlantic  and  Pacific)  in 
nine  days  and  odd  hours.  I  don't  know 
as  the  voyage  is  any  safer  now  than  then, 
or  pleasanter,  when  I  think  of  all  the  green 
sea-sickness,  the  quarantine,  and  most  la- 
mentable shipwrecks  of  hope  and  youth. 
"Watering-places,  with  all  the  clear  water 
and  fresh  air  (promised  in  the  advertise- 
ments), are  hot-houses,  and  intimacies  ri- 
pen fast  in  them.  But  I  thought  it  a  nat- 
ural garden  then,  and  a  paradise  at  that 


1854.] 


JDick  FasUts  Story. 


685 


I  was  a  confounded  fool ;  but  I  claim  no 
originality  for  the  distinction.  The  sum- 
mer was  flush  of  counterparts. 

"  I  suppose  I  needn't  tell  you  how  I 
found  the  queen  of  the  evening  the  nymph 
of  the  morning,  and  how  quickly  a  confi- 
dential intimacy  sprung  up  between  us 
two,  who  had  '  nothing  else  to  do.'  You 
know,  of  course,  the  drives  and  rides,  the 
walks  to  streams  that  had  little  islands, 
or  to  knolls  where  the  sunset  was  advan- 
tageously exhibited  (gratis  !) ;  and  this 
balcony  by  moonlight,  and  we  two  lean- 
ing over  the  balustrade,  and  looking  down 
(it  was  dark  then),  trying  to  look  down 
into  each  other's  thoughts.  There  was  a 
great  deal  of  whirl  and  glitter  in  that 
summer,  as  there  is  now :  floods  of  sun- 
shine and  dust;  somehow,  a  confusion 
and  clashing  of  people,  and  every  body 
made  a  resolute  show  of  gayety  and  hap- 
piness, but  it  all  seemed  a  dream  to  me. 
Only  one  thing  was  real  and  true  in  it  all. 
Fro!n  out  the  shifting,  heated  crov^'d,  and 
the  inextricable  confusion  of  it,  one  figure 
came  to  meet  me,  calm  and  smiling. 

"In  time,  every  body  came  to  look 
upon  it  as  a  settled  thing,  and  it  seemed 
a  great  relief  to  every  body  to  think  it 
was  settled.  Was  a  plank  over  a  stream 
to  be  crossed  in  the  walk  ?  Mr.  Pastel's 
hand  offered  the  support.  Was  it  time 
for  shawling?  Mr.  Pastel  adjusted  the 
cashmere.  Was  it  a  horseback  ride? 
Mr.  Pastel's  hand  received  the  delicate 
foot  (I  presume  she  thought  it  on  his 
neck),  and  lifted  the  owner  of  it  to  the 
saddle.  And  it  was  Mr.  Pastel  who  didn't 
come  out  first  in  the  race,  for  Miss  Monde 
was  a  bold  rider,  and,  I  believe,  would 
have  ridden  Bucephalus  himself  if  Alex- 
ander (famous  whip)  hadn't. 

"  If  you  think,"  Dick  continued,  in  a 
ruminating  manner.  "  that  I  dangled  upon 
Kate  Monde's  skirts  without  encourage- 
ment, manifested  interest,  without  inter- 
est in  return,  longed  to  take  a  hand  that 
did  not  beckon,  to  hear  a  voice  that  was 
not  winning,  or  to  seek  an  eye  chat  turned 
away,  you  are  mistaken.  I  sometimes 
think  even  now  that  she  loved  me.  Then 
I  think  she  did  not,  and  then  I  think — 
I  don't  know  any  thing  about  it,  and  nev- 
er did. 

*^  She  was  more  accomplished  than  most 
women,  yet  I  could  never  see  that  she 
had  enriched  her  head  at  the  'expense  of 
her  heart,  as  many  do.  There  was  no 
lack  of  the  feminine  graces,  of  gentleness 
and  refinement  of  feeling.  I  mention  it, 
because  you  might  have  thought  at  times 
she  had  too  much  spirit  and  independence. 
Indeed,  at  a  watering-place,  it  was  rare  to 


see  such  freshness  and  purity  from  the 
worldly  way  of  intrigue  and  campaigning. 
Remember,  I  am  speaking  of  her,  as  I 
thought  of  her  then.  Nor  did  I  ever  see 
in  her  any  of  that  rage  for  conquest — a 
desire  and  a  display  so  unfeminine  and 
abhorrent,  that  I  am  sure  every  pure- 
minded  woman  would  rather  take  her 
place  among  the  Circassian  slaves,  and 
let  another  act  the  showman,  than  stand 
forth  so  brazenly  in  all  our  summer  mar- 
kets, crying,  **  Come,  buy  1  come,  buy  1 ' 

"  In  time,  having  perfect  confidence  in 
her,  I  came  to  speak  of  my  past  life — you 
know  what  it  has  been,  a  struggle,  for  the 
most  part — and  of  my  hope  and  dream 
for  the  future.  There  was  no  hope  or  as- 
piration I  kept  from  her, — no  story  of  all 
the  coming  years  too  sacred  for  her  ear ; 
,  and  I  suppose  I  talked  extravagantly  and 
foolishly,  as  youth  will  talk.  I  was  fresh 
from  college  then,  and  passionately  fond 
of  my  art  I  lived  in  a  world  of  visions 
then — visions  I  was  eager  to  transfer  to 
canvas,  that  all  the  world  should  delight 
to  look  at  them.  I  was  poor  and  un- 
known then,  but  I  thought  it  would  be 
different  some  day.  And  there  was  no 
nobler  thing  under  heaven.  I  said,  than 
two  who  trusted  in  each  other,  mounting 
up  the  steeps  of  life  together,  sharing  the 
trials  and  joys,  kindling  hopes  and  tem- 
pering them,  sharing  the  defeats  and  dis- 
appointments, and  by  and  by  sharing  the 
crown — if  it  came.  And  I  had  hop^  all 
my  life.  I  said,  to  find  a  face  more  b^utiful 
to  me  than  any  picture,  whose  kind  smile 
and  encouragement  should  be  both  my 
incentive  and  reward;  one  who  would 
understand  my  aspirations,  and  share  my 
enthusiasm  in  them,  while  yet  they  were 
fresh,  and  so  far  noble ;  while  yet  life  was 
young,  and  worth  the  living,  to  help  me 
live  it,  before  the  best  thoughts  had  grown 
old,  the  fairest  fancies  become  chilled,  and 
the  most  kind  and  honest  feelings  dead. 
Life  is  a  magnificent  fortune ;  and  I  think 
the  selfishness  that  would  spend  it  alon& 
overleaps  itself,  and  the  fortune  is  half 
wasted. 

^'  Kate  sifliled  half  incredulously,  as  if 
she  saw  (with  those  fine  eyes)  far  differ- 
ent fortunes;  but  she  only  said,  archly 
holding  up  a  myrtle  wreath  she  had  been 
twining  ; 

*• '  Can  two  wear  this  crown,  Mr.  Pas- 
tel?' 

'^  *  Two  can  share  the  pleasure  of  its 
wearing,'  I  answered.  'As,  could  not 
two  that  of  the  laurel,  if  it  came  ? '  But 
I  fear  I  was  hardly  understood. 

*^  For  music,  Miss  Monde  had  excellent 
taste,  and  an  almost  passionate  fondness; 


686 


Dick  Fosters  Story. 


P« 


yet  you  would  hardly  call  her  a  proficient 
on  the  piano.  She  was  no  executor  of 
difScult  airs,  hut  she  played  with  much 
elegance  and  feeling,  and  with  a  delicacy 
of  touch  I  have  seldom  seen  surpassed. 
And  in  the  tone  of  her  voice,  there  was 
something  sterling  and  true,  and  not  at 
all  a  hollow  echo,  and  imitation  of  some 
great  operatic  hravura. 

"  But  whether  it  was  music  or  not  (I 
confess  I  was  in  no  critical  humor),  we 
used  to  sit  for  hours  at  the  piano,  she 
trifling  with  the  keys,  and  with  more 
chords  than  I  care  to  mention.  There 
were  hits  of  talk,  answered  hy  hits  of 
melody ;  and  there  were  long  '  flashes  of 
silence,'  answered,  likewise,  hy  wandering 
strains,  that  lingered  in  all  delicious 
places — a  coquetry  of  pleasant  sounds, 
that  after  a  little  grew  stronger,  and  went 
from  earth  to  heaven.  And  from  all  this 
rose  visions  rarer  than  I  can  tell  you; 
and  sitting  there,  I  saw  (more  distinctly 
than  I  see  now  these  tree-tops,  and  the 
fringM  hill  yonder)  pictures  fit  to  hloom 
upon  immortal  canvas.  And  chiefest  of 
all  (that  I  can  descrihe),  a  landscape — an 
old  forest,  with  a  hroad  vista  opening  up 
to  a  sunset  beyond.  The  trees  on  either 
ude  were  gnarled  and  moss-grown,  and  a 
wonderful  luxuriance  of  vines  overran 
them,  twining  in  the  branches,  and  swing- 
ing in  the  air.  Many  gay  ly  dressed  people 
walked  about  in  the  pleasant  shade,  in 
^irs  strolled  down  the  open  wa^,  disap- 
peared in  the  arched  aisles,  theu"  whole 
aim  being,  it  seemed  to  me,  to  fill  the 
woods  with  laughter.  At  the  far  end  of 
the  vista,  *on  a  hill,  apart,'  stood  two 
figures  I  could  not  fail  to  know.  One, 
half-timidly  looking  back,  and  her  com- 
panion pointing  (hopefully,  it  seemed)  to 
the  steady  light  beyond,  whose  radiance 
suffused  the  picture. 

"  You  may  laugh — and  so  do  I.  And 
if  required  to  paint  that  picture  now,  his- 
torical truth  would  require  that  one  of  the 
figures  in  it  (Mr.  Pastel,  to  wit)  should 
be  represented  climbing  a  tree — almost 
any  one  in  that  ^  glorious  vista ; '  but  it 
was  another  matter  then.  -And  when 
suddenly  she  turned  toward  me,  even 
these  were  ^ttered  and  wrecked  by  a 
fairer  vision ;  and  I  seemed  not  different 
from  a  sailor,  whom  the  morning  sun 
finds  struggling  amid  the  fragments  of 
his  wrecked  argosy. 

"  *  Mr.  Pastel  seems  given  to  reveries,' 
she  would  say ;  and  turning  for  a  moment 
the  flooding  radiance  of  her  eyes  upon 
me,  dart  away,  leaving  me  to  drown,  like 
a  poor  wretch,  in  a  butt  of  Malmsley 
wine. 


"  So  the  thrummmgof  keys  and  chords 
went  on,  pictures  grew,  hearts  and  for- 
tunes were  going,  and  summer  had  gone 
Summer  went,  and  September  stepped  in 
with  golden  fruit  and  grain.  It  was  near 
the  middle  of  that  month,  I  well  remem- 
ber, and  the  following  day  was  fixed  for 
the  departure  of  Miss  Monde's  party,  and 
I  myself  went  to  the  Susquehannah,  to 
make  up  for  an  idle  summer,  by  a  diligent 
use  of  the  pencil  there. 

^*  You  have  been  upon  the  hDl  yonder  ? 
The  wood  has  great  beauty.  Just  upon 
the  brink  of^a  long  ridge,  a  large  oak 
stands.  Jts  gnarled  roots  form,  curiously 
enough,  an  armed  chair.  It  was  a  favor- 
ite resort  of  ours,  where  we  spread  shawls, 
and  sat  with  our  books,  secure  from  the 
sun,  which  could  only  look  in  beneath  the 
branches  just  at  its  setting. 

"  On  this  afternoon,  sitting  there,  I  had 
been  reading  portions  of  the  Bride  of 
Rimini,  and  now  the  closed  book  lay  at 
Kate^s  feet  A  great  stillness  seemed  to 
have  fallen  upon  the  woods,  somehow. 
Kate  took  decided  interest  in  br^inff 
twigs  and  bits  of  bark,  and  I  was  absorbed 
in  the  sight  of  a  woodpecker  on  a  decayed 
tree  near  by,  to  whom  a  small  brown  bird 
was  making  incautious  approaches.  But 
it  was  altogether  an  cmbarrassii^ business. 

"  ^  It  has  been  a  pleasant  sammer.'  I 
said  at  length ;  '  I  wonder  if  we  shall  re- 
member it  as  any  thing  more  ? ' 

« *  Ah.  Mr.  Pastel,'  Kate  broke  in  with 
a  sort  of  uneasy  abruptness,  '  if  I  had 
met  you  when  I  was  eighteen,  I  fear  it 
would  have  been  all  up  with  me  /^ — for 
she  had  turned  the  twentieth  year,  and 
much  poetry  vanishes  with  the  'teens,  I 
learn. 

^  Indeed  !  I  thought  And  if  one  had 
fortunately  been  present  some  hundreds 
of  years  ago,  he  might  have  contended  for 
Helen,  as  well  as  another. 

/^  ^  But  — ^  she  hesitated  a  moment,  and 
I  saw  again  that  hard  look  I  have  men- 
tioned once  before,  and  I  could  have 
sworn  now  her  eyes  were  gray — *but 
do  you  think  you  are  quite  practical 
enough  ? '  Practical !  there  was  a  cold, 
strange  sound  in  the  word. 

"  'Heaven  help  me !'  I  cried ;  *  I  nev- 
er thought  of  it  at  all.' 

"  Just  then  the  broivn  bird,  venturing 
too  close,  got  a  sharp  peck  on  the  head 
from  the  other,  and  flew  screaming  away ; 
while  the  thwacks  of  the  woodpecker's 
bill  sounded  more  hollow  than  ever  on 
the  old  tree." 

And  Dick  mused,  humming  to  himself 
De  Piscatore  ignobUe,  in  quite  a  forlorn 
way. 


1854.] 


JHek  PasleTa  Story. 


•87 


^  It  ie  ftll  very  well,"  he  resumed,  "  for 
you  to  say  what  you  would  have  done, 
and  what  spirited  reply  you  would  have 
made.  But  seated  quietly  in  that  still 
wood,  as  I  was,  that  queenly  form  beside 
you,  and  the  kindest  of  all  eyes  bent  on 
you  then,  asking  a  reply,  you  might  have 
answered  sometliing  as  I  did,  and  been 
quite  willing  to  dally  with  the  dream. 

"  You  might  have  said,  as  I  did,  in  a 
broken,  fragmentary  way,  that  the  real  in 
appearance  was  often  most  delusive ;  that 
all  we  love  and  prize  to-day,  may  vanish 
to-morrow.  That  wealth,  and  a  little  re- 
putation, and  a  whirl  of  fast  living,  with 
the  opera  to-night,  and  the  ball  to-morrow 
night,  and  repentance  on  the  night  after, 
and  even  faces  and  forms  we  cherish  the  • 
while,  will  leave  us  alone,  upon  our  own 
resources,  after  all.  ^You  say.  Miss 
Monde,  I  have  beeft  too  visionary,  giv- 
en to  old  books,  building  air-castles,  if 
you  will,  looking  always  for  pictures, 
when  I  should  have  looked  for  dollars: 
Granted.  And  the  things  you  call  prac- 
tical in  life— 'amassing  wealth  for  display, 
harassing  myself  with  declining  and  ris- 
ing stocks,  that  you  may  dazzle  with  jew- 
elry, or  be  envied  for  your  equipage,  or 
courted  for  your  brilliant  parties  and 
costly  suppers;  coining  my  soul  into 
ingots,  and  stifling  whatever  is  noblest 
and  best  in  my  nature,  for  a  little  brief 
reputation  as  a  man  of  the  world,  freez- 
ing all  our  young  hopes  and*  aspirations 
into  the  cold  mould  of  such  ^orldly  life 
as  we  see  every  where — are  these  quite 
real  and  true?  Cast  your  eyes,  I  pray, 
over  all  the  summers  of  your  life,  stretch- 
ing away  like  a  great  landscape  behind 
you.  Heme  ruber,  now,  all  that  seemed 
most  subsUintial  and  real  in  them;  the 
avocations  that  absorbed  you  then,  the 
love  you  made,  the  .hatred  yov  nursed, 
the  h<^8  and  friends  you  thought  eter- 
nal, the  real,  substantial  things  you  set 
your  heart  on.  Do  these  summers, 
crowded  with  earnest  pursuit  (perhaps), 
gay  with  wealth,  and  adoration,  and 
travel,  full  of  sun,  flowers,  flirtations,  and 
an  endless  round  of  pleasure,  seem  to 
you  other  than  the  very  ghosts  of  sum- 
mers now  ?  With  the  flowers  withered, 
and  the  hopes  and  friends  fallen  out  by 
the  way,  is  it  not  a  sort  of  mockery? 
But  the  visions  I  have  made  my  compan- 
ions, never  leave  mo,  and  they  never  grow 
old.  They  are  always  real  to  me,  and 
true.  They  lie  along  the  horizon  of 
thought,  cities,  and  islands,  and  endless 
pleasure  parks.  They  never  deceive,  and 
never  tire  me.  If  I  am  disappointed  else- 
where, can  I  not  summon  idl  good  and 


beautiful  thouriits  and  creations,  not 
fickle  and  fadeloss?  I  sometimes  think 
them  even  as  real  as  the  shifting  things 
you  call  practical.  I  have  chosen,  per- 
haps foolishly,  a  walk  of  life  not  practi- 
cal. But  if  1  can  lead  any  to  a  truer 
sense  of  beauty,  to  thoughts  above  and 
apart  from  money  and  its  getting,  to 
think,  indeed,  as  I  do,  that  pictures  are 
not  useless,  I  shall  not  regret  the  choice.* 

*^  Something  like  this  I  said,  or  tried  to 
say. 

*' '  You  tell  me  you  will  be  abroad  two 
years,'  Kate  began,  thoughtfully;   -and 

if,  at  the  end  of  that  time well,  we 

will  wait,  and  see.' 

"And  together  we  walked  homeward 
through  the  pleasant  woods.  The  air  was 
charmed  then.  We  stood  for  a  moment 
upon  the  brow  of  the  hill,  looking  upon 
the  harvest  fields,  and  the  far-off  hills, 
which  lay  in  a  roseate  light  reflected  from 
the  crimson  clouds  beyond.  Some  sha- 
dows lay  in  the  valley,  but  mostly  a  pur- 
ple light  fell  upon  the  landscape,  and  upon 
us  two.  ^  It  is  my  future,'  I  said,  as  we 
turned  away ;  and  I  never  thought,  being 
bUnd  then,  what  a  bargain  I  had  assented 
to;  which,  translated  into  plain  Saxon, 
would  run  something  like  this :  If,  at  the 
end  of  two  years,  Mr.  Dick  Pastel,  you 
are  rich,  I  shall  love  you ;  if  not,  I  shall 
feel  it  my  duty  to  love  somebody  who  is. 

^  A  month  later,  I  stepped  aboard  the 
cars  at  a  way  station  in  the  country,  and 
unexpectedly  met  Miss  Monde,  and  her 
companions  of  the  summer,  en  route  for 
the  city ;  for  Sontag  was  passing  old 
notes  for  new  ones  at  Niblo's,  and  Alboni 
was  lavishing  her  prodigal  voice  at  the 
Broadway. 

"  We  travelled  in  company.  Fate  had 
thrown  us  together ;  the  .two  years  were 
hardly  commenced.  Kate  Monde  was 
more  attractive  than  ever,  and  I  as  much 
a  fool. 

"  I  think  some  evil  demon  must  have 
sat  upon  my  shoulder  that  day,  whisper- 
ing in  my  ear,  to  say  what  I  did.  But  I 
said  it,  and  said  it  in  English,  with  the 
broad  sun  shining,  and  tl^  carriage  full 
of  men,  women,  and  children;  and  a 
pretty  comedy  it  would  have  been  for 
them,  had  not  the  rattling  of  the  cars 
drowned  our  voices. 

*^  We  talked  of  the  summer  past,  and 
those  to  come,  and  of  the  great  future  dim 
before  us ;  and  I  told  her — I  forget  how — 
but  in  substance  this  t  that  her  face  was 
the  one  I  had  all  my  life  hoped  to  see ; 
that  I  asked  and  made  no  promises ;  but 
whatever  the  two  years  might  brings  or 


638 


Dick  Fastefs  Story. 


[JaM 


tea  for  that  matter,  of  prosperous  fortune 
or  defeat,  no  other  could  ever  be  like  hers 
to  me. 

"  '  I  am  sorry  1 '  she  said,  with  a  little 
sadness  in  her  voice,  and  a  good  deal  of 
archness  in  her  eye. 

"  Whew !  so  was  I.  There  was  great 
indistinctness  about  cars,  people,  and  land- 
scape, and  the  conductor  at  the  doer 
looked  like  the  Constable  of  the  Fates, 
come  for  me. 

"  *  Famous  way  of  travel,  this,  Miss 
Monde,'  I  remarked  at  random ;  '  cars  go 
so  like  the — ' 

•'  *  It  is  pleasant — ' 

*•  *  Pleasant !  did  I  understand  you  ? ' 

*• '  Ah,  Mr.  Pastel,  I  see  you  are  angry 
now.  I  will  tell  you  something.  Do  you 
believe  in  fortune-telling  ? ' 

*< '  When  it  suits  me.' 

" '  Well,  I  do.  When  I  was  a  bit  of  a 
girl,  an  old  Scotch  fortune-teller  came  to 
our  house,  and  told  all  the  fortunes  of  us 
little  folk.  Mine  impressed  me  so  much 
I  shall  never  fbrget  it.  She  said  I  should 
marry  twice,  and  — ' 

''  '•  Join  the  Mormons,  and  die  happy,  I 
suppose.' 

" '  — th|it  my  first  husband  would  bo 
tall,  with  dark  complexion,  black  eyes, 
and  brown  moustache,  wealthy,  &c.,  as 
you  may  imagine.  That  I  should  not 
love  him  much, — ' 

'*«  Very  likely.' 

**  *  — and  not  lead  a  very  happy  life  (so 
the  fortune  went)  ;  and  he  would  accom- 
n^atingly  die  in  a  short  time.  And — 
and  the  next  one  the  hag  pictured  to  me, 
was  the  very  image  of— yourself !  I  re- 
membered the  description  perfectly.  Yoxi 
will  recollect,  the  first  evening  I  saw  you, 
I  said  it  seemed  I  had  known  you  before. 
I  was  puzzled  about  it,  and  afterward  re- 
membered the  Scotch  fortune-teller.' 

"as  that  all?" 


"  *  It's  my  fate,  I  believe,  Mr.  Pastel ; 
do  you  think  you  could  wait — ten — 
years  ? ' " 

"Mr.  Pastel  thought  he  could  jump 
from  the  window  with  extreme  grace. — 
only  he  would  have  forfeited  his  baggage. 
But  he  caught  something  wicked  in  the 
eye  turned  toward  him,  so  he  said,  with  a 
conscious  severity. 

"  '  Twenty,  madam,  with,  the  greatest 
pleasure.' 

"Just  then  the  bell  rang;  I  felt  the 
train  <  breaking  up.'  We  approached  a 
way-station.  There  was  a  platform,  a  rusty 
old  tavern  by  it,  and  a  hemlock  swamp  be> 
hind  it  and  on  both  sides  the  road.  It 
struck  me  it  would  be  a  fine  place  to  stop 
and — paint!  I  stepped  upon  the  plat- 
form. The  locomotive  whistled,  and  the 
cars  moved  on.  As  I  stood  there,  will 
you  believe  it  ?  She  actually  looked  from 
the  raised  window,  kissing  the  tips  of  her 
fingers  at  me  and  smiling !  I'll  be  hanged 
if  she  didn't  And  there  I  stood,  until 
the  rattling  train  rolled  out  of  sight,  kick- 
ing up  a  great  dust  behind  it ;  and  with 
it  went  all  the  summer,  and  the  sunshine 
of  it 

"  You  may  be  sure  that  for  a  time  the 
cerulean  hue  predominated  in  my  view  of 
life.  But  at  length,  I  asked  myself.  Is  it 
possible  I  am  'elected.'  like  the  Vice- 
President,  only  to  be  on  hand  to  fill  a  va- 
cancy occasioned  by  a  death  1  I  thought 
not.  And  that's  how  I  fell  out  in  Octo- 
ber. 

"  I  have  not  seen  Kate  Monde  since ; 
but  I  learn  she  is  still  waiting  for  her 
fate — the  black  eyes  and  brown  mous- 
tache; and  she  has  grown,  I  am  told 
(not  to  put  too  fine  a  point  upon  it) — &t ! " 

"  Is  it  a  true  story,  Dick  ?  " 

"  It  is  truer  than  I  wish  it  were,"  Mr. 
Pastel  said,  as  he  abruptly  Idft  me. 

St.  Joe. 


1854.] 


689 


AMERICAN   EPICS. 


jMa-Ka-Tai-M0-Sh^Kia-Kiak ;  or,  Blaek  Uatok 
and  Soenea  in  Ihe  WmL  A  National  Poem,  i& 
Six  Cantos.  By  Elbebt  H.  Smitu.  New  York: 
Published  by  the  Author. 

^PHERE  18,  and  has  been  Ibr  some  years 
1  past,  a  lamentable  dearth  of  true  po- 
etry, and  poets.  Either  society,  in  its 
progressive  development,  and  the  age, 
with  its  artificial  modes,  is  lacking  in 
those  elements  which  used  to  give  incen- 
tive to  inspired  bards,  or  else  the  divine 
faculty  is  wanting!  As  the  world  gets 
older,  it  becomes  more  matter-of-fact,  less 
disposed  to  lend  an  attentive  ear,  and  with 
less  ability  to  soar  into  the  realms  of  ro- 
mantic fiction.  In  Great  Britain,  the 
dazzling  galaxy  which  so  lately  shone, 
has  almost  disappeared.  Rogers  alone 
remains  above  the  horizon,  with  a  trem- 
bling and  serene  lustre.  Tennyson  has 
almost  sole  possession  of  the  earth,  the 
founts,  the  streams,  the  sky,  the  fields  of 
air,  and  all  the  realms  of  poesy,  with  a 
reversionary  interest  to  Alexander  Smith. 
In  pastoral  poetry,  few  attempts  have 
been  successful  since  the  Greeks ;  and  as 
to  lyric,  the  good  examples  of  the  heroic, 
the  philosophical,  or  the  festive  ode,  have 
become  indeed  rare.  At  the  same  time, 
while  real  merit  is  left  in  the  rear  by  the 
galloping  hurry  of  these  practical  times. 
or  hides  its  modest  head,  the  mediocrity, 
which  "  men,  nor  gods,  nor  columns  can 
endure,"  was  never  represented  more 
largely.  If  the  height  of  Parnassus  is 
desolate  and  unvisited,  the  base  of  the 
mountain  is  thronged  with  pilgrims  in 
search  of  laurels,  who  starve  upon  berries 
before  they  have  ascended  above  the 
strata  of  the  lower  clouds. 

There  is  one  species  of  composition,  and 
that  the  most  difficult,  which  numerous 
poets,  little  qualified,  still  have  the  hardi- 
hood to  attempt.  The  epic  has  always 
been  «  great  bone  of  contention  with  the 
critics.  The  very  definition  of  what  com- 
prises a  well-rounded  and  complete  work 
of  this  kind,  amenable  to  established 
.  rules,  and  fulfilling  all  requisitions,  is  still 
in  dispute.  Some,  in  their  excessive  strict- 
ness, will  allow  only  the  Iliad  and  the 
^neid  to  bear  the  name  of  epic;  but  that 
learned  rhetoricivi.  Dr.  Hugh  Blair,  whose 
lectures,  bound  in  substantial  calf-skin,  are 
impressed  upon  our  minds  with  a  lively 
recollection  of  schoolboy  days,  bursts  out 
of  such  narrow  limits,  and  has  no  scru- 
ple to  classify  in  the  same  category,  Mil- 
ton's Paradise  Lost,  Lucan's  Pharsalia, 
Status's  Thebaid,  MacPherson's  Fingal 


and  Tcmora,  Camoen's  Lusiad,  Voltaire's 
Henriade,  Cambray's  Telemachus,  Glov- 
er's Leonidas,  and  Wilkie's  Epigoniad. 
And  truly,  the  Doctor  appears  to  us  to 
take  sensible  ground,  when  he  asserts, 
that  the  plain  account  of  the  nature  of  an 
epic  poem,  is  the  recital  of  some  illustri- 
ous enterprise  in  a  poetical  form,  and  that 
this  is  as  exact  a  definition  as  there  is 
any  occasion  for  on  the  subject.  Admit- 
ting this  to  be  true,  it  has  also  been  ques- 
tioned whether  the  material  any  more  re- 
mains for  rearing  a  poetical  structure  of 
this  grand  order,  and  whether,  from  the 
fall  of  man  to  the  fall  of  Napoleon  Bonar 
parte,  all  the  subjects  have  not  been  used 
up  which  were  of  sufiicient  magnificence 
for  such  an  enterprise. 

Mr.  Coleridge  has  said,  that,  in  his 
opinion,  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem  is 
the  only  subject  now  left  for  an  epic  poem 
of  the  highest  order ;  yet,  with  a  touch  of 
elegant  and  true  criticism,  he  qualifies  the 
remark,  by  adding,  that  whereas  a  poem, 
to  be  epic,  must  have  a  personal  interest, 
in  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem  no  genius 
or  skill  could  possibly  preserve  the  inter- 
est for  the  hero  from  being  merged  in  the 
interest  for  the  event.  The  fact  is,  the  event 
itself  is  too  sublime  and  overwhelming. 
For  ourselves,  we  conceive  that  all  which 
is  essential,  is,  that  the  materials  and  char- 
acters should  be  possessed  of  dignity  and 
interest,  and  that  it  is  by  no  means  nie- 
cessary  that  the  world  should  be  tumc^il 
upside  down,  before  the  epic  muse  must 
be  again  invoked.  Then  sing,  O  heaven- 
ly goddess ! 

**  Strike,  strike  the  sounding  lyre  again ; 
A  louder  yet,  and  yet  a  louder  strain.'" 

Whatever  may  be  the  opinion  of  distin- 
guished literary  men  abroad,  in  this  part 
of  the  world  we  .think  that  some  things 
can  be  done  as  well  as  others,  and  are  so 
given  to  invention,  that  we  by  no  means 
place  the  epic  on  the  catalogue  of  impossi- 
bilities. That  which  has  been,  can  be; 
and  if  no  materials  present  themselves, 
we  mnst  go  to  work  and  find  materials. 
But  how  preposterous  the  idea,  that  the 
land  which  Columbus  trod,  and.  which 
Washington  consecrated  to  liberty,  can- 
not furnish  themes  enough  up  to  the  ca- 
pacities of  the  greatest  abilities  which  we 
have.  Genius  will  find  themes,  if  themes 
can  find  genius,  and  "  there's  the  rub." 
K  there  is  any  style  which  rises  above  the- 
epic  in  true  dignity,  the  star-spangled 
bimner  floats  over  the  very  soil  where- 


640 


American  Epic$. 


[June 


there  will  be  abundant  materials  and  ac- 
cessories for  its  exemplification. 

The  writer  of  this  is  acquainted  with 
an  itinerant  district  schoolmaster,  who 
informed  him,  that  for  many  years  it  had 
been  his  habit  to  compose  an  heroic  poem 
of  ten  thousand  lines,  on  every  year ;  and 
pointing  to  a  pile  of  merchant's  ledgers  * 
(full  of  red  lines),  which  had  been  writ- 
ten through  in  this  way,  he  observed, 
while  his  squinting  eye  rolled  in  a  fine  fren- 
zy, that  although  his  works  might  not 
see  the  light  until  some  time  after  his  own 
decease,  he  was  confident  that  they  con- 
tained such  things  as  his  country  would 
not  willingly  let  die.  Like  Bacon,  he  be- 
queathed his  name  to  other  men,  and  oth- 
er generations.  This  is  not  the  sole  in- 
stance of  noble'  ardor  in  the  performance 
of  those  labors  of  love  for  which  there 
seems  no  prospect  of  requital  in  the  pres- 
ent world.  There  are  many  works  of 
the  kind,  of  large  dimensions,  written  by 
our  countrymen,  and  printed  on  brownish 
paper,  which  are  not  at  all  known ;  and 
the  only  consolation  which  their  authors 
have,  is,  that  their  merits  will  at  some 
day  shine  out,  if  they  have  any. 

Perhaps  the  most  regular  and  sys- 
tematic work  of  the  kind  which  we  have, 
is  by  Joel  Barlow.  The  'Columbiad" 
was  elegantly  printed  in  folio  (illustrated 
with  fine  engravings  on  steel),  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  present  century.  It  is 
in  ten  books,  and  lies  like  a  substantial 
comer-stone  at  the  very  base  of  Ameri- 
can literature.  It  would  therefore  be  out 
of  place  to  venture  many  remarks  on  that 
which  is  so  commonplace,  for  every  scholar 
is  supposed  to  be  as  familiar  with  its 
pages,  as  he  is  with  the  personages  of  the 
Iliad  or  the  ^Eneid.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that 
as  to  the  unities  about  which  so  much  has 
been  said,  the  author  declares,  and  that 
truly,  that  they  have  been  strictly  ob- 
served. No  fault  can  be  found  with  it  on 
that  score.  The  action  is  one,  and  limitr 
ed  to  a  short  space  of  time.  As  the  ob- 
ject of  the  Iliad  was  to  make  the  most 
out  of  the  dreadful  rage  of  Achilles,  in 
the  Columbiad,  it  is  the  design  of  Ilesper, 
<  the  guardian  genius  of  the  Western  Con- 
tinent, to  soothe  and  allay  the  mind  of 
Columbus,  by  presenting  the  glorious  vis- 
ta which  was  opening  as  the  result  and 
recompense  of  all  his  toil.  The  narrative, 
in  its  progress,  embraces  enough  to  paci- 
fy the  ill-treated  navigator,  provided  that 
he  is  not  spreading  his  sails,  and  cruising 
in  some  new  seas  of  celestial  investigation, 
and  provided  that  Ilesper  can  get  his  ear. 
In  respect  of  numbers,  the  poem  is  state- 
ly and  harmonious,  in  style  dignified,  in 


its  episodes  and  component  parts,  con- 
structed according  to  '•  rhetorician's  rules," 
and  altogether  stamped  with  respectabili- 
ty. It  is  true,  that  Mr.  Barlow  blows  up 
a  ship  or  two  in  an  engagement  where  no 
ship  actually  Was  blown  up ;  but  as  such 
a  thing  might  have  happened,  and  it  was 
highly  probable  that  it  would  happen, 
this  falls  within  the  admitted  hmits  of 
poetic  license. 

There  are  some  insurmountable  difficul- 
ties with  which  the  author  of  the  Colum- 
biad had  to  contend,  and  which  apply 
equally  to  all  modern  works  of  an  heroic 
stamp.  The  nomenclature  of  the  poem 
is  averse  to  the  good  designs  of  the  poet. 
There  is  a  wonderful  poetic  suggestiveness 
in  mere  names,  something  in  the  very 
sound  and  the  look  which  the  letters  have 
in  juxtaposition,  which  is  hard  to  analyze, 
but  is  incorporated  as  a  most  consequen- 
tial element  in  the  success  of  the  author. 
A  rose,  by  any  other  name,  might  smell 
as  sweet;  but  if  you  would  create  a 
balmy  poem,  you  must  not  rebaptize  the 
rose,  or  the  very  dews  of  Castaly  upon 
its  bud  would  be  devoid  of  sweetness.  It 
makes  a  mighty  difierence  whether  you 
have  to  do  with  such  people  as  Agamem- 
non, Achilles,  Clytemnestra.  Hector,  An- 
dromache, Helen,  Priam,  Ulysses,  I'ene- 
lope  and  Calypso,  Menelaus,  Paris,  or 
with  Grenerals  Jones,  Smith,  Thompson, 
Tompkins,  Gates,  and  others;  whether 
you  have  to  write  about  such  places  as 
Troy,  Rome,  Ithaca,  or  New  York,  Bos- 
ton, Long  Island.  Cuddy kunk,  and  Old 
Point  Comfort.  The  more  numerous  are 
such  names,  the  worse  it  is  for  the  num- 
bers. They  are  connected  with  the  prac- 
tical and  the  commonplace,  and  neither 
the  "  Genius  of  the  Western  Continent," 
the  "  Goddess  of  Liberty,"  nor  all  the  ma- 
chinery of  the  gods  themselves,  can  get 
them  outi  of  this  association:  They  are 
not  amiss  in  the  dignified  and  stately 
prose  of  the  accomplished  historian.  By 
him  they  are  redeemed  from  obscurity, 
and  add  an  interest  to  his  annals,  while 
they  detract  from  the  poetic  character  of 
heroic  narrative.  Moreover,  that  which 
is  modem,  is  divested,  in  a  great  measure, 
of  the  romantic  element  which  belongs 
to  a  hoary  age.  The  mists  of  antiquity 
have  an  optical  efiect,  and  make  the  giants 
loom  up  more  largely.  Of  the  true,  sub- 
lime obscurity  is  an  important  part,  but 
in  this  respect  many  of  our  modem  poets 
are  not  wanting.  But  Mr.  Barlow  has 
got  over  the  difficulties  which  lay  in  his 
way,  much  better  than  could  have  been 
expect^,  and  has  fulfilled  all  the  condi- 
tions of  a  formal,  rhetorical  work,  in  an 


1854.] 


Ameriean  JB^pies. 


641 


nnexoeptionable  maimer.  It  is  desirable, 
on  some  accounts,  that  pablishers  reprint 
this  book  in  a  suitable  form,  so  that  the 
public  may  get  it,  if  they  want  it,  and  not 
be  compelled  to  grope  in  the  dust  of  pub- 
lic libraries,  or  iS  indebted  to  the  private 
antiquarian,  who  will  bring  it  down  in  his 
arms,  like  one  who  holds  a  large  ingot  of 
gold. 

We  have  recently  had  the  pleasure  of 
looking  over  that  remarkable  work  called 
"The  Fredoniad,  or  Independence  Pre- 
served," by  Dr.  Richard  Emmons,  of 
Kentucky.  A  few  years  ago.  as  we  are 
credibl}'-  informed,  there  were  cart-loads 
of  it  in  the  market,  but  they  have  been 
by  degrees  spirited  away  to  some  secret 
depositories,  or  have  met  with  those 
chances  of  conflagration  and  destruction 
which  books  experience  as  well  as  other 
property,  so  that  now,  after  thirty  years, 
it  has  become  scarce;  and  unless  those  who 
have  it  in  possession,  guard  their  copies 
with  sensitive  scruple,  and  prevent  it  from 
being  thumbed  too  frequently  by  curious 
readers,  it  is  in  danger  of  becoming  obso- 
lete and  extinct  We  asked  the  question 
in  several  public  libraries,  "  Have  you  the 
Fredoniad,  by  Dr.  Richard  Emmons?" 
and  the  reply  in  every  instance  was  in  the 
negative.  At  last,  in  despair,  we  applied 
to  a  friend,  whose  library  is  choicely 
culled,  and  extensive,  and  he  drew  it 
forth,  bound  in  substantial  calf-skin,  and 
lettered  on  the  back  in  gilt 

The  poem  treats  of  Uie  late  war  with 
England,  and  is  contained  in  forty  cantos, 
comprising  (we  have  not  counted),  say 
about  fifty  thousand  heroic  lines.  It  is 
of  immense  labor,  and  one  would  suppose 
must  have  required  a  lifetime  to  write  it, 
though  not  as  much  as  that  to  i>Bad  it 
The  opening  pages  are  profuse  in  prefaces, 
letters,  and  dedications,  wherein,  perhaps, 
more  words  are  used  than  necessary, 
owing  to  the  glowing  excitement  and  en- 
thusiasm of  its  author.  He  seems  to 
have  set  his  whole  heart  on  this  work  as 
the  great  end  for  which  he  had  been 
brought  into  this  world  by  Divine  Provi- 
dence, and  ho  invokes  the  Deity  in  the 
most  solemn  tone,  to  help  him  along  with 
the  undertaking.  In  his  address  to  the 
public,  he  remarks,  that  he  leaves  it  to 
them  to  decide  "  whether  it  be  a  lily,  or 
a  bramble,  an  oak,  or  an  upas."  Why 
may  it  not  be  all  four  ? — a  lily  to  the  dis- 
ingenuous, who  look  at  all  things  as  in- 
vested with  a  robe  of  whiteness ;  a  bram- 
ble to  those  who  would  lay  rude  hands 
upon  its  beauties ;  an  oak  to  those  who 
would  refresh  themselves  among  its  leaves 
during  the  intervals  of  labor;  and  an 


upas  of  the  deadliest  kind  to  the  besotted 
Englishman.  It  labors  under  a  disadvan- 
tage, he  thinks,  on  account  of  its  new- 
ness. The  public  look  with  mistrust  on 
any  new  thing,  especially  if  it  be  of  great 
magnitude.  *'A  new  poem  is  like  new 
wine ;  it  wants  age  to  wear  off  its  asperi- 
ties, and  give  luxury  to  its  flavor.^^ 

His  most  prominent  desire,  he  goes  on 
to  say,  has  been  to  please  himself;  and  . 
if  he  has  not  in  every  instance  attained 
to  the  fruition  of  his  desire,  it  is  from  the 
following  cause :  that  "  while  the  imagi- 
nation can  ^conceive  something  like  per- 
fection, the  soul  is  borne  down  and  op- 
pressed by  a  weight  of  mortality ; "  but 
whatever  may  be  thought  by  others,  on 
the  whole,  he  says  he  has  succeeded  to 
his  own  satisfaction.  •*  Whether,"  he  con- 
cludes, "  I  shall  ever  attempt  a  further  im- 
provement of  the  work,  is  one  of  those 
questions,  the  answering  of  which  hangs 
on  a  doubtful  contingency.  I  feel  at  this 
time  exhauated,^^  In  addressing  Gene- 
ral Lafayette,  in  terms  of  high  encomium, 
he  writes :  *•  The  poem  has  cost  me  many 
an  aching,  burning  thought  For  more 
than  ten  years  have  the  aspirations  of  my 
soul  been  exerted  on  the  subject  and  the 
flicker  of  the  midnight  lamp  found  me  in 
communion  with  the  invisible  Genius  of 
Poesy." 

When  the  General  from  La  Grange  re- 
turned answer  to  *•  Great  Crossings,  Ken- 
tucky," that  he  had  received  the  poem, 
that  he  appreciated  its  patriotic  senti- 
ments, and  that  the  subject  on  which  it 
treated  would  enable  him  to  appreciate 
its  beauties  more  keenly.  Dr.  Emmons 
again  wrote  to  him  in  terms  of  the  most 
enthusiastic  admiration,  that  he  had  once 
grasped  the  hand  of  the  "  Nation's 
Guest,"  that  the  touch  thrilled  to  his  heart 
and  marrow,  and  that  if  the  General 
would  cast  back  his  mind  to  a  reception 
of  citizens  at  Richard  M.  Johnson's,  in 
Scott  County,  he  might  possibly  recall 
the  countenance  of  the  author  of  the 
Fredoniad. 

The  following  are  a  few  of  the  opening 
stauEas: 

•*0f  iron  war»  that  late  with  brazen  tongue, 
Harsh  round  tlie  borders  of  Columbia  rung, 
Waged  to  maintain  the  freedom  of  the«ea, 
And  Independence— righteous  liberty, 
I  venturous  sing— which  made  Britannia  feel 
A  blow  that  caused  hor  stubborn  Joints  to  kneeL** 

Whether  the  antecodent  of  the  last 
lines  be  "iron  war,"  or  "venturous  I,"  is 
uncertain,  but  in  either  case  the  sense  is 
good. 

The  poem  takes  a  tremendous  sweep, 
and  begins  in  the  pit  of  Hell,  which  is 


642 


Ameriean  JSpUs. 


[June 


pictured  in  viyid  colors,  with  all  its  brim- 
stone depo'^its,  lurid  flames,  and  popula- 
tion of  abanaoned  devils.  There  the 
spirits  are  met  together  in  conclave,  and 
in  various  speeches,  touch  upon  the  events 
which  produced  the  war,  after  which  they 
adjourn  to  the  White  Mountains  in  New 
Hampshire,  whence  they  could  get  a 
bird's-eye  view  of  what  was  going  on. 
.  Then  the  reader  is  transported  to  Heav- 
en, where  the  celestials,  in  Milton's  lan- 
guage, are  •  employed  in  like  discussions. 
The  next  canto  treats  of  the  surrender 
of  Detroit,  and  the  next  follgwing,  of  a 
convocation  of  statesmen  in  Washington, 
similar  to  that  held  by  the  angels  and 
devils  in  Heaven  and  Hell.  The  remain- 
ing cantos  narrate  the  sea  fights,  land 
campaigns,  and  various  events  of  the  war. 
There  are,  in  all,  four  volumes,  and  each 
volume  begins  with  an  Invocation,  and 
the  last  volume  with  An  Address  to  the 
Moon  !  At  the  opening  of  Canto  XXXI., 
when  the  author  had  still  ten  cantos  on 
hand,  he  writes : 

•*  Songs  thirty  have  I  snng,  yet  ten  remain. 
Crude,  undigested,  written  in  the  brain. 
Fancy  and  Memory  must  call  the  lines. 
Labor  immense  to  finish  my  designs 
Then  Liberty  and  Peace,  with  seraph  tongue, 
Will  Join  harmonious  to  cr)nclude  my  song. 
Then,  ih«n  unstrung,  my  petted  liarp  shall  rest  I 
What  anxious  weight  will  lighten  from  my  breast  I 
Oh,  but  the  thought  gives  Inspiration  sweet, 
And  malces  my  pulse  in  dancing  measures  beat" 

Mr.  Emmons'  poem  is  four  times  as 
great  as  Barlow's ;  for  it  is  comprised  in 
forty  cantos,  whereas  the  latter  contains 
only  ten.  He  started  with  the  design  of 
eclipsing  those  who  went  before  him,  and 
notwithstanding  the  wear  and  tear  of 
mind,  and  excitement  of  the  nervous  sys- 
tem, he  accomplished  it  He  was  called^ 
at  least  some  years  ago,  the  Father  of 
American  Epics ;  and  with  that  affection 
which  prompts  the  bestowal  of  a  nick- 
name, has  been  glorified  by  the  endearing 
titulet  of  Pop  !  What  with  angels,  and 
devils,  and  heroic  men,  he  has  certainly 
got  up  a  blazing  reputation,  and  concluded 
a  job  from  which  it  might  well  take  the 
conclusion  of  a  long  life  to  rest.  No  man 
can  read  that  book  through  from  begin- 
ning to  end,  without  having  done  that  of 
which  he  may  feel  reason  to  boast.  Yet 
we  very  much  doubt  whether  Mr.  Em- 
mons has  received  from  his  countrymen 
that  remuneration  to  which  he  is  entitled 
by  his  tremendous  efforts  to  extol  his 
country's  glory,  and  to  hand  down  to 
succeeding  ages,  all  festooned  with  laurel, 
the  names  of  her  bravest  sons.  Those 
who  are  not  touched  by  the  fascination  of 
numbers,  would  at  least  find  in  the  work 


a  pretty  good  narrative  of  the  war.  As 
a  frontispiece,  we  notice  what  we  shoold 
conceive  from  our  knowledge  of  his  char- 
acter, from  an  examination  of  his  book,  a 
pretty  fiiir  likeness  of  the  author.  It  is 
unexpressive  of  vanity,  except  of  a  laud- 
able kind,  with  lineaments  which  indi- 
cate the  high-wrought  inspiration  and 
frenzy  of  the  poet.  Mr.  Emmons,  we  be- 
lieve, is  dead,  but  "  his  works  do  follow 
him." 

The  next  poem  of  magnitude  to  which 
we  would  allude,  is  entitled  ^^  Black 
Hawk  "  and  is,  on  many  accounts,  very 
remarkable.  This  is  by  Elbert  H.  Smith. 
That  his  Christian  name  is  neither  John, 
Thomas,  Richard,  Alexander,  nor  Henry,  is 
a  source  of  gratulation  both  to  himself 
and  others.  Otherwise  the  whole  of  that 
large  family  might  be  coming  in  for  a 
share  of  the  credit  John  Smith,  it  is 
well  known,  is  no  name ;  and  it  would  be 
hard  to  have  this  stigma  attached  to  the 
one  who  wrote  Black  Hawk,  for  he  has 
distinguished  himself  by  that  production, 
as  wo  can  readily  make  clear  after  the 
most  cursory  examination.  In  numbers, 
he  is  not  quite  so  smooth  as  Emmons ; 
but  when  he  writes  prose,  we  think  he 
excels  the  latter  in  brevity,  though  not, 
perhaps,  in  a  certain  Doric  simplicity  and 
candor.  They  are  men  who  might  well 
shake  hands  together,  sharing  &e  same 
inspu^tion,  and  enthusiastic  in  a  like  em- 
prise. The  scope  -of  Smith  is  not  so 
great  He  neither  soars  as  high  as  heav- 
en, nor  sinks  as  low  as  hell,  but  he  trav- 
els a  great  deal.  The  poem  takes  m  all 
that  variegated  region  which  lies  between 
Lake  Michilimackinac  and  the  Atlantic  sea- 
coast  Here  is  ground  enough ; — he  did 
not  mean  to  be  stinted  in  that  particular. 
He  dedicates  his  volume  to  all  the  lovers 
of  the  arts  of  Poesy  and  the  Belles-Lettres, 
and  to  all  the  friends  and  patrons  of 
American  enterprise  and  home  industry, 
hoping  that  it  may  prove  useful  and  amus- 
ing to  them.  Notwithstanding  the  merits 
of  the  poem,  on  which  we  shall  dilate 
presently,  the  pre&ce  is  written  with 
such  a  charming  naivete  and  unaffected 
candor,  that,  in  many  respects,  it  is  the 
most  amusing  part  of  the  book;  and 
wishing  to  call  attention  to  Mr.  Smith's 
somewhat  neglected  and  truly  laborious 
undertaking,  we  shall  take  several  pas- 
sages from  this  preface  at  the  outstart,  as 
a  text  for  a  few  remarks. 

"Dear  Reader — the  author,  in  pre- 
senting to  you  a  new  work,  hastily  got 
upy  is  aware  that  it  may  have  many  im- 
perfections, and  hopes  the  indulgence  of 
an  enlightened  and  generous  pubhc."    ^ 


1854.] 


American  JS^s. 


648 


Now  in  an  undertaking  of  such  a  na- 
ture, demanding  the  most  thorough  prepa- 
ration and  resolute  application  of  all  the 
powers,  we  think  it  was  ill-advised,  to  say 
the  least,  in  Mr.  Smith  to  make  a  confes- 
sion or  advance  a  plea  like  this.  Envious 
poets  who  would  like  to  fall  foul  of  a 
work  having  the  dimensions  of  "  Black 
Hawk,"  would  be  apt  to  re-echo  the 
words  put  into  their  mouths  by  the  au- 
thor, and  say,  ^'  it  has  no  merit,  it  was 
scribbled  ofif  in  a  hurry.  Epic  must  not 
be  slip-shod  ;  let  Smith  try  again.'*  The 
carping  critic,  and  the  facetious  reviewer, 
who  are  on  the  look-out  for  some  object 
at  which  to  fling  their  petty  darts,  would 
also  be  glad  to  grasp  the  handle  of  such  a 
tomahawk  wherewith  to  scalp  Mr.  Smith. 
Nevertheless  those  who  will  be  at  the 
pains  and  pleasure  of  reading  Black  Hawk 
from  begining  to  end,  will  find  that  the 
author  is  too  modest,  and  that  so  far  from 
the  work  being  "  hastily  got  up,"  it  is 
immensely  laborious,  and  is  no  doubt  ex- 
ecuted with  all  the  ability  of  which  he  is 
capable.  We  have  merely  alluded  to  this 
not  only  with  the  best  feeling  toward  Mr. 
Smith,  but  for  the  benefit  of  less  practised 
writers,  because  the  reading  public  is  a 
dignified  body,  who  will  welcome  the  de- 
but of  no  man  who  acknowledges  that  he 
has  prepared  his  toilet  hastily. 

"The  account  given  of  the  genealo* 
gy  of  Black  Hawk,  a  description  of  the 
war  in  which  he  acted  so  conspicuous  a 
part,  together  with  his  who^e  history, 
will  be  found  interesting  ;  also  the  va- 
rious scenes  in  the  West,  herein  described, 
more  or  less  familiar  to  the  first  pioneers, 
cannot  but  be  perused  with  pleasure  by 
all  who  recollect  them ;  whilst  their  rela- 
tion will  be  more  specially  novel,  11116- 
resting,  and  delightful  to  all  those  who 
never  heard  of  them  before." 

This  is  manly,  straight  forward,  and 
needs  no  apology.  It  is  but  saying  that 
he  has  written  a  good  work,  and  knows  it. 
Executed  in  haste  or  not,  it  will  be  found 
worthy  of  perusal,  and  no  one  will  have 
his  mere  labor  for  his  pains. — In  many 
respects  it  stands  alone  and  pre-eninent, 
a  model  of  dogged  industry,  a  peculiarity 
in  artistic  efibrt,  a  curiosity  of  American 
literature.  "Who  reads  an  American 
book7 ''  has  been  asked  sneeringly.  But 
"  who  writes  an  Amencan  book  like  Black 
Hawk  ?  "  might  be  inquired  with  a  more 
eager  desire,  and  posterity  will  turn  to 
the  title-page  and  answer — Elbert  H. 
Smith. 

As  a  third  section  in  the  preface  we 
quote  the  following : 

"  This   comprehensive    treatise    por- 


trays things  as  they  were  in  the  early 
settlement  of  Wisconsin  and  Northern 
Illinois,  when  civilization  first  dawned  on 
the  beautiful  forests  and  prairies,  and  the 
cultivation  of  the  luxurious  soil  com-" 
menced ;  and  shows  this  country's  natu- 
ral and  abundant  resources ;  its  fruitful  ^ 
mines  of  silver,  lead,  and  copper,  where 
men  dig  for  hidden  treasures  in  the  bowels 
of  the  earth,  and  become  rich,  together 
with  those  of  the  Lake  Superior  country, 
where  now  is  the  rush  of  those  who  wish 
to  make  their  fortunes,  the  cheapness  of 
the  soil  which  produces  so  bountifully 
both  the  necessaries  and  luxuries  of  life ; 
the  prospect  of  entering  into  profitable 
business  with  a  small  capital,  and  the 
chances  for  speculation  afforded  by 
early  and  choice  locations  ;  the  almost 
certain  prospect  of  bettering  one's  condi- 
tion and  circumstances  by  a  change  of 
place ;  and  of  living  in  the  enjoyment  of 
health,  peace  and  competence  in  another 
clime  are  just  inducements,  and  are  all 
things  worthy  to  be  inquirwi  into." 

In  this  passage  the  author  reveals  the 
scope  of  his  work.  On  some  accounts 
we  have  always  thought  that  the  better 
plan  is  to  let  the  reader  divine  that  for 
himself,  but  some  are  so  stupid  that  they 
cannot  analyze,  nor  will  they  understand 
the  meaning  of  a  story  unless  it  be  ex- 
plained to  them  in  all  its  stages.  One 
feature  may  be  remarked  in  the  above 
which  has  hitherto  been  left  out  of  all 
epic  poems : — the  prospect  of  entering 
into  profitable  business  with  a  small 
capital,  and  the  chances  for  speculation 
ctffbrded  by  early  and  choice  locations,''^ 

"  The  author,"  proceeds  the  poet, 
in  his  most  admirably  written  preface, 
^^  might  have  swelled  this  volume  to 
nearly  five  times  its  present  size,  but 
this  would  in  a  considerable  degree  have 
defeated  his  object ;  which  was  to  make  a 
useful  work,.comprehending  much  in  little, 
whose  low  price  would  bring  it  within 
the  reach  of  every  body ;  to  cast  all 
minor  circumstances,  which  would  bur- 
den the  pages  of  future  history,  out  of  the 
way ;  consigning  them  at  once  to  that 
oblivion  of  after  time,  in  which  they 
must  of  necessity  be  lost,  and  dwell  only 
on  such  importany;hings  as  are  calculated 
to  survive  the  present  generation,  and 
live  through  the  dilapidations  of  time. 
Such  are,  indeed,  the  only  legitimate  sub- 
jects of  history." 

The  italics  are  our  own.  It  is  one  of 
the  beauties  of  Black  Hawk  that  it  is  not 
swelled  to  any  greater  size.  It  contains 
about  ten  thousand  lines,  and  if  another 
hundred  had  been  added  it  might  haive 


644 


American  Epics. 


[Jane 


defeated  the  object  which  the  author  had 
ID  view.  It  is  long  enough.  The  most 
judicious  critic  would  hardly  assert  that 
It  could  have  been  improved  by  being  ex- 
tended' In  this  matter  a  great  many 
meritorious  poets  and  authors  have  totally 
failed ;  while  they  have  succeeded  passibly 
well  when  they  have  not  attempted  much, 
they  "  imagine  that  they  must  imagine  '^ 
some  tremendous  work,  and  so  cover 
their  heads  with  glory.  Emmons  and  a 
few  others  form  exceptions  to  this  rule ; 
but  the  theme  of  Emmons  was  not  a 
savage  chief  like  Black  Hawk  or  Tecum- 
seh,  not  a  mere  local  matter,  but  a  cam- 
paign which  involved  the  whole  country. 
Where  so  much  is  to  be  said  it  is  impos- 
sible to  say  it  within  reasonable  limits 
unless  one  has  a  faculty  of  condensation, 
which  is  on  the  whole  desirable.  The 
probability  is  that  when  the  author  of 
Black  Hawk  began,  he  did  not  know  ex- 
actly where  he  was  coming  out,  or  how 
&r  his  genius  would  lead  him,  else  he 
would  have  entered  sooner  in  medias  rea, 
and  would  have  brought  the  chieftain 
forward  at  a  much  earlier  period  of  the 
poem.  Still,  on  the  whole,  the  book  is 
not  so  very  long ;  it  may  be  read  through 
with  a  little  perseverance. 

•*  To  the  lovers  of  literature,  and  c«pc- 
cially  to  the  admirers  of  the  art  of 
poesy ^  it  is  presumed  this  work  will  affora 
great  pleasure  and  delight ;  while  to  those 
who  are  not  in  the  same  degree  callable 
of  receiving  and  relishing  its  beauties^  it 
cannot  fail  to  be  a  source  of  information 
that  will  abundantly  repay  the  cost?"* 

The  italics  are  our  own.  It  can  hardly 
be  doubted,  we  think,  that  all  who  love 
poetry,  when  the  genuine  specimens  are 
so  rare,  will  hail  the  appearance  of  this 
poem  with  undisguised  satisfaction.  Its 
beauties  are  many.  It  would  be  no  bad 
undertaking  for  some  person  (of  course 
not  the  author)  to  publish  a  small  volume 
such  as  one  may  carry  in  his  pocket,  en- 
titied  "  Beauties  of  Black  Hawk ! " 

"The  question  may  naturally  arise 
why  the  author  did  not  compose  the 
whole  in  rhyme,  as  he  could  easily  have 
done.  To  which  he  answers  that  he  is 
partial  to  blank  verse,  and  originally  in- 
tended to  compose  the  whole  in  this 
style;  but  the  constant  tendency  to 
rhyme  constantly  furnished  him  as  he 
went  along  uiUh  beautiful  couplets  some 
of  which  he  has  retained  among  the  blank 
verse,  considering  blank  verse  as  the 
base." 

Variety,  it  has  been  said,  is  the  spice  of 
life.  Monotony  is  the  bane  of  any  com- 
position,  especially  of  a  poem,  and  al- 


though the  one  under  consideration  ig 
composed  in  all  sorts  of  metres,  it  will  be 
Just  as  pleasing  and  perhaps  more  so 
than  if  it  had  been  in  blank  verse.  Those 
who  are  conscious  of  genius  need  not  be 
afraid  to  swing  loose  from  trammels  of 
arbitrary  rules,  and  venture  into  original 
paths  wherever  their  disposition  takes 
them.  Authors  are  not  formed  by  laws 
of  rhetoric,  but  the  reverse  of  the  pro- 
position holds  true.  Let  them  cast  them 
aside  as  if  they  never  had  been  deduced, 
and  ten  to  one  the  critics  will  be  point- 
ing out  beauties  which  they  never  knew 
to  exist,  and  will  be  drawing  out  princi- 
ples, of  application  for  the  benefit  of  tho^ 
who  come  after  them.  Thus,  it  is  of  no 
real  consequence  whatever,  whether  a  re- 
gular play  is  in  five  acts  or  one,  or  whe- 
ther an  epic  is  composed  in  one  metre  or 
in  many.  Act  with  a  little  independence, 
do  as  you  please  in  sych  matters.  Your 
success  will  not  depend  on  the  observance 
of  any  such  formica,  but  on  the  swing 
and  freedom  of  your  flight  into  the 
realms  of  poetic  fancy.  A  true  poet  will 
not  be  cramped  by  the  despotism  of  arti- 
ficiality, and  will  make  laws  for  himself. 

"  At  other  times  the  author  has  reduced 
whole  portions  of  the  work  entirely  to 
rhyme,  portions  which  were  at  first  in- 
tended for  blank  verse — so  that  he  has 
now  in  such  a  variety  of  styles  something 
that  will  suit  all  tastes  and  classes  of 
readers.  They  might  multiply  reasons 
for  the  course  he  has  taken  in  these  re- 
spects, if  it  were  deemed  necessary.  [It 
is  not  necessary.]  He  might  say  that 
Shakspeare  did  so.  [That  is  what  we 
were  just  saying.']  That  this  is  a  day  of  in- 
novations on  Ae  learmng  of  the  past ;  and 
as  it  was  with  the  Israelites  in  early  time, 
80  has  it  become  with  us  now — for  in 
those  days  there  was  no  king  in  the  land, 
and  every  man  did  according  to  that 
which  seemed  right  in  his  own  eyes." 
[Exactly !] 

Coleridge  thought  there  were  no  mate- 
rials for  the  epic  proper  after  the  destruc- 
tion of  Jeni^em.  Joel  Barlow  found 
that  th»  discovery  of  a  new  continent  and 
the  succeeding  events  were  of  sufficient 
dignity.  Richard  Emmons  comes  dovm 
as  far  as  the  late  war  with  England,  and 
Elbert  H.  Smith  derives  a  theme  from  the 
very  times  in  which  we  Uve.  After  this 
who  can  doubt  that  the  opinions  of  arti- 
ficial critics  in  these  matters  are  mere 
moonshine,  and  that  every  day  which 
passes  over  our  heads  is  pregnant  with 
events  which  only  need  the  hand  of 
genius.  As  to  Black  Hawk,  we  have  seen 
him  with  our  own  eyes  as  he  walked  in 


1864.] 


American  Epics. 


645 


the  streets  of  this  city,  bedaubed  with 
paint,  tricked  out  with  beads  and  feathers, 
and  with  all  his  tinkling  ornaments  about 
him.  He  was  one  of  those  noble  spirits 
found  among  the  Indian  race  who  are  wil- 
ling to  make  a  tinal,  desperate  struggle 
ere  they  sink  before  the  white  man.  Os- 
ceola, that  handsome  Prince,  was  another, 
and  Billy  Bow-Legs  who  lately  paid  us  a  • 
visit  now  holds  possession  of  the  ever- 
glades of  Florida,  shifting  his  household 
gods  from  thicket  to  thicket,  and  from 
morass  to  morass,  and  skulking  out  of 
sight  with  his  rifle  in  hand  with  an  unal- 
terable love  of  his  native  soil.  William 
Bowlegs  will  no  longer  be  enticed  out  of 
camp  to  hold  any  "long  talks"  with  the 
deceitful  pale  faces  so  long  as  he  has  on 
hand  a  good  stock  of  gunpowder  and  rum. 
It  is  a  principle  of  our  free  government 
that  "  might  makes  right,"  just  as  much 
as  it  is  with  the  autocrat  of  Russia.  The 
moment  that  our  settlements  extend  into 
the  domains  of  an  Indian  sachem,  and  we 
think  it  well  to  erect  a  new  State,  the 
first  thing  to  be  done  is  to  oust  the  ten- 
ants of  the  soil,  and  we  liberally  offer 
them  a  few  hogsheads  of  rum  and  any 
quantity  of  glass  beads  in  return  for  mil- 
lions of  acres  of  rich  and  virgin  soil.  Per- 
haps they  are  unwilling  to  close  the  bar- 
gain, and  a  delegation  of  chiefs,  coming 
into  the  audience  chamber  of  the  White 
Palace  at  Washington,  will  address  the 
Great  Father  somewhat  thus,  oriental- 
ly :- 

'•  Our  Great  Father  sees  before  him  the 
children  of  the  forest.  We  have  come  a 
great  distance,  from  where  the  sun  goes 
down.  Our  home  is  on  the  prairies,  where 
the  buffalo  roams,  or  among  the  trees,  the 
high  trees,  where  the  eagles  build  their 
nests.  Our  father,  we  are  men.  We 
stand  erect.  We  do  not  bend  the  neck. 
We  gaze  into  the  sun.  Every  acre  of  the 
soil  is  dear  to  us.  We  cannot  leave  the 
land  where  the  bones  of  our  sires  re- 
pose." 

To  this  the  Great  Father  almost  inva- 
riably replies  as  follows : 

"  My  children,  I  am  glad  to  see  you, 
and  make  you  very  welcome  in  this  house. 
I  will  give  directions  to  have  you  all  taken 
to  the  Patent  Office,  and  to  see  all  the 
curiosities  in  the  town.  Every  thing 
shall  be  done  to  make  your  stay  agree- 
able. Your  Great  Father  loves  you,  and 
rest  assured  that  he  will  do  nothing  which 
is  not  for  the  interest  of  his  dear  children. 
(  War-whoop^  and  immense  satisfaction 
manifested  on  the  pari  of  the  chief s.y 
But  my  children,  it  is  not  for  your  good 
to  remain  any  longer  in  the  vicinity  of 


the  whifts.  Your  habits  are  dissimilar, 
you  cannot  agree.  You  must  go  home, 
and  next  year  you  must  travel  west  of 
the  Mississippi.  It  is  a  good  country, — 
fine  hunting-grounds,  plenty  of  deer.  We 
will  provide  for  your  removal.  You  shall 
take  with  you  a  ])uncheon  of  rum,  and  all 
things  needful.     Farewell,  my  children." 

Thus  they  go  away  sorrowful,  and  an  • 
Indian  war  begins.  The  fact  is,  there 
may  be  good  individuals,  but  the  govern- 
ments of  the  earth  are,  without  exception, 
heathen.  There  is  not  one  of  them 
enough  imbued  with  Christianity  to  think 
it  a  safe  policy,  to  do  as  they  would  be 
done  by.  The  slow  increase  and  rapid 
depopulation  of  these  poor  people  may  be 
expressed  by  the  lines : — 

'*  On«,  two— littl6  Indians  I— 
Three,  fonr,  five,  six,  seven,  eight !— little  Indians- 
Nine,  ton,  e-leven,  twelve,  little  Indians— 
Twelve,  eleven,  ten,  nine,  eight,  seven,  six,  five, 
four,  three,  two,  civs  little  Indians  I  ** 

The  opening  invocation  of  the  Black  ^ 
Hawkiad  (as  it  might  be  called)  is  in  these 
words : 

**  Americans  I  magnantmons  of  soal  i 
With  hearts  as  warm  as  generons  and  as  free 
As  that  pore  atmoephere  in  which ^ye  breathe; 
Ck>me,  listen,  while  I  sing  of  one  poor  num 
The  self-taught  hero  aboriginal. 
Of  the  Indian  race  his  genealogy — 
Illustrious,  so  deserving  of  renown. 
And  causes  which  impelled  him  to  the  war ; 
His  mighty  deeda,  his  perils,  dangers,  labors, 
Endured  time-long  for  his  loved  people*s  salce. 
With  phraseology  and  lofty  thoughts  sublime, 
Fit  for  the  theme  oiay  heavenly  powers  InqUro  me.** 

As  ^neas  in  the  .^Bneid  and  Ulysses  in 
the  Odyssey  went  on  their  travels,  so   , 
here  the  pioneer  sets  out  upon  his  from 
New  York  island  to  the  far  West,  or  as 
it  is  elegantly  expressed  in  the  poem : — 

••The  bidden  regions  of  the  Western  World, 
T*  explore,  there  went  from  off  this  isle  a  man.** 

Having  passed  through  cities  which 
bear  the  classical  names  of  Rome,  Syra- 
cuse, Salina,  Lyons,  he  came  to  Palmyra, 

**  Where  Mormon  prophet  dug  from  neighboring  hill 
The  golden  plates  of  Mormon's  sacred  book.** 

As  he  truly  remarks, 

**  To  give  a  history  of  the  prophet  here. 
And  of  the  new  religion  he  is  founding. 
Far  West,  and  o*er  the  Atlantic  is  resounding ; 
And  of  his  great  suocesa,  and  signal  fldl. 
Would  intaresting  be,  no  doubt  to  all.** 

Thence  he  proceeds  on  his  journey  to 
Rochester  and  Buffalo,  and  to  Niagara 
Falls. 

Niagara  itself  might  form  the  theme  of 
an  epic;  and,  if  we  are  not  mistaken, 
John  Neal  has  already  written  one  upon 


646 


American  Epiee. 


[June 


it,  although  we  haye  not  seen  it  It  is, 
however,  liable  to  the  same  objection  as 
the  destruction  of  Jerusalem,  for  it  is  too 
overwhelming  in  its  magnificence,  and 
swallows  up  all  things  subordinate  in 
its  roaring  gulf.  Besides,  it  has  been 
thought  to  baffle  all  description,  and  meet 
to  lift  the  heart  in  only  silent  adoration  up 
to  the  throne  of  the  Great  Supreme.  But 
its  efiect  was  different  on  our  author : 

**  He  bade  the  BnffiUonians  adien, 
And  thence  the  far-fluned  Fulls  went  to  espy, 
And  listen  to  the  great  Niagara's  roar. 
Bat  ere  be  reached  the  place  bis  ears  were  stanned 
With  loud  imperious  cries  of—  Writa^  «(r,  virUe  I 
As  thinldng  bis  descriptions  fraught  coold  be 
With  rare  amii£ement :  fit  to  cdity.^ 

Of  the  St.  Lawrence,  he  says: 

"  St  Lawrence  is  a  most  tremendous  liTer." 

After  visiting  various  towns,  and  the 
upper  mines  in  Lake  Superior,  he  comes  to 

"The  capitolian  town  of  Michigan.** 

Thence  pursuing  his  way  through  a  semi- 
wilderness,  he  comes  to  the 

** haunts  of  Black  Hawk,  flunous  ehiel^'* 

and  meeting  with  a  person  who  was,  well 
posted  up  on  the  subject  of  that  hero,  he 
says  to  him, 

**  I  would  be  boformed 
As  any  thing  that  doth  to  blm  relate 
Would  be  acceptable  unto  my  ean. 

PKNNSYLVANIAN. 

Yes  I  Black  Hawk  was  a  chief;  say  well  yoQ  may, 
Of  rare  renowu,  as  &me  doth  also  say ; 
For  we  were  .personally  known,  and  I 
Can  of  his  doings  Justly  testily. 

PIONEER. 

Indeed !  your  speech  is  mnsie  to  my  ear, 
The  history  give,  I  shall  r^oioe  to  bear. 

The  second  Canto,  extending  to  the  124th 
page  of  the  volume,  contains  the  ^nealo- 
gy  of  the  renowned  chief.  It  mcludes 
within  it  an  episode  which  is  really  beau- 
tiful, but  inasmuch  as  it  would  be  impos- 
sible to  transcribe  in  the  author's  own 
words  without  occupying  fifty  pages,  we 
will  attempt,  if  Mr.  Smith  has  no  objec- 
tions, to  give  the  substance  of  it  very 
briefly  in  prose. 

NIT-O-ME-MA  ;   OR,  GENTLE  DOVE. 

Long  ago  on  the  banks  of  the  Upper 
Mississippi  among  the  tribes  of  the  war- 
like Sacs,  there  lived  a  young  woman 
who  for  beauty  and  for  tenderness  of 
nature  was  called  the  Gentle  Dove.  The 
savages  in  the  wilderness  felt  her  power, 
though  revealed  only  in  the  majesty  of 
her  motion  and  in  the  music  of  her  voice. 


Crossing  over  the  stormy  deep,  and 
pursuing  his  journey  through  a  trackless 
country,  came  the  brave  and  good  mis- 
sionary Marquette,  bearing  in  his  hands 
the  Gospel  of  Peace.  Gentle  Dove  was 
drawn  irresistibly  by  the  attractions  of 
the  cross,  she  was  sprinkled  with  baptis- 
mal waters  and  became  a  Christian.  If 
when  she  was  without  the  ark  of  safety, 
her  spirit  soared  above  the  troubled 
waters,  how  lovely  when  its  wings  were 
glossy  ill  the  Sun  of  Righteousness,  and  . 
when  she  bore  the  ONve  Branch. 

The  fate  of  the  good  Marquette  was 
this.  Self-sacrificing  and  devoted  he  went 
upon  his  errand,  proclaiming  to  the  be- 
nighted children  of  the  forest  the  glad 
tidings  with  a  resolution  which  despised 
all  danger,  and  which  knew  no  fatigue. 
How  sublime  is  the  life  of  such  a  follower 
of  Christ  But  alas!  the  disciple  was 
treated  like  his  Master.  His  benevolent 
designs  were  soon  mistaken,  and  ascribed 
to  motives  base  and  mercenary.  The 
savages  surrounded  him  with  clubs  and 
arrows,  but  slipping  away  from  their 
midst  he  went  into  the  forest  and  prayed. 
When  they  came  upon  him  he  was  in  a 
kneeling  posture; — they  fitted  their  ai^ 
rows  on  their  bows,  but  perceiving  that 
he  made  no  motion  they  approached,  and 
found  him  dead. 

Soon  after  this  the  Gentle  Dove  was 
espoused  to  Omaint-si-ar-nah,  son  of  the 
Nation's  Chief.  Beautiful  and  manly  in 
his  person,  tall  and  athletic,  with  features 
regular  and  handsonie,  skilful  and  adroit 
in  the  use  of  the  bow,  in  battle  bold  and 
daring  like  his  sire,  he  was  moreover  the 
fiuthful  friend,  the  kind  husband,  the  gen- 
erous host  But  he  was  in  temper  san- 
guine, credulous,  and  jealous. 

Scarcely  had  Gentle  Dove  become  his 
bride  when  he  was  called  away  to  the  wars, 
and  having  first  committed  her  to  the  pro- 
tection of  his  friend  Que-la-wah,  he  clasped 
her  to  his  heart,  and  in  tears  bade  her 
farewell.  Many  and  many  a  message  did 
he  send  her  from  his  distant  encampment 
by  the  hands  of  a  courier,  for  .the  art  of 
vmting  to  the  Indian  tribes  was  unknown. 
But  at  last  Que-la-wah  became  enamor- 
ed of  Gentle  Dove,  and  sought  by  every 
means  to  win  her  from  her  rightful  lord. 
She  indignantly  spumed  him  from  her 
presence.  Meantime  being  much  per- 
plexed in  spirit  she  had  a  dream.  An 
awful  form  stood  before  her,  and  told  her 
that  the  Virgin  loved  her,  and  promised 
to  reveal  the  future  to  her.  What  she 
had  suffered  from  Que-la-wah  was  but  a 
beginning  of  greater  woes  to  come,  for  He 
in  whom  her  soul  delighted  should  be  de- 


1854.] 


Ji,mmcan  Epics, 


647 


ceived  and  forsake  his  faithful  wife,  and  she 
should  narrowly  escape  with  life.  More- 
over there  was  ahout  to  be  a  strife  for 
empire;  and  a  race  of  white  men  who 
had  gained  a  footing  near  the  rising  sun, 
from  small  beginnings,  should  sweep  over 
and  subdue  the  entire  continent.  Still, 
her  nation  should  not  be  without  renown. 
A  prince  should  arise  who  should  bear 
sway  over  many  chiefs,  and  many  tribes. 
He  should  lead  his  warriors  to  successful 
battles,  and  when  at  last  his  person 
should  be  bound  in  fetters,  his  soul  would 
be  unsubdued.  Moreover  his  name  should 
not  perish,  being  embalmed  in  immortal 
verse,  and  the  Holy  Virgin  should  be  with 
the  Gentle  Dove. 

Que-la-wah  finding  that  his  proffers 
were  rejected  vowed  revenge.  He  bribed 
the  messenger  whom  the  chieftain  sent 
with  tidings  to  his  love.  She  received 
them  not  and  sent  no  answer,  but  he  boro 
back  word  that  he  had  delivered  them 
and  that  Gentle  Dove  had  treated  them 
with  marked  contempt  She  was  aban- 
doned and  inconstant  and  had  violated 
her  pledge. 

Omaint-si-ar-nah  went  into  a  paroxysm 
-of  rage.  He  commanded  those  who  stood 
around  to  draw  their  bows  and  shoot 
him.  As  none  obeyed,  he  was  about  to 
drive  a  dart  into  his  own  breast,  but  the 
weapon  was  wrested  from  his  hand. 
Then,  the  flame  of  love  being  extin- 
guished, he  passionately  vowed  revenge. 
He  sent  a  messenger,  commanding  him 
to  entice  her  into  some  secret  place,  say- 
ing that  he  had  brought  tiding^  from  her 
lord,  then  to  slay  her  and  bring  back  a 
lock  of  her  hair.  When  they  were  come 
into  the  wood,  Gentle  Dove,  who  carried 
her  babe  with  her,  pleaded  so  touchingly 
that  the  messenger  of  death  relented  and 
spared  her  life,  if  she  would  but  retreat 
into  the  woods  and  be  seen  in  human 
company  no  more.  Then  he  cut  a  lock 
from  her  jet-black  hair  and  peaceably 
departed. 

How  she  wandered  unhurt  amid  the 
beasts,  slept  in  a  hollow  tree — how  a  wild 
buffalo  became  tame  and  gave  milk  from 
its  udders  for  her  sustenance, — ^how  the 
Virgin  took  her  under  her  sweet  proteo- 
tion,  and  the  birds  sang  for  her,  and  the 
flowers  bloomed  for  her,  and  the  com  and 
fruits  ripened  in  her  retreats,  all  these 
things  form  part  of  the  history  of  Gentle 
Dove. 

Meantime  her  lord  returned  unhappy. 
In  moody  melancholy  he  walked  among 
the  well-loved  haunts  and  thought  of 
Nitomena.  On  the  bark  of  a  tree  where 
they  had  once  inscribed  their  mutual  em- 


blems, new  hieroglyphics  met  his  eye  be- 
yond the  date  when  she  had  been  ac- 
counted false.  Then  the  truth  flashed 
upon  him,  and  all  night  he  roamed  the 
forest,  uttering  the  most  doleful  wails. 
He  found  Que-la-wah  gathering  sticks  to 
make  his  morning  fire.  "  Base  wretch  ! " 
he  cried,  •*  prepare.  By  the  Great  Spirit, 
thou  shalt  die." 

With  this  he  fixed  an  arrow  on  his 
bow,  and  shot  him  to  the  heart.  Tender 
and  touching  were  the  second  nuptials 
of  Omaint-si-ar-nah  and  Nitomena,  and 
from  this  pair  was  descended  Black 
Hawk." 

Such  is  a  very  hasty  account  of  the 
story  which,  as  far  as  materials  go,  is  bet- 
ter than  the  loves  of  Dido  and  ^Eneas. 
Virgil  is  however  superior  to  Elbert  H. 
Smith  in  polish  of  numbers,  but  he  wants 
the  variety  of  measures,  his  poem  being 
altogether  written  in  hexameters. 

The  third  canto  gives  an  account  of 
the  causes  which  impelled  Black  Hawk 
to  take  up  arms  againt  the  United 
States.  A  Sac  killed  a  white  man,  in 
consequence  of  which  he  was  arrested 
and  imprisoned.  His  friends  sent  a  dele- 
gation to  obtain  his  release. 

"Their  story  was 
They  met  their  American  fiitlier  in  8t  Louis, 
Told  him  they  came  to  bay  their  friend^s  release. 
He  told  them  in  return  hs  tpantad  kmdj* 

Tliereupon  a  treaty  was  entered  into,  in 
which  the  Great  Father  got  the  best  of 
the  bargain. 

**  Black  Hawk  thereat  was  much  dissatisfied. 
To  brook  such  things  had  too  much  native  pridei** 

The  unfair  nature  of  the  traasaction  is 
evident  from  the  following  lines : — 

**  That  they  no  compensation  adequate 
For  such  a  large  and  beauteous  country  gave — 
Five  hundred  miles  in  length  along  the  vale 
Of  that  m^Oestic  river  lying  fair,      , 
By  single  case  in  point  is  fully  proved. 
In  purchase  made  of  Pottawatomies 
.Full  sixteen  thousand  a-year  to  them  they  gave, 
Annuity  for  ever  to  be  paid, 
For  one  large  tract  of  land  Chicago  near ; 
While  to  the  Sacs  and  Bonolds  but  oti«  thauMnd 
A-year  for  tract  full  twenty  times  as  large, 
Which  proves  by  their  own  estimate  the  worth 
Three  hundred  times  above  what  they  did  give.** 

[P.  14(1 

Various  disputes  and  troubles  ensued. 
]Bl&ck  Hawk  complained  to  the  Governor, 
and  the  Governor  said : 

"Why  do  you  not 

Unto  the  President  make  these  things  known  ?  " 
"Our  flitber's  to<»  fiir  off  our  voice  to  bear,** said 

Black  Hawk— 
*^  But  yon  a  letter  unto  him  could  send." 
**  I  could,  but  white  men  will  write  too  and  say, 

We  bis  red  children  lie,  and  so  Hwonld  end." 


648 


American  JSpics. 


[Jane 


The  upshot  of  the  matter  was  that  a 
horrible  war  ensued,  for,  being  ordered  out 
of  his  own  territory, 

**  Black  Hawk  would  not  go ;  henoe  the  strong  arm 
Of  States  United  was  against  him  raised. 
An  army  far  too  great  for  hlra  to  meet 
Was  sot  in  dread  array  of  battle  near — 
Just  coming  down  upon  him  forced  him  o*er 
To  the  xcest  Hde  qf  MistiMippCs  thore." 

Such  we  presume  is  to  be  the  fate  of 
all  the  tribes,  and  the  time  will  come 
when  they  must  be  forced  to  the  shores 
of  the  Pacific,  which  cannot  be  crossed 
over  in  a  bark  canoe.  Many  interesting 
incidents  are  narrated  in  the  course  of  the 
poem.  Here  is  one  of  those  melancholy 
murders  which  belong  to  Indian  warfare. 

'"Three  fkmilies  here  they'd  slain,  lie  in  their  gore 
Exoeptinc  persons  two  whom  they  slew  not, 
The  two  MiBS  Halls  I  ^ 

The  following  list  of  names  will  illus- 
trate something  which  has  been  said  in  a 
previous  part  of  this  paper : 

«  Hard  Scrabble,  Fair  Play,  Nip  and  Tnek  and  Patch, 
With  Oatholic  and  Whig  and  Democrat,  to  match, 
Blue  Blrer,  Strawberry  and  Hoof  Noggle  steep, 
And  Trespass  and  Slake  Rag,  Clay  Hole  deep ; 
Bee  Town,  Hard  Times  and  Old  Battlesnake, 
Black  Leg,  Shingle  Kidge,  Babel  and  Stake ; 
Satan's  Light  House,  Pin  Hook  and  Dry  Bone, 
And  Swindler's  Ridge  with  hazels  o'ergrown ; 
Buzzard's  Roost' Injunction  and  the  Two  Brothers^ 
Snake  Hollow  Diggings,  Black  Jack,  Horse  and 

others, 
As  Small  Pox,  Buncombe  and  Pedlar's  Creek, 
And  Lower  Coon,  Stump  Grove  and  Red  D<^  bleak, 
Menominee,  Rattail  Ridge,  may  measure  oat  this 

sonnet 
With  Bull  Branch,  Upper  Coon— pour  no  caraes 

on  it." 

[P.  191. 

Our  author  vindicates  his  hero  from 
the  charge  of  intemperance,  for  so  far 
from  being  addicted  to  it, 

"  On  one  occasloin  meet 
Head  of  a  whiskey-barrel  stove  he  in 
Beforo  the  eyes  of  one  who  would  persist 
In  violaUon  of  the  laws  to  vend.** 

We  shall  close  our  extracts  with  one 
passage  which  will  be  apt  to  remind  the 
reader  of  Homer.  It  is  the  description 
of  a  warrior  narrating  his  own  deeds : 

**  With  active  limbs  he  leaped  about  and  raised 
To  highest  pitch  his  voice,  while  he  portrayed 
Some  of  those  sanguine  scenes  in  which  he*d  acted. 
He'd  struck  the  bodies  dead  of  many  men 


All  the  red  nations  immd  bim,  OmawbawB, 

08age^  Pawnees,  Konzas,  Grand  Pawnees, 

Padoncaa,  Sacs,  Jetons  and  lowas. 

Foxes,  Dacotas,  Bald  Heads,  and  La  Plain, 

Eight  of  one  nation,  seven  of  another 

He'd  struck.   With  his  account  he  was  proceeding 

When  one  ran  up  to  him  and  put  his  hand 

Upon  his  mouth  and  led  him  to  his  scat' 

[P.  184 

The  proceeding  recorded  in  the  last 
lines,  it  would  appear,  was  the  significant 
Indian  mode  of  telling  him  that  he  had 
bragged  enough.  There  is  vast  amount 
of  information  in  this  book  relating  to 
Indian  manners  and  customs,  in  the  Col- 
lection of  which  lore  the  author  has  not 
travelled  in  vain. 

It  is  a  somewhat  remarkable  coind-* 
dence  that  two  distinguished  poets  should 
have  arisen  at  nearly  the  same  time  in 
two  hemispheres,  bearing  the  unpoetical 
and  uncommonly-common  name  of  Smith. 
There  is  however  little  similarity  between 
Alexander  and  Elbert  H.  As  to  the  for- 
mer he  is  a  young  man,  and  has  gifen  a 
golden  promise  which  is  yet  to  be  redeem- 
ed. The  latter  is  as  we  may  presume  in 
the  bone  and  gristle  of  his  years,  and  has 
attained  to  his  poetical  prime.  He  will 
in  all  probability  achieve  no  work  wJiidi 
is  superior  to  Black  Hawk.  If  we  wished 
to  draw  any  parallel  at  all  it  would  be 
between  Elbert  H.  Smith  and  Milton. 
Here  too  there  is  considerable  dissimilar- 
ity, which  could  be  proved  if  we  had  time 
to  collate  and  place  in  juxtaposition  dis- 
tinct passages  from  their  works.  If  Mil- 
ton is  more  sublime,  musical  and  sono- 
rous, Elbert  H.  Smith  is  more  ragged, 
varied  and  irregular.  If  Milton  is  more 
governed  by  fixed  laws,  Elbert  H.  Smith 
exhibits  a  more  discursive  freedom.  If 
Milton  has  the  advantage  of  a  splendid 
knowledge  and  all  the  rich  exhaustless 
treasury  whence  the  poet  draws  fbr  illus- 
tration, Elbert  H.  is  not  without  ambi- 
tious imagery.  We  are  more  raised  and 
elevated  by  Milton,  but  we  are  more 
amused  with  Smith.  We  have  no  idea 
that  such  a  man  should  be  left  to  grope 
in  obscurity,  and  lest  posterity  should  not 
do  him  justice,  we  have  taken  the  matter 
in  hand  to  set  forth  his  merits  as  one  who 
has  written  what  in  many  respects  may 
be  considered  the  most  remarkable  epic 
poem  of  the  age. 


1854.] 


649 


A    GLIMPSE    OF    MUNICH. 


An  Art-Student  in  Munich.  By  Ahna  Mabt 
Howtrr.  Beprint  Boeton :  Tioknor,  Bdod  & 
FielOai    1854. 


w. 


[OT  so  quaint  as  Nurenberg,  nor  so  ac- 
cessible as  Dresden,  nor  so  famous  as 
Florence,  nor  such  a  world  in  town-walls 
as  Paris,  Munich  has  still  abundant  at- 
tractions of  its  own.  After  seeing  all  the 
other  old  or  new  world  capitals,  you  gaze 
upon  its  remarkable  strucjbares  with  the 
same  interest  as  upon  y^ir  first  palace 
(Windsor  or  Versailles)/  or  the  castle 
w^ich  made  the  beginning  of  your  conti- 
nental experiences. 

For  the  sake  of  our  many  countrymen 
who  will  take  the  "  Grand  Tour,"  and  who 
may  not  step  aside  from  the  beaten  track 
unless  some  friend  lead  the  way.  and  with 
the  "Art-Student"  for  a  text;  we  would 
recall  pleasant  memories  of  '^good  King 
Lud wig's  "  achievements : — of  the  art  with 
which  he  and  his  predecessors  have  em- 
bellished this  once  forlorn  "  Monks' 
Nest " — of  the  vast  museum»  of  paint- 
ing and  statuary,  which  royal  economy, 
lavish  only  upon  art  has  collected — of 
the  antique,  religious  and  artistic  recre- 
ations, which  compare  so  favorably  with 
those  of  cities  renowned  for  sports  and 
festivals— of  the  ingenious  inventions  ri- 
pened by  the  generous  bounty  and  more 
generous  sympathy  of  royalty* — of  the 
model  institutions  which  relieve  the  in- 
quisitive stranger  from  the  wearisomcness 
of  endless  frescoes  and  accumulated  gal- 
leries, and  the  unequalled  privileges  which 
kept  this  warm-hearted  lady's  enthusiasm 
at  fever  heat. 

Perhaps  the  American,  who  has  not 
seen  other  European  palaces  of  art,  would 
not  do  well  to  begin  with  this.  Glowing 
with  the  utilitarianism  jgraven  upon  our 
noble  commercial  enterprise,  our  vast 
manufactories,  our  ever-spreading  nul- 
ways,  he  might  feel  as  much  lost  in  quiet 
Munich,  as  the  poor  Bastile  prisoner 
whom  the  new  daylight  pained,  so  that 
he  begged  the  revolutionary  mob  to  spare 
him  the  old  dungeon.  And  yet  the 
Model  Prison  in  the  Au  suburb  would 
interest  his  philanthropy.  Thou,  old  Ba- 
varia, hast  stolen  a  march  upon  us !  From 
its  cheerful  chateau  almost  every  prison- 
horror  has  been  banished  ^.murderers  and 
murderesses  there  pursue  tne  various  han- 
dicrafts with  open  doors  and  ungrated 
windows,  as  if  in  a  college  of  general  in- 
dustry,— now  shoemaking,  now  tailoring, 


now  weaving,  now  baking, — but  vnth  a 
freedom  of  motion  and  an  absence  of  re- 
straint hardly  imagined  elsewhere.  It  is 
true,  there  is  restraint ;  there  are  means 
of  recapture ;  there  is  discipline  for  the 
refractory,  and  coercion  for  the  disobe- 
dient But  these  symbols  of  degradation, 
these  incitements  to  passion,  are  not  per- 
petually paraded  before  those  who  require 
encouragement,  who  need  to  have  the 
Old  Adsun  buried  out  of  sight,  that  the 
New  may  experience  resurrection. 

No  more  guards  are  employed  than  in 
the  old  institutions,  with  their  thrice-bar- 
red gates,  their  heavily-ironed  windows, 
their  vigilantly-guarded  walls:  and  the 
marvel  of  the  scene  is  that  even  those  con- 
fined for  life  are  permitted  free  conversi^ 
tion  with  their  mates  in  seasons  of  recrea- 
tion, and  more  than  any  where  within 
our  knowledge,  range  freely  within  the 
great  inclosure. 

But  thus,  one  of  those  rare  spirits  who 
make  themselves  beloved  by  those  they 
punish  is  present  with  his  hopefulness 
every  where ;  nothing  is  suffered  to  irritate 
these  excitable  pa3sion8,  and  nothing  oc- 
curs to  provoke  to  fresh  outrage  minds 
which  may  have  imagined  themselves 
preyed  upon  by  society.  Those  not  fli- 
miliar  with  penitentiary  discipline,  can 
hardly  imagine  how  often  criminals  com- 
mit new  crimes  under  the  impression  that 
some  other  prisoner  or  petty  officer  is 
preying  upon  them,  taunting  them  with 
past  delinquency,  depriving  them  of  tri- 
fling comforts,  or  in^cting  malicious  pun- 
ishment. 

"  It  was  a  startling  sight,"  says  Miss 
Howitt,  "  to  see  murderers  wielding  ham- 
mers, sawing,  and  cutting  with  sharp- 
edged  t6ols,  when  you  remembered  they 
were  murderers,  and  how  some  tyrant 
passion  had  once  aroused  the  fiend  within, 
though  now  again  he  seemed  laid  to  rest 
by  years  of  quiet  toil.  Our  guide  inform- 
ed us  that,  very  rarely  did  any  disobe- 
dience or  passion  show  itself  among  the 
prisoners  after  the  first  few  months,  or 
the  first  year  of  thf  ir  imprisonment.  The 
constant  employment  from  early  mom  to 
evening;  the  silence  imposed  during  their 
hours  of  toil;  the  routine,  the  gradual 
dying-out  of  all  external  interests,  seemed 
to  sink  them  into  a  passive  calm,  until 
industry  became  their  only  characteristic 
£ach  prisoner  has  his  daily  task,  which- 
must  be  completed.    For  extra  work  he 


*  Of  thifl  friend  of  Lola  Montex  it  was  aaid,  **  ho  eonld  abandon  bis  throne,  but  eoald  not  d>andon  Art»" 
TOL.  III. — 41 


650 


A  Olimpse  of  Munich. 


£J« 


reoeiyes  payment — half  of  which  he  may 
consume,  the  other  half  being  reserved  for 
him  until  the  expiration  of  his  sentence.* 
This  is  also  the  case  with  such  as  are 
condemned  to  life-long  imprisonment, 
there  being  always  the  possibility  of  a  re- 
prieve for  them.  On  Sundays  they  are 
allowed  to  read  books  out  of  the  prison- 
library,  play  at  dominoes,  and  enjoy  va- 
rious simple  recreations.  There  is  a  school 
for  younger  prisoners  and  a  hospital  for 
the  sick,  and  in  ea<$h  room  was  a  kind  of 
monitor,  whose  office  was  to  report  upon 
the  conduct  of  his  companions ;  and,  this 
species  of  mutual  watchfulness,  kept  up 
by  the  prisoners  themselves,  seemed  to 
answer  remarkably  well." 

Of  the  women  she  says,  **  At  one  par- 
ticular washing-tub  stood  four.  Our  con- 
ductor spoke  to  one  of  them :  two  looked 
up  and  uirly  beamed  with  smiles :  one,  a 
tall  and  very  handsome  young  girl,  con- 
tinued to  wash  away  with  downcast  eyes. 
The  iburth,  a  fat,  ill-looking  woman  also, 
never  looked  at  the  visitors.  The  two 
who  smiled  had  remarkably  agreeable 
faces ;  one  with  good  features  and  a  very 
mild  expression ;  the  other  a  small  woman 
with  a  certain  anxious  expression  about 
her  eyes  and  mouth.  The  only  one  who 
looked  evil  was  the  fat  old  woman. 

'*  As  soon  as  we  were  in  the  gourt,  the 
conductor  said,  *  Now,  what  do  you  say 
about  these  women?'  *  Three  out  of 
the  four,'  we  retearked,  *are  the  only 
agreeable  faces  we  have  seen  in  the  prison ; 
and,  judging  from  this  momentary  glance 
at  their  countenances,  we  should  say 
would  not  be  guilty  of  much  crime ;  per- 
haps the  fat  old  woman  may  be  so ;  that 
tall  girl,  however,  is  not  only  handsome 
but  genteel-looking.'  'That  tall  young, 
girl  murdered  her  fellow-servant,  and, 
cutting  up  the  body,  buried  it  in  the  gar- 
den ;  the  little  woman  next  to  her  mur- 
dered her  husband ;  the  handsome,  moth- 
erly-looking woman  next^  destroyed  her 
child  of  seven  years  old.  The  fat  old 
woman  is  in  only  for  a  slight  offence.'  So 
mdch  for  physiognomy ! '' 

"  As  I  returned  home,"  says  Miss  Hew- 
itt, after  describing  the  strange  prison 
scene,  '*  all  the  faces  I  met  seemed  to  me, 
as  it  were,  masks.  I  saw  fauces  a  thou- 
sand times  more  rude  than  the  counte- 
nances of  those  three  unhappy  women. 
I  looked  at  the  ladies  who  accompanied 
.me,  and  said  to  myself, — Your  faces  are 
«ot  nearly  so  good-looking  in  expression 
and  features  as  theirs.    I  have  been  look- 


ing at  my  own  face,  and  it  seems  to  me 
that  it,  too,  might  just  as  well  conceal 
some  frightful  remembrance  of  crime.  I 
was  thankful  for  any  thing  to  banish  the 
remembrance  of  the  three  women,  and  of 
those  round  beautiful  htuids  and  arms  of 
the  young  girl,  which  had  once  been 
stained  in  blood." 

Let  us  pass  to  a  more  agreeable  bat 
still  sad  scene.  We  shall  not  soon  forget 
the  consternation  of  the  wzlet  de  pkux^ 
where  the  stranger  would  not  suffer  him- 
self to  be  hurried  by  the  Dead-House  of 
the  Munich  Cemetery — where  Yankee 
curiosity  persisted  in.  gazing  through 
those  large  glass-doors  into  a  spacioas 
saloon,  where  all  the  newly-deceased  are 
deposited  for  three  days  before  interment. 
Every  repulsive  feature  Ls  spared.  The 
lightsome  hall  exhibited,  that  lovely  spring 
day,  numbers  of  little  biers,  on  each  of 
which  human  life  lay  asleep  in  a  be4  of 
flowers :  the  little  children  could  hardly 
be  seen  for  the  wreaths  and  bouquets 
heaped  around  them  by  unforgetting  af- 
fection; here  was  the  youne  mother  in 
a  marble  sleep,  her  eyes  slightly  sunken, 
the  roses  around  her  appearing  to  reflect 
themselves  in  crimson  tints  upon  her  pale 
cheeks,  and  beside  her  lay  the  babe^  the 
occask)n  and  the  companion  of  her  last, 
perhaps  only,  suffering.  Here  too  lay  the 
Grecian-faced  student,  dressed  as  if  to 
take  his  part  at  the  public  exhibition,  ar- 
rayed in  all  the  pride  of  opening  man- 
hood, his  tricolor  badge  crossing  his  chest, 
his  heavy  moustache  hiding  his  sunken 
lips :  finr  more  like  sleep  than  like  its  still 
sister. 

And,  mate  to  this,  was  the  lovely  girl, 
whose  Ufe  might  possibly  have  been  uni- 
ted with  his,  as  her  death  was;  in  her 
crossed  hands  the  crucifix,  at  her  sides  the 
tall  burning  tapers,  around  her  white 
brow  still  whiter  flowers,  a  very  bed  of 
ereen  giving  her  graceful  form  repose. 
Surely,  this  was  winding  a  vrreath  of 
Christian  Hope  around  the  ^  plumy  por- 
tal "of  death. 

There  was  no  babble  of  nnfeeh'ng  tongues, 
no  crowding  of  careless  eyes;  close  by 
were  stately  monuments,  solemn  cloisters, 
graceful  statues  and  some  not  so  grace- 
ful, memorials  of  every  kind  to  the  de- 
parted,— every  thing  in  harmony  with 
this  cKeerful  yet  solemn  sight,  every  thing 
in  contrast  with  our  graveyard  gloom, 
especially  an  ^tique  **  Dance  of  Death  " 
pictnred  upon  a  neighboring  wall.  Within 
that  ante-chamber  of  the  dread  king  were 


*  From  ofllcial  aonivfis  we  find  the  eztrft-earningB  to  amoant  to  nearljr  $22,000  per  annum. :  a  alngle  piis- 
.oner  having  been  known  to  receive  as  high  as  $850;  hardly  any  of  those  who  receive  large  soms  at  gradoa- 
.Uen  haTe.beeo^Dvnt  to  return,  and  crime  in  general  being  on  the  decrease  in  Bavaria. 


1854.] 


A  OUmpse  ^  Munkh. 


Ul 


priests  at  prayer:  and, occasionally,  some 
friendly  hand  scattered  the  consecrated 
water  on  some  sleeper's  face ;  and,  Pro- 
testant OS  I  am,  I  could  bless  that  rever- 
ential spirit:  and  the  whole  impression 
was  a  pleasing  melancholy.  In  some 
moods,  in  failing  health  or  severe  calami- 
ty, it  might  be  an  oppressive  sight ;  but, 
only  the  exception  would  be  the  injury, 
and  we  cannot  wish  all  life  arranged  to 
suit  the  diseased  mind,  the  invalid  frame : 
a  motherly  Providence  takes  better  care 
of  us  than  to  afflict  the  many  for  the  ben- 
efit of  the  few. 

Munich  is  world-DEtmed  for  its  frescoes. 
As  every  one  knows  who  knows  any 
thing  of  Bavaria,  its  capital  is  deoorat^ 
with  miles  upon  miles  of  large  paintings 
upon  stucco,  now  covering  palace  walls, 
now  the  exterior  of  a  gallery,  now  lining 
the  cloisters  of  a  garden  or  the  ceiling  of 
a  church — representing  connected  sub- 
jects, here  a  history  of  the  country,  there 
the  great  National  £pic,  here  the  princi- 
pal views  in  Greece,  there  the  Iliad  and 
the  Odyssey.  Anna,  as  our  authoress  her- 
self, hardly  alludes  to  these  characteristic 
exhibitions  of  Munich  Art,  i-egarding  them 
as  too  familiar  to  need  description,  or, 
feeling  that  intelligent  readers  would  un- 
derstand without  minute  description,  that 
she  was  surrounded  all  the  while  by  these 
trophies  of  royal  taste. 

One  melancholy  thought  has  hitherto 
intruded  on  the  gorgeous  spectacle :  you 
not  only  know  its  perishableness,  you  see 
it  is  perishing  before  your  eyes,  and  the 
touch  of  your  cane,  the  sweep  of  your 
umbrella  may  hasten  the  inevitable  doom. 
Exposed,  in  some  cases,  without  any  de- 
fence to  storms  and  wet,  to  the  anger  of 
the  elements  and  the  carelessness  of  man,  at 
one  of  the  principal  gates  a  celebrated 
painting  is  now  nearly  extinct.  But,  by 
something  better  than  good  fortune,  the 
means  of  future  preservation  are  now 
discovered,  the  more  recent  works  of  the 
kind  are  secured  to  posterity,  and  as  James 
Martineau  remarked,  "a  new  era  is  cre- 
ated in  art.'' 

Stereo-chromic,  like  lithography,  was 
discovered  by  a  Munich  chemist,  and  has 
been  already  applied  to  the  large  scenes 
in  Greece  by  Professor  Rottman,  and  to 
his  historical  sketches  at  Berlin  by  the 
illustrious  Kaulbach.  The  painting  is 
made  in  water  colors,  and  the  invention 
consists  in  sprinkling  a  very  subtle  solu- 
tion, fluoric  acid,  over  the  surface,  which 
converts  colors,  that  might  have  been 
wiped  away  with  the  moistened  hand,  into 
a  marble  surface,  indestructible  by  fire, 
moisture,  smoke,  or  mould.    In  fact^  the 


wall  as  I  found  was  changed  into  stone, 
capable  of  resisting  every  test  that  has 
yet  been  applied,  and  promising  to  con- 
tinue unchanged  through  all  time.  Many 
inventions  of  far  less  value  have  excited 
more  attraction,  and  been  rewarded  with 
greater  praise ;  yet  what  an  unspeakable 
blessing  would  this  have  been  to  those 
beautiful  but  fading  w^lls  of  the  Vatican, 
and  to  many  a  vanishing  piece  of  art  in 
northern  Italy !  Bi|t  such  is  gratitude. 
Hardly  has  the  name  of  the  "  Supreme  Di- 
rector of  Mines,"  Von  Fuchs,  been  whis- 
pered abroad. 

Any  mention  of  Munk^h  that  omitted 
The  BavariOy  would  be  the  leaving 
St  Peter's  out  of  Rome.  The  truth 
is,  besides  its  support  of  nearly  three 
hundred  artists,  in  marble,  fresco,  or  oil 
paintings ; — immense  bronze  castings  are 
executed  with  unrivalled  success  at  Mu- 
nich— a  business  created  by  royal  en- 
terprise and  sustained  by  royal  patronage. 
Our  Munk;h  friends  were  asking  every 
day^  "  Have  you  seen  the  Bavaria  ?  "  and 
saymg,  "  Our  great  curiosity  is  not  the 
Glyptothek,  the  Pinacothek,  nor  the  Pom- 
peii frescoes,  but  the  Bavarian  HuhmeS' 
hcUleJ*^  And  one  of  the  richest  chapters  of 
Miss  Hewitt's  narrative  is  the  public  inau- 
guration of  this  emblematic  monster,  pro- 
bably the  largest  bronze  statue  in  the 
^  world — nobly  placed  too — in  its  rear  the 
three  ranges  of  marble  columns,  within 
which  are  to  stand  the  colossal  statues  of 
Bavarian  heroes,  and  before  it  is  a  vast 
sloping  plain,  the  race-course,  agricultural 
fair,  and  arena  of  public  games  for  all 
Bavaria. 

No  idea  would  seem  more  far-fetched 
to  us,  yet  none  impresses  one  more  agree- 
ably than  this  symbolized  genius  of  the 
country,  this  virgin-heart  of  Germany, 
protected  by  her  guardian  lion,  promising 
lame  by  her  uplifted  wreaths  to  high  de- 
sert, looking  graciously  down  upon  the 
vast  multitudes  assembled  annually  to 
greet  success  in  every  department  of  labor. 
How  she  towers  eighty-four  feet  above 
the  plain !  the  patron  of  Indention,  the 
benefactor  of  Art,  the  prompter  of  Enter- 
prise, the  smiling  guardian  of  a  scene 
where  the  greatest  conceivable  victory 
has  been  won  over  a  cold  soil,  a  land- 
locked position,  a  superstitious,  beer-drink- 
ing race,  a  climate  unconscious  of  the  fos- 
tering sun  of  Italy,  the  delicious  sky  of 
Greece. 

A  word  merely  upon  the  Pinacothek 
and  the  Glyptothek:  and  yet  a  word, 
because,  though  the  Dresden  gallery  is 
larger,  the  Florentine  more  famous,  al- 
most eyery  other  Museum,  even  the  Nea« 


652 


A  Oiimpse  of  Jfitnich. 


[Jima 


Eolitan  Borbonico,  is  more  fkmiliar  to  ns 
7  engraving  and  description.  The  charm 
of  the  Munich  Galleries  is  their  selection 
and  arrangement.  The  Pinacothek  is 
limited  to  1500  pictures,  and  these  the 
choicest  of  many  collections,  arranged  in 
historical  schools,  filling  thirtj'-two  ample 
halls.  The  Glyptothck.  or  Statuary  Re- 
pository, had  the  rare  fortune  of  obtain- 
ing a  whole  room  of  Eginn  marbles,  the 
only  existing  specimens  of  that  early  art, 
and  at  a  less  price  than  -was  offered  by 
the  British  Museum.  No  other  Art-Gal- 
lery has  such  beautiful  walls  without  and 
within.  Miss  Howitt  dwells  with  enthu- 
siasm on  the  exquisite  marble  stucco  of  the 
interior,  where  school  succeeds  school  from 
the  Egyptian  Sphynx  at  the  entrance  to 
Thorwaldsen  at  the  close — the  ceilings  by 
Cornelius,  the  medallions  by  Schwanth»- 
ler,  whom  it  is  worth  a  visit  to  Munich 
to  know— but,  she  hardly  mentions  the 
noble  Grecian  front,  with  its  mingled 
beauty  and  majesty,  surpassing  all  the 
other  architectural  embellishments  of  the 
dty,  celebrated  as  they  are. 

And  one,  not  the  least,  recommendation 
to  a  stranger,  is  the  generosity  with  which 
all  these  treasures  are  spread  before  his 
enraptured  gaze.  The  only  day  in  the 
week  when  the  collection  of  Prince 
Leuchtenbere  was  thrown  open  to  the 
public  proved  to  be  "  Green  Thursday ; " 
and,  to  our  consternation,  the  iron  gates 
were  closed,  and  all  entrance  forbidden 
because  of  the  religious  festival ;  and  the 
valet  de  place  declared  that,  unless  we 
waited  a  week  there  was  no  chance.  But 
a  simple  written  request  from  an  unin- 
troduced  American  opened  this  casket  of 
more  than  gold,  and  a  servant  of  the 
house  was  ordered  to  wait  upon  the 
pleasure  of  a  single  stranger^  who  found 
himself  rewarded  for  this  bit  of  impor- 
tunity, not  only  by  the  study  of  the  cele- 
brated full  length  of  Josephine  by  Ge- 
rard, and  of  Belisarius  bearing  his  dead 
conductor  in  his  arms,  by  the  same 
French  master ;  but,  by  two  of  Canova's 
best  pieces,  the  Graces  and  the  Magdalen; 
Schadow's  Shepherd  with  the  wounded 
lamb ;  three  Murillos,  one  of  them  con- 
sidered his  best;  Rembrandt's  portrait 
of  himself ;  Guercino's  Woman  taken  in 
Adultery,  Raphael's  Cardinal,  and  numer- 
ous familv  relics  of  Napoleon  inherited  by 
Eugene  Beauhamais — a  collection  of  about 
a  hundred  pieces,  but  each  a  gem  which 
money  could  not  purchase,  which  were 
gatherea  not  merely  with  lavish  wealth. 


but  by  the  good  fortune  of  such  near  re- 
lationship to  Napoleon  at  a  time  when 
Italy  and  Spain  lay  very  much  at  the 
mercy  of  the  conqueror.  A  French  gen- 
tleman, whom  we  had  met  repeatedly  in 
different  galleries,  came  in  upon  our  soli- 
tude to  study  the  Magdalen  of  Murillo, 
which  he  affirmed  to  be  without  excep- 
tion "  the  picture  of  the  world,"  whose 
tears  almost  seemed,  as  we  gazed,  to 
course  down  over  her  furrow^  cheeks, 
and  whose  resigned  penitence  left  an  im- 
pression time  will  not  effiuse. 

But  the  pleasantest  part  of  this  charm- 
ing book  to  the  public  will  be  the  Munich 
Festivals,  some  of  which  we  witnessed 
unconsciously  in  company  with  this  gift- 
ed lady.  Just  before  Easter,  the  great 
Benedictine  Basilica  of  St  Boniface  dis- 
played beneath  its  organ-loft  a  vast  grot- 
to, faced  with  a  screen  of  living  flowers 
and  green  shrubbei^.  Towermg  trees 
confronted  the  beautiful  marble  coluroiis 
of  the  church,  ferns  and  mosses  shaded 
the  stone  sepulchre,  far  within  whose  arti- 
ficial blocks  reposed  a  statue  of  the  buried 
"  Lord  of  Life."  There  was  nothmg  in 
the  least  gloomy  in  the  scene.  The  warm 
sunlight  flooded  the  immense  area,  gild- 
ing and  frescoes  dancing  in  the  superb 
hues  cast  by  the  mt^;nificent,  painted  win- 
dows^* the  marble  m)or  refreshing  the  eye 
weaned  by  such  rich  tints.  It  struck  me, 
that  this  unusually  light  church  became 
the  Resurrection,  which  was  enlusted  in 
it  by  a  risen  statue  the  next  Sunday,  bet- 
ter than  any  other,  because  of  its  cheer- 
fulness, and  all  its  accompaniments ;  the 
greenhouse  plants  covering  the  grand 
altar,  the  bright  walls  without,  the  glis- 
tening marbles  within^  harmom'zed  with 
the  idea  of  renewed  life.  If  Protestant 
churches,  intended  for  so  different  a  pur- 
pose, are  to  imitate  the  Catholic,  they 
might  well  study  this  latest  school,  before 
they  lose  the  comfort  of  their  service  in 
a  darkness  as  embarrassing  to  the  speak- 
er as  the  hearer,  and  acoustic  absurditiee, 
such  as  make  the  Word  any  thing  but 
"  the  voice  of  one  playing  well  on  a  pleas- 
ant instrument." 

We  missed  the  Washing  of  the  Apos- 
tles' Feet,  by  His  Majesty,  but  the  reader 
need  not,  as  Miss  Howitt  tells  how  daintily 
a  dirty  job  may  be  done,  and  confirms  the 
intimation  already  given,  that  Catholic 
ceremonies  are  most  faithfully  observed 
at  Munich.  It  is  performed  on  Holy 
Thursday,  in  the  Hercules'  Hall  of  tlie 
Palace. 


*  The  flnost  pAtntod  i^aas  i«  prodooad  here    One  window  at  the  Aa  Kirche  ooit,  wc  were  umatd,  flftoen 
tSuyaaand  doUani    Of  coazBe,  few  bat  piinoes  coald  maka  such  coetlf  preMnts. 


1854.1 


A  Glimpse  of  MwnkK 


653 


After  the  crowd  were  admitted,  there 
"  tottered  in  ancient  representatives  of  the 
twelve  apostles,  clothed  in  long  violet 
robes,  bound  around  the  waist  with  white 
bands  striped  with  red,  with  violet  caps 
on  their  heads :  on  they  came,  feeble,  wrin- 
kled, with  white  locl&s  falling  over  their 
violet  apparel,  with  palsied  hands  resting 
on  the  strong  arms  that  supported  them — 
the  oldest  a  hundred  and  one,  the  young- 
est eighty-seven  years  of  age.  There  was  a 
deal  of  trouble  in  mounting  them  upon  their 
long,  snowy  throne ;  that  crimson  step  was 
a  mountayi  for  those  feeble  feet  to  dimlx 
A  man  in  black  pulled  off  a  black  shoe 
and  stocking  from  the  right  foot  of  each. 
And  now  the  king,  ungirding  his  sword, 
approaches  the  oldest  apostle,  receives  the 
golden  ewer,  bends  himself  over  the  old 
foot,  drops  a  few  drops  of  water  upon  it^ 
receives  a  snowy  napkin  from  the  prin- 
cess, and  lays  it  daintily  over  the  honored 
foot ;  again  he  bows  over  the  second,  and 
so  on  through  the  whole ;  a  priest,  with  a 
cloth  round  his  loins,  finishing  the  drying 
of  the  feet."    (p.  259.) 

Then,  dinner  is  served  to  these  twelve 
antiquities,  by  twelve  footmen,  with  twelve 
trays,  twelve  roUs,  and  twelve  bottles  of 
wine:  the  principal  part  of  which  they 
are  expected  to  carry  home  for  domestic 
use — besides  a  small  purse  of  money  hung 
around  the  patient  neck  of  each  by  the 
hand  of  i^  gracious  Majesty. 

Munich  is  the  most  artificial  of  all  the 
cities  of  the  world,  its  customs  the  quaint- 
est, its  realities  the  most  unreal,  and,  in 
all  its  aspects  it  forms  the  strongest  con- 
trasts to  what  we  are  accustomed  to  in 
the  New  World.  Here  art  is  pursued  as 
a  business,  but  there  even  business  is  an 
art — life  is  a  sort  of  holiday,  the  build- 
ings are  toys,  the  government  a  kind  of 
make-believe,  religion  is  a  ceremony,  and 
men  and  women  seem  to  be  all  engaged 
in  making  tableaux  rather  than  attending 
to  the  serious  concerns  of  human  exist- 
ence. Miss  Howitt,  with  her  girlish,  trust- 
ing nature,  her  love  of  art,  her  eager  search 
after  the  romantic,  the  picturesque  and 


the  quaint,  was  well  adapted  to  the^task 
she  has  attempted  of  giving  the  world  a 
satisfying  glimpse  of  this  most  curious 
city. 

One  passage  in  her  pleasant  volume  on 
Woman's  Rights  breathes  such  a  health- 
ful spirit,  that  we  cannot  forbear  closing 
our  article  with  it: 

*•  The  longer  I  live,"  says  Anna,  "  the 
less  grows  my  sympathy  with  women  who 
are  always  wisliing  themselves  men.  I 
cannot  but  believe,  that  all  in  life  that  is 
truly  noble,  truly  good,  God  bestows  up- 
on us  women  in  as  unsparing  measure  as 
upon  men.  He  only  desires  us  to  stretch 
forth  our  hands  and  gather  for  ourselves 
the  rich  joys  of  intellect,  of  nature,  of 
study,  of  action,  of  love,  and  of  usefulness 
which  He  has  poured  forth  around  us. 
Let  us  only  cast  aside  the  false,  silly  veils 
of  pr^udice  and  fashion  which  ignorance 
has  bound  about  our  eyes ;  let  us  lay  bare 
our  souls  to  God's  sunshine  of  truth  and 
love ;  let  us  exercise  the  intelligence  which 
He  has  bestowed  on  worthy  and  noble 
objects,  and  this  intelligence  may  become 
keen  as  that  of* men;  and  the  whalebone 
supports  of  drawin^room  conventionality 
withering  up,  .we  shall  stand  in  humility 
before  God,  but  proudly  and  rejoicingly 
at  the  side  of  man!  Different  always, 
but  not  less  noble,  less  richly  endowed ! 

'^  And  all  this  we  may  do  without  losing 
one  jot  of  our  womanly  spirit,  but  rather 
attain  to  these  blessed  gifts  through  a 
prayerful  and  earnest  development  of 
those  germs  of  peculiar  purity,  of  tender- 
est  delicacy  and  refinement,  with  which 
our  Father  has  so  specially  endowed  wo- 
man. Let  us  emulate,  if  you  will,  the 
strength  of  determination  which  we  ad- 
mire m  men,  their  earnestness  and  fixed- 
ness of  purpose,  their  unvarying  energy, 
their  largeness  of  vision ;  but,  let  us  never 
sigh  after  their  so-called  privUeges^  which, 
when  they  are  sifted  with  a  thoughtful 
mind,  are  found  to  be  the  mere  husks  and 
chaff  of  the  rich  grain  belonging  to  hu- 
manity,  and  not  alone  to  men."  (p.  455.) 


«54 


{Jn 


THE    PALANKEEN. 


SIR  JOHN  MAUNDBVILLB  18  not 
far  wrong  when  he  says,  *'  In  the  land 
of  Prestre  John  ben  so.  many  menrelles 
that  it  were  to  combrous  and  to  long  to 
putten  it  in  scripture  of  bokes.''  Ro- 
mance is  there  mingled  with  reality  in 
snch  delightful  proportion,  that  it  seems 
like  a  dream  come  true.  The  stories  which 
charmed  us  when  we  were  boys  are  re- 
produced in  life,  and  we  ourselves  become 
actors  in  them.  The  rosy  glow  of  our 
morning  associations  and  recollections 
transmutes  eren  common  things  into  plea- 
sures, and  for  the  time  we  are  children  in 
our  delieht 

But  the  country  needs  little  help  from 
the  imagination  to  make  it  interesting. 
There  is  the  rich  variety  of  its  tropical  na- 
ture, from  the  palms  of  Goromandel  to 
the  pines  of  the  Himmalayas ;  there  are 
the  remains  of  an  antiqui^  which  no  re- 
search has  penetrated, — wrecks  of  a  civil- 
ization that  claims  to  date  from  a  period 
when  ^  the  pyramids  built  up  with  newer 
might  ^'  la^  unhewn  in  the  quarry ;  there 
are  the  rumed  palaces  of  foreotten  kings ; 
the  old  dark  caves  and  temples  of  a  dark- 
er and  still  existing  superstition;  there 
the  later  exquisite  works  of  the  Mussul- 
man dominion,  hiding  in  the  beauty  of 
their  ruins  the  cruelty  and  tyranny  that 
built  them ;  there  are  the  marks  of  former 
conquests  cut  deep  in  memorial  institu- 
tions, and  there  is  the  great  complex  sys- 
tem, so  interwoven  with  what  is  ancient 
as  to  seem  almost  a  part  of  it,  by  which 
the  present  masters  of  India  have  linked 
themselves  to  its  people.  And  in  addition 
to  all  these  sources  of  interest  is  that  still 
greater  one  afforded  by  the  native  char- 
acter, habits  of  life,  and  the  contrasts  be- 
tween them  and  those  of  the  Anglo-Indi- 
ans. It  is  to  be  remembered,  moreover, 
that  the  native  races  of  India  differ  from 
each  other  not  less  than  the  different  peo- 
ples of  Europcf.  The  bold,  dashing,  proud, 
Rajput  of  the  Northwest  is  a  different 
being  from  the  subtle,  pliant,  and  timid 
Bengalee.  The  wild  tribes  of  the  moun- 
tains on  the  East  and  the  West, — the 
Coles  and  the  Bheels, — are  not  even  of 
the  same  blood  and  stock  as  the  soft  Mus- 
sulmen  of  the  South,  or  the  tough  Tartar 
tribes  of  the  Northern  hills.  All  these 
differences  of  race  lead  to  contrasts  of 
customs  and  manners  which  open  before 
a  traveller  an  unbounded  field  of  enter- 
taining and  curious  inquiry. 

There  are  many  modes  "of  travelling  in 


India ;  some  of  them  sad  Western  innova- 
tions. Railroads  have  already  been  be* 
gun.  Coaches  have  been  cJ^taUished  on 
some  routes,  and  the  be&t  conveyance  of 
all,  the  most  truly  Indian  of  all, — the  pa- 
lankeen,— is  being  gradually  driven  oat 
of  use  by  the  fast  spirit  of  the  age.  But 
one  who  would  see  native  life,  and  would 
really  enjoy  the  East,  should  remember 
the  Bengalee  saying,  ''  It  is  better  to  waUc 
than  to  run,  it  is  better  to  stand  than  to 
walk,  it  is  better  to  sit  than  to  stand, — 
but  to  lie  down  is  best  of  all."  He  shooJd 
not  hurry  up  the  Ganges  on  one  of  the 
slow  boats  of  the  Ganges  Steam  Naviga- 
tion Company,  from  Calcutta  to  Allaha- 
bad, with  the  steam  whistle  wakiDff 
him  out  of  every  dream. — but  he  should 
rather  travel  quietly,  with  all  the  repose 
and  dignity  of  travel,  in  the  slow,  delight- 
ful palankeen.  Then  when  he  approadies 
the  Ganges,  and  first  beholds  the  sacred 
stream  that  fiows  from  Paradise,  and  sees 
the  banyan  trees  dropping  their  pendent 
branches  into  the  waves,  or  a  grove  c^ 
dark-leaved  mangoes  reflected  in  its 
smooth  waters,  he  will  recall  the  legend 
of  the  3,500.006  holy  places  on  its  banks, 
and  will  remember  that  he  who  only  looks 
•  on  Gunga  will  obtain  all  the  fruit  that 
might  be  gained  by  visiting  each  of  these 
holy  places. 

.  The  palankeen  is  the  land  gondola  of 
the  East.  It  is  a  light  black  box,  about 
six  feet  long,  nearly  three  wide,  and  three 
in  height,  with  sliding  doors  on  each  side, 
to  be  open  or  shut  according  to  one's  fan- 
cy or  the  weather.  In  front  are  two  nar- 
row windows.  It  is  fitted  within  with  a 
leather-covered  mattress,  cushion  and  pil- 
lows, and  a  rack  for  the  feet  Beneath 
this  rack  is  a  box  for  biscuit,  ale.  candles, 
and  other  such  articles,  while  above  the 
feet  is  a  drawer,  in  which  lie  your  tele- 
scope, your  map,  and  your  portfolki,  and 
over  this  is  a  shelf  on  which  stand  yoor 
coffee  pot,  your  travelling  case,  and  the 
few  books  you  cannot  do  without.  On 
the  outside,  strapped  upon  the  top,  is 
your  gun  case,  and  perhaps  a  tin  box  con- 
taining the  things  that  could  not  be  packed 
away  within.  From  the  middle  of  each 
end  projects  a  stout  black  pole,  tipped 
vrith  silver  plates,  which  rests  upon  the 
shoulders  of  the  bearers,  who  jog  along, 
two  before  and  two  behind,  at  a  steady 
pace  of  about  three  miles  an  hour.  A  set 
of  bearers  generally  consists  of  twelve 
men.    Eight  to  carry  the  palkee,  four 


1854.] 


The  Palankeen. 


656 


and  four  by  turns ;  two,  called  banghy- 
burdars.  to  carry  the  deep  tin  cases  with 
pyramiaal  tops  which  serve  instead  of 
trunks,  and  ,two  mussalcher  to  carry  the 
mussals  or  torches  by  which  the  way  is 
lighted  in  the  night  The  men  wear  a 
doth  about  Iheir  loins,  and  this;  with  a 
pad  for  their  shoulders  and  a  tight-fitting 
skull-cap,  sometimes  exchanged  for  a  tur- 
ban, is  their  only  clothing  in  warm  wea- 
ther. When  it  grows  cold  they  put  on  a 
close  jacket,  and  short  coverings  for  their 
legs,  and  wrap  a  stout  cloth  about  their 
Moulders.  Each  set  of  bearers  is  expect- 
ed to  go  about  ten  miles. 

The  whole  system  of  travelling,  in  the 
English  portion  of  India,  is  in  the  hands 
of  the  government,  and  is  connected  with 
the  postroffice  department.  Before  set- 
ting out  on  a  journey  one  must  **  lay  a 
dawk,"  as  it  is  called;  that  is,  arrange 
with  the  government  for  a  supply  of  bear- 
ers along  the  road,  and  you  give  yourself 
up,  a  kind  of  animated  parcel,  to  be  for- 
warded according  to  direction.  For  this 
service  the  charge  is  eight  annas,  or  about 
a  quarter  of  a  dollar  a  mile,  of  which  per- 
haps half  a  cent  a  mile  goes  to  each  of 
the  bearers,  and  the  rest  is  devoured  by 
the  rapacious  post-office.  At  the  end  of 
each  stage  the  bearersgather  round  the  door 
of  the  palkee  to  beg  for  bucksheeeh,  and 
if  they  have  gone  steadily,  and  have  not 
jolted  you  by  getting  out  of  step,  you 
give  them  a  four-anna  piece  to  be  divided 
amons  them,  while  the  new  bearers  start 
off  briskly  with  you,  hoping  to  come  in  at 
the  end  of  their  stage  for  a  similar  re- 
ward. 

But  get  into  the  palkee ;  put  your  bag 
of  four-anna  pieces  under  the  pillow  to  be 
at  hand ;  the  bearers  lift  you  up  and  jog 
gently  along,  with  a  low  grunt  at  each 
step,  the  palankeen  swaying  slightly  on 
their  shoulders;  the  heat  of  the  day  is 
over  and  the  sun  is  going  down  in  a  cloud- 
less horizon ;  the  long  shadows  (all  across 
the  way ;  it  is  too  near  twilight  to  read; 
it  is  too  early  to  sleep ;  and  so,  leaving 
the  doors  of  the  palkee  wide  open  to  the 
evening  air,  you  lie  and  watch  the  night 
come  on,  while  fancy  mingles  strangely 
together  the  wonders  of  this  new  &st, 
with  the  remembrances  of  the  old  West 
There  is  no  other  way  of  travelling  like 
this  for  the  placid  quiet  of  meditation,  and 
the  steady  pleasant  flow  of  thought 

As  the  darkness  thickens,  and  the  pass- 
ing scenes  fade  into  dimness,  the  mussal- 
chee  lights  his  cotton  torch,  which  he 
keeps  wet  with  oil  poured  from  a  hollow 
bamboo  joint,  and  the  broad  smoky  flame 
glares  over  the  road.    Closing  the  door 


on  the  side  by  which  he  runs,  you  catclL 
through  the  other,  uncertain  glimpses  or 
the  rMdside.  Sometimes  the  light  loses 
itself  in  the  thick  jungle,  sometimes 
streams  away  over  the  open  plain,  some- 
times falls  on  the  encampment  of  a  party 
of  native  travellers,  or  shows  the  solitary 
figure  of  a  wandering  mendicant  At 
each  station  the  scene  is  picturesque. 
The  fresh  bearers  are  standing  ready  to 
transfer  the  palkee,  without  letting  it  rest 
on  the  ground,  from  the  shoulders  of  the 
old  relay  to  their  own ;  or,  if  not  quite 
prepared  to  start,  are  sitting  under  a 
spreading'  tree,  upon  the  platform  of  hard- 
ened earth  raised  round  its  trunk,  passrog 
their  gurgling  goorgooree  from  mouth  to 
mouth.  Even  at  a  late  hour  of  the  night 
a  party  of  curious  villagers  are  assembled 
to  watch  their  start  A  salaaming  moon- 
shee  or  clerk  of  the  post-office,  with  hu 
paper  and  inkstand  and  reed  pen  comes, 
touching  his  forehead,  to  beg  you  to  sign 
for  him  the  quittance  for  the  past  stage ; 
and  a  little  naked  boy  creeps  close  up  to 
the  palankeen  and  says  in  his  most  insin- 
uating manner,  half  whining  half  smiling, 
Sahib,  Sahib,  bucksheesh,  bucksheesh, — 
and  on  all  the  torchlight  falls,  deepening 
the  shadows,  and  flickering  with  various 
effect  over  the  faces  and  figures  of  the 
crowd. 

Again  you  set  off,  having  got  pretty 
well  woke  up  from  your  midnight  nap. 
The  bearers  start  briskly,  with  a  shout 
The  pariah  dogs  come  running  out  to 
bark,  and  going  through  the  dark  line  of 
village  huts,  in  front  of  which  the  carts 
^  are  standing^  while  the  cattle  lie  at  their 
side,  you  are  again  on  the  solitary  road. 
In  the  quiet  pauses  of  the  night,  when 
the  voices  of  the  bearers  are  still,  yon 
may  hear,  if  you  are  awake,  the  yelp  of 
the  jackal,  the  lowing  of  the  herds,  or 
the  beating  of  the  tomtom  before  some  dis- 
tant shrine,  or  on  occasion  of  some  social 
festivity. 

The  first  glimmer  of  morning  has  hard- 
ly shone,  when  the  deserted  road  begins 
again  to  be  animated  by  native  passen- 
gers. The  poor,  lean  husbandman,  with 
a  shred  of  cloth  round  his  waist,  is  going 
to  his  morning's  labor.  As  he  passes  von, 
he  stoops  down  to  take  up  some  dust, 
and  touch  his  forehead  with  it,  in  token 
of  his  humble  respect  Now  and  then 
you  meet  parties  of  sepoys,  soldiers  of  the 
East  India  Company^s  service,  distin- 
guishable by  their  air,  or  some  piece  of 
red  cloth  finery,  going  home  on  leave  of 
absence.  Some  of  them  are  mounted  on 
small,  scraggy  ponies,  with  their  worldly 
goods  done  up  in  a  bundle  that  dangles  at 


056 


The  Palankeen. 


[Jime 


their  side ;  others  toiling  along  x>n  foot, 
their  old  shoes  carefully  saved,  and  car- 
ried on  a  stick  over  their  shoulders,  and 
the  rest  of  their  property  tied  in  one  end 
of  their  turban,  and  hanging  down  their 
backs.  They  salute  you  as  you  pass, 
mistaking  you  for  one*  of  their  masters. 
There  are  men  going  along  the  road,  car- 
rying loads  of  split  bamboo,  or  bearing 
burdens  on  their  heads;  and  you. may 
chance  to  meet  a  doli,  or  light  native  pa- 
lankeen, whose  close-drawn  curtains  hide 
the  occupant  within,  while  two  attend- 
ants, with  drawn  swords,  running  at  its 
side,  only  serve  to  prove  that  the  burden 
must  be*  precious,  to  be  so  well  guarded. 
Frequently,  a  whole  family,  or  two  or 
three  families  travelling  together,  will 
come  by.  The  women  carry  the  little 
children  on  their  hips,  or  both  are  riding 
on  sleek,  hump-backed,  slender-legged 
cows,  who  are  decked  with  collars  of 
dried  grass,  ornamented  with  cowrie 
shells;  while  the  men,  wrapped  during 
the  cool  morning  in  a  long  sheet  of  cotton 
cloth,  and  with  the  ends  of  their  whi^ 
turbans  tied  under  their  chins,  so  that,  in 
the  gray  dawn,  they  look  like  ghosts  who 
have  caught  cold,  walk  along,  driving 
bullocks  laden  with  all  the  earthly  pos- 
sessions of  the  household.  The  women 
cover  their  faces  all  but  their  eyes,  and 
the  men  salaam  as  you  pass.  A  clanking 
of  chains  heard  coming  towards  you, 
warns  you  of  a  gang  of  convicts  chained 
together,  and  kept  at  labor  on  the  roads. 
A  blind  beggar  sits  under  a  tree,  and 
hearing  the  measured  tread  of  the  bear- 
ers, calls  to  you,  Ghureeb-purwan,  Pro- 
tector of  the  poor,  may  peace  rest  on 
your  cap. — Oh,  beggar!  may  your  salu- 
tation return  to  you  in  plenty.  Near  a 
town,  you  may  chance  to  meet  a  gaudy- 
looking  ekka,  or  carriage  for  one,  with 
rod  curtains  hanging  from  its  cone-shaped 
top,  and  little  brass  bells  jingling  from  it, 
drawn  by  two  fine  oxen  of  the  beautiful 
hump-backed  breed,  while  within  sits  an 
oily,  white-robed  baboo.  Under  the  trees 
is  a  party  of  travellers  cooking  their 
meal.  They  have  made  a  fireplace  of 
three  stones,  or  bricks,  and  are  baking 
their  coarse  cakes,  while  one  has  gone  to 
the  well,  not  far  off,  to  fill  his  bright  brass 
jar  with  water.  A  long  train  of  camels, 
awkward,  ungainly,  splay-footed,  evil- 
eyed  creatures,  comes  along  the  road, 
bearing  the  produce  of  the  Punjab  or  Ca- 
bool  in  their  panniers.  They  are  tied  one 
to  another  by  a  cord  fastened  to  their 
saddles,  and  the  Northern  drivers  sit  on 
their  backs,  or  walk  along  in  the  shadow 
at  their  sides.    Far  more  mteresting  than 


these  camels,  is  a  huge  elephant,his  immense 
bulk  almost  hidden  under  a  load  of  sugar- 
cane, which  he  is  bringing  from  the  field. 
Every  now  and  then  his  trunk  is  turned 
upward  to  pull  out  a  cane  for  his  private 
use ;  or  should  he  be  passing  by  a  hut, 
in  front  of  which  is  a  little  plat  of  culti- 
vation, he  neglects  his  sugar  for  the  sake 
of  pulling  up  a  fine,  tall,  juicy  stem  of 
the  castor  oil  plant,  which  he  relishes  as 
an  ambrosial  delicacy.  Or  perhi^  yoa 
may  meet  as  it  comes  creaking  slowly 
along,  a  clumsy,  two-wheeled  cart,  laden 
with  the^  poor  coal  from  the  Burdwan 
pits,  or  with  kunker  for  mending  the 
roads,  and  drawn  by  two  gray  buffa- 
loes, with  spreading,  bent-back  horns, 
like  the  buffaloes  of  the  Roman  Cam- 
pagna. 

But  of  all  the  passengers  along  the 
road  in  the  autumn,  as  the  cold  season 
comes  on,  the  most  numerous  are  pil- 
grims. The  harvest  has  been  reaped,  the 
seed  is  sown  for  the  crop  of  the  coming 
spring,  and  it  is  the  season  of  leisure. 
The  land  owner  or  laborer,  who  has 
vowed  to  make  an  offering  to  his  tutelar 
deity,  or  wishes  to  secure  the  &vor  of 
Vishnu  or  Siva,  sets  out  on  his  journey, 
sometimes  alone,  sometimes  accompanied 
by  a  part  or  the  whole  of  his  fiunily. 
Many  of  the  pilgrims  make  their  way  to 
Hurdwar,  where  the  Ganges,  fresh  from 
the  foot  of  Vishnu,  bursts  out  through 
the  rocky  barrigr  of  mountains  that  sur- 
round its  source,  and  pours  fresher  and 
less  polluted  waters  than  in  its  course  be- 
low. Hurdwar  is  a  town  of  great  sano- 
tity  in  the  eyes  of  all  good  Hindoos. 
'Temples  line  the  bank  of  the  river ;  and 
happy  is  he,  who,  having  bowed  at  the 
inner  shrine,  may  bathe  from  off  thdr 
steps,  and  wash  away,  in  the  sacred 
water,  the  secret  stains  visible  to  the  gods 
alone. 

Here  the  pilgrims  obtain  bottles  of 
the  water,  sealed  up  by  one  of  the  innu- 
merable priests,  who  are  supported  by 
the  fees  for  this  service ;  and  placing  these 
bottles  in  light  wicker  baskets,  whk^  are 
carried  slung  from  each  end  of  a  pole 
that  rests  upon  the  shoulder,  they  depart 
for  the  temple,  often  one  distant  idike 
from  Hurdwar  and  from  their  homes,  at 
which  the  offering  is  to  be  nutde.  Be- 
sides these  pilgrims,  who  make  the  jour- 
ney for  their  own  sake,  there  are  others 
who  are  hired  to  perform,  vicariously,  the 
duties  and  the  vows  of  those  whose 
strength  or  whose  inclination  is  not  equal 
to  the  effort ;  and  still  others,  who  go  to 
Hurdwar  to  get  the  holy  water  for  sale. 
Those  maki^  the  pilgrimage  to  accom- 


1854.] 


The  Palankeen. 


667 


plish  their  own  vows,  are,  however,  the 
most  numerous. 

Haying  reached  the  temple,  generallj 
one  of  special  repute,  where  the  vow  was 
to  be  fulfilled,  the  water  is  poured  over 
the  stone  image  or  emblem  of  the  god,  an 
offering  is  made  to  his  priests,  and 
then  the  pilgrims  return  home,  after 
an  absence  often  of  months  in  length, 
and  a  journey  of  many  hundreds  of 
miles. 

There  are  few  families  of  which  some 
member  has  not  travelled  on  this  errand. 
If  one  of  the  household  is  sick ;  if  a  mis- 
fortune has  fallen  upon  it ;  if  the  drought 
ruins  the  crops,  or  the  insects  eat  them ; 
if  the  cattle  die,  or  are  stolen,  the  offering 
is  vowed,  and  the  pilgrimage  is  made. 
Thousands  upon  thousands  of  pilgrims 
ai^e  travelling  every  year,  and  the  water 
of  the  sacred  stream  is  carried  all  over 
India,  from  the  foot  of  the  Himmalayas  to 
the  Temple  of  Ramiseram,  opposite  the 
hot  coast  of  Ceylon 

These  pilgrimages  are  one  of  the  chief 
means  of  spreading  civilization  among  the 
people.  The  ignorance  and  prejudice,  * 
which  are  the  inseparable  companions  of 
him  who  has  passed  all  his  days  in  one 
place,  are,  by  degrees,  shaken  off  and  got 
rid  of.  as  he  goes  away  from  the  mud 
walls  that  inclose  his  native  village  ;  and 
when  he  comes  back,  he  is  surprised  to 
find  how  small  a  portion  of  the  world  the 
familiar  inclosure  really  contains.  Not  a 
pilgrim  can  go  to  Hurdwar,  without  see- 
ing there,  b^ide  the  temples,  and  the  im- 
ages, and  the  devotees,  the  head  works  of 
the  great  canal,  by  which  the  English  are 
about  to  employ  live  sixths  of  the  water 
of  the  sacred  stream  in  irrigating  four 
million  acres  of  land,  thus  securing  the 
population  of  three  times  that  extent  of 
territory  from  the  danger  of  famine,  and 
giving  to  the  current  of  the  Ganges  a 
true,  in  place  of  an  imaginary  sanctity. 
Many  of  them  must  pass  along  the  line 
of  the  canal  by  Koorkj,  the  most  flourish- 
ing station  in  North  Western  India,  and 
must  see  the  railroad  upon  which  the  ma- 
terials of  construction  of  the  works  are 
carried,  and  the  fifteen  great  solid  arches 
of  the  aqueduct  over  the  Solani  River,  and 
must  behold  the  peace  and  prosperity  that 
extend  with  the  extending  canal.  Others 
nmst  go  over  the  great  roads  (unfortu- 
nately still  too  few),  by  which  the  Eng- 
lish have  linked  some  of  the  chief  cities 
of  their  possessions  together,  and  may 
meet  travellers  like  themselves  from  oth- 
er quarters  of  the  land,  and  watch  with 
them  the  trains  of  camels  and  bullocks 
bearing  the  produce  of  the  interior  to  the 


river  ports,  or  bringing  back  other  goods 
in  return. 

The  native  who  has  seen  such  sights  as 
these,  and  who  has  talked  in  the  roadside 
caravanserais  with  the  strangers  who 
meet  there,  and  has  gone  wondering 
through  the  bazaars  at  Delhi  or  Benares, 
will  return  to  his  little,  distant  home,' 
with  his  apprehensions  quickened,  and  his 
faculties  enlarged,  and  ready  to  say,  to 
the  envy  of  less  travelled  villagers,  "  Stand 
aside,  0  man,  for  I  am  more  learned 
than  thou  art,  and  have  seen  more 
things." 

But  besides  such  pilgrims  as  these, 
there  are  others — the  wandering  and  men- 
dicant members  of  religious  orders,  like 
the  friars  of  Europe.  They  chiefly  be- 
long to  two  great  orders :  one,  formed  of 
the  worshippers  of  Siva,  the  most  detest- 
able of  Hindu  deities,  and  the  other,  fol- 
lowers of  Vishnu,  the  most  attractive. of 
the  gods.  The  first  are  called  Gosains. 
and  the  latter  Beiragees.  These  great  re^ 
ligious  orders  are  one  of  the  most  curious 
developments  of  Hinduism.  A  man  of 
any  caste  may  join  them ;  the  service  of 
the  god  breaks  down  the  barrier  between 
Brahmin  and  Sudra.  In  these  societies, 
and  in  these  alone,  they  meet  on  equal 
terms.  Each  member  of  the  order  is  at- 
tached to  some  special  temple,  and  is  the 
disciple  of  some  high  priest.  Under  the 
direction  of  this  spiritual  guide,  they  wan- 
der over4ndia,  from  one  holy  place  to  an- 
other, visiting  the  temples  of  the  god  to 
whose  service  they  are  devoted.  Every 
where  they  are  received  as  holy  men ; 
they  are  entertained  at  the  temples  which 
they  visit ;  the  gifts  of  the  pious  and  the 
timid,  desirous  of  favor  or  of  pardon,  are 
bestowed  upon  them ;  and  tbe^  oflen  re- 
turn, after  wanderings  that  extend  over 
years,  with  largo  accessions  to  the  treasu- 
ry of  their  peculiar  shrine.  They  some- 
times travel  three  or  four  together ;  they 
have  strings  of  beads  round  their  necks, 
rosaries  in  one  hand,  and  a  long  staff  in 
the  other,  and  no  clothing  but  a  saffron 
cloth  about  their  loins.  The  looseness,  of 
the  regulations  of  the  orders,  sometimes 
affords  an  opportunity  for  dissolute  and 
*  vagabond  fellows  to  assume  the  profession 
of  sanctity ;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
Colonel  Sleeman — and  there  are  few  men 
who  know  more  about  the  people  of  India 
than  he — says,  that  many  of  these  men- 
dicants are  '^  intelligent  men  of  the  world," 
with  stores  of  information  acquired  on 
their  lon^  journeys. 

There  is  still  another  class  of  religious 
travellers  that  one  sometimes  meets,  the 
devotees  to  the  most  degrading  and  pain- 


658 


The  Palankeen. 


[June 


fill  form  of  superstition,  the  martyrs  of  a 
miserable  faith.  They  are  men  who  have 
devoted  themselves  to  self-inllicted  tor- 
tore,  tormenting  themselves  now  in  the 
hope  of  compensation  hereafter.  One  hot 
day.  as  I  was  travelling  along  a  dusty, 
heated  road,  not  far  from  Gazipur,  one  or 
these  poor  wretches  passed  my  palankeen. 
He  was  covered  with'  dirt  and  dust,  his 
hair  was  hanging^  long  and  grimy,  about 
his  shoulders;  his  eves  were  bloodshot, 
and  his  whole  air  wild  and  intense.  He 
was  dragging  behind  him,  by  a  string  tied 
round  his  waist,-  a  very  small  wooden 
cart,  not  larger  than  a  child's  toy.  He 
walked  for  a  few  steps,  then  threw  him- 
himself  flat  on  the  ground,  stretched  out 
his  hands,  marked  with  them  the  extent 
of  his  reach,  and  then  rising,  walked  for- 
ward to  the  line  his  fingers  nad  made  in 
the  dust,  and  threw  himself  down  again. 
And  so  he  was  going  on,  from  some  place 
of  pilgrimage  to  another,  repeating  the 
same  action,  mile  after  mile,  hour  after 
hour,  day  after  day,  sleeping  in  the  dust, 
eating  only  the  food  which  charity  and 
pity  might  put  for  him  into  his  little 
cart.  What  waste  of  energy !  What  des- 
perate exertion  of  resolution !  What  de- 
gradation of  reason !  What  bitterness  of 
life !  Imagination  stands  baffled  at  the 
entrance  to  this  strange  nature.  Were 
there  splendid  visions  of  future  bliss, 
which  visited  this  man's  bewildered  mind, 
and  lured  him  along  his  exhausting  way  ? 
Or  was  it  some  unseen  and  fearful  fury, 
the  awful  figure  of  some  past  sin,  that 
lashed  him  on  his  journey?  Was  it 
partly  to  be  the  wonder  of  men  and  little 
children  that  he  cared  ?  or  was  it  alone 
to  bo  the  approved  of  the  gods  that  he  de- 
sired? Was  it  the  terrible  freak  of  a 
mad  fancy,  or  the  slow,  hard,  often-re- 
jected conclusion  of  overburdened  reason, 
that  led  him  to  the  accomplishment  of 
such  a  task  ?  Who  can  tell  ?  As  long 
as  he  was  in  sight,  I  watched  him  from 
my  palankeen ;  and  even  after  I  could  no 
longer  distinguish  his  figure,  a  little  cloud 
of  dust  marked  his  passage  along  the 
road. 

Palankeen  travelling  is  not  without  its  , 
'  own  peculiar  incidents  and  varieties.  One 
of  the  bearers  may  slip,  and  in  stum- 
bling trip  his  companion,  so  that  both 
will  fall,  letting  down  the  palkee  in  front 
or  behind  with  a  great  pitch  and  jolt, 
which  is  startling  if  it  happens  to  come  in 
the  middle  of  the  night.  Sometimes  the 
bearers  get  quarrelling  together;  those 
who  are  iii  advance  upbraiding  those  in 
the  rear  with  being  slow,  and  clumsy, 
and  not  bearing  their  fair  share  of  the 


load,  till  the  loud  voices  wake  you  op, 
and  then  putting  your  head  out  of  the 
door  you  bid  them  "Choop"  or  "be 
quiet,''  if  they  want  to  get  buckaheesh, 
and  they  are  still  till  their  stage  is  over. 
Sometimes,  if  for  instance  you  are  delayed 
on  the  way,  and  the  fresh  relay  of  bearers 
who  ought  to  be  waiting  for  you  get  tired 
of  sitting  out  through  the  night,  they  go 
off,  and  when  you  arrive  at  the  station 
are  not  to  be  found.  Then  you  send  the 
village  watchman  to  call  up  the  responsi- 
ble official  head-man  of  the  little  place, 
who  soon  comes  shuffling  along  in  his 
slippers,  arranging  the  folds  of  his  turban 
and  rubbing  the  sleep  out  of  his  eyes,  to 
attend  to  the  wants  of  the  Sahib.  He 
gives  his  orders,  and  in  a  few  minutes, 
after  a  vigorous  resistance  of  words,  the 
men  are  dragged  out  of  the  huts  where 
they  had  taken  shelter,  and  with  their 
nap  unfinished,  have  to  put  their  reluc- 
tant shoulders  under  the  pole.  The  little 
mud  town,  with  its  quiet  thus  disturbed ; 
the  watchman,  his  cotton  chudderwrap- 
j)ed  round  his  head  and  about  his  body, 
moving  spectrally  in  and  out  of  the  shad- 
ows cast  by  the  moonlight;  the  village 
police  banging  with  stout  staves  at  the 
doors  of  the  huts,  and  shouting  for  the 
bearers  to  get  up  and  come  out,  the  group 
of  amused  lookers-on  gathered  round  the 
fire  that  has  been  lighted  at  the  side  of 
the  palkee ;  the  head  man  of  the  place 
standing  by  with  obsequious  politeness ; 
and  at  length  the  jolting  start  and  fare- 
well while  the  town  is  left  to  sink  back 
into  the  stillness  of  the  autumn  night  ;— 
all  these  make  up  a  little  night-piece  like 
a  thousand  that  hang  ready  for  framing 
in  Nature's  great  Eastern  picture-gal- 
lery. 

One  Sunday  morning  as  I  was  travel- 
ling in  Oude,  where  the*  country  being 
still  under  a  native  ^vemment,  all  ar- 
rangements for  travelhng  are  far  less  reg- 
ular and  certain  than  in 'the  English  pos- 
sessions ;  I  was  roused  by  the  palkee's 
being  suddenly  set  down  on  the  road,  and 
upon  opening  the  door,  saw  the  bearers 
running  away  across  the  fields.  I  called 
to  them  to  come  back,  but  they  ran  only 
the  faster,  leaving  the  palankeen,  the 
torch-bearer,  and  myself  together.  We 
were  in  the  midst  of  a  fine  grove  of  old 
mango  trees,  through  which  the  road  ran. 
At  a  little  distance  was  a  cluster  of  huts, 
out  of  which  some  men  loitered  up  to  us 
to  see  what  was  the  matter.  They  were 
of  little  help,  for  spite  of  promises  of 
rupees  they  would  not  lift  the  palkee.  and 
professed  to  be  afraid  of  losing  caste  if 
they  carried  it    It  was  a  practical  illufl- 


1B54.] 


The  PaktnkeoL 


699 


tration  of  the  miserable  iDefiSciency  en- 
forced by  the  system.  Some  of  them, 
however,  were  willing  to  hunt  up  bearers, 
if  any  could  bo  found,  in  the  nearest  vil- 
lages, and,  lighting  a  cigar,  I  sat  down  on 
the  palkee  with  Mohammedan  willingness 
to  wait  for  whoever  might  turn  up.  Be- 
fore long  we  heard  the  creaking  of  solid 
wdoden  wheels,  and  a  cart  came  up  the 
road,  escorted  by  a  party  of  sepoys.  The 
soldiers  were  eager  to  be  of  service,  and 
some  of  them  went  off  on  the  tracks  of 
the  runaway  bearers.  The  morning  was 
delightfully  clear  and  fresh.  The  sun, 
just  risen,  sparkled  on  the  leaves  of  the 
trees  which  were  covered  with  dew.  The 
mussalchee  had  lighted  a  fire  of  dry  sticks 
over  which  he  crouched,  and  at  his  side 
was  a  chilly  native  from  the  cluster  of 
huts  steadily  smoking  his  hubble-bubble, 
while  the  sepoys  who  remained,  stood  by 
in  red  coats,  drying  the  night^damp  off 
their  muskets  in  the  blaze.  By-and-bye 
the  others  returned  unsuccessful,  but,  be- 
fore setting  out  on  their  way  again,  they 
carried  the  palkee  into  the  inclosure  round 
which  the  neighboring  huts  were  built, 
that  it  might  be  safer  there  than  in  the 
road,  and  then  went  off,  taking  a  note 
from  me  to  the  nearest  dawk-master, 
some  thirty  miles  away.  An  hour  or  two 
more  went  by,  while  I  sat  watching  the 
course  of  life  in  the  little  village,  and  in 
my  turn  giving  occupation  to  the  curiosi- 
ty of  its  inhabitants.  One  of  the  most 
hospitable  bi-ought  out  a  charpoy,  a  sort 
of  bed  made  of  ropes  stretched  upon  a 
frame  and  supported  by  four  short  legs, 
which  he  placed  under  a  large  tree  that 
stood  in  the  inclosure,  and  invited  me  to 
share  it  with  him,  while  he  asked  ques- 
tions, few  of  which  I  could  answer,  a  mis- 
fortune which  he  apparently  attributed  to 
deafness  rather  than  to  my  ignorance.  It 
was  a  pretty  place,  with  a  line  air  of  in- 
dolence about  all  its  people;  even  the 
cattle  seemed  to  feel  idle ;  and  the  crows 
were  more  impudent  than  usual,  as  if 
they  knew  no  one  ever  took  the  trouble 
to  punish  them ;  wild  pigeons  were  cooing 
lazily  in  the  trees ;  and  there  seemed  to 
be  no  work  for  any  one  to  do,  except  for 
two  men  who  cooked  their  breakmst  in 
one  corner  of  the  yard,  and  for  some  wo- 
men who  went  out  to  get  water  with 
their  jars  upon  their  heads.  In  the 
course  of  the  forenoon  one  of  the  villagers 
who  had  gone  off  to  hunt  for  men  return- 
ed, bringing  with  him  one  bearer  and  five 
coolies ;  but  the  coolies  were  of  no  use,  as 
they  only  carry  burdens  on  their  heads, 
and  do  not  know  how  and  could  not  be 
persuaded  to  learn  to  carry  a  palankeen 


on  their  shoulders.  The  afternoon  had 
begun,  when  at  length  another  of  the 
messengers  came  with  five  bearers,  who, 
with  the  one  arrived  before,  made  up  a 
party  large  enough  to  get  on  with,  and 
we  bade  good-bye  to  the  huts  of  Kotera. 

Such  are  some  of  the  unexpected  inci- 
dents of  palankeen  journeys.  Not  much 
in  themselves ;  but,  on  that  very  account 
all  the  more  characteristic  of  the  mode  of 
travelling.  To  be  delayed  for  a  day  at 
Kotera  was  a  pleasant  experience,  and  the 
palankeen  is  rarely  accountable  for  any 
worse  accident. 

On  some  of  the  main  roads  a  system  of 
''horse  dawk,"  as  it  is  called,  has  been 
established,  and  it  is  a  proof  of  the  extent 
of  travel  in  India,  that  a  year  or  two  since 
a  company  was  formed  for  the  purpose 
of  competing  with  the  government  in  the 
supply  of  horses  and  carriages,  such  as 
they  are,  for  the  convenience  of  the  pub- 
lic. If  you  have  a  long  and  dull  piece  of 
road  to  eot  over,  it  is  well  enough  to  save 
time  in  tnis  way.  You  have  your  palkee 
fastened  upon  a  four-wheeled  truck  with- 
out springs,  and  with  one  horse  get  along 
much  faster  than  with  eight  men.  It  is  a 
sort  of  compromise  between  the  East  and 
the  West.  The  horses  are  for  the  most 
part  vicious  and  half-broken,  and  make  a 
great  fuss  about  starting.  They  back  and 
plunge,  while  the  turbaned  driver  shrieks 
and  snaps  his  whip,  and  half  a  dozen 
naked,  shouting  natives  push  at  the  wheels 
and  pull  at  the  horse's  mouth,  and  try  to 
keep  him  from  upsetting  the  truck,  or 
from  turning  it  down  the  bank  at  the  side 
of  the  road.  When  at  length  a  start  is. 
made,  if  it  be  not  a  false  one,  the  horse  is 
kept  at  a  good  pace,  and  every  thing  on 
the  road, — men,  women,  children,  carts, 
elephants,  processsions, — all  have  to  give 
way  to  the  truck.  The  driver  has  a 
small  brass  horn,  like  a  postillion's, 
hung  round  his  neck,  and  when  he 
sees  any  thing  in  front  blows  it  with 
a  sharp,  shrill  sound,  that  means,  "A 
Sahib  is  coming.  Stand  out  of  his 
way."  One  day  as  I  was  coming  along 
the  road  that  leads  to  Delhi  from  the 
north,  travelling  after  this  fashion,  the 
driver  blew  his  horn  to  warn  a  native 
whose  heavily  laden  cart  was  dragging 
along  through  the  sand,  that  he  must  get 
out  from  the  middle  of  the  track.  The 
man  tried  to  make  his  bullocks  pull  to 
one  side,  but  they  preferred  to  keep  the 
best  of  the  road,  and  our  truck  was 
brought  to  a  stand.  The  driver  sprang 
from  his  box,  covered  the  offender  with  a 
heap  of  abuse — and  Hindu  abuse  is  more 
rapid,  voluble,  and  vituperative  even  than 


660 


Notes  from  my  Knapsack. 


[Jane 


Italian — and  laid  on  the  back  of  the  as- 
tonished carter  the  blows  that  should 
have  fallen  on  his  beasts.  The  beat- 
ing was  over  before  I  could  interfere.  We 
drove  on,  and  the  indignant  native  stood 
looking  after  us,  shouting  out  safe  curses, 
with  his  affection  for  the  Burra  Bibi,  or 
Great  Lady  as  the  East  India  Company 
is  called,  somewhat  diminished  by  his  ex- 
perience of  the  manner  in  which  this 
petty  official  of  hers  had  exercised  the 
authority  she  had  entrusted  to  him.  I 
do  not  remember  ever  seeing  blows  given 
by  one  Hindu  to  another,  though  nothing 
was  commoner  than  to  see  them  quarrel- 
ling and  very  angry,  except  in  cases  like 
this  where  they  were  exercising  transmit- 
ted authority,  or  where  they  fancied  that 
they  were  doing  a  service  to  a  Sahib. 
Hindu  officials  of  a  petty  grade  are  ready 
enough  to  air  their  honors,  and  to  esteem 
it  a  privilege  to  imitate  the  faults  of  their 
superiors.  The  worst  oppression  in  India 
is  that  of  bad  native  subordinate  officers, 
whose  petty  tyrannies  are  all  the  more 
cruel  from  being  committed  on  their  own 
race,  and  all  the  worse  in  their  consequen- 
ces, from  being  supposed  by  the  sufi&rers 
to  derive  their  bitterness  from  the  rule  of 


the  foreign  rulers  of  the  land.  The 
miseries  sprin^ng  from  a  proconsular 
government  exist  even  when  the  procon- 
sul is  virtuous. 

After  one  of  these  rapid  horse  journeys, 
however  agreeable  it  might  be  as  a  varie- 
ty, I  always  used  to  come  back  with 
pleasure  to  the  old.  quiet,  "  bearer  "  dawk, 
if  there  were  nothing  to  see  during  the 
day  time,  and  one  were  tired  of  *'  holding 
the  sessions  of  sweet  silent  thought,**  one 
could  always  read.  In  the  cool  of  the 
morning  or  the  evening  it  was  charming 
to  take  a  walk  along  the  road,  and  when 
travelling  with  a  compi^nion,  to  join  com- 
pany with  him  during  these  best  parts  of 
the  day.  And  at  night,  if  sleep  would 
not  come,  though  wooed  by  the  drowsy 
sound  of  the  bearers'  low  and  regularly 
cadenccd  sing-song,  one  could  run  forward 
and  lose  themselves  in  the  solitude  of  the 
road,  and  then  turning,  watch  the  pretty 
effect  of  the  torch-lighted  palkee  coming 
up  from  the  distance. 

After  travelling  more  than  a  thousand 
miles  in  my  palankeen,  I  felt  in  parting 
from  it,  as  if  giving  up  one  of  the  most 
characteristic  and  pleasant  experiences  of 
life  in  India. 


NOTES  FROM  MY  KNAPSACK. 

'  NUMBER   IV. 


ILUtCB  lUEXBWSD— IVAMA— SKNOUTA— NOBTHBB— flAir  FSBMAlfDO— ARBOLXDO  DB  U»  AKOILOe  — niSKTS  DSL 
TAJA— A  CHA8K— DIALOOUB— PAMAOB  QF  THX  AXAMOB  AND  BABOrOfr- OAriTin.AnOX  OF  BANTA  BOIA— 
TBOPmXS— MININO — ^DBAMATIO  AMD  DIPLOMATia 


ON  the  morning  of  the  6th  of  October, 
the  bugles  sounded  the  reveille  at 
two  o'clock.  The  head  of  the  column 
under  General  Shields  commenced  the 
movement,  when  the  tail  of  the  great 
bear  (not  the  "  uraa  major  "  of  our  com- 
mand) was  swung  round  perpendicular 
to  the  horizon,  and  the  constellation  of 
Bruin  seemed  to  bo  taking  a  leap  towards 
the  zenith,  and  when  every  star  in  the 
firmament  was  glittering  with  the  lus- 
trous brilliancy  that  precedes  the  dawn. 
The  pale  crescent  of  the  moon  was  just 
visible ;  its  luminous  convexity  modestly 
inclined  downwards,  as  if  conscious  that 
its  light  was  borrowed,  and  it  was  but 
honest  to  confess  the  corn. 

For  a  mile  or  two  our  route  was  traced 
through  a  thick  growth  of  mezquit ;  the 
road  then  emerged  upon  an  open  prairie, 
and  for  a  distance  of  twenty  miles,  the 


dead  level  of  the  plain  was  almost  un- 
broken. Nothing  but  the  long  and  coarse 
grass,  scorched  to  a  crisp,  met  the  eye  for 
many  an  hour.  Here  and  there  a  tree 
rose  mysteriously  from  the  earth,  but  the 
phenomenon  was  of  rare  occurrence.  Ten 
or  twelve  miles  from  Presidio  encamp- 
ment, solitary  and  alone  in  the  vast 
desert,  a  fragmentary  relic  of  another 
mission  still  stood  as  a  monument  of  the 
ubiquitous  zeal  and  industry,  but  crumb- 
ling and  decaying  power  of  the  "  Order 
of  Jesus."  The  irrigating  canals  had  not 
yet  wholly  disappeared,  and  traversed  the 
plain  in  all  directions  ;  but  their  fructify- 
mg  eifects  were  no  longer  visible  in  the 
waving  fields  of  grain,  and  the  v.ist  store- 
houses in  which  were  garnered  up  the 
abundant  products  of  the  earth:  The 
hum  of  human  life  is  there  no  longer 
heard ;  the  shepherd  no  longer  "  pipes  in 


1854.] 


NoitB  from' my  Knapicick. 


661 


the  liberal  lUr ; "  flocks  and  herds  no  loni- 
ger  bound  over  the  plain,  nor  the  cattle 
upon  a  thousand  hills ;  and  this  region  so 
lately  the  scene  of  active  life,  and  which 
once  knew  so  many  of  the  busy  and  the 
gay,  will  perhaps  know  them  no  more  for 
ever. 

As  we  slowly  pursued  our  weary  way, 
many  miles  ahead  in  the  vast  expanse  of 
barrenness,  there  appeared  a  grove  of 
lofty  trees,  whose  rich  dark  foliage  beau- 
tifully contrasted  with  the  lifeless  color 
of  the  prairie  grass.  The  road  winds 
now  to  the  right,  and  now  to  the  left,  and 
you  tracQ  its  sinuosities  with  an  anxious 
eye,  lest  it  may  perchance  wander  away 
from  the  oasis  in  the  distance.  As  you 
advance,  an  extensive  cornfield  suddenly 
presents  itself,  and  an  irrigating  dyke 
with  running  water  is  such  a  temptation 
to  your  weary  and  famished  beast^  that 
perhaps  before  you  are  aware  of  it,  his 
nostrils  are  plunged  into  the  refreshing 
stream.  A  mile  or  two  farther,  and  you 
perceive  a  collection  of  white  objects  in 
the  midst  of  the  grove  upon  which  your 
eyes  have  been  so  long  fastened,  which  in 
a  few  minutes  assumes  the  forms  of 
houses,  and  the  village  of  San  Juan  de 
Nava.  or  as  it  is  commonly  called  Nava, 
is  before  you. 

This  little  town  consists  entirely  of  one 
story  houses,  built  of  adobe,  with  thatch- 
ed roofs,  and  presents  a  neat  and  pic- 
turesque appearance.  It  eon  tains  proba- 
bly about  six  hundred  inhabitants ;  many 
of  the  buildings  are  unoccupied;  many 
are  untenable,  and  more  fast  becoming  so. 
The  streets  are  almost  frightfully  ^uiet^ 
no  bustle — no  activity — no  people  visible 
abroad,  though  many  eyes  were  peering 
at  us  from  the  window  gratings.  In  the 
whole  town  there  were  but  four  persons 
to  be  seen  in  the  streets ;  two  of  these 
were  fabricating  a  Mexican  cart — the  sim- 
plest machine,  perhaps,  ever  invented  ex- 
cept a  Mexican  plough — and  two  were  en- 
gaged in  twisting  what  they  call  a  co- 
brista,  or  hair  rope.  Within  doors,  the 
women  who  were  not  idle  were  generally 
employed  in  weaving  their  aerapia,  or 
blankets,  or  spinning  the  raw  material 
with  a  hand  spindle.  The  process  is  of 
course  slow  and  tedious ;  and  hence  the 
enormously  high  prices  of  the  fabrics, 
compared  with  those  to  which  we  are  ac- 
customed. What  would  one  of  the  Lowell 
girls  think  of  such  an  exhibition  of  home 
manufactures?  And  yet  the  people  of 
the  United  States,  with  all  their  enter^ 

Erise  and  skill,  would  probably  now  be 
ut  little  in  advance  of  the  Mexicans  in 
all  the  useful  and  industrial  arts,  if  the 


felo  de  »e  doctrines  of  free  trade  had  di- 
rected the  policy  of  the  government  for 
the  last  thirty  years.  But  for  Mr.  Clay, 
and  the  system  which  he  originated  ana 
developed,  our  independence  would  prac- 
tically produce  little  more  than  an  annual 
frolic,  and  like  the  colonies  we  should 
still  be  in  bondage  to  Great  Britain,  or, 
like  our  Republican  neighbor,  the  vassal 
of  ignorance  and  imbecility. 

The  plaza  of  Nava  is  quite  spacious; 
the  only  building  fronting  it  worthy  of 
mention  is  the  church,  which  is  a  rude  struc- 
ture not  yet  completed,  but  already  bear- 
ing marks  of  decay.  We  took  the  liberty  of 
entering  one  of  the  houses,  and  were  re- 
ceived with  civility.  The  furniture  was 
very  simple ;  and  besides  a  few  stools  and 
an  apology  for  a  table,  we  saw  a  full- 
length  figure  of  the  Saviour  upon  the 
cross,  and  a  few  Roman  picture-books, 
manuscripts,  &c.  We  here  found  a  young 
seflorita — perhaps  scarcely  fifteen — under 
the  process  of  her  toilet,  and  a  more  in- 
teresting or  bewitchingly  fascinating  being, 
seldom  greets  the  eye  of  the  wanderer  in 
any  country.  Above  the  waist  she  wore 
nothing  but  her  chemise.  Her  arms  were 
bare,  admirably  rounded,  and  not  unwor- 
thy of  the  attractive  developments  which 
they  encircled.  Her  throat  was  beauti- 
fully chiselled,  and  her  neck  rose  with 
grace  and  stateliness,  while  dazzling  love- 
liness was  enthroned  upon  her  brow.  Her 
eyes  were  dark  and  piercing.  They  look- 
ed indeed  as  if  they  might  have  been 
stolen  from  the  sun,  or  forged  in  Erebus 
with  the  fire  of  Prometheus.  As  we  en- 
tered with  careless  indifference,  she  seem- 
ed to  resent  our  intrusion  with  a  glance 
of  haughty  scorn,  and  before  the  braiding 
of  her  long,  lustrous,  sable  locks,  was 
completed,  she  darted  from  the  room,  with 
oficnded  pride  and  unconcealed  passion 
flashing  from  her  eyes.  We  saw  her  no 
-more,  but  it  was  pleasant  to  observe  how 
naturally  the  old  lady,  as  soon  as  the 
young  one  had  departed,  took  up  the  head 
6f  a  child,  and  began  levying  the  usual 
poll  tax  with  gratifying  success. 

With  possibly  a  few  exceptions,  the 
people  are  miserably  poor,  and  extremely 
Ignorant.  Their  education  consists  chiefly 
in  a  knowledge  of  the  ritual,  and  of  the 
simplest  doctrines  of  the  Roman  Church. 
One  of  the  inhabitants  informed  us  that 
the  people  of  San  Fernando  and  the  Pre- 
sidio, are  fond  of  amusements,  dissipation, 
fandangoes,  and  so  on,  but  that  those  of 
Nava  are  quiet  and  domestic,  satisfied  if 
permitted  to  mind  their  own  business  in 
peace.  The  latter  branch  of  the  proposi- 
tion may  be  true,  as  the  crops  in  the 


682 


N(^9  from  my  Knapmkk. 


P" 


Ticinity  are  fine,  indicating  good  soil  and 
fiiithful  labor.  Hundreds  of  acres,  how- 
ever, of  the  prairie  around,  through  which 
irrigating  ditches  may  be  traced,  are  now 
lying  uncultivated. 

There  was  something  peculiarly  strik- 
ing, in  the  extreme  quiet  which  prevail- 
,  ed  during  this  day's  march — the  first  in 
tlie  enemy's  oountry.  There  appeared  to 
be  hardly  a  single  man  along  the  whole 
line,  who  had  life  or  vivacity  enough  to 
get  up  even  a  whistle.  Two  or  three 
were  observed  to  attempt  some  very 
grave  airs,  but  their  hearts  or  their  lungs 
failed  th^m,  and  they  soon  relapsed  into 
the  sober  suUenness  of  sorrow.  They 
trod  along  through  the  heat  and  dust, 
more  like  martyrs  to  some  inexorable 
fate,  or  captives  led  to  execution,  than 
like  volunteer  champions  in  a  war  of  in- 
vasion for  ^^  indemnity  for  the  past  and 
security  for  the  future."  The  wrongs 
they  seemed  to  realize  were  personal 
rather  than  national,  and  for  these  there 
appeared  to  be  no  desire  for  redress.  Not 
a  joke,  not  a  laugh,  not  a  song,  hardly  a 
curse,  echoed  along  the  column.  The 
procession  moved  with  the  decorum  of  a 
funeral,  and  could  hardly  have  been  taken 
for  the  march  of  a  triumphant  army,  bent 
on  victory  and  conquest  Each  man  toil- 
ed and  sweated  on,  too  conscious  of  its 
folly  from  the  long  visages  around,  to 
look  for  sympathy  to  his  comrades,  and 
too  much  disgusted  with  the  cud  of  bitter 
fancies  to  seek  for  consolation  in  himselfl 
It  occurred  to  me  that  if  a  few  of  the  re- 
flections of  this  day  were  written  out, 
they  would  be  quite  as  amusing  and  in- 
structive, in  illustrating  the  "  uncomfort- 
ableness  of  patriotism,"  as  Charles  Lamb's 
meditations  on  the  "  inconveniences  of  be- 
ing hanged."  The  thermometer  was  at 
90"  Fahrenheit,  during  most  of  the  day. 

About  midnight  one  of  the  celebrated 
"  Northers "  of  these  regions,  bom  of  a 
sephyr  and  an  iceberg,  swept  over  our 
encampment  with  the  most  disastrous 
consequences  to  tents  and  sleepers.  Tent- 
cords  snapped;  tent-poles  trembled  and 
tottered,  and  tents  tumbled  bodily  to  the 
earth.  Many  fell  directly  over  their  in- 
mates, who  grateful  for  the  additional 
supply  of  covering,  philosophically  con- 
tinued their  shmibers,  while  others  less 
fortunate  were  exposed  to  the  piercing 
and  pitilessL  winds,  in  a  state  of  almost 
primitive  nudity,  shivering,  shouting,  ra- 
ging, swearing,  grumbling,  and  doing 
every  thing,  except  repairing  their  mis- 
haps. Even  those  whose  tents  resisted 
the  blast,  were  almost  frozen  by  the  sud- 
den change  of  temperature,  and  when  re- 


veille was  beaten,  the  camp  was  in  a  state 
of  eeneral  disgust  and  consternation.  The 
Arkansas  people  were  in  the  greatest  dis- 
tress. Some  were  without  shoes,  some 
without  coats  or  those  of  cotton  merely, 
and  thus  hatless,  bootless,  coatless — u- 
roost  shirtless,  many  were  exposed  to  the 
frigidity  of  42°  Fahrenheit 

As  we  passed  out  of  camp,  we  observed 
a  group  of  men  employed  in  diggii^  a 
grave  for  one  of  their  comrades.  The 
corpse  wrapped  in  a  blanket,  was  in  their 
midst,  and  around  were  a  few  idle  Mexi- 
cans, ready  doubtless  to  plunder  the  body 
of  its  scanty  covering  as  soon  as  the  army 
disappeared. 

The  entire  population  of  Nava  appa- 
rently came  forth  to  witness  our  depar- 
ture through  town,  though  it  was  hardly 
sunrise.  Men,  women,  maidens  and  chil- 
dren, were  ranged  on  each'  side  of  the 
streets,  and  were  evidently  quite  willing 
to  practise  that  precept  of  hospitality 
which  enjoins  speeding  the  parting  guest. 
By  a  blunder  of  some  of  our  leaders,  the 
column  became  divided  in  leaving  the 
town,  so  that  the  march  of  to-day  was 
-effected  by  two  routes.  In  an  enemy's 
country  such  an  operation  might  lead  to 
fatal  results,  but  luckily  this  instance  was 
attended  with  no  disaster.  The  oountry 
for  nearly  the  whole  distance  between 
Nava  and  San  Fernando,  seems  to  have 
been  heretofore  under  cultivation,  though 
fields  of  growing  grain  are  now  found 
onl^  in  the  vidmty  of  the  towns.  Irri- 
gating canals  were  intersecting  the  road 
at  various  points,  all  leading  from  the 
Rio  Escandido,  a  small  stream  winding 
around  the  town  of  San  Fernando.  The 
day's  march  was  excessively  disagreeable, 
from  the  extreme  cold,  the  violent  wind, 
and  the  immense  volumes  of  dust  The 
troops  passed  through  the  town  and  en- 
camped about  three  miles  beyond. 

The  commanding  general,  with  his  train 
of  attach^  was  conducted' on  his  arrival 
to  a  building  recently  occupied  as  quar- 
ters by  Capt  Juan  Galan  of  the  Mex- 
ican army,  who  had  very  magnanimously 
abdicated  a  few  days  since.  The  room 
was  furnished  with  the  taste  and  in 
the  style  of  a  barber's  shop,  the  walls 
being  profusely  adorned  with  coarsely 
lithographed  prints  of  ''Emma."  "Ro- 
salie," Alice,"  &c.  &c.  A  hanger  on 
of  the  camp,  in  the  capacity  of  b^f  con- 
tractor, trader,  and  any  thing  else  by 
which  cash  may  be  acquired,  had  caused 
coffee  and  other  refreshments  to  bo  pre- 
pared here  for  General  W.  and  the  Quar- 
termaster, the  good-will  of  those  func- 
tionaries being  of  importance. 


1854.] 


Jiotes  from  my  Knapsack. 


663 


The  town  of  San  Fernando  de  Rosas 
contains  about  three  thousand  mhab- 
itants ;  the  houses  are  generally  low  and 
unpretending,  and  of  the  usual  material — 
adobe.  The  church,  which  fronts  the 
principal  plaza,  is  a  neatly  whitewashed 
edifice,  of  an  unusually  fair  exterior,  and 
at  a  distance,  as  seen  through  the  sur- 
rounding foliage,  might  be  mistaken  for 
one  in  New  England.  It  has  an  arched 
belfry,  surmounted  by  a  dome,  bearing 
the  universal  Roman  symbol  of  priest- 
craft and  salvation.  On  the  opposite  side 
of  the  plaza  from  the  church,  there  is  an 
extensive  pil^  of  buildings,  designed  and 
once  occupied  as  barracks  for  troops.  The 
sentry-boxes,  gun-racks,  and  other  mili- 
tary appendages,  are  still  preserved.  Only 
about  one  hundred  men  have  been  sta- 
tioned here  since  1829,  when,  in  one  of 
their  periodical  revolutions,  the  inhabit- 
ants of  the  town  were  disarmed,  and  a 
few  pieces  of  artillery  removed.  No  evi- 
dences of  prosperity  or  enterprise  are  to 
be  seen,  and  the  general  appearance  of  the 
place  indioites  the  usual  decline.  This  is 
moreover  apparent  from  the  manifest  re- 
duction in  the  vicinity,  of  the  extent  of 
cultivated  lands.  Amid  hundreds  of  idle 
fields  however,  we  passed  one  of  not  less 
than  a  thousand  acres,  which  appeared  to 
be  the  common  property  of  the  town. 
The  new  fangle  of  ^^associatfon"  seems 
to  be  acted  on  here  to  some  extent, 
though  the  inhabitants  are  doubtless  in- 
nocent of  its  wonder-working  virtues. 

The  alcaldes  of  the  town,  with  their 
secretario,  came  into  camp  in  the  evening 
on  a  formal  call  of  etiquette,  and  had  an 
interview  of  considerable  length  with  the 
commanding  general.  It  struck  us  as 
somewhat  singular  that  these  grave  and 
reverend  sefiors  should  have  all  worn 
round  jackets,  though  two  of  them,  as  a 
substitute  for  skirts  perhaps,  flourished 
ivory-headed  canes.  Contracts  must  have 
been  scarce,  as  they  were  not  as  fat  as 
New  York  aldermen  are ;  but  on  the  con- 
trary, with  the  exception  of  the  scribe, 
looked  lean  and  hungry.  Theur  appareL 
though  plain,  was  neat  and  becoming,  ana 
their  bearing  in  all  respects  manly  and 
dignified. 

Two  or  three  miles  out  of  camp  the 
next  day,  we  passed  on  our  left  a  small 
stream,  which  supplies  irrigation  for  a 
few  villages  in  that  direction,  Moreles, 
San  Juan  de  Matas,  and  others.  This 
stream,  it  is  said,  has  its  source  in  a  fa- 
mous spring  that  bubbles  forth  in  a  mag- 
nificent grove,  called  by  the  Mexicans 
"  el  Arboleda  de  los  Angelos" — the  grove 
of  the  angels,  and  is  re^irded  by  them  as 


a  spot  of  great  sanctity.  The  name  is 
illustrative  of  a  fact  frequently  observed 
among  ignorant  and  superstitious  people, 
as  well  those  professing  to  he  civilized  as 
savage,  that  almost  every  natural  object 
of  striking  beauty,  or  sublimity,  is  recog- 
nized by  some  name  that  will  excite  the 
imagination  with  a  quasi  religious  awe 
and  veneration.  The  northern  route  to 
Monclova  was  followed  by  us,  though  the 
Mexican  generals  usually  travelled  the 
lower  road  in  their  excursions  to  and  from 
Texas,  by  which  they  passed  through  a 
more  populous  country,  and  were  thereby 
enabled  to  procure  supplies  with  more 
facility. 

The  march  of  the  day  was  a  short  one, 
owing  to  the  locality  of  the  water.  The 
country  traversed  is  sterile  in  the  extreme ; 
there  is  not  a  single  rancho  on  the  route, 
nor  within  many  miles  on  cither  side. 
The  number  of  traders  outside  the  camp 
viras  much  reduced,  and  the  supply  of  ar- 
ticles had  dwindled  down  to  pecan  nuts, 
and  com  in  small  quantities. 

As  we  passed  from  camp,  the  next 
morning,  we  left  those  behind  us  shiver- 
ing, chattering,  and  squirming  round  the 
fires,  and  while  securing  a  little  of  the 
fervor  of  caloric  on  one  side,  becoming 
frigid  and  rigid  from  its  absence  on  the 
other.  The  Tittle  vegetation  visible,  gen- 
erally fringed  the  road,  along  which  we 
occasionally  observed  the  plant,  which  we 
are  told  furnishes  one  Mexican  substitute 
for  whiskey.  It  resembles  somewhat  the 
Spanish  bayonet  in  appearance ;  the  blades 
however  are  not  so  wide,  and  the  edges 
are  furnished  with  sharp  projections,  sim- 
ilar to  that  of  the  saw  palmetto.  •  It  is 
gathered  in  May  for  distillation,  and 
though  the  liquor  which  it  supplies,  is 
not  the  real  muscal  of  the  country,  its  in- 
toxicating qualities  are  such  as  to  com- 
mend it  as  ^^  an  enemy  to  be  put  into  the 
mouth  to  steal  away  the  brains." 

The  ignorance  of  the  people  in  relation 
to  the  topography  and  geogi*aphy  of  the 
country,  unless  feigned,  is  almost  incred- 
ible. We  had  been  told,  after  leavmg 
NaviL  by  all  the  guides  who  were  con- 
sulted, that  there  was  no  good  water  this 
side  of  Santa  Rosa,  and  that  none  of  any 
kind  was  to  be  found  within  thirty  miles 
of  the  Santa  Rita,  where  we  had  last  en- 
camped. Luckily  the  Topographical  En- 
gineers were  in  advance,  and  after  arrange- 
ments had  been  made  for  an  unusually 
early  start  in  order  to  accomplish  the  dis- 
tance, intelligence  was  received  from  them, 
that  there  was  an  abundance  of  water  at 
a  distance  of  sixteen  miles.  It  was  pro- 
posed, before  reachihg  the  pointy  that  as 


664 


Notes  from  my  Knapaatk, 


[Jane 


this  water  was  unknown  to  the  Mexicans, 
it  was  an  honor  justly  earned  to  name 
the  stream  or  fountain,  or  whatever  it 
might  be,  after  the  discoverer  (Captain 
Hughes).  This  was  objected  to,  as 
**  Hughes'  Spring  "  it  was  thought  would 
not  sound  well  in  Mexico.  As  the  man- 
ner in  which  this  objection  was  obviated, 
suggests  a  new  application  of  the  science 
of  phonetics,  it  is  recorded  for  the  benefit 
of  those  who  may  hereafter  find  them- 
selves in  a  similar  dilemma.  According 
to  phonography,  there  can  be  no  essen- 
tial difference  between  H-u-g-h-e-s  and 
H-e-w-s,  and  "  tSiente  del  Taja  "  there- 
fore was  adopted  as  an  appropriate  desig- 
nation. 

We  reached  camp  about  one  o'clock. 
The  water  we  found  in  pools,  which  had 
been  gradually  formed  in  the  soft  lime- 
stone, that  here  becomes  an  elevated 
ridge.  A  dispatch  was  received  here 
from  General  Taylor,  giving  the  details 
of  the  siege  and  surrender  of  Monterey. 

Several  Mexicans  who  appeared  on  the 
line  of  march,  exhibiting  to  ordinary  eyes 
no  signs  to  excite  suspicion,  taking  no 
means  to  cone  ^  themselves,  but  riding 
along  exposed  to  iu^     Hservation  of  the 

entire  army,  were  arrested  by , 

and  put  in  charge  of  the  guard.  Two 
days  before,  a  man  believed  to  have  in 
possession  papers  contraband  of  war, 
passing  from  one  Mexican  official  to  an- 
other, was  permitted  to  continue  his 
course  unmolested  j  and  now  several 
harmless  people,  whose  offences,  so  far  as 
IS  known,  consist  only  of  selling  tortillas 
and  pecan-nuts  to  the  troops,  are  stopped 
on  their  journey  and  confined  as  prison- 
ers. The  matter  is  hardly  mended,  be- 
cause when  the  facts  are  communicated  to 
the  Commanding-General,  and  the  case 
investigated,  the  men  are  released,  on  the 
identical  testimony  on  which  they  were 
arrested,  to  wit :  their  own.  Such  trifling 
with  men's  feelings  would  be  ridiculous 
if  it  might  not  become  calamitous,  as  the 
people  are  irritated  by  such  measures, 
their  feelings  excited,  and  their  latent  hate 
and  jealousy  aroused. 

Two  plants  appeared  on  this  march  not 
heretoforie  observed,  which  are  said  to 
constitute  very  important  items  in  the 
Mexican  materia  medica.  One  is  called 
the  ojase^  a  bush  three  or  four  feet  high, 
green  at  all  seasons,  the  leaves  elliptically 
formed,  and  somewhat  of  the  color  of 
thyme.  The  roots  and  leaves  are  both 
used  in  making  "  ^eo,"  which  is  prescribed 
as  a  valuable  and  speedy  remedy  for  colic, 
and  other  similar  affections.  The  other 
plant  resembles  sago  in  some  of  its  char- 


acters, and  is  known  as  the  yerha  del 
gato,  or  cat  herb,  though  not  at  all  identi- 
cal with  our  catnip.  This  is  particularly 
in  demand  among  the  old  women,  who 
frequently  send  great  distances  for  it,  on 
account  of  its  many  virtues. 

Our  route  next  lay  through  an  unbro- 
ken waste  of  high  table  land, — a  lake  of 
waving  grass  as '  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  unmixed  with  tree  or  shrub.  Upon 
this  plain,  as  if  designed  for  the  purpose, 
we  witnessed  an  animating  and  exciting 
scene.  A  rabbit  was  started  up  by  a 
dog,  near  the  rear  of  the  column,  when 
the  latter  at  once  gave  chase.  Others 
soon  joined  in  the  pursuit  The  rabbit 
was  perhaps  twenty  yards  in  advance,  its 
ears  pointed  and  nostrils  expanded,  and 
leaping  fiir  and  fiist  under  the  combined 
power  of  strength  and  terror.  But  the 
course  was  straight,  and  the  dogs  pei^ 
ceived  they  were  gaining,  and  pushed  on 
with  quickened  energy.  The  rabbit  also 
appeared  to  be  conscious  that  its  ^oemies 
were  drawing  nearer.  It  pauses  an  in- 
stant, lays  back  its  ears  still  lower,  takes 
a  lightning  glance  at  the  chances,  and 
dashes  ofi'  in  a  new  direction  with  the 
space  of  thought.  The  leading  dog  is 
foiled,  and  before  he  recovers  from  his 
surprise,  the  scent  is  lost,  and  the  distance 
is  doubled^  between  him  and  the  object  of 
his  affections.  In  the  mean  time  "  JBlanch, 
Tray,  and  Sweetheart "  in  rear  have  taken 
up  the  new  course.  Again  the  rabbit  is 
hotly  pressed,  and  again  it  doubles  upon 
its  pursers.  But  over  the  whole  prairie, 
there  is  no  cover  to  conceal  it,  ukI  the 
sharp  eyes  and  keen  scent  of  these  **  dogs 
of  war  "  are  again  upon  it  '  Once  more  it 
skims  along,  dashing  the  dew  drops  from 
the  grass  in  its  unfaltering  flight ;  but  its 
enemies  are  still  upon  the  track.  The' 
gallant  little  creature  turns  again,  as  if  it 
would  hold  its  cowardly  opponents  at 
bay,  and  again  plunges  through  the  grass 
towards  the  road.  The  dogs  follow,  but 
while  the  rabbit  takes  the  course  or  the 
beaten  path,  its  pursuers  in  their  head- 
long haste  have  crossed,  and  are  running 
with  all  their  might  in  the  contrary  direc- 
tion. And  thus  by  a  series  of  manoeu- 
vres— a  flight  here  and  a  double  there — 
the  perseverance  of  the  ^'native  to  the 
manor  bom  "  was  crowned  with  success, 
and  its  foreign  foes  baffled  and  defeated. 
The  dogs  rejoined  the  column,  looking 
perhaps — as  a  fox  is  said  to  have  once 
looked  on  some  very  remote  grapes. 

About  9  o'clock,  the  clouds  which  had 
been  threatening  a  deluge  began  to  dis- 
charge a  very  finely  divided  drizzle,  which 
continued    with    but  little  intermission 


1854.] 


yotnfrofn  my  Knapiods. 


605 


throughout  the  day.  One  of  the  Tery 
few  bushoB  we  passed  on  the  inarch,  was 
completely  enveloped  with  butterflies. 
They  clung  to  the  branches  like  leaves, 
and  appeared  as  torpid  as  if'  they  had 
grown  there.  Their  colors  were  not  bril- 
liant, but  the  effect  in  such  numbers,  was 
▼ery  beautiful.  Our  philosophers  at- 
tempted to  account  for  so  singular  a  phe- 
nomenon, but  the  most  reasonable  hypo- 
thesis suggested  was  that  they  had  swarm- 
ed upon  the  bush,  to  find  a  shelter  from 
the  rain,  though  no  one  had  ever  seen 
such  an  assemblage  before. 

We  reached  the  Rio  Alamos  about  noon. 
To  our  surprise  it  proved  to  be  quite  a 
narrow  stream — only  about  forty-  yards 
wide,  but  extremely  rapid,  and  nearly 
four  fbet  deep.  Owing  to  the  Telocity  of 
the  .current,  it  might  be  a  formidable  ob- 
stacle, as  it  is  more  difficult  to  ford  than 
the  Rio  Grande,  and  apprehensions  were 
entertained  that  we  might  be  delayed  in 
effecting  a  crossing.  A  Mexican  with  a 
cart  made  his  appearance  on  the  opposite 
bank,  just  after  our  arrival,  but  not  being 
able  to  get  over  with  his  vehicle,  the  con- 
tents were  transported  on  horseback. 
The  enterprising  proprietor  was  on  a  tra- 
ding expedition,  his  stock  consisting  of' 
que»o^  a  sort  of  curd  cheese,  and  a  species 
of  preserves,  somewhat  resembling  mar- 
malade, which  the  Mexicans  call  cajeta  de 
wembrillero.  There  is  but  a  slight  taste 
of  the  quince  preserved,  and  the  article 
would  hardly  establish  a  reputation  for 
the  artiste.  It  seems,  however,  to  be  a 
choice  specimen  of  native  manufacture, 
and  rates  (financially)  accordingly. 

After  dinner  the of mounted 

his  horse  and  rode  to  the  river.  On  the 
way  he  encountered  a  wagon  in  pursuit 
of  fuel,  and  the  following  colloquy  is  re- 
ported as  having  ensued  between  him  and 
the  driver,  to  the  great  amusement  of  a 
host  of  spectators : 

*' Whose  wagon  is  this?"  demanded 
the . 

*^  Mine,  be-jabers,"  repUed  the  driver, 
who  was  a  recent  importation  from  Cork. 
(A  laugh.) 

''  Do  you  mean  to  say  it  is  your  own 
private  property  ?  " 

^'  If  I  choose  to  own  a  bit  of  a  wagon, 
what's  that  to  you  ?  "  Another  roar  from 
the  bystanders. 

«  What  are  you  here  for  ?  " 

"  After  wood,  your  honor,"  with  a  di- 
plomatic change  of  manner  worthy  of  ad- 
miration, Paddy  having  discovered  by  this 
time  a  clew,  as  to  the  character  of  his  in- 


terlocutor. 
"Go  to  your 

TOL.  III.— 42 


camp^  you  shall  get 


no  wood  here ; "  and  the  dialogue 
ended. 

The  night  was  -cold  and  damp ;  fuel 
was  for  once  abundant,  and  the  soldiers 
generally  had  but  one  blanket,  while  many 
had  none.  Whether  the  prohibition  there- 
fore, was  with  or '  without  authority, 
there  was  "  wood  "  elsewhere,  and  it  was 
burned. 

A  foraging  party  left  camp  in  pursuit 
of  com,  chickens,  eggs^  and  any  other 
creature  comfort,  that  might  be  purchase- 
able.  They  took  a  course  leading  to  the 
hacienda  San  Juan  de  Sabinos,  where 
Colonel  Castaneda  had  his  head-quarters, 
when  he  politely  favored  us  with  his 
views  on  the  Monterey  capitulation.  This 
establishment  is  near  the  confluence  of 
the  Alamos  and  Sabinos  rivers,  and  was 
at  one  time  the  most  extensive  plantation 
in  Coahuila.  The  returns  of  the  expedi- 
tion, however,  did  not  realize  our  ideas  of 
its  former  greatness  and  magnificence.  A 
faint  cackling  of  fowls  just  before  tattoo, 
announced  the  return  of  the  party,  with 
a  cargo  of  fourteen  eggs  and  seventeen 
chickens — a  beggarly  account  of  empty 
hen-roosts.  In  the  pun^^  aso  of  com  they 
were'  more  sucoesfc  \^j  and  reported  that 
perhaps  a  thousand  bushels  could  be  pro- 
cured at  two  dollars  a  fanega  (nearly  two 
bushels). 

We  were  allowed  to  finish  our  sleep  in 
peace  the  next  morning,  and  to  swallow 
our  breakfast  without  the  aid  of  torches, 
as  the  passage  of  the  river  could  not  be 
attempted  in  the  dark.  The  experiment 
was  first  made  by  the  dragoons;  then 
followed  a  portion  of  the  baggage  wagons, 
after  which  the  whole  body  was  ordered 
to  be  in  preparatory  motion. 

The  scene  which  was  presented  when 
we  arrived  at  the  water's  edge,  defies  all 
description.  The  air  was  resonant  with 
screams,  shoutings,  hallooings,  and  ex- 
clamations of  every  conceivable  character, 
forming  a  perfect  olla  podrida  of  sounds. 
Commands  and  counter-commands  were 
flying  in  all  directions ;  one  thing  was  or- 
dered on  the  right  bank  of  the  river  and 
another  on  the  left  bank ;  a  team  would 
be  told  to  keep  well  to  the  right  on  its 
passage,  and  perhaps  before  the  move- 
ment commenced,  it  would  be  directed  to 
incline  to  the  left.  Men  at  the  ropes 
would  be  ordered  to  "let  go"  bv  one 
party,  and  at  the  same  instant  to  "  hold 
on"  by  another.  Artillerists  and  dra- 
suckers  and  rackensacks,  were  all 


mixed  up  in  confusion  thoroughly  con- 
founded, all  apparently  striving  to  fadli- 
tato  operations,  and  each  man  in  his  eager- 
to  instroct  others,  forgetting  to  do 


666 


Notes  from  my  Knapnde. 


[June 


any  thing  or  leam  any  thing  himselfl  To 
direct  movements  and  materials,  so  yari- 
ous  and  complicated,  required  thd  pres- 
ence of ,  but  in  the  din  of  hu- 
man voices  his  was  not  heard.  The  pro- 
cess of  getting  over  a  wagon  was  simple 
enough,  and  if  properly  managed,  could 
have  been  effectcKl  with  little  trouble  and 
no  confusion.  The  mules  were  detached 
from  the  wagon,  and  one  end  of  a  strong 
rope  reaching  across  the  river,  fastened 
to  the  extremity  of  the  pole.  To  the 
other  end,  the  men  on  the  opposite  shore 
applied  their  power,  and  the  vehicle  was 
thus  hauled  over  without  much  difficulty. 
As  fast  as  the  wagon  approached  the 
right  bank,  the  slack  of  the  rope  would 
be  carried  back  by  a  mounted  dragoon,  to 
be  affixed  to  another,  so  that  the  operation 
ought  to  have  gone  on  unremittingly  on 
both  sides.  The  infantry,  troops  were 
passed  over  by  the  wagons,  some  on  the 
tops ;  some  holding  on  at  the  axle-trees ; 
some  over  the  pole,  and  generally  three 
or  four  in  rear,  the  latter  were  usually 
stripped  of  their  unmentionables;  the 
tails  of  their  nether  garments  gracefully 
protruding  from  beneath  their  coats,  and 
their  appearance  sufficiently  picturesque— 
if  any  thing  is — for  a  fancy  ball. 

On  the  right  bank  of  the  river,  from 
the  top  of  a  conical  eminence,  was  to  be 
seen  a  magnificent  panorama  of  rare  and 
unrivalled  beauty.  At  the  distance  of 
several  hundred  yards,  the  Alamos  wound 
around  the  base  of  the  declivity,  its  shores 
thickly  planted  with  the  forms  of  the 
soldiers,  its  waters  rushing  by  with  cata- 
ract rapidity,  and  mingling  their  roar 
with  the  tumult  of  human  voices.  The 
wagon  tops  formed  a  long  line  of  white, 
intersecting  the  stream  in  curves  as  grace- 
ful as  its  own  meanderings.  Higher  up^ 
a  few  tents  yet  dotted  the  grass  with 
their  pyramidal  forms,  and  were  faintly 
visible  through  the  pale  green  foliage  of 
the  mezquit  Then  far  and  wide  around, 
the  eye  took  in  a  succession  of  valleys, 
plains,  and  hills  of  matchless  grandeur 
and  beauty,  their  forms  finally  mingling 
with  the  clouds,  and  serving,  as  it  were, 
as  a  foreground  to  the  firmament 

In  about  an  hour's  march  we  reached 
the  Sabinos,  which  is  nearly  three  miles 
from  the  Alamos.  Its  current  is  also  ex- 
ceedingly rapid,  and  the  crossing  even 
more  difficult  than  at  the  other.  An 
island  at  the  ford  divides  the  stream  into 
two  torrents,  while  the  shores  are  of 
quicksand,  in  which  the  animals  frequent- 
ly bury  themselves.  We  found  here, 
with  but  slight  variations,  a  re-enactment 
of  the  scenes  of  the  morning.    The  con- 


fusion of  Babel  was  the  auiet  of  a  tea 
party,  in  comparison  with  the  varied  and 
uneuthly  noises  that  came  up  from  and 
swept  over  the  waters.  In  the  valley  of 
Shinar  there  was  doubtless  a  rare  exhi- 
bition of  human  folly  and  human  weak- 
ness ;  but  in  the  valley  of  the  Sabinos, 
human  folly  and  humanweakness  attamed 
their  maximum.  Many  of  the  foot  troops 
crossed  by  swimming,  taking  their  knap- 
sacks in  their  teeth,  and  trusting  mostly 
to  the  current,  which  of  course  deposited 
them  low  down  on  the  opposite  shore. 
This  method  was  adopted  as  a  matter  of 
sport,  though  probably  a  touch  of  the 
chills  in  a  day  or  two,  proved  it  to  have 
been  no  joking  matter.  The  danger  at- 
tending the  operation,  however,  rendered 
it  necessary  to  devise  some  other  mode 

of  transit,  and ,  in  his  l{apo- 

leonic  costume  of  gray,  and  mounted  on  a 
noble  charger,  beoime  very  active.  He 
was  accordmgly  crossing  and  re-crossing, 
and  nding  up  and  down  the  stream,  to 
discover,  if  possible,  a  shallow  place,  along 
which  a  rope  might  be  stretched  from 
shore  to  shore,  with  the  aid  of  which  the 
men  might  be  able  to  resist  the  mighty 
force  of  the  torrent  While  on  this  duty, 
his  flourishes  were  suddenly  converted 
into  flounders ;  his  horse  went  down  into 
a  deep  hole,  where  the  watera  were  eddy- 
ing and  boiling  around  him,  and  before 
the  gallant  —  was  aware  of  the  fiict, 
he  found  himself  submerged,  and  his 
steed  pluneing  and  struggling  with  sud- 
denly awakened  energies,  for  the  shore. 
The  rider  firmly  maintained  his  seat,  and 
less  beautiful  perhaps  than  Venus  rising 
from  the  ocean,  he  rose  from  the  whh-l- 
pool,  his  garments  drenched  and  droop- 
mg,  but  his  face  radiant  vrith  what  was 
indeed  a  "  ghastly  smile."  As  there  was 
no  indication  of  injury,  his  appearance 
above  water  was  hailed  with  rapturous 
plaudits  on  both  sides  of  the  river,  and 
he  reached  terra  firma  doubtless,  glad 
as  he  was  to  get  there,  with  infinitely  less 
satisfaction  than  that  with  which  he  had 
left  it  The  men  on  foot  were  finally 
passed  over  by  a  bridge  of  wagons,  which 
with  great  difficulty  was  established  by 
means  of  men,  ropes  and  mules,  many  of 
the  latter  being  nearly  drowned  in  the 
operation. 

In  the  passage  of  the  artillery,  several 
men  who  were  clinging  to  the  carriages 
were  swept  away  by  the  current,  and 
were  saved  only  by  the  most  active  exer- 
tions of  those  on  shore.  The  quicksand 
on  the  margin  made  it  difficult  for  the 
teams  to  reach  the  bed  of  the  stream* 
which  is  of  gravel,  and  frequently  while 


1854.] 


Notes  from  my  Kwxpwk. 


667 


the  wheel  horses  or  mules  were  struggling 
at  the  shore,  the  leaders  then  in  the  mid- 
dle would  be  turned  downwards  by  the 
uresistible  force  of  the  current,  when  it 
would  become  necessary,  in  order  to  ex- 
tract the  carriage,  to  return  for  a  new 
start.  Night  came  on  pending  these 
efforts,  and  with  darkness  the  perils  be- 
came multiplied,  and  the  labors  of  the  day 
accordingly  terminated. .  It  was  then  dis- 
covered that  companies  and  messes  were 
separated,  some  members  being  on  one 
side  of  the  river  and  some  on  the  other. 
Men  were  in  one  place  and  their  tents  and 
provisions  elsewhere,  and  many  who  had 
been  laboring  for  twelve  hours  without 
food,  were  compelled  to  go  to  bed,  or 
rather  throw  themselves  upon  the  ground 
for  the  night — supperless  and  blanket- 
less. 

It  is  worthy  of  record,  that  those  who 
arrived  at  the  Sabinos  m^t,  crossed  with 
comparative  ease;  but  as  the  numbers 
increased,  orders  multiplied,  noise  and 
boisterous  directions  were  substituted  foe 

quiet  effort,  and  the  presence  of 

and  '■  almost  suiBpended  for  a  time 

all  operations.  They  soon  relaxed  how- 
ever in  their  personal  efforts,  in  admiration 
for  those  of  two  zealous  competitors,  who 
'  were  hero  eminently  conspicuous  in  riding 
to  and  fro  across  the  stream,  talking  much 
and  doing  little,  and  pouring  forth  random 
directions,  which  no  one  heeded  or  cared 
to  obey.  Those  who  crossed  the  river 
the  first  day  were  employed  in  a  gen- 
eral police  .of  clothing,  arms,  and  equip- 
ments, while  those  in  rear  were  maiung 
the  passage.  Quicksands,  rapid  currents, 
wild  mules,  stupid  drivers,  and  a  con- 
fusion of  tongues  and  ideas,  were  finally 
overcome,  and  the  command  united  in  the 
evening.  The  train  of  one  hundred  and 
sixty  wagons,  containing  provisions  and 
ammunition,  being  under  charge  of  a  sin- 
gle intelligent  officer  (Captain  Cross)  un- 
encumbered with  too  many  men,  and  suf- 
ficiently far  to  the  rear  to  escape  the 
retarding  and  paralyzing  influence  of  "  a 
multitude  of  military  counsellors,"  crossed 
in  one  fourth  the  time  in  which  one  fourth 
the  number  of  baggage  wagons  of  the 
troops  made  the  passage. 

A  rumor  prevailed  to-day — ^how  origi- 
nating no  one  knew — ^that  the  armistice 
had  ceased,  that  ten  thousand  men  were 
at  Tampico,  and  that  a  messenger  firom 
General  Taylor  t(^  San  Luis  Potosi  was 
seized  at  Saltillo,  robbed  of  his  papers  and 
shot ;  whereupon  General  Taylor  marched 
at  once  upon  the  place  and  took  posses- 
sion. It  was  not  stated — rumor  always 
leaves  a  few  points  in  doabt-*where  tne 


thousands  reported  at  Tampico  came  from, 
nor  by  what  magical  process  the  infor- 
mation was  communicated  to  Qeneral 
Taylor  of  the  fate  of  his  courier. 

The  next  day  was  assigned  to  rest  and 
inspection:  the  latter  came  off  at  3 
o'clock  p.  M.,  for  the  former  no  more  ap- 
propriate spot  could  have  been  chosen. 
The  camp  was  on  a  beautiful  site  south 
of  the  ford,  the  grass  green  and  luxuriant, 
and  dotted  over  with  a  fine  growth  of 
mezquit  The  ground  slopes  gradually 
to  the  river  in  front,  and  in  the  rear  rose  a 
lofty  range  of  mountains,  sharp  and  rug- 
ged in  their  outline,  and  exhibiting  un- 
doubted indications  of  volcanic  origin. 
Beneath  the  horizontal  rays  of  the  morn- 
ing sun,  their  rough  and  serrated  struc- 
ture was  distinctly  marked,  displaying 
peaks  and  chasms  of  fearful  magnitude, 
and  the  dark  and  hoary  furrows  which 
time  and  the  elements  had  graven  on 
their  brows.  Their  lofty  pinnacles  and 
jutting  points  may  not  be  quite  so  pre- 
cipitous as  those  encountered  by  a  Kocky 
Mountain  explorer,  where  he  found  so 
narrow  a  footing  at  top,  that  as  he  reached 
it,  he  came  near  sharing  the  fate  of 
"vaulting  ambition"  by  "falling  on  the 
other  side,"  yet  some  of  our  travelled 
gentlemen  thought  them  but  little  infe- 
rior to  the  Alps.  They  were  wrapped  in 
a  veil  of  blue ;  an  atmospheric  curtain  or 
dim  transparency  seemed  to  wave  around 
them,  and  as  pile  rose  on  pile  and  peak  on 
peak,  they  mmgled  with  the  clouds  and 
were  lost  in  heaven.  The  day  was  one 
of  summer  softness ;  a  bland  breeze  swept 
gently  from  the  south,  the  air  was  'pure 
and  delightful ;  the  sun's  rays  fell  upon 
the  camp  as  gently  as  the  light  from  a 
falling  star,  and  around  and  above  us ;  in 
the  azure  sky,  on  the  crystal  water,  the 
rolling  prairie  and  the  lofty  mountain, 
there  was  the  repose  of  paradise. 

A  party  that  left  camp  on  a  visit  to 
Santa  Rosa— partly  of  an  inquisitorial 
character — reported  a  slight  departure 
from  accuracy  in  the  accounts  which  first 
reached  us  touching  the  recent  conquest 
of  that  town  by  the  troops  sent  in  ad- 
vance fh>m  the  Presidio.  It  appeared, 
however^  that  a  most  original  farce  was 
enacted  m  a  deliberate  order  of  arrange- 
ments, for  the  capitulation  of  an  old  bed- 
ridden colonel,  and  thirteen  invalid  pri- 
vates. The  fact  of  the  presence  of  so 
formidable  a  force  having  been  ascer- 
tained, the  report  goes  that  at  the  sugges- 
tion of ,  they  were  ordered  to 

be  paraded  for  a  formal  surrender  of 
themselves,  arms  and  accoutrements.  The 
afiiur,  which  would  be  considered  heart- 


666 


NoUs  from  my  Knapioek. 


[June 


less  and  unseemly,  if  it  were  not  so 
thoroughly  a  burlesque,  accordingly  took 
place  as  prescribed.  The  dilapidated  old 
colonel,  decrepit  with  age  and  palsied  by 
disease  and  terror,  took  his  position  on 
the  right  of  a  line  of  what  had  once  been 
thirteen  men,  but  who  were  now  wanting 
in' variable  proportions,  arms,  legs,  eyes, 
fingers,  and  other  appendages  of  buman- 
ity :  weak,  imbecile,  and  povrerless,  and 
with  hardly  physical  strength  sufficient 
to  hold  the  arms  which  were  thrust  into 
their  hands.  These  were  worthless  and 
unserviceable  in  any  hands,  but  in  those 
which  then  grasped  them,  they  became  a 
humiliating  satire  on  heroism  and  glory. 
With  the  prisoners  '  thus  paraded,  the 
story  continues  that  the  hero  of  the 
achievement  delivered  himself  of  a  ha- 
rangue, in  the  style  of  that  species  of 
North  American  oratory,  known  as  the 
half- alligator,  half-earthquake  sort  of  elo- 
quence, which  was  concluded  by  inform- 
ing his  auditors,  that  henceforth  they  must 
cease  to  consider  themselves  soldiers  of 
Mexico,  but  citizens  of  Santa  Rosa,  "  re- 
annexcd  "  to  the  United  States,  and  sub- 
ject only  to  the  civil  and  municipal  law. 
So  much  for  the  rumor,  which  is  doubt- 
less a  mixture  of  fact  and  fiction. 

By  a  dispatch  received  here  from  Col- 
onel BigselPs  command,  we  learned  that 
the  "Norther"  whose  acquaintance  we 
made  about  a  week  since,  was  very  disas- 
trous in  his  camp,  causing  a  stampede^ 
and  the  loss  of  fifty  or  sixty  mules  and 
horses.  Thus  was  worse  than  the  inflic- 
tion upon  us,  though  falling  tents  and  fly- 
ing blankets  were  bad  enough,  with  the 
vrind  passing  round  and  through  you, 
with  the  penetratk)n  of  quicksilver. 

It  was  ordered  that  the  march  should 
be  resumed  this  morning  at  7  o'clock  pre- 
cisely ;  but  a  portion  of  the  column,  with 
a  commander  who  forgot  that  being  before 
the  time  may  be  just  as  far  from  punc- 
tuality, as  being  too  late,  started  as  soon 
he  was  ready,  and  thus  threw  every  other 
corps  into  confusion.  There  was  in  con- 
sequence much  hurrying  back  and  forth 
among  the  mounted  officers ;  many  com- 
mands given  that  were  not  understood, 
and  more  that  were  not  executed ;  all 
showing  how  much  easier  it  is  to  avoid  an 
error,  than  to  atone  for  it  when  once  com- 
mitted. Censures  were  tossed  from  one 
to  another,  and  hardly  any  one  left  camp 
satisfied  with  himself,  or  with  those 
around  him.  The  march  of  a  mile  or  two 
however  served  to  allay  the  excitement. 
There  is  no  soothing  power  like  that  of 
nature,  whether  revealed  in  calm  or  tem- 
pest^ in  storm  or  sunshine  \  in  the  valley 


beautiful  in  its  repose,  or  on  the  mountain 
tops  awful  in  their  sublimity.  Such  com- 
munion with  nature  in  her  lowliness  or 
her  grandeur,  in  the  quiet  loveliness  of  a 
gentle  river,  or  in  the  sublimer  displays 
of  majesty  and  power,  may  not  make  the 
angry  man  amiable  nor  the  sorrowful  man 
happy ;  but  it  will  be  very  apt  to  smooth 
the  wrinkled  brow  of  the  one  and  soothe 
the  anguished  heart  of  the  other ;  stealing 
from  both  the  alloy  of  pride  and  selfish- 
ness, and  teaching  the  lesson  of  faith  and 
hope,  charity  and  good  will  to  men.  And 
rarely  has  the  sun  risen  on  a  lovelier 
scene,  than  that  upon  which  we  then  en- 
tered. The  dew-drops  were  yet  glisten- 
ing upon  grass,  and  leaf,  and  flower ;  the 
air  was  resonant  with  music ;  birds  were 
warbling  their  sweetest  notes,  and  fra- 
grance was  wafted  by  every  zephyr.  We 
were  traversing  a  vast  table  land,  the 
level  unbroken  by  a  single  undulation, 
and  the  prospect  obscured  only  by  an  oc- 
casional narrow  belt  of  luxuriant  mezquit 
«The  grass  was  of  velvet  softness,  and  from 
its  extent  and  hue,  looked  like  a  sea  of 
emerald.  Our  course  lay  towards  the 
mountains,  here  called  the  Sierra  Santa 
Rosa — the  first  range  of  the  vast  Sierra 
Madre — ^which  were  now  shrouded  in  the 
haze  of  distance,  and  which  rise  from  the 
plain  as  St.  Helena  rises  from  the  ocean. 
A  march  of  ten  miles  scarcely  served  to 
bring  them  any  nearer,  though  we  were 
enabled  to  trace  more  clearly  the  fantas- 
tic forms  of  their  rugged  sides,  amid 
which  the  winds  have  so  long  held  their 
revels. 

A  few  miles  from  camp  we  passed  the 
rancho  del  Posa — a  small  collection  of 
huts,  formed  of  upright  mezquit  logs,  the 
interstices  filled  with  clay,  having  ihatch- 
ed  roofs.  There  were  cornfields  in  the  vi- 
cinity, and  a  large  herd  of  cattle.  The 
latter  are  of  enormous  size,  some  of  them 
having  horns  measuring  six  feet  from  tip 
to  tip.  We  also  passed  to-day,  a  plant 
not  before  observed,  resembling  what  is 
called  in  some  parts  of  Pennsylvania,  the 
iron  plant  It  grows  to  a  height  of  six 
feet,  bears  a  small  white  flower,  with  a  sin- 
gular leaf,  from  which  doubtless  it  re- 
ceives its  name  vaca  lingtui,  or  cow- 
tongue. 

Santa  Rosa  was  distinguished  in  the 
distance  by  its  mass  of  green  foliage,  the 
pecan  and  wild  cherry-tree,  being  most 
prominent.  Every  town  we  have  visited, 
is  ornamented  with  trees,  but  they  are 
selfishly  appropriated  to  the  court-yards 
and  gardens;  there  is  not  one  in  the 
streets.  As  we  entered  the  suburbs,  two 
donkeys  were  rolling  in  the  sand,  and  en- 


1854.] 


Ni^Us  from  my  Kfuquadu 


joymR  themselves  as  philosophically  as 
the  Charcoal  Sketcher's  "pigs."  We 
were  next  assailed  by  the  most  vociferous 
barking,  from  all  sorts  of  the  vilest  curs 
that  ever  yelped  at  the  heels  of  chivalry. 
All  the  kennels  of  the  town  seemed  to 
have  been  opened,  for  the  purpose  of  pro- 
perly honoring  our  advent,  and  making  it 
as  conspicuous  as  possible. 

The  population  of  Santa  Kosa  is  be- 
tween three  and  four  thousand.  The 
houses  on  the  outskirts  are  wretchedly 
poor,  as  well  as  their  occupants ;  some  are 
even  constructed  of  corn-stalks  and  sugar- 
cane. The  doors  and  windows  were  as 
usual  lined  with  women  and  children— 
the  latter  in  innumerable  quantities.  Men 
and  boys  filled  the  streets,  in  which  we 
observed  more  bustle  and  animation  than 
we  had  hitherto  seen  exhibited ;  but  from 
the  poverty  and  decay  around,  it  seems 
to  be  only  the  spasm  which  precedes  dis- 
solution, the  struggle  of  expiring  energy. 
Stores  occupied  one  side  of  the  plaza,  the 
stocks  consisting  principally  of  calicoes 
of  our  own  manufacture,  cotton  fabrics, 
such  as  shirtings  and  sheetings,  and  a  few 
coarse  woollens.  The  price  of  an  inferior 
quality  of  red  flannel  was  two  dollars  a 
yard.  Besides  the  dry  goods,  a  few  tin 
cups,  coarse  earthenware,  beads  and  brass 
crucifixes,  completed  the  assortment.  Here 
for  the  first  time  we  noticed  several  build- 
ings two  stories  high,  with  balconies  from 
the  upper  windows,  all  of  them  indicating 
by  their  finish  a  degree  of  taste  and  wealth 
not  hitherto  displayed.  They  were  prob- 
ably erected  and  once  occupied  by  a  su- 
perior class  of  people  to  those  now  found 
here ;  as  they  are  going  to  ruin;  having 
already  passed  the  stage  of  "  shabby  gen- 
teel," and  no  efibrt  is  making  for  their 
preservation.  The  church  is  a  large  build- 
ing occupying  a  conspicuous  position  on 
the  plaza,  but  it  has  the  national  appear- 
ance of  dilapidation ;  the  arches  are  crack- 
ed and  crumbling,  the  mouldings  are  ef- 
faced, and  the  turret  is  hardly  strong 
enough  to  sustain  the  four  bells,  which 
still  hold  their  position,  as  a  warning  and 
a  requiem.  The  people  appear  to  be  quiet 
and  orderly,  grave  in  their  demeanor  and  , 
dignified  in  their  intercourse.  So  far  as 
we  were  capable  of  judging,  for  our  rela- 
tions to  them  must  mcxhfy  to  a  certain 
extent  their  actions  and  manners,  they 
are  kind  and  hospitable,  giving  a  hearty 
welcome  to  their  houses,  and  furnishing 
tl^ir  guests  with  whatever  their  means 
will  permit  The  town  once  derived  some 
little  importance  from  the  silver  mines  in 
the  vicinity,  but  the  unwise  policy  of  the 
government,  operating  upon  an  indolent 


peoide,  and  other  cmmmstanoes,  have  of 
late  years  caused  them  to  be  abandoned. 
When  a  man  *'  declares  "  to  the  govern- 
ment, as  it  is  termed,  for  a  mine,  he  is 
bound  to  keep  a  specified  force  employed, 
and  if  he  fails  in  this,  his  '^  declaration  " 
is  forfeited,  and  the  government  takes  the . 
earnings.  The  population  know  but  little 
of  the  operations  of  mining,  use  no  amal- 
gam in  the  process,  and  save  but  a  frac- 
tion of  the  entire  amount  of  pure  ore. 
Hence,  when  they  reach  a  point  that  ren- 
ders the  aid  of  much  machinery  necessary, 
they  are  compelled  to  stop.  The  steam 
engine,  potent  and  ubiquitous  as  it  is, 
though  it  has  carried  terror  to  the  dream- 
ers of  the  Celestial  Empire,  and  startled 
with  its  thunders  the  huge  leviathans  of 
the  Arctic  Ocean,  has  not  found  its  way 
hither ;  nor  is  it  probable  that  the  rich- 
ness of  these  mines  would  warrant  the 
construction  of  such  a  machine.  Mining 
.  here,  it  is  said,  is  much  as  it  is  in  some 
parts  of  North  Carolina  and  Georgia ;  a 
man  who  tills  a  garden  in  the  neighbor- 
hood may  become  rich,  but  the  owner  of 
the  mine  is  on  the  highway  to  bankrupt- 
cy. The  mines  of  Santa  Rosa  are  now 
under  water ;  they  were  last  worked  by 
a  Doctor  Long,  from  the  United  States, 
who  is  now  a  resident  of  the  town. 

Immediately  on  his  arrival  the  General 
had  an  interview  with  the  Alcalde,  the 
substance  of  which,  as  reported  in  camp, 
is  given  below.  It  appears  that  the  town 
official  went  out  to  meet  the  General  be- 
fofe  his  arrival,  but  as  they  happened  to 
take  difiierent  streets  for  exit  and  entrance, 
the  conjunction  was  not  efiected.  Afler  * 
the  presentation,  and  the  usual  flourishes 
on  both  sides,  the  colloquy  commenced 
through  the  interpreter. 

C.  G.  "  I  am  very  sorry  not  to  have 
met  you  on  my  way  in." 

Alcalde.  ^*  Many  thanks,  Senor :  I  am 
very  sorry  not  to  have  met  you  on  my 
way  out."     A  pause. 

0.  G.  "  I  wish  you  to  furnish  me  with 
a  guide  to  Monclova,  who  is  familiar  with 
the  route,  and  the  distances  between  the 
Btr6Ains 

Alcalde.  «It  will  not  be  difficult,  I 
think,  as  there  are  many  such  in  town." 
Another  pause. 

C.  G.  "  I  wish  to  impress  on  you  that 
we  do  not  war  on  the  Mexican  people : 
our  enemy  is  the  government ;  what  we 
take  from  the  people,  we  pay  for." 

Alcalde.  "The  troops  of  the  United 
States  have  behaved  very  well :  there  is 
no  complaint."    Pause  the  third. 

C.  G.  "  I  shall  expect  you  to  send  me 
the  guide^  in  the  course  of  the  aftenuxm." 


670 


NaUi  from,  my  KMBpmuSu 


[June 


Alcalde.    "  I  will  endeavor  to  do  so." 

The  trophies  taken  by  the  adyanoe  de- 
tachment, yiz. :  thirteen  brass  mounted 
muskets  of  every  yariety  of  pattern,  since 
the  abolition  of  the  matchlock,  were  ar- 
ranged on  one  side  of  the  room,  and  at 
this  moment  caught  the  eye  of  the  Com- 
manding Qeneral,  who  was  thus  luckily 
relieved  from  the  embarrassment  of  pause 
the  fourth,  and  though  a  hard  matter,  suc- 
ceeded in  preserving  his  gravity,  as  he 
thus  resumed : 

0.  G.*  "  Were  those  arms  the  proper- 
ty of  Mexico?"      • 

Alcalde.  *'  They  belonged  to  the  most 
illustrious  Repubh'c." 

0.  G.  "  Henceforth  consider  them  the 
property  of  Santa  Rosa:  they  will  be 
useful  against  the  Indians." 

The  Alcalde  rose,  laid  his  hand. on  his 
heart,  made  a  genuflexion  indicative  of 
gratitude  not  ta  be  uttered,  and  took  his 
seat. 

C.  G.  "I  also  transfer  the  pound  and 
a  half  of  powder,  captured  with  the  arms, 
for  the  use  of  the  citizens." 

The  Alcalde  murmured  something  not 
very  distinct,  at  this  new  act  of  benevo- 
lence, which  was  understood  to  be  an  ex- 
pression of  thanks. 

To  this  ofiScial  interview  succeeded,  it 
is  said,  a  Sort  of  melo-dramatic  represen- 
tation, in  which  — ^  — ^  was  the  prin- 
cipal actor;  he  having  selected  the  hall 
of  audience  as  a  fit  place  for  the  surren- 
der into  the  hands  of  his  Chie^  the  cre- 
dentials by  virtue  of  which,  our  military 
renown  had  been  enhanced  to  the  amount 
of  one  Mexican  town,  one  Colonel,  thir- 
teen privates,  thirteen  stands  of  arms, 
and  a  pound  and  a  half  of  powder.  As 
this  scene,  however,  was  principally  pan- 
tomime, it  cannot  be  transferred  to  paper. 

After  great  and  varied  trouble  on  the 
part  of  certain  commanders,  the  column 
was  put  in  motion  on  the  25th,  at  7 
o'clock.  We  travelled  about  two  miles 
through  a  dense  growth  of  chapparral  and 
mezquit,  and  passed  a  rancho  on  our  left, 
where  sugar  is  the  principal  article  of  cul- 
tivation. We  observed  several  large  holes 
by  the  wayside,  which  serve  for  its  con- 
version to  the  required  state  for  traffic  or 
consumption,  to  wit:  moulding  it  into 
small  conical  frustrums,  thereby  giving  it 
the  appearance  of  inferior  maple  sugar. 
There  was  a  large  flourishing  field  of  cane 
near  the  house,  which,  under  the  control 
of  a  Louisiana  planter,  might  bo  valuable, 
but  managed  by  people  who  have  no 
knowledge  of  even  the  few  resources  they 
possess,  it  will  probably  soon  become 
^^pilonci"  for  the  vagabondism  of  Santa 


Rosa.  After  passing  this  randio  we  were 
overtaken  by  the  Alcalde  and  Dr.  Lon^ 
with  a  few  attendants,  who  appeared  to 
be  on  some  mysterious  mission  requiring 
haste.  The  usual  quiet  of  a  day's  march 
vras.  also  relieved  by  the  arrival  of  a 
modem  birouche  from  the  rear — the  only 
Mexican  vehicle  we  have  yet  seen  except 
a  cart — the  occupant  of  which  very  hum- 
bly begged  permission  to  precede  the 
column,  being  on  a  visit  to  a  friend  ex- 
tremely ill,  which  was  of  course  granted. 
On  our  right  the  deep  blue  of  the 
Sierra  was  visible  throughout  the  day, 
the  highest  peaks  sometimes  buried  in 
the  clouds,  and  sometimes  peering  above 
them.  To  these  succeed  a  range  of  less 
lofty  elevations,  whose  tops  appear  pei^ 
fecUy  level  and  parallel  to  the  horizon, 
and  exhibit  a  strange  and  striking  contrast 
to  the  broken  and  capricious  outline  of 
the  mountains  beyond.  The  plains  below 
.  these  towering  table  lands  have  all  the 
characteristics  of  the  prairie,  supportmg 
little  vegetation,  save  a  luxuriant  growth 
of  grass.  The  roadway  at  intervals  is 
paved  with  basaltic  rocks,  precipitated, 
doubtless,  long  since  from  the  mountain 
ridge  above. 

We  arrived  about  noon  at  a  little 
stream  known  as  the  Arroyo  Alamos,  in 
contnullstinction  from  the  river  of  that 
name,  which  rises  in  the  neighboring 
hills.  The  party  that  had  been  sent 
ahead  for  the  purpose,  selected  a  site  for 
the  encampment  on  the  right  bank  of 
this  creek,  where  there  was  an  abundance 
of  wood  and  grass;  independently  of 
which,  crossing  the  stream  to-day,  would 
greatly  flk;ilitate  the  march  of  to-morrow. 
After  a  consultation,  however,  between 

—  and ,  the  men  were 

ordered  to  countermarch  and  form  on  the 
other  bank.  The  phenomenon  was  ex- 
plained in  the  course  of  the  day,  when 
the  report  got  abroad  that  Dr.  Long  and 
the  Alcalde,  desirous  of  doing  proper 
honors  to  the  army,  had  brought  on  a 
party  of  Mexican  cooks,  laden  vrith  two 
young  kids,  and  other  delicacies,  and  that 
the  viands  were  undergoing  the  culinary 
process,  at  the  time  of  our  arrival,  on  the 
left  bank  of  the  creek.  This  explanation 
was  entirely  satisfactory,  it  was  of  course 
a  matter  of  much  less  moment,  that  a 
half  mile  should  be  added  to  the  day's 

march,  than  that and 

should  get  a  cold  dinner. 

Many  of  the  natives  were  hanging  about 
the  skirts  of  the  camp  last  evening,  hav- 
ing followed  us  from  Santa  Rosa  for  the 
purposes  of  traffic  The  delicacies  of  the 
market,  such  as  cakes,  preserves^  bon- 


1954.]                                y6te$  from  my  Knoq^mek.                                671 

bons  or  sugar-ooated  pecans,  ^,  seem  to  their  homes  in  the  afternoon,  after  a  most 
have  been  exhausted  m  town,  and  they  delightful  reunion  of  "the  feast  of  reason 
are  now  bringing  in  blankets,  hats  and  and  the  flow  of  soul."  The  convivial 
shoes.  The  latter  are  sewed  with  the  hospitalities  of  the  day,  according  to  re- 
fibres  of  the  Maguey  (aloe),  rudely  but  port,  had  a  very  exhilarating  mflnence 

apparently    substantially   put    together,      upon  the  fertile  imagination  of , 

and  are  sold  at  a  dollar  and  fifty  cents  who,  it  is  said,  contrived  in  some  way  to 

u  iMDiir.  associate  them  with  the  future  fortunes 

The  alcalde  and  his  friends  returned  to  of  Coahuila. 


N' 


SONNETS, 

ON  THE  J)£ATH  OF  A  FRICND. 


OW  fiules  one  cherished  hope  from  out  my  life— 
The  hope  to  meet  again  those  heavenly  eyes. 
So  starry  high  above  the  world's  vain  strife, 
^So  beaming  with  the  glory  of  the  skies : 
Once  from  their  crystal  ckeps  shone  out  on  me 

A  glad  revealing  of  the  bliss  above, 
A  glimpse  of  what  humanity  might  be 

If  men  but  knew  how  pood  it  is  to  love. 
I  had  but  given  thee  a  perishing  rose. 

With  a  full  heart,  'tis  true,  as  Beauty's  debt ; 
Thou  gavest  me  a  smile,  a  glance  that  glows 

Deep  in  mv  soul  a  shrill  treasure  yet : 
That  very  look  in  heaven  I  trust  to  meet. 
More  pure  it  could  not  be,  nor  more  divinely  sweet. 


Thy  picture  lies  before  me,  beautiful ! 

Beyond  all  beauty  that  may  pass  away,  ' 
A  soft,  supernal  radiance  naugnt  can  dull, 

The  wondrous  light  of  everlasting  day 
Through  those  transparent  features  seems  to  come ; 

So  look  the  angels,  they  who  see  Gk)d's  face. 
And  turn,  all  glorious,  to  welcome  home 

Some  new  immortal  to  his  happy  place. 
My  far-off,  bright  Ideal !  my  soul's  fnend ! 

Perchance  thou  knewest,  now  that  time  js  o'er, 
How  near  and  dear  thou  art ;  how  closely  blend 

All  holy  thoughts  with  tt^  for  evermore ; 
How  each  aspirmg  after  highest  good 
Seems  possible  through  thee,  f^  flower  of  womanhood ! 

lU. 

I  lay  them  side  by  side — the  perfect  face 

And  the  rare  poems  that  such  worth  befit, 
And  reading,  thank  the  Giver  of  all  grace 

That  sweetest  praises  lover  ever  writ 
Should  also  be  the  truest ;  for  no  dream 

Of  poet's  fancjr  art  thou,  peerless  one ! 
That  clear,  victonous  eye,  with  resolute  beam 

'  Has  looked  on  pain  and  death,  and  looked  them  down. 
When  angels  bore  away  the  snowy  dove, 

Awhile  that  nestled  in  your  Eden  home. 
The  morning  glory  of  your  happy  love. 

From  groves  of  Paradise  so  newly  come, 
Thy  fiuth  discerned,  beyond  the  gloomy  grave, 
The  sad,  sweet  ftoe  of  Ohrist^  yearning  to  Uesa  and  save. 


672  [Ji 


THE    COCK    OF    THE    WALE. 

TOXT  strut  about  by  field  and  brook 
And  think  your  gait  and  plumage  show  yoo, 
And  yet,  for  all  your  lofty  look, 
Old  Cock,  I  know  you. 

With  breast  so  sleek  and  eye  so  bright^ 
As  if  you  were  the  pink  of  honor, 
You're  stuffed  as  full  of  wrath  and  spite 
As  Bishop  Conner. 

Ton  stripling  bird,  your  son  and  heir 
And  trim  as  you  in  limb  and  feather, 
You  cuff  and  tumble  oTery  where 
In  every  weather. 

To-day,  when  he  had  done  no  harm, 
But  stretch  his  throat  and  mock  your  bawling 
You  ruffed  TOur  neck  as  big's  my  arm 
And  knocked  him  sprawling-— 

Down  in  a  twink  as  straight's  a  rail — 
Astonished  into  being  dvil — 
Then  up  and  off  with  head  and  tail 
Both  on  a  leveL 


But  though  your  prowess  you  may  boast, 
And  though  in  dreary  dumps  so  sad  h&— 
I  know  not  which  to  pity  most, 
The  son  or  daddy. 

You'll  have  your  day  to  strut  the  floor 
Cock-sure,  with  pluck  and  voice  aspirant, 
But  time  will  reckon  up  your  soore^ 
You  hen-roost  tynnt ! 

It  is  not  that  the  market-man 
May  tempt  me  for  your  tricks  to  sell  yon ; 
It  is  not  of  the  dripping-pan, — 
But  this,  I  teU  you : 

All  times  and  climes  and  books  record 
The  Scripture  truth — we  can't  deny  it— 
They  that  unsheathe  the  oppressor's  sword 
Shall  perish  by  it 

Beware  the  days  when  old  and  lame 
You^  drowse  the  eye  and  droop  the  pinion, 
Your  royal  spirit  level-tame 
With  time's  dominion. 


Think  you  this  bantam,  now  so  green. 
Will  then  forget  these  deadly  grudges  f 
He'll  give  your  memory,  I  ween, 
Some  savage  nudges. 


1854.] 


e?8 


EDITORIAL   NOTES. 


LITERATURE. 

American. — Whether  it  argues  a  want 
of  original  talent,  or  the  rapid  increase  of 
literary  taste  among  us,  we  do  not  pre- 
tend to  say,  but  it  is  a  singular  fact  that  the 
Americans  are  reviving  a  greater  part  of  the 
best  old,  as  well  as  reprinting  modem,  Eng- 
lish literature.  The  Westminster  Review 
speaking  of  the  republication  here  of  De 
Quincey,  Macaulay,  and  other  of  the  late 
celebrated  essayists,  gives  us  the  credit 
of  superior  literary  discernment  and,  we 
must  say,  that  we  are  disposed  to  appro- 
priate the  compliment  as  just  But  what 
we  wish  to  remark  on  is,  that  in  a  little 
while  the  finest  editions  of  the  English 
Classics  will  be  those  issued  in  this  country. 
Professor  Greene's  complete,  judicious 
and  elegant  collection  of  the  "  Works  of 
Addison,^^  is  altogether  the  best  that  we 
know.  With  all  the  notes  of  Hurd  and 
ethers,  it  is,  besides,  enriched  with  excel- 
lent notes  of  its  own, — notes  which  do 
not  encumber  the  text,  but  illustrate  it, 
and,  which  even  the  most  instructed  read- 
ers will  find  serviceable.  In  respect  to 
typography,  the  Appletons'  edition  of 
the  Spectator  has  never  been  surpassed, 
and  we  are  glad  to  hear  that  the  same 
publishers  are  about  to  issue  other  Eng- 
lish '^worthies''  in  the  same  splendid 
style.  Again,  the  Gilfillan  edition  of  the 
British  poets,  which  their  house  has 
commenced,  is  a  luxury  of  type,  and  must 
take  a  permanent  place  in  the  libraries. 
We  can  also  commend  an  edition  of  the 
British  Poets,  of  which  Evans  &  Dickin- 
son are  the  New- York  publishers,  and 
Professor  Ciiild  of  Cambridge,  the  editor. 
It  is  modelled  after  the  Pickering  edition, 
and  is  quite  equal  to  that  in  paper  ana 
type,  with  the  advantage  of  more  recent 
notes.  The  standard  poets  already  inclu- 
ded in  the  series  are  Dryden,  Young, 
Churchill,  Hood,  Kirke-White,  and  Col- 
lins, and,  in  the  future,  we  are  promised, 
besides  Chaucer,  Milton,  Pope,  and  other 
great  guns,  a  selected  edition  of  all  the 
minor  poets.  The  last  is  greatly  needed, 
as  there  has  never  been  in  this  country, 
that  we  are  aware  of,  any  collection  at  all 
of  these  lesser  gods  of  poetry. 

— Mr.  J.  R.  Bartlett.  the  Commis- 
sioner of  the  United  States  to  run  the 
Mexican  boundary  line,  has  published, 
through  the  Appletons,  a  most  interesting 
"  Personal  NaircUive  of  ExplorcUions 
and  Incidents  in  Texas^  New  Mexico^ 
California.  Sonora^  and  Chihuahna.^^ 
His  official  life  m  those  regions,  haying  em- 


braced a  period  of  about  four  years,  he  has 
been  enabled  to  give  us  a  much  fuller  and 
more  authentic  description  of  them  than 
any  previous  sojourner.  The  narrative  is 
divided  into  eight  distinct  journeys,  be- 
ginning on  the  coast  of  Texas  and  ending 
in  CaTifomia,  and  covering  collectively  an 
extent  of  nearly  five  thousand  miles  by 
land.  Among  the  regions  more  particu- 
larly described  are  the  copper  mines  on 
the  river  Gila,  the  interior  of  Sonora,  the 
States  of  Chihuahua,  Durango,  Zacar 
tecas,  New  Leon  and  Tamaulipas,  and 
the  various  towns  along  the  Pacific  coast 
from  Guaymas  to  San  Francisco. 

Mr.  Bartlett,  in  his  several  journeys, 
has  had  an  eye,  not  only  to  the  scientific 
objects  of  his  expedition,  to  the  botany, 
zoology  and  ethnography  of  the  districts 
through  which  he  passed,  but  also  to  the 
practical  wants  of  emigrants,  and  at  the 
hazard  of  making  his  narrative  a  little 
tedious  to  the  general  reader,  has  inter- 
woven with  it  a  vast  amount  of  useful  in- 
formatk)n,  for  which  the  gold-seekers  will 
give  him  their  thanks.  A  great  deal  of 
the  scientific  matter  collected  by  the 
commissiqner,  however,  such  as  the  vo- 
cabularies of  more  than  twenty  Indian 
tribes,  the  ethnological  sketdies,  and  the 
zoological  collections  are  reserved  for 
future  works,  which,  it  is  expected  the 
government  will  authorize  to  be  prepared 
for  publication. 

Mr.  Bartlett's  instructive  and  enter- 
tainiiig  volumes  are  handsomely  illustra- 
ted by  colored  lithographic  drawings  of 
the  regions  through  which  he  pass^  by 
wood-cuts  of  objects,  and  by  authentic 
maps.  These  are  adjuncts  worthy  of  the 
high  interest  of  the  letter-press. 

— Mr.  John  B.  Dods,  known  as  a  lec- 
turer upon  Electro-Psychology,  as  it  was 
called,  has  put  forth  a  little  book  in  ex- 
planation of  the  Spirit  Rappings,  &c.,  in 
which  he  tries  to  account  for  them  on 
natural  grounds.  He  thinks  that  the  au- 
tomatic or  involuntary  action  of  the  brain 
is  a  sufficient  cause  for  all  the  phenomena 
ascribed  to  the  spirits.  This  is  substan-  . 
tially  the  same  view  taken  by  Mr.  Rogers, 
in  his  book,  and  has  a  great  deal  of  proba- 
bility in  its  favor.  Mr.  Dods  has  paid  no 
little  attention  to  the  class  of  subjects, 
which  may  be  comprised  under  the  gene- 
ral head  of  Magnetism,  and  is  therefore 
able  to  bring  a  large  variety  of  facts  to 
the  illustration  of  his  theories.  He  takes 
a  good  deal  for  granted,  however,  in  his 
book,  especially  in  regarding  the  cerebel 


614 


Editcrial  Notes — Amerieom  Literature. 


[Jane 


Inm  as  the  seat  of  all  instincts  and  intu- 
itions, although  the  hypothesis  is  a  most 
interesting  one,  and,  if  it  could  he  yerified, 
would  go  far  towards  explaining  several 
curious  psychological  peculiarities.  De- 
witt  and  Davenport  are  the  publishers. 

— No  mythology  is  more  impressive 
than  that  of  the  Northmen,  and  we  are 
pleased  to  get  a  full  exposition  of  it„in  a 
translation  of  Professor  Keyser's  "  Beli" 
gion  of  the  Northmen,^^  by  Mr.  Barclay 
PiNNooK.  It  is  the  completest  view  of 
that  form  of  heathenism  that  has  been 
prepared.  In  the  introductory  chapters 
we  have  a  succinct  account  of  the  Eddas 
and  Sagas,  which  are  the  sources  of  the 
Scandinavian  myths,  with  an  abstract  of 
the  old  Icelandic  literature,  and  in  the 
body  of  the  work,  the  dogmas  of  the  Asa- 
faith,  an  exposition  of  the  doctrine,  and  a 
discussion  of  the  influence  of  it  on  the  life 
and  manners  of  the  Northmen.  Our  readers 
will  see,  from  this  outline,  that  the  book 
leaves  little  to  be  desired  by  the  general 
student  The  work  is  dedicated  to  Mr. 
Fiske  of  the  Astor  Library,  and  may  be  re- 
garded as  one  of  the  first  fruits  of  that  val- 
uable institution.  Mr.  Pindock  says  that 
its  collection  of  Scandinavian  lore,  renders 
a  voyage  to  Europe  no  lon^r  necessary^ 
and  is  the  fullest  existing  in  any  partx>i 
the  globe  out  of  Scandinavia  itself  A 
well-arraneed' index  increases  the  value 
of  this  woric. 

— Two  large  and  handsome  volumes 
contain  the  poetical  writings  of  W.  H.  C. 
fiosMER,  who  has  some  reputation  as  a 
poet  in  the  western  part  of  this  State,  and 
18  not  unknown  in  other  longitudes.  The 
subjects  of  them  are  exceedingly  various, 
ranging  through  Indian  legends,  historic 
scenes,  martial  lyrics,  songs  and  ballads, 
sonnets  and  octosyllabic  epics,  while  it  is 
difficult  to  say  in  which  the  author's  suc- 
cess, or  want  of  success,  as  the  reader  may 
deem,  is  the  most  marked.  He  has  an 
Aasy  flow  of  language,  though  not  a  mas- 
tery of  its  intenser  meanings,  a  command 
of  graceful  and  mellifluous  verse,  and  a 
great  deal  of  good  sense ;  but  the  genuine 
poetic  energy  he  does  not  possess  to  any 
remarkable  extent  His  poems  are  re- 
spectable, but  will  scarcely  win  popular 
regard  and  love.  They  do  not  sink  into 
the  heart  by  their  great  humanitary  charm, 
not  move  the  intellect  by  their  consum- 
mate art  Tet  their  faults,  on  the  other 
hand,  are  not  flagrant,  while  the  general 
impression  they  produce  is  pleasing.  For 
one  thing,  indeed,  Mr.  Hosmer  is  to  be 
greatly  commended :  his  topics  are  almost 
entirely  home-bom,  they  are  drawn  from 
Ameriam   history,   American   life,   and 


American  scenes,  and  they  ve  treated  in 
the  author's  own  manner,  not  in  the  man- 
ner of  Shelley,  Tennyson,  Browning,  or  oth- 
er reigning  foreign  model.  His  first  volume 
is  exclusively  taken  up  with  legends  of  the 
Senecas,  who  formerly  possessed  the  region 
where  the  poet's  own  days  have  been  pass- 
ed, with  Indian  traditions  and  song?,  with 
bird-notes,  or  stanzas  descriptive  of  our 
birds,  and  with  poems  on  the  months, 
such  as  they  are  known  1^  us,  and  not 
such  as  they  are  known  by  Europe.  This 
honorable  fidelity  to  the  inspirations  around 
and  about  him  would  excuse  Mr.  Hos- 
mer's  ambition,  if  it  needed  any  excuse  on 
the  score  of  a  deficient  executk>n.  Our 
young  authors  are,  many  of  them,  so 
prone  to  re-echo  the  voices  of  other  lands, 
that  we  are  always  glad  to  welcome  an 
exception.  Mr.  Hosmer's  leading  defects, 
however,  arise  from  his  having  written 
too  much.  He  must  husband  and  mature 
his  powers  if  he  would  attain  the  loftiest 
rank  in  the  sphere  to  which  he  aspires. 

— In  the  "  Trials  and  Confessions  of 
an  American  Mousekeeper,^^  we  have  an 
amusing  record  of  the  many  droll  experi- 
ences of  domestic  life,  told  in  a  lively  way, 
and  with  not  a  little  good  sense  at  the 
bottom  of  the  fun.  The  writer's  aim  is  to 
assist  young  housekeepers  ia  their  more 
trymg  difficulties,  and  by  the  narration  of 
her  own  troubles,  help  them  to  an  under- 
standing of  the  best  mode,  of  making  the 
disagremens  as  few  as  possible.  Her 
advice  is  nearly  always  judicious,  and  her 
temper  dignified  and  Christian. 

—The  "  Winter  Lodge,  or  Vow  FuU 
fHkd,^  is  the  name  of  a  historical  novel, 
a  sequel  to  Simon  Kenton,  by  Mr.  James 
WiER.  It  is  a  story  of  pioneer  settlement 
in  the  Green  River  "section"  of  Ken- 
tucky, in  which  skirmishes  and  bloody 
battles  with  the  Indians,  of  course,  furnish 
a  large  part  of  the  matter.  The  scenes 
which  christened  Kentucky  with  the 
name  of  ^*the  dark  and  bloody  ground" 
are  harrowing  enough  for  any  romancer, 
and  Mr.  Wier  has  not  neglected  his  op- 
portunities. By  the  way,  is  it  out  of 
place  to  observe,  in  reference  to  the  result 
of  a  recent  trial,  which  has  shocked  the 
moral  feelings  of  the  whole  country,  that 
if  such  things  are  suffered,  Kentucky  will 
regain  the  name  of  "  the  dark  and  bloody 
ground,'*  but  not  in  a  sense  at  all  honor- 
able to  the  virtues  of  her  people. 

— A  more  genial  story  is  Mr.  Robert 
F.  Greeley's  "  Violet,  the  Child  of  the 
City,^^  written  in  commendation  of  the 
efforts  recently  made  to*  provide  for  the 
vagrant  children  of  the  metropolis,  by  the 
<^Childien'8  Aid  Society,"  of  which  Mr. 


1854.] 


Editorial  Notes — American^  Literature. 


675 


Brace  is  the  efficient  and  deserving  agent 
Among  other  objects,  also,  the  writer  en- 
deavors to  show  that  poverty  is  not  al- 
ways accompanied  hj  crime,  but  that  the 
most  noble  characters  and  intellects  may 
be  reduced  by  misfortune  to  low  depths 
of  degradation.  He  likewise  attempts  to 
expose  a  class  whom  he  calls  "American 
snobs,"  and  whom  he  thinks  quite  as 
worthy  of  systematic  commiseration  as 
their  poorer  though  not  more  debased 
neighlx)rs.  The  narrative  is  for  the  most 
part  skilfully  managed,  and  the  interest 
of  the  plot  well-sustained.  The  scene  is 
not,  however,  confined  to  this  hemisphere, 
for  some  of  the  principal  personages  wan- 
der off  to  Paris,  where  they  make  a  char- 
acteristic display  of  their  folly.  But  we 
cannot  say  that  this  digression  is  an  ad- 
vantage to  the  book. 

— Mr*  Herman  J.  Meter  has  at  last 
completed  his  serial,  named  "  The  United 
States  Illustrated,^^  and  it  forms  two 
quite  splendid  volumes,  one  of  which  is 
devoted  to  the  sceneiy  of  the  East,  or  the 
Atlantic  States,  and  the  other  to  the 
West,  or  the  Stetes  of  the  Valley  of  the 
Mississippi  and  the  Pacific.  All  of  the 
plates  are  line  engravings,  and  many  of 
them  display  considerable  artistic  mer- 
it though  a  few  are  neither  faithful  as 
views^  nor  well  executed.  The  letter- 
press, which  has  been  under  the  accom- 
plished editorial  control  of  Mr.  Charles 
A.  Dana,  has  been  mainly  furnished  by 
Horace  Greeley,  George  W.  Curtis,  W. 
H.  Fry.  Dr.  Fumess,  C.  F.  Briggs,  A. 
Oakey  Hall,  W.  H.  Huntington,  J.  M. 
Peck.  Edmund  Flagg,  Parke  Godwin,  and 
others.  It  gives  full  and  interesting  de- 
scriptions of  nearly  all  the  prominent 
cities  or  towns,  and  famous  places,  in  our 
country,  from  San  Francisco  to  the  White 
Mountains. 

— In  referring,  in  our  last  number,  to 
the  proceedings  of  the  ^  California  Acade- 
my of  Science,"  we  stated  that  it  had  si^ 
nalized  its  advent  to  the  world  of  science, 
by  proclaiming,  through  a  paper  read  by 
Dr.  Gibbons,  the  discovery  of  a  new  ge- 
nus of  viviparous  fishes.  But  we  are 
told  by  an  intelli^nt  correspondent,  that 
the  honor  of  this  discovery  belongs  to 
Passed  Midshipman  Alonzo  0.  Jackson, 
lately  deceased,  who  discovered  them  on 
the  7th  June,  1852,  more  than  a  year  be- 
fore the  memoir  by  Dr.  Gibbons  was 
r^.  A  notice  of  this  discovonr  was  sent 
to  Professor  Agassiz,  by  Mr.  Jackson,  on 
his  return  to  the  United  States,  in  the 
earl^  part  of  September  (1852),  with  an 
oatiine  drawing  of  the  fish.  He  sent  an 
account  of  them  to  Professor  A.  on  the 


16th  of  the  same  month — ten  months  be- 
fore Dr.  Gibbons  read  his  paper  to  the 
Academy ;  and  the  Professor  distinctly 
states,  in  SiUiman^s  Journal,  that  Mr. 
Jackson  is  entitled  to  whatever  scientific 
honora  pertain  to  the  discovery. 

— Among  the  most  recent  works  in- 
cluded in  the  Classical  and  Standard  Li- 
braries of  Bohn,  of  which  Bangs,  Broth- 
ers &  Co.  are  the  agents  in  this  city,  are 
a  fine  edition  of  Wright's  translation  of 
the  Divina  Comedia,  of  Dante,  with  a 
life  of  the  great  poet,  and  copious  notes, 
and  a  translation  of  that  amusing  work, 
the  Deipnosophists  of  Athenseus.  Both . 
volumes  are  well  printed  and  edited,  and 
sustain  the  high  character  which  the  se- 
lections of  Bohn's  series  have  heretofore 
maintained. 

— Commander  Andrew  H.  Foote,  of 
the  United  States  Navy,  has  written,  un- 
der the  title  of  "A/rtca  and  the  Ameri- 
can Flag,^^  a  most  instructive  and  valu- 
able book,  on  the  natives  and  colonies  of 
the  western  coast  of  Africa.  Mr.  Foote 
was  attached,  in  1849,  to  the  American 
squadron  stationed  on  that  coast  under 
our  treaty  with  Great  Britain,  of  1842, 
for  the  suppression  of  the  slave  trade,  and 
has,  therefore,  had  ample  experience  of 
the  subject  on  which  he  writes.  His  de- 
sign is  to  illustrate  the  importance  of  this 
squadron,  the  relations  which  its  opera- 
tions bear  to  American  interests,  and  to 
the  rights  of  the  American  flag,  and  its 
effects  upon  the  condition  of  Africa,  in 
checking  crime,  and  in  preparing  the  way 
for  the  introduction  of  peace  and  prosper- 
ity. He  divides  his  work  into  three  pe- 
riods, pertaining  respectively  to  the  time, 
of  discovery,  puracy  and  slaving,  to  the 
time  of  colonizing,  and  to  the  time  of  na- 
val cruising.  After  a  narrative  of  the 
several  discoveries  of  the  coast,  and  of  the 
adventures  of  the  most  famous  pirates 
and  slavers,  he  describes  its  physical  ge- 
ography, its  different  races,  and  its  lead- 
ing productions.  He  then  passes  in  re- 
view the  attempts  made  by  the  Portu- 
guese^ the  English,  and  the  Americans,  to 
colonize  the  country,  giving  a  full  history 
of  Liberii^  and  finally  relates  the  doings 
of  the  various  squadrons  under  the  treaty 
of  Washington.  It  is  needless  to  add, 
that  his  details  abound  in  interest;  for 
the  reader  will  guess,  from  the  outline 
we  have  given,  that  it  would  scarcely  be 
possible  to  make  a  dull  book  out  of  such 
materials  as  Mr.  Foote  has  at  hand.  He 
is  a  decided  enemy  of  slave-trading,  in  all 
its  forms,  and  urges  the  nation  to  renewed 
efforts  for  its  extinction. 

—In  a  brief  notioe  of  Mr.  Shelton'ft 


676 


Editorial  Noiu — American  lAttratum. 


[June 


Tolume  of  Hudson  RiTer  Qeorgics,  which 
he  calls  Letters  from  up  the  River,  a 
few  months  ago,  we  recommended  him  to 
eschew  all  hut  humorous  subjects  in  his 
ftiture  books,  for  humor  is  so  unmistak- 
ably his  forte  that  we  had  a  doubt  of  his 
exploiting  himself  to  so  good  advantage 
in  any  other  direction.  But  he  has  shown 
his  good  sense  by  following  his  own  in- 
stincts rather  than  our  advice,  and  his 
next  volume  is  romantic  and  pathetic. 
Crystalline ;  or,  the  Heiress  of  Fall 
Down  Qtstle.  by  F.  W.  Shelton,  atUhor 
of  the  Rector  of  St,  Bardolph^s,  is  the 
title  of  his  last  volume  just  piiblished  by 
Scribncr.  Crystalline  is  a  pure  romance 
and  purely  written ;  the  chief  incident  of 
the  story  is  a  borrowed  one,  from  the 
legend  of  the  Gazza  Ladra,  known  also 
as  the  Maid  and  Magpie ;  and  there  being 
no  novelty  in  the  denouement  the  interest 
of  the  narrative  is  weakened  by  the  ab- 
sence of  a  surprise.  But  Shakespeare 
borrowed  his  plots,  and  so  have  many 
story  tellers  and  dramatists  since  his  time. 
Mr.  Shelton  says  that  it  was  not  wholly 
from  the  legend  of  La  Qazza  Ladra  that 
he  drew  his  inspiration,  but  his  romance 
was  suggested  from  actual  observation  of 
the  pranks  of  a  mischievous  bird.  But, 
if  the  incident  is  old,  Mr.  Shelton's 
manner  of  using  it  is  certainly  new,  and 
so  is  the  whole  machinery  of  his  ro- 
mance. 

— il  History  of  the  Old  Hundredth 
Psalm  l\ine,  by  the  Rev.  W.  H.  Haver- 
OAL,  with  a  Prefatory  Note  by  Bishop 
Wainwright,  recently  published  by  Ma- 
eon  k  Brothers,  of  thw  city,  is  a  very  re- 
markable monograph.  The  history  of 
this  universal  tune,  its  origin,  and  aU  the 
various  changes  it  has  undergone,  form 
t^together  an  exceedingly  curious  and  en- 
tertaining essay. 

— We  have  been  making  a  oollectioxi. 
or  rather  accumulating  a  large  pile  or 
American  novels,  with  the  intention  of 
making  them  the  text  of  a  review  of  our 
progress  in  this  most  prolific  department 
•f  literature.  But  the  collection,  though 
large,  has  not  yet  exhibited  the  salient 
and  characteristic  points  we  have  been 
most  anxiously  anticipating.  Our  great 
American  novelist  has  not  yet  cast  his 
shadow  before  him ;  he  is  still  to  come, 
and  we  are  not  very  sure  that  he  is  com- 
ing. It  is  very  remarkable,  and  rather 
mortifying,  to  see  the  succession  of  novel- 
ists in  England,  in  France,  in  Germany, 
and  even  in  Denmark,  Norway  and  Swe- 
den, while  we  have  so  little  to  boast  of 
ourselves.  Thackeray,  Dickens  and  Bul- 
wer  Lytton  are  all  l^ree  contemporary 


authors,  with  scores  of  lesser  lights  sur- 
rounding them,  of  the  same  order,  while 
we  cannot  name  even  one  popular  novel- 
ist This  dearth  of  story-telling  talent 
in  a  country  which  numbers  more  novel 
readers  than  any  other  in  the  world,  is  a 
defiance  of  the  politioo-economk;  aphorism 
that  demand  creates  a  supply,  ^e  sup- 
ply comes,  to  be  sure,  but  not  in  a  legi- 
timate manner ;  the  stories  are  furnished 
to  the  readers,  but  only  as  merchandise 
used  to  be  furnished  to  Algerine  shop- 
keepers, not  by  the  producers,  but  the 
cruisers.  It  is  not  the  demand  of  Ameri- 
can readers  whk^h  caused  Dickens,  and 
Thackeray,  and  Bulwer,  and  Dumas,  and 
Balzac,  to  wpte  their  novels  and  roman- 
ces. We  might  have  demanded  until 
doomsday  before  we  should  have  got  a 
supply  of  Dombey  and  Newoome,  but  for 
the  demand  of  those  who  were  willing  to 
pay  for  their  literary  luxuries.  In  the 
meanwhile  we  have  no  lack  of  stories, 
such  as  they  are,  and  Uncle  Tom,  to  ap- 
pease our  longings  until  we  can  do  better. 
From  0.  Shxphard  k  Go.  we  have  Unde 
Sam^s  Farm  Fence,  by  W.  A.  Milne,  an 
author  who  is  new  to  us,  and  a  title  that 
does  not  promise  mudi.  We  expect  a 
prose  satire,  and  open  it  and  &id  it 
a  story  of  ^  that  dreadful  evil — Intemper- 
ance." Jewett  k  Co.,  of  Boston,  send  us 
another  tale  on  the  same  subject,  called 
Durham  Village,  by  Cora  Linn.  We 
would  like  to  see  the  statistics  of  convert- 
ed inebriates  from  reading  tempraance 
stories.  If  there  be  any  reformatory 
power  in  moral  stories  they  ought  to  be 
very  numerous.  The  Life  ami  Adven- 
tures of  a  Country  Merdiani,  by  J.  B. 
Jones,  fit>m  Lippinoott)  Grambo  k  Co., 
of  Philadelphia,  is  a  very  promi^ng 
title^  and  the  book  itself  is  much  better 
than  the  greater  part  of  its  class.  There 
is  a  good  deal  of  real  Western  humor,  and 
some  distinctly  drawn,  though  rather 
coarse  characters  in  the  Country  Mer- 
chant The  local  descriptions  are  racy 
and  characteristic.  But  this  is  not  strict- 
ly a  novel ;  the  sketches  are  held  together 
by  a  fine  thread  of  story,  yet  they  run  into 
the  burlesque  and  grot^ue.  The  Country 
Merchant  is  a  much  better  novel  of  Ameri- 
can manners,  though,  than  the  once  mudi 
vaunted  stories  of  the  mythical  Sealsfield. 
Tempest  and  Sunshine;  or,  Life  in 
Kentucky,  by  Mrs.  Mary  J.  Holmes, 
from  Appleton  k  Co.,  is  an  attempt  at  a 
novel  of  Southwestern  life,  as  the  title 
promises.  It  is  entitled  to  a  more  ex- 
tended notice  than  we  can  now  afibrd  to 
bestow  upon  it,  and  we  defer  it  for  an- 
other occasion.    We  are  happy  to  see  an 


1854.] 


Sdikmal  Notu — American  LUeraiure. 


en 


announcement  by  Tkknor,  Reed  A  Fields, 
of  Boston,  of  the  charming  story  of 
Wensley,  with  which  the  readers  of  our 
Monthly  are  already  familiar.  It  con- 
tained some  of  the  most  delicious  and 
truthful  pictures  of  the  better  kind  of 
New  England  life  that  we  have  seen  in 
print,  and  we  are  quite  sure  that  even  those 
who  read  it  in  our  columns  will  be  glad 
to  renew  their  acquaintance  with  the  in- 
comparable parson,  and  his  no  less  incom- 
parable dusky  valet 

—Serial  stories  are  exotics  that  have 
never  taken  rpot  or  flourished  among  us ; 
notwithstanding  that  all  the  great  popular 
writers  of  England  tind  it  to  their  interest 
to  publish  their  productions  in  parts, 
doline  out  small  doses  of  plot  and  char- 
acter through  twenty  mouths  until  the 
reading  public  becomes  thoroughly  im- 
bued with  the  spirit  of  the  author  and  tftr 
miliarized  with  all  his  characters.  It  was 
by  this  ingenious  method  of  diffusing 
himself  that  Dickens  achieved  his  first 
great  success  in  Pickwick,  and  all  th» 
popular  novelists  had  the  sagacity  to  see 
the  advantages  of  the  system,  and  follow 
the  example  set  them.  In  no  other  man- 
ner could  the  reading  world  have  become 
so  thoroughly  conversant  with  the  char- 
acters of  Thackeray  and  Dickens.  But 
this  palpably  advantageous  method  of 
keeping  before  the  public,  has  never  been 
tried  with  success  by  any  of  our  authors, 
except  by  availing  themselves  of  the  aid 
of  a  Ma«;azine.  None  of  them  have  yet 
had  sufficient  strength  to  stand  on  their 
own  pins  and  go  ahead  at  the  same  time. 
A  new  attempt  has  just  been  made  in 
Boston  by  Paul  Creyton,  with  the  ad- 
vantage of  a  popular  publisher.  We  have 
read  two  numbers  of  A/artin  Merivale,  ki8 
Mark^  published  fortnightly  by  Messrs. 
Phillips,  Sampson  &  Co.  The  commence- 
ment of  the  story  is  very  promising,  but 
we  do  not  discern  any  original  traits  in 
the  treatment  or  in  the  style.  The  char- 
acters are  the  commonplaces  of  fiction, 
and  the  illustrations  are  not  by  any 
means  encouraging  specimens  of  art. 

Reprints. — Few  modem  writers  upon 
scientific  subjects  have  made  a  wider  cir- 
cle of  friends  than  Hugh  Miller,  whose 
'•  Footprints  of  Creation "  is  a  favorite 
book.  In  his  "Scenes  and  Legends  of 
Scotland,"  he  scarcely  sustained  his  repu- 
tation, and  yet  had  that  been  his  first 
book,  it  would  have  produced  a  decided 
impression.  As  a  third  attempt,  we  have 
now  ^''My  Schools  and  my  Schoolmas- 
ters^ or  the  Story  of  my  Education,''^ 
which,  as  giving  personal  details^  will 


likely  achieve  a  popularity  superior  to 
either  of  the  former.  Miller,  it  appears 
from  this,  is  emphatically  a  man  of  the 
people, — and  of  a  low  sort  of  people.  His 
grandfather  was  a  buccaneer,  his  father  a 
common  sailor,  and  the  rest  of  his  kith 
and  kin  related  to  those  reiving  High- 
landers, who  figure  in  romances  as  he- 
roes, but  in  reality  are  the  terrors  of  a 
neighborhood.  Yet,  in  spite  of  these  dis- 
advantages, he  early  acquired  a  taste  for 
reading,  and  became  master  of  Gulliver^s 
Travels,  the  Arabian  Night<i,  Captain 
Cook's  Voyages,  and  the  New  Testament 
Being  sent  to  school  in  one  of  the  remote 
districts  of  Scotland,  he  showed  the  blood 
from  which  he  was  descended,  by  taking 
the  teacher  in  hand,  and  giving  him  a 
flogging.  It  was  thus  made  obvious,  that 
he  was  not  the  best  subject  in  the  world 
for  school  discipline,  and  he  was  conse- 
quently put  to  trade  to  a  stone-mason, 
instead  of  laboring,  however,  with  dili- 
gence, as  other  lads  would  have  done,  he 
availed  himself  of  the  opportunities  of  the 
quairy  to  study  mineralogy  and  geology. 
A  slight  taste  for  drink,  at  the  same  time, 
interrupted  his  devotion  both  to  labor  and 
study.  But  this  taste  did  not  last  lon^. 
His  strong  nature  struggled  against  it,  his 
better  feelings  got  the  mastery,  and  he 
began  to  advance  at  a  rapid  rate,  in  the 
acquisition  of  knowledge.  The  results  of 
his  8elf-educatk>n,  the  world  knows  in 
those  admirable  volumes  we  have  already 
mentioned.  Republished  by  Gould  a 
Lincoln,  Boston. 

— Kcdfield  has  reprinted  Warrington 
W.  Smyth's  •*  Year  with  the  Turk,'^  one 
of  the  most  interesting  sketches  of  travel 
in  the  dominion  of  the  Sultan,  which  the 
war  has  called  forth.  It  attempts  to  re- 
lieve the  character  of  the  Turks  from  the 
odium  which  has  been  heaped  upon  it  by 
previous  writers,  by  describing  faithfully 
the  author's  experience  during  a  protract- 
ed journey  through  both  European  and 
Asiatic  Turkey.  He  states,  that  the  Turks 
are  a  commercial  people ;  that  they  are 
exceedingly  kind-hearted;  that  they  are 
gradually  improving,  and  that  the  sympa- 
thy of  France  and  England  is  merited,  in 
every  respect  This  may  all  be  so ;  but 
Mr.  Smyth  prefixes  a  colored  map  to  his 
book,  showing  the  distribution  of  popula- 
tions over  the  Ottoman  Empire,  which  is 
one  of  the  most  striking  evidences  of  the 
impossibility  that  the  Turk  should  main- 
tain his  foothold  in  Europe,  that  can  be 
imagined.  It  represents  the  whole  vast 
region,  firom  the  Sea  of  -Marmora  on  the 
north,  and  the  Adriatk;  on  the  west,  as  in 
the  posaessioii  already  of  the  Solavea 


678 


Editorial  Notet—IhujfUsh  Literature. 


[June 


Servians,  and  Bulgarians,  among  whom 
the  Turks  hold  here  and  there  a  few 
scarcely  visible  spots.  They  are  emphat- 
ically rari  nantes  in  gurgiie  vastOy  and 
how  they  can  expect  to  hold  possession 
of  such  an  immense  territory,  in  which 
they  are  scattered  only  as  specks,  is  as- 
tonishing. Apart  from  all  questions  of 
justice,  it  seems  to  us  inevitable  that  they 
must  yield  their  claims,  and  retire  into 
Asia,  where  they  are  at  home. 

—The  "  Church  before  the  Flood,^^  by 
the  Rev.  John  Gumming,  D.  D.,  has  been 
reprinted  by  Jewett  &  Co.,  of  Boston. 
It  consists  of  an  able  series  of  disserta- 
tions, on  topics  suggested  by  the  Bible 
history  of  the  pericS  before  Noah, — such 
as  the  Creation,  the  state  of  Adam,  the 
Curse,  Abel,  the  first  Martyr,  the  Primi- 
tive Wickedness,  the  Flood,  &c  &c.  Dr. 
Cummings  writes  with  unusual  vigor,  and 
being  of  the  sect  of  Christians  known  as 
evangelical,  has  no  compromises  with  Ro- 
manism, High-Churchism,  or  Infidelity. 

— Messrs.  Gould  and  Lincoln,  of  Bos- 
ton, have  issued,  with  an  introduction  by 
Dr.  Hitchcock,  an  interesting  speculation 
on  the  ''Plurality  of  Worlds:^  The  posi- 
tion assumed  by  the  writer,  is  that  the  com- 
mon opinion  as  to  the  planets  and  fixed 
stars  being  inhabited,  is  a  mistake,  rest- 
ing his  argument  .on  the  fact,  that  the 
mliterial  conditions  of  those  bodies  are  not 
adapted  to  the  existence  of  organized  life. 
All  the  planets  beyond  Mars,  he  says, 
excluding  the  asteroids,  are  in  a  liquid 
state,  though  not  from  heat  Their  dis- 
tance from  the  sun,  besides,  is  so  great, 
that  the  light  and  heat  there  could  not 
sustain  organic  beings,  such  as  exist  upon 
this  globe.  On  the  other  hand,  of  the 
inferior  planets.  Mercury  is  so  near  the 
sun,  that  human  beings,'  like  ourselves, 
would  scorch  in  it ;  while  Mars  and  Ve- 
nus are  the  only  planets  apparently  capa- 
ble of  comfortable  residence.  A^  to  the 
"  fixed  stars,"  which  are  supposed  to  be 
suns,  their  periods  of  revolution  in  their 
orbits  are  so  enormous,  that  it  is  altogeth- 
er out  of  the  question  for  any  sane  man 
to  think  of  living  in  them  ;  some  taking 
fifty,  and  others  a  hundred  years,  to  turn 
round,  which  nobody  but  a  Methuselah 
could  stand.  Meanwhile,  in  respect  to  the 
satellites  assigned  to  those  stars  by  conjec- 
ture, let  their  existence  first  be  proved, 
before  we  undertake  to  lend  them  inhab- 
itants. Thus,  the  author  goes  on  depopu- 
lating the  universe,  and  making  this  little 
•ejtf'th  of  ours,  which  some  have  affected 
•to  despise,  the  most  considerable  theatre 
of  ithe  creative  operations 

Dr.  Hitchcock  only  partly  adopts  the 


conclusions  of  his  author;  he  sympathizes 
with  the  main  purpose  of  "  painless  ex- 
tinction," as  it  regards  our  sister  planets, 
but  jet  retains  some  bowels  of  commis- 
eration for  the  fixed  stars.  He  thinks  it 
rather  incredible,  that  amid  the  countless 
bodies  of  the  universe,  only  a  single  globe, 
and  that  a  little  one,  should  be  fit  to  be 
the  home  of  rational  and  immortal  crea- 
tures. Moreover,  he  wisely  suggests, 
that  the  organism  of  beings  in  other 
spheres,  may  be  adapted  to  their  external 
condition,  and  that  if  they  live  in  a  world 
of  gas  or  water,  they  may  have  gaseous 
or  ethereal  bodies,  and  that  those  bodies 
may  be  better  instruments  of  intellectual 
use  than  our  heavier  clods.  •  Does  not 
Revelation,  too,  speak  of  angels,  "who 
kept  not  their  first  estate,  but  left  their 
own  habitation,"  probably  referring  to 
some  of  the  stars.  At  the  same  time,  Dr. 
Hitchcock  strongly  recommends  the  book 
to  men  of  science  and  clergymen. 

Our  own  opinion  is,  that  as  we  mortals 
^ave  a  great  deal  to  do  on  this  earth,  and 
a  very  short  time  to  do  it  in,  it  is  beeom- 
mg  that  we  should  leave  the  st|irs  to  set- 
tle their  own  business,  at  least  until  they 
shall  have  given  us  some  more  authentic 
intelligence  than  we  now  have  as  to  what 
they  are  at 

English. — ^If  a  volume  of  poems  by 
John  Shidsespeare  were  discovered  by 
some  sagacious  Collier  and  it  were  an- 
nounced that  John  was  a  brother  of  the 
famous  William,  there  would  be  an  inter- 
est felt  in  the  work  quite  apart  firom  the 
value  of  the  verse.  Can  two  prophets 
come  from  Nazareth?  Let  Mr.  Fred- 
erick Tennyson  answer.  He  has  just 
published  in  London  a  volume  of  poems 
called  Days  and  Hours:  and  however 
much  a  reader  may  wish  to  avoid  remem- 
bering Alfred,  it  is  impossible  for  him  not 
to  see  that  Frederic  has  not  forgotten  his 
great  brother.  The  new  singer  is  the 
oldest  brother  of  the  Laureate.  There  is 
nothing  that  can  be  called  direct  imita- 
tion in  his  volume,  but  such  lines  as  the 
following  are  strictly  in  the  modem  style 
of  which  Keats  was  the  first,  and  Alfred 
Tennyson  the  best,  illustration  : 

^  Through  tho  gaunt  woods  the  winds  are  ftbrilllng 
cold, 

Down  from  the  rifted  rack  the  ranbeam  poora, 

Over  ihe  cold  grey  8Iope^  and  stony  ntoois ; 
The  glimmering  wateroonrse.  the  eastern  wold. 
And  over  it  the  whirling  sail  o'  the  mill. 

The  lonely  hamlet  with  its  mossy  spire, 

The  piled  city  smoking  like  a  pyre. 
Fetched  oat  of  shadow,  gleam  with  light  as  chin." 

This  is  not  a  distinct,  although  a  care- 


1854.] 


Editorial  Notes — Engli$h  Literature, 


619 


ful  picture.  It  has  not  the  irresistible 
melody,  which,  in  poetry,  seems  to  me 
the  color  and'meaning  to  the  words.  Our 
meaninj;  will  be  illustrated  by  comparing 
with  this  landscape  of  Frederick's,  that 
one  of  Alfred's  in  In  Menioriam,  ban- 
ning 

"  Calm  is  the  moon  without  a  soond."* 

In  this  poem  the  dull,  sad,  autumnal 
landscape  stretching  slowly  away  with 
"  lessening  towers"  to  the  sea,  is  as  per- 
fect as  poetry  can  make  it.  And  it  is  so 
perfect  because  the  sentiment  of  the  spec- 
tator is  so  intimately  blended  in  the  de- 
scription with  the  thing  seen.  This  raises 
it  from  being  a  mere  description,  which 
would  correspond  to  an  imitation  of  a 
natural  scene  in  painting,  and  leaves  it  a 
work  of  art  Air.  Frederick  Tennyson's 
poetry  is  impalpable  and  impersonal.  He 
indulges  in  prosonification  to  a  degree 
quite  beyond  general  sympathy,  but  the 
warm  human  feelings  do  not  play  along 
his  pages.  He  is  a  cultivated,  pleasant 
singer — an  agreeable  versifier.  But  the 
want  of  some  reality,  something  more 
substantial  than  graceful  revery  is  felt 
on  every  page.  The  difference  between  a 
poet  and  a  man  of  poetic  feeling,  ready 
talent,  and  fine  cultivation,  who  writes 
verses,  could  nowhere  be  better  illustrated 
than  by  the  Days  and  Hours  of  Frederick 
Tennyson,  and  the  In  Memoriam,  or  the 
earlier  volumes  of  his  immortal  brother. 
We  quote  a  poem  from  this  volume,  and 
a  favorable  specimen  for  our  readers : 

L 

Three  hoars  were  wanting  to  the  noon  of  day, 
When  long-haired  2^ph7nis  flying  from  the  san, 

0*er  the  green-wooded  uplands  winged  his  way, 
And  left  the  plains  where  fi^ahness  there  was  ncme ; 

A.mid  the  western  clouds,  and  shadows  grey 
He  thought  to  slumher  Ull  the  day  was  done, 

And  up  he  clomh  into  a  realm  of  wonder, 

With  towers  and  domes,  and  pyramids  of  thunder. 


The  wild  birds  mourned  for  him,  the  wild  flowers  sent 
Their  sweets  to  call  him  back,  they  lUn  would 
keep; 

The  trembling  leaves  sighed  flirewell  as  he  went, 
The  thunders  spread  their  banners  o'er  bis  sleep ; 

Silence  stood  sentinel  before  his  tent, 
And  hushed  the  earth  and  breathed  upon  the  deep : 

On  a  gold  cloud  his  curly  head  he  laid. 

And  dreamed  of  virgin  buds  and  morning  shade. 

ni. 
Three  hours  were  sped  since  noon— when  Zephyrui, 
free 

Of  slumber,  leapt  up  and  began  to  sing; 
And  ran  and  dipt  his  foot  Into  the  sea. 

And  then  an  arm,  and  then  •  diining  wing, 
And  moved  upon  the  waters  gloriously ; 

The  waters  at  the  touch  of  their  own  King 
Quivered  unto  their  springs  with  Joyful  fear, 
'And  mad*  low  antwen  laTer-fweet  to  bear.  • 


The  glassy  ripplets  first  began  to  throng 
Each  to  the  smooth  shore  like  an  eager  hound ; 

Then  a  fUnt  murmur  like  a  whispered  song 
Crept  o^r  the  tawny  sands;  and  then  a  sound 

Of  a  fiur  tumult  waxing  near  and  strong ; 
And  then  the  flssh  and  thundering  rebound. 

Of  powers  cast  back  in  conflict,  and  the  moan 

Of  the  long-banded  waters  overthrown. 

—The  amiable  wife  of  Sir  Edward  Bul- 
wer  Lytton  has  printed  another  novel, 
called  "  Behind  the  Scenes,^^  which,  of 
course,  is  meant  to  let  us  into  some  more 
of  the  secrets  of  her  husband's  character 
and  conduct  There  is  not  much  stor^  in  it, 
but  a  good  deal  of  malice,  which  m  the 
estimation  of  many,  will  compensate  for 
the  want  of  interest  in  other  respects. 
The  hero  Mr.  Ponsonby  Ferrars,  is  the 
great  novelist ;  his  friend  the  Right  Hon. 
Issachar  Benaraby,  can  be  no  one  else  but 
Disraeli, — Lord  Redby  is  the  anagram  of 
Lord  Derby,— and  Mr.  Carlo  Dials  is 
our  old  acquaintance  Charles  Dickens. 
They  are  described  with  all  of  Lady  Bul- 
wer^s  peculiar  penetration  and  malignity, 
which  sometimes,  however,  rather  over- 
shoots the  mark,  from  excessive  vehe- 
mence. Here,  for  instance,  is  a  portrait 
of  her  liege-lord : 

**  In  the  adamantine  chain  of  Mr.  Ponsonby  Fer- 
rars* selfishness,  to  the  links  of  which,  the  complex 
miseries  of  othkks  are  ever  appending,  yon  develope 
the  apparenlly  contradictory,  but  perfectly  compat- 
ible, vices  of  intense  meanness  and  parsimony,  with 
extreme  ostentation  and  extravagance,  which  are  the 
usual  concomitants  of  the  self- worshipping  sensualist, 
and  which  is  a  true  type  of  what  our  present  social, 
or  rather  anU-m>cial  system,  with  its  inteHectnal 
Jlorku>r%  can,  and  but  too  often  doM^  produce, 
namely,  a  solid  block  of  vice,  giiarled  with  villany, 
but  veneered  with  virtue !  (?)  and  highly  vamlsbed 
with  HTPOOKisT,  which  in  thes^  days  of  pretenaioa 
and  of  SHAM,  is  a  fiu*  muru  marketable  and  popular 
commodity  than  the  rococo  genuine  article  of  unvar- 
nished cxoellence.** 

She  intimates  in  another  place  that  the 
distinguished  writer  is  indebted  for  his 
translations  of  Schiller  to  a  certain  Frau- 
lein  GOthekant,  a  German  governess, — 
ugly  as  sin.  as  all  governesses  are  in  the 
eyes  of  suspicious  wives, — because  he 
cannot  himself  utter  "  a  single  guttural  of 
that  most  bronchitial  language," — mean- 
ing German.  Here  also  is  a  fling  at  Difi- 
raeli: 

**  Mr.  Issachar  Benaraby  was  a  gentleman  of  Mo* 
saio  extraction,  quite  as  clever  in  many  things  as  Mr. 
Ponsonby  Ferrars,  and  much  cleverer  in  others: 
such  as  oratory,  cool,  oif-hand  impudence,  and  invin- 
cible good-temper;  and,  being  equally  unshackled 
by  any  shsdow  of  principle,  he  got  on  briskly,  with  a 
sort  of  trade  wind  in  society ;  while  bis  more  saturnine 
friend  had  often  to  tack  and  labor  at  the  pumps  to 
weather  the  storm  his  own  exeerable  temper  and 
4rr6rt>eariaftplilt  had  raised.    Mr.  Benanbyli  poUt- 


680 


Editorial  Notes — English  Literature. 


[June 


ical  opinions  (at  least  for  the  time  being)  were  con- 
•enrative ;  bat  bis  principles  (?)  were  decidedly  free- 
tra4e>  as  they  were  open  to,  and  available  for,  any 
and  every  market  where  they  coald  fetch  their  price. 
He  began  bis  career  by  a  diametrically  opposite  road 
to  his  friend ;  for,  whereas  Mr.  Fonsonby  Ferran 
winced  under  and  could  not  brook  the  slightest  mer- 
riment at  his  own  expense,  but  tried  to  awe  every 
'  one  into  an  overwhelming  deference  for  his  august 
person,  Mr.  Benaraby  more  wisely  preferred  the 
*  short  cut  to  popularity,*  and  rather  sought  to  be 
laughed  at  than  otherwise,  being  of  Cardinal  de 
Setz's  opinion,  that— 

*Qtti  fait  lira  I'Mprit,  Mt  Maitra  da  CoBar.' 

And,  beddee,  he  was  well  aware  that  if  he  deroted 
hia  exterior  to  the  lau|^iing  hyienas  of  society,  and 
allowed  them  their  mirth  at  all  his  ruffles  and  hto 
ringlets,  and  the  other  tomfooleries  of  his  costume,  it 
only  made  his  wit  and  wisdom,  by  the  force  of  con- 
trast, tell  with  double  effsct,  like  the  withering  polit- 
ical sarcasms  of  the  Neapolitan  *  Folicclnello,*  which 
eome  trebly  barbed  from  so  unexpected  and  grotesque 
a  source.'' 

Of  Dickens,  we  have  this  account,  with 
which  we  close  our  selections  of  scandal : 

**  Opposite  to  him  sat,  as  if  not  quite  at  his  ease  on 
Bo  fine  a  chair,  and  in  so  aristocratic  a  room,  a  Mr. 
Ouio  Dials,  another  star  of  the  literary  hemisphere, 
who,  having  graduated  about  the  streets,  his  pavi 
pictures  were  unsurpassed;  he  had  obtained  the 
tabriqwi  of  the  Aldgate  Aristophanes — the  pot- 
house Plutarch  would  have  been  more  appropriate. 
Like  the  rest  of  Mr.  Fonsonby  Ferrars's  clique, 
he  thought  to  redeem  by  printed  morality  and  phil- 
anthropic line  sentiments  the  practical  immorality  of 
his  own  life,  and  the  arid  absence  of  all  good  fbelinj^ 
He  was  not  agreeable  In  society,  as  he  always,  like 
the  beggars,  appeared  to  be  keeping  any  stray  good 
thing  that  he  might  chance  to  pick  up  till  be  got 
home,  when  it  was  duly  *  booked:'  or  it  might  be 
that  his  hair,  of  which  he  had  an  immense  profhslon, 
overlaid  his  brain^  and  that  that  made  him  appear 
Btupid.** 

— Miss  MiTFORD  appears,  in  the  even- 
ing of  life,  in  a  new  volume  of  tales,  en- 
titled '^Atherton,  and  other  Taies,^^  which 
appear  to  have  been  written  under  great 
physical  disabilities.  About  two  years 
ago,  she  was  thrown  from  a  pony-chaise, 
by  which  accident  she  was  so  crippled,  as 
to  have  been  obliged  to  keep  her  room 
since,  almost  unable  to  rise,  or  lift  one 
foot  before  the  other.  Even  in  writing, 
she  was  obliged  to  have  the  ink-glass 
held  for  her,  in  order  to  enable  her  to 
drop  the  pen  in  the  ink.  Yet,  in  this  en- 
feebled state,  she  composed  Athcrton,  by 
far  the  longest  of  any  of  her  stories.  It 
is  a  wonderful  instance  of  the  power  of 
the  mind  over  the  body.  We  do  not  see 
that  it  is  inferior,  in  any  respect,  to^y 
of  her  previous  writings,  while  it  is 
marked  by  many  of  the  same  character- 
istics,— the  genial  descriptions  of  English 
scsnery  and  country  life,  the  natural  and 
hearty  sentiment,  the  quiet  touches  of 
fe^gj  and  the  cordial  sympathy,  with 


genuine  character.  As  a  story,  it  baa 
few  incidents,  which  are  rather  affecting 
than  animated,  but  the  conversations  are 
always  lively,  and  the  moral  tone  excel- 
lent The  heroine,  Katy,  a  farmer's 
daughter,  who  suddenly  becomes  a  prince- 
ly heiress,  the  gossiping  mother,  Mrs. 
Bell,  the  noble  old  matron,  the  grand- 
mother, the  kindly  old  bachelor  lawyer, 
the  embarrassed  noblemen,  are  all  drawn 
with  remarkable  fidehty  and  discrimina- 
tion of  portraiture.  The  ottier  tales  have 
already  appeared  in  one  of  the  English 
annuals. 

— Few  writers  on  musical  subjects  are 
'better  known  than  Henrv  P.  Chorley, 
long  the  musical  critic  of  the  London 
Athencmm,  whose  most  reMoent  work 
is  called  "  Modem  German  Music : 
BecoUections  and  Criticisms.^^  It  is  a 
record  of  experiences  obtained  during 
several  visits  to  the  north  and  south  of 
Germany,  in  the  study  of  the  art  in  which 
he  is  a  distinguished  connoisseur.  His 
opinions  are  fr^ly  expressed,  and  will  not 
give  satisfaction  to  all  classes  of  critics  ; 
but  they  are  always  intelligent,  and  seem- 
ingly unbiased.  He  thinks  GlCtek  the 
greatest  of  opera  composers,  compares 
Handel  to  Shakespeare,  discovers  defects 
in  Beethoven,  and  does  not  quite  share  in 
the  orthodox  admiration  of  Mozart.  But 
the  reminiscences  of  Mr.  Chorley  are  more 
agreeable  than  his  criticisms,  especially 
those  relating  to  his  beloved  friend,  Men- 
delssohn. Here  is  a  description  of  the 
great  composer,  as  he  first  saw  him : 

**I  thought  then,  as  I  do  now,  his  (kce  one  of  the 
most  beautifhl  which  has  ever  been  seen.  No  por- 
trait extant  does  it  Justice.  A  Titian  would  have 
generalized,  and,  out  of  its  many  ezpresaiona,  mad« 
up  one  which,  in  some  sort,  should  reflect  the  many 
characteristics  and  humors  of  the  poet— his  earnest 
seriousness— his  childlike  truthfulness— his  clear,  cul- 
tivated intellect— his  impulsive  vivacity.  The  Ger- 
man painters  could  only  invest  a  theatrical,  thought* 
fhl-looking  man,  with  that  serious  cloak  which  plays 
so  important  a  part  on  the  stage,  and  in  the  portraits 
of  their  country ;  and  conceive  the  task  accomplished, 
when  it  was  not  so  much  as  begun.  None  of  them 
has  perpetuated  the  fiace  with  which  Mendelssohn 
listened  td  the  music  in  which  he  delighted,  or  the 
fiice  with  which  he  would  crave  to  be  told  again  some 
merry  story,  though  he  knew  it  ahready  by  heart  I 
felt,  in  that  first  half  hour,  tliat  in  him  there  was  no 
stilted  sentiment— no  affected  heartiness;  thathewa& 
no  sayer  of  deep  things,  no  searcher  for  witty  ones ; 
but  one  of  a  pare,  sincere  intelligence— bright,  eager, 
and  happy,  even  when  most  imaginative.  Perhaps 
there  was  no  contemporary  at  once  strong,  simple, 
and  subtle  enough,  to  paint  such  a  man,  with  snch  a 
countenance.*^ 

— We  had  b<%un  to  think  that  Dean 
Milman's  "  History  of  Christianity  "  was 
to  have  no  sequel^  when  we  were  sur- 
prised to  see  one  announoed,  under  tha 


1854.] 


JEditarial  Notes — French  Literature. 


081 


title  of  "JBiatory  of  Latin  Christian' 
ity  ;  including  that  of,  the  Popes  to  the 
Pontificate  of  Nicholas  V,  It  is  a  con- 
tinuation of  the  old  work,  inasmuch  as  it 
begins  with  the  period  of  time  in  which 
the  former  closed,  but  it  is  still  a  com- 
plete work  in  itself.  A  brief  introduc- 
tion, going  over  the  history  of  the  religion 
in  Rome,  during  the  first  four  centuries, 
in  which  much  use  is  made  of  the  recent- 
ly discovered  "  Hippolytus,"  is  a  fitting 
connection  of  the  two  books.  By  Latin 
Christianity,  the  author  means  the  Chris- 
tianity which  was  adopted  in  the  city  of 
Home,  And  then  spread  over  the  greater 
part  of  the  Roman  world,  distinguishing 
it  from  Greek  Christianity,  whkh  was  the 
first  form  which  the  religion  of  Jesus  took 
during  the  years  of  its  promulgation. 
Jerome,  Ambrose,  and  Augustine,  he  re- 
gards as  the  chief  founders  of  its  doc- 
trine and  discipline.  He  describes  at 
large  the  character  and  influence  of  these 
men,  and  the  modifications  which  were 
gra(^ally  introduced  into  the  ancient 
faith  by  the  institutions  of  the  Roman 
world.  His  narrative  is  always  clear, 
though  diffuse,  and  sometimes  eloquent, 
while  his  opinions  are  unusually  liberal 
for  one  who  occupies  a  post  of  high  digni- 
ty in  an  established  church.  The  princi- 
pal events  have  been  already  treated  in 
English  by  the  masterly  hand  of  Gibbon, 
and  in  German  by  Hosheim  and  Nean- 
der ;  but  Dr.  Milman  is  so  fine  a  scholar, 
and  such  an  agreeable  writer,  that  his 
history  may  be  welcomed  as  a  valua- 
ble addition  to  the  literature  of  the  pe- 
riod. 

— It  is  impossible  not  to  suppose  that 
the  English  are  direct  descendants  fi^m 
Nimrod,  for  they  are  the  *•  mightiest  hunt- 
ers "  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  Not  only 
at  home,  but  in  the  remotest  regions  in 
which  man  can  live,  they  manifest  this 
conti-oUing  propensity.  They  shoot  on 
the  Moors,  they  shoot  in  Scotland,  they 
go  to  Norway  to  shoot,  they  penetrate 
Africa  to  shoot,  they  cross  the  ocean,  and 
visit  our  western  prairies  to  shoot,  and 
they  ascend  the  mountains  of  Asia  to 
shoot.  But,  what  is  better  than  the 
shooting,  they  describe  the  countries 
through  which  they  shoot,  and  furnish 
the  world  with  admirable  volumes.  One 
of  the  latest  of  these  is  Col.  Markham's 
'•  Shooting  in  the  Himalayas^^^  which  is 
a  journal  of  sporting  adventures  in  Chi- 
nese Tartary,  Thibet,  and  Cashmere.  It 
is  written  with  much  animation,  and, 
though  it  does  not  pretend  to  be  any  thing 
more  than  a  book  for  men  who  may  have 
a  fondness  for  hunting  tigers,  conveys  a 

VOL.  Ill, — 43 


vast  amount  of  entertaining  knowledge 
to  the  general  reader. 

French. — M.  Alfred  Nettemcnt 
has  prepared  two  volumes,  called  a  "  His- 
tory of  Literature  during  the  Restora- 
tion" (LHistoirede  la  Litterateur  sous  la 
Restauration  "),  which  traces  the  move- 
ment of  ideas  in  France,  from  the  begin- 
ning of  the  present  century  to  1830,  and 
forms  an  admirable  complement  to  the 
numerous  political  histories  of  the  same 
period  which  have  lately  been  published. 
Few  epochs  are  more  interesting,  and 
none  more  important  to  a  full  under- 
standing of  our  modern  intellectual  ten- 
dencies. 

M.  Nettement  begins  his  work  with  the 
great  literary  reaction  which  marked  the 
advent  of  the  present  era,  when  Chateau- 
briand, M.  de  Bonald,  and'  Joseph  de 
Maistre,  laid  the  foundations  of  the  new 
monarchical  and  religious  school  in  France. 
He  then  describes  the  literary  condition 
under  the  empire,  which  issued  in  two  ri- 
val philosophic  schools, — that  of  spiritual 
rationalism,  under  Roger  Collard,  from 
whom  came  Guizot,  Villemain,  Cousin, 
and  Joufiroy ;  and  that  of  Catholicism, 
under  M.  Frayssinous,  from  whom  came 
the  later  Catholicism  of  Lamennais  land 
others.  The  author  then  describes  the 
poets  of  the  period — Hugo,  Delavigne, 
Alfred  De  Vigny — each  of  whom  he  char- 
acterizes at  length.  Passing  to  the  histo- 
rians, he  analyzes  the  ments  of  Guizot, 
Thiers,  Miguet,  &c.,  and  then  the  political 
writers,  such  as  Canel,  Paul  Louis  Con- 
ria,  when  he  concludes  with  a  view  of  the 
theatre,  and  a  general  estimate  of  the  in- 
tellectual value  of  the  age  of  which  he 
speaks.  M.  Nettement  is  a  clear  and  vig- 
orous writer,  but  quite  too  conservative 
in  his  sympathies  for  our  taste. 

— "  The  Desert  and  Soudan  "  (Le  Desert 
et  le  Soudan)  is  the  nameof  a  new  book  of 
African  travel,  by  Count  D'EscAVBiAc'sE 
Lauture,  recording  the  adventures  of  some 
eight  years'  wanderings  in  the  immense 
plains  which  stretch  from  Algiers  to  the 
10th  degree  of  latitude,  and  are  called  Sa- 
hara, or  Soudan.  The  volumes  contain, 
besides  the  usual  incidents  of  travel,  some 
new  and  original  observations  upon  Is- 
lamism,  and  a  curious  study  of  the  differ- 
ent races  which  people  North  Africa.  In 
respect  to  the  latter,  indeed,  nothing 
seems  to  have  escaped  the  author.  Their 
manners,  their  religions,  their  politics,  and 
their  past  histories,  have  been  analyind 
and  grouped  with  patient  observation  and 
skill.  The  influences  of  climate  upon  the 
instincts,  habits,  and   laws  of  natioiiB, 


682 


Editorial  Notes — Chrman  Literature, 


[Jane 


give  the  writer  occasion  for  remarks 
which  will  be  found,  we  think,  useful 
illustrations  of  the  steps  by  which  man- 
kind advances  from  barbarism  to  civiliza- 
tion. The  style  of  this  work  is  clear, — a 
Frenchman  can  hardly  write  obscurely, — 
lively,  and  precise,  but  better  in  its  scien- 
tific than  in  its  narrative  parts,  which  are 
too  reserved  and  succinct. 

— A  young  gentleman— M.  De  Ferri- 
IRE  LE  Vayer — who  was  secretary  to 
the  French  embassy  to  China,  has  given 
the  results  of  his  visit  to  the  Celestials, 
in  a  work  called  "  A  French  Embassy  in 
China  ("  Une  Amhassade  Pranfaise  en 
Chine^^).  We  should  rather  say,  the  re- 
sults of  hLs  observations,  than  of  his  offi- 
cial life,  for  there  is  little  diplomacy,  and 
a  great  deal  of  actual  life  in  his  book.  It 
cannot  be  said  that  there  is  much  which  is 
new  in  his  book,  and  what  there  is,  seems 
to  come  with  more  authenticity  firom  one 
in  his  position,  than  from  ordinary  trav- 
ellers. 

— M.  Emmanuel  de  Lerme  entertains 
us  with  a  study  of  men  who  are  not  only 
great  men,  but  lovers  (^^  Amoureuses  et 
Grands  Hommes  "),  and  thus*  parades  the 
attachments  to  women  of  Molidre,  Goethe, 
Richelieu,  and  others,  in  a  kind  of  sketch 
half  romance  and  half  biography.  Like 
all  specimens  of  **  amphibology,"  as  Col. 
Benton  has  it,  it  is  somewhat  disagree- 
able, an  uninstructed  reader  not  knowing 
two  thirds  of  the  time  what  is  romance 
and  wh'at  truth.  For  our  part,  we  de- 
test this  mingling  of  truth  and  fiction, 
and  greatly  prefer  an  entire  and  down- 
right, to  a  concealed  or  painted  false- 
hood. 

— Luther  is  for  the  most  part  remem- 
bered only  as  the  great  religious  reform- 
er ;  but  M.  A.  Scheffer,  of  Stuttgardt, 
presents  him  in  a  scarcely  less  important 
light,  in  an  account  of  his  labors  in  aid  of 
popular  education  ("Be  V Influence  de 
JLuther  sur  V Education  du  Peuple  "). 
He  shows,  that  the  same  strong  arm 
which  shook  the  walls  of  Rome,  was 
equally' efficient  in  pushing  fonyard  the 
enlightenment  of  the  masses.  He  organ- 
ized schools  even  more  rapidly  than  ho 
disorganized  churches,  seeing  in  the  for- 
mer the  surest  and  best  means  of  supply- 
ing the  place  of  the  latter,  and  of  secur- 
ing in  perpetuity  the  advantages  of  the 
immense  movement  he  had  in  hand. 

— One  of  the  best  books  on  Russia  that 
we  have  read,  is  by  M.  Charles  de 
Saint-Julien  (^^  Voyage  Pittoresque  en 
l?M«5ie"),  who  appears  to  have  spent 
many  years  in  exploring  the  domestic  life 
of  the  Muscovites.    As  his  title  mdicates, 


he  has  little  to  do  with  the  politics  of  the 
empire,  though  he  does  not  neglect  to 
glance  at  it  now  and  then ;  his  descrip- 
tions consisting  mainly  of  pictures  of  pop- 
ular manners  and  external  aspects.  What 
goes  on  from  day  to  day,  among  the  peo- 
ple, is  what  we  learn  from  him,  and  not 
the  supposed  secrets  of  cabinets  and  poli- 
cies of  the  Czar.  His  travels  begin  amid 
the  splendors  of  St.  Petersburg,  and  end 
(where  the  travels  of  a  good  many  Rus- 
sians themselves  end)  in  the  icy  solitudes 
of  Siberia ;  but  on  the  way,  we  are  ta- 
ken over  Finland,  as  far  as  Tomeo,  the 
most  northern  city,  thence  to  Archange\ 
when>a  grand  snow-storm  is  brilliantly 
described ;  then  down  to  Moscow,  the  an- 
cient fortress  of  the  Czars,  then  along  the 
course  of  the  Wolga  into  Central  Russia, 
to  Astrakan  and  its  fairs,  to  Kazan  and 
its  fortress,  and  finally  to  the  Caucasus, 
and  its  mysterious  mountains.  As  a 
study  of  the  various  races  embraced  in 
the  Russian  empire,  this  book  has  great 
value,  and  we  are  sure  must  have^|)cen 
written  before  the  recent  war  was  de- 
clared, it  is  so  free  from  the  prejudices 
which  every  Englishman  and  Frenchman 
holds  it  to  be  his  duty  to  express  in  re- 
gard to  the  Russians. 

— A  second  volume  of  M.  Saint  Masc 
GiRAR  din's  Recollections  of  Voyages  and 
Studies  (Souvenira  de  Voyages  et 
d^Etudes),  is  not  as  strictly  uniform  as 
the  first,  to  which  we  have  formerly  al- 
luded. It  opens  with  Celtic  Traditions, 
then  passes  to  Friendship  among  the  Scy- 
thians, next  to  a  picture  of  Barbarous  and 
Feudal  society,  next  are  a  series  of  chap- 
ters on  Christianity  among  the  Germans, 
and  finally  a  miscellany  about  Gregory 
of  Tours,  the  Romance  of  Reynard  the 
Fox,  the  Danish  tradition  of  Hamlet,  the 
Pucelle  of  Chapelaine  and  Voltaire,  and  a 
dissertation  on  the  right  to  labor.  These 
several  Subjects  are  from  pieces  contribu- 
ted fo  the  daily  papers,  and  are  treated 
somewhat  popularly,  yet  with  unquestion- 
able learning. 

German. — Any  one  who  looks  into  the 
Moriscoes  in  Spain  (Die  Mortskos  in 
Spainen)^  of  A.  L.  Von  Rochan  for  an 
interesting  history  of  the  Moorish  domi- 
nation in  Spain  will  not  be  disappointed, 
but  he  will  do  better  to  refer  at  once  to 
Count  de  Circonet's  Histoire  des  Mores 
Mudejares  et  des  Morisques,  from  which 
the  greater  part  of  it  is  translated  directly 
without  acknowledgment  Indeed  the 
translation  in  many  parts  is  so  faithful 
that  typographical  errors  and  all  appear 
in  the  German  version  just  as  they  stand 


1854.] 


Editorial  Notes— Fine  Arts. 


688 


in  the  French.  The  whole  work,  howev- 
er, does  not  belong  to  M.  de  Circonet,  for 
there  are  forty  pages  out  of  the  four  hun- 
dred which  belong  probably  to  the  reput- 
ed author ;  but  in  these  forty  pages  are  a 
half-dozen  grave  historical  mistakes. 

— ^If  the  German  public  does  not  know 
as  much  about  the  United  States  as  many 
of  our  own  citizens,  it  cannot  be  for  the 
want  of  books  on  the  subject  The  latest 
of  these  that  w^e  have  seen  is  the  *•  Travels 
between  the  Hudson  and  the  Mississippi," 
(Wanderungen  zmschen  Hudson  und 
Misisissippi)  by  Moritz  Busche,  who 
appears  to  have  spent  some  years  ip 
America,  especially  about  Cincinnati  and 
its  neighborhood.  He  writes  intelligibly 
of  our  affairs,  without  prejudice,  and  for 
the  most  part  in  approval.  We  have  not 
found'  much  that  is  new  in  the  work,  al- 
though the  author  proves  himself  a  dili- 
gent observer  and  an  acute  critic.  The 
chapter  which  has  interested  us  most  is 
an  elaborate  one  on  Negro  Melodies,  in 
which  some  twenty  or  thirty  of  the  most 
popular  negro  songs,  such  as  **  Oh,  Su- 
sannah." "Uncle  Ned,"  '"Rosa  Lee,"  &c., 
are  translated  into  the  German. 

— N.  J.  Anderson,  one  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished Swedish  naturalists,  who  was 
appointed  by  the  Royal  Academy  of  Sci-» 
cnces  at  Stockholm  to  accompany  the 
Swedish  Circumnavigation,  has  published 
a  highly  interesting  description  of  this  ex- 
I>cdition  under  the  title  *•  lUine  Welt-Um- 
segelung"  published  by  C.  B.  Lorck  in 
Leipzig.  This  work  is  to  be  considered 
as  a  precursor  to  one  which  will  embody 
the  purely  scientific  results  of  this  expe- 
dition. 

— Americans  need  go  abroad  no  longer 
for  all  their  German  literature,  seeing  that 
a  new  literary  Magazine  has  been  set  on 
foot  by  some  Germans  of  Milwaukee.  It 
is  called  the  Atalantis^  and  is  highly  re- 
spectable both  in  its  appearance  and  its 
contents.  American,  German  and  miscel- 
laneous topics  are  discussed  in  its  pages 
with  dignity  and  talent.  Among  the  arti- 
cles we  remark  an  introductory  on  the 
literary  prospects  of  the  United  States, 
with  some  fine  discriminating  observations 
on  our  national  character,  an  essay  on  the 
Pacific  railroad,  a  treatise  on  the  school 
system  of  Michigan,  a  translation  of  Dr. 
Franklin's  letter  on  slavery,  a  new  novel, 
and*  a  pleasant  dissertation  on  the  devil, 
considered  esthetirally,  or  as  that  personage 
appears  in  books.  One  can  scarcely  believe 
it,  as  he  reads  this  periodical  in  German, 
that  a  few  years  since,  the  place  where  it 
is  now  published,  was  a  favorite  camping- 
ground  of  the  wild  Indians. 


FINE    ABTB. 

The  immigrants  from  the  old  world 
who  enrich  us  most  by  their  contribu- 
tions to  our  prosperity,  are  the  artists, 
whose  elemental  speciality  we  most  need. 
It  is  an  easy  thing,  for  those  who  are  wil- 
ling, to  dig  a  canal,  or  lay  a  rail,  but  to 
add  a  grace  or  an  ornament  to  social  life 
is  not  so  easy,  let  the  will  be  never  so 
strong.  It  is  one  of  those  cases  where 
the  will  does  not  always  find  the  way. 
The  artistic  instinct,  though  it  comes  by 
nature,  is  of  little  value  without  proper 
cultivation ;  and  that  is  the  point  where 
we  most  feel  our  need  of  reinforcement 
from  the  old  world.  We  have  plenty  of 
genius  for  art  in  the  rough,  but  the  re- 
quisite polishing  to  give  it  value  is  what 
we  have  not  an  abundance  of.  Every 
artist,  therefore,  who  comes  here  to  better 
his  fortune  and  give  us  the  benefits  of  his 
talent,  is  of  greater  value  than  whole  ship 
loads  of  hod-carriers. 

The  engraved  portrait  of  Thackeray 
which  hung  in  the  shop-windows  last 
spring — the  original  of  which  belongs  to 
Lord  Ashburton — and  that  of  Tennyson, 
the  Italian  head  which  all  his  lovers  have 
studied  with  delight  in  the  Boston  edition 
of  his  poems,  and  an  earlier  head  of 
Willis  prefixed  to  the  illustrated  edition 
of  his  poetry,  have  made  us  familiar  with 
the  work  of  Samuel  Lawrence,  an  Eng- 
lish artist  whose  name  has  long  been 
familiar  to  us  as  one  of  the  most  eminent 
of  his  profession.  He  has  recently  ar- 
rived among  us,  personally  introduced  by 
the  pleasantest  letters,  which  say  nothing 
good  of  him  that  his  performances  since 
his  arrival  have  not  fully  justified.  His 
portfolio  is  enriched  by  a  three-quarter 
length  sketch  of  Thomas  Carlyle,  pre- 
senting a  likeness  of  the  man  which  no 
sympathetic  student  of  his  works  would 
fail  instantly  to  acknowledge,  even  had 
he  never  seen  the  original ;  and  a  head  of 
Rogers,  the  last  of  a  generation  of  great 
poets.  These  works  of  Lawrence's  are  in 
crayon.  That  of  Rogers  is  a  sketch  for 
a  picture  which  he  painted  last  year  in 
London.  Since  he  has  been  here  he  has 
been  engaged  upon  several  heads,  and 
among  them  that  of  the  historian  Ban- 
croft. Lawrence  has  not  lost  his  eye  nor 
his  hand,  as  some  singers  lose  their  voices, 
in  crossing  the  sea.  The  same  qualities 
of  surprising  likeness,  arising  from  subtle 
perception  of  the  essential  character  of 
the  subject,  distinguish  them  all.  There 
is  a  vitality,  a  reality,  an  individual  spirit 
about  them,  which  assure  the  spectator 
that  he  is  seeing  the  very  meaning  of 
the  person  represented.    Like  all  gen- 


684 


Editorial  NoUs—Books  Received. 


[June 


uine  workers,  ho  respects  nature  too 
much  to  flatter,  but,  like  all  true  artists, 
ho  detects  the  peculiar  charm  of  every 
countenance.  It  is  the  result  of  long 
study  and  observation  edupating  the 
natural  eye.  A  man  is  bom  a  portrait 
painter  as  he  is  bom  a  poet.  First,  there 
is  the  eye  to  perceive  things  as  they  are 
and  not  as  they  seem  ;  then  there  is  the 
hand  to  ohey  fearlessly  the  direction  of 
the  thought.  The  young  men  and  young 
women  go  to  the  exhibition  of  the  acad- 
emy, and  are  very  gently  witty  upon  the 
"  Portrait  of  a  Gentleman,"  "  Portrait  of 
a  Lady."  which  decorato  those  walls.  But 
Titian,  Leonardo,  Velascjuez,  Rubens,  Van- 
dyck,  were  portrait-pamters.  They  un- 
derstood the  scope  and  meaning  of  that 
department  of  their  art.  Their  portraits 
are  not  only  individual  emperors,  doges, 
and  burgomasters,  but  they  are  also 
Spain.  Venice,  and  Germany.  They  are 
among  the  great  shrines  of  travel  and 
study.  Raphael's  portraits  of  Popes  Ju- 
lius Second,  and  Leo  Tenth,  are  ranked 
with  the  Transfiguration  and  the  Foligno 
by  all  lovers  and  amateurs.  They  show 
the  same  genius,  conscience,  and  skill. 
Next  month,  on  the  commencement  of 
a  New  Volume,  we  shall  present  the 
public  with  an  engraved  portrait  of  the 
author  of  the  Potiphar  Papers,  from  a 
drawing  by  Mr.  Lawrence,  the  first  one 
he  executed  in  this  country,  and  the 
best  among  all  the  capital  ones  we  have 
seen  by  him.  This  will  be  the  first  in- 
stallation in  OUR  Valhalla,  but  it  will  be 
succeeded  by  a  portrait  monthly — some 
en  buste  and  some  full  length,  executed  in 
the  best  style  of  engraving,  of  the  contrib- 
utors to  our  Monthly. 

BOOKS  RECEIVED. 

Bv83iA  AS  IT  18.  By  Count  A.  QarowskL  Appleton 
A  Co.    1854. 

CAMPAIOTf  IN  NORTnKRM  MkXIC9.      Bj  9Xk   OfBcCr  of 

the  1st  Rei^meDt  Ohio  YolunteoR*.  O.  P.  Putnam 
&Co.    18M. 

Melucuamp>^  a  Legend  of  the  Santee.  By  W.  Gil- 
more  Sim  lis.    Redtleld.    1S&4. 

Tni  BaiDK  ok  tiir  Ioo.noci.ast.  A  Poem.  Boston : 
Jamca  Munroe  &.  Co.    1S54. 

TiiK  Bow  IS  THE  Clouds.  Discourses  by  George 
Ware  Brigsr^.    Boston :  James  Monroe  &  Co. 

HoaKBOPATUY ;  its  tenets  and  tendencies,  theoret- 
ical, theological  and  therapeutical.  By  James  T. 
Bimp.Hon,  M.  D.  Philadelphia:  Llnd<<ay  ^  Blakis- 
ton.    ISM. 

Twt  VoiCK  or  Lkttkes.  Ancient  proprieties  of 
Latin  and  Groelc,  the  btandard  of  English  letter 
customs.  By  Joseph  B.  Manning.  James  Manroo 
J^Co.    Boston:  1804. 

Tin  Bkcalled  and  ornsR  Poxaa.  By  Jane  £r- 
mina  Locke.  James  Munroe  &  Co.  Boston: 
18M. 


Tni  Dinim  Cbasactse  Yimdicatkd.  By  B«r. 
MoaesBalloo.    Bedfleld.    1S54. 

Mnntne  Hxkmon  ;  or,  Tra  Niqut  akd  m  MoBxni«. 
A  Tale  for  the  Times.  By  Thurlov  W.  Brown. 
Auburn  :  Miller,  Morton  &  Mulligan.    185i. 

Tm  FouBTKM.  By  Alexander  Dumaa.  Appleton 
&Co.    1S64. 

Merkuiaok  ;  ob,  Lxrc  at  thb  Look.  A  Talc.  By 
Day  KeUogg  Lee.    Redfleki.    ISM. 

TnBHisTOSTorCBOvwKLL.  2  vols.  From  the  Trcncli 
of  Ouizot    Philadelphia :  Lea  &,  Blanchard. 

TnB  Posm  or  Cdaklxs  CnuKcniii.  3  vols.  Little. 
Brown  &  Co.    Boston:  1854. 

Tub  Pokms  op  Edward  Youko,  D.  D.  2  vols.  Lit- 
tle, Brown  it  Co.    Boston :  1854. 

Thb  Plaxter's  Nostbkrn  Bride.  By  Mra.  Caro- 
line Lee  Ilentz.  2  toU  Phihulclpliia :  A.  Hart. 
18M. 

The  CoNBTTnTTioNAL  Text-Book,  containing  selec- 
tions fW>m  the  writings  of  Daniel  Webeter,  the 
Declaration  of  Independence,  the  Constitution. 
Washington's  Farewell  Address,  Ac.  New  York 
and  Boston:  C.  8.  Francis  &  Co.    18M. 

Mabib  Louirb;  or.  The  Opposite  Neighbor.  By 
Emllie  Carlin.  New  York:  Appleton  &  Co.    ISM. 

My  Schools  and  School-Masters.  By  Ilngh  Mil- 
ler.   Boston :  Gould  &  LineoU). 

Spiiut  Makifebtatiokb  Examixed  and  Explain- 
xd;  Judge  Edmonds  RuAited.  By  John  Bovce 
Dods.    New  York:  Dewitt  &  Davenport 

Tub  Poetical  Works  op  W.  R  C.  IIo6mkr.  2  t«>L««. 
New  York :  Redfield. 

A  Year  wrrn  thb  Turks.  By  Warrlngt4»n  "V\. 
Smyth,  M.  A.    New  York :  Redfield. 

TnoMAB  A.  Bbckbt,  and  other  Poems.  By  Patrick 
Scott.    London. 

The  Winteb  Lodge;  or,  Vow  Fulfilled.  By  Jamt9 
Wicr.    Philadelphia:  Lippincott«  Orambo  &  Ct). 

Life  and  Adventures  op  a  Coitntrt  Mcbchavt. 
By  J.  B.  Jones.  Phlhidolphia :  Lipplncott,  OramU» 
&  Co. 

Trials  and  Confessions  op  an  Ajcebicak  ITocbz- 
KEEPBR.  Philadelphia:  Lipplncott,  Grarabo  &. 
Co. 

The  Art-Student  in  Mukicil  By  Ann*  Marj- 
UownT.  Boston:  Ticknor,  Reed  &  FSoUK 
1854. 

Cbtbtaixine  ;  or,  the  Heiress  of  Fall  Down  Castle. 
A  Romance.  By  F.  W.  Shelton.  New  York : 
Charles  Scribncr.    1854. 

Despotism  in  Amebica.  An  Inquiry  into  the  Na- 
ture, Result^  and  Legal  Basis  of  the  Slavebolding 
System  in  tho  United  States.  By  Richard  Hil- 
drotb.    Boston :  J.  P.  Jewett  &  Ca    1854. 

The  Wuixbioal  Woman.  By  Emllie  F.  Carlin. 
New  York:  Charles  Scribner.    1S54. 

Africa  and  the  American  Flag.  By  Commander 
Andrew  II.  Footc,  U.  S.  N.  New  York  :  D.  Ap- 
pleton &  Ca    18M. 

Narratite  op  a  Voyage  to  the  North wut 
Coast  op  America  in  the  Years  1811-1814  By 
Gabriel  Franchdre.  Translated  by  J.  V.  HonUng- 
ton.    New  York:  Redfield.    1854. 

Tub  Preservation  of  Health.  By  John  C.  W»r- 
ren.    Boston :  Ticknor,  Reed  &  Fieldsi  -  18M. 

Types  op  Mankisd.  By  J.  C  Nott,  M.  D.,  and 
George  Gliddon.  Lippincott,  Grambo  Jc  Co. 
PhiladelphU:  1854. 

Personal  Narrative  op  Explorations  akd  Inci- 
DBNiB  in  Texas,  New  Mexico,  California,  So- 
NORA,  AND  Chihuahua.  By  John  Russell  Bait* 
lett.    Appleton  &  Co.    New  York.    185i. 


DONOTREMO 

OR 
MUTILATE  CA