Recollections of a lifetime, or, Men and things I have seen : in a series of familiar letters to a friend, historical, biographical, anecdotal and descriptive

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RECOLLECTIONS

OR

MEN AND THINGS I HAVE SEEN:

A SERIES OF

FAMILIAR LETTERS TO A FRIEND,

HISTORICAL, BIOGRAPHICAL, ANECDOTICAL, AND
DESCRIPTIVE.

BY S. G" GOODRICH.

VOL. I.

NEW YOKE :

C. M. SAXTON, 25 PARK ROW.
1859.

Entered according to Act of Congress, In the year 185*,

By 8. G. GOODRICH,

Tn the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern
District of New York.

C. A. ALVORD, PKIHTU,

No. 15 Vandewater Street, N. Y.

PREFATORY NOTE.

THE first Letter in the ensuing pages will
inform the reader as to the origin of these vol
umes, and the leading ideas of the author in
writing them. It is necessary to state, how
ever, that although the work was begun two
years since — as indicated by the date of the
first of these Letters, and while the author
was residing abroad — a considerable portion
of it has been written within the last year,
and since his return to America. This state
ment is necessary, in order to explain several
passages which will be found scattered through
its pages.

NEW YORK, SEPTEMBER, 1856.

ENGRAVINGS.

VOL. I.
PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR Frontispiece

From the Medallion presented to him by the American citizens in Paris,

— on steel, engraved by Bitch le.

PAGE

AUNT DELIGHT 36

MAKING MAPLE SCGAB 68

WHITTLING 94

CATCHING PIGEONS 100

How ARE YOU, PRIEST ? How ARE YOU, DEMOCRAT ? 180

THE JERKING EXERCISE 202

DEACON OLMSTEAD 222

GRACE INGERSOLL AT THE COURT OF NAPOEEON 260

THE HERMTTESS 294

FIEST ADVENTURE UPON THE SEA 342

THE COLD FRIDAY 894

PEACE! PEACE!... .. 504

VOL. II.

GEORGE CABOT 86

EMIGRATION IN 1817 80

PERCIVAL 182

BRAINARD WRITING " FALL OF NIAGARA" 148

SIR WALTER SCOTT, CLERK OF THE COURT OF SESSIONS 176

EDINBURGH 180

ENGLAND 214

BYRON'S COFFIN 250

THESE ARE GOD'S SPELLING-BOOK 810

THE STUDENT 484

VIEW lie PABB 502

HOME . . 526

CONTENTS.

LETTER I.
Introductory and explanatory 9

LETTER IL

Geography and chronology — The old brown house — Grandfathers —
Ridgefield — The meeting-house — Parson Mead — Keeler's tavern —
Lieutenant Smith — The cannon-ball 15

LETTER III.

The first remembered event — High Ridge — The spy-glass — Sea and
Mountain — The peel — The black patch in the road 24

LETTER IV.

Education in New England — The burial-ground of the suicide — West
Lane— Old Chichester — The school-house — The first day at school —
Aunt Delight — Lewis Olmstead — A return after twenty years — Peter
Parley and Mother Goose 80

LETTER V.

The joyous nature of childhood — Drawbacks — The small-pox — The pest-
house — Our house a hospital — Inoculation — The force of early impres
sions — Rogers' Pleasures of Memory — My first whistle — My sister's
recollections of a Sunday afternoon — The song of Kalewala — Poetic
-character of early life — Obligations to make childhood happy 41

LETTER VL

The inner life of towns — Physical aspect and character of Ridgefield —
Effects of cultivation upon climate — Energetic character of the first
settlers of Ridgefield — Classes of the people as to descent — Their oc
cupations — Newspapers — Position of my father's family — Management
of the farm — Domestic economy, <fec 56

LETTER VIL

Domestic habits of the people — Meals — Servants and masters — Dress —
Amusements — Festivals — Marriages — Funerals— Dancing — Winter
Sports — Up and down — My two grandmothers 88

6 CONTENTS.

LETTER VIIL

Interest in mechanical devices — Agriculture — My parents design me for
A carpenter— The dawn of the age of invention— Fulton, &c.— Per
petual motion— Whittling— Gentlemen — St. Paul, King Alfred, Dan
iel Webster, &c. — Desire of improvement, a New England character
istic—Hunting — The bow and arrow — The fowling-piece — Pigeons —
Anecdote of Parson M.... — Audubon and Wilson — The passenger
pigeon — Sporting rambles— The blacksnake and screech-owl — Fishing
— Advantages of country life and country training 90

LETTER IX.

Death of Washington — Jefferson and democracy — Ridgefield the great
thoroughfare between New York and Boston — Jerome Bonaparte and
his young wife — Oliver Wolcott, Governor Treadwell, and Deacon
Olmstead — Inauguration of Jefferson — Jerry Mead and Ensign Kecler
— Democracy and federalism — Charter of Charles II.— Elizur Good
rich, Deacon Bishop, and President Jefferson — Abraham Bishop and
" about enough democracy" 106

LETTER X.

How people traveled fifty years ago — Timothy Pickering — Manners along
the road — Jefferson and shoe-strings — Mr. Priest and Mr. Democrat
— Barbers at Washington — James Madison and the queue — Winter
and sleighing — Comfortable meeting-houses — The stove-party and the
anti-stove party — The first chaise built in Ridgefield 126

LETTER XL

Up-town and Down-town — East End and West End — Master Stebbins
— A model schoolmaster — The school-house — Administration of the
school — Zeek Sanford — School-books — Arithmetic — History — Gram
mar—Anecdote of G. ... H — Country schools of New England

in these days — Master Stebbias's scholars 188

LETTER XIL

Horsemanship — Bige Benedict — A dead shot — A race — Academical hon
ors — Charles Chatterbox — My father's school — My exercises in Latin —
Tityre tu patulse, etc. — Rambles — Literary aspirations — My mother —
Family worship — Standing and kneeling at prayer — Anecdotes — Our
Philistine temple 147

LETTER XIIL

My father's library— Children's books— The New England Primer and
Westminster Catechism— Toy books— Nursery books— Moral effect of
these — Hannah More's Moral Repository— The Shepherd of Salisbury
Plain— Visit to Barley-wood— First idea of the Parley books— Impres
sions of big books and little books 164

CONTENTS. 7

LETTER XIV.

fhe clergymen of Fairfleld county — Their character and manners— An
ecdote of the laughing D. D. — The coming storm 175

LETTER XV.

Ideas of the Pilgrim Fathers — Progress of toleration — Episcopacy — Bish
op Seabury — Dr. Duche — Methodism in America — In Connecticut —
Anecdotes — Lorenzo Dow — The wolf in my father's fold 186

LETTER XVL
The three deacons 218

LETTER XVIL

The federalist and the democrat — Colonel Bradley and General King —
Comparison of New England with European villages 229

LETTER XVIII.

The Ingersolls — Eev. Jonathan Ingersoll — Lieutenant-governor Inger-
soll — New Haven belles — A chivalrous Virginian among the Conrec-
ticut D. D.'s — Grace Ingersoll — A New Haven girl at Napoleon's Court
— Keal romance — A Puritan in a convent 248

LETTER XIX.

Mat Olmstead, the town wit — The Salamander hat — The great eclipse —
Sharp logic — Lieutenant Smith, the town philosopher — The purchase
of Louisiana — Lewis and Clarke's exploring expedition — The great
meteor — Hamilton and Burr — The Leopard and the Chesapeake — Ful
ton's steamboats — Granthcr Baldwin — Sarah Bishop 265

LETTER XX.

A long fatewell — A return — Kidgefield as it is — The past and present
compared 299

LETTER XXI.

Farewell to Eidgefield — Farewell to home — Danbtiry — My new vocation
— A revolutionary patriarch — Life in a country store — Homesickness
— My brother-in-law — Lawyer Hatch 323

LETTER XXII.

Visit to New Haven — The city — Yale Colleg* — My uncle's house — John
Allen — First sail on the sea — The Court-house — Dr. Dwight — Pro
fessor Silliman — Chemistry, mineralogy, geology — Anecdote of Colo
nel Gibbs— Eli Whitney— The cotton-gin— The gun-factory 888

LETTER XXIIL

Durham — History of Connecticut — Distinguished families of Durham —
The Chaunceys, Wadsworths, Lymans, Austins — Woodbury— How
romance becomes history — Kev. Noah Benedict — Judge Smith . . 868

8 CONTENTS.

LETTER XXIV.

Thd euid winter and a sharp ride — Description of Danbury — The hat
manufactory— The Sandimanians— Gen. Wooster's monument— Death
of my brother-in-law— Master W bite— Mathematics 898

LETTER XXV.

Farewell to Danbury — Hartford — My first master and his family — Me
rino sheep— A wind-up— Another change — My new employer — A new
era in life — George Sheldon — Franklin's biography 408

LETTER XXVI.

My situation under my new master — Discontent — Humiliating discove
ries — Desire to quit trade and go to college — Undertake to re-educate
myself— A long struggle— Partial success— Infidelity— The world with
out a God — Return after long wanderings 417

LETTER XXVH.

Hurtford forty years ago— The Hartford wits— Hartford at the present
time— The declaration of war in 1812— Baltimore riote— Feeling in
New England — Embargo — Non-intercourse, &c. — Democratic doc
trine that opposition is treason 485

LETTER XXVHL

Specks of war in the atmosphere — The first year — Operations on land
and water — The wickedness of the federalists — The second year — The
Connecticut militia— Decatur driven into the Thames — Connecticut
in trouble — I become a soldier — My first and last campaign 451

LETTER XXIX.

Description of New London — Fort Trumbull — Fort Griswold — The Brit
ish fleet — Decatur and his ships in the Thames — Commodore Hardy
— On guard — A suspicious customer — Alarm, alarm ! — Influence of
camp life — Return to Hartford — Land-warrants — Blue-lights — Deca
tur, Biddle, and Jones 466

LETTER XXX.

Continuation of the war — Tb^ Creeks subdued — Battles of Chippewaand
Bridgewater — Capture of Washington — Bladensburg races — Scarcity
of money — Rag money — Bankruptcy of the national treasury — The
specie bank-note, or Mr. Sharp and Mr. Sharper — Universal gloom —
State of New England — Anxiety of the Administration — Their instruc
tions to the Peace Commissioners — Battle of New Orleans — Peace —
Illuminations and rejoicings

APPENDIX ..T.. 515

RECOLLECTIONS OF A LIFETIME,

IN A SERIES OF

FAMILIAR LETTEES TO A FRIEND.

LETTER I,

Introductory and Explanatory.
MY DEAR C******

A little thin sheet of paper, with a frail wafer
seal, and inscribed with various hieroglyphical sym
bols, among which I see the postmark of Albany,
has just been laid upon my table. I have opened it,
and find it to be a second letter from you. Think
of the pilgrimage of this innocent waif, unprotected
save by faith in man and the mail, setting out upon a
voyage from the banks of the Hudson, and coming
straight to me at Courbevoie, just without the walls
of Paris, a distance of three thousand miles !

And yet this miracle is wrought every day, every
hour. I am lingering here, partly because I have
taken a lease of a house and furnished it, and there-
lure I can not well afford to leave it at present. I
am pursuing my literary labors, and such are the fa-

1*

10 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

cilities of intercourse, by means of these little red-
lipped messengers, like this I have just received
from you, that I can almost as well prosecute my
labors here as at home. Could I get rid of all those
associations which bind a man to his birth-land ;
could I appease that consciousness which whispers in
my ear, that the allegiance of every true man, free to
follow his choice, is due to his country and his kin
dred, I might perhaps continue here for the remain
der of my life.

My little pavilion, situated upon an elevated slope
formed of the upper bank of the Seine, gives me
a view of the unrivaled valley that winds between
Saint Cloud and Asnieres ; it shows me Paris in the
near distance — Montmartre to the left, and the Arch
of Triumph to the right. In the rear, close at hand,
is our suburban village, having the aspect of a little
withered city. Around are several chateaus, and from
the terraced roof of my house — which is arranged for
a promenade — I can look into their gardens and pleas
ure-grounds, sparkling with fountains and glowing
with fruits and flowers. A walk of a few rods brings
me to the bank of the Seine, where boatmen are ever
ready to give the pleasure-seeker a row or a sail ; in
ten minutes by rail, or an hour on foot, I can be in
Paris. In about the same time I may be sauntering
in the Avenue de Neuilly, the Bois de Boulogne, or
the galleries of Versailles. My rent is but about four
hundred dollars a year, with the freedom of the gar-

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 11

dens and grounds of the chateau, of which my resi
dence is an appendage. It is the nature of this cli
mate to bring no excessive cold and no extreme heat.
You may sit upon the grass till midnight of a summer
evening, and fear no chills or fever ; no troops of flies,
instinctively knowing your weak point, settle upon
your nose and disturb your morning nap or your
afternoon siesta ; no elvish mosquitoes invade the
sanctity of your sleep, and force you to listen to their
detestable serenade, and then make you pay for it, as
if you had ordered the entertainment. If there be a
place on earth combining economy and comfort —
where one may be quiet, and yet in the very midst of
life — it is here. Why, then, should I not remain ?
In one word, because I would rather be at home. This
is, indeed, a charming country, but it is not mine. I
could never reconcile myself to the idea of spending
my life in a foreign land.

I am therefore preparing to return to New York
the next summer, with the intention of making that
city .my permanent residence. In the mean time, I
am not idle, for, as you know, the needs of my fam
ily require me to continue grinding at the mill. Be
sides one or two other trifling engagements, I have
actually determined upon carrying out your suggestion,
that I should write a memoir of my life and times —
a panorama of my observations and experience. You
encourage me with the idea that an account of my
life, common -place as it has been, will find readers,

12 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

and at the same time, your recommendation naturally
suggests a form in which this may be given to the
public, divested of the air of egotism which gener
ally belongs to autobiography. I may write my his
tory in the form of letters to you, and thus tell a
familiar story in a familiar way — to an old friend.

I take due note of what you recommend — that I
should make my work essentially a personal narra
tive. You suggest that so long as the great study
of mankind is man, so long any life — supposing it to
be not positively vicious — if truly and frankly por
trayed, will prove amusing, perhaps instructive. I
admit the force of this, and it has its due influence
upon me ; but still I shall not make my book, either
wholly or mainly, a personal memoir. I have no
grudges to gratify, no by-blows to give, no apologies
to make, no explanations to offer — at least none
which could reasonably find place in a work like
this. I have no ambition which could be subserved
by a publication of a merely personal nature : to con
fess the truth, I should rather feel a sense of humilia
tion at appearing thus in print, as it would inevitably
suggest the idea of pretense beyond performance.

What I propose is this : venturing to presume upon
your sympathy thus far, I invite you to go with me,
in imagination, over the principal scenes I have wit
nessed, while I endeavor to make you share in the im
pressions they produced upon my own mind. Thus
I shall carry you back to my early days, to my native

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC.

village, the " sweet Auburn" of-my young fancy, and
present to you the homely country life in which I
was born and bred. Those pastoral scenes were epics
to my childhood ; and though the heroes and hero
ines consisted mainly of the deacons . of my father's
church and the school-ma'ams that taught me to read
and write, I shall still hope to inspire you with a por
tion of the loving reverence with which I regard their
memories. I shall endeavor to interest you in some
of the household customs of our New England coun
try life, fifty years ago, when the Adams delved and
the Eves span, and thought it no stain upon their
gentility. I shall let you into the intimacy of my
boyhood, and permit you to witness my failures as
well as my triumphs. In this the first stage of my
career, I shall rely upon your good nature, in per
mitting me to tell my story in my own way. If I
make these early scenes and incidents the themes of
a little moralizing, I hope for your indulgence.

From this period, as the horizon of my experience
becomes somewhat enlarged, I may hope to interest
you in the topics that naturally come under review.
As you are well acquainted with the outline of my life,
I do not deem it necessary to forewarn you that my
history presents little that is out of the beaten track of
common experience. I have no marvels to tell, no
secrets to unfold, no riddles to solve. It is true
that in the course of a long and busy career, I have
seen a variety of men and things, and had my share

14 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

of vicissitudes in the shifting drama of life ; still the
interest of my story must depend less upon the im
portance of my revelations than the sympathy which
naturally belongs to a personal narrative. I am per
fectly aware that in regard to many of the events I
shall have occasion to describe, many of the scenes I
shall portray, many of the characters I shall bring
upon the stage, my connection was only that of a
spectator; nevertheless, I shall hope to impart to
them a certain life and reality by arranging them
continuously upon the thread of my remembrances.

This, then, is my preface ; as the wind and weather
of my humor shall favor, I intend to proceed and
send you letter by letter as I write. After a few spe
cimens, I shall ask your opinion ; if favorable, I shall
go on, if otherwise, I shall abandon the enterprise.
I am determined, if I publish the work, to make you
responsible for my success before the public.

S. G. GOODRICH.

OOURBEVOIE, NEAR PARIS, JUNE, 1864.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 15

LETTER II.

Geography and Chronology — The Old Brown House — Grandfathers—
Ridgefield — The Meeting-House — Parson Mead — Keeper's Tavern — Lieu
tenant Smith — The Cannon-Sail.

MY DEAR 0******

It is said that geography and chronology are
the two eyes of history : hence, I suppose that in any
narrative which pretends to be in some degree histor
ical, the when and where, as well as the how. should
be distinctly presented. I am aware that a large part
of mankind are wholly deficient in the bump of lo
cality, and march through the world in utter indiffer
ence as to whether they are going north or south,
east or west. With these, the sun may rise and set as
it pleases, at any point of the compass ; but for my
self, I could never be happy, even in my bedroom
or study, without knowing which way was north.
You will expect, therefore, that in beginning my
story, I make you distinctly acquainted with the
place where I was born, as well as the objects which
immediately surrounded it. If, indeed, throughout
my narrative, I habitually regard geography and
chronology as essential elements of a story, you will
at least understand that it is done by design and not
by accident.

In the western part of the State of Connecticut, is

1(1 LKTTKKS BIOGRAPHICAL,

a small town by the name of Ridgefield.* This title
is descriptive, and indicates the general form and po
sition of the place. It is, in fact, a collection of hills,
rolled into one general and commanding elevation.
On the west is a ridge of mountains, forming the
boundary between the States of Connecticut and New
York ; to the south the land spreads out in wooded
undulations to Long Island Sound ; east and north, a
succession of hills, some rising up against the sky, and
others fading away in the distance, bound the horizon.
In this town, in an antiquated and rather dilapidated
house of shingles and clapboards, I was born on the
19th of August, 1793.

My father, Samuel Goodrich, was minister of the
First Congregational Church of that place, there be
ing then, no other religious society and no other cler
gyman in the town, except at Ridgebury — the remote
northern section, which was a separate parish. He
was the son of Elizur Goodrich, f a distinguished min
ister of the same persuasion, at Durham, Connecticut.
Two of his brothers were men of eminence — the late
Chauncey Goodrich of Hartford, and Elizur Goodrich
of New Haven. My mother was a daughter of John
Ely,^: a physician of Saybrook, whose name figures
not unworthily in the annals of the revolutionary
war.

I was the sixth child of a family of ten children,

»S«e Note I., p. 515. fSee Note II., p. 528. JSee Note III., p. 533.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 17

two of whom died in infancy, and eight of whom
lived to be married and settled in life. All but two
of the latter are still living. My father's annual salary
for the first twenty-five years, and during his minis
try at Eidgefield, averaged £120, old currency — that
is, about four hundred dollars a year : the last twenty-
five years, during which he was settled at Berlin, near
Hartford, his stipend was about five hundred dollars a
year. He was wholly without patrimony, and owing
to peculiar circumstances, which will be hereafter ex
plained, my mother had not even the ordinary outfit,
as they began their married life. Yet they so brought
up their family of eight children, that they all attained
respectable positions in life, and at my father's death,
he left an estate of four thousand dollars.* These
facts throw light upon the simple annals of a country
clergyman in Connecticut, half a century ago ; they
also bear testimony to the thrifty energy and wise fru
gality of my parents, and especially of my mother,
who was the guardian deity of the household.

Eidgefieldf belongs to the county of Fairfield, and is
now a handsome town, as well on account of its arti
ficial as its natural advantages — with some 2000 in
habitants. It is fourteen miles from Long Island
Sound' — of which its many swelling hills afford charm-

* One thousand of this was received, a short time before the death of
my parents, for the revolutionary services of my maternal grandfather.

t For an account of the present condition of Eidgefield, see letter to
C. A. Goodrich, page 300.

18 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

ing views. The main street is a mile in length, and
is now embellished with several handsome houses.
About the middle of it there is, or was, some forty
years ago, a white wooden meeting-house, which be
longed to my father's congregation. It stood in a
small grassy square, the favorite pasture of numerous
flocks of geese, and the frequent playground of school
boys, especially of Saturday afternoons. Close by the
front door ran the public road, and the pulpit, facing
it, looked out upon it, in fair summer Sundays, as I
well remember by a somewhat amusing incident.

In the contiguous town of Lower Salem, dwelt an
aged minister by the name of Mead. He was all his
life marked with eccentricity, and about these days
of which I speak, his mind was rendered yet more
erratic by a touch of paralysis. He was, however,
still able to preach, and on a certain Sunday, having
exchanged with my father, he was in the pulpit and
engaged in making his opening prayer. He had

already begun his invocation, when David P ,

who was the Jehu of that generation, dashed by
the front door, upon a horse — a clever animal of
which he was but too proud — in a full, round trot.
The echo of the clattering hoofs filled the church,
— which being of shingles and clapboards was sono
rous as a drum — and arrested the attention as well of
the minister as the congregation, even before the
rider had reached it. The minister was fond of horses
• — almost tc frailty — and from the first, his practiced

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 19

ear perceived that the sounds caine from a beast of
bottom. When the animal shot by the door, he could
not restrain his admiration, which was accordingly
thrust into the very marrow of his prayer : " We pray
thee, O Lord, in a particular and peculiar manner —
that's a real smart critter — to forgive us our manifold
trespasses, in a particular and peculiar manner," &c.

I have somewhere heard of a traveler on horseback,
who, just at eventide, being uncertain of his road,
inquired of a person he chanced to meet, the way to
Barkhamstead.

"You are in Barkhamstead now," was the reply.

" Yes, but where is the center of the place?"

" It hasn't got any center."

" Well — but direct me to the tavern." •

" There ain't any tavern."

"Yes, but the meeting-house?"

"Why didn't you ask that afore? There it is,
over the hill !"

So, in those days, in Connecticut — as doubtless in
other parts of New England — the meeting-house was
the great geographical monument, the acknowledged
meridian of every town and village. Even a place
without a center or a tavern, had its house of worship,
and this was its initial point of reckoning. It was,
indeed, something more. It was the town-hall, where
all public meetings were held, for civil purposes ; it
was the temple of religion, the ark of the covenant,
the pillar of society — religious, social, and moral —

20 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

to the people around. It will not be considered
strange then, if I look back to the meeting-house of
Ridgefield, as not only a most revered edifice — cov
ered with clapboards and shingles, though it was — but
as in some sense the starting point of my existence.
Here, at least, linger many of my most cherished re
membrances.

A few rods to the south of this, there was, and still
is, a tavern, kept in my day, by Squire Keeler. This
institution ranked second only to the meeting-house ;
for the tavern of those days was generally the center
of news, and the gathering place for balls, musical
entertainments, public shows, &c. ; and this particular
tavern had special claims to notice. It was, in the
first place, on the great thoroughfare of that day, be
tween Boston and New York, and had become a gen
eral and favorite stopping-place for travelers. It was,
moreover, kept by a hearty old gentleman, who united
in his single person the varied functions of publican,
postmaster, representative, justice of the peace, and
I know not what else. He besides had a thrifty
wife, whose praise was in all the land. She loved
her customers, especially members of Congress, gov
ernors, and others in authority, who wore powder
and white-top boots, and who migrated to and fro, in
the lofty leisure of their own coaches. She was in
deed a woman of mark, and her life has its moral.
She scoured and scrubbed and kept things going,
until she was seventy years old, at which time, du-

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 21

ring an epidemic, she was threatened with an attack.
She, however, declared that she had not time to be
sick, and kept on working, so that the disease passed
her by, though it made sad havoc all around her —
especially with more dainty dames, who had leisure
to follow the fashion.

Besides all this, there was an historical interest at
tached to Keeler's tavern, for deeply imbedded in the
northeastern corner-post, there was a cannon-ball,
planted there during the famous fight with the Brit
ish in 1777 . It was one of the chief historical mon
uments of the town, and was visited by all curious
travelers who came that way.* Little can the pres
ent generation imagine with what glowing interest,
what ecstatic wonder, what big round eyes, the rising
generation of Kidgefield, half a century ago, listened
to the account of the fight as given by Lieutenant
Smith, himself a witness of the event and a participa
tor of the conflict, sword in hand.

This personage, whom I shall have occasion again
to introduce to my readers, was, in my time, a justice

* Keeler's tavern appears to have received several cannon-shots
from the British as they marched through the street, these being; direct
ed against a group of Americans who had gathered there. A cannon-
ball came crashing through the building, and crossed a staircase just
as a man was ascending the steps. The noise and the splinters over
came him with fright, and he tumbled to the bottom, exclaiming —
" I'm killed, I'm a dead man !" After a time, however, he discovered
that he was unhurt, and thereupon he scampered away, and did not
Btop till he was safe in the adjoining town of Wilton.

22 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

of the peace, town librarian, and general oracle in
auch loose matters as geography, history, and law — •
then about as uncertain and unsettled in Kidgefield,
as is now the fate of Sir John Franklin, or the
longitude of Lilliput. He had a long, lean face;
long, lank, silvery hair, and an unctuous, whining
voice. With these advantages, he spoke with the
authority of a seer, and especially in all things re
lating to the revolutionary war.

The agitating scenes of that event, so really great
in itself, so unspeakably important to the country,
had transpired some five and twenty years before.
The existing generation of middle age, had all wit
nessed it; nearly all had shared in its vicissitudes.
On every hand there were corporals, sergeants, lieu
tenants, captains, and colonels — no strutting fops in
militia buckram, raw blue and buff, all fuss and feath
ers — but soldiers, men who had seen service and won
laurels in the tented field. Every old man, every
old woman had stories to tell, radiant with the vivid
realities of personal observation or experience. Some
had seen Washington, and some Old Put ; one was
at the capture of Ticonderoga under Ethan Allen ;
another was at Bennington, and actually heard old
Stark say, " Victory this day, or my wife Molly is a
widow !" Some were at the taking of Stony Point,
and others in the sanguinary struggle of Mon mouth.
One had witnessed the execution of Andre, and an
other had been present at the capture of Burgoyne.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 23

The time which had elapsed since these events, had
served only to magnify and glorify these scenes, as
well as the actors, especially in the imagination of
the rising generation. If perchance we could now
dig up, and galvanize into life, a contemporary of
Julius Caesar, who was present and saw him cross the
Eubicon, and could tell us how he looked and what
he said — we should listen with somewhat of the
greedy wonder with which the boys of Ridgefield list
ened to Lieutenant Smith, when of a Saturday after
noon, seated on the stoop of Keeler's tavern, he dis
coursed upon the discovery of America by Columbus,
Braddock's defeat, and the old French war — the latter
a real epic, embellished with romantic episodes of In
dian massacres and captivities. When he came to
the Revolution, and spoke of the fight at Ridgefield,
and punctuated his discourse with a present cannon-
ball, sunk six inches deep in a corner-post of the very
house in which we sat, you may well believe it was
something more than words — it was, indeed; " action,
action, glorious action !" How little can people nowa
days — with curiosity trampled down by the march of
mind and the schoolmaster abroad — comprehend or
appreciate these things !

24 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

LETTER III,

The first Remembered Eventr-ffigh Ridge— The Spy-glass— Sea and .
Mountain— The Peel— The Black Patch in the road.

MY DEAR 0******

You will perhaps forgive me for a little circum
locution, in the outset of my story. My desire is to
carry you with me in my narrative, and make you
see in imagination, what I have seen. This naturally
requires a little effort — like that of the bird in rising
from the ground, which turns his wing first to the
right and then to the left, vigorously beating the at
mosphere, in order to overcome the gravity which
weighs the body down to earth, ere yet it feels the
quickening impulse of a conscious launch upon the
air.

My memory goes distinctly back to the year 1797,
when I was four years old. At that time a great
event happened — great in the near and narrow hori
zon of childhood : we removed from the Old House
to the New House ! This latter, situated on a road
tending westward and branching from the main
street, my father had just built ; and it then appeared
to me quite a stately mansion and very beautiful, in
asmuch as it was painted red behind and white in
front — most of the dwellings thereabouts being of

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 25

the dun complexion which pine-boards and chestnut-
shingles assume, from exposure to the weather. Long
after — having been absent twenty years — I revisited
this my early home, and found it shrunk into a very
small and ordinary two-story dwelling, wholly di
vested of its paint, and scarcely thirty feet square.

This building, apart from all other dwellings, was
situated on what is called High Ridge — a long hill,
looking down upon the village, and commanding an
extensive view of the surrounding country. From
our upper windows, this was at once beautiful and
diversified. On the south, as I have said, the hills
sloped in a sea of undulations down to Long Island
Sound, a distance of some fourteen miles. This beau
tiful sheet of water, like a strip of pale sky, with the
island itself, more deeply tinted, beyond, was visible
in fair weather, for a stretch of sixty miles, to the
naked eye. The vessels — even the smaller ones,
sloops, schooners, and fishing craft — could be seen,
creeping like insects over the surface. With a spy
glass — and my father had one bequeathed to him by
Nathan Kellogg, a sailor, who made rather a rough
voyage of life, but anchored at last in the bosom
of the church, as this bequest intimates — we could
see the masts, sails, and rigging. It was a poor,
dim affair, compared with modern instruments of
the kind; but to me, its revelations of an element
which then seemed as beautiful, as remote, and as
mystical as the heavens, surpassed the wondera ot

VOL. I.— 2

26 LETfERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

the firmament as since disclosed to my mind by Lord
Rosses telescope.

To the west, at the distance of three miles, lay the
undulating ridge of hills, cliffs, and precipices already
mentioned, and which bear the name of West Moun
tain. They are some five hundred feet in height, and
from our point of view had an imposing appearance.
Beyond them, in the far distance, glimmered the
ghost-like peaks of the Highlands along the Hudson.
These two prominent features of the spreading land
scape — the sea and the mountain, ever present, yet
ever remote — impressed themselves on my young
imagination with all the enchantment which distance
lends to the view. I have never lost my first love.
Never, even now, do I catch a glimpse of either of
these two rivals of nature, such as I first learned
them by heart, but I feel a gush of emotion as if I had
suddenly met with the cherished companions of my
childhood. In after days, even the purple velvet of
the Apennines and the poetic azure of the Mediter
ranean, have derived additional beauty to my imagi
nation from mingling with these vivid associations of
my childhood.

It was to the New House, then, thus situated, that
we removed, as I have stated, when I was four years
old. On that great occasion, every thing available
for draft or burden was put in requisition ; and I was
permitted, or required, I forget which, to carry the
peel as it was then called, but which would now bear

HISTORICAL, ANKCDO'lICAL, ETC. 27

the title of shovel. Birmingham had not then been
heard of in those parts, or at least was a great way
off; so this particular utensil had been forged ex
pressly for my father by David Olmstead, the black
smith, as was the custom in those days. I recollect
it well, and can state that it was a sturdy piece of
iron, the handle being four feet long, with a hemi
spherical knob at the end. As I carried it along, I
doubtless felt a touch of that consciousness of power,
which must have filled the breast of Samson as he
bore oif the gates of Gaza. I recollect perfectly well
to have perspired under the operation, for the dis
tance of our migration was half a mile, and the season
was summer.

One thing more I remember : I was barefoot ; and
as we went up the lane which diverged from the
main road to the house, we passed over a patch of
earth, blackened by cinders, where my feet were hurt
by pieces of melted glass and metal. I inquired
what this meant, and was told that here a house was
burned down* by the British troops already men-

* Lossing says, in his Field Book, p. 409, vol. i. : "Having repulsed
the Americans, Tryon's army encamped upon high ground, about a mile
south of the Congregational church in Kidgefield, until daylight the next
morning, when they resumed their march toward Norwalk and Compo,
through Wilton. Four dwellings were burned in Eidgefield, and other
private property was destroyed, when the marauders struck their
tents."

The "high ground" here spoken of was High Eidge, the precise spot
where the house I have described, stood. Doubtless the vestiges here
mentioned were those of one of the four houses alluded to.

28 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

tioned — and then in full retreat — as a signal to the
ships that awaited them on the Sound where they
had landed, and where they intended to embark.

This detail may seem trifling, but it is not without
significance. It was the custom in those days for
boys to go barefoot in the mild season. I recollect
few things in life more delightful than, in the spring,
to cast away my shoes and stockings, and have
a glorious scamper over the fields. Many a time,
contrary to the express injunctions of my mother,
have I stolen this bliss, and many a time have I been
punished by a severe cold for my imprudence, if not
my disobedience. Yet the bliss then seemed a com
pensation for the retribution. In these exercises I
felt as if stepping on air — as if leaping aloft on wings.
I was so impressed with the exultant emotions thus
experienced, that I repeated them a thousand times
in happy dreams, especially in my younger days.
Even now, these visions sometimes come to me in
sleep, though with a lurking consciousness that they
are but a mockery of the past — sad monitors of the
change which time has wrought upon me.

As to the black patch in the lane, that too had its
meaning. The story of a house burned down by a
foreign army, seized upon my imagination. Every
time I passed the place, I ruminated upon it, and put
a hundred questions as to how and when it hap
pened. I was soon master of the whole story, and of
other similar events which had occurred all over the

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 29

country. I was thus initiated into the spirit of that
day, and which has never wholly subsided in our
country, inasmuch as the war of the Eevolution was
alike unjust in its origin, and cruel as to the manner
in which it was waged. It was, moreover, fought on
our own soil, thus making the whole people share,
personally, in its miseries. There was scarcely a
family In Connecticut whom it did not visit, either
immediately or remotely, with the shadows of mourn
ing and desolation. The British nation, to whom
this conflict was a foreign war, are slow to com
prehend the depth and universality of the popular
dislike of England, here in America. Could they
know the familiar annals of our towns and villages —
burned, plundered, sacked — with all the attendant
horrors, for the avowed purpose of punishing a na
tion of rebels, and those rebels of their own kith and
kin; could they be made acquainted with the deeds
of those twenty thousand Hessians, sent hither by
King George, and who have left their name in oirr
language as a word signifying brigands, who sell their
blood and commit murder, massacre, and rape for
hire : could they thus read the history of minds and
hearts, influenced at the fountains of life for several
generations — they would .perhaps comprehend, if
they could not approve, the habitual distrust of
British influence, which lingers among our people.
At least, thus instructed, and bearing in mind what
has since happened — another war with England, in

30 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

our own territory was the scene of conflict, to
gether with the incessant hostility of the British press
toward our manners, our institutions, our policy, our
national character, manifested in every form, and
from the beginning to the end — the people of Eng-
Lind might in some degree comprehend what always
strikes them with amazemerit, that love of England
is not largely infused into our national character and
habits of thought.

LETTER IV.

Eivcation in New England — The Burial Ground of the Suicide— West
Lane—OU Ghichester—The School- House— T he First Dai/ at School-
Aunt Delujld — Lewis Olmstead — A Return, after Twenty Years— Peter
Parley and Mother Goose.

MY DKAB 0******

The devotion of the New-England people to
education has been celebrated from time immemorial.
In this trait of character, Connecticut was not behind
the foremost of her sister puritans. Now, among the
traditions of the days to which my narrative refers,
there was one which set forth that the law of the land
assigned to persons committing suicide, a burial-place
where four roads met. I do not recollect that this
popular notion was ever tested in Ridgefield, for

HISTORICAL, ANF.CDOTICAL, KTC. 31

nobody in those innocent days, so far as I know,
became weary of existence. Be this as it may, it is
certain that the village school-house was often plant
ed in the very spot supposed to be the privileged
graveyard of suicides. The reason is plain enough :
the roads were always of ample width at the cross
ings, and the narrowest of these spaces was sufficient
for the little brown seminaries of learning. At the
same time — and this was doubtless the material point
— the land belonged to the town, and so the site
would cost nothing. Such were the ideas of village
education in enlightened New England half a cen
tury ago. Let those who deny the progress of socie
ty, compare this with the state of things at the pres
ent dajr.

About three-fourths of a mile from my father's
house, on the winding road to Lower Salem which I
have already mentioned, and which bore the name of
AVest Lane, was the school-house where I took my
first lessons, and received the foundations of my very
slender education. I have since been sometimes asked
where I graduated : my reply has always been, " at
West Lane." Generally speaking, this has ended the
inquiry, whether because my interlocutors have con
founded this venerable institution with "Lane Sem
inary," or have not thought it worth while to risk an
exposure of their ignorance as to the college in which
I was educated, I am unable to say.

The site of the school-house was a triangular piece

32 LK1TKRS BIOGRAPHICAL,

of land, measuring perhaps a rood in extent, and ly
ing, according to the custom of those days, at the
meeting of four roads. The ground hereabouts — as
everywhere else in Ridge field — was exceedingly sto
ny, and in making the pathway the stones had been
thrown out right and left, and there remained in
1 ii-aps on either side, from generation to generation.
All around was bleak and desolate. Loose, squat
stone walls, with innumerable breaches, inclosed the
adjacent fields. A few tufts of elder, with here and
there a patch of briers and pokeweed, flourished in
the gravelly soil. Not a tree, however, remained,
save an aged chestnut, at the western angle of the
spncp. This, certainly, had not been spared for
shade or ornament, but probably because it would
have cost too much labor to cut it down, for it was
of ample girth. At all events it was the oasis in our
desert during summer ; and in autumn, as the burrs
disclosed its fruit, it resembled a besieged city. The
boys, like so many catapults, hurled at it stones and
sticks, until every nut had capitulated.

Two houses only were at hand : one, surrounded
by an ample barn, a teeming orchard, and an enor
mous wood-pile, belonged to Granther Baldwin ; the
other was the property of " Old Chich-es-ter," an un
couth, unsocial being, whom everybody for some rea
son or other seemed to despise and shun. His house
was of stone and of one story. He had a cow, which
every year had a calf. He had a wife— filthy, un-

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 33

combed, and vaguely reported to have been brought
from the old country. This is about the whole his
tory of the man, so far as it is written in the authen
tic traditions of the parish. His premises, an acre in
extent, consisted of a tongue of land between two of
the converging roads. No boy, that I ever heard of,
ventured to cast a stone, or to make an incursion into
this territory, though it lay close to the school-house.
I have often, in passing, peeped timidly over the
walls, and caught glimpses of a stout man with a
drab coat, drab breeches, and drab gaiters, glazed
with ancient grease and long abrasion, prowling about
the house ; but never did I discover him outside of
his own dominion. I know it was darkly intimated
that he had been a tory, and was tarred and feathered
in the revolutionary war, but as to the rest he was a
perfect myth. Granther Baldwin was a character no
less marked, but I must reserve his picture for a
subsequent letter.

The school-house itself consisted of rough, unpaint-
ed clapboards, upon a wooden frame. It was plas
tered within, and contained two apartments — a little
entry, taken out of a corner for a wardrobe, and the
school-room proper. The chimney was of stone, and
pointed with mortar, which, by the way, had been dug
into a honeycomb by uneasy a'nd enterprising pen
knives. The fireplace was six feet wide and four feet
deep. The ilue was so ample and so perpendicular,

that the rain, sleet, and snow fell direct to the hearth.

o*

34 I.KTTERS — BIOGItAI'HICAL,

In winter, the battle for life with green fizzling
fuel, which was brought in sled lengths and cut up
by the scholars, was a stern one. Not unfrequently,
the wood, gushing with sap as it was, chanced to be
out, and as there was no living without fire, the ther
mometer being ten or twenty degrees below zero, the
school was dismissed, whereat all the scholars rejoiced
aloud, not having the fear of the schoolmaster before
their eyes.

It was the custom at this place, to have a woman's
school in the summer months, and this was attended
only by young children. It was, in fact, what we
now call a primary or infant school. In winter, a
man was employed as teacher, and then the girls and
boys of the neighborhood, up to the age of eighteen,
or even twenty, were among the pupils. It was not
uncommon, at this season, to have forty scholars
crowded into this little building.

I was about six years old when I first went to
school. My teacher was Aunt Delight, that is, De
light Benedict, a maiden lady of fifty, short and bent,
of sallow complexion and solemn aspect. I remem
ber the first day with perfect distinctness. I went
alone — for I was familiar with the road, it being that
which passed by our old house. I carried a little
basket, with bread and butter within, for my dinner,
the same being covered over with a white cloth.
When I had proceeded about half way, I lifted the
cover, and debated whether I would not eat niv din-

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 35

ner, then. I believe it was a sense of duty only that
prevented my doing so, for in those happy days, I
always had a keen appetite. Bread and butter were
then infinitely superior to pate de foie gras now; but
still, thanks to my training, I had also a conscience.
As my mother had given me the food for dinner, I
did not think it right to convert it into lunch, even
though I was strongly tempted.

I think we had seventeen scholars — boys and girls
— mostly of my own age. Among them were some
of my after companions. I have since met several of
them — one at Savannah, and two at Mobile, respect
ably established, and with families around them.
Some remain, and are now among the gray old men
of the town ; the names of others I have seen inscribed
on the tombstones of their native village. And the
rest — where are they ?

The school being organized, we were all seated
upon benches, made of what were called slabs — that
is. boards having the exterior or rounded part of the
log on one side : as they were useless for other pur
poses, these were converted into school-benches, the
rounded part down. They had each four supports,
consisting of straddling wooden legs, set into augur-
holes. Our own legs swayed in the air, for they
were too short to touch the floor. Oh, what an awe
fell over me, when we were all seated and silence
reigned around!

The children were called IP), one bv one. to Aunt

;><! I.KTlTiKS BIOGRAPHICAL,

Delight, who sat on a low chair, and required each,
as a preliminary, to make his manners, consisting of
a small sudden nod or jerk of the head. She then
placed the spelling-book — which was Dilworth's — be
fore the pupil, and with a buck-handled penknife
pointed, one by one, to the letters of the alphabet,
saying, " What's that ?" If the child knew his letters,
the "what's that?" very soon ran on thus:

"What's that?"

" A."

'"Stha-a-t?"

" B."

"Sna-a-a-t?"

" C."

"Sna-a-a-t?"

"D."

"Sna-a-a-t?"

"E." &c.

I looked upon these operations with intense curi
osity and no small respect, until my own turn came.
I went up to the school-mistress with some emotion,
and when she said, rather spitefully, as I thought,
"Make your obeisance!" my little intellects all fled
away, and I did nothing. Having waited a second,
gazing at me with indignation, she laid her hand on
the top of my head, and gave it a jerk which made
my teeth clash. I believe I bit my tongue a little ;
at all events, my sense of dignity was offended, and
when she pointed to A, and asked what it was, it

AUNT DELIGHT. Vol. 1, p. 3G.

HISTORICAL, ANKCDOTICAL, ETC. «7

swam before me dim and hazy, and as big as g Aill
moon. She repeated the question, but I was dogged
ly silent. Again, a third time, she said, "What's
that ?" I replied : " Why don't you tell me what it
is ? I didn't come here to learn you your letters !"
I have not the slightest remembrance of this, for my
brains were all a- woolgathering ; but as Aunt Delight
affirmed it to be a fact, and it passed into a tradition,
I put it in. I may have told this story some years
ago- in one of my books, imputing it to a fictitious
hero, yet this is its true origin, according to my rec
ollection.

What immediately followed I do not clearly remem
ber, but one result is distinctly traced in my memory.
In the evening of this eventful day, the school-mistress
paid my parents a visit, and recounted to their aston
ished ears this, my awful contempt of authority. My
father, after hearing the story, got up and went away ;
but my mother, who was a careful disciplinarian, told
me not to do so again ! I always had a suspicion
that both of them smiled on one side of their faces,
even while they seemed to sympathize with the old
petticoat and pen-knife pedagogue, on the other ; still
I do not affirm it, for I am bound to say, of both my
parents, that I never knew them, even in trifles, say
one thing while they meant another.

I believe I achieved the alphabet that summer, but
my after progress, for a long time, I do not remember.
Two vears later I went to the winter-school at the

38 LKTTERS BIOGRAPIIICAT..

same place, kept by Lewis Olmstead — a man who had
a call for plowing, mowing, carting manure, &c., in
summer, and for teaching school in the winter, with
a talent for music at all seasons, wherefore he became
chorister upon occasion, when, peradventure, Deacon
Hawley could not officiate. He was a celebrity in
ciphering, and 'Squire Seymour declared that he was
the greatest "arithmeticker" in Fairfield county. All
I remember of his person is his hand, which seemed
to me as big as Goliah's, judging by the claps of
thunder it made in my ears on one or two occa
sions.

The next step of my progress which is marked in
my memory, is the spelling of words of two syllables.
I did not go very regularly to school, but by the time
I was ten years old I had learned to write, and had
made a little progress in arithmetic. There was not
a grammar, a geography, or a history of any kind in
the school. Beading, writing, and arithmetic were the
only things taught, and these very indifferently — not
wholly from the stupidity of the teacher, but because
he had forty scholars, and the standards of the age re
quired no more than he performed. I did as well as
the other scholars, certainly no better. I had excel
lent health and joyous spirits; in leaping, running,
and wrestling I had but one superior of my age, and
that was Stephen Olmstead, a snug-built fellow, small
er than myself, and who, despite our rivalry, was
my chosen friend and companion, I seemed to live

mSTORICAL, ANECDOTIC AL, ETC. 39

for play: alas! how the world has changed since I
have discovered that we live to agonize over study,

work, care, ambition, disappointment, and then ?

As I shall not have occasion again, formally, to in
troduce this seminary into my narrative, I may as
well close my account of it now. After I had left
my native town for some twenty years, I returned
and paid it a visit. Among the monuments that,
stood high in my memory was the West Lane school -
house. Unconsciously carrying with me the meas
ures of childhood, I had supposed it to be at least
thirty feet square ; how had it dwindled when I
came to estimate it by the new standards I had
formed ! It was in all things the same, yet wholly
changed to me. What I had deemed a respectable
edifice, as it now stood before me was only a weather-
beaten little shed, which, upon being measured, I
found to be less than twenty feet square. It happen
ed to be a warm, summer day, and I ventured to enter
the place. I found a girl, some eighteen years old,
keeping a ma'am school for about twenty scholars,
some of whom were studying Parley's Geography.
The mistress was the daughter of one of my school
mates, and some of the boys and girls were grand
children of the little brood which gathered under the
wing of Aunt Delight, when I was an a-b-c-clarian.
None of them, not even the school- mistress, had ever
heard of me. The name of my father, as having min
istered unto the people of Ridgefield in some bygone

40 LKTTKRS BIOGIMrilJCAL,

age, was faintly traced in their recollection. As to
Peter Parley, whose geography they were learning — •
they supposed him some decrepit old gentleman hob
bling about on -a crutch, a long way off, for whom,
nevertheless, they hfd a certain affection, inasmuch
as he had made geography into a story-book. The
frontispiece-picture ^)f the old fellow, with his gouty
foot in a chair, threatening the boys that if they
touched his tender toe, he would tell them no more
stories — secured their respect, and placed him among
the saints in the calendar of their young hearts.
Well, thought I, if this goes on I may yet rival
Mother Goose !

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 4]

LETTER V,

The Joyous Nature of Childhood— Drawbacks — The Small-pox — The Pent
House — Our House a Hospital — Inoculation, — TJie Force of Early Im
pressions — Roger*? Pleasures of Memory — My First Whistle— My iSV.s--
ter's Recollections of a Sunday Afternoon — The Song of Kalewala —
Poetic Character of Early Life — Obligations to make Childhood Happy
— Beautiful Instinct of Mothers — Improvements in the Training of Chil
dren Suggested — 'Example of our Saviour — The Family a Divine Insti
tution — Christian Marriage.

MY DEAR C ******

I hope you will not imagine that I am thinking
too little of your amusement and too much of my
own, if I stop a few moments to note the lively rec
ollections. I entertain of the joyousness of my early
life, and not of mine only, but that of my playmates
and companions. In looking back to those early
days, the whole circle of the seasons seems to me
almost like one unbroken morning of pleasure.

I was of course subjected to the usual crosses in
cident to my age — those painful and mysterious vis
itations sent upon children — the measles, mumps,
whooping-cough, and the like — usually regarded as
retributions for the false step of our mother Eve in
the Garden ; but they have almost passed from my
memory, as if overflowed and borne away by the
general drift of happiness which filled my bosom.
Among these calamities, one monument alone re
mains — the small-pox. It was in the year 1798, as I

12 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

well remember, that my father's house was converted
into a hospital, or, as it was then called, a upest-
aouse," where, with some dozen other children, I
was inoculated for this disease, then the scourge and
terror of the world.

It will be remembered that Jenner published his
first memoir upon vaccination about this period, but
his discoveries were generally repudiated as mere
charlatanism, for some time after. There were regu
lar small-pox hospitals in different parts of New Eng
land, usually in isolated situations, so as not to risk
dissemination of the dreaded infection. One of these,
and quite the most celebrated of its time, had been
established by my maternal grandfather upon Duck
Island, lying off the present town of West Brook —
then called Pochaug — in Long Island Sound; but it
had been destroyed by the British during the Revolu
tion, and was never revived. There was one upon the
northern shore of Long Island, and doubtless many
others ; but as it was often inconvenient to send chil
dren to these places, several families would unite and
convert one house, favorably situated, into a tempo
rary hospital, for the inoculation of such as needed
it. It was in* pursuance of this custom that our hab-
ita:ion was selected, on the present occasion, as the
scene of this somewhat awful process.

There were many circumstances which contributed
to impress this event upon my mind. In the first
place, there was a sort of popular horror of the " pest-

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 43

house," not merely because of the virulent nature of
small-pox, but because of a common superstitious
feeling in the community — though chiefly confined
to the ignorant classes — that voluntarily to create
the disease, was contrary to nature, and a plain tempt
ing of Providence. In their view, if death ensued, it
was esteemed little better than murder. Thus, as our
house was being put in order for the coming scene,
and as the subjects of the fearful experiment were
gathering in, a gloom pervaded all countenances, and
its shadow naturally fell upon me.

The lane in which our house was situated was fenced
up, north and south, so as to cut off all intercourse
with the world around. A flag was raised, and upon
it were inscribed the ominous words |5ir" "SMALL-
pox." My uncle and aunt, from New Haven, arrived
with their three children.* Half a dozen others of
the neighborhood were gathered together, making,
with our own children, somewhat over a dozen
subjects for the experiment. When all was ready,
like Noah and his family we were shut in. Pro
visions were deposited in a basket at a point agreed
upon, down the lane. Thus, we were cut off from
the world, excepting only that Dr. Perry, the physi
cian, ventured to visit us in our fell dominion.

As to myself, the disease passed lightly over, leav-

* Elizur Goodrich, now of Hartford ; Professor Channcey A. Good
rich, iiow of Yale College; and the late Mrs. Nancy Ellsworth, wifo
of II. L. Ellsworth, former Commissioner of Patents, at Washington.

44 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

ing, however, its indisputable autographs upon va
rious parts of my body.* Were it not for these
testimonials, I should almost suspect that I had es
caped the disease, for I only remember, among my
symptoms and my sufferings, a little headache, and
the privation of salt and butter upon my hasty-pud
ding. My restoration to these privileges I distinctly
recollect : doubtless these gave me more pleasure
than the clean bill of health which they implied.
Several of the patients suffered severely, and among
them my brother and one of my cousins. The latter,
in a recent conversation upon the subject, claimed
the honor of two thousand pustules, and was not a
little humbled when, by documentary evidence, they
were reduced to two hundred.

Yet, while it is evident that I was subjected to
the usual drawbacks upon the happiness of child
hood, these were, in fact, so few as to have passed
away from my mind, leaving in my memory only
the general tide of life, seeming, as I look back, to
have been one bright current of enjoyment, flowing

* It may not be useless to state, in passing, that in 1S50, one of my
family, who had been vaccinated thirty years before, was attacked by
varioloid. It being deemed advisable that all of MS should be vacci
nated, I was subjected to the process, and this took such effect upon
me that I had a decided fever, with partial delirium, for two days ; thus
showing my accessibility to the infection of small-pox. Here then was
evidence that both vaccination and inoculation are not perpetual guar
antees asrainst this disease — a fact, indeed, now fully admittea by the
medical faculty. The doctrine is, that the power of these preventives
becomes, at last, worn out, and therefore prudence dictates repet*
tion of vaccination after about ten vears.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 45

amid flowers, and all in the company of companions
as happy and j ubilant as myself. By a beautiful al
chemy of the heart, the clouds of early life appear after
ward to be only accessories to the universal spring
tide of pleasure. Even this dark episode of the pest-
house, stands in my memory as rather an interesting
event, partly because there was something strange
and romantic about it, and partly because it is the
office of the imagination to gild with sunshine even
the clouds of the past.

In all this, my experience was in no way peculiar :
I was but a representation of childhood in all coun
tries and ages. I do not forget the instances in
which children are subjected to misfortune, nor the
moral obliquity which is in every childish heart.
But making due allowance for the shadows thus cast
upon the spring of life, its general current is such as
I have described.

It has been oracularly said that the child is father
of the man. If it is meant that men fulfill the prom
ises of childhood, it is not true ; for so far as my ob
servation goes, not one child in five, when grown up,
is altogether what was expected of him. If it is meant
that the influences operating upon children ordinarily
determine their future fate, it is doubtless correct ;
though I may remark, by the way, that it is rather an
obscure mode of saying what had been happily ex-
presed by Solomon, thousands of years ago.

But why is it that early impressions are thus wing-

46 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHIC A I,,

ed with fate ? Partly because of the plastic character
of young life, and partly also because of the vivid
ness, sincerity, and intensity of its conceptions. And
these, be it remembered, are always pleasurable, un
less some extraneous incident or accident intervenes
to thwart the tendency of nature. The heart of child
hood as readily inclines to flow in a current of enjoy
ment, as water to run down hill. Hence it is, that in
a majority of cases, or at least in a large proportion
of cases, the remembrances of childhood are like those
I have described — not only vivid and glowing, but
cheerful and joyous.

As to this fullness and intensity of youthful im
pressions, every mind can furnish examples : all true
poets recognize it ; most celebrate it. Who can not
remember particular places — such as hillsides, val
leys, lawns ; particular things — as rocks, trees, brooks ;
particular times and seasons — which have become
fixed in the mind, and consecrated in the heart for
all future time, by association with the ardent and
glowing thoughts or experiences of childhood ? Often
a single incident, one momentary impression, is in
delibly stamped as upon a die of steel. Let me
take an example in my own childish remembrance.
There was a willow-tree near my father's house,
which was graven on my memory by a particular
circumstance : from this my brother cut a branch
and made- me a whistle of it — the first I remember
to have possessed. The form of this tree, and all

HISTORICAL, AJN'ECDOTIOAL, KTC. 47

the surrounding objects, as well as the day oJ the
week and the season of the year, have lived from
that hour in rny memory. . In a similar way, I re
member a multitude of other familiar objects, all
suggesting similar associations and recollections.
Rogers, in his beautiful poem, the "Pleasures of
Memory," recognizes this vividness of early impres
sions, in supposing a person, after an absence of
many years, to visit the site of the school-house of
his early days — now in decay and ruin. As he passes
over the place,

" Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear,
Some little friendship form'd in childhood here ;
And not the lightest leaf but trembling teems
With golden visions and romantic dreams."

I was recently conversing with my sister M

upon this subject, and entertaining the views I have
here expressed, she recited to me, as illustrative of
her experience, some lines she had composed several
years ago, but which she had not thought worth
committing to paper. I requested a copy, which
she furnished me, and I here insert them. They
are designed to express the thoughts suggested by
the recollection of a particular family scene, oi a Sun
day afternoon, which, for some reason or other, had
been indelibly impressed upon her young mind.

48 LETTEKS BIOGKAl'HICAL,

A REMEMBERED SABBATH EVENING OF MY CHILDHOOD.

Oh ! let me weave one song to-night,

For the spell is on me now ;
And thoughts come thronging thick and bright,
All fresh and rosy with the light

Of childhood's early glow.

They hurry from out the forgotten past,
Through the gathered mist of years —
From the halls of Memory, dim and vast,
Where they have buried lain in the shadows cast
By recent joy or fears.

Say not mine is a thoughtful brow,

Furrow'd by care and pain ;
My childhood's curls seem over it now,
As they lay there years and years ago —

And I am a child again.

And I am again in my childhood's home,

Which looks on the distant sea ;
And the loved and lost — they come — they come !
To the old but well-remember'd room,

And I sit by my father's knee.

'Tis the Sabbath evening hour of prayer ;

And in the accustom'd place
Is my Father, with calm, benignant air :
Each brother and sister too is there,

And my Mother, with stately grace.

And with the rest comes a dark-eyed child —

The youngest of all is she,
Bringing her friend and' playmate wild
In her dimpled arms, and with warnings mild

Checking ite sportive glee.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 4S}

And well could my young heart sympathize

With all I saw her do :

With the thought which danced in those laughing eyes,
Veil'd by a look demure and wise, —

That her kitten should join the service too.

And though glad! came at my father's call,

My thoughts had much to do
With the whispering leaves of the poplar tall,
And the checker'd light on the white wash'd wall,

And the pigeons' loving coo.

And I watch'd the banish'd kitten's bound,

As it frolick'd to and fro ;
And wish'd the spyglass could be found,
That I might see on the distant Sound

The tall ships come and go.

Through the open door my stealthy gaze

Sought the shadows, long and still ;
When sudden the sun's departing rays
Set the church windows all a-blaze,

On Greenfield's* distant hill.

But new and wondering thoughts awoke,

Like morning from the night,
As, with deeply reverent voice and look,
My father read from the Holy Book,

By that Sabbath's waning light.

He read of Creation's early birth —

This vast and wondrous frame —
How " in the beginning" the Heavens and Earth
From the formless void were order'd forth,

And how they obedient came.

* From our windows we could not only see the church spire of Green
field Hill, but the spires of several other churches in the far distano«-

VOL. T.— 3

50 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

How Darkness lay like a heavy pall

On the face of the silent deep,
Till, answering to the Almighty call,
Light came, and spread, and waken'd all

From that deep and brooding sleep.

Oh ! ever as sinks the Sabbath son

In the glowing summer skies,
My father's voice, my mother's look,
Blent with the words of the Holy Book,

Upon my memory rise.

For then were traced on the mystic scroll

Of deathless imagery,
Deep hidden within my secret sou],
Which eternity only will fully unroll —

Some lines of my destiny !

The impressibility of youth, and the depth and
earnestness of its conceptions, are beautifully sug
gested in the opening passage of the famous Finnish
poem, the epic song of Kalewala. Th? lines are as
follows :

" These the words we have received—
These, the songs we do inherit,
Are of Wainamoimen's girdle —
From the forge of Ilmarinen,
Of the sword of Kankomieli,
Of the bow of Yonkanhainen,
Of the borders of the North-fields,
Of the plains of Kalewala.

" These my father sang aforetime,
As he chipped the hatchet's handle ;
These were taught me by my mother

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 51

As she twirled her flying spindles,
When. I on the floor was sporting,
Round her knee was gayly dancing,
As a pitiable weakling —
As a weakling small of stature.
Never failed these wondrous stories,
Told of Sampo, told of Louhi :
Old grew Sampo in the stories ;
Louhi vanished with her magic ;
In the songs Wiunen perished :
In the play died Lemminkainen.

" There are many other stories,
Magic sayings which I learned,
Which I gathered by the wayside,
Culled amid the heather-blossoms,
Rifled from the bushy copses.
From the bending twigs I pluck'd them,
Plucked them from the tender grasses,
When a shepherd-boy I sauntered,
As a lad upon the pastures,
On the honey-bearing meadows,
On the gold-illumined hillock,
Following black Muurikki
At the side of spotted Kimmo.

" Songs the very coldness gave me,
Music found I in the rain-drops ;
Other songs the winds brought to me,
Other songs, the ocean-billows ;
Birds, by singing in the branches,
And the tree-top spoke in whispers."

Thus in early life all nature is poetry : childhood
and youth, are indeed one continuous poem. In most
cases this ecstasy of emotion and conception passes

52 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

away without our special notice. A large portion of
it dies out from the memory, but passages are writ-
ten upon the heart in lines of light and power, that
can not be effaced. These become woven into the
texture of the soul, and give character to it for time-
perchance for eternity. The whole fountain of the
mind, like some mineral spring, reaching to the in
terior elements of the earth— is imbued with ingre
dients which make its current sweet or bitter forever.
Pray excuse me for making a few suggestions
upon these facts— even if they seem like sermon
izing. If early life is thus happy in its general
current— in its nature and tendency— surely it is
well and wise for those who have the care of chil
dren, to see in it the design of the Creator, and to
follow the lead He has thus given. If God places our
offspring in Eden, let us not causeless or carelessly
take them out of it. It is certainly a mistake to con
sider childhood and youth— the first twenty years of
life— as only a period of constraint and discipline.
This is one-third part of existence— to a majority, it
is more than the half of life. It is the only portion
which seems made for unalloyed enjoyment. It is
the morning, and all is sunshine : the after part of
the day is necessarily devoted to toil and care, and
that too amid clouds, and at last, beneath the shadows
of approaching night. Let us not, then, presume to
mar this birthright of bliss.

You will not suspect me to mean that government,

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 53

discipline, instruction, are to be withheld. These
are indispensable, but they should all be reconciled
with the happy flow of life. This is, in fact, often
attained by the instinct of mothers, whom God has
given grace to combine government and indulgence,
discipline and encouragement in such happy mixture
and measure, as to check the weeds, and foster the
fruits, of the soul. It is not always done : it is
not done perfectly, perhaps, in a single case. Yet I
can not doubt that — despite all the difficulties which
poverty, and ignorance, and sin impose upon the
world — a majority of mothers do in fact temper their
conduct to their children, so as, on the whole, to
exercise, in a large degree, a saving, redeeming, re
generating influence upon them.

Nevertheless, there is room for improvement. There
are too many persons who look upon children as rep
robate — too many who regard the rod as the rule, not
the exception. Some imagine that the whole busi
ness of education lies in study, and that to cram the
mind is to enrich it. Some, indeed, are indifferent,
and think even less of the moral growth and improve
ment of their children, than they do of the growth
and improvement of their cattle. I think there are
still others, who dislike children — who are annoyed
by their presence, impatient of their little caprices,
and regardless of their virtues ; who only see their
foibles, and would always confine them to the nur
sery. Even the Disciples of Christ seem not to

54 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

have been superior to this common feeling. The an
swer of our Saviour was at once a rebuke and a les
son. " Suffer the little children to come unto me,
and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of
heaven." There is profound theology — there is deep,
touching, divine humanity in this. Children are
not reprobate: they are docile and teachable, with
thoughts and emotions so pure as to breathe of heav
en. They are cheerful, happy ; their presence was
healthful, even to the " Man of Sorrows and acquaint
ed with grief!"

It is in this last aspect that I particularly wish to
present this subject. Children, no doubt, impose bur
dens upon their parents. No words can express the
weight of care which often presses upon the heart of
the mother — in the deep watches of the night, in mo
ments of despondency, in periods of feeble health, in
the pinches of poverty, in the trying, dark days of the
spirit — as to the future prospects of her offspring.
Anxieties for their welfare, temporal and eternal,
often seem to wring the very heart, drop by drop, of
its blood. And yet, all things considered, children
are the great blessing of the household. They im
pose cares, but they elevate all hearts around them.
They cultivate unselfish and therefore purifying feel
ings : they cheer the old, by reviving recollections of
early life : they excite the young, by kindly fellow
ship and emulous sympathy. Without children, the
world would be like a forest of old oaks, gnarled,

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 55

groaning, and fretful in the desolation of winter. For
myself, I can say, that children are the best of play
mates when I am well with the world, and they are
the best of medicine, when I am sick and weary of it.
It is children, here in the family, that are thus a
blessing : not the children of a community, as in
Sparta, for there they were educated to crime. In
every community, where they are not the charge of
the parents, and especially of the mother, they would,
I think, infallibly become reprobates. The family
seems to me a divine institution. Marriage, sanc
tioned by religion, is its bond : children its fruition.
No statesman, no founder of a religion, no reform
er — after innumerable attempts — has given the world
a substitute for Christian Marriage and that insti
tution which follows — the Family. It is, up to this
era of our world, the anchor of society, the fountain
of love and hope and dignity in man and human
society. Those who attempt to overturn it, are, T
think, working against the Almighty.

5(5 TJ:TTKKS — BIOGRAPHICAL.

LETTER VI.

The Inner Life of Tottms— Physical Aspect and Character of Eidgejkld—
Effects of Cultivation vjton Climate— Energetic Character of the First
Settlers of Ridgejield— Classes f>f the People as to Descent — Their Oc
cupations — Newspapers — Position of my Father's Family — Management
of the Farm — Domestic Economy — Mechanical Professions — Bttf and
Pork—Tht Thanksgioing Turkey— Bread— Fuel— Flint and Steel-
Friction Matches — Prof. Sittiman — Pyroligntous Acid — Maple Sugar —
/?«m — Dram-drinking — Tansey Bitters— Brandy — Whisky — The First
".SWU" — Wine — Dr. £.'* Sacramental Wine — Domestic Products —
Bread and Butter — Linen and Woolen Cloth — Cotton — flax and
Wool — The LittU Spinning-toheel — Sally St. John and the Rat-trap —
Manufacture of Wool— Molly Gregory and Faying Tunes — The Tanner
and Hatter — The Revolving Slioetnaker — Whipping the Cat — Carpets
— Coverlids and (Juiltings — Village Bees and Raisings — The Mieting-
Jtou.se that was destroyed by Lightning — Deaconing a Hymn.

MY PEAK 0******

It will be no new suggestion to a reflecting man
like yourself, that towns, as well as men, have their
inner and their outer life. There is a striking differ
ence in one respect, between the two subjects ; the
age of man is set at threescore years and ten, while
towns seldom die. The pendulum of human life
vibrates by seconds, that of towns by centuries. The
history of cities, the focal points of society, may be
duly chronicled even to their minutest incidents ;
but cities do not constitute nations ; the mass of al
most every country is in the smaller towns and vil
lages. The outer life of these is vaguely jotted down

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIC AL, ETC. 57

in the census, and reported in the Gazetteers; but
their inner life, which comprises the condition and
progress of the community at large, is seldom writ
ten. We may see glimpses of it in occasional ser
mons, in special biographies, in genealogical memo
randa. We- may take periods of fifty years, and
deduce certain general inferences from statistical ta
bles of births and deaths ; but still, the living men
and manners as they rise in a country town, are sel
dom portrayed. I am therefore tempted to give you
a rapid sketch of Ridgefield and of the people — how
they lived, thought, and felt, at the beginning of the
present century. It will serve as an example of
rustic life throughout New England, fifty years ago,
and it will moreover enable me, by contrasting this
state of things with what I found to exist many years
after, to show the steady, though silent, and perhaps
unnoted progress of society among us.

From what I have already said, you will easily
imagine the prominent physical characteristics and
aspect of my native town — a general mass of hills,
rising up in a crescent of low mountains, and com
manding a wide view on every side. The soil was
naturally hard, and thickly sown with stones of ev
ery size, from the immovable rock to the pebble.
The fields, at this time, were divided by rude stone
walls, and the surface of most was dotted with
gathered heaps of stones and rocks, thus clearing
spaces for cultivation, yet leaving a large portion of

8*

58 LKTTEKS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

the land still encumbered with its original curse.
The climate was severe, on account of the elevation
of the site, yet this was perhaps fully compensated
by a corresponding salubrity.

I may add, in passing, that the climate of New
England generally, has been mitigated within the last
fifty years by the changes which civilization has
wrought on the surface of the country — the felling of
forests, the draining of marshes, the cultivation of
the soil, and other similar causes — to an extent not
generally appreciated. A person who has not made
observations for a long period of time, is hardly
aware of these mutations — effected by a growing and
industrious agricultural community, even in the stern
er features of nature. This may, however, be easily
appreciated, if one will compare a district of country
covered with its original forests, and converted into
one vast sponge by its thick coating of weeds, shrubs,
mosses, and decayed wood — the accumulations of cen-
turies — thus making the hills and valleys a universal
swamp, hoarding the rains of summer, and treasuring
the snows of winter — with the same district, cleared
of its trees, its soil turned up by the plow to the
sun, and its waste waters carried off by roads and
drains. Such a process over a whole country, is evi
dently sufficient to affect its temperature, and ma
terially to modify its climate. I know many tracts
of land, which, fifty years ago, were reeking with
moisture, their surface defying cultivation bv llio

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 59

plow, and their roads impassable a great part of
the year by means of the accumulation of water in
the soil — now covered with houses, gardens, and corn
fields, and all the result of the slow but transform
ing processes bestowed by man upon every country
which he subjects to cultivation. Nature is like man
himself — rude in his aspect and severe in his temper,
until softened and subdued by civilization. Our New
England, two centuries ago, was, like its inhabitants,
bleak and wild to the view, harsh and merciless in
its climate : the change of these is analogous to the
change which has been effected by substituting towns
and villages for wigwams, and Christian man for the
sa\ age.

Yet despite the somewhat forbidding nature of the
soil and climate of Eidgefield, it may be regarded as
presenting a favorable example of New England
country life and society, at the beginning of the pres
ent century. The town was originally settled by a
sturdy race of men, mostly the immediate descendants
of English emigrants, some from Norwalk and some
from Milford. Their migration over an intervening
space of savage hills, rocks, and ravines, into a ter
ritory so forbidding, and their speedy conversion of
this into a thriving and smiling village, are witnesses
to their courage and energy. The names which they
bore, and which have been disseminated over the
Union — Benedicts, Olmsteads, Northups, Keelers,
Hoyts, Nashes, Dauceys, Meads, Hawleys — are no

(JO LK'l'lKKS IJIOGUAPHICAL,

less significant of the vigor and manliness of the
stock to which they belonged.

At the time' referred to, the date of my earliest
recollection, the society of Eidgefield was exclusively
English, and the manners and customs such as might
have been expected, under the modifying influence
of existing circumstances. I remember but one Irish
man, one negro, and one Indian in the town. The
first had begged and blarneyed his way from Long
Island, where he had been wrecked ; the second was
a- liberated slave; and the last was the vestige of a
tribe, which dwelt of yore in a swampy tract, the
name of which I have forgotten. We had a pro
fessed beggar, called Jagger, who had served in the
armies of more than one of the Georges, and insisted
upon crying " God save the king !" even on the 4th
of July, and when openly threatened by the boya
with a gratuitous ride on a rail. We had one set
tled pauper, Mrs. Yabacomb, who, for the first dozen
years of my life, was my standard type for the witch
of Endor.

Nearly all the inhabitants of Eidgefield were farm
ers, with the few mechanics that were necessary to
carry on society in a somewhat primeval state.
Even the persons not professionally devoted to agri
culture, had each his farm, or at least his garden and
home lot, with his pigs, poultry, and cattle. The pop
ulation might ha'v, been 1200, comprising two hun
dred families. All could read and write, but in point

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 61

of fact, beyond the Almanac and Watts' Psalms and
Hymns, their literary acquirements had little scope..
There were, I think, four newspapers, all weekly,
published in the State : one at Hartford, one at New
London, one at New Haven, and one at Litchfield.
There were, however, not more than three subscribers
to all these in our village. We had, however, a pub
lic library of some two hundred volumes, and what
was of equal consequence — the town was on the road
which was then the great thoroughfare, connecting
Boston with New York, and hence it had means of
intelligence from travelers constantly passing through
the place, which kept it up with the march of events.
If Kidgefield was thus rather above the average of
Connecticut villages in its range of civilization, I sup
pose the circumstances and modes of life in my fa
ther's family, were somewhat above those of most
people around us. We had a farm of forty acres,
with four cows, two horses, and some two dozen
sheep, to which may be added a stock of poultry, in
cluding a flock of geese. My father carried on the
farm, besides preaching two sermons a week, and at
tending to other parochial duties — visiting the sick,
attending funerals, solemnizing marriages, &c. He
personally laid out the beds and planted the garden ,
he pruned the fruit-trees, and worked with the men
in the meadow in the press of haying-time. He
generally cut the corn-stalks himself, and always
shelled the ears ; the latter being done by drawing

62 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

them across the handle of the frying-pan, fastened
over a wash-tub. I was sometimes permitted, as an
indulgence, to spell my father in this, which was
a favorite employment. With these and a few other
exceptions, our agricultural operations were carried
on by hired help.

It may seem that I should have passed over these
somewhat commonplace passages in my father's life,
but my judgment teaches me otherwise. There is
good example and good argument in behalf of these
labors of the garden and the field, even in a profes
sional man. Not to cite Achilles and Abraham, who
slaughtered their own mutton, and Cinciunatus, who
held his own plow, it was the custom in New Eng
land, at the time I speak of, for country lawyers,
physicians, clergymen — even Doctors of Divinity, to
partake of these homespun labors. In the library
of the Atheneum at Hartford, is a collection of Al
manacs, formerly belonging to John Cotton Smith —
one of the most elegant and accomplished men of his
time — a distinguished member of Congress, Judge of
the Superior Court, and several years Governor of the
State. In looking it over, I observed such notes as
the following, made with his own hand: "cut my
barley," "began rye harvest," "planted field of po
tatoes," &c.; thus showing his personal attention to,
if not his participation in, the affairs of the farm.*

* See ;i further notice of Gov. Smith, page 89. vol ii

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 63

Nearly all the judges of the Superior Court occasion
ally worked in the field, in these hearty old federal
times.

Whether these facts may be connected with others,
which I am about to state, is a question I leave for
doctors to determine. Certain it is that at this period
professional men had good health and good diges
tion : no clergyman was known to have bronchitis.
I seldom heard of dyspepsia, bodily or mental, during
the existence of the Charter of Charles II. There is
a pretty common notion in the United States, that
Jefferson infused a general demagogism into this
country, which percolated through the blood and
bone of society, and set everybody in some way
or other, to flattering the masses. It is certain that
about this time, not only the politician, but the
preacher, the lawyer, the editor, the author, all took
to talking, speech- making, lecturing in a new way, in
a new sense — that is, so as to seduce the multitude.
Thus was ushered in the Age of Talk, which soon
grew into a rage. The mania kept pace with democ
racy, and democracy with the mania ; and at last,
at the end of this national flatulence, the world grew
light-headed, and forth came a spawn of isms, which
no man can number. Under the influence of this
advent of new notions, some took to cold water and
some to mint-juleps ; some to raw vegetables and some
to hot slings. All agonized in one way or another
Every thing grew intense : politics swam with pota-

K4- LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

tions ; religion got mixed up with transcendentalism ;
until at last, professors took to table-turning and
judges to spirit-rappings. Now I do not say that all
this is a sequence of logical deductions : that spirit
ualism is to be fathered upon Thomas Jefferson : what
I affirm is, that demagogism and democracy, dyspep
sia and transcendentalism, vegetarianism and spirit
ualism, have all come np, one after another, since old
federalism went down ! If it is any object to cure
mankind of these vapors, I recommend that we all go
back to the habits of other days, in which ministers,
judges and governors wrought occasionally in the field.
But I return to Eidgefield. The household, as
well as political, economy of these days lay in this,
that every family lived as much as possible within
itself. Money was scarce, wages being about fifty
cents a day, though these were generally paid in meat,
vegetables, and other articles of use — seldom in
money. There was not a factory of any kind in the
place.* There was a butcher, but he only went
from house to house to slaughter the cattle and swine
of his neighbors. There was a tanner, but he only
dressed other people's skins: there was a clothier,
but he generally fulled and dressed other people's
cloth. All this is typical of the mechanical opera-

* I recollect, as tin after-thought, one exception. There was shatter
who supplied the town ; but he generally mode hats to order, and usu
ally in exchange for the skins of foxes, rabbits, muskrats, and other
chance peltry. I frequently purchased my powder and shot from the
proceeds of skins which I sold him.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 65

tions of the place. Even dyeing blue a portion of
the wool, so as to make linsey-woolsey for short
gowns, aprons, and blue-mixed stockings — vital ne
cessities in those days — was a domestic operation.
During the autumn, a dye-tub in the chimney corner
— thus placed so as to be cherished by the genial heat
— was as familiar in all thrifty houses, as the Bible
or the back-log. It was covered with a board, and
formed a cosy seat in the wide-mouthed fireplace,
especially of a chill evening. When the night had
waned, and the family had retired, it frequently be
came the anxious seat of the lover, who was per
mitted to carry on his courtship, the object of his
addresses sitting demurely in the opposite corner.
Some of the first families in Connecticut, I suspect,
could their full annals be written, would find their
foundations to have been laid in these chimney-corner
courtships.

Being thus exposed, this institution of the dye-tub
was the frequent subject of distressing and exciting
accidents. Among the early, indelible incidents in
my memory, happening to all vigorous characters,
turning this over is one of the most prominent. Noth
ing so roused the indignation of thrifty housewives,
[for besides the ignominious avalanche of blue upon
the floor, there was an infernal appeal made to an
other sense than that of sight. Every youth of parts
was laden with experience in this way. I have a
vague impression that Philip N . . . ., while courting

66 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

H . . . . M . . ., was suspended for six weeks, for one
of these mischances. If it was not he, it was some
other spark of that generation.

To this general system of domestic economy our
family was not an exception. Every autumn, it was
a matter of course that we had a fat ox or a fat cow,
ready for slaughter. One full barrel was salted
down ; the hams were cut out, slightly salted, and
hung up in the chimney for a few days, and thus be
came "dried" or "hung beef," then as essential as
the staff of life. Pork was managed in a similar way,
though even on a larger scale, for two barrels were
indispensable. A few pieces, as the spare-ribs, &c.,
were distributed to the neighbors, who paid in kind
when they killed their swine.

Mutton and poultry came in their turn, all from
our own stock, save that on Thanksgiving-day some
of the magnates gave the parson a turkey. This,
let me observe, in those good old times, was a bird
of mark ; no timid, crouching biped, with downcast
head and pallid countenance, but stalking like a lord,
and having wattles red as a "banner bathed in
slaughter." His beard, or in modern parlance, his
goat, without the aid of gum and black-ball, was so
long, shining, and wiry, that it might have provoked
the envy of his modern human rival in foppery.
There was, in fact, something of the genius of the
native bird still in him, for though the race was near
ly extinct, a few wild flocks lingered in the remote

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 67

woods. Occasionally in the depth of winter, and along
to the early spring, these stole to the barnyard, and
held communion with their civilized compatriots. Se
vere battles ensued among the leaders for the favors
of the fair, and as the wild cocks always conquered,
the vigor of the race was kept up.

Our bread was of rye, tinged with Indian meal.
Wheat bread was reserved for the sacrament and
company ; a proof not of its superiority, but of its
scarcity and consequent estimation. All the vegeta
bles came from our garden and farm. The fuel was
supplied by our own woods — sweet-scented hickory,
snapping chestnut, odoriferous oak, and reeking, fiz
zling ash — the hot juice of the latter, by the way,
being a sovereign antidote for the ear-ache. These
were laid in huge piles, all alive with sap, on the tall,
gaunt andirons. You might have thought you heard
John Rogers and his family at the stake, by their plain-
tive simmerings. The building of a fire was a real
architectural achievement, favored by the wide yawn
ing fireplace, and was always begun by daybreak.
There was first a back-log, from fifteen to four and
twenty inches in diameter and five feet long, imbed
ded in the ashes ; then came a top log ; then a fore
stick; then a middle stick, and then a heap of kin
dlings, reaching from the bowels down to the bottom.
A-top of all was a pyramid of smaller fragments, art
fully adjusted, with spaces for the blaze.

Friction matches had not then been sent from the

68 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

regions of brimstone, to enable every boy or beggar to
carry a conflagration in his pocket. If there were no
coals left from the last night's fire, and none to be
borrowed from the neighbors, resort was had to flint,
steel, and tinder-box. Often, when the flint was dull,
and the steel soft, and the tinder damp, the striking of
fire was a task requiring both energy and patience.
If the edifice on the andirons was skilfully construct
ed, the spark being applied, there was soon a furious
stinging smoke, which Silliman told the world some
years after, consisted mainly of pyroligneous acid.
Nevertheless, in utter ignorance of this philosophical
fact, the forked flame soon began to lick the sweat
ing sticks above, and by the time the family had
arisen, and assembled in the " keeping room," there
was a roaring blaze, which defied even the bitter
blasts of winter — and which, by the way, found abun
dant admittance through the crannies of the doors
and windows. To feed the family fire in those days,
during the severe season, was fully one man's work.

But to go on with our household history. Sugar
was partially supplied by our maple-trees. These
were tapped in March, the sap being collected, and
boiled down in the woods. This was wholly a do
mestic operation, and one in which all the children
rejoiced, each taking his privilege of an occasional
sip or dip, from the period of the limpid sap, to the
granulated condiment. Nevertheless, the chief sup.
ply of sugar was from the West Indies.

MAKIXG MAPLE SUGAR. Vol. 1, p. 68.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOT1CAL, ETC. G9

Bum was largely consumed, but our distilleries had
scarcely begun. A half-pint of it was given as a
matter of course to every day-laborer, more particu
larly in the summer season. In all families, rich or
poor, it was offered to male visitors as an essential
point of hospitality, or even good manners. Wo
men — I beg pardon — ladies, took their schnapps, then
named "Hopkins' Elixir," which was the most deli
cious and seductive means of getting tipsy that has
been invented. Crying babies were silenced with hot
toddy, then esteemed an infallible remedy for wind
on the stomach. Every man imbibed his morning
dram, and this was esteemed temperance. There is
a story of a preacher about those days, who thus lec
tured his parish : "I say nothing, my beloved breth
ren, against taking a little bitters before breakfast,
and after breakfast, especially if you are used to it.
What I contend against is this dramming, dramming,
dramming, at all hours of the day. There are some
men who take a glass at eleven o'clock in the fore
noon, and at four in the afternoon. I do not pur
pose to contend against old established customs, my
brethren, rendered respectable by time and author
ity ; but this dramming, dramming, is a crying sin in
the land."

However absurd this may seem now, it was not
then very wide of the public sentiment. Huxham's
tincture was largely prescribed by the physicians.
Tansey bitters were esteemed a sort of panacea,

70 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

moral as well as physical, for even the morning
prayer went up heavily without it. The place of
Stoughton — for this mixture was not then invented
— was supplied by a tuft of tansey which Providence
seemed to place somewhere in every man's garden
or home lot.

As to brandy, I scarcely heard of it, so far as I
can recollect, till I was sixteen years old, and as ap
prentice in a country store, was called upon to sell
it. Cider was the universal table beverage. Cider
brandy and whisky were soon after evoked from
the infernal caldron of evil spirits. I remember, in
my boyhood, to have seen a strange, zigzag tin tube,
denominated a " still," belonging to one of our neigh
bors, converting, drop by drop, certain innocent
liquids into the infernal fire-water. But, in the
days I speak of, French brandy was rather confined
to the houses of the rich, and to the drug shop.

Wine in our country towns was then almost ex
clusively used for the sacrament. I remember to
have heard a story of these days, which is suggestive.

The Rev. Dr. G of J. ... had a brother who

had lived some years in France, and was familiar with
the wines of that country. On a certain occasion, he
dined with his clerical brother, who after dinner gave
him a glass of this beverage. The visitor having
tasted it, shrugged his shoulders, and made wry
faces.

" Where did you get this liquor, brother ?" said he.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOtlCAL, ETC. 71

" Why it is some that was left over from the sacra
ment, and my deacons sent it to me."

" I don't wonder, brother," was the reply, " that
your church is so small, now that I know what wine
you give them."

There was, of course, no baker in Ridgefield ; each
family not only made its own bread, cakes, and pies,
but their own soap, candles, butter, cheese, and the
like. The fabrication of cloth, linen, and woolen
was no less a domestic operation. Cotton — that is,
raw cotton — was then wholly unknown among us at
the North, except as a mere curiosity, produced some
where in the tropics ; but whether it grew on a plant,
or an animal, was not clearly settled in the public
mind.

We raised our own flax, rotted it, hackled it,
dressed it, and spun it. The little wheel, turned by
the foot, had its place, and was as familiar as if it
had been a member of the family. How often have
I seen my mother, and my grandmother too, sit down
to it — though this, as I remember, was for the purpose
of spinning some finer kind of thread — the burden of
the spinning being done by a neighbor of ours, Sally
St. John. By the way, she was a good-hearted, cheer
ful old maid, who petted me beyond my deserts. I
grieve to say, that I repaid her partiality by many
mischievous pranks, for which I should have been
roundly punished, had not the good creature, like
charity, covered a multitude of sins. I did indeed

72 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

get filliped for catching her foot one day in a steel-
trap, but I declare that I was innocent of malice pre
pense, inasmuch as I had set the trap for a rat in
stead of the said Sally. Nevertheless, the verdict
was against me, not wholly because of my misdemea
nor in this particular instance, but partly upon the
general theory that if I did not deserve punishment
for that, I had deserved it, and should deserve it for
something else, and so it was safe to administer it.

.The wool was also spun in the family, partly by
my sisters, and partly by Molly Gregory, daughter
of our neighbor, the town carpenter. I remember
her well as she sang and spun aloft in the attic. In
those days, church singing was one of the fine arts —
the only one, indeed, which flourished in Ridgefield,
except the music of the drum and fife. The choir
was divided into four parts, ranged on three sides ol
the meeting-house gallery. The tenor, led by Dea
con Hawley, was in front of the pulpit, the base to
the left, and the treble and counter to the right* —
the whole being set in motion by a pitch-pipe, made
by the deacon himself, who was a cabinet-maker.
Molly took upon herself the entire counter, for she
had excellent lungs. The fuging tunes, which
had then run a little mad, were her delight, and of
all these, Montgomery was the general favorite.
In her solitary operations aloft, I have often heard

* This separation of a choir is seldom pit rticed now in our churches,
Out was in general use at this period.

HISTORICAL, ASECDOTICAL, ETC. 73

her send forth from the attic windows, the droning
hum of her wheel, with fitful snatches of a hymn, in
which the base began, the tenor followed, then the
treble, and finally, the counter — winding up with ir
resistible pathos. Molly singing to herself, and all un
conscious of eavesdroppers, carried on all the parts,
thus :

Base. " Long for a cooling —
Tenor. " Long for a cooling —
Treble. " Long for a cooling —
Counter. " Long for a cooling stream at hand,
And they must drink or die 1"

The knitting of stockings was performed by the
female part of the family in the evening, and espe
cially at tea parties. According to the theory of so
ciety in that golden age, this was a moral as well as
an economical employment, inasmuch as Satan was
held to find

" Some mischief still
For idle hands to do."

Satan, however, dodged the question, for if the
hands were occupied, the tongue was loose ; and it
was said that in some families, he kept them well oc
cupied with idle gossip. At all events, pianos, chess
boards, graces, battledoors, and shuttlecocks, with
other safety-valves of the kind, were only known by
the hearing of the ear, as belonging to some such
Vanity Fair as New York or Boston.

VOL. I.— *

74 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

The weaving of cloth — linen, as well as woolen —
was performed by an itinerant workman, who came
to the house, put up his loom, and threw his shuttle,
till the season's work was done. The linen was
bleached, and made up by the family ; the woolen
cloth was sent to the fuller to be dyed and dressed.
Twice a year, that is, in the spring and autumn, the
tailor came to the house and fabricated the semi
annual stock of clothes for the male members — this
being called " whipping the cat."

Mantuamakers and milliners came in their turn, to
fit out the female members of the family. There
was a similar process as to boots and shoes. We
sent the hides of the cattle — cows and calves we had
killed — to the tanner, and these came back in assorted
leather. Occasionally a little morocco, then wholly
a foreign manufacture, was bought at the store, and
made up for the ladies' best shoes. Amby Benedict,
the circulating shoemaker, upon due notice, came
with his bench, lapstone, and awls, and converted
some little room into a shop, till the household was
duly shod. He was a merry fellow, and threw in
lots of singing gratis. He played all the popular
airs upon his lapstone — as hurdygurdies and hand-
organs do now.

Carpets were then only known in a few families,
and were confined to the keeping-room and parlor.
They were all home-made : the warp consisting of
woolen yarn, and the woof of lists and old woolen

HI8TOKICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 15

cloth, cut into strips, and sewed together at the
ends. Coverlids generally consisted of quilts, made
of pieces of waste calico, elaborately sewed together
in octagons, and quilted in rectangles, giving the
whole a gay and rich appearance. This process
of quilting generally brought together the women of
the neighborhood, married and single, and a great
time they had of it — what with tea, talk, and stitch
ing. In the evening, the beaux were admitted, so
that a quilting was a real festival, not unfrequently
getting young people into entanglements which mat
rimony alone could unravel.

I am here reminded of a sort of communism or so
cialism which prevailed in our rural districts long
before Owen or Fourier was born. If some old Arca
dian of the golden age had written his life, as I now
write mine, I have no doubt that it would have ap
peared that this system existed then and there, and
that these pretended inventors were mere imitators. At
all events, at Bidgefield we used to have " stone bees,"
when all the men of a village or hamlet came togeth
er with their draft cattle, and united to clear some
patch of earth which had been stigmatized by nature
with an undue visitation of stones and rocks. All
this labor was gratuitously rendered, save only that
the proprietor of the land furnished the grog. Such
a meeting was always of course a very social and
sociable affair. When the work was done, gymnas
tic exercises — such as hopping, wrestling, and foot-

76 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

racing — took place among the athletic young men
My father generally attended these celebrations as a
looker-on. It was indeed the custom for the clergy
of the olden time, to mingle with the people, even
in their labors and their pastimes. For some reason
or other, it seemed that things went better when the
parson gave them his countenance. I followed my
father's example, and attended these cheerful and
beneficial gatherings. Most of the boys of the town
did the same. I may add that, if I may trust the tra
ditions of Bidgefield, the cellar of our new house was
dug by a bee in a single day, and that was Christ
mas.

House-raising and barn-raising, the framework be
ing always of wood, were done in the same way by a
neighborly gathering of the people. I remember an
anecdote of a church-raising, which I may as well
relate here. In the eastern part of the State, I think
at Lyme, or Pautipaug, a meeting-house was destroyed
by lightning. After a year or two, the society mus
tered its energies, and raised the frame of another on
the site of the old one. It stood about six months,
and was then blown over.

In due time, another frame was prepared, and the
neighborhood gathered together to raise it. It was now
proposed by Deacon Hart that they should commence
the performances by a prayer and hymn, it having
been suggested that perhaps the want of these pious
preliminaries on former occasions, had something to

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 77

do with the calamitous results which attended them.
"When all was ready, therefore, a prayer was made,
and the chorister of the place deaconed* the first
two lines of the hymn thus :

" If God to build the house deny,
The builders work in vain."

This being sung, the chorister completed the verse
thus, adapting the lines to the occasion :

" Unless the Lord doth shingle it,
It will blow down agin !"

1 must not fail to give you a portrait of one of our
village homes — of the middle class — at this era. I

take as an example that of our neighbor, J B . . . .

who had been a tailor, but having thriven in his
affairs, and now advanced to the age of some fifty
years, had become a farmer — such a career, by the
way, being common at the time ; for the prudent
mechanic, adding to his house and his lands, as his
necessities and his thrift dictated, usually ended as
the proprietor of an ample house, fifty to a hundred
acres of land, and an ample barn, stocked with half

* Deaconing a hymn or psalm, was adopted on occasions when there
was but a single book, or perhaps but one or two books, at hand — a
circumstance more common fifty years ago, when singing-books were
scarce, than nt present, when books of all kinds render food for the
mind as cheap and abundant as that for the body. In such cases, the
leader of the choir, or the deacon, or some other person, read a verse,
or perhaps two lines of a hymn, which being sung, other stanzas were
read, and then sung in the same way.

78 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

a dozen cows, one or two horses, a flock of sheep, and
a general assortment of poultry.

The home of this, our neighbor B , was situ
ated on the road leading to Salem, there being a wide
space in front occupied by the wood-pile, which in
these days was not only a matter of great importance,
but of formidable bulk. The size of the wood-pile
was indeed in some sort an index to the rank and
condition of the proprietor. The house itself was a
low edifice, forty feet long, and of two stories in
front; the rear being what was called a breakback,
that is, sloping down to a height of ten feet ; this low
part furnishing a shelter for garden tools, and various
household instruments. The whole was constructed
of wood ; the outside being of the dun complexion
assumed by unpainted wood, exposed to the weather
for twenty or thirty years, save only that the roof
was tinged of a reddish-brown by a fine moss that
found sustenance in the chestnut shingles.

To the left was the garden, which in the produc
tive season was a wilderness of onions, squashes, cu
cumbers, beets, parsnips, and currants, with the never-
failing tansey for bitters, horseradish for seasoning,
and fennel for keeping old women awake in church
time. A sprig of fennel was in fact the theological
smelling-bottle of the tender sex, and not unfre-
quently of the men, who, from long sitting in the
sanctuary — after a week of labor in the field — found
themselves too strongly tempted to visit the forbidden

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 79

land of Nod — would sometimes borrow a sprig of
fennel, and exorcise the fiend that threatened their
spiritual welfare.

The interior of the house presented a parlor with
plain, whitewashed walls, a home-made carpet upon
the floor, calico curtains at the window, and a mirror
three feet by two against the side, with a mahogany
frame : to these must be added eight chairs and a
cherry table, of the manufacture of Deacon Hawley.
The keeping or sitting^ room had also a carpet, a
dozen rush-bottom chairs, a table, &c. The kitchen
was large — fully twenty feet square, with a fireplace
six feet wide and four feet deep. On one side, it
looked out upon the garden, the squashes and cu
cumbers climbing up and forming festoons over the
door ; on the other a view was presented of the or
chard, embracing first a circle of peaches, pears, and
plums, and beyond^a wide-spread clover field, embow
ered with apple-trees. Just by, was the well, with its
tall sweep, the old oaken bucket dangling from the
pole. The kitchen was in fact the most comfortable
room in the house ; cool in summer, and perfumed
with the breath of the garden and the orchard : in
winter, with its roaring blaze of hickory, it was a
cosy resort, defying the bitterest blasts of the season.
Here the whole family assembled at meals, save only
when the presence of company made it proper to
serve tea in the parlor.

The chambers were all without carpets, and the

80 LE'ITERS — BIOGKAPHICAL,

furniture was generally of a simple character. The
beds, however, were of ample size, and well filled
with geese feathers, these being deemed essential for
comfortable people. I must say, by the way, that
every decent family had its flock of geese, of course,
which was picked thrice a year, despite the noisy re
monstrances of both goose and gander. The sheets
of the bed, though of home-made linen, were as white
as the driven snow. Indeed, the beds of this era
showed that sleep was a luxury, well understood and
duly cherished by all classes. The cellar, extending
under the whole house, was a vast receptacle, and by
no means the least important part of the establish
ment. In the autumn, it was supplied with three
barrels of beef and as many of pork, twenty barrels of
cider, with numerous bins of potatoes, turnips, beets,
carrots, and cabbages. The garret, which was of
huge dimensions, at the same time displayed a laby
rinth of dried pumpkins, peaches, and apples — hung
in festoons upon the rafters, amid bunches of summer
savory, boneset, fennel, and other herbs — the floor
being occupied by heaps of wool, flax, tow, and the
like.

The barn corresponded to the house. It was a low
brown structure, having abundance of sheds built on
to it, without the least regard to symmetry. I need
not say it was well stocked with hay, oats, rye, and
buckwheat. Six cows, one or two horses, three dozen
sheep, and an ample supply of poultry, including two

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 81

or three broods of turkeys, constituted its living
tenants.

The farm I need not describe in detail, but the
orchard must not be overlooked. This consisted of
three acres, covered, as I have said, with apple-trees,
yielding abundantly — as well for the cider-mill as for
the table, including the indispensable winter apple
sauce — according to their kinds. In the spring, an
apple orchard is one of the most beautiful objects
in the world. No tree or shrub presents a bloom
at once so gorgeous, and so fragrant. Just at this
time it is the paradise of the bees and the birds — the
former filling the air with their gentle murmurs, and
the latter celebrating their nuptials with all the frolic
and fun of a universal jubilee. How often have
I ventured into Uncle Josey's ample orchard at this
joyous season, andj^ood entranced among the robins,
blackbirds, woodpeckers, bluebirds, jays, and orioles,
— all seeming to me like playmates, racing, cha
sing, singing, rollicking, in the exuberance of their
joy, or perchance slyly pursuing their courtships, or
even more slyly building their nests, and rearing
their young.

The inmates of the house I need not describe, fur
ther than to say that Uncle Josey himself was a little
deaf, and of moderate capacity, yet he lived to good
account, for he reared a large family, and was gath
ered to his fathers at a good old age, leaving be
hind him a handsome estate, a fair name, and a safe

82 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

example. His wife, who spent her early life at ser
vice in a kitchen, was a handsome, lively, efficient
woman, mother of a large and prosperous family, and
a universal favorite in the neighborhood. She is
still living in a green old age, with several genera
tions of descendants, who call down blessings on her
name.

This is the homely picture of a Ridgefield farmer's
home, half a century ago. There were other estab
lishments more extensive and more sumptuous in the
town, as there were others also of an inferior grade.
Yet this was a fair sample of the houses, barns, and
farms of the middle class — the majority of the peo
ple. Since then the times have changed, as I shall
hereafter show : the general standard of living has in
all things improved; but still the same elements of
thrift, economy, piety, prudence, and progress are
visible on every side. Uncle Josey's house is still
standing ; its exterior shows no coat of paint, but
the interior displays Kidderminster carpets — made at
Enfield or Lowell — mahogany bureaus, gilt looking-
glasses, and a small well-filled mahogany bookcase.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 83

LETTER VII.

Domestic Habits of the People — Meals — Servants and Masters — Dress —
Amusements — Festivals — Marriages — Funeral-s — Dancing — Winter
Sports — Up and Dawn — My Two Grandmothers.

R C******

You will gather from my preceding letter, some
ideas of the household industry and occupations of
country people in Connecticut, at .the beginning of
the present century. Their manners, in other re
spects, had a corresponding stamp of homeliness and
simplicity.

In most families, the first exercise of the morning
was reading the Bible, followed by a prayer, at which
all were assembled, including the servants and help
ers of the kitchen and the farm. Then came the
breakfast, which was a substantial meal, always in
cluding hot viands, with vegetables, apple-sauce, pick
les, mustard, horseradish, and various other condi
ments. Cider was the common drink for laboring
people; even children drank it at will. Tea was
common, but not so general as now. Coffee was al
most unknown. Dinner was a still more hearty and
varied repast — characterized by abundance of garden
vegetables ; tea was a light supper.

The day began early : breakfast was had at six in
summer and seven in winter ; dinner at noon — the

£4 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

work people in the fields being called to their meals
by a conch-shell, usually winded by some kitchen
Triton. The echoing of this noon-tide horn, from
farm to farm, and over hill and dale, was a species of
music which even rivaled the popular melody of drum
and fife. Tea — the evening meal, usually took place
about sundown. In families where all were laborers,
all sat at table, servants as well as masters — the food
being served before sitting down. In families where
the masters and mistresses did not share the labors of
the household or the farm, the meals of the domes
tics were had separate. There was, however, in those
days a perfectly good understanding and good feeling
between the masters and servants. The latter were
not Irish ; they had not as yet imbibed the pie
heiau envy of those above them, which has- since so
generally embittered and embarrassed American do
mestic life. The terms democrat and aristocrat had
not got into use: these distinctions, and the feelings
now implied by them, had indeed no existence in
the hearts of the people. Our servants, during all
my early life, were of the neighborhood, generally
the daughters of respectable farmers and mechanics,
and respecting others, were themselves respected and
cherished. They were devoted to the interests ol
the family, and were always relied upon and treated
as friends. In health, they had the same food ; in
sickness, the same care as the masters and mistresses
or their children. This servitude implied no degra-

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIC AT,, >ITC. 85

dation, because it did not degrade the heart or man
ners of those subjected to it. It was never thought
of as a reproach to a man or woman — in the stations
they afterwards filled — that he or she had been out
to service. If servitude has since become associated
with debasement, it is only because servants them
selves, under the bad guidance of demagogues, have
lowered their calling by low feelings and low man
ners.

At the period of my earliest recollections, men of
all classes were dressed in long, broad-tailed coats,
with huge pockets, long waistcoats, and breeches.
Hats had low crowns, with broad brims — some so
wide as to be supported at the sides with cords. The
stockings of the parson, and a few others, were of
silk in summer and worsted in winter ; those of the
people were generally of wool, and blue and gray
mixed. Women dressed in wide bonnets — some
times of straw and sometimes of silk : the gowns
were of silk, muslin, gingham, &c. — generally close
and short-waisted, the breast and shoulders being
covered by a full muslin kerchief. Girls ornamented
themselves with a large white Vandyke. On the
whole, the dress of both men and women has greatly
changed. As to the former, short, snug, close-fitting
garments have succeeded to the loose latitudinarian
coats of former times : stove-pipe hats have followed
broad brims, and pantaloons have taken the place of
breeches. With the other sex— little French bon-

80 I.KTTKRS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

nets, set round with glowing flowers, flourish in the
plaee of the plain, yawning hats of yore ; then it was
as much an effort to make the waists short, as it is
now to make them long. As to the hips, which now
make so formidable a display — it seems to me that
in the days I allude to, ladies had none to speak of.

The amusements were then much the same as at
present — though some striking differences may be
noted. Books and newspapers — which are now dif
fused even among the country towns, so as to be in the
hands of all, young and old — were then scarce, and
were read respectfully, and as if they were grave mat-
lei's, demanding thought and attention. They were
not toys and pastimes, taken up every day, and by
everybody, in the short intervals of labor, and then
hastily dismissed, like waste paper. The aged sat
down when they read, and drew forth their specta
cles, and put them deliberately and reverently upon
the nose. These instruments were not as now, little
tortoise-shell hooks, attached to a ribbon, and put off
and on with a jerk ; but they were of silver or steel, sub
stantially made, and calculated to hold on with a firm
and steady grasp, showing the gravity of the uses to
which they were devoted. Even the young ap
proached a book with reverence, and a newspaper
with awe. How the world has changed !

The two great festivals were Thanksgiving and
1 training-day" —the latter deriving, from the still lin
gering spirit of the revolutionary war, a decidedly

IIISTOniCAL, ANKCDOTTCAL, ETC. 87

martial character. The marching of the troops, and
the discharge of gunpowder, which invariably closed
the exercises, were glorious and inspiring mementoes
of heroic achievements, upon many a bloody field.
The music of the drum and fife resounded on every
side. A match between two rival drummers always
drew an admiring crowd, aud was in fact one of the
chief excitements of the great day.

Tavern haunting — especially in winter, when there
was little to do — for manufactures had not then sprung
up to give profitable occupation, during this inclement
season — was common, even with respectable farmers.
Marriages were celebrated in the evening, at the house
of the bride, with a general gathering of the neigh
borhood, and usually wound off by dancing. Every
body went, as to a public exhibition, without invita
tion. Funerals generally drew large processions,
which proceeded to the grave. Here the minister
always made an. address, suited to the occasion. If
there was any thing remarkable in the history of the
deceased, it was turned to religious account in the
next Sunday's sermon. Singing meetings, to practice
church music, were a great resource for the young, in
winter. Dances at private houses were common, and
drew no reproaches from the sober people present.
Balls at the taverns were frequented by the young:
the children of deacons and ministers attended, though
the parents did not. The winter brought sleighing,
skating, and the usual round of indoor sports. In

88 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

general, the intercourse of all classes was kindly and
considerate — no one arrogating superiority, and yet
no one refusing to acknowledge it, where it existed.
You would hardly have noticed that there was a
higher and a lower class. Such there were certainly,
for there must always and everywhere be the strong
and the weak, the wise and the foolish — those of supe
rior and those of inferior intellect, taste, manners, ap
pearance, and character. But in our society, these
existed without being felt as a privilege to one which
must give offence to another. The feuds between Up
and Down, which have since disturbed the whole fab
ric of society, had not then begun.

It may serve, in some degree, to throw light upon
the manners and customs of this period, if I give you
a sketch of my two grandmothers. Both were wid
ows, and were well stricken in years, when they
came to visit us at Ridgefield — about the year 1803
or 4. My grandmother Ely was of the old regime
— a lady of the old school, and sustaining the char
acter in her upright carriage, her long, tapering
waist, and her high-heeled shoes. The costumes of
Louis XV.'s tune had prevailed in New York and
. Boston, and even at this period they still lingered
there, in isolated cases, though the Revolution had
generally exercised a transforming influence upon the
toilet of both men and women. It is curious enough
that at this moment — 1855 — the female attire of a
century ago is revived ; and in every black-eyed,

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 89

stately old lady, dressed in black silk, and showing
her steel-gray hair beneath her cap, I can now see
semblances of this, my maternal grandmother.

My other grandmother was in all things the oppo
site : short, fat, blue -eyed, practical, utilitarian. She
was a good example of the country dame — hearty,
homespun, familiar, full of strong sense and practical
energy. I scarcely know which of the two I liked the
best. The first sang me plaintive songs ; told me sto
ries of the Revolution — her husband, Col. Ely, hav
ing had a large and painful share in its vicissitudes;
she described Gen. Washington, whom she had seen ;
and the French officers, Lafayette, Rochambeau, and
others, who had been inmates of her house. She told
me tales of even more ancient date, and recited poetry,
generally consisting of ballads, which were suited to
my taste. And all this lore was commended to me
by a voice of inimitable tenderness, and a manner at
once lofty and condescending. My other grandmoth
er was not less kind, but she promoted my happiness
and prosperity in another way. Instead of stories,
she gave me bread and butter: in place of poetry,
she fed me with apple-sauce and pie. Never was
there a more hearty old lady : she had a firm con
viction that children must be fed, and what she be
lieved, she practiced.

90 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

LETTER VIII.

Interest in Mechanical Devices — Agriculture — My Parents Design me for
a Carpenter — The Dawn of the Age of Invention — Fulton, &c. — Per
petual Motion — Whittling — Gentlemen — St. Paul, King Alfred, Dan
iel Webster, &c. — Desire of Improvement, a New England Character
istic^- Hunting — The Bow and Arrow — The Fowling-piece — Pigeons —
Anecdote of Parson, M . . . . — Aud-ubon and Wilson — The Passenger
Pigeon — Sporting Rambles — The Blacksnake and Screech-owl — Fishing
— Advantages of Country Life and Country Training.

MY DEAR C;******

I can recollect with great vividness the interest
I took in the domestic events I have described, and
which circled with the seasons in our household at
this period. I had no great interest in the operations
of the farm. Plowing, hoeing, digging, seemed to
me mere drudgery, imparting no instruction, and af
fording no scope for ingenuity or invention. I had
not yet learned to contemplate agriculture in its eco
nomical aspect, nor had my mind yet risen to that
still higher view of husbandry, which leads to a sci
entific study of the soil and the seasons, and teaches
man to become a kind of second Providence to those
portions of the earth which are subjected to his care.
The mechanical operations I have described, as well
as others — especially those of the weaver and carpen
ter, on the contrary, stimulated my curiosity, and ex
cited my emulation. Thus I soon became familiar with
the tools of the latter, and made such windmills,

HISTORICAL, ANRCDOTICAL, ETC. 91

kites, and perpetual motions, as to extort the admi
ration of my playmates, and excite the respect of my
parents, so that they seriously meditated putting me
apprentice to a carpenter. Up to the age of fourteen,
I think this was regarded as my manifest destiny. I
certainly took great delight in mechanical devices,
and became a celebrity on pine shingles with a pen
knife. It was a day of great endeavors among all
inventive geniuses. Fulton was struggling to develop
steam navigation, and other discoverers were thunder
ing at the gates of knowledge, and seeking to unfold
the wonders of art as well as of nature. It was, in fact,
the very threshold of the era of steamboats, railroads,
electric telegraphs, and a thousand other useful dis
coveries, which have since changed the face of the
world. In this age of excitement, perpetual motion
was the great hobby of aspiring mechanics, as it
has been indeed ever since. I pondered and whit
tled intensely on this subject before I was ten years
old. Despairing of reaching my object by mechan
ical means, I attempted to arrive at it by magnetism,
my father having bought me a pair of horse-shoe
magnets in one of his journeys to New Haven. I
should have succeeded, had it not been a principle
in the nature of this curious element, that no sub
stance will instantly intercept the stream of attraction.
I tried to change the poles, and turn the north against
the south ; but there too nature had headed me, and
of course I failed.

92 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

A word, by the way, on the matter of whittling.
This is generally represented as a sort of idle, fidgety,
frivolous use of the penknife, and is set down by amia
ble foreigners and sketchers of American manners as
a peculiar characteristic of our people. No portrait of
an American is deemed complete, whether in the sa
loon or the senate-chamber, at home or on the high
way, unless with penknife and shingle in hand. I
feel not the slightest disposition to resent even this,
among the thousand caricatures that pass for traits
of American life. For my own part, I can testify
that, during my youthful, days, I found the pen
knife a source of great amusement and even of in
struction. Many a long winter evening, many a dull,
drizzly day, in spring and summer and autumn — some
times at the kitchen fireside, sometimes in the attic,
amid festoons of dried apples, peaches, and pumpkins ;
sometimes in a cosy nook of the barn ; sometimes in
the shelter of a neighboring stone- wall, thatched over
with wild grape-vines — have I spent in great ecstasy,
making candle-rods, or some other simple article of
household goods, for my mother, or in perfecting
toys for myself and my young friends, or perhaps
in attempts at more ambitious achievements. This
was not mere waste of time, mere idleness and
dissipation. I was amused : that was something.
Some of the pleasantest remembrances of my child
hood carry me back to the scenes I have just indi
cated, when in happy solitude, absorbed in my me-

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 93

chanical devices, I still listened to the rain pattering
upon the roof, or the wind roaring down the chimney
— thus enjoying a double bliss — a pleasing occupa
tion, with a conscious delight in my sense of security
from the rage of the elements without.

Nay more — these occupations were instructive:
my mind was stimulated to inquire into the mechan
ical powers, and my hand was educated to mechanical
dexterity. Smile, if you please — but reflect ! Why
is it, that we in the United States surpass all other
nations, in the excellence of our tools of all kinds ?
Why are our axes, knives, hoes, spades, plows, the
best in the world? Because — in part, at least —
we learn, in early life, this alphabet of mechanics the
oretical and practical — whittling. Nearly every head
and hand is trained to it. We know and feel the
difference between dull and sharp tools. At ten
years old, we are all epicures in cutting instruments.
This is the beginning, and we go on, as a matter of
course, toward perfection. The inventive head, and
the skillful, executing hand, thus become general,
national, characteristic among us.

I am perfectly aware that some people, in this
country as well as others, despise labor, and espe
cially manual labor, as ungenteel. There are people
in these United States who scoff at New England on
account of this general use of thrifty, productive
industry, among our people as a point of education.
The gentleman, say these refined persons, must not

94 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

work. It is not easy to cite a higher example of a
gentleman — in thought, feeling, and manner — than
St. Paul, and he was a tent-maker : King Alfred was
a gentleman, and he could turn his hand to servile
labor. But let me refer to New England examples.
Daniel Webster was a gentleman, and he began with
the scythe and the plow ; Abbot Lawrence was a
gentleman, and he served through every grade, an
apprenticeship to his profession ; Timothy Dwight
was a gentleman, and was trained to the positive la
bors of the farm ; Franklin, the printer ; Sherman,
the shoemaker; Ellsworth, the teamster — all were gen
tlemen, and of that high order which regards truth,
honor, manliness, as its essential basis. Nothing, in
my view, is more despicable, nothing more calculated
to diffuse and cherish a debasing effeminacy of body
and soul, than the doctrine that labor is degrading.
Where such ideas prevail, rottenness lies at the foun
dation of society.

But to go back to my theme. If you ask me
why it is that this important institution of whit
tling is indigenous among us, I reply, that, in the
first place, our country is full of a great variety of
woods, suited to carpentry, many of them easily
wrought, and thus inviting boyhood to try its hands
upon them. In the next place, labor is dear, and
therefore even children are led to supply themselves
with toys, or perchance to furnish some of the sim
pler articles of use to the household. This dearness

WHITTLING. Vol. 1, p. 94.

HISTORICAL, ANLCDOT1CAL, ETC. 95

of labor, moreover, furnishes a powerful stimulant
to the production of labor-saving machines, and
hence it is — through all these causes, co-operating
one with another — that steam navigation, the elec
tric telegraph, the steam reaper, &c., &c., are Ameri
can inventions : hence it is that, whether it be at the
"World's Fair in London or Paris, we gain a greater
proportion of prizes for useful inventions, than any
other people. That is what comes of whittling !

There is no doubt another element to be considered
in a close and philosophical view of what I state —
this aptitude of our people, especially those of New
England, for mechanical invention. The desire of
improvement is inherent in the New England char
acter. This springs from two principles : first, a
moral sense, founded upon religious ideas, making
it the duty of every man to seek constantly to be and
do better, day by day, as he advances in life. This
is the great main-spring, set in the heart by Puritan
ism. Its action reaches alike to time and to eternity.
Mr. Webster well illustrated the New England char
acter in this respect, when he describes his father as
" shrinking from no toil, no sacrifice, to serve his
country, and to raise his children to a condition bet
ter than his own." This desire of improvement is
indeed extended to the children, and animates the
bosom of every parent.

The other principle I allude to is liberty, civil
and social — actual and practical. New England is

9t) LKTTKKS — BIOGKAPHICAL,

probably the only country in the world, where every
man, generally speaking, has or can have the means
— that is, the money, the intelligence, the knowledge,
the power — to choose his career ; to say where he
will live, what profession he will follow, what po
sition he will occupy.

It is this moral sense, in every man's bosom, im
pelling him to seek improvement in all things, co
operating with this liberty, giving him the right
and the ability to seek happiness in his own way
— which forms this universal spirit of improvement
— the distinguishing feature of the New England
people. It is this which has conquered our savage
climate, subdued the forests, and planted the whole
country with smiling towns and villages : it is this
which has established a system of universal educa
tion, cherished religion, promoted literature, founded
benign institutions, perfected our political system,
and abolished negro slavery, imposed upon us by the
mother country.

It is easy to trace the operations of this principle
in the humblest as well as the highest classes. The
man at the plow is not a mere drudge : he is not like
the debased subject of European despotism, a servile
tool, an unthinking, unhoping, unaspiring animal, to
use his muscles, without thought as to the result of
his labor. Let me tell you an anecdote which will
illustrate this matter. Some years ago, a young New
Englander found himself in the back parts of Penn-

HISTORICAL, ANEODOT1CAL, ETC. 07

sylvania, ashore as to the means of living. In this
strait he applied to a wealthy Quaker in the neigh
borhood for help.

"I will furnish thee with work, and pay thee for
it, friend," said the Quaker ; " but it is not my cus
tom to give alms to one able to labor, like thee."

" Well, that's all I want," said the Yankee : " of
course I am willing to work."

" What can thee do, friend ?"

"Any thing. I will do any thing, to get a little
money, to help me out of my difficulties."

" Well — there is a log yonder ; and there is an
axe. Thee may pound on the log with the head of
the axe, and if thee is diligent and faithful, I will pay
thee a dollar a day."

" Agreed : I'd as soon do that as any thing else."

And so the youth went to work, and pounded
lustily with the head of the axe upon the log. After
a time he paused to take breath ; then be began again.
But after half an hour he stopped, threw down the
axe impatiently, and walked away, saying, " I'll be
hanged if I'll cut' wood without seeing the chips fly 1"

Thus the Yankee laborer has a mind that must be
contented : he looks to the result of his labor ; and if
his tools or implements are imperfect, his first im
pulse is to improve them, and finally to perfect them.
In this endeavor, he is of course aided by the me
chanical aptitude, to which I have already alluded ;
and hence it is, that not only our utensils, for every

VOL. I.— ft

98 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

species of common work, but our machines generally
for the saving of labor, are thus excellent. With
what painful sympathy have I seen the peasants in
ingenious France and classic Italy sweating and toil
ing with uncouth, unhandy implements, which have
undergone no improvement for a thousand years,
and which abundantly bespeak the despotism which
for that period has kept their minds as well as their
bodies in bondage ! You will not wonder that such
observations have carried me back to my native New
England, and taught me to appreciate the character
and institutions of its people.

I must add, in descending from this lofty digres
sion to my simpler story, that in these early days, I
was a Nimrod, a mighty hunter — first with a bow
and arrow, and afterward with the old hereditary
firelock, which snapped six times and went off once.
The smaller kinds of game were abundant. The
thickets teemed with quails ;* partridges drummed in
every wood ; the gray-squirrel — the most picturesque
animal of our forests — enlivened every hickory copse
with his mocking laugh, his lively gambols, and his
long bannered tail. The pigeons in spring and au
tumn migrated in countless flocks, and many lin
gered in our woods for the season,

Everybody was then a hunter, not of course a

* The American quail is a species of partridge, in size between the
European quail and partridge. The partridge of New England is the
pheatant of the South, and the ruffed grouse of the naturalists.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOT1CAL, ETC. 99

sportsman, for the chase was followed more for
profit than for pastime. Grame was, in point of fact,
a substantial portion of the supply of food at cer
tain seasons of the year. All were then good shots,
and my father could not be an exception : he was
even beyond his generation in netting pigeons. This
was not deemed a reproach at that time in a clergy
man, nor was he the only parson that indulged in
these occupations. One day, as I was with him on West
Mountain, baiting pigeons, we had seduced a flock of
three or four dozen down into the bed where they
were feeding — my father and myself lying concealed
in our bush-hut, close by. Suddenly, whang went a
gun into the middle of the flock ! Out we ran in
great indignation, for at least a dozen of the birds
were bleeding and fluttering before us. Scarcely had
we reached the spot, when we met Parson M . . . . of
Lower Salem, who had thus unwittingly poached
upon us. The two clergymen had first a flurry and
then a good laugh, after which they divided the plun
der and parted.

The stories told by Wilson and Audubon as to the
amazing quantity of pigeons in the West, were real
ized by us in Connecticut half a century ago. I have
seen a stream of these noble birds, pouring at brief
intervals through the skies, from the rising to the
setting sun, and this in the county of Fairfield. I may
here add, that of all the pigeon tribe, this of our coun
try — the passenger pigeon — is the swiftest and most

100 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

beautiful of a swift and beautiful generation. At the
same time it is unquestionably superior to any other
for the table. All the other species of the eastern as
well as the western continent, which I have tasted,
are soft and flavorless in comparison.

I can recollect no sports of my youth which equal
ed in excitement our pigeon hunts, generally ta
king place in September and October. We usually
started on horseback before daylight, and made a
rapid progress to some stubble-field on West Mount
ain. The ride in the keen, fresh air, especially as the
dawn began to break, was delightful. The gradual
encroachment of day upon the night, filled my mind
with sublime images : the waking up of a world from
sleep, the joyousness of birds and beasts in the re
turn of morning, and my own sympathy in this
cheerful and grateful homage of the heart to God,
the Giver of good — all contributed to render these
adventures most impressive upon my young heart.
My memory, is still full of the sights and sounds of
those glorious mornings : the silvery whistle of the
wings of migrating flocks of plover — invisible in the
gray mists of dawn ; the faint murmur of the distant
mountain torrents ; the sonorous gong of the long-
trailing flocks of wild geese, seeming to come from
the unseen depths of the skies — these were among the
suggestive sounds that stole through the dim twilight.
As morning advanced, the scene was inconceivably
beautiful — the mountain sides, clothed in autumnal

CATCHING_PIGEONS. Vol. 1, p. 100.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 101

green and purple and gold, rendered more glowing by
the sunrise — with the valleys covered with mists and
spreading out like lakes of silver; while on every
side the ear was saluted by the mocking screams of
the red-headed woodpecker, the cawing of congresses
of crows, clamorous as if talking to Buncombe; and
finally the rushing sound of the pigeons, pouring like
a tide over the tops of the trees.

By this time of course our nets were ready, and
our flyers and stool-birds on the alert. What mo
ments of ecstasy were these, and especially when the
head of the flock — some red-breasted old father or
grandfather — caught the sight of our pigeons, and
turning at the call, drew the whole train down into
our net-bed. I have often seen a hundred, or two
hundred of these splendid birds, come upon us, with
a noise absolutely deafening, and sweeping the air
with a sudden gust, like the breath of a thunder
cloud. Sometimes our bush-hut, where we lay con
cealed, was covered all over with pigeons, and we
dared not move a finger, as their red, piercing eyes
were upon us. When at last, with a sudden pull of
the rope, the net was sprung, and we went out to
secure our booty — often fifty, and sometimes even a
hundred birds — I felt a fullness of triumph, which
words are wholly inadequate to express !

Up to the age of eight years, I was never trusted
with a gun. Whenever I went forth as a sportsman on
my own account, it was only with a bow and arrow

104 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

associations — physical, moral, and intellectual — are
thus established and developed.

It is a riddle to many people that the emigrants
from the country into the city, in all ages, outstrip
the natives, and become their masters. The reason
is obvious : country education and country life are
practical, and invigorating to body and mind, and
hence those who are thus qualified triumph in the
race of life. It has always been, it will always be
so ; the rustic Goths and Yandals will march in and
conquer Home, in the future, as they have done in
the past. I say this, by no means insisting that my
own life furnishes any very striking proof of the truth
of my remarks ; still, I may say that but for the
country training and experience I have alluded to,
and which served as a foothold for subsequent prog
ress, I should have lingered in my career far behind
the humble advances I have actually made.

Let me illustrate and verify my meaning by spe
cific examples. In my youth I became familiar with
every bird common to the country : I knew his call,
his song, his hue, his food, his habits ; in short, his
natural history. I could detect him by his flight, as
far as the eye could reach. I knew all the quadru
peds — wild as well as tame. I was acquainted with
almost every tree, shrub, bush, and flower, indige
nous to the country ; not botanically, but according
to popular ideas. I recognized them instantly, where-
over I saw them ; I knew their forms, hues, leaves.

HISTORICAL, AXKCDOTICAL, KTC. 105

blossoms, and fruit. I could tell their characteristics,
their uses, the legends and traditions that belonged
to them. All this I learned by familiarity with these
objects ; meeting with them in all my walks and ram
bles, and taking note of them with the emphasis and
vigor of early experience and observation. In after
days, I have never had time to make natural history
a systematic study ; yet my knowledge as to these
things has constantly accumulated, and that without
special effort. When I have traveled in other coun
tries, the birds, the animals, the vegetation, have in
terested me as well by their resemblances as their
differences, when compared with our own. In look
ing over the pages of scientific works on natural his
tory, I have always read with the eagerness and in
telligence of preparation ; indeed, of vivid and pleasing
aasociations. Every idea I had touching these mat
ters was living and sympathetic, and beckoned other
ideas to it, and these again originated still others.
Thus it is that in the race of a busy life, by means of
a homely, hearty start at the beginning, I have, as
to these subjects, easily and naturally supplied, in
some humble degree, the defects of my irregular edu
cation, and that too, not by a process of repulsive
toil, but with a relish superior to all the seductions
of romance. I am therefore a believer in the benefits
accruing from simple country life and simple coun
try habits, as here illustrated, and am therefore, on
all occasions, anxious to recommend them to my

106 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

friends and countrymen. To city people, I would
say, educate your children, at least partially, in the
country, so as to imbue them with the love 'of na
ture, and that knowledge and training which spring
from simple rustic sports, exercises, and employ
ments. To country people, I would remark, be not
envious of the city, for in the general balance of
good and evil, you have your full portion of the first,
with a diminished share of the last.

LETTER IX.

Death of Washington — Jefferson and Democracy — Ridgefald on the Great
ThorO'ughfare between New York and Boston — Jerome Bonaparte and
hi* Young Wife — Oliver Wolcott, Governor Treadwett, and Deacon Olm-
stead — Inauguration of Jefferson — Jerry Mead and Ensign feeler —
Democracy and Federalism — Charter of Ciiarles II. — Elizur Goodrich,
Deacon Bishop, and President Jefferson — Abraham Bishop and " A)x>ut
Enough, Democracy'

MY DEAR

The incidents I have just related revolved about
the period of 1800 — some a little earlier and some a
little later. Among the events of general interest
that occurred near this time, I remember the death
of Washington, which took place in 1799, and was
commemorated all through the country by the tolling
of bells, funeral ceremonies, orations, sermons, hymns,
and dirges, attended by n mournful sense of loss,

HISTORICAL. ANECDOTIC A I., ETC. 107

seeming to cast a pall over the entire heavens. In
Bidgefield, the meeting-house was dressed in black,
and we had a discourse pronounced by a Mr. Ed
monds, of Newtown. The subject, indeed, engrossed
all minds. Lieutenant Smith came every day to our
house to talk over the event, and to bring us the pro
ceedings in different parts of the country. Among
other papers, he brought us a copy of the Connec
ticut Courant, then, as now, orthodox in all good
things, and according to the taste of the times,
duly sprinkled with murders, burglaries, and awful
disclosures in general. This gave us the particu
lars of the rites and ceremonies which took place in
Hartford, in commemoration of the Great Man's de
cease. The paper was bordered with black, which
left its indelible ink in my memory. The celebrated
hymn,* written for the occasion by Theodore D wight,
sank into my mother's heart — for she had a constitu-

* HYMN sung at Hartford, Conn., during1 religious services performed
on the occasion of the death of George Washington, Dec. 27th, 1799.

What solemn sounds the ear invade ?
What wraps the land in sorrow's shade ?
From heaven the awful mandate flies —
The Father of his Country dies.

Let every heart be till'd with woe,
Let every eye with tears o'erflow ;
Each form, oppress'd with deepest gloom,
Be clad in vestments of the tomb.

Behold that venerable band —
The rulers of our mourning land,
With grief proclaim from shore to shore,
Our guide, our Washington's no more.

108 i.rm.i:- — Dionn. \riucAL,

tional love of things mournful and poetic — and she
often repeated it, so that it became a part of the cher
ished lore of my childhood. This hymn has ever
since been to me suggestive of a solemn pathos, min
gled with the Eidgefield commemoration of Wash
ington's death — the black drapery of the meeting
house, and the toll of those funeral bells, far, far over
the distant hills, now lost and now remembered, as if
half a dream and half a reality — yet for these reasons,
perhaps, the more suggestive and the more mournful.
I give you these scenes and feelings in some detail,
to impress you with the depth and sincerity of this
mourning of the American nation, in cities and towns,
in villages and hamlets, for the death of Washington.
It seems to me wholesome to go back and sympathize
with those who had stood in his presence, and catch
from them the feeling which should be sacredly cher
ished in all future time.*

Where shall our country torn its eye?
What help remains beneath the sky ?
Our Friend, Protector, Strength, and Trust,
Lies low, and mouldering in the dust.

Almighty God ! to Thee we fly ;
Before Thy throne above the sky,
In deep prostration humbly bow,
And pour the penitential vow.

Hear, 0 Most High ! our earnest prayer—
Our country take beneath Thy care ;
When dangers press and foes draw near,
Let future Washingtons appear.

* Mr. Jefferson and his satellites had begun their attacks upon
Washington several years before this poriod ; but beyond the circle of

AN'KCDOTK'AL, J.TC. 109

I have already said that Eidgefield was on the
great thoroughfare between Boston and New York,
for the day of steamers and railroads had not

interested partisans, and those to whom virtue is a reproach and glory
an offence, they had not yet corrupted or abused the hearts of the peo
ple. Some years later, under the presidency of Jefferson and his im
mediate successor, democracy being in the ascendant, Washington
seemed to be fading from the national remembrance. Jefferson was
then the master ; and even somewhat later, a distinguished Senator said
in his place in Congress, that his name and his principles exercised a
greater influence over the minds of the people of his native State — Vir
ginia — than even the " Father of his Country." Strange to say, thin
declaration was made rather in the spirit of triumph than of humiliation.
At the present day the name of Jefferson has lost much of its charm in
the United States: democracy itself seeirns to be taking down its first
idol, and placing Andrew Jackson upon the pedestal. Formerly " Jrf-
ffrson Democracy1'' was the party watchword : now it is " Jackson De
mocracy." The disclosures of the last thirty years — made by Mr. Jeffer
son's own correspondence, and that of others — show him to ha»ve been
very different from what he appeared to be. Had his true charade*
been fully understood, it is doubtful if he would ever have been Presi
dent of the United States. He was in fact a marvelous compound of
good and evil, and it is not stransre that it has taken time to comprehend
him. He was a man of rare intellectual faculties, but he had one defect
— ft want of practical controlling faith in God and man — in human truth
and human virtue. He did good things, great things : he aided to con
struct noble institutions, but he undermined them by taking away their
foundations. He was, in most respects, the opposite of Washington,
and hence his hatred of him was no doubt sincere. We may even sup
pose that the virulent abuse which he caused to be heaped upon him by
hireling editors, was at least partially founded upon conviction. Wash
ington believed in God, and made right the starting-point of all his ac
tions. Next to God, was his country. His principles went before ;
there was no expediency for him, that was not dictated by rectitude
of thought, word, and deed. He was a democrat, but in the English,
Puritan, sense — that of depositing power in the hands of the people,
and of seeking to guide them only by the truth — by instructing
them, elevating them, and exclusively for their own good. Jefferson,
on the contrary, was a democrat according to French ideas, and those
of the loosest days of the Revolution. Expediency was with him the
betrinninsr, the middle, the end of conduct. God seems not to have
been in all his thought. He penetrated the masses with his astute in
telligence : he had soon in Paris how they could be deluded, stimulated,

110 LETTKRS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

dawned. Even the mania for- turnpikes, which ere
long overspread New England, had not yet arrived.
The stage-coaches took four days to make the trip
of two hundred miles between the two great cities.
In winter, the journey was often protracted to a
week, and during the furious snow-storms of those
times, to eight or ten days. With such public con-

led, and especially by artful appeals to the baser passions. His party
policy seems to have been founded upon alow estimate of human na
ture in general, and a contempt of the majority in particular. Hence,
in attempting to elevate himself to the chief magistracy of the Union,
nis method was to vilify Washington, and at the same time to pay court
to the foibles, prejudices, and low propensities of the million. Dema-
gogism was his system, and never was it more seductively practiced.
Over all there was a profound vaiJ of dissimulation ; a placid philosophy
seemed .to sit upon his face, even while he was secretly urging the as
sassin's blade to the hilt, against the name and fame of him who was
" first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen."
Simplicity and humility appeared to rule in his bosom, while yet he was
steadily paving his way to power. He succeeded, and through the pres
tige of his position, the original democracy of the United States was oast
in his image. He was the father, the founder, the establishor of dema-
gogism in this country, and this unmanly and debasing system of pol
icy has since continued to contaminate and debauch the politics of the
land.

There is perhaps some growing disgust at this state of things, but
whether we shall ever return to the open, manly, patriotic principles
and practice of Washington, is a question which no man can presume
tp answer. At all events, it seems to me, every one who lias influence
should sedulously exert it to purify, elevate, and ennoble the public
spirit. As one means, let us ever keep in view — let us study and cher
ish — the character of Washington. Let our politicians even, do this,
i\nd while they esteem and follow what was really good in Jefferson, let
tiiem beware how they commend his character us an example to those
over whom they exercise a controlling influence.

1'ower is ennobling, when honorably acquired, and patriotically em
ployed ; but when obtained by intrigue, aud used for selfish ends, it is
degrading alike to him who exercises it and those who are subjected
to its influence. It is quite time that all good men should combine to
l>ut down demagogues ami dcmago^ism.

HTSTOUICAL, ANKCDOTICAT,, ETC. Ill

veyances, great people — for even then the world
was divided into the great and little, as it is now-^-
traveled in their own carriages.

About this time — it must have been in the sum
mer of 1804 — I remember Jerome Bonaparte coming
np to Keeler's tavern with a coach and four, attend
ed by his young wife, Miss Patterson, of Baltimore.
It was a gay establishment, and the honeymoon sat
happily on the tall, sallow stripling, and his young
bride. You must remember that Napoleon was
then filling the world with his fame: at this mo
ment his feet were on the threshold of the empire.
The arrival of his brother in the United States of
course made a sensation. His marriage, his move
ments, all were gossiped over, from Maine to Georgia
—not Castine to California — these being the extreme
points of the Union. His entrance into Eidgefield pro
duced a flutter of excitement, even there. A crowd
gathered around Keeler's tavern, to catch a sight of
the strangers, and I among the rest. I had a good,
long look at Jerome, who was the chief object of in
terest, and the image never faded from my recollec
tion.

Half a century later, I was one evening at the Tuil-
cries, amid the flush and the fair of Louis Napoleon's
new court. Among them I saw an old man, taller than
the mass around — his nose and chin almost meeting
in contact, while his toothless gums were "munching
the airy meal of dotage and decrepitude," I was irre-

112 I.KTIKIW — m

sistibly chained to this object, as if a spectre had
risen up through the floor, and stood among the
garish throng. My memory traveled back — back
among the winding labyrinths of years. Suddenly
I found the clue: the stranger was Jerome Bona
parte !

Ah, what a history lay between the past and pres
ent — a lapse of nearly fifty years. What a differ
ence between him then and now ! Then he was a
gay and gallant bridegroom; now, though he had
the title of king, he was throneless and scepterless —
an Invalid Governor of Invalids — the puppet and
pageant of an adventurer, whose power lay in the
mere magic of a name.*

* Jerome Bonaparte, the youngest brother of Napoleon, was horn in
1784, and is now (1856) 72 years old. He was educated for the nav:il
service, and in 1801 had the command of the corvette, L'Epervier. In
this, the same year, he sailed with the expedition to St. Domingo, com-
munded by his brother-in-law, Gen. Leclerc. In March following he
was cent to France with dispatches, but speedily returned. Hostilities
»oon after were renewed between France and England, and he sailed on
a cruise for some months, finally putting into the port of New York.
Me was treated with marked attention in the principal cities — New York,
Boston, Philadelphia, and Baltimore. In the latter ho became attached
to Elizabeth Patterson — daughter of an eminent merchant there — and
distinguished for her beauty and accomplishments. In December, 1803,
they were married with due ceremony by John Carroll, the Catholic
Bishop of Baltimore, in the presence of several persons of high dis
tinction. He remained about a year in America, and in the spring of
18<»5 he sailed with his wife for Europe. Napoleon disapproved of the
match, and on the arrival of the vessel at the Texel, it was found that
orders had been left with the authorities not to permit Jerome's wife to
l«nd. She accordingly sailed for England, and taking up her residence
in the vicinity of London, gave birth to a son, July 7, 1805. This is the
present Jerome Napoleon Bonaparte, of Baltimore.

Napoleon, who had now become emperor, and desired to use his broth-

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 113

About this time, as I well remember, Oliver Wol-
cott passed through our village. He arrived at the
tavern late on Saturday evening, but he called at our
house in the morning, his family being connected

ers for his own purposes, set himself to work to abrogate the marriage,
and applied to Pope Pius VII. for this purpose. That prelate, however,
refused, inasmuch as the grounds set forth for such a measure were alto
gether fallacious. Napoleon, however, who was wholly unscrupulous,
forced his brother into another match, August 12, 1807, with the prin
cess Frederica Catherina, daughter of the King of Wurtemburg. A few
clays after he was proclaimed King of Westphalia, which had been created
into a kingdom for him. He remained in this position till the overthrow
of the Bonapartes in 1814. After this he lived sometimes in Austria,
sometimes in Italy, and finally in Paris. He was elected a member of
the Constitutional Convention of 1848, and was afterwards made Gov
ernor of the Invalidcs. When Louis Napoleon became emperor in 1852,
the Palais Royal was fitted up for him, and he now resides there — his
eon, Prince Napoleon, and his daughter (formerly married to the Eus-
sian Prince Demidoff, but divorced some ten years ago), Princess Ma-
thilde, also having their apartments there.

Jerome Bonaparte has very moderate abilities, and though he is now
considered as nominally in the line of succession after the present em
peror, his position is only that of a pageant, and even this is derived
solely from his being the brother of Napoleon. He is taller by some
inches than was the emperor : he, however, has the bronze complexion,
and something of the black, stealthy eye, broad brow, the strong, prom-
iiient chin, the oval face, and the cold, stony expression, which char
acterized his renowned brother.

Mrs. Patterson has not followed the career of her weak and unprinci
pled husband, but has continned to respect her marriage vow. In 1824,
being in Dublin, I was informed by Lady Morgan, who had recently
seen her in Paris, that the princess Borghese (Napoleon's sister Pauline)
had offered to Mrs. Patterson to adopt her son, and make him heir of
her immense possessions, if he would come to Italy, and be placed under
her care : her answer was, that she preferred to have him a respectable
citizen of the United States to any position wealth or power could give
him in Europe. She doubtless judged well and wisely, for the Princess
Borghese has left behind her a most detestable reputation. Jerome Na
poleon Bonaparte, of Baltimore, has recently been to Paris, where he
has been well received by his father and the emperor; and his son, ed
ucated at West Point, is a captain in the French army in the Crimea,
and has just been decorated with the Cross of the Legion of Honor
(1856).

114: LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

with ours. He was a great man then ; for not only
are the Wolcotts traditionally and historically a dis
tinguished race in Connecticut, but he had recently
been a member of Washington's cabinet. I shall
have occasion to speak of him more particularly
hereafter. I mention him now only for the pur
pose of noting his deference to public opinion, char
acteristic of the eminent men of that day. In the
morning he went to church, but immediately after
the sermon, he had his horses brought up, and pro
ceeded on his way. He, however, had requested my
father to state to his.people, at the opening of the
afternoon service, that he was traveling on public
business, and though he regretted it, he was obliged
to continue his journey on the Sabbath. This my
father did, but Deacon Ol instead, the Jeremiah of
the parish, shook his white locks, and lifted up his
voice against such a desecration of the Lord's day.
Some years after — as I remember — Lieutenant-gov
ernor Treadwell arrived at Keeler's tavern on Satur
day evening, and prepared to prosecute his journey
the next morning, his daughter, who was with him,
being ill. This same Deacon Olmstead called upon
him, and said, " Sir, if you thus set the example of
a violation of the Sabbath, you must expect to get
one vote less at the next election !" The Governor
was so much struck by the appearance of the deacon
— who was the very image of a patriarch or a prophet
— that he deferred his departure till Monday.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIC AL, ETC. 115

Another event of this era I remember, and that
is, the celebration of the inauguration of Jefferson,
March 4th, A. D. 1801. At this period, the Demo
cratic, or, as it was then called, the Kepublican party,
was not large in Connecticut, yet it was zealous in
proportion to its insignificance. The men of wealth,
the professional men — those of good position and large
influence generally — throughout the State, were almost
exclusively federalists. The old platform of religion
and politics still stood strong, although agitated and
fretted a little by the rising tide of what afterward
swelled into a flood, under the captivating name of
Toleration. The young Hercules in Ridgefield was
in his cradle when Jefferson was made President ; but
nevertheless, he used his lungs lustily upon the occa
sion. On the day of the inauguration, the old field-
piece, a four-pounder, which had been stuck muzzle
down as a horse-post at Keeler's tavern, since the
fight of 1777, was dug up, swabbed, and fired off
sixteen times, that being the number of States then
in the Union. At first the cannon had a somewhat
stifled and wheezing tone, but this soon, grew louder,
and at last the hills re-echoed to the rejoicing of de
mocracy from High Ridge to West Mountain. This
might be taken as prophetic, for the voice of democ
racy, then small and asthmatic, like this old field-
piece, soon cleared its throat, and thundered like
Sinai, giving law to the land.

My father was a man of calm and liberal temper,

116 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

but he was still of the old school, believing in things
as they were, and therefore he regarded these dem
onstrations with a certain degree of horror. But no
doubt he felt increased anxiety from the fact that
several of the members of his congregation partici
pated in these unseemly orgies. Among these — who
would have thought it ? — was Jerry Mead, the shoe
maker, once itinerant, but now settled down, and
keeping his shop. He was one of our near neigh
bors, and the sound of his lapstone, early and late,
was as regular as the tides. His son Sammy was his
apprentice, and having a turn for mirth and music,
diverted the neighborhood by playing popular airs
as he pounded his leather ; but Jerry himself was
a grave, nay, an austere person, and for this reason,
as well as others, was esteemed a respectability. He
was a man of plain, strong sense ; he went regularly
to meeting ; sent his children to school, and cut their
hair, close and square, according to the creed. It
might have been natural enough for his son Sammy,
who was given to the earthly vanities of music,
dancing, and the like, to have turned out a demo
crat; but for sour, sober, sensible Jerry- -it was quite
another thing. What must have b?'.r/ my father's
concern to find on the occasion of th/ aforesaid cele
bration that Jerry Mead had joined the rabble, and
— in a moment of exaltation, it is said — delivered an
oration at one of their clubs! This might have
been borne — for Jerry was not then a professor — but

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 117

conceive his emotion when he heard that Ensign Kee-
ler — the butcher and bell-ringer — who was a half-way
coven ant- member of the church, had touched off the
cannon ! I am happy to believe that both these per
sons saw the error of their ways, and died old feder
alists, as well as church members in full communion
— notwithstanding these dark episodes; but for the
time, their conduct seemed to shake the very pillars
of the state.

It is difficult for the present generation to enter
into the feelings of those days. We who are now
familiar with democracy, can hardly comprehend the
odium attached to it in the age to which I refer, espe
cially in the minds of the sober people of our neigh
borhood. They not only regarded it as hostile to
good government, but as associated with infidelity in
religion, radicalism in government, and licentious
ness in society. It was considered a sort of monster,
born of Tom Paine,* the French Ee volution, foreign

* The French Kevolution reached its height in 1793, under what was
called the Convention. The king perished on the scaffold in January
of that year, and the queen and the other members of the royal family
soon after. Atheism had taken the place of religion, and government
was a wholesale system of murder. All that was good in society seemed
to have perished. The Eeign of Terror was established under Kobes-
pierre and his Jacobin Associates in 1794. About this time the French
Minister Genet came to the United States, and under his auspices,
Democratic Ulvbs, modeled after those in France, which had enabled the
Jacobins to get possession of the government of France, were organ
ized in the United States. Their object was to place our government
in the hands of the Jacobins here. This was the beginning of democ
racy in this country.

The people of America, grateful to France for her assistance iu ob-

118 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

renegadoes, and the great Father of Evil. Mr. Jeffer
son, the founder of the party, had been in France,
and was supposed by his political opponents to have
adopted the atheism and the libertinism of the rev
olutionists. His personal character and dangerous

taining our Independence, naturally sympathized with that nation in its
attempts to establish a free government. They therefore looked upon
the Revolution there with favor, amounting at the outset to enthusiasm.
When Genet arrived, not fully appreciating the horrors it was perpetra
ting, many of our people still clung to it with hope, if not with confi
dence. Designing men saw the use they could make of this feeling,
and in order to employ it for the purposes of seizing upon the govern
ment, promoted the democratic clubs, and sought to rouse the feelings
of the masses into a rage resembling that which was deluging Paris
with blood. Some of these leaders were Americans, but the most ac
tive were foreigners, many of them adventurers, and men of desperate
character. One of the most prominent was Thomas Paine, whose name
is now synonymous with infamy. He was a fair representative of de
mocracy at this period.

Fortunately for our country and for mankind, Washington was now
President, and by his wisdom, his calmness, and his force of character
and influence, conducted the country through a tempest of disorder
which threatened to overwhelm it. Thus, a second time was he the
Saviour of his country. He naturally became the object of hatred to
the democrats, and upon him all the vials of their wrath were poured.
Jefferson, as is now known, encouraged, employed, and paid some of
these defamers. It is true that at this time he did not adopt the term
democrat — nor do we believe he shared its spirit to the full extent : he
preferred the, term republican, as did his followers, at the outset. A 1-
terward they adopted the term democrat, in which they now rejoica.
Of the democratic party, Jefferson was, however, the efficient promoter
at the beginning, and may be considered its father and its founder.
From these facts, it will be seen that this dread of him, on the part of the
staid, conservative, Puritan people of New England, was not without
good foundation. See HUdreWs History of the United States, second
series, vol. i. pp. 424 and 455 ; also Griswold^s Republican Guurt, p. 290.

As Jefferson was the leader of the democratic party, so Washington
was the head of the federalists. Since that period the terms democrat
and federalist have undergone many changes of signification, and have
l>een u?ed for various purposes. Democracy is still the watchword of
party, but the term federalism is merely historical, that of whig having
been adopted by the conservatives.

HISTORICAL, ANKCDOTICAL, KTC. 119

political proclivities, as I have said, were not then well
understood. The greatest fear of him, at this time,
was as to his moral, religious, and social influence.
It was supposed that his worshipers could not be bet
ter than their idol, and it must be confessed that the
democracy of New England in its beginning raked
up and absorbed the chaff of society. It is due to the
truth of history to state that men of blemished reputa
tions, tipplers, persons of irregular tempers, odd peo
ple, those who were constitutionally upsetters,* de-

* I have just stated the historical origin of the two great parties in
the United States. These, though taking their rise from passing events,
had a deeper root. In all countries, where there is liberty of speech
and print, there will be two parties — the Conservatives and the Radicals.
These differences arise mainly from the constitutions of men and their
varying conditions in society. Some are born Destructives and some
Constfuctives. The former constitute the nucleus of the radical party.
They are without property, and therefore make war on property, and
those who possess it. One of this class, a born radical, usually passes
his whole life in this condition, for in his nature he is opposed to accu
mulation. He is characterized by the parable of the rolling-stone which
gathers no moss. The mass of the radical party in all countries is made
up of such persons. The born constructive, on the contrary, is for law
and order by instinct as well as reflection. He is industrious, frnjral,
acquisitive : he accumulates property, he constructs a fortune, and be
comes in all things conservative.

From these two sources, the great parties in the United States derive
their chief recruits. Most men of intelligence and reflection, however, are
conservatives in their convictions, because it is by the maintenance ot
order alone that life and liberty can be preserved. But unhappily intel
ligent men are often destitute of principle ; they sometimes desire to
wield political power, and as this is frequently in the hands of the radi
cals, they piny the demagogue, and flatter the masses, to obtain their
votes. Ex-president John Adams said, with great truth, that when a
man, born in the circle of aristocracy, undertakes to play the demagogue,
he generally does it with more art and success than any other person,
When the demagogue has acquired power — when he has attained the
object of his ambition— he generally takes off the mask, and as he can
now afford it he is henceforth a conservative. This is the history of

120 I.ETTKK8 — BIOGRAPHICAL,

structives, comeouters, flocked spontaneously, as if by
a kind of instinct, to the banner of democracy, about
the period of Jefferson's first election, and constituted,
for a considerable period afterward, the staple of the
party. In due time and when they had increased
in numbers, they gradually acquired respectable lead
ers. General King, who became the head of the party
in Kidgefield, was a high-minded, intelligent man;
and so it happened in other places. But still, the
mass in the outset were such as I have described.

It may be conjectured, then, with what concern a
sincere and earnest pastor — like my father — saw some

most demagogues in this country. Hence it is that demagogism has not
had the fatal consequences that might have been anticipated. It has
indeed defiled our politics, it has degraded our manners, and should be
spurned by every manly bosom ; but yet it has stopped short of the de
struction of our government and our institutions.

Demagogism has prevailed to such an extent among us, that a very
large share of the political offices are now held by demagogues. It
was otherwise at the outset of our government. The people then
cast about and selected their best men : now party managers take the
matter into their own hands, and often select the worst men for offi
cers, as none but persons who can be bought and sold would answer
their purpose. Thus, office has sunk in respectability. We have no
ionger Washingtons, Ellsworths, Shermans— men of honor to the heart's
core — at the head of affairs, and stamping our manners and our institu
tions with virtue and dignity. Office is so low that our first-class men
shun it. We have too many inferior men in high places — who, in de
grading their stations, degrade the country. This is wrong : it is a sin
against reason, common sense, patriotism, and prudence. Neverthe
less, there is, despite these adverse circumstances, spread over this vast
country a sober, solid, and virtuous majority — some in one party and
some in another — who will not permit these-evils to destroy our institu
tions. Whoever may rule, there is and will be a preponderance of con
servatism, and this, we trust, will save us. Democracy may rave —
radicalism may foam at the mouth, and these may get the votes and
appropriate the spoils, but still law and order will prevail, through tho
supremacy of reason, rectitude, and religion.

HISTORICAL, ANECixmOAL, ETC. 1^1

of the members of his own flock, including others
whom he hoped to gather into the fold, kneeling down
to this Moloch of democracy. • Time passed on, and
less than twenty years after, federalism was overturn
ed, and democracy triumphed in Connecticut. The
old time-honored parchment of Charles II., supposed
to be a sort of eleventh commandment, and firm as
Plymouth Eock, passed away, like a scroll, and a new
constitution was established. "What bodings, what
anxieties, were experienced during this long agony
of Conservatism ! And yet society survived. The old
landmarks, though shaken, still remained, and some of
them even derived confidence, if not firmness, from
the agitation. Nay, strange to say, in the succeeding
generation, democracy cast its slough, put on clean
linen, and affected respectability. Many of the sons
of the democrats of 1800, and conceived in its image,
were the leaders of federalism in 1825. Indeed, the
word democracy, which was first used as synonymous
with Jacobinism, has essentially changed its significa
tion, and now means little more than the progressive
party, in opposition to the conservative party.

Such is the cycle of politics, such are the oscilla
tions of progress and conservatism, which, in point
of fact, regulate the great march of society, and spur
it on to constant advances in civilization. These two
forces, if not indispensable to liberty, are always at
tendant upon it; one is centripetal, the other cen
trifugal, and are always in conflict and contending

VOL. I.— 6

122 LKTTKRS BIOGRAPHICAL,

against each other. The domination of either would
doubtless lead to abuses ; but the spirit of both,
duly tempered, combmes to work out the good of all.
One thing is settled in this country — though democ
racy may seem to rule ; though it may carry the elec
tions and engross the offices, it is still obliged to bow
to conservatism, which insists upon the supremacy of
law and order. Democracy may be a good ladder on
which to climb into power, but it is then generally
thrown down, with contempt, by those who have ac
complished their object, and have no further use for it.
I must here note, in due chronological order, an
event which caused no little public emotion. One of
the first, and perhaps the most conspicuous victim
of proscription in Jefferson's time, was my uncle,
Elizur Goodrich, Collector of the port of New Ha
ven — at that time an office of some importance, as
New Haven had then a large West India trade. The
story is thus told by the historian :

" One of the most noticeable of these cases was the removal of
Elizur Goodrich, lately a representative in Congress from Con
necticut, who had resigned his seat to accept the office of Col
lector of New Haven. In his place was appointed Samuel Bish
op, a respectable old man of seventy-seven, but so nearly blind,
that he could hardly write his name, and with no particular
qualifications for the office, or claim to it, except being the fa
ther of one Abraham Bishop, a young democrat, a lawyer with
out practice, for whom the appointment was originally intended.
The claims of the younger Bishop consisted in two political
orations, which he had recently delivered ; one of them by a
sort of surprise before a literary society of Yale College, an occa-

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 123

si >n upon which all the dignitaries of the State were collected.
This was a vehement and flippant, bnt excessively shallow dec
lamation, yet suited to alarm the popular mind, the burden of
it being that by commercial, military, clerical, and legal delu
sions, a monarchy* and aristocracy were just on the point of being
saddled on the country. To this oration, already in print be
fore it had been delivered, and which was at once distributed as
an electioneering document — the choice of presidential electors
being then about to take place — NV>ah Webster had immediately
published a cutting reply, entitled ' A Rod for the Fool's Back.'
The younger Bishop's second oration, delivered at a festival to
celebrate the republican triumph, was a parallel, drawn at great
length, between Jefferson and Jesus Christ — ' The illustrious
chief who, once insulted, now presides over the Union, and Him
who, once insulted, now presides over the universe.' " — Hil-
dretK's History of the United States, vol. ii. p. 429.

For several reasons, this event caused great excite
ment. The election of Jefferson had been made by
the House of Representatives, after a severe conflict,
which lasted several weeks. The choice was finally
effected by Mr. Jefferson's giving pledges to James
A. Bayard, of Delaware, and some other federal mem
bers, who consequently withdrew their opposition. He
agreed, if elected, to follow certain principles .of con
duct, and stipulated, that while, of course, he would fill

* The great alarm-cry of the leaders of democracy at this period was,
that the federalists sympathized with England and hated France ; that
hence it was clear they were monarchists at heart, and designed to over
throw our republic, and establish a monarchy in its place. Washington
was openly and repeatedly charged as a traitor, entertaining these views
and purposes. It is now known, as already intimated, that Jeffersoc.
encouraged and even paid some of the editors who made these charges.
Bee Httdreth, vol. ii. p. 454, <fec. Second Series.

124: • LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

important confidential offices — as those of the secreta
ries of state and treasury, foreign ministers, &c., with
persons of his own political creed — no removals from
inferior stations, such as "collectors of ports" &c., in
cluding offices of mere detail, generally, should take
place on the ground of opinion. The removal above
alluded to, being in direct violation of this pledge,
caused great indignation.

Hitherto removals of even inferior officers had never
been made because their opinions did not suit the
President, and hence this instance created general
surprise as well as alarm, especially when the cir
cumstances and the motives for the measure were
taken into consideration. The principal citizens of
New Haven, particularly the merchants, felt this as
a severe blow, and accordingly addressed to the Pres
ident a respectful but earnest remonstrance against
the change that had taken place. Mr. Jefferson re
plied in a letter, which has become celebrated, as it
not only displayed, in a remarkable degree, his rhe
torical skill and political tact, but it may be said
to have settled, as a matter of principle in our gov
ernment, that it is within the province of the Presi
dent to make removals from office on mere party
grounds. It is true that this was not largely prac
ticed by Mr. Jefferson, for public opinion seemed not
then to be prepared for it ; but the example he set,
and the skill he manifested in defending this fatal
doctrine, afterward resulted in an open declaration

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 125

by his party, that " to the victors belong the spoils11 —
and hence the whole arena of politics has been de
graded by infusing into it the selfishness and vio
lence which characterize a battle, where " beauty and
booty" is the watchword.

I may not find a better place than this for an anec
dote, which shows the tendency of political storms,
like those of nature — by sea and by land — to re
volve in a circle. This, Abraham Bishop, just men
tioned, the son of Collector Bishop, grew up a demo
crat, and became an able and skillful stump orator.
He is said to have originated the electioneering apo
thegm — " one doubt loses ten votes !" For several
years he was the Boanerges of the party in Connecti
cut, and always went on a circuit to stir up the democ
racy just previous to the elections. At length he was
appointed Collector of the port of New Haven, with
some five thousand dollars a year. Well : again,
when an election was approaching, he was desired
by the leaders of the party to go forth and wake
up the democracy by a round of speeches. " No,
no," said the Collector with $5000 a year : " I think
we have quite democracy enough, now !" A few
years later, Mr. Bishop was in the ranks of the
whigs or federalists, and died much respected as a
man of conservative politics, morals, and manners !

In short, my dear C . . . ., though I respect a quiet,
conscientious democrat, as much as I do any other man
— still, when I see a noisy politician crying out, " The

126 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

democracy ! ho, the democracy !" — I consider it pretty
certain — judging from long experience and observa
tion — that, according to the proverb, "Somebody has
an axe to grind," and desires to wheedle his dupes
into turning the grindstone, gratis.

LETTER X,

How People traveled Fifty Years ago — Timothy Pickering — Manners
along the Road — Jefferson and Shoe-strings — Mr. Priest and Mr. Dem
ocrat — Barbers at Washington — James Madison and the Queue — Win
ter and Sleighing — Comfortable Meeting '-houses — The Stove Party and
the Anti-Stove Party — The first Chaise built in, Ridgefield — The Be
ginning of the Carriage Manufacture there.

MY DEAR C******

I have incidentally remarked that about the be
ginning of the present century great people traveled, in
our quarter, not in cars, or steamers, or even in stage
coaches, to any considerable extent, but in their own
carriages. The principal travel was on horseback.
Many of the members of Congress came to Wash
ington in this way. I have a dim recollection of see
ing one day, when I was trudging along to school, a
tall, pale, gaunt man, approaching on horseback with
his plump saddlebags behind him. I looked at him
keenly, and made my obeisance as in duty bound.
He lifted his hat, and bowed in return. By a quick
instinct, I set him down as a man of mark. In the

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 127

evening, Lieutenant Smith came to our house and
told us that Timothy Pickering had passed through
the town ! He had seen him and talked with him,
and was vastly distended with the portentous news
thereby acquired — including the rise and fall of em
pires for ages to come — and all of which he duly
unfolded to our family circle.

Before I proceed, let me note, in passing, a point
of manners then universal, but which has now nearly
faded away. When travelers met with people on
the highway, both saluted one another with a certain
dignified and formal courtesy. All children were
regularly taught at school to " make their manners"
to strangers ; the boys to bow and the girls to courte
sy. It was something different from the frank, fa
miliar "How are you, stranger?" of the Far West;
something different from the " bon jour, serviteur" of
the Alps. These no doubt arise from the natural
sociability of man, and are stimulated into a fash
ion and a tradition by the sparseness of the pop
ulation, for sociability is greatly promoted by isola
tion. Our salute was more measured and formal,
respect to age and authority being evidently an ele
ment of this homage, which was sedulously taught
to the young. Its origin I cannot tell ; perhaps it
carne from England with the Puritans, and was a
vestige of that kindly ceremony which always marks
the intercourse of the upper and lower classes in a
country where the patrician and plebeian are estob-

LKTTKRS BIOGRAPHICAL,

lished by law and public sentiment. Perhaps' it Be
spoke also something of that reign of authority, which
then regulated society in the affairs of Church and
State.

But however this may be, it is certain that for
children to salute travelers was, in my early days, as
well a duty as a decency. A child who did not
" make his manners" to a stranger on the high-road,
was deemed a low fellow ; a stranger who refused to
acknowledge this civility was esteemed a sans cu-
lotte — perhaps a favorer of Jacobinism. It may be
remarked that men of the highest rank in those
days were particular in these attentions to children ;
indeed, I may say that the emphasis of a stranger's
courtesy was generally the measure of his station.
I can testify that in my own case, the effect of this
was to impress me strongly with the amiability of
rank which thus condescended to notice a child ; at
the same time, it encouraged children, in. some sort,
to imitate high and honorable examples.

The decadence of this good old highway politeness
in Connecticut, began soon after the period of which
I now write. Remember that this was long before
the era of railroads and lightning telegraphs. Of
course it would be idle for boys and girls now-a-days
to undertake to bow and courtesy to locomotives: in
such a process they would run the risk of wringing
their necks and tripping up their heels. But forty
years . ago people plodded along at the rate of twc

HISTORICAL, AN ECDOTICAL, ETC. ^ J 29

to fuur miles the hour. Everybody had time then to
be polite. It is all changed : aspiring young Amer
ica was then slow, as it is fast now. Since every
thing goes by steam and electricity, tall walking and
tall talking are the vogue. It is easy to comprehend
how this comes about ; but it was even before the
advent of this age of agony, that the good old coun
try custom on the part of the rising generation, to
salute strangers along the road, had waned. It first
subsided into a vulgar nod, half ashamed and half
impudent, and then, like the pendulum of a dying-
clock, totally ceased.

Thus passed away the age of politeness. For
some reason or other, it seems to have gone down
with old Hartford Convention Federalism. The
change in manners had no doubt been silently going
on for some time ; but it was not distinctly visible
to common eyes till the establishment of the new
constitution. Powder and queues, cocked-hats and
broad-brims, white-top boots, breeches, and shoe-
buckles — signs and symbols of a generation, a few
examples of which still lingered among us — finally
departed with the Charter of Charles II., while with
the new constitution of 1818, short hair, pantaloons,
and round hats with narrow brims, became the estab
lished costume of men of all classes.

Jefferson was, or affected to be, very simple in his
taste, dress, and manners. He wore pantaloons, in
stead of breeches, and adopted leather shoe strings in

6*

130 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

place of buckles. These and other similar things
were praised by his admirers as signs of his democ
racy: a certain coarseness of manners, supposed to
be encouraged by the leaders, passed to the led.
Rudeness and irreverence were at length deemed
democratic, if not democracy.* An anecdote, which
ii- strictly historical, will illustrate this.

About this time, there was in the eastern part of
Connecticut a clergyman by the name of Cleveland,
who was noted for his wit. One summer day, as he
was riding along, he came to a brook. Here he
paused to let his horse drink. Just then, a stranger
rode into the stream from the opposite direction,
and his horse began to drink also. The animals ap
proached, as is their wont under such circumstances,
and thus brought the two men face to face.

" How are you, priest ?" said the stranger.

" How are you, democrat?" said the parson.
. u How do you know I am a democrat?" said one.

" How do you know I am a priest?" said the other.

;< I know you to be a priest by your dress," said
the stranger.

" I know you to be a democrat by your address,"
said the parson.

* Jefferson carried his plebeiaimm so far as to put an end to the social
gatherings of the people at the President's house, called levees. Madi
son, who was a better — that is, a wiser and truer — democrat, saw that
these meetings tended at once to elevation of manners and equalization
of social position, and restored them. Mrs. Madison's levees were not
less brilliant than those of lady Washington, though they were less dig-
niticd and retined.

"How ARE YOU, PRIEST?" "How ARE YOU, DEMOCRAT?" Vol. 1, p. 130.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 131

There is an anecdote of a somewhat later date,
which illustrates the same point. In Washington's
time, the manners of the country, among the leading
classes, assumed a good deal of stateliness, and this
was perpetuated by the example of this great man —
great alike from his office, his character, and his
history. This was made the foundation of the charge
against him — so basely urged — that he was at heart a
monarchist. It was but natural that Jefferson should
appear to be, in all things, his opposite. Under his
administration, as I have just said, a great change was
effected in external manners. As was reasonable, the
democrats followed the example of their leader, now
chief magistrate of the nation, while among the old
federalists there still lingered vestiges of the waning
costume of other days.

A very keen observer, then and long afterward a
senator of the United States, once told me that at
this period, all the barbers of Washington were fed
eralists, and he imputed it to the fact that the leaders
of that party in Congress wore powder and long
queues, and of course had them dressed every day
by the barber. The democrats, on the contrary, wore
short hair, or, at least, small queues, tied up carelessly
with a libbon, and therefore gave little encouragement
to the tonsorial art. One day, as the narrator told
me. while he was being shaved by the leading barber
of the city — who was of course a federalist — the lat
ter suddenly and vehemently burst out against the

1 :>2 J.KTTKRS BIOGRAPHICAL,

nomination of Madison for the presidency by the
democratic party, which had that morning been an
nounced.

" Dear me !" said the barber, " surely this coun
try is doomed to disgrace and shame. What Presi
dents we might have, sir ! Just look at Daggett of
Connecticut and Stockton of New Jersey ! What
queues they have got, sir — as big as your wrist, and
powdered every day, sir, like real gentlemen as they
are. Such men, sir, would confer dignity upon the
chief magistracy ; but this little Jim Madison, with a
queue no bigger than a pipe-stem ! Sir, it is enough
to make a man forswear his country !"

But I must return to locomotion — not railing but
wheeling. In Ridgefield, in the year 1800, there
was but a single chaise, and that belonged to Col
onel Bradley, one of the principal citizens of the
place. It was without a top, and had a pair ol
wide-spreading, asinine ears. That multitudinous
generation of traveling vehicles, so universal and so
convenient now — such as top-wagons, four-wheeled
chaises, tilburies, dearborns, &c., was totally un
known. Even if these things had been invented,
the roads would scarcely have permitted the use of
them. Physicians who had occasion to go from town
to town, went on horseback ; all clergymen, except
perhaps Bishop Seabury, who rode in a coach, trav
eled in the same way. My father's people, who lived
at a distance, came to church on horseback — their

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, KIT.

wives and daughters being seated on pillions behind
them. In a few cases — as in spring-time, when the
mud had no soundings — the farm wagon was used
for transporting the family.

In winter it was otherwise, for we had three or four
months of sleighing. Then the whole country was
a railroad, and gay times we had. Oh ! those beau
tiful winters, which would drive me shivering to the
fireside now : what vivid delight have I had in
your slidings and skatings, your sleddings and sleigh
ings ! One thing strikes me now with wonder, and
that is, the general indifference, in those days, to the
intensity of winter. No doubt, as I have said before,
the climate was then more severe ; but be that as it
may, people seemed to suffer less from it than at the
present day. Nobody thought of staying at home
from church because of the extremity of the weather.
We had no thermometers, it is true, to frighten us
with the revelation that it was twenty-five degrees
below zero. The habits of the people were simple
and hardy, and there were few defences against the
assaults of the seasons. The houses were not tight ;
we had no stoves, no Lehigh or Lackawanna coal ;
yet we lived, and comfortably too ; nay, we even
changed burly winter into a season of enjoyment.

Let me tell you a story, by the way, upon the
meeting-houses of those days. They were of wood,
and slenderly built, of course admitting somewhat
freely the blasts of the seasons. In the severe win-

184: LETTEE8 BIOGRAPHICAL,

ter days, we only mitigated the temperature by foot-
stoves ; but these were deemed effeminate luxuries,
suited to women and children. What would have
been thought of Deacon Olmstead and Granther Bald
win, had they yielded to the weakness of a foot-stove !
The age of comfortable meeting-houses and
churches, in county towns, was subsequent to this,
some twenty or thirty years. All improvement is
gradual, and frequently advances only by conflict
with prejudice, and victory over opposition. In a
certain county town within my knowledge, the intro
duction of stoves into the meeting-house, about the
year 1830, threatened to overturn society. The inci
dent may be worth detailing, for trifles often throw
light upon important subjects.

In this case, the metropolis, which we will call
H . . ., had adopted stoves in the churches, and nat
urally enough some people of the neighboring town
of E .... set about introducing this custom into the
meeting-house in their own village. Now, the two
master-spirits of society — the Demon of Progress and
the Angel of Conservatism — somehow or other had
got into the place, and as soon as this reform was sug
gested, they began to wrestle with the people, until
at last the -church and society were divided into two
violent factions — the Stove Party and the Anti-stove
Party. At the head of the first was Mrs. Deacon
K . . . . and at the head of the latter was Mrs. Deacon
I* The battle raged portentously, very much

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 185

like the renowned tempest in a teapot. Society was
indeed lashed into a foam. The minister, between
the contending factions, scarcely dared to say his soul
was his own. He could scarcely find a text from
" Genesis to Jude," that might not commit him on one
side or the other. The strife — of course — ran into
politics, and the representative to the assembly got
in by a happy knack at dodging the question in such
wise as to be claimed by both parties.

Finally, the progressionists prevailed — the stove
party triumphed, and the stoves were accordingly
installed. Great was the humiliation of the anti-
stoveites ; nevertheless, they concluded to be submis
sive to the dispensations of Providence. On the
Sabbath succeeding the installation of the stoves, Mrs.
Deacon P . . . ., instead of staying away, did as she
ought, and went to church. As she moved up the
broad aisle, it was remarked that she looked pale but
calm, as a martyr should, conscious of injury, yet
struggling to forgive. Nevertheless, when the min
ister named his text — Eomans xii. 20 — and spoke
about heaping coals of fire on the head — she slid
from her seat, and subsided gently upon the floor.
The train of ideas suggested was, in fact, too much
for her heated brain and shattered nerves. Sud
denly there was a rush to the pew, and the fainting
Jady was taken out. When she came to the air, she
slightly revived.

"I ray what is the matter?" said Mrs. Deacon

1M LF.TTKR8 — BIOOKAPH1UAL,

K . . . ., who bent over her, holding a smelling-bottle
to her nose.

" Oh, it is the heat of those awful stoves," said
Mrs. Deacon P . . . .

" No, no, my dear," said Mrs. Deacon K . . . . ;
"that can't be: it's a warm day, you know, and
there's no fire in them."

" No fire in the stoves ?" said Mrs. Deacon P . . . .

"Not a particle," said Mrs. Deacon K . . . .

" Well, I feel better now," said the poor lady ; and
so bidding her friends good-by, she went home, in a
manner suited to the occasion.

I have said that in the year 1800 there was but a
single chaise in Ridgefield, and this was brought,
I believe, from New Haven. There was not, I im
agine, a coach, or any kind of pleasure vehicle — that
crazy old chaise excepted — in the county of Fairfield,
out of the two half-shire towns. Such things, in
deed, were known at New York, Boston, and Phila
delphia — for already the government had laid a tax
upon pleasure conveyances ; but they were compar
atively few in number, and were mostly imported.
In 1798, there was but one public hack in New Ha
ven, and but one coach ; the latter belonging to Pier-
point Edwards, being a large four-wheeled vehicle, for
two persons, called a chariot. In the smaller toyvns,
there were no pleasure vehicles in use throughout New
England. What an Old Fogy the world was then !

About that time, there came to our village a man

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, KTC. 137

by the name of Jesse J. Skellinger, an Englishman,
and chaisemaker by trade. My father engaged him
to build him a chaise. A bench was set up in our
barn, and certain trees of oak and ash were cut in
our neighboring woods. These were sawed and sea
soned, and shaped into wheels and shafts. Eben.
Hawley, half blacksmith and half wheelwright, was
duly initiated, and he cunningly wrought the iron
necessary for the work. In five months the chaise
was finished, with a standing top — greatly to the ad- '
miration of our family. What a gaze was there, my
countrymen, as this vehicle went through Ridgefield-
street upon its first expedition!

This was the beginning of the chaise manufactory
in Ridgefield, which has since been a source of large
revenue to the town. Skellinger was engaged by
Elijah Hawley, who had formerly done something as
a \ragon-builder, and thus in due time an establish
ment was founded, which for many years was noted
for the beauty and excellence of its pleasure vehicles.

The origin of local and special kinds of industry
is often hidden in mystery. It would be difficult to
tell who began the manufactory of needles at Red-
ditch, ribbons at St. Etienne, or watches at Geneva;
but it is certain that our chaise, built in our barn,
was the commencement of the Ridgefield carriage
manufactory, which greatly flourished for a time, and
gave rise to other branches of mechanical industry,
which still contribute to the prosperity of the place.

138 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

LETTER XI.

Cp-town and Down-town — East End and West End — Master Stebbins — A
Model Schoolmaster — The School-house — Administration, of the School —
Zeek Sanford— School-books — Arithmetic — History — Grammar — Anec
dote of O H. — Country Schools of New England in these Days

—Matter Stabbing1 s Scholart.

MY DEAR 0******

Eidgefield, as well as most other places, had its
Up-town and Down-town — terms which have not
unfrequently been the occasion of serious divisions
in the affairs of Church and State. In London this
distinction takes the name of West End and the City.
The French philosophers say that every great cap
ital has similar divisions — West End being always
the residence of the aristocracy and East End of the
canaille. They affirm that it is not only so in fact as
to London, Paris, Vienna, and other capitals of the
present day, but that it was so in Rome, Athens,
Babylon, and Nineveh of old. This they explain by
a general law, pervading all countries and all ages,
which establishes a current of air from west to east,
thus ventilating and purifying the one, and charging
the other with the fuliginous vapors of a crowded
population. Hence, they say that not only cities
must have their West End and East End, but that
houses should be built on the same principle — the
parlor to the west and the kitchen to the east. This

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC.

is surely laying deep the foundations of the patrician
and plebeian divisions of society.

Whether our great American cities furnish any
support to this ingenious theory, I leave to be deter
mined by the philosophers. I shall only venture to
remark that Kidgefield, being a village, had a right
to follow its own whim, and therefore West Lane,
instead of being the aristocratic end of the place,
was really rather the low end. It constituted in fact
what was called Down-town, in distinction from the
more eastern and northern section, called Up-town.
In this latter portion, and about the middle of the
main street, was the Up-town school, the leading
seminary of the village, for at this period it had
not arrived at the honors of an academy. At the
age of ten years I was sent here, the institution be
ing then, and many years after, under the charge of
Master Stebbins. He was a man with a conciliating
stoop in the shoulders, a long body, short legs, and
a swaying walk. He was, at this period, some fifty
years old, his hair being thin and silvery, and always
falling in well-combed rolls, over his coat-collar. His
eye was blue, and his dress invariably of the same
color. Breeches and knee-buckles, blue-mixed stock
ings, and shoes with bright buckles, seemed as much
a part of the man as his head and shoulders. On
the whole, his appearance was that of the middle-
class gentleman of the olden tune, and he was in
fact what he seemed.

140 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

This seminary of learning for the rising aristocracy
of Eidgefield was a wooden edifice, thirty by twenty
feet, covered with brown clapboards, and except an
entry, consisted of a single room. Around, and
against the walls ran a continuous line of seats, front
ed by a continuous writing-desk. Beneath, were
depositories for books and writing materials. The
center was occupied by slab seats, similar to those
of West Lane. The larger scholars were ranged on
the outer sides, at the desks ; the smaller fry of
a-b-c-darians were seated in the center. The master
was enshrined on the east side of the room, contrary,
be it remembered, to the law of the French savans,
which places dominion invariably in the west. Reg
ular as the sun, Master Stebbins was in his seat at
nine o'clock, and the performances of the school
began.

According to the Catechism — which, by the way,
we learned and recited on Saturday — the chief end of
man was to glorify God and keep his commandments :
according to the routine of this school, one would
have thought it to be reading, writing, and arithme
tic, to which we may add spelling. From morning
to night, in all weathers, through every season of the
year, these exercises were carried on with the energy,
patience, and perseverance of a manufactory.

Master Stebbins respected his calling: his heart
was in his work ; and so, what he pretended to teach,
he taught well. When I entered the school, I found

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 141

that a huge stride had been achieved in the march ol
mind since I had left West Lane. Webster's Spelling-
book had taken the place of Dil worth, which was a
great improvement. The drill in spelling was very
thorough, and applied every day to the whole school.
I imagine that the exercises might have been amusing
to a stranger, especially as one scholar would some
times go off in a voice as grum as that of a bull-frog,
while another would follow in tones as fine and pi
ping as a peet-weet. The blunders, too, were often
ineffably ludicrous ; even we children would some
times have tittered, had not such an enormity been
certain to have brought out the birch. As to rewards
and punishments, the system was this: whoever miss
ed went down ; so that perfection mounted to the top.
Here was the beginning of the up and down of life.

Beading was performed in classes, which generally
plodded on without a hint from the master. Never
theless, when Zeek Sanford* — who was said to have
a streak of lightning in him — in his haste to be smart,

* Ezekiel Sanford was a sou of Colonel Benjamin Sanford, of Reading.
The latter married a daughter of Col. David Olmstead, of Ridgefield, a
man of great respectability : after residing a few years here, he removed
to Onondaga county, New York, and thence to Philadelphia, and after
ward to Germantown, where he died about thirty years ago.

Ezekiel, our schoolmate, was a lad of great spirit and excellent ca
pacity. He was educated at Yale College, and was there noted as a
promising writer. He subsequently became editor of the Eclectic Maga
zine at Philadelphia, and in 1819, published a History of the United States
before the Revolution,, with some account of the Aborigines. Having stud
ied law, he removed to Columbia, South Carolina, where he died about
the year 1825.

142 LKTTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

read the 37th verse of the 2d chapter of the Acts —
" Now when they heard this, they were pickled in
their heart" — the birch stick on Master Stebbins's ta
ble seemed to quiver and peel at the little end, as if
to give warning of the wrath to come. When Orry
Keeler — Orry was a girl, you know, and not a boy
— drawled out in spelling : k — o — n, kon, a — h — u — n
— t — s, shunts, konshunts — the bristles in the master's
eyebrows fidgeted like Aunt Delight's knitting-nee
dles. Occasionally, when the reading was insupport-
ably bad, he took a book and read himself, as an
example.

We were taught arithmetic in Daboll, then a new
book, and which, being adapted to^our measures of
length, weight, and currency, was a prodigious leap
over the head of poor old Dilworth, whose rules and
examples were modeled upon English customs. In
consequence of the general use of Dilworth in our
schools, for perhaps a century — pounds, shillings, and
pence were classical, and dollars and cents vulgar, for
several succeeding generations. " I would not give a
penny for it," was genteel ; " I would not give a
cent for it," was plebeian. We have not yet got over
this : we sometimes say red cent in familiar parlance,
but it can hardly be put in print without offense.

Master Stebbins was a "great man with a slate and
pencil, and I have an idea that we were a generation
after his own heart. We certainly achieved wonders
according to our own conceptions, some of us going

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 143

even beyond the Rule of Three, and making forays
into the mysterious region of Vulgar Fractions.
Several daring geniuses actually entered and took
possession.

But after all, penmanship was Master Stebbins's
great accomplishment. He had no magniloquent
system ; no pompous lessons upon single lines and
bifid lines, and the like. The revelations of in
spired copy-book makers had not then been vouch
safed to man. He could not cut an American eagle
with a single flourish of a goose-quill. He was gui
ded by good taste and native instinct, and wrote a
smooth round hand, like copper-plate. His lessons
from A to &, all written by himself, consisted of pithy
proverbs and useful moral lessons. On every page
of our writing-books he wrote the first line himself.
The effect was what might have been expected — with
such models, patiently enforced, nearly all became
good writers.

Beyond these simple elements, the Up-town school
made few pretensions. When I was there, two Web
ster's Grammars and one or two Dwight's Geographies
were in use. The latter was without maps or illustra
tions, and was in fact little more than an expanded ta
ble of contents, taken from Morse's Universal Geogra
phy — the mammoth monument of American learning
and genius of that age and generation. The grammar
was a clever book ; but I have an idea that neither
Master Stebbins nor his pupils ever fathomed its

144 LETTERS — BIOGBAPHICAL,

depths. They floundered about in it, as if in a
quagmire, and after some time came out pretty nearly
where they went in, though perhaps a little obfus
cated by the dim and dusky atmosphere of these
labyrinths.

The fact undoubtedly is, that the art of teaching,
as now understood, beyond the simplest elements,
was neither known nor deemed necessary in our
country schools in their day of small things. Repe
tition, drilling, line upon line, and precept upon pre
cept, with here and there a little of the birch — con
stituted the entire system.

James G. Carter* had not then begun the series ol
publications, which laid the foundation of the great
movement in school education, which afterward per
vaded New England. " Bring up a child in the way
in which he should go," was the principle ; the prac
tice regarded this way as straight and narrow —
somewhat like a gun-barrel — and the scholar as a
bullet, who was to go ahead, whether he had to
encounter a pine board or an oak knot. In climb
ing up the steep ascent to knowledge, he was expect
ed to rely upon his own genius ; a kindly, helping
hand along the rough and dubious passages, was rare
ly extended to him. " Do this!" said the master, with
his eye bent on the ferule, and generally the pupil
did it, if the matter related to the simpler school

* See note V., D. 540.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 14:5

exercises. But when you came to grammar — that
was quite another thing.

Let me here repeat an anecdote, which I have in
deed told before, but which I had from the lips of its
hero, G . . . H . . ., a clergyman of some note thirty
years ago, and which well illustrates this part of my
story. At a village school, not many miles from
Bidgefield, he was put into Webster's Grammar. Here
he read, "A noun is the name of a thing — as horse, hair,
justice" Now, in his innocence, he read it thus : " A
noun is the name of a thing-r-as horse-hair justice.'1

" What then," said he, ruminating deeply, " is a
noun ? But first I must find out what a horse-hair
justice is."

Upon this he meditated for some days, but still
he was as far as ever from the solution. Now his
father was a man of authority in those parts, and
moreover he was a justice of the peace. Withal, he
was of respectable ancestry, and so there had de
scended to him a somewhat stately high-backed settee,
covered with horse-hair. One day, as the youth came
from school, pondering upon the great grammatical
problem, he entered the front door of the house, and
there he saw before him, his father, officiating in his
legal capacity, and seated upon the old horse-hair
settee. " I have found it !" said the boy to himself,
as greatly delighted as was Archimedes when he ex
claimed Eureka — " my father is a horse-hair justice,
and therefore a noun !"

VOL. I.— 7

146 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

Nevertheless, it must be admitted that the world
got on remarkably well in spite of this narrowness
of the country schools. The elements of an Eng
lish education were pretty well taught throughout
the village seminaries of Connecticut, and I may
add, of New England. The teachers were heartily
devoted to their profession : they respected their call
ing, and were respected and encouraged by the com
munity. They had this merit, that while they at
tempted but little, that, at least, was thoroughly per
formed. 1 •-;

As to the country at large, it was a day of quiet,
though earnest action : Franklin's spirit was the great
" schoolmaster abroad" — teaching industry, persever
ance, frugality, and thrift, as the end and aim of am
bition. The education of youth was suited to what
was expected of them. With the simple lessons of
the country schools, they moved the world imme
diately around them. Though I can recollect only a
single case — that already alluded to of Ezekiel San-
ford — in which one of Master Stebbins's scholars at
tained any degree of literary distinction, still, quite a
number of them, with no school learning beyond
what he gave them, rose to a certain degree of emi
nence. His three sons obtained situations in New
York as accountants, and became distinguished in
their career. At one period there were three gradu
ates of his school, who were cashiers of banks in
that city. My mind adverts now with great satisfac-

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 147

tion to several names among the wealthy, honorable,
and still active merchants of the great metropolis,
who were my fellow-students of the Up-town school,
and who there began and completed their education.
I will venture to name another — Bufus H. King,
of Albany, who was my competitor in every study,
and my friend in every play. May I not be permit
ted to add that he has ever been, and still is, my
friend ? As a man, he is precisely what he promised
to be as Master Stebbins's pupil. I know he will ex
cuse me for thus speaking of him in behalf of our
revered old schoolmaster, to whose character and
memory I can inscribe no more worthy monument
than this reference to his pupils.

LETTER XII.

Horsemanship — Bigjs Adventures — A Dead Shot — A Race — Academical
Honors — Charles Chatterbox — My Father's School — My Exercises in Latin
— Tityre tu patulce, etc. — Rambles — Literary Aspirations — -My Mother —
Family Worship — Standing and Kneeling at Prayer — Anecdotes — Out
Philistine Temple.

MY DEAR 0******

Permit me a few more details as to my school-
day recollections. I went steadily to the Up-town
school for three winters, being occupied during the
Bummers upon the farm, and in various minor duties.

148 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

I was a great deal on horseback^ often carrying mes
sages to the neighboring towns of Reading, Wilton,
Westou, and Lower Salem, for then the post-routes
were few, and the mails, which were weekly, crept like
snails over hill and valley. I became a bold rider at
an early age ; before I was eight years old, I frequently
ventured to put a horse to his speed, and that, too,
without a saddle. A person who has never tried it,
can hardly conceive of the wild delight of riding a
swift horse — when he lays down his ears, tosses his
tail in air, and stretches himself out in a full race.
The change which the creature undergoes, in passing
from an ordinary gait into a run, is felt by the rider
to be a kind of sudden inspiration, which triumphs
like wings over the dull, dragging laws of gravitation.
The intense energy of the beast's movements, the
rush of the air, the swimming backward of lands,
houses, and trees, with the clattering thunder of the
hoofs — all convey to the rider a fierce ecstasy, which,
perhaps, nothing else can give. About this period,
however, I received a lesson, which lasted me a life
time.

You must know that Deacon Benedict, one of our
neighbors, had a fellow living with him, named
Abijah. He was an adventurous youth, and more
than once led me into tribulation. I remember that
on one occasion I went with him to shoot a dog that
was said to worry the deacon's sheep. It was night,
and dark as Egypt, but Bige said he could see the

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 149

creature, close to tho cow-house, back of the barn
He banged away, and then jumped over the fence,
to pick up the game. After a time he came back, but
said not a word. Next morning it was found that
he had shot the brindled cow; mistaking a white
spot in her forehead for the dog, he had taken deadly
aim, and put the whole charge into her pate. For
tunately her skull was thick and the shot small, so
the honest creature was only a little cracked. Bige,
however, was terribly scolded by the deacon, who was
a justice of the peace, and had a deep sense of the
importance of his duties. I came in for a share of
blame, though I was only a looker-on. Bige said
the deacon called me a "parsnip scrimmage," but
more probably it was a particeps criminis.

But to proceed. One day I was taking home from
the pasture, a horse that belonged to some clergyman
— I believe Dr. Eipley, of Green sfarms. Just as I came
upon the level ground in front of Jerry Mead's old
house, Bige came up behind me on the deacon's mare —
an ambling brute with a bushy tail and shaggy mane.
As he approached, he gave a chirrup, and my horse,
half in fright and half in fun, bounded away, like Tarn
O'Shanter's mare. Every hair in the creature's tail
and mane stood out, as if spinning Avith electricity.
Away we went, I holding on as well as I could, for
the animal was round as a barrel. He was no doubt
used to a frolic of this sort, although he belonged to
a D. D., and looked as if he believed in total deprav-

150 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

ity. When he finally broke into a ran, he flew like
the wind, at the same time bounding up and down
with a tearing energy, quite frightful to think of.
After a short race, he went from under me, and I
came with a terrible shock to the ground.

The breath was knocked out of me for some sec
onds, and as I recovered it with a gasping effort, iny
sensations were indescribably agonizing. Greatly
humbled, and sorely bruised, I managed to get home,
where the story of my adventure had preceded me.
I was severely lectured by my parents, which, how
ever, I might have forgotten, had not the concussion
entered into my bones, and made an indelible impres
sion upon my memory, thus perpetuating the whole
some counsel.

When I was about twelve years old, a man by
the name of Sackett was employed to keep a high-
school, or, as it was then called, an Academy. Here
I went irregularly for a few weeks, and at a public
exhibition I remember to have spoken a piece upon a
stage fitted up in the meeting-house, entitled "Charles
Chatterbox." Irad Hawley, Rufus H. King, and Sally
Ingersoll, played Hagar and Ishmael. This was the
substance of my achievements at Sackett's semi
nary.

The narrowness of my father's income, and the
needs of a large family, induced him to take half a
dozen pupils to be fitted for college. This he con
tinued for a series of years. Some of his scholars

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 151

came from New Haven, some from Danbury, and
some from other places. I may remark, in passing,
that a number of these — some of whom are still liv
ing — distinguished themselves in various liberal pur
suits. It might seem natural that I should have
shared in these advantages ; but, in the first place,
my only and elder brother, Charles A. Goodrich —
now widely known by his numerous useful publica
tions — had been destined for the clerical profession,
partly by his own predilection, partly by encourage
ment from a relative, and partly too from an idea
that his somewhat delicate constitution forbade a
more hardy career. To this may doubtless be added
the natural desire of his parents that at least one of
their sons should follow the honored calling to which
father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had been
devoted. Hence, he was put in training for college.
The expenses to be thus incurred were formidable
enough to my parents, without adding to them, by
attempting any thing of the kind for me. And be
sides, I had manifested no love of study, and evi
dently preferred action to books. Moreover, it must
be remembered that I was regarded as a born carpen
ter, and it would have seemed a tempting of Provi
dence to have set me upon any other career. So,
with perfect content on my part, from the age of
twelve to fourteen, I was chiefly employed in active
services about the house and farm. I could read,
write, and cipher; this was suffi ,ient for my ambi-

152 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

tion, and satisfactory to my parents, in view of the
life to which I was apparently destined.

Nevertheless, though my school exercises were
such as I have described, I doubtless gathered some
little odds and ends of learning about those days,
beyond the range of my horn-books. I heard a good
deal of conversation from the clergymen who visited
us, and above all, I listened to the long discourses
of Lieutenant Smith upon matters and things in gen
eral. My father, too, had a brother in Congress,
from whom he received letters, documents, and mes
sages, all of which became subjects of discussion. I
remember furthermore, that out of some childish im
itation, I thumbed over Corderius and Erasmus — the
first Latin books, then constantly in the hands of my
father's pupils. I was so accustomed to hear them
recite their lessons in Virgil, that

Tityre tu patula recubaw sub tegmine fngi — "7

and

Anna-, arms — virumque, aud the man — carw, I sing —

were as familiar to my ears as hillery, tillery, zachery
zan, and probably conveyed to my mind about as
much meaning. Even the first lesson in Greek —

Ev, in — <x£x»j, the beginning — »jv, was — 6 Xoyoj, the Woid —

was also among the cabalistic jingles in my mem
ory. All this may seem nothing as a matter of edu
cation ; still, some years after, while I'was an appren-

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. '153

lice in Hartford, feeling painfully impressed with the
scantiness of my knowledge, I borrowed some Latin
school-books, under the idea of attempting to master
that language. To my delight and surprise, I found
that they seemed familiar to me. Thus encouraged,
[ began, and bending steadily over my task at even
ing, when rny day's duties were over, I made my way
nearly through the Latin Grammar and the first two
books of Yirgil's JEneid. In my poverty of knowl
edge, even these acquisitions became useful to me.

From the age of twelve to fifteen, in the midst of
my activity, I still lived largely upon dreams. Noth
ing could be more ludicrous than the extravagance
of these, except it might be their vividness and seem
ing reality, in contrast to all the probabilities of my
condition. Though generally occupied in the vari
ous tasks assigned me, I still found a good deal of
time to ramble over the country. Whole days I spent
in the long, lonesome lanes that wound between
Eidgefield and Salem ; in the half-cultivated, half-
wooded hills that lay at the foot of West Mountain,
and in the deep recesses of the wild and rugged re
gions beyond. I frequently climbed to the top of
the cliffs and ridges that rose one above another,
and having gained the crown of the mountain, cast
long and wistful glances over the blue vale that
stretched out for many miles to the westward. I had
always rny gun in hand, and though not insensible
to any sport that might fall in my way, I was more

7*

154; I.KTTER8 — BIOGRAPHICAL, '

absorbed in the fancies that came thronging to my
imagination. I had a love of solitary and even des
olate scenes : there seemed to be in me an appetite
that found satisfaction in the wild and precipitous
passes of the wilderness. This, after an absence of
a few weeks, would return like hunger and thirst,
and I felt a longing for the places which appeased
it. Thus I became familiar with the whole country
around, and especially with the shaded glens and
gorges of West Mountain. I must add that these
had, besides their native, savage charms, a sort of
fascination from being the residence of a strange wo
man, who had devoted herself to solitude, and was
known under the name of the Hermitess. This per
sonage — whom I shall hereafter describe more partic
ularly — I had occasionally seen in our village, and I
frequently met her as she glided through the forests,
while I was pursuing my mountain rambles. I some
times felt a strange thrill as she passed, but this only
seemed to render the recesses where she dwelt still
more inviting.

Of all the seasons, autumn was to me the most
pleasing. Even late in November, when the leaves
had fallen and were driven about in eddies by the
hollow winds — the tall trees creaking and moaning
aloft — the remote and solitary wilds had their fas
cination. There was in me certainly none of the
misanthropic feeling which made Byron fall in love
with such scenes. Nevertheless, some passages in

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIC AL, ETC. 155

Childe Harold, which appeared a few years after, de
scribed the emotions I then experienced, and gave full
expression to the struggling but imprisoned thoughts
which filled my bosom. It is one of the highest of
fices of the poet to furnish words for the deep, yet
unspoken poetry of the soul. Certainly no language
of mine can express the delight with which I have
read and re-read the following stanza, and which has
ever seemed to me like unsealing a mystic fountain
in my bosom — that has since flowed on in a stream
of pleasing associations.

" To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell,
To slowly trace the forest's shady scene,
Where things that own not man's dominion dwell,
And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been —
To climb the trackless mountain, all unseen,
With the wild flock that never needs a fold-
Alone o'er steeps and pouring falls to lean :
This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold

Converse with nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd."

I must repeat that however much I was attracted
by these wild and lonesome scenes, and however I
may have felt a tinge of melancholy in my solitary
walks, I had no feeling of unhappiness, no oppressive
sense of isolation, no anxiety, no ennui. It is true
that at such times, there came to me scraps of solemn
poetry from Milton, Young, and Watts, of which my
mother's mind was full, and which she loved to re
peat. These broke in snatches upon my memory, and

1 56 LKTTER8 BIOGRAPHICAL,

served as lightning-rods to conduct to my lips some
of the burning emotions of my breast. I remember
often to have repeated them, half aloud, while I was
in the woods, though doubtless without having any
very exact appreciation of their meaning, or the
slightest regard to any fitness of application. I could
not then write a reliable line of sense or grammar ;
still, among my fancies I planned poems, and even
dreamed of literary fame. Such I was in fact to my
own consciousness, while at the same time I was re
garded by all around as a rather thoughtless, though
happy boy, with a genius for whittling.

I have no doubt that I inherited from my mother
a love of the night side of nature — not a love that
begets melancholy, but an appetite that found pleas
ure in the shadows as well as the lights of life and
imagination Eminently practical as she was — labori
ous, skillful, and successful in the duties which Prov
idence had assigned her, as the head of a large family,
with narrow means — she was still of a poetic tem
perament. Her lively fancy was vividly set forth by
a pair of the finest eyes I have ever seen — dark and
serious, yet tender and sentimental. These bespoke
not only the vigor of her conceptions, but the melan
choly tinge that shaded her imagination. Sometimes
indeed the well of sadness in her heart became full, and
it ran over in tears. These, however, were like spring
showers — brief in duration, and afterward brighten
ing to all around. She was not the only woman who

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 157

has felt better after a good cry. It was, in fact, a po
etic, not a real sorrow, that thus excited her emotions,
for her prevailing humor abounded in wit and viva
city, not unfrequently taking the hue of playful satire.
Nevertheless, her taste craved the pathetic, the mourn
ful — not as a bitter medicine, but a spicy condiment.
Her favorite poets were King David and Dr. Watts :
she preferred the dirge-like melody of Windham to
all other music. All the songs she sang were minors.
Alas ! how few are now living to verify this feeble
portrait — among the cloud of witnesses who would
once have testified to the general, though inadequate
resemblance !

You will gather from what I have said that my
father not only prayed in his family night and morn
ing ; but before breakfast, and immediately after the
household was assembled, he always read a chapter in
the sacred volume. In our family Bible it is record
ed that he thus read that holy book through, in
course, thirteen times, in the space of about five and
twenty years. He was an excellent reader, having a
remarkably clear, frank, hearty voice, so that I was
deeply interested, and thus early became familiar with
almost every portion of the Old and New Testament.
The narrative passages seized most readily upon my
attention, and formed the greater part of my early
knowledge. The direct, simple style of the Bible
entered into my heart, and became for a long time
my standard of taste in literary composition. It cost

158 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

me a real struggle, long afterward, to relish the mag
niloquence of such writers as Johnson, despite the
smack of Latin and Greek in its composition, and the
ponderous force of thought which it conveyed.

The practice of family worship, as I before stated,
was at this time very general in New England. In
Kidgefield, it was not altogether confined to the
strictly religious — to clergymen', deacons, and church
members. It was a custom which decency hardly
allowed to be omitted. No family was thought to go
on well without .it. There is a good story which
well describes this trait of manners.

Somewhere in Vermont, in this golden age, there
was a widow by the name of Bennett. In conse
quence of the death of her husband, the charge of a
large farm and an ample household devolved upon
her. Her husband had been a pious man, and all
things had prospered with him. His widow, alike
from religious feeling and affectionate regard for his
memory, desired that every thing should be conduct
ed as much as possible as it had been during his life
time. Especially did she wish the day to begin and
close with family worship.

Now she had a foreman on the farm by the name
of Ward. He was a good man for work, but faith
had not yet touched his lips, much less his heart. In
vain did the widow, in admitting his merits at the
plow, the scythe, and the flail, still urge him to crown
her wishes by leading in family prayer. For a long

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 159

time the heart of the man was hard, and his ear deaf
to h,er entreaties. At last, however, wearied with
her importunities, he 'Seemed to change, and to her
great joy, consented to make a trial.

On a bright morning in June — at early sunrise
— the family were all assembled in the parlor, men
and maidens, for their devotions. When all was
ready, Ward, in a low, troubled voice, began. He
had never prayed — or at least not in public — but
he had heard many prayers, and possessed a retentive
memory. After getting over the first hesitancy, he
soon became fluent, and taking passages here and
there from the various petitions he had heard — Pres
byterian, Methodist, Universalist, and Episcopalian —
he went on with great eloquence, gradually elevating
his tone and accelerating his delivery. Ere long his
voice grew portentous, and some of the men and
maids, thinking he was suddenly taken either mad
or inspired, stole out on their toes into the kitchen,
where, with gaping mouths, they awaited the result.
The Widow Bennett bore it all for about half an
hour ; but at last, as the precious time was passing
away, she lost patience, and sprang to her feet. Pla
cing herself directly in front of the speaker, she ex
claimed, "Ward, what do you mean ?"

As if suddenly relieved from a nightmare, he ex
claimed, " Oh dear, ma'am — I'm much obliged to you
— for I couldn't contrive to wind off."

I hope you will not feel that this anecdote par-

LKTTKRH BIOGRAPHICAL,

takes of a license unworthy of these annals, for as
you see, it has an historical foundation, as well as a
practical moral. I regret to leave a doubt in regard
to one of the details, and that is, that I have not been
able to determine whether on this occasion the family
stood up, leaning over the backs of their chairs, or knelt
before the seats. The former was the custom in my
younger days, Puritanism perhaps not having over
come the fear of imitating the soul-endangering prac
tices of prelacy, whether belonging to Mother Church
of England or the Scarlet Lady of Rome. Perhaps,
too, the fatigue of standing was deemed an acceptable
sacrifice : I say fatigue, for in those days, men gifted
in prayer were like the ocean — so deep in spots that it
required a very long line to reach the bottom. Deacon
Cooke, of Danbury, a very sensible and pious man,
by the way, once said that he did not believe the
spirit of prayer could be sustained, on ordinary oc
casions, for more than five minutes at a time. This,
however, was rank heresy then, and was not under
stood or approved till fifty years after. Granther
Baldwin was a better representative of the age I am
speaking of: beginning at the Creation, and coming-
down to the Fall, he would go on through Babel.
Babylon, and Balaam, the landing of the Pilgrims,
Braddock's defeat, and the Declaration of Indepen
dence. These things, added to local matters, usually
Consumed half an hour at the evening exercises.
After a hard day's work — especially in summer time

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 161

• — it required a strong understanding to endure it.
John Benedict, then paying his addresses to Esther
Baldwin, whom he afterward married, one night fell
asleep over his chair, at prayer-time, and pitching
forward against Granther Baldwin, overturned both
him and his devotions. John barely escaped being
forbidden ever to enter the house again ; indeed, he
stayed away some weeks, and only returned upon
Esther's going after him.

This happened near the beginning of the present
century : some five and twenty years later, kneeling
at family prayers had become common in Connecti
cut. A similar change had also begun in meeting
house worship. At the present time, it is common
for people in Congregational churches even, to kneel
at prayer-time. I am not able to state, authorita
tively, the reason for this change, though I presume,
as just intimated, it has arisen from the gradual wear
ing away of the Puritan prejudice against kneeling.
If this be correct, it indicates an important fact,
which is, that sectarian diiferences, especially those
of mere form, have greatly subsided of late years.
It is in respect to these, that there have been the
most bitter contentions ; the movement here noticed
has, therefore, in all its bearings, the significance of a
real reform.

It is stated that when the first Congress assembled
at Philadelphia, September, 1774, the members, duly
impressed with the solemnity of the occasion, nat

162 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

urally desired the aid of religious exercises, and there
fore the appointment of a chaplain was proposed. But
considering that the persons present were of various
creeds, it was feared that they could not unite in the
choice of a clergyman to fulfill the duties of such an
office. The difficulty was, however, happily removed
by Samuel Adams, of Massachusetts, who, although
a rigid Congregationalist, proposed the appointment
of an Episcopalian, and Dr. Duche, a popular preach
er of Philadelphia, was immediately chosen. It must
have been an interesting scene — a minister, bound to
forms, finding extemporaneous words to suit the oc
casion, and the Quaker, the Presbyterian, the Epis
copalian, and the Eationalist — some kneeling, some
standing, but all praying, and looking to Heaven for
wisdom and counsel, in this hour of doubt, anxiety,
and responsibility. Here is a worthy subject* for the
pencil of Weir, Powell, Huntington^ Healy, Page,
Terry, Eossiter, or some other of our historical paint
ers. Adams and Sherman, the Puritans, standing
erect; Thompson, the Quaker, finding the move
ment of the Spirit in the words of a consecrated
priest ; with Washington, Henry, and other Episco
palians, kneeling, according to their creed, and all
invoking wisdom from above — would make a touch
ing and instructive picture. Its moral would be, that

* I understand that this subject — " The First Prayer in Congress"— •
has been painted and engraved, but not in the style suited to a great
national subject.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 163

the greatest minds, in moments of difficulty and dan
ger, acknowledge their dependence upon God, and
feel the necessity of elevating and purifying their
hearts by prayer ; and that the differences of sect,
the distinctions of form, all vanish when emergency
presses upon the consciences of men, and forces them
to a sincere and open avowal of their convictions.

In looking back to this period, and remembering
the impassable gulfs that lay between Christian sects,
it is gratifying to observe what is now witnessed
every Sabbath in our principal cities — the Episcopa
lian, while maintaining his creed and his forms, still
receiving to his communion-table the Presbyterian,
the Methodist, the Congregationalist, the Unitarian,
the Universalist — all who profess to be followers of
Christ, while these sectarians exercise a similar char
ity in return. Is not this progress — is not this re
form ? How much is meant by these simple facts —
the communion-table of Christ extended; the heart
of man expanded, purified, ennobled !

I must not pass over another incident in my mem
ory, and having reference to the topic in hand. Un
der the biblical influence of these days, my father's
scholars built a temple of the Philistines, and when
it was completed within anjl without, all the children
round about assembled, as did the Gazaites of old.
The edifice was chiefly of boards, slenderly construct
ed, and reached the height of twelve feet ; neverthe
less, all of us got upon it, according to the 16th

LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

chapter of Judges. • The oldest of the scholars played
Samson. When all was ready, he took hold of the
pillars of the temple — one with his right hand and
one with his left. " Let me die with the Philistines !'r
said he, and bo wing himself, down we came in a heap !
Strange to say, nobody but Samson was hurt, and he
only in some skin bruises. If you could see him
now — dignified even to solemnity, and seldom conde
scending to any but the gravest matters — you would
scarcely believe the story, even though I write it and
verify it. Nevertheless, if he must have played, he
should have taken the part of Samson, for he is one
of the most gifted men I have ever known.

LETTER XIII.

My father's Library — Children's Books — The New England Primer ana
Westminster Catechism — Toy Books — Nwser-y Bonks — Moral Effect of
these — Hannah Morels Moral Repository — The. Shepherd of Salisbury
Plain — Visit to Barley-wood — First Idea of the Parley Boohs — Impres
sions of Big Books and Little Books — A Comparison of the Old Books
and the New Books for Children and Youth — A Modern Juvenile Book
store in Broadway.

MY DEAR C ****** «,

You will readily comprehend from what I have
said, that up to the age of ten or twelve years, I
had made little acquaintance with literature. Be
yond my school-books, I had read almost nothing.

HISTORICAL, ANKCDOT1CAL, ETC. 165

My father had a considerable library, but it con
sisted mostly of theology, a great deal of it in Latin,
and in large folios. Into such a forbidding mass, I
never penetrated, save only that I sometimes/ dipped
into a big volume, which happened to be in large
print. This was in English, and was, I suspect,
some discussion of Calvin's Five Points ; still it
attracted my attention, and sometimes, especially of
a rainy day,- when I could hear the big drops thump
upon the shingles over my head — for the library was
in the second loft, and led by an open stairway to the
attic — I read whole pages of this book aloud, spell
ing out the large words as well as I could. I did not
understand a sentence of it, but I was fascinated with
the fair large type. This circumstance I have never
forgotten, and it should not be overlooked by those
who make books for children, for in this case, I was
but a representative of others of my age.

It is difficult now, in this era of literary affluence,
almost amounting to surfeit, to conceive of the pov
erty of books suited to children in the days of which
I write. Except the New England Primer — the main
contents of which were the Westminster Catechism —
and some rhymes, embellished with hideous cuts of
Adam's Fall, in which "we sinned all;" the apostle and
a cock crowing at his side, to show that " Peter denies
his Lord and cries;" Nebuchadnezzar crawling about
like a hog, the bristles sticking out of his back, and the
like — I remember none that were in general use

166 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

among my companions. When I was about ten yeara
old, my father brought from Hartford, Gaffer Ginger,
Goody Two Shoes, and some of the rhymes and jin
gles, now collected under the name of Mother Goose,
— with perhaps a few other toy books of that day.
These were a revelation. Of course I read them, but
I must add with no real relish.

Somewhat later one of my companions lent me a
volume containing the stories of Little. Red Riding
Hood, Puss in Boots, Blue Beard, Jack the Giant-
killer, and some other of the tales of horror, com
monly put into the hands of youth, as if for the ex
press purpose of reconciling them to vice and crime.
Some children, no doubt, have a ready appetite for
these monstrosities, but to others they are revolting,
until by repetition and familiarity, the taste is suffi
ciently degraded to relish them. At all events, they
were shocking to me. Even Little Red Riding Hood,
though it seized strongly upon my imagination, ex
cited in me the most painful impressions. I believed
it to be true ; at least it was told with the air of
truth, and I regarded it as a picture of life. I im
agined that what happened to the innocent child of
the cottage, might happen to me and to others. I
recollect, while the impression was fresh in my mind,
that on going to bed, I felt a creeping horror come
over me, as the story recurred to my imagination. As
I dwelt upon it, I soon seemed to see the hideous jaws
of a wolf coming out of the bedclothes, and approach-

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, KTC. 167

ing as if to devour me. My disposition was not tim
id, but the reverse ; yet at last I became so excited,
that my mother was obliged to tell me that the story
was a mere fiction.

" It is not true, then ?" said I.

" No," said my mother, " it is not true."

" Why do they tell such falsehoods, then ?" I re
plied.

" They are not falsehoods, because they are not
intended to deceive. They are mere tales invented
to amuse children."

" Well, they don't amuse me !"

I do not remember the rest of the conversation :
this general impression, however, remained on my
mind, that children's books were either full of non
sense, like "hie diddle diddle" in Mother Goose, or
full of something very like lies, and those very shock
ing to the mind, like Little Bed Eiding Hood. From
that time my interest in them was almost wholly lost.
I had read Puss in Boots, but that seemed to me
without meaning, unless it was to teach us that a
Good Genius may cheat, lie, and steal ; in other words,
that in order to show gratitude to a friend, we may
resort to every kind of meanness and fraud. I never
liked cats, and to make one of that race — sly, thiev
ing, and bloodthirsty by instinct — the personification
of virtue, inclined me, so far as the story produced
any moral effect, to hate virtue itself.

The story of Blue Beard made a stronger and still

168 LETTERS — B10CJKA.PH1CAL,

more painful impression upon me. Though I knew
it to be a fiction, it was still in some sort a reality to
me. His castle, with its hideous chamber hung with
the ghastly corpses of his murdered wives, was more
a living truth in my imagination, than any fact in
history or geography. In spite of my efforts to cast
it out, it remained with all its horrors — a dreadful
burden upon my mind.

Still worse was the story of Jack the Giant-killer.
He, too, was a good genius, but of course — accord
ing to the taste of this species of composition —
a great liar. One should feel sympathy with such a
gallant little fellow, especially in combating giants
like Blunderbore, whose floor was covered with hu
man skulls, and whose daintiest food consisted of
"men's hearts, seasoned with pepper and vinegar!"
Surely — such is the moral of the tale — we must learn
to forgive, nay, to love and approve, wickedness —
lying, deception, and murder — when they are em
ployed for good and beneficent purposes ! At least,
the weak may use any weapons against the strong :
the little may conspire against the great ; and in such
a contest, all weapons are lawful and laudable.

How far this supper of horrors familiarized my
own mind with violence, and thus defaced that moral
sense, which is common in children — leading them to
prefer the good, the true, and the beautiful, if it be
duly cherished — I cannot venture to say. How far
this potent but wicked logic of example, this argument

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIOAL, ETC. 169

of action — vividly wrought into the imagination and
the mind — in favor of meanness, deception, and crime,
served to abate the natural love of truth and honor
in mj bosom, I do not pretend to conjecture. Doubt
less, I suffered less, because my taste was shocked ;
still, the " evil communications" were in my soul. Had
it not been for the constant teaching of rectitude, by
precept and example, in the conduct of my parents,
I might, to say the least, have been seriously injured.
In looking back, and judging of the matter now, I
believe it would certainly have been so. As it was,
these things were fearful temptations, and I am. con
vinced that much of the vice and crime in the world
are to be imputed to these atrocious books put into
the hands of children, and bringing them down, with
more or less efficiency, to their own debased moral
standard.

That such tales should be invented and circulated
in a barbarous age, I can easily conceive ; that they
should even be acceptable to the coarse tastes and
rude feelings of society, where all around is a system
of wrong, duplicity, and violence, is not a matter of
surprise. But that they should be put into the hands
of children, and by Christian parents, and that too in
an age of light and refinement — excites in me the
utmost wonder.

The; common opinion, no doubt, is, that they are
at least amusing ; that at the same time they are too
improbable on the very face to carry with them any

VOL. I.— 8

170 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

moral effect. This is a double mistake. The love
of the horrible, the monstrous, the grotesque, is not
indigenous to the youthful mind — unless it may be
in certain anomalous cases. There are children, as I
have said, who seem to be born with a proclivity to
evil. There are others, who, from the unhappy in
fluence of malign example, seem to show an early
development of debased tastes. But in general the
child revolts at these things, and it is not till it is
broken in by repetition, till it is reconciled by famil
iarity, that it begins to crave them. A child loves
at once a kitten, a chicken, a doll — the innocent sem
blances of itself ; but will usually fly into a passion
of repugnance at the sight of any thing monstrous in
nature or art.

The idea that familiarity with crime is harmless, is
equally at variance with experience. The Bible is
full of warnings against the deadly effect of bad ideas
communicated by example. Common sense — the first
instinct of reason — tells us not to take children into
scenes of crime and bloodshed, unless we wish to
debase them. There is little difference, as to moral
effect upon children, between things real and things
imaginary. All that is strongly conceived by the
young, is reality to them. The tale of Jack the
Giant-killer in the book, is very much the same as
would be the incidents of the story acted out at the
theater, or the reality performed before the eye. In all
these cases, it fills the mind with evil, and commends

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 171

evil, by inevitable influence. Is it not leading chil
dren into fearful temptation, to put such works as
these into their hands? It will be understood that ]
am here speaking more particularly of nursery books
These, from the impressibility of young children, and
from the fact that the judgment is not yet developed
and exercises little control over the mind — produce
a most powerful effect. Yet it is only for such that
the books referred to have been framed, as if, in a
diabolical spirit of mischief, at once to deprave the
taste, and degrade the intellect of childhood.

At a somewhat later date — that is, when I was
about twelve years old — I read Robinson Crusoe,
which greatly delighted me. The work had about a
dozen engravings, in which Crusoe and his man Fri
day were depicted somewhat like two black spiders :
nevertheless, my imagination endued them with
charms equal to those of Heath's Book of Beauty in
after times. About this period, I met with Alphonso
and Dalinda, a translation of one of Madame de
Genlis' Tales of the Castle. I have never seen it
since, but I judge by its effect upon my imagination,
that it must be written with great skill and knowl
edge of the youthful mind. The manner in which
a series of romantic and wonderful incidents are
philosophically explained, seemed to me exceedingly
felicitous, and certainly gave me my first glimpses ot
some of the more curious marvels of Natural History
and Natural Philosophy.

172 LETTEKS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

From this point I made my way into works de
signed for adults, and now began to read voyages,
travels, and histories. Thus a new world was within
my reach, though as yet I did not realize it. About
this time I met with Hannah More's Moral Keposi-
tory, which, so far as I recollect, was the first work
that I read with real enthusiasm. That I devoured.
The story of the Shepherd of Salisbury Plain was to
me only inferior to the Bible narrative of Joseph and
his brethren. Twenty years after, I enjoyed the
pleasure, I might almost say ecstasy, of passing over
the scene of this inimitable story, and of telling my
experience to the author at Barley-wood. It was in
conversation with that amiable and gifted person, that
I first formed the conception of the Parley Tales —
the general idea of which was to make nursery
books reasonable and truthful, and thus to feed the
young mind upon things wholesome and pure, in
stead of things monstrous, false, and pestilent: that
we should use the same prudence in giving aliment
to the mind and soul, as to the body ; and as we
would not give blood and poison as food for the lat
ter, we should not administer cruelty and violence,
terror and impurity, to the other. In short, that the
elements of nursery books should consist of beauty
instead of deformity, goodness instead of wickedness,
decency instead of vulgarity.

So far as I can recollect, the work just alluded to
first gave me a taste for reading, and awakened my

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 173

mind to some comprehension of the amazing scope
and power of books. I nad heard the Bible read
from beginning to end, and the narrative portions
had attracted my attention and deeply interested
me. I had heard scraps of poetry and passages of
prose, quoted and recited by my mother and my
sisters older than myself and who had been well
educated, mostly at New Haven. I had heard
abundance of learned conversation among doctors
of divinity and doctors of laws, who, with others,
visited my father's house ; and finally I had heard
the disquisitions, historical, biblical, and philosoph
ical, of our profound and erudite village oracle, Lieu
tenant Smith ; yet I do not recollect to have discov
ered, before this time, that books contained inex
haustible sources of instruction and amusement, and
all within my own reach. I had listened to what I
heard, though often impatiently, and doubtless I had
picked up and pocketed, here and there, an idea.
Such, however, had been the course of my life, or
such was my disposition, or such the books that had
fallen into my hands, that I regarded big books as
tasks, proper for the learned, but not fit for such as
me ; and little books as nonsense, or worse than non
sense, worthy only of contempt or aversion. What
a real blessing would then have been to me the juve
nile works of Mrs. Child, the little histories of Agnes
Strickland, the tales of Mary Howitt, Mrs. Hoffland,
and other similar works, so familiar to children now.

174 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

As to schoolbooks, those I had used had become
associated in my memory with sitting three hours at
a time upon hard oak benches, my legs all the while
in such a cramped position that I could almost have
kicked my best friend by way of relief.

In casting my mind backward over the last thirty
years — and comparing the past with the present, duly
noting the amazing advances made in every thing
which belongs to the comfort, the intelligence, the
luxury of society — there is no point in which these
are more striking than in the books for children and
youth. Let any one who wishes to comprehend this
matter, go to such a juvenile bookstore as that of
C. S. Francis, in Broadway, New York, and behold
the teeming shelves — comprising almost every topic
within the range of human knowledge, treated in a
manner to please the young mind, by the use of every
attraction of style and every art of embellishment —
and let him remember that nineteen twentieths of
these works have come into existence within the last
thirty years. He will then see how differently this
age estimates the importance of juvenile instruction,
from any other that has gone before it.

HISTORICAL, ANE^DOTICAL, ETC. 175

LETTER XIV.

The Clergymen of Fairjkld County — The Minister's House a Minister'*
Tavern — Dr. Riple.y, of G-reerf s-farms — Dr. Lewis, of Horseneck — Dr.
Burnett, of Norwalk — Mr. Swan— Mr. Noyes — Mr. Elliott, of Fairfald
— Mr. Mitchell, of New Canaan — A Poet-Deacon — Dr. Blatchford, tht
Clairvoyant — Mr. Bartlett, of Beading — Mr. Camp, of Ridgebury — Mr.
Smith, of Stamford — Mr. Waterman, of Bridgeport, &c. — Manners of
the Clergy of Fairjield County — Their Character — Anecdote of the Laugh
ing D. D. — The Coming Storm.

MY DEAE C******

Before I complete my narrative, so far as it re
lates to Eidgefield, I should state that in the olden
time a country minister's home was a minister's tav
ern, and therefore I saw, at different periods, most of
the orthodox or Congregational clergymen belonging
to that part of the State, at our house. My father
frequently exchanged with those of the neighboring
towns, and sometimes consociations and associations
were held at Ridgefield. Thus, men of the clerical
profession constituted a large portion of the strangers
who visited us. I may add that my lineage was
highly ministerial from an early period down to my
own time. The pulpit of Durham, filled by my pa
ternal grandfather, continued in the same family one
hundred and twenty-six consecutive years. A short
time since, we reckoned among our relations, not go
ing beyond the degree of second cousin, more than a
dozen ministers of the Gospel, and all of the same
creed.

1 76 LKTfERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

As to the clergy of Fairfield county, my boyish
impressions of them were, that they were of the salt
of the earth — rock-salt, the very crystals of Chris
tianity; nor has a larger experience altered my
opinion. If I sometimes indulge a smile at the rec
ollection of particular traits of character, or more
general points of manners significant of the age, I
still regard them with affection and reverence. Some
of them were grave and portly, especially those who
bore the awe-inspiring title of Doctors of Divinity.
I cannot now recollect among them all a single little
or emaciated D. D. At the very head of the list, in
my .imagination, was Dr. Eipley, of Green's-farms, now
Southport, I believe. He was a large and learned man
— two hundred pounds avoirdupois of solid divinity.
He read the Bible in the original tongues for diver
sion, and digested Hebrew roots as if they had been
buttered parsnips. He was withal a hale, hearty old
gentleman, with a rich, ruddy smile over his face, be
speaking peace within and without. I was once at
his house, which commanded a fine view of Long
Island Sound, and particularly of Compo Bay, which
was near at hand. I remember that he told me about
the landing of the British there, under Tryon, in
April, 1777, on their expedition against Danbury — a
story in which I took deep interest, for I had already
heard a good deal concerning it from Lieut. Smith.

Dr. Lewis, of Horseneck, weighed less according to
the steelyards : he had perhaps less Greek and Latin

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 177

in him, but I have an impression that he was a man
even more full of godliness. He was in fact the
patron saint of my young fancy, and his image still
seems before me. He was of the middle size, neither
fat nor lean, stooped a little, and had a thin face with
a long nose. Yet his countenance was the very seat
of kindliness, charity, and sanctity. His thin, white
locks floated down his cheeks and over his shoul
ders in apostolic folds. His voice was soft, yet pene
trating. He had not, I think, any prodigious power
of intellect, but during his preaching every ear was
intent, every heart open. The congregation sometimes
nodded, especially of a hot summer Sunday, even
beneath the thunders of Dr. Eipley ; nay, Deacon
Olmsted himself, enthroned in the deacon's seat, was
obliged now and then to take out his sprig of fennel,
in the very midst of the doctor's twelfthlies and fif-
teenthlies ; but nobody ever slept under the touching
and sympathetic tones of Dr. Lewis. The good man
has long since been translated to another world, but
the perfume of his goodness still lingers amid the
churches which were once impressed with his footsteps.
Among the other clerical celebrities of this period
was Dr. Burnett, of Norwalk — a man of distinguished
ability, but of whom I have only a faint remem
brance. His successor, Mr. Swan, was one of the
most eloquent men of the day. I shall never forget a
certain passage in one of his addresses at an evening
meeting. He had taken as a motto for his discourse
8*

178 l.KTTRRS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

— " Choose you tin's day whom ye will serve," Josh,
xxiv. 15. Having pressed upon the audience the
necessity of deciding whether they would serve God
or the Adversary, he adverted to an anecdote in an
cient history, in which an ambassador to some foreign
state — demanding a decision of the government in a
question under discussion — drew a line upon the
earth with his staff, and said, "Tell me — here, this
very hour — now — where will you stand, on this side
or that, for us or against us ? Shall it be peace or shall
it be war ?" Mr. Swan was a tall man, and as he said
this, he seemed" to mark the line upon the ground
with a solemn sweep of his long arm. He then add
ed, addressing the audience in tones that thrilled and
awed every heart, " Tell me here, this very hour, now
— where will you stand ? Where will you stand to
night — where at the day of judgment — on this side
or that — for God or against Him ? Shall it be peace
or war ? peace forever, or war through the measureless
ages of eternity ?" I can recall no eloquence — and
I have heard the most celebrated orators of my time
— which produced a more deep, fearful, and startling
emotion, than this.

There was another minister — the very antipode
of the one I have just described, and yet a great and
good man in his way — great and good in the effect
of his life. His name was Noyes, and he was settled
at Weston. He was a person of moderate intellect,
yet his benignant face and kindly voice suggested to

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIGAL, ETC. 179

the imagination that disciple whom Jesus loved. His
whole conduct was but a fulfillment of what his coun
tenance promised. Mr. Elliot, of Fairfield, I do not
recollect personally, but I have heard about his
preaching against the New Lights — the Methodists
and revivalists — who then began to disturb the quiet
of orthodoxy. He asserted that, " as in nature it is
the mizzling, fizzling rain, and not the overwhelm
ing torrent, that fertilizes the fields, so in religion, it
is the quiet dew of the Holy Spirit that produces the
harvest of souls." I give the story and the words as
I heard them.

Mr. Mitchell, of New Canaan, was a man of ability
and influence, but I remember more of his successors
than of him. There being a vacancy in the parish, the
people tried several candidates — one named Hough,
one named Hyde, &c. ; but none of them suited every
body. At last came Mr. Bonney. " Well," said one
of the deacons as if by inspiration —

K We have now had Hough and Hyde,
Let us take Bonney and ride."

This from the lips of a deacon sounded like proph
ecy, and so Mr. Bonney was duly called and installed.

Mr. Fisher, of Wilton, was of comely and imposing
presence, and withal an able man. As was proper,
he became a D. D. Mr. Dwight, of Greenfield Hill,
was afterward the renowned President of Yale Col
lege. I shall have occasion to speak of him again.

JSO LETTKRS BIOGRAPHICAJ,,

Mr. Humphries, of Fairfield, became President of
Amherst College, and is now living at Pittsfield, en
joying at the age of seventy-seven, the full vigor of
manhood — with an enviable reputation as a ripe
scholar, an eloquent preacher, a good and great man,
combining the dignity of the divine with the amiable
and attractive qualities of the friend, the citizen, and
the neighbor.

Dr. Blatchford, of Bridgeport, removed early to
Waterford, near Troy, N. Y., and I can only remem
ber to have seen him; his personal appearance has
vanished from my mind. I recollect, however, that
he had a horror of cats and kittens, and such was its
intensity as to endue him with clairvoyance, so that
he could easily detect one of these creatures in the
room, though it might be out of sight or even con
fined in a closet. Frequent attempts were made
to deceive him, but without success. His instinct
was infallible. When he was seen coming, the first
thing attended to by my mother was to shut up the
whole purring family, and they were kept under
lock and key till the good doctor had departed. Once
upon a time, while dining with a friend, he suddenly
threw down his knife and fork, his face being pale
with horror.

" What is the matter?" ejaculated his host, in great
excitement.

" It is a cat !" said the doctor, in a hollow voice.

" A cat ?" was the thrilling reply. " Impossible :

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIC AL, ETC. 181

we were particular to shut up the cat and kittens as
soon as you came."

"I say there's a cat in the room I" said the doctor,
with fearful emphasis.

A hurry-scurry ensued, and after a long search, a
kitten was found slumbering in the cradle, under the
clothes, and snugged down beside the baby !

There were, furthermore, Mr. Bartlett, of Heading,
an animated and learned preacher — now a hale and
hearty man at the age of ninety-two ; Mr. Camp, of
Ridgebury, of a feeble body but powerful mind ; Mr.
Smith, of Stamford, a dignified gentleman of the old
school, and married to the sister of John Cotton
Smith, afterward Governor of the State ; Mr. "Water
man, of Bridgeport, author of a clever Life of Calvin.

From these hasty notes, you will see that the
clergy of that day in Fairfield county were a very
able set of men, and worthy of being duly and hon
orably chronicled in these mementoes of the past.
I speak of the era of 1800, yet including a few sub
sequent years. A half century before, a wig with a
black coat meant D. D. ; and D. D. usually meant
wig and black coat : but that dynasty had passed.
Breeches and white-top boots — white meaning but
ternut color — were, however, still clerical.

These gentlemen whom I have described, traveled
on horseback, and were always well mounted ; some
of them were amateurs in horseflesh : I have al
ready had occasion to notice the points of Dr. Rip-

182 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

ley's beast. In manners they were polite, and some
what assiduous in their stately courtesies. They
spoke with authority, and not as the scribes. Their
preaching was grave in manner, and in matter elab
orately dovetailed with Scripture. The people drank
hard cider, and relished sound doctrine : it was not
till nearly half a century afterward that — imbibing
soda-water, champagne, and other gaseous beverages
— they required pyrotechnics in the pulpit. A soul
to reach heaven must then have the passport of
Saybrook ; and in point of fact, orthodoxy was so
tempered with charity, that nearly all who died, re
ceived it.

If the creed of that day was severe and bespoke
the agonies of its Puritan origin, it still allowed large
range for temporalities and humanities. The minis
ter of the Gospel was a father, neighbor, friend, cit
izen — a man in a large and generous sense. Man
liness meant godliness, and godliness manliness. He
spoke truth, and acted righteousness. He was in
dependent in his circumstances, for a parish settle
ment was like marriage, for better or for worse ; and
what God had joined, man could not lightly put
asunder. The common opinion now is, that the
judges of temporal tribunals should be placed be
yond the seductions of dependence; the people of
those days thought that in matters relating to eter
nity, this rule was at least equally important. The
clergymen were in some sort magistrates — not tech-

TITSTOHIOAT,, ANT.CIXrTTCAL, KTC. 183

nically, but being generally the best educated per
sons — especially in country towns — they exercised a
large influence, as well by the force of authority, tra
ditionally allowed to their positions, as by their su
perior intelligence. They were sometimes consulted
by their parishioners in matters of law* as well as
gospel, often made out deeds, settled disputes be
tween neighbors and neighborhoods, gave advice in
difficult and doubtful questions of business, and im
parted intelligence upon matters of history, geogra-
'phy, and politics.

I need not tell you that they were counsellors in
religious matters — in the dark and anxious periods
of the spirit — in times of sickness, at the approach
of death. They sanctified the wedding, not refusing
afterward to countenance the festivity which natural
ly ensued. They administered baptism, but only upon
adults who made a profession, or upon the children
of professors. I may add that despite their divinity,
they were sociable in their manners and intercourse.
The state of the Church was no doubt first in their
minds ; but ample room was left for the good things
of life. Those who came to our house examined my
brother in his Greek and Latin, and I went out be-

* Kev. Thomas Hawley, from Northampton, was settled in the first
society in Ridgefield in the year 1714, and was their first pastor, and con
tinued till his death in 1739. He was a man of great frankness and so
ciability, and an excellent scholar. He was very useful to the town, not
only a* a minister, but in a civil capacity, serving them as their town-
clerk, and doing all their writing business till his decease. — Manuscript
History of R'i Airfield, by S. G .

184 LETTKR8 BIOGRAPHICAL,

hind the barn to gather tansey for their morning bit
ters. They dearly loved a joke, and relished anec
dotes, especially if they bore a little hard upon the
cloth. I remember some of them at which I have
heard Dr. Ripley almost crack his sides, and seen
even the saintly Dr. Lewis run over at the eyes with
laughing. Shall I give you a specimen ? The fol
lowing will suffice, though I can not recollect who it
was that told it.

Once upon a time there was a clergyman — the

Eev. Dr. T of H ... . — a man of high character,

and distinguished for his dignity of manner. But
it was remarked that frequently as he was ascending
the pulpit stairs he would smile, and sometimes al
most titter, as if beset by an uncontrollable desire to
laugh. This excited remark, and at last scandal
Finally, it was thought necessary for some of his
clerical friends, at a meeting of the association, to
bring up the matter for consideration.

The case was stated — the Eev. Dr. T being

present. " Well, gentlemen," said he, " the fact
charged against me is true, but I beg you to permit
me to offer an explanation. A few months after I
was licensed to preach, I was in a country town, and
on a Sabbath morning was about to enter upon the
services of the church. Back of the pulpit was a
window, which looked out upon a field of clover, then
in full bloom, for it was summer. As I rose to com
mence the reading of the Scriptures, I cast a glance

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 185

into the field, and there I saw a man performing the
most extraordinary evolutions — -jumping, whirling,
slapping in all directions, and with a ferocious agony
of exertion. At first I thought he was mad ; but
suddenly the truth burst upon me — he had buttoned
up a bumblebee in his pantaloons ! I am constitu
tionally nervous, gentlemen, and the shock of this
scene upon my risible sensibilities was so great, that
I could hardly get through the services. Several
times I was upon the point of bursting into a laugh.
Even to this day, the remembrance of this scene —
through the temptation of the devil — often comes
upon me as I am ascending the pulpit. This, I admit,
is a weakness, but I trust it will rather excite your
sympathy and your prayers than your reproaches."

Such were the orthodox — that is, the Congrega
tional — clergy of Fairfield county,* doubtless to some
extent examples of their brethren throughout New
England, at the period of which I speak. The reli
gious platform still stood planked to the State. The
law still gave preference to orthodoxy, as it had done
from the beginning. The time had not yet arrived
when Methodism, Episcopacy, Democracy, should
combine with radicalism to overturn the system which
the fathers had built. The storm was brewing, but
as yet it was scarcely noticed even by those who were
soon to be overwhelmed by it.

* See note IV., p. 589.

186 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

LETTER XV,

Ideas of the Pilgrim Fathers — Progress of Toleration — Episcopacy — Sigh-
op Sealntry — Dr. Duche — Methodism in America — In Connecticut — An
ecdotes — Lorenzo Dow — The Wolf in my Father's Fold.

MY DEAR C******

I have intimated that, at the period of which I
am writing, there was a storm gathering which was
speedily to sweep away the last vestige of that sys
tem of legal and statutory privilege which the Con
gregational clergy had enjoyed in Connecticut, from
the foundation of the colony. The government at
the beginning was a kind of theocracy, in which God
was considered as the active and positive ruler, of
whom the men appointed to office were the agents.
This impression pervaded the minds of the first set
tlers of New England. These were all Independents
in religion, who had been persecuted at home, and
had come here to enjoy their peculiar worship with
out molestation This was in fact the fundamental
idea of the Puritan Fathers.

It was therefore not only with amazement, but in
dignation, that they found, as the population in
creased, that Quakers, Baptists, and other sectarians,
came among them, and demanded toleration of their
peculiar notions. In vain did they seek to crush out
these disturbers of the public peace. Persecution

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIC AL, ETC. 187

only made them thrive : the trampling heel of op
pression benefited them, as hoeing among weeds ren
ders them more rank and pestiferous — inasmuch as
the roots strike deeper, and the multiplied and invig
orated seed are scattered over a constantly widening
surface.

To the oppressed Puritans in England, toleration
of their peculiar faith was an obvious idea. Their
circumstances suggested it as a right, and denial of it
as a sin. They emigrated to the New World, carry
ing this conviction with them. But universal liberty
of worship was not yet conceived : that was reserved
for those Baptists, Quakers, and others, who, from
their position, had begun to see the light, though it
was even to them but dimly revealed. They sought
rather, each sect for itself, the tolerance of their wor
ship, than general toleration as the right of man.
Roger Williams, indeed, seems to have made this dis
covery, yet at first he advocated it rather in the
spirit of intolerance.

As time advanced, the malcontents increased, and
although orthodoxy contended at every point, it was
compelled to yield inch by inch, until, at the period
around which my narrative revolveSj only ^a single
remnant of its ancient privileges remained in the stat
ute book of Connecticut. That consisted in a law
which compelled every man, on reaching his major
ity, to pay a tax to the Congregational society in
whose bounds he lived, unless he lodged a certificate

188 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

with its clerk that he belonged to some other reli
gious persuasion.

This became the point of attack, in which all the
dissenting sects in religion, and all the opposers in
politics, united. But the time for this union, as
stated in a preceding letter, had not yet arrived. The
heterogeneous particles were silently moving to their
coalescence and their crystallization, forming in the
end the party which took the watchword of TOLERA
TION, and which gained the ascendency in 1817 ; but
as yet, the keenest sagacity had not seen. -4,he coming
event — which was nevertheless near at hand.

Up to this time — the early part of this century —
orthodoxy seemed, on the surface, to stand almost
unquestioned in Connecticut.* Unitarianism had be
gun in Boston, but had not made any noticeable con-

* After this work was begun and considerably advanced, I happened
to discover in the Historical Library of the Atheneum at Hartford, a
manuscript account of Eidgefield — historical, descriptive, ecclesiastical,
economical, &c. — prepared by my father in 1800, upon a request by the
State authorities. Among other remarks of a general nature, I rind the
following :

"About the time that Paine's Age of Reason presented itself to view,
like Milton's Description of Death — ' Black it stood as night, fierce as
ten furies, terrible as hell' — the horror of its features disgusted the
people to such a degree that it has not yet had an advocate in this town."

"There have been, in years past, a number of people who called
themselves* Baptists, who showed much zeal in religion, and met in
private houses for worship : at the present day they are much on the
decline."

" A few have joined the Methodists, whose preachers, though very
zealous, have made little impression on the minds of the people of thia
town." A little after this the Methodists increased in the manner I have
related.

" Almost all the people attend public worship with the Congregation-

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 189

quests in the land of " steady habits." Methodism —
destined soon to sweep over the State — only glim
mered faintly, as a kind of heat-lightning, in the dis
tant horizon, indicating the electricity that was in the
atmosphere. Universalism, in the form of Restora-
tionism, was doubtless planted in many minds, for the
eloquent and enthusiastic Murray* had been preach
ing in the country. As yet, however, there were few
organized societies of that persuasion — now so numer
ous — in the Union.

Episcopacy had been introduced at an early date.
Indeed, Connecticut had the honor of receiving the

alists or Episcopalians, and there is and has been, for a long time past,
the utmost harmony and friendship prevailing between the several de
nominations of Christians here. They frequently worship together, and
thus prove the efficacy of that Spirit whose leading characteristic is
charity."

* John Murray, the first Universalist minister in Boston, was an Eng
lishman, born about 1741. He became a preacher, and was at first a
Calvinist, then a Wesleyan, then a follower of Whitfield. Afterward he
went to London, and there plunged into the vortex of dissipation. In
1770, being in a state of poverty, he came to America, where he preach
ed, and by his eloquence soon acquired a high degree of popularity.
At one time (1775) he was chaplain to a regiment in Rhode Island. Af
ter preaching with success in various places, he was settled, in 1785, in
Boston, where he continued till his death in 1815. He, as well as Win
chester — a Uuiversalist of great ability, and who, with Hosea Ballou,
may be considered as the founder of modern Universalism in this coun
try — was a Trinitarian ; but his main doctrine was, that, " although sin
ners would rise to the resurrection of damnation, and at the judgment-
day would call on the rocks to hide them from the wrath of the Lamb,
yet that after the judgment, the punishment was fulfilled, and the dam
nation ended." He believed that the devil and his angels only would be
placed at the left hand of Christ, like the goats, and that all mankind
would be placed at his right. Ballou, Balfour, and other Universaliste
of the modern sect, maintain that there will bn no judgmant-day and no
future punishment.

190 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

first ordained bishop of the Episcopal Church in
America, thus anticipating even Virginia, to whom
the Church of England was a mother church from
the beginning. This was Bishop Seabury,* who was
consecrated in the year 1784, and established at New
London.

I have heard of him a well-authenticated anecdote,
which is very suggestive. On his arrival from Eng
land, whither he had been to acquire his high eccle
siastical honors, there was a general curiosity to see
him and hear him preach, especially in Connecticut-
al though the mass of the people, being Congregation-

* Samuel Seabury, D. D., was a native of Groton, Conn., and was born
in 1728. He graduated at Yale College, and then went to Scotland, to
study medicine. He was there, however, ordained, and coming back to
America, was settled at New Brunswick, New Jersey, as the missionary
of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel. Having been stationed
for a time at Jamaica, in the West Indies, he returned, and was settled
at West Chester. Here he wrote and published several pamphlets in
favor of the Crown, and was consequently seized by a party of soldiers,
and for a time imprisoned at New Haven. When New York fell into
the hands of the British, he joined them there, and became chaplain to
Fanning's tory regiment. After the peace, having been elected bishop
by the Episcopal clergy of Connecticut, he went to England, and applied
to the Archbishop of York for consecration. This could not be grant
ed, as an indispensable condition to consecration was, by law, an oath of
allegiance to the crown. After nearly a year of fruitless effort* to obtain
his object in England, he made application to the bishops of Scotland,
by whom he was consecrated in 1784. He then returned, and entered
upon the duties of his office, making New London his residence. Ha
was an able man, and exercised a beneficial influence in establishing
and extending the Episcopal Church, not only in Connecticut, but in
the country generally. He was a worthy predecessor of other bishops
of Connecticut — Jarvis and Brownell — who have not only done honor to
the Church over which they presided, but have contributed to swell the
list of scholars and divines which adorn our literature and our ecclesi-
astioal history.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 191

alists, and knowing that he had been an active and
conspicuous tory in the Revolution, were strongly
prejudiced against him. In their imaginations, a
bishop who preferred monarchy to a republic, and
who was called " my lord bishop," rode in a coach,*
and appeared in swelling robes, was something ex
ceedingly formidable, if not dangerous, to Church
and State.

When therefore he came to New Haven to preach,
about this time — that is, soon after he had returned
with his prelatic honors — the church was crowded
to excess. Many who tried to get in were necessa
rily excluded. When the service was over, a man
of the middle class met one of his friends at the door,
who was unable to obtain admittance :

" Well, did you see him ?" said the latter.

" Oh yes," was the reply.

" And did he preach ?"

" Oh yes."

"And was he as proud as Lucifer?"

" Not a bit of it : why he preached in his shirt
sleeves !"

There was a considerable body of Episcopalians
in the State, though chiefly confined to the larger
towns. The professors of this religion throughout

* It is said that on one occasion he arrived at Yale College during
the Commencement exercises, in his carriage, and a messenger was sent
in to inquire if there was a seat for Bishop Seabury. Dr. Dwight, the
President, sent back word that there were some two hundred bishops
present, and he should be very happy to give him a place among them.

192 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

the Union, but more especially in New England, .had
been charged with being unfriendly to the Revolution,
and it is known that a considerable portion of them
were avowed tones during that painful struggle. Not
only was Seabury a tory, but even Dr. Duche, who
had been chaplain to the first Congress, and for a time
was a zealous friend of liberty, fell from grace, and
upon the occupation of Philadelphia by the British,
joined them, and wrote a letter to Washington, call
ing upon him to give up the ungodly cause in which
he was engaged.

The Episcopalians had indeed one tie more than
other men to the " Old Country," and that was a pow
erful one. England was not only their mother in
things secular but in things sacred, the sovereign be
ing the head of that institution which to them was
the Ark of the Covenant. Rebellion to the king was
therefore a sort of sacrilege. And besides, the mass
of the rebels were Puritans, Presbyterians, Indepen
dents, who rather repelled than invited sympathy and
co-operation. It was more natural therefore, for the
members of the English Church in America to take
part with the king and against the Revolution, than
for others.

No doubt the charge of want of patriotism was
exaggerated ; and as to Virginia, where Episcopacy
was the dominant religion, it seems to have had less
foundation. But at all events, this sect was not only
repugnant to the people of New England, for the rea-

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 193

son assigned, but also on account of what they con
ceived to be its tone and aspect of aristocracy. Its
progress, therefore, was, of course, slow in that quar
ter, and it may be remarked that it did not take a
strong hold till, as the Protestant Episcopal Church
in the United States, it was separated from the Eng
lish Church, and became, as it now is, an American
establishment, wholly independent in its government
and organization, though the same in doctrine as its
transatlantic original.

At the period of which I am speaking — from the
year 1800 to 1810 — the relative number of Episcopa
lians in Connecticut was in respect to the orthodox,
probably about one to three or four. In Kidgefield,
there was a small brown edifice, which was called
the " Episcopal Church," though sometimes, by way
of ridicule, the " Episcopal Barn." The sarcasm may
be forgiven, for in those days the Episcopalians arro
gated the word church as their exclusive property,
just as the Catholics claim it now. The Congrega-
tionalists, according to their vocabulary, only held
meetings, and their places of worship were nothing but
meeting-houses. It is not till within the last ten years
that the word church has been popularly applied to
all places of worship.

The Episcopal church in Bidgefield, just mentioned,
was situated on the main street, nearly opposite the
Up-town school. Some years before, Dr. Perry had

been installed there, but he began to preach his own,
VOL. I.— 9

194 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

opinions, and finding himself in danger of being ex
pelled, he abdicated, and became a physician — and a
very eminent one. At length it became vacant, but in
order to keep the holy fire alive, about once or twice
a year it was opened, and service was held there. On
these occasions the people flocked to see and hear the
strange ceremonies, generally from curiosity, though
perhaps there were a dozen persons of this persua
sion. At the time of one of these performances, Am-
by Benedict, the revolving shoemaker, was engaged
at our house, and he went to church — though, I be
lieve, he was warned against it by some members of
our household. On Monday morning, when he re
turned, we asked him about it — how he liked it, and
what he thought of it.

"Well," said he, "there's too many apolpgies for
me : it's all the while getting up and sitting down,
and talking out loud. Why — if you'll believe it —
there were three or four persons who kept mocking
the parson, and saying ' awmen !' till I was rael
'shamed on 'em !"

For some years subsequent to this period, the Epis
copal church of Kidgefield remained only as a mon
ument of waste and decay, but at last it revived, and
is now in a flourishing condition, as indicated by a
handsome edifice, erected nearly on the site of the
old structure. This revival is in harmony with the
general increase and progress of Episcopacy through
out the United States.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 195

Methodism, which had swept over England, came
at last to America. Its success in both countries
arose from several causes. The Anglo-Saxon race,
from time immemorial, have shown a tendency to
deep and anxious religious thoughts and exercises.*
It was this national trait which gave such an impulse
to Christianity on its first introduction into Great
Britain ; it was this which, a few centuries later, en
abled the different orders of friars, who went from
town to town preaching spiritualism with a vehement
and popular eloquence, to rouse the people into en
thusiasm, and sow deep and wide the seeds of their
doctrines. When the teaching of religion had been
organized into a system and settled by authority,
there were constantly rising up men deeply impressed
with the importance of religious truth, and earnest
in the desire to please God, and make their own
" calling and election sure."

Hence arose, at one time, the Lollards, at another
the Gospellers, and finally the Puritans, who over
turned the government, and brought about what is
called the Keformation. In due time, these became
divided into various sects, and in the last century,
they, as well as the established church, seemed to
have declined in religious spirit and fervor. The
characteristic elements of the national character,
though long suppressed, at last burst forth. Whit-

* See Penny Cyclopedia, article Methodism.

LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

field, by his fiery eloquence, first ignited the spark,
and disclosed the deep and glowing emotions which
were kindling in the bosom of society. It was re
served, however, for Wesley, to give them full expres
sion, and to combine into a permanent form, under
the name of METHODISM, a church which should em
body and perpetuate a new and startling develop
ment of religious feeling and experience.

The great characteristic of Methodism, at the out
set, aside from its spiritual fervor, was, in the first
place, that it addressed itself to the lower classes, and
in the next, that it was chiefly propagated by illiter
ate preachers. Southey, in his Life of Wesley, gives
us some amusing anecdotes, illustrative of this latter
circumstance. Among these he describes a noted
itinerant declaimer, who, being unable to read, em
ployed his mother for that purpose. u She reads the
text," said the orator, " and I 'splains and 'splounds."
It was, in fact, the doctrine of these people at that
day, which was also held by the early Baptists, that
human learning is rather a hindrance and a snare to
the preacher : that spiritual gifts and grace are indeed
the only requisites. I remember to have heard an
anecdote, applicable to this period, which is in point.

In one of his discourses, a gifted Poundtext, some
where in Connecticut, addressed his audience in this
wise : " What I insist upon, my brethren and sisters,
is this: larnin isn't religion, and eddication don't
give a man the power of the Spirit. It is grace and

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 197

gifts that furnish the rael live coals from off the
altar. St. Peter was a fisherman — do you think he
ever went to Yale College ? Yet he was the rock
upon which Christ built his Church. No, no, be
loved brethren and sisters. When the Lord wanted
to blow down the walls of Jericho, he didn't take a
brass trumpet, or a polished French horn : no such
thing ; he took a ram's horn — a plain, natural ram's
horn — just as it grew. And so, when he wants to
blow down the walls of the spiritual Jericho, my
beloved brethren and sisters, he don't take one of your
smooth, polite, college larnt gentlemen, but a plain,
natural ram's-horn sort of a man like me."

Thus, Methodism found its first impulse in a de
velopment of the inherent religious elements of the
English character, rendered more explosive by long
compression. It unquestionably derived aid in its
beginning, also, from what was its reproach with its
enemies — the use of illiterate propagandists — for it
must be remembered that Methodism did not ad
dress itself to high places, but to the million. Many
of its preachers possessed great natural eloquence,
and their defects of grammar and rhetoric rather
pleased than offended the rude audiences to whom
they spoke. In recent times, political leaders, and
promoters of various public objects, have found it
convenient to take a hint from this portion of his
tory.

It must be stated, furthermore, that the new sect

198

LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL

derived a sort of epidemic power from nervous or
mesmeric phenomena which the ignorant deemed mi
raculous, and therefore divine. In the midst of ago
nizing prayers and preachings, individuals would fall
down as in a swoon. These were immediately sur
rounded with persons, calling in impassioned tones
upon the Holy Spirit, as if there personally present,
to wash out their sins, and clothe them in the white
robes of the Lamb of God. The subject of these
solemn and agitating exercises, waking from his cat
alepsy, was saluted as having passed from death to
life, from perdition to salvation ! Then were poured
out prayers of thanksgiving, and then all joined in
hymns, set to plaintive and sentimental airs, many
of them associated in the popular mind with the warm
and tender emotions of youthful love and human af
fection. And these scenes often took place at night,
in the midst of the forest, amid the glare of torches,
the pageantry of processions, and the murmurs of a
thousand voices, joining in a general anthem of ago
nizing prayers and shouting praises.

To a religious mind, every thing that tends to pro
mote religion in the hearts of men, is apt to be re
garded as distinct from the ordinary providence of
God, yet it is difficult to prove even in such move
ments, that He ever proceeds without the use of
means. The notice of these is the sphere of the
historian, and therefore, not denying or disregard
ing the invisible influences of the divine Spirit,

HISTORICAL, ANKCDOTICAL, ETC. 199

I merely chronicle the open and tangible events of
the time I refer to, with the machinery employed to
produce them. The founders of Methodism did not
disdain human means : nay, I suspect it will be diffi
cult to find in the originators of any sect or creed, a
more profound knowledge of human nature, or a
more sedulous employment of human agencies, than
are to be discovered in the early promoters of Meth
odism. Their camp-meetings, their love-feasts, their
adaptation of popular airs to religious songs, their
spirit of social fellowship, their use of the inferior arts
of oratory, their employment of the intense enthusiasm
of congregated masses, their promotion of cataleptic
spasms to excite a feeling of supernatural awe in the
people, were all calculated to produce precisely such
effects as actually proceeded from them. It is neither
necessary, nor is it philosophical, in explaining what
is natural, to go beyond the known laws of nature.
That God was in all this, we believe, but only as He
is in all the other movements of human life, tending
to work out human destiny. Who can doubt that
the career of Washington, the soldier and statesman,
was as much ordered by Providence as that of Wes
ley the divine?

We all know with what epidemic celerity Method
ism spread over certain portions of England, espe
cially among the masses of Bristol, Moorfields, Black-
heath, Newcastle, and other places. Wesley began
his mission in 1729 : at his death, in 1791, after a

200 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

laborious life of sixty-five years, there were three
hundred itinerant preachers, and a thousand local
preachers, with eighty thousand persons, associated in
societies, all belonging to his creed. This of course
spread to America, but there was less immediate field
for it here. Nevertheless, it was gradually extended,
especially in the newly settled parts of the south
ern and western country. In Kentucky and Ten
nessee it was widely planted, and here it was at
tended with some of the most extraordinary phenom
ena* recorded in the history of the human mind. At

* These consisted of various manifestations, called the "falling," the
"jerking," the " rotting,'1'' the " dancing" and the'" barking" exercises,
together with visions and trances. The latter were the most common ;
in these the subject was in a state of delicious mental revery, with a
total suspension of muscular power and consciousness to external ob
jects. In the jerks, the spasms were sometimes so violent as to induce
the fear that those affected with them would dislocate their necks. Often
the countenance was most disgustingly distorted. The first instance of
this occurred at a sacrament in East Tennessee. These phenomena were
most common with the Methodists, though people of other sects were
attacked by them. The contagion even spread to Ohio, among the sober
people of the Western Reserve. — Howe's Great West, p. 179.

Dow gives the following description in his journal, the period be
ing in the early part of 1804, and the scenes of the events des«ribed, in
Tennessee and Kentucky.

" I came to a house., and hired a woman to take me over the river
in. a canoe for my remaining money and a pair of scissors ; the latter of
which was the chief object with her : so one's extremities are others'
opportunities. Thus with difficulty I got to my appointment in New
port, in time.

"I had heard about a singularity called the ,/«•£* or jerking exercise,
which appeared first near Knoxville in August last, to the great alarm
of the people ; which reports at first I considered as vague and false ;
but at length, like the Queen of Sheba, I set out to go and see for my
self, and sent over these appointment* into this country accordingly.

" When I arrived in sight of the town, I saw hundreds of people
collected in little bodies ; and observing no place appointed for meet-

HISTORICAL, ANKCPOTICAL, ETC. 201

the religious gatherings, whether in dwellings and
churches or in the open woods and fields, persons
would be suddenly taken with certain irresistible
spasms, inciting them to the most strange and extrav
agant performances. Some would bark like dogs,
and attempt to climb the trees, declaring that they were
treeing the devil. Some had delicious trances ; others
danced as if beset with sudden frenzy; others still were

ing, before I spoke to any, I got on a log and gave out a hymn, which
caused them to assemble round, in a solemn, attentive silence. I ob
served several involuntary motions in the course of the meeting, which
1 considered as a specimen of the jerks. I rode several miles behind a
man across a stream of water, and held meeting in the evening, being
ten miles on my way.

" In the night I grew uneasy, being twenty-five miles from my ap
pointment for next Monday at eleven o'clock. I prevailed upon a young
man to attempt carrying me with horses until day, which he thought
was impracticable, considering the darkness of the night and the thick
ness of the *rees. Solitary shrieks were heard in these woods, which
he told me were the cries of murdered persons. At day we parted, be
ing still seventeen miles from the spot; and the ground covered with a
white frost. I had not proceeded far before I came to a stream of water
from the springs of the mountain, which made it dreadful cold. la
my heated state I had to wade this stream five times in the course of
about an hour, which I perceived BO affected my body that my strength
began to fail. Fears began to arise that I must disappoint the people,
till I observed some fresh tracks of horses, which caused me to exert
every nerve to overtake them, in hopes of aid or assistance on my jour
ney, and soon 1 saw them on an eminence. I shouted for them to stop
till I came up. They inquired what I wanted ; I replied, I had heard
there was a meeting at Seversville by a stranger, and was going to it.
They replied that they had heard that a crazy man was to hold forth
there, and were going also ; and perceiving that I was weary, they in
vited me to ride ; and soon our company was increased to forty or fifty,
who fell in with us on the road from different plantations. At length I
was interrogated whether I knew any thing about the preacher. I re
plied, I had heard a good deal about him, and had heard him preach,
but had no great opinion of him ; and thus the conversation contin
ued for some miles before they found me out, which caused some color
and smiles iu the company. Thus T got on to meeting, aud after taking

9*

202 T.KTTKRS BIOGRAPHICAL,

agitated by violent and revolting convulsions and
twitchings, which obtained the popular name of the
jerks. All classes of persons who came within the atmo
sphere of the mania — Methodists, Presbyterians, and
Quakers — men and women — became subjects of these
extraordinary agitations. I recollect to have heard
the late Thomas II. Gallaudet say that, when a young
man, he visited one of the meetings where these phe-

a cup of tea, gratis, I began to speak to a vnst audience : and I observed
about thirty to have the jerks, though they strove to keep as still us
they could. These emotions were involuntary and irresistible, as any
unprejudiced eye might discern. Lawyer Porter (who had come a con
siderable distance) got his heart touched under the word, and being
informed how I came to meeting, voluntarily lent me a horse to ride
near one hundred miles, and gave me a dollar, though he hud never
seen me before.

" Hence to Marysville. where I spoke to about one thousand five hun
dred : many appeared to feel the word, but about fifty felt the jerks. At
night I lodged with one of the Nicholites, a kind of Quakers, who do
not feel free to wear colored clothes. I spoke to a number of people at
his house that night. Whilst at tea, I observed his daughter (who' sat
opposite to me at the tabie) to have the/«rfo, and dropped the tea-cup
from her hand in violent agitation. I said to her, * Young woman, what
is the matter?' She replied, 'I have got the jerlcs."1 I asked her how
long she had it. She observed, ' A few days,' and that it had been the
means of the awakening and conversion of her soul, by stirring her up
to serious consideration about her careless state, &c.

•'Sunday, Feb. 19, I spoke in Knoxville, to hundreds more than could
pet into the court-house — the governor being present. About one hun
dred and fifty appeared to have jerking exercise, among whom was a
circuit preacher (Johnson), who had opposed them a little before, but
he now had them powerfully ; and 1 believe he would have fallen over
three times, had not the auditory been so crowded, that he could not,
unless he fell perpendicularly.

" After meeting, I rode eighteen miles to hold meeting at night. The
.people of this settlement were mostly Quakers, and they had said, as
1 was informed, that ' the Methodists and Presbyterians have the jerlrt
because they sing and pray so much ; but we are a still, peaceable peo
ple, wherefore we do not have them ;' however, about twenty of them
citi.ir to meeting, to hear one. as was said, somewhat in a Quaker line.

THE JERKING KXEUCISE. Vol. 1. p. 202.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC.

nomena were taking place, and that lie felt within
himself an almost uncontrollable temptation to imi
tate some of the strange antics that were going on
around him.

Nor did all this — so calculated as it was to excite
public curiosity, and to produce in the minds of the
ignorant a superstitious idea that there must be some
thing supernatural in a religion that led to such

But their usual stillness and silence was interrupted, for about a dozen
of them had \\Mjerks as keen and as powerful as any I had seen, so as
to have occasioned a kind of grunt or groan when they would jerk. It
appears that many have undervalued the Great Revival, and attempted
to account for it altogether on natural principles; therefore it seems to
me, from the best judgment I can form, that God hath seen proper to
take this method to convince people that he will work in a way to show
his power, and sent t\\zjerlct as a sign of the times, partly in judgment
for the people's unbelief, and yet as a mercy to convict people of di
vine realities.

"I have seen Presbyterians, Methodists, Quakers, Baptists, Church
of England, and Independents, exercised with the jerks. Gentleman
and lady, black and white, the aged and the youth, rich and poor, with
out exception ; from which I infer, as it can not be accounted for on
natural principles, and carries such marks of involuntary motion, that
it is no trifling matter. I believe that they who were the most pious
and given up to God are rarely touched with it; and also those nat
uralists, who wish and try to get it to philosophize npon it, are ex-
cepted ; but the lukewarm, lazy, half-hearted, indolent professor, is sub
ject to it, and many of them I have seen, who, when it came upon them,
would be alarmed, and stirred up to redouble their diligence with God,
and after they would get happy, were thankful that it ever came upon
them. Again, the wicked are frequently more afraid of it than the
small-pox or yellow fever. These are subject to it ; but the persecutor*
are more subject to it than any, and they sometimes have cursed and
swore and damned it, whilst jerking. There is no pain attending the
jerks except they resist them, which, if they do, it will weary them
more in an hour than a day's labor, which shows that it requires the
consent of the will to avoid suffering.

" I passed by a meeting-house, where I observed the undergrowth had
been cut up for a camp-meeting, and from fifty to one hundred saplings
left breast high, which to me appeared so Slovenish that I could not but

204: LKTTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

results — constitute the whole of the machinery of
Methodism, at this period. Some of the preachers
seemed to be impelled in their orbits — if not as
swift, certainly more eccentric than those of the
comets — by a zeal, an energy, an enthusiasm,
•which some kind of inspiration alone could create.
The wandering priests of Buddhism — who traverse
mountains and rivers, seas, islands, and continents,
with a restlessness which knows no abatement ; the
-Mohammedan friars that profess to work miracles, and
in evidence of their powers, spin round and round
till they fall fainting upon the floor ; the Bramins,
who rush under the wheels of Juggernaut, or cause
themselves to be suspended by irons hooked into the
muscles of the back, and then whirled round in the

ask my guide the cause, who observed they were topped so high, and
left for the people to jerk by. This BO excited my attention that I went
over the ground to view it, and found, where the people had laid hold
of them and jerked so powerfully, that they had kicked np the earth as
"a horse stamping flies. I observed some emotion both this day and night
among the people. A Presbyterian minister (with whom I stayed) ob
served, ' Yesterday, whilst I was speaking, some had the jerks, and a
young man from North Carolina mimicked them out of derision, and
soon was seized with them himself (which was the case with many
others). He grew ashamed, and on attempting to mount his horse to
go off, his foot jerked about so that he could not put it into the stirrup.
Some youngsters seeing this, assisted him on, but he jerked so that
•he could not sit alone, and one got up to hold him on, which was done
with difficulty. I observing this, went to him, and asked him what he
thought of it. Said he, " I believe God sent it on me for my wick
edness, and making light of it in others," and he requested me to
pray for him.'

" I observed his wife had it; she said she was first attacked in bed.
T>r Nelson' had frequently strove to get it (in order to philosophize
about it), but he could not ; and observed they could not accouo* for it
'<m nutural principles."

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIC A L, ETC. 205

air from a long pole ; — these were all rivaled, if not
outdone, by the indomitable zeal of some of the preach
ers and propagators of Methodism at this period.

The most conspicuous of these was the noted Lo
renzo Dow.* He was a native of Connecticut, and at
the period of my boyhood had begun to be talked
about chiefly on account of his eccentricities — though
he was also a man of some talent. About the time

* Methodism was first introduced into America about the year 1766.
In 1771, the celebrated Francis Asbury came over from England, and
preached here. He was followed by Dr. Coke in 1784, and in that year
the Methodist Church in America was duly organized. The two indi
viduals just mentioned, were men of education, talent, zeal, and piety,
and to their earnest and untiring labors, the rapid spread of the society
may be chiefly attributed. Asbury, who was constituted senior bishop
in the United States, in the course of his ministry ordained three thou-
pand ministers, and preached seventeen thousand sermons !

Among the extraordinary incidents in the history of Methodism, we
may note the following :

" Last year (1799) was celebrated for the commencement of those
Great Revivals iu Eeligion in the Western Country, which induced the
practice of holding camp-meetings. This work commenced under thft
united labors of two brothers by the name of McGee, one a Presbyte
rian and the other a Methodist preacher. On one occasion, William
McGee felt such a power come over him, that he seemed not to know
what he did ; so he left his seat and sat down on the floor, while John
sat trembling under the consciousness of the power of God. In the mean
time there was great solemnity and weeping all over the house. He was
expected to preach, but instead of that, he arose and told the people that
the overpowering nature of his feelings would not allow of his preach
ing, but as the Lord was evidently among them, he earnestly exhorted
the people to surrender their hearts to him. Sobs and cries bespoke
the deep feeling which pervaded the hearts of the people. This great and
earnest work excited such attention, that the people came in crowds from
the surrounding country, and this was the beginning of that great revi
val in religion in the western country which introduced camp-meeting*.
Tliis novel mode of worshiping God excited great attention. In the night
the grove was illuminated by lighted candles, lamps, or torches. This,
together with the stillness of the night, the solemnity which rested on
»very countenance, the peculiar and earnest manner in which the prencli-

206 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

that Methodism began to spread itself in Connecticut,
Dow appeared in Ridgefield, and taking a stand on
'Squire Nathan Smith's wood-pile, held forth to a few
boys and other people that chanced to be in that
quarter. I was returning from school, and stopped
to hear his discourse. He was then about thirty
vears of age, but looked much older. He was thin
and weather-beaten, and appeared haggard and ill-

ers exhorted the people to repentance, prayer, and faith, prodnced the
most awful sensations on the minus of all present."

" At a meeting held in Cabin Creek, the work seemed to bear down
all opposition. Few, if any, escaped from it; such as attempted to run
from it were frequently struck down in the way. On the third night so
many fell (that is, in cataleptic swoons), that to prevent their being trod
den under feet, they were collected together, and laid out in two squares
of the meeting-house. At the great meeting at Cambridge, the number
that fell was named at over three thousand !" — Bangs' History of Methoii-
ism, vol. ii. p. 108.

The following will give some idea of the men and manners connected
with Methodism at this era :

" Calvin Wooster was a man of mighty prayer and faith. Nor was he
alone in this work. The other preachers caught the flame of divine love,
and were carried forward, under its sacred influence, in their Master's
work. Many instances of the manifestations of Divine power and grace
might be narrated, one of which I will relate. At a quarterly meeting
in the Bay of Quinte circuit (Upper Canada, A. D. 1799), as the preacher
commenced his sermon, n thoughtless man in the front gallery com
menced in a playful mood to swear profanely, and thus to disturb the
congregation. The preacher paid no attention to him, until he was in
the midst of his sermon, when feeling strong in faith and the power of
his might, suddenly stopping, he fixed his piercing eyes on the profane
man ; then stamping his foot, and pointing his finger at him, with great
energy he cried out, ' My God, smite hirnT He instantly fell, as if shot
through the heart with a bullet. At this moment such a divine afflatus
came down upon the congregation, tliat sinners were crying to God for
mercy in every direction, while the saints of God burst forth in loud
praises to His name." — Bangs' History of Meihvdiem, vol. ii. p. 74.

We now come to Lorenzo Dow.

This person was born at Coventry, Connecticut, in 1777. In his
'• J£ftmpl,ijitd Krjttrlencif, or LiH'fnzo'x Journal,''' he says : " One d&yt

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 207

favored, partly on account of his reddish, dusty beard,
some six inches long — then a singularity if not an
enormity, as nobody among us but old Jagger the
beggar cultivated such an appendage. I did not com
prehend what he said, and only remember his general
appearance. He was merely passing through Kidge-
field, and soon departed, having produced the impres
sion that he was an odd sort of person, and rather

when I was between three and four years old, I suddenly fell into a
re very about God and those places called Heaven and Hell, so that I
forgot my play, and nsked my companion if he ever said his prayers.
He said no. 'Then,' said I, 'you are wicked, and I will not play with
you ;' so I quit his company, and went into the house." Afterwards,
having killed a bird, he became distressed in mind, and wished he had
never been born. Still later he had a dream, in which he saw the
prophet Nathan, who told him that he wortld die at the age of twenty-
two. In 1791 he saw John Wesley in a dream, which induced him to
change his ways, and enter on a religious life. " Soon," he says, " I
became like a speckled bird among the birds of the forest, in the eyes
of my friends."

After various mental agonies he took to preaching, and up to the time
of his death, which occurred at Georgetown, District of Columbia, in
1834, he traveled and preached with a restlessness perhaps without par
allel in human history. He not only visited repeatedly almost every
part of the United States, but England and Ireland, everywhere ad
dressing such audiences as came in his way. Sometimes he spoke from
a stump, or rock, or fallen tt.ee in the wildnesses ; sometimes in private
houses, sometimes in religious edifices, sometimes on the platforms of
camp-meetings. Few men have ever traveled so many miles : no one,
probably, ever preached to so great a number of persons.

His Journal, above mentioned, is a very curious, though quaint and
affected, record of his experience and adventures. lie appears to have
been actuated by a desire of moving on and on, fearing no danger, and
overcoming every obstacle. He must preach or die, and he must preach
in new places and to new audiences. He seems to have considered him
self as urged by a divine enthusiasm to preach the Gospel. The shrewd
observer will think he was quite as anxious to preach Lorenzo Dow. He
evidently had a large share of personal vanity : his spirit was aggressive,
and attacks upon other sects constituted a large part of his preaching.
Jn one instance lie was prosecuted for libel upon a olerirv 111:111. an-1 b"im;

SOS I.ETTKR8 BIOGRAPHICAL,

light-headed. I afterward heard him preach twice at
camp-meetings, and will endeavor to give you some
idea of his manner. The following is a passage, as
nearly as I can recollect, his general discourse being
aimed at those who accused the Methodists of being
New Lights — a mere set of enthusiasts.

"Now, my friends, you all know we are called
New Lights. It is said that we have in us a false
fire which throws out a glare only to mislead and
deceive the people. They say we are actuated by
the spirit of the devil, instead of the spirit of reli
gion. Well, no matter what they say ; no matter
what they call us : the question is, whether we have
the real fire or the false fire? I say we have got
the true fire, and the old Church-and-State Presby
terians have got the false fire. That's what I say,
and I'll prove it.

convicted WHS imprisoned for ti short time. He resorted to various ar
tifice^ to excite the curiosity of the public, and thus to increase his au
diences'. His doctrines were those of the Methodists, and he generally
associated with Methodist congregations : still, lie never formally became
a member of that communion. Though he hud the weaknesses and vices
above suggested, he is generally regarded, on the whole, as a sincere and
religious mau. His character is, however, not to be commended, for infi
delity thrives upon foibles, eccentricities, artifices, and vulgarities, in one
who assumes to be a preacher of the Gospel. Such things may catch a
few thoughtless minds, but the reflecting — those who will exert a -.vide
and lasting influence — will be apt to point to them as evidence that ro-
ligion is the offspring of ignorance and fanaticism, played upon by char
latans and pretenders.

Peggy Dow, Lorenzo's wife, seems to have had a great admiration oi
her husband, and to have shared in his religious zeal, without partaking
of his vices of manner and mind. On the whole, her character hup-
pily displays the feminine characteristics of warm affection, devotion,
and that charity which covers a multitude of sins and weaknesses.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 209

" There is in nater, no doubt, as well as in religion,
both false fire and true fire : the first is rotten-wood,
which shines in the night. You often see it among
the roots and trunks of old decayed trees. But you
may pile it up as high as a haystack, and it won't
make a pot boil. Now ain't that like the old sleepy,
decayed Presbyterians ? But as to the true fire — if
you take a few kindlings, and put 'em under a kit
tie, and put some water in the kittle, and then set
the kindlings on fire, you'll see something, won't
you ? Well : what will you see ? Why the water
begins to wallop and wallop and wallop ! Well, sup
pose you had never seen water bile before — you'd say
the devil was in it, wouldn't you ? Of course you
would. Now, it is just so with this carnal genera
tion — the old school, the rotten-wood, the false-fire
people — they see us moved with the true fire of reli
gion, and they say the devil's, in it — because they
never saw it before, and don't understand it. Thus
it is they call us New Lights. No wonder, for they
have nothing but false fire in their hearts !"

Lorenzo was not only uncouth in his person and
appearance, but his voice was harsh, his action hard
and rectangular. It is scarcely possible to conceive
of a person more entirely destitute of all natural
eloquence. But he understood common life, and
especially vulgar life — its tastes, prejudices, and
weaknesses ; and he possessed a cunning knack of
adapting his discourses to such audiences. He told

210 LE1TERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

stories with considerable art, and his memory being
stored with them, he could always point a moral or
clinch a proposition by an anecdote. He knew that
with simple people an illustration is better than logic,
and when he ran short of Scripture, or argument
failed, he usually resorted to some pertinent story or
adapted allegory. He affected oddity in all things —
in his mode of preaching as well as in dress. He
took pains to appear suddenly and by surprise among
the people where he proposed to hold forth : he fre
quently made his appointments a year beforehand,
and at the very minute set, he would come like an
apparition. He often took scraps of texts, and ex
tracted from them, by a play upon words, an unex
pected argument or startling inference. His endeavor
seemed to be to exercise an influence over the imagi
nation by associating himself in the minds of the peo
ple with John the Baptist, preaching in the wilder
ness, and living on locusts and wild honey. His
special admirers saw great merit in his oddities, and
even in his long shaggy goat. By the vain world
of that day, this was deemed beastly — for then fop
pery had not taken the beard as its type and its
glory. It was thirty years later, that I saw an
American among the fashionable circles of Paris, and
who had his reddish hair and beard dressed like
Christ in Raphael's pictures — very much petted by
the French ladies, who thought him so like our Sa
viour !

HISTORICAL, ANKCDOTICAT., ETC. 211

At the time of which I am writing, one of the great
points of dispute between Methodism and Orthodoxy
was that of "Falling from Grace :" the former taking
the affirmative and the latter the negative. The in
firmities of human nature, sometimes visible in the
Elect, furnished abundant and laughter-moving weap
ons against the doctrine of the saints' perseverance.
The apostle Peter, who had denied his Lord and
Master under circumstances which made his conduct
appear in the highest degree craven and cowardly,
furnished a standing argument for the preachers of
Methodism. The scandals of deacons and priests in
the orthodox church, were picked up and thrown into
the argument with more wit than delicacy. In this
coarse, Parthian warfare, Lorenzo was an adept — and
he seemed to take as much delight in provoking the
ribald mirth of the mocker of all religion, as in contro
verting ecclesiastical error in the mind of the sincere
inquirer. It is true that, in private, the orthodox some
times paid back and perhaps with interest, for the
Methodists claimed to attain spiritual perfection. It
was not difficult to find cases in which their practice
jarred a little with their pretenses. The Methodists
had the advantage, however, for their preachers in
troduced these topics in their discourses, often ma
king pointed and personal attacks the pepper and
salt of their harangues — while the more stately or-
thodox usually confined their discussions to private
circles, or perhaps general and dignified notices in.

212 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

their sermons. On one occasion, Dow illustrated
his views on the subject of " Falling from Grace,"
somewhat as follows, his text being a part of the
verse, Heb. ii. 1 : " Lest at any time we should lei
them slip"

"Now, my brethren," said Dow — when he had
stated and enlarged upon his argument — "let me
take a case, and a very likely one to" happen. Nay,
I'm not at all sure that it hain't happened, and not a
hundred miles off. Well, here is Major Smith, who
becomes convarted. He joins the church, and is
safe as a codfish, pickled, packed, and in port. Of
course his calling and election are sure. He can't
let 'em slip. He can't fall from grace — not he ! Don't
be too certain of that, my brethren ! Don't be too sure
of that, major!

" I say nothing agin the character of Major Smith,
mind you. He is a very fair sort of a man, as the world
goes. Nevertheless, they du say that he was in the
habit of taking, now and then, a glass or two more
than was good for him. He was fond of a warm gin
toddy, especially of a cold day, for he was subject to
wind on the stomach ; and then, in order to settle
his toddy, he would take a glass of flip, and then to
settle his flip, he'd take a glass of toddy, agin. These
he usually took in the arternoon and at Northrup's
tavern.

" But, as I say, one day Major Smith was convart
ed, and taken into the church, and so he must reform.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIOAL, ETC. 213

He must give up toddy and flip, and Northrup's tav
ern. And he has gin them all up — for he is parfeckly
sincere — mind you. Well, some weeks later, on the
arternoon of a cold blustering day in December, he
happens to be passing by Northrup's tavern. Just at
that time, as the devil will have it — for the devil is
always looking out for a chance — his old friend and
bottle companion, Nate Seymour, comes to the door,
and sees the major. Well, the latter rides up, and
they shake hands, and talk over the news, and finally
Nate says, ' Won't you come in a minute, major?'

" Now, as I tell you, it's a cold winter's day, and
the major says he'll jest get down, and warm his
fingers. He won't drink any thing of course, but he
thinks it best not to break all at once with his old
friends, for they may say he's proud. Perhaps he'll
have a chance to say a word in season to some one.
So he goes in, and, as it happens, Nate jest then puts
the red-hot poker into a mug of flip. How it bub
bles and simmers and foams ! What a nice odor it
does send forth into the room 1 And jest then the
landlord grates in a little nutmeg. What a pleasant
sound is that to poor, shivering human nater, on a
cold day in December !

" Well, Nate takes it and hands it to the major.
The major says to himself, ' I'll just put it to my lips,
so as not to seem frumptious and unreasonable, but I
won't drink any.' So he takes it, and it feels mighty
warm and nice to his cold fingers. He looks at it ;

2 1 4 LLTfERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

its fumes rise to his nostrils; he remembers the joys
of other days ; he puts it to his lips I

" Well, and what then ? Oh nothing, my breth
ren — only I tell you, that elect or no elect, that is a
very slippery spot for the major I"

The effect of this upon an audience to whom such
language was adapted, especially as it all referred to
a well-known person, who, after being taken into the
church, had backslidden to his old habits, may be
easily appreciated. Who could argue down such
telling logic with the million ?

For a considerable time the Methodists made few
converts in Bidgefield, but they planted themselves
in the neighboring towns, and soon their numbers
were sufficient to hold camp-meetings in various
quarters. At length, Dr. Baker, a respectable physi
cian of our village, became imbued with the rising
spirit, and he began to hold meetings in his kitchen.
Here there was praying, and exhorting, and telling
experiences, and singing sentimental airs to warm and
sentimental religious hymns. The neighbors gathered
in, and soon it was noised abroad that a great work was
going on. Various passions were insensibly wrought
upon to swell the movement ; curiosity was gratified
by something new and strange ; the love of the dra
matic, implanted in every bosom, was delighted with
scenes in which men and women stood up and told
how the Lord had brought them from death unto life :
the tender melodies touched and melted many hearts ;

HISTORICAL, ANECDOT1CAL, ETC 215

the sympathy of young men and young . /aidens was
titillated ; the love of fellowship between man and
man was flattered; and all these varying emotions
seemed to be melted into one warm, flowing current
of religion, sanctified by the presence of the Holy
Spirit ! How curious are the workings of the human
heart ! how much of earth is often mingled in with
what claims to breathe of heaven !

I cast no reproaches upon these persons : Dr. Baker
was a true and worthy man, and among his associates
were several excellent people. I do not deny that
in the end much good was done ; that the thoughtless,
the frivolous, the vain, and in some cases the wicked
and the debased, were drawn, even through these
means, to religious convictions and a religious life.
Still, these things were looked upon as a vain and
delusive mania, or perhaps even the work of the Evil
One, by the world around, and especially by those of
the established creed. Nevertheless, the movement
spread, and at last became epidemic. Some of my
father's flock strayed from the fold, and became the
spoil of the enemy. One or two of his staunch
church members saw new light in the horizon of their
religion. A little short man, up at the North End,
who had a fine treble voice and a tall wife with the
throat of a trumpet, but who was withal one of the
pillars of the church — came to our house, bringing
the said wife on a pillion, both charged with Lorenzo
Dow's true fire. Therefore, they lifted up their voices

216 LETTEES — BIOGRAPHICAL,

and testified to my father that a new era had come,
and that it was time for him and his people to wake
up from their slumbers, which boded death and de
struction to their souls 1

The precise scene I do not remember. I have only
a general recollection of the deep anxiety of both my
parents about this time. A cloud was on their hearts
and their countenances, by day and night. The dea
cons were called in, and there were profound consul
tations as to what was to be done. The neighboring
clergy were consulted, and it was soon discovered
that they, too, were beset by the same dangers. In
some cases, their people joined the Methodists ; in
others, they imitated them by evening meetings for
prayer and mutual exhortation. The very air at last
seemed impregnated with the electric fluid. Not only
men of a religious turn seemed in a state of unusual
excitement, but the cold, the careless, the worldly, be
gan to ask, What shall we do to be saved ? Attempts
were made in some places to preach down the rising
tempest as an illusion. Parson Elliot, of Fairfield, gave
it battle, as I have stated, declaring that in religion,
as well as in the affairs of life, a steady, tranquil de
votion was better than sudden and irregular storms
of fervor.

Nevertheless, the movement could not be arrested.
My father, who was, I think, a far-seeing man, did
not attempt to breast the shock. He took a wiser
course. He adopted evening meetings, first at the

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 217

church, and afterward at private -houses. No doubt,
also, he put more fervor into his Sabbath discourses.
Deacons and laymen, gifted in speech, were called
upon to pray and exhort, and tell experiences in the
private meetings, which were now called conferences.
A revival of religious spirit arose even among the
orthodox. Their religious meetings soon became
animated, and were speedily crowded with interested
worshipers or eager lookers-on. At the same time,
the church was newly shingled and freshly painted ;
the singing choir was regenerated ; the lagging salary
of my father was paid up, and as winter approached,
his full twenty cords of wood were furnished by his
people according to the contract.

And yet the wolf was all the while stealing the
sheep ! Nevertheless, my father's church increased,
and at the same time the dreaded Methodists con
verted a large number of the idle, dissipated, and ir
religious, who had become, like Ephraim of old, so
joined to idols, that there seemed no other way than to
let them alone. But for Methodism, this had undoubt
edly been their fate. And thus what seemed a mania,
wrought regeneration ; thus orthodoxy was in a con
siderable degree methodized, and Methodism in due
time became orthodoxed. Years passed on, and now
there are two bright places of worship in Ridge-
field; one Methodist and one Congregational, and
both filled with worshipers. The people of the latter
consist for the most part of the staid, sober,

VOL. I.— 10

218 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

middle-aged class : those of the former — though the
church had its rise in a kitchen — comprise many re
spectable citizens, with a full proportion of the gen
tler sex, who comprehend and employ the advantages
of coquettish French bonnets, trimmed with wreaths
of artificial flowers ! Moreover, the clergymen of
the two churches exchange with each other, and the
professors of both are mutually admitted to the com
munion tables. Let us never judge too harshly of any
movement, which, though it may develop some frail
ties, has evidently a religious basis. Folly, affecta
tion, vulgarity, are always fit objects of ridicule, even
when clothed in a sanctimonious garb, but in letting
our arrows fly at vice, we should ever be scrupulous
not to wound virtue.

LETTER XVI.

The Three Deacons.
MY DKAK C******

It may be amusing, perhaps profitable, to give
here a few sketches of the remarkable characters of
Ridgefield, at the opening of the present century.
Some were types of their time ; others, however ec
centric, were exemplifications of our race and our
society, influenced by peculiar circumstances, and
showing into what fashions this stuff of humanity

HISTORTCAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 219

may be wrought. They were, moreover, among the
monuments that are still prominent in my recollec
tion, and seem to me an essential part of the social
landscape which encircled my youth.

I begin with the three deacons of my father's par
ish. First was Deacon Olmstead, full threescore years
and ten at the opening of the present century. His
infancy touched upon the verge of Puritanism — the
days of Increase and Cotton Mather. The spirit of
the Puritans lived in his heart, while the semblance
of the patriarchs lingered in his form. He was fully
six feet high, with broad shoulders, powerful limbs,
and the august step of a giant. His hair was white, and
rolled in thin curls upon his shoulders : he was still
erect, though he carried a long cane, like that of fa
ther Abraham in the old pictures, representing him
at the head of his kindred and his camels, going from
the land of Haran to the land of Canaan. Indeed,
he was my personification of the great progenitor of
the Hebrews ; and when my father read from the
twelfth chapter of Genesis, how he and Lot and their
kindred journeyed forth, I half fancied it must be
Deacon Olmstead under another name.

I know not if there be such men now — so grand, yet
so simple ; so wise, yet so good ; so proud, yet so meek
and lowly. It is doubtless the cant of each genera
tion in its age and decrepitude, to degrade the present
and magnify the past, perhaps because the heart is a
little jaded and sickened with the disappointments

220 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

which press heavily upon it, and naturally 'turns with
disgust at these, to bestow a kind of worship upon the
shades which stalk along the distant horizon of youth
ful remembrances. Perhaps there is also something
more personal and selfish in this process, for vanity
often lingers even in the wreck of our existence. Thus
an old man tottering to the grave, not unfrequently
boasts of the feats he performed in his youth ; and
the aged dame — gray, wrinkled, and paralytic — pa
rades the charms of her maidenhood. A vain conceit,
a swelling self-appreciation, often mingle themselves
unconsciously in our thoughts, and as we cannot boast
of the present, which -is sliding from us, we find relict
and satisfaction in glorifying the past, which we still
claim as our own. And again, in age, we are no
doubt liable to self-deception, from looking backward
over an extended view, and taking the things which
rise up like monuments above all around them, as
the representatives of their day and generation, while
in fact they are only their exceptions and marvels.

At all events, there is an impression, I think, that
the great men of the past century in New England
have not their representatives in the present genera
tion, especially in personal appearance and character ;
yet it is probable that our race is not really degener
ated either in its physical or moral standard. There
was something stately, no doubt, in the costume of
the olden time : there was also a corresponding air
of starchness in the carriage. A cocked hat and

HISTORICAL, AXECDOTICAL, ETC. 221

powdered wig made it necessary for a man to demean
himself warily, like an Italian porter who carries a
tub of water upon his head. Thus guised, even
little Dr. Marsh,* of Wethersfield, whom I remember
in his antique costume, was quite a portly gentleman.
The long powdered queues, the small-clothes and
knee-buckles, the white-top boots and silk stockings,
with the majestic tread of a Humphries, a Daggett,
or a Dana — who flourished forty or fifty years ago
in the high places of Connecticut — no doubt made
these leaders of society look like the born lords of cre
ation. In comparison, the simple short-cropped, pan.
talooned gentlemen, who now fill the same, or similar

stations — the T 's, E 's, and S . . . .'s — may

seem a degenerate race. Yet if you subject these to
any positive test — though it must be admitted that
manners have lost something of their polish and much

* Rev. John Marsh, D.D., of Wethersfield, was the last of the Connecti
cut clergy to give up the wig. I have often seen him in it, though he left
it off a short time before his death. Once, when he was on a journey, he
stopped overnight at a tavern. On going to bed, he took off his wig
and hung it up. A servant maid happened to see it, and ran down in
preat terror to her mistress, saying, " Ma'am, that minister has took off
his head and hung it up on a nail !"

For many years he was accustomed to mount his old chaise and set
off with Mrs. Marsh to attend the annual commencement at Cambridge
College. Everybody knew him along the road, and bowing, as he pass
ed, said, " How d'ye do, Dr. Marsh ?" At last he dismissed his wig;
but now, as he went along, nobody recognized him. It was evident that
his wig was necessary to insure the accustomed and grateful salute : so,
on his journeys to commencement ever after, he put it on, though ha
discarded it at other times. He died A. D. 1820, aged 79.

Dr. Marsh was a man of great learning and politeness and high re
spectability. The Rev. John Marsh, now of New York, the distinguished
advocate of the cause of temperance, is his son.

222 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

of their dignity — they will doubtless be found to be
about as tall and as talented, and perhaps as virtuous
as their predecessors. At the same time, I suspect it
will be also discovered that the great mass of society
is elevated in many things above the corresponding
portions of the community in the early days of which
I speak.

But be this as it may, there is no doubt that Dea
con Olmstead was in all things a noble specimen of
humanity — an honor to human nature — a shining
light in the Church. I have spoken of him as hav
ing something grand about him, yet I remember how
kindly he condescended to take me, a child, on his
knee, and how gently his great brawny fingers en
circled my infant hand. I have said he was wise ;
yet his book learning was small, though it might
have been as great as that of Abraham, or Isaac, or
Jacob. He knew indeed the Bible by heart, and that
is a great teacher. He had also lived long, and prof
ited by observation and experience. Above all, he
was calm, just, sincere, and it is wonderful how these
lamps light up the path of life. I have said he was
proud, yet it was only toward the seductions of the
world : to these he was hard and stern : to his God,
he was simple, obedient, and docile as a child : toward
his kindred and his neighbor, toward the poor, to
ward the suffering — though not so soft — he was sym
pathetic as a sister of charity.

Some men seem to imagine that the heart should

DEACON OLMSTEAD. Vol. 1, p. 222.

HISTORICAL, ANKCDOTICAI,, ETC. 223

grow alien to man as it draws nigh to God ; that piety,
burning brightly, dims, if it does not extinguish, the
lamp of love and friendship and social impulses. They
look upon religion as the serpent of Moses, and human
affections as the snakes of the Egyptian priests, and in
their view the former should destroy and devour the
latter. It was not so with this noble old man. His
Christianity did not take from the stature of his hu
manity. It was, indeed, as a Christian that his character
was most distinctly marked ; yet he was no ascetic, for
he enjoyed life and its comforts: he did not disdain
its wealth — he toiled for it and obtained it. He lived
— as a man, a father, a member of society — a large
and generous life, for he had a large and generous
nature. Had this been all, he would still have
passed to his grave beloved and honored ; but there
was much more, His religion was large, grand, im
posing, like his person. He believed with such a
clear, manly faith, that as he walked abroad, you
felt that God and eternity were realities to him — and
by irresistible influence, they became realities to you
—like the sun and the earth. When you heard him
pray — as I have often done — you knew that God was
there. How sublime is such a man living such a life,
even though he was but a simple country farmer !

I must now present a somewhat different portrait —
that of Deacon John Benedict. He was a worthy old
man, and enjoyed many claims to respect. He was not
only a deacon, but a justice of the peace; moreover,

^1J1 LKTTKKS BIOGRAPHICAL,

he was the Father of Aunt Delight — of whom 1 de
sire ever to speak with reverence. She, not being a
beauty, was never married, and hence, having no
children of her own, she combed and crammed the
heads of other people's children. In this way she
was eminently useful in her day and generation. The
Deacon respected the law, especially as it was admin
istered in his own person. He was severe upon those
who violated the statutes of the State, but one who
violated the statutes of Deacon John Benedict com
mitted the unpardonable sin. He was the entire po
lice of the meeting-house on Sunday, and not a boy
or girl, or even a bumblebee, could offend, without
3ondign punishment.

Nevertheless, the Deacon is said in one case — 7-nther
before my time — to have met his match. There was in
the village a small, smart, nervous woman, with a vig
orous clack, which, once set going, was hard to stop.
One day she was at church, and having carried her din
ner of mince-pie in a little cross-handled basket, she sot
it down under the seat. In the midst of sermon-time,
a small dog came into the pew, and getting behind
her petticoats, began to devour the pie. She heard
what was going on, and gave him a kick. Upon this
the dog backed out with a yelp, but bringing the din
ner basket hung across his neck, with him. Back, back
he went, tail first, across the pew into the broad aisle.

" Oh dear !" said the woman, in a shrill voice —
"the dog's got my dinner! There! I've spoken loud

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 225

in meeting-time ! What will Deacon Benedict say ?
"Why ! I'm talking all the time. There it goes agin.
What shall I du?"

" Hold your tongue !" said the Deacon, who was
in his official seat, fronting the explosion. These
words operated like a charm, and the nervous lady
was silent. The next day Deacon John appeared at
the house of the offender, carrying a calf-bound vol
ume in his hand. The woman gave one glance at the
book, and one at the Deacon. That was enough :
it spoke volumes, and the man of the law returned
home, and never mentioned the subject afterward.
This is the whole of the story as it was reported to
me in my youth.

Deacon Hawley was very unlike either of his two
associates whom I have described. He was younger,
and of a peculiarly mild and amiable temper. His
countenance wore a tranquil and smooth expression.
His hair was fine and silky, and lay, as if oiled,
close to his head. He had a soft voice, and an ear
for music. He was a cabinet-maker by trade, a chor
ister by choice, a deacon by the vote of the church* a
Christian by the grace of God. In each of these
things he found his place, as if designed for it by na
ture and Providence.

How easily did life flow on for him ! How differ
ent was its peaceful current, from the battle waged
by Granther Baldwin — whom I shall soon describe —
from the beginning, and ceasing only when death put
10*

LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

his cold finger on the heart and silenced it forever.
Oh nature ! thou art a powerful divinity, sometimes
moulding the heart in love and charity, and some
times as if in bitterness and spite. Let those who
become the j udges of man here below, make due al
lowance for these things, as no doubt the Judge
hereafter will consider them in adjusting each man's
account.

In worldly affairs as well as spiritual, Deacon
Hawley's path was straight and even : he was success
ful in business, beloved in society, honored in the
church. Exceedingly frugal by habit and disposition,
he still loved to give in charity, though he told not
the world of it. When he was old, his family being
well provided for, he spent much of his time in cast
ing about to find opportunities of doing good. Once
he learned that a widow, who had been in good cir
cumstances, was struggling with poverty. He was
afraid to offer money as charity, for fear of wound
ing her pride — the more sensitive, perhaps, because
of her change of condition. He therefore intimated
that he owed a debt of fifty dollars to her late hus
band, and wished to pay it to her.

"And how was that?" said the lady, somewhat
startled.

" I will tell you," said the Deacon. " About five
and twenty years ago, soon after you were married,
I made some furniture for your husband — to the
amount of two hundred dollars. I have been look-

HISTORICAL, ANKCDOTIOAI., KTC. 22*

ing over the account, and find that I rather over
charged him, in the price of some chairs ; that is, I
could have afforded them at somewhat less. I have
added up the interest, and here, madam, is the
money."

The widow listened, and, as she suspected the
truth, the tears came to her eyes. The Deacon com
prehended all in an instant : he did not pause to
reply, but laid the money on the table and departed.

Another trait of this good man was his patriotism.
The prosperity of the country seemed always to be
in his heart — a source of gratification to himself and
a cause of thanksgiving to God. His conversation,
his prayers, were full of these sentiments. Though
of moderate intellectual gifts, his temper was so even,
his desires so just, that his judgment was almost in
fallible ; and hence he exercised a large, though
quiet and unseen influence upon other men. It is
strange, in this world, to see a man who always and
under all circumstances, seems to have as his master
motive — the wish to do just right. Yet such a man
was Deacon Hawley.*

I know not how it is, but the term deacon is asso
ciated in many minds with a certain littleness, and
especially a sort of affectation, a cant in conversation,
an I-am-holier-than-thou air and manner. I remem
ber Deacon C . . . . of H . . . ., who deemed it proper

* See note I. p. MO.

2l'S LETTKRS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

to become scriptural, and to talk as much as possible
like Isaiah. He was in partnership with his son La
ertes, and they sold crockery and furniture. One day
a female customer came, and the old gentleman being
engaged, went to call his son, who was in the loft
above. Placing himself at the foot of the stairs, he
said, attuning his voice to the occasion, "La-ar-tes,
descend — a lady waits !" Deacon C . . . . sought to
signalize himself by a special respect to the wa.ys of
Providence : so he refused to get insurance against fire,
declaring that if the Lord wished to burn down his
house or his barn, he should submit without a mur
mur. He pretended to consider thunder and light
ning and conflagrations as special acts of the Al
mighty, and it was distrusting Providence to attempt
to avert their effects. Deacon Hawley had none of
these follies or frailties. Though a deacon, he was still
a man ; though aspiring to heaven, he lived cheerily
on earth ; though a Christian, he was a father, a
neighbor, and, according to his rank in life, a gentle
man, having in all things the feelings and manners
appropriate to each of these relations.

This good man is not living: he died not many
years since at the age of ninety-one, enjoying to the
last good health, and that tranquillity of mind and
body sometimes vouchsafed to the aged after the heat
and burden of active life. I look back upon his mem
ory as a strip of sunshine bursting from the clouds,
and falling upon the landscape of life, to make us feel

HISTOEICAL, ANECDOTICAL, KTC. 229

that there is light in the world, and that every man —
even those of humble capacity and humble position —
may possess it, use it, glorify and disseminate it. Such
a life indeed tends to rob existence of its bitterness,
and to give dignity to man and glory to God !

LETTER XVII.

'fhe Federalist and the Democrat — Colonel Bradley and General Sing —
Comparison of New England with European Villages.

MY DEA.B C******

From the ecclesiastic notabilities of Eidgefield I
turn for a moment to the secular. And first, Colonel
Bradley claims my notice, for he was the leading cit
izen of the place, in station, wealth, education, and
power of intellect. He was a tall, gaunt, sallow man,
a little bent at the period of my recollection, for he
was then well stricken in years. He lived in a two-
story white house, at the upper end of the main street,
and on the western side. This was of ample dimen
sions, and had a grave, antique air, the effect of which
was enhanced by a row of wide-arching elms, lining the
street. It stood on a slight elevation, and somewhat
withdrawn from the road ; the fence in front was
high and close ; the doors and windows were always
shut, even in summer. I know not why, but this

230 LKTTERS — BIOOEAPHICAL,

place had a sort of awfulness about it : it seemed to
have a spirit and a voice, which whispered to the
passer-by, " Go thy way : this is the abode of one
above and beyond thee 1"

In order to comprehend the impression likely to be
made by such a sombre tenement, you must remember
the general aspect of our country villages at that time,
and indeed at the present time. Each house was
built near the street, with a yard in front and a gat-
den beside it. The fences were low, and of light,
open pickets or slats, made to exclude cattle, pigs,
and geese, which then had the freedom of the place.
There was a cheerful, confiding, wide, open look all
around. Everybody peeped from the windows into
everybody's grounds. The proprietor was evidently
content to be under your eye ; nay, as you passed
along, his beets and carrots in long beds ; his roses
and peonies bordering the central walk ; the pears
and peaches and plums swinging from the trees, all
seemed to invite your observation. The barn, having
its vast double doors in front, and generally thrown
open, presented its interior to your view, with all its
gathered treasures of hay, oats, rye, and flax. Near
by, but yet apart, stood the crib for the Indian corn,
showing its laughing, yellow ears between the slats,
designed to give circulation to the air.

There was in all this a liberty and equality which
belonged to the age. These had their foundation,
partly at least, in two sources — a love of an open,

HISTORICAL, ANKCDOTICAL, ETC. 231

unobstructed view, and a sort of communal famil
iarity in the intercourse of society. The first settlers
of the country found it covered with forests, which,
while they sheltered the lurking Indian, the poach
ing wolf, and the prowling bear, also obstructed
cultivation. Trees were then the great enemy, and
to exterminate them was the first great battle of
life. In those days men became tree-haters. The
shadow of the wood was associated with dearth and
danger — the open space with plenty and peace. It
was not till long after, when the burning sun of our
summers had taught the luxury of shade, that the
people of New England discovered their mistake, and
began to decorate their streets and pleasure-grounds
with trees.

In these, the primeval days of our history, men
gathered in the village were mutual protectors one
of the other ; there was a bond of sympathy between
them, founded in necessity, and this led to confidence,
and confidence to familiarity. Equality of intercourse,
with a general equality of feeling, were the results.
And besides, wealth had not accumulated in the hands
of particular individuals or in society generally. The
habits therefore were simple, and the tastes of the
people demanded little beyond the means and usages
of mere comfort. The love of embellishment gradu
ally crept over society, but at the period of which I
speak, it had not, in Eidgefield and other villages in Con
necticut, orone bevond the elements I have described.

232 T.I.TTKKS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

The American who travels in foreign countries
marked with the vestiges of feudal times, and the con
sequent division of society -into castes, will be forcibly
struck with the contrast which these things present
to a New England -village. As you pass through
France, or Italy, or Germany, or Spain, you will find
the houses and grounds inclosed by high stone and
mortar walls, which not only hide them from the
view of the passer-by, but are a positive defense
against intrusion. The proprietors bar you out, as if
they not only feared your entrance, but suspected you
of having the evil eye, and you must not therefore
look upon them or their possessions. The walls are
generally high and forbidding in proportion to the
rank of the proprietor : a palace is often a veritable
castle, with its moat, bastions, portcullis, and warder ;
and all this is imitated, as far as may be, from the
chateau down to the bare and desolate tenement of
John Smith and Tom Jones. The doors or gates of
the rich are of massive bronze or ponderous oak, and
fastened with formidable locks. You can only enter
by permission, and under the eye of a porter, who
scrutinizes you closely. This is true not only of
Paris, but of all the neighboring towns, great and
small. It is the same throughout the French empire.
Even in the villages, which consist of a crowded
mass of tenements, like the mean suburbs of a city,
every house is a prison, built of stone and mortar,
and not merely denying entrance, but shutting out,

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAI.. KTC.

as far as possible, the chance surveillance of neigh
bors and travelers. This is the system throughout
the continent. I have often felt almost suffocated
in walking and riding in the environs of Florence
and Rome, and other European cities, on finding
myself confined in a narrow lane, some twelve or
fifteen feet wide, with walls so high on either side
as to render it impossible to look over them. This
is not only true within the cities, and their immediate
precincts, but often for miles around ; even the fields
and farms are frequently thus inclosed, indicating not
only fear of intrusion or violence, but a repugnance
to mere supervision.

This system of making every house a castle — not
sacred by the law, as in our country, but by stone and
mortar — had its origin in the violence of feudal times,
when might was right. It is a system begun by the
kings, imitated by the barons, and perpetuated in so
ciety by the emulous vanity of snobs and underlings.
At first a necessity, it came at last to be a fashion. At
present it is little more, even where it is general or
universal. Its chief use now is to defend — not wealth
or tangible property — but the fanciful interests of
rank. A prince, a duke, a count, must not become
familiar to common men. His heart must be packed
in ice, so as to silence every large and philanthropic
pulsation. He must associate only with his peers.
He must exclude the vulgar ; he must live aloof,
enshrined in high walls and gates of oak and brase,

234 I.KTTKRS BIOGRAPHICAL,

There must be in the very aspect of his dwelling a
standing proclamation of his touch-me-not exaltation.
In all things his life and manners must conform to the
dignity of his house and his home. He has better
blood than other men, and this would be contamina
ted by contact with common humanity. The rich
bankers, Messrs. Shin and Shave, must imitate this
high, titled example ; they must be exclusive, at least
to all beneath them. Messrs. Grog and Prog, the
wealthy grocers, must follow suit according to their
kind.

This brick-and-mortar exclusiveness answers an
other purpose : it seems to sustain the theory that the
interior of the continental home is inviolable. Accord
ing to this, the proprietor lays out his grounds as he
pleases: he sleeps, eats, drinks, dresses, talks, walks,
and amuses himself according to his fancy. He does
not consult his neighbors upon any of these things.
He is lord of all he surveys ; not only his walls, but the
current ideas of society insure him a complete domestic
and social independence. So long as he does not med
dle with politics or the police, he sits under his own
vine and fig-tree, with none to make him afraid. He
has no apprehension that some eavesdropping ear, or
burglarious gaze, is waiting and watching, and will
show him up to-morrow in a Two Penny Tale Teller.

This is the state of things, as it appears to the su
perficial observer, and hence it is that European con
tinental life has great fascinations for some of our

HISTORICAL. ANFCPOTICAT., FTC. 235

American exclusives. They think it delightful to
live enshrined in high walls, and to do as they please.
But let us reflect and count the cost. Is this seeming
social independence real, permanent, reliable ? In
point of fact nothing is more hollow and false. Life,
liberty, property, are placed between two monsters,
either of which may at any moment rise up and de
vour you. The government, to which you look for
protection, is a despot, and full of eyes staring with
suspicion. Though it may seem to smile on you,
yet it has your dossier — that is, your life, opinions,
tastes, character — even the secrets of your house aad
your home — written in its note-book. The police
that surrounds you, and seems to protect you, may
at any moment denounce and destroy you. It is by
privilege, and not by right, that you live, breathe,
and have a being. On the other hand, the people,
whom you bar out and defy — their time may come,
and as you have treated them with scorn, they are
likely to repay you with vengeance.

Is not our American system of mutual confidence
and mutual support, infinitely better than this ? It
involves sacrifices, no doubt. Impertinence, gossip,
scandal, will thrive in a state of social equality and
mutual dependence, but real dignity and true virtue
will not seriously suffer. The false semblance, the
hollow affectation of these, may be stung, but it will
generally be to good and wholesome purpose. And
even if there be evils, we shall learn to cure them in

I.KTTKRS — BIOGRAPHICAL.

time. We are a young country, and are trying various
experiments. We can not expect to leap into the mil
lennium at once. It has taken Europe — modern Eu
rope — more than a thousand years to learn its lessons
in philosophy, art, and manners. All things consid
ered, we are as far advanced as they, and that, too,
after less than a century of experience. What may
we not hope in the future, and at no distant day ?
Let us, then, be of good cheer !

But to return. Certainly nothing can be more
strongly in contrast with our frank, confiding, wide-
open New England village than this suspicious, sys
tematic, radical exclusiveness in Continental Europe.
Impressed with an early love of the simplicity and
equality of our country towns, I have never been
able to conquer the disgust with which I have looked
upon the walled houses and walled towns of Europe.
They seem to me anti-social, unchristian, not merely
bespeaking their barbarous origin, but perpetuating
the seeds of violence and schism in the bosom of
society, which will ere long be sown on the wind
to produce the harvest of the whirlwind. If this
system and these ideas must be endured in monarch
ical regions, they should not be introduced into this
country. I am happy to add that they are imitated
by few, and with even these, they are worn as gar
ments that sit ill upon them, and consequently pro
voke ridicule rather than respect. An American ex
clusive is about as much an incongruity in our society

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, L"1C. 237

as an American duke. He is generally without real
power, and those he attempts to influence are apt to
go in the opposite direction from that which he points
out.

I beg pardon for this wide digression, which, how
ever, is not without a purpose. Col. Bradley was an
exclusive. His cold, distant manner bespoke it. He
was, I believe, an honorable man. He was a mem
ber of the church ; he was steady in his worship, and
never missed the sacrament. He was a man of edu
cation, and held high offices. His commission as
colonel was signed by John Jay, president of the
Continental Congress, and his office of Marshal of the
District of Connecticut was signed by Washington.
His commission as judge* of the County Court was
signed by the governor of the State. He was, as I
have said, the most distinguished citizen of the place,
and naturally enough imagined that such a position
carried with it, not the shadow, but the substance of
power. He seldom took an open part in the affairs
of the town, but when he did, he felt that his word
should be law. He deemed even a nod of his head
to be imperative ; people were bound to consult his
very looks, and scenting his trail, should follow in
his footsteps. Like most proud men of despotic tem
per, he sometimes condescended to bring about his
ends by puppets and wire pullers. Affecting to dis-

* See note I. p. 522.

238 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

dain all meddling, he really contrived openly or co
vertly to govern the church and the town. When
parties in politics arose, he was of course 'a federalist ;
though ostentatiously standing aloof from the tarnish
of caucuses, he still managed to fill most of the of
fices by hi§ seen or unseen dictation.

Such a man could little appreciate the real spirit
of democracy, now rising, like a spring-tide, over
Connecticut. Believing in the " Good old way,"
he sincerely felt that innovation was synonymous
with ruin. Thinking all virtue and all wisdom to
be centered in the few, he believed all folly and mis
chief to be in the many. The passage of power from
the former to the latter, he regarded with unaffected
horror. The sanctity of the church, the stability of
the law, the sacredness of home, life, and property,
all seemed to him put at hazard if committed to the
rabble, or what to him was equivalent, that dreaded
thing — democracy.

He was certainly a man of ability, well read in
history, and of superior mental gifts. He saw the
coming storm, which soon lowered and thundered in
the sky ; but he neither comprehended its force, nor
the best manner of combating it. He had not those
sensitive feelers — the gift of such born democrats as
Jefferson and Yan Buren — which wind their invisible
and subtle threads among the masses, and bring home
to the shrewd sensorium an account of every trem
bling emotion in the breast of the million. In fact

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, KTC. '230

so far as the mass, the people were concerned, hf was
a profound owl, seeing deeply into the nothingness of
night, but stark blind in the open day of real and
pressing action. In wielding power, put into his
hands by authority, he was a strong man : in acqui
ring it at the hands of democracy, he was a child.

I can not better illustrate his character — and the
humor of his day and generation — than by depicting
one of our town meetings of this era. This was of
course held in my father's church, according to cus
tom. At an early hour Col. Bradley was there, for
he was punctual in all things. He sat apart in a pew
with about half a dozen other men, the magnates of
the town. In other pews near by, sat still others,
all stanch respectabilities. These were the leading
federalists — persons of high character, wealth, and
influence. They spoke a few words to each other,
and then relapsed into a sort of dignified silence.
They did not mingle with the mass : they might
be suspected of electioneering — of seeking to exer
cise an influence over the minds of the people. That
was too degrading for them : it might do for Genera]
King, and the other democrats who could conde
scend to such things. These circulated freely in the
aisles, giving the warm right-hand of fellowship to
all they met, especially the rabble. Nevertheless, the
federalists had privately determined a few days before
on whom they would cast their votes, and being a
majority, they carried the day.

210 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

Thus it went on for a time. But gradually, and
year by year, the leaven of democracy affected more
and more the general mass. Federalism held itself
haughtily aloof from the lower classes, while democ
racy tendered to them the gratifying signals of fra
ternity. Federalism really and sincerely distrusted
the capacity of the people to govern themselves, ex
cept through the guidance and authority of the supe
rior classes ; democracy believed, or pretended to
believe, in the people, and its works were according
to its real or seeming faith. There were questions
at issue between the parties, which involved these op
posite and diverging principles. Shall government be
a republic, having an oligarchical bias, and commit
ting power to the hands of the few ; or shall it be a
democracy, living and breathing and having its being
from the constant inspirations of the whole people ?
Shall suffrage be limited or universal ? Shall there
be perfect religious toleration? Shall there be no
preference in regard to sects ? These were the actual,
pending questions in Connecticut. With such issues,
the parties were not only highly excited, but there
was a depth of sincerity which gave a certain dignity
even to party strife.

However old-fashioned it may seem, I still IOOK
back upon those stiff federalists, sitting in their
pews like so many judges in Israel — rigid in their
principles, hard, but honest in their opinions — with
a certain degree of respect. Perhaps, too, they

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 241

were not altogether wrong, though the battle has
gone against them. If, at the outset of our govern
ment, which was launched at the very period when
the French Revolution was agitating the world with
its turbulent waves, the suffrage had been universal,
probably we should have gone to destruction Fed
eralism, no doubt, locked the wheels of the car of
state, and thus stayed and regulated its progress, till
the steep was passed, and we were upon the safe and
level plain. Theoretically wrong, according to pres
ent ideas, federalism was useful and necessary in its
day. It is to be regretted that its spirit of patriotism
is not imitated by all modern partisans.

Col. Bradley, whom I have described as the head
of the federal party in Bidgefield, was pretty nearly a
type of his kind in those days. There was perhaps
a shade of Jesuitism about him, a love of unseen in
fluences, the exercise of invisible power, which was
personal and not a necessary part of his principles.
I perfectly recollect his appearance at church, and the
impression he made upon me. He was bald, and
wore a black silk cap, drawn down close over his
eyes. These were like jet, not twinkling, but steady
and intense, appearing very awful from the dark cav
erns in which they were set. I hardly dared to look
at him, and if perchance his slow but searching gaze
fell upon me, I started as if something had wounded
me. At long intervals he came to our house, and
though he was of course a supporter of my father.

VOL. L— 11

242 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

being a member of the church, I had the impression
that everybody breathed thick and anxiously while
he was there, and felt relieved when he went away.
It is now many years since he passed to his tomb,
yet his appearance and general character are still
fresh in my memory. He was not loved, but on the
whole, his life was beneficial to the community in
which he lived. He had high gifts and large oppor
tunities : if he did not do all the good he might, it
was certainly rather through the influence of original,
constitutional defects, than willing and chosen obli
quity of conduct.

It is not possible to conceive of two persons more
unlike than the one I have just sketched and General
King. The former was tall, thin, dark ; the latter
was of middle height, stout, erect, and florid. The
first was highly educated, meditative, secret, deep,
cold, circumspect ; the latter was unschooled, yet
intelligent ; frank, though perhaps superficial ; impe
rious, yet fearless and confiding. Col. Bradley was
a federalist ; Gen. King a democrat. These two, in
deed, were the leaders of the two great political par
ties in Ridgefield.

If we could dive into the heart of man, and dis
cern the reasons why one takes this . ^.urse and an
other that ; why one is of this sect . a religion, or
that party in politics, I imagine we should make
some curious discoveries. In certain cases the springs
of these actions are open : one is obviously deter-

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 243

mined in his choice by education ; another manifestly
derives a proclivity from family influences ; another
is governed by his social position ; but in other cases,
we are left to guess at motives, and these often seem
so personal and selfish as to reflect little honor upon
human nature. As to professed politicians, I think
mankind generally, without being suspected of cyni
cism, regard them as choosing their party on the same
principles that they would choose a horse — in both
cases selecting that which they can best mount and
ride. They look upon the good public as so many
donkeys, made to be used for hobbies and then con
temptuously dismissed. We see men act thus openly
and shamelessly every day of our lives, and strange
to say, it is not punished, however scandalous it may
appear. Nay, so far as we can judge, the people
rather like it.

In still other instances the causes which determine
the political conduct of men are more latent, though
not the less selfish and personal. We are very apt to
see according to our point of view. The fable of the
pigeon's neck, which reflects red on one side and pur
ple on the other, and hence leads two persons in op
posite positions into a dispute as to the actual color
of the bird, is instructive. One man, in an elevated
condition in life, and having large possessions, natu
rally inclines to magnify the importance of authority,
and the respect due to property. Thus, he becomes
a federalist or a conservative. Another, destitute of

244 LKTTKKS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

all but his head and hands, presses the claims of
labor, and exalts the rights of man. He becomes a
democrat. In these instances, persons actually con
trolled by a regard to their several positions, through
the seductions and delusions of the human heart,
generally consider themselves as actuated by an ex
clusive regard to patriotism and principle. I am
afraid that we can find few instances — at least in the
arena of politics — in which the heart of man rises
above this fountain-head of selfishness.

The cases in which the manufacturer sustains pro
tection and the ship-owner free-trade, the south
ern man the interests of slave labor, and the north
ern man the interests of free labor, are similar ex
amples of selfishness, though somewhat more gross.
It might seem, then, that the ballot-box — the
great depository of the public will, and the source
of public action and power in a republican govern
ment — must be a mass of corruption ; that if the ma
jority of votes are leavened with selfishness, the ag
gregated millions cast at the polls must be an offense
in the sight of God. Yet in truth it is not so. The
whole result is really a very intelligent index to the
actual wants of the country. Suppose every man
has voted selfishly, the accumulated suffrage shows
where the weight of opinion lies as to the entire in
terests of the people. And even when we consider
the juggles of politicians who make loud professions,
only to obtain office, we know that for the most part,

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 245

when they have attained it, the government goes on
nearly the same, whoever may administer it. Thus,
on the whole, the ballot-box develops and represents
a balance of good sense in the nation that outweighs
even the multitudinous vices, follies, and foibles of
individuals.

If I were to be asked what made Gen. King a dem
ocrat, I should be at a loss to answer. He was fond
of authority : his whole presence and manner bespoke
it. His carriage was erect, his head set back, his
chest protruded. His hair was stiff and bristling,
and being long on the top, was combed back in the
manner of Gen. Jackson's. Like him he had a deci
dedly military air and character. He was, no doubt,
a very good man on the whole, but I imagine he was
not imbued with any special sympathy for the masses,
or the rights of man. I have pretty good reason to
believe that his natural disposition was dictatorial —
despotic. It is related that one day he came into the
field where his men were haying. A thunder-storm
was approaching, and he commanded the laborers in
a tone of authority to do this and that, thus requiring
in fact what was impossible. Jaklin, an old negro,
noted for his dry wit, being present, said in an under
tone —

" I'm thankful the Lord reigns."

" Why so ?" said a bystander.

" Because," was the reply, " if the Lord didn't
reign, the Gineral would !"

246 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

Why, then, was he a democrat? Was it because
Col. Bradley and himself were rivals in trade, rivals
in wealth, rivals in position ? Was it that by a nat
ural proclivity, derived from this relation, he became
an opponent of one who stood in his way, and thus
became a democrat ? Who will venture to solve such
questions as these ?

I pray you not to consider me as saying any thing
invidious of Gen. King. He was really a man to be
respected, perhaps loved, even though he was not of
great intellect, or morally cast in the mould of per
fection. He had plain practical sense, perfect sincer
ity, high moral courage, an open, cheerful, frank
manner. Be it understood that I speak from my
childish recollections. Such is the impression he
made upon me. Erect, martial, authoritative as he
was. I still liked him, for to me he was kind, al
ways asked about our family, and was particularly
unlike that cold, silent, dark-browed Col. Bradley.
His whole person bespoke manliness. No one look
ing on him would suspect him of meanness, in
thought, word, or deed. He was eminently success
ful in business, and his wealth, at length, outstripped
that of his great rival. His party also triumphed,
and he became the first man of the place in position
and influence.

If thus fortunate in these respects, he was even
more so in his family. He had ten children — four
sons and six daughters: all reached maturitv, and

HISTORICAL. ANKCDOTICAL, ETC. 247

constituted one of the comeliest groups I have ever
known. The girls all married, save one: three of the
sons — among the handsome men of their time — pro
fessed bachelorism : a proof of what all shrewd ob
servers know, that handsome men, spontaneously
enjoying the smiles of the sex, feel no need of resign
ing their liberty, while ugly men are forced to capitu
late on bended knees, and accept the severe condi
tions of matrimony, as the only happy issue out of
their solitude. One only, Eufus H. King, of Al
bany, whom I have already mentioned, took upon
himself the honors of wedlock. All these persons
possessed that happy balance of good sense, good
feelings, good looks, and good manners, which in
sures success and respectability in life. Is not such
a family history worthy of being recorded in this
booK of the chronicles of Ridgefield ?

248 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

LETTER XVIII.

The Ingertotts — Rer>. Jonathan Ingersoll — Lieutenant-governor IngersoU —
New Haven Bellas — A chivalrous Virginian among the Connecticut D.DSs
— Grace IngersoU— A New Haven Girl at Napoleon's Court— Real Ro
mance — A Puritan in a Convent.

MY DEAR C ******

General King's house stood on the northern slope
of a small swell of ground, midway between the two
extremities of the main street, and on the western side.
It was a rather large two-story edifice, always neatly
kept, and glowing in fresh white paint. "Wealth and
respectability in the full tide of successful experiment,
were as readable in its appearance as if it had been
so written in front, like the designation of a railway
station.

Contiguous to this fresh and flourishing mansion,
on the southern side, was a brown, gable-roofed house,
with two venerable, but still green and flourishing
button-wood trees in front. The building was mark
ed with age, the surface of its clapboards, unprotected
by paint, being softened and spongy through the in
fluence of the seasons. The roof was of a yellowish-
green tint, imparted by a gathering film of moss. The
windows were contracted, and the casing, thin and
plain, bespoke the architecture of our day of small
things. All aroxmd was rather bare, and 'the little

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, KTC.

recess in front, open and un inclosed, was at once
shaven close and desecrated by a flock of geese that
every night made it their camp-ground. Nevertheless,
there was a certain dignity about the button-wood
trees in front, and the old brown house in the rear,
that excited respect and curiosity in the beholder.
There was indeed some reason, for this was the home
of the Ingersolls.

The Rev. Jonathan Ingersoll* was my father's im
mediate predecessor, as minister of the First Congre
gational Church in Ridgefield. Though he has been
dead three fourths of a century, tradition still cher
ishes his memory as an able preacher, a devoted pas
tor, and a most amiable man. In my boyhood he
had long since passed away, but his widow still lin
gered in the old brown house I have described. She
was every way a superior woman — wise, good, lov
ing, and beloved. Her husband's mantle descended
upon her shoulders, and she wore it worthily before
the world and the Church. By the latter she was
cherished as a guardian saint. She was always my
father's friend, and in the critical and difficult pas
sages which are sure to arise between a pastor and
his people, she was the ready and efficient peacemaker.
I remember her, though faintly and as a dream, yet
one in which I saw a pale, gray, saintly old lady,
almost too good for this wicked world.

* See note I., p. 516.
11*

2T)0 LKTTER8 — BIOGliA PlilCAI,,

Mr. Ingersoll had a large family, all of whom were
of mature age at the period of my childhood. The
youngest daughter was wife of Gen. King, and mother
of the family I have described. Two of the three sons
— Joseph and Moss — were deaf and dumb, and occu
pied the family mansion : the other son was the late
Jonathan Ingersoll, of New Haven, distinguished by
his eminent talents and many virtues.

Joseph Ingersoll — according to my recollection —
v/as a plain, solid, dull-looking man, who passed
to and fro with rigid directness, never smiling, and
seeming to take little interest in what was passing
around him. Though naturally quick-minded, and
able to express a few ideas by signs, he still seemed
to shun intercourse with the world, and even with
his friends and neighbors. He and his brother Moss
carried on the farm. He rose every day at the
same hour ; took his meals and retired to bed. with
the precision of a chronometer. You might safely
liavc set your clock by him. At a particular time
in the morning he went to the fields, where he labor-
rd with the steadiness of a mill : at a particular time
in the afternoon or evening he returned. He re
volved through the seasons, performing the labors-
due to each with the same exactitude. Had he been
u machine, wound up and set each day, he could
hardly have been more the creature of routine.

Moss Ingersoll was singularly unlike his brother
Jcxenh. While the latter remained a bachelor, the

IlISTOItlt'AL, ANKCDOTlCAr,, KTf. 251

loriner \vasrnarried, and bad a family of several chil
dren. He was of a sharp, ready mind, social in his dis
position, cheerful, witty, and of pleasing personal ap
pearance and address. His whole face beamed with
intelligence ; his manners bespoke a certain natural
refinement, and a quick sensibility to the pleasures of
social intercourse. It must be remembered that this
was long prior to the modern art of teaching the deaf
and dumb ; nevertheless, his father had taken great
pains with him, and had given him some instruction
through the use of signs. By means of these, Moss
conversed to a limited extent with his wife and chil
dren, and indeed the whole neighborhood. He came
frequently to our house, and was a great favorite. I
learned to talk with him a little, and when I met
him, he always had something interesting to say.
His signs were descriptive, and displayed a turn for
humorous associations. Deacon Olmstead was the Big
Cane ; my father the Bald Pate ; Gen. King the Long
Sword ; Lieut. Smith the See-Saw, and so on. He
could write so as to keep accounts, but could not
read, and it is probable his range of abstract ideas
was narrow. His ready perceptions, however, gave
him a large acquaintance with common things. He
even seemed to comprehend the outlines of Chris
tianity, and to feel the obligations of conforming to
its requisitions. How far he reached into the pro-
founder depths of religion' — the mysteries of God
and eternity, of man and his vast capacities and ama-

252 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

zing destinies, as unfolded by revelation — it is impos
sible to know. It is related that a deaf and dumb
man in France grew up to manhood, and seemed to
have a highly religious tendency and experience.
He attended the services of the church with steadfast
assiduity, and wore a devout and penitential air. No
one doubted his comprehension of the groundwork
of religion, or the reality of his piety. Afterward,
by a surgical operation, he recovered his hearing. It
then appeared that he had never conceived the idea
of God, a future state, or moral responsibility ! His
religion was wholly a pantomime. He saw that reli
gious forms and ceremonies were esteemed, and hence
he found pleasure in them. He was not a hypocrite,
nor an automaton, but a simple exemplification of
that mimetic aptitude which is a part of our nature.
How large a part of the religion of the world is no
better than this, it is not for us to say.

It is probable that Moss Ingersoll had passed be
yond this state of living death: no doubt he com
prehended — faintly, at least — the idea of a God and
human accountability ; it is even supposed that he
conceived the triune existence of the Deity. He
certainly understood something of astronomy, and
the nature of the heavenly bodies. Knowing so
much, how must he have yearned to know more !
How must his active, earnest mind have struggled
within its prison, and sought to solve a thousand
mysteries which haunted^ and perplexed it ! What

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 253

a world of thought and knowledge would have been
opened to him by the gift of speech, and yet —
what unfathomed and unfathomable mysteries would
have remained unsolved, still to haunt and perplex
him ! Within the narrow circle of his observation
and experience, he was almost as near the great mys
teries hid in the bosom of the Almighty, which come
so often and so anxiously to ask a solution, as the
profoundest philosopher. I remember once, while
traveling with Mr. Webster, to have asked him if he
had been able, in any degree, to penetrate the curtain
which hangs over the origin of man, of nature, and
of God. He replied that the plainest mind could see
just as far in that direction as the most acute : the
Almighty had shut the door upon these his secrets,
and it was vain for us to attempt to open it.

How hard is it to submit to this stern decree ! Be
hind that awful barrier lie those mighty truths which
from the beginning have stimulated, yet baffled, hu
man thought and inquiry. No mind can see them,
or yet forego them. There is God : there is man's
history, man's destiny, written in letters of light ! Oh
that we could behold and read the amazing revela
tion ! It may not be : the door is closed ; we can not
force it ! The tyrant Death holds the key : he alone
has power to open it ; and he at last will open it to
us all. Till then, patience, hope, submission — these
are our only resources.

When I left Ridgefield, the two deaf and dumb

254 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHKUC,

Jngersolls were still living. On my return there,
some years after, b6th were in their graves. If their
privileges were less than those of other men, so
doubtless was their accountability. Perhaps even
the balance of enjoyment in their lives was not much
less than it would have been had they possessed their
full faculties. With increased gifts come increased
temptations. Men of superior endowments too often
abuse their privileges, and their lives sink even be
low the level of ordinary men. Those who are
born rich often squander their wealth, and thus the
bankrupt is even more wretched than he who was a
pauper from the beginning. At all events, I look
back upon the somewhat mournful story of these two
men with a cheerful conviction that on earth their
lives passed tranquilly away, and that hereafter the
cloud that shaded their minds will be removed iu
such manner and measure as to compensate for the
privations they suffered here.

Jonathan Ingersoll, their brother, was an eminent
lawyer, and settled at New Haven. Personally, he was
erect, slender, and very much like his distinguished
son, the present Ralph I. Ingersoll. He was marked
by a nervous twitch of the face, which usually signal
ized itself when he began to address the jury. On these
occasions his eyes opened and shut spasmodically ; at
the same time he drew the corners of his mouth up
and down, the whole seeming as if it was his object to
set the court in a roar. Sometimes he succeeded, in

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 25

spite of all his efforts to the contrary. Indeed, it -was
impossible for a person on seeing this for the first
time, to avoid a srnile — perhaps a broad one. It
might seem that such a frailty would have been a
stumbling-block in his profession ; yet it was not so.
I suspect, indeed, that his practice as a lawyer was
benefited by it — for the world likes an easy handle to
a great name, and this is readily supplied by a per
sonal peculiarity. At all events, such was the dignity
of his character, the grace of his language, and the
perfection of his logic, his law, and his learning, that
he stood among the foremost of his profession. He
became Lieutenant-governor of the State, a judge of
the Supreme Court, and held various other respon
sible offices.

This gentleman had a large family — sons and
daughters : the names of the former are honorably
recorded in the official annals of their native State
— nay, of the United States. The daughters were
distinguished for personal attractions and refined ac
complishments,. One of them claims a special notice
— Grace Ingersoll : how beautiful the name, how sug
gestive of what she was in mind, in person, in char
acter ! I saw her once — but once, and I was then a
child — yet her image is as distinct as if I had seen
her yesterday.

In my boyhood these New Haven Ingersolls came
to Ridgefield occasionally, especially in summer, to
visit their relations there. Thev all seemed to rne

250 I.KTTKE8 — BIOGRAPHICAL,

like superior beings, especially Mrs. Ingersoll, who
was fair and forty about those days. On a certain
occasion, Grace, who was a school companion of my
elder sister's, came to our house. I imagine she did
not see or notice me. Certainly she did not discover
in the shy boy in the corner her future biographer.
She was tall and slender, yet fully rounded, with rich,
dark hair, and large Spanish eyes — now seeming blue
and now black, and changing with the objects on
which she looked, or the play of emotions within her
breast. In complexion she was a brunette, yet with
a melting glow in her cheek, as if she had stolen
from the sun the generous hues which are reserved
for the finest of fruit and flowers. Her beauty was
in fact so striking — at once so superb and so concil
iating — that I was both awed and fascinated by her.
Wherever she went I followed, though keeping at si
distance, and never losing sight of her. She spent the
afternoon at our house, and then departed, and I saw
her no more.

It was not long after *his that a Frenchman by the
name of Grellet, who had come to America on some
important commercial affairs, chanced to be at New
York, and there saw Grace Ingersoll. Such beauty
as that of the New Haven belle is rare in any coun
try : it is never indigenous in France. Even if such
could be born there, the imperious force of conven
tional manners would have stamped itself upon her,
and made her a fashionable lady, at the expense

HISTORICAL, ANKCDOTICAL, ETC. 257

of that Eve-like beauty and simplicity which charac
terized her. It is not astonishing, then, that the
stranger — accustomed as he was to all the beauty of
French fashionable life — should still have been smit
ten with this new and startling type of female love
liness.

I may remark, in passing, and as pertinent to my
narrative, that the women of New Haven in these
bygone days were famous for their beauty. They
may be so yet, but I have not been there — except as
a railroad passenger — for years, and can not estab
lish the point by my own direct testimony. As to
the olden time, however, I can verify my statements
from the evidence of my own eyes, as well as the rec
ords of long tradition. Among the legends I have
heard on this subject is one to this effect. There was
once a certain Major L . . . . — a Virginian — who I be
lieve was at one time a member of Congress. He
was a federalist ; and when I saw him at Washington,
about the year 1820, he wore a thick queue, and a
good sprinkling of hair-powder — then generally es
teemed very undemocratic. He was a large and
handsome man, and at the period of which I speak
was some fifty years of age. But being a Virgin
ian, and withal a bachelor, he was still highly chiv
alrous in his feelings and conduct toward the fair
sex.

Now, once upon a time this handsome old bachelor
paid a visit to New England. Having stayed a while

258 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

at Boston, lie journeyed homeward till he came to
New Haven. It chanced to be Commencement-day
— the great jubilee of the city — while he was there.
Having no acquaintances, he set out in the morning
to go and see the ceremonies. Directed by the cur
rent of people to the chapel, he went thither, and
asked for admittance. It was the custom first to re
ceive the reverend clergy and the ladies, who had
privileged seats reserved for them — the world at large
being kept out till these were accommodated : a
fact which shows that our Puritan ancestors, if they
did not hold women to be divine, placed them on
the same level as divines. The doorkeeper scanned
Major L .... as he came up to the place, and observ
ing him to be a good-looking gentleman in black,
with a tinge of powder on his coat-collar, set him
down as a minister of the Gospel, and so let him pass.
The sexton within took him in charge, and placed
him in the clerical quarter between two old D. D.'s —
Dr. Perkins, of West Hartford, and Dr. Marsh, of
Wethersfield, each having the Five Points sticking
out — the one from his gray locks and the other from
his frizzed wig — as plainly as if they had been em
blazoned on a banner.

The major, with the conscious ease of his genial
nature and southern breeding, took his seat and sur
veyed the scene. His gaze soon fell upon a battery
of eyes — beautiful, yet dangerous — that ran along the
gallery. Unconscious of the sanctity and sain tli ness

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 259

of his position, he half rose and made a low and gra
cious bow to the ladies above, as if to challenge their
whole artillery. Every eye in the house was thus
drawn toward him. Before he had time to compose

himself, Miss F , one of the belles of the day,

came down the Woad aisle, full upon him ! He had
never seen any thing so marvellously beautiful — at
once so simple and so superb, so much a woman and
so much a divinity. He held his breath till she had
passed, when he turned suddenly to Eev. Dr. Marsh,
and giving him a slap on his shoulder — which dis
lodged a shower of powder from his wig — exclaimed,
" By all the gods, sir, there is Yen us herself!" .

It is not easy to conceive of the consternation of
all around, and especially of the reverend clergy.
Their grizzled hair stood out, as if participating in
the general horror. What could possess their rev
erend brother? Was he suddenly beset by the Evil
One, thus to utter the unhallowed name of Venus in
the house of God ? It was, indeed a mystery. Grad
ually, and one by one, they left the infected pew, and
Major L . . . ., finding himself alone, quietly pocketed
the joke, which, however, he often repeated to his
friends after his return to Virginia.

This legend refers to a date some dozen years sub
sequent to the era of Grace Ingersoll, and which
therefore shows that the traditional beauty of the New
Haven ladies had not then declined. I now return
to my story. From the first view of that fair lady,

260 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

M. Grellet was a doomed man. Familiar with the
brilliant court of the Parisian capital, he might have
passed by unharmed, even by one as fair as our he
roine, had it not been for that simplicity, that Puri
tanism of look and manner, which belonged to the
social climate in which she was brought up — so strong
ly in contrast to the prescribed pattern graces of a
French lady. He came, he saw, he was conquered.
Being made captive, he had no other way than to
capitulate. He was a man of good family, a fine
scholar, and a finished gentleman. He made due
and honorable proposals, and was accepted — though
on the part of the parents with many misgivings.
Marriage ensued, and the happy pair departed for
France.

This took place in 1806. M. Grellet held a high
social position, and on his arrival at Paris, it was a
matter of propriety that his bride should be pre
sented at court. Napoleon was then in the full
flush of his imperial glory. It must have been
with some palpitations of heart that the New Ha
ven girl — scarcely turned of eighteen years, and new
to the great world — prepared to be introduced to the
glittering circle of the Tuileries, and under the eye of
the emperor himself. As she was presented to him,
in the midst of a dazzling throng, blazing with orders
and diamonds, she was a little agitated, and her foot
was entangled for a moment in her long train — then
an indispensable part of the court costume. Napo-

.DAME GREU.ET (GRACE INGERSOLL) AT THE COURT OF NAPOLEOX. Vol. l. p. 263.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 261

leon, who, with all his greatness, never rose to the
dignity of a gentleman, said in her hearing, " Voild
de lo, gaucherie am&ricaine I" American awkward
ness ! Perhaps a certain tinge of political bitterness
mingled in the speech, for Jerome had been seduced
into marriage by the beauty of an American lady,
greatly to the chagrin of his aspiring and unprinci
pled brother. At all events, though he saw the blush
his rudeness had created, a malicious smile played
upon his lips, indicative of that contempt of the feel
ings of women, which was one of his characteristics.*

Madame Grellet, however, survived the shock of
this discourtesy, which signalized her entry into fash
ionable life. She soon became a celebrity in the court
circles, and always maintained pre-eminence, alike for
beauty of person, grace of manners, and delicacy and
dignity of character. More than once she had her re
venge upon the emperor, when in the center of an ad
miring circle, he, with others, paid homage to her fas
cinations. Yet this transplantation of the fair Puritan,
even to the Paradise of fashion, was not healthful.

M. Grellet became one of Bonaparte's receivers-
general, and took up his residence in the department of
the Dordogne — though spending the winters in Paris.

* Napoleon's estimate of woman was very low : it was his cherished
opinion that the orientals understood much better how to dispose of the
female sex than the Europeans. There was a brusquerie, a precipitancy
in his manner toward women, both in public and private, which his
greatest admirers admit to have been repugnant to every feeling of fe
male delicacy. See Alison's Europe, vol. ix. p. 151.

262 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

Upon the fall of Napoleon, he lost his office, but was
reappointed during the "hundred days," only to lose
it again upon the final restoration of Louis XVIII.
The shadows now gathered thick and dark around
him. His wife having taken a violent cold was at
tacked with pleurisy, which resulted in a gradual de
cline. Gently but surely her life faded away. Death
loves a shining mark, and at the early age of five-and-
twenty she descended to the tomb. With two lovely
daughters — the remembrances of his love and his
affliction — M. Grellet returned to the south of France,
and in the course of years, he too was numbered with
the dead.

Almost half a century passed away, and the mem
ory of Grace Ingersoll had long been obliterated from
my mind, when it was accidentally recalled. One
evening, being at the Tuileries — among the celebrities
of the world's most brilliant court — I saw her brother,
B. I. Ingersoll. It was curious to meet here with one
to whom I had not spoken — though I had occasion
ally seen him — since we were boys together in Ridge-
field. The last incident associated with him in my
memory was that we played mumbletepeg together
on the green mound, beneath the old Ingersoll but-
tonwoods. He was now the American Ambassador
to Russia, and on his way thither, and I was a chance
sojourner m Paris.

We met as if we were old friends. At length I
recollected his sister Grace, and asked if her children

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 263

were living. He replied in the affirmative, and that
he was on the point of paying them a visit. 1 saw
him a month afterward, and he told me that he had
just returned from the south of France, where he had
enjoyed a most interesting stay -of a fortnight with
his nieces. One — the elder— was married, and had
children around her. She was the wife of an eminent
physician, and in easy circumstances — occupying a
good social position. She was a charming person, and,
as he thought, possessed something of the appearance
and character of his lost sis'ter. He found that she
could sing the simple Connecticut ballads — taught her
in childhood, perhaps in the cradle — by her mother :

•

she had also some of her sketches in pencil, and other
personal mementoes, which she cherished as sacred
relics of her' parent, who now seemed a saint in her
memory. How beautiful and how touching are such
remembrances — flowers that cast perfume around the
very precincts of the tomb !

The other neice — where was she? In a convent,
lost to the world — devoted to God — if indeed to ex
tinguish the lights of life be devotion to Him who
gave them ! By special favor, however, she was
permitted to leave her seclusion for a short period,
that she might see her uncle. She came to the
house of her sister, and remained there several days
She was a most interesting person, delicate, grace
ful, sensitive, still alive to all human affections. She
was generally cheerful, and entered with a ready

264 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

heart into the pleasures of home and friends around
her. I shall venture to quote a single passage from
a letter on this subject, addressed to me by her uncle.
Speaking of his visit above alluded to, he says :

" One day, after we had been talking as usual of
America and her American relations, she excused
herself to me for a short time, that she might go to
her room and write a letter to the convent. She was
gone from me much longer than I had expected, and
on her return I said to her :

" ' You must have been writing a long letter, if I
may judge by the time you have been about it?'

" ' Yes,' was her reply ; ' but I have not been wri
ting all the while ; I have been praying.'

" ' Indeed ! Do you pray often ?'

" ' Yes — and even more often here than when I am
at the convent.'

"'Why so?' --

" ' I fear, my dear uncle, that my affection for you
will attach me too much to earth.' "

How strange, how affecting. are the vicissitudes of
life as we read them in the intimate personal histo
ries of homes and hearts! The direct descendants
of the Puritan minister of Bidgefield — the one a
mother, blending her name, her lineage, and her lan
guage, in the annals of a foreign land ; the other, a
devotee, seeking in the seclusion of her cell — and per
haps not altogether in vain — "that peace which the
world can not give I"

HISTORICAL, ANECIX3TICAL, ETC.

LETTER XIX,

Mat Olmstead, the Town WiL-The Salamander Ratr-The Great Eclipse
— Sharp Logic — Lieutenant Smith, the Town Philosopher — The Pur-

' chase of Louisiana — Lewis and Clarke's Exploring Expedition — The
Great Meteor — Hamilton and Burr — The Leopard and the Chesapeake —
Fulton's Steamboats — Granther Baldwin, the Village Miser — Sarah
Bishop, the Hermitess.

MY DEAR C******

Matthew Olmstead, or Mat Olmstead, as he was
usually called, was a day laborer, and though his
speciality was the laying of stone fences, he was equal
ly adroit at hoeing corn, mowing, and farm-work in
general. He /was rather short and thick-set, with a
long nose, a little bulbous in his latter days — with a
ruddy complexion, and a mouth shutting like a pair
of nippers — the lips having an oblique dip to the left,
giving a keen and mischievous expression to his face,
qualified, however, by more of mirth than malice.
This feature was indicative of his mind and character,
for he was sharp in speech, and affected a crisp, bi
ting brevity, called dry wit. He had also a turn for
practical jokes, and a great many of these were told
of him, to which, perhaps, he had no historical claim.
The following is one of them, and is illustrative oi
his manner, even if it originated elsewhere.

On a cold stormy day in December — as I received
the tale — a man chanced to come into the bar-room

VOL. I.— 12

266 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

of Keeler's tavern, where Mat Olmstead and several
of his companions were lounging. The stranger had
on a new hat of the latest fashion, and still shining
with the gloss of the iron. He seemed conscious of
his dignity, and carried his head in such a manner as
to invite attention to it. Mat's knowing eye imme
diately detected the weakness of the stranger ; so he
approached him, and said —

" What a very nice hat you've got on. Pray who
made it?"

" Oh, it came from New York," was the reply.

" Well, let me take it," said Mat.

The stranger took it off his head, gingerly, and
handed it to him.

" It is a wonderful nice hat," said Matthew ; " and
I see it's a real salamander !"

" Salamander?" said the other. " What's that ?"

" Why a real salamander hat won't burn !"

" No ? I never heard of that before : I don't be
lieve it's one of that kind."

" Sartain sure ; I'll bet you a mug of flip of it."

" Well, I'll stand you !"

" Done : now I'll just put it under the fore-stick ?"

"Well."

It being thus arranged, Mat put the hat under the
fore-stick into a glowing mass of coals. In an instant
it took fire, collapsed, and rolled into a black, crum
pled mass of cinders.

" I du declare," said Mat Olmstead, affecting great

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 267

astonishment — "it ain't a salamander hat arter all.
Well ; I'll pay the flip !"

Yet wit is not always wisdom. Keen as this man
was as to things immediately before him, he was of
narrow understanding. He seemed not to possess the
faculty of reasoning beyond his senses. He never
would admit that the sun was fixed, and that the
world turned round. In an argument upon this point
before an audience of his class, he would have floored
Sir John Herschel or Lord Eosse by his homely but
pointed ridicule.

I remember that when the great solar eclipse of
1806 was approaching, he with two other men were at
work in one of our fields, not far from the house. The
eclipse was to begin at ten or eleven o'clock, and my
father sent an invitation to the workmen to come up
and observe it through some pieces of smoked glass.
They came, though Mat ridiculed the idea of an eclipse
— not but the thing might happen — but it was idle to
suppose it could be foretold. While they were waiting
and watching for the great event, my father explain
ed that the light of the sun upon the earth was to be
interrupted by the intrusion of the moon, and that
this was to produce a transient night upon the scene
around us.

Mat laughed with that low scoffing chuckle, with
which a woodchuck, safe in his rocky den, replies to
the bark of a besieging dog.

" So you don't believe this ?" said my father.

268 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

" No," said Mat, shaking his head, and bringing his
lips obliquely together, like the blades of a pair of
shears. " I don't believe a word of it. You say, Par
son Goodrich, that the sun is fixed, and don't move ?"

" Yes, I say so."

" Well : didn't you preach last Sunday out of the
10th chapter of Joshua ?"

" Yes."

" And didn't you tell us that Joshua commanded
the sun and moon to stand still ?"

" Yes."

" Well : what was the use of telling the sun to
stand still if it never moved ?"

This was a dead shot, especially at a parson, and
in the presence of an audience inclined, from the fel
lowship of ignorance, to receive the argument. Being
thus successful, Mat went on.

" Now, Parson Goodrich, let's try it agin. If you
turn a thing that's got water in it bottom up, the wa-
ter'll run out, won't it ?"

" No doubt."

" If the world turns round, then, your well will be
turned bottom up, and the water'll run out !"

At this point my father applied his eye to the son
through a piece of smoked glass. The eclipse had
begun ; a small piece was evidently cut off from the
rim. My father stated the fact, and the company
around looked through the glass and saw that it was
so. Mat Olmstead, however, sturdily refused to try it,

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 269

and bore on his face an air of supreme contempt, as
much as to say, " You don't humbug me!"

But ignorance and denial of the works of God do
not interrupt their march. By slow and invisible
degrees, a shade crept over the landscape. There
was no cloud in the sky, but a chill stole through
the atmosphere, and a strange dimness fell over the
world. It was midday, yet it seemed like the ap
proach of night. There was something fearful in
this, as if the sun was about to be blotted out in
the midst of his glory — the light of the world to
be extinguished at the moment of its noon ! All na
ture seemed chilled and awed by the strange phenom
enon. The birds, with startled looks and ominous
notes, left their busy cares and gathered in the thick
branches of the trees, where they seemed to hold
counsel one with another. The hens, with slow and
hesitating steps, set their faces toward their roosts.
One old hen, with a brood of chickens, walked along
with a tall, halting tread, and sought shelter upon
the barn-floor, where she gathered her young ones
under her wings, continuing to make a low sound, as
if saying — " Hush, my babes, lie still and slumber."
At the same time, like many a mother before her, while
seeking to bring peace to her offspring, her own heart
was agitated with profound anxiety.

I well remember this phenomenon* — the first of the

* Tliis eclipse (June 16th, 1806), being total, attracted great attention
The weather was perfectly calm, and the phenomena exceedingly hi

270 LETTEKS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

kind I had ever witnessed. Its sublimity absorbed
ray whole faculties : it seemed to me the veritable,
visible work of the Almighty. The ordinary course
of nature was, indeed, equally stupendous ; but this
incident, from its mere novelty, was a startling and
impressive display of the mighty mechanism of the
skies. Yet, though thus occupied by this seeming
conflict of the heavenly bodies, I recollect to have
paid some attention to the effect of the scene upon
others. Mat Olmstead said not a word ; the other
workmen were overwhelmed with emotions of awe.

At length the eclipse began to pass away, and na
ture slowly returned to her equanimity. The birds
came forth, and sang a jubilee, as if relieved from
some impending calamity. The hum of life again
filled the air ; the old hen with her brood gayly re
sumed her rambles, and made the leaves and gravel

teresting. At the point of greatest obscuration, the air was so chill
as to make an overcoat desirable. A short time before this, the dark
ness in the west assumed the appearance of an approaching thunder
storm. A luminous ring surrounded the moon after the sun was to
tally hid. Such was the darkness that the time could not be determined
by a watch. The number of stars visible was greater than at the Hill
moon.

An account of the scene in Boston thus describes it: "The morning
tras ushered in with the usual hum of business, which gradually sub-
ekled as the darkness advanced. An uninterrupted silence succeed
ed. A fresh breeze which had prevailed, now ceased, and all was
calm. The birds retired to rest : the rolling chariot and the rumbling
car were no more heard. The axe and the hammer were suspended.
Heturning light reanimated the face of things. We seemed as in the
dawn of creation, when ' God said, Let there he light, and there wa» light T
and an involuntary cheer of graUilation burst from the assembled spec
tator*."— Monthly Anthology, 1806.

HISTORICAL. ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 271

fly with her invigorated scratchings. The workmen,
too, having taken a glass of grog, returned thought
fully to their labors.

" After all," said one of the men, as they passed
along to the field, " I guess the parson was right
about the sun and the moon."

" Well, perhaps he was," said Mat ; " but then
Joshua was wrong."

Notwithstanding this man's habitual incredulity,
he had still his weak side, for he was a firm believer
in ghosts — not ghosts in general, but two that he had
seen himself. Like most other ghost-seers, he patron
ized none but his own. These were of enormous size,
white and winged like angels. He had seen them
one dark night as he was going to his house — a little
brown tenement, situated on a lonesome lane that
diverged to the left from the high-road to Salern. It
was very late, and Mat had spent the evening at the
tavern, like Tarn O'Shanter ; like him, he ." was na
fou, but just had plenty" — a circumstance, I must say,
rather uncommon with him, for he was by no means
a tippler, beyond the habits of that day. It is prob
able that all modern ghosts are revealed only to the
second-sight of alcohol, insanity, or the vapors ; even
in this case of Mat OlmsteaxTs, it turned out that his
two angels were a couple of white geese, whom he
had startled into flight, as he stumbled upon them
quietly snoozing in the joint of a rail fence !

It has often appeared to me that Mat Olmstead was

272 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

a type — a representative of a class of men not very
rare in this world of ours. It is not at all uncom
mon to find people, and those who are called strong-
minded, who are habitual unbelievers in things pos
sible and probable — nay, in things well established
by testimony — while they readily become the dupes
of the most absurd illusions and impositions. Dr.
Johnson, it is stated, did not believe in the great
earthquake of Lisbon in 1755, until six months after
it had happened, while he readily accepted the egre
gious deception of the Cock Lane Ghost. In our day
we see people — and sharp ones too — who reject the
plainest teachings of common sense, sanctioned by
the good and wise of centuries, and follow with im
plicit faith some goose of the imagination, like Joe
Smith orBrigham Young. These are Mat Olmsteads,
a little intoxicated by their own imaginations, and in
their night of ignorance and folly, .they fall down
and worship the grossest and goosiest of illusions.

I now turn to a different character, Lieutenant, or
as we all called him, Leftenant Smith. He has been
already introduced to you, but a few touches are still
necessary to complete hi§ portrait. He was a man o
extensive reading, and large information. He was also
some sixty years old, and had stored in his memory
the results of his own observation and experience.
He read the newspapers, and conversed with travelers
— thus keeping up with the march of events. He
affected philosophy, and deemed himself the great

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 273

intelligencer of the town. If he was thus rich in
lore, he dearly loved to dispense it, asking only in
return attentive listeners. He liked discussion, pro
vided it was all left to himself. He was equal to all
questions : with my father, he dilated upon such high
matters as the Purchase of Louisiana ; Lewis and
Clarke's Exploring Expedition ; the death of Ham
ilton in the duel with Aaron Burr ; the attack of the
Leopard on the Chesapeake ;* Fulton's attempts at
steam navigation, and the other agitating topics of

* These several events, which have now passed into the mist of dis
tance, all caused great excitement at the time they transpired.

The Purchase of Louisiana, in 1803, was made by our ministers in
France, Livingston and Monroe, of Bonaparte, then " Consul for life," for
the sum of fifteen millions of dollars. Though the treaty was wholly un
authorized, our government accepted and ratified it. Jefferson, then
President, sanctioned and promoted it, though he knew it to be un
constitutional, as has since appeared by his private correspondence :
a fact the more remarkable, as he had always pretended to make a
strict construction of the Constitution a cardinal political principle.
The federalists opposed the treaty, as unconstitutional, and as a de
struction of the balance between the free States and slave States,
established by that instrument. The democratic party, knowing the
truth of all this, but having a majority, accepted the treaty. Though
apparently a beneficial measure — the mode in which it was effected, has
laid the foundation of the most alarming evils. This example of a pal
pable violation of the Constitution by Jefferson — the great apostle of
democracy — and sanctioned and glorified by that dominant party, has
deprived that instrument of much of its binding force upon the con
science of the country. Hence, it has become the constant subject of
invasion and violation by party. If our government is ever overthrown,
its death-blow will be traced to this act. Had the true course been
adopted— that of a modification of the Constitution by the people — no
doubt that stipulations in respect to slavery would have been imposed,
which would have prevented its present enormous extension, and saved
the country from the irritating difficulties in which that subject now in
volves us.

It is a matter worthy of remark that this first violation of the Consti
tution came from the strict oonstractionista : it is from them also, at tl*««

12*

274 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

those times, as they came one after another. He was
profound upon the sources of the Nile and the Niger,
learned upon the site of Eldorado, and magniloquent
upon Napoleon, then making the whole earth re
sound with his ominous march toward universal do
minion. To a humble auditory of men and boys,
gathered by chance — as on a wet day, or a Saturday
afternoon, in the stoop of Keeler's tavern — he told
about Putnam and the wolf, General Stark and his
wife Molly, with variations of Washington and the war.

present day, that we hear that instrument made the constant object of
threatened nullification or repudiation.

Lewis and Clarke's Expedition to the Pacific, across the continent by
way of the sources of the Missouri, began in 1803 and was completed
in 1806. This was made the theme of great eulogy by the friends of
Jefferson, whose scientific pretensions provoked abundance of ridicule
in his opponents. In January, 1807, a dinner waa given at Washington
to Capt. Lewis, in compliment and congratulation for his success in the
expedition. Joel Barlow produced a song on the occasion, full of ri
diculous bombast. One verse will give an idea of it :

" With the same soaring genius thy Lewis ascends,

And seizes the car of the sun ;

O'er the sky-propping hills, and high waters he bends,
And gives the proud earth a new zone."

This was sarcastically parodied by John Q. Adams, who did not dis
dain to make the domestic frailties of Jefferson the object of his satire.
One verse is as follows, it having reference to Barlow's suggestion that
the name of the Columbia river should be changed to Lewis' river.

" Let Dusky Sally henceforth bear

The name of Isabella :
And let the mountains all of salt,

Be christened Monticolla.
The hog with navel on his back,

Tom Paine may be when drank, sir :
And Joel call'd the prairie dog.

Which once was call'd a skunk, sir.11

It is curious and instructive to know that soon after this (March, 1808),
J. Q. Adams, having lost caste with the federalists of Massachusetts,

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 275

I have an impression that Lieut. Smith after all,
was not very profound ; but to me he was a miracle of
learning. I listened to his discussions with very little
interest, but his narratives engaged my whole atten
tion. These were always descriptive of actual events,
for he would have disdained fiction : from them I de
rived a satisfaction that I never found in fables. The
travels of Mungo Park, his strange adventures and
melancholy death — which about those days transpired
through the newspapers, and all of which Lieutenant

went to Jefferson, and accused them of treasonable designs, and was
consequently made a good democrat, and sent as Minister to Russia in
1809. The transformations of politicians are often as wonderful as
those of Harlequin.

The Death of Alexander Hamilton, July 11, 1804, in a duel with Aaron
Burr, the Vice-President of the United States, produced the most vivid
emotions of mingled regret and indignation. Hamilton, though in pri
vate life not without blemishes, was a man of noble character and vast
abilities. Burr was in every thing false and unprincipled. He feared
and envied Hamilton, and with the express purpose of taking his life,
forced him into the conflict. Hamilton fell, fatally wounded, at the lirst
fire, and Burr, like another Cain, fled to the South, and at last to Europe,
before the indignation of the whole nation. After many years he re
turned — neglected, shunned, despised — -yet lingering on to the year 183(5,
when at the age of eighty he died, leaving his blackened name to stand
by the side of that of Benedict Arnold.

The Attack of the British ship-of-wai- Leopard on the U. IS. «hip C7/W-
upeake, took place off Hampton Koads, in June, 1807. The latter, com
manded by Commodore Barron, was just out of port, and apprehending
no danger, was totally unprepared for action. The commander of the
British vessel demanded four sailors of the Chesapeake, claimed to bo
deserters, and as these were not surrendered, he poured his broadsides
into the American vessel, which was speedily disabled. He then took
the four seamen, and the Chesapeake put back to Norfolk. This auda
cious act was perpetrated under the "right of search," as maintained
by Great Britain. The indignation of the American people knew no
bounds : Jefferson demanded apology, and the British government im
mediately offered it. It was not the policy of our President, however,
to settle the matter with Great Britain : so this difficulty was kept along

i>76 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

Smith had at his tongue's end — excited my interest
and my imagination even beyond the romances of
Sinbad the Sailor and Robinson Crusoe.

In the year 1807, an event occurred, not only start
ling in itself, but giving exercise to all the philosoph
ical powers of Lieutenant Smith. On the morning
of the 14th of December, about daybreak, I had arisen
and was occupied in building a fire, this being my
daily duty. Suddenly the room was filled with light,
and looking up, I saw through the windows a ball of
fire, nearly the size of the moon, passing across the
heavens from northwest to southeast. It was at an
immense height, and of intense brilliancy. Having
passed the zenith, it swiftly descended toward the
earth : while still at a great elevation it burst, with
three successive explosions, into fiery fragments. The
report was like three claps of rattling thunder in quick
succession.

My father, who saw the light and heard the
sounds, declared it to be a meteor of extraordinary
magnitude. It was noticed all over the town, and
caused great excitement. On the following day the
news came that huge fragments of stone had fallen
in the adjacent town of Weston, some eight or ten

for yeara, and became a proverb, significant of delay and diplomatic chi
canery. " I would as soon attempt to settle the off air of the Chesapeake"
was a common mode of characterizing any dispute which seemed inter
minable. Commodore Barron was suspended from his command, and
it was some painful allusion to this by Commodore Decatur, tha* caused
a duel between these two persons, which ended in the death of the lat
ter, March 22, 1820.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIC AL, ETC. -277

miles southeast of Kidgefield. The story spread far
and wide, and some of the professors of Yale College
came to the place, and examined the fragments of
this strange visitor from the skies. It appeared
that the people in the neighborhood heard the rush
ing of the stones through the air, as well as the shock
when they struck the earth. One, weighing two hun
dred pounds, fell on a rock, which it splintered — its
huge fragments plowing up the ground around to the
extent of a hundred feet. One piece, weighing twen
ty-five pounds, was taken to New Haven, where it is
still to be seen, in the mineralogical cabinet of the
college. The professors estimated this meteor* to be
half a mile in diameter, and to have traveled through
the heavens at the rate of two or three hundred miles
a minute.

On this extraordinary occasion the lieutenant came
to our house, according to his wont, and for several
successive evenings discoursed to us upon the sub
ject. I must endeavor to give you a specimen of his
performances.

* The extraordinary meteor, here alluded to, was so distinctly ob
served, as to have settled many points respecting meteoric stones, which
were before involved in some doubt. The immense speed of its prog
ress and its enormous size were determined by the fact that it was seen
at the moment of its explosion, through a space more than a hundred
miles in diameter, and that it passed across the zenith in about ten
seconds. It appears probable that it was not a solid mass, nor is it to
be supposed that more than a small portion of it fell to the earth when
the explosion took place. It must be admitted, however, that we have
yet no satisfactory theory as to the origin and nature of these wonder
ful bodies.

278 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

" It seems to me, sir," said he, addressing my fa
ther, " that these meteors, or falling stars, or what not,
are very strange things, and have not received due
attention from the learned world. They are of great
antiquity, sir: their appearance is recorded as far
back as 654 B. c. One is spoken of by the elder
Pliny, sir, which fell near the town of Gallipoli, in
Asia Minor, about 405 B. c. This was to be seen in
Pliny's time — that 'is, five hundred years afterward,
and was then as big as a wagon, sir. From these
remote dates down to the present time, these wonder
ful phenomena have occurred at intervals, so that two
hundred instances are on record. It is probable that
many more have passed unnoticed by man, either in
the night, or in remote places, or in the vast oceans
which cover two thirds of the earth's surface. In gen
eral, sir, these meteors send down showers of stones,
of various sizes. Some of the fragments are no big
ger than a pea ; others are of greater magnitude — in
one instance weighing twenty-five thousand pounds.

" "Well, sir, this subject becomes one of importance,
And the inquiry as to what these strange things are,
demands attention of the philosopher. I have stud
ied the subject profoundly ; I have looked into the va
rious theories, and am by no means satisfied with any
of them, sir. Some suppose these meteors to be cast
out of the volcanic craters of the moon, but that sup
position I deem incompatible with Scripture, and the
general aspect of the universe. The Bible represents

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 279

nature as harmonious : it speaks of the morning stars
as singing together. It is impious, then, to suppose
that the moon, a mere satellite of the earth, can be
in a state of rebellion, and discharging its destructive
batteries upon the earth, its lord and master. Besides,
the moon thus constantly firing at the earth would,
in the course of time, be all shot away."

"That is," said my father, "it would get out of
ammunition, as the Americans did at Bunker Hill ?"

" Just so, sir : therefore I look upon these as crude
opinions, arising from a superficial view of the uni
verse. I have examined the subject, sir, and am
inclined to the opinion that these phenomena are
animals revolving in the orbits of space between the
heavenly bodies. Occasionally, one of them comes
too near the earth, and rushing through our atmo
sphere with immense velocit}7, takes fire and ex
plodes !"

" This is rather a new theory, is it not?" said my
father. "It appears that these meteoric stones, in
whatever country they fall, are composed of the same
ingredients — mostly silex, iron, and nickel : these
substances would make rather a hard character, if en-
dowed with animal life, and especially with the capa
city of rushing through -space at the rate of two or
three hundred miles a minute, and then exploding ?"

"These substances I consider only as the shell of
the animal, sir."

'You regard the creature as a huge shell-fish, then ?"

LKTTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

" Not necessarily a fish, for a whole order of na
ture, called Crustacea, has the bones on the outside.
In this case of meteors, I suppose them to be cov
ered with some softer substance, for it frequently
happens that a jelly-like matter comes down with
meteoric stones. This resembles coagulated blood ;
and thus what is called bloody rain or snow, has
often fallen over great spaces of country. Now,
when the chemists analyze these things — the stones,
which I consider the bones, and the jelly, which I
consider the fat, and the rain, which I consider the
blood — they find them all to consist of the same ele
ments — that is, silex, iron, nickel, &c. None but
my animal theory will harmonize all these phenom
ena, sir."

"But," interposed my father, "consider the enor
mous size of your aerial monsters. I recollect to have
read only a short time since, that in the year 1803,
about one o'clock in the afternoon, the inhabitants
of several towns of Normandy, in France, heard
noises in the sky, like the peals of cannon and mus
ketry, with a long-continued roll of drums. Looking
upward, they saw something like a small cloud at an
immense elevation, which soon seemed to explode,
sending its vapor in all directions. At last a hissing
noise was heard, and then stones fell, spreading over
a country three miles wide by eight miles long. No
less than two thousand pieces were collected, weigh
ing from one ounce to seventeen pounds. That must

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIC AL, ETC. 281

have been rather a large animal — eight miles long
and three miles wide !"

" What is that, sir, in comparison with the earth,
which Kepler, the greatest philosopher that ever
lived, conceived to be a huge beast?"

" Yes ; but did he prove it ?"

" He gave good reasons for it, sir. He found ver j
striking analogies between the earth and animal ex
istences : such as the tides, indicating its breathing
through vast internal lungs ; earthquakes, resembling
eructations from the stomach ; and volcanoes, sugges
tive of boils, pimples, and other cutaneous eruptions."

" I think I have seen your theory set to verse."

Saying this, my father rose, and bringing a book,
read as follows :

" To me things are not as to vulgar eyes
I would all nature's works anatomize :
This world a living monster seems to me,
Rolling and sporting in the aerial sea :
The soil encompasses her rocks and stones.
As flesh in animals encircles bones.
I see vast ocean, like a heart in play,
Pant systole and diastole every day,
And by unnumber'd venus streams supplied,
Up her broad rivers force the aerial tide.
The world's great lungs, monsoons and trade-winds show —
From east to west, from west to east they blow •
The hills are pimples, which earth's face defile,
And burning Etna an eruptive boil.
On her high mountains living forests grow,
And downy grass o'erspreads the vales below :

282 LETTEE8 BIOGBAPHICJLL,

From her vast body perspirations rise,
Condense in clouds and float beneath the skies."*

My father having closed the book, the profound
lieutenant, who did not conceive it possible that a
thing so serious could be made the subject of a joke,
said :

" A happy illustration of my philosophy, sir, though
I can not commend the form in which it is put. If a
man has any thing worth saying, sir, he should use
prose. Poetry is only proper when one wishes to
embellish folly, or dignify trifles. In this case it is
otherwise, I admit ; and I am happy to find so pow
erful a supporter of my animal theory of meteors. I
shall consider the subject, and present it for the con
sideration of the philosophic world."

One prominent characteristic of this our Ridgefield
philosopher was, that when a great event came about,
he fancied that he had foreseen and predicted it from
the beginning. Now about this time Fulton actually
succeeded in his long-sought application of steam to

* This is from the " Oration which might have teen, delivered" by
Francis Hopkiuson, LL. D., published in a volume entitled, " American
Poems, selected and original,'1'1 LitchflelS, Conn., 1793. This work I con
sidered, in my youth, one of the marvels of Amerii-an literature : in
point of fact it comprised nearly all the living American poetry at that
era. The chief names in its galaxy of stars were, Trumbnll, tho author
of M'Fingal, Timothy Dwight, Joel Barlow, David Humphries, Lemuel
Hopkins, William Livingston, Richard Alsop, Theodore Dwight, and
Philip Freneau. It is now not without interest, especially an one of
the signs of those times — the taste, tone, scope, and extent of the cur
rent indigenous poets and poetry— only sixty years ago. At that era
Connecticut was the focal point of poetic inspiration on this continent.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 283

navigation. The general opinion of the country had
been, all along, that he was a monomaniac, attempt
ing an impossibility. He was the standing theme of
cheap newspaper wit, and the general God-send of
orators, who were hard run for a joke. Lieutenant
Smith, who was only an echo of what passed around
him, during the period of Fulton's labors, participated
in the curreat contempt ; but when the news came, in
October, 1807, that he had actually succeeded — that
one of his boats had walked the waters like a thing of
life, at the rate of five miles an hour, against the cur
rent of the Hudson river — then, still an echo of the
public voice — did he greatly jubilate.

" I told you so : I told you so !" was his first ex
clamation, as he entered the house, swelling with the
account.

" Well, and what is it ?" said my father.

" Fulton has made his boat go, sir ! I told you
how it would be, sir. It opens a new era in the his
tory of navigation. We shall go to Europe in ten
days, sir!"

Now you will readily understand, that in these
sketches I do not pretend to report with literal pre
cision the profound discourses of our Bidgefield sa
vant ; I remember only the general outlines, the rest
being easily suggested. My desire is to present the
portrait of one of the notables of our village — one
whom I remember with pleasure, and whom I con
ceive to be a representative of the amiable, and per-

284 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

haps useful race of fussy philosophers to be found in
most country villages. He was, in fact, a sort of Yan
kee Pickwick, full of knowledge, and a yearning de
sire to make everybody share in his learning. As
was proper, he was a prophet, an " I-TOLD-YOU-SO !'
w*ho foresees every thing after it has happened. Un
like Mat Olmstead, who believed too little, perhaps
he believed too much : for whatever he saw in print,
he considered as proved. If he ever doubted any
thing, it was when he had not been the first to reveal
it to the village. Yet whatever his foibles, I was
certainly indebted to him for many hours of amuse
ment, and no doubt for a great deal of information.

From the town oracle, I turn to the town miser.
Granther Baldwin, as I remember him, was threescore
years and ten — perhaps a little more. He was a man
of middle size, but thin, wiry, and bloodless, and hav
ing his body bent forward at a sharp angle with his
hips, while his head was thrown back over his shoul
ders — giving his person the general form of a reversed
letter Z. His complexion was brown and stony ; his
eye gray and twinkling, with a nose and chin almost
meeting like a pair of forceps. His hair — standing out
with an irritable frizz — was of a rusty gray. He was
always restless, and walked and rode with a sort ol
haggish rapidity. At church, he wriggled in his seat,
tasted fennel, and bobbed his head up and down and
around. He could not afford tobacco, so he chewed,
with a constant activity, either an oak chip or the

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 285

roots of elecampane, which was indigenous in the
lane near his house. On Sundays he was decent in
his attire, but on week-days he was a beggarly curios
ity. It was said that he once exchanged hats with a
scarecrow, and cheated scandalously in the bargain.
His boots — a withered wreck of an old pair of white-
tops — dangled over his shrunken calves, and a coat
in tatters fluttered from his body. He rode a switch-
tailed, ambling mare, which always went like the
wind, shaking the old gentleman merrily from right
to left, and making his bones, boots, and rags rustle
like his own bush-harrow. Familiar as he was, the
school-boys were never tired of him, and when he
passed, " There goes Granther Baldwin !" was the in
variable ejaculation.

I must add — in order to complete the picture — that
in contrast to his elvish leanness and wizard activity,
his wife was bloated with fat, and either from indo
lence or lethargy, dozed away half her life in the
chimney corner. It was said, and no doubt truly,
that she often went to sleep at the table, sometimes
allowing a rind of bacon to stick out of her mouth
till her nap was over. I have a faint notion of hav
ing seen this myself. She spent a large part of her
life in cheating her husband out of fourpence-ha1 pen
nies,* of which more than a peck were found secreted
in an old chest, at her death.

* According to the old New England currency, the Spanish sixteenth
of a dollar — the sixpence of New York and the picayune of Louisiana—

286 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

It was the boast of this man that he had risen from
poverty to wealth, and he loved to describe the pro
cess of his advancement. He always worked in the
corn-field till it was so dark that he could see his hoe
strike fire. When in the heat of summer he was obliged
occasionally to let his cattle breathe, he sat on a sharp
stone, lest he should rest too long. He paid half a
dollar to the parson for marrying him, which he al
ways regretted, as one of his neighbors got the job
done for a pint of mustard-seed. On fast-days, he
made his cattle go without food as well as himself.
He systematically stooped to save a crooked pin or a
rusty nail, as it would cost more to make it than to
pick it up. Such were his boasts — or at least, such
were the things traditionally imputed to him.

He was withal a man of keen faculties ; sagacious
in the purchase of land, as well as in the rotation of
crops. He was literally honest, and never cheated
any one out of a farthing, according to his arithmetic
— though he had sometimes an odd way of reckoning.
It is said that in his day — the Connecticut age of blue
— the statute imposed a fine of one dollar for profane
swearing. During this period, Granther Baldwin
employed a carpenter who was somewhat notoriously
addicted to this vice. Granther kept a strict account
of every instance of transgression, and when the job

was fourpence-halfpenny. This word was formerly the shibboleth of
the Yankees — every one being set down as a New Englander who said
fourptnoe-hd 'penny.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 287

was done, and the time came to settle the account, he
said to the carpenter —

" You've worked with me thirty days, I think, Mr.
Kellogg?"

" Yes, Granther," was the reply.

" At a dollar a day, that makes thirty dollars, I
think?"

" Yes, Granther."

"Mr. Kellogg, I am sorry to observe that you
have a very bad habit of taking the Lord's name in
vain "

" Yes, Granther."
„ " Well, you know that's agin the law."

" Yes, Granther."

" And there's a fine of one dollar for each offense."

" Yes, Granther."

" Well — here's the account I've kept, and I find
you've broken the law twenty-five times ; that is, six
teen times in April, and nine in May. At a dollar
a time, that makes twenty-five dollars, don't it?"

" Yes, Granther.",

" So then, twenty-five from thirty leaves five : it
appears, therefore, that there is a balance of five dol
lars due to you. How'll you take it, Mr. Kellogg ?
In cash, or in my way — say in 'taters, pork, and
other things?"

At this point, the carpenter's brow lowered, but
with a prodigious effort at composure, he replied—

" Well, Granther, you may keep the five dollars,

288 LKTTERS — BIOGKAPHICAL,

and I'll take it out in my way, that is, in swearing !"
Upon this he hurled at the old gentleman a volley
of oaths, quite too numerous and too profane to re
peat.

Now I do not vouch for the precise accuracy of
this story in its application to Granther Baldwin. I
only say it was one of the things laid to him/ A
man of marked character is very apt to be saddled
with all the floating tales that might suit him. I re
member once to have told a well-authenticated story
of Ethan Allen, when Dr. L . . ., a German professor,
being present, laughed outright, saying, " I have
heard my father tell the same story of old Baron Von
Skippenhutten, and declare that he was present when
the thing happened I"

I need not enlarge upon the adventures between
Granther Baldwin and the school-boys, who took de
light in pocketing his apples, pears, and nuts. These
things were so abundant in those days, that everybody
picked and ate, without the idea of trespass. But
Granther's heart was sorely afllicted at these dis
pensations. He could not bear the idea of losing
a pocketful of apples, or a handful of butternuts,
chestnuts, or walnuts, even if they lay' decaying in
heaps upon his grounds. As I have said, his house
and farm were close by West Lane school, and it was
quite a matter of course that his hard, unrelenting
conservatism should clash with the ideas of the
natural rights of schoolboys, entertained by such

HISTORICAL, ANKCDOTICAL, ETC'. '2>H

free-born youths as those at this seminary. They
loved the fruit, and considered liberal pickings to be
their birthright. Had the old gentleman let them
alone, or had he smiled on them in their small pil-
ferings, they had, no doubt, been moderate in their
plunder. But when he made war on them — even
unto sticks, stones, and pitchforks — the love of fun
and the glory of mischief added an indescribable rel
ish to their forays upon his woods and orchards. I
confess to have been drawn in more than once to
these misdoings. Perhaps, too, I was sometimes a
leader in them. I confess, with all due contrition,
that when the old miser, hearing the walnuts rattle
down by the bushel in the forest back of his house
— knowing that mischief was in the wind — came
forth in a fury, pitchfork in hand ; when I have
heard his hoarse yet impotent threats ; I have rather
enjoyed than sympathized with his agonies. Poor
old gentleman — let me now expiate my sins by doing
justice to his memory !

It is true he was a miser — selfish and mean by na
ture. Born in poverty, and only rising from this con
dition by threescore years and ten of toil and parsi
mony, was it possible for him to be otherwise ? What
a burden of sin and misery is often laid upon a single
soul ! And yet Granther Baldwin was not wholly
lost. He professed religion, and the New Man wres
tled bravely with the Old Man. The latter got the
better too often, no doubt ; for avarice once lodged

VOL. I.— 13

290 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

in the soul is usually the last vice that capitulates to
Christianity. It so readily assumes the guise of re
spectable virtues — frugality, providence, industry,
prudence, economy — that it easily dupes the heart
that gives it shelter.

And besides, religion in its sterner exercises for
bids the pleasures of life, in which mankind generally
content the universal craving for excitement. The
moral constitution of man — the mind and the heart —
have their hunger and their thirst as well as the body.
These can not be annihilated : if they are not ap
peased in one way, they will be in another. Old Bur
ton says they are like badgers : if you stop up one
hole, they will dig out at another. And thus, if a
man is too rigid in his creed to allow the genial excite
ments of society, he is very likely to satisfy himself
with something worse. He generally resorts to se
cret indulgences of some kind, and thus lays the axe
at the root of all religion, by establishing a system of
hypocrisy. To a man thus situated, the respectable
vice of avarice is commended, for while, as I have
said, it takes the guise of various virtues, it furnishes
gratification to the desire of excitement by its accu
mulations, its growing heaps of gold, its enlarging
boundaries of land, its spreading network of bonds
and mortgages, its web of debt woven at the rate of
compound interest over the bodies and souls of men
— debtors, borrowers, speculators, and other worship
ers of Mammon.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 291

It is so easy therefore to be misled by this demon
of avarice, that I shall deal gently with it in Gran-
ther Baldwin's case, seeing that he had so many
temptations in his nature and his position. Never
theless, I am bound to say that it so dried up the
fountains of his heart as to render him absolutely
insensible even to the idea of personal appearance —
as if God gave man his own image to wear a scare
crow's hat, and boots that a beggar would despise.
But for his avarice, he might have discovered that
want of decency is want of sense ; but for his ava
rice, his heart might have been the sun of a system,
circling around the fireside and diffusing its blessings
over each member of the family ; but for his avarice,
he might, being rich, and increased in goods, have
even enlarged his heart, and been the benefactor of
the neighborhood.

Still, I shall not parade these sins before you : let
me rather speak of the old man's virtues. He was a
firm believer in the Bible, and set the example of im
plicit submission to its doctrines, as he discovered
them. He made an open profession of his faith, and
in sickness and in health, in rain and shine, in sum
mer and winter, he sustained the established institu
tions of religion. No weather ever prevented him
from attending church, though he lived nearly two
miles from the place of worship. Often have I seen
him on a Sunday morning, facing the keen blast,
plodding his way thither, when it seemed as if his

292 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

heart mast be reduced to an icicle. He attended all
funerals within the precincts of the place. He was
present at every town meeting : he paid his taxes,
civil and ecclesiastical, at the appointed day. He
kept thanksgivings and fasts — the first gingerly, and
the last with all his heart. He had a clock and a
noon-mark, and when they varied, he insisted that
the sun was wrong. He believed profoundly in arith
metic, and submitted, without repining, to its decrees.
Here was the skeleton of a man and a Christian ; all
that it wanted was a soul !

One sketch more, and my gallery of eccentricities
is finished. Men hermits have been frequently heard
of, but a woman hermit is of rare occurrence. Nev
ertheless, Ridgefield could boast of one of these among
its curiosities. Sarah Bishop was, at the period of
my boyhood, a thin, ghostly old woman, bent and
wrinkled, but still possessing a good deal of activity.
She lived in a cave, formed by nature, in a mass of
projecting rocks that overhung a deep valley or gorge
in "West Mountain. This was about four miles from
our house, and was, I believe, actually within the
limits of North Salem ; but being on the eastern
slope of the mountain, it was most easily accessible
from Ridgefield, and hence its tenant was called an
inhabitant of our town.

This strange woman was no mere amateur recluse.
The rock — bare and desolate — was actually her home,
except that occasionally she strayed to the neighbor-

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 29?

ing villages, seldom being absent more than one or
two days at a time. She never begged, but received
such articles as were given to her. She was of a
highly religious turn of mind, and at long intervals
came to our church, and partpok of the sacrament.
She sometimes visited our family — the only one thus
favored in the town — and occasionally remained over
night. She never would eat with us at the table, nor
engage in general conversation. Upon her early his
tory she was invariably silent ; indeed, she spoke of
her affairs with great reluctance. She neither seemed
to have sympathy for others, nor to ask it in return.
If there was any exception, it was only in respect to
the religious exercises of the family : she listened in
tently to the reading of the Bible, and joined with
apparent devotion in the morning and evening prayer.
I have very often seen this eccentric personage
stealing into the church, or moving along the street,
or wending her way through lane and footpath up to
her mo'untain home. She always appeared desirous of
escaping notice, and though her step was active, she
had a gliding, noiseless movement, which seemed to
ally her to the spirit-world. In my rambles among
the mountains, I have seen her passing through the
forest, or sitting silent as a statue upon the prostrate
trunk of a tree, or perchance upon a stone or mound,
scarcely to be distinguished from the inanimate ob
jects — wood, earth, and rock — around her. She had
a sense of propriety as to personal appearance, for

294 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

when she visited the town, she was decently, though
poorly clad ; when alone in the wilderness she seemed
little more than a squalid mass of rags. My excur
sions frequently brought me within the wild precincts
of her solitary den. Several times I have paid a visit
to the spot, and in two instances found her at home.
A place more desolate — in its general outline — more
absolutely given up to the wildness of nature, it is
impossible to conceive. Her cave was a hollow in the
rack, about six feet square. Except a few rags and
an old basin, it was without furniture — her bed being
the floor of the cave, and her pillow a projecting point
of the rock. It was entered by a natural door about
three feet wide and four feet high, and was closed in
severe weather only by pieces of bark. At a distance
of a few feet was a cleft, where she kept a supply of
roots and nuts, which she gathered, and the food that
was given her. She was reputed to have a secret
depository, where she kept a quantity of antique
dresses, several of them of rich silks, and apparently
suited to fashionable life : though I think this was an
exaggeration. At a little distance down the ledge,
there was a fine spring of water, in the vicinity of
which she was often found in fair weather.

There was no attempt, either in or around the spot,
to bestow upon it an air of convenience or comfort.
A small space of cleared ground was occupied by a
few thriftless peach-trees, and in summer a patch of
starveling beans, cucumbers, and potatoes. Up two or

THE HERMITESS. Vol. 1, p. 294.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIC AL, ETC.

three of the adjacent forest-trees there clambered lux
uriant grape-vines, highly productive in their season.
With the exception of these feeble marks of cultiva
tion, all was left ghastly and savage as nature made it.
The trees, standing upon the tops of the cliff, and ex
posed to the shock of the tempest, were bent, and
stooping toward the valley — their limbs contorted,
and their roots clinging, as with an agonizing grasp,
into the rifts of the rocks upon which they stood.
Many of them were hoary with age, and hollow with
decay ; others were stripped of their leaves by the
blasts, and others still, grooved and splintered by
the lightning. The valley below, enriched with the
decay of centuries, and fed with moisture from the
surrounding hills, was a wild paradise of towering
oaks, and other giants of the vegetable kingdom,
with a rank undergrowth of tangled shrubs. In the
distance, to the east, the gathered streams spread out
into a beautiful expanse of water called Long Pond.

A place at once so secluded and so wild was, of
course, the chosen haunt of birds, beasts, and reptiles.
The eagle built her nest and reared her young in
the clefts of the rocks ; foxes found shelter in the
caverns, and serpents reveled alike in the dry hol
lows of the cliffs, and the dank recesses of the val
ley. The hermitess had made companionship with
these brute tenants of the wood. The birds had
become so familiar with her, that they seemed to heed
her almost as little as if she had been a stone. The

290 LKTTERS — BIOGRAPHIC A.I.,

fox fearlessly pursued his hunt and his gambols in
her presence. The rattlesnake hushed his monitory
signal as he approached her. Such things, at least,
were entertained by the popular belief. It was said,
indeed, that she had domesticated a particular rattle
snake, and that he paid her daily visits. She was
accustomed — so said the legend — to bring him milk
from the villages, which he devoured with great relish.
It will not surprise you that a subject like this
should have given rise to one of my first poetical ef
forts — the first verses, in fact, that I ever published.
I gave them to Brainard, then editor of the Mirror,
at Hartford, and he inserted them, probably about the
year 1823. I have not a copy of them, and can onlv
recollect the following stanzas :

For many a year the mountain hag

Was a theme of village wonder,
For she made her home in the dizzy crag,

Where the eagle bore his plunder.

Up the beetling cliff she was seen at night

Like a ghost to glide away ;
But she came again with the morning light,

From the forest wild and gray.

Her face was wrinkled, and passionless seem'd,

As her bosom, all blasted and dead —
And her colorless eye like an icicle gleam'd,

Yet 110 sorrow or sympathy shed.

Her long snowy locks, as the winter drift,

On the wind were backward cast ;
And her shrivel'd form glided by so swift,

You had said 'twere a ghost that pass'd.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 297

Her house was a cave in a giddy rock,

That o'erhung a lonesome vale ;
And 'twas deeply scarr'd by the lightning's shock,

And swept by the vengeful gale.

As alone on the cliff she musingly sate —

The fox at her fingers would snap ;
The crow would sit on her snow-white pate,

And the rattlesnake coil in her lap.

The night-hawk look'd down with a welcome eye,

As he stoop'd in his airy swing;
And the haughty eagle hover'd so nigh,

As to fan her long locks with his wing.

But when winter roll'd dark his sullen wave,

From the west with gusty shock,
Old Sarah, deserted, crept cold to her cave,

And slept without bed in her rock.

No fire illumined her dismal den,

Yet a tatter'd Bible she read ;
For she saw in the dark with a wizard ken,

And talk'd with the troubled dead.

And often she mutter'd a foreign name,

With curses too fearful to tell,
And a tale of horror — of madness and shame —

She told to the walls of her cell !

I insert these lines — not as claiming any praise, nor
as rigidly accurate in the delineation of their subject
— but as a sketch of the impressions she made upon
the public mind, vividly reflected by my own im
agination.

The facts in respect to this Nun of the Mountain
were indeed strange enough without any embellish-

1 ?,*

298 LKTTKR3 BIOGRAPHICAL,

ments of fancy. During the winter she was confined
for several mpuths to her cell. At that period she
lived upon roots and nuts, which she had laid in for
the season. She had no fire, and, deserted even by
her brute companions, she was absolutely alone,
save that she seemed to hold communion with the
invisible world. She appeared to have no sense of
solitude, no weariness at the slow lapse of days and
months : night had no darkness, the tempest no
terror, winter no desolation, for her. When spring
returned, she came down from her mountain, a mere
shadow — each year her form more bent, her limbs
more thin and wasted, her hair more blanched, her
eye more colorless. At last life seemed ebbing away
like the faint light of a lamp, sinking into the socket.
The final winter came — it passed, and she was not
seen in the villages around. Some of the inhabitants
went to the mountain, and found her standing erect,
her feet sunk in the frozen marsh of the valley. In
this situation, being unable, as it appeared, to extri
cate herself — alone, yet not alone — she had yielded
her breath to Him who gave it !

The early history of this strange personage was
involved in some mystery. So much as this, how
ever, was ascertained, that she was of good family, and
lived on Long Island. During the Eevolutionary war
— in one of the numerous forays of the British soldiers
— her father's house was burned ; and, as if this were
not enough, she was made the victim of one of those

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 29tf

demoniacal acts, which in peace are compensated by
the gibbet, but which, in war, embellish the life of
the soldier. Desolate in fortune, blighted at heart,
she fled from human .society, and for a long time con
cealed her sorrows in the cavern which she had acci
dentally found. Her grief — softened by time, per
haps alleviated by a vail of insanity — was at length
so far mitigated, that, although she did not seek
human society, she could endure it. The shame
of her maidenhood — if not forgotten — was obliter
ated by her rags, her age, and her grisly visage — in
which every gentle trace of her sex had disappeared.
She continued to occupy her cave till the year 1810
or 1811, when she departed, in the manner I have
described, and we may hope, for a brighter and hap
pier existence.

LETTER XX.

A Lfing Farewell — A Return— Rldgefteld as it is — The Past and Present
Compared.

MY DEAR C******

In the autumn of 1808 an event occurred which
suddenly gave a new direction to my life, and took me
from Kidgefield, never to return to it, but as a visitor.
My narrative is therefore 'about to take a final leave
of my birthplace, but before I say farewell, let me
give you a hasty sketch of it, as it now is — or as jt

300 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

appeared to me last summer — after a long absence.
My brother had set out with me to pay it a visit, but
at New Haven he was taken ill, and returned to his
home at Hartford. I pursued my journey, and a few
days after, gave him a rapid sketch of my observa
tions, in a letter — which I beg leave here to copy.

YOEK, August 20, 1855.
DEAR BROTHER :

I greatly regret that you could not continue your journey
with us to Ridgefield. The weather was fine, and the season —
crowning the earth with ahnndance — made every landscape
beautiful. The woods which, as you know, abound along the
route, spread their intense shade over the land, thus mitigating
the heat of the unclouded sun ; and the frequent fields of Indian
corn, with their long leaves and silken tassels, all fluttering in the
breeze, gave a sort of holiday-look to the scene. Of all agri
cultural crops this is the most picturesque and the most impo
sing. Let others magniloquize upon the vineyards of France
and the olive orchards of Italy ; I parted with these scenes a few
weeks since, and do not hesitate to say, that, as a spectacle to the
eye, our maize fields are infinitely superior. Leaving New Haven
by rail, we reached Norwalk In forty minutes ; an hour after we
were at Ridgefield — having journeyed three miles by stage, from
the Danbury and Norwalk station, Thus we performed a jour
ney, in less than two hours, which cost a day's travel in our
boyhood. You can well comprehend that we had a good time
of it.

As I approached the town, I began to recognize localities —
roads, houses, and hills. I was in a glow of excitement, for it
was nineteen years since I had visited the place, and there was
a mixture of the strange and familiar all around, which was at
once pleasing and painful ; pleasing, because it revived many
cherished memories, and painful, because it suggested that time

HISTORICAL, ANKCDOTICAL, ETC. 301

\s a tomb, into which man and his works are ever plunging, like
a stream flowing on, only to disappear in an unfathomable gulf.
The bright village of to-day is in fact the graveyard of the past
generation. I was here like one risen from the dead, and come
to look on the place which I once knew, but which I shall soon
know no more. All seemed to me a kind of dream — half real
and hall' imaginary — now presenting some familiar and cherished
remembrance, and now mocking me with strange and baffling
revelations.

Nevertheless, all things considered, I enjoyed the scene. The
physiognomy of the town — a swelling mound of hills, rising in
a crescent of mountains — was all as I had learned it by heart in
childhood. To the north, the bending line of Aspen Ledge ; to
the east, the Eedding Hills ; to the west, the Highlands of the
Hudson; to the south, the sea of forest-crowned undulations,
sloping down to Long Island Sound, — all in a cool but brilliant
August sun, and all tinted with intense verdure, presented a
scene to me — the pilgrim returning to his birthplace — of unri
valed interest.

In general the- whole country seemed embowered in trees-
fresh and exuberant, and strongly in contrast with the worn-out
lands of the old countries — with openings here and there upon
hillside and valley, consisting of green meadow, or pasture, or
blooming maize, or perhaps patches of yellow stubble, for the
smaller grains had been already harvested. As I came within
the precincts of the village, I could not but admire the fields, as
well on account of their evident richness of soil and excellent
cultivation, as their general neatness. The town, you know, was
originally blessed or cursed, as the case may be, by a most abun
dant crop of stones. To clear the land of these was the Hercu
lean task of the early settlers. For many generations, they
usurped the soil, obstructed the plow, dulled the scythe, and
now, after ages of labor, they are formed into sturdy walls,
neatly laid, giving to the entire landscape au aspect not only
of comfort, but refinement. In our day, these were rudely

302 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

piled up with frequent breaches — the tempting openings for
vagrant sheep, and loose, yearling cattle. No better evidence
can be afforded of a general progress and improvement, than
that most of these have been relaid with something of the art
and nicety of mason-work. The Mat Olmsteads and Azor Smiths
of the past half century, who laid stone wall for Granther Bald
win and General King at a dollar a rod, would be amazed to see
that the succeeding generation has thrown their works aside in
disgust, and replaced them by constructions having somewhat,
of the solidity and exactitude of fortifications.

As we passed along, I observed that nearly all the houses which
existed when we were boys, had given place to new, and for the
most part larger, structures. Here and there was an original
dwelling. A general change had passed over the land : swamps
had been converted into meadows ; streams that sprawled across
the path, now flowed tidily beneath stone bridges ; little shallow-
ponds — the haunts of muddling geese — had disappeared: the un
dergrowth of woods and copses had been cleared away ; briers
and brambles, once thick with fruit,.or abounding in birds'-neste,
or perchance the hiding-place of snakes, had been extirpated,
and corn and potatoes flourished in their stead. In one place,
where 1 recollected to have unearthed a woodchuck, I saw a gar
den, and among its redolent pumpkins, cucumbers, and cabbages,
was a row of tomatoes — a plant which in my early days was
only known as a strange exotic, producing little red balls, which
bore the enticing name of love-apples !

At last we came into the main street. This is the same — yet
not the same. Ah1 the distances seemed less than as I had
marked them in my memory. From the meeting-house to
'Squire Keeler's — which I thought to be a quarter of a mile — it is
but thirty rods. At the same time the undulations seemed more
frequent and abrupt. The old houses are mostly gone, and more
sumptuous ones are in their place. A certain neatness and ele
gance have succeeded to the plain and primitive characteristics
of other days.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 303

The street, on the whole, is one of the most beautiful I know
of. It is more than a mile in length and a hundred and twenty
feet in width, ornamented with two continuous lines of trees —
elms, sycamores, and sugar-maples — save only here and there a
brief interval. Some of these, in front of the more imposing
houses, are truly majestic. The entire street is carpeted with a
green sod, soft as velvet to the feet. The high-road runs in the
middle, with a foot -walk on either side. These passages are not
paved, but are covered with gravel, and so neatly cut, that they
appear like pleasure-grounds. All is so bright and so tasteful
that you might expect to see some imperative sign-board, warn
ing you, on peril of the law, not to tread upon the grass. Yet,
as I learned, all this embellishment flows spontaneously from
the choice of the people, and not from police regulations.

The general aspect of the street, however, let me observe, is
not sumptuous, like Hartford and New Haven, or even Fair-
field. There is still a certain quaintness and primness about the
place. Here and there you see old respectable houses, showing
the dim vestiges of ancient paint, while the contiguous gardens,
groaning with rich fruits and vegetables, and the stately rows of
elms in front, declare it to be taste, and not necessity, that thus
cherishes the reverend hue of unsophisticated clapboards, and the
venerable rust with which time baptizes unprotected shingles.
There is a stillness about the town which lends favor to this char
acteristic of studied rusticity. There is no fast driving, no shout
ing, no railroad whistle — for you must remember that the station
of the Danbury and Norwalk line is three miles off. Few peo
ple are to be seen in the streets, and those who do appear move
with an air of leisure and tranquillity. It would seem dull and
almost melancholy were it not that all around is so thrifty, so
tidy, so really comfortable. Houses — white or brown — with
green window-blinds, and embowered in lilacs and fruit-trees,
and seen beneath the arches of wide-spreading American elms —
the finest of the whole elm family — can never be otherwise than
cheerful.

30-i LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

I went ot course to the old Keeler tavern, for lodgings. The
sign was gone, and thongh the house retained its ancient form,
it was so neatly painted, and all around had such a look of
repose, that I feared it had ceased from its ancient hospitalities.
I, however, went to the door and rapped : it was locked ! A
bad sign, thought I. Ere long, however, a respectable dame ap
peared, turned the key, and let me in. It was Anne Keeler
converted into Mrs. Ressequie. Had it been her mother, I should
only have said that she had grown a little taller and more dig
nified : as it was, the idea crossed iny mind —

" Fanny was younger once than she is now !"

But it seemed to me that her matronly graces fully compensated
for all she might have lost of earlier pretensions. She looked at
me gazingly, as if she half knew me. She was about inquiring
my name, when I suggested that she might call me Smith, and
begged her to tell me if she could give me lodgings. She replied
that they did sometimes receive strangers, though they did not
keep a tavern. I afterward heard that the family was rich,
and that it was courtesy more than cash, which induced them
to keep up the old habit of the place. I was kindly received,
though at first as a stranger. After a short time I was found out,
and welcomed as a friend. What fragrant butter, what white
bread, what delicious succotash they gave me ! And as to the
milk — it was just such as cows gave fifty years ago, and upon the
slightest encouragement positively produced an envelope of gold
en cream ! Alas 1 how cows have degenerated — especially in the
great cities of the earth, — in New York, London, or Paris — it is all
the same. He who wishes to eat with a relish that the Astor
House or Morley's or the Grand Hotel du Louvre can not give,
should go to Ridgefield, and put himself under the care of Mrs.
Ressequie. If he be served, as I was, by her daughter — a thing,
however, that I can not promise — he may enjoy a lively and pleas
ant conversation while he discusses his meal. When you go there
— as go you must— do not forget, to order ham and eggs, for they

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIC A L, ETC. 305

are such as we ate in our childhood — not a mass of red leather
steeped in grease, and covered with a tough, bluish gum — as
is now the fashion in these things. As to blackberry and huc
kleberry pies, and similar good gifts, you will find them just such
as our mother made fifty years ago, when these bounties of Prov
idence were included in the prayer — " Give us this day our daily
bread," and were a worthy answer to such a petition.

Immediately after my arrival, waiting only to deposit my
carpet-bag in my room, I set out to visit our house — our former
home. As I came near I saw that the footpath we had worn
across Deacon Benedict's lot to shorten the Distance from the
street, had given place to a highway. I entered this, and was
approaching the object of my visit, when I was overtaken by
a young man, walking with a long stride.

" Whose house is this on the hill ?" said I.

" It is mine," was the reply.

" Indeed ; you must have a fine view from your upper win
dows?"

" Yes, the view is famous, and the house itself is somewhat
noted. It was built by Peter Parley, and here he lived many
years !"

By this time we had reached the place. The strauger, after
I had looked at the premises a few moments, said, " Perhaps you
would like to ascend the hill to the north, from which the view
is very extensive?" I gave assent, and we went thither — soon
finding ourselves in the old Keeler lot, on the top of High Eidge,
bo familiar to our youthful rambles. With all the vividness of my
early recollections, I really had no adequate idea of the beauty of
the scene, as now presented to us. The circle of view was indeed
less than I had imagined, for I once thought it immense ; but
tl>* objects were more striking, more vividly tinted, more pic
turesquely disposed. Long Island Sound, which extends for sixty
miles before the eye, except as it is hidden here and there by
intercepting hills mid trees, seems nearer than it did to the inex
erieMccd vi--ii>ii <>;'in c.hiMhnud. I could distinuish the dilfer-

306 LETTKRS BIOGRAPHICAL,

ent kinds of vessels on the water, and the island itself — stretch
ed out in a long blue line beyond — presented its cloud-like tis
sues of forest, alternating with patches of yellow sandbanks along
the shore. I could distinctly indicate the site of Norwalk ; and
the spires peering through the mass of trees to the eastward,
spoke suggestively of the beautiful towns and villages that line
the northern banks of the Sound.

West Mountain seemed nearer and less imposing than I had
imagined, but the sea of mountains beyond, terminating in the
Highlands of the Hudson, more than fullilled my remembrances.
The scene has no abrupt and startling grandeur from this point
of view, but in that kind of beauty which consists in blending
the peace and quietude of cultivated valleys with the sublimity
of mountains — all in the enchantment of distance, and all man
tled with the vivid hues of summer — it equals the fairest scenes in
Italy. The deep blue velvet which is thrown over our northern
landscapes, differs indeed from the reddish-purple of the Apen
nines, but it is in all things as poetic, as stimulating to the imagi
nation, as available to the painter, as suggestive to the poet — to
all, indeed, who feel and appreciate the truly beautiful. As I
gazed upon this lovely scene, how did the memories of early days
come back, clothed in the romance of childhood ! I had then
no idea of distance beyond these mountains ; no conception of
landscape beauty, no idea of picturesque sublimity — that sur
passed what was familiar to me here. Indeed, all my first
measures of grandeur and beauty, in nature, were formed upon
these glorious models, now before me. How often have I stood
upon this mound, at the approach of sunset, and gazed in speech
less wonder upon yonder mountains, glowing as they were in the
flood of sapphire which was then poured upon them ! I pray you
to excuse my constant reference to foreign lands ; but as I have
just left them, it is natural to make comparisons with these ob
jects, familiar to my childhood. Let me say, then, that no sunsets
surpass our own in splendor, nor have I seen any thing to equal
them in brilliancy, when the retiring orb of day, as if to shed

HISTORICAL, ANECPOTICAL, ETC. 307

glory upon his departure, pours his rays upon the outstretched
fleece of clouds, and these reflect their blaze upon the mountain
landscape, below. Then, for a brief space, as you know, the
heavens seem a canopy of burnished gold, and the earth beneath
a kingdom robed in purple velvet, and crowned with rubies
and sapphires. In Italy, the sunset sky has its enchantments,
but while these perhaps surpass the same exhibitions of- nature
in our climate, in respect to a certain tranquil softness and ex
quisite blending of rainbow hues, they are still inferior, in gor
geous splendor, to the scenes which I have been describing.

Having taken a hasty but earnest view of the grand panora
ma of High Ridge, I returned with my guide to the house. I
feigned thirst, and begged a glass of water. This was readily
given, and I tasted once more the nectar of our " old oaken
bucket." After glancing around, and making a few observa
tions, I thanked my attendant for his courtesy — who, by the
way, had no suspicion that I knew the place as well as him
self — and took my leave, and returned to the hotel. My emo
tions upon thus visiting our early home — so full of the liveliest
associations — it would be utterly in vain to attempt to describa

It was now Saturday evening, which I spent quietly with my
host and his family, in talking over old times. In the morning I
rose early, for it seemed a sin to waste such hours as these.
Standing on the northern stoop of the Keeler tavern, I looked
upon the beautiful landscape bounded by the Redding and Dan-
bury hills, and saw the glorious march of morning over the scene.
The weather was clear, and the serenity of the Sabbath was in
the breath of nature : even the breezy morn soon subsided into
stillness, as if the voice of God hallowed it. The birds seemed to
know that He rested on this seventh day. As the sun came up,
ttie fluttering leaves sank into repose : no voice of lowing herd
)r baying hound broke over the hills. All was silent and motion-
•ess in the street : every thing seemed to feel that solemn com
mand — Remember the Sabbath-day! — save only a strapping
Shanghai cock in Mr. Lewis's yard over the way, which strut-

L:-;JV::;:S— :n 01: \ \ nir AI.

ted, crowed, and chased the hens — like a very Mormon — evi
dently caring for none of these things.

At nine o'clock the first bell rang. The first stroke told me
that it was not the same to which my childish ear was accus
tomed. Upon inquiry, I learned that on a certain Fourth of July,
some ten years back, it was rung so merrily as to be cracked !
Had any one asked me who was likely to have done this, 1

should have said J . . . . H , and he indeed it was. With

a good-will, however, quite characteristic of him, he caused it
to be replaced by a new one, and though its tone is deeper, and
even more melodious than the old one, I felt disappointed, and
a shade of sadness came over my mind.

On going into the meeting-house, I found it to be totally
changed. The pulpit, instead of being at the west, was at the
north, and the galleries had been transposed to suit this new
arrangement. The Puritan pine color of the pews had given
way to white paint. The good old oaken floor was covered bj
Kidderminster carpets. The choir, instead of being distributed
into four parts, and placed on different sides of the gallery, was
all packed together in a heap. Instead of Deacon Hawley for
chorister, there was a young man who " knew not Joseph," and
in lieu of a pitch-pipe to give the key, there was a melodeon to
lead the choir. Instead of Hear, Old Hundred, Aylesbury, Mont
gomery, or New Durham — songs full of piety and pathos, and in
which the whole congregation simultaneously joined — they sang
modern tunes, whose name and measure I did not know. The
performance was artistic and skillful, but it seemed to lack the
unction of a hearty echo from the bosom of the assembly, as was
the saintly custom among the fathers.

The congregation was no less changed than the place itself, for
remember, I had not been in this building for live and forty years.
The patriarchs of my boyhood — Deacon Olmstead, Deacon Ben
edict, Deacon Hawley, Granther Baldwin, 'Squire Keeler, Nathan
Smith — -were not there, nor were their types in their places. A
few gray-haired men I saw, having dim and fleeting semblances

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC.

to these Anakims of my youthful imagination, but who they
were, I conld not tell. I afterward heard that most of them
were the companions of my early days, now grown to manhood
and bearing the impress of their parentage — blent with vestiges
of their youth — thus at once inciting and baffling my curiosity.
For the most part, however, the assembly was composed of a
new generation. In several instances I felt a strange sort of
embarrassment as to whether the person I saw was the boy
grown up or the papa grown down. It produces a very odd
confusion of ideas to realize in an old man before you, the play
mate of your childhood, whom you had forgotten for forty years,
but who in that time has been trudging along in life, at the same
pace as yourself. At first, every thing looked belittled, degen
erated in dimensions. The house seemed small, the galleries low,
the pulpit mean. The people appeared Lilliputian. These im
pressions soon passed off, and I began to recognize a few per
sons around me. William Hawley is just as you would have
expected ; his hair white as snow, his countenance mild, refined,
cheerful, though marked with threescore and ten. Irad Haw-
ley, though he has his residence in "Fifth Avenue," spends his
summers here, and begins now to look like his father the deacon.
I thought I discovered Gen. King in an erect and martial form
in one of the pews, but it proved to be his son Joshua — who
now occupies the family mansion, and worthily stands at the
head of the house. As I came out of church, I was greeted
with many hearty shakes of the hand, but in most cases I
could with difficulty remember those who thus claimed recog
nition.

The discourse was very clever, and thoroughly orthodox, as
it should be, for I found that the Confession and Covenant of
1750 were still in force, just as our father left them. Even the
eleventh article stands as it was — " You believe that there will
be a resurrection of the dead, and a day of judgment, in which
God will judge the world in righteousness by Jesus Christ ; when
the righteous shall be acquitted and received to eternal life, and

MlU LKTTKR3 BIOGRAPHICAL,

the wicked shall bo sentenced to everlasting fire, prepared for
the devil and his angels."

I was, I confess, not a little shocked to hear the account the
minister gave of the church members, for he declared that they
were full of evil thoughts — envy, jealousy, revenge, and all un-
charitableness. He said he knew all about it, and could testify
that they were a great deal worse than the world in general be
lieved, or conceived them to be. Indeed, he affirmed that it
took a real experimental Christian to understand how totally
depraved they were. I was consoled at finding that this was
not the settled minister— Mr. Clark — but a missionary, accus
tomed to preach in certain lost places in that awful Babylon,
called New York. Perhaps the sermon was adapted to the
people it was designed for, but it seemed ill suited to the
latitude and longitude of such a quaint, primitive parish as
liidgefield, which is without an oyster-cellar, a livery stable, a
grog-shop, a lawyer, a broker, a drunkard, or a profane swearer.

This circumstance reminded me of an itinerant Boanerges,
who, in his migrations, half a century ago, through western New
York, was requested to prepare a sermon to be preached at the
execution of an Indian, who had been convicted of murder, and
was speedily to be hung. This he complied with, but the con
vict escaped, and the ceremony did not take place. The preacher,
however, not liking to have so good a thing lost, delivered it the
next Sabbath to a pious congregation in the Western Reserve,
where he chanced to be — stating that it was composed for a
hanging, but as that did not take place, he would preach it now,
presuming that it would be found appropriate to the occasion !

In the afternoon we had a begging sermon from a young con
verted Jew, who undertook to prove that his tribe was the most
interesting in the world, and their conversion the first step to
ward the millennium. After the sermon they took up a contri
bution to aid him in getting an education ; he also sold a little
story-book of his conversion at twelve and a half cents a copy,
for the benefit of his converted sister. I have no objection to

HISTORICAL, AXECDOTICAL, KTC. 311

Jews, converted or unconverted, but I must say that ray reve
rence for the house of God is such that I do not like to hear
there the chink of copper, which generally prevails in a contri-
bntion-box. Even that of silver and gold has no melody for
me, in such a place. It always reminds me painfully of those
vulgar pigeon dealers who were so summarily and so properly
scourged out of the Temple.

The old dilapidated Episcopal church, which you remember
on the main street — a church not only without a bishop, but
without a congregation — has given place to a new edifice and
stated services, with a large and respectable body of worshipers.
The Methodists, who were wont to assemble, fifty years ago, in
Dr. Baker's kitchen, have put up a new house, white and bright,
and crowded every Sabbath with attentive listeners. This church
numbers two hundred members, and is the largest in the place.
Though, in its origin, it seemed to thrive upon the outcasts of
society — its people are now as respectable as those of any other
religious society in the town. No longer do they choose to
worship in barns, schoolhouses, and byplaces : no longer do they
affect leanness, long faces, and loose, uncombed hair : no longer
do they cherish bad grammar, low idioms, and the euphony of
a nasal twang, in preaching. Their place of worship is in good
taste and good keeping: their dress is comely, and in the
fashion of the day. The preacher is a man of education, refine
ment, and dignity, and he and the Rev. Mr. Clark — our father's
successor — exchange pulpits, and call each other brother ! Has
not the good time come ?

On Monday morning, I took a wide range over the town with
Joshua King, who, by the way, is not only the successor, but in
some things the repetition of his father. He represents him ip
person — as I have already intimated — and has many of his qual
itiea. He has remodeled the grounds around the old family man
eion, amplifying and embellishing them with much judgment
The house itself is unchanged, except by paint and the introduc
tion of certain articles of furniture and tasteful decorations — tes-

Z 12 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

timonials of the proprietor's repeated visits to Europe. Here,
being a bachelor, he has gathered some of his nieces, and
here he receives the members of the King dynasty down to the
third generation — all seeming to regard it as the Jerusalem of
the family. The summer gathering is delightful, bringing hither
the refinements of the best society of New York, Philadelphia,
and other places. Here I spent some pleasant hours, meeting,
of course, many of the neighbors, who came to see me with al
most as much curiosity as if I had been the veritable Joyce
Heth.

In all parts of the town I was struck with the evidences of
change — gentle, gradual, it is true — but still bespeaking the
lapse of half a century. Along the main street, the general
outline of things is the same, but, in detail, all is trans
formed, or at least modified. Most of the old houses have
disappeared, or have undergone such mutations as hardly to
be recognized. New and more expensive edifices are scat
tered here and there. If you ask who are the proprietors,
you will be told — Dr. Perry, Joshua King, Nathan Smith —
but they are not those whom we knew by these names —
they are their sons, perhaps their grandsons. Master Steb-
bins's schoolhouse is swept away, and even the pond across
the road — the scene of many a school-day frolic — is evaporated !
I am constantly struck with the general desiccation which has
passed over the place ; many of the brooks, which formed our
winter skating and sliding places, have vanished. I looked in
vain for the pool back of Deacon John Benedict's house —
which I always imagined to be the scene of the ballad :

" What shall we have for dinner, Mrs. Bond!
There's beef in the larder and ducks iu the pond:

Dill, dill, dill, dill, dilled,

Come here and be killed !"

Col. Bradley's house, that seemed once so awful and so exclu
sive, is now a dim, rickety, and tenantless edifice, for sale, with

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 313

all its appurtenances, for twenty-five hundred dollars ! Is it
not strange to see this once proud tenement, the subject of
blight and decay, and that too in the midst of general prosper
ity? Nor is this all: it has just been the subject of a degra
ding hoax. I must tell you the story, for it will show you that
the march of progress has invaded even Ridgefield.

About three days since there appeared in the village, a man
claiming to be the son-in-law of George Law. In a mysterious
manner he agreed to buy the Bradley estate. With equal mys
tery, he contracted to purchase several other houses in. the
vicinity. It then leaked out that a grand speculation was on
foot : there was to be a railroad through Ridgefield ; the town
was to be turned into a city, and a hotel, resembling the Astor
House, was to take the place of the old dilapidated shell now
upon the Bradley premises! An electric feeling soon ran
through the village ; speculation began to swell in the bosom
of society. Under this impulse, rocks rose, rivers doubled,
hills mounted, valleys oscillated. This sober town — anchored
in everlasting granite, having defied the shock of ages — now
trembled in the hysterical balance of trade.

Two days passed, and the bubble burst ; the puflf-ball was
punctured ; the sham son-in-law of George Law was discovered
to be a lawless son of a pauper of Danbury. All his operations
were in fact a hoax. At twelve o'clock on Saturday night he
was seized, and taken from his bed by an independent corps
under Capt. Lynch. They tied him fast to a buttonwood-tree
in the main street, called the Liberty Pole.

" No man e'er felt the halter draw,
In good opinion of the law :"

At all events, the prisoner deemed it a great incongruity to use
an institution consecrated to the rights of man and the cause of
freedom, for the purpose of depriving him of the power to seek
happiness in his own way; so about ten o'clock on Sunday
morning — finding it unpleasant to be hi this situation while the
VOL. I.— 14

314 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

people went by, shaking their heads, on their way to church —
he managed to get out his penknife, cut his cords, and make a
bee-line for South Salem.

Farther on, proceeding northward, I found that Dr. Baker's
old house — its kitchen the cradle of Ridgefield Methodism — had
departed, and two or three modern edifices were near its site.
Master Stebbins's house* — from its elevated position at the head
of the street, seeming like the guardian genius of the place — still
stands, venerable alike from its dun complexion, its antique
form, and its historical remembrances. Its days may be set at
a hundred years, and hence it is an antiquity in our brief chro
nology. It almost saw the birth of Ridgefield : it has probably
looked down upon the building of every other edifice in the street.
It presided over the fight of 1777. Close by, Arnold's horse was
shot under him, and he, according to tradition, made a flying
leap over a six-barred gate, and escaped. Near its threshold
the British cannon was planted, which sent a ball into the north
eastern corner-post of 'Squire Keeler's tavern, and which, cov
ered up by a sliding shingle, as a relic too precious for the open
air, is still to be seen there.

The old house I found embowered in trees — some, primeval
elms, spreading their wide branches protectingly over the roof,
stoop, and foreground ; others — sugar-maples, upright, symmetri
cal, and deeply verdant, as is the wont of these beautiful children
of our American forest. Other trees — apples, pears, peaches, and
plums, bending with fruit — occupied the orchard grounds back of
the house. The garden at the left seemed a jubilee of tomatoes,
beets, squashes, onions, cucumbers, beans, and pumpkins. A
vine of the latter had invaded a peach-tree, and a huge oval
pumpkin, deeply ribbed, and now emerging from its bronze hue
into a golden yellow, swung aloft as if to proclaim the victory.
By the porch was a thick clambering grape-vine, presenting iw

* For an engraving of this building, see Lossing's Field Book, vol
i p. 409.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIC AL, ETC. 315

purple bunches almost to your mouth, as you entered the door.
T knocked, and Anne Stebbins, my former schoolmate, let me
in. She was still a maiden, in strange contrast to the prolific
and progressive state of all around. She did not know me, but
when I told her how I once saw her climb • through the open
ing in the schoolhouse wall, overhead, and suggested the blue-
mixed hue of her stockings — she rallied, and gave me a hearty
welcome.

You will no doubt, in some degree, comprehend the feelings
with which I rambled over these scenes of our boyhood, and you
will forgive, if you can not approve, the length of this random
epistle. I will trespass but little further upon your patience.
I must repeat, that the general aspect of the town, in respect to
its roads, churches, houses, lands — all show a general progress
in wealth, taste, and refinement. Nor is this advance in civili
zation merely external. William Hawley — a most competent
judge, as he has been the leading merchant of the place for forty
years — mentioned some striking evidences of this. At the be
ginning of this century, most of the farmers were in debt, and
a large part of their lands were under mortgage : now not four
farms in the place are thus encumbered. Then it was the custom
for the men to spend a good deal of their time, and especially in
winter, at the stores and taverns, in tippling and small gambling.
This practice has ceased. Drunkenness, profane swearing, Sab
bath-breaking, noisy night rows, which were common, are now
almost wholly unknown. There are but two town paupers, and
these are not indigenous. Education is better, higher in its stand
ard, and is nearly universal. Ideas of comfort in the modes of life
are more elevated, the houses are improved, the furniture is more
convenient and more abundant. That religion has not lost its
hold on the conscience, is evident from the fact that three flour
ishing churches exist ; that the duties of patriotism are not for
gotten, is evinced by a universal attendance at the polls on
election days ; at the same time it is clear that religious and po
litical discussions have lost their acerbity — thus leaving the feel-

310 LETTERS — BIOGR APHIC AL,

ing of good neighborhood more general, and the tone of human
ity in all tilings more exalted.

Is there not encouragement, hope, in these things — for Ridge-
field is not alone in this forward march of society ? It is in the
general tide of prosperity — economical, social, and moral — but
%n example of what has been going on all over New England —
perhaps over the whole country. We hear a great deal of the
iniquities in the larger cities ; but society even there, is not
worse than formerly : these places — their houses, streets, prisons,
brothels — are exhausted, as by an air-pump, of all their doings,
good and bad, and the seething mass of details is doled out day
after day, by the penny press, to appease the hunger and thirst
of society for excitement. Thus, what was once hidden is now
thrown open, and seems multiplied and magnified by a dozen
powerful lenses — each making the most of it, and seeking to
outdo all others in dressing up the show for the public taste.
If you will make the comparison, you will see that, now, tip
ping over an omnibus, or the foundering of a ferry-boat, takes
up more space in a newspaper, than did six murders or a
dozen conflagrations fifty years ago. Then the world's do
ings could be dispatched in a weekly folio of four pages, with
pica type ; now they require forty pages of brevier, every day.
Our population is increased — doubled, quadrupled, if you please
— but the newspaper press has enlarged its functions a thousand
fold. It costs more paper and print to determine whether a po
liceman of New York, was born in England or the United States,
than are usually consumed in telling the story of the Revolution
ary war. This institution — the Press — has, in fact, become a
microscope and a mirror — seeing all, magnifying ah1, reflecting
all — until at last it requires a steady brain to discover in its shift
ing and passing panoramas, the sober, simple truth. So far as
the subject of which I am writing is concerned, I am satisfied
that if our cities seem more corrupt than formerly, it is only in
appearance and not in reality. If we hear more about the vices
of society, it is because, in the first place, things are more ex-

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 317

posed to the public view, and in the next place, the moral stand
ards are higher, and hence these evils are made the subject of
louder and more noticeable comment. These obvious sugges
tions will solve whatever difficulty there may be in adopting my
conclusions.

But however the fact may be as to our larger cities, it can
not be doubted that all over New England, at least, there has
been a quiet, but earnest and steady march of civilization — es
pecially within the last forty years. The war of 1812 was dis
astrous to our part of the country ; disastrous, I firmly believe,
to our whole country. In New England it checked the natural
progress of society, it impoverished the people, it debased their
manners, it corrupted their hearts. Let others vaunt the glory
of war ; I shall venture to say what I have seen and known.
We have now had forty years of peace, and the happy ad
vances I have noticed — bringing increased light and comfort
in at every door, rich or poor, to bless the inhabitants — are its
legitimate fruits. The inherent tendency of our New England
society is to improvement : give us peace, give us tranquillity,
and with the blessing of God we shall continue to advance.

You will not suppose me to say that government can do
nothing : the prosperity of which I speak is in a great measure
imputable to the encouragement given, for a series of years, to
our domestic industry. When farming absorbed society, a large
part of the year was lost, or worse than lost ; because tavern
haunting, tippling, and gambling were the chief resources of men
in the dead and dreary winter months. Manufactures gave
profitable occupation during this inclement period. Formerly
the markets were remote, and we all know, from the records of
universal history, that farmers without the stimulus of ready
markets, sink into indolence and indifference. The protection,
the encouragement, the stimulating of our manufacturing and
mechanical industry, created home markets in every valley, along
every stream — thus rousing the taste, energy, and ambition of
the farmers within reach of these pervading influences. Ridge-

318 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

field is not, strictly speaking, a manufacturing town ; but the
beneficent operation of the multiplying and diversifying of the oc
cupations of society, has reached this, as it has every other town
and village in the State, actually transforming the condition of
the people, by increasing their wealth, multiplying their com
forts, enlarging their minds, elevating their sentiments : in short,
increasing their happiness.

The importance of the fact I state — the progress and improve
ment of the country towns — is plain, when we consider that here,
and not in the great cities — New York, or Boston, or Philadel
phia — are the hope, strength, and glory of our nation. Here,
in the smaller towns and villages, are indeed the majority of the
people, and here there is a weight of sober thought, just judg
ment, and virtuous feeling, that will serve as rudder and ballast
to our country, whatever weather may betide.

As I have so recently traveled through some of the finest and
most renowned portions of the European continent, I find my
self constantly comparing the towns and villages which I see
here with these foreign lands. One thing is clear, that there are
in continental Europe no such country towns and villages as
those of New England and some other portions of this country.
Not only the exterior but the interior is totally different. The
villages there resemble the squalid suburbs of a city : the people
are like then* houses — poor and subservient — narrow in intellect,
feeling, and habits of thought. I know twenty towns in France
— having from two to ten thousand inhabitants, where, if you ex
cept the prefects, mayors, notaries, and a few other persons in each
place — there is scarcely a family that rises to the least independ
ence of thought, or even a moderate elevation of character. All
the power, all the thought, all the genius, all the expanse of in
tellect, are centered at Paris. The blood of the country is drawn
to this seat and center, leaving the limbs and members cold and
pulseless "as those of a corpse.

How different is it in this country : the life, vigor, power of
these United States are diffused through a thousand veins

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 319

and arteries over the whole people, every limb nourished,
every member invigorated ! New York, Philadelphia, and Bos
ton do not give law to this country ; that comes from the people,
the majority of whom resemble those I have described at Ridge-
field — farmers, mechanics, manufacturers, merchants — independ
ent in their circumstances, and sober, religious, virtuous in then
habits of thought and conduct. I make allowance for the sinister
influence of vice, which abounds in some places ; for the debasing
effects of demagogism in our politicians ; for the corruption of
selfish and degrading interests, cast into the general current of
public feeling and opinion. I admit that these sometimes make
the nation swerve, for a time, from the path of wisdom, but the
wandering is neither wide nor long. The preponderating na
tional mind is just and sound, and if danger comes, it will mani
fest its power and avert it.

But I must close this long letter, and with it bid adieu to
my birthplace. Farewell to Ridgefield ! Its soil is indeed
stubborn, its climate severe, its creed rigid ; yet where is
the landscape more smiling, the sky more glorious, the earth
more cheering? Where is society more kindly, neighbor
hood more equal, life more tranquil? Where is the senti
ment of humanity higher, life more blest? Where else can you
find two thousand country people, with the refinements of the
city — their farms unmortgaged, their speech unblemished with
oaths, their breath uncontaminated with alcohol, their poor-
house without a single native pauper ?

Daniel Webster once said, jocosely, that New Hampshire is a
good place to come from : it seems to me, in all sincerity, that
Ridgefield is a good place to go to. Should I ever return there
to end my days, this may be my epitaph :

My faults forgotten, and my sins forgiven, —
Let this, my tranquil birthplace, be my grave :

As in tny youth I deem'd it nearest heaven —
So here I give to God the breath He gave !

Yours ever, S. G. G.

LKTTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

Here, my dear C . . . ., endeth the first lesson of my
life — that portion of it which pertaineth to Kidge-
field. Peradventure this has been drawn out in such
length as to have taxed your patience beyond endu
rance. If such be the truth, I beg to offer as pallia
tion, that to me these scenes, incidents, and charac
ters — simple and commonplace though they be — seem
not unworthy of being recorded, for the very reason
that they are thus common, and therefore are repre
sentatives of our New England village people as they
were a brief half century ago, and as they are now.
If as such, they present a spectacle of little interest —
I beg to suggest further, that the picture at least
affords a means of measuring the silent but steady
advance of society among us ; thus refuting the cal
umnies of the misanthrope, and vindicating the hopes
of the sincere lover of mankind. I admit that the
scale upon which my observations are made — that of
a mere country village — is small, but in proportion
to its minuteness, is the certainty of the conclusions
we may draw. A survey of a great city or a large
space of country, may be deceptive from its extent
and the complexity of its details ; but in respect to
such a community as that I have described, it is impos
sible to be mistaken. The progress there in wealth,
taste, refinement, morals — all that constitutes civiliza
tion — is as certain as the advance of time. Nor is
this village an exception to the tendency of things in
American societv: it rnav differ in the celeritv of its

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 321

progress, but in its general experience it unquestion
ably sympathizes with New England at large, and to
some extent with the entire United States.

And one thing more : if Ridgefield is thus a repre
sentative of the New England village, I may remark
that here the comparison ends : at least, there are no
such villages in any portion of the Old World: none
where the whole people are thus independent in their
circumstances; where all are thus educated, so far as
to be able to form just opinions upon the great ques
tions of life, in religion, government, and morals ;
none where the people, conscious of their power, are
thus in the habit of forming their own opinions from
their own reflections ; none where the majority are
thus living on their own lands and in their own tene
ments ; none where a general sentiment of equality
and good neighborhood thus levels the distinctions of
wealth and condition ; none where religion and edu
cation, left to the free will of the people, thus fur
nish, in the schoolhouses and the churches, the chief
visible and permanent monuments of society.

The view I have taken suggests also another idea,
and that is the radical difference between the consti
tution of things in our country and all others. In
all . the continent of Europe, the power, genius, intel
ligence of each country is centralized in the capital
It is and has been, from time immemorial, the design
of kings and princes of all dynasties, to make the
seat of the government the focal point of light — of
14*

322 LKTTKRS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

learning, taste, fashion, wealth, and influence. The
Court is not only the head but the heart of the body
politic : the country — the people at large — the limbs
and members — are but the subservient tools and
instruments of the privileged orders, who rule not
only by divine right, but first and foremost for their
own benefit.

In our system, this is reversed. Diffusion — an
equal distribution of power and privilege to every
individual — is the law in government and society,
here. It is curious — it is animating and cheering
to see the eifect of this, in its tendency to raise
all up to a respectable standard of intelligence and
refinement. Compare the people of the villages
of France, Germany, Spain, Italy, Russia, or Eng
land even, with those of Ridgefield, or any other
of our villages, and see the amazing difference :
the first, rude, ignorant, servile; the other, intelli
gent, modest, manly — accustomed to respect others,
but extorting respect in return. Let any one go
into the houses of the country mechanics and la
borers of Europe, and he will see ignorance, squalid-
ness, and degradation, which admits of no remedy
and offers no hope of improvement : let him go into
the houses of the same classes in the places to which I
refer, and he will find intelligence, comfort, and a con
stant, cheering, stimulating expectation of advance
ment in their circumstances. And let it be remem
bered that of these, and such as these — the toiling

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIOAL, ETC. 323

million — the majority of all nations are composed.
Say not, then, that I have written these light and
hasty sketches in vain !

LETTER XXI.

f\rewell to Ridgefield — Farewell to Home — Danbvry — My new Vocation —
A Revolutionary Patriarch — Life in a Country Store — Homesickness—
My Brother-in-law — Lawyer Hatch.

MY DEAR C******

It was in the autumn of the year 1808, as I have
intimated, that a sudden change took place in my pros
pects. My eldest sister had married a gentleman by
the name ofCooke, in the adjacent town of Danburv.
He was a merchant, and being in want of a clerk,
offered me the place. It was considered a desirable
situation by my parents, and overlooking my me
chanical aptitudes, they accepted it at once, and at
the age of fifteen I found myself installed in a coun
try store.

This arrangement gratified my love of change, com
mon to the young and inexperienced. At the same
time, Danbury was a much more considerable town
than Ridgefield, and going to live there naturally
suggested the idea of advancement, especially as I
was to exchange my uncertain prospects for a posi.
tive profession. However, I little comprehended

324 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

what it meant to say farewell to home: I have since
learned its significance. In thus bidding adieu to
the paternal roof, we part with youth forever — words
of mournful import, which every succeeding year, to
the very end, impresses on the heart. We part with
the spring-tide of life, which strews every path with
flowers, fills the air with poetry, and the heart with
rejoicing. We part with that genial spirit which
endows familiar objects — brooks, lawns, play-grounds,
hillsides — with its own sweet illusions : we bid adieu
to this and its fairy companionships. Even if, in
after life, we return to the scenes of our childhood,
they have lost the bloom of youth, and in its place
we see the wrinkles of that age which has graven its
hard lines upon our hearts.

Farewell to home implies something even yet more
serious: we relinquish, and often with exultation,
the tender providence of parents, in order to take upon
ourselves the dread responsibilities of independence.
What seeming infatuation it is, that renders us thus
impatient of the guidance of those who gave us being,
and who are on earth the brightest reflection of heav
en — making us at the same time anxious to spread our
untried sails upon an untried sea, and upon a voyage
which involves all the chances — evil as well as good —
of existence. And yet it is not infatuation — it is in
stinct. We can not always be young ; we can not all
remain under the paternal roof. The old birds push
the young ones from the nest, and force them to a

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 325

trial ol their wings. It is the system of nature that
impels us to go forth and try our fortunes, and it is
a kind Providence, after all, which thus endues us
with courage for the outset of our uncertain career.

I was not long in discovering that my new voca
tion was very different from what I had expected,
and very different from my accustomed way of life.
My habits had been active, my employments chiefly
abroad — in the open air. I was accustomed to be fre
quently on horseback, and to make excursions to the
neighboring towns ; I had also enjoyed large person
al liberty, which I failed not to use in rambling over
the fields and forests. All this was now changed. My
duties lay exclusively in the store, and this seemed
now my prison. From morning to night I remained
here, and as our business was not large, I had many
hours upon my hands with nothing to do, but to con
sider the weariness of my situation. My brother-in-
law was always present, and being a man of severe
aspect and large ubiquitous eyes, I felt a sort of re
straint, which, for a time, was agonizing. I had con
sequently pretty sharp attacks of homesickness, a
disease which — save that it is not dangerous — is one
of the most distressing to which suffering humanity
is exposed.

This state of sin and misery continued for some
weeks, during which time I actually revolved various
plans of escape from my confinement — such as steal
ing away at night, making my way to Norwalk, get-

326 LETTKR8 — BIOGRAPHICAL,

ting on board a sloop, and going as cabin-boy to the
West Indies. I am inclined to think that a small
impulse might have set me upon some such mad ex
pedition. By degrees, however, I became habitu
ated to my occupation, and as my situation was eli
gible in other respects, I found myself, ere long,
reconciled to it.

The father and mother of my brother-in-law were
aged people living with him, in the same house, and
as one family. They were persons of great amiability
and excellence of character : the former, Col. Cooke,
was eighty years of age, but he had still the perfect
exercise of his faculties, and though he had ceased
all business, he was cheerful, and took a lively inter
est in passing events. His career* had been one of

* Colonel Joseph Platt Cooke, son of Eev. Samuel Cooke, of Strattield,
now Bridgeport, was one of fourteen children, and born Dec. 24, 1729,
(old style): Nov. 22, 1759, he was married to Sarah Benedict: he died
Feb. 3, 1816. Their children were Joseph P. Cooke, Thomas Cooke,
Elizabeth Cooke, Daniel Benedict Cooke, and Amos Cooke — the latter,
my brother-in-law, born Oct. 11, 1773, and deceased Nov. 13, 1810. Tho
Rev. Samuel Cooke, now (1856) of St. Bartholomew's Church, New
York, is a son of Daniel B. Cooke, who was Judge of Probate at Dan-
bury for a number of years. To his brother, Joseph P. Cooke, I am in
debted for some of the following incidents.

Col. Joseph P. Cooke graduated at Yale College in 1750. He estab
lished himself in Danbury, and when the British, under Tryon, having
landed at Campo. Point, on Long Island Sound, April 25, 1777, march
ed upon that place, he was colonel of the militia there. Having advice
of the advance of the enemy, he sent a messenger to Gen. Silliman,
giving the information he had acquired, and asking for troops, ammu
nition, and instructions. This messenger, coming suddenly upon the
invading army, was fired upon, wounded, and taken prisoner.

General Silliman, who was attached to the Connecticut militia, was
upon his farm at Fairfield, when he heard of the British expedition.
Ho immediately dispatched messenffers to nrouse the people, and set

HISTORICAL, ANKCIxmCAL, ETC. 327

great activity and usefulness. During the Revolution
he was a colonel of the Connecticut militia, and upon
the death of Gen. Wooster, in the retreat from Dan-
bury, the command devolved upon him, the next in
rank. He was greatly esteemed, not only by the com
munity, but by the leading men of the country. He
enjoyed the friendship and confidence of Washing
ton, and the acquaintance of Lafayette, Rochambeau,
and De Grasse, whom he entertained at his house. He

out himself for Eeading. Here he was joined by the fiery Arnold and
the experienced Wooster : altogether they had about seven hundred
men — mostly raw militia, fresh from their farms.

So rapid was the march of the British, that the people of Danbury
were not informed of their danger, till the enemy were within eight
Tniles of the town. Knowing that the public stores were their object,
and well advised of the terrors of a British marauding army, the whole
place was a scene of the wildest confusion and alarm. Those who could
fly, sought safety in the woods and adjacent villages, taking their wo
men and children with them. The sick and decrepit remained, with
u few persons to take care of them.

There were no means of defense in the place: about a hundred and
fifty militia, without ammunition, under Colonels Cooke and Hunting-
ton, were there, but retired upon the approach of the enemy. Having
marched through Weston and Reading, Tryon and his force of two
thousand men, reached Danbury in the afternoon of the day subsequent
to their landing. Insult to the people and conflagration of the buiMinirs,
public and private, followed. The only houses intentionally spared by
the enemy were those of the tories ; some other dwellings, however,
escaped. Nineteen houses, one meeting-house, and twenty stores and
barns, with their contents, were destroyed.

The scenes enacted in this tragedy were in the highest degree appall
ing. Among the articles consumed were three thousand barrels of pork.
The fat of these ran in rivers of flame in the gutters, while the soldiers,-
intoxicated with liquors they had procured, yelled like demons amid
the conflagration, or reeled through the streets, or lay down, like swine,
in by-places. It adds horror to the scene to know that a portion of the
inhabitants of the town opened their arms to the enemy, and saw with
rejoicing the ruin and vengeance wrought upon their friends and neigh
bors.

328 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

was a member of Congress under the Confederation,
and subsequently filled the various offices of judge of
the County Court, judge of Probate, and member of
the Governor's council — receiving for many years a
larger popular vote than any other individual of that
body. His style of living was liberal, and with a
large family, settled in the neighborhood, he was like
one of the patriarchs of old — dignified, tranquil —
loving and beloved. In manner and dress, he was

Early on the morning of the next day (Sunday, April 27), while the
whole country around was lighted with the flames of Danbury, Tryon,
hearing that the militia were gathering from all quarters to attack him,
began a rapid retreat, taking the route through Ridgebury and Ridge-
field.

Gen. Wooster, who had been joined by Col. Cooke and his men, cross
ing from Reading, overtook the enemy about two miles north of Ridge-
fleld-strect. One of his aids was Stephen Rowe Bradley, afterward,
for sixteen years, a senator of the United States from Vermont. A smart
skirmish ensued, and forty British prisoners were taken. Unfortunate
ly, at this critical moment, Wooster fell, fatally wounded by a bullet-shot
in the groin. This caused a temporary panic, during which the enemy
pushed on toward Ridgefield. Here, however, at the head of the street,
they were met by the impetuous Arnold, who, with only two hundred
men behind a stone wall, boldly confronted them. After a time, they
were driven back, and the British made their way to their point of em-
barkment. The untimely fall of Wooster probably only saved them
from surrender, or ignominious loss and defeat.

Among the stores burned in Danbury was that of Col. Cooke — with
a loss of one thousand pounds. The British soldiers occupied his house,
where they had a riotous time. An old negro slave, who was left be
hind, waited upon them, and contrived to prevent a good deal of dam
age. When the marauders heard that the Americans were coming
they took some bundles of straw, set the house on fire, and fled. The
old negro put out the flames, and thus saved his master's dwelling. For
this he had his freedom, and ever after was supported and cherished,
with the consideration due to his conduct.

The following original letter — placed at my disposal by Mrs. Stites,
granddaughter of Colonel Cooke — not only throws some pleasing light
upon his character, but it presents facts of the deepest and most tragic

HISTORICAL, ANECDOT1CAL, ETC. 329

strongly marked with the "Washingtonian era : he was
sedate, courteous, methodical in all his ways : he
wore breeches, knee-buckles, shoe-buckles, and a
cocked hat, to the last. The amenity and serenity
of his countenance and conduct, bespoke the refined
gentleman and disciplined Christian. His wife was
a sister of the Kev. Noah Benedict, of "Woodbury,
and inherited the traditionary talent of that branch
of the Benedict family. Never have I seen a more

interest. It was written while he was at New York attending to his
duties there as a member of Congress.

[Letter from Colonel Oooke to his son Amos Cooke,~\

NEW YORK, June 3, 1785.

MY DEAR LITTLE SON :

Your letter of the 30th ultimo car«5 safe to hand, but I had not time
to return you an answer by the same post, and this may often happen
by reason of my quarters being on Long Island. I am very glad to
hear that your mamma enjoys a tolerable state of health, and I doubt not
but that you will always be very attentive to her comfort. Should she
in any good measure recover her strength, 1 fear she will undertake
sotiie business which may be detrimental to her health. Whenever you
observe any thing of that kind, I would have you suggest the thought
to her, in a very dutiful manner, telling her that you do it at my de
sire. Platt did very well in taking the method you mentioned for
getting Daniel to New Haven. I hope the Society will adopt nome plan
for going forward with building the meeting-house, for until they do, I
wisli not to see the Courts held in Danbury. I am not, however, appre
hensive that the Assembly will repeal the act.

There are now six members of Congress, who board at Mr. Hunt's.
Our accommodations are very good, and we have no rats to annoy us.
We have been honored with a visit from the President and most of
the members of Congress, who all admire our situation, which com
mands a prospect of the whole city, of all the shipping in the harbor
and on the stocks (of which there are a very considerable number, one
of which being a ship of about three hundred tons, we saw launched
yesterday), and of every vessel that either goes out or comes in, of
which we s£e forty or fifty under sail at the same time. But amidst all
these pleasing scenes there is something that damps our spirits, and

330 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

pleasing spectacle than this reverend couple — at the
age of fourscore — both smoking their pipes in the
evening, with two generations around them, all look
ing with affectionate veneration upon the patriarchal
pair.

My brother-in-law was a man of decided character,
and his portrait deserves a place in these annals. He
was graduated at Yale College, and had been qualified
for the bar, but his health was feeble, and therefore
— chiefly for occupation — he succeeded to the store

casts a gloom over the whole. At about half a mile's distance from our
lodgings, lies the wreck of a ship which was the Jersey Prison Ship,
from which so many thousands of our poor countrymen, who had the
misfortune during the late war to be taken prisoners, were thrown. I
wish I could say buried, for then some part of the British inhumanity
would have been concealed, but that was not the case. The banks near
which this Prison ship lay are high and sandy. The dead bodies of our
friends, only wrapped up in old blankets, were laid at the bottom of the
bank, and the sand drawn over them. Soon after we came to live upon
Long Island, several of us took a walk that way, and were struck with
horror at beholding a large number of human bones, some fragments of
flesh not quite consumed, with many pieces of old blankets lying upon the
shore. In consequence of a representation made to Congress, they were
soon after taken up and buried. But walking along the same place not
many days ago, we saw a number more which were washed out, and at
tempting to bury them ourselves, we found the bank full of them.
Such conduct hasfixed.a stain upon the British character which will not
soon be wiped off.

The weather has been so very tempestuous this day, that none of us
have attempted to cross the ferry, which is the first time we have failed
since we have been here.

It gives me pleasure to observe by your last letter that you improve
both in writing and composing ; and I hope you will give frequent in
stances of improvement in the same way.

Give my kind love to your mamma and all the family, and tell Platt
] intend to write him by the next post. These from your affectionate
parent, JOSEPH P. COOKE.

Master AMOS COOKE.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 331

which his father had kept before him. Being in easy
circumstances, he made no great efforts in business.
Though, as I have said, he was of stern aspect, and
his manners were somewhat cold and distant, he was
always a gentleman, and his substantial character that
of a just and kind man. In business, he treated peo
ple respectfully, but he never solicited custom : he
showed, but never recommended his goods. If his
advice were asked, he offered it without regard to his
own interest. He gave me no instructions, but left
me to the influence of his example. . He was of a
highly religious turn of mind, not merely performing
the accustomed duties of a Christian, but making de
votional books a large part of his study. Perhaps
he was conscious of failing health, and already heard
the monitory voice of that disease which was ere long
to terminate his career.

Nevertheless, he was not insensible to the pleasures
of cultivated society, and however grave he might
be in his general air and manner, he was particularly
gratified with the visits of a man, in all things his
opposite — Moses Hatch, then a leading lawyer in
Danbury. Mr. Cooke was tall, emaciated, somewhat
bent, with a large head, and large melancholy eyes.
His look was gravity itself, his air meditative, his
movements measured, slow, and wavering. 'Squire
Hatch,* on the contrary, was rather short, full-chested,

* Moses Hatch was born at Kent, Litehfield county, Conn., \. D. 1780,
and died at the same place in 1820, on his return from Saratoga, whcra

332 LETTEKS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

perpendicular, and with a short, quick, emphatic step.
His eye was small, gray, and twinkling; his lips sharp
and close-set, his hair erect and combed back, giving
to his face the keen expression of the old-fashioned
flint, set in a gun-lock. You expected, of course, on
the least movement to see the fire fly; he was, in
fact, a man celebrated for his wit no less than his
learning, and he seldom opened his mouth without
making a report of one or both.

This person was a frequent visitor to the store, and
the long winter which commenced soon after I en
tered upon my apprenticeship, was not a little enli
vened by his conversations with my master. It fre
quently happened during the deep snows, that the
day passed without a single customer, and on these
occasions, Lawyer Hatch was pretty sure to make us
a visit. It was curious to see these two men — an
tipodes in character — attracted to each other as if by
contradiction. My brother-in-law evidently found a
pleasant relaxation in the conversation of his neigh
bor, embellished with elegant wit and varied learn
ing, while the latter derived equal gratification from
the serious, solid, manly intellect of his friend. In

he had been for the benefit of his health. He graduated at Yale in
1800, with high honors, delivering a poem on the occasion. As a
lawyer, he always thought the cause of his client just, and with that
feeling, he generally succeeded in cases before a jury. He seems to
have had a sort of somnambulic habit, and when an interesting case
was on his mind, or he was preparing for it, he would po through with
his argument in his sleep, addressing the court and jury, with inucli
the same method he usually adopted in the actual trial.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 333

general -\e former was the talker, and the latter the
listener , yet sometimes the conversation became dis
cussion, and a keen trial of wit, versus logic, ensued.
The lawyer always contended for victory, my brother-
in-law for the truth : the one was influenced, no doubt,
by the easy practices of his profession ; the other by
the stern habit of his conscience and character.

The precise form of these conversations has van
ished from my mind, but some of the topics remain.
I recollect long talks about the embargo, non-inter
course, and other Jeffersonian measures, which were
treated with unsparing ridicule and reproach : anec
dotes and incidents of Napoleon, who excited mingled
admiration and terror, with observations upon public
men, as well in Europe as in America. I remember
also a very keen discussion upon Berkeley's theory of
the idealty of nature, mental and material, which so
far excited my curiosity, that finding the " Minute
Philosopher," by that author, in the family library,
I read it through with great interest and attention.
The frequent references to Shakspeare, in these con
versations, led me to look into his works, and — incited
by the recommendations of my sister — I read them
through, somewhat doggedly, seeking even to pene
trate the more difficult and obscure passages.

It frequently happened that my master — owing to
tue influence of disease — was affected with depres
sion of spirits, and the lawyer's best wit and choicest
stories were expended without even exciting a smile.

334 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

Not discouraged, but rather stimulated by such ad
versity, he usually went on, and was pretty sure, at
last, to strike the vein, as Moses did the water in
the rock, and a gush of uncontrollable laughter was
the result. I remember in one instance, Mr. Cooke
sat for a long time, looking moodily into the fire,
while 'Squire Hatch went on telling stories, chiefly
about clergymen, of which he had a great assortment.
I will endeavor to give you a sketch of the scene.

" I know not why it is so," said the lawyer, " but
the fact is undeniable, that the most amusing anec
dotes are about clergymen. The reason perhaps is,
that incongruity is the source of humorous associa
tions, and this is evidently the most frequent and
striking in a profession which sets apart its members
as above the mass of mankind, in a certain gravity
of character and demeanor, of which the black coat
is the emblem. A spot upon this strikes every eye,
while a brown coat, being the color of dirt, hides
rather than reveals what is upon its surface. Thus
it is, as we all know, that what would be insipid as
coming from a layman, is very laughable if it hap
pens to a parson. I have heard that on a certain

occasion, as the Eev. J . . . M was about to read

a hymn, he saw a little boy sitting behind the chor
ister in the gallery, who had intensely red hair. The
day was cold, and the little rogue was pretending to
warm his hands by holding them close to the chor
ister's head. This so disconcerted the minister, that

HISTORICAL, ANECDOT1CAL, ETC. 335

it was some minutes before he could go on with the
services.

The only effect of this was, that my master drew
down one corner of his mouth.

"I have heard of another clergyman," said the
lawyer, " who suffered in a similar way. One day,
in the very midst of his sermon, he saw Deacon
B . . . . fast asleep, his head leaning back on the rail
of the pew, and his mouth wide open. A young
fellow in the gallery above, directly over him, took
a quid of tobacco from his mouth, and taking a care
ful aim, let it drop plump into the deacon's mouth.
The latter started from his sleep, and went through
a terrible paroxysm of fright and choking before he
recovered."

Mr. Cooke bit his lip, but was silent. Lawyer
Hatch — although he pretended to be all the while
looking into the fire — got a quick side glance at the
face of his auditor, and continued —

" You know the Kev. Dr. B of B., sir ? Well,

one day he told me that as he was on his way to New
Haven, he came to the house of one of his former pa
rishioners, who, some years before, had removed to
that place. As he was about to pass it, he remem
bered that this person had died recently, and he
thought it meet and proper to stop and condole with
the widow. She met him very cheerfully, and they
had some pleasant chat together.

" ' Madam,' said he, after a time, ' it is a painfuJ

336 LETTERS BIOOKA.P1IICAL,

subject — but you have recently met with a severe
loss.'

" She instantly applied her apron to her eyes, and
said —

" ' Oh yes, doctor ; there's no telling how I feel.'
" ' It is indeed a great bereavement you have suf
fered.'

" 'Yes, doctor; very great indeed.'
" ' I hope you bear it with submission ?'
" ' I try tu ; but oh, doctor, I sometimes feel in
my heart — Goosy, goosy gander, where shall I
wander !' "

The lawyer glanced at the object of his attack, and
seeming to see a small breach in the wall, he thought
it time to bring up his heavy guns. He went on :

" There's another story about this same Dr. B . . . .
which is amusing. Some years ago he lost his wife,
and after a time he began to look out for another.
At last he fixed his mind upon a respectable lady in
a neighboring town, and commenced paying her his
addresses. This naturally absorbed much of his time
and attention, and his parish became dissatisfied.
The deacons of the church held several conferences
on the subject, and it was finally agreed that Deacon
Becket, who had the grace of smooth speech, should
give the reverend doctor a hint of what they deemed
his fearful backsliding. Accordingly, the next Sab
bath morning, on going to church, the deacon over
took the parson, and the following dialogue ensued :

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 337

" ' Good morning, Dr. B '

" ' Good morning,' Deacon Becket.

" ' Well, doctor, I'm glad to meet you ; for I want
ed to say to you, as how I thought of changing my
pew!'

" ' Indeed ! And why so ?'

" ' "Well, I'll tell you. I sit, as you know, clear
over the back-side of the meeting-house; and be
tween me and the pulpit, there's Judy Vickar, Molly
Warren, Experience Pettybone, and half-a-dozen old
maids, who sit with their mouths wide open, and they
catch all the best of your sarmon, and when it gets to
me, it's plaguey poor stuff!'"

My brother-in-law could hold out no longer : his
face was agitated for a moment with nervous spasms,
and then bending forward, he burst into a round,
hearty laugh. The lawyer — who made it a point never
to smile at his own jokes — still had a look upon his
face as much as to say — " Well, sir, I thought I
should get my case."

It may be easily imagined that I was greatly inter
ested by these conversations and discussions, and al
ways felt not a little annoyed, if perchance, as some
times happened, I was called away in the midst of a
good story or a keen debate, to supply a customer
with a gallon of molasses, or a paper of pins. I know
not if this gave me a disgust of my trade, but it is
very certain that I conceived for it a great dislike,
nearly from the beginning. Never, so far as I can

VOL. I.— 15

338 LETTERS BIOGKAPHICAL,

recollect, did I for one moment enter heartily into
its spirit. I was always, while I continued in it, ji
mere servile laborer, doing my duty, perhaps, yet
with a languid and reluctant heart. However, I got
through the winter, and when the summer came, Mr.
Cooke nearly gave up personal attention to busi
ness, in consequence of ill health, and we had a new
clerk, H. N. Lockwood, who was older than myself, and
took the responsible charge of the establishment. He
was an excellent merchant, and to me was a kind and
indulgent friend. He afterward settled in Troy, where
I am happy to say he is still living, and in the en
joyment of an ample fortune, and an excellent repu
tation as a father, friend, Christian, and neighbor —
the natural fruit of good sense, good temper, and
good conduct.

LETTER XXII.

Visit to New Haven — The City — Yale College — My Uncles Home — John
Allen — First view of the Ocean — The Court-bouse — Dr. Dwight — Pro
fessor SUKman — Ghemifttry, Mineralogy, Geology — Anecdote of Onions
Gibbs—Mi Whitney— The Cotton-gin— The Gun-factory.

MY DEAR C ******

In the summer of 1809 I took a short tour with
my brother-in-law and my sister, for the health oi
the former. This to me was a grand expedition, for
among other places we visited was New Haven, then
a sort of Jerusalem in my imagination — a holy place,

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 339

containing Yale College, of which Dr. Dwight was
president. Besides all this, one of my uncles and
some of my cousins lived there, and better still, my
brother was there, and then a member of the college.
Ah, how my heart beat when we set out ! Such
was the vividness of my perceptions, that I could fill
a book with recollections of that short, simple journey
— the whole circuit not exceeding one hundred and
twenty miles. But, my dear C . . . ., be not alarmed ! I
shall not inflict them upon you : a few brief notes will
be the entire burden you shall bear, on this occasion.
I pass over the journey to New Haven, and permit
you at once to enter the city. I was of course duly
impressed with its beauty, for then, as now, it was
celebrated for a rare union of rural freshness and
city elegance. I have recently, in passing through
it, had a -transient view of its appearance, and may
safely affirm that after pretty large observation in
the Old World, as well as in the New, I know of no
town or city more inviting ; especially to one whose
j udgment is cultivated by observation and study, and
whose feelings are chastened by reflection and expe
rience. There is a taste of the university in the long
shady streets, fit for the walks of Plato, and a metro
politan air in the public buildings and squares, sug
gestive of ideas of the Forum. There is something of
the activity and bustle of commerce in a part of the
town, and at one point, all the spasm of a railway
station. In other portions of the place, and over

340 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

three- fourths of its area, there is the quietude and
repose proper to a seat of learning. Here the houses
seem suited to the city, each with a garden, breathing
the perfumes of the country.

At the period of the visit I am describing, New
Haven had not one half its present population, and
many of the institutions which now adorn it did not
exist. The college, however, was then, as now, a
leading literary institution in the country. To me
it was an object of special reverence, as my grand
father and his five sons had all been graduated there.
My brother and two of my cousins were at this time
among its inmates. Of course I looked with intense
curiosity at the several buildings that belonged to it.
The splendid mineralogical cabinet, now the first in
the United States, was not there ; nay, the science ol
mineralogy hardly existed at that time. The Trumbull
Gallery of Paintings, comprising many of the best
productions of that distinguished painter, and en
riched by nearly two hundred portraits of celebrated
men, has since been added. Nevertheless, many
things here excited my admiration. I looked with
particular interest — I may add with some degree of
envy — at the students, who seemed to me the privi
leged sons of the earth. Several were pointed out
as promising to be the master-spirits of their age and
generation ; in some cases I have since seen these an
ticipations fulfilled.

Next to the college I visited the bay, and for the

HISTORICAL ANEODOTICAL, ETC. 341

first time actually sto.od upon the shore of that liv
ing sea, which through my whole childhood had
spread its blue bosom before me, in the distant ho
rizon. A party of three or four of us took a boat, and
went down toward the entrance of the bay, landing
on the eastern side. From this point the view was
enchanting — it being a soft summer afternoon, and
the sea only breathed upon by light puffs of wind
that came from the west. I looked long, and with a
species of enhancement, at its heaving and swelling
surface : I ran my eye far away, till it met the line
where sky and wave are blent together : I followed
the lulling surf as it broke, curling and winding,
among the mimic bays of the rocky shore. I looked
down into the depths of the water, and perceived the
finny inhabitants, gliding through the dim recesses,
half sheltered in their tranquil domain by groves of
sea- weed, or the shadows of the deepening waters.
It was a spectacle not only full of beauty in itself,
but to me it was a revelation and a fulfillment of the
thousand half-formed fancies, which had been strug
gling in my longing bosom from very childhood.

Our party was so occupied with our contempla
tions, that we had scarcely noticed a thunder-storm,
which now approached and menaced us from the
west. We set out to return, but before we had got
half across the bay, it broke full upon us. The
change in the aspect of the sea was fearful : all its
gentleness was gone, and now, black and scowling,

342 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

it seemed, as if agitated by a demon, threatening
every thing with destruction that came within its
scope. By a severe struggle, we succeeded in reach
ing Long Wharf, though not without risk. The gen
eral impression of the whole scene upon my mind,
may be gathered from the following lines, though
you must not consider me as the literal hero of the
story, nor must you regard this description as a ver
itable account of the day's adventure :

I stood

Upon a rock that wall'd the Deep :
Before me roll'd the boundless flood —

A Glorious Dreamer in its sleep !
'Twas summer morn, and bright as heaven ;

And though I wept, I was not sad,
For tears, thou knowest, are often given

When the o'erflowing heart is glad.
Long, long I watch'd the waves, whose whirls*

Leap'd up the rocks, their brows to kiss,
And dallied with the sea-weed curls

That stoop'd and wooed the protfer'd bliss.
Long, long I listen'd to the peal

That whisper'd from the pebbly shore,
And like a spirit seem'd to steal

In music to my bosonrs core.
And now I look'd afar, and thought

The Sea a glad and glorious thing ;
And fancy to my bosom brought

Wild dreams upon her wizard wing —
Her wing that stretch'd o'er spreading waves,

And chased the far-off flashing ray,
Or hovering deep in twilight caves

Caught the lone mermaid at her play.

FIKST ADVENTURE UPON THE SEA. Vol. 1, p. 342.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIOAL, ETC. 343

And thus the sunny day went by,

And night came brooding o'er the seas ;
A thick cloud swathed the distant sky,

And hollow murmurs fill'd the breeze.
The white-gull, screaming, left the rock,

And seaward bent her glancing wing,
While heavy waves, with measured shock,

Made the dun cliff with echoes ring.
How changed the scene ! The glassy deep,

That si umber d in its resting-place,
And, seeming in its morning sleep

To woo me to its soft embrace —
N"ow waken'd, was a fearful thing —

A giant with a scowling form,
Who from his bosom seem'd to fling

The blacken'd billows to the storm !
The wailing winds in terror gush'd

From the swart sky, and seem'd to lash
The foaming waves, which madly rush'd

Toward the tall cliff with headlong dash.
Upward the glittering spray was sent,

Backward the growling surges whirl'd,
And splintered rocks by lightnings rent,

Down thundering midst the waves were hurl'd.
I trembled, yet I would not fly ;

1 fear'tl, yet loved, the awful scene ;
And gazing on the sea and sky,

Spell-bound I stood the rocks between.

'T\vas strange that I — a mountain-boy —

A lover of green fields and flowers —
One who with laughing rills could toy,

And hold companionship for hours
With leaves that whisper'd low at night,

Or fountains bubbling from their springs —

344 J.K'ITERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

Or summer winds, whose downy flight

Seem'd but the sweep of angel wings :
'Twas strange that I should love the clash

Of ocean in its maddest hour,
And joy to see the billows dash

O'er the rent cliff with fearful power.
'Twas strange — but I was nature's own,

Uncheck'd, untutor'd ; in my soul
A harp was set, that gave its tone

To every touch without control.
The zephyr stirr'd, in childhood warm,

Thoughts like itself, as soft and blest ;
And the swift fingers of the storm,

Woke its own echo in my breast.
Aye, and the strings that else had lain

Untouch'd, and to myself unknown,
Within iny heart, gave back the strain,

That o'er the sea and rock was thrown.

These lines were written many years after the
events I have been describing, yet the feelings and
fancies they portray were suggested, at least in part,
by this my first visit to the sea, and my first adven
ture upon its capricious bosom. I have since crossed
the Atlantic sixteen times, and am therefore familiar
with all the aspects of the ocean — but never have
they impressed me so deeply and so vividly as upon
this occasion.

The next object that attracted my attention was
the Court-house. Here, for the first time, I saw a
"Court" — its awful judges, holding the issues of life
and death, and sitting high and apart upon the

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIC AL, KTC. 345

"Bench;" here also were twelve hard-looking men,
exercising the high functions of that glorious Saxon
institution, called a "Jury." Here also was that terri
ble man — the " sheriff," and a poor wretch in a pen—
the " prisoner at the bar." The trial had already be
gun, and a lawyer, with a powdered head, was telling
the court — the jury and the judges — what a desperate
scoundrel he was. He proved him to be a burglar of
the very worst description. I felt my heart burn with
indignation that such a monster should ever have
been at large among society. Pretty soon another
lawyer got up, and made it as clear as light, that the
man was entirely innocent. My feelings were now
totally changed, and I felt as if he were a most de
serving and most injured person. The jury at last
went out, and after an anxious half hour, returned
with a verdict of " guilty." The court then seTi-
tenced the culprit to " Simsbury Mines"* for five years.

* The place called Simsbury Mines, or Newgate Prison, sixteen miles
northwest ot' Hartford, is actually within the limits of the town of Gran-
by, the latter having been set off from Simsbury in 1786. The mines
consist of deep excavations made in the rocks, for copper ore, by an
English company, about 1760. The speculation ended in disaster, and
the caverns began to be used for a prison about the time of the Revo
lutionary war. In 1790, by a legislative act, it was established as a per
manent state-prison under the name of Newgate — suitable buildings be
ing erected over the caverns for the purpose. I visited the place about
the year 1811 or 1812. The prisoners were heavily ironed with hand-
cutt's and fetters. In some cases several were fastened together by
chains attached to a bar of iron. Most of them worked in a smithy,
where each man was chained to his forge or bench. Sentinels, with
loaded muskets, stood ready to fire in case of revolt.

The object of the prison was not only to shut up felons, and thus to
protect society, but to cre:itc an 'ulna of horror in the public mind, and

346 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

I had been three hours in the court-room, and my
interest had been wound up to the highest pitch.
When I left it, my head was in a whirl ; my feelings
also were painfully excited. I had deemed that a
Court of Justice was holy ground ; that judges were
saints, and jurors grave men, deeply impressed with
the duty of a religious fulfillment of their high func
tions. I had imagined lawyers to be profoundly
skilled in the art of discerning and developing the

thus by a moral influence to prevent crime. The abandoned copper
mines were the sleeping place of the criminals. The descent to these
infernal regions was by a trap-door, leading down a ladder sixty or
seventy feet, through one of the shafts. At the bottom was a consider
able space, with short galleries leading in various directions. Here were
wooden berths, filled with straw. The prisoners descended the perpen
dicular ladder in their irons, and thus slept at night. They rose at four
in the morning, and went to their rest at four in the afternoon. Their
food was principally salt pork, salt beef, and beans. The caverns were
ventilated by a large shaft, descending into a well, near the center of the
excavations. Strange to say, the health of the prisoners was generally
excellent.

As if these gloomy regions did not inspire sufficient terror, it ap
pears that the neighborhood, according to popular ideas, was for a long
time peopled with beings from the other world. At one period certain
persons seemed to be bewitched, hearing singular noises, and seeing
spirits in the air. More recently, the crying of a child and other strange
sounds were heard in an uninhabited house. Several persons cauie
here to investigate the subject, and upon hearing the noises, suddenly
entered the place, but found nothing. Two young men one night slept
in the house, and about midnight, heard something rush in at the win
dow, like a gust of wind, upsetting the chairs, shovel and tongs, and
then pass down the ash-hole. What could it have been but Old Sooty
himself?

It is not astonishing that the very name of Slmsbury Mines did, in fact,
inspire ideas of peculiar horror. When I was a boy, it was regarded as
next door to that place which it is not polite to name. Malefactors, it is
said, were very shy of practicing their profession in Connecticut, for
fear of getting into this dreadful place. However, after a time, a total
change of ideas spread over the community, in regard to prisons : it was

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIC AT., ETC. 3tt7

truth. I bad indulged a fancy that justice and judg
ment would here reign in every heart, appear in every
face, and guide every tongue. How different seemed
the reality! The general impression on my mind
was a horror of the place, and all the proceedings :
it appeared to me that lawyers, judges, jury, sheriff,
and all, were a set of the most heartless creatures I
had ever seen — pretending to seek justice, and yet
without a single sentiment of humanity. Even de
cency seemed to be outraged, in the treatment of wit
nesses, and in jibes cast at the poor prisoner, who,
however guilty, rather invited sympathy than ridi
cule. I must confess that I have never got entirely
over this my first impression : the atmosphere of a
court-room is to me always depressing — though, I am
aware, that the manners here have undergone a great
and favorable revolution in modern times.

On Sunday I went to the college chapel, and heard
Dr. Dwight preach. He was then at the zenith of his
fame — a popular poet, an eloquent divine, a learned
author, and, crowning all, president of the college.

discovered that vindictive punishment was alike wrong 'in principle
and effect; that, in fact, it hardened the sinner, while it should always
be the object of punishment, in restraining the felon for the benefit of
society, to exercise a moral influence for his reformation. This idea must
be classed among the larger humanities which have enlightened and en
nobled the public spirit of modern times.

Some thirty years ago, in conformity with these views, Simsbury
Mines ceased to be a State Prison, aud an excellent institution for that
object was established in the beautiful town of Wethersfleld. Soon after
this period, Simsbury Mines were again wrought for copper, and I be
lieve with success.

348 LKTTKRS BIOGRAPHICAL,

He was unquestionably, at that time, the most con
spicuous man in New England, filling a larger space
in the public eye, and exerting a greater influence
than any other individual. No man, since his -time,
has held an equal ascendency, during his day and
generation, in New England — except perhaps Daniel
Webster. In allusion to his authority in matters ec
clesiastical as well as civil — for he was a statesman,
and exercised his influence in politics, not obtrusive
ly, but by his counsel — he was familiarly called by
political adversaries, Old Pope Dwight.

In person he was about six feet in height, and of
a full, round, manly form. His head was modeled
rather for beauty than craniological display. Indeed,
phrenology had not then been discovered, and accord
ingly great men were born without paying the slight
est attention to its doctrines. Dr. Dwight had, in
fact, no bumps : I have never seen a smoother,
rounder pa^e than his, which, being slightly bald
and close shorn, was easily examined. He had, how
ever, a noble aspect — a full forehead and piercing black
eyes, though partly covered up with large spectacles in
a tortoise-shell frame — for he had been long afflicted
with a morbid sensibility of the organs of sight. On
the whole, his presence was singularly commanding,
enforced by a manner somewhat authoritative and
emphatic. This might have been offensive, had not
his character and position prepared all around to tol
erate, perhaps to admire it. His voice was one of

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 349

the finest I ever have heard from the pulpit — clear,
hearty, sympathetic — and entering into the soul .like
the middle notes of an organ. The subject of his
discourse I do not recollect ; trained, however, as I
had been from childhood, to regard him as second
only to St. Paul — I discovered in it full justification
of his great fame.*

The house of my uncle, Elizur Goodrich, where

* The life of Timothy Dwight is full of interesting materials for the
biographer. His family connections, his precocity, his development, his
performances, his heart, his mind, the details of his career — all abound
in those striking lights and shades, which rivet the attention.

His father was a merchant of Northampton, his mother daughter of
Jonathan Edwards — the most renowned metaphysician America has pro
duced. He was born May 14, 1752. He learned the alphabet of his moth
er at one lesson : at six he read Latin ; at eight was fitted for college ;
at thirteen he entered Yale ; at nineteen he began his great poem of the
Conquest of Canaan, and finished it in three years, though it was not
published till 1785. He taught rhetoric, mathematics, and oratory in
the college for six years. After this he returned to Northamptop, and
in 1777, married Miss Woolsey, sister of Wm. W. Woolsey, for many
years a distinguished merchant in New Haven. The same year he was
licensed to preach, and became chaplain in the army, which he joined
at West Point. Here he wrote his celebrated song of Columbia. In 1781
he was a member of the State legislature ; and in 1783 was settled as
minister at Greenfield. His meeting-house was visible to the naked eye
from the windows of our house at Kidgefield. In this village he wrote
his fine poem of Greenfield Hill, which appeared in 1794. The next year
he succeeded Dr. Stiles as President of ^Yale College, a post which he
filled till his death, Jan. 11, 1817, at the age of 64.

Dr. Dwight's works are numerous and valuable : besides poems, es
says, &c., he wrote several volumes of Travels, descriptive of scenes and
places in New England, which he had visited during college vacations.
His greatest work is Theology Explained and Defended. .This has been
extensively published here and in England, and is greatly admired for
its argument, its eloquence, and its happy manner as well of statement
as of illustration.

The following memoranda, respecting this great man, have been mostly
furnished me by his nephew, Mr. Theodore Dwight, now of New York
(1856).

350 , LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

we stayed, was then rather the focal point of society
in the city — partly because of his official position
and genial manners, and partly, also, on account of
the character of his wife, who, to say the least, in a
happy union of the highest womanly qualities, was in
ferior to few ladies of her time. Every evening there
was here a levee of accidental visitors, consisting of

The Dwiglit family in this country ia descended from John Dwight,
who came from England in 1637, and settled at Dedham, in Massachu
setts. The grandfather of Dr. Dwight built Fort Dummur, the first set
tlement within the bounds of Vermont, about 1723-4. Here the father
of Dr. Dwight was born. He was a man of immense strength and
stature. During the Revolutionary war he went to New Orleans and
up the Mississippi, where he purchased land, intending to remove there
with his large family. The tract extended some miles along the bank,
and included the site of the present city of Natchez ; but he soon after
died of a fever. A son who accompanied him was lost at sea, and the
evidence of his title to the land was never found.

The news of the death of the father of the family was about a year
in reaching them. It was a summer day, and one of the elder sons
was making hay in a field, when one of the smallest children, who had
been present at its announcement, came tottering through the grass,
with the sad story. The youth threw his pitchfork into the air, and
exclaimed, " Then we're all ruined !" and such was the force of his emo
tions, that his mind never recovered from the effects to the day of his
death.

Timothy, the eldest son, was absent with the army. He now (1778) went
to reside in Northampton, with his mother, and assumed the manage
ment of the aifairs of the family. He carried on their two farms, and
at the same time conducted a school, and preached in the adjacent towns.
A number of young ladies and gentlemen from different parts of the
country, were among his pupils. He had two ushers — one of whom was
Joel Barlow. Gen. Zechariah Huntington and Judge Hosmer were his
pupils ; and a number of young men went to him from Yale College,
after the capture of New Haven. He was at that time very acceptable
as :i preacher, often filling the pulpit where his grandfather, Jonathan
Edwards, had officiated. He not only directed the business of the farms,
but often worked in the field with the men, his brother Theodore being
at his side. The latter, from whom these facts are derived, mentioned
that the hired men used to contest for the privilege of mowing next to
Timothy, "that they .might hear him talk''1 — fluent, interesting, and in-

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 351

the distinguished men of the city, and often including
other celebrities. Among the noted individuals I saw
there, was John Allen,' brother of Mrs. Goodrich — a
man of eminent talents and most imposing person,
being six feet six inches high, with a corresponding
power of expression in his form and face. He had
been a member of Congress, and is recorded in its

structive conversation being at that time, as through life, one of his
characteristics.

The family comprised thirteen children, nearly all of whom were now
at home. The house was in King-street, and next to it, on the east, was
that which had been the residence of Jonathan Edwards during his
ministry. There David Brainard had died, nursed in his last sickness
by one of the daughters of Mr. E. , to whom he was engaged. In the
burying-ground was the 'grave of Brainard, which was then, and long
after, annually visited by some of his Indian converts, who used to make
long journeys through the wilderness to sit a few hours in silent medi
tation and mourning, over his ashes.

Timothy Dwight had been trained from his earliest years among the
simple but refined society of Northampton, and was familiarized with
the history of the French and Indian wars, which had been the sources
of so much suffering to the friends and ancestors of those around him.
The impressions which he received from such scenes and examples, were
permanent on his character and life. He entered the American revolu
tionary army as a chaplain to General Putnam's regiment, with the ardor
of a youthful Christian patriot; preached with energy to the troops in
camp, sometimes with a pile of the regiment's drums before him, instead
of a desk. One of his sermons, intended to raise the drooping cour
age of the country, when Bnrgoyne had come down from Canada with
his army, and was carrying all before him — was published, and a copy
read to the garrison in Fort Stanwix, on the Mohawk river, when Sir
John Johnson had cut oft" their- communications with Albany, and threat
ened their destruction. The venerable Colonel Platt, many years after,
affirmed that it was owing to this sermon, that the garrison resolved to
hold out to the last extremity, and made the sally in which they routed
and drove off their besiegers, delivering Albany from imminent danger,
and contributing materially to the defeat of the British in their cam
paign of 1777.

Many of the personal traits of Dr. Dwight were interesting. He wrote
like copperplate : such was the rapid flow of his ideas that he could em
ploy at the same time two amanuenses, by dictating to them on totally

352 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

annals by the title of " Long John." He was in
person, as well as mind, a sort of Anakim among the
members of the House.*

Here also I saw Dr. Dwight, who was perhaps even
more distinguished in conversation than in the pulpit.
He was indeed regarded as without a rival in this
respect : his knowledge was extensive and various,
and his language eloquent, rich, and flowing. His
fine voice and noble person gave great effect to what
he said. When he spoke, others were silent. This
arose in part from the superiority of his powers, but
in part also from his manner, which, as I have said,
was somewhat authoritative. Thus he engrossed, not
rudely, but with the willing assent of those around
him, the lead in conversation. Nevertheless, I must
remark, that in society the imposing grandeur of

different subjects. He labored daily in the garden, or in some other way,
holding it to be the duty of every man to labor, bodily, so as to insure
the perfection of life and enjoyment. He advised professional men, in
traveling, and on other occasions, to enter into easy and kindly conver
sation with strangers, as a means of gaining knowledge, and cultivating
a kindly feeling in society. He constantly taught the duty of courtesy
and politeness ; he loved his country and our free institutions, and in
culcated the duty of a constant endeavor to elevate and ennoble the
public sentiment. He despised all meanness, and especially that dem-
agogism, which, under a pretense of patriotism, is seeking only for self-
promotion, and which is even willing to degrade the people, in order to
gratify personal ambition. It is impossible to measure the good done
by such a man by his personal example, by his influence upon the stu
dents under his care for twenty years, and by the impress of his noble
character upon the important institution which was the theater of his
labors.

* Hon. John Allen was a native of Great Barrington : he settled in
Litchfield in 1785, and died in 1812. He was not only a member of Con
gress, but also of the State Council for several years. His sou, John
W. Allen, of Cleveland, has been a member of Congress.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 353

his personal appearance in the pulpit, was softened
by a general blandness of expression and a sedulous
courtesy of manner, which were always conciliating,
and sometimes really captivating. His smile was
irresistible.

In reflecting upon this good and great man, and
reading his works in after-time, I am still impressed
with his general superiority — his manly intellect, his
vast range of knowledge, and his large heart ; — yet, I
am persuaded that, on account of his noble person — •
the perfection of the visible man — he exercised a pow
er in his day and generation, somewhat beyond the
natural scope of his mental endowments. Those who
read his works only, can not fully realize the impres
sion which he made upon the age in which he lived.
His name is still honored : many of his works still
live. His Body of Divinity takes the precedence, not
only here, but in England, over all works of the
same kind and the same doctrine ; but at the period
to which I refer, he was regarded with a species of
idolatry by those around him. Even the pupils of
the college under his presidential charge — those who
are not usually inclined to hero-worship — almost
adored him. To this day, those who had the good
fortune to receive their education under his auspices,
look back upon it as a great era in their lives.

There was indeed reason for this. With all his
greatness in other respects, Dr. Dwight seems to have
been more particularly felicitous as the teacher, the

354: LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

counsellor, the guide, of educated young men. In
the lecture-room all his high and noble qualities
seemed to find their full scope. He did not here
confine himself to merely scientific instruction : he
gave lessons in morals and manners, and taught,
with a wisdom which experience and common sense
only could have furnished, the various ways to in
sure success in life. He gave lectures upon health —
the art of maintaining a vigorous constitution, with
the earnest pursuit of professional duties — citing his
own example, which consisted in laboring every
day in the garden, when the season permitted, and
at other times at some mechanical employment. He
recommended that in intercourse with mankind, his
pupils should always converse with each individual
upon that subject in which he was most instructed,
observing that he never met a man of whom he could
not learn something. He gave counsel, suited to the
various professions ; to those who were to become
clergymen, he imparted the wisdom which he had
gathered by a life of long and active experience : he
counseled those who were to become lawyers, physi
cians, merchants — and all with a fullness of knowl
edge and a felicity of illustration and application, as
if he had actually spent a life in each of these voca
tions. And more than this : he sought to infuse into
the bosom of all, that high principle which served
to inspire his own soul — that is, to be always a gen
tleman, taking St. Paul as his model. He considered

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 355

not courtesy only, but truth, honor, manliness in all
things, as essential to this character. Every kind of
meanness he despised. Love of country was the con
stant theme of his eulogy. Religion was the soul of
his system. God was the center of gravity, and man
should make the moral law as inflexible as the law
of nature. Seeking to elevate all to this sphere, he
still made its orbit full of light — fhe light of love,
and honor, and patriotism, and literature, and ambi
tion — all verging toward that fullness of glory, which
earth only reflects and heaven only can unfold.

Was not this greatness ? — not the greatness of ge
nius, for after all Dr. D wight was only a man of large
common sense and a large heart, inspired by high
moral principles. He was, in fact, a Yankee, Christian
gentleman — nothing more — nothing less. Where
could such character — with such lights and shades —
be produced, except here in our stern, yet kindly cli
mate of New England ? Can you find such a biog
raphy as this in France ? in Germany ? in Old Eng
land, even ? You may find men of genius, but hardly
of that Puritan type, so well illustrated in the life and
character of Timothy Dwight. Shake not your head,
then, my dear C . . . ., and say that nothing good can
come of this, our cold, northern Nazareth !

Another man, whom I now saw for the first time,
was Professor Silliman, then beginning to fill a large
space in the public eye. He had recently returned
from a visit to Europe, but did not publish his " Jour

356 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

nal of Travels" till the next year. It was a great
thing then to go to Europe, and get back safe. It
was a great thing then to look upon a person who
had achieved such an enterprise, and especially a man
like the professor, who had held communication with
the learned and famous people on the other side of the
Atlantic. But this was not all : Professor Silliman
had begun to popularize the discoveries of the new
science of Chemistry. What wonders were thus dis
closed to the astonished people ! By means of blow
pipes, flasks, and crucibles, all nature seemed to be
transformed as by the spells of a sorcerer. The four old-
fashioned elements were changed — proved, in short,
to be impostors, having been passed off from time
immemorial as solid, substantial, honest elements,
while they were in fact, each and all, only a parcel
of compounds ! Fire was no longer fire ; it was only
an incident of combustion : heat was a sensation, and
at the bottom of the whole matter was a thing called
caloric. Earth, that stable, old-fashioned footstool of
man and his Maker, was resolved into at least fifty
ingredients ; air was found to be made up of two
gases, called oxygen and nitrogen — one being a sort
of good angel, supporting life and combustion, and
the other a kind of bad devil, stifling the breath, put
ting out the candle, and destroying vegetation. As
to water, that, too, was forced to confess that it had
hitherto practiced an imposition upon the world, for
instead of being a simple, frank, honest element, it

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 357

was composed of oxygen and hydrogen — the latter
of such levity as to be fit for little else than inflating
balloons !

What a general upsetting of all old-fashioned ideas
of creation was this ! It is scarcely possible for any
one to conceive what a change has taken place,
through the influence of chemistry, within the last
half century. Every substance in nature has been
attacked, and few have preserved their integrity.
This science has passed from the laboratory to the
workshop, the manufactory, the farm, the garden, the
kitchen. Everybody is now familiar with its discov
eries, its principles, its uses. Chemistry, which was.
a black art when I was a boy, is in the school-books
now ; and Professor Silliman was the great magi
cian that brought about this revolution in our coun
try. He had just commenced his incantations, and
already the world began to echo with their wonders.
With what engrossing admiration did I look at him,
when he came into the room, and I heard his name
announced ! •

At this time, his lectures were not only attended
by the youth of the college, but by a few privileged
ladies and gentlemen from the world without. I
went with one of my cousins, entertaining the common
idea that chemistry was much the same as alchemy —
an art whose chief laboratory was in the infernal re
gions. I had read something about the diableries of
Friar Bacon, seeking by compact with the Great

358 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

Blacksmith below, to discover the philosopher's
stone, but hitting by accident upon gunpowder ;
and this formed my general notion of the science.
When I entered the lecture-room, and saw around,
a furnace, an anvil, a sink, crucibles, flasks, retorts,
receivers, spatulas, a heap of charcoal, a bed ol
sand, with thermometers, pyrometers, barometers,
hydrometers, and an array of other ometers, with
a variety of odd-looking instruments — the use of
which I could not imagine — I began to feel a strange
sort of bewilderment. This was turned to anxiety,
when I perceived in the air an odor that I had never
experienced before, and which seemed to me to
breathe of that pit which is nameless as well as bot
tomless. I asked one of the pupils who sat near me
about it, and he said it was sulphureted hydrogen,
whereupon I became composed ; not that I knew any
better what it was, but as they had a name for it, I
supposed it was of earth and not of the other place.

At last the lecturer began. I was immediately at
tracted by his bland manner and beautiful speech.
All my horrors passed instantly away, and in a few
moments I was deep in the labyrinths of alkalies,
acids, oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen, &c. I learned
how sulphur with an ic meant one thing, with an ous,
another, with an et, another, and so on. Finally, the
professor got beyond my reach, and I was completely
lost in a maze of words, too deep for my comprehen
sion. But now the theory was done, and the experi

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 359

ments began. The lights were put out. A piece of
wire was coiled in a glass jar, filled with oxygen. A
light was applied — and fizz — fizz — fizz, went the wire,
actually burning like a witch-quill ! That was chem
istry, brought down to the meanest capacity. We
all clapped hands, as they do now at Niblo's. Af
ter this, one or two of the pupils took exhilarating
gas, and thereupon seemed to enjoy the most deli
cious trances. Still other experiments followed, and
everybody was convinced that the new science was
not. a thing to be feared, as smelling of necromancy,
but that in fact it was an honest science, fit to be
introduced even into the domestic arts. Since that
time it has actually transformed the whole business
of life, producing benefits which no words can ade
quately describe.

Geology followed close upon the heels of chemis
try. This, too, which was confined to the arcana of
science in my boyhood, and was even there a novelty,
is now a school study. Professor Silliman has been
a leader in this also. He had commenced at the peri
od of which I am speaking, but he had only advanced
into its precincts — the science of mineralogy. This
had begun to be popular in the centers of learning :
young collegians went into the mountains with bags
and hammers, and came back loaded with queer stones.
In fact, hunting specimens took the place of hunting
bears, deer, and foxes, and was pursued with all the
ardor of the chase. Ladies, turning blue, had pieces

360 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

of marble, ore, quartz, and other things of the kind,
on their mantel-pieces, and those who were thorough
ly dyed, had little cabinets, all arranged on Haiiy's
principles of crystallography. Let me tell an anecdote
in illustration of the spirit of the age.

About this time Colonel Gibbs, originally from
Rhode Island, but who now lived on Long Island,
near Flushing, became an enthusiast in the new sci
ence. He was in fact the founder of the splendid min-
eralogical cabinet at present belonging to Yale Col
lege. While he was in the very crisis of his fever, he
chanced to be traveling in a stage-coach among one of
the remote rocky districts of New Hampshire. Coming
at last to a region which looked promising of min-
eralogical discoveries, he stopped at a small, obscure
tavern, borrowed a hammer, and went into the mount
ains. Here he soon became engrossed in his research
es, which were speedily rewarded by several interest
ing specimens. In his enthusiasm, his own exertions
were not sufficient, so that he employed several per
sons to assist him in knocking the rocks to pieces.
At the end of a week he had completely exhausted
his cash. He then paid the workmen in coats, panta
loons, boots, shoes, and at last in shirts. These finally
came to an end, and he paid in promises, in no de
gree abating his zeal. By this time he had collected
three sacks of stones, which it took six men to carry.
The people around did not comprehend him, and of
course supposed him to be insane. One day, while

HISTOKICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 361

he chanced to be in the tavern, an acquaintance of
his came along in the stage-coach, and the two eager
ly exchanged salutations. The keeper of the hotel,
seeing this, took the stranger aside, and said :

" You seem to be acquainted with this gentleman ?"

" Yes ; I know him : it is Colonel Gibbs, of Long
Island."

" Well, he said his name was Gibbs, but he is as
mad as a March hare."

" Indeed : what makes you think so ?"

" Why he has been here a fortnight knocking all
Monadnock to pieces. He has spent all his money,
and given away his clothes, till he hasn't a shirt to
his back. If you are a friend of his, you ought to
make his family acquainted with his situation, so
that he may be taken care of."

" Oh, I understand. The colonel is not insane :
he is a mineralogist."

" A what ?"

" A mineralogist — a collector of curious stones."

" Are they to eat ?"

" No ; they are specimens to be preserved for sci
entific purposes."

" Ha, ha ! what quiddles there are in this world f
Every little while, one on 'em comes along here.
Last year, a man, called a professor from Cambridge,
stopped here a week, ketching all the bugs, beetles,
and butterflies he could find. About the same time,
another man carne, and he went into the mountains,

VOL. I.— 16

LETf ERS BIOGRAPHIC AL,

pulling up all the odd weeds and strange plants he
met with. He took away a bundle as big as a hay
cock ; and now this Colonel somebody is making a
collection of queer stones 1 I think the people down
your way can't have much to du, else they wouldn't
take to such nonsense as this."

I give you this story, not vouching for its precise
accuracy, but as characterizing the zeal for modern sci
ence, in this its birthday. The truth is, that somewhat
more than half a century ago, physical science had al
most completely engrossed the leading minds in Eu
rope. Discouraged or disgusted with diving into the
depths of metaphysics, the learned world eagerly be
gan to bore into the bowels of the earth : instead of
studying mind, they pounded and pondered upon mat
ter. Chemistry, mineralogy, geology, and a whole
family of ologies, became the rage. This transat
lantic epidemic migrated to America. It was in full
vigor among the learned here, at the time I speak
of. In the benighted parts of the country, as in the
precincts of Monadnock, this mania still appeared
to be madness. There was method in it, how
ever. The modern discoveries of chemistry, min
eralogy, &c., as already intimated, have wrought a
change in human knowledge, astonishing alike for
the enlargement of its boundaries, the novelty of its
revelations, and the certainty and precision which
have taken the place of doubt and conjecture. The
hills, the mountains, the valleys, with their founda-

HISTORICAL, ANKCDOTICAL, ETC. 303

tions — the layers of rocks which have been hidden
from the "beginning" — have been examined, and their
secrets laid open to the world. Here have been found
the traces of kingdoms — vegetable, mineral, and an
imal — belonging to other creations, such as leaves of
perished races of plants, bones of extinct races of ani
mals, rocks built before the flood. These have all
become familiar to us, and their inscriptions have dis
closed wonders of which mankind had never before
dreamed. Thus within the last fifty years, new sci
ences have been created, and have lavished their
wonders upon the astonished world. Champollion
discovered the means of interpreting the mystic signs
upon the monuments of Egypt ; but behold a greater
wonder : Cuvier and his followers have enabled us
to read the lines written by God upon the rocks which
were laid deep in the foundations of the earth, mil
lions of ages ago !

When Dr. Webster came to revise his Dictionary
in 1840, after a lapse of twelve years, he found it ne
cessary to add several thousand words, in order to
express the ideas which had recently passed from
technological science, into our common language.
Similar additions were required, a few years after, in
the preparation of another revised edition. Nothing
can more strikingly mark the progress of knowledge,
not merely in the minds of scholars, but among the
masses, during the period to which I refer, than this.
There is no half century like the last, in the history

LKTTKKS— BIOGKAl'lIIOAL

of mankind. Nor is the end jet. The thirst for
discovery seems only to have begun.

Indeed, such is the celerity of our progress, that
some heads grow giddy. They begin to see double : old
men have visions, and young maidens dream dreams.
Materialism pervades the air, and the new spiritual
world is a mere mesmeric phantasmagoria of this
earthy ball, which we inhabit. Spirits, now-a-days,
push about tables, rap at the door, tumble over the
chairs, learn the alphabet, and spell their names with
emphasis. Lusty spirits are they, with vigorous mus
cles, hard knuckles, and rollicking humors! They
will talk, too, and as great nonsense as any alive.
If these are the only kind of souls to be met with,
in their seven heavens, one would hardly like to go
there. Eeally, these mesmeric spirits seem very much
of the ardent kind, and I suspect have more alcohol
of the imagination than real immortality about them.

Another remarkable person whom I saw at my un
cle's house was Eli Whitney, the inventor of the cotton-
gin. He was a large man of rather full habit, slightly
round-shouldered, and doubling himself forward as he
sat. His face was large and slightly oval ; his nose
long and hooked ; his eye deep-set, black, and keen ;
his look penetrating and prolonged. His hair was
black, though sprinkled with gray, for he was now
some five and forty years old ; his skin was smooth,
sallow, and pallid. Altogether, his appearance was
striking, the expression of his face having a deep

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 365

thoughtfulness about the brow, tempered by a pleas
ant smile at the corners of the mouth.

In conversation he was slow, but his thoughts
were clear and weighty. His knowledge seemed at
once exact and diversified : he spoke more of science
than literature ; he was not discursive, but logically
pursued trains of thought, shedding light at every
sentence. Few men have lived to more purpose
than he. Before his time, cotton was separated from
the seed by hand, and hence its price was thirty to
fifty cents a pound. He produced a machine, by
which a series of hooked, iron teeth, playing through
openings in a receiver, performed the labor of five
hundred men in a day ! An immense facility in the
production of cotton has been the result, with a cor
responding fall in its price and extension of its use,
throughout Christendom.

In 1790,* cotton was hardly known in this country ;

* Cotton appears to have been used in India for making cloths as
early as 440 B. c., and probably long before that time, yet here the art
remained isolated for ages. The Arabians at length brought India cot
ton to Adula, on the Red Sea, whence it was introduced into Europe.
The cotton manufacture was brought there by the Moors of Spain in the
ninth century. Raw cotton was first introduced into England from the
Levant, chiefly for candlewicks. The cotton manufacture was brought
hither by the refugees from the Low Countries in the time of Queen
Elizabeth. For a long time, the fabrics produced were coarse ; the finei
cotton goods — muslins, calicoes, chintzes, being largely supplied from
India. In 1730, Mr. Wyatt first began to spin cotton by machinery. IK
1742, the first cotton-spinning mill was built at Manchester, the motive-
power being mules and horses. The entire value of the cotton manu
facture of England in 1760 was a million of dollars: now it is probablj
two hundred millions of dollars.

In 1790, Mr. Slater put up at Pawtucket, R. I., the first cotton-mill in

866 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

in 1800, the whole product of the United States was
eighty -five thousand bales ; in 1855, it is three millions
and a half of bales. Nearly half the nations of the
earth, seventy-five years ago, went naked or in rags,
or in bark or skins ; but they are now clothed in cot
ton. Then a shirt cost a week's work ; now a. man
earns two shirts in a day. Now, during every twelve
hours of daylight, the spindles of the world produce
threads of cotton sufficient to belt our globe twenty
times round at the equator! And Eli Whitney was
the Chief Magician who brought this about.

At the time I speak of, his Gun-factory, two miles
north of New Haven, was the great curiosity of the
neighborhood. Indeed, people traveled fifty miles to
see it. I think it employed about a hundred men.
It was symmetrically built in a wild romantic spot,
near the foot of East Eock, and had a cheerful, taste
ful appearance — like a small tidy village. We visited
it of course, and my admiration was excited* to the
utmost. What a bound did my ideas make in me
chanics, from the operations of the penknife, to this
miracle of machinery ! It was, at the time, wholly

America. In 1802, the first cotton factory was erected in New Hampshire.
In 1804, the first power-loom was introduced at Waltham ; in 1822, the
first cotton factory was built at Lowell. The cotton manufactures of
the United States now amount to sixty-five millions of dollars a year !

In 1789, about one million pounds of cotton were produced in the Uni
ted States; in 1792, Whitney perfected his gin for cleaning cotton; in
1810, the United States produced eighty-five millions pounds of cotton:
in 1820, one hundred and sixty millions; in 1830, three hundred and
fifty millions ; in 1855, probably fourteen hundred millions. The Uni
ted States are now the chief cotton producers for the world.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 367

engaged in manufacturing muskets for the govern
ment. Mr. Whitney was present, and showed us
over the place, explaining the various processes.
Every part of the weapons was made by machinery,
and so systematized that any lock or stock would fit
any barrel. All this, which may seem no wonder
now, was remarkable at the time, there being no sim
ilar establishment in the country. Among other
things, we here saw the original model of the Cotton-
gin,* upon which Mr. Whitney's patent was founded.

* Eli Whitney was born at Westborough, Mass., in 1765, of parents in
the middle ranks of life. He showed an early propensity to mechan
ics, first making a very good fiddle, and then mending fiddles for the
neighborhood. He once got his father's watch, aud slily took it to
pieces, but contrived to put it together again, BO as not to be detected.
At the age of thirteen he made a table-knife to match the set, one of
which had been broken. During the Kevolutionary war he took to nail-
making, nails being very scarce, and made a profitable business of it. He
then made long pins for ladies' bonnets, walking-canes, &c. At the age
ot' nineteen he began to think of college, and surmounting various obsta
cles, entered Yale in 1789, having been fitted in part by Dr. Goodrich,
of Durham. In college he displayed great vividness of imagination in
his compositions, with striking mechanical talent — mending, on a cer
tain occasion, some philosophical apparatus, greatly to the satisfaction
and surprise of the Faculty. •

In 1792 he went to Georgia, as teacher in the family of Mr. B . . . .
On his arrival, he found that the place was supplied; happily he fell
under the kind care and patronage of Mrs. Greene, widow of Gen. G.
Hearing the planters lament that there was no way of separating cotton
from the seed but by hand, and that it took a slave a whole day to clean
a pound, he set privately to work, and after a time produced his gin,
which was to make such a revolution in the world. In this process, he
was obliged to make his own wire. On disclosing his discovery, the
planters saw at once the vast field of enterprise open to them. Whitney
took immediate steps to secure a patent, and made arrangements to man
ufacture gins, but a series of misfortunes and discouragements defeated
him. The history of his career at this period is a melancholy story of
efforts baffled, hopes disappointed, and engagements violated, disclo
sing the most shameful wrongs and outrages on the part of Individ-

368 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

LETTER XXIII,

Durham— History of Connecticut- -Distinguished Families of Durham--
Tho Chau.nceys, Wadsworths, Lymans, Goodriches, Austins, dkc. — Wood,-
bury — How Romance becomes History — Rev. Noah Benedict — Judge
Smith.

MY DKAK C******

Having spent about a. week at New Haven, we
proceeded to Durham, an old-fashioned, sleepy town
of a thousand inhabitants. Its history lies chiefly in
the remarkable men it has produced — the Chaun-

Vila, and even of courts and legislatures. He instituted sixty suits in
Georgia for violations of his rights, and was not able to get a single de
cision until thirteen years from the commencement ! Thus, in fact, tho
great benefactor of the cotton interest of the South, only derived years
of misery and vexation from his invention.

In 1798, through the influence of Oliver Wolcott, Secretary of the
Treasury, he obtained a contract for the manufacture of arms for the
United States, and then established his factory at Whitneyville. He
was eight years in producing ten thousand pieces. At length, however,
his measures being completed, his establishment was one of the most
perfect in the world, and the arms he provided were probably the best
then made in any country.

In 1822, he applied for a renewal of his patent for the cotton-gin. It
was estimated that the value of one hundred millions of dollars had then
been added to the lands of the South by tliis invention, while he had
reaped only sorrow and embarrassment ; yet he failed, most of the
southern members of Congress opposing his request !

In 1817, he married a daughter of the celebrated Pierpont Edwards,
Jndge of the District Court for the State of Connecticut. In 1822, he
was attacked witli disease, which terminated his career in 1825. His
character, like life life, was remarkable : though a refined scholar, he
was a skillful mechanic — no man in his shop being able to handle tools
more dexterously than himself: though possessing a fine imagination,
and a keen inventive faculty, he had a perseverance in pursuing his
plans to completion, that nothing could arrest. He was at once ener
getic and systematic; dignified, yet courteous ; large in his views, yet

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 36'J

ceys,* celebrated in the literary, clerical, official, and
professional annals of New England, and I may add,
of the country at large ; the Wadsworths, no less
noted in various commanding stations, military and
civil, public and private ; the Lymans, renowned in
the battle-field, the college, the pulpit, and the sen
ate ; the Austins — father and son — to whose talent
and enterprise Texas owes her position as a member
of this Union.

precise in detail ; a profound thinker, and scrutinizing nature and its
phenomena with amazing depth of thought, yet coming at last with the
docility of a child to the Christian's confession — " I am a sinner, may
God have mercy upon me !"

* Whoever would understand the true history of Connecticut, should
not confine his reading to general works on this subject, but should
look into the local histories and genealogical memoranda of towns and
villages, of which there are now agreat number. A good collection may
be found in the Library of the Hartford Athenenrn. If any one desires
to know the annals of Durham, let him read the sermon delivered by
Professor W. C. Fowler at that place, Dec. 29, 1847, and printed at
Araherst, Mass., 1848. The notes will prove a revelation, not of history
only, but of something like romance. The number of great men pro
ceeding from this small town, in times past, is not only striking but
instructive, as it suggests and illustrates the manner in which Connec
ticut has exerted a powerful influence upon this country — the United
States — I might even say upon this continent. Among the families of
Durham, noticed by Professor Fowler, are the following :

The Chauneeys. — Nathaniel Chauncey, grandson of President Chaun-
ccy, of Harvard College, was born at Hatfield, Mass., 1681, was gradu
ated at Yale in 1702 — belonging to the first class that graduated in that
college, all of whom became ministers. He was ordained at Durham in
1711, and died there 1756. His son, Elihu Chauncey, lived in Durham,
and was a man of high character and large influence. His daughter,
Catherine, married Dr. Goodrich, who was my grandfather. His son,
Charles Chauncey, settled at New Haven, and was a man of extensive
learning and great ability. He became attorney-general of the State
and judge of the Superior Court. He received the title of LL. D. from
the college at MMdlebury ; and died 1823. Among his children were
< 'hurles Chauncoy, LL.D.. distinguished MS an cminci.t lawver and re-

16*

370 LKTTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

To this list of remarkable names, I trust I may add
that of the Goodriches, without the imputation of
egotism, for historical justice demands it. At the
time I visited the place, nearly all the family had
long since left it. My grandfather — Dr. Goodrich —
died in 1797, but my grandmother was living, as
well as her daughter, Mrs. Smith, wife of Rev. David
Smith, the clergyman of the place, who had succeed
ed to my grandfather's pulpit.

I had never any great fancy for genealogies, so I
did not study the broad-spreading tree of the family,
its roots running back to the time of Godric the Saxon
— the great Adam of the race — as is duly set forth

fined gentleman, settled at Philadelphia, and died 1349 ; Elihu Chnnn-
cey, a distinguished merchant of Philadelphia, died 1847. Many others,
descendants of the Durham Chaunceys, attained distinction.

The Wadxworths. — Among the Durham Wadsworths, were the follow
ing : Col. James, from Farmington, born 1675, filled various offices, civil
and military, and was much honored and respected in his time. Gen
eral James Wadsworth, grandson of the preceding, became major-
general and member of Congress during the Revolutionary war, died
1*17, aged 87. James Wadsworth, nephew of the preceding, born 17(53,
founded the great Wadsworth estate in western New York, and distin
guished himself by his successful labors in behalf of school education :
lie died 1844. Other members of this branch of the family have reached
high and honored celebrity.

The Lymans. — Phineas Lyrnan, born at Durham, 1716, became major-
general ; gained the victory at Lake George, in the French and Indian
war, for Gen. William Johnson (who received five thousand pounds
and a baronetcy therefor), and performed various other military exploits.
Jle projected a settlement in the Southwest, and died in West Florida,
1775. The history of his family is full of tragic interest. Other mem-
bi-rs of the family were distinguished.

The Goodrichw. — See Fowler's notes, above mentioned ; also Hollis-
ter's History of Connecticut, vol. ii. pp. 684, etc.

The Austins.- -For this remarkable fumilv. consult also Fowler's notes.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 371

in King William's Doomsday-Book. Two old bache
lors of the place — a little quaint and starch, but studi
ously polite and very gentleman-like, with a splendid
farm, and a house embellished with old oak carvings
— told me something about it, and made it out, by a
long chain of links, that I was their great, great, double
cousin ; that is, on my mother's, as well as my father's
side. My grandmother also explained to me, that
somewhere since the building of Babel, her family was
blent with the Griswolds, whence I got my middle
name — in token of which she gave me a reverend
silver-headed cane, marked I. G., that is, John Gris-
wold, who was her great-grandfather. Of course, I
have piously kept this antediluvian relic to the pres
ent day.

I trust I have all due respect for this my little, fat,
paternal grandmother, and who has already, by the
way, been introduced to your notice. She was now
quite lame, having broken her leg some years before,
and appeared to me shorter than ever ; ' nevertheless,
she was active, energetic, and alive to every thing that
was passing. She welcomed me heartily, and took
'he best care of me in the world — lavishing upon me,

without stint, all the treasures of her abundant larder.

Vs to her Indian puddings — alas, I shall never see
-heir like again ! A comfortable old body she was in
all things — and as I have before remarked, took a
special interest in the welfare of the generation of
descendants risinsr UD around her. When she saw

.', i 3 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

me eating with a good appetite, her benignant grand
motherly face beamed like a lantern.

She was a model housekeeper, and as such had great
administrative talents. Every thing went right in the
household, the garden, the home lot, the pasture, and
the little farm. The hens laid lots of large fresh
eggs, the cows gave abundance of milk, the pigs were
fat as butter ; the wood-pile was always full. There
was never any agony about the house : all was me
thodical, as if regulated by some law of nature. The
tall old clock in the entry, although an octogenarian,
was still staunch, and ticked and struck with an em
phasis that enforced obedience. When it told seven
in the morning, the breakfast carne without daring to
delay even for a minute. The stroke of twelve
brought the sun to the noon -mark, and dinner to the
table. The tea came at six. At sunset on Saturday
evening, the week's work was done, and according to
the Puritan usage, the Sabbath was begun. All sud
denly became quiet and holy. Even the knitting-
work was laid aside. Meditation was on every brow ;
the cat in the corner sat with her eyes half shut, as
if she too were considering her ways.

On the morning of the Holy Day, all around was
silent. The knife and fork were handled quietly, at
the table. The toilet, though sedulously performed,
was made in secret. People walked as if they had
gloves on their shoes. Inanimate nature seemed to
know that God rested on that day, arid hallowed it.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 373

The birds put on a Sunday air : the cows did not
low from hill to hill as on other days. The obstre
perous hen deposited her egg, and cackled not. At
nine o'clock, the solemn church bell rang, and in the
universal stillness, its tones swelled over the village
like a voice from above. At ten, the second bell
rang, and the congregation gathered in. There, in
the place she had held for forty years, was my good
grandmother, in rain and shine, in summer and in
winter. Though now well stricken in years, and the
mother of staunch men — their names honored in the
pulpit, the senate, and at the bar — she still faltered
not in the strait and narrow path of duty. She
was strong-minded, and showed it by a life which ele
vated, ennobled, and illustrated the character of the
mother, the wife, the woman, as she had learned to re
gard it. It was pleasant to see with what affectionate
reverence the people saluted her, as if, in addition to
the love they bore her, she still carried with her re
membrances of her now almost worshiped husband.
Many years she lived after this, but she is now num
bered with the dead. Let her portrait have a place
in these pages as a fine specimen of the New England
wife of the olden time.

As to my uncle and aunt Smith, I may remark that
they were plain, pious people, the former worthily fill
ing the pulpit of my grandfather, and enjoying a high
degree of respect, alike from his position and charac
ter. Besides attending to his parochial duties, he fit-

374 LKTTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

ted young men for college. Among his pupils were
Samuel D. Hubbard, late Postmaster-general of the
United States, Dr. Dekay, the naturalist, Commodore
Dekay, and other persons who attained distinction.
As a man, he was distinguished for his cheerful, frank,
friendly manners: as a preacher, he was practical,
sincere, and successful. I must mention a story of
him, among my pulpit anecdotes. As sometimes hap
pens, in a congregation of farmers during midsum
mer, it once chanced that a large number of his people
fell asleep — and in the very midst of the sermon.
Even the deacons in the' sacramental seat had gone
cosily to the land of Nod. The minister looked around,
and just at that moment, the only person who seemed
quite awake, was his eldest son, David, sitting in the
minister's pew by the side of the pulpit. Pausing a
moment and looking down upon his son, he exclaim
ed, in a powerful voice —

" David, wake up!"

In a moment the whole congregation roused them
selves, and long did they remember the rebuke. In
after-times, when, through the temptations of the
devil and the weakness of the flesh, during s.ermon-
time, their sight became drowsy, and dreams floated
softly over their eyelids, then would come to mind the
ominous sound, " David, wake up !" and starting from
their slumbers, they would shake themselves, and fix
their eyes on the preacher, and wrestle with their in
firmities like Jacob — sometimes, though not always,

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 375

prevailing like Israel. I need only add in respect to
this excellent old gentleman, that he is still living, at
the age of eighty-nine, and last year (1855) preached
at the capitol in "Washington to an attentive and grat
ified audience.

During our stay of two or three weeks at Durham,
my brother-in-law was so ill as to need the advice
of a skillful physician. Accordingly I was dispatch
ed on horseback to Middletown, a distance of eight
or ten miles, for Dr. O . . . ., then famous in all the
country round about. On my way I met a man of
weather-beaten complexion and threadbare garments,
mounted on a lean and jaded mare. Beneath him
was a pair of plump saddlebags. He had all the
marks of a doctor, for then men of this profession
traversed the country on horseback, carrying with
them a collection of pills, powders, and elixirs, equiv
alent to an apothecarj^s shop. A plain instinct told
me that he was my man. As I was about to pass
him, I drew in my breath, to ask if he were Dr.
O . . . ., but a sudden bashfulness seized me : the pro
pitious moment passed, and I went on.

On arriving at the house of Dr. O , I learned

that he had gone to a village in the southwestern
part of the town, six or eight miles off. " There!"
said I to myself, " I knew it was he : if I had only
spoken to him !" However, reflection was vain. I
followed to the designated spot, and there I found
that he had left about half an hour before, for another

376 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

village in the central part of the town. I gave chase,
but he was too quick for me, so that I was obliged
to return to Durham without him. " Ah !" I thought,
"how much trouble a little courage would have saved
me !" In fact, I took the incident fo heart, and have
often practiced to advantage upon the lesson it sug
gested, which is, never to let a doctor, or any thing
else, slip, for the want of asking an opportune ques
tion.

This Dr. O . . . . made several visits to Durham, and
I remember to have heard my brother-in-law once
ask him whether he was a Brunonian* or a Cullenite ;
to which he replied, smartly — " Sir, I am a doctor

* About this time, the " spotted fever" appeared along the Connec
ticut river, and a change in the general character of fevers took place,
there being now a tendency to typhoid, instead of inflammatory, symp
toms, as had been the case before. These circumstances embarrassed and
baffled the profession. In general, however, they followed their procliv
ities, and either physicked or stimulated, as their doctrines dictated. In
point of fact, one practice killed and cured about as well as the other.
At all events, the plague raged for some years at certain places and at
particular seasons, and thus society was wrought into a state of frenzy
upon the two modes of treatment. At a somewhat later date — about
1812— a family that held to brandy, would hardly hold intercourse with
another which held to jalap. At Hartford, Doctors Todd und Welles,
who stimulated, were looked upon as little better than infidels by
those who believed in Dr. Bacon and purgatives. These divisions even
caught the hues of political parties, and alcohol became democratic,
while depletion was held to be fe.deral. In the end it proved that botli
systems were right and both wrong — to a certain extent. Experience
showed that the true mode of practice was to treat each case according
to its symptoms. The fitness of a physician for his profession, was,
under these circumstances, manifested by the sagacity with which he
found his way out of the woods. Dr. O . . . . was one of those who, at
an early stage of the difficulty, being a doctor himself, that is. being gui
ded by good sense, and not by slavery, to a system — arrived at the true
mode of practice.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, KTC. 3 7 i

myself!" The pith of this answer will be felt, when
it is known that at this period, and indeed for some
years after, there was a schism in the medical profes
sion of this region, which became divided into two
parties ; one of them adopting the theory and prac
tice of John Brown,* that life is a forced state, de
pending upon stimuli, and hence that disease and
death are to be constantly combated by stimulants.
According to this theory, even certain fevers were to
be treated with brandy, and in extreme cases, with a
tincture of Spanish flies — internally administered!
The other followed the theory of Cullen, who adopt
ed the opposite practice of purgatives and depletion,
more especially in fevers. A real frenzy ensued, and

* John Brown was born at Dunse, Scotland, 1735. He studied med
icine with Cullen, then the leading man of the profession in Great Brit
ain. After a time he produced his Elements of Medicine, in Latin, de
signed to overthrow the system which Cullen had produced. Its general
doctrine, as stated above, was that life is a forced state, only sustained
by the action of external agents operating upon the body, every part of
which is furnished with a certain amount of excitability. He discarded
all drugs, and confined himself to alcohol — wine, brandy, &c. — for one
set of diseases, and opium for the opposite set. The simplicity of the
doctrine and the ability with which it was set forth, gave it for a time
a fatal currency, not only in Europe but in America. The celebrated
Dr. Beddoes, among others, adopted and propagated it. The system,
however, after a time, fell into disrepute. Brown died in 1788, a victim
of intemperance, probably the result of his medical system.

William Cullen was born in Lanarkshire, Scotland, 1712, and having
studied medicine, he practiced with credit at Glasgow. In 1756, he be
came Professor of Chemistry at the University of Edinburgh, where he
greatly distinguished himself. In 1763, he succeeded Dr. Alston as
Professor of Medicine. As a teacher, his popularity was unbounded.
His personal character was distinguished for amiableness and purity :
his medical works for a time exercised a powerful influence, and he is
still regarded as having greatly advanced the science of medicine, though
some of his theories have been modified and others rejected.

378 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

the medical profession, as well as society, were in
volved in a sort of temporary insanity.

At length we departed from Durham, and took
our way homeward, through a series of small towns,
arriving at last at Woodbury. Here we remained a
week or ten days, being hospitably entertained by
the Rev. Noah Benedict, my brother-in-law's uncle.
He lived in a large, low, old-fashioned house, embow
ered in elms, and having about it an air of antiquity,
comfort, and repose. He was himself very aged,
nearly eighty years old, I should judge. He was,
like my own lineage, of the orthodox faith, and
sometimes officiated in his pulpit, though he had now
a colleague. I need not describe him, further than to
say that he was a fine old man, greatly beloved by
his parish, and almost adored by his immediate con
nections. Close by, in a sumptuous house, lived
his son, Noah B. Benedict, then a leading lawyer of
the State. Half a mile to the south, in an antique,
gable-roofed mansion, dwelt his daughter, the wife of
Nathaniel Smith, one of the judges of the Supreme
Court, and regarded as the intellectual giant of his
time. I have good reason to remember the place, for
it is now the home of one of my sisters, who married,
many years later, the only child of its founder — long
since gathered to his fathers.

The week of our sojourn at Woodbury flew on
golden wings •* ith me. The village itself was after
my own Leav^ It lies in a small tranquil valley, its

HISTORICAL, ANECnOTIC.VT,, ETC. 379

western boundary consisting of a succession of gentle
acclivities, covered with forests ; that on the east is
formed of basaltic ledges, broken into wild and pic
turesque forms, rising sharp and hard against the hori
zon. Through the valley, in long serpentine sweeps,
flows a stream, clear and bright — now dashing and
now sauntering ; here presenting a rapid and there a
glassy pool. In ancient times it was bordered by
cities of the beaver ; it was now the haunt of a few
isolated and persecuted muskrats. In the spring and
autumn, the wild-ducks, in their migrations, often
stooped to its bosom for a night's lodging. At all
seasons it was renowned for its trout. In former
ages, when the rivers, protected by the deep forests,
ran full to the brim, and when the larger streams
were filled to repletion with shad and salmon, this
was sometimes visited by enterprising individuals of
their race, which shot up cataracts, and leaped over
obstructing rocks, roots, and mounds, impelled by an
imperious instinct to seek places remote from the sea,
where they might deposit in safety the seeds of their
future progeny. In those days, I imagine, the acci
dents and incidents of shad and salmon life, often
rivaled the adventurous annals of Marco Polo or Rob
inson Crusoe.

There was, in good sooth, about this little village,
a singular .union of refinement and rusticity, of cul
tivated plain and steepling rock, of blooming meadow
and dusky forest. The long, wide street, saving the

380 LKTTKRS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

highway and a few stray paths, here and there, was
a bright, grassy lawn, decorated with abundance of
sugar-maples, which appeared to have found their
Paradise.* Such is the shape of the encircling hills
and ledges that the site of the village seems a sort of
secluded Happy Valley, where every thing turns to
poetry and romance. And this aptitude is abundantly
encouraged by history — for here was once the favored
home of a tribe of Indians. All around — the rivers,
the hills, the forests — are still rife with legends and

0

remembrances of the olden time. A rocky mound,
rising above the river on one side, and dark forests on
the other, bears the name of " Pomperaug's Castle ;"
a little to the north, near a bridle-path that traversed
the meadows, was a heap of stones, called " Pompe
raug's Grave." To the east I found a wild ledge,
called Bethel Bock.f And each of these objects has

* The street of Woodbury continues to that of Southbury, the two
united being three miles in length. These are decorated by a double
line of sugar-maples — certainly one of the most beautiful exhibitions of
the kind I have ever seen.

t Woodbury is alike historical and legendary ground. Its names
trace out its story. Quassapaug Lake, Shepaug River, Quanopaug Falls,
Nonnewaug Falls, tell us of its original proprietors : Rattlesnake Rock,
and White Deer Hills, bespeak the ancient inhabitants of the forest:
Bethel Rock, Carmel Hill, and Tophet Hollow, announce the,arrival here
of the Pilgrim settlers from New Haven: Hall's Rock, Good Hill, Light
ing's Playground, Scuppo, Hazel Plain, Moose Horn Hill, Ash Swamp,
all in Woodbury or the vicinity, indicate alike certain traits of scenery,
with the final settlement of the country by the English. The remark
able men that have originated in this town within the last century, pre
sent a marvellous record of ability, patriotism, and piety. My imagina
tion was greatly excited by the legends I heard when I first visited
Woodbury, and some years after (1828) I wrote and published in the

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIC AL, ETC. 381

its story. How suggestive — how full of imaginings
was Woodbury to me, when I visited it, five and forty
years ago ! And the woods, teeming with the smaller
game — the gray-squirrel, the partridge, and quail, my
old West Mountain acquaintances — with what delight
did I traverse them, gun in hand, accompanied by a

Legendary at Boston, the following story, which has now become almost
historical :

THE LEGEND OF BETHEL EOCK.

" In the picturesque state of Connecticut, there is not a spot more
beautiful than the village of Pomperaug. It is situated not very far
from the western border of the state, and derives its name from a
tribe of Indians, who once inhabited it. It presents a small, but level
valley, surrounded by hills, with a bright stream rippling through its
meadows. The tops of the high grounds which skirt the valley, are
covered with forests, but the slopes are smooth with cultivation, nearly
to their summits. In the time of verdure, the plain displays a vividness
of green like that of velvet, while the forests are dark with the rich
hues supposed to be peculiar to the climate of England.

" The village of Pomperaug consists now of about two hundred
houses, with three white churches, arranged on a street which passes
along the eastern margin of the valley. At the distance of about twenty
rods from this street, and running parallel to it for nearly a mile, is a
rock, or ledge of rocks, of considerable elevation. From this, a distinct
survey of the place may be had, almost at a glance. Beginning at the
village, the spectator may count every house, and measure every garden ;
he may compare the three churches, which now seem drawn close to
gether ; he may trace the winding path of the river by the trees which
bend over its waters ; he may enumerate the white farm-houses which
dot the surface of the valley ; he may repose his eye on the checkered
carpet which lies unrolled before him, or it may climb to the horizon
over the dark blue hills which form the border of this enchanting
picture.

" The spot which we have thus described did not long lie concealed
from the prying sagacity of the first settlers of the colony of New
Haven. Though occupied by a tribe of savages, as before intimated, it
was very early surveyed by more than one of the emigrants. In the
general rising of the Indians in Philip's war, this tribe took part with
the Pequods, and a large portion of them shared in their destruction.
The chief himself was killed. His son, still a boy, with a remnant of
his father's people, who had been driven inte exile, returned to their

382 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

black-eyed stripling, now my respected and gray-
haired brother-in-law I

It was a great time, that happy week, for be it re
membered that for a whole year I had been impris
oned in a country store. What melody was there
in the forest echoes, then ! Ah ! I have since heard

native valley, and lived for a time on terms of apparent submission to
the English.

" The period had now arrived when the young chief had reached the
age of manhood. He took, as was the custom with his fathers, the
name of his tribe, and was accordingly called Pomperaug. He was
tall, finely formed, with an eye that gleamed like the flashes of a dia
mond. He wus such a one as the savage would look upon with idola
try. His foot was swift as that of the deer; his arrow was sure as
the pursuit of the eagle; his sagacity penetrating as the light of the sun.

"Such was Pomperaug. But his nation was passing away; scarce
fifty of his own tribe now dwelt in the valley in which his fathers had
hunted for ages. The day of their dominion had gone. There was a
spell over the Dark Warrior. The Great Spirit had sealed his doom.
So thought the remaining Indians in the valley of Pomperaug, and they
sullenly submitted to a fate which they could not avert.

" It was therefore without resistance, and, indeed, with expressions
of amity, that they received a small company of English settlers into
the valley. This company consisted of about thirty persons, from the
New Haven colony, under the spiritual charge of the Rev. Noah Beni-
Bon. He was a man of great age, but still of uncommon mental and
bodily vigor. His years had passed the bourne of threescore and ten,
and his hair was white as snow. But his tall and broad form was yet
erect, and his cane of smooth hickory, with a golden head, was evidently
a thing ' more of ornament than use.'

" Mr. Benison had brought with him the last remnant of his family.
She was the daughter of his only son, who, with his wife, had slept
many years in the tomb. Her name was Mary, and well might she be
the object of all the earthly affections which still beat in the bosom of
one whom death had made acquainted with sorrow, and who but for
her had been left alone.

" Mary Benison was now seventeen years of age. She had received
her education in England, and had been but a few months in America.
She was tall and slender, with a dark eye, full of soul and sincerity.
Her hair was of a glossy black, parted upon a forehead of ample and
expressive beauty. When at rest, her appearance wus not striking'

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 383

Catalan! and Garcia and Pasta and Sontag and Grisi.
I have even heard the Swedish nightingale ; nay, in
France and Italy — the very home of music and song
- -I have listened to the true nightingale, which has
given to Jenny Lind her sweetest and most appro
priate epithet ; but never, in one or all, have I heard

but if she spoke or moved, she fixed the attention of every beholder
by the dignity of her air, blent vrith a tone of tender, yet serious senti
ment.

" The settlers had been in the valley but a few months, when some
matter of business relative to a purchase of land, brought Fornperaug to
the hut of Mr. Benison. It was a bright morning in autumn, and while
he was talking with the old gentleman at the door, Mary, who had been
gathering flowers in the woods, passed by them and entered the place.
The eye of the young Indian followed her with a gaze of entrancement.
His face gleamed as if he had seen a vision of more than earthly beauty ,
But this emotion was visible only for a moment. With the habitual
self-command of a savage, he turned again to Mr. Benison, and calmly
pursued the subject which occasioned their meeting.

" Pomperaug went away, but he carried the image of Mary with him.
He retired to his wigwam, but it did not please him. He ascended to the
top of the rock, at the foot of which his wigwam was situated, and which
now goes under the name of Pomperaug's Castle, and looked down
upon the river, which was flashing in the slant rays of the morning.
He turned away, and sent his long gaze over the checkered leaves ot
the wood, which, like a sea, spread over the valley. He was still dis
satisfied. With a single leap he sprang from the rock, and, alighting
on his feet, snatched his bow and took the path which led into the
forest. In a few moments he came back, and, seating himself on the
rock, brooded for some hours in silence.

" The next morning Pomperaug repaired to the house of Mr. Benison
to finish the business of the preceding day. He had before signified an
inclination to accede to the terms proposed by Mr. Benison, but he now
started unexpected difficulties. On being asked the reason, he answered
aa follows:

" ' Listen, father — hear a Eed Man speak ! Look into the air, and you
see the eagle. The sky is his home, and doth, the eagle love his home ?
Will he barter it for the sea I Look into the river, and ask the fish that
is there, if he will sell it? Go to the dark-skinned hunter, and demand
of him if he will part with Ms forests ? Yet, father, I will part with my
forests, if you will give me the singing bird that is in thy nest.'

384 LETTERS — BIOGBAPHICAL,

such music as filled my ears, that incense-breathing
morn, when I made a foray into the wilds of Wood-
bury ! There was indeed no nightingale there : the
season of wood minstrelsy was passed; even the
thrush had descended from its perch aloft, and ceas
ing its melodies, was busy in the cares of its young

" ' Savage,' said the pilgrim, with a mingled look of disgust and in
dignation, ' will the lamb lie down in the den of the wolf? Never !
Dream not of it — I would sooner see her die ! Name it not.' As he
spoke he struck his cane forcibly on the ground, and his broad figure
seemed to expand and grow taller, while his eye gleamed, and the
muscles of his brow contracted with a lowering and angry expression.
The change of the old man's appearance was sudden and striking.
The air and manner of the Indian, too, was changed. There was now a
- kindled fire in his eye, a proud dignity in his manner, which a moment
before was no,t there ; but these had stolen upon him, with that imper
ceptible progress by which the dull colors of the serpent, when he be
comes enraged, are succeeded by the glowing hues of the rainbow.

*' The two now parted, and Pomperaug would not again enter into
any negotiations for a sale of his lands. Ho kept himself, indeed, aloof
froin the English, and cultivated rather a hostile spirit in his people
toward them.

"As might have been expected, difficulties soon grew up between
the two parties, and violent feelings were shortly excited on both sides.
This broke out into open quarrels, and one of the white men was shot
by a savage lurking in the woods. This determined the settlers to
seek instant revenge, and accordingly they followed the Indians into
the broken and rocky districts which lie esfit of the valley, whither, ex
pecting pursuit, they had retreated.

"It was about an hour before sunset, when the English, consisting of
twenty well-armed men, led by their reverend pastor, were marching
through a deep ravine, about two milos east of the town. The rocks
on either side were lofty, and so narrow was the dell, that the shadows
of night had already gathered over it. The pursuers had sought their
enemy the whole day in vain ; and having lost all trace of them, they
were now returning to their homes. Suddenly a wild yell burst from
the rocks at their feet, and twenty savages sprang up before them. An
arrow pierced the breast of the pilgrim leader, and he fell. Two In
dians were shot, and the remainder fled. Several of the English were
wounded, but none mortally, save the aged pastor.

"With mournful silence they bore back the body of their father. He

HISTORICAL, ANKCDOTICAL, ETC. ow5

ones, now beginning life in the bush. It was the echo
of my own heart, that gave to simple and familiar
sounds — that of the far-off barking dog, the low of
distant herds, the swing of the village bell, the mur
mur of the brooks, the rustle of the leaves in the
joyous breath of morning — their real melody. And

was buried in a sequestered nook of the forest, and with, a desolate and
breaking heart the orphan Mary turned away from his grave, to be for
the first time alone in their humble house in the wilderness.
* * * * *

"A year passed. The savages had disappeared, and the rock on
which the pilgrim met his death had been consecrated by many prayers.
His blood was still visible on the spot, and his people often came with,
reverence to kneel there and offer up their petitions. The place they
called Bethel Rock, and piously they deemed that their hearts were
visited here with the richest gifts of heavenly grace.

" It was a sweet evening in summer, when Mary Benison, for the last
time, went to spend an hour at this holy spot. Long had she knelt,
aud most fervently had she prayed. Oh ! who can tell the bliss of that
heavenly communion to which a pure heart is admitted in the hours of
solitude and silence ! The sun went down, and as the vail of evening
fell, the full moon climbed over the eastern ledge, pouring its silver
light into the valley, and Mary was still kneeling, still communing with
Him who seeth in secret.

" At length a slight noise, like the crushing of a leaf, woke her from
her trance, and with quickness and agitation she set out on her return.
Alarmed at her distance from home at such an hour, she proceeded
with great rapidity. She was obliged to climb up the face of the rocks
with care, as the darkness rendered it a critical and dangerous task.
At length she reached the top. Standing upon the verge of the cliff,
><he then turned a moment to look back upon the valley. The moon
was shining full upon the vale, and she gazed with a mixture of awe
and delight upon the sea of silvery leaves which slept in deathlike
repose beneath her. She then turned to pursue her path homeward,
but what was her amazement to see before her, in the full moonlight,
the tall form of Pomperaug ! She shrieked, and, swift as his own.
arrow, she sprang over the dizzy cliff. The Indian listened — there was
a moment of silence — then a heavy sound — and the dell was still aa
the tomb.

" The fate of Mary was known only to Pomperaug. He buried her
with a lover's care amid the rocks of the glen. Then, bidding adieu to

Vol.. I.— 17

LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

then the merry mockery of the red- squirrel, flying,
rather than leaping from tree to tree, with the hearty
guffaw of his gray brother, rioting in the abundance
of some aged hickory : how did these add to the
general harmony ! And more than all this, there
was occasionally the low whistle of the quail, steal
ing through the leaves, attended at intervals by the

his native valley, he joined his people, who had retired to the banks of
the Housatonic.

*****

" More than half a century subsequent to this event, a rumor ran
through the village of Pomperaug, that some Indians were seen at
night, bearing a heavy burden along the margin of the river, which
swept the base of Pomperaug's Castle. In the morning a spot was
found near by, on a gentle hill, where the fresh earth showed that the
ground had been recently broken. A low heap of stones on the place
revealed the secret. They remain there to this day, and the little mound
is shown by the villagers as Pomperaug's grave."

Such is the legend as I wrote it. The reader will find in Cothren's
History of Ancient Woodbury, the exact version of the story, as authen
tic chroniclers have now established it. The true name of the place is
Woodbury, instead of Pomperaug : the Indian hero must be called
Waramaukeag, not Pomperaug: the aged minister is to be called Walk
er, in lieu of Benison ; and the heroine, his niece, must bear the same
name, with the baptismal title of Sarah. With these emendations, pop
ular faith has sanctioned the general outlines of my invention. Thns,
it seems, a romance requires about thirty years to crystallize into ver
itable history 1

The name of Bethel Rock is, however, strictly historical; here tiio
ancient settlers actually assembled for worship; and in commemoration
of this fact, a few years since, Dr. Beecher, then settled at Litohfield, with
several other clergymen of the vicinity, came hither and united in prnyer.
The records of Woodbury, as given us by the historian already alluded
to, show its chronicles to be almost as full of incident, legend, and ad
venture, as the Highlands of Scotland. All that is wanted to render
them as deeply interesting, is the inspiration of the poet to sing and
sat them to music. Mr. Cothren has made a good beginning, for his
history breathes of romance without impeaching its truthfulness, as is
•vinced by the titles of some of his topics, like the following : Legend

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 387

rolling drum of the partridge,* reminding me, with
all the force of old associations, that I was once more
at liberty in the forest. How great, how impressive
do little and even common things become, when seen
through the prismatic lens of youthful remembrance !
During our stay in Woodbury, as I have said, we
lodged at the house of the aged clergyman, Father
Benedict, f as he was generally called. I remember

of Squaw Eock: the Belt of Wampum: Mr. Boardman's Praying
Match : Watchbrok's Disclosure, &c., &c.

* All American woodsmen will know that I here speak of the ruffed
grouse, which in the autumn makes the forest echo by rapidly beating
some old decayed trunk of a fallen tree with its wings. To a sports
man, it is a sound of lively interest — for it seems to be a sort of chal
lenge to the sport.

t Rev. Noah Benedict was a native of Danbnry, and gradua'ed at
Nassau Hall in 1757. He received the degree of Master of Arts, ad «un-
dem, from Yale College, in 1760, and was a fellow of that institution ircm
1801 to 1812. He was a man of sound piety, and of great dignity and
amiability of temper. He held an honored place in the affections of his
people. He was successful as a spiritual teacher, and was followed to
the tomb by his parishioners with hearts throbbing with grief. His
church has been noted for the length of time it has enjoyed the ger
vices of its ministers. There is perhaps no other instance in the coun
try where a church has been presided over by three pastors, as has been
the case with this, for the long period of one hundred and forty-three
years.

Mr. Benedict was spoken of, during his life, and is still so rememberc'l,
as one of the fairest specimens of the good clergymen of Connecticut.
Constitutionally, he had a well-balanced mind ; singularly discreet and
exemplary in his every-day deportment and in all the relations of life ;
as a preacher and counselor, he held a high rank. His temper was even,
and his condition was placid and easy. Temptations, he was cautious,
and even zealous to put, if possible, out of his way. He once had a fa-,
vorite horse — young, sound, gentle, active, and graceful ; the animal was
admired by his rider's parishioners. But Mr. Benedict, to the surprise
of all, sold the horse. A neighbor expressed his astonishment at the
event, and inquired the reason of it. " He was growing unruly," was
the grave pastor's reply. " But I thought," said the man, " that he was
a very orderly horse." " No," was the rejoinder ; " he was growing

388 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

his voice still, which was remarkable for its tender,
affectionate tones. There was also a childlike simpli
city in his prayers, which was very touching. These
made such an impression on me that I could now re
peat several passages, which were perhaps favorites,
as they came in every petition.

Of Judge Smith, his son-in-law — whom I have al
ready mentioned — I have also the most vivid recol
lections. He was then about fifty years of age. His
hair was jet black, his eye black and piercing, his
complexion swarthy. He was of middle height, of a
large and massive mould. There was a mingled
plainness and majesty about his appearance, such as
might have suited Cincinnatus. He was a great
farmer, and devoted himself with intense interest to
his tillage, his cattle, and his flocks, during the re
cesses of the courts. At these times, he seemed to
delight in the rustic sports and simple pastimes to
which he had been accustomed in early life. After
the day's task was done, he was often seen in the
midst of his workmen, gathered upon some grassy
plain, for the race, the wrestle, or other gymnastic

quite unruly : he once got into the pulpit, and I thought it was time to
part with him."

This minister was blessed in his family, and honored in the alliances
of his children by marriage, and by their eminent usefulness and the
distinctions to which they attained in public offices and employments.
His people never desired his separation : death effected it in the year
1813, at the age of seventy-six. He lives in the sweet and grateful re
membrance of the aged in his parish and out of it ; and the present
generation of Woodbury have heard from the reverential and affection
ate, the story of his goodness. — Cothrens History of A/<cUrU Wovdbu.ru.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIC AL, ETC. 389

exercises — he being the umpire, and joining heartily
in the spirit of frolic and fun, proper to the occasion.
Nothing could be more admirable than his inter
course with his family and the people around him.
All knew him to be the judge, yet all felt that he was
even more to them — the father, friend, and neighbor.

Few men have left behind them a biography at
once so striking and so spotless. " Perhaps," says
the chronicler, " the history and character of no other
man could be more profitably studied by the youth
of ardent aspirations, feeling the fire of genius burn
ing within him, and struggling under the power of
adverse circumstances for an honorable position in
society, than that of Mr. Smith. He furnishes a bril
liant example of what the innate force of a mighty
intellect can accomplish, though surrounded by diffi
culties and obstacles."*

The father of Mr. Smith was poor, and hence he had
an extremely limited education. While yet young,
he and his brother were engaged in trading between
Philadelphia and the northern parts of New England.
Being once at Kutland, Vermont, and having a little
leisure, he went into the court-house, and heard a trial
there. He became deeply interested, and after a little
reflection, he said to his brother — " I have been to
Philadelphia, to sell new rum, for the last time : I am
determined to be a lawyer. Ignorant as I am, I

* Cotlireii's History of Ancient Woodbury, p. 398.

390 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

could have managed the case I heard in court, better
than either of the parties engaged. My mind is
made up !" Soon after this, he offered himself as a
student in the office of Judge Eeeve of Litchfield.
The latter, knowing his unlettered condition, attempt
ed to dissuade him from an attempt which seemed so
hopeless. As Smith persisted, however, he lent him
a book, desiring him to read it, and come back in a
week for an examination. This he did, and the judge
was so struck with his intelligence and capacity, that
he received him into his office, and thenceforward
gave him every encouragement. Such was his prog
ress, that he was admitted to the bar, even before the
time usually required for study had elapsed.

What had been so well begun was, in due time,
finished in a similar manner. Mr. Smith rose with
unexampled rapidity to the front ranks of his profes
sion, and that too at a time when the Connecticut
bar shone with a constellation of great names. His
clearness of statement, his simple but vigorous logic,
his fertility and felicity of illustration, all aided by
a manly presence and a voice of prodigious power,
gave him a mastery alike over the plainest and the
most instructed audience. These high gifts were
nerved by an iron will, and when once he was roused
to an earnest effort, his course was marked with a
crushing energy, which bore down all opposition. It
is said that sometimes, in the consciousness of his
power, he rode rough-shod over his adversary, though

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 391

in general his practice was signalized not only by
justice but amenity.

It appears that although Mr. Smith thus rose to dis
tinction, he still preserved the good-will of the people
at large, in an uncommon degree. He soon passed
through various stages of official advancement : in
1789, he represented his native town in the General
Assembly; in 1795, he was sent to Congress; in 1800,
he was a member of the State Council ; in 1806, he
was judge of the Superior Court, an office which he
held for eleven years, when the state of his health
compelled him to resign. In all these positions he was
distinguished for his ability, his good sense, his right
feeling, his patriotism, justice, dignity. Yet it is re
corded that in this elevated career, he never ceased to
be stamped with the simplicity of the country farmer.
The farm was, indeed, the place which he seemed
most to enjoy. His intercourse with country people
was marked with a fellowship very rare in a profes
sional man, and hence, no doubt, that general feeling
of kindliness among the masses, which even yet cher
ishes his memory in his native valley, and indeed
throughout his native State.

It is greatly to be regretted that none of the higher
oratorical efforts of this great man are preserved. The
reporting of speeches — so common now — was un
known in his day, and he had too little love of self-
display to report what he said, himself. There was, in
general, a modesty, a self-forgetfulness about him.

i>9'2 r.KTTEKS BIOGRAPHICAL,

quite as remarkable as the greatness of his intellect.
He shrunk from no public duty, but he coveted no
public honors. When not officially called away, his
home, his farm, and the house of worship — for he was
a man of steadfast piety — were his chosen scenes and
sources of interest. When I saw him, he was at the
height of his fame: all eyes looked at him with ad
miration. It may be imagined, therefore, that a
strong impression was made upon my mind, when —
one evening chancing to be at his house — I saw
him kneel down in the midst of his gathered fam
ily, including the servants, and offer up his evening
prayer, with all the earnest simplicity and feeling
of a child, addressing a revered but beloved father.
There was something inexpressibly touching and
affecting in the scene, and especially in the thrilling,
pleading tones of the speaker, poured out as if from
the fullness of an overflowing heart. It was, indeed,
a scene never to be forgotten — a lesson never to fail
of imparting instruction.*

* The family of Judge Smith has been morked with great vigor of
mind and character. He assisted his brother Nathan — who had shared
In his early poverty and depression — to fit himself for the bar, and he
finally rose to great eminence — professional and political. lie died at
Washington — being then a Senator of the United States — Dec. 6, 1835,
aged 85.

Truman Smith, nephew of Judge Smith, settled at Litchfield, and
became a leading member of the bar. In 1848, he was elected to the
Senate of the United States, and was distinguished for those masculine
powers of oratory, combined with practical good sense, which marked
his eminent relatives, just. named. Though elected for a second term,
lie resigned his seat in 1854.

Nathaniel B. Smith, only child of the judge, inherited his t'ann, and

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, KTC. 393

LETTER XXIV.

The Cold Winter and a Sharp Hide — Description of Daribury — The Hat
Manufactory — The Sandimanians — Gen. Wooster's Monument — Death
of my Brother-in-law— Master White — Mathematics — Farewell to Dan-
bury.

MY DEAR C ******

We returned to Danbury after a tour of some five
or six weeks. The succeeding autumn and winter
presented no peculiar incident — with a single excep
tion. There was, if I rightly remember, in the month
of February,* a certain " cold Friday," which passed
down to succeeding generations as among the marvels
of the time. It had snowed heavily for three days, and
the ground was covered three feet deep. A driving
wind from the northeast then set in, and growing
colder and colder, it became at last so severe as to force
everybody to shelter. This continued for two days, the
whole air being filled with sleet, so that the sun, with
out a cloud in the sky, shone dim and gray as through
a fog. The third day, the wind increased, both in
force and intensity of cold. Horses, cattle, fowls,
sheep, perished in their coverings. The roads were
blocked up with enormous drifts: the mails were

his love of agriculture, which lie has pursued with great science and
success. He has filled various public offices, but probably values among
liis highest honors, his medals for the best examples of stock and tillage,
awarded him, on various occasions, by the Connecticut State Agricul
tural Society. He is now president of that institution (13.~if>).

* This was. I think, in 180'J, though it might have been a year later

17*

394 LKTTKRS BIOGRAPHICAL,

stopped, traveling was suspended ; the world, indeed,
seemed paralyzed, and the circulation of life to be
arrested.

On the morning of this third day — which was the
ominous and famous Friday — word was brought to
my sister that a poor family, to whom she had long
been a kind of providence, about two miles off, was
in danger of starvation. She knew no fear, and tol
erated no weakness. A thing with her that ought
to be done, was to be done. Therefore, a sack was
filled with bread, meat, candles, and a pint of rum :
this was lashed around my waist. The horse was
brought to the door — I mounted and set off. I knew
the animal well, and we had enjoyed many a scam
per together. He was indeed after my own heart —
clean-limbed, with full, knowing eyes, and small,
pointed, sensitive ears. He had a cheerful walk, a
fleet, skimming trot, a swift gallop, and all these
paces we had often tried. I think he knew who was
on his back ; but when we got to the turning of the
road, which brought his nostrils into the very tunnel
of the gale, he snorted, whirled backward, and seemed
resolved to return. I however brought him sternly
to his work, gave him sharp advice in the ribs, and
assured him that I was resolved to be master. Hesi
tating a moment — as if in doubt whether I could be
in earnest — he started forward; yet so keen was the
blast, that he turned aside his head, and screamed ;is
if his nostrils wore pierced with hot iron. On lie

THE COLD FRIDAY. Vol. 1. p. 394.

HISTORICAL, ANKCDOJICAL, KTC. 305

\veut, liowover, in some instances up to the saddle
in the drift, yet clearing it at full bounds.

In a few minutes we were at the door of the miser
able hut, now half buried in a snow-drift. I was
just in time. The wretched inmates — a mother and
three small children — without fire, without food,
without help or hope — were in bed, poorly clothed,
and only keeping life in their bodies by a mutual
cherishing of warmth, like pigs or puppies in a sim
ilar extremity. The scene within was (iismal in the
extreme. The fireplace was choked with snow, which
had fallen down the chimney : the ill-adjusted doors
and windows admitted alike the drift and the blast,
both of which swept across the room in cutting cur
rents. As I entered, the pale, haggard mother, com
prehending at a glance that relief had come, burst
into a flood of tears. I had no time for words. I
threw them the sack, remounted my horse, and, the
wind at my back, I flew home. One of my ears was
a little frost-bitten, and occasionally for years after, a
tingling and itching sensation there, reminded me of
my ride, which after all left an agreeable remembrance
upon my mind.

Danbury* is a handsome town, now numbering

* Danbnry is one of the semi-capitals of Fairfield county, the courts
being held here and at Fairfield, alternately. The main street is nearly
two mL'f-k in length, and presents many handsome residences. Tho
society is marked by more than ordinary intelligence and refinement.
The Indian name of the place was Pah-qul-o-que, and it was first settled
by the English in 1684. It has been prolific in distinguished men : the
names of its early founders having been spread fur and wide, and many

39f> LKTTKRS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

six thousand inhabitants ; but in my time there were
scarcely more than half that number. It is chiefly
built on a long, wide street, crossed near the northern
extremity by a small river, a branch of the Housato*
nic, which, having numerous rapids, affords abundance
of mill-sites in its course. At this crossing, there
were two extensive hat-factories, famous over the
whole country, and belonging, the one to White,
Brothers & Co., and the other to Tweedy & Co. Their
hats were the rage with the fashionable Genins, St.
Johns, Knoxes, and Beebes of that age. I believe,
indeed, that these factories, with others of more mod
ern date, are still maintained.

Nearly all the workmen in these establishments — of
whom there were several hundred — at the time I am
describing, were foreigners, mostly English and Irish.
A large part of the business of our store was the fur
nishing of rum to these poor wretches, who bought
one or two quarts on Saturday night, and fuddled
themselves till Monday, and frequently till Tuesday.
A factory workman of those days was thought to be
born to toil, to get drunk, and make a hell of his home.
Philanthropy itself had not then lifted its eye or its
hopes above this hideous malaria of custom. We had
imported these ideas from England and other foreign
manufacturing countries, and they reigned over the

of them being yet preserved in the present residents of the place.
Among these, the names of Wildam, Mys'att, Hoyt, Tweedy, Benedict,
"White, Starr, Knupp, &<_•., are conspicuous.

HISTOEICAL, ANECDOTIC AL, KTC. 397

public mind. That large humanity, which has done
so much, in modern times, to remove vice and crime,
and to elevate the public standard of morals, had not
then set its Star in the West, calling the Wise and Good
to a new revelation of life. It is a modern discovery
that manufacturing towns may rise up, where com
fort, education, morals, and religion, in their best
and happiest exercise, may be possessed by the toiling
masses. This is not only a modern, but an American
discovery, and refutes volumes of abuse that long-
eared philosophy has leveled at republicanism.

Danbury is not without other points of interest —
historical and social. It was, as I have shown, the
scene of one of those wanton and wicked outrages,
perpetrated upon the people of Connecticut, and in
deed of many other parts of this country, which
made the British name offensive to God and man, du
ring the Revolutionary war. In commemoration of
the life and services of General Wooster, who fell at
Ridgefield, in an encounter with these British marau
ders, there has recently been erected at Danbury a
beautiful monument of Portland granite, forty feet
in height, with the following inscription :

DAVID WOOSTER,
First Major general of the Connecticut troops

in the Arniy of the Revolution;
Brigadier-general of the United Colonies.

Born at Hartford, March 2, 1710 or 11 ;
Wounded at Ridgefield, April 27, 1777, while defending

the liberties of America,

And nobly died at Danbury,

May 2, 1777.

31)8 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

The character of Wooster* was indeed a noble one,
and the people of Danbury have shown a wise dis
cernment in the construction of this beautiful memo
rial of his character and career.

One item more and I shall take leave of Danbury.
About midway between the northern and southern
extremities of the long main street, and a little to the
west of it, there was a building of moderate size,
somewhat between a church and a barn, in aspect. It
was without tower or steeple, so it could not be the
first : it was nicely built and tidily kept, and could
not be the last. It was, in fact, the sanctuary of the
Sandimanians, or, according to the popular accent,
Sandimmians ; a small sect of forty members then,
and now dwindled to a still smaller number.

The history of its founder is well known. Robert
Sandiman, a Scotchman, having adopted the tenets,
and married the daughter, of Rev. John Glass — an able

* This monument stands on a solid platform, about twenty feet square,
at the corners of which are massive stone posts, which support an iron
railing. The plinth is richly moulded, and the name of WOOSTEB ap
pears in bold raised letters, upon the front or south side. The General
is represented, in a beautifully sculptured relief, in the act of falling
from his horse, at the moment he received the fatal ball. Above this,
appears a delineation of the State arms ; and higher still, the main
shaft is ornamented with a trophy, consisting of a sash, sword, and epau
lettes. On two opposite sides are various appropriate masonic and mili
tary emblems. The whole is surmounted with a globe, on which stands
the American Eagle, bearing in his beak the wreath of victory. This
fine column was consecrated by imposing ceremonies on the 27th April,
1854, at which the Governor of the State, with many distinguished cit
izens, deputations from various -lodges, and a large concourse of people,
assisted. The oration, by Hon. H. C. Deming, was deeply interesting,
as well on account of its eloquence as its historical reminiscences.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 399

divine, wlio seems to have been the originator of the
Scotch Independents — became a distinguished defend
er of his theological views. After a time, he was in
vited to come to America by some of his admirers
there, and accordingly he arrived in 1764, and settled
among them — first at Boston, but finally taking up
his residence at Danbury. He appears to have been
much disappointed at the character of his adherents,
and the general state of society in America. This was
aggravated*by his taking the tory side in the agitation
which now verged toward the Revolution. His days
were in fact embittered, and his flock reduced to a
handful of followers. His death took place in 1771,
and a simple marble slab, in the burial-ground, op
posite the court-house, commemorates his name and
history. He was doubtless a man of ability, but
his career displays the usual narrowness and in
consistency of sectarianism founded upon persons,
rather than principles. His doctrine was, that faith
is a mere intellectual conviction — a bare belief of the
bare truth. Of course so cold a religion, scarcely dis
tinguishable in its principle from deism, and giving no
satisfaction to that constant craving of the soul for a
more exalted and spiritual life, could not prosper. It
was only adapted to a few rigid minds like his own.
His adherents in my time met at their little church
on the afternoons of Sundays and Thursdays ; they
sat around a large table, each with a Bible. The
men rend and discoursed, as the spirit dictated : the

LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

women were silent. Spectators were admitted, but
the worshipers seemed not to recognize their pres
ence. After a prayer and a hymn, they went to the
house of one of the members, and had a love-feast.
" Greet one another with a holy kiss," was their max
im and their practice.

These customs remain* to the present day, save
only as to the kiss, which, according to the current re
port, was modified some years since. The congregation

was rather mixed, and included the "W R s, a

family of wealth and refinement, down to N. S . . . .,
the blacksmith. Mrs. W . . . . R . . . . was a woman
of great delicacy of person, manners, and dress : her
lace was the finest, her silks the richest, her muslin
the most immaculate. She was in breeding a lady,
in position an aristocrat, in feeling an exclusive. And
yet, one day, as she walked forth, and chanced to
turn the corner, close to the central meeting-house,
wending her way homeward, she came suddenly
upon the village Vulcan, above mentioned. He was
in front of his shop, and being a man of full habit,
and having just put down the heel of an ox, which
he was shoeing, he was damp with perspiration.
Nevertheless, the faith was strong within him : "Greet
one another with a holy kiss !" rushed to his mind,
and he saluted Mrs. W R . . . ., as in duty bound.

* A friend writes me (1856) that the Sandimanian church at Danbury
now numbers three male and fifteen female members. The congrega
tion comprises about thirty persons.

n::-T»;:irAL, A\;X!K>T;.:A:.. K7C. 401

She, a saint in profession, but alas, in practice a sin
ner, as doth appear — returned not the salute ! Had
she been of another sect, abstinence would have
been a virtue, but in this, it was of course a crime.
Upon this incident rocked and quaked the whole
Sandimanian church for some months. At last the
agitation subsided, and the holy kiss was thence
forward either abandoned or given with discretion.
Such is the tale as it was told to me, nearly fifty
years ago.

It may be remarked that Saudimanianisrn, which
originated in a hard, sarcastic mind, subsided into a
sort of amiable and tranquil Quakerism. Its mem
bers were noted for purity of life, and some of them
for habits of abstraction, which marked themselves
in a cold pallor upon the countenance. Seeming to
be conscious of a chill at the heart, they sought to
quicken the circulation of the Spirit, by outward ob
servances and by peculiarities of worship, such as
might distinguish them from other Christians. " I
am better than thou, for I am other than thou," has
often proved a consoling doctrine for the narrow peo
ple of narrow creeds.

A few brief sketches more, and I have done with
Danbury. The health of my brother-in-law gradu
ally failed, and at last, as winter approached, he took
to his room, and finally to his bed. By almost in
sensible degrees, and with singular tranquillity of
mind and body, he approached his end. It was a

402 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

trait of his character, to believe nothing, to do noth
ing, by halves. Having founded his faith on Christ,
Christianity was now, in its duties, its promises,
and its anticipations, as real as life itself. He was
afflicted with no doubts, no fears. With his mind
in full vigor, his strong intellect vividly awake, he
was ready to shake hands with death, and to enter
into the presence of his God. The hour came. He
had taken leave of his friends, and then feeling a
sense of repose, he asked to be left alone. They all
departed save one, who sat apart, listening to every
breath. In a few moments she came and found
him asleep, but it was the sleep that knows no
waking I

I continued in the store alone for several months,
selling out the goods, and closing up the affairs of
the estate. I had now a good deal of time to my
self, and thumbed over several books, completing
my reading of Shakspeare, to which I have already
alluded. It happened that we had a neighbor over
the way — a good-natured, chatty old gentleman, by
the name of Ebenezer White. He had been a teacher,
and had a great taste for mathematics. In those days
it was the custom to put forth in the newspapers puz
zling questions of figures, and to invite their solution.
Master White was sure to give the answer, first. In
fact, his genius for mathematics was so large, that it
left rather a moderate space in his brain for common
sense. He was, however, full of good feelings, and

16*

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIOAL, ETC. 403

was now entirely at leisure. Indeed, time hung
heavy on his hands, so he made me frequent visits,
and in fact lounged away an hour or two of almost
every day, at the store. I became at last interested
in mathematics, and under his good-natured and gra
tuitous lessons, I learned something of geometry and
trigonometry, and thus passed on to surveying and
navigation. This was the first drop of real science
that I ever tasted — I might almost say the last, for
though I have since skimmed a good many books,- I
feel that I have really mastered almost nothing.

LETTER XXV,

Farewell to Danbury — Hartford — My First Master and, his Family — Me-
rino Sheep — A Wind-up — Another Change — My new Employer — A new
Era in Life — George Sheldon — Franklin'1' Biography.

MY DEAR C******

I must now introduce you to a new era in my
life. Early in the summer of 1811, I took leave of
Danbury, and went to Hartford. On my arrival
there, I was installed in the dry-goods store of C. B.
K . . . ., my father having made the arrangement some
weeks before. My master was a young man of ex
cellent disposition, with a pretty wife and two fat
cherubs of children. I was kindly treated in this
family, with which I took my meals. Many a happy

404 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

rornp had I with the children — this exercise filling
in some degree the aching void of my bosom, arising
from isolation — for I was not only in a new place,
but I was almost without friends or acquaintances.
My master had no real turn for business, and spent
much of his time away, leaving the affairs of the
shop to an old fudge of a clerk, by the name of
Jones, and to me. Things went rather badly, and
he sought to mend his fortune by a speculation in Me
rino sheep* — then the rage of the day. A ram sold

* The Merino sheep appears to he a breed which originated in the
mountain districts of Estremadura, in Spain, in the time of the Roman
dominion, from the careful mixture of celebrated European and Asiatic
breeds. In the time of Tiberius, a ram of this stock was sold for a
thousand dollars, an enormous price, if we consider the value of money
at that period. The more tender breeds of sheep became extinct in Italy
and Greece during the invasions of the northern barbarians, but the
hardy Merinoes, having thriven in the mountains, survived, and have
come down to modern times. All the European breeds, now celebrated
for the fineness of their wool, are crosses of the Merino.

The first Merinoes brought into the United States were imported by
Chancellor Robert R. Livingston — a pair of each sex — in 1802. M. De-
lessert sent a few others, soon after. Little attention, however, was paid
to the subject, and it seems that about 1805, half-breeds were sold at a
price below that of common sheep. Afterward, a larger importation was
made by Col. Humphries, who had been our Minister to Spain, and our
Consul, Jarvis : these were three hundred in number, and arrived in
1810. Humphries tells us that he had turned his thoughts to this subject
before he left Spain, and as he seems to have consulted his muse iu ev
ery thing that interested him, he had there written a poem, the burden
of which is found in the following stanzas :

" Oh might my guidance from the downs of Spain,
Lead a white flock across tbe western main ;
Famed like the hark that hore the Argonaut
Should he the vessel with the burden fraught I
Clad In the raiment my Merinoes yield ;
Like Cincinnatus, fed from my own field ;
Far from ambition, grandeur, care, and strife,
In sweet fruition of domestic life ;

HISTOKICAL, AKECDOTICAL, ETC. 405

for a thousand dollars and a ewe for a hundred — a
great discount certainly for gender ; but Maria An
toinette Brown and her school had not yet equal
ized the sexes. Fortunes were made and lost in a day,
during this mania. With my master, it was great cry
and little wool ; for after buying a flock and driving
it to Vermont, where he spent three months, he came
back pretty well shorn — that is, three thousand dol
lars out of pocket! This soon brought his affairs to
a crisis, and so in the autumn I was transferred to

the dry-goods store of J. B. H

My new employer had neither wife nor child to
take up his time, so he devoted himself sedulously to
business. He was indeed made for it — elastic in his
frame, quick-minded, of even temper, and assiduous
politeness. He was already well established, and
things marched along as if by rail. For a time, we
had another clerk, but he was soon dismissed, and I
was the only assistant ; my master, however, seldom
leaving the shop during business hours. Had trade
been in me, I might now have learned it. I think I
may say, that I fulfilled my duty, at least in form ;
I was regular in my hours, kept the books duly jour
nalized and posted. I never consciously wronged
arithmetic to the amount of. a farthing. I duly per-

There would I pass with friends, beneath my trees,
What rests from public life, in letter'd ease."

This poetic aspiration became history : in 1809, when Madison was
inaugurated, his coat was made of Merino cloth from a manufactory
established by Humphries, and his small-clothes from one founded by
Chancellor Livingston. See Cyclopedia of Amer. Leterature, vol. i. p. 876

406 LETTEKS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

formed my task at the counter. Yet, in all this, I
was a slave : my heart was not in my work. My
mind was away : I dreamed of other things ; T
thought of other pursuits.

And yet I scarcely knew all this. I had certainly
no definite plan for the future. A thousand things
floated before my imagination. Every book I read
drew me aside into its own vortex. Poetry made
me poetical ; politics made me political ; travels
made me truant. I was restless, for I was in a wrong
position, yet I asked no advice, for I did not know
that I needed it. My head and heart were a hive of
thoughts and feelings — swarming in the sunny spring
tide of life — without the regulating and sedative su
premacy of a clear and controlling intelligence. My
imagination was a flame, playing around my yet cloud
ed understanding, and giving to this its own wavering
and blinding light.

It may seem to you, my dear C , that 1 am

treating with undue emphasis and detail this unspo
ken history of a boy in a country store. Yet such —
in the main — is life, with the great as with the small.
Remember, I am speaking of that crisis of existence,
when an impulse to the right or left may determine
the direction and the end of a whole career. You
are a philosopher, and can not be indifferent to any
experience that may throw light upon the history of
the human heart. You are, besides, a parent, and as
such, can not be too well advised of what passes in

HISTORICAL, ANECDOT1CAL, ETC. 4:07

the bosom of youth, and especially as they stand at
the door of manhood. No one can know too well
the mastery which slight events at this period may
exercise over a long and fearful future. Therefore,
pass not disdainfully over this page of my story !

My experience was, no doubt, in some degree ex
ceptional. With considerable knowledge, gathered by
glimpses, in a scramble, as I passed along in an irreg
ular and uncertain road, I had really no education in
the sense of mental discipline. What I knew was by
halves, and it had been so acquired that my mind was
a thicket of weeds and flowers, without a defined path
to get into or out of it. All that I had was instinct,
somewhat enlightened, perhaps, by my early religious
training. On questions of right and wrong, in feeling
and conduct, my conscience should have been a safe
guide ; but in respect _to the understanding, as to
logic of thought — I scarcely knew the process. My
imagination was like an unbridled colt, and it car
ried me whither it would. In reflecting upon this in
maturer years, I have compared my mind to that slip
pery bird of the sea — the loon — which usually comes
up in the direction exactly opposite to that in which
it goes down. In argument, in reflection, in delib
eration, with myself or others — if I began upon one
thing, I was pretty sure to get speedily stranded upon
another. All that I knew of myself was, that I felt ;
I had not yet, in fact, learned the process of sober in
duction and methodical reasoning. I had just that

4:08 LETTERS — BIOGKAPHICAL,

little learning which is a dangerous thing, because it
imparts intoxication, not inspiration.

So far, then, my condition was certainly peculiar.
But in regard to that impulse which rises up in the
youthful bosom like a gale to the ship, coming in the
midst of seeming calm, and bringing every sail and
spar suddenly and by surprise to its work — I was
like other boys at the threshold of a new and start
ling era in life. What gigantic strides seem then to
be at command with the seven-leagued boots of gristle
manhood ! And yet, with such an impetus, the youth
may yield himself to a word, a thought, which takes
the helm, and guides the spirit, through weal or woe,
to its doom.

" My boyhood vanish'd, and I woke,

Startled, to manhood's early morn —
No father's hand my pride to yoke,

No mother's angel voice to warn !

******
The spark forever tends to flame—

The ray that quivers in the plash
Of yonder river, is the same

That feeds the lightning's ruddy flash.
The summer breeze that fans the rose,

Or eddies down some flowery path,
Is but the infant gale that blows

To-morrow with the whirlwind's wrath.
And He alone who wields the storm,

And bids the arrowy lightnings play,
Can guide the heart, when, wild and warm,

It springs on passion's wings away.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOT1CAL, ETC. 409

Cue augel minister is sent,

To guard and guide us to the sky,
And still her sheltering wing is bent,

Till manhood rudely throws it by.
Oh, then with mad disdain we spurn

A mother's gentle teaching ; throw
Her bosom from us, and we burn

To rush in freedom, where the glow
Of pleasure lights the dancing wave —

We launch the bark, we woo the gale,
And reckless of the darkling wave

That yawns below, we speed the sail!"

Thus many a youth rushes upon his fate. Some,
indeed, are always sober and judicious : they plod on
wisely and prosperously, not so much on account of
the influence of home instruction, nor indeed by
happy accident, but through inherent steadiness of
character. Yet these cases are not frequent. Nearly
all pass through the straits of Scylla on one side and
of Charybdis on the other. Some escape, but, alas,
how many are fatally wrecked ! how many only live
on to scandalize society, to break the hearts of their
parents, to debase and degrade themselves and their
companions ! It is sad to reflect upon the number of
young men who are lost at this turning-point — this
" doubling the Cape" — of life. Several of my earliest
acquaintances have gone down, long since, to their
graves, the victims of those hidden quicksands which,
beset the youthful voyager, at the very moment when
his sails are filled with flattering hopes and generous

VOT,. I.— 18

410 LKTTEKS BIOGRAPHICAL,

aspirations — yet, also, with presumptuous confidence
In short, they were shoved out to sea with no pilot
on board but their own passions, and destruction was
but the too natural consequence.

That I escaped is no special merit of my own. I
formed an acquaintance with George Sheldon, which
soon ripened into friendship, and this had great influ
ence on my future life. He was, at the time, a clerk
in the establishment of Hudson & Goodwin,* a firm

* The following obituary notice, abridged from the Connecticut Cou-
rant of May 14, 1844, is worthy of insertion, as well for its just picture
of a good man's life, as for the facts of general interest which it presents.

" Mr. George Goodwin, whose death was yesterday announced, was
born in this city (Hartford) on the 7th day of January, 1757, and died the
18th day of May, 1844, being the oldest man in the town. He was de
scended from one of those ancient families who made their way from
Newtown, Mass., through the wilderness, to find a new home on the
banks of the Connecticut river.

" At the age of nine years he was placed as an apprentice in a print
ing-office, where was published a small weekly print, called the Con
necticut Courant, the first paper printed in this town, and for many
years the only one upon this river — the history of which is so intimately
connected with that of the deceased as to demand notice. The first
number was published by Thomas Green, October 29, 1764. In April,
1768, Mr. Green associated with him in this enterprise, Mr. Ebenezer
Watson, and retired from it in December, 1770, leaving it in the hands
of Mr. Watson, alone. In September, 1777, Mr. Watson died, ancl Mr
Goodwin, a young man of but twenty years of age, was left to conduct
it. In January, 1778, he became a partner with the widow of Mr. Wat
son in the establishment, and so continued until her marriage with Mr.
Hudson, in March, 1779, when he formed a partnership with that gen
tleman, which continued nearly forty years, or until 1815. Mr. Good
win, after the dissolution of the concern, continued to superintend the
paper until the year 1836, when he relinquished it to the present pro
prietor. But it can hardly be said that his connection with this paper
ended at that time, for such were his habits of industry, and so fixed
were his associations, and so long had ho been identified with this es
tablishment, that he made it one of the stipulations of his contract,
that he should have a right to work in the office as formerly, whea he

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, KTC.

then known all over this hemisphere, as publishers
of the Bible, Webster's Spelling-book, and the Con
necticut Courant. They were, in the popular mind,
regarded as the bulwarks of religion, education, and
federalism — three pretty staunch supporters of the
New England platform, in that epoch of the world.

was so disposed — and for several years after did he avail himself of this
privilege. Probably no man in this country, perhaps no man in the
world, had pursued this business for so long a time — that is. tor nearly
eighty years. While under his auspices, this paper gained a circula
tion almost unknown to country papers, and for a long course of years
gave a tone to the morals and policy of the State.

" He was always found on the side of religion and morals, nor was he
ashamed to profess Christ before men : his great grief was that he had
not done it earlier. He was a special friend of temperance, and imputed
his good health and- success in life largely, to a rigid abstinence from
intoxicating drinks.

"His politics were learned in the school of the American Eevolutiou.
In his opinions he was firm and decided, but modest and unassuming.
Without any advantages of education beyond that of a common school,
he became a highly useful and intelligent editor, and one whose influ
ence was extensively felt in this community. His mind was active and
sprightly. He was frank and pleasant in his manners ; he had a good
share of wit and humor, and in his younger days, was the life of the
circle into which he entered. He was one of the last of the old school
gentlemen among us, and he certainly was a good representative of that
interesting class.

" It is hardly necessary to say how well he discharged all the duties
of private life ; how kind and beneficent he was to the poor, or how dear
to his friends. Happy in his family circle, he passed those years, which
are ordinarily years ' of labor and sorrow,' in cheerful gratitude to God,
and humble hope in Christ, with few of the pains and sorrows of old
age — until, after a sickness of a few days, he fell like a shock of corn
fully ripe in the hope of a glorious immortality beyond the grave."

The following lines by Mrs. Sigourney are a worthy and pleasing trib
ute to this good man's memory :

OUR OLDEST MAN.

Meek patriarch of our city! art thou dead?

The just, the saintly, and the full of days,
The crown of ripen'd wisdom on thy head,
The poor man's blessing, and the good man's praise T

412 I.K'ITKKS 1UOGKAPHICAL,

It is very seldom that plodding industry rises so high.
Mr. Hudson was a homespun old respectability, of
plain, strong sense, sturdy principles, and rather dry,
harsh manners, having also a limp in the leg. He
took charge of the financial department of the con
cern. Mr. Goodwin was a large, hale, comely old

Would that our sons, who saw thee onward move
With step so vigorous and serenely sage,

Of thee might learn to practice, and to love
The hardy virtues of an earlier age.

For more than fourscore winters had not chill'd

The glow of healthful years, on lip, or cheek,
Nor In thy breast the warm pulsation still'd,

That moves with upright zeal to act and speak.
Ne'er from the righteous cause withheld by fear,

Of honest toil ashamed, nor proud of wealth,
But train'd in habits simple and sincere,

From whence republics draw their vital health.

To every kind affection gently true,

The husband and the father and the friend,
Thy children's children still delighted drew

Around the lionor'd grandsire's chair to bend.
But now thy mansion hath its master lost,

Wrapp'd in its pleasant green, with trees o'erspread
And we, a patriot sire, who knew the cost

Of blood-bought freedom, in the day of dread.

We mourn thee, Father 1 On thy staff, no more

Thy cheerful smile shall greet us, day by day,
Nor the far memories of thy treasured lore,

Withhold the joyous listeners from their play.
Where stood that ancient race we fear to stand,

In foremost watch on life's beleagner'd wall,
To bide the battle with a feebler hand.

Perchance to falter, and perchance to fall.

O God of Strength ! — who takest from our head,

Oar white-hair'd patriarchs, firm in faith and truth.
Grant us thy grace, to follow where they led,

A pure example to observant youth ;
That though the sea of time should fiercely roll,

We so its billows and its waves may stem,
As not to lose the sunshine of the soul,

Nor our eternal rest in Heaven, with them.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 413

gentleman, of lively mind and cheerful manners.
There was always sunshine in his bosom and wit
upon his lip. He turned his hand to various things,
though chiefly to the newspaper, which was his pet.
His heaven was the upper loft in the composition
room ; setting type had for him the sedative charms
of knitting-work to a country dame. I have often
seen him, cheerfully swinging back and forth, as is
the wont of compositors, and tossing the type merrily
over his thumb into the stick, as if he were at work
by the thousand ems, and had a wife and nine small
children dependent upon his labors !

George Sheldon, then, was the favored clerk of this
ancient and honored firm. He was happily moulded
by nature, and not unkindly treated by fortune. He
was short of stature, but of a bearing at once modest
and manly. His large understanding and vivid im
agination were duly balanced — the first being always
the master, the latter always the servant. He had
been well educated in the schools of the city, even
to the acquisition of the common Latin and Greek
classics. He had read extensively, for one of his
age, and with profit. When I met him, he was
twenty ; I but eighteen.

It is not easy to conceive of two persons more un
like than we were at that time. Why we coalesced,
can only be accounted for from the affinity of oppo
sition — a phenomenon not unknown in the chemistry
of the mind and the affections. Tall men seek short

414: LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

wives ; large women favor little husbands. The
blonde is smitten with black eyes and raven hair ;
the brunette falls in love with flaxen locks and azure
looks. All nature's contradictions make all nature's
peace. And so a friendship, which was only termi
nated by the grave, grew up between myself — a raw
adventurer from the country — and George Sheldon,
the educated, disciplined, well-balanced graduate of
the city.

I must again apologize for, or perhaps rather ex
plain, the introduction of these commonplace details.
Were I writing for the popular favor, and sought
success only through the current taste of the day, I
should choose for the exercise of my pen a sub
ject very different from that which gives birth to
these pages. I know that the public crave high-sea
soned meats. Eomance must be thrilling ; biogra
phy startling. History must be garnished with the
lights and shadows of vivid dramatic representation.
Who, then, of the great excited public would conde
scend to these simple memorials of apprentice boys
in the middle ranks of life ?

I might indeed cite as example for these passages,
the autobiography of Franklin the printer, were it not
that I fear this would be deemed too ambitious, asx if
I suggested a comparison in respect to the end as
well as the beginning. Nevertheless, it is Frank
lin's history, as a boy of the middle class, successfully
but laboriously working his way upward, that has

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 4:15

made it at once the most attractive and most useful
biography of modern times. All over Christendom,
it has met with the sympathy of the working classes,
and it has done more than any volume within my
knowledge, to give courage and heart to the sons of
labor, as it has shown that the paths of ambition are
open to them as to others, provided they be followed
with Franklin's virtues — honesty, frugality, perseve
rance, and patriotism. What a contrast between the
influence of such a biography as this, and that of
a man whose life is only remarkable for success in
bloodshed, or even in the more vulgar paths of vice,
knavery, or crime ! What a debt of gratitude does
the world owe to Franklin ! What a weight of con
demnation should rest upon him who degrades and
debases those who come within the sphere of his
influence, by exciting and seductive narratives of the
little or the great rascals who are sent as scourges
and warnings to our race !

One of the most grateful things in my experiencb
among the middle classes in England, France, and
Germany, is, that I have been there recognized as
the countryman of Franklin, and by virtue of this,
have been often received as a friend. There is no
part of Europe that I have visited, where the name
of Franklin is not known and honored — except, per
haps, in Italy. There the atmosphere is not of a
nature to permit such a history as his, to shed its
beneficent light upon the hearts of the people. The

4: 1 6 LKTTER8 BIOGRAPHICAL,

mythologies of the Virgin and the saints are deemed
safer reading — safer, because they darken rather than
enlighten the mind — than the history of a Boston
printer, whose whole life is a lecture in behalf of the
elevating power of liberty of thought and action.
With this exception, Franklin's story of his early
life, his humble apprenticeship, his patient struggles,
his plodding industry, his rise, step by step, from
poverty to independence, and all this within the
possible and probable sphere of common life — seems
actually to have been a gospel of good tidings to the
European masses of modern times. Let me go on,
then, my dear C...., countenanced, if not encour
aged, by this example. Be it well understood, how
ever, that if you are disheartened at the specimens I
have furnished, I give you leave to depart, and with
no offence to me. Good-by, my friend — if it must be
so — and peace be with thee !

H1STOKICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 417

LETTER XXVI.

My Situation under my new Hasten- — Discontent — Humiliating Discov
eries — Desire to quit Trade and go to College — Undertake to Re
educate myself — A Long Struggle — Partial Success — Infidelity — The
World without a God — Existence, Nature, Life, all contradiction*, with
out Revealed Religion — Return after long Wanderings.

MY DEAR C ******

I have received your kind letter, giving your
adhesion to what I have done, though counseling
me to be less discursive in my narrative hereafter.
Taking this in good part, and promising amendment,
I proceed in my story.

I was, then, eighteen years of age, installed in a
dry-goods store at Hartford, under a respectable and
reasonable master. I had been sufficiently educated
for my station. My parents had now removed from
Ridgefield to Berlin, a distance of but eleven miles
from my present residence, so that I had easy and
frequent communication with them. My uncle,
Chauncey Goodrich, then a Senator of the United
States, lived in an almost contiguous street, and
while in the city, always treated me with the kind
ness and consideration which my relation to him nat
urally dictated. In general, then, my situation was
eligible enough ; and yet I was unhappy.

The truih is, I had now been able to sit in judg
ment upon myself — to review my acquirements, to
18*

418 LKTTKRS BIOGRAPHICAL,

analyze my capacities, to estimate my character — to
compare myself with others, and see a little into
the future. The decision was painful to the ambi
tion which lurked within me. I had all along, un
consciously, cherished a vague idea of some sort of
eminence, and this unhappily had nothing to do with
selling goods or making money. I had lived in
the midst of relations, friends, and alliances, all of
which had cultivated in me trains of thought alien to
my present employment. My connections were re
spectable : some of them eminent, but none of them
rich ; all had acquired their positions without wealth,
and I think it was rather their habit to speak of it
as a very secondary affair. Brought up under such
influences, how could I give my heart to trade? It
was clear, indeed, that I had missed my vocation.

Full of this conviction, I besought my parents to
allow me to quit the store, and attempt to make my
way through college.* Whether for good or ill, !•

* When I wrote this letter, I was living at Conrbevoie, near Paris.
About that time, a gentleman from Connecticut (Mr. Gilmau), whom I
lin J accidentally met in Paris, and of whom I had made some inquiries re
specting certain eminent men of that State, came to visit me, and brought
me several pamphlets, -and among them a catalogue of Yale College, inti-
ninting that he supposed I mast take an interest in the latter, as I was
one of its graduates. I told him this must be a mistake, but he took
tin-, book and showed me that I was made an honorary A. M. by that
institution in 1848 ! This, however, was the first time I ever heard of
it. Thus, after all, though I never went to college, I got into the cata-
l.ijrue, but nearly forty years after these my youthful aspirations. [
was a long time in passing my examination, and getting my degree ;
itii'l if the learned gentlemen, who bestowed upon me this act of grace,
luul known how little of their sort of learning! really possessed, I doubt
if t!;ey h:id evergrantedto me so high a rank. Several years before, some-

HISTORICAL, ANKCDOTICAI., KTC. 4:11)

know not, but they decided against the change, and
certainly on substantial grounds. Their circum
stances did not permit them to offer me any consid
erable aid, and without it they feared that I should
meet with insuperable difficulties. I returned to the
store, disheartened at first, but after a time my cour
age revived, and I resolved to re-educate myself. I
borrowed some Latin books, and with the aid of
George Sheldon, I passed through the Latin Gram
mar, and penetrated a little way into Virgil. This
was done at night, for during the day I was fully o-i-
cupied.

At the same time, I began — with such light and
strength as I possessed — to train my mind — to disci
pline my thoughts, then as untamed as the birds of
the wilderness. I sought to think — to think steadily,
to acquire the power of forcing my understanding up
to a point, and make it stand there and do its work.
I attempted to gain the habit of speaking methodi
cally, logically, and with accumulating power, direct
ed to a particular object. I did all this as well by study
as practice. I read Locke on the Understanding and
Watts on the Mind. I attempted composition, and
aided myself by Blair's Rhetoric.

This was a task, for not only was my time chiefly
occupied by my daily duties, but it was a contest

body addressed me an official letter, informing me that a similar honor
had been bestowed upon me by the college at Williamstown, but I never
liked to inquire about it, for fear it should turn out to be a joke.
What, indeed, have my attainments to do with college honors I

i20 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

against habit — it was myself against myself — and in
this I was almost unaided and alone. I believe few
have this experience, for most persons have progress
ive, methodical education. Their advance up the
steep ascent of knowledge is gradual, measured step
by step ; and this process is performed in youth, and
with the assistance of instructors, and all so gently,
as to pass by without the consciousness of any great
or painful effort, even by the subject of it. A person
who has acquired an education in the usual way —
under the steady training of teachers, from childhood
to the period of graduation — does not appreciate in
his feelings the amount of labor heaped rfp in this
protracted struggle. If we consider, however, the
momentum at last accumulated in the simple act of
reading, for instance — the eye with electric celerity
compassing every letter in a line, and the mind as
quickly seizing upon every thought, mastering it,
and passing on, the soul meanwhile giving to each
conception its due feeling and emotion — we shall
have a measure by which we may form some esti
mate of the magnitude of that structure in the
mind, called education. It was a work of this sort,
with the habits acquired in its formation, that I was
to undo and do over again. It was my fortune to
find that I had gone wrong, and must retrace my
steps. I was to tear to pieces the labor, the practices,
the associations of years, and at the same time I was
to reconstruct the broken and shattered fragments

HISTOKICAL, ANEODOTICAL, ETC. 4li I

into a new and symmetrical edifice. I was to lay
aside the slip-shod practice of satisfying myself with
impressions, feelings, guesses ; in short, of dodging
mental labor by jumping at conclusions. I was
to teach myself the art, and to train myself to the
habit, of accumulating materials ; of assorting them
according to their several kinds ; of weighing them
in a just and scrutinizing balance ; of rearranging
them on principles of logic, and finally, of deducing
from them a safe and reliable judgment. I was, in
deed, to learn the greatest of all arts, that of reason-'
ing, of discovering the truth, and I was to do this
alone, and in the face of difficulties, partly founded
in my mental constitution, and partly also in my
training.

I did not at first comprehend the extent of my un
dertaking. By degrees I began to appreciate it : I
saw and felt, at last, that it was an enormous tasK,
and even after I had resolved upon it, again and
again, my courage gave out, and I ceased my ef
forts in despair. Still, I returned to the work by
spasms. I found, for instance, that my geography
was all wrong : Asia stood up edgewise, in my
imagination, just as I had seen it on an old smoky
map in Lieutenant Smith's study : Africa was in
the southeast corner of creation, and Europe was
somewhere in the northeast. In fact, my map of
the world was very Chinese in its projection. I
knew better, but still I had thus conceived it. and

422 LETTERS— BIOGRAPHICAL,

the obstinate bump of locality insisted upon pre
senting its outlines to my mind, according to this ar
rangement. I bad similar jumbles of conception and
habit, as to other things. This would not do : so I
relearned the elements of geography ; I revised my
history, my chronology, my natural history — in all
of which I had caught casual glimpses of knowledge.
Finding my memory bad for dates, I made a list of
chronological eras, from the Creation down, and riv
eted them by repetition, in my memory. What I
read, I read .earnestly. I determined to pass no word
without ascertaining its meaning, and I persevered ill
this, doggedly, for five and twenty years.

Now, after all these my efforts, I only skimmed the
surface of knowledge : I did not even reach the depths
of a thorough college education. In some degree, I
cleared up the wilderness of my mind ; in some de
gree methodized my habits of thought ; in some de
gree made myself the master of my faculties and my
knowledge. I learned to think more clearly, to speak
more logically, and to write more methodically —
within the range of my acquisitions. Still, I only
reached the precincts of what may be called educa
tion, in a just sense of the term. In after years,
when I have been called upon to write upon a partic
ular subject, I have generally been first obliged to sit
down and study it, or at least to refresh my mind by
reviewing it.

With this inadequate preparation, however, I rash-

HISTORICAL, ANEODOTICAL, ETC. 423

ly began to form my own opinions — the most daring
action of the mind. I ventured to question dogmas
— moral, political, and religious. I passed through
the several stages of curiosity, doubt, infidelity, as
many others have done before rne. I resolved to take
nothing upon trust ; I must examine and decide for
myself. Beginning with things familiar and secular,
I came at last to things remote, doctrinal, theological.
I approached the sacred edifice of religion, and in a
moment of presumption, tumbled it into a heap of
ruins ! And then ? Ah, how impossible to paint the
dark, drear horizon of the mind when it has put out
the light of faith : extinguished even the star of hope !
The world from that moment became to me a fearful
enigma : all its harmony was gone : existence was a
nightmare, heaven a fathomless abyss, earth an incom
prehensible mystery. And Man, of all the creatures
upon earth, was the most mysterious — above all things,
and yet below all things. The bird had organs adapted
to its wants — feet for the land and wings for the air.
The fishes had fins suited to their element ; the quad
rupeds were all provided with the means of securing
happiness according to their several tastes and facul
ties. Wherever there was a want, the means of sat
isfying it were bestowed. Every thing was con
sistent with itself. Nothing was made in vain : in
the whole range of nature, there was no absurdity,
no contradiction, no mistake. Every thing attained
its end, everv thing fulfilled its design savo M;m

424 LKTTKKS IUOGKAPHICAL,

alone ! He had wants for which there was no pro
vision : he had hunger and thirst of the soul, yet
there was nothing to feed the one, or quench the other!
He had the gift of hope, but was hopeless ; the fac
ulty of faith, with nothing on which faith could set
its foot. He had anticipation — a looking forward into
the future — wafting him thither like a trade-wind, and
breathing of the tropic air of immortality. He yearn
ed for something higher than earth, but was without
wings to fly, or an object amid the prevailing waters —
the universal deluge of doubt — upon which he could
find repose ! The dove of hope was sent forth, but
came back with no olive-branch of peace, no promise
of a shore to this bleak sea of nothingness! The
veriest insect, the worm, the reptile, each and all,
had every thing needful to perfect its being. Man
alone seemed created to live in doubt, and to perish
in disappointment. The inferior things of earth were
perfect ; the conscious lord of creation was a stu
pendous blunder ! Thus seemed the universe ; thus
seemed man, without God — without religion.

" I had a dream, which was not all a dream —
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung, blind and black'ning, in the moonless air.
* * * * *

The crowd was famish'd by degrees ; but two

Of an enormous city did survive,

And they were enemies : they met beside

HISTORICAL, ANEODOTICAL, KTC. 425

The (lying embers of an altar-place,

"Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things,

For an unholy usage : they raked up,

And shivering, scraped with their cold, skeleton hands,

The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath

Blew for a little life, and made a flame,

Which was a mockery : then they lifted up

Their eyes, as it grew brighter, and beheld

Each other's aspects — saw and shriek'd and died —

E'en of their mutual hideousness, they died!"

Such is the fearful, overwhelming picture of the
Earth, if you pluck the sun from the heavens : bring
back that glorious orb, and all its light and harmony
and beauty are restored. In this, the Natural World
is but an image of the Moral World.

This Earth without a Sun to give it light,

Would roll a wintry planet robed in night.

All that we see of beauty — trees and flowers —

All that we hear of music in their bowers,

Live on the bounty of that Orb above —

Nature's exhaustless source of life and love.

And Man, if not illumed of Heaven's light,

Renew'd each morn and stealing through the night,

Dark as a planet exiled from the sun,

His savage course of crime and shame would run.

As blushing flowers with spreading odors rise —

As balmy zephyrs steal from southern skies —

As rills unchain'd with gladdening murmurs play —

As birds return and pour the rapturous lay —

As nature rises from its wintry night —

All at the bidding of the Source of Light —

So every virtue blooming in the soul,

Is warm'd to life by Heaven's kind control !

4:26 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

Indeed, take religion from man, and you dethrone
God from the sky : you banish the light from the
soul, you convert its highest faculties into elements
of fear, terror, and despair. Love, that seems to
breathe of heaven, to lift us on its wing toward a
better and happier and holier clime, sinks into lust :
affection into selfishness ; friendship into an illusive
dream. In this view, man is only a superior sort
of beast, to live, despair, and perish. Bring back
religion, and the light returns to the mind : under
its influences, the warm pulses of affection and friend-
snip and piety and poetry once more beat in the
bosom : the winter of desolation gives way to the
spring-tide of hope. Man is no longer a beast, ex
istence no longer a riddle, creation no more a contra
diction. Nature, before a stupendous lie, is now a
glorious truth !

To this conclusion I came at last, though after a
long and painful struggle. God was as much reveal
ed to man as the earth, the sky, the sun : that was
now settled in my mind, but it was not enough.
What was our relation to Him ? What was human
destiny ? What meant this inward faith that makes
of the Creator an object of worship, of love, of hope,
of confidence ? What means the heart of prayer in
every human breast? Is it only an instinct, telling
us to pray, and then leaving us to perish ? Is that
the way of God ? Does He tell us to hope, that He
may cheat us of his promises ? Has God made man

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 427

to bear through life the burden of doubt, and to carry-
it with him to the grave ? Is there, in short, no rev
elation for man beyond the simple fact that there is
a God — told us by our common sense, by our in
stinct, by the voice of nature and of creation ? In
these things His woric is complete ; in that it is evi
dently imperfect. Man has in him desires, wants,
anticipations, exigencies, which are not satisfied by
this mere light of nature. Without a further revela
tion, he is like the bird, made to fly, yet without
wings ; like the fish, formed to swim, yet without fins.
He is an anomaly in the universe : the only thing
that walks erect in God's image, is the only thing
that God has made in vain, and worse than in vain !
There is, then, another revelation, for we must not
charge the Omnipotent with incompetence, the Omni
scient with ignorance, the Omnipresent with forget
ful ness. We must not, in his greatest work, discover
a negation of all his perfections, conspicuous in all
other things. What, then, is this revelation ? It was
given to Adam face to face, by the Almighty ; it has
since descended in various ways, and at different eras,
upon mankind ; it has existed, and still exists, in all
nations, though it may be seen by many races as
through a glass darkly. But the whole force of God's
highest revelations to man, is accumulated in the
Bible, and especially in the Gospel — the life, char
acter, and redemption of Christ. The unenlightened
may be led by duller light : this is adapted to civil-

4:28 LETTERS BIOGKAPIflOAL,

ized nations. Those may find their hunger and thirst
of soul appeased by what nature yields ; but the in
structed man needs the full effulgence of such a reve
lation as this.

And thus, after many wanderings, like one long
lest in the wilderness — like one wearied and worn
with struggling in a marsh, I came back to the con
viction of my fathers — that the Bible is the revealed
will of God; as much adapted to us, as necessary
for us, as the light to the eye, the air to the lungs ;
as indispensable to the life of the soul, as food and
drink to the body, in which the soul is enshrined.

This work was not performed at once, or by one
continuous effort ; it was a long internal struggle,
coming upon me in spasms — sometimes by day and
sometimes by night. Often it subsided into settled
doubt or desponding apathy ; often it returned like
a tempest to agitate and overwhelm me. It was, in
deed, prolonged through several years, and even after
I had seemed to come to the dry land, like the ark
amid the subsiding deluge, difficulties and doubts
sometimes haunted me. I was, in fact, not yet a be
liever. Infidelity is a long, dark voyage, and offers
no secure haven of rest or repose. I have been ac
quainted with several professed deists and atheists —
some of the very first order of mind — yet I have never
found one who was not, in fact, afloat on a sea of un
certainty, tossed with doubt and racked with anxiety.

My stumbling-blocks, at this period, were chiefly

HISTORICAL, ANECDOT1CAL, ETC.

of that class called metaphysical, yet they were to
me real, earnest, operative. The existence of evil in
a world made and governed by God ; the free agency
of man, deriving from the Almighty his being and
his breath ; the moral responsibility of creatures, de
pendent for all things upon the Creator ; the seeming
predestination flowing from Omnipotence, with the
consciousness of liberty of thought and action plant
ed in every bosom : these and other rocks in this
voyage of the immortal mind — strewn with the
wrecks of millions — were still anxious mysteries to
me. And then, that dreadful incompatibility upon
which audacious human reason drives us — that every
thing must have a beginning, and yet just as cer
tainly, that all things spring from the Eternal ! What
a stunning blow, leveled at the pride of logic, is this ?
How is the mind humbled, admitting as it must, that
all we see and know of time and eternity, is but the
vibration of a pendulum, whose spring is hidden from
our sight ! Long, often and anxiously, did I return
to these questions, thundering — sometimes almost in
frenzy — at the sullen, silent, impenetrable door, which
holds their solution from the view. I learned at last
that I was only doing what had been done by thou
sands before — that I was attempting what the wisest
and strongest had given up in despair. I saw that
the mind was bounded in its powers as well as the
body ; that as the latter could not defy the laws of
gravitation, so the former could not rend the curtain

430 LKTTEKS BIOGKAPillCAL,

that God had hung between the creature and the
Creator. I bowed at last ; I ceased to agonize upon
things beyond my reach. I turned to my actual du
ties ; I cultivated the gifts of nature and Providence
vouchsafed to me ; I cherished the lights and not the
shadows of existence. And once more I was upon the
land ! I was again at home ; I had indeed wandered,
yet not perhaps unprofitably, for I had learned to
find peace and contentment in what God had be
stowed upon me, without seeking that forbidden fruit
of knowledge, of which He has said, " In the day
thou eatest thereof thou shalt die."

During the dark and cloudy period which I have
just sketched, George Sheldon was my constant com
panion. I had made other acquaintances, and had
other friends, but he was first, if not in my affections,
at least in my confidence. He had a far more com
manding intellect, more knowledge, more depth of
reflection, more range of thought and experience, than
myself. I consulted him in my studies ; I submitted
my progress to his examination ; I showed him my
compositions, and invited his criticisms.

Some persons seem to write with a certain matu
rity of thought and expression, almost upon their first
attempts ; others only attain the art of composition
by long and patient labor. As for myself, I came to
what I possess by reiterated trials. I do not know
of a decent thing — not even a letter — that I wrote
before I was twenty. How my monitorial guide did

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIGAL, ETC. 4:31

laugh at some of my first attempts at composition,
and especially at my tilts and tournaments upon Par
nassus !

As I have said, we were unlike, and in nothing so
much as in our mental constitution. His taste was
mature, mine crude and fantastic; his mind was lo
gical, mine irregular and discursive ; his was circum
spect, modest, prudent — mine daring, rash, audacious.
In our discussions, he constantly said to me, " Stick
to the point !" In regard to my writings, he often
remarked, " You have more illustrations than ideas."
In an argument, he would observe, " Stop a moment:
do you know what we are talking about ?" When
we approached some metaphysical gulf, he would say,
" Come, come, I have looked over there, and I can
assure you there is nothing to be gained by it."

Above and beyond all this, my friend aided me in
the more serious business of settling my religious
opinions. He had thought long and profoundly upon
the agitating questions which I have mentioned, and
in considering them I had the benefit of his clear in
telligence and just judgment. That I escaped ship
wreck, was doubtless owing in some degree to him :
I certainly reached the shore sooner than I could have
done alone.

The importance of such counsel, at this period, can
not be estimated without considering that I had been
brought up under the impression that an infidel —
nay, a doubter, a questioner, even — was a monster,

432 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

who challenged riot only the reprobation of man, but
the instant wrath of God. The preaching I heard,
the tone of society around me, confirmed this feeling.
I dared not ask advice, especially of the devout, for
I dreaded to confess myself that fearful thing — an
unbeliever ! At that time I slept in an upper room of
a large block of brick buildings, without another hu
man being in them, and never have I known the
nights so black, so long, so dismal, as during the pe
riods when I awoke from sleep, and in the solitude of
my chamber, wrestled with the tormenting questions
already alluded to, which came like Inquisitors, to
put me upon the rack of anxiety and doubt. The
friendly sympathy and judicious guidance of my
sturdy and steadfast friend, saved me, perhaps, from
despair.

I have since this period often thought, with a feel
ing of self-reproach, of the moral and mental obli
quity involved in infidelity, especially on the part of
one brought up as I had been. What is infidelity —
here in a Christian land ? An assumption that God
has left to the world no authenticated testimony of
his Will. Revelation is a fable : religion a bugbear.
What, then, is the condition of man ? History —
recent, reliable, unmistakable — has given the answer.
He who runs may and must read. During the first
French Revolution, the government abolished reli
gion, and the people sanctioned the decree. Let
us draw nigh and contemplate the spectacle of a

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 433

nation without a God, without a faith — without hope,
and without fear. Look at Paris, at that period — the
world's metropolis of art, taste, fashion, and refine
ment, rejoicing in its deliverance from the nightmare
of religion ! Look, and you will see that marriage was
a farce, and that truth had sunk into contempt. The
streets were filled with indecency, and the saloons were
no better than garnished brothels. Death was divested
of its solemnity, and the grave of its sanctity. Even
kindred could not spare time from their levities and
debaucheries to bury their deceased relatives. And
why should they ? They had gone to their eternal
sleep, and it was illogical to care for the manes of
those who had ceased to be. Nothingness — annihi
lation of the soul — left no sympathy for its worn-
out and cast-off vestment, the body. There was no
hereafter, no heaven, no elevating hope, no salutary
fear. There was no reality but the present. No
hymn of praise, no prayer, no rising incense, lifted
the soul above this dreadful revelry. Man was left
to cherish his baser propensities, without a wish or
a thought, which could drag him out of the miry clay
and the horrible pit !

This spectacle is as revolting to the moral taste of
man, as is a mass of filth — reeking with corruption —
to his senses. And yet this is the condition to which
infidelity inevitably tends. It is religion alone —
revealed religion — which saves the world from this
state of degradation. Paris has written that fact in

VOL. I.— iy

434 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

fire and in blood. Is this religion, then, a lie ? Is rev
elation, which thus works man's redemption here on
earth — to say nothing of the future — a fraud ? What
then is God — the infidel's God ? A being who made
man to live and die and perish, only as an ingenious
and gifted brute ! He is not the author of that reli
gion which ennobles man, exalts his faculties, his
tastes, his aspirations, and constantly seeks to make
him but little lower than the angels. He is not the
God of good, but of Evil — not the Author of Light,
but of Darkness — not the King of Heaven, but ol
Hell. This is the infidel's God.

Where, in Nature, is this fearful thing written ?
Not in the sun or the sky or the seasons, for these
tell us that God is good. Not in the human heart,
for this feels that God is true. Not in .the eye that
loves beauty, nor the ear that loves music. Every
sense whispers that God is Love. It is indeed a
dreadful obliquity, which leads the mind to refuse to
see God in the Bible Revelation, and to refuse to ac
cept Christianity as his gospel of good and glorious
tidings to man.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 435

LETTER XXVII.

Hartford forty years ago — The Hartford Wits — Hartford at the present
time — The Declaration of War in 1812 — Baltimore Riots — Feeling in
New England — Embargo — Non-intercourse, &c. — Democratic Doctrine
that Opposition is Treason.

MY DEAR C ******

The city of Hartford, ever noted for its fine sit
uation, in one of the fertile and beautiful vales of the
Connecticut, is now distinguished for its wealth — the
fruit of extraordinary sagacity and enterprise on the
part of its inhabitants — as well as for its interesting
institutions — literary, charitable, and philanthropic.
It presented, however, a different aspect at the time
of which I am speaking. It had, indeed, formerly
enjoyed some reputation as a sort of literary focus —
it being the residence of Trumbull, the author of
McFingal, of Hopkins, the bludgeon satirist, author
of the " Hypocrite's Hope," of Theodore Dwight, and
some others, known in their day as the " Hartford
Wits." This distinction was well deserved, for it ia
rare indeed that three satirical poets, of so much vig
or, are found working together. It is especially rare
to find them, as in this instance, united in an amica
ble as well as a literary brotherhood.

In my time Hopkins was dead ; Trumbull had left
off poetry for a seat on the bench of the Supreme
Court, and Dwight was devoted to the Connecticut

LKTTKKS BIOGRAPHICAL,

Mirror — a newspaper distinguished all over the coun
try for its vigilant and spicy vindication of federal
ism. His New- Year's verses were always looked for
with eagerness, for they usually contained a review of
events, with dashes at the times, in which the doings
of democracy were painted in the unsparing colors
of Hudibrastic ridicule. Many passages of these are
now worthy of being read, as well on account of their
illustration of the spirit of the time, as their keen
and cutting satire.

On the whole, however, Hartford was then a small
commercial town, of four thousand inhabitants, deal
ing in lumber, and smelling of molasses and Old Ja
maica — for it had still some trade with the West In
dies. Though the semi-capital of the State — the yearly
sessions of the legislature being held there and at New
Haven, alternately — it was strongly impressed with
a plodding, mercantile, and mechanical character.
There was a high tone of general intelligence and so
cial respectability about the place, but it had not a
single institution, a single monument, that marked it
as even a provincial metropolis of taste, in literature,
art, or refinement. The leading men were thrifty
mechanics, with a few merchants, and many shop
keepers, society of course taking its hue from these
dominant classes. There were lawyers, judges, and
public functionaries — men of mark — but their spirit
lot govern the town. There were a few dain-
itricians, who held themselves aloof, secure of

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 437

that amiable worship which in all ages is rendered
to rank. But where are they now? The answer
would be a lesson and a warning to those who build
their claims to homage on pretense. Such was the
state of things, at the time I arrived in this city.

Some time after, a new era began to dawn, the light
of which is still visible in the very air and aspect of
the place. Let me give you a few measures of this
striking progress. In 1810, the population of Hart
ford was three thousand nine hundred and fifty-five :
in 1856, it is about twenty -five thousand. The
American i Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb, Trinity
College, the Ketreat for the Insane, the Wadsworth
Atheneurn — all excellent institutions — have been
founded since my arrival in the town. The churches
— then four in number — have increased to twenty-
five, and by their towering and tasteful spires, give
the place, as you approach it, the aspect of a Holy
City. Every creed and shade of creed is represented,
from Puritan orthodoxy up and down, to Roman
Catholic, Second Advent, and Synagogue worshipers.
There were three weekly journals, five and forty years
ago ; now there are two dailies, eight weeklies, and
two monthlies. The manufacture of books, machines,
carpets, pianos, hardware, hats, rifles, pistols — all es
tablished within forty years — now employ a capital of
five millions of dollars. Colt's pistol-factory, with its
accessories, is a marvelous example of ingenious art
and liberal enterprise. The aggregate Bank Capital

438 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

is about six millions. The various Insurance Compa
nies spread their protection against fire, far and wide
— reaching into almost every State in the Union. Is
not this progress ?

I could find gratifying themes in pursuing this
general train of events, especially as the prosperity
of Hartford marks the general progress of society in
Connecticut. But chronological propriety impels me,
for the present, in a different direction. Leaving the
humble path of autobiographical gossip, I must now,
hackneyed as the subject may seem, take you within
the wide and sweeping vortex of national history.
Here, indeed, my own story leads, and here you are
bound to follow. I must tell you of the war of 1812,
for in this I was a soldier, and took my turn in the
tented field ! And besides — though we have plenty
of histories on the subject, we have, so far as I know,
very few pictures of the living and moving panorama
of town and village life, during those three years of
national anxiety and humiliation.

About midsummer in the year 1812, the news
came that Congress, with the sanction of the Pres
ident, had declared war* against Great Britain.

* The Declaration of War was ratified by the President on the 18th
of June, and the proclamation was issued the next day. The prin
cipal grounds, assigned by the President for this act, were the impress
ment of seamen by Great Britain, her paper blockades, unsupported
by an adequate force, and various Orders in Council. Let it be remem-
ber-ed that peace was made by our government in 1814, without saying a
word about impressment— the main ground of the war — and that the Or
ders in Council were repealed within four days after our declaration oj

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 439

Sagacious men, no doubt, had foreseen this, but it
came upon the mass of the people here, at the North,
like a thunderbolt. I remember perfectly well the
dark and boding cloud that gathered over the public
mind upon the reception of the news, and this was
deepened into anxiety and alarm by the tragic story
of the Baltimore riot, which speedily followed. The
doctrine had been announced, as well in Congress as
elsewhere, by the democratic leaders, that when war
was declared, opposition must cease — a doctrine
which is more fit for the liveried slaves of despotism
than a free people — but which democracy has since
maintained to the bitter end. I invite your particu
lar attention to this historical fact, for here is the key
not only to the slanders heaped up against New Eng
land at the time, for her opposition to the war, but
to the pertinacity with which they have since been
urged. Even to this day, the "Hartford Conven
tion," " Connecticut Blue Lights," &c., are the grizzly
monsters with which the nursing fathers and moth
ers of democracy frighten their children into obe
dience — just before the elections!

It is well to remember another fact — as explaining
not only events which followed the declaration of
war, but some others in our history. Jefferson de
mocracy, from the beginning, made hatred of Eng
land its chief stock in .trade. This feeling, from a

tear, and be/ore a gun had been fired in the conflict ! For what, then
did we spend ouj hundred millions of dollars and thirty thousand lives ?

440 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

variety of causes, is indigenous to the masses of
our people. It is greatly increased, as well in amount .
us in vehemence, by the large foreign element in our
population, it being a curious fact that emigrants and
refugees of all nations, come hither with an active
dislike of England. Democracy at the beginning,
and democracy still, avails itself of this sentiment —
native as well as foreign. The main cause of the
overthrow of the federalists, was, that they had to
bear the burden of alleged friendship to England.

The war party perfectly well understood, and of
course used, this hostility to England ; and the British
government, as if to make the conflict inevitable,
added to the inherent fuel of popular prejudice, the
flame of indignation arising from repeated insult and
injury. In this state of things, the foreign popula
tion, already very numerous, exercised a powerful
influence, not only in bringing on and sustaining
the war, but in imparting something of their own
violence to the discussions of the time. It is no
torious that at this period, a large number of for
eigners, with feelings lacerated by exile, and all
turned into channels of hostility to Great Britain,*
held influential positions, either as members of Con-

* John Randolph complained that almost every leading press in favo'
of the war, was conducted by men who had but recently escaped from
the tyranny or the justice of the British government. He gave as in
stances the Aurora and the Democratic Press, of Philadelphia, one edit
ed by Duane and the other by Binns ; the Whig at Baltimore, edited by
Baptiste Irving ; and the Intelligencer at Washington, by Gales. Fos
ter, the British Minister at Washington when the war was declared.

HISTORICAL, ANRCDOTICAL, KTC. 441

gress or editors of papers, and these — co-operating
with the democrats — infused into the war partisan
ship, a spirit of intolerance and rancor, perhaps with
out example in our history. It was not surprising,
therefore, that riot and bloodshed should come at the
beginning, or that inveterate prejudice should be per
petuated to the end.

In the city of Baltimore there was a paper called
the Federal Republican, edited by a highly respect
able and talented young gentleman, named Alexan
der Hanson. In announcing the declaration of war,
this journal also announced, in terms moderate but
firm, a determination to continue to speak with the
same freedom as before. This was heresy, which
democratic papacy deemed worthy of fire and fagot.
The decree had gone forth that independence was
conspiracy, and opposition was treason. The mob
at Baltimore, largely composed of foreigners, in the
spirit of their leaders, deemed the conduct of the
editor of the Republican worthy of instant punish
ment. Two days after his offense — that is, on the
evening of the 22d of June — an infuriated rabble,
headed by a French apothecary, proceeded to his
printing-office, demolished the building, and laid the

stated soon after in the British House of Commons, that, among: the mem
bers of Congress who voted for the war, there were no less than sis late
members of the Society of United Irishmen ! Randolph, in allusion to
the spirit of menace and intolerance which was manifested in Congress
by the war party, sarcastically suggested, more than once, that he felt
himself in danger of being tarred and feathered, for expressing his hon
est convictions. Sec IL'illrtlk'x Ifittiiry. second series, vol. iii. 317.

443 i. K-iTEks — moo KAPHICAL,

whole establishment in ruins. Hanson, fortunately,
was in the country, and his partner, though pursued,
and hunted from house to house, finally escaped.
The magistrates offered no opposition, and the mob,
thus encouraged by tolerance and success, proceeded
to wreak their patriotic vengeance in various direc
tions, and upon a variety of objects. A suggestive
specimen of their fury was manifested in burning
down the house of a free negro, who had spoken in
friendly terms of the British nation !

The Federal Republican was temporarily re-estab
lished at Georgetown, in the District of Columbia :
after a time, however, it was removed to Baltimore, —
Hanson and his friends deeming it their duty to vin
dicate the independence of the press, thus violently
assailed. They expected a struggle, and prepared
for it. They applied to the authorities for protec
tion, but the mayor refused to interfere, and left
town, doubtless for the purpose of permitting the mob
to have its way. As evening approached, they gath
ered around the printing-office, and began the attack.
Hanson was attended by Gen. Henry Lee and Gen.
Lingan, both revolutionary officers, and some twenty
other friends. These received the attack, the doors
and windows being first strongly barricaded. Noth
ing, however, could resist the assailants : they burst
in, and were fired upon by the defenders, one man
being killed, and several wounded. The authorities
now interfered, and upon an express stipulation of

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIC AL, ETC. 443

protection, Hanson and his party surrendered arid
were conducted to prison. On their way, they were
crowded upon, insulted, and threatened by the rab
ble. The promise of the authorities was not kept :
the prison was left unguarded, the licensed mob broke
in. In the confusion which followed, six or seven of
the prisoners escaped : two were saved by the human
ity and presence of mind of a prisoner confined for
crime, and who diverted the pursuit by some ingenious
fiction. The fate of the rest was horrible indeed. They
were thrown down the steps of the jail, where they lay
in a bleeding and mangled heap for three hours, being
tortured by kicks, penknives stuck into their flesh,
and hot candle-grease dropped into their eyes. This
revelry was embellished with cries of " Jefferson !
Jefferson !" " Madison ! Madison !" and other demo
cratic watchwords.

General Lingan expired amid these tortures ; Gen
eral Lee survived, but was made a cripple for life.
Hanson was sent out of the city, concealed in a hay
cart. One poor fellow was tarred and feathered, and
carted through the city ; when he fell back as if dead,
the feathers were set on fire to revive him. Having
committed various other similar outrages, the mob at
last ceased its labors. The city authorities examined
the case, and laid the blame at the door of the con
tumacious editor, while a Baltimore jury, without
hesitation, acquitted the rioters !

The leaders of the war party, as well in their pa-

444 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

pers as in their speech, took the side of the rioters,
and put the responsibility upon their victims. The
example thus set and thus countenanced, was fol
lowed in various places, and especially at Norfolk
and Buffalo. A spirit of menace spread over the
whole country, and even at Hartford there was a fer
ment among the advocates of the war, which threat
ened to break out into open violence, against those
who dared to condemn it. This rose to such a point
that the authorities deemed it necessary to exercise
vigilance and be prepared to meet any such contin
gency.

Such was the first chapter in the war of 1812 ; and
it is, I repeat, important to be remembered, for it ex
hibits at once the principle and the practice of the
dominant party in relation to that contest. It as
sumed then, as I have already stated, and it has ever
maintained since, that opposition was treason. On
this principle it is that democracy and its disciples
have since written the history of New England at
this period, and upon this have consigned her to un
mitigated reproach. But partisan history is not a
final judgment: truth and justice survive, and al
ready this high court of appeal is, if I mistake not,
rendering a very different verdict.

If thus the first news of the coming conflict caused
a general gloom in the public mind at the North, reflec
tion only served to deepen it. The remembrances of
the war of the Revolution had not wholly passed away.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL. ETC. 445

Connecticut had especially suffered by the inroads of
the enemy : her towns and villages — New Haven, Dan-
bury, Nor-walk, Fairfield, New London, and others —
having experienced all the horrors of massacre, con
flagration, and violence. It was natural that an event
which suggested a renewal of the conflict, and with
the same proud and powerful enemy, should have
struck deep into the hearts of the people. And be
sides, two-thirds of the inhabitants throughout New
England, were politically opposed to the Administra
tion which now conducted the affairs of the country,
and this opposition was rendered intense by a convic
tion that, for a considerable period, the course of the
government had been ruinous, if not hostile, to the
interests of this section of the country. They were
still federalists, and of the Washington type. They
were for the good old way in politics, religion, and
morals. They had, as I have before stated, a special
dread of democracy, which had originated with Jef
ferson, and which — catching something of the spirit
of the French Revolution, and being violently prop
agated in the United States by foreigners, drunk
with the fanaticism of that day — was deemed by the
sober people of the North as tainted with infidelity
and licentiousness, threatening alike to the peace of
society and the stability of our institutions.

This party, thus formed, had triumphed in the
country at large, and now for twelve years had acl-
ministered the government. During that period, a

446 LKTTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

series of acts — the Embargo, Non-importation,* &c. —
had been adopted, which seemed like blows aimed at
New England, where the interests of the people were
specially involved in commerce. In every point of
view, these were deemed as having proved disastrous :
not a single national object, professed to be aimed at,

* The series of acts here alluded to, and called the "Restrictive
Measures,'1'' originated in the various decrees of France and England,
then engaged in deadly hostilities with each other. These decrees con
sisted of the British Orders in Council, 16th May, 1806, declaring the
ports and rivers of France, from Brest to the Elbe, in a state of block
ade, and condemning to seizure and confiscation such vessels as viola
ted this decree.

November 21, following, Bonaparte issued his famous Berlin Decree,
declaring the British Islands in a state of blockade.

January 6, 1807, the British government retaliated, prohibiting the
entire Coasting trade with France. November 11, following, came the
British Orders in Council, prohibiting all neutral nations from trading
With France or her allies, except upon the payment of tribute.

December 17, Bonaparte retaliated by his Milan Decree, confiscating
every vessel found in any of his ports which had allowed herself to be
searched, or had paid the tribute demanded by England.

Thus American commerce, between these two wrestling giants, was
seriously embarrassed, though, as it appears, it was not greatly dimin
ished. The carrying trade was extensive, and our country grew rich
and prosperous. Our exports were a hundred millions of dollars : our
shipping a million and a half of tons. (See Lloyd's Speech in the Senate of
the United States, November 21, 1808.) In this state of things, Mr. Jef
ferson astounded the country by proposing an embargo upon all ship
ping within the United States — the avowed object being to protect our
commerce from the European belligerents. No measure could have been
more objectionable to the ship-owners, in whose behalf it was osten
sibly proposed. It passed into a law December 22d, 1807. This was
hailed as a " magnanimous measure" by France ; at first it was re
ceived with alarm by England, against whom it was really leveled. Mr.
Jefferson believed that it would withhold from England our produce,
and starve her into submission ; at the same time, he no doubt desired
to benefit France, by thus inflicting a heavy blow upon her adversary.
That nnch was one design of the embargo was proved by supplemen
tary acts, forbidding intercourse between the United States and the con
ligii'nis British Provinces. '• tlo\v," it was asked, "can a law which

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 447

had been attained by these measures. The sincerity
of the government was, indeed, deeply questioned,
for there seemed to be evidences that in professing
one thing, it really sought to attain others. Despite
the long indictment set forth in the Declaration of
War against Great Britain, it was extensively be-

forbids a Vermont farmer from going into Canada to sell potash, protect
our shipping from being seized by the European belligerents ?"

There was, perhaps, never an act of greater despotism than that of
the embargo. It was not limited in time or space : it seemed universal
and perpetual. It consigned to ruin and bankruptcy thousands of our
citizens ; it spread gloom and despair in our seaports ; it left our ships
rotting at the wharves ; it drove our seamen into foreign service. It not
only inflicted these evils upon our own country, but in some respects it
benefited Great Britain, against whom it was leveled. It stimulated the
British West Indians to vary their crops, and make themselves inde
pendent of our products; it enriched Canada, Nova Scotia, and New
Brunswick by turning into their hands the supplying of bread-stuffs
and naval stores ; it built up their navigation at the expense of ours ; it
gave to other nations the rich carrying trade of the world.

Thus this measure proved to be, in practice, as destructive as it was
erroneous in principle. What would the world think of a universal
and perpetual embargo on our shipping now ? And it was almost as
absurd in 1807 as it would be in 1856. It was, in fact, sinister as to its
origin, absurd as a measure of policy, wrong in principle, and abor
tive in its effects. It was, nevertheless, continued in force until March,
1809, a period of nearly fifteen months, having spread poverty and ruin
over great part of New England. As a substitute for this measure, a
non-importation act was passed, prohibiting, for one year, all commer
cial intercourse with both France and England.

On the 1st of May, 1810, Congress passed an act excluding all British
and French armed vessels from entering the waters of the United States ;
but providing, also, that if either of these nations should modify its
decrees before the 3d of March, 1811, intercourse with it should bo
renewed. This condition was apparently complied with by France
(though it afterward appeared to be otherwise), and in November it
was announced by the President's proclamation. The difficulties with
Great Britain, as to her blockade and Orders in Council, however,
continued, and constituted one of the principal grounds of the war, ;u
set fort 1 1 in the Declaration. A few days after this declaration, however.
• ifws arrived that these acts hud buen repealed, on the 22d of Juno,

'148 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL.

lieved that this measure had its true origin in an in
trigue for the presidency.* The people did not be
lieve the war necessary : they did not feel that it was
declared for patriotic purposes. Above all, they held
that the country was in no state of preparation for
such a struggle ; and they doubted the fitness and
capacity of the administration to carry it on with
vigor and success.

These were the views of the mass of the people in
New England. Nor were they alone. Many of the
leaders of the democratic party were adverse to this
measure ; Mr. Madison, the President, believed it to
be rash, and was only persuaded into it by the impe
rious exigency of following the war-cry of young
and vaulting democracy, in order to secure his sec
ond election. Gallatin yielded to it, from a feeling
of party necessity. Randolph openly and strenu
ously opposed it from the beginning to the end.
Stephen Howe Bradley, sixteen years a senator from
Vermont, and the ablest democratic member of
the Senate from New England, earnestly counseled

find hence it was urged that the war should cease, as one of its princi
pal causes was withdrawn. Such, however, was not the view of our
government.

* " That domination over public opinion which the war party so long
manifested, &c., have conspired to shield Madison from the obloquy
which must ever rest upon this part of his conduct — that of having been
driven by intimidation, and seduced by personal interest and ambition,
into a course of public conduct, in his own judgment improvident, if
ubt highly dangerous."

" The same convictions were fully shared by Gallatin, and probably
also by Monroe, the President's two principal cabinet officers." — HU-
dretk'e United States, second series, vol. iii. p. 334.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTIC A L, ETC. 449

Madison against it.* Fifteen democratic members
of Congress voted against the Declaration of War.
There was, in fact, a large body of reflecting demo
crats in the country who did not approve of the war,
though the vehemence of those who supported it
kept them in silence, or perhaps forced them to ac
quiescence. While such was the fact as to many
leading democrats, the federalists, with one voice,
united in its condemnation.

If such were the objections of New England to
the war, there were others of equal force to the pro
posed method of carrying it on. The plan of the
government was to invade Canada, conquer it, and
hold it as a pledge of peace. In New England, there
were objections of principle, founded as well in the
Constitution, as in policy and morals, against aggres
sive war, especially for avowed purposes of conquest.
And besides, they held that the ocean, and not the
land, was the true theater upon which we were best
qualified to cope with the enemy.

These, I repeat, were the views of New England,
by which I mean the people of New England — not
of a few politicians and party leaders, but of the great
body of the citizens — that is, the entire federal party,
constituting a large majority of the voters. It is a
well-known characteristic of this part of our country,
that all classes read, reflect, and form opinions. These

* General Bradley "was so dissatisfied with the war, that soon after, he
withdrew altogether from public life.

450 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

give direction to politicians, not politicians to them.
It is important to keep this in view ; it is indispensable
to the formation of a just judgment upon questions
which immediately ensued, and which are matters of
dispute to the present day. It will be seen that even
the Hartford Convention originated -with the people,
and was a measure of necessity, dictated by the state
of public feeling and opinion, arising from'the condi
tion of the country at large, and New England in
particular.

I thus present this picture of the actual state of
things at the commencement of the war, not to
arraign either party as wholly wrong, or to vindi
cate either as wholly right. It was an era of high
party excitement, and in the shock, all were doubt
less forced into false positions. Yet, making due
allowance for these natural and pardonable obliqui
ties, on one side and the other, and instructed by
subsequent events as recorded by history, I do not
hesitate to say that these opinions of the New Eng
land people had a serious and just foundation. Op
position to the war was, therefore, not only their
right, but, with these convictions, it was their duty.
To have submitted to the doctrine that opposition is
treason, would have made them unworthy of the name
and privileges of freemen. That their opposition was,
on the whole, as moderate in spirit and wise in form,
as it was just in principle, is also my firm convic
tion.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 451

LETTER XXVIII

Specks of War in (he Atmosphere — The FirstYear — Operations on the Land
and on the Sea — The Wickedness of the Federalists — The Second Tear —
The Connecticut Militia — Decatur driven into the Thames — Connecticut
in trouble — I become a Soldier — My First and Last Campaign,.

MY DEAR 0******

I am not about to write the " History of the War
of 1812" — though that has not yet been done. We
have abundance of books under that title, but a so
ber and just account, rising above the party fire and
smoke of that day, and above the sinister influences
of this, is yet to be written.* It is, however, a task
I shall not undertake — either in these pages or else
where. I am writing my own recollections, and it is
only as these afford glimpses of the period alluded
to, that I shall notice it.

I pass over a variety of things, still in my mem
ory : the gradual deepening of the gloom that spread
over society as the events of the war drew on ; the
bankruptcies of merchants ; the suspension of specie
payments by the banks ; the difficulty of getting
money ; the gradual withering of the resources of the
people ; the scarcity of a multitude of articles, alike

* Hildreth's History of the United States is a strong book — vigorous
in its style and manly in its spirit. Its sketch of the war of 1812 is a
mere outline, but so far as it goes it seems to me calculated to satisfy
the reader who wishes to obtain an impartial and true view of events,
and of the men that participated in them

452 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL.

of luxury, convenience, and necessity ; the stagnation
of trade ; the impoverishment and depression of the
laboring classes; the crushing of the hopes and
prospects of the young, about entering upon the the
ater of active and independent life : in short, that gen
eral sense of anxiety, poverty, and disappointment —
which clouded nearly every brow and .nearly every
heart. I pass over those hells of drinking, deception,
and degradation, called recruiting rendezvous. I pass
over the scream of fife and tuck of drum — daily
exhibited in the streets by a miserable set of young
men, for the most part seduced into the army, either
by artifice or liquor. I pass over the patriotic pul
sations of the democracy, and the lowering disgust
of federalism, as the glorious army of patriots — some
times ten or a dozen men — led by a puffy sergeant,
choking with martial ardor or a close-fitting stock,
passed through our city on their way to the Conquest

of Canada. I pass by Col. C — a sample of a

large part of the new army officers of that period — a
raw river boatman, suddenly converted into a colonel,
and strutting, with his martial cloak around him, like
a new-fledged Shanghai cock. I pass by the arrival
in our town of Dearborn — " Major-general Dearborn
— Commander-in-chief of the American army" — a
great man, and causing a great sensation, then — but
" Granny Dearborn" a very short time after.

Leaving these and similar incidents entirely out of
view, and taking a long leap to the close of the year

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 453

— what saitb the record ? General Hull had surren
dered in August — less than sixty days after the dec
laration of war — to the British at Detroit, giving up
his whole army of two thousand men, with all our
forts, garrisons, and territories in that quarter. This,
the direct result of mismanagement on the part of the
Administration, as well in planning the campaign as
in giving an important command to an imbecile of
ficer — was the substance of the first year's operations
against Canada. We just caught a Tartar — that is,
the Tartar took us and our territory, instead of our
taking him ! General Dearborn had indeed three
armies afoot — some ten thousand men, stretching
along the Canada line, from Plattsburg to Michigan ;
and there was some fighting, but nothing effectual
was done. Never was a country in a situation more
humiliating than ours — a great nation, having boast
ed of overrunning Canada in two months — seeing its
own armies beaten, baffled, and retiring ingloriously
into winter quarters, before an enemy which we had
covered with epithets of ridicule and contempt !

The federalists were very wicked people, and put
ting finger to nose, as they met the democrats, they
said—" We told you so !" Now, " I told you so !"
is not only a very provoking, but, in general, a very
mean argument. The federalists were very wrong
indeed — positively unchristian. Charity tells us to
comfort the unfortunate, and to pour balm into the
wounded heart. The federalists did no such thing.

LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

Oh, how the Connecticut Mirror, in the hands of
Theodore Dwight, did cast its arrows, right and left,
at the war audits authors! Poor "Jim Madison:"
poor " Granny Dearborn !" It was indeed very, very
provoking, very improper.

While thus failure and disgrace attended our op
erations upon the land, light broke in upon us from
the ocean. On the 19th of August, three days after
Hull's surrender, another Hull — the gallant Commo
dore — met the Guerriere, and it was ours. Again
the wicked federalists said — " We told you so ! that's
our thunder." This was true enough. The federal
ists had built up the navy : Jefferson and his party
had opposed it. The federalists had urged that — if
we must go to war — the strength of the country
should be put into ships, and that we should meet
the enemy upon the sea. " Not so" — said democra
cy — " we will take Canada !" It was very provoking
of Commodore Hull to capture the Guerriere, for
it gave aid and comfort to the enemy — these black
hearted federalists ! However, other commanders fol
lowed Hull's example. On the 18th of October,
Capt. Jones, in the Wasp, took the British sloop-of-
war Frolic ; and on the 25th of the same month, the
fierce and fiery Decatur, in the frigate United States,
captured the British frigate Macedonian. In Decem
ber, Bainbridge conquered the Java, after a fearful
conflict. " Hurra for the navy i we told you so !"
said the black-hearted federalists.

HISTORICAL, ANKCDOTJCAL, ETC. 455

Such was the first year of the war : the campaign
of 1813 opened upon a wider and more varied field.
Among its incidents upon the land, were the disas
trous operations of Winchester, at Frenchtown —
which clothed all Kentucky in mourning for its gal
lant sons, fallen in battle ; our capture of York, in
Canada, costing the life of the lamented Pike ; Har
rison's effective resistance at the siege of Fort Meigs ;
the battle of the Thames, and the death of the great
Indian chief, Tecumseh — important events, leading
finally to the recovery of Detroit. To these were add
ed the retirement of General Dearborn — the President
insisting he was sick, while the general, not taking
or not relishing the joke, insisted that he was never
better in his life ; the succession of Wilkinson as
commander-in-chief — soon, however, to be superseded
and tried by court-martial for his blunders and fail
ures ; the magnificent attempt to take Montreal, and
its equally magnificent abortion ; and finally, late in
the year, the bloody and desolating ravages by the
British, of Buffalo, Black Bock, Lewiston, &c., &c.,
in revenge for our burning the Canadian village of
Newark, by which we turned four hundred helpless
people out of doors in midwinter. Thus the year,
which had presented some brilliant instances of cour
age and conduct, closed in general disappointment
and humiliation, so far as our land operations were
concerned. " We told you so !" said the wicked fed
eralists, and many a democratic ear tingled at the gibe.

456 LKTTKKS BIOGRAPHICAL,

Yet light again — with some sad and disheartening
hadows — came from the sea. On the 21st of Feb
ruary, Captain Lawrence took the Peacock, but on
the 4th of June following, gave up his life on the deck
of the Chesapeake — captured by the Shannon — be
queathing, however, to his country the glorious
motto, worthy of all great occasions — " Don't give
up the ship !" On the 14th of August the American
Argus quailed to the British Pelican ; in September,
the British Boxer became the prize of the American
Enterprise. A greater triumph was at hand. On the
10th of this month. Perry met the enemy on Lake
Erie, and " they were ours !" It was indeed a glorious
victory ; the entire British fleet — two ships, two brigs,
one schooner, and one sloop — falling into our hands.

"We told you so: that's our thunder!" said the
exultant but provoking federalists. " It is our thun
der, too !" said the democrats. " Hurra for the navy I"
said both parties. " Here's to Hull and Decatur and
Jones and Biddle and Bainbridge, and all the rest !"
said everybody. There was one point of union at last,
and so it was to the end of the war. The little navy
had conquered democratic prejudice, and fought itself
into national favor. It was indeed a glorious thing —
saving the honor of the country, tarnished by imbecil
ity and disaster upon the land, and teaching a wise
lesson as to the true policy to be pursued, in case of
future conflict with any European enemy : let us meet
upon the sea!

HISTORICAL, AMECDOT'ICAL. ETC. 4.,,

I must not omit an episode of the war at this pe
riod, in which I was concerned. On the first of June,
1813, Commodore Decatur, in the United States, at
tended by the Macedonian and the sloop-of-war Hor
net, having passed from New York through the
Sound, attempted to get out to sea by way of Mon-
tauk Point. Here they were met by the British fleet,
under Commodore Hardy, and driven into the Thames
at New London. The enemy's force was soon in
creased by the arrival of other ships of war, and
these, anchoring off Gull Island so as to block up the
port, seemed to threaten a speedy attack. Great panic
immediately ensued, as well at New London as along
the borders of the Sound. The specie of the banks
in that city was removed to Norwich, and the wo
men and children dispersed themselves among the
interior towns and villages. No adequate means of
defense existed along the line of the New England
coast — seven hundred miles in extent. The regu
lar troops had nearly all been marched off to invade
Canada. The general government had, furthermore,
called upon the New England States to place a por
tion of the militia at their disposal for this object.
This had been refused on several grounds : one was,
that the Constitution provided only three contingen
cies, in which the militia could be lawfully placed
under the command of the President, and these were,
to repel invasion, suppress insurrection, and execute the
laws. Neither of these emergencies existed in the

VOL. I.— 20

4-58 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

present case. Another ground of refusal was, that the
coasts, being left defenceless, the retaining of the mili
tia was a measure dictated by every consideration of
prudence. Still another objection was, that the general
government had so organized and distributed the na
tional forces, as to make the militia fall under the
command of the army officers — a principle always
resisted by the country, in every period of its national
history. On the whole, the government scheme, in
respect to the militia, was regarded, and very justly,
as analogous to the systems of conscription in the
military despotisms of Europe, and — if once tolerated
and passed into practice — as alike hostile to our prin
ciples and threatening to our liberties. The fear of
seeing our freedom fall before some ambitious mili
tary leader, had prevailed in the convention which
framed our Constitution, and it was this which had
induced that far-seeing body to circumscribe the
power of the President, in regard to the militia, with
in the clear and narrow limits already mentioned.'
Prudence and patriotism alike dictated, in the present
instance, that this great bulwark of liberty should be
maintained.

These, fortunately for the country, were the views
of the New England States at this period, and upon
these they acted. There was then and has been since,
much clamor by the war party against their conduct
in this instance, but every lover of his country should
render homage to the wisdom and patriotism of those

HISTORICAL, ANKCDOTICAL, ETC. 459

leaders who guided the councils of New England, at
this crisis. The question was then settled, and doubt
less settled forever, that by no artifice can the system
of conscription, giving unlimited command over the
militia to the President, be consummated. The rule
of the Constitution, in this respect, has been con
firmed, as not only a principle in theory, but as a rule
of practice.

I remember the discussions on this subject which
took place at the North, during this period. Besides
the objections already mentioned against placing the
militia at the disposal of the President — and besides
the general hostility of the people to sending their
sons forth for the avowed purpose of conquest —
there was another motive, and a very active one,
tending in the same direction. The new army officers,
with some honorable exceptions, were held in very
light esteem, as well personally as professionally. Al
most without exception, the appointments were bestowed
upon partisans of the President. Many of the officers
were notoriously unfit for the places given to them.*

* This was certainly the case ill New England, and I know of no cir
cumstance in the whole conduct of the war, that operated so powerfully
as this, to destroy the confidence of the people in the government, and
to exasperate them against it. Many of the officers, especially those of
the lower grade, had no qualifications for the places they filled but their
democracy. This was pointed out to the President : he was advised
that if he would commission certain persons of the federal party, who
were conspicuous for their military qualifications, and who were also
willing to receive commissions, that it would do more than any thing
else to break the opposition to the war. This he declined, saying that
the offices belonged of right to those who supported his administration,
and besides, that he should disgust his own party by such a course.

460 L OTTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

Dearborn especially was well known in New Eng
land, and was regarded as wholly incompetent to the
responsible command devolved upon him. Hull's
surrender, Dearborn's failures, and Wilkinson's abor
tions, justified and increased this general want of con
fidence in the new army appointments. Even if other
objections had not existed, the people would have
revolted at the idea of sending their sons to perish
ingloriously along the Canadian borders, under the
direction of incompetent commanders, appointed on
merely partisan principles.

But now a new state of things had arisen in Connec
ticut : our own territory was threatened. For this,
the State government had made wise preparation,
and on their part there was no hesitation.* It was
midsummer — a period when the husbandmen could

* Party vehemence has represented that the New England States, at
this period, not only opposed the war by words but by deeds ; that in
fact they were prepared to go over to the enemy. Nothing could be
more untrue. Whatever might be the political opinions of the feder
alists, when the war was declared, Great Britain was regarded as an en
emy. I can affirm, that, although I was in the very midst of the " old
federalists" of Connecticut, I never heard a word fall from the lips of
any one of them, expressive of an opposite sentiment. I no doubt
caught the feelings of those around me, and I am conscious of having
always felt, through the war, that the British were our national ene
mies. The records of Connecticut prove, conclusively, that this idea
was as strongly entertained by the government of that State as by the
general government itself. The following are extracts from the doings
of the legislature, in their extra session, called in August, 1818, in con
sequence of the declaration of war ; and the conduct of the State was ia
accordance with these views.

" War, always calamitous, in this case portentous of great evils, enact
ed against a nation powerful in her armies, and without a rival on the -
ocean, can not be viewed by us but with the deepest regret. A nation

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 41 (

ill afford to leave their farms : so orders were sent by
Governor Smith* to dispatch at once the companiea
of militia from the larger towns to the defense of New
London, and the neighboring country. At that tirm
I belonged to an artillery company, and this was among'
those ordered to the coast. I received a summons at
four o'clock in the afternoon, to be ready to march
the next day at sunrise. I went at once to consult

without fleets, without armies, with an impoverished treasury, with a
frontier by sea and land extending many hundred miles, feebly defend
ed — waging a war, hath, not first ' counted the cost.'

" By the Constitution of the United States, the power of declaring
war is vested in Congress. They have declared war against Great Brit
ain. However much this measure is regretted, the General Assembly,
ever regardful of their duty to the general government, will perform all
those obligations resulting from this act. With this view, they have
at this session provided for the more effectual organization of the mil
itary force of the State, and a supply of the munitions of war. These
will be employed, should the public exigencies require it, in defense of
this State, and of our sister States, in compliance with the Constitution ;
and it is not to be doubted, but that the citizens of this State will be
found, at the constitutional call of their country, among the foremost in
its defense."

* Eoger Griswold was Governor at the time the war was declared,
but in October, 1812, during the session of the legislature, he died at his
residence in Norwich. John Cotton Smith, then Lieutenant-governor,
became acting governor, and the next April was elected Governor of the
State. Eoger Griswold was born at Lyme in 1762 : having graduated
at Yale College, he devoted himself to the law, and soon ro e to emi
nence. In 1794 he was elected to Congress, where he continued for
many years, being a leader of the federal party. Mr. Webster once told
me that he considered him one of the most accomplished parliamentary
debaters our country has produced. During his time there wa» an Irish
man in. Congress from Vermont, named Matthew Lyon, of whom tho
poet Honeywood thus sings :

" I'm rugged Mat,
The Democrat —

Berate me as you please, sir :
True Paddy-whack,
Ne'er turn'd his back,

Nor bow'd his head to Caesar."

402 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

my uncle — who, by the way, was at that time not
only mayor of the city, but Lieutenant-governor of
the State. He had a short time before promised to
make me one of his aids, and perhaps thought I
should expect him now to fulfill his engagement.
He soon set that matter at rest.

" You must of course go," said he. " We old fed
eralists can not shelter our nephews, when there is a
question of defending our own territory."

" Ought I not to consult my parents ?" said I.

I will go down and see them to-morrow " he re
plied.

" Certainly then I shall go : I wish to go : my only
feeling is that my mother may have some anxiety."

" I will see her to-morrow : you may be at ease
on that subject. Be ready to march at sunrise, ac
cording to your orders. I will come and see you
before you start."

The next morning, while it was yet dark, he came,
gave me letters of introduction to Judge Brainard,
father of the poet, Judge Perkins, and General Wil
liams. He also supplied me with ten dollars, a wel
come addition to my light purse. After a little ad
vice, he said — " I have only one thing to add — if
you come to a fight, don't run away till the rest do.
Good-by!"

This man, one day, spit in Griswold's i'ace in the Representatives' Hall,
and as the democratic miijority refused to punish him, Griswold jrave
him a severe beating with his cane. Thia was the first of those indecent
brawls which have disgraced onr national assembly.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 463

The next morning — June 7, 1813 — about sunrise,
the whole company, nearly sixty in number, mount
ed in wagons, departed. At sunset, we were on the
heights, two miles back of New London. No provi
sion had been made for us, and so we went supper-
less to bed, in a large empty barn. I scarcely closed
my eyes, partly because it was my first experiment
in sleeping on the floor, and partly because of the
terrific snoring of a fellow-soldier, by the name of
C . . . ., who chanced to be at my side. Never have I
heard such a succession of choking, suffocating, stran
gling sounds as issued from his throat. I expected
that he would die, and indeed once or twice I thought
he was dead. Strange to say, he got up the next
morning in excellent condition, and seemed, indeed, to
feel better for the exercise. This man became quite a
character before the campaign was over : he got the
title of ^Eolus, and as he could not be tolerated in
the barracks, he was provided with a tent, at a good
distance, where he blew his blast without restraint.
I need only add, that, at the close of the campaign,
lie was the fattest man in the company.

I was glad to see the daylight. The weather was
fine, and as the sun came up, we saw the British fleet
— some half dozen large ships of war — lying off the
mouth of the Thames. They seemed very near at
hand, and for the first time I realized my situation —
that of a soldier, who was likely soon to be engaged
in battle. I said nothing of my emotions : indeed,

4-61 LKTTKRS BIOGRAPHICAL,

v/ords were unnecessary. I watched the counte
nances of my companions as they first caught a view
of the black and portentous squadron, and I read in.
almost every bosom a reflection of my own feelings.
We were, however, not all sentimentalists. There
were among us, as -doubtless in all such companies, a
supply of witty, reckless Gallios, who gave a cheerful
turn to our thoughts. We soon dispersed among the
inhabitants, scattered over the neighboring hills and
valleys, for breakfast. Like hungry wolves, we fell
upon the lean larders, and left famine behind. CM
course every one offered to pay, but not one person
would accept a farthing : we were, indeed, received
as protectors and deliverers. It was something, after
all, to be soldiers ! With our stomachs fortified, and
our consciousness flattered, we came cheerfully to
gether.

At ten o'clock, we were mustered, and began our
march, all in our best trim : cocked hats, long-tailed
blue coats, with red facings, white pantaloons, and
shining cutlasses at our sides. Oar glittering cannon
moved along with the solemnity of elephants. It was,
in fact, a fine company — all young men, and many
from the best families in Hartford. Our captain, John
son, was an eminent lawyer, of martial appearance,
and" great taste for military affairs. He afterward
rose to the rank of general. Mosely, the first-lieu
tenant, was six feet four inches high — a young law
yer, nephew of Oliver Wolcott — and of high social

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 465

nnd professional standing. Screamed the fife, rolled
the drum — as we entered New London ! The streets
presented some confusion, for still the people were
removing back into the country, as an attack was
daily expected. A few military companies were also
gathering into the town. We were, however, not
wholly overlooked : women put their heads out of
the windows, and smiled their gratitude as we passed
along. Men stopped, and surveyed us with evident
signs of approbation. Louder screamed our fife,
deeper rolled our drum, and the glorious music
echoed and re-echoed — bounded and rebounded —
from the reverberating walls of the streets. It was
a glorious thing to belong to such a company ! At
last we came to a halt in one of the public squares.
Then there was racing and chasing of aid-de-camps,
in buff and feathers, for four mortal hours, during
which our martial pride wilted a little in the broil
ing sun. At four o'clock in the afternoon, we were
transported across the Thames, to the village of Gro-
ton, and took up our quarters in a large house, on
the bank of the river, vacated for our use. Two
immense kettles — the one filled with junks of salt
beef and the other with unwashed potatoes — were
swung upon the kitchen trammels, and at six o'clock
in the evening we were permitted each to fish out his
dinner from the seething mass. That was my first
soldier's supper ; and after all, it was a welcome and
relishing meal.

20*

LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

LETTER XXIX.

Description of Neiv Tendon — Fort Trumbull—Fort Grixwold — The Brit
ish Fleet — Decatur and his Ships in the Thames — Commodore Ifardy —
Letters from Home — Performances of the Hartford Company — Fishing
— A few British Broad/fides — Apprehensions of an Attack — Great Prep
arations — Sober Second Thoughts — On Guard — A Suspicious Customer
— Alarm, alarm ! — Company called out — Expectations of instant Battle
— Corporal TSs Nightmare — Consequences'- — Influence of Camp Life —
Return to Hartford — Land Warrants — Blue Lights — Decatur, Biddle,
and Jones.

MY DEAR C******

I must attempt to give you an idea of our posi
tion, as now established in our barracks. New Lon
don, as you doubtless know, is situated on the west
ern bank of the River Thames, three miles from its
mouth. It has now ten or twelve thousand inhabit
ants, but at the time I am speaking of, there were not
more than four thousand. The entrance to the river
is broad, and affords a fine harbor. This is defended
by Fort Trumbull on the western side of the river,
half a mile below the city. It was commanded, at
two several periods, by my grandfather, Colonel Ely,*
during the Revolutionary war, but was then a place
of little strength. It fell into disrepair, but had been

* " Dr. John Ely, of Lynic (1776), performed a tour of duty here na
captain and major, and also as physician and surgeon. In July he was
sent to visit the northern army, and employ his skill in arresting tins
small-pox, which was then raging in the camp with great virulence." —
CauVffMs History of New London, p. 521. Colonels Latitner, Ely, &c.,
performed tours of duty, with their respective regiments, at New Lon
don and Groton, 1777. — Ibid. p. 526.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. -467

rebuilt, and contained a garrison of six or seven hun
dred soldiers during the war of 1812. It has recently
been reconstructed on an ample scale, and is at pres
ent one of the most complete of our fortifications,
mounting eighty heavy guns, and having accomrno
dations for eight hundred men.

Opposite to New London is the village of Groton,
the main street running along the river bank ; on an
eminence some hundred rods from the river, and com
manding a view of the surrounding country, inclu
ding the harbor and the islands which lie scattered
near it in the Sound, is the site of Fort Griswold —
the scene of one of the saddest tragedies in our revo
lutionary annals. Here is now a monument one hun
dred and thirty feet in height, erected by the State,
in commemoration of this event. The old fort is,
however, in ruins, though a small attached battery,
lower down, and more suited to effective defense of
the harbor, has been rebuilt. In my time, Fort Gris
wold was in tolerable repair. Our company, as well
as other portions of the militia, labored upon it, and
strengthened it, as well by completing its works as
by erecting a small redoubt upon the southeastern
side. To the defense of the latter, in case of attack,
the Hartford company was assigned.

About a week after our arrival, over a thousand
militia, gathered from various parts of the State, were
stationed along the river, chiefly on the eastern bank.
Di-catur had drawn his three ships up the stream as

I.KTTKRS BIOGRAPHICAL

far as possible, some twelve miles from its mouth,
and near the city of Norwich. Here the river is re
duced to three hundred feet in width, and flows be
tween high rocky banks. On one of these, called
Allyn's Mountain — commanding a wide view even
as far south as the harbor — light intrenchments were
thrown up, being deemed an effectual defense against
any attack likely to be made by the enemy.

The British squadron had been for some time on
the coast. As early as April, Commodore Hardy, in
the flag-ship Kamiles, with the Orpheus and other
vessels, having erected their standard on Block Isl
and, cruised in this quarter. The people of New
London, who had hitherto remained sheltered from
the war, were now suddenly reminded of the British
fleet which came hither under the vindictive Arnold*

* Long Island Sound, and its shores on both sides, were the scenes
of active and stirring events during the Revolutionary war. This shoot
of water, as well as Long Island itself, and the city of New York at it*
western extremity, were for a long time in the possession of the enemy.
Litrge British fleets were often seen sweeping through the Sound, nnd
always carried terror into the towns and villages of Connecticut along
the northern shore. On the 5th of September, 1781, a fleet of thirty-
two vessels, of all classes, conveyed to New London a force of about two
thousand men. These were landed the next day, and marched upon the
town. All was panic and confusion among the inhabitants. Colonel
Ledyard, with such means as could be mustered, took his station at
Fort Griswold. A force of twenty-three men at Fort Trumbull — which
was only a battery for defense toward the water, and open behind — on
the approach of the enemy, fired a volley, and crossed the river to Fort
Griswold. Arnold, amid random shots which did some execution, en
tered the town. The work of destruction then commenced. The torch
was applied, and a long line of fire soon enveloped the place. Shops,
htores, housos, vessels, wharves, boats, rigging, were enveloped in smoke
and flame. Hogsheads of sugar and rum, and tubs of butter wero
knocked in, and the flumes, seizing upon the alcohol and grease, me

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 469

thirty years before, and left behind him an imr^rish
able remembrance of outrage and infamy.

The British commander, Hardy, conducted with
the utmost courtesy and humanity, but still there was
a feeling of uneasiness along the shore. This was
deepened into anxiety and alarm, on the arrival of
Decatur and his ships, and the consequent gathering
of the British forces around the harbor, as if for at-

in rivers of fire along the gutters of the streets. Arnold was born
near this place, and was well acquainted with it. He used his informa
tion to effect the destruction of the best parts of the city, nnd nearly
nil its stores of merchandise, &c.

On the other side of the river a deeper tragedy was being enacted.
Colonel Eyre had been dispatched against Fort Griswold with two Brit
ish regiments. The fort itself was an oblong square, with bastions at
opposite angles — its long side fronting the river. Its defenders, under
Colonel Ledyard, were but one hundred and fifty men. About noon
the enemy made their attack in solid column. They were at first re
ceived with a few deadly volleys, and then by a quick, steady, destruc
tive fire. Both attack and defense were firm and determined. The men
within seemed each a hero. The two British commanders fell. But
the enemy at last conquered by numbers. They marched in, and Col.
Ledyard ordered his men to throw down their arms. A few, however,
in one of the bastions still resisted. This irritated the British, and
they continued their deadly fire from the parapets, even upon the sur
rendered Americans.

At last, the British .major, Bromfield, on whom the command had
devolved, entered, and demanded, " Who commands this fort ?" " I
did," said Col. Ledyard, " but you do now." At the same time, he
presented his sword, in token of submission. The ferocious command
er took the weapon and plunged it in the owner's bosom ! At the same
moment the attendants rushed upon the prostrate and bleeding vic
tim, and dispatched him with their bayonets. The work of butchery
then went on against the survivors. At last the enemy departed, leav
ing eighty-five Americans dead, and about thirty-five regarded as mor
tally wounded — having first stripped them, and then leaving them ex
posed to the broiling suii. More than half this butchery took place
sifter the surrender A small number, who survived, were taken away
as prisoners.

Such was the desolating expedition of the traitor, Benedict Arnnlij,

470 I.KTTKRS BIOGRAPHICAL,

tack^ When we arrived, the squadron consisted, 1
think, of two ships-of-the-line, two frigates, and a
number of smaller vessels. There was, however, a
constant movement among them — the force being
frequently diminished, and as frequently augmented.
These changes were the occasion of constant alarm
along the shore, and scarcely a day passed that we
had not some rumor of a meditated attack.

Such was the state of public affairs on the surface.
As to myself, I was soon drilled into the habits of a
soldier. I had been permitted to go to New London
and deliver my letters of introduction. I received
letters from home, and in one of these, from my father,
which I have preserved, I find the following passages :

'• We hope you will pay very exact attention to your conduct
and behavior, while you are a soldier. You have our prayers
for your welfare and that of your comrades. Study to ingra
tiate yourself with them, by your kindness, and especially with
your officers, by your cheerful obedience to their orders. We

against New London. It adds to the horror, inspired by such de
tails, to know that he was accompanied by a large number of Ameri
cans, who, however, had joined the British, and thus came to aid in
the work of death, rain, and despair. Such is war. The next day, the
ships, having received the troops, departed, leaving a dreadful scene of
havoc and desolation behind them. New London was, indeed, little
better than a ruin.

The memory of this event, and the natural hatred consequently in
spired by the British name, still lives here and in the neighborhood.
Tie anniversary of the massacre at Groton fort was long celebrated with
sad solemnities. A lofty monument now points to heaven, in protect
against the crime it records. Such deeds never die, and the world is
dotted all over with them — too many perpetrated by men who bore the
British namo. Is this the explanation of the general dislike of Great
I'.ri'.a'n. tlinniirhont the civilized world ?

HISTORICAL, ANKCDOTICAL, ETC. 4< 1

hear that there is an additional British force arrived within a
few days. How Jong they will think it worth while to keep up
the blockade at New London, is uncertain : they will not, at
any rate, consult our convenience. We are in hopes the British
will make no attack upon New London, and that you will not
be called into a conflict with them. But we must leave this to
the overruling of a merciful God, as also the issue, should he
permit such an event. Should you be called to engage with
them, I hope and trust that you will do your duty, and defend
your country, which is just and right, though it may not be so
to engage in offensive war.

" I wish to remind you, my dear son, of the necessity of being
prepared for death, at all times and by all persons. This is spe
cially important to a soldier. This will arm you with courage
to meet whatever God shall call you to experience. It is no
evidence of courage for persons to rush into danger in a thought
less or wicked manner ; it is a better and surer courage which
rests upon a deep sense of duty, and which always keeps the
soldier ready to die at any moment — even at the beat of the
drum."

There, my dear C . . . ., is a specimen of old Pres
byterian, Blue Light, Hartford Convention Federal
ism, during the "late war!" It was good doctrine
then, and it is good doctrine now : good to live by,
and good to die by. At all events, as this letter
came from home, and told me of the welfare of m^y
friends ; as it came also with a large bundle of tea,
sugar, dried beef, and other things, with several pairs
of stockings, mended up by my mother, and abun
dance of messages and good wishes, and sundry letters
and scraps of letters — it put me in good heart, wheth
er for peace or war. Who would not be a soldier, it

4 i 2 I.K TTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

thereby he becomes the object of such sympathy ?
Fortified by this aid and comfort,* I could cheerfully
have gone to fight the British, or anybody else
" where duty called me."

The officers of our company were rigid disciphna
rians, and accordingly we were drilled for about four
hours each day. We soon gained much reputation
for our martial exercises and our tidy appearance.
Many people came over from New London to wit
ness our performances. Among these were often
persons of distinction. On two occasions, Decatur,
Biddle, and Jones came to see us, and complimented
us very heartily. On Sundays, we marched two miles
to church. Being in our best guise, we caused quite
a sensation. Men and women, boys and girls, stream
ed along at our flanks, often in a broiling sun, yet
always with admiring looks.

After the morning drill, we were generally at
leisure for the rest of the day, taking our turns, how
ever, on guard, and in other occasional duties. Most

* Among the letters alluded to, was the following :

HABTFOKD, June 12, 1313.
MY DEAR SAKUKL :

I had the pleasure to receive yesterday your letter by Mr. Whiting.
I am happy to be informed of your health, and that you have the good
fare of a soldier : whatever it may want of the delicacies of the luxu
rious table of the citizen, will be made up to you in the zest you will
have when you return to it. The principal thing you have to attend
to is the care of your health, and that also you will best learn, as we do
every thing, by experience. Your father will be here to-day. We are
all well. Write by every opportunity.

Your affectionate uncle. CHAUNCEY GOODRICH.

JTTSTOUTCAI., ANECDOTICAL, KTC. 473

of the soldiers gave up their rations of mess beef
and potatoes, and lived on their own resources. We
formed ourselves into a general club for a supply of
fresh fish. Every day three of us went out fishing,
and generally returned with a half-bushel basketful
of various kinds, among which the blackfish or ta-
taug — now so greatly esteemed — was always abun
dant. I was employed by the captain to keep his
journal of our proceedings, and sometimes I was dis
patched to New London, or to some one of the officers
along the line, with a letter or a parcel. I established
a friendly acquaintance with ol 1 Mrs. Avery, who
kept a supply of excellent bread and butter, milk
and eggs. I visited Fort Trumbull, and the block
aded fleet up the river. Frequently I strolled into
the country, and now and then went to see " Mrs.
Bailey," who even at that early period was a ce
lebrity of Groton. I have never seen such fierce de
mocracy as in this village, fed, as it doubtless is, upon
the remembrance of the British massacre at the fort ;
and Mrs. Bailey was filled with its most peppery es
sence. The story of the flannel petticoat* was then

* When Decatur took refuge in New London harbor, the inhabitants
of Groton were thrown into great alarm. At this moment a messenger
was sent to Fort Griswold for flannel, to be used for the cannon.
Most of the portable goods had been sent away, and the messenger was
unsuccessful, until he met Mrs. Anna Bailey, who instantly took oif her
flannel petticoat and heartily devoted it to the patriotic cause of defense.
It was carried to the fortress, and displayed on a pike. The story being
told, the garrison cheered, and the " martial petticoat" became almost &&
celebrated as Mahomet's breeches. The storv went over the whole

474 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

recent, but it had marked her for immortality. All
the soldiers went to see her, and she sang Jefferson
and Liberty to them with great spirit. Once a sol
dier talked " old federalism" to her, by way of jest :
whereupon she got up, and holding out her petticoat,
danced and sang Jefferson and Liberty at him, as if
that were sufficient to strike him dead.

I remember that on one occasion H . . . . A ... ,
my special companion, and myself, were sent with a
letter to a lieutenant, who commanded a small picket
on the eastern shore, near the mouth of the river —
that is, at Point Groton. It was a distance of some
three miles. The weather was pleasant, and our route
lay along the shore of the stream, which opens into
a wide bay, as it meets the Sound. As we approach
ed the southern point of the shore, we found our
selves quite near to the British squadron. One of
the vessels, which we knew as the Acasta* — for we
had learned all their names — was under full sail in
a light wind, and coming up toward the shore. She
was already so near that we could see the men, and
note every movement on the deck. While we were
admiring the beautiful appearance of the ship, we
suddenly saw several white puffs issue from her sides,

country, and when General Jacksou (then President) came to New Lon
don, lie visited this lady. She is said to have given him a very demon
strative reception. She died January 10, 1851, aged 92 years.

* Thia ship was noted for her beauty : she \va8 in tact the belle of
the fleet, and was said to have been built for the Duke of Clarence, who
served in the navy till he became admiral, and was afterward Kin^ of
England, under the title of \ViHinin IV.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 475

and uncoil themselves into volumes of smoke. Then
came a deafening roar ; a moment after, and in the
very midst of it, there were wild howls in the air,
above our heads. At a little distance beyond, the
ground was plowed up, scattering the soil around,
and the top of one of the forest trees, of which a
few were scattered here and there, was cut asunder,
and fell almost at our feet.

We understood the joke in an instant, and so did
the lieutenant who commanded the picket. He was
the object of the attack, and the broadside of the
Acasta, sending its shot over our heads, had hurled
one or two balls crashing through the roof of the little
fish-hut, which he and his men occupied. In less than
five minutes, they were seen trotting off at a round
pace, with their cannon, jerking right and left, over
the rough ground behind them. Several other shots
were given, but the party escaped in safety. My
companion and myself ensconced ourselves behind
the rocks, and though it was grave sport, we enjoyed
it exceedingly. "We could trace the cannon-balls as
they flew by looking like globes of mist, twinkling
through the air. Several of them passed close over
our heads, and grooved the earth, in long trenches, at
our sides. The noise they made, as they rose high
in the air, was a strange mixture, between a howl and
a scream. After having thus showed her teeth, and
made a great noise, the frigate returned to her an
chorage, and all was quiet. I hope I shall not de-

476 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

grade myself, as a soldier, in your eyes, by confess
ing that this was the only battle in which I was en
gaged during this glorious war !

I must, however, mention one circumstance, which
tried the souls of our company. Let me premise that,
on a certain Saturday, a large accession to the British
force arrived in the bay, the whole number of vessels,
of all kinds, amounting to fourteen. This looked
very much like an attack, and accordingly there was
a feverish anxiety among the inhabitants of New
London and the vicinity, and a general bustle in the
army, from Groton Point to Allyn's Mountain. A
large body of militia was set to work upon Fort
Griswold. Our company was drilled in the little re
doubt which we were to defend, and every prepara
tion was made to give the enemy a warm reception.
The general idea was, that a landing of British troops
would be made on the eastern side, and that we
should take the brunt of the first attack.

The sun set in clouds, and as the evening advanced,
bursts of thunder, attended by flashes of lightning,
muttered along the distant horizon. Our company
were admonished to sleep on their arms. Every
thing wore a rather ominous appearance. There were
no signs of cowardice in the men, but they looked
thoughtful ; and when Bill W . . . ., the laureate wit
of the company, let off some of his best jokes —
which would ordinarily have set the whole corps in a
roar — he was answered by a dead silence. It chanced

.HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 477

that I was that night on guard. My turn came at
ten o'clock. Taking ray gun, I paced the bank of
the river, back and forth, in front of our barracks.
I had received orders to let nothing pass, by land or
water. It was intensely dark, but at frequent inter
vals, thin flashes of lightning sprang up against the
distant sky, behind dark rolling masses of clouds.

Gradually the lights in the streets and windows of
New London, stretching in a long line on the oppo
site side of the river, were extinguished one by one,
a few remaining, however, as sentinels, indicating
anxiety and watchfulness. The sounds on all sides
were at last hushed, and left the world to darkness
and to me. More than half of my two-hours' watch,
had passed, when I heard the dip of oars and the flap
ping of waves against the prow of a boat. I looked
in the direction of the sounds, and at last descried
the dusky outline of a small craft, stealing down the
river. I cried out — " Boat ahoy ! who goes there ?"
My voice echoed portentously in the silence, but no
answer was given, and the low, black, raking appari
tion glided on its way. Again I challenged, but there
was still no reply. On went the ghost ! I cocked my
gun. The click sounded ominously on the still night
air. I began to consider the horror of shooting some
fellow-being in the dark. I called a third time, and
not without avail. The rudder was turned, the boat
whirled on her heel, and a man came ashore. Ac
cording to my orders, I marshaled him to the guard-

478 LKTTKRS BIOGRAPHICAL.

room, and gave notice of what had happened, to the
captain. The man was only a fisherman, going home,
but he was detained till morning. So, you see, I can
boast that I made one prisoner. My watch was soon
over, and returning to my station, I laid down to sleep.

All was soon quiet, and I was buried in profound
repose, when suddenly there was a cry in the main
barrack-room, overhead — " Alarm ! alarm !"

"Alarm! alarm!" was echoed by twenty voices,
attended by quick, shuffling sounds, and followed by
a hurried rush of men down the staircase. A moment
after, the guard in front discharged his musket, and
was answered by a long line of reports, up and down
the river, from the various sentinels extending for
half a dozen miles. Then came the roll of drums, and
the mustering of the men. Several of our company
had been out to see what was going on : they came
back, saying that the enemy was approaching ! J.
M . . . . distinctly heard the roar of cannon, and posi
tively saw the flashes of muskets. B. W . . . . found
out that the attack had already begun upon our
southern pickets. Nobody doubted that our time
had come!

In a very few minutes our company was drawn up
in line, and the roll was called. It was still dark, but
the faint flashes gave us now and then a glimpse ol
each other's faces. I think we were a ghostly look
ing set, but it was perhaps owing to the bluish com
plexion of the light. J. S . . . ., of West Hartford, who

HISTORICAL, ANKCDOTICAL, ETC. 479

marched at my left shoulder — usually the lightest-
hearted fellow in the company — whispered to me,
" Goodrich, I'd give fifty dollars to be at West Divi
sion !" For myself, I felt rather serious, and asked
a certain anxious feeling in my stomach — " What's to
be done ?" I thought of my father's letter, and my
uncle's injunctions, and having settled it in my mind
that I must fight, I closed my thoughts against all
consequences, and felt that I was ready for the conflict.
I was indeed almost anxious to have it come, as the
suspense was painful. I afterward found, on conver
sing with several members of the company, that very
similar trains of thought had occurred to them. John
son, our captain, was a man of nerve and ready speech.
When the roll was finished, he said in a clear, hearty
tone, " All right, my good fellows ! Every man at
his post !" These few words — which were, however,
more politic than true, for one fellow was taken with
sudden colic, and could not be got out — were electri
cal. We were ready to take our places in the redoubt.

Messengers were now sent to the two neighboring
posts to inquire into the state of facts. Word was
brought that the first alarm came from our barracks !
The matter was inquired into, and it turned out that

the whole affair was originated by our Corporal T ,

who, in a fit of nightmare, jumped up and cried,
"Alarm! alarm!"

Our martial ardor soon reconciled itself to this
rather ludicrous denouement, though several persons,

480

LETTERS — BIOGK APH 1C A I .,

who had been somewhat chapfallen, became suddenly
inflated with courage, which signalized itself with out
bursts of—" D the British !" " They're a pack of

sneaking cowards, after all !" and the like. The next
morning was fresh and fair. The skirmishing thun
der-gusts of the night had cleared the air, and even
distant objects seemed near at hand. Before us lay
the whole British fleet, still and harmless, in the
glassy bay. My left-hand chum, J. S . . . . , who, in
the dark hour, would have given fifty dollars to be
at "West Division, was now himself again. " Come
on here, you black old Kamiles !" said he — dashing
the doubled fist of his right hand into the palm of
his left : " come on here, you black-hearted British
bull-dogs, and we'll do your business for you !" &c.

Notwithstanding our military duties, you will read
ily comprehend that we had a good deal of leisure.
For the most part, this idle time was wasted, or worse
than wasted. The atmosphere of a camp presents a
fearful ordeal for all, but more especially for the
young soldier. The restraints of society being with
drawn, the seducing and corrupting influences which
naturally spring up and riot in such a soil, too often
lead captive the strong as well as the weak. The
military spirit is opposed to reflection : it is reckless,
banishes thought, and teaches a kind of self-aban
donment. Our officers set an excellent example, and
there was less of degradation in our company than in
others. Still, among us, there was a general reading

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. iSl

of bad books, a great deal of petty gambling, and not
a little tippling. It was easy to see, week by week,
the gradual wearing away of the sense of propriety,
of gentlemanly tastes, and general conservatism, in
at least one-half the young men of our company. A
similar declension was visible throughout the whole
body of militia along the line. My own conviction
was and is, that military life is exceedingly degra
ding, and especially to militia, who are suddenly
called away from the usual safeguards of virtue, and
exposed to new and 'unexpected seductions.

Fortunately our period of service was brief. In
about six weeks from the time of our departure, we
were dismissed, and returned to our homes. Thus
closed my military career, so far as relates to active
service. The remembrances of my first and last cam
paign are, on the whole, pleasant. There were feel
ings of fraternity established between the members
of the company which have 'continued to this day,
save only in regard to those which the grave has
sundered. My country has not been unmindful of
my services ; for I have received two land-warrants —
giving me a title to some hundred and sixty acres —
with the fresh virgin soil of the Far West upon them.
Say not that republics are ungrateful !

A few words more, and this chapter is done. You
have doubtless heard about the " Connecticut Blue
Lights," and of course conceive the term to imply
eome ignominious stain upon the reputation of this,

VOL. I.— 21

482 LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

the "land of steady habits." You will expect me,
therefore, to tell you the story of its origin.

The preceding pages have shown you that Deca-
tur, commanding the American frigate United States,
after a brief and glorious career upon the ocean, sub
sequent to the declaration of war, had been driven
into the Thames with his prize, the Macedonian, and
the sloop-of-war Hornet. Here they were all cooped
up, like strong men bound hand and foot. You
can readily imagine the effect of such a situation
upon a person like Decatur. He was — as all the
world knows — of an ardent and impetuous tempera
ment — impulsive, impatient, irascible. No man was
ever less qualified to endure the protracted and in
glorious idleness of his present position. He was
high-hearted, patriotic, proud of the navy : he was
ambitious, and panted for glory. His bleeding coun
try needed his services : his fellow-officers of the
navy were lighting the face of the ocean in both hem
ispheres with their brilliant exploits. He was im
prisoned, and with him three noble ships. How then
must he have panted to be free !

I have told you that I saw him on several occasions.
He was rather below the middle size, but of a remark
ably compact and symmetrical form. He was broad-
shouldered, full-chested, thin in the flank : his eye
was black, piercing, and lit with a spark of fire. His
nose was thin, and slightly hooked: his lips were
firm, his chin small, but smartly developed. His

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 4:83

whole face was long and bony ; his complexion
swarthy ; his hair jet black, and twisted in ropy curls
down his forehead and over his ears. Altogether he
was a remarkable looking man, and riveted the at
tention of every one who saw him. By the side of
the quiet, thoughtful Jones, and the dark, handsome,
complacent Biddle — his fellow-prisoners — he seemed
like a caged eagle, ready to rend in atoms the bars
which restrained him.

Decatur did not conceal his impatience : his ill-
humor rendered him unjust. He was not chary in
his speech, and in fact he made himself many ene
mies by the freedom and vehemence with which he
expressed his political opinions. Certainly he and
the citizens of New London were heartily tired of
each other. The latter were indeed most anxious to
get rid of him and his squadron, inasmuch as their
presence in the Thames brought upon the inhabitants
all the dangers, anxieties, and miseries of war.

That Decatur should desire to escape, and that he
should have the co-operation of all the people of New
London, heart and hand, would seem to be matters
of course. At last he resolved to make the attempt.
In October he began, gently and quietly, to drop
down the river, and by the last of November was in
the harbor of New London. On the night of the
12th of December all things were prepared, and the
vessels were about to depart, in the hope of eluding
the blockading squadron in the darkness.

4:84 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

Now note the ominous fact : at different times,
from eight to ten o'clock in the evening, blue lights
were thrown up, apparently from the land, along the
shore, and on both sides of the river. Decatur as
sumed, at once, that these were signals, sent up by
traitorous Americans, announcing to the enemy his
intended departure. So positive was the conclusion,
that he totally suspended his operations, and from
that time made no further efforts to escape. He wrote
a letter, giving an account of the affair, and did not
scruple to charge the assumed treason upon the peo
ple of. New London ! That letter — unjust, untrue,
and absurd as it was — passed into the history of the
time, and party rancor, seizing upon the slander, has
continued to use it to the present day. Blue. Lights,
meaning treason on the part of Connecticut federal
ism during the war, is a standard word in the flash
dictionary of low democracy.

Now, let me make one or two suggestions. Be it
remembered, that, from the beginning, Decatur was
mainly indebted to the federalists of Connecticut for
protection : the general government had no force suf
ficient to keep the enemy at bay, when he sought
shelter in the Thames. His presence there brought
expense, anxiety, gloom, upon the State. It involved
the people of New London in every species of vexa
tion, disquietude, and danger. How absurd, then —
how contrary to all logic — to accuse them, or any oi
them, of attempting to prevent his departure, which,

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 4:85

above all things, was what they desired ! Nothing
but the obliquity of a mind diseased by disappoint
ment, can excuse such a charge, made in the face of
such plain and palpable contradiction.

But what were these blue lights ? Now you must
understand that I had left New London in July, and
these events occurred in December. Yet while I
was there, blue lights, and indeed lights of various
other colors, were often seen, apparently along the
shore; and it was generally understood that these
were signals thrown up from the British ships, or per
haps from parties of the enemy cruising in boats among
the islands, or going ashore on the main land. It was
impossible, in most cases, to determine whether these
came from the land or the water :* at all events,

* This fact has recently been recalled to my mind by the venerable
Dr. S. H. P. Lee, now in full practice at New York, at the age of eighty-
four ! His honse in New London commanded a view of the harbor and
the shipping. He frequently saw blue lights all along the shore, and
confirms the fact that it could not be determined, in most cases, wheth
er they came from the sea or the land. They were always attributed to
the British. He conceives that the charge of treason, on the part of De-
catur, was entirely untrue and in fact absurd.

Dr. Lee informs me, that from their position, the British had no diffi
culty in knowing every thing that was going on along the shore. There
was no rigid police : the British sailors often went ashore among the fish
ermen, as well on the islands as the main land : the officers not unfre-
quQntly went in disguise to New York, and even into the interior. After
the peace, a ball was given to Admiral Hothain— then commander of the
station — and his officers, at New London. Dr. Lee and his two sons there
recognized, among the British officers, two persons, who, during the war,
were passing along the street, and at his invitation stepped up into his
piazza and took a look at the squadron ! Of coarse every movement of
Decatur's was known to the enemy, and as he lay in New London har
bor, he was under the eye of their telescopes. They no doubt penetra
ted his designs, and seeiug him about to make au effort to escape, sent

LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

they were very common. They were always attrib
uted to the British, and excited no particular interest
They were regarded only as telegraphs of the enemy,
which, in general, they and they only could read.

Now, there is not one particle of evidence that
these blue lights, seen by Decatur, were in any re
spect different from the others, familiar to everybody
living in New London. They were never traced,
even by suspicion, to any individual. There is no
proof that they came from the land ; and even if they
did, they might still have come from British par
ties ashore. Or, if they were the work of traitors —
Americans — these were isolated individuals, and their
conduct would have been held in abhorrence by the
whole people. To charge it, then, upon the inhabit
ants of New London — to attempt thus to stain the
character of a city, and indirectly a whole State — was
one of those acts which should have excited the in
dignation of every honorable mind.

I need only add, that I have never met an indi
vidual, living in New London at the time, who did
not consider this imputation as absurd in itself, and

up their bine-light telegraphs to direct the various ships to he upon the
alert. While such an interpretation is probable, to say the least, it is
oad logic to impute treason, and at the same time the most absurd acts of
contradiction to their own interests, to the people of New London.

I give this testimony of Dr. Lee with the more readiness, as he is
historically known for his courageous and beneficent professional con
duct, in braving, alone, the horrors of the yellow fever at New London
in 1799 — when every other physician, not prostrated by the disease, had
fled from it in terror. Surelv such evidence should be conclusive.

HISTORICAL. ANECDOTICAI., ETC. 487

as Having no foundation, except in the warped and
excited imagination of Decatur. I believe every
member of the Hartford company — and the}- had
good opportunity to judge of the matter — regarded
it in this light. It was a wrong act on his part, and
those who desire to cherish his fame — which after
all is one of the glories of our countr}- — should ad
mit that it was an error, and do what they may to re
pair it. Those who seek to make the scandal live,
only perpetuate the memory of the injustice which
originated it.*

* Stephen Decatur was born on the eastern shore of Maryland, Jan.
5, 1779. In 1798, he entered the navy as midshipman : twice he pro
ceeded to the Mediterranean, and in February, 1804, he recaptured and
burnt the American frig-ate Philadelphia, in the harbor of Tripoli, then
in the hands of the enemy. This exploit has always been regarded as
one of the most successful acts of skill and daring on record. In an
attack on Tripoli, the following August, he captured two of the enemy's
-. performing feats of personal courage and strength, the story of
which reminds us of the fabled achievements of knight-errantry. His
praise was on the tongue of all his countrymen. He superseded Com
modore Barren, in the command of the Chesapeake, after the shameful
attack of the Leopard upon that vessel ; he then became commander of
the frigate United States, and in October. 1812, captured the Macedonian,
as elsewhere stated. His squadron remained at New London till the
close of the war. but he was appointed to the command of the Presi
dent. On attempting to get to sea, in January, 1815, he was captured
bv two British vessels, and carried into Bermuda. In February, the
war being over, he returned to the United States. Being dispatched
with a squadron to the Mediterranean, he soon chastised the AJgerines,
and compelled them (June, 1815) to sign a treaty, abandoning their pi
racies, and liberating those of our countrymen whom they held in cap
tivity. He was made one of the Navy Commissioners in November, and
took up his residence at Washington. In 181 9, he had a long correspond
ence with Commodore Barren, which issued in a challenge by the latter.
The meeting took place at Bladensburgh, March 22, 1820. At the first
fire Decatur was wounded, and being carried to his house, died that
night in the presence of his distracted wife. Deep emotions of admira-

4:88 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

LETTER XXX.

Continuation of the War — The Greeks subdued — Battles of Chvppewa and
Bridgewater — Capture of Washington — Bladensburg Races — Humili
ation of the President — Defence of Baltimore — The Star-spangled Ban-
nei — Ravages of the Co<.tstbythe British Fleet — Downfall of Napoleon
— Scarcity of Money— Rag Money — Bankruptcy of the National Treas
ury — The Specie Bank-note, orMr. Sharp and Mr. Sharper — Scarcity and
exorbitant Prices of British Goods — Depression, of all Kinds of Business
— My Pocket-book Factory — Naval and Land Battle at Plattsburg —
Universal Gloom — State of New England — Anxiety of the Administra
tion — Their Instructions to the Pence Commissioners — Battle of New Or
leans — Peace — Illuminations and Rejoicings.

MY DEAK C******

I must lay aside, for the present, my own per
sonal history, that I may complete this hasty sketch
of the war. I now approach the last year — that of
1814 — which happily closed the inglorious struggle.

Merely noticing important events, I remark that
the Creek war, conducted on our part by General
Jackson, and ending in a complete humiliation of the
savages, early in this year — however it abounded in
striking incidents — made little immediate impression
upon us at the North, partly because the theater ot
operations was remote, and partly because it was over-

tion for his character, and horror at the folly of the last act of 1m life,
pervaded the whole community.

Commodore Jacob Jones was born in Delaware, 1770. After a bril
liant professional career, he died at Philadelphia, August, 1850.

Commodore James Biddle was born at Philadelphia, 1783. He dis
tinguished himself as a commander, and also in some diplomatic services
in Turkey and China. He died in 1848.

HISTORICAL, ANF.CDOTICAL, ETC. 489

shadowed by the more important struggle with Great
Britain. The battles of Chippewa and Bridgewater,
in July, displaying gallant deeds on the part of our
troops — officers as well as men — everywhere excited
lively demonstrations of sympathy. I think the suc
cess of our arms was always cheered, even by the fed
eralists — the feeling of national pride, and the real hos
tility to Great Britain, triumphing over party feeling.
When the news came that — August 24th — the city
of Washington had been invaded, captured, desola
ted — the President and his cabinet having actually
fled like a flock of sheep — there was a deep, burning
sense of indignation and shame : indignation, at the
want of forethou'ght, courage, and conduct on the
part of the national executive ; and shame, at the
humiliating spectacle we presented to the world — we
who had begun the war in boasting, now seeing our
officials disgraced by pusillanimity, and our capital
desecrated by the presence and occupation of an en
emy ! I shall let this humiliating page in our his
tory pass, with the simple remark, that the feeble and
cowardly President seems on that occasion to have
drunk deep of the bitter cup of humiliation, in rec
ompense for having bartered the peace of the coun
try for the poor bauble of a second term of office.
The future has, doubtless, some instructive light to
shed upon this passage of our national history.*

* Whoever wishes to see a detail of the facts in this case will find
them in Hildreth's United States, second series, page i>o7. There waa

21*

4:90 LKTTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

A few weeks after the capture of "Washington,
the British troops, led by General Ross, landed at
North Point, fourteen miles from Baltimore, and im
mediately commenced their march toward the city.
They were met by the American militia, and in a
skirmish, the British general was killed. The enemy
advanced the next morning as far as the defenses of
that place, hastily thrown up by the Americans ; here
they made several threatening demonstrations, but
such was the firm and formidable front of the Amer
icans, that the next morning they silently withdrew,
and speedily embarked on board their shipping.
While the British were marching on Baltimore, the
fleet advanced up the Patapsco, and bombarded Fort
McHenry nearly a whole day and night. The gal-

41 .

lant and effectual defense of that fortress, gave rise
to the beautiful national song of the " Star-spangled
Banner."*

a feeble attempt at defense, at Bladensburg, five miles from Washing
ton ; bat the United States troops as well as oar militia fled npon the
first fire of the enemy. The President and bis secretaries dispersed in
like manner. This scampering was satirized under the name of the
" Bladensborg .Races." Madison and his wife found refuge in a Mary
land farm-house, where they spent two days and three nights of morti
fication, alarm, and insult from the irritated inhabitants. After a short
time the enemy departed : another party of them, however, had made
their way to Alexandria, where they compelled the inhabitants to sacri
fice all their merchandise and all their shipping to save the city. Mad
ison returned to Washington, and in order to hide his disgrace, laid all
the blame to Armstrong, the Secretary of War. The latter retaliated,
asserting that the President yielded to the " humor of a village mob,
stimulated by faction and led by folly."

* The author of this admired national lyric was Francis Scott Key,
of Maryland, born August 1, 1779. He became a lawyer, and was Dis-

HISTORICAL. ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 491

As summer advanced, the clouds seemed to thick
en over our country on every side. The coasts of
New York and New England were kept in a con
stant state of anxiety and alarm, by British squadrons
sweeping our shipping from the sea, and occasionally
making descents upon the land. The treasury of the
United States was exhausted,* and the government

trict Attorney of the city of Washington, where he died, January, 1843.
lie wrote several songs, though not for publication, as he seems not to
have duly appreciated them. To feel the full force of the Star-gpangled
Banner, it is necessary to know its origin. A gentleman of Baltimore
had gone to the British fleet with a flag of truce, in order to get a friend
of his released, who had been captured at Marlborongh. He was not
permitted to return, as he might give information of the intended at
tack upon Baltimore. While thus on board a British vessel, he wit
nessed the attack upon Fort McHenry during the whole day. When
night set in, the flag, which still floated, was hidden from his view.
The bombardment was kept np, and his heart was agitated with the
most anxious fears. As the morning roee, he had the unbounded sat
isfaction of seeing the banner of his country still flying aloft, in evi
dence of successful defence. The whole story is admirably told in the
song.

* The state of the treasury, as presented to Congress by Campbell, the
Secretary, in Sept. 1814, was deplorable. The last attempt to borrow six
millions had only produced offers for half that amount, and these at the
rate of eighty per cent. The credit of the government was indeed al
most gone : specie had disappeared ; the banks had generally suspend
ed specie payments ; the currency consisted of bank notes, at a large
depreciation. The treasury was in fact empty, and large debts and ex
penses were -accumulating and soon to be met. Every kind of scheme
was suggested for supplying the exhausted and discredited treasury—
new loans, increased taxes, various kinds of government stocks, and
finally a national bank. Dallas, Secretary of the Treasury, proposed a
non-specie paying bank, and Calhoun a specie-paying bank. Neither ot
these two plans succeeded. The Bank of the United States, which had s»o
remarkable a career, and was finally extinguished by Gen. Jackson, was
chartered April 10th, 1816, the plan having been framed by Secretary
Dallas. It was in fact rather a democratic institution ; the federalists at
that time seeming to foresee the evils which followed, strove earnestly
to rcdnce the capital of thirty-five millions to twenty millions, but with
out avail.

492 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

seemed on the point of bankruptcy. And more than
all — Napoleon had fallen, and on the 4th of April
had departed for his exile at Elba ; the allies had tri
umphed — Great Britain, the mistress of the sea, the
leading power of the world, was now free to turn
her whole power against us in America. She was
exasperated by the feeling that we had declared war
against her, with the design of aiding her great ene
my at the very time she was struggling for self-pres
ervation against nearly all Europe, which he had
combined against her. Already the veterans who
had triumphed under Wellington, were collecting in
Canada, and the ships, long occupied in the Euro
pean war, were crowding hither, like vultures, eager
for their prey. Dismay spread along the whole mari
time frontier, where the inhabitants, no longer placing
any reliance upon the general government, which
seemed totally paralyzed, were all up in arms, mus
tering and drilling with one hundred and twenty
thousand militia in the field. Portland, Boston, Prov
idence, New Haven, New York, Baltimore, Eich-
mond, Norfolk, Charleston, Savannah, were busy in
throwing up fortifications.*

I remember perfectly well, the universal state of
anxiety and depression which prevailed in New Eng
land at this time. The acts of government, the move
ments of fleets and armies, furnish no idea of the con-

* Hildreth, second series, vol. iii. p. 524.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 493

ditiou of society in its daily life. Let me give you a
few items as indications of the embarrassments, vex
ations, and privations which the war had brought
unto every man's house and home. Such a thing as
silver or gold money was almost unknown. The chief
circulation consisted of bills of suspended banks, or
what were called "facilities;" that is, bank-notes, au
thorized by the legislature of Connecticut, redeemable
in three years after the war. These were at fifteen to
twenty-five per cent, discount compared with specie.
Banks issued notes of fifty, twenty-five, and twelve-and-
a-half cents. Barbers put out bills, payable in sha
ving, and various institutions adopted a similar course.
This whole mass acquired the title of "rag money,"
" shin-plasters," &c. : a large portion of it was noto
riously worthless, either as being counterfeit, or issued
by irresponsible parties, yet it generally passed with
out scrutiny. I recollect a person at a turnpike-gate
offered a five-dollar bank-note, and received in change
a large, greasy wad of bills, of various names, hues,
and designs. He glanced at it, and said to the keep
er — " Why, half of this is counterfeit !"

" I know it," was the reply ; " but it passes just as
well as any other."

A specie bank-bill* was almost an object of worship.
An anecdote will illustrate this. In our city of H

* The New England banks continued to pay specie, but their notes were
rare. The bills of suspended banks of the Middle States and "facili
ties," constituted the chief money in circulation.

LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

there were a shrewd man and a greedy man, who had
some dealings with each other about these days, when
the following scene occurred :

Shrewd Man. Do you recollect giving me a ten-
dollar bill in change yesterday, Mr. C . . . . ?

Greedy Man. No, I don't : why do you ask ?

S. M. Well, I found a specie bill of ten dollars in
my purse, and I thought, perhaps, I might have re
ceived it of you. You remember I was only entitled
to a facility, and not to a specie bill ?

Gr. M. Well, I dare say you had it of me : let me
see it.

& M. There it is !

G. M. Oh yes ; I recollect it perfectly. I'll take
it, and give YUU a facility. There !

S. M. Are you sure, Mr. C . . . ., that you gave me
that specie bill ?

O. M. Certainly, certainly : I recollect it distinctly.

S. M. Well, I'm glad you are sure, for they tell me
the specie bill is counterfeit I

At this period, all kinds of British merchandise had
become very scarce, and many had entirely vanished
from the market. There was a small supply of certain
articles, from time to time, furnished by the vessels
captured by our ships and privateers, and some con
venient and necessary goods were smuggled in from
Canada. There was, in fact, a large amount of
money — and this was all specie — sent to the British
Provinces for pins, needles, jewelry, laces, muslins,

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 495

cambrics, chintzes, silks, sewing-silk, buttons, &c.,
&c. These merchandises were so costly that a man
would frequently carry the value of a thousand dol
lars in a pair of saddlebags, sometimes on his shoul
ders, and sometimes on horseback. The life of the
smuggler along the line, at this period, was one of
langer and adventure. In some instances, persons
laid the foundations of future fortune in this illicit
traffic. I recollect very well the prices at which
we sold some of these articles : calico, now worth
twelve and a half cents, readily brought seventy-five
cents the yard ; cotton-cambric, now twenty cents,
then a dollar ; linen handkerchiefs, now fifty cents,
then two dollars ; fine broadcloth, now five dollars,
then twelve, or even fifteen dollars. The average
prices of British goods, at retail, were about four times
what they are now.

In point of fact, however, our dry -goods trade was
almost destroyed. Domestic products were enor
mously dear — flour at one time eighteen dollars a bar
rel — at Boston ! I had personal experience of the
universal depression. In the summer of 1814, I was
out of my time, and cast about for some employment.
I went to New York for this object, but found not the
slightest encouragement. After some reflection, I
established a manufactory of pocket-books, in connec
tion with one of my friends, J. S. S . . . ., who furnished
the capital. The greatest difficulty was to find the
materials. I made expeditions to Boston, Charles-

496 LKTTER8 BIOGRAPHICAL,

ton, Providence, &c., and was not able to obtain over
fifty pieces of morocco fit for the purpose. In De
cember I went to New York, and was more success
ful. I had made a considerable purchase, and dis
patched my goods by the wagoner, for you will re
member that Long Island Sound was in the occupa
tion of the enemy.* Pretty well content with my
success, I had gone in the evening to a concert at the
City Hotel. While listening to the music, there was
a murmur in the streets. Soon the door of the
concert-room was thrown open, and in rushed a man
all breathless with excitement. He mounted on a
table, and swinging a white handkerchief aloft, cried
out —

"Peace! Peace! Peace!"

The music ceased : the hall was speedily vacated.
I rushed into the street, and oh, what a scene ! But,
I beg your pardon, I have not yet done with the war !

Amidst general gloom and despondency, a broad
ray of light came suddenly from the north — the gen
eral scene of disaster and disgrace. In the spring of
this year, General Wilkinson was superseded by Gen
eral Izard, but while the latter, with the flower ol
the American army, was drawn off toward Sackett's
Harbor, the British general, Provost, advanced across
the country toward Plattsburg, situated on the west
ern side of Lake Champlain. Hitherto the enemy's

* Freight from New York to Hartford, now fifty cents a hundred,
woe then four dollars a hundred.

7

HISTOUICAI., ANECDOTICAI., ETC. 497

force in this quarter hud been small, but now, replen
ished by the veterans who had fought in the Penin
sula under "Wellington, and who had seemed invin
cible, he mustered twelve thousand men. Macomb,
the American commander, left with only three thou
sand regular troops, was soon reinforced by three
thousand. militia from Vermont and New York. He
was strongly intrenched behind the Saranac — which
flows through Plattsburg to the lake — and here the
enemy assailed him. The British fleet, under Com
modore Downie, came gallantly on to their assistance :
Macdonough,* commander of the American squad
ron, now closed with them, and then carne such a fight
as is seldom seen. It was a deadly action of more
than two hours — ship to ship, broadside to broad
side. At last the enemy was silenced — victory was
on our side. Nearly the whole British fleet was cap
tured. This was decisive of the conflict in this quar
ter. Simultaneously with the naval attack, the land
forces of the enemy had advanced against the Amer
icans under Macomb. But the defeat of the naval

* Thomas Macdonough was a native of Delaware, ivnd was born in 1784.
When the battle of Lake Champlaiu was fought, he was but twenty-
eight years of age. In commemoration of his victory, the citizens of
Hartford presented him with a splendid sword. I recollect the occasion,
and the appearance of the gallant officer. He was nearly six feet high,
very broad-shouldered, with a small head, but finely set, so as to give
a look of mingled dignity and elegance to his form. His hair was
light, almost flaxen, his eye gray, and his countenance mild, but with
an expression of firmness. In his personal character, he was marked
with gentleness and dignity. His private life was most blameless. Ho
died in 1825.

498 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

force disheartened them, a panic ensued, and under
cover of a storm, they hastily retreated, leaving be
hind them their sick and wounded, and a part of
their baggage and stores. Their whole loss was esti
mated at no less than two thousand five hundred
men ! This double victory — Sept. 11, 1814 — was in
deed some compensation for the disgrace inflicted
upon us a few weeks before at Washington.

The clouds of despondency, however, still lowered
over our country, in its length and breadth. It is now
known that the Administration was deeply alarmed
at the perilous condition into which it had brought
the country. The humbled and dismayed President,
in his message to Congress in September,* evidently
thinking no more of conquest, was solely occupied
with the means of self-preservation. But however
painful the condition of other parts of the United
States, New England, beyond all question, was ex
posed to peculiar and trying difficulties. Her prep
aration for the war had been a series of destructive
acts on the part of the government, which had spread
general poverty throughout her entire territories.
Commerce, which was then her life, had nearly per
ished under embargoes and non -intercourse acts, to

* " It is not to be disguised," said he, " that the pituatiou of our
country calls for its greatest efforts. Our enemy is powerful in men
and money, on the land and on the water. Availing himself of fortu
itous advantages (the triumph over Napoleon), ho is aiming, with his
undivided force, u deadly blow at our growing prosperity, perhaps at
our national existence." This is from a President who had declared
war, a short time before, with tho expectation of qonquering Canada !

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 499

which had now been added three years of war.* And
in this condition she had been left by the general
government without defense, having a coast of seven
hundred miles exposed to the enemy. That ene
my, in the full triumph of his arms over Napoleon,
was gathering his forces along the northern frontier,
and spreading his navies over our waters, and in
the very sight of our seaports. Already portions of
our territory were in his possession, and our towns
and villages were not only exposed, but some of them
had been actually subjected, to ravage and plunder.

There was evidently no hope but in the people
themselves. The general government had abandoned
them : it is historical, and beyond dispute, that while
the policy of the Administration allowed and encour-

* It is startling to look back at the financial records of the country at
this time : the destructive effects of the embargo are abundantly at
tested by documentary evidence. The exports of the United States in
1807 — that is, before the embargo — were $108,343,558; in 1808, under
the embargo, they were $8,417,000 — a diminution of a hundred millions
in a single year ! The whole loss to the United States in the destruc
tion of commerce, alone — during the seven years of embargo, non-
intercourse, non-importation, and war— all forming one system, under
Jefferson and Madison democracy, would show a fearful sum — amount
ing to hundreds of millions. To this is to be added the war expenses,
the depreciation of property, the wide-spread devastation of productive
enterprise, &c., &c. Let it be understood that New England, from
her position, took more than her relative share of this burden ; let it
also be understood that she believed all these measures to have had
a sinister origin ; let it, furthermore, be held in view, that events, thus
far, had fulfilled her predictions as to the destructive tendency of this
whole policy ; and then we may be prepared to ask whether she had
not a right to call together her Wise Men, as had been her custom from
the foundation of the first settlements, to take into consideration the
state of public affairs, and recommend the means of averting the evils
which impended over her?

500 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

aged the democratic governors of several States to
call out the local militia for defense, permitting thorn
to have their own officers and paying the expenses
thus incurred, a totally different system was adopted
in respect to the federal States of New England. Here
the general government insisted upon the exclusive
control of military movements, and flatly refused pay
ing the militia, because they were not placed under
the command of United States officers. What was
then to be done ? This was the anxious question in
city, village, and hamlet, from one end of the country
to the other. The people — the great body of the peo
ple — were agitated with a deep sense of injury, of'
suffering, of anxiety. In this state of things, a pro
ject was suggested, in the good old Puritan county
of Hampshire, in Massachusetts, which resulted in the
Hartford Convention. It had been the custom, from
time immemorial — in days of doubt and danger — for
the inhabitants of the Pilgrim land to call together
their wise men, to seek, by counsel and co-operation,
the path of duty and deliverance. The history of
New England tells us that, on almost every page.
Had they not a right to do so now ? Was it not
natural for them to take this course — to follow the
example of their fathers ? Is it fair, is it j ust, is it
reasonable, to seek any other motive than this, which
lies open and plain upon the face of things, with noth
ing to contradict it ?

T have a few more words to say on that subject,

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, KTC. 501

but I lay them aside for the present, that I may com
plete my chronological memoranda of the war. This
done, I will give you my recollections of that famous
or infamous assembly.

It was now evident to the whole country that we
had changed positions with the enemy. At the
outset, the war was aggressive on our part : we
had sought to invade and conquer a portion of his
territory : in this we had failed, and now released
from his embarrassments, he was threatening us on
all sides, thus calling upon us for defense. It ap
pears that the Administration now felt the absolute
necessity of bringing the war to a close. Great
Britain had made an offer to treat for peace, and our
government accepted it, appointing J. Q. Adams,
Henry Clay, Jonathan Russell, Albert Gallatin, and
J. A. Bayard, as Commissioners for that object. The
instructions at first given, required them to insist upon
a withdrawal of the pretensions of Great Britain to the
right of search and impressment — the only substantial
object of the war. After the news of the prostration
of Napoleon, other instructions were given, direct
ing that even this should not be insisted upon. The
agents of the two governments met at Ghent, in Bel
gium, in August. As we had withdrawn every ma
terial obstruction, a treaty of peace was finally agreed
upon and signed, at Ghent, Dec. 24, 1814.

The news of this event did not reach the United
States until the llth of February, 1815 — a space of

502 LK'ITERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

forty-nine days — for then steam navigation had not
brought the Old and New World within ten days'
sail. While the tidings of peace were thus lagging
across the Atlantic, the war still lowered over our
country. It was soon apparent that the enemy med
itated a blow at some portion of the Southern States.
At length, after various movements, and some severe
encounters with our forces under General Jackson,
the British general, Packenham, advanced against
the American intrenchments, four miles below New
Orleans, with a force of twelve thousand men. Their
design evidently was to capture New Orleans. Be
hind their breastworks of bales of cotton, six thou
sand Americans, mostly militia, awaited the attack.
It came, but our well-aimed cannon and deadly
rifles mowed down the enemy like a scythe. The
plain was speedily covered with the dead and the
dying. General Packenham was killed, and his
successor, Gibbs, was mortally wounded. The Brit
ish troops — most of them veterans, and conquerors
in many a bloody field — were panic-stricken, and
fled. The loss on their side was seven hundred kill
ed and one thousand wounded : the loss on ours was
seven killed and six wounded ! The Saxon had met
the Saxon : the American rifle had triumphed ovei
the British bayonet. It was on our part a glorious
victory ; but let it be remembered, that it was in
defense of our territories — our homes and firesides.
The moral of the war is well told in its opening and

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 503

closing scenes : in attempting conquest, our flag was
humbled at Detroit ; in self-defense, it became im
mortal at New Orleans !

This great victory on the part of General Jackson
— which afterward carried him into the presidential
chair — took place on the 8th of January, 1815 —
fifteen days after the signing of the treaty of peace.
The rumor of this triumph had reached Washington,
and began to raise the drooping spirits of the coun
try; but a still more cheering event was at hand.
As I have already stated, the news of the treaty of
peace arrived in New York on the llth of February,
1815. It was about eight o'clock on Saturday even
ing, that the tidings circulated through the city. I
have told you that I was there. In half an hour
after the news reached the wharf, Broadway was one
living sea of shouting, rejoicing people. " Peace !
peace ! peace !" was the deep, harmonious, universal
anthem. The whole spectacle was enlivened by a sud
den inspiration. Somebody came with a torch : the
bright idea passed into a thousand brains. In a few
minutes, thousands and tens of thousands of people
were marching about with candles, lamps, torches —
making the jubilant street appear like a gay and
gorgeous procession. The whole night Broadway
sang its song of peace. "We were all democrats,
all federalists ! Old enemies rushed into each other's
arms : every house was in a revel : every heart seemed
melted by a joy which banished all evil thought

504: LETTERS BIOGRAPHICAL,

and feeling. Nobody asked, that happy night, what
were the terms of the treaty : we had got peace — that
was enough ! I moved about for hours in the ebbing
and flowing tide of people, not being aware that I
had opened my lips. The next morning I found that
I was hoarse from having joined in the exulting cry
of peace, peace!

The next day, Sunday, all the churches sent up
hymns of thanksgiving for the joyous tidings. I set
out in the stage-coach on Monday morning for Con
necticut. All along the road, the people saluted us
with swinging of hats and cries of rejoicing. At
one place, in rather a lonesome part of the road, a
schoolmaster came out with the whole school at his
heels to ask us if the news was true. We told him
it was : whereupon he tied his bandanna pocket-
handkerchief to a broom, swung it aloft, and the
whole school hosannaed — " Peace ! peace !" At all
our stopping-places, the people were gathered to re
joice in the good tidings. At one little tavern, I look
ed into a room, by chance, the door being open, and
there I saw the good wife, with a chubby boy in her
lap — both in a perfect gale of merriment — the child
crying out, " Peath ! peath !" Oh, ye makers of war,
reflect upon this heartfelt verdict of the people in
behalf of peace I

We arrived at New Haven in the evening, and found
it illuminated : the next day I reached Hartford, and
there was a grand illumination there. The news

"PEACE!" "PEACE!" Vol. 1, p. 504.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. ^(>5

spread over the country, carrying with it a wave of
shouts and rejoicings. Boston became clamorous
with pealing bells ; the schools had a jubilee ; the
blockaded shipping, rotting at the dilapidated wharves,
got out their dusty buntings, and these — ragged and
forlorn — now flapped merrily in the breeze. At night
the city flamed far and wide — from Beacon-street
down the bay, telling the glorious tale even unto
Cape Cod. So spread the news over the country,
everywhere carrying joy to every heart — with, per
haps, a single exception. At Washington, the authors
of the war peeped into the dispatches, and found that
the treaty had no stipulations against Orders in
Council, Paper Blockades, or Impressments! All
that could be maintained was, that we had made
war, charging the enemy with very gross enormities,
and we had made peace, saying not one word about
them ! Madison and his party had in fact swal
lowed the declaration of war whole, and it naturally
caused some uneasy qualms in the regions of diges
tion. " Let us, however," said they, " put a good
face upon it : we can hide our shame for the mo
ment in the smoke of Jackson's victory ; as to the
rest, why we can brag the country into a belief that
it has been a glorious war !" Madison set the exam
ple in a boasting message, and his party organs took
up the tune, and have played it bravely till the pres
ent day.

But what saith history — not partisan history, not

VOL. 1.-—22

506 LETTKRS BIOGRAPHICAL,

history addressed to Buncombe, not history written
in subservient demagogism to national vanity — but
history, speaking the truth and fearing not ? What
saith the record ?* Assuredly this, that the war had
its origin in partisan interests, and was carried on in
a similar spirit ; that it was the war of the Adminis
tration, and not of the nation, and so far was disastrous
and disgraceful. It was begun without preparation, it
was carried on in weakness ; it was characterized by
failure, it was terminated by a treaty which left us
where we began — save only that a hundred millions
of dollars and thirty thousand lives had been expend-

* I commend to the reader the following observations from a calm
and sober writer :

" An inquiry here naturally suggests itself— as, after the revocation
of the British Orders in Council, Impressment was the only grievance
to be redressed by war ; and as that question was subsequently waived
by our government in the negotiation, what was gained by the war ? It
has been considered as no small point gained, that ample evidence hns
been given to Great Britain of our capacity successfully to resist her
power, especially upon the ocean, where she had long claimed a vast
superiority ; and that a guarantee had thus been furnished against fu
ture aggression. It is questionable, however, if the result could have
been known, or if the unbiased counsels of our older statesmen had pre
vailed, whether war would have been declared. Jefferson, Madison, Gal-
latin, Macon, and others, ^cere of a pacific disposition. The leading men
of the administration were known to have given a reluctant sanction to
the war project ; but they found themselves under a kind of necessity to
yield to the impulsive young politicians — Calhoun, Clay, and a number
of others — who, it wan suspected, were striving t-o turn the popular preju
dices against Great Britain to their own political advantage. \V hether
the nation has ever obtained an equivalent for the thirty thousand lives,
and the hundred millions of money expended ; for the loss of prop
erty and of several years of prosperous commerce ; for the depravation of
the public morals, and the train of other evils inseparable from a state
of war, is a question which at least admits of a reasonable doubt."—
Young's American Statesman,

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 507

ed iii the inglorious struggle. All the lights of this
period belong to the people or to the opposition — all
the shadows to the war-makers. Hull's surrender,
Dearborn's blunders, Wilkinson's abortions, were the
work of the Administration, attempting the conquest
of Canada : the desecration of Washington is wholly
chargeable to the personal weakness and pusillanim
ity of the President and his cabinet. The glory of
the navy belongs to the federalists, who were its fa
thers — the democrats being its open and avowed
enemies and opposers : the victories of Plattsburg,
Baltimore, and New Orleans, belong not to the spirit
of Madison, who would conquer Canada, but to that
spirit which is indigenous to the country, to the people
•—democrats and federalists — everywhere — who will
fight and conquer in defense of our soil, even though
the war be brought upon us by a feeble and unpatri
otic government.

Let us be frank, and confess the truth : the war, in
the aspects in which history thus presents it, was dis
graceful to the authors of it : it was, in many respects,
disastrous to the country ; and yet it has left us some
wholesome lessons. It has shown the danger and
folly of plunging a great country into a national con
flict, for narrow and selfish purposes, because — under
such circumstances — the people will be divided, and
it will be a partisan and not a patriotic war ; it has
put on record another instance in which war has been
declared in boasting, und ended precisely where it be-

508 LETTKRS— BIOGRAPHICAL,

gan, after years of violence, sorrow, and bloodshed ;
it has shown our weakness in a war of conquest, and
our strength in a war of defense ; it has shown us
that the sea is the true theater upon which we should
ever be prepared to attack and repel every European
enemy. It has shown us that without preparation,
and with divided counsels, we are weak, but that with
union of heart and proper precautions, we need not
fear any combination the world can bring against
us. It has shown, also — in connection with subse
quent events — the superiority of peace to war, even
in obtaining the ends of justice, for let it be remem
bered, that Daniel "Webster extorted from Great Brit
ain by the force of argument, that which the sword
could not achieve. His letter to Lord Ashburton*
silenced, and doubtless forever, the British preten
sions to the " right of search" — thus demonstrating
the superiority of an old federal quill, to all the gun
powder that mere Madison democracy could com
mand ! The pen is master of the sword.

And now, my dear C . . . ., I ask you in all serious-

* This remarkable letter — dated Washington, August 8, 1842 — will
be found in Mr. Webster's Works, vol. vi. p. 818. Mr. Everett says,
in his memoir of Mr. Webster, "The reply of Lord Ashburton must
be considered as acquiescence on the part of his government ;" that is,
acquiescence in the American doctrine of maritime rights — that the flag
of a country renders the decks of its ships inviolable against visit or
search. The London Times, Standard, &c., about this period, -expressed
the opinion that this subject was finally put to rest by Mr. Webster's
letter. It is understood that Lord Aberdeen said to Mr. Everett, that
Its argument was unanswerable : it has been effectively answered, how
ever, by quietly yielding to its doctrines.

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 509

ness — is it not time for that arrogance to cease — which
claims for democracy all the patriotism, all the sue
cess, all the glory of the war of 1812, and charges upon
federalism a uniform course of secret or open treason,
with the responsibility of all the failures, disasters,
and disgraces which attended the conflict?

Let me observe, by the way, that I do not condemn
the feelings of the great body of the democrats, in
their support of the war. Believing it to be just and
proper, their ardor, their patriotism, their perseve
rance in the maintenance of the struggle, "were hon
orable to them. I do full homage to their spirit, to
their patriotism. I can overlook that partisan bigotry
which burned in their bosoms at the time, and even
embittered the intercourse of society. It was natural
for them to feel indignant at the conduct of those who
— holding opposite opinions — pursued an opposite
course, in so serious a question as that of war with a
foreign enemy. Nor was their example, in this re
spect, very different from that of the federalists. Both
parties were wrought into a kind of frenzy by the
irritation of mutual opposition and mutual hostility.

While doing this justice to the democracy, I claim
the same candor for the federalists. They acted ac
cording to their convictions, as I have before said,
and this was not only their right but their duty. The
doctrine of the war partisans, holding legal, constitu
tional opposition to an administration which has de
clared war, to be treason, is alike dangerous and

510 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL,

despotic. A war may be declared merely to serve a
party: the administration may be base, incompetent,
treacherous ; yet, if this doctrine be true, the people
— having lost the greatest of all rights — the right to
think, speak, and act, according to their convictions
— are bound to give a blind and slavish support to
those who, either by incompetence or corruption, are
leading the country to ruin.

Let me invite your attention to the principles of
New England — the federalists of New England — as
stated by Daniel Webster, in a Fourth of July ora
tion, at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, a few days
after the declaration of war :

" With respect to the war in which we are now involved, the
course which our principles require us to pursue can not be
doubtful. It is now the law of the land, and as such we are
bound to regard it. Resistance and insurrection form no part
of our creed. The disciples of Washington are neither tyrants
in power, nor rebels out. If we are taxed to carry on this war,
we shall disregard certain distinguished examples,* and shall pay.

* This was an allusion to the Whisky Rebellion in Western Penn
sylvania, in 1794, which Albert Gallatin — one of Madison's cabinet,
and a prominent supporter of the war — had done much to stimulate.
The inhabitants of that quarter were chiefly foreigners. The law
which offended them was passed by Congress in 1791, and laid a tax
on distilled spirits — one of their chief products at that time. A con
siderable army was assembled by the malcontents, and the United
States revenue officers were resisted, whipped, tarred and feathered.
The insurrection was finally put down by a proclamation issued by the
President (Washington), and the marching toward the scene of action
of a respectable body of militia, under Gov. Lee, of Maryland.

This resistance, however, was in some degree pardonable, consider
ing the general ignorance and character of those concerned in it, and
considering, also, that the general government had just gone into op-

HISTORICAL. ANECDOTIC A I., ETC. 511

If our personal services are required, we shall yield them to the
precise extent of our constitutional liability. At the same time
the world may be assured that AVC know our rights and shall
exercise them. We shall express our opinions on this as on
every measure of government, I trust without passion, I am cer
tain without fear. We have yet to hear that the extravagant
progress of pernicious measures abrogates the duty of opposition,
or that the interest of our native land is to be abandoned by us
in the hour of the thickest danger and most necessity. By the
exercise of our constitutional right of suffrage — by the peaceful
remedy of election — we shall seek to restore wisdom to our coun
cils, and peace to our country."*

That was the federal doctrine, and that the federal
practice. Now I put it to your conscience — is not

eration, and called for unaccustomed sacrifices on the part of the peo
ple. It was otherwise in the case of South Carolina, when, in the au
tumn of 1832, she made a general movement to resist the tariff laws of
Congress, on the ground that they were unconstitutional. This course had
been recommended by a convention and various public meetings, and
the legislature of the State, meeting soon after, sanctioned these views.
The tariff acts were declared null and void, and in order to resist their
execution, active measures were adopted to arm the citizens. The city
of Charleston became at once a great military depot, and the whole State
was bristling with bayonets. Col. Hayne, who, a short time before, in
the Senate of the United States, had arraigned the members of the Hart
ford Convention as traitors, now became governor of the State, for the
express purpose of directing this formidable treason. Mr. Calhoun
resigned the vice-presidency, and accepted a seat in the Senate, for the
purpose of there vindicating the conduct of his State. This fearful
blow, aimed directly at the Constitution and the Union, was averted by
what is called the Compromise of Mr. Clay — which, in point of fact, con
sisted in forcing the general government to yield to a menace of rebel
lion. The movement was so far successful, that it cherished the seeds
of Nullification, which had been widely sown by Jefferson and his as
sociates in the Southern States ; and at the present day, its doctrines
may be considered as held by a majority of the democratic party there.
Compare all this with the conduct of New England federalism !

* See the New York Evening Post for July 21, 1812— where this is
held to be sound federal doctrine.

512 LKTTKRS HIOGKAPHICAI-,

this more manly, more American, more in the spirit
of true liberty, than the slavish doctrine which holds
every man to be a traitor who does not support the
administration — good or bad, wise or unwise — even
against his honest convictions?*

If, then, the people of New England had a right to
follow their convictions, what was their actual conduct?
Look closely into the history of the times — peruse the
acts of legislatures, the doings of authorized public
assemblies — and you will find a uniform, unswerving
loyalty to the Constitution, the country, and the laws.
The federalists of New England did not — like Albert
Gal latin and other democrats, afterward supporters of
the war, and believers in the doctrine that opposition
is treason — rise in rebellion, and seek to overthrow the
government. They did not — like Calhoun, another
democrat, and one of the chief authors of the war, as
well as one of the promoters of this gag-law of con
science — array the States in arms, and cry out for a
dissolution of the Union ! They did not — as is now
the fashion, even with certain democrats in full com
munion with the party — claim that the Union shall be

* If we admit this doctrine, that opposition to an administration in
time of war is treason, then Chatham, who advocated the cause of
America in the British Parliament, during the Revolution, was a trai
tor ; Lamartine, Cavaignac, and Victor Hugo, who opposed Louis Napo
leon's war for the suppression of the Roman Republic, were traitors ;
all the friends of liberty, who, from time immemorial, have opposed
the wars of their respective governments for the perpetuation of tyran
ny, are to be inscribed in the list of traitors. Certainly democracy errs in
employing despotism and injustice, under the pretense of propagating
liberty. There is no surer way to make liberty itself feared and hated

HISTORICAL, ANECDOTICAL, ETC. 513

torn asunder, whenever the administration of the gov
ernment does not altogether please them. No : their
standard of duty was higher than that — resistance and
insurrection formed no part of their creed or their
conduct : they were taxed, and they paid ; their per
sonal services were required, and they rendered them
to the extent of their constitutional liability ; they
defended the country, and even the property of the
United States, when the general government was
powerless to protect them ; they stood by the Con
stitution, as a thing too sacred to be violated, even
under the extremest oppression of what they deemed
an unwise and unpatriotic government !

Who, then, has a right to accuse them of treason ?
Not the Nullifier, nor the Disunionist, nor the Seces
sionist — all clamorous for the destruction of the
Union, whenever, in their opinion, the government
is not properly administered ; surely no member of a
party, which holds in its bosom, and cherishes as in
full fellowship, individuals who are chiefly distin
guished for bearing these names, and for asserting
arid propagating these doctrines ! Strange is it —
passing strange — that from the beginning — in peace
or war — New England Federalism should have fur
nished a steady example of loyalty to the Constitu
tion, and that — springing from her bosom, and ex
pressive of her spirit — she should have given to this
country the acknowledged Champion of the Consti
tution and the Union; that at the same time, South-
oo*

514 LETTERS — BIOGRAPHICAL, HISTORICAL, ETC.

ern Democracy should have been the breeder of se~
cession and disunion ; that it should have furnished
to the country the Arch Nullifier himself; and yet
that this same Democracy presumes to point its finger
at New England, and cry — " Treason, treason to the
Union!" Certainly a democrat may steal a horse,
but a federalist may not look over a hedge !

Let us, my dear C , be just — just in the sight

of God and man ; let us render homage to the patri
otism of the great body of the people of the United
States — democrats and federalists — during the war of
1812-14. We may sincerely admire that cheerful,
gallant, devoted spirit, which sustained the struggle
without inquiring as to its justice or its prudence ;
at the same time, we are bound equally to respect
that calmness and equanimity with which a people,
deeply conscious of injury and injustice, observed
the laws, and, within their limits, defied alike the
aggressions of a partisan government and a foreign
enemy. Doing this justice to the people, on both
sides and of both parties, let history hold to a stern
reckoning the selfishness of those men who declared
or promoted the war, merely or mainly to subserve
the interests of party '

APPENDIX.

NOTE I.
Town of Ridgefield.

THIS town lies about sixty miles northeast of New York, and forty
northwest of New Haven. There is, as I have elsewhere stated, in
the Library of the Atheneura at Hartford, Conn., a manuscript work,
entitled " A Statistical Account of Ridgelield, in the county of Fair
field, drawn up by Rev. Samuel Goodrich, from minutes furnished
by a number of his parishioners, A. D. 1800." From this account I
give the following extracts:

" Ridgefield was located to twenty-nine of the inhabitants of tho
towny of Mil ford and Norwich, by the General Assembly of the State
of Connecticut, on the 13th of May, 1708. Various patents were grant
ed, and the soil rights of these were purchased of the Indians at differ
ent times. The first was made of Catoonali, the sachem, and others, the
condition being one hundred pounds. The boundaries of the town,
fixed about the year 1733, left it of an oblong shape, about fifteen miles
long and three to five miles wide : including the two parishes ot'Ridge-
bnry and Ridtrefield proper.

" There is the appearance of several Indian graves at a place called
Norron's Ridge ; and one elevation retains its Indian name of Arproono
—high or lofty. Several ponds also retain their Indian designations, as
Urnpewauge, Mammemusqtiah, Nisopach,&c. There is but one Indian
man in the town. One died here t»vo years ago, aged about 96. In
1799, there were ten common schools and four hundred and thirty- three
scholars. There are three foreigners — all paupers: Jagger, an English
man, ninety-five years old, who served under the Duke of Cumberland
in the battle of Cullodeu, 1746, and was in Flanders, in the same regi
ment, previous to this battle.

" The general form of the land is in gently swelling ridges, extend
ing from north to south. High Ridge, in the central part, called Can-
dito by the Indians, is very elevated ; from this the mountains west of

510 A PPENDIX -NOTES.

the Hudson, and West Rock, near New Haven — a view eighty miles i-n
diameter — are to be seen in fair weather; Long Island Sound also,
from fifty to sixty miles, is visible. The waters flowing from this hill,
flow some southeasterly into the Sound, and some southwesterly into
the Hudson, by the rivers Titicus and Croton. The latter, in fact, has
its source here.

"The soil is generally fertile, though many parts are stony; the cli
mate, owing to the elevation of the place, is somewhat severe, but it
is salubrious. Formerly there were bear, deer, and wolves, but these
have disappeared. Eacoons, various kinds of squirrels, rabbits, &c.,
are plentiful, as also quails, partridges, &c. The flocks of wild-pigeons,
formerly very abundant, now make their migrations more to the west
than formerly."

Partly from this document, and partly from notes furnished me by
Mr. A. Ressequie, of Ridgefield, I take the following memoranda :

Ministers of the First Congregational Church in Ridgefield.

Rev. Thomas Hawley, of 2s orthampton, the first minister, and one
of the first settler?, installed in 1714, and died 1739.
Rev. Jonathan Ingersoll, installed 1740, died 1778.
Rev. Samuel Goodrich, ordained 1786, dismissed 1811,
Rev. S. M. Phelps, " 1817, " 1829.

Rev. C. G. Silleck, " 1831, M 1837.

Rev. Joseph Fuller, " 1838, " 1842.

llev. James A. Hawley, " , " .

Rev. Clinton Clark, " , the present pastor

Some of the Inhabitants of Ridgefield, noticed in the preceding
pages.

REV. JONATHAN INGERSOLL was a native of Milford, graduated at
Yale College in 1736, and died 1778, while in the ministry at Ridge
field. He joined the colonial troops as chaplain, on Lake Champlain,
in 1758 ; he was much respected in the army, and exerted an ex
cellent influence on the soldiers. He left behind him a name hon
ored for purity, learning, eloquence, and devotion to his duty, in the
village where the greater part of his life was spent. From an elec
tion sermon, which I find in the Library of the Hartford Atheneum,
it would appear that he was master of a very felicitous style of
writing.*

* The following letter, addressed to liis brother, noted in the history of Connecti
cut lor accepting thit oBiov of -lamp-master under the olmoxions stamp-act of 17G4,

APPENDIX, NOTES. 517

Rev. Jonathan Ingersoll died Oct.. 2, 1778, in the 65th year of his
age. Dorcas Moss, his wife, died Sept. 29, 1811, in the 86th year of
her age. They had ten children, as follows :

Sarah, born Oct. 28, 1741 — married Lee.

Dorcas, born Oct. 15, 1743 — married Andrews.

Jonathan, born April 16, 1747 — married Miss Isaacs.

Mary, born Dec. 20, 1748 — married Hooker.

Abigail, born May 7, 1751 — married Col. D. Olmstead.

Joseph, born Aug. 11, 1753 — deaf and dumb — not married.

Hannah, born April 9, 1756 — married Raymond.

Esther, born Aug. 10, 1760 — married Lieut. Olmstead.

Moss, born June 9, 1763 — deaf and dumb — married Miss Smith.

Anne, born April 5, 1765 — married Gen. Joshua King, died 1838.

GEN. JOSHUA KING was born at Braintree, Colony of Massachusetts
Bay, 24th of November, 1758. He entered the army of the Revo
lution, a mere boy, at the commencement of hostilities between the
colonies and the mother country. On the formation of Sheldon's

and furnished to me by Hon. E. I Ingersoll, of New Haven, will be read with
interest:

" EIDOKFIELD, June 9th, A. D. 1758.

"DEAR BROTHER: — Yours from Hartford, the 1st instant, caine safe to hund by
Mr. Olmstead, for which I am heartily obliged to you. I remarked in particular
your observing something of heaviness in my countenance at parting with you a*.
New Haven — upon which I would observe that this bidding farewell is a difficul ,
thing, and tends greatly to move the passions This sin being a natural infirmity,
you will easily overlook. Blessed be God. I am neither disheartened nor elevated,
but enjoy a good temper of mind, and can, I think, put my life in the hands of G<>d
and go forth freely and cheerfully, in so important though dangerous an enterprise.
I have this day received a line from Col. Wooster, by which I am informed that I
must be at Norwalk to-morrow, in order to embark for Albany. I am ready, and
rejoice at the news. He also informs me that you are appointed agent, and have
accepted, at which I greatly rejoice, and hope your courage will hold out, and de
sire that you will be made a blessing to your country and government in this im
portant undertaking. The office is very honorable, and I hope will be profitable to
you and the government By no means refuse, but look upon it as a favor of
Providence. To love God with all our heart and our neighbor as ourselves, is the
•rreat gospel command. And to be impressed in sucli an important affair, must bo
looked upon as a favor from Heaven ; for the voice of the people (to judge ratio i •
al y) is the voice of God, when they look to him for his influence and direction.

"Your family reed you and desire yon, and so does mine me; but private mat
ters must submit to the public good. Sister, I hope, will quietly acquiesce — from
* view of your usefulness, though it be a piece of great self-denial. I could \vish
you had had the, small-pox — a terror to the world ; and perhaps it would be best to
go to Doctor Munson. on Long Islan.1. and inoculate — and was I not u'«in$ abroad

518 APPENDIX NOTK*.

regiment of dragoons, he was made a cornet, and afterward a lieu
tenant, in which capacity he continued during the war, ever sus
taining the character of a brave officer. Being stationed on the
lines of Connecticut and Westchester county, New York, he became
attached to this part of the country, and after the peace of 1783, ho
settled in Ridgetield, in the mercantile business, commencing in
company with Lieut. Jarnes Dole of the same regiment, and after
ward marrying the youngest daughter of the late Rev. Jonathan
Ingersoll, April 18th, 1784. He was several years a member of the
Assembly, and was a member of the Convention in 1818, which
framed the State Constitution. He died August 13, 1839.*

as I ain, I wouM go and be with you. With respect to cautions and advice you
give, I accept them well, and would give the same to you. And so, my brother,
go in the fear of God — be true to your trust, and farewell. Whether we see each
other in this life or not, let us labor to meet in glory.

"I remain your affectionate brother,

"JONATHAN INGERSOLL.

"P. 8. — We are all well. Send our compliments, particularly our love to Boreas,
and tell her to live in the fear of God.
" JAEBD INGERSOLL, ESQ., New Haven."

* The following portion of a letter, written to a friend by Gen. King, dated June
19th, 181T, in which he speaks of the capture of Andr6. will be found interesting:

" I was the first and only officer who hp.d charge of him whilst at the head
quarters of the second regiment light dragoons, which was then at Esq. Gilbert's,
South Salem, Westchester county, N. T. He was brought up by an adjutant and
four men belonging to the Connecticut militia, under command of Lieutenant-
colonel Jameson. He was on the lines in a character under the disguised name
of John Anderson; he looked somewhat like a reduced gentleman; his small
clothes were nankeen, with handsome white-top boots; in part his dress was
military, his coat purple, with gold' lace, worn somewhat threadbare ; he wore a
sinall-brimmed, tarnished beaver on his head; he wore his hair in a queue with a
long black band, and his clothes were somewhat dusty. In this garb I took charge
of him to breakfast. My barber came in to dress me, after which, I requested him
to undergo the same oj>eration, which he did. When the ribbon was taken from
his hair, I observed a fall of powder ; this circumstance, with others that occurred,
induced me to believe I had no ordinary person in charge. He requested permis
sion to take to the bed while his shirt and small-clothes could be washed ; I told
him it was needless, for a change was at his service, which he accepted. We were
close pent up in a bedroom, with a sentinel at the door and window ; there was a
spacious yard before the door, which he desired he might be permitted to walk in
with rue. I accordingly disposed of my guard in such manner as to prevent an
escape, and while walking together he observed that he must make a confidant of
Homebody, and he knew not a more proper person than myself, as I had offered to
befriend a stranger in distress. After settling the point between ourselves, he told
me who he was, and gave me a short account of himself from the time he w»s
taken at St. Johns, in 1775, to that time. He requested pen and ink, and wrote
immediately to Gen. Washington, declaring who he wa«. About midnight th«

APVKNDIX NOTES. 519

General King's children were as follows :

Catherine, married to William Hawley, of Ridgefield.

Frances, married to Rev. Wm. Neill, D. D., of Philadelphia; died
October, 1832.

Sophia, married to William McHarg, of Albany; died March, 1838.

John Francis, not married ; died 1838. Once State Senator.

Charles Clark, not married; died Jan, 1854.

Rufus H., married to Miss Laverty, of New York, and settled at
Albany.

Joshua Ingersoll, not married. Once State Senator ; resides
in the family mansion at Ridgefield.

Anne Maria, married to Elisha W. Skinner, of Albany.

Mary Ann; died November, 1828.

Grace.

DEACON ELISHA HAWLEY was born March 14, 1759. He was the
son of Thomas Hawley. Jr., and grandson of the Rev. Thomas Haw-
ley, first pastor in that place, and one of those who settled it, and
who removed from Northampton, where the family had been located
since their emigration from England. Elisha Hawley lost his father
at the age of fourteen, and four years afterward was drafted for ser
vice in the struggle with Great Britain, and was sent to New York
fur the defense of that city. His regiment was stationed at Cor-
laer's Hook, and the British sent up a part of their fleet to cut off
its retreat. The colonel, however, refused to quit his post without
orders from his superior officer. When they were received, their
retreat was so hasty, as to oblige the men to throw away their
muskets and knapsacks. The vigor of our young soldier, with an
appreciative sense of their use, allowed him to retain his, which the
colonel was glad to share with him, when at night, on the North
River, without blankets, they were exposed to the peltings of a vio
lent storm. At daybruak next morning, they took up their march for
Harlem Heights, out of reach of the enemy. Here they made their
first meal on flour cakes baked on the stones in the sun. Young
Hawley was next engaged in cutting off the retreat of the enemy
from Danbury, where they had been to destroy stores, &c.

express returned, with orders from Gen. Washington to Col. Sheldon, to send
Major Andre immediately to head-quarters. I started with him, and before I got
to North Salem meeting-house, met another expre s, with a letter to the officer
rommanttiltf the party who had Major Andre in charge: this letter directed a cir
cuitous route to head-quarters, fur fear of a recapture— which order was oomplifd
with."

520 APPENDIX — NOTK8.

In 1786, at the age of twenty-seven, lie was married to Charity
Judson, of Stratford. They had six sons, two only of whom are living.
Shortly after their matrimonial nlliance, he and his partner joined
the Presbyterian church : he was afterward elected to the office of
deacon, which ho held during life. Being a man of very temperate
and regular life, he enjoyed uninterrupted health, which, with his
habits of industry, contributed to give him that vigor of body and
mind which made him so remarkable in the later years of his life.
In the summer prior to his death, at the age of ninety-one, he would
work nearly all day with his men in the field. It was the desire ol
keeping himself employed that led to the exposure which caused
his death. On a chill October day he accompanied his men to his
woods, to direct the cutting of timber, taking with him his afternoon
meal, and remaining until the day was far advanced. Here he
caught cold from the inclemency of the weather, which resulted
in his decease in the following April, 1850.

Not only was Mr. Hawley active in promoting his own interests,
but he showed equal zeal in assisting his neighbors, visiting the
sick, and working for the interests of the community in which he
lived. His faculties were unimpaired to the last : his retention of
memory was such that he would quote passages from scripture,
chapter and verse, and would delight his grand-children by singing
to them the songs and hymns of his youth. On the celebration of
the Fourth of July, 1839, in his native village, he was called upon
to address the people, which he did, directing his conversation
mostly to the young — telling them of their responsibilities to God
and their country, and that upon them depended its future welfare ;
winding up with the kindly hint contained in that little verse —

"A little farm well tilled,
A little wife well willed,
A little house well filled," Ac.—

and closing with singing, in an audible voice, " Hail Columbia," ATC.

One of the leading characteristics of his life was his endeavor to
follow strictly the golden rule of " Doing unto others," <fcc. ; and in
all his business transactions with his fellow-men, his constant exer
cise of mind was lest he should charge his neighbor more than the
article was actually worth.

lu relation to his piety, I quote from the obituary sketch written
by Rev. Mr. Clark, of Ridgefield : "Throughout his whole life he was
untiring and assiduous in the performance of every Christian and
duty. He was always abounding in the work of the Lord,

APPKNDIX NOTFS. 521

whether it consisted in visiting the sick, relieving the poor, promoting
peace among his neighbors and brethren, contributing freely to be
nevolent objects, or in prayers and labor for the prosperity of the
church with which he was connected, and Zion at large. The mem
ory of his name will long be fragrant among the people where he
lived and died. They feel as if their best friend and counsellor had
been taken away, and many acknowledge his influence, under Christ,
for their hopes which they are permitted to cherish."

Having at one time held the post of chorister in the church, he
would ofteu in his old age, in the absence of the leader, set the
music for the hymn.

His widow, at the age of ninety-five, still lives (1856), and en
joys remarkably good health.

The children of Deacon Hawley were as follows :

Klisha, Judson, Irad, Daniel, Stiles,* Chauncey. Irad and Jud-
son — now living — have been successful merchants in New York.

* ON THE DEATH OF A MISSIONARY.

The Rev. Stiles Hawley was drowned in crossing the Kaska&kia river, Illinvis,
.January 30th, 1830.

Cold sweep the waters o'er thee !

Thou hast found,

'Mid all the ardor of thy youthful zeal,
And self-devotion to the Saviour's cause,
An unexpected bed. The ice-swoln tides
Of the Kaskaskia. shall no more resound
To the wild struggles of thy failing steed,
In tlie deep plunge that gave thy sou! to God!

Say, in thy jimrneyings o'er the snow-clad waste

Of yon lone prairie, on that fearful duy

When Death strode by thy side, where roamed thy thoughts t

Upon thine angel mission ? or the scenes

Of distant home, with all its sheltering trees,

And voice of tuneful waters ? Didst thou hope,

When Heaven's pure seed should blossom in the wild

Of the far Illinois, once more to sit

Beside its hearth-stone, and recount thy toils,

Mingling thy prayers with those who fondly nursed

Thy tender infancy ?

Now there are tears

In that abode, whene'er thy cherished name
Escapes the trembling lip. Oh, yo who mourn
With heavy temples o'er the smitten son,
Slain in hie £u\ tour's service, know that pain
Shall never vex him mure. IVrii and change,

522 APPT-.XDTX — XOTKS.

COL. PHILIP BRADLKY was born March 26, 1738, and died January
24, 1821. His commission as colonel was dated at Philadelphia,
1779, signed by John Jay, then President of Congress. His commis
sion as Marshal of the District of Connecticut was signed by Wash
ington, in 1794. He also held the office of Judge of the County
Court of Fairfield county.

His children were as follows :

Molly, Jabez, Philip, Esther, Ruth, Betsey, Sally, Jesse S.

'SQUIRE TIMOTHY KEELER was born in 1749, and died in 1815. Ho
was a Representative in the General Assembly, Justice of the Peace,
and Postmaster for many years.
His children were as follows :

David, married to Esther Bradley.

Esther, married to James L. Crawford.

Walter, married to Hannah Waring.

Mary, married to Philip Bradley.

Sarah, married to Isaac Lewis.

William, not married.

Anna, married to A. Ressequie.

JOHN BALDWIN, "Granther," born March 12th, 1728, died Novem-
oer 9, 1809.

DEACON NATHAN OLMSTEAD, died 30th of July, 1805, in the 89th
year of his age.

DEACON JOHN BENEDICT, died July 9th, 1814, in the 88th year of
his age.

DR PERRY, died May 21st, 1822, in the 73d year of his age.

DR. BAKER, died March 31st, 1823, in the 70th year of his age.

SAMUEL STEBBINS, died March 27th, 1836, in the 7ith year of his age.

And winter's blast, and summer's sultry heat.
And sinful snare — what are they now to him,
Bnt dim-remembered sounds ?

If twere so sweet

To have a son on ear h, where every ill
Might launch a dart against his breast, and pierce
Your own through his, is it not doubU sweet
To have a son in Heaven ?

L. H. SieouRNR.

APPENDIX NOTES. 523

NOTE II.
Elizur Goodrich, D.D.* and his Family.

The following is extracted from the notes to Professor Fowler's
sermon, which has been mentioned in a former part of this work :

"The Rev. Elizur Goodrich, D. D. the second pastor of the church in
Durham, was a native of Stepney, since called Eocky Hill, a parish of
Wethersfield, Conn., where he was born from a respectable line of anees-

* When I was in England in 1824, I visited Goodrich Cnstle, a few miles west
of Boss, in the county of Hereford. In looking at the guide-book which I pur
chased at the place, it appeared that this edifice was of some historical celebrity, it
having been founded by Godric, descendant of one of the landed proprietors re
corded in King William's "Doomsday Book." The name Godric became changed
at first to Goderic, then to Goodric, and finally to Goodrich, which it held in the
tim« of Cromwell. The owner at that period, stimulated by the spirit as well as
aided by the purse of a Catholic priest of the vicinity, opposed the measures of the
usurper in such manner as to draw upon him his resentment. Cromwell marched
in person against the castle, which he attacked, and after an obstinate defense, he
having demolished a portion of the northern wall, it surrendered. From that time
it had ceased to be inhabited, and I saw it as Cromwell left it, save only the dilap
idation of time.

It would appear from the ancient history of the county of Hereford, that the
family of Goodrich— variously spelled Godric, Goodric, Goodrich, Goderich — was
formerly common in that quarter of England ; but at the time I speak of, I was
unable to hear of a single person in that region bearing the name. As to my own
ancestors, it is believed that they came from Suffolk, perhaps in the vicinity of
Bury St. Edmunds. There were two brothers, William and John Goodrich, who
arrived in New England about 1630, and settled at Watertown, in Massachusetts;
but in 1686, they removed to Wethersfleld, Connecticut, where they continued to
reside. From William Goodrich and his descendants, the name has been exten
sively spread over New England, and within the last thirty years over the North
western States.

One of the New England family removed, probably about a century ago, to
Virginia, where he became a wealthy planter. A descendant of his, being a tory
at the period of the revolution, went and settled in England. His descendants are
now living in the county of Sussex. Other descendants of the New England emi
grant to Virginia are still living in that State. The name is sometimes spelled
Goodridge in this country ; fifty years ago it was pronounced Gutrldge.

My paternal grandfather was a descendant of the above-named William Good
rich, his father being David Goodrich of Wethersfield, parish of Eocky Hill. By the
gravestone of the latter, it appears that he died in 1702. in his ninety-first year, hav
ing been forty-six years a deacon.

In "Goodwin's Genealogical Notes," among other notices of the Goodrich family
I find the following:

Elizur Goodrich, D. D.
Elizur Goodrich, D. D., born October 18, 1784, settled in Durham, Connecticut,

524 APPENDIX — NOTES.

tors, on the 18th of October, old style, 1734. Tie early evinced a strong
love of letters ; and so diligently did he pursue his cherished object,
that at the early age of fourteen lie entered as a member of Yale College,
in 1755, on receiving his master's degree, he was elected a tutor in this
institution. The ministry, however, being his chosen profession, he re
signed the tutorship the following year, and on the 4th December, 1756,
was ordained pastor of the church and congregation in Durham. Not
long after his settlement, he became united in marriage with Catherine
Chauncey, grand-daughter of his predecessor in the ministry at Dur
ham. The degree of Doctor of Divinity was conferred on him by the

married Katharine, daughter of Hon. Elihu Chauncey, February 1, 1759; she was
born April 11, 1741.

Kev. Elizur Goodrich, D. D., died November 21, 1797.

Mrs. Katharine Goodrich, died April 8, 1830.

Children.

1. Chauncey, born October 20, 1759. United States Senator, and Lieutenant-
governor of Connecticut Died August 18, 1815.

2. Elizur, born March 24, 1761.

3. Samuel, born January 12, 1763.

4. Elihu, born September 16, 17&4. Died unmarried.

5. Charles Augustus, born March 2, 1768. Died unmarried.

6. Nathan, born August 5, 1770. Died young.

7. Catharine, born December 2, 1775. Married Rev. David Smith, D. D., of
Durham, Conn. Died in 1845. '

Elizur Goodrich, LL.D.

Hon. Elizur Goodrich, settled at New Haven, married Anno Willard Allnu. only
daughter of Daniel and Esther Allen, September 1, 1785.
Elizur Goodrich, died at New Haven, Conn., November 1, 1849.
Mrs. Anne Willard Goodrich, died November 17, 1318.

Uhildreu.

8. Elizur, born October 8, 1787. Married Eliza, daughter of Gen. Henry Cham
pion, October 25, ISIS ; residence, Hartford.

9. Chaimcey Allen, born October 23. 1790. Married Julia, daughter of Noah
Webster, LL.D.

10. Nancy, born January 1, 1793. Married Hon. Henry L. Ellsworth. Died
January 15, 1847.

£ev. Samuel Goodrich.

Samuel Goodrich married Elizabeth, daughter of Col. John Ely, July 29, 1784.
Rev. Samuel Goodrich died at Berlin, April 19, 1885.
Mrs. Elizabeth Goodrich died at Berlin, March 8, 1387.

Children.

11. Sarah WortMngton. born August 7, 1785. Married, 1st, Amos Cooke; 2d,
Hon. Frederick Wolcott. Died .

12. Elizabeth, born April 26, 1787. Married Rev. Noah Coe.

APPENDIX NOTES. ."25

college of New Jersey. In 1776, he was chosen a member of the cor
poration of Yale College, and in the following year, on the occasion of
an election to the presidency of that institution, consequent upon the
resignation of President Daggett, he was a candidate for that office, as
was also Dr. Styles. It is understood that there was a tie in the votes
given for these two gentlemen, which coming to the knowledge .of Dr.
Goodrich, who had declined voting, he insisted upon the right to do so,
thus turning the election in favor of Dr. Styles— an act of his life which
ever after gave him pleasure, and which seemed to increase and per
petuate his regard for the institution.

"The death of Dr. Goodrich occurred in November, 1797, and was
sudden and unexpected. On the 17th of that month, he left home for
the purpose of examining some lands which belonged to Yale College,
in the county of Litchfield. On the Sabbath following he preached at
Litchfield, and on Monday proceeded to Norfolk, where he was enter
tained by the hospitable family of Capt. Titus Ives. At this time he
was in the enjoyment of good health. The evening was spent in pleasant
conversation. On the following morning he rose early, as was his cus
tom : he had dressed himself, with the exception of putting on his coat,
which he was evidently in the act of doing, proceeding during the same
time toward the door, when he fell in an apoplectic fit, and expired, in
the sixty-fourth year of his age, and the forty-first of his ministry.
His remains were carried to Durham on the succeeding Saturday,
and were followed to the grave by his family, the church and the con
gregation, and a numerous concourse of strangers. President Dwight,
of Yale College, delivered a solemn and affecting discourse from Eccle-
siastes ii. 1 — 'The righteous and the wise and their works are in the
hands of God.'

"Dr. Goodrich may justly be numbered among the distinguished men'
of his times. He possessed powers of mind adapted to the investigation
and comprehension of every subject to which he directed his attention.
In classical learning he greatly excelled, and so perfect was his knowl
edge of the original languages of the Bible as to enable him to dispense
with the English version. In the exact sciences, as well as in mental
and moral philosophy, he was distinguished. No exercise gave him
more, pleasure than to sit down to the solution of some difficult prob-

13. Abigail, born November 29, 1788. Married Rev. Samuel Whittlesey.

14. Charles Augustas, August 19, 1790. Married Sarah Upson.

15. Catherine, born December 4, 1791. Married Daniel Dunbar, of Berlin.

16. Samuel Griswold, born August 19, 1793. Married, 1st, Adeline Gratia Brad
ley ; 2d, Mary Boott

17. Elihu Channcey, born November IS, 1T95. Died June 9, 1797.

IS. Mary Ann, born May 29, 1799. Married Hon. N. B. Smith, of Woodbury.

19. Emily Chauncey, born November 25, 1801. Died October 22, 1803.

20. Emily Chauncey, born November 18, 18U5. Married Rev. Darius Mead,
died .

526 APPENDIX — NOTKS.

lem, us lie. was wont to rlo in his hours of Ici.-ure. Having tlic iise
of the valuable library of his predecessor, tnuny of the <vorks in which
were written in Latin, he read extensively in tliut langiwge. Divinity,
however, was the great study of his life. He took large, comprehensive
views of the doctrines of Christianity. He loved the Bible, and espe
cially those truths which go to exalt and illustrate the grace of God.
Salvation by a crucified Redeemer, without merit on the part of the
sinner and the duties of the moral law, was the burden of his preaching.
At the same time he occupied a commanding influence in the churches
of Connecticut, as a friend and a counselor. In the language of Presi
dent Dwight — 'He was a man of unusual prudence, and of singular
skill and experience in the concerns of congregations, churches, and
ministers. His talents were not only great and distinguished, but they
were also of the most useful kind, which we call practical. These emi
nently fitted him for the service of God and for usefulness among man
kind, and in these respects he left a reputation which will be honored
as long as his memory shall last.' Soon after his death a friend, who
was well acquainted with him, thus truthfully and happily summed up
his character: ' As a Christian divine, he was solid, judicious, and es
tablished with grace ; equally free from the wildness of enthusiasm
and the rigors of superstition. His reading was extensive ; his memory
tenacious; his piety substantial; his gravity commanding; his profit
ing appeared unto all men, and his praise is in all the churches. He was
a wise counselor, a peace-maker, a friend and lover of his country and
mankind.'

"Mrs. Goodrich survived her husband for many years, honored and
beloved by a large circle of friends and relations. For the church and
congregation of Durham she cherished the highest regard, and con
tinued to receive from them the respect and affection to which, by her
character, her love for them, and her example among them, she was
eminently entitled. Her death occurred in the spring of 1830.

" As to the family of Dr. Goodrich, he left six children, five sons and
a daughter, to mourn the loss of a parent whose character justly excited
their veneration, and whose example they could, more than most others,
safely imitate."

The following is abridged from Hollister's History of Connecticut,
VoL ii. pp. 634-638:

" CHAUNCBY GOODRICH was the eldest son of the preceding, and was
born on the 20th of October, 1779. After a career of great distinction
at Yale College, where he spent nine years as a student, a Berkeley
scholar, and a tutor, he was admitted to the bar at Hartford in the au
tumn of 1781.

" After serving in the State legislature for a single nessioii, he was
elected to Congress as a member of the House of Representatives, in

APPENDIX NOTKS. 527

the year 1794. For this station he was peculiarly qualified, not only
by the original bent of his mind and his habits of study, but also by
the fact that an early marriage into the family of the second Governor
Wolcott, had brought him into the closest relations with public men
and measures, and made him investigate all the great questions of the
day with profound interest and attention. His brother-in-law — after
ward the third Governor Wolcott — held one of the highest offices under
the general government. This led him, from the moment he took his
»eat in Congress, to become intimately acquainted with the plans and
policy of the administration ; and he gave them his warmest support,
ander the impulse alike of political principle and of personal feeling.
A party in opposition to Gen. Washington was now organized for the
first time in Congress, as the result of Mr. Jay's treaty with Great
Britain. Mr. Goodrich took a large share in the debates which fol
lowed, and gained the respect of all parties by his characteristic dig
nity, candor, and force of judgment, and especially by his habit of con
templating a subject ou every side, and discussing it in its remotest
relations and dependencies. Mr. Albert Gallatin, then the most active
leader of the opposition, remarked to a friend near the close of his life,
that in these debates he usually selected the speech of Chauncey Good
rich as the object of reply — feeling that if he could answer him, he
would have met every thing truly relevant to the subject which had
been urged on the part of the government.

"In 1801, he resigned his seat in Congress, and returned to the
practice of the law at Hartford. The next year he was chosen to
the office of councilor in the State legislature, which he continued to
fill down to 1807, when he was elected to the Senate of the United
States. During the violent conflicts of the next six years, he took
an active part in most of the discussions which arose out of the em
bargo, the non-intercourse laws, and the other measures which led to
the war with Great Britain. The same qualities which marked his
early efforts were now fully exhibited in the maturity of his powers,
while the whole cast of his character made him peculiarly fitted for
the calmer deliberations of the Senate. He had nothing of what Burke
calls the ' smartness of debate.' He never indulged in sarcasm or per
sonal attack. Tn the most stormy discussions, he maintained a cour
tesy which disarmed rudeness. No one ever suspected him of wishing
to misrepresent an antagonist, or evade the force of an argument ; and
the manner in which he was treated on the floor of the Senate, shows
how much can be done to conciliate one's political opponents, even in
the worst times, by a uniform exhibition of high principle, if connected
with a penetrating judgment and great reasoning powers. Mr. Jeffer
son playfully remarked to a friend during this period — ' That white-
headed Yankee from Connecticut is the most difficult man to deal with
in the Senate of the United States.'

" In 1818, he was chosen lieutenant-governor of the State, and con-

528 APPENDIX NOTES.

tinned to hold this office until his death. At the meeting of the legis
lature in 1814, ho was appointed a delegate to the celebrated Hartford
Contention. Though in feeble health, he took a large share in tlio de
liberations of that body, and especially in those healing measures which
were finally adopted. During its session, he received communications
from distinguished men in other States, touching the various questions
at issue, and particularly from Mr. Daniel Webster, who had previously
sent him an extended argument to show that the provisions of the em
bargo law, ' so far as it interdicts commerce between parts of the Uni
ted States,' were unconstitutional and oppressive in the highest degree.
Mr. John Randolph, also, addressed him under date of December 16,
1814, forwarding a pamphlet which he had just published against the
administration, in the hope of promoting ' the welfare of the country
in these disastrous times.' At an earlier period, Mr. Randolph hud
been one of the strongest political opponents of Mr. Goodrich ; but he
now says — ' Unfeigned respect for your character and that of your na
tive State, which like my own is not to be blown about by every idle
breath — now hot, now cold — is the cause of your being troubled with
this letter — a liberty for which I beg your excuse.' In reference to the
Convention, he remarks — ' I make every allowance for your provoca
tions ; but I trust that the " steady habits" of Connecticut will prevail
in the Congress/ at Hartford, and that she will be the preserver of the
Union from the dangers by which it is threatened from the administra
tion of the general government, whose wickedness is only surpassed by
its imbecility.'

" Early in 1816, it was found that a hidden disease under which Mr.
Goodrich had for some time labored, was an affection of the heart. His
death was probably near — it would unquestionably be sudden — it might
occur at any moment 1 He received the intelligence with calmness, but
with deep emotion. He expressed his feelings without reserve to his
pastor, the Rev. Dr. Strong, and at a later period to the writer of this
sketch. From his youth, he had been a firm believer in the divine au
thority of the Scriptures. He read them habitually even in the busiest
scenes of his life. So highly did he prize public worship, that he once
remarked, he would attend on preaching of a very low intellectual or
der — which was even repulsive to his taste, and that he always did BO,
if he could find no better, when away from home — rather than be ab
sent from the house of God. As the result of all his studies and re
flections, he had become more and more fixed in his belief of those
great doctrines of grace, which had been taught him by his father, and
which are generally received iu the churches of Connecticut. His life
had, indeed, been spotless, and devoted to the service of his country.
But in speaking of our ground of acceptance before God, he said in
substance — 'A moral life is of itself noth in? for the salvation of the
soul. I have lived a moral life in the estimation of the world ; but no
iiuguage can express tny sense of its deficiency in the sight of a holy

APPKNDIX NOTES. 2'J

God. If there was not an atonement, I must be condemned and mis
erable forever. Here my hope is stayed, A sense of imperfection often
sinks my spirits, but generally I have a hope that supports mo, and al
times I have rejoiced in God without fear, and have wished only to be
in his hands and employed in his service.' In this state of mind his
summons found him. On the 18th of August, 1815, in the midst of
the family circle, while walking the room and engaged in cheerful eon
versation, he faltered for a moment, sank into a chair, and instantly
expired, in the fifty-sixth year of his age.

" In his person, Mr. Goodrich was a little above the medium height,
of a full habit, slightly inclining to corpulency. He had finely turned
features, with prominent and rounded cheeks, and a remarkable purity
of complexion, which retained throughout life 'the flush of early youth.
His countenance was singularly expressive, showing all the varied emo
tions of his mind when excited by conversation or by public speaking.
His eye was blue, and deep-sunk under an ample forehead. He had the
habit of fixing it intently upon those to whom he spoke in earnest con
versation, and no one who has felt that look, will ever forget its search
ing and subduing power.

" In domestic and social life, he was distinguished for his gentleness
and urbanity. He had a delicacy of feeling which was almost feminine.
A friend who had conversed with him intimately for many years, re<-
marked that he had one peculiarity which was strikingly characteristic:
' Not a sentiment or expression ever fell from his lips in the most un
guarded moment, which might not have been uttered in the most re
fined circles of female society.1 He had, at times, a vein of hurnor,
which shows itself in his familiar letters'to Oliver Wolcott and others,
as published by Mr. Gibbs, in his ' Memoirs of the Administration ot
Washington and John Adams.' But, in general, his mind was occu
pied with weighty thoughts, and it was perhaps this, as much as any
thing, that gave him a dignity of manner which was wholly unassumed,
uud which, without at all lessening the freedom of social intercourse,
made every one feel that he was not a man with whom liberties could'
be taken. He could play with a subject, when he chose, in a desultory
manner, but he preferred, like Johnson, to ' converse rather than talk/
He loved of all things to unite with others in following out trains of
thought. The late Judge Hopkinsoii, of Philadelphia, inn letter to Mr.
Gibbs, classes him in this respect with Oliver Ellsworth, Fisher Ame.>;
Uriah Tracy, Oliver Wolcott. and Roger Griswold : of whom he say-*,
' You may well imagine what a rich and intellectual society it w;i,,. i
will not say that we have uo such men now, hut I don't know where to
find them.'

'; His crowning characteristic, that of integrity and honor, was thus
referred to a few days after his death, by a writer in one of the leading
journals of Hartford. ' His judgment was so guided by rectitude, that
of all men living lie was, perhaps, the only one to whom his worst cuo-

Voi.. 1.— 23

530 APPENDIX — NOTES.

my — if enemy lie had — would have confided, the decision »fa controversy^
sooner than to his best friend? "

KM/IK GOODRICH, LL.D., the second son, was born 24th of March,
1761. In the year 1775, he entered Yale College, at the age of
fourteen. During his senior year, his life was brought into extreme
danger at the time when New Haven was attacked by the British.
On the landing of the troops, July 6th, 1779, he joined a company of
about a hundred in number, who went out, under the command of
James Hillhouse, to annoy and retard the march of the enemy : to
ward evening, when the town was taken and given up to ravage
and plunder, he was stabbed near the heart by a British soldier, as
he lay on his bed in a state of extreme exhaustion, and barely
escaped with his life.

Having been fitted for the bar, he established himself at New
Haven, and soon acquired an extensive practice. In 1795, he was
elected a representative to the State legislature, and in 1799, a
member of Congress. This station he resigned, and was appointed
Collector of the port of New Haven, and was soon after removed
by Mr. Jefferson to give place to Deacon Bishop, as elsewhere rela
ted (vol. i. page 122). He was immediately elected to the State legis
lature, and then to the council. His habits of mind fitted him pe
culiarly for the duties of a legislative body. He had great industry,
clearness of judgment, and accuracy of knowledge in the details of
business. He was much relied on in drafting new laws, as one who
had been long conversant with the subject, and had gained a per
fect command of those precise and definite forms of expression which
are especially important in such a case. He was, also, judge of the
County Court for the county of New Haven thirteen years, and
judge of Probate for the same county seventeen years, down to the
change of politics in 1818. In the latter office, he endeared him
self greatly to numerous families throughout the county, by his
judgment and kindness in promoting the settlement of estates with
out litigation, and by his care in providing for the interests of wid
ows and orphans. He was also mayor of the city of New Haven,
from September, 1803, to June, 1822, being a period of nineteen
years, when he declined any longer continuance in this office. For
nine years he was Professor of Law at Yale College, and repeatedly
delivered courses of lectures on the laws of nature and nations, but
resigned the office in 1810, as interfering too much with his other
public duties. His interest in the college, however, remained una
bated. For many years he was a leading member of the corpora

AI'l'KXDIX NOTES. 531

timi, aiul was particularly charged with its interests as a member of
the prudential committee; and was secretary of the board for the
period of twenty-eight years, until lie tendered his resignation in
1846. It is a striking circumstance, that from the time of his en
tering college in 1775, he was uninterruptedly connected with the
institution, either as a student, Berkeley scholar, tutor, assistant to
the treasurer, professor, member of the corporation, or secretary of
the board, for the space of seventy-one years ! He received from the
college the honorary degree of LL.D., in the year 1830. His deatli
took place in 1849.

After what has been said, it is unnecessary to give any labored
delineation of Mr. Goodrich's character. He was distinguished for
the clearness and strength of his judgment, the ease and accuracy
with which he transacted business, and the kindness and affability
which he uniformly manifested in all the relations of life. His read
ing was extensive and minute ; and, what is not very common in
public men, he kept up his acquaintance with the ancient classics to
the last, being accustomed to read the writings of Cicero, Livy, Sal-
lust, Virgil, and Horace, down to the eighty-ninth year of his age,
with all the ease and interest of his early days. He professed the
religion of Christ soon after leaving college, adorned his profession
by a consistent life, and experienced the consolations and hopes
which it affords, in the hour of dissolution.

The following is copied from Professor Fowler's Notes, already
mentioned :

SAMUEL GOODRICH, the third son, was born on the l'2th of January,
1763. He graduated at Yale, in 178&, and after a course of theo
logical study, was ordained at Ridgefield, Conn., on the 6th of July,
1786. Under his pastoral care the church and society of Ridgefield
flourished, and he became an instrument of extensive good. He was
often called to aid in the settlement of ecclesiastical difficulties, for
which he was peculiarly fitted by his extensive knowledge of man
kind, and by his plain practical sense. On the 22d of January, 1811,
he was dismissed from his charge at Ridgefield, at his own request,
and on the 29th of May following he was installed at \Vorthington,
a parish of Berlin.

In 1784, Mr. Goodrich married Elizabeth Ely, daughter of Col.
John Ely of Saybrook. She survived him about two years. Their
children were ten in number. For several years Mr. Goodrich had
beeu occasionally afflicted with gout, which in its attacks were more
frequent and more serious as he advanced in life. His last sickness

53*

A PPENDIX NOTES.

w:is short, and as the disease early affected his brain, he was favored
willi but few lucid intervals. But during these he manifested a full
knowledge of his danger, and a willingness to depart. A short pe-
rio.l before his death, he revived so considerably as to distinguish his
friends, and to express his strong confidence in God. "My soul,"
said he, "is on the Rock of Ages, and my confidence in God is as
firm as the everlasting mountains. Yet," he continued, after a short
pause, "in myself I am a poor creature." On Sabbath evening,
April 19th, 1835, he expired.

Mr. Goodrich lived and died a Christian. As a pastor he was
greatly beloved ; as a minister of Jesus Christ he was eminently
successful. Several seasons of revival occurred under his ministry,
both during his reridence at Ridgefield and Worthington. Many
still live to whom he was a spiritual father, and who cherish his
memory as " a good man," and a kind and faithful shepherd. In
the language of one who knew him well — " He possessed many ex
cellent qualities as a man and a minister. His judgment was accu
rate, being founded on an extensive acquaintance with men and
manners, and a long study of the human heart He readily discerned
the springs of action, and knew well how to approach his fc-llow-men
in regard to objects which he wished to accomplish. He did not
misjudge in respect to means or ends. He was remarkable for his
practical good sense, and an acquaintance with common and there
fore useful things. His understanding was rather solid than bril
liant, and his knowledge seemed to be in wide and diversified
surveys, and was gathered from many a field, rather than contracted
to a point, or derived from prolonged investigation of particular
subjects. Hence his sermons were plain, instructive exhibitions of
truth, and shared his varied information and practical good sense."
During the last years of his life he preached with increased fer
vency, spirit, and solemnity.

How highly he prized the scriptures may be gathered from n
memorandum in his family Bible, as follows: "1806, began to read
the Bible in course in the family, and completed it the thirteenth
time, October 29, 1833." The years are specified in which he each
time completed the reading: "1809, 1812, 1814, 1816, 1821, 1823,
1826, 1827, 1828, 1830, 1832, 1833." Such a man we might well
expect to hear say, as he said on the eve of his departure — adopting
the language of the Psalmist — " Though I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou urt with me
thy rod and thv staff they comfort me."

APPENDIX NOTES. 533

Eum; CIIAUNCKV GOODRICH, Esq. — a name derived from his mater
nal grandfather — was the fourth child of Dr. Goodrich, and wa* horn
September 16th, 1764. He also received his education at Yale Col
lege, from which institution he graduated in 1784, with the reputa
tion of a sound scholar. He devoted himself to the profession of
law, engaging at time.-, as interest and inclination prompted, in the
purchase and sale of western lands. His residence was at Clav-
erack, New York. His death occurred in 1802, and was occasioned
by fever induced by injudiciously bathing, during an excursion on
the western lakes. He was never married.

CHARLES AUGUSTUS GOODRICH, the fifth son, was born March 2d,
1758. Like his brothers, he was educated at Yale, and took hia
bachelor's degree in 1786. In constitution he was less vigorous than
the other sons, but to a fine taste and poetical genius he united a
disposition the most affectionate, and manners the most persunsive.
Before leaving college he had chosen the ministry as a profession,
for which he was well fitted, both on account of his piety, his love
of learning, and the native kindness of his heart. Soon after, how
ever, and by reason of too close application to study, his nervous
system became seriously affected, and which in a few months in
duced a permanent derangement of his mental powers. His death
occurred in 1804.

CATHERINE CHAUNCEY GOODRICH was born December 2, 1775, and
died A. D. 1845, in the seventieth year of her age. She married
Kev. David Smith, D. D., who succeeded to her father's pulpit, as
has been elsewhere stated.

NOTE III.
Col. John Ely and Family*

Col. John Ely, son of Daniel Ely, was a native of Lyme, Conn.,
and born in 1737. He devoted himself to the practice of medi
cine, and speedily became eminent. He was particularly success-

* Richard Ely, a widower, tbe first of the family who came to this country, emi
grated from Plymouth, England, about 1660 or 1670, accompanied by his youngest
son Pilchard, and settled in Lyme, Connecticut Daniel Ely, father of Col. Ely,
was married four times, and had thirteen childrnn. as follows: Mary, who married

534 APIM.NDIX NOTKS.

fill in the treatment of small-pox, and he erected several building*
for the reception of patients to receive inoculation for that disease.
Two of these, constituting a regular hospital, were upon Duck Isl
and, which lies off the shore of the village of Westport, where he
established himself in practice. He married Sarah, daughter of Rev.
Mr. Worthingtou of this village, then a parish of Saybrook, and bear
ing the name of Pachoug. He had a decided military turn, and
engaged with patriotic ardor in the revolutionary struggle. As early
as 1775, he mustered and marched with a company of militia to
Roxbury, under his command. In 1776, he performed a tour of duty
at Fort Trumbull, New London, as major, also officiating as physician
and surgeon. Among the few of his papers which remain, I find a
copy of a pithy letter, which he sent, as commandant of the fort, to
a suspicious ship, lying at anchor at the mouth of the harbor; in con
sequence — as is said in a note — "she disappeared, and we hope to
see her no more." ** In July, he was sent to visit the northern army,
and employ his skill in arresting the small-pox, which was then
raging in the camp with great virulence."* In 1777 he was again
the commandant of Fort Trumbull, with the rank of colonel, his
regiment having been raised by his own exertions, and many of the
men having been fitted out with his own money. He was at this
time wealthy, and the country was poor, and with the liberality of
his nature he devoted not only his services but his means to the
cause which filled his breast

His subsequent military career may be told in the report of the
committee on revolutionary claims in the House of Representatives,
January 23, 1833:

"Colonel Ely, at the commencement of the Revolutionary war, was a
physician of great celebrity, residing at the town of Saybrook, in the
State of Connecticut ; that, in the early stages of the conflict, he aban
doned his profession, and raised a regiment of regular troops, and was
commissioned as a colonel ; and, at the head of his regiment, he en
tered into the service of his country.

Bcnj. Lee; Ann, married Benj. Harris; Elizabeth, married Abram Perkins; Dan
iel, married Abigail Dennison; Sarah, Both; Wells, married Elizabeth Williams
and Rebecca Selden ; John, noticed above; Amy, married Ezra SeMen ; Lucretia,
married Bcnj. Colt, from whom descended Samuel Colt of Hartford, renowned for
the invention of the revolver, and the late Dudley Selden of New York; Christo
pher, who married successively Eve Marvin, Esther Hunt, and Elliot; and

Elisha, who married Susanna Bloomer. (Se« Genealogical Table of the Lee Fam
ily, by Res. W. U. Hill, Albany: Weed, Parsons <t Co., Printers.)
* Caulkins' History of New London, p 520.

APPENDIX NOTES. 535

"On the 9th of December, 1777, he was captured by the enemy, and
became a prisoner of war, and was paroled at Flatbush, on Long Island,
where were also, prisoners, several hundred American officers. Among
these officers a distressing sickness prevailed, and Col. Ely, from the
humanity that belonged to his character, from the day of his captivity
to the day of his exchange, faithfully and exclusively devoted his time
and attention to them as a physician. In discharging this duty, he
encountered great hardship and much expense, as the residences of the
sick officers were scattered over n considerable space of country, many
of them being as much as twenty miles apart. Col. Ely, when unable
from bodily infirmity or the state of the weather, to perform his long
tours on foot, hired a horse at an extravagant price, and paid the cost
out of his own private means. He was also frequently compelled to
purchase medicine for the sick at his own cost.

" Soon after he became a prisoner, his son, Captain Ely, in conjunc
tion with other friends, fitted out, at their own expense, a vessel, and
manned her, for the purpose of surprising and capturing a British force,
with which to effect the exchange of Col. Ely. The object of the expe
dition succeeded, so far as regarded the surprise and capture of the
enemy, and the prisoners were delivered to the proper authorities, to
be exchanged for Col. Ely. This, however, was not done, by reason of
the earnest entreaties of the sick American officers, who considered
their lives as greatly depending upon the continuance, attendance, and
skill of Col. Ely. He was induced to forego his right to an exchange,
and consented to remain, for the comfort and safety of his sick brother
officers. It appears, from a certificate of Samuel Huntington, President
of Congress, that still, subsequent to the time when his exchange might
have been effected, through the valor of his son and friends ; and when
he became entitled to an exchange, by the regular rule, that a deputa
tion of exchanged officers, who had been his fellow-prisoners, was ap
pointed to wait on Congress, by the sick officers who still remained in
captivity, and to urge the continuance of Col. Ely as their physician
and surgeon. At the head of this deputation was Col. Matthews (since
a member of Congress, and Governor of Georgia), and Col. Ramsay, of
Jhe Maryland line. Col. Ely was, in consequence of this representa
tion, not exchanged, although entitled to an exchange. He remained,
*nd acted as physician and surgeon till the 25th of December, 1780,
when he was released — a period of more than three years."

On his final return to his family, early in the year 1781, Col. Ely
found himself broken in health and constitution, his lands run to
waste, his house in a state of dilapidation, his property dissipated,
and a considerable debt accumulated against him. With good cour
age, however, he set himself again to his profession. He rose in the
morning early, cut his wood, carried it in, built his fires, fed the

536 APPENDIX NOTES.

cattle, and then went forth upon his professional duties. In those
days of depression, the great staple of the family for food was hasty
pudding — Col. Ely cheering his wife by saying that the children of
the poor were always the healthiest, because of the simplicity of
their food. By these efforts and sacrifices he partially recovered
from his difficulties. His health, however, gradually gave way ; and
when the country had risen from the chaos of the war under the new
constitution, he, with others, applied to Congress for remuneration
for his extraordinary services. Gen. Knox, then Secretary of War,
made a highly favorable report, and the House of Representatives
immediately adopted it by passing a bill in favor of Col. Ely, grant-
it g him twenty thousand dollars. He was at Philadelphia nt this
time, and wrote to his daughter at Kidgefield that in a few days he
should be able to give her the marringe outfit which his poverty had
hitherto prevented him from doing. Not doubting that the Senate
would ratify the action of the House, he returned to his family.

In a short time he received the mortifying intelligence that his
claim had been thrown out by .ae Senate. Oliver Ellsworth, a man
of great pertinacity of character as well as wisdom in the conduct
of affairs, had acquired immense influence in that body — it being
said by Aaron Burr that if he should chance to spell the name of
the Deity with two ds, it would take the Senate three weeks to ex
punge the superfluous letter ! He was generally opposed to money
grants, from a just anxiety as to the means of the government, and
hence was called the " Cerberus of the treasury." This formidable
senator opposed the bill in CoL Ely's favor, and it was consequently
defeated.

Sick at heart, borne down with a sense of neglect, if not injustice,
the more keenly felt because he had sacrificed his fortune and his
health in the most generous manner for his country ; indignant at the
refusal of compensation for his extraordinary services, promised by
letters from Washington addressed personally to himself, and placed
before Congress, he turned his back upon the hope of further success
in life, and after a few years — October, 1800 — he was numbered with
the dead. About forty years later, the heirs of Col. Ely presented
his claims to Congress, and they were readily recognized. Most of
his papers, however, had been lost, and only a small portion of his
claim — about five thousand dollars — was allowed.

The character of CoL Ely may be inferred from what has al
ready been said. In person he was tall, erect, and of a manner
marked with dignity and ease. In conversation he was lively, fall

APPENDIX — NOTES. 53 T

of wit, and abounding in illustrative anecdote. As a commander,
he was the idol of the soldiery, and uniting to his military office the
skill and practice of the physician, with a tenderness of humanity
which knew no weariness, he acquired a degree of love and friend
ship which few men ever enjoy. It is painful to reflect that it
was owing to these amiable traits of character, and to the confi
dence and affection they inspired, that his days were shortened and
the latter part of his life darkened with comparative poverty and
gloom. It was in consequence of the earnest solicitations and rep
resentations of the invalid soldiers and officers that remained in
captivity on Long Island, and who felt that they could not part
with his services, that he was induced to forego his privilege of
restoration to his family, and continue on in captivity — and that too
after his son, a youth of twenty years of age, by his enterprise, had
provided the means of deliverance — devoting himself to arduous
duties, which finally resulted in breaking down his vigorous consti
tution and his elastic spirit.

A friend has furnished me with the following notice of my great
grandfather on my mother's side, and the progenitor of some of the
leading families in Connecticut :

"REV. WILLIAM WORTHINGTON was the son of William Worthiugtofi,
first of Hartford and then of Colchester, Conn., and grandson of Nich
olas Worthington, the emigrant ancestor, probably, of all who bear the
name of Worthington in the United States. The last resided in Liver
pool, England, where he was a great farmer. He was wounded in the
Cromwellian wars, lost a part or all of his estate by confiscation, and
came to this country about 1650. He settled first in Hatfield, Mass.,
and afterward removed to Hartford, Conn.

" Rev. William Wortliington was born, probably in Colchester, Dec.
5, 1695. He graduated at Yale College in 1716, preached for a time in
Stouington, Conn., and was settled in Saybrook, west parish, then call
ed Pachoug, in 1726. He was the first minister of the parish, and was
ordained in the dwelling-house built for himself, but then unfinished,
the people sitting on the beams and timbers to witness the ceremony.
He died Nov. 16, 1756, in the sixty-first year of his age, in the lan
guage on his gravestone, ' much lamented by all who were happy in
his acquaintance.' He was a popular preacher and a most faithful pas
tor. His influence was eminently persuasive to love and good works,
and was long visible after his death, in the religious character of his
people, and in the tone of feeling prevalent in the business and cour
tesies of life. He preached the election sermon in the year 1744. The
following is the title-page : ' The Duty of Rulers and Teachers in uni
tedly leading God's People, urged and explained in a Sermon preached,

23*

538 APPENDIX NOTK8.

before the General Assembly of the Colony of Connecticut, at Hartford,
on their Anniversary Election, May 10th, 1744.'

" The sermon is a logical and well-written discourse. In his socia'
and ministerial intercourse, he was a gentleman of great blandness,
gracefulness, and urbanity of manner — attributes which he transmitted
to many of his descendants. T>ome of his people said that they had but
one thing against him, and that was, 'he walked as if he were a proud
man.' But Mr. Lay, one of his parishioners, seeing him walking in
the woods, and supposing himself alone, with the same dignity and
gracefulness of bearing as when in the presence of others, came to the
conclusion that his ' manner in public was natural to him.'

" His four daughters were celebrated in their day for their accom
plishments. The traditions of their superiority of air, manner, uud
appearance, still linger among the old people of Westport. Their fa
ther's mode of educating them was to keep one of them, in succession,
at domestic employments with their mother, while the others were at
their studies with himself.

" The following is told among the legends of the family. Mr.
Worthington had a slave named Jenny. After his death she lived with
his children, one after another. When she died, it was ninety years
from the time that the first bill of sale was given. She had two chil
dren in Guinea before she came to this country, and must therefore
have been considerably over a hundred years old. When she was on
her death-bed, at Mr. Elnathan Chauncey's, in Durham, Dr. Goodrich
conversed with her. ' Jenny has strange notions,' said lie, when he
came out of the room. ' She said to me, " I shall go to heaven. I shall
knock at the door, and ask for Massa Worthington ; and he will go and
tell God that I had always been an honest, faithful servant, and then he
will let me in, and I will go and sit in the kitchen." '

" Mr.Worthington's first wife was Nancy Mason, the second Temper
ance Gallup. The children of Mr. Worthington were —

I. Mary, who married Col. Aaron Elliot, of Killingworth. Her chil
dren were, 1. Dr. William Elliot, of Goshen, N. Y. ; 2. Dr. Aaron El
liot, who removed to St. Genevieve, La.; 8. Mary, who married a Mr.
Ely, of Lyme. Sybil, who died young. Elizabeth, who was the oldest
daughter by his second wife: she married Col. Samuel Gale, of Gosh
en, N. Y., for her first husband, and Rev. Elnathan Chauncey, of Dur
ham, Connecticut, for her second husband. By her first husband she
had — 1. Asa Worthington Gale ; 2. Benjamin Gale. By her second
husband -she had — 1. Nathaniel William Chauncey; 2. Catharine
Channcey, who married Reuben Rose Fowler; 8. Worthington G.
Chauncey.

" II. Sarah, who was married to Col. John Ely, of the army of the
Revolution. Her children were — 1. Ethliuda, who married her half-
cousin, Dr. William Elliot, who settled at Goshen, N. Y. ; 2. Worth
ington, who graduated at Yale College in 1780, and who was a physi-

APPENDIX NOTES. 539

cinn at New Baltimore, on the Hudson, and the grandfather of the pres
ent Mrs. Recorder Smith, of the city of New York, Mrs. Waddell, <fec. ;

3. Betsey, who married the Eev. Samuel Goodrich, of Berlin, Conn. ;

4. Amy, who married Dr. Cowles ; 5. John, a physician, and member
of Congress, established at Coxsackie ; 6. Edward, a lawyer, settled at
Goshen, N. Y. ; 7. Lucretia, who married Dr. Gregory of Sand Lake,
near Albany.

" III. Temperance, who was married first to Moses Gale, of Goshen,
N. Y., and afterward to Rev. Samuel Mather Smith. She had one son,
named William, by her first hnsband, and she had by her second hus
band, John Cotton Smith, who was governor of Connecticut ; a daugh
ter, who married Judge Radcliff, of New York ; another daughter, who
married the Rev. Mr. Smith, of Stamford, Conn. ; and another daugh
ter, who married Mr. Wheeler.

" IV. Mehitabel, who married Michael Hopkins. Her children were —
1. George, a well-known printer and publisher ; 2. Stephen Augustus,
who removed to Richmond, Va. ; 3. Silvia, who was a celebrated beau
ty ; 4. Belinda.

" V. William, who was a colonel in the army of the Revolution."

NOTE IV.

The Clergy of Fair field County.

Rev. AMZI LEWIS, D. D., son of Deacon Samuel Lewis, of Nauga-
tuck, graduated at Yale College, 1768, settled at Horseneck, and
died in 1819.

Rev. JUSTUS MITCHELL* settled at New Canaan, and died in 1808.

Rev. MATTHIAS BURNET, D. D., was installed over the First Congre
gational Church of Norwalk, 1785, died 1806, aged fifty-eight.

Rev. ELIJAH WATERMAN was graduated at Yale in 1791, ordained
at Windham in 1794, installed at Bridgeport in 1806, and died in
1825, aged fifty-six.

Rev. ROSWELL SWAN, settled over the First Congregational Church
in Norwalk, 1807, died 1819, in the forty first year of his age.

HEMAN HUMPHRIES, D. D., was born in Simsburv, Conn., March

* The Mitchell family were originally from Scotland, and settled afterward in
Yorkshire. Matthew Mitchell, the ancestor of the Mitchells of this county, wa»
born in 1590. He emigrated to America in 1635, and finally settled at Stamford,
w; ere lie died. 1(>45. See i'othron'» Ancient Woodbury, p. 633.

540 APPENDIX — NOTES.

26, 1779 ; he was brought up in West Britain, now Burlington, under
the preaching of the Rev. Jonathan Miller, and was received into
his church when about twenty years of age. He had few early ad
vantages of education, but he mastered all difficulties, and by his
own efforts passed through Yale College, graduating in 1805. He
studied divinity, and was settled at Fail-field in 1807. Being dis
missed, at his own request, in 1817, he was settled at Pittsfield in
the autumn of the same year. In 1823 he became president of
Amherst College. In 1845 he resigned this situation, and has since
made Pittsfield his residence. Enjoying excellent health and a wide
fame, he has devoted his time and attention to the promotion of good
and useful objects, chiefly of a religious nature.

Rev. JONATHAN BARTLETT is son of Rev. Jonathan Bartlett, who
was settled over the church in Reading, March 21st, 1733. He suc
ceeded his father, being first ordained and installed as his colleague
in 1796. In a recent letter to me he says: "I can truly say that
they — the clergymen of the Association of ' Fairfield West' — were
all, not only in my own, but in the general estimation, highly re
spectable as men, and some of them were considered as possessed
of uncommon abilities."

NOTE V.

Revival of Education.

J. G. Carter,* of Lancaster, Masa, was one of the first and most
efficient of the promoters of the revival of education in New Eng
land, which commenced about thirty years ago. He began to write
upon the subject as early as 1821, and from that timej for about
twenty years, he devoted his attention with great energy to this
object. He published various pamphlets, written with vigor, in be
half of the necessity of better text-books, the more vigorous admin
istration of schools, and the thorough training of teachers. He laid
open the philosophy of teaching with great ability, and was in fact
a pioneer in the path of progress and improvement which has
since been so happily followed. He promoted the lyceums founded

* Mr. Carter was a native of Leominster, Mass. ; born Sept 7, 1795, graduated
ui Harvard, settled «t Lancaster, and died July '22, 1849.

APPENDIX — NOTES. 541

t>v tlie indefatigable Josiah Holbrook, and in 1830, delivered two
addresses before the American Institute of Insl ruction, of which 1m
was an active promoter —one on the " Education of the Faculties,"
and another on the "Necessity of Educating Teachers." In 1835,
chiefly through his influence, he being then a member of the legis
lature of Massachusetts, a grant of three hundred dollars a year was
made by the State to that excellent institution, and which has since
been continued. In 1837 Mr. Cnrter, still being a member of the
legislature, was chiefly instrumental in causing an act to be passed
constituting the Board of Education, which has since been the source
of so much good in rousing the public throughout the whole country,
to the importance of the extension and improvement of education.

Of the Board of Education, thus constituted, Horace Mann became
the secretary, and by his eloquence contributed to stimulate into life
Ihe good seed that, had been sown. Rev. Charles Brook«, of Hing-
ham, devoted himseli with great zeal and success to the founding of
normal schools, and to him Massachusetts is largely indebted for her
excellent institutions of this nature.

Henry Barnard, of Connecticut, has devoted his life to the promo
tion of education, and has contributed more than any other person in
the United States to give consistency and permanonce to the efforts
of enlightened men in behalf of this great cause. He is eminently
practical, and at the same time by his various writings, he has largely
diffused among all classe*. true views of the nature and necessity of
thorough instruction, especially in a country whore the political
institutions rest upon the people.

Among other early and efficient promoters of the movement which
has resulted in the present enlightened state of public opinion on
the subject of education, were Thomas H. Gallaudet, William C.
Woodbridge, A. B. Alcott, W. A. Alcott, George B. Emeivon, D. P.
Page, Josiah Holbrook, Ehenezer Bailey, Gideon F. Thayt-r, Warren
Colburn, Francis Wayland, William Russell, Rev. Samuel J. May
Kcv. George Putnam, and indeed many others.

The "Journal of Education" was founded in 1825 by Thomas B.
Waite, of Boston, originally a printer, but then a publisher — a son
of a member of the firm of Lilly, Waite & Co. In 1828 it came
into my hands. Mr. W. Russell being its editor, but I parted with it
after about a year.

It is to be remarked that many of the leading men of Massachu
setts have readily lent their aid to the cause of education ; among
whom we may specially mention Daniel Webster, J. Q. Adams, Rob-

512 AITKNDJX NOTES.

ert Rant-oiil, Jr., Edward Everett, Levi Lincoln, John Davis, <fcc. «fcc.,
all being convinced of the supreme importance of the subject, and
desirous of lending their influence to enforce it U|x>n the attention
of the people.

Among the benefactors of special education, we may mention
.jomas Handy side Perkins, of Boston, "a merchant who accumu
lated a princely fortune, and whose heart was still larger than his
•wealth," and who, aided by the skillful labors of Dr. Howe, was the
chief founder of the Massachusetts Institution for the Blind. Ab
bott Lawrence, who rose by means of his fine person, his agreeable
manners, his liberal feelings, and his strong practical sense, not
only to great wealth, but to high social and political consideration,
was a most munificent benefactor of various educational establish
ments. His two brothers, Amos and William, followed his noble
example, and the public appreciation of their conduct may, it ir
hoped, lead others to devote a portion of their surplus wealth to
the beneficent cause of general or special education.

END OF VOL. I.

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