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«r to* DMrtK OMtft aC to» ITaltod 
DMital •# K«w T«rfc. 

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The Hartford Convention— Its ori^n— Testimony of Noah Weheter— 
Oath of Boger M. Shennan — Oathering of the Convention — Doinga 
of democracy thereupon — Physiognomy of the Conventipn — Sketches 
of some of the members — Colonel Jessnp— Democracy in the streets 
—Report of the Convention — Reoeption of the doings of the Conven- 
tion by Madison and his party — Its effect and example — Compar- 
ison of the Hartford Convention with the nnUiflers— The Union for- 
ever 9 


The Count Value — ^Lessons in French, and a translation of Ren^— Se- 
vere retribution for imprudence — The end of the pocket-book factory 
— Napoleon returns to Paris and upsets my afBurs — Divers experiences 
and reflections upon dancing— Visit to New York — Oliver Wolcott and 
Archibald Grade — Ballston and Saratoga— Dr. Payson and the three 
rowdies — ^Illneas and death of my uncle— Partnership with George 
Sheldon— His illness and death 61 


The fhmine of 1816 and 1817 — Panic in New England — Migrations to 
Ohio— T'other side of Ohio— Toleration— Downfall of federalism— Ol- 
iver Wolcott and the democracy — Connecticut upset — ^The new Con- 
stitution— Gov. Smith and Gov. Wolcott— Litchfield— Uriah Tracey— 
Frederick Wolcott— Tapping Reeve— Col. Talmadge— James Gould— 
J. W. Huntington— The Litchfield centennial celebration 78 


Stephen R. Bradley — My pursuit of the vocation of bookseller and pub- 
lisher — Scott's poems — General enthusiasm — Byron's poems — Their 
reception— The Waverley novels — ^Their amazing popularity— I pub- 
lish an edition of them— Literary club at Hartford— J. M. Wain- 
wright, Isaac Toucey, William L. Stone, ^to.- The Round Table— On- 


' fioAJ American works— 8UU of opinion u to American UterMurt • 
Publication of Trumboll'tt poem* — Book« for eJucaUoii—Bev. C. A. 
Goodrtoh— Dr. Comaiock — Woodbhdg«*« Geu|f rapb j to 


Sketches of the *' Hartford Wiu*'— I>r. Uopkina— Trumbull, author of 
UcFiuifal — David Humphries— Dr. 8trou|f — Theodore Dw if Ut — 
TlionuM H. Gallandetr— Daniel Wad» worth— Dr. Cofffwwrll — Mrs. 
8igounie> 114 


Dr. PtroiTal—Hb early life— Hie fioher'e atUmptto cure hia eh>neee 
CoUeire life— Uie earlj Ioto— Uia medical eipericnoo— Hie {H>etical ca- 
reer—An awkward poaition— The saddle on his own back — Coofier 
and Percival at the City Hotel— Publication of hb poems at Nsw 
York— The edition in England— (Hher literary svooatioiis— His •xm- 
lion St West Point— His freat Iraniing— Asi^istant of Dr. Wsbster in 
his Dictionary— 6tate geolofiat in iotincdicut— In \Vt*coiiftin--Hia 
d«uh -l^titiuOe of his charsctvr 1^1 


A <Ww wsyaide Botes— The poet ilrsinartl liw Afi uitroduction - Ktp. 
U>'s Uv«m— Aunt Lucy— Tlie Utile bsck*|>ari*>r Hraiii»ni'» i>!Rv« 
Anecdote— The devil's dun -The lines on Nisftars <»Uirf {xicin* - 
Ons thst f oo the ^ea— The sea bird's soiif— Put>ticmtiou <•( Ursiiiarvrs 
poemi»—< general r»niark»— Hi» d^Ui Ul 


My tlr»t voysfs ecruse Ute Atlantic >Lnglso>l I»ndun My t^^ur ' o 
tl>c oontinent Return to (Ii)flan«i- Vi*it in IWIr} «im»1 lUt»iiah 
More— Inquiriee ss to books fur e«location' Irslatid - Dublin - The 
Giant's rauscwsj)—8ootiand— Scenery of tike Lady of the l^k*" Gla* 
fo« -Edinburf h Ul 


K«liubtirfh 'n>s Court of fts«ai<»n» -4 *ran»touii, «'urkburti, Moncn«f 
U<khart JcfTTvy -Hir Walter ivxAt 17o 


Prvp*rmtio4*s fuf s n i« Mr Jrtfrry lu s rjutft. SI J-tuiiJ.r A ^>ai «« 
si Edin^uryh (txttu Hrmkl's Hu* A •hu««r Tr*e ms*.U ^f liut m.»t 
i>.ral4« ia«|*r«>*MM«« ... iTT 


LBrm xui 

AdioMr at Loekliiat*i--CQiiT«iMtioii •bovl 3ytm^MM,1joMmi^ 
iTfiiy-PtofciwTtokncg Mumin-JBi^ffbnth m»AWm Id|g«irailli 
--AiModaiM oftlie Indiniti— Sonthi^aiid Moond i||^il-Goopei^ fU 

llM y tmt CkMUm 8ooCt-tli* Wdih pmiob-Vm UrilMi bM»-tlol 
pi^w->P«i»oiwl lypiMMiflt <f Sir Wdiww- Pifrtut t Ibr I iw i doii'^ 
Apia inBdinb«i|^ In 188»--Ui* nMaMBlfr oTflir Wato^ 
palhyofnstiim ,. IM 


Jonnwj to London— Semarks on England, as it appaan to tba Amor- 

icao traveler— The climate— The landsoape — Jealooaiea between the 
Engliah and Americana— Plan for aecuring peace 210 


London thirty years ago — ^Ita great increase — George IV. — Affcot Races 
^The Doke of Wellington — Jacob Perkins and the steam-gun — The 
Duke of Sussex- Duke of York— Uounslow Heath— Parliament — 
Canning — Mackintosh — Brougham — ^Palmerston — House of Lords — 
Lord Eldon- Rhio Rhio— Catalini— Signorina Gard*— Edward Ir- 
ving— Byron^s coffin 282 


Return to America— Removal to Boston— literary poaition of Boston- 
Prominent literary characters— The press— The pulpit— The bar- 
New York now the literary metropolis— My publication of various 
works— The Legendary— N. P. Willis— The era of Annuals— The 
Token— The artiata engaged in it— The apthors— Ita termination. 2o2 


The contributors to the Token— N. P. Willis— N. Hawthorne— Mi** 
Francis — Mr. Greenwood — Mr. Pierpont— Charles Spnigue — Mrs. 
Bigonmey- Miss Sedgwick — Mrs. Osgood, and others — Quarrels 
between anthora and publishers — Anecdotes— The pubrwUcm' 
liMtiTal «C4 



TIm flnt of Um ParUy book*— Ito rtotption— Varioiti publiMti 
TkrtatMinf attack of iUnaaa Voyage to £urop»— Cooaoltalioo of 
phyaidaiM at Paria— Sir Ba^j. Brodia, of Loodoo— Abarerombia, of 
Edinburgh— Rat uro to Anwrioa— Kaaidence io the country— Proaaea- 
tioD of my Ut«rary labora— FootioK up tha account-- Annoyaneaa of 
aatbormhip— Lattar to tba Naw York Daily Timaa 17t 


Bapobllcation of Parlay'a Tbiaa io Lon«loD— Mr. Taffir*a oparationa — 
Imitatad by othar pubUahara— Petar Parlay Martin— Latur to Mr. 
DarUin— An aditioo of tha Iklaa Parlaya in Amarioa— Tba cooaa- 
qoaooaa tM 


ObJacCiooa to tha Parlay book*— My theory an to hooka f«>r childrvo— 
Attempt in England to revive the oltl nurMry bm^ka— Mr. Kelts Unm- 
marly— Hallo welPa Nuraery Khyme« of FJigland -IHdnirue between 
Timothy and hia mother— Mother Gooaa— Tha Toad*e Htory— Rooka 
of inatructioo 9^A 

Journey to tha Sonth— Anecdntca- Kece|>tion at New Orleana sn 

LETTtrR Lr. 

Ratroapaetion— 4'oofcaainni - The mice amoog my papera— A rackmnnc 
with tha pMt AAt 


Speech at St. Albana— Laetnra aprio Ireland an*! the trieh The Itrua*!- 
atreet rivt- Rortiinc the rharla»to»n mnvent - My pctiitioal career - 
A. II. Everett— Tha ft fte an f aUoo Jog— The lUrnaoo earopaigti »f 
lMi>-lUrd eidar and lof oabina — iteoeral benkni|i(ry — UrcCiou 
of IIam»<io -lliedaalh— <:on*e4)ueoca»-An««ilo(eo- The '*MmAll 'a I 
M«f«ement** — A model oaiididaie - Williaa rpp, or •hinfliti^ • 
barn ,jf 


InieraalKmel c^(-,«nir^l -Mr Ihckene'e nnMtoo ll:« fk^Iure an I . i« 
n%ritire Tt-v I^Mtiifi i«-ii«*i.t.-<n -lii^mry inu> ti.« \mmi» t'f o y^t.^ .t 
- fiiiilr-l .n •»•• 'Mr j-.-t • U hu w |>r jwM* V 4»r> 'ti.-U u|-«i) 

inbwli govtmnMiit praCdote iifop6it|^— Hitloiy of copyright PiwwtBl 
Unto tfoopjriglit lav— Polkgr the iMrit of lood oopjrii^ kir— Inter- 
Bitionil oopjriglit demmdtd I7 Jartict Bohiao Ibr liilimitioiial 
•opyriglilwithOrMtBritdii— BMMoosftrit tW 


Btirtistki of the bo(A tndo— Itt •ztndon— Tho rdirtivs faiet— ■ of 
Ameiioan Utantony M oompartd with British litafaliirt. S7t 


BMoOMtioiM of WMhiBgton— Tho Hbone of BipwatntirifM lHwonri 
oom pr omiae— €hiy, Bandolph, and Lowndv — The Ben rt o B ufbi 
King^WiUiam Pinkn^— Mr. Maeon-Jiidga Ifanhall— Etoetkn of 
Johtf QaiDogr Adama— Pnaident Mon ro a M aetiiif of Adama and 
Jaokaon— Jaekaon'a adiiiiiilitiatioii--Ckj---Odhoiiii---Wabatar--Aii- 


LondoD and Paris compared — Paris thirty yean ago— Ixmis XVI II. — 
The Parisians — Garden of the Tnileriea — Washingrton Irving— Mr. 
Warden, the American consul — Soci4t< Philoniatique — Baron Larrey 
— 6eoffh>y St. HiUire — ^The Institute — Arago— Lamarck— Gay-Lnssac 
— Cavier— Lacroiz— LapUce — Laenneo—Dupaytren— Talma — Made- 
moiselle Mars 487 


Death of Loois XVIU.— Charies X.— The '' Three Olorioas Days^*— 
Lonia Philippe— The reyolation of Febmary, 1848 449 


Eyenta which immediately followed the revolution— Scenes in the streets 
of Paris— Anxiety of strangers — Proceedings of the Americana — Ad- 
dress to the Provisional Government— Reply of M. Arago— Proceasion 
in the streets — Inangnratiou of the republic— Funeral of the victinu — 
Presentation of flags— Conspiracy of the 15th of May— Insurrection of 
June — Adoption of the constitution— Louis Napoleon President. 471 


The duties of a consul — Pursuit of a missing fiimily —Paying for expe- 
rience 480 

8 ocnmam. 


Chsraettr of the FmoA rtpvbllo—Itii onocrwt with th« AhmtIoui f»- 
psblio— AspMt of the |rov«nim«nt in France— I»nic Nepoleon** embl- 
tiooe denifn*— He fletterm the army— Apreode niniora of eocieliet plots 
—Divieiotts in the Netionel Aeeembly— A levee at the Elyirfe Tlie 
Coop <l*Eta^-Chereoter of this eet^Nepoleon** grovernmeot— Feel 
iBfi of the people 4ot 


Meetinf of Amerieens in PerU to eommeroormte the deeth of Clej end 
Webster— Termination of ray cooaolar dutiee— <1iarscier of the Freooh 
aatioo— The ** black-eoat'* drcular 6<H 

Visit to Italy- Florenos— Bocne— Naplee Ul 


Leave-tskinir - ImproTeroent every where— lu eoienee- Geoloif} , cheui- 
leiry, afrienlture, manuflwCure*, astronomy, navi|ralion, the duiiiv«ti4 
art*— Anthraetle coal- TraTelinff— Paintinir— IliCucrreocypee - The 
IlectrieTelefraph— Mural pr%fgrm*» -In fortiifii cvuntrie* : in thv I'nt- 
ta4 Slatee &X0 


INDEX 564 



■ • 

Aif PoHf—IU Ijftdt and lStampl&-~Oim^aH$(m qfikt Bartford Ooi^ 
uniion wUkihs NuUiJUn — !%« Union fornMr. 

Mtdeab €♦♦♦♦♦♦ 

I come now to the " Hartford Convention." Me- 
thinks I hear jou remark, with an aspect of dismay — 
are you not venturing into deep water in treating of 
such a subject, generally regarded as an historical 
abyss, in which much may be lost and nothing can 
be gained ? 

Well, my friend, suppose you do ask this — is it 
really a good reason why I should not tell what I have 
seen, what I know, what I believe, in relation to it? 
The Hartford Convention was in my time : my uncle, 
Chauncey Goodrich, was one of its prominent mem- 
bers. I was then living with him ;* I saw all the 

* I haT« stet«d el86where that he had promiAed to mmke me one of 
hb aidik Aooordingly, H. L. SUsworth— aftenrard Indian Agwit and 
Commia^oner of Patenta— and myaelf were appointed, with tiM lank of 

10 umrmHh^Btto&APHicAL, 

peraon8 constitutiag-.tfaat famous body, at his houae ; 
the image arid superscription of tbe most distinguish* 
ed ipdiyi^ikils are fresh in my recollection. I remem- 
. beF the hue and aspect of the political atmcephere^ 
:tten and there. Why should I not tell these things? 
You may, perhaps, entertain the common notion that 
the Hartford Convention was a congregation of con* 
spiratorR — traitors — and I shall invite you to abandon 
this delusion. It may not be pleasant to hear your 
cherished opinions controverted : it is always a little 
disagreeable to receive truth, which re<iuirrs U8 to sac* 
rifioe Homethingof our self-esteem, by giviiijr up errors 
which have liiHX>me part of our mental coii.**titutioD. 
But C4*rtuinly you will not MJli'm^' me on any such nar- 
row ground as thin. Tin* tinu* Ii:ls rome wIkmi one 
may H|H'ak fn*<*ly on thi.H ^ubjirt, and sunly without 
tiflfonrii*. Forty years havt* ]i:l'4s«*<1 siiir*' ihr ^rathrring 
of that farfanuil UmIv. Kvrrv mniilN-r uf il i?* di-ml. 
I will not that you nhall say nothiii^' t>f tlirm 
which is not ^^mmI ; but I irlaini tin* privilf^'t* of say- 
ing of tht'm what I knuw t(» U- trut*. I am sure you 
will listrn t<» me ]>ati«*ntly, if not approviii^'ly. 

B^ir, A|*nl 17. 141ft. I mmm ii«iC «rr; •inlnti'iua of mv title, far mH 
ttioir •i^rr '* M'»^^ f#*t«^nJ/«/' «>f H«it^>r. Maiiic. ATt^'itrr I aii iiif^n^MM 
Dc«l«trict«, in ouffM«i{u«>ttr» «>f • tn«l IhxYfiitirr. 1^14 m «?.•■). I>»iu«l 
Wcbairr iu»lv • cvlr^rAl»<i |>lr«, tiiiniMkin^ tiiM uf tli« tivX c«tr»>nli- 
liA/]i <«•*■• --f i.i|>! -il) ftii I >■« i-x-r.-t < I. r< .•■?>! Tl. • y •;- r ii'»-lri 1^ 
|>rrif •!• I t>> I ««r farfi rt>l-i-«<l. sr. i rt.r .f I..I* ««• . '.ftrtri-l .;*-ri \n\\ 

|-««r.«)«t'i I aiiir ..f K'.-.'.-t t|. l». ■•«■ I. fi ll»« ..f !f.ri^ \|» Mvl» 

»•« r (-r- tr.) tt.Al *.! r it.afifc »«• f«'.>c. «i. 1 l> •: tr« *■ « u*rr I.* I L.-ikvcf 
Ubr.<-AU«l ti.a «tu^ %\Mitj \A MtM rvbtwrj. li«« H«b»tar'« \l urk*. %ut. 

BsiraocALi AmoDQmoAX^ too. 11 

Too may perhaps sappoee that there is but one 
opinion in the country as to the chaiaeter of that as- 
sembly ; bat let me observe that there are two opin* 
ions upon the sabject| and if one is un&Toiable, the 
other is diametrically opposite. In New England, 
the memories of those who constitoted the Conven- 
tion are held in reverenoe and esteem, by the great 
body of their fellow-citiaens, including a large ma- 
jority of those whose opinions are of weight and 
value, and this has been so from the beginning. 

I have said that they are now all gathered to their 
&therB. As they have gone down, one by one, to 
their last resting-place, public opinion has pronounced 
sentence upon their lives and characters. I ask your 
attention to the historical £Etct, that in every instance, 
this has been a eulogy — not for talent only, but the 
higher virtues of humanity. Of the twenty -six mem- 
bers who constituted the Convention, every one has 
passed to an honored grave. The members of the Hart- 
ford Convention were, in effect, chosen by the people, 
at a time of great trouble and alarm, for the purpose 
of devising the ways and means to avert threatening — 
impending evils. All felt the necessity of selecting 
persons of the highest wisdom, prudence, and virtue, 
and never was a choice more happily made. Most of 
these men were indeed of that altitude of talent, piety, 
dignity, and patriotism, which partisan pigmies natu- 
rally hate, by the inherent antipathy of littleness to 
greatness, and of vice to virtue; but in New England, 


the enlightened generation among whom they liTecl, 
estimated them aooording to their true merit& These 
never believed them to be conspirators ; they knew, 
indeed, the fact to be otherwise. Even tlie blinding 
influence of party spirit has never made the better 
class of democrats in New England believe that the 
Convention meditated treason. As to the mam of 
the people, they held and still hold that the Hartford 
Convention was one of the ablest and wisest assem- 
blies ever convened in the oountn*. 

I am aware, however, that the prevailing opinii»n 
in the Unit<Hl States at large has been, and perha{w 
still is, the reverse of this. Out of Now England, 
demc>cracy is the dominant party. The war was a 
democratic measure, and the Convention was the 
work of the federalists, who oppoennl the war. It is, 
doubtless, too much to expect that party spirit will 
exercise oandt^r toward those who brave and liaflle 
it — at least « luring th«» r«>n flirt. Tliere wrre many 
reasons why the Convention was an un|)anlonable 
fin in the eyes of democ'ra<»y : it was opfxisition ti> 
the war, and that its4*lf was tn*ason : tlie war was 
attende<l with defeat, disaster, dis^rrace, and t4> tuni 
rotribution from the heads of the warmaki^m, it was 
eonsidered politic to cluu-ge vwry niisi-arriage t4> the 
war opjMj«»n4. In iihort, it waj* •i«'«Tn«Mi ihf U*st way 
forst'lfprt^'rvation. l»y ihr »i«*m«K:nitif Iraili-rn, to HUik 
the fedoraliiits in uiulyin>: infiunv. li«Mici.* thry |irr 
aisled in deuounaog the Convcutioti as an assembly 


but il 18 nwaliiaid tiUk^^iifeto «« 

onlf pnmotfld by tiwi inD i y ctf pqwa^ «ad fteiidisi 
B>pt lebttke of paMig iwwitfaiiiiHfe : f- «^«i s^.ii^ ,}i 

The fiHiBdatim of thk tmaeiflM cilf^ 
kfls ta be tnoed to Jolm QuiK7 AdMU^^^^^ 
log lost the oonfldMee etYmfoSAM m 
die ftdenfieli of MMwicilwiiiolln iiwJBotbdag eta*-* 
ed to ft aeomd t«m ee flbniter of tbe IWlid SMe% 
apeedify ehaiqfed hk.p6ISitim^*mA nude k fijeolesiifi^ 
nal orprotended, to Jeflbndo, in 1806^* to tiie eflfoet 
that the federalists of the North — taking advantage 
of the uneasiness of the people on a<xx>unt of the 
distresses imposed upon them by the embargo— were 
meditating a separation from the Union, and an alli- 
ance with Great Britain — of all things the most likely 
to obtain democratic belief and to excite democratic 

Here was the germ of that clinging scandal against 
New England, which has been perpetuated for forty 
years. It certainly had a respectable voucher at the 
beginning, but its utter want of foundation has long 
since been proved. For about twenty years, however, 
the libel was permitted — ^in secret and of course with- 
out contradiction — ^to ferment and expand and work 
itself over the minds of Jefferson and his associates. 

• Sm note on page S74,yol. i. of tbiB work. A1m> HUdrMh, Moond 
MriM, Yol. m. pp. 79, 117. 


It had oreated such an impreflnon, that Madiflon — 
when President — had only to be told by an unaccred- 
ited foreigner, that he had the secret of a federal plot 
for disunion in Massachusetts, and he at once bought 
it, and paid fifty thousand dollars for it out of the 
public treasury.* No doubt he really expected to find 
that he had a rope round the necks of half the feder- 
alists in New England. He soon discovered, however, 
that the biter was bit John Henry duped the Presi- 
dent, who seized the hook, because it was baitixl with 
suspicions, the seeds of which John Q. Adanis had 
furnished some years before. 

It was not till the year 1828, when that pereon was 
a candidate for the presidency a second time, that the 
whole facts in regard to this calumny were developc<l. 
He was then called seriously to account,! and such 

* In MATcb, Idlt, lUdittoo Mot to ('oO|rr«M c«ruin iloraiu<^nu. pr^ 
iMidinc to diMsluM ft MCfvt plot, fur Ui« diam«tubvrm»i)t of the I'utou, 
Mkd Um fumiAtiob of %h» K*»tcru Hua« loto • ^ittcal t^uini^cCAoo 
with Grtftt BritAio. It M«aft« Oil in th« winter of !»<,>«, Sir J. II. 
Chilf , Ootp«nior-f«iMnl of (*«n*i>l«, voiplajr^d John Henry to uDiUrtmk* 
AtMTtt AkMoO to tU« Unil^il StalM for tht* object. Hctir> |>ruc«*J«<(l 
thftHiir^ Vermont Aiul N«« IlAni}«lar» to B^Mtoo. H«, ho««\«r, n«>%«r 
SmukI a |HtnK>o to wLoin b« oonkl broach Um ft«ibj««t ! A« h« •tAt«<l, 
IIm BritMb fo««nub«nt rvAas^U tb« |*rotuM«4 oocnpvnMOiou, mud thrr^ 
htm b« turo*d trmitor, ajid •^Ad bu Mpcrvi to our fov«mm«iiL Tb« 
•afa^Mt WM tmllf ditraantl to l'artiAm«oL, •ml tl ft|>pmr*d Utai ll«i»- 
rf'% ftcb^tuc warn Dot kuuwn to or ftuiL^jni**! I>; tb« llrtluth fu%rro 
■MMt. Tb« wbokr •ut»iafio« of ti^c tuattrr WM^ ibat our ifu«vruui«t)l 
mimk 4u|i*«l bj A iitia«rmb»« ft.i«rul.irtr The i»<it<Ji»ci uf MA>li»«>n. lu 

%iU0 •VtUcUt frvviibOMI to II.C .i{<A'.r li.r fr irrik..«U, « •• • ',M»l,l,^ it" t 1 

of dt*Uk« AliJ b<»»t-lil> I • \ .III ^e<• 1 •%»y • Am^^ .staU*mu%, \^ 34^ 

t I«Ml.t;Uftt. ll.i*'..»l. *i i;.C ti!:.C « Kt •-< f. '. -i* •:.•:» I. r J-i*. .C 

•ffM b»ni«i« fully ««ar« uf iLc Ckct, ILaI^ t»«aty ^cATi b«{vrv. Mr. A i 
•im b*U |4Mitod tb« tmdrn wf ih^ mchmImmi agmuMl Wm t^urumtu imi 


was the etfecti that fiom that time he was ailemt In 
Tain did ha attemptto fbmiahendenoeof a planaibla 
fiyondalion for his stoiy. He refened to yariona wH- 
neowa, bat it waa pointedly zemaiked that all, aave 
one^* were dead. Yet theae even aeemed to liae xap 

omlktiSiitlie MgerMaoflir. J«ilbno&*»iiiiiid,wlMrtillMidaonrbh«d 
in tMMt, and whtnae H had batn wkWy dlMtnlMMd. thm wm m 
gaiMfil— indtad, an almoat aniTcnal— ftaliiif af tndignrtkn and aaloii- 
l ah m an t Hm pfaaidential alaoCion waa at hand, and Mr. Adama v«a 
tliaaaDdldatooftlMiHiigpartifteaaaooMdtarai. Thoaa vtiy paraoMi 
whom ba had tfaaa maUgiiad-4]iaBBaalTaa or tbair daaeaadaala— waia 
BOW hia aappoftan. Iba aiattfoB waa p atn il tt i ad to ^laaa, and Maaia 
ahnaatta gava bar vola Ibr Mr. Adama; ha waa, howavWf dafcalad, tad 
Jaokaon baoama hia anooaaaor. 

And BOwaaoMtbaratribiitioB. Mr. Adama waa addnaaad bgr H. 0. 
OtiM, T. H. Parkins, William Pnaoott, Chariea Ja«iaon, and othera— 
men of the highest standing, and representing the old federal party, 
charged with treason by him— demanding the proofii of the accusation 
for which he stood responsible. T have not space to give here the dia- 
cuaeion whiob followed. Those wlio wish can find the case dearly stated 
in JToiM^f American SiaUtman^ page 442, ^., &o. The result certain^ 
ly was, that Mr. Adams showed no grounds, even for suspicion, of what 
he charged ; and that, even if there had been some foundation for his 
opinion, it referred to an earlier date, and to other individuals, and 
could not, by any show of fkct, reason, or logic, be connected with the 
Hartford Convention. Indeed, no person can now read the controversy 
referred to, without coming to this obvioua conclusion. It will be re- 
membered, in confirmation of this, that John Henry, the British agent, 
aent for the purpose of seducing the Boston federalists, by the British 
governor, Cruig, never found an individual to whom he dared even to 
open his business I 

At all events, such was the shock of public feelings, caused by the 
disclosure of Mr. Adams's charge made to Jefferson, that for a long 
time, when he walked the streets of Boston, which he occasionally vis- 
ited, he was generally passed without being spoken to, even by his for- 
mer aoqoaintancee. The resentment at laat subsided, but he never 
recovered the foil confidence of the people of Massachusetts : they were 
content, however, in view of his great merits, to let the matter paaa 
into oblivion. It is only in obedience to the call of history that I writa 
these facts. 

* This individual waa William Plumer, a Senator ftom New Hamp- 
shire, who atatad that in 1808 and 1804, ha waa himaaif in ikvor of 

14 urrrsn — siooftAFHioAL, 

and speak from their verj grareB. Sons, brothers, rel- 
atives, associates — including some of the first men in 
the United States — ^indignantly denied, in behalf of 
those for whom they had a right to speak, the impu* 
tations thus cast upon them. No fiur-minded man 
can read the discussion now, and fail to see that Mr. 
Adams either inrented his story — which, however, 
is by no means to be presumed^-or that, according 
to the peculiar structure of his mind, having become 
hostile to the federal leaders in Massachusetts, he 
really thought he saw evidences of mischief in evenUi 
which, fairly viewed, furnished not the slightest 
ground even for suspicion. 

Thus, as I think, this foundation, this beginning of 
the idea that the Hartford Convention originated in 
treasonable designs on the part of its members, is 
shown to be absolutely groundless. Not one particle 
of evidence, calculated to satisfy an honest inquin*r 
after truth, has ever been adducetl to sustain the 
charge. The investigation has been in the higlu*st 
degree inquisitorial : it was doeme<l vital to the in- 
terests of the democratir party to pn>ve, to estab* 
lish this allegation of treason. Public dooum<*nt.s 
newspaper articles, private a>rres|>ontlent*t\ pergonal 

Ibfmi&f ft Mpamto fov^niBMriit for Nvw |jt#UA 1. (mt H« •Kftndttck**! 

vm rtviT««l ta l9i>lr aoJ 1«!s IU. ti^i ur>l«>r«rnt • elmm eiamtruk 
tioa, M»J It •|>fMmf*J thAt \.9 mm uiu»N« {•• | '<-lu«^ ant rrii*U« •%* 
d«IM« »hftU«er. ll.At snt y\ 4 f >r ivir, n «m f>rme-l. <« tKat ftfiy in- 
4Wt4ad. firmfc>ct»i1 with th« iUrtlSnr«l t'oowntMrn. coaoUiMaoad aoch 


intercjourse — all have been subjected to the rack 
and the thumb-screw. The question has been 
pushed to the conscience of an individual member 
of the Convention, and he has been called to testify, 
on oath^ as to the origin and intentions of that as- 
sembly. Its journal, declared to contain every act, 
every motion, every suggestion, that took place, 
has been published; and now — after forty years 
of discussion, thus urged by hostile parties — sober 
history is compelled to say, that not a public docu- 
ment, not a private letter, not a speech, not an act, 
secret or open, has been brought to light, which 
proves, or tends to prove, the treasonable origin of 
the Hartford Convention I 

The charge of treason is a serious one: so far 
as it may have a just foundation, it is &tal to per- 
sonal character : it is a stain upon the State to which 
it attaches : it is a discredit to human nature, espe- 
cially in a country like ours, and in a case like that 
which we are discussing. It should therefore not be 
made — surely it should not be maintained — unless 
upon positive, undeniable proof. It should not rest 
for its defense upon partisan malice, or that inhe- 
rent littleness which teaches base minds to accept 
suspicion as conclusive evidence of what they be- 
lieve, only because it coincides with their evil 
thoughts. While, therefore, there seems to be no 
proof of the alleged treasonable origin of the Hart- 
ford Convention — I am able to do more than can- 

18 LCTCTW wonwipmoAL, 

dor demandfl, and I here preeent you with direcft 
testimony from a aonroe that will not be impugned 
or discredited, showing that the said Convention origi- 
nated with the people and from the circumstanoes of 
the times, and not with conspirators, and that ita ob> 
jects were just, proper, patriotic. I shall hereafter 
call upon you to admit, that the proceedings of the 
Convention were in accordance with this ita lawful 
and laudable origin. 

I now ask your candid attention to the following 
8tat4^ment, made some years after the Convention, 
by Noah Webster* — a man perhaps as universally 

• II w ccrtainlT n«H ntcttm M ry for in« to writ* Um biocmphy or ear* 
tif> li) the ch*r»ct«r of Nu«h Wcb»t«r : Ui«m hAr« bMO otfTMd All orm 
oar cniiDtnr b^r hi* Sp«lhnir book %nd his I>iction«r7, •rcctinc BMNia- 
menu of irr»uiotU in lh« heart* o( the millioiM vbom bo ba* ta«|rht 
to rrAil, AOii the ntiUton* wh<.»m he tull teachee, io th« porfbct «•• of 
our Uiiirua|f«. It ha* been mi J, and with much truth, that bo ha* bold 
eooanoiiK'O vitb mure minJa than any uther author of mudom tlsMa, 
Ilia leaniinf , hi* aMi«luitir. hi* ptcty, hia patriotiaro, ware tba ffocio«l 
work u( the*e •occcMifal au«l Kenrflrent tabora. It la tb« privile|pa of a 
fTMt and C'x^l man to »peak. and when ba •peaka, to bo lUlcaod to. 
The paaaatr* bar* qoo<a«l i* rw>rn|iri*eti in hia ** Oolla^Cioo of Eaaa^*,** 
pobliabad in 1M4 : it waa written with a aineora and aamoal pirpnaa^ 
and It M«ma n/i murt than due t«> truth and tba joatioa of lofk, to r»- 
OvtTa it m conc]u*i«e priM.f .f thr facta it aa*ert*. 

Mr. Webster, aa i* well kiiown, wa* a nativa of Hartfcrd, Cowk, wmi 
waa bf>m in Oct. 175* Atw.'tm hi* dawamataaat YakrUlafa wara Joal 
Barfow. (Hitrar Woie^Ht, Tnah TrarT, Zapbaniab Hwilt, and o(bar mas 
of eniioenca. IIm hib »a# 'prut in vant^ua Utcrar) purvuita. I kttav 
biin »rll. and muat ment. n *n in. i lent re«prctinf hitn. Mill fVeab in 
my mrmvry. In the •timmrr of I*»i4, 1 waa in I*ari*, aitd •la«in|t at %hm 
Uolat ll<ii«tmoreo<7. « »t;e ut'^miuj. *t an ^ariy hour. 1 eritartd tlia cosft 
wf ll.r h'Jtel. atil on \}.e j ;-...!«■ •. ir. I «a» a tall, *ieu !<>r f.»rm. with a 
blark '■•iAl. K».k •tiiai: ^l-rff •■•. •- ^ k m.\ Mt- kinc*. moMijjf ha^-k and 
f'trth. «.!h It* hania (*«• •. . .*., %• i »«; iruily in a »ute of m««iitatio«u 
It wa* a ■■ ir."U*. -^ -aiU* ' •.-.• * ■ .•. :.«jkn.rf a| iciriiiou. •traofvlT ui 
M»«ifr»*t t<j the pravail n/ f rta* at. 1 ap}<^**1a m thia fay mctnvputis. | 

siinlf )iO due will deny ihat^ to ihis extent^ W is i 
oompeteat and credible witnesB. 

few IhmHWtioM of the MendMs dnrliijrtlie eMif periodi 
ofottrgofemmei^ezcHedflo much the eagry [lewtoui of tiMir 
oppoens as the Bmethrd (kinYw tiaa ee eaOed-'-diiffiig ^ 
IMneridenof of Mr. Madison. As I was present at the first meet- 
faig of ^ gBmkmep who suggested sooh a oQnventkm ; as I 
was a meBoher of the House of Bepfesentatiies In Massadmsetts 
when Hie resoh^was passed liiri^ipf^tiiig the dek g ntes , I ad* 
Too^ted that resolTO ; and fbrther, as I ha^e cpples of the doe- 
nmeDtSi whkh no other person may ha?e presenred^ it seems to 
behwomheot on me to prteaent to the piibllo the real ISmIb hi 
regard to the origin of tiie measore, which hare heeo Tildy fal- 
nfied and misrepresented. 

After the War of 1812 had continued two years, oar public 
affiiirs were reduced to a deplorable condition. The troops of 
the United States, intended for defending the seacoast, had been 
withdrawn to carry on the war in Oanada ; a British squadron 
was stationed in the Sound to prevent the escape of a frigate 
from the harbor of New London, and to intercept our coasting- 
trade ; one- town in Maine was in possession of the British 
forces ; the banks south of New England had all suspended the 
payment of specie ; our shipping lay in our harbors, embargoed, 
dismantled, and perishing; the treasury of the United States 
was exhausted to the last cent ; and a general gloom was spread 
over the country. 

In this condition of affairs, a number of gentlemen, in North- 
said to myself—** If it were possible, I should say that was Noai^Web- 
ster I'' I went ap to him, and foand it was indeed he. At the age 
of sizty-siz, he had oome to Earope to perfect his Dictionary ! It 
is intsreeting to know that snoh tenacity of parpoee, saoh persistency, 
such ooorage, were combined with all the refined and amiable qual- 
ities which dignify and embellish domestic and private life. 


•mpton, lo MijJMohnwtti, after ooiifiilutioii, dt U r miiw d to In* 
rite toiiM of the prinoipAl inhaUUnU ci the thrM ooaniki oo 
the river, formerljr oompoeiog the old county of H«nipeliir% to 
meet and oomider whether any measure could be Uken to anwt 
the oontinuanoe of the war, and provide tor the fmblio aafrty. 
In pursuance of thb determination, a circular letter wae ad- 
dreaaed to aeveral gentlemen in the three ooontiea, raqoeatiof 
them to meet at Northampton. The following ia a copy of the 

NoBTMAifprov, Jan. ft, I SI i. 

Sir: In oouMqueoot of th« aUrminif tUto of our pohlio aflBif*, and 
th« doubu which hAv« exi»ud m to th« correct cootm to b« par»iMd 
by th« fricods of pMoe, it has been thought adviMbla by • number of 
gmtlcmcn in this vicinity, vho have cnn»ultod tog«th<'r on tho nub^act, 
that a mcetinf ahould be oatUd of aonie faw of tha moa di*«rwt aad 
intrlliirent iniiabttanta of tha oM county of IUmp*hire, for tha purpoaa 
of a frra an«l (li«|«Mitoiuae iliMOMKm touchinir our public ciinccma. 
The Irf inlatura will Ptw*n Iw iu M'^ikion, arul vnuM probably ba gratiflad 
with tt kno»lc«l|rr of the f««liuiri atiil wi»)tc« of the |iao|Je ; an«l should 
the irrntlanieti who nuy be aiiaamliled rectHiimeiiil any iHturaa to ba |»«r- 
auad by our fellow •citiaens, furtba niorr iii«tinct ei|>rea»ion of tha pab 
he Mntiinant, it ia nece * aary the propueeU meeting should ba oallail a* 
an early lUy. 

We h*«e therefnra ventur««l t<> propoM that it nhnuUI be bald at <'ol. 
(liapnieit'ii, in thia town, on We«lne*lay, the linh «lay of January cor* 
rant, at \t o'clock in the forrno'>n. anU eameatly re^uret yo«r attaod- 
aaoa at theabo\e time an<i place f**T the piir|*oa«.' befure atatad. 
With much reaped, I am, »ir, }our obe«lifnt a^rvant, 

Juaara Lviiaii. 

In oomfiliance with the rM{u<wt in thia lrit«*r, ««*vera] ftetitW- 
meo m«t at Northampton, on tlie day ap|Miinted, and after a ftm 
euoveraation on the anbject of publir affairs agreed to aeod to 
the aeveral towna ia the three c<»unti«a «mi the riv«r, the Ibllow* 
lag rtrruUr addrvM : 

M^' The mul!i|4i«^i r%..« in wh."*- the I'nit**! State* have been is- 
vnJ«^l hy t*.e nifaaun** -if i».^ Utr sn I present a-!'ii.'):*tralion«. ara 
auK^eri* (if iT^nera! '^•fiif>!a *,* tnl .n the <tpini'>n '*f ft ir «i%eM alatwa- 
flken *-» '. ("T •••rtir p^n-t^al r*-ni« !y ili« rit-<ellen<*>. the tffWernof a^ 
the « '.rii'it manJil in hi* a i ir««« \n the General <\.itrt, at tHe laat as< 


present MMion, has stated, in temperate, bat clear and decided lan> 
g^age, ilia opinion of the injoatioe of. the present war, and intimated 
that measures oaght to be adopted by the legislature to bring it to a 
speedy close. He also calls the attention of the legislature to some 
measures of the general goyemment, which are believed to be uncon- 
stitutional. In all the measures of the general government, the peo- 
ple of the United States hsve a common concern, but there are some 
laws and regulations, which call more particularly for the attention of 
the Northern States, and are deeply interesting to the people of this 
Commonwealth. Feeling this interest, as it respects the present and 
future generations, a number of gentlemen ftt>m various towns in the 
old county of Hampshire, have met and conferred on the subject, snd 
upon full conviction that the evils we suffer are not wholly of a tempo- 
rary nature, springing irom the war, but some of them of a permanent 
character, resulting f^om a perverse construction of the Constitution of 
the United States, we have thought it a duty we owe to our country, to 
invite the attention of the good people of the counties of Hampshire, 
Hampden, and Franklin, to the radi(Md causes of these evils. 

We know indeed that a negotiation for peace has been recently set 
on foot, and peace will remove many public evils. It is an event we 
ardently desire. But when we consider how often the people of the 
country hsve been disappointed in their expectations of peace, and of 
wise measures ; and when we consider the terms which our adminis- 
tration has hitherto demanded, some of which, it is certain, can not be 
obtained, and some of which, in the opinion of able statesmen, ought 
not to be insisted upon, we confess our hopes of a speedy peace are 
not very sanguine. 

But still, a very seripus question occurs, whether, without an amend- 
ment of the Federal Constitution, the northern and commercial States 
can enjoy the advantages to which their wealth, strength, and white 
population justly entitle them. By means of the representation of 
slaves, the Southern States have an influence in opr national councila 
altogether disproportionate to their wealth, strength, and resources ; and 
we presume it to be a &ct capable of demonstration, that for about twen- 
ty years past the United States have been governed by a representation 
of about two-flfths of the actual property of the country. 

In addition to this, the creation of new States in the South, and out 
of the original limits of the United States, has increased the southern 
interest, which has appeared so hostile to the peace and commercial 
prosperity of the Northern States. This power assumed by Congress 
of bringing into the Union new States, not comprehended within the 
territory of the United States at the time of the federal compact, is 
deemed arbitrary, unjust, and dangerous, and a direct infringement of 
the Constitution. This is a power which may hereafter be extended, and 
the evil will not cease with the establishment of peace. We would ask, 
then, ought the Northern States to aoquieace in the exercise of thia 


power r To what coiiKoqiMiiott would Ultad f How ma Um ptople •! 
th« Northern SutM siuwor to thotnMlY«s and to tiMir pM lM Hj Ibr tm 
•oqaieMODce in the exeroiee of this power, that aofmniti ab iiit»Mti 
already dentmcUve of oor proeperitj, and will In time innlhlWii tk« 
beat intereata of the northern people f 

There are other meanurea of the ^neral foverament, whi«k, we a^ 
prehend, ooght to excite aerioaa alum. The power aaaamed to Iqr a 
permanent embargo appeara not to be oonatitntioiud, but an m e toe fc 
roent on the rightn of our citiaena, which oaUa for decided oppoaitioa. 
It ia a power, we beliere, nerer before exerolaed hj a eommtrcial aa- 
tion ; and how can the Northern Statea, which are habltaaDy oommar- 
rial, and whoee active foreifn^ trade la no neoeaaarUj eooneeied with tb« 
intercat of the fanner and mechanic, aleep In tranqnlDity nnder aoeh ft 
violent InfHnirement of ilieir rii(hu t Bot thia ia not all. The lata ael 
impoainir an embargo b anbTen>ire of the drat principlaa of civil lib- 
art j. The trade ooaatwiae between different porta in tba smm* Simtt la 
arbitrarily and oncon«titutionally prohibited, and the aubwrdinaia «|^ 
lloea of goTemment are veeted with powen altogether incooabtent wli,b 
onr republican imititutioiia. It armt the IVeaident and hia ftgenta wHll 
complete cimtrol of (lemont and pn>perty, and anthoriara tba em p loy" 
ment of military force to carry it a extraordinary proviaiona into eioco 

We forbear tn enumerate all thr meanum of the federal govemmeat 
which we (Vin*i<lf*r aa rioUtiona of the ronntitutiun, and encroachmettto 
upon the righu of the fie'iple, an-i which bear |«rticalaHy haid apoa 
the rommerrial pe<>|>le of the North. But we would invite oar MIow- 
citifeii^ ti> nmni'ler whether p«*ac<e will remcily our public evila, withovt 
aonie ameii<lmrntii nf the r4.ti>titiiTiMii, which «hmll iMPcure to the North- 
em Statcfk their due wctifht anl iiiflurnoe in our natitmal eouacila. 

The Northern State* ac«>eiie-l to the reprmentatiun of elavea aa a OMt- 
t»r of compr»mt»e. riptui the eipre^n stipulation in the Cooatitatioa tbol 
they ahouM l»e prolec-te«l in the enjoyment of their commercial rigbia. 
The««* •tipiilatJitnt have Seen ref>ea(e<lly violated , and It ean not be ts- 
pe^'texl that the Northern Kutr* ahouM Iw willing to bear their portion 
of th« bur lrn> uf the federal govenmieut withuat enjoving the ImiiJa 

If our fellow citiaene ahnuld o^ncur with oe in opinion, we wovld 
•urgent whether It wotM n-il be •x|>^lient for the people in town m at* 
inf to a>idrMa ntemonais to the lienrrml < Vurt. at their |4>peebt mmiim^ 
|H>titi'*ningtliAl huii'irw^lc t<o>i% to {fxiio^ • i^nvebtion of all the Nufth- 
rni ftii'l <*>nimrr\-ia] su*r« ** !•'..••••-« \.. U aifoiut.- 1 hy their ra- 
•l^t'tive lrir.*lAtur**«. t'j • f.» ."'. -.j- t'itr* i*. ^mIh^ t*, f 'f |-r^>*urii^ 
» . f. «!t«rwli"ni iU tl.r fr.lrr*: « . i.ftM^i.--i. m «.II gt^r to ihr Niiftherm 
h*.k!r« • -1 n" I T'l- rt* It ■/ r» J rir«< t.'.Ai.^'ii. »ii 1 Aecurr tl.efii fWnw th« fW- 
t^rr vter ^M of (-^«rr« .rijir. jmm to their o mtnmr\.\al mtcraeta , or if tba 
0*aeral Court ahall aee It, that tLey abottld puraue aneli etbar <o«r»«^ 


m they, in their wisdom, shall deem beet calculated to effect these oh 
Jeots. The measure is of such magnitude, that we apprehend a concert 
of States will be useful and even necessary to procure the amendments 
proposed ; and should the people of the several States concur in this 
opinion, it would be expedient to act on the subject without delay. 

We request you, sir, to consult with your friends on the subject, and, 
if it should be thought advisaUoi to lay this communication bef<»e the 
people of your town. 

In behalf, and by direction of the gentlemen assembled, 

JosspH Ltmajt, CMairmtM. 

In oompUanoe with the request and Buggestionfl in this drou- 
lar, many town meetings were held, and with great unanimity, 
addresses and memorials were voted to be presented to the Gen- 
eral Court, stating the sufferings of the country in consequence 
oi the embargo, the war, and arbitrary restrictions on our coast- 
ing trade, with the violations of our constitutional rights, and 
requesting the legislature to take measures for obtaining redress, 
either by a convention of delegates from the Northern and com- 
mercial States, or by such other measures as they should judge 
to be expedient. 

These addresses and memorials were transmitted to the Gen- 
eral Court then in session, but as commissioners had been sent 
to Europe for the purpose of negotiating a treaty of peace, it 
was judged advisable not to have any action upon them till the 
result of the negotiation should be known. But during the fol- 
lowing summer, no news of peace arrived ; and the distresses of 
the country increasing, and the seacoast remaining defenseless, 
Crovemor Strong summoned a special meeting of the legislature 
in October, in which the petitions of the towns were taken into 
consideration, and a resolve was passed appointing delegates to 
a convention to be held in Hartford. The subsequent history 
of that convention is known by their report. 

The measure of resorting to a convention for the purpose of 
arresting the evils of a bad administration, roused the jealousy 
of the advocates of the war, and called forth the bitterest invec- 
tives. The convention was represented as a treasonable combi- 
nation, originating in Boston, for the purpose of dissolving the 

94 Lvmcn — biooeapbioal, 

Unkm. Hot oitSjeeot ci Boitoo bad no ooDotni lo oriipiiAUnf 
the propotal ft>r a oonreDtioo ; it wat wholly the project of the 
people in old Hampehire county — aa reapectable and patriotio 
repoblieana aa ever trod the toil of a free country. The cttiaana 
who Ant aeeembled in Northampton, conveoed under the 
anthority oi the hill tfrigkU, which dedarea that the people 
have a right to meet in a peaceable manner and consult for 
the pnbHo eafoty. The oitixent bad the latoe right then to 
meet in convention aa they have now ; the diftreiMt of the 
eonntry demanded extraordinary meaeurea for redreti; the 
thooi^t of diatolring the Union never entered into the head of 
any of the pro^^tora, or of the membert of the CooYeotkni ; 
the gentlemen who compoeed it, for taleote and patrioti«n bare 
nerer been lorpaated by any aeeembly in the United Statea, and 
beyond a qneation the appointment of the Ilart/ord Conrention 
had a very fiivorable effect in haatening the conclusion of a treaty 
of peace. 

All the reports which hare been circulated resfiecting the 
•Til designs of that CVtorention, I know to be the foulest mis- 
represenutions. Indeed, respecting the views of the disciplot 
of Washington and the snpporten of bis policy, many, and prob- 
ably most of the people of the United 8ute» in thb geoermtii»n, 
are made to bettere far more fislnehood than truth. 1 speak of 
fbcts within my own personal knowledge. Ws may well lay 
with the prophfC^"* Tmth is fidlen in the street, and equity can 
Dot enter/* Party spirit produces an unwholesome seal to de- 
predate one class of men for the purpose of eialting another. It 
becomes rampant in propagating slander, which engenders cuo* 
tempt for personal worth and superior eiceUence ; it blunts the 
escMiliility of men to i^Jorsd reputation ; im|iairi a sense «/ 
honor ; banishes the charities of life ; d»biw<s tlte morel sense of 
the community ; weakens ths mi»tiir«» thet prufn|»t m«o to aim 
at high sttainincnts siid |Hitnutic sc)inp% rmmu . dturrsilM n*- 
tii<oal character, and ci(Hmn it to tiie M»rD of the civilij««l 

Soldi k Ibe tasliznoxiy— direct, positiTei docfunen- 
teEj---of Noah Webster, as to tlie origin of the Hart- 
find GonveiitioiL* This, be it remembered, is evidenoe 
foxniabed by one outside of that assembly : let me 
now present you with the testimony of Boger Ifinol 
Sherman — a member of that body, and a worthy 
bearer of one of the most honored names in Ameoti- 

[From the Nonralk QoBtte, Janiuiy, 1881.] 

Previous to the tri^ of Whitman Mead, on the obsrge of fibel, 
of wldoh yon gave s brief notice in your last namber, the prin 

* This fttotement, on the part of Mr. Webster, does not exclude the 
soppoeition that the idea of a ooDvention of the New Engrland States 
may have been previously suggested by others. Snch a thing was very 
likely to occur to many minds, inasmach as New England bad been 
accustomed, from time immemorial, to hold conventions, in periods 
of trouble and anxiety. His testimony, however, shows clearly that 
the actual, efficient movement which resulted in the Hartford Conven- 
tion, originated, as he states, with the citizens of Hampshire county. 
Other testimony shows that some prominent federalists did not at first 
fkvor it, and only yielded at last to a feeling of prudence, in following 
this lead of the people. 

The following letter from Harrison Gray Otis to Mrs. Willard, writ- 
ten in reply to a request from her, for information on the subject, will 
be seen to correspond with Mr. Webster^s statement, and also with the 
proceedings of the Convention, and all other known facts relating to it, 
in snch a manner as to satisfy every honest mind of its truth. 

"The Hartford Convention, far from being the original oontrivanoe 
of a cabal for any purpose of faction or disunion, was a result growing, 
by natural consequences, out of existing circumstances. More than a 
year previous to its institution, a convention was simultaneously called 
for by the people in their town meetings, in all parts of Massachui^etti^. 
Petitions to that effect were accumulated on the tables of the legiHlative 
chamber. They were postponed for twelve months by the influence 
of those who now sustain the odium of the measure. The adoption of 
it was the consequence, not the source of a popular sentiment ; and it 
was intended by those who voted for it, as a safety-valve, by which th* 

Vou II.— 2 


OMT moved Uie Court for a lobiKBiia, to Mr. Skcrnian, of Fiiir* 
field, Mr. (MMMurd, of Norwich, and others m witneMee hi 
hb behalf. It was allowed bjr the Coort, and was nmred «»fli 
Mr. Sherman, bat ooald not be, Manonably, on Mr. Guddard, oo 
aooount of the lateoe» of hb application. One of the artk*k« 
eharged ii» libelluiia, oompared a recent |MilUical meeting at lUn- 
ford with tlie Hartford Conrention, and the priM>ner Mip|»i»%ir<l 
that a fall development of the proceed ingM of that ConTentt«»n 
woakl furnbli a lefcal Tlndlcatinn of the article in qaertlon. Wiih 
a Tiew to each dovelo|»ment, he winlied the t«Htiiiionj of the iceo- 
tlemeu above named. At the inntance of tlie prtMmer, Mr. Mier- 
man tentified on the trial of the cane, and the inrloned pa|ier r<»n* 
tainii hi« t4fiitimonj, exact in tabetance, and very nearly in hie 
laairaaite— wlilch yon are at liberty to publiiih.— (The trial Un*k 
|»laoe at Fairfield, Connecticat, the place of Mr. 8l»ennan*fi raM- 
deiice, in January, 1831.] 

8tBt« of roniitN'tii'ut, I 

Whitfiru Mrttil. i Him. Hm^tr Mtmt4 .sktrmmm* r»t*mom^. 

IJmMimm hf tks /'rimmtr. What mm \h9 natart aihI v^jnt I'f tne 
lUrtfurJ <*4in«entHtn f 

AmstMr. I mm • m»mb#r of that ronvpfitaon. It met (in iKr l.'.th of 
Dtcctnhrr, \*'\i. Th« rmtoti Stiac* wrt th«o at w»r «.tl. i.rrtt Itrit- 
■in. Til*} ha>l. in th«ir f<»rta aoil armica, t»«nt,v-«rv^n lh««'i««' •! rU 
Ibcth* mm : \*t \\\e— ab»ot thiflrrn h'jn4rv«l tiitN «rr« #tii|4o%r>J in 
N«v (jiirlan>l. Tit* war Kail l«rn in i>|<ratio« t«<i }• .rv ati 1 a half. 
Wa hi^l a MMCoaat uf almoat A^vrn huiMir«>l milea to |<ri*tr<*i. atui wilii 
tKa eti^iAitin of about thirtaeo bunJrail man, hail the anl uf no nuh 
tary Uok^ fmcn tha Cnitad Sutr*. R« mlamal Uiaa. all «*thrr« havtnr 
bat<«Hna Dnt'^»•l1Kti«a by r«^>o of tha war, tika natiooal f«»^cniii>«tit 
ra'iatil larva auma frum tha p<K»pla withtn '>ur trrrit<H7. Ihrr^t t.Atati«>ti 
vaa the iiuS rr*'t'ir*v of the Hut» frkvrrnnfnta. an*! thU hail bran <mt- 
riaJ t«> a* cir«^ an ritfama In <'oni»««^i<^i a* r«iul«i ba •unTAin^i Tba 
Waiik*, which nirui«ba<l all o«r rurrrort. nthcr wilbhvM thv.r mer%»*n- 
Mi»!att'«n* or •l«>|»|««l paymaot, ai><i tha p^';il« w«ra enitwrra**^.! h\ a 
fanrraJ ^Uf »ati«*n «»f buamraa. I'uwrrf il t.^r'* %i% I »riiiir« .•% • ff •• .r 

wn art^in^ fn>ni tb# fani»anlal*«»n »f ti * i.Tf«« n ,/* I '•-»|*. • •' •* 
a bu.iar bv ah)* b it la f«n«ralc>l " Sc« WtiLir C» //wt> '•» f •.\^ I H*lmi 


eoMte, and irere making or threatening invasions in all parts of oar de- 
fenseleaa i«a^board. Oommodore Deoatnr, with his sqnadron, had taken 
refage in the waters of Conneotioat, and attracted a powerful oonoenim- 
tion of the enemy^s foroes on oar borders. Castine, if I mistake not, 
and some other parts of the territory of Massachusetts, had fUlen into 
the handa of the British. The New England States, ander all these dia- 
adyantsges, were obliged to protect themselves by their own militia, at 
their own expense. The expenses of Connecticat greatly exceeded our 
resources. The duration of the war could not be foreseen, and oui 
credit was exhausted. Attempts were made to borrow money, but with- 
out any adeqaate aaccesa. The national Constitution prohibited the 
emission of bills of credit. In this extremity, while the legislature was 
in session at New Haven, in October, 1814, a communication was re- 
ceived from the legisUtiire of lisssachusetts, proposing a conveution of 
delegates from the New England States, to consult on the adoption of 
measures for their common safety. This communication was referred 
po a joint committee of both houses. General Henry Champion and 
myself were appointed from the Upper House. He was chairman of the 
committee. I drew the report, recommending a compliance with the 
proposal made by the State of Massachusetts, and assigning the reasons 
at lensrth. This report was published by order of the legislature, and 
extensively circulated in the newspapers of this and other StJite**. Seven 
delegates were appointed to represent the Convention. As Roon as it 
was organized, Mr. Otis, a delegate from Massachusetts, proposed, after 
Home prefatory remarks, that it should be recommended to our sevcriJ 
leifislatures to present a petition to the Consrress of the United States, 
praying that they would consent that the New Entrland State;*, or so 
many of them as should agree together for that purpose, niiffht unite 
in defending themselves against the public enemy ; that so much of the 
national revenue as should be collected in these States, should be ap- 
proprioted to the expense of that defense ; that the amount so appro- 
priated should be credited to the United Stiites ; and that the United 
States should agree to pay whatever should be expended beyond that 
amount. This proposal was approved by t)ie Convention. The same 
views hod been stated here before the meeting of the delegates. By 
the Constitution of the United States, no stich compact for mutual de- 
fense could be formed, without the consent of Congress. By thus aaj?- 
menting our immediate resources, and obtaining the national guaranty 
that the expenses of the war, to be increased by the States thus uniting, 
should be ultimately paid out of the national treasury, it was supposed 
that our credit, as well as our present pecuniary resources, would be 
enhanced. A debate was had in the Convention as to certain amend- 
ments to the Constitution of the United States, to be proposed for ndop- 
tion by the State legislatures. One was, that Congress should not have 
power to declare war without the concurrence of two-thirds of botli 
houses. I can not, from recollection, detail the proposed ameudmeuta ; 


bat Umj appMT oo lb* prIotoH report of the Coovmstkm, of wKMi f 
hmr% a oopj at ny oflkst, whiob tbo pruioo«r may om ob Um trial, if ho 
plMMft. A oommitsoe, of whom I was ooo, waa appoinlod by Uio Ooa- 
▼ootioo to draw ap that report to pranent to their roftpectiva laciiUaturaa. 
Tba propoaal of Mr. OUa wm adoptad with littJa variation. Tbia rvpoft 
waa immetltateK printad bj ordar of tba CoavantioB, aod waa cin'«laiad 
throughout iha country. 

Amonir other thinfa, aa may ba aaan by that report, it waa raeom- 
nandad to tha lafialaturaa repraaantad in tha OooTantlon, to adopt 
maaanraa to pfota«i thair oitiaana fVoni aooh oooacriptiona or iapraaa- 
BMnto aa wara not authoriiad by tba Conatituttoo of tha Tnitad Stataa. 
Thia raanlutioo ori|rinat«d ttwn a project of tha than Sccracary of War, 
wbioh I baliava waa not adoptad by Owjfriai. Tba •acraCary of tba 
Coorantion kapt a journal of thoir procaadinfa. Tbia, la I un<Ur»tand, 
waa dapoaitad by Mr. Cabot, tha Praaident, in tha otBca of tha Sactatary 
of Btata of Maaaaehuaatta, and a copy traaainittad to Wt^hincton, aod 
lodfad in tha ofioa of tha Hacrrtar} of Hiata of tlia United 8tatc«t. It 
waa aftarward publiahed in certain nrw»papeni. I eaw it in tha Anieri- 
tan Mercury, a newepapar publi«)i«d at Hartford, by Mr. Batx^H^li. T)>a 
lafUlaturaa of Meaearhueatta and Connecticut, pumnant to lh« rr<«>m> 
nandsttoo of tlie Convention, eent a delefat*<>n to Wa«htnirt(»n, l«> |>r»- 
aant their reiip<»ctiTa petitions to the Coof rvM of the l'nite<l HtAt4«. Tl>a 
yantlaman eant from CVtnnactieut were Mr. Terry, Mr. <io«MAMi. mtt'i, I 
think, Mr. I>wi|rht. (>n thetr amird, the Treaty of Prai^. conHa<l«<.l at 
Ohant, reached tha national forammaot, and further meaeuraa btrt^aina 

Thie i« an outline of tba oricio and p r ocaailimra of the Ilartfortl Con> 
vantion. There waa not, acrordinir to my he*t ranJlection, a aioifle mo- 
Ikm, reaolutjon, or eabjact of debate, but what appear* in tlie printed 
journal or rapt>rt. If any farther partkulare are requeatrd, I «iU etala 

0Maf«aa kf lA# /Vtitaer. Waa it not aa object of the (^onrentMtn to 
anbarraae an«i paralyae tha fotemment of tha I'Aitad Mataa in tha 
proeacution of tha war with Great Britain t 

Am smtr . It waa ooL Noihinf of tha kind araa done or entrrtainad 
by tha CoovaotKm. or. ao fltf aa 1 know or bebeva. by tlioae bv « hinn it 
waa oniTNkalad. <>q the cootrarv. tta fmncipal ohJ4«t wee a more effrctaal 
ao-operalioo in that war, aa to the drfoo** of the New fCn^Un 1 S*ataa. 

0M«#«aa hflkt /*rMMMr. Haa r»o| thai C<kO«eoUoo bern fYn«>rm.l% ra- 
patad in the Cmied SUlea to be traaaonahU t 

Af^^^t^r Much haa been aaid an«) pahtuhe-i to thai r0t«'t, Sut with- 
out ttH» Wm0X fj»ar»-lai.un 1 b»li#«e I know \\%*.r (•r<-Kir<».i n^ \'***r-i.'% , 
ai»<i t^at etrrj mra^jrr. «l-.o« «>f |>r<>(«M«>l. h*.« t»»-»»i | i'« •'»■« \- tha 
arurl t. No otir a*rf l.a» •»rf Imrw f>>inta>i «»a', to ni» k '.•»•.*• ij*. , «• %t% 
aon-Mtant with their 'ibii^fatitrn* \»<^ the I'r vta>l M«'<«* *. *i «%« mtxy audi 
ael •^nf cootauip4alad by tba«i. 


Here is the testimoDj of a great and good man — ^a 
member of the Convention — under oath. Who will 
yenture to gainsay it ? Certainly no individual who 
feels the claims of truth, and appreciates the requi- 
sitions of logic, unless he is armed with proo&, dear, 
indisputable, demonstrative ; he must bring fitcts 
sufficient to destroy the direct testimony of such 
men as Noah Webster and Roger M. Sherman, and, 
indeed, a cloud of other witnesses of equal weight 
and responsibility. 

It seems to me that every candid mind, upon these 
statements, will be constrained to admit that the Con- 
vention thus originated in public necessity, and not in 
treason ; I think the additional evidence I am about 
to present will satisfy you that their proceedings were 
in harmony with the wise and worthy motives that 
brought the members together. 

If you look into certain partisan histories of the 
times, you might be led to suppose that on the day 
of the gathering of the Convention at Hartford — the 
15th of December, 1814 — the heavens and the earth 
were clothed in black ; that the public mind was filled 
with universal gloom ; that the bells — tremulous with 
horror — tolled in funereal chimes ; that the flag of the 
country everywhere was at half-mast ; and that the 
whole American army marched with muffled drums 
and inverted arms, and all this in token of the qua- 
king terror of the public mind, at the ominous gath- 
ering of a committee of some two dozen mild, respect- 

80 hwrnm iwoobaphioal» 

able, graj-haired old gentlemen, moeUj appointed 
bj the legislatures of Mai«achu8etts, Connecticut^ 
and Rhode Island, to investigate and report upon 
the state of pablic affairs I Such, I recollect, was the 
picture of Hartford, that was circulated over the 
country by the democratic papers* remote from the 

* Tb« (bUowiof U fk-om ih« AnMrioan Mf reary, Um cUmoonOie or- 
fui 1 naitfbrd— D«o. IS, 1815, a ymr aA«r th« Coovtatioa. Tb«rt 
mn be liuto doobt that, at Ui« oatoet, mmj of Ui« d«4aoenu r«dl7 Ml 
that Uio CooTaotioo moditetod tr— won. I have already ahown that tha 
laadan of damoeraey bad been tnada, by tba revalatioaa of John Q. 
Adama, to aaapaol tba oortbam Ibdaraliata ; and tbare b do doubt 
that Madiaoo and hb oabinat, for a tim«. apprtbande<l tbat tba Hart- 
ford CouTantion vaa to be tba AUflUment of Adaina's prediction. Bat 
tba malediotiona brre poarad out by tba Mercury —a y««r a/irr lb« fmtb- 
arinir of the ('ooventl«jn, and vhen iu innocence, to mt the leant, vaa 
■nlTereally known and onderatood—were mere alectioneehnf deeteaa. 
Tbey are inUreatjnf, however, a« ahowlmr the mean* by which tlia 
ob^tinata prejudice afainet the Convention wee wrought into the minda 
of the nuuH of the deoMermtie party. 

**Tbe AAeenth of l>e«ember b an epoch in the hi»tory of America 
which oan never be pa— ed over by Bepublicane, without mtn(r)ed am* 
Ikme of r«in^t and as ultatioo : of rafret, thai we have arnoof m* * uien 
— fyeebom men men bom, nuraed, and brt^iiifhl up by our AreA»de» - 
Americane— Amehoaa eitiaaoa,* who art e<> deprave«l, eo wicked, ae to 
aim a d^tt^r at the vital* of thnr already Uee^ltnir country. an>l to at- 
tampt to »abvert the liberties <if the pe<«pie ; of cxnlution, ttiat th« rrand 
daiifna of tbeea heUbh conspiratom have been f^u*trAtr«i «ith infainy, 
Mbd that the Union ha* tnomphe*! c*«er th«ir mi*<'Ki«<vou« mAchtnatioiuk ! 

**|mprvMMi> d Willi tbeea aenUimenu. th« RrpuMirene of llartfi*r»l. «« 
Fnda; bat < beiof the day of the Aral ifMvtinK of the <'oQ«eoU<»t. . dia- 
pb}ed lite Aaf of the I'niuo at half ma*t «tunt(|r th* early (mrt of the 
daj, a* •ipffVMive of their sorrow i^>r the d«frawt« of th*Me. who. one 
year •mca, wrr* i^^HUnf in our cit*. in oi»njuni-ti<>n with lintmin. the 
dofttruciiun of th# hlwrtie* of th«> K< |><i^»2ic. In the mfitrnn*^, U>* Hm^ 
waa raMwd to lh« nia*threiii, *• rmtim.ftt^t a. • f tl»« ci»tii(J«t* «ltft<<>«n- 
fture '"f their Jr«i/»i». an 1 th* tr. *■ jh • f t» «• » .■• •! t .ti-.r. !■ i» c 
raeftt' t" mtef**! ▼ ' ' . '. ;rr» .».• i v^. j.;.... ».. i ..-.,,,•• *^,r »u"rti- 
A«ali'»tt m»% i kI a^r.i » :». : ' « n -<r • n, ♦.• r"-** ••' .. : u« I' ^T^ m 
•bli*too'» dark UA»uir *L bAUr t^^m t<t*iMi ' Hut ».i . m.^ a» S«w Kj^- 
bad b aitfa^d with Ibderal r«br», till aha eoiefyaa frotu the dark mm 


scene of action. The whole is very well reflected in 
the inspired pages of Charles Jared IngersoU,* who 
may be considered as the Jeremiah of democracy, for 
this period of our history. He seems to have regarded 
himself as specially raised up to prophesy against 
New England. " The sin of Judah"— that is, of fed- 
eralism — ^he has written " with a pen of iron," though 
not " with the point of a diamond." 

Now I perfectly well remember the day of the 
gathering of the Convention.f There was in the city 

wbioh has for years enveloped her, till repablicaaism reignn triamph- 
•Dt throoghoot New England (which we trost in Ood is dose at hand), 
it becomes the imperioas doty of Repablioans to hold up to the con- 
tempt of the people, their wicked and nefarious designs. * » * 

"We think it a duty we owe to our country, to publish annually the 
names of those who composed the * Hartford Convention,' that they may 
never be forgotten." Here follows a list of the names. 

Not only the Hartford Mercury, but the Boston Patriot, and probably 
other democratic joumalR, made a similar pledge to hold up to eternal 
disgrace this black list of conspirators. All this was, however, a mere 
electioneering game, and after two or three years, the pledge was for- 

• " HUtorical Sketch of the Second War between the UhUed States atU 
Great Britain^ by Charles Jared Ingersoll." 

t The following are the names of the members of the so-called Hart- 
ford Convention : those from Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Rhode 
Island were appointed from the State legislatures; those from New 
Hampshire, by county conventions ; the delegate from Vermont was 
chosen by persons in the county of Windham. These were all appoint- 
ed "/<w t/te purpose of devising and recommending such measures for the 
safety and u>etfare of these States as may be consistent with our obligations 
at members of the National Union.'''' 

From Massachusetts — George Cabot, Nathan Dane, William Prea- 
oott, Harrison Gray Otis, Timothy Bigelow, Joshua Thomas, Samuel 
Sumner Wilde, Joseph Lyman, Stephen Longfellow, Jr., Daniel Waldo, 
Hodijah Baylies, George Bliss. 

From 0>/»n«<:^icw<— Chauneey Goodrich, Jolin Treadwell, James Hill- 
liou:se, Zephaniah Swift, Nathaniel Smith, Calvin Goddard, Roger M. 

88 ijnrnBBB — biooraphioal, 

a small squad of United States recruits — I think some 
two dozen in number. These, assisted no doubt hy 
others, ran up the American flag at their rendezvous, 
with the British flag at half-mast, beneath it They 
also— these two dozen, more or less — marched through 
the streets with reversed arms and muffled drums. A 
few persons, I believe, got hold of the bell-rope ot 
the Baptist meeting-house, and rang a funereal chimo. 
All this — chiefly the work of the rabble — wa« the 
sooff* of iht; great body of the people ; neverthclitw, 
it was re|x>rted in the democratic papers abroad, as 
if some black and mighty portent had signali/^nl the 
arrival of the Convention. The simple truth was, 
that the six an<l twenty gray-hairetl men — leginlaton*, 
senators, judges — honoriMl for long years of Hervii-«» — 
came quietly iriio t4>wn, ami were w«*loome*i hy the 
mass of tlu* citizens, acc<»rding to their standing and 
their mission, with n»sj>eot, es^teem, and contiiinuv. 

Let us take a sketch of what folio wtni fnun the 
pniphet Jannl: "On the loth of Dt»ceniber. 1814, 
with excited sentiments of appn*hension, mingUnl 
approval and derision, the inhabitants of Ilartfonl 
awaited the nefandous Convention, which take** its 
bad name from that quiet town.*' **()ne of their 
nuinlier, Chauncey Gooilrioh, was mayor of Hartfonl, 
by uhf^se iimiwjrtr^nts O^r (^fux^ntiun i/>m disfif^^^i of 

/v. fii Kk,.mi4 /»L»m^ Inu. r: Saau\t«l W k^l. F!*l«*r 1 Maq* 

/V«wi .Vtftf }hmf0ktr0 Btfijftinin We*t. M>t'« tMcuCL 
/rv«» l#rM.>«l WiUiam UaU, Jr. 


m the reUrtment of the second story of an isolated stone 
building J in which the Uitle State Senate or Council sat, 
when, in rotation, Hartford was the seat of government 
Locking themselves up stairs, there, in awfully obscure 
concealment, for three weeks, twice every day, except Sun 
day, Christmas arid New Year's-day, they were continu- 
ally in conclave," &c. 

What an accumulation of horrors ! Tell me, my 
dear C . . . ., does not your hair bristle at the grisly 
picture ? It indeed sounds like a tale of the Inqui- 
sition. What a pity it is to spoil it 1 And yet, this 
infernal Bembrandt coloring — this violent contrast of 
light and shade — is wholly imaginary. The Con- 
vcDtion met in the council -chamber of the State- 
house, which the gazetteers tell us — and tell us truly 
— is a very handsome building. It is in the center 
of the city, and the most prominent edifice in the 
place. The room in which they met is still the 
senate-chamber, and is neither isolated nor obscure : 
on the contrary, it is one of the best and most con- 
spicuous rooms in the building : at the time, it was 
probably the finest public hall in the State.* 

It is true that the Convention sat with closed doors, 
as probably every similar convention had done be- 

* The Hod. B. R. Uinman, the hUtorian of Conneotiout during the 
Revolutionary period^and ticveral years Secretaryof State, once told me a 
e'>od anecdote in relation to this dark, dinmal hi<ling-place of the '^ nefan- 
dous'' (Jonvention. One day, a man from the South — I believe a South 
Carolinian — some one doubtless who had been reading Ingersoll's his- 
tory, came into the office of the Secretary, and desired to be shown the 
place where the Hartford Convention sat. Mr. Hinman accorriingly 



fore. The State Cotincil — in whose room the Con* 
ventioQ met — had famished this example from time 
immemorial. The Oeneral Aasembl j of CoDnecUcui 
had always done the same, at periods of difficulty and 
danger. The Convention that framed the Constitu- 
tion of the United Sutes had don>s likewise. The 
Continental Congress did the same, through the whole 
period of the war of the Revolution. A great part 
of the executive business of the United States Sen- 
ate is now done in secret session, and is never 
known to the public. The archives of the State De- 
partment, at Washington, are under the lock and key 
of the Executive. The legislature of every State has 
the capacity to hold secret Missions, and nobody ques- 
tions their right to exercii«c it according to thrir din- 
cretion. Ik)th houik^s of Congress discussed, rt*solved 
upon, and voted the war of 1S12, in secret session ! 
And yet, what was useful, pn)|xT, and of gtnxl re- 
took him Into Um romm. TIm •tfrnn^vr looked «roao<i vith mack mrn 
oaily, tod p r wtntiy b« mw Stoan't ltk«o«M of WwikiiHrtor) -Ci»r lo 
tkb cJi«Rib«r b oflM of Ui« mutt etl«brmu«i uf lK« foU-Unirtk |>onfmiu 
of Um Fatkcr of hb ronntrv. 

Tb« fttfmiur»r »Urto<i. ** Ao«l «m thu ptctar* k«rt, vh^o U>« Cotf 
voouoo b«l«l it* •iltiDf* r* Mt<i b«. 

** W*ll,** rvfUird th# niAfi ~ ob»«rvinf Um hif h color whtcb StoArt 
hmd rt««a to tH« oiMinl«a«Dr« of Wwihiofioo, in Um |*M««r» -** w«lt, 
rU k* a il if h«'« giA tk* kla*k *4iy9i\" 

Thi* 1* • ftkorp jok* ; but jrol, II tm nfttanl to wik -if W«ihiniru>«i*ft 
pktar* •KottKl bloak fiic tb« llArtfurd i*4ici««nli<i4ti -vhicii abi)** mL\ 
tkiitr* ^t^Mt-mlr*! th« |tr<««r««l<ut) »»( Ut« tbM*o what Ah'-M^'i iX t.««« 
«tob4> lO th« ^cwcntY «>f tt»Al t'«iu«viitf>ii lit *v.uth « N«>tr'ii>*rr. 

IftJl. Wk»<'b r«»4.Ud in ftfl Ufarti. •« •«•» t ■t-.-- *. ••> t < it.f {. U. >t. AH 1 

koi p«rhA|«4 '.Ail th« f.ui4-Uti'*n f<>r lU <>t«rr.i r«>«, *n rttAt. .•(. r.< iit« 
4u«ina« tf f M«<m<MUQ f 

BKiMtoix^ MmmsnxmuJL, too. 8ft 

fo/nbk 9S tOimtbs^ »n^xndinur im 

fhe Hailfbri OoBlraiitioii I So aaiih Jwml, tiie his^ 
torian, whoBb aooount seems ta oonsist laigelj of the 
prejudices and ezaggerslioiis ci the democratie pa- 
pers of tibst ^y— raked togeth^ in one undigested 
heap. As such it is amusing— nay, instructive— bnt 
alas^ bow is liistc»y degraded, wlien such a mass of 
inoongrnities aasames its sacred name I 

I have told yon Aat I was at this time living with 
n^nncle, Ghannoey Goodrich— then a member of tbe 
CSonvention. His bonse, of conise^ became tbe fte* 
qn^it lendefevoQB of the otber members, and bere I 
often saw tbem. On one occasion, in the evening, 
they all met at his house, by invitation — the only 
instance in wbich they partook of any similar festiv- 
ity. At this time, the other persons present, so far 
as I recollect, were William Coleman,* editor of the 

* William Coleman was a Dative of Masaachosetta, and waa born in 
1766. He studied law, and aettled at Greenfield about 1794, where he 
erected a honae, noted for its architectural beauty. Here he also edited 
a newapaper. Buckingham — vol. ii. p. 819 — say a that he was remarkable 
for his vig^or in skating, having passed in one evening from near Green- 
field to Northampton, a distance of about twenty miles. As I recol- 
lect him, he was a large man, of robust appearance, with a vigorous and 
manly countenance. His nose was bony and prominent, and in con- 
nection with a strongly defined brow, gave bin face an expression of 
^or and sagacity. His eye was gray, his hair light brown, and at the 
time I speak of^ was slightly grizzled. He removed to New York, where 
be published some law books, and in 1801 (Nov. 16), founded the Eve- 
ning Post, which became a leading federal paper, and so continued for 
many years. Ita columns were distinguished for ability, as well in its 
political discussions aa its literary essays and criticisms. In general, ha 
set a good example of dignity of style and gentlemanly decorum, though 
he waa drawn into some violent altercattona with Cheetham and Duane. 
It ia sufficient eulogy of Mr. Coleman to say that he enjoyed the eon- 

<6 urmcBt— nooEAPHicAL, 

New York Evening Poet^ Theodore Dwight, 
retarj of the Convention, my cousin, Eliasur Good- 
rich, now of Hartford, and myself. The majority of 
the members were aged men, and marked not only 
with the gravity of years, but of the positions which 
they held in society — for some of them had been gov- 
ernors, some senators, some judges. I do not recol- 
lect ever to have seen an assemblage of more true 
dignity in aspect, manner, and speech. They were 
dressed, on the evening in question, somewhat in 
the ancient costume — black coats, black silk waist- 
coats, black bre«*ch<'s, block silk stockings, black 
sh4M*s. I WDiider that this univc^rsal black has not 
Imvu put into the iiiJictuiout a^aiiiAt them ! Perhaps 
tilt- silvery -whiteness of their heads — for the tnajunty 
wert* {mst fifty, several ftast sixty — may have pleaded 
in extenuation ofthis sinister complexion of theirdrvas. 
The most imi>oHm)^ man among them, in |M*nM>nal 
ap{N'araiic(*, was (n'orge ('aU)t,* the president. Uc 
was over six f<*et in height. broatl-shoulderr<i, and of 
a manly step. His hair was white -for he was fiast 
sixty — his eye blue, his e«)mplexi«»n .nlightly florid. He 
seeme«l to me like Washington — as if the gn*at umn, 

Sdcnrc uf llAinilUKi, KiBir. J*y« mhI iAt.«r iKiCAbihltM i*f th*t lUy, mmI 
that K« iiMiU tt.« K««fitn4 I'twl w^nli^ %>( ifa« ••lit* rial •ut«.«MNirBikip of 

Mri^ifM;i; ft ■i.if'ii.Mtcr. '. «• itt r ^f :■* ^^r..^.^^ ••.*:.•&» .* ttu.uru^m. 
H« h«Niuuc ft •«u»I*ir t'f It 1 ( ii.'.r.! M«!c*. kf 1 •■ .?/« *m ft({->if.t»i 

■b HMt«Hi «ft«i aii'«*ur*'ir-i iUatft*! iii th«t <<t«. >^ . 


as painted by Stuart, had walked out of the canvas, 
and lived and breathed among us. He was, in fact, 
Washingtonian in his whole air and bearing, as was 
proper for one who was Washington's friend, and 
who had drunk deep at the same fountain — ^that of 
the Revolution — of the spirit of truth, honor, and 
patriotism. In aspect and general appearance, he 
was strikingly dignified, and such was the effect of 
his presence, that in a crowded room, and amid other 
men of mark — when you once became conscious that 
he was there, you could hardly forget it. You seem- 
ed always to see him — ^as the traveler in Switzerland 
sees Mont Blanc towering above other mountains 
around him, wherever he may be. And yet he was 
easy and gracious in his manners, his countenance 
wearing a calm but radiant cheerfulness, especially 
when he spoke. He was celebrated for his conver- 
sational powers, and I often remarked that when he 
began to converse, all eyes and ears turned toward 
him, as if eager to catch the music of his voice and 
the light of his mind. He came to my uncle's al- 
most every morning before the meeting of the Con- 
vention, and I have never felt more the power of 
goodness and greatness, than in witnessing the inter- 
course between these two men. 

The next person as to prominence, in the Massa- 
chusetts delegation, was Harrison Gray Otis,* then in 

♦ Harrison Gray Otis, non of Samuel A. Otis, the first Secretary of 
the Seimte of tlie United States, was born in 1765, and died 1848. He 

M Linmt — ^BioomArBioAL, 

die senith of his yean and his fione. He had a name 
hoDorable by tradition, and a position — social as well 
as political — due to bis great wealth, bis eminent tal* 
ents, and bis various aocomplishments. He was 
doubtless the most conspicuous political character in 
New England — for the sun of Webster was but josl 
rising in the horizon. He was deemed ambitious^ 
and hence was regarded by the democrats as the 
arch instigator of the traitorous Convention* Such 
an opinion, however, shows the greatest ignorance of 
his character and the actual state of things. Mr. 
Otis was a far-seeing politician, and knew there was 
no treason in the hearts of the people of New Eng^ 
land : he stood at the highest {K>int to which am* 
bition could lead him, and any KU*p in that din^ction 
must be downwanl. Besides, he was of the cau- 
tious, not ttie dashing school of stati^smansbip, as well 
by constitution as training. To suppose him a plot- 
ter of treason, is to divert him of all his attributes- 
inherent and conveutional. It in, furthermore, his- 
torical and Wyond dispute, that he was averse to the 
G>nvention. By his influence, it was delayed, long 
afVer it was proposed and almost clamored for by the 

VM on0 of the BDOst emiiMCt of th« llMMMN'haMtu hmr, •««n hy Um fti<l« 
of Am**, I'arNm*, I»wrU. mkI Oofv. lU ••c<c»r-l«<J AmM in < '««A|fre««, 
In 17t7. \n UlT. h« k*tmjiM • Mii*t"r of \kf roiUKi hui««. To Utn- 
ing and vi^or *^f iMciJn-t. hr •.! Ir^ grt^x f«>«er» of i>rfttor>. tm(>u«*l nc 

^tk« to the MmfU* AT. 1 th«> rrflu* I. lir i^rll t«rfO* <•(» *r . f!l>r«. Atiil 
iu tb«**, <ii*ch*rf*d ft* lutte* •.'.]. «!:•*. ut I'^t * i »'-...t> H • rr«i- 
4tnrt WM ftt BuAtiitt lir rv'A«i.«- J }..• uirr.lA. (^ <itir». hi* ct.rrri . ut^tm^ 


people. He objected to being a member of it, and 
only yielded at last, that lie might use his influence 
to secure to it a safe and tranquilizing direction. 
At the very opening of the Convention, he signal- 
ized himself by proposing the safe and discreet meas- 
ures which were finally adopted. Hence, he always 
felt, with a keen sense of injustice, the imputation 
which long hung about him, as being the leader in a 
treasonable enterprise. 

The impression he made on my mind upon the oc- 
casion I am describing, was deep and lasting. He 
had not the lofty Washingtonian dignity of George 
Cabot, nor the grave suavity of Chauncey Goodrich ; 
he was, in fact, of quite a different type — easy, pol- 
ished, courtly — passing from one individual to an- 
other, and carrying a line of light from countenance 
to countenance, either by his playful wit or gracious 
personal allusions. He seemed to know everybody, 
and to be able to say to each precisely the most ap- 
propriate thing that could be said. He was one of the 
handsomest men of his time ; his features being classi- 
cally cut, and still fiill of movement and expression. 
To me — who had seen little of society beyond Connec- 
ticut, and accustomed therefore to the rather staid man- 
ners of public men — Mr. Otis was an object of strange, 
yet admiring curiosity. I knew him well, some 
years after and when I was more conversaTit with the 
world, and he still seemed to me a very high exam- 
ple of the finished gentleman of the assiduous and 

40 urrnav — bioorafbioal, 

ooaitly school He lowered himself no doubt, in the 
public estimation by his somewhat restiye and quer- 
ulous — though masterly and conclusive — vindica- 
tions of the Conveution ; while all the other members, 
conscious of rectitude, scorned to put themselves in 
the attitude of defense. We may forgive what seeme^l 
a weakness in Mr. Otis, while we must pay homage to 
that dignity in his associates, which would not stoop 
to ask in life, the justice which they knew posterity 
must render them, in their graves. 

Of the other members of the Massachusetts dele- 
gation, I have less distinct ]>er8onal reminiscences. 
Mr. Prescott, father of the historian,* and Mr. I>»ng- 
fellow,! father of the poet — worthy, by their taloiils, 
their virtues, and their portition, of Huoh de3<uvn<lanUi 
— I only remember as two grave, rti4|>ivi4iblr uhl 
gentlemen, seeming, by a magic I did not thrn c«>m- 
prehend, to extort from all around them pt<culiar 

* WUliftiD l*re*cott mm a native of r«pp«r»U. Mma . Uirn ITit. His 
lblh«r, l*uloo«l Pr«M«»ti, cuaimAo<l««i t tb« UutJ* of Bunker IIUI. H« 
bMMiM ocM of tb« naU •miiMol Uw;«r« %n lh« hut«, aitd tl\mi %mvmm 
paMic •Ution*. Mr. We(«t»r ■«)•! uf litm at the tunc "f ht» <t*4ah, in 
1§4I : ** Nu mmu m th« eocnmatiit,^. Junaf Ui« b»t <)ii»rt«f of • ceotQ* 
ry. Ml himaeif tuo hnrb. titber ttitm Ui» pwUtOfi or hi« tAlrnt*, to mk 
MMinMl of Mr. I^TMcoa.** 

t HU|>h«n Ixynffrlluw, of P«trtJaA<l, Main*, wm an rniinrnt U«>*r, 
•n*i rmnk9*i mtm»ng\bm ommI Jt«ttnfttMl»e«lM»«l rstima^i^r c tirm* <'f Nrv 
EncUnd lU mm not**! f^t on«olh*J fnirit; wf hfe mt%\ i-haf««'(rr. an 
katfeaiU* «i«vu(ii>ri to )•« eoavtctj<m«. grrmx |«>«rer% wf cnti%«r*ati'm, 
aiwi «iiiniftr of Riarbrm. mi*M^* n. '.£• tg an «.r>»trl t';r:ir 
with a k.f»l!» 'Jar *.% «•• a^i At.^r •* ;• W * •• Vl*.- • • k. a j*rt -f 
Ma**a.-r.'»*«!:«. Kc V ttr »* ! /f»»: .j.i .» '. t ..• * '*' »*r ••*rf v.* **\*- 
•rati »ffi, h* va* ••« r "f 't * .«*1 tiip »: «u f I'm i.« « turnr^^r ..f •!«« 
roMHi Ha I>*-1 in 1M> 


marks of deference and respect. Since I have known 
their history, I have ascertained the secret.* 

One of the oldest, and in some respects the most re- 

* The other members from MBasachasettB were all eminent for their 
▼irtnes and their talents. 

Few names in oar history are more honorably remembered than that 
of Nathan Dane. He was a naUve of Ipswich, Massaohnsetts, bom in 
1754. He was a lawyer of groat eminence, and a statesman of distin- 
^shed patriotism and wisdom. He was a member of Ck>ngress nnder 
the Confederation, and was the framer of the fiuned ordinances of 
1787, for the goTcmment of the territory of the United Stotes north- 
west of the Ohio river; an admirable code of law, by which the prin- 
ciples of free government, to the exclusion of slavery, were extended 
to an immense region, and its political and moral interests secured on 
a permanent basis. He pablished some nsefnl works, and founded 
a professorship of law in Harvard University. His life is a long record 
of beneficent works. He died in Feb. 1885. 

Timothy Bigelow was a learned, eloquent, and popular lawyer, bom 
in 1767, and died in 1821. For more than twenty years he was a member 
of the MassachusetU legislature, and for eleven years he was Speaker 
of its House of KepresenUitives. His residence was at Medford. Mrs. 
Abbott Lawrence was one of his daughters. 

Joseph Lyman, of Northampton, was born in 1767, and died in 1847. 
He was the person associated with Noah Webster and others, in the 
first movement for the Hartford Convention, as previously noticed. 
He held many important offices, and enjoyed, in an unbounded degree, 
the confidence of the community. He was an eminently dignified and 
handsome man, of the old school of manners, and mingling in his coun- 
tenance and demeanor a certain seriousness, with kindness and conde- 
scension. He never failed to attend the polls, and deposited his fifty 
ninth ballot the year of bis death ! 

Joshua Thomas, born 1751, and died 1821, held for many years the 
office of Judge of Probate for the county of Plymouth. 

Samuel Sumner Wilde, born 1771 and died 1855, was an eminent law- 
yer, and several years judge of the Supreme Court— the same in which 
Parsons, Story, Sedgwick, and Sewall had officiated. He was a man 
of unbending integrity, and the utmost dignity and purity of life. Ho 
was the father-in-law of Caleb Cushing— the present Attorney-general 
of the United States. 

George Bliss, bom 1764, died 1880, was a distinguished lawyer of 
Springfield. He enjoyed in an eminent degree the respect and confi- 
dence of all who knew him. 

Daniel Waldo was bora in 1768 at Boston : he settled at Worcester 


markable member of the Convention, wm Mr. West,* 
of New Hampshire. I recollect him distinctly, partly 
because of his saintly appearance, and partly because 
of the terms of affection and respect in which my 
uncle spoke of him. He, too, was often at our boose, 

and <l«votod him— If to m«raMiUle aflkirt vith grml •ooom*. R« ••- 
qairtd in a hif h dafrae Uia oonftdaoca of tha ooanBanity aroaod kkm. 
Ha vaa dbtiofuiahad fbr inttfritj, joatica, and poACiaalUy, in all tW 
aflkira of Ufa. Ha diad in IM5. 

Tbomaa Handyaida I*arkloa, born in Boatoo, ITU, Mid diad in ItM. 
Ha araa an amlnaal marehant of thai dtjr, and havinir amaaaad a lavf* 
Ibrtana, vaa diatinmibhad for hla Ubaralitj. Savaral Utararjr aod char- 
lla^ inatitationa ova thair aziaUnoa to him. In paraoo, ha vaa a lavf* 
Baa, vlth a irrava eountananoa, b«t vith an aiprta^oo in d iaat i va of hla 
larira and iraoamaa haart. 

Hod^ah Bavlicm vaa bom In 17&7. Ha aanrad durinf th« Rarolotio*- 
arjr vat, and va^ at <ma tima aid to Ganaral Lincoln, and aAarvtfd to 
Waahintftoa. Ha haJd varioua poblia oOoaA, and van noud aa oorn- 
bininir. in a hiirh dairrta, tha ChrUuaa oharaciar viih that of tha faotla- 
tnaa. Ha diad in 1»4«. 

The four mrnihcri fmm Rho<<a laland vara mmcmg tha moat ravpaai 
abla oiUatn* of t)i«i Htiua. 

llanial Lyman vaa a nativa of r<)«narticot, bom in 1774 and dia«l la 
18S0. H* •«r%»*l tlimofh the KrTulutiooarr wur, and ruM to tha mnk 
of mi^>f. He afWrvAnl MttUtl mi Kh«Ml# Nlaiid, became rminrnt m a 
lavyar, and va* AtiaUy rhief-ja»uce of the Hu|>r«ma Omrr of that Htata. 

Samad Ward, eon ttfihtt^. Ward, of that Htate« vm U>m in and 

diad in . In the Revotetion he w • eoldiar, an 1 acv^LimpanMK) Ar- 

Ikold in hb p«ril'»u» mar\*h acaiant vlttcbe«*. After the |iee«'«r he 'Ir^iiCed 
himeeif to »*mmrme. Aa a ftol.hrr. fiaUtot, and ciUarn, hie cheraeUf 
vaa vithoQt a etAta. 

Hrnjenim Ha«ard vm amootf the a^4e«t ievven of ht« da%, etij^t^iaf 
tha hicitaec aeleera f<tr hie prt«aU vonh. Me vae very everthf , vith 
loof fhaslad hetr. and 1 partK-ttlaHy n<i(icv>l him. amoof the uther mem- 
Wra. ft»r the etnrulanly of hia apftaaraiMv. Ha vm otUn odled by tha 
paopiaofhieiMHrhborhood**BUakllao.** Ha vaa bomin IHtand diad 
ialMl. Hevae«U<«edtotba AMembly i4f lUiodalekodaisty-tvuUmMl 

Edward lAetitoo ••• a mrr^ ^.ef.t of J«i{.b*t.4i. and dJetm^-UiehrU f«.ir 
hie fir«>btt> and moral worth. He mm U'rt. to \1^.* an 1 d*<^l in l<»r*>. 

* Beiijamiu Mrftt vm a tteuve of IA«m*> htjjMrtte, e^^t- of tUt T. 
Weet, a*, i U>eii m 1744. He wee irr».l-aalrd at Her^ard * Uir^. Modiad 
lav, and aattiad at i hartaatava, US. H^ vbara ha diad, Jatj tl, UIT 


and seldom have I seen a man who commanded such 
ready love and admiration. He was then sixty-eight 
years old : his form tall but slender, his hair white, 
long, and flowing, his countenance serene, his voice 
full of feeling and melody. His appearance indica- 
ted the finest moral texture ; but when his mind was 
turned to a subject of interest, his brow flashed with 
tokens of that high intellectual power which distin- 
guished him. His character and his position were well 
displayed in a single passage of lus history : '* He was 
chosen a member of Congress under the old Confedera- 
tion ; a member of the convention which framed the 
Constitution of his adopted State, and a member of 
Congress under the Constitution ; he was appointed 
Attorney-general and Judge of Probate, and yet all 
these offices he refused, owing to his aversion to pub- 
lic life, and his sincere, unambitious love of domestic 
peace and tranquillity." His great abilities, however, 
were not hidden in a napkin. He devoted himself to 
the practice of the law, which he pursued with eminent 
success, for the space of thirty years. It was in the 
evening of his days that he accepted his first prom- 
inent public station, and that was as member of the 
Hartford Convention. This he did, under a convic- 
tion that it was a period of great difficulty and dan- 
ger, and he felt that duty called upon him to sacrifice 
his private comfort to public exigencies. Who will 

For a fuli %nd touchini? biograpliy of him, see Knapp'a Bio^iphical 
Sketches of Eminent Lawyers, Statesmen, <&c., p. 245. 

44 Lvrms — ^bioorafbioal, 

believe that man to have been a oonapiimtor, or thai 
the people who designated him for this place were 

As to the Conneeticat members of the ConventioD, 
I could easily gather up pages of eulogy. There are, 
indeed, few such men now ; I am afraid that in this 
age of demagogism, there are few who can compre^ 
hend them. I shall, however, present you with brief 
delineations of their lives and characters from the 
sober records of the historian. 

"^ At the bosd of the ConMcticut delc«Atk>o ttood hit honor, 
ChAQDoey (voodrich,^ whoM bUoclied Kick« ami nobU fastor« 
had long been ounupkuoun in the haUn of naticmAl legUUuion ; n 
geotleiiiAn wlmw chmrarter \n identitieil with truth and honor in 
all |>artii of the Tnion ; a Kditleituin of whi>tn Albert Oallatia 
wa» wont t4» Mv, thmt when he endeavored to meet the ar|tu- 
menu uf his o|»p(»nenta, he was aocimtotued to telect thote tif Mr. 
Goodrich, as* cHHitaininit the entire «trvnicth it( all that ciMild be 
miA Q|H>n that »tde— feeling that if Ite c«>uld annwer hitii, be 
ooukl maintain hit caone; a nian wliotn Jetfenon — no niean 
jod|(e«>f intrllertual strength— u<ied playfully to «ay. * Tliat while- 
headed ttenattir fmni (Vmuectirut in b) far tl>e inunt |>owcrfUl 
opponent I liave, to my Bdiiiihi^tration * 

** Kext til him waA Jainc* nillhoii«e«t tlie ireat finanrier «if the 

* F»r A •kcti'h of th« lift of ChAuocvjr (to^^lrK'h. m« \m^ 5M, «oi. I. 
of thi* ««>rk 

t Jaui«* IliUhmi** w«i «»«M of th« moat rrinArk*b(* mm of Km liin». 
H« «M U<rti 111 IT54, entcrrd oppii th« pntrtKw of tb* Uw, •n^a^vl la 
th» lUvt'lur-tiaM ««r. tM<«in» • tiicaihrr of «'-'ti< w — . An<l «•« •iit«oti 
yn^r% » •«-ri*t.'r llr |»w>»— » 1 an ir <ri fraii.r. mr. 1 ':i* .t. lu»trt ar 1 il» 
%•-*<. tiri :*» ' I* l-.L.r* kne* ti • *» n, 1* H*- ti* .«. • • '{•( *• .* < ir > r flto 
hft'ir* ft'.w'h** f" •♦ II • I""'* ' t •|:--»r». •■ •*• ' 'ii*'* ••».••. ||« 
W I *»r ••! Ir«: f.rf. . •*{ a .j'rf'* r>«r « fra ■ -r ♦•.■•. | rti -it mm% 
evftrtiiT, aoJ Lia «)• Uark mud kvau lU «•• tii"u^ut t4> i(fe«a ••wMlki^ 


State, who fonnd our School Fand in darkness, and left it in 
fight ; the scholar and the &ther, who superintended the early 
onltare of that poet-hoy, and laid the foundation of that hright 
and glorious intellect, which in the howers of * Sachem^s Wood' 
iMW, as in a vision, the magnificent scenes of Hadad, and re- 
ceived as guests in western groves, the spirits of oriental oracle 
and song; Hillhouse — the man of taste, who planted the New 
Haven elms ; the native American, with Irish hlood in his veins 
— the man who, like Washington, never told a lie. 
^^ John Treadwell* was the third delegate, whose life was filled 

of the Indian in his physiognomy and hia walk, and he humorously 
favored this idea. He was once chaUenged by a Southerner, for some- 
tbing uttered in debate, in tbe Senate. He accepted the challenge, but 
added, that as the choice of weapons fell to him, he selected tomahawks ! 
He was full of wit, and it is said that one day, as he was standing on the 
steps of the Capitol with Randolph, a drove of asses chanced to be 
going by — these animals being then raided in Connecticut for the South. 
*• There are some of your constituents!" said Handolph. "Yes," said 
PIiIIhon:4e ; " they are going to be schoolmasters in Virginia I" This story 
is sometimes told of Uriah Trucey, to whom, periiap-i, it really belongs. 

IIilihou:«e always scoffed at the abuse heaped upon the Hartford Con- 
vention. Several years after the meeting of this body, he had some busi- 
n^i at Boston, which required several advertisements in a newspaper. 
These he had inserted in the Patriot — a democratic paper, which had 
been furious against the Convention. "When he went to pay the bill, 
he desired to see the editor. Being introduced to him, he said — '* fc>ir, . 
my name is Hillhouse, and 1 was a member of the Hartford Conven- 
tion. You inserted the names of the members for several years, and 
promised to keep them in eternal remembrance. I am very proud of 
having been a member of that body, and feel that I owe you a debt of 
gratitude. So I have selected your paper as the object of my patronage. 
I owe you sixteen dollars and sixty-seven cents, ami there, sir, is the 
money. I have to remark, however, that for several years you have 
neglected your promise to keep us before the world." This led to a 
hearty laugh, and the two gentlemen parted. The history of Connecii- 
cut is full of this man^s good works. He died in 1882. 

• John Treadwell, of Farmington, was born in 1745, and died in 1823. 
He studied law, and afterward was employed for thirty years in public 
stations, rising finally to the oflRoc of Governor of the State. He was a 
man of learning, and received the title of LL. D. from Yale College. Ho 
was distinguished as a consistent professor of religion, and a firm sup- 
porter of its interests. Ho was the first President of the .American For- 


with hooon aod ueAiliMii.** He wat Umb <m thm vetft €4 
tbreatoore and tan, and the oldatt man in the CoowitfaNL 

""The fourth was Cbief-Jnstioe 8wUt.^ the first eoomaiitalor 
upon the laws of oar little republic, of whom no lawjer In the 
United States would dare to feign ignorance, lest be shoold pal 
at risk bis professional reputation. 

'' Nathaniel Smitbt was the fiAb, whom the Ood of natnrt 
ohartered to be great by the divine prerogatiTe of genius ; a 
Jurist witter than the books; whose words were 90 loaded with 
eouTincing reasons that they struck an adTersary to the earth 
like blow* dealt by a hand gauntleted in steel; to li»ten to 
whom, when he s|K>ke in the Convention, Harrison Ctray IHis 
turned Xmck as be was leaving the chamber, and st4iod gating in 
silent admiration, unoonwious of the flight of time. 

''The siith wan Calvin Goddard.! who long ei\f«>yed the rvpa- 

•l|rn MiMUuiitfy SoGicty, aikI f«>r thirty ytmn wm JeafOOQ oi thm chafrb 
— thuii iuiuirliiiir the hoiiible with U»« hiffh«r uflU«* wf Uli>, mud t|i»- 
ch*n{iti|{ the (liilir* of raoh with the m<Mt rxrmpUry fldehty. Id pvr 
K>n, he WM ehoit abd bulbifue ftU.Mit the muAmt, with s owtain tut **( 
linpi^nancr in hi» Uoe mtfi cmrriB^. Some htUe weakiMaMS am b« fur- 
friven III one whoM hfe le 90 fall vf h«>nf>r». 

* Zephaiiuih Sw ift WM bi>m in 17oV ; hev inf been s iiMmbsr of « uii- 
<r»e«», he •f>iM>mp«ii<e«l OU\er KlUwunh, *ni(»a*««.lar to Ffmkw in 17»\ 
HI hi* »e<-retanr. In 1*H.»1 he wm epiM'tittr*! jO'lipe <»f the SapehuT 1*ot»n« 
•o«l WM chiif juetioe f^>ra iHi^ tu l^ly. He wm m Urire tmn, of»U\»o4 
nuuil% feAturr* ; in eou\er«*li<»u he ai^ke r»pi«ilT. without grmc9 of mmn- 
ner or eiprvMiun, bat with (*jrvm aoti prr»|<UMiity. Ilu mind wm emi 
nctitl> flttetl for juriiJuwl doties. He«lie>l wbiSe 00 a vieit toOhioia iHgt, 

t ¥vr A sketch of the Ufo mtA charmcUr ••( NetitMuel South. ••• p^w 
&••», \*tL 1. of thte work. 

; « Al%in (iotliUrd WM k^fn 174^, aaI JicJ IMt. He flllc^l «»rt>MM 
ptt^ tt* •ifBcre, anil wm niA}<ic of Norwich fiiC Mvroteen Tewr*. It le 
JiAi-uil ti> PAjr which |>rr«S'Muinat«-l, >..• leamin^, hie wit, <*t hi* aiuc- 
nil* I •-heonml to he will, hiiii en 1 tieii TrrM in the •U^g^ ^^neth ttnnt 
New H*«cii Vt New York, vh^n, m Ivhuarj «*;&, thej w*rr |<r<x««4 
itm tit WMhtnirt"U. t** fnrry the |<r-nre-iiii/» *»€ th« < ■ ti«ri)Utj<i «»eii. 
Terr* •.•■|'t n^er.t e.I \t.r ••«. 1. -r o-ul I Mr (vllaf !'■ rra*«-'.r«* vii 
Ato'jar l.-'M V% t.rn Xk.ry gA !•• V% a*:..:.^*. -b. tKc urw uf |«^r L*.| 
iii»* Arr.«r t, Aii.l th«tr " »<>.;<•! um^g- .« I (.r« ttprr rit « t • h 

fit^», hat I I* aei 1 t( »t «»■ -;.•/! |i*. 1 l*i-k «.'.'. <«uA{-.'aii 1 .titarcat. 
Nv men vee m<«ie cvuti-ctctil. 


tatioii of beiog the most kanied and soooeesfhl lawyer east of 
the Connectioat river : an upright judge, a wise coanselor, an 
honest man. 

^ Last, hat not least of the Oonnecticnt delegation, wafi Roger 
Ifinot Sherman,* a profound metaphysician, a scholar equal to 
the younger Adams, one of the principal oracles of the New 
York city har for the last twenty years of his life, who seemed 
more fitly than any other man to represent the lawgiver, Roger 
Ludlow, and to inhahit the town which he had planted, whose 
level acres he had sown with the quick seeds of civil liberty, and 
then left the up-springing crop to be harvested by the sickle of 
his successor.*^ 

This is the verdict — not of the apologist, hot of- 
the partisan — ^but of the historian, in a sober review 
of the past, with all the light which time has thrown 

♦ Eoger Minot Sherman, nephew of the celebrated Roger Sherman, 
waa a native of Woburn, Mass., and born in 1778. He establiflhed 

'himself as a lawyer at Fairfield, Conn^ and rose to the first rank of hia 
profession. He was distinguished for acute logical powers, and great 
elegance of diction — words and sentences seeming to flow from his lips 
as if he were reading fVom the Spectator. He was a man of refined per- 
sonal appearance and manners ; tall, and stooping a little in his wulk ; 

' deliberate in his movements and speech, indicatii^ circumspection, 
which was one oT his characteristics. His countenance wns pale and 
thoughtful, his eye remarkable for a keen, penetrating expression. 
Though a man of grave general aspect, he waa not destitute of humor. 
He was once traveling in Western Virginia, and stopping at a small Uv- 
em, waa beset with questions by the landlord, as to where he came from, 
whither he was going, Ac. At last said Mr. Sherman—*' Sit down, sir, 
and I will tell you all about it." The landlord sat down. " Sir," said 
he, " I am from the Blue Light State of Connecticut f* The land!(.rd 
stared. *' I am deacon in a Calvinistic church." The landlord was evi- 
dently shocked. " I was a member of the Hartford Convention I" This 
was too much for the democratic nerves of the landlord ; he bpeedily 
departed, and left bis lodger to himself. Mr. Sherman filled various 
offices, and in 1840, became judge of the Superior Court. To a mind »it 
once brilliant and profound, he added the embellishments of literature 
and science and the graoes of Christianity. He died Dec 80, 1S44. 

48 Lnrns — sioobaphioal, 

upon the lives of thoee whom he thus character- 

And DOW, my dear C , let me ask you to look 

at the Hartford CoDvention, through thesse Coonec- 
ticut delegates — all grave and reverend seignioni — 
one of them sixty-nine years of age, and having been 
governor of the State ; one of them, at the time, 
chief-justice of the State ; another a judge of the Su- 
perior Court ; two of them grown gray in the Senate 
of the United States : all {uist fifty, all distinguished 
for prudence, caution, sobrioty ; all of the Washington 
school in i>olilia^, moral?, manneni, religion. I»»k at 
tht^Jk* men, and then tell m<» if there was trea^ion, con- 
spiracy, dismemberment of the Union, either in their 
heartis or the hearts of the piH>j>le who electeti them ? 
If there be any thing holy in truth, any thing .'«acrv<l 
in juHlice, degrade not the one, df!*i»crate not the 
othiT, by calling thej«e men imitors*! Say niUicr 
that iht'ir pn-H^nce in the Hartft)nl Convention is 
proof- olrar, conclusivt*, undeniable, in the utter 
abs<'nce of all rvidence to the contrary--tliat it was 
an a^m.*inbly of pntnutA, ch<^!4en by a |»atnotic |M*ople, 
wi.Hily 84*<'king the bent go<Kl of the o»uniry. If this 
be not Ik), then there ii> no vaIuc in a g«Mxl name, no 
gn>un<i for fnith m human virtue. Trt*;uM>ii m the 
hi^'hi*>t cnme againM siviety : ui there not !**»fiM-ihmg 
fslnK-kuifc^ to the univrr^al m*nM.* of de<viit*\ m riutr 

• HoUwUr* lUmityry o^ i'ocuMcttcot, t^Jl. u. p iul. 

jomaamcm^ no. 40 

Ifmglbk vqm mm Ana agnaliaed ftr ihflir Tirtnesf 
Smoli penreiM logic would make Judas a aainti and 
Ae eleyeii true disciples, betrajero. 

But I must leare dkcussioiii and proceed with my 
uairatiYe. As the Ckm^eitlion sat with closed dooi% 
the woild without, despite their eager curiosity, were 
kept in general ignorance as to their proceedmgs. 
There was a rumor, howerer, that Mr. Otis opened 
the debate, and was followed, first by CShattncey Gbod- 
ridi and then by NathanielSmith — the latter making 
one of those masterly speeches for which he was re- 
nowned, and which shook even this assembly of great 
men with emotions of surprise and admiration. The 
first day's debate was said to have broughf all minds 
to a general agreement as to the course to be adopted 
—that of mild and healing measures, calculated to 
appease the irritated minds of their constituents, to 
admonish the national government of the general feel- 
ing of danger and grievance, and thus to save the 
country firom an example either of popular outbreak 
or organized resistance to the laws. Subsequent 
events showed that these rumors were well founded. 

While such was the course of things in the Con- 
vention, some curious scenes transpired without and 
around it I cannot do better, in order to give you 
an idea of these, than to transcribe part of a letter, 
which I recently received firom a friend in Hartford, 
to whom I had written for some details, to refresh 
and confirm my own recollections. This was hastily 

Vol. II.— 8 


wriUoif and with no idea of its puUioation ; but it 
iti neTerthelees, graphiOi and ooming fifom an old 
democrat, will be received as good authority for the 
fiKts it presents, even by the contemnere of the Con- 
vention and its federal supporters. 

"^PrerioiM to the wsr, Captsio Morgm recmiud in nmrtl^»nl 
s coiDpuijr of Hsl^t dragooiui. El^ab Buftrdman wm hb Ben- 
tensor ftad Owen RaDtoii— sfUrward lliyfor Raniuo — wm oor- 
ML When wsr wat dacUrad, simI so army was to ba rabid, 
tlM fint thiof was to apfmiat oAo«m, and the r m p^Mim 
tJtmi ill tlia Mtralifta — Mug to a man oppotad to the war, docm 
of tbeoi appHed for oocnmbiiofit ; 00 that the adminlntratlno 
was ootnpeUed — oothingloth — to officer the annj from the dctn- 
ocrata. IlaTiof a great nomber of appotntmeote to make« and 
ttttle time to examine the qnalificatiune of the apphoanta, and, ae 
I have rtmarlMd, having onlj the democrau to teicct from, manjr 
men rmmrtd oommiMiune who were hardlj qualified to carry a 
mmdiei in the ranlUw Ami>ng tiie appoinlnieou wa« a general 
of brigade in the Vermont mihtb— Jonae l*utting. a Uiatman 
00 the ConneoCieot river — who obtained hb a|»piHotnient ul 
eoliinel throngh the inHuence of J. and £. L . . . ^ giMid dcino- 
eralat Ibr whom he boated. He wa» orderrd t4i llartfurd 00 
recruiting terrioei where he eeuUbhcd the head-«|uartrr« i4 the 
aSth regimenL He wm a mde, btiuHnh, nncooth man, and rt- 
eahred bnt Httle attenilun fn«i the rtiiaen* gvorrallj, and ntmt 
fhMa the rtipectabba the federali»u: he waa, huw«%«r, mc 
eamAU in rabing f«cniit*. After a uiiie 1>« «•• •mt u* tl^ liiw*^ 
and wae •ooccedcd by Lbotenant f-vtktorl J(». I« Smith, iif Itrr- 
in — a large, handaiime man, <>f umw talmU, bat a ir«M>d dmi 
of a flre^mter. He «»omed the CMiumaiHl at Hartfiird, but »a» 
nn> kindlv rct^tivrd bv the f>«lrrAJ»»U. Thrrv «ai» in t*L't uo 
luve Itmt between htm and iImcu. 

*^Tbw brinfi u neur tlie time *4 the n«r«/.r.! (\.i:vcatbMi 



grown vp bcnr«en tbe two pofiiicil foitieiL and the < 
w€r« OTojoTcd lias Ccpiooet S. %>:^ ptiLJ v.- *ir.'r zi» iaiSffiii 
and contempt i'jr tbe aciHwar parrr. azid «*> 'Ji«^t «ciCi:-c:7aiBv: 
him to perwverft. wad do hk d wn- L'T f,yz±siz icac ink. aiiid n 
nt«za^ recruits fc>r li* ci:<>ja> T*r. So -^ awrt -Jut ccImd* 
Db^oested Lim to de&2<«. Uke mcrre i«£ vo^i lyx^ 

" In thk state o^ :.ri^.gs. icae cnj ocfCi^il .n'l'itr: 'i^^^iii. i^-i :ik«ft^ 
ed %sA poblkbed an ordisa^.^^ :haa &o rEZr-fcrr ykr^^a ^y,nji 
I* ^^TTsJued to inarch on ;be adewaisw t-^s scr/ilid />:ti::* 'Juio- 
Mixes to tbe $trect5L Tte decx/era::^ ac^i Oa. S. i<i>ruwi Vj* idea 
thai the oosndi had tbe j»w€r zo T^afz^AZit li* =L*rri o^ Unis**} 
Siau« troopa, and lo tLe irw^ pitnitfr^ed =. :iii ac^vjaxMse. 
Tbe GoTemor's Foot G^-ar*! ooe Lir/ir^d z;:L»Jai«* ^zr^jo^ tfjak- 
^jsed oi oar nKi«t nspectabie J'>^:^ :=<«&. acid aH fttOtnk2MU, 
cocDinaoded by Xaihaniei Terry. E*:« i^>w p««(«j«d % rrjks^^j 
of bail cartridgea^ which, wiib \£jaj ara& were ^e^jv::^ in 
tbe old Hartfjrd Bank. Tbe bus; were nc'isr^ to >& a2w»T4 
ready to act when necefivry. Tbe jr>T«na»fi5 nfrrv'rA ^>t 
heeding tbe ordiainre. Cap:. B-yir^irrir: tr/3 vrr* '/tt-w ^.^^ir% 
and non-c>>mni»>ioned o^.:«r* were arr^eud mzA i-^z/r^^^jfA. 


The United Sutot troops reinforoed by aD the <wt putfos la 
tbe neighboring tofnus now otine into the oitj, and eonpleuly 
monopoliied the streets bj night and by day. 

""The Superior Goort was in session at thb tine, and each day 
during the sennion, the mUitary bands, with diTeri sopemnme- 
rary baM-dmms, incessantly marched around the Coorthooie 
witli no much din that the court was obliged to ad|)oure. This 
was repeated daily, and matters had arrived at a terrible pasi^ 
when the administration at Washington saw the necessity of inter* 
fsring. It was obrious that the difficulty arose chiefly from the 
impertinence and vulgarity of th^ army officers ; so they ordered 
Oohme] Jessup to come to Hartftird and assunM the command, 
and parked off Smith to the line^ or MWiewhere ebei 

^ C/olonel Jesup on htn arriral calWd at once on Chauncey 
Goodrich, the mayor, and begged him to let him km>w lu»w 
matters i«t<M>d. Jmup wss a man t»f iien«e ami a gentleman, 
and all diffirultieA «pM«Hly vsni^heil. The tnM>ps were kept la 
their cantoninentA, s certain flt«tanre out of ti>wn ; and only a 
few at a time, <»f the m<wt ohIctIt. were |iermitted to come Into 
the city, and without mihtary fieraile. rol«incl Jesnp was re- 
ceived inu> Ntciety. and rareene*! by the better cUtm of citiaecis, 
ami iHTiane a great £iTi>riteL He was dineil and tea*d to ht« 
heart** content by the fedenih«t«, aAer which the democracy 
rather cut him. 80 ended thi« little war. 

**The celebrated Hartford l^mrention sswmbled hers abont 
this time, and Mr. Thomas Hull, a large, portly, courtly old gen- 
tleman, WM the doorkeefier and messenger. As it wm proper 
tliat thi« digniAeil btwly klnmUl hare all thinfpi dt>oe deiX>ntlT and 
in order. If r. Boll wa« direrte«l to rail on the reverend cleno, 
in turn, to pray with tlie C\«nTefiti««o. IH. Strong ma<)e the 
first prayer, and I>r Perkint and other eminent rlrrg^tnea 
tbin.>»«'«l Tl»e ltr% riiiUh.lrf t'lia^r* aftrritan! IIi.|h.|. ** *•• 

* 1*1.. «n Ur ( li*!^ «M ft OAl**« tf Vrrm •ot. ^» 'n 177 '- ft> i 1 • i > .f 
llr «»• ft niAfi 'f uni-wtfiif |*n» ■• *^ •jj'eftf »i»* ftr ! ■> » • r. lir i*^ 
aun«- Si*hf*r vtf<>hioin 1*19, Anl»A«r«ft^l«ftftt>.-<•.l t>i«>;of of lUiuoift. 


— WM at this time rector <^ Christ Charch — a hig^ Chnrob- 
mAD, who probably never in all his ministry offered an extern- 
poraneooB prayer. He was, in his tnm, called on by Mr. BqD, 
who in his blandest manner informed him of the honor conferred 
on him, and begged his attendance to pray at the opening of the 
morning session. What most have been his horror, when Mr. 
Chase declined, saying that he knew of no form of prayer for 
rebellion I Mr. Chase himself related this anecdote to me soon 
after. M^jor J. M. (Goodwin was present and heard it. Never- 
thekes, I believe this speech was hardly original : some of the 
tory Episcopal clergymen had said the same thing dnring the 
Revelation. They had forms of prayer for the king, bat none 
for liberty. 

** No annoyance was offered to the Convention. A body of 
United States troops, nnder command of Jenmiy Lamb, a fiice- 
tioos old Irishman, and the town-crier, in a fantastic military 
dress, marched aronnd the State-honse, while they were in ses- 
sion — the mnsic playing the ' Rogues' March.' The Convention, 
however, excited less attention la Hartford than in other places. 
' 'Tis distance lends enchantment,' &c. Very little more notice 
was taken of their proceedings by the people here — exclusive of 
violent partisans — ^than of those of the Superior Court." 

This sketch gives a clear insight into the state of 
popular feeling at this period, in Hartford, which has 
been the theme of much discussion and gross mis- 
representation. It is obvious that, had there been 
no other reason for it, the danger of intrusion and 
interruption from the irritated United States recruits, 
led by incendiary officers and encouraged by reckless 
mischief-makers, rendered it a matter of prudence for 
the Convention to sit with closed doors. The State 
court had been braved and insulted, and the far more 


obnoxious Convention would doubtlen hare expe- 
rienced still more emphatic demonstrations of mde- 
nesB. Had the sessions been open, a guard of a hun- 
dred men would scarcely have protected them from 
interruption, perhaps violence. 

It is creditable to all parties that CoL Jesup was 
sent thither : it showed a disposition on the part of 
the administration to afford no ground of offense; 
it proved that the citizens — the federalists — sought 
no quarrel, and would interpose no difficulties to 
the government troops or their officers in the lawful 
discharge of their duties. It showed, moreover, that 
they could appreciate gentlemanly qualities, and were 
ready to bestow honor on a gallant soldier who had 
fought and ble<l in battle fi>r the wuntry, even al- 
though they disapproved of the war. 

As to Colonel Jesup* — Brigadier-general Jesup 
now — I must say a few words. At the time I speak 
of, he was some thirty yearn old. lie had recently 
come from the northern frontier, whert* he Iia4l won 
laurels by the side of Scott, Miller, Bn>wn, Ripley, 
and other gallant soldient. He was of modest demea- 
nor, pleasing atldress, and gentlemanly tastes: it was 
no disparagement to his agreeable ap|M*aran(*f« that he 

* TImwum S. Jmup va» ft native uf Vtfvtiiki« anJ helJiof Um rmnk of 
Mai|«Mm of 1914. WhiW Im wm ftt ll*rtA^a. in th« viaur of I«14 \\ 
Imti that he wm {'nvrnt, all 1 wm .I r iM t i in Uu« ui. irrwi tUiLUtry a«| 

Villi •fiMtltUMi, Vblto MUAil-dvCkM, Ukd Vtll* MU-^iuck.nO, AAd VM 

^oito A iiirofiit villi lb* I ftiii— • f^f^ kiwmi to iIm brmto. 


had his arm in a slibg — a touching testimonial of his 
merits brought from the field of battle. He was the 
complete antipode of the J. L. Smiths and Joseph 
Cuttings who had preceded him, and who thought 
it a part of their democratic duty to be conspicuously 
vulgar. He did not seek to promote democracy by 
rendering it disgusting to all who held opposite opin- 
ions. He mingled in amicable intercourse with the 
citizens ; sought interviews with the leading inhabit- 
ants — with the mayor of the city, and the governor of 
the state when he chanced to be on a visit there. 1 
know he took counsel with my unde and became ac- 
quainted with members of the Convention, and thus 
found means not only to smooth away the difficulties 
which had been engendered by his rude and reck- 
less predecessors in the military command of that 
station, but gained correct information as to the ac- 
tual state of things. 

It was perfectly well understood, at this time, that 
he was not only a military officer, but that he was 
the diplomatic agent of the government at Washing- 
ton, and conmiunicated his observations to the Exec- 
utive. He was not, for this reason, either shunned or 
depreciated. It is evident, from his letters sent almost 
daily to Madison — and the substance of which has 
transpired, at least in part — that the real intentions of 
the Convention were penetrated by him almost from 
*.he beginning. It is evident that he never found the 
lightest proof of treasonable intentions on the part 

56 ucmnw wcioRH'nioAU 

of that anembly.^ It has been reported that he in- 
tends publiahing his personal memoirs, and that in 
these he will give some interesting revelations re- 
specting the Convention : I trust he will ftilfiU his 
design, and I am equally confident that his report 
will be in unison with the views I have here pre- 
sented. As a matter of principle — regarding it from 
his point of view — he will doubtless condemn that 

• Mr. InfervoU, In hit hbtory of th« ** Uu War,** profcMMto fporx 
IM >oM«iin> ot J««p*t Ictttf* to Um PvW<l«iit : Is oo* of tKcM bo 
Mjt, wnoum o^)^*' thinft, Uiat afUr an inttnrWw whkh Im had wiih 
Gov. TonpklttA, of N«w York, on hi* wmy to HanfeH, bo Uiiokt tho 
** CocivtatioQ wUl compUim rvnx>iwtrate, mhI probably aiMrtM tbo pap- 
pU, bat that iu proc««dinicm will neither malt in an attampc to ftiii>«l«r 
tbt I'uloo, nor in a tMermlnation to mlM by furrt tba maaavraa of tba 
faoaral iro% eminent. '* 

Thi* » »en*iU«. That C*ol. Jaaap. evtn bcforr ha rvachad llartlbrti, 
bad <iiacu%«lhrU tha a«*tual iCaU uf th.niT* 'n New Eaffland. 1 oan taaCiiy 
that, Uvinirin the vrr} mi«Ut of the meniberaof tba ronvantioa, 1 navar 
baard tuch a ttunir •• dieunivii ail«^*c«ta<l. or eren ftucfo»ta«l, aa proba- 
bla i>r poHuUr. In eiioirmaCion of thie, Mr. InfervoU adda : 

fmfU» kmH WM Amtri em m^" Jtc, ^. Huraly no eanaibta ohmi naa d ed 
affbiwt to tril bun thai . and }et, •trmnc* t*^ My. thtra ara perMioa «bo 
aCiU behave thai the ron«ention. poehed on by tba pt^'pla of Saw EBif> 
tand, vert a hand of traitor*, at Uaat m tbair be*rta I 

Mr. lti^r««41 ^tatee that «*na member of the t'onvention -4'h«an<wy 
Goodrirb tt*lene«l (avorabl% t^i Jeaop'e <wanlarptoC, arbicb v^ tbai 
h99 Kn^Und ehoold put her »ht>uliJer lo the war. oapturt llaiifai and ilia 
»Jja0ent territ«*nea. and thaae. with «*ena<la. ahouM be ennetrAl to New 
|n^Uo«l * Tbal tba ardani ?«>anir lieutri«Aiit <vl«»Ael ehouM hftia nuNla 
ancb a •u#tfr*itua, la rary pOMiUe. but ih Me who knew tbe faertie*. mu\ 
enule aI the ilea that a erheaM ftr> ultert; prepnatertni* mi ho|wl«i« 
In tbe •r(o*i etala t^ tha <^««ntr,v, ••> opfnee^l to pablte eentin»erit, •• 
cwrtAtu to |>r ir»>-t M* 1 an'rm«»t# tl e wia •(. ■•*. I I.A«e l««n rn*rr*| 
$u^mmoiutuX l>f the (kr •.|r>*t'*l {wr^-'O u> wh<.Hu it wae pr>t«<*«<i If 
aacb a p^i»t wm e««r ecn-jueiv eu^^rsUd, :t ««• i. • JmiU nr*{< ifui.v 
li»tei««-i t*' »• ft matter ^f cjartee*, ,n nu **Vi»r •'•.•<■ . . :,'.•»« 
been -..^•.' . 1 


assembly, but as to matters of fact, I am certain he 
will never furnish the slightest support to the charge 
of treason, either secret or open. 

But I must draw this long letter to a close. The 
result of the Hartford Convention is well known. 
After a session of three weeks, it terminated itd labors, 
and, in perfect conformity with public expectation and 
public sentiment at the North, it issued an address, 
full of loyalty to the Constitution, recommending 
patience to the people, and while admitting theii 
grievances, still only suggesting peaceable and con- 
stitutional remedies. The authors of this document 
knew well the community for which it was intended : 
their purpose was to allay anxiety, to appease irrita- 
tion, to draw ofiF in harmless channels the lightning 
of public indignation. They therefore pointed out 
modes of relief, in the direction of peace, and not in 
the direction of civil war. They were federalists, as 
were the people who supported them ; they belonged 
to that party who founded the Constitution, in oppo- 
sition to the democracy.* Leaving it for democracy, 
which opposed the Constitution in its cradle, to fur- 

♦ The sincere seeker for troth should read the history of the parties 
of this period, in connection with their previous annals. " It is a re- 
markable iaot,^' says Noah Webster, in his history of political parties in 
the United States, " that the democratic party, with few or no excep- 
tions, opposed the ratification of the Constitution ; and beyond a ques- 
tion, had that opposition succeeded, anarchy or civil war would have 
been the consequence. The federalists made the form of government, 
and with immense eflforts procured it to be ratified, in opposition to 
nearly one-half of the citizens of the United States, headed by some ol 
Iho ablest men in the Union."' 

68 LimBS-— BtOOStfHXULi 

DiBh the flnit examples of Nnlliflcmtioiii Disanioiif Se- 
oe§Bion — with a discretion and a patriotism which 
docs them infinite credit — they found the means <^ 
removing the cload from the minds of their oonstit- 
uentSy and yet without in any degree shaking the pil- 
lars of the Union, which was their ark of the eove- 
nant of national honor and glory and prosperity. 

It is said Mr. Madison laughed when he heard the 
result : it is very likely, for he had really feared that 
the Convention meditated treason; he perhaps felt a 
little uneasy in his conscience, from a conviction that 
his administration huil aflforded serious grounds for 
dii^coiitent. He, us well as those who shared his viewSi 
were no doubt relievetl, when they found the cloud 
hail passeil. Some of the <lemocratic editors satisfied 
lhein.4elv<*s with wiuiljs, and some found relief in 
railing. Those cMpi-cially who had insisted that the 
Convention was a ImuiI of traitors, si*emed to feel 
personally affronted that it did not fulfill their evil 
prophecies. There is |H*rlmiMi no greater oflcnse to 
a partisan who hai« predicteil evil of his adversary, 
than for the latter to tlo what is rights and thus turn 
the ruiler into ridicule. At all events, so bitter was 
the diMipiMiintment of the fanatical |K>rtiun of the 
deni«NTatrt, on the (Kvatiion in question, that they 
iioii^'ht n-li«T in dtvlarint: th.*it if the Convention did 
not a4'l lrt;L-M>M. ih«*y ;i: 1\l^x fell it! IVrhaps in 
eoii.-^i'li-nitiiiii **\' th'ir •i;<«.i|i]>«iititiiietit. we may {uim 
over thui nblKiuitv liM one of th<Mr frailties of hu> 

AMmoDOfaou^ sic #9 

natme, wlaA time teftohes us to forgel and foi^ 

Ab to the general effect of the oooxse adopted by 
tbe GoQTention, no letsonaUe man can deny Uiat it 
was eminently salutary. It immediately appeased 
the irritation and anxiety of the public mind in New 
England ; it tan^t the peoj^ the prc^ffiety <^ calm 
and prudent measures in times of diffi<mlty and dan- 
ger; and more than all, it set an examfde woithy of 
being followed for all future time, by holding the 
Constitution of the United States as sacred, and by 
recommending the people to seek remedies tor their 
grievanoes by l^al and not by reyoluticmary means. 
" Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall see God," 
I know of no SLinilar benediction upon the promoters 
of civil war. 

And now I have done. The treaty of Ghent 
speedily came to smooth the ruffled waters, Monroe 
succeeded to Madison, and an era of good feeling 
seemed to dawn upon the country. It is true the 
promised millennium was not fully realized : the dy- 
ing flurries of the old federal party, under the har- 
>ning of triumphant democracy, caused some troth 
the sea of politics. Connecticut passed through 
'^m.^ ^ ] Toleration, in which that hard old 
Oliver Wolcott, became the candidate of 
f and overturned the Charter of Charles II., 
^1 his early political associations — public 
It was a strange dance, and with a 


cttrioos arrangement of partners. Similar movemenu 
took place in other parts of the country — the reauil 
of which was, a new crystallization of parties, in which 
the terms federalist and democrat lost their original 
signification. I have before adverted to this fiMSt, and 
have stated that — in application to present parties — 
they are little more than names to discriminate he> 
tween conservatives and radicals. 

I have thus deemed it due to truth, in giving mv 
recollections of the war, to give them frankly and 
fearlessly. Itelie\ing the old federal isU — especially 
those of Conn«*cticut, for with them my acquaint- 
ance was |x>rs«)n2il t<> have Ikimi lit>ni*st and pain- 
otic, as I knew them to he virtuous and wise, so 
I have said, and given my reasons for the &itk 
that irt in me. While doing them this justice, I 
do not affinn that in all things their measures wen* 
right. I c^mtend, however, that they were tme 
men, and, on the whole, have left memories behind 
them which every dictate of virtue and patriotism 
teaches us to eh(*rish. Ry the side of their oppo- 
nents — and the very Ixvt of them — they may claim 
at It^ast ef|ual respect. As time advan<H<s and the 
mist.H of party are cleartNl fn>m the horizon, I tloubt 
not th«*ir images will U* m*<en and nHX^^nijUNl hv all, 
af4 riMin^ hi^'hcr and hif?h«*r anion ^ th^* nohler inonu* 
mentfi of our hittory. < >ne truth will Hiand ihev 
were of ll»o!*»' win* n^art^l tiir u'l«»n'iu?* fabru' «..! thv 
Union, and under all einMmuitaiu***^ Uu^^it the |itH> 


pie to regard it as sacred. Before any man presumes 
to call them traitors, let him see that his own hands 
are equally pure, his own spirit equally exalted. 


The QmiU Vmht6—L$t$(mt ifi JSnmcsA) and a TVantHatitm of Bm U St v0r€ 
BMnbmtiom for Imprndtme^^ThM End of the Poeket-booi Fhteiory— 
ITapoleon rttmma to Parit and ftpset* my Affai^e^DvDere BqftrunoM 
and S^UeUoiu upon Jkm/cimg^ VuU to Now Fork^OUvor WolooU and 
Ardnbaid Oraei§—BaU§ton and Saraio^a—Dr, Pay$on and th« thrm 
Rowdioo-'IUnoim and Death of my UneU—Partnonihip with Ooorge 
Shdien^E^ lUnoot and Death, 


I must now go back and take up a few dropped 
Btitches in my narrative. I have told you that my 
apprenticeship terminated in the summer of 1814. 
Previous to that time, I had made some advances in 
the study of the French language under M. Value, 
or, to give him his title, the Count Value. This per- 
son had spent his early life in Paris, but he afterward 
migrated to St. Domingo, where he owned a large 
estate. In the insurrection of 1794, he escaped only 
with his life. With admirable cheerfulness and se- 
renity, he devoted himself to teaching French and 
dancing, as means of support. He settled for a 
time at New Haven, where, at the age of seventy, he 
was captivated and captured by a tall, red-haired 
schoolmistress of twentv. She accounted to me, for 

n LirrnaM— noosAPBiaALi 

her sQooesBi by stating that, at tlie thne^ the waa 
called the '* Rooe of Sharon^ — she being a native of 
a town in Litchfield county bearing the latter name. 
The Count finally caUbliahed himself at Hartlbtd, 
and I became one of his pupils. I pursued my 
studies with considerable assiduity, and to practice 
myself in French, I translated Chateaubriand's Beni. 
One of my friends had just established a newspaper 
at Middletown, and my translation was published 
there. About this time my health was feeble, and 
my eyes became seriously affected in consequence 
Df my night studios. Unaware of the danger, I per- 
severed, and thus laid the foundation of a nervous 
weakness and initability of my eyes, which has since 
been to me a rock ahead in the whole voyage of life. 
From that time, I have never been able to read or 
write, but with pain. As if by a kind of fetality, I 
seemed to be afterward drawn into a literary career, 
fur which I was doubly disqualified — first, by an im* 
perfect education, and next, by defective eyesight. 
Oh I what penalties have I paid for thus persisting 
in a course which seetns to have been forUdden to 
me by Providence. AftcT a long an<l laltorious life, 
I feel a profound consciousness that I liave done noth* 
ing well ; at the same time, (la>^ months, nay yeani, 
have I struggled with the i^>nstant apprehetmioii that 
I HhouM t4*nninate my ranvr in l»lin«in«*?%M! IImw 
little do we kn*»w. <»j»j»tfi:iily n\ th«' i»utiM*i of ,.ijr rji. 
isU*na*, what ia iM-fon* ih ! It ut ih«l«*«Ni %i*ll that we 


do not know, for the prospect would often oyer- 
whelm us. 

In the autumn of 1814, as already stated, I estab- 
lished, in company with a friend, a pocket-book he- 
tory at Hartford ; but the peace put a speedy termina- 
tion to that enterprise. We got out of it with a small 
loss, and my kind-hearted partner pocketed this, '' for 
he had money, and I had none." He forgave me, 
and would have done the same, had the defalcation 
been more considerable — ^for he was a true friend. 

Early in the following spring, I made an arrange- 
ment to go to Paris as a clerk in a branch of the im- 
porting house of Bichards, Taylor k Wilder, of New 
York. About a month afler, the news came that Bo- 
naparte had suddenly returned from Elba, and as busi- 
ness WHS prostrated by that event, my engagement 
failed. For nearly a year, my health continued indiffer- 
ent, and my eyes in such a state that I was incapable of 
undertaking any serious business. I spent my time 
partly at Berlin,* with my parents, and partly at Hart- 

* I have already said that my father, having asked a dismission from 
his parochial charge at Ridgefield, was settled— 1811— in Berlin, eleven 
miles south of Hartford. It is a pleasant village, situated on a slight 
elevation, rising from a fertile valley, bounded on the south by a range 
of mountains. The town embraces three parishes, which, thirty years 
ago, were the principal seat of the tin manufacture, from which the 
whole country was long supplied by peddlers. The arts of these bo- 
eame proverbial ; not confining themselves to the sale of tin-ware, they 
occasionally peddled other articles. In the Southern States, it is pre- 
tended, they palmed off upon the people '* wooden nutmegs,^^ " oak-leaf 
cigars," &c. 

Berlin was the birthplace of Isaac Riley— a noted bookseller of New 
York — forty years ago. He was a man of fine personal ad<ire*s and 


ford. I md a little, and practioed my Frmdi witk 

Value and his scholare. I also felt the need of diaei* 
plining my bands and feet, which aboat these days 
seemed to me to have acquired a most absurd derelop- 
ment — giving me an awful feeling of embamwinicnl 
when I entered into company. I therefore took lea- 
sons in dancing, and whether I profited by it or not, 
as to manners, I am persuaded that this portion of 
my education was highly beneficial to me in other 
points of view. 

As many good people have a prejudice against 
dancing, I am disptw^ed to write down my experience 
on the suhj<»ct. In the winter, our good old tearb<!r 
had weekly cotillion parties, for the purpose of practi- 
cing his 8i*hn1ar8. The young men invited the young 
lady's*, and t«M»k them to thf^e gathering and after 
the i'xrn*iik*H, conductiHl them home again. I know 
this will t<4>und 8trung«* to ih**M* who only understand 
nictn)|>olitan manners at the present day; but lei 
me toll you that I never knew an instance, in my 
own ex|H*rience or ol»8*'r\-ali..n, in whu*h the strictest 
projiriety wiu* dt'|»art«*«l fn»m. Tho*t» {larties took 

Mnkinf tiit#ne<tu«l arCiviti. but vm markctl with fTMl Tirliiif iIm 0i 

fiftiinc. Of.r of tUt Hrriiii f^'l^llvr*. h\ th« n«m« of B «aMMa4 

to W at onr of Ki>>'* f^-'li aiirlion —^r*, when Im biJ '*€ • ilinniM4 
»•!- 4^ ••f*c)ira|. e«I.U -n of M-rtt.g'm N'ifLt TtMOtfliU. Tb«M Im pvA- 
«)«« 1 .11 t)i« Ho.its Alt- 1 \% r«t M Vi^ V.4«. rrtttnc fl«t <lo4Uf« m^mm i« 
tl.c-'. U Krf. ritii fi«*r**.#>l wi'.l. f 'f in.t- -.: Jti, h* in*»»Ud thai It wwtk 
A g'-mi (It- Tml mt. ! r< i^fi ■ .« -"^rN'.. r. 

At •.' r I f' .c:.: :.. N. • lir •*.!.. ', *■ f '. *■ \^r .** t* vf B*rilll, m 

ni>(#»l * T »t'*ri».t« *-r*" a I ir^'i. f • ti» Irr*. attJ t^riu-u uCk«r maiitt* 
f»'' If*- 


place in the eyening : they began at eight o'clock, and 
oontinaed till ten or eleven — sometimes till twelve. 
The company consisted entirely of young persons — 
fiom fifteen to twenty years of age: they incladed 
the children of the respectable inhabitants, with a 
number of young ladies from the boarding-schools. 
Some of these I have since seen the wives of bish- 
ops, senators, and governors of States — ^filling in- 
deed the first stations to which the sex can aspire in 
this country. 

I have had enough experience of the world to know 
that such things could not be in the great cities of 
Europe or America — perhaps nowhere out of New 
England. The division of society into castes in mo- 
narchical countries, no doubt involves the necessity 
of keeping young ladies jealously aloof from compan- 
ionship with the other sex, because they might en- 
tangle themselves in engagements which would de- 
feat the system of building up families and estates by 
politic marriages. In this state of society, it might be 
found dangerous for young persons of opposite sexes 
to be left even casually together, for a spirit of intrigue 
is always indigenous under a system of restraint and 
espionage. But however this may be, I am satisfied 
that these Hartford parties, under the auspices of 
our amiable and respectable old teacher, were every 
way refining and elevating : not only did they im- 
part ease of manner, but, as I think, purity of senti- 
ment. The earlier emotions of youth are delicate, 


modest, conservative ; and if acquaintance with life 
be made at this period, these stamp their refinements 
upon the feelings, and form a safe, conservative basis 
of fature habits of thought and conduct. I do not 
mean to &vor latitudinarianism of manners; I do 
not, indeed, say that this system can be adopted in 
large cities, but I believe that dancing parties, con- 
sisting of young persons of both sexes, under proper 
guidance— as, for instance, under the eye of parents, 
either in a public hall, or by the domestic fireside — 
have a refining influence, beneficial alike to manners 
and morals. I believe that even public assemblies 
for dancing, regulated by the presence of good peo 
pie, are eminently useful. 

I have been in Catholic countries, where the sys 
tem is to keep girls in cloisters, or schools resembling 
them, till they are taken out by their parents or 
guardians to be married ; and it is precisely in these 
countries, where education is the most jealous, and 
discipline the most rigorous, that intrigue is the great 
game of life — especially with the upper classes— of 
both sexes. I have seen society where Puritan ideas 
prevailed, and where religious people held dancing 
to be a device of the devil ; and here I have often 
found that practices, secret or open, quite as excep- 
tionable as dancing, were current in society. K in 
the earlier ages of our New England history, a hard, 
self-denying system was profitable, it is not so in the 
present state of society. We are created with social 


feeliaga, which demand indulgence. No system of 
religion, no code or contrivance of state policy, has 
been able to get over this fact We can not kill the 
Toice of God and nature in the soul : we can only 
r^ulate it, and by using common sense and the lights 
of religion, give it a safe and beneficent development 
Is it not time for society to cast off prejudice, and to 
be governed by truth and experience ? It must be 
remembered that what is condemned by the good and 
wise, often thereby becomes evil, though in itself it 
may be beneficial. Has not this wrong been done 
among us ? It seems to me that good people, pious 
people, may at least inquire whether it may not be 
well for them to take under their patronage, that 
branch of education which proposes at once to per- 
fect the manners and refine the sentiments of youth. 
It is not to dictate, but to aid in this inquiry, that I 
give you with some minuteness my observations on 
this subject ; hence I oflfer you my testimony to the 
fact that in the course of three winters, during which 
I attended these cotillion parties at Hartford, I never 
saw or heard of an instance of impropriety in word 
or deed. 

Let me further suggest that there is a principle here 
which it is important to recognize and appreciate. 
These young people were brought together at a period 
when their emotions were still sheltered in the folds 
of that sensitive and shrinking modesty, designed to 
protect them at the period of their first adventure 

68 Lvrma — BiooftAPRiOAL, 

into mixed nociety. This modesty is to the heut of 
youth, like the envelope in which nature enshrines 
the choicest prodacts of the vegetable kingdom, till 
they are ripened and prepared for the harvest This 
shrinking delicacy of feeling is conservative ; to this, 
license is offensive, and if suggested, is repelled. If 
young people associate together at this period — under 
the restraints which necessarily exist in an assembly 
such as I am contemplating — habits of delicacy, in 
thought and manner, are likely to be established. 
A person who has been thus trained, seems to me 
armod, in some degree at least, against those coane 
seductions which degrade, and at last destroy, so many 
young pennons of Ixjth s<*xes. To young men, an 
early fnnuliarity with the refined portion of the gen- 
tler m*x, placing them at ease in their society and 
making this a m>rt <»f ncceiwity to them, I conceive to 
he oiu* of the gn^atest ssfeguanls to their morak and 
mannem in after life. And as a preparation for this— 
as an intriHlurtion, an iixlucement to this — I conceive 
that the mH of <Uncing, praetieeil by young people 
of Utth -M \fj4, together, i!^ to l>e ci>mmendwl. 

I am aware that I am trt'a<ling u|H>n delicate 
ground You may share the itlea entt*rtained by 
many ^mmI. pious |H>^>ple, that <lancing is always de» 
gra«liTiif aii'l vieiou* in itj« ten«lene:«*H. Thij«, houfver, 
I lliiiik, .iri?*« - Ir«»tn «*. .!i«'hl«»nn^; i! in it** ;ilni»fT^. J mn 
n«»t ci'htriplmk' l«'r ju\fi,ilf tial!'*. .t^ a j'ir>iiii til to 
absorb the whole th4>ught ami attention. Remember, 


I am speaking of dancing as a part of education — to 
be conducted with propriety — in order to train young 
people of both sexes to habits of easy and delicate 
interoouise. As to the practice of dancing, after- 
ward, this must be regulated by the judgment of 
parents. One custom may be proper in one place, 
and not in another. In this country, our habits are 
different from those of others : in Asia, where woman 
is designed for the harem, and in Europe, where she 
is trained to be the make-weight of a bargain, jeal- 
ousy becomes the sentinel of society ; in the United 
States, woman is comparatively free, and here confi- 
dence must be the guardian of society. I am inclined 
to think, in this respect, our system has the advan- 
tage, provided it be not abused by license on the one 
hand, nor bigotry on the other. 

In respect to the case I am describing in my early 
experience, in which the young gentlemen conducted 
the young ladies to and from the dancing hall — the 
confidence of parents, thus reposed in their children, 
fortified and recommended by the purer suggestions 
of the heart — appealed to motives of honor, and was 
usually responded to by scrupulous rectitude of de- 
meanor. If you doubt the justice of this philosophy, 
I ask your attention to the fact that, at this day — 
forty years subsequent to the period to which I refer 
— in this very city of Hartford, with a population of 
twenty thousand people, women, young and old, of 
all classes, walk the streets till midnight, with as 


much aeoae of aecurity and proprietj, m al nocmdby t 
Where will yoa find higher evidenoe of m reflneil 
aUte of society than this? 

In the spring of 1815 I paid a visit to New York, 
and having letters of introdaction to Oliver Woloolt 
and Archibald Oracie, I called on these gentlemen. 
Mr. Woloott lived in Pine-street, nearly opposite whers 
the custom-house is now, and at a short distance was 
John Wells, an eminent lawyer of that day. Bat a 
considerable number of the higher aristocracy was 
gathered toward the lower part of the city, the Batlery 
being pretty nearly the focus of fashion. Streets now 
desecrated by the odor of tar and turpentine, were then 
filled with the flush and the fair. Kath'l Prime lived 
at No. 1 Broadway ; Mr. Uracie in the Octagon House, 
comtT of Rn<l>^! and State streets. Near by was his 
soninlaw, Charles King, now presitlent of Columbia 
G>lU*p.\ and his son, Win. Gracie, who had married the 
second daughti*r of Oliver Wolcx>tt. In this quarter, 
also, were Wm. Bayanl, Gen. Morton, Matthew Clark- 
son, J. li. Coll**, M(MM» Itogcni, Jux, all eminent citixens 
My kxlgings were at the City Hotel, situated on 
the weMteru side of BrosAlway, U^tween Thames and 
Ct-ibr Htivets — the upaee U'iiig now occupitnl by ware- 
h«Mi!«(^. It was then tlie A^l•»^ IIoum i»f New York, 
liein^' kept by a m<Ml(*l landlord, whom* name was 
Jfiininfcf?*, with a m^nlfl l»ark«f|»fr bv ihv name ol 

WllUr^l Th«- lutUT WXH Ml'l IHNT to .•*Utl»~iii^»h| 

or 'Uv— for at all houn !»•• \*..- al bw l*«n»t, and novcr 

mnoaaoALy AMSCDonGAL, etc. 71 

forgot a customer, even after an absence of twenty 

It was late in the spring, and Mr. Ghrade called for 
me and took me to his country-seat, occupying a 
little promontory on the western side of Hurlgate — ^a 
charming spot, now cut up into some thirty city lots. 
Contiguous to it, toward the city, were the summer 
residences of J. J. Astor, Nathaniel Prime, and Wm- 
Bhinelander; on the other side were the seats of Com- 
modore Chauncey, Joshua Jones, and others. 

Here I spent a fortnight very agreeably. Mr. Ora- 
cle was at this period distinguished alike on account 
of his wealth, his intelligenoe, and his amiable and 
honorable character. Never have I witnessed any 
thing more charming — more affectionate, dignified, 
and graceful — than the intercoiirse of the family with 
one another. The sons and daughters, most of them 
happily connected in marriage — as they gathered here 
— seemed, to my unpracticed imagination, to consti- 
tute a sort of dynasty, something like the romance of 
the middle ages. Not many years after, Mr. Gracie 
lost his entire fortune by the vicissitudes of com- 
merce, but his character was beyond the reach ol 
accident. He is still remembered with affectionate 
respect by all those whose memories reach back to 
the times in which he flourished, and when it might 
be said, without disparagement to any other man, 
that he was the first merchant in New York. 

I must not omit to mention two other celebrities 

7S Lcmn — nMEAnnoAL,* 

whom I saw during this Tisit to New York. Yov 
must recollect I was on mj travels, and so, as iu datv 
bound, I sought to see the lions. Of course 1 went 
to the court-house, and there I saw two remarkable 
men — Judge Kent, and Thomas Addis Emmet — the 
first, chancellor of the Sute of New York, and the 
latter one of the most eminent lawyen in the citv, 
pcrha{)e in the United States. 

Judge Kent* I had seen before, at my uncle's 
houi«e. He had been educated at Yale College, was 
my fathers classmate^ and formed an early acquaint- 
ance with our family, resulting in a friendly inter* 
course which was maintaineil thmughout his whole 
life. It would be difficult now to point to a man so 
universally honore<l and ost(*t*mcd. To the most ex* 
tensive Irarnin^. be nuldvtl u winning simplicity of 
manners and trans|iann)t truthfulness of character. 
All thif* wa.M whtti'n in Iim o)unt4*nance, at once irre* 
siftiblt* by itA bt'aming int4*lli genet*, and its not lem 
impressive* benevolcmv. The gn*atuess and good- 
ness of his i*hsrm*t«*r Kh<>n<* full in his face. 

I reiin'inber p-HW^tly well the sc<.*nc\ when I saw 
En.metf and the juilge together. The former 

• Jmmm Kent mmm U^m )ii PutnAin cu«at«, N. V . i:4A ll« rcM* !• 
MDiu«rir» III tl.» i^rtifoMtfin of th* Uw, mi«1 w^ mpp^xni^l >•« J^ibn Jajr, 
tiMfi r>»v«n»<>r. jQ'lfv of th« •oprrok* «o«n lU wm mfXmrwni ckw#- 
jttfttjrv. Mil. .1. I*M. ctiaii T.:. r llr a>«.t in Nr« \.*rk. «tii-b Kki 
been I..* r««. leu.^. tM :"4? art •/rit«airot Ut buruAT. r.*: .rv. t.> the bar, 
the l*rbiii. At! 1 tttr t l.r •: «fi ( f'fr***.*!! 

• FN' 111** A 1 li* fjiitnrt, • :.**.. >r "( i * r^ . . !rr.*i . «m Ujm m 
17#4 He w vfM of tt.r < ."umiCet of lL« S»j^»*% f { t»,'# | IrMhoieii, 


argaing a oasei but there were only half a dozen per- 
Rons present, and it was rather a eonversation than a 
plea. Emmet was a somewhat short but very athletic 
man, with large, rosy cheeks, an enormous mouth, 
and full, expressive eyes. His Irish brogue, rich and 
sonorous, rolled from his lips like a cataract of music. 
Kent listened, but frequently changed position, and 
often broke into the argument with a question, which 
sometimes resulted in a dialogue. His whole manner 
was easy, fiuniliar, and very different from the statue- 
like dignity of other judges I had seen. The whole 
spectacle left on my mind the impression that two 
great men were rather consulting together, than that 
one was attempting to win from the other an opinion 
to suit an interested client. I recollect to have seen, 
listening to this discussion, a large, florid, handsome 
man, with a dark, eloquent eye ; I inquired his name, 
and was told that it was John Wells, the renowned 
lawyer, already mentioned. 

As I thus saw the lions of the town, I also heard 
the thunderers of the pulpit. On one occasion I lis- 
tened to a discourse from Dr. J. B. Romeyn* — a tall, 
thin, eloquent man — I think in Cedar-street. He was 
celebrated in his day ; and, if I understood him cor- 

and WW involved in the unfortunate rebellion of 1798. Mr. Emmet was 
impriAoned, bnt was finally set free, and came to the United States. Hi^ 
great learning, hia extraordinary talents, his powerful eloquence, ooon 
gave him a place among the firnt lawyers of the country. He died in 1827. 

* John B. Komeyn waa settled first at Rliinebcck, then at Schen«>v- 
tady, and finally at Now York. He was born in 1769, and died 182ft 

Vou IT.— 4 


rectly, he niainUined the doctrine of electioii in sucK 
rigor as to declare that if he knew who the elect wen*« 
he would preach only to them, inasmoch as it woukl 
be QseleflB to preach to other persons! 

In a new church in Murray-street, I heard Dr. 
Maaon,* then regarded as the Boanerges of the city. 
Instead of a pulpit — which serves as a sort of shelter 
and defense for the preacher — he had only a little 
railing along the edge of the platform on which be 
stood, so as to show his large and handsome person, 
almost down to bis shoe-bucklea. He preached 
with(»ut notes, and moved freely about, sometimes 
speaking in a colkM|uial manner, and then suildenly 
pouring out Kc'ntoncc after sentence, glowing with 
lightning ainl <vhoing with thumler. The effect of 
th<*j«e outburstd was iw>metime« very startling. The 
doctor wttii not only very imposing in his person, but 
his voice was of pnMlijrious volume and compasic 
He was !«4>iiu*time3< ailviiitunitis in his sfNtvh, ixvm- 
sionally pawing off a jok«\ anil nt>t unfnH|u«>ntly 

. wm W>m ID 1T7«|, an<l «iir<l in I-7V. fir wm mltkm t\\mun4[ufh^ 1^^ 
fcU «it. htm iDtrllc<<u«l pt>«*r*. «ii<l h - rJ^q^iroM. IU wm ihm sMbfit 
of •e\ml rrltf K-'i* «*>rkB «*f gfmt Ability I K*v« hranl tK« fnT^ovti^ 
AD«nlM« "f l.itn : A lYrtain p*ruhi.>aer *<( h.^ mfL^r Ui« ••uMi«hai#M vi 
m rt.iuirijin r^ 'ir ). in Nr« York, ;<Mn*tl it Otj« Amy, mhrntx Um liWnt 
ehan/^l io m*^! Inm. th« tormrr Miil - 

*' Mr. 8 ... It I* tm>m umm ainM I h*»* mwii «on ai Marrav •lr««1 " 
♦•| h«»r •■ t ^"^t^ lK*r» l*t*l,». It !• tf i#.' mm th« rr|4* " mni I m l\ 
taU »«o !h* r**-« u I t» nk » -u n^ak* r*: tf- t» i . i.fl.-.i!! . i ^.f^t^ 
nit*T X ■ f^**! t« • •■•" J"*" ••*" *•»» • ' -•*' »** * *' '■".♦ ' -At " 

•• Vr* •«■ J t).r l^--t'*r. *' ** ^^ V'** "»'*•* ■•■* •«*. •»! * ••« i..«| y«« 
dual • r • '.. - '%•■'••:»» 


Yerging on what might seem pro&ne, but for the 
Eolenmitj of his manner. When I heard him, in 
qpeaking of some recent Unitarian point of faith, ho 
said, **This is damnable doctrine — ^I say it is damna- 
ble doctrine I" — ^the deep, guttural emphasis giving to 
the repetition a thrilling effect. 

Early in the ensuing summer, my uncle, C!hauncey 
Ghx>drich, being in bad health, paid a yisit to Sara- 
toga* and Ballston for the benefit of the waters, and 
I accompanied him. "We soon returned, however, for 

* I remember a strikiiig incident which occurred at the hotel in Sara- 
tofa where we lodged. One Sunday morning, as the company sat down 
to hreakftst at a long table, a small, dark, and rather initignifioant look- 
ing minister said grace. As soon as he began, and his voice attracted 
ootice, moAt of the persons gave respectful attention to his words ; but 
three gay young men took pains to signify their superiority to such a 
vulgar custom by clashing the knives and forks, calling upon the waiters, 
and proceeding to their work. After breakfast, a notice was given to 
the lodgers that a sermon would be preached in the dining-hall at 10 
o'clock. At this hour the lodgers generally gathered there, and among 
them the three young men— these, however, with a decided Gallic air 
and manner. Indeed, it was pretty evident that they had come to quiz 
the little parson. The latter soon entered, with a peculiarly noiseless 
onostentatioas step and demeanor. He sat down and meditated for s 
few minutes, and then rose to pray. The first tones of his voice were 
&int, but they grew in strength ; and as we took our scats, all began to 
look with strange interest upon the countenance of that little, dark, un- 
pretending preacher. He read a familiar hymn, but it seemed new and 
striking ; he read a familiar chapter in the Bible, but it had a depth 
and meaning not realized before. He took his text, and preached such 
a sermon as seldom falls from the lips of man. Every heart was thrilled, 
and even the three young men who came to scoff, remained to pray. 
Never have I seen such alternations of feelings as passed over their 
oonntenancea — first of ridicule, then of astonishment, then of shame, 
and at last, of consternation and contrition. ** And who is this strange 
man — so insignificant in appearance, so seemingly inspired in faetf 
said the people. It was Edward Pay son, afterwards D. D., of Porthuul, 
one of the most pIou.s, devoted, and eloquent ministers of his day. lie 
was bom at Rindge, in New Hampshire, in 1788, and died ii: 1827. 


it WM now apparent that he had a disease of the heart, 
which was rapidly tending to a fatal reault, Kzpe* 
riencing great suffering at intervals^ he graduallj 
yielded to the progress of his malady, and at last, oo 
the 18th of August, 1815— while walking the room, 
and engaged in cheerful oonveraation — he fidtened, 
sank into a chair, and instantly expired. **IIis 
death," says the historian, ''was a shock to the whole 
community. Party distinctions were forgotten, un* 
der a sense of the general calamity ; and in the sim- 
ple but expressive language which was used at his 
funeral, *all united in a tribute of respect to the man 
who had ho long been dear to uh, and done us so 
much gtHxl/" To inc, the loss was irreparable — 
leaving, however, in my licart u feeling of gratitude 
that I had witne^wed an example of the highest intel- 
lectuzil i>ower united with the greatest moral excel- 
lence— uml that, t4H>, in one wlmek* relationship to me 
enfon:e«l and comment li*<l its teai*hingii Uy my s{ircial 
ulMervunce. Alan, how little have I done in life lliat 
iit worthy ofnueh innpiration ! 

Not long aAer thii*, my fnemi (ie«>r^e Sheldon hav- 
ing t-:«tabluthed him.*ielf xh a )K*<»kseIler ami publi5her. 
he invitetl me to Im*<*«»iih* hiK |iiirtner— and thm I dnl, 
early in the yrar \H\C, \V«- |nir»MiHl the bu.-un -v"* f«»r 
nearly two M'un*. •Itinftir whu*h timr we publu»h<*ti, 
anii»n^' titluT ^^ork'*, S«'ii'.- K.irnily BibK*, \:i ti\e 
volum**-* i|«i.irt«» a •■■'ii-:«i« r.iMf tiitiTjr.^- !'»r thai 
|Nn«i«l, in a you:*' like il;irtf<ir'i. In the aulumu of 

HiarroBioix, anbcdotioal, kto. T! 

1817 I had gone to Berlin, for the purpose of making 
a short excursion for the benefit of my health, when a 
messenger came fix)m Hartford, saying that my part- 
ner was very ill, and wished me to return. I imme- 
diately complied, and on entering the room of my 
firiend, I found him in a high fever, his mind already 
wandering in painftd dreams. As I came to his bed- 
side he said — '* Oh, take away these horrid knives ; 
they cut me to the heart !" I stooped over him and 
said — 

"There are no knives here; you are only dream- 

"Oh, is it you?" said he. "I am glad you have 
come. Do stay with me, and speak to me, so as to 
keep off these dreadful fancies." 

I did stay by him for four days and nights — but 
his doom was sealed. His mind continued in a state 
of wild delirium till a few minutes before his death 
I stood gazing at his face, when a sudden change 
came over him : the agitated and disturbed look of 
insanity had passed — a quiet pallor had come over his 
countenance, leaving it calm and peaceful. He open- 
ed his eyes, and, as if waking from sleep, looked on 
me with an aspect of recognition. His lips moved, and 
he pronounced the name of his wife ; she came, with 
all the feelings of youth and love — aye, and of hope, 
too, in her heart She bent over him : he raised his 
feeble and emaciated arms and clasped her to his heart: 
be gave her one kiss, and passed to another life I 


unrns — BtooBAPmuL, 


|1# Ikmimt ^181f md IBIT—Fmrnit m Km 
Oki^^ri4k^Sidt^Oki0--7hUrwtitm--lhm^mUffr9dtr»Hmm Oh 

— <9»f. ^JhMU «Mi 0#v. Wiieaii Litr^/hU Oriak T^mtp f^ ^ dt tfti b 
W§lmii y fcj yiw / H mm Q>L Ttltmmdf Jkmtm amid J. W. Bmrn- 
$irmitm 7%€ litt'tjfdi (\ntmnMl Odtkrmiimk, 

Mt DBA! €•••••• 

I must now ask your attention to sererml topics 
having no connection^ cxct*pl unity of time and place : 
the coM 8eai«oufl of IHIH and 1817, and the coniie- 
qucnt flood of emigration from Now Kngland to the 
Wont; the {K»liiical n»volution in C<mm*cticut, which 
was wro\ight in the mapc name of Ti»Ieratii>n, and 
one or two iti»nw of my |^H-rw4)n;il ex{)erienc«*. 

The Hummer of 181»5 wafl pn>l»ahly the iN>ldoHt that 
baa Ixvn known hen*, in thi?* ivntury. In Xew Eng- 
land — from C<mni»cticul to Maine - then* wore fievere 
fVosta in every month. The cu*\* «»f Ititiian i*orn was 
almost entinOy cut off: of {H»iat4>f?«. hay. i>alH, iu\^ 
t)ic*re was not proliahly more than half tht* UHual 
supply. The meann of avrrtmir the rffc<-tj« of Mioh a 
calamity — now affonle*! by niiln»a<l'«. uteam tiaviifa- 
tion, canali*, and other faeihti*;* of nit«*n*i»iikfiiiiM, .;|. 
tion -did not th^n *'\\^\ Th»- f« •'*.■•>% it. l* wir •. r w.ih 
iieverv, and the fUHiin^r ?»{.ni.k' l»a» k«ar i Ai thi« 
time I manle a journey int4> New Ilamp-hm*, pass- 


ing along the Connecticut river, in the region of 
Hanover. It was then June, and the hills were al* 
most as barren as in November. I saw a man at Or 
ford, who had been forty miles for a half bushel of 
Indian com, and paid two dollars for it I 

Along the seaboard it was not difficult to obtain a 
supply of food, save only that every article was dear. 
In the interior it was otherwise : the cattle died for 
want of fodder, and many of the inhabitants came 
near perishing &om starvation. The desolating ef- 
fects of the war still lingered over the country, and at 
last a kind of despair seized upon some of the people. 
In the pressure of adversity, many persons lost their 
judgment, and thousands feared or felt that New 
England was destined, henceforth, to become a part 
of the frigid zone. At the same time, Ohio — with its 
rich soil, its mild climate, its inviting prairies — was 
opened fully upon the alarmed and anxious vision. 
As was natural under the circumstances, a sort of 
stampede took place from cold, desolate, worn-out 
New England, to this land of promise. 

I remember very well the tide of emigration through 
Connecticut, on its way to the West, during the sum- 
mer of 1817. Some persons went in covered wagons — 
frequently a family consisting of father, mother, and 
nine small children, with one at the breast — some on 
foot and some crowded together under the cover, with 
kettles, gridirons, feather-beds, crockery, and the fam- 
ily Bible, Watts' Psalms and Hymns, and Webster s 

80 UTTEBl — noOftAPHKAL, 

Spelling-book — the lares and penatea of the houne 
hold. Others started in ox-carts, and trudged on at 
the rate of ten miles a day. In several instances I 
saw fiunilies on foot — the father and boys taking; 
turns in dragging along an improvised hand-iragi»i). 
loaded with the wreck of the household goods— occa- 
sionally giving the mother and baby a ride. Many uf 
these penk>ns were in a state of poverty, and begged 
their way as they went Some died before they 
reached the t*x]>ected Canaan : many perished after 
their arrival, from fiitigiie and privation ; and otheiiA, 
from the feviT nnd ogur. which was then certain ti> 
attack the new sittlt*r^. 

It wots I think, in l^l"^. that I published a small 
tract, cntitltnl ** Tothrr si*li* of Ohio'*^that is, the 
other view, in i»ntni.<t to the i)«>pular notion that it 
waj« the ])aru(ii.-«4.* (»f the worhi. It was written by 
Dr. Ilunil— u tah*ntctl voun^ physician of Berlin — 
who hail ma>le ii visit to the West about these days. 
It con^isteti mainly of vivid but painful pictures of 
tlic aecideutjf and inciiient<4 attending this wholesale 
migration. The ixads over tiie AUeghanies, between 
Philiulelpliia and Putj»l>urp. Wi*rv then rude, sleep, 
and dunpTuuA, anii ii4inie i*f the moro precipitous 
bIo]ica were iN^ii!kS|Ui'iitly (ttn*wn with the carcases 
of w:ip>n!i« cartd. !)• •!>«<*.<<. ox«*n. which hail nuule shi|>- 
wn-'k in th« ir |-rilfu.<. di -m*!* !its. The MvtU'ai on 
th«* r«';i«l **i t.iriiiiMH L'litii' ri-*! at iitL'ht in niiM-ruble 
fcln'iU. ••.li.iil ta\«ri.- - ii«-':iirr^ tr\in^, ehiMrvii ery 

EmomATioM i« 1817. Vol. 8, p. 80. 


iog, &thers swearing — ^were a mingled comedy and 
tragedy of errors. Even when they arrived in their 
new homes — ^along the banks of the Muskingum 
or the Scioto — ^frequently the whole &mily — ^father, 
modier, children — speedily exchanged the fresh com- 
plexion and elastic step of their first abodes, for the 
sunken cheek and languid movement, which marks 
the victim of intermittent fever. 

The instances of home-sickness^ described by this 
vivid sketcher, were touching. Not even the captive 
Israelites, who hung their harps upon the willows 
along the banks of the Euphrates, wept more bitter 
tears, or looked back with more longing to their na- 
tive homes, than did these exiles from New England 
— mourning the land they had left, with its roads, 
schools, meeting-houses — its hope, health, and happi- 
ness ! Two incidents, related by the traveler, I must 
mention — though I do it from recollection, as I have 
not a copy of the work. He was one day riding in 
the woods, apart from the settlements, when he met 
a youth, some eighteen years of age, in a hunting- 
frock, and with a fowling-piece in his hand. The 
two fell into conversation. 

" Where are you from ?" said the youth, at last. 

" From Connecticut," was the reply. 

" That is near the old Bay State ?" 


" And have you been there ?" 

" To Massachusetts ? Yes, many a time." 

8S urrms — ^BtooKAPHicAL, 

** Let me take your hand, stranger. My mother 
was from the Bay State, and brought me here when 
I was an infant. I have hi*ard her speak of it. Oh, 
it must be a lovely land I I wish I could see a 
meeting-house and a school-house, for she is always 
talking about them. And the sea — the s e a o h, if I 
oould see that I Did you ever see it^ stranger?** 

'• Yea, oaen." 

'' What, the real, salt sea— the ocean— with the 
ships upon it 7** 


•* Weir — said the youth, scarcely able to suppress 
his emotion — ** if I could see the old Bay State and 
the oceaii, I nhould 1h> willing then to die !** 

In another instance the tmveler met — somewhere 
in the valley of the Seioio — a man from Hartford, by 
the iianie of Bull, lit* wa^ a ft*vere demiicraU and 
feelinp M>n*Iy o|»|>rt*s!t«'il with the i<l«*a that he was no 
better off in Connectinit tinder fisleralijim than the 
HebrewA in K^ypt, j«>ine«i the thn>n^ au<l mignittHl to 
Ohit>. He was a man of hul«tano\ hut hi.4 wealth 
was of little aval m a new country, when* all the 
comforLH and luxuries* of eivilixation werv unknown. 

'• When I left C onnectieut/' n%u\ he, - I wan wrt*tch- 
ed fnmi thinking of the sin?* t»f federalu^m. After I 
ha«l p>t U4*r«»!>v4 Bvmm river, whteh «hvui«*ii that St.ite 
from Nevk Y-«rk. I km-Il «i.»wh aii.l ihalikoi th«- 1> rj 
for that he h*4.l br«'U^'hl ii».* un-l niine ..ui »•!' ni.-h .% 
Driest ndden land. But I've lieen well punu»he»l. 


ftnd I'm now preparing to return ; when I again 
cross Byram river, I shall thank God that he has per- 
mitted me to get back again I" 

Mr. Bull did return, and what he hardly anticipa 
ted had taken place in his absence : the federal dy- 
nasty had passed away, and democracy was reigning 
in its stead I This was effected by a union of all the 
dissenting sects — Episcopalians, Methodists, Baptists 
—co-operating with the democrats to overthrow the 
old and established order of things. Up to this pe- 
riod, Connecticut had no other constitution than the 
colonial charter granted by Charles 11. This was a 
meager instrument, but long usage had supplied its 
deficiencies, and the State had, practically, all the 
functions of a complete political organization. It 
had begun in Puritanism, and even now, as I have 
elsewhere stated — notwithstanding gradual modifica- 
tions — the old Congregational orthodoxy still held 
many privileges, some traditionary and some statu- 
tory. Yale College — an institution of the highest 
literary standing — had been from the beginning, in 
its influence, a religious seminary in the hands of the 
Congregational clergy. The State had not only char- 
tered it, but had endowed and patronized it. And 
besides, the statute-book continued to give preference 
to this sect, compelling all persons to pay taxes to it, 
unless they should declare their adhesion to some 
other persuasion. 

All this was incompatible with ideas and interests 

84 LI I 111! lIOOEAWiaAU 

Ihat had now sprong up in the oommiinitj. TIm 
Kpiaoopalians had become a Urge and powerftd bodj, 
and though they were generally federaliata, they now 
clamored — aa an offset to the endowments of Yale Col- 
lege — for a sum of money to lay the foandation of a 
*" Bishops' Fund.'* The Methodisis and B^rtasts had 
discovered that the preferenoe given to orthodoxy, 
was a anion of Church and State, and that the whole 
administration was but the dark and damning machi- 
nery of privileged priestcraft. To all these sources oc 
discontent, the denrKX^racy added the hostility which 
it had ever felt toward federalism- -now intensely em- 
bittercd by the ag^mvations of the war and the Ilart- 
ford Convention. 

It wa8 clear that the tl«x>m of federalism was at 
hand, even in Connecticut. Many things had con< 
spinnl to ovorthruw it in other parts of the country. 
Jefferm>n )i:i«l sadd!e<I it, in the popular uiind, with a 
tendency to monarchy and a |>artiality for England — 
a burden whieh it was hanl to h(*ar — faipecisUy neat 
the revolutionary* [lenod, when the hearts of the i>eo- 
pie still beat with gratitude to France and aggravated 
hostility to Grrat Kriuin. Ji^hn Adams, the candidate 
of the federalists, gave great strength to thu chargr 
by his conduct, and having thus nearly brok««n down 
his i»u|>|M>rteni, did what he cuuld U> compleU* their de^ 
structioii, by at \imX iin\uir over t** the enemy. J**\it\ 
yuuioy A«lttUi»» l«'llo\%oi lu ihf fx^tilei*!* of hn futher. 
\Vui4h!ngt4»n wssiMirly wtthilmwn trt>m th«* !«x*ne of 


action: Hamilton was shot: Burr proved treaclierotvs 
and infiunoos. The pillars of federalism were shaken, 
and at the same time two mighty instruments were at 
work for its final overthrow. The great body of the 
people had got possession of suffrage, and insisted, 
with increasing vehemence, upon the removal of ev- 
ery impediment to its universality. The conserva- 
tives, in such a contest, were sure to be at last over- 
whelmed, and this issue was not long delayed. One 
&ing more— the foreign element in our population, 
augmenting every year, was almost wholly democratic 
Democracy in Europe is the watchword of popular 
liberty ; the word is in all modem languages, the idea 
in all existing masses. This name was now assumed 
by the radical or republican party, and to its stand- 
ard, as a matter of course, the great body of the Euro- 
pean immigrants — little instructed in our history or 
our institutions — spontaneously flocked, by the force 
of instinct and prepossession. And still further — as I 
have before intimated, nearly all foreigners hate Eng- 
land, and in this respect they found a ready and active 
sympathy with the democratic party — the federalists 
being of course charged with the damning sin of love 
for that country and its institutions. 

To these and other general influences, which had 
shattered the federal party in the Southern and Mid- 
dle States, was now added, in Connecticut, the local 
difficulties founded in sectarian discontent. But it is 
probable that a revolution could not have been speed- 

R6 T.rmcBt — iioQftArHk*AU 

fljr ooDsaminaled, bat for an adventitioiit iocklent 
Oliver Woloott, who had been one of Wa8hington*a 
cabinet^ and of the strictest sect of federalism, had re- 
aided some years in New York, where he had aoqaired 
a handsome fortune bj commercial pursaits. For a 
nomber of years he had taken no part in politioB» 
though I believe he had rather given support to tke 
war. No doubt he disapproved of the course of tke 
federalists, for I remember that shortly before the 
Hartford Convention he was at my uncle's house — 
the two being brothers-in-law — as I have before sta- 
led. In allusion to the coming assembly, I rrooUect 
to have heard him say, interrogatively — 

'* Well, brother Goodrich, I hope you are not about 
to breed any mischief?*^ 

"Sir/* said njy undo, st)inewbat rvbukingly, **you 
know me too wt*ll to make it neoeiwary to ask that 
question !** 

I recollect at a later pi*ri«Nl, when he was governor 
of Connecticut, to have h«*ar\l him 8|tt*ak reproachfully 
of both fH>IitiCAl |)artie34 in New York. Said he — 

** After livin>» a dtizeri year* in that Suu\ I don't 
protend U^ iximprchend their {Kthtics. It m a laby- 
rinth uf wheeU withm wheels, and u undentiKid only 
by the managem. Why, theiK* leatlem of the op|Mwite 
parties, who— in tlie [%a{M*ni and U'fore the world — 
seem ready t4> t4*area4.'h other'ii «*\ «*?>« •tit, will iiuvt ihime 
rainy night m a dark enirv. iimi a^'n^-, >fthuh«vrr wav 
the ehxrlioii p»e»*, lh«*v will !*hare ihr >|»<*iU lo^'trthcrr 


At all events, about this time Oliver "Wolcott re- 
iDOved to Litchfield, his native place, and in 1817 
was nominated for governor by the malcontents of 
all parties, rallying nnder the name of Toleration. 
To show the violent nature of the fusion which uni- 
ted such contradictory elements into one homogene- 
ous mass, it may be well to quote here an extract 
from a Connecticut democratic organ — the American 
Mercury. This paper, with others, had charged Oli- 
ver "Wolcott with burning down the "War and Treas- 
ury Departments at Philadelphia, in order to cover 
up the iniquities he had committed while Secretary of 
War. The following was its language, Feb. 8, 1801 : 

" An evening paper asks the editor for his knowledge : the 
editors of that paper, if they will apply to Israel Israel, Esq., 
may have full and perfect knowledge of the accounts published. 
To conceal fraud and rob the public ; to* conceal dilapidation 
and plunder, while the public are paying enormous interest for 
money to support wicked and unnecessary measures ; to conceal 
as much as possible the amount and names of the robbers, and 
the plans and evidences of the villainy — these the editor believes 
to have been the true causes of the conflagration. When did it 
take place? At the dusk of night, and in the rooms in which 
the books were kept, in which were contained the renters of 
public iniquity I" 

A short time afler this — February 26 — the same 
paper copies flom the Philadelphia Aurora an article, 
of which the following are extracts : 

" The Honorable Mr. Wolcott, ex -Secretary of the Treasury, 
fncoeasor to the virtuous Hamilton and predecessor to the equal- 

88 urrncBi — nooEAmiCAL, 

Ij TiriiKNwDeztflr.lMikteljboooredottreltywiUihlti 
HATing doM eoooffa for hb ongnUcAal ooontry, \m b reciriof to 
the plioe from wbanoe be done, to ef\)oj the ptimm ««>• ^tffli*- 
imU, It it to be boped be will bare eooaicb of the fbrnier, to 
iflbrd bim «n opportwiitj of Doraiiif wbftt UttJe he bae of the 

^ Tliie repreteotiUiTe of Ifr. HAmUtoo wee rtrj fbrtoattte is 
ew^ephig the federml boofiree et Weebingtoo ; ereo hie pepcn eod 
priTete propcrtj were providentially Mred — bat hie Ur fluDO 
eyeteioed e ttigkt nmpoimg between the two fttm : hie friend* la 
CoogreM, it In premtned, wiB peM e vote whieh ihell operate ee 
m catepleem to the bom. 

"* Our Menl wortbiee, Joetly epprecieting the ecrrieet of thie 
▼ahieble men, and wisdj oiinf4dering that nothing can afford more 
pleanore than eating <>r drinking, rem»lve<l to treat him to a din* 
ner ; and a« it in |»roper the world »b4»ald know that Mr. Wuktact 
bad fMtniHhing U> cat in I'hiladrlphia, tb«tr |»n»ceeding« «hi the 
occaiiion. at kwAt •arh part* of tlieni a« wiO bear the tight are 
pabli«hc<d in the federa] printii/* 

Such were the opinion»— at leant nuch were the 
repn*»M*ntationH — of the It-ailin^^ tlem«H'ratic orgaiui, 
n»|»ecting Oliver Wolcult, the ft-deralwt, id 1801. In 
1817, he wa8 the champion of the deiti* erratic party 
in Conne(*ticut, and the i(l«»l of the Amencan Mer. 
cun! What traniifitnnationii are (*qual to thnoc which 
the hi»t4»ry of |M»litieal {»artit*i«, for the ehort B\i9cc of 
twenty yearn, brinpi t«> our view ? 

It la needleM ii» tell you in <letail what imme«liately 
followi*d. The utruffgle wan one of the rmeit vi4»leni 
that wapi evt-r w itnt*ii(«tHi m (%»iineftK*ui It %%x«« cw 
n«>u.i a» wi-ll iw \ '. '!i nl t »r wi* -^.iw ::^'!»tH.j •»:iii' by 
aiJc% ehouIJcr to hhouldcr, dcuivA:rac\, MithoUiau^ 


Episoopacy, Pedobaptism, Universalism, radicalism, 
infidelity — all united for the overthrow of federalism 
and orthodoxy ; and Oliver Wolcott was the leader in 
this onset I The election took place in April, 181T, 
and the federalists were routed, according to the es- 
tablished phrase, " horse, foot, and dragoons." John 
Cotton Smith,* the most popxdar man in the State, 

* John Cotton Smith was horn in 1765, became member of Congresa 
m 1800, where he remained six yean. Being a federalist, he was nearly 
the whole time in the minority, yet such were his character and ad- 
dreaa, that he presided more frequently, and with more snooees, over 
the House, when in Committee of the Whole, than any other member. 
" To the lofty bearing of a Boman senator,** says the historian, ** be 
added a gentleness so oonoUiating and pennaaive, that the spirit of 
^scord fled abashed from his presence.** 

He was my mother*s cousin, and I saw him Beveral times at our house. 
He was tall, slender, and graceful in form and manner. His hair, a 
little powdered, was turned back with a queue, and a slight friz over the 
ears. His dress was of the olden time— with breeches, black silk stock- 
IngEi, and shoe-buckles. His address was an extraordinary mixture of 
dignity and gentle persuasive courtesy. He was made judge of the Su- 
perior Court in 1809, and soon after lieutenant-governor; in 1812, he 
became acting-governor, upon the death of the lamented Griswold. In 
1818, he was elected governor, and led the State through the war, and 
until 1817, when he was defeated by the election of Wolcott. 

Governor Smith was the last of those stately, courtly Christian gentle- 
men of the " Old School," who presided over Connecticut : with him 
passed away the dignity of white-top boots, queues, powder, and po- 
matum. His successor, Oliver Wolcott, though a federalist in the days 
of Washington, was never courtly in his manners. He was simple, 
direct, almost abrupt in his address, with a crisp brevity and pithiness 
of speech. His personal appearance and manner, contrasting with those 
of his predecessors, represented well enough the change of politics which 
his accession to the gubernatorial chair indicated. 

Governor Smith was the first president of the Connecticut Bible So- 
ciety, President of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign 
Missions, President of the American Bible Society, and received from 
Yale College the degree of LL.D. He lived at Sharon with patriarchal 
liberality and dignity, to the age of eighty, where he died, beloved and 
honored by all who knew him 

90 urrnow-HUooEApaicAL, 

was defiBftied : federmlism was in the dxuX, loler«lioc) 
was Uiamphiuit 1 

Iremember that at that time, William L. SUMie waa 
editor of the Connecticat Mirror. Nearlj the whole 
paper, immediately preoeding the election, waa filled 
with pungent matter. I think I filled a column or 
two mjael£ The feelings of the federaliata were 
rerj much wrought up, but after it waa all over, 
thej took it good-naturedlj. A new Omatatution 
for the State— 1818— ud a rtrj good one, waa the 
flnt fruit of the revolution. Woloott continued gov- 
ernor for ten years, and taking a mo<lerate coufk, 
in the end, Katinfiod rea^ionable men of both partiea^ 
lie woA no radical, and inasmuch as a (K>litical change 
in Connecticut was inevitable, it \a prubable that no 
better man (>)uld hnve bi*cn found, to lead the people 
through the emerj^*ncy.* 

* CHiT«r Wo)«ott WM th« thiH covtriKir of i'ooiMc4M«t ia • 4lr<Ml 
Ka« hwn fkihmf to •on. Koitvr. Km fr»p4l&lh«r, mm m iiAti«« o^ Wm4- 
•or, honk in IfTf mod di#«l m ITC lU «■» t cU^m MitlMir, a laagpii 
•oan l*brMUAn, Aod fo v«r»ur of bu DAtj** tiuu from 17 SI U>17M. Hi* 
•Ml, (Ni%«r W., «M Kvm ftKut 17/7 lie »•• • atibf ofCoft^rmm \m 
int, vhMi Um IkwUrftUon of In le|i«o«S«fio9 «•• —ill nariov. in Ma 
Oalambtad, thaa •^mkM of b»a 

- a«W Wmknm wf*! tW aU taiylMt raaii 
WMi itaaiy aaa4 tbm mtkmm mmm W 4r««« ; 
r>4a«1til •taiiiM vua •*• wiiM >mo 4— 
Mar klap^ mt oi»i4a omM ««0^ ••• MattMtet ■rt^l* 
lU mmm •)#rt^l rv«an»or la 17*4, hut dt^i %hm mm%\ «««r 

lib •on «i|:%«r «M Ki>m 17.%». «n 1 U<«n.« Hr.rvtart if !i« T^r^Miury. 
«A«l«r WMKin^m. vpim tl« r*Ur9ti^n.i 4 llam..; n. .n .T»^ li* «tai 
<iotitinac«l itt thi.* AiL^ ull il.« <I «• .>f A Uiu*'« »^iri. r.^trmt -n Afimt 
tv«l«« ^•a'* of |-4t»w writrv, b» rrt rr*!. « .t.S ^• .t •.! h^n !rr| !•■!«»« 
ia kM |kkwk«4 ' H« J>«o<i»%i biaioelf u> cvcbnMr\>t »& N«« Yurk fr««i 
2*01 to Ulk ll» «urT«afo«HlaAM, ui two rolasaa acta«% kM fea«i 


Daring the period in which Oliver Woloott was 
governor, I was several tunes at Litchfield, and often 
at his house. My sister, Mrs. Cooke, had married his 
brother, Frederick Wolcott, living in the old family 

pablished by his graodflon Oibbs, and is a valaable and interesting work. 
When he oeased to be governor, he returned to New York, where he 
died, in 1898. He was an able statesman, possessed of considerable lit- 
erary attainments, and in oonversation was full of ssgadty, wit, and 
keen obaerrationa npon the world. 

His sister, Maiyanne, wife of Chaonoey Qoodrioh— bom 1765 — was 
one of the most aooomplished women of her time. A portrait of her — 
though dcing no jostioe to her beanty— is given in Dr. Qriswold's ** Be- 
pablioan Coort.*' It ia among the honsehold anecdotes of the ikmily, 
that doring the Bevolntion, a leaden statae of George III. was tsken from 
New York to litehileld, and there oaat into bullets, and that these were 
ibrmed into oartridges by this lady and others in the neighborhood, for 
the army. I never saw her, as she died in 1805, before I went to Hartford. 

Of Frederick Wolcott, my brother-in-law, I find the following obitu- 
ary notice in the Philadelphia United States Gazette, July 11, 1837 : 

*' Died on the 28th of June, at bis residence in Litchfield, Conn., in 
tb^ 70th year of his age, the Hon. Frederick Wolcott, one of the most 
distinguished citizens of that State : a patriot of the old school, a gen- 
tleman of great moral aod intellectual worth, a sincere, humble, coosis- 
tcDt Christian. It has been well said of Judge Wolcott, that he was one 
of * nature^s noblemen.' They who knew him personally, will appre- 
ciate the correctness and significance of the remark. His noble form, 
dignified yet affable and endearing manners, intelligence and purity of 
character, magnanimity of soul and useful life, were in grand and har- 
monious keeping, uniting to make him distinguished among men — 
greatly respected, beloved, and honored. 

*' Judge Wolcott was descended from one of the most eminent fami- 
lies in New England, being the son of Oliver Wolcott, former governor of 
Connecticut and one of the immortal signers of the Declaration of Inde- 
pendence, and grandson of Roger Wolcott, a still former governor of 
that State, who, together with the late Gov. Oliver Wolcott, Secretary 
of the Treasury under Washington's administration, and brother of the 
deceased, were lineal descendants of llonry Wolcott, an English gen- 
tleman of Tolland, in Somersetshire, who came to this country in 1628, 
and soon after undertook the first settlement in Connecticut, at Wind- 
aor. After graduating at Yale College, at an early age^ with the highest 
honors of his class, Mr. Wolcott directed his studies to the law, and 
waa soon called to various offices of important civil trust, the chief of 
which he held through every fluctuation of party, during a long life. His 


mansion near bj, and at I have inttmaladf mj iiiick% 
Channoey Ooodrich, had married his sister — Urns 
making a doable connection in the fiunilj. Uriah 
Tracj,* one of the most distinguished men ia the 

iBtifrity iaiMdbU, bb pcfwptioB tmdj, bk jadfwai %omtA^ hkm <W- 
poftBMOl ttltrafi oooft^on*, txsoiplary, and plMMiof , Im • 
th« poblio dmim lo wbMi b« w« Mltod wHb akiiaf«bb«d i 
AfUr bb prolb— ioo of IbHb ia CbriM, bb Ulb, mocmUjr corvMft «i4 1 
lairlj vitboat d«foot btfort, «■» p f • m inwrtly Uwl 9t mi fUgbti 
and d«v«ud lollowar of Ui« Lord Jmoa. 

** In all th« variooa ribrtkHM wbiob b« tMUliiad, bb tktmmmm m • 
fVMt ftad ffood man thorn* witb paeoUar laatar. U tba ebanb, ba waa 
Ml limpljr a mambar, bal a pUlar. No o»a ooald ootii»aad Bata v»- 
•pact, BO ooa finii—tdl mora iaiaaoea. la tba frtaft ■t b i w ai vf ba- 
•avaUaea wbWb dbUacnbb iba praaaat afa, ba avar last a MpAac 
baod, and ovar Mvaral benaftcaat io^tatiooa waa aallad to ptaatda. 
A d*<id^«l, thoof h aaoatontatioas lltrMtiaa, ba waa raady to do T99f 
food work, aD«i by bb ooaoAaU and rSorte, tba waiffbt ai bb diaracaar. 
aad iba brautiAil cotmbtancy of bb pi^tj, did mucb to pr m nota tba 
aaoaa wbtcb b« aApouMil, and to rvct/ftimand tba rrlicioa ba f rnlbaii I 
It may ba truly mmI of bim, that * ha walkad witb Ood.* 

** In privAU and social Ufa, bia cbarartcr bad cbanaa 9i atfll giialii 
aadaartnrnt and loTaltnaaa. Ilrra he loirad moal to oMva, aad baaa bb 
Mtira Inuroata fhaod* will lov« to <xmtrm|ii»u bim. Mo laat aad ita^ 
•amiiiit. fhink and fanan>aa, c^irlmi ar..! ch««rf^l, ba wtoi waiiatiiit; 
fbrroa^l fi>r fr»end«bip, and o<m* kt>«v him bot to li^a aad boaor btai. 
lib manAton wm alwaya tba alkid* of hoa|Mta«it>, hb baart wm alwmya 
opan, deliirhttnc in tboaa Tanad duti«* pertain to tbo IHaad. \hm 
avifhbor, tba r«lati%a, tba fkthrr. anJ U9t\ of bb IbaUy. la Uian 
a»\rrml rrUl*«»cui. hi* •&am|k!* aaa bi>U«. ti«*4tjful. Iov«1t lodoad ! 

** Tba duttiikir fti* c«>rrr«|^«d<^i v;th th* tanor <>f hi* loaf mskI aoo- 
ly Ufa. Il WM calin. dictiifl**!, of AtaAd/bat lb<tb. ni««koaM, pai>aaaa, 
aa«l 4'hri«tt*o hi>p« lU 4li*«J in tba f«U pummmmki »f ht* n»«ntnl lba» 
altM». Ir«vinf babtnd him a troljr •oviabU rapataUon. aad ccaatas ta 
bia tmv«. * M ft •)..«rk of com ttllj ripa, in itA M a^cm' 

* I riAh Tt»«-5 aM U<D iniTMaad 'It**! in l^C lU waa awnv ^«Afa 
a laa>linf in#mWr t-f i onifrwa, ao-l •l«»tua^Mh««l tuf bia t'- jmana. 
bam.ntf and «it I ii^^m h««rvl t>f k.>m th« f^loa.ntf Mi«wi<tv«u> To 
Wftrl tha tttur ^rt f Al»ni«'* a>lm i. fttrsti^'U, t.'.a la:t#r i. t:..r •••^ |i« 
aft ^ » ^•fii,*"-*. n 'f t. '• f«M» ^. * « I?* !.»■ * »»f J ' • •■ t.. i mxmrif 
ft fr !^r^.«t, *..:•. rv->*r.*..« •. -»ti* 1 l«'i. <»r»: I • va^ ;?m.» »• t.« tik« 
lb^i«f»»^U. aii'i Trac^. ihcb <>f t) • T»cnaU. 0**i4r rv^krir I m m •kulfbl 
4i| ^ — -1. WM apfotalad to fo aad raiaomtfala wttb tbo f r ati i aa t . Ha 


histoiy of Oonnectdcat, had been dead for several 
yearSi but others of great eminence were still living — 
giving to litchfield a remarkable prominence in the 
State. Among these were Tapping Beeve,* at one 
time chief-justioe of Connecticut, and founder of the 
law school, which was long the first institution of the 
kind in the United States ; Colonel Talmadge, distin- 
guished as a gallant officer in the Revolution, and a 
manly, eloquent debater in Congress ; James Gould, 
a learned judge, an elegant scholar, and successor of 
Beeve in the law school ; Jabez W. Huntington — ^law 
lecturer, judge, senator — and distinguished in all these 
eminent stations; Lyman Beecher,f an able theolo- 

accordinglj went, and having put his Excellency in excellent hnmor, 
bj some of his best stories, at last said — 

**By the way, we have been thinking over this nomination of John- 
son, and find there is a good deal of objection to him. The democrats 
will oppose him, because yon nominated him ; and some of the feder- 
alists will oppose him, because he is a democrat. We fear that if he 
goi!8 to a vote, he will fail of a confirmation. As it would be unfortu- 
nate, just now, to have the administration defeated, your friends have 
requested me to suggest to your Excellency whether it would not be best 
to withdraw his name and substitute another T' 

The Preaident thrust his hands into his breeches pockets, and strode 
fiercely across the room : then coming up to Tracy, he said—" No, sir, 

no — that Boston Junto will never be satisfied till they drive me and 

my family back to Braintree to dig pototoes. No, sir— I'll not with- 
draw it I" 

• Judge Beeve was bom in 1744, and died in 1828. Hia law school 
was founded in 1784 : in 1794, he associated Judge Gould with him. 
In 1820, Judge Reeve left it, and Mr. Huntington became connected 
with it. More than eight hundred persons have here had their legal 
education : among these there have been fifteen United States senators 
—five have been cabinet members "; ten governors of States ; two judges 
of the Supreme Court ; and forty judges of State courts. Judge Gould 
died in 1888, aged 67 : Judge Huntington died in 1847, aged 59. 

t Dr. Beecher was bom at New Haven, in 1775, was educated at Yale 


gian and eloquent preacher, and even now more wide- 
ly known through his talented family, than his own 
genius. Litchfield Hill was in &ct not only one of 
the most elevated features in the physical conforma- 
tion of Connecticut, but one of the focal points of litera- 
ture and civilization. You will readily suppose that 
my visits here were among the most interesting events 
of my early life. 

In August, 1851, there was at Litchfield a gather- 
ing of distinguished natives of the county, convened 
to celebrate its organization, which had taken place a 
century befotfe. Appropriate addresses were made by 
Judge Church, Dr. Bushnell, F. A. Tallmadge, D. S. 
Dickinson, George W. HoUey, George Gould, Henry 
Dutton, and other persons of distinction. Among 

College, settled at Hampton, Long Island, 1798 ; in 1810, at Litchfield ; 
in 1826, in the Hanover-street charoh, Boston ; in 1882, beoame Presi- 
dent of the Lane Theological Seminary, Cindnnati, which office he re- 
signed in 1842, returning to Boston, where he still resides. He has 
published several volumes on theological subjects. H^ has devoted his 
long life, with prodigious activity and vigor, to the promotion of religion, 
learning, and the larger humanities of lif^ As a preacher he was very 
effective, possessing surpassing powers of statement, illustration, and 

His spirit and genius seem to have been imparted to his \arge family, 
of whom Edward Beecher, Miss Catherine Beecher, Mrs. Stowe, Heniy 
Ward Beecher, and others— all celebrated for their works — are members. 

At the Ume I was in Litchfield I heard the following anecdote of Dr. B. 
Ho was one evening going home, having in hia hand a volume of Bee^s 
EnoydopsBdia, which he had taken at the bookstore. In his way, he 
met a skunk, and threw the book at him, upon which the animal re- 
torted, and with such effect that the doctor reached home in a very 
shocking plight. Some time after he was assailed, rather abusively, 
by a controveriiialist, and a friend advi9e<l the doctor to reply. " No,'' 
said he—" I once discharged a quarto at a skunk, and I got the worst of 
it. I do not wish to try it again !*' 

H1R0BIGAL, AMSaDOnOAL, £1X3. 95 

the performanoeB was a poem by Bev. J. Pierpont,* 
alike illualratiye of the local history of Litchfield and 
the manneiB and character of New England. 

* I am Doft deny myMlf the pleesore of making • few eztnole from thb 
•dmirmble perfbrmenoe, TiTidly pormyiDg my own obeervationa and 
recoUectiona. HaTing deaeribed the bonndariea of New England, the 

Hare dweUa a people— bj their leave I apeak— 

PeeoHar, homogeneooa, and wdqae— 

With eyaa wide open, and a ready ear, 

Whatever ia going on to aee and hear; 

Nay, they do aay, the genuine Yankee keepa 

One eye half open, when he aoundeat sleepa. 

% • • • • 

He lovee liia labor, aa he loTea hia lift ; 

He lovea hia neighbor, and he lovee hia wife :* 

And why not lore hert Waa she not the pearl 

Above all prioe, while yet she was a girl ! 

And, has she not increased in valuo since, 

Till, in her love, he*s richer tlion a prince ? 

Not love a Yankee wife I what, under Htaien^ 

Shall he love, then, and hope to be forgiven ? 

So fair, so faithfal, so intent to please, 

A "help** so "meet" in health or in disease ! 

• • • • • 

And then, sach honsewives as these Yankees make; 
What can*t they do ? Bread, padding, pastr>', cake, 
Btscait, and bans, can they moald, roll, and bake. 
All they oversee ; their babes, their singing-birds, 
Parlor and kitchen, company and cards, 
Daaghtere and dairy, linens, and the lanch 
For out-door laborers — instead of panch — 
The balls of batter, kept so sweet and cool — 
All the boys' heads, before they go to school. 
Their books, their clothes, their lesson, and the ball, 
That she has wonnd and covered for them — all. 
All ia o'eraeen— overseen ! — nay, it is done^ 
By these same Yankee wives: — If you have run 
Thus lar without one, toward your setting son, 
Lose no more time, my friend — go home and speak for one f 

• • * • • 
The Yankee boy, before he's sent to school. 

Well knowa the myi*teries of that magic tool. 


I think it may be safely aaid that there are few 
coanties in the United States, which oould fiunish 
either such a poet or soch materials for poetry, as this 

TIm poekat-kaUb. To thai bk wtatlbl ay* 

Tanw, white h» hmn hto noUMr** lulUby ; 

Hit bosnlMl ewto h« f hidlj fiw to t«l It, 

TImb Uftvw no §tum antnnioil, till ho omi what tt: 

And, io tho odoootioo of tho lad, 

No littlo part that ImfOamaiit hath had. 

Hia poekat-knilW to tha joutif vhittlar briitga 

A fTowing knovladfa of malarial thiaga. 

Projoctilaa, moaie, aod tha acalptor*a art, 

Ifla chaatoat whiMla, and hia ahinfla dart 

Ilia atdar pofHgron with iu hickory rtxJ, 

li» abarp aiploaioo and rebounding wad, 

lib oum-aulk flddla, and t)ia dcoper tnoa 

That mnmiun from bia pumpkin -laaf iron bono, 

i vnapira to taacb tho bu}. To ibcaa •utoaaJ 

Ilia bow, bia arrow of a fiMlhtrad rv«u, 

lit* win«!mill. rmaaad tlie pacing ktTBOaa to win, 

lit* WBtrr-ahaal that turut u|*«>ii a |4n; 

Mr, if hia f.*tber livra u|«>rk thf ahiin*. 

Ytiu'il •«« hu ahip, ** hMni-cnda" u|«in tha floor, 

Kull-riKir«d, wiib rakimr maAU. *»•! tim)M>r» i 

An«l waiiinir, nr«r thr aa»Kiuts fur • launch. 

Thoa \iy bia irriiiu« aini Lw jack km f« drivan, 

Kra luniT t<«'tl «'4%c }<tu mtiy proUcm in**''* 

Make ab> f tmcrack. mu»ia»l t»t niuu, 

A pl<'w, a macik, an orifait, or a tfuU 

Make yon a tocooiotivc or a rl*- k, 

( ut a i-anal, or buiid a fluaUn^ •Ix'k. 

( H irml ftjTth Beaut; from a marU* U<jck . 

Make mux thinff. in abort, for aca or ab<*rp« 

Fr«>m • cr.iUi'a raltit t«> a M«tniy-ft»ar 

Maka li, a«ij 1 * -Ay, when ba ui«<irrtAkr» ti, 

lia'll makr iha thinff. aod tha marhioa liial a»aj 

Aii«l. mutu tha iLoig !• ni*J* -ahau^ar ii ba 

T" ufta on aarti.. m air. ttr i>o tha aaa, 

Whctliei t>u water •■'«r tit* w«««« U* ^Uil«, 

Or upuii UbJ to r«s., raii.^te, ff a*. Ir, 

U ^.rt^•r !•• wi f ■ r ;aj. I'* Btr ka. f r.t.g, 

^ It Se a ptatMi ••? m apnntf, 

U |.r«», pui.c%, tuba aoacroaa, wood or braia— 


It has not only produced the eminent men already 
noticed, but it has been the birthplaoe of thirteen 
United States senatora, twenty-two representatives 

The thing designed shall snrely oome to peas ; 
For, when his hand's npon it, yon may know, 
That there^a go in it, and heU make it go t 

• • . • • • 

TSa not my puvpoae to appropilate 
All that ia derer to our native State: 
Hie ehildran of her abter States, our oonalim, ^ 
Preaent thefar daima :— allow them— though by dosena ; 

• • ■ • • • 

But when we've weighed &era, in a balance true. 
And given our oonaina aU that is their due, 
Will not themselves acknowledge that the weight 
Indinea in Ikvor of "the Natmeg State F 

• • • • • 

What if her fUth, to which she clings as tme, ^ 

Appears, to some eyes, slightly tinged with bluef 
With blue as blue, aside from any Mm, 
We find DO fkult ; the spectrum of a prinm. 
The rainbow, and the flowere-de-luce, tliat look 
At their own beanty in the glassy brook, 
Show as a blue, that never fails to please ; 
So does yon lake, when rippled by a breeze ; 
In morning-glories blue looks very well. 
And in the little flower they call "blue-bell." 
No better color is there for the sky. 
Or, as /think, for a blonde beauty's eye. 
It's very pretty for a lady's bonnet^ 
Or for the ribbon that she puts upon it; 
But in her faith, as also in her face. 
Some will insist that blue is out of place ; 
As all agree it would be in the rose 
She wears, and, peradveuture, in — her hose. 

Still, for her shrewdness, must the ** Nutmeg State'* 
As Number One among her sisters rate ; 
And which, of all her counties, will compare. 
For size, or strength, for water, soil, or air. 
With our good Mother County — which has sown 
Her children, broadcast, o'er a wider zone. 
Around the globe ? And has she not, by far, 
Outdone the rest in giving to the bar, 

Vol. II.— 5 

in Congren from the State of New York, alone, fif- 
teen judges of the supreme courts of other Staim^ 
nine presidents of colleges, and eighteen professors of 

colleges ! 

And to tkc biatii hr halfor aU hm ymn^ 
Tb« bfiffbtoM MiMft oTlMirUM iMmbplMrtoff 

OvMoUMrOooBlgri MvwilMUth«il 
Of Bichtj dtk^ or • ■— w ii b o d < 
Not talM thm muu whart Oooia 
▲ad Vo bar wharvw ihm wmlxh oT ladk briaf» ; 
Ke fl«ld of Uiloo hao •^•r boen givoo to Ikoio, 
Or MoiBp^d, by l U oto ry , witb • boffo*i bmm ; 
For, OB no Sold of thiao wm vV display oi 
A bootUo bort, or dravo % UitUo-bUdo. 
Th« batter booon tbiat^ that wait on PaoM. 
Thy wai#< ar» chr««D. not (r*>m niaffti«l Uwa«a, 
WhiMa Miioily laurtU M tha nwoni ««rt von, 
Tlataa, Salamia, and Marathon — 
lliit fhmi th« |i*»torBJ i^'fnr. •UvDg and fraa, 
Wh>«« KiIU l'M»ke<l d>>»n up-m tha MidUnd mo - 
The Hi^ly Land. Thy Osrwtd UfU hia hc*d 
< 'vcr th^ lUUdtJitm thy " huaM» of braad ;** 
Not KcyiH'ft lan«l of CtmW* aquAlad thioa. 
For wraith of |«fttur«. or " «c«i &«or^i kioa,** 
Whil« many b •tn'andtft thr«»uf h thy <haiia flowa. 
And in thy Sk^rotk bloAhe* niaiiy a roM. 

Bat, Mother Uirhfl«id, thou l.^t •tmcagcr eUtiaa 
To ba cm^la«l holy, thaa tl.i huly nan»aa 
('•a fiv« tha#. IUh*Iio«i m thy ja»ala« thau. 
Thy •Ainti} ««Murn, anl thy hmv man 
IVemrrr ha%t thioa aarly birU fW»m aiaap avuba. 
And Dp thy hillMdaa curt* th« c^KU^a ftmoba. 
Whan ft— with it, oo th# mi«nk4i!|r air, 
rh« vote* of hi«o»ab«il'l «ur«hi|' MiJ of prayer . 
And «h#n lh« nifbt birti sinka n|oo b*r n««t. 
To warm her fl*.lf{inf« with K«r l-twnt Kr«a*t, 
In rr«rrrrii |H*tur« many a father fttaii I*. 
Ar. :. rr hi* c\.i\ Irvn, !if^»taf \. ',% \.^t. t*. 
(fi«M thrrn t«- <t -I. th* (taar-tiao / 1' t r •'.—\ , 
\\ t:L.e ruun 1 thr.r ^i«^l* ti.e.r r. gi *..« « / « ^^'p. 
Tr- *« AihT**«r« yf \ *•««; .« itm-* 
Wbo *• alwava du baboid tbair Father* Uf.' 



tr—Seatfft Poenu—Omeral EtUhutiatm—ByrorCt Potms^Their B*- 
ceptim^—Th« WaverUy Mvek^TMr amatring PcpviarUf—IpMuh am 
3iUMmo/ thsn^^lAierary CM at Bar^ord—X IL Wainwrigkt, Jtaae 
Tbucey, WiUiam L, Skms, dbc—Tha Botmd JhNt—On^final Ameriam 
Wcrh^—StaU qf Opinion as to Ameriean lAteraturo—PfMioaHon qf 
TnmOnMt Poenu—Booh for JSdueaUon—Bev, O. A. Ooodrichr-Dr. 
Oomttoeh— Woodbndg^t Ooogrofhy. 

Mt dear O****** 

Early in the year 1818 I was married to the 
daughter of Stephen Bowe Bradley,* of Westminster, 
Vermont Thus established in life, I pursued the 
business of bookseller and publisher at Hartford for 

• General Bradley was a native of Cheshire, Connecticut, where he 
was bom, Oct. 20, 1754. He graduated at Yale College in 1775, and as 
before stated, was aid to Gen. Wooster, at the time he fell, in a skir- 
mirth with the Britiwh, near Danbary, in 1777. He removed to Ver- 
mont about the year 1780, and devoting himself to the bar, acquired 
an extensive practice. Having popular manners, and a keen insight 
into society, he became a prominent political leader, and exercised a 
large influence in laying the foundations of the State of Vermont, then 
the Texas of this country— Ethan Allen, Ira Allen, Seth Warner, and 
Thomas Chittenden — all from Connecticut — being the Austins and 
Houstons of its early history. At the period to which I refer it was 
rising from the chaos of the Revolutionary war, and the still more dis- 
organizing contests with colonial claimants for sovereignty over her ter- 
ritories. In 1791, that State having come into the Union, Gen. Bradley 
was chosen one of its first senators. With an interval of six years — from 
1795 to 1801 — he continued in the Senate till 1818, a period of sixteen 
years. He was a member of the democratic party, and called, *' hy vir- 
tue o/poweri vesUd in Aim," the cancus which nominated Madison, and 
resulted in bis election to the presidency. He was distinguished for 
political sagacity, a ready wit, boundle!»s stores of anecdote, a isrge ac- 
quaintance with mankind, and an extensive range of historical knowl- 
edge. His conversation was exceedingly attractive, being always illus- 
trated by pertinent anecdotes and apt historical references. His devel- 


four years. My vocation gave me the command of 
books, but I was able to read but little, my eyes con- 
tinuing to be so weak that I could hardly do justice 
to my affairs. By snatches, however, I dipped into a 
good many books, and acquired a considerable knowl- 
edge of authors and their works. 

During the period in which Scott had been enchant- 
ing the world with his poetry — that is, from 1805 to 
1815 — I had shared in the general intoxication. The 
Lady of the Lake delighted me beyond expression, 
and even now, it seems to me the most pleasing and 
perfect of metrical romances. These productions 
seized powerfully upon the popular mind, partly on 
account of the romance of their revelations, and 
partly also because of the pellucidity of the style 
and the easy flow of the versification. Everybody 
could read and comprehend them. One of my 
younger sisters committed the whole of the Lady 
of the Lake to memory, and was accustomed of an 
evening to sit at her sewing, while she recited it 
to an admiring circle of listeners. All young poets 
were inoculated with the octa-syllabic verse, and news- 

opments of the interior machinery of parties, daring the times of 
Washington, Jeffor«on, and Madison; his portraitures of the polit 
ioal leaders of these interesting eras in oar history — all freely com- 
manicated at a period when he had retired from the active arena of 
politics, and now Idoked back npon them with the feelings of a philos- 
opher — were in the highest degree interesting and instructive. He re 
oeivod the degree of LL.D., and having removed to Walpole, in New 
Hampshire, a tew years before, died Dec. 16, 1880, aged 76. His son, 
W. C. Bradley— still living, at the age of 74— has also been a distin- 
guished lawyer and member of Congress. 


papers, magazines, and even volumes, turned with im- 
itations and variations inspired by the ^'^isftuxi Harp 
of the North." Not only did Scott* himself oontmu<>*to 
poor out volume after volume, but others produced «t 

* Soott experienced the fkte of most eminent writers who have •»> 
qaired a ceitain minnerism, recognized by the community at laiige^ 
that ia, hto waa laughed at by bnrieaqvea of hia worka. Oeoige Col 
man, the Toonger, though not very young, traveetied the Lady qfiU 
Lah$ nnder the title of the Lady qf tht fTrwiib— the latter of about tiie 
aame dimenaions as the former. It la an Iiiah atory, foU of droU ez- 
travaganoe and laughable imitationa of the original, at which they are 

In 1818, appeared the ** Bejected Addresaee*' of James and Horace 
Smith, and in theee the principal poets of the day were imitated, and 
their peenliaritiea parodied. They may, in foot, be considered aa mas- 
terly criticbma of the several authors, in which their weak points are 
strongly suggested to the reader. The laughable imitations of the " Lake 
Poeto" — Wordsworth, Sonthey, and Coleridge — probably bad as much 
effect in curing tbem of their affectations, as the scofiDg ridicule of the 
Edinburgh Review. Even Byron, who actually gained the prize offered 
by the manager of Drury Lane Theater, on the occasion of its opening 
in the new building, received a staggering blow from the imiiation of 
Childe Harold, which was so dose in manner as to seem as if extracted 
from that poem, while the spirit of the composition is strongly and ef- 
fectively ridiculed. The following are two characteristic stanzas ; 

** Bated with home, with wife and children tired. 

The restless sonl Is driven abroad to roam- 
Sated abroad, all seen, yet nanght admired— 

The restless seal is driven to ramble home. 

Bated with both, beneath new Drury's dome. 

The fiend Ennui a while consents to pine — 

There gTOwls and corses like a deadly Gnome, 

Scorning to view fkntastic Columbine, 
Tiewing with scorn the nonsense of the Nine ! 

i» i» • i» i> 

** For what is Hamlet, but a hare in March ? 

And what is Bmtna, bnt a croaking owl ? 

And what ta Rolla ? Cupid steep'd in starch, 

Orlando's helmet in Angostine's cowl 1 

BhakspMre — how tme thine adage, ' fair is fool* — 

To him whose sonl is with fruition fhtoght, 

The song of Braham is an Irish howl — 

Thinking it but an idle waste of thouglit, 
And naught Is every thing and every thing is nanght T 

102 LETT«»-^%lOORAPHI0AL, 

poems, in bis^.si^yle, some of them so dose in their 
imitation, iM^ to be supposed the works of Scott him- 
,self, irying the effect of a disguise. At last, however, 
rt^er market was overstocked, and the general appetite 
began to pall with a surfeit, when one of those sud- 
den changes took place in the public taste, which re- 
semble the convulsions of nature — as a whirlwind 
or a tempest in the tropics — ^by which a monsoon; 
having blown steadily from one point in the compass, 
for six months, is made to turn about and blow as 
steadily in the opposite direction. 

It was just at the point in which the octa-syllabic 
plethora began to revolt the public taste, that Byron 
produced his first canto of Childe Harold's Pilgrim- 
age. In London, the effect was sudden, and the 
youthful poet who went to bed a common man, woke 
up in the morning and found himself famous. This 

It is a point of the highest interest in my recollections, that dnring 
the period in which Scott and Byron were rising into notice, and after- 
ward, in the full tide of success, were thrilling the whole reading world 
with their masterly productions, that the Edinburgh Beview, under the 
leadership of Jeffirey, was at its zenith. His criticisms were undoubt- 
edly the most brilliant and profound that had appeared at that period ; 
nor has any thing superior to them been written since. About the same 
time Wordsworth and his ftiends, Southey and Coleridge, attempted to 
make the world believe that bathos is pathos, weakness strength, and 
ailliness sublimity. On this experiment they wasted a large amount of 
genius. While the Edinburgh Beview found a noble scope for its high- 
est efforts in illustrating the beauties of the Wayerley novels, and setting 
forth as well the faults as the sublimities of Byron, it also gave full ex- 
ercise to its incomparable ridicule and raillery, in noticing the harle- 
quinisms of the Lake triumvirate. At this period, a new number of 
" the Edinburgh*' created as much sensation as a new instalment of Ma- 
oauly*s history, at the present day. 


ready appreciation there, arose in a great degree from 
the &ct that the author was a man of fashion and a 
lord* In this country, these adventitious attributes 
were less readily felt, and therefore the reception of 
the new poem was more hesitating and distrustful. 
For some time, only a few persons seemed to com- 
prehend it, and many who read it, scarcely knew 
whether to be delighted or shocked. As it gradually 
made its way in the public mind, it was against a 
strong current both of taste and principle. 

The public eye and ear — imbued with the ge- 
nius of Scott — ^had become adjusted to his sensuous 
painting of external objects, set in rhymes resonant 
as those of the nursery books. His poems were, 
in feet, lyrical romances, with something of epic dig- 
nity of thought and incident, presented in all the 
simplicity of ballad versification. A person with 
tastes and habits formed upon the reading of these 
productions, opening upon Childe Harold's Pilgrim- 
age, was likely to feel himself — amid the long-drawn 
stanzas and the deep, mystic meditations — in some- 
what of a labyrinth. Scott's poems were, moreover, 
elevating in their moral tone, and indeed the popular 
literature of the day — having generally purified itself 
from the poisons infused into it by the spirit of the 
French Revolution — was alike conservative in man- 
ners and morals. Campbell's Pleasures of Hope and 
Rogers' Pleasures of Memory, were favorite poems 
from 1800 to 1815 ; and during the same period, 


Thaddens of Warsaw, the SooUiah Chiefi, the Tas- 
tor's Fireside, bj Jane Porter; Sandford and Merton, 
by Daj ; Belinda, Leonora, Patronage, bj Miss Edge- 
worth ; and Cioeiebs in Search of a Wife, by Han- 
nah More — ^w«re types of the popular taste in tales 
and romances. It was therefore a fearftd plunge 
from this elevated moral tone in literatoie, into the 
daring if not blasphemous skepticisms of the new 

The power of his productions, howerer, could not 
be resisted : he had, in &ct — ^in delineating his own 
moody and morbid emotions — seemed to open a new 
mine of poetry in the soul ; at least, he was the fiist 
to disclose it to the popular mind. By degrees, the 
public eye — admitted to these gloomy, cavernous re- 
gions of thought — became adjusted to their dim and 
dusky atmosphere, and saw, or seemed to see, a ma- 
jestic spirit beckoning them deeper and deeper into its 
labyrinths. Thus, what was at first revolting, came 
at last to be a fSsuacination. Having yielded to the 
enchanter, the young and the old, the grave and 
the gay, gave themselves up to the sorceries of 
the poet-wizard. The struggle over, the new-bom 
love was ardent and profound, in prdportion as it 
had dallied or resisted at the beginning. The very 
magnitude of the change — in passing firom Scott's 
romantic ballads to Byron's metaphysical trances — 
when at last it was sanctioned by fashion, seemed to 
confirm and sanctify the revolution. Thus in about 

HDiOBiou:., AmoDanaAx., BTO. 106 

five orrix jeara after the i^>pearaiioe of Uie first canto 
of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage — ^the others having 
speedily followed — ^the whole poetic world had be- 
come Byronia Aspiring young rhymers now affect- 
ed the Spenserian stanza, misanthropy, and skepti- 
cism. As Byron advanced in his career of profligacy, 
and reflected his shameless debaucheries in Don Juan, 
Beppo, and other similar effusions, the public— re- 
duced, bewildered, enchanted — still followed him, and 
condescended to bring down their morals and their 
manners to his degraded and degrading standard. 

The secret of the power thus exercised lay in va- 
rious elements. In England, the aristocratic rank of 
Byron added greatly to his influence over the public 
mind, and this was at last reflected in America. 
With little real feeling of nature, he had, however, 
an imagination of flame, and an amazing gift of po- 
etic expression. The great fascination, however — 
that which creates an agonizing interest in his prin- 
cipal poems — is the constant idea presented to the 
reader that, under the disguise of his fictitious heroes, 
he is unconsciously depicting his own sad, despairing 
emotions. We always feel — whether in perusing 
Childe Harold, or Manfred, or Cain, or any of his 
more elaborate works — aa if we were listening to the 
moans of Prometheus struggling with the vultures, 
or of Ixion toiling at his wheel. We could not, if 
we would, refuse our pity for such suffering, even in 
a demon ; how deep, then, must be our sympathy, 


106 LKrnERS — ^biographioal, 

when this is spoken to ns in the thrilling tones of 
homanitj, using as its vehicle all the music and mel- 
ody of the highest lyrical art I 

In vain, therefore, was it that the moralist resisted 
the diffusion of Byron's poems over the country. 
The pulpit opened its thunders against them — ^teach- 
ers warned their pupils, parents their children. I 
remember, even as late as 1820, that some booksellers 
refused to sell them, regarding them as infidel publi- 
cations. About this time a publisher of Hartford, on 
this ground, declined being concerned in stereotyping 
an edition of them. It was all in vain. Byron could 
no more be kept at bay, than the cholera. His works 
have had their march over the world, and their victims 
have been probably not less pumerous than those of 
that scourge of the nations. Byron may be, in fact, 
considered as having opened the gates to that tide of 
infidelity and licentiousness which sometimes came out 
boldly, as in the poems of Shelly, and more disguisedly 
in various other works, which converted Paul Clifford 
and Dick Turpin into popular heroes. He lowered the 
standard of public taste, and prepared a portion of the 
people of England and America to receive with favor 
the blunt sensualities of Paul de Kock, and the subtle 
infiltrations of deism by Madame George Sand. Hap- 
pily, society has in its bosom the elements of conserva- 
tism, and at the present day the flood of license has 
subsided, or is subsiding. Byron is still read, but his 
immoralities, his atheism, have lost their relish, and 

HsnoBKUL, AaaaDoiKUL, mo. 107 

are now deemed ofbnaes and blemishec^ and at the 
same time the public taste is directing itself in favor of 
a purer and more ezalted moral tone in every species 
of literature. Longfellow, Bryant, and Tennyson are 
the exponents of the public taste in poetry, and 
Hawthorne, Dickens, Thackeray, in romance. All 
the varied forms of light reading are taking a corre- 
sponding tone of respect for morals and religion. 

Scott speedily appreciated the eclipse to which his 
poetical career was doomed by the rising genius of 
Byron. He now turned his attention to prose fiction, 
and in July, 1814, completed and published Waveriey, 
which had been begun some eight or ten years before. 
It produced no sudden emotion in the literary world. 
It was considered a clever performance —nothing 
more. I recollect to have heard it criticised by some 
veteran novel-readers of that day, because its leading 
character, Waveriey, was only a respectable, common- 
place person, and not a perfect hero, according to the 
old standards of romance. Guy Mannering came out 
the next year, and was received with a certain degree 
of eagerness. The Antiquary, Black Dwarf, Old 
Mortality, Bob Boy, and the Heart of Mid-Lothian, 
followed in quick succession. I suspect that never, 
in any age, have the productions of any author created 
in the world so wide and deep an enthusiasm. This 
emotion reached its height upon the appearance of 
Ivanhoe in 1819, which, I think, proved the most 
popular of these marvelous productions. 


At this period, although there was a good deal of 
mystery as to their authorstiip, the public generally 
referred them to Scott.* He was called the " Great 
ITnknowTi" — ^a title which served to create even an 
adventitious interest in his career. The appearance 
of a new tale from his pen, caused a greater sensation 
in the United States than did some of the battles of 
Napoleon, which decided the fieite of thrones and em- 
pires. Everybody read these works; everybody — 
the refined and the simple-Hshared in the delightful 
trances which seemed to transport them to remote 
ages and distant climes, and made them live and 
breathe in the presence of the stem Covenanters of 
Scotland, the gallant bowmen of Sherwood Forest, 
or even the Crusaders in Palestine, where Coeur de 
lion and Saladin were seen struggling for the mas- 
tery I I can testify to my own share in this intoxi- 
cation. I was not able, on account of my eyes, to 
read these works myself, but I found friends to read 

* It is a fiftct worthy of bein^ DOted, that while the evidenoe that Soott 
was the aathor of the Waverley Novels was clear and conolasive, various 
writers asserted the contrary. Some contended that they were written 
by Sir Walter^a brother, Thomas, in Canada ; somci that they were the 
prodaotions of a certain — or rather an uncertain — Dr. Greenfield, Ao, 
The subject was discnssed with ^reat vehemence, and something like 
partisan bitterness. It was proved to demonstration, over and over 
again, by some of these wiseacres, fh>m internal, external, moral, reli- 
gions, and political evidence, that Sir Walter Scott could not be the 
author. The foundation of all this was that envy, inherent in some 
minds, which is offended by success. Persoas of this class invented, 
and at last believed, the absurdities which thoy propagated. The tact w 
instructive, for it teacheft us the danger of following the lead of littleness 
and malignity. Candor is a safer guide thar envy or malice. 

HmoBiQAi., AmBGDonoiAL, no. 109 

them to me. To one good old maid — ^Heaven bless 
her I — ^I was indebted for the perusal of no less than 
seven of these tales. 

Of oonrae, there were many editions of these works 
in the United States, and among others, I published 
an edition, I think in eight volumes, octavo — ^inclu- 
ding those which had appeared at that time. About 
this period— that is, in 1819 — ^I was one of a literary 
club, of which J. M. Wainwright,* Isaac Touoey, 
William L. Stone, Jonathan Law, S. H. Huntington, 
and others, were members. The first meeting was at 
my house, and I composed a poem for the occasion, 

♦ Dr. Wainwright mm bom at Liverpool, in 1792, of parents who 
were dtixens of the United States, bat who at that date were on a visit 
to England. He came to this country at the age of 11, was educated at 
Canibridge, and was instituted rector of Christ Church at Hartford, in 
1915. He came to New York about 1820, and after filling various im- 
portant stations, was in 1852 elected provisional bishop of the diocese of 
New York. He was an accomplished scholar and gentleman, and an 
earnest and successful laborer in the various fields to which his life was 

Mr. Toucey studied law at Newtown, and came to Hartford about 
1812, and has since resided there. He is an eminent lawyer, and has 
filled the offices of governor and senator of the United States. The 
.atter place he still holds. 

William L. Stone, bom at Esopus, New York, 1792, was first a printer, 
and afterward became distinguished as an editor — first in conducting 
a political paper at Albany, and then at Hudson. When Theodore 
Dwight, who had founded the Connecticut Mirror, left for Albany, in 
1816, Mr. Stone succeeded him. In 1821, he succeeded to the editorship 
of the Commercial Advertiser, at New York, which place he filled till 
his death, in 1844. He published various works, among which were the 
Life of Brant, Memoir of Ked Jacket, Letters on Mu.sonry and Antim»- 
•onry, Ac. He wrote with great rapidity and fluency, and had a re- 
markable talent in collecting materials and making compilations. In 
personal character be was exceedingly amiable, giving his warm sym* 
pathy to all things charitable and religious. 

Jonathan Law was the postmaster of Hartford ; ho was agooil acholu. 


entitled "A Vision" — afterward published, with other 
poems, in 1836. I also published three or four num- 
bers of a small work entitled the " Bound Table," the 
urticles of which were written by different members ot 
the club. 

About this time I began to think of trying to 
bring out original American works. It must be re- 
membered that I am speaking of a period prior to 
1820. At that date, Bryant, Irving, and Cooper — 
the founders of our modem literature — ^a trinity of 
genius in poetry, essay, and romance — ^had but just 
commenced their literary career. Neither of them 
had acquired a positive reputation. Halleck, Percival, 
Brainard, Longfellow, Willis, were at school — at least, 
all were unknown. The general impression was that 
we had not, and could not have, a literature. It was 
the precise point at which Sidney Smith had ut- 
tered that bitter taunt in the Edinburgh Beview — 
" Who reads an American book ?" It proved to be 
that "darkest hour just before the dawn." The 
successful booksellers of the country — Carey, Small, 
Thomas, Warner, of Philadelphia ; Campbell, Duyc- 
kinck, Beed, Kirk & Mercein, Whiting & Watson, of 
New York ; Beers & Howe, of New Haven ; O. D. 

B maD of refined feeliDgs, with a senaitiye, shrinking delioaoy of mannen 
in the intercourse of life. 

Mr. Huntington has been judge of the county court, and has filled 
other responsible offices. He is now olerk of the Court of Claims, at 
Washington, though he resides at Hartford. — Suoh were acme of th« 
roembers of our little dub. 

mnoBiaAL, ANaoDOTiaAL, Era Jll 

Oooke^ of Hartford; West & Biohardson, OommingB 
k Hilliard, R P. & C. Williams, S. T. Armstrong, of 
Boston — were for the most part the mere reproducers 
and sellers of English books. It was positively in- 
jurious to the oommeroial credit of a bookseller to 
undertake American works, unless they might be 
Morse's Geographies, classical books, school-books, 
devotional books, or other utilitar^ works. / y 

Nevertheless, about this time I published an edi- 
tion of Trumbull's poems, in two volumes, octavo, 
and paid him a thousaQd dollars, and a hundred 
copies of the work, for the copyright. I was seriously 
counseled against this by several booksellers — and, in 
fact, Trumbull had sought a publisher, in vain, for 
several years previous. There was an association 
of designers and engravers at Hartford, called the 
" Graphic Company,"* and as I desired to patronize 
the liberal arts there, I employed them to execute the 
embellishments. For so considerable an enterprise, 
I took the precaution to get a subscription, in which 
I was tolerably successful. The work was at last 
produced, but it did not come up to the public ex- 
pectation, or the patriotic zeal had cooled, and more 
than half the subscribers declined taking the work. 

* The desi^er of the establishment was Elkanah Tisdale, a fat, face- 
tioQs gentleman — a miniatare painter by profession, bat a man of some 
literary taste, and admirable hamor in anecdote. He illustrated, with 
^reatclevemem, the handsome edition of the Echo, published by Isaac 
Biley— brother in-law of Dwight and Alsop, two of the principal authors 
—though it profcHHCs to be from the Porcupine Press, and by Paaquin 


I did not pnm it» Imt patting a good ihoe upon the 
affidr, I let it pttA, and — ^wliile the publio mppowd I 
had made money by my enterprise, and eren the an- 
tbor looked askanoe at me in the jealona apprehension 
thai I had made too good a bargain ont of him — I 
quietly pocketed a lots of aboat a thousand dollam 
This was my first serions adventnie in patronizing 
American literature. 

About the same period I turned my attention to 
books ibr education and books fbr children, being 
strongly impressed with the idea that there was bcfr a 
large field for improrement I wrote, myself, a sirall 
arithmetic, and half a doz<*n toy-bo«)ks, and publbihcd 
them, though I hav«* u«*vi*r befon* ci>iifcs^ ihrir au 
thorship. I aIi*o ctnpUtytnl mn'oral ptTKins to writ^ 
school histuricM, and eilui^tionsl manuals of chemui- 
try, natural phiIoM>phr, &o., u|)on plans which I pre- 
scribed — all of which I pul»lL'«hcd ; but none of these 
wore very suc^tx^wful at that time. Some of them, 
pawing into other han«lis are now among the ni«««t 
|H»pular anti profitablt* j**'hi>oM>ookj« in ihf n>untrv.^ 

IV A. 4it»»lnrii! th» VM IIm tnH uf tli« fk>|««l*r arht-J hiaUsCM* of tb« 
l'iiit«>i Suta*. Dow in «-tfr ^tatjoo mti 1. lu (*'i, tL« lr«t .if my br thf r'» 
li«iui«roiu |>uMii**ti>'ii*. frr^Mui I** U..» L'hc tlt« h.*t. r* YtS* l':.. ^1 
Sutc« wu n.4 .titr irfoir Bt-l.^'J Btu hr« «nr if ■-«k« "f • •.•'., :*r, 
mlimr ihi* *iAni|4#. •omi f<sl>>w««l. bat ll..« w»rk Ka* <« nlini' I t.i >v >ff« 
•f Uiv tusml |->}>uUr ^rtt ral f.^t. \rr-i V i»Aii i .^ j r« . f i ^ aw •««« 

An <h«r «•• ftii csi'i At. •r.»: irr«i» > Air^>>« /'•..« \^ ri« J |. 
<'uin»tuck. which !• t.- • * ;•• |- . ar *i t •!«-. .&* 1 « ^'^ *.. m-Im.J«, 
•nl hte t«>rr. rrputMik'.r 1 .11 Mi.: -ft.* I \*f « ■•■n**">'k ft.*** wr 4«, «f«m 
l-aiM «Ki«-h I ID 1 ^mtvl, «u c.i4<-«t."i**i ■ >rk •a LI*cauMf;, an*ill.«v «• 

HTRWinniT,, AamxxmoAXsy vro. 118 

William C. Woodbridge, one of the teacheTs of the 
Deaf and Domb Asylum, at this time projected a 
school geography, in which I assisted him — ^mostly in 
preparing the details of die work for the press, and in 
the mechanical department When an edition of il 
was finally r»ady — after long and anxious labor, both 
on his part and mine — the state of my health com- 
pelled me to relinquish it. This work acquired great 
popularity, and became the starting-point of a new 
era in school geographies, both in this country and 
in England. 

Mincnlogy, A%^ which I published. Thus this excellent and nsefbl 
anthor began that series of treatises, designed to popalarize science, 
which has placed his name among the eminent benefactors of education 
in this country. I am happy to say, that ho i» still living at Hartford, in 
the enjoyment of the respect and friendship which his amiable character 
and nseful life naturally inspire — and, 1 may add, in the enjoyment also 
of that independence which is but a just compensation of well-directed 
industry and talent. 

Mr. Woodbridge was bom in 1795, graduated at Yale in 1811, and, 
having studied theology, became one of the teachers of the deaf and 
dumb, at Hartford. He was a man of the greatest amenity of maimer and 
purity of life ; he showed also a complete devotion to what he deemed 
his duty, viewed through a religious light. He gave his attention to 
education, and may be considered as one of the pioneers in the great 
improvements lately made in the art of instruction. He traveled in 
Europe, visiting the most celebrated educational establishments, and 
holding intercourse with the most enlightened friends of educational 
progress and improvement. The result of Ids researches and reflections 
he gave to the public in numerous valuable and profound treatises. 
He was a little too much of a perfectionist to be immediately practical, 
and hence his books — two geographical treatises — were somewhat be- 
yond the age in which he lived ; but still they exercised a powerful 
influence in suggesting valuable ideas to others. His first geography I 
took to England in 1828, and got it published there, for his benefit. It 
still continues to be published in London. Mr. Woodbridge was a man 
of feeble health, yet struggled manfully till 1845, when he expired, at 
Boston— loved and admired by all who knew him. 



^A» » Batff^ WW^Dr. Si fln i T*%mk ^ mAm^ Mf 


Id order to complete the puionunm of mj life at 
Hartford, I muat give you a brief aketch of aome of 
the peraoDS whom I knew there^ and who had become 
oonspicuooa by their worda or worka. I have al- 
ready said that Uopkiiiii/ who in {mint of gvniiM 
atood at the head of the noted litt^nur fraternity of 
" Hartford Witis** wa* not living whon I went to re- 
aide at that place. Tnunhull, the author of MoKm- 
gal, wan Mill living, and I know him well. He waa at 
that time an t>ld man, and — alwavH small of atatun*^ — 
was now U*nt, omacialeil, and tottering with a cane. 
His features wore finelv cut, aii<l he must have bix*n 

* I^. LttDuvl llofikin* WM U^m wX Wfticfbun, 17 V) : b« prartMwU 
|ibj»w? at I.itcKiklJ, Miil miUfmt^.f^\ •! I|*rtf<>r J. wlicra b« iIm^ in \*k*\. 
WmWti m%Xt>*n)i iiu|»rr*»fib u|»'n xUm {• jS.i - tit.ifl. •• w«il hi tt.« c<x^h- 
tnrif; uf hi» |«r»i»iial a}'|«*rttbcr mi 4 halnu. m \t\ t.i« IcATii^Utf 4nJ f<r 
IIIIW. Ilr VM (>n«n dc^Tib**! t«i tiir M V*Ut Mid lAhk, walkiiHT «>tH 
•|>rr«.l.tHf «m« AiiJ %\r% 1 Kii^ ie^. Hi* nti*« «m 1- 1^, >w.. aii.1 t»\- 
lbl«; hi* rtM protruliUtf. ftfiJ hi* wh..:* rt|<rT«attin % •Xtrnt-i* xuf.^f 
%4 •«4citiiiit^ ai*«l ilr^H^-rt. lU w** i.f a •••^■k^ tl.*(««.i«<tti, ai.J • f^.«a iA 
lAlkiiif At ft iif>t^t.t-ir • h««u*«, «<^u.>l f>ir^t I..* ti'4*ii*«** cit^a^fbca*^. 
lU WW ii.^*u«:r «.:»i Tt.c-1< r« !•■ 4.' *. «•. ! I.t* .Uvtt*r I «• !> ! om 
UiAt •(.€ frs- ... ■ t* f • ^' ii.iktf •.. *.. f .r r 4»r. ai. : ?« : ^ >• r« *: . ■ {» 
lt|( .1 :. i.*- .k i .. ■« .f 1 • *. t. f- c f. r •! : ) .*. • c ' * — : . . t 
t..» >.« A 1 f .r » ( .. •• ilt re : • ••,-•1. •. > ••:«• j • '.• ■ • .. J » r ;• 
U.«r «r.-tc i •«:.. i-i-^; «cr» • &r.j .i.« -t ;:..>*r \-jm ..■ • '. .*.«• |4*c««4 


handsome in his younger days. His eye was keen and 
bright, his nose slightly aquiline, his mouth arching 
downward at the comers, expressive of sarcastic hu- 
mor. There was something about him that at once 
bespoke the man of letters, the poet, and the satirist* 

* John Trambnll— the poet— belonged to one of thoee remarluble 
fkmiliee in Conneoticat which, throngh several genentione, have poe- 
leseed talents that carried them to the highest stations in society. Jona- 
than Tmmboll, of Lebanon, bom in 1710, was elected governor in 1769, 
and continned to be annually elected till 1783, when he resigned, having 
been thirty years, without interruption, in public employment. His ser- 
vices, rendered to the country during the war, were regarded as almost 
next those of Washington. It is said that the name given to our coun- 
try of " Brother Jonathan," came from him, in an allusion to his co- 
operation with Washington in the Bevolntion. He died in 1785. His 
son Jonathan, bom at Lebanon, 1740, was Washington's secretary and 
aid, member of Congress in 1789, speaker of the House in 1791, in 1794 
senator, and in 1798, governor of the State. He died in 1809. Joseph 
TrnmbaU, nephew of the preceding, and still living, has filled various 
offices, and been senator of the United States and governor of the State. 
Benjamin Trumbull, the distinguished historian — bom in 1785 and died 
in 1820— was nephew of the first Gov. Trumball. Col. John Trumbull, 
brother of the second governor of that nanie and aid to Washington, was 
an eminent painter and elegant gentleman, and died in 1843, aged 87. 
A collection of his paintings, valuable as historical and biographical 
mementoes, belongs to Yale College. 

John Trumbull, the poet, son of the Rev. John T. of Watertown, a 
connection of this family, was bom 1750. At seven he was admitted at 
college, but did not enter upon his studies there till thirteen. I have heard 
him say that when he went to enter at Yale, he rode on horseback behind 
his father, and wore his mother's cloak and hood. He studied law, min- 
gling the composition of poetry with legal pursuits. Having been in the 
law office of John Adams, at Boston, he settled as a lawyer at Hartford 
in 1781, and became distinguished in his profession. He wrote several 
poems, the most noted of wiiich was McFingal, an imitation of Hudi- 
bras, and in some passages not inferior to the best portions of that famous 
production. Trumbull was, no doubt, the most conspicuous literary 
character of his day, in this country. I published a revised edition of 
his works in 1820, as elsewhere stated. His society was much sought, 
and he was the nucleus of a band of brilliant geniuses, including 
Dwight, Hopkins, Alsop, Humphries, <&c 

The latter I often saw at Hartford, usually on visits to Trumbull. Ha 


Dr. Strong wm the miourtcr of the Middle Brick 
Chnrch — the principal Congregfttiona] church in the 
city. He was now near threenoore and ten — largr, 
infirm, and shuffling along as if afflicted with gout 
in the feet His life and diaracter had been marked 
with eooantrioitias — with worldliness^ wit» and social 
aptitudes. Nererthelesii he was an eloquent and 
devout preacher: it was said of him that when in 
the pulpiti it seemed that he ought never to leave iu 
and when out of it, that he ought never to go into it 
All his levity, however, had psssed when I knew 
him. Ho WAK indceil fast apprnaching that U»ume 
whence no traveler returns. With all his earlv 

mm Ih^n ol'l, mn-l Iitid^ In his »«1m* l'»wia of IVrSv. wb«n t« bftJ •• 
tAblt«h«*l ft WiM.>!ro mAntifibrUiffT. Ilr ).*.! \ir*ti i*tie uf th« li«b UvOMaC 
mto of hU titn«. aaI vm n^^w Urf«« p'*^>. |<ow.l«>rr<l, vith » bio« fyrnH 
Uftd bci|rht huUniu, ft jrllo* vfti*tooftt, «lrftH br«c<h«ft, ftOii vhiW-t^ 
boot*. Ilift M»m|Jciio« «■• fl««i I, •bowing ft htil* mvf ■|*|'r««t«Lh« 
of Sherrv thfta mm ortLi^loi in ('••titt^'ttrut ft UaU b« brvu|(Lt wiUi 
lite wife fttiJ brr fiirtob* fr-.m I^lvti, uc lUin 1. lU bwlb «b*ch |>Uom 
Im bft^l brco Mabaftiia>lor lU «■• in Uutb ft miUtt li.i n>:&*.ur« vf ih« 
old (*«iiitia«&t«l ^ulUior, •&•! tb« fK>«'i«/ri| an 1 pomotamr.l «li|: mAt. 
TbiMfb pMl Mltjr, b« ftlill ftSrct*<i |«>rtr\, ftCi<l on uo« u«xM»«'Ci |i«f- 
bo|)o obuut I4I*i-<»iu« in hu Ck«*-i. fti. 1 f^ur. to f«t TrumSu:: t* k^ 
bin ta flfufthia^ bi* KabU vf tb« ll«»ffik»v. vho, itt.utit^ t.u oio»ur lO 
ftb*«tntf. cut bift ovn ibf^jot. H« b*i ttmmi\} r«ro|«i«i»J it, but wi«l^ » 
fiouitod, •fnframmfttic irnntnftti.<A. Truul*ul! u»ik it ftcJ rooj to t>« 
•od, M It OM written, uxd tb«o ftJ 1«U, «al. at at..!*! ttif 

• Ut»« HHT M« M b« «mM r^ll iW 

▲ft4 •»(« fr«a «« t» ««. I 

Tbift c*;Ri{J«t#d lh« faMiP. ftn I It •'« •Un 1% lo I'.i* •!»? Tl* • ftr«"^l<^« 
«M U4J me b* Tf'-*a^a:J K.»nt*.*. ftn 1 I fa«« ,! • .Krt»« . •' .r.*«rr I 
tt in tb« u<.<*.i.-« • f t» • |«wi. It. r .• ••>|^.ajrr« f \'..*'r *?. I' **.r« "* 
lld'npKnM 4.9 i :n '.*'.*, Tr*!u'i!l .r. *M\ !.»\.r^ r*»t. * , . ;^ .f !»• 
S«l<ri •f < '/art frv*CB :^*1 LiU Itlf, vbcfi b« ««» •}»>)»;. fi«U )•} ^v, 
vmitr ft low of ibt Sloto. 


bults, he liad a very strong hold of the affections 
and confidence of his people. His fiioe was remark- 
ably expressive, his eje keen, his lipe firm, his 
nose arched, and his long, thick, gray hair tamed 
back and rolled in waves upon his shoulders. I am 
not sore that his reputation as a man of wit and 
worldly taste, now that these were oast aside, did not 
deepen the impression made by his preaching at this 
period. I am certain that I have never heard dis- 
courses more impressive, more calculated to subdue 
the pride of the heart, and turn it to religious sub- 
mission, than these. He was considered a man of 
remarkable sagacity, especially in penetrating the 
motives of mankind, and he was at the same time 
esteemed by his clerical brethren as a very able di- 
vine. He published two volumes of sermons, but 
they furnish little evidence of the genius which was 
imputed to him. His reputation is now merely tra- 
ditional, but it is impossible not to perceive that, 
with such eccentricities, he must have been a man 
of remarkable qualities, inasmuch as he gathered into 
his congregation the first minds in the city, and left 
a name which still seems a bond of union and strength 
to the church over which he presided.* 

• NathAo Strong, D. D., was bom at Coventry, 1748, and graduated 
at Yale : daring the Revolution, he was a chaplain in the army. After 
he was aettled as a minister, he became a partner in the firm of Strong 
A Smith, and engaged in the manufacture of gin. As was fit and proper, 
one of his deacons, good old Mr. Corning, was a grocer, and sold New 
England rum. As this article was frequently wanted after the store 
was shut, he kept a barrel on tap at his house, so that the people need 


Theodore Dwight, a younger brother of Dr. D wight, 
was born at Northampton, in 1764. His early life 
was spent upon the &Tm^ and at that period when 
the wolf, wild-cat, and Indian were occasionally seen 
in the forest — ^ftirnishing him with ample materials 
for interesting descriptions of adventure in after 

not suffer for the want of this staff of life I The firm of Strong A Smith 
fkiled, and tlie minister shut himself ap in his house to avoid the sheriff, 
but as no writ oonld be served on Sundays, he then went forth and 
preached to his conj^regation. All this took place toward the close of 
the last century. There was nothing in it disgraceful, then. Let those 
who deny that society has made progress in its standard of propriety, 
compare this with the universal tone of public sentiment now. 

Of the numerous anecdotes of Dr. Strong, I give you one or two spe- 
cimens. The first of these is connected with the Missionary Society of 
Connecticut, of which he was a principal founder. The Rev. Mr. Bacon — 
fhther of the present celebrated Dr. Leonard Bacon, of New Haven— had 
been employed as a missionary to that part of Ohio called the Western 
Beserve. Some deeply interesting letters, detailing his operations, had 
been received, and on the Sabbath, after the service, Dr. Strong invited 
Theodore Dwight into the pulpit, to read them. This he performed, 
and the letters made a deep impression upon the audience. One old 
man, by the name of Z. . . P. . . ., who was not only hard of hearing, but 
hard of head and heart, actually wept. As Mr. Dwight was about to 
descend, the doctor whimpered to him — *' Tou have done in thirty min- 
utes what I have not been able to accomplish in thirty years : you have 
made old Z... P.... cry!" 

Dr. S. had issued a prospectus for his sermons, when one day he met 
Trumbull the poet. ** When are your sermons to be out f" said the lat- 
ter. " I cannot exactly tell," said the doctor. ** I am waiting to find a 
text to suit a man who never comes to church, except when he has a 
child to be baptized*'— a palpable allusion to TnimbulPs neglect of the 
sanctuary about those days. 

Dr. Mason, of New York, once called on Dr. Strong, and as he was 
about to depart, he stumbled, and almost fell, in consequence of a de- 
fect in one of the door-steps. " Why don't you mend your ways f ' 
said he, somewhat peevishly. ** I was waiting for a Mason,'' was the 
ready reply. 

One of Dr. S.'s deacons came to him with a difficulty. " Pray, doc- 
tor," said he, *^ tell me how it happens : all my hens hatch on Sunday.** 
** The reason is," said the doctor, " that you set them on Sunday I** 


time. When nearly twenty, he injured his wrist, 
and being disqnalifled for the labors of a fimner, he 
turned his attention to study, and finally selected the 
profession of the law. He established himself at Hart- 
ford,* and rose to eminenoe in his profession. He 
had, however, a strong bias toward literature, and 

* WhMi I wmt to retld« at Hmrtfbrd, Mr. Dwight was llTing next 
door to mj oDole, and was on Intiiiiate terms with him. He was a tall, 
handiome man, with an exeeedinglj blaok, flaahing eye, and a lip thai 
earied easily in laoghter or satire. He had an infinite ftind of aneodote, 
great learning, an abundant aeqnaintanee with literatore, and lively pow- 
ers of deaeription. He wrote with ftoiUty, and dashed oif verses slmoat 
by impfoviaation. 

In eariy]ifS», he had written sentimental poetry, specimens of whioh 
may be ibnnd in ^ Amerloan Poema,** published at litchiield, in 1798. 
The lines, ** Alfred to Philena,** are his— Philena being Mrs. Morton. 
Ttiey soand strongly Delia Cmsoaa— at this day — for tho productions of 
Theodore Dwight. As an editor, he was chiefly devoted to politics, 
porsning democracy with the nnsparing vigilance of a falcon in chase 
of its prey. Some of his pasquinades became very popular, and great- 
ly irritated the opposite party. His lines in ridicule of a JefferHooian 
festivsl at New Haven, March, 1808— beginning att follows, and cooftist- 
ing of some dozen similar stanzas— were said and sung all over the 


Te tribes of Fsetlon, join- 
Tour dsnghtws end your wives : 
Moll Guy's eome to dins, 
And dsnoe with Desoon Ivea 
Ye ragged throng 
Of demoersti, 
As thick 18 rata, 
Oome Join the eong. 

Old Desoon Bishop stsndfl» 
With well-befrlBled wig, 
Flle-lesder of the band. 
To open with a Jig— 
With psrrot-toe 
The poor old man 
Tries all he can 
To make it go, fte. 

When the Non-interooorse sot— the last of the so-oaUed ** Retirictw 
MM^rm,''* and whioh by way of ridicule had been nick-named the 

190 LETTIM ■■rnilftPBiniL, 

wrote veneB and political «nyt. Such was the rep 
uUtion he eoon acquired, thai he waa aelected bj 
Wolcott, Hamilton, and otherai to praaide over the 
Evening Poet, eaubliahed in 1801. Thia offiar waa 
declined, and William Coleman filled the plaoe. Mr. 
Dwight waa elected a member of the Stale Conn- 

** nrrwpm ft ^^ tm^** mm npaalcd— Dvif kt wniU tk« ibUowii«. It ftm- 
tandi Id b« A lyrical Unwnl •onff by tht dmaocnm ■& WMkii^to«, wilk 
whom Ihb •ywtmm had bcca a fTMt &vorita. 

maoicAL HTMa. 

Motm ! MM «r 4M«fitto «M t 

Bm4 •*«Ty bark villi anrrov W«-> 

r«orTKKkAri» t*d«^ 

And mm kit rfrlac t>#4. tf«-«wl 

III* vwpiac frWAU* appear : 
Lw 4r»^ hi* (TUkltlra !• Ik* piM< ; 

III* iMWff arvpi • Utf 

OU i'Uf*'* Wc« tte iwMttoih fl«4, 

TW Ttrtln't lilr U fmrm 
C«l^*a» mJ JohMw* kiM tiM rad. 

Ami Trii'jp m4 J-iki»M« ■*•«. 

0«rt4 al.! U«c Ta«i iU».to mUaai^ kf 

Hit tltir.f vvMi.- 'Uia*. 
WkiW Jtmint WatM a klfW ilg^ 
Ab«1 wl|Ma kM maumntml mmm. 

iM tkarl* »iv 1 wnii aatM* t^r. 
Hm aafViarinc ;ii» | wmii •^•«|- 

31 II Btair* bi* ter>9 it«ir i^aaa aaavy, 
N«r df i»t UMir nka kM Wft^t 

Had tart «^ p*J.|'« a f*nu atat 

la vfrf t {■•^1 an t i*"! , 
T« !»•;»■•«. to«ite ^ ti«r la«^ 

T» ils.k>rK .- :■ 1*^ rik. rM 
4*a> *-:»r« K» A - '• n.«k« • r'^4, 

A • ' :»!-•* •■< t«f -f r • • * 

T» :k'r«i.« '.' *i^ c « .Atala- 
A'r I * • • •» •■ •• 

r^rfiap* i«i : <k« k.'t •H^« r«i^ 
Aad k#1ai k • to kto 11 ai^ 


cil, and in 1806, a member of Congress. Soon 
after he established the Connecticut Mirror, and 
firom that time followed the career of an editor. 
He was secretary of the Hartford Convention in 
1814. In 1815, he removed to Albany, and con- 
ducted the Albany Daily Advertiser: in 1817, he 

Th« tbn» wffl abortly oom«, when w« 

Like TempiB most wender; 
And onr poor ejee will nothing see 

Bat deeth^k oold Gerrjmeaderl 

The " Oenrymaoder" here tlladed to, ori^ifinated in a diTision of M«s- 
Mchoeetts, by the democntB, in the time of Oovemor Qeny, into Con- 
^reMionnl Districts, so as to give that party the asoendency. It was a 
▼iolent disregard of geographical and political propriety, and the federal- 
ists retaliated by having a huge monster— with tail and claws, resembling?, 
in oaUine, the state of Massachusetts, as thus distorted^ngraved and 
circulated, with an exceedingly piqnant natural history of the animal. 
It look such effect that for a long Ume it gave a new word to the Amer- 
ican political vocabulary. It is said by Buckingham, that Gilbert Stuart, 
the artist, suggested this clever caricature. 

The following will serve as a specimen of Mr. Dwight's New- Year's 
Carrier's verses, which appeared annually, and acquired great popu- 
larity. This extract is from the Connecticut Mirror, January 6, 1818. 

Sorvey onr deflated shores, 
Our grass-grown wharres and empty stores— 
Our arts and industry depreas'd, 
The wialthy cramp'd, the poor dlstreesM: 
Oar dtles wrapp'd in deepest gloom, 
Oar commerce buried in the tomb. 
No bnm of baslnees meets the ear, 
No songs of Joy the bosom cheer ; 
Th« sailor hears the whistling blasts 
Mormnr through sullen groves of masts— 
The billows dash, the useless sail 
Flap moumftil to the rising gale- 
Then tarns and views the dismal shed 
Where his y<mng offspring cry for bread. 
And as the nightly breezes blow. 
Curses the authors of his woe I 

Naught but exterminating war 
Gould an this nation's blessings mar— 
Nanght hot an arm of Vandal power 
Vof. II.-6 


established the Daily Advertiser in New York, of 
which he was the chief editor till 1886, when he re- 
moved to Hartford. He afterward returned to New 
York, where he died, in 1846. 

Among the Hartford notables was Daniel Wads- 
worth, son of Col. Jeremiah Wadsworth, who had 

The harrest of itt hopes deTonr. 

Where is tbst ylrtaons patriot band. 

The pride, the bulwark ofonr Und, 

Fonu'd to uphold the nation^ sviqr— 

Plnokney, and Strong, and King, and Jay— 

Whose coanaels might oar country shield. 

And gnide onr armies in the field f 

By party seal and passions base, 

Exiled from power, and driven from place I 
Who fill the Yoid 1 What names saoceed T 

Bead the bright list— exnit and read! 

Alston and Johnson, Fiak, Desha, 

Porter and Piper, Pond and Rhea, 

Omndy, and Hofty, and Lofevre, 

Bammons and Stow, and Shaw, and Searer, 

Newton, McCoy, McKlm, McKoe, 

Smilie, and Tronp, and Widgeryl— 

And shall onr natlon^s coarage sink, 

STen on perdiUon^s awful brink. 

When such a constellated train 

Her highest interests sustnin f 
I nave already alluded to the "Hartford wits," of whom Mr. Dwig»».. 
was one. Their reputation was chiefly founded upon a aeries of arti- 
cles w})ich appeared in various papers, and were collected and published 
in 1807, under the title of the Echo — including other pieces. They 
consisted of satires, mostly in the form of parodies and burlesques — 
with ooca^ional passages of a more serious character. They attracted 
great attention at the time, and had a wholesome effect in curing the 
public of a taste for ridiculous bombast, which then prevailed. The 
principal writers were Mr. Dwight, his brother-in-law Richard AIsop, 
of Middletown, and Dr. Hopkins, of Hartford. Mr. Theodore Dwight, 
now of New York, the son of the author I am noticing, has shown me 
a volume in which the lines contributed by each of these persons are 
marked, in the handwriting of his father. This suggests the manner 
in which the whole was written — one composing a few stanzas, then 
another taking the pen, and then another. The characteristics of each 
of these several writers are dearly indicated, in compositions having a 
general aspect of homogeneity. 


been a distinguished member of Congress. He bad 
traveled in Europe, and was not only a man of large 
wealthy but he had a taste ibr literature and art. His 
wife was daughter of the second Governor Trumbull, 
and a veiy excellent example of the refined and dig- 
nified lady of the olden time. She had been at Phil- 

I un indAbted to Mr. Dwight for the following, whioh is copied 
from a memorandum in his fiither's handwriting, in relation to the 

*Ib the jmt 1889 a work was pnbUahad in Boston, called ^SpedmanB of Amer- 
leaa Poetry/ A&, by S. KettelL In a biographical sketch of Richard Aleop, a 
mlBaia and etreonntanUal aooonnt it giren by Mr. Kettell, and which has been 
freqnently referred to as a oorreet narratiTe of that publication. It seems no 
more than aa aet of Justice to IndiTidaatai that a true history of it shoald be 

^The first number of ttie Echo appeared in the American Mercury, at Hartford, 
in August 1791. It was written at Mlddletown, by Richard Alsop and Theodore 
Dwisht The authors, at the time of writing it, had no expectation of its being 
published; their sole object wss to amuse themselves, a&d a few of their personal 
fHends. The general account of its origin is given in tli« prefiu:e of tiie volume in 
trbicb the numbers were afterward collected, and published in New York. A l^w 
lines in the coarse of It were written by three of their"] iterary fHends, viz. : Dr. 
M. F. Coggeswell, Elihu H. Smith, and Lemuel Hopkins. Dr. Hopkins wrote 
more tlian these tu o others ; a considerable part of ten numbers were by biui. 
With these exceptions, the entire work was the production of Messrs. Alsop and 
Dwight Judge Trumbull never wrote a line of it Mr. I^ettelPs account is incor- 
rect in almost every essential particular. 

**The 'Political Green-House' was written by Alsop. Hopkins, and Dwight in 
unequal proportiona** 

I think it may be remarked that, in these compositionB, Dwiglit shows 
the moat brilliant fancy and playful wit, Alsop the broadest humor, 
and Hopkins the most original and crushing satire. French Jacobin- 
ibm, with ail its brood of infidelity, radicalibm, and liccntiousneAs, is 
the especial object of attack throughout, and is justly and unsparingly 

ThoQgh Mr. Dwight is perhaps chiefly known as the author of satirical 
verses, and as a somewhat severe though able political writer, lie was in 
private life one of the most pure, disinterested, and amiable of men. Ho 
had an almost womanly sensibility to human suffering ; he wat^ true to 
friendahip, and inflexibly devoted to wliat ho deemed the cause of truth, 
honor, and patriotism. He furnishes an instance of what haa often hap- 
pened before, in which the literary man seems a vindictive satirist, while 
the socixd man— friend, neighbor, father, husband— is full of the milk 


adelphia when her father wm member of CongrvM^ 
and recited man v interesting anecdotes of Washing- 
ton and Hamilton, and other great men, whom she 
had there seen. I was often at the house, and here 
frequently saw her Uncle, Col. Trumbull, the artist, 
with hi.H European wife, about whom there was an 
impeni'truble mystery. She was a beautiful woman, 
and of elegant manners : her features are well pre- 
sen-ed in her husband s portrait of her, in the Trum- 
bull Oallory, at Yale College. It was rumored that 
she was the daughter of an English earl, but her 
name and liiii'atro wen* n«»vor «livuli5«'«l.* 

of hiniuui kiriitir**. lie lia«i grrml mh lit:««, ftod oii!j ti:.«*c«l m {«rn.« 
lirnt n |Miut.«>i) lit »rMiii|( tiio !:«'* t « «a!uc a|«»n hw |wrfunn*nov*. Mil 
Uiu* u*'\ lirh«'iiiir thru, uy to a i i^^cr »Uifiai\i of cnucMn. lU vroU 
Xoo iit.ii \i mi.l U»t rs|<i :l« I -r ;A^t4ii4( (m ii«. 

* Mr \Va.i««icth »a* uim uf th« Uw neb mvn who knom horn ia 
niftki* • ir->l ^luitnbttli^fi otXi.rit wraJth. Hi* chaniMB ilanaf k.« iifo- 
tinir wt-fv nutnrrous >n'l t««ti»«^i vitb kiri'liiv** uiil ju-l#ii»«cL ll« 
fouit le-i At liAnfiirtl lh«> Wa.i«w..irth A!h«nrum. which i* an inl«mbnc 
Mi>l ii*«fa! iii»t::utj m, it.v-Iu'l.ii|f niAiit af.t:.ia.i.c«, w^rk* of art, m.J • 
«a!uattr K.*t<iM.<a! lil-rmM. 

Atiiftif t).« iiilrr«i4icf ohjMta cwll'^* 1 with \ht c\%% of \lu\l**i. 
I* ht« O'Ufjir} Mat 'n TBlix*!t'» lit •ut.tA.rt «ti.^>rki tnf a .ak«. a tu««r, 
and fthrr attfatiiona. Tl'* •)tu»t.«>fi ,• ^«a it.fu., ai. 1 v.* mi.t<9 m XMmtm 
ful!% arTanir«<l To tha weat <-f tl lira ll.e «al'r« ..( Karru-iiift- « n«*r, 
•shiliiUtiir a \ar:e<l UfiJaiia|« r>f wiaJ:it^ •trrari*«. ««r! KilU, •<* I 
mlti«a'4^1 fleM*. all —n Uiroof h tK« »t.rhai:t:nff aiir« • f ti*Laii«a. T«» 
Itr Mwl !• th* < ■nnt.e^^♦*■ul, r"i!.it# |tr»i»l!_i '} t :£:■. :U Ur lfr», .^•«»v-i 
#ith t^ • netkTwt rirti\ati->r.. ari<l !• ttr • • •.* 'ovt.* •!. I « -MT^. (^ 
«!)*.. Ci|r ••Mir UiirtT •!• rr« 10 a Kittif-c t.e« 

Tt-r **'^rir |>rr*«fii»l l.> tt.f r.«* fV tn tf r t- j ■ • f :• t.»»r •• ■ f. •.»** 
.«tr!.*.t ft-r* »*- *c '.\A j''alf ■•fu. •ituatcl .j- • » * tf* j. .;• ' r -k • 
in-lrr 1 u-'***--! TL' imnif^lial* *,'■•• ■**' v* 'i.-' • * »^ 

lha.,-.M •*.-. •!.! r- •/ -I fr -i. i". .'• 

T^ frafiwfte ■ f aa M/ hrf • r .) 


It was, I believe, through Mr. Wadsworth's influence 
that Miss Hundj, now Mrs. Sigourney, was induced 
to leave her home in No]:wich, and make Hartford 
her residence. This occurred about the year 1814. 
Noiselessly and gracefully she glided into our young 
social ciide, and ere long was its presiding genius. 
I shall not write her history, nor dilate upon her Kt 
erary career — ^for who does not know them both by 
heart? Yet I may note her influence in this new re- 
lation — a part of which fell upon myself Mingling 
in the gayeties of our social gatherings, and in no re- 
spect clouding their festivity, she led us all toward 
intellectual pursuits and amusements. We had even 
a literary cotery under her inspiration, its first meet- 
ings being held at Mr. Wadsworth's. I believe one of 
my earliest attempts at composition was made here. 
The ripples thus begun, extended over the whole 
surface of our young society, producing a lasting and 
refining effect. It could not but be beneficial thus to 
mingle in intercourse with one who has the angelic 
fjEiculty of seeing poetry in all things, and good every- 
where. Few persons living have exercised a wider 
influence than Mrs. Sigoumey ; no one that I now 
know, can look back upon a long and earnest career 
of such unblemished beneficence. 

tate a rare assemblage of beaatiflil and striking groups. It is sad to 
reflect that "lands and manors pass away," yet it ia consoling to know 
that others live to enjoy them. Mr. Wadsworth is gone— bat it gives me 
pleasure to state that my old friend, D. W., a thriving manufacturer of 
axes, Is his successor. 

12G ucmuw — BiuoftArHicAL, 

lu the immeduite vicinity of Mr. WMlswortli, lived 
Dr. Coggeswell, a renowned surgeon and exoellcut 
physician. He was, withal, a uuin of refined taatei, 
and exceedingly eaay and graciiiua addreaa. In early 
life he had been anociated with the ** Hartfiinl wits,'* 
and occasionally wrote veraea, though more freqoeotly 
of the sentimental than the satirical kind. Uis daugh- 
ter, Alice, was deaf and dumb, if we speak of the car 
and the lip; yet her soul heard and spoke in her eyes 
and her countenance. She excited uuiveiaal intcivaeit 
by her sweetness of character, mannei% and a|»pcar> 
ance; she watt, in truth, an c'lo(|uent and pentuaMve 
lecturer \i\x>n the language, and Wauty, and iuuu«»r- 
tality of tho houI — that liven above and U'Vuiid the 

Mr. Gallaudtt, the foumUT of the L>eaf and Uumb 
Asylum at Hartford, was a ftenion of very diminutive 
staturt^ with a smooth, placid phyMK»gnumy — irra^iia- 
ted, however, by a remarkably large, expre:isive eye, 
lulling at you over hw ii{K.vtaclcs. Of a frail and 
ieeble constitution, and a mniil 4»f no great C4»ni|MM«s, 
he htill [Nie^Mrssed two faiultiiTt which renilered his 
can*er glon^us. He had a clearness and [>reci»k»n ui 
his |i<-rceptu»iis, which rt*nilend ht** nietital i»{H-ra- 
tioHH ul^lM^t Sri exai*t and ct*rtain as the nit»\rinc*ntjt 
of navhanism. It wom thu« whirh etiaMoi htm to 
niasUT lh»* rl»-ni«i*t.-i t-f ihi- :irl * f l« a !.::..' ::.• .K-a! 
aihI «lurii^, :in<i t«> carry that art ;ii !*.•» u-« - :i.'» virh 
w* iiH j'h4!»^»|»hy greatly U»\«Mi'i Ha roiiaitiwu when 


he entered upon it This principle in the head was 
impelled to action by another in the heart — a deep 
conviction that it was his duty to be useful to his 
fellow-men. It is pleasing to observe how wide and 
ample a field may be harvested by a good man, even 
though he may not be a giant or a genius I 

I must here tell you an anecdote still firesh in my 
recollection. When President Monroe made his tour 
through the New-England States, in the sunmier of 
1817, the asylum was a novelty, and naturally enough 
was the pride of the good citizens of Hartford. Of 
course, the President was invited to see the perform- 
ances of the new institution. He was scarcely out of 
his carriage, and delivered from the noise and confu- 
sion of his reception — for all the world turned out to 
see him — before he was hurried down to the place 
where the school was then kept. 

A high central platform was prepared, like a 
throne, for the great man, and here he took his seat. 
Around were the spectators; on one side was Mr. 
Gallaudet, and Mr. Clerc, the well-known deaf and 
dumb professor fix^m the school of the Abb6 Sicard, 
in Paris. Mr. Gallaudet was a man of admirable ad- 
dress, and all being ready, he said to the President, 
in his smooth, seductive way — 

" If your Excellency will be so kind as to ask some 
question, I will repeat it to Mr. Clerc on my fingers, 
and he will write an answer on the slate, to show the 
manner and facility of conversation by signs." 

123 unrm — ^noos^nooAL, 

esubliflhed the Daily Advertiser in New York, of 
which he wm the chief editor till 1888, when be re- 
moved to Hartford* He afterward returned to New 
York, where he died, in 1848. 

Among the Hartford notables was Daniel Wads- 
worth, son of Col. Jeremiah Wadsworth, who had 

1\« harrmt of IM iMpM itoT««r. 
WWr* It ilMl Ttrtoow ycuwc kia4« 
TW prM*. th« bvlvark (dTov Imi, 
rnnn*4 to viikoM lb* MlSoa'» twwf— 
riMkMjr, Mid Stroac mi Kittg^ m4 Jir— 
WboM rniimli aiifM Mr cmhItj akliM, 
Ab4 f«l<to ««r iraika !• IW 6*14? 

KilWd frtun pnwvr. aad drtivM frovi ptorwf 

Who fill lh« void f Wb»t MMMSMCCMdr 

R#«d tb* brlflil riM- «solt M»«l r««dl 
AbliHi mm! JKiktmm. PtolL tN«k^ 

HAiniti'tfM A ill *!••«. AAil <*h*«. and {Wftvtff. 

N««Wn. VH-oT. IfrKlm. Mc-Kca. 

hmlrl*. Mid Tnii|». ba*! Wi ifvry'^ 

Ai»d tlMll <*ar nBll<i«i'« fwirac* aiaii. 

irr« oa p*rdiilun'» tafu: tnikk. 

Wbr« •«rli • <«i«a*i:«U*) trvin 

ll«r k-fb««l lauriOlB tut •!■ * 
I tift^r alrr*.|,v alluilr-i u» the " lUrtfor*! «iu/' of whom Mr I^if*- 
«■» itiir. Hif ir rvpuutinn wm rhirflv fbor'!*"! upmx % wrt** f*C wu- 
rir« «'.>(*)i A|i|K-arr*l in «ari<>u« |»«|irr«. mi'I wvr» (^l««t««l aihl p«bii»h««i 
iQ I*'*!, iinlcr the titie ''f the F>h< - it)«'!u l:nc other jmocm. Thr«t 
o-aa:»ie4l of aAtirr*. iot*U% tn ttic ffrtn nf |«ru>li«« mi«J bari«»4M»<> 
With it'«^a«t«>n*i ;>— * agra of « ni>'r« arru'ri* cit«r*rt«r Tb** tltrmeU/^ 
grrml Attrriti"!) at th« time, Mitl t»»l a «h^>le*ua>« eSect is mri^ lh« 
I'uKir • f a tA*te fur n-li utou* Uifii^«*t, wt.trh th«tt pMVftlUd. T^« 
|nr. .|«i antrr* «rr<> Mr I>«i^ht, K» tirt-tt.rr iD U« 1 A!*- ; , 
t'f M.<l>t..«n. an i I>r II fk n*. r.f IUrif.>rl Mr Th«ikil»rv I»»tf**. 
n '« « f Nr* ^ .-rk I) •■ *< t. «f t> e a-itJ i-r t air r.f'.tf^ng, ha« •> t«i! •--• 
A t .'tiM , . w> •. •■ • •.»• '.'•»* irr-1 t'f r* V f tfe*« J*«^-fj» ».•» 

mark*' I • :i r * »' ".mr : ' ^ * \ • (»•* t-r T' •■• • *#/•■••• t' * »*-* ■ *' 
111 • ' ■ r. . • .•*•»• "r' . » r ..•■;-*.,• ft fi • •'ai.ta^ ts rt 
ait tr.«' tAi.* •* tr ■ j^ • «> I •.?••, »• '.'ff. f' •■ -i •»■» 'rr •t,r» ■■•f e«r* 
of tl.««« arvrral mr.:*t% arc cmmtIj^«l««i, iit rvm|«B.;«u«** ha«ui|f • 
f viivral a»|«ct of Ki>ai ^CMtljr. 


been a distinguished member of Congress. He had 
traveled in Europe, and was not only a man of large 
wealth, but he had a taste ibr literature and art. His 
wife was daughter of the second Governor Trumbull, 
and a very excellent example of the refined and dig- 
nified lady of the olden time. She had been at Phil- 

I un indAbted to Mr. Dwight for the following, whioh is copied 
from A memorandam in bis fiither's handwriting, in relation to the 
Echo : 

*Ib the jmr 1889 a work was pnbUahad in Boston, called ^Spedmant of Amer- 
ican Poetry/ A&, hj a KettelL In a biographical sketch of Blohard Alaop, a 
BBtnnte and etrwmntanUal aeoonnt ia given bj Mr. Kettell, and which has been 
freqaenUj referred to as a oonreet narrattre of that pablication. It seems no 
more than aa aet of JnaUce to ladiTidoala, that a tnie hiatorj of it shoald be 

^Tbe first number of ttie Echo ^>peared In the American Meronry, at Hartfoni, 
in August 1791. It was written at MIddletown, by Richard Alsop and Theodore 
Dwight The authors, at the time of writing it had no expectation of its being 
published ; their sole object was to amuse themselves, a&d a few of their personal 
fHends. The general account of its origin is given in the prefiu:e of the volame in 
which the numbers were afterward collected, and published in New York. A few 
lines in the coarse of It were written bj three of their literary fHends, viz. : Dr. 
M. F. Coggeswell, Elihu H. Smith, and Lemuel Hopkins. Dr. Hopkins wrote 
more than these tw o others ; a considerable part of ten numbers were by him. 
With these exceptions, the entire work was the production of Messrs. AIsop and 
Dwight Judge Trumbull never wrote a line of it Mr. I^etteirs account is incor- 
rect In almost every essential particular. 

"The 'Political Green-House' was written by Alsop. Hopkins, and Dwight in 
unequal proportions.** 

I think it may be remarked that, in these compositions, Dwight Bhows 
the moat brilliant fancy and playful wit, Alaop the broadest humor, 
and Hopkins the most original and crushing satire. French Jacobin- 
ism, with all its brood of infidelity, radicalism, and licentiousness, is 
the especial object of attack throughout, and is justly and unsparingly 

Though Mr. Dwight is perhaps chiefly known as the author of satirical 
vcraee, and as a somewhat severe though able political writer, he was in 
private life one of the most pure, dbinterested, and amiable of men. He 
had an almost womanly sensibility- to human sufiering; he w&» true to 
friendahip, and inflexibly devoted to wliat ho deemed the cause of trutli, 
honor, and patriotism. He furnishes an instance of what haa often hap- 
pened before, in which the literary man seems a vindictive satiriat, while 
the social man— friend, neighbor, father, husband— is full of the milk 


trodaction, especudlj sailed to this ehmpCer, for I ftm 
now going to speak of nmmes that an* fiuniliar to jou : 
I make these reflections npon vour letter, i>nlT as a 
precantion against an j critidams toq maj offer upon 
the less pretentious miniatures scattered through these 

The news comes, eren while I write, that Peraral, 
the poet, is dead I Yes— one bj one, those I hare 
known and cherished, are fidling around me. Pew 
of mj earlj acquaintances are left, and I am but a lin- 
gerer among the graves of early friendship and lore ! 

James Gates Percival was a native <rf Brrlin,* tlic 
rt^iJenoc of mv lamily, and I know him woU. Uu 
fath<r waj* a }»hy?*icjan — a man of alnlily, and i^ n-*- 
4»liito uiui cniTgrtic chanicUT. IIu* nu>tlM*r was l>y 
nature **{ n ^u.wptihle and (it-lh^t** orpin izatii in, an*i 
8he i4tt'nu< to have nn{>artt*ti to Ikt son tlK*ii«* 4ualitirss 
with a ti-n<icncy to cxtH.>2iAive mental dovrlopinent. 
ilo early iiuinif«*sft«*d a mortatl »i)ym*s4rt luui nhrink- 
in^ Hi*nsitivi*ncMci, ahich hi^ UthtT ?4ou^'ht t«» ciij^ by 
liar>h meaiiures. On one oiv:u*iiin he put the child 
U'hiiid hini K*u honieba«.*k. and rt-ie into the tliu*kt:»l 
of a ithatu ti^ht, during a repmcutal mu^iiT. The 
n«ult w;iH, thut the Uiy watt ahuufit thn>wn inii» ci»n* 

l>r. iVtviviil dii*d when Jainev* w:»i» ntill \'*ung, aud 

ffwi Iri. >r« llr.U ! . A!. 1 Kfi.ViU^. u TL* Ift'.Uf ••• |'rf\t«A! • Urtb 


been a distinguished member of Congress. He bad 
traveled in Europe, and was not only a man of large 
wealth, but he had a taste ibr literature and art. His 
wife was daughter of the second Governor Trumbull, 
and a veiy excellent example of the refined and dig- 
nified lady of the olden time. She had been at Phil- 

I un indAbted to Mr. Dwight for the following, whioh is copied 
from ft memorandam in his fiither'a handwriting, in relation to the 

* In the yaar 1889 a work waa pobUahed in Boston, oallod ^Spedmena of Amer- 
leaa Poetry/ A&, by S KettelL In a blognpbioal sketch of Richard Alsop, a 
BBlnnte and dreatnaTantfal aooonnt ia giren by Mr. Kettall, and which has been 
freqaently referred to as a oorreet narratiTe of that publication. It seems no 
more than an aet of Jnatica to indiTidoatai that a tme history of it should be 

*Tbe first number of the Echo appeared in the American Mercury, at Hartford, 
in August 1791. It was written at MIddletown, by Eicliard Alsop and Theodore 
Dwight The authors, at the time of writing it had no expectation of its being 
pablished ; their sole object was to amuse themselves, a&d a few of their personal 
fHends. The general account of its origin is given in the preface of the volume in 
which the numbers were afterward collected, and published in New York. A few 
lines in the course of it were written by three of tbeir^Iiterary Ariends, viz. : Dr. 
M. F. Coggeswell, Elihu H. Smith, and Lemuel Hopkins. Dr. Hopkins wrote 
more than these tno others; a considerable part of ten numbers were by him. 
With these exceptions, the entire work was the production of Messrs. Al9op and 
Dwight Judge Trumbull never wrote a line of it Mr. I^ettcirs accoant is incor- 
rect in almost every essential particular. 

*'The 'Political Green-House^ was written by Alsop. Hopkins, and Dwight in 
unequal proportions." 

I think it may be remarked that, in these corapositionB, Dwiglit ahows 
the moat brilliant fkncy and playful wit, Alsop the broadest humor, 
and Hopkins the most original and crushing satire. French Jacobin- 
ifcm, with all ita brood of infidelity, radicalism, and licentiousness, is 
the especial object of attack throughout, and is justly and unsparingly 

Though Mr. Dwight is perhaps chiefly known as the author of satirical 
verses, and as a somewhat severe though able political writer, he was in 
private life one of the most pure, disinterested, and amiable of men. He 
had an almost womanly sensibility to human suflering; he was true to 
friendship, and inflexibly devoted to what ho deemed the cause of trutli, 
honor, and patriotism. He furnishes an instance of what has often hap- 
pened before, in which the literary man seems a vindictive satirist, while 
the social man— friend, neighbor, father, husband— is full of the milk 

133 unrm — ^noosAnooAL, 

eBtabliflhed the Daily Advertiser in New York, of 
which he wm the chief editor till 1888, when be re- 
moved to Hartford* He afterward retamed to New 
York, where he died, in 1848. 

Among the Hartford notables was Daniel Wads- 
worth, son of Col Jeremiah Wadsworth, who had 

1\« IlinrMt of IM hapm ^wmw 
WWr* I* i^U Ttrtoow ycuwc kta4« 
TW pvM*. th« bvlvwk of oar laid. 
fnrm'd to a|ikol4 lb* MlSoa'» tvigr— 
riMkMjr, Mid Stroac aad Kittc m4 lif— 
WboM wwimli m\flbt Mr c»mtr7 akltM, 
Ab4 f«l4« ««r iraika la iW tvUf 
By partf smU aad { mm il nw i bsM. 
KilWd (V«itii grnvvr. aad drttra frovi ptor*? 

R#*1 tlM» Ulfhl Itot •toll ftfMl r««dt 

AbliHi Md Jii^OMt. Pl^ lN«k^ 

rwrt«« mmI mprr. l*iiD«] •&•! l:h(mk 

l«ruo<l«. mmI lluft>. mmI I^CrtrWk 

H*fntii»nt • u\ «!••« «A>I <«ha«. wiil fl«attv. 

Nr«b>n. V'4 ..V. MrKlm VrKc«. 

^ml 1«, ftnii Tn-jp wi-) Wilfrry*— 

AM tkall oqr BAlliMi't enorac* Mall, 

ll'ra «a |Mir«l!ti(M)'t ••fu: tnnk. 

Wbca •«rli « r««i««liau*l train 

ll«t k-cbMl lttUri«4B •tt*t<iB* 
I ria«r aJrrailt a!hi«lr'i U> th# " llanr..r>l «iU," nf whom Ur l^^jf*- 
a a* ••<<•'. Thnr rv|tatatif>n aa« < l.teflv fboh l«-| apnn a •rnca ff art* 
cir* «>.irh •p(«carr«l in «ari>'U« |i«|vf«. anil vrr* <«Jla(ta»l aihl paU^f-aai 
in 1*<«»7. iiO'l^r ihr tiU* *f Oir F>h'. tnclo lin^ o4K»f |H«r«a T>«y 
ci>ri*tBie«l i-f •atirca. iui«U« ih the f<>rin '>f |«r<j>lM« an«i borla^^ a — 
«>lh itN-aAioQAi |taii»airTa of a nt^rv Mru'ua ebarartar Tb«; altrK«*o 
frrat a'.trnitirn at tha lini«. an«l kia>l a «hiMra<i«i)a eflWct la c^ri^ \hm 
|>iiUi<- • f a ta*te fi>r n>l.* u!uu« lititit)*a»t, wl.ich than p«««atW4. T^a 
I nn .{aI wr-.trr* «rrr Mr. I*ai«fr:t. K » t>f<>tl.*ria U« 1 .\'» i. 
• f 11) I KrY. wn. •Ml l»r H pk n«. .>r lianf «ra Mr TK«>«-lfT I»w ^« •. 
n<>« . f N»» ^ rk. i>r *- r. of iK* a:lt^ --r I am r***i^nf, hm •i »aR "^-w 
a %■ .'!•• •■ • » '. '•.••■, t r« r,.- T ♦ i»r ! }■% ••» h f thr<i# f**^ ft» »•* 
markr !. - Mr fa- « wf ! r j f » • U** tr T- -• • ^i***-* ti • r^ • *• 
in « ; ■ ': ' • « •*•«••••♦• r » ■ '..j' --.,•• f< • •'ar.ta^ f •!* 
ai: '.* *r ut • / M • J • • *•:!•.•»■ \t er T' •■ • « »r» ••r ••..■»• .f rarfe 
of l> ««« ar^cra: •r.>r« ar« c^carij ib.liraU<l. .i: <vmf«a.u ««^ ba«ui|f a 
gnu^rni a»|4Ct uf L<>cu ^iMiljr. 


been a distinguished member of Congress. He had 
traveled in Europe, and was not only a man of large 
wealth, but he had a taste ibr literature and art. His 
wife was daughter of the second Governor Trumbull, 
and a very excellent example of the refined and dig- 
nified lad J of the olden time. She had been at Phil- 

I Am indeMed to Mr. Dwight for the following, whioh is copied 
from a memorandam in his fiither's handwriting, in relation to the 

* In the jMT 18S9 a work was publlahed in Boston, esUed *8peeimsns of Amer- 
ksB Poetry/ Ac, bj S. KettoIL In a biographioal sketch of Bicbsrd Alsop, a 
minnta sad dreamstandal aoooont Is glTsn by Mr. Kettell, and whieh has been 
freqaently referred to as a eorreet narrstiTe of tbat publication. It seems no 
more than an act of Jostiee to IndlTldnals, that a tme history of it should be 

**The first number of the Echo appeared in the American Mercury, at Hartford, 
In Aogoat, 1791. It was written at Mlddletown, by Richard Alsop and Theodore 
Dwight The authors, at the time of writing it, had no expectation of its being 
pnblished; their sole object was to amuse themselves, aAd a few of their personal 
fHends. The general account of its origin is given in the preface of the volame in 
which the numbers were afterward collected, and published in New Turk. A few 
lines In the course of it were written by three of their literary friends, viz. : Dr. 
M F. Coggeswell, Elihu H. Smith, and Lemuel Hopkins. Dr. Hopkins wrote 
more than these t\\o others; a considerable part of ten numbers were by him. 
With these exceptions, the entire work was the production of Messrs. Alsop and 
Dwight Judge Trumbull never wrote a line of it Mr. liettelVB account is incor- 
rect in almost every essential particular. 

^'The 'Political Green-House' was written by Alsop.. Hopkins, and Dwight in 
unequal proportiona** 

I think it may be remarked that, in these compositionB, Dwiglit shows 
the most brilliant fancy and playful wit, Alsop the broadest humor, 
and Hopkins the most original and crushing satire. French Jacobin- 
ibm, with all its brood of infidelity, radicalism, and licentiousness, is 
the especial object of attack throughout, and is justly and unsparingly 

Though Mr. Dwight is perhaps chiefly known as the author of satirical 
verses, and as a somewhat severe though able political writer, he was in 
private life one of the most pure, disinterested, and amiable of men. He 
had an almost womanly sensibility to human suffering ; he was true to 
friendship, and inflexibly devoted to what ho deemed the cause of truth, 
honor, and patriotism. He furnishes an instance of what has often hap- 
pened before, in which the literary man seems a vindictive satirist, while 
the social man— friend, neighbor, father, husband— is full of the milk 


sought to avoid me. This was what I expected, for 
such was his habit of shrinking shyness, that it embar- 
rassed him to meet even an old Mend. I put myself 
in his way, and, after a few words of recognition, 
perceiving something more than usually downcast in 
his appearance, I asked him what was the occasion 
of it At first he denied that any thing had hap- 
pened, but at length, with some reluctance, he told 
me he had been making a tour to the North, and 
was out of money. His trunk was consequently de- 
tained on board the packet in which he had come 
down fix)m Albany t 

Percival had some patrimony, and though his means 
were narrow, they might have been suflScient for his 
comfort, with good management. But common sense 
— in the economy of life — was, unhappily, not one of 
his endowments. When he was about fifteen years 
old, his friends gave him fifty dollars, mounted him on 
a horse, and told him to ride till he had spent half his 
money, and then turn about and come home — think- 
ing him competent to fulfill this simple programme. 
He rode on for two or three days, when he found that 
the horse's back was sadly galled. Shocked at what 
seemed an inhumanity — for his feelings were exquis- 
itely tender — ^he resolved immediately to return. He 
would not mount the animal, for this would but ag- 
gravate its misery ; so he set out on foot, and led the 
creature behind him. The saddle, however, still irri- 
tated the wound, and Percival, Uiking it from the 


umruM — BiooEAraiaAL, 

animal's back, threw it over hia own ahonlder, and 
thus trudged home. I was familiar with this and ochrr 
similar aDecdotca. Thus knowing his imbecility in 
the common affairs of life, it did nut surprise mr to 
find him now without money, and in a sute of com- 
plete bewilderment as to what should be done. 

I gave him ten dollars, which he received and put 
into his pocket, making no reply— for such wss his un- 
demonstrative habit and manner. I asked him to dine 
with me the next day at the City Ilotel, to which ho 
agreed. I invited Mr. Coo()er — the novelist — to mn*t 
him, an4l horaimv It is nt»t rasy tt> oomvivr uf t«t> 
}N*rs«in.H nitiro stniii^Iy i*iiiitnL'«tiii>; with t-ach i<tiit-r. 
As thry sut ^idt> \*\ hide at thi* tuMr, I notoi thi- .u* 
ffnMHv. Mr. l'«K»|i*-r wx** in {•••nNni j-'li-l. nii.u-:, 
athletic : ill \**ic*\ manly : in inannrr, t'arn«*!«t, i in 
phatii\ alrntHt ilictat«»rial with '^irni-thin^' uf a'A- 
aAMTth'ii. U'rdfriii^: \»u •■>:uti.-in. Tin* lir^i fffivt »&.«• 
unpli';i.**;int, imlrtAl n*|>u!«ivi', h>it tiit-n* .•^iioni* thniu^li 
all thi.- a h«*.irtini->s. a traiikiit-Api, which cxritcd %:\*u- 
tidriiii*, rr>|fi t. and at liL-t airi^'tinn. 

l*t'ri'ival. oil thi* O'litrary. ua.'* tal*. a!.-l thiit. hi« 
cht->t P'lnkrn, liu« Iimlo \**Uhi an*! t'l-t-M*-. ii:- ti.ur mIL- 
i-n ariil ^andy. ii:> i'*'iri|'lcxi«.<ii '.i/ui .r. i :< ::..Mtii-. Luk 
i*\«- larp- an*l -|t*(-tra], hi- wn<<'.i asr ^la 
tU'i«> -h\ an-l .-iiririkink*. !-.■* \"." •»' a-' 
i«»-::ri»' Mr < '••■ -j-r a'.»- . ».«■ a :..»'. ' 
InXiU a: i \ :-'•:•-■*■-'■ *'• • I' ■ • » " 

• ki><'W that !.!■ M .io at ::■•■ 

•••■i. :..' all. 
' t .i:. i Vkl.i- 


wine as if his lip appreciated it : Percival swallowed 
his, evidently without knowing or caring whether it 
was wine or water. Yet these two men conversed 
pleasantly together. After a time Percival was drawn 
out, and the stores of his mind were poured forth as 
from a cornucopia. I could see Cooper's gray eye 
dilate with delight and surprise. 

I had a design in bringing these two men together, 
and this was to have a handsome edition of Percival's 
poems published for his benefit, and under such influ- 
ences as to make it profitable to him. The matter 
was talked over between us, and before we parted, it 
was all arranged. I at once drew up a prospectus, 
and had it printed. I wrote a contract between 
Percival and the publisher, Charles Wiley, and had 
it duly signed. Mr. Cooper took the prospectus in 
hand, and aided by the powerful assistance of Mr. 
Bronson, PercivaVs college classmate, the subscrip- 
tion was actively pushed. The fairest ladies of New 
York gave a helping hand, and before I left the 
city, three hundred subscribers were secured. Pro- 
vision had also been made for PercivaVs immediate 
comfort ; lodgings were furnished, and he was forth- 
with to prepare the copy for the promised volume. 
I returned to Hartford, but in a fortnight, got a letter 
asking me if I knew what had become of our poet ? 
Some weeks passed, during which time he was among 
the missing. At last it was discovered that he had 
been annoyed by a fiddling Frenchman, near his 

1S6 Lrmnui — bioobapiiioal, 

room, and had fled to New Haven. There he had 
entered into another contract for the publicatiou of 
his poemal 

It required some weeks to disentangle the affair flx>m 
all these difficulties. At last, howerer, after manr 
delays and annoyances, the copy was furnished, and 
the book printed. At that time I was on the point 
of going to Europe. I delayed a fortnight to get a 
perfect copy, so that I might take it with ntie — in or- 
der to secure its publication in England, for Pera 
val^s benefit At last I departed, having obtained tho 
uiil)ound »hwU of a ninple c*>py. I sailed fn>m Now 
York in the packet Bhip Cana<Iii — IVreival aix^»mi^- 
nyiiig me in thi* stc^oinUat N:iutiluj«, fnnn White*- 
liall, to the* Vfs.*M*l, whii*h lay out in tho fitn*ain. I 
liflievo hv nyanlitl mo as one of hij* Uwl frioiuLs hiii 
as wo sh<K>k han«N, and I Kvlo him farowfll. ho nai'l 
oolilly, ** (footlby" — hi.-* pulo and !«|»»vlral n^unt*-- 
nanco ith<>win>; ii«>t a rav •>r<'m*iti«>n. 

S>on aft«T roaohiiijr L>ndon, howrvrr. I rrrf'iv.^l a 
ct»py of thf Nt-w Yi»rk rommomal .\«lvorti«*iT, ^lat*^l 
N«>v. 17. 1^23. Ill whioh I n-aii ih.- f».!K»winjr th.'n- 
U-in^ a small " P.** in ink, at tho Uilt<ini. I iMpy it 
fn»m thi' filo of I Li* Now York Sj>i^-tat«»r "f Ni»v. 17. 
IH'JH— th.n .-lit.-.! hy W. L .<i..!,. 

Tkf t\MT*tt^t -Vir linear M« • •).;{• >|>rf%ti I «r lfr«>«il mi gm 
til tbr Lrt^'/c* hit'i »;'• •''<! !•• ••a .ii * ; • .- •:% •■ :i.x: •. •! *.}.• «.m^, 

i*AllAilA \<*»trr'lji_\ y^v Ti^^.M*'. II • •. -ri..'. j; tI.«- • ■ *.?i|C 


and had watehed the TesMl from the steamhoat tm she was lost 
in the blue dietanoe, and have no doabt that our friends wiU rec- 
ognise the author. 


The gallant abip is oat at aea, 

Proadly o'er the water going ; 
Along her aides the billowa flee, 

Back in her wake a river flowing. 
She dips her stem to meet the wave, 

And high the tossM foam earls before it : 
As if she folt the dieer we gave, 
She takes her flight, 
Where the sea looks bright, 
And the son in sparkles flashes o'er it. 

Gallantly as she oats her way— 

And now in distanoe tar is fleeting, 
There sre some on board whoee hearts sre gay, 

And some whose hearts are wildly beating. 
Loud was the cheer her seamen gnve, 

As back they sent our welcome cheering — 
Many a hand was seen to wave, 
And some did weep 
And fondly keep 
Their gaze intent, when oat of hearing. 

They haye parted, and now are far at sea — 
Heaven send them fine and gentle weather I 

They parted not for eternity — 

Our hands shall soon be linkM together I 

The sea was smooth and the sky was blue, 
And the tops of the ruffled waves were glowing — 

As proadly on the vessel flew 
Like the featherM king 
On his balanced wing. 

To a distant land o^er the ocean going. 

I knew Percival too well to feel hurt at his cool 
good-by — nevertheless, it was a pleasure to have this 
evidence of his feeling and his friendship. On reach- 
ing London, I made a contract with John Miller for 


the pablicatiou of the poems in two volumei 12ino— 
half the profita to go to the author. I alao wrote ibr 
it a brief biographical notice. A vcrr hanibonie 
edition aoon appeared, and attracted aome attention, 
but excited no enthusiasm in London. On the whulo, 
the publication was a failure. The edition of one 
thousand copies was not sold, but I subsequently in- 
duced Miller to send to Percival one hundrvd ci>piiA 
as his share of the proceetls. This was all he ev«rr 
received from the English edition. 

After my return to America, I frequently met Per- 
cival, but novrr under oircunu<tam*etf which n*m*wiMl 
our intimacy. Indetr^l, by tbisi time he IumI Uxi^uit- 
continn4*d in hi:i habits nf -aWtnictt(»n m life :kiA 
manner, whii-h n-ndrnnl it ilifhcult to cnti-r into \n* 
thou^'hts or iLvIings. lie evi-n seemed mij(aiithn*(> 
ical, liwl n-|>i*ll<xl. aM an ufl\*nM\ ever)' thini; that 
jealoujty coiiM hU9|t(vt t«» be either inti-rrytctl or ::»• 
t«*udeil a:< a jrratmty or a fuvnr. Then* wi-n* maiv 
|MTW)nK n-aily -n;iy (l«-?«irouH t«> rvntifr hiiii etVu-iei.t 
serviet\ but they tiiil nut kn«iw h«'w t<> :i|i|*nMi'h hiiii. 

In \*''2\ he w;iji ap|»«initol axsi.^tant sturL'i "ii in t^t* 
l*hiti-l Siatfj* army, ati'l {■nili'^^-'r I't" i-h'-iiiL-trv in 
the Mihlary Afaileniy at \Vi-?«t l*"ifit. TiiLH !ttut:'>n 
he ihMin abanil«>neti, Iji-iniT •li-ifi-tr-l. a-, hr t«»! I n»f\ 
with fiM* part «>t' hi;^ li'i'.v \ftt.:<-l. wx* I • • x.i'r.ii.** 
r^fruit-. h\ i..-:h'«!1'»:» ••: tip .r |-»r*..!.^. .i-. i ,\,-*»:\^ri- 
in^' iii« tr Hi ijh:. ij»-.^.'i.!. \. . A;- .•:;::-!■:.. !.*• h^ 
vmpluved and hberally |iai«i by Mr. .N.intnf; Walker, 


of Boston, in editing an extensiye edition of " Elegant 
Eztxacta," both in verse and in prose ; and afterward 
in editing Malte Bran's lai*ge Geography, adding 
thereto nmnerons nsefiil notes. About this period 
he was also engaged in assisting Dr. Webster, in pre- 
paring his quarto dictionary. In 1886, he received 
from Connecticut a government appointment to assist 
in a geological survey of the State. . He entered upon 
this duty, and his report was published in 1842. In 
1862, he received a similar appointment for the State 
of Wisconsin, and made his first report in 1866. He 
was still engaged in this duty, when his career was 
suddenly terminated by death, which took place at 
Hazelgreen, in the State of Wisconsin, May, 1866. 

With all the knowledge I possess of Dr. Percival's 
life and character, he is still, to me, somewhat of an 
enigma. That he was a man of powerful imagina- 
tion and an intellect of great capacity, is manifest : 
his poems prove the one — ^his amazing acquisitions, 
the other. That his understanding was even of lar- 
ger scope and measure than his fancy, is, I think, 
apparent, for he not only had a vast range of knowl- 
edge — ^precise and reliable obedient to recollection 
as the stores of a cyclopedia — ^yet his powers of com- 
bination, his judgment, were of the very first order. 
This was evinced, not only in his connection with 
Dr. WebsterJs Dictionary, already alluded to, by the 
nice discrimination he displayed in philological in- 
quiries, and the exactitude with which he rendered 



the shadingB of sense and meaning, in giring tbc 
definitions of words, but in the larger and grander 
surreys of geology — ^the largest and grandest of prac- 
tical sciences. Such compass and such precision ol 
knowledge — such power of exact as well as vast com- 
bination — are indeed marvelous. When we oonsidn 
him in this aspect, and at the same time remerohrr 
that thirty 3'ears ago he was captivating the wurl J 
with his imaginative oflusions, we have indeed a 
character of remarkable and almost oontndictury ele- 

Yet it must be addi'^I thai, on the whole. hL« lif«' 
wan a complete Hhipwn*ek. He livetl to exeite a<liM- 
ratitui uiid womirr; yet in {v>vrrty. in L^»Iali>tri. in a 
complete s<»litu<le of the heart. II4* IkmI i\oX, I lliii-.L. 
a riiii^']«* viee ; hiH life w:krt pun\ just, upright. II •«! 
then iliil lie fail? The truth mvtiu* to \n\ that he wait 
detieieiit in that Hyriiputhy wlji(*h hiu*U man to man. 
and heiuv he was an ani>in:i!y in the (t<H*iety am<>n*: 
whieh he ilvnii -u note out *A' tunt* w:th the ^'n*at 
hannony ol' Mr aroun*! hiin. !!•* was a ^^ranti sn- 
telUvt, a >rranit inia^Mn.itioii, hut without a hi-art. hi* wart l»orn with a Ui«>;n full of all love 
an<l nil kin*lntMw, we can n>>t <iiul't ; hut t};«* i;>Mt'n 
IhjwI -M-^'niM to have U-«-n hniken. alfn.^t :it !•:.■ t'tun:- 
aui. H\ tli»* ti!:i»- lit* WiL"* t\%.!i!\. !:.■ U-j.i:: til i.r,i' •! 

ali»o|*ir..:ii hi-* f. l!..w.:!i.4;: I tl.-.k };•■ !^! ' i.,|*. 

Iv Hi} iTfl !iav ruii.iil h\ ih» r«.ii.:./ ••! ]Ur>>i/B 
work^ at that pnv'Uto a^v when lii!« 9»i\x\ wan in all 


the sensitive bloom of spring, and its killing frost of 
atheism, of misanthropy, of pride, and scorn, fell upon 
it, and converted it into a scene of desolation. The 
want of a genial circle of appreciation, of love and 
friendship, around his early life, left this malign influ- 
ence to deepen his natural shyness into a positive and 
habitual self-banishment from his fellow-man. Such 
is the sad interpretation I put upon his career.* 


A few WayncU Notes — The Poet Brainard — Hie first Introduction — Rip^ 
ley's Taoem — Aunt Lucy — The little back-parlor— Brainard^ s Office- 
Anecdote — The DeviCs Dun — The Lines on Niagara — Other Poems-^ 
One thai is on the Sea — ITie Sea-bird's Song — PubUeation of Brainard s 
Poems — Oeneral Bemarks — His Deaih, 

My d«ab O****** 

I have told you that in the autumn of 1823 1 
set out to visit Europe ; but a few previous events 
are needful to bring my narrative to that epoch. In 
1821, clouds and darkness began to gather around my 
path. By a fall from a horse, I was put upon crutches 

• The Dodce of Dr. Percival in Kettell's Specimens of American 
Poetft, was written at my request by Rev. Boyal Boblnns, of Kensing - 
ton parish, Berlin, in which the poet lived. It is a beantifal and just 
appreciation of his character at that time. I know of no person so com- 
petent as he to give the world a biography of Percival. lie is familiar 
with the details of his whole career, and especially with the earlier por- 
tions of his life, and is, moreover, master of all the qaaliflcations requi- 
site to give interest and value to sach a work 

14S unrww wooeawiicau 

for more than a year, and a cane for the rat of mr 
life. Ere long death entered my door, and my home 
was desolate. I was once more alune- -kivc only that 
a child was left me, to grow to womanhood, and to 
die a youthful mother, loving and beloved* — leaving 
an infimt soon to follow her to the tomb. My aflaira 
became embarrassed, my health failed, and my only 
hope of renovation was in a change of scene 

• Svmi Spirit pMMd ! Tb not Ibr Um* 
Our bettor toan udommdiviI Sow— 
Th} |«th t*^ Unkrrn im tr»i'«'l. but «v. 
With frwMtig brart. lujtt «rilh« b«!ow : 

Wr mnum Xi.} t-tut .net li-nng ton*, 
Tiial iiiAiir cn>lcarin^ iiAiur* n»'if* •lr«r, 

Antl l«>iir).il «.th III .-.r A.: .U •••II 
Thr wATin fi*o<i he*ft« lliAt rlavlcrv*! imat. 

We tifmni tbr f>rni- tl.; •|Hr>i bn^i.t, 
Wl.irh tti"!.* •" laic till 1 tir. ImI A^tarr* 

An<l %rl r>iu: 1 |»>ur «li^ii< i.tft.*. 
A' ri.M Ui« •Mkt tcU4|«-*l- ■■ •• Ko-.'v ' 

W c lik'Hiru fvr iKr* * « 1 1 !rt, *. .• -i. 

VI li^ii iM^t «« lb" iir'-t fr m *.l r« to tcifr 
A* if Aocn* aUr «t >lf iiit'i ir ••«ii. 

At br:,{htc»l hi'ur t.j . •• : r n tir 

I i.|t \«iL^ K*U- ' W:« l«rk »••.<!.• 
« All «|«r* thr wr«r«. Mftafr 1. tvni. 

> rt (rj«li tlj« U.rr*'. it •*. ■i..ii«« 

U iirr«« !«••■« «ii 1 ; ■% (.•«• I ' • . ■. : r f t«i.i ' 

( «»ul,l livi K.t y>ut;.fi.. !!• t. f r 
K«riii|ilti.|i fP in 1t.« *t«PT| lr«rv«t 

* Kf^. I I. •I l(.« 1 1*.. 1 H»Mi ki«|<>.l L«r CkAiiic, 
l^t rt ■ tt« I ti.iitf ;iAr fr i. *..>.«« ' 

A< , I .-i.ari • <• ^rr i, _i a-. 

Tt.« • rfliti. • 4*. .n :•■ I ,1 ^» ■. f •rB«{., 
Tuma but, «ilb |j«« i:ii. t:.u^^i.t, tw iiMN 

Tic biAigiiif iitaccl <& It* |«lh ' 


But before I give you a sketch of my experience 
aud obeervations abroad, I must present one portrait 
more — ^that of my friend Brainard.* He came to 
Hartford in February, 1822, to take the editorial 
charge of the Connecticut Mirror — Mr. Stone, as I 
have stated, having left it a short time before. He 
was now twenty-six years old, and had gained some 
reputation for wit and poetical talent. One day a 
young man, small in stature, with a curious mixture 
of ease and awkwardness, of humor and humility, 
came into my office, and introduced himself as Mr. 
Brainard. I gave him a hearty welcome, for I had 
heard very pleasant accounts of him. As was natu- 
ral, I made a complimentary allusion to his poems, 

Forgive ns, Heaven ! if thas we mourn 

The lost on earth — the blest abo^e — 
So rudely from our bosom torn, 

With all its clinging ties of love 1 

One bright, blest spot of sunshine played 

Upon the landscape's varied breast — 
Yet there the clouds have cast their shade 

And there the deepest shadows rest ! 

* John Gardiner Caulkins Brainard was the youngest son of Jeremiah 
G. Brainard, of New London, judge of the supreme court, whom I have 
already mentioned in the history of my military adventures in 1818. His 
two elder brotheni, William F., a lawyer, and Dyer, a physician, were 
both men of wit and learning; the first died some years since, the latter 
■*n sUU living. John, of whom I now write, was born in 1795, educated 
at Yale, prepared for the law, and settled at Middletown 1819. He died 
at New London, in 1828. The portrait of him in Messn*. Duyckincks^ 
** Cyclopaedia of American Literature," is from an engraving in the 
Token for 1830, and that is taken from a miniature I had painted o'l 
him, by our mutual friend, Tisdale. It was from recollection, but give* 
a pretty good idea of the sad yet humorous, boyish yet manly, counte- 
nance of the original. 

144 urmt— BaooBAmcALi 

which I had aeen and admired. A nnile, yd ahatkti 
vith aomething of mdanchdy, came over hia fiwr, aa 
he replied — 

** Don't expect too much of me ; I nerer suooecdi*il 
in any thing yet I nerer could draw a mug of ddor 
without apilling more than half of it !** 

I afterward found that much truth was thua spoken 
in jest : this waa^ in point of lact^ predaelj Brain- 
ard*8 appreciation of himaelf. All hia life, feeling 
that he could do aomething, he still entertained a 
mournful and dinhcartoning ainviction that, on the 
whoK\ he wati d<oiiu\l m failuiv ami dis«|i|i«iiiit- 
mcnt. There waH ml {>n>{thtx*v in thu {»n.*ikeiitunt-i.t 
~a pn^phtvv which he at oiio* maalt aiul fulfilloi 

Wo Ko(>n Uvainc fneipN, arni at last nitimaU-^. 
I w;ii* rn)w ln^nling at *• KipWV — a gnod n!-! 
faith It KK-il Uiveni. 4>v<t which pn^iihxl Major IC>:- 
ley. rt>|N-»-iiil fur ri'VolutioiKiry mTvict»s«, an ainiahlc 
chanu*t<T. axi«l a long Continrntol queue. In th«* 
a>lmi!ii!*tration of the eftLaMi.^hnient he was aMy 
supiMin***! l>v hu danirhttT. Auni Lucv ih** verr 
geniuji of tavern c*iurt<vy, c«N»kiTv, and c«»mfort, 
Ilere Hrainanl joino«l me, and we ti^ok our ntoms 
aide h\ «ide. Thuj* fir ni^rf a year Wf wen* 
together, am tntunat** »!< br<»thi'rH. Ilr waj« ••fa child- 
like (I I !<[>•>.'« I lion, ariil iT.iVi-<I (••iiit.iTit syin{*at!iy. II«« 
suoii kf"t nil'» th»' h;i!'!t ••:* ■i»j-»'!i l:r.j i!--!; tr-.t* m 
many thitiirs aii<l at \.v-\ • «|«i i.i'.'.v in liu'il wi*a!i •-r. 
ur when he wx* kh\, or ^•iiii-thuik' wmt wrt>T.;r with 


him — ^he crept into mj bed, as if it was his right. 
At that period of gloom in mj own fortunes, this 
was as well a solace to me as to him. After mj re- 
turn fix>m Europe we resumed these relations, and for 
some months more we were thus together. 

Brainard's life has been firequentlj written. The 
sketch of him in Kettell's ''Specimens," I furnished, 
soon after his death. Mr. Bobbins, of Berlin, ¥rrote 
a beautiful biographical memoir of him for Hopkins' 
edition of his poems, published at Hartford, in 1842. 
A more elaborate notice of his life, character, and 
genius, had been given in Whittier's edition of his 
"Bemains," 1882. To this just and feeling memoir, 
by a kindred spirit — one every way qualified to ap- 
preciate and to illustrate his subject — I have now 
nothing to add, except a few personal recollections — 
such as were derived from my long intercourse and 
intimacy with him. 

Perhaps I cannot do better than to begin at once, 
and give you a sketch of a single incident, which will 
reflect light upon many others. The scene opens in 
Miss Lucy's little back-parlor — a small, cozy, carpet- 
ed room, with two cushioned rocking-chairs, and a 
bright hickory fire. It is a chill November night, 
about seven o'clock of a Friday evening. The Mirror 
— Brainard's paper — is to appear on the mornmg of 
the morrow, it being a weekly sheet, and Saturday its 
day of publication. The week has thus far passed, 
mnd he has not written for it a line. How the davR 

Vol. II.— 7 

146 LiiiiM iJNiiinwiii, 

haTe gone he can hardlj tell. He ha* read a little — 
dipped into BjroD, pored over the laal Wavi-rkr 
Doyel, and been to aee his frienda; at all eventa» he 
had got rid of the time. He has not felt oomptOrnt 
to bend down to his work, and has put it off till the 
last moment No Airther delaj ia pumiible. H«* ia 
now not well ; he haa a cold, and this has taken the 
ahape of a swelling of the tonaila, almost amounting 
to quinsy, as was usual with him in such attacksi 

Miss Lucy, who takes a motherly inter»t in him, 
tells him not to go out, and his own inclinations sug- 
gest the channM of a quiet evoninp in tht* roi'kini: 
chair, by a g«KKl fin* — especially in comjaniuMi with 
goin^ to hi.s comfortlcAH offxce, and drudpni* for the 
inky deviJM of the praw. He liiikr^rs till cipht, and 
then Hudtlfnly n>iu«in^ hirnH«»lf, by a d«*«j»«Tatr Mr«»rt 
thrown on hin cloak an«l HallifM forth. An wai« n«>t 
unconunon, I t/f> witli hini. A dun tire ia kindliNl 
in the Mmall Franklin Mt«>v«* in hij« «>t1!ioe, and wi* m! 
down. Hrainard, as waj« bin wont. «*fi{wrial)y wb«>n 
he was in tnrmble, falls inti> a cunou** train of rt*!l<^ ■ 
tions, half cimiic and half mtioua. 

•• Wouhi ti> hfnvrn/* ho sayn, '• I wrm a Mavo. I 
think a idavt*, with a pH»d nt:u«tor, has a ^mhI tiiiiv 
of it Th<* ni«|M>nmbiltty tif takiULf ciin* of hinL*«t*lf'- - 
tlie nifmt tc*rnbl<* bunlrn of !tt<* m put on hi<« in:u» 
t4T's hhou I' IfP*. M:iil:itii<* U.'l:Ui.l. with .i *'.:j?,! ;il:ir:\ 
tion, wtiul'l havi* i;tt«n-»i a i-r ' «j -l truth >i,- 
^luld have said— '<>h, liU*rtv. 1:*- r:\ t.i->ii art .% 


hombag I' After all, liberty is the greatest possible 
slaTerj, for it puts upon a man the responsibility of 
taking caie of himself K he goes ¥rrong — ^why he's 
damned I If a slave sins, he's only flogged, and gets 
over it, and there's an end of it Now, if I oould 
only be flogged, and settle the matter that way, I 
should be perfectly happy. But here comes my tor 

The door is now opened, and a boy with a touseled 
head and inky coimtenance, enters, saying curtly — 
"Copy, Mr. Brainardl" 

" Come in fifteen minutes 1" says the editor, with a 
droll mixture of fun and despair. 

Brainard makes a few observations, and sits down 
at his little narrow pine table — hacked along the edges 
with many a restless penknife. He seems to notice 
these marks, and pausing a moment, says — 

" This table reminds me of one of my brother Wil- 
liam's stories. There was an old man in Groton, who 
had but one child, and she was a daughter. When 
she was about eighteen, several young men came to 
see her. At last she picked out one of them, and 
desired to marry him. He seemed a fit match enough, 
but the father positively refused his consent. For a 
long time he persisted, and would give no reason for 
his conduct. At last, he took his daughter aside, and 
said — * Now, Sarah, I think pretty well of this young 
man in general, but IVe observed that he's given to 
whittling. There's no harm in that, but the point 

148 LErriEM — uookapbicau 

is this: he whittles and whittles, and nerrr maVt^ 
nothing I Now I u*U you, 1*11 never give mj only 
daughter to such a feller as that!* Whenever Hill 
told this story, he used to insinuate that this whit- 
tling chap, who never made any thing, was me ! At 
any rate, I think it would have suited me, exactly.** 

Some time possed in similar talk, when at last 
Brainani turned suddenly, Un»k up his |ien and be> 
gan to write. I sat a|>art, and left him to his work. 
Some twenty minuu*s pasned, when, with a radiant 
smile on his face, he got up, approached the fire, and 
taking the candle to light hi.<« p»|x*r, read as folU^w^ : 

*-niK FAM. Of NiAtiARA. 

**Tli«» tliMiiifhtii are Mnuip* itmt rr«i««l into tiij braia, 
Wliilr I |iH>k u|i«iAr«1 t** thi^. It wtiuM prftn 
Ai* If <iiit| |i«»ur*«l ihrv fnnii lit« ' hotUiw band,* 
An<l hiiiiir hi* Ihiw ufMrn thv «trfii| fn iQt ; 
And »)iiiki* in tluit li>iHl rmrtf that amnM to him 
Wh4i ilwfit in pAlniuafor hi* S«vhiur'» •«k«, 
* Tht «ium) «if manr ««trr« ;' and hftd bad« 
Thv dtMiil u* chntuirW the ai{» ti«rk. 
And notch ht* cetit'riai in fur rtrrna] mrkt !'* 

Ilf had hanlly done rvaiiin^. whrn the hoy cmnie. 
Rminiinl handiil him the linti* i>ii a Mnall ncmp of 
ruthtT ooamt* |iii|mt - ami uM him ti» f'*>m«- again la 
half an h«>ur li^^fm* thL«( tiriif hal rl;ip««-«l. he h»i 
riiii«ti*-*l. aifi Tx'iid !ii(* th«- I 'lloH ir.k' ^l.»ri/.a 

" \K^'\* rallrth unit! ili«*|' \u\ whi: «'• «•>. 
Thai hear lh« <|«i«»tii*n t^ that ^tm^ •uMmie ? 


Oh I what are all the notes that ever rang 
Fh>m war*8 Tain trampet by thy thandering aide ? 
Tea, what is all the riot man can make, 
In his short life, to thy nnceasing roar ? 
And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to Him 
Who drownM a world, and heapM the waters &r 
Above its loftiest mountains ? A light wave. 
That breathes and whispers of its Maker^s might*' 

These lines having been furnished, Brainard left 
his office, and we returned to Miss Lucy's parlor. He 
seemed utterly unconscious of what he had done. I 
praised the verses, but he thought I only spoke warm- 
ly from friendly interest. The lines went forth, and 
produced a sensation of delight over the whole coun- 
try. Almost every exchange paper that came to the 
office had extracted them : even then he would scarce 
believe that he had done any thing very clever. And 
thus, under these precise circumstances, were com- 
posed the most suggestive and sublime stanzas upon 
Niagara, that were ever penned. Brainard had never, 
as he told me, been within less than five hundred 
miles of the cataract, nor do I believe, that when he 
went to the office, he had meditated upon the sub- 
ject. It was one of those inspirations which come to 
the poet — and often come like the lightning — in the 
very midst of clouds and darkness. 

You will readily -see, from the circumstances I have 
mentioned, that I knew the history of most of Brain- 
ard's pieces, as they came out, from time to time, in 
his newspaper. Nearly all of them were occasional 


— that w» suggested by paming erenta or ineidetitii in 
the puet*fl expericDoe. The exquisite linos beginning, 

"* Hm dflsd 10ST« itrtw tlM forirt walk. 
And wiUMr*d art ths psb wiM-flowwi**~ 

appeared a few days after he had taken leare of a 
young lady from Savannah, who had spent a month 
at our hotel, and had left an impreasion upon his aen- 
sttiye heart, which the lines, moumftil and touching 
as they are, only reveal to those who witnessed his 
emotions. Many were struck off in the extreme exi- 
gt^noii'S of the Jevir.M ilun -hi;* von* clawii uj»on hi in. 
In tht-st' caf««rH, ho doiihll«« n»s«>rt«»«| to the tn-anurrs 
of hU iniiul, which !*eein!t to havo Nvn hirirfly !*tnn"«l 
with tho HtvrHTy of his luitiv** St.ito» aii«l tho Irp^nd;* 
coniu»t*t<Ml with them. Two olrmnits in nt*arlv t^\u^ 
pn>|>«>rtion» HtviruNl in fill hb* Siiul — the humorouji and 
the Htihlim** and uftoii in Hiioh tN^ntiu'uity. or rvi*n 
mixtun*, ;w to hriL'htrn tho rlTii-t iif t*:i<'h--thi!*, h»»w. 
ever, U'in;j nion» n«»ti<t'aMf in his c<»nvrpia:i»>n than 
his writinsr«. It w:u4 !M*rni'timi'34 am:i/inL* to watrh 
the o|w»ritittTi!< of his mind <*v<*n in ni4iinrnt.'« of fa- 
mdiHnty, i»ftrn *<tartinL; fn»m !*oine trivial or j* rfiaj*^ 
ludu-r^ML^ inciilont, into a train «if the m«>4t I<»fty and 
suMiine thoiiirht. I havr iN»rnpan*d hiiii. in my **\%n 
mind, to a ehdd |»la\i!iL' uj-iii !hf f-fa^»-:i-ii. wh'i l-y 
chaii'**' |''.'K^ ::» i?. 1 w:'i i-. :i Tr.:- i:r«* «»•.•!! .r w.i'i- 
dcrini! nit«i ^'•m•• r.ith- dr.i!. lay* h:.-« :::;j»r \i|' •:! the 
clavier of the or^an, and falling u|M>n the keynote of 


his heart, draws fix>m the instroment all its sound- 
ing melody. 

I trust you will pardon me if I give the history of 
one or two other poems, connected with my own ob- 
servation. I have told you that in the autumn of 1823, 
I went to Europe, and was absent for a year. On 
parting with Brainard, we mutually promised to write 
each other, often. Yet I received not a line fix>m him 
during my absence. I knew his habits and forgave 
him — ^though I was certainly pained by such neglect 
On meeting him after my return, I alluded to this. 
Without saying a word, he went away for a short 
time : on his return, he put into my hands a copy of 
the Mirror, which had appeared a few days before, 
and pointing to the lines — which I extract below — 
he left me. His reply, thus indicated, was indeed 
gratifying. You will understand that at the time, 
Lafayette had just arrived in the country. 


With gallant siul and streamer gay, 

Sweeping along the splendid bay, 

That, throng'd by thousands, seems to greet 

The bearer of a precious freight. 

The Cadmus comes ; and every wave 

Is ^M. the welcomed prow to lave : 

What are the ship and freight to me? 

I look for One that's on the sea. 

" Welcome Fayette," the million cries : 
From heart to heart the ardor flies, 

Ift9 ucmrw whioiapbioal. 

And dnnn Mid bcU ttA 0MM« aoiH^ 
In ooooord with a D«tkm*t Toioii, 
It pCAliof through a gratcAil bod, 
ABd iB go wkh hko. Umlftaod, 

ICoring oo Om that*t dmr to im» 

Tot ■ailfaif oo the daoforoot mo. 

Bo thy doj» happy hrro, Fajrotlol 
Loog maj thoy ho •>— loog — hot yot 
To DM thirt*t ooo that, doanft ttUl* 
Cling! lo my hoart and rhaina my witt. 
Hi* Ungoid Umhn and foTtriih h«od 
■ Aro kid opoo a w o t i ck bed : 

Pcrhapa his thouirhu aro fix*d oo OMt» 

While t4Hiii*fl n|M»B t)i^ inighly mo. 

I ain ak»nr. I^l tbou^fMU thn»ng 
Hw iM»r%\, rrtiwdwl »tnvtii ali'tig: 
hmwt W llie h«oiM <if >i^»nt\*ft | 
Li •11(1 \>r l\Mf sliMut that frvrfiMfii 
lirt patri»tji gra*i* thy ii«>Ue hatitU 
And wvlcmiM* tht*e to Frroil<Hn'» lami— 

AUft! I think uf Booi* but h* 

Who MiW M-HMM tbo ItMuuing mo * 

S> when the m«*oo i« ulieiiilinir hght 

r|M>n the ttar^ an«l all t» bright 

And b««otiful, mliru rtrrv e}e 

1>M>k<« upward U* thr f;k*ni>u« •ky , 

il(»w hare I tumM tu\ mk^nt garr, 

Tt> catrh cio« Kttle La|>«r*» Maxr : 
*T«aa fnicii a •{■•C t<«i> dear U* m^ ■ 
Tbt* IktHiM «>f tliat'a *.%ix tbt* «r^ 

Ought I iK»t lo lia\f Ut II ?siii*!"n''i ' ir\..i»oill 
ouiipan* ihfsi' htitui ^ilh ih****- l»\ INnival. iiiiiirr 


circumstances not altc^ether dissimilar, jou will have 
the means of comparing the two poets — the one feel- 
ing through the suggestions of his imagination, the 
other exercising his imagination through the impulse 
of his feelings. Percival was a poet of the £Etncy — 
Brainard, of the heart. 

Still one more passing note. The "Sea-Bird's Song" 
appears to me one of the most poetical compositions 
in Brainard's collection, and the history of it can not 
be iminteresting. It was written some time after mj 
return from England, and when I was again married 
and settled at Hartford. He was a firequent — almost 
daily visitor at our house, and took especial pleas- 
ure in hearing my wife sing. He had no skill in 
music, but, as with most persons of a sentimental 
turn, his choice always fell upon minors. One even- 
ing his ear caught up the old Welsh tune of " Taffy 
Morgan," which is, in point of fact, a composition, of 
great power, especially when it is slowly and seri- 
ously executed. He was greatly affected by it, and 
some one suggested that he should compose a song 
to suit it. I remarked that I had often thought the 
song of a sea-bird, if treated with ballad simplicity 
and vigor, might be very effective. He began to 
ponder, and the next day brought a verse to try its 
rhythm with the music This being approved, he 
went on, and two days after, came with the whole 
poem, which he slightly altered and adapted upon 
hearing it sung. Having said thus much, pardon me 



for reciting the linet, and aeldng 700 to get some 
good ballad-singer to give it to yoo, in the cadence 
of the old Welch melody I have mentioned. Thus 
sang, it is one of the meet thrilling compocitiona I 
have ever heard. 

THE 8XA-BUU>'8 80NO. 

Od the deep It Um msrliMr't dsi^w— 
Oo Um deep It the iiurliMr*t dMth : 
WbO| to fear of Um Utopait t ttrsnatr, 
8m Um iMt Imbble banc of hk breath 1 
Tit the MbM, M-bM, ttft-bM, 

I>»nr li»f>kpr on d«*<i»|iair: 
Th« trA-bird, MMi-binl, tre-birtl, 
Tb« offil^r wtttKM there! 

Who wttrhoi th«ir niurw^ who «> mikllj 
(*arivti to th« ktm nf iIm* hrr«.'j:r f 

Who U«t« Ut tlK*ir fkhhrlLA^ mint m.» wiMlj 
Arv rUitfictJ in t>ir aiiim of il*« m««? 
T'u ti»e tnt-btnl, ^4\ 

^lio horrm (»!! ht^h t»Vr lb** I««%«'r, 
And \wr n\Ht hAH cluiiir («• hi* iHH-k f 

WhtMir wing i« !!k« win** t!iA( «"«ii c«»»€T 
With iti» niuMlow Oh* fouutUriiiie wnxkf 
Ti* the M**-bmi, Ar. 

II T f jr in the lvir*»t i»f thr]..w. 

M\ wn\^ on th<* wair of ih^ WA««. 
I %^aI! tAko to w\ tr*-**!, for a (mII.iw, 

1 y.i« •hn-ij,! ..f th*' f*;r aikI tS« l»rm>«' 
h. :»M ^a ,'.1. A. 

|f> (***'\ of. th«' M*'*.-» :.A« ' ^i.uA 

Mhro Imimw tlir wikl wiimU %««r aUMit; 


My ^e, when the bark Is beDlghted, 
Sees the lamp of the lighthouse go oat I 
. Pm the sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird, ^ 

Lone looker on despair; 
The sea-bird, sefr-bird, sea-bird, 
The only witoees there! 

Where is there a song of more wild and impressive 
imagery— exciting more deep and touching emotions, 
than this? 

These stanzas were written in the spring of 1826. 
The year before I had persuaded Brainard to make a 
collection of his poems, and have them published. 
At first his lip curled at the idea, as being too preten- 
tious; he insisted that he had done nothing to justify 
the publication of a volume. Gradually he began to 
think of it, and at length — March 14, 1825 — I induced 
him to sign a contract, authorizing me to make ar 
rangements for the work. He set about the prep 
aration, and at length — after much lagging and many 
lapses — the pieces were selected and arranged. When 
all was ready, I persuaded him to go to New York 
with me, to settle the matter with a publisher. I 
introduced him to Bliss & White, and they readily 
undertook it, on the terms of joint and equal profits. 
Thus appeared the little volume, with Bunyan's 
quaint rhyme for a motto — 

" Some said, * John, print it' — others said, * Not so ;' 
Some said, *It might do good' — others said, ' Nol' " 

I must note a slight incident which occurred at 

150 mill ■iwiiffgriiij 

New York, illustrttiTe of Bndnmitl*8 cbf cl e r. He 
was keenlj alive to every species of beaaty, in nature 
ana art. Hia appreciatioo of the beauties of literature 
amounted to passion. That he had a craving lor 
pathos and sublimity, is manifest from his works; 
yet he seemed to feel the nicer and more latent 
touohes of wit and humor with a greater intensity of 
delight, than any other species of literary luxury. 
He was hence a i^>ecial admirer of Halleckf and more 
than once remarked that he should like to see him. 
I proposed to introduce him ; but he was shy of all 
formal meetings antl »cem«l indeed to feci that thrrv 
would U» a kind of pn^iiuinplion ui hw K'liig prv- 
sentod to thr loading |»<K*t of tho ^m^at im'tn^pokn. 

I wa» ihorvfoH' oblijrttl to givi» up l\u* idea of 
effivling a tiKVlm^ bclwtvn tbi-KC two |ici>ion!i, h»>xU 
nattvt^^i of Conniviicut, and [hvuIuu-Iv tilled to appi\'- 
cialc and tt«liiiire each lahrr. One tn(»nntiir, how- 
ever, fortune wtnii>l lo f;ivor me. Aj* wr enterrd 
the KH>k5t«>re of Mt*?^n». \\\in» k WlnU* iben on the 
eajtU-m mde c»f Hn»a«i«AV, mar (V-^lar-ytlrwl I kaw 
llalUvk at the furtlHTtMii (»f liie n»«»nL I neau Hourly, 
1 told thiA U^ Hnunani. He ro^'rrlv a^k(^l me which 
was the |*oi't, aniou^ two or ihnt.* |i*Ti*on!» thai w«tp 
stantim^ t^^Mthrr. 1 j«»:ht«il him «.ui. Bnunard 
t^-K'k a l<»i»K and oMii«>t i:iuj\ ihrii turnt-^l ou ht-* brrl, 
and I «N»uI«l ii»t tin! h»m f»r xhv ri>i tf iii«- i.n ! 

the pubhr, and he w.ii« univeraallv rt*ci»gn)2rti an a true 


poet These effusions, however, were regarded rather 
in the light of promise than iulfillment, and there- 
fore people generally looked forward to the achieve- 
ment of some greater work. I felt this, and frequent- 
ly urged him to undertake a serious poem, which 
might develop his genius and establish his £Eune. He 
thought of it, but his habitual inertness mastered him. 
I returned to the subject, however, and we frequently 
conversed upon it. At last, he seemed to have re- 
solved on the attempt, and actually wrote a consider- 
able number of stanzas. After a time, however, he 
gave it up in despair. He told me, frankly, that it 
was impossible for him to sustain the continuity of 
thought and consistency of purpose indispensable to 
such an achievement. What he had actually done 
was merely an introduction, and was afterward pub- 
lished under the title of ^^ Sketch of an Occurrence on 
hoard a Brig,^^ Whoever has read these lines, can 
not fail to lament that weakness in the author — con- 
stitutional and habitual — which rendered him incom- 
petent to continue a flight so nobly begun. 

One anecdote — ^in addition to those already before 
the public — and I shall close this sketch. Brainard's 
talent for repartee was of the first order. On one 
occasion, Nathan Smith, an eminent lawyer, was at 
Eipley's tavern, in the midst of a circle of judges and 
lawyers, attending the court. He was an Episcopa- 
lian, and at this time was considered by his political 
adversaries — unjustly, no doubt — as the paid agent of 


tliAl peraoanoD, now cUmoring for a mm of money 
from the State, to lay the fouitdatioD of a '' Biabopa* 
Fond.*^ He was thus regarded somewhat in the same 
li{^t as 0*CoDiieU, who, while be was the great patriot 
leader d Irish independeDoei was at the same time 
liberally supported by the " rint** By aooide&t» Brain- 
ard came in, and Smith, noticiDg a little feathery at- 
tempt at whiskers down his cheek, rallied him upon it 

" It will never do,** said he; '^yoa can not raise it, 
BrainanL Come, here's sixpence — take that| and go 
to the barber's and get it shaved off I It will soKwth 
your cheek, and ease your conscience.'' 

Brainard drew hiuuiclf up, and Maid, with git*at djg> 
nity — as Smith held out the aix|)enoe on the {K»int of 
his forufinger — **No, hir, y«>u lia«l betUT kevp it for 
the Biflljo{M* Kuntl !** 

I nt^i'il not — I must not — prolong this nketch. 
What I have naid, i^ HuflU-itM.t to give vou an in«ight 
into the clmracter of thu« gii\4*tl child of geniuA. In 
person he waH very «hort^ with large hand^i and tW*t. 
and a walk |»atldling and awkward. II Li hair i%aii 
light-brown, \i\n rtkui ))alhd, hiA t-yr largi* anil hluu*h- 
gray, hin li|iH thick, hLn foreheoil Miuxith, white;, and 
hantlj«ome ; hin l>n>w U*autifull\ arxht^l, and olg<\l 
with a »iefinit4?, narrow line, lliji gmeral a)>|i«\inA]K^ 
was that of a Hi»nH*wh:it rluinHv l-»y. Hlh i<.>iMi^ 
nance Ha*« Ui^ually dull, yet viitii a v%oii>icrtul |*<>\%« : n* 
ex|»nite*i«»n wiu •lr«»!Urv, •*. r.-'U'^iir.'v. ri.L-.:.^' i .k. h 
utht-r in rapid fUixvcvHi«»n. lu « han^cs hcu* at i»i.i«- 


sudden and marvelous. At one moment he looked 
stupid and then inspired. His &ce was like a re- 
volving light — now dull and dark — ^now radiant, and 
shedding its beams on all around. His manners were 
subject to a similar change ; usually he seemed un- 
couth, yet often have I seen him seductively cour- 
teous. In short, he was a bundle of contradictions : 
generally he was ugly, yet sometimes handsome ; for 
the most part he was awkward, yet often graceful ; 
his countenance was ordinarily dull, yet fi^uently 
beaming with light. 

Thus with a look and appearance of youth — with in 
deed something of the waywardness and improvidence 
of boyhood, even when he had reached the full age 
of manhood — he was still full of noble thoughts and 
sentiments. In his editorial career — though he was 
negligent, dilatory, sometimes almost imbecile from a 
sort of constitutional inertness — still a train of inex- 
tinguishable light remains to gleam along his path. 
Many a busy, toiling editor has filled his daily col- 
umns for years, without leaving a living page behind 
him ; while Brainard, wiih all his failings and irregu- 
larities, has left a collection of gems, which loving, and 
tender, and poetic hearts will wear and cherish to im- 
mortality. And among all that he wrote — be it re- 
membered, thus idly, recklessly, as it might seem — 
there is not a line that, " dying, he could wish to blot." 
His love of parents, of home, of kindred, was beauti- 
"ul indeed; his love of nature, and especially of the 

160 Tii i iH iKMii ifc r mnifn 

soenes of his childhood, was the mffectioD of one oerer 
weaned from the remembrmnoe of his mother's bmst. 
He was true in friendship, chivalrous in all that be- 
longed lo penional honor. I never heard him utter a 
malignant thought — I never knew him to puraue an 
unjust design. At the early age of eight-and-twentjr 
he was admonished that his end was near. With a 
submissive spint he resigned himself to his doom, 
and, in pious, gentle, cheerful (kith, he departed on 
the 2«th of September, 1828. 

Weep not ftir him, who hmth \M hit ktsd 
On a pilU>w of earth in the rvpreee thade; 

Fur the »weetft«t Ue«» tluit tlie night ain tbed, 
I>«»crnd on the ci»U(*h for tiiat tleeper made. 

Weep n«>t for him, though the wintrj <iUwt 
llmm tu rhiU foUU i»Vr tii» iiuuil^v hrraet - 

That »|N)t)cMii ri»U* in a i>(>\enii|C iim^ 

K(»r tlie i»hrou«l<^I wmiI in it« tntfiie uf rest! 

Weep n«»t for him, thtMi/h tii* Itr^n w •till. 
And the wiuMit «*%«• hkr a Unip irr«iwii dim— 

HHitifh the nohle pul^ w an i<*T nil, 

\\y the iKiarfhvt chaiiknl— oh. «i«^ n«4 fi>r himl 

The diamond gathrm iu purret ra)r 

In tlie hidden irn»t where nt» tun b kD«»«n — 

And l)>r «Hi^t««t \uk>re <.*( iiiutic play 
In tliv tr%-tnl>liikj( rar n( •i!cn«v al^^nc 

And tlirre in tltr hu»h of that »tarlrM Unuh 

A h.-i.«T lurUi lirr<ak« in *'i: t*.r .%.-. 
And «ti..| l.Ar*^ •u-ml iKr..-.^-** !.'•' •■L'rii if'-.^un. 



Mff/rti Vopofi scroti At AOanUe—Sk^lai^d^Ltmdonr-'Mp Tour on tlu 
O mf imm U Ji t im m to England— VitU to BarUy Wbod—Bannak Moro 
—iM^wrim aa to Bookofor Bshioatiot^—Jrdand—Duilm-'TXt .ffianft 
OaiumwQf— Scotland— S etnory of tk$ Lady (f Hu Lako—Qflatgow—Bd- 

My i>xab O****** 

It was, as I have already told you, on the 16th 
of November, 1828, that I set sail in the Canada, 
Captain Macy, on my first visit to Europe. I have 
now before me four volumes of notes made during my 
tour; but be not alarmed — ^I shall not inflict them 
upon you. I might, perhaps, have ventured to pub- 
lish them when they were fresh, but since that period 
the world has been inundated with tales of travels. 
I shall therefore only give you a rapid outline of my 
adventures, and a few sketches of men and things, 
which may perchance interest you. 

Our voyage was — as usual at that season of the 
year — tempestuous. As we approached the British 
Islands, we were beset by a regular hurricane. On 
the 5th of December, the captain kindly informed us 
that we were almost precisely in the situation of the 
Albion,* the day before she was wrecked on the rocky 

* The Albion was a packet ship plying between New York and Liv- 
erpool. She sailed from the former port April 1, 1822, and went aahora 
on the 22d of the same month. She had twenty-four seamen and 
twenty-eight passengers : seven of the former and two of the latter, 
only, wero saved. 

168 uErm»— «iooEAFaicAL, 

headland of Kinsale — at the southeast eztremitj of 
Ireland — an event which had spread general gloocn 
throughout the United Statea. Am night aet in, we 
were struck with a squall, and with difficulty the vea- 
ael waa brought round, ao as to lie ta The alonn was 
fiatfful, and the frequent ooncussions of the waves upon 
the ship, sounding like reports of artillery, made her 
reel and stagger like a drunken num. The morning 
eame at last, aod the weather was fidr, but our deck 
was swept of its boats, bulwarks, and hen-ooopa. Our 
old oow in her hovel, the covering of the sieera^ 
and that of the companion-way, wen* saveil. Wc 
had, bowcvrr, Hornc ^ni^tLn m^a-bathing in our berths 
— t*»rriMy suvrjrt's'tivr 4if the chill t4»m|»eraturv of that 
abytw whioli iiUji^ht ?«<n>n lie uur grave. The nrxl 
morning wo u»«tk a pilot, and tin the Hth of l>eocinU*r 
euterv<i the litKik at Liv<'q>*iul. 

Aa tiiLH wari my lir^t ex|ienenc^* at sea, I btv yc»u 
to fttr^nve this bn«*f dt'M:nption. I had kUlTtrot fear- 
fully by sea-Hick ncM, and hail iti*arw Htrt*ngtli to walk 

Am* 'Of the |>«n»t>ii« lust «m Alruii icr W KuL«r. |*rvf*«*r vf M*tl»- 

—of tu* ^i«iu*, ait'l ir^At r&|«<t*UonA wrt *bt«rUib*d wi tu ha* fot«p« 

to aicvt, t«J<l Ttf that ibc iMt \»m mv -jf M? Yml.ft. \»m wm .n hu h«rtL 
will* • i^krt o<in(^M lu hi* hftn i. m^WUxuf ll.c •«'«r»« uf ILm %mmmk. 
A tit<-ii*<-tit ^.rr ■; • atru k, mi 1 h* »«« r.u tii>rr 

Tl.«- "h J' •rr.l •■' I !»-•• on ti e r- k» i* f».* ' * ^' f .'J« r. ! ■■.'-•» 
<'IiS« Is.'i* j't • •♦ r r.r ^t,'- ft . -1 rtt. :t fT I * . ;. ■••. . k.>«.*tAr. v, 
l-«t Oir.r rff f» m, r» • ai i,*r.«..» t •■•-f . T ♦ *'f e^ • • ' •! • • »f 
frr« r». '■i.f.fc* • ^ t. •• j*« ;i ar '.••'. 1 {■ • U ■ f " r f • k» *. * • r » • r« • ^t i 

rci.icr«4 Ui« t««bt vcM «»f iL« ujfti «^^a.tif .b r«cv»r-J. 

mndlaoALj AHSODonoAL^ vro. 163 

ashore. I Mt such horror — such disgust of the sea, 
that I could easily have pledged myself never to ven- 
ture upon it again. Strange to say, this all passed 
awtj like a dream : my strength revived, and even 
my constitution, shattered by long suffering, seemed 
to be renovated. With the return of health and spir- 
its, my journey to London seemed like a triumphal 
march. Though it was December, the landscape was 
intensely green, while the atmosphere was dark as 
twilight. The canopy of heaven seemed to have 
come half way down, as if the sky had actually be- 
gun to fidl. Yet this was England I Oh, what emo- 
tions filled my breast as I looked on Kenilworth, 
Warwick, and Litchfield, and at last on London ! 

I remained at the latter place about a month, and 
then went to Paris. In April I departed, and visit- 
ing Switzerland, and a portion of Germany, followed 
the Rhine to Cologne. Thence I traveled through 
Flanders and Holland, and taking a sloop at Rotter- 
dam, swung down the Maese, and in May reached 
London, by way of the Thames. 

I soon after departed for Bristol — taking the re- 
nowned cathedral at Salisbury and the Druidical ruin 
of Stonehenge in my way. Having reached that city 
and seen its sights, I hired a post-coach, and went to 
Barley- wood — some ten miles distant. Hannah More 
was still there ! The house consisted of a small thatch- 
ed edifice — half cottage and half villa — tidily kept, 
and garnished with vines and trellices, giving it a 

164 unmi— voom4Pnoiii| 

obeerfQlandeTMi taiteflil ^)pMraiioe. ItislewMoo 
a gentle hill, doping to ibe eootheae^ and oommmod- 
ing a ohanning riew orer the undulating oountrj 
aiomid, incloding the aoyaoent Tillage of Wringtoo, 
with a wide vallej sloping to the Bay of Briiiol — the 
latter eparkling in the diilaneei and bounded bj the 
Welch mountaina, in the fiur horiaon. Behind the 
home, and on the crown of the hill, wan a small copes^ 
threaded with neat grarel walks, and at particular 
points embellished with objects of interest In one 
place there was a little rustic temple, with this motto— 
Audi HospeSy amtemnere opeg ; in another, there wan a 
stone monument, erected to the memory of Bmhop 
Porteui^, who had bet»n a i^rticular friend of the pro- 
prietor of the place. A lililf further on, I fouii«t an- 
other monument, with this in.Hori|»tn»n : '* To •A«A» 
Ijockf, ffoni in this viHa^, Otis monunimt u ertrteti l*y 
Mm. MouUuju^, and prtjiefUeil Ui Ifiunah Mcrrt.^ Fn»m 
this fM*«|U(vtere<t 9|M>t, an nrtitUMal o|^'nm^ was eut 
throufifh the ft»liaj»e ()f the tn***?*, ^'ivinir a view of the 
verv h'HijM* - aUml a niilr (li<tt;uit - in nhuh I^i«*ke 
waM U»rn ! In another pl:u?t* wan a Mmall ttiuple huili 
of n»»ii.«», whh'h ini^rht have !mtv«i| for thf j*hnnf of 
iiom<* uiitain«'<l nuv of l)rya<i.'*. 

Mr>. \f«»n' w;u4 n*»w in'Ve*nty liiiu' yan* «»f a^'e,* an*l 

• 11m '..%t, M r*' «M ^»'rT. m\ >t*| • '. ft .:. .7*4. •*! t •:. 1 • r» %.%\tr% 

••t*^' a^ r 1 •!-«?..«:•'• .:. t • • . ,»^*. •,•**■'•• *f: '. m mm \ 
lltotr 1 !•' lU.a*. M L ! «'- Al:t« \ t f \ • v. - «••' . lUr ■ «* U fr rmt % 'm-- 
OMti* ft » r. fti. i ftl tir %fT • r »c«ri.t««-(.. •• i ) «' . •: «-i • )«*u<riU 
UrmftiA, ci<tti<«<4 ">««rrh tktXrr Htk^ fnomm " IW.t^«l« wit^ i»mr 


was very infirm, having kept her room for two years. 
She was small, and wasted away. Her attire was of 
dark-red bombazine, made loose like a dressing-gown. 
Her eyes were black and penetrating, her face glow- 
ing with cheerfulness, through a lace- work of wrin- 
kles. Her head-dress was a modification of the coif- 
fure of her earlier days — ^the hair being slightly friz- 
zed, and lightly powdered, yet the whole group of 
moderate dimensions. 

She received me with great cordiality, and learn- 
ing that I was from Hartford, immediately inquired 
about Mrs. Sigoumey, Mr. Gallaudet, and Alice Coggs- 
well : of the latter she spoke with great interest. She 
mentioned several Americans who had visited her, and 
others with whom she had held correspondence. Her 
mind and feelings were alive to every subject that was 
suggested. She spoke very freely of her writings and 
her career. I told her of the interest I had taken, 
when a child, in the story of the Shepherd of Salis- 
bury Plain, upon which she recounted its history, 
remarking that the character of the hero was mod- 
eled from life, though the incidents were fictitious. 
Her tract, called "Village Politics, by Will Chip," 
was written at the request of the British Ministry, 

rick, she wrote Beveral plays, which were performed. Afterward she 
regretted these works, her new religioas views loading Iier to condemn 
the stage. She amassed a handsome fortune, and purchasing Barley- 
wood, she fitted it up as I have described it. Soon after I was there, 
in consequence of the frauds of her servants, her means were no di- 
minished, that she was obliged to leave it. She removed to Clifion, 
near Bristol, and died September, 1888. 

and two million oopieB were sold the flnt jmr. She 
■bowed me copies of Colebi in Search of a Wife-- 
the most saooessflil of her works — in French and 
Oeman, and a copy of one of her sacred dramas — 
** Moses in the Bullmshes"— on palm-leareSi in the 
Cingalese tongae — it having been translated bto that 
language bv the missionary school at Cevlon. She 
ahowed me also the knife with which the leaf had 
been pre|uuvd, and the scratches made in it to rpcriTe 
the ink. She expressed a warm interest in America, 
and stated that Wilbt*rforoe had alwavs exerted him- 
self to entablUh an<I maintain ^nxjil Tv\aX\o\in W-twtvn 
Gn*at Kritain ami our ctnintry. I HU^'v'^'sttcHi to lirr 
that ill tlu* Unit4Nl Statt-H, the p'lionil imprcavi'^n - 
that of tht* Krri%it tntiM of t)i«* pH>|i]i« — was that ihf 
KnL'lii'h Wf*n* iinfrinitlly to n^. She i«ai(i it wan r;*t 
so. I n^plitNl that tin* Anit' all rrml the Kii*j- 
lixih n«*WMp:ft|t«*r»(. ami L't-iior:il!y. thr pnMluctJi of thr 
British pn'SH ; that f«-«'liii>r« i>f «ii<*!ikr, diiii*, ani- 
mcwity. tvrtainly ]»iTv:iiicil m<^t of thti«r pul>licatioti«, 
ami It vix* natural to auijkim* that th«*Mi* were tho 
r^tlivtioii;! iif piihlio opini*»ii in Un-at Hntain. At all 
ovt-ntj*, tjiir jiiN^ph' n-LMnh**! ih«*ni il-* n\ir\\, an«i h«'iu>* 
in frr I 111 that Knt:liin«l w:l< our ri.»'niy. Shf rxj-itY** 
v*\ uMiat fi jrit :il tli'- -tati- *>i ihin/^*. .ir.l !<u 1 all 
IfiMiii |Nii|iIi> *h«»iil.i -tTivf !•• kf.'p !-M.f' !«-twtvn thf? 

Mv i:>!ir\:'W \v :•*»!*•?■- "X ■ ' • 'li*. wx", «>n \)\r 
whttlf, ni«>!»l gr:it:fvin^. IC^j^ari.!.^* In r a.t ouc of the 


greatest benefactors of the age— as, indeed, one of the 
most remarkable women that had ever lived — I look- 
ed upon her not only with veneration but affection. 
She was one of the chief instruments by which the 
torrent of vice and licentionsness, emanating from 
the French Bevolution and inundating the British 
Islands, was checked and driven back : she was even, 
to a great extent, the permanent reformer of British 
morals and manners, as well among the high as the 
humble. And besides, I felt that I owed her a special 
debt, and my visit to her was almost like a pUgrim- 
age to the shrine of a divinity. When I left Amer- 
ica, I had it in mind to render my travels subservient 
to a desire I had long entertained of making a reform 
— or at least an improvement — in books for youth. I 
had made researches in London, France, and Ger- 
many, for works that might aid my design. It is true 
I had little success, for while scientific and classical ed- 
ucation was sedulously encouraged on the continent 
as well as in England, it seemed to be thought, either 
that popular education was not a subject worthy of 
attention, or that Dilworth and Mothei Goose had 
done all that could be done. In this interview with 
the most successful and most efficient teacher of the 
age, I had the subject still in mind ; and discerning 
by what she had accomplished, the vast field that was 
open, and actually inviting cultivation, I began from 
this time to think of attempting to realize the project 
I had formed. It is true that, in some respec^-s. *hp 

168 UTTWII ■WWllKiClil, 

example I had just oontemplated waa different rn>fn 
my own acheme. Hannah More had written chieflv 
for the grown-up nuunes ; I had it in oontemplation to 
begin further back — with the children. Her meana» 
however, aeemed adapted to my purpoie : her tuo- 
ceaa, to encourage my attempt. She had diaoovered 
that truth could be made attractive to aimple minds. 
Fiction was, indeed, often her vehicie, but it waa not 
her end The great charm of thcae works which 
had captivated the million, was their verisimilitude* 
Waa there not^ then, a natural relish for truth in 
all minds, or at leoMt waj« there not a way of pnr. 
senUng it, which iiwle it even inoro inU^rt'siting than 
rr>mum*c? l)ul not chililr\*n love truth 7 Km*, 
was it nwcssary ti> fee*! them on ticti«»n? CouM not 
history, iiutural liwtory, ^•N»^fraj»hy. hioirraph\, \n- 
OcMno the element <»f juvenile work.N in place of fai- 
ries and ^sntM, and mere mon«iter!4 of the ini.*iirtn.i- 
tjon? The:«e wei>* the ui<)uini*s that from this Utnr 
fillfHl my mind. 

Taking leave of Barl#*y w«m».1 an<l it.4 int4*r\'?*tin|r 
oocu|>ati^ I traversk^il \Valej«, an*! fml»ark!rii? at Ho. 
lyheail, |)asstNl overt«> ln»laii«l. Ilavitii; -Mfii I>uWhn. 
with the rxtnuinlinary (HW)tni?«t(« <>t Miinptti«*iii4n«*N« in 
aome of itii utrtxets and «*«iit)«M-s.with thr frartul f^ipiali*!- 
nesv and |*ovrrty in *tlhfp*~ I p:kHaieii t»ri t.» tS** North 
HsvinkTtaken .1 w«!ii«Til,L' \ l«'>» ••: lh»- <ii.i!;t>' i\iu^- 
w.iv. I r«l'ir:.«'i %• H« Iti^t, ••n/^Mr k- 'i ;ri !i ?»i»\-tmN»at, 
ait<l went uvrr to Urvcnuck. Thence 1 piXKTolol 


toward Dumbarton, and in the early evening, as I ap- 
proached the town in a small steamer, I actually real- 
ized, in the distance before me, the scene of the song — 

^* The son has gone down behmd lofty Ben Lomond, 
' And left the red dondfl to preside o*er the soene." 

On the morrow I went to Loch Lomond, crossing 
the lake in a steamboat ; thence on foot to Callender, 
and spent two days around Loch E!atrine, amid the 
scenery of the Lady of the Lake. With a copy of 
that poem in my hand, which I had bought of a peas- 
ant on the borders of Loch Lomond, I easily traced 
out the principal landmarks of the story : " Ellen's 
Isle," nearly in the middle of the lake ; on the north- 
ern shore, "the Silver Strand," where the maiden 
met Fitz James ; far to the east, Benain, rearing its 
" forehead fair" to the sky ; to the south, the rocky 
pyramid called " Roderick's Watch-tower ;" and still 
beyond, the " Goblin's Cave." Leaving the lake, I 
passed through the Trosachs, a wild rocky glen, and 
the scene of the most startling events in the poem. 
At last I came to Coilantogle Ford, where the deadly 
struggle took place between the two heroes of the 
poem — Roderick and Fitz James. Finally, I went 
to the borders of Loch Achray — a placid sheet of 
water — beautiful by nature, but still more enchant- 
ing through the delightfiil associations of poetic art. 

" The minstrel came once more to view 
The eastern ridge of Benvenue, 
Vol. U.— 8 

170 milM ■UMiMiPiUCALi 

For era he pertod he wodd mj, 
Ferevell to lovdj Lodi Achrmj. 
Where phell he (Ind, in foreiicD ImmL 
80 lone » kke, eo pwecc » lUttiid !"* 

But I must forbear. I have pledged myeeir n«»i 
to weary you with deflcriptiuiui of mirncrv, and i>|«'- 
oially with that which in familiar to you in twi-tity 
books of traveU. Forgive me this inntancv of wi-ak- 
nen, and I will try not to sin again— at least till I 
get out of Scotland. Having spent two days in tht.t 
region of {KK^try and nimanoc, I left for Glasgow, aiid 
Ht last rt'oohol Kiliuburgh. 



Til ink «>r U-iiiL* in h^litilmrL'li. and Sc«»ll. .!• iTn-y. 
Chaliiitrs. I>(iLMld Sluart, I^M-klcirt. tin-n- ! It «ai« 
then ilf-i :df'tliy til*' liti-rarv iii< 'r*>}«i<'ii<« «•! x\iv Thnv 
Kin>r<l>»Mf ii«it ihri»uv'K tin* aiiifntit nl' \i.^ ]T*m\\u- 
tioni*, I'Ut llifir ?*'i|*Ti«»rit\. Tin *1 -|i»rit. -j .ir Kijr.j, 
trvnrh.tii! K'lif^-jrjfi iM-vifVk » a- :;.•■ :-.{•■ -: S»..i 
tihh ^'ri;i»i- . ::.' !.• .i\ \ t.^ i ir!«r!-. r« : r. - • •. i 1, : 
dun. I ImI Mv*nil li-t!i-ni <*t intr-i.>:. -ii — aiunt.^ 


them one to Blackwood, another to Constable, an- 
other to Miss Y . . . • The latter proved fortunate. 
Her father was a Writer to the Signet — an elderly 
gentleman of excellent position, and exceedingly fond 
of showing off " Auld Reekie." Well indeed might 
he be, for of all the cities I have seen, it is, in many 
respects, the most interesting. I am told it is gloomy 
in winter, but now it was the zenith of spring. The 
twilight did not wholly disappear till twelve, and the 
dawn was visible at one. If nature, in these, high 
latitudes, falls into a harsh and savage humor in win- 
ter, it makes ample amends in summer. 

The very day after delivering my letters, Mr. Y . . . . 
called on me, and showed mc the lions of the town. 
Many of them, all indeed, were interesting, but I pass 
them by, and shall only linger a short time at the 
Court of Sessions, which is the supreme civil court 
of Scotland. This, with the High Court of Justi- 
tiary — the supreme criminal court — forms the Col- 
lege of Justice, and constitutes the supreme judicial 
system of Scotland. Their sessions are held in the 
old Parliament" House, situated in the center of the 
Old Town. 

We entered a large Gothic hall, opening, as I ob- 
fserved, into various contiguous apartments. Here I 
saw a considerable number of persons, mostly law- 
yers and their clients — some sauntering, some medi- 
tating — some gathered in groups and conversing 
together. I noticed that many of the former, and 

178 UEmw— vooEAPnoAL, 

more eBpeciallj the older membera of the bv, wonp 
gowns and wigs; others wore gowns onlj, and still 
others were in the ordinary dress. I afterward was 
told that it was wholly at the option of individoals to 
adopt this oostumei or not ; in general, it was regani- 
ed as going out of fiwhion« There was a large num- 
ber of people distributed through the several afiait- 
ments, and in the grand hall there was a prnrading 
hum of voices which seemed lo rise and nimble and 
die away amid the groinings of the roof above. 

Among the persons in this hall, a man some thirty 
ycaiv of agt>f tall and han«l.<««)nit\ <ln«MrJ in s p>wn 
but without the wig. altmotcii my |iartioular aittn- 
tion. He wai* walking n|iurt. an<i then* wait a ct*nani 
look <»riHiIJii<*3V4 aiitl haughtiiH*iw aU>iit hirn. Ni*\« r- 
th«*li*K*«, for ii4»mi* uit(t«*fiiinl)l<* n*:L*i*»ii, ho cxoitt**! in in*- 
a liv«*ly (Miri<itiity. I o)iM>rvi-«i that hi!« i*vi* wa^ <iark 
and k<vii, hi.** hair n«-ar!v Mack, atnl lliinitrh cut iih*>rt, 
ulightly (Mirl(*it. He (*arnol hi.** Iioad t*n.vt, itji laryrlv 
devi*lo|)i««l oirnem lN*hnpi, pvin^ him an air of M'lf 
apprtviation. His fratun-?* wvtv Muall, but ^haq*ly 
drtimil : hiii li|is wi*re oIubm*. and slightly duMiainful 
and nan-aMtic in their rx]»rt-N<i«in. 

Th«*n* wan a Kinking (*i»nihinati(>n of vnvryy %i\A 
eUfraiuv in thr g«*nf*ral ui«|*f«-l of thi.-* |»*nKiii ; \«'t 
over all. I muM r»'j»t"ai. iht-n- w.lh •Mirnithinu' a^** 

of OiMlii-sv* atnl JThh*. I'l*'!! hi- t.i.-i\ • \ j-^'-.*! \ *• .'f 

vigiif ati«i a«-ti\ it\ — in« tit^il :in*i |'ri\o. .1! tiirix* was 
a vmible tingf of dtM^mtenL 


" Who is that gentleman 7" said I, to my guide. 

"That lai*ge, noble-looking person, with a gown 
and wig? That is Cranstoun, one of our first law- 
yers, and the brother-in-law of Dugald Stuart" 

"No : that person beyond and to the left? He is 
without a wig." 

"Oh, that's Cockbum — a fiery whig, and one of 
the keenest fellows we have at the bar." 

" Yes : but I mean that younger person, near the 

"Oh, that small, red-fisu^ed, freckled man? Why 
that's Moncrief— a very sound lawyer. His fiither. 
Sir Harry Moncrief, is one of the most celebrated di- 
vines in Scotland." 

" No, no : it is that tall, handsome, proud-looking 
person, walking by himself. 

" Oh, I see : that's Lockharl^— Sir Walter Scott's 
son-in-law. Would you like to know him?" 


And so I was introduced to a man* who, at that 
time, was hardly less an object of interest to me than 

• J. G. Lockhait was a Dative of Scotland, and born in 1794. In 
1826, he became editor of the Quarterly Keview, and removed to Lon- 
don. In 1853, be resigned this situation in consequence of ill health. 
Hie biography of his fkther-in-law — Sir Walter Scott— is well known 
and highly appreciated. The latter part of his life, Lockhart was af- 
flicted with deafhess, which withdrew him much from society. He died 
in 1854 : his wife had died in London, 1887. His son, John Hugh Lock- 
hart, to whom Scott dedicated bis History of Scotland, under the title 
of Hugh Littlejohn, died early. Lockhart had a daughter, who also 
baa a daughter, and these two are now the only living descendants of 
Sir Walter. 


Soon htmselC Though a Uwyer by profrwion, he 
had devoled himnelf to literaturr, and wap now in th«* 
TCfT hdghl of his career. " PrWr'f Lctien to hw 
Kinafolk,'' ** Valcrioa,** and other worlu, had given 
him a prominent rank aa a num of talent ; and be- 
aides, in 1820, he had married the eldest daughter of 
the ** Great Unknown." My conTeraation with him 
was brief at this time, bat I afterward became well 
acquainted with him. 

My guide now led me into one of the side-rooms, 
where I saw a judge and jury, and a lawyer addn-m^- 
ing thorn. The lalliT wa.** n vrrv •«iri;ill nun. wilh^'i; 
pi>wn t»r wik!. a{>j»an'Tilly aU»ni forty y«-an* '-f air»\ 
tlkotiLrh hr niikriil U* >tiinfwliai «»l.i.r. II»» was* «»f «l.irk 
CK>mpl»*xi«>n, with an eyr of intotjM* M.i.-knt'jM, ar;«l 
aln»«»>l I an. fully pirixin^' rxpn-NM^i. Hi* motions 
werv quirk un*! rnrr^'fiir, hi.-* V"i<v !»harp an«l j«fn»*- 
tralini: -hi?* p*nrral a.-jK*ci «*\r:!:!:i: rin««'*itv nith»*r 
than alTt«ti«»n. Ilf wik** .-j««-ak:i.j • :.♦ rj-ti.-allv. aiil, 
as we aj»pn»a«htil iho bar, n»y ri»!i'li«'!..r .-^iil to n.o 
in a whi-»|»»-r **J«'fTr»y !" 

\Vr pau?-«l, iiiiil I l;>ti-ntMl ii.t* litlv Thr I'.t-' lu 
itself .H4fm<*tl «lry rnou^rh — f«»iinihi:.i:. I U iji*\t% aU>ut 
a #/#77*iy^ m* ttaftMtu, Hut JrlTr»*y^ j !t a i::.j vk.i* a.l- 
mirublr -«*l«*ar. projrf?c»ivt'. l'»i/i«*al < >*ii':i>:"ti.fcii\. in 
fixih]^ uj»< >ii :\ N\» ak j-'.'.! •>! Li* .1 i . • r-^r \ '• • i -; ' .%\ . 
<*«1 a l«-«»]Mr'l ".K — I ri!.j .? . '.. r/\ .i'' .■• ■ • -• •• 
IJf M'i^»l u|»»»n a « • lUiit |-.-ihi *i* u,» ...-:..:» ..i ihc 
case, and inj«utto«l that the pn>]»crty in qu<*?*tion rt*!(ted 


at that period in the hands of the defendant's agent^ 
for at least a fortnight. This he claimed to be &tal to 
his adyersarj's plea. Having stated the facts, with a 
deamess which seemed to prove them, he said, turn- 
ing with startling quickness upon his antagonist — 
"Now, I ask my learned brother to tell me, what was 
the state of the soul during that fortnight?" To a 
jury of Scotch Presbyterians, fiuniliar with theological 
metaphysics, this allusion was exceedingly pertinent 
and effective. 

We passed into another room. Three full-wigged 
judges were, seated upon a lofty bench, and beneath 
them, at a little table in front, was a large man, bent 
down and writing laboriously. As I approached, I 
caught a side-view of his face. There was no mis- 
taking him — ^it was Sir Walter himself! 

Was it not curious to see the most renowned per- 
sonage in the three kingdoms, sitting at the very feet 
of these men — they the court, and he the clerk? 
They were indeed all " lords," and their individual 
names were suggestive to the ear : one was Robert- 
son, son of the historian of Charles V. ; another was 
Gillies, brother of the renowned Grecian scholar of 
that name; another, Mackenzie, son of the author 
of the Man of Feeling. These are high titles — but 
what were they to the author of Waverley? 

Mr. Y introduced me to him at once, breaking 

in upon his occupation with easy familiarity. As he 
arose firom his seat, I was surprised at his robust, vig- 

176 UCTTKBi — BkMEAnm'AL, 

oious frame, lie wan very nearly six ieet in heighl, 
full cbeMted, and of a farmer like aspect liis ei»ni- 
plexion seemed to have been originally sandy, liut 
now his hair was gray. He hwl the i\>agh, iircklt>l« 
weather-beaten skin of a man who is much in the o|r'u 
air ; his eye was small and gray, and peered oat keen- 
ly and inquisitively from beneath a heaTy brow, nlprd 
with sonM*tbing like gray, twisted bristles — the whuU- 
expivssiou of his face, however, being exceedingly 
agnseable. lit* wore a gi>wn. but no wig. It would 
have Iwen a sin to have Ci»vfn*d up that wonderful 
head, t«>wrniijf, us wr havi- ul! Mt-n it in ki^ {H>rtraits 
— tlu" ihrMin* ••! till- nriii^i mti ili*rt in the wi»rlii.* 

Ill* >:n'»'ti-«l iin- kiinll_\ iii»- I'Hm' «it* hut vouv Wm^ 
lirurly, \i I with a viTv iii^i-ittl .Si«U'h accent. I li»ld 
him I liaii Um u i«* tin' IIif^'iilaiLd*. *' It i.4 a litslo !•••» 
early/* >ai<l l.t . " I alM.i\> wt«h my fnrml:* to wait nil 
the mi(l«il<- i>t .lunr, \\*t tln-ii tht* a.**h i^i in lUi frl«>ry. 
Here in tin* ni>rth, Mimmrr. :v* y>*u knuw, i» a laggard. 
In Amohra it viMt.** \«>ii iii U-tttT Mrtu^Mi?'^ 

** I am t'r«>m N«-w Kni^Iariil. and (»ur r^rt^sitji aits Uiit 
in full Irat'till Junr." 

yvtfvcll. m'. ** T i ^IrmX |^.|M tf !..• faritr. a;, 1 .>. •.).» f^!. \ ^ r -f ki* 
fViuuB. li ;-j' i.r wwi iri«i>iir>l .1 :\ m fa. -..•« f ;•.« llklAitt«»r»— 
|iriiit«r« A" I I .• .•' « r* I. ftn rtV-.r f |* ■ !l- r: a !♦ | r«-l £%■ «• 

cStirt* ! . .•?« * • .i...*i.ri.»«- '.'** *-.f •*; . t *.* ' ' • If. laiii^e f « 

\^r*'} •■• •*■ I '■ •• ■■ ' -» '•" - **' ' *•• M ■ .- ■ •■».•. ;'»:. Br. i 
k»l fu^r i-t. . trvn M *.irr, ih<| • a. •(. m.^vcI ! .. Aim. a^J 


"Yes. jour climate there is somewhat like ours. 
Are you from Boston ?" 

'* I am from Hartfoid| in CSonnecticat— -of which 
yon have perhaps never heard.'' 

"My American geography is not very minute; yet 
CSonnecticut is a familiar name to my ear. Do you 
know Mr. Irving?" 

" I have never seen him but once.'' 

"Mr. Cooper?*' 

"Yes, I know him well." 

" Do you stay long in Edinburgh ?" 

"A few weeks." 

"We shall meet again, then, and talk these matters 

So I had seen the author of Waverley I I leave 
you to guess my emotions, for I could not describe 


Preparaiiotu for a BH&^Ur, J^rty m> a Bough-and-tutiMs-^A Olanct 
at Edinbwrgh/romtke Braid BUU-AShowtr--Th* Maidi of the Mitt-- 
DurahU Impr$stioiu, 

Mt dear c****** 

I found a note — May 81st — at my hotel, from 
Miss Y . . . ., inviting me to breakfast. I went at ten, 
and we had a pleasant chat. She then proposed a ride, 
and I accepted. She was already in her riding-habit, 



and putting on n hst and collar— bock of latlMr maa- 
coline gendor, jet not nnoomel j — ^we went fortk. We 
wave in Qoeen-atreeti No. 48; paaeing akmg a abort 
diatanee, we tamed a comer to the left| moonted the 
ntepa of a line hoon^ and lang; We entered, and I 
waa introdnoed to the proprietofv Mm BuMell, She 
led na into another roonii and there^ on the floor, in 
a romp with her two bojrai waa a naiall, dark man. 
He aroae, and behold, it waa Francia JeAwj t* Think 
of the flnt lawyer in Scotland— 4he lawgiver of the 
great Bepnblic of Letters thronghont Chriateodom — 
having a rough-aiid*tumble on the floor, ae if he were 
hinwrlf a bojl Let othcra think aa thrr will -I 
lovftl bim from that niument; ami ever aftor, an I 
remA \m criticiiima— cutting ami m^orching m lht*y 
often wcix' — I fanoi(<«l that I could null Me a kind an«l 
genial Kpint nhinin^ tlinni^h tWm alL At U-ant it w 
certain that, U-himi hin t^iiitcihal i^iuitirity. tlirn* wa« 
in private HA* a fun«l of p^^ntlfiitTV aii«l ^niality 

* Mr Jrffrv* wm U*m lU >>linl*urfh m 177 1 lU w«i »lmitl*J lo 
Um bar ■! th* 949 wf t««iil« ••ii#, K*«if>f liU.* i-rvrtK* ft« » Um*, Im 
MklultMial* |>ar«iirl thv •tUtl« of Hrllr* lrtll1>«, Kiit. ri. «*.>..-■. rr.Uck*ni, 
A*. Ib l***!. •! !).• itfv uf tVMiti bib«. t« f«»uaavi U.« lut.nU&ryfe 
ntvfov, uf vhkch h* «ucititiu«d M pniitf«|«J •Jiuir til: l*s*-|«.«ii^ a 
•b*«« •*9ry i^r^r •••rk uf lb* km.t wt.h t.»l r«vr ft|>pr«f«J !■ ;«.« 
hm «•• fckn«*»:*-l^l to l« •! th« bf«>l of ttiv S«<t*ci.iL *«r m •& mJh^ 
mt0- lUkiDtf btUI ulbvr hi^h •tAU<«*. b« «*• afif^^rit**!. 11. l9X>. Lor^ 
Ail««^'«l* «-f ^^•lia:»4. ftii-l h««miik« • ntrtii*«-r *f l'ar.^nt<tsl In ;%ft4 
hm wm t«M»>l W tK« K»iM-b ■• «itt« .-f th« ;j t^** «*^ 1b« * . -.vt «.f <««^. r.*. 
H* .1m-1 ft! I1.1:r t-.r^h in !«>• IU n. ^rr* .1 .1. . • . ^. •*. N . • ^ rfc. M •• 
WUkr*. f r»fi ! l:ii« ..f !t.r .^:r> r*!. I J- ii U . ^r. r | ^- ^,i [^ 
Itll k« b9««m« ttM «MV4|iMit xf t* c «..^. t • r* «:'.&. r.-*r ^ t h*. ^r^-^ 
MMMCillj ft luottwiur}, s^l iiu|tr\/««U •&. 1 i«*4'.l« 1 kicrg t.« waa r«- 


which endeared him to all who enjoyed his intimacy. 
I was now introduced to him, and he seemed a totally 
different being firom the fierce and fiery gladiator of 
the legal arena, where I had before seen him. His 
manners were gentle and gentlemanly — ^polite to the 
ladies and gracious to me. 

Jeffiney's house was some two miles firom town. 
His custom was to come to the city on horseback — 
and Mrs. Bussell being his firiend, he firequently 
stopped at her house, leaving his horse in her stable. 
Some gossiping scandal arose firom this intimacy, but 
it was, of course, not only idle, but absurd. We 
found Mrs. Bussell in a riding-dress, and prepared to 
accompany us in our excursion. Taking leave of 
Mr. Jeffrey, we went to the stable, where were nearly 
a dozen horses, of various kinds and adapted to va- 
rious uses. Miss Y chose a shaggy gray pony, 

half savage and half pet ; Mrs. Eussell mounted a 
long, lean, clean-limbed hunter; and I, at her sug- 
gestion, took Mr. Jeffrey's mare — a bay, rollicking 
cob, with a gait like a saw-mill — as I found to my 

We walked our steeds gently out of town, but on 
leaving the pavements the ladies struck into a vigor- 
ous trot. Up and down the hills we went, the turn- 
pike gates flying open at our approach, the servant 
behind, paying the tolls. We passed out of the city 
by Holy Rood, and swept round to the east of Ar- 
thur's seat, leaving Portobello on the left. We rode 


HMdil J, noliiig u km olgeeto m we pMed, ulO al 
lait| iMching an deratad moand, we paaaed, and tht 
ladies diiwled mj atteatioa to the aoenaa aiooad. 
We wen aome two mika aoath of the town, npon one 
of the ak^M of the Bimid Hilla. Ah, wba& a Tiew 
wee befim nal The dtj, a ntX^ amokiDg hi?e^ tu 
the north; and to the rights Arthnr^a Seati held and 
hloe^ aeeming to riae up and almbet peep into ila atieeli 
andehimneTa. Over and bejond all, waa the ae^ The 
lAole area between the point when we alood and 
that Teat aaue line, blending with the akj, waa a 
aerice of abrupt hilb and dimpling Taliey^ thmMJni 
fagr a network of highways and bjwaye— hoDi*}*cuiiik»- 
ed in B^nyU by ctticrt end viUagca, and ebewliens ephii 
kled with ciHiiitrir-fivnta. 

It in ail uuhvaled wotn^ of varied beautj and in- 
tercet. The uaturml Mle of Kdinborgh is rvwarkaUr, 
oonsittting nf thrvt* r\icky ltfdgv% steepling over derp 
lavince^ TImih* bavr M been modified by art; m 
one placf a lak«* ha* bern dnrd up, and is now oov 
eied with itu^K bridgtis tcncnKnta, gnrdens» and 
lawns. Tht* sidiv of the vUtb an* in sowr instjuiom 
eoveml with masses of buildingis the editioea oeca* 
sionally rining tier u|H>a tier — m «me placr prtvmt- 
ing a line of houurs a doarn atontii m hei^'ht ! Th« 
city ia divided by a deep chaiuii into two «ii«uncl 
partSi the OM Town, «lun and am«»ky. and ju!<tifying 
the iMipuUr a|»|H*llati«iu «»f **AuM Kei-kh<," or i>ld 
Smoky; the other the New Town, with all the fnwh 


architeciuie and all the rich and elaborate embellish- 
ments of a modem city. Nearly from the center of 
the old town rises the Castle, three hundred and 
eighty feet above the level of the sea — on one side 
looking down almost perpendicularly, two hundred 
feet into the vale beneath— on the other holding com- 
munication with the streets by means of a winding 
pathway. In the new town is Calton Hill, rich with 
monuments of art and memorials of history, and sug- 
gesting to the mind a resemblance to the Acropolis 
of Athens. From these two commanding positions, 
the scenes are unrivaled. 

But I forget that I have taken you to the Braid 
Hills. The panorama, from this point, was not only 
beautiful to the eye, but a rich harvest to the mind. 
My amiable guides directed my attention to various 
objects — some far and some near, and all with names 
familiar to history or song or romance. Yonder mass 
of dun and dismal ruins was Craigmillar's Castle, once 
the residence of Queen Mary. Nearly in the same 
direction, and not remote, is the clifif, above whose 
bosky sides peer out the massive ruins of Roslin 
Castle ; further south are glimpses of Dalkeith Pal- 
ace, the sumptuous seat of the Duke of Buccleugh ; 
there is the busy little village of Lasswade, which 
takes the name of " Gandercleugh" in the " Tales of 
my Landlord ;" yonder winds the Esk and there the 
Galawater — both familiar in many a song ; and there 
is the scenery of the "Gentle Shepherd," presenting 


th» Tvy qxH when Aal bimtaUe ooDoqoj took 

pwOO lMtW60ll Pogmf ttid MT OOnpttdOO, JcBO^^ 

Bitwta twa birkii o«t oV a ftltb Hu 
Tte wHv ik^ ttd OMba a riafui dfai : 
A pool» bfnrtdMpi I 

Wan aad ov waahlaf wbOt 1 
Aad whtD tk» d^r powi hol« ««1l lo lb* pooli 
TImto wMb oi wli U ^ hMhblU aow b X^, 
iBv OS «• warn a day.* 

While we wore sanrfjring these anrivalcd aoeneat 
the rain began to fidl in a fine, inainualing niisale: 
noon large dropa paltered through Uie fog. and at laat 
there was a drenching ahowcr. I imppoaed the hkJies 
would seek some ahelter : not ther — maida of the 
miai— aocuatomed to all the humori of thin drizzlr 
dimate, and of courae defying them. Thrr pulled off 
their green vaila, and HtufliHl thrm into their aaihilc- 
pocketa; then chirruping to their at«nia, th^*? aped 
along the roaiL an if mounted on broonwticka. I waa 
aoon wet to the akin, and ao, doubtlcm, were thej — 
if one might auggeat auch a thing. However, the? 
look ti> it aa ducka to a p>nd. i>n we went, the wa- 
ter acoyleratni bv our nitc^'d -fffMiutinir in tirrenta 
ftom our«ttmifH. In all tny duvi*, I h.iii r.<vrr nurh 
an adventure. An*! the «NMiItitM* viitli niliirh tht* la* 
diea took it — that waa the nnjut rvinarkabli*. Indc^tL 



it was provoking — ^for as they would not accept sym- 
pathy, of course they could not give it, though my 
reeking condition would have touched any other heart 
than theirs. On we went, till at last coming to the top 
of a hill, we suddenly cropped out into the sunshine 
— ^the shower still scudding along the valley beneath 
us. We continued our ride, getting once more soak- 
ed on our way, and again drying in the sun. At 
last we reached home, having made a circuit of fifteen 
miles. Scarcely a word was said of the rain. I saw 
my mermaid friends to their residences, and was 
thankful when I got back to the hotel. What with 
the shower, and a slight cold which ensued — ^I did 
not get the trot of Jeffrey's mare out of my bones for 
a fortnight Indeed, long after, during rough weather, 
when the gust and rain dashed against my window, 
the beast sometimes visited me in sleep, coming in the 
shape of a nightmare, carrying me at a furious rate, 
with two charming witches before, beckoning me on 
to a race. As a just moral of this adventure — I 
suggest to all Anjericans, who ride with Scotch ladies 
around Edinburgh, not to "go forth in their best dress- 
coat, and pantaloons having no straps beneath the 

184 urmufli— MuoBAnooALi 


M9n9mifm0 Utd Bprm md Uip (h^9km I tmh Th$ iimtrtl At- 

My MAI €•••••• 

One or two more selections from mj journal, an<I 
we will leave Edinburgh. I had delivered roj lettrr 
of introduction to Blackwood, and he had tmted me 
very kindlj. He waa, profesBionallr, a mere Uiok- 
8elleran<) puhlishrr - a plain, Miort,9t<x*ky {M*r«*Mi.with 
alargi' hc*a<l, luiM and flat on thr t«)p. lit* !«|K>kc br>i««l 
ScoWh. or rathor nang it, for although all ^jKik»*n 
langnap\ in cvcrv oMintrv, hiw it^ radrnit-si, in Scot- 
land It in a vrritaMo ikm^. Thi?( in inon* notii^*al>I«* 
amoiif^ tilt* illitrrat4\ and <'3i|KViaIly tho 4>Id woinni. 
I auniotniKv thought thry wi-n' ni«M*kiiivr int\ m> em- 
phatic wort* thrir infl(*xioii.H and in«>«lulati(»ni«. I havr 
ainoe «>lie*i»rvol minilar intonationji in otln-r rt»uiitnti* 
e0|M*ci:illy in Italy, whon* thf nj*in^' an«l falling •»f the 
voice ij« m* markt'«l as* to ap|<<*ar likt* ;iii aflVvtation 
of muHiral radoii/ju*. evon in <i»nviT<ati«»fi. 

NfVfrthfK-s***, Mr. Hla4*kw«ii»«l ^x** an t- .\itf%linijly 
inti'Uic^'itt and a^'n'«-ahlt* k'«'ntU*niun. Tn*- M^ca- 
aim** whirh U-:in* Ua* txsLiuv, %*:i.'» lliti» iti .!- j!.»rv, 

b««tt%>n lic.ii^it.r i-r { r.c*. r • t-- fc»t>-rr. IT )'?• • •tri«* irv f -auJ 
f, W lUuMB W*k4Bu«xl, «1«*J U!¥aM 7«M« Sibc*, *i-l lit* M^mtitM m 

BmrosaoAhj anbodotioal, bto. 185 

and of oooise a part of its radiance shone on him. 
He was a man of excellent judgment, even in literary 
matters, and his taste, no doubt, contributed largely 
to the success of the Magazine. He was in &miliar 
intercourse with the celebrities of the day — ^and a 
bright constellation they were. He spoke as fionil- 
iarly of great names — Scott, Lockhart, Hogg, Wilson 
- -sacred to me, as Appleton and Putnam and the Har- 
pers do of Irving, Halleck, and Bryant, or Ticknor & 

eontiniied by his bodb. In general, ito tone has not been friendly to 
Americm, and while I was there an article in the May nnmber, 1824^ 
npon oar ooontry, then joat iaaned, ezdted aome attention, and I was 
A^Bquently interrogated reapecting it It waa entitled the ** five Preai 
denta of the United Statea,** and though it waa written aa by an Eng- 
lishman, perhape in order to secure its insertion, Blackwood told me it 
was from the pen of a distingaifihed American, then in London. It waa 
a somewhat slashing review of the administrations of the presidents, 
from Washington to Monroe, the latter being then in office. It em- 
braced sketches of Adams, Clay, Crawford, and Jackson — the promi- 
nent candidatea for the presidency. The following ia part of the notice 
of Adams. 

Supposing a European ambassador to visit Washington, and is intro- 
duced into the President's house, " He sees a little man writing at a 
table, nearly bald, with a face quite formal and destitute of expression ; 
his eyes running with water— hia slippers down at the heel — his fingers 
stained with ink — in summer wearing a striped sea-sucker coat, and 
white trowsers, and dirty waistcoat, spotted with ink— his whole dresa 
altogether not worth a couple of pounds ; or in a colder season, habited 
in a plain blue coat, much the worse for wear, and other garments in 
proportion — not so respectable aa we may find in the old-clothes bag of 
almost any Jew in the street. This person, whom the ambassador mis- 
takes for a clerk in a department, and only wonders, in looking at him, 
that the President should permit a man to appear before him in such 
dress, proves to be the President of the United States himself 1'* 

The article was written with vigor and discrimination, and excited a 
good deal of attention. Though f^e, and by no means dainty in ita 
oriticiama, it was, on the whole, just, and produced a favorable impres- 
aion in our behalf. The author, whoever he was, evidently possessed 
eminent qualifications for magazine writing. 


Fiddi of Ptaoott and LongfeUoir. Was boI thai a 
liBM to be remembered? 

or oonne I waa gratilled aft reeeiTiBg flom him a 
note, invituig me to dine with him the next daj. Hia 
hcNiae waa on the aoath of the old town— iieari j two 
milea diatant The perMma preaent were andi aa I 
ahonld myaelf hare adeeled : among them Lockhait 
and Jamea Ballantjne. I eat neact the htler, and 
fcnnd him ezoeedinglj agreeable and gentlemanlike. 
Ha waa a rather Urge man, handaome, amooth in 
perMm and manner, and rerj well draamd. Ton wfll 
remember that at this time, it was not acknowledged 
by Soott or his friends that he was the author of the 
WaTcrley norels. Perhapa the mystenr was even 
promoted by them, for, no doubt, it added adventi- 
tious intoniMt to his works. Howevrr, the rail was 
not closely preserved in the circle of intimacy. Bal- 
lantync said to nur, in tho course of a cunveraalion 
which tumeil u|)on the popularity of authom, as indi- 
cated by the sale uf their works — '* We have now 
in course of pre|)aration forty thousand volumes of 
Soott*s poems and the works of the author of Waver> 
ley**— -evidently intimating the identity of their aa- 

Then: was nothing remarkable aU)ut our meal : 
it was like an Knglinh duinrr. irriiemlly ample, 
substantial, a«iiiuniAU«n-<i with ii<>«|'it.i!it\. dw- 
cuaseil with rt-lish. There was a ceruui M'n*iusnc« 
and preparatiou shout it, common in Europe, but on- 


common in onr conntay. We rush to the table as if 
eating was an affair to be dispatched in the shortest 
possible time : to linger over it would seem to be an 
indecency. The Englishman, on the contrary, ar* 
ranges his business for his dinner; he prepares his 
mind for it ; he sets himself to the table, and adjusts 
his legs beneath, for it ; he unfolds his napkin and 
lays it in his lap, or tucks a comer within his waist- 
coat, for it ; he finally qualifies himself the better to 
enjoy it, by taking a loving survey of the good things 
before him and the good firiends around him. He be- 
gins leisurely, as if feeling that Providence smiles upon 
him, and he would acknowledge its bounties by pro- 
longing the enjoyment of them. As he proceeds, he 
spices his gratification by sips of wine, exchanges of 
compliments with the ladies and convivial chat, right 
and left, with his neighbors. The host is attentive, 
the hostess lends a smiling countenance, the servants 
are ubiquitous, and put your wishes into deeds, with- 
out the trouble of your speaking to them. 

The first half hour has a certain earnestness about 
it, apparently occupied in reducing the Malakoffs of 
beef, Mamelons of mutton, and Eedans of poultry — 
that come one after another. The victory is, at last, 
substantially won : all that remains is to capture 
the pies, cakes, tarts, ices, creams, fruits, &c., which 
is usually done with a running artillery of light wit. 
Ck)nversation ensues; now and then all listen to 
some good talker; perhaps a story-teller catches. 


fcr a tuMi die attntioa of die eomimi j, and ikm 
9gnn all anmiid nmAwm itadf ialo a jojow and 
Jovial ocmftuion of tongnea. An how it pael^and 
die ladiee retiraL The geodemeo 1111 dieir glmiB^ 
and offv diem a patting toeet; dien diej drink 
''The Qneen,** and give dMoaelTei op to eoeial en- 

Andso it wai on thisoeoHMNi— onlj thai we drank 
the King, initead of the Qoeen, fcr Oeoige lY. wai 
then upon the throne. Mr. Blackwood wae living 
in a plain hot oomlbrtable itjle, and garaiehed his 
entertainment with a plain, nmple hoiipitalilj — which 
loat nothing by his uocasional inleijeclions of vcrr 
broad Scx>lch. It was delightful Vo see the easj inti- 
macy of the persons present : they frequently called 
each other by their Christian names — using terms ol 
endeannetit^ which with us would seem affected, per- 
haps absurd. '' Jammy, dear, tsk some wine your- 
ael, and hand it U> me!** said Blackwood to Ballan- 
tyne, and the Utter answered in a similar tone of 
familiar kindnesa The whole iiiU*rtourse of the com- 
pan? seemed warmed and cheered by these simple, 
habitual courtesies. Our own manner*, I think, un- 
tier similar eiroumstanoes, must a|>pear bald and chill* 
ing, in amipahson. 

Nor WW there any thing remarkable in the conver 
sationii Mivi* unly what relate«l to Hvn>n. The newt 
of bin d(*atb at MuiMilongbi, on thr llUh uf Apnl, had 
urn \mn\ SxHland a few weeks before, and pruduoed 


a prqfoand sensation. Even while I was there, the 
interest in the subject had not subsided. Mr. Lock- 
hart had not known Bjron, personally, but he was in 
London soon after his departure for the continent, 
and at several subsequent periods, and he gave us 
many interesting details respecting him. He was fre- 
quently at Lady Caroline LamVs soirees, where he 
met the literary celebrities of London, and especially 
the younger and gayer portion of them. Her ladyship 
had flirted with the lordly poet in the heyday of his 
£une, and it was said, condescended to visit him in 
the guise of a page — ^her reputation being of that 
salamander quality, which could pass through such 
fire and suffer no damage. Her lover proved fickle, 
and at last ungrateful, and she retaliated in the novel 
of " Glenarvon" — venting her rage upon him by 
depicting him as " having an imagination of flame 
playing around a heart of ice." 

At the time Lockhart thus mingled in Lady Caro- 
line's circle, Byron was the frequent theme of com- 
ment. She had a drawer-full of his letters, and inti- 
mate friends were permitted to read them. She had 
also borrowed of Murray the poet's manuscript auto- 
biography given to Moore, and had copied some of 
its passages. This was soon discovered, and she was 
obliged to suppress them — but still passages of them 
got into circulation. The work was written in a dar- 
ing, reckless spirit, setting at defiance all the laws of 
propriety, and even of decency. One of the chapters 


consisted of a rhyming list of his acquaintances, at the 
period of his highest £sishionable success, in London — 
dashed off with amazing power — ^jet in such terms of 
pro&nity as to forbid repetition, at least in print It 
was obvious, &om what was said by Mr. Lockhart and 
others, that such were the gross personalities, the 
shameful outrages of decorum, and the general licen- 
tiousness of this production, that it was impossible 
for any respectable publisher to be concerned in giv- 
ing it to the world. The consignment of it to the 
flames, by his friends, was as much dictated by re- 
gard to their own characters, as to the fame of the 
author, which was in a certain degree committed to 
their keeping. 

We sat down to dinner at seven, and got up at 
eleven. After a short conversation with the ladies, 
we took our departure. As I was getting into my 
carriage, Mr. Lockhart proposed to me to walk back 
to town, a distance of a mile and a half. I gladly 
accepted this proposition, and we had a very interest- 
ing conversation. Upon intimacy, Lockhart's cold- 
ness wholly disappeared. He spoke in an easy, 
rattling way, very much in the manner of the freer 
portions of Peter's Letters. The good dinner had 
doubtless cheered him a little ; but not only on this, 
but other occasions I had evidence of a more genial 
nature than might have been supposed to exist be- 
neath the haughty armor which he seemed to wear 
toward the world. 


The next day I went to St Giles's Church,* to see 
the General Assembly, then holding its annual ses- 
sion there. This body consisted of nearly four 
hundred members, chosen by different parishes, bor- 
oughs, and universities. The sessions are attended by 
a Commissioner appointed by the crown, but he is seat- 
ed outside of the area assigned to the assembly, and 
has no vote, and no right of debate. He sits under a 
pavilion, with the insignia of royalty, and a train of 
gaily-dressed pages. He opens the sessions in the 
name of the King, the Head of the Church : the mod- 
erator then opens it in the name of the Lord Jesus 
Christ, the only inie Head of the Church ! It appears 
that the Scotch, in bargaining for a union with Eng- 
land, took good care to provide for their religious in- 
dependence, and this they still jealously preserve : 
the Irish, on the contrary, were sold out, and treated 
like a conquered people. The commissioner, at this 
time, was Lord Morton — who, according to all the 
accounts I heard, was a disgrace to human nature. 

The aspect of the Assembly was similar to that of 
the House of Commons — though somewhat graver. 
I observed that the debates were often stormy, with 
scraping of the floor, laughing aloud, and cries of 
" hear, hear I" The members were, in fact, quite dis- 
orderly, showing at least as little regard for decorum 

* In 1844 a fine church, called Victoria Hall, was erected for the meet- 
ings of the General Assembly. It is of rich Mediseval Gothic archi- 
tecture, with a spire two hundred and forty-six feet in height. 


m ordiiiaiy kghlitiiw Sir Waher Sooll 
narked, in ny hesringi Aal H had novar yal 


The penona hara poinled oat to bm aa oekhritMa 
wan Dr. Clialma% dia frmooa pulpit ocalor. Dr. 
(>K>k, tlM aoeMMtioal hialorian, and Dr. Baird, pria- 
dpal of tlM UniTani^v and oarioaHirad ia dia priat- 
ahopa under a mde portrait of hia bilge hob^ aearlj 
aorered with hair, the whole labeled, , 
The AnX of them waa now at the height of hia 
He had already begun thoae reforms which, tome 
yean later, raulted in a diiiniption of the Sooltbh 
Church. At this periiwl the AaM-mbly was divided 
into two op|iosiie particw, the Jiofiemi^^ and the Sa^tna 
^-iht* fiirmer contending for t)ie ol*l doctrine, that 
prwbvtrrioii wen* bound to it-oi*i%*e and accept rvenr 
qoaliAc«l prt-arhor prfA-ntinl by the cmwn, or others 
exervining the right of such |>nrfrnnt*nt, and the lat- 
ter o|>|M«nig i:. The im|iortanci* of thr qocatjon Uy 
in the fact that a large number of the places in the 
Church were in the gift of the omwn, an*i inany others 
in the hamls of lay-patrr^ns, and theM? were frvquen^ 
ly bestowed in mich a manner as ti» accnmulale 
two or morv benefices in the hantls *•( |«rk»Q. 
The ftrrmi \^nui maile by Chaimerv waiv that one 
chur\*h. one «->>nkrnyation, hi>wevor .•»iiiall. ^a<* enough 
tu occupy an<l ulntirW the attrntitm ••! *iiie nnnistcr ; 
vmI that a plurality of benefices was both comiptaag 


to the CiiTirch, by making it subservient to patronage^ 
and destnictive of the apostolic spirit, which demands 
the devotion of the whole soul to the work of the 

I had the good fortune to hear Chalmers speak for 
a few moments, but with great energy and power, so 
as to give me an idea of his appearance and manner. 
He was a large man, and as he rose he seemed rather 
heavy, slow, and awkward. His &ce was large, its 
outline being nearly circular. His lips, when closed, 
were thin, giving a certain sharpness and iSrmness to 
his countenance. His forehead was large and expan- 
sive, his brow finely arched, his eye gray, and its 
expression ordinarily heavy. Altogether his appear- 
ance, as he first rose to my view, was unpromising. 
His speech, his articulation, was even worse, at the 
outset, for he had the Fifeshire dialect — the harshest 
and most unintelligible in Scotland. He had, how- 
ever, spoken but a few sentences, when the whole man 
was transformed. That heaviness which marked his 
appearance, had wholly passed away. Upon his coun- 
tenance there was an animated yet lofty expression- 
firm and fearless, benevolent and winning — while 
his voice, pouring out a vast flow of thought, had in 
It a tone at once of love and command, of feeling and 
of authority, absolutely irresistible. I felt myself borne 
along in the torrent— compelled, yet lending myself 
gratefully to the movement. Sentence after sentence 
fell fix)m his lips, thought accumulated upon thougnt, 

Vol. n.--9 


JDulntioii opoD iliutnlion, andyeldie IktMen 
pMMd ererjr oonoepfekm and treMorad every void 
There wee eometliiiig in bis Toioe eo meMeli to 
toocliingi that the whole nnk into the eoul like e 
h jmn. The geiieni efleot wee aided bj his gtuiu e 
and moTemenli^ Sw though bj no neaae gnoefU, 
thej hannoniaed eo well with the emotioM of the 
^Maker m aft onoe to illoatrate and enlbrae the gen- 
enl tenor of his addrBHL 

On another oeoasion I heard Dr. Chalmen pieaeh« 
in one of the oharehes of the ettj. The erowd was 
eo great, however, that I aaw and heard xery xm\vr- 
tdcily. It seemed to me that he was rather calculaird 
to produce an effect by his oratory, than his wnuogA. 
He haii evidontly wonderful powers of amplification . 
he ofloii Htart(*d topics apparently barren and unsug- 
gestive, but 8uon he calli*d around them a crowd ul 
thoughts and amociationtf of the highest iateresL The 
eommun labors of the miiii5tcr of the Gospel— enter- 
ing into the hearts and homes of the rich and the 
poor ; now leading to the stah»ly hall, and now to the 
squalid dens of vice, poverty, and crime ; now lo the 
adminiatralion of baptism, and now to the sacrament 
—this hackneyed routine, by forxx* uf his vivid imagi- 
natiim and ardent spirit, pnventeU pictures U> the 
mind and awnke emotioiu lu tin* heart, <|uit«* uvt-r* 
whelming. lie iMM*me«i, indtixl, lik«* a iii;if;ician, cajia 
ble uf ouuverting even the MUid aiul utonei «»f the dk»- 
ert into images of liie and power; but it appealed 


to me that in order to do this, the voice and gesture 
and presence of the sorcerer, were indispensable. I 
have never, in reading any thing he has written — 
noble as are his works — at all realized the emotions 
produced by the brie^ but startling speach I heard 
from him in the Assembly. 


A Dimntr ai LoekkarC§^Ckm9€r$aiim about Byrotk—J^t. LoekhoH^Ir 
m>n^^Pnifm$or Tkhwr^Mtuio—Tks Pibroch and Miu Edgoworik-- 

Anecdotes of the Indians — Southey and Second Sight — Oooper*8 Pioneers— 
The Pilot— Paid Jones— Brockden Brown— Bums— Tricks of the Press 
—Charles Scott— The Welsh Parsonr-I%e Italian Base-viol Player- 
Personal Appearance of Sir Walter — Departure for London — Again 
«n Edinburgh in 1882— Z«< Moments of Sir Walter— The Sympathy qf 

My dear C****** 

I hope you fully comprehend that, in these 
sketches I am only dipping into my journal here 
and there, and selecting such memoranda as I think 
may amuse you. Most of these passages refer to 
individuals who have now passed to their graves. 
It is mournful — ^to me it is suggestive of feelings inex- 
pressibly sad and solemn — to reflect that of the long 
list of distinguished persons who, at the period I 
refer to, shed a peculiar glory upon Edinburgh, not 
one survives. Scott, Lockhart, Jeffrey, Chalmers — 
these, and others who stood beside them, either shar- 


i^g or nfleeliBg the Mnriiing hooon of gMunt and 
hmbf fcUiog anmnd tha m ell an goM from the 
U^ plaofli whidi thej then illamiDed with 1 
Moe. Iaiiiii|MekiBgoiiljorthadeed— 70II1 
berthem m liTiag^ eod— though their hinoiy, their 
woricii their lamei are familiar to yo» it najalill 
iBtemt 70a to go back and paitioipale in neollee- 
tiooa of them — their pemonii apeedi, manner— and 
thoBi in eome dcgreoi aee them aa thej were eeen, and 
know them aa thej were known. I praj 70a to ai^ 
eepi theie |M«ngeB ftom mjjoanial,aa glimpses oolj 
of what I saw, and not as prrtonding at all to a rrg- 
nlar aooount of my travels and observations^ ai the 
time referred to. 

On Wcdnmlaj, June 2, I dinctl with Mr. Ln-k- 
hart— 25 Northumtwrland-strraL Besidea the h««t 
and btwu-ss, there wore prmrnt Sir Waller Servtt, his 
son, Charlos Si^nt, Mr. Blackwood, Mr. Ri»fainaoQ, 
and three or four other penons. At dinner I sat nrat 
Sir Walter — an arrang^^mrnt nunle, I believe, in eom- 
pliment to myself. Kvery thing went off pleasantly 
— with the usual ease, hospitality, and bcmrtincss of 
an Knglish dinner. The house and furniture wcte 
plain and han<lsom«^ — such as were oomm4in to people 
of koihI ci«nditiun and |^lod taste. 

The nwk\ was (Iuh^uiimhI with the uimal rrli»h, and 
with the u^ual |r»niMh of wit an«i plfasaittrr. After 
th<* lailies ha*l nrtin-«l. the Ch>nToniatii>!i U><ame gm- 
eiml and animated Byioa was the engruaung lopia 


Sir Walter spoke of him with the deepest feeling of 
admiration and regret A few weeks before, on the 
receipt of the news of his death, he had written an 
obituary notice of him, in which he compared him 
to the son, withdrawn firom the heavens at the very 
moment when every telescope was leveled to discover 
either his gloiy or his spots. He expressed the opin- 
ion that Byron was ^' dying of home-sickness" — ^that 
being his phrase. For a long time he had flouted 
England, and seemed to glory alike in his exile and 
his shame. Yet all this time his heart was devoured 
with '^ the fiend ennui." He went to Greece, in the 
hope of doing some gallant deed that would wipe out 
his disgrace, and create for him such sympathy in the 
breasts of his countrymen, as would enable him to 
return — ^his " faults forgiven and his sins forgot." 

Lockhart and Blackwood both told stories, and we 
passed a pleasant half hour. The wine was at last 
rather low, and our host ordered the servant to bring 
more. Upon which Scott said — " No, no, Lokert" — 
such was his pronunciation of his son-in-law's name 
— " we have had enough : let us go and see the la- 
dies." And so we gathered to the parlor. 

Mrs. Lockhart was now apparently about two and 
twenty years old — small in person, and girl-like in 
manner. Her hair was light-brown, cut short, and 
curled in her neck and around her face. Her cheeks 
were blooming, and her countenance fiill of cheerful- 
ness. Her address was at once graceful and gracious 


— indicating a lively, appreciative nature and the finest 
breeding. She had a son, four years old, and at my 
request, he was brought in. He was a fine boy, 
*' very like his &ther," but alas, doomed to an early 
death * 

Mrs. Lockhart spoke with great interest of Mr. Ir- 
ving, who had visited the fiunily at Abbotsford. She 
^d that he slept in a room which looked out on the 
Tweed. In the morning as he came down to break- 
&st, he was very pale, and being asked the reason, 
confessed that he had not been able to sleep. The 
sight of the Tweed from his window, and the con- 
sciousness of being at Abbotsford, so filled his imagi- 
nation — so excited his feelings, as to deprive him of 
slumber. She also spoke of Professor Ticknor — lay- 
ing the accent on the last syllable — as having been 
at Abbotsford, and leaving behind him the most 
agreeable impressions. 

Our lively hostess was requested to give us some 
music, and instantly complied — the harp being her 
instrument. She sang Scotch airs, and played sev- 
eral pibrochs — all with taste and feeling. Her range 
of tunes seemed inexhaustible. Her father sat by, 
and entered heartily into the performances. He beat 
time vigorously with his lame leg, and firequently 
helped out a chorus, the heartiness of his tones ma- 
king up for some delinquencies in tune and time. 

* He died at London, Dec. 16, 1881 ; his mother followed him, Mat 
17, 1887. 


Often he made remarks apon the songs, and told an- 
ecdotes respecting them. When a certain pibroch 
had been played, he said it reminded him of the first 
time he ever saw Miss Edgeworth. There had come 
to Abbotsford, a wild Gaelic peasant from the neigh- 
borhood of Sta£EE^ and it was proposed to him to 
sing a pibroch, common in that region. He had con- 
sented, but required the whole party present, to sit in 
a circle on the floor, while he should sing the song, 
and perform a certain pantomimic accompaniment, in 
the center. All was accordingly arranged in the great 
hall, and the performer had just begun his wild chanty 
when in walked a small but stately lady, and an- 
nounced herself as Miss Edgeworth I 

Mrs. Lockhart asked me about the American In- 
dians — expressing great curiosity concerning them. I 
told the story of one who was tempted to go into the 
rapids of the Niagara river, just above the Falls, for 
a bottle of rum. This he took with him, and having 
swam out to the point agreed upon, he turned back 
and attempted to regain the land. For a long time 
the result was doubtful: he struggled powerfully, 
but in vain. Inch by inch, he receded from the shore, 
and at last, finding his doom sealed, he raised himself 
above the water, wrenched the cork from the bottle, 
and putting the latter to his lips, yielded to the cur- 
rent, and thus went down to his doom. 

Mrs. Lockhart made some exclamations of mingled 
admiration and horror. Sir Walter then said that he 


had read an aooonnt of an Indian, who waa in a boat» 
approaching a cataract; bj aome accident, it waa 
drawn into the comnti and the aavage aaw that hie 
eacape was impoBnble. Upon this he aroae, wrapped 
hia robe of skins around him, seated himaelf eitct, 
and with an air of imperturbable graritj, went over 

" That is sublime," said Mrs. Lockhart : "^ m if he 
were preparing to meet the Grvat Spirit, and be 
thought it proper to enter his presence with dignitj !** 

*' The most remarkable thing about the American 
IndianH," said KlackwocHi, '*is tiirir UMiif^aMc i<» fi>l 
low in the trail of ihi'ir eucniicis bj their fnotpriiiU 
left iti the Iravm, U|K>n the ^'niris, aiid even u|iuu the 
mciss of the nK'ks. The acoi^untji ^Mven of thui si>in 
hanily cnHlihli'." 

**I can n'luhly beheve it, however," wuii Sir Wal- 
ter. *' Yi»u inu?«t reini-rnUT that thb* i.** a part tif their 
educatRtn. I have It-anietl at A)»b«»t^ft>nl l«i ducnru- 
innte U^twc^eii the htPi»f-mnrk.s of all «>ur nri>:hlion>' 
hon<«^, aitJ I tauL'ht the xiine thm^' U> Mm. lAA-Lhari. 
It v, afWr :ill, not (to ililVf iit u.h v>u might ihiuk. 
Every hi»n*i''!i ftnit hiu» ^■•Ili•' |«*vulittnty — either if 
si/x*, hhoeiii;/. or nuiniii-r <if.Htr:kii.Lr the earth. I wx^ 
«iiict* walk in;; with .^'iithey a iniii* i*r iui»p' in ^ui 
home- :K-nr<H llie hrl-L*. At l;t-t He I'aiiie t«» a l'ri«lli»- 
|iath. !i-a<i;!.L' t<'W:ir<l Ai'i-t-I' r«i. :ii.-l h< P' I !.«-tui'^l 
fp-sh h^-^t! {•rint.'«. < >! tiiL** 1 .-.lui i.*>lh:ii^'. hut |<au«- 
iug ami UH»king up with an iiii«pin\l eipnMuun, 1 


8ftid to Soathey — ' I have a gift of second sight : we 
shall have a stranger to dinner 1' 

*' ' And what may be his name 7' was the reply. 

"'Scott,' said I. 

** * Ah, it is some relation of yours,' he said ; * you 
have invited him, and you would pass o£f as an ex- 
ample of your Scottish gift of prophecy, a matter 
previously agreed upon I' 

" ' Not at all,' said I. ' I assure you that till this 
moment I never thought of such a thing.' 

" When we got home, I was told that Mr. Scott, a 
fanner living some three or four miles distant, and a 
relative of mine, was waiting to see me. Southey 
looked astounded. The man remained to dinner, and 
he was asked if he had given any intimation of his 
coming. He replied in the negative : that indeed he 
had no idea of visiting Abbotsford when he left home. 
After enjoying Southey *s wonder for some time, I 
told him that 1 saw the tracks of Mr. Scott's horse 
in the bridle-path, and inferring that he was going to 
Abbotsford, easily foresaw that we should have him 
to dinner." 

Mrs. Lockhart confirmed her father's statement, 
and told how, in walking over the country together, 
they had often amused themselves in studying the 
hoof-prints along the roads. 

Mr. Lockhart returned to the Indians. " I have 
lately been reading an exceedingly clever American 
novel, entitled the Pioneers, by Cooper. His descrip- 


tive pow«r k Toy gm^ ud I Uunk he has 
m new field of romeiioe, eipeoieUy in the 1 
•kNig the fttMitMi% whO| in their interoMine with 
«Tegei| have beoome half eerage thenmlveiL Thai 
iMMder liii ia fliU of inoideBt| adTenton^ poeliy ; the 

•*I hare not aeen the Pioneen," aaid Seott ; ''bal 
I hare read the Pilot hj the aaoM anther, wUoh has 
{oat been pabliahed. It ia rerj elerer, and I think 
it will torn oat that hit atiength liaa in dapieling ate 
till and adventnie. We raally hare no good aaa- 
talea, and here ta a wide field, open to a man of tme 

*' But, papa,** said our bostmi, '* I ahould think it 
rather a narrow field. Only a few peraons go to sen* 
and the lang\iag«* of Milora is bo technical aa to be 
haitlly unJemtood by people genendly. It aeem* U> 
me that aem-talee can never excite the sympathy of 
the great maiM of readers, because they have had no 
experience of its life and mannen.** 

^ It is no doubt a task of some diflkulty,** said Sir 
Walter, " to bring tbme home to the hearts of the 
reftiiug million; nevcrthelnn, to a man of genius 
fiw it, the mat4*rials are ample and interesting. All 
oar minds are full of assoi-iaiii>ns of danger, of dar- 
ing, and aftlventun? with the sea and those who have 
made that flcincnt tbi-ir li«*nie. And bnudes, this 
book to which I rt'fer— the IM«*t — CLinuccts lU st&>ri 
with the land. It is perhaps more interesting lo ms^ 


because I perfectly well recollect the time when Paul 
Jones — ^whose character is somewhat reflected in the 
hero of the story — came up the Solway in 1778 in 
the Banger, though I was then less than ten years old. 
He kept the whole coast in a state of alarm for some 
time, and was in fiEUSt the great scarecrow of that age 
and generation." 

'* Mr. C!ooper is a man of genius," said Lockhart : 
''no one can deny that; but it seems to me that 
Brockden Brown was the most remarkable writer of 
fiction that America has produced. There is a simUar- 
ity in his style to that of the Badcliffe school, and in 
the tone of mind to Godwin's Caleb Williams ; but in 
his machinery, he is highly original. In his display 
of the darker passions, he surpasses all his models." 

"That maybe true," said Sir Walter, "but it is 
neither a wholesome nor a popular species of literature. 
It is almost wholly ideal ; it is not in nature; it is in 
fiact contrary to it. Its scenes, incidents, characters, 
do not represent life : they are alien to common ex- 
perience. They do not appeal to a wide circle of 
sympathy in the hearts of mankind. The chief emo- 
tion that it excites is terror or wonder. The suggest- 
ive manner of treating every subject, aims at keeping 
the mind constantly on the rack of uncertainty. This 
trick of art was long ago exhausted. Brown had 
wonderfiil powers, as many of his descriptions show ; 
bat I think he was led astray by falling under the 
influence of bad examples, prevalent at his time. 

Had hewrilta hk «wni ilmghK h« iwM 
n0B» pirM|t% nuDorau: a wntuig idom ot < 

Um ^Mt« W ■^tM-M>¥^ ■■ill ■■■! llll ** 

HI ■BIB wMOi ooano opMBflni* 

The eopywikm toned opcm BviMk 
UmwelL HeiMdilielTi<yShefrwiii 
pleeee e eloDeeatterf i4m> hid ea ecw t ed a 
fsr the poel'e fiuheri on trfftriilion thel he ehottU 
f , in imm. He 

eqwdelly with Mm*^ to 

and then eend n eopj of it to 

■K)dif7ing looel and penonal |M«ngai to eoit each 

iadividuaL lie Baid that of eome of ihete Icltrnk be 

had three or four oopiei thus addreend lo different 

pemniii and all in the poei*8 hnndwriting. 

The tricks of the London newqpaperi were epoken 
o(and be mentioned the following inrtenow, A pop- 
nhur preacher Uicrp, had caueed a church to be built, 
in which he waa k> oflk^iate. The time wae &zed br 
tta dedieataon ; but two days before thia» an article 
appeared in one of the city prints, describing the 
building, and sjieaking well of it, but suggesting 
that the pillani which supported the gaUerj were 
entirely too slight, and it must be exceedmgly dan- 
gerous ibr any oongnyation to SMemble there ! This 
of counie prtNluoed a general alarm, and k> appease 
thiS| the pn»|)n<*t4»r fiiumi it un'^.'ivsary to have a sur- 
vey iua*le hy au arvlutcct. TiiL-« wan ti«inc, and the 
arohiiect tledarvti, that, as tlic piUan wfrv* tif inm. 


there was not the Blightest danger. The proprietor 
took this statement to the editor of the paper, and 
begged him to retract his fedse and injurious state- 
ment The reply was — 

*^ This is doubtless an important matter to you, but 
not of the slightest interest to me." 

"But, sir," was the reply,. " you have stated what 
is not true: will you not correct your own error?" 

" Yes, but we must be paid for it" 

" What^ for telling the truth?" 

" That depends upon drcumstanoes : do you sup 
pose we can tell eyery truth that everybody desires 
us to? Nof sir ; this is a matter of interest to you : 
you can afford to pay for it Give us ten guineas, 
and we will set it all right" 

The proprietor of the church had no other resource, 
and so he paid the money. 

Charles Scott, Sir Walter's second son, a rosy- 
cheeked youth of about eighteen, was present He had 
recently come from Wales, where he had been under 
the teaching of a Welch clergyman. This subject 
being mentioned, Blackwood asked Mr. Robinson — a 
very sober, clerical-looking gentleman — ^to give the 
company a sample of a Welch sermon. Two chairs 
were placed back to back : Blackwood sat in one — ^his 
bald, flat pate for a desk, and the performer mounted 
the other — taking one of Mrs. Lockhart's songs for his 
notes. It seems he was familiar with the Welch lan- 
guage, and an admirable mimic. His performance was 

•Boeadingly amiuing. Wim 1m 

and in oftnug hit dimaTiw, g»Te h two or thrae 
mart Uranps with )m flit Blaekwood miMl ham 
had a aobttantial aknll, or he cxmld not have hona 
it At brt| eren ha had aaoiii^ ct% mod whao ha 
paraeiTad aaothar oliiiiax waa aoaung; ha dodgad, 
and the aeraion waa qiaadily tanm^t to a < 

Ifr. Bobinaoii waa than eallad npon la 
Italian fdayer on tha baaa-TioL Ha took a pair of 
loaigi flsr hit boW| and a ahoral flsr tha viol, and 
BMranting a pair of apeetadea on the tip-end of hie 
noae, he began imitating the spluttering of the inatni- 
nient by hia voioe. It waa inimitablj droll. Sir 
Walter waa quite oonvulaed, and ieverml of the ladies 
absolutclj acrcamed. As to myself^ I had the ade- 
ache fur fou rand- twenty hours. 

And thus passed the evening — till twelve o*clock« 
I hare nut told you the half of what is indioatad in 
the notes before me. These specimens will soflfee, 
however, to give you some idea of the manner in 
which good people unbent in the fiuuily drde of Ed- 
inburgh, thirty years ago. You will leadily suppoae 
that my eye uften turned upon Uio chief figure in thia 
interesting group. I ooukl nut fur a moment lorgci 
his presence, though nothing oouUi be more unpiv- 
tending Slid miMii'st than hv^ whi'l** air and )«r«nng. 

His leatunss an* (itiubtlcw Hnpn-tiMul u|«»n \ou by 
his prirtraita, ftir they havr all a grnrral nvrm)4aiioe. 


rhere was in Mr. Lockhart's parlor, where we were 
sitting, a copy of Chantry's bust of him — since re- 
peated a thousand times in plaster. I compared it 
again and again with the original. Nothing could 
possibly be better as a likeness. The lofty head, the 
projecting brows, the keen, peering glance of the eye, 
the long, thick upper lip, the dumpy nose, the rather 
small and receding chin— each feature separately 
homely, yet all combined to form a &oe of agreeable 
expression. Its general e£fect was that of calm dig- 
nity; and now, in the presence of children and 
friends, lighted by genial emotions, it was one of the 
pleasantest countenances I have ever seen. When 
standing or walking, his manly form, added to an 
aspect of benevolence, completed the image — at once 
exciting affection and commanding respect 

As to his manners, I need only add that they were 
those of a well-bred English gentleman — quiet, un- 
pretending, absolutely without self-assertion. He ap- 
peared to be happy, and desirous of making others so. 
He was the only person present, who seemed uncou 
scions that he was the author of Waverley. His in- 
tercourse with his daughter, and hers in return, were 
most charming. She called him "papa," and he 
called her "my child," "my daughter," "Sophia," 
and in the most endearing tone and manner. She 
seemed quite devoted to him, watching his lips when 
he was speaking, and seeking in every thing to anti- 
cipate and fulfill his wishes. When she was singing, 

hk ejre dwell npott lier, hit mx cMoUng and 
to valkh everj toM» Fraqimdyv wha ahi 
kiiti hit ejre raled opon lier, and the liaoi 

•"floM Mi^ art Id Bortdi #f«, 
Willi 1m olMrtkiB 



Upoo a 4«tom dv^bltf^ bwi I *" 

After a slay of about three weeks in Edinburgh, 
I look a reluctant leave of it, and went to Lontlon. 
Eight yean laler, September, 1882, 1 was again there. 
Soott was on bis death-bed, at AbbolafonL Over> 
burdoniHl with the struggle to extricate himself from 
the wruck of bis fortunes, his brain had given way, 
and the mighty intellect was in ruins. On the morn- 
ing of the 17th, be woke from a paralytic slumber — 
his eye clear and calm, every trace of delirium having 
paaed away. Lockhart came to his bedside. ^* My 
dear,** he said, *' I may have but a moment to speak 
lo you. Be a good man ; be virtuous — be religious: 
be a good man. Nothing else will ipve you any eon- 
bn^ when you an* called u|»on to lie hcr«-!** 

Oh, what a )if<qui«t were therte wonls, uttered by 
the dying Iijmi of the mightuiit gvuius of the age I 
We may all do wt-il u* hixxl thiin. Few morv woids 
did he speak ; he soon lell into a stupor, which, oo 


the 21st, became the sleep of death. Thus he ex- 
pired, all his children around him. <* It was a beau- 
tiful day/' says his biographer — "so warm that every 
window was wide open, and so perfectly still that 
the sound of all others most delicious to his ear, the 
gentle ripple of the Tweed over its pebbles, was dis- 
tinctly audible as we knelt around the bed, and his 
eldest son kissed and closed his eyes I" 

The signs and symbols of mourning that spread 
over Great Britain on account of the death of the 
great and good man, were like those which com- 
memorate the decease of a sovereign. Bells were 
tolled, sermons were preached, flags of ships were at 
half-mast, nearly every newspaper was clothed in 
black. In Edinburgh, every lip trembled in speak- 
ing of the melancholy event 

Two days after this, I departed with my com- 
panion for the Highlands. On reaching Stirling, we 
found it enveloped in the drapery of dark, impene- 
trable clouds. We passed on to Callender ; we pro- 
ceeded to Loch ELatrine. All around seemed to be in 
mourning. Huge masses of dim vapor rolled around 
the pinnacle of Benain; the shaggy brows and rocky 
precipices of Ben venue were all shrouded in gloomy 
mist. The hoary forests of the Trosachs heaved sad 
and moaning in the breeze. The surfiEice of the lake 
was wrinkled with falling spray. All around seemed 
to waU and weep, as if some calamity had fallen upon 
nature itself. He who had endowed these scenes with 


to Its tomh. While a natioii w«pt^ il was maol thai 
tiM nowitaiii and the lakfl^ Iha maarn and Iha j 
hk genhu had coneeorale d ehoohl alio ' 

••GUIItBotTria; Qm^domadmr 

Wkea^, UD< 
For tht diptfUd bard mki aoia ; 
net moalalM WMp Ib c^atal riB ; 
That flowm IB MM of iMkn < 
Thrungh hb loved fp^Tcn Uiat 1 
And ookii la dMpcr iptwiu, replj ; 
And rivOT vmeh Omr nMiag wato 
To murtuur dirgoi mund bb graTt!** 



Mt mabC 

Karlv in June, I aet out for I^ondon. My roote 
led nie thn>Uf(h the village of I>alkt-ith, and th« po*- 
aeauuna r»f th<* Duke df Buctrlruirh, rxtradinir for 
thirty nnlcH tm Uah M«ltii of the hmmL Wo wrrv 
ODniiUntly ni«*%*tiij^ objtN'tn wlnrh r«rviv<Nl hutoncml 
or poetio reuiniaeencea. AnAong tbeae wm Cookpeo, 


the Boene of the celebrated ballad, and as I rode by, 
the whole romance passed before my mind. I fan- 
cied that I could even trace the pathway along which 
the old laird proceeded upon his courtship, as well 
as the residence of 

M The pennjlesB lass with a lang pedigree;" 

and who was so daft as to reject his offer, although 

^Bis wig was well powthered and as gade as new; 
His wabtooat was red, and hb coat it was bine . 
A ring on his finger, his sword and cocked hat — 
And who oonld refose the anld laird wi' a* that?*' 

We crossed the Galawater and the Ettrick, and 
traveled along the banks of the Tweed — formed by 
the union of these two streams. We passed Abbots- 
ford, rising at a little distance on the left — its baronial 
dignity being lost in the spell of more potent associa- 
tions. Further on, we saw the Eildon Hills, " cleft in 
three" by the wondrous wizzard, Michael Scott — as 
duly chronicled in the Lay of the Last Minstrel. We 
proceeded along the banks of the Teviot — a small lim- 
pid stream, where we observed the barefooted lassies 
washing, as in the days of Allan Ramsay. We saw 
Netherby Hall, and a little beyond Cannobie Lea, the 
scenes of the song of Young Lochinvar. All these, 
and many more localities of legendary name and 
fame, were passed in the course of a forenoon's 
progiess in the stage-coach. Scotland is indeed a 
cham ed land! 


One day's joarMjrbrooi^flM to OMirie: tlMMtl 
tanrded wwlwaid, lookiDg with all doe dflKglit vpoa 
WendviiMn^ ud Bjdal, and Qrmma&n, aad Hahral- 
^jBi aad Darwiotwatflri and Skidd att , Tim tuatog 
aiftward, I traTded over a hilly and pielanHiw 
ocmntryi to the ancient and renowned eitj of Torfc. 
HaTing lingered, half entianced amid its antiqnitiei^ 
and looked ahnoet with wonhip npon its oathedial^ 
the moel beaotifal I hare ever eeen I departed, and 
aoon fcnnd mjaelf once more in London. 

As I shall not retarn to the snlgeet sgain, allow 
me to say a few wordii ss to the irapresmoo EoglanJ 
makes upon the mind of an Amf rican, trareling over 
its surfsoe. I have TisitM this countrj seTerml times 
within the lent thirty yeans end I shall group my 
impreflHi«)ns in one general Tiew. The whole may br 
snmme<l up in a single sentence, which is^ that Eng. 
land is incomparably the moiit beautiful eountnr in 
the world ! I do not speak of it in winter, when in- 
onml)ered with fogs ; when there is 

** No taD, DO imMin, no nkira, do nooo. 

No doik, Di» cUwD— «o ftnpmt tinw of di/ ; 
No fl[T, DO cDTthly rWw, do dkUoM knUsf Urn- 

So ruMl, DO ttTMC* DO t'uCJMT lllfo thc VDJ !** 

I take her is I do any other lieauty who sits for bef 
portrait — in her beat attm*; tliat ia. in summer. Thi 
sun riM« hrrv an hi^'h in Jun«*, af« it dow in Amenoa 
Vi-getation ii* jujit al»uut an tar a«ivani'i«l. The mead- 
ows, the wbeat-tieldis the orvhanls, the forett% are in 


their glory. Tiiere is one diflference, however, be- 
tween the two ooontries — ^the sun in England is not 
so hot, the air is not so highly perfumed, the buzz of 
the insects is not so intense. Every thing is more 
tranquiL With us, all nature, during summer, ap- 
pears to be in haste, as if its time was short — as if it 
feared the coming frost. In England, on the con- 
trary, there seems to be a confidence in the seasons, 
as if there were time for the ripening harvests; as if 
the wheat might swell out its &t sides, the hops am- 
plify its many-plaited flowers, the oats multiply and 
increase its tassels— each and all attaining their 
perfection at leisure. In the United States, the pe- 
riod of growth of most vegetables is compressed into 
ten weeks ; in Great Britain, it extends to sixteen. 

If we select the middle of June as a point of com- 
parison, we shall see that in America there is a spirit, 
vigor, energy in the climate, as indicated by vegeta- 
ble and animal life, unknown in Europe. In the 
former, the pulse of existence beats quicker than in 
the latter. The air is clearer, the landscape is more 
distinct, the bloom more vivid, the odors more pun- 
gent, the perceptions of the mind even, I doubt not, 
are more intense. A clover-field in America, in full 
bloom, is by many shades more ruddy than the same 
thing in England — its breath even is sweeter: the 
music of the bees stealing its honey is of a higher 
key. A summer forest with us is of a livelier green 
than in any part of Great Britain; the incense 


braitlied tipoa tha hmti^ 
tUnk, more ftiU ud fragnat 
tiM nmnwr tllnmg)^ this 
■Dgkad tliMiwitli iMb bis 
•M mora tranquil, audi being apraad ovar a laiger 
apaoa^ Uia haart haa mora laianra to appraeiala 
than in Uia baata and hoiTj of our 
Thara ia one flwt worthy of noliofl^ whiah illn^ 
thia peeuliaritj of tha Bn^iah anwiBMr Tha 
thara ara all of a mora atoidy, or, aa «a any. 
torn and ehandar. Tha oak% tha afa% tiia 
walnutAi beeches, arc shorter and ihidcar, aa well in 
the trunks as the branches, than onra. Thoy hava 
all a stocky, John Bull form and stature. Tha laavaa 
are thicker, the twigs larger in circumlaranoai I hava 
noticiHl |)articularly the recent growths of lypla traai^ 
and they are at once shorter and stontcr than in 
America. This quality in the trees gives a paen- 
liarity to the landscape. The forest is mora solid and 
less graceful than ourL If you will look at aa Eng* 
lish painting of trees, you notice the fittt I stat% and 
peroeiTe the effect it gives, especially to aoeaea of 
which trees constitute a prevailing alemenL All 
over Europe, in fort, the Iraves uf the trees hava 
a less fcnthcry s|»|>earmnce than in America; and in 
genrrml the fi»nnii of the branches arc leas arching, 
and, of coarnf, lnw Itrnutiftil. Hence it will br per- 
ceiveil that Euro|K*«n picturcii of tnmii differ in this 
respect from American ones — the fuliage in the br- 

^S^^ '^"^^^ 

iiitnm m EauiAi^ii V«i v. )■ 111 


mer being more solid, and the sweep of the branches 
more angular. 

But it is in respect to the effects of human art and 
industry, that the English landscape has the chief ad- 
vantage over ours. England is an old country, and 
shows on its face the transforming influences of fif- 
teen centuries of cultivation. It is, with the excep- 
tion of Belgium, the most thickly-settled country of 
Europe — ^nearly three hundred and fifty inhabitants 
to the square mile, while in the United States we 
have but seven. Massachusetts, the most thickly- 
settled State in America, has but one hundred and 

England, therefore, is under a garden-like cultiva- 
tion ; the plowing is straight and even, as if regulated 
by machinery ; the boundaries of estates consist for 
the most part of stone mason- work, the intermediate 
divisions being hedges, neatly trimmed, and forming 
a beautiful contrast to our stiff stone walls and rail 
fences. The public roads are nicely wrought, the 
sides being turfed with neat and convenient foot- 
ways. The railway stations are beautiful specimens 
of architecture ; the sides of the railways are all sod- 
ded over, and often are blooming with patches of cul- 
tivated flowers. In looking from the top of a hill 
over a large extent of country, it is impossible not to 
feel a glow of delight at the splendor of the scene-— 
the richness of the soil, its careful and skillful cul- 
tivation, its green, tidy boundaries checkering the 

S16 mill ■WMiiiiWucAt, 

■oeKe, its teeming cropii, ita fiU benlti ita nunbertae 
and fuU-fleeoed sheep. 

Nor must the dwellings be oTerlookcd. I fum by 
the cities and the mnnnikctaring rilbgHii which, in 
most parts, are risible in erery extended landscape — 
sometimes, ss in the region of Manchester, spread- 
ing out for miles, and sending up pitchj wreaths of 
smoke from a thousand tall, tapering efaimneja I 
am speaking now of the country, and here are such 
residences ss arc unknown to us. An English castle 
would swallow up a dozen of our shingle or brick 
rillas*. Tlir mljartnt rsstaU* oft«'n iriflinli-s a lh'»-i*an 1 
acn*.<« -anti ihf.s*^ \tv ii nMii«iiiU*nNl. an* krj't :i!iii-««! a< 
miioli f »r ornaiiirnt af> mm*. Think of a dwrlliuhr th.a 
mipht ^ratilV ihr pri<Io nf a i»niKv, ffiim»un<li^i \*y 
Hevrml s«|ii:irf iiiili*5t nf w«M»<lt'«i ]«:irk, an«l fhavi ii 
lawn, aii'i wiiiilin^ Mnain. aii*l .Hwrlli!i!/ htll, an i a!! 
haviiiL' N'tTi 1*1 >r a lniii'ln'«l, i»«Tlia|if» f;vo huri>!ri^l 
yrar?*, !iiil»j»i*i»Ml ti» rvrrv ini|ri\r!nf!it wh:<'h th*» 
hijfhi'?*! art oMil.l •iii^;;»>i! Thm* i.-* o-rt^iinlv a ii?i.'»n 
of uiinvali-il U-atity and in:iirnifui'ii''f m iho ;..nllv 
i«st.iti*?* ««f KT)^'l:i!.<i. Wi- havr !it»tliiu;,' in Anii-ni-ai 
whirh at III! ri-iHinM*-?* ihrux. 

An«l lh«»n ihrn* :?* «'\ir\ ^.t.!.!!- •►!' ::ii:!a!>'n of t *!••*• 
hi^rh ix:*!:.!*!* -. •M-atti-p •! <-vrr tin* »?■!•• •^••rrr\ 
Tlii- LT. :tt. r j':irt of th.- •»urf:i.-.- .f KrJ.•^v I >■ ' * ..•* t.^ 
%i«a>M\ I r- |i > ?.-r*. .»':i i^.i-*.' }..ivi* :i!.K- •'■ ■*.*-•• 
an«i tip- :\\ :'.\*\' ! ' .':\i :t!i :l*|"'«'* -I i.tMtr • -*.-. '*• •\ 
and vK*g:uio«\ U\*X onlv (•» their tlwrlhng« and the* 


immediate grounds, but to their entire estates. The 
prevailing standard of taste thus leads to a universal 
beautifying of the sur&ce of the country. Even the 
cottager feels the influence of this omnipresent spirit ; 
the brown thatch over his dwelling, and the hedge 
before his door, must be neatly trimmed ; the green 
ivy must clamber up and festoon his windo¥rs, and 
the Uttle yard in front must bloom with roses and 
lilies, and other gentle flowers, in their season. 

And thus cold, foggy England is made the para- 
dise of the earth — at least during this charming 
month of June. Nature now, in compensation for 
her ill humor at other seasons, aids in this universal 
decoration. Through the whole summer — nay, in au- 
tumn, and even in winter — the verdure of the Eng- 
lish landscape is preserved. Not in July nor August, 
not even in December, do we here see the grass 
parched with heat or grown gray in the frost. It is 
true the leaves of the trees fall, as they do with us, in 
November — not having first clothed the hills in red 
and purple and gold as in America, but, as the Eng- 
lish poet tells us — 

" the fading, many -colored woods, 

Shade deep'nmg over shade, the country roond 
Imbrown ; a crowded umbrage, dosk and dnn, 
Of every hne, from wan, declining green, 
To sooty dark"— 

thus, for a time, seeming to prelude the coming win- 
ter, with a drapery of mourning woven of the faded 
Vol. n.— 10 


lionet of miniMr. Nothing on iadead be i 
■Ml tliMi the Mpeoi of Bn^bad, whm the bbdE, < 
plad kftvei are fidling in the fcrerte eoae yel flvi- 
tMing on the btmneheii end olhae Hiewa on the 
gionnd Bnt even then the eod reteine ite living 
hMy end when et leel the leevee here feUen, there ie 
etill e nniTeieel mentle of Tevdore over the 
thne rodeeming winter from e portion of ite j 

So mnoh for the oommon eepeoi of Kn|lend ee the 
tniTder peeMe over it The eeeker far the pieta- 
n^ne nrnj find ebandent gretifieetion in Devon- 
ehire, Derbyshire, Wofltmorelend, though Wales end 
SooUand, and imrta of Ireland, arv still more renown- 
ed for scenic beauty. So fiu* as ooinbinations uf na- 
tore arc concerned, nothing in the world can surpass 
some of our own scenery — as slong the upper wsters 
of the Ilousatitnic snd the Connecticut, or among ihe 
islands of I^nke George, and a thousand oihrr pUcce 
— ^but these lack the embfllishments of art and the 
associations of romance or scmg, which belong U^ the 
rival beauties of British Ian<b(ca|)eii. 

You will notiw that I o«»rit)ne these remarks lu a 
single t4>ptc- -the anfiet-t of Kn^lanil, as it meru th«- 
eye of an American traveler. The Knglii»h, with all 
their egtUism, do not appreciate that wonderful Am^- 
play of wealth and refinement, which the surface c»f 
their oH.ntry prtiM*ntji. Thi*y <lt» n<>t anil can ri<*t 
enjoy the hinviAxrl** ai* an Amcncaii tl*ni^ f«>r th<\\ are 
bom to it, and have no experienor which icnchos 


them to estimate it by common and inferior stand- 
ards. Haying said so much on this subject, I shall 
not venture to speak of English society — of the lights 
and shadows of life beneath the myriad roo& of towns 
and cities. The subject would be too extensive, and 
besides, it has been abundantly treated by others. I 
only say, in passing, that the English people are best 
studied at home. John Bull, out of his own house, is 
generally a rough customer: here, by his fireside, Mrith 
wife, children, and friends, he is generous, genial, 
gentlemanly. There is no hospitality like that of an 
Englishman, when you have crossed his threshold. 
Everywhere else he will annoy you. He will poke 
his elbow into your sides in a crowded thoroughfare. ; 
he will rebuff you if, sitting at his side in a locomo 
tive, you ask a question by way of provoking a little 
conversation ; he will get the advantage of you in 
trade, if he can ; he carries at his back a load of pre- 
judices, like that of Christian in Pilgrim's Progress, 
and instead of seeking to get rid of them, he is always 
striving to increase his collection. If he becomes a 
diplomat, his great business is to meddle in every- 
body's aflfairs; if an editor, he is only happy in 
proportion as he can say annoying and irritating 
things. And yet, catch this same John Bull at home, 
and his crusty, crocodile armor falls off, and he is the 
very best fellow in the world — liberal, hearty, sin- 
cere — the perfection of a gentleman. 

The relations of America to England are a subject 



of great interest to both oountries. It would wvrn 
that by every dictate of prudenoe, as well as of yr^*- 
priety, they should remain friends. Wc are of luv 
«me kith and kin, have the same lanyruage; the aaxne 
fidth, the same moral and social platform, the Mirn<\ 
or at least similar institutions. All those ties m^m 
to bind us in the bonds of peace and amity. To tht^ 
may be added the myriad relations of cuinnH^mal in- 
terest To do good to each other is virtuxdly to ram 
and bless our daily bread. And yet wc have Uvn t wi.^r 
at war. There is a social war always bcMiis; wapNi U^ 
twcvn U5, Thf j»n-As<-> i»f KiuliLii'i au'l A:M»r:'-a •«•• -, 
to ixuiocivi' that ihry s:iy lh» ir l*->l ihir.j* w fi» !. •.: . 
say ilifir wi»rst. of ihi* iwi» oMihirit":*. Wf :ii-i-t : •: 
tlicii. I -III t*.K» iiMirh f;iilh m L>!.!<iiiL'u:rM!y. Kari . 
quarn :- arr j'n»vrrl>:allY ihr l;iTr»-sl. 1: L-* ;i !!*• ,' 
ful trii:!i iho tipit nmr li-r WiL-* a fntrni'liv 

Wiia! It.rT. is t.i }*■ lii.l.r".' Hiif \\i\:.-j: •-•■■:! 1 ,\:. i 
s&hoiiM N- ili'iif. ill Ki.jlaii'l. TKi- in-?** iLiT'- l* ::: 
tilt' hall i> of the ruli!!^' jxtii'lfv If. tL* iji &!%!«i-n<'«i in 
K:?k:'.a!i«i. l!:''r\* l«» a p-iirrul !ii liuj of pnHl-wiH there 
t4iwar\i A:n(-ru\i. tiiat >lu>u:il U- xii»le maziifha by 
ti.o i\>i!iiu« n \t'hu-!t-s if p'lMir i'pinion. Ceitainly 
this Ka.< lii'WT \v\ U^-u •ifiir. Kn*m the TflTT b^ 
{•n-x- i..i> Ux*n superaKn^^ ^f^ 

\\ rv i'l ..iir •xtuntry, i 

:.- N .1 p 

^luiiinc. till- r>:;'.! 
peri'ni^-a!. o- :. ;; 



.'.■>, i: 

lean pei>j>Ie to bclievf that the 


not^ in their hearts, cherish hostility toward this 

It may, indeed, be said that the American press is 
as little conciliatory toward England as that of Eng- 
land toward America. Bat, certainly, the good ex- 
ample should come £rom them. They are the older 
people— the mother countiy : their journals are more 
immediately within the control and influence of lead- 
ing minds and influential men, than ours. And be 
sides, all that is wanted on our part, to a good under 
standing, is an assurance, a conviction of good-will, 
toward us on the other side of the water. Amid all 
our scolding at England, there is at the bottom of the 
American heart, a profound respect for her. We care 
/ery little what the French, or Dutch, or Germans, or 
Russians, or Chinese, or Japanese, say or think of us ; 
but if the English say any thing bad of us, we are 
sure to resent it. Why can not something be done 
to bring this mischievous war to an end ? 

And yet how can it be effected? Let me ven 
ture upon a suggestion : if the London Times- -that 
mighty personification of John Bull — would always 
be a gentleman, when he speaks of America, such 
would be the influence of this high example, that I 
should have some hope of seeing, even in my life 
time, a millennial spirit in the intercourse of the two 



Il k aid dun Mr. Webtler ramlnd, wUb ia 
Iumdmi, dull him eoulaiit «id pradoninuit fteliBg 
WM ihftt of wonder tt its enormous extent : fimrtiepn 
dioimnd streets, two hundred thousand houses, flf- 
leen hundred places of public worahip, three millioiis 
of human beings — all crowded within the space of 
seven miles square ! 

Yet London, when I first knew it, was not what it 
is now. Its population has at least doubled since 
18S4. At that time Charing Cross was a filthj, tri- 
aDgular thoroughiare, a stand for hackney-coaches, a 
grand panorama of showbills pasted over the sur 
rounding walls, with the kings mews in the tmmeiliale 
▼icinity : this whole ansa is now the site of Trafalgar- 
Square— one of the most im|)neing coml»inations of 
magniflornt architecture ami tasteful embelliahnieols 
in the world. This in an uu\vx of other and similar 
changes that havr tak«*ii pluiv all **\t'T thi* city. L#*n- 
don has been nearly an much im|inivcd as Nrw York 
within the last thirty yeaiSw I know a portioa of it^ 


nearly a mile square, now covered with buildingB, 
which consisted of open fields when I first visited the 
city. At the present day, London not only surpasses 
in its extent, its wealth, its accumulations of all that 
belongs to art — ^the richness of its merchandises, the 
extent of its commerce, the vastness of its influence — 
all the cities that now exist, but all that the world has 
before known. What were Nineveh, or Babylon, or 
Bome — even if they had an equal population — ^when 
their relations were confined to the quarter of a single 
hemisphere, and their knowledge did not embrace 
the telescope, the mariner's compass, the steam-engine, 
nor the telegraph — neither railroads nor the printing- 
press ; — what were they in comparison with the me- 
tropolis of a kingdom, whose colonies now belt the 
world, and whose influence, Teaching every state and 
nation under the sun, extends to the thousand mil- 
lions of mankind ! 

But what of London in 1824? King George IV. 
was then on the throne* and though he was shy of 
showing himself in public, I chanced to see him sev- 
eral times, and once to advantage — at Ascot Baces. 
This was a royal course, and brought together an 
immense crowd of the nobility and gentry, as well as 
an abundant gathering of gamblers and blacklegs. 
For more than an hour his majesty stood in the pa- 
vilion, surrounded by the Duke of Wellington, the 
Duke of York, the Marquis of Anglesea, and other 
persons of note. He was a large, over-fat man, of 

the arts of tht toikt eoaU boI 
Um «r 1^ and tlM BMk 

Upa w«e Aarp, hit «gra snyiihpblMb 

pHdaloady, and hit wkola fiwa aaaoMd pallid, Uaai- 
ad, and flabhj. Hk aoat traa a blae avtiM^ bM- 
•oaad tight orerthabraMi; hia emval, a ki^ bhak 

aloak, acaiaaly anfioMot to ooooaal I 
ndhdatingjowL On bitkft bnMlwMai 
ilw. IbworaaoommooluUillMfafiinal 
«r than the bshion. But for the star and the respect 
paid to him, he might have pa«ed aa onlj an over- 
drened and rather aour old rake. I noticed that hm 
ooat aet very clone and smooth, and waa told that br 
wan tnuaed and braced hy staya, to keep hia fleah in 
place and shaiw. It waa aaid to be the labor of at 
least two houni to prepare him for a public exhibi* 
tion, like the pnaient. lie was a dandj to the last. 
The wrinkles of his ooat, after it was on, were cut out 
bj the tailor, and carvfuUy drawn up with the needle. 
lie had the gout, and walked badly. I imagine thctv 
wcro lew among the thouAumU gathered to the spec- 
tacle, who werv really Icm lia|ipy tluin his majesty-* 
the moiiarvh uf the thrtv kingdoms. 

I nut only saw the Duke of Wellington on ihis, 
but on iiiiuiy iiulM-«|iitiit ucvofiions. I think the |itir- 
tnuti* ^ive a ('Am.' ii|«-tt ut his {H'nional ap}a*arai»oSL 
lie was really a rather siiutll, thin, iusiguiliuant kiuk* 


ing man, unless you saw him on horseback. His 
profile was indeed fine, on account of his high Bo- 
man nose, but his £x>nt fiice was meager, and the 
expression cold, almost mean. His legs were too 
short, a defect which disappeared when he was in 
the saddle. He then seemed rather stately, and in a 
military dress, riding always with inimitable ease, he 
sustained the image of the great general. At other 
times, I never could discover in his appearance any 
thing but the features and aspect of an ordinary, 
and certainly not prepossessing, old man. I say this 
with great respect for his character, which, as a per- 
sonification of solid sense, indomitable purpose, steady 
loyalty, and unflinching devotion to a sense of public 
duty, I conceive to be one of the finest in British 

At this period, our countryman, Jacob Perkins, 
was astonishing London with his steam-gun. He 
was certainly a man of extraordinary genius, and was 
the originator of numerous useful inventions. At 
the time of which I write, he fancied that he had dis- 
covered a new mode of generating steam, by which 
he was not only to save a vast amount of fuel, but to 
obtain a marvelous increase of power. So confident 
was he of success, that he told me he felt certain of 
being able, in a few months, to go fi"om London to 
Liverpool, with the steam produced by a gallon of 
oil. Such was his fertility of invention, that while 
pursuing one discovery, others came into his mind, 


€f espflrioMBti^ io vUek many duagi 
aad aoai|Mtfativaly notUag complaled, 

Thooi^ iIm Heam-gaa new laaDhed i 
iwilti H WM far loaie liina the ( 
I wee pieeeni et aa esUbitiOB of he woaimhl per- 
ia the praeeaoe of Ihe Doke of 1 
fe yoangeel faiollieri aad iIm Doke of 
loai with other peieone of Bole. The geaeial pwpoee 
of ihiB meehiae wee to diieheige boUete bj i 
faieteed of g n apo w deri aad with gieeft 
leeit a hundred a minute. The balle were put in a 
eoit of tunnel, and bj working a crank beek and 
forth, they were let into the chamber of the banvl — 
one by one — and exfielliHl by the steam. The noise of 
each exphmion was like that of a musket, and when 
the discharges were rapid, there was a ripping npitjar, 
quite shtK'king to temlor ni>rves. The belle— «amed 
about a hundrc«l feet across the smithy — struck upoa 
an inm tary^et, and were flattened to the thicknesi of 
a shilling pit^v.* 

• Jaeob P^rklM «m • MSir* of Xtwlnir^port, Mm*.. b««« \m 17TS 
lb va* BifiifVttlicvJ U* ft fultUmitli, miJ ^»m ««• » 4 >il M km i^fv^a 
lljr. BvCuffv th« MUMMbmcol of • iiaU«m*l mml, K* vm v«ipfci«««4. ■*4 
vWi •mwii, io ouikiac «Sim fuf A>|*p«ff a^h. At Um ^f« *tt i««*t«<lb«r. 
hm loirute«l IIm niarliio* fir r«IUnf tiAil*, wh.rh li*i • S**«t cSImi »««r 

kllK aaJ Ihrb * rl.rrk |>UU, vhi- h «m i<>«^ »i<>f4#«l *'j lA* i« Mama 
•kiiB«tU. lU I. >« lifc^iv^rv.l • 111 -Ir f ». ^^ •t«v.. b« i«K-%rt- «- 

W i ^ lit I* •mtk furatif, b««af om U U« »gM 

marroanaAL, ANSODaTioAL, era 387 

The whole perfonnanoe was indeed qnite formida- 
ble, and the Duke of Snssex — who was an enormous, 
red'tBiceA man — seemed greatly excited. I stood dose 
by, and when the boUets flew pretty thick and the 
discharge came to its climax, I heard him say to the 
Duke of Wellington, in an under-tone— " Wonder- 
ful, wonderful — d d wonderful ; wonderful, won- 
derful — d— d wonderful ; wonderful, wonderful — 
d d wonderful I'* and so he went on, without va- 
riation. It was in &ct, save the profanity, a very 
good commentary upon the performance. 

mgrvdog tat flue piotoret, was another, and this led to the Se m t mit ^ 
making books the most desirable articles for presents — instead of rings, 
ueoklaoes, shawls — ^thos prodadng not only a new generation of publi- 
cations, bat a revolution in the taste of society. This discovery Mr. Per- 
kins carried to England, and here he remained till his death in 1849. His 
other inventions are very numerous: among these are the chain-pump, 
the bathometer, to measure the depth of water, the pleometer, to meas- 
ure the velocity of ships, together with a multitude of improvements in 
various devices, from house-stoves to steam-engines. 

After I left London, he so far improved his steam-gun, that he sent 
balls through eleven planks of deal, an inch thick I A report of his ex- 
periments in 1625, before a committee, of which the Duke of Welling- 
ton was the head, describes the power exerted, as abBolutely terrific. 

Mr. Perkinses establishment was in Fleet-street, 69, when I was in 
London. One of the superintendents of this was Mr. Charles Tonpan, 
now so well known in connection with the eminent firm of Toppan, Car- 
penter A Co. To his intelligence and kindness I was indebted for 
much of the pleasure and profit of my first visit to London. Here also 
was Asa Spencer — originally a watchmaker of New London, and the in- 
ventor of the geometric lathe, for copying medals, as well as other inge- 
nious and useful devices. He was a man of true genius — full of good- 
ness, modesty, and ecoentrioity. 

The house of Mr. Perkins, at this period, was a familiar gathering 
place of Americans in London — his charming daughters giving a sort 
of American life and grace to all around them. His son, Angier M. 
Perkins, a gentleman of great talent, worth, and kindliness, continues 
his father's establishment in Loudon. 

HftviBg ihw apokiD cf Ih8 Dukicf Sons, I MT 
■7 A Ibv wonb of hit bmhar, the Dnk* of Toik, 
I had na, dn«id IB a gnw 
^atAaoot Hai 
Ihamoab tehe hadailBralafrwMa aouaerhy Iha 
MMcT Moa«^ teoMof Ihe 
hehaldthatoftaiahoik* Hb vaady ii|ilj vm^ 
he waa da?otad to Mom mmi A$ m Ji k, Da- 

pfofligaej, both aa a gamhlar and a io«i^ 

he was still a favorite amoog the British |jeopl<>. 
There was about him a orrtain native honorable* 
neas and goodness of hearty which stirvived, even iu 
the midst of his debaucheries. English loyaltj has 
the Taculty o( siviiig the small virtues of its prince* 
through the magnifying power of the lelcsoope ; 
their vici-si an? dwindloil into oomparative insignid 
eanoe by being olwcrvcd with the instrument iv- 
Tenod. And licsidcH, the Duke of York was now 
hctr^apparent t«> the thnme, and ihos siiind next the 
king himscUl 

I saw him not only at Ascot, boi on other ooea 
aions— esfiecially in a review of the fint regiment 
of fucit-giianU, at Hyde Park, and ajrain at a re- 
view of four thtjUAaiid li«>rM*-^'uanU at IIounsk>w 
Heath. Th'- f«"»l ^'iianN wrfi- ^rTfria«luT», and their 

oape were of enonnous height The duke himself 
wore the same kind of cap, with a red coat of 
coarse. like all his brothers, he was a large mau, 
and of full habit, though not up to the dimensions 
of the Duke of Sussex. He had a red, John Bull 
£EU9e, without expression, save that of good feeding. 
The Duke of Wellington, at this time, was among 
tl^ spectators. He was now in militaij dress, on a 
fine chestnut-colored horse. His motions were quick, 
and firequently seemed to indicate impatience. His 
general aspect was highly martial. Several ladies 
as well as gentlemen on horseback, were admitted to 
the review and within the circle of the sentries- sta- 
tioned to exclude the crowd. I obtained admission 
for a crown — five shillings, I mean — for I had learned 
that in England cash is quite as mighty as in Amer- 
ica. The privileged group of fair ladies and brave* 
men, gathered upon a grassy knoll, to observe the 
evolutions of the soldiers, presented an assemblage 
such as the aristocracy of England alone can fur- 
nish. Those who imagine that this is an effem- 
inate generation, should learn that both the men 
and women, belonging to the British nobility, taken 
together, are without doubt the finest race in the 
world. One thing is certain, these ladies could stand 
fire — for, although the horses leaped and pranced at 
the discharges of the troops, their fair riders seemed 
as much at ease as if upon their own feet. Their 
horsemanship was indeed admirable, and suggested 

tkoM hftbits of ezeidM Mid trainings to which ihcir 
fhll rounded fmns and Uooming ooootonanoet gAw 
ample teelimonj. 

The reriew at Hoonalow Heath, aooie eight miki 
ftom London — and at the prannt daj nearly covcied 
with bnildingi— -oompriaed wTcn regiments of oaral- 
Tjt including the flrrt and aeoond of the horm-guanla. 
The latter were no doubt the fincrt troops of the kind 
in the world — all the horMe being large and black, 
and finely groomed. The capariaona were of the 
moat splendid description, and the men picked fur 
the )>i]qKMe, All ihe officen wrre men cif rank, ur 
at K*tiiit of giKxl family. 

Tilt* |H*rformanc(« i'«>iiKii(tni n( vanoun mnn^hci 
and ci>utitrnnan:h(-fi-fi«iiiiotiiiit-ii ttltiw aiiii siinK*tinHii 
quick— a4*niAi« tli<* i'xtoii«li-«i plain. Tho t-voluuonii 
•of the t1\ iri^- artillery cxnttnl univrmal ailniiratk»u. 
When the whole Uniy — aUmt fourthMUsand bon*^ — 
rushed in a funoiiK ^Itip over the ^'niun^t thr da^b 
of arniA, the thunder of h(^>Gi, the universal »builtlrr 
of the earth- all together ert-aUxl Wi*re ibnllin^ emo- 
tions in the niiml than any other military' {lamJe I 
ever U*heltl. I have Avn eighty thiMifond infantry 
in the tieUl. but they did not ini|inw« my imaifina- 
tion BK I'on-iMy mn the^' few n-^'inienta of eavalrk' at 
IIoun.<»Ii*w Heath. < hie ini*i<ient pive painful eiftvl 
to the ^Ji^^■UM•Ie. Aw thi" wh«»!»- l^nlv xn r»' ^w^^eplI.Jf 
across* the tlrld. :i Mt«k'li* tr««'|«T »:k^ piK«-fit«l iVtim 
liin hur>e and fell t4i tlie ^^nuiiHi A huiidn^l h*«*t« 


paaaed over him, and trampled him into the sod. On 
swept the gallant host, as heedless of their fallen 
companion, as if only a feather had dropped £rom 
one of their caps. The conflict of cavalry in real 
battle, must be the most fearful exhibition which the 
dread drama of war can furnish. On this occasion boih 
the king and the Duke of York were present, so that 
it was one of universal interest About 6fty ladies 
on horseback rode back and forth over the field, on 
the flanks of the troops, imitating their evolutions. 

You have no doubt heard enough of Parliament ; 
but I shall venture to make a few extracts from my 
note-book respecting it, inasmuch as these present 
slight sketches of persons of eminence who have now 
passed from the scene. I have been often at the House 
of Commons, but I shall now only speak of a debate 
in July, 1824, upon the petition, I believe, of the city 
of London, for a recognition of the independence of 
some of the South American States. Canning was then 
secretary of foreign aifairs, and took the brunt of the 
lattle made upon the ministry. Sir James Mackintosh 
led, and Brougham followed him on the same side. 

I shall not attempt to give you a sketch of the 
speedies : a mere description of the appearance and 
manner of the prominent orators will suffice. Sir 
James — then nearly sixty years old — was a man 
rather above the ordinary size, and with a fine, phil- 
anthropic face. His accent was decidedly Scotch, and 
his voice shrill and dry. He spoke slowly, often hes 

, wd WM enlud J daititaf cf whil «• oill do- 
qaenee. TberewMBOCMyflowofnatoiioa^DogwIi 
of feeUng^ BO appiraiil «Uampt to addrni iIm koMi or 
llMiiiiagiiuitioiL Hiaqieeohwaiaiigidloalw^faalMr 
abrtnol mhI philooophiotl, eridooU j iMwad to iIm 
iinlflUootofalenimen. Ho had a good dnl of 

His mattor wao logioal, and nnnaMnwiHj 
ho iUoatntod hia propoaitioiia bj hialoffioal 1 
pfly nanfatad. On the whok^ ho mada tho 
■OD apoD mj mind that ho waa a rorj philoaophieal, 
but not rery practical, staleaman. 

Brougham, aa you know, is one of the ughcwt 
men in the three kingiloma. His noae is long, and 
the nostrils, slightly rrtreating, seem to look at you 
— aumctimi's to mock you. The mouth is ho(»kcJ 
downwanl at either corner; the brow is rolled m 
iblds« like tho hide of a rhintKwrus. And yet, straii|c« 
to say, this odd composition of odd features makes 
np a face of rather agrcvahle, and oenainly very effcc- 
tivi* i-xpntdiiun. llis figure is a little above the com- 
mon MZ4\ and at tlic time I s|)eak ol^ was thin and 
wiry — a chanictA*ristic which time has since kindly 
converted into a miMlrraU.* dcgrw of |jortlincsB. lie 
had abundance of word^ as well ait idi-as. In his 
speech on the iici*af»ioii I dcHcnU*, ho piled tliought 
u|Min tho\i^'ht. l:iL*o^l itont'iict- wit Inn !K*ntoiKV. mm- 
gIo«l eatm' an*l phil«m*>|ih\, lai>t und :ir;.'Uiiiont, history 
and aiHX^loto, as if he haii been a cornucopia, and 


was anxious to disburden himself of its abundance. 
In all this there were several hard hits, and Canning 
evidently felt them. As he rose to reply, I took 
careful note of his appearance, for he was then, I im- 
agine, the most conspiouous of the British statesmen. 
He was a handsome man, with a bald, shining pate, 
and a figure slightly stooping in the shoulders. His 
£su» was round, his eye large and full, his lips a little 
voluptuous — ^the whole bearing a lively and refined 
expression. In other respects his appearance wIbs not 
remarkable. His voice was musical, and he spoke 
with more ease and fluency than most other orators 
of the House of C!ommons ; yet even he hesitated, 
paused, and repeated his words, not only in the be- 
ginning, but sometimes in the very midst of his argu- 
ment. He, however, riveted the attention of the mem- 
bers, and his keen observations frequently brought 
out the ejaculation of " hear, hear," from both sides 
of the house. Brougham and Mackintosh watched 
him with vigilant attention, now giving nods of as- 
sent, and now signs of disapprobation. 

The difference between the manner of speaking in 
the British Parliament and the American Congress, 
has frequently been the subject of remark. There is 
certainly great heaviness, and a kind of habitual 
hesitation, in nearly all English public speakers, 
strikingly in contrast to the easy and rapid fluency, 
so common with us. I have heard not only the fa- 
mous men just mentioned in the British Parliament, 

InH Ftel, Pdiiiefslon,(yOoiiMn,aiidollMi%MdaU 
€f them wookt Iuito beoo eoi M iikwd doll ip«kMi 
— M fiiTMiMn maoMr « ooooamad— hero n the 
United Scalee. I coold never peraeiTe in any ef 
i an approeeh to the eeqr wd m ahrfioqi iovof 

of Cby, or the Mk 


I em deeorifaiiig^ Sir n«Mii ! 
of Dolorieiy, bat mm 

a ehort epeeeh. He wee a 
Ian, deader pereon, with a eiiigalariy promiaeal fem- 
heed, the real of his fiKse being oompaniti velj thin ami 
ineignificant. He wee rather daoiUly drrmrd, and did- 
dled from right to left an be was »pi*aking, in a verr 
cnrioua fanhion. His voice wan mnAll, but pmetra- 
ting. His attackii upon the miniatrv wcr« very di- 
rect| but he evidently excited no great attention. Ii 

• TIm hUlory of Uiw iDJWMoal b rarioM. Il« «m kof* m ITf^ 
amd thoofb UM^uuhtfwt Aunofa joni^«M»uA, by a ■■§!■■ «i <■!— ui— 
illin, Im ftac«Md«J to tb« UU« mt^ mt^Lm of lito ig— at «U Miwt 
aMilj. Ilia wMlih WW iaewtiil b} bis mairyia^, im ITM^ %km 4m^ 
l«r oTi'ontu, tb« bMikw. In 1«>S, mtitt « bat ev«tn«« b« wm rumfmi 
to riM«MMMt Ibr Mi.iai«Mi« bQt Um IUhm Hmnd tb* vIwCm* *«a. «U 
layrMuofti tb* ftbcnfr. In l»iC. wbiW b« «m linbl>l hf n 4mI« ba 
VM cb o— n for W«Ataiin«ur, mud cwtitinM«l u» f|iwttl tb«l I 
Ibr DMriy Uiiffty yaan. iU vm of* t«rb«Wnl dmp^Okom, «U I 
qanrrvUJ viUi th» IIuom orft^ommuoA, ffi«i>l»l tb« kf^nbcr** vwtaM 
Ibf bM wrMt* Uioft cfvatintf an •aoiteawbl m wLicb MTarai b««i ««m 
IsmL Wb«n lb« — n —i n t •nn* wvnt Ut hm ho^m In ■ il l bm, hm 
t>mm4 bini fttfr>«^«>il; tcftt-hit./ a > kuiu ri-oJ i^*« II ^it* < b*ft* H« «m 
ftir ftuui* iimc im|>n*uiM*l m ti.» T«i«rr Tt>* ^(»«r»: .ni|*f 
vbife ftrvifeMiiitf «UniotfTW7. L« vm • tL -r^uf b mnaUxtU, •! 
fr«lirif Ttiu n|iiii.i.>ci «M eu«iAnu»il id iMd. «b«a L* U4a*:; < 
bU HMi«i* aB*! wbwntly Mppottod tte lory M«ln. Bn 4M to IMC 


seemed to me astonifihiDg that he should ever have 
been a popular leader, for his whole appearance 
was that of the affected and supercilious aristocrat. 
The populace have very often been made the dupes 
of men whose hearts were foil of despotism, and 
who, in flattering the masses, only sought the means 
of gratifying their unprincipled love of power. Ev- 
ery careful observer has seen examples of this hollow 
and base democracy, and one might easily suspect 
Sir Francis Burdett to have been one of them. 

Of course I visited the House of Lords — paying 
two shillings and sixpence for admittance. The 
bishops wore their surplices ; a few of the lords had 
stars upon the breast, but most of them were without 
any badge whatever. The general aspect of the as- 
sembly was eminently grave and dignified. Eldon 
was the chancellor — a large, heavy, iron-looking 
man — the personification of bigoted conservatism. 
He was so opposed to reforms, that he shed tears 
when the punishment of death was abolished for 
stealing five shillings in a dwelling-house ! When 
I saw him, his head was covered with the official 
wig: his face sufficed, however, to satisfy any one 
that his obstinacy of character was innate. 

While I was here, a committee from the House of 
Commons was announced; they had brought up a 
message to the Lords. The chancellor, taking the 
seals in his hands, approached the committee, bow- 
ing three times, and they doing the same. Then 

Itelum oper^ after aereral jmn of abteaoBL TIm 
plaj was Jj$ Nomt A' Figank I had nevor bdbra mm 
an opera, and could nol| eren bj ibe 
of muaioi hare mj habiu of thoogbl and mj i 
aaoae ao oompleieljr oVerttinied and bewitebedi aa to 
aae the whole bmioeai of lifi»— intiigi% eonrtahip^ 
OMrriagei cuiBin^ ahaving, pteaching. pimying; lor« 
iag» haling— done bj ainging inatead of mUdni^ 
and yel fiwl thai it waa all right and pioper* II i^ 
qoirei both a moaioal ear and early trminia^ ftdtj to 
appredale and tod the opera— which aima al a anion 
of all the ana of rhetorioi poetry, and mnMo, enCM^Did 
by aoenio repieeentationa, and the inlenie eolki 
of congiegaled and ay mpathetio mifa. En 
ednoaled to it, the KDgli«b, an well aa the 
have too practical a uature and aie too much grooved 
with baaiocMi haUti, to give tbemaelvoi up Id il| aa ii 
dnne in Italy, and in aocne other parte of iIm < 


Madame Catalani was a large, handsome woman, a 
htUe masculine, and past forty. She was not only a 
very dever actress, but was deemed to have every . 
musical merit — ^volume, compass, clearness of tone, 
surpassing powers of execution. Her whole style 
was dramatic, bending even the music to the senti- 
ments of the character and the song. Some of her 
displays were almost terrific, her voice drowning the 
whole soul in a flood of passion. I could appreciate, 
unlettered as I was in the arts of the opera, her ama- 
ssing powers — ^though to say the truth, I was quite as 
much astonished as pleased. Pasta and Oarcia — 
both of whom -I afterwards heard — gave me infinitely 
greater pleasure, chiefly because their voices pos- 
sessed that melody of tone which excites sympathy 
in every heart — even the most untutored. Madame 
Catalani gave the opera a sort of epic grandeur — an 
almost tragic vehemence of expression ; Pasta and 
Oarcia rendered it the interpretation of those soft and 
tender emotions which haunt the soul, and for the 
expression of which God seems to have given music 
to mankind. It was, no doubt, a great thing to hear 
the greatest cantatrice of the age, but my remem- 
brance of Madame Catalani is that of a prodigy, 
rather than an enchantress. On the occasion I am 
iescribing, she sang, by request. Rule Britannia, 
between the acts, which drew forth immense ap- 
plause, in which I heartily joined — not that I liked 
the words, but that I felt the music. 


It was about thia time that a great attraetion vaa 
aanonnoed at one of the theatrea — nothing leaa than 
the king and queen of the Sandwich Uandai vbo 
had gFBcioualy eondeaoended to honor the p er fo r m * 
ance with their preaenoe. They had ooroe to riMft 
England, and pay their homage to George the Poorth; 
hence the government deemed it neoMaary to rwriTe 
them with hoapitality, and pay them anch attentaona 
aa were due to their rank and royal blocid. The 
king's name was Tamehamaha, but he had alao the 
sub-title or surname of Rhio-Khio— which, brinK in- 
teq»n'UHl, inraiil I>«»jr «'f 1>«»k'!«. <'aiinii»j:V wii pt»t xh^ 
bftlrr nf hi.s n-von-iKV. aii«l ?«» hr j'n»fain*ly Mip>n'*t 
ed that, if Iii.h iiiaji-idv wan 1^^ of lK«ini, what mti<t 
tho(|u«fii U*'.' IIi»w<*vor, ihrn* wari an ti]ii man al>*ut 
the nMirt wlm hail ai*i{Uirf«l tin* tit It* nf IVtmili*. ati-l 
liv u:i.<4 M'Ki*t«-«i AH a fit |HTS(>ii ti> atti*ii<l upi»n th«*ir 
lliajt^tii-n. Tli«*v lia«l thfir IimI^iii^ at tlir Aiif-I{*hi 
IIot«-l. and iiiiplit U* i«ivn at all hiiuni nf ihr tUv, 
liRikiiip at tlu* pup|i«'t-{*)iiiwn in thr iitivi*t with in- 
tfiiiM* ilfli^'ht. ttf all tht' iii^titiitii*n«i of firrat Iln- 
tttin, Punrh an* I •)u«lv rviili'titiv iiiaih* thf Mronirrnt 
aiMJ 1114 ie»t favi>raMi' irn|in-.-vi<>ii u|Min the ntya! |«artT 

Thi'v wtTi*. I U*ln-Vf. nt'i-i**-*! at a pnvatr inirr- 
vifw liy thi- ktrj^' at \Viii>i->r: vvvry think* rali-ulalrj 
in k'rattty thiiM w;i.-» .liin«*. I <iw ihi-m at ihr th«-a- 
in-, • if! •?%-«•• 1 m a Kir-j-ari i.»*!uTn«'. with thi- a.liiitfn 
of s«'ni«' I'arlMP'U* !iMr\ Th** ki:i;r wai» an «-ri«if- 
inous man — !«i\ fit* I, thrve or four inotica; th«* c|ucen 


was short, but otherwise of ample dimensions. Be- 
sides these persons, the party comprised Ave or six 
other members of the king's household. They had 
all large, round, flat faces, of a coarse, though good- 
humored expression. Their complexion was a ruddy 
brown, not very unlike that of the American Indians ; 
their general aspect, however, was very different, and 
entirely destitute of that mysterious, ruminating air 
which characterizes our children of the forest. They 
looked with a kind of vacant wonder at the play, 
evidently not comprehending it; the fiux^, on the 
contrary, seemed greatly to delight them. It is sad 
to relate that this amiable couple never returned to 
their country ; both died in England — victims either 
to the climate, or the change in their habits of liv- 

* The chief whom I have here noticed wa» Tsmehamaha II. His 
Dame is now ^nerallj apelled Kamehamaba, and his other title is writ- 
ten Liho-Liho. They sailed in the British ship UAigle, October, 1828, 
and arrived at Portsmouth, Maj, 1824. Of the twenty-five thousand 
dollars shipped in their chests, only ten thousand were found— twelve 
thonsand having been robbed, and three thousand taken for pretended 
expenses. Kamamala, the principal queen, and the two or three infe- 
rior wives of his mi^esty, exhibited themselves at first in loose trowsers 
and velveteen bed-gowns— 'but ere long their waists, for the first time, 
were subjected to corsets, and their forms to Parisian fashions. They 
wore native turbans, which became the rage in high circles. The king 
was dressed in the English style, with certain embellishments denoting 
his rank. They generally behaved with propriety, though one of the 
party seeing a mullet, resembling a species common in the Sandwich 
Islands, seixed it and hurried home, where their majesties devoured it 
raw, probably finding it the sweetest morsel they bad tasted since they 
left home. In June, 1824, the whole party were attacked by the mear 
sles, Manui, the steward, first, and the king next. On the eveninpr ol 
the 8th the queen died, having taken an affectionate leave of her hus- 
band. His heart seemed to be broken, and on the 14th he breathed his 

S40 Lsnni-wmAPiiicAL, 

One or two items more, and this chapter shall oa 
doBcd. Among the prominent objects of interest in 
London at this period was Edward Irving then 
preaching at the Caledonian Chapel, Croas-stieety Hat- 
ton Cbrdens. He was now in the full flnsh of his 
£une, and soch was the eagerness to hear him that it 
was difficult to get admission. People of all ranks, 
literaiy men, philoeopheis, statesmen, noblemen, per- 
sons of the highest name and influence, with a foil and 
diversified representation of the fair sex, crowded to 
his church. I was so fortunate as to get a seat in the 
pew of a friend, a privilege which I appreciated all 
the more, when I counted twenty coroneted coaches 
standing at the door — some of those who came in 
them, not being able to obtain even an entrance into 
the building. The interior was crowded to excess; 
the alleys were foil, and even fine ladies seemed 
happy to get seats upon the pulpit stairway. Persons 
of the highest title were scattered here and there, and 
cabinet ministers were squeezed in with the mass of 
common humanity. 

Mr. Irving's appearance was very remarkable. He 
was over six feet in height, very broad-shouldered, 
violently cross-eyed, with long black hair hanging in 
heavy, twisted ringlets down upon his shoulders. 
His complexion was pallid yet swarthy, the whole 

iMt. The bodies of the royal pair were taken to their native islands, 
and tliere interred with great pomp. The remainder of the party re- 
turned to their home, one of them, however, Kapihe, dying on the way, 
at Valparaiso. 


expression of his &ce — ^half sinister and half sancti- 
fied — Goreating in the mind of the beholder a painful 
doubt whether he was a great saint or a great sinner. 
He wore a black-silk gown, of rich material and am- 
ple, graceful folds. His hair was sedulously parted 
so as to display one comer of his forehead, which a 
white hand and a very pure linen handkerchief fre- 
quently wiped, yet so daintily as not to disturb the 
love-locks that inclosed it 

There was a strange mixture of saintliness and 
dandyism, in the whole appearance of this man. His 
prayer was affected — strange, quaint, peculiar, in its 
phraseology — ^yet solemn and striking. His reading 
of the psalm was peculiar, and a fancy or feeling 
crossed my mind that I had beard something like it, 
but certainly not in a church. There was a vague min- 
gling in my imagination of the theatre and the house 
of worship : of foot-lights, a stage, a gorgeous throng of 
spectators — an orchestra and a troop of players — and 
side by side with these — ^there seemed to come a psalm 
and a text and a preacher. I was in fact seeking to 
trace out a resemblance between this strange parson 
and some star of Drury Lane or Covent Garden. Sud- 
denly I found the clew : Edward Irving in the pulpit 
was imitating Edmund Kean upon the stage I And he 
succeeded admirably — his tall and commanding per- 
son giving him an immense advantage over the little, 
insignificant, yet inspired actor. He had the tones of 
the latter — his gestures, his looks even, as I had often 

Vol. II.— 11 


him in Biohaid the Third udShyloek. He had 
eridently taken lenons of the renowned trigedinn, 
bat whether in pnblio or priTnte, is not lor me to enr. 

The text was Oenens liL 17, 1& I will estmet 
ftom my notea, lor yoor entertainment^ a roogh aketch 

"Thia malediction— 'Cuied ia the groond Ibr thj 
aake ; in aorrow ahalt thou eat of it all the daja of 
thy life; thoma also and thiatlea ahall it bring forth 
to thee: and thoo ahalt eat the herb of the fieM*^ 
thia waa the oharter under which man held hia exiat- 
ence till the birth <if Chrint, wh«*n the benediction — 
'Peace on earth ami ginxl-will to man,* wan |>n> 
nounciHl. Since that time, thirae two |inni*iplt«a an«i 
powers — the maUtliction ami the t^;ne«lictitfn — \ia\c 
been at Ktrife. To trace iiome of the ct»niie«|ueiiotii 
of thij« ixuitiiot '\3H our pn*s4*nt buiiuu*aM. 

** MoMv ilisrhminatcn U*twt.i*n the two natim-n «if 
man, by tint ntJitinK the en*ation of hi« UmIv ait thr 
completion of one dbitinct |iart or |Mirtion of hL4 na- 
ture, and then the Crvat«»r l)n*athin^ inti> htm a h\ 
ing iMml, f»r mttre literally tht* iipint of hve^ thti* 
oomplrtin^ the other {lortiou of hin lacing. 

*' 1 can n>>t hut fiauM' a nidiiuMit ti» notr the Mn 
kin>; o»nicidi*n(*r U'twivn thi* i>tati*in«*iit ««f M«.i«<r<ii 
and the rt>ult xf phil'H«i<|')iii* -ii««-M'ath»n. vihu-h miw 
makr.« XlH' .-ciTMf iliM*riiiiiiiali>»ti ; tin* >t'iiv %*( xuc 
ntnirlurt* i>f lh»* l--l_v. or ph\a»i.'*.»»j;y, U'lnjj od« 
Dranch of acicnoe, and the study of the mind or fpi- 


nt, called metaphysics, being another. The French 
school, some time since, blended the whole nature of 
man in one physical organization, and Helvetius 
found in the sensibility of the fingers, all the radi- 
ments — ^the entire foundation — of the moral and in- 
tellectual £EU5ulties of man. This crept into English 
philosophy, until the immortal mind was degraded 
into a mere tool of the body : the crumbling, earthy 
tenement alone was regarded, while the godlike in- 
habitant was made its servant and its slave. 

'' Let us do justice to the truth 1 The spirit con- 
sists of three parts : the understanding, which dis- 
courseth of sensible ideas and powers — the basis of 
what is called knowledge; the reason, which dis- 
courseth of insensible objects and insensible ideas, 
and has relation to principles and abstract science ; 
and conscience, which discourseth of duty, and hath 
regard to the relations between man and man, and 
also between man and his Maker. 

" Now the proper vocation of the body is to min- 
ister to the spirit in this threefold character. 

" Yet, I grieve to say it — the conduct of mankind 
reverses this system : it is the faculties of the spirit, 
debased firom their high mission, which are every- 
where made subservient to the body. I am loth to 
pain and disgust you with pictures in evidence of 
this, but every speculation should be supported by 
feet. I beg you therefore to consider the state of 
things in this city — the Babylon around us. Divest 

joantHym of that magie iwflngBea wUdi is i 
hf the term— jMopfa; of thai morbid fcahion of ae»* 
ing in low riee and humble miaerr, onlj mactrr fcr 
mirth and aong; of thai ornd taate which haanta the 
dark and diamal oonita and lanea and lafajriatha of 
kbor, of want and wietchedneaii far aafajeeti tbt the 
pencil and the stage. Stand all aloof from the aad 
jollitj with which anthinking men snnrey sneh aoenea. 
Wn^ the mantle of immortalitr about thee and go 
forth, and in the acales of etemitj, weigh the thinfp 

'* In the gray of iho in«»minir, too hrar briii-aih 
your casM'inrni the heavy lix-ail of the lahoirr p!--!- 
ding to Km toil. This imMlually incrrannt. till •>*:«* 
|N*rvailiiig volume t»f soiiml Mhakm rvrrv |kirt of i?i« 
city. <io fitrth uiid .<tuily the wviic— the pn»iui'» r> 
of thbi mighty u|tnvir — the waf^>ner |>l«Mldiriff by il»«* 
side t>f hn h«*:ivy waiii. the |Hirt«'r utAfTL^'ntiiz U^nratb 
hi> ltunl«*n, tht* m^avfiiger pickiiiK' ft'id ppiwhhtf atii«»n^ 
the ofTal — tht* hundnNis, the lhi>iiigin«U, {Hiunnir al<«r .; 
in a tid«\ and U-nt on thrir varum^ UNtrs. Siirvt-v 
them an they jiaiM, and h«»w f«-arfiilly is the h<*Art »m:t 
ten with tho faet that th«ve an* n*v««n(in^ the tniennh^r 
(»f human <Ui(tiny : not om- aimaig them w »'jhji^-tir. j 
the UnIv ^> th<' mind— all an* !«ul>jivtink' the mind 
to thr l-ii!v -iill an* ii'ihmittinir them?H'!vf» ii» ihr 
Ma)t*«ih*t:iin «•!' thi* tiutfa^iri tif hl^lt-n. an it' the IWne 
du'tion iif the ^:^■s|^•l ha* I nr'ver U-^-n |in»n4»unr«J. 
From the gray dawn to the deep night, tbrar brings^ 


to whom is offered the bread of immortal life, are 
occupied with the poor thought of gaining a few 
omstB to feed the mortal body I 

'' If we turn to the higher classes, the picture is 
equally dark, and perhaps even more discouraging. 
Whatever we may here find of spiritual culture or 
intellectual tastes, we still see that the cares, the pas- 
sions, the desires of the body, though they may often 
be disguised and refined, still master the souL The 
bemg, whose imagination is capable of reaching the 
stars, and whose power of faith might carry him to 
the throne of God and the companionship of angels 
and just men made perfect — ^those whose ample means 
raise them above the groveling necessities of life — 
still cling to this earthly footstool, still think only of 
the pleasures of this fleeting animal existence. What- 
ever there may be of soul, in their pursuits, is a sub- 
jugation of it to the senses. A subtle epicureanism 
pervades the whole atmosphere they breathe. Pleas- 
ure, ambition, pride, the desire of honor, of wealth, 
of name, fame — all hopes, all fears — center in the 
little narrow kingdom of these poor five senses. 
These which were given only as windows from which 
the soul might look out upon immortality, are used 
as doors and avenues by which the soul passes into 
its prison-house of earthly enjoyments. Thus the 
gifted, the rich, the exalted, the favorites of fortune 
— are, after all, forgetful of the bread of life, and 
while pampering the body with oil and wine, are 


Starving the soul with sfariyeled husks and unsatis- 
fying straw. 

" How hard, how disheartening is the steep ascent 
of duty, which calls upon us to contend with a world 
thus embattled against the truth. And yet, as sol- 
diers of the cross, we may not ground our arms. If 
we can not do all we would, let us at least accomplish 
what we may. To-day, I ask you here to join me, not 
in the impossible, but the possible. If the poor re- 
ject the bread of life, it is perhaps not altogether by 
choice : the heavy sin of Dives, who, being rich and 
able to choose, preferred a sensual life, is not laid 
upon their souls — ^the groveling necessities of Lazarus 
have subdued them, crushed them, mastered them. It 
is through ignorance, through peculiar temptations, 
through the cares and needs of life, that they thus go 
astray. The mother, uncertain of bread, alike for her- 
self and her offspring — the &ther, anxious lest he shall 
not have a shelter for those whom God has given him 
— ^how can these think of aught but the immediate 
pressing cares of the body ? How can these slaves of 
mortality put on immortality ? Let Christianity kneel, 
mourning and penitent, at the throne of grace, and 
confessing that these things are so, rouse itself, and 
say they shall be so no longer. I see around me the 
great, the powerful : let them speak, and the work is 
done. Let us carry Comfort to the poor, and as that 
enters one door, the Gospel with its glad tidings, will 
come in at the other Each may do something. 

MiarroRioAL, anbcdotioal, rtc. 247 

None are too high, none too humble, to assist in this 
glorious work. The rich, the proud, the strong, in 
the confidence of their strength, may reject even the 
bread of life ; the poor will welcome it Believe the 
famished body firom its suffering for the want of daily 
bread, and the soul, delivered from its humiliation, 
will ascend to the throne of grace, and God will bless 
it, and he will bless you also who have ministered to 
the good work." 

This is a mere outline of the discourse, and only 
gives an idea of its general drift and argument. The 
phraseology — which was rich, flowing, redundant, and 
abounding in illustration, and seemed to me carefully 
modeled after that of Jeremy Taylor — I did not at- 
tempt to preserve. In spite of the evident affectation, 
the solemn dandyism, the dramatic artifices of the 
performer — for, after all, I could only consider the 
preacher as an actor — ^the sermon was very impres- 
sive. Some of the pictures presented to the imagi- 
nation were startling, and once or twice it seemed 
as if the whole audience was heaving and swelling 
with intense emotion, like a sea rolling beneath the 
impulses of a tempest. The power of the thought, 
aided by the deep, sympathetic voice of the speaker, 
and still fiirther enforced by his portentous figure 
and emphatic action, overrode all drawbacks, and 
carried the whole heart and imagination along upon 
its rushing tide. Considered as a display of orator- 
ical art, it was certainly equal to any thing I have 


0Vto bawd ftom the pnlpH; jel H did nol 
to BM wJfluhiad to hare any permaMBt 

: Chriitiu tnith upon the eoMdeiiee. The 
•eemed too mmfa • player, and too little an 
qMMtle; the afterthoogfat wae^ thai the whole eCsel 
wee the leialt of itage triek, and not ofaobcr traih. 

The chameter and eaieer of Bdwaid Inring pieeesi 
aitimiigeaefiQaofiiieoiignutieiL HewasboraiBSeol- 
land in 1792 ; he became a preacher^ and aeqmiied 
apeedy notoriety, as mneh by his peeaUarities as his 
Msrita. He attraeted the attention of Dr. Chalniei% 
and tknmgh tiis influence was for a time amistant 
minister in the parish of Kt. J«ihn*«, at liUnfrov. 
From this place he wss cslhil t4) ttie CaKxlonisn 
Cha|H*l, where I hrsnl him. llij« fame ei»nunacti u* 
increafle; an<l having imhliKhed a volume of di»- 
coumefi, umh*r the quiunt liUr, ** Fi>r th«* <>rarles cif 
God, four <>rati4>nji; ti>r Jud^menl to t*«>me, an Ar- 
gument iu nine Parlii" — thn*e lai^e cilitions of the 
work were sold in the spaiv of mx months. Where- 
ever he preacluxl, crowd* of (<a^r It^tencrs flocked tt> 
hear him. II in eccentni'ities incn*aiteil with hin fame. 
He drew out hiM dmeounM-* t4) an rnonnou* len|(th, 
and on m-vrral oecai*ionM protniett-d ttn* M'r%'K>9 W 
four houi^! Ilr sttiiii iNvanif* niv.'«tiral. and to«*k to 
Mudvinir untuirilli-d )>n»|>ht*«'v. a?« ihr iruc ktv to the 
inli*rpn-tati"!i iT tht M*ripiun> Kn>iu thiA t \tra%-a- 
fpaniv, he |>:iN«*<i v* xuv dt^i'tniu* that C'hrii>liaii«. h\ 
the |Miwer i»f faith, can attain to the working of niira* 


des and speaking with unknown tongues, as in the 
primitiye ages. Such at last were his vagaries, that 
he was cut off from communion with the Scottish 
Church ; in consequence, he became the founder of a 
sect which continues to the present time in England, 
bearing the title of Irvingites. Worn out with anx- 
iety and incessant labors, he died at Glasgow, while 
on a journey for his health, in 1884, at the early age 
of forty -two. 

The history of this extraordinary man teaches us 
various important lessons. It shows us tiiat genids, 
even though it be allied to sincerity, is easily led 
astray by flattery and personal vanity; that eccentri- 
city naturally ends in extravagance; that fanaticism is 
not superior to the use of artifice and affectation, even 
when they invade the pulpit and assume the badge 
of the preacher of the gospel ; in short, that a man of 
great gifts, if so be he is not controlled by common 
sense — if he do not conform his conduct to that 
every-day but safe regulator, called propriety — is very 
apt to become a misguiding and bewildering light to 
his fellow-men, just in proportion as his abilities may 
surpass those of other persons. A large observation 
of mankind has satisfied me that a great man, even 
though he be a preacher, if he despises the sugges- 
tions of good sense, decency, congruity, usually be- 
comes a great curse. Nearly all the religious vaga- 
ries which have led the world astray, have originated 
with individuals of this character. A large portion 


HATiagbem tnuHfand 19 Hm Qofla^ k «« 
•k «h» kiNM of Sir BlvMi 

fhe9UiaiidlOUiofJiil7,ldM. ItoMMtft] 
■eiMifioD, and such vera the crowds thai ruihed to 
bebold the tpeolacle, that it was neoeMuy to drfbttd 
the ooffin vith a stoat wooden railing. WhM I ar 
rived at the plaoe the lid was closed ; I was ftoMt 
however, that the oountenanoe^ though the iasr fiasa 
had collapsed, was so little changed as to ba sasSj 
laoogniaed by his acqnaintancea. The gan s ta l ass*- 
oalar Cmto of the body was perfisotly praMrrad. 

The aspect of the soenoi even aa I witMaHsl il» 
waa altogether very impressive. The oaAa waa oov* 
arsd with a pall, enriched by escutcheons ■w.wmy ia 
gcdd. On the t<^ was a lid, set nmnd with hiaok 
plumes. Upon it were these words— 

•gb(>K(;r ik>rik>n norl byroh. 


^^^■H ^^ 


1 ''IT' 

^^^H V ^^^^^^^^^Hj^^H^^'^^^^H|^^^^^[^^K^^^|'''^E 

^^^^^H ■"■*--^'-'' '^^JBI^^^^^B ^^H 

^^^^^^^^^1 ^^^^1 


At the head of the coffin was an urn containing the 
ashes of his brain and heart — this being also covered 
with a rich pall, wrought with figures in gold. The 
windows were dosed, and the darkened room was 
feebly illumined by numerous wax-tapers. 

And this was all that remained of Byron I What 
a lesson upon the pride of genius, the vani^ of rank, 
the fatuity of &me— all leveled in the dust^ and de- 
spite the garnished pall and magnificent coffin, their 
possessor was bound to pass through the same pro- 
cess of corruption as the body of a common beggar. 
And the soul — the soul? 

Ah, what questions rose in my mind as I stood 
beside that coffin I Where art thou, Byron? What 
art thou? I have never seen thee — I have never 
known thee, &ce to j&ce : yet hast thou often spoken 
to me, and in words that can never die I Thou art 
not dead — ^that were impossible : speak to me, then ! 
Tell me — for such as thou might break the seal of 
the grave — what art thou? — where art thou? Whis- 
per in my ear the dread secret of the tomb ! Thou 
art silent — even thou. How fearful, how terrible is 
that spell which holds lips like thine — Childe Harold, 
Manfred, Gain — in the bondage of perpetual stillness 1 
This, indeed, is death ! 




Hivitig tnftda a liitmad trip to Pkm aod htA 
to IkHldmi, I defmriei fbr Uvefpocil, iiid thrum mmr 


.. -v.^. 

<>•' -.. 

ber, 1824. I ranaiiMd at Hmrtfard till Oelober, ISM^ 
it ftlreadjr sUtod, and then mnoved to Boatoo, vitk 
tiie intention of pobliahing original work% and at tlie 
aame time of trjing my hand at anthorahip— the ktter 
part of m J plan, howerer, known only U> myadC 

At that time, Boston was nolorioiidy the lilerary 
metiopoliii of the Union — the admitted Athena of 
America. Edward Brerett had eaUbliahed the Notth 
American Review,* and though he had now jnal Ml 
the editorial chair, hia spirit dwelt in it^ and hia fume 
lingered aronnd it Rich*d IL Dana, Edw'd T. Cha»- 
ning, Jared Sparka, George Bancroft, and oCheia, were 
among the rising lights of the literary horiaon. The 

• TIm North Am^ncmn »m fo«i»a«d m 1§1&. hj WiUmb T>^dm, «Im 
tad p«««M>fMJ^ br#n i>b« of ii« prmrt^ •«|>purt«ff» of Um 
AalKok^- Mr t;««rvtt, l>o«c««r. iii«v U m*.1 u» kuirt giirmm 
1 to Um |»«UK»U«>tt by Hi* tu«»url; >aimt>wtr»ti«w oT Um < 

mgnxaaoAj^ AHSoixmoAL, eto. 268 

newspaper press presented the witty and canstic Qui- 
ax J, edited by Buddngham ; the dignified and schol- 
arly Daily Advertiser, conducted by Nathan Hale ;* 
and the frank, sensible, manly Centinel, under the ed- 
itorial patriarch — Benjamin Bussell. Ghanningwas 
in the pulpit and Webster at the forum. Society was 
strongly impressed with literary tastes; genius was 
reispected and cherished : a man, in those days, who 
had achieved a literary fcune, was at least equal to a 
president of a bank, or a treasurer of a manu&ctur- 
ing company. The pulpit shone bright and &r, with 
the light of scholarship radiated from the names of 
Beecher, Greenwood, Pierpont, Lowell, Palfry, 
Doane, Stone, Frothingham, Oannett: the bar also 
reflected the glory of letters through H. G. Otis, 
Charles Jackson, William Prescott, Benjamin Gor 
ham, Willard Philips, James T. Austin, among the 
older members, and Charles G. Loring, Charles P. 
Curtis, Richard Fletcher, Theophilus Parsons, Frank- 
lin Dexter, J. Quincy, jr., Edward G. Loring, Benj. 
R Curtis, among the younger. The day had not yet 
come when it was glory enough for a college profes- 
sor to marry a hundred thousand dollars of stocks, 
or when it was the chief end of a lawyer to become 

* The Boston Daily Advertiser was founded in March, 1814, and Mr. 
Hale began his editorial career with it It may be taken as the modei 
of the highest class of newspapers in the United States — able, calm, sin- 
cere, wise, and gentlemanly. It would be difficult to name a single jour- 
nal in any country which, in a union of these qualities, takes rank above 
it. In the United States there are some which emulate it., but few, if 
any, which surpass it. 



the attornej of an intaimiioe oompuy, or % buk, or 
a manofiMturing oorporatioD. OorporatkMi% wtthoot 
■ooLii had not yet beoome themafltcnandmouldenor 
dieaoolofaocie^. Booka with a Boaloii imprint had 
a pMtiga equal lo a oertiAoate of good paper, good 
\ printi good binding, and good matter. And while 
Boeh waa the elate of thingi at Boaton, how waa it at 
New Yorkr Why, all thia time the Harpen^ who 
till leoently had been mere printeia in Doveretieel, 
had aoaroely entered npon their career aa publiahemft* 
and the Applelon%t Putnam, Derby, the Maaooa, and 
other ehining lighta in the trade of New York at the 
pracnt time, were either unlxjru, or in the numerr, 
or at achool. 

What a nwolutioii dothtrsi* Hiitiple itA:mii iiufqrtwt — 
wrought ill the sjiaix* of thirty yean ! The nocptcr 
has ile{uim*tl from Judah : New York in now the 

* JuuM H«r|«r, thr cMmI uf th« fnar brutl.crv now mmociMi0*i la ihm 
0— ern. •rr««-i hi» time m apiirciiUcw to ih« tnkia of i^.nUnf W A^« 
l*ttul, uf N'rw Yurk; he aii*1 In* bn.tKrr Jot.ii niiumcc.^l m f^i *'f 
\n lV>«cr-*lre«l, l**!?; in Ml*, kftvittir rvni<j««tl U* I'-j!u>ci •!?*«€, !>•• 
printotl uiil |<uMi«l«<l I^<k«'* |>i«««, vhicli wm Utmn tr«l ««l«f}>ff*d*; 
•• |iubl.*licf« K' r • \**tkg liiitr tf.rtT | uMicAli' !•• *rrw ^m «t •! : . 
•Ivalj ftirrt^ bu- k*: at tk« |*f«MDt tint*, thnw ^urtlt* %rt Aia*r<mn 
work&. Tt.ctr Mi^AAn«* }>uUiahM aboat • i.r Kur. irrl Ubl M««b:i 
UluuMUiJ riUiiitM'r* a iiiuiitl . an 1 luri^aM* mty ••'.t«r |>u*>Ii<«t. «i ^f *.^• 
klad m lU cirruUliun. Tlic i-uUialttbf rvUMwKoMnt v4 U« Hi»«*». 
Ilarjivr. thr Ic^.timair rr^ult i-f l»<1u«Uv Im-tvIi- n. 9ttrrf\ . saJ |e > 
hjr. is ju*tl« tli# |iri'l« uf Nr« > • rk. an l <'ii« of ih# r«fi«rtoj f^-n«« f 
0«r litrr»turr. |ri.^«tH« « ^ri .>«• t^ r«rrv t.'t|.#ff MtAbiMfcMat vt Ih* 
ki»>l in M 9 «>>r. 1 in it* ■ t*« i.i ai. I ti.<!- iN-rfr^-tik*** of ito u^ftumU^M. 

t Tl'C |«rrM ejI tiu t,. * I *■ t.^ t •' iw f A|'|«r*-in A • '^ . «» nantinf 
«if Mr M . \pf-;r'.<<n w. 1 t. • f I' tif.ff.YM. «•• f .-jii lc<l t*« t' • r tmXi^t. 
llHtic^ Al')>.'-'n. mu • aii.r fr m: N«w Ilti^.a!! 1 t*> %«• \j9k atwut Ihm 
IflMf l*M H» t • 1 • '^If, a^r 1 «'•« «^rt 


acknowledged metropolis of American literature, as 
well as of art and commerce. Nevertheless, if we 
look at Boston literature at the present time, as re- 
Sected in the publishing lists of Messrs. Little, Brown 
& Co., Ticknor & Fields, Philips, Sampson & C!o., 
Crocker & Brewster, Gould & Lincoln, we shall see 
that the light of other days has not degenerated. 
Is it not augmented, indeed — ^for since the period I 
speak of, Prescott, Longfellow, Hawthorne, Whipple, 
Holmes, Lowell, Hillard, have joined the Boston con 
stellation of letters ? 

It can not be interesting to you to know in detail 
my business operations in Boston at this period. It 
will be sufficient to say, that among other works I 
published an edition of the novels of Charles Brock- 
den Brown, with a life of the author, furnished by 
his widow, she having a share of the edition. I also 
published an edition of Hannah More's works, and 
also of Mrs. Opie's works — these being, I believe, the 
first complete collections of the writings of these sev- 
eral authors. In 1827 I published Sketches by N. P. 
Willis, his first adventure in responsible authorship. 
The next year I issued the Common-place Book of 
Prose, the first work of the now celebrated Dr. Chee- 
ver. This was speedily followed by the Common-place 
Book of Poetry and Studies in Poetry, by the same 

* Among my lesser publications were Beauties of the Souvenirs, His- 
tory of the Kings and Queens of France, Beauties of the Waverley Nov- 

la 18S8, 1 pablHhed a fim^ andiooB dicr a 1 
Tolome of ihe Logendarj, dcngnad m m periodaod, 
•ad lo eomifll of original pieoes in pron and 
prindpally illoHTatiTe of American hiaioiy, i 
•ndmannm* Thk waa edited by N. P. ¥rdli% and 
wai^ I belierc^ hk ftnt editorial engagement. Among 

i Hblofjr. lUff^ OMliMi •rClifiMuli^. 

, C. A. Goodfflsll*^ OuBmb «r llod«« Omc- 

l cT IdMMkm iHwd MaMj. rmmm kf 

I hf a. Kwwril, O a»i H i r » Mi a— iny. CliM<W 
r. a^ IUm and Otad IUm bgr O. MdlM, Mtfy*^ jMHMy. MMiin 
•r • K«« InflMid VUIa|« (lioir, 8pMi»M« oT AmtricM roalry. • i oli^. 

I by fl. KrttvU. Tai^rrMl Hi»t(irr. illmtMto*!. Ch>fii«il. with »||. 
fn>nt Strmu*, tht ttarlattii of M'>rm, lUIt-i « itt^rmpK*. f<it.U«l *.-y 
T. U. Rr»-ir.r.|. Ill-t..n.-al «>W .|«.i.a. r-lit#-t »>> K A tHiriT^*. m-I 
4v«bll«Mi •<im« («thrr«« vbwh I k««» forf. 4Uii. ThcM »rr» ii».«Uv 
•rifinal work*. After I^IA, I cr^ n l tu l« » {• iK.kt.rr. «tcv|4 li«r icv 
own Wiirk* : •inr« 1«4>^, thme hav* («>• ri rtitirrl* p«l*liahr<l S5 a(h«f« 

* 1 fi^c A few eitfttct* frtiin a enticiam of iIiia ai^rk apoo tU ir«l m^ 
paWWIot : tt.eM «ill M-rir ti> -hoW tl.r r«l,inaU |'«1 .i|«« KMIM of lh« 
|inMin<ti< •II* of |>t|.iilar Aiitht-r* mt iht linM, bv b b>4«>d mlir; tb*i aul 
•be •bow B aUtr of thine* 'tr-kir-iri; :ii Ci*t»trMt wiiti the ki*b*to of ih« 
y ritnt Ja} f 't thr rr%t<>«rr l> •!?.•! tiin* art 1 f«tirr^'r •.>> n'Cnr. •vr.A 
tia, •vvry ArtiHa in th« U^'k. miMur t).in« in nmnbrr. Tbw mm Mm 
Jajr of crr«l liimr* n. critin*m, ab<J •riaII U.ibf« 11. lh« |«i*riri*«<« -.f 
malvriAl* fur criturwni. 

••Ki:VlEW.-TI!K l.Kiir.M»AllY 

"It Wii*j!«! }* A rr|>r>*i*h to .»uf oui.fn. if thr | f-f r r!.>r of a w<*k of 
tkU BAlurr, fiA. up uD'lcr rirrunt**.Aiirr« •«• £••■ r«U« 1" the ^fn wtik vf 
oar HAltti r»t :ri ctin if t!.r I^«*«: 'art wrrv !• *-tl«r t* ••k *.*« 

HHlh of K>> k* tt At •■• r rTI*« M« f-tt r* •im% • f tKr «r*f |k |.».f ^ f -ftb v.l 

wf th* •l.<j4 • f !«• J !r «i .. |iA,t fl 'rr f T I -iff* If »ri f r ^ i-tfi^tiu • 
r«|'r>i«K t- ur ■•.*rt It «. f !• vr* *■■• • .ff* r ^'i i:c rr.irq«vw 
If w« Afr t^' Kak a ;.'.rr»: .r- 1/ .'ur •■«?:. «r » .•( |«i f r .Z , auJ tit*^ 
wki> Afr V ■ fr-» •. | »* ' r V .r-mr* •< :J,< r.r.! !< !«ri|«.tftf.i 
-■•ir .. .•» • • • 

"T»r f.-! ' M- ••■. •]» rr ».V r ' M- •- -: k. .. -^.rJ It* 
*i>iurt'K uf ll.« \% I. IcriirM.' Hrrr w<r I.a^v ll«c wfcbc, U« J. afed ba*» 
iifnl •t»lA uf wniia^i which< u> fcw fu^ifwl AuiK wiih m tb« m^mm ti 


the oontribntora I find the names of Halleck, Crosby, 
Lunt^ W. G. Caark, H. Pickering, J. O. Rockwell, 
Mias Sedgewick, Mifls Francis, Mis. Sigoumey, Wil- 
lis, Pierpont^ Cntter, L Mliellan, Jr., J. W. Miller, 
and other popular writers of that day. It was kind- 
ly treated by the press, which generously published 

'Hobomok'-Hiio, not of *Hobomok,^ of somo other stoty hy the Mune 
Mithor, tiie title of which I forget. Whst I Mdd then, I laj now. 

"The eeoond aifidr k e pieoe bj e yonng man of thie town — Wm. 
Ontter— whom I never raepeoted before of poetry. It is celled the 
Valley of ^enoe,' and of a truth will bear to be treated aa poetry. • 
* * BatldonotbeUerethatinapoemoffortylineajitwonldbeftir 
play for any anthor to repeat the same idea more than eighty times, or 
that BiiaHDia and nusBDra are altogether wliere they alioald be in the 
forty lines now before me. For example, we have a bird that ^kutktd 
hia breath,* and we hare the hush of the slombering air, and we have 
echoes *AiMiA«i in their oaves,' and a ^hush that is grand, not awful,* 
and a *kuAdd worship,' and ^huthed voices,' and all those by-baby- 
bmitiog epithets in one single poem ! * * * 

" * Unwritten Poetry,' by N. P. W., the editor of the Legendary. 
There are tonohes of ezqnbite beauty in this paper, and not a little of 
what, to speak reverently of a brother poet, I should call heavenly non- 

**' Descriptive Sonnets,' by Mr. H. Pickering. I hate sonnets; I 
never -saw a good one, and never shall. 

"'TheClonds:' Orenville Mellen. Would this were better— would 
it were worthier of my young friend. Some of the ideas are beautiful, 
and lome powerftil ; but the abrupt termination of almoAt every stanza, 
the truncated air of the finest passages— a line being a period by itself 
-who that knows poetry, or knows what poetry should be, can forgive ? 

" * The Pampas of Bnenoe Ayres,' by 1. M'Lellan, jr. Here we have a 
poet ; I do not mean to ssy that here we have poetry, or, properly speak- 
ing, much poetry— for some there certainly is in every paragraph ; but 
aimply that the author has within him a sure, and I believe a deep well 
of poetry. If he has, however, be wiU never know its depth, nor 
what riches may lie there, till the waters have been troubled— by an 
angel— if you like, for angels are mighty troublesome now, ss well as of 
yore, to the fountains of life and health. 

** *The Haunted Grave:' £. P. Blount. Never heard of this writer 
before. Who is he f He shows talent^-atrong, decided, peculiar talent. 

" 'Extraot from a Journal,' &c. MdUm^heyt A mere scratch or 

without cfaaigOi the bett pieoes in full, MTiBg tbt 
leading million the tioaUe of bajtng the book and 
pejing lor the ohafl^ whioh wae naturmlly found with 
the wheat Deq>ite thia eourteay, the work proved 
a niaafable failnm. The time had not eome for anch 
a pnbUoation : at the proaent day, with the preaent 

tm oTa ftw pM. Tka irthor, Ifll k U« wlO aaka m I 

fffVM jm Uma bt 99m mmA^ la poatiy. 1 d» Mft fmk mf ikii j 

kei tC «llMn thai 1 kaow to bt kb. 

•••GmMorMCDkaowaOMdM:" JoMpkH-Klibak. Orndprnnj 
k«^ thoi^ Mft aaok. TkabMtl»— 

• Aai VMl^ iT iMrlMfs w h^ 
WofUj to «a« Witt dMB. ite crM4 

«*'ller« Aocia«nt:* N. I». WiUwl lUtUr too Tom Mwfwli. H»» 
•v«r, Ul tli«t pM*. Vuf, d" yt kittiw. %e Uu» •yd, tmtr-h,mnd f.rU. 
mmI y« of th« lUrk, UiiipiiiK r;<« «u*l b bL^Iuvj cr\«WD— «i^ «• »■< 
know ttiAt llir •■1<1 (•r«p«rrh ahual kiMibtf uki ui«inf m tuA wurtli • if ' 
rU fn« «ijU a kictirr uur : *Tli«7 UtAt kiM iw«c/ to J -aaJ lb«7 UmI U. 

••Tvr ki«*.' 

***Tb« Nun,* hy Kmtii* 1'. Maul>. Ilitfk mad fmt^ mi J ••MitM 
poatrr. Itat wl.u i« Khmiia i . Haiti \ ? 1* il UmX «nuCh«r dmua Iu 
K.P. W.f 

** * K>iii.*i.<-v 111 llrAl I.ifr ' BulLi^ uf |C»l««ii«i. Tt*M ivry MIM«^« 
•ad b«|i|«; writor. if Btr hwl ni- rr n^un^*, mM ««rt wulitt^ w toil U« 
MPy UuUi Mill iiiiD.iitit bill th« Ualli uf nur c*»ubtM tD«ab«n^ w,M^i b« 
moffv lK>iu/lit Iff • t. It* lrv«i ymr* Umem it.mti ahr i* b*w 

" * AM-uinr} .' Mr« A- M. W«iU. I |«*n m« « «d. it ■• ««r7 tfkoj«r 
■IPDf ttj vcr «t.At • fern o( uuf YMikr« m-MmtU mn Abu«t tk t: « wjT.X J 
Ittenlurr. Tb«% or.]> vaiit fair fUv t<i •L«»4 ahraJ wf t^.f toACCj^r^ 
ihm IwIUmI <tnM ff --ur vartK 

*' *Trilib|r til* I»rv«f.i H iiit«. llr.tfl.u " 1k» drrana «•«■;• |r<-t« 
ITM, lu.tLvf 1 Ml. U-4l.rr WUm. «^/a JrMr«» V» hm aL.pi^a Ivk 
«aM thn.u^L >!• jr • I !.•'«• i f r u r f*.*r ^.tai.t..} i:. U.mI .«•: .^»* U.« 
%»ry |.tl. »t. 1 ^.aff « .f ;l r ai r |.-.:. I • .i-.L * *t tu/«r«. •»! 
•««ant tl.iiu . <- .t • 'f. y .r !*•;. : ! f ;: r !«r i r. r ■:. j*. •.'.• ••«• m»i 
w|«ii y «r ■:. .'.-.. 4- A ^* .: ?..).«.• • »,« «^a: ti-« .*<.«« •.« mmJ 
)wa. Alt 1 t: •!, iKi .irraa.* ^ttA,. I r^kc t/iA*. laaU«« f • • • 

** * Tb« Uru..* i licATl. by IL9 aaUMr c»f ' Muff»t I'imm.' Vviy gwd 
|««cr]r, Ma ««n like wliAi • httlUil uf oar tia* ikoaM W • ^Ito4 «/ 


aooessories, and the present public spirit, I doubt not 
that such an enterprise would be eminently successful. 
I believe I have already alluded to the Age of An- 
nuals* — ^the first work of the kind, entitled the For- 
get-me-not, having been issued by the Ackermans of 
London, in the winter of 1823, while I was in that city. 
It was successfully imitated by Carey & Lea, at Phil- 
adelphia, in a work entitled the Atlantic Souvenir, 
and which was sustained with great spirit for several 
years. In 1828 1 commenced and published the first 
volume of the Token, and which I continued for fif- 
teen years, editing it myself with the exception of 
the volume for 1829, which came out under the aus- 
pices of Mr. Willis. In 1836 the Atlantic Souvenir 
ceased, and afler that time, by arrangement with the 
publishers, its title was added to that of the Token. 

the war, I mean. Bat — I have always a but in reserve, yon know — why 
deal so with the Moors | ♦ ♦ ♦ 

" * Colambos,' by J. W. Miller. This man must be capable of writing 
magnificent poetry. The proof: 

Stands he upon the narrow deck 

Of yon lone caravel, 
Whoee tall shape cu wiihprincHy hwk 

Bound to the heaving swell ; 
And when the conqueror o^et her side 
Creased meeklj, roee with living prideJ* 

Ihym the Yankee, June 28, 1828. 
* We are doubtless indebted to the Germans for originating the race 
of Annuals, but Aokerman^s Forget-me-not was the first attempt at pro- 
ducing them with all the luxurious embellishments of art, and which 
became, in fact, their distinctive characteristic. At first the literary de- 
partment was held inferior to the mechanical, but at lost, Scott, Rogers, 
Campbell, Mrs. Hemans, Moore, &o., in England, and Bryant, Irving, 
Halleck, in America, became contributors to these works ; nay, Bryant, 
Sanda, and Verplanck produced in New York an annual entitled the 
Talisman, and which was oontinued for three years 

The mkooam of this speciet of poblioation, slaniaU- 
ted new entcrpmei of the kind, end e nge fur then 
qveed over Europe end Americe. The efforte of the 
flmk arta«U end the ftnt writen weie at length dmwa 
into them, end Car neerly twenty yeen ereiy eatamD 
piodiieed en ebnndent heireet of Diademe. 8^00% 
Peeri% Genu, Amethjstei Opela» Ameimnthai Bou- 
qoelii Hyacinthe, Amukle, Talimenai Forgetrme- 
nolii Bemember-me*e| Ac* Under theae aednctire 
titkii they beoame me as cnge r a of knrei tokena of 
friendahip, aigna and aymbola of affection, and lux- 
ury and rvfiuoment ; and thu<i Uioy stole alike int*i th«* 
|mlace and the cottage, the librarv, the luirlor, axui the 
boudoir. The public t^mte frrvw by fi-eilin^ on thi^M* 

* Ilni)<l«« tlir«« AiinuAl*. Iher* wfr, in lCffi«r-^> I ^a 1 tl.« I :..mU 

iiut*«, Ui« fiiiioMiitir. 

Gift, KiH-i^akr, Nitt^rtiip. I^trr»r« !«• u«ri.,p. IL .i !• .p. K^ra; **i!w» •^. 
Fri«ii«Ulii|*'B tidrnikir. In*, l^urrl, WrtAUi, J«wti. t a'hlcI. I*rm« i^ 
ruoni Annual. Tirtir.*! AmiUaI. < oi.lii.rriUl ArbaAl. I'» l4p«««,.« in 
Dual, l*aur> Auitual. i wun AK'Uiii. Aiitinrn^ri. Tr^rU of \f l.^r. 
TMrlt iif tt.« Wr.t, n.r Kk«uritr. Ti.r Ri.^l.Rlri;.if D, TU MA.f. Tl« 

iilcAOrr, Till- K-^r, mt.i uxMti} u*.t.rP«u A'i''-r.|: tt:< w.^rk* •*.,::!■ « 
tf«4i»i«li-rrtl •• »-ji-«-M'.r« iif tt.c .\ubu«l*. Iw.b^ ft^: ti-ict; i. i.* .•!*« 
U«l, thrfr •*rr TaO^^aui of |'r\»« Aiil I'lv'-rf. IUpmi..^ li*..* .' I. «' 

Uiiil. Au-.i - rt i-f Ki.i;.ai.«l. Ani«t'* ^kru•l. lu-^k. IL-k r Ar. U* 4 
uf tl.r I'^a. -li*. « A.eci Itf uf Nalurr. « «M.t.i*«i.Ul •»&rt. en. 1^. . «-i 
Ttl"Utf!-*>, ^<' I* (. • TaMrAJl. Hui^lrr.rt^ • f I'rti SI. 1 I'd..... !•.«• r 

Utr iir»t<- Ai..i the k*.r. I'.vto if the W^r. llr :•:. lU. •.&■ U* & f 
Art, lifviL «>f iLf I'Ma.^'ii*, If nil* uf Hr.Ukii l\wt/«. La;* i^f Abiwri.: 
kumr, kit4 ■ III ..t.i J 1« I 1 fV < r« 

Tb« rtl«.i I tf t/.' • .r«.- 1 «L.w<t of aui i. « ^ffk* M t!.c*«. lb iriM'-i^ asfJ 
eatrii i.i.«* a iA*ta f r ' • *'ia at. 1 1. t i r n «*. » 1 , . ■.%■ f f..* >aL . .} 
t* •) f r« .a'.« 1 ■ I ■ -■ • ■ J.. . i«- r • J »;•* rt ri ■-.}.».•.;••. '.- 
Jc^-C Kicr. .1. *.. r . ^v ■ • ft. :.• . I .r '. - .aA--. i % .^ls* .r «.« 

wl IhrM •^fk*. At :: ■ i r r r I*. . •■ .. ..Ar« c». :.. I.*it '.<c«t. aiufta ^ A 

•in^.c 11—111. '. N«A &VC It^binsi vuumI bA«« !«•• aoU ia \hm mm* 


Inscioufl gifts, and soon crayed even more gorgeous 
works of the kind, whenoe came Heath's Book of 
Beauty, Lady Blessington's Flowers of Loveliness, 
Bulwer's Pilgrims of the Bhine, Butler's Leaflets of 
Memory, Christmas among the Poets, and many 
others of similar design and execution. Many of 
the engravings of these works cost five hundred 
dollars each, and many a piece of poetry, fifty dollars 
a page. In several of these works the generous pub- 
lic spent fifty thousand dollars a year! 

At last the race of Annuals drew near the end of 
its career, yet not without having produced a certain 
revolution in the public taste. Their existence had 
sprung, at least in part, from steel-engraving, which 
had been discovered and introduced by our country- 
man, Jacob Perkins. This enabled the artist to pro- 
duce works of more exquisite delicacy than had ever 
before been achieved ; steel also gave the large num- 
ber of impressions which the extensive cales of the 
Annuals demanded, and which could not have been 
obtained from copper. These charming works scat- 
tered the very gems of art far and wide, making 
the reading mass familiar with the finest specimens 
of engraving, and not only cultivating an appetite 
for this species of luxury, but in fact exalting the 
general standard of taste all over the civilized world. 

And thus, though the Annuals, by name, have per- 
ished, they left a strong necessity in the public mind 
for books enriched by all the embellishments of art. 

mw&j^ JjonfjKkofw^ BmQi Jn* Wood* 
MHiwUH liMi ialD a Am aft» aad 
I pdeolndiB onkiagboolDioiiaof tlieaUof 
I of looislji Aoa tho nmwiy to d» poilor. 
mqiiriooB with dieie iplea d i d wottoi tfwT» 
wm a Torj modest aftdr. The flnt yetr I oflhred 
prian for the best pieces in proee and poeirj. The 
highest for prose was awarded to the author of 
^Some Passages in the Life of an Old MAid.*" A 
mjsterioas man, in a mjsterioos wav, presented him- 
self for the monej. and, giving due evidenoe of his 
authority to receive it, it was paid to him, bat who 
the author realljr was, never transpired, though I had, 
and still have, mjr confident guess upon the sob 
jeet* Even the subsequent volumea, though the^ 
obtained &vor in their daj, did not approach the splen 
dor of the modem works of a similar kind. Never 
theless, some of the embellishmenU, bj John Cheoev.f 

• TIm priaM w«r» oo* han«lrv<J <lolUtf« Ibr Um bMt |4m« in ftiM^ ami 
U« MOM for \h9 K«<«i in «vr««. Th« j«<lf«»<-4lMriM l(fr^««« f. W. 
F. OrsMiwood. Mkd J. I'lffjioot- K«»tui*a btw— t«^ p^M* fhr tbt 

Slfa«n>*y. Th<5 inally rvo(^in>«04i«.l that Um ficiM W «lirii«i W- 
!««•• llMm, wktck WM aamfiCaJ by Um miUmi«». 
f J«kA Ch mwf, wh» awy te M«v^i«4 m U« ir«l cC AflWiMB «Sfi» 


Ellis, Smilie, Andrews, Hatch, Kelly, Danfortb, Du- 
rand, and Jewett, engraved &om the designs of Alls- 
ton, Leslie, Newton, Cole, Inman, Fisher, Donghty, 
Chapman, Weir, Brown, Alexander, and Hqaley, 
were very clever, even compared with the finest 
works of art at the present day. 

The literary contributions were, I believe, equal, 
on the whole, to any of the Annuals, American or 
European. Here were inserted some of the earliest 
productions of Willis, Hawthorne, Miss Francis, now 
Mrs. Child, Miss Sedgewick, Mrs. Hale, Pierpont, 
Greenwood, and Longfellow. Several of these first 
made acquaintance with the public through the pages 
of this work. It is a curious fact that the latter, 
Longfellow, wrote prose, and at that period had 
shown neither a strong bias nor a particular talent 
for poetry. 

The Token was continued annually till 1842, 
when it finally ceased. The day of Annuals had, in- 
deed, passed before this was given up, and the last 

Manchester, eight miles east of Hartford, C»iiii. When I flret met him, 
he was working at Hartford with Mr. Willard, a map engraver. I en- 
couraged him to come to Bofiton, and for several years, during which 
time he visited London and Paris, he was wholly empkiyed for the To- 
ken. His brother Seth, not less celebrated for his admirable portraits 
in crayon, was also induced to come to Boston by me, making my house 
at Jamaica Plain, his stopping place at the beginning. Both these ad- 
mirable artists are wholly self-taught. They have six brothers, the 
youngest of whom made some valuable improvement in machinery 
which led to the establishment of a silk manufactory at their native 
place, which some of the rest have jolnetl, and it has made all rich who 
are concerned in it. 

tl liail onlj Itogerml ooi m pom 

ud iti exp«iiM«, and ww a teiiotw dimir* 

m my time and renonni iir flfteen 

kftUunent ao dombt fluri j d w to u 

wbidi nude me rdtn^Aol ta allow a wotk lo 

on mjr hantla, with wliibb ra^ aaoie and 


If T MUB • • • • • • 

An to the oonihbotora for the Tokon, 70a maj 
expect me to aajr a few worda more. The moil pfocii- 
inent writer for it was N. P. Willis; hie articlei mm 
the most read, Um moel admired, the moai abwaid, 
and the most adTaotageooa to the work. I pabliehcd 
his first book, and his two first editorial engagemenla 
were with me ; henoe the earljr portion of his Utetmry 
career fell under my speciAl noiioe. 

He hid begun to write verses verj earlj, and while 
in college, before be wss eighteen, he had acquiied an 
extended repotalion, under the sjgnatnri of Boy* b 


1S27, when he was just twenty years old, I published 
his volume entitled "Sketches." It brought out quite 
a shower of criticism, in which praise and blame were 
about equally dispensed : at the same time the work 
sold with a readiness quite unusual for a book of 
poetry at that period. It is not calculated to estab- 
lish the infallibility of critics, to look over these no- 
tices at the present day : many of the pieces which 
were doubly damned have now taken their place 
among the acknowledged gems of our literature, and 
others, which excited praise at the time, have faded 
from the public remembrance. 

One thing is certain — everybody thought Willis 
worth criticising.* He has been, I suspect, more writ- 

♦ In 1881, there appeared in Boston a little book, of some fifty oraixty 
pages, entitled, " Truth : A New Year's Gift for Scribblers." It was writ- 
ten by Joseph Snelling, who had been, I believe, an under officer in the 
United States army, and stationed in the Northwest, perhaps at Prairie 
du Chien. He came to Boston, and acquired some notoriety aa a ner- 
vous and daring writer— his chief desire seeming to be, notoriety. The 
work was little more than a string of abuse, without regard to justice ; 
yet it was executed with point and vigor, and as it attacked everybody 
who had written verses, it caused a good deal of wincing. The follow- 
ing is the exordium : 

** Moths, millers, gnats, and batterfllea, I sing; 

Far-darUng Pbeboa, lend my strain a sting; 

Mach-ooarted virgins, long-enduring Nine, 

Screw tight the catgnt of this lyre of mine : 

If n-na, D-wM, and P-rp-nt ask your aid, 

If W-ll-6 takes to rhyming as a trade, 

If L-nt and F-nn to Pindus' top aspire, 

I too may blameless beg one spark of fire; 

Not sncb as warmed the brains of Pope and Bwilt— 

With lees assiotance I can make a shift: 

To GIfford's bow and shafts I lay no claim — 

He shot at hawks, but I at insects aim : 

Yet grant, since I most war on little thlo^^ 

Just flame enongh to singe their pnny wings; 

Vol. n.— 12 


ten about than any other literary man in our history. 
Some of the attacks upon him proceeded, no doubt, 
from a conviction that he was a man of extraordi- 
nary gifts, and yet of extraordinary affectations, and 
the lash was applied in kindness, as that of a school- 
master to a loved pupil's back ; some of them were 
dictated by envy, for we have had no other example 
of literary success so early, so general, and so flatter- 
ing. That Mr. Willis made mistakes in literature 
and life — ^at the outset — may be admitted by his best 

A feather beiom, too, to bring tbem down, 
And pinB to stick them in my beever's orown." 
• • « « • 

Here are specimens from the body of the work : 

"The witx still sticking to bis fingers* end^ 
The npsUrt Wh-tt-r, for example, lends 
The world important aid to underBtand 
What's said, and snng, and printed in the land.** 

e « e e e 

***nB plain the connty Cnmberland, In Maine, 
Contains no hospital for folks insane : 
lliongb never there, the fact I nothing donbt, 
Since N-al and M'jl-n ran at large about 
When the moon waxes, plaintive M-U-n howls; 
But Johnny, like a buU-dog, snaps and growls; 
Or strikes his brother poetasters mate 
With harsh yibrations on his three-stringed Inte.** 

e « « « e . 

**Dear Halleok, Nature's fkvorite and mine, 
Onnt be the hand that pluoks a hair of thine: 
Aoe^t the tribute of a muse inclined 
To bow to nothing, save the power of mind. 
Bard of Bozxaris, shall thy native shore 
Lirt to thy harp and mellow voice no more f 
Shall we, with skill like thine so nigh at hand. 
Import our music from a foreign land ? 
While Mirror M-rr-a ehants in whimpering note, 
And croaking D-na strains his screech-owl throat; 
While craay N-al to meter shakes his chains, 
And fbols are found to listen to his strains; 
While childish Natty P. the public diddles, 
And L-nt and B-ekw-U senpe hia second fiddles; 


friends; for it must be remembered that before he 
was five-and-twenty, he was more read than any 
other American poet of his time ; and besides, being 
possessed of an easy and captivating address, he be- 
came the pet of society, and especially of the fisdrei 
portion of it. Since that period, his life, on the 
whole, has been one of serious, useftil, and successful 
labor. His reputation as a poet has hardly advanced, 
and probably the public generally regard some of his 
early verses as his best. As an essayist, however, he 

While Brooks, and Saada, and Smith, and either Clark, 
In chase of Phoebaa, howl, and yelp, and bark- 
Wilt tboa be silent r Wak^ O Halleok, wake I 
Thine and thy coontry^s honor are at stake! 
Wake, and redeem the pledge— thy vantage koep; 
*ris pity, one like thee so long shoold sleep!"* 
« « « « e 

** One bard there is I almost fear to name, 
Moch doubting whether to applaud or bbune. 
In P-rc-T-Ps productions, wheat and chaff 
Are mixed, like sailor^ tipple, half and half; 
But, duly bolted through the critic's mill, 
I find the better part is wholesome stiU.** 

The following is a part of the amiable notice bestowed npon WUIIb : 
"Muse, shall we not a few brief lines afford 
To give poor Natty P. his meet reward? 
What has he done to be despised by all 
Within whose hands his harmless scribblings fitll f 
Why, as in bandbox-tritn he walks the streets, 
Turns up the nose of every man he meets, 
As if it scented carrion ? Why, of late. 
Do all the critics claw his shallow pate? 
True, he's a fool ;— if that's a hanging thing. 
Let Pr-nt-ee, Wh-tt-r, M-ll-n also swing.'' 

Willia replied oontemptnoosly, but effectively, in some half-dozen 
▼erses inserted in the Statesman, and addressed to SmMng Joseph. 
The lines stack to poor Snelling for the remainder of his life, and I 
suspect, in fact, contributed to hia downfall. As he had attacked 
everybody, everybody joined in the chuckle. He soon fell into habits 
of dissipation, which led from one degradation to another, till hM niia* 
erable career was ended. 


standfl in the first rank, distingoished for a keen sa- 
gacity in analyzing society, a fine perception of the 
beauties of nature, an extraordinary talent for en- 
dowing trifies with interest and meaning. As a trav- 
eler, he is among the most entertaining, sagacious, 
and instructive. It is within my knowledge, that 
Mr. Webster was an admiring reader of his itinerary 

His style is certainly peculiar — and is deemed af- 
fected, tending to an excess of refinement, and dis- 
playing an undue hankering for grace and melody — 
sometimes sacrificing sense to sound. This might 
once have been a just criticism, but the candid reader 
of his works now before the public, will deem it hy- 
percritical. His style is suited to his thought ; it is 
flexible, graceful, musical, and is adapted to the play- 
ful wit, the spicy sentiment, the dramatic tableaux, 
the artistic paintings of sea, earth, and sky, of which 
they are the vehicle. In the seeming exhaustlessness 
of his resources, in his prolonged freshness, in his 
constantly increasing strength, Mr. Willis has refuted 
all the early prophets who regarded him only as a 
precocity, destined to shine a few brief years, and 
fade away. 

As to his personal character, I need only say that 
from the beginning, he has had a larger circle of 
steadfast friends than almost any man within my 
knowledge. There has been something in his works 
which has made the fair sex, generally, alike his lite- 


rary and personal admirers. For so many &yors, he 
has given the world an ample return ; for, with all 
his imputed literary &ults — some real and some im- 
aginary — I regard him as having contributed more 
to the amusement of society than almost any other 
of our living authors.* 

It is not easy to conceive of « stronger contrast 
than is presented by comparing Nathaniel Hawthorne 
with N. P. Willis. The former was for a time one 
of the principal writers for the Token, and his admi- 
rable sketches were published side by side vrith those 
of the latter. Yet it is curious to remark that every 
thing Willis wrote attracted immediate attention, and 
excited ready praise, while the productions of Haw- 
thorne were almost entirely unnoticed. 

The personal appearance and demeanor of these 
two gifted young men, at the early period of which I 
speak, was also in striking contrast. Willis was 
slender, his hair sunny and silken, his cheek ruddy, 
his aspect cheerful and confident He met society 
with a ready and welcome hand, and was received 
readily and with welcome. Hawthorne, on the con- 
trary, was of a rather sturdy form, his hair dark and 

♦ Mr. N. P. Willis was the son of Nathaniel Willis, of Boston, origi- 
nally a printer, but for a long time an editor, and much respected for 
his industry, his good sense, his devotion to whatever he deemed liis 
duty, and his useful services rendered to morals, religion, Christianity, 
and philanthropy. His wife was a woman of uncommon mental endow- 
ments ; her conversation was elegant, full of taste, reading, and refine- 
ment. The beautiful tributes which N. P. Willis has rendered to her 
ooemory, are no more than was due ftt>m a gifted son to a gifted mother. 

r eye ileet-graj, Im fanm lbkk« k» i 
lui ooliififamiofi ilooj, li» wbola 
ttOodjrT diitniiifiiL He mooA ilocrf^ uid 
1 Urn w drid boiD dij snil «bellnwl pomMkcmm. 
mm WW ft wamfomimg Aiffcf^s\m m tlw wiv 
loT dMe lim psMVL ^illui WW aO maiihiM 
framintf , Ihtt oAer eyU, dajk, wmI vmt^ ; tba 
I WM AaU of \me and iKipii, lb* citb«^ of doobt 
lUitmst ; tbe ooe scmght tho tipeci cU,iFli|cfai^«aiK 

Other plunged tola the dim osverne of ikm waini. 

and studied the gnslj spectcn of jeelousr, remoree, 
de^Mur. It is, perhmps, neither m subject of •orpriee 
nor regret^ that the larger portion of the world is so 
happily ooostituted as to hare been more leadj to 
flirt with the gay muse of the one, than lo deneod 
into the spiritual charnel-house, and assist at the pay- 
diological dissections of the other. 

I had seen some anonymoos publieatioQ which 
seemed to me to indicate extraordinary powem I 
inquired of the publishers as to the writer, and 
through them a correspondence ensued be t wee n me 
and ''N. Hawthorne.'* This name I oonsideted a dis- 
guise, and it was not till aAcr many letters had pann- 
ed, that I met the author, and found it to be a true 
title, representing a very substantial personageL At 
this \yeT\od ho wha uujiettlcti as to his views; he 
bad tried his hand in literature, and oonsideted him* 
aelf lo.haTe met with a fioal leboff ftom iha i 


world. His mind vacillated between various pro- 
jects, verging, I think, toward a mercantile profession. 
I combated bis despondence, and assured bim of tri- 
umpb, if be would persevere in a literary career. 

He wrote numerous articles, wbicb appeared in 
tbe Token ; occasionally an astute critic seemed to 
see tbrougb tbem, and to discover tbe soul tbat was 
in tbem ; but in general tbey passed witbout notice. 
Sucb articles as Sigbts firom a Steeple, Sketches be- 
neath an Umbrella, tbe Wives of tbe Dead, tbe Pro- 
phetic Pictures, now universally acknowledged to be 
productions of extraordinary depth, meaning, and 
power, extorted hardly a word of either praise or 
blame, while columns were given to pieces since to- 
tally forgotten. I felt annoyed, almost angry indeed, 
at this. I wrote several articles in the papers, direct- 
ing attention to these productions, and finding no 
echo of my views, I recollect to have asked John 
Pickering* to read some of them, and give me his 
opinion of them. He did as I requested ; his an- 
swer was that they displayed a wonderful beauty of 
style, with a kind of double vision, a sort of second 
sight, which revealed, beyond the outward forms of 
life and being, a sort of spirit world, somewhat as a 

♦ John Piokering, son of Timothy Pickering, Washington's Secre- 
tary of State, was a distinguished jurist and philologist, and a refined 
and amiable gentleman. A good notice of him is given in Messrs 
Dayckinck's excellent Cyclopedia of American Literature, vol. i. page 
625. To thia, by the way, I have often been indebted for assistaooe in 
the preparation of this work. 


lake refleeto tbe earth around it and tbe aky abow 
H: yet be deemed them too myataoal to be popnbr. 
He waa right, no doubt, at that period, but, en loog, 
a portion of mankind, a large portion of the read- 
ing world, obtained a new aenae — how or whcte or 
whenoe, ia not eanlj determined — which led them 
to study the mystical, to dire beneath and beyolid 
the senses, and to discern, gather, and cherish gems 
and pearls of price in the hidden depths of the soul. 
Hawthorne was, in fact, a kind of Wordsworth in 
prose — less kindly, less genial toward mankind, but 
dci*|HT an<l more philiiHOphiral. ilis fut<« «xh »ti:iii- 
lar: at first he wsh ue^rlcctiNl, at lai^t ho haii wor- 

In lKi7, I nx*«>inrneii(KHl Mr. Ilawthorno t<i pul» 
liiih tt Vi»Iunu% o<)iii[»nj(inK hut vanoiisi |»uH^y, »hu'h 
had upiM'antl in thi* Toki*n and oWwhvro. Ih* o>n- 
sentt'ti, hut art I hail c«>x*<4'<l U* U* a ]>uh!i>hrr. it «a5 
diflitrult to timl any «»nv who wuultl unJrrtakr to 
brin^ out the W(»rk. I ap]>hi-«i tn the ap-nt of the 
St4itioner>' (*oni|iany.* but hr relu.<4«-«l, until at laot I 

* Ttir >*.«t.iiiir r»' ( <.>fi.(<ai.ji . < r^mt. ir i ii. t: r » .1 .ri*i • ( *. >M «m • 

Ittrii • f lit*!' ii fi^w*- 1. Vit! • 1 r* lif ) jt . ■ i.«* ••rvtf.i.B^ AiL^*>-^i 
w< ttkm • f A i .^' ft.** ;• r «i. . -. • . .'. * »•« *• : rrt. irr : .« ■ .« \ 
■•:;• f. All i ri *!/•■• I r t> •.*: •• * *• r ^ * ^ « rkt «* * ' %m 

WKitf tit * I '^' * ' ' * ■ ■ •' " - * " »»•!*'' •^^ '.t • frr . i^i. I Af L '.•.h 
|jv«i« l *mr,t.^ «! ' »■ »» • , •• ■- »••• .• . • f V- .• r « • • , *r 

•uiii* *■■ •!.*.■- »■• •*, •■ • • , •«**:.*.: ,»■ f : c 1"»: « > l* 
■■•^r I '■« I- .• .< I. < '!. . . . « . • . .i.'.ri ■ • • .If, I :.£ .,i.a«r • sUi^ 
of gvttcrai i«*mii.«r«:t«* |«i. . a., k i^um.ff, ftj.d U.^ oi«t|«iij vm y«» 
fli|iilalMl iiiU»lli«fulfuf t«i.kru|4*,«. •lUilM-wttAJstffwtikMfei. TW^% 


relinquished my copyrightB on sach of the tales as I 
had published, to Mr. Hawthorne, and joined a friend 
of his in a bond to indemnify them against loss ; and 
thus the work was published by the Stationers' Com- 
pany, under the title of Twice Told Tales, and for 
the author's benefit. It was deemed a fisulure for 
more than a year, when a breeze seemed to rise and 
fill its sails, and with it the author was carried on to 
£une and fortune. 

Among the most successful of the writers for the 
Token was Miss Francis, now Mrs. Child. I have not 
seen her for many years, but I have many pleasant 
remembrances of her lively conversation, her saucy 
wit, her strong good sense, and her moat agreeable 
person and presence. To Rev. F. W. P. G^^eenwood 
— the author of "Niagara" and the "Sea" — ^^rticles 
which are still admired by all tasteful readers — I was 
indebted not only for some of the best contributions, 
but for excellent counsel and %dvice in my literary 
affairs. He was a man of fine genius, gentle manners, 
and apostolic dignity of life and character. 

To Mr. Pierpont, I was indebted for encouragement 
and sympathy in my whole career, and for some of 
the best poems which appeared in the work I am no 
ticing. I remember once to have met him, and to have 

I was a hesitating and reluctant subscriber to the stock, and in fact was 
the last to join the association, I still shared largely — I may say fatally 
— in its misfortunes. It entailed upon me the loss of the little property 
I had accumulated, and embarrassmonu which have haunted me to the 
preMnt day. 



adnd him to ghre me m oontribatfam tat ikm T6kmL 
Ha itofyad andmid, leflectingly, "Ihada rtffw ao» 
loDg ago, which I haT6 thought to pot into Tene. I 
will tryfUdiflamnieoemfiilToaahaU hftToiL** A 
few dajs aftar he gave me the linei^ now in all d^ 
gem hooka, h^nning — 

•^ Wm it tbt ebbM or a tiay biO, 

That euM K> •wwi to my ( 
lik* tbi lihrwy looM oT A blry*! I 

Tbal 1m wiadi oo tbo bmeh m \ 
Wbcn the winds And tlic wav« tt» tonntiw i 
Am) Um; III* It'll aim) t}i«> fniM arv WAtcbii^: liie d t icf* 
Sbtf ili^{tfih>in|C Iht «ilv«ry IiK^it. 
Aiitl li« hid iiiite«, A.« mIviT) ')iiitr, 
Wliik* tbi,* UiatiiiAii lUttriw aii«1 »hi{« liit ctar, 
Tti rAti-h th<r MiU«ir that «^itiM« fniiii thr ftliuri ' 

ILirk* tU* iM»u« cMi III}' ««r tliAt pUv. 

Ar%* Mt tt» wi*ril«; » Oirj rit«t, thr) «•;, 
* rawing Awav* |*af<KMii4{ ««ay !* " 

Cliarli-:* S|iniiruo wn»ti* for im* but litth% yrt that 
wan of «liuiiioihl wi»nh. N'Xt ti>\VillL4, Mr». Siir^xir- 
nev \kiis inv ino-.t icuoi^-s^tul aii<l tiU*nil ci>iitnl»uk*r . 
to hrr I utn nHi«*k»titl t'«»r ;i Liri:*' |»art \.*f th«* •■^u^^-m* 
of iny i'< lit* trial LiUin* iii iIk* ni.itti r now rtli-m>i t**. 
To Miss S*-lL'wn'k. Hi.-"*, Um* Tokrii i«viiii a Unr** 
ahari* nt'it* t*r«-*iii witii tin* |> iKlu*. (•rf(i\illr M^Iltti 
— :i trui* |--t. .i:.'l .1 ::i -t kii.-l. /•:.!'.• "•i':ri!. •!■» !!i«ii 
rarly x** '* j-.l^'* .iw.iv ' w.i- :\ \.i\"T\\.» »u !:.\ jv3c»-s^ 
aiiil tu lilt* a «ii-\i>:< >\ tn< :.«i. To IV H. Tluu-h«-r — al»» 
aiiiuiig till- g>Hitl uii«l thi- «li-|iart«>l ; t«» Mn«. ^b^^aL 


gifted and gone ; to John Neale, A. H. Everett^ Bish- 
op Doane, Mr. Longfellow, Caleb Cashing; to the 
two Sargents — ^Epes and John, though masked as 
Charles Sheny or the modest letter E. ; to Miss 
Gould, Miss Leslie, H. T. Tuckerman, O. W. Holmes^ 
Orville Dewey, J. T. Fields, T. S. Fay, G. C. Ver 
planck — ^to all these and to many others, I owe the 
kind remembrance which belongs to good deeds^ 
kindly and graciously bestowed. 

It is not to be supposed that in a long career, both 
as bookseller and editor, I should have escaped alto 
gether the annoyances and vexations which naturally 
attach to these vocations. The relation of author and 
publisher is generally regarded as that of the cat and 
the dog, both greedy of the bone, and inherently jeal- 
ous of each other. The authors have hitherto written 
the accounts of the wrangles between these two par- 
ties, and the publishers have been traditionally gib- 
eted as a set of mean, mercenary wretches, coining 
the heart's blood of genius for their own selfish prof- 
its. Great minds, even in modem times, have not 
been above this historical prejudice. The poet Camp- 
bell is said to have been an admirer of Napoleon be- 
cause he shot a bookseller. 

Nevertheless, speaking from my own experience, 
I suspect, if the truth were told, that, even in cases 
where the world has been taught to bestow all its 
sympathy in behalf of the author, it would appear 
that while there were claws on one side there were 

870 LtrasB — ^bioorafhioai., 

teeth on the other. My belief is, that where there 
have been quarrels, there have generally been mutual 
provocations. I know of nothing more vexatious, 
more wearisome, more calculated to beget impa- 
tience, than the egotisms, the exactions, the unrea 
sonablenesses of authors, in cases I have witnessed.* 

* I oonld give tome corioos instanoeB of this. A sohooImMter came 
to me onoe with a mairelouslj dever gnunmar : It was snre to overtaru 
all others. He had ilgared out his views in a neat hand, like copper- 
plate. He estimated that there were always a million of children at 
school who wonld need his grammar ; providing for books worn out, 
and a supply for new-comers, half a million would be wanted every 
year. At one cent a copy for the author — which he insisted wsa ex- 
ceedingly moderate — this would produce to him five thousand dollars a 
year, but if I would publish the work he would condescend to take half 
that 8um annnslly, during the extent of the copyright— twenty-eight 
years 1 I declined, and he seriously believed me a heartless block- 
head. He obtained a publisher at last, but the work never reached n 
secoud edition. Every publisher is laden with similar experiences. 

1 once employed a young man to block out some little books to bo 
publiBhe«l under the nomiuitl authorship of Solomon Bell; these I remod- 
eled, and one or two volumes were issued. Some over-astute critic an- 
nounced them as veritable Peter Parleys, and they had a sudden sale. 
The young man who had assisted me, and who was under the most sol- 
emn obligations to keep the matter secret, thought he had an opportu- 
nity to make his fortune ; so he publicly claimed the authorship, and 
accused me of duplicity ! The result was, that the books fell dead from 
that hour ; the series was stopped, and his uuprinted manuscripts, for 
which 1 had paid him, became utterly worthless. A portion I burnt, 
and a portion still remain amidst the rubbish of other days. 

In other instances, I was attacked in the papers, editorially and per- 
sonally, by individuals who were living upon the employment I gave 
them. I was in daily intercourse with persons of this cliaracter, 
who, while flattering me to my face, I knew to be hawking at me in 
print. These I regarded and treated as trifles at the time ; they are less 
than trifles now. One thing may be remarked, tliat, in general, such 
difficulties come from poor and unsuccessful writers. They have been 
taught that publisliers and bookz^ollers are vampireii, and naturally feed 
upon the vitals of genius ; assuming— honcsUy, no doubt— that they are 
of this latter class, they feel no great scruple in taking vengeauce u^M>n 
those whom they regard as their natural enemies. 


That there may be ezamplcB of meanness, stupidity, 
and selfishness, in publishers, is indisputable. But 
in general, I am satisfied that an author who will do 
justice to a publisher, will have justice in return. 

In judging of publishers, one thing should be con- 
sidered, and that is, that two-thirds of the original 
works issued by them, are unprofitable. An eminent 
London publisher once told me that he calculated that 
out of ten publications, four involved a positive, and 
often a heavy, loss ; three barely paid the cost of pa- 
per, print, and advertising ; and three paid a profit 
Nothing is more common than for a publisher to pay 
money to an author, every farthing of which is lost. 
Self-preservation, therefore, compels the publisher to 
look carefully to his operations. One thing is cer- 
tain — ^he is generally the very best judge as to the 
value of a book, in a marketable point of view : if he 
rejects it, it is solely because he thinks it will not 
pay, not because he despises genius. 

Happily, at the present day, the relations between 
these two parties — authors and publishers — are on a 
better footing than in former times : the late Festival* 

My editorial experience also furnished me with some amuaing aneo- 
dotes. An editor of a periodical once sent me an article for the Token, 
entitled La, Longyu-vut; the pith of the story consisted in a romantic 
youth^s iyiing in love with a young lady, two miles off, through a tele- 
scope I I ventured to reject it, and the Token for that year was duly 
damned in the columns of the offended author. 

And yet, while noticing these trifles, I am bound to say distinctly, 
that, on the whole, I have had generous and encouraging treatment 
from the press, and most kindly intercourse with authors. 

♦ The Ck)mplimentory Fruit Festival of the New York Book PubliHli- 

w Torkt gives hj ibe fiQbl]»b«s tol 

I hqppj testsmonua to ibe fmnilttif fedifig tkai 

nv pmn^n to tba feUowiliip of liteniitini, fttid 

hMmJ good offifMft will bcftt ouDtnbtJte to maltift] 

rilf . Indeed, m frmt chA&ge hw takcB pbo» 

vektrre pon^oM of tke two < 

w BOM marketable than good 

MQBtrj — whatever may be itt 

wa^ ftci Of ft el i o O y mara oc 

im|lw)rint abiwid iraiiii. k a tartk of Imoiia 

L If an Minor m poon j pwiiv i« v oaamD wa 

Writea poorljr. I do not think, indeed, that autbon 

are adequately paid, for authorBhip doea not aland 

on a level with other profemona as to pecnniarj 

recompense, but it is certain Uiat a clever, induath* 

oma, and judicious writer may make his talent tbe 

meanii of living.* 

««' AMoeUcioo to AoUkor* mmI BookMlkrft, took |Jm« it tK« OryHal 
Nm^ S«pumb«r 17, l&U, m^ mm otm o( \hm tmtmn grudfim^ wmi 
Mf(«Biiv« occmkctm 1 •rwt witi>«M««L TK* of>«tiiBf uliirw «f %hm 
pfMJjMit^ Mr. W. ApfiUtoo, tb« iDtfodMiory KibtUmI ■>l<ii, ky Mr 
O. 1*. PvtMA, tiM gMual tOMto, tiM •u«UmI Uum» U i^arWiSiMiir, 
ftdwvrtl EvvrHt, aoa IL C. Wiiiihr^>p . th« »amir»U« • fu k •< W. 4\ 
B^yut, tiM •lo<)o«tit iltrwtt of Mmm*. MUlmm, AUm, CliafAa, U» 
ftd, B— <bir, taf«tb«r with th« witty and iunrmtti^ f*** ^ J- T. 
f U Ma ail t<^fathar oMrkad H •• mi atm o^ |»tt>d^»awa laftafMl te amf 

* 1 am bar* apaakiaf (larticmUHy o/ tiM ataU o( tiuac* ^ ^ 
■I tlM praaant da^r. No bmb hm mora miwa to kmom a»4 Ibai ta* • 
i^pouitmaot*, t^ waar ami taar of baatth, t^ ba^iachm, tlM 
•alMa, whkrh att^rtl aulbor»ttp m a p«t>fc««i<«« ami a maana af a«fif«at, 
*Jma myaclf. No «j«« bA« more cauM to f«^ aad r«aft«mtar Iba iUaaivattma 
•f btarmry amUttuo, |wrKa|« 1 mat m« uf •«•« tatoUa UlafVjr a^aaMa. 
U ma t «maa, timaa art a^ljr oblAUMil at tKa ■■!»■■ Wab—wA wrui 



2%$ Fint pfikt PmrUff Book$—Ba jS$etptian^Variau$ PybUeaiiatU'^ 
ThrmUwmg AUaek of lUmtm—Voffoge toEurop^^OontuUatumof Phf- 
tieiant ai PoriB—Sir Bmif, Brodi$^ i(f London-^AUreriimlfi^ ifBdm- 
Imrgk — Sttmitn to Amsriea^JSmdmet m the CkmiUry—ProototMoH qf 
mjf LiUrary Labor9—Fboitmg iip the Aeoounl—AimoifaHeti qf Author- 
Mp^ldttrtothsNno York Da/Uf Tkm. 


Though I was busily engaged in publishing va- 
rious works, I found time to make my long meditated 
experiment in the writing of books for children. The 
first attempt was made in 1827, and bore the title of 
the Tales of Peter Parley about America. No per- 
sons but my wife and one of my sisters were admit- 
ted to the secret — ^for in the first place, I hesitated 
to believe that I was qualified to appear before the 
public as an author, and in the next place, nursery 
literature had not then acquired the respect in the 
eyes of the world it now enjoys. It is since that pe- 
riod, that persons of acknowledged genius — Scott, 

been thus dearly won. Still it is quite true that if a man has talent, and 
is wise and moderate, and if he feels and practises Agur's prayer, he 
may live by authorship ; if he aspires to easy independence, let him 
rather drudge in almost any other employment. As an amusement to 
a man of fortune, who is also a man of genius, authorship is a glorious 
pastime ; to men of other and more active and profitable professions, it 
in often an inspiring episode ; but to one who has no resources but his 
brains, it is too often the coining of his heart's blood to feed his family. 
One thing should never be forgotten by those who are tempted to follow 
a literary career, that not one author in a hundred attains success in 
life by this profession alone. 

10% lAtnaitific, Mmjj Qowilii in Kmpi^ §mi 
H4,TDdd,0«Ilitidet, Mm Sedfwkk, Mm Child, 
iKberii in AioofiM, li»v<9 sloops to the mmpom^ 
of books f(ir ckildxcii ud jootk 
.Ukhad my littie book, sod lit il iMln ili vmy. 
91 the world tiiilnita|Milei, wd iir «pa« 

•OMd not to ittnct the altgfatfll 
ilj I begu Id «ti Mtiflv of ii ia ilia 
ytfir Uia co^mtij, &iid ifi ft year lifuii tha dali mt 
itkm, it bad beoDis»c » favarius. la IttSt t 
aad tha Tala of Feicr Airkjr abual JfUirufc , 
in 1829, Parle/a Winter Evening Tales; in 18S0, 
Parley's Juvenile Tales, and Parley s Asia, Afnoa, 
Son, Moon, and Stan. About this time the public 
guessed my secret — it being first disooverod and di* 
Tulged by a woman — Mrs. Sarah J. Hale, to whom, 
by the way, I am indebted for OAany kind oflkues in 
my literary career — yet I could have wished she 
had not done me this questionable favor. Though 
the authorship of the Parley books has been to me a 
aouroe of some gratification, you will see, in the se> 
quel, that it has also subjected me to endleas vexa- 

I shall not weary you with a detail of my piooeed* 
ings at this busy and absorbed period of my life. 1 
had now obtained a humble podition in literature, 
and was sutvessful iu such uiiauibitious works m I 
attempted. I gave myself up almost wholly for abool 
four yean— thai is, from 1^ to 188S— to 


ship, generally writing fourteen hours a daj. A 
part of the time I was entirely unable to read, and 
could write but little, on account of the weakness 
of my eyes. In my larger publications, I employed 
persons to block out work for me ; this was read to 
me, and then I put it into style, generally writing by 
dictation, my wife being my amanuensis. Thus em- 
barrassed, I still, by dint of incessant toil, produced 
five or six volumes a year, mosUy small, but some of 
larger compass. 

In the midst of these labors — that is, in the spring 
of 1832 — ^I was suddenly attacked with symptoms, 
which seemed to indicate a disease of the heart, rap- 
idly advancing to a fatal termination. In the course 
of a fortnight I was so reduced as not to be able to 
mount a pair of stairs without help, and a short walk 
produced palpitations of the heart, which in several 
instances almost deprived me of consciousness. There 
seemed no hope but in turning my back upon my 
business, and seeking a total change of scene and cli- 
mate. In May I embarked for England, and after a 
few weeks reached Paris. I here applied to Baron 
Larroque,who, assisted by L'Herminier — both eminent 
specialists in diseases of the heart — subjected me to 
various experiments, but without the slightest advan- 
tage. At this period I was obliged to be carried up 
stairs, and never ventured to walk or ride alone, 
being constantly subject to nervous spasms, which 
often brought me to the verge of suffocation. 

Despttring of relief herai I nturnad to London, 
•ad mm carefully examined by Sir B. C. Brodie.* He 
declared thai I had do organic diaeaae, that my difll 
eolty waa nerrooa irritability, and that whereaa the 
Fkench physicians had interdicted wine and required 
me lo Utc on a light r^gelable diet| I most feed well 
upon good roast bee( and take two generons glasses of 
port with my dinner I Thns encouraged, I passed on 
to Edinburgh, where I consolled Abererombie,t then 
al the height of his feme. He confirmed the Tiews 
of Dr. Brodie, in the main, and regarding the invyni- 
lahticn of my vital organn &« meitOy funrtitMial. <\\l 
told QIC that, withtmt Khorteninf; tny IitV, th**r wou!*! 
pruhahly nrvfr Iw wholly n»inoviNl. Ilr t<»M mo of 
an instanrt' in which a |^ti<*nt of h\n, wh*\ havifi.* 
been oallinl u|M>n to tivtify U*lon* tho c«>mmittrr i»t' 
the Hoii.<4i' ot'l^lmmllll^ in the tnal of Wamrn lla^t 

* Sir llri.jAiuiti t'. |tr\>|<« mm bX ti.i* Uiu« ^<ii« of If* m m\ ••n.r#?i: 
•aiyvMCu 111 lA>nl tii. Him rr|> l.v m.ucn nrii *««r. v i . • • 
Vftr.«-ti* ) u'-i.-aftl ■■U% I !ii.ii'«I Ix^-tjrra .n > ir^ry. VaXL ■% ^ '^ %c 1 « .* 
fit-al (Mwrr«Ali>>UM un I>i««aM« I'f the J-.-.t-t*. I o t .r«a i :. I».ma««* t 
tlM I r.r.a't **t^At,; mt. 1 ^i.rg.K'm. ^% . rk* a.. ! •!. I. tAi« *«vc } ^b- 
lUKr.l .ft *.Y • ■'• ,;*ry hft«« f.tcit )..-.\ • « ri 1 «. :r imr..r. \\ wmm •:. \ 
« l.ttlc rc!.i«*kAS.< ;■• iu«. t> Ar. 1 • tx**ii i( )..■ rru.b«!.<v '.Lm |«»t.i«.5 
tat', • .1--. r.*«l.«> \ rr.trm.i^ VLr rr«< ::. .-ci. '.*t. -.■ i fm. L yf^i. 
U>'*. f h*r i'.} iT.frr. r fAfnr. *»f -;<» t:.i(itf I an. •> r.i.:.4«-i. *.S-»r ' r 
a* \ • >aft t.m ut Ai-tf >At «!, I r*k-*..*.. i.«r .• :u .•::. tv'.ur \Xmx » 
(•ft.1 ■ ■^r 1 ».' a i ! A^ r » !• « « r i* n rr I »a]i :^ t!. • t«'-j«^t 

t 1^ J->i ii \'^ r.rv:i.Si« f.r; 1 il.* t .^t t»\ r%!.k .r. L^a |r.*.M «: ac 
llii* l" ? 1 il •*••'. ■..••■:•■.•.,•..•■■:*♦» wf '•••!• , • '• 
€•■••• .■ ' i . ■ ' . * I ■*•'"•'«;,•; . • . . .' •. 4^- : * • 

1*1. • •" I ' « <-•! ': c M r*. >tt. -.«•• .1. :«.-... !!■ «»• » L'^L •< r«i-.«>i 


mgd — from mere embarrassment — ^had been seized 
with palpitation of the heart, which, however, eon- 
tinned till his death, many years after. Even this 
somber yiew of my case was then a relief Four and 
twenty years have passed since that period, and thus 
&r my experience has verified Dr. Abercrombie's 
prediction. These nervoos attacks pnrsae me to 
this day, yet I have become familiar with them, and 
regarding them only as troublesome visitors, I re- 
ceive them patiently and bow them out as gently as 

After an absence of six months I returned to Bos- 
ton, and by the advice of my physician took up my 
residence in the country. I built a house at Jamaica 
Plain, four miles from the city, and here I continued 
for more than twenty years. My health was partially 
restored, and I resumed my literary labors, which I 

* I make this statement chiefly because I think it may be osefal to 
persons, who, like myself, have abused their constitutions by sedentary 
habits and excessive mental labor, and who conseqnenUy are afflicted 
with nervous attacks, putting on the semblance of organic diseases of 
the heart. Not long since, I met with an old fHend, a physician, who 
had abandoned his profession for authorship : with a dejected counte- 
nance he told me he was sinking under a disease of the heart I I in- 
quired his symptoms, which corresponded with my own. I related to 
him my experience. A few days after I met him, and saw in his cheer- 
ful &ce that I had cured him. I give this prescription gratis to all my 
literary friends : let them beware of overtasking the brain ; but if they 
do make this mistake, let them not lay the consequent irregularities of 
the vital organs to the heart. In nine cases out of ten they belong to 
the head — to the nervous system — which centers in the brain. Got 
that right by bodily exercise, by cheerful intercourse with friends, by 
a conscience void of offense, by generous living, by early rising and early 
going to bed, and by considering that the body will always take ven- 
geance upon the mind, if the latter is permitted to abuse the former. 

ltd, itmUl/, Ihm 18Sa m 16M, wtOi • ivw 

of leotttritig and li^gUlAtiBp^f ihrtm vojrvf^ 

opd, md mn €xU!mive tiitir to thm Soutli, It 

be t«dknii iod titiprofitable to joo^ www I 

lo eoQBiflfatft my 7«rioQi worki — firodaeed 

dM iMglnfilBg to Uie pnaeui time I mmf mim 

> wIkiIo in % tinfU mutmum : I wti tin Mtkor 

sdilor of ibovt otve btuidi«d aik! vc^eiiiy vol« 

Mid of iktma ■eveii miliioos h&w beea iotd I* 

labjected me to many annoyances. Some of thcsnc 
are noticed in a letter I addremed to the editor of 
the New York Times in December, 1856, a portion 
of which I hero copy, with ulight modifieationa, aa 
the eaftiest method of making you comprehend my 

8ia :— JVmm dftji rioM I IsariMl, thnwgb a Mmd^ thtA iIm 
editor of Um Barton Coorter, In nocidnf Um <Wntb oT iIm Im» 
teBn«l KcCtaUt hnd mid or huhoAtKl that U wnt tiM natlMr oT 
Plitar PftHey*! TaIsb. I thetdof wrou to tiM mkd •ditor on 
tW mbitoC, And Im Imm tbb daj fVimkb«l b« vith tW ympmt 
•llnd«l to-^lHocmlMr lOth— in wiikb I And tW Ubvii^ 

* Far ft Ikl of mj rariooA vorkB, m« p &<7 of thk voIvsm. 
t Mr. 8mbmI K«(toU vm • MiiT« of N«wbor5p<«rt, Mm*^ MkJ Wv« 
A. IX 1900. !!• «M lur th* OMAt fi*n mU «<i»<»to<l. aod vitWvi W«^ 

•f Mocv ihAA ft Juwa Ui^uftCM In \%nt b« «*iUU Eiirt^^, Mk4 mrvtm 
•oOM «Uv«r •«•*«• la ti»« Bnu«h m^puiiMft. In IM4 Im iitit I tk* 
•4ilo««bip of 1^ Buftloci i'o«nor. fto4 •• wiftya— d uB km ilaiifc !• IftM^ 
tlM^ kM ftit<«« lttb«ft w«M ftMfMdtd Ibr Mnw MnOn bitei If lib 
yroif Mi ft d UhMM 


^Mr. 8. G. Goodrich also found work for him— Mr. EetteU— 
and many of thoee historical compendioms which came oat 
onder the name of Peter Parley, were in (act the work of Mr. 
KettdL He is the veritohle Peter Parley,^* &c. 

Now, Mr. Editor, it happens that for nearly thirty years, I 
have appeared before the public as the author of Peter Parley's 
Tales. It would seem, therefore, if this statement were tme, 
that I have been for this length of time arrayed in borrowed 
plumes, thus imposing upon th^ pnblic, and now wronging the 
dead. It was no donbt the amiable purpose of the writer €i 
the arUde in question to place me in this position. I am, how- 
ever, pretty well used to this sort of thing, and I should not 
take the trouble to notice this new instance of impertinence, 
were it not that I have a batch on hand, and may as well put 
them all in and make one baking of them. 

To begin. There is a man by the name of Martin, in London, 
and who takes the name of Peter Parley Martin. He writes 
books boldly under the name of Peter Parley, and they are 
palmed off as genuine works by the London publishers. These, 
and other forgeries of a similar kind by other writers, have been 
gc^ing on for fifteen years or more, until there are thirty or forty 
volumes of them in circulation in England. 

Among these London counterfeiters, there was formerly a 
bookseller by the name of Lacey. He was what is called a 
Remainder Man — that is, he bought the unsold and unsalable 
ends of editions, put them in gaudy bindings, and thus disposed 
of them. When he got possession of a defunct juvenile work, 
he galvanized it into life by putting Parley's nan>e to it — as 
** Grandfather's Tales, by Peter Parley," &c This proved a 
thrifty trade, and the man, as I have been told, has lately re- 
tired upon a fortune. 

It is indeed notorious, that handsome sums have been realized 
in London by authors and publishers there, in republishing the 
genuine Parley books, and also by publishing counterfeit ones. 
This matter has gone to such lengths, and has become so mi»- 


chierow to me m wdl is to the poblio, that I lutTe iMXKi^t an 
aetkm against Darton A Oo.,^ one of the principal London hoium 
oonoerned in this fraod, and I hope to have it decided that an 
anthor who givei Tabe to a name-— eren thon^ it he fictitiona 
— may he protected in its nse and profit, as weD as the Amoe- 
keag Mana&ctoring Company Ibr their trade-maric, ^ A No. 1," 
pat npon their cottons, and which the courts have dedded to he 
their property. 

In general, my rii^ts in regard to the nse of the name of 
Parley, liaTc heen reqwcted in the United States ; hot it appears 
that ahont two years ago, when I was in Europe, a New York 
hookseller — uidor the inspiration of a man who writes Beterend 
hefore his name — nndertook to follow in the footsteps of these 
English oonnterfeiters ; so he pat forth two volames, naming 
the one Parley's Pictorial, and the other Parley's Hoaseholcl 
Library, &c, I understand that these are made up of old pLites 
from Parley's Magazine, with slight alterations so as to disguise 
the real nature and origin of the works. In order more com- 
pletely to deceive the public, he attached the above titles, which 
imply that these works are by me, and are issued, in their present 
form, by my sanction. 

Thus the innocent public is duped. In point of £Eust, there is 
not, I think, a page of my writing in these volumes, excepting 
passages taken from my works, in violation of my copyrights. 
The credit of originating these productions belongs, I believe, to 
the reverend gentleman above alluded to, and not to the pub- 
lisher — though the latter, knowing the character of the works, 
aids and abets their circulation. 

A still more recent instance of this borrowed use of Peter 
Parley's name has been brought to my notice. A few days 

since a man named 1 who, it is said, has been a govon- 

ment employ^ abroad, and has lately got leave to return, was 
introduced to one of the public schools in this city as the verita- 
ble author of Peter Parley's Tales. To certify his identity, it 

* See pages 296^806. 


WM fhrther added by the teacher that he was the &ther of 
^jykk Unto I'* This man, who was not your humble servant, 
nor, I am happj to saj, a relatiye, nor an acqnamtanoe of his, 
still received these honors as his due — and perhaps I shall ere 
long be obliged to defend myself against a claim that he is I, 
and that I am not myself I 

To pass over these and other similar instances, I come now to 
the latest, if not the Uist— the declaration of the editor of the 
Boston Gonrier, that Mr. Eettell was the real author of Parley's 
Tales. If Mr. Eettell were living, he would even more readily 
contradict this assertion than myself for he would have feh; 
alike the ridicule and the wrong that it would attach to his 
name. Were it my purpose to write a biographical notice of 
this gentleman, I should have nothing unpleasant to say of him. 
He was a man of large acquirements, a good deal of humor, and 
some wit, with great simplicity, truth, and honor of character. 
He was not, however, thrifty in the ways of the world. Among 
all his writings there is not, I believe, a book of which he was 
the designer, or, strictly speaking, the author. But he was still 
a ready writer when he had his task set before him. So much 
is due as a passing notice to the memory of a man with whom 
I had relations for twenty years, always amicable, and I believe 
motaally satisfactory, if not mutually beneficial. 

But as to the statements of the editor of the Boston Courier 
above alluded to, as weU as some others in his obituary of Mr. 
Kettell, there is great inaccuracy. Let me lay the axe at the 
root of the main statement at once, by declaring, that of the 
thirty or forty volumes of Parley's Tales, Mr. Kettell never wrote 
a line or sentence of any of them, nor, so far as I now recoUect, 
did any other person except myself. The Parley series was be- 
gun and in the ftdl tide of success before I ever saw Mr. Eettell. 

It is quite true, that in my larger geographical and historical 
works — some of them extending to over one thousand royal 
octavo pages — I had assistants, as is usual, nay, indispensable, 
in such cases, Mr. Eettell among others. Some of these were 

¥wmm^ tb» Cmrw Htiili Is 
dmtM WM iU ptti< Midhfm L«llii < 
■d» BM of UiB to my ««« •dtaacifii wlilib b^ 1km rail •«- 

<iftoiiwMdfciniMii|iwifiiftrtiirifci^r n^b 

ilwt Mr £«ttdt WW a pm\A Uwmmk. 
wmm,UwmehmmtlmU€%f l»| 
fili^^tofmtiirv M wnU w wij i 

wide, Um iiurktC free; Mr. KeCtcU wm fiuniliaHy m«|MUiI04 
wilh «v«r}' publbliM- in lk»tuii : if hm wruu fu€ om, the Imht- 
•OM it that I paid him bcCUr thmn anjbodjr vW wovid bar* 
done. Nay, if Um cdilur of Um Hurtno CoorW doaa »oi 
know. Ultra are oUmti wbo do, Uuu I waa Ibr faan bfta oaJjr 
raliaooe and ranoaroa. U% want to Eoropa wiUiovt a duQar is 
hk |iuckai aioefH what I gave hitn lur has wrttiapL Whil* a& 
PariN brinf in a ttaie of abwlau dcaUtntioo, ha wrou haww lo 
hb friend, S. 1*. Holbniok, lor bdp. Thia wa« ftinikh«i by Um 
cootriboiiocM of hia friaoda, myialf am oir tha naaahar. 

Tha aditor, in anooMrmtii^ Mr. KaUaU*a tttarary kbota, glw 
ym high credit aa tha aditor of Um thna vulamaa of 1 
of American Po^irj, which I pnliUMd. Thk b 
of tha iDrtanoaa, aoooHing to thi» wriirr, in which 1 1 
Waina of aooUMr to hia wroof and mj adYaattfa. Lat «a aaa 

1 prnjM^tad Um aforaaaid work, and anployad Mr. F. a HS 
■a aditur. He b«iran it, euUecicd matariak and wroia iIm irtC 
part uf it. At hM itt»tanca, I had porrhaaod ncarlv otm h«a- 
dfad aoaroa books for Uie eotarpnaa. Tha work, thw 
Iba pLMm i n dir a t ad, tha matariak to a ^aai aitaM M < 


with namerons articles aotnally written, paned into Mr. Kettell^s 
hands. I think, with the editor of the Gonrier, that considering 
the extent of the undertaking, and that it was then a new en- 
terprise, compelling the editor to grope in the mazes of a new 
and unexplored wilderness, that Mr. Eettell displayed a tolera- 
ble degree of patience and research, and a fur share of critical 
sagacity. Bat nevertheless, the work was a most disastrous 
fiulure, involying me not only in a pecuniary loss of fifteen hun- 
dred dollars, but the mortification of having the work pass into 
a kind of proverb of misfortune or mi^udgment. More than 
once I have heard it spoken of as ^^ G<x)drich^8 Kettle of Poetry !'^ 
This arose, no doubt, partly from the idea then encouraged by 
the critics, that it was the height of folly for us, Americans, to 
pretend to have any literature. To include the writings of Tim- 
othy Dwight, Joel Barlow, and PhilUs Wheatley in a book call- 
ed Poetry, was then deemed a great offense at the bar of criti- 
cism. It is true that these notions have passed away, and Dr. 
Griswold and Messrs. Duyckinck have found in the mine 
wrought so abortively by Mr. Kettell, both gold and glory. 
There were, however, other reasons for his failure, and among 
tliem an unfortunate sUp as to the authorship of ^^ Hail Colum- 
bia," which stood thus : 


" We have no knowledge of this author. The popular na- 
tional ode which follows, appeared first, we believe, in Philadel- 

Such ignorance and such carelessness were deemed offensive 
by the friends of Judge Uopkinson, son of the well-known author 
of the *^ Battle of the Xegs," and other popular effusions, and 
himself a somewhat noted poet. Mr. Walsh made this, and other 
blunders, the occasion of a stinging castigation in his National 
Grazette. The result was iiy urious to Mr. Kettell in many ways : 
it iigured his rising literary reputation, and so shattered his nerves 
that for some years he lost courage as well as encouragement, ex- 

Vol. II.— 18 


cept what I oontinaed to give him, deepite this &ilare. It whs 
BDbseqaent to this that I supplied him with the means of going 
to Europe, and thns fhrnished him with the opportunity of ta- 
king a new start in the world. And yet I sponged this man^ 
brains, and stole his fiair £une — according to this Boston writer I 

I suppose, Mr. Editor, that this is enough for the present; and 
yet I am disposed to crave a little more of your patience and 
your space, to state more precisely my relations with Mr. Eet- 
tell, and thus remove him from the disadvantageous U^t in 
which he is placed by the ill-judged pretenses of his too eamoat 

During a space of twelve or fifteen years,- and that the most 
active and engrossed portion of my life, I suffered greatly from 
a disease in my eyes, which threatened blindness : sometimes 
for weeks together I was confined to a dark room. At that 
period 1 wrote almost wholly by dictation, my wife being my 
amanuensis. I wrote several of the Parley books, she sitting on 
one side of a green curtain in the light, and I on the other side, 
confined to the darkness. Several volumes of the Token were 
mostly edited in this way. 

It is quite obvious that in such a condition, and being at tlie 
time busily engaged in writing, as well as publishing books, I 
must have needed assistance. At this time, Mr. Kettell was 
useful to me, especially as he was familiar with libraries, and 
had a remarkable tact in finding foots. And yet it is equally 
true that Mr. Eettell never wrote a page for me at his own 
suggestion, nor by his own planning. He wrote on subjects 
prescribed by me, and in the manner prescribed by me— even 
to the length of paragraphs, verses, and chapters. Moreover, 
what he had thus blocked out, was laboriously remodeled to 
suit my own taste, to clothe it in my own style, and to bring it 
into conformity with my own plan. Often thb process was in- 
finitely more laborious to me than would have been the outright 
and entire compilation, if I could have used my eyes. In this 
way, however, and under these circumstances, Mr. Kettell aid- 


ed me ; be was also, sometimes, my amanaennis ; bnt he was 
not, nor did he ever daim to be, in any proper sense of the word, 
the author of a sin^e page of a book which was pahlished ni. 
der my own name, or that of Peter Parley. In the large gee 
graphical work already allnded to, in which I had the assist 
ance of Mr. Eettell, as well as of two other parsons of greai 
ability and reputation, this assistance was dnly acknowledged iu 
the preface.* 

Now, while I thos correct the misrepresentations of this Bo^<- 
ton editor, I desire to leave no onpleasant impressions upon Uie 
name and memory of Mr. Eettell. He is, indeed, beyond the 
reach of praise or blame; bnt still tmth has its requisitions, and 
it would be a violation of these, were I to cast upon him any 
reproach. He certainly was deficient in the art of devising seri- 
ons and extended works; he had not the^ steady, penetrating 
judgment necessary to such performances. Still, he possessed 
certain faculties in high perfection — a marvelous capacity for 
the acquisition of languages, a taste for antiquarian lore, a large 
stock of historical anecdote, a genial humor, a playful thouirli 
grotesque wit, and, withal, a kind, gentle, truthful heart 1I<* 
was BO much a man of genius, that his fame could not be bene- 
fited by the reputation of the humble authorship of Parley's 
Tales. Certainly his honest nature would have revolted at the 
pretense now set np that lie was in any manner or degree, enti- 
tled to it.t 

* See preface to UoivefAal Geography, published in 1882. 
t This letter led to a lengthened controversy, the result of which in 
stated in the Appendix to this volume, page 548. 



ICspublicaiim of PtmUffB Iblm m Lmdom^Mr. Tag^t optratiomt—Jnn' 
taUd bg otMer ptMithen—PtUr ParUg Martin^LdUr to Mr. DwUks, 
— An edUion qftke/aUi Parityi in America — 7%€ eonM^nenom, 

Mt dbab C»»»»»» 

When I was in London, in 1832, 1 learned that 
Mr. Tegg, then a prominent publisher there, had 
commenced the republication of Parley's Tales. I 
called upon him, and found that he had one of them 
actually in press. The result of our interview was 
a contract,* in which I engaged to prepare several 

* As my claim to the authorship of the Parley Tales has been dispute i 
in London, by interested publishers, I may as well copy the contract 
made with Mr. Tejrsr, which is now before me. It is, I believe, univer- 
sally admitted that the works published by him, were the first timt 
introduced the name of Peter Parley to the public there, and as tlic 
contract explicitly refers them to me, it seems there should be no fur- 
ther doubt on the subject. 
** MsMORANDDM OF AoRXKicxNT, bctwecu Thomas Te^, publisher, of 

London, and S. 6. Goodrich, of Boston, United States of America: 

" The said S. G. Goodrich having written and compiled several works, 
as Peter Parley's Talcs of Animals, Peter Parley's Tales of America, of 
Europe, of Asia, of Africa, of the Sea, of the Islands in the Pacific Ocean, 
of the Sun, Moon, and Stars, Ac, &c. 

** Now said Goodrich is to revise said works, and carefully prepare 
them for publication, and said Tegg is to get copyrights for and publish 
the same, with cuts, maps, (&c., as may be required, and said Tegg is to 
supply the market, and push the sales, and take all due measures to 
promote the success of said works. 

" And in consideration of the premises, said Tegg agrees to pay said 
Goodrich, ten pounds sterling on every thousand copies printed of Par- 
ley's Tales of Animals, after the first edition (which consists of four 
thousand copies, and is nearly printed); and for each of the other works 
he agrees to pay said Goodrich five pounds on the delivery of the revised 
'ropy for the same, and five pounds for every thousand copies printed 


of these works, which he agreed to publish, giving 
me a small consideration therefor. Four of these 
works I prepared on the spot, and after my return to 
America, prepared and forwarded ten others. Some 
time after, I learned that the books, or at least a por- 
tion of them, had been published in London, and were 
very successftd. I wrote to Mr. Tegg several letters 
on the subject, but could get no reply. 

Ten years passed away, and being in pressing need 
of all that I might fairly claim as my due, I went to 
London, and asked Mr. Tegg to render me an ac- 
count of his proceedings, under the contract. I had 
previously learned, on inquiry, that he had indeed 
published four or five of the works as we had 
agreed, but taking advantage of these, which passed 
readily into extensive circulation, he proceeded to set 
aside tlie contract, and to get up a series of publica- 
tions upon the model of those I had prepared for 
him, giving them, in the title-pages, the name of Par- 
ley, and passing them off upon the public, by every 
artifice, in his power, as the genuine works of that 

afler the first edition^ and also a premium or boDus of five pooDds on 
each work (in addition to the above stipulations), when four thousand 
copi§8 are sold or disx>0Bed of, of the same. 

** And when said Goodrich is out of the country, said Tegg is to Air- 
nbh certificates of sales, «Smj., as may be required by said Goodrich or 
his agent. Said Tegg, it is understood, is not bound to publish any of 
these works which he deems unsuited to the country ; but said Good- 
rich is at liberty to dispose of, to any other publisher, any work which 
Biud Tegg, on application, declines publishing. 

" Thomas Tkoo, 

»* S. G. GOODKICH." 

'* Lond4m, June 80, 1882.'* 

%H urnoM — uiMittArtiieAi,, 

■ulhor. He bad tlios imbliilnd 0v«r i dnvm yoI^ 
ttinai, which he wii drrtilfttjof m ^Rslflf n^hf^ 
Lthranr,'^ Th« aptenlftiion, li I wt» told, bid mo- 
oet!ili*i] wlmirAlilT, ittid I wm aiuturi?d thAt tn^iij IImhi 
Mud pauDils of prodl bad U-vn nmiu^d thirnlif « 

To inj roqiiMt for wm mamuni of hie flevarUtifs 
Mr Tmg nfiUad, id geoerftl iermM, ihat I vai mkiA- 
Ibrmod M lo ih« iuco«M of Urn wiirlci in 
&ali in bet, tber bad been a Ymj iwlalbn 
luiooj thai h« focitid the ori^ial ivorfca wm wM 
idaptod fo bii purpone, and ba had ooi^wqueiiUj fat 
up othera , thai ho hi«l arated, hr advintuiDg and 
other means, an interent in thc«e workis A<^d had thua 
greatly benefited the name and fame of Parlcr, and, 
all things considered, he thought he had done morv 
for mc than I had fur him; therffon*, in his riew, 
if we conAiilered the acoount balanced, we should not 
be very far from a fair adjustment. 

To this cxx)l answer I made a suitable reply, but 
without obuining the slight4[vt sattjcfaction. The 
oou tract I had made was a hasty memorandum^, and 
judicially, pi*rha{j«, of no binding rflfcvt on him. And 
besides, I had no money to cx[M*nd in litigation. A 
little reflection satiAlicd me that 1 was totally at 
Tegg*s mervy — a fart of which hw calm and colWurl 
manner awun>l me he whm rveii iiiort* conscious than 
my*«'ir Thf lii-H «i<H|,.n wx-* Hot |»r>loi.^^»d. At il»c 
second interview he rui the whole matter »hon, by 
aajring — '' Sir, I do not owe yon a (arthmg ; Mtbar 


justice nor law require me to pay you any thing. 
"Still, I am an old man, and have seen a good deal of 
life, and have learned to consider the feelings of 
others as well as my own. I will pay you four hun- 
dred pounds, and we will be quits ! If we can not do 
this, we can do nothing." In view of the whole case, 
this was as much as I expected, and so I accepted the 
proposition. I earnestly remonstrated with Mr. Tegg 
against the enormity of making me responsible for 
works I never wrote, but as to all actual claims on 
the ground of the contract, I gave him a receipt in 
full, and we parted. 

Some years after this Mr. Tegg died, but his estab- 
lishment passed into the hands of one of his sons, 
with another person, by whom it is still continued ; 
the false "Parley's Library" having been recently 
enlarged by the addition of other counterfeits.* An 
example so tempting and so successful as that I have 
described, was sure to be followed by others, and ere 
long many of the first publishers of juvenile works in 
London, had employed persons to write books under 
the name of Peter Parley — every thing being done in 
the title-pages, prefaces, advertisements, &c., to make 
the public receive them as genuine works. The extent 
to which this business was carried, and the position in 
which it placed me, may be gathered from a letter I 
addressed to a publishing house in London some two 
years since, and which was substantially as follows : 

* For a list of some of these works see p. 551 ; see also, p. 558. 

In tiiii IVttnd, $aiA I bofM to h^wm h i 

rpoo Uiifa^ eocinM^ BDd wlMi Um MOM lflii« iHliai i» l« 

7, iMirt IMS I nil I mi ta tft» UyudHteiM; hm H aprws 

« fn tum^-itiNlfftoek «it ftilnr to thi totoMpi if 1 

pUb ecwm U rfciHw; to 1m pot fbrth two 
tbe ooe Parley's Pictorial, and tba other KarWy* Uo^whoU 
Ubrary, iui, I miderrtaod that the«e are macSe up of old \AMUm 
hvm Parle} *« Ma^puine, with aligiit alteratkioe to aa to dbf^Ui^ 
tha real oatare and origin of the works. In order more com- 
plaCelj to deoeire the poblic, ba attached the ahora titlai^, which 
fanply that these worka are bj me, and art imoed, \m their pteacat 
iMin, hx my sanction. 

TliQt the innocent pabBe Is doped. In point of fliet^ thcee b 
Boi, I think, a fiairs cjf my writing in these tohnMai aire pt if 
paamgea taken from my worka, in riolatioQ of my cofvyrighia. 
The crsdit of originating these prodnctiooa balm^pi, 1 1 iJie i^ to 
the rereffeod gentleman above allttded to, and not lo the poh- 
liahsr— though the latter, knowii^ the character of the ' 
aids and abela t)it4r circulation. 

A still more rrrcot instance of this borrowed nse of 
Parley's name haa boMi bftMght to my notice. A Ibw dnye 

siore a man namrd * w^k», it b said, has baea a foeor»* 

meat enipline ai»nia<i, and has lately got lea re to retvm, wae 
hitrudiiced Ut utMi (»f tl>e puUic •cIkm«U in thb ctty aa the isiim 
bW aathor of Prtrr PafW) • T»W To certify bb klaMHy, It 


was fbrther added by the teacher that he was the &ther of 
^Dick Tintol'' This man, who was not yoor humble servant, 
nor, I am happy to say, a relative, nor an acquaintance of his, 
still recdved these honors as his due-~and perhaps I shall ere 
long be obliged to defend myself against a claim that he is I, 
and that I am not myself I 

To pass over these and other similar instances, I come now to 
the latest, if not the last — ^the declaration of the editor of the 
Boston Oourier, that Mr. £etteU was the real author of Parley's 
Tales. If Mr. Eettell were living, he would even more readily 
contradict this assertion than myself for he would have felt 
alike the ridicule and the wrong that it would attach to his 
name. Were it my purpose to write a biographical notice of 
this gentleman, I should have nothing unpleasant to say of him. 
He was a man of large acquirements, a good deal of humor, and 
some wit, with great simplicity, truth, and honor of character. 
He was not, however, thrifty in the ways of the world. Among 
all his writings there is not, I believe, a book of which he was 
the designer, or, strictly speaking, the author. But he was still 
a ready writer when he had his task set before him. So much 
is due as a passing notice to the memory of a man with whom 
I had relations for twenty years, always amicable, and I believe 
mutually satisfactory, if not mutually beneficial. 

But as to the statements of the editor of the Boston Courier 
above alluded to, as well as some others in his obituary of Mr. 
Kettell, there is great inaccuracy. Let me lay the axe at the 
root of the main statement at once, by declaring, that of the 
thirty or forty volumes of Parley's Tales, Mr. Kettell never wrote 
a line or sentence of any of them, nor, so far as I now recollect, 
did any other person except myself. The Parley series was be- 
gun and in the full tide of sucoess before I ever saw Mr. Eettell. 

It is quite true, that in my larger geographical and historical 
works — some of them extending to over one thousand royal 
octavo pages — I had assistants, as is usual, nay, indispensable, 
in such cases, Mr. Eettell among others. Some of these were 

Ia n«ird m iJtm vm milM 
ilstlwt!iiii«18<«l»; hmUi 

it TO !■ IwiM tt Hm r«ft 

; Ifi ibIWw te lJi9 <hwtii>fi i€ 

{drii eoon U rfciHw; to 1m pot fbrth two 
tbe ooe I^aHcy't IHctorUO, and the other PvWj'* Uo«whtil4 
librmry, Ac I oiidcfvUod that th««e are macSa up of old \AMUm 
hvm Parle} > M agaxine, with aliglit altcratiuoa to aa to dlniniM 
tha real nature and origin of the worka. In ordar morv cam- 
pliCaly to dcoeira the pohlic, ba attached tha ahora titlai^, which 
fanplj that theia worka ara bj ma, and are i woed, \m thair | ir iaii t 
iMin, bv my tanctioQ. 

Tlioji the innocent pabBe le dapad. In point of fliet^ thcra b 
Boi, I think, a page nf mj writing In theea foHnMii airaptif 
IMMBagaa taken from raj worka, in riolatkiQ of mj uyj ri g ti U . 
Tbe credit of originating theia prodnctiooa balm^pit I kifc^K to 
tha rererpod geotlanan abora allttded to, and not to the p«h- 
Ibbcr-- thoQgh the latter, knowii^ the charttctar of tha ^ 
aide and abela Owkr cirrulatioo. 

A etiU raort rrreot instance of thie borrowed nea of 
PaHey^e name haa been brtiogbt to mj notice. A Ibw 4mf% 

iinre a man namrd * who, it b laid, haa baea a fa iariH 

meat enipl(>Y« ai»n«id, an«! hm* lattfl? got lea re to ratvm, waa 
btnMiorrd to ufMi (»f tlte puUic •cIkm.U in thb cHy m tha miu 
hU aatlKir of iVtrr Per W} '• T«]r». To cMtify hie klaMHj, It 



was fiurther added by the teacher that he was the &ther of 
^Dick TrntoP' This man, who was not yonr humble servant, 
nor, I am happy to say, a relative, nor an acquaintance of his, 
still received these honors as his due — ^and perhaps I shall ere 
long be obliged to defend myself against a claim that he is I, 
and that I am not myself I 

To pass over these and other similar histancee, I come now to 
the latest, if not the last— the decUration of the editor of the 
Boston Courier, that Mr. £etteU was the real author of Parley's 
Tales. If Mr. Kettell were living, he would even more readily 
contradict this assertion than myself for he would have felt 
alike the ridicule and the wrong that it would attach to his 
name. Were it my purpose to write a biographical notice of 
this gentleman, I should have nothing unpleasant to say of him. 
He was a man of large acquhrements, a good deal of humor, and 
some wit, with great simplicity, truth, and honor of character. 
He was not, however, thrifty in the ways of the world. Among 
all his writings there is not, I believe, a book of which he was 
the designer, or, strictly speaking, the author. But he was still 
a ready writer when he had his task set before him. So much 
is due as a passing notice to the memory of a man with whom 
I had relations for twenty years, always amicable, and I believe 
mutually satisfactory, if not mutually beneficial. 

But as to the statements of the editor of the Boston Courier 
above alluded to, as well as some others in his obituary of Mr. 
Kettell, there is great inaccuracy. Let me lay the axe at the 
root of the main statement at once, by declaring, that of the 
thirty or forty volumes of Parley's Tales, Mr. Kettell never wrote 
a line or sentence of any of them, nor, so far as I now recollect, 
did any other person except myself. The Parley series was be- 
gun and in the full tide of success before I ever saw Mr. Kettell. 

It is quite true, that in my larger geographical and historical 
works — some of them extending to over one thousand royal 
octavo pages — I had assistants, as is usual, nay, indispensable, 
in such cases, Mr. Kettell among others. Some of these were 


tmtmm v«li ■« to !&• jwliMa, ikii I lmw% I 
. Hirirai A Oo^* OM of 1 

lii «w uhi imi^ M«ii w tiw ^ 

ij Air tMr mi t UMi t, *« A Hit !,« 

b fiftrd to thi «« of Ibi 



pMD oooolVMnw; to m pot ibftb two 
Um ooe Parley's I^ictorUO, and the other ParWj* Uo«M>h<4a 
Ubrary, kc I anderrtaod that the«e are macSe up of old \AMUm 
hwn Parle} *ii Maicaxine, with aligiit alteratiucia to aa to dlniniM 
iha real oatare and ori^n of the worka. In order more com- 
pliCelj to deoeire the poblic, he attached the ahore titim, which 
faDply that theie worka are bj me, and art imoed, \m their urmiit 
iMin, br my tanctioo. 

TtiQ* Ow innocent pabBe b doped. In point of fliet^ thcee b 
Boi, I think, a \iff cjf mj writing In these fohnMUt earefitint 
IMMBaKee taken from mj worka, in riohukm of my oopyncha*. 
The crsdit of oH|HiuUin|r theM prodnctiooe beloi^pit, I lijiei^ to 
the rereffeod gentleman ahore allttded to, and not lo the p«h- 
ttahtr— though the latter, knowli^ the chamcter of the werte^ 
aids and abele thrir rimdation. 

A still mors rrrcot instance of thk borrowed nse ef ^Mar 
PaHey*s name haa boMi bitMirht to my notice. A hm dnye 

sinre a man namrd * wh<\ it b i ' ' 

meat eni|ik>f e abr«ia<l, and has lately iM lea re U> retvm, 

Intnidiired u> ot>« i>f tlte public •cbui4s in thb city ae the i 

bW autlKir i^ Prtrr ParW-) • T»We. To mtify hb klaMHy, It 


was fiurther added by the teacher that he was the &ther of 
^Dick Tintol" This man, who was not yoor humble servant, 
nor, I am happy to say, a relative, nor an acquaintance of his, 
still received these honors as his due — ^and perhaps I shall ere 
long be obliged to defend myself against a claim that he is I, 
and that I am not myself I 

To pass over these and other similar instances, I come now to 
the latest, if not the last — ^the declaration of the editor of the 
Boston Courier, that Mr. £etteU was the real author of Parley^s 
Tales. If Mr. £ettell were living, he would even more readily 
contradict this assertion than myself for he would have felt 
alike the ridicule and the wrong that it would attach to his 
name. Were it my purpose to write a biographical notice of 
this gentleman, I should have nothing unpleasant to say of him. 
He was a man of large acquirements, a good deal of humor, and 
some wit, with great simplicity, truth, and honor of character. 
He was not, however, thrifty in the ways of the world. Among 
all his writings there is not, I believe, a book of which he was 
the designer, or, strictly speaking, the author. But he was still 
a ready writer when he had his task set before him. So much 
is due as a passing notice to the memory of a man with whom 
I had relations for twenty years, always amicable, and I believe 
mutually satisfiictory, if not mutually beneficial 

But as to the statements of the editor of the Boston Courier 
above alluded to, as well as some others in his obituary of Mr. 
Kettell, there is great inaccuracy. Let me lay the axe at the 
root of the main statement at once, by declaring, that of the 
thirty or forty volumes of Parley's Tales, Mr. Kettell never wrote 
a line or sentence of any of them, nor, so far as I now recollect, 
did any other person except myself. The Parley series was be- 
gun and in the full tide of success before I ever saw Mr. EetteU. 

It is quite true, that in my larger geographical and historical 
worlds — some of them extending to over one thousand royal 
octavo pages — ^I had assistants, as is usual, nay, indispensable, 
in such cases, Mr. Kettell among others. Some of these were 

mm Ut Iff* at wdl ti tot t^ paUkii tliBi I hmvm 1 
li lllfak fkmwi MMl I hNfM to hAf* H « 



fiUi ecwm U rfciHw; to 1m pot fbrth two 
Um ooe Parley't PictorUd, and the other PirWr • Uo«i»h<4a 
Ubraiy, Ac I uiderrtAod that th««e are mack op of old pUim 
fttNn Parle} *« Magaiioe, with tligiit altcratiucia to aa lo dlniniM 
iha real oatarv and origio of the works. In ordar morv com- 
pliCaly to dcooiTa the poblic^ ba attached the above tiUai^, which 
faDply t>iat theie worka are bj me, and art iMoed, la their iirmiit 
iMin, bv my aanctioo. 

Ttiiui Ow innocent pnblle b doped. In point of fliet^ there b 
Bol, I tliink, a |iair> of mj writinir In thete ▼oHiim» eireptif 
IMMBafeii taken from nij works, in Tiohukm of mj uiyj i i t >i U . 
The credit of ori|rinatin|r theM prodactiooi beloi^pit, I liji^i^ to 
the reveffeod geotleinaa above allttded to, and not to the p«h- 
heher— though the latter, knowii^ the character of the werhi^ 
ahk and abela their circulation. 

A 01111 raort rrreot instance of tliit borrowed nee af ^Mar 
Parley** name haa been bitMirht to mj notice. A Ibv 4aft 

iinre a man namrd * wb<K it b mid, hae beea a fo iariH 

meat etii|4(>f e abr«ia<l, and ha* latelf iM lea re lo ret«rm, wae 
btrndoced u> utM» «»f Um puUic M*bu(.U in thb city ae the miu 
Ue auUnir of I'rtrr TafW-} • T»W^ To muff bb klaMHy, It 


WM fbrther added by the teacher that he was the &ther of 
^Dick Tintol'' This man, who was not yonr humble aervant, 
nor, I am happy to aay, a relative, nor an acquaintance of his, 
still received these honors as his due — ^and perhaps I shall ere 
long be obliged to defend myself against a claim that he is I, 
and that I am not myself I 

To pass over these and other similar histancea, I come now to 
the latest, if not the last — the declaration of the editor of the 
Boston Courier, that Mr. £ettell was the real author of Parley's 
Tales. If Mr. Eettell were living, he would even more readily 
contradict this assertion than myself for he would have felt 
alike the ridicule and the wrong that it would attach to his 
name. Were it my purpose to write a biographical notice of 
this gentleman, I should have nothing unpleasant to say of him. 
He was a man of large acquhrements, a good deal of humor, and 
some wit, with great simplicity, truth, and honor of character. 
He was not, however, thrifty in the ways of the world. Among 
all bis writings there is not, I believe, a book of which he was 
the designer, or, strictly speaking, the author. But he was still 
a ready writer when he had his task set before him. So much 
is due as a passing notice to the memory of a man with whom 
I had relations for twenty years, always amicable, and I believe 
mutually satis&ctory, if not mutually beneficial. 

But as to the statements of the editor of the Boston Courier 
above alluded to, as well as some others in his obituary of Mr. 
Kettell, there is great inaccuracy. Let me lay the axe at the 
root of the main statement at once, by declaring, that of the 
thirty or forty volumes of Parley's Tales, Mr. Kettell never wrote 
a line or sentence of any of them, nor, so far as I now recollect, 
did any other person except myself. The Parley series was be- 
gun and in the full tide of success before I ever saw Mr. EetteU. 

It is quite true, that in my larger geographical and historical 
works — some of them extending to over one thousand royal 
octavo pages — ^I had assistants, as is usual, nay, indispensable, 
in such cases, Mr. Eettell among others. Some of these were 

304 LKim — mOOSAFHllUL, 

•uooeH, Your pone, then, and I hope your feefings will 
make this suggestiiMi easy. 

If joucaniiotbe persuaded to adopt this line of oondnci hj 
the aigmnent against injnstioe and fraud ; if yon pay no le- 
gaid to the influence which a paUic dedaiation of the fiusta 
may have on yoor lepatation, stiD, reflect on my posilaoo. 
Many of these coonteKeit Parley boohs are to me nannoiis in 
style, matter, and purpose. Aoooiding to my taste, they are 
full of Yulgarisms, degrading phrases, and coarse ideas. In 
some cases they advocate principles which are not mine, and 
mannerB and castoms I di8i4>prove. This very volume of 
yours, for 1854, in spite of its gold edges, colored engravings, 
and embossed binding, is mainly written in a low, bald, and 
vulgar style ; and withal is ridiculous from its afiected Parley 
isms. Rich outside, it is within smitten with poverty. Yet 
I am obliged to bear all this. Is it Cair, is it neighborly, to 
treat any one thus f 

Remember, I am not speaking hypothetically. My reputa- 
tion has been attacked, my literary rank degraded, by being 
made responnble for works I never wrote. The Westminster 
Review, some years ago, criticised the Parley Books, as sullied 
by coarse phrases and vulgar Americanisms. Extracts were 
made to verify this criticism, and yet every extract was from 
a false book, or a false passage foisted into a true one. Not 
one line of the damnatory examples did I ever write. Pre- 
cisely this process of degradation must have been going on 
against me, for the last dozen years, in the public mind of 
England, through the influence of your counterfeits. 

Ib this fair ! Will this do ? Will you stand by it here and 
hereafter? Remember, this is a totally different question 


from that of Intematioiial Gbpyright I have never com- 
plained that yon or any other foreign publisher has reprinted 
my books as I wrote them. Do this, as much as you please ; 
so long as the law remains as it is, such a course is inevitable, 
on both sides of the water. Alter my boohs, if you please, 
and pubHah them, only stating distinctly what you have done. 
This is lawful, and I shall not complain of it In point of 
fact, you have published at least one book — for that I chanced 
to see — ^made up nearly, if not quite, of extracts from my 
works, yet a man by the name of Greene figured in the title- 
page as the author. I have also seen whole pages of my wri- 
tings, in your other various publications, the same, by the 
manner of insertion, appearing as being original there. Of all 
this, however I might disapprove it, I have never uttered a 
word of complaint But what I do complain of^ is this : that 
you take my name, to which I have given currency, in order 
to sell hooks I never wrote. You say to the world, Mr, Good- 
rich, the author of Peter Parley* s Tales, wrote this: the 
world buy it, and judge me accordingly. And thus I am 
robbed of what to me is property, and at the same time I suf- 
fer that other and greater calamity, the loss or damage of a 
good name. That is my complaint 

If upon this appeal, you assent to my proposition — though 
I must carry on the proposed prosecution in the United States, 
if the edition referred to has been sent there — I shall feel that 
I can afford, so far as the British public are concerned, to 
make a general and not a particular and specific declaration 
of the facts herein aUuded to. I shall not then need to direct 
attention personally to you, or to anybody. If, on the con- 
trary, you do not enter into this or some satisfactory arrange- 


^^^^Vi txrmm^mmmAmwAi^ ^^M 

B Mt»^l •uuM iiiMj«« kftv»bMiyri7««fM4«i^tiMi ^M 

^^H mV 11 lUbmtf, tbiMild I flfMi It bMt, Ut gtv« imbiii^tv 1»tib 

^V klter. HiHi«f«^ bMt% wfift«% k mbodM t^ m1 iiiii 

H k» UooM Ma^w^, fbi* mi^t wf« « m« Ikk fa lit 

■ A^i^iy ■rulMWt 

^^^^ 1 IS jviw triijf 


^^y This kUer wm Jbrwftnbad frnfii pAri% wbcra I wm 

oeiving no reply, I addre»cd a reminder to Mr. Dar- 
ton, but that aluo was unanswered. In July, 1S66, 
I returned to New York, and on inquiry, found thai 
mxiteti hundrtd copies of the Parley' $ Ann%Ml^ rt^errwd 
k> in Oie preceding UUer, had &apfi Mm/ lAcne, onrf wurt 
aduaUy in the Custom-house /^ I oould not but ooo- 

tat CoM^m hooM b«}ro<Ml Um UiD« allowwa by Uv, wrt •emm^mmkj 
•old al ftoctioo in Jao«, ISM, aoJ ««r« thiw thrown into xhm K«v Xmk 
■Mrkst. Tb« foUoviivf art •itncto (hn thU «(i#t : 

**Tb« Am«n<xui**^ail Mr. Jmm fiif *ior> uUio^. TiMjr •«« ftat par- 
tiilirty Die* M to d*u. HocD« of tl*«ir •tort«B an to |if n iiaiaft>aly 
ibMwi, aa to paoU va aig—dinfty.** • • • • 

** Pater TarUj iotraa oar food ^aaan, ao4 dai^ku lo IbU^v Imt la bar 
rwiooa profTttMaM," A«. • • • • 

*« h «M aaUcht/^ fur oM PaCar to bahoM th« Qaaaa awl tlM Prtaw^ 
tmd nU Um m U> m« tik« j^uof Priooa of W«Ua »Mnlaiii^ tW Brniall 
IW, and I^x>klnc !:k« an «wbr7o N*i»on, and hte b«an baaA vttJl ariiit 
al tiM ch««r« af th« Mik>r» and lh» r j^nnf of tlM f^aa " • a a • 

**IU (otd PcUr lo%«« tL« M* trTMja, and La avaUl a^af «uk kaa 
|mir old «oMi», Lk« a abattarrd cUrKJCMt, * KaW, llniaaa**,' and laaaik 
U«d laal U iMa bt«a fta aaa tW di^ vWa ] 
that aka la aliO abia fta * niW Um «•««».* " 


rider this as a defiance on the part of Mr. Darton, 
and aocordinglj I commenced an action against him, 
^ I had told him I should do. 

The case is still undecided. It is, perhaps, a ques- 
tion, whether a New York court has jurisdiction in 
the case, the defendant being a foreigner, but if it 
has, I trust it will be settled by our courts that an 
author is entitled to protection in the use and behoof 
of a name — ^however it may be fictitious — ^with which 
he has become identified in the public mind, and to 
which he has given a commercial value. This prin- 
ciple has been fully established in this country as well 
as in England, in application to manufacturers and 
merchants, and it is not to be supposed that an author 
shall be denied the same protection. 

Now, you can not suppose, firom the facts here 
stated, that these things do not give me great annoy- 
ance. But one thing I am bound to say, which is, 
that I feel no personal hostility to Mr. Darton. He is 
a most amiable man, and I believe would be the last 
person in the world to do an intentional wrong. In 
the present case, he has probably yielded to the guid- 
ance of other parties, implicated like himself, and is 
rather fighting their battles than his own. 

I have great respect for the Queen of England, for I consider her vir- 
taous example, in her high station, as beneficial, not to her own boand- 
less realms alone, bat to the whole world ; I have no objection to Eng- 
lishmen singing **Bale Britannia" — bat it is not pleasant to find these 
things in a book, isjued in the name of Peter Parley, the preface of 
which is signed Peter Parley, and which is all written so as to make the 
world believe it is the work of an American. 


UA0 Pm^ Mmk$ M9 

Mt bsab €•••••• 

It 11 not to be saf^ioied that tlio 
Mking from the faliiflftion of the name of Plulrj, 
whioh I heye jost pointed oat, have been the onlj 
obfltacIoA which have niuirhonod the cunvnt of my 
literary hf«\ Not only th<* tuultjian<i iiii]i(«rftvtii>rui «>f 
execution in my juvfnili* works — and no oui* kno«^ 
tbcin so Wfll :l<4 inystt-lt' -h:ivo Uvn urci'tl ftk'^uuM 
them, but thi* wholi* tht-ory i*n whu ii th«y arv f«»u:.<: 
eil has U^rn (»tt«-n and oluUirati'ly impUirntTL 

It i.H i|uiti* true that whfn I wn»t«* the tir>: tix.u 
doZfcn ot* rarlcy'.H T.ilfs. I ii.iil tornunl no |>hiI««-«>^ ri\ 
U|M»n thi* >iil>j<v:. I ^inipl\ ux-«l my f.\|>«*niMuv m\\u 
children in luhirirNsin^: thnn. I t'>*lii*wtM i.<> iiioit-l^. 
1 |tut i>n harnrAS i;t' thi* M*hl*«^^ I |">n-«i i*\cT no 
learni-d i^xum]'!*-.-. I iniak'ini-«i mwil «»n thr :i« r 
wiiii .• >:rou|> nf \-'\t* un*! L'lrl.s ui.d I w r^t** tti xlnti^ m 
1 iA'<Mi!d Ikivc ^]->k< n :•• thtni. At .i i.k!«-r {• rio«i 1 ii^i 


hht- li 

l». i:.i- 

irii*- ATI .■! lea' :..:..• - :..! i.i :. .1:. i ::..i: *•, to iN-t.-. irr 
that their tirvt idcatf are aiuiple and «iugU% and furmctl 


of images of things palpable to the senses ; and hence 
that these images are to form the staple of lessons to 
be conmiiinicated to them. 

THS teacher's LSSSON. 
I saw a child, some four yean old, 

Along a meadow stray ; 
Alone she went, nnoheok^d, untold, 

Her home not fiu* away. 

She gazed around on earth and sky, 

Now paused and now proceeded; 
Hin, raUey, wood, she passed them by 

Unmarked, perchance unheeded. 

And now gay groups of roses bright 

In circling thickets bound her — 
Yet on she went with footsteps light, 

Still gazing all around her. 

And now she paused and now she stooped. 

And plucked a little flower ; 
A simple daisy ^twas, that drooped 

Within a rosy bower. 

The child did kiss the little gem, 

And to her bosom pressed it, 
And there she placed the fragile stem, 

And with soft words caressed it. 

I love to read a lesson true 

From nature^s open book — 
And oft I learn a lesson new 

From childhood^s careless look. 

Children are simple, loving, true — 

Tis God that made them so ; 
And would you teach them ? — be so, too, 

And stoop to what they know. 


Begin with simple leflsona, things 

On which they love to look; 
Flowers, pebbles, insects, birds on wings — 

These are Qod^s spelling-book 1 

And children know his A B 0, 

As bees where flowers are set: 
Wouldst thou a skillftd teacher be! 

Learn then this alphabet 

From leaf to lea^ from page to pag^ 

Guide thou thy pnpil^s look; 
And when he says, with aspect sage — 

" Who made this wondroas book?" 

Point then with reverend gaze to heaven. 

And kneel in earnest prayer — 
That lessons thoa hast humbly given 

May lead thy pupil there 1 

From this initial point I proceeded to others, and 
came to the conclusion that in feeding the mind of 
children with facts, with truth, and with objective 
truth, we follow the evident philosophy of nature and 
providence, inasmuch as these had created all chil- 
dren to be ardent lovers of things they could see and 
hear and feel and know. Thus I sought to teach 
them history and biography and geography, and all 
in the way in which nature would teach them — that 
is, by a large use of the senses, and especially by the 
eye— the master organ of the body as well as the 
soul. I selected as subjects for my books, things ca- 
pable of sensible representation, such as familiar an- 
imals, birds, trees, and of these I gave pictures, as a 

" FLOWMt. PlBBLS*. ISRECT*. BttM 0J( VVmO*— 

Tutil Aim Goa> SPEtMSO Hook '* Vol. S. |i 310 



Starting point The first line I wrote was, " Here I 
am ; my name is Peter Parley," and before I went 
fiirther, gave an engraving representing my hero, as 
I wished him to be conceived by my pupils. Before 
I began to talk of a lion, I gave a picture of a lion 
— my object being, as you will perceive, to have the 
child start with a distinct image of what I was about 
to give an account of. Thus I secured his interest 
in the subject, and thus I was able to lead his under- 
standing forward in the path of knowledge. 

These views of course led me in a direction ex- 
actly opposite to the old theories in respect to nursery 
books, in two respects. In the first place, it was 
thought that education should, at the very threshold, 
seek to spiritualize the mind, and lift it above sensi- 
ble ideas, and to teach it to live in the world of im- 
agination. A cow was very well to give milk, but 
when she got into a book, she must jump over the 
moon ; a little girl going to see her grandmother, 
was well enough as a matter of fact, but to be suited 
to the purposes of instruction, she must end her ca- 
reer in being eaten up by a wolf. My plan was, in 
short, deemed too utilitarian, too materialistic, and 
hence it was condemned by many persons, and among 
them the larger portion of those who had formed their 
tastes upon the old classics, from Homer down to 
Mother Goosq,! 

This was one objection ; another was, that I aimed 
at making education easy — thus bringing up the 


child ia habits of reoaring knowledge only m 
into pap, nnd of ooune patting it oat of hit povcr to 
veliah and digest the stronger meati eren when his 
oonstitution demanded it The use of engraTings in 
books for instmotion, was deemed a btal fimlitj, 
tending to exercise the child in a mere plaj of the 
senses, while the anderstanding was left to indolence 
and emaciation. 

On these grounds, and still othen^ my little books 
met with opposition, sometimes even in grave Qoar 
terlies and often in those sanctified publications, en* 
titltnl Joiirniilii <if Ktliication. In Kfiir'an»l. at tli«' jw^ 
TuA tluit Xhr narni' i*( Parli'v wx-* in">l r-irr»-n: i*-t'*i 
in till' triMiuim* :l»» wi-11 .v x)u' fal-* liiti .n*— ih.* l.-^! 
in^ iiLMinsi my juvi'inlf work-* w;t"* -^i •!^>t:^' :i-:. i.^ 
ihf oo!m#'rv;iliVf'?*. lli:it :i r«» :fttt<'!:i|-t wx<4 i:i.t :• •.. • 
put tli« nt ilowii l.y rf'viviiii: i!n' <'M iMir>-*'r\ '•-• %.*. 
In «>ril**r t<> ♦l** lliis. a ]Hili!i.>«ht*r iti I>»n'l«»n ^'J•^■^ i--*"*! 
tin*?*** wttrk.-i, i-n»i»!"yiiii: llu* U>i urti-lr* t«> i!'. Krai^ 
ihcin. :ih<l )>i irik'int; thctn i*ut in all thi* i-:t|>t2vatinu* !ux* 
UHfj* i»t'nhNlirn ly|M»i:ni|»hy. A iiu:i»iil, *|Uirt, !*h»!Ar- 
ly c»l«l iri-nllrrnaii. i-iilli'^l Mr. Krhx SuTiiiii* rly -a •1«*4J 
lM\ir «»f" rliil'lffii w;is mvriitfl l«» j'n *i« it* o^rr thr 
rnl«T|in?»«\ l*» r:ij« ih- ku'uklf^ "f IN-lt-r Pju'Iry, miA 
Xi* W'Ni l«a«k lli»' irri!)k* u'» iit*rali"ii ••! rliil-irrn Ij-* t'lc 

I !M..i '• .1' ; . - .-. •'..»• !'... a!!' r:.: t !.i:!»^l "f *'!<?• 
•••■-.- : .!:•• r :■.%.» r-.i- '.. r .jri:»-. ih'- N^-'k-M ".'.t-r mho c**:. 
«luctcJ tilt* fiit«-qTi<«>.' tinally abandonc«l it. Yet such 


was the reverence at the time for the old &vorite8 of 
the nursery, that a man by the name of Hallowell* 
expended a vast amount of patient research and an- 
tiquarian lore, in hunting up and setting before the 
world, the history of these performances, fix)m Hey 
diddle diddle to 

^* A fiirmer went trotting npon his gray mare — 
Bompety, bompety, bomp I" 

To all this I made no direct reply ; I ventured, how- 
ever, to suggest my views in the following article 
inserted in Merry's Museum for August, 1846. 


Timothy, Mother I mother I do stop a minute, and hear me 
say my poetry I 

Mother, Your poetry, my son ? Who told yon bow to make 

71 Ob, I don^t know ; bat hear what I have made np. 

M, Well, go on. 

71 Now don^t you laagh ; it^s all mine. I didn't get a bit «if 
it oat of a book. Here it is I 

" Higglety, pigglety, pop I 

The dog has e«t the mop ; 

The pig^s in a hurry, 

The oat*8 in a flurry— 

Higglety, pigglety— pop I'* 

M. Wen, go on. 

T, Why, that's all. Don't yon think it pretty good ? 

M. Really, my son, I don't see mach sense in it. 

T. Sense? Who ever thought of tense^ in poetry? Why, 
— a. 

• Nursery Rhymets of England, Ac., Collected and Edited by jHiiiaa 
'.>rchard HalloweU. 

Vol. II.-U 


mother, yon gave me a book the other day, and it was all poet 
ry, and I don^t think there was a bit of sense in the whole of it 
Hear me read. [BMds.} 

•* Hub a dab 1 
Three men in a tnb^ 
And how do yon think they got there t 
The batcher, 
The baker, 

The candlestjok-maker. 
They all jamped oat of a rotten potato : 
*Twa8 enoagh to make a man stare." 
And here's another. 

" A oat oame fiddling oat of a bam, 
With a pair of bagpipes under her arm ; 
She coald sing nothing bat fiddle cam fee — 
The mouse bos married the hamblebee — 
Pipe, cat — dance, mouse — 
We'll have a wedding at our good house !"^ 
And here's another. 

" Hey, diddle, diddle. 

The cat and the fiddle, 
The cow jumped over the moon — 
The little dog laughed 
To see the craft, 
And the dish ran after the spoon." 

Now, mother, the book is full of such things as these, and 1 
don't see any meaning in them. 

3f. Well, my son, I think as yon do : they are really very ab- 

T. Absurd? Why, then, do you give me snch things to read? 

3f. Let me ask you a question. Do you not love to read these 
rhymes, even though they are silly ? 

71 Yes, dearly. 

M. Well, you have just learned to read, and I thought these 
jingles, silly as they are, might induce you to study your book, 
and make you familiar with reading. 

21 I don't understand you, mother ; but no matter. 

" Higglety, pigglety, pop ! 
The dog has eat the mop ; 
The pigV in a hurry — " 


Jf. Stop, stop, my son. I ohooee yon should underatand mo. 
7! But, mother, what's the use of nnderstandiDg you * 


J£. Timothy I 

r. Ma'am? 

M, Listen to me, or yon will have cause to repent it. listen 
to what I say ! I gave yon the book to amnse yon, and improve 
you in reading, not to form yonr taste in poetry. 

T, Well, mother, pray forgive me. I did not mean to ofEend 
yon. Bnt I really do love poetry, because it is so silly ! 

" Higglety, plgglety, pop I" 

M, Don't say that again, Timothy I 

T, Well, I won't; bnt I'll say something ont of this pretty 
book yon gave me. 

" Doodledy, doodledy, dan 1 
I'll have s piper to be my good man — 
And if I get lesa meat, I shall get game— 
Doodledy, doodledy, dan 1'* 

M, That's enough, my son. 

T, But, dear mother, do hear me read another. 

" We're all in the dampe, 

For diamondn ore trumpe— 
The kittens are gone to St. PauPa— 

The babies are bit, 

The moon's in a fit — 
And the houses are built without walls." 

M, I do not wish to hear any more. 
T, One more ; one more, dear mother I 

** Bound about — round about — 
Maggoty pie— 
My father loves good ale, 
And so do I." 

Don't yon like that, mother ? 

M, No ; it is too coarse, and unfit to be read or spoken 

T. But it is here in this pretty book you gave me, and I like 


(L,^ .-,-■" r ... r- ■ rn . 

d amn m pan m oaj. vrvfns iid d« ■■■■ 
Mj thing Uuit I find in a prettj book }oq luiTt girte i 
hmr Um rent of thift. 

^? Jm 

*• Hink, •fAok, tli« poaaiof*-** 

jr. Oire mc th« book^ TbooUij. I ••• UiAt I bftvt bbmW m 
->*«**^* ; it b not a proper bui>k ftir joa. 

7*. Well, Tou majr take tb« book ; bol 1 can my ihm tkjmm, 
fcr I hairt leftTtied them all bjr heart. 

** Hiok. vpiok, the p«44ii^— ** 
M, TimoUi J, how dara joa ! 

T, WWl, mother, I wonH my it, if joa dooH wfah na la IWl 
■ajaH I aaj^ 


if. I had rather joa woaid aoC 

r And "" DoodMy. doodMy, dan *— oiajraH 1 lay lha«l 

M, No. 

r. Nor •* Hey. didJk diddle!" 

M, I do mH wUh Von to lay any t4 tho«e tlUy thiofs 

T. I^ear mr« whjit »Iia11 1 do? 

if. I bad rather you would Irarti Bi»o>e fi««l, 

r. 8«Mha0wl«all 

if. Waiut lijmai, aad OrigiMl Uy 


T, Do yoQ can them MDsible thingB? I hate 'em. 
" Doodledy, doodledj, dan I" 

M, \AMt:\ Dear, dear, what shall I dot The boy has got 
his head tamed with these silly rhymes. It was really a very 
unwise thing to pnt a book into his hands, so fnll of nonsense 
and ynlgarity. These foolish rhymes stick like bars in hb mind, 
and the'coaraesl and filest seem to be best remembered. I mast 
remedy this mistake; bat I see it will take all my wit to do it 
\AUud^ Timothy, yoa most £^ye me ap this book, and I will 
get yoa another. 

T, Wen, mother, I am sorry to part with it ; bat I don't oare 
so maoh aboat it, as I know all the best of it by heart 
" Hink, epink, the paddings Btink'*^ 

M, Timothy, yoall have a box on the ear, if yoa repeat that • 
T, Well, I sappose I can say, 

" Bound about — roond abont — 
Maggoty pie — " 

Jf. Yoa go to bed ! 

T, Well, if I must, I most. Good-night, mother I * 

" Higglety, pigglety, pop I 
The dog has eat the mop ; 
The oat's in a fioiry, 
The oow's in a hurry, 
Higglety, pigglety, pop I" 

Gk>od-night, mother I 

I trust, my friend, yoa will not gather from this that 
I condemn rhymes for children. I know that there is 
a certain music in them that delights the ear of child- 
hood. Nor am I insensible to the fact that in Mother 
Goose's Melodies, there is frequently a sort of humor 
in the odd jingle of sound and sense. There is, fur- 
thermore, in many of them, an historical significance, 
which may please the profound student who puzzles 

il; \m% what I aOmt ii, thilnaiiyi 

KMUvai volgftT, offimiire, and it is pw&dmif 

on that Am ftpl to stick to the miadi of c&U- 

bendflit il^ 10 ii ooauiioiii Kkoh s book 

flni that i cluld bcoggM Mquatnicd wiih^ 

1I7 to gite him m toir idaa of the puipoM tad 

ling of boohS) tod to b^gt^ a tMie for a«« 

th«t« riftw% I ioti^ht to prepaiv 

— a few 01 uiem eren inoiuaing nwpMos ivpos* 
taoos rhymes — yet at the same time presenting ration&l 
ideas and gentle kindly sentiments. Will you ex- 
cuse me for giving you one example — my dt-^i^m 
being to show you how this msy be done, and how 
eren a very unpromising subject is capable of being 
thus made attractive to children. 


Oh, fntie turanfer, tlofi, 
Aod hmr poor littk Hop 
Just tiAf A Mmpk tuof, 
Which b not irery kiof^ 
Ui|S hip, hop. 

I am an hoocat toad, 
liTiaf here bj tha road ; 
IWcMAth a »t«»M I dwttU, 
In A Ukxig httlo c^m 
Hi|t, bi(j, b«»p. 

It naj mmn a Md lot 


Bat what I say k tra»— • 
I have fuD as well as yon I 
ffip, hip, hop. 

Just listen to my song — 
I sleep an winter long, 
Bnt in spring I peep ont, 
And then I jnmp about — 
Hip, hip, hop. 

When the rain pattens down, 
I let it wash my crown, 
And now and then I sip 
A drop with my lip : 
Hip, hip, hop. 

When the bright son is set, 
And the grass with dew is wet, 
I sally from my cot, 
To see what's to be got, 
Hip, hip, hop. 

And now I wink my eye. 
And now I catch a fly. 
And now I take a peep, 
And now and then I sleep : 
Hip, hip, hop. 

And this is all I do — 
And yet they say it's tme, 
That the toady's &ce is sad. 
And his bite is very bad I 
Hip, hip, hop. 

Oh, naughty fblks they be. 
That tell such tales of me, 
For I'm an honest toad, 
Jnst living by the road : 
Hip, hip, hop I 



These were my ideas in regard to first books — toy 
books — those which are put into the hands of chil- 
dren, to teach them the art of reading. As to books 
of amusement and instruction, to follow these, I gave 
them Parley's tales of travels, of history, of nature, 
and art, together with works designed to cultivate 
a love of truth, charity, piety, and virtue, and I 
sought to make these so attractive as to displace 
the bad books, to which I have already alluded — 
the old monstrosities. Puss in Boots, Jack the Oiant- 
killer, and others of that class.* A principal part 

* For what I have sfud npoo these aubjecta, I refer the reader to vol. 
i. pai^e 166. In a recent edition of Jack the Giant-killer, I find hia ex- 
ploits summed up aa folio ws, on the laat page : ** At hia wedding he 
went over all the tricks he had played upon the giants; he showed 
the company how one had tumbled into a pit and had hia head cut off; 
how he had throttled two othew with a rope ; how ar.other, the double- 
headed Welch monster, had ripped himself open to let the hasty-pud- 
ding out ; and how lie had brought another on hia knees by a chop 
with his sword of sharpness, and spitted another like a fat fowl,'' &c. 
On the cover of this very book, which, by the way, is one of a serica 
in the same vein, oalled Household Storus for LrrrLX Folks, I find 
the argument in behalf of this class of books for children, thus set forth : 

" The extravagance of the atoriea, the attractive manner of telling 
them, the picturesque scenery described, the marvelous deeds related, 
the reward of virtue and punishment of vice, upon principles strictly 
in accordance with ethical laws, aa applied to the formation of char- 
acter, render them peculiarly adapted to induce children to acquire a love 
for reading, and to aid them to cultivate the affections, sympathiea, fan- 
cy, and imagination." 

If it had been said that these tales were calculated to familiarize the 
mind with things bhocking and monstrous ; to cultivate a taste for tales 
of bloodshed and violence ; to teach Uio young to use coarse language, 
and cherish vulgar ideas ; to erase Arom the young heart tender and 
gentle feelings, and substitute for them fierce and bloody thoughts and 
scntimenta ; to turn the youthful mind from the contemplation of the 
real loveliness of nature, and to fill it with the horrors of a debased and 
debauched fancy ; to turn the youthful mind firom the gentle pieaaurea 


of my macldnery was the character of Peter Parley — 
a kind-hearted old man, who had seen much of the 
world — and not presuming to undertake to instruct 
older people, loved to sit down and tell his stories 
to children. Beyond these juvenile works, I pre- 
pared a graduated series upon the same general plan, 
reaching up to books for the adult library ; and thus 
I attained one hundred and seventy volumes. 

It is true that occasionally I wrote and publishel 
a book, aside £rom this, my true vocation ; thus I edit- 
ed the Token, and published two or three volumes of 
poetry. But out of all my works, about a hundred 
and twenty are professedly juvenile ; and forty are 
for my early readers, advanced to maturity. It is 
true that I have written openly, avowedly, to attract 
and to please children ; yet it has been my design at 
the same time to enlarge the circle of knowledge, 
to invigorate the understanding, to strengthen the 
moral nerve, t8 purify and exalt the imagination. 
Such have been my aims ; how far I have succeeded, 
I must leave to the judgment of others. One thing 
I may perhaps claim, and that is, my example and 
my success have led others — of higher gifts than 
my own — ^to enter the ample and noble field of juv^ 

of home, of. love and friendship at the fireside, at the school, in the 
playground, and to stretch it upon the rack of horrible dreams of giants, 
grinding the bones of children between their teeth, and satisfying their 
horrible thirst upon the blood of innocent men and women and infants ; 
in short, had it been said that these books were calculated to make crim- 
inals of a large part of the children who read them, I think the truth 
would hATe been mnoh more fiurly stated than in the preceding notice. 

i&«tnK$ttoti bf miemim of boob ; taraj ot tbcm 
I OD doubt «urpiuH«d me, and otbeti wiU «mi 
«, f QrpinAg ikmoL 1 lomk apcm ili« «ri of wiv 
tor diildit^a uid joatli, mitmkotd m il baa boao 
M je«% suU M but jnat b^fUL 


Ill I ii I fii^H Ji J|»4 

Mt dea« C • 

If tbuB I met witb oppositioD, I bad aUo mj 
tocoeaii, nay, I niui<t say, my triumplu. Mr tirvi pa- 
tron!! were the children them^telveit, then the mother^ 
and then, ofcounte, the fatheni. In the cariy part of 
tbe year 1840. I matle a trip from Boston to the Soutb^ 
returning by the way of tiie MisMumippi and thi* Ohio. 
I received many a kind weKx>me unfler the name oi 
tbe flclilioun hen> whom I had made to tell ray »tanea. 
Sometimeii, it ut true, I underwent mtber sharp cruaa* 
qoestioning, and fn-N^uently wa^ made to feel tbat I 
beld my honore by a rather c|U(-;(tionable title. I, wbo 
bad undertaken to teach truth, wan forced to ooolrai 
tbat tii'lion liiy at the foun«l:aioii of my scheme I My 
ioDocrnt yi>U!iij re^dtTH, however, did not »a»pect m« : 
tbey had taken al! I h.i«i <vaid xn |>o«iitiVc!y true. And 
1 wasofcoUPH* IVler Tarlty himaelf 

'*Did jou mdly wnte tbat book about AfrioaT 


said a black-eyed, dark-haired girl of some eight years 
old, at Mobile. 

I replied in the aflBurmative. 

" And did you really get into prison, there ?" 

" No ; I was never in Afirica." 

"Never in Africa?" 


" Well, then, why did you say you had been there ?" 

On another occasion, I think at Savannah, a gen- 
tleman called upon me, introducing his two grand- 
children, who were anxious to see Peter Parley. The 
girl rushed up to me, and gave me a ringing kiss at 
once. We were immediately the best friends in the 
world. The boy, on the contrary, held himself aloof) 
and ran his eye over me, up and down, from top to 
toe. He then walked around, surveying me with the 
most scrutinizing gaze. After this, he sat down, and 
during the interview, took no further notice of me. 
At parting, he gave me a keen look, but said not- a 
word. The next day the gentleman called and told 
me that his grandson, as they were on their way 
home, said to him — 

" Grandfather, I wouldn't have any thing to do 
with that man : he ain't Peter Parley." 

" How do you know that ?" said the grandfather. 

"Because," said the boy, "he hasn't got his foot 
boimd up, and he don't walk with a crjjtch !"* 

* The litUe book entitled ** Parity' t Method of TetUng abotU Qeogror 
phy to GMdr^^^ had * picture, drawn by 'nedole, repreeenting Parley 

I my Vfival ftfc Mew Orlewii I wat kimllj i^ 

bif and bad ibe tfco&oni of a piaUio wdooni!. Thm 

aedingi wmv publiah«d in Um {mptia aI iba tw^ 

t iMva iaoloaa ycpo a oopj of tbem, wlueli i toba 

I ibe Boatim Cowier of Mardi SlA, 1M& Te« 

readily peroeive the cgoiiuD impljad in pketi^ 

>re you atiob a rei»nl am tbit -, but if 1 cbrooiclv 

fcilafBa and my Uiali^ mtttt I eat, aa a fthbful 

1^ tell you aW> cif my mmmm 1 If ymi wply ibai 

ighl do u iJi a racse oiodaet way l^a ib^ to 

d the wbole prooeedinffi befofw yo«^ I anewiir^ 

tbat in aending you this documeDt, I br no mean* 

require you to rea^i it. If you do read it, you will 

bave a right to laugh at my vanity : if aot^ 1 inua 

you will hold your jiraoe. 


A* it iiui\ gTMUfs lUAtiv uf oar rmA9r\ and nfurbnt tb» 
IHstKU of TrUrf rarWv. w«* ^xt in full ihm prt«c««<din|r« At Sww 
Orbaius which t«M»k (>koe on lUf tSth U Ywhrn^ry U*t. Thm 
ftlDowiiiK b the rrp»rt •» |>iihMM<il in the New OrWwM Od«»- 
■MrciAl Tlto<« uT MArt*h t!«l : 

CoMruMixT T«> )Ih. (i<H>t>iU4'ii. tJU ttutkiH t/ PmtUjf'B Tmlm. — 
Our frlk>writii««i« arr aIthmIt Awarr that umm AA«r Mr iroud- 
rirh*« Arrival in our rtiv. a hirpc »uhi*-rif»ikni, bf i»«r 
ficilWtiM*n. wa« (ilWn!. «ii)i a lirw to ir{T« him the €rm 
of a (»uMic (ltniM*r Hut Mr tMHtolnrh** aLav t^teiir l«>o ftlkjrt 

vlui* b« M tv< tit ». «• ftrub i ''Take rar». <ioii'1 ie««4 b« 
go«tj tor . tf »«^<a Uv, 1 « •f) I i«.l «i.>u M>v 9M*rv •i<ir.«» " i*^ I^m ««rA 
tw« BilllMw «vrt aula. AA^l uT ovmffM P»rWy •a4 I»m crvMi •««« f««0« 
■••■ailf ummmi^md lagiiltr, Mi IW ««aiiA W 4 


to allow of (xunpleting these arrangements, advantage was taken 
of the polite offer of Alfired Hennen, Esq., to give him a public 
reoq>tion at his house, under the auspices of the officers of the 
People^s Lyceum, and some of our most prominent citizens. 
Accordingly, the ceremony took place on Saturday the 28th, 
between twelve and three o'clock. During this period there 
was assembled an immense crowd of children, mothers, teachers, 
and friends of education, eager to give the author of Parley's 
Tales a hearty welcome. Among the throng we noticed lir. 
Glay, the Governor and lieutenant-governor, Mayor, Recorder, 
Speaker of the House, and several members of the legislature. 
The scene was one of the most cheerful and agreeable we ever 
witnessed. While the leading visitors were present, the follow- 
ing address, in substance, was made by M. M. Oohen, Esq., 
President d the People's Lyceum : 

" Mr. (Goodrich, or, as we all love to call you, Peter Parley — 
The too kind partiality of indulgent friends of yours, has induced 
them to select me as their organ to address you on the present 
occasion. Theur request was this morning conveyed to me on 
my way to the Oommercial Ck>urt, where I have been engaged in 
a very dull, dry law case. The judge of that court has been 
pleased to allow me a few minutes to run up here and to say 
something to you, though what that something is, I have not 
yet any very clear perception. I can only hope, sir, that you 
have a much more assured knowledge of the reply which you 
are about to make to such remarks as I may offer, than I have 
at present of what my remarks may be. Yet, though I am 
wholly unprepared for the occasion, I should pity the heart that 
could remain so cold and callous to every noble emotion, as not 
to gather warmth and inspiration from the beaming eyes of 
beautiful mothers and the glad &ces of happy children, smiling 
around us. But, sir, I am here as the representative of others, 
and will say to you what I presume they would say, if all were 
to speak at once. 

"Permit me, then, in behalf of these friends and fellow- 


citizenfl, and what is more, and mnoh better and brighter — in 
behalf of *oar better halves* — the ladies, Gk>d bless *em! — ^to 
express the pleasure they derive from your vbit to New Orleans, 
to welcome yon to this hospitable mansion of our enlightened 
host, Mr. Hennen, on this the last day of yonr sojourn in oar 
oity. Let me assure you how glad and grateful they all are ot 
this (^portonity, which enables them — as is the expreanon in 
some parts of our country — to * put your &ce to your name,' 
and to say to your &ce what they have so often said behind 
your back — that they regard you as a blessed benefiictor to the 
youth of the rising generation, as one who has emphatically 
earned the proud and endearing appellation of ^PAnU dea Enr 

^^ For, sir, who knows into how many thousand habitations 
in the United States Peter Parley's works have found their way, 
and made the hearts of the inmates glad, and kept them pure? 
Who can tell how oft, in the humble cottage of the poor, sorrow 
has been soothed and labor lightened, as the fond mother read 
to her listening child Peter Parley's Tales, while tears of pity 
started in their glistening eyes, or pleasure shook their in&nt 

'•'' I have just alluded, sir, to the genial influence of your works 
in the United States. The immortal bard of Avon has said — 

** ^ How far that little candle throws his beams I 
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.' 

But your name has crossed the Atlantic ; and, in the hope of 
instilling into the minds of the youth now present a salutary 
proof how far good works will travel, permit me to read to them 
the following note, which has just been handed to me: 

" New Orlkams, February 28th, 1846. 
"Dear Sir: Having, with much pleasure, this moment understood 
Chat you, as the President of the People's Lyceum, have been requested 
to say something to-day to the universal friend of Children, Peter Par- 
ley, perhaps it would be interesting to you that I should state one or 
two anecdotes in reference to the name and fame of that distinguishef] 


** When in London, I rarely ever passed a place where notices are 
allowed to be pasted ap, without having my eyes gladdened with the 
aight of the name of Peter Parley. These annoaucements were made 
to carry gladness to the hearts of children. On such occasions, I often 
amused myself by stopping to witness the efeot upon the children as 
they passed along in tiie streets. Such as the following scene was of 
frequent occurrence. When they cast their eyes upon these announce- 
ments it really appeared as though they had been touched by an electric 
spark which filled their hearts with joy. They would jump and firisk 
about, clap their hands, dance and stamp in front of these big handbills, 
and sing out in the perfect fullness of delight, begging their mothen or 
nurses to go away to the bookstore and get them the * new Peter Parley.* 
Sometimes I have heard them thus answered : * Oh no, you can not have 
Peter Parley, because yon have been a bad littie child, and none but 
good children are allowed to read Peter Parley.^ The child, with tears 
glistening in its eyes, would reply : ' Oh, indeed, indeed, ma, if you will 
only get me Peter Parley this time, I will never be bad again.' I con- 
cluded, from what I saw, that all children in that oountiy were taught 
to feel that it was a privilege and luxury to read Peter Parley. 

** On more than one occasion, when spending a few days among the 
delightful oottagea of ' our fatherland,* have I witnessed the congrega- 
tion of children called from the nur»ery to the drawing-room, when 
they would come bounding and shaking their locks, singing out — * Oh, 
mamma, why did you send for us so soon ? we were reading such a pretty 
story from Peter Parley I' A new work from Peter Parley was always 
welcomed as a species of carnival among children. I thought, here is a 
grateful answer to the question once bitterly and tauntingly asked — 
' What man in £ngland ever reads an American book V Availing my- 
self of the prerogative of my countrymen, I answer by asking — * What 
child is there in £ngland so unfortunate as no^ to have read Peter 
Parley r 

** A short time after his return from England, Mr. Webster said to me 
— * These are the American names which are better and more universally 
known and admired in England than all other American names put to- 
gether,* and he asked me if I was Yankee enough to * guess* who they 
were. I answered, Washington, and Chief-justice Marshall. ' No,* said 
he, * I mean living persons — and they are Judge Story, and Peter Parley; 
for while the former is known to every lawyer in England, and generally 
among the educated classes, the latter has the entire possession of the 
young hearts of old England.* He added that whenever he went into an 
English family, and the children were brought in and presented to him 
as Mr. Webster, an American gentleman — they would be sure, with 
scarcely a single exception, to approach him, and looking him in the face, 
with the utmost curiosity, would say—* Do you know Peter Parley ?' 

"Such facts as these were always delightful to an American when 
abroad. It made me feel proud of my country. And while I looked 


upon Boenes which must be ever interesting to every ri|rht-tninking 
Amerioan, and acknowledged with gratitude my obligatione to the land 
of Shakapeare and Milton, of Burke and Junius, I felt that we were Ikat 
oompensating that debt by worthy productiona from the pure and claaaio 
pens of Irving, Presoott, Bancroft, and Peter Parley. 
'* Respectfully yours, 

*'M. M. CoHSv, Pres. People's Lyceum." 

^ To this note I will only add that, not a moment ago, a gen- 
tleman from Greece assored me that your works were well 
known in his ooontry, and one from England has just declared 
that although he learned to-day, for the first time, that Peter 
Parley was an American, yet that his books were known and 
admired all over Great Britain. 

^^ You came, sir, to New Orleans unheralded, unannounced — 
nor military guards, nor glittering arms, nor streaming banners, 
nor artillery, accompanied your steps. Neither trumpets^ 
clangor, nor cannon's roar, nor ear-piercing fife, nor spirit- 
stirring drum gave token of your arrival. A plain citizen you 
had been in your beautiful brown cottage near Boston — 
at once the cradle of liberty and of literature — ^in slippers and 
night-cap, carving out with the pen a better immortality than 
military chieftains achieve with the sword I There, at Jamaica 
Plain, you were writing for young misses and masters little 
Peter Parley stories, and you all the while little dreaming of 
what a great man you were becoming — 

*' * Great, not like Csasar, stained with blood — 
Bat only great as you are good.' 

" Farewell, sir, and when you leave us, be sure that when 
* the curfew tolls the knell of parting day' — or in plainer words, 
Mr. Parley, when Httle boys and girls have had their bread and 
milk and are going to bed, and when church-bells ring to Sun- 
day-school — then will 

** * Infant hands be raised in prayer, 

That God may bless you and may spare.' 

'^ Once more, farewell I May yon live long years of happiness, 


as yon moat of hcmor; and when yon die, may yoor ^worka,* 
in one sense, not ^follow after' yon, but remain on earth, to 
profit and delight, and be, like yonr fame, immortal I" 

To which Mr. Qoodrioh replied as follows : 

^^ Mr. President — ^It would be idle afieotation in me to pretend 
that this oheerfid spectacle, your kind and flattering words, the 
welcome in these fiicee around, are not a source of the livelieet 
gratification to myself personally. Tet, if I were to regard this 
occasion as designed merely to bestow upon me a passing com- 
pliment, on my first visit to the Orescent Oify, I should fed a 
degree oi humiliation — for it would force me to consider how 
little I haye achieved, compared with what remains to be done, 
and how disproportioned are these manifestations of regard to 
any merits which I can presume to daim. From the moment I 
set my foot in New Orleans, I have been greeted by a succession 
of agreeable surprises ; and nothing has interested me more than 
the enlightened state of public opinion which I find to exist here 
in respect to popular education. I &m at no loss to discoyer, in 
the hospitality with which I have been greeted, a lively appre- 
ciation of the great subject to which my humble labors in life 
have been directed; and it adds to my gratification to find this 
deeper meaning in the present scene. 

" Oonsidering the position of New Orleans, I have looked with 
peculiar satisfaction upon your public schools. Some of them 
would be deemed excellent in any part of New England — ^nay, 
in Boston itself Nor is this all ; these institutions, as I learn, 
are mainly supported by the popular vote — ^by self-taxation. 
This marks a great advance in civilization, and insures, from this 
lime forward, a constant progress toward perfection. There is 
always a sharp contest between light and darkness, between 
ignorance and knowledge, before the mass of society will come 
up to the work, and support public instruction at the public 
expense. That battle has been fought here, and it has resulted 
in the triumph of truth and humanity. There is, if I may be 
permitted the allusion, a closer association between Plymouth 


Book and Hew Orkans than I had unagined. You hare beve 
both/at^ and worht. Tour schools dedare that the wise and 
phiknthropio social prindpks oi the Pilgrims have taken root 
hi the midst of a city signalized over the world by the extent and 
activity of its commerce. 

^Nor is this subject only to bu Tiewed as it respects New 
Orleans itself If I rightly jndge, you have a mission to perform 
eyen beyond this. The Orescent Oity is indeed the &vorite 
daughter ai the great Father of Waters, into whose lap he 
ponrs his unmeasured haryests. It is the commerdal empo- 
rium of the finest yaUey on the g}obe, reoeiying a tribute which 
no one can estimate who has not looked upon your wondrous 
leyee. Yet it is and is to be, perhaps for centuries to come, 
eyen something more— the metropolis of opinion, of fashion — 
giving social law to the millions of to-day, and the millions 
which are to follow in the boundless West. If we consider the 
ascendency which New Orleans has already acquired, especially 
in comparison with the infancy of many of our southwestern 
settlements, it is surely not extravagant to regard her influence 
and example, in many things, as likely to be little less than de- 
cisive. We may, therefore, consider the Mississippi under the 
image of a mighty tree, whose foot is on the verge of the tropics, 
while its tops are playing with the snows of the icy north. New 
Orleans stands at the root, and must furnish tlie sap, at least to 
some extent, which circulates through branches that spread over 
a surface equal to one-half the extent of Europe, and thus giving 
character, for good or ill, to the firait that may follow. In this 
view, your position becomes intensely interesting, and it may 
serve to give added impulse to that patriotism and philanthropy 
which are at work among you. 

^^ As I see around me some of your public functionaries — the 
master-minds of the State— and as, moreover, the subject of 
public instruction is occupying the attention of the legislature, 
assembled under your new constitution, I may be excused for 
saying a few words, of a general nature, upon this topic. It 


might sound trite and oommon-plaoe, if I were to say that edn- 
oadon is the only ladder by whioh mankind can ascend from 
barbarism to civilization, from ignorance to knowledge, from 
darkness to light, from earth to heaven. Tet, if this be true, 
can public men — ^rulers and lawgivers — ^be excused, if they seek 
not to frirnish this ladder to every individual in the State t And 
let them bear in mind that the controlling lessons of life are given 
in childhood, lien are hard, and repel instruction. Touth is 
plastic, and readily takes the impress of the die that is set upon 
it. If a giant should undertake to give symmetry of form to the 
aged oak, he might momentarily subdue its gnarled and jagged 
branches to his will ; but if they fly not back and strike him in 
the £ioe, ere to-morrow's sun every limb and fiber will have 
returned to its wonted position. Thus it is that, in dealing with 
grown-up, obdurate tnen, the highest talent exerted for their 
good is often baffled, and perhaps repaid by ingratitude or re- 
proach. On the other hand, how different is it with youth I 
Like saplings in the nursery, they readily take the form or char- 
acter which a kindly hand may bestow. The humble gardener, 
only able to carry a watering-pot in one hand and a pruning- 
knife in the other, may rear up a whole forest of trees, beautiful 
in form, and productive of the choicest fruits. What field so 
wide, so promising, in every point of view so inviting, so worthy 
the attention of the patriot and statesman, as the natumal nuT" 
$ery^ budding by millions into life and immortality ? 

** I should not be excused, were I to omit saying a few words 
to the mothers here present. From the moment that a woman 
becomes a mother, we all know that dearer interests than houses 
or lands are henceforth invested in the of&pring. How hopeful, 
bow fearful, are her duties now I Washington and Napoleon, 
Howard and Robespierre, were children once, and each upon a 
mother^s knee. What mighty issues for good or ill are before 
the mother, in the possible consequences of the education she 
may give her child I Yet 1 would not lay upon her heart a 
responsibility which might seem too great to bear. The best of 


books, as well as unirenal ezperienoe, are ftall of eDOonragement 
to the fiuthftil mother. If she performs her duty, Ood and na- 
ture take her part. She is the first divinity before which the 
budding spirit worships. The lessons whioh are gathered then, 
are likely to exert a controlling influence upon its after destiny. 
The child may be compared to a stream, and the parent to the 
mother earth over which it flows. She may not, can not stop 
Its progress, but she may goide its course. She may trace out a 
AKAfwftl in which it will be prone to flow, and after having fer- 
titized and blessed its borders, it will find its way in peace to tlie 
great reservoir of waters. H^ on the contrary, the mother neg- 
lect or misguide her offipring, it may, like a torrent, rush on, 
and after spreading desolation on every side, disappear in some 
sandy desert, or lose itself anud dreary and pestilent marshes. 

^* And now, one word to my juvenile friends — ^those who have 
received me with such winning smiles—one word to them. I 
dare not begin to tell them stories in the character of their old 
friend Peter Parley, for I should not know where to leave offl 
But let me repeat what I said to those whom I met the other 
day— on the celebration of Washington's birthday — eome and 
iee me wJien you visit BosUm / You will find me in a brown 
house, some four miles out of town, in a pleasant village called 
Jamaica Plain. Come one and come all, and be assured of a 
hearty welcome. And that you may bring some ngn that we 
have met before, please remember these lines — 

" Ne'er till to-morrow's light delay 
What may as well be done to-day — 
Ne'er do the thing you'd wish nndone, 
Viewed by to-morrow's rising sun. 

" If you will practise according to these verses, you will not 
only gratify your old friend who addresses you, but you will win 
the world's favor. Farewelll" 



Jtikoiptetion Oimfi$$ioru — 7%$ mie§ amntyg my pap^rt^A r^cikammg 

In the three preceding letters I have spoken 
chiefly of the books I have written for children, and 
the true design of which was as much to amuse as 
to instruct them. These comprise the entire series 
called Parley's Tales, with many others, bearing Par- 
ley's name. As to works for education — school- 
books, including readers, histories, geographies, &c., 
books for popular reading, and a wilderness of prose 
and poetry, admitting of no classification — I have 
only to refer you to the catalogue already men- 
tioned. Let me cheer you with the statement that 
this is the closing chapter of my literary history. I 
have little indeed to say, and that is a confession. 

In looking at the long list of my publications, in 
reflecting upon the large numbers that have been 
sold, I feel &r more of humiliation than of triumph. 
If I have sometimes taken to heart the soothing flat- 
teries of the public, it has ever been speedily succeed- 
ed by the conviction that my life has been, on the 
whole, a series of mistakes, and especially in that por- 
tion of it which has been devoted to authorship. I 
have written too much, and have done nothing really 


welL You need not whisper it to the public, at least 
until I am gone; but I know, better than any one 
can tell me, that there is nothing in this long cata- 
logue that will give me a permanent place in liter- 
ature. A few things may struggle upon the surface 
for a time, but — ^like the last leaves of a tree in au- 
tumn, forced at last to quit their hold, and cast into 
the stream — even these will disappear, and my name 
and all I have done will be forgotten. 

A recent event, half ludicrous and half melan- 
choly, has led me into this train of reflection. On 
going to Europe in 1851, 1 sent my books and papers 
to a friend, to be kept till my return. Among them 
was a large box of business documents — letters, ac- 
counts, receipts, bills paid, notes liquidated — compri- 
sing the transactions of several years, long since passed 
away. Shortly after my return to New York — some 
three months ago — in preparing to establish myself 
and family here, I caused these things to be sent to 
me. On opening the particular box just mentioned, 
I found it a complete mass of shavings, shreds, frag- 
ments. My friend had put it carefully away in the 
upper loft of his bam, and there it became converted 
into a universal mouse-nest ! The history of whole 
generations of the mischievous little rogues was still 
visible; beds, galleries, play-grounds, birth-places, 
and even graves, were in a state of excellent preser- 
vation. Several wasted and sliriveled forms of va- 
rious sizes — ^the limbs curled up, the eyes extinct, the 


teeth disclosed, the long, slender tails straight and 
stiflTened — ^testified to the joys and sorrows of the 
races that had flourished here. 

On exploring this mass of ruins, I discovered here 
and there a file of letters eaten through, the hollow 
cavity evidently having been the happy and innocent 
cradle of childhood, to these destroyers. Sometimes 
I found a bed lined with paid bills, and sometimes 
the pathway of a gallery paved with liquidated ac- 
counts. What a mass of thoughts, of feelings, cares, 
anxieties, were thus made the plunder of these 
thoughtless creatures I In examining the papers, I 
found, for instance, letters from N. P. Willis, written 
five and twenty years ago, with only " Dear Sir" at 
the beginning and "Yours truly" at the end. I 
found epistles of nearly equal antiquity signed N. 
Hawthorne, Catharine M. Sedgwick, Maria L. Child, 
Lydia H. Sigourney, Willis Gaylord Clark, Grenville 
Mellen, William L. Stone, J. G. C. Brainard — some- 
times only the heart eaten out, and sometimes the 
whole body gone. 

For all purposes of record, these papers were de- 
stroyed. I was alone, for my family had not yet 
returned from Europe ; it was the beginning of No- 
vember, and I began to light my fire with these relics. 
For two whole days I pored over them, buried in 
the reflections which the reading of the fragments 
suggested. Absorbed in this dreary occupation, 1 
forgot the world without, and was only conscious oi 


bygone scenes which came up in review before me. 
It was as if I had been in the tomb, and was reckon- 
ing with the past. How little was there in all that I 
was thus called to remember — sayie of care, and fiftrng- 
gle, and anxiety; and how were all the thoughts, 
and feelings, and experiences, which seemed moun- 
tains in their day, leveled down to the merest grains' 
of dust 1 A note of hand — ^perchance of a thousand 
dollars — what a history rose up in recollection as I 
looked over its scarcely legible fragments : what 
clouds of anxiety had its approaching day of maturity 
cast over my mind I How had I been with a trem- 
bling heart to some bank-president* — ^he a god, 'and 
I a craven worshiper — making my offering of some 
otlier note for a discount, which might deliver me 
from the wrath to come I With what anxiety have 
I watched the lips of the oracle — ^for my fate was in 
his hands 1 A simple monosyllable — ^yes or no — 
might save or ruin me. What a history was in that 
bit of paper — and yet it was destined only to serve 
as stuffing for the beds of vermin I Such are the ag- 
onies, the hopes, and fears of the human heart, put 
into the crucible of time I 

* Let no one say that I speak irreverently of bank-presidenta. Ore 
of my best fViends during many years of trial was Franklin Haven, pres- 
ident of the Merohante* Bank at Boston— who foand it in his heart, 
while administering his office with signal ability and suooesa, to ooUeot 
a library, oaltivate letters, learn languages, and cherish a respect for 
literary men. It must be one among other sources of gratifloation, 
arising fh>m his liberal tastes, that he long enjoyed the oonfldence and 
Aiendship of Daniel Webster. 


I ought, no doubt, to have smiled at all this — ^but 
I confess it made me serious. Nor was it the most 
humiliating part of my reflections. I have been too 
fiuniliar with care, conflict, disappointment, to mourn 
over them very deeply, now that they were passed ; 
the seeming fittuity of such a mass of labors as these 
papers indicated, compared with their poor results — 
however it might humble, it could not distress me. 
But there were many things suggested by these let- 
ters, all in rags as they were, that caused positive 
humiliation. They revived in my mind the vex- 
ations, misunderstandings, controversies of other 
days; and now, reviewed in the calm light of time, I 
could discover the mistakes of judgment, of temper, 
of policy, that I had made. I turned back to my 
letter-book; I reviewed my correspondence — and I 
came to the conclusion that in almost every difficulty 
which had arisen in my path, even if others were 
wrong, I was not altogether right: in most cases, 
prudence, conciliation, condescension, might have 
averted these evils. Thus the thorns which had 
wounded me and others too, as it seemed, had gener- 
ally sprung up from the seeds I had sown, or had 
thriven upon the culture my own hands had un- 
wisely, perhaps unwittingly bestowed. 

At first I felt disturbed at the ruin which had been 
wrought in these files of papers. Hesitating and 
doubtful, I consigned them one by one to the flames 
At last the work was complete ; all had perished, and 

Vol. it.— 15 


the feathery ashes had leaped up in the strong drufl 
of t)ie chimney and disappeared forever. I felt a 
relief at last; I smiled at what had happened; I 
warmed my chill fingers oyer the embers; I felt that 
a load was off my shoulders. " At least" — said I in 
my heart — " these things are now past ; my reckon- 
ing is completed, the account is balanced, the respon- 
sibilities of those bygone days are liquidated. Let me 
burden my bosom with them no more i" Alas, how 
fallacious my calculation I A few months only had 
passed, when I was called to contend with a formi- 
dable claim which came up from the midst of trans- 
actions, to which these extinct papers referred, and 
against which they constituted my defence. As it 
chanced, I was able to meet and repel it by docu- 
ments which survived, but the event caused me deep 
reflection. I could not but remark that, however we 
may seek to cover our lives with forgetfulness, their 
records still exist, and these may come up against us 
when we have no vouchers to meet the charges which 
are thus presented. Who then will be our helper? 
" I will think of thair— I will think of that I" 



4mmA at SL Alban9^£Mtur$ upon Irtiand and tke Iritk^Tks Broad- 
drtet Biat—Bumimf tike Chartukfwn, OmverU-^Jfy PcUUoaH (hrmr^ 
A. It. Bo€r«U—Tk4 F\fUM OaSUm Jtig^Tks Barruon Oampaign qf 
1840— J9bn< Oidtr and Log OaUm^Uhivertal Bankmpteif—SUdion 
qf Barriton^Bis Beatk—CbHsequeneet—AnsoioUt—TJU SmaU Tail 
JioMment—A Jiodd Oandidate— William Qpp, or Shingling a Bam, 

Mt DKAB €♦♦♦♦♦♦ 

The first public speech I ever made was at St. 
Albans, England, in June, 1832, at a grand celebra- 
tion of the passage of the Reform Bill,* having ac- 
companied thither Sir Francis Vincent, the represen- 

♦ The Reform Bill was a popalar measure, wliich swept away the 
rotten boroughs, and greatly extended the suffrage. After a long 
and violent struggle, it passed the House of Lords on the 4th of June, 
1888, and received the royal sanction on the 7th. That day I arrived 
in Liverpool, amid a general feeling of joy and exhilaration. The Duke 
of Wellington had protested against the bill, though the king, William 
IV., and the ministry bad favored it ; in consequence, he was insulted 
by a mob, while passing on horseback through one of the streets ot 
London, Jone 18th, the anniversary of the battle of Waterloo. A few 
days after this, there was a military review in Hyde Park, and King 
William being present, a large concourse of people assembled ; among 
tiiem was the Duke of Wellington. After the review was over, he was 
encircled by an immense mass of persons, indignant at the insult he 
had received, and desirous of testifying their respect and aifeotion. 
Most of them condemned his opposition to the reform bill, but this could 
not extinguish or diminish their sense of his great merit. I was pres- 
ent, and moved on at the side of the old veteran, mounted on horse- 
back and dressed as a citizen — his hat off", and testifying by his looks, 
his sensibility to these spontaneous marks of regard. He was con- 
ducted to the gate of the park, near his residence — Apsley House, and 
there he bade adieu to his shouting escort. 

On this occasion, as well as on others, I saw King William IV., a large. 

Ut&tt in Pftrluumut of tbst Aiicirat boftragb. Mom 
Ikfta ihn'se Uiou^wid i^f^pl^, meti. wmnm, mud thU- 
diea, gtthered ftx>in the town and the noiiiilj, wciv 
filed at a long table, eel oot ia the principal atreel 
of the plaoe. After tkia feast tliero were Taricma 

«id the like. At lix o*eloek, about one bandied aad 
Mfy of tbe gentry and leading tradeeaeen and aw- 
ehanicei eat down to a dinneri Sir Francie pwaiding. 
The President of tbe United States wae toasted, and 

I was called npon to respond. Rntirelj taken br rar- 
prwe, for not a wonl had Uvii mud lo me ujion ihr 
subject, I made a j*|XM?ch. I could never rrcall what 
I said : all I retnetnber in a whirl of th«»ughui and 
emolion.H iw I n»!«#\ occasional onf« of ** hfxu" ! hear*" 
as I wonl on, and a generoiw claj»i>inir of hand^ as 

rtA'fbe**\ roan, with an ainiabU. thouffh not ««f7 tnt»(W«<«a) »iy»m< ■- 
lit f»a^ ho««%«f, v#i7 popuW, mtM in cooir»*t to tM^«f« IV . «im «m 
>■<■■ iinfiy 'liAlik**! dunnf th« Inltrr fwrt of bi* rrigrift, t>« ««> • l»* ^ 
lit «ritli tha |«<^f»i«, «bo fava him th« titi* of \hm ** ptn^ kit^ * 

A» I bIuuI b»«« DO o4J*«r o|>|Kjrtttntt}r, | m*^ m ««4I ratmfUim •>• r^ 
lary of Bnu«h a^i^vrtiifi^, b? • brWf Aotio* of Q»orn VM-tonm, vikwp I 
kaw oftan atan. of bar ebaraciaf I bava alraativ s^okaa . aa w feav 
yariiinal apfiaaraoca. all Um vorid hava a faocffai Miaa of A, tfmm tka 
panraiu in iha shvp- vtmiova ; bot tnalli com|«Ja Ma la * i 9 r im9 9 ihm 
•M Ui« psraooaJ baaaU kn thaaa rapraaantaUooa, la iilaal liar Ha^i^t? 
U raalli a vanr ordioani ai»«i rathar coaf«* lo«i4inf «a«»a*— •»f««%«i^^ 
taooa «b<3Ba fttaniiarU m ^ifaiwlad apon lb« iaiiwit mmd gi aia f ** t«|«> 
mt Af n aan f » m a U b«aut» . Wbao 1 —y vK* m aa foad m alta • luiai 
Ijr, a»d w Uiva^i and rb«n«iia.l b^ bar p««^U aevi<«d.i^ la bar ■•#rt«*« I 
fiaa Mroci^ ta^tmotit l.» bar «ifisMa RniM^a Alt«rt » a lary b<t r ■■ 
MtaA, and it inu»t ba •ail l>.al it;« ^^rfm f*Jtttl« i-f |<r>cK«« mi*1 ^ i«i iii 
Bial oolf f a iim hta bim, •trtkitt^i*. (««t tbara in bia | nn i nai f«a4 baa4a. 
1 ka«a aawi hm mmm frauf^iaf aif^i* m Kmiand liMi Uu* Mfal an^i 



I wound off. Whether this last was because I really 
made a good hit, or firom another principle — 

^^ The best of Graham's speeches was hi$ Uut^ — 

I am totally unable to say. 

My next public appearance was in a lecture at the 
Tremont Temple, in Boston — my subject beinglreland 
and the Irish. Although my discourse was written, 
and pretty well committed to memory, yet for several 
days before the time appointed for its delivery ar- 
rived — ^when I thought of my engagement, my heart 
rolled over with a heavy and sinking sensation. 
When the hour came, I went to the door of the room, 
but on seeing the throng of persons collected, I felt 
that my senses were deserting me : turning on my 
heel, I went out, and going to Smith, the apothecary 
— fortified myself with some peppermint lozenges. 
When I got back, the house was waiting with impa- 
tience. I was immediately introduced to the audi- 
ence by Dr. Walter Channing, and stepping upon the 
platform, began. After the first sentence, I was per- 
fectly at my ease. I need only add that I repeated 
the same lecture more than forty times.* 

* About thu time there was a strong popular excitement in Boston 
and the vidnlty against the Irish, and e»peoially the Roman Catholio 
religion. It manifested itself in what was called the ** Broad-street 
Riot" — June 11, 1889 — in which the Irish, who gathered in that quar- 
ter, were attacked, their houses rifled, their beds ripped open, and the 
furniture destroyed to the amount of two thousand dollars ; and also 
in burning down the Catholic Female Seminary — a species of Convent, 
where it was said there were evil doings — in the a4jtioent town of 
Charlestown. My purpose was to allay this excitement by presenting 

Ib ib# Mtumti of 18M ikem wa» m Uf|9 1 
putj H JamaJca PUio, at the bouieyf lira. O . , , 
tlM Iftdj fNilrcioev of die riU^ge^ Ajnoag ilie 
Uai pmeot WW Dftoiel Webster, vbom I bad fra- 
qi»mt1y neim, Htit to whotn I wai &o«r intrcMloeed far 
the Cm time. He ipake to oiti of mao/ tbingi^ awl 
ai last of po|jtie% aaggeMJiif dial tJbe mif>riMiiti|i pm^ 
UeolUI eleotion involved dmM impottatit qoeilioa^ 
and be deemeil it tbe dstf of mwmj mtm to fdleet 
ttpOD tbe tubjee^ and lo es«t Ua iafliMMQ aa liia 
eD&metiee intghl dictate. 

Since my rcsiJeuoe in MaaMichujtettA, a period of 
Dearly eight years, I had been engruaMeil in my Ihuq* 
neaa, and had never even caitt a vote. Just at thia 
time I wan ap[K)inted, without any Huggv^tion of my 
own, one of the delegates to the whig c«inventi4>o to 
nominate a jierson to repre^nit us — the Ninth Coo- 
grenional Diiitrict — in Congren. Thiji wan to take 
place at Med way, at the upper end of the dmtriet. I 
went accordingly, and on the fintt bnllot, wan the 
highest candidate, mve one — Mr. Hastings, of Men- 
don. I declined of coun»e, and he wo.^ unanimously 

The canvajw tliat ensued was a very anunaled one. 

ftm bkaonr of \h* \n*h pr<>|4«, with tK« md^wfttim \h»y k*J i 

■ftJ tK« maav •muUr mtkd *^rv«*tU« trmiu that k^i ••rvi«««i. mmtki aA 

IIm ca m — whirkt h*<i t»p«rYt*ti u* <itt|fr»tU U««ai 1 hmi»*v UmI my •# 

artetod, mmk^tk % !■■■■■ tmry' iniM •««• tNm ilw ll« 
mm ■•vltw--ftffMMi iy T. C Of— ■, I 


Mr. Van Baren being the democratic candidate for 
the presidency. He was considered as the heir- 
apparent of the policy of Gen. Jackson, and had in- 
deed promised, if elected, to walk in the footsteps of 
his illustrious predecessor. Without the personal 
popularity of that remarkable man, he became the 
target for all the hostility which his measures had 
excited. He was, however, elected, but to be over- 
whelmed with a whirlwind of discontent and oppo- 
sition four years after. 

The candidate for Congress in our district in oppo- 
sition to Mr. Hastings, was Alexander H. Everett, 
who had been hitherto a conspicuous whig, and who 
had signalized himself by the ability and the bitter- 
ness of his attacks on Gen. Jackson and his admin- 
istration. He had singled out Mr. Van Buren for 
especial vehemence of reproach, because, being Secre- 
tary of State at the time, Mr. Everett was superseded 
as Minister to Spain without the customary courtesy 
of an official note advising him of the appointment of 
his successor. To the amazement of the public in gen- 
eral and his friends in particular, on the 8th January, 
1836, Mr. Everett delivered an oration before the de- 
mocracy of Salem, in which — ignoring the most prom- 
inent portion of his political life — he came out with 
the warmest eulogies upon Gen. Jackson and his ad- 
ministration I About the first of May, the precise 
period when it was necessary, in order to render him 
eligible to Congress in the Ninth District, he took up 

wilbiii iti [indjielt, udf ai mm rmJIy 
w«« the ffhamratlc iwmtiilaip km OatMgf^mk. 
The wUir diitrial cotmniuoii, of which 1 wm m^ 
mA Chirk. Bow^ Mr. H^ 

Mt. BTCvelt% two opinioiM of O ie n J 
ipdicgr, Md mpnaXkj of Mr. Yan 
inly oonlmdioliiig the oihor, ud, ui poml of itm, 
hrii^S b«l two or three jmn apan Thk was aiiw 
oriatod over the towna of the dklriot It was a l» 
ffUe doeuneiit^ and Mr. BTerMt fidt iti twee. One 
of them was left at hui own door id the gi*ncnil «lkt- 
tribution. This he took as a peraoDal iit^ult, aiid 
meeting Bowen, knocked him over the head with hw 
umbrella. Bowen clutcheil him br the thruat, and 
would have strangled him but for the timriy intrrfc 
moe of a bystander. 

I had been among Mr. Everett's personal fnend«. 
but he now made me the object of special attjM^k. 

A paper, then conducted by B. F. U , ciivo- 

hUed a good deal in the dinthct, and here, under the 
name of lVl#*r Parley. I wan heven^ly laughed, fnn 
because I was a canduLite i'vr «»fTiiV, but became* I 
was chairman of the whig lii.Htnct eommitux*. I hpc- 
ollect that one day iiomo rathrr scandalous tiiing came 
oatagairi>t rne in iIh* (nhtorial columns of this jimroal, 
and fivlin^? vorv ihliifiiaiit, I went to nee the Mitor. 
I did not know hiin |R*nu*haiiv but frxHii occmMoiiallY 
rrading his paper. 1 had got the idea that be waa a 


very monster of violence and vandalism. He was 
not at the office, but suclt was my irritation and im- 
patience that I went to his house. I rang, and a 
beautiihl black*eyed girl, some eight years old, came 
to the door. I asked if Mr. H. was in ? " Mother," 
said the child, in a voice of silver, "is &ther at 
home?" At this moment another child, and still 
younger — its bullet-pate all over curls — came to the 
door. Then a mild and handsome woman came, and 
to my inquiry she said that her husband was out, 
but would return in a few moments. 

My rage was quelled in an instant " So," said I 
to myself, " these children call that man father, and 
this woman calls him husband. After all, he can not 
be such a monster as I have conceived him — with 
such a home." I turned on my heel and went away, 
my ill-humor having totally subsided. Some two 
years after, I told this anecdote to Mr. H., and we 
had a good-humored laugh over it. Both of us had 
learned to discriminate between political controversy 
and personal animosity. 

The attacks made upon mc during this canvass had 
an effect different from what was intended. I was 
compelled to take an active part in the election, and 
deeming the success of my party essential to my own 
defense, I naturally made more vigorous efforts for that 
object. Mr. Everett was largely defeated, and the whig 
.candidate as largely triumphed. At the same time I 
was chosen a member of the legislature for Boxbury 



»— Jamaica Plain, where I resided, being a parish at 
that town. The next year I was a candidate for the 
senate, in competition with Mr. Everett,* and was 
elected. In this manner I was forced into politics, and 
was indebted mainly to opposition for my success. 

Daring the ensuing session of the legislature, the 
winter of 18S7-8, the femous " Fifteen Gallon Law" 
was passed — ^that is, a law prohibiting the sale of in- 
toxicating liquors in less quantities than fifteen gal- 
lons. The county I represented was largely in favor 
of the measure, and I voted for it, though I was by 
no means insensible to the agitation it was certain to 
produce. I had determined not to be a candidate for 

* Alexander H. Everett was a native of Maftsachusctta, and a younger 
brother of Edward Everett, born in 1790. He studied law in the office 
of John Quincy Adams at Boston, and in 1809 he aceompauied him as 
attach^ in his mission to Kusisia. Mr. Everett's political career clearly 
displays the influence of this early connection with Mr. Admins. Hav- 
ing remained at St. Petersbui^ two years, be returned to the United 
States by way of England, where he spent some months. He now took 
pftrt with the democrats, and wrote against the Hartford Convention and 
in favor of the war. Soon after the peace he was ap[K>inted secretary 
of legation to Governor Eustis, in his mission to the Netherlands. 
Here lie continued several years, the latter part of the time a& chaig^. 
On visiting Brussels in 1824, I called upon hira, and was agreeably im- 
pressed by his fine person and dignified, though cold and distant, man- 
ners. In 1825, he was appointed by his former patron, then President 
of the United States, Minister to Spain, whore he remained till he was 
dismissed by Gen. Jackson. Mr. Everett, having failed of success in 
his attempts to obtain office from the people of Massachusetts, was em- 
ployed by the general government, first as Commissioner to Cuba, and 
afterward to China. He died a few months subsiiqiient to his arrival at 
Canton— that is, in June, 1847. In literature, he held a respectable posi- 
tion, having written several works of learning and ability, and some 
essays of great elegance. In politics, unfortunately, he followed the ex- 
ample of Mr. Adams, in a sudden and startling change of his party, undef 
droamstiinoos which injured his character and impaired his usefulneaa. 


Te-election^ and therefoie considered myself free to 
engage in the discussion which preceded the next 
election, and which, of course, mainly turned upon 
this law. Among other things, I wrote a little pam- 
phlet, entitled " Five Letters to my Neighbor Smith, 
touching the Fifteen Gallon Jug" — the main design of 
which was to persuade the people of Massachusetts 
to make the experiment, and see whether such a re- 
straint upon the sale of intoxicating drinks would 
not be benefioiaL This was published anonymously, 
and my intention was to have the authorship remain 
unknown. It, however, had an enormous sale — ^a 
hundred thousand copies — ^in the course of a few 
months, and curiosity soon guessed me out. 

Now in the village of Jamaica Plain, I had a neigh- 
bor, though not by the name of Smith — a rich liquor 
dealer, who did his business in Boston — a very re- 
spectable man, but a vehement opposer of the Fifteen 
Gallon Law. As the election approached, the citi- 
zens of the State were drawn out in two camps, the 
men of Israel — those in favor of prohibition — on one' 
side, and the Philistines — the men in favor of free 
liquor— on the other. My neighbor was rather the 
Goliath of his party — six cubits and a span, and all 
helmeted in brass — by which I mean that he was the 
wealthiest, the most respectable, and the most valiant 
of all the soldiers of the Philistine camp I He insist- 
ed that by " My Neighbor Smith," I meant him, and 
though I had said nothing disagreeable of that per 

§gt^ IhiI, cm the ooQirmfj, lud drnwn b» pottrwi 

rury amiftlih colon, be told tbst it was ^ 

• persuuml Attack. Is v«iii did f tl«iiy the c^fi£^» 

poinl 10 Um faol lluu Uii? frttxl^HM^ 

■ of my Sfltitiotu bero, were 

f AiuriiftH, tikii Mmwwiirm, to b« ficniciiMt 

nitled upon it that im wm pef«walML 

ki Ibo cotititT OQHTetilioo, wfaodi looli pboi momm 

mmihn prior la ibiii eb^ctiim, I dteliMd htim§ m 

Ckbta. Thi iMmbiff* pi^netit, 

ni&ff tbe i^tbenng Horn, iaftiwj lo i 

and I wan forced to aooept the nomination. Tbe 

election wan to take place on MoikIat, in NoYetnber. 

On the Saturday previous, then* wa« imutni in Bti^u^a 

a pamphlet, entitled the ''Cracked Jog/* a peficKijd 

and }M>Iitiral attack upon me written with gneai mai- 

ice and mniw ability. It was acatterwl hke aouw 

Baketi all uwr the county, and waa, I imapeet^ tbe 

Sunday reiulin^^ of all tht* ttpplem and tavemeri oC 

the county. The >iarnM>m rnticR enter tned it aupe- 

rior to any thinp which hwl ap|>earr<l since tbe k^trm 

oTJuniuji, and ofcuunie cunAidmxl me an annihiUicd. 

On Monday, election day, my family were inaullM 

IB the fitreet4 of Jamaica Plain, and aa I went inio 

tbe town -hall to cai»t my vot«*, I ht*ard abundance of 

gibea cant at me fn»m lieneath lowrnng bemveriL Tbe 

roault wa^ that t)i«*n* maM no ihuKx* <»f m*nalori in 

tbe CL>unty. Thr rleclion, whm ihf |»e*»ple had tb«^ 

fiukxl to fill tbeir plaoea, Ml upon ibe legMlatum, aad 


I WBB chosen. The stonn gradually passed away. 
The fifteen gallon law was repealed, but it nearly 
overturned the whig party in the State, which, being 
in the majority, was made responsible for it* I 
deemed it necessary to reply to my Neighbor Smithes 
Cracked Jug, and he rejoined. What seemed at the 
time a deadly personal struggle, was ere long forgot- 
ten — ^neither party, I believe, carrying, in his charac- 
ter or his feelings, any of the scars inflicted during 
the battle. Both had in some sort triumphed — ^both 

* In thiii election, Edward Everett, who had been governor of the 
State »inoe 18M, and had administered the government with great ano- 
oeaa, was defeated by a single vote, Marcaa Morton, a judge of the Sa- 
preme Conrt, and who had been the standing democratic candidate for 
many years without any seeming prospect of sacoess, being chosen in 
his place. It is an interesting fact that such is the respect for the bal- 
lot, that among a hundred thousand votea, a minority of one was sub- 
mitted to without question or opposition. A gooil anecdote is connect- 
ed with this incident. Governor Morton with his party had opposed the 
encouragement of railroads by the use of the State credit. Nevertheless, 
while he was governor, the branch railroad, running through his own 
K>wn, Taunton, to the thriving and enterprising town of New Bed- 
ford, was completed. This event was to be celebrated by a jubilee at the 
'.atter place, and the governor was invited to be present. The ceremonies 
were to commence at twelve o'clock, but at that hour his excoileuoy 
had not arrived. The whole proceedings were delayed and embar- 
rassed, until just, as the clock was striking one, the governor ap- 
peared. J. H. Clifford, the witty and eloquent State's attorney, so 
universally known for his admirable management of the trial of Dr. 
Webster, the murderer of Parkman, and afterward himself governor of 
the State, immediately rose and offered the following sentiment— 

Oov0mor MortOHy who akoaya geU in by one ! 

It is needless to say that the sentiment, as well as the governor, was 
hailed with acclamation ; and it may be stated incidentally, that, inas- 
much as a railroad had passed through the governor's own town, he, 
and I may add his party, thenceforward were advocates of railroads. 
The next year (1840), in the whirlwind of the Harrison campaign. Gov- 
ernor Morton gave place to ** honest John Davis,'* a nnine known and 
honored throughout the whole United States. 

lnwne Boti been bi!at«ti--bciilt mtiM^ llwafaro|«fbfd 
1^ mmm to Uie atmoilile icJAiuifif of viU^gi 

IwnwiUMMediDlheUailidSlilBiL Ofi 

\ im a Impeili wkiok wm pmoipitaltd i|mi tM 
of hk moiMMf^Mr, Ym Bmh. 
ItaalDnqpIo J* and rain htd 0w«pl OT«r dM 00^ 
iPolTiiigilike the rich «m1 Ikitpoor, in their ■?ahiidhi 

of miseriea In the autumn of this year, the whigi nom- 
inated William Henry Uarriiton, aa the candidate f«>r 
the prenideney, in oppocittion to Mr. V^an Burm. Uc 

• Tb« bankruptcMB thai took |»Um in htmUm ttom Kniiliw 1. 1«M, 
•• UMf IS, 1M7, w«r« oo« htUMlMa and irty-^4<fht iomm ^f v^cy laiyv 
•■MMiot. Abottt Um mom lioM, Um cranli m !K«v Todi »«• f iija, 
baarioir Hovo nuuiy of Ui« ol<l«»l mad w«altliMi»l jipmm ui Uk« «t]». la 
a«« Uri««ii«, la MsT, 1 1^, Ui« IkilarM la two tU^ ■■—■<■ t %» !««»• 
I^<««««ii imlli<*iM of flolUr». A •oaiaiitto* of N«w York. 
tM IVMiUvfit, •tau^l UiAt U»« iUprvcuOiua of rMi — lal» la Ual «My t 
Ibfftjr miUkiCM of 4«Mi*ri in mi% mtmtk^ ! They ako •lalW Ikal !«• ki 
dfoU »o«l iAy failurr* took (4*iO in tk>« apoM o( too ai>alln . Umi 
lUycorirtioo ^4 1^ J stuieli* vmi tw«o'.v aitU««MM, fta4 Um IUU of ai 
aAuuiduM thirty (Mf oaL oitiuo th« mmm fx^noUL TooAty i 
|M««oo*, dependent upoo theif Ubor, oere »aid V» be throan e«t «f e^ 
ployment, at the Mme Ume. The oooimUte* »ided, ** the ^erm ef mm 
raien hMi pcoduoed m «»U«ir deenialioo than the peeUka«e ah^iA 4a 
pop«l*te«l our •ir«>eu, o« the eoate^rmtMm ahich k*d thww la a»ha» ** 
Similar ram vmt^^ «««ni |ttrt vi the I unm \hm poupie. f iiffiirf laao, 
0tBla*. ^MTtuf re^itti-^t.! i. imi>krm\4^ It «»» r»Ut»tmMmi th*t h^f • aM^ 
Han of prrtKWttt «4*r« iu*^> t«affiikni(4 Uj reason i>f ti>e < 
■ta* of t^^ J».<*k»<M) aud \ (kti Hur«ci »>lrutfiMtraLi om Ha 
|koa**a>i* « f p«r»*«a. .ir«ii!at« uf en«pU.«tiacnt, ax>>i aie 
«# bcaad, f«j«nd re^irf >» •■•uuif the UUrrvMMt prtu-eaeiMfta mkI f« 


bad held various civil and military trusts, in which 
he had displayed courage, wisdom, and patriotism. 
His personal character was eminently winning to the 
people, being marked with benevolence and simpli- 
city. He had long retired firom public life, and for 
several years had lived as a farmer on the " North 
Bend" of the Ohio^ near Cincinnati. The democrats 
ridiculed him as drinking hard cider and living in a 
log cabin. The masses, resenting this as coming from 
those who — ^having the government spoils — were riot- 
ing in the White House on champagne, took these 
gibes, and displayed them as their mottoes and sym- 
bols upon their banners. They gathered in barns, as 
was meet for the friends of the farmer of North Bend, 
using songs and speeches as flails, threshing his ene- 
mies with a will. The spirit spread over mountain and 
valley, and in every part of the country, men were 
seen leaving their customary employments to assem- 
ble in multitudinous conventions. Many of these 
gatherings numbered twenty thousand persons. 

During this animated canvass, I was not a candi- 
date for office, yet I took part in the great movement, 
and made about a hundred speeches in Massachusetts 
and Connecticut. Everybody, then, could make a 
speech,* and everybody could sing a song. Orators 

* A speech maker, in the westeni part of the State of Virginia 
daring the canvass, has given us the following anecdote. He was hold- 
ing forth upon the merits of Oen. Harrison, and especially upon his 
ooarage, taot, and saooeae as a military commander. While in the midbt 
of his discoane, a tall, gannl man — who was probably a schoolmaster in 

S68 LBrnott — ^bioo&^phioal, 

sprang np like mnshiooma, and the gift of tongaes 
uraa not moie univenal than the gift of musia 
Towna, cities, and villages, were enlivened with 
torch-light processions and with long, bannered phal* 
anxes, shouting for the hero of Tippecanoe I The 
result of the election was such as might have been 
anticipated — a most emphatic rebuke by the people 
of that policy which had spread disaster and ruin 
over the country — ^by the election of Harrison, giving 
him two hundred and thirty-four votes, leaving only 
sixty for Van Buren I The death of Harrison, how- 
ever, which took place thirty days after he had en- 

thofte parts — arose from the crowd, and said, in a voice which penetrated 
the whole aasembly — 

" Mi»ter— Mioter ! I want to ax yoa a qaestion.'* To this the orator 
aaeented, and the man went on as follows : 

** We are told, fellow -citizens, that Oineral Harrison is a mighty great 
gineral ; but I say he^s one of the very meanest sort of ginerals. We 
are told here to-night, that he defended himself bravely at Fort Meigs ; 
bat I tell you that on that oocaKion he was guilty of the Umall Thil 
Matementj and I challenge the orator here present to deny it I** 

The speaker declared his utter ignorance of what the intruder meant 
by " Small Tail Movement" 

" ni tell you," said the man ; " I've got it here in black and white 
Here is Grimshaw's History of the United States^^holding up the book 
— *' and ril read what it says : ' At this critical moment, Gen. Harrison 
executed a novel movement !' Does the gentleman deny thatf* 

"No: goon." 

" Well, he executed a novtl movement. Now, here's Johnson's dio- 
tionary" — taking the book out of his pocket and holding it up—" and 
here it says : * Novkl— a small tali P And this was the kind of movement 
Gen. Harrison was guilty of Now, Pm no soger, and don't know muoh 
of milentury tictacks — but this I do say : a man who, in the face of an 
enemy, is guilty of a SmaU Tail Movement^ is not fit to be President of 
the United States, and he shan't have my vote 1" 

The relator of the anecdote says that it was quite impossible for him 
to overcome the effect of this speech, and we are IsfV to conclude tliat 
the vote of that vicinity was given to Van B'rvn. 


tered upon the duties of his office, with consequent 
divisions among the leading members of the whig 
party, at Washington, deprived the country of nearly 
the whole benefit due to a change so emphatically 
pronounced by the voice of the people. 

From this period, I have taken no active part 
m politics. In reviewing the past — while duly ap- 
preciating the honor conferred by the confidence 
bestowed upon me by the citizens who gave me their 
suffrages, I still regard my political career as an un- 
profitable, nay, an unhappy episode, alien to my lit- 
erary position and pursuits, and every way injurious 
to my interests and my peace of mind. It gave me 
painful glimpses into the littleness, the selfishness, the 
utter charlatanism* of a large portion of those poli- 
ticians who lead, or seem to lead, the van of parties ; 
and who, pretending to be guided by patriotism, are 

* For example : while I was in the Senate, and the Fifteen Oallon 
prohibitory law was under discnssion, many people came mto the lobby 
to listen to the debates, which excited great interest. Among these was 
a very respectable man from my own county of Norfolk. He asked me 
how 1 WAS going to vote. I replied that 1 had hardly made up my mind, 
and asked his opinion as to what I ought to do. He strongly enjoined 
it upon me to vote for the measure, saying that the public mind gener- 
ally was prepared for it, and tliat in our county, especially, the sentiment 
in favor of it was overwhelming. And yet, at the next election this very 
man was a candidate against me, on the ground thai he uhu in favor of 
the repeal of the law. lie insisted that it was an extreme measure ; and 
although he was a temperance man — God forbid that he should bo any 
thing else— he still thought it would do harm to the good cause ! There- 
fore he contended for its repeal, and the substitution of some milder 
course 1 This man was a type of a very numerous class, whose princi- 
ples flaotuate with the tide of public opinion, and the chances which 
arise for riding into office. 


usually only riding issues, principles, platforms, as ser- 
vile hobbies which may carry them into office. As 
some compensation for this, it has also led me to a 
conviction that the great mass of the people are gov- 
erned by patriotic motives — ^though even with these 
I often noted curious instances in which the public 
interests were forgotten in a desire to achieve some 
selfish or sinister end.* 

* About these dayi, in a oeitftin town not fur from Boeton, there wu 
a large fiunily, of Mveral generationB, by the name of Cpp. At one of 
the electiona for mem ben to represent the place in the General Conrt, it 
appeared that among the votes distribated at the polls were a large 
number for William Cpp, and the whole family were present, like 
swarming bce8, actively engaged in promoting his election. One of 
them came, up to the person who told mc the story, and asked him to 
vote for William. He naturally desired to know the reiisou for such a 
measure, and the more particularly as he had never heard of any pecu- 
liar claims or qualifications, for the office in question, which the said 
William possessed. **Well," said the Cpp, "Til tell you how 'Us. 
William's got a little behindhand, and wants to shingle his bam. This 
will cost about a hundred dollars. Now, if he can go to the General 
Court one session, he'll save a hundred dollars, and so, yon see, he can 
shingle his bam I" I have seen a good deal of this bam-shingling, even 
in New England. 



hitmoHonal copifright^Mr, Diekmuft i^uian— Bit failure and kU r»- 
«M^»— 7%d Botton CbntenHon— Inquiry into ths han$ of copfright— 
Fofundsd in abtobUeJuttwe^What i§ property f— Grounds ^pon which 
ifatemmerU proUcU proptrtf—Butory of oopyright^PrsufU state qf 
copjfright law—PcUejf ths basis <f heal eopfpriglU low—JiUsmaUonal 
Oopffrighi demanded by justiesSekmns for Intsmatumal Oopyrigki' 
with Oreai Britain — Bsasonsfor U, 

Mt deab O****** 

In the winter of 1842, Mr. Charles Dickens ar- 
rived in Boston, where he was received with open 
arms. A complimentary dinner* was got up for him, 
and fine speeches were made by many of the first 
citizens, all in a strain of welcome to the distin- 
guished stranger. The ball thus set in motion rolled 
over the country, and wherever Mr. Dickens went, he 
was received in a similar manner — that is, with wel- 
come, with feasting, with compliments. I remember 

* TbiD dinner took place on the Ist of February, 1842. It was deemed 
a matter of aaffioient importance to have the whole proceedings — 
apeeches, letters, and toasta — reported, and pabliithed in a book. In 
the light of the present day, many of these — though sparkling with wit 
and good feeling— are rather calculated to make us regret the whole 
occasion. The strain of compliment was excessive ; it set an example 
which, in this respect, was copied elsewhere — and the object of all this 
blunt adulation, as we now know, laughed at it in his sleeve at the 
time, and openly afterward, when he bad got safe back to England. 
This should be a lesson to us for all future time. Foreigners will judge 
us somewhat according to their own standard. They regard all exces- 
sive demonstrations of the kind here alluded to us proceedin(^ either 
from snobbery, or a desire to exhibit themselves, on the part of the 
leaders. They are, therefore, rather disgusted than oondliated by these 
overdone attentions. 

iiiir^ iecti him at ocm of thm PnAidc<il'# 
AfaftoD, there being wmmbj Airtiegiiiiheii 
eeii— WaihtDgtoQ Inring, tbft Earl ot Cbrlkli, Jb. 
m w«Te icpIaIIj' aqgliciri, while m erowd of miv 
himiring iilkmetii kmaimg a go i fwitt* tnia 
r woowo aad bnve iii«tt, fUttawwl behtiMl Mr. 
L IMckeaa. Ttmj wwt, in inith, th« obeomd 
1 appeared in Iba teniae), that the aalhor if ^ifc- 
httd iiiiiiil Ihe Atlutto for a donUt | 
*M a book, and to obtaia iatenaijoiial eopf* 
right In the first he succeeded, in the latter he 
Ikiled. Since that time, howevrr, the nubject of in- 
ternational copyright h&A been a theme of animated 
diBCUiision in thin country, and hast even been ma«le 
a matter of diplomatic conference Unweeo Grrmi 
Britain and the United Statea. A treaty hai berc^, 
I believe, actually agreed u(>on between the agents «>f 
the two govemmentii, for the purpose of e»tabliahiDic 
international copyright, but it hoM never been con 
aummated . the subject was referrvtl to the Senate, 
and there it has remaine<l in («U9|H*nse for the lart 
two yrarn. 

You will, no doubt, ex{)ect me, in giving my wc- 
ollections, to say something u|»on this subject 1 
oou I, iniKtii, limnlly {^ass it oviT. I beg, however, 
in^teu«l of >%nli!i^: a Ufw i-KKav U|H>n the subject 
to C4»py what I wrote about llirre yean aijo, at 
the request of a senator in Congrcaai bat wbieh 


Dever forwarded. With slight modifications, it was 
as follows : 

iNTXieirATioKAL ooPTRioHT Is altogether a modem idea. The 
conception appears to have heen formed, or at least matured. 
ahoQt twenty years ago, when the sahject of a revision of the 
law of copyright was hefore the British Parliament.* At that 

* The lint English parliamentuy statute in regard to copyright, is 
that of QUeen Anne, ▲. d. 1710, giving copyright to the anthor for 
twenty-one years, and if he be living at the expiration of this time, for 
the residue of his life. By subsequent acts, this period was extended to 
twenty-eight years. The movement above alluded to, which commenced 
in 1887, and in which Talfourd took a leading part, aimed at extending 
the protection to forty-two years, which, after about two years of consid ' 
eration, became and remains the law of Great Britain on this subject If 
the author shall have died before the expiration of the forty-two yean*, 
the heirs may have an extension of the time for seven years fV-om the 
date of his death. 

During the discussion which ensued, the subject of copyright wim 
viewed in every possible light. A large number of petitions was pre- 
sented to Parliament in behalf of increased protection ; among them was 
one from Thomas Hood, in which the following passages occur: 

" That your petitioner is the proprietor of certain copyrights, which 
the law treate as copyhold, but which in justice and equity should be 
his freehold. He cannot conceive how * Hood*s Own,^ without a cbanjjre 
in the title-deed as well as the title,, can become * Everybody's Own' 

" That cheap bread is as desirable and necessary as cheap boolcs, but 
it hath not yet been thought just or expedient to ordain that after a 
certain number of crops, all cornfields shall become public property. 

'* That as a man's kairt belong to his head, so his head should belong 
to his h^s; whereas, on the contrary, your petitioner hath ascertained, 
by a nice calculation, that one of his principal copyrights will expire on 
the same day that his only son should come of age. The very law of 
nature protests against an unnatural law, which compels an author to 
write for everybody's posterity except his own." 

Among these petitions is one from John Smith, bookseller of Glasgow, 
who says that about the year 1820, he wrote an essay in behalf of per- 
petual copyright, as demanded by justice and equity. I have seen uo 
assertion of this principle prior to this date. 

The earliest direct advocacy of international copyright that I have met 
with, is by John Neal, in the ** Yankee," 1888. 


(leriod, the leading anthore of Gh-eat Britain combined to obtain 
an extension of the privileges of authorship. In the coone of 
the discussion, it was suggested that anthers had an abeolnte 
right to the ose and behoof of the products of their labor — and 
consequently that British anthors might claim copyright, not 
only in Great Britain, bnt in all other countries Having ob- 
served that the American market absorbed a \tsry largi amount 
of popular Eng^h literature, an eager desire sprang up among 
the principal British writers to annex the United States to Great 
Britain in this matter of copyright. Accordingly, a general act 
was passed by Parliament, to the effect that the privileges of the 
copyright laws in the Three Kingdoms should be granted to all 
countries which should extend to Great Britain the privileges of 
their copyright laws. In this state of things, Mr. Dickens catne 
to America to consummate an international arrangement on 
this subject. His writings being exceedingly popular here, it 
was deemed that we could hardly resist a demand, regarded as 
reasonable iu it.self, and urged by a universal favorite, who might 
add to the requisitions of justice the argument and the feeling of 
personal gratitude to himself. 

As you are aware, Mr. Dickens^s mission proved abortive, and 
he took Iiis revenge upon us by his Notes on America, in which 
he plucked out the feathers of the American Eagle, and then 
called it a very unclean bird. It is quite as easy to explain his 
failure as his anger. The demand of International Copyright 
was suddenly made and rudely enforced. Mr. Dickens brou^it 
with him letters and petitions to individuals, to Oougress, and to 
the American people — frum eminent British authors, some of 
them couched in offensive terms, and demanding copyright on 
the i)rinciple of absolute justice. In order to carry the point at a 
blow, the whole British press burst upon us with the cry of thiet 
robber, pirate, because we did precisely what was then and had 
been done everywhere— we reprinted books not protected by 
copyright! We resemble our ancestors, and do not like to be 
bullied. The first effect, therefore, of this demand thus urged, 

aiSTOJaOAL, ANlfiCDOrriUAL, KTC. 359 

WM resentment;* to this, reflection added apprehension. Abont 
this time there was a OonTention in Boston of persons interested 
in the production of books : booksellers, printers, paper-makers^ 
type-foonders, book-binders, and others connected with the book 
mann&etore. Their chief object was to petition Congress for a 
modification of the tariff— a reoonstmction of the entire tariff 
system being then under consideration — so as to afford addi- 
tional protection to their yarious interests; but, alarmed at 
the demand of the British authors, they took the occasion to 
remonstrate, earnestly, against this proposed intemationa] 

Discussion of coarse followed, and has been continued to the 
present time. Authors in the United States have generally 
fiiYored the measure; booksellers and publishers resisted it for a 
time, but many of them now favor it. The manufiicturing in- 
terests connected with the book-trade have generally opposed it. 

* Various ciroumstanoes conspired to aggravate this feeling. Mr. 
Carlyle compared oar reprinting British books, without copyright, to 
Rob Boy^s cattle-stealing; while at the same time Briti^th pnblishcrM 
had done and continued to do the same thing in respect to American 
books. The British government had indeed offered to go into a mataal 
interchange of copyright law, but in the mean time their publishers 
went on reprinting American works, without compensation, as before. 
Their position, therefore, was only this : tA^y would Hop thieving when we 
would; and the eondiiion qf their giving vp what theyheld to be piracy^ was 
a hargain in which they would get a thousand pounds^ where we should ob- 
tain perhaps a hundred ! And still again : one of the last actM of Mr. 
Dickens, before he left England on his mission, was the reproduction 
in his "Pic-nic Papers'' of the Charcoal Sketches of Joseph C. Neale, of 
Philadelphia, not only without copyright, but concealing the name of 
the author, and merely saying that " it was fh>m an American source'* 
— leaving the impression that it was originally written for his book I In 
addition to all this, reflecting men saw that this claim of international 
copyright was chiefly based on principles of absolute and universtJ 
right, which were repudiated, not only by the local copyright hiw of 
Qreat Britain, but that of all other civilized countries. These were hin- 
drances to the immediate passage of any international copyright in this 
country, because they created a prejudice against it as well as fear of it » 
consequences. But these difficulties are now past, and it is time to con- 
sider the sabjeot in a calmer and wiser spirit 


80 fiur as the people at large are conoemed, I believe that a great 
majority also take an nn&Torable view of the scheme. 

Now, where is the right of this question f What ought we 
lo do ? What onght onr goTemment to do ? 

I^ as has been and is asserted, the abstract right of the aatlior 
to the frnit of his labor Is abeolnte, and if goyemments reoognixe 
the obligation to protect all abstract rights, then the question is 
settled: Justice, morality, conscieoce, and usage require us to 
give what is asked. In this state of the case, we have no right 
to consider what Is conyenient or expedient; we must yield, 
whatever may be the coni^uence, to a claim which rests upon 
such foundations. 

Let us then inquire, first, is this abstract claim of absolute 
right, on the part of authors, well founded ; and, second, do 
governments recognize the obligation to protect and enforce all 
such abstract rights ? 

It is indisputable that the author has just as good, and in fact 
the same right, to the use and behoof of the jfruit of his labor, 
as the farmer and the mechanic. In general, it may be said, 
that what a man makes is his, and that if it is valuable to him 
and useful to the community, he is entitled to protection in the 
possession of it The farmer produces corn, the cabinet-maker 
a chair, the wheelwright a cart. The right of the producers of 
these things to use them, sell them, to control them, absolutely, 
according to their will and pleasure, is so familiar to the mind 
as to seem self-evident. 

The author asks to be put upon the same footing. He writes 
a book ; in its first stage it is in manuscript. To this his claim 
Is undeniable; but it is a barren right, for in this condition 
it is unproductive of value. It consists of material signs — 
letters, words, sentences — conveying ideas. It is susceptible of 
being copied and multiplied by print, and these copies can be 
sold, and a reward for the author's labor may be thus realized. 
The value of the author's work, therefore— that is, the means of 
obtaining compensation for his labor — ^lies in selling copies of it; 


Mid what be claims is the right, and the exdasive right, thns ti> 
copy his book— ^r, in other words, copyright. The commoditj 
of the anthor, as wdl as the method of recompense, are different 
from those of the farmer, bat his dahn to the frnit of his labor 
rests on the same principle. The fi&rmer^s commodity is his com. 
and he claims the right to control it; the author's commodity is 
copyright, and he claims the right to control it The fiirmer's 
property is corporeal, the author's, incorporeal ; bnt the right 
to the one is the same as that to the other. No ingennity 
has been able to sliow any distinction whatever between the 
principle on which the anther's copyright is fonnded, and that 
on which the farmer's ri^t to his crop is fbnnded.* 

* VariooB suggestions have been urged against this ; it has been said 
that the author's right consists of two things — his manuscript and his 
ideas ; the one material, the other incorporeal. His claim to tlie first is 
valid, and remains with him, bat he parts with the otlier by publication. 
This objection is fully answered by a suggestion already made, that it 
is only by the power to control the copying of bis work, that an author 
can obtain compensation for his labor. 

Another suggestion has been made by Mr. H. C. Carey, to this effect, 
that a book consists of two parts — fiicts and ideas, wliicli he culls the 
body, and the language, which he considers the clotliing. Now, he 
says, foots and ideas are old, and have become common property ; they 
are like a public fountain — common to all — and for this portion of his 
work the anthor can daim no reward : all he can ask compensation for 
b the language in which he has clothed these facts and ideas. 

Now there are two objections to this : one is as to the fact on which tliis 
theory is founded, and the other in respect to the inferences drawn fh>m 
it. Mr. Carey has written some clever works on Political Economy ; he 
may say that there is nothing new in these, and that his only merit lies 
in having put old ideas into new language, but the public will not agree 
with him in this. The public will not agree that there is nothing new 
in the facts and ideas of the histories of Prescott, Bancroft, and Ma- 
canlay ; in the romances of Cooper and Scott; in the poetry of Words- 
worth and Byron ; in the delightful travels of Bayard Taylor, and the 
inspired song of Hiawatha. Indeed, there has probably been no age 
of the world, in which literature has been so highly original, in its 
fiu^ and ideas, as during this particular portion of time, wnicn Mr. 
Oarey considers as wholly barren and unproductive of thought. 

His inferences seem as illogical as his premises are unsound. If «iinan 
makes salt from the sea, which is a common reservoir, is *hat a reasoc 

Vol. n.- 16 

UmU b}' fiu^ the UiXBT |>urtiuu of it, thn»agiK>at the «uHd« i* mA 
la th« bai)ii« uf tli« prtMluoenL* Tb« |»rQwot dirtribatiuci u^ bad. 
In an ooantrien, bM bMO iiumI« to a ^reat eitmt bj «k4rffior« 
by onnqocat, n«iiq»atk>n, robbrrr. Ttx* fonmiatkiCM i/tKt fnHU 
tiUtfM thn>uKb«>at Kan»|i«« if that of might aod ik4 cf righL 
And Iwnce It b impiMabW to bana tha klca of profiartT. vbtrli 
fOTamnMOt act nail j doca prt>(crt, on abatnict rifht. 
looking at the great authorities ou thk Mil(^rt — Ciearu, I 
OroCioa, Moot«M)aieQ, liUrkatuoe— iha idea U tracvabW thmayk 
tbani all, that property i» m pttrntmi^m ^ttordimg Ca imt. TWr 
•n admit that there b »Qch a tiling ae abetract rigftit, naif ■! 
right, and inebl npon it« and npuo thb ti»ej base «ba& b < 

vby be »h*U not bev« ouui|4«U <n«ttml of th« pcudwcc oi k» leliae f A 
nMB hm ft ngbt Ui U*« fhiit of bU UmJ . tb« p^Ute omj m»4 Vkl At • 
^fWt epoA hi* ^>roiitt<o, •ooordiittf to ll»« >n»oam o< Wbot, •ktA. •»! 
eipitol b«Mo«*a, but U>«7 m«j imM Un> bis r.^bt to I^mb, m tmm^immxm 
tlMflt or any poritoo f>t th*m. If 4 oma um* 6i>X i^mmm^ Um p«Mm viS 
itvw\l btm •oeuraitafif, bet it U bo MYmevnl in b«4*^r of «iea>ui^ Imb 
IIm rigbt to mU •Kai h« bM fiTuilui^a. fur •Uat U MA c«4. 

* TWr* Arc u<cb«r Divide* ufao^ uutii-o, m dt»<v««f7, biifcti^, Ad^eig« 
vbid. e»fT> liM MiM ngbl oT prai— jqb, et ect«eA yei JiiUM bf 


oommon law ; but yet no one lays down the principle that 
abstract ri^t or natural rig^t is either a complete and perfect 
right, in itself or that it is essential to the idea of property. 

8nch is authority, as we find it, with the conservatives ; there 
b a new school which denies this individual right, and claims 
every thing for society. Bentham lends some countenance to 
this : he denies altogether the doctrine of abstract rig^t as the 
foundation of property, and insists that in its prindple it is 
the gift of law. What the law gives a man is his : nothing else. 
Proudhon goes further, and declares that *^ property is robbery** 
— in other words, not only is the present distribution of prop- 
erty the result of artifice, fi*and, violence, but, in the nature of 
things, property belongs to the community, and not to Individ- 
nals. According to him, a man who appropriates a th big to 
hb own use and behoof, robs society of what belongs to them * 

* Nothing is more opposed to manV inHtinots than the negation of 
his individnality, implied by Commnnisn. A man feels that he is a 
being, in himself; that he has the right to act and think independent- 
ly, and of and for himself. It is this individnality, this independence, 
which gives value, meaning, responsibility, to his conduct. Commu- 
nism overturns this idea : this regards mankind as grouped into socio- 
ties, each society being like a tree, of which the individual person is but 
a leaf; or like the madrepores — a myriad of little insects living in the 
fibres of a sort of animal-plant rooted to a rock — all breathing, all 
nourished, all acting, with one nervous system, one consciousness, one 
sensorium. This is phalansterianism ; here is the root of Proudhon^s 
apothegm — as every thing belongs to society, it is robbery for an indi- 
vidual to appropriate any thing to himself. Nevertheless, in looking 
at civilized sodety, in all ages, we find something of this communism ; 
that is to say, we find that mankind, living together in oommnnities, 
give up at least a portion of their abstract rights, and agree to be governed 
by laws which take into view the highest good of all. Thus society is a 
compromise, in which both the principle of individual rights, accord- 
ing to Blaokstone, and communal rights, according to Proudhon, are 
recognised. The rule was laid down neariy two thousand years sgo — 
Do to amotker a* you would have another do to you, and we are not likely 
to get a better. That regards man as a being of intellect, conscience, 
and responsibility, and bound to seek his own happiness by promoting 
the happiness of others. That is Christianity, which is above Commu- 
nism ~ though the latter has certainly taught us, in some respects. 


Thus yagne, oonfhsed^ and contradictory are the ideas which 
attach to the principle of property, even among the kamed. 
The &ct certainly is, that in its distrihntion very little reepeot 
has heen paid to abstract rights. Nearly all laws, by all gov- 
emments, from the Romans downward, have been based npon 
considerations of policy, or what they call the pnblic good. 
Some deference has no donbt been pwd to the common in- 
stincts of men, and as Justice is one of these, the theory of 
abstract rights has been recognized ; bat yet how rarely have 
kings, and princes, and potentates molded their laws or thdr 
acts in obedience to the rights of man.* 

better bow to carry out the aims of Christianity. An a aystem, it in 
fallaoioas; as having developed instructive facta, it has contributed 
largely to civilization. 

* The idea, ao familiar now, that a man has a right to the A-uit of his 
labor, i» after all of rather modern date. So long as governments could 
compel men to plow, sow, reap, and thus feed society — by holding them 
in slavery — so long this was practiced all over Europe. A fundamental 
idea of the feudal system was, that the hind- workers wore viUaifutj and 
belonged either to the soil or to the lord of the manor, and were trans- 
ferred, in purchase and sale, as such. In England, in 1860, ** the Stat- 
ute of Laborers" punished workmen who left their usual abodes, by 
being branded in the foreheads with the letter F. ; it required persons 
not worth forty shillings to dress in the coarsest russet cloth, and to bo 
B«r\-ed once a day " with meat, fish, or the offal of other victuals." In 
1461, the king of France ordained that "the good &t meat should be 
•old only to the rich, and the poor should be confined to the buying o. 
lean and stinking meat" 

During these periods, laborers who removed from place to place must 
have letters- potent granting them this privilege, or be put in the stocks. 
In 1406, children of poor parents must be brought up in the trade or call- 
ing of their parents. These absurd and iniquitous laws did not cease 
till the time of Charles II. ; indeed, so late as 1775, the colliers of Scot- 
land were considered as belonging to the collieries in which they had 
been accustomed to work ! 

The source of this system was a desire on the part of the capitalists 
to compel the laborers to work for them as slaves ; it was the conspi- 
racy of capital against free labor ; nor was it abandoned until it was 
discovered by the governments that this system of compulsory or slave 
labor was unprofitable. Policy, necessity indeed, dictated the protec- 
tion of labor, and it is in pursuance of this policy for some two hun- 


If we look at the history of copyright, we thAll see that 
anthora have been, from the beginniog, treated aooording to 
these principles of government — ^which shape all things witL a 
primary and controlling regard to policy or the pnblic good. 
Knowledge is power, and this was as well understood by the 
despotisms of the middle ages as it is by those of the present 
day. They sought therefoie to keep it in their own hands. 
When the art of printing was discovered, some fonr centuries 
ago, and threatened to diffuse knowledge among the masses of 
mankind, the governments became alarmed, and immediately 
subjected it to supervision and restraint. 

Hitherto the right of copy had been worthless to the author; 
his works could only be reproduced by the pen, and writing for 
publication was never practiced. Now a mighty change in his 
portion had taken place : the press multiplied hb works as by 
magic. A new idea, a new interest, was thus created. Man- 
kind had already learned to prize books : a copy of the Bible 
would command the price of a farm. The power to multiply and 
vend copies of books, was seen at once to be a mighty power. 
This was naturally claimed by the printer as to old works, and 
as to new ones, by the author. Thus arose the notion of copy- 
right — the direct result of the .discovery of the art of printing. 
Tet it does not appear that this natural, abstract, absolute right 
of authors was at all regarded. They were, in fiust, looked 
upon with suspicion ; the press was deemed by governments 
as wen as the people, a device of the devil. Kings, princes, 
and potentates, therefore, immediately seized upon it, not as 
a thing to be encouraged, but to be dreaded, watched, restrain- 
ed. They suppressed whatever was offensive, and licensed 
only what was approved. This license was a grant of the 
sovereign, and it was the first form of actual copyright. It 
was founded on privilege alone. The licenses granted were du- 
ring the lifetime of the author, or in perpetuity, according to the 

dred yean that the right of a man to the fruit of his labor has oome to 
be regarded as an axiom in all truly civilized coontries. 


good pleasnre of the king. These were deemed property, and 
were hooght and sold as saoh. Thus oopyright, in its origin, 
was the gift of goTemment, or in other words, of the law. 

This was the practice of aU dviliaed goTemments. In Fhmoe, 
the ordinance of MonUns, in 1666, a decree of Oharks IX., in 1671, 
and a patent of Henry III^ oonstitated the ancient law on this 
snlject. The king always regarded himself as at liberty to grant 
or reftise the license, and to impose such conditions and restric- 
tions as he pleased. Generally the right of the anthor was per- 
petual, unless he assigned it to a bookseller, in which case it was 
thrown open to the publio at Us death. 

The early history of copyright was similar to this, in En^and. 
It was illegal to print a book without the government imprima- 
tur. This continued to be the law until the time of Queen 
Anne, when a general law — 1710 — was passed, giving the au- 
thor an interest of twenty-one years in his work. 

Thus it appears that for nearly three hundred years after the 
origin of printing, copyright rested upon privilege granted by 
the crown. During the latter part of this period it had become 
&miliar to the mind that the farmer and the mechanic were 
entitled to the use and behoof of the fruits of their labor. These 
held their right at common law ; but no such right was accord- 
ed to the author, nor was he permitted to print and sell his 
book, but by license, by privilege. Even so late as 1774, and 
long after the passage of a general act on this subject, the House 
of Lords, upon solemn abjudication, decided that the right of an 
author to his copy was the gift of the statute, and not one flow- 
ing from principles of justice. This doctrine has been substan- 
tially affirmed by the recent decision in England — that of the 
House of Lords reversing Lord Campbell's opinion. 

And one thing more is to be regarded, that when more liberal 
ideas had begun to prevail — when the anthor was emancipated 
from the censorship, and his claims were based on a general law, 
and not on privilege — the perpetual right of copy was taken away, 
and it was limited to twenty-one years I Since that time the 


BQinber ot aathors has increased, and the press has risen into 
a voifjbty interest, and yet, to this day, in no oonntry on the 
faoe of the c^obe, is the author placed on the fix>ting of the 
farmer and the mechanic : these e^joy, by the common law, and 
the acknowledged principles of Justice, the absolute right to 
their products, whUe the author has only a limited protection, 
dependent entirely upon the statute. The present copyri|^t 
laws of all dTilized goyemments are neaiiy the same; except in 
Great Britain, the United States, and a fbw other countries, the 
press is under a censorship, the governments suppressing what 
they chooee : the protection giyen is generally for about forty- 
two years, after which time, the works of authors are thrown 
open to the public 

It is thus obyious that fix>m the beginning to the present time, 
the fundamental idea of copyright in all countries has been and 
is, that protection in the enjoyment of it is the gift of statute 
law— of an enactment of government. Nowhere does it rest 
on abstract right ; in no country is the doctrine recognized tliat 
an author has the same right to the fruit of Ids labor, as has 
the £Ekrmer or the mechanic to the fruit of his. Material prop- 
erty everywhere b protected by conunon law: everywhere is 
literary property the gift of statute law. 

And yet, International Copyright is urged by its advocates, 
upon principles of abstract justice, principles of common law, 
principles rejected in the practice of every civilized government 
on the &ce of the globe ! 

It is, I think, one of the great misfortunes of this question, 
that it has been thus placed on a false basis, and for this obvi- 
ous reason, that where a claim rests on principles of justice, 
the denial of it implies moral obliquity. In such a case, hard 
names, harsh epithets, bitter feelings, are likely to be engen- 
dered : irritation rather than conviction . is the result. What- 
ever may be the abstract right of the matter, the fact is, that all 
governments have hitherto founded local copyright on policy 
alone. When, therefore, the people of Great Britain ask us to 


enter into a parinorBhip of international oopyri^t, we very nat- 
orally test the question by the principles which govern them, an 
well as other civiliied nations, in dealing with local copyright 
If they call us pirates, because we reprint books not secured bj 
copyright, it is inevitable that we retort by saying that they do 
the same. If they say, we are holier than thou, because we 
oSkit you international copyright, we are tempted to reply, 
that in the mean time your attitude is no better than this : yon 
say to us— ^^ We will stop stealing when yon do, and not before I" 
If th^ insist that we are robbers hi not giving cc^yright to 
Mr. Dickens, because no law protects him at the distance of 
three thousand miles — ^we reply that yon are robben, because 
you give no copyright to the heirs of Dryden, or Pope, or Swift, 
or Scott, or Chalmers, nor do you give copyright to anybody 
4rfter a lapse of about /orty-ttDO years. 

All this we have said, and with some show of reason, and yet 
I think, if the subject be fiiiriy considered, it still leaves us in a 
false position. Though, it may be, and no danbt is, trae that 
all governments liave denied the claim of the anthor to an ab- 
solute and perpetual right of copy, still no civilized government 
has assumed that he has no claim. All suoh governments iMte 
in fact given him a limited protection, and this has been gradual- 
ly extended with the increase of light and justice among tncmkind. 

If we scrutinize the motives of governments in the mora 
recent legislation on this subject, we are at no loss to discover 
that these consist of two considerations : one is, that the an- 
thor, like every other laborer, is worthy of his hire; as he 
contributes to the public amusement and instruction, he is en- 
titled to compensation ; and the other is, that it is for the pub- 
Uc good to encourage those who thus promote the happiness of 
society. Here, then, the right of the author to the fruit of his 
toil, is at least partially recognized ; society admita it, but in un- 
dertaking to protect him in this right, society assumes the liberty 
of prescribing certain conditions in view of tlie public good. As 
it might tend to limit the beneficent influence of genius, and to 


restrain the full light of literature in after-times, to entafl npoa 
the author and npon his heirs, forever, the ezclosiYe control of 
his works, it has been deemed best to limit that control to a pe- 
riod of about forty-two years. 

This is, I think, the theory of local copyright law, among 
the most enlightened nations of the present day. Now, let 
ns Americans consider onr position in relation to living Brit- 
ish authors. Their books come among us; they are published 
and circulated among us. Tou and I and everybody read them, 
and profit by thenu And do we pay the author any thing for 
all this? Not a fiirthing; nay, when he asks us for compensa- 
taon, we say to him, you live three thousand miles ofE^ and the 
laws of honesty and morality do not extend so fiir I 

Now^ is that an honorable position ? Is it an extenuation to 
say that other people do this ? Does it not enhance the un- 
fairness of our conduct to consider that the British government 
stands ready to remedy this wrong? 

Let ns suppose that two farmers live on opposite banks of a 
river ; and it occasionaUy happens that their flocks and herds 
cross this stream, and stray into the neighboring grounds. What 
is the true principle of conduct between these two parties : is 
it that each shaU confiscate to his own use the property that 
thus strays into his premises ? That certainly is a barbarous 
practice. But suppose one says to the other, ^* I am satisfied 
this is wrong — ^let us come to an understanding : if yon will re- 
store to me such of my flocks and herds as stray into your 
grounds, I will do the same to you, and thus peace and justice 
will be established between us." And let us suppose that the 
other refuses this reasonable proposition, and says, ^* No ; we 
have both been accustomed to this kind of stealing, and I am 
determined to continue it." Is not this fieurmer in the wrong ? 

And in our refusal to make British authors any compensation, 
are we not in the precise attitude of this ungenerous farmer 1 

The truth undoubtedly is, that in refusing International Copy- 
right altogether, we are wrong : we cannot vindicate ourselves 

•Bd Um AmcrioMi aatbor •bah avaU hluiMlf U the BnuMi cofr^- 
rigbt law. In \hm woom^ Um two ouootrka wuoM b» iKfowa 
faito one nwrkeC^ avaikbW oo th« hud* Utum to th« A«tl»uns 
pablkhen^ tiid bookselWm of «k4i. 

For tnjteIC it M«mi hArdljr worth wbiW MriooJjr to A icwii 
Meb A »chMiM m thK mmI for lh& plain hmmmi tiint It Mwr 
MB be mactod by oar gvivarniOMit, ur if — actad, k w«ild 
^laadiljr be rrpaaM by tha |i€Of>la. Tbk claim to istcrwatwaal 
•opyrigbt, aa I hava aaid, baa bato ur^ in mcIi a •fiM V^ 
aritkh wHten^ that tha |Hablio mind hwa hM bato pnimdmmi 
■piim it. It may ba rainarkad, that tha diacoaiutt of tha Mh- 
Jaai, bjr iu advncatai on thit aida of tha watar, baa addtd to 
iMi fcalinK U mrmnha^ a ^9rj axtaodad ouovictk« that mmmA 
poliejr l^vrbida auch a maaanrv. 

Tba ip^uooda U o^^tctiun to tha achcma thna ptvnfilad art 
varioo«« bat tha onmi Ibnnidabla ona b this: \f tM0 tmm a^M. 
iHm tA%» l«rMn« 9fM mmrkft^ U irt// 60 m^imiff la cAa o da a a 
a^f# ^ U# Jirtttsk ff%i^iuAm. Tha linimh art a natJua uf w^- 
mn* »«»t bii><^<» I)ir> prratb frrv lra«U> to all thr utirid, ImcI 
whan a mArkri i» **\mtti^ tLcv nktb io anil eofnaw iL ll m ftm 
, bni o^jr to than, if wa ( 


oommon law ; bat yet do one lays down the principle that 
abetract ri^t or natural right is either a complete and perfect 
right, in itself or that it is essential to the idea of property. 

Snoh is anthority, as we find it, with the oonsenratives ; there 
is a new school which denies this individnal right, and claims 
every thing for society. Bentham lends some countenance to 
this : he denies altogether the doctrine of abstract ri^t as the 
foundation of property, and insists that in its principle it is 
the gift of law. What the law gives a man is his : nothing ehei 
Prondhon goes fbrther, and declares that ** property is robbery** 
— ^in other words, not only is the present distribntbn of prop* 
erty the result of artifice, fraud, violence, but, in the nature of 
things, property belongs to the community, and not to individ- 
uals. Aocording to him, a man who appropriates a thing to 
hb own use and behoof robs society of what belongs to them* 

* NothiDg w more opposed to man's infttincts than the negation of 
his individnality, implied by CommnniBii. A man feels that he is a 
being, in bim«elf ; that he has the right to act and think independent- 
ly, and of and for himself. It is this individnality, this independence, 
which gives valne, meaning, responsibility, to his conduct. Commu- 
nism overturns this idea : this r^rards mankind as grouped into socie- 
ties, each society being like a tree, of which the individual person is but 
a leaf; or like the madrepores — a myriad of little insects living in the 
fibres of a sort of animal-plant rooted to a rock — all breathing, all 
nourished, all acting, with one nervous system, one consciousness, one 
sensorium. This is phalansterianism ; here is the root of Proudhon*s 
apothegm — as every thing belongs to society, it is robbery for an indi- 
vidnal to appropriate any thing to himself. Nevertheless, in looking 
at civilised society, in all ages, we find something of this communism ; 
that is to say, we find that mankind, living together in oommunitiea, 
give up at least a portion of their abstract rights, and agree to bo governed 
by laws which take into view the highest good of all. Thus society is a 
compromise, in which both the principle of individual righta, aocord- 
ing to Blackstone, and communal rights, according to Proudhon, are 
reoognixed. The rule was laid down nearly two thousand years ago — 
Ih to another at you would have another do to you^ and we are not likely 
to get a better. That regards man as a being of intellect, conscience, 
and responsibility, and bound to seek his own happiness by promoting 
the happiness of others. That is Christianity, which is above Commu- 
nism — though the latter has certainly taught us, in some respeotn. 


lion to seeiune his oopji^t in thb country, three months befonr 
the publication of his book; and this shaQ be Basned in the United 
States within thirty days after its publication in Great Britain. 

5. His work shaU be published by an American eitiaen, who 
shall lodge a certificate in the office ni the derk of the coort 
of the district where he resides, stating in whose behalf the 
copyright is taken, and tins shaU be printed on the back of the 

4. The work shaU be printed on American paper,* and the 
binding shall be wholly ezeonted in the United States. 

6. This privilege shall extend only to books^ and not to pe- 

6. The arrangement thus made in behalf of the British anthors 
in America, to be extended to the American authors in Great 
Britain, and npon similar conditions. 

This is a mere outline of the general principles of the scheme, 
by no means pretending to be complete in its details, or in the 
technical fonn of an enactment. To such a plan I can conceive 
no serious objections; not only the authors of this country, but 
the publiHhers would favor it I am confident it would meet the 
feelings, views, and wishes of the country at large. My reasons 
for these views ai'e briefly as follows : 

1. This plan gives us the pledge of one of our own citizens, 
living among us, and responsible in his person, character, and 
position, for a faithful conformity to the law. Without meaning 
to cast invidious reflections, it may be said that it would be a 
strong temptation to any foreigner, under the circumstances — 
having various inducements and many facilities for imposing upon 

♦ I hud entertained the idea that it would be proper to prescribe the 
condition that the books should be from American type, and American 
engravings, but several eminent publishers think it will be for the 
advantage of all concerned, to permit the we of foreign stereotype 
plates, inasmuch as there will often be great economy in this. We 
■hall soon send as many of these to England as we shall take f\rom 
thence. On the whole, it is believed that the true interest of eiigra- 
vera and type-foundera even, will be be«t consulted by letting the ar- 
rangement be made as here proposed. 


0* books maniifitotiured at home— to commit this wrong; it is 
wise, therefore^ to make provision against it. And besides, this 
plan, seonring the publication in the hands of American oitixens, 
will prevent .the encouragement of British agendes and branch 
establishments, so much i^prehended among us. 

2. A still more important point is thi»-^-that, as the books 
will be issued by American publishers, they are Kkely to con- 
form to American ideas in respect to price. One of the ap- 
prehensions of international copyright, as heretofore proposed, 
has been that, inasmuch as British books would be to a great 
extent supplied to us by British publishers— dther directly from 
London or throu^ their agents here— that they would be in 
expensive and unsuitable forms, and at all events would ccnne 
to us at exaggerated prices. The plan proposed evidently re- 
moves all reasonable grounds for these appreliensions. 

8. It is true that British works, thus copyrighted and pub- 
lished in this country, would be somewhat dearer than they are 
now, without copyright. But how much ? The common rate 
of copyright for an author, in the United States, is ten per cent, 
on the retail price. Let us double this, and we have twenty per 
cent, as the increased cost of the English book to the retail 
purchaser. Thus, instead of paying one dollar for a work by 
Dickens or Bulwer or Macaulay, we shall pay one dollar and 
twenty cents — half of this addition going to the author, and half 
to the publisher.* 

4. Will the American reader object to this? Let him consider 
the reasons for it. In the first place, it is not pleasant, even 
though it be lawful, to read Mr. Dickens's book, and refuse to 
make him any return f ./ the pleasure he has given us. In the 
absence of any arrangement by which we can render to him this 
compensation, we may lawfhUy peruse his works ; but when a 

* In m*ny, And probably most cases, the increased cost of books 
would not be more than ten per cent., and for this reason, that we 
shoald impcn English stereotype plates, than making a great saving in 
the outlay of capital. This would certainly be the case in works em- 
beUiahed with engravings. 

^ Urn 
Hi Maf #MlAiPr ^ <^>«^ ^ U i^MAat «r *# 4 

wmk iwAmJ— A«ii I Hill 11 III ■ I 

ptttdMi^AntkaiflftBfnvaMiBtTiHHma \m} 
or Mr. I>iciiMM ftod hb brKhreo oT the Britkh <)«U1, cmbt Inriopk, 
Pl«K?otU« L(Migf«Uow»— ih« broth«rbood of Um AawfioMi ^mO 
— -woald racmT« a ocMTwpocidiii|( eucnp«o«uk« oo Um oUmt ii4» 
of Um WAt«r. Thb woold be ■nniribiiifc. WooU H »ol bt 
agr— blc to 9rtry AmerieAB tha* to otrtifjr bit gritif ^i lo 
IkoM of hb ciHiiitrjiiMa who not ooljr WaCow iipoa blai lib ■»■! 
OAltcd auarccB of pbaMirt and bnprovMiMol, bat «ai»rttUjr <»•- 
tribBte to tbe bart intcrwU of tocbtjr f 

Bvt^ la th* Moood \iUtm, tb«r» mr$ e a oMmiaiam iBJabdj 
l^fbir than tboM of a pcTKHial muariL Uteratart b at cmtm • 
ii*« fkirjr ao<l <M«r«.* Witboat iu p>mU, « 

* *^ Bat art v« tu U«v*— -oa^ ht «• kAr#— a Uurttt«f» W •«# #«a I 1 
m^ jr«»~v« ool o«ilv ATv to bat*, bat «« o«f ht to kAv« »a(4 • i^«^ 
It voabl do mora fur u* in • tit** of pia r i, thaa o«f baWlw «a tb« m« 
ar aar baltko oo ibo Und la a tim» of «»r. la ^t, aatkBai mm tW 
■liltib of a ooaaU7 oo ih« |«ttaa —uhlwhrn— I , U » tb*^ llMa w to 
dilb»il •• mkI o«ir Arr««.Uw, tbo cborkcUr of o«r 000^117, o«r u ai C i t o 
tfaa*, o«r hofio aivl our fAilb, vbca ib*^ atw »Mot)«d by tba p«a>«uistjft 
aC Karofio. At>«i U»outfb-o» 1 bor« bo.! oMHMoa to M7 bo4M«^-« »«5 
ba tboof^r u» bo« oar Ul4E#mUir» -^ tj ma It . rbTog-r", •» i^ ■» Um 
Moaay r"«*. ^ tb« y r ^ «>«it iv« * to iaif>»rt it ta boiM m»iI fcr^bi^k/ 
tbaa to Bok* tt for ourMJvao, ;•« la tbo k4« r%o It vookl bo aoro to 
larm aat aftbtrvba^ U vofUd b« rbwyr lo bo/ 4 


rians — the liberty, the arts, the genius of Gh-eeoe wonld haye 
perished ages ago. These, b^ng recorded and reflected by its 
literature, she became immortal— «DrYiying eren conquest and 
oppression and the lapse of time. Would you that onr national 
glory should be exalted — that our liberty should be vindicated, 
extended, perpetuated? Would you that arts should arise and 
flourish among us : that a noble and lofty pitch be given to the 
national mind, and that a noble and lofty destiny achieved, at 
last be recorded, reflected, and carried down to after-times? 
Whoever has these aspirations, thereby pleads for a national 

To such I present the consideration that this, like every thing 
else, must live by encouragement That literature is encouraged 
in this country, and, in some respects, as it is encouraged no- 
where else, I admit That we surpass all other nations in our 
periodical press, in our books for primary education, in the liter- 
ature of the people, in manuals for the various arts and profes- 
sions, is undeniable. Nor are we wholly delinquent in.the higher 
forms of literature — science, history, romance, poetry, eloquence. 
In these things we have made a good beginning; but yet we are 
only at the threshold of what we can do and should do. In pro- 

the metoenaries of Europe to defend us in time of war, than it would be 
to make soldiers of our fathers and brothers and sonn — cheaper in the 
outset, perliaps; and yet, who would leave his country to the care of a 
military stranger— to the good faith of hired legions f Where would be 
the economy, after a few years ? Even if it were cheaper to import onr 
defenders, therefore, it would be safer and wiser to manu&cture de- 
fenders ; and if in a time of war, why not in a time of peace ? 

** But granting a native literature to be essential to our character— and 
who is there to deny it t— for book^ travel the earth over; books are 
read everywhere ; and every great writer, every renowned author con- 
fers a dignity upon his native oountiy, of more worth and of more dura- 
bility than the warrior does— granting it, I say, to be so important tor 
the character and safety of a people in time of peace, how are we lo 
have it ? By paying for it. By making it worth the while of our young 
men to give up a portion of their time to the study of writing, not as a 
boyish pastime — no, nor even as a trade, but as an art — a science.**— 

Imi as vv k7v« ftiij Itaaot ««r Milf« kad ; ta propone «» 
, ibf dSiwm^nia^l «f oar i 

For th«M roMooA, •■ well •• other* which need duI be ff^ih 
gMted. I brlieve the pn>paeed •ehcciie« or eamethinfr rHenhlHif 
It, would be McepuUe to the ooontrj. If the fnnpiiiMt b 
Ml ill by treetr, it nukx be ttipoUted that it » to be terwiaftud 
alUr drt jrf«m« et the pleeenre of cither pertT. la iu »iC«r«, 
tberefore, it will be proviaioiud and cxperimeotal, and rn^y be 
lermiDated 4»r modifted, ae time and experience m^y dklatet. II 
ll be aaid, eitlicr io this coontrj tw in (treat Britaia, tkml thb m 
■ol all that mar be desired, lei ae conetder whether, ae a pf«e> 
Ueal qoevUon, it is not ae much ae it it now po«iible to 
It la to be oonetdcrcd that Intematkinal Copjrright b a i 
Idea ; and it b not altofrKher on rw o oa ble that la dwlf with 
H— «»|)eciaU} io tliie cuuntrr, wherv m> manr and eo uopmrtaa^ 
latenau are at »take— we »lM>old fuUuw the oaatioM eCefa a€ the 
WKAhmr ctmntry Id irrmntiof oopTrii^t to h«r own *tv 
■t flrec wae limited to t went v -one team. 

Such are tho views I had funueJ three vean aga 
I was thcik in Kiin>|x* ; aiuce my rvtum, I am oott* 
finiird 10 them by %'Anoua cuiuuiieraliuiu» md 


eiallj by finding that some enligbtened publisbers, 
wbo bave bitberto doubted tbe expediency of inter- 
national copyrigbt, in view of some sucb arrangement 
as is bere suggested, are now earnestly in &yor of it. 
Wby, tben, sbould we not try it? 

One tbing is certain — tbe subject will never rest, 
until International Copyright is adopted, in some form 
or otber. It is based on tbe same abstract but still 
manifest rigbt, by wbicb every laborer claims tbe use 
and beboof of tbe fruits of bis toil; admitting tbat 
governments may regulate and modify these rights, 
according to the public good, still they may not alto- 
gether annihilate them. I have taken the ground 
that governments, in local copyright laws, deny tbe 
absolute and perpetual claim ; they refuse to base 
their protection on common law ; but still one thing 
is to be considered, and that is, that heal copyright every- 
where does infojci make some compensation to the author y 
and thus substantially admits bis claim. We, who 
refuse international copyright, must reflect that so 
far as we are concerned, we deny all compensation to 
the foreign author^ and thus are manifestly in the 
wrong.* We may pretend, indeed, that local copy- 

♦ In Franoe, oopyrigbt wm regulated by royal deoreee, till 1789, when 
A general law was passed, establishiDg the old practice, which gave the 
anthor copyright in perpetuity, except that in case of sale to a publisher, 
it terminated at his death. At present, by acts of 1798 and 1810, the 
author has copyright during his life, and then his children twenty years 
after. If there are no children, the actual heirs enjoy it for ten years. 

The copyright law of England is stated elsewhere. 

In HolUnd and Belgium, the copyright laws of France are adopted. 


right affords all needful encouragement; but is it &ir 
for us, refusing ourselves to contribute to tbis, to take 
to our use and behoof tbe articles for which we thus 
refuse to pay — and that against the protest of those 
whose toil has produced them? Is that honorable — 
is it fair play? 

The Uw is similar in Prasaia, and also in the Zollverein, the hein en- 
Joying the right, however, for thirty instead of twenty years, after the 
author's decease. 

In Russia, the law gives oopyright during the lifetime cf the author, 
and twenty-flve years after. An additional period often years is grant- 
ed, if an edition is published within five years before the eipiration of 
the copyright. 

Ssrdinia adopted the French law in 1846. 

In Portugal the law is similar to that of Prussia. 

Spain formerly gave unlimited copyright, but often to religions oom- 
•nunitios, and not to the author. At present, the author haa copyright 
during ilia lifetime, and hi» heird fifty years after his death. 

Prussia won the first nation to pass a general act, offering International 
Copyright to all countries tliat would reciprocate the same. This was 
incorporated iuto her copyright law of 1837. £ngland followed this 
example in 1888. 

Treaties for International Copyright have been entered into between 
Austria, Sardinia, and Tcssin, 1840 ; Prussia nnd England, 1846; France, 
Sardinia, Hanover, England, and Portugal, in 1846, 1850, and 1851. 

France has added a law prohibiting the counterfeiting of foreign hooka 
and works of art, without requiring reciprocal stipulations from other 

It is to be remarked, that International Copyright between these Eu- 
ropean Stages, generally having different languages, and trifling interesta 
at stake, is very easy and natural ; it is practically a very different matter 
between England and the United States, which have the same language, 
and immense industrial arts, trades, and professions, directly connected 
with the subject. There may, indeed, be as good a reason why such an 
agreement should exist between Great Britain and the United States sa 
between Great Britain and France, but still, as it involvea infinitely 
greater consequences, it is reasonable to treat the subject with more 
mature and careful oonaideration. 


restrain the full light of literature in after-times, to entafl npoa 
the author and upon his heirs, forever, the ezcloriye control of 
his works, it has been deemed best to limit that control to a pe- 
riod of about forty-two years. 

This is, I think, the theory of local copyright law, among 
the most enlightened nations of the present day. Now, let 
us Americans conrider our position in rdadon to living Brit- 
ish authors. Thehr books come among us; ihej are published 
and circulated among us. Tou and I and everybody read them, 
and profit by them. And do we pay the author any thing for 
all this? Not a fiirthing; nay, when he asks us for compensa- 
tion, we say to him, you live three thousand miles ofE^ and the 
laws of honesty and morality do not extend so fiir I 

Now^, is that an honorable position ? Is it an extenuation to 
say that other people do this ? Does it not enhance the un- 
fiiimess of our conduct to consider that the British government 
stands ready to remedy this wroDg ? 

Let OS suppose that two farmers live on opposite banks of a 
river ; and it occasionaUy happens that their flocks and herds 
cross this stream, and stray into the neighboring grounds. What 
is the true principle of conduct between these two parties : is 
it that each shaU confiscate to his own use the property that 
thus strays into his premises ? That certainly is a barbarous 
practice. But suppose one says to the other, " I am satisfied 
this is wrong — ^let us come to an understanding : if you will re- 
store to me such of my flocks and herds as stray into your 
grounds, I will do the same to you, and thus peace and justice 
will be established between us.'* And let us suppose that the 
other refuses this reasonable proposition, and says, ** No ; we 
have both been accustomed to this kind of stealing, and I am 
determined to continue it.*' Is not this feurmer in the wrong ? 

And in our refusal to make British authors any compensation, 
are we not in the precise attitude of this ungenerous farmer ? 

The truth undoubtedly is, that in refusing International Copy- 
right altogether, we are wrong : we cannot vindicate ourselves 


may approach the results we seek, with a suffideni 
degree of certainty, for all practical purposes. 

L As to the extensian of the book manufitdure. 

T9X Book pBODUonoH ob HAiruTAonna nr 18S0. 
Let us go back to the year 1820, and endeayor to estimate 
the gross amount of this trade in the United States at that 
period. The following statement, it is supposed, may approadh 
the truth: 

Amoant of books manofiustared and sold in the United Ststos in 1880. 

SohooIbookB $750,000 

ClAMical books 250,000 

Theological books 160,000 

Lawbooks 200,000 

Medical books 150,000 

All others 1,000,000 

Gross amount $2,500,000 

|3y The space between 1820 and 1830 may be considered as the pe- 
riod in which our national literature was founded ; it was the ag^e in 
which Irving, Cooper, Bryant, Halleck, Paulding, J. R. Drake, John 
Neal, Brainard, Percival, HillhouHe, and others, redeemed the country 
fVom the sneer that nobody read American books. During this period 
we began to have confidence in American genius, and to dream of lit- 
erary ambition. The North American Review, already established, 
kept on its steady way, and other attempts were made in behalf of 
periodical literature, but with little success. 

Thx Book MxifurAOTUBX in 1880. 

If we take 1830 as a period for estimating the product of the 
Dock manufacture, we suppose it may stand thus : 

School books $1,100,000 

Classical books 860,000 

Theological books 250,000 

Law books 800,000 

Medical books 200,000 

All others 1,800,000 

Gross amoant $8,500,000 

; ^7" This ahowB an increase of production of forty per cent, in ton yesn. 


restrain the ftiU light of literature in after-times, to entafl npon 
the author and upon his heirs, forever, the exolosiYe control of 
his works, it has heen deemed best to limit that control to a pe- 
riod of about forty-two years. 

This is, I think, the theory of local copyright law, among 
the most enlightened nations of the present day. Now, let 
ns Americans connder oar position in relation to living Brit- 
ish authors. Their books come among us; they are published 
and circulated among us. Tou and I and everybody read them, 
and profit by them. And do we pay the author any thing for 
aU this? Not a £uthing; nay, when he asks us for compensa- 
tion, we say to him, you live three thousand miles 0% and the 
laws of honesty and morality do not extend so far I 

Now*, is that an honorable position ? Is it an extenuation to 
say that other people do this ? Does it not enhance the un- 
fieiirness of our conduct to consider that the British government 
stands ready to remedy this wrong ? 

Let us suppose that two farmers live on opposite banks of a 
river ; and it occasionally happens that their flocks and herds 
cross this stream, and stray into the neighboring grounds. What 
is the true principle of conduct between these two parties : is 
it that each shall confiscate to his own use the property that 
thus strays into his premises ? That certainly is a barbarous 
practice. But suppose one says to the other, " I am satisfied 
this is wrong — ^let us come to an understanding : if you will re- 
store to me such of my flocks and herds as stray into your 
grounds, I will do the same to you, and thus peace and justice 
will be established between us." And let us suppose that the 
other refuses this reasonable proposition, and says, " No ; we 
have both been accustomed to this kind of stealing, and I am 
determined to continue it.^' Is not this farmer in the wrong ? 

And in our refusal to make British authors any compensation, 
are we not in the precise attitude of this ungenerous farmer 1 

The truth undoubtedly is, that in refusing International Copy- 
right altogether, we are wrong : we cannot vindicate onrselveB 


This is the en of the estsUishment of the Penoy Press, wh 4 is st 
ODoe a sign snd instrament of progress. Its home is in the taidst of 
business, edacation, litersture— in the Teiy breathing and heart-beating 
of life and action : and it gives impnlse snd vigor to sU these inter- 
ests. 80 powerfol sn instmment most sometimes seem to prodnee 
evil, bat on the whole it most be regarded as a great oiviliaer. We may 
advert to a single iUastration of its expanding inflaenoes : the three 
prindpai penny papers of New York, at the pressDt day, 1866— the 
Herald, Tribane, and Times — esoh of them is a political paper, with 
political opinions, yet each treats politics ss a matter of geoenl infbrma 
tioD, and publishes the principal doings and docaments of all partiea. 
This is not so in any country where the penny press does not ezist. 

This is slso the era in which monthly and semi>mothly liagazinea 
began to live and thrive among \is. Among the most noted, are the 
Knickerbocker, Merchants^ Magasine, Graham's, Southern Literaiy Mes- 
senger, all continued to the present time, with others which have ceased 
to exist. 

The Book MANUFAcnniE m 1840. 

The book prodnction for 1840 may be estimated as follows :* 

School books $2,000,000 

Classical books 650,000 

Theological books 800,000 

Law books 400,000 

Medical books 250,000 

All others 2,000,000 

Gross amount $5,600,000 

|3y This calculation shows an increase of about sixty per cent, for ten 

From 1840 to 1850 was a period of general prosperity in the country, 
and the full impulne of the preceding period continued through this. 

American authorship was more appreciated at home and abroad — a 
circumstance g^atly due to the enlightened and patriotic labors of Dr. 
Griswold, who may be considered as among the first and most influential 
of our authors in cultivating a respect for our own literature. New Amer- 
icnn publications became very numerous during this period ; the style 
of book manufiu!ture was greatly improved ; numerous msgazines were 

* The following i» a table of estimates of the various Industrial Inter- 
ests connected with the press, presented to Congress in behalf of the 
Convention which met at Boston in 1842. Mr. Tileston, of Dorchester, 
and myself were the committee appointed to proceed to Washington to 
enforce the wishes of the petitioners, founded upon tlfis exhibition. 
Mr. Fillmore, the chairman of the Committee of Ways and Means, then 


restnun the ftiU light of literatare in after-times, to entafl npon 
the author and upon his heirs, forever, the ezclosiTe control of 
his works, it has been deemed best to limit that control to a pe- 
riod of about forty-two years. 

This is, I think, the theory of local oopyri^t law, among 
the most enlightened nations of the present day. Now, let 
ns Americans connder onr position in relation to living Brit- 
ish authors. Their books come among ns; they are published 
and circulated among us. Tou and I and everybody read them, 
and profit by them. And do we pay the author any thing for 
aU this? Not a fiuthing; nay, when he asks us for compensa- 
tion, we say to him, you live three thousand miles off, and the 
laws of honesty and morality do not extend so far I 

Now*, is that an honorable position ? Is it an extenuation to 
say that other people do this ? Does it not enhance the un- 
fiiimess of our conduct to consider that the British government 
stands ready to remedy this wrong? 

Let us suppose that two farmers live on opposite banks of a 
river ; and it occasionally happens that their flocks and herds 
cross this stream, and stray into the neighboring grounds. What 
is the true principle of conduct between these two parties : is 
it that each shall confiscate to his own use the property that 
thus strays into his premises ? That certainly is a barbarous 
practice. But suppose one says to the other, ^^ I am satisfied 
this is wrong — ^let us come to an understanding : if you will re- 
store to me such of my flocks and herds as stray into your 
grounds, I will do the same to you, and thus peace and justice 
will be established between us." And let us suppose that the 
other reuses this reasonable proposition, and says, ^* No ; we 
have both been accustomed to this kind of stealing, and I am 
determined to continue it.^' Is not this fJEurmer in the wrong ? 

And in our refusal to make British authors any compensation, 
are we not in the precise attitude of this ungenerous farmer ? 

The truth undoubtedly is, that in refusing International Copy- 
right altogether, we are wrong : we cannot vindicate onrselveB 


Most of the anthors which we have Darned as belongihg to the pra- 
oeding era, abed their Inater upon thia. AiL^ng thoae who now flnt 
entered the lista, we may name— 

In Hiatory— Hildreth, In^^rsoll, Hiot, Hawka, T. Irving, Firoat, 
Headley, Abhott, Brodhead, lira. WiUard, Loaaing, C. A. Goodrioh, 
and aoon after. Motley, who, at the very otitaet, haa attained a high 
repntation. In politioal hiatory — ^Toong, Benton. 

In Juvpradence— Oreenleaf; Geoige T. Cnrtia, W. W. Story, and 
aoon after, B. B. Cnrtia, T. Paraona, Edwarda, Dayton, Dean, S. F. 
Smith, Donlap, Waterman, Willard. 

Mathematioa— Heroe, Daviea, Coartenay, Millington, Hackley, Loomia. 

Philology— Prof. C. A. Ooodrioh, editor of Webater'a Dietionaiy; 
Woroeater, Pickering. 

Political Economy, Philoaophy, Ac.— £. P. Smith, Mahan, Tappan, 

Theulog}' — Bashnell, Hawes, Cheever, Wainwright, Winca, Hunting- 
toTi, Spring, Wiener, J. A. Alexander, Taylor, McClintock, E. Beecher, 
Williams, Stevenn, Fiak, Dowling, Cro89, Conant, Choules. 

Medicine and Surgery— J. C. Warren, Greene, Parker, Bartk'tt, Cly- 
mcr, Drake, Pancoast, H. H. Smith, llarri;*, Cnrson ; and since 1850, 
Bedford, Wataon, Gross, Flint, Lee, Blackinan. 

General Science, Natural Historj-, Geography, &c. — Agassiz and 
Gnyot — whom wo now claim as citizens; with Bartlctt^ Sqniers, Maary, 
Mitchell, J. D. Duna, Baird, Hall, Emmons, Mahan, D. A. Wollis 
Wood, St. John, Wilkes— the latter giving us a new continent by dis- 
covery ; l^yuch, who has furni&hed the beat account of the Dead Sea snd 
its environs ; and, wo may add, Com. Perry, who introduces us to Japan. 

In f'lassical Literature— Lcverett, Anthon, Andrews, Gonld, Brooks, 
McClintock, Owen, Kendrick, Sophocles, Johnson, Thacher. 

Ki^uy and Criticism— Prescott, Chapin, Giles, Sprague, Hague, Churlea 
Sumner, Whipple, PalfVey, Winthrop, Beecher, Cheever, Milbum. 

Travels, Geography, &c.'— Catlin, Stephens, Curtis, Bayard Taylor, 
Bartlett, Willis, Sotithgate, Bobinaon, Olin, Kendall, Fremont, Kidder, 
Parkman, Coggshall, Colton. 

In light, racy ^Titing, full of life-pictures and luscious fancies — Curtis, 
Cozaens, Mitchell, Bayard Taylor, Willis, Matthews, Baldwin. 

In Miscellaneous Literature — Ticknor. Tuckerman, Longfellow, Gris- 
wold, Mrs. Child, Hall, Headlcy, Mrs. Kirkland, Grace Greenwood, Mrs. 
Ellet, Mrs. Hale, Seba Smith ; and in 1856, E. A. and G. L. Duyckinck. 

In Fiction— MelviUe, Kimball, Mayo. Mrs. Stowe, Miss Mackintosh, 
Alice Carey, Elizabeth Warner, Mrs. Southworth, Miss Wormley, Mrs. 
Oakus Smith, Minnie Myrtle. 

In Poetry- Holmes, Lowell, Buchanan Read, Bayard Taylor, Saxe, 
Epes Sarpcnt, W. R. Wnllace, T. W. Parsons, Cninch, Fields. 

Books of Practical Utility — Miss Catharine Beecher, Miss Leslie, Fanny 
Fern, G. P. Putnam, J. L. Blako, Downing, Haven, and many otbera. 


restrain the ftiU light of literatare in after-times, to entafl npon 
the author and npon his heirs, forever, the exoladye control of 
his works, it has been deemed best to limit that control to a pe- 
riod of about forty-two years. 

This is, I think, the theory of local copyri^t law, among 
the most enlightened nations of the present day. Now, let 
ns Americans conmder oar position in relation to living Brit- 
ish authors. Their books come among us; they are pubUshed 
and circulated among us. Tou and I and everybody read them, 
and profit by them. And do we pay the author any thing for 
aU this? Not a fiuthing; nay, when he asks us for compensa- 
tion, we say to him, you live three thousand miles off^ and the 
laws of honesty and morality do not extend so far I 

Now*, is that an honorable position ? Is it an extenuation to 
say that other people do this ? Does it not enhance the un^ 
fiumess of our conduct to consider that the British government 
stands ready to remedy this wrong ? 

Let us suppose that two farmers live on opposite banks of a 
river ; and it occasionally happens that their flocks and herds 
cross this stream, and stray into the neighboring grounds. What 
is the true principle of conduct between these two parties : is 
it that each shall confiscate to his own use the property that 
thus strays into his premises ? That certainly is a barbarous 
practice. But suppose one says to the other, ^^ I am satisfied 
this is wrong — ^let us come to an understanding : if you will re- 
store to me such of my flocks and herds as stray into your 
grounds, I will do the same to you, and thus peace and justice 
will be established between us." And let us suppose that the 
other refuses this reasonable proposition, and says, ^* No ; we 
have both been accustomed to this kind of stealing, and I am 
determined to continue it." Is not this fJEurmer in the wrong ? 

And in our refusal to make British authors any compensation, 
are we not in the precise attitude of this ungenerous farmer ? 

The truth undoubtedly is, that in refusing International Copy- 
right altogether, we are wrong : we cannot vindicate ourselveB 


I>arixig this period there hmve deo been prodaoed nmneroiiii Tilaeble 
and ooetly works by the Oenerel Goyemment, relating to naTigation, 
geography, Ac, and alio local, State aorveya, under State patronage, 
of great interest and utility. 

During this period, piotorial-aheet literature ia brought to a olimaz 
in every form, up to the Uanketpfolio. Thb ia the age of vigoroua ad 
▼ertiaing, by means of which '* fifty thousand oopiea are sold before a 
book ia printed.** 

This is also the millennial era of Spiritual literature, which haa now 
its periodicals, its presses, and its libraries. 

It is also the climax of the Thrilling, Agonising Literature, and which, 
by the way, ia thus rather wickedly mocked by the poet of the " Fmit 
Veatival" already alluded to: 

•*This ts tbe new •Benrstlon' Book— 

▲ work (^M much force 
The first edition all bfew np, 

And smashed a cart and horse I 
A friend who read the mannscrlpt 

Without safBcient care, 
Was torn to rags, although he had 

Six cables ronnd his balr I 

" * The Egga of Thought' Til reoommend 

As very thrilling lays : 
Borne poets poach^bat here is one 

That all the papers praise. 
The school commissioners oat West 

Have ordered seventy tons, 
That widely they may be dispersed 

Among tliefr setting suns ! 

** And here's a most Astounding Tale — 

A volume fn\\ of fire; 
The anther's name is known to ikme— 

Stupendous dtubba, Esquire I 
And here*s 'The Howling Ditch of Crime,' 

By A. Sapphire Stress: 
Two hundred men fell dead last night 

A working at the press I' 

Thb Book MAKurAcruRs in 1S56. 

The amonnt of the prodnction of our Amerioan book-trade at 
this time — ^that is, for the year 1866 — may be estimated at about 
sixteen millions of dollars ; and tlie annual increase of this in- 
terest at about a million of dollars a year. 

This sum may be distributed as follows; 


reBtrain the full light of literatare in after-times, to entafl npon 
the author and upon his heirs, forever, the ezolasiYe control of 
his works, it has been deemed best to limit that control to a pe- 
riod of about forty-two years. 

This is, I think, the theory of local copyright law, among 
the most enlightened nations of the present day. Now, let 
us Amencans conmder our position in relation to living Brit- 
ish authors. Their books come among us; they are published 
and circulated among us. Tou and I and everybody read them, 
and profit by them. And do we pay the author any thing for 
aU this ? Not a fiuthing; nay, when he asks us for compensa- 
tion, we say to him, you live three thousand miles off, and the 
laws of honesty and morality do not extend so far I 

Now*, is that an honorable position ? Is it an extenuation to 
say that other people do this ? Does it not enhance the un- 
fieiimess of our conduct to consider that the British government 
stands ready to remedy this wrong ? 

Let us suppose that two farmers live on opposite banks of a 
river ; and it occasionally happens that their flocks and herds 
cross this stream, and stray into the neighboring grounds. What 
is the true principle of conduct between these two parties : is 
it that each shall confiscate to his own use the property that 
thus strays into his premises ? That certainly is a barbarous 
practice. But suppose one says to the other, ^^ I am satisfied 
this is wrong — ^let us come to an understanding : if you will re- 
store to me such of my flocks and herds as stray into your 
grounds, I will do the same to you, and thus peace and justice 
will be established between us." And let us suppose that the 
other refuses this reasonable proposition, and says, ^* JSTo ; wo 
have both been accustomed to this kind of stealing, and I am 
determined to continue it." Is not this fieurmer in the wrong ? 

And in our refusal to make British authors any compensation, 
are we not in the precise attitude of this ungenerous farmer 1 

The truth undoubtedly is, that in refusing International Copy- 
right altogether, we are wrong : we cannot vindicate ourselves 

ir, my tlmr C . . . *| joti murt iirnitf>mber tkat ihm 
U of ihtfpe crtiiiwitt* Are duI &Mitifdiid apun (tr^ 
afficml ilalteioi, but uv onljr i&bn«oci (Nmb 
111 iMi lol«fmlilj well 
ii UtiiiiAlcfl merrlj, tb«T mBjr tfttD be 
Me ttpprojomaUiiQi tu tlM Iruth m to girv «0 
Bfifml rknr or Um aoKMiat mnd mormmmit of i]i« 
pniductiiin or tlie tjfijlod Suoc*. Tbii^ laf 
HE, le^ret oat the newipaprr kdiI pchodieftl 
b ctfcuUtci ftuuaalljr «ui mUl i a ii i of oiipie% mmA 
hutidr^ milUofii of lepAimle nttmbervt I do 
not dilate upon the fact that we have two handrrd 
CollegCA, a hundntl thousand elomentarv ■k*bii«»lA« 
fifty theological fk»minarieis twenty law iich««oU^ f«»rtT 
medical Hchoolj*^ ami that our public and iieh<v>l hhra* 
ne» nuinU'r five inilliona of volumes ;• \vi tbe»r air 
to be takrn in connection with the tabular virwti 1 
have given. Then, I auk, have we not a lilcralurv? 
I now invite your attention to another t«»pic: 
II. 77i^ /aiyf and increasing proporitofh cy'. 4 mmnBN 
yrodurt ions dial w, productions n/ American mimd — iw 
tkt booJca putAuhcfi in the Cm ted Slattt, 

TftkiiiK, M l«cfore, crrtAin pnmiineot (af'U m th* hmm c4 tmi 
ealalioo. w« luri^e mX tltr foIUminir ri*nduMt«CM 

U lnti\ th« N«»k tnnQiifartunr </ th« I'litttd S<aU« wm h^»d 
apoo Work* of wh»rh ihirtr j^er c»o!. haa th* \^*l9€tMm a# 
AOM^iran ftui)x>rv •ml •vvrtiijr p«r orftt «»/ Untt^i Aiitb<jr». 


' From 1880 to 1880, m we have seen, a ooosideraUe impalse was 
given to AmericaD literatare, which now began eenaiUy to dimmish the 
relative proportion of Britifth worlu among as. 

In 1880, the book prodaotion of the United States embmoed 
forty per cent of American works, and sixty per cent of British 

£9" From 1880 to 1840, still greater activity prevailed in American 
authorship, and school-books were extensively maltiplied ; we shall see, 
therefore, during this period, a corresponding relative increase of Amei^ 
loan works. 

In 1840, we estimate the proportion of American works to be 
fifty-five per cent, and that of British works forty-five per cent 

E9" From 1840 to 1850 has been the most thriving era of American 
literature, and during thui ten years we find that the balance has tamed 
largely in fkvor of American works. 

In 1860, we estimate the proportion of American works to be 
seventy per cent, and of British works to be thirty per cent 

In 1856, it is probable that the proportion of American works 

is eighty per cent, and that of British books twenty per cent 

^9* li wiU he understood that toe here epeai o/aU new edUions qfeverp 
hind: qfthsworkt qf living BrUieh authorSj the proportion ii muck le$t 
than ttoetUy per-eerU, 

Some general obeervations should be made by way of explanation. 

1. School-books constitute a very large proportion of the book 
product of the United States ; probably thirty to forty per cent, of the 
whole. Sixty years ago we used English readers, spelling-books, and 
arithmetics ; forty years ago we used English books adapted to our 
wants. Now our school-books are superior to thoee of all other coun- 
tries, and are wholly by American authors. More than a million of Web- 
ster's Spelling-books are published every year. We produce annually 
more school-books than the whole continent of Europe ! 

2. The classical works in use, formerly altogether British, are now 
seven-e'ghths American. 

8. The elementary treatises on law, medicine, theology, and science, 
are moetiy American. 

4. The dictionaries in general use are American. 

5. The popular reading of the masses is three-fourths Amencan. 

6. Three-fourths of the new novels and romances are American. 

7. The new foreign literature, reproduced among us, consists mainly ot 
works of science, philosophy, jurisprudence, medicine and surgery, di- 
vhni^, critioism, and genenl literature. Thirty per cent of the worka of 


tiieM oUuMes— oonttitating the higher wilki of litezatore generally— 
ue of foreign origin.— «Siw Nti^ IL^ p. 658, «oL tt. 

Now, not insisting upon the precise accuracy of 
these estimates, but still regarding them as approaches 
to the truth, we have the basis for some interesting 

Though, as an independent nation, we are less than 
a centuT)' old, and though we have been busily en- 
gaged in exploring wildernesses, in felling forests, 
founding States, building cities, opening roads; in 
laying down railways, in teaching steamboats to 
traverse the waters before only known to the Indian 
canoe ; in converting lakes and rivers — ^the largest in 
the world — into familiar pathways of commerce, and 
as a consummation of our progress, in netting half a 
continent with lines of telegraph — still, we have found 
time, and courage, and heart, to outstrip all that the 
world has before seen, in the diffusion of knowledge, 
by means of the periodical press; in the number and 
excellence of our common schools ; in the number, 
cheapness, and excellence of our books for elemen- 
tary education. 

Though not claiming comparison with the Old 
World in the multitude of new works of the highest 
class in literature and science, we have still made a 
good beginning, and have many readers in the other 
hemisphere, under the eaves of universities and col- 
leges, which have been founded for centuries. 

In the midst of the haste and hurry of life, induced 


by the vast fields of enterprise around ns and beck- 
oning us on to the chase — we still find a larger por- 
tion of our people devoted to education, and read- 
ing, and meditation, and reflection, than is to be met 
with in any other land ; as a corollary of this, we 
find, relatively, more hands, more purses, more heads 
and hearts, devoted to the support of literature and 
the dissemination of knowledge, than in any other 
country of equal population. 

It is also to be observed that, after all that has 
been said and surmised as to the dependence of Amer- 
ican literature upon the British press, that the ele- 
ment of British mind, in the production of American 
publications, is really but about twenty per cent, 
and this proportion is rapidly diminishing. Of the 
new books annually produced in the United States, 
not more than one-fifth part are either directly or in- 
directly of foreign origin. 

It is, however, to be at the same time admitted and 
reflected upon, that our deficiency and our depend- 
ence lie chiefly in the higher efforts of mind and 
genius — those which crown a nation's work, and 
which confirm a nation's glory ; and it is precisely 
here that we are now called upon, by every legitimate 
stimulus, to rouse the emulation, the ambition, the 
patriotism of our country.* It is, as tributary to such 

* ** In order that America may take ite due rank in the commonwealth 
of nationa, a literature is needed which shall be the exponent of its 
higher life. We live in times of turbalence and change. There is a 
general diaaatiafStMStion, manifesting itself often in mde contests and ruder 

893 LErnon — ^bidobapbioal, 

a oonsummation, that I woiQd earnestly urge upon 
our people, and those whom they have placed in au- 
thority, to adopt the modified but still desirable 
measure of International Copyright, already suggest- 
ed. Just at present this would be a little against us, 
that is to say, we should buy more copyrights of the 
British than they of us ; but, at the rate of progress 
hitherto attained by American literature, before twen- 
ty years — probably before ten years — are past, the 

speech, with the gulf which sepurates principIcB from actions. Men are 
BtruggliDgr to realize dim ideala of right and truth, and each failure adds 
to the desperate eameBtness of their efforta. Beneath all the alirewd- 
nesa and aelfiahness of the American character, there is a smouldering 
enthusiasm which flames out at the first touch of fire — sometimes at the 
hot and hasty words of party, and sometimes at the bidding of great 
thoughts and unselfish principles. The heart of the nation ia easily 
stirred to its depths ; but those who rouse its fiery impulses into action 
are often men compounded of ignorance and wickedness, and wholly 
unfitted to guide the passions which they are able to excite. There is 
no country in the world which has nobler ideas embodied in more worth- 
less shapes. All our factions, fanaticisms, reforms, parties, creeds, ri- 
diculous or dangerous though tliey often appear, are founded on some 
aspiration or reality which deserves a better form and expression. There 
is a miglity power in great speech. If the sources of what we call our 
fboleries and faults were rightly addressed, they would echo more ma- 
jestic and kindling truths. We want a poetry which shall speak in 
dear, loud tones to the people ; a poetry which shall make us more in 
love with our native land, by converting its ennobling scenery into the 
images of lofly thoughts; which shall give visible form and life to the 
abstract ideas of our written constitutions ; whicli shall confer npou 
virtue all the strength of principle and all the energy of passion ; which 
ahall disentangle fVoedom from cant and senseless hyperbole, and ren- 
der it a thing of such loveliness and grandeur as to justify all self-sacri- 
fice ; which shall make us love man by the new consecrations it sheds 
on his life and destiny ; which shall force through the thin partitions of 
conventionalism and expediency ; vindicate the majesty of reason ; give 
new power to the voice of oonsoience, and new vitality to human affec- 
tion ; aoften and elevate passion ; guide enthusiasm in a right direo> 
tion ; and speak out in the high language of men to a nation of men." 

E, P. WMppU. 


scales ^vill be turned in our favor, and they will buy 
more copyrights of us than we shall of them. At 
all events, an immediate and powerful stimulus would 
be added to authorship, and to some of the trades and 
professions connected with the production of books 
in this country, if we could have the British market 
opened to us on some such plan as is herein pro- 
posed. Nearly every new work would be stereotyped, 
and a set of plates sent to England ; and these, in 
view of the increased sale, and the high and im- 
proving standard of taste, abroad, would be got up 
in a superior manner, in all respects. Let us think 
well of these things I 


B40otteetion» qf WasMngian — Ths ffouu of RepraentaUvts—Miaaoyrt 
Oomprcmite — Clay^ Sanddphy and Lowndsi— Tlu SenaU — Jiu/us King 
— WiUiam Pinkney^Mr, Maoon—Judgt Marshall— £Uai4m of J. Q, 
Adanu—Fruidtni Monroe— Meeting of Adanu and Jadkeon—Jaekeon'e 
Adminietration- Clay— Calhoun^ Webeter— AneedoUe. 


In the autumn of 1846, I went with my family 
to Paris, partly for literary purposes, and partly also 
to give my children advantages of education, which, 
in consequence of my absorbing cares for a series of 
years, they had been denied. Here they remained 
for nearly two years, while I returned home to at- 
tend to my affairs, spending the winters, however, 



with them. Leaving my observations upon Paris to 
be grouped in one general view, I pass on with mj 

Toward the close of 1849 I removed to New York, 
to execute certain literary engagements. These com- 
pleted, I went, in December, 1850, to Washington, 
taking my family with me. Here we remained for 
three months, when, having received the appoint- 
ment of United States Consul to Paris, I returned to 
New York, and after due preparation, sailed on the 
5th of April, 1861, to enter upon the official duties 
which thus devolved upon me. 

I invite you to return with me to Washington. 
I had often been there, and had of course seen and 
observed many of the remarkable men who had fig- 
ured in the great arena of politics, through a space 
of thirty years. I shall now gather up and present 
to you a few reminiscences connected with this, our 
national metropolis, which still linger in my mind. 
Avoiding political matters, however, which are duly 
chronicled in the books, I shall only give sketches 
of persons and things, less likely to have fallen un- 
der your observation. 

My first visit to Washington was in the winter of 
1819-20. Monroe was then President, and D. D. 
Tompkins, Vice-president ; Marshall was at the head 
of the Supreme Court ; Clay, Speaker of the House 
of Representatives. In the latter body, the two most 
noted members, exclusive of the speaker, were Wil • 


liam Lowndes of South Carolina, and John Ban* 
dolph of Virginia. 

At the period of my visit, the clouds were mus- 
tering in the horizon for that tempest which not only 
agitated Congress, but the whole country, in conse- 
quence of the application of Missouri for admission 
into the Union. A few weeks later, the '' Compro- 
mise of 86^ 80'," was passed by both houses, but the 
actual admission of the State did not take place till 
the ensuing session. I was at Washington but one 
day, and of course could only take a hurried view 
of the principal ol^ects of interest. I was in the House 
of Bepresentatives but a single hour. While I was 
present, there was no direct discussion of the agita- 
ting subject which already filled everybody's mind, 
but still the excitement flared out occasionally in 
incidental allusions to it, like pufifs of smoke and 
jets of flame which issue from a house that is on fire 
within. I recollect that Clay descended fi-om the 
speaker's chair, and made a brief speech, thrilling 
the House by a single passage, in which he spoke 
of "poor, unheard Missouri" — she being then with- 
out a representative in Congress. His tall, tossing 
form, his long, sweeping gestures, and above all, his 
musical, yet thrilling tones, made an impression upon 
me which I can never forget. Some time after, in the 
course of the debate, a tall man, with a little head and 
a small, oval countenance like that of a boy prema- 
turely grown old, arose and addressed the chair. He 


panned a moment, and I had time to stodj his mp 
pearance. His hair was jet black, and clnbbed in a 
queue ; his eye was black, small, and painfully pen- 
etrating. His complexion was a yellowish-brown, 
bespeaking Indian blood. I knew at <Mioe that it 
must be John Randolph. As he uttered the words, 
" Mr. Speaker I"— ^very member turned jn his seat, 
and £Eu;ing him, gazed as if some portent had sud- 
denly appeared before them. " Mr. Speaker^ — said 
he, in a shrill voice, which, however, pierced every 
nook and comer of the hall — " I have but one word 
to say ; one word, sir, and that is to state a fact. 
The measure to which the gentleman has just allu- 
ded, originated in a dirty trick !" These were his 
precise words. The subject to which he referred I 
did not gather, but the coolness and impudence of 
the speaker were admirable in their way. I never 
saw better acting, even in Kean. His look, his man 
ner, his long arm, his elvish fore-finger — ^like an excla- 
mation-point, punctuating his bitter thought — showed 
the skill of a master. The effect of the whole was to 
startle everybody, as if a pistol-shot had rung through 
the hall.* 

* A remarkable instance of the license which Mr. Bandolph allowed 
to himself, occurred in the Senate, of which he was then a member, 
toon after Mr. Adamses accession to the presidency. In a discussion 
which took place upon tlie '* Panama Mission,'* Randolph dosed a very 
intemperate speech with the followinc^ words, on their face referring to 
events which had occurred at a recent mce-course, bat, in fact, plainly 
meaning tlie alliance between Mr. Adams and Mr. Clay : 

*' I was defeated, horse, foot, and dragoons— out up, dean broke down 


Soon after Lowndes arose, and there was a general 
movement of the members from the remote parts of the 
room, toward him. His appearance was remarkable. 
He was six feet two inches high — slender, bent, ema- 
ciated, and evidently of feeble frame. His complex- 
ion was sallow and dead, and his face almost without 
expression. His voice, too, was low and whispering. 
And yet he was, all things considered, the strong 
man of the House ; strong in his various knowledge, 
his comprehensive understanding, his pure heart, his 
upright intentions, and above all, in the confidence 
these qualities had inspired. Every thing he said was 
listened to as the words of wisdom. It was he who 
gave utterance to the sentiment that the Office of 
president was neither to be solicited nor refused." 
I was unable to hear what he said, but the stillness 
around — the intent listening of the entire assembly — 

by the ooalition of Blifil and Black George — 6y ths eombiiuUion^ unheard 
qfmtkm^ofihe Puriian wiih the Blaek4egr' 

The *' Coalition/' so much talked of at the time, charged Mr. Gaj 
with giving Mr. Adama his influence in the election to the presidency, 
in consideration that he was to be Secretary of State. This was nrged 
with great vehemence and effect, both against Mr. Adams's administra- 
tion and Mr. Clay, personally. Bandolpirs endorsement of the chaige, 
at this time, fiendish as the manner of it was, seemed a staggering blow, 
and Mr. Clay thought it necessary to call him to accoant for it. The 
dad took place on the banks of the Potomac, bat Bandolph fired in 
the air, and the difiicolty was appeased. 

No man in our history has been more discussed than John Ban- 
dolph. He was undoubtedly a man of genius, but, on the whole, both 
in public and private, was an exceedingly dangerous example. He 
said some good things, and sometimes seemed almost inspired, but his 
mind and heart were soured and narrowed by inherent physical defects, 
which at last led to occasional Itmaoy. He died at Philadelphia in 1888, 
aged 60. 

to lbs «AtiiiaUoii in whiidi b» 

I nefw MW Uam aftervftnl A boitl tvo ] 

» lie dbd on a voyii» to Ihglticiil Ear iIm 1 

I bcAlth, Aiid tl)it% ia tbo Unguige of u «■•- 

— hrr of CofigTMiit ^wwm 

\Um liopfs of the ooootry, vrUdt, W a 

■ttofiti WGm kvokttig to km m tlic famjre 

ilnte of tba uliotu" 

!iw iiketcbe% I know, vt triAm; bai aa ibia «aa 

til look ai ctlber brandi of CcwigiM^ and a% 

or - 1 ^ ' '.Tioaai thr ^^ - - - n, 


In the Senate*, the perMonB who iui»i atlnirte^l niT 
attention werv* Uufui* King, of New York, then hold 
ing the highcMt runk m that body for able alau^ 
manhhip, otmbiiuxl with acknowleilgM prv»bitT anU 
great dignity of |H»n»on, manner, and charmctrr ; 
Harrisoii (iruy Oii^s whom I have alrvatly dt-scnU^i . 
William llunur, of Khotle Iiiland, notcil U^r L^ 
agreeable prrMMice and huf gr^*at cou vernation al (ii>w> 
en; William Pinkncy,* of Maryland, ihe mtjut d*s- 

* WiUuun I'lnkiMrv mm m n*liic of Ann«f^iJi«. bora }744> ll« ««» 
kbU"! to various KurT|i«aij mvtof^ hy tt.« I'qjU^I f^laL^a g m^ m rm 

•tr«r. mm Attain* 1 ai t» • tmr, mh*fm b« mm ^imt.txf^mh^-i a^ A« f.« 
uutf «A<1 c:<-{Uf He «M • frvAt atu iecl. aj. 1 |>rr|mrv4 L.vmmJ 
Wkh Xhm utm «t .*rf !f „•?. r r aff- tr^l T.. fr » c f . r«» <» • •• «MLi«« 

l*V»kb»T, •S'u*. !l»r . - A ' * • •^••r :.: r?. ti^- r^ •. / »- i «^^»s»» 

liaif tf« mer:,. 't i- i. f - •-, • , j*». f,«, , f » -.- , •• ,fc L« 4<«-*r i 
4*ht«rr-J i» • •mof day b»f,r» u.# 5apr«a»« • oan 


tiDguished lawyer of that era — a large, handsome 
man, and remarkable for his somewhat foppish dress 
— ^wearing, when I saw him, a white waistcoat, and 
white-top boots ; and Mr. Macon, of North Carolina, 
a solid, &rmer-like man, but greatly esteemed for 
combining a sound patriotism with a consistent polit- 
ical career. On the whole, the general aspect of the 
Senate was that of high dignity, sobriety, and refine- 
ment. There were more persons of that body who 
had the marks of well-bred gentlemen, in their air, 
dress, and demeanor, than at the present day. In 
manners, the Senate has unquestionably degenerated. 
During the half hour in which I was present, there 
was no debate. I went to the hall of the Supreme 
Court, but the proceedings were without special in- 
terest. Among the judges were Marshall and Story, 
both of whom riveted my attention. The former was 
now sixty-four years old, and still in the full vigor of 
his career. He was tall and thin, with a small face, 
expressive of acuteness and amiability. His per- 
sonal manner was eminently dignified, yet his brow 
did not seem to me to indicate the full force of his 

His senatorial displays are said to have been often more florid than 
profound. Soon after first taking his seat in the Hoase of Representa- 
tives he made a speech, which wa» very brilliant, but rather pretentious 
and dictatorial. John Randolph gave him a hint of this. He said : 
"Mr. Speaker, the gentleman ft-om Maryland'^ — then pausing, and 
looking toward Pinkney, added — *^I believe the gentleman is from 
Maryland r' As Pinkney had been ambassador to several courts in 
Europe, and was the most conspicuous lawyer at the bar of the .Supreme 
Coart, he felt this sarcasm keenly. When I saw him, he had just taken 
his seat in the Senate ; two years afterward he died, aged fifty-seven. 

ibiIitMt BnA iotir mors! qualities I 
f timm aArmrd, %nd Immed m lock wUk n^- 
m upon htt^ m bdng tte Imt tvpt^rayaive 
la cm mod ipirii at WmMagltm^ whidi Utigvrvd 

piM 0V«r ftnreril rtnt« which I mi4e at dtflSnviS 
di to tfa« mpUftl, ud Wtt« t« lb 
, wbm J. Q. Adftffii wit dtelsi ftitiiiwn hf ih« 
K of BeprawiilAttveL I wm to the gmllcrj of 
body ftl the tinM Ihi viH« wm dsckmL Tbo 

wen fcr tome dajriw The popular «ntasaaftt of Um 

oountrv, however, waa no iloubt overruleil br elnt 
ing to the chief- maginlracy the second* of the thrrr 
candidateD eligible to the office, and thia wai arvrnply 
avenged four years aAerward at the polljL Mr. Ad- 
amA, with all the patronage of the govemmeou waa 
displactnl by hui nval, Gen. Jackaon, in 1828, bj an 
electoral vote of one hundred and aeventv eight to 

But it is not my pur{K)0e to load theee light letters 
with the weightier matteni of |M)litioiL I only give an 

* TV»« aUctorml «^H« stood tho* for lien J*^k*o«». BiiMi* A^^t^ , M* 
A<UnM, •t#ht% four. Mr (>»«furvl, f>rt« ob« . Mr I'U*. t^.in« ••««» 

W«b>Ur, ati i \l.*f, ^« J J (> Uaj> : J; * At t'« ^ b«^«t-(^CD«*l UhM 


outline of public events, which may serve as frames 
to the personal tableaux which I wish to present to 
your view. Let me take you, then, to the President's 
levee, the evening of the 2d of February, 1826 — ^in 
the afternoon of which Adams had triumphed and 
Jackson had been defeated. 

The apartments at the White House were thronged 
to repletion — ^for not only did all the world desire to 
meet and gossip over the events of the day, but this 
was one of the very last gatherings which would take 
place under the presidency of Monroe, and which 
had now continued for eight years. It was the first 
time that I had been present at a presidential levee, 
and it was therefore, to me, an event of no ordinary 

The President I had seen before at Hartford, as I 
have told you ; here, in the midst of his court, he 
seemed to me even more dull, sleepy, and insignifi- 
cant in personal appearance, than on that occasion. 
He was under size, his dress plain black, and a little 
rusty; his neckcloth small, ropy, and carelessly tied; 
his frill matted; his countenance, wilted with age 
and study and care. He was almost destitute of 
forehead, and what he had, was deeply furrowed in 
two distinct arches over his eyes, which were small, 
gray, glimmering, and deeply set in large sockets. 
Altogether, his personal appearance was owlish and 
ordinary — without dignity, either of form or expres- 
sion; indeed, I could scarce get over the idea that 


tbere was a certain look of meanness in his counte- 
nance. The lowness of his brow was so remarkable 
that a person in the room said to me, in looking at 
him — " He haSn't got brains enough to hold his hat 
on !" His manners, however, which were assiduously 
courteous, with a sort of habitual diplomatic smile 
upon his &ce, in some degree redeemed the natural 
indifference of his form and features. I gazed with 
eager curiosity at this individual — seeking, and yet 
in vain, to discover in his appearance the explana- 
tion of the fact that his presidency had been consid- 
ered as the era of a millennial truce between the great 
parties whose strife had agitated the country to its 
foundations ; and also of another fact — that he had, 
like Washington, been elected to the presidency a 
second time, almost without opposition. I could, 
however, find no solution of these events in the 
plain, homely, undemonstrative presence before me. 
History has indeed given the interpretation — for we 
know that, despite these traits in his personal ap- 
pearance, Mr. Monroe possessed a quiet energy of 
character, combined with a sound and penetrating 
judgment, great experience, and strong sense, which 
rendered his administration in some respects emi- 
nently successful. 

Mrs. Monroe appeared much younger, and was of 
very agreeable manners and person. During the 
eight years of her presidency over the sociabilities of 
the White House, she exercised a genial influence in 


infusing elegance and dignity into the intercourse of 
the society which came under her sway. 

I shall pass over other individuals present, only 
rioting an incident which respects the two persons in 
the assembly who, most of all others, engrossed the 
thoughts of the visitors — ^Mr. Adams the elect, Gen. 
Jackson the defeated. It chanced in the course of 
the evening that these two persons, involved in the 
throng, approached each other from opposite direc- 
tions, yet without knowing it. Suddenly, as they 
were almost together, the persons around, seeing 
what was to happen, by a sort of instinct stepped 
aside and left them face to face. Mr. Adams was by 
himself; Gen. Jackson had a large, handsome lady on 
his arm. They looked at each other for a moment, 
and then Gen. Jackson moved forward, and reaching 
out his long arm, said — " How do you do, Mr. Ad- 
ams ? I give you my left hand, for the right, as you 
see, is devoted to the fair : I hope you are very well, 
sir." All this was gallantly and heartily said and 
done. Mr. Adams took the general's hand, and said, 
with chilling coldness — "Very well, sir: I hope Gen. 
Jackson is well !" It was curious to see the western 
planter, the Indian fighter, the stern soldier who had 
written his country's glory in the blood of the enemy 
at New Orleans — genial and gracious in the midst of 
a court, while the old courtier and diplomat was stiff, 
rigid, cold as a statue I It was all the more remark- 
able fipom the feet that, four hours before, the former 


had been defeated, and the latter was the victor, in 
a struggle for one of the highest objects of human 
ambition. The personal character of these two indi- 
viduals was in fact well expressed in that chance 
meeting : the gallantry, the frankness, and the hear- 
tiness of the one, which captivated all ; the coldness, 
the distance, the self-concentration of the other, which 
repelled all.* 

* A somewhat severe bat Btill toate analyBt of Mr. AduDB^B ehOTCtufr 
Mys : " UDdoabtedly, one grest rewon of his anpopniaiitj was his edd, 
SDtipathetic manner, and the saispicion of selfishness it suggested, or at 
least aided greatly to confirm. None approached Mr. Adams, bat to 
recede. He never succeeded, he never tried to conciliate." 

I recollect an anecdote somewhat illustrative of this. When he was 
candidate for the Presidency, his political friends thought it advisable 
that he should attend a cattle-show at Worcester, Mass., so as to oonoil- 
iate the numbers of influential men who might bo present. Accordingly 
he went, and while there many persons were introduced to him, and 
among the rest a former of the vicinity — a man of substance and great 
respectability. On being presented, he said — 

** Mr. Adams, 1 am very glad to see you. My wife, when she was a 
gal, lived in your father's family ; you were then a little boy, and she 
has told mo a great deal about you. She has very often combed your 

** Well," said Mr. Adams, in his harsh way — " I suppose she oombe« 
yours now !" The poor farmer slunk back like a lashed hound, feeling 
the smart, but utterly unconscious of tlie provocation. 

Mr. Adamses course iu the House of Kepreseutatives — to which he 
was elected for a series of years, after he had been President — was liable 
to great and serious exception. His age, the high positions he had 
held, his vast experience and unbounded stores of knowledge, might 
have made him the arbiter of that body. Such, however, was his love 
of gladiatorial displays, that he did more to promote scenes of collisiou, 
strife, and violence, in words and deeds, than any other member. I 
remember one day to have been on the floor of the House, when he at- 
tacked Mr. Wise with great personality and bitterness. In allusion to 
the Cilley duel, with which he was connected, he spoke of him as coming 
into that assembly, *' his hands dripping with blood 1" Tliere was a 
terrible yarring tone in his voice, which gave added effect to the 
denunoiation. Every person present seemed to be thrilled with a Bort 


I pass over several years, and come to the period 
when Jackson was President, at which time I was 
often at Washington. It was a marked epoch, for 
Webster, Calhoun, and Clay were then in the Senate. 
It is seldom that three such men appear upon the 
theater of action at the same time. They were e^ich 
distinct from the other in person, manners, heart, 
constitution ; they were from diflferent sections of the 
country, and to some extent reflected the manners, 
habits, and opinions of these diverse regions. They 
were all of remarkable personal appearance : Web- 
ster of massive form, dark complexion, and thought- 
ful, solemn countenance ; Clay, tall, of rather slight 
frame, but keen, flexible features, and singular ease 
and freedom in his attitudes, his walk, and his ges- 
tures. Calhoun was also tall, but erect, and rigid 
in his form — his eye grayish blue, and flashing from 
beneath a brow at once imperious and scornful. All 
these men were great actors, not through art, but na- 
ture, and gave to the effect of their high intellectual 
endowments, the added power of commanding per- 
sonal presence and singularly expressive counte- 
nances. They have passed from the stage, and all 

of horror, rather toward Mr. Adams than the object of hia reproaches. 
In speaking of this scene to me afterward, an eminent member of Con- 
gress said, that ** Mr. Adams's greatest delight was to be the hero of a 
row." There is no doubt that the rude personal passages which often 
occur in the House of Bepresentatives, derived countenance from Mr. 
Adami»*s example. It is melancholy to reflect how a great intellect, and, 
on the whole, a great life, were marred and dwarfed by inherent personal 

I funrivet of tht^ii bdcmgi lo ihe doawa ciT hi^ 

ij. MmtiT of ilie spaeelw*^ now rooordad ia ib«r 

>k% I bcsnl mad remanUer, wtib tbeir loflj 
p&mteil in uiy ^fm mad Uietr thntliog 

being iti tnjr mr. TboM wbo Dever biw4 

rer wr ibetn, mil 

milt f hfl gloving wolds, the mi^brr tbiogbip tbvy 

Te left bilttfld \ bul tlwy cut new 

MepHoM vbMi litif^ in the cnindi of tbeoi wte 
lU th«ni in tbe AiU idispew of tliM^ ^nlMi^ uil 
rin^' tbciT itfTefml pul* on their ktoaI thnucr of 
life and action — the Senate of the United StateiL 

Calhoun wa« inlurali'd in Connecticut, rimt frrmdu- 
ating at Yale College, and then at the Utiht'irkl lav 
school. I have olUni heanl hw clanMnate* »{irak of 
him a.H manift^^ting great abilities and grrat ambi- 
tiun, from the beginning. He waa {lOUtieuUriT 
Doteii fur hm converuitional (>owen% and a airdiaiitr 
of manners which won the hearts of all. lie mwm 
deemeii frank, hearty, nympathetic. One of hia inti- 
maten at Vale^ told me that about the vcar I8li be 
vaa elei*ted to CongrefM. Mr. Calhoun was th^n m 
member, and one of the grtrateeil pleanurt* hia cImv- 
maie antici{>iit«*<l, wx-* in meeting hw collrgv friend. 
He waa kindlv r«i'«MV«'<l, but in the fir*t intrmev, 
he <lLicoveml that the heart of the now ruing yfAi- 
lician waA gont*. II<- had alreailv given up to am- 
bttit>n what wa** m«';ifil f ^r mankiihi. 

Mr. Calhoun hml, however, nuuij I'nenda in N«v 


England, partly from the favorable impression he 
made while residing there, and partly also from his 
conduct during the earlier portion of his public career. 
He had, indeed, promoted the war of 1812, but in 
many of his opinions— especially in the support of 
a navy — he coincided with the North. His admin- 
istration of the war department from 1817, during 
the long period of seven years, was singularly suc- 
cessful, and everywhere increased his reputation as 
a practical statesman. It is a curious circumstance, 
explained by the &cts I have just mentioned, that in 
the election of 1824, while Jackson was defeated for 
the presidency, Calhoun was still chosen vice-presi- 
dent, and mainly by northern votes.* Thus far his 
measures, his policy, had been national ; but he soon 
changed, and frequently shifting his position, lost the 
confidence of his own party and of the country. For 
the last fifteen years of his life, " he was like a strong 
man struggling in a morass : every eflfort to extricate 
himself only sinking him deeper and deeper." He has 
passed away, leaving abundant evidences of his abil- 
ities, but with the sad distinction of having success- 
fully devoted the last years of his life to the estab- 
lishment of the doctrine in his own State and among 
many of his admirers, that domestic Slavery is a good 
and beneficent institution — compatible with the Con- 
stitution of the United States, and entitled to pro 

* Mr. Calhoun had one hundred luid Ibarteen votes from the noo 
■laveholding Stafeea, end elx^-eight only from the others. 


Miotiot] ami perpemilj txstfvlii iu tManer! 
L i)«|Mnare ii tbtt from the Tievi lad 
■Im fimoileiB of oor NataottAt ladifdwiy aikd 
^Mermi Uaioii — WadiiiiBiw, PtmI^ 

Mr. Cbj wm wim m ftapportir <if t^ vat of 1811, 
istil probMy wm^ mcire Ikao aoj ntlmf nuiltiiliali, 
wyxttribte for il During tt» firogni^ hi «•• ik» 

^•loqutot iklnwlftr of tlw wlmiAiL.. , „.^ 

■jUiiggkg asd iliuiiefm^ And mm heom tb» 
§Db^iorN««rEagjbuidiioMl]«j. H«» 
ed Mr. Adamn, in 1826, and having oontribdlrd^ br 
hi« cotiiniaiKlin^ influent*, to hi.n election, liecani** h^ 
Secretary of Slate. Uis poliey U|x>n the tanfT mfirr- 
wani bnmght hini into harmony with the North, ami 
he wa.-* hmg the favorite candulate t»f the whitni ^>r 
the pn-stidency. But he, t<x>, hke Calhoun, was a 
man of " [)o«itionii/' and with all hm abilities— «ith 
all hin Mnij^glen — he alipped between thetn, and fcll, 
without n^alixmg the great object of hia tm^rr am- 
bition — the prenidency.* 

* TH«r9 Mwm* u> K«r« b«#n a ftiofuUr Atfuilt m Mr. ClBy'* , 
a n iuf»» -if «« nimy h» permtttx^l to Wwt tb«m hr Umm Mi4 
rvBuh. H« pn>mo«^l Xhm mu, hot ««• Ktm*«)f 4i«m of Um mmfi 
tof» of • pe*r« vtth th* roemj. fiahoat ft ^ogi» •ii{<«lai««« «• i 
to tl*« emu*** <•< tK« war, aixl thi* tc-o ftfWr an rtf>«»«ltt«r« wi tki«^ 
tbtMiai*!) 1 li«*« M»<i a bfifii)r%^ mllKMM of ii«4l»r« on <««r ••4*, aa^ p »»> 
abi« ail r<4'4a. «ir<«>n iilar« <«ti t^.e oth«f. Tli* ll***oa/i i^.'^iprwo— 9t 
!•>•), •huh h* • ' f^t f** f» I a* t*M i^rt tK« rrr*l.t -"f l, t«k iMa« ^ 

TIm < uca|<^n>«u<*« uf l<^4 «a« rrY^^i^^J bv auuiv of \nm MmaMMM BMS lift 
lM«o«iiV7,M«M sf Um»m€ III III wi I liitiwl ■ip*^— iliiaiioiH 


The first time I ever saw Mr. Webster was on the 
17th of June, 1825, at the laying of the corner-stone 
of the Bunker Hill Monument I shall never forget 
his appearance as he strode across the open area, en- 
circled by some fifty thousand persons — men and 
women — waiting for the " Orator of the Day," nor 
the shout that simultaneously burst forth, as he was 
recognized, carrying up to the skies the name of 
"Webster I" " Webster 1" "Webster I" 

It was one of those lovely days in June, when the 

have been devised, and by its inconBistency with his previous doctriDeSy 
lost him forever the confidence of his best friends, especially at the 
North. Mr. J. Q. Adams once told me that he considered this as a fatal 
mistake on Mr. Clay^s part, as he saved Mr. Calhonn without concilia- 
ting him, at the same time alienating many leading men throughout the 
country who had before been devoted to him. The Compromise of 1850, 
in which Mr. Clay was the chief, has already lost its force, and is likely 
hereafter to be rather a source of agitation than of peace. His grand and 
comprehensive system, to which he gave the name of ** American,** 
and which proposed to build up a mighty nation through a National 
Bank, giving us a currency — Internal Improvements, promoting com- 
merce and binding the States in the bonds of union — the Tariff, to ren- 
der us independent of foreign nations in peace and in war — and the 
Panama Mission, placing us at the head of the powers of this conti- 
nent,— all these have been trampled under foot by Jackson, and Van 
Bnren, and Polk, and Pierce, and the People. They have been erased 
from our policy, and their history is chiefly memorable for the ability 
with which their grreat originator promoted them, and yet only to insur* 
the defeat of his own ambition. After a few brief years, Hanry Clay will 
be only known to the student of history, who looks beyond existing 
monuments for testimonials of the giants of bygone generations. Even 
his speeches, stirring as they were on those who heard them— having 
no eminence in literature, no body and soul of general truth, reflection, 
and philosophy, and little connection with current politics — will soon 
be among the tradition.^ of the past. Tiie fallacy of Mr. Clay's career 
lay in this — he created issues, founded schemes, planned systems, aa 
the ladders of ambition ; the truer plan, even for ambition, is to make 
truth and daty and principle the polar star of lite and action. 

Vol. II.— 18 


sun is bright, the air dear, and the breath of nature 
so sweet and pure as to fill every bosom with a grate- 
iul joy in the mere consciousness of existence. There 
were present long files of soldiers in their holiday 
attire ; there were many associations, with their mot- 
toed banneifs ; there were lodges and grand lodges, 
in white aprons and blue 8car& ; there were miles of 
citizens from the towns and the country round about ; 
there were two hundred gray-haired men, remnants 
of the days of the Revolution ; there was among them 
a stranger, of great mildness and dignity of appear- 
ance, on whom all eyes rested, and when his name 
was known, the air echoed with the cry — " Welcome, 
welcome, Lafayette !"* Around all this scene, was a 

♦ I wa» at this time Mof^ter of the Lodge at Hartford, St. John^s No. 
4, and attended this celebration officially as a deputy fVom the Grand 
Lodgro of Connecticut. I recollect that when the lodges ai««embled at 
Boston, Geii. Lafayette was among them. I had seen liim before in Paris, 
at a dinner on Washington's birthday, a. d. 1824, when he first an- 
nounced his intention of coming to America. I afterward saw him, 
both at Washington and Paris. I may mention a single anecdote, illus- 
trative of his tenderness of heart. While he was at Washington, Mr. 
Morse — since so universally known as the inventor of the electric tele- 
graph — was employed to paint his portrait for the City Hall of New York. 
One day, when the people were collecting in the hall of the hotel for 
dinner, I saw Mr. Morse apart, in the corner of the room, reading a 
letter. I noticed, in a moment, that he was greatly agitated. I went 
to him, and asked him the cause. He could not speak; he put the 
letter into my hand, and staggered out of the room. I looked over the 
cpi.stle, and saw that it contained the fatal intelligence of the death of his 
wife, at New Haven, whom he had left there, in health, a few days be- 
fore. He felt it necessary to leave Wiushington immediately, and go to 
liis friends, and I agreed to accompany him. It was nccct*sary that 
this should be communicated to Lafayette. 1 \v<'nt to him and told him 
the story. He was very much affected, and went with me to see Mr. 
Morse. He took him in his arms and kissed him, and wept over him, 


rainbow of beauty sach as New England alone can 

I have seen many public festivities and ceremoni- 
als, but never one, taken all together, of more general 
interest than this. Every thing was fortunate : all 
were gratified; but the address was that which 
seemed uppermost in all minds and hearts. Mr. 
Webster was in the very zenith of his fame and of 
his powers. I have looked on many mighty men — 
King Qeorge, the "first gentleman in England;" 
Sir Astley Cooper, the Apollo of his generation: 
Peele, O'Cpnnell, Palmerston, Lyndhurst — all nature's 
noblemen.; I have seen Cuvier, Guizot, Arago, 
Lamartine — marked in their persons by the genius 
which have carried their names over the world ; I 
have seen Clay, and Calhoun, and Pinkney, and 
King, and Dwight, and Daggett, who stand as high 
examples of personal endowment, in our annals, and 
yet not one of these approached Mr. Webster in the 
commanding power of their personal presence. There 

w if he had been his own child. Nothing could be more soothing 
than this affectionate sympathy. 

In Mr. Webster's discourse, which I have been noticing, there Iraa 
a passage addressed to Lafayette, which, I believe, is slightly altered in 
the present printed copy. It was told as an anecdote, some years ago, 
that he composed the discourse while fishing for cod off Nantasket 
Beach. It would seem that as he came to the point of addressing La- 
fayette, he had a vigorous bite, and from habit, more than attention 
to the business in hand, began to haul in. Just as the fish emerged 
from the water, Mr. Webster went on thus — " Fortunate man ! the rep- 
resentative of two hemispheres— welcome to these shores I"— where- 
upon the huge fish was safely jerked into the boat. I can not vouch 
for the authenticity of the story, but I tell it as too good to be lost. 


was a grandeur in his form, an intelligence in Iiis deep 
dark eje, a loftiness in his expansive brow, a signifi- 
cance in his arched lip, altogether beyond those of 
any other human being I ever saw. And these, on 
the occasion to which I allude, had their full ex- 
pression and interpretation. 

In general, the oration was serious, full of weighty 
thought and deep reflection. Occasionally there 
were flashes of fine imagination, and several passages 
of deep, overwhelming emotion.* I was near the 
speaker, and not only heard every word, but I saw 
every movement of his countenance. When he came 
to address the few scarred and time-worn veterans — 
some forty in number — who had shared in the bloody 
scene which all had now gathered to commemorate, he 
paused a moment, and, as he uttered the words "Ven- 
erable men," his voice trembled, and I could see a 
cloud pass over the sea of faces that turned upon the 
speaker. When at last, alluding to the death of 
Warren, he said — 

* One incident, which occurred on this occMioUf is worth mention- 
injr. I Hat near two old men, farmers I should judge, who remained 
with their mouths open fW>m the bei^inning to the end of the oration. 
Not a sentence escaped them. I could see reflected in their oounte- 
Dances the whole march of the discourse. When it wns over, they rose 
ap, and having drawn a lonj? breath, one said to the other—** Well, that 
was good; every word 8c<med to weigh a pcvndr While Mr. Webnter 
was in Europe in 1S39, I wrote a series of anecdotioal sketches of him, 
publirthed in the National Intelligencer, and among other things, reci- 
ted this incident. It found its way to England, and tlio London Times, 
in dcHoribing Mr. Wel>8ter'H manner in the speecii ho made at the Ox- 
ford Cattle Show, repeated thin anecdote as particularly descriptive of 
hi!« ma(*sive and weighty eloquence. 


"But ah, Him I — the first great martyr of this 
great cause. Him, the patriotic victim of his own 
self-devoting heart. Him, cut oflF by Providence in 
the hour of overwhelming anxiety and thick gloom : 
falling ere he saw the star of his country rise — how 
shall I struggle with the emotions that stifle the ut- 
terance of thy name I" Here the eyes of the vet- 
erans around, little accustomed to tears, were filled 
to the brim, and some of them ^'sobbed aloud in their 
fullness of heart." The orator went on : 

" Our poor work may perish, but thine shall en- 
dure: this monument may molder away, the solid 
ground it rests upon may sink down to the level oi 
the sea ; but thy memory shall not fail. Wherever 
among men a heart shall be found that beats to the 
transports of patriotism and liberty, its aspirations 
shall claim kindred with thy spirit I" 

I have never seen such an effect, from a single pas- 
sage : a moment before, every bosom bent, eveiy 
brow was clouded, every eye was dim. Lifted as 
by inspiration, every breast seemed now to expand, 
every gaze to turn above, every face to beam with a 
holy yet exulting enthusiasm. It was the omnipo- 
tence of eloquence, which, like the agitated sea, car- 
ries a host upon its waves, sinking and swelling with 
its irresistible undulations. 

It was some years subsequent to this that I be- 
came personally acquainted with Mr. Webster. From 
1886, to the time of his death, I saw him firequently, 

414 txrrcKi — moam^mmM^y 

Ln {mbUo mad «Dtsietiin«i in ^.itiyiifc I 
hiTQ kcftid aime of hii grtm BpcoAm^ m well M 
Wttihijiftciii Bi eltfewbeni, but I mitft tt^v that kit 
QCMiT^mtioA ia^mBed om qiaile a« iif«>figl]r «• lib 
publia nUrana 1 ouae bmvdad witk Ite tvm 
W«ibtiigtciii ki Bdtiiiiore. I>iiriiif m rid* td tmm 
boitri, b« spolce of a grtssl rvietj of pubycc i» tgri - 
oaHura, boitioiitei% j^ymmk fttogrmphj, 
with & peribetwi of kaovlidg^ from th# 
drUik ta ibn bighrvt pbiloniphj^ wbicb 
One thing I partkcLkriy rstaarkml be btd no 
teooqitieai, &o taQoertAiti Icoowledf^ Wb»t b« kti#v, 
he was sure of. His recollection seemed aUtolQieij 
perfect. Ilis mind grasped the smallest as well aa 
the greatest things. He spoke of ex|ienmenta'be 
bad made at Mamhfield in pmtectmg trees, frceotir 
planttnl, by inter|KJsing boards between tbem and tbe 
prevailing winds, obsen'ing that theae grew nearij 
twice as rapidly as those which were exposed to tbe 
fbll sweep of the Masts. He s(K>ke of the nroetit 
diaooveries of geology — which had oon verted the 
rocky lamina of the earth, hiddrn from the be|n&' 
ning, into leaves uf a bix>k, m which we ci>uld traoe 
the footprints of the Crtrator — with perfect knowU 
•dge of the subject, and a full apprvciatioo of the 
aublimity <>f itji rtvrlalioiij*. 

At BAliiinMn-, whik' MiiiiiiL' at table after Unk the 
OonveniaUou cunlinucd, taking in a grvat variety ot 
Mbgecta. One of the ladiea of our company 


Mr. Webster if he chose Marshfield for a residence 
because it was near the sea. 

" Yes, madam," was the reply. 

** And do you love the seashore ?" 

" Yes, I love it, yet not perhaps as others do. 1 
can not pick up shells and pebbles along the shore. 
I can never forget the presence of the sea. It seems 
to speak to me, and beckon to me. When I see the 
surf come rolling in, like a horse foaming from the 
battle, I can not stoop down and pick up pebbles. 
The* sea unquestionably presents more grand and 
exciting pictures and conceptions to the mind, than 
any other portion of the earth, partly because it is 
always new to us, and partly, too, because of the 
majestic movement of its great mass of waters. The 
mystery of its depths, the history of its devastations, 
crowd the mind with lofty images. 

*^ ^ The armaments which thnnderstrike the walls 
Of rock-bailt cities, bidding nations qnake, 
And monarchs tremble in their capitals — 
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 
Thdr clay creator the vain title take 
Of lord of thee and arbiter of war : 
These are thy toys, and as the snowy flake, 
They melt into the yeast of waves, which mar 

Alike the Armada's pride or spoils of Trafalgar. 

" ' Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 
Glasses itself in tempests : in all time, 
Oalm or convulsed — in breeze or gale or storm, 
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime, 


Dark-heaying : boundleaa, Midkas^ and sublime— 
The image of Etermtj — ^the throne 
Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime 
The monsters of the deep are made : each zone 
Obeys thee * thou goeet forth dread^ fithomleBB, alone I' 

I know of few descriptions of natiure equal in sub- 
limity to that." 

It is impossible to give any impression of the effect 
of this passage, recited in low, solemn tones like the 
bass of an organ, the brow of the speaker seeming to 
reflect the very scenes it described. 

Yet Mr. Webster was not always serious. In the 
circle of intimate friends he was generally cheerful 
and sometimes playful, not only relishing wit and 
repartee, but contributing to it his proper share. I 
have heard of one occasion in which he kept a full 
table in a roar for half an hour with his sallies. 
Many years ago there was a contested election in 
Mississippi — the seats of two sitting members being 
claimed by a Mr. Word and the famous orator, S. S. 
Prentiss.* The two claimants came to Washington, 

♦ S. S. Prentisa wtts a native of Maine, bat removed to Mississippi, 
where he soon distinguished hiin«ielf us a brilliant orator. In the Har- 
rison Canipuigu of 1840, '* he took the stump,'* and matle a htries of moat 
eflFective speeches, crowds gathering fro?n iimny miles around, to hear 
him. One day he met with a caravan of wild beasts, aiid it w^aa suggested 
that he should speak from the top of one of the wagons. He mounted 
that of tlie hyenus, and as he was lame, and carried a strong cone, ocoa- 
sionally he poked this Uirough a bole in the top and htirred up the hyenas* 
within. Prentiss hud boathing powers of denuiiciation, and ho waa 
unsparing in )iis sarcasms upon the administration of Jackson and hia 
successor Vsn Ruren, which, as he insisted, had caused the min then 


and argued their case before the House, but it was 
dismissed, and they were sent back for a new elec- 
tion. Prentiss, however, had sustained himself with 
so much ability, that before his departure a few of 
his whig friends concluded to give him a dinner. 
This was private, though some thirty persons were 
present. Late in the evening, when all were warmed 
with the cheer, Preston, of South Carolina, rose and 
proposed this sentiment : 

" Daniel Webster — a Northern man with Southern 
principles !" 

Mr. Webster, after a moment's hesitation, said : 
'* Mr. Chairman, I rise in obedience to the flattering 
call of my good friend from South Carolina : Daniel 
WAster — a Northern man with Southern principles! 
Well, sir, I was bom in New Hampshire, and there- 
fore I am a northern man. There is no doubt of that. 
And if what the people say of us be true, it is 
equally certain that I am a man of southern princi- 
ples. Sir, do I ever leave a heel-tap in my glass ? 
Do I ever pay my debts? Don't I always prefer 

desolating the ooaDtry ; bat when to his blasting sentences were added 
the bowlings of the hyenas, judicioasly pnt in at the climaxes, it was 
something more than words — it was ** acUon, action, action !" 

I remember once to have heard this faraoos orator, the «ame season, 
at a whig meeting in Faneuil Hall, Edward Everett presiding. I hardly 
knew which most to admire — the polished elegance, spiced with graoe- 
fal and pertinent wit, of Everett, or the dashing splendor of Prentiaa. 
The one seemed like the fountain of Velino playing amid Grecian ncnlp- 
tare ; the other, a cataract of the Far West, fed from inexhaustiblo 
foantains, and lighting whole forests with its crystals and its foam. 

Mr. Prentiss died in 1850, greatly lamented, at the early age of fb :y 



challenging a man who won't fight?" And thus he 
went on in a manner more suitable to the occasion 
than to these pages — until at last, amid roars of laugh- 
ter and shouts of applause, he sat down. 

The countenance of Mr. Webster was generally 
solemn, and even severe, especialij when he was ab- 
sorbed in thought : jet when relaxed with agreeable 
emotions, it was irresistibly winning. I have heard 
an anecdote which furnishes a pleasing illustration of 
thia At the time Mr. Wirt was Attorney-general, 
Mr. Webster, having some business with him, went 
to his office. Mr. Wirt was engaged for a few mo- 
ments at his desk, and asked Mr. Webster to sit down 
a short time, when he would come to him. Mr. Web- 
ster did as requested, and for some moments sat look- 
ing moodily into the fire. At length one of Mr. 
Wirt's children — a girl of six or eight years old — 
came in, and thinking it was her father, went to Mr. 
Webster, and putting her elbows on his knee, looked 
up in his face. In an instant she started back, 
shocked at her mistake, and appalled by the dark, 
moody countenance before her. At the same mo- 
ment Mr. Webster became aware of her presence. 
His whole face changed in an instant : a smile came 
over his face ; he put out his hand, and all was so 
winning, that the child, after hesitating a moment, 
also smiled, and went back and resumed her confiding 
position, as if it had indeed been her father. 

That Mr. Webster had his faults, we all know ; 


but the general soundness of his heart and character, 
as well as the soundness of his intellect, are demon- 
strated by his works. These are an indestructible 
monument, attesting alike his greatness and his good- 
ness. Among all these volumes, so full of thought, 
so pregnant with instruction, so abounding in knowl- 
edge, there is not an impure suggestion, not a mean 
sentiment, not a malicious sentence. All is patriotic, 
virtuous, ennobling. And the truths he thus uttered 
— how are they beautified, adorned, and conmiended 
by the purity of the style and the elegance of the dic- 
tion ! Xa this respect there is a remarkable difference 
between him and his great rivals. Clay and Calhoun. 
Mr. Webster's works abound in passages which convey 
beautiful sentiments in beautiful language* — ^gems of 

* It would be easy to fill volomes with paasages of this sort : the 
following, token at random from Mr. Webster^s published works, will 
illustrate what I have said : 

"Justice, sir, is the great interest of man on earth. It is the liga- 
ment which holds civilized beings and civilized nations together. Wheru 
her temple stands, and so long as it is duly honored, there is a founda- 
tion for social security, general happiness, and the improvement and 
progress of our race." 

" One may live as a conqueror, a king, or a magistrate, but he must 
die as a man. The bed of death brings every human being to his pure 
individuality ; to the intense contemplation of that deepest and most 
solemn of all relations, the relation between the Creator and the cre- 

** Beal goodness does not attach itself merely to this life ; it points 
to another world." 

" Religion is the tie that connects man with his Creator, and holds 
him to his throne. If that tie be all sundered, all broken, he floats ' 
away, a worthless atom in the universe — its proper attractions all gone, 
its destiny thwarted, and its whole future notliiug but darkness, des- 
olation, and death." 

Speaking at Valley Forge of the sufferings of the American army 


thought set in golden sentences, fitting them to be- 
come the adornments of gifted and tasteful minds, 
for all future time. With these other orators it is 
not so : there is an earnest, direct, vigorous logic in 
Calhoun, which, however, can spare not a sentence 
to any subsidiary thought ; there is a warm, glowing, 
hearty current of persuasion in Clay, yet he is too 
ardent in the pursuit of his main design, to pause for 

there, under Washington, in the winter of 1777-8, he desoribed them 
■■ "destitute of clothing, destitute of provisionii, destitute of every 
thine: bat thoir faith in God and their immortal leader.'^ 

" The slightest glanco must convince us that mechanical power and 
mechanical skill, as they are now exhibited in Europe and America, 
mark an epoch in human history worthy of all admiration. Machinery 
is made to perform what has formerly been the toil of human hands, 
to an extent that astonishes the most sanguine, with a degree of power 
to which no nnmber of human arms is equal, and with such precision 
and exactness as almost to suggest the notion of reason and intelligence 
in the machines themselves. Every natural agent is put unrelentingly 
to the task. The winds work, the waters work, the elasticity of metalit 
works ; gravity is solicited into a thousand new forms of action ; leverti 
are multiplied upon levers ; wheels revolve on the peripheries of other 
wheels ; the saw und the plane are tortured into an accommodation to 
new uses, uud last of all, with inimitable power, and * with whirlwind 
sound,' comes the potent agency of steam." 

** Steam is found in triumphant operation on the seas ; and under the 
influence of its stronir ^>^opul^ion, the gallant ship» 

' A^rainst the wind, ai^inst the tide, 
Btlll tteadifs with an upright ke«I.' 

It is on the rivers, and the boatman may repose on his oars ; it ia on 
highways, and begins to exert itself along the courses of land convey- 
ance ; it is at the bottom of mines, a thousand feet below the earth's 
surface ; it is in the mill, and in the workshops of the trades. It rows, 
it pumps, it excavates, it carries, it draws, it lifts, it hammers, it spins, 
it weaves, it prints.'* 

'* Whether it be consciousness, or the result of his reasoning facul- 
ties, mau soon learns that ho must die. And of all sentient beings, he 
alone, as far as we can judge, attains to this knowledge. His Maker 
baa made him capable of learning this. Before he knows hia origin 


a moment to gather or scatter flowers by the wayside. 
In all the works of these two great men, it is not 
easy to select a page which may challenge admiration 
on account of its artistic beauty, or because it en- 
shrines general truth and philosophy, so happily 
expressed as to enforce them upon the worship of the 
Of Mr. Webster's magnanimity, there are abundant 

and destiny, he knows that he is to die. Then comes that most urgent 
and solemn demand for light that ever proceeded, or can prooeed, frbm 
the profound and anxious broodings of the human soul. It is stated, 
with wonderful force and beauty, in that incomparable composition, the 
book of Job : ' For there is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will 
sprout again, and that the tender branch thereof will not cease ; that, 
through the scent of water, it will bud, and bring forth boughs like a 
plant. But if a man die, shall he live again P And that question noth- 
ing but God, and the religion of Qod, can solve. Religion does solve it, 
and teaches every man that he is to live again, and that the duties of 
this life have reference to the life which is to come. And hence, since 
the introduction of Christianity, it has been the duty, as it has been 
the effort, of the great and the good, to nanctify human knowledge, to 
bring it to the fount, and to baptize learning into Christianity ; to gath- 
er up all its productions, its earliest and its latest, its blossoms and its 
fruits, and lay them all upon the altar of relijurion and virtue." 

" I shall enter on no encomium upon MaAsachusetts ; she needs none. 
There she is. Behold her, and judge for yourselves. There is her his- 
tory ; the world knows it by heart. The past, at least, is secure. There 
is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker Hill ; and there 
they will remain forever. The bones of iier sons, falling in the great 
struggle for Independence, now lie mingled with the soil of every State, 
from New England to Georgia ; and there they will lie forever. And, 
sir, where American Liberty raised its first voice, and where its youth 
was nurtured and sustained, there it still lives, in the strength of its 
manhood and full of its original spirit. If discord and disunion shall 
wound it, if party strife and blind ambition shall hawk at and tear it, 
if folly and madness, if uneasiness under salutary and necessary re- 
striiint, shall succeed in separating it from that Union by which alone 
its existence is made sure, it will stand, in the end, by the side of that 
oradle in which its infancy was rocked ; it will stretch forth its arm, with 
whatever of vigor it may still retain, over the friends who gather round 


evidences. His whole course in the House as well as in 
the Senate evinced it He never displayed, because he 
never felt that littleness of soul, which signalizes itself 
in envy, and malice, and uncharitableness. Nothing 
can be finer than the uniform dignity of his con- 
duct through a congressional period of more than 
twenty years. But there are two instances of his 
greatness of soul, which have appeared to me re- 
markable, and especially worthy of being recorded, 
because they refer to those individuals, Clay and Cal- 
houn, who of all others he might have been sup- 
posed to regard with feelings of aversion, if not of 

It is well remembered by all those who are con- 
versant with the history of the times, that Mr. Web- 
ster, then acting as Secretary of State in the Tyler 
Cabinet, thought fit to continue in his place, when the 

it ; and it will fall at last, if fall it must, amid the proudest monumenta 
of its own glory, and on the very ^pot of its origin." 

[t is known that some of thei^e fine passages wore suddenly struck 
out in the heat of debate ; others no doubt were polidhed and perfected 
with care. On a certain occasion, Mr. Webster startled the Senate by 
a beautiful and striking remark in relation to the extent of the British 
empire, as follows : " She has dotted the surface of the whole globe with 
her poflsessiouB and military posts, whose morning drum-beat, follow- 
ing the sun and keeping company with the hours, circle the earth daily 
with one continuous and unbroken strain of the martial airs of England." 

On going out of the Senate, one of the members complimented Mr. 
Wcbtiter upon this, saying that he was all the more struck with it as it 
was evidently impromptu. " You are mistaken," said Mr. Webster 
**the idea occurred to me when I was on the ramparts of Quebec, some 
months since. 1 wrote it down, and re-wrote it, and after several trials, 
got it to suit me, and laid it by for use. The time came to-day, and st 
I put it in." 


other members resigned. This conduct drew upon 
him attacks from various quarters, and especially 
from those who were known to take counsel of Mr. 
Clay. It was manifest, as well from the bitterness as 
the persistence of the onslaught, that the purpose was 
to effect Mr. Webster's destruction as a public man. 
This object was not accomplished, for it soon ap- 
peared to the world that he had been governed by 
the highest motives of patriotism, in the course he 
had adopted, and that he had indeed made it the 
means of accomplishing a great national benefit — ^the 
settling of the irritating and threatening question of 
the " Maine boundary." In fact, Mr. Webster rather 
gained than lost in the confidence of men whose opin- 
ions are of value, in spite of this conspiracy which 
sought to overwhelm him. 

In the spring of 1844, Mr. Clay, having been on 
a trip to the South, came to Washington. He was 
already indicated by public opinion as the whig can- 
didate for the presidency, and it seemed highly prob- 
able that the time had now come for the realization 
of his known and cherished aspirations, in respect to 
that high position. He was himself sanguine of suc- 
cess. On the 1st of May he was nominated at Bal- 
timore, by a whig convention, for the of&ce in ques- 
tion, and the next day there was to be a grand rally 
of young men, to ratify the nomination. It was sug- 
gested to Mr. Clay that it was eminently desirable 
that Mr. Wrbster should add his influence in behalf 


of the nomination ; but he is said to have felt that 
he neither needed nor desired it. His friends, however, 
thought otherwise, and a message was dispatched to 
Mr. Webster, begging him to come on to the conven- 
tion, already gathering at Baltimore. This reached 
him while he was dining at the Astor House, in New 
York. He immediately left the table, and after a 
brief communion with himself departed, and arrived 
in time to join his voice in a powerful speech, to the 
enthusiasm of the occasion. 

A very short period after this, the clouds began 
to thicken in the political horizon. Mr. Polk had 
been nominated, and the important State of Penn- 
sylvania was seen to be in danger of giving him her 
vote. In this emergency, Mr. Webster was besought 
to go there and address the people at Philadelphia, 
and in the mining districts, where large masses were 
congregated. Perfectly well knowing Mr. Clay's 
sentiments and conduct toward him, he still went, 
and made a series of addresses, among the most elo- 
quent that he ever uttered. In the course of these, 
he had occasion to speak of Mr. Clay. It was a 
delicate task, therefore, to do justice to his position, 
as an advocate of Mr. Clay's candidacy, while at the 
same time Mr. Clay's treatment of him was fresh in 
the public mind. Yet with a tact, which does infi- 
nite credit to his good taste, and a magnanimity which 
equally honors his heart, bespoke of Mr. Clay in the 
following words: 


*' There are two candidates in the field, Mr. Clay of Eentackj, 
and Mr. Polk of Tennessee. I shall speak of them hoth with 
the respect to which their character and position entitle them ; 
and at the same time with that freedom and candor which 
onght to he obserred in discnssing the merits of public men, 
especiaUy those who are candidates for the highest office in the 
giit of the people. 

^*' Mr. Clay has been before the country for a long period, 
nearly forty years. Over thirty years he has taken a leading 
and highly important part in the public afiOurs of this country. 
He is acknowledged to be a man of singular and almost univer- 
sal talent. He has had great experience in the administration 
of our public afBurs in various departments. He has served 
for many years with wonderful judgment and ability, in both 
houses of Congress, of one of which he performed the arduous 
and difficult duties of its presiding officer, with unexampled skill 
and success. He has rendered most important services to his 
country of a diplomatic character, as the representative of this 
government in Europe, at one of the most trying periods of our 
history, and ably assisted to conduct to a satisfactory conclusion 
a very delicate and important negotiation. He has performed 
. the duties of the department of State with ability and fidelity. 
He is a man of frankness and honor, of unquestioned talent and 
ability, and of a noble and generous bearing. 

" Mr. Polk is a much younger man than Mr. Clay. He is a 
very respectable gentleman in private life ; he has been in Con- 
gress ; was once Speaker of the House of Representatives of the 
United States, and once Governor of the State of Tennessee." 

We may not only refer to this passage as evidence 
of Mr. Webster's magnanimity of soul, but as a high 
example of gentlemanly dignity — in the very heat of 
an animated party discussion, not forgetting to render 
justice even to an adversary. 



In mip0Gt to Mr C«lhoQt^ Ur Webrtir 
mimlar ckralion of miiici It in mfttter of I 
tlMl| in lb« earlier iieriiidt oT ibair ujugryJiMial I 
Ihew two men wens dimwu log^kr t^ mitlml ad* 
Dilmian. Ilut party exigmooi hmn no ftiptel #« 
{invatis ftodiiigH, and aooinltnglj Ur. CUbcmo joiasd 
tlie coi^sptrmer, wliidi, in 1831, waa im 
Mr. Webiter ; a nw^arare whtcb il wit bopod toi 
pltth tbmagh ibe ekiqooioe of Mr. Hat aa, 
% |1m9 untied takcit %J the drameralb fwt;, ^ tkai 
ttrae pow«rfttUj ropmitttai la tba SiPaH. TIal ha 

A.'. V.IA ,..v.f 


for there is hanlly an inatancf on n*conl in wbicb a 
man, Binglehanded, ha^i withsttMMl and ImfBed and 
pani5he<i i*o formidable a ctjmbi nation. For »eTrral 
years irninotiialely following, Mr. Weli^tcr warn calkd 
into an almost {>erpetual conflict with Mr. Calboun — 
from this |Miint his stem, unflinching adveraanr. Bj 
general constant, c»theni utocxi Alix>f, almost id ave 
of the o»nliui U'tae^n the«e two championa. Tbe 
struggle furni'iht's some of the mt>^l remarkable paa- 
aages in our ]H)lit)c;il hi«(tor>'. Hat an evrot at Ia«t 

* Tlf " fTr^X 4rh«t«' I. err ^!u lr«l to, to> ^^ ^i^rm IC Um 

jAtiOArT, 1»V> <'.jl<.i4«l Ha,«D« h*J ^L*«k«Hi Mr W«b»tef muk fT—i 
•«rr Mr. Wrhaur* «h<Mc |«.«j.t; -*J '.{<■ Tl.* rvjWv «•• *rf wi|»4— < >^ 

OymrwhtUii tig. tJ. 1 i« j-ist^i.^i ot«*. .rfr^i •!.« ^rr*l««t (vTr t>« -c «atan vkja^ 

• •k't. •^,4*.« II. if •• mif %r I XL* »*r«ti of tu U!^*.r«, t*i« r«M 

of tU lr*.l.{^ c^'Ht. Icr^t. U«. the tiCA^^lf &A 1 ftli^^tj of BMA* o^ ^tB |«»- 


arrived which was to put an end to the strife. Mr. 
Calhoun, who had gradually been sinking ufider a 
decay of health and constitution, expired at Washing- 
ton on the 3lBt of March, 1850. It was then that 
Mr. Webster rose in the Senate and pronounced upon 
him a eulogium, in which all his merits were beauti 
fully set forth, without one of the many shadows 
which truth might have furnished. 

^^Sir,*' said Mr. Webster, ^^the doqnenoe of Mr. Calhoan, or 
the manner of his exhibition of his sentiments in pnblio bodies, 
was part of his intellectnal character. It grew oat of the quali- 
ties of his mind. It was plain, strong, terse, condensed, concise ; 
sometimes impassioned, still always severe. Rejecting ornament, 
not often seeking far for illostration, his power consisted in the 
plainness of his propositions, in the closeness of his logic, and in 
the earnestness and energy of his manner. These are the qual- 
ities, as I think, which have enabled him through snch a long 
course of years to speak often, and yet always command atten- 
tion. His demeanor as a Senator is known to ns all — is appre^ 
ciated, venerated by ns all. No man was more respectful to 
others ; no man carried himself with greater decorum, no man 
with superior dignity. 

" Sir, I have not in public or in private life known a more 
assiduous person in the discharge of his appropriate duties. He 
seemed to have no recreation but the pleasure of conversation 
with his friends. Out of the chambers of Congress, he was 
either devoting himself to the acquisition of knowledge pertain- 
ing to the immediate subject of the duty before him, or else he 
was indulging in some social interviews in which he so much 
delighted. His colloquial talents were certainly singular and 
eminent. There was a charm in his conversation not often 
found. He delighted especially in conversation and intercourse 
with young men. I suppose that there has been no man among 


118 who had more wimdng nuumers, in snch an interoonne and 
Buoh oonvereation, with men comparatively yonng, than Kr. 
Oalhoun. I believe one great power of his charaoter, in general, 
was his conversational talent I believe it is that, as well as a 
oonsoioosness of his high integrity, and the greatest reverence 
for his talents and ability, that has made him so endeared an 
object to the people of the State to which he belonged. 

''Mr. President, he had the basis, the indispensable basis, of 
all higii character — and that was, unspotted integrity, nnim- 
peaohed honor and character. If he had aspirations, they were 
high, and honorable, and noble. There was nothing groveling, 
or low, or meanly selfish, that oame near the head or the heart 
of Mr. CalhoQD. Pirm in his parpose, perfectly patriotic and 
honest, as I am sure he was, in the principles that he espoused 
and in the measures that he defended, aside from that largo re- 
gard for that species of distinction that conducted him to emi- 
nent stations for the benefit of the Republic, I do not believe he 
had a selfish motive or selfish feeling. However, sir, he may 
have differed from others of us in his political opinions or his 
political principles, those principles and those opinions will now 
descend to posterity under the sanction of a great name. He 
has lived long enough, he has done enough, and he has done it 
so well, so successfully, so honorably, as to connect himself for 
all time with the records of his country. He is now an historical 
cliaraoter. Those of us who have known him here will find that 
he has left upon our minds and our hearts a strong and lasting 
impression of his person, his character, and his public perform- 
ances, wliich while we live will never be obliterated. "We shaU 
hereafter, I am sure, indulge in it as a grateful recollection, that 
we have lived in his age, that we have been his contemporaries, 
that we have seen him, and heard him, and known him. We 
shall delight to speak of him to those who are rising up to fill 
our places. And, wl)en the time shall come that we ourselves 
shall go, one after another, to our graves, we shall carry with us 
a deep sense of his genius and character, his honor and integrity. 


his amiable deportment in private life, and the parity of his 
exalted patriotism.** 

Was there not something grand and at the same 
time affecting in a scene like this — a great man — all 
selfish thought rebuked, all passed bitterness forgot 
— uttering words like these, over the now prostrate 
competitor with whom it had been his lot to wrestle 
through long years of the bitterest party conflict ? 

But I must draw this chapter to a close ; yet my 
memory is, indeed, full of the images of other men 
of mark whom I have seen upon the great stage of 
action at Washington. Among them was William 
Wirt, an able lawyer, an elegant writer, an accom- 
plished gentleman — and, at the time I knew him. 
Attorney-general of the United States ; Mr. Forsyth, 
Gen. Jackson's accomplished Secretary of State, at 
whose house I remember once to have dined when 
Mr. Benton, Isaac Hill, John M. Niles,* and others 

* John M. Niles wm a native of Windsor, Connecticut. Ue studied 
law, and settled at Hartford, devoting himself, however, to politics. 
He was of small, awkward, and insignificant personal appearance, and 
for this reason, probably, was for many years treated and regarded with 
some degree of contempt, especially by the federalists, to whom he was 
politically opposed. I knew him well, and early learned to appreciate 
the logical force of his unden^tanding. He was associated in the Times 
newspaper, and was probably, more than any other single person, the 
instrument of overturning the federal party in the State, in 1817. He 
now rose to various eminent public stations, at last becoming a Senator 
of the United States, and for a short time Postmaster-general under Mr. 
Polk. He had strong common sense, and close reasoning powertt, which 
operated with the precision of cog-wheels. Mr. Webster regarded his 
speech upon the tariff, while he was in the Senate, as one of the very 
ablest ever delivered upon that subject. 

I must give a sketch of a scene in Mr. Fors>th's parlor, on the oooaai<m 


were present ; "John Taylor of Caroline," an able Vir- 
ginian statesman, and the very personification of old- 
fashioned dignity and courtesy; Albert Gallatin, a 
dark, swarthy man, with an eye that seemed to pene- 
trate the souls of all who approached him ; Henry R 
Storrs,* a native of Connecticut, but a representative 
fix)m New York — one of the ablest debaters of his 
day ; Hayne of South Carolina, the gallant but unsuc- 
cessful j ouster with Mr. Webster ; Burgess of Bhode 

above alluded to, as it presents a tableanx of three marked men. The 
dinner had been finished for some time, but Boventl of the gentlemen 
lingered at the table. The ladies had retired, and made a considerable 
semicircle around the fire in the parlor. Mr. Forsyth was in the middle 
of thisi room, receiving the gentlemen as they came from the dining- 
hiill, and who, after a little conversation with him, bowed to the ladies 
and took their leave. 

At last Messrs. Benton, Hill, and Niles came fVom the dining-room 
togotlier, and stopped to converse with Mr. Forsyth. Mr. Hill, who was 
very luinc, said good-night to his host and went straight to the door, 
without taking the slightest notice of the bright circle around the fire- 
side. Benton came next ; but he is an old courtier, and therefore paid 
his addresses to the ladies, beginning with Mrs. Meigs— Mrs. ForsythV 
mother — and bowing gracefully to each, was about to take his leave. 
Niles came next. His first idea evidently was to follow the example of 
Isaac Hill, but as Benton was actually performing his courtesies, be felt 
it impossible wholly to disregard such a pattern. Setting out first for 
the door, lie soon diverged toward the fireside ; when near the ladies, 
he WHS suddenly seized with panic, and pulling out a red bandann» 
handkerchief from his pocket, gave a loud blast upon his nose, shot out 
of the door, and thus safely ctfected his retreat. 

Mr. Niles died at Hartft)rd in 185ft, aged sixty-nine. 

* Mr. Storrs was a native of Middletown, Connecticut, and brother of 
the present Judge Storrs of that State. He was educated at Yale, and 
was there considered a dull scholar, yet he early became eminent as a 
lawyer and a statesman. He first settled at Utica, but afterward re- 
moved to the city of New York, where he died in 1837, aged forty-nine. 
He was distiuguishcd for various acquirements, great powers of dis- 
crimination, remarkable logical exactness, and a ready and powerful 


Island — a man of prodigious powers of sarcasm, and 
who made even John Bandolph quail ; Silas Wright 
of New York, ever courteous, ever smiling — a giant 
in strength, conquering his antagonists with 
air of good-humor as to reconcile them to defeat: 
these, and still others among the departed, live in my 
memory, and were there time and occasion, would 
furnish interesting themes of description and com- 
ment. Of those among the living — Crittenden, noted 
for his close argument and polished sarcasm ; Benton 
of Missouri, who has fought his way through many 
prejudices, till he has attained the reputation of un 
rivaled industry, vast acquisitions, and an enlarged 
statesmanship; Bell of Tennessee, always dignified 
and commanding respect — these linger in my memory 
as connected with the senate-chamber, where indeed 
their chief laurels have been won. In the other house, 
I have often seen and heard Winthrop, Gushing, Wise, 
T. Marshall — all brilliant orators, and accustomed to 
" bring down the House," when the spirit moved. 

In the White House, I have seen Monroe and Ad- 
ams, and Jackson and Van Buren, and Harrison and 
Tyler, and Taylor and Fillmore. How many memo- 
ries rise up at the mention of these names — ^associated 
as they are in my mind with the brilliant throngs I 
have seen at their levees, or with the public events 
connected with their names, or the whirlpools of 
party strife which I have seen fretting and foaming 
at the periods of their election I 

482 LsrncRB — biooraphxoal, 

But I must forbear. A single domestic event 
claims to be recorded here, and I shall then take 
leave of Washington. I have told you that I had 
come hither with my family. Among them was one 
to whom existence had hitherto been only a bright, 
unbroken spring. Gifted, beautiful, healthful, happy 
—loving all and loved by all — he never suggested by 
his appearance, an idea but of life, and enjoyment, 
and success, and prosperity. Yet he was suddenly 
taken from us. We mourned, -though remembrances 
were mingled with our grief which soflened, if they 
could not wholly remove it. His simple virtues, 
faintly recorded in the following stanzas, are still 
more indelibly written on our hearts : 


Ob, tell me not tliat Eden's fall 

Has left alike its blight on all — 

For one I knew from very birth, 

Who scarcely bore the stains of earth. 

No wondrous bnmp of skull had he — 

No mark of startling prodigy ; 

His ways were gentle, tranquil, mild — 

Such as befit a happy child — 

With thoughtful face, though bland and fair^ 

Of hazel eye and auburn hair. 

When with his mates in mirthful glee — 
A simple, joyous boy was he, 
Whose harmless wit, or gentle joke, 
A laughing echo often woke. 


He gaily joined the ardent chase, 
And often won the 1)antering race. 
Hid sled, endowed with seeming skill, 
Flew swiitest down tlie snowy hill ; 
And c V the lake his gliding skates 
Left far behind his panting mates. 
Yet 'mid the strife the gentle boy 
Caught only bliss, and no alloy. 
The vulgar oath — ^th' offensive word — 
The he, the jeer, the sooff^ he heard — 
Yet none of these e'er soiled his tongue. 
Or o'er his breast their shadow flung; 
No hidden vice, no lurking sin, 
Told on his brow a curse within ; 
And still, as years flew lightly o'er, 
- The stamp of truth and peace he bore. 

If thus he loved the sportive mood. 
Still more he loved alone to brood 
Along the winding river^s brim, 
Through arching forests hoar and dim; 
Beside the ocean's shelly shore, 
And where the surly cataracts pour. 
Yet not an idle dreamer he, 
Who wasted life in reverie ; 
For ocean, forest, fall, and brook — 
Each was to him a speaking book : 
And thus, untaught, he gained a store 
Of curious art and wondrous lore. 
I oft have seen him in the wood, 
Wrapt m a meditative mood — 
Now gazing at the forest high, 
Now searching flowers with heedful eye. 
Now watching with inquiring view. 
Each feathered craftsman as he flew — 
VoK n.-19 


Now Btodying deep the spider^ii thread. 
With wondrous ennnmg twined and spread-^ 
Now tracing out the beetle's den, 
Where sturdy insects work like naen ; 
Now on his knees o*er ant-hill bent, 
Upon the bustling town intent; 
Now snatching with a skillfal swoop, 
From out the brook, a wrigi^ng troop 
Of tadpole, frog^ and nameless wi|^ 
O V which he pored in strange deligbk 
And thus, all nature's varied k>re 
He loved to ponder o'er and o'er — 
To watch alike, with stndious gaze. 
The injects and tlieir wondrous ways : 
The forest, with its flnsh of flowers — 
The landscape, with its bloom of bowers— 
The river, winding far away — 
The ocean, in its <'ea<*elcfs« play — 
The tremhlinsr stjirs. that seem to trace 
Gk>d'8 footsteps oV the depths of space! 

And as in years he older grew. 

Still sterner science won his view : 

From boob) he gathered hidden lore, 

Though none saw how he gained his store. 

Tet most he loved to break the seal 

Of nature's secret**, and reveal 

The wondrous springs that hidden lie 

Within her deep philosophy — 

In pulley, axle, wedge, and beaui — 

In trembling air and flowing stream. 

His mind, with shrewd invention fraught. 

His hand, with ready practice wrought*-- 

Constructing engines, sped by steam, 

Tliat flew o'er mimic rail and stream : 



Meanwhile his room a shop beoamei 
With lathe and hellows, forge and flame ; 
And in the midst, as each conld see^ 
Mechanic— chemist — all was he. 

And thns with knowledge he was fraught, 
Not hy an instinct, but by thought — 
Patient and tranquil — bent with care— 
O'er many a book — a student rare. 
And while he thus the useful knew, 
He still was Just and truthful too : 
He loved the good, the dutiful — 
The tasteful, and the beautiful ; 
Still modest — simple — was his air ; 
Still found he pleasure everywhere; 
Still found he friends on every hand : 
The humble loved, for he was bland ; 
The high admired, for all refined. 
His look and manner matched his mind. 
No envy broke his bosom^s rest — 
No pride disturbed his tranquil breast — 
No praise he heeded, for he knew 
To Judge himself by standards true ; 
And words to him were vain and waste, 
If still unsatisfied his taste. 

With rapid hand his pencil drew 
Light sketches of the scenes he knew, 
Which told how well his studious eye 
Had traced the hues of earth and sky— 
The playful change of light and shade 
V rippling wave or spreading glade. 
And music from his fingers swept 
So sweet — so deep— the listener wept 
The tutored and untutored round, 
In trembling trance, alike were bound ; 


For not alone with hand and heart, 

He mastered aU the gems of art, 

Bot bade the soft piano's key 

Reveal nnwritten melody — 

A flowing fonnt of playfiil feeling, 

O'er which a plaintive tone was stealing — 

As twilight oft is seen to throw 

Its saddening shade o'er sunset's glow. 

'Tis sud, alas! that those who love 

Sad melodies, go soon above; 

And that fair youth — that gentle boy — 

So full of light, and love, and joy — 

Sixteen bright summers oV his head — 

He sleeps, companion of the dead I 

How vain are tears I but memory's art, 

While yet it wrings, still soothes the heart ; 

For if it bring the la«»t to sight, 

He comes in some fond robe of light. 

Of all bis sports in life's fair day. 

He loved the best down yonder bay 

To speed his boat with shivering sail. 

Or glide before the whispering gale ; 

For in the presence of the sea 

He found a quiet ecstasy. 

As if it came with mystic lore. 

And beckoned to some happier shore. 

And when his last sad hour was nigh. 

And clouds were gathering o'er his eye, 

His mother asked, " How now, my boy 1" 

He answered, with a beam of joy — 

"I'm in my boat!" and thus he passed — 

These simple, meaning words — ^his last I 



London and Parit eomparod^Parii thirty years ago — LouU XVUI,— 
TU Paritiano-^Oarden of the TuUeriM—WtHikington Irving— Mr, 
Warden^ ths American Oontul — SoeUti PhUomatique — Baron Larrey 
—Oeqfroy St, Bilairo—Ths Institute— Arago—Zumarek—Gay'Lus§ao 
— Gutfier — Laeroix — Laptace — Laennso — Ihipuytren — Talma — Mado- 
moiseUe Mars, 

About the middle of April, 1851, I arrived in 
Paris, and soon after took charge of the Consulate 
there. As you know, I have frequently been in this 
gay city, and I now propose to gather up my recol- 
lections of it, and select therefrom a few items which 
may fill up the blank that yet remains in my story, 
and in some degree contribute to your amusement. 

I first visited Paris in January, 1824, as I have told 
you. I had spent a month in London, which is always 
a rather gloomy place to a stranger, and in winter is 
peculiarly depressing. The people who have houses 
there, burrow into them, and lighting their coal fires, 
make themselves happy ; but the wanderer from his 
country, shut out from these cheerful scenes, and 
forced into the streets, grimed with dirt and drizzle 
below and incumbered with bituminous fogs above, 
feels that he is in a dreary wilderness, where man 
and nature conspire to make him miserable and 
melancholy. In most great cities, there is something 

436 iM nwm — w o afcArmcAi^ 

or v^ mid gl - ' the eitr — ki* 

depressing, and c^jiircially lo an Amcnoan, aoca*. 
lomed to the transparent skicf^ the white »oow<inftis 
the bracing, cheering atinurtphere of his own wintrr 

Pans IS the very i>pj)osiie of London. The lattrr 
is an ordinary city, nnprv«i«eti by no dbitinctive char^ 
•Cteristics, except its gloom and lU vast extenL It is 
little more than twenty LivcrjKMjls, cn>wdrtl lof^tiM^r. 
%od forming the most populous city in the worUL 
Paris, on the contrary, is marked with prominent aiKi 
peculiar traits, noticed at onor by the most careWvs ob- 
9CT\f:r, On entering the streets, yi>u are struck with 
the air of omsiamt and decoration which bekmg* 
to the sr\'hit«viurr. the rffrvi of vihK-h is heightmc^ 
by the hght cHilor of the fr»*e3»ioiH\ the universal 
boilding fiistfrial. 'Viw 5k v i!« bn^ht, and the pf%y 
pie seem u> reliect lU cheerfuloeia. The p«hbe far 


dens and squares, surrounded with monuments of art 
and teeming with men, women, and children, inclu- 
ding abundance of rosy nurses and plump babies, all 
apparently bent on pleasure, and this, too, in mid- 
winter — are peculiar and striking features of this gay 
metropolis. To an American who has just left Lon- 
don, his heart heavy with hypochondria, Paris is in- 
deed delightful, and soon restores him to his wonted 

At the time I first arrived here, this city was, how- 
ever, very different from what it now is. Louis 
XVin. was upon the throne, and had occupied it for 
nine years. During this period he had done ahnost 
nothing to repair the state of waste and dilapidation 
in which the allies had left it. These had taken down 
the statue of Napoleon on the column of the Place 
Vend6me, and left its pedestal vacant ; the king had 
followed up the reform and erased the offensive name 
of the exiled emperor from the public monuments, 
and put his own, Louis XVIII., in their place ; he had 
caused a few churches to be repaired, and some pic- 
tures of the Virgin to be painted and placed in their 
niches. But ghastly mounds of rubbish — the wrecks 
of demolished edifices — scattered heaps of stones at 
the foot of half-built walls of buildings, destined 
never to be completed, — these and other unsightly 
objects were visible on every hand, marking the re- 
cent history of Napoleon, overthrown in the midst 
of his mighty projects, and leaving his name and his 


urmciit— MdtEAftticAiii, 

irorka to be d cwamled «lilu bf m fcrags «>» m4 * 
mora bftto' domaftk AiiirrrMrjr. 

Tbe king, Iicmt« XVIIL, wif m num of ppiod n^ 
u4 Uberml mind, Ibr oo* nf hw mot; bai h* ««• 
wtioUj unfii to admiBiiiir the govisniBitiii. H» «m 
a aiift of oioiiilsr of obtnty, ftnd, vi tbv tu«« I ^pvriH 
of^ bftfing Intft ibe im of bit \ammr limbic W omU 
BOl waIIc, uid warn tmndind abool tb# pftliM of lk» 
TuiUrics in ft oripple'a |o«oarC 1 b*t« oAm «ia 
lilm let down ia tbn, thnM^ tim «teb ttt tbi i 
mil III »Dg1« (if the f«bo^ tmo Ui oifteh 

more like a hi'lplcs.** barrel of Ur f than a M»v<?m|^Ti. 
Had the nllii'^ iiileiuled lo make Iruiiimacr mt onoe 
odious ai)«l ruiieulouK, thev ch»uUI r^.oi betlrr hjiT« 
contrived It than hv .•(«|uatting down thuk ubrar, tiA> 
beoilo extm^ui«*luT njvm the ihri>ne n( Krmoor, mM tbe 
»ucc»'S!M>r of N;i|x»le<)!i ! 

Thr Pan^iann are, however, a phjhwM»phic Twcr mB 
ibey could not help ihem^-lvt-n, ih«*y did ncit apeod 
their lives lik«» children, in pn»thle« [louunga. Tbry 
bad iheir joking and ainonj? thesie, Uwy were acrti*. 
tomr<l to call Iif>uiJ« Dixhuit, ///»n.« H^ htiUres--% ud- 
crahle puT». \%hi«'li wa« rr^uivai^'r.l to i^ivmij bim ibr 
filiinlinr title .•!* Old Oyntt-r I>Mii». I>mnin^ it ibrir 
birtiin^riii t4> havr thrre «»r i. 'ir iioum i»f plem^urf 
everv dav— wfuH-vtT tnav U* in j-'^nr u ''\ <i'A fnr^ 
quf!it«*<l tfH* pr«.Tii«fi.idf*^ thf li. ulrvanU, an i lt>r 
Ibcutrm. Wiicn, tlHrvr»rx\ 1 lini vuMS'^i ihr ganl^t^ 

of the Tuileries of a bright Sunday afternoon, and im- 
mediately after quitting the " dull fuliginous abyss" 
of London, the scene seemed to me like enchant- 
ment. I find my impressions thus chronicled in my 

" Weather fine, bright, and mild ; some shrubs still 
green, and many flowers yet in bloom ; jets of fount- 
ains playing in the sunshine ; too early in the day for 
a great throng, yet a great many people here; all have 
a quiet, sauntering look; hundreds of tidy nurses, 
with bare arms and neat caps on their heads, the 
children they carry about being richly dressed, their 
little rosy cheeks imbedded in lace ; the ladies taste- 
fully attired, and walking with a peculiar air of grace 
— ^very sentimental and modest in their countenances 
— never look at you, as they do in London ; very 
provoking. There is no Sunday air in the scene, 
but rather that of a calm pleasure-day ; children are 
rolling hoops ; one boy making a dirt pie ; two dogs, 
which have probably been shut up for a week, hav- 
ing a glorious scamper; wild-pigeons cooing above in 
the tree-tops ; sparrows hopping about on the green 
sod at the foot of the statues of Flora and Diana, 
and picking up crumbs of bread thrown to them by 
the children ; a number of old men in the sunshine, 
sheltered by a northern wall, reading newspapers ; 
several nurses there, sunning their babies ; palace of 
the Tuileries of an architecture never seen in America, 
but stiU imposing ; the Rue de Rivoli on the north, 




iaperb ; the Place Ldoi* Qnitmi^^ fine ; the ■»»§ ami 

olbcf ediaoQt ■loQg tli» ofipiiiiie tmtik of tW I 

IlivitifaL WondirfU pliw^ tlui I'r 

ftoin uiy thiag I hmrm m^Mk. Il 

lis ikjfi its rdiflooit ^^ deonmUiKii^ ti« 

fir A iMidul Atid pla«titf0^1ovtif p«Qpl** Bras 1 « 

IMMdttn^, frcl na MP&M f>r iolltilii^, of rndtOiem^ hrmt 

liMidoti il n^iqLiive, oticl wmemm mmunw^W lo frw« 

apon tli« 


htei ftnd «f Icsomei liipi, And mwkm htta IM «t 

The gVUlAl ■[imt nf tbe Fneudi amlMm ipiiah i* ikfl^ 

•eem to be built into the bnck an«i rmtrtAr of tlir 
streets of London/* 

I can not, perhaps, do better than to gire Tott a 
few niort* p.Hjt»i(r(*i) from the haaty jottings I ma«ie at 
thf iiiiM*. 

'* hVbruary t( Washington Irving retained o«r 
call. 8tnkniglv mild and am table ; dress — darn 
Ooat, rather moi«* pigeon tailfnl than the fashioo al 
New York; light wauitc<iot ; tighu; nbbrd, flesb 
colored Kilk ittockings; i»ho<*Si }x»iisht'd rrry bngbt. 
This a taiduonable dncMs h«*n*. Ue »pi>ke of maaj 

m : ttum thM f-int fWr Aupvrb w «rk* of (tf»liii»cfr% mf mmmm Hi 1km 
flwjM. M tl>« .\r< >1« Trv-topik* a* i tu»^ , to lb« iM;«lk, Ui« l ^ s r i a «/ 


things, all in a quiet manner, evidently with a fand 
of feeling beneath. 

" February 14 — ^Went with Mr. Warden* to a meet- 
ing of the * Soci6t6 Philomatique,' composed of mem- 
bers of the Institute ; saw Fourier, the femous geo- 
metrician and physician ; he accompanied Napoleon 
to Egypt ; wears a great brown wig; a dull, clumsy 
speaker : Th6nard, a famous chemist, associated with 
Gay-Lussac ; looks about forty : Larrey ; has long 
black hair parted on the forehead, with an air of 
gravity and solidity, mingled with simplicity ; spoke 
slowly, but with great clearness. Bonaparte said he 
was the most honest man he ever knew. He ac- 
companied the expedition to Egypt; is still a dis- 
tinguished surgeon, and in full practice. Poisson, ■ 
one of the first mathematicians in Europe ; he has a 
very fine head and splendid eye — seems about forty- 
eight : Geoffroy St Hilaire, a zoologist, second only 
to Cuvier ; a bustling, smiling man, of very demon- 
strative manner ; he had two huge fish-bones, which 
he used for the purpose of illustrating his observa- 
tions. He was also in the Egyptian expedition, and 
contributed largely to its scientific results. He seem- 
ed about forty-eight, and was listened to with great 

♦ Mr, David Bailie Warden, who had been Secretary of Legation when 
Gen. Armatrong waa Biinister to Holland, was at thia time Consul of the 
United Statea at Paria. He was a native of Ireland, but bod become an 
American citizen. He was a corresponding member of the Institute, 
and waa a man of considerable scientific and literary acquirementa. He 
wrote a clever Uiatory of the United Sutes. He died at Paria in 1845, 

14 1 

attentiofi. Bom, ft oehfbrtMi apicalMrMv 
^ [ilil, mpeotabk, gootlitatMljr. 

**Tbe pmeetMliftgi wmrn ooedMltil witli < 
«imf»licity, forming m atrikiitf mm%nm to ill* p«««r 
noA d«ttlftiQfttkii I faoinl iit Ijoodoa, iik ibm Amdmmf 
of Alia, ufKifi hfttehiog i^gga 

*' FebraftTjr 16— Wefit with Mr. Wirden u> m ni» 
ing of IM Imtitttte, brid in ibe Qi4d llasftrta ; Ottv 
hufidroil ant] Aftj mrmbisv prenttl AfsfC^ !■<■■« 
dwt ; he li tall, bntad-ihauldeiTfl, and ioipaviiif m 
appfmTft]»ot, with a dark, iwarth; wwy l ariw i, ft«4 m 
blarlr, jiirrring ev^ l^^rrtArrk l!tr ftmr^rti wfiiaras 
natural history -old, infirm, V>lind — ww lr«l in hj 
anoihrr meml^r — a diMtin^nj^htNl fntom<»]«»|ri»t,« K*««* 
name I havr forjroiten ; Koniaitio, the arrhittft— i*l. 
homely, and atr«*<l : Oay-Lu^MC, a renownfJ ch«ni»:, 
under f«»rty, artive, fiery in dehat<» : Cuvirr, rmthrr a 
lar^e man, re<l faee. eyea small, very D«ar-cisrhlrd ; 
eyo« near top««ther and o^ldly api^eanng and dt»» 
appeartntr ; ft^alun*!* aoule, hair jrrmy. looir, and oarr- 
lem; he fi|x>ke m^veral tinu*^, and with irrmt perti- 
nency and effe(*t : Liicn>ix, the mathemmticun. oUi, 
and IfMtk.H like a *76(*r I^pla«>e, the m<wl (axm>ai 
living aj«tr<)tiMrn«*r, tiill, thin, and iihar|vfrtttunpd — n^ 
mindtnl luv of ihc |H»rtrailj» of Vi»llAin? ; he u al>Mui 
aevenly fivr. ftt-M.-, yet han all hu mental facu!tir«k 

*' The principal diMTuiikMon n-latod to gmiK»mricnk 
the jiolicx' «»r V:\rxA ha\ m^' a5kf»i the opinion of the 
Inalitute aa to the aafetv of oertjuu new kind% Ufteir 


introduced. The subject excited great interest, and 
the debate was quite animated. Thenard, Gay-Lus- 
sac, Girard, Laplace, Cuvier, and others, engaged in 
the debate. Nearly all expressed themselves with 
great ease and even volubility. They were occasion* 
ally vehement, and when excited, several spoke at 
once, and the president was obliged often to ring his 
bell to preserve order. 

^* It was strange and striking to see so many old 
men, just on the borders of the grave, still retaining 
such ardor for science as to appear at a club like this, 
and enter with passion into all the questions that 
came up. Such a spectacle is not to be seen else- 
where, on the earth. The charms of science gen- 
erally JGade to the eye of threescore and ten ; few 
passions except piety and avarice survive threescore. 
It is evident, in studying this association, that the 
highest and most ardent exercises of the mind are 
here stimulated by the desire of glory, which is the 
reward of success. One thing struck me forcibly in 
this assembly, and that was the utter absence of all 
French foppery in dress, among the members. Their 
attire was plain black, and generally as simple as 
that of so many New England clergymen. 

" In the evening, went to the Th6atre Franjais, to 
see Talma in the celebrated tragedy of Sylla, by Jouy. 
Did not well understand the French, but could see 
that the acting was very masterly. Had expected a 
giieat rant, but was agreeably disappointed. In 


the more passionate parts there was a display of vigor, 
but at other times the performance was quiet and nat- 
ural — without any of the stage-exaggeratioD I am ac- 
customed to. Most of the scenes were such as might 
actually take place, under the circumstances indicated 
in the play. Talma is said to resemble Napoleon in 
person ; he certainly looked very much like his por- 
traits. His hair was evidently arranged to fiivor the 
idea of resemblance to the emperor. He is a very 
handsome man, and comes up to my idea of a great 

" February 20th — Went to see a new comedy by 
Casimir Delavigne, "L'Ecole des Vieillards." Talma 
and Mademoiselle Mars played the two principal parts. 
The piece consisted of a succession of rather long dia- 
logues, without any change of scenery. The whole 
theater had somewhat the quiet elegance of a parlor. 
There were no noisy disturbers; there was no vul- 
garity — no boisterous applause. The actors appeared 
like groups of genteel people, conversing, as we see 
them in actual life. There was nothing werj exciting 
in the situations, nothing highly romantic in the plot 
or denouement. The interest of the play consisted in 
playful wit, sparkling repartee, and light satire upon 
life and society — represented by the most beautiful 
acting I have ever seen. Talma is inimitable in the 
character of a refined but somewhat imbecile man, 
who has passed the prime of life ; and Mademoiselle 
Mars is, beyond comparison, the most graceful and 


plea^smg of actresses. I am struck with the strict 
propriety, the refinement even of the manners of the 
audience. The whole entertainment seems, indeed, 
to be founded upon a very diflFerent idea from that of 
the English stage, which is largely adapted to delight 
the coarse tastes of the pit. Here the pit— -called the 
parterre — is filled with people of refinement. 

" February 21st— Went to the Hospital of La Cha- 
rity. Saw Laennec, with his pupils, visiting the par 
tients. He makes great use of the stethoscope, which 
IS a wooden tube applied to the body, and put to the 
ear : by the sound, the state of the lungs and the vital 
organs is ascertained. It is like a telescope, by which 
the interior of the body is perceived, only that the ear 
is used instead of the eye. It is deemed a great im- 
provement Laennec is the inventor, and has high 
reputation in the treatment of diseases of the chest 
He has learned to ascertain the condition of the lungs 
by thumping on the breast and back of the patient, 
and putting the ear to the body at the same time. 
He is a little man, five feet three inches high, and 
thin as a shadow. However, he has acute features, 
and a manner which bespeaks energy and conscious- 
ness of power. 

"The whole hospital was neat and clean; bed- 
steads of iron. French medical practice very light ; 
few medicines given ; nursing is a great part of the 
treatment. Laennec's pupils followed him from pa- 
tient to patient He conversed with them in Latin. 


One of the patients was a handsome, black-eyed girl^ 
not very sick. All the young men must apply the 
stethoscope to her chest ; she smiled, and seemed to 
think it all right 

*' Same day, went to the Hotel Dieu, a medical and 
surgical hospital Saw Dupuytren and his pupils, 
visiting the patients. He is a rather large man, of a 
fine Bonapartean head, but sour, contumelious looks. 
He holds the very first rank as a surgeon. His op- 
erations are surprisingly bold and skillful. Edward 
C . . . ., of Philadelphia, who is here studying medicine, 
told me a good anecdote of him. He has a notion that 
he can instantly detect hydrocephalus in a patient, 
from the manner in which he carries his head. One 
day, while he was in the midst of his scholars at the 
hospital, he saw a common sort of man standing at a 
distance, among several persons who had come for 
medical advice. Dupuytren's eye fell upon him, and 
he saio .o his pupils — * Do you see yonder, that fellow 
that has his hand to his face, and carries his head al- 
most on his shoulder ? Now, take notice : that man 
has hydrocephalus. Come here, my good fellow I' 

** The man thus called, came up. ' Well,' said Du- 
puy tren — ' I know what ails you ; but come, tell us 
about it yourself What is the matter with you ?' 

" Tve got the toothache 1' was the reply. 

" ' Take that' — said Dupuytren, giving him a box 
on the ear — * and go to the proper department and 
have it puUed out !' " 



ZWM o/Louit XVm.^CkcarUt X.—The «< Thret Gloriatu Doftf^-^LouU 
PhUipp€—Tfu Revolution of FAmary^ 1848. 

My dkak C****** 

I was again in Paris in the summer of 1832. 
Great changes had taken place since 1824: Louis 
XVin. was dead; Charles X. had succeeded, and 
after a brief reign had been driven away by the rev- 
olution of the " Three Glorious Days." Louis Phi- 
lippe was now on the throne. On the 29th of July, 
and the two following days, we saw the celebration 
of the event which had thus changed the dynasty of 
France., It consisted of a grand fBte, in the Champs 
Elysees, closed by a most imposing military spectacle, 
in which eighty thousand troops, extending from the 
Arc de Triomphe to the Place Vendome, marched be- 
fore the admiring throng. Louis Philippe was him- 
self on horsel^ack as commander-in-chief, and such 
was his popularity among the masses that, in many 
instances, I saw men in blouses rush up and grasp 
his band, and insist upon shaking it. Sixteen years 
after, I saw him hustled into a cab, and flying from 
the mob for his life — his family scattered, and he but 
too happy to get safe to England in the disguise of a 
sailor I 

As I have told you, I established my family in 


P^tfii 10 lS4d ; that winter m&A tin* fbUuvis^ 1 
wim them I nmmmkm tlm <hi 
VIeliniarj, tdil, 1 wwH ii|> 10 ms ovr < 
tliD M«n:hjciiHM lAvakttc^ to mimige vilb hew i 
an iiilfotlticuoii tlie liacl prumised toa I& Oa«M4» Ska 
«u not ai bomi% Imii «i I ww mais^ iomn iht UI 
fifim tW rittcv 5l Grorgi*, 1 met bar in her aniigft. 
Ske jMkad me ta wmlk hmck lo brr boi»«i A&il I SA 
mx I obKTvod UiAi ihc «a« mucb agilaigi mmd 
uked bir iIm «mk ""Wt uv giimg In Imv 
ombkr Mid abfe *"! l»t» jiM been ta OiiClMM- 
hm* r t]i0 miniilnr liiif« dtitermiatd l« **'-'■ *^"' »»— 1* 
ing (»f the liUraU to niorrow ; the pruciamatioo i^ 
already U'lng pniileil." 

•*Will. aiui what then?" Haul I. 

** AiiothtT * Three Glorious Days I* " 

To thiK I n*pli4^1 that I ccincvived her feara grouod 
Icm; that Louiri rhilipjie appeared to me atfoO|C la 
the ooiitiilenct* ui' the people ; tliat h<* wa^ doCcU iat 
bia prudence and sagacity; that Gutju»t« his pnme 
minister, was a man of great ability ; tliat the vIh^W 
cabinet, indeetl. were distinguished for their )^jg- 
ment and ca^tacitr. The lady ahoL»k ber bead, and 
rejoined — 

•* I know Pari!* better than you do. We are 00 
the eve of an t*anhi)unk«* !'* 

&x>n aft« r th:!% 1 t.«.k njy U-ave. What specdiij 
ensuol. iii.i\ \m^\ U t'ld 111 a l«'tl«*r 1 sddn lacd to a 
friend in Uoatoii« and which wat at foUowa: 


Pabi0, Mmrch 14th, 1848. 

As it has been my fortune to be in Paris, and an observer of 
many of the most stirring and striking occnrrenoes during the 
Ute revolntion, I propose to give yon a brief conseontiye narra- 
tive of what I saw and heard, embracing a sketch of other lead- 
ing events. My purpose will be to take yon with me, and make 
yon a participator, as far as possible, in the scenes witnessed and 
emotions experienced by one who was on the spot 

Before I begin, it may be well to state a few particulars as to 
the political condition of France at the moment of the revolt. 
It is well known that Louis Philippe accepted the crown at the 
hands of Lafoyette, after the struggle of July, 1830, the latter 
saying, as he presented the king and charter to the people- 
** We give you the best of monarchies — the best of republics I" 
The circumstances, all considered, pledged I^uis Philippe to a 
liberal government, in which the good of the people should be 
the supreme object, and the popular will the predominating 

He commenced bis career under fair auspices, and for a time 
every thing promised a happy fulfillment of what seemed his 
duty and his destiny. But by degrees a great change came over 
the monarch ; the possession of power seduced his heart, and 
turned his head ; and forgetting his pledges, and blind tx) his 
true interest, he set himself to building up a dynasty that should 
hand down his name and fame to posterity. 

It seemed, at a superficial glance, that he might realize his 
dream. He had acquired the reputation of being the most saga- 
dons monarch of bis time. He had improved and embellished 
the capita] ; on all sides his " image and superscription" were 
seen in connection with statues, fountains, edifices, and works 
of beauty and utility. France was happier than the adjacent 
countries. The famine and the pestilence, that had recently 
desolated neighboring states, had trod more lightly here. The 
king was blessed with a large family. These had all reached 
maturity, and were allied to kings and queens, princes and prin- 


cesses. The npholders of tlie crown in the i>arliaroent, were 
men whose names alone were a tower of strength. Peace 
reigned at home, and the army abroad had jost succeeded in 
achieying a signal triamph over an enemj that had baffled them 
for seventeeD years.* 

' Such was the outward seeming of affiurs; but there were 
threatening fires within, which might at any moment produce a 
conflagration. Many thinking people werb profoundly disgusted 
witli the retrograde tendency of the government, with the cor- 
ruption of itti officers, the gradual subsidizing of the legislature 
by the crown, and the concentration of all the powers of the 
state in the hands of one man, who was now using them for 
family aggrandizement. Although the march of despotism had 
been cautious and stcaltliy, the plainest mind could see, and in- 
deed the people generally began to feel, many galling evidences 
of the tyranny to which they had become actually subjected. 

Among these grievances, were the constant increase of the 
natit>nal debt, and consequent increase of taxation, witli the 
restraints put upon the liberty of the press and of speech. By 
a law of some years^ standing, the people were prohibited from 
holding stated meetings of more than twenty persons, without 
license ; and refona banqvetSj or meetings for the discut^sion of 
public affairs— of which about seventy had been held, in differ- 
ent parts of the kingdom, within the last year — were now pro- 
nounced Illegal by the ministry. Finally, a determination to sup- 
press one of them, about to be held in the twelfth ward of Paris, 
was solemnly announced by them in the Chamber of Deputies. 

It is material to bear in mind, that there are always in this 
metropolis at least one hundred thousand workmen, who live 
from day to day upon their labor, and who, upon the slightest 
check to trade, are plunged into poverty, if not starvation. At 
the moment of which we are speaking, this immense body of 

♦ Abd-cl-Kadir, who hud been the indomitable leader of the Arabs 
of the DcMTl, against the French, who had conquered Algiers, »nrreii- 
dered to Gen. Latnoriuiere, December 22d, 1S47. 


men, with their families, were suffering sorely from the stagna- 
tion of business in the capital. There were not less than two 
hundred thousand persons who, for the space of three months, 
had hardly been able to obtain sufficient food to appease the 
cravings of hunger. How easy to stir up these people to rebel- 
lion ! — how-natural for them to turn their indignation against 
the king and his government ! The opposition members seized 
the occasion now afforded them, to excite these discontented 
masses against the ministry; and it may be added that the 
latter, by their rashness, did more than their enemies to prepare 
the mine and set the match to the train. 

The crisis was now at hand. The opposition deputies declared 
their intention to attend the proposed meeting; and in spite of 
the threats of the ministry, the preparations for the banqnet 
went vigorously on. A place was selected in the Champs £ly- 
s^ee, and a building was in progress of erection for the celebra- 
tion. The programme of the same was announced, the toast for 
the occasion was published, the orator, O. Barrot, selected. The 
day was fixed — an ominous day for tyranny — an auspicious one 
for human freedom. It was the 22d of February, the birthday 
of Washington! Whether it has received a new title to its place 
in the calendar of liberty, must be left for the decision of time. 

The evening of the 21st came, and then proclamations were 
issued by the co-operation of the ministry and the police, prohib- 
iting the banquet. This act, though it had been threatened, still 
fell like a thunderbolt upon the people. • It was known that an 
immense militar}' force had been quietly assembled in Paris and 
the vicinity— eighty thousand troops, with artillery and ample 
munitions — and that the garrisons around the Tuileries had 
been victualed as if for a siege. But it had not been believed 
that an attempt to stifle the voice of the people, so bold as this, 
would really be made. Yet such was the fact. The leaders of 
the opposition receded from their ground, and it was announced, 
in the papers of the 22d, that the banquet, being forbidden by 
the government, would not take place I 

464 LvmcBS — ^bioosaphioal, 

T))e rooming of this day was dark and drucsly. I had antid« 
patod some manifestation of nneasinem, and at half-past nine 
oMook went forth. Groups of people were reading the probia* 
mations posted np at the comers of the streets, bnt all was 
tranqniL I walked along the Boulevards for a mile, yet saw no 
symptoms of the coming storm. 

The designated place of meeting for the banquet was the 
square of the Madeleine. This is at the western extremity of 
the Boalevards, and near the great central square, called the 
Place de la Concorde — a point communicating directly with the 
Chamber of Deputies, the Champs Elysees, the gardens of the 
Tuileries, &o. At eleyen o^dock, a. m., a dark mass was seen 
moving along the Boulevards, toward the proposed place of 
meeting. This consisted of thousands of workmen from the 
faubourgs. In a few moments the entire square of the Madeleine 
was filled with these persons, dressed almost exclusively in their 
characteristic costume, which consists of a blue tunic, called 
blouse — a garment which is mode very mnch in the fashion of 
our farmers' frocks. 

Tlie opening scene of the drama had now begun. The mass 
rushed and eddied around the Madeleine, which, by the way, 
is the finest church and the finest edifice in Paris. Such was 
the threatening asi>ect of the scene, that the shops were all sud- 
denly shut, and the people around began to supply themselves 
with bread and other food, for ^^ three days.'' In a few moments, 
the avalanche took its course down the Rue Koyale, swept 
across the Place de la Concorde, traversecl the bridge over the 
Seine, and collected in swelling and heaving masses in the Place, 
or square, before the Chamber of Deputies. This building is 
defended in front by a high iron railing. The gate of this was 
soon forced, and some hundreds of the i>eople rushed np the long 
flight of steps, and pausing beneath tlie portico, struck up the 
song of the Marseillaise — a song, by the way, interdicted by law 
on account of its exciting character. The crowd here ra])idly 
increased ; shouts, songs, cries, filled the air. East and west, 


a* iDg the quays, and through the streets behin the Chamber, 
oame long lines of students from the yarions schools. Standing 
upon one of the pillars of the bridge, I commanded a view oi 
the whole scene. It was one to fill the heart with the liveliest 
emotions. A hundred thousand people were now collected, 
seeming like an agitated sea, and sending forth a murmur resem- 
bling the Yoioe of many waters. From the southern gate of the 
Tnileries now issued two bodies of troops-— one, on horseback, 
coming along the northern quay. These were the Municipal 
Guard, a magnificent corps, richly caparisoned, and nobly 
mounted. Being picked men, and well paid, they were the 
chief reliance of the government, and for that very reason were 
baled by the people. The other body of troops were infantry 
of the line, and crossing the Pont Royal, came along the south- 
em bank of the river. Both detachments approached the mul- 
titude, and crowding upon them with a slow advance, succeeded 
at last in clearing the space before tlie Chamber. 

The greater part of the throng recrossed the bridge, and 
spread themselves over the Place de la Concorde. This square, 
perhaps the most beautiful in the world, is about five acres in ex* 
tent. In the center is the &r-famed obelisk of Luxor ; on either 
side of this b a splendid fountain, which was in full action du- 
ring the scenes we describe. To the east is the garden of the 
Tuileries ; to the west are the Champs Elys6es. This vast area, 
BO associated with art, and luxury, and beauty, was now crowd- 
ed with an excited populace, mainly of the working classes. 
Their number constantly augmented, and bodies of troops, foot 
and horse, arrived from various quarters, till the square was 
literally covered. The number of persons here collected in one 
mass was over one hundred thousand. 

At the commencement, the mob amused themselves with 
songs, shouts, and pasquinades ; but in clearing the space before 
the Chamber, and driving the people across the bridge, the 
guards had displayed great rudeness. They pressed upon the 
masses, and one woman was crushed to death beneath the hoo& 

456 LErrKBs — ^biooraphioal, 

of the horaee. Pebbles now began to be hurled at the troofM 
from the square. Dashing in among the people, sword In hand, 
the cavalry drove them away; but as they cleared one ^t, 
anotlier was immediately filled. The effect of tliis was to ohaft 
and irritate the mob, who now began to seize sticks and stones 
and hurl them in good earnest at their assailants. 

While this petty war was going on, some thousands of the 
rioters dispersed themselves throng the Champs Elystos and 
began to build barricades across the mun avenue. Tlte chairs, 
amounting to many hundreds, were immediately disposed in 
three lines across the street Benches, trellises, boxes, fences — 
every movable thing within reach — were soon added to Uiese 
barricades. An omnibus passing by was ciiptored, detached 
from the horses, and tumbled into one of tlio linef>. The flag 
was taken from the Panorama near by, and a vast procession 
paraded through the grounds, singing the Marseiliaise, the Pari- 
Bienne, and other patriotic airs. 

Meanwhile, a small detocliment of footgnards advanced to 
tlie pcene of action ; but they were i>elted with stones, and took 
shelter in their guard-house. This was assailed with a shower 
of missiles, which rattled Hke hail upon its roof. The windows 
were dashed in, and a heap of brush near by was laid to the 
wall and set on lire. A body of horse-guards soon arrived and 
dispersed the rioters ; but the latter crossed to the nortliern side 
of the Champs £lys6es, attacked another guard-house, and set it 
on fire. A company of the hne came to the spot, but the mob 
cheered ihem, and they remained inactive. The revel proceeded, 
and, in the face of the soldiers, the people fed the fire with fuel 
from the surrounding trees and fences, sang their songs, cracked 
their jokes, and cried, "Down with Guizot!" — "Vive la Re- 
forme !" &c. In these scenes the boys took the lead — perform- 
ing the most desperate feats, and inspiring tlie rest by their 
intrepidity. A remarkable air of fun and frob'c characterized 
the mob — wit flew as freely on aU sides as stones and sticks; 
.every missile seemed winged with a joke. 


Bach was the course of events the first day, su &r as they feA 
under my own observation. It appears from the papers that 
similar proceedings, though in some cases of a more serious 
character, took place elsewhere. Great masses of people gatli- 
nsred at various points. They made hostile demonstrations be- 
fore the office of Foreign Affiurs, crying out, **Down with 
Guizotr^ Some person called for the minister. *'He b not 
here,'^ said one; **he is with the Countess lieven** — a remark 
whiuh the habitues of Paris will understand as conveying a 
keen satire. At other points, a spirit of insubordination was 
manifested. Bakers' shops were broken open, armories forced, 
and barricades begun. Everywhere the hymn of the Marseil- 
laise, and Dumas' touching death-song of the Girondins, were 
sung— often by hundreds of voices, and with Uirilling effect. 
The rappel, for calling out the National Guard, was beaten 
in several quarters. As night closed in, heavy masses of 
soldiery, horse and foot, with trains of artillery, were seen at 
various points. The Place du Carrousel was full of troops, and 
at evening they were there reviewed by the king,, and the Duke^ 
of Nemours and Montpensier. Six thousand soldiers were dis- 
posed along the Boulevards, from the Madeleine to the Porte 
St. Martin. Patrols were seen in different quarters during tlie 
whole night. About twelve, tranquillity reigned over the city, 
disturbed only in a few remote and obscure places by the build- 
ing of barricades, the arrest of rioters, and one or two combats, 
in which several persons were killed. Such was the first day's 
work — the prelude to the mighty drama about to foUow. 

Wednesday, the 28d, was &ir, with dashes of rain at intervals, 
as in our April. I was early abroad, and soon noticed that 
companies of National Guards were on duty. Only regular 
troops had been called out the day before — a £Btct which showed 
the distrust entertained by the king of the National Guards. 
This was remarked by the latter, and was doubtless, one of the 
causes which hastened tlie destruction of the government. 

At nine o'clock, I passed up the Boulevards. Most of tho 


Bhopswere slmt, and an lur of aneasiDera prevafled among the 
people. At the Porte St Denis, there was a great throng, and 
A considerable mass of troops. Barricades were soon after 
erected in the streets of St. Denis, Clery, St. Enstache, Oadran, 
&c. Several fusiladea took place between the people at these 
points and the soldiers, and a nnmber of persons were kUled. 

Some contests occnfred in other quarters dnring the morning. 
At two o^olock, the Boulevards, the Rues St Denis, St Martin, 
Montmartre, St Honor6— in short, all the great thoroughfiuea 
— were literally crammed with people. Bodies of horse and 
foot, either stationary or patrolling, were everywhere to be 
seen. It was about this time that some officers of the National 
Guard ordered their men to fire, but they refused. In one in- 
stance, four hundred National Guards were seen marching, in 
uniform, but without arms. It became evident that the soldiers 
generally were taking part with tlie people. This news was 
carried to the Palace, and Count M0I6 was called in to form a 
new ministry. He undertook the task, and orders were imme- 
diately given to spread the intelligence of this through the city. 

Meanwhile the riot and revel went on in various quarters. 
The police were active, and hundreds of persons were arrested 
and lodged in prison. Skirmishes took place, here and there, 
between the soldiers and the people; long processions were 
seen, attended by persons who sang choruses, and shouted, 
" Down with Guizot !" — " Vive la reforme 1" 

About four o'clock, the news of the downfall of the Guizot 
ministry was spread along the Boulevards. The joyful intelli- 
gence ran over the city with the speed of light. It was every- 
where received with acclamations. The people and the troops, 
a short time before looking at each other in deadly hostility, 
were seen shaking hands, and expressing congratulations. An 
immense population — men, women, and children — poured into 
the Boulevards, to share in the jubilation. Large parties of the 
National Guard paraded the streets, the otHcers and men shouU 
mg, "Vive la reforme!" and the crowd cheering loudly. Bands 


of five bund red to fifteen hundred men and boys went abont 
making noisy demonstrations of joy. On being met by the 
troops, they divided to let them pass, and immediately resumed 
their cries and their songs. 

Toward half-past six o'clock in the evening, an illumination 
was. spoken of, and many persons lighted up spontaneously. 
The illumination soon became more general, and the populace, 
in large numbers, went through the streets, calling, ^^ Light up I^' 
Numerous bauds, alone, or following detachments of the Na- 
tional Quards, went about, shouting, " Vive le roi I" — " Vive la 
reformer' and singing the Marseillaise. At many points, where 
barricades had been erected, and the people were resisting the 
troops, they ceased when they heard the news of the resigna- 
tions, and the troops retired. ^^ It is all over I'' was the general 
cry, and a feeling of relief seemed to pervade every bosom. 

There can be no doubt that, but for a fatal occurrence whicli 
soon after took place, the further progress of the revolt miglit 
have been stayed. Many wise people now say, indeed, that the 
revolution was all planned beforehand ; they had foreseen and 
predicted it ; and from the beginning of the outbreak every thing 
tended to this point. The fact is unquestionably otherwise. 
The " Opposition," with their various clubs and societies dis- 
tributed through all classes in Paris, and holding constant com- 
munication with the workmen, or blousemen, no doubt stood 
ready to take advantage of any violence on the part of the gov- 
ernment which might justify resistance ; but they had not anti- 
cipated such a contingency on the present occasion. It is not 
probable that the M0I6 ministry, had it been consummated, 
would have satisfied the people ; but the king had yielded ; 
Guizot, the special object of hatred, had fallen, and it was sup- 
posed that further concessions would be made, as concession 
had been begun. But accident, which often rules the fate of 
empires and dynasties, now stepped in to govern the course of 
events, and give them a character which should astonish the 


In the oonne of the eyenbg, a large mass of people had col- 
kcted on the Boulevard, in the region of Guizot*8 office — the 
H6tel dee AfBures Etrangftres. The troops here had nnforta- 
nately threatened the people, by rushing at them with tized 
bayonets, after the annonncement of the resignation of tlie min- 
istry, and when a good feeling prevailed among all classes. This 
. irritated the mob, and was partly, no donbt^ the occasion of the 
large gathering m this quarter. For some reason, not well ex- 
plained, a great many troops had also assembled here and in the 
Tidnity. At ten o^dock, the street from the Madeleine to the 
Bne de la Paiz, was throDged with soldiers and people. There 
was, however, no riot, and no s}nnptom of disorder. 

At this moment, a collection of persona, mostly young men, 
about sixty in number, came along the Boulevard, on the Hide 
opposite to the soldiers and the Foreign Otiice. It is baid tliat 
the colonel anticipated some attack, though notliing of the kiud 
was threatened. It appears that the soldiers stood ready to tire, 
wlien one of their muskets went off,'*' and wounded the command- 
er's horse in the leg. He mistook this for a shot from the crowd, 
and gave instant orders to fire. A fuailade immediately followed. 
Twenty persons fell dead, and forty were wounded. The scene 
which ensued baffles description. The immense masses dispersed 
in terror, and carried panic in all directions. The groans uf the 
dying and the screams of the wounded filled the air. Shops 
and houses around were turned into hospitals. *^ We are be- 
trayed ! we are betrayed 1" — **BevengeI revenge 1" was tlie 
cry of the masses. 

From this moment the doom of the monarchy was sealed. 
The leaders of the clubs, no doubt, took their measures for 
revolution. An immense wagon was soon brought to the scene 
of the massacre ; the dead bodies were laid on it, and flaring 
torches were lighted over it. The ghastly spectacle was para- 

* Tt has since been snid, and i» jfenemlly believed, that a revolution- 
ist by the name of Lagrange fired this shot with a pistol, having txr 
pected and designed the events which immediately followed. 


ded throagh the streets, and the mate lips of the corpses donbt- 
less spoke more effectively than those of the living. Large 
masses of people, pale with excitement, and nttering execra- 
tions npon the murderers, followed in the train of the wagon, 
aa it passed through the more populous streets of the city, and 
especially in those quarters inhabited by the lower classes. The 
efteot was such aa might have been anticipated. At midnight, 
the barricades were begun, and at sunrise, the streets of Paris 
displayed a net- work of fortifications from the place St. George 
to the church of Notre Dame, which set the troops at defiance. 
More than a thousand barricades, some of them ten feet in 
height, were thrown up during that memorable night ; yet such 
were the suddenness and silence of the or^erations, that most ot 
the inhabitants of the city slept in sr purity, fondly dreaming 
that the tempest had passed, and that the morning would greet 
them in peace. 

On Thursday, tlie decisive day, the weather was still mild, 
and without rain, though the sky was dimmed with clouds. 
At eleven in the morning, I sallied forth. I can not express my 
astonishment at the scene. The whole Boulevard was a speo- 
tacle of desolation. From the Rue de la Paix to the Rue Mont- 
martre — ^the finest part of Paris, the glory of the city— every 
tree was cut down, all the public monuments reduced to heapi> 
of ruins, the pavements torn up, and the entire wreck tumbled 
into a succession of barricades. Every street leading into this 
portion of the Boulevard was strongly barricaded. Such giant 
operations seemed like the work of enchantment. 

But my wonder had only begun. At the point where the 
Rue Montmartre crosses the Boulevard, the entire pavement 
was torn up, and something like a square breastwork was form- 
ed, in which a cannon was planted. The whole space around 
was crowded with the populace. As I stood for a moment, 
surveying the scene, a young man, about twenty, passed through 
the crowd, and stepping upon the carriage of the cannon, cried 
out, ^Down with Louis Philippe I" The energy with which 


thb was spoken tent a thriD through crerr botom: and the 
remarkable appcarmnoe of the joath gave additiona] effect to 
bb words. He seemerl the Terr demon €4 revolation. He was 
abort, broad-fthonldered, and fall-chested. Hia fiu» was pale, 
bis cbeek spotted with blood, and his head, without hat or cap, 
was bonnd with a handkerchief. His features were keen, and 
bis deep-set eve was lit with a spark that seemed borrowed from 
a tiser. As he left the throng, he came near me, and I said, in- 
qnirinf^j, '' Down with Louis Philippe r *^ Tas!** was Lis re- 
ply. "" And what then ?" said T. ''A republic I"* was bis an- 
swer ; and he passed on, giving the watchword of ^ Down with 
LouM PhilipT>e !'* to the masses he encoantered. This was the 
first instance in wfaicl I beard the overthrow of the king, and 
the adoption of a repnL'ic proposed. 

In pnrsning my walk, I noticed that the population were now 
abundantly supplied with weapons. On the two first days they 
were unarmed ; but after the slaughter at the Foreign OflSce, 
they went to all the houses and demanded weapons. These were 
given, for refusal would have been vain. An evidence of the 
consideration of the populace, even in their hour of wrath, is 
furnished by the fact, that in all cases where the arms had been 
surrendered, they wrote on the doors in chalk, " Armes doiv- 
fiiai*^ — arms given up— so as to prevent the annoyance of a sec- 
ond call. 

It might seem a fearful thing to behold a mob, such as that 
of PariH, brandishing guns, fowling-pieces, swords, cutlasses, 
hAt<;het^, and axes ; but I must say that I felt not the slightest 
fear in passing among their thickest masses. Some of them, 
who had doubtle?»rt never handled arms before, seemed a little 
jaunty and jubilant. The Gamins^ a peculiar race of enterpri- 
sing, daring, deKpcrate boys — the leaders in riots, rows, and re- 
bellions — were swarming on all sides, and seemed to feel a head 
taller in the po-sseHsion of their weapons. I saw several of these 
unwashed imps strutting about with red sashes around the 
waist, supporting pistols, dirks, cuUasses, Ao. ; yet I mnst state 


that over the whole scene there was an air of good-breeding, 
which seemed a guaranty against insult or violence. I may also 
remark here, that daring the whole three days, I did not ob- 
serve a scaffle or wrangle among the people; I did not hear an 
insulting word, nor did I see a menace offered — save in conflicts 
between the soldiers and the populace. I can add, that I did 
not see a drunken person during the whole period, with the 
single exception which I shall hereafter mention. 

I took a wide circuit in the region of the Rue Montmartre, 
the Bourse, the Rue Vivienne, St. Honors, and the Palais Royal. 
Everywhere there were enormous barricades and crowds of 
armed people. Soon after — that is, about twelve o'clock — 
1 passed the southern quadrangle of the Palais Royal, which 
—lately the residence of the brother of the King of Naples — 
was now attacked and taken by the populace. The beautiful 
suit of rooms were richly furnished, and decorated with costly 
])ictures, statues, bronzes, and other specimens of art. These 
were unsparingly tumbled into the square and the street, and 
consigned to the flames.* At the distance of one hundred and 
flfty feet from the front of the Palais Royal, was the Cha- 
teau d'Eau, a massive stone building occupied as a barrack, 
and at this moment garrisoned by one hundred and eighty 
municipal guards. In most parts of the city, seeing that 
the troops fraternized with the people, the government had 
given them orders not to fire. These guards, however, attacked 
the insurgents in and about the Palais Royal. Their fire was 
returned, and a desperate conflict ensued. The battle lasted for 
more tlian an hour, the people rushing in the very face of the 

♦ Many occurrenoes, during the revolution, served to diKpUy, on the 
part of the people, commonly, bat injarioosly, called the mob, ftenti- 
ments not inferior in beauty and elevation to those handed down for 
centuries in the histories of ancient Greece and Rome. During the 
sacking of the Palais Boyal, the insurgents found an ivory crucifix. In 
the very heat of their fury against tyranny, they reverently paused, and 
taking the sacred emblem of their faith, bore it to the old ohuroh of St 
Rooh, where it was safelv denosited. 


musketo of the guard, as they blazed from the grated windows. 
At last the barrack was set on fire, and the guard yielded, though 
not tin many of their nnmber had fallen, and the rest were near- 
ly dead with soffocation. The Gh&teaa d'Ean is now a mere 
rain, its mottled walls giving evidence of the shower of bnlleta 
that had been ponred upon it* 

No sooner had the Chfttean d'Ean surrendered, than the 
flashed victors took thefa* oonrse toward tlie Tnileriea, which was • 
near at hand ; shoating, singing, roaring, they came like a snrget, 
bearing all before them. The Place dn Garroasel was filled with 
troopii, but not a sword was nnsheathed— not a bayonet point- 
ed — ^not a mnskot or a cannon fired. There stood, idle and mo- 
tionlestt, the mighty armament which the king had appointed 
for his defense. How vain had his calculations proved ! for, 
alas ! they were founded in a radical error ! The soldiers would 
not massacre their brethren, to sustain a throne which they 
now despisal ! 

But we must now enter the Tuilcries. For several days pre- 
vious to the events we have described, some anxiety had been 
entertained by persons in and about the palace. The king, how- 
ever, bad no fears. lie appeared in unusual spirits, and if any 
intimation of danger was given, he turned it aside with a sneer 
or a joke. Even so late as Wednesday, after he had called upon 
Count M0I6 to form a new ministry, he remarked, that he was 
so ^^ firmly seated in tlie saddle, tliat nothing could throw liim 

Mole soon found it impossible, with the materials at hand, to 
construct a ministry. Thiers was then called in, and after a 
l(mg course of higgling and chaffering on the part of the king, 
it was agr(H.>d that he and Rarrot should undertake to carry on 

* In the recent improvements in Parip, the ruins of the Chateau d'Eau 
have l)eeii removed, and a flquaro has been opened upon their site from 
the Paliiis Boyal to the new portionn of the Louvre. These and other 
ttlt«'mtions have rendered thJH one of the most beautiful quarters of tho 
city. The Ix>uvre and the Tuileries have been united, and now fnrtn 
'ive of the moat majrniflcent palaoes in Europe. 


the government This was annonnoed by them m person, as 
they rode through the streets on Thursday rooming. These 
concessions, however, came too late. The cry for a republic 
was bursting from the lips of the million. The abdication of 
the king was decreed, and a raging multitude were demanding 
this at the very gates of the palace. Overborne by the crisis, 
the king agreed to abdicate in favor of the Duke de Nemours. 
» Some better tidings were brought him, and he retracted what 
he had just done. A moment after, it became certain that the 
insurgents would shortly burst into the palace. In great trepi- 
dation, the king agreed to resign the crown in favor of his 
grandson, the young Ck)unt de Paris — ^yet, stiD clinging to hope, 
he shuffled and hesitated before he would put his name to the 
act of abdication. This, however, was at last done, and the 
king and queen, dressed in black, and accompanied by a few 
individuals who remained faithful in this trying moment, passed 
from the Tuileries to the Place de la Concorde, through the sub- 
terranean passage constructed many years previously for the 
walks of the infant king of Rome. They here entered a small 
one-horse vehicle, and after a rapid and successful flight, landed 
safely at Dover, in England.* 

Meanwhile, the mob had seized the royal carnages, fourteen 
in number, and made a bonfire of them, near the celebrated 
arch in the Place du Carrousel. Soon after, they forced the 
railing at several points, and came rushing across the square to- 
ward the palace. Scarcely had the various members of the 
royal femily time to escape on one side of the building, when 
the mob broke in at the other. 

I have not time to follow the adventures of these several in- 
dividuals. We can not but sympathize with them in their mis- 
fortunes ; but we may remark, that the fall of the Orleans dy- 

♦ The varioQS members of the royal family, having enoaped to Eng- 
land, establiahed themaelvea at Claremont, near London, where they 
have oontinned till th'a time. Louis Philippe died there the 82d o. 
Aognat, 1850. 



nasty was not broken by a sin^ act of courage or dignity on 
the part of any one of the family. Their flight seemed a Tolgar 
scramble for mere life. Even the king was reduced to the most 
common-place disguises — the sliaving of his whbkers, the 
change uf bis dress, the adopting an ^* alias!" I may add here, 
that they hare all escaped ; and while everybody seems glad of 
this, there is no one behind who monms their kas. None are 
more loud in denouncing the besotted confidence of the king, • 
than his two hundred and twenty-five purchased deputies, who 
were so loyal in the days of prosperity. 

We must now turn our attention toward another scene^the 
Chamber of Deputies. Thb body met on Tuesday, at the 
usual liour — twelve o'clock. While the riotous scenes we have 
described were transpiring during that day, in full view of the 
I>Iace where they had assembled, the deputies, as if in muckery 
of the agitati(m without, were occupied in a languid discussion 
upon the ntTain) of a broken country bank. Toward the clo>e 
of the sirtiiicr, Odillon Barrot read from the tribune a Boleinii 
act of iin|jo.ichinent of the ministers. The next day, Wednes- 
day, the Chamber again met, and Guizot in the afternoon an- 
nounced that Count Mole was attempting to form a new min- 
istry. It doc*s not appear that Guizot or his colleagues were 
afterward seen in the Chamber. It is said that they met at the 
house of I)uchatel on Tliursday morning, and after cousultatior 
adopteil the 8i};:iiiHcimt motto of Napoleon after the battle of 
Waterloo — '' Sauve qui peut /" — Save himself who can. 1 am 
Lappy to add that the fugitives seem to have made good their 
retreat. It is said that Soult, disdaining to fly, remains at his 
house. I need not say that he will not be moleste<1, for there is 
no sanguinary feeling toward any pne, and Napoleon's old fa- 
vorite, the victor in so many battles, would more readily find 
a Parisian populace to protect than injure him. 

A short time after the king and queen had passed the Place 
de la Concorde, T chanced to be there. In a few momentt^ Odil- 
lon Rarrot api)eared from the gate of the ' 'uilerien, and, follow- 


ed by a long train of persona, proceeded to the Chamber of 
Depnties. It was now understood that the king had abdicated, 
and that Thiers and Barrot were to propose the Count de Paris 
as king, under the regency of his mother, the Duchess of Or- 
leans. The most profound emotion seemed to occupy the im- 
mense multitude. All were hushed into silence by the rapid 
succession of astonishing events. After a short space, the Duch- 
eRs of Orleans, with her two sons, the Count de Paris and the 
Duke de Chartres, were seen on foot coming toward the Cham- 
ber, encircled by a strong escort. She was dressed in deep 
mourning, her &oe bent to the ground. She moved across the 
bridge, and passing to the rear of the building, entered it through 
the gardens. Shortly after this, the Duke de Nemours, attended 
by several gentlemen on horseback, rode up, and also entered 
the building. 

' The scene that ensued within, is said to have presented an 
extraordinary mixture of the solemn and the ludicrous. The 
duchess being present, 0. Barfot proceeded to state the abdica- 
tion of the king, and to propose the regency. It was then that 
Lamartine seemed to shake off the poet and philosopher, and 
suddenly to become a man of action. Seizing the critical mo- 
ment, he declared his conviction that the days of monarchy 
were numbered, that the proposed regency was not suited to 
the crisis, and that a republic alone would meet the emergency 
and the wishes of France. These opinions, happily expressed 
and strenuously enforced, became decbive in their effect. 

Several other speeches were made, and a scene of great con- 
fusion followed. A considerable number of the mob had broken 
into the room, and occupied the galleries and the floor. One ot 
them brought his firelock to his shoulder, and took aim at M. 
Sauzet, the president. Entirely losing his self-possession, he 
abdicated with great speed, and disappeared. In the midst of 
the hubbub, a provbional government was announced, and the 
leading members were named. Some of the more obnoxious 
deputies were aimed at bv the muskets of the mob, and skulk- 


ing behind benches and pillan, th^ ooced out at baek doora 
end windowB. A bkNueman came np to the Dnke de Ke- 
moan, who drew his sword. The man took it from him, broke 
it over his knee, and connssled his highness to depart This he 
did forthwith, having borrowed a ooat and hat for the porpoiie 
of disgaise. A call was made for the members of the provi- 
sional government to proceed to the potel de ViUe. The assem- 
bly broke np, and the curtain fell npon the last sitting of the 
Chamber of Deputies — the closing scene of Lonis PhiHppe^s gov- 

It was about three o'clock in the afternoon, that I retraced 
my steps toward the Tuileries. The Place de la Concorde was 
crowded with soldiers, and fifty cannon were ranged in front of 
the gardens. Yet this iniglity force seemed struck with paraly- 
sis. I^ng lines of infantry 8tr>od mute and motionless, and 
heavy masses of cavalry seemed converted into so many statueis. 
Immeduitely before the eyes of these soldiers was the palace of 
the Tuileries in fall possession of the mob, but not a muscle 
move<l for their expulsion I 

Passing into the gardens, I noticed that thousands of per- 
sons were spread over their surface, and a rattling discharge of 
fire-arms was heard on all sides. Looking about for the cause 
of this, I perceived that hundre<l8 of men and boys were amu- 
sing themselves with shooting si)arrows and pigeons, which 
had hitherto found a secure reHting-i)lftce in this favorite resort 
of lebure and luxury. Others were discharging their muskets 
for the mere fun of making a noise. Proceeding througli the 
gardens, 1 came at last to the palace. It had now been, for 
more than an hour, in fuU possession of the insurgents. All de- 
scription fails to depict a scene like this. The whole front of 
the Tuileries, one-eighth of a mile in length, seemed gushing at 
doors, windows, balconies, aud galleries, with living multitudes 
— a mighty beehive of men, in the very act of swarming. A 
confused hubbub filled the air aud bewildered the senses with 
ts chaotic sounds. 


At the moment I ftiriyed, the throne of the king was borne 
iiway by a jubilant band of revelers ; and after being paraJed 
throQgh the streets, was burned at the Place de la Bastille — a 
significant episode in this tale of wonders. The colossal statue 
of Spartacns, which faces the main door of the palace, toward 
the gardens, was now decorated with a piece of gilt cloth torn 
from the throne and wreathed like a turban around his head. 
In his hand was a gorgeous bouquet of artificial fiowers. It 
seemed as if the frowning gladiator had suddenly caught the 
spirit of the revel, and was about to descend from his pedestal 
and mingle in the masquerade. 

I entered the palace, and passed through the long suites of 
apartments devoted to occasions of ceremony. A year before, 
I had seen these gorgeous halls filled with the flush and the 
&ir, kings, princes, and nobles, gathered to this focal point of 
luxury, refinement, and taste, from every quarter of the world. 
How little did Louis Philippe, at that moment, dream of *^ com- 
ing events !" How little did the stately queen — a proud obelisk 
of silk, and lace, and diamonds — foresee the change that was at 
hand I I recollected well the effect of this scene upon my own 
mind, and felt the full force of the contrast which the present 
moment offered. In the very room where I had seen the 
pensive and pensile Princess de Joinville and the Duchess de 
Montpensier — ^the latter then fresh from the hymeneal altar, 
her raven hair studded with diamonds like evening stars — ^whirl- 
ing in the mazy dance, I now beheld a band of creatures like 
Calibans, gamboling to the song of tlie Marseillaise I 

On every side my eye fell upon scenes of destruction. Pass- 
ing to the other end of the palace, I beheld a mob in the cham- 
bers of the princesses. Some rolled themselves in the luscious 
beds, others anointed their shaggy heads with choice pomatum, 
exclaiming, ^^ Dieu I how sweet it smells I" One of the gamins, 
grimed with gunpowder, blood, and dirt, seized a tooth-brush, 
and placing himself before a mirror, seemed delighted at the 
manifest improvement which he produced upon his ivory. 


On leaving tlie palace, I saw nambere of the men drinking wine 
from tK»ttle9 taken from the weD-stocked oellarB. ^one of them 
were positively drank. To nse the words of Tam O^hanter, 
*' They were na fon, bat jast had plenty" — perhape a little more. 
They floariahed Uieir gona and pistols, brandished thdr sworda, 
and performed various antics, bat they offered no insult to any 
one. They seemed in excellent humor, and made more than an 
ordinary display of French politease. They complimented the 
women, of whom there was no lack, and one of them, resem- 
bling a figure of Pan, seized a maiden by the waist, and both 
rigadooned merrily over the floor. 

Leaving this scene of wreck, confusion, and uproar, I pro- 
ceeded toward t)ie gate of the gardens leading into the Rue dc 
Kivoli. I was snqirised to find here a couple of ruthless-looking 
blousemen, armed with pisto^ keeping guard. On inquiry, I 
found that tLe mob themselves had instituted a sort of govern- 
ment. One fellow, in the of the devastation in the pal- 
ace, seeing- a man put Homething into his pocket, wrote on the 
wall, "Death to the thief!'' The Draconian code was imme- 
diately adopted by the people, and became the law of Paris. 
Five persons, taken in acts of robbery, were shot down by the 
l^eojile, and their bodies exposed in the streets, with the label 
of " Tfiieves'' on their breast. Thus order and law seemed ti> 
Bpriiig up from the instincts of society, in tlie midst of uproar 
and confusion, as crystals are seen shooting from the chaos of 
the elements. 

Three days had now passed, and the revolution was accom- 
plished. The people soon returned to their wonted habits — the 
provisional government proceeded in its duties— the barricades 
di8a)>i)eared, and in a single week the more obtrusive traces of 
the storm that had passed liad vanished from the streets and 
squares of Paris. A mighty shock has, however, been given to 
society, which still swells and undulates like tlie sea after a 
storm. The adjacent countries seem to feel the movement, and 
all Europe is in a state of agitation. What must be the final re- 


finlt, can not now be foreseen ; but I fear that, ere the sky be 
cleared, still further tempests must sweep over France and the 
surrounding nations. The day of reckoning for long years of 
tyranny and corruption has come, and the sun of liberty can 
hardly be expected to shine full on the scene, till a night of feai', 
and agitation, and tears has been passed. 


EmkU which imnudiaidy/oUowed ths Revolution— SoeriM in ths Hreeit of 
Pcarig—Anxiety of Strangers — Proceedings of the Americane— Address 
to ths Proeinonal Government — Replff of M, Arago — Procession in the 
streets — Jnavguration of the Republic— Funeral of the Victims— Presen- 
tation of Flags — Oonepiracy of the \Wi of May — Insurrection qf June 
— Adoption of the Constitution — Louis Napoleon President, 

My dear C****** 

It is quite impossible to give you any adequate 
idea of the state of things in Paris, immediately after 
the revolution described in my preceding letter. The 
Provisional Government, at the Hotel de Ville, con- 
sisting of persons who had seized the reins of author- 
ity which had suddenly fallen fix>m the hands of the 
now prostrate monarchy, was as yet without real 
power. Every thing was in a state of paralysis, or 
disorganization. There was no eflFective police, no 
visible authority, no actual government ; every man 
did what seemed good in his own eyes. Boys and 
blackguards paraded the streets with swords at their 
side, muskets in their hands, and sashes around their 


Enormocii prc^ecfftfeoi of inai, 
Siingled with wcMncti, moved ftloag llw th o toi f^ 
him, sogiDg the Ibmillabe n4 '* Uoofir pov k 
Pairie.** It im a genaml jobja c mhI^ «ttmiif« to 
ifty, without riot, without violififse, witbiMii fair. I 
wnlkcii ft^lj ftlirotttl in the tUti^ti^ taking mj wifc 
wid childreii with nm; we wen cofivU^tl^ i^atcd hj 
man and women aflcrtog ui thoolored 
they pinfied ypoQ am Umm with the 
botDcrr, espectiiig, of oMtiiCi e few iDiia in 
ThJe etal« of tbiDgi oo&liiitiied far • 
piopk being % law 9Qlck thniuelniiy wmA npfrvinmf 
alike fn>in lurbulenci% fnmi (»utni^'e, aiuI fn»ai }»il. 
lage. 1 1 i.H pn)bable that in no «»lluT great cut i<! 
the worKl could the maflm*9 U« lot 1*kji*c fn»fn ibr 
restraintH of ^ovirninfnl ami law, and vt-l krrp them- 
•elvefl within the U>un(U of order aod propnetv. an 
did tbi* PariManf* dunng tbui remarkable era 

Of counie, ihrrv was a general fi-^hng of anxietr 
amcmg all retlirting fx>»|tle in Vatik and especial! v 
tbocse whom* mindii rvverted to ihe tinst Frrtich f>pT*v 
lution. ThiK iiiitquietude extended i^artirularlT to aa 
fbreignerw, and tbev naturally cant aU>ut for thr 
mrans of nafety. It WM difficult to l«*ave Pam^ ^>f 
euine of the railnmilii werr broken up, and all thr 
modcn of ounvcyance were deranged. It wm aliiKia 
ifn[xi«il4e l«» Mvi money for the pur|iuee» of Umvri 
and even if ont* ct>uld e»ca}H* frv>in Pan*, more daogrr 
ouff agitation might exi«t in th«* (>i>untry. The iemA 


ing Americans took counsel together on this subject, 
and finally concluded to proceed, in procession, to 
the Pi-ovisional Government, and congratulate them 
upon the revolution.* A message was sent to inquire 
if this would be acceptable ; the answer was favora- 
ble, and, indeed, they were desired to hasten the 
proceeding, as it was thought such a demonstration 
might contribute to give support to the trembling 
authority of the self-elected rulers. 

In the preliminary meeting for bringing about the 
proposed address, I was chosen to preside, and was 
also selected as chairman of the committee to draw 
up the address itself. I had some curious counsel 
given me by my countrymen, while I was preparing 
this document The Americans looked upon the 
revolution, not only as the overthrow of monarchy, 
but as the birth of that liberty which we are taught 
to cherish as one of the greatest boons of existence. 
The example of Paris extended like an electric shock 
to the adjacent countries. Italy, Austria, Prussia, 
seemed on the point of emancipating themselves from 
the yoke which had bound them for ages. With a 
generous sympathy, our countrymen wished success 
to these efforts. The formation of a republican gov- 
ernment seems to us so easy, so obvious a work, that 

* Mr. Hash, who wu then our ambassador to France, proceeded ia 
his official capacity to the Hotel de Ville, three or four days after the 
completion of the revolution, and recognized the government, congratu- 
lating them upon a change which had resulted in the establishment of 
a republic. 


we suppose every nation which undertakes the task, 
will of course accomplish it. It was natural, there- 
fore, for an American in Paris to believe that the 
good time had actually come, and that the people 
had only to inaugurate, and establish it. I had 
several plans of addresses sent to me founded upon 
this idea ; one a declaration of principles, of seven 
foolscap pages, drawn up pretty much after the man- 
ner of our Declaration of Independence. Conceiving 
it, however, no time to be magniloquent, I prepared 
the following brief address, which was adopted : 

" Gentlemen, members of the Provisional Government of the 
French People — As citizenB of tlie United States of America, and 
spectators of recent events in Paris, we come to oflfer you onr 
congratulations. A grateful recollection of the past, and the ties 
of amity which have existed between your country and ours, 
prompt us to be among the first to testify to you, and to the 
ljeoi)le of France, the sympathy, the respect, and the admiration 
which those events inspire. Acknowledging the right of every 
nation to fonn its own government, we may still be permitted 
to felicitate France upon the choice of a system which recognizes 
as its basis the great principles of rational liberty and political 

" In the progress of the recent struggle here, Wk, have admired 
the magnanimity of the French people, tlieir self-comnuind in the 
liour of triumph, and their speedy return to order and law, after 
the tumult and confusion of revolution. We see in these circum- 
stancejj, happy omens of good to France and to mankind — assu- 
rances that what has been so nobly begun will be consummate<1 
in the permanent establishment of a just and liberal government, 
and the consequent enjoyment of liberty, peace, and prosperity, 
among the citizens of this great country. Accept this testimo- 


nial of the sentiments which fill oar hearts at the present mo- 
. ment, and be assured that the news of the revolution which you 
have just achieved, will be hailed by our countrymen on the 
other side of the Atlantic, with no other emotions than those of 
hope and joy for France and for the world." 

All things being duly prepared, the Americans, 
about two hundred and fifty in number, marched in 
procession to the Hotel de ViUe, the striped bunting 
and the tricolor waving together in harmony over 
our heads. The citizens of Paris looked upon us 
with welcome, and frequently the cry arose — ** Vive 
la Republique Americaine 1"* 

The Hotel de Ville is one of the most sumptuous 
palaces in Europe; and here, in the magnificent 
apartment called the Hall of Eeception, we were 
received by the Provisional Government — all dressed 
in their uniform of blue, ornamented with gold lace, 
and rich sashes around the waist. Lamartine was ill, 
and was not present ; Arago presided. I began to 
read the address, in English, when a tipsy French- 
man, who had squeezed into the hall with the pro- 

* The committee on the address, besides myself, were Messrs. Corbin, 
of Virginia, Shimmin, of Boston, and the late Henry Coleman, well 
known for his agrioultaral writings, as well as his travels in England 
and France. 

The president on the occasion was Hon. G. W. Erving, formerly min- 
ister of the United States to Madrid. 

The chief marshal was Wright Hawkes, Esq., of New York, assisted 
by Bobert WickliflTe, Jr.^ of Kentucky, E. C. Cowden, of Boston, <fco. 

It is a curious fact, that the Americans in the procession were several 
inches taller than the average of Frenchmen — a circumstance which at- 
tracted general attention in Paris at the time. 

476 LErnesB — ^biogbapbioal, 

cession, came forward and insisted tliat it should be 
read in French. He was pacified by being told that 
it would be read in that language after I had con- 
cluded. When the a^ldress was finished, M. Arago 
replied on behalf of the government, in appropriate 
terms. M. Poussin* then seized the two flags, and 
waving them together, pronounced an atimated dis- 
course, in which he acknowledged with gratitude the 
sympathy of the Americans in the recent revolution, 
and expressed the hope that France had now entered 
upon the long-hoped-for millennial era of equality, 
firaternity, and liberty. 

It is not my design to give you a detailed history of 
the revolution, but I may sketch a few of the promi- 
nent events which followed. For this purpose, I make 
an extract from an account I have elsewhere given : 

For several weeks and months, Paris was a scene of extraordi- 
nary excitement The Provisional Government had announced 
that they would provide the people witli lahor. Oonseqnently, 
deputations of tailors, hatters, engravers, musicians, paviors, 
cabinet-makers, seamstresses, and a multitude of other trades 

♦ M. Gnilhiume Tell PooBsin came to the United States many years sgo, 
ami was otuploycd liere as an engineer for a long time. After his return 
to France, he wrote an able statistieul work ou this country, in which ho 
highly praised our institutions. When the French Republic was organ- 
ized, he was sent as minister to Washington. Mr. Clayton, Secrotar>' of 
State under Gen. Taylor, took exception to certain expressions U!*ed by 
M. Foussin in his correspondence with the department, and accordingly 
he ceased to represent his country hero. M. Foussiu is, however, a 
sincere republican, and a great admirer of the United States ; and though 
his principle^ are well known, Huch is the respect entertained for him, 
that tlie suspicion of the French government, oven under the empire, 
has never subjected him to constraint or annoyance. 


and vocations, flocked in long lines to the Hotel de Yille, to 
solicit the favor of the government. Vast crowds of peo|)le 
perpetually hannted this place, and^ in one instance, a raging 
mnltitnde came thundering at the doors, demanding that the 
blood-red flag of the former revolution should be the banner of 
the new republic! It was on this occasion that Lamartine ad- 
dressed the people, and with such eloquence as to allay the 
storm which threatened again to deluge France in blood. The 
members of the government were so besieged and pressed by 
busmess, that for several weeks they slept in the Hotel de Yille. 
They proceeded with a bold hand to announce and establish the 
republic. In order to make a favorable impression upon the 
people, they decreed a gorgeous ceremony at the foot of the col- 
umn of July, on Sunday, February 27th, by which they solemnly 
inaugurated the new republic. All the members of tlie Provis- 
ional Government were present on horseback ; there were sixty 
thousand troops and two hundred thousand people to witness 
the spectacle. 

Another still more imposing celebration took place on the 4th 
of March. This was called the *■'' Funeral of the Victims.*^ After 
religious ceremonies at the Madeleine, the members of the gov- 
ernment, with a long train of public officers, and an immense 
cortege of military, proceeded to the July column, conducting a 
superb fhneral-car drawn by eight cream-colored horses. This 
contained most of the bodies of those slain in the revolution — 
about two hundred and fifty. These were deposited in the vault 
of the column, with the victims of the revolution of 1880. 

Nothing can adequately portray this spectacle. A tricolored 
flag was stretched on each side of the Boulevards, from the Ma- 
deleine to the July column — a distance of three miles. As this 
consisted of three strips of cloth, the length of the whole was 
eighteen miles I The solemn movement of the funeral procession, 
die dirge-like music, the march of nearly a hundred thousand sol- 
diers, and the sympathizing presence of three hundred thousand 
Bouls, rendered it a scene never surpassed and rarely equaled, 


either by the magDifioenoe of the panoranu, or the toleiiin and 
touching Beatiments excited. 

Still other ApectAcles sncoeeded, and in the sommer fonr hun- 
dred thoonnd people aasembled in the Champe Elys^es to wit- 
ness the Presentation of Flags to the assembled National Gnards 
— eighty thousand being present Such scenes can only be wit- 
nessed in Paris. 

Events proceeded with strange rapidity. A Constituent As- 
sembly was called by the Provisional Government, to fimn a 
constitution. The members were elected by ballot, the suffi-age 
being universal — that is, open to all Frenchmen over twenty-one. 
The election took place in April, and on the 4th of May the first 
session was held, being officially announced to the assembled 
people from the steps of the Chamber of Deputies. On the 16th 
of May a conspiracy was disclosed, the leaders of which wen< 
Raspail, Barb6s, Sobrier, Caussidi^re, Blanqui, Flotte, Albert, 
and Louis Blanc* — the two last having been members of the 
Provisional Government. Caussidi^re was prefect of police. 

The Assembly proceeded in the work of framing a constitution, 
administering the government in the mean time. On the 24th of 
June, a terrific insurrection broke out, promoted by the leadei*H 
of various factions, all desiring the overthrow of the republic 
which had been inaugurated. Cavaignac, who was minister ot 
war, was appointed dictator, and Paris was declared in a state 
of siege. The insurgents confined their operations chiefly to the 
faubourgs St. Jacques and St. Antoine. They got possession of 
these, and formed skillful and able plans of operation, which had 
for their ultimate object the surrounding of the city and getting 
possession of certain important points, including the' Chamber — 
thus securing the government in their own hands. 

* Those men were Social ibtn, and aimed at a detttruction of the gov- 
eriiincnt, so that they mi^ht bring into effect their pecaliar schemes. 
Tliey were shortly nlterward tried at Bourges, and sentenced to long • 
ini|)ri8onnient or buuishmcnt. Louis Blanc and Caussidi^re escaped to 
England. The former remains in London ; the latter is now a wine- 
merchant in New York. 


Gavaignao proceeded to attack the barricades, thus clearing 
the Rtreeta one by one. The fighting was terrible. For foar 
days the battle continued, the sound of cannon frequently filling 
the ears' of the people all over the city. Night and day the in- 
habitants were shut up in their houses — ignorant of all, save 
that the conflict was raging. The women tbnnd employment in 
scraping lint for the wounded. All Paris was a camp. The 
windows were closed; the soldiers and sentinels passed thdr 
watchwords ; litters, carrymg the dead and wounded, were seen 
along the streets ; the tramp of inarching columns and the thun- 
der of rushing cavalry broke upon the ear I 

At last the conflict was over ; the insurgents were beaten — 
Oavaignac triumphed. But the victory was dearly purchased. 
Between two and three thousand persons were killed — and among 
them, no lees than seven general officers had fallen. The insur- 
gents fought like tigers. Many women were in the ranks, using 
the musket, carrying the banners, rearing barricades, and cheer- 
ing the fight. Boys and girls mingled in the conflict. The 
National Guards who combated them, had equal courage and 
superior discipline. One of the Garde Mobile— Hyacinthe Mar- 
tin, a youth of fourteen — took tour standards from the tops ot 
the barricades. His gallantry excited great interest, and Oa- 
vaignac decorated him with the cross of the Legion of Honor, 
lie became a hero of the day, but, sad to relate, being invited to 
fttes, banquets, and repasts, his head was turned, and he was 
soon a ruined profligate. 

Tlie leaders in this terrific insurrection were never detected. 
It is certain that the movement was headed by able men, and 
directed by skillful engineers. The masses who fought were 
roused to fury by poverty and distress, by disappointment at 
findmg the national workshops discontinued, and by stimulating 
excitements furnished by socialist clubs and newspapers. It is 
. computed that forty thousand insurgents were in arms, and eighty 
thousand government soldiers were brought against them. It 
may be considered that this struggle was the remote but inevita- 


ble nfdt of the ocrane of the Pft>Tiflkmil Gareraiiieiit in adopting 
the doctrine of obligation, on the part of the State, to anpply 
woric and wages to the people, and in establishing national 
workshops in pnrananoe of this idea. Still, it may be said, on 
the other hand, that nothing bat snch a step oonld have enabled 
the Provisional Government to maintain itself daring three 
months, and give being to an organiased Assembly from which 
a legitimate government coald proceed. 

The oonstitntion was finished in the aatnmn, and promnlgated 
on the 19th of November, 1848. On the 10th of December fol- 
lowing, the election of President took place, and it appeared 
that Louis Napoleon had five million oat of seven million votes. 
He was duly inaogarated aljout a week alter the election, and 
entered upon Uie high duties which tlius devolved upon hiin. 


The Duiie9 (tfa Chruul — Purtuit of a mUsing Family — Paj/ing for Bt* 

My dkauC****** 

Let us now come to the period of 1861, when I 

entered upon the consulate. Of the space during 

which I was permitted to hold this office, I have no 

very remarkable personal incidents to relate. The 

certifying of invoices, and the legalizing of deeds 

and powers of attorney, are the chief technical duties 

of the American Consul at Paris.* If he desires to 

* rurin 18 not a wcaport, and therefore tlie numGrous consular d^itiea 
coiincotod with Hhipping arc never required here. Ou the other band, 
itia tlie literary mctropoliH of France; and oa French connuU are re- 
quired to collect and furnish geographical, historical, commercial, and 
■tatisUcal information, 1 found myself constantly applied to by editora 


enlarge the circle of his operations, however, he can 
find various w^ys of doing it, as for instance, in sup- 
plying the wants of distressed Poles, Hungarians, Ital- 
ians, and others, who are martyrs to liberty, and sup- 
pose the American heart and purse always open to 
those who are thus afflicted : in answering questions 
fix>m notaries, merchants, lawyers, as to the laws of the 
different American States upon marriage, inheritance, 

of papers, anthom, banken, merohanta, government offlcials, for partio- 
dlar facta in regard to the United States. I was exceedingly struck with 
the general ignorance of all classes, as to oar country, its inRtitutions, 
geography, population, history, Ao, I therefore prepared a work, which, 
with the kind assistance of M. Delbriick, was put into French, and pub- 
lished—it being an octavo volume of about three hundred and seventy- 
live pages, entitled Les EtaU- Urns d'Amiriqu*, 1 had the gratification of 
seeing it well received on all sides, even by the members of the govern- 
ment, from whom I had complimentary acknowledgments. There is, in- 
deed, a great and growing interest in our country all over Europe, and 
it seems to be the duty of American officials abroad to take advantage of 
their opportunities to satisfy and gratify this curiosity by furnishing. In 
a correct and accessible form, the kind of information that is desired. 

The number of Americans in Paris, residents and travelers, varies from 
one to three thousand. If the Consul is understood to bar out his coun- 
trymen, he may see very few of them ; if, on the contrary, he is willing 
to make himself use f\il in a neighborly way, many of them will call upon 
him to take his advice as to schools, physicians, routes of travel, and 
the like. When there is difficulty, the Consul is the natural resourca '*" 
his countrymen, especially for those who are without acquaintance, la 
case of the death of an American, if there b no tViend or relative pros< 
ent upon whom the duty devolves, the Consul gives directions as to the 
funeral, and takes charge of the effects of the deceased. 

I have already alluded to French physicians and surgeoiiH, and ex- 
pressed the opinion that ours, in America, are quite as good. There is, 
so doubt, great science in the medical and surgical professions of Paris : 
but there are two things to be suggested to those who go there for ail- 
vice. In the first place, these practitioners are very daring in their trunt- 
ment of strangers, and in the next, their charges to foreigners are ukii- 
ally about double the ordinary rates. 

While I was in Paris, a very wealthy and rather aged gentleman ironi 
Virginia consulted an eminent surgeon there, as to hydrocele. Au op- 
You TT.— 21 

482 Lsnav — ^siOGRAPHiCiX. 

and ihe like ; in aidTising emigrants whether to settle 
in Iowa, or Illinois, or Missoari, or Texas ; in listening 
to inquiries made bj deserted wires as to where their 
errant husbands may be found, who left France ten or 
twenty or thirty years ago, and went to America, by 
which is generally understood St. Domingo or Mar- 
tinique. A considerable business may be done in lend- 
ing money to foreigners, who pretend to have been 
naturulissed in the United States, and are therefore en- 
titled to c^jiisideratiou and sympathy, it being of course 
well understood that money lent to such persons will 
never \j*i repaid. Some time and cash ma}' also be 
invested in listening to the stories and contribu- 
ting to the wants of promising young American art- 
ists, who are striving to get to Italy, to pursue their 
studies — such persons usually being graduates of the 
IjoiuIou school of artful dodgers. Some waste Ici- 
HiiHi and a good deal of postage may be disposed of 
ill eorrespoiidence with ingenious Americans — invent- 
ors an<l discoverers — as for instance, with a man in 
Arkansas or Minnesota, who informs you that he has 

uraiioii wim recoininuniiod uiid performod, entirely agaiiut the advice uf 
H Vir^iniii ph^Hioiuii wlio chunced to be in Parit«, and woh connulted. 
Ill thirty (hiVH the ffontleman died. He had intrusted his affiiira to me, 
and I jmid hirt bilU. Thecharf^e of the Hurgeun watt five thouHand Irauoi*! 
Thr- Mllrt vf llio nurhos, hotels, attciidantH^ <&c., were of a similar chur- 
at'tor. A you UK phyHician, who had been employed fourteen days a* 
iiurno, t'htiniated hitt horviceti at fifteen hundred francs! I make thoit 
r«iiiiirkr«, tiiat my countrymen goin^ to PariH for medical or surgical ad- 
vu'(\ may \w. «luly warned againttt placing tlicmselvcs in the hands of 
ra^ii and iinprinriplcd praclitionefH. A great name in Paris is by no 
mouii.t n guuruiitoe of that care, prudence, and conscientiousness, whicii 
belong tu th« physioiau at home. 


contrived a new and infallible method of beating and 
ventilating European cities, and wishes it brought to 
the notice of the authorities there, it being deemed 
the duty of the American Consul to give attention to 
such matters. These monotonies are occasionally di- 
versified by a letter from some unfortunate fellow- 
countryman who is detained at Mazas or Clichy, and 
begs to be extricated ; or some couple who wish to be 
put under the bonds of wedlock, or some enterprising 
wife, all the way from Tennessee, in chase of a run- 
away husband, or some inexperienced but indignant 
youth who has been fleeced by his landlord. 

Mixed up with these amusements, there sometimes 
comes an order from the government at home, to ob- 
tain a certain document, or to give information as to 
some institution, or perhaps to make some investiga- 
tion. The following copy of a letter to the State De- 
partment at Washington describes an instance of the 
latter : 

Paeib, Febintry 10, 1858. 
To Hon. Edwabo Etxrett, Secretary of State. 

Sir — Your letter of the 80th December, inclosing one from 
Hon. Jeremiah Olemens, asking information as to the family of 
Andr6 Hentz, was duly received. 

Soon after its receipt, I proceeded to No. 9, Rne St. Appoline, 
Paris, the last known residence of Madame Hentz, bnt 1 could 
obtain no traces of her or her family. I then wrote to the Mayor 
of Conflans St. Honorine, where she once lived, and received a 
reply which directed me to make inquiry at the neighboring vil- 
lage of Grenelle. Thither 1 proceeded, and applied as advised, 
to No. 6 Rue Fondry. Here I failed, bnt was led to suppone 


that I might get a dew at Xo. 115 Rne Vieille dn Tetupk, 
Parifl. I retained thither, and on application at the place in- 
dicated, was toM that no person by the name of Hentz had ever 
lived there. On going out, I observed that the nnmbering over 
the door was freshly painted, and soon disoovered that the 
whole nnmbering of the street had recently been changed. I 
now sought the old No. 115, and was here informed that I 
might perhaps find the person I was looking after at No. 6 Rne 
Thorigny. I proceeded thither, bat was informed tliat M. Hentz 
was not there, bat perhaps might be foand at No. 4. Finally, 
at No. 4, on the fifth story, I fonnd Henry Hentz and his 
mother, in rather humble but very neat apartments, and appa- 
rently in comfortable circarastances. I told them the object of 
my visit, and they promised immediately to write to Mr. Andre 
Hentz, of whom they had lost all trace, and of whom tliey were 
rejoiced to receive intelligence. 

I write these particulars, supposing tliey may be interesting 
to Mr. Clemens^s client. 

I am, with great respect, yours, &c., 

S. G. Goodrich. 

Another incident may amuse you. I one day re- 
ceived a number of a Journal published in Paris, en- 
titled " Archives des Hommes du Jour," that is, 
Memoirs of Men of the Time, accompanied by a 
polite note saying that the editors would be happy to 
insert in their pages a biographical memoir of myself. 
They had taken the liberty to sketch the beginning 
of the desired article, but the particular facts of my 
life they politely begged me to supply. 

Supposing this to be one of those applications 
which are by no means uncommon, I handed to my 
friend, M. Jules Delbriick, the letter, with two or 


three American books, which contained notices of 
myself, and asked him to write the memoir as de- 
sired. This he did, and it was duly sent to the edit- 
ors of the Hommes du Jour. In due time a proof 
was sent, and at the same time one of the editors, a 
very smiling gentleman, came and desired to know 
how many copies of this memoir of myself I should 
desire! I replied, very innocently, that I should 
like one or two. The gentleman lifted his eyebrows, 
and said suggestively — 

" Five hundred is the usual number I" 

I now for the first time began to suspect a trap, 
and replied — 

" You expect me to take five hundred copies?" 

" Every gentleman takes at least that ; sometimes 
a thousand." 

" And you expect me to pay for them ?" 

" Oui, monsieur 1" 

" Well, how much do you expect for five hundred 

" A franc each is the usual price ; but we will say 
three hundred and fifty francs for the whole." 

" I understand you now : I furnished the article in 
question at your request ; it was for your benefit, not 
mine. It is of no advantage to me. If you expected 
to be paid for it, you should have told me so ; you 
would then have been saved the tiouble of pursuing 
the matter any further." 

The stranger remonstrated, but I firmly reftised to 

486 LmrrsBS — ^bioobaphtcal, 

give him an order for any copies of the publication 
in question, and supposed I had got rid of the appli- 
cation. A few days afterward, however, I received 
a long letter fix>m the editors, to which, after some 
reflection, I sent the following answer : 

Paxb, Febmary 7, 185S. 
To the Kdltors of the " ArohiTet dee Hommes da Jour." 

Oentlemen — I have received, beddes several other letters from 
yon, one of the 8d instant, which seems to demand an answer. 

Some weeks since, yon addressed me a complimentary note, 
saying that yon proposed to insert in the Archives des Hommes 
du Joar, a biographical sketch of myself, and desired me to fill 
up with facts an outline which you sent mo. 

You gave me no intimation that you expected me to pay for 
the proposed insertion. Nothing iu the specimen of the Journal 
you sent, led me to suspect that there was any lurking signifi- 
cation beneath your polite proposal. I judged of the matter by 
my own experience, and very innocently supposing that I was 
merely fulBIling a comity due to men of letters, I complied with 
your request by getting a friend to furnish the facts you desired. 

1 have since learned tliat my experience in the United States 
has not instructed me in all the customs of Paris. 

When the article in question was in proof, a gentleman, pro- 
fessing to be your representative, called on me, and proposed to 
furnish me with five hundred copies of the sketch, ^' at the ex 
oeedingly low price of three hundred and fifty francs !" I replied 
that I did not require nor desire any copies of the work ; that 
while I appreciated the politeness of the editors of the Journal, 
I hnd not sought the irfiertion of the biography, and knew of 
no earthly interest of mine that could be promoted by it. I fur- 
ther stated that my sense of propriety would be shocked at the 
idea of rendering pecuniary compensation for a eulogistic notice 
of myselfl For aU these reasons I declined accepting the propo- 


•itioii, and the more emphatically, as it was very strongly urged 
upon me. 

All this was of oonrse oommoDioated to you : nevertheless, in 
the letter referred to, yoa insist upon my paying for the inser- 
tion, and for five hundred extra copies, printed by you, after I 
had positively refused to take them. 

Tour claim is urged on two grounds : first, that you have 
expended money, and conferred on me a benefit ; and, second, 
that what you ask is sanctioned by high example, and the prac- 
tice of years, and has therefore the force of an agreement be- 
tween you and me. 

To this I beg to reply, of course judging from my point of 
view, that I can not admit that you have done me a service. It 
seems to me rather an occasion of humiliation to see one^s self 
praised in a Journal, which must be regarded as a collection of 
eulogistic biographies, paid for by the parties eulogized. What- 
ever may be the rank of the names, by the side of mine, the im- 
pression upon my mind is that of degradation. 

In reply to your argument that I am bound by usage, permit 
me to say that in order to make your logic effective, you should 
show tliat the usage referred to is public and not secret, and 
furthermore that it is a commendable usage. 

Now, in this case, the practice of your journal is not stated, nor 

intimated, either in the title-page or preface, or upon the cover, 

nor did you state any thing of the kind in your note to me. My 

literary experience has never furnished me with an example of 

* a work conducted on these principles. 

Perhaps it would be inconvenient to label your work accord- 
ing to its true character, and that may be a reason with you 
for concealing it, but at the same time it excludes all idea of 
mutuality of understanding between ypu and me, and puts an 
end to your claim founded upon implied agreement. The con- 
lent of both parties is essential to a compact : in this case, you 
have only the consent of yourselves. 

As to the character of the usage you adopt, I am aware that 


jToo rite high Aothoiity. Ton aarare me thiit the ** Emperor of 
France," the "Queen of Spwn," "Onr holy Father the Pope,** 
" Ministers of religioo, Manihals of the empire, ConnciDorB ot 
State, with others down to the pettiest Codsq]," have all com- 
plied with yom* custom, and paid for their eologies which appear 
in your ten annual volumes of the ** Archives des Ilommes do 
Jour !" ITod yon not asserted this as a matter d foot, I should 
have denied it as impoerihle, as a shame to literature, a scandal 
against great names, a defiunation oi society and dvihiation in 
France and in Europe. As you aflSrm it, however, I pronounce 
no harxh Judgment, and content myself hy saying that while I 
allow others to form standards of conduct fbr themselves, I most 
clftiin and oxcrcide the same privilege for myself. 

The ci»toin you insist upon, therefore, can form no rule for 
me. I can not consent to pay for the insertion of the menwir, 
Hs done in my behalf; certainly not for any extra copies of the 
nrticle it«*elf. I inclose to you, however, one hundred and fifty 
fnincs Jis i>onance for my ignorance and simplicity in this trans- 
notion, with the request tliat^ if convenient, my nanrie may he 
altogolher obliterated from your journal. 

T beg you to observe that in all this, I do not seek to impugn 
your principles or your conduct : I simply state my own opinions, 
and explain myself by reference to these, without insisting that 
from your iK)int of view you may not be as correct as I am, 
from mine. Mou^s principles may differ, yet there is no neces- 
sity that irritation should follow. 

1 ain sorry that any occasion should arise for so long and sO" 
formal a letter as this: I trust, however, that it wiU prove sau 
isfaotory, and I am, very respectfully, youi^s, 


uiarroBioAL, AmecDonoAL, etc. 489 


C^araeter qfUhsFrmuih BegmbUe—IU OorUnut vfUh the American Bepttb- 
Ue— Aspect of the OcvernmerU in France^Louie Napoteon^'e ambUioue 
Deeif^ne-^Be Flatters the ArmySprsads Rumors o/ Socialist Plots— 
Divisions in the National Assembly— A Zeves at the Myske—The Coup 
tPFtat— Character of this Act— Ifapolson*s Government— Feelings of the 

Mt DKAB C****** 

From the memoranda famished in my prece- 
ding letter, you will comprehend the duties which 
devolve upon the American Consul at Paris, and will 
have glimpses of some of the particular incidents 
which befell me while I was there in that capacity. 
I must now give you a rapid sketch of certain public 
events which transpired at that period, and which 
will ever be regarded as among the most remarkable 
in modem history. 

I have told you how Louis Napoleon, in conse- 
quence of the Eevolution of 1848, became President 
of the Republic. When I arrived in Paris, in April, 
1851, he was oflBciating in that capacity, his residence 
being the little palace of the Elys6e Bourbon, situated 
between the Faubourg St. Honor6 and the Champs 
Elys6es. The National Assembly, consisting of sev- 
en hundred and fifty members, held their sessions at 
the building called the Chamber of Deputies.* The 

* The National Assembly held ite sessions in a temporary building 
erected in the courtyard of the Chamber of Depntiea, proper. Thia 


goirtmtDeiil bftd betfi so oportlkm 
two jremriL 

At Uit« pericid Fnace iri« m refmhlic, bot jptm «fl 
nol untjervund ihst tu govmianl bocv aaj 
reaemUAiido tio oof own, tAve in mmm. Hi^ < 
iQtacNi laid indeed Immi ftin«i bgf • 
odled ft CiiciflytueDt AmmUf, Aamm Jbr tliM 
pom bjr tlt« people : this bed bfcn nhouiud tft i 
and ratiflal b; them ; end (ttnfaenaeei^ tbe i 
of ibe nsocelivci end liyiiletiftt i 
beea eleoted by g^^rel soAegiL Tbe | 
tberalbci^ neted upoo tbe pnaeiplie of ; 
emgnir, btit Jttill, it «e« witbuyl thtim ebidu end 
balances belonging to our svstem, and to whurb we 
attribute its nuccem. Ours i« a Federal RrpublK; 
a union of Staten, each a dmtinct, inde|)endrnu and 
BovcriM^Mi {H>wer, Mve only as to national matlpff% 
which an* given over to the charge of a Gee«nJ 
Govern rnrni. This cantonal arrangemeDt^ wbicb m 
the gn*nt bulwark of our liberty, was wholly veni- 
ing in the Frt*nch ConstitutioD. All tbe povm of 
goveniinent ieguilative and executive — for tbe en- 
tire kingdom, were centralize^i at Pans. Tbefe wrre 
oo safeguanls intcr(>o«ed between this supnpme^ un 
chevkt^i auth«>nty, and tbe (leople, and tbe trmah 
showed that thiii defect was fatal. Our grnerml g^>v 


4 «• 


ernment may attempt usurpation, but it will imme- 
diately be arrested by the State governments ; our 
general government may go to pieces, but the fabric 
of State government remains to shelter the people 
from anarchy. Our legislative department is further- 
more divided into two bodies — the House and the 
Senate, and these operate as checks upon each other. 
Unhappily, the French system had neither of these 
provisions, and as the republic had swallowed up 
d^potism, so despotism in turn speedily devoured 
the republic. 

To the casual observer, the external aspect of things 
was not very different from what it had been under 
the monarchy of Louis Philippe. It is true that the 
palace of the Tuileries was vacant ; no royal coaches 
were seen dashing through the avenues ; no image 
and superscription of majesty frowned upon you from 
the public monuments, which, on the contrary, every- 
where proclaimed " liberty, equality, fraternity." But 
still, the streets were filled with soldiers as before. 
Armed sentinels were stationed at the entrances of 
all the public buildings. The barracks were as usual 
swarming with soldiers, and large masses of horse 
and foot were frequently trained at the Champ de 
Mars and at Satory. Martial reviews and exercises 
were, indeed, the chief amusement of the metropolis. 
The President's house was a palace, and all around it 
was bristling with bayonets. It was obvious that what- 
ever name the government might bear, military force 


IJUHiM WrtttaArglC^U 

Iav lit tbc bottdm of it, atni if %o^f llm 
Hs 4rrrn»^, loitioittiir it ntil^ ftlio bir im \ 

It ii now veenaified tluit LoQii Nrnpttlaott, 
the befinniDf , hid hm mmd fixed 
ticm of tbe «inpira In aoeppting A» 
tlie rrpuUie, uid areii in sveAniig Mdl^ t» 
Cmitiitttioti, lie eoBMdefTd himiiif 00I7 m 
itig tbe «trp» of tba imporial thrciML "Hw 
Irnii m Itmg baM aegortpq ie d 10 mlitaf; 
Aiilfbe^rfaftTflfioideftof fciiwiinMliritkiM It. 11* 
people tb«f« hmwm not tbe habil^ «d iitiiv«fM> with «% 
of abtfimg ibe law, thtoiif h i wtmm of tiglM -, 
mtijrt alwmrfl bAr» br^n' thrni iH** mntK%n 
Knvonot, to enfopn*^ obediencv Th<» framrm of Um 
n**w (\»nstitulion, either having no oonorptiAn of m 
government iin.Hiipporte<1 bv an anny. «x having do 
faith that the Krenoh nation would ohr^erve law^ reM- 
ini: only uj>on moral obligation, gave lo ibe cbtrf 
magwtnite the a(*tual f*«>mmand of a lanrr brwly oi 
lro<»p^. With a vi«»w to pn^pan* ihem to (*rrvf kia» 
in time of neecl. the Pre:*nieiit flatterrd tbr ol 
and cajoled the men in vanoiia waya» even L»ni< 
them in one inatance to be nerved with rhampttgiw! 

In order to pn*parv the nation for the rrvo4utm 
which he meditated, Louis Naf^oleun caused agitatia^ 
and alanning rumum to be circulate^l. of a tembie pioi, 
planned by i\\^ dffn«x'niL«». n-publifTin*, and •ociaImc* 
• ♦f Fnine#», thf ohjni ot whirh wa^ to overturn %hm 
*i hole fabru* of liM'H't^. to dt<^tr**\ ivlnfv»n. to j^aorf^ 


away the obligations of marriage, to strip the rich 
of their property, and make a general distribution of 
it among the masses. Other conspiracies, having sim- 
ilar designs, were said to exist in all the surrounding 
countries of Europe, and the time was now near at 
hand when the fearful explosion would take place. 
The police of France, subject to the control and di- 
rection of the President, were instructed to discover 
evidences of this infernal plot, and they were so suc- 
cessful, that the public mind was filled with a vague 
but anxious apprehension that society was reposing 
upon a volcano, which might soon burst forth and 
overwhelm the whole country in chaos. 

The National Assembly conducted in a manner to 
favor these deep, sinister schemes of the President. 
They were divided into four or five factions, and 
spent their time chiefly in angry disputes and selfish 
intrigues. A portion of them were monarchists, and 
though they had acquired their seats by pledges of 
devotion to the republic, they were now plotting its 
overthrow, a part being for the restoration of the 
Orleanists and a part for the Bourbons. Another fac- 
tion was for Louis Napoleon, and actively promoted 
his schemes. By the Constitution he was ineligible 
for a second term, and his friends were seeking the 
means of overcoming this difficulty, and giving him 
a re-election, by fair means or foul. The liberals 
were divided into several shades of opinion, some 
being republicans, after the model of General Ca- 


▼aignac ; some being democrats, like Victor Hugo ; 
and some socialists, after the fiishion of Pierre Le- 
roux. In sach a state of things, there was a vast 
deal of idle debate, while the substantial interests of 
the country seemed, if not totally forgotten, at least 
secondary to the interests of parties, and the passions 
and prejudices of individuals. 

Thus, although France was a republic, it was ob- 
vious that the government had fidlen into selfish 
hands, and must perish. Louis Napoleon was only 
waiting a favorable moment to enter upon his schemes 
for its destruction. His plans rapidly advanced to 
maturity. The terror he had excited of a grand so- 
cialist convulsion, naturally prepared the people of 
property to look with favor upon any strong arm 
that might save them from such a catastrophe ; the 
people at large, even the masses, the friends of the 
re]jublic, were disgusted at the useless discussions, 
frothy declamations, and factious intrigues of the 
Assembly. Louis Napoleon watched his opportu- 
nity, and at last, every thing seeming to favor his 
scheme, he entered upon it with a degree of boldness 
which has few parallels in history. 

I remember that on a certain Monday evening, the 
1st of December, 1852, I was present at the Elyste, 
and was then first introduced to Louis Napoleon. I 
found him to be an ordinary- looking person, rather 
under size, but well formed, having a large nose, 
ratber large fishy eyes, and a dull expression. The 


room was tolerably full, the company consisting, aa 
is usual in such cases, of diplomats, military officers, 
and court officials, with a sprinkling of citizens in 
black coats — for hitherto the requisition of a court 
uniform had not been imposed. This, you will re- 
member, was under the Bepublic; the rule which 
raised the black coat to a question of state, grew out 
of the Empire. Nevertheless, I was forcibly struck 
by the preponderance of soldiers in the assembly, 
and I said several times to my companions, that it 
seemed more like a camp than a palace. The whole 
scene was dull ; the President himself appeared preoc- 
cupied, and was not master of his usual urbanity; 
Gen. Magnan walked from room to room with a ru- 
minating air, occasionally sending his keen glances 
around, as if searching for something which he could 
not find. There was no music, no dancing. That 
gayety which almost always pervades a festive party 
in Paris, was wholly wanting. There was no ringing 
laughter, no merry hum of conversation. I noticed 
all this, but I did not suspect the cause. At eleven 
o'clock the assembly broke up, and the guests de- 
parted. At twelve, the conspirators, gathered for 
their several tasks, commenced their operations. 

About four in the morning, the leading members of 
the Assembly were seized in their beds, and hurried 
to prison. Troops were distributed at various points, 
so as to secure the city. When the light of day 
came, proclamations were posted at the corners of the 


MmaaMtig to the oaibini that ibe Kai 

A«cmbly wnA dinulvffd, thai ttfii¥««Al Mlli9f» ^ 
d«omMl, thftt Ibe Ki^tibtie vis oiAbtiihadt 
WAfl the gvMiml yDpopuUrit/ of ihe Awtmbly^ lil«l 
ttic firvt impneRfiaa of Uie people w«i llMt of dofiffa 
lit it« uTenbfow. Throo^Kivit lb« AnI dij« tki 
itivHi of Park wtm Ilka ft nranaliig bii^ ilM 
vttli mamm of p«opl«, jrei iv th« moM fnrt ia ^o^ 
kaawr. Tbe ieecmd dqr tb«j imA wtMed, m4 %» 
gn Id fKiwn, bfit ]r«& tlMn vm Mr llMiftl ipirii of 
revolt A few hftrriowki vtft vummp^ b«i lh» 
opetfttom were mmXy dJiperM). Tbt ilunt dajr wb^ 
and ollboufh Itirtie wsa m*mt ft|ritalt«io uooon tW 
ma.Hsi*A, then* wa« evidently no prrparmUon, no cocd- 
bi nation fi^r general renistanoc. As late a» ten o*cluck 
in the fi»rt>n(>on, I met one of ihe rrpubliCAOS wbocn I 
knew, and a^ked him what wai to be done. Um i^ 
ply wan : 

*' We can do nothing : oor leaden are m priaoa ; 
we are liound hand and foot. I am ncaily to gire mj 
life at the barhcadca, if with the chance of benefit, 
but I do not like to throw it away. We oao do 
nothing I" 

Soon afler this, I perceived heavy columoa of 
troopa, •oine four thousand men, marching through 
the Hue dc la Faix^ and then proceed in g ak>&g tb« 
BoulcvariU ttjward the Porte St I>euka Tbe^e wrr» 
»oon fullowoi by a Unly <*( abc»ut a thousand borw 
I u :i<4 told that miniUr Imdira were moving to tW 



same point through other avenues of the city. In a 
short time the whole Boulevard, from the Rue de la 
Paix to the Place de la Bastille, an extent of two 
miles, was filled with troops. My office was on the 
Boulevard des Italiens, and was now fronted by a 
dense body of lancers, each man with his cocked 
pistol in his hand. Except the murmur of the horses' 
hoofs, there was a general stillness over the city. The 
sidewalks were filled with people, and though there 
was no visible cause for alarm, there was still a vague 
apprehension which cast pallor and gloom upon the 
fisices of all. 

Suddenly a few shots were heard in the direction 
of the Boulevard Montmartre, and then a confused 
hum, and soon a furious clatter of hoofs. A moment 
after, the whole body of horse started into a gallop, 
and rushed by as if in flight ; presently they halted, 
however, wheeled slowly, and gradually moved back, 
taking up their former position. The men looked 
keenly at the houses on either side, and pointed 
their pistols threateningly at all whom they saw at 
the windows. It afterward appeared, that when the 
troops had been drawn out in line and stationed 
along the Boulevard, some half dozen shots were 
fired into them from the tops of buildings and from 
windows; this created a sudden panic; the troops 
ran, and crowding upon others, caused the sudden 
movement I have described. In a few moments, 
the heavy, sickening sound of muskets came from 


the Porte St Denis. Volley succeeded volley, and 
after some time the people were seen rushing madly 
along the pavements of the Boulevard as if to escape. 
The gate of our hotel was now closed, and at the 
earnest request of the throng that had gathered for 
shelter in the court of the hotel, I put out the " Stars 
and Stripes" — the first and last time that I ever 
deemed it necessary. The dull roar of muskets, with 
the occasional boom of cannon, continued at intervals 
for nearly half an hour. Silence at last succeeded, 
and the people ventured into the streets. 

About four in the afternoon, I walked for a mile 
along the Boulevard. The pavements were strewn 
with the fragments of shattered windows, broken 
cornices, and shivered doorways. Many of the build- 
ings, especially those on the southern side of the 
street, were thickly spattered with bullet-marks, espe- 
cially around the windows. One edifice was riddled 
through and through with cannon-shot. Frequent 
spots of blood stained the sidewalk, and along the 
Boulevard Montmartre, particularly around the door- 
ways, there were pools like those of the shambles; 
it being evident that the reckless soldiers* had shot 
down in heaps the fugitives who, taken by surprise, 

* The soldiera fired upon all they saw in the streets. An old woman 
tifoing along with a loaf of bread, had a bullet put through her; an 
apothecary, who ventured to appear at his door, inbtantly received a 
Inill in his forehead. Files of soldiers poured their volleys upon the 
innocent people passing along the Boulevard; shots were fired at the 
windows of private houses ; seven persons were killed in a bookseller^s 
shop. One of my friends saw seventeen dead bodies in one gutter. 


strove to obtain shelter at the entrances of the hotels 
upon the street. It was a sight to sicken the heart, 
especially of an American, who is not trained to 
these scenes of massacre. Toward evening a portion 
of the troops moved away; the rest remained, and 
bivouacked in the streets for the night. At ten 
o'clock, I again visited the scene, and was greatly 
struck with the long line of watch-fires, whose fitful 
lights, reflected by dark groups of armed men, only 
rendered the spectacle more ghastly and gloomy. 

Of the whole number killed in Paris during this, 
the third day of the Coup d'Etat, we have no certain 
account : it is generally estimated at from one thou- 
sand to fifteen hundred. I have told you that the 
press was silenced, save two or three papers, which 
told the whole story so as to justify the conduct of 
Louis Napoleon. These represented that the Na- 
tional Assembly were plotting for his overthrow by 
violent means, and thus would make it appear that 
his conduct was not only justifiable as an act of 
self-preservation, but necessary in view of the public 
good. It is important to state, however, that al- 
though the agents of the usurper seized upon the 
papers of the suspected members at their own houses, 
and at a moment of surprise, no sufficient proofe have 
yet been adduced of the alleged treason of the Assem- 

These personB thus slaughtered were not rioters, working at barricades ; 
they were mostly gentlemen, and henoe it was called the massacre of 
the ** kid gloves.*' The soldiers had undoubtedly been stimulated by 
liquor to qualify them to perfonn this work of bntohery. 


biy. The apologists of the Coup d'Etat have further 
declared that the massacre along the Boulevards 
which I have described, was a measure of stem ne- 
cessity, in order to repress the insurgent socialists. 
The &ct seems rather to be that it was a cool and 
calculated slaughter of innocent persons, in order to 
show the power and spirit of the Dictator, and to 
strike with paralyzing fear those who should venture 
to oppose him. 

The morning came, and the triumph of the reign 
of terror was complete. What was enacted in Paris, 
was imitated all over France. Nearly every depart- 
ment was declared in a state of siege; revolt was 
punished with death, and doubt or hesitation with 
imprisonment. Forty thousand persons were hurried 
to the dungeons, without even the form or pretense of 
trial. All over the country the press was silenced, as 
it had been in Paris, save only a few obsequious prints, 
which published what was dictated to them. These 
declared that all this bloodshed and violence were 
the necessary result of the socialist conspiracy, which 
threatened to overturn society ; happily, as they con- 
tended, Louis Napoleon, like a beneficent providence, 
had crushed the monster, and he now asked the 
people to ratify what he had done, by making him 
President for ten years. In the midst of agitation, 
delusion, and panic, the vote was taken, and the 
usurpation was legalized by a vote of eight millions 
of suffrages 1 The nominal Republic, but real Die- 


tatorship, thus established, was soon made to give 
way to the Empire ; the ambitious plotter reached the 
imperial throne, and now stands before the world as 
Napoleon III. I 

It is impossible for us Americans to look upon the 
conduct of the chief actor in this startling drama, 
but with reprobation. We regard constitutions, rat- 
ified by the people, as sacred ; we consider oaths to 
support them as pledges of character, faith, honor, 
truth — all that belongs to manhood. We look upon 
blood shed for mere ambition, as murder. The Amer- 
ican people must be totally changed in religion, mor- 
als, feelings, and political associations, before they 
could cast their 'votes for a ruler whose lips were 
stained with pequry, and whose hands were red 
with the slaughter of their fellow-citizens. But the 
French nation is of a different moral constitution ; 
their tastes, experience, souvenirs, are all different. 
They are accustomed to perfidy on the part of their 
•rulers; violence and crime, wrought for ambition, 
have stained the paths of every dynasty that has ruled 
over them for a space of fourteen centuries. France 
is trained to these things, and hence the public taste, 
the prevailing sentiments of society, are not greatly 
shocked at them. The people there do not reckon 
with a successful usurper as they would with an or- 
dinary man acting in the common business of life ; 
when they see him installed in the Tuileries they 
forget his treacheries and his massacres — the means 

502 LKrnsRS — ^biookafhidal, 

by wfaicli he attained his power — and cry "Yive 
rEmpereurl" Even the Choix^h now looks upon 
Louifl Napoleon's oondact with approbation, and 
burns inoense and sings Te Deams in his behalf as 
the savior of religion, family, society. 

And it must be admitted that^ since his acquisi- 
tion of a throne, Louis Napoleon has conducted the 
government with ability, and he has certainly been 
seconded by fortune. He married a lady who, after 
becoming an empress, shed luster upon her high 
position by her gentle virtues and gracious manners, 
lie engaged in the Eastern War, and has triumphed, 
lie has greatly improved and embellished the capital, 
and made Paris the most charming city in the world ; 
nowhere else does life seem to flow on so cheerfully 
and so tranquilly as here. He has gradually softened 
the rigors of his government — and though soine noble 
spirits still pine in exile,* he has taken frequent ad- 

* TliQ niiniV>or of individuals exiled by the Coup d^Etat amounted to 
aevenU thuti.sandH— some of the more obnoxious persons being sent to 
Cnypnnc, Noukuhiva, and LambesAa in AI|rcriiu Others were only 
bunirthed from France ; a portion of thoae have nince had permission to 
return. Among thone still excluded is Victor Hugo, no doubt the most 
eloquent writor and orator now living. He has continued to make the 
islauti of Jersey his residence. Two other exiles of some note are 
Letiru Rollin and Ix>uis Blanc, members of the Provisional Govemment, 
and whoHe misconduct contributed largely to the overthrow of Uie re- 
public. These have remained in England. Lamoriciere, Changarnier, 
Churriis, and Ikdcuu, nil distinguislied officers, are in Belgium or 

(.'avaignuo, who was imprisoned with other members of the As»eni- 
bly, was hpocUily released. He is l>clievod to he a sound republican, 
soini'what aciH)rding to our American ideas. He is permitted to reside 
in France, but takes no part in publio atl'uirs. l^murtino, a due jiuet, 



vantage of opportunity to diminish the number. The 
people of France, at the present time, appear to be 
satisfied with the government, and probably a very 
large majority, could the question be proposed to 
them, would vote for its continuance. 

Beneath this smooth and tranquil surface there 
may be, and no doubt is, a smouldering fire of dis- 
content, and which will seek the first opportunity to 
explode. Louis Napoleon rules only by the vigorous 
and watchful power of despotism, and it is not in the 
nature of the French people to endure this for a long 
period of time. The existing empire can hardly be 
perpetuated beyond the life of him who has created 
it ; indeed, its present strength lies much more in the 
fear of anarchy, which is certain to follow if that be 
removed, than firom any love for the system itself, or 
of him who has imposed it upon the country. 

a captivating orator, an elegant writer, and withal a man whoae heart is 
faH of every noble sentiment, escaped the indignity of imprisonment, 
and he too in allowed to live in his native land. Bat his lips are sealed 
as to every political question, and his only commanication with his 
countrymen and with mankind is through literature, carefully divested 
of every thought and feeling pertaining to current politics. Every au- 
thor in France, indeed, wears a muzzle which only permits him to 
breathe such thoughts aa oannot oflbnd the powers that be. 

504 jxracaa — bioobaphkial, 


Mtdmf^ in Parit to c o m ms m oraU th$ Jkaik qf CUtff amd WtbtUr—T u ^ mi 
naUon qf mf OontuUr J> uH m Okam O tw ^ lib tSrmok JBkHomr—llU 
Bkut-coat Oirc^ar, 

Mt dxab O****** 

As this chapter must bring me to the end of my 
residence in Paris, joa will permit me to crowd into 
it a variety of topics, without regard to chronological 

order or continuity of narrative. 

In the autumn of 1852, the news came that Daniel 
Webster was no more. Under any circumstances, 
the decease of such a person would cause a deep and 
pervading emotion, but the manner of Mr. Webster's 
death imparted to it a peculiar degree of interest 
The closing scene was, in fact, appropriate to his 
character, his noble person, his gigantic intellect, his 
great fame. It was remarked by an eminent states- 
man in England, that Mr. Webster's was the most 
sublime death of modem times. The European pa- 
pers were filled with details of the event. The 
Americans in Paris, on hearing the tidings, deemed 
it proper to assemble for the purpose of giving ex- 
pression to their emotions. As Mr. Clay had died 
only a few months before, it was resolved at the same 
time to pay due homage to his memory. 

The meeting, consisting of several hundred persons, 
mostly Americans, was held in the splendid salon of 


the Cercle des Deux Mondes, Boulevard Montmartre. 
Mr. Rives, our minister, made an eloquent and touch- 
ing address, delineating the -remarkable qualities of 
these two men, and comparing Mr. Clay to the Mis- 
sissippi, which spreads its fertilizing waters over the 
boundless regions of the West, and Mr. Webster to 
the resistless Niagara, emptjring seas at a plunge, and 
shaking all around with its echoing thunders, Mr. 
Barnard, our minister to the Court of Berlin, paid a 
fiiU and hearty tribute to the memory of Mr. Webster; 
he was followed by Mr. George Wood, of New York, 
and Franklin Dexter, of Boston, who also made el- 
oquent and feeling addresses. M. Bois Lecompte, 
former minister of France to the United States, and 
well acquainted with the two great men whose death 
we had met to commemorate, closed with a beautiful 
eulogy upon each. 

In the summer of 1868, 1 was politely advised from 
the State Department that President Pierce had ap- 
pointed my successor in the consulate. Thus, having 
held the place a little over two years, on the Ist of 
August, 1863,^ I was restored to the privileges of 

* I shall, I trust, be excused for insertinf^ in a note the following, 
which I take from Oalignaoi's Paris Messenger of December 15th, 1854 : 
Mb. Oooorioh, the uitb Consul of thx UNrrKD States of America at 
Pabib. — The Americans in Paris lately presented to Mr. Goodrich a 
medallion executed in vermeil, by the distinguished artist, Adam-Salo- 
mon, with the following inscription encircling an admirable portrait of 
the consol, in relief— 
" 7b S, G, Goodrich, (Joneul of the United States of America at Parut, 
prteetUed by kit countrymen in that (XUy, AugvU let, 1858.'* 

Vol. II.— 22 


private citizen life. As I had various engagementa 
which forbade me immediately to leave France, I 
hired a small house in Courbevoie, which I made mj 
residence till my departure for America in the sum- 
mer of 1855. 
This naturally brings me to the dose of my story, 

The following correepondenoe, whioh took plaoe between the pertiee, 
is orediteble to all oonceraed : 

"Pab», September 6th, 1854. 
'*To S. G. GoomnoH, Esq.— 

*^ It is my very ogreeable duty to present yon, herewith, a medal- 
lion, executed st the request of a number of your American friends at 
Paris. It i» destined alike as a token of personal respect, and an expres- 
sion of the universal gratification among your countrymen at the manner 
in whioh yon discharged your duties while consul of the United States 
here. Not content with a merely formal fulfillment of your ofiicial obli- 
gations, you made your position eminently agreeeble and usefbl to your 
oonntr^nien, and at the same time rendered it subservient to the best 
interests of our common -country. On these points there is but one 
opinion ; and, therefore, in making this offering, in behalf of your nu- 
merous friends, I am instructed to add their congratulations that noth- 
ing can deprive you of the good-will and good opinion so legitimately 
obtained. I am, sir, respectftUly yours, 


** Pabis, September 16th, 1854. 
" My Dear Sir ;— I have this day had the pleasure of receiving your 
letter, with the accompanying testimonial of personal regard and appro- 
bation of my ofiScial conduct, presented by you in behalf of my American 
friends in Paris. I need not say that I receive these unexpected tokens 
of kindness with great satisfaction, rendered doubly gratifying by the 
fact that they come when all know that I have only the humble Uianks 
of a private citizen to give in return. While I tlius acknowledge and 
cherish the compliment my friends have paid me, I feel bound to say 
that I had been already compensated for any personal sacrifices I had 
made to obligations lying beyond the mere routine of ofiScial duty, while 
1 hold the consulate in Paris. During that period, a space of little over 
two years, more than five hundred letters of introduction were presented 
to me, and I received at my house several thousands of my countrymen, 
strangers in this city ; yet the instances were extremely rare in which an 
American trespassed either upon my time or my feelings. On the con- 

msriOiaOAL, AHXQDOnCAL, KTC. 507 

so far as it relates to France. Were it pertinent to 
mj design, I should give jou some sketches of the 
French people — of their character and manners, 
which, in their minuter shadings, are not well ap- 
preciated in the United States. We readily compre- 
hend England and the English people, because their 
language, their institutions, their genius, are similar 
to our own ; but in France we find a different lan- 
guage, a different religion, different institutions — in 
short, a different civilization. In England, Sunday 
is a holy day, in France a holiday, and this fact is a 
sort of index to the difference between these two 
countries in regard to opinion, society, life. In Eng- 
land, the future exercises a powerful influence over 
the mind ; in France, it is thought best to enjoy the 
present ; England would improve the world, France 
would embellish it ; England founds colonies, plants 
nations, establishes the useful arts; France refines 
manners, diffuses the fine arts, and spreads taste and 
el^ance over Christendom. In England the people 
live in separate buildings, apart fi*om one another, each 
man claiming that his house is his castle ; in France, 

trary, I wan d«y by day more thmn rewarded for any servioee rendered, 
by the agreeable interoonrae of persons so uDiversally intelligent, so little 
reqairing, and so invtinotively perceiving and observing the proprieties 
of every situation in which they were placed. I take great pleasure in 
recording a fact so creditable to our conntrymen, even though it may 
deprive me of all claims to the merits which the kindness of my friends 
SMigns to my conduct. I have the honor to be, 

** With great respect, yours, Ac., 
•« FKAJfCB Wabdbh, BiQ. '* 8. G. GOODRICH.** 

\brt mmgrt^tM in boiab^ oti# fitfnilf 
% hkm lb9 dafioml kfwi of 
alum The I«BlUnni fail liB 

bift fiiMdo, tb« VmmkmmA in thi trmfAtlijr of v*^ 
grrgmlcd niifliai. In EngluHl, tlk9 belt 
^|i«0|rit am iitt*ii iti tbe dotnaitic circle ; id 
ia Ab mAmL In dl tfacM ibu^p^ Enfttth 
gniMJii to oar owfi, ttnl Iwpea m imdily 
iliuicl them, eater into tbMti ippreckis thiOk 
Pmoix, it b otbenriM- ; wcmk tliere fasv* » i 
0eti«e» thiQfi » diAffWl ne IkMs tkal « Mi mbm* 
tomfd in^ ADil bmae. in orAer 10 «id«Miad Ik* ^^ 
niu8 of the Fn»nch nation and to ilo full justice to it, 
it \» nece8«in' to consider ihrm from ihnr p^nnl of 
vitw. Aftrr all that has l>efu said and d«»nr, a work 
describing' Fn*nch pociely, niannera, and ir.*iimi*»»n^ 
in f^till a iU*Mdenituin. Thui can not lie pupplirti br 
the h:\>x\ skelrheji of racing traveleri ; it mu»l be thr 
Work of a laU^nouB and careful student, « ho aniU9 
exj»erience and observation to a larp* and librrml 
phiK^>(>hy, which on th« one hand can nnstst iW 
artific(*s of taste and the hlandii^hmenui of laxarr. 
an(i oil iho oiher, appreciate p^w^i ihiri^ rYro 
t)i<Miph th«*y may not V*ear ihe pate'iit-mark *( hn 
own pn-[x*s««TiRiuhs, Of course, \«»u will ii*»i c^^ttct 
me to U ^'in ^«ith a work m the cl««snip p*g^ <»f ihrmt 
fu^ltlVf Iritt-r*.* 


I duly received your letter asking my opinion upon 
the "black-coat question." Mr. Marcy's celebrated 
circular respecting diplomatic and consular costume 
was not issued, or at least did not reach me, till 
after I had ceased to exercise the consular functions; 
nevertheless, as I had some opportunity to form a 

«Qbject I find it too extensive. I may, however, name in a single par- 
igmph, Alexandre Dumas, whose versatility, fecundity, and capacity 
for labor are without parallel, and whose Renins has placed him at the 
head of living novelbts and dramatists, in spite of his notorious charla- 
tanry and love of pnbiioity ; Adolphe Dumas, his son, whose three plays 
illustrative of the manners of equivocal society and of the life of aban- 
doned women has made him rich at the age of thirty-one — a fact very 
suggestive as to the state of Parisian society ; Lamartlne, whose humble 
apartments in the Bue de la Ville TEvdque are constantly filled with the 
admiring friends of the impoverished poet and the disowned politician ; 
Alphonse Earr, whose caustic satires upon vice, folly, and prevalent 
abuses, published once a week, have made him a valuable reformer; 
Ampere, the traveler and linguist, whose work upon the United States is 
perhaps the most just that has yet been written by a foreigner ; Emile de 
Girardin, whose innovation in editorial writing — consisting of the con- 
stant recurrence of the aUniOj or paragraph, each one of which contains a 
distinct proposition, deduced from the previous one and leading directly 
to that which follows — was one of the features of the Presse which pro- 
duced its immense popuUirity ; Scribe, the indefatigable playwright and 
librettist; M^ry, the poet-laureate or court poetaster; Ponsard, whose two 
comedies in verse, " L^Honneur et TArgent" and " La Bourse," are rap- 
idly carrying him to a chair in the Academy ; B^ranger, hale and active 
at the age of seventy-six, and the most popular man in France ; Gnstave 
Planche, the critic and the terror of authors; Jules Jan in, the dramatic 
critic, whose long labors have been totally unproductive of good to either 
actor or dramatist; Madame de Girardin — recently deceased — ^whose 
one act drama of ** La Joie fait Peur" is the most profound piece of 
psychological dissection in existence; and Madame Dudevant, alias 
George Sand, whose power of painting the finer and more hidden 
emotions of the soul is unrivaled. 

I must add a word in respect to Madame Bistori, the Italian tragedienne 
who has recently caui^ed such a thrill of excitement in Paris. She is in 
nothing more remarkable than in her contrast to Bachel. The latter is 
the pupil of art, the former of nature. Bachel always plays the same part 
in the same manner. Every tone, every gesture ia studied profoundly, 


judgment of the measure, I freely give jou my iui- 
pressionB upon the subject. 

You understand that the State Department, at dif- 
ferent periods, has made certain regulations in re- 
spect to the diplomatic and consular aervioe, so &t 
even as to prescribe their official dress. The main 
body of these rules, as they had existed for many 
years, was drawn up, I believe, by Mr. livingston, 
while Secretary of State under Gen. Jackson. The 
diplomatic dress consisted of a blue coat and blue pan- 
taloons decorated with gold embroidery, and a white 
waistcoat. It had a general resemblance to the diplo- 
matic costume of other countries, though it was of 
the simplest form. The consular dresp was similar, 
though the naval button of the United States was 
prescribed, and the whole costume had a sort of naval 
air. Diplomats and consuls wore smaU swords, but 
no epaulets. 

Nevertheless, Mr. Marcy, soon after his accession to 
the State Department, under President Fierce, issued 
a circular requiring consuls to give up these costumes 
altogether; as to diplomats, it was recommended, 
though not enjoined, that they should appear before 

and always oome8 in at the same time and place. Kistori enters into 
the play with her whole soul, and acts as her feeling? dictate. She is of 
somewhat light complexion, with hazel eyes and brown hair; she has 
correct features, and off the stage is of grave, lady-like manners and ap- 
pearance. On the stage she seems to work miracles. I have seen her in 
Marie Stuart, while on her knees at confession, by r slight continaed 
movement upward make the audience feel as if she were actually as- 
oendiug to heaven, personally and before their eyes I 


foreign courts in simple black. This was urged on 
the ground that plainness of attire was proper to 
the representatives of a republic, and it was to be re- 
gretted that we had ever departed from the simplicity 
adopted by Dr. Franklin in appearing before the 
court of Louis XVL 

It would seem that these are very narrow grounds 
for a departure from the usages of the civilized 
world, our own government among the number, and 
in which Jefferson and Monroe, Adams and Jay, 
Ellsworth and King, had participated. All these, 
aye and Dr. Franklin* too, notwithstanding the cur 
rent notion that he forced his Quaker clothes upon 
*the court of Louis XVI., wore their court costume, 
simply because custom required it There is no 
doubt that they were more respected, and served 
their country with more effect than they would have 
done, had they insisted upon shocking the public 

* It is Mdd, and I believe truly, thmt Dr. Fnnklin'B appearance at 
the ooort of Louis XVI. in a plain suit of drab oloth, and which for a 
brief space intoxicated the giddy bean monde of Paris, was accidental : 
his court suit not arriving in time, and tiie king, who waited anxiously 
to receive him, requesting that he would come as ho was. Whether this 
waa so or not, I believe there is no doubt that Dr. Franklin afterward 
adopted a court suit, oonsisting of a black velvet embroidered coat, and 
black small-clothes, with a small sword. Dr. Franklin was a man of 
too much sense to undertake to shook established tastes by an offensive 
departure f^om what was esteemed propriety. All the portraits of him 
taken while he was cur ambassador at the French court, show that he 
was aooustomed to dress handsomely. I have a copy of one by Greiize, 
which represents him in a green silk dressing-gown, edged with fur, a 
light-colored satin waistcoat, with a frill at the bosom. Such a dress, 
for an elderly gentleman in his study, would now-a-days be considered 
almost foppish. 



tAsto hf what would hm^e bcAi dflcmpii an ii 
tf not AH lodeoeMj — ihal iii i|ipoMiiH| m c^^^ 
dollw on oammamB b wlikh 
t|iecml ADd ttppfY>priaie ftitiftt. 

Ai lo Um imiinplioii UmI itt»|ilMil]r of 
ehanokrrataQ uf rffpntilMuiii I lUttk Ikam ii km 
ot ftmm in it thm of ouit b h«pp*M tbn ih* 
pttrtitsdlar fortn of our gofimaiit ctsdods «£! 4» 
thiclioiis oT nakf tad bencft Ihe bAd|{«i whiflh dfl|^ 
AAii! \hm^ would be witboqt oaemiag aanof a^ 
But witli i)m wnglt «MqitiM| w» in ih* DaiKl 
Stiiii-« HI! m ifmeb lefreti to Aiptar tn dfo^ «»d 
equipapo as any other |>c<)plc on the ^^lol»c. \Vr hjivr 
our militar}' an<l naval eosrtumcs, and ihrsir jtrr amoc^;: 
the richi'sil in the worKl : foj'p*ry w one of tho r..»u> 
rious quail tirs of all our rnilitia ci»!n|ianitr^. \\>\h ^^ur 
men aiul wnnien think more of display in dn^w* tfian 
thi»s<* of othiT nation!*. When our |»tN»plc k'rt to Ku 
ru|K\ they di.sUngunjh thenusclvcs by g^'in^ to ttrr- 
height of fjushion in all thingn. At the o»urt ininj«i^o> 
UouH ID PariiS I always remarkixl that the Amcnc^a^ 
— rnon as well aa women— were morv »umptu<»a»I\ . 
and It rnay \k* addixl, tnore tastrfuilv. attir^Al tLaJEi 
niixst othiTH. Kvcn at the new imj^t^nal O'urt of Pjltj^ 
tho AnuTuan ladies not onlv stiMHJ fimt in pi>4t:it of 
l)eaut\« but alrt«> in the* di<«play 4»f nianti*-^. tiiLkUA, ao4 
diani*»iivi«». Niw OrlfaiJ!*, Virciina, IVnnji\ 1% ai^uk 
Nt v\ Y"rk, ll^wiini, ha«l vmIi iLh rfj.ix^MiM.ii.vr, Arni 
>|'.. ii'\ \ «ij- .•!fn»M.'* liif\ w«ry If \un- Ain«*rKTkii 



Minister bad come to introduce these, his countrywo- 
men, to their imperial majesties, and had claimed the 
privilege of wearing a black coat because simplicity 
belongs to republicans, I imagine that every observer 
would have marked the contrast between the pretense 
and the performance. 

Thus, though we may be republicans, we are in fact 
a sumptuous people, addicted to display, and exceed- 
ingly fond of being in the midst of stars and garters. 
We think the more of these things, doubtless, for the 
very reason that they are strange to our manners. 
Every American who goes to London or Paris, wishes 
to be introduced at court, and seems to feel that this 
is his privilege. It is not so with any other nation ; 
no English man or woman, in Paris, asks to be pre- 
sented at the Tuileries, unless it be a person of high 
social or official rank. 

These being characteristics of our people, and per- 
fectly well understood abroad, Mr. Marcy's black- 
coat circular created no little surprise. It was gen- 
erally regarded as a mere appeal to the lower classes 
in America, who might be supposed to entertain the 
sentiments of the sans-culottes, and as such, it was 
treated with little respect Nevertheless, had the gov- 
ernment prescribed a black dress, for its diplomats, no 
court in Europe would have made the slightest ob- 
jection. Such a measure would no doubt have sub- 
jected us to criticism, perhaps to ridicule, as a matter 
of taste ; it would have been offensive, inasmuch as it 



would have seemed designed as a rebuke of the man- 
ners and customs of older and more refined nations 
than ourselves. We should have been considered aa 
reading a lecture to European oourtSi in this wise — 
" Look at us, republicans, and behold how we despise 
the trappings of royalty, and the gaud of courts ; look 
at our black coats, and go ye a&d do likewise I" Nev- 
ertheless, it is perfectly well understood in Europe 
that any government may regulate the costume of its 
representatives, and had Mr. Marcy's drcular made it 
obligatory upon the American diplomatic corps to 
wear black, or white, or red, or any other color, not 
the slightest exception would have been taken to it 
by any court in the world. 

This, however, was not the course adopted by the 
government; they merely recommended, they did not 
prescribe, the black coat. The situation of all our min- 
isters, charges, and secretaries, therefore, at once be- 
came extremely awkward.* The diplomatic business 

* The dc8ire of onr ministera to Batisty the government at home, as 
well as to take advantage of the popular outbarst in favor of the black 
coat, and at the same time to avoid the ridicule which they knew would 
attach to their appearing in a common dress at court, led to humiliating 
devices. Mr. Soule adopted the shad-bellied, black velvet embroidered 
coat and small-clothes of the Municipal Council of Paris, said also to 
have been used by Dr. Franklin. Mr. Buchanan wore a black or 
blue coat, white waistcoat, small-clothes, silk stockings, a sword, and 
chftpcau bras ! Mr. Dallas is understood to have adopted the same cos- 
tume. If we sympathize with these gentlemen for being forced into 
such humiliating subterfuges, we ought to bestow more serious con- 
demnution upon those who led them into temptation. In some of the 
northern courts of Europe, I believe our diplomats have adopted the 
simple black coat. 

1 understand that the Consul of Alexandria, whose Ainctions are part- 


of all countries is transacted between the ambassador 
and the ministers, and when these persons meet, 
there is no ceremony, they come together like mer- 
chants or lawyers, in their ordinary dress. All the 
actual business of a foreign minister may therefore be 
transacted without any particular costume. 

But sovereigns surrolmd themselves with a certain 
etiquette, and they require all who approach them to 
conform to this. When Queen Victoria invites per- 
sons to visit her, it is of course upon condition that 
they adopt the usages of the court No one, what- 
ever his rank or station, can claim exemption from 
this rule. It must be remembered that on all such 
occasions, the invitation is considered a compliment, 
and hence well-bred persons, who take advantage of 
it, feel constrained, by self-respect and a sense of pro- 
priety, scrupulously to regard and fulfill the condi- 
tions upon which this invitation is bestowed. 

Now, it must be remembered that what is called a 
court costume, is only required of a minister on 
occasions of mere ceremony or festivity, when he 
appears by invitation of the sovereign. If he comes, 
it is not to transact business, but for amusement. He 

ly diplomatio, wean a bine ooat with thirty-one stars, wrought in gold, 
on the collar. This is a beaatlfal idea, and might soggest to oar gov- 
ernment a very simple and appropriate consular and diplomatic cos- 
tame. Some costume — distinct and national and perfectly ander»tood 
in all countries — is really important, as well for our consuls as diplo- 
mats. Those who insist upon the black coat, show a total ignorance of 
the duties and position of oar public officers abroad, and of the nation* 
among whom they officiate. 

5 1 S liiiiii ■HKiiiiBMiii 

mmy «lay ^wmj, «iid nothing belotifiiig lo liii 

tmtic mSmrA will iiafler. Wbj, ihen, if be 

the invitatioo, aboiild be not eoofi^nii la the 

»erib«d UMigvi of Ihi OMit t Ii li genmllj 

m^A wi^moo of & wtnt of groU^mftdj 

wl of pdflilif o rtt)giK3^, for ftay penoo 

irftnlage of a polite iavilAtaoo/aad 

lo tbe condtltotii tiapQied bv tbe b<M^ Abtfrt ii^ 

it would §mm that an aoibMndor, 

MtKHi befinv ft forrsgD oourli ibo«U bv 

lo ofaaerre ibr Ictiowo aod tstebliibed ivlot of i 


It mu.Hl be remembered that pP'pnetr of <xi»tuaie 
— that is, a tlrctw suited to the tast»- anti fx^hiun pn^ 
vriiliiifc? whopf* 11 is worn, in in all ci\ili/-«>i <x>uiiinr« 
a nmtlrr ut' diivncv. It haii bet-n shj ati)«>n>: ail re 
tiiutl iialiouH, ami from the earhful a^t*^ Ihic of tbc 
most solemn of our Saviours paraMr^ ui f^urnir^ 
uj>on a breach of liceorum in nn?anl lo i>««tuin<^->tfor 
ap]K*aranceof a man at the uttitiiiu' of the kiUk' • f^Hi, 
without a wetidiniT i/nrmeiit. Similar hU-M^ are j(j«( 
as current among u* an rlM->* )i«'rv. If a clrrotnaB 
Were to wro into the pulpit dn^jv^-^l m a militArv c^^o^ 
it Would sh«»i'k ihr \» hole audirno*. and N* ix»!i«:drrrj 
an in^iull alike t<> thrrn and U> tlte caTicAl prv»fr»»K>a. 
If a ladv i>--u«s i-ard-* *'f inviliition t«» a boll, and a 
man, uii* lak«-3* ativani.^L'e mT the inMUli«»u, cc»en<« 
ili a >aiu»r*.n r •illidal«^.»ut, hf \%t»uM N* Lf !d a-* xl* :\\' 
br«-d fi'iioM, and an such i*i>uid Ix* turm^i out of 



doors. He may plead that he had simply cut off 
the tail of his coat, and as he considered an artificial 
appendage of this kind derogatory to a free-born 
man, his principles forbade him to wear it The an 
swer is, you are welcome to carry out your principles, 
but if you accept an invitation given to you out of 
politeness, it is expected and required that you con 
form to the known usages and decencies of society. 

Now in monarchical countries long usage has es- 
tablished it in the public mind, that to appear at 
court* without a court costume, would be a species of 
indecency, an offense against the company present, as 
well as the parties giving the invitation. We may 
rail at it as much as we please in this country, yet 
we can not alter the fact I state. 

Taking the matter in this point of view, let us 
consider the situation of our diplomatic representa- 
tives under Mr. Marcy's circular. Had the black 
coat been prescribed, as I have said before, there 
would have been an end of the matter. Our minis- 
ters and charg6s would have been dressed in black, 
that is, like the servants of a cafe, while all around 

* In general, a pereon who shoald attempt to enter at a court reoep> 
tion, without a proper coetume, would be stopped at the door : if he 
should, by accident, gain admittance, he would probably be invited to 
leave the room. A professional dress, as that of a soldier, a clergy- 
man, dkc., is considered a proper costume at Paris, and I believe at 
mo«t other courts. If a person is not professional, he must wear either 
the prescribed costume of his own country, or that of the court to wliich 
he is introduced The British minister will introduce no one at a for- 
eign court, who hns not been previously presented to the Quceii at 


tbrm wookt bair« appwrod in < 

mud UiiiB, in ili« nttdit of w 

of Uie tsotfl exmliad tm&k, Uw 

mgm dimisigiiiilied ftliiliij— iIm nippaMinativq c/ ikt 

Daiied Stalm mnld aUicr hjit« pMMd uaMtMi «■ 

m Mnrwl| «f beitt imftrked nputi m » oliioel «f 

lidiaiai^ IMihipt of cmtctupC Tbal wwld hmn 


Bat tlii« fKHiditidEi of Uti&f^ «•• Ml w^mcbmSoi m 
QUI fniiiilntM : if tliejr t^bryal Um annltr» aad mm^ 
tied iho bhflk w«l to murl^ tl wm kft&vs to bs « 
w&m^ degree Tola&lmrj, and mm m &r ibo vMiiv 
oflensivc on the part of the individual weanng iL 
Mr. Sanford, our Charge at Parus acUug fnnn a juM 
ri'gard to the wLshe^i of hin govemincnt, tncd the ex- 
pcriinent under many advantages. He waa a young 
gentleman u( gixxl addreiM, ^^ ^^*ld a n»pcctaiM« 
puciition in the higher circles of aoctetv ODnoocU:d vitli 
the ctiurt. lie was admittinl to the Tuilenca in hta 
black Auit, but wa0 of e«>unM* an object of much ob- 
servation and a^nuncnL IIi5 chamcter — prr^jc^ 
and official ~|*ruttY;tod him frv»m indignity, either of 
word or liK>k, but the act wait conBidortxl oATcumv^ 
as well in the palaei* as in tin* various branches of 
society in cx>nnix!tu>n with iL AU>ut this time Loom 
Napolct»u wiw fonuing hi-** mw imf>i*nal court, and 
seekinj? to giv«' it I'vory tircr^v <»f !i|»!rndor He 
luui primrnlxxl nch onntuintv for his oflict-rx mili- 
tary and civil, and ha«i «lirvrtcd thmt their vitca 


should appear in their most splendid attire. All 
the persons connected with the court entered into 
this spirit For the American Charg6 to present 
himself in simple black, at this particular time, 
looked like rebuke, and was, I believe, regarded in 
this light Had Mr. Sanford continued in his office 
at Paris, and had he persevered, he would, perhaps, 
by his amiable personal character and pleasing ad- 
dress, have removed these difficulties, though it is 
quite as possible that he might have found his situa- 
tion intolerable, not from open affiront, but from those 
slj yet galling attacks, which the polished habitues 
of courts know so well how to make, even in the midst 
of smiles and seeming caresses. As it happened, Mr. 
Mason soon after arrived in Paris as full minister, 
and appreciating the result of Mr. Sanford's experi- 
ment, adopted the usual diplomatic costume. 

For mj own part, I can not see the utility of ma- 
king ourselves disagreeable, and at the same time 
jeoparding the real interests of our country, in such 
a matter as that of the dress of our diplomatic repre- 
sentatives. Our policy should be to cultivate peace 
with all the world, but it would seem of late that our 
desire is rather to array all the nations against us. 
Within the last three years we have lost nearly all our 
friends in Europe. The Ostend Congress, with its start- 
ling doctrines, produced a deep and pervading feeling 
of reprehension, and the circulars of " Citizen Saun- 
ders" created still more lively emotions of irritation 

680 unmcBs — moauAFtaoAJs^ 

and reBentment* The character and conduct of sev- 
eral of our consuls and diplomats, in different parts 
of Europe, together with our Secretary's well-meant 
attempts to improve the taste of the European courts 
in the matter of dress, have all contributed to degrade 
the American name in foreign countries. 

Such are, briefly, my views of Mr. Maicy's diplo- 
matic dieular. It seems to have been ill advised, and 
though its motive was no doubt good, it must have 
been adopted without full inquiry into the subject. 
Had the State Department taken the precaution to 
address our ministers and consuls on the subject, the 
answer would have been such as to have prevented 
the ridicule brought upon the country by this meas- 
ure. The present state of things is embarrassing to 
our foreign ministers, and derogatory to the country. 
The true plan is to adopt some simple and appro- 
priate costume, and make it obligatory. K the black 
coat is to be preferred, then let it be prescribed, so 

* Mr. Saunders^ Circulara were addressed, one to the President of 
the SwUs Cantons and the other to the French people— the latter being 
of a very incendiary character. Those were translated into various 
languages, and scattered all over Europe, by the Italian and French 
exiles in London. 1 saw one of these, with a preface by SaflB, in which 
he stated that the writer, Citizen Saunders, was Qjngul General of the 
United States in Great Britain, that he was very intimate with Mr. Bu- 
chanan, the American minister at London, and thus convoying the idea 
that he spoke officially, in some degree, for the United States. A certain 
authority was lent to these documents by the statement that they were 
circulated in France under the seal of the American Legation in Lou- 
don. To judge of the effect produced by uU this, let us consider what 
would be the feeling of our people, if some foreign official should un- 
dertake to tcuch us our duty, and should even call upon us to cut the 
throats of our rulers ! 


that the responsibility may fall on the government 
and not on him who wears it And one thing more : 
let us be consistent ; if republicanism requires sim- 
plicity, and black is to be our national color, let the 
*'fuss and feathers'* of the army and navy be dis- 
missed, and the general as well as the private soldier 
appear in '* the black coat I" 


VuU to £alf^Florme0-'£om0—jraplm. 
My DEAR €♦♦♦♦♦♦ 

In the autumn of 1854 I set out with my family 
for a brief visit to Italy. With all my wanderings I 
had never seen this &r-famed land, and as I was not 
likely ever to have another opportunity, I felt it to 
be a kind of duty to avail myself of a few unappro- 
priated weeks, for that object. 

It is not my purpose to give you the details of my 
travels or my observations. A mere outline must 
suffice. Embarking in a steamer at Marseilles, we 
soon reached Genoa. Here we went ashore for a few 
hours, and then returning to our vessel, proceeded on 
to Leghorn. Taking the railroad at this place, we 
wound among the hills, and, having passed Pisa, 
catching a glimpse of its Leaning Tower, arrived at 
Florence. In this journey of five days, we had 
passed from Paris to the center of Italy. 


Florence* m sitiutfed in a mudl but ftitile ralley, 
on either flde of which liie a great nomber of piecip- 
itoos hills; behind theie k a fuooanoa of still great- 
er elerslioDS, with locky sunmilB reaching at last to 
the Apennines on the north, and other ranges on the 
sooth and west A narrow stream^ poetically called 
the "yellow Amo" or ^ golden Amo^" but in honest 
phrase, the mnddy Amo, flows nearly through the 
center of the city. This is bordered by stone quays, 
leaving a space of abont three hondred fe^ in width, 
sometimes full and sometimes only a bed of gravel, 
along which winds the stream shniDken into an insig- 
nificant rivulet. The Amo is in £act a sort of mount- 
ain torrent; its source is nearly five thousand feet 
above the level of the sea, yet its whole course is 
but seventy-five miles. The steep acclivities around 
Florence suddenly empty the rains into its channel, 
and it often swells in the course of a few hours to in- 
undation ; it subsides as speedily, and in summer al- 
most disappears amid the furrows of its sandy bed. 

If we were to judge Florence by a modem stand- 
ard, we might pronounce it a dull, dismal-looking 

* Florence has a population of one hundred and ten thooaand inhAb- 
itanUf bat it ia ao oompaotly built aa to ocoupy a very amall territorial 
HpBoe. It la surrounded by a wall, partly of brick and partly of atone, 
and yet ao ftoble and dilapidated, aa to be wholly useless, except for the 
purposes of police. It has six gatCM, duly guarded by military aentriea. 
Itia the capital of Tuscany, which is called a Grand Duchy, the Qrand 
Duke, iu present ruler, Leopold II., being an Austrian prince. The 
frovoniinont is a rigid despotism, sustained by means of a few thousand 
Austrian troopa, and the moral influence of the authority of Auatria 
lUolf, over ready to rush to the aid of the government 


place, marred by dilapidation, degraded by tyranny, 
and occupied by a degenerate people. But when we 
enter its galleries of art^* when we survey its nionu- 
ments of architecture, and when we view all these in 
connection with its history, we speedily discover it 
to be an inexhaustible mine, alike instructive to the 
philosopher and the man of taste. 

I dare not begin upon the curiosities with which 
this city is filled : I must leave them to be described 
by others. The hills around the city are equally 
interesting, studded as they are with edifices, con- 
nected with the names of Michael Angelo, Galileo, 
Dai^te, Lorenzo de' Medici, and others, all full of his- 
torical associations or recollections of science and art. 
At the distance of about five miles is Fi^sole, now an 
insignificant village, situated on the top of a steep hill, 
rising a thousand feet above the bed of the valley. 
This you ascend by a winding road, built with im- 
mense labor, a portion of it out in the solid rock. 
This place was the cradle of Florence, its history 
reaching back three thousand years, into the thick 
mists of antiquity. 

* The principal gallery, the Uflsn, oontaios the statoe of the Venus 
de* Medici, the group of Niobe, and the moet extensive ooUeotion of 
paintings and statuary illustrative of the history and progress of art, 
in the world. The oolleodon in the Pitti Palace, the residence of the 
Qraud Duke, is less extensive, but it is beantitblly arranged, and com- 
prises many gems of art, especially in painting and mosaic. Mn Powers 
and Mr. Hart, American sculptors, oelebrated for their busts in marble, 
are esUblished in this city. Here we met Buchanan Keod, who had 
)ust finished his charming poem. The New Pastoral ; at the same time 
he was acquiring hardly leas celebrity by his penoiL 


Here are Cyclopean walla, ooimtracted by the early 
inhabitants to protect themaelyes at a period when 
all Italy was in the posseasion of bands of brigands 
and robbers, and when erery town and village was a 
fortress. From this point yon look down upon Flor- 
ence, which almost seems at yonr feet; yon have 
also a conmianding view of the whole adjacent coun- 
try. If you inquire the names of places that attract 
your attention, you will be carried back to periods 
anterior to the building of Bome. The guide will 
point you to the track of Hannibal through the 
marshes of the Amo, then a wilderness without in- 
habitants, amid which the Carthaginian general lost 
a number of elephants, and whose tusks are even at 
this day dug up f5rom their deep beds in the soil. 
Allow me to give you a somewhat prosy description 
in rhyme of this wonderful and suggestive place — 
the best in the world to study early Roman geogra- 
phy and history — which I wrote on the spot, and 
which has at least the merit of being brief: 

This is Fiesole — a giant mound, 
With fellow-giants circling phalanxM round ; 
Hoary with untold centuries they rest, 
Yet to the top with waving olives dress'd, 
While far beyond in rugged peaks arise 
The dark-blue Apennines against the sides. 
In this deep vale, with sen tried hills around. 
Set foot to foot, and all with villas crown'd, 
Fair Florence lies — ^its huge Duomo flinging 
E'en to Fiesole its silvery ringing. 


Ah, what a varied page these scenes unfold — 
How mnoh is written, yet how ranch nntold I 
Here on this monnd, the huge Cyclopean wall — 
Its builders lost in Timers unheeding thrall — 
Speaks of whole nations, ages, kingdoms, races, 
Of towers and cities, palaces and places — 
Of wars and sieges, marches, battles, strife, 
The hopes and fears — ^the agonies of life — 
All passM away, their throbbing weal and woe. 
E'er Rome was built, three thousand years ago I 

On the twenty-second day of February we entered 
Borne, and found the peach-trees in blossom. The 
modern city is in no respect remarkable. Its walls 
are of some strength, but readily yielded to the at- 
tack of the French army in 1849. Its present popu- 
lation is one hundred and seventy-five thousand. 
All the streets are narrow, and even the fer-famed 
Corso is not over fifty feet wide. In general, the 
buildings appear to be of modem date, with here and 
there some grand monument of antiquity peering out 
from the midst of more recent structures. On the 
whole, the aspect of this " Queen of the World" is 
eminently sad, degenerate, and disheartening. 

The more imposing relics of antiquity, the Forum, 
the Palace of the Caesars, the Coliseum, the Baths of 
Caracalla, though within the walls, are still on the 
southern side of the city, and beyond the present cen- 
ter of population. All these are gigantic structures, 
but mostly of a barbarous character. They show the 
amazing power and wealth of the emperors who con 


Btructed these works, but they also display the actual 
poverty of art, for there is not one of them that can 
furnish a useful suggestion to even a house-carpenter. 
The vain and transitory nature of the ideas and insti- 
tutions which gave birth to these miracles of labor, 
strikes the reflecting mind with a deep and painful 
sense of humiliation. The Coliseum, the most sublime 
monument of accumulated human toil, regarded as to 
its gigantic proportions, was erected for amusements 
now held to be alike cruel and revolting ; the baths 
of Caracalla — whole acres covered with mounds of 
brick — were constructed to minister to fashionable 
luxuries, which at the present day would be regarded 
as infamous. In modern times, the same accommoda- 
tions would be obtained with one-twentieth part of 
the labor expended upon these establishments. The 
vanity, the boasting, the ostentation of conquerors, 
which gave birth to the triumphal arches, would at this 
day be looked upon with universal contempt The 
temples were erected to gods, which have vanished 
into thin air. The Aqueducts, whose ruins stretch 
across the gloomy Campagna, looking like long lines 
of marching mastodons, were erected in ignorance of 
that familiar fact, visible to any one who looks into 
a teapot, that water will rise to its level I 

The great lesson to be learned at Rome is that of 
humility. I know not which is most calculated to 
sink the pride of man, pagan Rome, sublime in the 
grandeur of its tyranny, its vices, and its falsehoods, 


or Christiaii Rome, contemptible in its littleness, its 
tricks, and its artifices, which would disgrace the 
commonest juggler. 

I speak not now of the treasures of art,* collected 
to repletion in the public and private galleries of this 
wonderful city. These are endless in extent and va- 
riety. Among them are the finest paintings of Ra- 
phael, and the best sculptures of Michael Angelo, as 
well as the Dying Oladiator and the Apollo Belvidere. 
Here, also, is that rich, gorgeous palace, called St. 
Peter's Church. But still, Rome, on the whole, seems 
to me the most melancholy spot on earth. Here is a 
city which once contained three or four millions of 

* Bome is not only a depository of ezhanstless stores of relies of art, 
and cariosities illostrative of history, but it is the great stadio of liv- 
ing artists from all parts of Europe. Both painting and soolptore are 
punned here with eminent suoceee. The Angel of the Resnrreotion 
in the stadio of Tenerani, is the most beautiful and sublime piece of 
sculpture I ever behold. Gibson, an Englishman, takes the lead among 
foreigner^ his best things consisting of reliefr, which are beautiful in- 
deed. His Venus is English, but fine. He has tried coloring statuary, 
after the manner of the ancients, but it is not approved. Our Ameri- 
can Crawford ranks very high for invention and poetic expression. He 
has shown a capacity beyond any other American sculptor, for groups 
on a large scale. Bartholomew, of Connecticut, is a man of decided 
genius, and is rapidly ettaining fkme. Ives, Moaier, Bogers— all our 
countrymen— are acquiring celebrity. 

Among the foreign painters, the most celebrated is Overbeck, a Ger- 
man. He chooses religious subjects, and is a littie pre-Baphaelitish in 
his style. Page, Terry, Chapman, are all highly appreciated, both at 
home and abroad. I here mot the landHcape painter, G^rge L. Brown, 
whom I employed twenty years sgo, for a twelvemonth, as a wood- 
engraver. He has studied laboriously of late, and his pictures are 
beautiful. When he was a boy, he painted a picture, the first he ever 
finished. Isaac P. Davis, of Boston, a well-known amateur, called to 
see it, and asked the price. Brown meant to sny fifty cents, but in hi:« 
confusion said fifty dollars. It wb» Ukon by Mr. Davis at this price : 
so the wood-cutter became a lundscape painter ! 

S28 Lnna»— noGBAPmoALy 

inhmbilMiU^ now shnink and wasted to a population 
dtlem than two handred thooaand, and theae liying 
upoo the mere roins of the pasL The Chriatian 
Church is bfat little better than a collectioii of bats 
and owla, nestling in the rmnoos stmctorea erected 
for the gods and goddesses of heathen antiquity. 

Nor is this the nuMt appalling fiut here presented 
to the traveler. Aronnd this place is a belt of on- 
dnlating land called the Campagna, eight or ten 
miles in width, fertile bj nature, and once cov- 
ered with a busy population ; this has become deso- 
late, and is now tenanted only by sheep and cattle. 
The air is poisoned, and man breathes it at his peril. 
To sleep in it is death. And this change has come 
over it while it claims to be the very seat and center 
of Christianity, the residence of the Successor of the 
Apostles, the Head of the Catholic Church, the Rep- 
resentative of Christ on earth, the Spiritual Father of 
a hundred and fifty millions of souls ! Is not this 
myHtcrious, fearful ? 

We reached Naples about the first of April. Here 
the character of the climate and of the people be- 
comes thoroughly Italian. The Bay of Naples can 
not be too much praised. Not only do the promi- 
nent objects — the crescent-shaped city, rising terrace 
above terrace on the north; Vesuvius, with its double 
cone in the east, and the islands of Capri and Is<Shia 
at tJHi south — form a beautiful boundary to the view, 
out the water and the sky and the air have all a live- 


liness, a cheerfulness, which calls upon the heart to 
be gay. The Neapolitan is, in truth, constantly 
preached to by nature, to sing and dance and be 
happy. It is impossible for any one to resist this 
influence of the climate— of the earth and the sea 
and the air — in this region of enchantment It ap- 
pears that the ancient Eomans felt and yielded to its 
force. In the vicinity was Puzzuoli, a renowned wa- 
tering-place, the hills around being still studded with 
*the vestiges of villas once inhabited by the Roman 
patricians ; near by was Cumse, long a seat and center 
of taste and luxury ; close at hand was Baise, the 
Baden Baden of fashion in the time of Cicero — its 
ruins abundantly attesting the luxury as well as the 
licentiousness of those days. In the mouth of the 
bay was Capri, chosen by Tiberius as the scene of 
his imperial orgies, in consideration of its delicious 
climate and picturesque scenery. The whole region 
is indeed covered over with monuments of Eome in 
the day of its glory, testifying to the full apprecia- 
tion of the beauties of the sky and the climate, on 
the part of its patrician population. 

As to the city of Naples itself I shall not speak ; 
though its people, its institutions, its repositories of 
art, its Museum of vestiges taken from the buned 
cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum, would furnish 
interesting subjects of description. I have only to 
add that after a stay of a month, I left it with reluct- 
ance, and returned to Paris. W hen I arriveo, tno 
Vol. n.— 28 


Great Exposition was oa the eve of being opened. 
I remained till July, and had serend opportunities to 
examine this marveloos array of the world's art and 
industry. On the fourth of the same month I de- 
parted for the United States, and arriving in New 
York, found anchorage for myself and fiunily in that 


LMte-iaking — hnpntvenuiU everywhere — In Sdenct — Qeologfff Ckemietry, 
Agriculture^ Afanttfacturet, Aetrtmomy, NaHgaHon^ the Domeetie Arte — 
Anthracit4 CkMl—TraveUng— Fainting— Daguerreotypee— The EUdrie 
Telegraph — Moral Progreee — In Foreign Countries : in the United StaUe. 

My deab C****** 

I have now come to my farewell. Leave-takings 
are in general somewhat melancholy, and it is best to 
make them as brief as possible. Mine shall consist 
of a single train of thought, and that suggestive of 
cheerful rather than mournful feelings. Like a trav- 
eler approaching the end of his journey, I naturally 
cast a look backward, and surveying the monuments 
which rise up in the distance, seek to estimate the 
nature and tendency of the march of events which I 
have witnessed, and in which I have participated. 

One general remark appears to me applicable to 
the half century over which my observation has ex- 
tended, which is, that everywhere there has been im- 
provement. I kr jw of no department of human 


knowledge, no sphere of human inquiry, no race of 
men, no region of the earth, where there has been re- 
trogradation. On the whole, the age has been alike 
fruitful in discovery, and the practical, beneficial re- 
sults of discovery. Science has advanced with giant 
strides, and it is the distinguishing characteristic of 
modem science that it is not the mere toy of the phi- 
losopher, nor the hidden mystery of the laboratory, 
but the hard-working servant of the manufactory, the 
workshop, and the kitchen. Geology not only in- 
structs us in the sublime history of the formation of 
the earth, but it teaches us to understand its hidden 
depths, and to trace out and discover its mineral treas- 
ures. Chemistry, the science of atoms, teaching us 
the component parts of matter, as well as the laws of 
affinity and repulsion, has put us in possession of a. 
vast range of convenient knowledge now in daily and 
funiliar use in the domestic arts. We have even ex- 
press treatises upon the " Chemistry of Common Life." 
Astronomy has not only introduced to us new planets 
and the sublime phenomena of the depths hitherto 
beyond our reach, but it has condescended to aid in 
perfecting the art of navigation, and thus contributed 
to make the sea the safe and familiar highway of the 

We can best appreciate the progress of things around 
us, by looking at particular facts. Take anthracite 
coal, for instance, which, when I was a boy, was un- 
known, or only regarded as a black, shining, useless 


BOt onljreoolai our fcodi 
I0]B wmfeerto gjmvi Ae dimile of 
lum n ciy but die deq«^ waked fiDm ili tonifa^ lifce a 
gbrt impatieiil of die Inie lie luM loil^ toiiis llie wU^ 
fliiigwlmlof lliefiMStoi7,eeiidi Aeeeremingloeoiiio- 
ttreoo Htwi^y drives the steamlKietfoeiiiiiigtliioiigh 
the waves. This single mineral now performs, every 
day, the labor of at least a hundred thousand men! 

On every hand are the evidences of improvement 
What advances have been made in agriculture — in 
the analysis of soils, the preparation of manures, the 
improvement of implements, from the spade to the 
steam-reaper; in the manufacture of textile &bric8 
by the inventions of Jacquard and others in weaving, 
and innumerable devices in spinning; in the working 
of iron — cutting, melting, molding, rolling, shaping 
it like dough, whereby it is applied to a thousand 
new uses ; in commerce and navigation, by improved 
models of ships, improved chronometers, barometers, 
and quadrants— in chain-pumps and wheel-rudders; 
in printing, by the use of the power-press, throwing oflf 
a hundred thousand impressions instead of two thou- 
sand in a day; in the taking of likenesses by the da- 
guerreotype, making the Sun himself the painter of 
miniatures; in microscopes, which have revealed new 


worldn in the infinity of littleness, as well as in tele 
scopes which have unfolded immeasurable depths o^ 
space before hidden from the view How has travel- 
ing been changed, from jolting along at the rate of six 
miles an hour over rough roads in a stage-coach, to 
the putting one's self comfortably to bed in a steam- 
boat and going fifteen miles an hour; or sitting down 
in a railroad car at New York to read a novel, and 
before you have finished, to find yourself at Boston I 
The whole standard of life and comfort fias been 
changed, especially in the cities. The miracles of 
antiquity are between each thumb and finger now ; a 
friction-match gives us fire and light, the turn of a 
cock brings us water, bright as fix)m Castalia. We 
have sunmier in our houses, even through the rigors 
of winter. We light our streets by gas, and turn 
night into day. Steam brings to the temperate zone 
the fresh fruits of the tropics ; ether mitigates the ag- 
onies of surgical operations ; ice converts even the 
fires of Sirius into sources of luxury. 

These are marvels, yet not the greatest of marvels. 
Think — instead of dispatching a letter iu a mail-bag, 
with the hope of getting an answer in a month— of 
sending your thoughts alive along a wire winged with 
electricity, to New Orleans or Canada, to Charleston or 
St. Louis, and getting a reply in the course of a few 
hours ! This is the miracle of human inventions, the 
crowning glory of art, at once the most ingenious, the 
most gratifying, the most startling of discoveries. I 


know of nothing in the whole range of human contri- 
vances which excites such exulting emotions in the 
mind of man, as the electric telegraph.* It is giving 
wings of light to the mind, and here on earth impart- 
ing to the soul, some of the anticipated powers which 
imagination tells us the spirit may exercise in the 

* The originid profession of Samael Finley Hone, the inventor of the 
eleetrio telegraph, wis that of an hlotorioal painter. He w%nt to Eniope 
for the parpoae of perfeoting himself in thU, the seoond time, in 18M. In 
the aatnmq of 1882 he was returning in a ship from Havre,when the snb- 
jeoC of eleotro-magnetiam one day heoame Uie theme of conTenation at 
the lunoh-table. The fact that an electric spark ooald be obtained from 
a magnet, had led to the new science of magneto-electricity. Reflecting 
upon this, the idea of making electricity the moans of telegraphic com- 
munication struck him with great force. It appears that in this concep- 
tion he had been anticipated by Hcientiflo men, but nothing had been 
effected toward realizing it. Mr. Morse, aAer earnest and absorbing 
reflection upon this subject during his voyage, on his arrival set himself 
to the task of making it practical, and the plan ho finally discovered and 
laid before the world was entirely original with him. All telegraphists 
before used evanescent signs; his system included not only the use of a 
new agent, but a self-recording apparatus, adding to the celerity of light- 
ning almost the gift of npeech. This was a new and wonderful art— that 
of a speaking and printing telegraph ! 

It would be interesting, if I hud space, to trace this invention through 
all its alternations in the mind, feelings, and experiments of its producer. 
I can only say that after encountering and overcoming innumerable ob- 
stacles, the instrument was made to work on a small but decisive scale, 
in 1885. In 1887 he established his apparatus at Washington, and, as 
every thing seemed to promise success, he made an arrangement with a 
member of Congress (F. O. J. Smith) to take an interest in the patent, 
and to proceed fortliwith to Europe to secure patents there. This was 
done, and Mr. Morse soon joined his associate in England. The expe- 
dition resulted only in long embarrassment and disaster to the inventor. 
Having returned to the United States, and successfully •»triggling with 
obstacles. and adversities, he finally obtained the assistaiAie )f the gov- 
ernment, and a line of telegraph was built from Wo.«»hington to Balti- 
more. After some mistakes and many fuilnres, the work proved suc- 
cessful, effective experiments having been mode in 1844. The first 
sentence sent over the line is said to have been dictated by Miss Anna 
>SUs worth, daughter of H. L. Ellsworth, then commiaaioner of patenta— 


world above! Haying achieved so much, who 
shall dare to set limits to the power of human in- 
vention ? 

And in the moral world, the last fifty years appear 
to me to have shown an improvement, if not as 
marked, yet as certain and positive, as in the material 
world. Everywhere, as I believe, the standard of 
humanity is more elevated than before. About a 
century ago, an eminent New England divine, after- 
ward president of Yale College, sent a barrel of rum 
to Africa by a Bhode Island captain, and got in re- 
turn a negro boy, whom he held as a slave, and this 
n-as not an offence. I know of a distinguished D. D. 
who was a distiller of New England rum half a cen-. 
tury ago, and with no loss of reputation. The rules 
by which we try candidates for office are much more 
rigid than formerly. Church discipline amoDg all 
sects is more severe, while sectarian charity is greatly 
enlarged. Christian missions are among the estab- 
lished institutions of society; education is every- 
where improved and extended. Kin some things, 
with the increase of wealth and luxury, we have de- 
generated, on the whole there has been an immense 

** What hath Qod wrought T* It was indeed a natural and beautiftU 
idea, at the moment that man had opened a new and startling develop- 
ment of the works of the Almighty. The means of instantly transmit- 
ting intelligence through space, seems to illastrate not only the omnipo- 
tence, bat the omniscience and omnipresence of God. 

Thns the telegraph was established, and though Mr. Morse has en- 
ooantered opposition, rivalry, and almost &tal competition, he is gen- 
erally admitted throughout the world to be the true inventor of thia 
greatest marvel of art, the eleotrio telegraph. 

536 urmERB — biooraphioa]:., nc 

advanoe, as well in technical morals as in those large 
humanities which aim at the good of all mankind. 

If we cast our eyes oyer foreign lands, we shall see 
a similar if not an equal progress in all that belongs 
to the comforts and the charities of life. Despotism 
still reigns over a large part of the world, bat its 
spirit is mitigated, its heart softened. Dangeons and 
chains are not now the great instruments of govern- 
ment There is everywhere — ^more espeoiaUy in all 
parts of Christendom — a feeling of responsibility on 
the part of even kings and princes, to the universal 
principles of justice and humanity. There is a moral 
sense, a moral law among mankind, which tyrants 
dare not set at defiance ! 

Such has been the tendency of things within the 
half century which has passed under my observation. 
If, then, I am an optimist, it is as much from reason 
and reflection as from sentiment. In looking at the 
political condition of our country, there are no doubt 
threatening clouds in the sky, and mutterings of 
ominous thunders in the distance. I have, however, 
known such things before ; I have seen the country 
shaken to its center by the fierce collisions of parties, 
and the open assaults of the spirit of disunion. But 
these dangers passed away. "Within my memory, the 
States of the Union have been doubled in number, and 
the territory of the Union has been trebled in extent ! 
This I have seen ; and as such has been the past, so 
may be, and so I trust will be, the future. Farewell ! 


Liit of WorJn of which S. 0. Goodrich i» the Editor or Author. 

My experienoe, as an author, has been not a little singular, in one re- 
spect. While on the other side of the Atlantic my name has been largely 
used, as a passport to the public, for books I never wrote — attempts have 
been made in this country to deprive me of the authorship of at lesHt a 
hundred volumes which I did write. It requires some patience to reflect 
upon this with equanimity ; to see myself, falsely, saddled with the pa 
ternity of things which are either stupid, or vulgar, or immoral— or per- 
haps all together; and then to be deprived, also by falsehood, of the 
means of effectually throwing them off by appealing to genuine works — 
which have obtained general favor — tlirough a suspicion cast into the 
public mind, that I am a mere pretender, and that the real authorship 
of these works belongs to another person. 

This, however, has been, and perhaps is my position, at least with 
some portion of the public I have thought it worth while, therefore, 
to print a catalogae of my genuine works, and also a list of the false 
ones, issued under my name, with such notes as seem necessary to set 
the whole matter clearly before the public 

The following list comprises all my works to the best of my recol- 


Date of No. 
puUieatioo. Tola. 

The Token— A New Year's and Christmas Present 1 828 ... 14 

[The fbvt volume was iasaed in 1888, sad It was oontlnned, 
yeurly, till 184*2— 15 yean. 18mo. and ISmo. Edited 
by me, ezeapt that in 18S9 it was edited by N. P. Wll- 
lia. Among tbe oontribaton to this work were, £. Ev- 
erett, Bishop Doane, A. H. Everett, J. Q. Adams, H. 
W. Longfellow, I. McLellan, Jr., N. Hawthorne, Miss 
Sedgwick, Mrs. 9ij?oamey, Willis Gaylord Clark, N. P. 
Willis, J. Neale, Orenvllle Mellen, Geo. Lunt, John 
Plerpont, Caleb Cashing, H. Pickering, Mlas Lefilie, T. 
H. Gallsndet, Mrs. Child, F. W. P. Greenwood, Rev. T. 
Flint, IL F. Gould, W. L. Stone, H. T. Tnckerman, Ma- 
dame CalderuD de la Barca, O. W. Uolmes, Mrs. Seba 
Smith, Mrs. Osgood, Mrsi Lee, J. Inraan, Horace Gree- ,. 
ley, I. C. Pray, OrviUe Dewey, O. W. B. Peabody, 
James Hall, Mrs. Hale, Mrs. Hoffland, J. T. Fields, 
Miss M. A. Browne, B. C. Wsterston, Nath. Greene, 
H. H. Weld, G. C. Yerplaock, T. S. Fay, J. O. Boek- 
well, Charles Spragne, etc] 

588 APPENDIX — ^Nom. 

DttUcT IT*. 

publiCAtiMia vcli 

A HUtory of All NatioD% from the Earliert Period to 
the FireMot Time— In which the Hiotory of eyery 
Nation, Ancient and Modem, ia leparately given. 

Large 8va, 1200 pp. 1849.... 1 

[in the oofflpllatton of thb work I bad the MBliUnei of 
Ber. Boytl BobMiM, of BerUn, Ooaa., B«t. W. 8. Jeokii 
and Mr. 8. KetteU, of BoaUw, and F. B. Ooodiich, of 

A Pictorial Geography of the World. Large 8Ta, 

1000 ppi 1840.... 1 

CThe flrat editloa of thk wofk waa pabllabed in 1831, but 
bdng fbnad lmperfi>cC, waa reTlaed and ramodided at 
thla data In the orlflnal work I had tho aaabtanoe of 
J. 0.8arguitand8. P.HoIbrook,Baqa,and Mr.aKat- 
tell: the new edition waa mainlj prepared bjT. 8. 
Bradford, Kmi] 

Sow Well and Reap Well, or Plreaide Education. 1 2ma 1888 .... 1 

A Pictorial Hiatorj of America. 8va 1846 .... 1 

Winter Wreath of Summer Flowers. 8vo. Colored 

Engravings 1858... .1 

The Outcast, and other Poems. 12mo 1841 1 

Sketches from a Student's Window. 12roo. 1 836 1 

Poems. 12mo 1861 1 

Ireland and the Irish. 12mo 1842 1 

Five Letters to my Neighbor Smith 1839 1 

Les Etals Unis d'Amdrique. 8vo 1862. . . .1 

[This was pablished In Paris.] 

The Gem Book of British Poetry. Sq. 8vo 1864.... 1 

ReeoUections of a Lifetime : or. Men and Things I have 
Seen. In a series of Famiiiar Letters — Historical, 
Biographical, Anecdotical, and Descriptive : address- 
ed to a Friend. 12mo. (In press.) 1867.... 2 

The Picture Play-Book 1866 1 


Ancient History, from the Creation to the Fall of 

Rome. 12mo 1846 1 

Modern History, from the Fall of Rome to the present 

time. 12mo 1847 1 

History of North America — Or, The United States and 

adjacent Countries. 18mo 1846 1 

Hiatory of South America and the Weat Indiea 18ma 1846. . . .1 


DMa«r N*. 
paMkafMMi. vols. 

Hiitorjr of Europe. 18mo 1848 1 

History of Asia. 18mo 1848 1 

History of Africa. ISmo 1860 1 

[In the som^stion of Um preoadiiig dx Tolnmeai csda* 
dlBg North Amnrifis, I had large aasiBtanoe from Mr. 8. 

A. Comprehensive Geography and History, Ancient and 

Modern. 4to. 1849. . . .1 

rhe National Geography. 4to 1849 1 

A Primer of History, for Beginners at Home and 

School 24mo 1850 1 

A Primer of Geography, for Home and School — With 

Maps. 1860....1 

A Pictorial History of the United StatesL 12mo 1846 1 

A Pictorial Histoiy of England. 12mo 1846 1 

A Pictorial History of France. 12mo , 1846 1 

A Pictorial History of Greece. 12mo 1846 1 

A Pictorial Histoiy of Rome. 12mo 1848 1 

[In the prefwratiMi of the jpreoeding flye volamea, I had aa- 
BistancefromDr. Aloott,Mr.J.LoweU,&e. I was large- 
ly sMiated in the preparation of Borne by Mr. & KettelL] 

A Pictorial Katnral History. 12mo. 1842 1 

The Toong American : Or, A Book of GoTcmment and 

Law. 12mo 1842 1 

The Malte-Brun School Geography. 16mo 1880. ... 1 

Maps for the same. 4to. 1830. ... 1 

The Cliild's Own Book of Geography ; or the Western 

Hemisphere — With Maps. Sq. 12ma (Out of print) 1834. ... 1 
The Child's Own Book of Geography ; or the Eastern 

Hemisphere — With Ma|>8. Square 12mo. (Out of 

print) 1 834 1 

Goodrich's First Reader. 18mo 1846 1 

Goodrich's Second Reader. 18mo 1846.... 1 

Goodrich's Third Reader. 18mo 1846 1 

Goodrich's Fourth Reader. 12mo 1846 1 

Goodrich's Fifth Reader. 12mo 1846 1 


[he Tales of Peter Parley about America. Square 16mo. 1827 1 

Da da Europe. do 1828 1 

Peter Parley's Winter-Evening Tales. do 1 829 1 


iWM«r Kill 

PeUr Pltrley^t JoTenfle Tilei. Bqom lAino 1 880. ... 1 

Tlie Tales of Peter Parlej aboat Africa. Square 16ino. 1880 1 

Da da Asia. da 1880.. ..1 

P^ter Parle/t lUes aboot the Son, Moon» and Staf& 

Square 16ma 1880. . . .1 

Peter Purley't lUea of the Sea. Square 16ma 1881. . . .1 

Peter Piirle/t Tales about the IsUnds in the Padfie 

Ocean. Square 16ma 1881.. ••! 

Peter Parley's Method of Telling about Geographj. 

Square 18mo 1880. . . .1 

[This wofk wu reiiiodaM lod vsprodaoed tai 184^ iiBd«r 
the nuM of **Pu-ld7'ft Geogn^bj fcr Ba8lniicn» tt 
Homt and BohooL** Two milllMis of ooplet of It w«e 
■old: the pablldior paid mo thno hiuukod dolkn ftir 
the oopjilgbt, and made his Ibrtane bj it] 

Peter Parley's Tales about the World. Square 18ma 

(Out of print) 1881 1 

Peter Parley's Tales about New York. Square 16mo. 

(Outofprint> 1832 1 

Peter Parley's Tales about Great Britain — Including 

England, Scotland, and Ireland. Square 16mo. 

(Out of print ) 1884 1 

Parley's Picture Book. Square 16mo 1884. . . .1 

Parity's Short Stories for Long Nightsi Square ISmo. 1884. . . .1 

Peter Parley's Book of Anecdotes. do 18H6 I 

Parley's Tales about Animals. 12mo 1881 1 

Persevere and Prosper : Or, The Siberian Sable-Hunter. 

ISmo 1848 1 

Make the Best of It: Or, Cheerful Cherry, and other 

Tales. ISmo 1 848 1 

Wit Bought: Or, The Adventures of Robert Merry. 

ISmo 1844 1 

What to do, and How to do it : Or, Morals and Man- 
ners. ISmo 1844.... 1 

A Home in the Sea: Or, The Adventures of Philip 

Brusque. 18mo 1845.... 1 

Right is Might, and other Sketches. 1 Smo 1846 1 

A Tale of the Revolution, and other Sketches. 18mo. . 1845 I 

Dick Boldhero, or the Wonders of South America. 

18mo 1846 1 

Truth-Finder : Or, Inquisitive Jack. 18roo 1846 1 


lki««r No. 
pablkacina. #oU. 

Take Care of No. 1 : Or, The Adventures of Jacob Earl 

18mo 1860 1 

Tales of Sea and Land 1846 1 

Every-Day Book. Sq. 16mo. (Oat of print) 1885 1 

Parley's Present for All Seasons. 12mo 1858 1 

Parley's Wanderers by Sea and Land. 12mo 1854 .... 1 

Parley's Fagots for the Fireside. 12mo 1854 1 

Parley's Balloon Travels of Robert Merry and his Tonng 

Friends in various parts of Europe. 12mo 1866. ... 1 

Parley's Adventures of Gilbert Ooahead. 1 2mo. 1856 .... 1 

Parley's Adventures of Billy Bump, all the way from 

Sundown to California. (In press.) 1857 .... 1 

Parley's Balloon Travels of Robert Merry and his Young 

Friends in the Holy Land and other parts of Asia. 

12ma (In press.) 1857. . . .1 


Peter Parley's Universal History on the basis of Geog- 
raphy. Large sq. 16mo 1887.... 2 

Peter Parley's Common School History. 12ma 1887 1 

The First Book of History for Children and Youth. 

Large sq. 12mo 1881.... 1 

The Second Book of History — ^Designed as a Seqnel to 

the First Book of History. Large sq. 12mo 1882 1 

Tlie Third Book of History — ^Designed as a Sequel to 

the first and Second Books of History. Sq. 1 2mo . . 1888 1 

[The two precediog volames were oompilod ander mj di- 
rection, and were then remodeled by me, bat w«n not 
pnbllfllied, nor were they IntMided to sppesr, •• by Pe- 
ter Psriey ; they have, however, p a st e d under that name 
for leveral yeara^] , 

Parley's Tales about Ancient Rome, with some account 

of Modem Italy. Sq. 16mo 1882 1 

Parley's Tales about Ancient and Modem Greece. Sq. 

16mo 1888 1 

Hiatoire des Etats-Unis d'Am^rique. Published in Paris 

and the United Stotes. 12mo 1858 1 

Petite Histoire Universelle. Published in Paris and the 

United States. 12mo 1858 1 

[In the preparation of some of theae, I had Uie aid of N. 
Hawthorne, and J. O. Sargent, laqa., Ac] 


Pablst's Cabinkt Library: 20 yoUh Bmall 12ino, m follows: 


Data of M* 

pablieatiott. vda. 

1. LiTea of Famous Men of Modem Tunes 1844-6. ... 1 

2. Lives of Famous Men of Ancient Times ' 1 

8. Curiosities of Human Nature " . 1 

4. Lives of Benefactors *' 1 

6. Lives of Famous American Lidianfe • " 1 

8. Lives of Celebrated Women " 1 


r. Lights and Shadows of American History * 1 

0. Lights and Shadows of European History " 1 

9. iJghts and Shadows of Asiatic History " 1 

10. Lights and Shadows of African History " 1 

1 1. History of the American Indians *' 1 

12. Manners, Customs, and Antiquities of the Ameri- 

can Indians " 1 


13. A Glance at the Sciences ** * 1 

14. Wonders of Geoiogy " 1 

15. Anecdotes ot the Ammal Kingdom ** 1 

16. A Glance at Philosophy " 1 

17. Book of Literature, with Specimens ** 1 

18. Enterprise, Industry, and Ait of Man " 1 

19. Manners and Customs of Nations " 1 

20. The World and iU Inhabitants " I 

Parley's Panorama : Or, the Curiosities of Nature and 
Art, History and Biography. Large 8vo., double 

columns : 1849. . . .1 

Parley's Geography for Begmnen*. Sq. 16rao 1844 1 

[Thl8 Is a reproduction and remodellDg of " Parley's 
Method of Telling about Geography, for Children."] 

Parley's Farewell Large sq. 16mo. (Out of print). . 1886. . . .1 

Parley's Arithmetic. Sq. 16mo 1833 1 

Parley's Spelling-Book. (Out of print) 1833 I 

Parley's Book of the United SUtes. Sq. 16mo 1833 1 


OaUof No. 
publication, vols. 

O^ugraphie El^mentaire. 8yo 1864. . . .1 

^ablisbed at Parla] 

MemenUry Geography. Syo. With Maps 1854 : ... 1 

[PnbUahed in London.] 

Parley's Present Small 24ma (Out of print) 1886 1 

Pai ley's Dictionaries — Of Botany, of Astronomy, of the 

Bible, of Bible Geography, of History, of Commerce. 

Six vols., large sq. 16mo 1884 ... .6 

Three Months at Sea (an English book, with additions 

and modifications]^ Sq. 16mo 1882. ... 1 

The CaptiTe of Nootka Sound. Sq. 16mo. 1882 1 

The Story of Capt Riley. do. 1882 1 

The Story of La Peyroose. do 1882 1 

The Story of Alexander Selkirk, da 1888 1 

Bible Stones (a London book, with additions). Sq. 16mo 1838 .... 1 

Parley's Magazine. Began 1882. Large sq. 12ma. ... 1838. .. .1 

fThis work was planned and established by me; bnt after 
aboat a year I was obliged to relinqaish it, from ill 
health and an affection of my eyes. It was oondncted, 
witbont any Interest or participation on my part, Ibr 
about twelye year.', whMi ii ceased.] 

Merry's Mnseum and Parley's Magazine. Large sq. 

12mo. Commenced 1841 18^... 28 

[This work was began and established by me, nnder tlie 
title of Merry^ Mnaenm, bnt after the discontinnance 
of Parley's Magaxine, the latter title was added. The 
WOTk continued nnder my ezelnsive editorship until I 
left fbr Europe in 1850; from that time, while I had a 
genera] charge of the work, Ber. 8. T. Allen was the 
home editor. At the close of the fbnrteenih year (the 
twenty-eighth semi-annual Tolume, 1854), my connec- 
tion with the work entirely ceased.] . 


I thos stand before the public as the anther and editor of about 
one hundred and seventy Tolumes— one hundred and sixteen bear- 
ing the name of Peter Parley. Of all these, about seven millions of 
volumes have been sold : about three hundred thousand volumes 
are now sold annually. 

A recent writer in the Boston Courier, has affirmed that the late 
Mr. a Eettell waa the '* Veritable Peter PaW«y"— thereby asserting^ 
in affect and conveying the impression, -that he being the author ot 


the Parley Bouks, I, who have claimed them, am an impostor. He 
has, moreover, claimed for him, in precise terms, the actual author- 
ship of Yarioas works which have appeared onder my own proper 
name. Fur reasons which will appear hereafter, I deem it neeet- 
aary to expose tlus impudent attempt at imposture — absurd and 
preposterous as it appears, upon its Tery face. 

Furst, as to the Parley Books — ^it will probably be sufficient for 
me to make the following statement In respect to the thirty-six 
volumes of Parle^M Tales^ in the preceding list, the earlier numbers 
of which began and gave currency to the entire Parley series, no 
perMOH except myself ever wrote a single gentenee. 

As to Parle\fe Historical Compends — some nine or ten volumes — 
I had the assistance of N. Hawthorne, and J. O. Sargent, Esqa, and