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diff --git a/old/10626-8.txt b/old/10626-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..48a8d8d --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10626-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9306 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Atlantic Monthly, Volume 2, Issue 10, August, +1858, by Various + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + + + + +Title: Atlantic Monthly, Volume 2, Issue 10, August, 1858 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: January 7, 2004 [eBook #10626] +[Date last updated: June 12, 2005] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: iso-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATLANTIC MONTHLY, VOLUME 2, ISSUE +10, AUGUST, 1858*** + + +E-text prepared by Joshua Hutchinson, Bob Blair, and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + + +THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY. + +A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS. + +VOL. II.--AUGUST, 1858.--NO. X. + + + + + + + +DAPHNAIDES: + +OR THE ENGLISH LAUREL, FROM CHAUCER TO TENNYSON. + + + They in thir time did many a noble dede, + And for their worthines full oft have bore + The crown of laurer leavés on the hede, + As ye may in your oldé bookés rede: + And how that he that was a conquerour + Had by laurer alway his most honour. + DAN CHAUCER: _The Flowre and the Leaf_. + + +It is to be lamented that antiquarian zeal is so often diverted from +subjects of real to those of merely fanciful interest. The mercurial +young gentlemen who addict themselves to that exciting department of +letters are open to censure as being too fitful, too prone to flit, +bee-like, from flower to flower, now lighting momentarily upon an +indecipherable tombstone, now perching upon a rusty morion, here +dipping into crumbling palimpsests, there turning up a tattered +reputation from heaps of musty biography, or discovering that the +brightest names have had sad blots and blemishes scoured off by the +attrition of Time's ceaseless current. We can expect little from +investigators so volatile and capricious; else should we expect the +topic we approach in this paper to have been long ago flooded with +light as of Maedler's sun, its dust dissipated, and sundry curves and +angles which still baffle scrutiny and provoke curiosity exposed even +to Gallio-llke wayfarers. It is, in fact, a neglected topic. Its +derivatives are obscure, its facts doubtful. Questions spring from +it, sucker-like, numberless, which none may answer. Why, for +instance, in apportioning his gifts among his posterity, did Phoebus +assign the laurel to his step-progeny, the sons of song, and pour the +rest of the vegetable world into the pharmacopoeia of the favored +Æsculapius? Why was even this wretched legacy divided in aftertimes +with the children of Mars? Was its efficacy as a non-conductor of +lightning as reliable as was held by Tiberius, of guileless memory, +Emperor of Rome? Were its leaves really found green as ever in the +tomb of St. Humbert, a century and a half after the interment of that +holy confessor? In what reign was the first bay-leaf, rewarding the +first poet of English song, authoritatively conferred? These and other +like questions are of so material concern to the matter we have in +hand, that we may fairly stand amazed that they have thus far escaped +the exploration of archaeologists. It is not for us to busy ourselves +with other men's affairs. Time and patience shall develope profounder +mysteries than these. Let us only succeed in delineating in brief +monograph the outlines of a natural history of the British +Laurel,--_Laurea nobilis, sempervirens, florida_,--and in posting +here and there, as we go, a few landmarks that shall facilitate the +surveys of investigators yet unborn, and this our modest enterprise +shall be happily fulfilled. + +One portion of it presents no serious difficulty. There is an +uninterrupted canon of the Laureates running as far back as the reign +of James I. Anterior, however, to that epoch, the catalogue fades away +in undistinguishable darkness. Names are there of undoubted splendor, +a splendor, indeed, far more glowing than that of any subsequent +monarch of the bays; but the legal title to the garland falls so far +short of satisfactory demonstration, as to oblige us to dismiss the +first seven Laureates with a dash of that ruthless criticism with +which Niebuhr, the regicide, dispatched the seven kings of Rome. To +mark clearly the bounds between the mythical and the indubitable, a +glance at the following brief of the Laureate _fasti_ will +greatly assist us, speeding us forward at once to the substance of our +story. + + +I. The MYTHICAL PERIOD, extending from the supposititious coronation +of Laureate CHAUCER, _in temp. Edv. III., 1367_, to that of +Laureate JONSON, _in temp. Caroli I._ To this period belong, + + + GEOFFREY CHAUCER, 1367-1400 + JOHN SCOGAN, 1400-1413 + JOHN KAY, 1465- + ANDREW BERNARD, 1486- + JOHN SKELTON, 1509-1529 + EDMUND SPENSER, 1590-1599 + SAMUEL DANIEL, } + MICHAEL DRAYTON, } 1600-1630 + BEN JONSON, } + + + +II. The DRAMATIC, extending from the latter event to the demise of +Laureate SHADWELL, _in temp. Gulielmi III., 1692._ Here we have + + + BEN JONSON, 1630-1637 + WILL DAVENANT, 1637-1668 + JOHN DRYDEN, 1670-1689 + THOMAS SHADWELL, 1689-1692 + + + +III. The LYRIC, from the reign of Laureate TATE, 1693, to the demise +of Laureate PYE, 1813:-- + + + NAHUM TATE, 1693-1714 + NICHOLAS ROWE, 1714-1718 + LAURENCE EUSDEN, 1719-1730 + COLLEY CIBBER, 1730-1757 + WILLIAM WHITEHEAD, 1758-1785 + THOMAS WARTON, 1785-1790 + HENRY JAMES PYE, 1790-1813 + + + +IV. The VOLUNTARY, from the accession of Laureate SOUTHEY, 1813, to +the present day:-- + + + ROBERT SOUTHEY, 1813-1843 + WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, 1843-1850 + ALFRED TENNYSON, 1850- + + +Have no faith in those followers of vain traditions who assert the +existence of the Laureate office as early as the thirteenth century, +attached to the court of Henry III. Poets there were before +Chaucer,--_vixere fortes ante Agamemnona_,--but search Rymer from +cord to clasp and you shall find no documentary evidence of any one of +them wearing the leaf or receiving the stipend distinctive of the +place. Morbid credulity can go no farther back than to the "Father of +English Poetry":-- + + + "That renounced Poet, + Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled, + On Fame's eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled":[1] + + + "Him that left half-told + The story of Cambuscan bold; + Of Camball, and of Algarsife, + And who had Canace to wife":[2] + + + "That noble Chaucer, in those former times, + Who first enriched our English with his rhymes, + And was the first of ours that ever broke + Into the Muse's treasures, and first spoke + In mighty numbers."[3] + + +Tradition here first assumes that semblance of probability which +rendered it current for three centuries. Edward the Third--resplendent +name in the constitutional history of England--is supposed to have +been so deeply impressed with Chaucer's poetical merits, as to have +sought occasion for appropriate recognition. Opportunely came that +high festival at the capital of the world, whereat + + + "Franccis Petrark, the laureat poete, + ... whos rethorike swete + Enlumined all Itaille of poetrie,"[4] + + +received the laurel crown at the hands of the Senate of Rome, with a +magnificence of ceremonial surpassed only by the triumphs of imperial +victors a thousand years before. Emulous of the gorgeous example, the +English monarch forthwith showered corresponding honors upon Dan +Chaucer, adding the substantial perquisites of a hundred marks and a +tierce of Malvoisie, a year. To this agreeable story, Laureate Warton, +than whom no man was more intimately conversant with the truth there +is in literary history, appears in one of his official odes to yield +assent:-- + + + "Victorious Edward gave the vernal bough + Of Britain's bay to bloom on Chaucer's brow: + Fired with the gift, he changed to sounds sublime + His Norman minstrelsy's discordant chime."[5] + + +The legend, however, does not bear inquiry. King Edward, in 1367, +certainly granted an annuity of twenty marks to "his varlet, Geoffrey +Chaucer." Seven years later there was a further grant of a pitcher of +wine daily, together with the controllership of the wool and petty +wine revenues for the port of London. The latter appointment, to which +the pitcher of wine was doubtless incident, was attended with a +requirement that the new functionary should execute all the duties of +his post in person,--a requirement involving as constant and laborious +occupation as that of Charles Lamb, chained to his perch in the India +House. These concessions, varied slightly by subsequent patents from +Richard II. and Henry IV., form the entire foundation to the tale of +Chaucer's Laureateship.[6] There is no reference in grant or patent to +his poetical excellence or fame, no mention whatever of the laurel, no +verse among the countless lines of his poetry indicating the reception +of that crowning glory, no evidence that the third Edward was one whit +more sensitive to the charms of the Muses than the third William, +three hundred years after. Indeed, the condition with which the +appointment of this illustrious custom-house officer was hedged +evinced, if anything, a desire to discourage a profitless wooing of +the Nine, by so confining his mind to the incessant routine of an +uncongenial duty as to leave no hours of poetic idleness. Whatever +laurels Fame may justly garland the temples of Dan Chaucer withal, she +never, we are obliged to believe, employed royal instrument at the +coronation. + +John Scogan, often confounded with an anterior Henry, has been named +as the Laureate of Henry IV., and immediate successor of +Chaucer. Laureate Jonson seems to encourage the notion:-- + + + "_Mere Fool._ Skogan? What was he? + + "_Jophiel._ Oh, a fine gentleman, and master of arts + Of Henry the Fourth's time, that made disguises + For the King's sons, and writ in ballad-royal + Daintily well. + + "_Mere Fool_. But he wrote like a gentleman? + + "_Jophiel_. In rhyme, fine, tinkling rhyme, and flowand verse, + With now and then some sense; and he was paid for't, + Regarded and rewarded; which few poets + Are nowadays."[7] + + +But Warton places Scogan in the reign of Edward IV., and reduces him +to the level of Court Jester, his authority being Dr. Andrew Borde, +who, early in the sixteenth century, published a volume of his +platitudes.[8] There is nothing to prove that he was either poet or +Laureate; while, on the other hand, it must be owned, one person might +at the same time fill the offices of Court Poet and Court Fool. It is +but fair to say that Tyrwhitt, who had all the learning and more than +the accuracy of Warton, inclines to Jonson's estimate of Scogan's +character and employment. + +One John Kay, of whom we are singularly deficient in information, held +the post of Court Poet under the amorous Edward IV. What were his +functions and appointments we cannot discover. + +Andrew Bernard held the office under Henry VII. and Henry VIII. He was +a churchman, royal historiographer, and tutor to Prince Arthur. His +official poems were in Latin. He was living as late as 1522. + +John Skelton obtained the distinction of Poet-Laureate at Oxford, a +title afterward confirmed to him by the University of Cambridge: mere +university degrees, however, without royal indorsement. Henry +VIII. made him his "Royal Orator," whatever that may have been, and +otherwise treated him with favor; but we hear nothing of sack or +salary, find nothing among his poems to intimate that his performances +as Orator ever ran into verse, or that his "laurer" was of the regal +sort. + +A long stride carries us to the latter years of Queen Elizabeth, +where, and in the ensuing reign of James, we find the names of Edmund +Spenser, Samuel Daniel, and Michael Drayton interwoven with the +bays. Spenser's possession of the laurel rests upon no better evidence +than that, when he presented the earlier books of the "Faery Queen" to +Elizabeth, a pension of fifty pounds a year was conferred upon him, +and that the praises of _Gloriana_ ring through his realm of +Faëry in unceasing panegyric. But guineas are not laurels, though for +sundry practical uses they are, perhaps, vastly better; nor are the +really earnest and ardent eulogia of the bard of Mulla the same in +kind with the harmonious twaddle of Tate, or the classical quiddities +of Pye. He was of another sphere, the highest heaven of song, who + + + "Waked his lofty lay + To grace Eliza's golden sway; + And called to life old Uther's elfin-tale, + And roved through many a necromantic vale, + Portraying chiefs who knew to tame + The goblin's ire, the dragon's flame, + To pierce the dark, enchanted hall + Where Virtue sat in lonely thrall. + From fabling Fancy's inmost store + A rich, romantic robe he bore, + A veil with visionary trappings hung, + And o'er his Virgin Queen the fairy-texture flung."[9] + + +Samuel Daniel was not only a favorite of Queen Elizabeth, but more +decidedly so of her successor in the queendom, Anne of Denmark. In the +household of the latter he held the position of Groom of the Chamber, +a sinecure of handsome endowment, so handsome, indeed, as to warrant +an occasional draft upon his talents for the entertainment of her +Majesty's immediate circle, which held itself as far as possible aloof +from the court, and was disposed to be self-reliant for its +amusements. Daniel had entered upon the vocation of courtier with +flattering auspices. His precocity while at Oxford has found him a +place in the "Bibliotheca Eruditorum Præcocium." Anthony Wood bears +witness to his thorough accomplishments in all kinds, especially in +history and poetry, specimens of which, the antiquary tells us, were +still, in his time, treasured among the archives of Magdalen. He +deported himself so amiably in society, and so inoffensively among his +fellow-bards, and versified his way so tranquilly into the good graces +of his royal mistresses, distending the thread, and diluting the +sense, and sparing the ornaments, of his passionless poetry,--if +poetry, which, by the definition of its highest authority, is "simple, +sensuous, passionate," can ever be unimpassioned,--that he was the +oracle of feminine taste while he lived, and at his death bequeathed a +fame yet dear to the school of Southey and Wordsworth. Daniel was no +otherwise Laureate than his position in the queen's household may +authorize that title. If ever so entitled by contemporaries, it was +quite in a Pickwickian and complimentary sense. His retreat from the +busy vanity of court life, an event which happened several years +before his decease in 1619, was hastened by the consciousness of a +waning reputation, and of the propriety of seeking better shelter than +that of his laurels. His eloquent "Defense of Rhyme" still asserts for +him a place in the hearts of all lovers of stately English prose. + +Old Michael Drayton, whose portrait has descended to us, surmounted +with an exuberant twig of bays, is vulgarly classed with the +legitimate Laureates. Southey, pardonably anxious to magnify an office +belittled by some of its occupants, does not scruple to rank Spenser, +Daniel, and Drayton among the Laurelled:-- + + + "That wreath, which, in Eliza's golden days, + My master dear, divinest Spenser, wore, + That which rewarded Drayton's learned lays, + Which thoughtful Ben and gentle Daniel bore," etc. + + +But in sober prose Southey knew, and later in life taught, that not +one of the three named ever wore the authentic laurel.[10] That Drayton +deserved it, even as a successor of the divinest Spenser, who shall +deny? With enough of patience and pedantry to prompt the composition +of that most laborious, and, upon the whole, most humdrum and +wearisome poem of modern times, the "Polyolbion," he nevertheless +possessed an abounding exuberance of delicate fancy and sound poetical +judgment, traces of which flash not unfrequently even athwart the +dulness of his _magnum opus_, and through the mock-heroism of +"England's Heroical Epistles," while they have full play in his "Court +of Faëry." Drayton's great defect was the entire absence of that +dramatic talent so marvellously developed among his contemporaries,--a +defect, as we shall presently see, sufficient of itself to disqualify +him for the duties of Court Poet. But, what was still worse, his mind +was not gifted with facility and versatility of invention, two equally +essential requisites; and to install him in a position where such +faculties were hourly called into play would have been to put the +wrong man in the worst possible place. Drayton was accordingly a +court-pensioner, but not a court-poet. His laurel was the honorary +tribute of admiring friends, in an age when royal pedantry rendered +learning fashionable and a topic of exaggerated regard. Southey's +admission is to this purpose. "He was," he says, "one of the poets to +whom the title of Laureate was given in that age,--not as holding the +office, but as a mark of honor, to which they were entitled." And with +the poetical topographer such honors abounded. Not only was he +gratified with the zealous labors of Selden in illustration of the +"Polyolbion," but his death was lamented in verse of Jonson, upon +marble supplied by the Countess of Dorset:-- + + + "Do, pious marble, let thy readers know + What they and what their children owe + To Drayton's name, whose sacred dust + We recommend unto thy trust. + Protect his memory, and preserve his story; + Remain a lasting monument of his glory: + And when thy ruins shall disclaim + To be the treasurer of his name, + His name, that cannot fade, shall be + An everlasting monument to thee." + + +The Laureateship, we thus discover, had not, down to the days of +James, become an institution. Our mythical series shrink from close +scrutiny. But in the gayeties of the court of the Stuarts arose +occasion for the continuous and profitable employment of a court-poet, +and there was enough thrift in the king to see the advantage of +securing the service for a certain small annuity, rather than by the +payment of large sums as presents for occasional labors. The masque, a +form of dramatic representation, borrowed from the Italian, had been +introduced into England during the reign of Elizabeth. The interest +depended upon the development of an allegorical subject apposite to +the event which the performance proposed to celebrate, such as a royal +marriage, or birthday, or visit, or progress, or a marriage or other +notable event among the nobility and gentry attached to the court, or +an entertainment in honor of some distinguished personage. To produce +startling and telling stage effects, machinery of the most ingenious +contrivance was devised; scenery, as yet unknown in ordinary +exhibitions of the stage, was painted with elaborate finish; goddesses +in the most attenuated Cyprus lawn, bespangled with jewels, had to +slide down upon invisible wires from a visible Olympus; Tritons had to +rise from the halls of Neptune through waters whose undulations the +nicer resources of recent art could not render more genuinely marine; +fountains disclosed the most bewitching of Naiads; and Druidical oaks, +expanding, surrendered the imprisoned Hamadryad to the air of +heaven. Fairies and Elves, Satyrs and Forsters, Centaurs and Lapithae, +played their parts in these gaudy spectacles with every conventional +requirement of shape, costume, and behavior _point-de-vice_, and were +supplied by the poet, to whom the letter-press of the show had been +confided, with language and a plot, both pregnant with more than +Platonic morality. Some idea of the magnificence of these displays, +which beggared the royal privy-purse, drove household-treasurers mad, +and often left poet and machinist whistling for pay, may be gathered +from the fact that a masque sometimes cost as much as two thousand +pounds in the mechanical getting-up, a sum far more formidable in the +days of exclusively hard money than in these of paper currency. Scott +has described, for the benefit of the general reader, one such pageant +among the "princely pleasures of Kenilworth"; while Milton, in his +"Masque performed at Ludlow Castle," presents the libretto of another, +of the simpler and less expensive sort. During the reign of James, the +passion for masques kindled into a mania. The days and nights of +Inigo Jones were spent in inventing machinery and contriving +stage-effects. Daniel, Middleton, Fletcher, and Jonson were busied +with the composition of the text; and the court ladies and cavaliers +were all from morning till night in the hands of their dancing and +music masters, or at private study, or at rehearsal, preparing for the +pageant, the representation of which fell to their share and won them +enviable applause. Of course the burden of original invention fell +upon the poets; and of the poets, Daniel and Jonson were the most +heavily taxed. In 1616, James I., by patent, granted to Jonson an +annuity for life of one hundred marks, to him in hand not often well +and truly paid. He was not distinctly named as Laureate, but seems to +have been considered such; for Daniel, on his appointment, "withdrew +himself," according to Gifford, "entirely from court." The +strong-boxes of James and Charles seldom overflowed. Sir Robert Pye, +an ancestor of that Laureate Pye whom we shall discuss by-and-by, was +the paymaster, and often and again was the overwrought poet obliged to +raise + + + "A woful cry + To Sir Robert Pye," + + +before some small instalment of long arrearages could be procured. And +when, rarely, very rarely, his Majesty condescended to remember the +necessities of "his and the Muses' servant," and send a present to the +Laureate's lodgings, its proportions were always so small as to excite +the ire of the insulted Ben, who would growl forth to the messenger, +"He would not have sent me this, (_scil._ wretched pittance,) did +I not live in an alley." + +We now arrive at the true era of the Laureateship. Charles, in 1630, +became ambitious to signalize his reign by some fitting tribute to +literature. A petition from Ben Jonson pointed out the way. The +Laureate office was made a patentable one, in the gift of the Lord +Chamberlain, as purveyor of the royal amusements. Ben was confirmed +in the office. The salary was raised from one hundred marks to one +hundred pounds, an advance of fifty per cent, to which was added +yearly a tierce of Canary wine,--an appendage appropriate to the +poet's convivial habits, and doubtless suggested by the mistaken +precedent of Chaucer's daily flagon of wine. Ben Jonson was certainly, +of all men living in 1630, the right person to receive this honor, +which then implied, what it afterward ceased to do, the primacy of the +diocese of letters. His learning supplied ballast enough to keep the +lighter bulk of the poet in good trim, while it won that measure of +respect which mere poetical gifts and graces would not have +secured. He was the dean of that group of "poets, poetaccios, +poetasters, and poetillos," [11] who beset the court. If a display of +erudition were demanded, Ben was ready with the heavy artillery of the +unities, and all the laws of Aristotle and Horace, Quintilian and +Priscian, exemplified in tragedies of canonical structure, and +comedies whose prim regularity could not extinguish the most +delightful and original humor--Robert Burton's excepted--that +illustrated that brilliant period. But if the graceful lyric or +glittering masque were called for, the boundless wealth of Ben's +genius was most strikingly displayed. It has been the fashion, set by +such presumptuous blunderers as Warburton and such formal prigs as +Gifford, to deny our Laureate the possession of those ethereal +attributes of invention and fancy which play about the creations of +Shakspeare, and constitute their exquisite charm. This arbitrary +comparison of Jonson and Shakspeare has, in fact, been the bane of the +former's reputation. Those who have never read the masques argue, +that, as "very little Latin and less Greek," in truth no learning of +any traceable description, went to the creation of _Ariel_ and +_Caliban_, _Oberon_ and _Puck_, the possession of Latin, Greek, and +learning generally, incapacitates the proprietor for the same happy +exercise of the finer and more gracious faculties of wit and fancy. +Of this nonsense Jonson's masques are the best refutation. Marvels of +ingenuity in plot and construction, they abound in "dainty invention," +animated dialogue, and some of the finest lyric passages to be found +in dramatic literature. They are the Laureate's true laurels. Had he +left nothing else, the "rare arch-poet" would have held, by virtue of +these alone, the elevated rank which his contemporaries, and our own, +freely assign him. Lamb, whose appreciation of the old dramatists was +extremely acute, remarks,--"A thousand beautiful passages from his +'New Inn,' and from those numerous court masques and entertainments +which he was in the daily habit of furnishing, might be adduced to +show the poetical fancy and elegance of mind of the supposed rugged +old bard." [12] And in excess of admiration at one of the Laureate's +most successful pageants, Herrick breaks forth,-- + + + "Thou hadst the wreath before, now take the tree, + That henceforth none be laurel-crowned but thee." [13] + + +An aspiration fortunately unrealized. + +It was not long before the death of Ben, that John Suckling, one of +his boon companions + + + "At those lyric feasts, + Made at 'The Sun,' + 'The Dog,' 'The Triple Tun,' + Where they such clusters had + As made them nobly wild, not mad," [14] + + +handed about among the courtiers his "Session of the Poets," where an +imaginary contest for the laurel presented an opportunity for +characterizing the wits of the day in a series of capital strokes, as +remarkable for justice as shrewd wit. Jonson is thus introduced:-- + + + "The first that broke silence was good old Ben, + Prepared with Canary wine, + And he told them plainly he deserved the bays, + For his were called works, while others' were but plays; + + "And bid them remember how he had purged the stage + Of errors that had lasted many an age; + And he hoped they did not think 'The Silent Woman,' + 'The Fox,' and 'The Alchymist' outdone by no man. + + "Apollo stopt him there, and bid him not go on; + 'Twas merit, he said, and not presumption, + Must carry it; at which Ben turned about, + And in great choler offered to go out; + + "But those who were there thought it not fit + To discontent so ancient a wit, + And therefore Apollo called him back again, + And made him mine host of his own 'New Inn.'" + + +This _jeu d'esprit_ of Suckling, if of no value otherwise, would +be respectable as an original which the Duke of Buckinghamshire,[15] +Leigh Hunt,[16] and our own Lowell[17] have successfully and happily +imitated. + +In due course, Laureate Jonson shared the fate of all potentates, and +was gathered to the laurelled of Elysium. The fatality occurred in +1637. When his remains were deposited in the Poet's Corner, with the +eloquent laconism above them, "O Rare Ben Jonson!" all the wits of the +day stood by the graveside, and cast in their tribute of bays. The +rite over, all the wits of the day hurried from the aisles of +Westminster to the galleries of Whitehall to urge their several claims +to the successorship. There were, of the elder time, Massinger, +drawing to the close of a successful career,--Ford, with his growing +fame,--Marmion, Heywood, Carlell, Wither. There was Sandys, especially +endeared to the king by his orthodox piety, so becoming the son of an +archbishop, and by his versions of the "Divine Poems," which were next +year given to the press, and which found a place among the half-dozen +volumes which a decade later solaced the last hours of his royal +master. There were the names, in the junior class, of Tom Carew, noted +for his amatory songs and his one brilliant masque,--Tom Killigrew, of +pleasant humor, and no mean writer of tragedy,--Suckling, the wittiest +of courtiers, and the most courtly of wits,--Cartwright, Crashaw, +Davenant, and May. But of all these, the contest soon narrowed down to +the two latter. William Davenant was in all likelihood the son of an +innkeeper at Oxford; he was certainly the son of the innkeeper's +wife. A rumor, which Davenant always countenanced, alleged that +William Shakspeare, a poet of some considerable repute in those times, +being in the habit of passing between Stratford-on-the-Avon and +London, was wont to bait and often lodge at this Oxford hostelry. At +one of these calls the landlady had proved more than ordinarily frail +or the poet more than ordinarily seductive,--who can wonder at even +virtue stooping to folly when the wooer was the Swan of Avon, beside +whom the bird that captivated Leda was as a featherless gosling?--and +the consequence had been Will Davenant, born in the year of our Lord +1605, Shakspeare standing as godfather at the baptism. A boy of lively +parts was Will, and good-fortune brought those parts to the notice of +the grave and philosophic Greville, Lord Brooke, whose dearest boast +was the friendship in early life of Sir Philip Sidney. The result of +this notice was a highly creditable education at school and +university, and an ultimate introduction into the foremost society of +the capital. Davenant, finding the drama supreme in fashionable +regard, devoted himself to the drama. He also devoted himself to the +cultivation of Ben Jonson, then at the summit of renown, assisting in +an amateur way in the preparation of the court pageants, and otherwise +mitigating the Laureate's labors. From 1632 to 1637, these aids were +frequent, and established a very plausible claim to the +succession. Thomas May, who shortly became his sole competitor, was a +man of elevated pretensions. As a writer of English historical poems +and as a translator of Lucan he had earned a prominent position in +British literature; as a continuator of the "Pharsalia" in Latin verse +of exemplary elegance, written in the happiest imitation of the +martyred Stoic's unimpassioned mannerism, he secured for British +scholarship that higher respect among Continental scholars which +Milton's Latin poems and "Defensio pro Populo Anglicano" presently +after confirmed. Of the several English writers of Latin verse, May +stands unquestionably in the front rank, alongside of Milton and +Bourne,--taking precedence easily of Owen, Cowley, and Gray. His +dramatic productions were of a higher order than Davenant's. They have +found a place in Dodsley's and the several subsequent collections of +early dramas, not conceded to the plays of the latter. Masque-making, +however, was not in his line. His invention was not sufficiently +alert, his dialogue not sufficiently lively, for a species of poetry +which it was the principal duty of the Laureate to furnish. Besides, +it is highly probable, his sympathies with rebellious Puritanism were +already so far developed as to make him an object of aversion to the +king. Davenant triumphed. The defeated candidate lived to see the +court dispersed, king and Laureate alike fugitive, and to receive from +the Long Parliament the place of Historiographer, as a compensation +for the lost bays. When, in 1650, he died, Cromwell and his +newly-inaugurated court did honor to his obsequies. The body was +deposited in Westminster Abbey; but the posthumous honor was in +reserve for it, of being torn from the grave after the Restoration, +and flung into a ditch along with the remains of three or four other +republican leaders. + +Davenant's career in office was unfortunate. There is reason to doubt +whether, even before the rebellion broke out, his salary was regularly +paid him. During the Civil War he exchanged the laurel for a casque, +winning knighthood by his gallant carriage at the siege of Gloucester. +Afterward, he was so far in the confidence of Queen Henrietta Maria, +as to be sent as her envoy to the captive king, beseeching him to save +his head by conceding the demands of Parliament. When, the errand +proving abortive, the royal head was lost, Davenant returned to Paris, +consoled himself by finishing the first two books of his "Gondibert," +and then, despairing of a restoration, embarked (in 1650) from France +for Virginia, where monarchy and the rights of Charles II were +unimpaired. Fate, however, had not destined him for a colonist and +backwoodsman. His ship, tempest-tossed, was driven into an English +port, and the poet was seized and carried close prisoner to +London. There the intervention of Milton, the Latin Secretary of the +Council, is said to have saved his life. He was kept in the Tower for +at least two years longer, however. The date of his release is +uncertain, but, once at liberty, Davenant returned ardently to his +former pursuits. A license was procured for musical exhibitions, and +the phrase "musical exhibitions" was interpreted, with official +connivance, as including all manner of dramatic performances. To the +Laureate and to this period belongs the credit of introducing scenery, +hitherto restricted to court masques, into the machinery of the +ordinary drama. The substitution of female for male actors, in +feminine characters, was also an innovation of this period. And as an +incident of the Laureateship there is still another novelty to be +noted. There is no crown without its thorns. The laurel renders the +pillow of the wearer as knotty, uneasy, and comfortless as does a +coronal of gold and jewels. Among the receipts of the office have been +the jokes, good and bad, the sneers, the satire of contemporary +wits,--such being the paper currency in which the turbulent subjects +of the laurel crown think proper to pay homage to their +sovereign. From the days of Will Davenant to these of ours, the custom +has been faithfully observed. Davenant's earliest assailants were of +his own political party, followers of the exiled Charles, the men whom +Milton describes as "perditissimus ille peregrinantium aulieorum +grex." These--among them a son of the memorable Donne, Sir John +Denham, and Alan Broderick--united in a volume of mean motive and +insignificant merit, entitled, "Verses written by Several of the +Author's Friends, to be reprinted with the Second Edition of +Gondibert." This was published in 1653. The effect of the onslaught +has not been recorded. We know only that Davenant, surviving it, +continued to prosper in his theatrical business, writing most of the +pieces produced on his stage until the Restoration, when he drew forth +from its hiding-place his wreath of laurel-evergreen, and resumed it +with honor. + +A fair retrospect of Davenant's career enables us to select without +difficulty that one of his labors which is most deserving of +applause. Not his "Gondibert," notwithstanding it abounds in fine +passages,--notwithstanding Gay thought it worth continuation and +completion, and added several cantos,--notwithstanding Lamb eulogized +it with enthusiasm, Southey warmly praised, and Campbell and Hazlitt +coolly commended it. Nor his comedies, which are deservedly forgotten; +nor his improvements in the production of plays, serviceable as they +were to the acting drama. But to his exertions Milton owed impunity +from the vengeance otherwise destined for the apologist of regicide, +and so owed the life and leisure requisite to the composition of +"Paradise Lost." Davenant, grateful for the old kindness of the +ex-secretary, used his influence successfully with Charles to let the +offender escape.[18] This is certainly the greenest of Davenant's +laurels. Without it, the world might not have heard one of the +sublimest expressions of human genius. + +Davenant died in 1668. The laurel was hung up unclaimed until 1670, +when John Dryden received it, with patent dated back to the summer +succeeding Davenant's death. Dryden assures us that it was Sir Thomas +Clifford, whose name a year later lent the initial letter to the +"Cabal," who presented him to the king, and procured his +appointment.[19] Masques had now ceased to be the mode. What the +dramatist could do to amuse the _blasé_ court of Charles II. he +was obliged to do within the limits of legitimate dramatic +representation, due care being taken to follow French models, and +substitute the idiom of Corneille and Molière for that of +Shakspeare. Dryden, whose plays are now read only by the curious, was, +in 1670, the greatest of living dramatists. He had expiated his +Cromwellian backslidings by the "Astraea Redux," and the "Annus +Mirabilis." He had risen to high favor with the king. His tragedies +in rhyming couplets were all the vogue. Already his fellow-playwrights +deemed their success as fearfully uncertain, unless they had secured, +price three guineas, a prologue or epilogue from the Laureate. So +fertile was his own invention, that he stood ready to furnish by +contract five plays a year,--a challenge fortunately declined by the +managers of the day. Thus, if the Laureate stipend were not punctually +paid, as was often the case, seeing the necessitous state of the royal +finances and the bevy of fair ladies, whose demands, extravagant as +they were, took precedence of all others, his revenues were adequate +to the maintenance of a family, the matron of which was a Howard, +educated, as a daughter of nobility, to the enjoyment of every +indulgence. These were the Laureate's brightest days. His popularity +was at its height, a fact evinced by the powerful coalitions deemed +necessary to diminish it. Indeed, the laurel had hardly rested upon +Dryden's temples before he experienced the assaults of an organized +literary opposition. The Duke of Buckingham, then the admitted leader +of fashionable prodigacy, borrowed the aid of Samuel Butler, at whose +"Hudibras" the world was still laughing,--of Thomas Sprat, then on the +high-road to those preferments which have given him an important place +in history,--of Martin Clifford, a familiar of the green-room and +coffee-house,--and concocted a farce ridiculing the person and office +of the Laureate. "The Rehearsal" was acted in 1671. The hero, +_Mr. Bayes_, imitated all the personal peculiarities of Dryden, +used his cant phrases, burlesqued his style, and exposed, while +pretending to defend, his ridiculous points, until the laugh of the +town was fairly turned upon the "premier-poet of the realm." The wit +was undoubtedly of the broadest, and the humor at the coffee-room +level; but it was so much the more effective. Dryden affected to be +indifferent to the satire. He jested at the time taken[20] and the +number of hands employed upon the composition. Twenty years later he +was at pains to declare his perfect freedom from rancor in consequence +of the attack. + +There, is much reason to suspect, however, that "The Rehearsal" was +not forgotten, when the "Absalom and Achitophel" was written, and that +the character of _Zimri_ gathered much of its intense vigor and depth +of shadow from recollections of the ludicrous _Mr. Bayes_. The +portrait has the look of being designed as a quittance in full of old +scores. "The Rehearsal," though now and then recast and reënacted to +suit other times, is now no otherwise remembered than as the suggester +of Sheridan's "Critic." + +Upon the heels of this onslaught others followed rapidly. Rochester, +disposed to singularity of opinion, set up Elkanah Settle, a young +author of some talent, as a rival to the Laureate. Anonymous bardings +lampooned him. _Mr. Bayes_ was a broad target for every shaft, so +that the complaint so feelingly uttered in his latter days, that "no +man living had ever been so severely libelled" as he, had a wide +foundation of fact. Sometimes, it must be owned, the thrusts were the +natural result of controversies into which the Laureate indiscreetly +precipitated himself; sometimes they came of generous partisanship in +behalf of friends, such friends, for example, as Sir Robert Howard, +his brother-in-law, an interminable spinner of intolerable verse, who +afflicted the world in his day with plays worse than plagues, and +poems as worthless as his plays. It was to a quarrel for and a quarrel +against this gentleman that we are indebted for the most trenchant +satire in the language. Sir Robert had fallen out with Dryden about +rhyming tragedies, of which he disapproved; and while it lasted, the +contest was waged with prodigious acrimony. Among the partisans of the +former was Richard Flecknoe, a Triton among the smaller scribbling +fry. Flecknoe--blunderingly classed among the Laureates by the +compiler of "Cibber's Lives of the Poets"--was an Irish priest, who +had cast his cassock, or, as he euphuistically expressed it, "laid +aside the mechanic part of priesthood," in order to fulfil the loftier +mission of literary garreteer in London. He had written poems and +plays without number; of the latter, but one, entitled "Love's +Dominion," had been brought upon the stage, and was summarily hissed +off. Jealousy of Dryden's splendid success brought him to the side of +Dryden's opponent, and a pamphlet, printed in 1668, attacked the +future Laureate so bitterly, and at points so susceptible, as to make +a more than ordinary draft upon the poet's patience, and to leave +venom that rankled fourteen years without finding vent.[21] About the +same time, Thomas Shadwell, who is represented in the satire as +likewise an Irishman, brought Sir Robert on the stage in his "Sullen +Lovers," in the character of _Sir Positive At-all_, a caricature +replete with absurd self-conceit and impudent dogmatism. Shadwell was +of "Norfolcian" family, well-born, well-educated, and fitted for the +bar, but drawn away from serious pursuits by the prevalent rage for +the drama. The offence of laughing at the poet's brother-in-law +Shadwell had aggravated by accepting the capricious patronage of Lord +Rochester, by subsequently siding with the Whigs, and by aiding the +ambitious designs of Shaftesbury in play and pamphlet,--labors the +value of which is not to be measured by the contemptuous estimate of +the satirist. The first outburst of the retributive storm fell upon +the head of Shadwell. The second part of "Absalom and Achitophel," +which appeared in the autumn of 1682, contains the portrait of +_Og_, cut in outlines so sharp as to remind us of an unrounded +alto-rilievo:-- + + + Now stop your noses, readers, all and some, + For here's a tun of midnight work to come, + Og, from a treason-tavern rolling home; + Round as a globe, and liquored every chink, + Goodly and great he sails behind his link. + With all his bulk, there's nothing lost in Og, + For every inch that is not fool is rogue .... + + The midwife laid her hand on his thick skull + With this prophetic blessing, Be thou dull! + Drink, swear, and roar, forbear no lewd delight + Fit for thy bulk; do anything but write. + Eat opium, mingle arsenic in thy drink, + Still thou mayst live, avoiding pen and ink. + I see, I see, 'tis counsel given in vain; + For treason botched in rhyme will be thy bane .... + + A double noose thou on thy neck dost pull, + For writing treason, and for writing dull... + + I will not rake the dunghill of thy crimes, + For who would read thy life who reads thy rhymes? + But of King David's foes be this the doom, + May all be like the young man Absalom! + And for my foes, may this their blessing be, + To talk like Doeg, and to write like thee! + + +Of the multitudinous rejoinders and counterblasts provoked by this +thunder, Dryden, it is supposed, ascribed the authorship of one of the +keenest to Shadwell. We are to conceive some new and immediate +provocation as added to the old grudge, to call for a second attack so +soon; for it was only a month later that the "MacFlecknoe" appeared; +not in 1689, as Dr. Johnson states, who, mistaking the date, also errs +in assuming the cause of Dryden's wrath to have been the transfer of +the laurel from his own to the brows of Shadwell. "MacFlecknoe" is by +common consent the most perfect and perfectly acrid satire in English +literature. The topics selected, the foibles attacked, the ingenious +and remorseless ridicule with which they are overwhelmed, the +comprehensive vindictiveness which converted every personal +characteristic into an instrument for the more refined torment of the +unhappy victim, conjoin to constitute a masterpiece of this lower form +of poetical composition;--poetry it is not. While Flecknoe's +pretensions as a dramatist were fairly a subject of derision, Shadwell +was eminently popular. He was a pretender to learning, and, +entertaining with Dryden strong convictions of the reality of a +literary metempsychosis, believed himself the heir of Jonson's genius +and erudition. The title of the satire was, therefore, of itself a +biting sarcasm. His claims to sonship were transferred from Jonson, +then held the first of dramatic writers, to Flecknoe, the last and +meanest; and to aggravate the insult, the "Mac" was inserted as an +irritating allusion to the alleged Irish origin of both,--an allusion, +however harmless and senseless now, vastly significant at that era of +Irish degradation. Of the immediate effect of this scarification upon +Shadwell we have no information; how it ultimately affected his +fortunes we shall see presently. + +During the closing years of Charles, and through the reign of James, +Dryden added to the duties of Court Poet those of political +pamphleteer and theological controversialist. The strength of his +attachment to the office, his sense of the honor it conferred, and his +appreciation of the salary we may infer from the potent influence such +considerations exercised upon his conversion to Romanism. In the +admirable portrait, too, by Lely, he chose to be represented with the +laurel in his hand. After his dethronement, he sought every occasion +to deplore the loss of the bays, and of the stipend, which in the +increasing infirmity and poverty of his latter days had become +important. The fall of James necessarily involved the fall of his +Laureate and Historiographer. Lord Dorset, the generous but sadly +undiscriminating patron of letters, having become Lord Chamberlain, it +was his duty to remove the reluctant Dryden from the two places,--a +duty not to be postponed, and scarcely to be mitigated, so violent was +the public outcry against the renegade bard. The entire Protestant +feeling of the nation, then at white heat, was especially ardent +against the author of the "Hind and Panther," who, it was said, had +treated the Church of England as the persecutors had treated the +primitive martyr, dressed her in the skin of a wild beast, and exposed +her to the torments of her adversaries. It was not enough to eject him +from office,--his inability to subscribe the test oaths would have +done so much,--but he was to be replaced by that one of his political +and literary antagonists whom he most sincerely disliked, and who +still writhed under his lash. Dorset appears to have executed the +disagreeable task with real kindness. He is said to have settled upon +the poet, out of his own fortune, an annuity equal to the lost +pension,--a statement which Dr. Johnson and Macaulay have repeated +upon the authority of Prior. What Prior said on the subject may be +found in the Dedication of Tonson's noble edition of his works to the +second Earl of Dorset:--"When, as Lord Chamberlain, he was obliged to +take the king's pension from Mr. Dryden, (who had long before put +himself out of a possibility of receiving any favor from the court,) +my Lord allowed him an equivalent out of his own estate. However +displeased with the conduct of his old acquaintance, he relieved his +necessities; and while he gave him his assistance in private, in +public he extenuated and pitied his error." But there is some reason +for thinking this equivalent was only the equivalent of one year's +salary, and this assistance casual, not stated; else we are at a loss +to understand the continual complaints of utter penury which the poet +uttered ever after. Some of these complaints were addressed to his +benefactor himself, as in the Dedication to Juvenal and Persius, +1692:--"Age has overtaken me, and _want_, a more insufferable +evil, through the change of the times, _has wholly disenabled +me_. Though I must ever acknowledge, to the honor of your Lordship, +and the eternal memory of your charity, that, since this revolution, +wherein I have patiently suffered the ruin of my small fortune, and +the loss of that poor subsistence I had from two kings, whom I served +more faithfully than profitably to myself,--then your Lordship was +pleased, out of no other motive than your own nobleness, without any +desert of mine, or the least solicitation from me, to make me a most +bountiful _present_, which, in that time when I was most in want +of it, came most seasonably and unexpectedly to my relief." This +passage was the sole authority, we suspect, Prior had for a story +which was nevertheless sufficiently true to figure in an adulatory +dedication; and, indeed, Prior may have used the word "equivalent" +loosely, and had Dorset's gift been more than a year's income, Dryden +would hardly have called it a "present,"--a phrase scarcely applicable +to the grant of a pension.[22] + +Dismissed from office and restored to labors more congenial than the +dull polemics which had recently engaged his mind, Dryden found +himself obliged to work vigorously or starve. He fell into the hands +of the booksellers. The poems, it deserves remark, upon which his fame +with posterity must finally rest, were all produced within the period +bounded by his deposition and his death. The translations from +Juvenal, the versions of Persius and of Virgil, the Fables, and the +"Ode upon St. Cecilia's Day," were the works of this period. He lived +to see his office filled successively by a rival he despised and a +friend who had deserted him, and in its apparently hopeless +degradation perhaps found consolation for its loss. + +Thomas Shadwell was the Poet-Laureate after Dryden, assuming the +wreath in 1689. We have referred to his origin; Langbaine gives 1642 +as the date of his birth; so that he must have set up as author early +in life, and departed from life shortly past middle-age. Derrick +assures us that he was lusty, ungainly, and coarse in person,--a +description answering to the full-length of _Og_. The commentators +upon "MacFlecknoe" have not made due use of one of Shadwell's habits, +in illustration of the reason why a wreath of poppies was selected for +the crown of its hero. The dramatist, Warburton informs us, was +addicted to the use of opium, and, in fact, died of an overdose of +that drug. Hence + + + "His temples, last, with poppies were o'er-spread, + That nodding seemed to consecrate his head." + + +A couplet which Pope echoes in the "Dunciad":-- + + + "Shadwell nods, the poppy on his brows." + + +A similar allusion may be found in the character of _Og_:-- + + + "Eat opium, mingle arsenic in thy drink," etc. + + +That the Laureate was heavy-gaited in composition, taking five years +to finish one comedy,--that he was, on the other hand, too swift, +trusting Nature rather than elaborate Art,--that he was dull and +unimaginative,--that he was keen and remarkably sharp-witted,--that he +affected a profundity of learning of which he gave no evidences,--that +his plays were only less numerous than Dryden's, are other particulars +we gather from conflicting witnesses of the period. Certainly, no one +of the Laureates, Cibber excepted, was so mercilessly lampooned. What +Cibber suffered from the "Dunciad" Shadwell suffered from +"MacFlecknoe." Incited by Dryden's example, the poets showered their +missiles at him, and so perseveringly as to render him a traditional +butt of satire for two or three generations. Thus Prior:-- + + + "Thus, without much delight or grief, + I fool away an idle life, + Till Shadwell from the town retires, + Choked up with fame and sea-coal fires, + To bless the wood with peaceful lyric: + Then hey for praise and panegyric; + Justice restored, and nations freed, + And wreaths round William's glorious head." + + +And Parnell:-- + + + "But hold! before I close the scene, + The sacred altar should be clean. + Oh, had I Shadwell's second bays, + Or, Tate! thy pert and humble lays,-- + Ye pair, forgive me, when I vow + I never missed your works till now,-- + I'd tear the leaves to wipe the shrine, + That only way you please the Nine; + But since I chance to want these two, + I'll make the songs of Durfey do." + + +And in a far more venomous and violent style, the noteless mob of +contemporary writers. + +Shadwell, after all, was very far from being the blockhead these +references imply. His "Third Nights" were probably far more +profitable than Dryden's.[23] By his friends he was classed with the +liveliest wits of a brilliant court. Rochester so classed him:-- + + + "I loathe the rabble: 'tis enough for me, + If Sedley, Shadwell, Shephard, Wycherley, + Godolphin, Butler, Buckhurst, Buckingham, + And some few more, whom I omit to name, + Approve my sense: I count their censure fame."[24] + + +And compares him elsewhere with Wycherley:-- + + + "Of all our modern wits, none seem to me + Once to have touched upon true comedy, + But hasty Shadwell and slow Wycherley. + Shadwell's unfinished works do yet impart + Great proofs of force of nature, none of art; + With just, bold strokes, he dashes here and there, + Showing great mastery with little care, + Scorning to varnish his good touches o'er + To make the fools and women praise them more. + But Wycherley earns hard whate'er he gains; + He wants no judgment, and he spares no pains," etc. + + +And, not disrespectfully, Pope:-- + + + "In all debates where critics bear a part, + Not one but nods, and talks of Jonson's art, + Of Shakspeare's nature, and of Cowley's wit; + How Beaumont's judgment checked what Fletcher writ; + How Shadwell hasty, Wycherley was slow; + But for the passions, Southerne, sure, and Rowe! + These, only these, support the crowded stage, + From eldest Heywood down to Cibber's age."[25] + + +Sedley joined him in the composition of more than one comedy. +Macaulay, in seeking illustrations of the times and occurrences of +which he writes, cites Shadwell five times, where he mentions +Etherege, Wycherley, and Congreve once.[26] From his last play, "The +Stockjobbers," performed in November, 1692, while its author was on +his death-bed, the historian introduces an entire scene into his +text.[27] Any one, indeed, who can clear his mind from the unjust +prejudice produced by Dryden's satire, and read the comedies of +Shadwell with due consideration for the extemporaneous haste of their +composition, as satires upon passing facts and follies, will find, +that, so far from never deviating into sense, sound common-sense and +fluent wit were the Laureate's staple qualities. If his comedies have +not, like those of his contemporaries just named, enjoyed the +good-fortune to be collected and preserved among the dramatic +classics, the fact is primarily owing to the ephemeral interest of the +hits and allusions, and secondarily to "MacFlecknoe." + +[To be continued.] + + +Footnote 1: SPENSER: _Faery Queen_. See also the _Two Cantos +of Mutability,_ Cant. VII.:-- + + "That old Dan Geffrey, in whose gentle spright + The pure well-head of poesie did dwell." + +Footnote 2: MILTON: _Il Penseroso._ + +Footnote 3: WORDSWORTH: _Poems of Later Years_. + +Footnote 4: CHAUCER: _Clerke's Tale_, Prologue. + +Footnote 5: WARTON: _Ode on his Majesty's Birthday, 1787_. + +Footnote 6: Tyrwhitt's Chaucer: _Historical Notes on his Life._ + +Footnote 7: _Masque of the Fortunate Islands_. + +Footnote 8: _History of English Poetry_, Vol. II. pp. 335-336, +ed. 1840. + +Footnote 9: WARTON: _Birthday Ode_, 1787. + +Footnote 10: See his _British Poets, from Chaucer to Jonson_, +Art. _Daniel_. Southey contemplated a continuation of Warton's +_History_, and, in preparing for that labor, learned many things +he had never known of the earlier writers. + +Footnote 11: Jonson's classification. See his _Poetaster_. + +Footnote 12: _Lamb's Works, and Life_, by Talfourd, Vol. IV. p. 89. + +Footnote 13: Hesperides, _Encomiastic Verses_. + +Footnote 14: Herrick, _ubi supra._--To the haunts here named +must be added the celebrated _Mermaid_, of which Shakspeare was +the _Magnus Apollo_, and _The Devil_, where Pope imagines +Ben to have gathered peculiar inspiration:-- + + "And each true Briton is to Ben so civil, + He swears the Muses met him at _The Devil_." + _Imitation of Horace_, Bk. ii. Epist. i. + +Footnote 15: _Election of a Poet-Laureate_, 1719, Works, Vol. II. + +Footnote 16: _Feast of the Poets_, 1814. + +Footnote 17: _Fable for Critics_, 1850. + +Footnote 18: This story rests on the authority of Thomas Betterton, +the actor, who received it from Davenant. + +Footnote 19: Dedication of the _Pastorals_ of Virgil, to Hugh, +Lord Clifford, the son of Sir Thomas. + +Footnote 20: There were some indications that portions of the farce +had been written while Davenant was living and had been intended for +him. _Mr. Bayes_ appears in one place with a plaster on his nose, +an evident allusion to Davenant's loss of that feature. In a lively +satire of the time, by Richard Duke, it is asserted that Villiers was +occupied with the composition of _The Rehearsal_ from the +Restoration down to the day of its production on the stage:-- + + "But with playhouses, wars, immortal wars, + He waged, and ten years' rage produced a farce. + As many rolling years he did employ, + And hands almost as many, to destroy + Heroic rhyme, as Greece to ruin Troy. + Once more, says Fame, for battle he prepares, + And threatens rhymers with a second farce: + But, if as long for this as that we stay, + He'll finish Clevedon sooner than his play." + _The Review_ + +Footnote 21: It is little to the credit of Dryden, that, having saved +up his wrath against Flecknoe so long, he had not reserved it +altogether. Flecknoe had been dead at least four years when the +satire appeared. + +Footnote 22: Macaulay quotes Blackmore's _Prince Arthur_, to +illustrate Dryden's dependence upon Dorset:-- + + "The poets' nation did obsequious wait + For the kind dole divided at his gate. + Laurus among the meagre crowd appeared, + An old, revolted, unbelieving bard, + Who thronged, and shoved, and pressed, and would be heard. + + "Sakil's high roof, the Muse's palace, rung + With endless cries, and endless songs he sung. + To bless good Sakil Laurus would be first; + But Sakil's prince and Sakil's God he curst. + Sakil without distinction threw his bread, + Despised the flatterer, but the poet fed." + +_Laurus_, of course, stands for Dryden, and _Sakil_ for +Dorset. + +Footnote 23: _The Squire of Alsatia_ is said to have realized him +£130. + +Footnote 24: _An Allusion to the Tenth Satire of the First Book of +Horace_.--The word "censure" will, of course, be understood to mean +_judgment_, not _condemnation_. + +Footnote 25: _Imitation of Horace_, Bk. ii. Epist. i. + +Footnote 26: See the _History of England_, Vol. IV., Chapter 17, +for reference to Shadwell's _Volunteers_. + +Footnote 27: _History of England_, Chapter 19. + + + + +THE ROMANCE OF A GLOVE. + + +"Halt!" cried my travelling companion. "Property overboard!" + +The driver pulled up his horses; and, before I could prevent him, +Westwood leaped down from the vehicle, and ran back for the article +that had been dropped. + +It was a glove,--my glove, which I had inadvertently thrown out, in +taking my handkerchief from my pocket. + +"Go on, driver!" and he tossed it into my hand as he resumed his seat +in the open stage. + +"Take your reward," I said, offering him a cigar; "but beware of +rendering me another such service!" + +"If it had been your hat or your handkerchief, be sure I should have +let it lie where it fell. But a glove,--that is different. I once +found a romance in a glove. Since then, gloves are sacred." And +Westwood gravely bit off the end of his cigar. + +"A romance? Tell me about that. I am tired of this endless stretch of +sea-like country, these regular ground-swells; and it's a good +two-hours' ride yet to yonder headland, which juts out into the +prairie, between us and the setting sun. Meanwhile, your romance." + +"Did I say romance? I fear you would hardly think it worthy of the +name," said my companion. "Every life has its romantic episodes, or, +at least, incidents which appear such to him who experiences them. But +these tender little histories are usually insipid enough when told. I +have a maiden aunt, who once came so near having an offer from a pale +stripling, with dark hair, seven years her junior, that to this day +she often alludes to the circumstance, with the remark, that she +wishes she knew some competent novel-writer in whom she could confide, +feeling sure that the story of that period of her life would make the +groundwork of a magnificent work of fiction. Possibly I inherit my +aunt's tendency to magnify into extraordinary proportions trifles +which I look at through the double convex lens of a personal +interest. So don't expect too much of my romance, and you shall hear +it. + +"I said I found it in a glove. It was by no means a remarkable +glove,--middle-sized, straw-colored, and a neat fit for this hand, in +which I now hold your very excellent cigar. Of course, there was a +young lady in the case;--let me see,--I don't believe I can tell you +the story," said Westwood, "after all!" + +I gently urged him to proceed. + +"Pshaw!" said he, after kindling his cigar with a few vigorous whiffs, +"what's the use of being foolish? My aunt was never diffident about +telling her story, and why should I hesitate to tell mine? The young +lady's name,--we'll call her simply Margaret. She was a blonde, with +hazel eyes and dark hair. Perhaps you never heard of a blonde with +hazel eyes and dark hair? She was the only one I ever saw; and there +was the finest contrast imaginable between her fair, fresh complexion, +and her superb tresses and delicately-traced eyebrows. She was +certainly lovely, if not handsome; and--such eyes! It was an event in +one's life, Sir, just to look through those luminous windows into her +soul. That could not happen every day, be sure! Sometimes for weeks +she kept them turned from me, the ivory shutters half-closed, or the +mystic curtains of reserve drawn within; then, again, when I was +tortured with unsatisfied yearnings, and almost ready to despair, she +would suddenly turn them upon me, the shutters thrown wide, the +curtains away, and a flood of radiance streaming forth, that filled me +so full of light and gladness, that I had no shadowy nook left in me +for a doubt to hide in. She must have been conscious of this power of +expression. She used it so sparingly, and, it seemed to me, artfully! +But I always forgave her when she did use it, and cherished resentment +only when she did not. + +"Margaret was shy and proud; I could never completely win her +confidence; but I knew, I knew well at last, that her heart was +mine. And a deep, tender, woman's heart it was, too, despite her +reserve. Without many words, we understood each other, and +so----Pshaw!" said Westwood, "my cigar is out!" + +"On with the story!" + +"Well, we had our lovers' quarrels, of course. Singular, what foolish +children love makes of us!--rendering us sensitive, jealous, exacting, +in the superlative degree. I am sure, we were both amiable and +forbearing towards all the world besides; but, for the powerful reason +that we loved, we were bound to misinterpret words, looks, and +actions, and wound each other on every convenient occasion. I was +pained by her attentions to others, or perhaps by an apparent +preference of a book or a bouquet to me. Retaliation on my part and +quiet persistence on hers continued to estrange us, until I generally +ended by conceding everything, and pleading for one word of kindness, +to end my misery. + +"I was wrong,--too quick to resent, too ready to concede. No doubt, it +was to her a secret gratification to exercise her power over me; and +at last I was convinced that she wounded me purposely, in order to +provoke a temporary estrangement, and enjoy a repetition of her +triumph. + +"It was at a party; the thing she did was to waltz with a man whom she +knew I detested, whom _I_ knew _she_ could not respect, and +whose half-embrace, as he whirled her in the dance, almost put murder +into my thoughts. + +"'Margaret,' I said, 'one last word! If you care for me, beware!' + +"That was a foolish speech, perhaps. It was certainly +ineffectual. She persisted, looking so calm and composed, that a great +weight fell upon my heart. I walked away; I wandered about the +saloons; I tried to gossip and be gay; but the wound was too deep. + +"I accompanied her home, late in the evening. We scarcely spoke by the +way. At the door, she looked me sadly in the face,--she gave me her +hand; I thought it trembled. + +"'Good-night!' she said, in a low voice. + +"'Good-bye!' I answered, coldly, and hurried from the house. + +"It was some consolation to hear her close the door after I had +reached the corner of the street, and to know that she had been +listening to my footsteps. But I was very angry. I made stern +resolutions; I vowed to myself, that I would wring her heart, and +never swerve from my purpose until I had wrung out of it abundant +drops of sorrow and contrition. How I succeeded you shall hear. + +"I had previously engaged her to attend a series of concerts with me; +an arrangement which I did not now regret, and for good reasons. Once +a week, with famous punctuality, I called for her, escorted her to the +concert-room, and carefully reconducted her home,--letting no +opportunity pass to show her a true gentleman's deference and +respect,--conversing with her freely about music, books, anything, in +short, except what we both knew to be deepest in each other's +thoughts. Upon other occasions, I avoided her, and even refrained from +going to places where she was expected,--especially where she knew +that I knew she was expected. + +"Well," continued Westwood, "my designs upon her heart, which I was +going to wring so unmercifully, did not meet with very brilliant +success. To confess the humiliating truth, I soon found that I was +torturing myself a good deal more than I was torturing her. As a last +and desperate resort, what do you think I did?" + +"You probably asked her to ask your forgiveness." + +"Not I! I have a will of adamant, as people find, who tear away the +amiable flowers and light soil that cover it; and she had reached the +impenetrable, firm rock. I neither made any advances towards a +reconciliation nor invited any. But I'll tell you what I did do, as a +final trial of her heart. I had, for some time, been meditating a +European tour, and my interest in her had alone kept me at home. Some +friends of mine were to sail early in the spring, and I now resolved +to accompany them. I don't know how much pride and spite there was in +the resolution,--probably a good deal. I confess I wished to make her +suffer,--to show her that she had calculated too much upon my +weakness,--that I could be strong and happy without her. Yet, with all +this bitter and vindictive feeling, I listened to a very sweet and +tender whisper in my heart, which said, 'Now, if her love speaks +out,--now, if she says to me one true, kind, womanly word,--she shall +go with me, and nothing shall ever take her from me again!' The +thought of what _might_ be, if she would but say that word, and +of what _must_ be, irrevocably, if her pride held out, shook me +mightily. But my resolution was taken: I would trust the rest to fate. + +"On the day of the last concert, I imparted the secret of my intended +journey to a person who, I felt tolerably sure, would rush at once to +Margaret with the news. Then, in the evening, I went for her; I was +conscious that my manner towards her was a little more tender, or +rather, a little less coldly courteous, that night, than it had +usually been of late; for my feelings were softened, and I had never +seen her so lovely. I had never before known what a treasure I was +about to lose. The subject of my voyage was not mentioned, and if she +had heard of it, she accepted the fact without the least +visible concern. Her quietness under the circumstances chilled +me,--disheartened me quite. I am not one of those who can give much +superfluous love, or cling with unreasonable, blind passion to an +object that yields no affection in return. A quick and effectual +method of curing a fancy in persons of my temperament is to teach them +that it is not reciprocated. Then it expires like a flame cut off from +the air, or a plant removed from the soil. The death-struggle, the +uprooting, is the painful thing; but when the heart is thoroughly +convinced that its love is misplaced, it gives up, with one last sigh +as big as fate, sheds a few tears, says a prayer or two, thanks God +for the experience, and becomes a wiser, calmer,--yes, and a happier +heart than before." + +"True," I said; "but our hearts are not thus easily convinced." + +"Ay, there's the rub. It is for want of a true perception. There +cannot be a true love without a true perception. Love is for the soul +to know, from its own intuition,--not for the understanding to +believe, from the testimony of those very unreliable witnesses, called +eyes and ears. This seems to have been my case,--my soul was aware of +_her_ love, and all the evidence of my external senses could not +altogether destroy that interior faith. But that evening I said,--'I +believe you now, my senses! I doubt you now, my soul!--she never loved +me!' So I was really very cold towards her--for about twenty minutes. + +"I walked home with her;--we were both silent; but at the door she +asked me to go in. Here my calmness deserted me, and I could hardly +hold my heart, while I replied,-- + +"'If you particularly wish it.' + +"'If I did not, I should not ask you,' she said; and I went in. + +"I was ashamed and vexed at myself for trembling so,--for I was in a +tremor from head to foot. There was company in the parlors,--some of +Margaret's friends. I took my seat upon a sofa, and soon she came and +sat by my side. + +"'I suppose,' said one, 'Mr. Westwood has been telling Margaret all +about it.' + +"'About what?' Margaret inquired,--and here the truth flashed upon +me,--the news of my proposed voyage had not yet reached her! She +looked at me with a troubled, questioning expression, and said,-- + +"'I felt that something was going to happen. Tell me what it is.' + +"I answered,--'Your friend can best explain what she means.' + +"Then out came the secret. A shock of surprise sent the color from +Margaret's face; and raising her eyes, she asked, quite calmly, but in +a low and unnatural tone,-- + +"'Is this so?' + +"I said, 'I suppose I cannot deny it.' + +"'You are really going?' + +"'I am really going.' + +"She could not hide her agitation. Her white face betrayed her. Then +I was glad, wickedly glad, in my heart,--and vain enough to be +gratified that others should behold and know I held a power over +her. Well,--but I suffered for that folly. + +"'I feel hurt,' she said, after a little while, 'because you have not +told me this. You have no sister,' (this was spoken very quietly,) +'and it would have been a privilege for me to take a sister's place, +and do for you those little things which sisters do for brothers who +are going on long journeys.' + +"I was choked;--it was a minute before I could speak. Then I said that +I saw no reason why she should tax her time or thoughts to do anything +for me. + +"'Oh, you know,' she said, 'you have been kind to me,--so much kinder +than I have deserved!' + +"It was unendurable,--the pathos of the words! I was blinded, +stifled,--I almost groaned aloud. If we had been alone, there our +trial would have ended. I should have snatched her to my soul. But +the eyes of others were upon us, and I steeled myself. + +"'Besides,' I said, 'I know of nothing that you can do for me.' + +"'There must be many little things;--to begin with, there is your +glove, which you are tearing to pieces.' + +"True, I was tearing my glove,--she was calm enough to observe it! +That made me angry. + +"'Give it to me; I will mend it for you. Haven't you other gloves that +need mending?' + +"I, who had triumphed, was humbled. + +"My heart was breaking,--and she talked of mending gloves! I did not +omit to thank her. I coldly arose to go. + +"Well, I felt now that it was all over. The next day I secured my +passage in the steamer in which my friends were to sail. I took pains +that Margaret should hear of that, too. Then came the preparations for +travel,--arranging affairs, writing letters, providing myself with a +compact and comfortable outfit. Europe was in prospect,--Paris, +Switzerland, Italy, lands to which my dreams had long since gone +before me, and to which I now turned my eyes with reawakening +aspirations. A new glory arose upon my life, in the light of which +Margaret became a fading star. It was so much easier than I had +thought, to give her up, to part from her! I found that I could forget +her, in the excitement of a fresh and novel experience; while +she--could she forget me? When lovers part, happy is he who goes! alas +for the one that is left behind! + +"One day, when I was busy with the books which I was to take with me, +a small package was handed in. I need not tell you that I experienced +a thrill, when I saw Margaret's handwriting upon the wrapper. I tore +it open,--and what think you I found? My glove! Nothing else. I +smiled bitterly, to see how neatly she had mended it; then I sighed; +then I said, 'It is finished!' and tossed the glove disdainfully into +my trunk. + +"On the day before that fixed for the sailing of the steamer, I made +farewell calls upon many of my friends,--among others, upon +Margaret. But, through the perversity of pride and will, I did not go +alone,--I took with me Joseph, a mutual acquaintance, who was to be my +_compagnon de voyage_. I felt some misgivings, to see how +Margaret had changed; she was so softened, and so pale! + +"The interview was a painful one, and I cut it short. As we were going +out, she gently detained me, and said,-- + +"'Did you receive--your glove?' + +"'Oh, yes,' I said, and thanked her for mending it. + +"'And is this all--all you have to say?' she asked. + +"'I have nothing more to say--except good-bye.' + +"She held my hand. 'Nothing else?' + +"'No,--it is useless to talk of the past, Margaret; and the +future--may you be happy!--Good-bye!' + +"I thought she would speak; I could not believe she would let me go; +but she did! I bore up well, until night. Then came a revulsion. I +walked three times past the house, wofully tempted, my love and my +will at cruel warfare; but I did not go in. At midnight I saw the +light in her room extinguished; I knew she had retired, but whether to +sleep, or weep, or pray--how could I tell? I went home. I did not +close my eyes that night. I was glad to see the morning come, after +_such_ a night! + +"The steamer was to sail at ten. The bustle of embarkation; strange +scenes and strange faces; parting from friends; the ringing of the +bell; last adieus,--some, who were to go with us, hurrying aboard, +others, who were to stay behind, as hastily going ashore; the +withdrawal of the plank,--sad sight to many eyes! casting off the +lines, the steamer swinging heavily around, the rushing, irregular +motion of the great, slow paddles; the waving of handkerchiefs from +the decks, and the responsive signals from the crowd lining the wharf; +off at last,--the faces of friends, the crowd, the piers, and, lastly, +the city itself, fading from sight; the dash of spray, the freshening +breeze, the novel sight of our little world detaching itself and +floating away; the feeling that America was past, and Europe was +next;--all this filled my mind with animation and excitement, which +shut out thoughts of Margaret. Could I have looked with clairvoyant +vision, and beheld her then, locked in her chamber, should I have been +so happy? Oh, what fools vanity and pride make of us! Even then, with +my heart high-strung with hope and courage, had I known the truth, I +should have abandoned my friends, the voyage, and Europe, and returned +in the pilot's boat, to find something more precious than all the +continents and countries of the globe, in the love of that heart which +I was carelessly flinging away." + +Here Westwood took breath. The sun was now almost set. The prairie was +still and cool; the heavy dews were beginning to fall; the shadows of +the green and flowered undulations filled the hollows, like a rising +tide; the headland, seen at first so far and small, was growing +gradually large and near; and the horses moved at a quicker +pace. Westwood lighted his cigar, drew a few whiffs, and proceeded. + +"We had a voyage of eleven days. But to me an immense amount of +experience was crowded into that brief period. The fine exhilaration +of the start,--the breeze gradually increasing to a gale; then +horrible sea-sickness, home-sickness, love-sickness; after which, the +weather which sailors love, games, gayety, and flirtation. There is no +such social freedom to be enjoyed anywhere as on board an ocean +steamer. The breaking-up of old associations, the opening of a fresh +existence, the necessity of new relationships,--this fuses the crust +of conventionality, quickens the springs of life, and renders +character sympathetic and fluent. The past is easily put away; we +become plastic to new influences; we are delighted at the discovery of +unexpected affinities, and astonished to find in ourselves so much +wit, eloquence, and fine susceptibility, which we did not before dream +we possessed. + +"This freedom is especially provocative of flirtation. We see each +fair brow touched with a halo whose colors are the reflection of our +own beautiful dreams. Loveliness is ten-fold more lovely, bathed in +this atmosphere of romance; and manhood is invested with ideal +graces. The love within us rushes, with swift, sweet heart-beats, to +meet the love responsive in some other. Don't think I am now artfully +preparing your mind to excuse what I am about to confess. Take these +things into consideration, if you will; then think as you please of +the weakness and wild impulse with which I fell in love with---- + +"We will call her Flora. The most superb, captivating creature that +ever ensnared the hearts of the sons of Adam. A fine olive +complexion; magnificent dark auburn hair; eyes full of fire and +softness; lips that could pout or smile with incomparable fascination; +a figure of surprising symmetry, just voluptuous enough. But, after +all, her great power lay in her freedom from all affectation and +conventionality,--in her spontaneity, her free, sparkling, and +vivacious manners. She was the most daring and dazzling of women, +without ever appearing immodest or repulsive. She walked with such +proud, secure steps over the commonly accepted barriers of social +intercourse, that even those who blamed her and pretended to be +shocked were compelled to admire. She was the belle, the Juno, of the +saloon, the supreme ornament of the upper deck. Just twenty,--not +without wit and culture,--full of poetry and enthusiasm. Do you blame +me?" + +"Not a whit," I said; "but for Margaret"---- + +"Ah, Margaret!" said Westwood, with a sigh. "But, you see, I had given +her up. And when one love is lost, there sink such awful chasms into +the soul, that, though they cannot be filled, we must at least bridge +them over with a new affection. The number of marriages built in this +way, upon false foundations of hollowness and despair, is +incomputable. We talk of jilted lovers and disappointed girls +marrying 'out of spite.' No doubt, such petty feeling hurries forward +many premature matches. But it is the heart, left shaken, unsupported, +wretchedly sinking, which reaches out its feelers for sympathy, +catches at the first penetrable point, and clings like a helpless vine +to the sunny-sided wall of the nearest consolation. If you wish to +marry a girl and can't, and are weak enough to desire her still, this +is what you should do: get some capable man to jilt her. Then seize +your chance. All the affections which have gone out to him, unmet, +ready to droop, quivering with the painful, hungry instinct to grasp +some object, may possibly lay hold of you. Let the world sneer; but +God pity such natures, which lack the faith and fortitude to live and +die true to their best love! + +"Out of my own mouth do I condemn myself? Very well, I condemn myself; +_peccavi_! I If I had ever loved Margaret, then I did not love +Flora. The same heart cannot find its counterpart indifferently in two +such opposites. What charmed me in one was her purity, softness, and +depth of soul. What fascinated me in the other was her bloom, beauty, +and passion. Which was the true sympathy? + +"I did not stop to ask that question when it was most important that +it should be seriously considered. I rushed into the crowd of +competitors for Flora's smiles, and distanced them all. I was pleased +and proud that she took no pains to conceal her preference for me. We +played chess; we read poetry out of the same book; we ate at the same +table; we sat and watched the sea together, for hours, in those clear, +bright days; we promenaded the deck at sunset, her hand upon my arm, +her lips forever turning up tenderly towards me, her eyes pouring +their passion into me. Then those glorious nights, when the ocean was +a vast, wild, fluctuating stream, flashing and sparkling about the +ship, spanned with a quivering bridge of splendor on one side, and +rolling off into awful darkness and mystery, on the other; when the +moon seemed swinging among the shrouds like a ball of white fire; when +the few ships went by like silent ghosts; and Flora and I, in a long +trance of happiness, kept the deck, heedless of the throng of +promenaders, forgetful of the past, reckless of the future, aware only +of our own romance, and the richness of the present hour. + +"Joseph, my travelling-companion, looked on, and wrote letters. He +showed me one of these, addressed to a friend of Margaret's. In it he +extolled Flora's beauty, piquancy, and supremacy; related how she made +all the women jealous and all the men mad; and hinted at my triumph. I +knew that that letter would meet Margaret's eyes, and was vain enough +to be pleased. + +"At last, one morning, at daybreak, I went on deck, and saw the shores +of England. Only a few days before, we had left America behind us, +brown and leafless, just emerging from the long gloom of winter; and +now the slopes of another world arose green and inviting in the flush +of spring. There was a bracing breeze; the dingy waters of the Mersey +rolled up in wreaths of beauty; the fleets of ships, steamers, sloops, +lighters, pilot-boats, bounding over the waves, meeting, tacking, +plunging, swaying gracefully under the full-swelling canvas, presented +a picture of wonderful animation; and the mingling hues of sunshine +and mist hung over all. I paced the deck, solemnly joyful, swift +thoughts pulsing through me of a dim far-off Margaret, of a near +radiant Flora, of hope and happiness superior to fate. It was one of +those times when the excited soul transfigures the world, and we +marvel how we could ever succumb to a transient sorrow while the whole +universe blooms, and an infinite future waits to open for us its doors +of wonder and joy. + +"In this state of mind I was joined by Flora. She laid her hand on my +arm, and we walked up and down together. She was serious, almost sad, +and she viewed the English hills with a pensiveness which became her +better than mirth. + +"'So,' she sighed, 'all our little romances come to an end!' + +"'Not so,' I said; 'or if one romance ends, it is to give place to +another, still truer and sweeter. Our lives may be all a succession of +romances, if we will make them so. I think now I will never doubt the +future; for I find, that, when I have given up my dearest hopes, my +best-beloved friends, and accepted the gloomy belief that all life +besides is barren,--then comes some new experience, filling my empty +cup with a still more delicious wine.' + +"'Don't vex me with your philosophy!' said Flora. 'I don't know +anything about it. All I know is this present,--this sky, this earth, +this sea, and the joy between, which I can't give up quite so easily +as you can, with your beautiful theory, that something better awaits +you.' + +"'I have told you,' I replied,--for I had been quite frank with +her,--'how I left America,--what a blank life was to me then; and did +I not turn my back upon all that to meet face to face the greatest +happiness which I have ever yet known? Ought not this to give me faith +in the divinity that shapes our ends?' + +"'And so,' she answered, 'when I have lost you, I shall have the +satisfaction of thinking that you are enjoying some still more +exquisite consolation for the slight pangs you may have felt at +parting from me! Your philosophy will make it easy for you to say, +"Good-bye! it was a pretty romance; I go to find prettier ones +still"; and then forget me altogether!' + +"'And you,' I said, 'will that be easy for you?' + +"'Yes,' she cried, with spirit,--'anything is easy to a proud, +impetuous woman, who finds that the brief romance of a ten-days' +acquaintance has already become tiresome to the second party. I am +glad I have enjoyed what I have; that is so much gain, of which you +cannot rob me; and now I can say good-bye as coolly as you, or I can +die of shame, or I can at once walk over this single rail into the +water, and quench this little candle, and so an end!' + +"She sprang upon a bench, and, I swear to you, I thought she was going +down! I was so exalted by this passionate demonstration, that I should +certainly have gone over with her, and felt perfectly content to die +in her arms,--at least, until I began to realize what a very +disagreeable bath we had chosen to drown in. + +"I drew her away; I walked up and down with that superb creature +panting and palpitating almost upon my heart; I poured into her ear I +know not what extravagant vows; and before the slow-handed sailors had +fastened their cable to the buoy in the channel, we had knotted a more +subtile and difficult noose, not to be so easily undone! + +"Now see what strange, variable fools we are! Months of tender +intercourse had failed to bring about anything like a positive +engagement between Margaret and myself; and here behold me irrevocably +pledged to Flora, after a brief ten-days' acquaintance! + +"Six mortal hours were exhausted in making the steamer fast,--in +sending off her Majesty's mails, of which the cockney speaks with a +tone of reverence altogether disgusting to us free-minded +Yankees,--and in entertaining the custom-house inspectors, who paid a +long and tedious visit to the saloon and our luggage. Then we were +suffered to land, and enter the noisy, solid streets of Liverpool, +amid the donkeys and beggars and quaint scenes which strike the +American so oddly upon a first visit. All this delay, the weariness +and impatience, the contrast between the morning and the hard, grim +reality of mid-day, brought me down from my elevation. I felt alarmed +to think of what had passed. I seemed to have been doing some wild, +unadvised act in a fit of intoxication. Margaret came up before me, +sad, silent, reproachful; and as I gazed upon Flora's bedimmed face, I +wondered how I had been so charmed. + +"We took the first train for London, where we arrived at midnight. Two +weeks in that vast Babel,--then, ho! for Paris! Twelve hours by rail +and steamer carried us out of John Bull's dominions into the brilliant +metropolis of his French neighbor. Joseph accompanied us, and wrote +letters home, filled with gossip which I knew, or hoped, would make +Margaret writhe. I had not found it so easy to forget her as I had +supposed it would be. Flora's power over me was sovereign; but when I +was weary of the dazzle and whirl of the life she led me,--when I +looked into the depths of my heart, and saw what the thin film of +passion and pleasure concealed,--in those serious moments which +would come, and my soul put stern questions to me,--then, +Sir,--then--Margaret had her revenge. + +"A month, crowded and glittering with novelty and incident, preceded +our departure for Switzerland. I accompanied Flora's party; Joseph +remained behind. We left Paris about the middle of June, and returned +in September. I have no words to speak of that era in my life. I saw, +enjoyed, suffered, learned so much! Flora was always glad, +magnificent, irresistible. But, as I knew her longer, my moments of +misgiving became more frequent and profound. If I had aspired to +nothing higher than a life of sensuous delights, she would have been +all I could wish. But---- + +"We were to spend the winter in Italy. Meanwhile, we had another month +in Paris. Here I had found Joseph again, who troubled me a good deal +with certain rumors he had received concerning Margaret. According to +these, she had been in feeble health ever since we left, and her +increasing delicacy was beginning to alarm her friends. 'But,' added +another of Joseph's correspondents, 'don't let Westwood flatter +himself that he is the cause, for she is cured of him; and there is +talk of an engagement between her and a handsome young clergyman, who +is both eloquent and fascinating.' + +"This bit of gossip made me very bitter and angry. 'Forget me so +soon?' I said; 'and receive the attentions of another man?' You see +how consistent I was, to condemn her for the very fault I had myself +been so eager to commit! + +"Well, the round of rides, excursions, soirées, visits to the operas +and theatres, walks on the Boulevards, and in the galleries of the +Louvre, ended at last. The evening before we were to set out for the +South of France, I was at my lodgings, unpacking and repacking the +luggage which I had left in Joseph's care during my absence among the +Alps; I was melancholy, dissatisfied with the dissipations which had +exhausted my time and energies, and thinking of Margaret. I had not +preserved a single memento of her; and now I wished I had one,--if +only a withered leaf, or a line of her writing. In this mood, I +chanced to cast my eye upon a stray glove, in the bottom of my +trunk. I snatched at it eagerly, and, in the impulse of the +moment,--before I reflected that I was wronging Flora,--pressed it to +my lips. Yes, I found the place where it had been mended, the spot +Margaret's fingers had touched, and gave it a kiss for every +stitch. Then, incensed at myself, I flung it from me, and hurried from +the room. I walked towards the Place de la Concorde, where the +brilliant lamps burned like a constellation. I strolled through the +Elysian Fields, and watched the lights of the carriages swarming like +fire-flies up the long avenue; stopped by the concert gardens, and +listened to the glorified girls singing under rosy and golden +pavilions the last songs of the season; wandered about the +fountains,--by the gardens of the Tuileries, where the trees stood so +shadowy and still, and the statues gleamed so pale,--along the quays +of the Seine, where the waves rolled so dark below,--trying to settle +my thoughts, to master myself, to put Margaret from me. + +"Weary at length, I returned to my chamber, seated myself composedly, +and looked down at the glove which lay where I had thrown it, upon the +polished floor. Mechanically I stooped and took up a bit of folded +paper. It was written upon,--I unrolled it, and read. It was as if I +had opened the record of doom! Had the apparition of Margaret herself +risen suddenly before me, I could not have been more astounded. It was +a note from her,--and such a note!--full of love, suffering, and +humility,--poured out of a heart so deep and tender and true, that the +shallowness of my own seemed utterly contemptible, in comparison with +it. I cannot tell you what was written, but it was more than even my +most cruel and exacting pride could have asked. It was what would once +have made me wild with joy,--now it almost maddened me with +despair. I, who had often talked fine philosophy to others, had not a +grain of that article left to physic my own malady. But one course +seemed plain before me, and that was, to go quietly and drown myself +in the Seine, which I had seen flowing so swift and dark under the +bridges, an hour ago, when I stood and mused upon the tragical corpses +its solemn flood had swallowed. + +"I am a little given to superstition, and the mystery of the note +excited me. I have no doubt but there was some subtile connection +between it and the near presence of Margaret's spirit, of which I had +that night been conscious. But the note had reached me by no +supernatural method, as I was at first half inclined to believe. It +was, probably, the touch, the atmosphere, the ineffably fine influence +which surrounded it, which had penetrated my unconscious perceptions, +and brought her near. The paper, the glove, were full of +Margaret,--full of something besides what we vaguely call mental +associations,--full of emanations of the very love and suffering which +she had breathed into the writing. + +"How the note came there upon the floor was a riddle which I was too +much bewildered to explain by any natural means. Joseph, who burst in +upon me, in my extremity of pain and difficulty, solved it at once. It +had fallen out of the glove, where it had lain folded, silent, +unnoticed, during all this intervening period of folly and vexation of +soul. Margaret had done her duty, in time; I had only myself to blame +for the tangle in which I now found myself. I was thinking of Flora, +upon the deck of the steamship, when, in a moment of chagrin, she had +been so near throwing herself over; wondering to what fate her passion +and impetuosity would hurry her now, if she knew; cursing myself for +my weakness and perfidy; while Joseph kept asking me what I intended +to do. + +"'Do? do?' I said, furiously,--'I shall kill you, that is what I shall +do, if you drive me mad with questions which neither angels nor fiends +can answer!' + +"'I know what you will do,' said Joseph; 'you will go home and marry +Margaret.' + +"You can have no conception of the effect of these words,--_Go home +and marry Margaret_. I shook as I have seen men shake with the +ague. All that might have been,--what might be still,--the happiness +cast away, and perhaps yet within my reach,--the temptation of the +Devil, who appealed to my cowardice, to fly from Flora, break my vows, +risk my honor and her life, for Margaret,--all this rushed through me +tumultuously. At length I said,-- + +"'No, Joseph; I shall do no such thing. I can never be worthy of +Margaret; it will be only by fasting and prayer that I can make myself +worthy of Flora.' + +"'Will you start for Italy in the morning?' he asked, pitilessly. + +"'For Italy in the morning?' I groaned. Meet Flora, travel with her, +play the hypocrite, with smiles on my lips and hell in my heart,--or +thunderstrike her at once with the truth;--what was I to do? To some +men the question would, perhaps, have presented few difficulties. But +for me, Sir, who am not quite devoid of conscience, whatever you may +think,--let me tell you, I'd rather hang by sharp hooks over a +roasting fire than be again suspended as I was betwixt two such +alternatives, and feel the torture of both! + +"Having driven Joseph away, I locked myself into my room, and suffered +the torments of the damned in as quiet a manner as possible, until +morning. Then Joseph returned, and looked at me with dismay. + +"'For Heaven's sake!' he said, 'you ought not to let this thing kill +you,--and it will, if you keep on.' + +"'So much the better,' I said, 'if it kills nobody but me. But don't +be alarmed. Keep perfectly cool, and attend to the commission I am +going to trust to you. I can't see Flora this morning; I must gain a +little time. Go to the station of the Lyons railway, where I have +engaged to meet her party; say to her that I am detained, but that I +will join her on the journey. Give her no time to question you, and be +sure that she does not stay behind.' + +"'I'll manage it,--trust me!' said Joseph. And off he started. At the +end of two hours, which seemed twenty, he burst into my room, +crying,-- + +"'Good news! she is gone! I told her you had lost your passport, and +would have to get another from our minister.' + +"'What!' I exclaimed, 'you lied to her?' + +"'Oh! there was no other way!' said Joseph, ingenuously,--'she is so +sharp! They're to wait for you at Marseilles. But I'll manage that, +too. On their arrival at the Hotel d'Orient, they'll find a +telegraphic dispatch from me. I wager a hat, they'll leave in the +first steamer for Naples. Then you can follow at your leisure.' + +"'Thank you, Joseph.' + +"I felt relieved. Then came a reaction. The next day I was attacked +by fever. I know not how long I struggled against it, but it mastered +me. The last things I remember were the visits of friends, the strange +talk of a French physician, whispers and consultations, which I knew +were about me, yet took no interest in,--and at length Joseph rushing +to my bedside, in a flutter of agitation, and gasping,-- + +"'Flora!' + +"'What of Flora?' I demanded. + +"'I telegraphed, but she wouldn't go; she has come back; she is here!' + +"I was sinking back into the stupor from which I had been roused, when +I heard a rustling which seemed afar off, yet was in my chamber; then +a vision appeared to my sickened sight,--a face which I dimly thought +I had seen before,--a flood of curls and a rain of kisses showering +upon me,--sobs and devouring caresses,--Flora's voice calling me +passionate names; and I lying so passive, faintly struggling to +remember, until my soul sank whirling in darkness, and I knew no more. + +"One morning, I cannot tell you how long after, I awoke and found +myself in a strange-looking room, filled with strange objects, not the +least strange of which was the thing that seemed myself. At first I +looked with vague and motionless curiosity out of the Lethe from which +my mind slowly emerged; painless, and at peace; listlessly questioning +whether I was alive or dead,--whether the limp weight lying in bed +there was my body,--the meaning of the silence and the closed +curtains. Then, with a succession of painful flashes, as if the pole +of an electrical battery had been applied to my brain, memory +returned,--Margaret, Flora, Paris, delirium. I next remember hearing +myself groan aloud,--then seeing Joseph at my side. I tried to speak, +but could not. Upon my pillow was a glove, and he placed it against my +cheek. An indescribable, excruciating thrill shot through me; still I +could not speak. After that, came a relapse. Like Mrs. Browning's +poet, I lay + + + ''Twixt gloom and gleam, + With Death and Life at each extreme.' + + +"But one morning I was better. I could talk. Joseph bent over me, +weeping for joy. + +"'The danger is past!' he said. 'The doctors say you will get well!' + +"'Have I been so ill, then?' + +"'Ill?' echoed Joseph. 'Nobody thought you could live. We all gave you +up, except her;--and she'---- + +"'She!' I said,--'is she here?' + +"'From the moment of her arrival,' replied Joseph, 'she has never left +you. Oh, if you don't thank God for her,'--he lowered his +voice,--'and live all the rest of your life just to reward her, you +are the most ungrateful wretch! You would certainly have died but for +her. She has scarcely slept, till this morning, when they said you +would recover.' + +"Joseph paused. Every word he spoke went down like a weight of lead +into my soul. I had, indeed, been conscious of a tender hand soothing +my pillow, of a lovely form flitting through my dreams, of a breath +and magnetic touch of love infusing warm, sweet life into me,--but it +had always seemed Margaret, never Flora. + +"'The glove?' I asked. + +"'Here it is,' said Joseph. 'In your delirium you demanded it; you +would not be without it; you caressed it, and addressed to it the +tenderest apostrophes.' + +"'And Flora,--she heard?' + +"'Flora?' repeated Joseph. 'Don't you know--haven't you any idea--what +has happened? It has been terrible!' + +"'Tell me at once!' I said. 'Keep nothing back!' + +"'Immediately on her return from Marseilles,--you remember that?' + +"'Yes, yes! go on!' + +"'She established herself here. Nobody could come between her and you; +and a brave, true girl she proved herself. Oh, but she was wild about +you! She offered the doctors extravagant sums--she would have bribed +Heaven itself, if she could--not to let you die. But there came a +time,--one night, when you were raving about Margaret,--I tell +you, it was terrible! She would have the truth, and so I told +her,--everything, from the beginning. It makes me shudder now to think +of it,--it struck her so like death!' + +"'What did she say?--what did she do?' + +"'She didn't say much,--"Oh, my God! my God!"--something like that. +The next morning she showed me a letter which she had written to +Margaret.' + +"'To Margaret?' I started up, but fell back again, helpless, with a +groan. + +"'Yes,' said Joseph,--'and it was a letter worthy of the noblest +woman. I wrote another, for I thought Margaret ought to know +everything. It might save her life, and yours, too. In the mean time, +I had got worse news from her still,--that her health continued to +decline, and that her physician saw no hope for her except in a voyage +to Italy. But that she resolutely refused to undertake, until she got +those letters. You know the rest.' + +"'The rest?' I said, as a horrible suspicion flashed upon me. 'You +told me something terrible had happened.' + +"'Yes,--to Flora. But you have heard the worst. She is gone; she is by +this time in Rome.' + +"'Flora gone? But you said she was here.' + +"'_She?_ So _she_ is! But did you think I meant Flora? I +supposed you knew. Not Flora,--but Margaret! Margaret!' + +"I shrieked out, 'Margaret?' That's the last I remember,--at least, +the last I can tell. She was there,--I was in her arms;--she had +crossed the sea, not to save her own life, but mine. And Flora had +gone, and my dreams were true; and the breath and magnetic touch of +love, which infused warm, sweet life into me, and seemed not Flora's, +but Margaret's, were no illusion, and----what more can I tell? + +"From the moment of receiving those letters, Margaret's energies were +roused, and she had begun to regain her health. There is no such +potent medicine as hope and love. It had saved her, and it saved +me. My recovery was sure and speedy. The happiness which had seemed +too great, too dear to be ever possible, was now mine. She was with me +again, all my own! Only the convalescent, who feels the glow of love +quicken the pure pulses of returning health, knows what perfect bliss +is. + +"As soon as I was strong enough to travel, we set out for Italy, the +faithful Joseph accompanying us. We enjoyed Florence, its palaces and +galleries of art, the quaint old churches, about which the religious +sentiment of ages seems to hang like an atmosphere, the morning and +evening clamor of musical bells, the Arno, and the olive-crowned +Tuscan hills,--all so delightful to the senses and the soul. After +Florence, Naples, with its beautiful, dangerous, volcanic environs, +where the ancients aptly located their heaven and hell, and where a +luxurious, passionate people absorbs into its blood the spirit of the +soil, and the fire and languor of the clime. From Naples to Rome, +where we saw St Peter's, that bubble on the surface of the globe, +which the next earthquake may burst, the Vatican, with its marvels of +statuary, the ruined temples of the old gods and heroes, the Campagna, +the Pope, and--Flora. We had but a glimpse of her. It was one night, +at the Colosseum. We had been musing about that vast and solemn pile +by the moonlight, which silvered it over with indescribable beauty, +and at last, accompanied by our guides, bearing torches, we ascended +through dark and broken passages to the upper benches of the +amphitheatre. As we were passing along one side, we saw picturesquely +moving through the shadows of the opposite walls, with the immense +arena between, the red-flaring torches and half-illuminated figures of +another party of visitors. I don't know whether it was instinct, or +acuteness of vision, that suggested Flora; but, with a sudden leap of +the heart, I felt that she was there. We descended, and passed out +under the dark arches of the stupendous ruin. The other visitors +walked a little in advance of us,--two of the number lingering behind +their companions; and certain words of tenderness and passion we +heard, which strangely brought to my mind those nights on the +ocean-steamer. + +"'What is the matter with you?' said Margaret, looking in my face. + +"'Hush!' I whispered,--'there--that woman--is Flora!' + +"She clung to me,--I drew her closer, as we paused; and the happy +couple went on, over the ancient Forum, by the silent columns of the +ruined temples, and disappeared from sight upon the summit of the +Capitoline Hill. + +"A few months later, we heard of the marriage of Flora to an English +baronet; she is now _my Lady_, and I must do her the justice to +say that I never knew a woman better fitted to bear that title. As +for Margaret,--if you will return with me to my home on the Hudson, +after we have finished our hunt after those Western lands, you shall +see her, together with the loveliest pair of children that ever made +two proud parents happy. + +"And here," added Westwood, "we have arrived at the end of our day's +journey; we have had the Romance of the Glove, and now--let's have +some supper." + + + + +TO ----. + + +ON RECEIVING HIS "FEW VERSES FOR A FEW FRIENDS." + + +"(PRINTED, NOT PUBLISHED.)" + + + Well thought! Who would not rather hear + The songs to Love and Friendship sung, + Than those which move the stranger's tongue + And feed his unselected ear? + + Our social joys are more than fame; + Life withers in the public look: + Why mount the pillory of a book, + Or barter comfort for a name? + + Who in a house of glass would dwell, + With curious eyes at every pane? + To ring him in and out again + Who wants the public crier's bell? + + To see the angel in one's way, + Who wants to play the ass's part, + Bear on his back the wizard Art, + And in his service speak or bray? + + And who his manly locks would shave + And quench the eyes of common sense, + To share the noisy recompense + That mocked the shorn and blinded slave? + + The heart has needs beyond the head, + And, starving in the plenitude + Of strange gifts, craves its common food, + Our human nature's daily bread. + + We are but men: no gods are we + To sit in mid-heaven, cold and bleak, + Each separate, on his painful peak, + Thin-cloaked in self-complacency! + + Better his lot whose axe is swung + In Wartburg woods, or that poor girl's + Who by the Ilm her spindle whirls + And sings the songs that Luther sung, + + Than his, who, old and cold and vain, + At Weimar sat, a demigod, + And bowed with Jove's imperial nod + His votaries in and out again! + + Ply, Vanity, thy wingèd feet! + Ambition, hew thy rocky stair! + Who envies him who feeds on air + The icy splendors of his seat? + + I see your Alps above me cut + The dark, cold sky,--and dim and lone + I see ye sitting, stone on stone, + With human senses dulled and shut. + + I could not reach you, if I would, + Nor sit among your cloudy shapes; + And (spare the fable of the Grapes + And Fox) I would not, if I could. + + Keep to your lofty pedestals! + The safer plain below I choose: + Who never wins can rarely lose, + Who never climbs as rarely falls. + + Let such as love the eagle's scream + Divide with him his home of ice: + For me shall gentler notes suffice,-- + The valley-song of bird and stream, + + The pastoral bleat, the drone of bees, + The flail-beat chiming far away, + The cattle-low at shut of day, + The voice of God in leaf and breeze! + + Then lend thy hand, my wiser friend, + And help me to the vales below, + (In truth, I have not far to go,) + Where sweet with flowers the fields extend. + + + + +THE SINGING-BIRDS AND THEIR SONGS. + + +Those persons enjoy the most happiness, if possessed of a benevolent +heart and favored by ordinary circumstances of fortune, who have +acquired by habit and education the power of deriving pleasure from +objects that lie immediately around them. But these common sources of +happiness are opened to those only who are endowed with genius, or who +have received a certain kind of intellectual training. The more +ordinary the mental and moral organization and culture of the +individual, the more far-fetched and dear-bought must be his +enjoyments. Nature has given us in full development only those +appetites which are necessary to our physical well-being. She has +left our moral appetites and capacities in the germ, to be developed +by education and circumstances. Hence those agreeable sensations that +come chiefly from the exercise of the imagination, which may be called +the pleasures of sentiment, are available only to persons of a +peculiar refinement of mind. The ignorant and rude may be dazzled and +delighted by physical beauty, and charmed by loud and stirring sounds; +but those more simple melodies and less attractive colors and forms +that appeal to the mind for their principal effect act more powerfully +upon individuals of superior culture. + +In proportion as we have been trained to be agreeably affected by the +outward forms of Nature, and the sounds that proceed from the animate +and inanimate world, are we capable of being made happy without +resorting to expensive and vulgar recreations. It ought, therefore, to +be one of the chief points in the education of youth, while teaching +them the still more important offices of humanity, to cultivate and +enliven their susceptibility to the charms of natural objects. Then +would the aspects of Nature, continually changing with the progress of +the seasons and the sounds that enliven their march, satisfy, in a +great measure, that craving for agreeable sensations which leads +mankind away from humble and healthful pursuits to those of a more +artificial and exciting life. The value of such pleasures consists not +so much in their cheapness as in their favorable moral influences, +which improve the heart, while they lead the mind to observations that +pleasantly exercise and develope, without tasking its powers. The +quiet emotions, half musical and half poetical, which are awakened by +listening to the songs of birds, belong to this class of refined +enjoyments. + +But the music of birds, though agreeable to all, conveys positive and +durable pleasure only to those who have learned to associate with +their notes, in connection with the scenes of Nature, a thousand +interesting and romantic images. To many persons of this character it +affords more delight than the most brilliant music of the opera or the +concert. In vain, therefore, will it be said, as an objection, that +the notes of birds have no charm, save that which is derived from +association, and that, considered as music, they do not equal that of +the most simple reed or flageolet. It is sufficient to remark, that +the most delightful influences of Nature proceed from those sights and +sounds that appeal to the imagination and affections through the +medium of slight and almost insensible impressions made upon the eye +and the ear. At the moment when these physical impressions exceed a +certain mean, the spell is broken, and the enjoyment becomes sensual, +not intellectual. How soon, indeed, would the songs of birds lose +their effect, if they were loud and brilliant, like a band of +instruments! It is their simplicity that gives them their charm. + +As a further illustration of this point, it may be remarked that +simple melodies have among all people exercised a greater power over +the imagination than louder and more complicated music. Nature employs +a very small amount of physical sensation to create an intellectual +passion, and when an excess is used a diminished effect is produced. I +am persuaded that the effect of a great part of our sacred music is +lost by an excess of harmony and a too great volume of sound. On the +same principle, a loud crash of thunder deafens and terrifies; but its +low and distant rumbling produces an agreeable emotion of sublimity. + +The songs of birds are as intimately allied with poetry as with +music. The lark has been aptly denominated a "feathered lyric" by one +of the English poets; and the analogy becomes apparent when we +consider how much the song of a bird resembles a lyrical ballad in its +influence on the mind. Though it utters no words, how plainly it +suggests a long train of agreeable images of love, beauty, friendship, +and home! When a young person has suffered any severe wound of the +affections, he seldom fails, if endowed with a sensitive mind, to +listen to the birds as sharers in his affliction. Through them the +deities of the groves seem to offer him their consolation. By +indulging this habit of making companionship with the objects of +Nature, all pleasing sights and sounds gradually become certain +anodynes for his sorrow; and those who have this mental alembic for +turning grief into a poetic melancholy can seldom be reduced to a +state of absolute despondency. Poetry, or rather the poetic sentiment, +exalts all our pleasures and soothes all our afflictions by some +illusive charm, whether it be turned into the channel of religion or +romance. Without this reflection of light from the imagination, what +is the passion of love? and what is our love of beauty and of sweet +sounds, but a mere gravitation? + +The voice of every singing-bird has its associations in the minds of +all susceptible persons who were born and nurtured within the +precincts of its untutored minstrelsy. The music of birds is +modulated in pleasant unison with all the chords of affection and +imagination, filling the soul with a lively consciousness of happiness +and beauty, and soothing it with romantic visions of memory,--of love, +when it was an ethereal sentiment of adoration and not a passion, and +of friendship, when it was a passion and not an expedience,--of dear +and simple adventures, and of comrades who had part in them,--of +dappled mornings, and serene and glowing sunsets,--of sequestered +nooks and mossy seats in the old wood,--of paths by the riverside, and +flowers that smiled a bright welcome to our rambling,--of lingering +departures from home, and of old by-ways, overshadowed by trees and +hedged with roses and viburnums, that spread their shade and their +perfume around our path to gladden our return. By this pleasant +instrumentality has Nature provided for the happiness of those who +have learned to be delighted with the survey of her works, and with +the sound of those voices which she has appointed to communicate to +the human soul the joys of her inferior creation. + +The singing-birds, with reference to their songs, may be divided into +four classes. First, the Rapid Singers, whose song is uninterrupted, +of considerable length, and uttered with fervor, and in apparent +ecstasy. Second, the Moderate Singers, whose notes are slowly +modulated, but without pauses or rests between their different +strains. Third, the Interrupted Singers, who seldom modulate their +notes with rapidity, and make decided pauses between their several +strains, of which there are in general from five to eight or +nine. Fourth, the Warblers, whose notes consist of only one or two +strains, not combined into a song. + +The canary, among foreign birds, and the linnet and bobolink, among +American birds, are familiar examples of the first class; the common +robin and the veery of the second; the wood-thrush, the cat-bird, and +the mocking-bird, of the third; and the blue-bird, the pewee, and the +purple martin, of the fourth class. It may be added, that some birds +are nearly periodical in their habits of singing, preferring the +morning and evening, and occasional periods in other parts of the day, +while others sing almost indifferently at all hours. The greater +number of species, however, are more tuneful in the early morning than +at any other hour. + +June, in this part of the world, is the most vocal month of the +year. Many of our principal songsters do not arrive until near the +middle of May; and all, whether they come early or late, continue in +song throughout the month of June. The bobolink, which is one of the +first to become silent, continues vocal until the second week in +July. So nearly simultaneous is the discontinuance of the songs of +this species, that it might seem as if their silence were +preconcerted, and that by a vote they had, on a certain day, adjourned +over to another year. If an unusually genial day occurs about the +seventh of July, we may hear multitudes of them singing merrily on +that occasion. Should this time be followed by two or three +successive days of chilly and rainy weather, their tunefulness is so +generally brought to a close during this period, that we may not hear +another musical note from a single individual after the seventh. The +songs of birds are discontinued as soon as their amorous dalliances +and the care of their offspring have ceased. Hence those birds that +raise but one brood of young during the season, like the bobolink, are +the first to become silent. + +No one of the New England birds is an autumnal warbler; though the +song-sparrow often greets the fine mornings in October with his lays, +and the shore-lark, after spending the summer in Labrador and about +the shores of Hudson's Bay, is sometimes heard in autumn, soaring and +singing at the dawn of day, while on his passage to the South. The +bobolink, the veery, or Wilson's thrush, the red thrush, and the +golden robin, are silent after the middle of July; the wood-thrush, +the cat-bird, and the common robin, not until a month later; but the +song-sparrow alone continues to sing throughout the summer. The +tuneful season of the year, in New England, embraces a period of about +four months, from the middle of April to the middle of August. + +There are certain times of the day, as well as certain seasons of the +year, when the birds are most musical. The grand concert of the +feathered tribe takes place during the hour between dawn and sunrise. +During the remainder of the day they sing less in concert, though many +species are very musical at noonday, and seem, like the nocturnal +birds, to prefer the hour when others are silent. At sunset there is an +apparent attempt to unite once more in chorus, but this is far from +being so loud or so general as in the morning. The little birds which +I have classed in the fourth division are a very important +accompaniment to the anthem of dawn, their notes, though short, +serving agreeably to fill up the pauses made by the other +musicians. Thus, the hair-bird (_Fringilla Socialis_) has a sharp +and trilling note, without any modulation, and not at all melodious, +when heard alone; but in the morning it is the chief harmonizer of the +whole chorus, and serves, more than any other voice, to give unity and +symphony to the multitude of miscellaneous parts. + +There are not many birds whose notes could be accurately described +upon the gamut. The nearest approach we can make to accuracy is to +give some general idea of their time and modulation. Their musical +intervals can be distinguished but with difficulty, on account of the +rapidity of their utterance. I have often attempted to transcribe some +of their notes upon the musical scale, but I am persuaded that such +sketches can be only approximations to literal correctness. As +different individuals of the same species sing very differently, the +notes, as transcribed from the song of one individual, will never +exactly represent the song of another. If we listen attentively, +however, to a number of songs, we shall detect in all of them a +_theme_, as it is termed by musicians, of which the different +individuals of the species warble their respective variations. Every +song is, technically speaking, a _fantasia_ constructed upon this +theme, from which none of the species ever departs. + +It is very generally believed that the singing-birds are confined to +temperate latitudes, and that the tropical birds have not the gift of +song. That this is an error is apparent from the testimony of +travellers, who speak of the birds in the Sandwich Islands and New +Zealand as singing delightfully, and some fine songsters are +occasionally imported in cages from tropical climates. The origin of +this notion may be explained in several ways. It is worthy of notice +that within the tropics the singing season of different species of +birds does not occur at the same time. One species may be musical in +the spring, another in summer, and others in autumn and winter. When +one species, therefore, has begun to sing, another has ceased, so +that, at whatever time of the year the traveller stops, he hears but +few birds engaged in song. + +In the temperate latitudes, on the contrary, as soon as the birds +arrive, they commence building their nests, and become musical at the +same time. If a stranger from a tropical climate should arrive in this +country in the spring, and remain here during the months of May and +June, he would hear more birds singing together than he ever heard at +once in his own clime; but were he to arrive about the middle of July, +when the greater number of our birds have discontinued their songs, he +would probably, if he knew the reputation of the Northern birds, +marvel a little at their silence. If there are as many birds singing +at one time during the whole year, in the hot climates, as we hear in +this country in the latter half of summer, the greater average would +appear to be on the side of the former. + +It may also be remarked, that the singing-birds of the tropics are not +so well known as those of temperate latitudes which are inhabited by +civilized men. The savages and barbarians, who are the principal +inhabitants of hot countries, are seldom observant of the habits or +the voices of the singing-birds. A musician of the feathered race, as +well as a harpist or violinist, must have an appreciating audience, or +his powers can never be made known to the world. But even with the +same audience, the tropical singing-birds would probably be less +esteemed than songsters of equal merit in the temperate latitudes; +for, amid the stridulous and deafening sounds made by the insects in +warm climates, the notes of birds would be scarcely audible. + +We are still inclined to believe, however, that there is a larger +proportion of musical birds in the temperate than in the torrid zone, +because in the former region there are more of those species that +build low and live among the grass and shrubbery, and it is well known +that the singing-birds are mostly of the latter description. In warm +climates the vegetation consists chiefly of trees and tall vines, +forming together an umbrageous canopy overhead, with but a scanty +undergrowth. In temperate latitudes the shrubbery predominates, +especially in the most northerly parts. Moreover, the grasses that +furnish by their seeds a great proportion of the food of the smaller +birds are almost entirely wanting in the torrid zone. + +The birds that live in trees are remarkable for their brilliant +plumage; those that live upon the ground and in the shrubbery are +plainly dressed. This is a provision of Nature for their protection, +as the ground-birds must have a predominance of tints that resemble +the general hues of the surface of the earth. I do not know a single +brightly-plumed bird that nestles upon the ground, unless the bobolink +may be considered an exception. They are almost invariably colored +like sparrows. The birds that inhabit the trees, on the other hand, +need less of this protection, though the females are commonly of an +olive or greenish yellow, which harmonizes with the general hue of the +foliage, and screens them from observation, while sitting upon the +nest. The male, on the contrary, who seldom sits upon the nest, +requires a plumage that will render him conspicuous to the female and +to the young, after they have left their nest. It is remarkable, that +Nature, in all cases in which she has created a difference in the +plumage of the male and female, has used the hues of their plumage +only for the protection of the mother and the young, for whose +advantage she has dressed the male parent in colors that must somewhat +endanger his own safety. + +The color of the plumage of birds seems to bear less relation to their +powers of song than to their habitats; and as the birds that live in +trees are commonly less tuneful, they are more brilliantly arrayed. +The bird employs his song in wooing his mate, as well as in +entertaining her after she is wedded; and it is not unlikely that +Nature may have compensated those which are deficient in song by +giving them a superior beauty of plumage. As the offices of courtship +devolve entirely upon the males, it is the more necessary that they +should be possessed of conspicuous attractions; but as the task of +sitting upon the nest devolves upon the female, she requires more of +that protection which arises from the conformity of her plumage with +the general hue of the objects that surround her nest. While she is +sitting, the plain hues of her dress protect her from observation; but +when she leaves her nest to seek her companion, she is enabled by his +brilliant colors the more easily to discover him. The male is diligent +in providing for the wants of the offspring, and hence it is important +that his dress should render him conspicuous. When the young birds +have left the nest, upon seeing the flash of his plumage, they +immediately utter their call, and by this note, which might not +otherwise be sounded at the right moment, he detects them and supplies +them with food. Should a bird of prey suddenly come into their +neighborhood, he overlooks the plainly-dressed mother and off-spring, +and gives chase to the male parent, who not only escapes, but at the +same time diverts the attention of the foe from his defenceless +progeny. + +But the birds that build low, either upon the ground or among the +shrubbery, are exposed to a greater number and variety of +enemies. Hence it becomes necessary that the males as well as the +females should have that protection which is afforded by sobriety of +color. Not being made conspicuous by their plumage, they are endowed +with the gift of song, that they may make known their presence to +their mate and their young by their voice. I have often thought that +the song of the bird was designed by Nature for the benefit of the +young, no less than for the entertainment of his mate. The sounds +uttered by birds on account of their young always precede the period +of incubation. The common hen begins to cluck several days before she +begins to sit upon her eggs. In like manner the male singing-bird +commences his song when the pair are making ready to build their +nest. While his mate is sitting, his song reminds her of his presence, +and inspires her with a feeling of security and content, during the +period of her confinement. As soon as the young are hatched, they +begin to learn his voice and grow accustomed to it, and when they fly +from the nest they are prevented by the sound of it from wandering and +getting bewildered. If they happen to fly beyond certain bounds, the +song of the male parent warns them of their distance, and causes them +to turn and draw near the place from which it seems to issue. Thus the +song of the male bird, always uttered within a certain circumference, +of which the nest is the centre, becomes a kind of sentinel voice, to +keep the young birds within prudent limits. + +It is not easy to explain why a larger proportion of the birds that +occupy trees should be destitute of song, except on the supposition +that in such elevated situations the young are more easily guided by +sight than by hearing. Still there are many songsters which are +dressed in brilliant plumage, and of these we have some examples among +our native birds. These, however, are evident exceptions to the +general fact, and we may trace a plain analogy in this respect between +birds and insects. The musical insects are, we believe, invariably +destitute of brilliant plumage. Butterflies and moths do not sing; the +music of insects comes chiefly from the plainly-dressed locust and +grasshopper tribes. + + + + +OUR TALKS WITH UNCLE JOHN. + + +TALK NUMBER ONE. + +We were happy children, Alice and I, when, on Alice's sixteenth +birthday, we persuaded our father, the most indulgent parent in +Cincinnati, that there was no need of our going to school any longer; +not that our education was finished,--we did not even put up such a +preposterous plea as that,--but because Mrs. C. did not intend to send +Laura, and we did not believe any of our set of girls would go back +after the holidays. + +There is no being so facile as an American father, especially where +his daughters are concerned; and our dear father was no exception to +the general rule. So our school education was finished. For the +rest, for the real education of our minds and hearts, we took care of +ourselves. + +How could it be otherwise? Our father, a leading merchant in +Cincinnati, spent his days in his counting-room, and his evenings +buried in his newspapers or in his business calculations, on the +absorbing nature of which we had learned to build with such certainty, +that, when his consent was necessary to some scheme of pleasure, we +preferred our requests with such a nice adjustment of time, that the +answer generally was, "January 3d,--two thousand bales,--yes, my +dear,--and twelve are sixteen,--yes, Alice, don't bother me, child!" +and, armed with that unconscious assent, we sought our mother. + +"Papa says that we may go. Do you think, mamma, that Miss D. can have +our dresses in time?" + +Our dear mother, most faithful and indefatigable in her care for our +bodily wants, what time had she for aught else? With feeble health, +with poor servants, with a large house crowded with fine furniture, +and with the claims of a numerous calling and party-giving +acquaintance,--claims which both my father and herself imagined his +business and her social position made imperative,--what could she do +more than to see that our innumerable white skirts were properly +tucked, embroidered, washed, and starched, that our party dresses were +equal to those which Mrs. C. and Mrs. D. provided for their girls, and +that our bonnets were fashionable enough for Fourth Street? Could she +find time for anything more? Yes,--on our bodily ailments she always +found time to bestow motherly care, watchfulness, and sympathy; of our +mental ills she knew nothing. + +So we cared for ourselves, Alice and I, through those merry, +thoughtless two years that followed,--merry (not happy) in our +Fourth-Street promenades, our Saturday-afternoon assignations at the +dancing-school rooms, our parties and picnics; and merry still, but +thoughtless always, in our eager search for excitement in the novels, +whose perusal was our only literary enjoyment. + +Somehow we woke up,--somehow we groped our way out of our +frivolity. First came weariness, then impatience, and last a +passing-away of all things old and a putting-on of things new. + +I remember well the day when Alice first spoke out her unrest. My +pretty Alice! I see her now, as she flung herself across the foot of +the bed, and, her chin on her hand, watched me combing and parting my +hair. I see again those soft, dark brown eyes, so deep in their liquid +beauty that you lost yourself gazing down into them; again I see +falling around her that wealth of auburn hair of the true Titian +color, the smooth, low forehead, and the ripe, red lips, whose +mobility lent such varying expression to her face. + +At that moment the eyes drooped and the lips trembled with weariness. + +"Must we go to that tiresome party, Kate? We have been to three this +week; they are all alike." + +I looked at her. "Are you in earnest? will you stay at home? I know I +shall be tired to death; but what will Laura C. say? what will all +the girls think?" + +Alice raised herself on her elbow. "Kate, I don't believe it is any +matter what they think. Do we really care for any of them, except to +wish them well? and we can wish them well without being with them all +the time. Do you know, Kate, I have been tired to death of all this +for these three months? It was very well at first, when we first left +school; parties were pleasant enough then, but now"--and Alice sprang +from the bed and seated herself in a low chair at my feet, as, glowing +and eager, she went on, her face lighting with her rapid +speech,--"Kate, I have thought it over and over again, this tiresome, +useless life; it wears me out, and I mean to change it. You know we +may do just as we please; neither papa nor mamma will care. I shall stay +at home." + +"But what will people say?" I put in, feebly. + +Alice's eyes flashed. "You know, Kate, I don't care for 'people,' as +you call them. I only know that I am utterly weary of this petty +visiting and gossiping, this round of parties, concerts, and lectures, +where we meet the same faces. There is no harm in it that I know of, +but it is simply so stupid. If we met new people, it would be +something; but the same girls, the same beaux." + +"And George W. and Henry B., what will they do for partners to-night? +what will become of them?" + +Alice put up her lip. "They will console themselves with Laura C. and +those Kentucky girls from Louisville. For my part, I shall put on my +walking-dress, and go over the river to spend the evening with Uncle +John, and, what is more, I shall ask mamma to let me stay two or three +days." And, suiting the action to the word, she began to dress +hurriedly. + +"You will surely never go without me, Alice?" + +"You will never stay behind, if I do go, Kate," said she, looking back +at me laughingly. "But make haste, I shall gain mamma over in five +minutes; and we must be quick, if we are to reach Uncle John's before +tea-time." + +Uncle John,--even now that long years have passed, so long that it +seems to me as if I had gone into another state of existence, as if I +were not the same person as in those times,--even now the thought of +him makes my heart beat quick and the blood thrill more rapidly +through my veins. He was the delight of my childhood; far better, he +was the comfort and support of my after years. Even as a child, I +knew, knew by some intuitive perception, that Uncle John was not +happy. How soon I learned that he was a disappointed man I cannot +tell; but long before I grew up into womanhood I was conscious that he +had made some mistake in life, that some cloud hung over him. I never +asked, I never talked on the subject, even to Alice; there was always +an understanding between us that we should be silent about that which +each of us felt with all the certainty of knowledge. + +But if Uncle John was unhappy himself, who was there that he did not +make happy? No one who came near him,--from his nieces whom he petted +and spoiled, down to the little negroes who rolled, unrebuked, over +the grass before his window in summer, or woke him on a Christmas +morning with their shrill "Christmas gift, Massa John!" Not that Uncle +John was a busybody, troubling himself about many things, and seeking +out occasions for obtruding his kindnesses. He lived so secluded a +life in the old family-house on the outskirts of Newport, (we were a +Kentucky family,) as to raise the gossiping curiosity of all new +residents, and to call forth the explanatory remark from the old +settlers, that the Delanos were all queer people, but John Delano was +the queerest of them all. + +So Uncle John spent his time between his library and his garden, while +Old Aunt Molly took upon herself the cares of the household, and kept +the pantry always in a condition to welcome the guests, to whom, with +Kentucky hospitality, Uncle John's house was always open. Courteous he +was as the finest gentleman of olden times, and sincerely glad to see +his friends, but I have thought sometimes that he was equally glad to +have them go away. While they were with him he gave them the truest +welcome, leaving garden and books to devote himself to their +entertainment; but I have detected a look of relief on his face as he +shut the gate upon them and sought the shelter of his own little +study, that sanctum which even we children were not allowed to enter +except on special occasions, on a quiet winter evening, or, perhaps, +on as quiet a summer morning. + +Uncle John had not always lived in the old house. We knew, that, after +Grandpapa's death, it had been shut up,--for my father's business +engagements would not allow my mother to reside in it, and Uncle John +had been for years among the Indians in the far Northwest. We had +heard of him sometimes, but we had never seen him, we hardly realized +that he was a living person, till one day he suddenly appeared among +us, rough-looking and uncouth in his hunter's dress, with his heavy +beard and his long hair, bringing with him his multifarious +assortment, so charming to our eyes, of buffalo-robes and elk-horns, +wolf-skins and Indian moccasins. + +He staid with us that winter, and very merry and happy he seemed to us +at first;--looking back upon it now, I should call it, not happiness, +but excitement;--but as the winter passed on, even we children saw +that all was not right with him. He gradually withdrew himself from +the constant whirl of society in our house, and, by the spring, had +settled himself in the old home at Newport, adding to his old +furniture only his books, which he had been all winter collecting, and +the primitive _in_conveniences of his own room, which his rough +Western life had rendered indispensable to him. His study presented a +singular mixture of civilization and barbarism, and its very +peculiarities made it a delight to Alice and me. There were a few rare +engravings on the walls, hung between enormous antlers which supported +rough-looking rifles and uncouth hunting-shirts,--cases of elegantly +bound and valuable books, half hidden by heavy buffalo-robes marked +all over with strange-looking hieroglyphics which told the Indian +_coups_,--study-chairs of the most elaborate manufacture, with +levers and screws to incline them to any, the idlest, inclination, +over the backs of which hung white wolf-skins, mounted, claws and all, +with brilliant red cloth,--and in the corner, on the pretty Brussels +carpet, the prettiest that mamma could find at Shellito's, lay the bag +of Indian weed (Uncle John scorned tobacco) with which he filled his +pipe every evening, and the moccasins which he always wore when at +home. + +In vain did Alice and I spend our eyesight in embroidering slippers +for him; our Christmas gifts were received with a kiss or a stroke of +the head, and then put into Aunt Molly's hands to be taken care of, +while he still wore the rough moccasins, made far up among the +Blackfoot Indians, which he laughingly declared were warmer, cooler, +softer, and stronger than any slippers or boots that civilized +shoemaker ever turned off his last. + +Quiet as it was at the old house, it had always been a source of +happiness to us to be allowed to make a visit to Uncle John. There, +if that were possible, we did more as we pleased than even at home; +there were not even the conventionalities of society to restrain us; +we were in the country, comparatively. And who like Uncle John knew +what real country pleasures were? who like him could provide for every +contingency? who was so full of expedients in those happy gypsying +expeditions which we would entice him into, and which sometimes lasted +for days, nay, weeks? He would mount Alice and myself on two of his +sure-footed little Indian ponies, with which his trader friends always +kept him supplied; and throwing a pair of saddle-bags, filled with +what he called our woman's traps, over his own, he would start with us +for a trip across the country for miles, stopping at the farm-houses +at night, laughing us out of our conventional notions about the +conveniences of lodging, and so forth,--and camping out during the +day, making what we called a continuous picnic. And then the stories +he would tell us of his adventures among the Blackfeet,--of his +trading expeditions,--his being taken prisoner by the Sioux,--his life +in the forts,--till Alice would creep nearer to him in her nervous +excitement, as if to be sure that he was really with her, and then beg +him to go on and tell us something more. Once I asked him how he +happened to go out among the Indians. His face darkened,--"My little +Kate, you must not ask questions,"--and as I turned to Alice, her eyes +were full of tears. She had been looking at him while I spoke, and she +told me afterwards that something about Uncle John's lips made her +cry, they quivered so, and were set afterwards so tight. We never +asked him that question again. + +But the ferry-boat, "The Belle of Newport," has neared the landing +while I have been introducing Uncle John, and the soft summer twilight +saw us wending our way through the town towards the Kentucky hills, +whose rounded outlines were still bright with the evening red. Just +on the rise of the nearest was the Old House,--for it went with us by +no other name,--and at the garden-gate stood Uncle John, his face +brightening as he saw us, while behind him a row of eager faces showed +their wide-stretched mouths and white teeth. + +"Come to spend two or three days, Alice?" said Uncle John, that +evening, as we sat with shaded lamp in the study, his moccasined feet +resting on the window-seat, while he sank into the depths of his +leather-covered Spanish chair. "Why, what has become of the parties +that Aunt Molly heard about in your kitchen on her way to market +yesterday? Where are all our handsome young students that were coming +home for the holidays? Remember, I'll have none of them following you +over here, and disarranging my books by way of showing off their +knowledge." + +Alice laughed. "Not a soul knows where we are, Uncle John, except +mamma, and she promised not to tell. Laura C. has a party to-night, +and she will be provoked enough at our running away; but the truth +is,----well, Uncle John, I am tired of parties; indeed, I am tired of +our way of living, and--and Kate and I thought we would come and ask +you what we ought to do about it." + +Uncle John puckered up his face with a comical expression, and then, +looking out of the window, whistled the Indian buffalo-call. + +Alice sprung up. "Don't whistle that provoking thing, Uncle John! +Indeed, I am thoroughly in earnest,--parties are so tiresome,--all +exactly alike; we always see the same people, or the same sort of +people. There is nothing about them worth having, except the dancing; +and even that is not as good as a scamper over the hills with you and +the ponies. You know we have been going to parties for these two +years; we have seen so much of society, no wonder we are tired of it." + +"Sit down, Alice," said Uncle John; "you do look really in earnest, so +I suppose you must not be whistled at. And you have come all the way +over here this evening to get me to solve Life's problem for you? My +dear, I cannot work it out for myself. You are 'tired of society'? +Why, little one, you have not seen society yet. Suppose I could put +you down to-night in the midst of some European court,--could show you +men whose courage, wit, or learning had made them world-famous,--women +whose beauty, grace, and cultivation brought those world-famous men to +their side, and who held them there by the fascination that +high-breeding knows how to use. Should you talk of sameness then?" + +Alice's eyes sparkled for a moment, then she said,-- + +"Yes, I should tire even of that, after a while, glorious as it would +be at first." + +"Have you reached such sublime heights of philosophy already? Then, +perhaps, I shall not seem to be talking nonsense, when I tell you that +there is nothing in the world of which you would not tire after the +first joy of possession was over, no position which would not seem +monotonous. You do not believe me? Of course not. We all buy our own +experience in life; on one of two rocks we split: either we do not +want a thing after we have got it, or we do not get it till we no +longer want it. Some of us suffer shipwreck both ways. But, Alice, you +must find that out for yourself." + +"Can we not profit by each other's mistakes, Uncle?" + +"No, child. To what purpose should I show you the breakers where my +vessel struck? Do you suppose you will steer exactly in my path? But +what soberness is this? you are not among breakers yet; you are simply +'tired of living';" and Uncle John's smile was too genial to be called +satirical. + +"Tired of not living, I think," replied Alice,--"tired of doing +nothing, of having nothing to do. The girls, Laura and the rest of +them, find so much excitement in what seems to me so stupid!" + +"You are not exactly like 'Laura and the rest of them,' I fancy, my +dear, and what suits them is rather too tame for you. But what do you +propose to do with yourself now that you are beginning to live?" + +"Now you are laughing at me, Uncle, and you will laugh more when I +tell you that I mean to study and to make Kate study with me." + +"Poor Kate!--if you should fancy swimming, shooting, or any other +unheard-of pursuit, Kate would be obliged to swim and shoot with +you. But I will not laugh any more. Study, if you will, Alice; you +will learn fast enough, and, in this age of fast-advancing +civilization, when the chances of eligible matrimony for young ladies +in your station are yearly becoming less and less,--oh, you need not +put up your lip and peep into my bachelor's shaving-glass!--let me +tell you that a literary taste is a recourse not to be despised. Of +course you will study now to astonish me, or to surprise your young +friends, or for some other equally wise reason; but the time may come +when literature will be its own exceeding great reward." + +"Uncle, answer me one thing,--are you as happy here in your quiet +study as you were in your exciting life among the Indians? Do you not +tire of this everyday sameness?" + +"Close questioning, Alice, but I will answer you truly. Other things +being equal, I confess to you that the Indian life was the more +monotonous of the two. I look back now on my twenty years of savage +life and see nothing to vary its dreary sameness; the dangers were +always alike, the excitements always the same, and the rest was a dead +blank. The whole twenty years might be comprised in four words,--we +fought, we hunted, we eat, we slept. No, there is no monotony like +that,--no life so stupid as that of the savage, with his low wants and +his narrow hopes and fears. My life here among my books, which seems +to you so tame, is excitement itself compared with that. Your +stupidest party is full of life, intelligence, wit, when put beside an +Indian powwow. There is but one charm in that wandering life, +Alice,--the free intercourse with Nature; _that_ never tires; but +then you must remember that to enjoy it you must be cultivated up to +it. There needs all the teaching of civilization, nay, the education +of life, to enjoy Nature truly. These quiet hills, these beech +forests, are more to me now than Niagara was at eighteen; and Niagara +itself, which raises the poet above the earth, falls tame on the mind +of the savage. Believe one who knows,--the man of civilization who +goes back to the savage state throws away his life; his very mind +becomes, like the dyer's hand, 'subdued to what it works in.' + +"But I am going out of your depth again, girls," continued he, looking +at our wondering, half-puzzled faces. "Let it go, Alice; Life is a +problem too hard for you to solve as yet; perhaps it will solve +itself. Meantime, we will brighten ourselves up to-morrow by a good +scamper over the hills, and, the next day, if your fancy for study +still holds, we will plan out some hard work, and I will show you what +real study is. Now go to bed; but see first that Aunt Molly has her +sandwiches and gingerbread ready for the morning." + + +TALK NUMBER TWO. + +Uncle John was well qualified to show us what real study was, for in +his early youth he had read hard and long to fit himself for a +literary life. What had changed his course and driven him to the far +West we did not know, but since his return he had brought the +perseverance and judgment of middle life to the studies of his youth, +and in his last ten years of leisure had made himself that rarest of +things among Americans, a scholar, one worthy of the name. + +Under his guidance our studies took life, and Alice threw herself into +them with all the energy of her nature. In vain papa pished and +pshawed, and mamma grieved, and begged John not to spoil the girls by +making bookworms of them; in vain "Laura C. and the rest of them" +entreated us to join this picnic or show ourselves at that party; in +vain the young men professed themselves afraid of us, and the girls +tossed their heads and called us blue-stockings. Alice's answer to all +was, "I like studying; it is a great deal more entertaining than going +to parties; Uncle John's study is pleasanter than Mrs. C.'s parlor, +and a ride on his little Winnebago better fun than dancing." And so +the years went on. We were not out of society,--that could not be in +our house,--but our associates changed; young men of a higher standing +frequented the house; we knew intimately the cultivated women, to +whom, before, we had simply bowed at parties; and mamma and papa grew +quite satisfied. + +Not so Alice; the spirit of unrest was on her again, but this time it +was not because of the weariness of life, but that she was oppressed +by the fulness of her own happiness. She had waked up to life in +waking up to love, and had poured out on Herbert B. the whole wealth +of her heart. There was everything in her engagement to satisfy her +friends, everything to gratify papa and mamma; and if I sometimes +thought Herbert's too feeble a nature to guide hers, or if Uncle John +sometimes talked with or listened to him as if he were measuring his +depth and then went away with an anxious expression of face, who shall +say how much of selfishness influenced us both? for was he not to take +from us the pet and pride of our lives? + +They were to be married in a few weeks, on Alice's twentieth birthday, +and then leave for New York, where Herbert was connected in business +with his father. + +It was on a gloomy December afternoon that Alice came running up to +our room, where I was reading my Italian lesson, and exclaimed,-- + +"Quick, Kate! put away those stupid books, and let us go over to Uncle +John's for the night." + +"Where is Herbert?" + +"Herbert? Nonsense! I have sent him off with orders not to look for me +again till to-morrow, and to-night I mean to pretend that there is no +Herbert in the world. Perhaps this will be my last talk with Uncle +John." + +We walked quickly through the streets, shrouded in the dark +winter-afternoon atmosphere heavy with coal-smoke, the houses on each +side dripping with the fog-drops and looking dirty and cheerless with +the black streaks running from the corners of each window, like tears +down the face of some chimney-sweep or coal-boy, till, reaching the +foot of Ludlow Street, we stood ankle-deep in mud, waiting for the +little steamer, which still ploughed its way through the dark, +sullen-looking water thick with the red mud which the late rise had +brought down, and with here and there heavy pieces of ice floating by. + +"Uncle John will never expect us to-night, Alice." + +"I cannot help it,--I must go; for I shall never be satisfied without +one good talk with him before I leave, and Herbert will never spare me +another evening. Besides, Uncle John will be only too glad to see us +in this suicidal weather, as he will call it." And she sprang upon the +boat, laughing at my woebegone face. + +"You are glad to see us here, Uncle John,--glad we came in spite of +the fog, and sleet, and ice, and Kate's long face. How anybody can +have a long face because of the weather, I cannot understand,--or, +indeed, why there should be long faces at all in the world, when +everything is so gloriously full of life." + +"How many years is it, Alice,--three, I think,--since you were tired +of living, found life so wearisome?" + +"Yes, just about three years since Kate and I ran away from Laura C.'s +party and came over here to ask you to help us out of our stupidity. I +remember it all,--how you puzzled me by telling me that every position +in life had its sameness. Ah, Uncle John, you forgot one thing when +you told me that nothing satisfied us in this world." And Alice looked +up from her little stool, where she sat before the fire at Uncle +John's feet, with the flush of deep feeling coloring her cheeks and +the dewy light of happiness in her eyes. + +"And that one thing, Alice?" + +"You are lying in wait for my answer, to give it that smile that I +hate,--it is so unbelieving and so sad; I will not have you wear it on +your face to-night, Uncle John. You cannot, if I speak my whole heart +out. And why should I not, before you and Kate,--Kate, who is like my +other self, and you, dear Uncle John, who, ever since the time we were +talking about, have been so much to me? Do you know, I never told +anybody before? but all you said that night never left me. I thought +of it so much! Was it true that life was so dissatisfying? You who had +tried so thoroughly, who had gone through such a life of adventure, +had seemed to me really to live, was all as flat and unprofitable to +you as one of our tiresome parties or morning calls? And something in +my own heart told me it was true, something that haunted me all +through my greatest enjoyments, through my studies that I took up +then, and which have been to me, oh, Uncle John, so much more than +ever I expected they would be! Yes, through all that I believed you, +believed you till now, believed you till I knew Herbert." + +"And has Herbert told you better?" + +"Uncle John, you do not know how the whole of life is glorified for +me,--glorified by his love. I do not deserve it; all I can do is to +return it ten-fold; but this I know, that, while I keep it, there can +be nothing tame or dull,--life, everything, is gilded by my own +happiness." + +"And if you lose it?" + +The flush on her face fell. "I should be miserable!--I should not--no, +I could not live any longer!" + +"Alice," said Uncle John, his face losing its half-mocking smile with +which he had been watching her eager countenance, "Alice, did you know +that I had been married?" + +We started. "Married? No. How was it, and when?" + +"It is no matter now, my girls. Some time I may tell you about it. I +should not have spoken of it now, but that I know my little Alice +would not believe a word I am going to tell her, if she thought she +was listening to an old bachelor's croakings. Now I can speak with +authority. You think you could not live without Herbert's love? My +dear, we can live without a great many things that we fancy +indispensable. Nor is it so very easy to die. There comes many a time +in life when it would seem quite according to the fitness of things, +just the proper ending to the romance, to lie down and die; but, +unfortunately, or rather fortunately, dying is a thing that we cannot +do so just in the nick of time; and indeed"--and Uncle John's face +assumed its strange smile, which seemed to take you, as it were, +suddenly behind the scenes, to show you the wrong side of the +tapestry,--"and indeed," he continued, "when I look back on the times +in my life that I should have died, when it was fitting and proper to +die, when I felt that dying would be such a trump card to play, if +only I could manage it, I must say that I am glad now that it was +beyond my power to arrange things according to the melodramatic +rules. As it is, I am alive now. I shake my fist at all the ghosts of +my departed tragedies and say, 'I am worth two of you. I am alive. I +have all the chances of the future in my favor.'" + +Here he caught sight of Alice's wide-opened eyes, and his smile +changed into his own genial laugh, as he kissed her forehead and went +on. + +"That was a little aside, Alice, made to my other self, my +metaphysical man,--not meant at all for my audience. I was meditating +a lecture on the causes of conjugal happiness, but I seem to have +stumbled upon a knot in the very first unwinding of the thread of my +discourse." + +"I'll listen to the lecture, Uncle, though I see but one simple and +all-sufficient cause for my happiness." + +"That Herbert loves you, ha? Know, my pretty neophyte, that happiness, +married happiness especially, does not come from being loved, but from +loving. What says our Coleridge? + + + "'For still the source, not fountain, gives + The daily food on which Love lives.' + + +"And he is right, although you shake your curls. In most marriages, in +all that are not matters of convenience, one party has a stronger +heart, will, character, than the other. And that one loves the most +from the very necessity of his nature, and, loving most, is the +happier. The other falls, after a while, into a passive state, becomes +the mere recipient of love, and finds his or her happiness in +something else, or perhaps does not find it at all." + +"Neither side would satisfy me, Uncle John; I hardly know which fate +would be the more terrible. Do you think I would accept such a +compromise in exchange for all I am living and feeling now? I would +rather be miserable at once than so half-happy." + +"But, my darling, Colin and Chloe cannot spend their whole lives +singing madrigals and stringing daisies. It is not in human nature to +support, for any length of time, such superhuman bliss. The time will +come when Colin will find no more rhymes to 'dove,' and when Chloe +will tire of hearing the same one. It is possible that Herbert will +some time tire of reading Shelley to you,--nay, it is even possible +that the time may come when you will tire of hearing him; it is of +that time I would talk. The present is as perfectly satisfactory to me +as to you and Herbert, though not exactly in the same degree." + +"Well, Uncle, what is your advice to Chloe disillusioned,--if you +insist that such a thing must be?" + +"Simply this, my own dear little child," answered Uncle John, and his +voice took almost a solemn tone in its deep tenderness,--"when that +time comes, as come it must, do not worry your husband with idle +regrets for the past; remember that the husband is not the lover; +remember that your sex love through your imagination, and look always +for that clothing and refining of passion with sentiment, which, with +us, belong only to the poetry and chivalry of youthful ardor. We may +love you as well afterward,--nay, we may love you a great deal +better,--but we cannot take the trouble of telling you so every day; +we expect you to believe it once for all; and you,--you like to hear +it over and over again, and, not hearing it, you begin to fancy it no +longer true, and fall to trying experiments on your happiness. A fatal +error this, Alice. There is nothing that men so often enjoy as the +simply being let alone; but not one woman in a hundred can be made to +believe in such a strange enjoyment. Then the wife becomes +_exigeante_ and impatient, and the husband, after fruitless +attempts to find out what he has done, never suspecting that the real +trouble is what he has left undone, finds her unreasonable, and begins +to harden himself to griefs which he classes, like Miss Edgeworth, +under the head of 'Sorrows of my Lord Plumcake.'" + +"Miserable fate of the nobler sex, Uncle,--disturbed, even in the +sublime heights of philosophical self-possession, by the follies and +unreasonablenesses of the weaker vessel! I suppose you allow men to +live out their natures unrebuked, while women must live down theirs?" + +"Not I, Alice,--but I am by nature a special pleader, and, just now, I +am engaged on Herbert's side of the case. Fee me well, my darling, by +a kiss or a merry look, and bring Herbert up to judgment, and I will +tell him home truths too." + +"Let me hear your argument for the other side, most subtile of +reasoners, and I may, perhaps, be able to repeat them at second-hand, +when occasion calls for them." + +"Don't think of it, my dear! Second-hand arguments are like +second-hand coffee,--the aroma and the strength have disappeared, +never to be brought back again. But if the husband were really here, +and the wife had paid well for properly-administered advice, I should +say to him, 'Do not fancy that you have done everything for your wife +when you have given her house, servants, and clothes; she really wants +a little attention now and then. Try to turn your thoughts away from +your more important affairs long enough to notice the pretty +morning-wrapper or the well-fitting evening-dress which has cost her +some thought for your sake; do not let a change in the furniture or a +new ornament in the parlor go unnoticed till the bill comes in. And +while, of course, you claim from her the most ready sympathy in all +your interests and enthusiasms, give her, once in a great while, say +every year or so, a little genuine interest in the housekeeping trials +or dressmaker grievances that meet her at every turn. + +"Moreover, I would recommend to you, should your wife happen to have +some literary or artistic tastes, not to ignore them entirely because +they do not pay so well as your counting-room accounts do, and are not +so entertaining to you as billiards. I would even indulge her by +sacrificing a whole evening to her, once in a while, even to the +detriment of your own business or pleasure. Depend upon it, it will +pay in the end." + +"Now, Uncle, like Rosalind, you have simply misused your whole sex in +your special pleadings, both for and against. If Herbert were here, I +would appeal to him to know if the time can ever come when what I do +can be uninteresting to him. But I know, for myself, that such a thing +cannot be. You are not talking from your own experience, Uncle?" +added she, suddenly looking up in his face. + +"My dear Alice, were it possible, should it ever seem likely, that my +experience might benefit you, how readily I would lay it open before +you! But those who have lived their lives are like the prophets of +old,--their words are believed only when they are fulfilled. The +meaning of life is never understood till it is past. Like Moses on the +rock, our faces are covered when the Lord passes by, and we see only +his back. But look behind you, my darling!" + +Alice turned suddenly and her face lighted up into the full beauty of +happiness as she saw Herbert standing in the doorway. + +"I hope you have room for me, Mr. Delano," said he, advancing, "for +here I am, weather-bound, as well as Miss Alice and Kate. There is a +drizzling rain falling out-of-doors, and your Kentucky roads are fast +growing impassable for walkers." + +Uncle John put into words the question that Alice's eyes had been +asking so eagerly. + +"Where did you stumble from, my dear fellow,--and at this time of +night, too?" + +"Why, I could not find any one at home on Fourth Street, so I took the +last ferry-boat and came over, on a venture, to try the Kentucky +hospitality, of which we New-Yorkers hear so much; and my stumbling +walk through the mud made me so unpresentable, that I found the way +round the house to Aunt Molly's premises, and left the tracks of my +muddy boots all over her white kitchen, till she, in despair, provided +me with a pair of your moccasins, and, shod in these shoes of silence, +I came quietly in upon you. I do hope you are all glad to see me," he +added, sitting down on the low seat that Alice had left, and looking +up in her face as she stood by her uncle. + +Alice shook her head with a pretty assumption of displeasure, as she +said, "I told you I did not want to see you till to-morrow." But +hardly half an hour had elapsed before she and Herbert had wandered +off into the parlor, and Uncle John and I were left to watch them +through the open door. + +"If he were not so impulsive," said Uncle John, abruptly,--"if he were +not so full of fancies! Kate, you are a wise and discreet little lady, +and we understand each other. Did I say too much?" + +Just then Alice looked back. + +"Chloe is the one who sings madrigals to-night, Uncle; she is going to +read Colin a lesson"; and, sitting down at the piano, she let her +hands run over the keys and burst out joyously into that variation of +Raleigh's pretty pastoral song,-- + + + "Shepherd, what's Love? I prithee tell." + "It is a fountain and a well, + Where pleasure and repentance dwell; + And this is Love, as I've heard tell: + Repentance, repentance, repentance!" + + + +TALK NUMBER THREE. + + +Five years have passed since Alice sat at Uncle John's feet and +listened to his words that gave lessons of wisdom while they seemed +only to amuse; and now she sits again on the low stool, looking up in +his face, while I stand behind him and look down on her, marking the +changes that those years have wrought. She has come back to us, our +own Alice still,--but how different from the impetuous, impulsive girl +who left us five years ago! Her face has lost its early freshness, +though it seems to me lovelier than before, in its matured, womanly +expression; but her eyes, which used to be lifted so eagerly, to +glance so rapidly in their varying expression, are now hidden by their +lashes even when she is talking earnestly; her lips have lost their +mobility, and have even something stern in their fixedness; whilst her +hair, brought down smoothly over her forehead and twisted firmly in +the low knot behind, and her close-fitting widow's dress add to the +sobriety and almost matronliness of her appearance. + +For Alice is a widow now, and has come back to us in her bereavement. +We have known but little of her real self for some years, so guarded +have been her letters; and not until the whole terrible truth burst +upon us, did we do more than suspect that her married life had not +brought the happiness she anticipated. She is talking freely now she +is at home again among her own people. + +"I have sometimes thought, Uncle John, that all you said to me, the +last night I spent here, had some meaning deeper than met the ear. Had +you second sight? Did you foresee the future? Or was there that in +the present which foreshadowed it to you?" + +"I am no prophet, Alice. I spoke only from what I knew of life, and +from my knowledge of your character and Herbert's. But I am yet to +know how my words have been fulfilled." + +"It makes no difference now," said she, slowly, and with a touching +weariness. "And yet," she added, rousing herself, "it would make all +the difference in the world to me, if I could see clearly where it was +that I was to blame. Certainly I must have done wrong; such +wretchedness could not have come otherwise." + +Uncle John drew her hand within his, while he answered calmly,--"It is +very probable you have done wrong, my darling; who of us are wise and +prudent, loving and forbearing, as we should be?" + +"You think so? How glad I am to hear you say so! Yes, I can see it +now; I can see how I did that very thing against which you warned +me. First came the time when Herbert forgot to admire everything which +I did and said, and I--I tried little pouting ways, that I did not +feel. Then they were so successful, that I carried them too far, and +Herbert did not pet me out of them. Then I grew anxious and began to +guess at that truth which was only too clear to me at last, that he +did not love me as I loved him. Next,--oh, Uncle John, how much I was +to blame!--I watched every word and look, gave meanings to things that +had none, asked explanations where Herbert had none to give, and +fairly put him under such restraint that he could neither look nor act +himself. He fretted under it,--who would not?--and then began the +thousand excuses for being away from home, business engagements, +club-meetings, some country-customers of the firm, who must be taken +to the theatre, and, at last, no excuse at all but want of time. I +knew then that his love for me had never been more than a passing +fancy, and, woman-like, I grew proud, shut my heart up from him, +buried myself in my books. I never studied before as I did then, Uncle +John, for I studied to get away from myself, and, looking back, I +wonder even now at what I accomplished. Yes, you were right, books are +fast friends,--and mine would have brought me their own exceeding +great reward, had not my spirit been so bitter. + +"It was then that mamma was so sick and I came home. Did you think me +wonderfully calm, Kate? I think somebody said I showed astonishing +self-control; but, in truth, I was frightened at myself,--I had no +feeling about anything, Mamma's sickness seemed something entirely +removed from me, something which concerned me not in the least. I was +calm because I felt nothing. I wondered then and wonder now that you +did not find me out, for I knew how unlike I was to my former +self. Then mamma got well, and I was not glad; I went back to New +York, and felt no sorrow at parting with you all. + +"But when I got back, oh, Uncle John, I was too late!--too late to do +right, even had I wished it! I don't know,--I made good resolutions on +my way back: Heaven knows if I should have had strength to put them in +practice. But it was all over; not only had I lost Herbert, but he had +lost himself. The first time I saw him he was not himself,--I might as +well say it,--he was drunk. + +"There is no need of going through the rest, Uncle,--you will not ask +it. I think I did everything I could;--I threw away my books; I +devoted myself to making his home pleasant to him; never, no, never, +in my girlish days, did I take half the pains to please him that I did +now to win him from himself. I read to him, I sang to him, I filled +the house with people that I knew were to his taste, I dressed for +him, I let myself be admired by others that he might feel proud of me, +might think me more worthy of admiration,--but all to no +purpose. Sometimes I hoped, but more often I despaired; his fall +seemed to me fearfully rapid, though now the three years seem to have +been interminable. At last I had no hope but that of concealing the +truth from you all. You thought me churlish, Kate, in my answer to +your proposal to spend last winter with me? My darling, I dared not +have you in my house. But it is over now. I knew how that last +horrible attack would end when I sent for papa. He had gone through +two before that, and the doctor told me the third would be fatal. Poor +Herbert!--Uncle John, can I ever forgive myself?" + +Alice looked up with dry and burning eyes into Uncle John's face, over +which the tears were streaming. + +"My child, it is right that you should blame yourself. What sorrow do +we meet in life that we do not in part bring upon ourselves? Who is +there of us who is not wise after time? which of us has not made some +fatal mistake?" + +I felt half indignant that Uncle John did not tell her how much more +to blame, how weak, how reckless Herbert had been; but the calmer +expression which came over Alice's countenance showed me that he was +right, that he best knew her heart. She could not now be just to +herself; she was happier in being unjust. + +We were still and silent for a long time. The light wood-fire on the +hearth crackled and burned to ashes, but it had done its office in +tempering the chill of the autumn evening, and through the half-open +door stole the 'sweet decaying smell' of the fallen leaves, while the +hush of an Indian-summer night seemed to calm our very hearts with its +stillness. + +Uncle John spoke at last. His voice was very gentle and subdued as he +said: + +"I told you once, Alice, that my life should be opened to you, if ever +its errors could be either warning or consolation to you. But who am +I, to judge what beacon-lights we may hold out to each other? There is +as much egotism, sometimes, in silence as in the free speech which +asks for sympathy. Perhaps I have been too proud to lay open my +follies before you and my little Kate." + +Alice looked up, with a touch of her old eagerness, as Uncle John went +on. + +"It was long before you were born, my dear, that, for some college +peccadilloes,--it is so long ago that I have almost forgotten now what +they were,--I was suspended (rusticated we called it) for a term, and +advised by the grave and dignified president to spend my time in +repenting and in keeping up with my class. I had no mind to come +home; I had no wish, by my presence, to keep the memory of my +misdemeanors before my father's mind for six months; so I asked and +gained leave to spend the summer in a little town in Western +Massachusetts, where, as I said, I should have nothing to tempt me +from my studies. I had heard from a classmate what famous shooting and +fishing were to be found there, and I knew something of the beauty of +Berkshire scenery; but I honorably intended to study well and +faithfully, taking only the moderate amount of recreation necessary +for my health. + +"I went, and soon established myself in a quiet farm-house with my +books, gun, and fishing-rod, and had passed there a whole month with +an approving conscience and tolerable success both in studies and +sport, when the farmer announced one morning, that, as he had one +boarder, he might as well take another, and that a New York lady had +been inquiring of his neighbor Johnson, when he was in the city last +week, for some farm-house where they would be willing to take her +cheap for the summer. She could have the best room, and he didn't +suppose she'd be in anybody's way, so he had told Johnson that she +might come, if she would put up with their country fare. + +"She came the next week. She was a widow, some thirty years old, ten +years older than I was. I did not think her pretty,--perhaps +_piquante_, but that was all. In my first fastidiousness, I +thought her hardly lady-like, and laughed at her evident attempts to +attract my notice,--at her little vanities and affectations. But I do +not know; we were always together; I saw no other woman but the +farmer's wife. There were the mountain walks, the trees, the flowers, +the moonlight; she talked so well upon them all! In short, you do not +know, no young girl can know, the influence which a woman in middle +life, if she has anything in her, has over a young man; and she,--she +had shrewdness and a certain talent, and, I think now, knew what she +was doing,--at any rate, I fell madly in love. I knew my father would +never consent to my marrying then; I knew I was ruining my prospects +by doing so; but that very knowledge only made me more eager to secure +her. + +"She was entirely independent of control, being left a widow with some +little property, and threw no obstacles in my way. We were married +there, in that little village, and for a few weeks I lived in a fool's +paradise. + +"I could not tell you--indeed, I would not tell you, if I could--how +by degrees I found out what I had done,--that I had flung away my +heart on a woman who married me simply to secure herself the position +in society which her own imprudence had lost; how, when she found I +had nothing to offer her but a home in my father's house, entirely +dependent upon him, she accused me of having deceived her for the sake +of her own miserable pittance; how she made herself the common talk of +Newport by her dissipation, her extravagance, her affectations; how +her love of excitement led her into such undisguised flirtations, +under the name of friendships, with almost every man she met, that her +imprudences, to call them by no harsher name, made my father insist, +that, for my mother's sake, I should seek another home. + +"I did so, but it was only to go through a repetition of similar +scenes, of daring follies on her part, and reproaches on mine. At +last, desperate, I induced my father to settle on her what would have +been my share of his property on condition that she should return to +New York,--while I, crushed down, mortified, and ashamed to look my +friends in the face, and sick of the wrongs and follies of civilized +life, grasped eagerly at an opportunity to join a fur-trading party, +and buried myself alive in the wilds of the Northwest. + +"I had no object in going there but to escape from my wife and from +myself; but, once there, the charm of that free life took possession +of me; adventure followed adventure; opportunities opened to me, and I +grew to be an influential person, and made myself a home among the +Indians. It is a wild life that the Indian traders live up in that +far-away country, and many a reckless deed is done there which public +opinion would frown upon here. I am afraid I was no better than my +companions; I lived my life and drew from it whatever enjoyment it +would bring; but, at least, I did not brutalize myself as some of them +did; for that I may thank the refining influence of my early +education. Meantime, I was almost lost to my family and, indeed, I +hardly regretted it, for nothing would have brought me back while my +wife lived, and, if I were not to be with my friends, why eat my heart +out with longings for them? So, for nearly twenty years, I lived the +life of adventure, danger, and privation, that draws its only charm +from its independence. + +"At last came a letter from your mother. It found its way to me from +fort to fort, brought up part of the way with the letters to the +troops stationed at our upper forts, then carried by the Indian +runners to the trading-posts of the fur-companies till it reached me +in the depths of the Rocky Mountains. My wife was dead,--she had died +suddenly; my property, all that she had not squandered, (and it was so +tied up by my father's forethought that she could only throw away a +part of it,) was my own again; my sister longed to see me, and +promised me a welcome to her house and heart. I grew restless from +that moment, and, converting into money the not inconsiderable wealth +with which I had surrounded myself in the shape of furs, horses, +buffalo-robes, and so forth, I came down to the States again to begin +life anew, a man of forty-five, my head whitened, and my features +marked before their time from the life of exposure which I had +led. Alice, I, too, was too late. I had dropped out of the tide of +life and progress in my twenty years' seclusion, and, struggle as I +might, I could not retrieve the time lost. The present age knew not of +me,--I had lost my place in it; the thoughts, feelings, habits, of all +around were strange to me; I had been pushed out of the line of march, +and never could I fall into step again. In society, in business, in +domestic life, it was all the same. Trial after trial taught me, at +last, the truth; and when I had learned not only to believe it, but to +accept it, I came home to my father's house, now mine, and made myself +friends of my books,--those faithful ones who were as true to me as if +I had never deserted them. They have brought me content, if not +happiness; and you, Alice, you and Kate, you have filled fully an old +man's heart." + +Alice's tears were dropping fast on Uncle John's hand as she said,-- + +"I will be more to you henceforward than ever before. I have nothing +else to live for now. Kate is the home child; but I--I will stay with +you, and you shall teach me, too, to be contented,--to find my +happiness, as you do, in making the happiness of all around." + +Uncle John passed his other hand over her hair,-- + +"You shall stay with me for the present, my darling,--perhaps as long +as I live. But life is not over for you, Alice. You have youth,--you +have years in store. For you it is not _too late_." + + + + +AN EVENING MELODY. + + + Oh that yon pines which crown the steep + Their fires might ne'er surrender! + Oh that yon fervid knoll might keep, + While lasts the world, its splendor! + + Pale poplars on the wind that lean, + And in the sunset shiver, + Oh that your golden stems might screen + For aye yon glassy river! + + That yon white bird on homeward wing + Soft-sliding without motion, + And now in blue air vanishing + Like snow-flake lost in ocean, + + Beyond our sight might never flee, + Yet onward still be flying; + And all the dying day might be + Immortal in its dying! + + Pellucid thus in golden trance, + Thus mute in expectation, + What waits the Earth? Deliverance? + Ah, no! Transfiguration! + + She dreams of that New Earth divine, + Conceived of seed immortal: + She sings, "Not mine the holier shrine, + But mine the cloudy portal!" + + + + +CHESUNCOOK + + +[Concluded.] + +Early the next morning we started on our return up the Penobscot, my +companion wishing to go about twenty-five miles above the Moosehead +carry to a camp near the junction of the two forks, and look for moose +there. Our host allowed us something for the quarter of the moose +which we had brought, and which he was glad to get. Two explorers from +Chamberlain Lake started at the same time that we did. Red flannel +shirts should be worn in the woods, if only for the fine contrast +which this color makes with the evergreens and the water. Thus I +thought when I saw the forms of the explorers in their birch, poling +up the rapids before us, far off against the forest. It is the +surveyor's color also, most distinctly seen under all circumstances. +We stopped to dine at Ragmuff, as before. My companion it was who +wandered up the stream to look for moose this time, while Joe went to +sleep on the bank, so that we felt sure of him; and I improved the +opportunity to botanize and bathe. Soon after starting again, while +Joe was gone back in the canoe for the frying-pan, which had been +left, we picked a couple of quarts of tree-cranberries for a sauce. + +I was surprised by Joe's asking me how far it was to the Moosehorn. He +was pretty well acquainted with this stream, but he had noticed that I +was curious about distances, and had several maps. He, and Indians +generally, with whom I have talked, are not able to describe +dimensions or distances in our measures with any accuracy. He could +tell, perhaps, at what time we should arrive, but not how far it +was. We saw a few wood-ducks, sheldrakes, and black ducks, but they +were not so numerous there at that season as on our river at home. We +scared the same family of wood-ducks before us, going and returning. +We also heard the note of one fish-hawk, somewhat like that of a +pigeon-woodpecker, and soon after saw him perched near the top of a +dead white-pine against the island where we had first camped, while a +company of peetweets were twittering and teetering about over the +carcass of a moose on a low sandy spit just beneath. We drove the +fish-hawk from perch to perch, each time eliciting a scream or +whistle, for many miles before us. Our course being up-stream, we were +obliged to work much harder than before, and had frequent use for a +pole. Sometimes all three of us paddled together, standing up, small +and heavily laden as the canoe was. About six miles from Moosehead, we +began to see the mountains east of the north end of the lake, and at +four o'clock we reached the carry. + +The Indians were still encamped here. There were three, including the +St. Francis Indian who had come in the steamer with us. One of the +others was called Sabattis. Joe and the St. Francis Indian were +plainly clear Indian, the other two apparently mixed Indian and white; +but the difference was confined to their features and complexions, for +all that I could see. We here cooked the tongue of the moose for +supper,--having left the nose, which is esteemed the choicest part, at +Chesuncook, boiling, it being a good deal of trouble to prepare it. We +also stewed our tree-cranberries, (_Viburnum opulus_,) sweetening +them with sugar. The lumberers sometimes cook them with +molasses. They were used in Arnold's expedition. This sauce was very +grateful to us who had been confined to hard bread, pork, and +moose-meat, and, notwithstanding their seeds, we all three pronounced +them equal to the common cranberry; but perhaps some allowance is to +be made for our forest appetites. It would be worth the while to +cultivate them, both for beauty and for food. I afterward saw them in +a garden in Bangor. Joe said that they were called _ebeemenar_. + +While we were getting supper, Joe commenced curing the moose-hide, on +which I had sat a good part of the voyage, he having already cut most +of the hair off with his knife at the Caucomgomoc. He set up two +stout forked poles on the bank, seven or eight feet high, and as much +asunder east and west, and having cut slits eight or ten inches long, +and the same distance apart, close to the edge, on the sides of the +hide, he threaded poles through them, and then, placing one of the +poles on the forked stakes, tied the other down tightly at the +bottom. The two ends also were tied with cedar bark, their usual +string, to the upright poles, through small holes at short intervals. +The hide, thus stretched, and slanted a little to the north, to expose +its flesh side to the sun, measured, in the extreme, eight feet long +by six high. Where any flesh still adhered, Joe boldly scored it with +his knife to lay it open to the sun. It now appeared somewhat spotted +and injured by the duck shot. You may see the old frames on which +hides have been stretched at many camping-places in these woods. + +For some reason or other, the going to the forks of the Penobscot was +given up, and we decided to stop here, my companion intending to hunt +down the stream at night. The Indians invited us to lodge with them, +but my companion inclined to go to the log-camp on the carry. This +camp was close and dirty, and had an ill smell, and I preferred to +accept the Indians' offer, if we did not make a camp for ourselves; +for, though they were dirty, too, they were more in the open air, and +were much more agreeable, and even refined company, than the +lumberers. The most interesting question entertained at the +lumberers' camp was, which man could "handle" any other on the carry; +and, for the most part, they possessed no qualities which you could +not lay hands on. So we went to the Indians' camp or wigwam. + +It was rather windy, and therefore Joe concluded to hunt after +midnight, if the wind went down, which the other Indians thought it +would not do, because it was from the south. The two mixed bloods, +however, went off up the river for moose at dark, before we arrived at +their camp. This Indian camp was a slight, patched-up affair, which +had stood there several weeks, built shed-fashion, open to the fire on +the west. If the wind changed, they could turn it round. It was +formed by two forked stakes and a cross-bar, with rafters slanted from +this to the ground. The covering was partly an old sail, partly +birch-bark, quite imperfect, but securely tied on, and coming down to +the ground on the sides. A large log was rolled up at the back side +for a headboard, and two or three moose-hides were spread on the +ground with the hair up. Various articles of their wardrobe were +tucked around the sides and corners, or under the roof. They were +smoking moose-meat on just such a crate as is represented by With in +De Bry's "Collectio Peregrinationum," published in 1588, and which the +natives of Brazil called _boucan_, (whence buccaneer,) on which +were frequently shown pieces of human flesh drying along with the +rest. It was erected in front of the camp over the usual large fire, +in the form of an oblong square. Two stout forked stakes, four or five +feet apart and five feet high, were driven into the ground at each +end, and then two poles ten feet long were stretched across over the +fire, and smaller ones laid transversely on these a foot apart. On the +last hung large, thin slices of moose-meat smoking and drying, a space +being left open over the centre of the fire. There was the whole +heart, black as a thirty-two pound ball, hanging at one corner. They +said, that it took three or four days to cure this meat, and it would +keep a year or more. Refuse pieces lay about on the ground in +different stages of decay, and some pieces also in the fire, half +buried and sizzling in the ashes, as black and dirty as an old +shoe. These last I at first thought were thrown away, but afterwards +found that they were being cooked. Also a tremendous rib-piece was +roasting before the fire, being impaled on an upright stake forced in +and out between the ribs. There was a moose-hide stretched and curing +on poles like ours, and quite a pile of cured skins close by. They had +killed twenty-two moose within two months, but, as they could use but +very little of the meat, they left the carcasses on the +ground. Altogether it was about as savage a sight as was ever +witnessed, and I was carried back at once three hundred years. There +were many torches of birch-bark, shaped like straight tin horns, lying +ready for use on a stump outside. + +For fear of dirt, we spread our blankets over their hides, so as not +to touch them anywhere. The St. Francis Indian and Joe alone were +there at first, and we lay on our backs talking with them till +midnight. They were very sociable, and, when they did not talk with +us, kept up a steady chatting in their own language. We heard a small +bird just after dark, which, Joe said, sang at a certain hour in the +night,--at ten o'clock, he believed. We also heard the hylodes and +tree-toads, and the lumberers singing in their camp a quarter of a +mile off. I told them that I had seen pictured in old books pieces of +human flesh drying on these crates; whereupon they repeated some +tradition about the Mohawks eating human flesh, what parts they +preferred, etc., and also of a battle with the Mohawks near Moosehead, +in which many of the latter were killed; but I found that they knew +but little of the history of their race, and could be entertained by +stories about their ancestors as readily as any way. At first I was +nearly roasted out, for I lay against one side of the camp, and felt +the heat reflected not only from the birch-bark above, but from the +side; and again I remembered the sufferings of the Jesuit +missionaries, and what extremes of heat and cold the Indians were said +to endure. I struggled long between my desire to remain and talk with +them, and my impulse to rush out and stretch myself on the cool grass; +and when I was about to take the last step, Joe, hearing my murmurs, +or else being uncomfortable himself, got up and partially dispersed +the fire. I suppose that that is Indian manners,--to defend yourself. + +While lying there listening to the Indians, I amused myself with +trying to guess at their subject by their gestures, or some proper +name introduced. There can be no more startling evidence of their +being a distinct and comparatively aboriginal race, than to hear this +unaltered Indian language, which the white man cannot speak nor +understand. We may suspect change and deterioration in almost every +other particular, but the language which is so wholly unintelligible +to us. It took me by surprise, though I had found so many arrow-heads, +and convinced me that the Indian was not the invention of historians +and poets. It was a purely wild and primitive American sound, as much +as the barking of a _chickaree_, and I could not understand a +syllable of it; but Paugus, had he been there, would have understood +it. These Abenakis gossiped, laughed, and jested, in the language in +which Eliot's Indian Bible is written, the language which has been +spoken in New England who shall say how long? These were the sounds +that issued from the wigwams of this country before Columbus was born; +they have not yet died away; and, with remarkably few exceptions, the +language of their forefathers is still copious enough for them. I felt +that I stood, or rather lay, as near to the primitive man of America, +that night, as any of its discoverers ever did. + +In the midst of their conversation, Joe suddenly appealed to me to +know how long Moosehead Lake was. + +Meanwhile, as we lay there, Joe was making and trying his horn, to be +ready for hunting after midnight. The St. Francis Indian also amused +himself with sounding it, or rather calling through it; for the sound +is made with the voice, and not by blowing through the horn. The +latter appeared to be a speculator in moose-hides. He bought my +companion's for two dollars and a quarter, green. Joe said that it +was worth two and a half at Oldtown. Its chief use is for moccasins. +One or two of these Indians wore them. I was told, that, by a recent +law of Maine, foreigners are not allowed to kill moose there at any +season; white Americans can kill them only at a particular season, but +the Indians of Maine at all seasons. The St. Francis Indian +accordingly asked my companion for a _wighiggin_, or bill, to +show, since he was a foreigner. He lived near Sorel. I found that he +could write his name very well, _Tahmunt Swasen_. One Ellis, an +old white man of Guilford, a town through which we passed, not far +from the south end of Moosehead, was the most celebrated moose-hunter +of those parts. Indians and whites spoke with equal respect of +him. Tahmunt said, that there were more moose here than in the +Adirondack country in New York, where he had hunted; that three years +before there were a great many about, and there were a great many now +in the woods, but they did not come out to the water. It was of no use +to hunt them at midnight,--they would not come out then. I asked +Sabattis, after he came home, if the moose never attacked him. He +answered, that you must not fire many times so as to mad him. "I fire +once and hit him in the right place, and in the morning I find him. He +won't go far. But if you keep firing, you mad him. I fired once five +bullets, every one through the heart, and he did not mind 'em at all; +it only made him more mad." I asked him if they did not hunt them with +dogs. He said, that they did so in winter, but never in the summer, +for then it was of no use; they would run right off straight and +swiftly a hundred miles. + +Another Indian said, that the moose, once scared, would run all day. A +dog will hang to their lips, and be carried along till he is swung +against a tree and drops off. They cannot run on a "glaze," though +they can run in snow four feet deep; but the caribou can run on +ice. They commonly find two or three moose together. They cover +themselves with water, all but their noses, to escape flies. He had +the horns of what he called "the black moose that goes in low lands." +These spread three or four feet. The "red moose" was another kind, +"running on mountains," and had horns which spread six feet. Such were +his distinctions. Both can move their horns. The broad flat blades are +covered with hair, and are so soft, when the animal is alive, that you +can run a knife through them. They regard it as a good or bad sign, if +the horns turn this way or that. His caribou horns had been gnawed by +mice in his wigwam, but he thought that the horns neither of the moose +nor of the caribou were ever gnawed while the creature was alive, as +some have asserted. An Indian, whom I met after this at Oldtown, who +had carried about a bear and other animals of Maine to exhibit, told +me that thirty years ago there were not so many moose in Maine as now; +also, that the moose were very easily tamed, and would come back when +once fed, and so would deer, but not caribou. The Indians of this +neighborhood are about as familiar with the moose as we are with the +ox, having associated with them for so many generations. Father +Rasles, in his Dictionary of the Abenaki Language, gives not only a +word for the male moose, (_aianbé_) and another for the female, +(_hèrar_,) but for the bone which is in the middle of the heart +of the moose (!), and for his left hind-leg. + +There were none of the small deer up there; they are more common about +the settlements. One ran into the city of Bangor two years before, and +jumped through a window of costly plate glass, and then into a mirror, +where it thought it recognized one of its kind, and out again, and so +on, leaping over the heads of the crowd, until it was captured. This +the inhabitants speak of as the deer that went a-shopping. The +last-mentioned Indian spoke of the _lunxus_ or Indian devil, +(which I take to be the cougar, and not the _Gulo luscus_,) as +the only animal in Maine which man need fear; it would follow a man, +and did not mind a fire. He also said, that beavers were getting to be +pretty numerous again, where we went, but their skins brought so +little now that it was not profitable to hunt them. + +I had put the ears of our moose, which were ten inches long, to dry +along with the moose-meat over the fire, wishing to preserve them; but +Sabattis told me that I must skin and cure them, else the hair would +all come off. He observed, that they made tobacco-pouches of the skins +of their ears, putting the two together inside to inside. I asked him +how he got fire; and he produced a little cylindrical box of +friction-matches. He also had flints and steel, and some punk, which +was not dry; I think it was from the yellow birch. "But suppose you +upset, and all these and your powder get wet." "Then," said he, "we +wait till we get to where there is some fire." I produced from my +pocket a little vial, containing matches, stoppled water-tight, and +told him, that, though we were upset, we should still have some dry +matches; at which he stared without saying a word. + +We lay awake thus a long while talking, and they gave us the meaning +of many Indian names of lakes and streams in the vicinity,--especially +Tahmunt. I asked the Indian name of Moosehead Lake. Joe answered, +_Sebamook_; Tahmunt pronounced it _Sebemook_. When I asked +what it meant, they answered, Moosehead Lake. At length, getting my +meaning, they alternately repeated the word over to themselves, as a +philologist might,--_Sebamook_,--_Sebamook_,--now and then +comparing notes in Indian; for there was a slight difference in their +dialects; and finally Tahmunt said, "Ugh! I know,"--and he rose up +partly on the moose-hide,--"like as here is a place, and there is a +place," pointing to different parts of the hide, "and you take water +from there and fill this, and it stays here; that is _Sebamook_." +I understood him to mean that it was a reservoir of water which did +not run away, the river coming in on one side and passing out again +near the same place, leaving a permanent bay. Another Indian said, +that it meant Large-Bay Lake, and that _Sebago_ and _Sebec_, +the names of other lakes, were kindred words, meaning large open +water. Joe said that _Seboois_ meant Little River. I observed +their inability, often described, to convey an abstract idea. Having +got the idea, though indistinctly, they groped about in vain for words +with which to express it. Tahmunt thought that the whites called it +Moosehead Lake, because Mount Kineo, which commands it, is shaped like +a moose's head, and that Moose River was so called "because the +mountain points right across the lake to its mouth." John Josselyn, +writing about 1673, says, "Twelve miles from Casco Bay, and passable +for men and horses, is a lake, called by the Indians Sebug. On the +brink thereof, at one end, is the famous rock, shaped like a moose +deer or helk, diaphanous, and called the Moose Rock." He appears to +have confounded Sebamook with Sebago, which is nearer, but has no +"diaphanous" rock on its shore. + +I give more of their definitions, for what they are worth,--partly +_because_ they differ sometimes from the commonly received ones. They +never analyzed these words before. After long deliberation and +repeating of the word, for it gave much trouble, Tahmunt said that +_Chesuncook_ meant a place where many streams emptied in (?), and he +enumerated them,--Penobscot, Umbazookskus, Cusabesex, Red Brook, +etc.--"_Caucomgomoc_,--what does that mean?" "What are those +large white birds?" he asked. "Gulls," said I. "Ugh! Gull +Lake."--_Pammadumcook_, Joe thought, meant the Lake with Gravelly +Bottom or Bed.--_Kenduskeag_, Tahmunt concluded at last, after asking +if birches went up it, for he said that he was not much acquainted +with it, meant something like this: "You go up Penobscot till you come +to _Kenduskeag_, and you go by, you don't turn up there. That is +_Kenduskeag_." (?) Another Indian, however, who knew the river better, +told us afterward that it meant Little Eel River.--_Mattawamkeag_ was +a place where two rivers meet. (?)--_Penobscot_ was Rocky River. One +writer says, that this was "originally the name of only a section of +the main channel, from the head of the tide-water to a short distance +above Oldtown." + +A very intelligent Indian, whom we afterward met, son-in-law of +Neptune, gave us also these other definitions:--_Umbazookskus_, Meadow +Stream; _Millinoket_, Place of Islands; _Aboljacarmegus_, Smooth-Ledge +Falls (and Dead-Water); _Aboljacarmeguscook_, the stream emptying in; +(the last was the word he gave when I asked about _Aboljacknagesic_, +which he did not recognize;) _Mattahumkeag_, Sand-Creek Pond; +_Piscataquis_, Branch of a River. + +I asked our hosts what _Musketaquid_, the Indian name of Concord, +Mass., meant; but they changed it to _Musketicook_, and repeated +that, and Tahmunt said that it meant Dead Stream, which is probably +true. _Cook_ appears to mean stream, and perhaps _quid_ +signifies the place or ground. When I asked the meaning of the names +of two of our hills, they answered that they were another language. As +Tahmunt said that he traded at Quebec, my companion inquired the +meaning of the word _Quebec_, about which there has been so much +question. He did not know, but began to conjecture. He asked what +those great ships were called that carried soldiers. "Men-of-war," we +answered. "Well," he said, "when the English ships came up the river, +they could not go any further, it was so narrow there; they must go +back,--go-back,--that's Que-bec." I mention this to show the value of +his authority in the other cases. + +Late at night the other two Indians came home from moose-hunting, not +having been successful, aroused the fire again, lighted their pipes, +smoked awhile, took something strong to drink, and ate some +moose-meat, and, finding what room they could, lay down on the +moose-hides; and thus we passed the night, two white men and four +Indians, side by side. + +When I awoke in the morning the weather was drizzling. One of the +Indians was lying outside, rolled in his blanket, on the opposite side +of the fire, for want of room. Joe had neglected to awake my +companion, and he had done no hunting that night. Tahmunt was making a +cross-bar for his canoe with a singularly shaped knife, such as I have +since seen other Indians using. The blade was thin, about three +quarters of an inch wide, and eight or nine inches long, but curved +out of its plane into a hook, which he said made it more convenient to +shave with. As the Indians very far north and northwest use the same +kind of knife, I suspect that it was made according to an aboriginal +pattern, though some white artisans may use a similar one. The Indians +baked a loaf of flour bread in a spider on its edge before the fire +for their breakfast; and while my companion was making tea, I caught a +dozen sizable fishes in the Penobscot, two kinds of sucker and one +trout. After we had breakfasted by ourselves, one of our bedfellows, +who had also breakfasted, came along, and, being invited, took a cup +of tea, and finally, taking up the common platter, licked it +clean. But he was nothing to a white fellow, a lumberer, who was +continually stuffing himself with the Indians' moose-meat, and was the +butt of his companions accordingly. He seems to have thought that it +was a feast "to eat all." It is commonly said that the white man +finally surpasses the Indian on his own ground, and it was proved true +in this case. I cannot swear to his employment during the hours of +darkness, but I saw him at it again as soon as it was light, though he +came a quarter of a mile to his work. + +The rain prevented our continuing any longer in the woods; so giving +some of our provisions and utensils to the Indians, we took leave of +them. This being the steamer's day, I set out for the lake at once. At +the carry-man's camp I saw many little birds, brownish and yellowish, +with some white tail-feathers, hopping on the wood-pile, in company +with the slate-colored snow-bird, (_Fringilla hiemalis_,) but +more familiar than they. The lumberers said that they came round their +camps, and they gave them a vulgar name. Their simple and lively note, +which was heard in all the woods, was very familiar to me, though I +had never before chanced to see the bird while uttering it, and it +interested me not a little, because I had had many a vain chase in a +spring-morning in the direction of that sound, in order to identify +the bird. On the 28th of the next month, (October,) I saw in my yard, +in a drizzling day, many of the same kind of birds flitting about amid +the weeds, and uttering a faint _chip_ merely. There was one +full-plumaged Yellow-crowned Warbler (_Sylvia coronata_) among +them, and I saw that the others were the young birds of that +season. They had followed me from Moosehead and the North. I have +since frequently seen the full-plumaged ones while uttering that note +in the spring. + +I walked over the carry alone and waited at the head of the lake. An +eagle, or some other large bird, flew screaming away from its perch by +the shore at my approach. For an hour after I reached the shore there +was not a human being to be seen, and I had all that wide prospect to +myself. I thought that I heard the sound of the steamer before she +came in sight on the open lake. I noticed at the landing, when the +steamer came in, one of our bedfellows, who had been a-moose-hunting +the night before, now very sprucely dressed in a clean white shirt and +fine black pants, a true Indian dandy, who had evidently come over the +carry to show himself to any arrivers on the north shore of Moosehead +Lake, just as New York dandies take a turn up Broadway and stand on +the steps of a hotel. + +Midway the lake we took on board two manly-looking middle-aged men, +with their _bateau_, who had been exploring for six weeks as far +as the Canada line, and had let their beards grow. They had the skin +of a beaver, which they had recently caught, stretched on an oval +hoop, though the fur was not good at that season. I talked with one of +them, telling him that I had come all this distance partly to see +where the white-pine, the Eastern stuff of which our houses are built, +grew, but that on this and a previous excursion into another part of +Maine I had found it a scarce tree; and I asked him where I must look +for it. With a smile, he answered, that he could hardly tell +me. However, he said that he had found enough to employ two teams the +next winter in a place where there was thought to be none left. What +was considered a "tip-top" tree now was not looked at twenty years +ago, when he first went into the business; but they succeeded very +well now with what was considered quite inferior timber then. The +explorer used to cut into a tree higher and higher up, to see if it +was false-hearted, and if there was a rotten heart as big as his arm, +he let it alone; but now they cut such a tree, and sawed it all around +the rot, and it made the very best of boards, for in such a case they +were never shaky. + +One connected with lumbering operations at Bangor told me that the +largest pine belonging to his firm, cut the previous winter, "scaled" +in the woods four thousand five hundred feet, and was worth ninety +dollars in the log at the Bangor boom in Oldtown. They cut a road +three and a half miles long for this tree alone. He thought that the +principal locality for the white-pine that came down the Penobscot now +was at the head of the East Branch and the Allegash, about Webster +Stream and Eagle and Chamberlain Lakes. Much timber has been stolen +from the public lands. (Pray, what kind of forest-warden is the Public +itself?) I heard of one man who, having discovered some particularly +fine trees just within the boundaries of the public lands, and not +daring to employ an accomplice, cut them down, and by means of block +and tackle, without cattle, tumbled them into a stream, and so +succeeded in getting off with them without the least assistance. +Surely, stealing pine-trees in this way is not so mean as robbing +hen-roosts. + +We reached Monson that night, and the next day rode to Bangor, all the +way in the rain again, varying our route a little. Some of the taverns +on this road, which were particularly dirty, were plainly in a +transition state from the camp to the house. + + * * * * * + +The next forenoon we went to Oldtown. One slender old Indian on the +Oldtown shore, who recognized my companion, was full of mirth and +gestures, like a Frenchman. A Catholic priest crossed to the island in +the same _bateau_ with us. The Indian houses are framed, mostly of one +story, and in rows one behind another, at the south end of the island, +with a few scattered ones. I counted about forty, not including the +church and what my companion called the council-house. The last, which +I suppose is their town-house, was regularly framed and shingled like +the rest. There were several of two stories, quite neat, with +front-yards inclosed, and one at least had green blinds. Here and +there were moose-hides stretched and drying about them. There were no +cart-paths, nor tracks of horses, but foot-paths; very little land +cultivated, but an abundance of weeds, indigenous and naturalized; +more introduced weeds than useful vegetables, as the Indian is said to +cultivate the vices rather than the virtues of the white man. Yet +this village was cleaner than I expected, far cleaner than such Irish +villages as I have seen. The children were not particularly ragged nor +dirty. The little boys met us with bow in hand and arrow on string, +and cried, "Put up a cent." Verily, the Indian has but a feeble hold +on his bow now; but the curiosity of the white man is insatiable, and +from the first he has been eager to witness this forest +accomplishment. That elastic piece of wood with its feathered dart, so +sure to be unstrung by contact with civilization, will serve for the +type, the coat-of-arms of the savage. Alas for the Hunter Race! the +white man has driven off their game, and substituted a cent in its +place. I saw an Indian woman washing at the water's edge. She stood on +a rock, and, after dipping the clothes in the stream, laid them on the +rock, and beat them with a short club. In the grave-yard, which was +crowded with graves, and overrun with weeds, I noticed an inscription +in Indian, painted on a wooden grave-board. There was a large wooden +cross on the island. + +Since my companion knew him, we called on Governor Neptune, who +lived in a little "ten-footer," one of the humblest of them +all. Personalities are allowable in speaking of public men, therefore +I will give the particulars of our visit. He was a-bed. When we +entered the room, which was one half of the house, he was sitting on +the side of the bed. There was a clock hanging in one corner. He had +on a black frock-coat, and black pants, much worn, white cotton shirt, +socks, a red silk handkerchief about his neck, and a straw hat. His +black hair was only slightly grayed. He had very broad cheeks, and his +features were decidedly and refreshingly different from those of any +of the upstart Native American party whom I have seen. He was no +darker than many old white men. He told me that he was eighty-nine; +but he was going a-moose-hunting that fall, as he had been the +previous one. Probably his companions did the hunting. We saw various +squaws dodging about. One sat on the bed by his side and helped him +out with his stories. They were remarkably corpulent, with smooth, +round faces, apparently full of good-humor. Certainly our much-abused +climate had not dried up their adipose substance. While we were +there,--for we stayed a good while,--one went over to Oldtown, +returned and cut out a dress, which she had bought, on another bed in +the room. The Governor said, that "he could remember when the moose +were much larger; that they did not use to be in the woods, but came +out of the water, as all deer did. Moose was whale once. Away down +Merrimack way, a whale came ashore in a shallow bay. Sea went out and +left him, and he came up on land a moose. What made them know he was a +whale was, that at first, before he began to run in bushes, he had no +bowels inside, but"----and then the squaw who sat on the bed by his +side, as the Governor's aid, and had been putting in a word now and +then and confirming the story, asked me what we called that soft thing +we find along the sea-shore. "Jelly-fish," I suggested. "Yes," said +he, "no bowels, but jelly-fish." + +There may be some truth in what he said about the moose growing larger +formerly; for the quaint John Josselyn, a physician who spent many +years in this very district of Maine in the seventeenth century, says, +that the tips of their horns "are sometimes found to be two fathoms +asunder,"--and he is particular to tell us that a fathom is six +feet,--"and [they are] in height, from the toe of the forefoot to the +pitch of the shoulder, twelve foot, both which hath been taken by some +of my sceptique readers to be monstrous lies"; and he adds,--"There +are certain transcendentia in every creature, which are the indelible +character of God, and which discover God." This is a greater dilemma +to be caught in than is presented by the cranium of the young Bechuana +ox, apparently another of the _transcendentia_, in the collection +of Thomas Steel, Upper Brook Street, London, whose "entire length of +horn, from tip to tip, along the curve, is 13 ft. 5 in.; distance +(straight) between the tips of the horns, 8 ft. 8-1/2 in." However, the +size both of the moose and the cougar, as I have found, is generally +rather underrated than overrated, and I should be inclined to add to +the popular estimate a part of what I subtracted from Josselyn's. + +But we talked mostly with the Governor's son-in-law, a very sensible +Indian; and the Governor, being so old and deaf, permitted himself to +be ignored, while we asked questions about him. The former said, that +there were two political parties among them,--one in favor of schools, +and the other opposed to them, or rather they did not wish to resist +the priest, who was opposed to them. The first had just prevailed at +the election and sent their man to the legislature. Neptune and +Aitteon and he himself were in favor of schools. He said, "If Indians +got learning, they would keep their money." When we asked where Joe's +father, Aitteon, was, he knew that he must be at Lincoln, though he +was about going a-moose-hunting, for a messenger had just gone to him +there to get his signature to some papers. I asked Neptune if they had +any of the old breed of dogs yet. He answered, "Yes." "But that," said +I, pointing to one that had just come in, "is a Yankee dog." He +assented. I said that he did not look like a good one. "Oh, yes!" he +said, and he told, with much gusto, how, the year before, he had +caught and held by the throat a wolf. A very small black puppy rushed +into the room and made at the Governor's feet, as he sat in his +stockings with his legs dangling from the bedside. The Governor rubbed +his hands and dared him to come on, entering into the sport with +spirit. Nothing more that was significant transpired, to my knowledge, +during this interview. This was the first time that I ever called on a +governor, but, as I did not ask for an office, I can speak of it with +the more freedom. + +An Indian who was making canoes behind a house, looking up pleasantly +from his work,--for he knew my companion,--said that his name was Old +John Pennyweight. I had heard of him long before, and I inquired after +one of his contemporaries, Joe Four-pence-ha'penny; but, alas! he no +longer circulates. I made a faithful study of canoe-building, and I +thought that I should like to serve an apprenticeship at that trade +for one season, going into the woods for bark with my "boss," making +the canoe there, and returning in it at last. + +While the _bateau_ was coming over to take us off, I picked up +some fragments of arrow-heads on the shore, and one broken stone +chisel, which were greater novelties to the Indians than to me. After +this, on Old Fort Hill, at, the bend of the Penobscot, three miles +above Bangor, looking for the site of an Indian town which some think +stood thereabouts, I found more arrow-heads, and two little dark and +crumbling fragments of Indian earthenware, in the ashes of their +fires. The Indians on the Island appeared to live quite happily and +to be well treated by the inhabitants of Oldtown. + +We visited Veazie's mills, just below the Island, where were sixteen +sets of saws,--some gang saws, sixteen in a gang, not to mention +circular saws. On one side, they were hauling the logs up an +inclined plane by water-power; on the other, passing out the boards, +planks, and sawed timber, and forming them into rafts. The trees were +literally drawn and quartered there. In forming the rafts, they use +the lower three feet of hard-wood saplings, which have a crooked and +knobbed butt-end, for bolts, passing them up through holes bored in +the corners and sides of the rafts, and keying them. In another +apartment they were making fence-slats, such as stand all over New +England, out of odds and ends,--and it may be that I saw where the +picket-fence behind which I dwell at home came from. I was surprised +to find a boy collecting the long edgings of boards as fast as cut +off, and thrusting them down a hopper, where they were _ground +up_ beneath the mill, that they might be out of the way; otherwise +they accumulate in vast piles by the side of the building, increasing +the danger from fire, or, floating off, they obstruct the river. This +was not only a saw-mill, but a grist-mill, then. The inhabitants of +Oldtown, Stillwater, and Bangor cannot suffer for want of +kindling-stuff, surely. Some get their living exclusively by picking +up the drift-wood and selling it by the cord in the winter. In one +place I saw where an Irishman, who keeps a team and a man for the +purpose, had covered the shore for a long distance with regular piles, +and I was told that he had sold twelve hundred dollars' worth in a +year. Another, who lived by the shore, told me that he got all the +material of his out-buildings and fences from the river; and in that +neighborhood I perceived that this refuse wood was frequently used +instead of sand to fill hollows with, being apparently cheaper than +dirt. + +I got my first clear view of Katadn, on this excursion, from a hill +about two miles northwest of Bangor, whither I went for this +purpose. After this I was ready to return to Massachusetts. + + * * * * * + +Humboldt has written an interesting chapter on the primitive forest, +but no one has yet described for me the difference between that wild +forest which once occupied our oldest townships, and the tame one +which I find there to-day. It is a difference which would be worth +attending to. The civilized man not only clears the land permanently +to a great extent, and cultivates open fields, but he tames and +cultivates to a certain extent the forest itself. By his mere +presence, almost, he changes the nature of the trees as no other +creature does. The sun and air, and perhaps fire, have been +introduced, and grain raised where it stands. It has lost its wild, +damp, and shaggy look, the countless fallen and decaying trees are +gone, and consequently that thick coat of moss which lived on them is +gone too. The earth is comparatively bare and smooth and dry. The +most primitive places left with us are the swamps, where the spruce +still grows shaggy with usnea. The surface of the ground in the Maine +woods is everywhere spongy and saturated with moisture. I noticed that +the plants which cover the forest floor there are such as are commonly +confined to swamps with us,--the _Clintonia borealis_, orchises, +creeping snowberry, and others; and the prevailing aster there is the +_Aster acuminatus_, which with us grows in damp and shady +woods. The asters _cordifolias_ and _macrophyllus_ also are +common, asters of little or no color, and sometimes without petals. I +saw no soft, spreading, second-growth white-pines, with smooth bark, +acknowledging the presence of the wood-chopper, but even the young +white-pines were all tall and slender rough-barked trees. + +Those Maine woods differ essentially from ours. There you are never +reminded that the wilderness which you are threading is, after all, +some villager's familiar wood-lot, some widow's thirds, from which her +ancestors have sledded fuel for generations, minutely described in +some old deed which is recorded, of which the owner has got a plan +too, and old bound-marks may be found every forty rods, if you will +search. 'Tis true, the map may inform you that you stand on land +granted by the State to some academy, or on Bingham's purchase; but +these names do not impose on you, for you see nothing to remind you of +the academy or of Bingham. What were the "forests" of England to +these? One writer relates of the Isle of Wight, that in Charles the +Second's time "there were woods in the island so complete and +extensive, that it is said a squirrel might have travelled in several +parts many leagues together on the top of the trees." If it were not +for the rivers, (and he might go round their heads,) a squirrel could +here travel thus the whole breadth of the country. + +We have as yet had no adequate account of a primitive pine-forest. I +have noticed that in a physical atlas lately published in +Massachusetts, and used in our schools, the "wood land" of North +America is limited almost solely to the valleys of the Ohio and some +of the Great Lakes, and the great pine-forests of the globe are not +represented. In our vicinity, for instance, New Brunswick and Maine +are exhibited as bare as Greenland. It may be that the children of +Greenville, at the foot of Moosehead Lake, who surely are not likely +to be scared by an owl, are referred to the valley of the Ohio to get +an idea of a forest; but they would not know what to do with their +moose, bear, caribou, beaver, etc., there. Shall we leave it to an +Englishman to inform us, that "in North America, both in the United +States and Canada, are the most extensive pine-forests in the world"? +The greater part of New Brunswick, the northern half of Maine, and +adjacent parts of Canada, not to mention the northeastern part of New +York and other tracts further off, are still covered with an almost +unbroken pine-forest. + +But Maine, perhaps, will soon be where Massachusetts is. A good part +of her territory is already as bare and common-place as much of our +neighborhood, and her villages generally are not so well shaded as +ours. We seem to think that the earth must go through the ordeal of +sheep-pasturage before it is habitable by man. Consider Nahant, the +resort of all the fashion of Boston,--which peninsula I saw but +indistinctly in the twilight, when I steamed by it, and thought that +it was unchanged since the discovery. John Smith described it in 1614 +as "the Mattahunts, two pleasant isles of groves, gardens, and +cornfields"; and others tell us that it was once well wooded, and even +furnished timber to build the wharves of Boston. Now it is difficult +to make a tree grow there, and the visitor comes away with a vision of +Mr. Tudor's ugly fences a rod high, designed to protect a few +pear-shrubs. And what are we coming to in our Middlesex towns?--a +bald, staring town-house, or meeting-house, and a bare liberty-pole, +as leafless as it is fruitless, for all I can see. We shall be obliged +to import the timber for the last, hereafter, or splice such sticks as +we have;--and our ideas of liberty are equally mean with these. The +very willow-rows lopped every three years for fuel or powder,--and +every sizable pine and oak, or other forest tree, cut down within the +memory of man! As if individual speculators were to be allowed to +export the clouds out of the sky, or the stars out of the firmament, +one by one. We shall be reduced to gnaw the very crust of the earth +for nutriment. + +They have even descended to smaller game. They have lately, as I hear, +invented a machine for chopping up huckleberry-bushes fine, and so +converting them into fuel!--bushes which, for fruit alone, are worth +all the pear-trees in the country many times over. (I can give you a +list of the three best kinds, if you want it.) At this rate, we shall +all be obliged to let our beards grow at least, if only to hide the +nakedness of the land and make a sylvan appearance. The farmer +sometimes talks of "brushing up," simply as if bare ground looked +better than clothed ground, than that which wears its natural +vesture,--as if the wild hedges, which, perhaps, are more to his +children than his whole farm beside, were _dirt_. I know of one +who deserves to be called the Tree-hater, and, perhaps, to leave this +for a new patronymic to his children. You would think that he had +been warned by an oracle that he would be killed by the fall of a +tree, and so was resolved to anticipate them. The journalists think +that they cannot say too much in favor of such "improvements" in +husbandry; it is a safe theme, like piety; but as for the beauty of +one of these "model farms," I would as lief see a patent churn and a +man turning it. They are, commonly, places merely where somebody is +making money, it may be counterfeiting. The virtue of making two +blades of grass grow where only one grew before does not begin to be +superhuman. + +Nevertheless, it was a relief to get back to our smooth, but still +varied landscape. For a permanent residence, it seemed to me that +there could be no comparison between this and the wilderness, +necessary as the latter is for a resource and a background, the raw +material of all our civilization. The wilderness is simple, almost to +barrenness. The partially cultivated country it is which chiefly has +inspired, and will continue to inspire, the strains of poets, such as +compose the mass of any literature. Our woods are sylvan, and their +inhabitants woodmen and rustics,--that is, _selvaggia_, and the +inhabitants are _salvages_. A civilized man, using the word in +the ordinary sense, with his ideas and associations, must at length +pine there, like a cultivated plant, which clasps its fibres about a +crude and undissolved mass of peat. At the extreme North, the voyagers +are obliged to dance and act plays for employment. Perhaps our own +woods and fields,--in the best wooded towns, where we need not quarrel +about the huckleberries,--with the primitive swamps scattered here and +there in their midst, but not prevailing over them, are the perfection +of parks and groves, gardens, arbors, paths, vistas, and landscapes. +They are the natural consequence of what art and refinement we as a +people have,--the common which each village possesses, its true +paradise, in comparison with which all elaborately and wilfully +wealth-constructed parks and gardens are paltry imitations. Or, I +would rather say, such _were_ our groves twenty years ago. The +poet's, commonly, is not a logger's path, but a woodman's. The logger +and pioneer have preceded him, like John the Baptist; eaten the wild +honey, it may be, but the locusts also; banished decaying wood and the +spongy mosses which feed on it, and built hearths and humanized Nature +for him. + +But there are spirits of a yet more liberal culture, to whom no +simplicity is barren. There are not only stately pines, but fragile +flowers, like the orchises, commonly described as too delicate for +cultivation, which derive their nutriment from the crudest mass of +peat. These remind us, that, not only for strength, but for beauty, +the poet must, from time to time, travel the logger's path and the +Indian's trail, to drink at some new and more bracing fountain of the +Muses, far in the recesses of the wilderness. + +The kings of England formerly had their forests "to hold the king's +game," for sport or food, sometimes destroying villages to create or +extend them; and I think that they were impelled by a true +instinct. Why should not we, who have renounced the king's authority, +have our national preserves, where no villages need be destroyed, in +which the bear and panther, and some even of the hunter race, may +still exist, and not be "civilized off the face of the earth,"--our +forests, not to hold the king's game merely, but to hold and preserve +the king himself also, the lord of creation,--not for idle sport or +food, but for inspiration and our own true re-creation? or shall we, +like villains, grub them all up, poaching on our own national domains? + + + + +MY CHILDREN. + + + Have you seen Annie and Kitty, + Two merry children of mine? + All that is winning and pretty + Their little persons combine. + + Annie is kissing and clinging + Dozens of times in a day,-- + Chattering, laughing, and singing, + Romping, and running away. + + Annie knows all of her neighbors. + Dainty and dirty alike,-- + Learns all their talk, and, "be jabers," + Says she "adores little Mike!" + + Annie goes mad for a flower, + Eager to pluck and destroy,-- + Cuts paper dolls by the hour, + Always her model--a boy! + + Annie is full of her fancies, + Tells most remarkable lies, + (Innocent little romances,) + Startling in one of her size. + + Three little prayers we have taught her, + Graded from winter to spring; + Oh, you should listen my daughter + Saying them all in a string! + + Kitty--ah, how my heart blesses + Kitty, my lily, my rose! + Wary of all my caresses, + Chary of all she bestows. + + Kitty loves quietest places, + Whispers sweet sermons to chairs, + And, with the gravest of faces, + Teaches old Carlo his prayers. + + Matronly, motherly creature! + Oh, what a doll she has built-- + Guiltless of figure or feature-- + Out of her own little quilt! + + Nought must come near it to wake it; + Noise must not give it alarm; + And when she sleeps, she must take it + Into her bed, on her arm. + + Kitty is shy of a caller, + Uttering never a word; + But when alone in the parlor, + Talks to herself like a bird. + + Kitty is contrary, rather, + And, with a comical smile, + Mutters, "I won't," to her father,-- + Eyeing him slyly the while. + + Loving one more than the other + Isn't the thing, I confess; + And I observe that their mother + Makes no distinction in dress. + + Preference must be improper + In a relation like this; + I wouldn't toss up a copper-- + (Kitty, come, give me a kiss!) + + + + +THE KINLOCH ESTATE, AND HOW IT WAS SETTLED. + +[Continued.] + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +Early Monday morning, Mr. Hardwick walked across the green to call +upon Mrs. Kinloch. Lucy Ransom, the house-maid, washing in the +back-yard, saw him coming, and told her mistress;--before he rang, +Mrs. Kinloch had time to tie on her lace cap, smooth her hair, and +meet him in the hall. + +"Good mum-morning, Mrs. Kinloch!" + +"Walk in, Mr. Hardwick,--this way, into the sitting-room." + +He took a seat quietly by the maple-shaded window. Mrs. Kinloch was +silent and composed. Her coolness nerved instead of depressing him, +and he began at once. + +"I've ker-come to see you about the debt which my nun-nephew, Mark, +owes the estate." + +"I don't know what _I_ can do about it," she replied, in a placid +tone. + +"We've ben nun-neighbors, now, these f-fifteen years, Mrs. Kinloch, +and never h-had any difficulty th-that I know on. An' as the ler-law +had been used per-pretty ha'sh toward Mark, I th-thought I'd see ef +'twa'n't per-possible't some mistake had ben made." + +"I don't know what mistake there has been. Squire Clamp must collect +whatever is due. It isn't harsh to do that, is it?" + +"Not ha'sh to a-ask for it, but not jest the ker-kind thing to bring +ser-suit before askin'. Mark got a word and a ber-blow, but the blow +came f-first. We didn't treat yer-you so when you was a widder." + +"So you go back to old times, and bring up my poverty and your +charity, do you?" said the widow, bitterly. + +"By nun-no means," replied the blacksmith. "I don't w-wish to open +'counts th-that've ben settled so long; an' more, I don't intend to +ber-ber-beg from you, nor a-anybody else. We pay our debts, an' don't +'xpect nor don't wer-want to do any different." + +"Then I don't see what you are so flurried about." + +"Ef so be Squire Ker-Kinloch was alive, I could tell you ber-better; +or rather, I shouldn't have to go to yer-you about it. He allers give +Mark to underst-hand that he shouldn't be hard upon him,--th-that he +could pay along as he ger-got able." + +"Why should he favor him more than others? I am sure not many men +would have lent the money in the first place, and I don't think it +looks well to be hanging back now." + +"As to why yer-your husband was disposed to favor Mark, I have +_my_ opinion. But the der-dead shall rest; I sh-sha'n't call up +their pale faces." He drew his breath hard, and his eyes looked full +of tender memories. + +After a moment he went on. "I don't w-wish to waste words; I +mum-merely come to say that Mark has five hunderd dollars, and that I +can scrape up a couple o' hunderd more, and will give my note w-with +him for the balance. Th-that's all we can handily do; an' ef that'll +arnswer, we should ler-like to have you give word to stop the suit." + +"You will have to go to Squire Clamp," was the reply. "I don't presume +to dictate to my lawyer, but shall let him do what he thinks best. You +haven't been to him, I conclude? I don't think he will be +unreasonable." + +Mr. Hardwick looked steadily at her. + +"Wer-well, Mrs. Kinloch," said he, slowly, "I th-think I +understand. Ef I don't, it isn't because you don't mum-make the matter +plain. I sha'n't go to Squire Clamp till I have the mum-money, all of +it. I hope no a-a-enemy of yourn will be so hard to y-you as my +friends are to me." + +With singular command over her tongue and temper, Mrs. Kinloch +contented herself with hoping that he would find no difficulty in +arranging matters with the lawyer, bade him good-morning, civilly, and +shut the door behind him. But when he was gone, her anger, kept so +well under control before, burst forth. + +"Stuttering old fool!" she exclaimed, "to come here to badger me!--to +throw up to me the wood he cut, or the apples he brought me!--as +though Mr. Kinloch hadn't paid that ten times over! He'll find how it +is before long." + +"What's the matter?" asked Mildred, meeting her step-mother in the +hall, and noticing her flushed cheek, her swelling veins, and +contorted brows. + +"Why, nothing, but a talk with Uncle Ralph, who has been rather +saucy." + +"Saucy? Uncle Ralph saucy? Why, he is the most kindly man in the +world,--sometimes hasty, but always well-mannered. I don't see how he +could be saucy." + +"I advise you not to stand up for him against your mother." + +"I shouldn't defend him in anything wrong; but I think there must be +some misunderstanding." + +"He is like Mark, I suppose, always perfect in your eyes." + +This was the first time since Mr. Kinloch's death that the step-mother +had ever alluded to the fondness which had existed between Mark and +Mildred as school-children, and her eyes were bent upon the girl +eagerly. It was as though she had knocked at the door of her heart, +and waited for its opening to look into the secret recesses. A quick +flush suffused Mildred's face and neck. + +"You are unkind, mother," she said; for the glance was sharper than +the words; and then, bursting into tears, she went to her room. + +"So it has come to this!" said Mrs. Kinloch to herself. "Well, I did +not begin at all too soon." + +She walked through the hall to the back piazza. She heard voices from +beyond the shrubbery that bordered the grass-plot where the clothes +were hung on lines to dry. Lucy, the maid, evidently was there, for +one; indeed, by shifting her position so as to look through an opening +in the bushes, Mrs. Kinloch could see the girl; but she was not busy +with her clothes-basket. An arm was bent around her plump and graceful +figure. The next instant, as Mrs. Kinloch saw by standing on tiptoe, +two forms swayed toward each other, and Lucy, no way reluctantly, +received a kiss from--Hugh Branning! + +Very naughty, certainly,--but it is incumbent on me to tell the truth, +and accordingly I have put it down. + +Now my readers are doubtless prepared for a catastrophe. They will +expect to hear Mrs. Kinloch cry, "Lucy Ransom, you jade, what are you +doing? Take your clothes and trumpery and leave this house!" You will +suppose that her son Hugh will be shut up in the cellar on bread and +water, or sent off to sea in disgrace. That is the traditional way +with angry mistresses, I know; but Mrs. Kinloch was not one of the +common sort. She did not know Talleyrand's maxim,--"Never act from +first impulses, for they are always--_right_!" Indeed, I doubt if +she had ever heard of that slippery Frenchman; but observation and +experience had led her to adopt a similar line of policy. + +Therefore she did not scold or send away Lucy; she could not well do +without her; and besides, there were reasons which made it desirable +that the girl should remain friendly. She did not call out to her +hopeful son, either,--although her fingers _did_ itch to tweak +his profligate ears. She knew that a dispute with him would only end +in his going off in a huff, and she thought she could employ him +better. So she coughed first and then stepped out into the yard. Hugh +presently came sauntering down the walk, and Lucy sang among the +clothes-lines as blithely and unconcerned as though her lips had never +tasted any flavor more piquant than bread and butter. + +It was rather an equivocal look which the mistress cast over her +shoulder at the girl. It might have said,--"Poor fool! singe your +wings in the candle, if you will." It might have been only the scorn +of outraged virtue. + +"Hugh," said Mrs. Kinloch, "come into the house a moment. I want to +speak with you." + +The young man looked up rather astonished, but he could not read his +mother's placid face. Her hair lay smooth on her temples, under her +neat cap; her face was almost waxy pale, her lips gently pressed +together; and if her clear, gray eyes had beamed with a warm or more +humid light, she might have served a painter as a model for a + + + "steadfast nun, devout and pure." + + +When they reached the sitting-room, Mrs. Kinloch began. + +"Hugh, do you think of going to sea again? Now that I am alone in the +world, don't you think you can make up your mind to stay at home?" + +"I haven't thought much about it, mother. I suppose I should go when +ordered, as a matter of course; I have nothing else to do." + +"That need not be a reason. There is plenty to do without waiting for +promotion in the navy till you are gray." + +"Why, mother, you know I have no profession, and, I suppose I may say, +no money. At least, the Squire made no provision for me that I know +of, and I'm sure you cannot wish me to live on your 'thirds.'" + +"My son, you should have some confidence in my advice, by this +time. It doesn't require a great fortune to live comfortably here." + +"Yes, but it is deused dull in this old town. No theatre,--no +concert,--no music at all, but from organ-grinders,--no +parties,--nothing, in fact, but prayer-meetings from one week's end to +another. I should die of the blues here." + +"Only find something to do, settle yourself into a pleasant home, and +you'll forget your uneasiness." + +"That's very well to say"---- + +"And very easy to do. But it isn't the way to begin by flirting with +every pretty, foolish girl you see. Oh, Hugh! you are all I have now +to love. I shall grow old soon, and I want to lean upon you. Give up +the navy; be advised by me." + +Hugh whistled softly. He did not suppose that his mother knew of his +gallantry. He was amused at her sharp observation. + +"So you think I'm a flirt, mother?" said he. "You are out, +entirely. I'm a pattern of propriety at home!" + +"You need not tell me, Hugh! I know more than you think. But I didn't +know that a son of mine could be so simple as I find you are." + +"She's after me," thought Hugh. "She saw me, surely." + +His mother went on. + +"With such an opportunity as you have to get yourself a wife----Don't +laugh! I want to see you married, for you will never sow your wild +oats until you are. With such a chance as you have"---- + +"Why, mother," broke in Hugh, "it isn't so bad as that." + +"Isn't so bad? What do you mean?" + +"Why, _you_ know what you're driving at, and so do I. Lucy is a +good girl enough, but I never meant anything serious. There's no need +of my marrying her." + +"What _are_ you talking about?" + +"Now, mother, what's the use? You are only trying to read me a moral +lecture, because I gave Lucy a harmless smack." + +"Lucy Ransom!" repeated Mrs. Kinloch, with ineffable scorn. "Lucy +Ransom! I hope my son isn't low enough to dally with a housemaid, a +scullion! If I _had_ seen such a spectacle, I should have kept my +mouth shut for shame. 'A guilty conscience needs no accuser'; but I am +sorry you had not pride enough to keep your disgusting fooleries to +yourself." + +"Regularly sold!" muttered Hugh, as he beat a rat-tattoo on the +window-pane. + +"I gave you credit for more penetration, Hugh. Now, just look a +minute. What would you think of the shrewdness of a young man, who +had no special turn for business, but a great fondness for taking his +ease,--with no money nor prospect of any,--and who, when he had the +opportunity to step at once into fortune and position, made no +movement to secure it?" + +"Well, the application?" + +"The fortune may be yours, if you will." + +"Don't tell me riddles. Show me the prize, and I'm after it." + +"But it has an incumbrance." + +"Well?" + +"A pretty, artless, affectionate little woman, who will make you the +best wife in the world." + +"Splendid, by Jove! Who is she?" + +"You needn't look far. We generally miss seeing the thing that is +under our nose." + +"Why, mother, there isn't an heiress in Innisfield except my sister +Mildred." + +"Mildred is not your sister. You are no more to each other than the +two farthest persons on earth." + +"True enough! Well, mother, you _are_ an old 'un!" + +"Don't!"--with a look of disgust,--"don't use your sailor slang here! +To see that doesn't require any particular shrewdness." + +"But Mildred never liked me much. She always ran from me, like the +kitten from old Bose. She has always looked as though she thought I +would bite, and that it was best she should keep out of reach under a +chair." + +"Any young man of good address and fair intelligence can make an +impression on a girl of eighteen, if he has the will, the time, and +the opportunity. You have everything in your favor, and if you don't +take the fortune that lies right in your path, you deserve to go to +the poor-house." + +Hugh meditated. + +"Good-morning," said Mrs. Kinloch. "You know the horse and carriage, +or the saddle-ponies, are always yours when you want to use them." + +Great discoveries seem always so simple, that we wonder they were not +made from the first. The highest truths are linked with the commonest +objects and events of daily life. + +Hugh looked about him as much astonished as though he had been shown a +gold mine in old Quobbin, where he could dig for the asking. What +determination he made, the course of our story will show. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +Hugh had ordered George, the Asiatic, to saddle the ponies after +dinner, intending to ask Mildred to take a ride northward, through the +pine woods; but on making inquiries, he found that she had walked out, +leaving word that she should be absent all day. + +"Confound it!" thought he,--"a mishap at the start! I'm afraid the +omen isn't a good one. However, I must kill time some way. I can't lay +up here, like a ship in ordinary; better be shaken by storms or +covered with barnacles at sea than be housed up, worm-eaten or +crumbled into powder by dry-rot on shore." + +He went to ride alone, but did not go in the direction of the pine +woods. + +Mildred could not get over the unpleasant impressions of the morning, +so, rather than remain in her room this fine day, she had walked +across the meadow, east of the mill-pond, to a farm-house, where she +was a frequent and welcome visitor. On her way, she called for Lizzy +Hardwick, the blacksmith's daughter, who accompanied her. Mr. Alford, +the farmer, was a blunt, good-humored, and rather eccentric man, +shrewd and well to do, but kindly and charitable. He had no children, +and he enjoyed the occasional visits of his favorites heartily; so did +his wife, Aunt Mercy. Her broad face brightened as she saw the girls +coming, and her plump hands were both extended to greet them. They +went to the dairy to see the creaking cheese-presses, ate of the fresh +curd, saw the golden stores of butter;--thence to the barn, where they +clambered upon the hay-mow, found the nest of a bantam, took some of +the little eggs in their pockets;--then coming into the yard, they +patted the calves' heads, scattered oats for the doves, that, with +pink feet and pearly blue necks, crowded around them to be fed, and +next began to chase a fine old gander down to the brook, when +Mr. Alford, getting over the fence, called out, "Hold on, girls! don't +bother Uncle Ralph!--don't!" + +"Where is Uncle Ralph?" asked Mildred. + +"Why, that gander you've been chasin'; and he's about the harn'somest +bird I know on, too. Talk about swans! there never was a finer neck, +nor a prettier coat of feathers on anything that ever swum. His wings +are powerful; only let him spread 'em, and up he goes; but as for his +feet, he limps just a little, as you see. No offence, Lizzy. I love +your father as well as you do; but when I hear him, with his idees so +grand,--the minister don't begin with him,--and yet to be bothered, as +he is sometimes, to get a word out, I think of my good old fellow +here, whose wings are so much better'n his legs. Come here, Ralph! You +see he knows his name. There!"--patting his head,--"that's a good +fellow! Now go and help marm attend to your goslins." + +The kindly tone and the caress took away from the comparison any idea +of disrespect, and the girls laughed at the odd conceit,--Lizzy, at +least, not a little proud of the implied compliment. Mr. Alford left +them, to attend to his affairs, and they went on with their +romp,--running on the top of the smooth wall beside the meadow, +gathering clusters of lilac blossoms from the fatherly great posy that +grew on the sunny side of the house, and admiring the solitary state +of the peacock, as, with dainty step, he trailed his royal robe over +the sward. Soon they heard voices at the house, and, going round the +corner of the shed, saw Uncle Ralph and Mark Davenport talking with +Mr. Alford at the door. + +Not to make a mystery of a simple matter, the blacksmith had come to +borrow of Mr. Alford the money necessary to make up the amount owing +by Mark to the Kinloch estate. + +The young man had shown great readiness to accompany his uncle; +praiseworthy, certainly; but I am inclined to think he had somehow got +an intimation that the girls had preceded him. + +Fortunately, the farmer was able to lend the sum wanted, and, as he +had an errand in town, he took Mr. Hardwick with him in his wagon. + +Mark was left, nothing loath, to walk home with the girls. Do not +think he was wanting in affection for his cousin Lizzy, if he wished +that she were, just for one hour, a hundred miles away. They took a +path that led over the plain to the river, intending to cross upon a +foot-bridge, a short distance above the village. But though Mark was +obliged to be silent on the matter he had most at heart, Mildred was +not unaware of his feelings. A tone, a look, a grasp of the hand +serves for an index, quite as well as the most fervent speech. The +river makes a beautiful bend near the foot-bridge, and its bank is +covered with a young growth of white pines. They sat down on a +hillock, under the trees, whose spicy perfume filled the air, and +looked down the stream towards the village. How fair it lay in the +soft air of that June day! The water was deep and blue, with a +reflected heaven. The mills that cluster about the dam, a mile below, +were partially concealed by young elms, silver-poplars, and +water-maples. Gardens sloped on either bank to the water's edge. Neat, +white houses gleamed through the trees and shrubbery around the bases +of the hills that hem in the valley; and the tall, slender spire of +the meeting-house shewed fairly against its densely-wooded +background. Verily, if I were a painter, I should desire no lovelier +scene for my canvas than that on which Mark and Mildred looked. Lizzy +walked away, and began hunting checkerberries with an unusual +ardor. She _did_ understand; she would not be Mademoiselle de +Trop any longer. Kind soul! so unlike young women in general, who +won't step aside gracefully, when they should! Further I can vouch, +that she neither hemmed, nor made eyes, nor yet repeated the well-worn +proverb, "Two's company, but three's none." No, she gathered berries +and sang snatches of songs as though she were quite alone. + +Now those of my readers who have the good-fortune still to linger in +teens are expecting that I shall treat them to a report of this +delightful _tête-à-tête_. But it must not be told. The older +people would skip it, or say, "Pshaw!" And besides, if it were set +down faithfully, you would be sadly disappointed; the cleverest men, +even, are quite sure to appear silly (to other people) when in +love. The speeches of the Romeos and Claude Melnottes, with which you +have been so enchanted, would be common-place enough, if translated +into the actual prose in which they were delivered. When Shakspeare +wooed Anne Hathaway, it might have been different; but consider, you +will wait some time before you find a lover like him. No, when your +time comes, it will be soon enough. You will see your hero in his +velvet cloak and plumed hat, with the splendor of scenery and the +intoxication of the music. I don't choose to show him to you in +morning dress at rehearsal, under daubed canvas and dangling +machinery. + +However full of poetry and passion Mark's declaration was for Mildred, +to him it was tame and hesitating enough. It seemed to him that he +could not force into the cold formula of words the emotion that +agitated him. But with quickening breath he poured out his love, his +hopes, and his fears,--the old burden! She trembled, her eyelids +fell; but at length, roused by his pleading tones, she looked +up. Their eyes met; one look was enough; it was a reciprocal electric +flash. With a sudden energy he clasped her in his arms; and it was a +very pretty tableau they made! But in the quick movement his heedless +foot chanced to touch a stone, which rolled down the bank and fell +into the stream with a splash. The charm was broken. + +"What's that?" cried Lizzy from a distance, forgetting her +discretion. "Did a pickerel jump?" + +"No," replied Mark, "the pickerel know me of old, and don't come about +for fear that I have a hook and line in my pocket. It was only a stone +rolling into the river." + +"You come here a moment," continued the unthoughtful Lizzy; "here's a +beautiful sassafras sapling, and I can't pull it up by the roots +alone." + +"Send for the dentist, then." + +"Go and help her," said Mildred, softly. + +"Well," said Mark, with a look of enforced resignation,--"if I must." + +The sapling grew on the steep bank, perhaps fifty yards from where he +had been sitting. He did not use sufficient care to brace himself, as +he pulled with all his might, and in a moment, he knew not how, he +rolled down into the river. The girls first screamed, and then, as he +came out of the water, shaking himself like a Newfoundland dog, they +laughed immoderately. The affair did not seem very funny to Mark, and +he joined in the laugh with no great heartiness. The shock had +effectually dispelled all the romance of the hour. + +"I'm so sorry!" said Lizzy, still laughing at his grotesque and +dripping figure. + +"You must hurry and get dry clothes on, Mark," said Mildred. "Squire +Clamp's is the nearest house across the bridge." + +"Hang Squire Clamp! his clothes would poison me. I'd as lief go to a +quarantine hospital to be dressed." + +"Don't!" said Lizzy. + +But he kept on in the same mercurial strain.--"Clamp lives on poison, +like Rappaccini's daughter, in Hawthorne's story; only it makes him +ugly instead of fair, as that pretty witch was. His wife never had any +trouble with spiders as long as she lived; he had only to blow into a +nest, and the creatures would tumble out, and give up their venomous +ghosts. No vermin but himself are to be seen in his neighborhood; the +rats even found they couldn't stand it, and had to emigrate." + +"The breath that killed spiders must have been a little too powerful, +at times, for Mrs. Clamp, one would think," said Mildred. + +"It was," said Mark. "She died one day, after Clamp had cheated a +widow out of her dower." + +"Don't stop longer for your fun," said Mildred, "you'll surely take +cold. Besides, I can't have you making any disparaging remarks upon my +guardian." + +"Bless my soul! your guardian! how imprudent, to be sure!"--with a +significant twinkle. "Well, I'm going. Banfield's is the nearest +house; so we'll part here." + +The girls went towards the village; and Mark, making vigorous strides +across the meadow, took a straight line for Banfield's. Near the +house is a piece of woods,--one corner of the leafy mantle that covers +the hill slipped down its side and trailing upon the borders of the +fertile field below. Just as he passed the woods he saw Hugh Branning +letting down the bars and leading his pony out into the road. The only +bridle-path through the woods led over the hill to the little house on +the westerly slope, where lived Dame Ransom, Lucy's bowed and wrinkled +grandmother. Mark wondered not a little where the midshipman had been; +but as he still retained the memory of the old quarrel, he did not +accost him, and presently thought no more of it. Reaching the house, +he got some dry clothes and then went home with bounding steps. The +earth was never so beautiful nor the sky so benign. The cloud of +doubt had furled off and left his heaven blue. He had spoken and found +that the dream of his boyhood and the hope of his youth had become the +proud triumph of his manhood. Mildred Kinloch loved him! loved him as +sincerely as when they were both children! What higher felicity was +to be thought of? And what a motive for exertion had he now! He would +be worthy of her, and the world should acknowledge that the heiress +had not stooped when she mated with him. + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +Mrs. Kinloch was surprised at finding that neither Hugh nor Mildred, +nor yet Lucy Ransom, was in the house. + +Mildred came home first and was not accompanied by Hugh, as +Mrs. Kinloch had hoped. He had not found her, then,--perhaps he had +not sought for her. Next Lucy returned, coming through the garden +which stretched up the hill. Being questioned, she answered that she +had been to her grandmother's, and had come back the nearest way over +the hill, through the woods. + +"What had she gone for after the fatigue of washing-day?" + +"Because Squire Clamp, who owned the house her grandmother lived in, +wanted her to take a message." + +Mrs. Kinloch began to become interested. "Squire Clamp!" she +exclaimed,--"when did you see him?" + +"He called here yesterday evening,--on his way to Mr. Hardwick's, I +guess." + +"Why didn't he ask _me_ if you could go? I think he's pretty free +to send my girls about the town on his errands." + +"You were out, Ma'am,--in the next house; and after he'd gone I forgot +it." + +"You remembered it to-day, it seems." + +"Yes'm; after dinner I thought of it and hurried right off; but granny +was sick and foolish, and didn't want to let me come away, so I +couldn't get back as quick as I meant to." + +"Well, you can go to the kitchen." + +"Yes'm." + +"I must keep an eye on that girl," thought Mrs. Kinloch. "She is +easily persuaded, fickle, without strong sense, and with only a very +shallow kind of cunning. She might do mischief. What can Squire Clamp +want? The old hovel her grandmother lives in isn't worth fifty +dollars. Whatever has been going on, I'm glad Hugh is not mixed up in +it." + +Just then Hugh rode up, and, tying his horse, came in. He seemed to +have lost something of the gayety of the morning. "I am tired," he +said. "I had to get off and lead the pony down the hill, and it's +steep and stony enough." + +"There are pleasant roads enough in the neighborhood," said his +mother, "without your being obliged to take to the woods and clamber +over the mountains." + +"I know it," he replied; "but I had been up towards the Allen place, +and I took a notion to come back over the hill." + +"Then you passed Lucy's house?" + +"Yes. The bridle-path leads down the hill about a mile above this; but +on foot one may keep along the ridge and come down into the valley +through our garden." + +"So I suppose; in fact, I believe Lucy has just returned that way." + +"Indeed! it's strange I didn't see her." + +"It is strange." + +Hugh bore the quiet scrutiny well, and his mother came to the +conclusion that the girl had told the truth about her going for the +lawyer. + +Presently Mildred came down from her room, and after a few minutes +Mrs. Kinloch went out, casting a fixed and meaning look at her +son. She seemed as impatient for the issue of her scheme, as the child +who, after planting a seed, waits for the green shoot, and twice a day +digs down to see if it has not sprouted. + +Mildred, as the reader may suppose, was not likely to be very +agreeable to her companion; the recollections of the day were too +vivid, too delicious. + +She could not part with them, but constantly repeated to herself the +words of love, of hope, and enthusiasm, which she had heard. So she +moved or talked as in a dream, mechanically, while her soul still +floated away on the summer-sea of reverie. + +Hugh looked at her with real admiration; and, in truth, she deserved +it. A fairer face you would not see in a day's journey; her smooth +skin, not too white, but of a rich creamy tint,--eyes brown and +inclined to be dreamy,--her hair chestnut and wavy,--a figure rather +below the medium size, but with full, graceful lines,--these, joined +with a gentle nature and a certain tremulous sensibility, constituted +a divinity that it was surely no sin to worship. If sin it were, all +the young men in Innisfield had need of immediate forgiveness. + +Hugh had some qualms about approaching the goddess. He was sensible of +a wide gulf between himself and her, and he could not but think that +she was aware of it too. + +"You have been to Mr. Alford's?" + +A momentary pause. + +"Did you speak, Hugh?" + +He repeated the question. Her eyes brightened a moment as she nodded +in the affirmative; then they grew dim again, like windows seen from +without when the light is withdrawn to an inner room. She seemed as +unconscious as a pictured Madonna. + +"A beautiful day for your walk," he ventured again. The same pause, +the same momentary interest as she answered, followed by the same +abstraction. + +"I suppose," said he, at length, "that I am having the last of my idle +days here; I expect to be ordered to sea shortly." + +"Indeed!" Mildred looked up. + +"I shall be very sorry to leave here," he continued. + +"Yes, Innisfield _is_ quite pretty this summer. But I supposed +that the pleasures of the seaport and of adventure abroad were more +attractive to you than this monotonous life." + +"'Tis rather slow here, but--I--I meant to say that I shall be sorry +to leave you." + +"Me? Why, mother can take care of me." + +"Certainly she will, but I shall miss you." + +"No doubt you'll think of us, when you are away; I'm sure we shall +remember you. We shall never sit down to the table without thinking of +your vacant chair." + +It was impossible to misinterpret her kind, simple, sisterly +tones. And Hugh could but feel that they indicated no particle of +tenderness for him. The task of winning her was yet wholly to be done, +and there was no prospect that she would give him the least +encouragement in advance, if she did not utterly refuse him at the +end. He saw that he must not count on an easy victory, but prepare for +it by a slow and gradual approach. + +Mildred sat some time leaning out of the window, then opening her +piano, for the first time since her father's death, she sat down and +played a nocturne by Mendelssohn. The music seemed a natural +expression of her feelings,--suited to the heart "steeped in golden +languors," in the "tranced summer calm." The tones rang through the +silent rooms, pervading all the charmed air, so that the ear tingled +in listening,--as the lips find a sharpness with the luscious flavor +of the pine-apple. The sound reached to the kitchen, and brought a +brief pleasure, but a bitterer pang of envy, to Lucy's swelling bosom. +It calmed for a moment the evil spirit in Hugh's troubled heart. And +Mrs. Kinloch in her solitary chamber, though she had always detested +the piano, thought she had never heard such music before. She had +found a new sense, that thrilled her with an exquisite delight. It was +a good omen, she was sure, that Mildred should now, after so long a +time, feel inclined to play. Only a light heart, and one supremely +careless or supremely happy, could touch the keys like that. "Hugh +must be a fortunate boy," she thought; and she could have hugged him +for joy. What thought Hugh, as she rose from her seat at the +instrument like one in a trance and walked towards the hall? +Conflicting emotions struggled for mastery; but, hardly knowing what +he did, he started up and offered her a caress. It was not unusual, +but her nerves had acquired an unwonted sensitiveness; she shuddered, +and rushed from him up the stairs. He could have torn his hair with +rage. + +"Am I, then, such a bear," he asked himself, "that she is afraid of +me?" + +A light at the end of the hall caught his eye. It was Lucy with +tear-stained cheeks going to bed,--unconscious that the flaring candle +she carried was dripping upon her dress,--unconscious that the one she +both loved and feared was looking at her as she slowly went up the +back-stairs. Truly, how little the inmates of that house knew of the +secrets of each other's hearts! It was strange,--was it not?--that, +after so long intimacy, they could not understand each other better! +How many hearts do _you_ really know? + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +"Verily, a good day's work," thought Squire Clamp, as he stretched his +legs in his office that Monday evening. "Mrs. Kinloch is a very shrewd +woman, an extraordinarily capable woman. What a wife for a lawyer +she'd make!--so long as she plotted for, and not against him. But +Theophilus Clamp was not born to be overreached by one of the weaker +sex. I was sure my late lamented friend could not have left his +affairs in such utter disorder,--no schedule of property,--no +statement of debts; too good a business man for that was Walter +Kinloch. I shall now be able to know from these documents what my +late client was really worth, and how large a dower the disconsolate +widow has reserved for herself. Doubtless she has put by enough to +suffice for her old age,--and mine, too, I am inclined to think; for I +don't believe I can do better than marry her when the mourning is +ended. My late spouse, to be sure, would make a quiet man rather +apprehensive about a second venture; but if Mrs. Kinloch _is_ a +Tartar, she is not a vulgar shrew, but will be lady-like, even if she +is bitter. I think I shall take her. Of course she'll consent. I +should like to see the unmarried woman in Innisfield that would dare +refuse Theophilus Clamp. When she knows--that I know--what she knows, +she'll do pretty much what I tell her. I wonder if she hasn't set on +foot a marriage between her scapegrace son and Mildred? That would be +a mishap, truly! But, as guardian, I can stave that off until the +estate is settled, my wedding over, and myself comfortably in +possession. Then, perhaps, we'll let the young folks marry,--at least +we'll think of it. If my son George, now, had not that unlucky +hare-lip, who knows? H'm, well, to business again. Let's see. It's +just as that remarkably keen woman suspected. Hardwick's shop does +stand partly on the land of the estate that joins it; the line will +run right through his forge, and leave the trip-hammer and water-wheel +in our possession; for I paced the distance this morning. Tomorrow +Gunter will make sure of it by a survey; though I think we'd better do +it while the old man is gone to dinner. He's sometimes apt to use +emphatic language. Perhaps now his mangy cur Caesar will seize me by +the coat again! Perhaps Mark will insult me, and the old man laugh at +it in his sleeve! I shouldn't wonder if they managed to pay the notes, +but on the title to the shop we have them fast." + +The lawyer looked at his watch. "Dear me! it's tea-time. I must go, +for the church-committee meet this evening. I think, however, I won't +complain of Hardwick to the deacons this time; for he'll be sure to +get into a passion when we commence our suit for ejectment, and I +shall then have a better case against him. A more disagreeable +Christian to fellowship with I don't know anywhere. + +"I _should_ like to know," he continued, as he locked the +office-door, "if that Lucy told me true,--if those were all the +papers. No will, no memorandum for one! Well, perhaps Mrs. Kinloch was +careful enough to give that secret to the keeping of the flames, +instead of her bureau. I will make close copies of what I have got for +Lucy to put back, and keep the originals myself. They'll be safest +with me. There's no telling what may happen to papers in a house where +there is a prying servant-girl." + +Whether the insects were poisoned by the air of the room, as Mark +Davenport suggested, I cannot say. But when Squire Clamp left the +office, it was as still as a tomb. No cricket chirped under the +hearth, no fly buzzed on the window-pane, no spiders came forth from +the dilapidated, dangling webs. Silence and dust had absolute +dominion. + +The next day Mark returned to New York. He had no opportunity of +bidding Mildred farewell, but he comforted himself by thinking he had +provided the means of safely communicating with her by letter. And as +the stage passed by the house, he caught a glimpse, first of her +fluttering handkerchief, and then of her graceful fingers wafting to +him a kiss. It was enough; it furnished him with food for a delightful +reverie as he went on his way. We shall leave him in his former +situation, from which, as a starting-point, he determines to win +fortune or fame, or both. He has your best wishes, no doubt, though +perhaps you think he will not force his way into the close ranks of +the great procession of life so soon as he expects. + +That day, while Mr. Hardwick was taking his dinner, his second son, +Milton, who had been fishing at the dam, came running into the house +quite out of breath. + +"F-father!" he stammered out. + +"Nun-now st-hop," said the black-smith. "W-what are you st-stuttering +for? Wah-wait till you can talk." + +"Why, father, yer-_you_ stutter." + +"Wer-well, yer-_you_ shan't." + +The look that came with this seemed to end the matter. A moment's rest +quieted the nerves of the boy, and he went on to say, that Squire +Clamp, and a man with a brass machine on his shoulder, and a chain, +ever so long, were walking about the shop on the bank of the +river. Lizzy at once looked out of the window and saw the man peering +into the shop-door, as if exploring the premises. + +Impelled by some presentiment of evil, Mr. Hardwick got up from the +table, and sternly motioning the boys back, went down to the shop. As +he came near the door, he saw the surveyor holding one end of the +chain and taking sight upon a staff which the lawyer within was +adjusting to its place by his direction. + +"Just as I expected," said Squire Clamp, in a satisfied tone. + +"An' jest as I expected," broke in Mr. Hardwick upon the astonished +pair. "I knew th-that ef Squire Clamp hed anythin' to do against me, +he wer-would sneak into the shop sus-some time when I'd ger-gone to +dinner." + +"We thought it would be most convenient, so as not to interrupt you +about your work." + +"Very ker-kind indeed! As ef you wa'n't tryin' to turn me out of +wer-work altogether! But 'tisn't any yer-use, Squire; this is a case +you can't be ber-both sides on." + +The lawyer turned, with a placid smile, to his companion. "Mr. Gunter, +I believe we have finished our measurements?" + +The man of chain and compass nodded. Nothing abashed by the lawyer's +cool manner, Mr. Hardwick turned to the surveyor, and asked if he +undertook to say that Walter Kinloch's deed called for land that was +covered by the shop? + +"I suppose so," was the answer. + +"An' now, Sus-squire Clamp," said Mr. Hardwick, "you know that it's +sus-seventeen or eighteen year sence I per-pulled down the old shop +and bought this land." + +"Yes, but, unfortunately, it takes twenty years to give you title," +put in the Squire. + +"Nun-never mind that now. Squire Kinloch knew this,--at least, that +there was room for der-difficulty; for we'd talked it over sus-several +times afore he died. An' he allers said th-that he'd hev new deeds +made out, so's to per-per-prevent just such a wrong as this. He didn't +'xpect to go so sus-sudden." + +"I'm sorry, Brother Hardwick, to see you bringing up your talk with +the lamented deceased, whom you represent as being willing to part +with his legal rights without a consideration. Even if you had +evidence of it, such an agreement would be a mere _nudum pactum_, +binding neither upon himself nor his heirs." + +"Squire Clamp! ger-get out of my shop! Fust to call me _Brother_, +next to doubt my word, an' last to sus-say that a man's free an' +der-deliberet promise--now he's where he can't sh-shame you into +honesty--sha'n't be kept!" + +The Squire smiled feebly. "You don't intend, Mister Hardwick, assault +and battery, do you?" + +"Yer-yes, ef you don't leave in q-q-q-quick time." And he strode up to +the astonished attorney, his blue eyes flashing, his curly gray hair +flying back from his forehead, like a lion's. + +Squire Clamp retreated to the street, took sight each way to be sure +he was off his antagonist's territory, and then vented his cautious +resentment in such well-considered phrases as a long course of +experience had taught him were not actionable at law, nor ground for +discipline in church. + +Prudence came to Uncle Ralph's aid, and he did not make further reply, +but locked the shop-door and returned to the house to finish his +dinner. The suit was commenced a few days afterwards. Mr. Hardwick +went to the county seat, some dozen miles distant, and secured the aid +of an able lawyer, who gave him hope of prevailing and keeping his +shop. + +The affair necessarily created a great stir in the busy little +town. As the cheerful clatter of the trip-hammer echoed along the +stream on still evenings, and the fiery plume waved over the chimney, +neighbors looked out from their windows, and wondered if the good +blacksmith would, after so many years of honest toil, be stripped of +his property and be reduced to dependence in his old age. The sympathy +of the villagers was wholly with him; but the lawyer held so many +threads of interest in his hands, that few dared to give an opinion +with much emphasis. + +Probably the person most grieved and indignant was the one who, next +after the blacksmith, was most interested in the event of the +suit,--namely, Mildred Kinloch. Though no mention was made of the +matter, at home, in her hearing, she could not fail to know what was +going on; but she had now sufficient knowledge of her step-mother and +her guardian to be aware that her influence would not be of the least +avail in changing their purpose. + +Mrs. Kinloch did not repeat the experiment she once made on Mildred's +sensibilities by referring to her partiality for Mark Davenport and +his relatives; but, on the contrary, was most gentle in her treatment +and most assiduous in her endeavors to provide amusement, so far as +the resources of the town allowed. In company with Hugh, Mildred +explored all the pleasant roads in the vicinity, all the picturesque +hills and brooks, caught trout, and snared gamebirds, (the last much +against her will,)--and by these means her time was fully +occupied. Hugh seemed to have totally changed; he no longer absented +himself from the family on mysterious errands; he went to church +regularly, and appeared to take pleasure in the frequent calls of +Mr. Rook, the minister. The neighbors began to say that there never +was a more dutiful son or a more attentive and affectionate brother. +Some half suspected the reason of the reformation,--no one so quick as +Squire Clamp, who had reasons of his own, as the reader knows, for +wishing delay. After a few months had passed, he thought it would be +dangerous to let the schemes of the widow go on longer without +interruption, and accordingly prepared to make a step towards his own +long-cherished purpose. + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +One afternoon, about six months after the opening of our story, +Mrs. Kinloch and her son were talking together concerning the progress +of his suit. He complained that he was no nearer the point than on the +first day he and Mildred rode out together. "It was like rounding Cape +Horn," he said, "where a ship might lie twenty days and drift back as +fast as she got ahead by tacking." In spite of all his attention and +kindness, Mildred was merely courteous in return;--he could not get +near her. If she smiled, it seemed as though it was from behind a +grating, as in a nunnery. Her pulse was always firm; and if her eye +was soft, it was steady as the full moon. He didn't believe she had +any blood in her. If she was in love with that fellow, she kept it +pretty closely covered up. + +Mrs. Kinloch encouraged her son to persevere; she was sure he had not +been skilful. "Mildred," she said, "was not to be won with as little +trouble as a silly, low-bred girl, like--like Lucy, for instance." + +"What the deuse are you always bringing up Lucy to me for?" said the +dutiful son. + +"Don't speak so!" + +"Confound it! I must. You keep a fellow shut up here for six months, +going to meeting five times a week; you give him no chance to work off +his natural spirits, and the devil in him will break out +somewhere. It's putting a stopper in a volcano; if you don't allow a +little fire and smoke, you're bound to have an earthquake." + +After this philosophical digression, the first topic was resumed, and +Mrs. Kinloch gave the young man some counsel, drawn from her own +experience or observation, touching the proper mode of awakening and +cultivating the tender passion. It is not every mother that does so +much for her son, but then few mothers have so urgent a motive. + +"_What_ was it that she advised him to do," did you ask? Really, +I've quite forgotten; and I am sure Mrs. Kinloch forgot also, at least +for that day, because something occurred which turned her thoughts for +the time in quite a different direction. + +The ponies were brought out for Hugh and Mildred to take their +customary canter. The young heiress, for whom so much time and pains +were spent, looked ill; the delicate flush had vanished from her +cheek; she seemed languid, and cheerful only by effort. A moment after +they had gone, as Mrs. Kinloch closed the door, for it was a raw +November day, she saw and picked up a rudely-folded letter in the +hall. "Good-bye, Lucy Ransom," were the words she read. They were +enough. Mrs. Kinloch felt that her heart was struck by a bolt of +ice. "Poor, misguided, miserable girl!" she said. "Why did I not see +that something was wrong? I felt it, I knew it,--but only as one knows +of evil in a dream. Who can calculate the mischief that will come of +this? O God! to have my hopes of so many years ruined, destroyed, by a +wretch whose power and existence even I had not once thought of! Has +she drowned herself, or fled to the city to hide her disgrace? But if +this should be imagination merely! She may have run away with some +lubberly fellow from the factory, whom she was ashamed to marry at +home. But no! she was too sad last evening when she asked to go to her +grandmother's for a day. What if"--The thought coursed round her brain +like fire on a train of gunpowder,--flew quicker than words could +utter it; and the woman bounded to her bureau, as though with muscles +of steel. She clutched at the papers and bank-notes in her private +drawer, and looked and counted them over a dozen times before she +could satisfy herself. Her thin fingers nervously opened the packages +and folds,--the papers crackling as her eye glanced over them. They +were there; but not _all_. She pored over the mystery,--her +thoughts running away upon every side-avenue of conjecture, and as +often returning to the frightful, remediless fact before her. She was +faint with sudden terror. By degrees she calmed herself, wiped the +cold sweat from her forehead, smiled at her fright, and sat down +again, with an attempt at self-control, to look through the drawers +thoroughly. As she went on, the tremor returned, and before she had +finished the fruitless search her heart beat so as to stop her breath; +she gasped in an agony that the soul rarely feels more than once in +this life. She shut up the drawers, walked up and down the room, +noticed with a shudder her own changed expression as she passed before +the mirror, and strove in vain to give some order to her confused and +tumultuous thoughts. At length she sat down exhausted. She was +startled by a knock. Opening the door, there in a newly-furbished +suit, with clean linen, and a brown wig worn for the first time on his +hitherto shining head, stood Theophilus Clamp. He had even picked a +blossom from the geranium in the hall and was toying with it like a +bashful boy. + +"A fine day, Ma'am!" said he, as he took a seat. + +"Yes, very," she answered, mechanically, scarcely looking up. + +"The young folks have gone out to ride, I suppose." + +"Yes, Sir."--A pause, in which Mrs. Kinloch covered her face with her +handkerchief. + +"You don't seem well, Ma'am. Shall I call Lucy?" + +"Lucy is gone," she answered,--quickly adding, "gone to her +grandmother's." + +"Well, that is singular. I've been today to look at my land above the +old lady's house, and she asked me to send word to Lucy to come up and +see her." + +"To-day?" + +"Yes, Ma'am; not two hours ago." + +Mrs. Kinloch was rapidly revolving probabilities. What interest had +Lucy to interfere with her affairs? As for Mildred, she was not to be +thought of as prying into secrets; she was too innocent. Hugh was too +careless. Who more than this man Clamp was likely to have done or +procured the mischief? "Have you given her the message?" + +"Of course not, Ma'am,--how could I?" + +"Then you haven't sent Lucy away on any errand?" + +"Certainly not, Madam," said the lawyer, beginning to wince under the +cross-examination. "Lucy's gone, you say; didn't she leave things all +right,--your papers, and--and so forth?" + +"Papers? Lucy is not presumed to know that I _have_ any papers; +if any are missing, I'll warrant they are in the hands of some one who +knows at least enough to read them." + +"She suspects me," thought the lawyer, "but can't have discovered that +hers are only copies; they're too well done." He then added aloud, +"Perhaps, Mrs. Kinloch, if you had honored me, your associate in the +administration of the estate, with your confidence touching the +private papers you speak of, I might have saved you some trouble in +keeping them." + +"Very likely; but no one spoke of papers beside yourself," she +replied, with a trace of sarcasm in the tone which ill suited the +expression of her pallid face and drooping head. + +"I'm sorry to see you looking so careworn, Mrs. Kinloch," said he, +with his blandest air. "I intended to bring up a topic more agreeable, +it is to be hoped, than runaway house-maids or old documents." He +rubbed his hands softly and turned his eyes with a glance meant to be +tender towards the place where her chair stood; if he had been a cat, +he would have purred the while. + +Mrs. Kinloch now, for the first time, observed the wig, the unusual +look of tidiness, and, above all, the flower in his hand; she also saw +the crucified smile that followed his last remark. "The ridiculous old +fool!" thought she,--"what can he mean?" But to him she translated +it,-- + +"What is the more agreeable topic?" + +"Really, you attack me like a lawyer. Don't you know, my dear Madam, +how it confuses one to be sharply interrogated?" + +"It would be something novel to see you confused, Squire Clamp." + +"Pray, don't banter, Mrs. Kinloch. I hoped to find you in a more +complaisant humor. There are topics which cannot be discussed with the +square precision of legal rules,--thoughts that require sympathy +before they can be expressed." And he dropped his eyes with a +ludicrous sigh. + +"Oh, I appreciate your tender susceptibilities. Please consider me as +asking the question again in the most engaging manner." + +His new wig was becoming uncomfortable, and he fidgeted in his chair, +twirling the luckless blossom. + +"Why, Mrs. Kinloch, the long regard I entertained for your late +lamented husband,--ah, I mean my regard for you,--ah, my lonely +domicil,--ah, since the decease of my--my sainted wife,--ah, and since +the Scripture says it is not good for man to live alone,--ah, your +charming qualities and many virtues,--not that your fortune,--ah,--I +mean to say, that, though not rich, I am not grasping,--and the +cottage where you lived would be a palace,--ah, for me, if not +unworthy,--ah, no desire to unduly shorten the period of +mourning,--ah, but life is short and uncertain"---- + +There was a dead silence. His mouth was vainly working, and his +expression confused and despairing. The flower had wilted in his moist +hand. Little streams of perspiration trickled down his face, to be +mopped up by his bandanna. Such was the ordeal of talking hollow +sentiment to a cool and self-possessed woman. She enjoyed the +exhibition for a time,--as what woman would not? But the waves of her +trouble rushed back upon her, and the spirit of mischief and coquetry +was overwhelmed. So she answered,-- + +"You are pleased to be polite,--perhaps gallant. You must excuse me +from taking part in such conversation to-day, however little is meant +by it,--and the less meant the better,--I am not well." + +She rose feebly, and walked towards the door with as much dignity as +her trembling frame could assume. He was abashed; his fine speeches +jumbled in meaningless fragments, his airy castle ready to topple on +his unlucky head. He would have been glad to rebuke her fickle humor, +as he thought it; but he knew he had made a fool of himself, so he +merely said,-- + +"No offence, I hope, Ma'am; none meant, certainly. Wish you +good-afternoon, Ma'am. Call and see you again some day, and hope to +find you better." + +_Would_ he find her better? While the mystery remained, while the +ruin of her hopes impended, what could restore to her the +cheerfulness, the courage, the self-command she had lost? + +[To be continued.] + + + + +"BRINGING OUR SHEAVES WITH US." + + + The time for toil is past, and night has come,-- + The last and saddest of the harvest-eves; + Worn out with labor long and wearisome, + Drooping and faint, the reapers hasten home, + Each laden with his sheaves. + + Last of the laborers thy feet I gain, + Lord of the harvest! and my spirit grieves + That I am burdened not so much with grain + As with a heaviness of heart and brain;-- + Master, behold my sheaves! + + Few, light, and worthless,--yet their trifling weight + Through all my frame a weary aching leaves; + For long I struggled with my hapless fate, + And staid and toiled till it was dark and late,-- + Yet these are all my sheaves. + + Full well I know I have more tares than wheat,-- + Brambles and flowers, dry stalks, and withered leaves + Wherefore I blush and weep, as at thy feet + I kneel down reverently, and repeat, + "Master, behold my sheaves!" + + I know these blossoms, clustering heavily + With evening dew upon their folded leaves, + Can claim no value nor utility,-- + Therefore shall fragrancy and beauty be + The glory of my sheaves. + + So do I gather strength and hope anew; + For well I know thy patient love perceives + Not what I did, but what I strove to do,-- + And though the full, ripe ears be sadly few, + Thou wilt accept my sheaves. + + + + +FARMING LIFE IN NEW ENGLAND. + + +New England does not produce the bread she eats, nor the raw materials +of the fabrics she wears. A multitude of her purely agricultural towns +are undergoing, more or less rapidly, a process of depopulation. Yet +these facts exist by the side of positive advances in agricultural +science and decided improvements in the means and modes of farming. +The plough is perfected, and the theory of ploughing is +understood. The advantages of thorough draining are universally +recognized, and tiles are for sale everywhere. Mowing and reaping +machines have ceased to be a novelty upon our plains and meadows. The +natural fertilizers have been analyzed, and artificial nutrients of +the soil have been contrived. The pick and pride of foreign herds +have regenerated our neat stock, and the Morgan and the Black-Hawk eat +their oats in our stalls. The sheepfold and the sty abound with choice +blood. Sterling agricultural journals are on every farmer's table, and +Saxton's hand-books upon agricultural specialties are scattered +everywhere. Public shows and fairs bring on an annual exacerbation of +the agricultural fever, which is constantly breaking out in new +places, beyond the power of the daily press to chronicle. Yet it is +too evident that the results are not at all commensurate with the +means under tribute and at command. What is the reason? + +In looking at the life of the New England farmer, the first fact that +strikes us is, that it is actually a very different thing from what it +might be and ought to be. There dwells in every mind, through all +callings and all professions, the idea that the farmer's life is, or +may be, is, or should be, the truest and sweetest life that man can +live. The merchant may win all the prizes of trade, the professional +man may achieve triumphs beyond his hopes, the author may find his +name upon every lip, and his works accounted among the nation's +treasures, and all may move amid the whirl and din of the most +inspiring life, yet there will come to every one, in quiet +evening-hours, the vision of the old homestead, long since forsaken; +or the imagination will weave a picture of its own,--a picture of +rural life, so homely, yet so beautiful, that the heart will breathe a +sigh upon it, the eye will drop a tear upon it, and the voice will +say, "It were better so!" + +In a city like Boston there are farms enough imagined every year to +make another New England. Could the fairest fancies of that congeries +of minds be embodied and exhibited, we should see green meadows +sparkling with morning dew,--silver-slippered rivulets skipping into +musical abysses,--quiet pasture-lands shimmering so sleepily in the +sun that the lazy flocks and herds forget to graze, and lie winking +and ruminating under the trees,--and yellow fields of grain, along the +hill-sides, billowy in the breeze, and bending before the shadows of +the clouds that sail above them. And mingling and harmonizing with +these visions, we should hear the lowing of kine, and the tinkle of +the bell that leads the flock, and the shout of the boy behind the +creeping plough, and the echoes of the axe, and the fall of the tree +in the distant forest, and the rhythmical clangor, softened into a +metallic whisper by the distance, of the mowers whetting their +scythes. With these visions and these sounds there would come to the +minds which give them birth convictions that rural life is the best +life, and resolutions that, by-and-by, in some golden hour, when the +sun of life begins to lengthen the eastward shadows, that life shall +be enjoyed, and that the soul shall pass at last from the quiet scenes +of Nature into those higher scenes which they symbolize. There is a +thought in all this that the farm is nearer heaven than the street,--a +reminiscence of the first estate, when man was lord of Eden; and this +thought, old as art and artificial life, cannot be rooted out of the +mind. It has a life of its own, independent of reason, above instinct, +among the quickest intuitions of the soul. + +Now this idea, so universal, so identical in millions of minds, +springing with such spontaneity in the midst of infinitely varied +circumstances, abiding with such tenacity in every soul, can have its +basis nowhere save in a Divine intention and a human possibility. The +cultivation of the farm is the natural employment of man. It is upon +the farm that virtue should thrive the best, that the body and the +mind should be developed the most healthfully, that temptations should +be the weakest, that social intercourse should be the simplest and +sweetest, that beauty should thrill the soul with the finest raptures, +and that life should be tranquillest in its flow, longest in its +period, and happiest in its passage and its issues. This is the +general and the first ideal of the farmer's life, based upon the +nature of the farmer's calling and a universally recognized human +want. Why does the actual differ so widely from the ideal? It is not +because the farmer's labor is hard and constant, alone. There is no +fact better established than that it is through the habitual use both +of the physical and mental powers that the soul achieves, or receives, +its most healthful enjoyment, and acquires that tone which responds +most musically to the touch of the opportunities of leisure. Why, +then, we repeat, does the actual differ so widely from the ideal? + +A general answer to this question is, that that is made an end of life +which should be but an incident or a means. Life is confounded with +labor, and thrift with progress; and material success is the aim to +which all other aims are made subordinate. There is no fact in +physiology better established than that hard labor, followed from day +to day and year to year, absorbing every thought and every physical +energy, has the direct tendency to depress the intellect, blunt the +sensibilities, and animalize the man. In such a life, all the +energies of the brain and nervous system are directed to the support +of nutrition and the stimulation of the muscular system. Man thus +becomes a beast of burden,--the creature of his calling; and though he +may add barn to barn and acre to acre, he does not lead a life which +rises in dignity above that of the beasts which drag his plough. He +eats, he works, he sleeps. Surely, there is no dignity in a life like +this; there is nothing attractive and beautiful and good in it. It is +a mean and contemptible life; and all its maxims, economies, +associations, and objects are repulsive to a mind which apprehends +life's true enjoyments and ends. We say that it is a pestilent +perversion. We say that it is the sale of the soul to the body; it is +turning the back upon life, upon growth, upon God, and descending into +animalism. + +The true ideal of the farmer's life--of any life--contemplates +something outside of, and above, the calling which is its instrument. +The farmer's life is no better than the life of a street-sweeper, if +it rise no higher than the farmer's work. If the farmer, standing +under the broad sky, breathing the pure air, listening to the song of +birds, watching the progress of + + + "The great miracle that still goes on," + + +to work the transformation of the brown seeds which he drops into the +soil into fields of green and gold, and gazing upon landscapes +shifting with the seasons and flushed with new tints through every +sunlit and moonlit hour, does not apprehend that his farm has higher +uses for him than those of feeding his person and his purse, he might +as well dwell in a coal-mine. + +Our soil is sterile, our modes of farming have been rude until within +a few years; and under the circumstances,--with the Yankee notion that +the getting of money is the chief end of man,--exclusive devotion to +labor has been deemed indispensable to success. The maxims of Franklin +have been literally received and adopted as divine truth. We have +believed that to labor is to be thrifty, that to be thrifty is to be +respectable, that to be respectable is to afford facilities for being +still more thrifty; and our experience is, that with increased thrift +comes increased labor. This is the circle of our ambitions and +rewards. All begins and ends in labor. The natural and inevitable +result of this is both physical and mental deterioration. + +It is doubtful whether the world furnishes a finer type of man, +physically and intellectually, than the Irish gentleman. He is +handsome, large, courageous,--a man of fine instincts, brilliant +imagination, courtly manners, and full, vital force. By the side of +the Irish gentleman, there has grown for centuries the Irish +peasant. He is ugly, of stunted stature, and pugnacious; and he +produces children like himself. The two classes started from a common +blood; they now present the broadest contrast. We do not say that +freedom from severe labor on one side, and confinement to it on the +other, are entirely responsible for this contrast; difference of food +and other obvious causes have had something to do with it; but we say +that hard labor has, directly and indirectly, degraded from a true +style of manhood the great mass of the Irish peasantry. They are a +marked class, and carry in their forms and faces the infallible +insignia of mental and physical degeneration. + +We would by no means compare New England farmers with the Irish +peasantry. We only present the contrast between these two classes of +the Irish population as the result of unremitting toil on one side, +and a more rational kind of life on the other. If we enter a New +England church, containing a strictly rural assembly, and then visit +another containing a class whose labor is lighter, and whose style of +life is based upon different ideas, we shall see a contrast less +marked, perhaps, but presenting similar features. The farming +population of New England is not a handsome population, generally. +The forms of both men and women are angular; their features are not +particularly intellectual; their movements are not graceful; and their +calling is evident by indubitable signs. The fact that the city +assemblage is composed of a finer and higher grade of men, women, and +children is of particular moment to our argument, because it is +composed of people who are only one, two, or three removes from a +rural origin. The city comes from the country; the street is +replenished by the farm; but the city children, going back to the +farm, show that a new element has been introduced into their +blood. The angles are rounded; the face is brighter; the movements are +more graceful; there is in every way a finer development. + +There is probably no better exponent of the farmer's life than the +farmer's home. We propose to present the portrait of such a home, and, +while we offer it as a just outline of the farmer's home generally, in +districts removed from large social centres, we gladly acknowledge the +existence of a great multitude of happy exceptions. But the sketch:--A +square, brown house; a chimney coming out of the middle of a roof; not +a tree nearer than the orchard, and not a flower at the door. At one +end projects a kitchen; from the kitchen projects a wood-shed and +wagon-cover, occupied at night by hens; beyond the wood-shed, a +hog-pen, fragrant and musical. Proceeding no farther in this +direction, we look directly across the road, to where the barn stands, +like the hull of a great black ship-of-the-line, with its port-holes +opened threateningly upon the fort opposite, out of one of which a +horse has thrust his head for the possible purpose of examining the +strength of the works. An old ox-sled is turned up against the wall +close by, where it will have the privilege of rotting. This whole +establishment was contrived with a single eye to utility. The barn +was built in such a manner that its deposits might be convenient to +the road which divides the farm, while the sty was made an attachment +of the house for convenience in feeding its occupants. + +We enter the house at the back door, and find the family at dinner in +the kitchen. A kettle of soap-grease is stewing upon the stove, and +the fumes of this, mingled with those that were generated by boiling +the cabbage which we see upon the table, and by perspiring men in +shirt-sleeves, and by boots that have forgotten or do not care where +they have been, make the air anything but agreeable to those who are +not accustomed to it. This is the place where the family live. They +cook everything here for themselves and their hogs. They eat every +meal here. They sit here every evening, and here they receive their +friends. The women in this kitchen toil incessantly, from the time +they rise in the morning until they go to bed at night. Here man and +woman, sons and daughters, live, in the belief that work is the great +thing, that efficiency in work is the crowning excellence of manhood +and womanhood, and willingly go so far into essential self-debasement, +sometimes, as to contemn beauty and those who love it, and to glory +above all things in brute strength and brute endurance. + +Here we are ready to state the point and the lesson of our +discussion:--The real reason for the deterioration of agriculture in +New England is to be found in the fact, that the farmer's life and the +farmer's home, generally, are unloved and unlovable things, and in the +multitude of causes which have tended to make them so. Let the son of +such a home as we have pictured get a taste of a better life than +this, or, through sensibilities which he did not inherit, apprehend a +worthier style of existence, and what inducements, save those which +necessity imposes, can retain him there? He hates the farm, and will +flee from it at the first opportunity. If the New England farmer's +life were a loved and lovable thing, the New England boys could hardly +be driven from the New England hills. They would not only find a way +to live here, but they would make farming profitable. They would honor +the employment to which they are bred, and would leave it, save in +exceptional instances, for no other. It is not strange that the +country grows thin and the city plethoric. It is not strange that +mercantile and mechanical employments are thronged by young men, +running all risks for success, when the alternative is a life in which +they find no meaning, and no inspiring and ennobling influence. + +The popular ideal of the farmer's life and home, to which we have +alluded, we believe to be what God intended. That life contemplates +the institution and maintenance of personal and social habits, and the +cultivation of tastes and faculties, separate from, and above, labor. +Every farm-house should be a residence of men and women, boys and +girls, who, appreciating something of the meaning and end of life, +rise from every period of labor into an atmosphere of intellectual and +social activity, or into some form of refined family enjoyment. It is +impossible to do this while surrounded with all the associations of +labor. If there is a room in every farmer's house where the work of +the family is done, there should be a room in every farmer's house +where the family should live,--where beauty should appeal to the eye, +where genuine comfort of appointments should invite to repose, where +books should be gathered, where neatness and propriety of dress should +be observed, and where labor may be forgotten. The life led here +should be labor's exceeding great reward. A family living like +this--and there are families that live thus--will ennoble and beautify +all their surroundings. There will be trees at their door, and +flowers in their garden, and pleasant and graceful architectural ideas +in their dwelling. Human life will stand in the foreground of such a +home,--human life, crowned with its dignities and graces,--while +animal life will be removed among the shadows, and the gross material +utilities, tastefully disguised, will be made to retire into an +unoffending and harmonious perspective. + +But we have alluded to other causes than labor as in some measure +responsible for the unattractiveness of the farmer's life, and +affecting adversely the farming interest. These touch the matter at +various points, and are charged with greater or less importance. We +know of no one cause more responsible for whatever there may be of +physical degeneracy among the farming population than the treatment of +its child-bearing women; and this, after all, is but a result of +entire devotion to the tyrannical idea of labor. If there be one +office or character higher than all others, it is the office or +character of mother. Surely, the bringing into existence of so +marvellous a thing as a human being, and the training of that being +until it assumes a recognized relation to God and human society, is a +sacred office, and one which does not yield in dignity and importance +to any other under heaven. For a woman who faithfully fulfils this +office, who submits without murmuring to all its pains, who patiently +performs its duties, and who exhausts her life in a ceaseless overflow +of love upon those whom God has given her, no words can express a true +man's veneration. She claims the homage of our hearts, the service of +our hands, the devotion of our lives. + +Yet what is the position of the mother in the New England farmer's +home? The farmer is careful of every animal he possesses. The +farm-yard and the stall are replenished with young, by creatures for +months dismissed from labor, or handled with intelligent care while +carrying their burden; because the farmer knows that only in this way +can he secure improvement, and sound, symmetrical development, to the +stock of his farm. In this he is a true, practical philosopher. But +what is his treatment of her who bears his children? The same +physiological laws apply to her that apply to the brute. Their strict +observance is greatly more imperative, because of her finer +organization; yet they are not thought of; and if the farm-yard fail +to shame the nursery, if the mother bear beautiful and well-organized +children, Heaven be thanked for a merciful interference with the +operation of its own laws! Is the mother in a farm-house ever regarded +as a sacred being? Look at her hands! Look at her face! Look at her +bent and clumsy form! Is it more important to raise fine colts than +fine men and women? Is human life to be made secondary and subordinate +to animal life? Is not she who should receive the tenderest and most +considerate ministries of the farmer's home, in all its appointments +and in all its service, made the ceaseless minister and servant of the +home and all within it, with utter disregard of her office? To expect +a population to improve greatly under this method is simply to expect +miracles; and to expect a farmer's life and a farmer's home to be +attractive, where the mother is a drudge, and secures less +consideration than the pets of the stall, is to expect impossibilities. + +Another cause which has tended to the deterioration of the farmer's +life is its solitariness. The towns in New England which were settled +when the Indians were in possession of the country, and which, for +purposes of defence, were settled in villages, have enjoyed great +blessings; but a large portion of agricultural New England was +differently settled. It is difficult to determine why isolation +should produce the effect it does upon the family development. The +Western pioneer, who, leaving a New England community, plants himself +and his young wife in the forest, will generally become a coarse man, +and will be the father of coarse children. The lack of the social +element in the farmer's life is doubtless a cause of some of its most +repulsive characteristics. Men are constituted in such a manner, that +constant social contact is necessary to the healthfulness of their +sympathies, the quickness of their intellects, and the symmetrical +development of their powers. It matters little whether a family be +placed in the depths of a Western forest, or upon the top of a New +England hill; the result of solitude will be the same in kind, if not +in degree. + +Now the farmer, partly from isolation and partly from absorption in +labor, is the most unsocial man in New England. The farmers are +comparatively few who go into society at all, who ever dine with their +neighbors, or who take any genuine satisfaction in the company of the +women whom their wives invite to tea. They may possibly be +farmers among farmers, but they are not men among men and +women. Intellectually, they are very apt to leave life where they +begin it. Socially, they become dead for years before they die. The +inhabitants of a city can have but a poor apprehension of the amount +of enjoyment and development that comes to them through social +stimulus. Like gold, humanity becomes bright by friction, and grows +dim for lack of it. So, we say, the farmer's life and home can never +be what they should be,--can never be attractive by the side of other +life containing a true social element,--until they have become more +social. The individual life must not only occupy a place above that of +a beast of burden, but that life must be associated with all congenial +life within its reach. The tree that springs in the open field, though +it be fed by the juices of a rood, through absorbents that penetrate +where they will, will present a hard and stunted growth; while the +little sapling of the forest, seeking for life among a million roots, +or growing in the crevice of a rock, will lift to the light its cap of +leaves upon a graceful stem, and whisper, even-headed, with the +stateliest of its neighbors. Men, like trees, were made to grow +together, and both history and philosophy declare that this Divine +intention cannot be ignored or frustrated with impunity. + +Traditional routine has also operated powerfully to diminish the +attractiveness of agricultural employments. This cause, very happily, +grows less powerful from year to year. The purse is seen to have an +intimate sympathy with intelligent farming. Were we to say that God +had so constituted the human mind that routine will tire and disgust +it, we should say in effect that he never intended the farmer's life +to be one of routine. Nature has done all she can to break up routine. +While the earth swings round its orbit once a year, and turns on its +axis once in twenty-four hours,--while the tide ebbs and flows twice +daily, and the seasons come and go in rotation, every atom changes its +relations to every other atom every moment. Influences are tossed into +these skeleton cycles of motion and event which start a myriad of +diverse currents, and break up the whole surface of life and being +into a healthful confusion. There are never two days alike. The +motherly sky never gives birth to twin clouds. The weather shakes its +bundle of mysteries in our faces, and banters us with, "Don't you wish +you knew?" We prophesy rain upon the morrow, and wake with a bar of +golden sunlight on the coverlet. We foretell a hard winter, and, +before it is half gone, become nervous lest we should miss our supply +of ice. The fly, the murrain, the potato-rot, and the grasshoppers, +all have a divine office in tipping over our calculations. The +phantom host of the great North come out for parade without +announcement, and shoot their arrows toward the zenith, and flout the +stars with their rosy flags, and retire, leaving us looking into +heaven and wondering. Long weeks of drought parch the earth, and then +comes the sweet rain, and sets the flowers and the foliage +dancing. All the seasons are either very late or very early, or, for +some reason, "the most remarkable within the memory of man." + +This is God's management for destroying routine within the law of +stated revolution, and for bringing the mind constantly into contact +with fresh influences. The soul, encased by a wall of adamantine +circumstances, and driven around a track of unvarying duties, +shrivels, or gets diseased. But these circumstances need not imprison +the farmer, nor these duties become the polished pavement of his +cell. He has his life among the most beautiful scenes of Nature and +the most interesting facts of Science. Chemistry, geology, botany, +meteorology, entomology, and a dozen other related or constituent +sciences,--what is intelligent farming but a series of experiments, +involving, first and last, all of these? What is a farm but a +laboratory where the most important and interesting scientific +problems are solved? The moment that any field of labor becomes +intelligently experimental, that moment routine ceases, and that field +becomes attractive. The most repulsive things under heaven become +attractive, on being invested with a scientific interest. All, +therefore, that a farmer has to do, to break up the traditional +routine of his method and his labor, is to become a scientific +farmer. He will then have an interest in his labor and its results +above their bare utilities. Labor that does not engage the mind has no +dignity; else the ox and the ass are kings in the world, and we are +but younger brothers in the royal family. So we say to every +farmer,--If you would make your calling attractive to yourself and +your boys, seek that knowledge which will break up routine, and make +your calling, to yourself and to them, an intelligent pursuit. + +A recent traveller in England speaks enthusiastically of a visit which +he paid to an old farm-house in that country, and of the garden-farm +upon which it stood, which had descended from father to son through a +period of five hundred years. He found a family of charming +intelligence and the politest culture. That hallowed soil was a +beautiful body, of which the family interests and associations were +the soul. To be dissociated from that soil forever would be +regarded by its proprietors as almost equivalent to family +annihilation. Proprietorship in English soil is one of the prime +ambitions of the true Englishman; but we do not find in New England +any kindred sentiments of pride in landed property and family +affection for the paternal acres. The nomadic tribes of Asia would +seem to have quite as strong local attachments as Yankee landholders, +most of whom will sell their homesteads as readily as they will their +horses. This fact we cannot but regard as one among the many causes +which have conspired to despoil the farmer's calling of some of its +legitimate attractions. The son slips away from the old homestead as +easily as he does from the door of a hotel. Very likely his father has +rooted up all home attachments by talking of removing Westward ever +since the boy saw the light. This lack of affection for the family +acres is doubtless owing somewhat to the fact that in this country +landed property is not associated with political privilege, as it has +been in England; but this cannot be the sole reason; for the sentiment +has a genuine basis in nature, and, in not a few instances, an actual +existence amongst us. + +Resulting from the operation of all the causes which we have briefly +noticed, there is another cause of the deterioration of farming life +in New England, which cannot be recovered from in many years. Actual +farming life has been brought into such harsh contrast with other +life, that its best materials have been sifted out of it, have slid +away from it. An inquiry at the doors of the great majority of farmers +would exhibit the general fact, that the brightest boys have gone to +college, or have become mechanics, or are teaching school, or are in +trade, or have emigrated to the West. There have been taken directly +out from the New England farming population its best elements,--its +quickest intelligence, its most stirring enterprise, its noblest and +most ambitious natures,--precisely those elements which were necessary +to elevate the standard of the farmer's calling and make it what it +should be. It is very easy to see why these men have not been retained +in the past; it is safe to predict that they will not be retained in +the future, unless a thorough reform be instituted. These men cannot +be kept on a routine farm, or tied to a home which has no higher life +than that of a workshop or a boarding-house. It is not because the +work of the farm is hard that men shun it. They will work harder and +longer in other callings for the sake of a better style of individual +and social life. They will go to the city, and cling to it while half +starving, rather than engage in the dry details and the hard and +homely associations of the life which they forsook. + +The boys are not the only members of the farmer's family that flee +from the farmer's life. The most intelligent and most enterprising of +the farmer's daughters become school-teachers, or tenders of shops, or +factory-girls. They contemn the calling of their father, and will, +nine times in ten, marry a mechanic in preference to a farmer. They +know that marrying a farmer is a very serious business. They remember +their worn-out mothers. They thoroughly understand that the vow that +binds them in marriage to a farmer seals them to a severe and homely +service that will end only in death. + +As a consequence of this sifting process, to which we have given but a +glance, a very decidedly depressing element is now being rapidly +introduced into New England farming life. The Irish girls have found +their way into the farmer's kitchen, and the Irish laborer has become +the annual "hired man." At present, there are no means of measuring +the effect of this new element; but it cannot fail to depress the tone +of farming society, and surround it with a new swarm of menial +associations. + +In our judgment, there is but little in the improved modes of farming, +in scientific discoveries, and new mechanical appliances, to be relied +upon for the elevation of New England agriculture and the emancipation +of New England farming life. The farmer needs new ideas more than he +needs new implements. The process of regeneration must begin in the +mind, and not in the soil. The proprietor of that soil should be the +true New England gentleman. His house should be the home of +hospitality, the embodiment of solid comfort and liberal taste, the +theatre of an exalted family-life which shall be the master and not +the servant of labor, and the central sun of a bright and happy social +atmosphere. When this standard shall be reached, there will be no +fear for New England agriculture. The noblest race of men and women +the sun ever shone upon will cultivate these valleys and build their +dwellings upon these hills; and they will cling to a life which +blesses them with health, plenty, individual development, and social +progress and happiness. This is what the farmer's life may be and +should be; and if it ever rise to this in New England, neither prairie +nor savanna can entice her children away; and waste land will become +as scarce, at last, as vacant lots in Paradise. + + + + +LES SALONS DE PARIS.[1] + + +The title is an ambitious one, for the _salons_ of Paris are +Paris itself; and, from the days of the Fronde and of the Hôtel +Rambouillet down to our own, you may judge pretty accurately of what +is going on upon the great political stage of France by what is +observable in those green-rooms and _coulisses_ called the +Parisian drawing-rooms, and where, more or less, the actors of all +parties may be seen, either rehearsing their parts before the +performance, or seeking, after the performance is over, the several +private echoes of the general public sentiment that has burst forth +before the light of the foot-lamps. Shakspeare's declaration, that +"all the world's a stage," is nowhere so true as in the capital of +Gaul. There, most truly may it be said, are + + + ----"All the men and women merely players; + They have their exits and their entrances, + And one man in his time plays many parts." + + +Therefore might a profound and comprehensive study of the +drawing-rooms of Paris be in a manner a history of France in our own +times. + +Madame Ancelot's little volume does not aim so high; nor, had it done +so, would its author have possessed the talent requisite for carrying +out such a design. Madame Ancelot is a writer of essentially +second-rate and subordinate capacity, and consequently her account of +those _salons de Paris_ that she has seen (and she by no means +saw them all) derives no charm from the point of view she takes. To +say the truth, she has no "point of view" of her own; she tells what +she saw, and (thus far we must praise her) she tells it very +conscientiously. Having waited in every instance till the people she +has to speak of were dead, Mme. Ancelot has a pretty fair field before +her for the display of her sincerity, and we, the public, who are +neither kith nor kin of the deceased, are the gainers thereby. + +So interesting and so amusing is the subject Madame Ancelot has +chosen, that, in spite of her decided want of originality or even +talent in treating it, her book is both an amusing and an interesting +one. It is even more than that; for those who wish to have a correct +notion of certain epochs of the social civilization of modern France, +and of certain predominant types in French society during the +last forty years, Madame Ancelot's little volume is full of +instruction. Perhaps in no society, so much as in that of France, have +the political convulsions of the state reacted so forcibly upon the +relations of man to man, revolutionizing the homes of private persons, +even as the government and the monarchy were revolutionized. In +England, nothing of this kind is to be observed; and if you study +English society ten years, or twenty years, or fifty years after the +fall of Charles I., after the establishment of the Commonwealth, or +after the restoration of Charles II., the definitive exile of the +Stuarts, and the advent of a foreign dynasty to the throne, you find +everywhere its constitutive elements the same,--modified only by such +changes of time, circumstance, and fashion, as naturally, in every +country, modify the superficial aspect of all society. But in France, +it is the very _substratum_ of the social soil that is overturned, it +is the constitutive elements of society that are displaced; and the +consequence is a general derangement of all relative positions. + +In what is still termed _la vieille société Française_, little or +nothing was left to chance, and one of its great characteristics was +order and the perfectly regular play of its machinery. Everything was +set down, _noted_, as it were, beforehand,--as strictly so as the +ceremonies of a grand diplomatic ceremony, after some treaty, or +marriage, or other occasion of solemn conference. Under this +_régime_, which endured till the Revolution of '93, (and even, +strangely enough, _beyond_ that period,) politeness was, of +course, the one chief quality of whosoever was well brought +up,--urbanity was the first sign of good company,--and for the simple +reason, that no one sought to infringe. There was no cause for +insolence, or for what in England is called "exclusiveness," because +there was no necessity to repel any disposition to encroach. No one +dreamed of the possibility of encroaching upon his neighbor's grounds, +or of taking, in the slightest degree, his neighbor's place. + +The first French Revolution caused no such sudden and total disruption +of the old social traditions as has been generally supposed; and as +far as mere social intercourse and social conventionalities were +concerned, there was, even amongst the terrible popular dictators of +1793, more of the _tone_ of the _ci-devant_ good company +than could possibly be imagined. In later times, every one who knew +Fouché remembers that he was constantly in the habit of expressing his +indignation at the want of good-breeding of the young exquisites of +the Empire, and used perpetually to exclaim, "In _my time_" this +or that "would not have been allowed," or, "In _my_ time we were +accustomed to do" so and so. Now Fouché's "time" was that which is +regarded as the period of universal beheading and levelling. + +It is certain, that, under the _régime_ of the Revolution itself, +bitter class-hatreds did not at first show themselves in the peaceful +atmosphere of society,--and that for more than one reason. First of +all, in a certain sense, "society," it may be said, was +_not_. Next, what subsisted of society was fragmentary, and was +formed by small isolated groups or coteries, pretty homogeneously +composed, or, when not so as to rank and station, rendered homogeneous +by community of suffering. It must not be imagined that only the +highest class in France paid for its opinions or its vanities with +loss of life and fortune. The victims were everywhere; for the changes +in the governing forces were so perpetual, that, more or less, every +particular form of envy and hatred had its day of power, and levelled +its blows at the objects of its special antipathy. In this way, the +aristocracy and the _bourgeoisie_ were often brought into +contact; marriages even were contracted, whether during imprisonment +or under the pressure of poverty, that never would have been dreamt of +in a normal state of things; and whilst parents of opposite conditions +shook hands in the scaffold-surveying _charrettes_, the children +either drew near to each other, in a mutual helpfulness, the principle +whereof was Christian charity, or met together to partake of +amusements, the aim whereof was oblivion. For several years, the turn +of every individual for execution might come, and therefore it was +difficult, on the other hand, to see who might also _not_ be a +friend. + +This began to be modified under the Empire, but in a shape not +hitherto foreseen. Military glory began to long for what the genuine +Revolutionists termed "feudal distinctions." Napoleon was desirous of +a court and of an aristocracy; he set to work to create a +_noblesse_, and dukes and counts were fabricated by the +dozen. Very soon the strong love of depreciation, that is inherent in +every Frenchman, seized upon even the higher plebeian classes, and, +discontented as they were at seeing the liberties of the movement of +'89 utterly confiscated by a military chief, and antipathetic as they +have been, time out of mind, to what are called _les traineurs de +sabre_, the civilians of France, her _bourgeois_, who were to +have their day,--but with very different feelings in 1830,--joined +with the genuine Pre-Revolutionary aristocrats, and the _noblesse de +l'Empire_ was laughed at and taken _en grippe_. Here was, in +reality, the first wide breach made in France in the edifice of +good-breeding and good-manners; and those who have been eye-witnesses +to the metamorphosis will admit that the guillotine of Danton and +Robespierre did even less to destroy _le bon ton_ of the +_ancien régime_ than was achieved by the guard-room habits and +morals of Bonaparte's glorious troopers, rushing, as they did, booted +and spurred, into the emblazoned sanctuary of heraldic distinctions, +and taking, as it were, _la société_ by storm. + +But soon another alliance and other enmities were to be formed. The +Empire fell; the Bourbons returned to France; Louis XVIII. recognized +the _noblesse_ of the Imperial government, and the constitution of +society as it had been battled for by the Revolution. At the same time +his court was filled with all the great historic names of the country, +who returned, no longer avowedly the first in authority, and therefore +prompt to condescend, but the first in presumption, and therefore +prompt to take offence. The new alliance that was formed was that of +the plebeian caste with the _noblesse de l'Empire_, against which it +had been previously so incensed. Notwithstanding all the efforts +sincerely made by Louis XVIII. to establish a constitutional +government and to promote a genuine constitutional feeling throughout +France, class-hatreds rose gradually to so violent a height that the +king's only occupation soon grew to be the balancing of expediencies. +He was forever obliged to reflect upon the choices he could make +around him, since each choice made from one party insured him a +hundred enemies in the party opposed. This, which was the political +part of the drama,--that which regarded the scenes played upon the +public stage,--had its instantaneous reflex, as we have already said +in the commencement of these pages, in the _salons_, which were the +green-rooms and _coulisses_. Urbanity, amenity of language, the bland +demeanor hitherto characterized as _la grâce Française_, all these +were at an end. Society in France, such as it had been once, the +far-famed model for all Europe, had ceased to exist. The ambition +which had once been identified with the cares of office or the dangers +of war now found sufficient food in the bickerings of party-spirit, +and revenged itself by _salon_ jokes and _salon_ impertinence for the +loss of a lead it either could not or would not take in +Parliament. The descendants of those very fathers and mothers who had, +in many cases, suffered incarceration, and death even, together, set +to hating each other cordially, because these would not abdicate what +those would not condescend to compete for. The _noblesse_ cried out, +that the _bourgeoisie_ was usurping all its privileges; and the +_bourgeoisie_ retorted, that the time for privilege was past. The two +classes could no longer meet together in the world, but formed utterly +different sets and _cliques_; and it must be avowed that neither of +the two gained in good-manners, or what may be called drawing-room +distinction. + +From 1815 to 1830, the _noblesse_ had officially the +advantage. From 1830 to 1848, the _bourgeoisie_ ruled over the +land. But now was to be remarked another social phenomenon, that +complicated _salon_ life more than ever. The middle classes, we +say, were in power; they were in all the centres of political +life,--in the Chambers, in the ministries, in the king's councils, in +diplomacy; and with them had risen to importance the Imperial +aristocracy, whose representatives were to be found in every +department of the public service. All this while, the old families of +the _ancien régime_ shut themselves up among themselves entirely, +constituted what is now termed the _Faubourg St. Germain_, which +never was so exclusive or so powerful (socially speaking) as under +Louis Philippe, and a tacit combat between envy and disdain was +carried on, such as perhaps no modern civilization ever witnessed. The +Faubourg St. Germain arrogated to itself the privilege of exclusively +representing _la société Française_, and it must be confessed +that the behavior of its adversaries went far to substantiate its +claims. + +Our purpose in these pages is not to touch upon anything connected +with politics, or we could show, that, whilst apparently severed from +all activity upon the more conspicuous field of the capital, the +ancient French families were employed in reëstablishing their +influence in the rural provincial centres; the result of which was the +extraordinary influx of Legitimist members into the Chamber formed by +the first Republican elections in 1848. But this is foreign to our +present aim. As to what regards French _society_, properly so +called, it was, from 1804, after the proclamation of the Empire, till +1848, after the fall of Louis Philippe, in gradual but incessant +course of sub-division into separate cliques, each more or less +bitterly disposed towards the others. From the moment when this began +to be the case, the edifice of French society could no longer be +studied as a whole, and it only remained to examine its component +parts as evidences of the tendencies of various classes in the nation. +In this assuredly not uninteresting study, Mme. Ancelot's book is of +much service; for a certain number of the different _salons_ she +names are, as it were, types of the different stages civilization has +attained to in the city which chooses to style itself "the brain of +Europe." + +The description, given in the little book before us, of what in Paris +constitutes a genuine _salon_, is a tolerably correct one. "A +_salon_," says Mme. Ancelot, "is not in the least like one of +those places in a populous town, where people gather together a crowd +of individuals unknown to each other, who never enter into +communication, and who are where they are, momentarily, either because +they expect to dance, or to hear music, or to show off the +magnificence of their dress. This is not what can ever be called a +_salon_. A _salon_ is an intimate and periodical meeting of +persons who for several years have been in the habit of frequenting +the same house, who enjoy each other's society, and who have some +reason, as they imagine, to be happy when they are brought in +contact. The persons who receive, form a link between the various +persons they invite, and this link binds the _habitués_ more +closely to one another, if, as is commonly the case, it is a woman of +superior mind who forms the point of union. A _salon_, to be +homogeneous, and to endure, requires that its _habitués_ should +have similar opinions and tastes, and, above all, enough of the +urbanity of bygone days to enable its frequenters to feel _at +home_ with every one in it, without the necessity of a formal +introduction. Formerly, this practice of speaking to persons you had +not been presented to was a proof of good-breeding; for it was well +known that in no house of any distinction would there be found a guest +who was not worthy to be the associate of whoever was noblest and +best. These habits of social intercourse gave a value to the +intellectual and moral qualities of the individual, quite independent +of his fortune or his rank; and in these little republics the real +sovereign was _merit_." + +Madame Ancelot is right here, and there were in Paris several of these +_salons_, which served as the models for those of all the rest of +Europe. Under the Restoration, two illustrious ladies tried to recall +to the generation that had sprung from the Empire or from emigration +what the famous _salons_ of old had once been, and the Duchesse +de Duras and the Marquise de Montcalm (sister to the then minister, +the Duc de Richelieu) drew around them all that was in any way +distinguished in France. But the many causes we have noted above made +the enterprise a difficult one, and the various divergences of +society, politically speaking, rendered the task of the mistress of a +house one of surpassing arduousness. Mme. de Staël, who, by her very +superiority perhaps,--certainly by her vehemence,--was prevented from +ever being a perfect example of what was necessary in this respect, +acquired the nickname of _Présidente de Salons_; and it would +appear, that, with her resolute air, her loud voice, and her violent +opinions, she really did seem like a kind of speaker of some House of +Commons disguised as a woman. That the management of a _salon_ +was no easy affair the following anecdote will prove. The Duchesse de +Duras one day asked M. de Talleyrand what he thought of the evening +_réunions_ at her house, and after a few words of praise, he +added: "But you are too vivacious as yet, too young. Ten years hence +you will know better how to manage it all." Mme. de Duras was then +somewhere about fifty-four or five! We perceive, therefore, that, +according to M. de Talleyrand, the proper manner of receiving a +certain circle of _habitués_ was likely to be the study of a +whole life. + +We select from Mme. Ancelot's book sketches of the following +_maitresses de maison_, because they seem to us the types of the +periods of transformation to which they correspond in the order of +date:--Mme. Lebrun, Mme. Gérard, Mme. d'Abrantès, Mme. Récamier, Mme. +Nodier. Mme. Lebrun corresponds to the period when Pre-Revolutionary +traditions were still in force, and when the remembrance yet +subsisted of a society that had been a real and not a fictive +unity. Mme. Gérard--or we should rather say her husband, for she +occupied herself little with her guests, whom the illustrious painter +entertained--represents the period of the Empire, prolonging itself +into the Restoration, and seeking by the immunities of talent and +intelligence to bring the two _régimes_ to meet upon what might be +termed neutral ground. Mme. d'Abrantès is the type of that last +remnant of the half-heroic, half-sentimental epoch which tried to +endure even after the first days of 1830, and of which certain verses +of Delphine Gay, certain impossible portraits of invincible colonels, +certain parts played by the celebrated Elleviou, and the +Troubadourish "_Partant pour la Syrie_" of Queen Hortense, are +emblematical. Mme. Récamier, although in date all but the contemporary +of Mme. Lebrun, is, in her position of mistress of a _salon_, +essentially the impersonation of a foible peculiar to the present day; +she typifies the class of women who, in Paris, are absolutely absorbed +by the thought of their _salons_, for whom to receive is to live, and +who are ready to expire at the notion of any celebrity not being a +frequenter of their tea-table. Mme. Nodier's--and here, as with Mme. +Gérard, we must substitute the husband for the wife, and say Charles +Nodier's--_salon_ was the menagerie whither thronged all the strange +beings who, after the Revolution of July, fancied they had some +special and extraordinary "call" in the world of Art. Nodier's +receptions at the Arsenal represent the literary and artistic movement +of 1830. + +To begin, then, with Mme. Lebrun. This lady was precisely one of +those individualities who, since the days of Louis XIV., had found it +easy to take their place in French society, who, under the ancien +_régime_, were the equals of the whole world, and who, since +"Equality" has been so formally decreed by the laws of the land, would +have found it impossible, under the Citizen King, Louis Philippe, or +under the so-called "Democratic Empire" of Louis Napoleon, to surround +themselves with any society save that of a perfectly inferior +description. + +Mme. Lebrun was the daughter of a very second-rate painter of the name +of Vigée, the sister of a poet of some talent of the same name, and +was married young to a picture-dealer of large fortune and most +expensive and dissipated, not to say dissolute habits, M. Lebrun. She +was young,--and, like Mme. Récamier and a few others, remained +youthful to a very late term of her existence,--remarkably beautiful, +full of talent, grace, and _esprit_, and possessed of the magnificent +acquirements as a portrait-painter that have made her productions to +this day valuable throughout the galleries of Europe. She was very +soon so brilliantly in fashion, that there was not a _grand seigneur_ +of the court, a _grande dame_ of the queen's intimacy, a rich +_fermier-général_, or a famous writer, artist, or _savant_, who did +not petition to be admitted to her soirées; and in her small +apartment, in the Rue de Cléry, were held probably the last of those +intimate and charmingly unceremonious réunions which so especially +characterized the manners of the high society of France when all +question of etiquette was set aside. The witty Prince de Ligne, the +handsome Comte de Vaudreuil, the clever M. de Boufflers, and his +step-son, M. de Sabran, with such men as Diderot, d'Alembert, +Marmontel, and Laharpe, were the original _habitués_ of Mme. Lebrun's +drawing-room. At the same time used to visit her the bitter, bilious, +discontented David, the painter, who, though very young, was annoyed +at a woman having such incontestable proficiency in his own art, and +whose democratic ideas were hurt at her receiving such a number of +what he styled "great people." Madame Lebrun, one day,--little +dreaming that she was addressing a future _coupe-tête_ of the most +violent species, (perhaps the only genuine admirer of Marat,)--said, +smilingly, to the future painter of _Les Sabines_, "David, you are +wretched because you are neither Duke nor Marquis. I, to whom all such +titles are absolutely indifferent, I receive with sincere pleasure all +who make themselves agreeable." The apostrophe apparently hit home, +for David never returned to Mme. Lebrun's house, and was no +well-wisher of hers in later times. But on this occasion she had not +only told the truth to an individual, she had touched upon the secret +sore of the nation and the time; and vast classes were already +brooding in silence over the absurd, vain, and empty regret at being +"neither Duke nor Marquis." The Revolution was at hand, and the days +rapidly approaching when all such pleasant assemblies as those held by +Mme. Lebrun would become forever impossible. At some of these, the +crowd of intimates, and of persons all acquainted with each other, was +so great, that the highest dignitaries of the realm had to content +themselves with sitting down upon the floor; and on one occasion, the +Maréchal de Noailles, who was of exceedingly large build, had to +request the assistance of several of his neighbors before he could be +brought from his squatting attitude to his feet again. + +Mme. Lebrun emigrated, like the majority of her associates,--going to +Russia, to Italy, to Germany, to England, and everywhere increasing +the number of her friends, besides preserving all those of former +times, whom she sedulously sought out in their voluntary exile, and to +whom, in many cases, she even proved an invaluable friend. In the +commencement of the Restoration, Mme. Lebrun returned to France, and +established herself definitively at Paris, and at Louveciennes near +Marly, where she had a delightful summer residence. Here, as in her +salons in the metropolis, she tried to bring back the tone of French +society to what it had been before the Revolution, and to show the +younger generations what had been the gayety, the grace, the +affability, the exquisite good-breeding of those who had preceded +them. The men and women of her own standing seconded her, but the +younger ones were not to be drawn into high-heartedness; and an +observer might have had before him the somewhat strange spectacle of +old age gay, gentle, unobservant of any stiff formality, and of youth +preoccupied and grave, and, instead of being refined in manners, +pedantic. "The younger frequenters of Mme. Lebrun's salon," says +Mme. Ancelot, "were strangers to the world into which they found +themselves raised; those who surrounded them were of an anterior +civilization; they could not grow to be identified with a past which +was unknown to them, or known only through recitals that disfigured +it.... Amidst the remnants of a society that had been historical, +there was, as it were, the breath of a spirit born of our days; new +ideas, new opinions, new hopes, nay, even new recollections, were +evident all around, and served to render social unity impossible; but, +above all, what failed in this one particular centre was youth,--there +were few or no young people." This was perfectly true; and +Mme. Lebrun's _salon_ is interesting only from the fact of its +being the last, perhaps, in which French people of our day can have +acquired a complete notion of what the Pre-Revolutionary _salons_ +of France were. + +The evening _réunions_ at the house of Gérard, the celebrated +painter, were among the most famous features of the society of the +Restoration. The gatherings at Mmes. de Duras's and de Montcalm's +splendid hotels were all but exclusively political and diplomatic; +whereas at Gérard's there was a mixture of these with the purely +mundane and artistic elements, and, above all, there was a portion of +Imperialist fame blended with all the rest, that was hard to be found +anywhere else. Gérard, too, had painted the portraits of so many +crowned heads, and been so much admitted into the intimacy of his +royal models, that, whenever a foreigner of any note visited Paris, he +almost immediately asked to be put in a way to be invited to the +celebrated artist's Wednesday receptions. This was, to a certain +degree, an innovation in regular French society; the French being most +truly, as has been said, the "Chinese of Europe," and liking nothing +less than the intermixture with themselves of anything foreign. But +Gérard was one of those essentially superior men who are able to +influence those around them, and bring them to much whereto no one +else could have persuaded them. Gérard, like many celebrated persons, +was infinitely superior to what he _did_. As far as what he +_did_ was concerned, Gérard, though a painter of great merit, was +far inferior to two or three of whom France has since been justly +proud; but in regard to what he _was_, Gérard was a man of +genius, who had in many ways few superiors. Few men, even in France, +have so highly deserved the reputation of _un homme d'esprit_. He +was as _spirituel_ as Talleyrand himself, and almost as +clear-sighted and profound. Add to this that nothing could surpass the +impression made by Gérard at first sight. He was strikingly like the +first Napoleon, but handsomer; with the same purity of outline, the +same dazzlingly lustrous eyes, full of penetration and thought, but +with a certain _sympathetic_ charm about his whole person that +the glorious conqueror of Marengo and Dictator of Gaul never +possessed. + +Gérard was not entirely French; born in Rome in 1770, his father only +was a native of France, his mother was an Italian; and from her he +inherited a certain combination of qualities and peculiarities that at +once distinguished him from the majority of his countrymen. Full of +poetic fire and inspiration, there was in Gérard at the same time a +strong critical propensity, that showed itself in his caustic wit and, +sometimes, not unmalicious remarks. There was also a perpetual +struggle in his character between reflection and the first impulse, +and sometimes the _étourderie_ of the French nature was suddenly +checked by the caution of the Italian; but, take him as he was, he was +a man in a thousand, and those who were in the habit of constantly +frequenting his house affirm loudly and with the deepest regret, that +they shall never "look upon his like again." + +Gérard had built for himself a house in the Rue des Augustins, near +the ancient church of St. Germain des Près; and there, every Wednesday +evening, summer and winter, he received whatever was in any way +illustrious in France, or whatever the other capitals of Europe sent +to Paris, _en passant_. "Four small rooms," says Mme. Ancelot, +"and a very small antechamber, composed the whole apartment. At twelve +o'clock tea was served, with eternally the same cakes, over which a +pupil of Gérard's, Mlle. Godefroy, presided. Gérard himself talked; +his wife remained nailed to a whist-table, attending to nothing and to +nobody. Evening once closed in, cards were the only occupation of +Mme. Gérard." + +From Mme. de Staël down to Mlle. Mars, from Talleyrand and Pozzo di +Borgo down to M. Thiers, there were no celebrities, male or female, +that, during thirty years, (from 1805 to 1835,) did not flock to +Gérard's house, and all, how different soever might be their character +or position, agreed in the same opinion of their host; and those who +survive say of him to this day,--"Nothing in his _salons_ +announced that you were received by a great _Artist_, but before +half an hour had elapsed you felt you were the guest of a +distinguished Man; you had seen by a glance at Gérard's whole person +and air that he was something apart from others,--that the sacred fire +burned there!" + +The regret felt for Gérard's loss by all who ever knew him is not to +be told, and speaks as highly for those who cherished as for him who +inspired it. His, again, was one of the _salons_ (impossible now +in France) where genius and social superiority, whether of birth or +position, met together on equal terms. Without having, perhaps, as +large a proportion of the old _noblesse de cour_ at his house as +had Mme. Lebrun, Gérard received full as many of those eminent +personages whose political occupations would have seemed to estrange +them from the world of mixed society and the Arts. This is a +_nuance_ to be observed. Under the Empire, hard and despotic as +was the rule of Bonaparte, and anxious even as he was to draw round +him all the aristocratic names that would consent to serve his +government, there was--owing to the mere force of events and the +elective origin of the throne--a strong and necessary democratic +feeling, that assigned importance to each man according to his +works. Besides this, let it be well observed, the first Empire had a +strong tendency to protect and exalt the Arts, from its own very +ardent desire to be made glorious in the eyes of posterity. Napoleon +I. was, in his way, a consummate artist, a prodigiously intelligent +_metteur en scène_ of his own exploits, and he valued full as +much the man who delineated or sang his deeds, as the minister who +helped him to legislate, or the diplomatist who drew up protocols and +treaties. The Emperor was a lover of noise and show, and his time was +a showy and a noisy one. Bonaparte had, in this respect, little enough +of the genuine Tyrant nature. Unlike his nephew, he loved neither +silence nor darkness; he loved the reflection of his form in the broad +noon of publicity, and the echo of his tread upon the sounding soil of +popular renown. Could he have been sure that all free men would have +united their voices in chanting his exploits, he would have made the +citizens of France the freest in the whole world. Compression with him +was either a mere preventive against or vengeance for detraction. + +Now this publicity-loving nature was, we repeat, as much served by Art +and artists as by politicians; nay, perhaps more; and for this reason +artists stood high during the period of the Empire. Talma held a +social rank that under no other circumstances could have been his, and +a painter like Gérard could welcome to his house statesmen such as +Talleyrand or Daru, or marshals of France, and princes even. We shall +show, by-and-by, how this grew to be impossible later. At present we +will recur to Mme. Ancelot for a really very true description of two +persons who were among the _habitués_ of the closing years of +Gérard's weekly receptions, and one of whom was destined to universal +celebrity: we allude to Mme. Gay, and her daughter, Delphine,--later, +Mme. Girardin. Of these two, the mother, famous as Sophie Gay, was as +thorough a remnant of the exaggerations and bad taste of the Empire as +were the straight, stiff, mock-classical articles of furniture of the +Imperialist hotels, or the _or-moulu_ clocks so ridiculed by +Balzac, on which turbaned Mamelukes mourned their expiring steeds. All +the false-heroics of the literature of the Empire found their +representative (their last one, perhaps) in Mme. Sophie Gay, and it +has not been sufficiently remarked that she even transmitted a shade +of all this to her daughter, in other respects one of the most +sagacious spirits and one of the most essentially unconventional of +our own day. A certain something that was not in harmony with the tone +of contemporary writers here and there surprised you in Delphine de +Girardin's productions, and, as Jules Janin once said, "One would +think the variegated plumes of Murat's fantastic hat[2] were sweeping +through her brains!" This was her mother's doing. Delphine, who had +never lived during one hour of the glory of the Empire, had, through +the medium of her mother, acquired a slight tinge of its +_boursouflure_; and had it not been for her own personal good +taste, she would have been misled precisely by her strong lyrical +aptitudes. Madame Gay found in Gérard's _salon_ all the people +she had best known in her youth, and she was delighted to have her +early years recalled to her. Mme. Ancelot, who, like many of her +country women, felt a marked antipathy for Madame Gay, has given a +very true portrait of both mother and daughter. + +"Many years after," she writes, "when these ladies were (through M. de +Girardin) at the head of one of the chief organs of the Paris press, +they were much flattered and courted; at the period I speak of" (about +1817-1825) "their position was far from brilliant, and Mme. Gay was +far from popular. Every word that fell from her mouth, uttered in a +sharp tone, and full of bitterness and envy, went to speak ill of +others and prodigiously well of herself. She had a mania for titles +and tuft-hunting, and could speak of no one under a marquis, a count, +or a baron. Her daughter's beauty and talents caused her afterwards to +be more generally admitted into society; but at this period she was +avoided by most people." + +Her daughter's beauty was certainly marvellous, and when, under the +reign of Louis Philippe, American society had in Paris more than one +brilliant representative and more than one splendid centre of +hospitality, where all that was illustrious in the society of France +perpetually flocked, we make no doubt many of our countrymen noticed, +whether at theatre or concert or ball, the really queenlike air of +Mme. de Girardin, and the exquisitely classic profile, which, +enframed, as it were, by the capricious spirals of the lightest, +fairest flaxen hair, resembled the outline of some antique statue of a +Muse. + +Delphine Gay and her mother were more the ornaments of the +_salon_ of the Duchesse d'Abrantès, perhaps, than of that of +Gérard; and as the former continued open long after the latter was +closed by death, not only the young girl, whose verses were so +immensely in fashion during the Restoration, was one of the constant +guests of Junot's widow, but she continued to be so as the wife of +Émile de Girardin, the intelligent and enterprising founder of the +newspaper "La Presse." + +The _salon_ of the Duchesse d'Abrantès was one of the first of a +species which has since then found imitators by scores and hundreds +throughout France. It was the _salon_ of a person not in herself +sufficiently superior or even celebrated to attract the genuine +superiorities of the country without the accessory attractions of +luxury, and not sufficiently wealthy to draw around her by her +splendid style of receiving, and to disdain the bait held out to those +she invited by the presence of great "lions." Gérard gave to his +guests, at twelve o'clock at night, a cup of tea and "eternally the +same cakes" all the year round; but Gérard was the type of the great +honors rendered, as we have observed, to Art under the Empire, and to +his house men went as equals, whose daily occupations made them the +associates of kings. This was not the case with the Duchesse +d'Abrantès. She had notoriety, not fame. Her "Mémoires" had been read +all through Europe, but it is to be questioned whether anything beyond +curiosity was satisfied by the book, and it certainly brought to its +author little or none of that which in France stands in lieu even of +fortune, but which is not easy to obtain, namely,--_consideration_. + +The Duchesse d'Abrantès was rather popular than otherwise; she was +even beloved by a certain number of persons; but she never was what is +termed _considérée_,--and this gave to her _salon_ a different aspect +from that of the others we have spoken of. A dozen names could be +mentioned, whose wearers, without any means of "entertaining" their +friends, or giving them more than a glass of _eau sucrée_, were yet +surrounded by everything highest and best in the land, simply because +they were _gens considérables_, as the phrase went; but +Mme. d'Abrantès, who more or less received all that mixed population +known by the name of _tout Paris_, never was, we repeat, _considérée_. + +The way in which Mme. Ancelot introduces her "friend," the poor +Duchesse d'Abrantès, on the scene, is exceedingly amusing and natural; +and we have here at once the opportunity of applying the remark we +made in commencing these pages, upon Mme. Ancelot's truthfulness. She +is the _habituée_ of the house of Mme. d'Abrantès; she professes +herself attached to the Duchess; yet she does not scruple to tell +everything as it really is, nor, out of any of the usual little +weaknesses of friendship, does she omit any one single detail that +proves the strange and indeed somewhat "Bohemian" manner of life of +her patroness. We, the readers of her book, are obviously obliged to +her for her indiscretions; with those who object to them from other +motives we have nothing to do. + +Here, then, is the fashion in which we are introduced to Mme. la +Duchesse d'Abrantès, widow of Marshal Junot, and a born descendant of +the Comneni, Emperors of Byzantium. + +Mme. Ancelot is sitting quietly by her fireside, one evening in +October, (some short time after the establishment of the monarchy of +July,) waiting to hear the result of a representation at the Théâtre +Français, where a piece of her own is for the first time being +performed. All at once, she hears several carriages stop at her door, +a number of persons rush up the stairs, and she finds herself in the +arms of the Duchesse d'Abrantès, who was resolved, as she says, to be +the first to congratulate her on her success. The hour is a late one; +supper is served, and conversation is prolonged into the "small +hours." All at once Mme. d'Abrantès exclaims, with an explosion of +delight,--"Ah! what a charming time is the night! one is so +deliciously off for talking! so safe! so secure! safe from bores and +from duns!" (_on ne craint ni les ennuyeux ni les créanciers_.') + +Madame Ancelot affirms that this speech made a tremendous effect, and +that her guests looked at each other in astonishment. If this really +was the case, we can only observe that it speaks well for the +Parisians of the epoch at which it occurred; for, assuredly, at the +present day, no announcement of the kind would astonish or scandalize +any one. People in "good society," nowadays, in France, have got into +a habit of living from hand to mouth, and of living by expedients, +simply because they have not the strength of mind to live _out_ +of society, and because the life of "the world" forces them to +expenses utterly beyond what they have any means of providing +for. However, we are inclined to believe that some five-and-twenty +years ago this was in no degree a general case, and that Mme. +d'Abrantès might perfectly well have been the first _maitresse de +maison_ to whom it happened. + +"Alas!" sighs Mme. Ancelot, commenting upon her excellent friend's +strange confidence,--"it was the secret of her whole life that she +thus revealed to us in a moment of _abandon_,--the secret of an +existence that tried still to reflect the splendors of the Imperial +epoch, and that was at the same time perplexed and tormented by all +the thousand small miseries of pecuniary embarrassment. There were the +two extremes of a life that to the end excited my surprise. Grandeur! +want!--between those two opposites oscillated every day of the last +years of the Duchesse d'Abrantès; the exterior and visible portion of +that life arranged itself well or ill, as it best could, in the +middle,--now apparently colored by splendor, and now degraded by +distress; but at bottom the existence was unvaryingly what I state." + +Madame d'Abrantès, at the period of her greatest notoriety, occupied +the ground-floor of a hotel in the Rue Rochechouart, with a garden, +where dancing was often introduced upon the lawn. Some remnants of +the glories of Imperialism were collected there, but the principal +_habitués_ were men of letters, artists, and young men who danced +well! (_les jeunes beaux qui dansaient bien!_) That one phrase +characterizes at once the ex-_belle_ of the Empire, the +contemporary of the sentimental Hortense de Beauharnais, and of the +more than _légère_ Pauline Borghése. + +To the "new society of July" Mme. d'Abrantès was an object of great +curiosity. "I dote on seeing that woman!" said Balzac, one evening, +to Mme. Ancelot. "Only fancy! she saw Napoleon Bonaparte as a mere +boy,--knew him well,--knew him as a young man, unknown,--saw him +occupied, like anybody else, with the ordinary occurrences of +every-day life; then she saw him grow, and grow, and rise, and throw +the shadow of his name over the world. She seems to me somewhat like a +canonized creature who should all at once come and recount to me the +glories of paradise." + +Balzac, it must be premised, was bitten just at this period by the +Napoleon mania, and this transformed his inquisitive attachment for +Mme. d'Abrantès into a kind of passion. It was at this period that he +chose to set up in his habitation in the Rue Cassini a sort of altar, +on which he placed a small statue of the Emperor, with these words +engraved upon the pedestal:-- + + + "Ce qu'il avait commencé par l'épée, + Je l'achèverai par la plume!" + + +What particular part of the Imperial work this was that Balzac was to +"complete by the pen" was never rightly discovered,--but for a time he +had a sun-stroke for Napoleon, and his attachment for Mme. d'Abrantès +partook of this influence. + +One anecdote told by Mme. Ancelot proves to what a degree the union of +"grandeur" and "want" she has alluded to went. "Mme. d'Abrantès," says +her biographer of the moment, "was always absorbed by the present +impression, whatever that might happen to be; she passed from joy to +despair like a child, and I never knew any house that was either so +melancholy or so gay." One evening, however, it would seem that the +Hôtel d'Abrantès was gayer than usual. Laughter rang loud through the +rooms, the company was numerous, and the mistress of the house in +unparalleled high spirits. If the tide of conversation seemed to +slacken, quickly Madame la Duchesse had some inimitable story of the +_ridicules_ of the ladies of the Imperial court, and the whole +circle was soon convulsed at her stories, and at her way of telling +them. The tea-table was forgotten. Generally, tea at her house was +taken at eleven o'clock; but on this occasion, midnight was long past +before it was announced, and before her guests assembled round the +table. If our readers are curious to know why, here was the reason: +All that remained of the plate had that very morning been put in pawn, +and when tea should have been served it was found that tea-spoons were +wanting! Whilst these were being sent for to the house of a friend +who lent them, Madame la Duchesse took charge of her guests, and +drowned their impatience in their hilarity. + +It must be allowed that this lady was worthy to be the mother of the +young man who, one day, pointing to a sheet of stamped paper, on which +a bill of exchange might be drawn, said: "You see that; it is worth +five sous now; but if I sign my name to it, it will be worth nothing!" +This was a speech made by Junot's eldest son, known in Paris as the +Duc d'Abrantès, and as the intimate friend of Victor Hugo, from whom +at one time he was almost inseparable. + +The eccentric personage we have just spoken of--the Duchesse +d'Abrantès--died in the year 1838, in a garret, upon a truckle-bed, +provided for her by the charity of a friend. The royal family paid the +expenses of her funeral, and Chateaubriand, accompanied by nearly +every celebrity of the literary world, followed on foot behind her +coffin, from the church to the burying-ground. + +Madame d'Abrantès may be considered as the inventor, in France, of +what has since become so widely spread under the name of _les salons +picaresques_, and of what, at the present day, is famous under the +appellation of the _demi-monde_. Her example has been followed +by numberless imitators, and now, instead of presuming (as was the +habit formerly) that those only receive who are rich enough to do so, +it is constantly inquired, when any one in Paris opens his or her +house, whether he or she is ruined, and whether the _soirées_ +given are meant merely to throw dust into people's eyes. The history +of the tea-spoons--so singular at the moment of its occurrence--has +since been parodied a hundred times over, and sometimes by mistresses +of houses whose fortune was supposed to put them far above all such +expedients. Madame d'Abrantès, we again say, was the founder of a +_genre_ in Paris society, and as such is well worth studying. The +_genre_ is by no means the most honorable, but it is one too +frequently found now in the social centres of the French capital for +the essayist on Paris _salons_ to pass it over unnoticed. + +The _salon_ of Mme. Récamier is one of a totally different order, +and the world-wide renown of which may make it interesting to the +reader of whatever country. As far as age was concerned, Mme. +Récamier was the contemporary of Mme. d'Abrantès, of Gérard, nay, +almost of Mme. Lebrun; for the renown of her beauty dates from the +time of the French Revolution, and her early friendships associate her +with persons who even had time to die out under the first Empire; but +the _salon_ of Madame Récamier was among the exclusively modern +ones, and enjoyed all its lustre and its influence only after +1830. The cause of this is obvious: the circumstance that attracted +society to Mme. Récamier's house was no other than the certainty of +finding there M. de Chateaubriand. He was the divinity of the temple, +and the votaries flocked around his shrine. Before 1830 the temple had +been elsewhere, and, until her death, Mme. la Duchesse de Duras was +the high-priestess of the sanctuary, where a few privileged mortals +only were admitted to bow down before the idol. It is inconceivable +how easy a certain degree of renown finds it in Paris to establish one +of these undisputed sovereignties, before which the most important, +highest, most considerable individualities abdicate their own merit, +and prostrate themselves in the dust. M. de Chateaubriand in no way +justified the kind of worship that was paid him, nor did he even +obtain it so long as he was in a way actively to justify it. It was +when he grew old and produced nothing, and was hourly more and more +rusted over by selfishness, churlishness, and an exorbitant adoration +of his own genius, that the society of his country fell down upon its +knees before him, and was ready to make any sacrifice to insure to +itself the honor of one of his smiles or one of his looks. In this +disposition, Madame Récamier speedily obtained a leading influence +over Paris society, and when it was notorious that from four to six +every day the "Divinity" would be visible in her _salons_, her +_salons_ became the place of pilgrimage for all Paris. As with +those of Mme. d'Abrantès, there was a certain mixture amongst the +guests, because, without that, the _notoriety_, which neither +Chateaubriand nor Mme. Récamier disliked, would have been less easily +secured; but the tone of the _réunions_ was vastly different, and +at the celebrated receptions of the Abbaye aux Bois (where +Mme. Récamier spent her last quarter of a century) the somewhat +austere deportment of the _siècle de Louis XIV._ was in +vogue. All the amusements were in their nature grave. Mlle. Rachel +recited a scene from "Polyeucte" for the author of "Les Martyrs," and +for archbishops and cardinals; the Duc de Noailles read a chapter from +his history of Mme. de Maintenon; some performance of strictly +classical music was to be heard; or, upon state occasions, +Chateaubriand himself vouchsafed to impart to a chosen few a few pages +of the "Mémoires d'Outre-Tombe." + +In her youth Mme. Récamier had been reputed beautiful, and her sole +occupation then was to do the honors of her beauty. She did not dream +of ever being anything else; and as she remained young marvellously +long,--as her beauty, or the charm, whatever it was, that +distinguished her, endured until a very late epoch of her life,--she +was far advanced in years before the idea of becoming famous through +any other medium save that of her exterior advantages ever struck +her. Madame Récamier had no intellectual superiority, but, +paraphrasing in action Molière's witty sentence, that "silence, well +employed, may go far to establish a man's capacity," she resolved to +employ well the talent she possessed of making other people believe +themselves clever. Mme. Ancelot, whose "good friend" she is supposed +to have been, and who treats her with the same sincerity she applies +to Mme. d'Abrantès, has a very ingenious and, we have reason to fancy, +a very true parallel, for Mme. Récamier. She compares her to the +mendicant described by Sterne, (or Swift,) who always obtained alms +even from those who never gave to any other, and whose secret lay in +the adroit flatteries with which he seasoned all his beggings. The +best passages in Mme. Ancelot's whole Volume are those where she +paints Mme. Récamier, and we will therefore quote them. + +"The Recluse of the Abbaye aux Bois," she says, "had either read the +story of the beggar, or her instinct had persuaded her that vanity and +pride are the surest vulnerable points by which to attack and subject +the human heart. From the first to the last of all the orators, +writers, artists, or celebrities of no matter what species, that were +invited to Mme. Récamier's house, _all_ heard from her lips the +same admiring phrases, the first time they were presented to her. With +a trembling voice she used to say: 'The emotion I feel in the presence +of a superior being does not permit me to express, as I should wish to +do, all my admiration, all my sympathy;--but you can divine,--you can +understand;--my emotion tells the rest!' This eulogistic sentence, a +well-studied hesitation, words interrupted, and looks of the most +perfect enthusiasm, produced in the person thus received a far more +genuine emotion than that with which he was met. It was no other than +the artifice of wholesale, universal flattery,--always and invariably +the same,--with which Mme. Récamier achieved her greatest conquests, +and continued to draw around her almost all the eminent men of our +epoch. All this was murmured in soft, low tones, so that he only to +whom she spoke tasted the honey poured into his ear. Her grace of +manner all the while was infinite; for though she had no talent for +conversation, she had, in the highest degree, the ability which +enables one to succeed in certain little combinations, and when she +had determined that such or such a great man should become her +_habitué_, the web she spun round him on all sides was composed +of threads so imperceptibly fine and so innumerable, that those who +escaped were few, and gifted with marvellous address." + +Mme. Ancelot confesses to having "studied narrowly" all +Mme. Récamier's manoeuvres, and to having watched all the thousand +little traps she laid for social "lions"; but we are rather astonished +herein at Mme. Ancelot's astonishment, for, with more or less talent +and grace, these are the devices resorted to in Paris by a whole class +of _maitresses de maison_, of whom Mme. Récamier is simply the +most perfect type. + +But the most amusing part of all, and one that will be above all +highly relished by any one who has ever seen the same game carried on, +is the account of Mme. Récamier's campaign against M. Guizot, which +signally failed, all her small webs having been coldly brushed away by +the intensely vainglorious individual who knew he should not be placed +above Chateaubriand, and who would for no consideration under heaven +have been placed beneath him. The spectacle of this small and delicate +vanity doing battle against this vanity so infinitely hard and robust +is exquisitely diverting. Mme. Récamier put herself so prodigiously +out of her way; she who was indolent became active; she who was +utterly insensible to children became maternal; she who was of +delicate health underwent what only a vigorous constitution would +undertake. But all in vain; she either did not or would not see that +M. Guizot would not be _second_ where M. de Chateaubriand was +_first_. Besides, she split against another rock, that she had +either chosen to overlook, or the importance of which she had +undervalued. If Mme. Récamier had for the idol of her shrine at the +Abbaye aux Bois M. de Chateaubriand, M. Guizot had also _his_ +Madame Récamier, the "Egeria" of the Hôtel Talleyrand,--the Princess +Lieven. The latter would have resisted to the death any attempt to +carry off "her Minister" from the _salons_ where his presence was +the "attraction" reckoned upon daily, nay, almost hourly; and against +such a rival as the venerable Princess Lieven, Mme. Récamier, spite of +all her arts and wiles, had no possible chance. However, she left +nothing untried, and when M. Guizot took a villa at Auteuil, whither +to repair of an evening and breathe the freshness of the half-country +air after the stormy debates of the Chambers, she also established +herself close by, and opened her attack on the enemy's outposts by a +request to be allowed to walk in the Minister's grounds, her own +garden being ridiculously small! This was followed by no end of +attentions directed towards Mme. de Meulan, M. Guizot's sister-in-law, +who saw through the whole, and laughed over it with her friends; no +end of little dancing _matinées_ were got up for the Minister's +young daughters, and no end even of sweet biscuits were perpetually +provided for a certain lapdog belonging to the family! All in vain! +We may judge, too, what transports of enthusiasm were enacted when the +Minister himself was _by chance (!)_ encountered in the alleys of +the park, and with what outpourings of admiration he was greeted, by +the very person who, of all others, was so anxious to become one of +his votaries. But, as we again repeat, it was of no use. M. Guizot +never consented to be one of the _habitués_ of the _salon_ +of the Abbaye aux Bois. It should be remarked, also, that M. Guizot +cared little for anything out of the immediate sphere of politics, and +of the politics of the moment; he took small interest in what went on +in Art, and none whatever in what went on in the so-called "world"; so +that where a _salon_ was not predominantly political, there was +small chance of presenting Louis Philippe's Prime-Minister with any +real attraction. For this reason he was now and then to be met at the +house of Mme. de Châtenay, often at that of Mme. de Boigne, but +_never_ in any of the receptions of the ordinary run of men and +women of the world. _His own salon_, we again say,--the +_salon_ where he was what Chateaubriand was at the Abbaye aux +Bois,--was the _salon_ of the Princess Lieven; and to have ever +thought she could induce M. Guizot to be in the slightest degree +faithless to this _habit_ argues, on the part of Mme. Récamier, +either a vanity more egregious than we had even supposed, or an +ignorance of what she had to combat that seems impossible. To have +imagined for a moment that she could induce M. Guizot to frequent her +_réunions_ shows that she appreciated neither Mme. de Lieven, nor +M. Guizot, nor, we may say, herself, in the light of the +high-priestess of Chateaubriand's temple. + +However, what Mme. Récamier went through with regard to the arrogant +Président du Conseil of the Orléans dynasty, more than one of her +imitators are at this hour enduring for some "lion" infinitely +illustrious. This kind of hunt after celebrated persons is a feature +of French civilization, and a feature peculiarly characteristic of the +French women who take a pride in their receptions. A genuine +_maitresse de maison_ in Paris has no affections, no ties, save +those of her _salon_. She is wholly absorbed in thinking how she +shall render this more attractive than the _salon_ of some other +lady, who is her intimate friend, but whose sudden disappearance from +the social scene, by any catastrophe, death even, would not leave her +inconsolable. She has neither husband, children, relatives, nor +friends (in the genuine acceptation of the word);--she has, above all, +before all, always and invariably, her _salon_. This race of +women, who date undoubtedly from the famous Marquise de Rambouillet in +the time of the Fronde, are now dying out, and are infinitely less +numerous than they were even twenty years ago in Paris; but a few of +them still exist, and in these few the ardor we allude to, and which +would lead them, following in Mme. Récamier's track, to embark for the +North Cape in search of some great celebrity, is in no degree +abated. Madame Récamier is curious as the arch-type of this race, so +purely, thoroughly, exclusively Parisian. + +Perhaps to a foreigner, however, no _salon_ was more amusing than +that of Charles Nodier; but this was of an utterly different +description, and all but strictly confined to the world of Literature +and Art. Nodier himself occupied a prominent place in the literature +that was so much talked of during the last years of the Restoration +and the first years of the Monarchy of July, and his house was the +rendezvous for all the combatants of both sides, who at that period +were engaged in the famous Classico-Romantic struggle. Nodier was the +Head Librarian of the Arsenal, and it was in the _salons_ of this +historic palace that he held his weekly gatherings. He himself was +scarcely to be reputed exclusively of either party; he enjoyed the +favors of the Monarchy, and the sympathies of the Opposition; the +"Classics" elected him a member of the Académie Française, and the +"Romantics" were perpetually in his intimacy. The fact was, that +Nodier at heart believed in neither Classics nor Romantics, laughed at +both in his sleeve, and only cared to procure to himself the most +agreeable house, the greatest number of comforts, and the largest sums +of money possible. + +"By degrees," says Mme. Ancelot, "as Nodier cared less for other +people, he praised them more, probably in order to compensate them in +words for the less he gave them in affection. Besides this, he was +resolved not to be disturbed in his own vanities, and for this he knew +there was one only way, which was to foster the vanities of everybody +else. Never did eulogium take such varied forms to laud and exalt the +most mediocre things. Nowhere were so many geniuses whom the public +never guessed at raised to the rank of _divinities_ as in the +_salons_ of Charles Nodier." + +The description contained in the little volume before us, the manner +in which every petty scribbler of fiftieth-rate talent was transformed +into a giant in the society of Nodier, is extremely curious and +amusing, and the more so that it is strictly true, and tallies +perfectly with the recollections of the individuals who, at the period +mentioned, were admitted to the _réunions_ of the Arsenal. + +Every form of praise having been expended upon persons of infinitely +small merit, what was to be done when those of real superiority +entered upon the scene? It was impossible to apply to them the forms +of laudation adapted to their inferiors. Well, then, a species of +slang was invented, by which it was thought practicable to make the +genuine great men conceive they had passed into the condition of +demigods. A language was devised that was to express the fervor of the +adorers who were suddenly allowed to penetrate into Olympus, and the +strange, misapplied terms whereof seemed to the uninitiated the +language of insanity. For instance, if, after a dozen little unshaved, +unkempt poetasters had been called "sublime," Victor Hugo vouchsafed +to recite one of his really best Odes, what was the eulogistic form to +be adopted? Mme. Ancelot will tell us. + +"A pause would ensue, and at the end of a silence of some minutes, +when the echo of Hugo's sonorous voice had subsided, one after another +of the _elect_ would rise, go up to the poet, take his hand with +solemn emotion, and raise to the ceiling eyes full of mute enthusiasm. +The crowd of bystanders would listen all agape. Then, to the surprise, +almost to the consternation, of the uninitiated, one word only would +be spoken,--loudly, distinctly, and with strong, deep emphasis spoken; +that word would be: + + "_Cathedral!!!_ + +"The first orator, after this effort, would return to the place whence +he had come, and another, succeeding to him, after repeating the same +pantomime as the former, would exclaim: + + "_Ogive!!!_ + +"Then a third would come forward, and, after looking all around, would +risk the word: + + "_Pyramid-of-Egypt!!!_ + +"And thereat the whole assembly would start off into frenzies of +applause, and fifty or sixty voices would repeat in chorus the +sacramental words that had just been pronounced separately." + +The degree of absurdity to which a portion of society must have +attained before such scenes as the above could become possible may +serve as a commentary and an explanation to half the literature which +flooded the stage and the press in France for the first six or eight +years after the Revolution of 1830. However, to be just, we must, in +extenuation of all these absurdities, cite one passage more from +Mme. Ancelot's book, in which, in one respect, at all events, the +youth of twenty years ago in Paris are shown to have been superior to +the youth of the present day. + +"Nodier's parties were extremely amusing," says our authoress; "his +charming daughter was the life of the whole; she drew around her young +girls of her own age; poets, musicians, painters, young and joyous as +these, were their partners in the dance, and every one was +full of hope and dreaming of glory. But what brought all the +light-heartedness, all the enthusiasm, all the exultation to its +utmost height was, that, in all that youth, so trusting and so +hopeful, _no one gave a single thought to money!_" + +Assuredly, it would be impossible to say as much nowadays. + +Taken as a whole, Mme. Ancelot's little volume is, as we said, an +amusing and an instructive one. It is not so from any portion of her +own individuality she has infused into it, but, on the contrary, from +the entire sincerity with which it mirrors other people. We recommend +it to our readers, for it is a record of Paris society in its +successive transformations from 1789 to 1848, and paints a class of +people and a situation of things, equally true types whereof may +possibly not be observable in future times. + + +Footnote 1: _Les Salons de Paris.--Foyers Eteints_. Par +Mme. Ancelot. 12mo. Paris. + +Footnote 2: It will be remembered that on field-days Murat had +adopted a hat and feathers of a most ridiculous kind, and that have +become proverbial. + + + + +THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE. + + +A LEAF FROM KING ALFRED'S "OROSIUS." + + + Othere, the old sea-captain, + Who dwelt in Helgoland, + To Alfred, the Lover of Truth, + Brought a snow-white walrus-tooth, + Which he held in his brown right-hand. + + His figure was tall and stately; + Like a boy's his eye appeared; + His hair was yellow as hay, + But threads of a silvery gray + Gleamed in his tawny beard. + + Hearty and hale was Othere, + His cheek had the color of oak; + With a kind of laugh in his speech, + Like the sea-tide on a beach, + As unto the King he spoke. + + And Alfred, King of the Saxons, + Had a book upon his knees, + And wrote down the wondrous tale + Of him who was first to sail + Into the Arctic seas. + + "So far I live to the northward, + No man lives north of me; + To the east are wild mountain-chains, + And beyond them meres and plains; + To the westward all is sea. + + "So far I live to the northward, + From the harbor of Skeringes-hale, + If you only sailed by day, + With a fair wind all the way, + More than a month would you sail. + + "I own six hundred reindeer, + With sheep and swine beside; + I have tribute from the Fins,-- + Whalebone, and reindeer-skins, + And ropes of walrus-hide. + + "I ploughed the land with horses, + But my heart was ill at ease, + For the old seafaring men + Came to me now and then + With their sagas of the seas,-- + + "Of Iceland, and of Greenland, + And the stormy Hebrides, + And the undiscovered deep;-- + I could not eat nor sleep + For thinking of those seas. + + "To the northward stretched the desert,-- + How far I fain would know; + So at last I sallied forth, + And three days sailed due north, + As far as the whale-ships go. + + "To the west of me was the ocean,-- + To the right the desolate shore; + But I did not slacken sail + For the walrus or the whale, + Till after three days more. + + "The days grew longer and longer, + Till they became as one; + And southward through the haze + I saw the sullen blaze + Of the red midnight sun. + + "And then uprose before me, + Upon the water's edge, + The huge and haggard shape + Of that unknown North Cape, + Whose form is like a wedge. + + "The sea was rough and stormy, + The tempest howled and wailed, + And the sea-fog, like a ghost, + Haunted that dreary coast,-- + But onward still I sailed. + + "Four days I steered to eastward, + Four days without a night: + Bound in a fiery ring + Went the great sun, O King, + With red and lurid light." + + Here Alfred, King of the Saxons, + Ceased writing for a while; + And raised his eyes from his book, + With a strange and puzzled look, + And an incredulous smile. + + But Othere, the old sea-captain, + He neither paused nor stirred; + And the King listened, and then + Once more took up his pen, + And wrote down every word. + + "And now the land," said Othere, + "Bent southward suddenly, + And I followed the curving shore + And ever southward bore + Into a nameless sea. + + "And there we hunted the walrus, + The narwhale, and the seal: + Ha! 'twas a noble game, + And like the lightning's flame + Flew our harpoons of steel! + + "There were six of us altogether, + Norsemen of Helgoland; + In two days and no more + We killed of them threescore, + And dragged them to the strand!" + + Here Alfred the Truth-Teller + Suddenly closed his book, + And lifted his blue eyes + With doubt and strange surmise + Depicted in their look. + + And Othere, the old sea-captain, + Stared at him wild and weird, + Then smiled, till his shining teeth + Gleamed white from underneath + His tawny, quivering beard. + + And to the King of the Saxons, + In witness of the truth, + Raising his noble head, + He stretched his brown hand, and said. + "Behold this walrus-tooth!" + + + + +THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. + + +EVERY MAN HIS OWN BOSWELL. + +[The schoolmistress came down with a rose in her hair,--a fresh June +rose. She has been walking early; she has brought back two +others,--one on each cheek. + +I told her so, in some such pretty phrase as I could muster for the +occasion. Those two blush-roses I just spoke of turned into a couple +of damasks. I suppose all this went through my mind, for this was what +I went on to say:--] + +I love the damask rose best of all. The flowers our mothers and +sisters used to love and cherish, those which grow beneath our eaves +and by our doorstep, are the ones we always love best. If the +Houyhnhnms should ever catch me, and, finding me particularly vicious +and unmanageable, send a man-tamer to Rareyfy me, I'll tell you what +drugs he would have to take and how he would have to use them. Imagine +yourself reading a number of the Houyhnhnms Gazette, giving an account +of such an experiment. + +"MAN-TAMING EXTRAORDINARY. + +"The soft-hoofed semi-quadruped recently captured was subjected to the +art of our distinguished man-tamer in presence of a numerous +assembly. The animal was led in by two stout ponies, closely confined +by straps to prevent his sudden and dangerous tricks of +shoulder-hitting and foot-striking. His countenance expressed the +utmost degree of ferocity and cunning. + +"The operator took a handful of _budding lilac-leaves_, and +crushing them slightly between his hoofs, so as to bring out their +peculiar fragrance, fastened them to the end of a long pole and held +them towards the creature. Its expression changed in an instant,--it +drew in their fragrance eagerly, and attempted to seize them with its +soft split hoofs. Having thus quieted his suspicious subject, the +operator proceeded to tie a _blue hyacinth_ to the end of the +pole and held it out towards the wild animal. The effect was +magical. Its eyes filled as if with raindrops, and its lips trembled +as it pressed them to the flower. After this it was perfectly quiet, +and brought a measure of corn to the man-tamer, without showing the +least disposition to strike with the feet or hit from the shoulder." + +That will do for the Houyhnhnms Gazette.--Do you ever wonder why poets +talk so much about flowers? Did you ever hear of a poet who did not +talk about them? Don't you think a poem, which, for the sake of being +original, should leave them out, would be like those verses where the +letter _a_ or _e_ or some other is omitted? No,--they will +bloom over and over again in poems as in the summer fields, to the end +of time, always old and always new. Why should we be more shy of +repeating ourselves than the spring be tired of blossoms or the night +of stars? Look at Nature. She never wearies of saying over her floral +pater-noster. In the crevices of Cyclopean walls,--in the dust where +men lie, dust also,--on the mounds that bury huge cities, the Birs +Nemroud and the Babel-heap,--still that same sweet prayer and +benediction. The Amen! of Nature is always a flower. + +Are you tired of my trivial personalities,--those splashes and streaks +of sentiment, sometimes perhaps of sentimentality, which you may see +when I show you my heart's corolla as if it were a tulip? Pray, do +not give yourself the trouble to fancy me an idiot whose conceit it is +to treat himself as an exceptional being. It is because you are just +like me that I talk and know that you will listen. We are all +splashed and streaked with sentiments,--not with precisely the same +tints, or in exactly the same patterns, but by the same hand and from +the same palette. + +I don't believe any of you happen to have just the same passion for +the blue hyacinth which I have,--very certainly not for the crushed +lilac-leaf-buds; many of you do not know how sweet they are. You love +the smell of the sweet-fern and the bayberry-leaves, I don't doubt; +but I hardly think that the last bewitches you with young memories as +it does me. For the same reason I come back to damask roses, after +having raised a good many of the rarer varieties. I like to go to +operas and concerts, but there are queer little old homely sounds that +are better than music to me. However, I suppose it's foolish to tell +such things. + +----It is pleasant to be foolish at the right time,--said the +divinity-student;--saying it, however, in one of the dead languages, +which I think are unpopular for summer-reading, and therefore do not +bear quotation as such. + +Well, now,--said I,--suppose a good, clean, wholesome-looking +countryman's cart stops opposite my door.--Do I want any +huckleberries?--If I do not, there are those that do. Thereupon my +soft-voiced handmaid bears out a large tin pan, and then the wholesome +countryman, heaping the peck-measure, spreads his broad hands around +its lower arc to confine the wild and frisky berries, and so they run +nimbly along the narrowing channel until they tumble rustling down in +a black cascade and tinkle on the resounding metal beneath.--I won't +say that this rushing huckleberry hail-storm has not more music for me +than the "Anvil Chorus." + +----I wonder how my great trees are coming on this summer. + +----Where are your great trees, Sir? said the divinity-student. + +Oh, all round about New England. I call all trees mine that I have put +my wedding-ring on, and I have as many tree-wives as Brigham Young has +human ones. + +----One set's as green as the other,--exclaimed a boarder, who has +never been identified. + +They're all Bloomers,--said the young fellow called John. + +[I should have rebuked this trifling with language, if our landlady's +daughter had not asked me just then what I meant by putting my +wedding-ring on a tree.] + +Why, measuring it with my thirty-foot tape, my dear,--said I.--I have +worn a tape almost out on the rough barks of our old New England elms +and other big trees.--Don't you want to hear me talk trees a little +now? That is one of my specialties. + +[So they all agreed that they should like to hear me talk about +trees.] + +I want you to understand, in the first place, that I have a most +intense, passionate fondness for trees in general, and have had +several romantic attachments to certain trees in particular. Now, if +you expect me to hold forth in a "scientific" way about my +tree-loves,--to talk, for instance, of the Ulmus Americana, and +describe the ciliated edges of its samara, and all that,--you are an +anserine individual, and I must refer you to a dull friend who will +discourse to you of such matters. What should you think of a lover who +should describe the idol of his heart in the language of science, +thus: Class, Mammalia; Order, Primates; Genus, Homo; Species, +Europeus; Variety, Brown; Individual, Ann Eliza; Dental Formula + + + 2-2 1-1 2-2 3-3 + i--- c--- p--- m----, + 2-2 1-1 2-2 3-3 + + +and so on? + +No, my friends, I shall speak of trees as we see them, love them, +adore them in the fields, where they are alive, holding their green +sun-shades over our heads, talking to us with their hundred thousand +whispering tongues, looking down on us with that sweet meekness which +belongs to huge, but limited organisms,--which one sees in the brown +eyes of oxen, but most in the patient posture, the outstretched arms, +and the heavy-drooping robes of these vast beings endowed with life, +but not with soul,--which outgrow us and outlive us, but stand +helpless,--poor things!--while Nature dresses and undresses them, like +so many full-sized, but underwitted children. + +Did you ever read old Daddy Gilpin? Slowest of men, even of English +men; yet delicious in his slowness, as is the light of a sleepy eye in +woman. I always supposed "Dr. Syntax" was written to make fun of +him. I have a whole set of his works, and am very proud of it, with +its gray paper, and open type, and long ff, and orange-juice +landscapes. The _Père_ Gilpin had the kind of science I like in +the study of Nature,--a little less observation than White of +Selborne, but a little more poetry.--Just think of applying the +Linnæan system to an elm! Who cares how many stamens or pistils that +little brown flower, which comes out before the leaf, may have to +classify it by? What we want is the meaning, the character, the +expression of a tree, as a kind and as an individual. + +There is a mother-idea in each particular kind of tree, which, if well +marked, is probably embodied in the poetry of every language. Take the +oak, for instance, and we find it always standing as a type of +strength and endurance. I wonder if you ever thought of the single +mark of supremacy which distinguishes this tree from all our other +forest-trees? All the rest of them shirk the work of resisting +gravity; the oak alone defies it. It chooses the horizontal direction +for its limbs, so that their whole weight may tell,--and then +stretches them out fifty or sixty feet, so that the strain may be +mighty enough to be worth resisting. You will find, that, in passing +from the extreme downward droop of the branches of the weeping-willow +to the extreme upward inclination of those of the poplar, they sweep +nearly half a circle. At 90° the oak stops short; to slant upward +another degree would mark infirmity of purpose; to bend downwards, +weakness of organization. The American elm betrays something of both; +yet sometimes, as we shall see, puts on a certain resemblance to its +sturdier neighbor. + +It won't do to be exclusive in our taste about trees. There is hardly +one of them which has not peculiar beauties in some fitting place for +it. I remember a tall poplar of monumental proportions and aspect, a +vast pillar of glossy green, placed on the summit of a lofty hill, and +a beacon to all the country round. A native of that region saw fit to +build his house very near it, and, having a fancy that it might blow +down some time or other, and exterminate himself and any incidental +relatives who might be "stopping" or "tarrying" with him,--also +laboring under the delusion that human life is under all circumstances +to be preferred to vegetable existence,--had the great poplar cut +down. It is so easy to say, "It is only a poplar!" and so much harder +to replace its living cone than to build a granite obelisk! + +I must tell you about some of my tree-wives. I was at one period of my +life much devoted to the young lady-population of Rhode Island, a +small, but delightful State in the neighborhood of Pawtucket. The +number of inhabitants being not very large, I had leisure, during my +visits to the Providence Plantations, to inspect the face of the +country in the intervals of more fascinating studies of physiognomy. I +heard some talk of a great elm a short distance from the locality just +mentioned. "Let us see the great elm,"--I said, and proceeded to find +it,--knowing that it was on a certain farm in a place called Johnston, +if I remember rightly. I shall never forget my ride and my +introduction to the great Johnston elm. + +I always tremble for a celebrated tree when I approach it for the +first time. Provincialism has no _scale_ of excellence in man or +vegetable; it never knows a first-rate article of either kind when it +has it, and is constantly taking second and third rate ones for +Nature's best. I have often fancied the tree was afraid of me, and +that a sort of shiver came over it as over a betrothed maiden when she +first stands before the unknown to whom she has been plighted. Before +the measuring-tape the proudest tree of them all quails and shrinks +into itself. All those stories of four or five men stretching their +arms around it and not touching each other's fingers, of one's pacing +the shadow at noon and making it so many hundred feet, die upon its +leafy lips in the presence of the awful ribbon which has strangled so +many false pretensions. + +As I rode along the pleasant way, watching eagerly for the object of +my journey, the rounded tops of the elms rose from time to time at the +road-side. Wherever one looked taller and fuller than the rest, I +asked myself,--"Is this it?" But as I drew nearer, they grew +smaller,--or it proved, perhaps, that two standing in a line had +looked like one, and so deceived me. At last, all at once, when I was +not thinking of it,--I declare to you it makes my flesh creep when I +think of it now,--all at once I saw a great, green cloud swelling in +the horizon, so vast, so symmetrical, of such Olympian majesty and +imperial supremacy among the lesser forest-growths, that my heart +stopped short, then jumped at my ribs as a hunter springs at a +five-barred gate, and I felt all through me, without need of uttering +the words,--"This is it!" + +You will find this tree described, with many others, in the excellent +Report upon the Trees and Shrubs of Massachusetts. The author has +given my friend the Professor credit for some of his measurements, but +measured this tree himself, carefully. It is a grand elm for size of +trunk, spread of limbs, and muscular development,--one of the first, +perhaps the first, of the first class of New England elms. + +The largest actual girth I have ever found at five feet from the +ground is in the great elm lying a stone's throw or two north of the +main road (if my points of compass are right) in Springfield. But +this has much the appearance of having been formed by the union of two +trunks growing side by side. + +The West-Springfield elm and one upon Northampton meadows belong also +to the first class of trees. + +There is a noble old wreck of an elm at Hatfield, which used to spread +its claws out over a circumference of thirty-five feet or more before +they covered the foot of its bole up with earth. This is the American +elm most like an oak of any I have ever seen. + +The Sheffield elm is equally remarkable for size and perfection of +form. I have seen nothing that comes near it in Berkshire County, and +few to compare with it anywhere. I am not sure that I remember any +other first-class elms in New England, but there may be many. + +----What makes a first-class elm?--Why, size, in the first place, and +chiefly. Anything over twenty feet of clear girth, five feet above +the ground; and with a spread of branches a hundred feet across, may +claim that title, according to my scale. All of them, with the +questionable exception of the Springfield tree above referred to, +stop, so far as my experience goes, at about twenty-two or +twenty-three feet of girth and a hundred and twenty of spread. + +Elms of the second class, generally ranging from fourteen to eighteen +feet, are comparatively common. The queen of them all is that glorious +tree near one of the churches in Springfield. Beautiful and stately +she is beyond all praise. The "great tree" on Boston Common comes in +the second rank, as does the one at Cohasset, which used to have, and +probably has still, a head as round as an apple-tree, and that at +Newburyport, with scores of others which might be mentioned. These +last two have perhaps been over-celebrated. Both, however, are +pleasing vegetables. The poor old Pittsfield elm lives on its past +reputation. A wig of false leaves is indispensable to make it +presentable. + +[I don't doubt there may be some monster-elm or other, vegetating +green, but inglorious, in some remote New England village, which only +wants a sacred singer to make it celebrated. Send us your +measurements,--(certified by the postmaster, to avoid possible +imposition,)--circumference five feet from soil, length of line from +bough-end to bough-end, and we will see what can be done for you.] + +--I wish somebody would get us up the following work:-- + + +SYLVA NOVANGLICA. + +Photographs of New England Elms and other Trees, taken upon the Same +Scale of Magnitude. With Letter-Press Descriptions, by a Distinguished +Literary Gentleman. Boston: ---- ---- & Co. 185.. + +The same camera should be used,--so far as possible,--at a fixed +distance. Our friend, who is giving us so many interesting figures in +his "Trees of America," must not think this Prospectus invades his +province; a dozen portraits, with lively descriptions, would be a +pretty complement to his larger work, which, so far as published, I +find excellent. If my plan were carried out, and another series of a +dozen English trees photographed on the same scale, the comparison +would be charming. + +It has always been a favorite idea of mine to bring the life of the +Old and the New World face to face, by an accurate comparison of their +various types of organization. We should begin with man, of course; +institute a large and exact comparison between the development of +_la pianta umana_, as Alfieri called it, in different sections of +each country, in the different callings, at different ages, estimating +height, weight, force by the dynamometer and the spirometer, and +finishing off with a series of typical photographs, giving the +principal national physiognomies. Mr. Hutchinson has given us some +excellent English data to begin with. + +Then I would follow this up by contrasting the various parallel forms +of life in the two continents. Our naturalists have often referred to +this incidentally or expressly; but the _animus_ of Nature in the +two half-globes of the planet is so momentous a point of interest to +our race, that it should be made a subject of express and elaborate +study. Go out with me into that walk which we call _the Mall_, +and look at the English and American elms. The American elm is tall, +graceful, slender-sprayed, and drooping as if from languor. The +English elm is compact, robust, holds its branches up, and carries its +leaves for weeks longer than our own native tree. + +Is this typical of the creative force on the two sides of the ocean, +or not? Nothing but a careful comparison through the whole realm of +life can answer this question. + +There is a parallelism without identity in the animal and vegetable +life of the two continents, which favors the task of comparison in an +extraordinary manner. Just as we have two trees alike in many ways, +yet not the same, both elms, yet easily distinguishable, just so we +have a complete flora and a fauna, which, parting from the same ideal, +embody it with various modifications. Inventive power is the only +quality of which the Creative Intelligence seems to be economical; +just as with our largest human minds, that is the divinest of +faculties, and the one that most exhausts the mind which exercises it. +As the same patterns have very commonly been followed, we can see +which is worked out in the largest spirit, and determine the exact +limitations under which the Creator places the movement of life in all +its manifestations in either locality. We should find ourselves in a +very false position, if it should prove that Anglo-Saxons can't live +here, but die out, if not kept up by fresh supplies, as Dr. Knox and +other more or less wise persons have maintained. It may turn out the +other way, as I have heard one of our literary celebrities argue,--and +though I took the other side, I liked his best,--that the American is +the Englishman reinforced. + +--Will you walk out and look at those elms with me after breakfast?--I +said to the schoolmistress. + +[I am not going to tell lies about it, and say that she blushed,--as I +suppose she ought to have done, at such a tremendous piece of +gallantry as that was for our boarding-house. On the contrary, she +turned a little pale,--but smiled brightly and said,--Yes, with +pleasure, but she must walk towards her school.--She went for her +bonnet.--The old gentleman opposite followed her with his eyes, and +said he wished he was a young fellow. Presently she came down, +looking very pretty in her half-mourning bonnet, and carrying a +school-book in her hand.] + + +MY FIRST WALK WITH THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. + +This is the shortest way,--she said, as we came to a corner.--Then we +won't take it,--said I.--The schoolmistress laughed a little, and said +she was ten minutes early, so she could go round. + +We walked under Mr. Paddock's row of English elms. The gray squirrels +were out looking for their breakfasts, and one of them came toward us +in light, soft, intermittent leaps, until he was close to the rail of +the burial-ground. He was on a grave with a broad blue-slate-stone at +its head, and a shrub growing on it. The stone said this was the +grave of a young man who was the son of an Honorable gentleman, and +who died a hundred years ago and more.--Oh, yes, _died_,--with a +small triangular mark in one breast, and another smaller opposite, in +his back, where another young man's rapier had slid through his body; +and so he lay down out there on the Common, and was found cold the +next morning, with the night-dews and the death-dews mingled on his +forehead. + +Let us have one look at poor Benjamin's grave,--said I.--His bones lie +where his body was laid so long ago, and where the stone says they +lie,--which is more than can be said of most of the tenants of this +and several other burial-grounds. + +[The most accursed act of Vandalism ever committed within my knowledge +was the uprooting of the ancient gravestones in three at least of our +city burial-grounds, and one at least just outside the city, and +planting them in rows to suit the taste for symmetry of the +perpetrators. Many years ago, when this disgraceful process was going +on under my eyes, I addressed an indignant remonstrance to a leading +journal. I suppose it was deficient in literary elegance, or too warm +in its language; for no notice was taken of it, and the hyena-horror +was allowed to complete itself in the face of daylight. I have never +got over it. The bones of my own ancestors, being entombed, lie +beneath their own tablet; but the upright stones have been shuffled +about like chessmen, and nothing short of the Day of Judgment will +tell whose dust lies beneath any of those records, meant by affection +to mark one small spot as sacred to some cherished memory. Shame! +shame! shame!--that is all I can say. It was on public thoroughfares, +under the eye of authority, that this infamy was enacted. The red +Indians would have known better; the selectmen of an African +kraal-village would have had more respect for their ancestors. I +should like to see the gravestones which have been disturbed all +removed, and the ground levelled, leaving the flat tombstones; +epitaphs were never famous for truth, but the old reproach of "Here +lies" never had such a wholesale illustration as in these outraged +burial-places, where the stone does lie above, and the bones do not +lie beneath.] + +Stop before we turn away, and breathe a woman's sigh over poor +Benjamin's dust. Love killed him, I think. Twenty years old, and out +there fighting another young fellow on the Common, in the cool of that +old July evening;--yes, there must have been love at the bottom of it. + +The schoolmistress dropped a rosebud she had in her hand, through the +rails, upon the grave of Benjamin Woodbridge. That was all her +comment upon what I told her.--How women love Love! said I;--but she +did not speak. + +We came opposite the head of a place or court running eastward from +the main street.--Look down there,--I said.--My friend the Professor +lived in that house at the left hand, next the further corner, for +years and years. He died out of it, the other day.--Died?--said the +schoolmistress.--Certainly,--said I.--We die out of houses, just as we +die out of our bodies. A commercial smash kills a hundred men's +houses for them, as a railroad crash kills their mortal frames and +drives out the immortal tenants. Men sicken of houses until at last +they quit them, as the soul leaves its body when it is tired of its +infirmities. The body has been called "the house we live in"; the +house is quite as much the body we live in. Shall I tell you some +things the Professor said the other day?--Do!--said the +schoolmistress. + +A man's body,--said the Professor,--is whatever is occupied by his +will and his sensibility. The small room down there, where I wrote +those papers you remember reading, was much more a portion of my body +than a paralytic's senseless and motionless arm or leg is of his. + +The soul of a man has a series of concentric envelopes round it, like +the core of an onion, or the innermost of a nest of boxes. First he +has his natural garment of flesh and blood. Then, his artificial +integuments, with their true skin of solid stuffs, their cuticle of +lighter tissues, and their variously-tinted pigments. Thirdly, his +domicile, be it a single chamber or a stately mansion. And then, the +whole visible world, in which Time buttons him up as in a loose +outside wrapper. + +You shall observe,--the Professor said,--for, like Mr. John Hunter and +other great men, he brings in that _shall_ with great effect +sometimes,--you shall observe that a man's clothing or series of +envelopes do after a certain time mould themselves upon his individual +nature. We know this of our hats, and are always reminded of it when +we happen to put them on wrong side foremost. We soon find that the +beaver is a hollow cast of the skull, with all its irregular bumps and +depressions. Just so all that clothes a man, even to the blue sky +which caps his head,--a little loosely,--shapes itself to fit each +particular being beneath it. Farmers, sailors, astronomers, poets, +lovers, condemned criminals, all find it different, according to the +eyes with which they severally look. + +But our houses shape themselves palpably on our inner and outer +natures. See a householder breaking up and you will be sure of +it. There is a shell-fish which builds all manner of smaller shells +into the walls of its own. A house is never a home until we have +crusted it with the spoils of a hundred lives besides those of our own +past. See what these are, and you can tell what the occupant is. + +I had no idea,--said the Professor,--until I pulled up my domestic +establishment the other day, what an enormous quantity of roots I had +been making during the years I was planted there. Why, there wasn't a +nook or a corner that some fibre had not worked its way into; and when +I gave the last wrench, each of them seemed to shriek like a mandrake, +as it broke its hold and came away. + +There is nothing that happens, you know, which must not inevitably, +and which does not actually, photograph itself in every conceivable +aspect and in all dimensions. The infinite galleries of the Past await +but one brief process and all their pictures will be called out and +fixed forever. We had a curious illustration of the great fact on a +very humble scale. When a certain bookcase, long standing in one +place, for which it was built, was removed, there was the exact image +on the wall of the whole, and of many of its portions. But in the +midst of this picture was another,--the precise outline of a map +which had hung on the wall before the bookcase was built. We had all +forgotten everything about the map until we saw its photograph on the +wall. Then we remembered it, as some day or other we may remember a +sin which has been built over and covered up, when this lower universe +is pulled away from before the wall of Infinity, where the wrongdoing +stands self-recorded. + +The Professor lived in that house a long time,--not twenty years, but +pretty near it. When he entered that door, two shadows glided over the +threshold; five lingered in the doorway when he passed through it for +the last time,--and one of the shadows was claimed by its owner to be +longer than his own. What changes he saw in that quiet place! Death +rained through every roof but his; children came into life, grew to +maturity, wedded, faded away, threw themselves away; the whole drama +of life was played in that stock-company's theatre of a dozen houses, +one of which was his, and no deep sorrow or severe calamity ever +entered his dwelling. Peace be to those walls, forever,--the Professor +said,--for the many pleasant years he has passed within them! + +The Professor has a friend, now living at a distance, who has been +with him in many of his changes of place, and who follows him in +imagination with tender interest wherever he goes.--In that little +court, where he lived in gay loneliness so long,-- + +--in his autumnal sojourn by the Connecticut, where it comes loitering +down from its mountain fastnesses like a great lord, swallowing up the +small proprietary rivulets very quietly as it goes, until it gets +proud and swollen and wantons in huge luxurious oxbows about the fair +Northampton meadows, and at last overflows the oldest inhabitant's +memory in profligate freshets at Hartford and all along its lower +shores,--up in that caravansary on the banks of the stream where +Ledyard launched his log canoe, and the jovial old Colonel used to +lead the Commencement processions,--where blue Ascutney looked down +from the far distance, and the hills of Beulah, as the Professor +always called them, rolled up the opposite horizon in soft climbing +masses, so suggestive of the Pilgrim's Heavenward Path that he used to +look through his old "Dollond" to see if the Shining Ones were not +within range of sight,--sweet visions, sweetest in those Sunday walks +that carried them by the peaceful common, through the solemn village +lying in cataleptic stillness under the shadow of the rod of Moses, to +the terminus of their harmless stroll,--the patulous fage, in the +Professor's classic dialect,--the spreading beech, in more familiar +phrase,--[stop and breathe here a moment, for the sentence is not done +yet, and we have another long journey before us,]-- + +--and again once more up among those other hills that shut in the +amber-flowing Housatonic,--dark stream, but clear, like the lucid orbs +that shine beneath the lids of auburn-haired, sherry-wine-eyed +demi-blondes,--in the home overlooking the winding stream and the +smooth, flat meadow; looked down upon by wild hills, where the tracks +of bears and catamounts may yet sometimes be seen upon the winter +snow; facing the twin summits which rise in the far North, the highest +waves of the great land-storm in all this billowy region,--suggestive +to mad fancies of the breasts of a half-buried Titaness, stretched out +by a stray thunderbolt, and hastily hidden away beneath the leaves of +the forest,--in that home where seven blessed summers were passed, +which stand in memory like the seven golden candlesticks in the +beatific vision of the holy dreamer,-- + +--in that modest dwelling we were just looking at, not glorious, yet +not unlovely in the youth of its drab and mahogany,--full of great and +little boys' playthings from top to bottom,--in all these summer or +winter nests he was always at home and always welcome. + +This long articulated sigh of reminiscences,--this calenture which +shows me the maple-shadowed plains of Berkshire and the +mountain-circled green of Grafton beneath the salt waves that come +feeling their way along the wall at my feet, restless and +soft-touching as blind men's busy fingers,--is for that friend of mine +who looks into the waters of the Patapsco and sees beneath them the +same visions that paint themselves for me in the green depths of the +Charles. + +----Did I talk all this off to the schoolmistress?--Why, no,--of course +not. I have been talking with you, the reader, for the last ten +minutes. You don't think I should expect any woman to listen to such a +sentence as that long one, without giving her a chance to put in a +word? + +----What did I say to the schoolmistress?--Permit me one moment. I don't +doubt your delicacy and good-breeding; but in this particular case, as +I was allowed the privilege of walking alone with a very interesting +young woman, you must allow me to remark, in the classic version of a +familiar phrase, used by our Master Benjamin Franklin, it is _nullum +tui negotii_. + +When the schoolmistress and I reached the school-room door, the damask +roses I spoke of were so much heightened in color by exercise that I +felt sure it would be useful to her to take a stroll like this every +morning, and made up my mind I would ask her to let me join her again. + + +EXTRACT FROM MY PRIVATE JOURNAL. + +(_To be burned unread._) + +I am afraid I have been a fool; for I have told as much of myself to +this young person as if she were of that ripe and discreet age which +invites confidence and expansive utterance. I have been low-spirited +and listless, lately,--it is coffee, I think,--(I observe that which +is bought _ready-ground_ never affects the head,)--and I notice +that I tell my secrets too easily when I am downhearted. + +There are inscriptions on our hearts, which, like that on Dighton +Rock, are never to be seen except at dead-low tide. + +There is a woman's footstep on the sand at the side of my deepest +ocean-buried inscription! + +----Oh, no, no, no! a thousand times, no!--Yet what is this which has +been shaping itself in my soul?--Is it a thought?--is it a dream?--is +it a _passion_?--Then I know what comes next. + +----The Asylum stands on a bright and breezy hill; those glazed +corridors are pleasant to walk in, in bad weather. But there are iron +bars to all the windows. When it is fair, some of us can stroll +outside that very high fence. But I never see much life in those +groups I sometimes meet;--and then the careful man watches them so +closely! How I remember that sad company I used to pass on fine +mornings, when I was a schoolboy!--B., with his arms full of yellow +weeds,--ore from the gold mines which he discovered long before we +heard of California,--Y., born to millions, crazed by too much +plum-cake, (the boys said,) dogged, explosive,--made a Polyphemus of +my weak-eyed schoolmaster, by a vicious flirt with a stick,--(the +multi-millionnaires sent him a trifle, it was said, to buy another eye +with; but boys are jealous of rich folks,--and I don't doubt the good +people made him easy for life,)--how I remember them all! + +I recollect, as all do, the story of the Hall of Eblis, in "Vathek," +and how each shape, as it lifted its hand from its breast, showed its +heart,--a burning coal. The real Hall of Eblis stands on yonder +summit. Go there on the next visiting-day, and ask that figure +crouched in the corner, huddled up like those Indian mummies and +skeletons found buried in the sitting posture, to lift its hand,--look +upon its heart, and behold, not fire, but ashes.--No, I must not think +of such an ending! Dying would be a much more gentlemanly way of +meeting the difficulty. Make a will and leave her a house or two and +some stocks, and other little financial conveniences, to take away her +necessity for keeping school.--I wonder what nice young man's feet +would be in my French slippers before six months were over! Well, +what then? If a man really loves a woman, of course he wouldn't marry +her for the world, if he were not quite sure that he was the best +person she could by any possibility marry. + +----It is odd enough to read over what I have just been writing.--It +is the merest fancy that ever was in the world. I shall never be +married. She will; and if she is as pleasant as she has been so far, I +will give her a silver tea-set, and go and take tea with her and her +husband, sometimes. No coffee, I hope, though,--it depresses me +sadly. I feel very miserably;--they must have been grinding it at +home.--Another morning walk will be good for me, and I don't doubt the +schoolmistress will be glad of a little fresh air before school. + + * * * * * + +----The throbbing flushes of the poetical intermittent have been +coming over me from time to time of late. Did you ever see that +electrical experiment which consists in passing a flash through +letters of gold-leaf in a darkened room, whereupon some name or legend +springs out of the darkness in characters of fire? + +There are songs all written out in my soul, which I could read, if the +flash might but pass through them,--but the fire must come down from +heaven. Ah! but what if the stormy _nimbus_ of youthful passion +has blown by, and one asks for lightning from the ragged _cirrus_ +of dissolving aspirations, or the silvered _cumulus_ of sluggish +satiety? I will call on her whom the dead poets believed in, whom +living ones no longer worship,--the immortal maid, who, name her what +you will,--Goddess, Muse, Spirit of Beauty,--sits by the pillow of +every youthful poet, and bends over his pale forehead until her +tresses lie upon his cheek and rain their gold into his dreams. + + +MUSA. + + O my lost Beauty!--hast thou folded quite + Thy wings of morning light + Beyond those iron gates + Where Life crowds hurrying to the haggard Fates, + And Age upon his mound of ashes waits + To chill our fiery dreams, + Hot from the heart of youth plunged in his icy streams? + + Leave me not fading in these weeds of care, + Whose flowers are silvered hair!-- + Have I not loved thee long, + Though my young lips have often done thee wrong + And vexed thy heaven-tuned ear with careless song? + Ah, wilt thou yet return, + Bearing thy rose-hued torch, and bid thine altar burn? + + Come to me!--I will flood thy silent shrine + With my soul's sacred wine, + And heap thy marble floors + As the wild spice-trees waste their fragrant stores + In leafy islands walled with madrepores + And lapped in Orient seas, + When all their feathery palms toss, plume-like, in the breeze. + + Come to me!--thou shalt feed on honeyed words, + Sweeter than song of birds;-- + No wailing bulbul's throat, + No melting dulcimer's melodious note, + When o'er the midnight wave its murmurs float, + Thy ravished sense might soothe + With flow so liquid-soft, with strain so velvet-smooth. + + Thou shalt be decked with jewels, like a queen, + Sought in those bowers of green + Where loop the clustered vines + And the close-clinging dulcamara twines,-- + Pure pearls of Maydew where the moonlight shines, + And Summer's fruited gems, + And coral pendants shorn from Autumn's berried stems. + + Sit by me drifting on the sleepy waves,-- + Or stretched by grass-grown graves, + Whose gray, high-shouldered stones, + Carved with old names Life's time-worn roll disowns, + Lean, lichen-spotted, o'er the crumbled bones + Still slumbering where they lay + While the sad Pilgrim watched to scare the wolf away! + + Spread o'er my couch thy visionary wing! + Still let me dream and sing,-- + Dream of that winding shore + Where scarlet cardinals bloom,--for me no more,-- + The stream with heaven beneath its liquid floor, + And clustering nenuphars + Sprinkling its mirrored blue like golden-chaliced stars! + + Come while their balms the linden-blossoms shed!-- + Come while the rose is red,-- + While blue-eyed Summer smiles + O'er the green ripples round yon sunken piles + Washed by the moon-wave warm from Indian isles, + And on the sultry air + The chestnuts spread their palms like holy men in prayer! + + Oh, for thy burning lips to fire my brain + With thrills of wild sweet pain!-- + On life's autumnal blast, + Like shrivelled leaves, youth's passion-flowers are cast,-- + Once loving thee, we love thee to the last!-- + Behold thy new-decked shrine, + And hear once more the voice that breathed "Forever thine!" + + +THE TRUSTEE'S LAMENT. + +_Per aspera ad astra._ + +(SCENE.--Outside the gate of the Astronomical Observatory at Albany.) + + + There was a time when I was blest; + The stars might rise in East or West + With all their sines and wonders; + I cared for neither great nor small, + As pointedly unmoved by all + As, on the top of steeple tall, + A lightning-rod at thunders. + + What did I care for Science then? + I was a man with fellow-men, + And called the Bear the Dipper; + Segment meant piece of pie,--no more; + Cosine, the parallelogram that bore + JOHN SMITH & CO. above a door; + Arc, what called Noah skipper. + + No axes weighed upon my mind, + (Unless I had a few to grind.) + And as for my astronomy, + Had Hedgecock's quadrant then been known, + I might a lamp-post's height have shown + By gas-tronomic skill,--if none + Find fault with the metonymy. + + O hours of innocence! O ways + How far from these unhappy days + When all is vicy-versy! + No flower more peaceful took its due + Than I, who then no difference knew + 'Twixt Ursy Major and my true + Old crony, Major Hersey. + + Now in long broils and feuds we roast, + Like Strasburg geese that living toast + To make a liver-_paté_,-- + And all because we fondly strove + To set the city of our love + In scientific fame above + Her sister Cincinnati! + + We built our tower and furnished it + With everything folks said was fit, + From coping-stone to grounsel; + And then, to give a knowing air, + Just nominally assigned its care + To that unmanageable affair, + A Scientific Council. + + We built it, not that one or two + Astronomers the stars might view + And count the comets' hair-roots, + But that it might by all be said + How very freely we had bled,-- + We were not laying out a bed + To force their early square-roots. + + The observations _we_ wished made + Were on the spirit we'd displayed, + Worthy of Athens' high days; + But _they_'ve put in a man who thinks + Only of planets' nodes and winks, + So full of astronomic kinks + He eats star-fish on Fridays. + + The instruments we did not mean + For seeing through, but to be seen + At tap of Trustee's knuckle; + But the Director locks the gate, + And makes ourselves and strangers wait + While he is ciphering on a slate + The rust of Saturn's buckle. + + So on the wall's outside we stand, + Admire the keyhole's contour grand + And gateposts' sturdy granite;-- + But, ah, is Science safe, we say, + With one who treats Trustees this way? + Who knows but he may snub, some day, + A well-conducted planet? + + Who knows what mischief he may brew + With such a telescope brand-new + At the four-hundredth power? + He may bring some new comet down + So near that it'll singe the town + And do the Burgess-Corps crisp-brown + Ere they can storm his tower. + + We wanted (having got our show) + Some man, that had a name or so, + To be our public showman; + But this one shuts and locks the gate: + Who'll answer but he'll peculate, + (And, faith, some stars are missed of late,) + Now that he's watched by no man? + + Our own discoveries he may steal, + Or put night's candles out, to deal + At junkshops with the sockets: + _Savants_, in other lands or this, + If any theory you miss + Whereon your cipher graven is, + Don't fail to search his pockets! + + Lock up your comets: if that fails, + Then notch their ears and clip their tails, + That you at need may swear to 'em; + And watch your nebulous flocks at night, + For, if your palings are not tight, + He may, to gratify his spite, + Let in the Little Bear to 'em. + + Then he's so quarrelsome, we've fears + He'll set the very Twins by the ears,-- + So mad, if you resist him, + He'd get Aquarius to play + A milkman's trick, some cloudy day, + And water all the Milky Way + To starve some sucking system. + + But plaints are vain! through wrath or pride, + The Council all espouse his side + And will our missives con no more; + And who that knows what _savants_ are, + Each snappish as a Leyden jar, + Will hope to soothe the wordy war + 'Twixt Ologist and Onomer? + + Search a Reform Convention, where + He- and she-resiarehs prepare + To get the world in _their_ power, + You will not, when 'tis loudest, find + Such gifts to hug and snarl combined + As drive each astronomic mind + With fifty-score Great-Bear-power! + + No! put the Bootees on your foot, + Elope with Virgo, strive to shoot + That arrow of O'Ryan's, + Drain Georgian Ciders to the lees, + Attempt what crackbrained thing you please, + But dream not you can e'er appease + An angry man of science! + + Ah, would I were, as I was once, + To fair Astronomy a dunce, + Or launching _jeux d'esprit_ at her, + Of light zodiacal making light, + Deaf to all tales of comets bright, + And knowing but such stars as might + Roll r-rs at our theatre! + + Then calm I drew my night-cap on, + Nor bondsman was for what went on + Ere morning in the heavens; + Twas no concern of mine to fix + The Pleiades at seven or six,-- + But now the _omnium genitrix_ + Seems all at sixes and sevens. + + Alas, 'twas in an evil hour + We signed the paper for the tower, + With Mrs. D. to head it! + For, if the Council have their way, + We've merely had, as Frenchmen say, + The painful _maladie du_ pay, + While they get all the credit! + + Boys, henceforth doomed to spell Trustees, + Think not it ends in double ease + To those who hold the office; + Shun Science as you would Despair, + Sit not in Cassiopeia's chair, + Nor hope from Berenice's hair + To bring away your trophies! + + + + +THE POCKET-CELEBRATION OF THE FOURTH. + + +Well, it has happened, and we have survived it pretty well. The +Democratic Almanacs predicted a torrent, a whirlwind, and we know not +what meteoric phenomena,--but the next day Nature gave no sign, the +dome of the State-House was in its place, the Monument was as plumb as +ever, no chimney mourned a ravished brick, and the Republican Party +took its morning tea and toast in peace and safety. On the whole, it +must be considered a wonderful escape. Since Partridge's time there +had been no such prophecies,--since Miller's, no such perverse +disobligingness in the event. + +But what had happened? Why, the Democratic Young Men's Celebration, to +be sure, and Mr. Choate's Oration. + +The good city of Boston in New England, for we know not how many +years, had been in the habit of celebrating the National Birthday, +first, with an oration, as became the Athens of America, and second, +with a dinner, as was meet in the descendants of Teutonic forefathers. +The forenoon's oration glorified us in the lump as a people, and every +man could reckon and appropriate his own share of credit by the simple +arithmetical process of dividing the last census by the value he set +upon himself, a divisor easily obtained by subtracting from the total +of inhabitants in his village the number of neighbors whom he +considered ciphers. At the afternoon's dinner, the pudding of praise +was served out in slices to favored individuals; dry toasts were drunk +by drier dignitaries; the Governor was compared to Solon; the Chief +Justice to Brutus; the Orator of the Day to Demosthenes; the Colonel +of the Boston Regiment to Julius Cæsar; and everybody went home happy +from a feast where the historic parallels were sure to hold out to the +last Z in Lemprière. + +Gradually matters took a new course; the Union was suddenly supposed +to lie at the point of dissolution, and what we may call the +Doctor-Brandreth style of oratory began. Every orator mounted the +rostrum, like a mountebank at a fair, to proclaim the virtues of his +private panacea for the morbid Commonwealth, and, as was natural in +young students of political therapeutics, fancied that he saw symptoms +of the dread malady of Disunion in a simple eruption of Jethro Furber +at a convention of the Catawampusville Come-outers, or of Pyrophagus +Quattlebum at a training of the Palmetto Plug-Uglies,--neither of +which was skin-deep. The dinners became equally dreary. Did the eye of +a speaker light on the national dish of beans, he was reminded of the +languid pulse of the sentiment of union; did he see a broiled chicken, +it called up to his mind's eye the bird of our _un_common +country, with the gridiron on his breast, liable to be reduced at any +moment to the heraldic duality of his Austrian congener by the strife +of contending sections pulling in opposite directions; an innocent +pippin was enough to suggest the apple of discord; and with the +removal of the cloth came a dessert of diagnoses on the cancer that +was supposed to be preying on the national vitals. The only variety +was a cringing compliment, in which Bunker Hill curtsied to King's +Mountain, to any Southern brother who chanced to be present, and who +replied patronizingly,--while his compatriots at the warmer end of the +Union were probably, with amiable sincerity, applying to the Yankees +that epithet whose expression in type differs but little from that of +a doctorate in divinity, but which precedes the name it qualifies, as +that follows it, and was never, except by Beaumarchais and Fielding, +reckoned among titles of honor or courtesy. + +A delusion seemed to have taken possession of our public men, that the +people wanted doctors of the body-politic to rule over them, and, if +those were not to be had, would put up with the next best +thing,--quacks. Every one who was willing to be an Eminent Statesman +issued his circulars, like the Retired Physician, on all public +occasions, offering to send his recipe in return for a vote. The +cabalistic formula always turned out to be this:--"Take your humble +servant for four years at the White House; if no cure is effected, +repeat the dose." + +Meanwhile were there any symptoms of disease in the Constitution? Not +the least. The whole affair was like one of those alarms in a +country-town which begin with the rumor of ten cases of confluent +small-pox and end with the discovery that the doctor has been called +to a case of nettle-rash at Deacon Scudder's. But sober men, who +loved the Union in a quiet way, without advertising it in the +newspapers, and who were willing to sacrifice everything to the +Constitution but the rights it was intended to protect, began to fear +that the alarmists might create the disease which they kept up so much +excitement about. + +This being the posture of affairs, the city of Boston, a twelvemonth +since, chose for their annual orator a clergyman distinguished for +eloquence, and for that important part of patriotism, at least, which +consists in purity of life. This gentleman, being neither a candidate +for office nor the canvasser of a candidate, ventured upon a new kind +of address. He took for his theme the duties consequent upon the +privileges of Freedom, ventured to mention self-respect as one of +them, and commented upon the invitation of a Virginia Senator, the +author of the Fugitive Slave Bill, to a Seventeenth-of-June +Celebration, while the Senators of Massachusetts were neglected. In +speaking of this, he used, we believe, the word "flunkeyism." It is +not an elegant word; it is not even an English one;--but had the +speaker sought for a Saxon correlative, he could hardly have found one +that would have seemed more satisfactory, especially to those who +deserved it; for Saxon is straightforward, and a reluctance to be +classified (fatal to science) is characteristic of the human animal. + +An orator who suggests a new view of any topic is a disturber of the +digestive organs,--this was very properly a matter of offence to the +Aldermen who were to dine after the oration,--but an orator who +tampers with the language we have inherited from Shakspeare and +Milton, and which we share with Tupper, was an object for deeper +reprobation. The Young Men's Democratic Association of Boston are +purists; they are jealous for their mother-tongue,--and it is the more +disinterested in them as a large proportion of them are Irishmen; they +are exclusive,--a generous confusion of ideas as to the meaning of +democracy, even more characteristically Hibernian; they are +sentimental, too,--melancholy as gibcats,--and feared (from last +year's example) that the city might not furnish them with a +sufficiently lachrymose Antony to hold up before them the bloody +garment of America, and show what rents the envious Blairs and Wilsons +and Douglasses had made in it. Accordingly they resolved to have a +public celebration all to themselves,--a pocket-edition of the +cumbrous civic work,--and as the city provided fireworks in the +evening, in order to be beforehand with it in their pyrotechnics, they +gave Mr. Choate in the forenoon. + +We did not hear Mr. Choate's oration; we only read it in the +newspapers. Cold fireworks, the morning after, are not enlivening. +You have the form without the fire, and the stick without the soar. +But we soon found that we were to expect no such disappointment from +Mr. Choate. He seems to announce at the outset that he has closed his +laboratory. The Prospero of periods had broken his wand and sunk his +book deeper than ever office-hunter sounded. The boys in the street +might wander fancy-free, and fire their Chinese crackers as they +listed; but for him this was a solemn occasion, and he invited his +hearers to a Stoic feast of Medford crackers and water, to a +philosophic banquet of metaphors and metaphysics. + +We confess that we expected a great deal. Better a crust with Plato +than nightingales' tongues with Apicius; and if Mr. Choate promised +only the crust, we were sure of one melodious tongue, at least, before +the meal was over. He is a man of whom any community might be +proud. Were society an organized thing here, as in Europe, no dinner +and no drawing-room would be perfect without his talk. He would have +been heard gladly at Johnson's club. The Hortensins of our courts, +with a cloud of clients, he yet finds time to be a scholar and a +critic, and to read Plato and Homer as they were read by Plato's and +Homer's countrymen. Unsurpassed in that eloquence which, if it does +not convince, intoxicates a jury, he was counted, so long as Webster +lived, the second advocate of our bar. + +All this we concede to Mr. Choate with unreserved admiration; but +when, leaving the field where he had won his spurs as the successful +defender of men criminally accused, he undertakes to demonstrate the +sources whence national life is drawn, and the causes which lead to +its decay,--to expound authoritatively the theory of political ethics +and the principles of sagacious statesmanship, wary in its steps, and +therefore durable in its results,--it becomes natural and fair to ask, +What has been the special training that has fitted him for the task? +More than this: when he comes forward as the public prosecutor of the +Republican Party, it becomes our duty to examine the force of his +arguments and the soundness of his logic. Has his own experience given +him any right to talk superciliously to a great party overwhelmingly +triumphant in the Free States? And does his oration show him to +possess such qualities of mind, such grasp of reason, such continuity +of induction, as to entitle him to underrate the intelligence of so +large a number of his fellow-citizens by accusing them of being +incapable of a generalization and incompetent to apprehend a +principle? + +The Bar has given few historically-great statesmen to the +world,--fewer than the Church, which Mr. Choate undervalues in a +sentence which, we cannot help thinking, is below the dignity of the +occasion, and jarringly discordant with the generally elevated tone of +his address. Burke, an authority whom Mr. Choate will not call in +question, has said that the training of the bar tends to make the +faculties acute, but at the same time narrow. The study of +jurisprudence may, no doubt, enlarge the intellect; but the habit of +mind induced by an indiscriminate advocacy--which may be summoned to +the defence of a Sidney to-day and of a spoon-thief to-morrow--is +rather that of the sophist than of the philosophic reasoner. Not +truth, but the questionable victory of the moment, becomes naturally +and inevitably the aim and end of all the pleader's faculties. For +him the question is not what principle, but what interest of John Doe, +may be at stake. Such has been Mr. Choate's school as a reasoner. As +a politician, his experience has been limited. The member of a party +which rarely succeeded in winning, and never in long retaining, the +suffrages of the country, he for a time occupied a seat in the Senate, +but without justifying the expectations of his friends. So far, his +history shows nothing that can give him the right to assume so high +and mighty a tone in speaking of his political opponents. + +But in his scholarship he has a claim to be heard, and to be heard +respectfully. Here lies his real strength, and hence is derived the +inspiration of his better eloquence. The scholar enjoys more than the +privilege, without the curse, of the Wandering Jew. He can tread the +windy plain of Troy, he can listen to Demosthenes, can follow Dante +through Paradise, can await the rising of the curtain for the first +acting of Hamlet. Mr. Choate's oration shows that he has drawn that +full breath which is, perhaps, possible only under a Grecian sky, and +it is, in its better parts, scholarly in the best sense of the +word.[1] It shows that he has read out-of-the-way books, like Bodinus +"De Republicâ," and fresh ones, like Gladstone's Homer,--that he can +do justice, with Spinoza, to Machiavelli,--and that in letters, at +least, he has no narrow prejudices. Its sentences are full of +scholarly allusion, and its language glitters continually with pattins +of bright gold from Shakspeare. We abhor that profane vulgarity of our +politics which denies to an antagonist the merits which are justly +his, because he may have been blinded to the truth of our principles +by the demerits which are justly ours,--which hates the man because it +hates his creed, and, instead of grappling with his argument, seeks in +the kitchen-drains of scandal for the material to bespatter his +reputation. Let us say, then, honestly, what we honestly think,--the +feeling, the mastery and choice of language, the intellectual +comprehensiveness of glance, which can so order the many-columned +aisle of a period, that the eye, losing none of the crowded +particulars, yet sees through all, at the vista's end, the gleaming +figure of thought to enshrine which the costly fabric was reared,--all +these qualities of the orator demand and receive our sincere +applause. In an age when indolence or the study of French models has +reduced our sentences to the economic curtness of telegraphic +despatches, to the dimension of the epigram without its point, +Mr. Choate is one of the few whose paragraphs echo with the +long-resounding pace of Dryden's coursers, and who can drive a +predicate and six without danger of an overset. + +Mr. Choate begins by congratulating his hearers that there comes one +day in our year when "faults may be forgotten,-- ... when the +arrogance of reform, the excesses of reform, the strife of parties, +the rivalries of regions, shall give place to a wider, warmer, juster +sentiment,--when, turning from the corners and dark places of +offensiveness, ... we may go up together to the serene and secret +mountain-top," etc. Had he kept to the path which he thus marked out +for himself, we should have had nothing to say. But he goes out of +his way to indulge a spleen unworthy of himself and the occasion, and +brings against political opponents, sometimes directly, sometimes by +innuendo, charges which, as displaying personal irritation, are +impolitic and in bad taste. One fruit of scholarship, and its fairest, +he does not seem to have plucked,--one proof of contented conviction +in the truth of his opinions he does not give,--that indifference to +contemporary clamor and hostile criticism, that magnanimous +self-trust, which, assured of its own loyalty to present duty, can +wait patiently for future justice. + +His exordium over, Mr. Choate proceeds to define and to discuss +Nationality. We heartily agree with him in all he says in its praise, +and draw attention, in passing, to a charming idyllic passage in which +he speaks of the early influences which first develope in us its +germinal principle. But when he says, that the sentiment of a national +life, once existing, must still be kept alive by an exercise of the +reason and the will, we dissent. It must be a matter of instinct, or +it is nothing. The examples of nationality which he cites are those of +ancient Greece and modern Germany. Now we affirm, that, with +accidental exceptions, nationality has always been a matter of race, +and was eminently so in the instances he quotes. If we read rightly, +the nationality which glows in the "Iliad," and which it was, perhaps, +one object of the poem to rouse or to make coherent, is one of blood, +not territory. The same is true of Germany, of Russia, (adding the +element of a common religious creed,) and of France, where the Celtic +sentiment becomes day by day more predominant. The exceptions are +England and Switzerland, whose intense nationality is due to +insulation, and Holland, which was morally an island, cut off as it +was from France by difference of language and antipathy of race, and +from kindred Germany by the antagonism of institutions. A patriotism +by the chart is a monster that the world ne'er saw. Men may fall in +love with a lady's picture, but not with the map of their country. +Few persons have the poetic imagination of Mr. Choate, that can vivify +the dead lines and combine the complex features. It seems to us that +our own problem of creating a national sentiment out of such diverse +materials of race, such sometimes discordant or even hostile +traditions, and then of giving it an intenseness of vitality that can +overcome our vast spaces and our differences of climate and interest, +is a new problem, not easily to be worked out by the old +methods. Mr. Choate's plan seems to consist in the old formula of the +Fathers. He would have us think of their sacrifices and their +heroisms, their common danger and their common deliverance. +Excellent, as far as it goes; but what are we to do with the large +foreign fraction of our population imported within the last forty +years, a great proportion of whom never so much as heard even of the +war of 1812? Shall we talk of Bennington and Yorktown to the Germans, +whose grandfathers, if they were concerned at all in those memorable +transactions, were concerned on the wrong side? Shall we talk of the +constancy of Puritan Pilgrims to the Romanist Irishman, who knows more +of Brian Boroo than of the Mayflower? + +It will be many generations before we become so fused as to have a +common past, and the conciliation and forbearance which Mr. Choate +recommends to related sections of country will be more than equally +necessary to unrelated races. But while we are waiting for a past in +which we can all agree, Mr. Choate sees danger in the disrespect which +he accuses certain _anonymi_ of entertaining for the past in +general. But for what past? Does Mr. Choate mean our own American +past? Does he refer us to that for lessons of forbearance, submission, +and waiting for God's good time? Is the contemplation of their own +history and respect for their own traditions the lenitive he +prescribes for a people whose only history is a revolution, whose only +tradition is rebellion? To what past and to what tradition did the +Pilgrim Fathers appeal, except to that past, older than all history, +that tradition, sacred from all decay, which, derived from an +antiquity behind and beyond all the hoary generations, points the +human soul to the God from whom it derived life, and with it the +privilege of freedom and the duty of obedience? To what historical +past did Jefferson go for the preamble of the Declaration, unless to +the reveries of a half-dozen innovating enthusiasts, men of the +closet,--of that class which Mr. Choate disparages by implication, +though it has done more to shape the course of the world than any +number of statesmen, whose highest office is, commonly, to deal +prudently with the circumstances of the moment? + +Mr. Choate does a great injustice to the Republican Party when he lays +this irreverence for the past to their charge. As he seems to think +that he alone has read books and studied the lessons of antiquity, he +will be pleased to learn that there are persons also in that party who +have not neglected all their opportunities in that kind. The object of +the Republicans is to bring back the policy and practice of the +Republic to some nearer agreement with the traditions of the +fathers. They also have a National Idea,--for some of them are capable +of distinguishing "a phrase from an idea," or Mr. Choate would find it +easier to convert them. They propose to create a National Sentiment, +in the only way that is possible under conditions like ours, by +clearing the way for the development of a nation which shall be, not +only in Fourth-of-July orations, but on every day in the year, and in +the mouths of all peoples, great and wise, just and brave, and whose +idea, always august and venerable, by turns lovely and terrible, shall +bind us all in a common nationality by our loyalty to what is true, +our reverence for what is good, our love for what is beautiful, and +our sense of security in what is mighty. That is the America which the +Fathers conceived, and it is that to which the children look +forward,--an America which shall displace Ireland and Germany, +Massachusetts and Carolina, in the hearts of those who call them +mother, with an image of maternity at once more tender and more +majestic. + +There is a past for which Republicans have indeed no respect,--but it +is one of recent date; there is a history from which they refuse to +take lessons except for warning and not example,--but it is a history +which is not yet written. When the future historian shall study that +past and gather materials for writing that history, he will find cause +for wonder at the strength of that national vitality which could +withstand and survive, not the efforts of Mr. Choate's dreadful +reformers, but of an administration calling itself Democratic, which, +with the creed of the Ostend Manifesto for its foreign, and the +practice of Kansas for its domestic policy, could yet find a scholar +and a gentleman like Mr. Choate to defend it. + +Mr. Choate charges the Republicans with being incapable of a +generalization. They can, at least, generalize so far as this, that, +when they find a number of sophistries in an argument, they conclude +that the cause which requires their support must be a weak one. One of +the most amusing of these in the oration before us is where (using the +very same arguments that were urged in favor of that coalition in +Massachusetts against the morality of which the then party of Mr. +Choate exclaimed so loudly) he extols the merits of Compromise in +statesmanship. In support of what he says on this subject, he quotes +from a speech of Archbishop Whately a passage in favor of +Expediency. It is really too bad, that the Primate of Ireland, of all +men living, should be made the abetter in two fallacies. In the first +place, Mr. Choate assumes that there are certain deluded persons who +affirm that all compromises in politics are wrong. Having stuffed out +his man of straw, he proceeds gravely to argue with him, as if he were +as cunning of fence as Duns Scotus. One would think, from some of the +notions he deems it necessary to combat, that we were living in the +time of the Fifth-Monarchy men, and that Captain Venner with his troop +was ready to issue from the garrets of Batterymarch Street, to find +Armageddon in Dock Square, and the Beast of the Revelation in the +Chief of Police. There is no man who believes that the ship of State, +any more than an ordinary vessel, can be navigated by the New +Testament alone; but neither will be the worse for having it +aboard. The Puritans sailed theirs by Deuteronomy, but it was a +Deuteronomy qualified by an eye to the main chance. Mr. Choate's +syllogism may be stated thus: Some compromises are necessary in order +to carry on a free government; but this is a compromise; therefore it +is necessary. Here is the first fallacy. The other syllogism runs +thus: Expediency is essential in politics; so also is compromise; +therefore some particular compromise is expedient. Fallacy number +two. The latent application in this part of Mr. Choate's oration is, +of course, to Compromises on the Slavery question. We agree with him, +that no man of sense will deny that compromise is essential in +politics, and especially in our politics. With a single exception, all +that he says on this topic is expressed with masterly force and +completeness. But when we come to the application of it, the matter +assumes another face. Men of sense may, and do, differ as to what _is_ +a compromise, or, agreeing in that, they may differ again as to +whether it be expedient. For example, if a man, having taken another's +cloak, insist on taking his coat also, the denudee, though he might +congratulate himself on having been set forward so far on his way +toward the natural man of Rousseau, would hardly call the affair a +compromise on the part of the denuder. Or again, if his brother with +principles should offer to compromise about the coat by taking only +half of it, he would be in considerable doubt whether the arrangement +were expedient. Now there are many honest people, not as eloquent as +Mr. Choate, not as scholarly, and perhaps not more illogical, who +firmly believe that our compromises on the question of Slavery have +afforded examples of both the species above described. It is not +unnatural, therefore, that, while they assent to his general +theory, they should protest against his mode of applying it to +particulars. They may be incapable of a generalization, (they +certainly are, if this be Mr. Choate's notion of one,) but they are +incapable also of a deliberate fallacy. We think we find here one of +the cases in which his training as an advocate has been of evil effect +on his fairness of mind. No more potent lie can be made than of the +ashes of truth. A fallacy is dangerous because of the half-truth in +it. Swallow a strong dose of pure poison, and the stomach may reject +it; but take half as much, mixed with innocent water, and it will do +you a mischief. But Mr. Choate is nothing, if not illogical: +recognizing the manifest hand of God in the affairs of the world, he +would leave the question of Slavery with Him. Now we offer Mr. Choate +a _dilemma_: either God _always_ interferes, or _sometimes_: if +always, why need Mr. Choate meddle? why not leave it to Him to avert +the dangers of Anti-slavery, as well as to remedy the evils of +Slavery?--if only sometimes, (_nec deus intersit nisi dignus vindice +nodus,_) who is to decide when the time for human effort has come? +Each man for himself, or Mr. Choate for all? + +Let us try Mr. Choate's style of reasoning against himself. He says, +"One may know Aristophanes and Geography and the Cosmical Unity and +Telluric Influences," (why _didn't_ he add, "Neptune, Plutarch, +and Nicodemus"!) "and the smaller morals of life, and the sounding +pretensions of philanthropy," (this last, at any rate, is useful +knowledge,) "and yet not know America." We must confess, that we do +not see why on earth he should. In fact, by the time he had got to +the "Telluric Influences," (whatever they are,) we should think he +might consider his education completed, and his head would even then +be as great a wonder as that of the schoolmaster in the "Deserted +Village." In the same way, a man might have seen a horse, (if only a +clothes-horse,) a dog, a cat, and a tadpole, and yet never have seen +the elephant,--a most blame-worthy neglect of opportunities. But let +us apply Mr. Choate's syllogistic process to the list of this +extraordinary nameless person's acquirements. The Republican Party do +_not_ know any of these amazing things; _ergo_, they must +know America; and the corollary (judging from Mr. Choate's own +practice, as displayed in the parts of his oration which we are sure +he will one day wish to blot) would seem to be, that, having the honor +of her acquaintance, they may apply very contemptuous epithets to +everybody that disagrees with them. The only weak point in our case +is, that Mr. Choate himself seems to allow them the one merit of +knowing something of Geography,--for he says they wished to elect a +"geographical President,"--but, perhaps, as they did not succeed in +doing so, he will forgive them the possession of that accomplishment, +so hostile to a knowledge of America. + +We confess that we were surprised to find Mr. Choate reviving, on "the +serene and secret mountain-top,"--which, being interpreted, means the +rather prosaic Tremont Temple,--the forgotten slang of a bygone +political contest, as in the instance we have just quoted of the +"geographical President." We think that Colonel Fremont might be +allowed to rest in peace, now that a California court has +decided--with a logic worthy of Mr. Choate himself--that he has no +manner of right to the gold in his Mariposa mines, _because_ he +owns them. But we should like to have Mr. Choate define, when he has +leisure, where an unfortunate candidate can take up his abode, in +order to escape the imputation of being "geographical." It is a grave +charge to be brought against any man, as we see by its being coupled +with those dreadful Telluric Influences and Cosmical (ought we not to +_dele_ the _s?_) Unities; and since the most harmless man in +the world may become a candidate before he expects it, it would be +charitable to warn him beforehand what is an allowable _habitat_ +in such a contingency. + +We said we were surprised at seeing our old friend, the "geographical +President," again; but we soon found that he reappeared only as the +file-leader of a ragged regiment of kindred scarecrows,--nay, with +others so battered and bedraggled, that they were scarce fit to be the +camp-followers of the soldiery with whom Falstaff refused to march +through Coventry. The sarcasms which Mr. Choate vents against the +Anti-slavery sentiment of the country are so old as to be positively +respectable,--we wish we could say that their vivacity increased with +their years,--and as for his graver indictments, there never was +anything so ancient, unless it be an American lad of eighteen. There +are not a great many of either, but they are made to recur often +enough to produce the impression of numbers. They remind us of the +theatric army, composed always of the same old guard of +supernumeraries and candle-snuffers, and which, by marching round and +round the paper forest in the background, would make six men pass +muster very well for sixty, did not the fatally regular recurrence of +the hero whose cotton armor bunches at the knees, and the other whose +legs insist on the un-Grecian eccentricity of being straight in +profile and crooked in a front view, bring us back to calmer +estimates. + +We used the word _indictments_ with design, both as appropriate +to Mr. Choate's profession and exactly descriptive of the thing +itself. For, as in an indictment for murder, in order to close every +loophole of evasion, the prudent attorney affirms that the accused did +the deed with an awfully destructive _to-wit_,--with a knife, +axe, bludgeon, pistol, bootjack, six-pounder, and what not, which were +then and there in the Briarean hands of him the said What's-his-name, +so Mr. Choate represents the Republican Party to have attempted the +assassination of the Constitution with a most remarkable medley of +instruments. He does not, indeed, use the words "Republican Party," +but it is perfectly clear from the context, as in the case of the +"geographical President," for whom the charges are intended. Out of +tenderness for the artist, let him for whom the garment is intended +put it on, though it may not fit him,--and for our own parts, as +humble members of the Anti-slave-trade, Anti-filibuster, and +Anti-disreputable-things-generally Party, we don our Joseph's coat +(for Mr. Choate could not make one that was not of many colors) with +good-humored serenity. + +Of course, Sectionalism is not forgotten. The pumpkin-lantern, that +had performed so many offices of alarm, though a little wrinkled now, +was too valuable a stage-property to be neglected. In the hands of so +skilful an operator, its slender body flutters voluminous with new +folds of inexpensive cotton, and its eyes glare with the baleful +terrors of unlimited tallow. Mr. Choate honestly confesses that +sectional jealousies are coeval with the country itself, but it is +only as fomented by Anti-slavery-extension that he finds them +dreadful. When South Carolina threatened disunion unless the Tariff of +the party to which Mr. Choate then belonged were modified, did he +think it necessary for the Protectionists to surrender their policy? +There is not, and there never was, any party numerically considerable +at the North, in favor of disunion. Were homilies on fraternal +concessions the things to heal this breach, the South is the fitting +place for their delivery; but mouth-glue, however useful to stick +slight matters together, is not the cement with which confederacies +are bound to a common centre. There must be the gravitation of +interest as well as of honor and duty. We wonder that the parallel +case of Scotland and England did not occur to Mr. Choate, in speaking +upon this point. Scotland was clamorous and England jealously +contemptuous, for nearly a century. Twice since the union, the land +of cakes has been in rebellion; but as long as a pound Scots was only +a twentieth part of a pound English,--as long as the treasury was +filled chiefly from south the Tweed, and the sons of poor and proud +Scottish lairds could make glittering abstractions from it,--as long +as place was to be won or hoped for,--there was no danger. So with +us,--though Jacob and Esau quarrelled already in the womb, yet, so +long as the weaker and more politic brother can get the elder +brother's portion, and simple Esau hunts his whales and pierces his +untrodden forests, content with his mess of pottage,--honestly abiding +by his bargain, though a little puzzled at its terms,--we think that +fratricide, or the sincere thought of it, is very far off. + + * * * * * + +We should be glad to extract some passages of peculiar force and +beauty,--such as that where Mr. Choate rebukes the undue haste of +reformers, and calls to mind the slow development and longevity of +states and ideas. But our duty is the less pleasing one of pointing to +some of the sophistries of the argument and some of the ill-advised +ebullitions of the orator. We leave his exegesis of "Render unto +Cæsar" to answer itself; but what can be worse than this,--worse in +taste, in temper, in reason? + + + "There is a cant of shallowness and fanaticism which misunderstands + and denies this. There is a distempered and ambitious morality which + says civil prudence is no virtue. There is a philanthropy,--so it + calls itself,--pedantry, arrogance, folly, cruelty, impiousness, I + call it, fit enough for a pulpit, totally unfit for a people,--fit + enough for a preacher, totally unfit for a statesman." + + +Think of it!--fit enough for St. Augustine and St. Francis, (to +mention no greater names,) fit enough for Taylor and Barrow, for +Bossuet and Fénelon, but not for Mr. Buchanan or Mr. Cushing! + +In another place Mr. Choate says, "that even the laughter of fools, +and children, and madmen, little ministers, little editors, and little +politicians, can inflict the mosquito-bite, not deep, but stinging." +As this is one of the best of his sarcasms, we give it the advantage +of the circulation of the "Atlantic,"--generous and tidal circulation, +as he himself might call it. We do not think the mosquito image +new,--if we remember, the editor of the Bungtown Copperhead uses it +weekly against "our pitiful contemporary,"--though the notion of a +mosquito-bite inflicted by a laugh is original with Mr. Choate, unless +Lord Castlereagh may have used it before. But we would seriously ask +Mr. Choate who the big ministers of the country are, if the Beechers, +if Wayland, Park, Bushnell, Cheever, Furness, Parker, Hedge, Bellows, +and Huntington are the little ones? + +There is an amusing passage in which Mr. Choate would seem to assume +to himself and those who agree with him the honors of martyrdom. This +shows a wonderful change in public opinion; though the martyrs in the +"Legenda Aurea" and Fox seem to have had a harder time of it than we +supposed to be the case with Mr. Choate. + +We have not space to follow him farther, and only the reputation of +the man, and the singularity of the occasion, which gave a kind of +national significance to the affair, would have tempted us to intrude +upon the select privacy of the Young Men's Democratic Association. + +Finally, as Mr. Choate appears to have a very mean opinion of the +understandings and the culture of those opposed to him in politics, we +beg to remind him, since he has been led out, like Balaam, to prophesy +against the tents and armies of the Republican Israel, and has ended +by proving their invincibility, that it was an animal in all respects +inferior to a prophet, and in some to a politician, who was first +aware of the presence of the heavenly messenger; and it may be that +persons incapable of a generalization--as that patient creature +undoubtedly was--may see as far into the future as the greatest +philosopher who turns his eyes always to the past. + + +Footnote 1: We may be allowed to wonder, however, at his speaking of +"memories that burn and revel in the pages of Herodotus,"--a phrase +which does injustice to the simple and quiet style of the delightful +Pepys of Antiquity. + + + + +LITERARY NOTICES. + +DR. ASA GRAY'S _Botanical Series_, New York, Ivison & Phinney, +consisting of-- + +I. _How Plants Grow_, etc., _with a Popular Flora,_ +etc. 16mo. pp. 233. + +II. _First Lessons in Botany and Vegetable Physiology._ +8vo. pp. 236. + +III. _Introduction to Structural and Systematic Botany and Vegetable +Physiology._ 8vo. pp. 555. + +IV. _Manual of the Botany of the Northern United States, including +Virginia, Kentucky,_ etc. 8vo. pp. 636. + +V. Same as IV., with the _Mosses and Liverworts_ added, +illustrated by Engravings, pp. 739. + +VI. Same as IV., with II. bound up with it. pp. 872. + +The first-named of these books is a new candidate for public favor; +the others are revised and improved editions of books which have +already been favorably received. We have sometimes thought that the +popularity of a school-book is in inverse proportion to its merits, +and are glad to learn that five editions of Dr. Gray's "Structural and +Systematic Botany" are witnesses against the truth of this assumption. +No man can deny that Dr. Gray's books are all of the highest order of +merit. The accuracy and extent of his scholarship are manifest on +every page,--a scholarship consisting not merely in an extensive +acquaintance with the works of other botanists, but in a careful +confirmation of their results, and in additions to their knowledge, by +an observation of Nature for himself. His clearness of style is an +equally valuable characteristic, making the reader sure that he +understands Dr. Gray, and that Dr. Gray understands the subject. In +the "Manual" this clearness of style extends to the judicious +selection of distinctive marks, whereby allied species may be +distinguished from each other. Even the most difficult genera of +golden-rods, asters, and grasses become intelligible in this manual; +and many a less difficult genus which puzzled our boyhood, with +Beck's, Eaton's, and Pursh's manuals, became so plain in Gray, that we +cannot now imagine where was the difficulty. The extent of the field +which Gray's Manual covers prevents him, of course, from giving +such lifelike descriptions of plants as may be found in Dr. +Bigelow's "Plants of Boston and its Vicinity," or such minute +word-daguerreotypes as those in Mr. Emerson's "Trees of +Massachusetts,"--books which no New England student of botany can +afford to be without; but, on the other hand, the description of each +species, aided by typographical devices of Italics, etc., is +sufficient for any intelligent observer to identify a specimen. The +exquisite engravings, illustrating the genera of Ferns, Hepaticæ, and +Mosses, are also a great assistance. + +The volume which we have marked III. is the fifth revised edition of +the "Botanical Text-Book." It contains a complete, although concise, +sketch of Structural Botany and Vegetable Physiology, and a birds'-eye +view of the whole vegetable kingdom in its subdivision into families, +illustrated by over thirteen hundred engravings on wood. It has become +a standard of botany, wherever our language is read. + +For those who do not wish to pursue the study so far, the "First +Lessons" is one of the most happily arranged and happily written +scientific text-books ever published, and is illustrated by three +hundred and sixty well-executed wood-cuts. This takes scholars of +thirteen or fourteen years of age far enough into the recesses of the +science for them to see its beauties, and to learn the passwords which +shall admit them to all its hidden and inexhaustible treasures. It +goes over substantially the same ground that is covered by the volume +we have marked III., but in simpler language and with much less +detail; and closes with clear practical directions how to collect +specimens and make an herbarium. + +The first book is intended for children of ten or twelve years old, at +home or in school. We hail it as a remarkably successful effort of a +truly learned man to write a book actually adapted to young children. +While all teachers, and writers upon education, insist on the +importance of having a child's first impressions such as shall not +need to be afterwards corrected, and such as shall attract the child +towards the study to which it is introduced, our elementary books have +usually sinned in one or both these points. They are either dry and +repulsive, or else vague and incorrect;--frequently have both +faults. But the child is here told "how plants grow" in a very +pleasant manner, with neat and pretty pictures to illustrate the +words, by one whose thorough knowledge and perspicuity of style +prevent him from ever giving a wrong impression. The "Popular Flora" +which is appended, contains a description of about one hundred +families of the most common cultivated and wild plants, and of the +most familiar genera and species in each family. The English names are +in all cases put in the foreground in bold type,--while the Latin +names stand modestly back, half hidden in parentheses and Italics; and +these English names are in general very well selected,--although we +think that when two or three English names are given to one plant, or +one name to several plants, Dr. Gray ought to indicate which name he +prefers. He allows "Dogwood" to stand without rebuke for the poison +sumac, as well as for the flowering cornel; and gives "Winterberry" +and "Black Alder" without comment to _Prinos verticellata_. A +word of preference on his part might do something towards reforming +and simplifying the popular nomenclature, and this child's manual is +the place to utter that word. We think also that in a second edition +of this Popular Flora it would be well to give a _popular_ +description of a few of the most beautiful flowers belonging to those +families which are too difficult for the child properly to +analyze. Thus, Arethusa, Cypripedium, Pogonia, Calopogon, Spiranthes, +Festuca, Osmunda, Onoclea, Lycopodium, Polytrichum, Bryum, Marchantia, +Usnea, Parmelia, Cladonia, Agaricus, Chondrus, and perhaps a few other +genera, furnish plants so familiar and so striking that a child will +be sure to inquire concerning them, and a general description could +easily be framed in a few words which could not mislead him concerning +them. + +In writing for children, Dr. Gray seems to have put on a new nature, +in which we have a much fuller sympathy with him than we have ever had +in reading his larger books. We do not like that cold English common +sense which seems reluctant to admit any truth in the higher regions +of thought; and we confess, that, until we had read this little +child's book, "How Plants Grow," we had always suspected Dr. Gray of +leaning towards that old error, so finely exposed by Agassiz in +zoölogy, of considering genera, families, etc., as divisions made by +human skill, for human convenience,--instead of as divisions belonging +to the Creator's plan, as yet but partially understood by human +students. + +We hope that the appearance of this masterly little book, so finely +adapted to the child's understanding, may have the effect of +introducing botany into the common schools. The natural taste of +children for flowers indicates clearly the propriety and utility of +giving them lessons upon botany in their earliest years. Go into any +of our New England country-schools at this season of the year, and you +will find a bouquet of wild flowers on the teacher's desk. Take it up +and separate it,--show each flower to the school, tell its name, and +its relationship to other and more familiar cultivated flowers, the +characteristic sensible properties of its family, etc.,--and you will +find the younger scholars your most attentive listeners. And if any +practical man ask, What is the use of the younger scholars learning +anything about wild flowers, which the cultivation of the country may +soon render extinct, and which are but weeds at best?--there are two +sufficient answers ready: first, that all truth is divine, and that +the workmanship of infinite skill is beautiful and worthy of the eyes +which may behold it; secondly, that no mental discipline is better +adapted for the young mind than this learning how to distinguish +plants. No more striking deficiency is observable, in most men, than +the lack of a power to observe closely and with accuracy. The general +inaccuracy of testimony, usually ascribed to inaccuracy of memory, is +in fact to be attributed to inaccuracy of observation. In like +manner, a large proportion of popular errors of judgment spring from +an imperfect perception of the data on which the true conclusions +should be founded. The best remedy for this lack of clear perceptions +would evidently be the cultivation of those habits of close +observation and nice discrimination necessary in a successful +naturalist. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATLANTIC MONTHLY, VOLUME 2, ISSUE +10, AUGUST, 1858*** + + +******* This file should be named 10626-8.txt or 10626-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/6/2/10626 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Atlantic Monthly, Volume 2, Issue 10, August, 1858</p> +<p>Author: Various</p> +<p>Release Date: January 7, 2004 [eBook #10626]</p> +<p>[Date last updated: June 12, 2005]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: iso-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATLANTIC MONTHLY, VOLUME 2, ISSUE 10, AUGUST, 1858***</p> +<br> +<center><h3>E-text prepared by Joshua Hutchinson, Bob Blair,<br> + and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders</h3></center> +<br> +<hr> +<center> +<h1> +THE<br> +ATLANTIC MONTHLY. +</h1> +<h2> +A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS. +</h2> +<h3> +VOL. II.--AUGUST, 1858.--NO. X. +</h3> +</center> + +<br><br><br><br><br> + +<center> +<h2> +<a name="1">DAPHNAIDES:</a> +<br> +OR THE ENGLISH LAUREL, FROM CHAUCER TO TENNYSON. +</h2> +</center> +<br> +<br> +<blockquote> + They in thir time did many a noble dede,<br> + And for their worthines full oft have bore<br> + The crown of laurer leavés on the hede,<br> + As ye may in your oldé bookés rede:<br> + And how that he that was a conquerour<br> + Had by laurer alway his most honour.<br> + DAN CHAUCER: <i>The Flowre and the Leaf</i>. +</blockquote> +<p> +It is to be lamented that antiquarian zeal is so often diverted from +subjects of real to those of merely fanciful interest. The mercurial +young gentlemen who addict themselves to that exciting department of +letters are open to censure as being too fitful, too prone to flit, +bee-like, from flower to flower, now lighting momentarily upon an +indecipherable tombstone, now perching upon a rusty morion, here +dipping into crumbling palimpsests, there turning up a tattered +reputation from heaps of musty biography, or discovering that the +brightest names have had sad blots and blemishes scoured off by the +attrition of Time's ceaseless current. We can expect little from +investigators so volatile and capricious; else should we expect the +topic we approach in this paper to have been long ago flooded with +light as of Maedler's sun, its dust dissipated, and sundry curves and +angles which still baffle scrutiny and provoke curiosity exposed even +to Gallio-llke wayfarers. It is, in fact, a neglected topic. Its +derivatives are obscure, its facts doubtful. Questions spring from +it, sucker-like, numberless, which none may answer. Why, for +instance, in apportioning his gifts among his posterity, did Phoebus +assign the laurel to his step-progeny, the sons of song, and pour the +rest of the vegetable world into the pharmacopoeia of the favored +Æsculapius? Why was even this wretched legacy divided in aftertimes +with the children of Mars? Was its efficacy as a non-conductor of +lightning as reliable as was held by Tiberius, of guileless memory, +Emperor of Rome? Were its leaves really found green as ever in the +tomb of St. Humbert, a century and a half after the interment of that +holy confessor? In what reign was the first bay-leaf, rewarding the +first poet of English song, authoritatively conferred? These and other +like questions are of so material concern to the matter we have in +hand, that we may fairly stand amazed that they have thus far escaped +the exploration of archaeologists. It is not for us to busy ourselves +with other men's affairs. Time and patience shall develope profounder +mysteries than these. Let us only succeed in delineating in brief +monograph the outlines of a natural history of the British +Laurel,--<i>Laurea nobilis, sempervirens, florida</i>,--and in posting +here and there, as we go, a few landmarks that shall facilitate the +surveys of investigators yet unborn, and this our modest enterprise +shall be happily fulfilled. +<p> +One portion of it presents no serious difficulty. There is an +uninterrupted canon of the Laureates running as far back as the reign +of James I. Anterior, however, to that epoch, the catalogue fades away +in undistinguishable darkness. Names are there of undoubted splendor, +a splendor, indeed, far more glowing than that of any subsequent +monarch of the bays; but the legal title to the garland falls so far +short of satisfactory demonstration, as to oblige us to dismiss the +first seven Laureates with a dash of that ruthless criticism with +which Niebuhr, the regicide, dispatched the seven kings of Rome. To +mark clearly the bounds between the mythical and the indubitable, a +glance at the following brief of the Laureate <i>fasti</i> will +greatly assist us, speeding us forward at once to the substance of our +story. +<p> + +I. The MYTHICAL PERIOD, extending from the supposititious coronation +of Laureate CHAUCER, <i>in temp. Edv. III., 1367</i>, to that of +Laureate JONSON, <i>in temp. Caroli I.</i> To this period belong, + +<blockquote> +<table border="0" width="50%" align="center"> +<tr> +<td>GEOFFREY CHAUCER,</td> +<td>1367-1400</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>JOHN SCOGAN,</td> +<td>1400-1413</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>JOHN KAY,</td> +<td>1465-</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>ANDREW BERNARD,</td> +<td>1486-</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>JOHN SKELTON,</td> +<td>1509-1529</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>EDMUND SPENSER,</td> +<td>1590-1599</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>SAMUEL DANIEL, +<br>MICHAEL DRAYTON, +<br>BEN JONSON, +</td> +<td valign="middle">1600-1630</td> +</tr> +</table> +</blockquote> +<p> +II. The DRAMATIC, extending from the latter event to the demise of +Laureate SHADWELL, <i>in temp. Gulielmi III., 1692.</i> Here we have +<p> +<blockquote> +<table border = "0" width="50%" align="center"> +<tr> +<td>BEN JONSON,</td> +<td>1630-1637</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>WILL DAVENANT,</td> +<td>1637-1668</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>JOHN DRYDEN,</td> +<td>1670-1689</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>THOMAS SHADWELL,</td> +<td>1689-1692</td> +</tr> +</table> +</blockquote> +<p> +III. The LYRIC, from the reign of Laureate TATE, 1693, to the demise +of Laureate PYE, 1813:-- +<blockquote> +<table border="0" width="50%" align="center"> +<tr> +<td>NAHUM TATE,</td> +<td>1693-1714</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>NICHOLAS ROWE,</td> +<td>1714-1718</td> +<tr> +<td>LAURENCE EUSDEN,</td> +<td>1719-1730</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>COLLEY CIBBER,</td> +<td>1730-1757</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>WILLIAM WHITEHEAD,</td> +<td>1758-1785</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>THOMAS WARTON,</td> +<td>1785-1790</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>HENRY JAMES PYE,</td> +<td>1790-1813</td> +</tr> +</table> +</blockquote> + +<p> +IV. The VOLUNTARY, from the accession of Laureate SOUTHEY, 1813, to +the present day:-- +<blockquote> +<table border="0" width="50%" align="center"> +<tr> +<td>ROBERT SOUTHEY,</td> +<td>1813-1843</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>WILLIAM WORDSWORTH,</td> +<td>1843-1850</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>ALFRED TENNYSON,</td> +<td>1850-</td> +</tr> +</table> +</blockquote> +<p> +Have no faith in those followers of vain traditions who assert the +existence of the Laureate office as early as the thirteenth century, +attached to the court of Henry III. Poets there were before +Chaucer,--<i>vixere fortes ante Agamemnona</i>,--but search Rymer from +cord to clasp and you shall find no documentary evidence of any one of +them wearing the leaf or receiving the stipend distinctive of the +place. Morbid credulity can go no farther back than to the "Father of +English Poetry":-- +<blockquote> + "That renounced Poet,<br> + Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled,<br> + On Fame's eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled":<a href="#1.1">[1]</a> +</blockquote> +<p> +<blockquote> + "Him that left half-told<br> + The story of Cambuscan bold;<br> + Of Camball, and of Algarsife,<br> + And who had Canace to wife":<a href="#1.2">[2]</a> +</blockquote> +<p> +<blockquote> + "That noble Chaucer, in those former times,<br> + Who first enriched our English with his rhymes,<br> + And was the first of ours that ever broke<br> + Into the Muse's treasures, and first spoke<br> + In mighty numbers."<a href="#1.3">[3]</a> +</blockquote> +<p> +Tradition here first assumes that semblance of probability which +rendered it current for three centuries. Edward the Third--resplendent +name in the constitutional history of England--is supposed to have +been so deeply impressed with Chaucer's poetical merits, as to have +sought occasion for appropriate recognition. Opportunely came that +high festival at the capital of the world, whereat +<blockquote> + "Franccis Petrark, the laureat poete,<br> + ... whos rethorike swete<br> + Enlumined all Itaille of poetrie,"<a href="#1.4">[4]</a> +</blockquote> +<p> +received the laurel crown at the hands of the Senate of Rome, with a +magnificence of ceremonial surpassed only by the triumphs of imperial +victors a thousand years before. Emulous of the gorgeous example, the +English monarch forthwith showered corresponding honors upon Dan +Chaucer, adding the substantial perquisites of a hundred marks and a +tierce of Malvoisie, a year. To this agreeable story, Laureate Warton, +than whom no man was more intimately conversant with the truth there +is in literary history, appears in one of his official odes to yield +assent:-- +<blockquote> + "Victorious Edward gave the vernal bough<br> + Of Britain's bay to bloom on Chaucer's brow:<br> + Fired with the gift, he changed to sounds sublime<br> + His Norman minstrelsy's discordant chime."<a href="#1.5">[5]</a> +</blockquote> +<p> +The legend, however, does not bear inquiry. King Edward, in 1367, +certainly granted an annuity of twenty marks to "his varlet, Geoffrey +Chaucer." Seven years later there was a further grant of a pitcher of +wine daily, together with the controllership of the wool and petty +wine revenues for the port of London. The latter appointment, to which +the pitcher of wine was doubtless incident, was attended with a +requirement that the new functionary should execute all the duties of +his post in person,--a requirement involving as constant and laborious +occupation as that of Charles Lamb, chained to his perch in the India +House. These concessions, varied slightly by subsequent patents from +Richard II. and Henry IV., form the entire foundation to the tale of +Chaucer's Laureateship.<a href="#1.6">[6]</a> There is no reference in grant or patent to +his poetical excellence or fame, no mention whatever of the laurel, no +verse among the countless lines of his poetry indicating the reception +of that crowning glory, no evidence that the third Edward was one whit +more sensitive to the charms of the Muses than the third William, +three hundred years after. Indeed, the condition with which the +appointment of this illustrious custom-house officer was hedged +evinced, if anything, a desire to discourage a profitless wooing of +the Nine, by so confining his mind to the incessant routine of an +uncongenial duty as to leave no hours of poetic idleness. Whatever +laurels Fame may justly garland the temples of Dan Chaucer withal, she +never, we are obliged to believe, employed royal instrument at the +coronation. +<p> +John Scogan, often confounded with an anterior Henry, has been named +as the Laureate of Henry IV., and immediate successor of +Chaucer. Laureate Jonson seems to encourage the notion:-- +<blockquote> + "<i>Mere Fool.</i> Skogan? What was he? +<p> + "<i>Jophiel.</i> Oh, a fine gentleman, and master of arts<br /> Of Henry + the Fourth's time, that made disguises <br />For the King's sons, and writ + in ballad-royal<br /> Daintily well. +<p> + "<i>Mere Fool</i>. But he wrote like a gentleman? +<p> + "<i>Jophiel</i>. In rhyme, fine, tinkling rhyme, and flowand verse, + <br />With now and then some sense; and he was paid for't,<br /> Regarded and + rewarded; which few poets<br />Are nowadays."<a href="#1.7">[7]</a> +</blockquote> +<p> +But Warton places Scogan in the reign of Edward IV., and reduces him +to the level of Court Jester, his authority being Dr. Andrew Borde, +who, early in the sixteenth century, published a volume of his +platitudes.<a href="#1.8">[8]</a> There is nothing to prove that he was either poet or +Laureate; while, on the other hand, it must be owned, one person might +at the same time fill the offices of Court Poet and Court Fool. It is +but fair to say that Tyrwhitt, who had all the learning and more than +the accuracy of Warton, inclines to Jonson's estimate of Scogan's +character and employment. +<p> +One John Kay, of whom we are singularly deficient in information, held +the post of Court Poet under the amorous Edward IV. What were his +functions and appointments we cannot discover. +<p> +Andrew Bernard held the office under Henry VII. and Henry VIII. He was +a churchman, royal historiographer, and tutor to Prince Arthur. His +official poems were in Latin. He was living as late as 1522. +<p> +John Skelton obtained the distinction of Poet-Laureate at Oxford, a +title afterward confirmed to him by the University of Cambridge: mere +university degrees, however, without royal indorsement. Henry +VIII. made him his "Royal Orator," whatever that may have been, and +otherwise treated him with favor; but we hear nothing of sack or +salary, find nothing among his poems to intimate that his performances +as Orator ever ran into verse, or that his "laurer" was of the regal +sort. +<p> +A long stride carries us to the latter years of Queen Elizabeth, +where, and in the ensuing reign of James, we find the names of Edmund +Spenser, Samuel Daniel, and Michael Drayton interwoven with the +bays. Spenser's possession of the laurel rests upon no better evidence +than that, when he presented the earlier books of the "Faery Queen" to +Elizabeth, a pension of fifty pounds a year was conferred upon him, +and that the praises of <i>Gloriana</i> ring through his realm of +Faëry in unceasing panegyric. But guineas are not laurels, though for +sundry practical uses they are, perhaps, vastly better; nor are the +really earnest and ardent eulogia of the bard of Mulla the same in +kind with the harmonious twaddle of Tate, or the classical quiddities +of Pye. He was of another sphere, the highest heaven of song, who +<blockquote> + "Waked his lofty lay<br> + To grace Eliza's golden sway;<br> + And called to life old Uther's elfin-tale,<br> + And roved through many a necromantic vale,<br> + Portraying chiefs who knew to tame<br> + The goblin's ire, the dragon's flame,<br> + To pierce the dark, enchanted hall<br> + Where Virtue sat in lonely thrall.<br> + From fabling Fancy's inmost store<br> + A rich, romantic robe he bore,<br> + A veil with visionary trappings hung,<br> + And o'er his Virgin Queen the fairy-texture flung."<a href="#1.9">[9]</a> +</blockquote> +<p> +Samuel Daniel was not only a favorite of Queen Elizabeth, but more +decidedly so of her successor in the queendom, Anne of Denmark. In the +household of the latter he held the position of Groom of the Chamber, +a sinecure of handsome endowment, so handsome, indeed, as to warrant +an occasional draft upon his talents for the entertainment of her +Majesty's immediate circle, which held itself as far as possible aloof +from the court, and was disposed to be self-reliant for its +amusements. Daniel had entered upon the vocation of courtier with +flattering auspices. His precocity while at Oxford has found him a +place in the "Bibliotheca Eruditorum Præcocium." Anthony Wood bears +witness to his thorough accomplishments in all kinds, especially in +history and poetry, specimens of which, the antiquary tells us, were +still, in his time, treasured among the archives of Magdalen. He +deported himself so amiably in society, and so inoffensively among his +fellow-bards, and versified his way so tranquilly into the good graces +of his royal mistresses, distending the thread, and diluting the +sense, and sparing the ornaments, of his passionless poetry,--if +poetry, which, by the definition of its highest authority, is "simple, +sensuous, passionate," can ever be unimpassioned,--that he was the +oracle of feminine taste while he lived, and at his death bequeathed a +fame yet dear to the school of Southey and Wordsworth. Daniel was no +otherwise Laureate than his position in the queen's household may +authorize that title. If ever so entitled by contemporaries, it was +quite in a Pickwickian and complimentary sense. His retreat from the +busy vanity of court life, an event which happened several years +before his decease in 1619, was hastened by the consciousness of a +waning reputation, and of the propriety of seeking better shelter than +that of his laurels. His eloquent "Defense of Rhyme" still asserts for +him a place in the hearts of all lovers of stately English prose. +<p> +Old Michael Drayton, whose portrait has descended to us, surmounted +with an exuberant twig of bays, is vulgarly classed with the +legitimate Laureates. Southey, pardonably anxious to magnify an office +belittled by some of its occupants, does not scruple to rank Spenser, +Daniel, and Drayton among the Laurelled:-- +<blockquote> + "That wreath, which, in Eliza's golden days,<br> + My master dear, divinest Spenser, wore,<br> + That which rewarded Drayton's learned lays,<br> + Which thoughtful Ben and gentle Daniel bore," etc. +</blockquote> +<p> +But in sober prose Southey knew, and later in life taught, that not +one of the three named ever wore the authentic laurel.<a href="#1.10">[10]</a> That Drayton +deserved it, even as a successor of the divinest Spenser, who shall +deny? With enough of patience and pedantry to prompt the composition +of that most laborious, and, upon the whole, most humdrum and +wearisome poem of modern times, the "Polyolbion," he nevertheless +possessed an abounding exuberance of delicate fancy and sound poetical +judgment, traces of which flash not unfrequently even athwart the +dulness of his <i>magnum opus</i>, and through the mock-heroism of +"England's Heroical Epistles," while they have full play in his "Court +of Faëry." Drayton's great defect was the entire absence of that +dramatic talent so marvellously developed among his contemporaries,--a +defect, as we shall presently see, sufficient of itself to disqualify +him for the duties of Court Poet. But, what was still worse, his mind +was not gifted with facility and versatility of invention, two equally +essential requisites; and to install him in a position where such +faculties were hourly called into play would have been to put the +wrong man in the worst possible place. Drayton was accordingly a +court-pensioner, but not a court-poet. His laurel was the honorary +tribute of admiring friends, in an age when royal pedantry rendered +learning fashionable and a topic of exaggerated regard. Southey's +admission is to this purpose. "He was," he says, "one of the poets to +whom the title of Laureate was given in that age,--not as holding the +office, but as a mark of honor, to which they were entitled." And with +the poetical topographer such honors abounded. Not only was he +gratified with the zealous labors of Selden in illustration of the +"Polyolbion," but his death was lamented in verse of Jonson, upon +marble supplied by the Countess of Dorset:-- +<blockquote> + "Do, pious marble, let thy readers know<br> + What they and what their children owe<br> + To Drayton's name, whose sacred dust<br> + We recommend unto thy trust.<br> + Protect his memory, and preserve his story;<br> + Remain a lasting monument of his glory:<br> + And when thy ruins shall disclaim<br> + To be the treasurer of his name,<br> + His name, that cannot fade, shall be<br> + An everlasting monument to thee." +</blockquote> +<p> +The Laureateship, we thus discover, had not, down to the days of +James, become an institution. Our mythical series shrink from close +scrutiny. But in the gayeties of the court of the Stuarts arose +occasion for the continuous and profitable employment of a court-poet, +and there was enough thrift in the king to see the advantage of +securing the service for a certain small annuity, rather than by the +payment of large sums as presents for occasional labors. The masque, a +form of dramatic representation, borrowed from the Italian, had been +introduced into England during the reign of Elizabeth. The interest +depended upon the development of an allegorical subject apposite to +the event which the performance proposed to celebrate, such as a royal +marriage, or birthday, or visit, or progress, or a marriage or other +notable event among the nobility and gentry attached to the court, or +an entertainment in honor of some distinguished personage. To produce +startling and telling stage effects, machinery of the most ingenious +contrivance was devised; scenery, as yet unknown in ordinary +exhibitions of the stage, was painted with elaborate finish; goddesses +in the most attenuated Cyprus lawn, bespangled with jewels, had to +slide down upon invisible wires from a visible Olympus; Tritons had to +rise from the halls of Neptune through waters whose undulations the +nicer resources of recent art could not render more genuinely marine; +fountains disclosed the most bewitching of Naiads; and Druidical oaks, +expanding, surrendered the imprisoned Hamadryad to the air of +heaven. Fairies and Elves, Satyrs and Forsters, Centaurs and Lapithae, +played their parts in these gaudy spectacles with every conventional +requirement of shape, costume, and behavior <i>point-de-vice</i>, and +were supplied by the poet, to whom the letter-press of the show had +been confided, with language and a plot, both pregnant with more than +Platonic morality. Some idea of the magnificence of these displays, +which beggared the royal privy-purse, drove household-treasurers mad, +and often left poet and machinist whistling for pay, may be gathered +from the fact that a masque sometimes cost as much as two thousand +pounds in the mechanical getting-up, a sum far more formidable in the +days of exclusively hard money than in these of paper currency. Scott +has described, for the benefit of the general reader, one such pageant +among the "princely pleasures of Kenilworth"; while Milton, in his +"Masque performed at Ludlow Castle," presents the libretto of another, +of the simpler and less expensive sort. During the reign of James, the +passion for masques kindled into a mania. The days and nights of Inigo +Jones were spent in inventing machinery and contriving +stage-effects. Daniel, Middleton, Fletcher, and Jonson were busied +with the composition of the text; and the court ladies and cavaliers +were all from morning till night in the hands of their dancing and +music masters, or at private study, or at rehearsal, preparing for the +pageant, the representation of which fell to their share and won them +enviable applause. Of course the burden of original invention fell +upon the poets; and of the poets, Daniel and Jonson were the most +heavily taxed. In 1616, James I., by patent, granted to Jonson an +annuity for life of one hundred marks, to him in hand not often well +and truly paid. He was not distinctly named as Laureate, but seems to +have been considered such; for Daniel, on his appointment, "withdrew +himself," according to Gifford, "entirely from court." The +strong-boxes of James and Charles seldom overflowed. Sir Robert Pye, +an ancestor of that Laureate Pye whom we shall discuss by-and-by, was +the paymaster, and often and again was the overwrought poet obliged to +raise +<blockquote> + "A woful cry<br> + To Sir Robert Pye," +</blockquote> +<p> +before some small instalment of long arrearages could be procured. And +when, rarely, very rarely, his Majesty condescended to remember the +necessities of "his and the Muses' servant," and send a present to the +Laureate's lodgings, its proportions were always so small as to excite +the ire of the insulted Ben, who would growl forth to the messenger, +"He would not have sent me this, (<i>scil.</i> wretched pittance,) did +I not live in an alley." +<p> +We now arrive at the true era of the Laureateship. Charles, in 1630, +became ambitious to signalize his reign by some fitting tribute to +literature. A petition from Ben Jonson pointed out the way. The +Laureate office was made a patentable one, in the gift of the Lord +Chamberlain, as purveyor of the royal amusements. Ben was confirmed +in the office. The salary was raised from one hundred marks to one +hundred pounds, an advance of fifty per cent, to which was added +yearly a tierce of Canary wine,--an appendage appropriate to the +poet's convivial habits, and doubtless suggested by the mistaken +precedent of Chaucer's daily flagon of wine. Ben Jonson was certainly, +of all men living in 1630, the right person to receive this honor, +which then implied, what it afterward ceased to do, the primacy of the +diocese of letters. His learning supplied ballast enough to keep the +lighter bulk of the poet in good trim, while it won that measure of +respect which mere poetical gifts and graces would not have +secured. He was the dean of that group of "poets, poetaccios, +poetasters, and poetillos,"<a href="#1.11">[11]</a> who beset the court. If a display of +erudition were demanded, Ben was ready with the heavy artillery of the +unities, and all the laws of Aristotle and Horace, Quintilian and +Priscian, exemplified in tragedies of canonical structure, and +comedies whose prim regularity could not extinguish the most +delightful and original humor--Robert Burton's excepted--that +illustrated that brilliant period. But if the graceful lyric or +glittering masque were called for, the boundless wealth of Ben's +genius was most strikingly displayed. It has been the fashion, set by +such presumptuous blunderers as Warburton and such formal prigs as +Gifford, to deny our Laureate the possession of those ethereal +attributes of invention and fancy which play about the creations of +Shakspeare, and constitute their exquisite charm. This arbitrary +comparison of Jonson and Shakspeare has, in fact, been the bane of the +former's reputation. Those who have never read the masques argue, +that, as "very little Latin and less Greek," in truth no learning of +any traceable description, went to the creation of <i>Ariel</i> and +<i>Caliban</i>, <i>Oberon</i> and <i>Puck</i>, the possession of +Latin, Greek, and learning generally, incapacitates the proprietor for +the same happy exercise of the finer and more gracious faculties of +wit and fancy. Of this nonsense Jonson's masques are the best +refutation. Marvels of ingenuity in plot and construction, they abound +in "dainty invention," animated dialogue, and some of the finest lyric +passages to be found in dramatic literature. They are the Laureate's +true laurels. Had he left nothing else, the "rare arch-poet" would +have held, by virtue of these alone, the elevated rank which his +contemporaries, and our own, freely assign him. Lamb, whose +appreciation of the old dramatists was extremely acute, remarks,--"A +thousand beautiful passages from his 'New Inn,' and from those +numerous court masques and entertainments which he was in the daily +habit of furnishing, might be adduced to show the poetical fancy and +elegance of mind of the supposed rugged old bard."<a href="#1.12">[12]</a> And in excess +of admiration at one of the Laureate's most successful pageants, +Herrick breaks forth,-- +<blockquote> + "Thou hadst the wreath before, now take the tree,<br> + That henceforth none be laurel-crowned but thee."<a href="#1.13">[13]</a> +</blockquote> +<p> + +An aspiration fortunately unrealized. +<p> +It was not long before the death of Ben, that John Suckling, one of +his boon companions +<blockquote> + "At those lyric feasts,<br> + Made at 'The Sun,'<br> + 'The Dog,' 'The Triple Tun,'<br> + Where they such clusters had<br> + As made them nobly wild, not mad,"<a href="#1.14">[14]</a> +</blockquote> +<p> + +handed about among the courtiers his "Session of the Poets," where an +imaginary contest for the laurel presented an opportunity for +characterizing the wits of the day in a series of capital strokes, as +remarkable for justice as shrewd wit. Jonson is thus introduced:-- +<blockquote> + "The first that broke silence was good old Ben,<br> + Prepared with Canary wine,<br> + And he told them plainly he deserved the bays,<br> + For his were called works, while others' were but plays; +<p> + "And bid them remember how he had purged the stage<br> + Of errors that had lasted many an age;<br> + And he hoped they did not think 'The Silent Woman,'<br> + 'The Fox,' and 'The Alchymist' outdone by no man. +<p> + "Apollo stopt him there, and bid him not go on;<br> + 'Twas merit, he said, and not presumption,<br> + Must carry it; at which Ben turned about,<br> + And in great choler offered to go out; +<p> + "But those who were there thought it not fit<br> + To discontent so ancient a wit,<br> + And therefore Apollo called him back again,<br> + And made him mine host of his own 'New Inn.'" +</blockquote> +<p> +This <i>jeu d'esprit</i> of Suckling, if of no value otherwise, would +be respectable as an original which the Duke of Buckinghamshire,<a href="#1.15">[15]</a> +Leigh Hunt,<a href="#1.16">[16]</a> and our own Lowell<a href="#1.17">[17]</a> have successfully and happily +imitated. +<p> +In due course, Laureate Jonson shared the fate of all potentates, and +was gathered to the laurelled of Elysium. The fatality occurred in +1637. When his remains were deposited in the Poet's Corner, with the +eloquent laconism above them, "O Rare Ben Jonson!" all the wits of the +day stood by the graveside, and cast in their tribute of bays. The +rite over, all the wits of the day hurried from the aisles of +Westminster to the galleries of Whitehall to urge their several claims +to the successorship. There were, of the elder time, Massinger, +drawing to the close of a successful career,--Ford, with his growing +fame,--Marmion, Heywood, Carlell, Wither. There was Sandys, especially +endeared to the king by his orthodox piety, so becoming the son of an +archbishop, and by his versions of the "Divine Poems," which were next +year given to the press, and which found a place among the half-dozen +volumes which a decade later solaced the last hours of his royal +master. There were the names, in the junior class, of Tom Carew, noted +for his amatory songs and his one brilliant masque,--Tom Killigrew, of +pleasant humor, and no mean writer of tragedy,--Suckling, the wittiest +of courtiers, and the most courtly of wits,--Cartwright, Crashaw, +Davenant, and May. But of all these, the contest soon narrowed down to +the two latter. William Davenant was in all likelihood the son of an +innkeeper at Oxford; he was certainly the son of the innkeeper's +wife. A rumor, which Davenant always countenanced, alleged that +William Shakspeare, a poet of some considerable repute in those times, +being in the habit of passing between Stratford-on-the-Avon and +London, was wont to bait and often lodge at this Oxford hostelry. At +one of these calls the landlady had proved more than ordinarily frail +or the poet more than ordinarily seductive,--who can wonder at even +virtue stooping to folly when the wooer was the Swan of Avon, beside +whom the bird that captivated Leda was as a featherless gosling?--and +the consequence had been Will Davenant, born in the year of our Lord +1605, Shakspeare standing as godfather at the baptism. A boy of lively +parts was Will, and good-fortune brought those parts to the notice of +the grave and philosophic Greville, Lord Brooke, whose dearest boast +was the friendship in early life of Sir Philip Sidney. The result of +this notice was a highly creditable education at school and +university, and an ultimate introduction into the foremost society of +the capital. Davenant, finding the drama supreme in fashionable +regard, devoted himself to the drama. He also devoted himself to the +cultivation of Ben Jonson, then at the summit of renown, assisting in +an amateur way in the preparation of the court pageants, and otherwise +mitigating the Laureate's labors. From 1632 to 1637, these aids were +frequent, and established a very plausible claim to the +succession. Thomas May, who shortly became his sole competitor, was a +man of elevated pretensions. As a writer of English historical poems +and as a translator of Lucan he had earned a prominent position in +British literature; as a continuator of the "Pharsalia" in Latin verse +of exemplary elegance, written in the happiest imitation of the +martyred Stoic's unimpassioned mannerism, he secured for British +scholarship that higher respect among Continental scholars which +Milton's Latin poems and "Defensio pro Populo Anglicano" presently +after confirmed. Of the several English writers of Latin verse, May +stands unquestionably in the front rank, alongside of Milton and +Bourne,--taking precedence easily of Owen, Cowley, and Gray. His +dramatic productions were of a higher order than Davenant's. They have +found a place in Dodsley's and the several subsequent collections of +early dramas, not conceded to the plays of the latter. Masque-making, +however, was not in his line. His invention was not sufficiently +alert, his dialogue not sufficiently lively, for a species of poetry +which it was the principal duty of the Laureate to furnish. Besides, +it is highly probable, his sympathies with rebellious Puritanism were +already so far developed as to make him an object of aversion to the +king. Davenant triumphed. The defeated candidate lived to see the +court dispersed, king and Laureate alike fugitive, and to receive from +the Long Parliament the place of Historiographer, as a compensation +for the lost bays. When, in 1650, he died, Cromwell and his +newly-inaugurated court did honor to his obsequies. The body was +deposited in Westminster Abbey; but the posthumous honor was in +reserve for it, of being torn from the grave after the Restoration, +and flung into a ditch along with the remains of three or four other +republican leaders. +<p> +Davenant's career in office was unfortunate. There is reason to doubt +whether, even before the rebellion broke out, his salary was regularly +paid him. During the Civil War he exchanged the laurel for a casque, +winning knighthood by his gallant carriage at the siege of Gloucester. +Afterward, he was so far in the confidence of Queen Henrietta Maria, +as to be sent as her envoy to the captive king, beseeching him to save +his head by conceding the demands of Parliament. When, the errand +proving abortive, the royal head was lost, Davenant returned to Paris, +consoled himself by finishing the first two books of his "Gondibert," +and then, despairing of a restoration, embarked (in 1650) from France +for Virginia, where monarchy and the rights of Charles II were +unimpaired. Fate, however, had not destined him for a colonist and +backwoodsman. His ship, tempest-tossed, was driven into an English +port, and the poet was seized and carried close prisoner to +London. There the intervention of Milton, the Latin Secretary of the +Council, is said to have saved his life. He was kept in the Tower for +at least two years longer, however. The date of his release is +uncertain, but, once at liberty, Davenant returned ardently to his +former pursuits. A license was procured for musical exhibitions, and +the phrase "musical exhibitions" was interpreted, with official +connivance, as including all manner of dramatic performances. To the +Laureate and to this period belongs the credit of introducing scenery, +hitherto restricted to court masques, into the machinery of the +ordinary drama. The substitution of female for male actors, in +feminine characters, was also an innovation of this period. And as an +incident of the Laureateship there is still another novelty to be +noted. There is no crown without its thorns. The laurel renders the +pillow of the wearer as knotty, uneasy, and comfortless as does a +coronal of gold and jewels. Among the receipts of the office have been +the jokes, good and bad, the sneers, the satire of contemporary +wits,--such being the paper currency in which the turbulent subjects +of the laurel crown think proper to pay homage to their +sovereign. From the days of Will Davenant to these of ours, the custom +has been faithfully observed. Davenant's earliest assailants were of +his own political party, followers of the exiled Charles, the men whom +Milton describes as "perditissimus ille peregrinantium aulieorum +grex." These--among them a son of the memorable Donne, Sir John +Denham, and Alan Broderick--united in a volume of mean motive and +insignificant merit, entitled, "Verses written by Several of the +Author's Friends, to be reprinted with the Second Edition of +Gondibert." This was published in 1653. The effect of the onslaught +has not been recorded. We know only that Davenant, surviving it, +continued to prosper in his theatrical business, writing most of the +pieces produced on his stage until the Restoration, when he drew forth +from its hiding-place his wreath of laurel-evergreen, and resumed it +with honor. +<p> +A fair retrospect of Davenant's career enables us to select without +difficulty that one of his labors which is most deserving of +applause. Not his "Gondibert," notwithstanding it abounds in fine +passages,--notwithstanding Gay thought it worth continuation and +completion, and added several cantos,--notwithstanding Lamb eulogized +it with enthusiasm, Southey warmly praised, and Campbell and Hazlitt +coolly commended it. Nor his comedies, which are deservedly forgotten; +nor his improvements in the production of plays, serviceable as they +were to the acting drama. But to his exertions Milton owed impunity +from the vengeance otherwise destined for the apologist of regicide, +and so owed the life and leisure requisite to the composition of +"Paradise Lost." Davenant, grateful for the old kindness of the +ex-secretary, used his influence successfully with Charles to let the +offender escape.<a href="#1.18">[18]</a> This is certainly the greenest of Davenant's +laurels. Without it, the world might not have heard one of the +sublimest expressions of human genius. +<p> +Davenant died in 1668. The laurel was hung up unclaimed until 1670, +when John Dryden received it, with patent dated back to the summer +succeeding Davenant's death. Dryden assures us that it was Sir Thomas +Clifford, whose name a year later lent the initial letter to the +"Cabal," who presented him to the king, and procured his +appointment.<a href="#1.19">[19]</a> Masques had now ceased to be the mode. What the +dramatist could do to amuse the <i>blasé</i> court of Charles II. he +was obliged to do within the limits of legitimate dramatic +representation, due care being taken to follow French models, and +substitute the idiom of Corneille and Molière for that of +Shakspeare. Dryden, whose plays are now read only by the curious, was, +in 1670, the greatest of living dramatists. He had expiated his +Cromwellian backslidings by the "Astraea Redux," and the "Annus +Mirabilis." He had risen to high favor with the king. His tragedies +in rhyming couplets were all the vogue. Already his fellow-playwrights +deemed their success as fearfully uncertain, unless they had secured, +price three guineas, a prologue or epilogue from the Laureate. So +fertile was his own invention, that he stood ready to furnish by +contract five plays a year,--a challenge fortunately declined by the +managers of the day. Thus, if the Laureate stipend were not punctually +paid, as was often the case, seeing the necessitous state of the royal +finances and the bevy of fair ladies, whose demands, extravagant as +they were, took precedence of all others, his revenues were adequate +to the maintenance of a family, the matron of which was a Howard, +educated, as a daughter of nobility, to the enjoyment of every +indulgence. These were the Laureate's brightest days. His popularity +was at its height, a fact evinced by the powerful coalitions deemed +necessary to diminish it. Indeed, the laurel had hardly rested upon +Dryden's temples before he experienced the assaults of an organized +literary opposition. The Duke of Buckingham, then the admitted leader +of fashionable prodigacy, borrowed the aid of Samuel Butler, at whose +"Hudibras" the world was still laughing,--of Thomas Sprat, then on the +high-road to those preferments which have given him an important place +in history,--of Martin Clifford, a familiar of the green-room and +coffee-house,--and concocted a farce ridiculing the person and office +of the Laureate. "The Rehearsal" was acted in 1671. The hero, +<i>Mr. Bayes</i>, imitated all the personal peculiarities of Dryden, +used his cant phrases, burlesqued his style, and exposed, while +pretending to defend, his ridiculous points, until the laugh of the +town was fairly turned upon the "premier-poet of the realm." The wit +was undoubtedly of the broadest, and the humor at the coffee-room +level; but it was so much the more effective. Dryden affected to be +indifferent to the satire. He jested at the time taken<a href="#1.20">[20]</a> and the +number of hands employed upon the composition. Twenty years later he +was at pains to declare his perfect freedom from rancor in consequence +of the attack. +<p> +There, is much reason to suspect, however, that "The Rehearsal" was +not forgotten, when the "Absalom and Achitophel" was written, and that +the character of <i>Zimri</i> gathered much of its intense vigor and +depth of shadow from recollections of the ludicrous +<i>Mr. Bayes</i>. The portrait has the look of being designed as a +quittance in full of old scores. "The Rehearsal," though now and then +recast and reënacted to suit other times, is now no otherwise +remembered than as the suggester of Sheridan's "Critic." +<p> +Upon the heels of this onslaught others followed rapidly. Rochester, +disposed to singularity of opinion, set up Elkanah Settle, a young +author of some talent, as a rival to the Laureate. Anonymous bardings +lampooned him. <i>Mr. Bayes</i> was a broad target for every shaft, so +that the complaint so feelingly uttered in his latter days, that "no +man living had ever been so severely libelled" as he, had a wide +foundation of fact. Sometimes, it must be owned, the thrusts were the +natural result of controversies into which the Laureate indiscreetly +precipitated himself; sometimes they came of generous partisanship in +behalf of friends, such friends, for example, as Sir Robert Howard, +his brother-in-law, an interminable spinner of intolerable verse, who +afflicted the world in his day with plays worse than plagues, and +poems as worthless as his plays. It was to a quarrel for and a quarrel +against this gentleman that we are indebted for the most trenchant +satire in the language. Sir Robert had fallen out with Dryden about +rhyming tragedies, of which he disapproved; and while it lasted, the +contest was waged with prodigious acrimony. Among the partisans of the +former was Richard Flecknoe, a Triton among the smaller scribbling +fry. Flecknoe--blunderingly classed among the Laureates by the +compiler of "Cibber's Lives of the Poets"--was an Irish priest, who +had cast his cassock, or, as he euphuistically expressed it, "laid +aside the mechanic part of priesthood," in order to fulfil the loftier +mission of literary garreteer in London. He had written poems and +plays without number; of the latter, but one, entitled "Love's +Dominion," had been brought upon the stage, and was summarily hissed +off. Jealousy of Dryden's splendid success brought him to the side of +Dryden's opponent, and a pamphlet, printed in 1668, attacked the +future Laureate so bitterly, and at points so susceptible, as to make +a more than ordinary draft upon the poet's patience, and to leave +venom that rankled fourteen years without finding vent.<a href="#1.21">[21]</a> About the +same time, Thomas Shadwell, who is represented in the satire as +likewise an Irishman, brought Sir Robert on the stage in his "Sullen +Lovers," in the character of <i>Sir Positive At-all</i>, a caricature +replete with absurd self-conceit and impudent dogmatism. Shadwell was +of "Norfolcian" family, well-born, well-educated, and fitted for the +bar, but drawn away from serious pursuits by the prevalent rage for +the drama. The offence of laughing at the poet's brother-in-law +Shadwell had aggravated by accepting the capricious patronage of Lord +Rochester, by subsequently siding with the Whigs, and by aiding the +ambitious designs of Shaftesbury in play and pamphlet,--labors the +value of which is not to be measured by the contemptuous estimate of +the satirist. The first outburst of the retributive storm fell upon +the head of Shadwell. The second part of "Absalom and Achitophel," +which appeared in the autumn of 1682, contains the portrait of +<i>Og</i>, cut in outlines so sharp as to remind us of an unrounded +alto-rilievo:-- +<blockquote> +<i> + Now stop your noses, readers, all and some,<br> + For here's a tun of midnight work to come,<br> + Og, from a treason-tavern rolling home;<br> + Round as a globe, and liquored every chink,<br> + Goodly and great he sails behind his link.<br> + With all his bulk, there's nothing lost in Og,<br> + For every inch that is not fool is rogue ....<br> +<br> + The midwife laid her hand on his thick skull<br> + With this prophetic blessing, Be thou dull!<br> + Drink, swear, and roar, forbear no lewd delight<br> + Fit for thy bulk; do anything but write.<br> + Eat opium, mingle arsenic in thy drink,<br> + Still thou mayst live, avoiding pen and ink.<br> + I see, I see, 'tis counsel given in vain;<br> + For treason botched in rhyme will be thy bane ....<br> +<br> + A double noose thou on thy neck dost pull,<br> + For writing treason, and for writing dull...<br> +<br> + I will not rake the dunghill of thy crimes,<br> + For who would read thy life who reads thy rhymes?<br> + But of King David's foes be this the doom,<br> + May all be like the young man Absalom!<br> + And for my foes, may this their blessing be,<br> + To talk like Doeg, and to write like thee!<br> +</i> +</blockquote> +<p> +Of the multitudinous rejoinders and counterblasts provoked by this +thunder, Dryden, it is supposed, ascribed the authorship of one of the +keenest to Shadwell. We are to conceive some new and immediate +provocation as added to the old grudge, to call for a second attack so +soon; for it was only a month later that the "MacFlecknoe" appeared; +not in 1689, as Dr. Johnson states, who, mistaking the date, also errs +in assuming the cause of Dryden's wrath to have been the transfer of +the laurel from his own to the brows of Shadwell. "MacFlecknoe" is by +common consent the most perfect and perfectly acrid satire in English +literature. The topics selected, the foibles attacked, the ingenious +and remorseless ridicule with which they are overwhelmed, the +comprehensive vindictiveness which converted every personal +characteristic into an instrument for the more refined torment of the +unhappy victim, conjoin to constitute a masterpiece of this lower form +of poetical composition;--poetry it is not. While Flecknoe's +pretensions as a dramatist were fairly a subject of derision, Shadwell +was eminently popular. He was a pretender to learning, and, +entertaining with Dryden strong convictions of the reality of a +literary metempsychosis, believed himself the heir of Jonson's genius +and erudition. The title of the satire was, therefore, of itself a +biting sarcasm. His claims to sonship were transferred from Jonson, +then held the first of dramatic writers, to Flecknoe, the last and +meanest; and to aggravate the insult, the "Mac" was inserted as an +irritating allusion to the alleged Irish origin of both,--an allusion, +however harmless and senseless now, vastly significant at that era of +Irish degradation. Of the immediate effect of this scarification upon +Shadwell we have no information; how it ultimately affected his +fortunes we shall see presently. +<p> +During the closing years of Charles, and through the reign of James, +Dryden added to the duties of Court Poet those of political +pamphleteer and theological controversialist. The strength of his +attachment to the office, his sense of the honor it conferred, and his +appreciation of the salary we may infer from the potent influence such +considerations exercised upon his conversion to Romanism. In the +admirable portrait, too, by Lely, he chose to be represented with the +laurel in his hand. After his dethronement, he sought every occasion +to deplore the loss of the bays, and of the stipend, which in the +increasing infirmity and poverty of his latter days had become +important. The fall of James necessarily involved the fall of his +Laureate and Historiographer. Lord Dorset, the generous but sadly +undiscriminating patron of letters, having become Lord Chamberlain, it +was his duty to remove the reluctant Dryden from the two places,--a +duty not to be postponed, and scarcely to be mitigated, so violent was +the public outcry against the renegade bard. The entire Protestant +feeling of the nation, then at white heat, was especially ardent +against the author of the "Hind and Panther," who, it was said, had +treated the Church of England as the persecutors had treated the +primitive martyr, dressed her in the skin of a wild beast, and exposed +her to the torments of her adversaries. It was not enough to eject him +from office,--his inability to subscribe the test oaths would have +done so much,--but he was to be replaced by that one of his political +and literary antagonists whom he most sincerely disliked, and who +still writhed under his lash. Dorset appears to have executed the +disagreeable task with real kindness. He is said to have settled upon +the poet, out of his own fortune, an annuity equal to the lost +pension,--a statement which Dr. Johnson and Macaulay have repeated +upon the authority of Prior. What Prior said on the subject may be +found in the Dedication of Tonson's noble edition of his works to the +second Earl of Dorset:--"When, as Lord Chamberlain, he was obliged to +take the king's pension from Mr. Dryden, (who had long before put +himself out of a possibility of receiving any favor from the court,) +my Lord allowed him an equivalent out of his own estate. However +displeased with the conduct of his old acquaintance, he relieved his +necessities; and while he gave him his assistance in private, in +public he extenuated and pitied his error." But there is some reason +for thinking this equivalent was only the equivalent of one year's +salary, and this assistance casual, not stated; else we are at a loss +to understand the continual complaints of utter penury which the poet +uttered ever after. Some of these complaints were addressed to his +benefactor himself, as in the Dedication to Juvenal and Persius, +1692:--"Age has overtaken me, and <i>want</i>, a more insufferable +evil, through the change of the times, <i>has wholly disenabled +me</i>. Though I must ever acknowledge, to the honor of your Lordship, +and the eternal memory of your charity, that, since this revolution, +wherein I have patiently suffered the ruin of my small fortune, and +the loss of that poor subsistence I had from two kings, whom I served +more faithfully than profitably to myself,--then your Lordship was +pleased, out of no other motive than your own nobleness, without any +desert of mine, or the least solicitation from me, to make me a most +bountiful <i>present</i>, which, in that time when I was most in want +of it, came most seasonably and unexpectedly to my relief." This +passage was the sole authority, we suspect, Prior had for a story +which was nevertheless sufficiently true to figure in an adulatory +dedication; and, indeed, Prior may have used the word "equivalent" +loosely, and had Dorset's gift been more than a year's income, Dryden +would hardly have called it a "present,"--a phrase scarcely applicable +to the grant of a pension.<a href="#1.22">[22]</a> +<p> +Dismissed from office and restored to labors more congenial than the +dull polemics which had recently engaged his mind, Dryden found +himself obliged to work vigorously or starve. He fell into the hands +of the booksellers. The poems, it deserves remark, upon which his fame +with posterity must finally rest, were all produced within the period +bounded by his deposition and his death. The translations from +Juvenal, the versions of Persius and of Virgil, the Fables, and the +"Ode upon St. Cecilia's Day," were the works of this period. He lived +to see his office filled successively by a rival he despised and a +friend who had deserted him, and in its apparently hopeless +degradation perhaps found consolation for its loss. +<p> +Thomas Shadwell was the Poet-Laureate after Dryden, assuming the +wreath in 1689. We have referred to his origin; Langbaine gives 1642 +as the date of his birth; so that he must have set up as author early +in life, and departed from life shortly past middle-age. Derrick +assures us that he was lusty, ungainly, and coarse in person,--a +description answering to the full-length of <i>Og</i>. The +commentators upon "MacFlecknoe" have not made due use of one of +Shadwell's habits, in illustration of the reason why a wreath of +poppies was selected for the crown of its hero. The dramatist, +Warburton informs us, was addicted to the use of opium, and, in fact, +died of an overdose of that drug. Hence +<blockquote> + "His temples, last, with poppies were o'er-spread,<br> + That nodding seemed to consecrate his head." +</blockquote> +<p> +A couplet which Pope echoes in the "Dunciad":-- +<blockquote> + "Shadwell nods, the poppy on his brows." +</blockquote> +<p> +A similar allusion may be found in the character of <i>Og</i>:-- +<p> +<blockquote> + "Eat opium, mingle arsenic in thy drink," etc. +</blockquote> +<p> +That the Laureate was heavy-gaited in composition, taking five years +to finish one comedy,--that he was, on the other hand, too swift, +trusting Nature rather than elaborate Art,--that he was dull and +unimaginative,--that he was keen and remarkably sharp-witted,--that he +affected a profundity of learning of which he gave no evidences,--that +his plays were only less numerous than Dryden's, are other particulars +we gather from conflicting witnesses of the period. Certainly, no one +of the Laureates, Cibber excepted, was so mercilessly lampooned. What +Cibber suffered from the "Dunciad" Shadwell suffered from +"MacFlecknoe." Incited by Dryden's example, the poets showered their +missiles at him, and so perseveringly as to render him a traditional +butt of satire for two or three generations. Thus Prior:-- +<blockquote> + "Thus, without much delight or grief,<br> + I fool away an idle life,<br> + Till Shadwell from the town retires,<br> + Choked up with fame and sea-coal fires,<br> + To bless the wood with peaceful lyric:<br> + Then hey for praise and panegyric;<br> + Justice restored, and nations freed,<br> + And wreaths round William's glorious head." +</blockquote> +<p> +And Parnell:-- +<blockquote> + "But hold! before I close the scene,<br> + The sacred altar should be clean.<br> + Oh, had I Shadwell's second bays,<br> + Or, Tate! thy pert and humble lays,--<br> + Ye pair, forgive me, when I vow<br> + I never missed your works till now,--<br> + I'd tear the leaves to wipe the shrine,<br> + That only way you please the Nine;<br> + But since I chance to want these two,<br> + I'll make the songs of Durfey do." +</blockquote> +<p> +And in a far more venomous and violent style, the noteless mob of +contemporary writers. +<p> +Shadwell, after all, was very far from being the blockhead these +references imply. His "Third Nights" were probably far more +profitable than Dryden's.<a href="#1.23">[23]</a> By his friends he was classed with the +liveliest wits of a brilliant court. Rochester so classed him:-- +<blockquote> + "I loathe the rabble: 'tis enough for me,<br> + If Sedley, Shadwell, Shephard, Wycherley,<br> + Godolphin, Butler, Buckhurst, Buckingham,<br> + And some few more, whom I omit to name,<br> + Approve my sense: I count their censure fame."<a href="#1.24">[24]</a> +</blockquote> +<p> +And compares him elsewhere with Wycherley:-- +<blockquote> + "Of all our modern wits, none seem to me<br> + Once to have touched upon true comedy,<br> + But hasty Shadwell and slow Wycherley.<br> + Shadwell's unfinished works do yet impart<br> + Great proofs of force of nature, none of art;<br> + With just, bold strokes, he dashes here and there,<br> + Showing great mastery with little care,<br> + Scorning to varnish his good touches o'er<br> + To make the fools and women praise them more.<br> + But Wycherley earns hard whate'er he gains;<br> + He wants no judgment, and he spares no pains," etc. +</blockquote> +<p> +And, not disrespectfully, Pope:-- +<blockquote> + "In all debates where critics bear a part,<br> + Not one but nods, and talks of Jonson's art,<br> + Of Shakspeare's nature, and of Cowley's wit;<br> + How Beaumont's judgment checked what Fletcher writ;<br> + How Shadwell hasty, Wycherley was slow;<br> + But for the passions, Southerne, sure, and Rowe!<br> + These, only these, support the crowded stage,<br> + From eldest Heywood down to Cibber's age."<a href="#1.25">[25]</a> +</blockquote> +<p> +Sedley joined him in the composition of more than one comedy. +Macaulay, in seeking illustrations of the times and occurrences of +which he writes, cites Shadwell five times, where he mentions +Etherege, Wycherley, and Congreve once.<a href="#1.26">[26]</a> From his last play, "The +Stockjobbers," performed in November, 1692, while its author was on +his death-bed, the historian introduces an entire scene into his +text.<a href="#1.27">[27]</a> Any one, indeed, who can clear his mind from the unjust +prejudice produced by Dryden's satire, and read the comedies of +Shadwell with due consideration for the extemporaneous haste of their +composition, as satires upon passing facts and follies, will find, +that, so far from never deviating into sense, sound common-sense and +fluent wit were the Laureate's staple qualities. If his comedies have +not, like those of his contemporaries just named, enjoyed the +good-fortune to be collected and preserved among the dramatic +classics, the fact is primarily owing to the ephemeral interest of the +hits and allusions, and secondarily to "MacFlecknoe." +<p> +[To be continued.] +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p> +<a name="1.1">[Footnote 1:</a> SPENSER: <i>Faery Queen</i>. See also the <i>Two Cantos +of Mutability,</i> Cant. VII.:-- +<blockquote> + "That old Dan Geffrey, in whose gentle spright<br> + The pure well-head of poesie did dwell."] +</blockquote> +<p> +<a name="1.2">[Footnote 2:</a> MILTON: <i>Il Penseroso.</i>] +<p> +<a name="1.3">[Footnote 3:</a> WORDSWORTH: <i>Poems of Later Years</i>.] +<p> +<a name="1.4">[Footnote 4:</a> CHAUCER: <i>Clerke's Tale</i>, Prologue.] +<p> +<a name="1.5">[Footnote 5:</a> WARTON: <i>Ode on his Majesty's Birthday, 1787</i>] +<p> +<a name="1.6">[Footnote 6:</a> Tyrwhitt's Chaucer: <i>Historical Notes on his Life.</i>] +<p> +<a name="1.7">[Footnote 7:</a> <i>Masque of the Fortunate Islands</i>] +<p> +<a name="1.8">[Footnote 8:</a> <i>History of English Poetry</i>, Vol. II. pp. 335-336, +ed. 1840.] +<p> +<a name="1.9">[Footnote 9:</a> WARTON: <i>Birthday Ode</i>, 1787.] +<p> +<a name="1.10">[Footnote 10:</a> See his <i>British Poets, from Chaucer to Jonson</i>, +Art. <i>Daniel</i>. Southey contemplated a continuation of Warton's +<i>History</i>, and, in preparing for that labor, learned many things +he had never known of the earlier writers.] +<p> +<a name="1.11">[Footnote 11:</a> Jonson's classification. See his <i>Poetaster</i>.] +<p> +<a name="1.12">[Footnote 12:</a> <i>Lamb's Works, and Life</i>, by Talfourd, Vol. IV. p. 89.] +<p> +<a name="1.13">[Footnote 13:</a> Hesperides, <i>Encomiastic Verses</i>.] +<p> +<a name="1.14">[Footnote 14:</a> Herrick, <i>ubi supra.</i>--To the haunts here named +must be added the celebrated <i>Mermaid</i>, of which Shakspeare was +the <i>Magnus Apollo</i>, and <i>The Devil</i>, where Pope imagines +Ben to have gathered peculiar inspiration:-- + + + "And each true Briton is to Ben so civil, + He swears the Muses met him at <i>The Devil</i>." + <i>Imitation of Horace</i>, Bk. ii. Epist. i.] +<p> +<a name="1.15">[Footnote 15:</a> <i>Election of a Poet-Laureate</i>, 1719, Works, Vol. II.] +<p> +<a name="1.16">[Footnote 16:</a> <i>Feast of the Poets</i>, 1814.] +<p> +<a name="1.17">[Footnote 17:</a> <i>Fable for Critics</i>, 1850.] +<p> +<a name="1.18">[Footnote 18:</a> This story rests on the authority of Thomas Betterton, +the actor, who received it from Davenant.] +<p> +<a name="1.19">[Footnote 19:</a> Dedication of the <i>Pastorals</i> of Virgil, to Hugh, +Lord Clifford, the son of Sir Thomas.] +<p> +<a name="1.20">[Footnote 20:</a> There were some indications that portions of the farce +had been written while Davenant was living and had been intended for +him. <i>Mr. Bayes</i> appears in one place with a plaster on his nose, +an evident allusion to Davenant's loss of that feature. In a lively +satire of the time, by Richard Duke, it is asserted that Villiers was +occupied with the composition of <i>The Rehearsal</i> from the +Restoration down to the day of its production on the stage:-- + +<blockquote> + "But with playhouses, wars, immortal wars,<br> + He waged, and ten years' rage produced a farce.<br> + As many rolling years he did employ,<br> + And hands almost as many, to destroy<br> + Heroic rhyme, as Greece to ruin Troy.<br> + Once more, says Fame, for battle he prepares,<br> + And threatens rhymers with a second farce:<br> + But, if as long for this as that we stay,<br> + He'll finish Clevedon sooner than his play."<br> +        <i>The Review</i>] +</blockquote> +<p> +<a name="1.21">[Footnote 21:</a> It is little to the credit of Dryden, that, having saved +up his wrath against Flecknoe so long, he had not reserved it +altogether. Flecknoe had been dead at least four years when the +satire appeared.] +<p> +<a name="1.22">[Footnote 22:</a> Macaulay quotes Blackmore's <i>Prince Arthur</i>, to +illustrate Dryden's dependence upon Dorset:-- +<blockquote> + + "The poets' nation did obsequious wait<br> + For the kind dole divided at his gate.<br> + Laurus among the meagre crowd appeared,<br> + An old, revolted, unbelieving bard,<br> + Who thronged, and shoved, and pressed, and would be heard. +<p> + "Sakil's high roof, the Muse's palace, rung<br> + With endless cries, and endless songs he sung.<br> + To bless good Sakil Laurus would be first;<br> + But Sakil's prince and Sakil's God he curst.<br> + Sakil without distinction threw his bread,<br> + Despised the flatterer, but the poet fed."<br> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Laurus</i>, of course, stands for Dryden, and <i>Sakil</i> for +Dorset.] +<p> +<a name="1.23">[Footnote 23:</a> <i>The Squire of Alsatia</i> is said to have realized him +£130.] +<p> +<a name="1.24">[Footnote 24:</a> <i>An Allusion to the Tenth Satire of the First Book of +Horace</i>.--The word "censure" will, of course, be understood to mean +<i>judgment</i>, not <i>condemnation</i>.] +<p> +<a name="1.25">[Footnote 25:</a> <i>Imitation of Horace</i>, Bk. ii. Epist. i.] +<p> +<a name="1.26">[Footnote 26:</a> See the <i>History of England</i>, Vol. IV., Chapter 17, +for reference to Shadwell's <i>Volunteers</i>.] +<p> +<a name="1.27">[Footnote 27:</a> <i>History of England</i>, Chapter 19.] + +<br><br><br> + +<br><br><br> + +<center> +<h2> +<a name="2">THE ROMANCE OF A GLOVE.</a> +</h2> +</center> +<br> +<p> +"Halt!" cried my travelling companion. "Property overboard!" +<p> +The driver pulled up his horses; and, before I could prevent him, +Westwood leaped down from the vehicle, and ran back for the article +that had been dropped. +<p> +It was a glove,--my glove, which I had inadvertently thrown out, in +taking my handkerchief from my pocket. +<p> +"Go on, driver!" and he tossed it into my hand as he resumed his seat +in the open stage. +<p> +"Take your reward," I said, offering him a cigar; "but beware of +rendering me another such service!" +<p> +"If it had been your hat or your handkerchief, be sure I should have +let it lie where it fell. But a glove,--that is different. I once +found a romance in a glove. Since then, gloves are sacred." And +Westwood gravely bit off the end of his cigar. +<p> +"A romance? Tell me about that. I am tired of this endless stretch of +sea-like country, these regular ground-swells; and it's a good +two-hours' ride yet to yonder headland, which juts out into the +prairie, between us and the setting sun. Meanwhile, your romance." +<p> +"Did I say romance? I fear you would hardly think it worthy of the +name," said my companion. "Every life has its romantic episodes, or, +at least, incidents which appear such to him who experiences them. But +these tender little histories are usually insipid enough when told. I +have a maiden aunt, who once came so near having an offer from a pale +stripling, with dark hair, seven years her junior, that to this day +she often alludes to the circumstance, with the remark, that she +wishes she knew some competent novel-writer in whom she could confide, +feeling sure that the story of that period of her life would make the +groundwork of a magnificent work of fiction. Possibly I inherit my +aunt's tendency to magnify into extraordinary proportions trifles +which I look at through the double convex lens of a personal +interest. So don't expect too much of my romance, and you shall hear +it. +<p> +"I said I found it in a glove. It was by no means a remarkable +glove,--middle-sized, straw-colored, and a neat fit for this hand, in +which I now hold your very excellent cigar. Of course, there was a +young lady in the case;--let me see,--I don't believe I can tell you +the story," said Westwood, "after all!" +<p> +I gently urged him to proceed. +<p> +"Pshaw!" said he, after kindling his cigar with a few vigorous whiffs, +"what's the use of being foolish? My aunt was never diffident about +telling her story, and why should I hesitate to tell mine? The young +lady's name,--we'll call her simply Margaret. She was a blonde, with +hazel eyes and dark hair. Perhaps you never heard of a blonde with +hazel eyes and dark hair? She was the only one I ever saw; and there +was the finest contrast imaginable between her fair, fresh complexion, +and her superb tresses and delicately-traced eyebrows. She was +certainly lovely, if not handsome; and--such eyes! It was an event in +one's life, Sir, just to look through those luminous windows into her +soul. That could not happen every day, be sure! Sometimes for weeks +she kept them turned from me, the ivory shutters half-closed, or the +mystic curtains of reserve drawn within; then, again, when I was +tortured with unsatisfied yearnings, and almost ready to despair, she +would suddenly turn them upon me, the shutters thrown wide, the +curtains away, and a flood of radiance streaming forth, that filled me +so full of light and gladness, that I had no shadowy nook left in me +for a doubt to hide in. She must have been conscious of this power of +expression. She used it so sparingly, and, it seemed to me, artfully! +But I always forgave her when she did use it, and cherished resentment +only when she did not. +<p> +"Margaret was shy and proud; I could never completely win her +confidence; but I knew, I knew well at last, that her heart was +mine. And a deep, tender, woman's heart it was, too, despite her +reserve. Without many words, we understood each other, and +so----Pshaw!" said Westwood, "my cigar is out!" +<p> +"On with the story!" +<p> +"Well, we had our lovers' quarrels, of course. Singular, what foolish +children love makes of us!--rendering us sensitive, jealous, exacting, +in the superlative degree. I am sure, we were both amiable and +forbearing towards all the world besides; but, for the powerful reason +that we loved, we were bound to misinterpret words, looks, and +actions, and wound each other on every convenient occasion. I was +pained by her attentions to others, or perhaps by an apparent +preference of a book or a bouquet to me. Retaliation on my part and +quiet persistence on hers continued to estrange us, until I generally +ended by conceding everything, and pleading for one word of kindness, +to end my misery. +<p> +"I was wrong,--too quick to resent, too ready to concede. No doubt, it +was to her a secret gratification to exercise her power over me; and +at last I was convinced that she wounded me purposely, in order to +provoke a temporary estrangement, and enjoy a repetition of her +triumph. +<p> +"It was at a party; the thing she did was to waltz with a man whom she +knew I detested, whom <i>I</i> knew <i>she</i> could not respect, and +whose half-embrace, as he whirled her in the dance, almost put murder +into my thoughts. +<p> +"'Margaret,' I said, 'one last word! If you care for me, beware!' +<p> +"That was a foolish speech, perhaps. It was certainly +ineffectual. She persisted, looking so calm and composed, that a great +weight fell upon my heart. I walked away; I wandered about the +saloons; I tried to gossip and be gay; but the wound was too deep. +<p> +"I accompanied her home, late in the evening. We scarcely spoke by the +way. At the door, she looked me sadly in the face,--she gave me her +hand; I thought it trembled. +<p> +"'Good-night!' she said, in a low voice. +<p> +"'Good-bye!' I answered, coldly, and hurried from the house. +<p> +"It was some consolation to hear her close the door after I had +reached the corner of the street, and to know that she had been +listening to my footsteps. But I was very angry. I made stern +resolutions; I vowed to myself, that I would wring her heart, and +never swerve from my purpose until I had wrung out of it abundant +drops of sorrow and contrition. How I succeeded you shall hear. +<p> +"I had previously engaged her to attend a series of concerts with me; +an arrangement which I did not now regret, and for good reasons. Once +a week, with famous punctuality, I called for her, escorted her to the +concert-room, and carefully reconducted her home,--letting no +opportunity pass to show her a true gentleman's deference and +respect,--conversing with her freely about music, books, anything, in +short, except what we both knew to be deepest in each other's +thoughts. Upon other occasions, I avoided her, and even refrained from +going to places where she was expected,--especially where she knew +that I knew she was expected. +<p> +"Well," continued Westwood, "my designs upon her heart, which I was +going to wring so unmercifully, did not meet with very brilliant +success. To confess the humiliating truth, I soon found that I was +torturing myself a good deal more than I was torturing her. As a last +and desperate resort, what do you think I did?" +<p> +"You probably asked her to ask your forgiveness." +<p> +"Not I! I have a will of adamant, as people find, who tear away the +amiable flowers and light soil that cover it; and she had reached the +impenetrable, firm rock. I neither made any advances towards a +reconciliation nor invited any. But I'll tell you what I did do, as a +final trial of her heart. I had, for some time, been meditating a +European tour, and my interest in her had alone kept me at home. Some +friends of mine were to sail early in the spring, and I now resolved +to accompany them. I don't know how much pride and spite there was in +the resolution,--probably a good deal. I confess I wished to make her +suffer,--to show her that she had calculated too much upon my +weakness,--that I could be strong and happy without her. Yet, with all +this bitter and vindictive feeling, I listened to a very sweet and +tender whisper in my heart, which said, 'Now, if her love speaks +out,--now, if she says to me one true, kind, womanly word,--she shall +go with me, and nothing shall ever take her from me again!' The +thought of what <i>might</i> be, if she would but say that word, and +of what <i>must</i> be, irrevocably, if her pride held out, shook me +mightily. But my resolution was taken: I would trust the rest to fate. +<p> +"On the day of the last concert, I imparted the secret of my intended +journey to a person who, I felt tolerably sure, would rush at once to +Margaret with the news. Then, in the evening, I went for her; I was +conscious that my manner towards her was a little more tender, or +rather, a little less coldly courteous, that night, than it had +usually been of late; for my feelings were softened, and I had never +seen her so lovely. I had never before known what a treasure I was +about to lose. The subject of my voyage was not mentioned, and if she +had heard of it, she accepted the fact without the least visible +concern. Her quietness under the circumstances chilled +me,--disheartened me quite. I am not one of those who can give much +superfluous love, or cling with unreasonable, blind passion to an +object that yields no affection in return. A quick and effectual +method of curing a fancy in persons of my temperament is to teach them +that it is not reciprocated. Then it expires like a flame cut off from +the air, or a plant removed from the soil. The death-struggle, the +uprooting, is the painful thing; but when the heart is thoroughly +convinced that its love is misplaced, it gives up, with one last sigh +as big as fate, sheds a few tears, says a prayer or two, thanks God +for the experience, and becomes a wiser, calmer,--yes, and a happier +heart than before." +<p> +"True," I said; "but our hearts are not thus easily convinced." +<p> +"Ay, there's the rub. It is for want of a true perception. There +cannot be a true love without a true perception. Love is for the soul +to know, from its own intuition,--not for the understanding to +believe, from the testimony of those very unreliable witnesses, called +eyes and ears. This seems to have been my case,--my soul was aware of +<i>her</i> love, and all the evidence of my external senses could not +altogether destroy that interior faith. But that evening I said,--'I +believe you now, my senses! I doubt you now, my soul!--she never loved +me!' So I was really very cold towards her--for about twenty minutes. +<p> +"I walked home with her;--we were both silent; but at the door she +asked me to go in. Here my calmness deserted me, and I could hardly +hold my heart, while I replied,-- +<p> +"'If you particularly wish it.' +<p> +"'If I did not, I should not ask you,' she said; and I went in. +<p> +"I was ashamed and vexed at myself for trembling so,--for I was in a +tremor from head to foot. There was company in the parlors,--some of +Margaret's friends. I took my seat upon a sofa, and soon she came and +sat by my side. +<p> +"'I suppose,' said one, 'Mr. Westwood has been telling Margaret all +about it.' +<p> +"'About what?' Margaret inquired,--and here the truth flashed upon +me,--the news of my proposed voyage had not yet reached her! She +looked at me with a troubled, questioning expression, and said,-- +<p> +"'I felt that something was going to happen. Tell me what it is.' +<p> +"I answered,--'Your friend can best explain what she means.' +<p> +"Then out came the secret. A shock of surprise sent the color from +Margaret's face; and raising her eyes, she asked, quite calmly, but in +a low and unnatural tone,-- +<p> +"'Is this so?' +<p> +"I said, 'I suppose I cannot deny it.' +<p> +"'You are really going?' +<p> +"'I am really going.' +<p> +"She could not hide her agitation. Her white face betrayed her. Then +I was glad, wickedly glad, in my heart,--and vain enough to be +gratified that others should behold and know I held a power over +her. Well,--but I suffered for that folly. +<p> +"'I feel hurt,' she said, after a little while, 'because you have not +told me this. You have no sister,' (this was spoken very quietly,) +'and it would have been a privilege for me to take a sister's place, +and do for you those little things which sisters do for brothers who +are going on long journeys.' +<p> +"I was choked;--it was a minute before I could speak. Then I said that +I saw no reason why she should tax her time or thoughts to do anything +for me. +<p> +"'Oh, you know,' she said, 'you have been kind to me,--so much kinder +than I have deserved!' +<p> +"It was unendurable,--the pathos of the words! I was blinded, +stifled,--I almost groaned aloud. If we had been alone, there our +trial would have ended. I should have snatched her to my soul. But +the eyes of others were upon us, and I steeled myself. +<p> +"'Besides,' I said, 'I know of nothing that you can do for me.' +<p> +"'There must be many little things;--to begin with, there is your +glove, which you are tearing to pieces.' +<p> +"True, I was tearing my glove,--she was calm enough to observe it! +That made me angry. +<p> +"'Give it to me; I will mend it for you. Haven't you other gloves that +need mending?' +<p> +"I, who had triumphed, was humbled. +<p> +"My heart was breaking,--and she talked of mending gloves! I did not +omit to thank her. I coldly arose to go. +<p> +"Well, I felt now that it was all over. The next day I secured my +passage in the steamer in which my friends were to sail. I took pains +that Margaret should hear of that, too. Then came the preparations for +travel,--arranging affairs, writing letters, providing myself with a +compact and comfortable outfit. Europe was in prospect,--Paris, +Switzerland, Italy, lands to which my dreams had long since gone +before me, and to which I now turned my eyes with reawakening +aspirations. A new glory arose upon my life, in the light of which +Margaret became a fading star. It was so much easier than I had +thought, to give her up, to part from her! I found that I could forget +her, in the excitement of a fresh and novel experience; while +she--could she forget me? When lovers part, happy is he who goes! alas +for the one that is left behind! +<p> +"One day, when I was busy with the books which I was to take with me, +a small package was handed in. I need not tell you that I experienced +a thrill, when I saw Margaret's handwriting upon the wrapper. I tore +it open,--and what think you I found? My glove! Nothing else. I +smiled bitterly, to see how neatly she had mended it; then I sighed; +then I said, 'It is finished!' and tossed the glove disdainfully into +my trunk. +<p> +"On the day before that fixed for the sailing of the steamer, I made +farewell calls upon many of my friends,--among others, upon +Margaret. But, through the perversity of pride and will, I did not go +alone,--I took with me Joseph, a mutual acquaintance, who was to be my +<i>compagnon de voyage</i>. I felt some misgivings, to see how +Margaret had changed; she was so softened, and so pale! +<p> +"The interview was a painful one, and I cut it short. As we were going +out, she gently detained me, and said,-- +<p> +"'Did you receive--your glove?' +<p> +"'Oh, yes,' I said, and thanked her for mending it. +<p> +"'And is this all--all you have to say?' she asked. +<p> +"'I have nothing more to say--except good-bye.' +<p> +"She held my hand. 'Nothing else?' +<p> +"'No,--it is useless to talk of the past, Margaret; and the +future--may you be happy!--Good-bye!' +<p> +"I thought she would speak; I could not believe she would let me go; +but she did! I bore up well, until night. Then came a revulsion. I +walked three times past the house, wofully tempted, my love and my +will at cruel warfare; but I did not go in. At midnight I saw the +light in her room extinguished; I knew she had retired, but whether to +sleep, or weep, or pray--how could I tell? I went home. I did not +close my eyes that night. I was glad to see the morning come, after +<i>such</i> a night! +<p> +"The steamer was to sail at ten. The bustle of embarkation; strange +scenes and strange faces; parting from friends; the ringing of the +bell; last adieus,--some, who were to go with us, hurrying aboard, +others, who were to stay behind, as hastily going ashore; the +withdrawal of the plank,--sad sight to many eyes! casting off the +lines, the steamer swinging heavily around, the rushing, irregular +motion of the great, slow paddles; the waving of handkerchiefs from +the decks, and the responsive signals from the crowd lining the wharf; +off at last,--the faces of friends, the crowd, the piers, and, lastly, +the city itself, fading from sight; the dash of spray, the freshening +breeze, the novel sight of our little world detaching itself and +floating away; the feeling that America was past, and Europe was +next;--all this filled my mind with animation and excitement, which +shut out thoughts of Margaret. Could I have looked with clairvoyant +vision, and beheld her then, locked in her chamber, should I have been +so happy? Oh, what fools vanity and pride make of us! Even then, with +my heart high-strung with hope and courage, had I known the truth, I +should have abandoned my friends, the voyage, and Europe, and returned +in the pilot's boat, to find something more precious than all the +continents and countries of the globe, in the love of that heart which +I was carelessly flinging away." +<p> +Here Westwood took breath. The sun was now almost set. The prairie was +still and cool; the heavy dews were beginning to fall; the shadows of +the green and flowered undulations filled the hollows, like a rising +tide; the headland, seen at first so far and small, was growing +gradually large and near; and the horses moved at a quicker +pace. Westwood lighted his cigar, drew a few whiffs, and proceeded. +<p> +"We had a voyage of eleven days. But to me an immense amount of +experience was crowded into that brief period. The fine exhilaration +of the start,--the breeze gradually increasing to a gale; then +horrible sea-sickness, home-sickness, love-sickness; after which, the +weather which sailors love, games, gayety, and flirtation. There is no +such social freedom to be enjoyed anywhere as on board an ocean +steamer. The breaking-up of old associations, the opening of a fresh +existence, the necessity of new relationships,--this fuses the crust +of conventionality, quickens the springs of life, and renders +character sympathetic and fluent. The past is easily put away; we +become plastic to new influences; we are delighted at the discovery of +unexpected affinities, and astonished to find in ourselves so much +wit, eloquence, and fine susceptibility, which we did not before dream +we possessed. +<p> +"This freedom is especially provocative of flirtation. We see each +fair brow touched with a halo whose colors are the reflection of our +own beautiful dreams. Loveliness is ten-fold more lovely, bathed in +this atmosphere of romance; and manhood is invested with ideal +graces. The love within us rushes, with swift, sweet heart-beats, to +meet the love responsive in some other. Don't think I am now artfully +preparing your mind to excuse what I am about to confess. Take these +things into consideration, if you will; then think as you please of +the weakness and wild impulse with which I fell in love with---- +<p> +"We will call her Flora. The most superb, captivating creature that +ever ensnared the hearts of the sons of Adam. A fine olive +complexion; magnificent dark auburn hair; eyes full of fire and +softness; lips that could pout or smile with incomparable fascination; +a figure of surprising symmetry, just voluptuous enough. But, after +all, her great power lay in her freedom from all affectation and +conventionality,--in her spontaneity, her free, sparkling, and +vivacious manners. She was the most daring and dazzling of women, +without ever appearing immodest or repulsive. She walked with such +proud, secure steps over the commonly accepted barriers of social +intercourse, that even those who blamed her and pretended to be +shocked were compelled to admire. She was the belle, the Juno, of the +saloon, the supreme ornament of the upper deck. Just twenty,--not +without wit and culture,--full of poetry and enthusiasm. Do you blame +me?" +<p> +"Not a whit," I said; "but for Margaret"---- +<p> +"Ah, Margaret!" said Westwood, with a sigh. "But, you see, I had given +her up. And when one love is lost, there sink such awful chasms into +the soul, that, though they cannot be filled, we must at least bridge +them over with a new affection. The number of marriages built in this +way, upon false foundations of hollowness and despair, is +incomputable. We talk of jilted lovers and disappointed girls +marrying 'out of spite.' No doubt, such petty feeling hurries forward +many premature matches. But it is the heart, left shaken, unsupported, +wretchedly sinking, which reaches out its feelers for sympathy, +catches at the first penetrable point, and clings like a helpless vine +to the sunny-sided wall of the nearest consolation. If you wish to +marry a girl and can't, and are weak enough to desire her still, this +is what you should do: get some capable man to jilt her. Then seize +your chance. All the affections which have gone out to him, unmet, +ready to droop, quivering with the painful, hungry instinct to grasp +some object, may possibly lay hold of you. Let the world sneer; but +God pity such natures, which lack the faith and fortitude to live and +die true to their best love! +<p> +"Out of my own mouth do I condemn myself? Very well, I condemn myself; +<i>peccavi</i>! I If I had ever loved Margaret, then I did not love +Flora. The same heart cannot find its counterpart indifferently in two +such opposites. What charmed me in one was her purity, softness, and +depth of soul. What fascinated me in the other was her bloom, beauty, +and passion. Which was the true sympathy? +<p> +"I did not stop to ask that question when it was most important that +it should be seriously considered. I rushed into the crowd of +competitors for Flora's smiles, and distanced them all. I was pleased +and proud that she took no pains to conceal her preference for me. We +played chess; we read poetry out of the same book; we ate at the same +table; we sat and watched the sea together, for hours, in those clear, +bright days; we promenaded the deck at sunset, her hand upon my arm, +her lips forever turning up tenderly towards me, her eyes pouring +their passion into me. Then those glorious nights, when the ocean was +a vast, wild, fluctuating stream, flashing and sparkling about the +ship, spanned with a quivering bridge of splendor on one side, and +rolling off into awful darkness and mystery, on the other; when the +moon seemed swinging among the shrouds like a ball of white fire; when +the few ships went by like silent ghosts; and Flora and I, in a long +trance of happiness, kept the deck, heedless of the throng of +promenaders, forgetful of the past, reckless of the future, aware only +of our own romance, and the richness of the present hour. +<p> +"Joseph, my travelling-companion, looked on, and wrote letters. He +showed me one of these, addressed to a friend of Margaret's. In it he +extolled Flora's beauty, piquancy, and supremacy; related how she made +all the women jealous and all the men mad; and hinted at my triumph. I +knew that that letter would meet Margaret's eyes, and was vain enough +to be pleased. +<p> +"At last, one morning, at daybreak, I went on deck, and saw the shores +of England. Only a few days before, we had left America behind us, +brown and leafless, just emerging from the long gloom of winter; and +now the slopes of another world arose green and inviting in the flush +of spring. There was a bracing breeze; the dingy waters of the Mersey +rolled up in wreaths of beauty; the fleets of ships, steamers, sloops, +lighters, pilot-boats, bounding over the waves, meeting, tacking, +plunging, swaying gracefully under the full-swelling canvas, presented +a picture of wonderful animation; and the mingling hues of sunshine +and mist hung over all. I paced the deck, solemnly joyful, swift +thoughts pulsing through me of a dim far-off Margaret, of a near +radiant Flora, of hope and happiness superior to fate. It was one of +those times when the excited soul transfigures the world, and we +marvel how we could ever succumb to a transient sorrow while the whole +universe blooms, and an infinite future waits to open for us its doors +of wonder and joy. +<p> +"In this state of mind I was joined by Flora. She laid her hand on my +arm, and we walked up and down together. She was serious, almost sad, +and she viewed the English hills with a pensiveness which became her +better than mirth. +<p> +"'So,' she sighed, 'all our little romances come to an end!' +<p> +"'Not so,' I said; 'or if one romance ends, it is to give place to +another, still truer and sweeter. Our lives may be all a succession of +romances, if we will make them so. I think now I will never doubt the +future; for I find, that, when I have given up my dearest hopes, my +best-beloved friends, and accepted the gloomy belief that all life +besides is barren,--then comes some new experience, filling my empty +cup with a still more delicious wine.' +<p> +"'Don't vex me with your philosophy!' said Flora. 'I don't know +anything about it. All I know is this present,--this sky, this earth, +this sea, and the joy between, which I can't give up quite so easily +as you can, with your beautiful theory, that something better awaits +you.' +<p> +"'I have told you,' I replied,--for I had been quite frank with +her,--'how I left America,--what a blank life was to me then; and did +I not turn my back upon all that to meet face to face the greatest +happiness which I have ever yet known? Ought not this to give me faith +in the divinity that shapes our ends?' +<p> +"'And so,' she answered, 'when I have lost you, I shall have the +satisfaction of thinking that you are enjoying some still more +exquisite consolation for the slight pangs you may have felt at +parting from me! Your philosophy will make it easy for you to say, +"Good-bye! it was a pretty romance; I go to find prettier ones +still"; and then forget me altogether!' +<p> +"'And you,' I said, 'will that be easy for you?' +<p> +"'Yes,' she cried, with spirit,--'anything is easy to a proud, +impetuous woman, who finds that the brief romance of a ten-days' +acquaintance has already become tiresome to the second party. I am +glad I have enjoyed what I have; that is so much gain, of which you +cannot rob me; and now I can say good-bye as coolly as you, or I can +die of shame, or I can at once walk over this single rail into the +water, and quench this little candle, and so an end!' +<p> +"She sprang upon a bench, and, I swear to you, I thought she was going +down! I was so exalted by this passionate demonstration, that I should +certainly have gone over with her, and felt perfectly content to die +in her arms,--at least, until I began to realize what a very +disagreeable bath we had chosen to drown in. +<p> +"I drew her away; I walked up and down with that superb creature +panting and palpitating almost upon my heart; I poured into her ear I +know not what extravagant vows; and before the slow-handed sailors had +fastened their cable to the buoy in the channel, we had knotted a more +subtile and difficult noose, not to be so easily undone! +<p> +"Now see what strange, variable fools we are! Months of tender +intercourse had failed to bring about anything like a positive +engagement between Margaret and myself; and here behold me irrevocably +pledged to Flora, after a brief ten-days' acquaintance! +<p> +"Six mortal hours were exhausted in making the steamer fast,--in +sending off her Majesty's mails, of which the cockney speaks with a +tone of reverence altogether disgusting to us free-minded +Yankees,--and in entertaining the custom-house inspectors, who paid a +long and tedious visit to the saloon and our luggage. Then we were +suffered to land, and enter the noisy, solid streets of Liverpool, +amid the donkeys and beggars and quaint scenes which strike the +American so oddly upon a first visit. All this delay, the weariness +and impatience, the contrast between the morning and the hard, grim +reality of mid-day, brought me down from my elevation. I felt alarmed +to think of what had passed. I seemed to have been doing some wild, +unadvised act in a fit of intoxication. Margaret came up before me, +sad, silent, reproachful; and as I gazed upon Flora's bedimmed face, I +wondered how I had been so charmed. +<p> +"We took the first train for London, where we arrived at midnight. Two +weeks in that vast Babel,--then, ho! for Paris! Twelve hours by rail +and steamer carried us out of John Bull's dominions into the brilliant +metropolis of his French neighbor. Joseph accompanied us, and wrote +letters home, filled with gossip which I knew, or hoped, would make +Margaret writhe. I had not found it so easy to forget her as I had +supposed it would be. Flora's power over me was sovereign; but when I +was weary of the dazzle and whirl of the life she led me,--when I +looked into the depths of my heart, and saw what the thin film of +passion and pleasure concealed,--in those serious moments which would +come, and my soul put stern questions to me,--then, +Sir,--then--Margaret had her revenge. +<p> +"A month, crowded and glittering with novelty and incident, preceded +our departure for Switzerland. I accompanied Flora's party; Joseph +remained behind. We left Paris about the middle of June, and returned +in September. I have no words to speak of that era in my life. I saw, +enjoyed, suffered, learned so much! Flora was always glad, +magnificent, irresistible. But, as I knew her longer, my moments of +misgiving became more frequent and profound. If I had aspired to +nothing higher than a life of sensuous delights, she would have been +all I could wish. But---- +<p> +"We were to spend the winter in Italy. Meanwhile, we had another month +in Paris. Here I had found Joseph again, who troubled me a good deal +with certain rumors he had received concerning Margaret. According to +these, she had been in feeble health ever since we left, and her +increasing delicacy was beginning to alarm her friends. 'But,' added +another of Joseph's correspondents, 'don't let Westwood flatter +himself that he is the cause, for she is cured of him; and there is +talk of an engagement between her and a handsome young clergyman, who +is both eloquent and fascinating.' +<p> +"This bit of gossip made me very bitter and angry. 'Forget me so +soon?' I said; 'and receive the attentions of another man?' You see +how consistent I was, to condemn her for the very fault I had myself +been so eager to commit! +<p> +"Well, the round of rides, excursions, soirées, visits to the operas +and theatres, walks on the Boulevards, and in the galleries of the +Louvre, ended at last. The evening before we were to set out for the +South of France, I was at my lodgings, unpacking and repacking the +luggage which I had left in Joseph's care during my absence among the +Alps; I was melancholy, dissatisfied with the dissipations which had +exhausted my time and energies, and thinking of Margaret. I had not +preserved a single memento of her; and now I wished I had one,--if +only a withered leaf, or a line of her writing. In this mood, I +chanced to cast my eye upon a stray glove, in the bottom of my +trunk. I snatched at it eagerly, and, in the impulse of the +moment,--before I reflected that I was wronging Flora,--pressed it to +my lips. Yes, I found the place where it had been mended, the spot +Margaret's fingers had touched, and gave it a kiss for every +stitch. Then, incensed at myself, I flung it from me, and hurried from +the room. I walked towards the Place de la Concorde, where the +brilliant lamps burned like a constellation. I strolled through the +Elysian Fields, and watched the lights of the carriages swarming like +fire-flies up the long avenue; stopped by the concert gardens, and +listened to the glorified girls singing under rosy and golden +pavilions the last songs of the season; wandered about the +fountains,--by the gardens of the Tuileries, where the trees stood so +shadowy and still, and the statues gleamed so pale,--along the quays +of the Seine, where the waves rolled so dark below,--trying to settle +my thoughts, to master myself, to put Margaret from me. +<p> +"Weary at length, I returned to my chamber, seated myself composedly, +and looked down at the glove which lay where I had thrown it, upon the +polished floor. Mechanically I stooped and took up a bit of folded +paper. It was written upon,--I unrolled it, and read. It was as if I +had opened the record of doom! Had the apparition of Margaret herself +risen suddenly before me, I could not have been more astounded. It was +a note from her,--and such a note!--full of love, suffering, and +humility,--poured out of a heart so deep and tender and true, that the +shallowness of my own seemed utterly contemptible, in comparison with +it. I cannot tell you what was written, but it was more than even my +most cruel and exacting pride could have asked. It was what would once +have made me wild with joy,--now it almost maddened me with +despair. I, who had often talked fine philosophy to others, had not a +grain of that article left to physic my own malady. But one course +seemed plain before me, and that was, to go quietly and drown myself +in the Seine, which I had seen flowing so swift and dark under the +bridges, an hour ago, when I stood and mused upon the tragical corpses +its solemn flood had swallowed. +<p> +"I am a little given to superstition, and the mystery of the note +excited me. I have no doubt but there was some subtile connection +between it and the near presence of Margaret's spirit, of which I had +that night been conscious. But the note had reached me by no +supernatural method, as I was at first half inclined to believe. It +was, probably, the touch, the atmosphere, the ineffably fine influence +which surrounded it, which had penetrated my unconscious perceptions, +and brought her near. The paper, the glove, were full of +Margaret,--full of something besides what we vaguely call mental +associations,--full of emanations of the very love and suffering which +she had breathed into the writing. +<p> +"How the note came there upon the floor was a riddle which I was too +much bewildered to explain by any natural means. Joseph, who burst in +upon me, in my extremity of pain and difficulty, solved it at once. It +had fallen out of the glove, where it had lain folded, silent, +unnoticed, during all this intervening period of folly and vexation of +soul. Margaret had done her duty, in time; I had only myself to blame +for the tangle in which I now found myself. I was thinking of Flora, +upon the deck of the steamship, when, in a moment of chagrin, she had +been so near throwing herself over; wondering to what fate her passion +and impetuosity would hurry her now, if she knew; cursing myself for +my weakness and perfidy; while Joseph kept asking me what I intended +to do. +<p> +"'Do? do?' I said, furiously,--'I shall kill you, that is what I shall +do, if you drive me mad with questions which neither angels nor fiends +can answer!' +<p> +"'I know what you will do,' said Joseph; 'you will go home and marry +Margaret.' +<p> +"You can have no conception of the effect of these words,--<i>Go home +and marry Margaret</i>. I shook as I have seen men shake with the +ague. All that might have been,--what might be still,--the happiness +cast away, and perhaps yet within my reach,--the temptation of the +Devil, who appealed to my cowardice, to fly from Flora, break my vows, +risk my honor and her life, for Margaret,--all this rushed through me +tumultuously. At length I said,-- +<p> +"'No, Joseph; I shall do no such thing. I can never be worthy of +Margaret; it will be only by fasting and prayer that I can make myself +worthy of Flora.' +<p> +"'Will you start for Italy in the morning?' he asked, pitilessly. +<p> +"'For Italy in the morning?' I groaned. Meet Flora, travel with her, +play the hypocrite, with smiles on my lips and hell in my heart,--or +thunderstrike her at once with the truth;--what was I to do? To some +men the question would, perhaps, have presented few difficulties. But +for me, Sir, who am not quite devoid of conscience, whatever you may +think,--let me tell you, I'd rather hang by sharp hooks over a +roasting fire than be again suspended as I was betwixt two such +alternatives, and feel the torture of both! +<p> +"Having driven Joseph away, I locked myself into my room, and suffered +the torments of the damned in as quiet a manner as possible, until +morning. Then Joseph returned, and looked at me with dismay. +<p> +"'For Heaven's sake!' he said, 'you ought not to let this thing kill +you,--and it will, if you keep on.' +<p> +"'So much the better,' I said, 'if it kills nobody but me. But don't +be alarmed. Keep perfectly cool, and attend to the commission I am +going to trust to you. I can't see Flora this morning; I must gain a +little time. Go to the station of the Lyons railway, where I have +engaged to meet her party; say to her that I am detained, but that I +will join her on the journey. Give her no time to question you, and be +sure that she does not stay behind.' +<p> +"'I'll manage it,--trust me!' said Joseph. And off he started. At the +end of two hours, which seemed twenty, he burst into my room, +crying,-- +<p> +"'Good news! she is gone! I told her you had lost your passport, and +would have to get another from our minister.' +<p> +"'What!' I exclaimed, 'you lied to her?' +<p> +"'Oh! there was no other way!' said Joseph, ingenuously,--'she is so +sharp! They're to wait for you at Marseilles. But I'll manage that, +too. On their arrival at the Hotel d'Orient, they'll find a +telegraphic dispatch from me. I wager a hat, they'll leave in the +first steamer for Naples. Then you can follow at your leisure.' +<p> +"'Thank you, Joseph.' +<p> +"I felt relieved. Then came a reaction. The next day I was attacked +by fever. I know not how long I struggled against it, but it mastered +me. The last things I remember were the visits of friends, the strange +talk of a French physician, whispers and consultations, which I knew +were about me, yet took no interest in,--and at length Joseph rushing +to my bedside, in a flutter of agitation, and gasping,-- +<p> +"'Flora!' +<p> +"'What of Flora?' I demanded. +<p> +"'I telegraphed, but she wouldn't go; she has come back; she is here!' +<p> +"I was sinking back into the stupor from which I had been roused, when +I heard a rustling which seemed afar off, yet was in my chamber; then +a vision appeared to my sickened sight,--a face which I dimly thought +I had seen before,--a flood of curls and a rain of kisses showering +upon me,--sobs and devouring caresses,--Flora's voice calling me +passionate names; and I lying so passive, faintly struggling to +remember, until my soul sank whirling in darkness, and I knew no more. +<p> +"One morning, I cannot tell you how long after, I awoke and found +myself in a strange-looking room, filled with strange objects, not the +least strange of which was the thing that seemed myself. At first I +looked with vague and motionless curiosity out of the Lethe from which +my mind slowly emerged; painless, and at peace; listlessly questioning +whether I was alive or dead,--whether the limp weight lying in bed +there was my body,--the meaning of the silence and the closed +curtains. Then, with a succession of painful flashes, as if the pole +of an electrical battery had been applied to my brain, memory +returned,--Margaret, Flora, Paris, delirium. I next remember hearing +myself groan aloud,--then seeing Joseph at my side. I tried to speak, +but could not. Upon my pillow was a glove, and he placed it against my +cheek. An indescribable, excruciating thrill shot through me; still I +could not speak. After that, came a relapse. Like Mrs. Browning's +poet, I lay +<blockquote> + + ''Twixt gloom and gleam,<br> + With Death and Life at each extreme.' +</blockquote> +<p> +"But one morning I was better. I could talk. Joseph bent over me, +weeping for joy. +<p> +"'The danger is past!' he said. 'The doctors say you will get well!' +<p> +"'Have I been so ill, then?' +<p> +"'Ill?' echoed Joseph. 'Nobody thought you could live. We all gave you +up, except her;--and she'---- +<p> +"'She!' I said,--'is she here?' +<p> +"'From the moment of her arrival,' replied Joseph, 'she has never left +you. Oh, if you don't thank God for her,'--he lowered his +voice,--'and live all the rest of your life just to reward her, you +are the most ungrateful wretch! You would certainly have died but for +her. She has scarcely slept, till this morning, when they said you +would recover.' +<p> +"Joseph paused. Every word he spoke went down like a weight of lead +into my soul. I had, indeed, been conscious of a tender hand soothing +my pillow, of a lovely form flitting through my dreams, of a breath +and magnetic touch of love infusing warm, sweet life into me,--but it +had always seemed Margaret, never Flora. +<p> +"'The glove?' I asked. +<p> +"'Here it is,' said Joseph. 'In your delirium you demanded it; you +would not be without it; you caressed it, and addressed to it the +tenderest apostrophes.' +<p> +"'And Flora,--she heard?' +<p> +"'Flora?' repeated Joseph. 'Don't you know--haven't you any idea--what +has happened? It has been terrible!' +<p> +"'Tell me at once!' I said. 'Keep nothing back!' +<p> +"'Immediately on her return from Marseilles,--you remember that?' +<p> +"'Yes, yes! go on!' +<p> +"'She established herself here. Nobody could come between her and you; +and a brave, true girl she proved herself. Oh, but she was wild about +you! She offered the doctors extravagant sums--she would have bribed +Heaven itself, if she could--not to let you die. But there came a +time,--one night, when you were raving about Margaret,--I tell you, it +was terrible! She would have the truth, and so I told +her,--everything, from the beginning. It makes me shudder now to think +of it,--it struck her so like death!' +<p> +"'What did she say?--what did she do?' +<p> +"'She didn't say much,--"Oh, my God! my God!"--something like that. +The next morning she showed me a letter which she had written to +Margaret.' +<p> +"'To Margaret?' I started up, but fell back again, helpless, with a +groan. +<p> +"'Yes,' said Joseph,--'and it was a letter worthy of the noblest +woman. I wrote another, for I thought Margaret ought to know +everything. It might save her life, and yours, too. In the mean time, +I had got worse news from her still,--that her health continued to +decline, and that her physician saw no hope for her except in a voyage +to Italy. But that she resolutely refused to undertake, until she got +those letters. You know the rest.' +<p> +"'The rest?' I said, as a horrible suspicion flashed upon me. 'You +told me something terrible had happened.' +<p> +"'Yes,--to Flora. But you have heard the worst. She is gone; she is by +this time in Rome.' +<p> +"'Flora gone? But you said she was here.' +<p> +"'<i>She?</i> So <i>she</i> is! But did you think I meant Flora? I +supposed you knew. Not Flora,--but Margaret! Margaret!' +<p> +"I shrieked out, 'Margaret?' That's the last I remember,--at least, +the last I can tell. She was there,--I was in her arms;--she had +crossed the sea, not to save her own life, but mine. And Flora had +gone, and my dreams were true; and the breath and magnetic touch of +love, which infused warm, sweet life into me, and seemed not Flora's, +but Margaret's, were no illusion, and----what more can I tell? +<p> +"From the moment of receiving those letters, Margaret's energies were +roused, and she had begun to regain her health. There is no such +potent medicine as hope and love. It had saved her, and it saved +me. My recovery was sure and speedy. The happiness which had seemed +too great, too dear to be ever possible, was now mine. She was with me +again, all my own! Only the convalescent, who feels the glow of love +quicken the pure pulses of returning health, knows what perfect bliss +is. +<p> +"As soon as I was strong enough to travel, we set out for Italy, the +faithful Joseph accompanying us. We enjoyed Florence, its palaces and +galleries of art, the quaint old churches, about which the religious +sentiment of ages seems to hang like an atmosphere, the morning and +evening clamor of musical bells, the Arno, and the olive-crowned +Tuscan hills,--all so delightful to the senses and the soul. After +Florence, Naples, with its beautiful, dangerous, volcanic environs, +where the ancients aptly located their heaven and hell, and where a +luxurious, passionate people absorbs into its blood the spirit of the +soil, and the fire and languor of the clime. From Naples to Rome, +where we saw St Peter's, that bubble on the surface of the globe, +which the next earthquake may burst, the Vatican, with its marvels of +statuary, the ruined temples of the old gods and heroes, the Campagna, +the Pope, and--Flora. We had but a glimpse of her. It was one night, +at the Colosseum. We had been musing about that vast and solemn pile +by the moonlight, which silvered it over with indescribable beauty, +and at last, accompanied by our guides, bearing torches, we ascended +through dark and broken passages to the upper benches of the +amphitheatre. As we were passing along one side, we saw picturesquely +moving through the shadows of the opposite walls, with the immense +arena between, the red-flaring torches and half-illuminated figures of +another party of visitors. I don't know whether it was instinct, or +acuteness of vision, that suggested Flora; but, with a sudden leap of +the heart, I felt that she was there. We descended, and passed out +under the dark arches of the stupendous ruin. The other visitors +walked a little in advance of us,--two of the number lingering behind +their companions; and certain words of tenderness and passion we +heard, which strangely brought to my mind those nights on the +ocean-steamer. +<p> +"'What is the matter with you?' said Margaret, looking in my face. +<p> +"'Hush!' I whispered,--'there--that woman--is Flora!' +<p> +"She clung to me,--I drew her closer, as we paused; and the happy +couple went on, over the ancient Forum, by the silent columns of the +ruined temples, and disappeared from sight upon the summit of the +Capitoline Hill. +<p> +"A few months later, we heard of the marriage of Flora to an English +baronet; she is now <i>my Lady</i>, and I must do her the justice to +say that I never knew a woman better fitted to bear that title. As +for Margaret,--if you will return with me to my home on the Hudson, +after we have finished our hunt after those Western lands, you shall +see her, together with the loveliest pair of children that ever made +two proud parents happy. +<p> +"And here," added Westwood, "we have arrived at the end of our day's +journey; we have had the Romance of the Glove, and now--let's have +some supper." + +<br><br><br> + +<br><br><br> + +<table border="0"> +<tr> +<td width="33%"> </td> +<td width="67%"> +<center> +<h2> +<a name="3">TO ----.</a> +</h2> +<h3> +ON RECEIVING HIS<br> +"FEW VERSES FOR A FEW FRIENDS." +</h3> +<h4> +"(PRINTED, NOT PUBLISHED.)" +</h4> +</center> +<br><br> +<p> + Well thought! Who would not rather hear<br> + The songs to Love and Friendship sung,<br> + Than those which move the stranger's tongue<br> + And feed his unselected ear? +<p> + Our social joys are more than fame;<br> + Life withers in the public look:<br> + Why mount the pillory of a book,<br> + Or barter comfort for a name? +<p> + Who in a house of glass would dwell,<br> + With curious eyes at every pane?<br> + To ring him in and out again<br> + Who wants the public crier's bell? +<p> + To see the angel in one's way,<br> + Who wants to play the ass's part,<br> + Bear on his back the wizard Art,<br> + And in his service speak or bray? +<p> + And who his manly locks would shave<br> + And quench the eyes of common sense,<br> + To share the noisy recompense<br> + That mocked the shorn and blinded slave? +<p> + The heart has needs beyond the head,<br> + And, starving in the plenitude<br> + Of strange gifts, craves its common food,<br> + Our human nature's daily bread. +<p> + We are but men: no gods are we<br> + To sit in mid-heaven, cold and bleak,<br> + Each separate, on his painful peak,<br> + Thin-cloaked in self-complacency! +<p> + Better his lot whose axe is swung<br> + In Wartburg woods, or that poor girl's<br> + Who by the Ilm her spindle whirls<br> + And sings the songs that Luther sung, +<p> + Than his, who, old and cold and vain,<br> + At Weimar sat, a demigod,<br> + And bowed with Jove's imperial nod<br> + His votaries in and out again! +<p> + Ply, Vanity, thy wingèd feet!<br> + Ambition, hew thy rocky stair!<br> + Who envies him who feeds on air<br> + The icy splendors of his seat? +<p> + I see your Alps above me cut<br> + The dark, cold sky,--and dim and lone<br> + I see ye sitting, stone on stone,<br> + With human senses dulled and shut. +<p> + I could not reach you, if I would,<br> + Nor sit among your cloudy shapes;<br> + And (spare the fable of the Grapes<br> + And Fox) I would not, if I could. +<p> + Keep to your lofty pedestals!<br> + The safer plain below I choose:<br> + Who never wins can rarely lose,<br> + Who never climbs as rarely falls. +<p> + Let such as love the eagle's scream<br> + Divide with him his home of ice:<br> + For me shall gentler notes suffice,--<br> + The valley-song of bird and stream, +<p> + The pastoral bleat, the drone of bees,<br> + The flail-beat chiming far away,<br> + The cattle-low at shut of day,<br> + The voice of God in leaf and breeze! +<p> + Then lend thy hand, my wiser friend,<br> + And help me to the vales below,<br> + (In truth, I have not far to go,)<br> + Where sweet with flowers the fields extend. +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br><br><br> + +<br><br><br> +<center> +<h2> +<a name="4">THE SINGING-BIRDS AND THEIR SONGS.</a> +</h2> +</center> +<br> +<p> +Those persons enjoy the most happiness, if possessed of a benevolent +heart and favored by ordinary circumstances of fortune, who have +acquired by habit and education the power of deriving pleasure from +objects that lie immediately around them. But these common sources of +happiness are opened to those only who are endowed with genius, or who +have received a certain kind of intellectual training. The more +ordinary the mental and moral organization and culture of the +individual, the more far-fetched and dear-bought must be his +enjoyments. Nature has given us in full development only those +appetites which are necessary to our physical well-being. She has +left our moral appetites and capacities in the germ, to be developed +by education and circumstances. Hence those agreeable sensations that +come chiefly from the exercise of the imagination, which may be called +the pleasures of sentiment, are available only to persons of a +peculiar refinement of mind. The ignorant and rude may be dazzled and +delighted by physical beauty, and charmed by loud and stirring sounds; +but those more simple melodies and less attractive colors and forms +that appeal to the mind for their principal effect act more powerfully +upon individuals of superior culture. +<p> +In proportion as we have been trained to be agreeably affected by the +outward forms of Nature, and the sounds that proceed from the animate +and inanimate world, are we capable of being made happy without +resorting to expensive and vulgar recreations. It ought, therefore, to +be one of the chief points in the education of youth, while teaching +them the still more important offices of humanity, to cultivate and +enliven their susceptibility to the charms of natural objects. Then +would the aspects of Nature, continually changing with the progress of +the seasons and the sounds that enliven their march, satisfy, in a +great measure, that craving for agreeable sensations which leads +mankind away from humble and healthful pursuits to those of a more +artificial and exciting life. The value of such pleasures consists not +so much in their cheapness as in their favorable moral influences, +which improve the heart, while they lead the mind to observations that +pleasantly exercise and develope, without tasking its powers. The +quiet emotions, half musical and half poetical, which are awakened by +listening to the songs of birds, belong to this class of refined +enjoyments. +<p> +But the music of birds, though agreeable to all, conveys positive and +durable pleasure only to those who have learned to associate with +their notes, in connection with the scenes of Nature, a thousand +interesting and romantic images. To many persons of this character it +affords more delight than the most brilliant music of the opera or the +concert. In vain, therefore, will it be said, as an objection, that +the notes of birds have no charm, save that which is derived from +association, and that, considered as music, they do not equal that of +the most simple reed or flageolet. It is sufficient to remark, that +the most delightful influences of Nature proceed from those sights and +sounds that appeal to the imagination and affections through the +medium of slight and almost insensible impressions made upon the eye +and the ear. At the moment when these physical impressions exceed a +certain mean, the spell is broken, and the enjoyment becomes sensual, +not intellectual. How soon, indeed, would the songs of birds lose +their effect, if they were loud and brilliant, like a band of +instruments! It is their simplicity that gives them their charm. +<p> +As a further illustration of this point, it may be remarked that +simple melodies have among all people exercised a greater power over +the imagination than louder and more complicated music. Nature employs +a very small amount of physical sensation to create an intellectual +passion, and when an excess is used a diminished effect is produced. I +am persuaded that the effect of a great part of our sacred music is +lost by an excess of harmony and a too great volume of sound. On the +same principle, a loud crash of thunder deafens and terrifies; but its +low and distant rumbling produces an agreeable emotion of sublimity. +<p> +The songs of birds are as intimately allied with poetry as with +music. The lark has been aptly denominated a "feathered lyric" by one +of the English poets; and the analogy becomes apparent when we +consider how much the song of a bird resembles a lyrical ballad in its +influence on the mind. Though it utters no words, how plainly it +suggests a long train of agreeable images of love, beauty, friendship, +and home! When a young person has suffered any severe wound of the +affections, he seldom fails, if endowed with a sensitive mind, to +listen to the birds as sharers in his affliction. Through them the +deities of the groves seem to offer him their consolation. By +indulging this habit of making companionship with the objects of +Nature, all pleasing sights and sounds gradually become certain +anodynes for his sorrow; and those who have this mental alembic for +turning grief into a poetic melancholy can seldom be reduced to a +state of absolute despondency. Poetry, or rather the poetic sentiment, +exalts all our pleasures and soothes all our afflictions by some +illusive charm, whether it be turned into the channel of religion or +romance. Without this reflection of light from the imagination, what +is the passion of love? and what is our love of beauty and of sweet +sounds, but a mere gravitation? +<p> +The voice of every singing-bird has its associations in the minds of +all susceptible persons who were born and nurtured within the +precincts of its untutored minstrelsy. The music of birds is +modulated in pleasant unison with all the chords of affection and +imagination, filling the soul with a lively consciousness of happiness +and beauty, and soothing it with romantic visions of memory,--of love, +when it was an ethereal sentiment of adoration and not a passion, and +of friendship, when it was a passion and not an expedience,--of dear +and simple adventures, and of comrades who had part in them,--of +dappled mornings, and serene and glowing sunsets,--of sequestered +nooks and mossy seats in the old wood,--of paths by the riverside, and +flowers that smiled a bright welcome to our rambling,--of lingering +departures from home, and of old by-ways, overshadowed by trees and +hedged with roses and viburnums, that spread their shade and their +perfume around our path to gladden our return. By this pleasant +instrumentality has Nature provided for the happiness of those who +have learned to be delighted with the survey of her works, and with +the sound of those voices which she has appointed to communicate to +the human soul the joys of her inferior creation. +<p> +The singing-birds, with reference to their songs, may be divided into +four classes. First, the Rapid Singers, whose song is uninterrupted, +of considerable length, and uttered with fervor, and in apparent +ecstasy. Second, the Moderate Singers, whose notes are slowly +modulated, but without pauses or rests between their different +strains. Third, the Interrupted Singers, who seldom modulate their +notes with rapidity, and make decided pauses between their several +strains, of which there are in general from five to eight or +nine. Fourth, the Warblers, whose notes consist of only one or two +strains, not combined into a song. +<p> +The canary, among foreign birds, and the linnet and bobolink, among +American birds, are familiar examples of the first class; the common +robin and the veery of the second; the wood-thrush, the cat-bird, and +the mocking-bird, of the third; and the blue-bird, the pewee, and the +purple martin, of the fourth class. It may be added, that some birds +are nearly periodical in their habits of singing, preferring the +morning and evening, and occasional periods in other parts of the day, +while others sing almost indifferently at all hours. The greater +number of species, however, are more tuneful in the early morning than +at any other hour. +<p> +June, in this part of the world, is the most vocal month of the +year. Many of our principal songsters do not arrive until near the +middle of May; and all, whether they come early or late, continue in +song throughout the month of June. The bobolink, which is one of the +first to become silent, continues vocal until the second week in +July. So nearly simultaneous is the discontinuance of the songs of +this species, that it might seem as if their silence were +preconcerted, and that by a vote they had, on a certain day, adjourned +over to another year. If an unusually genial day occurs about the +seventh of July, we may hear multitudes of them singing merrily on +that occasion. Should this time be followed by two or three +successive days of chilly and rainy weather, their tunefulness is so +generally brought to a close during this period, that we may not hear +another musical note from a single individual after the seventh. The +songs of birds are discontinued as soon as their amorous dalliances +and the care of their offspring have ceased. Hence those birds that +raise but one brood of young during the season, like the bobolink, are +the first to become silent. +<p> +No one of the New England birds is an autumnal warbler; though the +song-sparrow often greets the fine mornings in October with his lays, +and the shore-lark, after spending the summer in Labrador and about +the shores of Hudson's Bay, is sometimes heard in autumn, soaring and +singing at the dawn of day, while on his passage to the South. The +bobolink, the veery, or Wilson's thrush, the red thrush, and the +golden robin, are silent after the middle of July; the wood-thrush, +the cat-bird, and the common robin, not until a month later; but the +song-sparrow alone continues to sing throughout the summer. The +tuneful season of the year, in New England, embraces a period of about +four months, from the middle of April to the middle of August. +<p> +There are certain times of the day, as well as certain seasons of the +year, when the birds are most musical. The grand concert of the +feathered tribe takes place during the hour between dawn and sunrise. +During the remainder of the day they sing less in concert, though many +species are very musical at noonday, and seem, like the nocturnal +birds, to prefer the hour when others are silent. At sunset there is an +apparent attempt to unite once more in chorus, but this is far from +being so loud or so general as in the morning. The little birds which +I have classed in the fourth division are a very important +accompaniment to the anthem of dawn, their notes, though short, +serving agreeably to fill up the pauses made by the other +musicians. Thus, the hair-bird (<i>Fringilla Socialis</i>) has a sharp +and trilling note, without any modulation, and not at all melodious, +when heard alone; but in the morning it is the chief harmonizer of the +whole chorus, and serves, more than any other voice, to give unity and +symphony to the multitude of miscellaneous parts. +<p> +There are not many birds whose notes could be accurately described +upon the gamut. The nearest approach we can make to accuracy is to +give some general idea of their time and modulation. Their musical +intervals can be distinguished but with difficulty, on account of the +rapidity of their utterance. I have often attempted to transcribe some +of their notes upon the musical scale, but I am persuaded that such +sketches can be only approximations to literal correctness. As +different individuals of the same species sing very differently, the +notes, as transcribed from the song of one individual, will never +exactly represent the song of another. If we listen attentively, +however, to a number of songs, we shall detect in all of them a +<i>theme</i>, as it is termed by musicians, of which the different +individuals of the species warble their respective variations. Every +song is, technically speaking, a <i>fantasia</i> constructed upon this +theme, from which none of the species ever departs. +<p> +It is very generally believed that the singing-birds are confined to +temperate latitudes, and that the tropical birds have not the gift of +song. That this is an error is apparent from the testimony of +travellers, who speak of the birds in the Sandwich Islands and New +Zealand as singing delightfully, and some fine songsters are +occasionally imported in cages from tropical climates. The origin of +this notion may be explained in several ways. It is worthy of notice +that within the tropics the singing season of different species of +birds does not occur at the same time. One species may be musical in +the spring, another in summer, and others in autumn and winter. When +one species, therefore, has begun to sing, another has ceased, so +that, at whatever time of the year the traveller stops, he hears but +few birds engaged in song. +<p> +In the temperate latitudes, on the contrary, as soon as the birds +arrive, they commence building their nests, and become musical at the +same time. If a stranger from a tropical climate should arrive in this +country in the spring, and remain here during the months of May and +June, he would hear more birds singing together than he ever heard at +once in his own clime; but were he to arrive about the middle of July, +when the greater number of our birds have discontinued their songs, he +would probably, if he knew the reputation of the Northern birds, +marvel a little at their silence. If there are as many birds singing +at one time during the whole year, in the hot climates, as we hear in +this country in the latter half of summer, the greater average would +appear to be on the side of the former. +<p> +It may also be remarked, that the singing-birds of the tropics are not +so well known as those of temperate latitudes which are inhabited by +civilized men. The savages and barbarians, who are the principal +inhabitants of hot countries, are seldom observant of the habits or +the voices of the singing-birds. A musician of the feathered race, as +well as a harpist or violinist, must have an appreciating audience, or +his powers can never be made known to the world. But even with the +same audience, the tropical singing-birds would probably be less +esteemed than songsters of equal merit in the temperate latitudes; +for, amid the stridulous and deafening sounds made by the insects in +warm climates, the notes of birds would be scarcely audible. +<p> +We are still inclined to believe, however, that there is a larger +proportion of musical birds in the temperate than in the torrid zone, +because in the former region there are more of those species that +build low and live among the grass and shrubbery, and it is well known +that the singing-birds are mostly of the latter description. In warm +climates the vegetation consists chiefly of trees and tall vines, +forming together an umbrageous canopy overhead, with but a scanty +undergrowth. In temperate latitudes the shrubbery predominates, +especially in the most northerly parts. Moreover, the grasses that +furnish by their seeds a great proportion of the food of the smaller +birds are almost entirely wanting in the torrid zone. +<p> +The birds that live in trees are remarkable for their brilliant +plumage; those that live upon the ground and in the shrubbery are +plainly dressed. This is a provision of Nature for their protection, +as the ground-birds must have a predominance of tints that resemble +the general hues of the surface of the earth. I do not know a single +brightly-plumed bird that nestles upon the ground, unless the bobolink +may be considered an exception. They are almost invariably colored +like sparrows. The birds that inhabit the trees, on the other hand, +need less of this protection, though the females are commonly of an +olive or greenish yellow, which harmonizes with the general hue of the +foliage, and screens them from observation, while sitting upon the +nest. The male, on the contrary, who seldom sits upon the nest, +requires a plumage that will render him conspicuous to the female and +to the young, after they have left their nest. It is remarkable, that +Nature, in all cases in which she has created a difference in the +plumage of the male and female, has used the hues of their plumage +only for the protection of the mother and the young, for whose +advantage she has dressed the male parent in colors that must somewhat +endanger his own safety. +<p> +The color of the plumage of birds seems to bear less relation to their +powers of song than to their habitats; and as the birds that live in +trees are commonly less tuneful, they are more brilliantly arrayed. +The bird employs his song in wooing his mate, as well as in +entertaining her after she is wedded; and it is not unlikely that +Nature may have compensated those which are deficient in song by +giving them a superior beauty of plumage. As the offices of courtship +devolve entirely upon the males, it is the more necessary that they +should be possessed of conspicuous attractions; but as the task of +sitting upon the nest devolves upon the female, she requires more of +that protection which arises from the conformity of her plumage with +the general hue of the objects that surround her nest. While she is +sitting, the plain hues of her dress protect her from observation; but +when she leaves her nest to seek her companion, she is enabled by his +brilliant colors the more easily to discover him. The male is diligent +in providing for the wants of the offspring, and hence it is important +that his dress should render him conspicuous. When the young birds +have left the nest, upon seeing the flash of his plumage, they +immediately utter their call, and by this note, which might not +otherwise be sounded at the right moment, he detects them and supplies +them with food. Should a bird of prey suddenly come into their +neighborhood, he overlooks the plainly-dressed mother and off-spring, +and gives chase to the male parent, who not only escapes, but at the +same time diverts the attention of the foe from his defenceless +progeny. +<p> +But the birds that build low, either upon the ground or among the +shrubbery, are exposed to a greater number and variety of +enemies. Hence it becomes necessary that the males as well as the +females should have that protection which is afforded by sobriety of +color. Not being made conspicuous by their plumage, they are endowed +with the gift of song, that they may make known their presence to +their mate and their young by their voice. I have often thought that +the song of the bird was designed by Nature for the benefit of the +young, no less than for the entertainment of his mate. The sounds +uttered by birds on account of their young always precede the period +of incubation. The common hen begins to cluck several days before she +begins to sit upon her eggs. In like manner the male singing-bird +commences his song when the pair are making ready to build their +nest. While his mate is sitting, his song reminds her of his presence, +and inspires her with a feeling of security and content, during the +period of her confinement. As soon as the young are hatched, they +begin to learn his voice and grow accustomed to it, and when they fly +from the nest they are prevented by the sound of it from wandering and +getting bewildered. If they happen to fly beyond certain bounds, the +song of the male parent warns them of their distance, and causes them +to turn and draw near the place from which it seems to issue. Thus the +song of the male bird, always uttered within a certain circumference, +of which the nest is the centre, becomes a kind of sentinel voice, to +keep the young birds within prudent limits. +<p> +It is not easy to explain why a larger proportion of the birds that +occupy trees should be destitute of song, except on the supposition +that in such elevated situations the young are more easily guided by +sight than by hearing. Still there are many songsters which are +dressed in brilliant plumage, and of these we have some examples among +our native birds. These, however, are evident exceptions to the +general fact, and we may trace a plain analogy in this respect between +birds and insects. The musical insects are, we believe, invariably +destitute of brilliant plumage. Butterflies and moths do not sing; the +music of insects comes chiefly from the plainly-dressed locust and +grasshopper tribes. + +<br><br><br> + +<br><br><br> + +<center> +<h2> +<a name="5">OUR TALKS WITH UNCLE JOHN</a>. +</h2> +<h3> +TALK NUMBER ONE. +</h3> +</center> +<br> +<p> +We were happy children, Alice and I, when, on Alice's sixteenth +birthday, we persuaded our father, the most indulgent parent in +Cincinnati, that there was no need of our going to school any longer; +not that our education was finished,--we did not even put up such a +preposterous plea as that,--but because Mrs. C. did not intend to send +Laura, and we did not believe any of our set of girls would go back +after the holidays. +<p> +There is no being so facile as an American father, especially where +his daughters are concerned; and our dear father was no exception to +the general rule. So our school education was finished. For the +rest, for the real education of our minds and hearts, we took care of +ourselves. +<p> +How could it be otherwise? Our father, a leading merchant in +Cincinnati, spent his days in his counting-room, and his evenings +buried in his newspapers or in his business calculations, on the +absorbing nature of which we had learned to build with such certainty, +that, when his consent was necessary to some scheme of pleasure, we +preferred our requests with such a nice adjustment of time, that the +answer generally was, "January 3d,--two thousand bales,--yes, my +dear,--and twelve are sixteen,--yes, Alice, don't bother me, child!" +and, armed with that unconscious assent, we sought our mother. +<p> +"Papa says that we may go. Do you think, mamma, that Miss D. can have +our dresses in time?" +<p> +Our dear mother, most faithful and indefatigable in her care for our +bodily wants, what time had she for aught else? With feeble health, +with poor servants, with a large house crowded with fine furniture, +and with the claims of a numerous calling and party-giving +acquaintance,--claims which both my father and herself imagined his +business and her social position made imperative,--what could she do +more than to see that our innumerable white skirts were properly +tucked, embroidered, washed, and starched, that our party dresses were +equal to those which Mrs. C. and Mrs. D. provided for their girls, and +that our bonnets were fashionable enough for Fourth Street? Could she +find time for anything more? Yes,--on our bodily ailments she always +found time to bestow motherly care, watchfulness, and sympathy; of our +mental ills she knew nothing. +<p> +So we cared for ourselves, Alice and I, through those merry, +thoughtless two years that followed,--merry (not happy) in our +Fourth-Street promenades, our Saturday-afternoon assignations at the +dancing-school rooms, our parties and picnics; and merry still, but +thoughtless always, in our eager search for excitement in the novels, +whose perusal was our only literary enjoyment. +<p> +Somehow we woke up,--somehow we groped our way out of our +frivolity. First came weariness, then impatience, and last a +passing-away of all things old and a putting-on of things new. +<p> +I remember well the day when Alice first spoke out her unrest. My +pretty Alice! I see her now, as she flung herself across the foot of +the bed, and, her chin on her hand, watched me combing and parting my +hair. I see again those soft, dark brown eyes, so deep in their liquid +beauty that you lost yourself gazing down into them; again I see +falling around her that wealth of auburn hair of the true Titian +color, the smooth, low forehead, and the ripe, red lips, whose +mobility lent such varying expression to her face. +<p> +At that moment the eyes drooped and the lips trembled with weariness. +<p> +"Must we go to that tiresome party, Kate? We have been to three this +week; they are all alike." +<p> +I looked at her. "Are you in earnest? will you stay at home? I know I +shall be tired to death; but what will Laura C. say? what will all +the girls think?" +<p> +Alice raised herself on her elbow. "Kate, I don't believe it is any +matter what they think. Do we really care for any of them, except to +wish them well? and we can wish them well without being with them all +the time. Do you know, Kate, I have been tired to death of all this +for these three months? It was very well at first, when we first left +school; parties were pleasant enough then, but now"--and Alice sprang +from the bed and seated herself in a low chair at my feet, as, glowing +and eager, she went on, her face lighting with her rapid +speech,--"Kate, I have thought it over and over again, this tiresome, +useless life; it wears me out, and I mean to change it. You know we +may do just as we please; neither papa nor mamma will care. I shall stay +at home." +<p> +"But what will people say?" I put in, feebly. +<p> +Alice's eyes flashed. "You know, Kate, I don't care for 'people,' as +you call them. I only know that I am utterly weary of this petty +visiting and gossiping, this round of parties, concerts, and lectures, +where we meet the same faces. There is no harm in it that I know of, +but it is simply so stupid. If we met new people, it would be +something; but the same girls, the same beaux." +<p> +"And George W. and Henry B., what will they do for partners to-night? +what will become of them?" +<p> +Alice put up her lip. "They will console themselves with Laura C. and +those Kentucky girls from Louisville. For my part, I shall put on my +walking-dress, and go over the river to spend the evening with Uncle +John, and, what is more, I shall ask mamma to let me stay two or three +days." And, suiting the action to the word, she began to dress +hurriedly. +<p> +"You will surely never go without me, Alice?" +<p> +"You will never stay behind, if I do go, Kate," said she, looking back +at me laughingly. "But make haste, I shall gain mamma over in five +minutes; and we must be quick, if we are to reach Uncle John's before +tea-time." +<p> +Uncle John,--even now that long years have passed, so long that it +seems to me as if I had gone into another state of existence, as if I +were not the same person as in those times,--even now the thought of +him makes my heart beat quick and the blood thrill more rapidly +through my veins. He was the delight of my childhood; far better, he +was the comfort and support of my after years. Even as a child, I +knew, knew by some intuitive perception, that Uncle John was not +happy. How soon I learned that he was a disappointed man I cannot +tell; but long before I grew up into womanhood I was conscious that he +had made some mistake in life, that some cloud hung over him. I never +asked, I never talked on the subject, even to Alice; there was always +an understanding between us that we should be silent about that which +each of us felt with all the certainty of knowledge. +<p> +But if Uncle John was unhappy himself, who was there that he did not +make happy? No one who came near him,--from his nieces whom he petted +and spoiled, down to the little negroes who rolled, unrebuked, over +the grass before his window in summer, or woke him on a Christmas +morning with their shrill "Christmas gift, Massa John!" Not that Uncle +John was a busybody, troubling himself about many things, and seeking +out occasions for obtruding his kindnesses. He lived so secluded a +life in the old family-house on the outskirts of Newport, (we were a +Kentucky family,) as to raise the gossiping curiosity of all new +residents, and to call forth the explanatory remark from the old +settlers, that the Delanos were all queer people, but John Delano was +the queerest of them all. +<p> +So Uncle John spent his time between his library and his garden, while +Old Aunt Molly took upon herself the cares of the household, and kept +the pantry always in a condition to welcome the guests, to whom, with +Kentucky hospitality, Uncle John's house was always open. Courteous he +was as the finest gentleman of olden times, and sincerely glad to see +his friends, but I have thought sometimes that he was equally glad to +have them go away. While they were with him he gave them the truest +welcome, leaving garden and books to devote himself to their +entertainment; but I have detected a look of relief on his face as he +shut the gate upon them and sought the shelter of his own little +study, that sanctum which even we children were not allowed to enter +except on special occasions, on a quiet winter evening, or, perhaps, +on as quiet a summer morning. +<p> +Uncle John had not always lived in the old house. We knew, that, after +Grandpapa's death, it had been shut up,--for my father's business +engagements would not allow my mother to reside in it, and Uncle John +had been for years among the Indians in the far Northwest. We had +heard of him sometimes, but we had never seen him, we hardly realized +that he was a living person, till one day he suddenly appeared among +us, rough-looking and uncouth in his hunter's dress, with his heavy +beard and his long hair, bringing with him his multifarious +assortment, so charming to our eyes, of buffalo-robes and elk-horns, +wolf-skins and Indian moccasins. +<p> +He staid with us that winter, and very merry and happy he seemed to us +at first;--looking back upon it now, I should call it, not happiness, +but excitement;--but as the winter passed on, even we children saw +that all was not right with him. He gradually withdrew himself from +the constant whirl of society in our house, and, by the spring, had +settled himself in the old home at Newport, adding to his old +furniture only his books, which he had been all winter collecting, and +the primitive <i>in</i>conveniences of his own room, which his rough +Western life had rendered indispensable to him. His study presented a +singular mixture of civilization and barbarism, and its very +peculiarities made it a delight to Alice and me. There were a few rare +engravings on the walls, hung between enormous antlers which supported +rough-looking rifles and uncouth hunting-shirts,--cases of elegantly +bound and valuable books, half hidden by heavy buffalo-robes marked +all over with strange-looking hieroglyphics which told the Indian +<i>coups</i>,--study-chairs of the most elaborate manufacture, with +levers and screws to incline them to any, the idlest, inclination, +over the backs of which hung white wolf-skins, mounted, claws and all, +with brilliant red cloth,--and in the corner, on the pretty Brussels +carpet, the prettiest that mamma could find at Shellito's, lay the bag +of Indian weed (Uncle John scorned tobacco) with which he filled his +pipe every evening, and the moccasins which he always wore when at +home. +<p> +In vain did Alice and I spend our eyesight in embroidering slippers +for him; our Christmas gifts were received with a kiss or a stroke of +the head, and then put into Aunt Molly's hands to be taken care of, +while he still wore the rough moccasins, made far up among the +Blackfoot Indians, which he laughingly declared were warmer, cooler, +softer, and stronger than any slippers or boots that civilized +shoemaker ever turned off his last. +<p> +Quiet as it was at the old house, it had always been a source of +happiness to us to be allowed to make a visit to Uncle John. There, +if that were possible, we did more as we pleased than even at home; +there were not even the conventionalities of society to restrain us; +we were in the country, comparatively. And who like Uncle John knew +what real country pleasures were? who like him could provide for every +contingency? who was so full of expedients in those happy gypsying +expeditions which we would entice him into, and which sometimes lasted +for days, nay, weeks? He would mount Alice and myself on two of his +sure-footed little Indian ponies, with which his trader friends always +kept him supplied; and throwing a pair of saddle-bags, filled with +what he called our woman's traps, over his own, he would start with us +for a trip across the country for miles, stopping at the farm-houses +at night, laughing us out of our conventional notions about the +conveniences of lodging, and so forth,--and camping out during the +day, making what we called a continuous picnic. And then the stories +he would tell us of his adventures among the Blackfeet,--of his +trading expeditions,--his being taken prisoner by the Sioux,--his life +in the forts,--till Alice would creep nearer to him in her nervous +excitement, as if to be sure that he was really with her, and then beg +him to go on and tell us something more. Once I asked him how he +happened to go out among the Indians. His face darkened,--"My little +Kate, you must not ask questions,"--and as I turned to Alice, her eyes +were full of tears. She had been looking at him while I spoke, and she +told me afterwards that something about Uncle John's lips made her +cry, they quivered so, and were set afterwards so tight. We never +asked him that question again. +<p> +But the ferry-boat, "The Belle of Newport," has neared the landing +while I have been introducing Uncle John, and the soft summer twilight +saw us wending our way through the town towards the Kentucky hills, +whose rounded outlines were still bright with the evening red. Just +on the rise of the nearest was the Old House,--for it went with us by +no other name,--and at the garden-gate stood Uncle John, his face +brightening as he saw us, while behind him a row of eager faces showed +their wide-stretched mouths and white teeth. +<p> +"Come to spend two or three days, Alice?" said Uncle John, that +evening, as we sat with shaded lamp in the study, his moccasined feet +resting on the window-seat, while he sank into the depths of his +leather-covered Spanish chair. "Why, what has become of the parties +that Aunt Molly heard about in your kitchen on her way to market +yesterday? Where are all our handsome young students that were coming +home for the holidays? Remember, I'll have none of them following you +over here, and disarranging my books by way of showing off their +knowledge." +<p> +Alice laughed. "Not a soul knows where we are, Uncle John, except +mamma, and she promised not to tell. Laura C. has a party to-night, +and she will be provoked enough at our running away; but the truth +is,----well, Uncle John, I am tired of parties; indeed, I am tired of +our way of living, and--and Kate and I thought we would come and ask +you what we ought to do about it." +<p> +Uncle John puckered up his face with a comical expression, and then, +looking out of the window, whistled the Indian buffalo-call. +<p> +Alice sprung up. "Don't whistle that provoking thing, Uncle John! +Indeed, I am thoroughly in earnest,--parties are so tiresome,--all +exactly alike; we always see the same people, or the same sort of +people. There is nothing about them worth having, except the dancing; +and even that is not as good as a scamper over the hills with you and +the ponies. You know we have been going to parties for these two +years; we have seen so much of society, no wonder we are tired of it." +<p> +"Sit down, Alice," said Uncle John; "you do look really in earnest, so +I suppose you must not be whistled at. And you have come all the way +over here this evening to get me to solve Life's problem for you? My +dear, I cannot work it out for myself. You are 'tired of society'? +Why, little one, you have not seen society yet. Suppose I could put +you down to-night in the midst of some European court,--could show you +men whose courage, wit, or learning had made them world-famous,--women +whose beauty, grace, and cultivation brought those world-famous men to +their side, and who held them there by the fascination that +high-breeding knows how to use. Should you talk of sameness then?" +<p> +Alice's eyes sparkled for a moment, then she said,-- +<p> +"Yes, I should tire even of that, after a while, glorious as it would +be at first." +<p> +"Have you reached such sublime heights of philosophy already? Then, +perhaps, I shall not seem to be talking nonsense, when I tell you that +there is nothing in the world of which you would not tire after the +first joy of possession was over, no position which would not seem +monotonous. You do not believe me? Of course not. We all buy our own +experience in life; on one of two rocks we split: either we do not +want a thing after we have got it, or we do not get it till we no +longer want it. Some of us suffer shipwreck both ways. But, Alice, you +must find that out for yourself." +<p> +"Can we not profit by each other's mistakes, Uncle?" +<p> +"No, child. To what purpose should I show you the breakers where my +vessel struck? Do you suppose you will steer exactly in my path? But +what soberness is this? you are not among breakers yet; you are simply +'tired of living';" and Uncle John's smile was too genial to be called +satirical. +<p> +"Tired of not living, I think," replied Alice,--"tired of doing +nothing, of having nothing to do. The girls, Laura and the rest of +them, find so much excitement in what seems to me so stupid!" +<p> +"You are not exactly like 'Laura and the rest of them,' I fancy, my +dear, and what suits them is rather too tame for you. But what do you +propose to do with yourself now that you are beginning to live?" +<p> +"Now you are laughing at me, Uncle, and you will laugh more when I +tell you that I mean to study and to make Kate study with me." +<p> +"Poor Kate!--if you should fancy swimming, shooting, or any other +unheard-of pursuit, Kate would be obliged to swim and shoot with +you. But I will not laugh any more. Study, if you will, Alice; you +will learn fast enough, and, in this age of fast-advancing +civilization, when the chances of eligible matrimony for young ladies +in your station are yearly becoming less and less,--oh, you need not +put up your lip and peep into my bachelor's shaving-glass!--let me +tell you that a literary taste is a recourse not to be despised. Of +course you will study now to astonish me, or to surprise your young +friends, or for some other equally wise reason; but the time may come +when literature will be its own exceeding great reward." +<p> +"Uncle, answer me one thing,--are you as happy here in your quiet +study as you were in your exciting life among the Indians? Do you not +tire of this everyday sameness?" +<p> +"Close questioning, Alice, but I will answer you truly. Other things +being equal, I confess to you that the Indian life was the more +monotonous of the two. I look back now on my twenty years of savage +life and see nothing to vary its dreary sameness; the dangers were +always alike, the excitements always the same, and the rest was a dead +blank. The whole twenty years might be comprised in four words,--we +fought, we hunted, we eat, we slept. No, there is no monotony like +that,--no life so stupid as that of the savage, with his low wants and +his narrow hopes and fears. My life here among my books, which seems +to you so tame, is excitement itself compared with that. Your +stupidest party is full of life, intelligence, wit, when put beside an +Indian powwow. There is but one charm in that wandering life, +Alice,--the free intercourse with Nature; <i>that</i> never tires; but +then you must remember that to enjoy it you must be cultivated up to +it. There needs all the teaching of civilization, nay, the education +of life, to enjoy Nature truly. These quiet hills, these beech +forests, are more to me now than Niagara was at eighteen; and Niagara +itself, which raises the poet above the earth, falls tame on the mind +of the savage. Believe one who knows,--the man of civilization who +goes back to the savage state throws away his life; his very mind +becomes, like the dyer's hand, 'subdued to what it works in.' +<p> +"But I am going out of your depth again, girls," continued he, looking +at our wondering, half-puzzled faces. "Let it go, Alice; Life is a +problem too hard for you to solve as yet; perhaps it will solve +itself. Meantime, we will brighten ourselves up to-morrow by a good +scamper over the hills, and, the next day, if your fancy for study +still holds, we will plan out some hard work, and I will show you what +real study is. Now go to bed; but see first that Aunt Molly has her +sandwiches and gingerbread ready for the morning." +<p> +<h3> +TALK NUMBER TWO. +</h3> +<p> +Uncle John was well qualified to show us what real study was, for in +his early youth he had read hard and long to fit himself for a +literary life. What had changed his course and driven him to the far +West we did not know, but since his return he had brought the +perseverance and judgment of middle life to the studies of his youth, +and in his last ten years of leisure had made himself that rarest of +things among Americans, a scholar, one worthy of the name. +<p> +Under his guidance our studies took life, and Alice threw herself into +them with all the energy of her nature. In vain papa pished and +pshawed, and mamma grieved, and begged John not to spoil the girls by +making bookworms of them; in vain "Laura C. and the rest of them" +entreated us to join this picnic or show ourselves at that party; in +vain the young men professed themselves afraid of us, and the girls +tossed their heads and called us blue-stockings. Alice's answer to all +was, "I like studying; it is a great deal more entertaining than going +to parties; Uncle John's study is pleasanter than Mrs. C.'s parlor, +and a ride on his little Winnebago better fun than dancing." And so +the years went on. We were not out of society,--that could not be in +our house,--but our associates changed; young men of a higher standing +frequented the house; we knew intimately the cultivated women, to +whom, before, we had simply bowed at parties; and mamma and papa grew +quite satisfied. +<p> +Not so Alice; the spirit of unrest was on her again, but this time it +was not because of the weariness of life, but that she was oppressed +by the fulness of her own happiness. She had waked up to life in +waking up to love, and had poured out on Herbert B. the whole wealth +of her heart. There was everything in her engagement to satisfy her +friends, everything to gratify papa and mamma; and if I sometimes +thought Herbert's too feeble a nature to guide hers, or if Uncle John +sometimes talked with or listened to him as if he were measuring his +depth and then went away with an anxious expression of face, who shall +say how much of selfishness influenced us both? for was he not to take +from us the pet and pride of our lives? +<p> +They were to be married in a few weeks, on Alice's twentieth birthday, +and then leave for New York, where Herbert was connected in business +with his father. +<p> +It was on a gloomy December afternoon that Alice came running up to +our room, where I was reading my Italian lesson, and exclaimed,-- +<p> +"Quick, Kate! put away those stupid books, and let us go over to Uncle +John's for the night." +<p> +"Where is Herbert?" +<p> +"Herbert? Nonsense! I have sent him off with orders not to look for me +again till to-morrow, and to-night I mean to pretend that there is no +Herbert in the world. Perhaps this will be my last talk with Uncle +John." +<p> +We walked quickly through the streets, shrouded in the dark +winter-afternoon atmosphere heavy with coal-smoke, the houses on each +side dripping with the fog-drops and looking dirty and cheerless with +the black streaks running from the corners of each window, like tears +down the face of some chimney-sweep or coal-boy, till, reaching the +foot of Ludlow Street, we stood ankle-deep in mud, waiting for the +little steamer, which still ploughed its way through the dark, +sullen-looking water thick with the red mud which the late rise had +brought down, and with here and there heavy pieces of ice floating by. +<p> +"Uncle John will never expect us to-night, Alice." +<p> +"I cannot help it,--I must go; for I shall never be satisfied without +one good talk with him before I leave, and Herbert will never spare me +another evening. Besides, Uncle John will be only too glad to see us +in this suicidal weather, as he will call it." And she sprang upon the +boat, laughing at my woebegone face. +<p> +"You are glad to see us here, Uncle John,--glad we came in spite of +the fog, and sleet, and ice, and Kate's long face. How anybody can +have a long face because of the weather, I cannot understand,--or, +indeed, why there should be long faces at all in the world, when +everything is so gloriously full of life." +<p> +"How many years is it, Alice,--three, I think,--since you were tired +of living, found life so wearisome?" +<p> +"Yes, just about three years since Kate and I ran away from Laura C.'s +party and came over here to ask you to help us out of our stupidity. I +remember it all,--how you puzzled me by telling me that every position +in life had its sameness. Ah, Uncle John, you forgot one thing when +you told me that nothing satisfied us in this world." And Alice looked +up from her little stool, where she sat before the fire at Uncle +John's feet, with the flush of deep feeling coloring her cheeks and +the dewy light of happiness in her eyes. +<p> +"And that one thing, Alice?" +<p> +"You are lying in wait for my answer, to give it that smile that I +hate,--it is so unbelieving and so sad; I will not have you wear it on +your face to-night, Uncle John. You cannot, if I speak my whole heart +out. And why should I not, before you and Kate,--Kate, who is like my +other self, and you, dear Uncle John, who, ever since the time we were +talking about, have been so much to me? Do you know, I never told +anybody before? but all you said that night never left me. I thought +of it so much! Was it true that life was so dissatisfying? You who had +tried so thoroughly, who had gone through such a life of adventure, +had seemed to me really to live, was all as flat and unprofitable to +you as one of our tiresome parties or morning calls? And something in +my own heart told me it was true, something that haunted me all +through my greatest enjoyments, through my studies that I took up +then, and which have been to me, oh, Uncle John, so much more than +ever I expected they would be! Yes, through all that I believed you, +believed you till now, believed you till I knew Herbert." +<p> +"And has Herbert told you better?" +<p> +"Uncle John, you do not know how the whole of life is glorified for +me,--glorified by his love. I do not deserve it; all I can do is to +return it ten-fold; but this I know, that, while I keep it, there can +be nothing tame or dull,--life, everything, is gilded by my own +happiness." +<p> +"And if you lose it?" +<p> +The flush on her face fell. "I should be miserable!--I should not--no, +I could not live any longer!" +<p> +"Alice," said Uncle John, his face losing its half-mocking smile with +which he had been watching her eager countenance, "Alice, did you know +that I had been married?" +<p> +We started. "Married? No. How was it, and when?" +<p> +"It is no matter now, my girls. Some time I may tell you about it. I +should not have spoken of it now, but that I know my little Alice +would not believe a word I am going to tell her, if she thought she +was listening to an old bachelor's croakings. Now I can speak with +authority. You think you could not live without Herbert's love? My +dear, we can live without a great many things that we fancy +indispensable. Nor is it so very easy to die. There comes many a time +in life when it would seem quite according to the fitness of things, +just the proper ending to the romance, to lie down and die; but, +unfortunately, or rather fortunately, dying is a thing that we cannot +do so just in the nick of time; and indeed"--and Uncle John's face +assumed its strange smile, which seemed to take you, as it were, +suddenly behind the scenes, to show you the wrong side of the +tapestry,--"and indeed," he continued, "when I look back on the times +in my life that I should have died, when it was fitting and proper to +die, when I felt that dying would be such a trump card to play, if +only I could manage it, I must say that I am glad now that it was +beyond my power to arrange things according to the melodramatic +rules. As it is, I am alive now. I shake my fist at all the ghosts of +my departed tragedies and say, 'I am worth two of you. I am alive. I +have all the chances of the future in my favor.'" +<p> +Here he caught sight of Alice's wide-opened eyes, and his smile +changed into his own genial laugh, as he kissed her forehead and went +on. +<p> +"That was a little aside, Alice, made to my other self, my +metaphysical man,--not meant at all for my audience. I was meditating +a lecture on the causes of conjugal happiness, but I seem to have +stumbled upon a knot in the very first unwinding of the thread of my +discourse." +<p> +"I'll listen to the lecture, Uncle, though I see but one simple and +all-sufficient cause for my happiness." +<p> +"That Herbert loves you, ha? Know, my pretty neophyte, that happiness, +married happiness especially, does not come from being loved, but from +loving. What says our Coleridge? +<blockquote> + + "'For still the source, not fountain, gives<br> + The daily food on which Love lives.' +</blockquote> +<p> +"And he is right, although you shake your curls. In most marriages, in +all that are not matters of convenience, one party has a stronger +heart, will, character, than the other. And that one loves the most +from the very necessity of his nature, and, loving most, is the +happier. The other falls, after a while, into a passive state, becomes +the mere recipient of love, and finds his or her happiness in +something else, or perhaps does not find it at all." +<p> +"Neither side would satisfy me, Uncle John; I hardly know which fate +would be the more terrible. Do you think I would accept such a +compromise in exchange for all I am living and feeling now? I would +rather be miserable at once than so half-happy." +<p> +"But, my darling, Colin and Chloe cannot spend their whole lives +singing madrigals and stringing daisies. It is not in human nature to +support, for any length of time, such superhuman bliss. The time will +come when Colin will find no more rhymes to 'dove,' and when Chloe +will tire of hearing the same one. It is possible that Herbert will +some time tire of reading Shelley to you,--nay, it is even possible +that the time may come when you will tire of hearing him; it is of +that time I would talk. The present is as perfectly satisfactory to me +as to you and Herbert, though not exactly in the same degree." +<p> +"Well, Uncle, what is your advice to Chloe disillusioned,--if you +insist that such a thing must be?" +<p> +"Simply this, my own dear little child," answered Uncle John, and his +voice took almost a solemn tone in its deep tenderness,--"when that +time comes, as come it must, do not worry your husband with idle +regrets for the past; remember that the husband is not the lover; +remember that your sex love through your imagination, and look always +for that clothing and refining of passion with sentiment, which, with +us, belong only to the poetry and chivalry of youthful ardor. We may +love you as well afterward,--nay, we may love you a great deal +better,--but we cannot take the trouble of telling you so every day; +we expect you to believe it once for all; and you,--you like to hear +it over and over again, and, not hearing it, you begin to fancy it no +longer true, and fall to trying experiments on your happiness. A fatal +error this, Alice. There is nothing that men so often enjoy as the +simply being let alone; but not one woman in a hundred can be made to +believe in such a strange enjoyment. Then the wife becomes +<i>exigeante</i> and impatient, and the husband, after fruitless +attempts to find out what he has done, never suspecting that the real +trouble is what he has left undone, finds her unreasonable, and begins +to harden himself to griefs which he classes, like Miss Edgeworth, +under the head of 'Sorrows of my Lord Plumcake.'" +<p> +"Miserable fate of the nobler sex, Uncle,--disturbed, even in the +sublime heights of philosophical self-possession, by the follies and +unreasonablenesses of the weaker vessel! I suppose you allow men to +live out their natures unrebuked, while women must live down theirs?" +<p> +"Not I, Alice,--but I am by nature a special pleader, and, just now, I +am engaged on Herbert's side of the case. Fee me well, my darling, by +a kiss or a merry look, and bring Herbert up to judgment, and I will +tell him home truths too." +<p> +"Let me hear your argument for the other side, most subtile of +reasoners, and I may, perhaps, be able to repeat them at second-hand, +when occasion calls for them." +<p> +"Don't think of it, my dear! Second-hand arguments are like +second-hand coffee,--the aroma and the strength have disappeared, +never to be brought back again. But if the husband were really here, +and the wife had paid well for properly-administered advice, I should +say to him, 'Do not fancy that you have done everything for your wife +when you have given her house, servants, and clothes; she really wants +a little attention now and then. Try to turn your thoughts away from +your more important affairs long enough to notice the pretty +morning-wrapper or the well-fitting evening-dress which has cost her +some thought for your sake; do not let a change in the furniture or a +new ornament in the parlor go unnoticed till the bill comes in. And +while, of course, you claim from her the most ready sympathy in all +your interests and enthusiasms, give her, once in a great while, say +every year or so, a little genuine interest in the housekeeping trials +or dressmaker grievances that meet her at every turn. +<p> +"Moreover, I would recommend to you, should your wife happen to have +some literary or artistic tastes, not to ignore them entirely because +they do not pay so well as your counting-room accounts do, and are not +so entertaining to you as billiards. I would even indulge her by +sacrificing a whole evening to her, once in a while, even to the +detriment of your own business or pleasure. Depend upon it, it will +pay in the end." +<p> +"Now, Uncle, like Rosalind, you have simply misused your whole sex in +your special pleadings, both for and against. If Herbert were here, I +would appeal to him to know if the time can ever come when what I do +can be uninteresting to him. But I know, for myself, that such a thing +cannot be. You are not talking from your own experience, Uncle?" +added she, suddenly looking up in his face. +<p> +"My dear Alice, were it possible, should it ever seem likely, that my +experience might benefit you, how readily I would lay it open before +you! But those who have lived their lives are like the prophets of +old,--their words are believed only when they are fulfilled. The +meaning of life is never understood till it is past. Like Moses on the +rock, our faces are covered when the Lord passes by, and we see only +his back. But look behind you, my darling!" +<p> +Alice turned suddenly and her face lighted up into the full beauty of +happiness as she saw Herbert standing in the doorway. +<p> +"I hope you have room for me, Mr. Delano," said he, advancing, "for +here I am, weather-bound, as well as Miss Alice and Kate. There is a +drizzling rain falling out-of-doors, and your Kentucky roads are fast +growing impassable for walkers." +<p> +Uncle John put into words the question that Alice's eyes had been +asking so eagerly. +<p> +"Where did you stumble from, my dear fellow,--and at this time of +night, too?" +<p> +"Why, I could not find any one at home on Fourth Street, so I took the +last ferry-boat and came over, on a venture, to try the Kentucky +hospitality, of which we New-Yorkers hear so much; and my stumbling +walk through the mud made me so unpresentable, that I found the way +round the house to Aunt Molly's premises, and left the tracks of my +muddy boots all over her white kitchen, till she, in despair, provided +me with a pair of your moccasins, and, shod in these shoes of silence, +I came quietly in upon you. I do hope you are all glad to see me," he +added, sitting down on the low seat that Alice had left, and looking +up in her face as she stood by her uncle. +<p> +Alice shook her head with a pretty assumption of displeasure, as she +said, "I told you I did not want to see you till to-morrow." But +hardly half an hour had elapsed before she and Herbert had wandered +off into the parlor, and Uncle John and I were left to watch them +through the open door. +<p> +"If he were not so impulsive," said Uncle John, abruptly,--"if he were +not so full of fancies! Kate, you are a wise and discreet little lady, +and we understand each other. Did I say too much?" +<p> +Just then Alice looked back. +<p> +"Chloe is the one who sings madrigals to-night, Uncle; she is going to +read Colin a lesson"; and, sitting down at the piano, she let her +hands run over the keys and burst out joyously into that variation of +Raleigh's pretty pastoral song,-- +<blockquote> + + "Shepherd, what's Love? I prithee tell."<br> + "It is a fountain and a well,<br> + Where pleasure and repentance dwell;<br> + And this is Love, as I've heard tell:<br> + Repentance, repentance, repentance!" +</blockquote> + +<h3> +TALK NUMBER THREE. +</h3> +<p> +Five years have passed since Alice sat at Uncle John's feet and +listened to his words that gave lessons of wisdom while they seemed +only to amuse; and now she sits again on the low stool, looking up in +his face, while I stand behind him and look down on her, marking the +changes that those years have wrought. She has come back to us, our +own Alice still,--but how different from the impetuous, impulsive girl +who left us five years ago! Her face has lost its early freshness, +though it seems to me lovelier than before, in its matured, womanly +expression; but her eyes, which used to be lifted so eagerly, to +glance so rapidly in their varying expression, are now hidden by their +lashes even when she is talking earnestly; her lips have lost their +mobility, and have even something stern in their fixedness; whilst her +hair, brought down smoothly over her forehead and twisted firmly in +the low knot behind, and her close-fitting widow's dress add to the +sobriety and almost matronliness of her appearance. +<p> +For Alice is a widow now, and has come back to us in her bereavement. +We have known but little of her real self for some years, so guarded +have been her letters; and not until the whole terrible truth burst +upon us, did we do more than suspect that her married life had not +brought the happiness she anticipated. She is talking freely now she +is at home again among her own people. +<p> +"I have sometimes thought, Uncle John, that all you said to me, the +last night I spent here, had some meaning deeper than met the ear. Had +you second sight? Did you foresee the future? Or was there that in +the present which foreshadowed it to you?" +<p> +"I am no prophet, Alice. I spoke only from what I knew of life, and +from my knowledge of your character and Herbert's. But I am yet to +know how my words have been fulfilled." +<p> +"It makes no difference now," said she, slowly, and with a touching +weariness. "And yet," she added, rousing herself, "it would make all +the difference in the world to me, if I could see clearly where it was +that I was to blame. Certainly I must have done wrong; such +wretchedness could not have come otherwise." +<p> +Uncle John drew her hand within his, while he answered calmly,--"It is +very probable you have done wrong, my darling; who of us are wise and +prudent, loving and forbearing, as we should be?" +<p> +"You think so? How glad I am to hear you say so! Yes, I can see it +now; I can see how I did that very thing against which you warned +me. First came the time when Herbert forgot to admire everything which +I did and said, and I--I tried little pouting ways, that I did not +feel. Then they were so successful, that I carried them too far, and +Herbert did not pet me out of them. Then I grew anxious and began to +guess at that truth which was only too clear to me at last, that he +did not love me as I loved him. Next,--oh, Uncle John, how much I was +to blame!--I watched every word and look, gave meanings to things that +had none, asked explanations where Herbert had none to give, and +fairly put him under such restraint that he could neither look nor act +himself. He fretted under it,--who would not?--and then began the +thousand excuses for being away from home, business engagements, +club-meetings, some country-customers of the firm, who must be taken +to the theatre, and, at last, no excuse at all but want of time. I +knew then that his love for me had never been more than a passing +fancy, and, woman-like, I grew proud, shut my heart up from him, +buried myself in my books. I never studied before as I did then, Uncle +John, for I studied to get away from myself, and, looking back, I +wonder even now at what I accomplished. Yes, you were right, books are +fast friends,--and mine would have brought me their own exceeding +great reward, had not my spirit been so bitter. +<p> +"It was then that mamma was so sick and I came home. Did you think me +wonderfully calm, Kate? I think somebody said I showed astonishing +self-control; but, in truth, I was frightened at myself,--I had no +feeling about anything, Mamma's sickness seemed something entirely +removed from me, something which concerned me not in the least. I was +calm because I felt nothing. I wondered then and wonder now that you +did not find me out, for I knew how unlike I was to my former +self. Then mamma got well, and I was not glad; I went back to New +York, and felt no sorrow at parting with you all. +<p> +"But when I got back, oh, Uncle John, I was too late!--too late to do +right, even had I wished it! I don't know,--I made good resolutions on +my way back: Heaven knows if I should have had strength to put them in +practice. But it was all over; not only had I lost Herbert, but he had +lost himself. The first time I saw him he was not himself,--I might as +well say it,--he was drunk. +<p> +"There is no need of going through the rest, Uncle,--you will not ask +it. I think I did everything I could;--I threw away my books; I +devoted myself to making his home pleasant to him; never, no, never, +in my girlish days, did I take half the pains to please him that I did +now to win him from himself. I read to him, I sang to him, I filled +the house with people that I knew were to his taste, I dressed for +him, I let myself be admired by others that he might feel proud of me, +might think me more worthy of admiration,--but all to no +purpose. Sometimes I hoped, but more often I despaired; his fall +seemed to me fearfully rapid, though now the three years seem to have +been interminable. At last I had no hope but that of concealing the +truth from you all. You thought me churlish, Kate, in my answer to +your proposal to spend last winter with me? My darling, I dared not +have you in my house. But it is over now. I knew how that last +horrible attack would end when I sent for papa. He had gone through +two before that, and the doctor told me the third would be fatal. Poor +Herbert!--Uncle John, can I ever forgive myself?" +<p> +Alice looked up with dry and burning eyes into Uncle John's face, over +which the tears were streaming. +<p> +"My child, it is right that you should blame yourself. What sorrow do +we meet in life that we do not in part bring upon ourselves? Who is +there of us who is not wise after time? which of us has not made some +fatal mistake?" +<p> +I felt half indignant that Uncle John did not tell her how much more +to blame, how weak, how reckless Herbert had been; but the calmer +expression which came over Alice's countenance showed me that he was +right, that he best knew her heart. She could not now be just to +herself; she was happier in being unjust. +<p> +We were still and silent for a long time. The light wood-fire on the +hearth crackled and burned to ashes, but it had done its office in +tempering the chill of the autumn evening, and through the half-open +door stole the 'sweet decaying smell' of the fallen leaves, while the +hush of an Indian-summer night seemed to calm our very hearts with its +stillness. +<p> +Uncle John spoke at last. His voice was very gentle and subdued as he +said: +<p> +"I told you once, Alice, that my life should be opened to you, if ever +its errors could be either warning or consolation to you. But who am +I, to judge what beacon-lights we may hold out to each other? There is +as much egotism, sometimes, in silence as in the free speech which +asks for sympathy. Perhaps I have been too proud to lay open my +follies before you and my little Kate." +<p> +Alice looked up, with a touch of her old eagerness, as Uncle John went +on. +<p> +"It was long before you were born, my dear, that, for some college +peccadilloes,--it is so long ago that I have almost forgotten now what +they were,--I was suspended (rusticated we called it) for a term, and +advised by the grave and dignified president to spend my time in +repenting and in keeping up with my class. I had no mind to come +home; I had no wish, by my presence, to keep the memory of my +misdemeanors before my father's mind for six months; so I asked and +gained leave to spend the summer in a little town in Western +Massachusetts, where, as I said, I should have nothing to tempt me +from my studies. I had heard from a classmate what famous shooting and +fishing were to be found there, and I knew something of the beauty of +Berkshire scenery; but I honorably intended to study well and +faithfully, taking only the moderate amount of recreation necessary +for my health. +<p> +"I went, and soon established myself in a quiet farm-house with my +books, gun, and fishing-rod, and had passed there a whole month with +an approving conscience and tolerable success both in studies and +sport, when the farmer announced one morning, that, as he had one +boarder, he might as well take another, and that a New York lady had +been inquiring of his neighbor Johnson, when he was in the city last +week, for some farm-house where they would be willing to take her +cheap for the summer. She could have the best room, and he didn't +suppose she'd be in anybody's way, so he had told Johnson that she +might come, if she would put up with their country fare. +<p> +"She came the next week. She was a widow, some thirty years old, ten +years older than I was. I did not think her pretty,--perhaps +<i>piquante</i>, but that was all. In my first fastidiousness, I +thought her hardly lady-like, and laughed at her evident attempts to +attract my notice,--at her little vanities and affectations. But I do +not know; we were always together; I saw no other woman but the +farmer's wife. There were the mountain walks, the trees, the flowers, +the moonlight; she talked so well upon them all! In short, you do not +know, no young girl can know, the influence which a woman in middle +life, if she has anything in her, has over a young man; and she,--she +had shrewdness and a certain talent, and, I think now, knew what she +was doing,--at any rate, I fell madly in love. I knew my father would +never consent to my marrying then; I knew I was ruining my prospects +by doing so; but that very knowledge only made me more eager to secure +her. +<p> +"She was entirely independent of control, being left a widow with some +little property, and threw no obstacles in my way. We were married +there, in that little village, and for a few weeks I lived in a fool's +paradise. +<p> +"I could not tell you--indeed, I would not tell you, if I could--how +by degrees I found out what I had done,--that I had flung away my +heart on a woman who married me simply to secure herself the position +in society which her own imprudence had lost; how, when she found I +had nothing to offer her but a home in my father's house, entirely +dependent upon him, she accused me of having deceived her for the sake +of her own miserable pittance; how she made herself the common talk of +Newport by her dissipation, her extravagance, her affectations; how +her love of excitement led her into such undisguised flirtations, +under the name of friendships, with almost every man she met, that her +imprudences, to call them by no harsher name, made my father insist, +that, for my mother's sake, I should seek another home. +<p> +"I did so, but it was only to go through a repetition of similar +scenes, of daring follies on her part, and reproaches on mine. At +last, desperate, I induced my father to settle on her what would have +been my share of his property on condition that she should return to +New York,--while I, crushed down, mortified, and ashamed to look my +friends in the face, and sick of the wrongs and follies of civilized +life, grasped eagerly at an opportunity to join a fur-trading party, +and buried myself alive in the wilds of the Northwest. +<p> +"I had no object in going there but to escape from my wife and from +myself; but, once there, the charm of that free life took possession +of me; adventure followed adventure; opportunities opened to me, and I +grew to be an influential person, and made myself a home among the +Indians. It is a wild life that the Indian traders live up in that +far-away country, and many a reckless deed is done there which public +opinion would frown upon here. I am afraid I was no better than my +companions; I lived my life and drew from it whatever enjoyment it +would bring; but, at least, I did not brutalize myself as some of them +did; for that I may thank the refining influence of my early +education. Meantime, I was almost lost to my family and, indeed, I +hardly regretted it, for nothing would have brought me back while my +wife lived, and, if I were not to be with my friends, why eat my heart +out with longings for them? So, for nearly twenty years, I lived the +life of adventure, danger, and privation, that draws its only charm +from its independence. +<p> +"At last came a letter from your mother. It found its way to me from +fort to fort, brought up part of the way with the letters to the +troops stationed at our upper forts, then carried by the Indian +runners to the trading-posts of the fur-companies till it reached me +in the depths of the Rocky Mountains. My wife was dead,--she had died +suddenly; my property, all that she had not squandered, (and it was so +tied up by my father's forethought that she could only throw away a +part of it,) was my own again; my sister longed to see me, and +promised me a welcome to her house and heart. I grew restless from +that moment, and, converting into money the not inconsiderable wealth +with which I had surrounded myself in the shape of furs, horses, +buffalo-robes, and so forth, I came down to the States again to begin +life anew, a man of forty-five, my head whitened, and my features +marked before their time from the life of exposure which I had +led. Alice, I, too, was too late. I had dropped out of the tide of +life and progress in my twenty years' seclusion, and, struggle as I +might, I could not retrieve the time lost. The present age knew not of +me,--I had lost my place in it; the thoughts, feelings, habits, of all +around were strange to me; I had been pushed out of the line of march, +and never could I fall into step again. In society, in business, in +domestic life, it was all the same. Trial after trial taught me, at +last, the truth; and when I had learned not only to believe it, but to +accept it, I came home to my father's house, now mine, and made myself +friends of my books,--those faithful ones who were as true to me as if +I had never deserted them. They have brought me content, if not +happiness; and you, Alice, you and Kate, you have filled fully an old +man's heart." +<p> +Alice's tears were dropping fast on Uncle John's hand as she said,-- +<p> +"I will be more to you henceforward than ever before. I have nothing +else to live for now. Kate is the home child; but I--I will stay with +you, and you shall teach me, too, to be contented,--to find my +happiness, as you do, in making the happiness of all around." +<p> +Uncle John passed his other hand over her hair,-- +<p> +"You shall stay with me for the present, my darling,--perhaps as long +as I live. But life is not over for you, Alice. You have youth,--you +have years in store. For you it is not <i>too late</i>." + +<br><br><br> + +<br><br><br> + +<table border="0"> +<tr> +<td width="33%"> </td> +<td width="67%"> +<center> +<h2> +<a name="6">AN EVENING MELODY.</a> +</h2> +</center> + +<p> + Oh that yon pines which crown the steep<br> + Their fires might ne'er surrender!<br> + Oh that yon fervid knoll might keep,<br> + While lasts the world, its splendor! +<p> + Pale poplars on the wind that lean,<br> + And in the sunset shiver,<br> + Oh that your golden stems might screen<br> + For aye yon glassy river! +<p> + That yon white bird on homeward wing<br> + Soft-sliding without motion,<br> + And now in blue air vanishing<br> + Like snow-flake lost in ocean, +<p> + Beyond our sight might never flee,<br> + Yet onward still be flying;<br> + And all the dying day might be<br> + Immortal in its dying! +<p> + Pellucid thus in golden trance,<br> + Thus mute in expectation,<br> + What waits the Earth? Deliverance?<br> + Ah, no! Transfiguration! +<p> + She dreams of that New Earth divine,<br> + Conceived of seed immortal:<br> + She sings, "Not mine the holier shrine,<br> + But mine the cloudy portal!" +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br><br><br> + +<br><br><br> + +<center> +<h2> +<a name="7">CHESUNCOOK</a> +</h2> +</center> +<p> +[Concluded.] +<p> +Early the next morning we started on our return up the Penobscot, my +companion wishing to go about twenty-five miles above the Moosehead +carry to a camp near the junction of the two forks, and look for moose +there. Our host allowed us something for the quarter of the moose +which we had brought, and which he was glad to get. Two explorers from +Chamberlain Lake started at the same time that we did. Red flannel +shirts should be worn in the woods, if only for the fine contrast +which this color makes with the evergreens and the water. Thus I +thought when I saw the forms of the explorers in their birch, poling +up the rapids before us, far off against the forest. It is the +surveyor's color also, most distinctly seen under all circumstances. +We stopped to dine at Ragmuff, as before. My companion it was who +wandered up the stream to look for moose this time, while Joe went to +sleep on the bank, so that we felt sure of him; and I improved the +opportunity to botanize and bathe. Soon after starting again, while +Joe was gone back in the canoe for the frying-pan, which had been +left, we picked a couple of quarts of tree-cranberries for a sauce. +<p> +I was surprised by Joe's asking me how far it was to the Moosehorn. He +was pretty well acquainted with this stream, but he had noticed that I +was curious about distances, and had several maps. He, and Indians +generally, with whom I have talked, are not able to describe +dimensions or distances in our measures with any accuracy. He could +tell, perhaps, at what time we should arrive, but not how far it +was. We saw a few wood-ducks, sheldrakes, and black ducks, but they +were not so numerous there at that season as on our river at home. We +scared the same family of wood-ducks before us, going and returning. +We also heard the note of one fish-hawk, somewhat like that of a +pigeon-woodpecker, and soon after saw him perched near the top of a +dead white-pine against the island where we had first camped, while a +company of peetweets were twittering and teetering about over the +carcass of a moose on a low sandy spit just beneath. We drove the +fish-hawk from perch to perch, each time eliciting a scream or +whistle, for many miles before us. Our course being up-stream, we were +obliged to work much harder than before, and had frequent use for a +pole. Sometimes all three of us paddled together, standing up, small +and heavily laden as the canoe was. About six miles from Moosehead, we +began to see the mountains east of the north end of the lake, and at +four o'clock we reached the carry. +<p> +The Indians were still encamped here. There were three, including the +St. Francis Indian who had come in the steamer with us. One of the +others was called Sabattis. Joe and the St. Francis Indian were +plainly clear Indian, the other two apparently mixed Indian and white; +but the difference was confined to their features and complexions, for +all that I could see. We here cooked the tongue of the moose for +supper,--having left the nose, which is esteemed the choicest part, at +Chesuncook, boiling, it being a good deal of trouble to prepare it. We +also stewed our tree-cranberries, (<i>Viburnum opulus</i>,) sweetening +them with sugar. The lumberers sometimes cook them with +molasses. They were used in Arnold's expedition. This sauce was very +grateful to us who had been confined to hard bread, pork, and +moose-meat, and, notwithstanding their seeds, we all three pronounced +them equal to the common cranberry; but perhaps some allowance is to +be made for our forest appetites. It would be worth the while to +cultivate them, both for beauty and for food. I afterward saw them in +a garden in Bangor. Joe said that they were called <i>ebeemenar</i>. +<p> +While we were getting supper, Joe commenced curing the moose-hide, on +which I had sat a good part of the voyage, he having already cut most +of the hair off with his knife at the Caucomgomoc. He set up two +stout forked poles on the bank, seven or eight feet high, and as much +asunder east and west, and having cut slits eight or ten inches long, +and the same distance apart, close to the edge, on the sides of the +hide, he threaded poles through them, and then, placing one of the +poles on the forked stakes, tied the other down tightly at the +bottom. The two ends also were tied with cedar bark, their usual +string, to the upright poles, through small holes at short intervals. +The hide, thus stretched, and slanted a little to the north, to expose +its flesh side to the sun, measured, in the extreme, eight feet long +by six high. Where any flesh still adhered, Joe boldly scored it with +his knife to lay it open to the sun. It now appeared somewhat spotted +and injured by the duck shot. You may see the old frames on which +hides have been stretched at many camping-places in these woods. +<p> +For some reason or other, the going to the forks of the Penobscot was +given up, and we decided to stop here, my companion intending to hunt +down the stream at night. The Indians invited us to lodge with them, +but my companion inclined to go to the log-camp on the carry. This +camp was close and dirty, and had an ill smell, and I preferred to +accept the Indians' offer, if we did not make a camp for ourselves; +for, though they were dirty, too, they were more in the open air, and +were much more agreeable, and even refined company, than the +lumberers. The most interesting question entertained at the +lumberers' camp was, which man could "handle" any other on the carry; +and, for the most part, they possessed no qualities which you could +not lay hands on. So we went to the Indians' camp or wigwam. +<p> +It was rather windy, and therefore Joe concluded to hunt after +midnight, if the wind went down, which the other Indians thought it +would not do, because it was from the south. The two mixed bloods, +however, went off up the river for moose at dark, before we arrived at +their camp. This Indian camp was a slight, patched-up affair, which +had stood there several weeks, built shed-fashion, open to the fire on +the west. If the wind changed, they could turn it round. It was +formed by two forked stakes and a cross-bar, with rafters slanted from +this to the ground. The covering was partly an old sail, partly +birch-bark, quite imperfect, but securely tied on, and coming down to +the ground on the sides. A large log was rolled up at the back side +for a headboard, and two or three moose-hides were spread on the +ground with the hair up. Various articles of their wardrobe were +tucked around the sides and corners, or under the roof. They were +smoking moose-meat on just such a crate as is represented by With in +De Bry's "Collectio Peregrinationum," published in 1588, and which the +natives of Brazil called <i>boucan</i>, (whence buccaneer,) on which +were frequently shown pieces of human flesh drying along with the +rest. It was erected in front of the camp over the usual large fire, +in the form of an oblong square. Two stout forked stakes, four or five +feet apart and five feet high, were driven into the ground at each +end, and then two poles ten feet long were stretched across over the +fire, and smaller ones laid transversely on these a foot apart. On the +last hung large, thin slices of moose-meat smoking and drying, a space +being left open over the centre of the fire. There was the whole +heart, black as a thirty-two pound ball, hanging at one corner. They +said, that it took three or four days to cure this meat, and it would +keep a year or more. Refuse pieces lay about on the ground in +different stages of decay, and some pieces also in the fire, half +buried and sizzling in the ashes, as black and dirty as an old +shoe. These last I at first thought were thrown away, but afterwards +found that they were being cooked. Also a tremendous rib-piece was +roasting before the fire, being impaled on an upright stake forced in +and out between the ribs. There was a moose-hide stretched and curing +on poles like ours, and quite a pile of cured skins close by. They had +killed twenty-two moose within two months, but, as they could use but +very little of the meat, they left the carcasses on the +ground. Altogether it was about as savage a sight as was ever +witnessed, and I was carried back at once three hundred years. There +were many torches of birch-bark, shaped like straight tin horns, lying +ready for use on a stump outside. +<p> +For fear of dirt, we spread our blankets over their hides, so as not +to touch them anywhere. The St. Francis Indian and Joe alone were +there at first, and we lay on our backs talking with them till +midnight. They were very sociable, and, when they did not talk with +us, kept up a steady chatting in their own language. We heard a small +bird just after dark, which, Joe said, sang at a certain hour in the +night,--at ten o'clock, he believed. We also heard the hylodes and +tree-toads, and the lumberers singing in their camp a quarter of a +mile off. I told them that I had seen pictured in old books pieces of +human flesh drying on these crates; whereupon they repeated some +tradition about the Mohawks eating human flesh, what parts they +preferred, etc., and also of a battle with the Mohawks near Moosehead, +in which many of the latter were killed; but I found that they knew +but little of the history of their race, and could be entertained by +stories about their ancestors as readily as any way. At first I was +nearly roasted out, for I lay against one side of the camp, and felt +the heat reflected not only from the birch-bark above, but from the +side; and again I remembered the sufferings of the Jesuit +missionaries, and what extremes of heat and cold the Indians were said +to endure. I struggled long between my desire to remain and talk with +them, and my impulse to rush out and stretch myself on the cool grass; +and when I was about to take the last step, Joe, hearing my murmurs, +or else being uncomfortable himself, got up and partially dispersed +the fire. I suppose that that is Indian manners,--to defend yourself. +<p> +While lying there listening to the Indians, I amused myself with +trying to guess at their subject by their gestures, or some proper +name introduced. There can be no more startling evidence of their +being a distinct and comparatively aboriginal race, than to hear this +unaltered Indian language, which the white man cannot speak nor +understand. We may suspect change and deterioration in almost every +other particular, but the language which is so wholly unintelligible +to us. It took me by surprise, though I had found so many arrow-heads, +and convinced me that the Indian was not the invention of historians +and poets. It was a purely wild and primitive American sound, as much +as the barking of a <i>chickaree</i>, and I could not understand a +syllable of it; but Paugus, had he been there, would have understood +it. These Abenakis gossiped, laughed, and jested, in the language in +which Eliot's Indian Bible is written, the language which has been +spoken in New England who shall say how long? These were the sounds +that issued from the wigwams of this country before Columbus was born; +they have not yet died away; and, with remarkably few exceptions, the +language of their forefathers is still copious enough for them. I felt +that I stood, or rather lay, as near to the primitive man of America, +that night, as any of its discoverers ever did. +<p> +In the midst of their conversation, Joe suddenly appealed to me to +know how long Moosehead Lake was. +<p> +Meanwhile, as we lay there, Joe was making and trying his horn, to be +ready for hunting after midnight. The St. Francis Indian also amused +himself with sounding it, or rather calling through it; for the sound +is made with the voice, and not by blowing through the horn. The +latter appeared to be a speculator in moose-hides. He bought my +companion's for two dollars and a quarter, green. Joe said that it +was worth two and a half at Oldtown. Its chief use is for moccasins. +One or two of these Indians wore them. I was told, that, by a recent +law of Maine, foreigners are not allowed to kill moose there at any +season; white Americans can kill them only at a particular season, but +the Indians of Maine at all seasons. The St. Francis Indian +accordingly asked my companion for a <i>wighiggin</i>, or bill, to +show, since he was a foreigner. He lived near Sorel. I found that he +could write his name very well, <i>Tahmunt Swasen</i>. One Ellis, an +old white man of Guilford, a town through which we passed, not far +from the south end of Moosehead, was the most celebrated moose-hunter +of those parts. Indians and whites spoke with equal respect of +him. Tahmunt said, that there were more moose here than in the +Adirondack country in New York, where he had hunted; that three years +before there were a great many about, and there were a great many now +in the woods, but they did not come out to the water. It was of no use +to hunt them at midnight,--they would not come out then. I asked +Sabattis, after he came home, if the moose never attacked him. He +answered, that you must not fire many times so as to mad him. "I fire +once and hit him in the right place, and in the morning I find him. He +won't go far. But if you keep firing, you mad him. I fired once five +bullets, every one through the heart, and he did not mind 'em at all; +it only made him more mad." I asked him if they did not hunt them with +dogs. He said, that they did so in winter, but never in the summer, +for then it was of no use; they would run right off straight and +swiftly a hundred miles. +<p> +Another Indian said, that the moose, once scared, would run all day. A +dog will hang to their lips, and be carried along till he is swung +against a tree and drops off. They cannot run on a "glaze," though +they can run in snow four feet deep; but the caribou can run on +ice. They commonly find two or three moose together. They cover +themselves with water, all but their noses, to escape flies. He had +the horns of what he called "the black moose that goes in low lands." +These spread three or four feet. The "red moose" was another kind, +"running on mountains," and had horns which spread six feet. Such were +his distinctions. Both can move their horns. The broad flat blades are +covered with hair, and are so soft, when the animal is alive, that you +can run a knife through them. They regard it as a good or bad sign, if +the horns turn this way or that. His caribou horns had been gnawed by +mice in his wigwam, but he thought that the horns neither of the moose +nor of the caribou were ever gnawed while the creature was alive, as +some have asserted. An Indian, whom I met after this at Oldtown, who +had carried about a bear and other animals of Maine to exhibit, told +me that thirty years ago there were not so many moose in Maine as now; +also, that the moose were very easily tamed, and would come back when +once fed, and so would deer, but not caribou. The Indians of this +neighborhood are about as familiar with the moose as we are with the +ox, having associated with them for so many generations. Father +Rasles, in his Dictionary of the Abenaki Language, gives not only a +word for the male moose, (<i>aianbé</i>) and another for the female, +(<i>hèrar</i>,) but for the bone which is in the middle of the heart +of the moose (!), and for his left hind-leg. +<p> +There were none of the small deer up there; they are more common about +the settlements. One ran into the city of Bangor two years before, and +jumped through a window of costly plate glass, and then into a mirror, +where it thought it recognized one of its kind, and out again, and so +on, leaping over the heads of the crowd, until it was captured. This +the inhabitants speak of as the deer that went a-shopping. The +last-mentioned Indian spoke of the <i>lunxus</i> or Indian devil, +(which I take to be the cougar, and not the <i>Gulo luscus</i>,) as +the only animal in Maine which man need fear; it would follow a man, +and did not mind a fire. He also said, that beavers were getting to be +pretty numerous again, where we went, but their skins brought so +little now that it was not profitable to hunt them. +<p> +I had put the ears of our moose, which were ten inches long, to dry +along with the moose-meat over the fire, wishing to preserve them; but +Sabattis told me that I must skin and cure them, else the hair would +all come off. He observed, that they made tobacco-pouches of the skins +of their ears, putting the two together inside to inside. I asked him +how he got fire; and he produced a little cylindrical box of +friction-matches. He also had flints and steel, and some punk, which +was not dry; I think it was from the yellow birch. "But suppose you +upset, and all these and your powder get wet." "Then," said he, "we +wait till we get to where there is some fire." I produced from my +pocket a little vial, containing matches, stoppled water-tight, and +told him, that, though we were upset, we should still have some dry +matches; at which he stared without saying a word. +<p> +We lay awake thus a long while talking, and they gave us the meaning +of many Indian names of lakes and streams in the vicinity,--especially +Tahmunt. I asked the Indian name of Moosehead Lake. Joe answered, +<i>Sebamook</i>; Tahmunt pronounced it <i>Sebemook</i>. When I asked +what it meant, they answered, Moosehead Lake. At length, getting my +meaning, they alternately repeated the word over to themselves, as a +philologist might,--<i>Sebamook</i>,--<i>Sebamook</i>,--now and then +comparing notes in Indian; for there was a slight difference in their +dialects; and finally Tahmunt said, "Ugh! I know,"--and he rose up +partly on the moose-hide,--"like as here is a place, and there is a +place," pointing to different parts of the hide, "and you take water +from there and fill this, and it stays here; that is <i>Sebamook</i>." +I understood him to mean that it was a reservoir of water which did +not run away, the river coming in on one side and passing out again +near the same place, leaving a permanent bay. Another Indian said, +that it meant Large-Bay Lake, and that <i>Sebago</i> and <i>Sebec</i>, +the names of other lakes, were kindred words, meaning large open +water. Joe said that <i>Seboois</i> meant Little River. I observed +their inability, often described, to convey an abstract idea. Having +got the idea, though indistinctly, they groped about in vain for words +with which to express it. Tahmunt thought that the whites called it +Moosehead Lake, because Mount Kineo, which commands it, is shaped like +a moose's head, and that Moose River was so called "because the +mountain points right across the lake to its mouth." John Josselyn, +writing about 1673, says, "Twelve miles from Casco Bay, and passable +for men and horses, is a lake, called by the Indians Sebug. On the +brink thereof, at one end, is the famous rock, shaped like a moose +deer or helk, diaphanous, and called the Moose Rock." He appears to +have confounded Sebamook with Sebago, which is nearer, but has no +"diaphanous" rock on its shore. +<p> +I give more of their definitions, for what they are worth,--partly +<i>because</i> they differ sometimes from the commonly received +ones. They never analyzed these words before. After long deliberation +and repeating of the word, for it gave much trouble, Tahmunt said that +<i>Chesuncook</i> meant a place where many streams emptied in (?), and +he enumerated them,--Penobscot, Umbazookskus, Cusabesex, Red Brook, +etc.--"<i>Caucomgomoc</i>,--what does that mean?" "What are those +large white birds?" he asked. "Gulls," said I. "Ugh! Gull +Lake."--<i>Pammadumcook</i>, Joe thought, meant the Lake with Gravelly +Bottom or Bed.--<i>Kenduskeag</i>, Tahmunt concluded at last, after +asking if birches went up it, for he said that he was not much +acquainted with it, meant something like this: "You go up Penobscot +till you come to <i>Kenduskeag</i>, and you go by, you don't turn up +there. That is <i>Kenduskeag</i>." (?) Another Indian, however, who +knew the river better, told us afterward that it meant Little Eel +River.--<i>Mattawamkeag</i> was a place where two rivers +meet. (?)--<i>Penobscot</i> was Rocky River. One writer says, that +this was "originally the name of only a section of the main channel, +from the head of the tide-water to a short distance above Oldtown." +<p> +A very intelligent Indian, whom we afterward met, son-in-law of +Neptune, gave us also these other definitions:--<i>Umbazookskus</i>, +Meadow Stream; <i>Millinoket</i>, Place of Islands; +<i>Aboljacarmegus</i>, Smooth-Ledge Falls (and Dead-Water); +<i>Aboljacarmeguscook</i>, the stream emptying in; (the last was the +word he gave when I asked about <i>Aboljacknagesic</i>, which he did +not recognize;) <i>Mattahumkeag</i>, Sand-Creek Pond; +<i>Piscataquis</i>, Branch of a River. +<p> +I asked our hosts what <i>Musketaquid</i>, the Indian name of Concord, +Mass., meant; but they changed it to <i>Musketicook</i>, and repeated +that, and Tahmunt said that it meant Dead Stream, which is probably +true. <i>Cook</i> appears to mean stream, and perhaps <i>quid</i> +signifies the place or ground. When I asked the meaning of the names +of two of our hills, they answered that they were another language. As +Tahmunt said that he traded at Quebec, my companion inquired the +meaning of the word <i>Quebec</i>, about which there has been so much +question. He did not know, but began to conjecture. He asked what +those great ships were called that carried soldiers. "Men-of-war," we +answered. "Well," he said, "when the English ships came up the river, +they could not go any further, it was so narrow there; they must go +back,--go-back,--that's Que-bec." I mention this to show the value of +his authority in the other cases. +<p> +Late at night the other two Indians came home from moose-hunting, not +having been successful, aroused the fire again, lighted their pipes, +smoked awhile, took something strong to drink, and ate some +moose-meat, and, finding what room they could, lay down on the +moose-hides; and thus we passed the night, two white men and four +Indians, side by side. +<p> +When I awoke in the morning the weather was drizzling. One of the +Indians was lying outside, rolled in his blanket, on the opposite side +of the fire, for want of room. Joe had neglected to awake my +companion, and he had done no hunting that night. Tahmunt was making a +cross-bar for his canoe with a singularly shaped knife, such as I have +since seen other Indians using. The blade was thin, about three +quarters of an inch wide, and eight or nine inches long, but curved +out of its plane into a hook, which he said made it more convenient to +shave with. As the Indians very far north and northwest use the same +kind of knife, I suspect that it was made according to an aboriginal +pattern, though some white artisans may use a similar one. The Indians +baked a loaf of flour bread in a spider on its edge before the fire +for their breakfast; and while my companion was making tea, I caught a +dozen sizable fishes in the Penobscot, two kinds of sucker and one +trout. After we had breakfasted by ourselves, one of our bedfellows, +who had also breakfasted, came along, and, being invited, took a cup +of tea, and finally, taking up the common platter, licked it +clean. But he was nothing to a white fellow, a lumberer, who was +continually stuffing himself with the Indians' moose-meat, and was the +butt of his companions accordingly. He seems to have thought that it +was a feast "to eat all." It is commonly said that the white man +finally surpasses the Indian on his own ground, and it was proved true +in this case. I cannot swear to his employment during the hours of +darkness, but I saw him at it again as soon as it was light, though he +came a quarter of a mile to his work. +<p> +The rain prevented our continuing any longer in the woods; so giving +some of our provisions and utensils to the Indians, we took leave of +them. This being the steamer's day, I set out for the lake at once. At +the carry-man's camp I saw many little birds, brownish and yellowish, +with some white tail-feathers, hopping on the wood-pile, in company +with the slate-colored snow-bird, (<i>Fringilla hiemalis</i>,) but +more familiar than they. The lumberers said that they came round their +camps, and they gave them a vulgar name. Their simple and lively note, +which was heard in all the woods, was very familiar to me, though I +had never before chanced to see the bird while uttering it, and it +interested me not a little, because I had had many a vain chase in a +spring-morning in the direction of that sound, in order to identify +the bird. On the 28th of the next month, (October,) I saw in my yard, +in a drizzling day, many of the same kind of birds flitting about amid +the weeds, and uttering a faint <i>chip</i> merely. There was one +full-plumaged Yellow-crowned Warbler (<i>Sylvia coronata</i>) among +them, and I saw that the others were the young birds of that +season. They had followed me from Moosehead and the North. I have +since frequently seen the full-plumaged ones while uttering that note +in the spring. +<p> +I walked over the carry alone and waited at the head of the lake. An +eagle, or some other large bird, flew screaming away from its perch by +the shore at my approach. For an hour after I reached the shore there +was not a human being to be seen, and I had all that wide prospect to +myself. I thought that I heard the sound of the steamer before she +came in sight on the open lake. I noticed at the landing, when the +steamer came in, one of our bedfellows, who had been a-moose-hunting +the night before, now very sprucely dressed in a clean white shirt and +fine black pants, a true Indian dandy, who had evidently come over the +carry to show himself to any arrivers on the north shore of Moosehead +Lake, just as New York dandies take a turn up Broadway and stand on +the steps of a hotel. +<p> +Midway the lake we took on board two manly-looking middle-aged men, +with their <i>bateau</i>, who had been exploring for six weeks as far +as the Canada line, and had let their beards grow. They had the skin +of a beaver, which they had recently caught, stretched on an oval +hoop, though the fur was not good at that season. I talked with one of +them, telling him that I had come all this distance partly to see +where the white-pine, the Eastern stuff of which our houses are built, +grew, but that on this and a previous excursion into another part of +Maine I had found it a scarce tree; and I asked him where I must look +for it. With a smile, he answered, that he could hardly tell +me. However, he said that he had found enough to employ two teams the +next winter in a place where there was thought to be none left. What +was considered a "tip-top" tree now was not looked at twenty years +ago, when he first went into the business; but they succeeded very +well now with what was considered quite inferior timber then. The +explorer used to cut into a tree higher and higher up, to see if it +was false-hearted, and if there was a rotten heart as big as his arm, +he let it alone; but now they cut such a tree, and sawed it all around +the rot, and it made the very best of boards, for in such a case they +were never shaky. +<p> +One connected with lumbering operations at Bangor told me that the +largest pine belonging to his firm, cut the previous winter, "scaled" +in the woods four thousand five hundred feet, and was worth ninety +dollars in the log at the Bangor boom in Oldtown. They cut a road +three and a half miles long for this tree alone. He thought that the +principal locality for the white-pine that came down the Penobscot now +was at the head of the East Branch and the Allegash, about Webster +Stream and Eagle and Chamberlain Lakes. Much timber has been stolen +from the public lands. (Pray, what kind of forest-warden is the Public +itself?) I heard of one man who, having discovered some particularly +fine trees just within the boundaries of the public lands, and not +daring to employ an accomplice, cut them down, and by means of block +and tackle, without cattle, tumbled them into a stream, and so +succeeded in getting off with them without the least assistance. +Surely, stealing pine-trees in this way is not so mean as robbing +hen-roosts. +<p> +We reached Monson that night, and the next day rode to Bangor, all the +way in the rain again, varying our route a little. Some of the taverns +on this road, which were particularly dirty, were plainly in a +transition state from the camp to the house. +<p> +<hr width="40%" align="center"> +<p> +The next forenoon we went to Oldtown. One slender old Indian on the +Oldtown shore, who recognized my companion, was full of mirth and +gestures, like a Frenchman. A Catholic priest crossed to the island in +the same <i>bateau</i> with us. The Indian houses are framed, mostly +of one story, and in rows one behind another, at the south end of the +island, with a few scattered ones. I counted about forty, not +including the church and what my companion called the +council-house. The last, which I suppose is their town-house, was +regularly framed and shingled like the rest. There were several of two +stories, quite neat, with front-yards inclosed, and one at least had +green blinds. Here and there were moose-hides stretched and drying +about them. There were no cart-paths, nor tracks of horses, but +foot-paths; very little land cultivated, but an abundance of weeds, +indigenous and naturalized; more introduced weeds than useful +vegetables, as the Indian is said to cultivate the vices rather than +the virtues of the white man. Yet this village was cleaner than I +expected, far cleaner than such Irish villages as I have seen. The +children were not particularly ragged nor dirty. The little boys met +us with bow in hand and arrow on string, and cried, "Put up a cent." +Verily, the Indian has but a feeble hold on his bow now; but the +curiosity of the white man is insatiable, and from the first he has +been eager to witness this forest accomplishment. That elastic piece +of wood with its feathered dart, so sure to be unstrung by contact +with civilization, will serve for the type, the coat-of-arms of the +savage. Alas for the Hunter Race! the white man has driven off their +game, and substituted a cent in its place. I saw an Indian woman +washing at the water's edge. She stood on a rock, and, after dipping +the clothes in the stream, laid them on the rock, and beat them with a +short club. In the grave-yard, which was crowded with graves, and +overrun with weeds, I noticed an inscription in Indian, painted on a +wooden grave-board. There was a large wooden cross on the island. +<p> +Since my companion knew him, we called on Governor Neptune, who lived +in a little "ten-footer," one of the humblest of them +all. Personalities are allowable in speaking of public men, therefore +I will give the particulars of our visit. He was a-bed. When we +entered the room, which was one half of the house, he was sitting on +the side of the bed. There was a clock hanging in one corner. He had +on a black frock-coat, and black pants, much worn, white cotton shirt, +socks, a red silk handkerchief about his neck, and a straw hat. His +black hair was only slightly grayed. He had very broad cheeks, and his +features were decidedly and refreshingly different from those of any +of the upstart Native American party whom I have seen. He was no +darker than many old white men. He told me that he was eighty-nine; +but he was going a-moose-hunting that fall, as he had been the +previous one. Probably his companions did the hunting. We saw various +squaws dodging about. One sat on the bed by his side and helped him +out with his stories. They were remarkably corpulent, with smooth, +round faces, apparently full of good-humor. Certainly our much-abused +climate had not dried up their adipose substance. While we were +there,--for we stayed a good while,--one went over to Oldtown, +returned and cut out a dress, which she had bought, on another bed in +the room. The Governor said, that "he could remember when the moose +were much larger; that they did not use to be in the woods, but came +out of the water, as all deer did. Moose was whale once. Away down +Merrimack way, a whale came ashore in a shallow bay. Sea went out and +left him, and he came up on land a moose. What made them know he was a +whale was, that at first, before he began to run in bushes, he had no +bowels inside, but"----and then the squaw who sat on the bed by his +side, as the Governor's aid, and had been putting in a word now and +then and confirming the story, asked me what we called that soft thing +we find along the sea-shore. "Jelly-fish," I suggested. "Yes," said +he, "no bowels, but jelly-fish." +<p> +There may be some truth in what he said about the moose growing larger +formerly; for the quaint John Josselyn, a physician who spent many +years in this very district of Maine in the seventeenth century, says, +that the tips of their horns "are sometimes found to be two fathoms +asunder,"--and he is particular to tell us that a fathom is six +feet,--"and [they are] in height, from the toe of the forefoot to the +pitch of the shoulder, twelve foot, both which hath been taken by some +of my sceptique readers to be monstrous lies"; and he adds,--"There +are certain transcendentia in every creature, which are the indelible +character of God, and which discover God." This is a greater dilemma +to be caught in than is presented by the cranium of the young Bechuana +ox, apparently another of the <i>transcendentia</i>, in the collection +of Thomas Steel, Upper Brook Street, London, whose "entire length of +horn, from tip to tip, along the curve, is 13 ft. 5 in.; distance +(straight) between the tips of the horns, 8 ft. 8-1/2 in." However, the +size both of the moose and the cougar, as I have found, is generally +rather underrated than overrated, and I should be inclined to add to +the popular estimate a part of what I subtracted from Josselyn's. +<p> +But we talked mostly with the Governor's son-in-law, a very sensible +Indian; and the Governor, being so old and deaf, permitted himself to +be ignored, while we asked questions about him. The former said, that +there were two political parties among them,--one in favor of schools, +and the other opposed to them, or rather they did not wish to resist +the priest, who was opposed to them. The first had just prevailed at +the election and sent their man to the legislature. Neptune and +Aitteon and he himself were in favor of schools. He said, "If Indians +got learning, they would keep their money." When we asked where Joe's +father, Aitteon, was, he knew that he must be at Lincoln, though he +was about going a-moose-hunting, for a messenger had just gone to him +there to get his signature to some papers. I asked Neptune if they had +any of the old breed of dogs yet. He answered, "Yes." "But that," said +I, pointing to one that had just come in, "is a Yankee dog." He +assented. I said that he did not look like a good one. "Oh, yes!" he +said, and he told, with much gusto, how, the year before, he had +caught and held by the throat a wolf. A very small black puppy rushed +into the room and made at the Governor's feet, as he sat in his +stockings with his legs dangling from the bedside. The Governor rubbed +his hands and dared him to come on, entering into the sport with +spirit. Nothing more that was significant transpired, to my knowledge, +during this interview. This was the first time that I ever called on a +governor, but, as I did not ask for an office, I can speak of it with +the more freedom. +<p> +An Indian who was making canoes behind a house, looking up pleasantly +from his work,--for he knew my companion,--said that his name was Old +John Pennyweight. I had heard of him long before, and I inquired after +one of his contemporaries, Joe Four-pence-ha'penny; but, alas! he no +longer circulates. I made a faithful study of canoe-building, and I +thought that I should like to serve an apprenticeship at that trade +for one season, going into the woods for bark with my "boss," making +the canoe there, and returning in it at last. +<p> +While the <i>bateau</i> was coming over to take us off, I picked up +some fragments of arrow-heads on the shore, and one broken stone +chisel, which were greater novelties to the Indians than to me. After +this, on Old Fort Hill, at, the bend of the Penobscot, three miles +above Bangor, looking for the site of an Indian town which some think +stood thereabouts, I found more arrow-heads, and two little dark and +crumbling fragments of Indian earthenware, in the ashes of their +fires. The Indians on the Island appeared to live quite happily and +to be well treated by the inhabitants of Oldtown. +<p> +We visited Veazie's mills, just below the Island, where were sixteen +sets of saws,--some gang saws, sixteen in a gang, not to mention +circular saws. On one side, they were hauling the logs up an +inclined plane by water-power; on the other, passing out the boards, +planks, and sawed timber, and forming them into rafts. The trees were +literally drawn and quartered there. In forming the rafts, they use +the lower three feet of hard-wood saplings, which have a crooked and +knobbed butt-end, for bolts, passing them up through holes bored in +the corners and sides of the rafts, and keying them. In another +apartment they were making fence-slats, such as stand all over New +England, out of odds and ends,--and it may be that I saw where the +picket-fence behind which I dwell at home came from. I was surprised +to find a boy collecting the long edgings of boards as fast as cut +off, and thrusting them down a hopper, where they were <i>ground +up</i> beneath the mill, that they might be out of the way; otherwise +they accumulate in vast piles by the side of the building, increasing +the danger from fire, or, floating off, they obstruct the river. This +was not only a saw-mill, but a grist-mill, then. The inhabitants of +Oldtown, Stillwater, and Bangor cannot suffer for want of +kindling-stuff, surely. Some get their living exclusively by picking +up the drift-wood and selling it by the cord in the winter. In one +place I saw where an Irishman, who keeps a team and a man for the +purpose, had covered the shore for a long distance with regular piles, +and I was told that he had sold twelve hundred dollars' worth in a +year. Another, who lived by the shore, told me that he got all the +material of his out-buildings and fences from the river; and in that +neighborhood I perceived that this refuse wood was frequently used +instead of sand to fill hollows with, being apparently cheaper than +dirt. +<p> +I got my first clear view of Katadn, on this excursion, from a hill +about two miles northwest of Bangor, whither I went for this +purpose. After this I was ready to return to Massachusetts. +<p> +<hr width="40%" align="center"> +<p> +Humboldt has written an interesting chapter on the primitive forest, +but no one has yet described for me the difference between that wild +forest which once occupied our oldest townships, and the tame one +which I find there to-day. It is a difference which would be worth +attending to. The civilized man not only clears the land permanently +to a great extent, and cultivates open fields, but he tames and +cultivates to a certain extent the forest itself. By his mere +presence, almost, he changes the nature of the trees as no other +creature does. The sun and air, and perhaps fire, have been +introduced, and grain raised where it stands. It has lost its wild, +damp, and shaggy look, the countless fallen and decaying trees are +gone, and consequently that thick coat of moss which lived on them is +gone too. The earth is comparatively bare and smooth and dry. The +most primitive places left with us are the swamps, where the spruce +still grows shaggy with usnea. The surface of the ground in the Maine +woods is everywhere spongy and saturated with moisture. I noticed that +the plants which cover the forest floor there are such as are commonly +confined to swamps with us,--the <i>Clintonia borealis</i>, orchises, +creeping snowberry, and others; and the prevailing aster there is the +<i>Aster acuminatus</i>, which with us grows in damp and shady +woods. The asters <i>cordifolias</i> and <i>macrophyllus</i> also are +common, asters of little or no color, and sometimes without petals. I +saw no soft, spreading, second-growth white-pines, with smooth bark, +acknowledging the presence of the wood-chopper, but even the young +white-pines were all tall and slender rough-barked trees. +<p> +Those Maine woods differ essentially from ours. There you are never +reminded that the wilderness which you are threading is, after all, +some villager's familiar wood-lot, some widow's thirds, from which her +ancestors have sledded fuel for generations, minutely described in +some old deed which is recorded, of which the owner has got a plan +too, and old bound-marks may be found every forty rods, if you will +search. 'Tis true, the map may inform you that you stand on land +granted by the State to some academy, or on Bingham's purchase; but +these names do not impose on you, for you see nothing to remind you of +the academy or of Bingham. What were the "forests" of England to +these? One writer relates of the Isle of Wight, that in Charles the +Second's time "there were woods in the island so complete and +extensive, that it is said a squirrel might have travelled in several +parts many leagues together on the top of the trees." If it were not +for the rivers, (and he might go round their heads,) a squirrel could +here travel thus the whole breadth of the country. +<p> +We have as yet had no adequate account of a primitive pine-forest. I +have noticed that in a physical atlas lately published in +Massachusetts, and used in our schools, the "wood land" of North +America is limited almost solely to the valleys of the Ohio and some +of the Great Lakes, and the great pine-forests of the globe are not +represented. In our vicinity, for instance, New Brunswick and Maine +are exhibited as bare as Greenland. It may be that the children of +Greenville, at the foot of Moosehead Lake, who surely are not likely +to be scared by an owl, are referred to the valley of the Ohio to get +an idea of a forest; but they would not know what to do with their +moose, bear, caribou, beaver, etc., there. Shall we leave it to an +Englishman to inform us, that "in North America, both in the United +States and Canada, are the most extensive pine-forests in the world"? +The greater part of New Brunswick, the northern half of Maine, and +adjacent parts of Canada, not to mention the northeastern part of New +York and other tracts further off, are still covered with an almost +unbroken pine-forest. +<p> +But Maine, perhaps, will soon be where Massachusetts is. A good part +of her territory is already as bare and common-place as much of our +neighborhood, and her villages generally are not so well shaded as +ours. We seem to think that the earth must go through the ordeal of +sheep-pasturage before it is habitable by man. Consider Nahant, the +resort of all the fashion of Boston,--which peninsula I saw but +indistinctly in the twilight, when I steamed by it, and thought that +it was unchanged since the discovery. John Smith described it in 1614 +as "the Mattahunts, two pleasant isles of groves, gardens, and +cornfields"; and others tell us that it was once well wooded, and even +furnished timber to build the wharves of Boston. Now it is difficult +to make a tree grow there, and the visitor comes away with a vision of +Mr. Tudor's ugly fences a rod high, designed to protect a few +pear-shrubs. And what are we coming to in our Middlesex towns?--a +bald, staring town-house, or meeting-house, and a bare liberty-pole, +as leafless as it is fruitless, for all I can see. We shall be obliged +to import the timber for the last, hereafter, or splice such sticks as +we have;--and our ideas of liberty are equally mean with these. The +very willow-rows lopped every three years for fuel or powder,--and +every sizable pine and oak, or other forest tree, cut down within the +memory of man! As if individual speculators were to be allowed to +export the clouds out of the sky, or the stars out of the firmament, +one by one. We shall be reduced to gnaw the very crust of the earth +for nutriment. +<p> +They have even descended to smaller game. They have lately, as I hear, +invented a machine for chopping up huckleberry-bushes fine, and so +converting them into fuel!--bushes which, for fruit alone, are worth +all the pear-trees in the country many times over. (I can give you a +list of the three best kinds, if you want it.) At this rate, we shall +all be obliged to let our beards grow at least, if only to hide the +nakedness of the land and make a sylvan appearance. The farmer +sometimes talks of "brushing up," simply as if bare ground looked +better than clothed ground, than that which wears its natural +vesture,--as if the wild hedges, which, perhaps, are more to his +children than his whole farm beside, were <i>dirt</i>. I know of one +who deserves to be called the Tree-hater, and, perhaps, to leave this +for a new patronymic to his children. You would think that he had +been warned by an oracle that he would be killed by the fall of a +tree, and so was resolved to anticipate them. The journalists think +that they cannot say too much in favor of such "improvements" in +husbandry; it is a safe theme, like piety; but as for the beauty of +one of these "model farms," I would as lief see a patent churn and a +man turning it. They are, commonly, places merely where somebody is +making money, it may be counterfeiting. The virtue of making two +blades of grass grow where only one grew before does not begin to be +superhuman. +<p> +Nevertheless, it was a relief to get back to our smooth, but still +varied landscape. For a permanent residence, it seemed to me that +there could be no comparison between this and the wilderness, +necessary as the latter is for a resource and a background, the raw +material of all our civilization. The wilderness is simple, almost to +barrenness. The partially cultivated country it is which chiefly has +inspired, and will continue to inspire, the strains of poets, such as +compose the mass of any literature. Our woods are sylvan, and their +inhabitants woodmen and rustics,--that is, <i>selvaggia</i>, and the +inhabitants are <i>salvages</i>. A civilized man, using the word in +the ordinary sense, with his ideas and associations, must at length +pine there, like a cultivated plant, which clasps its fibres about a +crude and undissolved mass of peat. At the extreme North, the voyagers +are obliged to dance and act plays for employment. Perhaps our own +woods and fields,--in the best wooded towns, where we need not quarrel +about the huckleberries,--with the primitive swamps scattered here and +there in their midst, but not prevailing over them, are the perfection +of parks and groves, gardens, arbors, paths, vistas, and landscapes. +They are the natural consequence of what art and refinement we as a +people have,--the common which each village possesses, its true +paradise, in comparison with which all elaborately and wilfully +wealth-constructed parks and gardens are paltry imitations. Or, I +would rather say, such <i>were</i> our groves twenty years ago. The +poet's, commonly, is not a logger's path, but a woodman's. The logger +and pioneer have preceded him, like John the Baptist; eaten the wild +honey, it may be, but the locusts also; banished decaying wood and the +spongy mosses which feed on it, and built hearths and humanized Nature +for him. +<p> +But there are spirits of a yet more liberal culture, to whom no +simplicity is barren. There are not only stately pines, but fragile +flowers, like the orchises, commonly described as too delicate for +cultivation, which derive their nutriment from the crudest mass of +peat. These remind us, that, not only for strength, but for beauty, +the poet must, from time to time, travel the logger's path and the +Indian's trail, to drink at some new and more bracing fountain of the +Muses, far in the recesses of the wilderness. +<p> +The kings of England formerly had their forests "to hold the king's +game," for sport or food, sometimes destroying villages to create or +extend them; and I think that they were impelled by a true +instinct. Why should not we, who have renounced the king's authority, +have our national preserves, where no villages need be destroyed, in +which the bear and panther, and some even of the hunter race, may +still exist, and not be "civilized off the face of the earth,"--our +forests, not to hold the king's game merely, but to hold and preserve +the king himself also, the lord of creation,--not for idle sport or +food, but for inspiration and our own true re-creation? or shall we, +like villains, grub them all up, poaching on our own national domains? + +<br><br><br> + +<br><br><br> + +<table border="0"> +<tr> +<td width="33%"> </td> +<td width="67%"> +<center> +<h2> +<a name="8">MY CHILDREN</a> +</h2> +</center> +<p> + Have you seen Annie and Kitty,<br> + Two merry children of mine?<br> + All that is winning and pretty<br> + Their little persons combine. +<p> + Annie is kissing and clinging<br> + Dozens of times in a day,--<br> + Chattering, laughing, and singing,<br> + Romping, and running away. +<p> + Annie knows all of her neighbors.<br> + Dainty and dirty alike,--<br> + Learns all their talk, and, "be jabers,"<br> + Says she "adores little Mike!" +<p> + Annie goes mad for a flower,<br> + Eager to pluck and destroy,--<br> + Cuts paper dolls by the hour,<br> + Always her model--a boy! +<p> + Annie is full of her fancies,<br> + Tells most remarkable lies,<br> + (Innocent little romances,)<br> + Startling in one of her size. +<p> + Three little prayers we have taught her,<br> + Graded from winter to spring;<br> + Oh, you should listen my daughter<br> + Saying them all in a string! +<p> + Kitty--ah, how my heart blesses<br> + Kitty, my lily, my rose!<br> + Wary of all my caresses,<br> + Chary of all she bestows. +<p> + Kitty loves quietest places,<br> + Whispers sweet sermons to chairs,<br> + And, with the gravest of faces,<br> + Teaches old Carlo his prayers. +<p> + Matronly, motherly creature!<br> + Oh, what a doll she has built--<br> + Guiltless of figure or feature--<br> + Out of her own little quilt! +<p> + Nought must come near it to wake it;<br> + Noise must not give it alarm;<br> + And when she sleeps, she must take it<br> + Into her bed, on her arm. +<p> + Kitty is shy of a caller,<br> + Uttering never a word;<br> + But when alone in the parlor,<br> + Talks to herself like a bird. +<p> + Kitty is contrary, rather,<br> + And, with a comical smile,<br> + Mutters, "I won't," to her father,--<br> + Eyeing him slyly the while. +<p> + Loving one more than the other<br> + Isn't the thing, I confess;<br> + And I observe that their mother<br> + Makes no distinction in dress. +<p> + Preference must be improper<br> + In a relation like this;<br> + I wouldn't toss up a copper--<br> + (Kitty, come, give me a kiss!) +</td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<br><br><br> + +<br><br><br> + +<center> +<h2> +<a name="9">THE KINLOCH ESTATE, AND HOW IT WAS SETTLED.</a> +</h2> +</center> +<p> +[Continued.] +<br> +<br> +<h3>CHAPTER VII.</h3> +<p> +Early Monday morning, Mr. Hardwick walked across the green to call +upon Mrs. Kinloch. Lucy Ransom, the house-maid, washing in the +back-yard, saw him coming, and told her mistress;--before he rang, +Mrs. Kinloch had time to tie on her lace cap, smooth her hair, and +meet him in the hall. +<p> +"Good mum-morning, Mrs. Kinloch!" +<p> +"Walk in, Mr. Hardwick,--this way, into the sitting-room." +<p> +He took a seat quietly by the maple-shaded window. Mrs. Kinloch was +silent and composed. Her coolness nerved instead of depressing him, +and he began at once. +<p> +"I've ker-come to see you about the debt which my nun-nephew, Mark, +owes the estate." +<p> +"I don't know what <i>I</i> can do about it," she replied, in a placid +tone. +<p> +"We've ben nun-neighbors, now, these f-fifteen years, Mrs. Kinloch, +and never h-had any difficulty th-that I know on. An' as the ler-law +had been used per-pretty ha'sh toward Mark, I th-thought I'd see ef +'twa'n't per-possible't some mistake had ben made." +<p> +"I don't know what mistake there has been. Squire Clamp must collect +whatever is due. It isn't harsh to do that, is it?" +<p> +"Not ha'sh to a-ask for it, but not jest the ker-kind thing to bring +ser-suit before askin'. Mark got a word and a ber-blow, but the blow +came f-first. We didn't treat yer-you so when you was a widder." +<p> +"So you go back to old times, and bring up my poverty and your +charity, do you?" said the widow, bitterly. +<p> +"By nun-no means," replied the blacksmith. "I don't w-wish to open +'counts th-that've ben settled so long; an' more, I don't intend to +ber-ber-beg from you, nor a-anybody else. We pay our debts, an' don't +'xpect nor don't wer-want to do any different." +<p> +"Then I don't see what you are so flurried about." +<p> +"Ef so be Squire Ker-Kinloch was alive, I could tell you ber-better; +or rather, I shouldn't have to go to yer-you about it. He allers give +Mark to underst-hand that he shouldn't be hard upon him,--th-that he +could pay along as he ger-got able." +<p> +"Why should he favor him more than others? I am sure not many men +would have lent the money in the first place, and I don't think it +looks well to be hanging back now." +<p> +"As to why yer-your husband was disposed to favor Mark, I have +<i>my</i> opinion. But the der-dead shall rest; I sh-sha'n't call up +their pale faces." He drew his breath hard, and his eyes looked full +of tender memories. +<p> +After a moment he went on. "I don't w-wish to waste words; I +mum-merely come to say that Mark has five hunderd dollars, and that I +can scrape up a couple o' hunderd more, and will give my note w-with +him for the balance. Th-that's all we can handily do; an' ef that'll +arnswer, we should ler-like to have you give word to stop the suit." +<p> +"You will have to go to Squire Clamp," was the reply. "I don't presume +to dictate to my lawyer, but shall let him do what he thinks best. You +haven't been to him, I conclude? I don't think he will be +unreasonable." +<p> +Mr. Hardwick looked steadily at her. +<p> +"Wer-well, Mrs. Kinloch," said he, slowly, "I th-think I +understand. Ef I don't, it isn't because you don't mum-make the matter +plain. I sha'n't go to Squire Clamp till I have the mum-money, all of +it. I hope no a-a-enemy of yourn will be so hard to y-you as my +friends are to me." +<p> +With singular command over her tongue and temper, Mrs. Kinloch +contented herself with hoping that he would find no difficulty in +arranging matters with the lawyer, bade him good-morning, civilly, and +shut the door behind him. But when he was gone, her anger, kept so +well under control before, burst forth. +<p> +"Stuttering old fool!" she exclaimed, "to come here to badger me!--to +throw up to me the wood he cut, or the apples he brought me!--as +though Mr. Kinloch hadn't paid that ten times over! He'll find how it +is before long." +<p> +"What's the matter?" asked Mildred, meeting her step-mother in the +hall, and noticing her flushed cheek, her swelling veins, and +contorted brows. +<p> +"Why, nothing, but a talk with Uncle Ralph, who has been rather +saucy." +<p> +"Saucy? Uncle Ralph saucy? Why, he is the most kindly man in the +world,--sometimes hasty, but always well-mannered. I don't see how he +could be saucy." +<p> +"I advise you not to stand up for him against your mother." +<p> +"I shouldn't defend him in anything wrong; but I think there must be +some misunderstanding." +<p> +"He is like Mark, I suppose, always perfect in your eyes." +<p> +This was the first time since Mr. Kinloch's death that the step-mother +had ever alluded to the fondness which had existed between Mark and +Mildred as school-children, and her eyes were bent upon the girl +eagerly. It was as though she had knocked at the door of her heart, +and waited for its opening to look into the secret recesses. A quick +flush suffused Mildred's face and neck. +<p> +"You are unkind, mother," she said; for the glance was sharper than +the words; and then, bursting into tears, she went to her room. +<p> +"So it has come to this!" said Mrs. Kinloch to herself. "Well, I did +not begin at all too soon." +<p> +She walked through the hall to the back piazza. She heard voices from +beyond the shrubbery that bordered the grass-plot where the clothes +were hung on lines to dry. Lucy, the maid, evidently was there, for +one; indeed, by shifting her position so as to look through an opening +in the bushes, Mrs. Kinloch could see the girl; but she was not busy +with her clothes-basket. An arm was bent around her plump and graceful +figure. The next instant, as Mrs. Kinloch saw by standing on tiptoe, +two forms swayed toward each other, and Lucy, no way reluctantly, +received a kiss from--Hugh Branning! +<p> +Very naughty, certainly,--but it is incumbent on me to tell the truth, +and accordingly I have put it down. +<p> +Now my readers are doubtless prepared for a catastrophe. They will +expect to hear Mrs. Kinloch cry, "Lucy Ransom, you jade, what are you +doing? Take your clothes and trumpery and leave this house!" You will +suppose that her son Hugh will be shut up in the cellar on bread and +water, or sent off to sea in disgrace. That is the traditional way +with angry mistresses, I know; but Mrs. Kinloch was not one of the +common sort. She did not know Talleyrand's maxim,--"Never act from +first impulses, for they are always--<i>right</i>!" Indeed, I doubt if +she had ever heard of that slippery Frenchman; but observation and +experience had led her to adopt a similar line of policy. +<p> +Therefore she did not scold or send away Lucy; she could not well do +without her; and besides, there were reasons which made it desirable +that the girl should remain friendly. She did not call out to her +hopeful son, either,--although her fingers <i>did</i> itch to tweak +his profligate ears. She knew that a dispute with him would only end +in his going off in a huff, and she thought she could employ him +better. So she coughed first and then stepped out into the yard. Hugh +presently came sauntering down the walk, and Lucy sang among the +clothes-lines as blithely and unconcerned as though her lips had never +tasted any flavor more piquant than bread and butter. +<p> +It was rather an equivocal look which the mistress cast over her +shoulder at the girl. It might have said,--"Poor fool! singe your +wings in the candle, if you will." It might have been only the scorn +of outraged virtue. +<p> +"Hugh," said Mrs. Kinloch, "come into the house a moment. I want to +speak with you." +<p> +The young man looked up rather astonished, but he could not read his +mother's placid face. Her hair lay smooth on her temples, under her +neat cap; her face was almost waxy pale, her lips gently pressed +together; and if her clear, gray eyes had beamed with a warm or more +humid light, she might have served a painter as a model for a + + + "steadfast nun, devout and pure." + +<p> +When they reached the sitting-room, Mrs. Kinloch began. +<p> +"Hugh, do you think of going to sea again? Now that I am alone in the +world, don't you think you can make up your mind to stay at home?" +<p> +"I haven't thought much about it, mother. I suppose I should go when +ordered, as a matter of course; I have nothing else to do." +<p> +"That need not be a reason. There is plenty to do without waiting for +promotion in the navy till you are gray." +<p> +"Why, mother, you know I have no profession, and, I suppose I may say, +no money. At least, the Squire made no provision for me that I know +of, and I'm sure you cannot wish me to live on your 'thirds.'" +<p> +"My son, you should have some confidence in my advice, by this +time. It doesn't require a great fortune to live comfortably here." +<p> +"Yes, but it is deused dull in this old town. No theatre,--no +concert,--no music at all, but from organ-grinders,--no +parties,--nothing, in fact, but prayer-meetings from one week's end to +another. I should die of the blues here." +<p> +"Only find something to do, settle yourself into a pleasant home, and +you'll forget your uneasiness." +<p> +"That's very well to say"---- +<p> +"And very easy to do. But it isn't the way to begin by flirting with +every pretty, foolish girl you see. Oh, Hugh! you are all I have now +to love. I shall grow old soon, and I want to lean upon you. Give up +the navy; be advised by me." +<p> +Hugh whistled softly. He did not suppose that his mother knew of his +gallantry. He was amused at her sharp observation. +<p> +"So you think I'm a flirt, mother?" said he. "You are out, +entirely. I'm a pattern of propriety at home!" +<p> +"You need not tell me, Hugh! I know more than you think. But I didn't +know that a son of mine could be so simple as I find you are." +<p> +"She's after me," thought Hugh. "She saw me, surely." +<p> +His mother went on. +<p> +"With such an opportunity as you have to get yourself a wife----Don't +laugh! I want to see you married, for you will never sow your wild +oats until you are. With such a chance as you have"---- +<p> +"Why, mother," broke in Hugh, "it isn't so bad as that." +<p> +"Isn't so bad? What do you mean?" +<p> +"Why, <i>you</i> know what you're driving at, and so do I. Lucy is a +good girl enough, but I never meant anything serious. There's no need +of my marrying her." +<p> +"What <i>are</i> you talking about?" +<p> +"Now, mother, what's the use? You are only trying to read me a moral +lecture, because I gave Lucy a harmless smack." +<p> +"Lucy Ransom!" repeated Mrs. Kinloch, with ineffable scorn. "Lucy +Ransom! I hope my son isn't low enough to dally with a housemaid, a +scullion! If I <i>had</i> seen such a spectacle, I should have kept my +mouth shut for shame. 'A guilty conscience needs no accuser'; but I am +sorry you had not pride enough to keep your disgusting fooleries to +yourself." +<p> +"Regularly sold!" muttered Hugh, as he beat a rat-tattoo on the +window-pane. +<p> +"I gave you credit for more penetration, Hugh. Now, just look a +minute. What would you think of the shrewdness of a young man, who +had no special turn for business, but a great fondness for taking his +ease,--with no money nor prospect of any,--and who, when he had the +opportunity to step at once into fortune and position, made no +movement to secure it?" +<p> +"Well, the application?" +<p> +"The fortune may be yours, if you will." +<p> +"Don't tell me riddles. Show me the prize, and I'm after it." +<p> +"But it has an incumbrance." +<p> +"Well?" +<p> +"A pretty, artless, affectionate little woman, who will make you the +best wife in the world." +<p> +"Splendid, by Jove! Who is she?" +<p> +"You needn't look far. We generally miss seeing the thing that is +under our nose." +<p> +"Why, mother, there isn't an heiress in Innisfield except my sister +Mildred." +<p> +"Mildred is not your sister. You are no more to each other than the +two farthest persons on earth." +<p> +"True enough! Well, mother, you <i>are</i> an old 'un!" +<p> +"Don't!"--with a look of disgust,--"don't use your sailor slang here! +To see that doesn't require any particular shrewdness." +<p> +"But Mildred never liked me much. She always ran from me, like the +kitten from old Bose. She has always looked as though she thought I +would bite, and that it was best she should keep out of reach under a +chair." +<p> +"Any young man of good address and fair intelligence can make an +impression on a girl of eighteen, if he has the will, the time, and +the opportunity. You have everything in your favor, and if you don't +take the fortune that lies right in your path, you deserve to go to +the poor-house." +<p> +Hugh meditated. +<p> +"Good-morning," said Mrs. Kinloch. "You know the horse and carriage, +or the saddle-ponies, are always yours when you want to use them." +<p> +Great discoveries seem always so simple, that we wonder they were not +made from the first. The highest truths are linked with the commonest +objects and events of daily life. +<p> +Hugh looked about him as much astonished as though he had been shown a +gold mine in old Quobbin, where he could dig for the asking. What +determination he made, the course of our story will show. +<br> +<br> + + +<h3>CHAPTER VIII.</h3> + +<p> +Hugh had ordered George, the Asiatic, to saddle the ponies after +dinner, intending to ask Mildred to take a ride northward, through the +pine woods; but on making inquiries, he found that she had walked out, +leaving word that she should be absent all day. +<p> +"Confound it!" thought he,--"a mishap at the start! I'm afraid the +omen isn't a good one. However, I must kill time some way. I can't lay +up here, like a ship in ordinary; better be shaken by storms or +covered with barnacles at sea than be housed up, worm-eaten or +crumbled into powder by dry-rot on shore." +<p> +He went to ride alone, but did not go in the direction of the pine +woods. +<p> +Mildred could not get over the unpleasant impressions of the morning, +so, rather than remain in her room this fine day, she had walked +across the meadow, east of the mill-pond, to a farm-house, where she +was a frequent and welcome visitor. On her way, she called for Lizzy +Hardwick, the blacksmith's daughter, who accompanied her. Mr. Alford, +the farmer, was a blunt, good-humored, and rather eccentric man, +shrewd and well to do, but kindly and charitable. He had no children, +and he enjoyed the occasional visits of his favorites heartily; so did +his wife, Aunt Mercy. Her broad face brightened as she saw the girls +coming, and her plump hands were both extended to greet them. They +went to the dairy to see the creaking cheese-presses, ate of the fresh +curd, saw the golden stores of butter;--thence to the barn, where they +clambered upon the hay-mow, found the nest of a bantam, took some of +the little eggs in their pockets;--then coming into the yard, they +patted the calves' heads, scattered oats for the doves, that, with +pink feet and pearly blue necks, crowded around them to be fed, and +next began to chase a fine old gander down to the brook, when +Mr. Alford, getting over the fence, called out, "Hold on, girls! don't +bother Uncle Ralph!--don't!" +<p> +"Where is Uncle Ralph?" asked Mildred. +<p> +"Why, that gander you've been chasin'; and he's about the harn'somest +bird I know on, too. Talk about swans! there never was a finer neck, +nor a prettier coat of feathers on anything that ever swum. His wings +are powerful; only let him spread 'em, and up he goes; but as for his +feet, he limps just a little, as you see. No offence, Lizzy. I love +your father as well as you do; but when I hear him, with his idees so +grand,--the minister don't begin with him,--and yet to be bothered, as +he is sometimes, to get a word out, I think of my good old fellow +here, whose wings are so much better'n his legs. Come here, Ralph! You +see he knows his name. There!"--patting his head,--"that's a good +fellow! Now go and help marm attend to your goslins." +<p> +The kindly tone and the caress took away from the comparison any idea +of disrespect, and the girls laughed at the odd conceit,--Lizzy, at +least, not a little proud of the implied compliment. Mr. Alford left +them, to attend to his affairs, and they went on with their +romp,--running on the top of the smooth wall beside the meadow, +gathering clusters of lilac blossoms from the fatherly great posy that +grew on the sunny side of the house, and admiring the solitary state +of the peacock, as, with dainty step, he trailed his royal robe over +the sward. Soon they heard voices at the house, and, going round the +corner of the shed, saw Uncle Ralph and Mark Davenport talking with +Mr. Alford at the door. +<p> +Not to make a mystery of a simple matter, the blacksmith had come to +borrow of Mr. Alford the money necessary to make up the amount owing +by Mark to the Kinloch estate. +<p> +The young man had shown great readiness to accompany his uncle; +praiseworthy, certainly; but I am inclined to think he had somehow got +an intimation that the girls had preceded him. +<p> +Fortunately, the farmer was able to lend the sum wanted, and, as he +had an errand in town, he took Mr. Hardwick with him in his wagon. +<p> +Mark was left, nothing loath, to walk home with the girls. Do not +think he was wanting in affection for his cousin Lizzy, if he wished +that she were, just for one hour, a hundred miles away. They took a +path that led over the plain to the river, intending to cross upon a +foot-bridge, a short distance above the village. But though Mark was +obliged to be silent on the matter he had most at heart, Mildred was +not unaware of his feelings. A tone, a look, a grasp of the hand +serves for an index, quite as well as the most fervent speech. The +river makes a beautiful bend near the foot-bridge, and its bank is +covered with a young growth of white pines. They sat down on a +hillock, under the trees, whose spicy perfume filled the air, and +looked down the stream towards the village. How fair it lay in the +soft air of that June day! The water was deep and blue, with a +reflected heaven. The mills that cluster about the dam, a mile below, +were partially concealed by young elms, silver-poplars, and +water-maples. Gardens sloped on either bank to the water's edge. Neat, +white houses gleamed through the trees and shrubbery around the bases +of the hills that hem in the valley; and the tall, slender spire of +the meeting-house shewed fairly against its densely-wooded +background. Verily, if I were a painter, I should desire no lovelier +scene for my canvas than that on which Mark and Mildred looked. Lizzy +walked away, and began hunting checkerberries with an unusual +ardor. She <i>did</i> understand; she would not be Mademoiselle de +Trop any longer. Kind soul! so unlike young women in general, who +won't step aside gracefully, when they should! Further I can vouch, +that she neither hemmed, nor made eyes, nor yet repeated the well-worn +proverb, "Two's company, but three's none." No, she gathered berries +and sang snatches of songs as though she were quite alone. +<p> +Now those of my readers who have the good-fortune still to linger in +teens are expecting that I shall treat them to a report of this +delightful <i>tête-à-tête</i>. But it must not be told. The older +people would skip it, or say, "Pshaw!" And besides, if it were set +down faithfully, you would be sadly disappointed; the cleverest men, +even, are quite sure to appear silly (to other people) when in +love. The speeches of the Romeos and Claude Melnottes, with which you +have been so enchanted, would be common-place enough, if translated +into the actual prose in which they were delivered. When Shakspeare +wooed Anne Hathaway, it might have been different; but consider, you +will wait some time before you find a lover like him. No, when your +time comes, it will be soon enough. You will see your hero in his +velvet cloak and plumed hat, with the splendor of scenery and the +intoxication of the music. I don't choose to show him to you in +morning dress at rehearsal, under daubed canvas and dangling +machinery. +<p> +However full of poetry and passion Mark's declaration was for Mildred, +to him it was tame and hesitating enough. It seemed to him that he +could not force into the cold formula of words the emotion that +agitated him. But with quickening breath he poured out his love, his +hopes, and his fears,--the old burden! She trembled, her eyelids +fell; but at length, roused by his pleading tones, she looked +up. Their eyes met; one look was enough; it was a reciprocal electric +flash. With a sudden energy he clasped her in his arms; and it was a +very pretty tableau they made! But in the quick movement his heedless +foot chanced to touch a stone, which rolled down the bank and fell +into the stream with a splash. The charm was broken. +<p> +"What's that?" cried Lizzy from a distance, forgetting her +discretion. "Did a pickerel jump?" +<p> +"No," replied Mark, "the pickerel know me of old, and don't come about +for fear that I have a hook and line in my pocket. It was only a stone +rolling into the river." +<p> +"You come here a moment," continued the unthoughtful Lizzy; "here's a +beautiful sassafras sapling, and I can't pull it up by the roots +alone." +<p> +"Send for the dentist, then." +<p> +"Go and help her," said Mildred, softly. +<p> +"Well," said Mark, with a look of enforced resignation,--"if I must." +<p> +The sapling grew on the steep bank, perhaps fifty yards from where he +had been sitting. He did not use sufficient care to brace himself, as +he pulled with all his might, and in a moment, he knew not how, he +rolled down into the river. The girls first screamed, and then, as he +came out of the water, shaking himself like a Newfoundland dog, they +laughed immoderately. The affair did not seem very funny to Mark, and +he joined in the laugh with no great heartiness. The shock had +effectually dispelled all the romance of the hour. +<p> +"I'm so sorry!" said Lizzy, still laughing at his grotesque and +dripping figure. +<p> +"You must hurry and get dry clothes on, Mark," said Mildred. "Squire +Clamp's is the nearest house across the bridge." +<p> +"Hang Squire Clamp! his clothes would poison me. I'd as lief go to a +quarantine hospital to be dressed." +<p> +"Don't!" said Lizzy. +<p> +But he kept on in the same mercurial strain.--"Clamp lives on poison, +like Rappaccini's daughter, in Hawthorne's story; only it makes him +ugly instead of fair, as that pretty witch was. His wife never had any +trouble with spiders as long as she lived; he had only to blow into a +nest, and the creatures would tumble out, and give up their venomous +ghosts. No vermin but himself are to be seen in his neighborhood; the +rats even found they couldn't stand it, and had to emigrate." +<p> +"The breath that killed spiders must have been a little too powerful, +at times, for Mrs. Clamp, one would think," said Mildred. +<p> +"It was," said Mark. "She died one day, after Clamp had cheated a +widow out of her dower." +<p> +"Don't stop longer for your fun," said Mildred, "you'll surely take +cold. Besides, I can't have you making any disparaging remarks upon my +guardian." +<p> +"Bless my soul! your guardian! how imprudent, to be sure!"--with a +significant twinkle. "Well, I'm going. Banfield's is the nearest +house; so we'll part here." +<p> +The girls went towards the village; and Mark, making vigorous strides +across the meadow, took a straight line for Banfield's. Near the +house is a piece of woods,--one corner of the leafy mantle that covers +the hill slipped down its side and trailing upon the borders of the +fertile field below. Just as he passed the woods he saw Hugh Branning +letting down the bars and leading his pony out into the road. The only +bridle-path through the woods led over the hill to the little house on +the westerly slope, where lived Dame Ransom, Lucy's bowed and wrinkled +grandmother. Mark wondered not a little where the midshipman had been; +but as he still retained the memory of the old quarrel, he did not +accost him, and presently thought no more of it. Reaching the house, +he got some dry clothes and then went home with bounding steps. The +earth was never so beautiful nor the sky so benign. The cloud of +doubt had furled off and left his heaven blue. He had spoken and found +that the dream of his boyhood and the hope of his youth had become the +proud triumph of his manhood. Mildred Kinloch loved him! loved him as +sincerely as when they were both children! What higher felicity was +to be thought of? And what a motive for exertion had he now! He would +be worthy of her, and the world should acknowledge that the heiress +had not stooped when she mated with him. +<br> +<br> + +<h3>CHAPTER IX.</h3> + +<p> +Mrs. Kinloch was surprised at finding that neither Hugh nor Mildred, +nor yet Lucy Ransom, was in the house. +<p> +Mildred came home first and was not accompanied by Hugh, as +Mrs. Kinloch had hoped. He had not found her, then,--perhaps he had +not sought for her. Next Lucy returned, coming through the garden +which stretched up the hill. Being questioned, she answered that she +had been to her grandmother's, and had come back the nearest way over +the hill, through the woods. +<p> +"What had she gone for after the fatigue of washing-day?" +<p> +"Because Squire Clamp, who owned the house her grandmother lived in, +wanted her to take a message." +<p> +Mrs. Kinloch began to become interested. "Squire Clamp!" she +exclaimed,--"when did you see him?" +<p> +"He called here yesterday evening,--on his way to Mr. Hardwick's, I +guess." +<p> +"Why didn't he ask <i>me</i> if you could go? I think he's pretty free +to send my girls about the town on his errands." +<p> +"You were out, Ma'am,--in the next house; and after he'd gone I forgot +it." +<p> +"You remembered it to-day, it seems." +<p> +"Yes'm; after dinner I thought of it and hurried right off; but granny +was sick and foolish, and didn't want to let me come away, so I +couldn't get back as quick as I meant to." +<p> +"Well, you can go to the kitchen." +<p> +"Yes'm." +<p> +"I must keep an eye on that girl," thought Mrs. Kinloch. "She is +easily persuaded, fickle, without strong sense, and with only a very +shallow kind of cunning. She might do mischief. What can Squire Clamp +want? The old hovel her grandmother lives in isn't worth fifty +dollars. Whatever has been going on, I'm glad Hugh is not mixed up in +it." +<p> +Just then Hugh rode up, and, tying his horse, came in. He seemed to +have lost something of the gayety of the morning. "I am tired," he +said. "I had to get off and lead the pony down the hill, and it's +steep and stony enough." +<p> +"There are pleasant roads enough in the neighborhood," said his +mother, "without your being obliged to take to the woods and clamber +over the mountains." +<p> +"I know it," he replied; "but I had been up towards the Allen place, +and I took a notion to come back over the hill." +<p> +"Then you passed Lucy's house?" +<p> +"Yes. The bridle-path leads down the hill about a mile above this; but +on foot one may keep along the ridge and come down into the valley +through our garden." +<p> +"So I suppose; in fact, I believe Lucy has just returned that way." +<p> +"Indeed! it's strange I didn't see her." +<p> +"It is strange." +<p> +Hugh bore the quiet scrutiny well, and his mother came to the +conclusion that the girl had told the truth about her going for the +lawyer. +<p> +Presently Mildred came down from her room, and after a few minutes +Mrs. Kinloch went out, casting a fixed and meaning look at her +son. She seemed as impatient for the issue of her scheme, as the child +who, after planting a seed, waits for the green shoot, and twice a day +digs down to see if it has not sprouted. +<p> +Mildred, as the reader may suppose, was not likely to be very +agreeable to her companion; the recollections of the day were too +vivid, too delicious. +<p> +She could not part with them, but constantly repeated to herself the +words of love, of hope, and enthusiasm, which she had heard. So she +moved or talked as in a dream, mechanically, while her soul still +floated away on the summer-sea of reverie. +<p> +Hugh looked at her with real admiration; and, in truth, she deserved +it. A fairer face you would not see in a day's journey; her smooth +skin, not too white, but of a rich creamy tint,--eyes brown and +inclined to be dreamy,--her hair chestnut and wavy,--a figure rather +below the medium size, but with full, graceful lines,--these, joined +with a gentle nature and a certain tremulous sensibility, constituted +a divinity that it was surely no sin to worship. If sin it were, all +the young men in Innisfield had need of immediate forgiveness. +<p> +Hugh had some qualms about approaching the goddess. He was sensible of +a wide gulf between himself and her, and he could not but think that +she was aware of it too. +<p> +"You have been to Mr. Alford's?" +<p> +A momentary pause. +<p> +"Did you speak, Hugh?" +<p> +He repeated the question. Her eyes brightened a moment as she nodded +in the affirmative; then they grew dim again, like windows seen from +without when the light is withdrawn to an inner room. She seemed as +unconscious as a pictured Madonna. +<p> +"A beautiful day for your walk," he ventured again. The same pause, +the same momentary interest as she answered, followed by the same +abstraction. +<p> +"I suppose," said he, at length, "that I am having the last of my idle +days here; I expect to be ordered to sea shortly." +<p> +"Indeed!" Mildred looked up. +<p> +"I shall be very sorry to leave here," he continued. +<p> +"Yes, Innisfield <i>is</i> quite pretty this summer. But I supposed +that the pleasures of the seaport and of adventure abroad were more +attractive to you than this monotonous life." +<p> +"'Tis rather slow here, but--I--I meant to say that I shall be sorry +to leave you." +<p> +"Me? Why, mother can take care of me." +<p> +"Certainly she will, but I shall miss you." +<p> +"No doubt you'll think of us, when you are away; I'm sure we shall +remember you. We shall never sit down to the table without thinking of +your vacant chair." +<p> +It was impossible to misinterpret her kind, simple, sisterly +tones. And Hugh could but feel that they indicated no particle of +tenderness for him. The task of winning her was yet wholly to be done, +and there was no prospect that she would give him the least +encouragement in advance, if she did not utterly refuse him at the +end. He saw that he must not count on an easy victory, but prepare for +it by a slow and gradual approach. +<p> +Mildred sat some time leaning out of the window, then opening her +piano, for the first time since her father's death, she sat down and +played a nocturne by Mendelssohn. The music seemed a natural +expression of her feelings,--suited to the heart "steeped in golden +languors," in the "tranced summer calm." The tones rang through the +silent rooms, pervading all the charmed air, so that the ear tingled +in listening,--as the lips find a sharpness with the luscious flavor +of the pine-apple. The sound reached to the kitchen, and brought a +brief pleasure, but a bitterer pang of envy, to Lucy's swelling bosom. +It calmed for a moment the evil spirit in Hugh's troubled heart. And +Mrs. Kinloch in her solitary chamber, though she had always detested +the piano, thought she had never heard such music before. She had +found a new sense, that thrilled her with an exquisite delight. It was +a good omen, she was sure, that Mildred should now, after so long a +time, feel inclined to play. Only a light heart, and one supremely +careless or supremely happy, could touch the keys like that. "Hugh +must be a fortunate boy," she thought; and she could have hugged him +for joy. What thought Hugh, as she rose from her seat at the +instrument like one in a trance and walked towards the hall? +Conflicting emotions struggled for mastery; but, hardly knowing what +he did, he started up and offered her a caress. It was not unusual, +but her nerves had acquired an unwonted sensitiveness; she shuddered, +and rushed from him up the stairs. He could have torn his hair with +rage. +<p> +"Am I, then, such a bear," he asked himself, "that she is afraid of +me?" +<p> +A light at the end of the hall caught his eye. It was Lucy with +tear-stained cheeks going to bed,--unconscious that the flaring candle +she carried was dripping upon her dress,--unconscious that the one she +both loved and feared was looking at her as she slowly went up the +back-stairs. Truly, how little the inmates of that house knew of the +secrets of each other's hearts! It was strange,--was it not?--that, +after so long intimacy, they could not understand each other better! +How many hearts do <i>you</i> really know? +<br> +<br> + +<h3>CHAPTER X.</h3> + +<p> +"Verily, a good day's work," thought Squire Clamp, as he stretched his +legs in his office that Monday evening. "Mrs. Kinloch is a very shrewd +woman, an extraordinarily capable woman. What a wife for a lawyer +she'd make!--so long as she plotted for, and not against him. But +Theophilus Clamp was not born to be overreached by one of the weaker +sex. I was sure my late lamented friend could not have left his +affairs in such utter disorder,--no schedule of property,--no +statement of debts; too good a business man for that was Walter +Kinloch. I shall now be able to know from these documents what my +late client was really worth, and how large a dower the disconsolate +widow has reserved for herself. Doubtless she has put by enough to +suffice for her old age,--and mine, too, I am inclined to think; for I +don't believe I can do better than marry her when the mourning is +ended. My late spouse, to be sure, would make a quiet man rather +apprehensive about a second venture; but if Mrs. Kinloch <i>is</i> a +Tartar, she is not a vulgar shrew, but will be lady-like, even if she +is bitter. I think I shall take her. Of course she'll consent. I +should like to see the unmarried woman in Innisfield that would dare +refuse Theophilus Clamp. When she knows--that I know--what she knows, +she'll do pretty much what I tell her. I wonder if she hasn't set on +foot a marriage between her scapegrace son and Mildred? That would be +a mishap, truly! But, as guardian, I can stave that off until the +estate is settled, my wedding over, and myself comfortably in +possession. Then, perhaps, we'll let the young folks marry,--at least +we'll think of it. If my son George, now, had not that unlucky +hare-lip, who knows? H'm, well, to business again. Let's see. It's +just as that remarkably keen woman suspected. Hardwick's shop does +stand partly on the land of the estate that joins it; the line will +run right through his forge, and leave the trip-hammer and water-wheel +in our possession; for I paced the distance this morning. Tomorrow +Gunter will make sure of it by a survey; though I think we'd better do +it while the old man is gone to dinner. He's sometimes apt to use +emphatic language. Perhaps now his mangy cur Caesar will seize me by +the coat again! Perhaps Mark will insult me, and the old man laugh at +it in his sleeve! I shouldn't wonder if they managed to pay the notes, +but on the title to the shop we have them fast." +<p> +The lawyer looked at his watch. "Dear me! it's tea-time. I must go, +for the church-committee meet this evening. I think, however, I won't +complain of Hardwick to the deacons this time; for he'll be sure to +get into a passion when we commence our suit for ejectment, and I +shall then have a better case against him. A more disagreeable +Christian to fellowship with I don't know anywhere. +<p> +"I <i>should</i> like to know," he continued, as he locked the +office-door, "if that Lucy told me true,--if those were all the +papers. No will, no memorandum for one! Well, perhaps Mrs. Kinloch was +careful enough to give that secret to the keeping of the flames, +instead of her bureau. I will make close copies of what I have got for +Lucy to put back, and keep the originals myself. They'll be safest +with me. There's no telling what may happen to papers in a house where +there is a prying servant-girl." +<p> +Whether the insects were poisoned by the air of the room, as Mark +Davenport suggested, I cannot say. But when Squire Clamp left the +office, it was as still as a tomb. No cricket chirped under the +hearth, no fly buzzed on the window-pane, no spiders came forth from +the dilapidated, dangling webs. Silence and dust had absolute +dominion. +<p> +The next day Mark returned to New York. He had no opportunity of +bidding Mildred farewell, but he comforted himself by thinking he had +provided the means of safely communicating with her by letter. And as +the stage passed by the house, he caught a glimpse, first of her +fluttering handkerchief, and then of her graceful fingers wafting to +him a kiss. It was enough; it furnished him with food for a delightful +reverie as he went on his way. We shall leave him in his former +situation, from which, as a starting-point, he determines to win +fortune or fame, or both. He has your best wishes, no doubt, though +perhaps you think he will not force his way into the close ranks of +the great procession of life so soon as he expects. +<p> +That day, while Mr. Hardwick was taking his dinner, his second son, +Milton, who had been fishing at the dam, came running into the house +quite out of breath. +<p> +"F-father!" he stammered out. +<p> +"Nun-now st-hop," said the black-smith. "W-what are you st-stuttering +for? Wah-wait till you can talk." +<p> +"Why, father, yer-<i>you</i> stutter." +<p> +"Wer-well, yer-<i>you</i> shan't." +<p> +The look that came with this seemed to end the matter. A moment's rest +quieted the nerves of the boy, and he went on to say, that Squire +Clamp, and a man with a brass machine on his shoulder, and a chain, +ever so long, were walking about the shop on the bank of the +river. Lizzy at once looked out of the window and saw the man peering +into the shop-door, as if exploring the premises. +<p> +Impelled by some presentiment of evil, Mr. Hardwick got up from the +table, and sternly motioning the boys back, went down to the shop. As +he came near the door, he saw the surveyor holding one end of the +chain and taking sight upon a staff which the lawyer within was +adjusting to its place by his direction. +<p> +"Just as I expected," said Squire Clamp, in a satisfied tone. +<p> +"An' jest as I expected," broke in Mr. Hardwick upon the astonished +pair. "I knew th-that ef Squire Clamp hed anythin' to do against me, +he wer-would sneak into the shop sus-some time when I'd ger-gone to +dinner." +<p> +"We thought it would be most convenient, so as not to interrupt you +about your work." +<p> +"Very ker-kind indeed! As ef you wa'n't tryin' to turn me out of +wer-work altogether! But 'tisn't any yer-use, Squire; this is a case +you can't be ber-both sides on." +<p> +The lawyer turned, with a placid smile, to his companion. "Mr. Gunter, +I believe we have finished our measurements?" +<p> +The man of chain and compass nodded. Nothing abashed by the lawyer's +cool manner, Mr. Hardwick turned to the surveyor, and asked if he +undertook to say that Walter Kinloch's deed called for land that was +covered by the shop? +<p> +"I suppose so," was the answer. +<p> +"An' now, Sus-squire Clamp," said Mr. Hardwick, "you know that it's +sus-seventeen or eighteen year sence I per-pulled down the old shop +and bought this land." +<p> +"Yes, but, unfortunately, it takes twenty years to give you title," +put in the Squire. +<p> +"Nun-never mind that now. Squire Kinloch knew this,--at least, that +there was room for der-difficulty; for we'd talked it over sus-several +times afore he died. An' he allers said th-that he'd hev new deeds +made out, so's to per-per-prevent just such a wrong as this. He didn't +'xpect to go so sus-sudden." +<p> +"I'm sorry, Brother Hardwick, to see you bringing up your talk with +the lamented deceased, whom you represent as being willing to part +with his legal rights without a consideration. Even if you had +evidence of it, such an agreement would be a mere <i>nudum pactum</i>, +binding neither upon himself nor his heirs." +<p> +"Squire Clamp! ger-get out of my shop! Fust to call me <i>Brother</i>, +next to doubt my word, an' last to sus-say that a man's free an' +der-deliberet promise--now he's where he can't sh-shame you into +honesty--sha'n't be kept!" +<p> +The Squire smiled feebly. "You don't intend, Mister Hardwick, assault +and battery, do you?" +<p> +"Yer-yes, ef you don't leave in q-q-q-quick time." And he strode up to +the astonished attorney, his blue eyes flashing, his curly gray hair +flying back from his forehead, like a lion's. +<p> +Squire Clamp retreated to the street, took sight each way to be sure +he was off his antagonist's territory, and then vented his cautious +resentment in such well-considered phrases as a long course of +experience had taught him were not actionable at law, nor ground for +discipline in church. +<p> +Prudence came to Uncle Ralph's aid, and he did not make further reply, +but locked the shop-door and returned to the house to finish his +dinner. The suit was commenced a few days afterwards. Mr. Hardwick +went to the county seat, some dozen miles distant, and secured the aid +of an able lawyer, who gave him hope of prevailing and keeping his +shop. +<p> +The affair necessarily created a great stir in the busy little +town. As the cheerful clatter of the trip-hammer echoed along the +stream on still evenings, and the fiery plume waved over the chimney, +neighbors looked out from their windows, and wondered if the good +blacksmith would, after so many years of honest toil, be stripped of +his property and be reduced to dependence in his old age. The sympathy +of the villagers was wholly with him; but the lawyer held so many +threads of interest in his hands, that few dared to give an opinion +with much emphasis. +<p> +Probably the person most grieved and indignant was the one who, next +after the blacksmith, was most interested in the event of the +suit,--namely, Mildred Kinloch. Though no mention was made of the +matter, at home, in her hearing, she could not fail to know what was +going on; but she had now sufficient knowledge of her step-mother and +her guardian to be aware that her influence would not be of the least +avail in changing their purpose. +<p> +Mrs. Kinloch did not repeat the experiment she once made on Mildred's +sensibilities by referring to her partiality for Mark Davenport and +his relatives; but, on the contrary, was most gentle in her treatment +and most assiduous in her endeavors to provide amusement, so far as +the resources of the town allowed. In company with Hugh, Mildred +explored all the pleasant roads in the vicinity, all the picturesque +hills and brooks, caught trout, and snared gamebirds, (the last much +against her will,)--and by these means her time was fully +occupied. Hugh seemed to have totally changed; he no longer absented +himself from the family on mysterious errands; he went to church +regularly, and appeared to take pleasure in the frequent calls of +Mr. Rook, the minister. The neighbors began to say that there never +was a more dutiful son or a more attentive and affectionate brother. +Some half suspected the reason of the reformation,--no one so quick as +Squire Clamp, who had reasons of his own, as the reader knows, for +wishing delay. After a few months had passed, he thought it would be +dangerous to let the schemes of the widow go on longer without +interruption, and accordingly prepared to make a step towards his own +long-cherished purpose. +<br> +<br> + +<h3>CHAPTER XI.</h3> + +<p> +One afternoon, about six months after the opening of our story, +Mrs. Kinloch and her son were talking together concerning the progress +of his suit. He complained that he was no nearer the point than on the +first day he and Mildred rode out together. "It was like rounding Cape +Horn," he said, "where a ship might lie twenty days and drift back as +fast as she got ahead by tacking." In spite of all his attention and +kindness, Mildred was merely courteous in return;--he could not get +near her. If she smiled, it seemed as though it was from behind a +grating, as in a nunnery. Her pulse was always firm; and if her eye +was soft, it was steady as the full moon. He didn't believe she had +any blood in her. If she was in love with that fellow, she kept it +pretty closely covered up. +<p> +Mrs. Kinloch encouraged her son to persevere; she was sure he had not +been skilful. "Mildred," she said, "was not to be won with as little +trouble as a silly, low-bred girl, like--like Lucy, for instance." +<p> +"What the deuse are you always bringing up Lucy to me for?" said the +dutiful son. +<p> +"Don't speak so!" +<p> +"Confound it! I must. You keep a fellow shut up here for six months, +going to meeting five times a week; you give him no chance to work off +his natural spirits, and the devil in him will break out +somewhere. It's putting a stopper in a volcano; if you don't allow a +little fire and smoke, you're bound to have an earthquake." +<p> +After this philosophical digression, the first topic was resumed, and +Mrs. Kinloch gave the young man some counsel, drawn from her own +experience or observation, touching the proper mode of awakening and +cultivating the tender passion. It is not every mother that does so +much for her son, but then few mothers have so urgent a motive. +<p> +"<i>What</i> was it that she advised him to do," did you ask? Really, +I've quite forgotten; and I am sure Mrs. Kinloch forgot also, at least +for that day, because something occurred which turned her thoughts for +the time in quite a different direction. +<p> +The ponies were brought out for Hugh and Mildred to take their +customary canter. The young heiress, for whom so much time and pains +were spent, looked ill; the delicate flush had vanished from her +cheek; she seemed languid, and cheerful only by effort. A moment after +they had gone, as Mrs. Kinloch closed the door, for it was a raw +November day, she saw and picked up a rudely-folded letter in the +hall. "Good-bye, Lucy Ransom," were the words she read. They were +enough. Mrs. Kinloch felt that her heart was struck by a bolt of +ice. "Poor, misguided, miserable girl!" she said. "Why did I not see +that something was wrong? I felt it, I knew it,--but only as one knows +of evil in a dream. Who can calculate the mischief that will come of +this? O God! to have my hopes of so many years ruined, destroyed, by a +wretch whose power and existence even I had not once thought of! Has +she drowned herself, or fled to the city to hide her disgrace? But if +this should be imagination merely! She may have run away with some +lubberly fellow from the factory, whom she was ashamed to marry at +home. But no! she was too sad last evening when she asked to go to her +grandmother's for a day. What if"--The thought coursed round her brain +like fire on a train of gunpowder,--flew quicker than words could +utter it; and the woman bounded to her bureau, as though with muscles +of steel. She clutched at the papers and bank-notes in her private +drawer, and looked and counted them over a dozen times before she +could satisfy herself. Her thin fingers nervously opened the packages +and folds,--the papers crackling as her eye glanced over them. They +were there; but not <i>all</i>. She pored over the mystery,--her +thoughts running away upon every side-avenue of conjecture, and as +often returning to the frightful, remediless fact before her. She was +faint with sudden terror. By degrees she calmed herself, wiped the +cold sweat from her forehead, smiled at her fright, and sat down +again, with an attempt at self-control, to look through the drawers +thoroughly. As she went on, the tremor returned, and before she had +finished the fruitless search her heart beat so as to stop her breath; +she gasped in an agony that the soul rarely feels more than once in +this life. She shut up the drawers, walked up and down the room, +noticed with a shudder her own changed expression as she passed before +the mirror, and strove in vain to give some order to her confused and +tumultuous thoughts. At length she sat down exhausted. She was +startled by a knock. Opening the door, there in a newly-furbished +suit, with clean linen, and a brown wig worn for the first time on his +hitherto shining head, stood Theophilus Clamp. He had even picked a +blossom from the geranium in the hall and was toying with it like a +bashful boy. +<p> +"A fine day, Ma'am!" said he, as he took a seat. +<p> +"Yes, very," she answered, mechanically, scarcely looking up. +<p> +"The young folks have gone out to ride, I suppose." +<p> +"Yes, Sir."--A pause, in which Mrs. Kinloch covered her face with her +handkerchief. +<p> +"You don't seem well, Ma'am. Shall I call Lucy?" +<p> +"Lucy is gone," she answered,--quickly adding, "gone to her +grandmother's." +<p> +"Well, that is singular. I've been today to look at my land above the +old lady's house, and she asked me to send word to Lucy to come up and +see her." +<p> +"To-day?" +<p> +"Yes, Ma'am; not two hours ago." +<p> +Mrs. Kinloch was rapidly revolving probabilities. What interest had +Lucy to interfere with her affairs? As for Mildred, she was not to be +thought of as prying into secrets; she was too innocent. Hugh was too +careless. Who more than this man Clamp was likely to have done or +procured the mischief? "Have you given her the message?" +<p> +"Of course not, Ma'am,--how could I?" +<p> +"Then you haven't sent Lucy away on any errand?" +<p> +"Certainly not, Madam," said the lawyer, beginning to wince under the +cross-examination. "Lucy's gone, you say; didn't she leave things all +right,--your papers, and--and so forth?" +<p> +"Papers? Lucy is not presumed to know that I <i>have</i> any papers; +if any are missing, I'll warrant they are in the hands of some one who +knows at least enough to read them." +<p> +"She suspects me," thought the lawyer, "but can't have discovered that +hers are only copies; they're too well done." He then added aloud, +"Perhaps, Mrs. Kinloch, if you had honored me, your associate in the +administration of the estate, with your confidence touching the +private papers you speak of, I might have saved you some trouble in +keeping them." +<p> +"Very likely; but no one spoke of papers beside yourself," she +replied, with a trace of sarcasm in the tone which ill suited the +expression of her pallid face and drooping head. +<p> +"I'm sorry to see you looking so careworn, Mrs. Kinloch," said he, +with his blandest air. "I intended to bring up a topic more agreeable, +it is to be hoped, than runaway house-maids or old documents." He +rubbed his hands softly and turned his eyes with a glance meant to be +tender towards the place where her chair stood; if he had been a cat, +he would have purred the while. +<p> +Mrs. Kinloch now, for the first time, observed the wig, the unusual +look of tidiness, and, above all, the flower in his hand; she also saw +the crucified smile that followed his last remark. "The ridiculous old +fool!" thought she,--"what can he mean?" But to him she translated +it,-- +<p> +"What is the more agreeable topic?" +<p> +"Really, you attack me like a lawyer. Don't you know, my dear Madam, +how it confuses one to be sharply interrogated?" +<p> +"It would be something novel to see you confused, Squire Clamp." +<p> +"Pray, don't banter, Mrs. Kinloch. I hoped to find you in a more +complaisant humor. There are topics which cannot be discussed with the +square precision of legal rules,--thoughts that require sympathy +before they can be expressed." And he dropped his eyes with a +ludicrous sigh. +<p> +"Oh, I appreciate your tender susceptibilities. Please consider me as +asking the question again in the most engaging manner." +<p> +His new wig was becoming uncomfortable, and he fidgeted in his chair, +twirling the luckless blossom. +<p> +"Why, Mrs. Kinloch, the long regard I entertained for your late +lamented husband,--ah, I mean my regard for you,--ah, my lonely +domicil,--ah, since the decease of my--my sainted wife,--ah, and since +the Scripture says it is not good for man to live alone,--ah, your +charming qualities and many virtues,--not that your fortune,--ah,--I +mean to say, that, though not rich, I am not grasping,--and the +cottage where you lived would be a palace,--ah, for me, if not +unworthy,--ah, no desire to unduly shorten the period of +mourning,--ah, but life is short and uncertain"---- +<p> +There was a dead silence. His mouth was vainly working, and his +expression confused and despairing. The flower had wilted in his moist +hand. Little streams of perspiration trickled down his face, to be +mopped up by his bandanna. Such was the ordeal of talking hollow +sentiment to a cool and self-possessed woman. She enjoyed the +exhibition for a time,--as what woman would not? But the waves of her +trouble rushed back upon her, and the spirit of mischief and coquetry +was overwhelmed. So she answered,-- +<p> +"You are pleased to be polite,--perhaps gallant. You must excuse me +from taking part in such conversation to-day, however little is meant +by it,--and the less meant the better,--I am not well." +<p> +She rose feebly, and walked towards the door with as much dignity as +her trembling frame could assume. He was abashed; his fine speeches +jumbled in meaningless fragments, his airy castle ready to topple on +his unlucky head. He would have been glad to rebuke her fickle humor, +as he thought it; but he knew he had made a fool of himself, so he +merely said,-- +<p> +"No offence, I hope, Ma'am; none meant, certainly. Wish you +good-afternoon, Ma'am. Call and see you again some day, and hope to +find you better." +<p> +<i>Would</i> he find her better? While the mystery remained, while the +ruin of her hopes impended, what could restore to her the +cheerfulness, the courage, the self-command she had lost? +<p> +[To be continued.] + +<br><br><br> + +<br><br><br> + +<table border="0"> +<tr> +<td width="33%"> </td> +<td width="67%"> +<center> +<h2> +<a name="6">BRINGING OUR SHEAVES WITH US.</a> +</h2> +</center> +<br> +<br> +<p> + The time for toil is past, and night has come,--<br> + The last and saddest of the harvest-eves;<br> + Worn out with labor long and wearisome,<br> + Drooping and faint, the reapers hasten home,<br> + Each laden with his sheaves. +<p> + Last of the laborers thy feet I gain,<br> + Lord of the harvest! and my spirit grieves<br> + That I am burdened not so much with grain<br> + As with a heaviness of heart and brain;--<br> + Master, behold my sheaves! +<p> + Few, light, and worthless,--yet their trifling weight<br> + Through all my frame a weary aching leaves;<br> + For long I struggled with my hapless fate,<br> + And staid and toiled till it was dark and late,--<br> + Yet these are all my sheaves. +<p> + Full well I know I have more tares than wheat,--<br> + Brambles and flowers, dry stalks, and withered leaves<br> + Wherefore I blush and weep, as at thy feet<br> + I kneel down reverently, and repeat,<br> + "Master, behold my sheaves!" +<p> + I know these blossoms, clustering heavily<br> + With evening dew upon their folded leaves,<br> + Can claim no value nor utility,--<br> + Therefore shall fragrancy and beauty be<br> + The glory of my sheaves. +<p> + So do I gather strength and hope anew;<br> + For well I know thy patient love perceives<br> + Not what I did, but what I strove to do,--<br> + And though the full, ripe ears be sadly few,<br> + Thou wilt accept my sheaves. +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br><br><br> + +<br><br><br> + +<center> +<h2> +<a name="11">FARMING LIFE IN NEW ENGLAND.</a> +</h2> +</center> +<p> +New England does not produce the bread she eats, nor the raw materials +of the fabrics she wears. A multitude of her purely agricultural towns +are undergoing, more or less rapidly, a process of depopulation. Yet +these facts exist by the side of positive advances in agricultural +science and decided improvements in the means and modes of farming. +The plough is perfected, and the theory of ploughing is +understood. The advantages of thorough draining are universally +recognized, and tiles are for sale everywhere. Mowing and reaping +machines have ceased to be a novelty upon our plains and meadows. The +natural fertilizers have been analyzed, and artificial nutrients of +the soil have been contrived. The pick and pride of foreign herds +have regenerated our neat stock, and the Morgan and the Black-Hawk eat +their oats in our stalls. The sheepfold and the sty abound with choice +blood. Sterling agricultural journals are on every farmer's table, and +Saxton's hand-books upon agricultural specialties are scattered +everywhere. Public shows and fairs bring on an annual exacerbation of +the agricultural fever, which is constantly breaking out in new +places, beyond the power of the daily press to chronicle. Yet it is +too evident that the results are not at all commensurate with the +means under tribute and at command. What is the reason? +<p> +In looking at the life of the New England farmer, the first fact that +strikes us is, that it is actually a very different thing from what it +might be and ought to be. There dwells in every mind, through all +callings and all professions, the idea that the farmer's life is, or +may be, is, or should be, the truest and sweetest life that man can +live. The merchant may win all the prizes of trade, the professional +man may achieve triumphs beyond his hopes, the author may find his +name upon every lip, and his works accounted among the nation's +treasures, and all may move amid the whirl and din of the most +inspiring life, yet there will come to every one, in quiet +evening-hours, the vision of the old homestead, long since forsaken; +or the imagination will weave a picture of its own,--a picture of +rural life, so homely, yet so beautiful, that the heart will breathe a +sigh upon it, the eye will drop a tear upon it, and the voice will +say, "It were better so!" +<p> +In a city like Boston there are farms enough imagined every year to +make another New England. Could the fairest fancies of that congeries +of minds be embodied and exhibited, we should see green meadows +sparkling with morning dew,--silver-slippered rivulets skipping into +musical abysses,--quiet pasture-lands shimmering so sleepily in the +sun that the lazy flocks and herds forget to graze, and lie winking +and ruminating under the trees,--and yellow fields of grain, along the +hill-sides, billowy in the breeze, and bending before the shadows of +the clouds that sail above them. And mingling and harmonizing with +these visions, we should hear the lowing of kine, and the tinkle of +the bell that leads the flock, and the shout of the boy behind the +creeping plough, and the echoes of the axe, and the fall of the tree +in the distant forest, and the rhythmical clangor, softened into a +metallic whisper by the distance, of the mowers whetting their +scythes. With these visions and these sounds there would come to the +minds which give them birth convictions that rural life is the best +life, and resolutions that, by-and-by, in some golden hour, when the +sun of life begins to lengthen the eastward shadows, that life shall +be enjoyed, and that the soul shall pass at last from the quiet scenes +of Nature into those higher scenes which they symbolize. There is a +thought in all this that the farm is nearer heaven than the street,--a +reminiscence of the first estate, when man was lord of Eden; and this +thought, old as art and artificial life, cannot be rooted out of the +mind. It has a life of its own, independent of reason, above instinct, +among the quickest intuitions of the soul. +<p> +Now this idea, so universal, so identical in millions of minds, +springing with such spontaneity in the midst of infinitely varied +circumstances, abiding with such tenacity in every soul, can have its +basis nowhere save in a Divine intention and a human possibility. The +cultivation of the farm is the natural employment of man. It is upon +the farm that virtue should thrive the best, that the body and the +mind should be developed the most healthfully, that temptations should +be the weakest, that social intercourse should be the simplest and +sweetest, that beauty should thrill the soul with the finest raptures, +and that life should be tranquillest in its flow, longest in its +period, and happiest in its passage and its issues. This is the +general and the first ideal of the farmer's life, based upon the +nature of the farmer's calling and a universally recognized human +want. Why does the actual differ so widely from the ideal? It is not +because the farmer's labor is hard and constant, alone. There is no +fact better established than that it is through the habitual use both +of the physical and mental powers that the soul achieves, or receives, +its most healthful enjoyment, and acquires that tone which responds +most musically to the touch of the opportunities of leisure. Why, +then, we repeat, does the actual differ so widely from the ideal? +<p> +A general answer to this question is, that that is made an end of life +which should be but an incident or a means. Life is confounded with +labor, and thrift with progress; and material success is the aim to +which all other aims are made subordinate. There is no fact in +physiology better established than that hard labor, followed from day +to day and year to year, absorbing every thought and every physical +energy, has the direct tendency to depress the intellect, blunt the +sensibilities, and animalize the man. In such a life, all the +energies of the brain and nervous system are directed to the support +of nutrition and the stimulation of the muscular system. Man thus +becomes a beast of burden,--the creature of his calling; and though he +may add barn to barn and acre to acre, he does not lead a life which +rises in dignity above that of the beasts which drag his plough. He +eats, he works, he sleeps. Surely, there is no dignity in a life like +this; there is nothing attractive and beautiful and good in it. It is +a mean and contemptible life; and all its maxims, economies, +associations, and objects are repulsive to a mind which apprehends +life's true enjoyments and ends. We say that it is a pestilent +perversion. We say that it is the sale of the soul to the body; it is +turning the back upon life, upon growth, upon God, and descending into +animalism. +<p> +The true ideal of the farmer's life--of any life--contemplates +something outside of, and above, the calling which is its instrument. +The farmer's life is no better than the life of a street-sweeper, if +it rise no higher than the farmer's work. If the farmer, standing +under the broad sky, breathing the pure air, listening to the song of +birds, watching the progress of + +<blockquote> + "The great miracle that still goes on," +</blockquote> +<p> +to work the transformation of the brown seeds which he drops into the +soil into fields of green and gold, and gazing upon landscapes +shifting with the seasons and flushed with new tints through every +sunlit and moonlit hour, does not apprehend that his farm has higher +uses for him than those of feeding his person and his purse, he might +as well dwell in a coal-mine. +<p> +Our soil is sterile, our modes of farming have been rude until within +a few years; and under the circumstances,--with the Yankee notion that +the getting of money is the chief end of man,--exclusive devotion to +labor has been deemed indispensable to success. The maxims of Franklin +have been literally received and adopted as divine truth. We have +believed that to labor is to be thrifty, that to be thrifty is to be +respectable, that to be respectable is to afford facilities for being +still more thrifty; and our experience is, that with increased thrift +comes increased labor. This is the circle of our ambitions and +rewards. All begins and ends in labor. The natural and inevitable +result of this is both physical and mental deterioration. +<p> +It is doubtful whether the world furnishes a finer type of man, +physically and intellectually, than the Irish gentleman. He is +handsome, large, courageous,--a man of fine instincts, brilliant +imagination, courtly manners, and full, vital force. By the side of +the Irish gentleman, there has grown for centuries the Irish +peasant. He is ugly, of stunted stature, and pugnacious; and he +produces children like himself. The two classes started from a common +blood; they now present the broadest contrast. We do not say that +freedom from severe labor on one side, and confinement to it on the +other, are entirely responsible for this contrast; difference of food +and other obvious causes have had something to do with it; but we say +that hard labor has, directly and indirectly, degraded from a true +style of manhood the great mass of the Irish peasantry. They are a +marked class, and carry in their forms and faces the infallible +insignia of mental and physical degeneration. +<p> +We would by no means compare New England farmers with the Irish +peasantry. We only present the contrast between these two classes of +the Irish population as the result of unremitting toil on one side, +and a more rational kind of life on the other. If we enter a New +England church, containing a strictly rural assembly, and then visit +another containing a class whose labor is lighter, and whose style of +life is based upon different ideas, we shall see a contrast less +marked, perhaps, but presenting similar features. The farming +population of New England is not a handsome population, generally. +The forms of both men and women are angular; their features are not +particularly intellectual; their movements are not graceful; and their +calling is evident by indubitable signs. The fact that the city +assemblage is composed of a finer and higher grade of men, women, and +children is of particular moment to our argument, because it is +composed of people who are only one, two, or three removes from a +rural origin. The city comes from the country; the street is +replenished by the farm; but the city children, going back to the +farm, show that a new element has been introduced into their +blood. The angles are rounded; the face is brighter; the movements are +more graceful; there is in every way a finer development. +<p> +There is probably no better exponent of the farmer's life than the +farmer's home. We propose to present the portrait of such a home, and, +while we offer it as a just outline of the farmer's home generally, in +districts removed from large social centres, we gladly acknowledge the +existence of a great multitude of happy exceptions. But the sketch:--A +square, brown house; a chimney coming out of the middle of a roof; not +a tree nearer than the orchard, and not a flower at the door. At one +end projects a kitchen; from the kitchen projects a wood-shed and +wagon-cover, occupied at night by hens; beyond the wood-shed, a +hog-pen, fragrant and musical. Proceeding no farther in this +direction, we look directly across the road, to where the barn stands, +like the hull of a great black ship-of-the-line, with its port-holes +opened threateningly upon the fort opposite, out of one of which a +horse has thrust his head for the possible purpose of examining the +strength of the works. An old ox-sled is turned up against the wall +close by, where it will have the privilege of rotting. This whole +establishment was contrived with a single eye to utility. The barn +was built in such a manner that its deposits might be convenient to +the road which divides the farm, while the sty was made an attachment +of the house for convenience in feeding its occupants. +<p> +We enter the house at the back door, and find the family at dinner in +the kitchen. A kettle of soap-grease is stewing upon the stove, and +the fumes of this, mingled with those that were generated by boiling +the cabbage which we see upon the table, and by perspiring men in +shirt-sleeves, and by boots that have forgotten or do not care where +they have been, make the air anything but agreeable to those who are +not accustomed to it. This is the place where the family live. They +cook everything here for themselves and their hogs. They eat every +meal here. They sit here every evening, and here they receive their +friends. The women in this kitchen toil incessantly, from the time +they rise in the morning until they go to bed at night. Here man and +woman, sons and daughters, live, in the belief that work is the great +thing, that efficiency in work is the crowning excellence of manhood +and womanhood, and willingly go so far into essential self-debasement, +sometimes, as to contemn beauty and those who love it, and to glory +above all things in brute strength and brute endurance. +<p> +Here we are ready to state the point and the lesson of our +discussion:--The real reason for the deterioration of agriculture in +New England is to be found in the fact, that the farmer's life and the +farmer's home, generally, are unloved and unlovable things, and in the +multitude of causes which have tended to make them so. Let the son of +such a home as we have pictured get a taste of a better life than +this, or, through sensibilities which he did not inherit, apprehend a +worthier style of existence, and what inducements, save those which +necessity imposes, can retain him there? He hates the farm, and will +flee from it at the first opportunity. If the New England farmer's +life were a loved and lovable thing, the New England boys could hardly +be driven from the New England hills. They would not only find a way +to live here, but they would make farming profitable. They would honor +the employment to which they are bred, and would leave it, save in +exceptional instances, for no other. It is not strange that the +country grows thin and the city plethoric. It is not strange that +mercantile and mechanical employments are thronged by young men, +running all risks for success, when the alternative is a life in which +they find no meaning, and no inspiring and ennobling influence. +<p> +The popular ideal of the farmer's life and home, to which we have +alluded, we believe to be what God intended. That life contemplates +the institution and maintenance of personal and social habits, and the +cultivation of tastes and faculties, separate from, and above, labor. +Every farm-house should be a residence of men and women, boys and +girls, who, appreciating something of the meaning and end of life, +rise from every period of labor into an atmosphere of intellectual and +social activity, or into some form of refined family enjoyment. It is +impossible to do this while surrounded with all the associations of +labor. If there is a room in every farmer's house where the work of +the family is done, there should be a room in every farmer's house +where the family should live,--where beauty should appeal to the eye, +where genuine comfort of appointments should invite to repose, where +books should be gathered, where neatness and propriety of dress should +be observed, and where labor may be forgotten. The life led here +should be labor's exceeding great reward. A family living like +this--and there are families that live thus--will ennoble and beautify +all their surroundings. There will be trees at their door, and +flowers in their garden, and pleasant and graceful architectural ideas +in their dwelling. Human life will stand in the foreground of such a +home,--human life, crowned with its dignities and graces,--while +animal life will be removed among the shadows, and the gross material +utilities, tastefully disguised, will be made to retire into an +unoffending and harmonious perspective. +<p> +But we have alluded to other causes than labor as in some measure +responsible for the unattractiveness of the farmer's life, and +affecting adversely the farming interest. These touch the matter at +various points, and are charged with greater or less importance. We +know of no one cause more responsible for whatever there may be of +physical degeneracy among the farming population than the treatment of +its child-bearing women; and this, after all, is but a result of +entire devotion to the tyrannical idea of labor. If there be one +office or character higher than all others, it is the office or +character of mother. Surely, the bringing into existence of so +marvellous a thing as a human being, and the training of that being +until it assumes a recognized relation to God and human society, is a +sacred office, and one which does not yield in dignity and importance +to any other under heaven. For a woman who faithfully fulfils this +office, who submits without murmuring to all its pains, who patiently +performs its duties, and who exhausts her life in a ceaseless overflow +of love upon those whom God has given her, no words can express a true +man's veneration. She claims the homage of our hearts, the service of +our hands, the devotion of our lives. +<p> +Yet what is the position of the mother in the New England farmer's +home? The farmer is careful of every animal he possesses. The +farm-yard and the stall are replenished with young, by creatures for +months dismissed from labor, or handled with intelligent care while +carrying their burden; because the farmer knows that only in this way +can he secure improvement, and sound, symmetrical development, to the +stock of his farm. In this he is a true, practical philosopher. But +what is his treatment of her who bears his children? The same +physiological laws apply to her that apply to the brute. Their strict +observance is greatly more imperative, because of her finer +organization; yet they are not thought of; and if the farm-yard fail +to shame the nursery, if the mother bear beautiful and well-organized +children, Heaven be thanked for a merciful interference with the +operation of its own laws! Is the mother in a farm-house ever regarded +as a sacred being? Look at her hands! Look at her face! Look at her +bent and clumsy form! Is it more important to raise fine colts than +fine men and women? Is human life to be made secondary and subordinate +to animal life? Is not she who should receive the tenderest and most +considerate ministries of the farmer's home, in all its appointments +and in all its service, made the ceaseless minister and servant of the +home and all within it, with utter disregard of her office? To expect +a population to improve greatly under this method is simply to expect +miracles; and to expect a farmer's life and a farmer's home to be +attractive, where the mother is a drudge, and secures less +consideration than the pets of the stall, is to expect +impossibilities. +<p> +Another cause which has tended to the deterioration of the farmer's +life is its solitariness. The towns in New England which were settled +when the Indians were in possession of the country, and which, for +purposes of defence, were settled in villages, have enjoyed great +blessings; but a large portion of agricultural New England was +differently settled. It is difficult to determine why isolation +should produce the effect it does upon the family development. The +Western pioneer, who, leaving a New England community, plants himself +and his young wife in the forest, will generally become a coarse man, +and will be the father of coarse children. The lack of the social +element in the farmer's life is doubtless a cause of some of its most +repulsive characteristics. Men are constituted in such a manner, that +constant social contact is necessary to the healthfulness of their +sympathies, the quickness of their intellects, and the symmetrical +development of their powers. It matters little whether a family be +placed in the depths of a Western forest, or upon the top of a New +England hill; the result of solitude will be the same in kind, if not +in degree. +<p> +Now the farmer, partly from isolation and partly from absorption in +labor, is the most unsocial man in New England. The farmers are +comparatively few who go into society at all, who ever dine with their +neighbors, or who take any genuine satisfaction in the company of the +women whom their wives invite to tea. They may possibly be farmers +among farmers, but they are not men among men and +women. Intellectually, they are very apt to leave life where they +begin it. Socially, they become dead for years before they die. The +inhabitants of a city can have but a poor apprehension of the amount +of enjoyment and development that comes to them through social +stimulus. Like gold, humanity becomes bright by friction, and grows +dim for lack of it. So, we say, the farmer's life and home can never +be what they should be,--can never be attractive by the side of other +life containing a true social element,--until they have become more +social. The individual life must not only occupy a place above that of +a beast of burden, but that life must be associated with all congenial +life within its reach. The tree that springs in the open field, though +it be fed by the juices of a rood, through absorbents that penetrate +where they will, will present a hard and stunted growth; while the +little sapling of the forest, seeking for life among a million roots, +or growing in the crevice of a rock, will lift to the light its cap of +leaves upon a graceful stem, and whisper, even-headed, with the +stateliest of its neighbors. Men, like trees, were made to grow +together, and both history and philosophy declare that this Divine +intention cannot be ignored or frustrated with impunity. +<p> +Traditional routine has also operated powerfully to diminish the +attractiveness of agricultural employments. This cause, very happily, +grows less powerful from year to year. The purse is seen to have an +intimate sympathy with intelligent farming. Were we to say that God +had so constituted the human mind that routine will tire and disgust +it, we should say in effect that he never intended the farmer's life +to be one of routine. Nature has done all she can to break up routine. +While the earth swings round its orbit once a year, and turns on its +axis once in twenty-four hours,--while the tide ebbs and flows twice +daily, and the seasons come and go in rotation, every atom changes its +relations to every other atom every moment. Influences are tossed into +these skeleton cycles of motion and event which start a myriad of +diverse currents, and break up the whole surface of life and being +into a healthful confusion. There are never two days alike. The +motherly sky never gives birth to twin clouds. The weather shakes its +bundle of mysteries in our faces, and banters us with, "Don't you wish +you knew?" We prophesy rain upon the morrow, and wake with a bar of +golden sunlight on the coverlet. We foretell a hard winter, and, +before it is half gone, become nervous lest we should miss our supply +of ice. The fly, the murrain, the potato-rot, and the grasshoppers, +all have a divine office in tipping over our calculations. The +phantom host of the great North come out for parade without +announcement, and shoot their arrows toward the zenith, and flout the +stars with their rosy flags, and retire, leaving us looking into +heaven and wondering. Long weeks of drought parch the earth, and then +comes the sweet rain, and sets the flowers and the foliage +dancing. All the seasons are either very late or very early, or, for +some reason, "the most remarkable within the memory of man." +<p> +This is God's management for destroying routine within the law of +stated revolution, and for bringing the mind constantly into contact +with fresh influences. The soul, encased by a wall of adamantine +circumstances, and driven around a track of unvarying duties, +shrivels, or gets diseased. But these circumstances need not imprison +the farmer, nor these duties become the polished pavement of his +cell. He has his life among the most beautiful scenes of Nature and +the most interesting facts of Science. Chemistry, geology, botany, +meteorology, entomology, and a dozen other related or constituent +sciences,--what is intelligent farming but a series of experiments, +involving, first and last, all of these? What is a farm but a +laboratory where the most important and interesting scientific +problems are solved? The moment that any field of labor becomes +intelligently experimental, that moment routine ceases, and that field +becomes attractive. The most repulsive things under heaven become +attractive, on being invested with a scientific interest. All, +therefore, that a farmer has to do, to break up the traditional +routine of his method and his labor, is to become a scientific +farmer. He will then have an interest in his labor and its results +above their bare utilities. Labor that does not engage the mind has no +dignity; else the ox and the ass are kings in the world, and we are +but younger brothers in the royal family. So we say to every +farmer,--If you would make your calling attractive to yourself and +your boys, seek that knowledge which will break up routine, and make +your calling, to yourself and to them, an intelligent pursuit. +<p> +A recent traveller in England speaks enthusiastically of a visit which +he paid to an old farm-house in that country, and of the garden-farm +upon which it stood, which had descended from father to son through a +period of five hundred years. He found a family of charming +intelligence and the politest culture. That hallowed soil was a +beautiful body, of which the family interests and associations were +the soul. To be dissociated from that soil forever would be regarded +by its proprietors as almost equivalent to family +annihilation. Proprietorship in English soil is one of the prime +ambitions of the true Englishman; but we do not find in New England +any kindred sentiments of pride in landed property and family +affection for the paternal acres. The nomadic tribes of Asia would +seem to have quite as strong local attachments as Yankee landholders, +most of whom will sell their homesteads as readily as they will their +horses. This fact we cannot but regard as one among the many causes +which have conspired to despoil the farmer's calling of some of its +legitimate attractions. The son slips away from the old homestead as +easily as he does from the door of a hotel. Very likely his father has +rooted up all home attachments by talking of removing Westward ever +since the boy saw the light. This lack of affection for the family +acres is doubtless owing somewhat to the fact that in this country +landed property is not associated with political privilege, as it has +been in England; but this cannot be the sole reason; for the sentiment +has a genuine basis in nature, and, in not a few instances, an actual +existence amongst us. +<p> +Resulting from the operation of all the causes which we have briefly +noticed, there is another cause of the deterioration of farming life +in New England, which cannot be recovered from in many years. Actual +farming life has been brought into such harsh contrast with other +life, that its best materials have been sifted out of it, have slid +away from it. An inquiry at the doors of the great majority of farmers +would exhibit the general fact, that the brightest boys have gone to +college, or have become mechanics, or are teaching school, or are in +trade, or have emigrated to the West. There have been taken directly +out from the New England farming population its best elements,--its +quickest intelligence, its most stirring enterprise, its noblest and +most ambitious natures,--precisely those elements which were necessary +to elevate the standard of the farmer's calling and make it what it +should be. It is very easy to see why these men have not been retained +in the past; it is safe to predict that they will not be retained in +the future, unless a thorough reform be instituted. These men cannot +be kept on a routine farm, or tied to a home which has no higher life +than that of a workshop or a boarding-house. It is not because the +work of the farm is hard that men shun it. They will work harder and +longer in other callings for the sake of a better style of individual +and social life. They will go to the city, and cling to it while half +starving, rather than engage in the dry details and the hard and +homely associations of the life which they forsook. +<p> +The boys are not the only members of the farmer's family that flee +from the farmer's life. The most intelligent and most enterprising of +the farmer's daughters become school-teachers, or tenders of shops, or +factory-girls. They contemn the calling of their father, and will, +nine times in ten, marry a mechanic in preference to a farmer. They +know that marrying a farmer is a very serious business. They remember +their worn-out mothers. They thoroughly understand that the vow that +binds them in marriage to a farmer seals them to a severe and homely +service that will end only in death. +<p> +As a consequence of this sifting process, to which we have given but a +glance, a very decidedly depressing element is now being rapidly +introduced into New England farming life. The Irish girls have found +their way into the farmer's kitchen, and the Irish laborer has become +the annual "hired man." At present, there are no means of measuring +the effect of this new element; but it cannot fail to depress the tone +of farming society, and surround it with a new swarm of menial +associations. +<p> +In our judgment, there is but little in the improved modes of farming, +in scientific discoveries, and new mechanical appliances, to be relied +upon for the elevation of New England agriculture and the emancipation +of New England farming life. The farmer needs new ideas more than he +needs new implements. The process of regeneration must begin in the +mind, and not in the soil. The proprietor of that soil should be the +true New England gentleman. His house should be the home of +hospitality, the embodiment of solid comfort and liberal taste, the +theatre of an exalted family-life which shall be the master and not +the servant of labor, and the central sun of a bright and happy social +atmosphere. When this standard shall be reached, there will be no +fear for New England agriculture. The noblest race of men and women +the sun ever shone upon will cultivate these valleys and build their +dwellings upon these hills; and they will cling to a life which +blesses them with health, plenty, individual development, and social +progress and happiness. This is what the farmer's life may be and +should be; and if it ever rise to this in New England, neither prairie +nor savanna can entice her children away; and waste land will become +as scarce, at last, as vacant lots in Paradise. + +<br><br><br> + +<br><br><br> + +<center> +<h2> +<a name="12">LES SALONS DE PARIS.</a><a href="#12.1">[1]</a> +</h2> +</center> +<p> +The title is an ambitious one, for the <i>salons</i> of Paris are +Paris itself; and, from the days of the Fronde and of the Hôtel +Rambouillet down to our own, you may judge pretty accurately of what +is going on upon the great political stage of France by what is +observable in those green-rooms and <i>coulisses</i> called the +Parisian drawing-rooms, and where, more or less, the actors of all +parties may be seen, either rehearsing their parts before the +performance, or seeking, after the performance is over, the several +private echoes of the general public sentiment that has burst forth +before the light of the foot-lamps. Shakspeare's declaration, that +"all the world's a stage," is nowhere so true as in the capital of +Gaul. There, most truly may it be said, are + +<blockquote> + ----"All the men and women merely players;<br> + They have their exits and their entrances,<br> + And one man in his time plays many parts." +</blockquote> +<p> +Therefore might a profound and comprehensive study of the +drawing-rooms of Paris be in a manner a history of France in our own +times. +<p> +Madame Ancelot's little volume does not aim so high; nor, had it done +so, would its author have possessed the talent requisite for carrying +out such a design. Madame Ancelot is a writer of essentially +second-rate and subordinate capacity, and consequently her account of +those <i>salons de Paris</i> that she has seen (and she by no means +saw them all) derives no charm from the point of view she takes. To +say the truth, she has no "point of view" of her own; she tells what +she saw, and (thus far we must praise her) she tells it very +conscientiously. Having waited in every instance till the people she +has to speak of were dead, Mme. Ancelot has a pretty fair field before +her for the display of her sincerity, and we, the public, who are +neither kith nor kin of the deceased, are the gainers thereby. +<p> +So interesting and so amusing is the subject Madame Ancelot has +chosen, that, in spite of her decided want of originality or even +talent in treating it, her book is both an amusing and an interesting +one. It is even more than that; for those who wish to have a correct +notion of certain epochs of the social civilization of modern France, +and of certain predominant types in French society during the last +forty years, Madame Ancelot's little volume is full of +instruction. Perhaps in no society, so much as in that of France, have +the political convulsions of the state reacted so forcibly upon the +relations of man to man, revolutionizing the homes of private persons, +even as the government and the monarchy were revolutionized. In +England, nothing of this kind is to be observed; and if you study +English society ten years, or twenty years, or fifty years after the +fall of Charles I., after the establishment of the Commonwealth, or +after the restoration of Charles II., the definitive exile of the +Stuarts, and the advent of a foreign dynasty to the throne, you find +everywhere its constitutive elements the same,--modified only by such +changes of time, circumstance, and fashion, as naturally, in every +country, modify the superficial aspect of all society. But in France, +it is the very <i>substratum</i> of the social soil that is +overturned, it is the constitutive elements of society that are +displaced; and the consequence is a general derangement of all +relative positions. +<p> +In what is still termed <i>la vieille société Française</i>, little or +nothing was left to chance, and one of its great characteristics was +order and the perfectly regular play of its machinery. Everything was +set down, <i>noted</i>, as it were, beforehand,--as strictly so as the +ceremonies of a grand diplomatic ceremony, after some treaty, or +marriage, or other occasion of solemn conference. Under this +<i>régime</i>, which endured till the Revolution of '93, (and even, +strangely enough, <i>beyond</i> that period,) politeness was, of +course, the one chief quality of whosoever was well brought +up,--urbanity was the first sign of good company,--and for the simple +reason, that no one sought to infringe. There was no cause for +insolence, or for what in England is called "exclusiveness," because +there was no necessity to repel any disposition to encroach. No one +dreamed of the possibility of encroaching upon his neighbor's grounds, +or of taking, in the slightest degree, his neighbor's place. +<p> +The first French Revolution caused no such sudden and total disruption +of the old social traditions as has been generally supposed; and as +far as mere social intercourse and social conventionalities were +concerned, there was, even amongst the terrible popular dictators of +1793, more of the <i>tone</i> of the <i>ci-devant</i> good company +than could possibly be imagined. In later times, every one who knew +Fouché remembers that he was constantly in the habit of expressing his +indignation at the want of good-breeding of the young exquisites of +the Empire, and used perpetually to exclaim, "In <i>my time</i>" this +or that "would not have been allowed," or, "In <i>my</i> time we were +accustomed to do" so and so. Now Fouché's "time" was that which is +regarded as the period of universal beheading and levelling. +<p> +It is certain, that, under the <i>régime</i> of the Revolution itself, +bitter class-hatreds did not at first show themselves in the peaceful +atmosphere of society,--and that for more than one reason. First of +all, in a certain sense, "society," it may be said, was +<i>not</i>. Next, what subsisted of society was fragmentary, and was +formed by small isolated groups or coteries, pretty homogeneously +composed, or, when not so as to rank and station, rendered homogeneous +by community of suffering. It must not be imagined that only the +highest class in France paid for its opinions or its vanities with +loss of life and fortune. The victims were everywhere; for the changes +in the governing forces were so perpetual, that, more or less, every +particular form of envy and hatred had its day of power, and levelled +its blows at the objects of its special antipathy. In this way, the +aristocracy and the <i>bourgeoisie</i> were often brought into +contact; marriages even were contracted, whether during imprisonment +or under the pressure of poverty, that never would have been dreamt of +in a normal state of things; and whilst parents of opposite conditions +shook hands in the scaffold-surveying <i>charrettes</i>, the children +either drew near to each other, in a mutual helpfulness, the principle +whereof was Christian charity, or met together to partake of +amusements, the aim whereof was oblivion. For several years, the turn +of every individual for execution might come, and therefore it was +difficult, on the other hand, to see who might also <i>not</i> be a +friend. +<p> +This began to be modified under the Empire, but in a shape not +hitherto foreseen. Military glory began to long for what the genuine +Revolutionists termed "feudal distinctions." Napoleon was desirous of +a court and of an aristocracy; he set to work to create a +<i>noblesse</i>, and dukes and counts were fabricated by the +dozen. Very soon the strong love of depreciation, that is inherent in +every Frenchman, seized upon even the higher plebeian classes, and, +discontented as they were at seeing the liberties of the movement of +'89 utterly confiscated by a military chief, and antipathetic as they +have been, time out of mind, to what are called <i>les traineurs de +sabre</i>, the civilians of France, her <i>bourgeois</i>, who were to +have their day,--but with very different feelings in 1830,--joined +with the genuine Pre-Revolutionary aristocrats, and the <i>noblesse de +l'Empire</i> was laughed at and taken <i>en grippe</i>. Here was, in +reality, the first wide breach made in France in the edifice of +good-breeding and good-manners; and those who have been eye-witnesses +to the metamorphosis will admit that the guillotine of Danton and +Robespierre did even less to destroy <i>le bon ton</i> of the +<i>ancien régime</i> than was achieved by the guard-room habits and +morals of Bonaparte's glorious troopers, rushing, as they did, booted +and spurred, into the emblazoned sanctuary of heraldic distinctions, +and taking, as it were, <i>la société</i> by storm. +<p> +But soon another alliance and other enmities were to be formed. The +Empire fell; the Bourbons returned to France; Louis XVIII. recognized +the <i>noblesse</i> of the Imperial government, and the constitution +of society as it had been battled for by the Revolution. At the same +time his court was filled with all the great historic names of the +country, who returned, no longer avowedly the first in authority, and +therefore prompt to condescend, but the first in presumption, and +therefore prompt to take offence. The new alliance that was formed was +that of the plebeian caste with the <i>noblesse de l'Empire</i>, +against which it had been previously so incensed. Notwithstanding all +the efforts sincerely made by Louis XVIII. to establish a +constitutional government and to promote a genuine constitutional +feeling throughout France, class-hatreds rose gradually to so violent +a height that the king's only occupation soon grew to be the balancing +of expediencies. He was forever obliged to reflect upon the choices +he could make around him, since each choice made from one party +insured him a hundred enemies in the party opposed. This, which was +the political part of the drama,--that which regarded the scenes +played upon the public stage,--had its instantaneous reflex, as we +have already said in the commencement of these pages, in the +<i>salons</i>, which were the green-rooms and +<i>coulisses</i>. Urbanity, amenity of language, the bland demeanor +hitherto characterized as <i>la grâce Française</i>, all these were at +an end. Society in France, such as it had been once, the far-famed +model for all Europe, had ceased to exist. The ambition which had once +been identified with the cares of office or the dangers of war now +found sufficient food in the bickerings of party-spirit, and revenged +itself by <i>salon</i> jokes and <i>salon</i> impertinence for the +loss of a lead it either could not or would not take in +Parliament. The descendants of those very fathers and mothers who had, +in many cases, suffered incarceration, and death even, together, set +to hating each other cordially, because these would not abdicate what +those would not condescend to compete for. The <i>noblesse</i> cried +out, that the <i>bourgeoisie</i> was usurping all its privileges; and +the <i>bourgeoisie</i> retorted, that the time for privilege was +past. The two classes could no longer meet together in the world, but +formed utterly different sets and <i>cliques</i>; and it must be +avowed that neither of the two gained in good-manners, or what may be +called drawing-room distinction. +<p> +From 1815 to 1830, the <i>noblesse</i> had officially the +advantage. From 1830 to 1848, the <i>bourgeoisie</i> ruled over the +land. But now was to be remarked another social phenomenon, that +complicated <i>salon</i> life more than ever. The middle classes, we +say, were in power; they were in all the centres of political +life,--in the Chambers, in the ministries, in the king's councils, in +diplomacy; and with them had risen to importance the Imperial +aristocracy, whose representatives were to be found in every +department of the public service. All this while, the old families of +the <i>ancien régime</i> shut themselves up among themselves entirely, +constituted what is now termed the <i>Faubourg St. Germain</i>, which +never was so exclusive or so powerful (socially speaking) as under +Louis Philippe, and a tacit combat between envy and disdain was +carried on, such as perhaps no modern civilization ever witnessed. The +Faubourg St. Germain arrogated to itself the privilege of exclusively +representing <i>la société Française</i>, and it must be confessed +that the behavior of its adversaries went far to substantiate its +claims. +<p> +Our purpose in these pages is not to touch upon anything connected +with politics, or we could show, that, whilst apparently severed from +all activity upon the more conspicuous field of the capital, the +ancient French families were employed in reëstablishing their +influence in the rural provincial centres; the result of which was the +extraordinary influx of Legitimist members into the Chamber formed by +the first Republican elections in 1848. But this is foreign to our +present aim. As to what regards French <i>society</i>, properly so +called, it was, from 1804, after the proclamation of the Empire, till +1848, after the fall of Louis Philippe, in gradual but incessant +course of sub-division into separate cliques, each more or less +bitterly disposed towards the others. From the moment when this began +to be the case, the edifice of French society could no longer be +studied as a whole, and it only remained to examine its component +parts as evidences of the tendencies of various classes in the nation. +In this assuredly not uninteresting study, Mme. Ancelot's book is of +much service; for a certain number of the different <i>salons</i> she +names are, as it were, types of the different stages civilization has +attained to in the city which chooses to style itself "the brain of +Europe." +<p> +The description, given in the little book before us, of what in Paris +constitutes a genuine <i>salon</i>, is a tolerably correct one. "A +<i>salon</i>," says Mme. Ancelot, "is not in the least like one of +those places in a populous town, where people gather together a crowd +of individuals unknown to each other, who never enter into +communication, and who are where they are, momentarily, either because +they expect to dance, or to hear music, or to show off the +magnificence of their dress. This is not what can ever be called a +<i>salon</i>. A <i>salon</i> is an intimate and periodical meeting of +persons who for several years have been in the habit of frequenting +the same house, who enjoy each other's society, and who have some +reason, as they imagine, to be happy when they are brought in +contact. The persons who receive, form a link between the various +persons they invite, and this link binds the <i>habitués</i> more +closely to one another, if, as is commonly the case, it is a woman of +superior mind who forms the point of union. A <i>salon</i>, to be +homogeneous, and to endure, requires that its <i>habitués</i> should +have similar opinions and tastes, and, above all, enough of the +urbanity of bygone days to enable its frequenters to feel <i>at +home</i> with every one in it, without the necessity of a formal +introduction. Formerly, this practice of speaking to persons you had +not been presented to was a proof of good-breeding; for it was well +known that in no house of any distinction would there be found a guest +who was not worthy to be the associate of whoever was noblest and +best. These habits of social intercourse gave a value to the +intellectual and moral qualities of the individual, quite independent +of his fortune or his rank; and in these little republics the real +sovereign was <i>merit</i>." +<p> +Madame Ancelot is right here, and there were in Paris several of these +<i>salons</i>, which served as the models for those of all the rest of +Europe. Under the Restoration, two illustrious ladies tried to recall +to the generation that had sprung from the Empire or from emigration +what the famous <i>salons</i> of old had once been, and the Duchesse +de Duras and the Marquise de Montcalm (sister to the then minister, +the Duc de Richelieu) drew around them all that was in any way +distinguished in France. But the many causes we have noted above made +the enterprise a difficult one, and the various divergences of +society, politically speaking, rendered the task of the mistress of a +house one of surpassing arduousness. Mme. de Staël, who, by her very +superiority perhaps,--certainly by her vehemence,--was prevented from +ever being a perfect example of what was necessary in this respect, +acquired the nickname of <i>Présidente de Salons</i>; and it would +appear, that, with her resolute air, her loud voice, and her violent +opinions, she really did seem like a kind of speaker of some House of +Commons disguised as a woman. That the management of a <i>salon</i> +was no easy affair the following anecdote will prove. The Duchesse de +Duras one day asked M. de Talleyrand what he thought of the evening +<i>réunions</i> at her house, and after a few words of praise, he +added: "But you are too vivacious as yet, too young. Ten years hence +you will know better how to manage it all." Mme. de Duras was then +somewhere about fifty-four or five! We perceive, therefore, that, +according to M. de Talleyrand, the proper manner of receiving a +certain circle of <i>habitués</i> was likely to be the study of a +whole life. +<p> +We select from Mme. Ancelot's book sketches of the following +<i>maitresses de maison</i>, because they seem to us the types of the +periods of transformation to which they correspond in the order of +date:--Mme. Lebrun, Mme. Gérard, Mme. d'Abrantès, Mme. Récamier, Mme. +Nodier. Mme. Lebrun corresponds to the period when Pre-Revolutionary +traditions were still in force, and when the remembrance yet subsisted +of a society that had been a real and not a fictive +unity. Mme. Gérard--or we should rather say her husband, for she +occupied herself little with her guests, whom the illustrious painter +entertained--represents the period of the Empire, prolonging itself +into the Restoration, and seeking by the immunities of talent and +intelligence to bring the two <i>régimes</i> to meet upon what might +be termed neutral ground. Mme. d'Abrantès is the type of that last +remnant of the half-heroic, half-sentimental epoch which tried to +endure even after the first days of 1830, and of which certain verses +of Delphine Gay, certain impossible portraits of invincible colonels, +certain parts played by the celebrated Elleviou, and the Troubadourish +"<i>Partant pour la Syrie</i>" of Queen Hortense, are +emblematical. Mme. Récamier, although in date all but the contemporary +of Mme. Lebrun, is, in her position of mistress of a <i>salon</i>, +essentially the impersonation of a foible peculiar to the present day; +she typifies the class of women who, in Paris, are absolutely absorbed +by the thought of their <i>salons</i>, for whom to receive is to live, +and who are ready to expire at the notion of any celebrity not being a +frequenter of their tea-table. Mme. Nodier's--and here, as with Mme. +Gérard, we must substitute the husband for the wife, and say Charles +Nodier's--<i>salon</i> was the menagerie whither thronged all the +strange beings who, after the Revolution of July, fancied they had +some special and extraordinary "call" in the world of Art. Nodier's +receptions at the Arsenal represent the literary and artistic movement +of 1830. +<p> +To begin, then, with Mme. Lebrun. This lady was precisely one of +those individualities who, since the days of Louis XIV., had found it +easy to take their place in French society, who, under the ancien +<i>régime</i>, were the equals of the whole world, and who, since +"Equality" has been so formally decreed by the laws of the land, would +have found it impossible, under the Citizen King, Louis Philippe, or +under the so-called "Democratic Empire" of Louis Napoleon, to surround +themselves with any society save that of a perfectly inferior +description. +<p> +Mme. Lebrun was the daughter of a very second-rate painter of the name +of Vigée, the sister of a poet of some talent of the same name, and +was married young to a picture-dealer of large fortune and most +expensive and dissipated, not to say dissolute habits, M. Lebrun. She +was young,--and, like Mme. Récamier and a few others, remained +youthful to a very late term of her existence,--remarkably beautiful, +full of talent, grace, and <i>esprit</i>, and possessed of the +magnificent acquirements as a portrait-painter that have made her +productions to this day valuable throughout the galleries of Europe. +She was very soon so brilliantly in fashion, that there was not a +<i>grand seigneur</i> of the court, a <i>grande dame</i> of the +queen's intimacy, a rich <i>fermier-général</i>, or a famous writer, +artist, or <i>savant</i>, who did not petition to be admitted to her +soirées; and in her small apartment, in the Rue de Cléry, were held +probably the last of those intimate and charmingly unceremonious +réunions which so especially characterized the manners of the high +society of France when all question of etiquette was set aside. The +witty Prince de Ligne, the handsome Comte de Vaudreuil, the clever +M. de Boufflers, and his step-son, M. de Sabran, with such men as +Diderot, d'Alembert, Marmontel, and Laharpe, were the original +<i>habitués</i> of Mme. Lebrun's drawing-room. At the same time used +to visit her the bitter, bilious, discontented David, the painter, +who, though very young, was annoyed at a woman having such +incontestable proficiency in his own art, and whose democratic ideas +were hurt at her receiving such a number of what he styled "great +people." Madame Lebrun, one day,--little dreaming that she was +addressing a future <i>coupe-tête</i> of the most violent species, +(perhaps the only genuine admirer of Marat,)--said, smilingly, to the +future painter of <i>Les Sabines</i>, "David, you are wretched because +you are neither Duke nor Marquis. I, to whom all such titles are +absolutely indifferent, I receive with sincere pleasure all who make +themselves agreeable." The apostrophe apparently hit home, for David +never returned to Mme. Lebrun's house, and was no well-wisher of hers +in later times. But on this occasion she had not only told the truth +to an individual, she had touched upon the secret sore of the nation +and the time; and vast classes were already brooding in silence over +the absurd, vain, and empty regret at being "neither Duke nor +Marquis." The Revolution was at hand, and the days rapidly approaching +when all such pleasant assemblies as those held by Mme. Lebrun would +become forever impossible. At some of these, the crowd of intimates, +and of persons all acquainted with each other, was so great, that the +highest dignitaries of the realm had to content themselves with +sitting down upon the floor; and on one occasion, the Maréchal de +Noailles, who was of exceedingly large build, had to request the +assistance of several of his neighbors before he could be brought from +his squatting attitude to his feet again. +<p> +Mme. Lebrun emigrated, like the majority of her associates,--going to +Russia, to Italy, to Germany, to England, and everywhere increasing +the number of her friends, besides preserving all those of former +times, whom she sedulously sought out in their voluntary exile, and to +whom, in many cases, she even proved an invaluable friend. In the +commencement of the Restoration, Mme. Lebrun returned to France, and +established herself definitively at Paris, and at Louveciennes near +Marly, where she had a delightful summer residence. Here, as in her +salons in the metropolis, she tried to bring back the tone of French +society to what it had been before the Revolution, and to show the +younger generations what had been the gayety, the grace, the +affability, the exquisite good-breeding of those who had preceded +them. The men and women of her own standing seconded her, but the +younger ones were not to be drawn into high-heartedness; and an +observer might have had before him the somewhat strange spectacle of +old age gay, gentle, unobservant of any stiff formality, and of youth +preoccupied and grave, and, instead of being refined in manners, +pedantic. "The younger frequenters of Mme. Lebrun's salon," says +Mme. Ancelot, "were strangers to the world into which they found +themselves raised; those who surrounded them were of an anterior +civilization; they could not grow to be identified with a past which +was unknown to them, or known only through recitals that disfigured +it.... Amidst the remnants of a society that had been historical, +there was, as it were, the breath of a spirit born of our days; new +ideas, new opinions, new hopes, nay, even new recollections, were +evident all around, and served to render social unity impossible; but, +above all, what failed in this one particular centre was youth,--there +were few or no young people." This was perfectly true; and +Mme. Lebrun's <i>salon</i> is interesting only from the fact of its +being the last, perhaps, in which French people of our day can have +acquired a complete notion of what the Pre-Revolutionary <i>salons</i> +of France were. +<p> +The evening <i>réunions</i> at the house of Gérard, the celebrated +painter, were among the most famous features of the society of the +Restoration. The gatherings at Mmes. de Duras's and de Montcalm's +splendid hotels were all but exclusively political and diplomatic; +whereas at Gérard's there was a mixture of these with the purely +mundane and artistic elements, and, above all, there was a portion of +Imperialist fame blended with all the rest, that was hard to be found +anywhere else. Gérard, too, had painted the portraits of so many +crowned heads, and been so much admitted into the intimacy of his +royal models, that, whenever a foreigner of any note visited Paris, he +almost immediately asked to be put in a way to be invited to the +celebrated artist's Wednesday receptions. This was, to a certain +degree, an innovation in regular French society; the French being most +truly, as has been said, the "Chinese of Europe," and liking nothing +less than the intermixture with themselves of anything foreign. But +Gérard was one of those essentially superior men who are able to +influence those around them, and bring them to much whereto no one +else could have persuaded them. Gérard, like many celebrated persons, +was infinitely superior to what he <i>did</i>. As far as what he +<i>did</i> was concerned, Gérard, though a painter of great merit, was +far inferior to two or three of whom France has since been justly +proud; but in regard to what he <i>was</i>, Gérard was a man of +genius, who had in many ways few superiors. Few men, even in France, +have so highly deserved the reputation of <i>un homme d'esprit</i>. He +was as <i>spirituel</i> as Talleyrand himself, and almost as +clear-sighted and profound. Add to this that nothing could surpass the +impression made by Gérard at first sight. He was strikingly like the +first Napoleon, but handsomer; with the same purity of outline, the +same dazzlingly lustrous eyes, full of penetration and thought, but +with a certain <i>sympathetic</i> charm about his whole person that +the glorious conqueror of Marengo and Dictator of Gaul never +possessed. +<p> +Gérard was not entirely French; born in Rome in 1770, his father only +was a native of France, his mother was an Italian; and from her he +inherited a certain combination of qualities and peculiarities that at +once distinguished him from the majority of his countrymen. Full of +poetic fire and inspiration, there was in Gérard at the same time a +strong critical propensity, that showed itself in his caustic wit and, +sometimes, not unmalicious remarks. There was also a perpetual +struggle in his character between reflection and the first impulse, +and sometimes the <i>étourderie</i> of the French nature was suddenly +checked by the caution of the Italian; but, take him as he was, he was +a man in a thousand, and those who were in the habit of constantly +frequenting his house affirm loudly and with the deepest regret, that +they shall never "look upon his like again." +<p> +Gérard had built for himself a house in the Rue des Augustins, near +the ancient church of St. Germain des Près; and there, every Wednesday +evening, summer and winter, he received whatever was in any way +illustrious in France, or whatever the other capitals of Europe sent +to Paris, <i>en passant</i>. "Four small rooms," says Mme. Ancelot, +"and a very small antechamber, composed the whole apartment. At twelve +o'clock tea was served, with eternally the same cakes, over which a +pupil of Gérard's, Mlle. Godefroy, presided. Gérard himself talked; +his wife remained nailed to a whist-table, attending to nothing and to +nobody. Evening once closed in, cards were the only occupation of +Mme. Gérard." +<p> +From Mme. de Staël down to Mlle. Mars, from Talleyrand and Pozzo di +Borgo down to M. Thiers, there were no celebrities, male or female, +that, during thirty years, (from 1805 to 1835,) did not flock to +Gérard's house, and all, how different soever might be their character +or position, agreed in the same opinion of their host; and those who +survive say of him to this day,--"Nothing in his <i>salons</i> +announced that you were received by a great <i>Artist</i>, but before +half an hour had elapsed you felt you were the guest of a +distinguished Man; you had seen by a glance at Gérard's whole person +and air that he was something apart from others,--that the sacred fire +burned there!" +<p> +The regret felt for Gérard's loss by all who ever knew him is not to +be told, and speaks as highly for those who cherished as for him who +inspired it. His, again, was one of the <i>salons</i> (impossible now +in France) where genius and social superiority, whether of birth or +position, met together on equal terms. Without having, perhaps, as +large a proportion of the old <i>noblesse de cour</i> at his house as +had Mme. Lebrun, Gérard received full as many of those eminent +personages whose political occupations would have seemed to estrange +them from the world of mixed society and the Arts. This is a +<i>nuance</i> to be observed. Under the Empire, hard and despotic as +was the rule of Bonaparte, and anxious even as he was to draw round +him all the aristocratic names that would consent to serve his +government, there was--owing to the mere force of events and the +elective origin of the throne--a strong and necessary democratic +feeling, that assigned importance to each man according to his +works. Besides this, let it be well observed, the first Empire had a +strong tendency to protect and exalt the Arts, from its own very +ardent desire to be made glorious in the eyes of posterity. Napoleon +I. was, in his way, a consummate artist, a prodigiously intelligent +<i>metteur en scène</i> of his own exploits, and he valued full as +much the man who delineated or sang his deeds, as the minister who +helped him to legislate, or the diplomatist who drew up protocols and +treaties. The Emperor was a lover of noise and show, and his time was +a showy and a noisy one. Bonaparte had, in this respect, little enough +of the genuine Tyrant nature. Unlike his nephew, he loved neither +silence nor darkness; he loved the reflection of his form in the broad +noon of publicity, and the echo of his tread upon the sounding soil of +popular renown. Could he have been sure that all free men would have +united their voices in chanting his exploits, he would have made the +citizens of France the freest in the whole world. Compression with him +was either a mere preventive against or vengeance for detraction. +<p> +Now this publicity-loving nature was, we repeat, as much served by Art +and artists as by politicians; nay, perhaps more; and for this reason +artists stood high during the period of the Empire. Talma held a +social rank that under no other circumstances could have been his, and +a painter like Gérard could welcome to his house statesmen such as +Talleyrand or Daru, or marshals of France, and princes even. We shall +show, by-and-by, how this grew to be impossible later. At present we +will recur to Mme. Ancelot for a really very true description of two +persons who were among the <i>habitués</i> of the closing years of +Gérard's weekly receptions, and one of whom was destined to universal +celebrity: we allude to Mme. Gay, and her daughter, Delphine,--later, +Mme. Girardin. Of these two, the mother, famous as Sophie Gay, was as +thorough a remnant of the exaggerations and bad taste of the Empire as +were the straight, stiff, mock-classical articles of furniture of the +Imperialist hotels, or the <i>or-moulu</i> clocks so ridiculed by +Balzac, on which turbaned Mamelukes mourned their expiring steeds. All +the false-heroics of the literature of the Empire found their +representative (their last one, perhaps) in Mme. Sophie Gay, and it +has not been sufficiently remarked that she even transmitted a shade +of all this to her daughter, in other respects one of the most +sagacious spirits and one of the most essentially unconventional of +our own day. A certain something that was not in harmony with the tone +of contemporary writers here and there surprised you in Delphine de +Girardin's productions, and, as Jules Janin once said, "One would +think the variegated plumes of Murat's fantastic hat<a href="#12.2">[2]</a> were sweeping +through her brains!" This was her mother's doing. Delphine, who had +never lived during one hour of the glory of the Empire, had, through +the medium of her mother, acquired a slight tinge of its +<i>boursouflure</i>; and had it not been for her own personal good +taste, she would have been misled precisely by her strong lyrical +aptitudes. Madame Gay found in Gérard's <i>salon</i> all the people +she had best known in her youth, and she was delighted to have her +early years recalled to her. Mme. Ancelot, who, like many of her +country women, felt a marked antipathy for Madame Gay, has given a +very true portrait of both mother and daughter. +<p> +"Many years after," she writes, "when these ladies were (through M. de +Girardin) at the head of one of the chief organs of the Paris press, +they were much flattered and courted; at the period I speak of" (about +1817-1825) "their position was far from brilliant, and Mme. Gay was +far from popular. Every word that fell from her mouth, uttered in a +sharp tone, and full of bitterness and envy, went to speak ill of +others and prodigiously well of herself. She had a mania for titles +and tuft-hunting, and could speak of no one under a marquis, a count, +or a baron. Her daughter's beauty and talents caused her afterwards to +be more generally admitted into society; but at this period she was +avoided by most people." +<p> +Her daughter's beauty was certainly marvellous, and when, under the +reign of Louis Philippe, American society had in Paris more than one +brilliant representative and more than one splendid centre of +hospitality, where all that was illustrious in the society of France +perpetually flocked, we make no doubt many of our countrymen noticed, +whether at theatre or concert or ball, the really queenlike air of +Mme. de Girardin, and the exquisitely classic profile, which, +enframed, as it were, by the capricious spirals of the lightest, +fairest flaxen hair, resembled the outline of some antique statue of a +Muse. +<p> +Delphine Gay and her mother were more the ornaments of the +<i>salon</i> of the Duchesse d'Abrantès, perhaps, than of that of +Gérard; and as the former continued open long after the latter was +closed by death, not only the young girl, whose verses were so +immensely in fashion during the Restoration, was one of the constant +guests of Junot's widow, but she continued to be so as the wife of +Émile de Girardin, the intelligent and enterprising founder of the +newspaper "La Presse." +<p> +The <i>salon</i> of the Duchesse d'Abrantès was one of the first of a +species which has since then found imitators by scores and hundreds +throughout France. It was the <i>salon</i> of a person not in herself +sufficiently superior or even celebrated to attract the genuine +superiorities of the country without the accessory attractions of +luxury, and not sufficiently wealthy to draw around her by her +splendid style of receiving, and to disdain the bait held out to those +she invited by the presence of great "lions." Gérard gave to his +guests, at twelve o'clock at night, a cup of tea and "eternally the +same cakes" all the year round; but Gérard was the type of the great +honors rendered, as we have observed, to Art under the Empire, and to +his house men went as equals, whose daily occupations made them the +associates of kings. This was not the case with the Duchesse +d'Abrantès. She had notoriety, not fame. Her "Mémoires" had been read +all through Europe, but it is to be questioned whether anything beyond +curiosity was satisfied by the book, and it certainly brought to its +author little or none of that which in France stands in lieu even of +fortune, but which is not easy to obtain, +namely,--<i>consideration</i>. +<p> +The Duchesse d'Abrantès was rather popular than otherwise; she was +even beloved by a certain number of persons; but she never was what is +termed <i>considérée</i>,--and this gave to her <i>salon</i> a +different aspect from that of the others we have spoken of. A dozen +names could be mentioned, whose wearers, without any means of +"entertaining" their friends, or giving them more than a glass of +<i>eau sucrée</i>, were yet surrounded by everything highest and best +in the land, simply because they were <i>gens considérables</i>, as +the phrase went; but Mme. d'Abrantès, who more or less received all +that mixed population known by the name of <i>tout Paris</i>, never +was, we repeat, <i>considérée</i>. +<p> +The way in which Mme. Ancelot introduces her "friend," the poor +Duchesse d'Abrantès, on the scene, is exceedingly amusing and natural; +and we have here at once the opportunity of applying the remark we +made in commencing these pages, upon Mme. Ancelot's truthfulness. She +is the <i>habituée</i> of the house of Mme. d'Abrantès; she professes +herself attached to the Duchess; yet she does not scruple to tell +everything as it really is, nor, out of any of the usual little +weaknesses of friendship, does she omit any one single detail that +proves the strange and indeed somewhat "Bohemian" manner of life of +her patroness. We, the readers of her book, are obviously obliged to +her for her indiscretions; with those who object to them from other +motives we have nothing to do. +<p> +Here, then, is the fashion in which we are introduced to Mme. la +Duchesse d'Abrantès, widow of Marshal Junot, and a born descendant of +the Comneni, Emperors of Byzantium. +<p> +Mme. Ancelot is sitting quietly by her fireside, one evening in +October, (some short time after the establishment of the monarchy of +July,) waiting to hear the result of a representation at the Théâtre +Français, where a piece of her own is for the first time being +performed. All at once, she hears several carriages stop at her door, +a number of persons rush up the stairs, and she finds herself in the +arms of the Duchesse d'Abrantès, who was resolved, as she says, to be +the first to congratulate her on her success. The hour is a late one; +supper is served, and conversation is prolonged into the "small +hours." All at once Mme. d'Abrantès exclaims, with an explosion of +delight,--"Ah! what a charming time is the night! one is so +deliciously off for talking! so safe! so secure! safe from bores and +from duns!" (<i>on ne craint ni les ennuyeux ni les créanciers</i>.') +<p> +Madame Ancelot affirms that this speech made a tremendous effect, and +that her guests looked at each other in astonishment. If this really +was the case, we can only observe that it speaks well for the +Parisians of the epoch at which it occurred; for, assuredly, at the +present day, no announcement of the kind would astonish or scandalize +any one. People in "good society," nowadays, in France, have got into +a habit of living from hand to mouth, and of living by expedients, +simply because they have not the strength of mind to live <i>out</i> +of society, and because the life of "the world" forces them to +expenses utterly beyond what they have any means of providing +for. However, we are inclined to believe that some five-and-twenty +years ago this was in no degree a general case, and that Mme. +d'Abrantès might perfectly well have been the first <i>maitresse de +maison</i> to whom it happened. +<p> +"Alas!" sighs Mme. Ancelot, commenting upon her excellent friend's +strange confidence,--"it was the secret of her whole life that she +thus revealed to us in a moment of <i>abandon</i>,--the secret of an +existence that tried still to reflect the splendors of the Imperial +epoch, and that was at the same time perplexed and tormented by all +the thousand small miseries of pecuniary embarrassment. There were the +two extremes of a life that to the end excited my surprise. Grandeur! +want!--between those two opposites oscillated every day of the last +years of the Duchesse d'Abrantès; the exterior and visible portion of +that life arranged itself well or ill, as it best could, in the +middle,--now apparently colored by splendor, and now degraded by +distress; but at bottom the existence was unvaryingly what I state." +<p> +Madame d'Abrantès, at the period of her greatest notoriety, occupied +the ground-floor of a hotel in the Rue Rochechouart, with a garden, +where dancing was often introduced upon the lawn. Some remnants of +the glories of Imperialism were collected there, but the principal +<i>habitués</i> were men of letters, artists, and young men who danced +well! (<i>les jeunes beaux qui dansaient bien!</i>) That one phrase +characterizes at once the ex-<i>belle</i> of the Empire, the +contemporary of the sentimental Hortense de Beauharnais, and of the +more than <i>légère</i> Pauline Borghése. +<p> +To the "new society of July" Mme. d'Abrantès was an object of great +curiosity. "I dote on seeing that woman!" said Balzac, one evening, +to Mme. Ancelot. "Only fancy! she saw Napoleon Bonaparte as a mere +boy,--knew him well,--knew him as a young man, unknown,--saw him +occupied, like anybody else, with the ordinary occurrences of +every-day life; then she saw him grow, and grow, and rise, and throw +the shadow of his name over the world. She seems to me somewhat like a +canonized creature who should all at once come and recount to me the +glories of paradise." +<p> +Balzac, it must be premised, was bitten just at this period by the +Napoleon mania, and this transformed his inquisitive attachment for +Mme. d'Abrantès into a kind of passion. It was at this period that he +chose to set up in his habitation in the Rue Cassini a sort of altar, +on which he placed a small statue of the Emperor, with these words +engraved upon the pedestal:-- + +<blockquote> + "Ce qu'il avait commencé par l'épée,<br> + Je l'achèverai par la plume!" +</blockquote> +<p> +What particular part of the Imperial work this was that Balzac was to +"complete by the pen" was never rightly discovered,--but for a time he +had a sun-stroke for Napoleon, and his attachment for Mme. d'Abrantès +partook of this influence. +<p> +One anecdote told by Mme. Ancelot proves to what a degree the union of +"grandeur" and "want" she has alluded to went. "Mme. d'Abrantès," says +her biographer of the moment, "was always absorbed by the present +impression, whatever that might happen to be; she passed from joy to +despair like a child, and I never knew any house that was either so +melancholy or so gay." One evening, however, it would seem that the +Hôtel d'Abrantès was gayer than usual. Laughter rang loud through the +rooms, the company was numerous, and the mistress of the house in +unparalleled high spirits. If the tide of conversation seemed to +slacken, quickly Madame la Duchesse had some inimitable story of the +<i>ridicules</i> of the ladies of the Imperial court, and the whole +circle was soon convulsed at her stories, and at her way of telling +them. The tea-table was forgotten. Generally, tea at her house was +taken at eleven o'clock; but on this occasion, midnight was long past +before it was announced, and before her guests assembled round the +table. If our readers are curious to know why, here was the reason: +All that remained of the plate had that very morning been put in pawn, +and when tea should have been served it was found that tea-spoons were +wanting! Whilst these were being sent for to the house of a friend +who lent them, Madame la Duchesse took charge of her guests, and +drowned their impatience in their hilarity. +<p> +It must be allowed that this lady was worthy to be the mother of the +young man who, one day, pointing to a sheet of stamped paper, on which +a bill of exchange might be drawn, said: "You see that; it is worth +five sous now; but if I sign my name to it, it will be worth nothing!" +This was a speech made by Junot's eldest son, known in Paris as the +Duc d'Abrantès, and as the intimate friend of Victor Hugo, from whom +at one time he was almost inseparable. +<p> +The eccentric personage we have just spoken of--the Duchesse +d'Abrantès--died in the year 1838, in a garret, upon a truckle-bed, +provided for her by the charity of a friend. The royal family paid the +expenses of her funeral, and Chateaubriand, accompanied by nearly +every celebrity of the literary world, followed on foot behind her +coffin, from the church to the burying-ground. +<p> +Madame d'Abrantès may be considered as the inventor, in France, of +what has since become so widely spread under the name of <i>les salons +picaresques</i>, and of what, at the present day, is famous under the +appellation of the <i>demi-monde</i>. Her example has been followed +by numberless imitators, and now, instead of presuming (as was the +habit formerly) that those only receive who are rich enough to do so, +it is constantly inquired, when any one in Paris opens his or her +house, whether he or she is ruined, and whether the <i>soirées</i> +given are meant merely to throw dust into people's eyes. The history +of the tea-spoons--so singular at the moment of its occurrence--has +since been parodied a hundred times over, and sometimes by mistresses +of houses whose fortune was supposed to put them far above all such +expedients. Madame d'Abrantès, we again say, was the founder of a +<i>genre</i> in Paris society, and as such is well worth studying. The +<i>genre</i> is by no means the most honorable, but it is one too +frequently found now in the social centres of the French capital for +the essayist on Paris <i>salons</i> to pass it over unnoticed. +<p> +The <i>salon</i> of Mme. Récamier is one of a totally different order, +and the world-wide renown of which may make it interesting to the +reader of whatever country. As far as age was concerned, Mme. +Récamier was the contemporary of Mme. d'Abrantès, of Gérard, nay, +almost of Mme. Lebrun; for the renown of her beauty dates from the +time of the French Revolution, and her early friendships associate her +with persons who even had time to die out under the first Empire; but +the <i>salon</i> of Madame Récamier was among the exclusively modern +ones, and enjoyed all its lustre and its influence only after +1830. The cause of this is obvious: the circumstance that attracted +society to Mme. Récamier's house was no other than the certainty of +finding there M. de Chateaubriand. He was the divinity of the temple, +and the votaries flocked around his shrine. Before 1830 the temple had +been elsewhere, and, until her death, Mme. la Duchesse de Duras was +the high-priestess of the sanctuary, where a few privileged mortals +only were admitted to bow down before the idol. It is inconceivable +how easy a certain degree of renown finds it in Paris to establish one +of these undisputed sovereignties, before which the most important, +highest, most considerable individualities abdicate their own merit, +and prostrate themselves in the dust. M. de Chateaubriand in no way +justified the kind of worship that was paid him, nor did he even +obtain it so long as he was in a way actively to justify it. It was +when he grew old and produced nothing, and was hourly more and more +rusted over by selfishness, churlishness, and an exorbitant adoration +of his own genius, that the society of his country fell down upon its +knees before him, and was ready to make any sacrifice to insure to +itself the honor of one of his smiles or one of his looks. In this +disposition, Madame Récamier speedily obtained a leading influence +over Paris society, and when it was notorious that from four to six +every day the "Divinity" would be visible in her <i>salons</i>, her +<i>salons</i> became the place of pilgrimage for all Paris. As with +those of Mme. d'Abrantès, there was a certain mixture amongst the +guests, because, without that, the <i>notoriety</i>, which neither +Chateaubriand nor Mme. Récamier disliked, would have been less easily +secured; but the tone of the <i>réunions</i> was vastly different, and +at the celebrated receptions of the Abbaye aux Bois (where +Mme. Récamier spent her last quarter of a century) the somewhat +austere deportment of the <i>siècle de Louis XIV.</i> was in +vogue. All the amusements were in their nature grave. Mlle. Rachel +recited a scene from "Polyeucte" for the author of "Les Martyrs," and +for archbishops and cardinals; the Duc de Noailles read a chapter from +his history of Mme. de Maintenon; some performance of strictly +classical music was to be heard; or, upon state occasions, +Chateaubriand himself vouchsafed to impart to a chosen few a few pages +of the "Mémoires d'Outre-Tombe." +<p> +In her youth Mme. Récamier had been reputed beautiful, and her sole +occupation then was to do the honors of her beauty. She did not dream +of ever being anything else; and as she remained young marvellously +long,--as her beauty, or the charm, whatever it was, that +distinguished her, endured until a very late epoch of her life,--she +was far advanced in years before the idea of becoming famous through +any other medium save that of her exterior advantages ever struck +her. Madame Récamier had no intellectual superiority, but, +paraphrasing in action Molière's witty sentence, that "silence, well +employed, may go far to establish a man's capacity," she resolved to +employ well the talent she possessed of making other people believe +themselves clever. Mme. Ancelot, whose "good friend" she is supposed +to have been, and who treats her with the same sincerity she applies +to Mme. d'Abrantès, has a very ingenious and, we have reason to fancy, +a very true parallel, for Mme. Récamier. She compares her to the +mendicant described by Sterne, (or Swift,) who always obtained alms +even from those who never gave to any other, and whose secret lay in +the adroit flatteries with which he seasoned all his beggings. The +best passages in Mme. Ancelot's whole Volume are those where she +paints Mme. Récamier, and we will therefore quote them. +<p> +"The Recluse of the Abbaye aux Bois," she says, "had either read the +story of the beggar, or her instinct had persuaded her that vanity and +pride are the surest vulnerable points by which to attack and subject +the human heart. From the first to the last of all the orators, +writers, artists, or celebrities of no matter what species, that were +invited to Mme. Récamier's house, <i>all</i> heard from her lips the +same admiring phrases, the first time they were presented to her. With +a trembling voice she used to say: 'The emotion I feel in the presence +of a superior being does not permit me to express, as I should wish to +do, all my admiration, all my sympathy;--but you can divine,--you can +understand;--my emotion tells the rest!' This eulogistic sentence, a +well-studied hesitation, words interrupted, and looks of the most +perfect enthusiasm, produced in the person thus received a far more +genuine emotion than that with which he was met. It was no other than +the artifice of wholesale, universal flattery,--always and invariably +the same,--with which Mme. Récamier achieved her greatest conquests, +and continued to draw around her almost all the eminent men of our +epoch. All this was murmured in soft, low tones, so that he only to +whom she spoke tasted the honey poured into his ear. Her grace of +manner all the while was infinite; for though she had no talent for +conversation, she had, in the highest degree, the ability which +enables one to succeed in certain little combinations, and when she +had determined that such or such a great man should become her +<i>habitué</i>, the web she spun round him on all sides was composed +of threads so imperceptibly fine and so innumerable, that those who +escaped were few, and gifted with marvellous address." +<p> +Mme. Ancelot confesses to having "studied narrowly" all +Mme. Récamier's manoeuvres, and to having watched all the thousand +little traps she laid for social "lions"; but we are rather astonished +herein at Mme. Ancelot's astonishment, for, with more or less talent +and grace, these are the devices resorted to in Paris by a whole class +of <i>maitresses de maison</i>, of whom Mme. Récamier is simply the +most perfect type. +<p> +But the most amusing part of all, and one that will be above all +highly relished by any one who has ever seen the same game carried on, +is the account of Mme. Récamier's campaign against M. Guizot, which +signally failed, all her small webs having been coldly brushed away by +the intensely vainglorious individual who knew he should not be placed +above Chateaubriand, and who would for no consideration under heaven +have been placed beneath him. The spectacle of this small and delicate +vanity doing battle against this vanity so infinitely hard and robust +is exquisitely diverting. Mme. Récamier put herself so prodigiously +out of her way; she who was indolent became active; she who was +utterly insensible to children became maternal; she who was of +delicate health underwent what only a vigorous constitution would +undertake. But all in vain; she either did not or would not see that +M. Guizot would not be <i>second</i> where M. de Chateaubriand was +<i>first</i>. Besides, she split against another rock, that she had +either chosen to overlook, or the importance of which she had +undervalued. If Mme. Récamier had for the idol of her shrine at the +Abbaye aux Bois M. de Chateaubriand, M. Guizot had also <i>his</i> +Madame Récamier, the "Egeria" of the Hôtel Talleyrand,--the Princess +Lieven. The latter would have resisted to the death any attempt to +carry off "her Minister" from the <i>salons</i> where his presence was +the "attraction" reckoned upon daily, nay, almost hourly; and against +such a rival as the venerable Princess Lieven, Mme. Récamier, spite of +all her arts and wiles, had no possible chance. However, she left +nothing untried, and when M. Guizot took a villa at Auteuil, whither +to repair of an evening and breathe the freshness of the half-country +air after the stormy debates of the Chambers, she also established +herself close by, and opened her attack on the enemy's outposts by a +request to be allowed to walk in the Minister's grounds, her own +garden being ridiculously small! This was followed by no end of +attentions directed towards Mme. de Meulan, M. Guizot's sister-in-law, +who saw through the whole, and laughed over it with her friends; no +end of little dancing <i>matinées</i> were got up for the Minister's +young daughters, and no end even of sweet biscuits were perpetually +provided for a certain lapdog belonging to the family! All in vain! +We may judge, too, what transports of enthusiasm were enacted when the +Minister himself was <i>by chance (!)</i> encountered in the alleys of +the park, and with what outpourings of admiration he was greeted, by +the very person who, of all others, was so anxious to become one of +his votaries. But, as we again repeat, it was of no use. M. Guizot +never consented to be one of the <i>habitués</i> of the <i>salon</i> +of the Abbaye aux Bois. It should be remarked, also, that M. Guizot +cared little for anything out of the immediate sphere of politics, and +of the politics of the moment; he took small interest in what went on +in Art, and none whatever in what went on in the so-called "world"; so +that where a <i>salon</i> was not predominantly political, there was +small chance of presenting Louis Philippe's Prime-Minister with any +real attraction. For this reason he was now and then to be met at the +house of Mme. de Châtenay, often at that of Mme. de Boigne, but +<i>never</i> in any of the receptions of the ordinary run of men and +women of the world. <i>His own salon</i>, we again say,--the +<i>salon</i> where he was what Chateaubriand was at the Abbaye aux +Bois,--was the <i>salon</i> of the Princess Lieven; and to have ever +thought she could induce M. Guizot to be in the slightest degree +faithless to this <i>habit</i> argues, on the part of Mme. Récamier, +either a vanity more egregious than we had even supposed, or an +ignorance of what she had to combat that seems impossible. To have +imagined for a moment that she could induce M. Guizot to frequent her +<i>réunions</i> shows that she appreciated neither Mme. de Lieven, nor +M. Guizot, nor, we may say, herself, in the light of the +high-priestess of Chateaubriand's temple. +<p> +However, what Mme. Récamier went through with regard to the arrogant +Président du Conseil of the Orléans dynasty, more than one of her +imitators are at this hour enduring for some "lion" infinitely +illustrious. This kind of hunt after celebrated persons is a feature +of French civilization, and a feature peculiarly characteristic of the +French women who take a pride in their receptions. A genuine +<i>maitresse de maison</i> in Paris has no affections, no ties, save +those of her <i>salon</i>. She is wholly absorbed in thinking how she +shall render this more attractive than the <i>salon</i> of some other +lady, who is her intimate friend, but whose sudden disappearance from +the social scene, by any catastrophe, death even, would not leave her +inconsolable. She has neither husband, children, relatives, nor +friends (in the genuine acceptation of the word);--she has, above all, +before all, always and invariably, her <i>salon</i>. This race of +women, who date undoubtedly from the famous Marquise de Rambouillet in +the time of the Fronde, are now dying out, and are infinitely less +numerous than they were even twenty years ago in Paris; but a few of +them still exist, and in these few the ardor we allude to, and which +would lead them, following in Mme. Récamier's track, to embark for the +North Cape in search of some great celebrity, is in no degree +abated. Madame Récamier is curious as the arch-type of this race, so +purely, thoroughly, exclusively Parisian. +<p> +Perhaps to a foreigner, however, no <i>salon</i> was more amusing than +that of Charles Nodier; but this was of an utterly different +description, and all but strictly confined to the world of Literature +and Art. Nodier himself occupied a prominent place in the literature +that was so much talked of during the last years of the Restoration +and the first years of the Monarchy of July, and his house was the +rendezvous for all the combatants of both sides, who at that period +were engaged in the famous Classico-Romantic struggle. Nodier was the +Head Librarian of the Arsenal, and it was in the <i>salons</i> of this +historic palace that he held his weekly gatherings. He himself was +scarcely to be reputed exclusively of either party; he enjoyed the +favors of the Monarchy, and the sympathies of the Opposition; the +"Classics" elected him a member of the Académie Française, and the +"Romantics" were perpetually in his intimacy. The fact was, that +Nodier at heart believed in neither Classics nor Romantics, laughed at +both in his sleeve, and only cared to procure to himself the most +agreeable house, the greatest number of comforts, and the largest sums +of money possible. +<p> +"By degrees," says Mme. Ancelot, "as Nodier cared less for other +people, he praised them more, probably in order to compensate them in +words for the less he gave them in affection. Besides this, he was +resolved not to be disturbed in his own vanities, and for this he knew +there was one only way, which was to foster the vanities of everybody +else. Never did eulogium take such varied forms to laud and exalt the +most mediocre things. Nowhere were so many geniuses whom the public +never guessed at raised to the rank of <i>divinities</i> as in the +<i>salons</i> of Charles Nodier." +<p> +The description contained in the little volume before us, the manner +in which every petty scribbler of fiftieth-rate talent was transformed +into a giant in the society of Nodier, is extremely curious and +amusing, and the more so that it is strictly true, and tallies +perfectly with the recollections of the individuals who, at the period +mentioned, were admitted to the <i>réunions</i> of the Arsenal. +<p> +Every form of praise having been expended upon persons of infinitely +small merit, what was to be done when those of real superiority +entered upon the scene? It was impossible to apply to them the forms +of laudation adapted to their inferiors. Well, then, a species of +slang was invented, by which it was thought practicable to make the +genuine great men conceive they had passed into the condition of +demigods. A language was devised that was to express the fervor of the +adorers who were suddenly allowed to penetrate into Olympus, and the +strange, misapplied terms whereof seemed to the uninitiated the +language of insanity. For instance, if, after a dozen little unshaved, +unkempt poetasters had been called "sublime," Victor Hugo vouchsafed +to recite one of his really best Odes, what was the eulogistic form to +be adopted? Mme. Ancelot will tell us. +<p> +"A pause would ensue, and at the end of a silence of some minutes, +when the echo of Hugo's sonorous voice had subsided, one after another +of the <i>elect</i> would rise, go up to the poet, take his hand with +solemn emotion, and raise to the ceiling eyes full of mute enthusiasm. +The crowd of bystanders would listen all agape. Then, to the surprise, +almost to the consternation, of the uninitiated, one word only would +be spoken,--loudly, distinctly, and with strong, deep emphasis spoken; +that word would be: +<blockquote> + "<i>Cathedral!!!</i> +</blockquote> +"The first orator, after this effort, would +return to the place whence he had come, +and another, succeeding to him, after +repeating the same pantomime as the +former, would exclaim: +<blockquote> + "<i>Ogive!!!</i> +</blockquote> +"Then a third would come forward, and, after looking all around, would +risk the word: +<blockquote> + "<i>Pyramid-of-Egypt!!!</i> +</blockquote> +"And thereat the whole assembly would start off into frenzies of +applause, and fifty or sixty voices would repeat in chorus the +sacramental words that had just been pronounced separately." +<p> +The degree of absurdity to which a portion of society must have +attained before such scenes as the above could become possible may +serve as a commentary and an explanation to half the literature which +flooded the stage and the press in France for the first six or eight +years after the Revolution of 1830. However, to be just, we must, in +extenuation of all these absurdities, cite one passage more from +Mme. Ancelot's book, in which, in one respect, at all events, the +youth of twenty years ago in Paris are shown to have been superior to +the youth of the present day. +<p> +"Nodier's parties were extremely amusing," says our authoress; "his +charming daughter was the life of the whole; she drew around her young +girls of her own age; poets, musicians, painters, young and joyous as +these, were their partners in the dance, and every one was full of +hope and dreaming of glory. But what brought all the +light-heartedness, all the enthusiasm, all the exultation to its +utmost height was, that, in all that youth, so trusting and so +hopeful, <i>no one gave a single thought to money!</i>" +<p> +Assuredly, it would be impossible to say as much nowadays. +<p> +Taken as a whole, Mme. Ancelot's little volume is, as we said, an +amusing and an instructive one. It is not so from any portion of her +own individuality she has infused into it, but, on the contrary, from +the entire sincerity with which it mirrors other people. We recommend +it to our readers, for it is a record of Paris society in its +successive transformations from 1789 to 1848, and paints a class of +people and a situation of things, equally true types whereof may +possibly not be observable in future times. +<p> +<br><br> + +<a name="12.1">[Footnote 1: <i>Les Salons de Paris.--Foyers Eteints</i>. Par +Mme. Ancelot. 12mo. Paris.]</a> +<p> +<a name="12.2">[Footnote 2: It will be remembered that on field-days Murat had +adopted a hat and feathers of a most ridiculous kind, and that have +become proverbial.]</a> + +<br><br><br> + +<br><br><br> + +<table border="0"> +<tr> +<td width="20%"> </td> +<td width="80%"> +<center> +<h2> +<a name="13">THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE</a> +</h2> +<h3> +A LEAF FROM KING ALFRED'S "OROSIUS." +</h3> +</center> +<br> +<br> +<p> + Othere, the old sea-captain,<br> + Who dwelt in Helgoland,<br> + To Alfred, the Lover of Truth,<br> + Brought a snow-white walrus-tooth,<br> + Which he held in his brown right-hand. +<p> + His figure was tall and stately;<br> + Like a boy's his eye appeared;<br> + His hair was yellow as hay,<br> + But threads of a silvery gray<br> + Gleamed in his tawny beard. +<p> + Hearty and hale was Othere,<br> + His cheek had the color of oak;<br> + With a kind of laugh in his speech,<br> + Like the sea-tide on a beach,<br> + As unto the King he spoke. +<p> + And Alfred, King of the Saxons,<br> + Had a book upon his knees,<br> + And wrote down the wondrous tale<br> + Of him who was first to sail<br> + Into the Arctic seas. +<p> + "So far I live to the northward,<br> + No man lives north of me;<br> + To the east are wild mountain-chains,<br> + And beyond them meres and plains;<br> + To the westward all is sea. +<p> + "So far I live to the northward,<br> + From the harbor of Skeringes-hale,<br> + If you only sailed by day,<br> + With a fair wind all the way,<br> + More than a month would you sail. +<p> + "I own six hundred reindeer,<br> + With sheep and swine beside;<br> + I have tribute from the Fins,--<br> + Whalebone, and reindeer-skins,<br> + And ropes of walrus-hide. +<p> + "I ploughed the land with horses,<br> + But my heart was ill at ease,<br> + For the old seafaring men<br> + Came to me now and then<br> + With their sagas of the seas,-- +<p> + "Of Iceland, and of Greenland,<br> + And the stormy Hebrides,<br> + And the undiscovered deep;--<br> + I could not eat nor sleep<br> + For thinking of those seas. +<p> + "To the northward stretched the desert,--<br> + How far I fain would know;<br> + So at last I sallied forth,<br> + And three days sailed due north,<br> + As far as the whale-ships go. +<p> + "To the west of me was the ocean,--<br> + To the right the desolate shore;<br> + But I did not slacken sail<br> + For the walrus or the whale,<br> + Till after three days more. +<p> + "The days grew longer and longer,<br> + Till they became as one;<br> + And southward through the haze<br> + I saw the sullen blaze<br> + Of the red midnight sun. +<p> + "And then uprose before me,<br> + Upon the water's edge,<br> + The huge and haggard shape<br> + Of that unknown North Cape,<br> + Whose form is like a wedge. +<p> + "The sea was rough and stormy,<br> + The tempest howled and wailed,<br> + And the sea-fog, like a ghost,<br> + Haunted that dreary coast,--<br> + But onward still I sailed. +<p> + "Four days I steered to eastward,<br> + Four days without a night:<br> + Bound in a fiery ring<br> + Went the great sun, O King,<br> + With red and lurid light." +<p> + Here Alfred, King of the Saxons,<br> + Ceased writing for a while;<br> + And raised his eyes from his book,<br> + With a strange and puzzled look,<br> + And an incredulous smile. +<p> + But Othere, the old sea-captain,<br> + He neither paused nor stirred;<br> + And the King listened, and then<br> + Once more took up his pen,<br> + And wrote down every word. +<p> + "And now the land," said Othere,<br> + "Bent southward suddenly,<br> + And I followed the curving shore<br> + And ever southward bore<br> + Into a nameless sea. +<p> + "And there we hunted the walrus,<br> + The narwhale, and the seal:<br> + Ha! 'twas a noble game,<br> + And like the lightning's flame<br> + Flew our harpoons of steel! +<p> + "There were six of us altogether,<br> + Norsemen of Helgoland;<br> + In two days and no more<br> + We killed of them threescore,<br> + And dragged them to the strand!" +<p> + Here Alfred the Truth-Teller<br> + Suddenly closed his book,<br> + And lifted his blue eyes<br> + With doubt and strange surmise<br> + Depicted in their look. +<p> + And Othere, the old sea-captain,<br> + Stared at him wild and weird,<br> + Then smiled, till his shining teeth<br> + Gleamed white from underneath<br> + His tawny, quivering beard. +<p> + And to the King of the Saxons,<br> + In witness of the truth,<br> + Raising his noble head,<br> + He stretched his brown hand, and said.<br> + "Behold this walrus-tooth!" +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br><br><br> + +<br><br><br> + +<center> +<h2> +<a name="14">THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST-TABLE.</a> +</h2> +<h3> +EVERY MAN HIS OWN BOSWELL. +</h3> +</center> +<p> +[The schoolmistress came down with a rose in her hair,--a fresh June +rose. She has been walking early; she has brought back two +others,--one on each cheek. +<p> +I told her so, in some such pretty phrase as I could muster for the +occasion. Those two blush-roses I just spoke of turned into a couple +of damasks. I suppose all this went through my mind, for this was what +I went on to say:--] +<p> +I love the damask rose best of all. The flowers our mothers and +sisters used to love and cherish, those which grow beneath our eaves +and by our doorstep, are the ones we always love best. If the +Houyhnhnms should ever catch me, and, finding me particularly vicious +and unmanageable, send a man-tamer to Rareyfy me, I'll tell you what +drugs he would have to take and how he would have to use them. Imagine +yourself reading a number of the Houyhnhnms Gazette, giving an account +of such an experiment. +<br> +<p> +"MAN-TAMING EXTRAORDINARY. +<p> +"The soft-hoofed semi-quadruped recently captured was subjected to the +art of our distinguished man-tamer in presence of a numerous +assembly. The animal was led in by two stout ponies, closely confined +by straps to prevent his sudden and dangerous tricks of +shoulder-hitting and foot-striking. His countenance expressed the +utmost degree of ferocity and cunning. +<p> +"The operator took a handful of <i>budding lilac-leaves</i>, and +crushing them slightly between his hoofs, so as to bring out their +peculiar fragrance, fastened them to the end of a long pole and held +them towards the creature. Its expression changed in an instant,--it +drew in their fragrance eagerly, and attempted to seize them with its +soft split hoofs. Having thus quieted his suspicious subject, the +operator proceeded to tie a <i>blue hyacinth</i> to the end of the +pole and held it out towards the wild animal. The effect was +magical. Its eyes filled as if with raindrops, and its lips trembled +as it pressed them to the flower. After this it was perfectly quiet, +and brought a measure of corn to the man-tamer, without showing the +least disposition to strike with the feet or hit from the shoulder." +<br> +<p> +That will do for the Houyhnhnms Gazette.--Do you ever wonder why poets +talk so much about flowers? Did you ever hear of a poet who did not +talk about them? Don't you think a poem, which, for the sake of being +original, should leave them out, would be like those verses where the +letter <i>a</i> or <i>e</i> or some other is omitted? No,--they will +bloom over and over again in poems as in the summer fields, to the end +of time, always old and always new. Why should we be more shy of +repeating ourselves than the spring be tired of blossoms or the night +of stars? Look at Nature. She never wearies of saying over her floral +pater-noster. In the crevices of Cyclopean walls,--in the dust where +men lie, dust also,--on the mounds that bury huge cities, the Birs +Nemroud and the Babel-heap,--still that same sweet prayer and +benediction. The Amen! of Nature is always a flower. +<p> +Are you tired of my trivial personalities,--those splashes and streaks +of sentiment, sometimes perhaps of sentimentality, which you may see +when I show you my heart's corolla as if it were a tulip? Pray, do +not give yourself the trouble to fancy me an idiot whose conceit it is +to treat himself as an exceptional being. It is because you are just +like me that I talk and know that you will listen. We are all +splashed and streaked with sentiments,--not with precisely the same +tints, or in exactly the same patterns, but by the same hand and from +the same palette. +<p> +I don't believe any of you happen to have just the same passion for +the blue hyacinth which I have,--very certainly not for the crushed +lilac-leaf-buds; many of you do not know how sweet they are. You love +the smell of the sweet-fern and the bayberry-leaves, I don't doubt; +but I hardly think that the last bewitches you with young memories as +it does me. For the same reason I come back to damask roses, after +having raised a good many of the rarer varieties. I like to go to +operas and concerts, but there are queer little old homely sounds that +are better than music to me. However, I suppose it's foolish to tell +such things. +<p> +----It is pleasant to be foolish at the right time,--said the +divinity-student;--saying it, however, in one of the dead languages, +which I think are unpopular for summer-reading, and therefore do not +bear quotation as such. +<p> +Well, now,--said I,--suppose a good, clean, wholesome-looking +countryman's cart stops opposite my door.--Do I want any +huckleberries?--If I do not, there are those that do. Thereupon my +soft-voiced handmaid bears out a large tin pan, and then the wholesome +countryman, heaping the peck-measure, spreads his broad hands around +its lower arc to confine the wild and frisky berries, and so they run +nimbly along the narrowing channel until they tumble rustling down in +a black cascade and tinkle on the resounding metal beneath.--I won't +say that this rushing huckleberry hail-storm has not more music for me +than the "Anvil Chorus." +<p> +----I wonder how my great trees are coming on this summer. +<p> +----Where are your great trees, Sir? said the divinity-student. +<p> +Oh, all round about New England. I call all trees mine that I have put +my wedding-ring on, and I have as many tree-wives as Brigham Young has +human ones. +<p> +----One set's as green as the other,--exclaimed a boarder, who has +never been identified. +<p> +They're all Bloomers,--said the young fellow called John. +<p> +[I should have rebuked this trifling with language, if our landlady's +daughter had not asked me just then what I meant by putting my +wedding-ring on a tree.] +<p> +Why, measuring it with my thirty-foot tape, my dear,--said I.--I have +worn a tape almost out on the rough barks of our old New England elms +and other big trees.--Don't you want to hear me talk trees a little +now? That is one of my specialties. +<p> +[So they all agreed that they should like to hear me talk about +trees.] +<p> +I want you to understand, in the first place, that I have a most +intense, passionate fondness for trees in general, and have had +several romantic attachments to certain trees in particular. Now, if +you expect me to hold forth in a "scientific" way about my +tree-loves,--to talk, for instance, of the Ulmus Americana, and +describe the ciliated edges of its samara, and all that,--you are an +anserine individual, and I must refer you to a dull friend who will +discourse to you of such matters. What should you think of a lover who +should describe the idol of his heart in the language of science, +thus: Class, Mammalia; Order, Primates; Genus, Homo; Species, +Europeus; Variety, Brown; Individual, Ann Eliza; Dental Formula +<p> +<pre> + 2-2 1-1 2-2 3-3 + i--- c--- p--- m----, + 2-2 1-1 2-2 3-3 +</pre> +<p> +and so on? +<p> +No, my friends, I shall speak of trees as we see them, love them, +adore them in the fields, where they are alive, holding their green +sun-shades over our heads, talking to us with their hundred thousand +whispering tongues, looking down on us with that sweet meekness which +belongs to huge, but limited organisms,--which one sees in the brown +eyes of oxen, but most in the patient posture, the outstretched arms, +and the heavy-drooping robes of these vast beings endowed with life, +but not with soul,--which outgrow us and outlive us, but stand +helpless,--poor things!--while Nature dresses and undresses them, like +so many full-sized, but underwitted children. +<p> +Did you ever read old Daddy Gilpin? Slowest of men, even of English +men; yet delicious in his slowness, as is the light of a sleepy eye in +woman. I always supposed "Dr. Syntax" was written to make fun of +him. I have a whole set of his works, and am very proud of it, with +its gray paper, and open type, and long ff, and orange-juice +landscapes. The <i>Père</i> Gilpin had the kind of science I like in +the study of Nature,--a little less observation than White of +Selborne, but a little more poetry.--Just think of applying the +Linnæan system to an elm! Who cares how many stamens or pistils that +little brown flower, which comes out before the leaf, may have to +classify it by? What we want is the meaning, the character, the +expression of a tree, as a kind and as an individual. +<p> +There is a mother-idea in each particular kind of tree, which, if well +marked, is probably embodied in the poetry of every language. Take the +oak, for instance, and we find it always standing as a type of +strength and endurance. I wonder if you ever thought of the single +mark of supremacy which distinguishes this tree from all our other +forest-trees? All the rest of them shirk the work of resisting +gravity; the oak alone defies it. It chooses the horizontal direction +for its limbs, so that their whole weight may tell,--and then +stretches them out fifty or sixty feet, so that the strain may be +mighty enough to be worth resisting. You will find, that, in passing +from the extreme downward droop of the branches of the weeping-willow +to the extreme upward inclination of those of the poplar, they sweep +nearly half a circle. At 90° the oak stops short; to slant upward +another degree would mark infirmity of purpose; to bend downwards, +weakness of organization. The American elm betrays something of both; +yet sometimes, as we shall see, puts on a certain resemblance to its +sturdier neighbor. +<p> +It won't do to be exclusive in our taste about trees. There is hardly +one of them which has not peculiar beauties in some fitting place for +it. I remember a tall poplar of monumental proportions and aspect, a +vast pillar of glossy green, placed on the summit of a lofty hill, and +a beacon to all the country round. A native of that region saw fit to +build his house very near it, and, having a fancy that it might blow +down some time or other, and exterminate himself and any incidental +relatives who might be "stopping" or "tarrying" with him,--also +laboring under the delusion that human life is under all circumstances +to be preferred to vegetable existence,--had the great poplar cut +down. It is so easy to say, "It is only a poplar!" and so much harder +to replace its living cone than to build a granite obelisk! +<p> +I must tell you about some of my tree-wives. I was at one period of my +life much devoted to the young lady-population of Rhode Island, a +small, but delightful State in the neighborhood of Pawtucket. The +number of inhabitants being not very large, I had leisure, during my +visits to the Providence Plantations, to inspect the face of the +country in the intervals of more fascinating studies of physiognomy. I +heard some talk of a great elm a short distance from the locality just +mentioned. "Let us see the great elm,"--I said, and proceeded to find +it,--knowing that it was on a certain farm in a place called Johnston, +if I remember rightly. I shall never forget my ride and my +introduction to the great Johnston elm. +<p> +I always tremble for a celebrated tree when I approach it for the +first time. Provincialism has no <i>scale</i> of excellence in man or +vegetable; it never knows a first-rate article of either kind when it +has it, and is constantly taking second and third rate ones for +Nature's best. I have often fancied the tree was afraid of me, and +that a sort of shiver came over it as over a betrothed maiden when she +first stands before the unknown to whom she has been plighted. Before +the measuring-tape the proudest tree of them all quails and shrinks +into itself. All those stories of four or five men stretching their +arms around it and not touching each other's fingers, of one's pacing +the shadow at noon and making it so many hundred feet, die upon its +leafy lips in the presence of the awful ribbon which has strangled so +many false pretensions. +<p> +As I rode along the pleasant way, watching eagerly for the object of +my journey, the rounded tops of the elms rose from time to time at the +road-side. Wherever one looked taller and fuller than the rest, I +asked myself,--"Is this it?" But as I drew nearer, they grew +smaller,--or it proved, perhaps, that two standing in a line had +looked like one, and so deceived me. At last, all at once, when I was +not thinking of it,--I declare to you it makes my flesh creep when I +think of it now,--all at once I saw a great, green cloud swelling in +the horizon, so vast, so symmetrical, of such Olympian majesty and +imperial supremacy among the lesser forest-growths, that my heart +stopped short, then jumped at my ribs as a hunter springs at a +five-barred gate, and I felt all through me, without need of uttering +the words,--"This is it!" +<p> +You will find this tree described, with many others, in the excellent +Report upon the Trees and Shrubs of Massachusetts. The author has +given my friend the Professor credit for some of his measurements, but +measured this tree himself, carefully. It is a grand elm for size of +trunk, spread of limbs, and muscular development,--one of the first, +perhaps the first, of the first class of New England elms. +<p> +The largest actual girth I have ever found at five feet from the +ground is in the great elm lying a stone's throw or two north of the +main road (if my points of compass are right) in Springfield. But +this has much the appearance of having been formed by the union of two +trunks growing side by side. +<p> +The West-Springfield elm and one upon Northampton meadows belong also +to the first class of trees. +<p> +There is a noble old wreck of an elm at Hatfield, which used to spread +its claws out over a circumference of thirty-five feet or more before +they covered the foot of its bole up with earth. This is the American +elm most like an oak of any I have ever seen. +<p> +The Sheffield elm is equally remarkable for size and perfection of +form. I have seen nothing that comes near it in Berkshire County, and +few to compare with it anywhere. I am not sure that I remember any +other first-class elms in New England, but there may be many. +<p> +----What makes a first-class elm?--Why, size, in the first place, and +chiefly. Anything over twenty feet of clear girth, five feet above +the ground; and with a spread of branches a hundred feet across, may +claim that title, according to my scale. All of them, with the +questionable exception of the Springfield tree above referred to, +stop, so far as my experience goes, at about twenty-two or +twenty-three feet of girth and a hundred and twenty of spread. +<p> +Elms of the second class, generally ranging from fourteen to eighteen +feet, are comparatively common. The queen of them all is that glorious +tree near one of the churches in Springfield. Beautiful and stately +she is beyond all praise. The "great tree" on Boston Common comes in +the second rank, as does the one at Cohasset, which used to have, and +probably has still, a head as round as an apple-tree, and that at +Newburyport, with scores of others which might be mentioned. These +last two have perhaps been over-celebrated. Both, however, are +pleasing vegetables. The poor old Pittsfield elm lives on its past +reputation. A wig of false leaves is indispensable to make it +presentable. +<p> +[I don't doubt there may be some monster-elm or other, vegetating +green, but inglorious, in some remote New England village, which only +wants a sacred singer to make it celebrated. Send us your +measurements,--(certified by the postmaster, to avoid possible +imposition,)--circumference five feet from soil, length of line from +bough-end to bough-end, and we will see what can be done for you.] +<p> +--I wish somebody would get us up the following work:-- + +<p> +<center> +SYLVA NOVANGLICA. +</center> +<p> +Photographs of New England Elms and other Trees, taken upon the Same +Scale of Magnitude. With Letter-Press Descriptions, by a Distinguished +Literary Gentleman. Boston: ---- ----& Co. 185.. +<p> +The same camera should be used,--so far as possible,--at a fixed +distance. Our friend, who is giving us so many interesting figures in +his "Trees of America," must not think this Prospectus invades his +province; a dozen portraits, with lively descriptions, would be a +pretty complement to his larger work, which, so far as published, I +find excellent. If my plan were carried out, and another series of a +dozen English trees photographed on the same scale, the comparison +would be charming. +<p> +It has always been a favorite idea of mine to bring the life of the +Old and the New World face to face, by an accurate comparison of their +various types of organization. We should begin with man, of course; +institute a large and exact comparison between the development of +<i>la pianta umana</i>, as Alfieri called it, in different sections of +each country, in the different callings, at different ages, estimating +height, weight, force by the dynamometer and the spirometer, and +finishing off with a series of typical photographs, giving the +principal national physiognomies. Mr. Hutchinson has given us some +excellent English data to begin with. +<p> +Then I would follow this up by contrasting the various parallel forms +of life in the two continents. Our naturalists have often referred to +this incidentally or expressly; but the <i>animus</i> of Nature in the +two half-globes of the planet is so momentous a point of interest to +our race, that it should be made a subject of express and elaborate +study. Go out with me into that walk which we call <i>the Mall</i>, +and look at the English and American elms. The American elm is tall, +graceful, slender-sprayed, and drooping as if from languor. The +English elm is compact, robust, holds its branches up, and carries its +leaves for weeks longer than our own native tree. +<p> +Is this typical of the creative force on the two sides of the ocean, +or not? Nothing but a careful comparison through the whole realm of +life can answer this question. +<p> +There is a parallelism without identity in the animal and vegetable +life of the two continents, which favors the task of comparison in an +extraordinary manner. Just as we have two trees alike in many ways, +yet not the same, both elms, yet easily distinguishable, just so we +have a complete flora and a fauna, which, parting from the same ideal, +embody it with various modifications. Inventive power is the only +quality of which the Creative Intelligence seems to be economical; +just as with our largest human minds, that is the divinest of +faculties, and the one that most exhausts the mind which exercises it. +As the same patterns have very commonly been followed, we can see +which is worked out in the largest spirit, and determine the exact +limitations under which the Creator places the movement of life in all +its manifestations in either locality. We should find ourselves in a +very false position, if it should prove that Anglo-Saxons can't live +here, but die out, if not kept up by fresh supplies, as Dr. Knox and +other more or less wise persons have maintained. It may turn out the +other way, as I have heard one of our literary celebrities argue,--and +though I took the other side, I liked his best,--that the American is +the Englishman reinforced. +<p> +--Will you walk out and look at those elms with me after breakfast?--I +said to the schoolmistress. +<p> +[I am not going to tell lies about it, and say that she blushed,--as I +suppose she ought to have done, at such a tremendous piece of +gallantry as that was for our boarding-house. On the contrary, she +turned a little pale,--but smiled brightly and said,--Yes, with +pleasure, but she must walk towards her school.--She went for her +bonnet.--The old gentleman opposite followed her with his eyes, and +said he wished he was a young fellow. Presently she came down, +looking very pretty in her half-mourning bonnet, and carrying a +school-book in her hand.] +<p> +<center> +MY FIRST WALK WITH THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. +</center> +<p> +This is the shortest way,--she said, as we came to a corner.--Then we +won't take it,--said I.--The schoolmistress laughed a little, and said +she was ten minutes early, so she could go round. +<p> +We walked under Mr. Paddock's row of English elms. The gray squirrels +were out looking for their breakfasts, and one of them came toward us +in light, soft, intermittent leaps, until he was close to the rail of +the burial-ground. He was on a grave with a broad blue-slate-stone at +its head, and a shrub growing on it. The stone said this was the +grave of a young man who was the son of an Honorable gentleman, and +who died a hundred years ago and more.--Oh, yes, <i>died</i>,--with a +small triangular mark in one breast, and another smaller opposite, in +his back, where another young man's rapier had slid through his body; +and so he lay down out there on the Common, and was found cold the +next morning, with the night-dews and the death-dews mingled on his +forehead. +<p> +Let us have one look at poor Benjamin's grave,--said I.--His bones lie +where his body was laid so long ago, and where the stone says they +lie,--which is more than can be said of most of the tenants of this +and several other burial-grounds. +<p> +[The most accursed act of Vandalism ever committed within my knowledge +was the uprooting of the ancient gravestones in three at least of our +city burial-grounds, and one at least just outside the city, and +planting them in rows to suit the taste for symmetry of the +perpetrators. Many years ago, when this disgraceful process was going +on under my eyes, I addressed an indignant remonstrance to a leading +journal. I suppose it was deficient in literary elegance, or too warm +in its language; for no notice was taken of it, and the hyena-horror +was allowed to complete itself in the face of daylight. I have never +got over it. The bones of my own ancestors, being entombed, lie +beneath their own tablet; but the upright stones have been shuffled +about like chessmen, and nothing short of the Day of Judgment will +tell whose dust lies beneath any of those records, meant by affection +to mark one small spot as sacred to some cherished memory. Shame! +shame! shame!--that is all I can say. It was on public thoroughfares, +under the eye of authority, that this infamy was enacted. The red +Indians would have known better; the selectmen of an African +kraal-village would have had more respect for their ancestors. I +should like to see the gravestones which have been disturbed all +removed, and the ground levelled, leaving the flat tombstones; +epitaphs were never famous for truth, but the old reproach of "Here +lies" never had such a wholesale illustration as in these outraged +burial-places, where the stone does lie above, and the bones do not +lie beneath.] +<p> +Stop before we turn away, and breathe a woman's sigh over poor +Benjamin's dust. Love killed him, I think. Twenty years old, and out +there fighting another young fellow on the Common, in the cool of that +old July evening;--yes, there must have been love at the bottom of it. +<p> +The schoolmistress dropped a rosebud she had in her hand, through the +rails, upon the grave of Benjamin Woodbridge. That was all her +comment upon what I told her.--How women love Love! said I;--but she +did not speak. +<p> +We came opposite the head of a place or court running eastward from +the main street.--Look down there,--I said.--My friend the Professor +lived in that house at the left hand, next the further corner, for +years and years. He died out of it, the other day.--Died?--said the +schoolmistress.--Certainly,--said I.--We die out of houses, just as we +die out of our bodies. A commercial smash kills a hundred men's +houses for them, as a railroad crash kills their mortal frames and +drives out the immortal tenants. Men sicken of houses until at last +they quit them, as the soul leaves its body when it is tired of its +infirmities. The body has been called "the house we live in"; the +house is quite as much the body we live in. Shall I tell you some +things the Professor said the other day?--Do!--said the +schoolmistress. +<p> +A man's body,--said the Professor,--is whatever is occupied by his +will and his sensibility. The small room down there, where I wrote +those papers you remember reading, was much more a portion of my body +than a paralytic's senseless and motionless arm or leg is of his. +<p> +The soul of a man has a series of concentric envelopes round it, like +the core of an onion, or the innermost of a nest of boxes. First he +has his natural garment of flesh and blood. Then, his artificial +integuments, with their true skin of solid stuffs, their cuticle of +lighter tissues, and their variously-tinted pigments. Thirdly, his +domicile, be it a single chamber or a stately mansion. And then, the +whole visible world, in which Time buttons him up as in a loose +outside wrapper. +<p> +You shall observe,--the Professor said,--for, like Mr. John Hunter and +other great men, he brings in that <i>shall</i> with great effect +sometimes,--you shall observe that a man's clothing or series of +envelopes do after a certain time mould themselves upon his individual +nature. We know this of our hats, and are always reminded of it when +we happen to put them on wrong side foremost. We soon find that the +beaver is a hollow cast of the skull, with all its irregular bumps and +depressions. Just so all that clothes a man, even to the blue sky +which caps his head,--a little loosely,--shapes itself to fit each +particular being beneath it. Farmers, sailors, astronomers, poets, +lovers, condemned criminals, all find it different, according to the +eyes with which they severally look. +<p> +But our houses shape themselves palpably on our inner and outer +natures. See a householder breaking up and you will be sure of +it. There is a shell-fish which builds all manner of smaller shells +into the walls of its own. A house is never a home until we have +crusted it with the spoils of a hundred lives besides those of our own +past. See what these are, and you can tell what the occupant is. +<p> +I had no idea,--said the Professor,--until I pulled up my domestic +establishment the other day, what an enormous quantity of roots I had +been making during the years I was planted there. Why, there wasn't a +nook or a corner that some fibre had not worked its way into; and when +I gave the last wrench, each of them seemed to shriek like a mandrake, +as it broke its hold and came away. +<p> +There is nothing that happens, you know, which must not inevitably, +and which does not actually, photograph itself in every conceivable +aspect and in all dimensions. The infinite galleries of the Past await +but one brief process and all their pictures will be called out and +fixed forever. We had a curious illustration of the great fact on a +very humble scale. When a certain bookcase, long standing in one +place, for which it was built, was removed, there was the exact image +on the wall of the whole, and of many of its portions. But in the +midst of this picture was another,--the precise outline of a map +which had hung on the wall before the bookcase was built. We had all +forgotten everything about the map until we saw its photograph on the +wall. Then we remembered it, as some day or other we may remember a +sin which has been built over and covered up, when this lower universe +is pulled away from before the wall of Infinity, where the wrongdoing +stands self-recorded. +<p> +The Professor lived in that house a long time,--not twenty years, but +pretty near it. When he entered that door, two shadows glided over the +threshold; five lingered in the doorway when he passed through it for +the last time,--and one of the shadows was claimed by its owner to be +longer than his own. What changes he saw in that quiet place! Death +rained through every roof but his; children came into life, grew to +maturity, wedded, faded away, threw themselves away; the whole drama +of life was played in that stock-company's theatre of a dozen houses, +one of which was his, and no deep sorrow or severe calamity ever +entered his dwelling. Peace be to those walls, forever,--the Professor +said,--for the many pleasant years he has passed within them! +<p> +The Professor has a friend, now living at a distance, who has been +with him in many of his changes of place, and who follows him in +imagination with tender interest wherever he goes.--In that little +court, where he lived in gay loneliness so long,-- +<p> +--in his autumnal sojourn by the Connecticut, where it comes loitering +down from its mountain fastnesses like a great lord, swallowing up the +small proprietary rivulets very quietly as it goes, until it gets +proud and swollen and wantons in huge luxurious oxbows about the fair +Northampton meadows, and at last overflows the oldest inhabitant's +memory in profligate freshets at Hartford and all along its lower +shores,--up in that caravansary on the banks of the stream where +Ledyard launched his log canoe, and the jovial old Colonel used to +lead the Commencement processions,--where blue Ascutney looked down +from the far distance, and the hills of Beulah, as the Professor +always called them, rolled up the opposite horizon in soft climbing +masses, so suggestive of the Pilgrim's Heavenward Path that he used to +look through his old "Dollond" to see if the Shining Ones were not +within range of sight,--sweet visions, sweetest in those Sunday walks +that carried them by the peaceful common, through the solemn village +lying in cataleptic stillness under the shadow of the rod of Moses, to +the terminus of their harmless stroll,--the patulous fage, in the +Professor's classic dialect,--the spreading beech, in more familiar +phrase,--[stop and breathe here a moment, for the sentence is not done +yet, and we have another long journey before us,]-- +<p> +--and again once more up among those other hills that shut in the +amber-flowing Housatonic,--dark stream, but clear, like the lucid orbs +that shine beneath the lids of auburn-haired, sherry-wine-eyed +demi-blondes,--in the home overlooking the winding stream and the +smooth, flat meadow; looked down upon by wild hills, where the tracks +of bears and catamounts may yet sometimes be seen upon the winter +snow; facing the twin summits which rise in the far North, the highest +waves of the great land-storm in all this billowy region,--suggestive +to mad fancies of the breasts of a half-buried Titaness, stretched out +by a stray thunderbolt, and hastily hidden away beneath the leaves of +the forest,--in that home where seven blessed summers were passed, +which stand in memory like the seven golden candlesticks in the +beatific vision of the holy dreamer,-- +<p> +--in that modest dwelling we were just looking at, not glorious, yet +not unlovely in the youth of its drab and mahogany,--full of great and +little boys' playthings from top to bottom,--in all these summer or +winter nests he was always at home and always welcome. +<p> +This long articulated sigh of reminiscences,--this calenture which +shows me the maple-shadowed plains of Berkshire and the +mountain-circled green of Grafton beneath the salt waves that come +feeling their way along the wall at my feet, restless and +soft-touching as blind men's busy fingers,--is for that friend of mine +who looks into the waters of the Patapsco and sees beneath them the +same visions that paint themselves for me in the green depths of the +Charles. +<p> +----Did I talk all this off to the schoolmistress?--Why, no,--of course +not. I have been talking with you, the reader, for the last ten +minutes. You don't think I should expect any woman to listen to such a +sentence as that long one, without giving her a chance to put in a +word? +<p> +----What did I say to the schoolmistress?--Permit me one moment. I don't +doubt your delicacy and good-breeding; but in this particular case, as +I was allowed the privilege of walking alone with a very interesting +young woman, you must allow me to remark, in the classic version of a +familiar phrase, used by our Master Benjamin Franklin, it is <i>nullum +tui negotii</i>. +<p> +When the schoolmistress and I reached the school-room door, the damask +roses I spoke of were so much heightened in color by exercise that I +felt sure it would be useful to her to take a stroll like this every +morning, and made up my mind I would ask her to let me join her again. + +<p> +<center> +EXTRACT FROM MY PRIVATE JOURNAL. +<br> +(<i>To be burned unread.</i>) +</center> +<p> +I am afraid I have been a fool; for I have told as much of myself to +this young person as if she were of that ripe and discreet age which +invites confidence and expansive utterance. I have been low-spirited +and listless, lately,--it is coffee, I think,--(I observe that which +is bought <i>ready-ground</i> never affects the head,)--and I notice +that I tell my secrets too easily when I am downhearted. +<p> +There are inscriptions on our hearts, which, like that on Dighton +Rock, are never to be seen except at dead-low tide. +<p> +There is a woman's footstep on the sand at the side of my deepest +ocean-buried inscription! +<p> +----Oh, no, no, no! a thousand times, no!--Yet what is this which has +been shaping itself in my soul?--Is it a thought?--is it a dream?--is +it a <i>passion</i>?--Then I know what comes next. +<p> +----The Asylum stands on a bright and breezy hill; those glazed +corridors are pleasant to walk in, in bad weather. But there are iron +bars to all the windows. When it is fair, some of us can stroll +outside that very high fence. But I never see much life in those +groups I sometimes meet;--and then the careful man watches them so +closely! How I remember that sad company I used to pass on fine +mornings, when I was a schoolboy!--B., with his arms full of yellow +weeds,--ore from the gold mines which he discovered long before we +heard of California,--Y., born to millions, crazed by too much +plum-cake, (the boys said,) dogged, explosive,--made a Polyphemus of +my weak-eyed schoolmaster, by a vicious flirt with a stick,--(the +multi-millionnaires sent him a trifle, it was said, to buy another eye +with; but boys are jealous of rich folks,--and I don't doubt the good +people made him easy for life,)--how I remember them all! +<p> +I recollect, as all do, the story of the Hall of Eblis, in "Vathek," +and how each shape, as it lifted its hand from its breast, showed its +heart,--a burning coal. The real Hall of Eblis stands on yonder +summit. Go there on the next visiting-day, and ask that figure +crouched in the corner, huddled up like those Indian mummies and +skeletons found buried in the sitting posture, to lift its hand,--look +upon its heart, and behold, not fire, but ashes.--No, I must not think +of such an ending! Dying would be a much more gentlemanly way of +meeting the difficulty. Make a will and leave her a house or two and +some stocks, and other little financial conveniences, to take away her +necessity for keeping school.--I wonder what nice young man's feet +would be in my French slippers before six months were over! Well, +what then? If a man really loves a woman, of course he wouldn't marry +her for the world, if he were not quite sure that he was the best +person she could by any possibility marry. +<p> +----It is odd enough to read over what I have just been writing.--It +is the merest fancy that ever was in the world. I shall never be +married. She will; and if she is as pleasant as she has been so far, I +will give her a silver tea-set, and go and take tea with her and her +husband, sometimes. No coffee, I hope, though,--it depresses me +sadly. I feel very miserably;--they must have been grinding it at +home.--Another morning walk will be good for me, and I don't doubt the +schoolmistress will be glad of a little fresh air before school. +<p> +<hr align="center" width="40%"> +<p> +----The throbbing flushes of the poetical intermittent have been +coming over me from time to time of late. Did you ever see that +electrical experiment which consists in passing a flash through +letters of gold-leaf in a darkened room, whereupon some name or legend +springs out of the darkness in characters of fire? +<p> +There are songs all written out in my soul, which I could read, if the +flash might but pass through them,--but the fire must come down from +heaven. Ah! but what if the stormy <i>nimbus</i> of youthful passion +has blown by, and one asks for lightning from the ragged <i>cirrus</i> +of dissolving aspirations, or the silvered <i>cumulus</i> of sluggish +satiety? I will call on her whom the dead poets believed in, whom +living ones no longer worship,--the immortal maid, who, name her what +you will,--Goddess, Muse, Spirit of Beauty,--sits by the pillow of +every youthful poet, and bends over his pale forehead until her +tresses lie upon his cheek and rain their gold into his dreams. +<p> +<table border="0"> +<tr> +<td width="33%"> </td> +<td> + <center> + MUSA. + </center> + <br><br> + O my lost Beauty!--hast thou folded quite<br> + Thy wings of morning light<br> + Beyond those iron gates<br> + Where Life crowds hurrying to the haggard Fates,<br> + And Age upon his mound of ashes waits<br> + To chill our fiery dreams,<br> + Hot from the heart of youth plunged in his icy streams?<br> +<br> + Leave me not fading in these weeds of care,<br> + Whose flowers are silvered hair!--<br> + Have I not loved thee long,<br> + Though my young lips have often done thee wrong<br> + And vexed thy heaven-tuned ear with careless song?<br> + Ah, wilt thou yet return,<br> + Bearing thy rose-hued torch, and bid thine altar burn?<br> +<br> + Come to me!--I will flood thy silent shrine<br> + With my soul's sacred wine,<br> + And heap thy marble floors<br> + As the wild spice-trees waste their fragrant stores<br> + In leafy islands walled with madrepores<br> + And lapped in Orient seas,<br> + When all their feathery palms toss, plume-like, in the breeze.<br> +<br> + Come to me!--thou shalt feed on honeyed words,<br> + Sweeter than song of birds;--<br> + No wailing bulbul's throat,<br> + No melting dulcimer's melodious note,<br> + When o'er the midnight wave its murmurs float,<br> + Thy ravished sense might soothe<br> + With flow so liquid-soft, with strain so velvet-smooth.<br> +<br> + Thou shalt be decked with jewels, like a queen,<br> + Sought in those bowers of green<br> + Where loop the clustered vines<br> + And the close-clinging dulcamara twines,--<br> + Pure pearls of Maydew where the moonlight shines,<br> + And Summer's fruited gems,<br> + And coral pendants shorn from Autumn's berried stems.<br> +<br> + Sit by me drifting on the sleepy waves,--<br> + Or stretched by grass-grown graves,<br> + Whose gray, high-shouldered stones,<br> + Carved with old names Life's time-worn roll disowns,<br> + Lean, lichen-spotted, o'er the crumbled bones<br> + Still slumbering where they lay<br> + While the sad Pilgrim watched to scare the wolf away!<br> +<br> + Spread o'er my couch thy visionary wing!<br> + Still let me dream and sing,--<br> + Dream of that winding shore<br> + Where scarlet cardinals bloom,--for me no more,--<br> + The stream with heaven beneath its liquid floor,<br> + And clustering nenuphars<br> + Sprinkling its mirrored blue like golden-chaliced stars!<br> +<br> + Come while their balms the linden-blossoms shed!--<br> + Come while the rose is red,--<br> + While blue-eyed Summer smiles<br> + O'er the green ripples round yon sunken piles<br> + Washed by the moon-wave warm from Indian isles,<br> + And on the sultry air<br> + The chestnuts spread their palms like holy men in prayer!<br> +<br> + Oh, for thy burning lips to fire my brain<br> + With thrills of wild sweet pain!--<br> + On life's autumnal blast,<br> + Like shrivelled leaves, youth's passion-flowers are cast,--<br> + Once loving thee, we love thee to the last!--<br> + Behold thy new-decked shrine,<br> + And hear once more the voice that breathed "Forever thine!"<br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br><br><br> + +<br><br><br> + +<table border="0"> +<tr> +<td width="33%"> </td> +<td width="67%"> +<center> +<h2> +<a name="15">THE TRUSTEE'S LAMENT.</a> +</h2> +<p> +<i>Per aspera ad astra.</i> +<p> +(SCENE.--Outside the gate of the Astronomical<br> +Observatory at Albany.) +</center> +<br> +<br><br> + There was a time when I was blest;<br> + The stars might rise in East or West<br> + With all their sines and wonders;<br> + I cared for neither great nor small,<br> + As pointedly unmoved by all<br> + As, on the top of steeple tall,<br> + A lightning-rod at thunders.<br> +<br> + What did I care for Science then?<br> + I was a man with fellow-men,<br> + And called the Bear the Dipper;<br> + Segment meant piece of pie,--no more;<br> + Cosine, the parallelogram that bore<br> + JOHN SMITH & CO. above a door;<br> + Arc, what called Noah skipper.<br> +<br> + No axes weighed upon my mind,<br> + (Unless I had a few to grind.)<br> + And as for my astronomy,<br> + Had Hedgecock's quadrant then been known,<br> + I might a lamp-post's height have shown<br> + By gas-tronomic skill,--if none<br> + Find fault with the metonymy.<br> +<br> + O hours of innocence! O ways<br> + How far from these unhappy days<br> + When all is vicy-versy!<br> + No flower more peaceful took its due<br> + Than I, who then no difference knew<br> + 'Twixt Ursy Major and my true<br> + Old crony, Major Hersey.<br> +<br> + Now in long broils and feuds we roast,<br> + Like Strasburg geese that living toast<br> + To make a liver-<i>paté</i>,--<br> + And all because we fondly strove<br> + To set the city of our love<br> + In scientific fame above<br> + Her sister Cincinnati!<br> +<br> + We built our tower and furnished it<br> + With everything folks said was fit,<br> + From coping-stone to grounsel;<br> + And then, to give a knowing air,<br> + Just nominally assigned its care<br> + To that unmanageable affair,<br> + A Scientific Council.<br> +<br> + We built it, not that one or two<br> + Astronomers the stars might view<br> + And count the comets' hair-roots,<br> + But that it might by all be said<br> + How very freely we had bled,--<br> + We were not laying out a bed<br> + To force their early square-roots.<br> +<br> + The observations <i>we</i> wished made<br> + Were on the spirit we'd displayed,<br> + Worthy of Athens' high days;<br> + But <i>they</i>'ve put in a man who thinks<br> + Only of planets' nodes and winks,<br> + So full of astronomic kinks<br> + He eats star-fish on Fridays.<br> +<br> + The instruments we did not mean<br> + For seeing through, but to be seen<br> + At tap of Trustee's knuckle;<br> + But the Director locks the gate,<br> + And makes ourselves and strangers wait<br> + While he is ciphering on a slate<br> + The rust of Saturn's buckle.<br> +<br> + So on the wall's outside we stand,<br> + Admire the keyhole's contour grand<br> + And gateposts' sturdy granite;--<br> + But, ah, is Science safe, we say,<br> + With one who treats Trustees this way?<br> + Who knows but he may snub, some day,<br> + A well-conducted planet?<br> +<br> + Who knows what mischief he may brew<br> + With such a telescope brand-new<br> + At the four-hundredth power?<br> + He may bring some new comet down<br> + So near that it'll singe the town<br> + And do the Burgess-Corps crisp-brown<br> + Ere they can storm his tower.<br> +<br> + We wanted (having got our show)<br> + Some man, that had a name or so,<br> + To be our public showman;<br> + But this one shuts and locks the gate:<br> + Who'll answer but he'll peculate,<br> + (And, faith, some stars are missed of late,)<br> + Now that he's watched by no man?<br> +<br> + Our own discoveries he may steal,<br> + Or put night's candles out, to deal<br> + At junkshops with the sockets:<br> + <i>Savants</i>, in other lands or this,<br> + If any theory you miss<br> + Whereon your cipher graven is,<br> + Don't fail to search his pockets!<br> +<br> + Lock up your comets: if that fails,<br> + Then notch their ears and clip their tails,<br> + That you at need may swear to 'em;<br> + And watch your nebulous flocks at night,<br> + For, if your palings are not tight,<br> + He may, to gratify his spite,<br> + Let in the Little Bear to 'em.<br> +<br> + Then he's so quarrelsome, we've fears<br> + He'll set the very Twins by the ears,--<br> + So mad, if you resist him,<br> + He'd get Aquarius to play<br> + A milkman's trick, some cloudy day,<br> + And water all the Milky Way<br> + To starve some sucking system.<br> +<br> + But plaints are vain! through wrath or pride,<br> + The Council all espouse his side<br> + And will our missives con no more;<br> + And who that knows what <i>savants</i> are,<br> + Each snappish as a Leyden jar,<br> + Will hope to soothe the wordy war<br> + 'Twixt Ologist and Onomer?<br> +<br> + Search a Reform Convention, where<br> + He- and she-resiarehs prepare<br> + To get the world in <i>their</i> power,<br> + You will not, when 'tis loudest, find<br> + Such gifts to hug and snarl combined<br> + As drive each astronomic mind<br> + With fifty-score Great-Bear-power!<br> +<br> + No! put the Bootees on your foot,<br> + Elope with Virgo, strive to shoot<br> + That arrow of O'Ryan's,<br> + Drain Georgian Ciders to the lees,<br> + Attempt what crackbrained thing you please,<br> + But dream not you can e'er appease<br> + An angry man of science!<br> +<br> + Ah, would I were, as I was once,<br> + To fair Astronomy a dunce,<br> + Or launching <i>jeux d'esprit</i> at her,<br> + Of light zodiacal making light,<br> + Deaf to all tales of comets bright,<br> + And knowing but such stars as might<br> + Roll r-rs at our theatre!<br> +<br> + Then calm I drew my night-cap on,<br> + Nor bondsman was for what went on<br> + Ere morning in the heavens;<br> + Twas no concern of mine to fix<br> + The Pleiades at seven or six,--<br> + But now the <i>omnium genitrix</i><br> + Seems all at sixes and sevens.<br> +<br> + Alas, 'twas in an evil hour<br> + We signed the paper for the tower,<br> + With Mrs. D. to head it!<br> + For, if the Council have their way,<br> + We've merely had, as Frenchmen say,<br> + The painful <i>maladie du</i> pay,<br> + While they get all the credit!<br> +<br> + Boys, henceforth doomed to spell Trustees,<br> + Think not it ends in double ease<br> + To those who hold the office;<br> + Shun Science as you would Despair,<br> + Sit not in Cassiopeia's chair,<br> + Nor hope from Berenice's hair<br> + To bring away your trophies!<br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br><br><br> + +<br><br><br> + +<center> +<h2> +<a name="16">THE POCKET-CELEBRATION OF THE FOURTH.</a> +</h2> +</center> +<p> +Well, it has happened, and we have survived it pretty well. The +Democratic Almanacs predicted a torrent, a whirlwind, and we know not +what meteoric phenomena,--but the next day Nature gave no sign, the +dome of the State-House was in its place, the Monument was as plumb as +ever, no chimney mourned a ravished brick, and the Republican Party +took its morning tea and toast in peace and safety. On the whole, it +must be considered a wonderful escape. Since Partridge's time there +had been no such prophecies,--since Miller's, no such perverse +disobligingness in the event. +<p> +But what had happened? Why, the Democratic Young Men's Celebration, to +be sure, and Mr. Choate's Oration. +<p> +The good city of Boston in New England, for we know not how many +years, had been in the habit of celebrating the National Birthday, +first, with an oration, as became the Athens of America, and second, +with a dinner, as was meet in the descendants of Teutonic forefathers. +The forenoon's oration glorified us in the lump as a people, and every +man could reckon and appropriate his own share of credit by the simple +arithmetical process of dividing the last census by the value he set +upon himself, a divisor easily obtained by subtracting from the total +of inhabitants in his village the number of neighbors whom he +considered ciphers. At the afternoon's dinner, the pudding of praise +was served out in slices to favored individuals; dry toasts were drunk +by drier dignitaries; the Governor was compared to Solon; the Chief +Justice to Brutus; the Orator of the Day to Demosthenes; the Colonel +of the Boston Regiment to Julius Cæsar; and everybody went home happy +from a feast where the historic parallels were sure to hold out to the +last Z in Lemprière. +<p> +Gradually matters took a new course; the Union was suddenly supposed +to lie at the point of dissolution, and what we may call the +Doctor-Brandreth style of oratory began. Every orator mounted the +rostrum, like a mountebank at a fair, to proclaim the virtues of his +private panacea for the morbid Commonwealth, and, as was natural in +young students of political therapeutics, fancied that he saw symptoms +of the dread malady of Disunion in a simple eruption of Jethro Furber +at a convention of the Catawampusville Come-outers, or of Pyrophagus +Quattlebum at a training of the Palmetto Plug-Uglies,--neither of +which was skin-deep. The dinners became equally dreary. Did the eye of +a speaker light on the national dish of beans, he was reminded of the +languid pulse of the sentiment of union; did he see a broiled chicken, +it called up to his mind's eye the bird of our <i>un</i>common +country, with the gridiron on his breast, liable to be reduced at any +moment to the heraldic duality of his Austrian congener by the strife +of contending sections pulling in opposite directions; an innocent +pippin was enough to suggest the apple of discord; and with the +removal of the cloth came a dessert of diagnoses on the cancer that +was supposed to be preying on the national vitals. The only variety +was a cringing compliment, in which Bunker Hill curtsied to King's +Mountain, to any Southern brother who chanced to be present, and who +replied patronizingly,--while his compatriots at the warmer end of the +Union were probably, with amiable sincerity, applying to the Yankees +that epithet whose expression in type differs but little from that of +a doctorate in divinity, but which precedes the name it qualifies, as +that follows it, and was never, except by Beaumarchais and Fielding, +reckoned among titles of honor or courtesy. +<p> +A delusion seemed to have taken possession of our public men, that the +people wanted doctors of the body-politic to rule over them, and, if +those were not to be had, would put up with the next best +thing,--quacks. Every one who was willing to be an Eminent Statesman +issued his circulars, like the Retired Physician, on all public +occasions, offering to send his recipe in return for a vote. The +cabalistic formula always turned out to be this:--"Take your humble +servant for four years at the White House; if no cure is effected, +repeat the dose." +<p> +Meanwhile were there any symptoms of disease in the Constitution? Not +the least. The whole affair was like one of those alarms in a +country-town which begin with the rumor of ten cases of confluent +small-pox and end with the discovery that the doctor has been called +to a case of nettle-rash at Deacon Scudder's. But sober men, who +loved the Union in a quiet way, without advertising it in the +newspapers, and who were willing to sacrifice everything to the +Constitution but the rights it was intended to protect, began to fear +that the alarmists might create the disease which they kept up so much +excitement about. +<p> +This being the posture of affairs, the city of Boston, a twelvemonth +since, chose for their annual orator a clergyman distinguished for +eloquence, and for that important part of patriotism, at least, which +consists in purity of life. This gentleman, being neither a candidate +for office nor the canvasser of a candidate, ventured upon a new kind +of address. He took for his theme the duties consequent upon the +privileges of Freedom, ventured to mention self-respect as one of +them, and commented upon the invitation of a Virginia Senator, the +author of the Fugitive Slave Bill, to a Seventeenth-of-June +Celebration, while the Senators of Massachusetts were neglected. In +speaking of this, he used, we believe, the word "flunkeyism." It is +not an elegant word; it is not even an English one;--but had the +speaker sought for a Saxon correlative, he could hardly have found one +that would have seemed more satisfactory, especially to those who +deserved it; for Saxon is straightforward, and a reluctance to be +classified (fatal to science) is characteristic of the human animal. +<p> +An orator who suggests a new view of any topic is a disturber of the +digestive organs,--this was very properly a matter of offence to the +Aldermen who were to dine after the oration,--but an orator who +tampers with the language we have inherited from Shakspeare and +Milton, and which we share with Tupper, was an object for deeper +reprobation. The Young Men's Democratic Association of Boston are +purists; they are jealous for their mother-tongue,--and it is the more +disinterested in them as a large proportion of them are Irishmen; they +are exclusive,--a generous confusion of ideas as to the meaning of +democracy, even more characteristically Hibernian; they are +sentimental, too,--melancholy as gibcats,--and feared (from last +year's example) that the city might not furnish them with a +sufficiently lachrymose Antony to hold up before them the bloody +garment of America, and show what rents the envious Blairs and Wilsons +and Douglasses had made in it. Accordingly they resolved to have a +public celebration all to themselves,--a pocket-edition of the +cumbrous civic work,--and as the city provided fireworks in the +evening, in order to be beforehand with it in their pyrotechnics, they +gave Mr. Choate in the forenoon. +<p> +We did not hear Mr. Choate's oration; we only read it in the +newspapers. Cold fireworks, the morning after, are not enlivening. +You have the form without the fire, and the stick without the soar. +But we soon found that we were to expect no such disappointment from +Mr. Choate. He seems to announce at the outset that he has closed his +laboratory. The Prospero of periods had broken his wand and sunk his +book deeper than ever office-hunter sounded. The boys in the street +might wander fancy-free, and fire their Chinese crackers as they +listed; but for him this was a solemn occasion, and he invited his +hearers to a Stoic feast of Medford crackers and water, to a +philosophic banquet of metaphors and metaphysics. +<p> +We confess that we expected a great deal. Better a crust with Plato +than nightingales' tongues with Apicius; and if Mr. Choate promised +only the crust, we were sure of one melodious tongue, at least, before +the meal was over. He is a man of whom any community might be +proud. Were society an organized thing here, as in Europe, no dinner +and no drawing-room would be perfect without his talk. He would have +been heard gladly at Johnson's club. The Hortensins of our courts, +with a cloud of clients, he yet finds time to be a scholar and a +critic, and to read Plato and Homer as they were read by Plato's and +Homer's countrymen. Unsurpassed in that eloquence which, if it does +not convince, intoxicates a jury, he was counted, so long as Webster +lived, the second advocate of our bar. +<p> +All this we concede to Mr. Choate with unreserved admiration; but +when, leaving the field where he had won his spurs as the successful +defender of men criminally accused, he undertakes to demonstrate the +sources whence national life is drawn, and the causes which lead to +its decay,--to expound authoritatively the theory of political ethics +and the principles of sagacious statesmanship, wary in its steps, and +therefore durable in its results,--it becomes natural and fair to ask, +What has been the special training that has fitted him for the task? +More than this: when he comes forward as the public prosecutor of the +Republican Party, it becomes our duty to examine the force of his +arguments and the soundness of his logic. Has his own experience given +him any right to talk superciliously to a great party overwhelmingly +triumphant in the Free States? And does his oration show him to +possess such qualities of mind, such grasp of reason, such continuity +of induction, as to entitle him to underrate the intelligence of so +large a number of his fellow-citizens by accusing them of being +incapable of a generalization and incompetent to apprehend a +principle? +<p> +The Bar has given few historically-great statesmen to the +world,--fewer than the Church, which Mr. Choate undervalues in a +sentence which, we cannot help thinking, is below the dignity of the +occasion, and jarringly discordant with the generally elevated tone of +his address. Burke, an authority whom Mr. Choate will not call in +question, has said that the training of the bar tends to make the +faculties acute, but at the same time narrow. The study of +jurisprudence may, no doubt, enlarge the intellect; but the habit of +mind induced by an indiscriminate advocacy--which may be summoned to +the defence of a Sidney to-day and of a spoon-thief to-morrow--is +rather that of the sophist than of the philosophic reasoner. Not +truth, but the questionable victory of the moment, becomes naturally +and inevitably the aim and end of all the pleader's faculties. For +him the question is not what principle, but what interest of John Doe, +may be at stake. Such has been Mr. Choate's school as a reasoner. As +a politician, his experience has been limited. The member of a party +which rarely succeeded in winning, and never in long retaining, the +suffrages of the country, he for a time occupied a seat in the Senate, +but without justifying the expectations of his friends. So far, his +history shows nothing that can give him the right to assume so high +and mighty a tone in speaking of his political opponents. +<p> +But in his scholarship he has a claim to be heard, and to be heard +respectfully. Here lies his real strength, and hence is derived the +inspiration of his better eloquence. The scholar enjoys more than the +privilege, without the curse, of the Wandering Jew. He can tread the +windy plain of Troy, he can listen to Demosthenes, can follow Dante +through Paradise, can await the rising of the curtain for the first +acting of Hamlet. Mr. Choate's oration shows that he has drawn that +full breath which is, perhaps, possible only under a Grecian sky, and +it is, in its better parts, scholarly in the best sense of the +word.<a href="#16.1">[1]</a> It shows that he has read out-of-the-way books, like Bodinus +"De Republicâ," and fresh ones, like Gladstone's Homer,--that he can +do justice, with Spinoza, to Machiavelli,--and that in letters, at +least, he has no narrow prejudices. Its sentences are full of +scholarly allusion, and its language glitters continually with pattins +of bright gold from Shakspeare. We abhor that profane vulgarity of our +politics which denies to an antagonist the merits which are justly +his, because he may have been blinded to the truth of our principles +by the demerits which are justly ours,--which hates the man because it +hates his creed, and, instead of grappling with his argument, seeks in +the kitchen-drains of scandal for the material to bespatter his +reputation. Let us say, then, honestly, what we honestly think,--the +feeling, the mastery and choice of language, the intellectual +comprehensiveness of glance, which can so order the many-columned +aisle of a period, that the eye, losing none of the crowded +particulars, yet sees through all, at the vista's end, the gleaming +figure of thought to enshrine which the costly fabric was reared,--all +these qualities of the orator demand and receive our sincere +applause. In an age when indolence or the study of French models has +reduced our sentences to the economic curtness of telegraphic +despatches, to the dimension of the epigram without its point, +Mr. Choate is one of the few whose paragraphs echo with the +long-resounding pace of Dryden's coursers, and who can drive a +predicate and six without danger of an overset. +<p> +Mr. Choate begins by congratulating his hearers that there comes one +day in our year when "faults may be forgotten,-- ... when the +arrogance of reform, the excesses of reform, the strife of parties, +the rivalries of regions, shall give place to a wider, warmer, juster +sentiment,--when, turning from the corners and dark places of +offensiveness, ... we may go up together to the serene and secret +mountain-top," etc. Had he kept to the path which he thus marked out +for himself, we should have had nothing to say. But he goes out of +his way to indulge a spleen unworthy of himself and the occasion, and +brings against political opponents, sometimes directly, sometimes by +innuendo, charges which, as displaying personal irritation, are +impolitic and in bad taste. One fruit of scholarship, and its fairest, +he does not seem to have plucked,--one proof of contented conviction +in the truth of his opinions he does not give,--that indifference to +contemporary clamor and hostile criticism, that magnanimous +self-trust, which, assured of its own loyalty to present duty, can +wait patiently for future justice. +<p> +His exordium over, Mr. Choate proceeds to define and to discuss +Nationality. We heartily agree with him in all he says in its praise, +and draw attention, in passing, to a charming idyllic passage in which +he speaks of the early influences which first develope in us its +germinal principle. But when he says, that the sentiment of a national +life, once existing, must still be kept alive by an exercise of the +reason and the will, we dissent. It must be a matter of instinct, or +it is nothing. The examples of nationality which he cites are those of +ancient Greece and modern Germany. Now we affirm, that, with +accidental exceptions, nationality has always been a matter of race, +and was eminently so in the instances he quotes. If we read rightly, +the nationality which glows in the "Iliad," and which it was, perhaps, +one object of the poem to rouse or to make coherent, is one of blood, +not territory. The same is true of Germany, of Russia, (adding the +element of a common religious creed,) and of France, where the Celtic +sentiment becomes day by day more predominant. The exceptions are +England and Switzerland, whose intense nationality is due to +insulation, and Holland, which was morally an island, cut off as it +was from France by difference of language and antipathy of race, and +from kindred Germany by the antagonism of institutions. A patriotism +by the chart is a monster that the world ne'er saw. Men may fall in +love with a lady's picture, but not with the map of their country. +Few persons have the poetic imagination of Mr. Choate, that can vivify +the dead lines and combine the complex features. It seems to us that +our own problem of creating a national sentiment out of such diverse +materials of race, such sometimes discordant or even hostile +traditions, and then of giving it an intenseness of vitality that can +overcome our vast spaces and our differences of climate and interest, +is a new problem, not easily to be worked out by the old +methods. Mr. Choate's plan seems to consist in the old formula of the +Fathers. He would have us think of their sacrifices and their +heroisms, their common danger and their common deliverance. +Excellent, as far as it goes; but what are we to do with the large +foreign fraction of our population imported within the last forty +years, a great proportion of whom never so much as heard even of the +war of 1812? Shall we talk of Bennington and Yorktown to the Germans, +whose grandfathers, if they were concerned at all in those memorable +transactions, were concerned on the wrong side? Shall we talk of the +constancy of Puritan Pilgrims to the Romanist Irishman, who knows more +of Brian Boroo than of the Mayflower? +<p> +It will be many generations before we become so fused as to have a +common past, and the conciliation and forbearance which Mr. Choate +recommends to related sections of country will be more than equally +necessary to unrelated races. But while we are waiting for a past in +which we can all agree, Mr. Choate sees danger in the disrespect which +he accuses certain <i>anonymi</i> of entertaining for the past in +general. But for what past? Does Mr. Choate mean our own American +past? Does he refer us to that for lessons of forbearance, submission, +and waiting for God's good time? Is the contemplation of their own +history and respect for their own traditions the lenitive he +prescribes for a people whose only history is a revolution, whose only +tradition is rebellion? To what past and to what tradition did the +Pilgrim Fathers appeal, except to that past, older than all history, +that tradition, sacred from all decay, which, derived from an +antiquity behind and beyond all the hoary generations, points the +human soul to the God from whom it derived life, and with it the +privilege of freedom and the duty of obedience? To what historical +past did Jefferson go for the preamble of the Declaration, unless to +the reveries of a half-dozen innovating enthusiasts, men of the +closet,--of that class which Mr. Choate disparages by implication, +though it has done more to shape the course of the world than any +number of statesmen, whose highest office is, commonly, to deal +prudently with the circumstances of the moment? +<p> +Mr. Choate does a great injustice to the Republican Party when he lays +this irreverence for the past to their charge. As he seems to think +that he alone has read books and studied the lessons of antiquity, he +will be pleased to learn that there are persons also in that party who +have not neglected all their opportunities in that kind. The object of +the Republicans is to bring back the policy and practice of the +Republic to some nearer agreement with the traditions of the +fathers. They also have a National Idea,--for some of them are capable +of distinguishing "a phrase from an idea," or Mr. Choate would find it +easier to convert them. They propose to create a National Sentiment, +in the only way that is possible under conditions like ours, by +clearing the way for the development of a nation which shall be, not +only in Fourth-of-July orations, but on every day in the year, and in +the mouths of all peoples, great and wise, just and brave, and whose +idea, always august and venerable, by turns lovely and terrible, shall +bind us all in a common nationality by our loyalty to what is true, +our reverence for what is good, our love for what is beautiful, and +our sense of security in what is mighty. That is the America which the +Fathers conceived, and it is that to which the children look +forward,--an America which shall displace Ireland and Germany, +Massachusetts and Carolina, in the hearts of those who call them +mother, with an image of maternity at once more tender and more +majestic. +<p> +There is a past for which Republicans have indeed no respect,--but it +is one of recent date; there is a history from which they refuse to +take lessons except for warning and not example,--but it is a history +which is not yet written. When the future historian shall study that +past and gather materials for writing that history, he will find cause +for wonder at the strength of that national vitality which could +withstand and survive, not the efforts of Mr. Choate's dreadful +reformers, but of an administration calling itself Democratic, which, +with the creed of the Ostend Manifesto for its foreign, and the +practice of Kansas for its domestic policy, could yet find a scholar +and a gentleman like Mr. Choate to defend it. +<p> +Mr. Choate charges the Republicans with being incapable of a +generalization. They can, at least, generalize so far as this, that, +when they find a number of sophistries in an argument, they conclude +that the cause which requires their support must be a weak one. One of +the most amusing of these in the oration before us is where (using the +very same arguments that were urged in favor of that coalition in +Massachusetts against the morality of which the then party of Mr. +Choate exclaimed so loudly) he extols the merits of Compromise in +statesmanship. In support of what he says on this subject, he quotes +from a speech of Archbishop Whately a passage in favor of +Expediency. It is really too bad, that the Primate of Ireland, of all +men living, should be made the abetter in two fallacies. In the first +place, Mr. Choate assumes that there are certain deluded persons who +affirm that all compromises in politics are wrong. Having stuffed out +his man of straw, he proceeds gravely to argue with him, as if he were +as cunning of fence as Duns Scotus. One would think, from some of the +notions he deems it necessary to combat, that we were living in the +time of the Fifth-Monarchy men, and that Captain Venner with his troop +was ready to issue from the garrets of Batterymarch Street, to find +Armageddon in Dock Square, and the Beast of the Revelation in the +Chief of Police. There is no man who believes that the ship of State, +any more than an ordinary vessel, can be navigated by the New +Testament alone; but neither will be the worse for having it +aboard. The Puritans sailed theirs by Deuteronomy, but it was a +Deuteronomy qualified by an eye to the main chance. Mr. Choate's +syllogism may be stated thus: Some compromises are necessary in order +to carry on a free government; but this is a compromise; therefore it +is necessary. Here is the first fallacy. The other syllogism runs +thus: Expediency is essential in politics; so also is compromise; +therefore some particular compromise is expedient. Fallacy number +two. The latent application in this part of Mr. Choate's oration is, +of course, to Compromises on the Slavery question. We agree with him, +that no man of sense will deny that compromise is essential in +politics, and especially in our politics. With a single exception, all +that he says on this topic is expressed with masterly force and +completeness. But when we come to the application of it, the matter +assumes another face. Men of sense may, and do, differ as to what +<i>is</i> a compromise, or, agreeing in that, they may differ again as +to whether it be expedient. For example, if a man, having taken +another's cloak, insist on taking his coat also, the denudee, though +he might congratulate himself on having been set forward so far on his +way toward the natural man of Rousseau, would hardly call the affair a +compromise on the part of the denuder. Or again, if his brother with +principles should offer to compromise about the coat by taking only +half of it, he would be in considerable doubt whether the arrangement +were expedient. Now there are many honest people, not as eloquent as +Mr. Choate, not as scholarly, and perhaps not more illogical, who +firmly believe that our compromises on the question of Slavery have +afforded examples of both the species above described. It is not +unnatural, therefore, that, while they assent to his general theory, +they should protest against his mode of applying it to +particulars. They may be incapable of a generalization, (they +certainly are, if this be Mr. Choate's notion of one,) but they are +incapable also of a deliberate fallacy. We think we find here one of +the cases in which his training as an advocate has been of evil effect +on his fairness of mind. No more potent lie can be made than of the +ashes of truth. A fallacy is dangerous because of the half-truth in +it. Swallow a strong dose of pure poison, and the stomach may reject +it; but take half as much, mixed with innocent water, and it will do +you a mischief. But Mr. Choate is nothing, if not illogical: +recognizing the manifest hand of God in the affairs of the world, he +would leave the question of Slavery with Him. Now we offer Mr. Choate +a <i>dilemma</i>: either God <i>always</i> interferes, or +<i>sometimes</i>: if always, why need Mr. Choate meddle? why not leave +it to Him to avert the dangers of Anti-slavery, as well as to remedy +the evils of Slavery?--if only sometimes, (<i>nec deus intersit nisi +dignus vindice nodus,</i>) who is to decide when the time for human +effort has come? Each man for himself, or Mr. Choate for all? +<p> +Let us try Mr. Choate's style of reasoning against himself. He says, +"One may know Aristophanes and Geography and the Cosmical Unity and +Telluric Influences," (why <i>didn't</i> he add, "Neptune, Plutarch, +and Nicodemus"!) "and the smaller morals of life, and the sounding +pretensions of philanthropy," (this last, at any rate, is useful +knowledge,) "and yet not know America." We must confess, that we do +not see why on earth he should. In fact, by the time he had got to +the "Telluric Influences," (whatever they are,) we should think he +might consider his education completed, and his head would even then +be as great a wonder as that of the schoolmaster in the "Deserted +Village." In the same way, a man might have seen a horse, (if only a +clothes-horse,) a dog, a cat, and a tadpole, and yet never have seen +the elephant,--a most blame-worthy neglect of opportunities. But let +us apply Mr. Choate's syllogistic process to the list of this +extraordinary nameless person's acquirements. The Republican Party do +<i>not</i> know any of these amazing things; <i>ergo</i>, they must +know America; and the corollary (judging from Mr. Choate's own +practice, as displayed in the parts of his oration which we are sure +he will one day wish to blot) would seem to be, that, having the honor +of her acquaintance, they may apply very contemptuous epithets to +everybody that disagrees with them. The only weak point in our case +is, that Mr. Choate himself seems to allow them the one merit of +knowing something of Geography,--for he says they wished to elect a +"geographical President,"--but, perhaps, as they did not succeed in +doing so, he will forgive them the possession of that accomplishment, +so hostile to a knowledge of America. +<p> +We confess that we were surprised to find Mr. Choate reviving, on "the +serene and secret mountain-top,"--which, being interpreted, means the +rather prosaic Tremont Temple,--the forgotten slang of a bygone +political contest, as in the instance we have just quoted of the +"geographical President." We think that Colonel Fremont might be +allowed to rest in peace, now that a California court has +decided--with a logic worthy of Mr. Choate himself--that he has no +manner of right to the gold in his Mariposa mines, <i>because</i> he +owns them. But we should like to have Mr. Choate define, when he has +leisure, where an unfortunate candidate can take up his abode, in +order to escape the imputation of being "geographical." It is a grave +charge to be brought against any man, as we see by its being coupled +with those dreadful Telluric Influences and Cosmical (ought we not to +<i>dele</i> the <i>s?</i>) Unities; and since the most harmless man in +the world may become a candidate before he expects it, it would be +charitable to warn him beforehand what is an allowable <i>habitat</i> +in such a contingency. +<p> +We said we were surprised at seeing our old friend, the "geographical +President," again; but we soon found that he reappeared only as the +file-leader of a ragged regiment of kindred scarecrows,--nay, with +others so battered and bedraggled, that they were scarce fit to be the +camp-followers of the soldiery with whom Falstaff refused to march +through Coventry. The sarcasms which Mr. Choate vents against the +Anti-slavery sentiment of the country are so old as to be positively +respectable,--we wish we could say that their vivacity increased with +their years,--and as for his graver indictments, there never was +anything so ancient, unless it be an American lad of eighteen. There +are not a great many of either, but they are made to recur often +enough to produce the impression of numbers. They remind us of the +theatric army, composed always of the same old guard of +supernumeraries and candle-snuffers, and which, by marching round and +round the paper forest in the background, would make six men pass +muster very well for sixty, did not the fatally regular recurrence of +the hero whose cotton armor bunches at the knees, and the other whose +legs insist on the un-Grecian eccentricity of being straight in +profile and crooked in a front view, bring us back to calmer +estimates. +<p> +We used the word <i>indictments</i> with design, both as appropriate +to Mr. Choate's profession and exactly descriptive of the thing +itself. For, as in an indictment for murder, in order to close every +loophole of evasion, the prudent attorney affirms that the accused did +the deed with an awfully destructive <i>to-wit</i>,--with a knife, +axe, bludgeon, pistol, bootjack, six-pounder, and what not, which were +then and there in the Briarean hands of him the said What's-his-name, +so Mr. Choate represents the Republican Party to have attempted the +assassination of the Constitution with a most remarkable medley of +instruments. He does not, indeed, use the words "Republican Party," +but it is perfectly clear from the context, as in the case of the +"geographical President," for whom the charges are intended. Out of +tenderness for the artist, let him for whom the garment is intended +put it on, though it may not fit him,--and for our own parts, as +humble members of the Anti-slave-trade, Anti-filibuster, and +Anti-disreputable-things-generally Party, we don our Joseph's coat +(for Mr. Choate could not make one that was not of many colors) with +good-humored serenity. +<p> +Of course, Sectionalism is not forgotten. The pumpkin-lantern, that +had performed so many offices of alarm, though a little wrinkled now, +was too valuable a stage-property to be neglected. In the hands of so +skilful an operator, its slender body flutters voluminous with new +folds of inexpensive cotton, and its eyes glare with the baleful +terrors of unlimited tallow. Mr. Choate honestly confesses that +sectional jealousies are coeval with the country itself, but it is +only as fomented by Anti-slavery-extension that he finds them +dreadful. When South Carolina threatened disunion unless the Tariff of +the party to which Mr. Choate then belonged were modified, did he +think it necessary for the Protectionists to surrender their policy? +There is not, and there never was, any party numerically considerable +at the North, in favor of disunion. Were homilies on fraternal +concessions the things to heal this breach, the South is the fitting +place for their delivery; but mouth-glue, however useful to stick +slight matters together, is not the cement with which confederacies +are bound to a common centre. There must be the gravitation of +interest as well as of honor and duty. We wonder that the parallel +case of Scotland and England did not occur to Mr. Choate, in speaking +upon this point. Scotland was clamorous and England jealously +contemptuous, for nearly a century. Twice since the union, the land +of cakes has been in rebellion; but as long as a pound Scots was only +a twentieth part of a pound English,--as long as the treasury was +filled chiefly from south the Tweed, and the sons of poor and proud +Scottish lairds could make glittering abstractions from it,--as long +as place was to be won or hoped for,--there was no danger. So with +us,--though Jacob and Esau quarrelled already in the womb, yet, so +long as the weaker and more politic brother can get the elder +brother's portion, and simple Esau hunts his whales and pierces his +untrodden forests, content with his mess of pottage,--honestly abiding +by his bargain, though a little puzzled at its terms,--we think that +fratricide, or the sincere thought of it, is very far off. +<p> +<hr width="40%" align="center"> +<p> +We should be glad to extract some passages of peculiar force and +beauty,--such as that where Mr. Choate rebukes the undue haste of +reformers, and calls to mind the slow development and longevity of +states and ideas. But our duty is the less pleasing one of pointing to +some of the sophistries of the argument and some of the ill-advised +ebullitions of the orator. We leave his exegesis of "Render unto +Cæsar" to answer itself; but what can be worse than this,--worse in +taste, in temper, in reason? +<blockquote> + "There is a cant of shallowness and fanaticism which misunderstands + and denies this. There is a distempered and ambitious morality which + says civil prudence is no virtue. There is a philanthropy,--so it + calls itself,--pedantry, arrogance, folly, cruelty, impiousness, I + call it, fit enough for a pulpit, totally unfit for a people,--fit + enough for a preacher, totally unfit for a statesman." +</blockquote> +<p> +Think of it!--fit enough for St. Augustine and St. Francis, (to +mention no greater names,) fit enough for Taylor and Barrow, for +Bossuet and Fénelon, but not for Mr. Buchanan or Mr. Cushing! +<p> +In another place Mr. Choate says, "that even the laughter of fools, +and children, and madmen, little ministers, little editors, and little +politicians, can inflict the mosquito-bite, not deep, but stinging." +As this is one of the best of his sarcasms, we give it the advantage +of the circulation of the "Atlantic,"--generous and tidal circulation, +as he himself might call it. We do not think the mosquito image +new,--if we remember, the editor of the Bungtown Copperhead uses it +weekly against "our pitiful contemporary,"--though the notion of a +mosquito-bite inflicted by a laugh is original with Mr. Choate, unless +Lord Castlereagh may have used it before. But we would seriously ask +Mr. Choate who the big ministers of the country are, if the Beechers, +if Wayland, Park, Bushnell, Cheever, Furness, Parker, Hedge, Bellows, +and Huntington are the little ones? +<p> +There is an amusing passage in which Mr. Choate would seem to assume +to himself and those who agree with him the honors of martyrdom. This +shows a wonderful change in public opinion; though the martyrs in the +"Legenda Aurea" and Fox seem to have had a harder time of it than we +supposed to be the case with Mr. Choate. +<p> +We have not space to follow him farther, and only the reputation of +the man, and the singularity of the occasion, which gave a kind of +national significance to the affair, would have tempted us to intrude +upon the select privacy of the Young Men's Democratic Association. +<p> +Finally, as Mr. Choate appears to have a very mean opinion of the +understandings and the culture of those opposed to him in politics, we +beg to remind him, since he has been led out, like Balaam, to prophesy +against the tents and armies of the Republican Israel, and has ended +by proving their invincibility, that it was an animal in all respects +inferior to a prophet, and in some to a politician, who was first +aware of the presence of the heavenly messenger; and it may be that +persons incapable of a generalization--as that patient creature +undoubtedly was--may see as far into the future as the greatest +philosopher who turns his eyes always to the past. +<br> +<br> +<a name="16.1">[Footnote 1: We may be allowed to wonder, however, at his speaking of +"memories that burn and revel in the pages of Herodotus,"--a phrase +which does injustice to the simple and quiet style of the delightful +Pepys of Antiquity.]</a> + +<br><br><br> + +<br><br><br> +<center> +<h2> +<a name="17">LITERARY NOTICES.</a> +</h2> +</center> + +<p> +DR. ASA GRAY'S <i>Botanical Series</i>, New York, Ivison & Phinney, +consisting of-- +<blockquote> +I. <i>How Plants Grow</i>, etc., <i>with a Popular Flora,</i> +etc. 16mo. pp. 233. +<p> +II. <i>First Lessons in Botany and Vegetable Physiology.</i> +8vo. pp. 236. +<p> +III. <i>Introduction to Structural and Systematic Botany and Vegetable +Physiology.</i> 8vo. pp. 555. +<p> +IV. <i>Manual of the Botany of the Northern United States, including +Virginia, Kentucky,</i> etc. 8vo. pp. 636. +<p> +V. Same as IV., with the <i>Mosses and Liverworts</i> added, +illustrated by Engravings, pp. 739. +<p> +VI. Same as IV., with II. bound up with it. pp. 872. +</blockquote> +<p> +The first-named of these books is a new candidate for public favor; +the others are revised and improved editions of books which have +already been favorably received. We have sometimes thought that the +popularity of a school-book is in inverse proportion to its merits, +and are glad to learn that five editions of Dr. Gray's "Structural and +Systematic Botany" are witnesses against the truth of this assumption. +No man can deny that Dr. Gray's books are all of the highest order of +merit. The accuracy and extent of his scholarship are manifest on +every page,--a scholarship consisting not merely in an extensive +acquaintance with the works of other botanists, but in a careful +confirmation of their results, and in additions to their knowledge, by +an observation of Nature for himself. His clearness of style is an +equally valuable characteristic, making the reader sure that he +understands Dr. Gray, and that Dr. Gray understands the subject. In +the "Manual" this clearness of style extends to the judicious +selection of distinctive marks, whereby allied species may be +distinguished from each other. Even the most difficult genera of +golden-rods, asters, and grasses become intelligible in this manual; +and many a less difficult genus which puzzled our boyhood, with +Beck's, Eaton's, and Pursh's manuals, became so plain in Gray, that we +cannot now imagine where was the difficulty. The extent of the field +which Gray's Manual covers prevents him, of course, from giving such +lifelike descriptions of plants as may be found in Dr. Bigelow's +"Plants of Boston and its Vicinity," or such minute +word-daguerreotypes as those in Mr. Emerson's "Trees of +Massachusetts,"--books which no New England student of botany can +afford to be without; but, on the other hand, the description of each +species, aided by typographical devices of Italics, etc., is +sufficient for any intelligent observer to identify a specimen. The +exquisite engravings, illustrating the genera of Ferns, Hepaticæ, and +Mosses, are also a great assistance. +<p> +The volume which we have marked III. is the fifth revised edition of +the "Botanical Text-Book." It contains a complete, although concise, +sketch of Structural Botany and Vegetable Physiology, and a birds'-eye +view of the whole vegetable kingdom in its subdivision into families, +illustrated by over thirteen hundred engravings on wood. It has become +a standard of botany, wherever our language is read. +<p> +For those who do not wish to pursue the study so far, the "First +Lessons" is one of the most happily arranged and happily written +scientific text-books ever published, and is illustrated by three +hundred and sixty well-executed wood-cuts. This takes scholars of +thirteen or fourteen years of age far enough into the recesses of the +science for them to see its beauties, and to learn the passwords which +shall admit them to all its hidden and inexhaustible treasures. It +goes over substantially the same ground that is covered by the volume +we have marked III., but in simpler language and with much less +detail; and closes with clear practical directions how to collect +specimens and make an herbarium. +<p> +The first book is intended for children of ten or twelve years old, at +home or in school. We hail it as a remarkably successful effort of a +truly learned man to write a book actually adapted to young children. +While all teachers, and writers upon education, insist on the +importance of having a child's first impressions such as shall not +need to be afterwards corrected, and such as shall attract the child +towards the study to which it is introduced, our elementary books have +usually sinned in one or both these points. They are either dry and +repulsive, or else vague and incorrect;--frequently have both +faults. But the child is here told "how plants grow" in a very +pleasant manner, with neat and pretty pictures to illustrate the +words, by one whose thorough knowledge and perspicuity of style +prevent him from ever giving a wrong impression. The "Popular Flora" +which is appended, contains a description of about one hundred +families of the most common cultivated and wild plants, and of the +most familiar genera and species in each family. The English names are +in all cases put in the foreground in bold type,--while the Latin +names stand modestly back, half hidden in parentheses and Italics; and +these English names are in general very well selected,--although we +think that when two or three English names are given to one plant, or +one name to several plants, Dr. Gray ought to indicate which name he +prefers. He allows "Dogwood" to stand without rebuke for the poison +sumac, as well as for the flowering cornel; and gives "Winterberry" +and "Black Alder" without comment to <i>Prinos verticellata</i>. A +word of preference on his part might do something towards reforming +and simplifying the popular nomenclature, and this child's manual is +the place to utter that word. We think also that in a second edition +of this Popular Flora it would be well to give a <i>popular</i> +description of a few of the most beautiful flowers belonging to those +families which are too difficult for the child properly to +analyze. Thus, Arethusa, Cypripedium, Pogonia, Calopogon, Spiranthes, +Festuca, Osmunda, Onoclea, Lycopodium, Polytrichum, Bryum, Marchantia, +Usnea, Parmelia, Cladonia, Agaricus, Chondrus, and perhaps a few other +genera, furnish plants so familiar and so striking that a child will +be sure to inquire concerning them, and a general description could +easily be framed in a few words which could not mislead him concerning +them. +<p> +In writing for children, Dr. Gray seems to have put on a new nature, +in which we have a much fuller sympathy with him than we have ever had +in reading his larger books. We do not like that cold English common +sense which seems reluctant to admit any truth in the higher regions +of thought; and we confess, that, until we had read this little +child's book, "How Plants Grow," we had always suspected Dr. Gray of +leaning towards that old error, so finely exposed by Agassiz in +zoölogy, of considering genera, families, etc., as divisions made by +human skill, for human convenience,--instead of as divisions belonging +to the Creator's plan, as yet but partially understood by human +students. +<p> +We hope that the appearance of this masterly little book, so finely +adapted to the child's understanding, may have the effect of +introducing botany into the common schools. The natural taste of +children for flowers indicates clearly the propriety and utility of +giving them lessons upon botany in their earliest years. Go into any +of our New England country-schools at this season of the year, and you +will find a bouquet of wild flowers on the teacher's desk. Take it up +and separate it,--show each flower to the school, tell its name, and +its relationship to other and more familiar cultivated flowers, the +characteristic sensible properties of its family, etc.,--and you will +find the younger scholars your most attentive listeners. And if any +practical man ask, What is the use of the younger scholars learning +anything about wild flowers, which the cultivation of the country may +soon render extinct, and which are but weeds at best?--there are two +sufficient answers ready: first, that all truth is divine, and that +the workmanship of infinite skill is beautiful and worthy of the eyes +which may behold it; secondly, that no mental discipline is better +adapted for the young mind than this learning how to distinguish +plants. No more striking deficiency is observable, in most men, than +the lack of a power to observe closely and with accuracy. The general +inaccuracy of testimony, usually ascribed to inaccuracy of memory, is +in fact to be attributed to inaccuracy of observation. In like +manner, a large proportion of popular errors of judgment spring from +an imperfect perception of the data on which the true conclusions +should be founded. The best remedy for this lack of clear perceptions +would evidently be the cultivation of those habits of close +observation and nice discrimination necessary in a successful +naturalist. +<br> +<br> +<hr> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATLANTIC MONTHLY, VOLUME 2, ISSUE 10, AUGUST, 1858***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 10626-h.txt or 10626-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/6/2/10626">https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/6/2/10626</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + + + + +Title: Atlantic Monthly, Volume 2, Issue 10, August, 1858 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: January 7, 2004 [eBook #10626] +[Date last updated: June 12, 2005] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATLANTIC MONTHLY, VOLUME 2, ISSUE +10, AUGUST, 1858*** + + +E-text prepared by Joshua Hutchinson, Bob Blair, and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + + +THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY. + +A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS. + +VOL. II.--AUGUST, 1858.--NO. X. + + + + + + + +DAPHNAIDES: + +OR THE ENGLISH LAUREL, FROM CHAUCER TO TENNYSON. + + + They in thir time did many a noble dede, + And for their worthines full oft have bore + The crown of laurer leaves on the hede, + As ye may in your olde bookes rede: + And how that he that was a conquerour + Had by laurer alway his most honour. + DAN CHAUCER: _The Flowre and the Leaf_. + + +It is to be lamented that antiquarian zeal is so often diverted from +subjects of real to those of merely fanciful interest. The mercurial +young gentlemen who addict themselves to that exciting department of +letters are open to censure as being too fitful, too prone to flit, +bee-like, from flower to flower, now lighting momentarily upon an +indecipherable tombstone, now perching upon a rusty morion, here +dipping into crumbling palimpsests, there turning up a tattered +reputation from heaps of musty biography, or discovering that the +brightest names have had sad blots and blemishes scoured off by the +attrition of Time's ceaseless current. We can expect little from +investigators so volatile and capricious; else should we expect the +topic we approach in this paper to have been long ago flooded with +light as of Maedler's sun, its dust dissipated, and sundry curves and +angles which still baffle scrutiny and provoke curiosity exposed even +to Gallio-llke wayfarers. It is, in fact, a neglected topic. Its +derivatives are obscure, its facts doubtful. Questions spring from +it, sucker-like, numberless, which none may answer. Why, for +instance, in apportioning his gifts among his posterity, did Phoebus +assign the laurel to his step-progeny, the sons of song, and pour the +rest of the vegetable world into the pharmacopoeia of the favored +AEsculapius? Why was even this wretched legacy divided in aftertimes +with the children of Mars? Was its efficacy as a non-conductor of +lightning as reliable as was held by Tiberius, of guileless memory, +Emperor of Rome? Were its leaves really found green as ever in the +tomb of St. Humbert, a century and a half after the interment of that +holy confessor? In what reign was the first bay-leaf, rewarding the +first poet of English song, authoritatively conferred? These and other +like questions are of so material concern to the matter we have in +hand, that we may fairly stand amazed that they have thus far escaped +the exploration of archaeologists. It is not for us to busy ourselves +with other men's affairs. Time and patience shall develope profounder +mysteries than these. Let us only succeed in delineating in brief +monograph the outlines of a natural history of the British +Laurel,--_Laurea nobilis, sempervirens, florida_,--and in posting +here and there, as we go, a few landmarks that shall facilitate the +surveys of investigators yet unborn, and this our modest enterprise +shall be happily fulfilled. + +One portion of it presents no serious difficulty. There is an +uninterrupted canon of the Laureates running as far back as the reign +of James I. Anterior, however, to that epoch, the catalogue fades away +in undistinguishable darkness. Names are there of undoubted splendor, +a splendor, indeed, far more glowing than that of any subsequent +monarch of the bays; but the legal title to the garland falls so far +short of satisfactory demonstration, as to oblige us to dismiss the +first seven Laureates with a dash of that ruthless criticism with +which Niebuhr, the regicide, dispatched the seven kings of Rome. To +mark clearly the bounds between the mythical and the indubitable, a +glance at the following brief of the Laureate _fasti_ will +greatly assist us, speeding us forward at once to the substance of our +story. + + +I. The MYTHICAL PERIOD, extending from the supposititious coronation +of Laureate CHAUCER, _in temp. Edv. III., 1367_, to that of +Laureate JONSON, _in temp. Caroli I._ To this period belong, + + + GEOFFREY CHAUCER, 1367-1400 + JOHN SCOGAN, 1400-1413 + JOHN KAY, 1465- + ANDREW BERNARD, 1486- + JOHN SKELTON, 1509-1529 + EDMUND SPENSER, 1590-1599 + SAMUEL DANIEL, } + MICHAEL DRAYTON, } 1600-1630 + BEN JONSON, } + + + +II. The DRAMATIC, extending from the latter event to the demise of +Laureate SHADWELL, _in temp. Gulielmi III., 1692._ Here we have + + + BEN JONSON, 1630-1637 + WILL DAVENANT, 1637-1668 + JOHN DRYDEN, 1670-1689 + THOMAS SHADWELL, 1689-1692 + + + +III. The LYRIC, from the reign of Laureate TATE, 1693, to the demise +of Laureate PYE, 1813:-- + + + NAHUM TATE, 1693-1714 + NICHOLAS ROWE, 1714-1718 + LAURENCE EUSDEN, 1719-1730 + COLLEY CIBBER, 1730-1757 + WILLIAM WHITEHEAD, 1758-1785 + THOMAS WARTON, 1785-1790 + HENRY JAMES PYE, 1790-1813 + + + +IV. The VOLUNTARY, from the accession of Laureate SOUTHEY, 1813, to +the present day:-- + + + ROBERT SOUTHEY, 1813-1843 + WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, 1843-1850 + ALFRED TENNYSON, 1850- + + +Have no faith in those followers of vain traditions who assert the +existence of the Laureate office as early as the thirteenth century, +attached to the court of Henry III. Poets there were before +Chaucer,--_vixere fortes ante Agamemnona_,--but search Rymer from +cord to clasp and you shall find no documentary evidence of any one of +them wearing the leaf or receiving the stipend distinctive of the +place. Morbid credulity can go no farther back than to the "Father of +English Poetry":-- + + + "That renounced Poet, + Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled, + On Fame's eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled":[1] + + + "Him that left half-told + The story of Cambuscan bold; + Of Camball, and of Algarsife, + And who had Canace to wife":[2] + + + "That noble Chaucer, in those former times, + Who first enriched our English with his rhymes, + And was the first of ours that ever broke + Into the Muse's treasures, and first spoke + In mighty numbers."[3] + + +Tradition here first assumes that semblance of probability which +rendered it current for three centuries. Edward the Third--resplendent +name in the constitutional history of England--is supposed to have +been so deeply impressed with Chaucer's poetical merits, as to have +sought occasion for appropriate recognition. Opportunely came that +high festival at the capital of the world, whereat + + + "Franccis Petrark, the laureat poete, + ... whos rethorike swete + Enlumined all Itaille of poetrie,"[4] + + +received the laurel crown at the hands of the Senate of Rome, with a +magnificence of ceremonial surpassed only by the triumphs of imperial +victors a thousand years before. Emulous of the gorgeous example, the +English monarch forthwith showered corresponding honors upon Dan +Chaucer, adding the substantial perquisites of a hundred marks and a +tierce of Malvoisie, a year. To this agreeable story, Laureate Warton, +than whom no man was more intimately conversant with the truth there +is in literary history, appears in one of his official odes to yield +assent:-- + + + "Victorious Edward gave the vernal bough + Of Britain's bay to bloom on Chaucer's brow: + Fired with the gift, he changed to sounds sublime + His Norman minstrelsy's discordant chime."[5] + + +The legend, however, does not bear inquiry. King Edward, in 1367, +certainly granted an annuity of twenty marks to "his varlet, Geoffrey +Chaucer." Seven years later there was a further grant of a pitcher of +wine daily, together with the controllership of the wool and petty +wine revenues for the port of London. The latter appointment, to which +the pitcher of wine was doubtless incident, was attended with a +requirement that the new functionary should execute all the duties of +his post in person,--a requirement involving as constant and laborious +occupation as that of Charles Lamb, chained to his perch in the India +House. These concessions, varied slightly by subsequent patents from +Richard II. and Henry IV., form the entire foundation to the tale of +Chaucer's Laureateship.[6] There is no reference in grant or patent to +his poetical excellence or fame, no mention whatever of the laurel, no +verse among the countless lines of his poetry indicating the reception +of that crowning glory, no evidence that the third Edward was one whit +more sensitive to the charms of the Muses than the third William, +three hundred years after. Indeed, the condition with which the +appointment of this illustrious custom-house officer was hedged +evinced, if anything, a desire to discourage a profitless wooing of +the Nine, by so confining his mind to the incessant routine of an +uncongenial duty as to leave no hours of poetic idleness. Whatever +laurels Fame may justly garland the temples of Dan Chaucer withal, she +never, we are obliged to believe, employed royal instrument at the +coronation. + +John Scogan, often confounded with an anterior Henry, has been named +as the Laureate of Henry IV., and immediate successor of +Chaucer. Laureate Jonson seems to encourage the notion:-- + + + "_Mere Fool._ Skogan? What was he? + + "_Jophiel._ Oh, a fine gentleman, and master of arts + Of Henry the Fourth's time, that made disguises + For the King's sons, and writ in ballad-royal + Daintily well. + + "_Mere Fool_. But he wrote like a gentleman? + + "_Jophiel_. In rhyme, fine, tinkling rhyme, and flowand verse, + With now and then some sense; and he was paid for't, + Regarded and rewarded; which few poets + Are nowadays."[7] + + +But Warton places Scogan in the reign of Edward IV., and reduces him +to the level of Court Jester, his authority being Dr. Andrew Borde, +who, early in the sixteenth century, published a volume of his +platitudes.[8] There is nothing to prove that he was either poet or +Laureate; while, on the other hand, it must be owned, one person might +at the same time fill the offices of Court Poet and Court Fool. It is +but fair to say that Tyrwhitt, who had all the learning and more than +the accuracy of Warton, inclines to Jonson's estimate of Scogan's +character and employment. + +One John Kay, of whom we are singularly deficient in information, held +the post of Court Poet under the amorous Edward IV. What were his +functions and appointments we cannot discover. + +Andrew Bernard held the office under Henry VII. and Henry VIII. He was +a churchman, royal historiographer, and tutor to Prince Arthur. His +official poems were in Latin. He was living as late as 1522. + +John Skelton obtained the distinction of Poet-Laureate at Oxford, a +title afterward confirmed to him by the University of Cambridge: mere +university degrees, however, without royal indorsement. Henry +VIII. made him his "Royal Orator," whatever that may have been, and +otherwise treated him with favor; but we hear nothing of sack or +salary, find nothing among his poems to intimate that his performances +as Orator ever ran into verse, or that his "laurer" was of the regal +sort. + +A long stride carries us to the latter years of Queen Elizabeth, +where, and in the ensuing reign of James, we find the names of Edmund +Spenser, Samuel Daniel, and Michael Drayton interwoven with the +bays. Spenser's possession of the laurel rests upon no better evidence +than that, when he presented the earlier books of the "Faery Queen" to +Elizabeth, a pension of fifty pounds a year was conferred upon him, +and that the praises of _Gloriana_ ring through his realm of +Faery in unceasing panegyric. But guineas are not laurels, though for +sundry practical uses they are, perhaps, vastly better; nor are the +really earnest and ardent eulogia of the bard of Mulla the same in +kind with the harmonious twaddle of Tate, or the classical quiddities +of Pye. He was of another sphere, the highest heaven of song, who + + + "Waked his lofty lay + To grace Eliza's golden sway; + And called to life old Uther's elfin-tale, + And roved through many a necromantic vale, + Portraying chiefs who knew to tame + The goblin's ire, the dragon's flame, + To pierce the dark, enchanted hall + Where Virtue sat in lonely thrall. + From fabling Fancy's inmost store + A rich, romantic robe he bore, + A veil with visionary trappings hung, + And o'er his Virgin Queen the fairy-texture flung."[9] + + +Samuel Daniel was not only a favorite of Queen Elizabeth, but more +decidedly so of her successor in the queendom, Anne of Denmark. In the +household of the latter he held the position of Groom of the Chamber, +a sinecure of handsome endowment, so handsome, indeed, as to warrant +an occasional draft upon his talents for the entertainment of her +Majesty's immediate circle, which held itself as far as possible aloof +from the court, and was disposed to be self-reliant for its +amusements. Daniel had entered upon the vocation of courtier with +flattering auspices. His precocity while at Oxford has found him a +place in the "Bibliotheca Eruditorum Praecocium." Anthony Wood bears +witness to his thorough accomplishments in all kinds, especially in +history and poetry, specimens of which, the antiquary tells us, were +still, in his time, treasured among the archives of Magdalen. He +deported himself so amiably in society, and so inoffensively among his +fellow-bards, and versified his way so tranquilly into the good graces +of his royal mistresses, distending the thread, and diluting the +sense, and sparing the ornaments, of his passionless poetry,--if +poetry, which, by the definition of its highest authority, is "simple, +sensuous, passionate," can ever be unimpassioned,--that he was the +oracle of feminine taste while he lived, and at his death bequeathed a +fame yet dear to the school of Southey and Wordsworth. Daniel was no +otherwise Laureate than his position in the queen's household may +authorize that title. If ever so entitled by contemporaries, it was +quite in a Pickwickian and complimentary sense. His retreat from the +busy vanity of court life, an event which happened several years +before his decease in 1619, was hastened by the consciousness of a +waning reputation, and of the propriety of seeking better shelter than +that of his laurels. His eloquent "Defense of Rhyme" still asserts for +him a place in the hearts of all lovers of stately English prose. + +Old Michael Drayton, whose portrait has descended to us, surmounted +with an exuberant twig of bays, is vulgarly classed with the +legitimate Laureates. Southey, pardonably anxious to magnify an office +belittled by some of its occupants, does not scruple to rank Spenser, +Daniel, and Drayton among the Laurelled:-- + + + "That wreath, which, in Eliza's golden days, + My master dear, divinest Spenser, wore, + That which rewarded Drayton's learned lays, + Which thoughtful Ben and gentle Daniel bore," etc. + + +But in sober prose Southey knew, and later in life taught, that not +one of the three named ever wore the authentic laurel.[10] That Drayton +deserved it, even as a successor of the divinest Spenser, who shall +deny? With enough of patience and pedantry to prompt the composition +of that most laborious, and, upon the whole, most humdrum and +wearisome poem of modern times, the "Polyolbion," he nevertheless +possessed an abounding exuberance of delicate fancy and sound poetical +judgment, traces of which flash not unfrequently even athwart the +dulness of his _magnum opus_, and through the mock-heroism of +"England's Heroical Epistles," while they have full play in his "Court +of Faery." Drayton's great defect was the entire absence of that +dramatic talent so marvellously developed among his contemporaries,--a +defect, as we shall presently see, sufficient of itself to disqualify +him for the duties of Court Poet. But, what was still worse, his mind +was not gifted with facility and versatility of invention, two equally +essential requisites; and to install him in a position where such +faculties were hourly called into play would have been to put the +wrong man in the worst possible place. Drayton was accordingly a +court-pensioner, but not a court-poet. His laurel was the honorary +tribute of admiring friends, in an age when royal pedantry rendered +learning fashionable and a topic of exaggerated regard. Southey's +admission is to this purpose. "He was," he says, "one of the poets to +whom the title of Laureate was given in that age,--not as holding the +office, but as a mark of honor, to which they were entitled." And with +the poetical topographer such honors abounded. Not only was he +gratified with the zealous labors of Selden in illustration of the +"Polyolbion," but his death was lamented in verse of Jonson, upon +marble supplied by the Countess of Dorset:-- + + + "Do, pious marble, let thy readers know + What they and what their children owe + To Drayton's name, whose sacred dust + We recommend unto thy trust. + Protect his memory, and preserve his story; + Remain a lasting monument of his glory: + And when thy ruins shall disclaim + To be the treasurer of his name, + His name, that cannot fade, shall be + An everlasting monument to thee." + + +The Laureateship, we thus discover, had not, down to the days of +James, become an institution. Our mythical series shrink from close +scrutiny. But in the gayeties of the court of the Stuarts arose +occasion for the continuous and profitable employment of a court-poet, +and there was enough thrift in the king to see the advantage of +securing the service for a certain small annuity, rather than by the +payment of large sums as presents for occasional labors. The masque, a +form of dramatic representation, borrowed from the Italian, had been +introduced into England during the reign of Elizabeth. The interest +depended upon the development of an allegorical subject apposite to +the event which the performance proposed to celebrate, such as a royal +marriage, or birthday, or visit, or progress, or a marriage or other +notable event among the nobility and gentry attached to the court, or +an entertainment in honor of some distinguished personage. To produce +startling and telling stage effects, machinery of the most ingenious +contrivance was devised; scenery, as yet unknown in ordinary +exhibitions of the stage, was painted with elaborate finish; goddesses +in the most attenuated Cyprus lawn, bespangled with jewels, had to +slide down upon invisible wires from a visible Olympus; Tritons had to +rise from the halls of Neptune through waters whose undulations the +nicer resources of recent art could not render more genuinely marine; +fountains disclosed the most bewitching of Naiads; and Druidical oaks, +expanding, surrendered the imprisoned Hamadryad to the air of +heaven. Fairies and Elves, Satyrs and Forsters, Centaurs and Lapithae, +played their parts in these gaudy spectacles with every conventional +requirement of shape, costume, and behavior _point-de-vice_, and were +supplied by the poet, to whom the letter-press of the show had been +confided, with language and a plot, both pregnant with more than +Platonic morality. Some idea of the magnificence of these displays, +which beggared the royal privy-purse, drove household-treasurers mad, +and often left poet and machinist whistling for pay, may be gathered +from the fact that a masque sometimes cost as much as two thousand +pounds in the mechanical getting-up, a sum far more formidable in the +days of exclusively hard money than in these of paper currency. Scott +has described, for the benefit of the general reader, one such pageant +among the "princely pleasures of Kenilworth"; while Milton, in his +"Masque performed at Ludlow Castle," presents the libretto of another, +of the simpler and less expensive sort. During the reign of James, the +passion for masques kindled into a mania. The days and nights of +Inigo Jones were spent in inventing machinery and contriving +stage-effects. Daniel, Middleton, Fletcher, and Jonson were busied +with the composition of the text; and the court ladies and cavaliers +were all from morning till night in the hands of their dancing and +music masters, or at private study, or at rehearsal, preparing for the +pageant, the representation of which fell to their share and won them +enviable applause. Of course the burden of original invention fell +upon the poets; and of the poets, Daniel and Jonson were the most +heavily taxed. In 1616, James I., by patent, granted to Jonson an +annuity for life of one hundred marks, to him in hand not often well +and truly paid. He was not distinctly named as Laureate, but seems to +have been considered such; for Daniel, on his appointment, "withdrew +himself," according to Gifford, "entirely from court." The +strong-boxes of James and Charles seldom overflowed. Sir Robert Pye, +an ancestor of that Laureate Pye whom we shall discuss by-and-by, was +the paymaster, and often and again was the overwrought poet obliged to +raise + + + "A woful cry + To Sir Robert Pye," + + +before some small instalment of long arrearages could be procured. And +when, rarely, very rarely, his Majesty condescended to remember the +necessities of "his and the Muses' servant," and send a present to the +Laureate's lodgings, its proportions were always so small as to excite +the ire of the insulted Ben, who would growl forth to the messenger, +"He would not have sent me this, (_scil._ wretched pittance,) did +I not live in an alley." + +We now arrive at the true era of the Laureateship. Charles, in 1630, +became ambitious to signalize his reign by some fitting tribute to +literature. A petition from Ben Jonson pointed out the way. The +Laureate office was made a patentable one, in the gift of the Lord +Chamberlain, as purveyor of the royal amusements. Ben was confirmed +in the office. The salary was raised from one hundred marks to one +hundred pounds, an advance of fifty per cent, to which was added +yearly a tierce of Canary wine,--an appendage appropriate to the +poet's convivial habits, and doubtless suggested by the mistaken +precedent of Chaucer's daily flagon of wine. Ben Jonson was certainly, +of all men living in 1630, the right person to receive this honor, +which then implied, what it afterward ceased to do, the primacy of the +diocese of letters. His learning supplied ballast enough to keep the +lighter bulk of the poet in good trim, while it won that measure of +respect which mere poetical gifts and graces would not have +secured. He was the dean of that group of "poets, poetaccios, +poetasters, and poetillos," [11] who beset the court. If a display of +erudition were demanded, Ben was ready with the heavy artillery of the +unities, and all the laws of Aristotle and Horace, Quintilian and +Priscian, exemplified in tragedies of canonical structure, and +comedies whose prim regularity could not extinguish the most +delightful and original humor--Robert Burton's excepted--that +illustrated that brilliant period. But if the graceful lyric or +glittering masque were called for, the boundless wealth of Ben's +genius was most strikingly displayed. It has been the fashion, set by +such presumptuous blunderers as Warburton and such formal prigs as +Gifford, to deny our Laureate the possession of those ethereal +attributes of invention and fancy which play about the creations of +Shakspeare, and constitute their exquisite charm. This arbitrary +comparison of Jonson and Shakspeare has, in fact, been the bane of the +former's reputation. Those who have never read the masques argue, +that, as "very little Latin and less Greek," in truth no learning of +any traceable description, went to the creation of _Ariel_ and +_Caliban_, _Oberon_ and _Puck_, the possession of Latin, Greek, and +learning generally, incapacitates the proprietor for the same happy +exercise of the finer and more gracious faculties of wit and fancy. +Of this nonsense Jonson's masques are the best refutation. Marvels of +ingenuity in plot and construction, they abound in "dainty invention," +animated dialogue, and some of the finest lyric passages to be found +in dramatic literature. They are the Laureate's true laurels. Had he +left nothing else, the "rare arch-poet" would have held, by virtue of +these alone, the elevated rank which his contemporaries, and our own, +freely assign him. Lamb, whose appreciation of the old dramatists was +extremely acute, remarks,--"A thousand beautiful passages from his +'New Inn,' and from those numerous court masques and entertainments +which he was in the daily habit of furnishing, might be adduced to +show the poetical fancy and elegance of mind of the supposed rugged +old bard." [12] And in excess of admiration at one of the Laureate's +most successful pageants, Herrick breaks forth,-- + + + "Thou hadst the wreath before, now take the tree, + That henceforth none be laurel-crowned but thee." [13] + + +An aspiration fortunately unrealized. + +It was not long before the death of Ben, that John Suckling, one of +his boon companions + + + "At those lyric feasts, + Made at 'The Sun,' + 'The Dog,' 'The Triple Tun,' + Where they such clusters had + As made them nobly wild, not mad," [14] + + +handed about among the courtiers his "Session of the Poets," where an +imaginary contest for the laurel presented an opportunity for +characterizing the wits of the day in a series of capital strokes, as +remarkable for justice as shrewd wit. Jonson is thus introduced:-- + + + "The first that broke silence was good old Ben, + Prepared with Canary wine, + And he told them plainly he deserved the bays, + For his were called works, while others' were but plays; + + "And bid them remember how he had purged the stage + Of errors that had lasted many an age; + And he hoped they did not think 'The Silent Woman,' + 'The Fox,' and 'The Alchymist' outdone by no man. + + "Apollo stopt him there, and bid him not go on; + 'Twas merit, he said, and not presumption, + Must carry it; at which Ben turned about, + And in great choler offered to go out; + + "But those who were there thought it not fit + To discontent so ancient a wit, + And therefore Apollo called him back again, + And made him mine host of his own 'New Inn.'" + + +This _jeu d'esprit_ of Suckling, if of no value otherwise, would +be respectable as an original which the Duke of Buckinghamshire,[15] +Leigh Hunt,[16] and our own Lowell[17] have successfully and happily +imitated. + +In due course, Laureate Jonson shared the fate of all potentates, and +was gathered to the laurelled of Elysium. The fatality occurred in +1637. When his remains were deposited in the Poet's Corner, with the +eloquent laconism above them, "O Rare Ben Jonson!" all the wits of the +day stood by the graveside, and cast in their tribute of bays. The +rite over, all the wits of the day hurried from the aisles of +Westminster to the galleries of Whitehall to urge their several claims +to the successorship. There were, of the elder time, Massinger, +drawing to the close of a successful career,--Ford, with his growing +fame,--Marmion, Heywood, Carlell, Wither. There was Sandys, especially +endeared to the king by his orthodox piety, so becoming the son of an +archbishop, and by his versions of the "Divine Poems," which were next +year given to the press, and which found a place among the half-dozen +volumes which a decade later solaced the last hours of his royal +master. There were the names, in the junior class, of Tom Carew, noted +for his amatory songs and his one brilliant masque,--Tom Killigrew, of +pleasant humor, and no mean writer of tragedy,--Suckling, the wittiest +of courtiers, and the most courtly of wits,--Cartwright, Crashaw, +Davenant, and May. But of all these, the contest soon narrowed down to +the two latter. William Davenant was in all likelihood the son of an +innkeeper at Oxford; he was certainly the son of the innkeeper's +wife. A rumor, which Davenant always countenanced, alleged that +William Shakspeare, a poet of some considerable repute in those times, +being in the habit of passing between Stratford-on-the-Avon and +London, was wont to bait and often lodge at this Oxford hostelry. At +one of these calls the landlady had proved more than ordinarily frail +or the poet more than ordinarily seductive,--who can wonder at even +virtue stooping to folly when the wooer was the Swan of Avon, beside +whom the bird that captivated Leda was as a featherless gosling?--and +the consequence had been Will Davenant, born in the year of our Lord +1605, Shakspeare standing as godfather at the baptism. A boy of lively +parts was Will, and good-fortune brought those parts to the notice of +the grave and philosophic Greville, Lord Brooke, whose dearest boast +was the friendship in early life of Sir Philip Sidney. The result of +this notice was a highly creditable education at school and +university, and an ultimate introduction into the foremost society of +the capital. Davenant, finding the drama supreme in fashionable +regard, devoted himself to the drama. He also devoted himself to the +cultivation of Ben Jonson, then at the summit of renown, assisting in +an amateur way in the preparation of the court pageants, and otherwise +mitigating the Laureate's labors. From 1632 to 1637, these aids were +frequent, and established a very plausible claim to the +succession. Thomas May, who shortly became his sole competitor, was a +man of elevated pretensions. As a writer of English historical poems +and as a translator of Lucan he had earned a prominent position in +British literature; as a continuator of the "Pharsalia" in Latin verse +of exemplary elegance, written in the happiest imitation of the +martyred Stoic's unimpassioned mannerism, he secured for British +scholarship that higher respect among Continental scholars which +Milton's Latin poems and "Defensio pro Populo Anglicano" presently +after confirmed. Of the several English writers of Latin verse, May +stands unquestionably in the front rank, alongside of Milton and +Bourne,--taking precedence easily of Owen, Cowley, and Gray. His +dramatic productions were of a higher order than Davenant's. They have +found a place in Dodsley's and the several subsequent collections of +early dramas, not conceded to the plays of the latter. Masque-making, +however, was not in his line. His invention was not sufficiently +alert, his dialogue not sufficiently lively, for a species of poetry +which it was the principal duty of the Laureate to furnish. Besides, +it is highly probable, his sympathies with rebellious Puritanism were +already so far developed as to make him an object of aversion to the +king. Davenant triumphed. The defeated candidate lived to see the +court dispersed, king and Laureate alike fugitive, and to receive from +the Long Parliament the place of Historiographer, as a compensation +for the lost bays. When, in 1650, he died, Cromwell and his +newly-inaugurated court did honor to his obsequies. The body was +deposited in Westminster Abbey; but the posthumous honor was in +reserve for it, of being torn from the grave after the Restoration, +and flung into a ditch along with the remains of three or four other +republican leaders. + +Davenant's career in office was unfortunate. There is reason to doubt +whether, even before the rebellion broke out, his salary was regularly +paid him. During the Civil War he exchanged the laurel for a casque, +winning knighthood by his gallant carriage at the siege of Gloucester. +Afterward, he was so far in the confidence of Queen Henrietta Maria, +as to be sent as her envoy to the captive king, beseeching him to save +his head by conceding the demands of Parliament. When, the errand +proving abortive, the royal head was lost, Davenant returned to Paris, +consoled himself by finishing the first two books of his "Gondibert," +and then, despairing of a restoration, embarked (in 1650) from France +for Virginia, where monarchy and the rights of Charles II were +unimpaired. Fate, however, had not destined him for a colonist and +backwoodsman. His ship, tempest-tossed, was driven into an English +port, and the poet was seized and carried close prisoner to +London. There the intervention of Milton, the Latin Secretary of the +Council, is said to have saved his life. He was kept in the Tower for +at least two years longer, however. The date of his release is +uncertain, but, once at liberty, Davenant returned ardently to his +former pursuits. A license was procured for musical exhibitions, and +the phrase "musical exhibitions" was interpreted, with official +connivance, as including all manner of dramatic performances. To the +Laureate and to this period belongs the credit of introducing scenery, +hitherto restricted to court masques, into the machinery of the +ordinary drama. The substitution of female for male actors, in +feminine characters, was also an innovation of this period. And as an +incident of the Laureateship there is still another novelty to be +noted. There is no crown without its thorns. The laurel renders the +pillow of the wearer as knotty, uneasy, and comfortless as does a +coronal of gold and jewels. Among the receipts of the office have been +the jokes, good and bad, the sneers, the satire of contemporary +wits,--such being the paper currency in which the turbulent subjects +of the laurel crown think proper to pay homage to their +sovereign. From the days of Will Davenant to these of ours, the custom +has been faithfully observed. Davenant's earliest assailants were of +his own political party, followers of the exiled Charles, the men whom +Milton describes as "perditissimus ille peregrinantium aulieorum +grex." These--among them a son of the memorable Donne, Sir John +Denham, and Alan Broderick--united in a volume of mean motive and +insignificant merit, entitled, "Verses written by Several of the +Author's Friends, to be reprinted with the Second Edition of +Gondibert." This was published in 1653. The effect of the onslaught +has not been recorded. We know only that Davenant, surviving it, +continued to prosper in his theatrical business, writing most of the +pieces produced on his stage until the Restoration, when he drew forth +from its hiding-place his wreath of laurel-evergreen, and resumed it +with honor. + +A fair retrospect of Davenant's career enables us to select without +difficulty that one of his labors which is most deserving of +applause. Not his "Gondibert," notwithstanding it abounds in fine +passages,--notwithstanding Gay thought it worth continuation and +completion, and added several cantos,--notwithstanding Lamb eulogized +it with enthusiasm, Southey warmly praised, and Campbell and Hazlitt +coolly commended it. Nor his comedies, which are deservedly forgotten; +nor his improvements in the production of plays, serviceable as they +were to the acting drama. But to his exertions Milton owed impunity +from the vengeance otherwise destined for the apologist of regicide, +and so owed the life and leisure requisite to the composition of +"Paradise Lost." Davenant, grateful for the old kindness of the +ex-secretary, used his influence successfully with Charles to let the +offender escape.[18] This is certainly the greenest of Davenant's +laurels. Without it, the world might not have heard one of the +sublimest expressions of human genius. + +Davenant died in 1668. The laurel was hung up unclaimed until 1670, +when John Dryden received it, with patent dated back to the summer +succeeding Davenant's death. Dryden assures us that it was Sir Thomas +Clifford, whose name a year later lent the initial letter to the +"Cabal," who presented him to the king, and procured his +appointment.[19] Masques had now ceased to be the mode. What the +dramatist could do to amuse the _blase_ court of Charles II. he +was obliged to do within the limits of legitimate dramatic +representation, due care being taken to follow French models, and +substitute the idiom of Corneille and Moliere for that of +Shakspeare. Dryden, whose plays are now read only by the curious, was, +in 1670, the greatest of living dramatists. He had expiated his +Cromwellian backslidings by the "Astraea Redux," and the "Annus +Mirabilis." He had risen to high favor with the king. His tragedies +in rhyming couplets were all the vogue. Already his fellow-playwrights +deemed their success as fearfully uncertain, unless they had secured, +price three guineas, a prologue or epilogue from the Laureate. So +fertile was his own invention, that he stood ready to furnish by +contract five plays a year,--a challenge fortunately declined by the +managers of the day. Thus, if the Laureate stipend were not punctually +paid, as was often the case, seeing the necessitous state of the royal +finances and the bevy of fair ladies, whose demands, extravagant as +they were, took precedence of all others, his revenues were adequate +to the maintenance of a family, the matron of which was a Howard, +educated, as a daughter of nobility, to the enjoyment of every +indulgence. These were the Laureate's brightest days. His popularity +was at its height, a fact evinced by the powerful coalitions deemed +necessary to diminish it. Indeed, the laurel had hardly rested upon +Dryden's temples before he experienced the assaults of an organized +literary opposition. The Duke of Buckingham, then the admitted leader +of fashionable prodigacy, borrowed the aid of Samuel Butler, at whose +"Hudibras" the world was still laughing,--of Thomas Sprat, then on the +high-road to those preferments which have given him an important place +in history,--of Martin Clifford, a familiar of the green-room and +coffee-house,--and concocted a farce ridiculing the person and office +of the Laureate. "The Rehearsal" was acted in 1671. The hero, +_Mr. Bayes_, imitated all the personal peculiarities of Dryden, +used his cant phrases, burlesqued his style, and exposed, while +pretending to defend, his ridiculous points, until the laugh of the +town was fairly turned upon the "premier-poet of the realm." The wit +was undoubtedly of the broadest, and the humor at the coffee-room +level; but it was so much the more effective. Dryden affected to be +indifferent to the satire. He jested at the time taken[20] and the +number of hands employed upon the composition. Twenty years later he +was at pains to declare his perfect freedom from rancor in consequence +of the attack. + +There, is much reason to suspect, however, that "The Rehearsal" was +not forgotten, when the "Absalom and Achitophel" was written, and that +the character of _Zimri_ gathered much of its intense vigor and depth +of shadow from recollections of the ludicrous _Mr. Bayes_. The +portrait has the look of being designed as a quittance in full of old +scores. "The Rehearsal," though now and then recast and reenacted to +suit other times, is now no otherwise remembered than as the suggester +of Sheridan's "Critic." + +Upon the heels of this onslaught others followed rapidly. Rochester, +disposed to singularity of opinion, set up Elkanah Settle, a young +author of some talent, as a rival to the Laureate. Anonymous bardings +lampooned him. _Mr. Bayes_ was a broad target for every shaft, so +that the complaint so feelingly uttered in his latter days, that "no +man living had ever been so severely libelled" as he, had a wide +foundation of fact. Sometimes, it must be owned, the thrusts were the +natural result of controversies into which the Laureate indiscreetly +precipitated himself; sometimes they came of generous partisanship in +behalf of friends, such friends, for example, as Sir Robert Howard, +his brother-in-law, an interminable spinner of intolerable verse, who +afflicted the world in his day with plays worse than plagues, and +poems as worthless as his plays. It was to a quarrel for and a quarrel +against this gentleman that we are indebted for the most trenchant +satire in the language. Sir Robert had fallen out with Dryden about +rhyming tragedies, of which he disapproved; and while it lasted, the +contest was waged with prodigious acrimony. Among the partisans of the +former was Richard Flecknoe, a Triton among the smaller scribbling +fry. Flecknoe--blunderingly classed among the Laureates by the +compiler of "Cibber's Lives of the Poets"--was an Irish priest, who +had cast his cassock, or, as he euphuistically expressed it, "laid +aside the mechanic part of priesthood," in order to fulfil the loftier +mission of literary garreteer in London. He had written poems and +plays without number; of the latter, but one, entitled "Love's +Dominion," had been brought upon the stage, and was summarily hissed +off. Jealousy of Dryden's splendid success brought him to the side of +Dryden's opponent, and a pamphlet, printed in 1668, attacked the +future Laureate so bitterly, and at points so susceptible, as to make +a more than ordinary draft upon the poet's patience, and to leave +venom that rankled fourteen years without finding vent.[21] About the +same time, Thomas Shadwell, who is represented in the satire as +likewise an Irishman, brought Sir Robert on the stage in his "Sullen +Lovers," in the character of _Sir Positive At-all_, a caricature +replete with absurd self-conceit and impudent dogmatism. Shadwell was +of "Norfolcian" family, well-born, well-educated, and fitted for the +bar, but drawn away from serious pursuits by the prevalent rage for +the drama. The offence of laughing at the poet's brother-in-law +Shadwell had aggravated by accepting the capricious patronage of Lord +Rochester, by subsequently siding with the Whigs, and by aiding the +ambitious designs of Shaftesbury in play and pamphlet,--labors the +value of which is not to be measured by the contemptuous estimate of +the satirist. The first outburst of the retributive storm fell upon +the head of Shadwell. The second part of "Absalom and Achitophel," +which appeared in the autumn of 1682, contains the portrait of +_Og_, cut in outlines so sharp as to remind us of an unrounded +alto-rilievo:-- + + + Now stop your noses, readers, all and some, + For here's a tun of midnight work to come, + Og, from a treason-tavern rolling home; + Round as a globe, and liquored every chink, + Goodly and great he sails behind his link. + With all his bulk, there's nothing lost in Og, + For every inch that is not fool is rogue .... + + The midwife laid her hand on his thick skull + With this prophetic blessing, Be thou dull! + Drink, swear, and roar, forbear no lewd delight + Fit for thy bulk; do anything but write. + Eat opium, mingle arsenic in thy drink, + Still thou mayst live, avoiding pen and ink. + I see, I see, 'tis counsel given in vain; + For treason botched in rhyme will be thy bane .... + + A double noose thou on thy neck dost pull, + For writing treason, and for writing dull... + + I will not rake the dunghill of thy crimes, + For who would read thy life who reads thy rhymes? + But of King David's foes be this the doom, + May all be like the young man Absalom! + And for my foes, may this their blessing be, + To talk like Doeg, and to write like thee! + + +Of the multitudinous rejoinders and counterblasts provoked by this +thunder, Dryden, it is supposed, ascribed the authorship of one of the +keenest to Shadwell. We are to conceive some new and immediate +provocation as added to the old grudge, to call for a second attack so +soon; for it was only a month later that the "MacFlecknoe" appeared; +not in 1689, as Dr. Johnson states, who, mistaking the date, also errs +in assuming the cause of Dryden's wrath to have been the transfer of +the laurel from his own to the brows of Shadwell. "MacFlecknoe" is by +common consent the most perfect and perfectly acrid satire in English +literature. The topics selected, the foibles attacked, the ingenious +and remorseless ridicule with which they are overwhelmed, the +comprehensive vindictiveness which converted every personal +characteristic into an instrument for the more refined torment of the +unhappy victim, conjoin to constitute a masterpiece of this lower form +of poetical composition;--poetry it is not. While Flecknoe's +pretensions as a dramatist were fairly a subject of derision, Shadwell +was eminently popular. He was a pretender to learning, and, +entertaining with Dryden strong convictions of the reality of a +literary metempsychosis, believed himself the heir of Jonson's genius +and erudition. The title of the satire was, therefore, of itself a +biting sarcasm. His claims to sonship were transferred from Jonson, +then held the first of dramatic writers, to Flecknoe, the last and +meanest; and to aggravate the insult, the "Mac" was inserted as an +irritating allusion to the alleged Irish origin of both,--an allusion, +however harmless and senseless now, vastly significant at that era of +Irish degradation. Of the immediate effect of this scarification upon +Shadwell we have no information; how it ultimately affected his +fortunes we shall see presently. + +During the closing years of Charles, and through the reign of James, +Dryden added to the duties of Court Poet those of political +pamphleteer and theological controversialist. The strength of his +attachment to the office, his sense of the honor it conferred, and his +appreciation of the salary we may infer from the potent influence such +considerations exercised upon his conversion to Romanism. In the +admirable portrait, too, by Lely, he chose to be represented with the +laurel in his hand. After his dethronement, he sought every occasion +to deplore the loss of the bays, and of the stipend, which in the +increasing infirmity and poverty of his latter days had become +important. The fall of James necessarily involved the fall of his +Laureate and Historiographer. Lord Dorset, the generous but sadly +undiscriminating patron of letters, having become Lord Chamberlain, it +was his duty to remove the reluctant Dryden from the two places,--a +duty not to be postponed, and scarcely to be mitigated, so violent was +the public outcry against the renegade bard. The entire Protestant +feeling of the nation, then at white heat, was especially ardent +against the author of the "Hind and Panther," who, it was said, had +treated the Church of England as the persecutors had treated the +primitive martyr, dressed her in the skin of a wild beast, and exposed +her to the torments of her adversaries. It was not enough to eject him +from office,--his inability to subscribe the test oaths would have +done so much,--but he was to be replaced by that one of his political +and literary antagonists whom he most sincerely disliked, and who +still writhed under his lash. Dorset appears to have executed the +disagreeable task with real kindness. He is said to have settled upon +the poet, out of his own fortune, an annuity equal to the lost +pension,--a statement which Dr. Johnson and Macaulay have repeated +upon the authority of Prior. What Prior said on the subject may be +found in the Dedication of Tonson's noble edition of his works to the +second Earl of Dorset:--"When, as Lord Chamberlain, he was obliged to +take the king's pension from Mr. Dryden, (who had long before put +himself out of a possibility of receiving any favor from the court,) +my Lord allowed him an equivalent out of his own estate. However +displeased with the conduct of his old acquaintance, he relieved his +necessities; and while he gave him his assistance in private, in +public he extenuated and pitied his error." But there is some reason +for thinking this equivalent was only the equivalent of one year's +salary, and this assistance casual, not stated; else we are at a loss +to understand the continual complaints of utter penury which the poet +uttered ever after. Some of these complaints were addressed to his +benefactor himself, as in the Dedication to Juvenal and Persius, +1692:--"Age has overtaken me, and _want_, a more insufferable +evil, through the change of the times, _has wholly disenabled +me_. Though I must ever acknowledge, to the honor of your Lordship, +and the eternal memory of your charity, that, since this revolution, +wherein I have patiently suffered the ruin of my small fortune, and +the loss of that poor subsistence I had from two kings, whom I served +more faithfully than profitably to myself,--then your Lordship was +pleased, out of no other motive than your own nobleness, without any +desert of mine, or the least solicitation from me, to make me a most +bountiful _present_, which, in that time when I was most in want +of it, came most seasonably and unexpectedly to my relief." This +passage was the sole authority, we suspect, Prior had for a story +which was nevertheless sufficiently true to figure in an adulatory +dedication; and, indeed, Prior may have used the word "equivalent" +loosely, and had Dorset's gift been more than a year's income, Dryden +would hardly have called it a "present,"--a phrase scarcely applicable +to the grant of a pension.[22] + +Dismissed from office and restored to labors more congenial than the +dull polemics which had recently engaged his mind, Dryden found +himself obliged to work vigorously or starve. He fell into the hands +of the booksellers. The poems, it deserves remark, upon which his fame +with posterity must finally rest, were all produced within the period +bounded by his deposition and his death. The translations from +Juvenal, the versions of Persius and of Virgil, the Fables, and the +"Ode upon St. Cecilia's Day," were the works of this period. He lived +to see his office filled successively by a rival he despised and a +friend who had deserted him, and in its apparently hopeless +degradation perhaps found consolation for its loss. + +Thomas Shadwell was the Poet-Laureate after Dryden, assuming the +wreath in 1689. We have referred to his origin; Langbaine gives 1642 +as the date of his birth; so that he must have set up as author early +in life, and departed from life shortly past middle-age. Derrick +assures us that he was lusty, ungainly, and coarse in person,--a +description answering to the full-length of _Og_. The commentators +upon "MacFlecknoe" have not made due use of one of Shadwell's habits, +in illustration of the reason why a wreath of poppies was selected for +the crown of its hero. The dramatist, Warburton informs us, was +addicted to the use of opium, and, in fact, died of an overdose of +that drug. Hence + + + "His temples, last, with poppies were o'er-spread, + That nodding seemed to consecrate his head." + + +A couplet which Pope echoes in the "Dunciad":-- + + + "Shadwell nods, the poppy on his brows." + + +A similar allusion may be found in the character of _Og_:-- + + + "Eat opium, mingle arsenic in thy drink," etc. + + +That the Laureate was heavy-gaited in composition, taking five years +to finish one comedy,--that he was, on the other hand, too swift, +trusting Nature rather than elaborate Art,--that he was dull and +unimaginative,--that he was keen and remarkably sharp-witted,--that he +affected a profundity of learning of which he gave no evidences,--that +his plays were only less numerous than Dryden's, are other particulars +we gather from conflicting witnesses of the period. Certainly, no one +of the Laureates, Cibber excepted, was so mercilessly lampooned. What +Cibber suffered from the "Dunciad" Shadwell suffered from +"MacFlecknoe." Incited by Dryden's example, the poets showered their +missiles at him, and so perseveringly as to render him a traditional +butt of satire for two or three generations. Thus Prior:-- + + + "Thus, without much delight or grief, + I fool away an idle life, + Till Shadwell from the town retires, + Choked up with fame and sea-coal fires, + To bless the wood with peaceful lyric: + Then hey for praise and panegyric; + Justice restored, and nations freed, + And wreaths round William's glorious head." + + +And Parnell:-- + + + "But hold! before I close the scene, + The sacred altar should be clean. + Oh, had I Shadwell's second bays, + Or, Tate! thy pert and humble lays,-- + Ye pair, forgive me, when I vow + I never missed your works till now,-- + I'd tear the leaves to wipe the shrine, + That only way you please the Nine; + But since I chance to want these two, + I'll make the songs of Durfey do." + + +And in a far more venomous and violent style, the noteless mob of +contemporary writers. + +Shadwell, after all, was very far from being the blockhead these +references imply. His "Third Nights" were probably far more +profitable than Dryden's.[23] By his friends he was classed with the +liveliest wits of a brilliant court. Rochester so classed him:-- + + + "I loathe the rabble: 'tis enough for me, + If Sedley, Shadwell, Shephard, Wycherley, + Godolphin, Butler, Buckhurst, Buckingham, + And some few more, whom I omit to name, + Approve my sense: I count their censure fame."[24] + + +And compares him elsewhere with Wycherley:-- + + + "Of all our modern wits, none seem to me + Once to have touched upon true comedy, + But hasty Shadwell and slow Wycherley. + Shadwell's unfinished works do yet impart + Great proofs of force of nature, none of art; + With just, bold strokes, he dashes here and there, + Showing great mastery with little care, + Scorning to varnish his good touches o'er + To make the fools and women praise them more. + But Wycherley earns hard whate'er he gains; + He wants no judgment, and he spares no pains," etc. + + +And, not disrespectfully, Pope:-- + + + "In all debates where critics bear a part, + Not one but nods, and talks of Jonson's art, + Of Shakspeare's nature, and of Cowley's wit; + How Beaumont's judgment checked what Fletcher writ; + How Shadwell hasty, Wycherley was slow; + But for the passions, Southerne, sure, and Rowe! + These, only these, support the crowded stage, + From eldest Heywood down to Cibber's age."[25] + + +Sedley joined him in the composition of more than one comedy. +Macaulay, in seeking illustrations of the times and occurrences of +which he writes, cites Shadwell five times, where he mentions +Etherege, Wycherley, and Congreve once.[26] From his last play, "The +Stockjobbers," performed in November, 1692, while its author was on +his death-bed, the historian introduces an entire scene into his +text.[27] Any one, indeed, who can clear his mind from the unjust +prejudice produced by Dryden's satire, and read the comedies of +Shadwell with due consideration for the extemporaneous haste of their +composition, as satires upon passing facts and follies, will find, +that, so far from never deviating into sense, sound common-sense and +fluent wit were the Laureate's staple qualities. If his comedies have +not, like those of his contemporaries just named, enjoyed the +good-fortune to be collected and preserved among the dramatic +classics, the fact is primarily owing to the ephemeral interest of the +hits and allusions, and secondarily to "MacFlecknoe." + +[To be continued.] + + +Footnote 1: SPENSER: _Faery Queen_. See also the _Two Cantos +of Mutability,_ Cant. VII.:-- + + "That old Dan Geffrey, in whose gentle spright + The pure well-head of poesie did dwell." + +Footnote 2: MILTON: _Il Penseroso._ + +Footnote 3: WORDSWORTH: _Poems of Later Years_. + +Footnote 4: CHAUCER: _Clerke's Tale_, Prologue. + +Footnote 5: WARTON: _Ode on his Majesty's Birthday, 1787_. + +Footnote 6: Tyrwhitt's Chaucer: _Historical Notes on his Life._ + +Footnote 7: _Masque of the Fortunate Islands_. + +Footnote 8: _History of English Poetry_, Vol. II. pp. 335-336, +ed. 1840. + +Footnote 9: WARTON: _Birthday Ode_, 1787. + +Footnote 10: See his _British Poets, from Chaucer to Jonson_, +Art. _Daniel_. Southey contemplated a continuation of Warton's +_History_, and, in preparing for that labor, learned many things +he had never known of the earlier writers. + +Footnote 11: Jonson's classification. See his _Poetaster_. + +Footnote 12: _Lamb's Works, and Life_, by Talfourd, Vol. IV. p. 89. + +Footnote 13: Hesperides, _Encomiastic Verses_. + +Footnote 14: Herrick, _ubi supra._--To the haunts here named +must be added the celebrated _Mermaid_, of which Shakspeare was +the _Magnus Apollo_, and _The Devil_, where Pope imagines +Ben to have gathered peculiar inspiration:-- + + "And each true Briton is to Ben so civil, + He swears the Muses met him at _The Devil_." + _Imitation of Horace_, Bk. ii. Epist. i. + +Footnote 15: _Election of a Poet-Laureate_, 1719, Works, Vol. II. + +Footnote 16: _Feast of the Poets_, 1814. + +Footnote 17: _Fable for Critics_, 1850. + +Footnote 18: This story rests on the authority of Thomas Betterton, +the actor, who received it from Davenant. + +Footnote 19: Dedication of the _Pastorals_ of Virgil, to Hugh, +Lord Clifford, the son of Sir Thomas. + +Footnote 20: There were some indications that portions of the farce +had been written while Davenant was living and had been intended for +him. _Mr. Bayes_ appears in one place with a plaster on his nose, +an evident allusion to Davenant's loss of that feature. In a lively +satire of the time, by Richard Duke, it is asserted that Villiers was +occupied with the composition of _The Rehearsal_ from the +Restoration down to the day of its production on the stage:-- + + "But with playhouses, wars, immortal wars, + He waged, and ten years' rage produced a farce. + As many rolling years he did employ, + And hands almost as many, to destroy + Heroic rhyme, as Greece to ruin Troy. + Once more, says Fame, for battle he prepares, + And threatens rhymers with a second farce: + But, if as long for this as that we stay, + He'll finish Clevedon sooner than his play." + _The Review_ + +Footnote 21: It is little to the credit of Dryden, that, having saved +up his wrath against Flecknoe so long, he had not reserved it +altogether. Flecknoe had been dead at least four years when the +satire appeared. + +Footnote 22: Macaulay quotes Blackmore's _Prince Arthur_, to +illustrate Dryden's dependence upon Dorset:-- + + "The poets' nation did obsequious wait + For the kind dole divided at his gate. + Laurus among the meagre crowd appeared, + An old, revolted, unbelieving bard, + Who thronged, and shoved, and pressed, and would be heard. + + "Sakil's high roof, the Muse's palace, rung + With endless cries, and endless songs he sung. + To bless good Sakil Laurus would be first; + But Sakil's prince and Sakil's God he curst. + Sakil without distinction threw his bread, + Despised the flatterer, but the poet fed." + +_Laurus_, of course, stands for Dryden, and _Sakil_ for +Dorset. + +Footnote 23: _The Squire of Alsatia_ is said to have realized him +L130. + +Footnote 24: _An Allusion to the Tenth Satire of the First Book of +Horace_.--The word "censure" will, of course, be understood to mean +_judgment_, not _condemnation_. + +Footnote 25: _Imitation of Horace_, Bk. ii. Epist. i. + +Footnote 26: See the _History of England_, Vol. IV., Chapter 17, +for reference to Shadwell's _Volunteers_. + +Footnote 27: _History of England_, Chapter 19. + + + + +THE ROMANCE OF A GLOVE. + + +"Halt!" cried my travelling companion. "Property overboard!" + +The driver pulled up his horses; and, before I could prevent him, +Westwood leaped down from the vehicle, and ran back for the article +that had been dropped. + +It was a glove,--my glove, which I had inadvertently thrown out, in +taking my handkerchief from my pocket. + +"Go on, driver!" and he tossed it into my hand as he resumed his seat +in the open stage. + +"Take your reward," I said, offering him a cigar; "but beware of +rendering me another such service!" + +"If it had been your hat or your handkerchief, be sure I should have +let it lie where it fell. But a glove,--that is different. I once +found a romance in a glove. Since then, gloves are sacred." And +Westwood gravely bit off the end of his cigar. + +"A romance? Tell me about that. I am tired of this endless stretch of +sea-like country, these regular ground-swells; and it's a good +two-hours' ride yet to yonder headland, which juts out into the +prairie, between us and the setting sun. Meanwhile, your romance." + +"Did I say romance? I fear you would hardly think it worthy of the +name," said my companion. "Every life has its romantic episodes, or, +at least, incidents which appear such to him who experiences them. But +these tender little histories are usually insipid enough when told. I +have a maiden aunt, who once came so near having an offer from a pale +stripling, with dark hair, seven years her junior, that to this day +she often alludes to the circumstance, with the remark, that she +wishes she knew some competent novel-writer in whom she could confide, +feeling sure that the story of that period of her life would make the +groundwork of a magnificent work of fiction. Possibly I inherit my +aunt's tendency to magnify into extraordinary proportions trifles +which I look at through the double convex lens of a personal +interest. So don't expect too much of my romance, and you shall hear +it. + +"I said I found it in a glove. It was by no means a remarkable +glove,--middle-sized, straw-colored, and a neat fit for this hand, in +which I now hold your very excellent cigar. Of course, there was a +young lady in the case;--let me see,--I don't believe I can tell you +the story," said Westwood, "after all!" + +I gently urged him to proceed. + +"Pshaw!" said he, after kindling his cigar with a few vigorous whiffs, +"what's the use of being foolish? My aunt was never diffident about +telling her story, and why should I hesitate to tell mine? The young +lady's name,--we'll call her simply Margaret. She was a blonde, with +hazel eyes and dark hair. Perhaps you never heard of a blonde with +hazel eyes and dark hair? She was the only one I ever saw; and there +was the finest contrast imaginable between her fair, fresh complexion, +and her superb tresses and delicately-traced eyebrows. She was +certainly lovely, if not handsome; and--such eyes! It was an event in +one's life, Sir, just to look through those luminous windows into her +soul. That could not happen every day, be sure! Sometimes for weeks +she kept them turned from me, the ivory shutters half-closed, or the +mystic curtains of reserve drawn within; then, again, when I was +tortured with unsatisfied yearnings, and almost ready to despair, she +would suddenly turn them upon me, the shutters thrown wide, the +curtains away, and a flood of radiance streaming forth, that filled me +so full of light and gladness, that I had no shadowy nook left in me +for a doubt to hide in. She must have been conscious of this power of +expression. She used it so sparingly, and, it seemed to me, artfully! +But I always forgave her when she did use it, and cherished resentment +only when she did not. + +"Margaret was shy and proud; I could never completely win her +confidence; but I knew, I knew well at last, that her heart was +mine. And a deep, tender, woman's heart it was, too, despite her +reserve. Without many words, we understood each other, and +so----Pshaw!" said Westwood, "my cigar is out!" + +"On with the story!" + +"Well, we had our lovers' quarrels, of course. Singular, what foolish +children love makes of us!--rendering us sensitive, jealous, exacting, +in the superlative degree. I am sure, we were both amiable and +forbearing towards all the world besides; but, for the powerful reason +that we loved, we were bound to misinterpret words, looks, and +actions, and wound each other on every convenient occasion. I was +pained by her attentions to others, or perhaps by an apparent +preference of a book or a bouquet to me. Retaliation on my part and +quiet persistence on hers continued to estrange us, until I generally +ended by conceding everything, and pleading for one word of kindness, +to end my misery. + +"I was wrong,--too quick to resent, too ready to concede. No doubt, it +was to her a secret gratification to exercise her power over me; and +at last I was convinced that she wounded me purposely, in order to +provoke a temporary estrangement, and enjoy a repetition of her +triumph. + +"It was at a party; the thing she did was to waltz with a man whom she +knew I detested, whom _I_ knew _she_ could not respect, and +whose half-embrace, as he whirled her in the dance, almost put murder +into my thoughts. + +"'Margaret,' I said, 'one last word! If you care for me, beware!' + +"That was a foolish speech, perhaps. It was certainly +ineffectual. She persisted, looking so calm and composed, that a great +weight fell upon my heart. I walked away; I wandered about the +saloons; I tried to gossip and be gay; but the wound was too deep. + +"I accompanied her home, late in the evening. We scarcely spoke by the +way. At the door, she looked me sadly in the face,--she gave me her +hand; I thought it trembled. + +"'Good-night!' she said, in a low voice. + +"'Good-bye!' I answered, coldly, and hurried from the house. + +"It was some consolation to hear her close the door after I had +reached the corner of the street, and to know that she had been +listening to my footsteps. But I was very angry. I made stern +resolutions; I vowed to myself, that I would wring her heart, and +never swerve from my purpose until I had wrung out of it abundant +drops of sorrow and contrition. How I succeeded you shall hear. + +"I had previously engaged her to attend a series of concerts with me; +an arrangement which I did not now regret, and for good reasons. Once +a week, with famous punctuality, I called for her, escorted her to the +concert-room, and carefully reconducted her home,--letting no +opportunity pass to show her a true gentleman's deference and +respect,--conversing with her freely about music, books, anything, in +short, except what we both knew to be deepest in each other's +thoughts. Upon other occasions, I avoided her, and even refrained from +going to places where she was expected,--especially where she knew +that I knew she was expected. + +"Well," continued Westwood, "my designs upon her heart, which I was +going to wring so unmercifully, did not meet with very brilliant +success. To confess the humiliating truth, I soon found that I was +torturing myself a good deal more than I was torturing her. As a last +and desperate resort, what do you think I did?" + +"You probably asked her to ask your forgiveness." + +"Not I! I have a will of adamant, as people find, who tear away the +amiable flowers and light soil that cover it; and she had reached the +impenetrable, firm rock. I neither made any advances towards a +reconciliation nor invited any. But I'll tell you what I did do, as a +final trial of her heart. I had, for some time, been meditating a +European tour, and my interest in her had alone kept me at home. Some +friends of mine were to sail early in the spring, and I now resolved +to accompany them. I don't know how much pride and spite there was in +the resolution,--probably a good deal. I confess I wished to make her +suffer,--to show her that she had calculated too much upon my +weakness,--that I could be strong and happy without her. Yet, with all +this bitter and vindictive feeling, I listened to a very sweet and +tender whisper in my heart, which said, 'Now, if her love speaks +out,--now, if she says to me one true, kind, womanly word,--she shall +go with me, and nothing shall ever take her from me again!' The +thought of what _might_ be, if she would but say that word, and +of what _must_ be, irrevocably, if her pride held out, shook me +mightily. But my resolution was taken: I would trust the rest to fate. + +"On the day of the last concert, I imparted the secret of my intended +journey to a person who, I felt tolerably sure, would rush at once to +Margaret with the news. Then, in the evening, I went for her; I was +conscious that my manner towards her was a little more tender, or +rather, a little less coldly courteous, that night, than it had +usually been of late; for my feelings were softened, and I had never +seen her so lovely. I had never before known what a treasure I was +about to lose. The subject of my voyage was not mentioned, and if she +had heard of it, she accepted the fact without the least +visible concern. Her quietness under the circumstances chilled +me,--disheartened me quite. I am not one of those who can give much +superfluous love, or cling with unreasonable, blind passion to an +object that yields no affection in return. A quick and effectual +method of curing a fancy in persons of my temperament is to teach them +that it is not reciprocated. Then it expires like a flame cut off from +the air, or a plant removed from the soil. The death-struggle, the +uprooting, is the painful thing; but when the heart is thoroughly +convinced that its love is misplaced, it gives up, with one last sigh +as big as fate, sheds a few tears, says a prayer or two, thanks God +for the experience, and becomes a wiser, calmer,--yes, and a happier +heart than before." + +"True," I said; "but our hearts are not thus easily convinced." + +"Ay, there's the rub. It is for want of a true perception. There +cannot be a true love without a true perception. Love is for the soul +to know, from its own intuition,--not for the understanding to +believe, from the testimony of those very unreliable witnesses, called +eyes and ears. This seems to have been my case,--my soul was aware of +_her_ love, and all the evidence of my external senses could not +altogether destroy that interior faith. But that evening I said,--'I +believe you now, my senses! I doubt you now, my soul!--she never loved +me!' So I was really very cold towards her--for about twenty minutes. + +"I walked home with her;--we were both silent; but at the door she +asked me to go in. Here my calmness deserted me, and I could hardly +hold my heart, while I replied,-- + +"'If you particularly wish it.' + +"'If I did not, I should not ask you,' she said; and I went in. + +"I was ashamed and vexed at myself for trembling so,--for I was in a +tremor from head to foot. There was company in the parlors,--some of +Margaret's friends. I took my seat upon a sofa, and soon she came and +sat by my side. + +"'I suppose,' said one, 'Mr. Westwood has been telling Margaret all +about it.' + +"'About what?' Margaret inquired,--and here the truth flashed upon +me,--the news of my proposed voyage had not yet reached her! She +looked at me with a troubled, questioning expression, and said,-- + +"'I felt that something was going to happen. Tell me what it is.' + +"I answered,--'Your friend can best explain what she means.' + +"Then out came the secret. A shock of surprise sent the color from +Margaret's face; and raising her eyes, she asked, quite calmly, but in +a low and unnatural tone,-- + +"'Is this so?' + +"I said, 'I suppose I cannot deny it.' + +"'You are really going?' + +"'I am really going.' + +"She could not hide her agitation. Her white face betrayed her. Then +I was glad, wickedly glad, in my heart,--and vain enough to be +gratified that others should behold and know I held a power over +her. Well,--but I suffered for that folly. + +"'I feel hurt,' she said, after a little while, 'because you have not +told me this. You have no sister,' (this was spoken very quietly,) +'and it would have been a privilege for me to take a sister's place, +and do for you those little things which sisters do for brothers who +are going on long journeys.' + +"I was choked;--it was a minute before I could speak. Then I said that +I saw no reason why she should tax her time or thoughts to do anything +for me. + +"'Oh, you know,' she said, 'you have been kind to me,--so much kinder +than I have deserved!' + +"It was unendurable,--the pathos of the words! I was blinded, +stifled,--I almost groaned aloud. If we had been alone, there our +trial would have ended. I should have snatched her to my soul. But +the eyes of others were upon us, and I steeled myself. + +"'Besides,' I said, 'I know of nothing that you can do for me.' + +"'There must be many little things;--to begin with, there is your +glove, which you are tearing to pieces.' + +"True, I was tearing my glove,--she was calm enough to observe it! +That made me angry. + +"'Give it to me; I will mend it for you. Haven't you other gloves that +need mending?' + +"I, who had triumphed, was humbled. + +"My heart was breaking,--and she talked of mending gloves! I did not +omit to thank her. I coldly arose to go. + +"Well, I felt now that it was all over. The next day I secured my +passage in the steamer in which my friends were to sail. I took pains +that Margaret should hear of that, too. Then came the preparations for +travel,--arranging affairs, writing letters, providing myself with a +compact and comfortable outfit. Europe was in prospect,--Paris, +Switzerland, Italy, lands to which my dreams had long since gone +before me, and to which I now turned my eyes with reawakening +aspirations. A new glory arose upon my life, in the light of which +Margaret became a fading star. It was so much easier than I had +thought, to give her up, to part from her! I found that I could forget +her, in the excitement of a fresh and novel experience; while +she--could she forget me? When lovers part, happy is he who goes! alas +for the one that is left behind! + +"One day, when I was busy with the books which I was to take with me, +a small package was handed in. I need not tell you that I experienced +a thrill, when I saw Margaret's handwriting upon the wrapper. I tore +it open,--and what think you I found? My glove! Nothing else. I +smiled bitterly, to see how neatly she had mended it; then I sighed; +then I said, 'It is finished!' and tossed the glove disdainfully into +my trunk. + +"On the day before that fixed for the sailing of the steamer, I made +farewell calls upon many of my friends,--among others, upon +Margaret. But, through the perversity of pride and will, I did not go +alone,--I took with me Joseph, a mutual acquaintance, who was to be my +_compagnon de voyage_. I felt some misgivings, to see how +Margaret had changed; she was so softened, and so pale! + +"The interview was a painful one, and I cut it short. As we were going +out, she gently detained me, and said,-- + +"'Did you receive--your glove?' + +"'Oh, yes,' I said, and thanked her for mending it. + +"'And is this all--all you have to say?' she asked. + +"'I have nothing more to say--except good-bye.' + +"She held my hand. 'Nothing else?' + +"'No,--it is useless to talk of the past, Margaret; and the +future--may you be happy!--Good-bye!' + +"I thought she would speak; I could not believe she would let me go; +but she did! I bore up well, until night. Then came a revulsion. I +walked three times past the house, wofully tempted, my love and my +will at cruel warfare; but I did not go in. At midnight I saw the +light in her room extinguished; I knew she had retired, but whether to +sleep, or weep, or pray--how could I tell? I went home. I did not +close my eyes that night. I was glad to see the morning come, after +_such_ a night! + +"The steamer was to sail at ten. The bustle of embarkation; strange +scenes and strange faces; parting from friends; the ringing of the +bell; last adieus,--some, who were to go with us, hurrying aboard, +others, who were to stay behind, as hastily going ashore; the +withdrawal of the plank,--sad sight to many eyes! casting off the +lines, the steamer swinging heavily around, the rushing, irregular +motion of the great, slow paddles; the waving of handkerchiefs from +the decks, and the responsive signals from the crowd lining the wharf; +off at last,--the faces of friends, the crowd, the piers, and, lastly, +the city itself, fading from sight; the dash of spray, the freshening +breeze, the novel sight of our little world detaching itself and +floating away; the feeling that America was past, and Europe was +next;--all this filled my mind with animation and excitement, which +shut out thoughts of Margaret. Could I have looked with clairvoyant +vision, and beheld her then, locked in her chamber, should I have been +so happy? Oh, what fools vanity and pride make of us! Even then, with +my heart high-strung with hope and courage, had I known the truth, I +should have abandoned my friends, the voyage, and Europe, and returned +in the pilot's boat, to find something more precious than all the +continents and countries of the globe, in the love of that heart which +I was carelessly flinging away." + +Here Westwood took breath. The sun was now almost set. The prairie was +still and cool; the heavy dews were beginning to fall; the shadows of +the green and flowered undulations filled the hollows, like a rising +tide; the headland, seen at first so far and small, was growing +gradually large and near; and the horses moved at a quicker +pace. Westwood lighted his cigar, drew a few whiffs, and proceeded. + +"We had a voyage of eleven days. But to me an immense amount of +experience was crowded into that brief period. The fine exhilaration +of the start,--the breeze gradually increasing to a gale; then +horrible sea-sickness, home-sickness, love-sickness; after which, the +weather which sailors love, games, gayety, and flirtation. There is no +such social freedom to be enjoyed anywhere as on board an ocean +steamer. The breaking-up of old associations, the opening of a fresh +existence, the necessity of new relationships,--this fuses the crust +of conventionality, quickens the springs of life, and renders +character sympathetic and fluent. The past is easily put away; we +become plastic to new influences; we are delighted at the discovery of +unexpected affinities, and astonished to find in ourselves so much +wit, eloquence, and fine susceptibility, which we did not before dream +we possessed. + +"This freedom is especially provocative of flirtation. We see each +fair brow touched with a halo whose colors are the reflection of our +own beautiful dreams. Loveliness is ten-fold more lovely, bathed in +this atmosphere of romance; and manhood is invested with ideal +graces. The love within us rushes, with swift, sweet heart-beats, to +meet the love responsive in some other. Don't think I am now artfully +preparing your mind to excuse what I am about to confess. Take these +things into consideration, if you will; then think as you please of +the weakness and wild impulse with which I fell in love with---- + +"We will call her Flora. The most superb, captivating creature that +ever ensnared the hearts of the sons of Adam. A fine olive +complexion; magnificent dark auburn hair; eyes full of fire and +softness; lips that could pout or smile with incomparable fascination; +a figure of surprising symmetry, just voluptuous enough. But, after +all, her great power lay in her freedom from all affectation and +conventionality,--in her spontaneity, her free, sparkling, and +vivacious manners. She was the most daring and dazzling of women, +without ever appearing immodest or repulsive. She walked with such +proud, secure steps over the commonly accepted barriers of social +intercourse, that even those who blamed her and pretended to be +shocked were compelled to admire. She was the belle, the Juno, of the +saloon, the supreme ornament of the upper deck. Just twenty,--not +without wit and culture,--full of poetry and enthusiasm. Do you blame +me?" + +"Not a whit," I said; "but for Margaret"---- + +"Ah, Margaret!" said Westwood, with a sigh. "But, you see, I had given +her up. And when one love is lost, there sink such awful chasms into +the soul, that, though they cannot be filled, we must at least bridge +them over with a new affection. The number of marriages built in this +way, upon false foundations of hollowness and despair, is +incomputable. We talk of jilted lovers and disappointed girls +marrying 'out of spite.' No doubt, such petty feeling hurries forward +many premature matches. But it is the heart, left shaken, unsupported, +wretchedly sinking, which reaches out its feelers for sympathy, +catches at the first penetrable point, and clings like a helpless vine +to the sunny-sided wall of the nearest consolation. If you wish to +marry a girl and can't, and are weak enough to desire her still, this +is what you should do: get some capable man to jilt her. Then seize +your chance. All the affections which have gone out to him, unmet, +ready to droop, quivering with the painful, hungry instinct to grasp +some object, may possibly lay hold of you. Let the world sneer; but +God pity such natures, which lack the faith and fortitude to live and +die true to their best love! + +"Out of my own mouth do I condemn myself? Very well, I condemn myself; +_peccavi_! I If I had ever loved Margaret, then I did not love +Flora. The same heart cannot find its counterpart indifferently in two +such opposites. What charmed me in one was her purity, softness, and +depth of soul. What fascinated me in the other was her bloom, beauty, +and passion. Which was the true sympathy? + +"I did not stop to ask that question when it was most important that +it should be seriously considered. I rushed into the crowd of +competitors for Flora's smiles, and distanced them all. I was pleased +and proud that she took no pains to conceal her preference for me. We +played chess; we read poetry out of the same book; we ate at the same +table; we sat and watched the sea together, for hours, in those clear, +bright days; we promenaded the deck at sunset, her hand upon my arm, +her lips forever turning up tenderly towards me, her eyes pouring +their passion into me. Then those glorious nights, when the ocean was +a vast, wild, fluctuating stream, flashing and sparkling about the +ship, spanned with a quivering bridge of splendor on one side, and +rolling off into awful darkness and mystery, on the other; when the +moon seemed swinging among the shrouds like a ball of white fire; when +the few ships went by like silent ghosts; and Flora and I, in a long +trance of happiness, kept the deck, heedless of the throng of +promenaders, forgetful of the past, reckless of the future, aware only +of our own romance, and the richness of the present hour. + +"Joseph, my travelling-companion, looked on, and wrote letters. He +showed me one of these, addressed to a friend of Margaret's. In it he +extolled Flora's beauty, piquancy, and supremacy; related how she made +all the women jealous and all the men mad; and hinted at my triumph. I +knew that that letter would meet Margaret's eyes, and was vain enough +to be pleased. + +"At last, one morning, at daybreak, I went on deck, and saw the shores +of England. Only a few days before, we had left America behind us, +brown and leafless, just emerging from the long gloom of winter; and +now the slopes of another world arose green and inviting in the flush +of spring. There was a bracing breeze; the dingy waters of the Mersey +rolled up in wreaths of beauty; the fleets of ships, steamers, sloops, +lighters, pilot-boats, bounding over the waves, meeting, tacking, +plunging, swaying gracefully under the full-swelling canvas, presented +a picture of wonderful animation; and the mingling hues of sunshine +and mist hung over all. I paced the deck, solemnly joyful, swift +thoughts pulsing through me of a dim far-off Margaret, of a near +radiant Flora, of hope and happiness superior to fate. It was one of +those times when the excited soul transfigures the world, and we +marvel how we could ever succumb to a transient sorrow while the whole +universe blooms, and an infinite future waits to open for us its doors +of wonder and joy. + +"In this state of mind I was joined by Flora. She laid her hand on my +arm, and we walked up and down together. She was serious, almost sad, +and she viewed the English hills with a pensiveness which became her +better than mirth. + +"'So,' she sighed, 'all our little romances come to an end!' + +"'Not so,' I said; 'or if one romance ends, it is to give place to +another, still truer and sweeter. Our lives may be all a succession of +romances, if we will make them so. I think now I will never doubt the +future; for I find, that, when I have given up my dearest hopes, my +best-beloved friends, and accepted the gloomy belief that all life +besides is barren,--then comes some new experience, filling my empty +cup with a still more delicious wine.' + +"'Don't vex me with your philosophy!' said Flora. 'I don't know +anything about it. All I know is this present,--this sky, this earth, +this sea, and the joy between, which I can't give up quite so easily +as you can, with your beautiful theory, that something better awaits +you.' + +"'I have told you,' I replied,--for I had been quite frank with +her,--'how I left America,--what a blank life was to me then; and did +I not turn my back upon all that to meet face to face the greatest +happiness which I have ever yet known? Ought not this to give me faith +in the divinity that shapes our ends?' + +"'And so,' she answered, 'when I have lost you, I shall have the +satisfaction of thinking that you are enjoying some still more +exquisite consolation for the slight pangs you may have felt at +parting from me! Your philosophy will make it easy for you to say, +"Good-bye! it was a pretty romance; I go to find prettier ones +still"; and then forget me altogether!' + +"'And you,' I said, 'will that be easy for you?' + +"'Yes,' she cried, with spirit,--'anything is easy to a proud, +impetuous woman, who finds that the brief romance of a ten-days' +acquaintance has already become tiresome to the second party. I am +glad I have enjoyed what I have; that is so much gain, of which you +cannot rob me; and now I can say good-bye as coolly as you, or I can +die of shame, or I can at once walk over this single rail into the +water, and quench this little candle, and so an end!' + +"She sprang upon a bench, and, I swear to you, I thought she was going +down! I was so exalted by this passionate demonstration, that I should +certainly have gone over with her, and felt perfectly content to die +in her arms,--at least, until I began to realize what a very +disagreeable bath we had chosen to drown in. + +"I drew her away; I walked up and down with that superb creature +panting and palpitating almost upon my heart; I poured into her ear I +know not what extravagant vows; and before the slow-handed sailors had +fastened their cable to the buoy in the channel, we had knotted a more +subtile and difficult noose, not to be so easily undone! + +"Now see what strange, variable fools we are! Months of tender +intercourse had failed to bring about anything like a positive +engagement between Margaret and myself; and here behold me irrevocably +pledged to Flora, after a brief ten-days' acquaintance! + +"Six mortal hours were exhausted in making the steamer fast,--in +sending off her Majesty's mails, of which the cockney speaks with a +tone of reverence altogether disgusting to us free-minded +Yankees,--and in entertaining the custom-house inspectors, who paid a +long and tedious visit to the saloon and our luggage. Then we were +suffered to land, and enter the noisy, solid streets of Liverpool, +amid the donkeys and beggars and quaint scenes which strike the +American so oddly upon a first visit. All this delay, the weariness +and impatience, the contrast between the morning and the hard, grim +reality of mid-day, brought me down from my elevation. I felt alarmed +to think of what had passed. I seemed to have been doing some wild, +unadvised act in a fit of intoxication. Margaret came up before me, +sad, silent, reproachful; and as I gazed upon Flora's bedimmed face, I +wondered how I had been so charmed. + +"We took the first train for London, where we arrived at midnight. Two +weeks in that vast Babel,--then, ho! for Paris! Twelve hours by rail +and steamer carried us out of John Bull's dominions into the brilliant +metropolis of his French neighbor. Joseph accompanied us, and wrote +letters home, filled with gossip which I knew, or hoped, would make +Margaret writhe. I had not found it so easy to forget her as I had +supposed it would be. Flora's power over me was sovereign; but when I +was weary of the dazzle and whirl of the life she led me,--when I +looked into the depths of my heart, and saw what the thin film of +passion and pleasure concealed,--in those serious moments which +would come, and my soul put stern questions to me,--then, +Sir,--then--Margaret had her revenge. + +"A month, crowded and glittering with novelty and incident, preceded +our departure for Switzerland. I accompanied Flora's party; Joseph +remained behind. We left Paris about the middle of June, and returned +in September. I have no words to speak of that era in my life. I saw, +enjoyed, suffered, learned so much! Flora was always glad, +magnificent, irresistible. But, as I knew her longer, my moments of +misgiving became more frequent and profound. If I had aspired to +nothing higher than a life of sensuous delights, she would have been +all I could wish. But---- + +"We were to spend the winter in Italy. Meanwhile, we had another month +in Paris. Here I had found Joseph again, who troubled me a good deal +with certain rumors he had received concerning Margaret. According to +these, she had been in feeble health ever since we left, and her +increasing delicacy was beginning to alarm her friends. 'But,' added +another of Joseph's correspondents, 'don't let Westwood flatter +himself that he is the cause, for she is cured of him; and there is +talk of an engagement between her and a handsome young clergyman, who +is both eloquent and fascinating.' + +"This bit of gossip made me very bitter and angry. 'Forget me so +soon?' I said; 'and receive the attentions of another man?' You see +how consistent I was, to condemn her for the very fault I had myself +been so eager to commit! + +"Well, the round of rides, excursions, soirees, visits to the operas +and theatres, walks on the Boulevards, and in the galleries of the +Louvre, ended at last. The evening before we were to set out for the +South of France, I was at my lodgings, unpacking and repacking the +luggage which I had left in Joseph's care during my absence among the +Alps; I was melancholy, dissatisfied with the dissipations which had +exhausted my time and energies, and thinking of Margaret. I had not +preserved a single memento of her; and now I wished I had one,--if +only a withered leaf, or a line of her writing. In this mood, I +chanced to cast my eye upon a stray glove, in the bottom of my +trunk. I snatched at it eagerly, and, in the impulse of the +moment,--before I reflected that I was wronging Flora,--pressed it to +my lips. Yes, I found the place where it had been mended, the spot +Margaret's fingers had touched, and gave it a kiss for every +stitch. Then, incensed at myself, I flung it from me, and hurried from +the room. I walked towards the Place de la Concorde, where the +brilliant lamps burned like a constellation. I strolled through the +Elysian Fields, and watched the lights of the carriages swarming like +fire-flies up the long avenue; stopped by the concert gardens, and +listened to the glorified girls singing under rosy and golden +pavilions the last songs of the season; wandered about the +fountains,--by the gardens of the Tuileries, where the trees stood so +shadowy and still, and the statues gleamed so pale,--along the quays +of the Seine, where the waves rolled so dark below,--trying to settle +my thoughts, to master myself, to put Margaret from me. + +"Weary at length, I returned to my chamber, seated myself composedly, +and looked down at the glove which lay where I had thrown it, upon the +polished floor. Mechanically I stooped and took up a bit of folded +paper. It was written upon,--I unrolled it, and read. It was as if I +had opened the record of doom! Had the apparition of Margaret herself +risen suddenly before me, I could not have been more astounded. It was +a note from her,--and such a note!--full of love, suffering, and +humility,--poured out of a heart so deep and tender and true, that the +shallowness of my own seemed utterly contemptible, in comparison with +it. I cannot tell you what was written, but it was more than even my +most cruel and exacting pride could have asked. It was what would once +have made me wild with joy,--now it almost maddened me with +despair. I, who had often talked fine philosophy to others, had not a +grain of that article left to physic my own malady. But one course +seemed plain before me, and that was, to go quietly and drown myself +in the Seine, which I had seen flowing so swift and dark under the +bridges, an hour ago, when I stood and mused upon the tragical corpses +its solemn flood had swallowed. + +"I am a little given to superstition, and the mystery of the note +excited me. I have no doubt but there was some subtile connection +between it and the near presence of Margaret's spirit, of which I had +that night been conscious. But the note had reached me by no +supernatural method, as I was at first half inclined to believe. It +was, probably, the touch, the atmosphere, the ineffably fine influence +which surrounded it, which had penetrated my unconscious perceptions, +and brought her near. The paper, the glove, were full of +Margaret,--full of something besides what we vaguely call mental +associations,--full of emanations of the very love and suffering which +she had breathed into the writing. + +"How the note came there upon the floor was a riddle which I was too +much bewildered to explain by any natural means. Joseph, who burst in +upon me, in my extremity of pain and difficulty, solved it at once. It +had fallen out of the glove, where it had lain folded, silent, +unnoticed, during all this intervening period of folly and vexation of +soul. Margaret had done her duty, in time; I had only myself to blame +for the tangle in which I now found myself. I was thinking of Flora, +upon the deck of the steamship, when, in a moment of chagrin, she had +been so near throwing herself over; wondering to what fate her passion +and impetuosity would hurry her now, if she knew; cursing myself for +my weakness and perfidy; while Joseph kept asking me what I intended +to do. + +"'Do? do?' I said, furiously,--'I shall kill you, that is what I shall +do, if you drive me mad with questions which neither angels nor fiends +can answer!' + +"'I know what you will do,' said Joseph; 'you will go home and marry +Margaret.' + +"You can have no conception of the effect of these words,--_Go home +and marry Margaret_. I shook as I have seen men shake with the +ague. All that might have been,--what might be still,--the happiness +cast away, and perhaps yet within my reach,--the temptation of the +Devil, who appealed to my cowardice, to fly from Flora, break my vows, +risk my honor and her life, for Margaret,--all this rushed through me +tumultuously. At length I said,-- + +"'No, Joseph; I shall do no such thing. I can never be worthy of +Margaret; it will be only by fasting and prayer that I can make myself +worthy of Flora.' + +"'Will you start for Italy in the morning?' he asked, pitilessly. + +"'For Italy in the morning?' I groaned. Meet Flora, travel with her, +play the hypocrite, with smiles on my lips and hell in my heart,--or +thunderstrike her at once with the truth;--what was I to do? To some +men the question would, perhaps, have presented few difficulties. But +for me, Sir, who am not quite devoid of conscience, whatever you may +think,--let me tell you, I'd rather hang by sharp hooks over a +roasting fire than be again suspended as I was betwixt two such +alternatives, and feel the torture of both! + +"Having driven Joseph away, I locked myself into my room, and suffered +the torments of the damned in as quiet a manner as possible, until +morning. Then Joseph returned, and looked at me with dismay. + +"'For Heaven's sake!' he said, 'you ought not to let this thing kill +you,--and it will, if you keep on.' + +"'So much the better,' I said, 'if it kills nobody but me. But don't +be alarmed. Keep perfectly cool, and attend to the commission I am +going to trust to you. I can't see Flora this morning; I must gain a +little time. Go to the station of the Lyons railway, where I have +engaged to meet her party; say to her that I am detained, but that I +will join her on the journey. Give her no time to question you, and be +sure that she does not stay behind.' + +"'I'll manage it,--trust me!' said Joseph. And off he started. At the +end of two hours, which seemed twenty, he burst into my room, +crying,-- + +"'Good news! she is gone! I told her you had lost your passport, and +would have to get another from our minister.' + +"'What!' I exclaimed, 'you lied to her?' + +"'Oh! there was no other way!' said Joseph, ingenuously,--'she is so +sharp! They're to wait for you at Marseilles. But I'll manage that, +too. On their arrival at the Hotel d'Orient, they'll find a +telegraphic dispatch from me. I wager a hat, they'll leave in the +first steamer for Naples. Then you can follow at your leisure.' + +"'Thank you, Joseph.' + +"I felt relieved. Then came a reaction. The next day I was attacked +by fever. I know not how long I struggled against it, but it mastered +me. The last things I remember were the visits of friends, the strange +talk of a French physician, whispers and consultations, which I knew +were about me, yet took no interest in,--and at length Joseph rushing +to my bedside, in a flutter of agitation, and gasping,-- + +"'Flora!' + +"'What of Flora?' I demanded. + +"'I telegraphed, but she wouldn't go; she has come back; she is here!' + +"I was sinking back into the stupor from which I had been roused, when +I heard a rustling which seemed afar off, yet was in my chamber; then +a vision appeared to my sickened sight,--a face which I dimly thought +I had seen before,--a flood of curls and a rain of kisses showering +upon me,--sobs and devouring caresses,--Flora's voice calling me +passionate names; and I lying so passive, faintly struggling to +remember, until my soul sank whirling in darkness, and I knew no more. + +"One morning, I cannot tell you how long after, I awoke and found +myself in a strange-looking room, filled with strange objects, not the +least strange of which was the thing that seemed myself. At first I +looked with vague and motionless curiosity out of the Lethe from which +my mind slowly emerged; painless, and at peace; listlessly questioning +whether I was alive or dead,--whether the limp weight lying in bed +there was my body,--the meaning of the silence and the closed +curtains. Then, with a succession of painful flashes, as if the pole +of an electrical battery had been applied to my brain, memory +returned,--Margaret, Flora, Paris, delirium. I next remember hearing +myself groan aloud,--then seeing Joseph at my side. I tried to speak, +but could not. Upon my pillow was a glove, and he placed it against my +cheek. An indescribable, excruciating thrill shot through me; still I +could not speak. After that, came a relapse. Like Mrs. Browning's +poet, I lay + + + ''Twixt gloom and gleam, + With Death and Life at each extreme.' + + +"But one morning I was better. I could talk. Joseph bent over me, +weeping for joy. + +"'The danger is past!' he said. 'The doctors say you will get well!' + +"'Have I been so ill, then?' + +"'Ill?' echoed Joseph. 'Nobody thought you could live. We all gave you +up, except her;--and she'---- + +"'She!' I said,--'is she here?' + +"'From the moment of her arrival,' replied Joseph, 'she has never left +you. Oh, if you don't thank God for her,'--he lowered his +voice,--'and live all the rest of your life just to reward her, you +are the most ungrateful wretch! You would certainly have died but for +her. She has scarcely slept, till this morning, when they said you +would recover.' + +"Joseph paused. Every word he spoke went down like a weight of lead +into my soul. I had, indeed, been conscious of a tender hand soothing +my pillow, of a lovely form flitting through my dreams, of a breath +and magnetic touch of love infusing warm, sweet life into me,--but it +had always seemed Margaret, never Flora. + +"'The glove?' I asked. + +"'Here it is,' said Joseph. 'In your delirium you demanded it; you +would not be without it; you caressed it, and addressed to it the +tenderest apostrophes.' + +"'And Flora,--she heard?' + +"'Flora?' repeated Joseph. 'Don't you know--haven't you any idea--what +has happened? It has been terrible!' + +"'Tell me at once!' I said. 'Keep nothing back!' + +"'Immediately on her return from Marseilles,--you remember that?' + +"'Yes, yes! go on!' + +"'She established herself here. Nobody could come between her and you; +and a brave, true girl she proved herself. Oh, but she was wild about +you! She offered the doctors extravagant sums--she would have bribed +Heaven itself, if she could--not to let you die. But there came a +time,--one night, when you were raving about Margaret,--I tell +you, it was terrible! She would have the truth, and so I told +her,--everything, from the beginning. It makes me shudder now to think +of it,--it struck her so like death!' + +"'What did she say?--what did she do?' + +"'She didn't say much,--"Oh, my God! my God!"--something like that. +The next morning she showed me a letter which she had written to +Margaret.' + +"'To Margaret?' I started up, but fell back again, helpless, with a +groan. + +"'Yes,' said Joseph,--'and it was a letter worthy of the noblest +woman. I wrote another, for I thought Margaret ought to know +everything. It might save her life, and yours, too. In the mean time, +I had got worse news from her still,--that her health continued to +decline, and that her physician saw no hope for her except in a voyage +to Italy. But that she resolutely refused to undertake, until she got +those letters. You know the rest.' + +"'The rest?' I said, as a horrible suspicion flashed upon me. 'You +told me something terrible had happened.' + +"'Yes,--to Flora. But you have heard the worst. She is gone; she is by +this time in Rome.' + +"'Flora gone? But you said she was here.' + +"'_She?_ So _she_ is! But did you think I meant Flora? I +supposed you knew. Not Flora,--but Margaret! Margaret!' + +"I shrieked out, 'Margaret?' That's the last I remember,--at least, +the last I can tell. She was there,--I was in her arms;--she had +crossed the sea, not to save her own life, but mine. And Flora had +gone, and my dreams were true; and the breath and magnetic touch of +love, which infused warm, sweet life into me, and seemed not Flora's, +but Margaret's, were no illusion, and----what more can I tell? + +"From the moment of receiving those letters, Margaret's energies were +roused, and she had begun to regain her health. There is no such +potent medicine as hope and love. It had saved her, and it saved +me. My recovery was sure and speedy. The happiness which had seemed +too great, too dear to be ever possible, was now mine. She was with me +again, all my own! Only the convalescent, who feels the glow of love +quicken the pure pulses of returning health, knows what perfect bliss +is. + +"As soon as I was strong enough to travel, we set out for Italy, the +faithful Joseph accompanying us. We enjoyed Florence, its palaces and +galleries of art, the quaint old churches, about which the religious +sentiment of ages seems to hang like an atmosphere, the morning and +evening clamor of musical bells, the Arno, and the olive-crowned +Tuscan hills,--all so delightful to the senses and the soul. After +Florence, Naples, with its beautiful, dangerous, volcanic environs, +where the ancients aptly located their heaven and hell, and where a +luxurious, passionate people absorbs into its blood the spirit of the +soil, and the fire and languor of the clime. From Naples to Rome, +where we saw St Peter's, that bubble on the surface of the globe, +which the next earthquake may burst, the Vatican, with its marvels of +statuary, the ruined temples of the old gods and heroes, the Campagna, +the Pope, and--Flora. We had but a glimpse of her. It was one night, +at the Colosseum. We had been musing about that vast and solemn pile +by the moonlight, which silvered it over with indescribable beauty, +and at last, accompanied by our guides, bearing torches, we ascended +through dark and broken passages to the upper benches of the +amphitheatre. As we were passing along one side, we saw picturesquely +moving through the shadows of the opposite walls, with the immense +arena between, the red-flaring torches and half-illuminated figures of +another party of visitors. I don't know whether it was instinct, or +acuteness of vision, that suggested Flora; but, with a sudden leap of +the heart, I felt that she was there. We descended, and passed out +under the dark arches of the stupendous ruin. The other visitors +walked a little in advance of us,--two of the number lingering behind +their companions; and certain words of tenderness and passion we +heard, which strangely brought to my mind those nights on the +ocean-steamer. + +"'What is the matter with you?' said Margaret, looking in my face. + +"'Hush!' I whispered,--'there--that woman--is Flora!' + +"She clung to me,--I drew her closer, as we paused; and the happy +couple went on, over the ancient Forum, by the silent columns of the +ruined temples, and disappeared from sight upon the summit of the +Capitoline Hill. + +"A few months later, we heard of the marriage of Flora to an English +baronet; she is now _my Lady_, and I must do her the justice to +say that I never knew a woman better fitted to bear that title. As +for Margaret,--if you will return with me to my home on the Hudson, +after we have finished our hunt after those Western lands, you shall +see her, together with the loveliest pair of children that ever made +two proud parents happy. + +"And here," added Westwood, "we have arrived at the end of our day's +journey; we have had the Romance of the Glove, and now--let's have +some supper." + + + + +TO ----. + + +ON RECEIVING HIS "FEW VERSES FOR A FEW FRIENDS." + + +"(PRINTED, NOT PUBLISHED.)" + + + Well thought! Who would not rather hear + The songs to Love and Friendship sung, + Than those which move the stranger's tongue + And feed his unselected ear? + + Our social joys are more than fame; + Life withers in the public look: + Why mount the pillory of a book, + Or barter comfort for a name? + + Who in a house of glass would dwell, + With curious eyes at every pane? + To ring him in and out again + Who wants the public crier's bell? + + To see the angel in one's way, + Who wants to play the ass's part, + Bear on his back the wizard Art, + And in his service speak or bray? + + And who his manly locks would shave + And quench the eyes of common sense, + To share the noisy recompense + That mocked the shorn and blinded slave? + + The heart has needs beyond the head, + And, starving in the plenitude + Of strange gifts, craves its common food, + Our human nature's daily bread. + + We are but men: no gods are we + To sit in mid-heaven, cold and bleak, + Each separate, on his painful peak, + Thin-cloaked in self-complacency! + + Better his lot whose axe is swung + In Wartburg woods, or that poor girl's + Who by the Ilm her spindle whirls + And sings the songs that Luther sung, + + Than his, who, old and cold and vain, + At Weimar sat, a demigod, + And bowed with Jove's imperial nod + His votaries in and out again! + + Ply, Vanity, thy winged feet! + Ambition, hew thy rocky stair! + Who envies him who feeds on air + The icy splendors of his seat? + + I see your Alps above me cut + The dark, cold sky,--and dim and lone + I see ye sitting, stone on stone, + With human senses dulled and shut. + + I could not reach you, if I would, + Nor sit among your cloudy shapes; + And (spare the fable of the Grapes + And Fox) I would not, if I could. + + Keep to your lofty pedestals! + The safer plain below I choose: + Who never wins can rarely lose, + Who never climbs as rarely falls. + + Let such as love the eagle's scream + Divide with him his home of ice: + For me shall gentler notes suffice,-- + The valley-song of bird and stream, + + The pastoral bleat, the drone of bees, + The flail-beat chiming far away, + The cattle-low at shut of day, + The voice of God in leaf and breeze! + + Then lend thy hand, my wiser friend, + And help me to the vales below, + (In truth, I have not far to go,) + Where sweet with flowers the fields extend. + + + + +THE SINGING-BIRDS AND THEIR SONGS. + + +Those persons enjoy the most happiness, if possessed of a benevolent +heart and favored by ordinary circumstances of fortune, who have +acquired by habit and education the power of deriving pleasure from +objects that lie immediately around them. But these common sources of +happiness are opened to those only who are endowed with genius, or who +have received a certain kind of intellectual training. The more +ordinary the mental and moral organization and culture of the +individual, the more far-fetched and dear-bought must be his +enjoyments. Nature has given us in full development only those +appetites which are necessary to our physical well-being. She has +left our moral appetites and capacities in the germ, to be developed +by education and circumstances. Hence those agreeable sensations that +come chiefly from the exercise of the imagination, which may be called +the pleasures of sentiment, are available only to persons of a +peculiar refinement of mind. The ignorant and rude may be dazzled and +delighted by physical beauty, and charmed by loud and stirring sounds; +but those more simple melodies and less attractive colors and forms +that appeal to the mind for their principal effect act more powerfully +upon individuals of superior culture. + +In proportion as we have been trained to be agreeably affected by the +outward forms of Nature, and the sounds that proceed from the animate +and inanimate world, are we capable of being made happy without +resorting to expensive and vulgar recreations. It ought, therefore, to +be one of the chief points in the education of youth, while teaching +them the still more important offices of humanity, to cultivate and +enliven their susceptibility to the charms of natural objects. Then +would the aspects of Nature, continually changing with the progress of +the seasons and the sounds that enliven their march, satisfy, in a +great measure, that craving for agreeable sensations which leads +mankind away from humble and healthful pursuits to those of a more +artificial and exciting life. The value of such pleasures consists not +so much in their cheapness as in their favorable moral influences, +which improve the heart, while they lead the mind to observations that +pleasantly exercise and develope, without tasking its powers. The +quiet emotions, half musical and half poetical, which are awakened by +listening to the songs of birds, belong to this class of refined +enjoyments. + +But the music of birds, though agreeable to all, conveys positive and +durable pleasure only to those who have learned to associate with +their notes, in connection with the scenes of Nature, a thousand +interesting and romantic images. To many persons of this character it +affords more delight than the most brilliant music of the opera or the +concert. In vain, therefore, will it be said, as an objection, that +the notes of birds have no charm, save that which is derived from +association, and that, considered as music, they do not equal that of +the most simple reed or flageolet. It is sufficient to remark, that +the most delightful influences of Nature proceed from those sights and +sounds that appeal to the imagination and affections through the +medium of slight and almost insensible impressions made upon the eye +and the ear. At the moment when these physical impressions exceed a +certain mean, the spell is broken, and the enjoyment becomes sensual, +not intellectual. How soon, indeed, would the songs of birds lose +their effect, if they were loud and brilliant, like a band of +instruments! It is their simplicity that gives them their charm. + +As a further illustration of this point, it may be remarked that +simple melodies have among all people exercised a greater power over +the imagination than louder and more complicated music. Nature employs +a very small amount of physical sensation to create an intellectual +passion, and when an excess is used a diminished effect is produced. I +am persuaded that the effect of a great part of our sacred music is +lost by an excess of harmony and a too great volume of sound. On the +same principle, a loud crash of thunder deafens and terrifies; but its +low and distant rumbling produces an agreeable emotion of sublimity. + +The songs of birds are as intimately allied with poetry as with +music. The lark has been aptly denominated a "feathered lyric" by one +of the English poets; and the analogy becomes apparent when we +consider how much the song of a bird resembles a lyrical ballad in its +influence on the mind. Though it utters no words, how plainly it +suggests a long train of agreeable images of love, beauty, friendship, +and home! When a young person has suffered any severe wound of the +affections, he seldom fails, if endowed with a sensitive mind, to +listen to the birds as sharers in his affliction. Through them the +deities of the groves seem to offer him their consolation. By +indulging this habit of making companionship with the objects of +Nature, all pleasing sights and sounds gradually become certain +anodynes for his sorrow; and those who have this mental alembic for +turning grief into a poetic melancholy can seldom be reduced to a +state of absolute despondency. Poetry, or rather the poetic sentiment, +exalts all our pleasures and soothes all our afflictions by some +illusive charm, whether it be turned into the channel of religion or +romance. Without this reflection of light from the imagination, what +is the passion of love? and what is our love of beauty and of sweet +sounds, but a mere gravitation? + +The voice of every singing-bird has its associations in the minds of +all susceptible persons who were born and nurtured within the +precincts of its untutored minstrelsy. The music of birds is +modulated in pleasant unison with all the chords of affection and +imagination, filling the soul with a lively consciousness of happiness +and beauty, and soothing it with romantic visions of memory,--of love, +when it was an ethereal sentiment of adoration and not a passion, and +of friendship, when it was a passion and not an expedience,--of dear +and simple adventures, and of comrades who had part in them,--of +dappled mornings, and serene and glowing sunsets,--of sequestered +nooks and mossy seats in the old wood,--of paths by the riverside, and +flowers that smiled a bright welcome to our rambling,--of lingering +departures from home, and of old by-ways, overshadowed by trees and +hedged with roses and viburnums, that spread their shade and their +perfume around our path to gladden our return. By this pleasant +instrumentality has Nature provided for the happiness of those who +have learned to be delighted with the survey of her works, and with +the sound of those voices which she has appointed to communicate to +the human soul the joys of her inferior creation. + +The singing-birds, with reference to their songs, may be divided into +four classes. First, the Rapid Singers, whose song is uninterrupted, +of considerable length, and uttered with fervor, and in apparent +ecstasy. Second, the Moderate Singers, whose notes are slowly +modulated, but without pauses or rests between their different +strains. Third, the Interrupted Singers, who seldom modulate their +notes with rapidity, and make decided pauses between their several +strains, of which there are in general from five to eight or +nine. Fourth, the Warblers, whose notes consist of only one or two +strains, not combined into a song. + +The canary, among foreign birds, and the linnet and bobolink, among +American birds, are familiar examples of the first class; the common +robin and the veery of the second; the wood-thrush, the cat-bird, and +the mocking-bird, of the third; and the blue-bird, the pewee, and the +purple martin, of the fourth class. It may be added, that some birds +are nearly periodical in their habits of singing, preferring the +morning and evening, and occasional periods in other parts of the day, +while others sing almost indifferently at all hours. The greater +number of species, however, are more tuneful in the early morning than +at any other hour. + +June, in this part of the world, is the most vocal month of the +year. Many of our principal songsters do not arrive until near the +middle of May; and all, whether they come early or late, continue in +song throughout the month of June. The bobolink, which is one of the +first to become silent, continues vocal until the second week in +July. So nearly simultaneous is the discontinuance of the songs of +this species, that it might seem as if their silence were +preconcerted, and that by a vote they had, on a certain day, adjourned +over to another year. If an unusually genial day occurs about the +seventh of July, we may hear multitudes of them singing merrily on +that occasion. Should this time be followed by two or three +successive days of chilly and rainy weather, their tunefulness is so +generally brought to a close during this period, that we may not hear +another musical note from a single individual after the seventh. The +songs of birds are discontinued as soon as their amorous dalliances +and the care of their offspring have ceased. Hence those birds that +raise but one brood of young during the season, like the bobolink, are +the first to become silent. + +No one of the New England birds is an autumnal warbler; though the +song-sparrow often greets the fine mornings in October with his lays, +and the shore-lark, after spending the summer in Labrador and about +the shores of Hudson's Bay, is sometimes heard in autumn, soaring and +singing at the dawn of day, while on his passage to the South. The +bobolink, the veery, or Wilson's thrush, the red thrush, and the +golden robin, are silent after the middle of July; the wood-thrush, +the cat-bird, and the common robin, not until a month later; but the +song-sparrow alone continues to sing throughout the summer. The +tuneful season of the year, in New England, embraces a period of about +four months, from the middle of April to the middle of August. + +There are certain times of the day, as well as certain seasons of the +year, when the birds are most musical. The grand concert of the +feathered tribe takes place during the hour between dawn and sunrise. +During the remainder of the day they sing less in concert, though many +species are very musical at noonday, and seem, like the nocturnal +birds, to prefer the hour when others are silent. At sunset there is an +apparent attempt to unite once more in chorus, but this is far from +being so loud or so general as in the morning. The little birds which +I have classed in the fourth division are a very important +accompaniment to the anthem of dawn, their notes, though short, +serving agreeably to fill up the pauses made by the other +musicians. Thus, the hair-bird (_Fringilla Socialis_) has a sharp +and trilling note, without any modulation, and not at all melodious, +when heard alone; but in the morning it is the chief harmonizer of the +whole chorus, and serves, more than any other voice, to give unity and +symphony to the multitude of miscellaneous parts. + +There are not many birds whose notes could be accurately described +upon the gamut. The nearest approach we can make to accuracy is to +give some general idea of their time and modulation. Their musical +intervals can be distinguished but with difficulty, on account of the +rapidity of their utterance. I have often attempted to transcribe some +of their notes upon the musical scale, but I am persuaded that such +sketches can be only approximations to literal correctness. As +different individuals of the same species sing very differently, the +notes, as transcribed from the song of one individual, will never +exactly represent the song of another. If we listen attentively, +however, to a number of songs, we shall detect in all of them a +_theme_, as it is termed by musicians, of which the different +individuals of the species warble their respective variations. Every +song is, technically speaking, a _fantasia_ constructed upon this +theme, from which none of the species ever departs. + +It is very generally believed that the singing-birds are confined to +temperate latitudes, and that the tropical birds have not the gift of +song. That this is an error is apparent from the testimony of +travellers, who speak of the birds in the Sandwich Islands and New +Zealand as singing delightfully, and some fine songsters are +occasionally imported in cages from tropical climates. The origin of +this notion may be explained in several ways. It is worthy of notice +that within the tropics the singing season of different species of +birds does not occur at the same time. One species may be musical in +the spring, another in summer, and others in autumn and winter. When +one species, therefore, has begun to sing, another has ceased, so +that, at whatever time of the year the traveller stops, he hears but +few birds engaged in song. + +In the temperate latitudes, on the contrary, as soon as the birds +arrive, they commence building their nests, and become musical at the +same time. If a stranger from a tropical climate should arrive in this +country in the spring, and remain here during the months of May and +June, he would hear more birds singing together than he ever heard at +once in his own clime; but were he to arrive about the middle of July, +when the greater number of our birds have discontinued their songs, he +would probably, if he knew the reputation of the Northern birds, +marvel a little at their silence. If there are as many birds singing +at one time during the whole year, in the hot climates, as we hear in +this country in the latter half of summer, the greater average would +appear to be on the side of the former. + +It may also be remarked, that the singing-birds of the tropics are not +so well known as those of temperate latitudes which are inhabited by +civilized men. The savages and barbarians, who are the principal +inhabitants of hot countries, are seldom observant of the habits or +the voices of the singing-birds. A musician of the feathered race, as +well as a harpist or violinist, must have an appreciating audience, or +his powers can never be made known to the world. But even with the +same audience, the tropical singing-birds would probably be less +esteemed than songsters of equal merit in the temperate latitudes; +for, amid the stridulous and deafening sounds made by the insects in +warm climates, the notes of birds would be scarcely audible. + +We are still inclined to believe, however, that there is a larger +proportion of musical birds in the temperate than in the torrid zone, +because in the former region there are more of those species that +build low and live among the grass and shrubbery, and it is well known +that the singing-birds are mostly of the latter description. In warm +climates the vegetation consists chiefly of trees and tall vines, +forming together an umbrageous canopy overhead, with but a scanty +undergrowth. In temperate latitudes the shrubbery predominates, +especially in the most northerly parts. Moreover, the grasses that +furnish by their seeds a great proportion of the food of the smaller +birds are almost entirely wanting in the torrid zone. + +The birds that live in trees are remarkable for their brilliant +plumage; those that live upon the ground and in the shrubbery are +plainly dressed. This is a provision of Nature for their protection, +as the ground-birds must have a predominance of tints that resemble +the general hues of the surface of the earth. I do not know a single +brightly-plumed bird that nestles upon the ground, unless the bobolink +may be considered an exception. They are almost invariably colored +like sparrows. The birds that inhabit the trees, on the other hand, +need less of this protection, though the females are commonly of an +olive or greenish yellow, which harmonizes with the general hue of the +foliage, and screens them from observation, while sitting upon the +nest. The male, on the contrary, who seldom sits upon the nest, +requires a plumage that will render him conspicuous to the female and +to the young, after they have left their nest. It is remarkable, that +Nature, in all cases in which she has created a difference in the +plumage of the male and female, has used the hues of their plumage +only for the protection of the mother and the young, for whose +advantage she has dressed the male parent in colors that must somewhat +endanger his own safety. + +The color of the plumage of birds seems to bear less relation to their +powers of song than to their habitats; and as the birds that live in +trees are commonly less tuneful, they are more brilliantly arrayed. +The bird employs his song in wooing his mate, as well as in +entertaining her after she is wedded; and it is not unlikely that +Nature may have compensated those which are deficient in song by +giving them a superior beauty of plumage. As the offices of courtship +devolve entirely upon the males, it is the more necessary that they +should be possessed of conspicuous attractions; but as the task of +sitting upon the nest devolves upon the female, she requires more of +that protection which arises from the conformity of her plumage with +the general hue of the objects that surround her nest. While she is +sitting, the plain hues of her dress protect her from observation; but +when she leaves her nest to seek her companion, she is enabled by his +brilliant colors the more easily to discover him. The male is diligent +in providing for the wants of the offspring, and hence it is important +that his dress should render him conspicuous. When the young birds +have left the nest, upon seeing the flash of his plumage, they +immediately utter their call, and by this note, which might not +otherwise be sounded at the right moment, he detects them and supplies +them with food. Should a bird of prey suddenly come into their +neighborhood, he overlooks the plainly-dressed mother and off-spring, +and gives chase to the male parent, who not only escapes, but at the +same time diverts the attention of the foe from his defenceless +progeny. + +But the birds that build low, either upon the ground or among the +shrubbery, are exposed to a greater number and variety of +enemies. Hence it becomes necessary that the males as well as the +females should have that protection which is afforded by sobriety of +color. Not being made conspicuous by their plumage, they are endowed +with the gift of song, that they may make known their presence to +their mate and their young by their voice. I have often thought that +the song of the bird was designed by Nature for the benefit of the +young, no less than for the entertainment of his mate. The sounds +uttered by birds on account of their young always precede the period +of incubation. The common hen begins to cluck several days before she +begins to sit upon her eggs. In like manner the male singing-bird +commences his song when the pair are making ready to build their +nest. While his mate is sitting, his song reminds her of his presence, +and inspires her with a feeling of security and content, during the +period of her confinement. As soon as the young are hatched, they +begin to learn his voice and grow accustomed to it, and when they fly +from the nest they are prevented by the sound of it from wandering and +getting bewildered. If they happen to fly beyond certain bounds, the +song of the male parent warns them of their distance, and causes them +to turn and draw near the place from which it seems to issue. Thus the +song of the male bird, always uttered within a certain circumference, +of which the nest is the centre, becomes a kind of sentinel voice, to +keep the young birds within prudent limits. + +It is not easy to explain why a larger proportion of the birds that +occupy trees should be destitute of song, except on the supposition +that in such elevated situations the young are more easily guided by +sight than by hearing. Still there are many songsters which are +dressed in brilliant plumage, and of these we have some examples among +our native birds. These, however, are evident exceptions to the +general fact, and we may trace a plain analogy in this respect between +birds and insects. The musical insects are, we believe, invariably +destitute of brilliant plumage. Butterflies and moths do not sing; the +music of insects comes chiefly from the plainly-dressed locust and +grasshopper tribes. + + + + +OUR TALKS WITH UNCLE JOHN. + + +TALK NUMBER ONE. + +We were happy children, Alice and I, when, on Alice's sixteenth +birthday, we persuaded our father, the most indulgent parent in +Cincinnati, that there was no need of our going to school any longer; +not that our education was finished,--we did not even put up such a +preposterous plea as that,--but because Mrs. C. did not intend to send +Laura, and we did not believe any of our set of girls would go back +after the holidays. + +There is no being so facile as an American father, especially where +his daughters are concerned; and our dear father was no exception to +the general rule. So our school education was finished. For the +rest, for the real education of our minds and hearts, we took care of +ourselves. + +How could it be otherwise? Our father, a leading merchant in +Cincinnati, spent his days in his counting-room, and his evenings +buried in his newspapers or in his business calculations, on the +absorbing nature of which we had learned to build with such certainty, +that, when his consent was necessary to some scheme of pleasure, we +preferred our requests with such a nice adjustment of time, that the +answer generally was, "January 3d,--two thousand bales,--yes, my +dear,--and twelve are sixteen,--yes, Alice, don't bother me, child!" +and, armed with that unconscious assent, we sought our mother. + +"Papa says that we may go. Do you think, mamma, that Miss D. can have +our dresses in time?" + +Our dear mother, most faithful and indefatigable in her care for our +bodily wants, what time had she for aught else? With feeble health, +with poor servants, with a large house crowded with fine furniture, +and with the claims of a numerous calling and party-giving +acquaintance,--claims which both my father and herself imagined his +business and her social position made imperative,--what could she do +more than to see that our innumerable white skirts were properly +tucked, embroidered, washed, and starched, that our party dresses were +equal to those which Mrs. C. and Mrs. D. provided for their girls, and +that our bonnets were fashionable enough for Fourth Street? Could she +find time for anything more? Yes,--on our bodily ailments she always +found time to bestow motherly care, watchfulness, and sympathy; of our +mental ills she knew nothing. + +So we cared for ourselves, Alice and I, through those merry, +thoughtless two years that followed,--merry (not happy) in our +Fourth-Street promenades, our Saturday-afternoon assignations at the +dancing-school rooms, our parties and picnics; and merry still, but +thoughtless always, in our eager search for excitement in the novels, +whose perusal was our only literary enjoyment. + +Somehow we woke up,--somehow we groped our way out of our +frivolity. First came weariness, then impatience, and last a +passing-away of all things old and a putting-on of things new. + +I remember well the day when Alice first spoke out her unrest. My +pretty Alice! I see her now, as she flung herself across the foot of +the bed, and, her chin on her hand, watched me combing and parting my +hair. I see again those soft, dark brown eyes, so deep in their liquid +beauty that you lost yourself gazing down into them; again I see +falling around her that wealth of auburn hair of the true Titian +color, the smooth, low forehead, and the ripe, red lips, whose +mobility lent such varying expression to her face. + +At that moment the eyes drooped and the lips trembled with weariness. + +"Must we go to that tiresome party, Kate? We have been to three this +week; they are all alike." + +I looked at her. "Are you in earnest? will you stay at home? I know I +shall be tired to death; but what will Laura C. say? what will all +the girls think?" + +Alice raised herself on her elbow. "Kate, I don't believe it is any +matter what they think. Do we really care for any of them, except to +wish them well? and we can wish them well without being with them all +the time. Do you know, Kate, I have been tired to death of all this +for these three months? It was very well at first, when we first left +school; parties were pleasant enough then, but now"--and Alice sprang +from the bed and seated herself in a low chair at my feet, as, glowing +and eager, she went on, her face lighting with her rapid +speech,--"Kate, I have thought it over and over again, this tiresome, +useless life; it wears me out, and I mean to change it. You know we +may do just as we please; neither papa nor mamma will care. I shall stay +at home." + +"But what will people say?" I put in, feebly. + +Alice's eyes flashed. "You know, Kate, I don't care for 'people,' as +you call them. I only know that I am utterly weary of this petty +visiting and gossiping, this round of parties, concerts, and lectures, +where we meet the same faces. There is no harm in it that I know of, +but it is simply so stupid. If we met new people, it would be +something; but the same girls, the same beaux." + +"And George W. and Henry B., what will they do for partners to-night? +what will become of them?" + +Alice put up her lip. "They will console themselves with Laura C. and +those Kentucky girls from Louisville. For my part, I shall put on my +walking-dress, and go over the river to spend the evening with Uncle +John, and, what is more, I shall ask mamma to let me stay two or three +days." And, suiting the action to the word, she began to dress +hurriedly. + +"You will surely never go without me, Alice?" + +"You will never stay behind, if I do go, Kate," said she, looking back +at me laughingly. "But make haste, I shall gain mamma over in five +minutes; and we must be quick, if we are to reach Uncle John's before +tea-time." + +Uncle John,--even now that long years have passed, so long that it +seems to me as if I had gone into another state of existence, as if I +were not the same person as in those times,--even now the thought of +him makes my heart beat quick and the blood thrill more rapidly +through my veins. He was the delight of my childhood; far better, he +was the comfort and support of my after years. Even as a child, I +knew, knew by some intuitive perception, that Uncle John was not +happy. How soon I learned that he was a disappointed man I cannot +tell; but long before I grew up into womanhood I was conscious that he +had made some mistake in life, that some cloud hung over him. I never +asked, I never talked on the subject, even to Alice; there was always +an understanding between us that we should be silent about that which +each of us felt with all the certainty of knowledge. + +But if Uncle John was unhappy himself, who was there that he did not +make happy? No one who came near him,--from his nieces whom he petted +and spoiled, down to the little negroes who rolled, unrebuked, over +the grass before his window in summer, or woke him on a Christmas +morning with their shrill "Christmas gift, Massa John!" Not that Uncle +John was a busybody, troubling himself about many things, and seeking +out occasions for obtruding his kindnesses. He lived so secluded a +life in the old family-house on the outskirts of Newport, (we were a +Kentucky family,) as to raise the gossiping curiosity of all new +residents, and to call forth the explanatory remark from the old +settlers, that the Delanos were all queer people, but John Delano was +the queerest of them all. + +So Uncle John spent his time between his library and his garden, while +Old Aunt Molly took upon herself the cares of the household, and kept +the pantry always in a condition to welcome the guests, to whom, with +Kentucky hospitality, Uncle John's house was always open. Courteous he +was as the finest gentleman of olden times, and sincerely glad to see +his friends, but I have thought sometimes that he was equally glad to +have them go away. While they were with him he gave them the truest +welcome, leaving garden and books to devote himself to their +entertainment; but I have detected a look of relief on his face as he +shut the gate upon them and sought the shelter of his own little +study, that sanctum which even we children were not allowed to enter +except on special occasions, on a quiet winter evening, or, perhaps, +on as quiet a summer morning. + +Uncle John had not always lived in the old house. We knew, that, after +Grandpapa's death, it had been shut up,--for my father's business +engagements would not allow my mother to reside in it, and Uncle John +had been for years among the Indians in the far Northwest. We had +heard of him sometimes, but we had never seen him, we hardly realized +that he was a living person, till one day he suddenly appeared among +us, rough-looking and uncouth in his hunter's dress, with his heavy +beard and his long hair, bringing with him his multifarious +assortment, so charming to our eyes, of buffalo-robes and elk-horns, +wolf-skins and Indian moccasins. + +He staid with us that winter, and very merry and happy he seemed to us +at first;--looking back upon it now, I should call it, not happiness, +but excitement;--but as the winter passed on, even we children saw +that all was not right with him. He gradually withdrew himself from +the constant whirl of society in our house, and, by the spring, had +settled himself in the old home at Newport, adding to his old +furniture only his books, which he had been all winter collecting, and +the primitive _in_conveniences of his own room, which his rough +Western life had rendered indispensable to him. His study presented a +singular mixture of civilization and barbarism, and its very +peculiarities made it a delight to Alice and me. There were a few rare +engravings on the walls, hung between enormous antlers which supported +rough-looking rifles and uncouth hunting-shirts,--cases of elegantly +bound and valuable books, half hidden by heavy buffalo-robes marked +all over with strange-looking hieroglyphics which told the Indian +_coups_,--study-chairs of the most elaborate manufacture, with +levers and screws to incline them to any, the idlest, inclination, +over the backs of which hung white wolf-skins, mounted, claws and all, +with brilliant red cloth,--and in the corner, on the pretty Brussels +carpet, the prettiest that mamma could find at Shellito's, lay the bag +of Indian weed (Uncle John scorned tobacco) with which he filled his +pipe every evening, and the moccasins which he always wore when at +home. + +In vain did Alice and I spend our eyesight in embroidering slippers +for him; our Christmas gifts were received with a kiss or a stroke of +the head, and then put into Aunt Molly's hands to be taken care of, +while he still wore the rough moccasins, made far up among the +Blackfoot Indians, which he laughingly declared were warmer, cooler, +softer, and stronger than any slippers or boots that civilized +shoemaker ever turned off his last. + +Quiet as it was at the old house, it had always been a source of +happiness to us to be allowed to make a visit to Uncle John. There, +if that were possible, we did more as we pleased than even at home; +there were not even the conventionalities of society to restrain us; +we were in the country, comparatively. And who like Uncle John knew +what real country pleasures were? who like him could provide for every +contingency? who was so full of expedients in those happy gypsying +expeditions which we would entice him into, and which sometimes lasted +for days, nay, weeks? He would mount Alice and myself on two of his +sure-footed little Indian ponies, with which his trader friends always +kept him supplied; and throwing a pair of saddle-bags, filled with +what he called our woman's traps, over his own, he would start with us +for a trip across the country for miles, stopping at the farm-houses +at night, laughing us out of our conventional notions about the +conveniences of lodging, and so forth,--and camping out during the +day, making what we called a continuous picnic. And then the stories +he would tell us of his adventures among the Blackfeet,--of his +trading expeditions,--his being taken prisoner by the Sioux,--his life +in the forts,--till Alice would creep nearer to him in her nervous +excitement, as if to be sure that he was really with her, and then beg +him to go on and tell us something more. Once I asked him how he +happened to go out among the Indians. His face darkened,--"My little +Kate, you must not ask questions,"--and as I turned to Alice, her eyes +were full of tears. She had been looking at him while I spoke, and she +told me afterwards that something about Uncle John's lips made her +cry, they quivered so, and were set afterwards so tight. We never +asked him that question again. + +But the ferry-boat, "The Belle of Newport," has neared the landing +while I have been introducing Uncle John, and the soft summer twilight +saw us wending our way through the town towards the Kentucky hills, +whose rounded outlines were still bright with the evening red. Just +on the rise of the nearest was the Old House,--for it went with us by +no other name,--and at the garden-gate stood Uncle John, his face +brightening as he saw us, while behind him a row of eager faces showed +their wide-stretched mouths and white teeth. + +"Come to spend two or three days, Alice?" said Uncle John, that +evening, as we sat with shaded lamp in the study, his moccasined feet +resting on the window-seat, while he sank into the depths of his +leather-covered Spanish chair. "Why, what has become of the parties +that Aunt Molly heard about in your kitchen on her way to market +yesterday? Where are all our handsome young students that were coming +home for the holidays? Remember, I'll have none of them following you +over here, and disarranging my books by way of showing off their +knowledge." + +Alice laughed. "Not a soul knows where we are, Uncle John, except +mamma, and she promised not to tell. Laura C. has a party to-night, +and she will be provoked enough at our running away; but the truth +is,----well, Uncle John, I am tired of parties; indeed, I am tired of +our way of living, and--and Kate and I thought we would come and ask +you what we ought to do about it." + +Uncle John puckered up his face with a comical expression, and then, +looking out of the window, whistled the Indian buffalo-call. + +Alice sprung up. "Don't whistle that provoking thing, Uncle John! +Indeed, I am thoroughly in earnest,--parties are so tiresome,--all +exactly alike; we always see the same people, or the same sort of +people. There is nothing about them worth having, except the dancing; +and even that is not as good as a scamper over the hills with you and +the ponies. You know we have been going to parties for these two +years; we have seen so much of society, no wonder we are tired of it." + +"Sit down, Alice," said Uncle John; "you do look really in earnest, so +I suppose you must not be whistled at. And you have come all the way +over here this evening to get me to solve Life's problem for you? My +dear, I cannot work it out for myself. You are 'tired of society'? +Why, little one, you have not seen society yet. Suppose I could put +you down to-night in the midst of some European court,--could show you +men whose courage, wit, or learning had made them world-famous,--women +whose beauty, grace, and cultivation brought those world-famous men to +their side, and who held them there by the fascination that +high-breeding knows how to use. Should you talk of sameness then?" + +Alice's eyes sparkled for a moment, then she said,-- + +"Yes, I should tire even of that, after a while, glorious as it would +be at first." + +"Have you reached such sublime heights of philosophy already? Then, +perhaps, I shall not seem to be talking nonsense, when I tell you that +there is nothing in the world of which you would not tire after the +first joy of possession was over, no position which would not seem +monotonous. You do not believe me? Of course not. We all buy our own +experience in life; on one of two rocks we split: either we do not +want a thing after we have got it, or we do not get it till we no +longer want it. Some of us suffer shipwreck both ways. But, Alice, you +must find that out for yourself." + +"Can we not profit by each other's mistakes, Uncle?" + +"No, child. To what purpose should I show you the breakers where my +vessel struck? Do you suppose you will steer exactly in my path? But +what soberness is this? you are not among breakers yet; you are simply +'tired of living';" and Uncle John's smile was too genial to be called +satirical. + +"Tired of not living, I think," replied Alice,--"tired of doing +nothing, of having nothing to do. The girls, Laura and the rest of +them, find so much excitement in what seems to me so stupid!" + +"You are not exactly like 'Laura and the rest of them,' I fancy, my +dear, and what suits them is rather too tame for you. But what do you +propose to do with yourself now that you are beginning to live?" + +"Now you are laughing at me, Uncle, and you will laugh more when I +tell you that I mean to study and to make Kate study with me." + +"Poor Kate!--if you should fancy swimming, shooting, or any other +unheard-of pursuit, Kate would be obliged to swim and shoot with +you. But I will not laugh any more. Study, if you will, Alice; you +will learn fast enough, and, in this age of fast-advancing +civilization, when the chances of eligible matrimony for young ladies +in your station are yearly becoming less and less,--oh, you need not +put up your lip and peep into my bachelor's shaving-glass!--let me +tell you that a literary taste is a recourse not to be despised. Of +course you will study now to astonish me, or to surprise your young +friends, or for some other equally wise reason; but the time may come +when literature will be its own exceeding great reward." + +"Uncle, answer me one thing,--are you as happy here in your quiet +study as you were in your exciting life among the Indians? Do you not +tire of this everyday sameness?" + +"Close questioning, Alice, but I will answer you truly. Other things +being equal, I confess to you that the Indian life was the more +monotonous of the two. I look back now on my twenty years of savage +life and see nothing to vary its dreary sameness; the dangers were +always alike, the excitements always the same, and the rest was a dead +blank. The whole twenty years might be comprised in four words,--we +fought, we hunted, we eat, we slept. No, there is no monotony like +that,--no life so stupid as that of the savage, with his low wants and +his narrow hopes and fears. My life here among my books, which seems +to you so tame, is excitement itself compared with that. Your +stupidest party is full of life, intelligence, wit, when put beside an +Indian powwow. There is but one charm in that wandering life, +Alice,--the free intercourse with Nature; _that_ never tires; but +then you must remember that to enjoy it you must be cultivated up to +it. There needs all the teaching of civilization, nay, the education +of life, to enjoy Nature truly. These quiet hills, these beech +forests, are more to me now than Niagara was at eighteen; and Niagara +itself, which raises the poet above the earth, falls tame on the mind +of the savage. Believe one who knows,--the man of civilization who +goes back to the savage state throws away his life; his very mind +becomes, like the dyer's hand, 'subdued to what it works in.' + +"But I am going out of your depth again, girls," continued he, looking +at our wondering, half-puzzled faces. "Let it go, Alice; Life is a +problem too hard for you to solve as yet; perhaps it will solve +itself. Meantime, we will brighten ourselves up to-morrow by a good +scamper over the hills, and, the next day, if your fancy for study +still holds, we will plan out some hard work, and I will show you what +real study is. Now go to bed; but see first that Aunt Molly has her +sandwiches and gingerbread ready for the morning." + + +TALK NUMBER TWO. + +Uncle John was well qualified to show us what real study was, for in +his early youth he had read hard and long to fit himself for a +literary life. What had changed his course and driven him to the far +West we did not know, but since his return he had brought the +perseverance and judgment of middle life to the studies of his youth, +and in his last ten years of leisure had made himself that rarest of +things among Americans, a scholar, one worthy of the name. + +Under his guidance our studies took life, and Alice threw herself into +them with all the energy of her nature. In vain papa pished and +pshawed, and mamma grieved, and begged John not to spoil the girls by +making bookworms of them; in vain "Laura C. and the rest of them" +entreated us to join this picnic or show ourselves at that party; in +vain the young men professed themselves afraid of us, and the girls +tossed their heads and called us blue-stockings. Alice's answer to all +was, "I like studying; it is a great deal more entertaining than going +to parties; Uncle John's study is pleasanter than Mrs. C.'s parlor, +and a ride on his little Winnebago better fun than dancing." And so +the years went on. We were not out of society,--that could not be in +our house,--but our associates changed; young men of a higher standing +frequented the house; we knew intimately the cultivated women, to +whom, before, we had simply bowed at parties; and mamma and papa grew +quite satisfied. + +Not so Alice; the spirit of unrest was on her again, but this time it +was not because of the weariness of life, but that she was oppressed +by the fulness of her own happiness. She had waked up to life in +waking up to love, and had poured out on Herbert B. the whole wealth +of her heart. There was everything in her engagement to satisfy her +friends, everything to gratify papa and mamma; and if I sometimes +thought Herbert's too feeble a nature to guide hers, or if Uncle John +sometimes talked with or listened to him as if he were measuring his +depth and then went away with an anxious expression of face, who shall +say how much of selfishness influenced us both? for was he not to take +from us the pet and pride of our lives? + +They were to be married in a few weeks, on Alice's twentieth birthday, +and then leave for New York, where Herbert was connected in business +with his father. + +It was on a gloomy December afternoon that Alice came running up to +our room, where I was reading my Italian lesson, and exclaimed,-- + +"Quick, Kate! put away those stupid books, and let us go over to Uncle +John's for the night." + +"Where is Herbert?" + +"Herbert? Nonsense! I have sent him off with orders not to look for me +again till to-morrow, and to-night I mean to pretend that there is no +Herbert in the world. Perhaps this will be my last talk with Uncle +John." + +We walked quickly through the streets, shrouded in the dark +winter-afternoon atmosphere heavy with coal-smoke, the houses on each +side dripping with the fog-drops and looking dirty and cheerless with +the black streaks running from the corners of each window, like tears +down the face of some chimney-sweep or coal-boy, till, reaching the +foot of Ludlow Street, we stood ankle-deep in mud, waiting for the +little steamer, which still ploughed its way through the dark, +sullen-looking water thick with the red mud which the late rise had +brought down, and with here and there heavy pieces of ice floating by. + +"Uncle John will never expect us to-night, Alice." + +"I cannot help it,--I must go; for I shall never be satisfied without +one good talk with him before I leave, and Herbert will never spare me +another evening. Besides, Uncle John will be only too glad to see us +in this suicidal weather, as he will call it." And she sprang upon the +boat, laughing at my woebegone face. + +"You are glad to see us here, Uncle John,--glad we came in spite of +the fog, and sleet, and ice, and Kate's long face. How anybody can +have a long face because of the weather, I cannot understand,--or, +indeed, why there should be long faces at all in the world, when +everything is so gloriously full of life." + +"How many years is it, Alice,--three, I think,--since you were tired +of living, found life so wearisome?" + +"Yes, just about three years since Kate and I ran away from Laura C.'s +party and came over here to ask you to help us out of our stupidity. I +remember it all,--how you puzzled me by telling me that every position +in life had its sameness. Ah, Uncle John, you forgot one thing when +you told me that nothing satisfied us in this world." And Alice looked +up from her little stool, where she sat before the fire at Uncle +John's feet, with the flush of deep feeling coloring her cheeks and +the dewy light of happiness in her eyes. + +"And that one thing, Alice?" + +"You are lying in wait for my answer, to give it that smile that I +hate,--it is so unbelieving and so sad; I will not have you wear it on +your face to-night, Uncle John. You cannot, if I speak my whole heart +out. And why should I not, before you and Kate,--Kate, who is like my +other self, and you, dear Uncle John, who, ever since the time we were +talking about, have been so much to me? Do you know, I never told +anybody before? but all you said that night never left me. I thought +of it so much! Was it true that life was so dissatisfying? You who had +tried so thoroughly, who had gone through such a life of adventure, +had seemed to me really to live, was all as flat and unprofitable to +you as one of our tiresome parties or morning calls? And something in +my own heart told me it was true, something that haunted me all +through my greatest enjoyments, through my studies that I took up +then, and which have been to me, oh, Uncle John, so much more than +ever I expected they would be! Yes, through all that I believed you, +believed you till now, believed you till I knew Herbert." + +"And has Herbert told you better?" + +"Uncle John, you do not know how the whole of life is glorified for +me,--glorified by his love. I do not deserve it; all I can do is to +return it ten-fold; but this I know, that, while I keep it, there can +be nothing tame or dull,--life, everything, is gilded by my own +happiness." + +"And if you lose it?" + +The flush on her face fell. "I should be miserable!--I should not--no, +I could not live any longer!" + +"Alice," said Uncle John, his face losing its half-mocking smile with +which he had been watching her eager countenance, "Alice, did you know +that I had been married?" + +We started. "Married? No. How was it, and when?" + +"It is no matter now, my girls. Some time I may tell you about it. I +should not have spoken of it now, but that I know my little Alice +would not believe a word I am going to tell her, if she thought she +was listening to an old bachelor's croakings. Now I can speak with +authority. You think you could not live without Herbert's love? My +dear, we can live without a great many things that we fancy +indispensable. Nor is it so very easy to die. There comes many a time +in life when it would seem quite according to the fitness of things, +just the proper ending to the romance, to lie down and die; but, +unfortunately, or rather fortunately, dying is a thing that we cannot +do so just in the nick of time; and indeed"--and Uncle John's face +assumed its strange smile, which seemed to take you, as it were, +suddenly behind the scenes, to show you the wrong side of the +tapestry,--"and indeed," he continued, "when I look back on the times +in my life that I should have died, when it was fitting and proper to +die, when I felt that dying would be such a trump card to play, if +only I could manage it, I must say that I am glad now that it was +beyond my power to arrange things according to the melodramatic +rules. As it is, I am alive now. I shake my fist at all the ghosts of +my departed tragedies and say, 'I am worth two of you. I am alive. I +have all the chances of the future in my favor.'" + +Here he caught sight of Alice's wide-opened eyes, and his smile +changed into his own genial laugh, as he kissed her forehead and went +on. + +"That was a little aside, Alice, made to my other self, my +metaphysical man,--not meant at all for my audience. I was meditating +a lecture on the causes of conjugal happiness, but I seem to have +stumbled upon a knot in the very first unwinding of the thread of my +discourse." + +"I'll listen to the lecture, Uncle, though I see but one simple and +all-sufficient cause for my happiness." + +"That Herbert loves you, ha? Know, my pretty neophyte, that happiness, +married happiness especially, does not come from being loved, but from +loving. What says our Coleridge? + + + "'For still the source, not fountain, gives + The daily food on which Love lives.' + + +"And he is right, although you shake your curls. In most marriages, in +all that are not matters of convenience, one party has a stronger +heart, will, character, than the other. And that one loves the most +from the very necessity of his nature, and, loving most, is the +happier. The other falls, after a while, into a passive state, becomes +the mere recipient of love, and finds his or her happiness in +something else, or perhaps does not find it at all." + +"Neither side would satisfy me, Uncle John; I hardly know which fate +would be the more terrible. Do you think I would accept such a +compromise in exchange for all I am living and feeling now? I would +rather be miserable at once than so half-happy." + +"But, my darling, Colin and Chloe cannot spend their whole lives +singing madrigals and stringing daisies. It is not in human nature to +support, for any length of time, such superhuman bliss. The time will +come when Colin will find no more rhymes to 'dove,' and when Chloe +will tire of hearing the same one. It is possible that Herbert will +some time tire of reading Shelley to you,--nay, it is even possible +that the time may come when you will tire of hearing him; it is of +that time I would talk. The present is as perfectly satisfactory to me +as to you and Herbert, though not exactly in the same degree." + +"Well, Uncle, what is your advice to Chloe disillusioned,--if you +insist that such a thing must be?" + +"Simply this, my own dear little child," answered Uncle John, and his +voice took almost a solemn tone in its deep tenderness,--"when that +time comes, as come it must, do not worry your husband with idle +regrets for the past; remember that the husband is not the lover; +remember that your sex love through your imagination, and look always +for that clothing and refining of passion with sentiment, which, with +us, belong only to the poetry and chivalry of youthful ardor. We may +love you as well afterward,--nay, we may love you a great deal +better,--but we cannot take the trouble of telling you so every day; +we expect you to believe it once for all; and you,--you like to hear +it over and over again, and, not hearing it, you begin to fancy it no +longer true, and fall to trying experiments on your happiness. A fatal +error this, Alice. There is nothing that men so often enjoy as the +simply being let alone; but not one woman in a hundred can be made to +believe in such a strange enjoyment. Then the wife becomes +_exigeante_ and impatient, and the husband, after fruitless +attempts to find out what he has done, never suspecting that the real +trouble is what he has left undone, finds her unreasonable, and begins +to harden himself to griefs which he classes, like Miss Edgeworth, +under the head of 'Sorrows of my Lord Plumcake.'" + +"Miserable fate of the nobler sex, Uncle,--disturbed, even in the +sublime heights of philosophical self-possession, by the follies and +unreasonablenesses of the weaker vessel! I suppose you allow men to +live out their natures unrebuked, while women must live down theirs?" + +"Not I, Alice,--but I am by nature a special pleader, and, just now, I +am engaged on Herbert's side of the case. Fee me well, my darling, by +a kiss or a merry look, and bring Herbert up to judgment, and I will +tell him home truths too." + +"Let me hear your argument for the other side, most subtile of +reasoners, and I may, perhaps, be able to repeat them at second-hand, +when occasion calls for them." + +"Don't think of it, my dear! Second-hand arguments are like +second-hand coffee,--the aroma and the strength have disappeared, +never to be brought back again. But if the husband were really here, +and the wife had paid well for properly-administered advice, I should +say to him, 'Do not fancy that you have done everything for your wife +when you have given her house, servants, and clothes; she really wants +a little attention now and then. Try to turn your thoughts away from +your more important affairs long enough to notice the pretty +morning-wrapper or the well-fitting evening-dress which has cost her +some thought for your sake; do not let a change in the furniture or a +new ornament in the parlor go unnoticed till the bill comes in. And +while, of course, you claim from her the most ready sympathy in all +your interests and enthusiasms, give her, once in a great while, say +every year or so, a little genuine interest in the housekeeping trials +or dressmaker grievances that meet her at every turn. + +"Moreover, I would recommend to you, should your wife happen to have +some literary or artistic tastes, not to ignore them entirely because +they do not pay so well as your counting-room accounts do, and are not +so entertaining to you as billiards. I would even indulge her by +sacrificing a whole evening to her, once in a while, even to the +detriment of your own business or pleasure. Depend upon it, it will +pay in the end." + +"Now, Uncle, like Rosalind, you have simply misused your whole sex in +your special pleadings, both for and against. If Herbert were here, I +would appeal to him to know if the time can ever come when what I do +can be uninteresting to him. But I know, for myself, that such a thing +cannot be. You are not talking from your own experience, Uncle?" +added she, suddenly looking up in his face. + +"My dear Alice, were it possible, should it ever seem likely, that my +experience might benefit you, how readily I would lay it open before +you! But those who have lived their lives are like the prophets of +old,--their words are believed only when they are fulfilled. The +meaning of life is never understood till it is past. Like Moses on the +rock, our faces are covered when the Lord passes by, and we see only +his back. But look behind you, my darling!" + +Alice turned suddenly and her face lighted up into the full beauty of +happiness as she saw Herbert standing in the doorway. + +"I hope you have room for me, Mr. Delano," said he, advancing, "for +here I am, weather-bound, as well as Miss Alice and Kate. There is a +drizzling rain falling out-of-doors, and your Kentucky roads are fast +growing impassable for walkers." + +Uncle John put into words the question that Alice's eyes had been +asking so eagerly. + +"Where did you stumble from, my dear fellow,--and at this time of +night, too?" + +"Why, I could not find any one at home on Fourth Street, so I took the +last ferry-boat and came over, on a venture, to try the Kentucky +hospitality, of which we New-Yorkers hear so much; and my stumbling +walk through the mud made me so unpresentable, that I found the way +round the house to Aunt Molly's premises, and left the tracks of my +muddy boots all over her white kitchen, till she, in despair, provided +me with a pair of your moccasins, and, shod in these shoes of silence, +I came quietly in upon you. I do hope you are all glad to see me," he +added, sitting down on the low seat that Alice had left, and looking +up in her face as she stood by her uncle. + +Alice shook her head with a pretty assumption of displeasure, as she +said, "I told you I did not want to see you till to-morrow." But +hardly half an hour had elapsed before she and Herbert had wandered +off into the parlor, and Uncle John and I were left to watch them +through the open door. + +"If he were not so impulsive," said Uncle John, abruptly,--"if he were +not so full of fancies! Kate, you are a wise and discreet little lady, +and we understand each other. Did I say too much?" + +Just then Alice looked back. + +"Chloe is the one who sings madrigals to-night, Uncle; she is going to +read Colin a lesson"; and, sitting down at the piano, she let her +hands run over the keys and burst out joyously into that variation of +Raleigh's pretty pastoral song,-- + + + "Shepherd, what's Love? I prithee tell." + "It is a fountain and a well, + Where pleasure and repentance dwell; + And this is Love, as I've heard tell: + Repentance, repentance, repentance!" + + + +TALK NUMBER THREE. + + +Five years have passed since Alice sat at Uncle John's feet and +listened to his words that gave lessons of wisdom while they seemed +only to amuse; and now she sits again on the low stool, looking up in +his face, while I stand behind him and look down on her, marking the +changes that those years have wrought. She has come back to us, our +own Alice still,--but how different from the impetuous, impulsive girl +who left us five years ago! Her face has lost its early freshness, +though it seems to me lovelier than before, in its matured, womanly +expression; but her eyes, which used to be lifted so eagerly, to +glance so rapidly in their varying expression, are now hidden by their +lashes even when she is talking earnestly; her lips have lost their +mobility, and have even something stern in their fixedness; whilst her +hair, brought down smoothly over her forehead and twisted firmly in +the low knot behind, and her close-fitting widow's dress add to the +sobriety and almost matronliness of her appearance. + +For Alice is a widow now, and has come back to us in her bereavement. +We have known but little of her real self for some years, so guarded +have been her letters; and not until the whole terrible truth burst +upon us, did we do more than suspect that her married life had not +brought the happiness she anticipated. She is talking freely now she +is at home again among her own people. + +"I have sometimes thought, Uncle John, that all you said to me, the +last night I spent here, had some meaning deeper than met the ear. Had +you second sight? Did you foresee the future? Or was there that in +the present which foreshadowed it to you?" + +"I am no prophet, Alice. I spoke only from what I knew of life, and +from my knowledge of your character and Herbert's. But I am yet to +know how my words have been fulfilled." + +"It makes no difference now," said she, slowly, and with a touching +weariness. "And yet," she added, rousing herself, "it would make all +the difference in the world to me, if I could see clearly where it was +that I was to blame. Certainly I must have done wrong; such +wretchedness could not have come otherwise." + +Uncle John drew her hand within his, while he answered calmly,--"It is +very probable you have done wrong, my darling; who of us are wise and +prudent, loving and forbearing, as we should be?" + +"You think so? How glad I am to hear you say so! Yes, I can see it +now; I can see how I did that very thing against which you warned +me. First came the time when Herbert forgot to admire everything which +I did and said, and I--I tried little pouting ways, that I did not +feel. Then they were so successful, that I carried them too far, and +Herbert did not pet me out of them. Then I grew anxious and began to +guess at that truth which was only too clear to me at last, that he +did not love me as I loved him. Next,--oh, Uncle John, how much I was +to blame!--I watched every word and look, gave meanings to things that +had none, asked explanations where Herbert had none to give, and +fairly put him under such restraint that he could neither look nor act +himself. He fretted under it,--who would not?--and then began the +thousand excuses for being away from home, business engagements, +club-meetings, some country-customers of the firm, who must be taken +to the theatre, and, at last, no excuse at all but want of time. I +knew then that his love for me had never been more than a passing +fancy, and, woman-like, I grew proud, shut my heart up from him, +buried myself in my books. I never studied before as I did then, Uncle +John, for I studied to get away from myself, and, looking back, I +wonder even now at what I accomplished. Yes, you were right, books are +fast friends,--and mine would have brought me their own exceeding +great reward, had not my spirit been so bitter. + +"It was then that mamma was so sick and I came home. Did you think me +wonderfully calm, Kate? I think somebody said I showed astonishing +self-control; but, in truth, I was frightened at myself,--I had no +feeling about anything, Mamma's sickness seemed something entirely +removed from me, something which concerned me not in the least. I was +calm because I felt nothing. I wondered then and wonder now that you +did not find me out, for I knew how unlike I was to my former +self. Then mamma got well, and I was not glad; I went back to New +York, and felt no sorrow at parting with you all. + +"But when I got back, oh, Uncle John, I was too late!--too late to do +right, even had I wished it! I don't know,--I made good resolutions on +my way back: Heaven knows if I should have had strength to put them in +practice. But it was all over; not only had I lost Herbert, but he had +lost himself. The first time I saw him he was not himself,--I might as +well say it,--he was drunk. + +"There is no need of going through the rest, Uncle,--you will not ask +it. I think I did everything I could;--I threw away my books; I +devoted myself to making his home pleasant to him; never, no, never, +in my girlish days, did I take half the pains to please him that I did +now to win him from himself. I read to him, I sang to him, I filled +the house with people that I knew were to his taste, I dressed for +him, I let myself be admired by others that he might feel proud of me, +might think me more worthy of admiration,--but all to no +purpose. Sometimes I hoped, but more often I despaired; his fall +seemed to me fearfully rapid, though now the three years seem to have +been interminable. At last I had no hope but that of concealing the +truth from you all. You thought me churlish, Kate, in my answer to +your proposal to spend last winter with me? My darling, I dared not +have you in my house. But it is over now. I knew how that last +horrible attack would end when I sent for papa. He had gone through +two before that, and the doctor told me the third would be fatal. Poor +Herbert!--Uncle John, can I ever forgive myself?" + +Alice looked up with dry and burning eyes into Uncle John's face, over +which the tears were streaming. + +"My child, it is right that you should blame yourself. What sorrow do +we meet in life that we do not in part bring upon ourselves? Who is +there of us who is not wise after time? which of us has not made some +fatal mistake?" + +I felt half indignant that Uncle John did not tell her how much more +to blame, how weak, how reckless Herbert had been; but the calmer +expression which came over Alice's countenance showed me that he was +right, that he best knew her heart. She could not now be just to +herself; she was happier in being unjust. + +We were still and silent for a long time. The light wood-fire on the +hearth crackled and burned to ashes, but it had done its office in +tempering the chill of the autumn evening, and through the half-open +door stole the 'sweet decaying smell' of the fallen leaves, while the +hush of an Indian-summer night seemed to calm our very hearts with its +stillness. + +Uncle John spoke at last. His voice was very gentle and subdued as he +said: + +"I told you once, Alice, that my life should be opened to you, if ever +its errors could be either warning or consolation to you. But who am +I, to judge what beacon-lights we may hold out to each other? There is +as much egotism, sometimes, in silence as in the free speech which +asks for sympathy. Perhaps I have been too proud to lay open my +follies before you and my little Kate." + +Alice looked up, with a touch of her old eagerness, as Uncle John went +on. + +"It was long before you were born, my dear, that, for some college +peccadilloes,--it is so long ago that I have almost forgotten now what +they were,--I was suspended (rusticated we called it) for a term, and +advised by the grave and dignified president to spend my time in +repenting and in keeping up with my class. I had no mind to come +home; I had no wish, by my presence, to keep the memory of my +misdemeanors before my father's mind for six months; so I asked and +gained leave to spend the summer in a little town in Western +Massachusetts, where, as I said, I should have nothing to tempt me +from my studies. I had heard from a classmate what famous shooting and +fishing were to be found there, and I knew something of the beauty of +Berkshire scenery; but I honorably intended to study well and +faithfully, taking only the moderate amount of recreation necessary +for my health. + +"I went, and soon established myself in a quiet farm-house with my +books, gun, and fishing-rod, and had passed there a whole month with +an approving conscience and tolerable success both in studies and +sport, when the farmer announced one morning, that, as he had one +boarder, he might as well take another, and that a New York lady had +been inquiring of his neighbor Johnson, when he was in the city last +week, for some farm-house where they would be willing to take her +cheap for the summer. She could have the best room, and he didn't +suppose she'd be in anybody's way, so he had told Johnson that she +might come, if she would put up with their country fare. + +"She came the next week. She was a widow, some thirty years old, ten +years older than I was. I did not think her pretty,--perhaps +_piquante_, but that was all. In my first fastidiousness, I +thought her hardly lady-like, and laughed at her evident attempts to +attract my notice,--at her little vanities and affectations. But I do +not know; we were always together; I saw no other woman but the +farmer's wife. There were the mountain walks, the trees, the flowers, +the moonlight; she talked so well upon them all! In short, you do not +know, no young girl can know, the influence which a woman in middle +life, if she has anything in her, has over a young man; and she,--she +had shrewdness and a certain talent, and, I think now, knew what she +was doing,--at any rate, I fell madly in love. I knew my father would +never consent to my marrying then; I knew I was ruining my prospects +by doing so; but that very knowledge only made me more eager to secure +her. + +"She was entirely independent of control, being left a widow with some +little property, and threw no obstacles in my way. We were married +there, in that little village, and for a few weeks I lived in a fool's +paradise. + +"I could not tell you--indeed, I would not tell you, if I could--how +by degrees I found out what I had done,--that I had flung away my +heart on a woman who married me simply to secure herself the position +in society which her own imprudence had lost; how, when she found I +had nothing to offer her but a home in my father's house, entirely +dependent upon him, she accused me of having deceived her for the sake +of her own miserable pittance; how she made herself the common talk of +Newport by her dissipation, her extravagance, her affectations; how +her love of excitement led her into such undisguised flirtations, +under the name of friendships, with almost every man she met, that her +imprudences, to call them by no harsher name, made my father insist, +that, for my mother's sake, I should seek another home. + +"I did so, but it was only to go through a repetition of similar +scenes, of daring follies on her part, and reproaches on mine. At +last, desperate, I induced my father to settle on her what would have +been my share of his property on condition that she should return to +New York,--while I, crushed down, mortified, and ashamed to look my +friends in the face, and sick of the wrongs and follies of civilized +life, grasped eagerly at an opportunity to join a fur-trading party, +and buried myself alive in the wilds of the Northwest. + +"I had no object in going there but to escape from my wife and from +myself; but, once there, the charm of that free life took possession +of me; adventure followed adventure; opportunities opened to me, and I +grew to be an influential person, and made myself a home among the +Indians. It is a wild life that the Indian traders live up in that +far-away country, and many a reckless deed is done there which public +opinion would frown upon here. I am afraid I was no better than my +companions; I lived my life and drew from it whatever enjoyment it +would bring; but, at least, I did not brutalize myself as some of them +did; for that I may thank the refining influence of my early +education. Meantime, I was almost lost to my family and, indeed, I +hardly regretted it, for nothing would have brought me back while my +wife lived, and, if I were not to be with my friends, why eat my heart +out with longings for them? So, for nearly twenty years, I lived the +life of adventure, danger, and privation, that draws its only charm +from its independence. + +"At last came a letter from your mother. It found its way to me from +fort to fort, brought up part of the way with the letters to the +troops stationed at our upper forts, then carried by the Indian +runners to the trading-posts of the fur-companies till it reached me +in the depths of the Rocky Mountains. My wife was dead,--she had died +suddenly; my property, all that she had not squandered, (and it was so +tied up by my father's forethought that she could only throw away a +part of it,) was my own again; my sister longed to see me, and +promised me a welcome to her house and heart. I grew restless from +that moment, and, converting into money the not inconsiderable wealth +with which I had surrounded myself in the shape of furs, horses, +buffalo-robes, and so forth, I came down to the States again to begin +life anew, a man of forty-five, my head whitened, and my features +marked before their time from the life of exposure which I had +led. Alice, I, too, was too late. I had dropped out of the tide of +life and progress in my twenty years' seclusion, and, struggle as I +might, I could not retrieve the time lost. The present age knew not of +me,--I had lost my place in it; the thoughts, feelings, habits, of all +around were strange to me; I had been pushed out of the line of march, +and never could I fall into step again. In society, in business, in +domestic life, it was all the same. Trial after trial taught me, at +last, the truth; and when I had learned not only to believe it, but to +accept it, I came home to my father's house, now mine, and made myself +friends of my books,--those faithful ones who were as true to me as if +I had never deserted them. They have brought me content, if not +happiness; and you, Alice, you and Kate, you have filled fully an old +man's heart." + +Alice's tears were dropping fast on Uncle John's hand as she said,-- + +"I will be more to you henceforward than ever before. I have nothing +else to live for now. Kate is the home child; but I--I will stay with +you, and you shall teach me, too, to be contented,--to find my +happiness, as you do, in making the happiness of all around." + +Uncle John passed his other hand over her hair,-- + +"You shall stay with me for the present, my darling,--perhaps as long +as I live. But life is not over for you, Alice. You have youth,--you +have years in store. For you it is not _too late_." + + + + +AN EVENING MELODY. + + + Oh that yon pines which crown the steep + Their fires might ne'er surrender! + Oh that yon fervid knoll might keep, + While lasts the world, its splendor! + + Pale poplars on the wind that lean, + And in the sunset shiver, + Oh that your golden stems might screen + For aye yon glassy river! + + That yon white bird on homeward wing + Soft-sliding without motion, + And now in blue air vanishing + Like snow-flake lost in ocean, + + Beyond our sight might never flee, + Yet onward still be flying; + And all the dying day might be + Immortal in its dying! + + Pellucid thus in golden trance, + Thus mute in expectation, + What waits the Earth? Deliverance? + Ah, no! Transfiguration! + + She dreams of that New Earth divine, + Conceived of seed immortal: + She sings, "Not mine the holier shrine, + But mine the cloudy portal!" + + + + +CHESUNCOOK + + +[Concluded.] + +Early the next morning we started on our return up the Penobscot, my +companion wishing to go about twenty-five miles above the Moosehead +carry to a camp near the junction of the two forks, and look for moose +there. Our host allowed us something for the quarter of the moose +which we had brought, and which he was glad to get. Two explorers from +Chamberlain Lake started at the same time that we did. Red flannel +shirts should be worn in the woods, if only for the fine contrast +which this color makes with the evergreens and the water. Thus I +thought when I saw the forms of the explorers in their birch, poling +up the rapids before us, far off against the forest. It is the +surveyor's color also, most distinctly seen under all circumstances. +We stopped to dine at Ragmuff, as before. My companion it was who +wandered up the stream to look for moose this time, while Joe went to +sleep on the bank, so that we felt sure of him; and I improved the +opportunity to botanize and bathe. Soon after starting again, while +Joe was gone back in the canoe for the frying-pan, which had been +left, we picked a couple of quarts of tree-cranberries for a sauce. + +I was surprised by Joe's asking me how far it was to the Moosehorn. He +was pretty well acquainted with this stream, but he had noticed that I +was curious about distances, and had several maps. He, and Indians +generally, with whom I have talked, are not able to describe +dimensions or distances in our measures with any accuracy. He could +tell, perhaps, at what time we should arrive, but not how far it +was. We saw a few wood-ducks, sheldrakes, and black ducks, but they +were not so numerous there at that season as on our river at home. We +scared the same family of wood-ducks before us, going and returning. +We also heard the note of one fish-hawk, somewhat like that of a +pigeon-woodpecker, and soon after saw him perched near the top of a +dead white-pine against the island where we had first camped, while a +company of peetweets were twittering and teetering about over the +carcass of a moose on a low sandy spit just beneath. We drove the +fish-hawk from perch to perch, each time eliciting a scream or +whistle, for many miles before us. Our course being up-stream, we were +obliged to work much harder than before, and had frequent use for a +pole. Sometimes all three of us paddled together, standing up, small +and heavily laden as the canoe was. About six miles from Moosehead, we +began to see the mountains east of the north end of the lake, and at +four o'clock we reached the carry. + +The Indians were still encamped here. There were three, including the +St. Francis Indian who had come in the steamer with us. One of the +others was called Sabattis. Joe and the St. Francis Indian were +plainly clear Indian, the other two apparently mixed Indian and white; +but the difference was confined to their features and complexions, for +all that I could see. We here cooked the tongue of the moose for +supper,--having left the nose, which is esteemed the choicest part, at +Chesuncook, boiling, it being a good deal of trouble to prepare it. We +also stewed our tree-cranberries, (_Viburnum opulus_,) sweetening +them with sugar. The lumberers sometimes cook them with +molasses. They were used in Arnold's expedition. This sauce was very +grateful to us who had been confined to hard bread, pork, and +moose-meat, and, notwithstanding their seeds, we all three pronounced +them equal to the common cranberry; but perhaps some allowance is to +be made for our forest appetites. It would be worth the while to +cultivate them, both for beauty and for food. I afterward saw them in +a garden in Bangor. Joe said that they were called _ebeemenar_. + +While we were getting supper, Joe commenced curing the moose-hide, on +which I had sat a good part of the voyage, he having already cut most +of the hair off with his knife at the Caucomgomoc. He set up two +stout forked poles on the bank, seven or eight feet high, and as much +asunder east and west, and having cut slits eight or ten inches long, +and the same distance apart, close to the edge, on the sides of the +hide, he threaded poles through them, and then, placing one of the +poles on the forked stakes, tied the other down tightly at the +bottom. The two ends also were tied with cedar bark, their usual +string, to the upright poles, through small holes at short intervals. +The hide, thus stretched, and slanted a little to the north, to expose +its flesh side to the sun, measured, in the extreme, eight feet long +by six high. Where any flesh still adhered, Joe boldly scored it with +his knife to lay it open to the sun. It now appeared somewhat spotted +and injured by the duck shot. You may see the old frames on which +hides have been stretched at many camping-places in these woods. + +For some reason or other, the going to the forks of the Penobscot was +given up, and we decided to stop here, my companion intending to hunt +down the stream at night. The Indians invited us to lodge with them, +but my companion inclined to go to the log-camp on the carry. This +camp was close and dirty, and had an ill smell, and I preferred to +accept the Indians' offer, if we did not make a camp for ourselves; +for, though they were dirty, too, they were more in the open air, and +were much more agreeable, and even refined company, than the +lumberers. The most interesting question entertained at the +lumberers' camp was, which man could "handle" any other on the carry; +and, for the most part, they possessed no qualities which you could +not lay hands on. So we went to the Indians' camp or wigwam. + +It was rather windy, and therefore Joe concluded to hunt after +midnight, if the wind went down, which the other Indians thought it +would not do, because it was from the south. The two mixed bloods, +however, went off up the river for moose at dark, before we arrived at +their camp. This Indian camp was a slight, patched-up affair, which +had stood there several weeks, built shed-fashion, open to the fire on +the west. If the wind changed, they could turn it round. It was +formed by two forked stakes and a cross-bar, with rafters slanted from +this to the ground. The covering was partly an old sail, partly +birch-bark, quite imperfect, but securely tied on, and coming down to +the ground on the sides. A large log was rolled up at the back side +for a headboard, and two or three moose-hides were spread on the +ground with the hair up. Various articles of their wardrobe were +tucked around the sides and corners, or under the roof. They were +smoking moose-meat on just such a crate as is represented by With in +De Bry's "Collectio Peregrinationum," published in 1588, and which the +natives of Brazil called _boucan_, (whence buccaneer,) on which +were frequently shown pieces of human flesh drying along with the +rest. It was erected in front of the camp over the usual large fire, +in the form of an oblong square. Two stout forked stakes, four or five +feet apart and five feet high, were driven into the ground at each +end, and then two poles ten feet long were stretched across over the +fire, and smaller ones laid transversely on these a foot apart. On the +last hung large, thin slices of moose-meat smoking and drying, a space +being left open over the centre of the fire. There was the whole +heart, black as a thirty-two pound ball, hanging at one corner. They +said, that it took three or four days to cure this meat, and it would +keep a year or more. Refuse pieces lay about on the ground in +different stages of decay, and some pieces also in the fire, half +buried and sizzling in the ashes, as black and dirty as an old +shoe. These last I at first thought were thrown away, but afterwards +found that they were being cooked. Also a tremendous rib-piece was +roasting before the fire, being impaled on an upright stake forced in +and out between the ribs. There was a moose-hide stretched and curing +on poles like ours, and quite a pile of cured skins close by. They had +killed twenty-two moose within two months, but, as they could use but +very little of the meat, they left the carcasses on the +ground. Altogether it was about as savage a sight as was ever +witnessed, and I was carried back at once three hundred years. There +were many torches of birch-bark, shaped like straight tin horns, lying +ready for use on a stump outside. + +For fear of dirt, we spread our blankets over their hides, so as not +to touch them anywhere. The St. Francis Indian and Joe alone were +there at first, and we lay on our backs talking with them till +midnight. They were very sociable, and, when they did not talk with +us, kept up a steady chatting in their own language. We heard a small +bird just after dark, which, Joe said, sang at a certain hour in the +night,--at ten o'clock, he believed. We also heard the hylodes and +tree-toads, and the lumberers singing in their camp a quarter of a +mile off. I told them that I had seen pictured in old books pieces of +human flesh drying on these crates; whereupon they repeated some +tradition about the Mohawks eating human flesh, what parts they +preferred, etc., and also of a battle with the Mohawks near Moosehead, +in which many of the latter were killed; but I found that they knew +but little of the history of their race, and could be entertained by +stories about their ancestors as readily as any way. At first I was +nearly roasted out, for I lay against one side of the camp, and felt +the heat reflected not only from the birch-bark above, but from the +side; and again I remembered the sufferings of the Jesuit +missionaries, and what extremes of heat and cold the Indians were said +to endure. I struggled long between my desire to remain and talk with +them, and my impulse to rush out and stretch myself on the cool grass; +and when I was about to take the last step, Joe, hearing my murmurs, +or else being uncomfortable himself, got up and partially dispersed +the fire. I suppose that that is Indian manners,--to defend yourself. + +While lying there listening to the Indians, I amused myself with +trying to guess at their subject by their gestures, or some proper +name introduced. There can be no more startling evidence of their +being a distinct and comparatively aboriginal race, than to hear this +unaltered Indian language, which the white man cannot speak nor +understand. We may suspect change and deterioration in almost every +other particular, but the language which is so wholly unintelligible +to us. It took me by surprise, though I had found so many arrow-heads, +and convinced me that the Indian was not the invention of historians +and poets. It was a purely wild and primitive American sound, as much +as the barking of a _chickaree_, and I could not understand a +syllable of it; but Paugus, had he been there, would have understood +it. These Abenakis gossiped, laughed, and jested, in the language in +which Eliot's Indian Bible is written, the language which has been +spoken in New England who shall say how long? These were the sounds +that issued from the wigwams of this country before Columbus was born; +they have not yet died away; and, with remarkably few exceptions, the +language of their forefathers is still copious enough for them. I felt +that I stood, or rather lay, as near to the primitive man of America, +that night, as any of its discoverers ever did. + +In the midst of their conversation, Joe suddenly appealed to me to +know how long Moosehead Lake was. + +Meanwhile, as we lay there, Joe was making and trying his horn, to be +ready for hunting after midnight. The St. Francis Indian also amused +himself with sounding it, or rather calling through it; for the sound +is made with the voice, and not by blowing through the horn. The +latter appeared to be a speculator in moose-hides. He bought my +companion's for two dollars and a quarter, green. Joe said that it +was worth two and a half at Oldtown. Its chief use is for moccasins. +One or two of these Indians wore them. I was told, that, by a recent +law of Maine, foreigners are not allowed to kill moose there at any +season; white Americans can kill them only at a particular season, but +the Indians of Maine at all seasons. The St. Francis Indian +accordingly asked my companion for a _wighiggin_, or bill, to +show, since he was a foreigner. He lived near Sorel. I found that he +could write his name very well, _Tahmunt Swasen_. One Ellis, an +old white man of Guilford, a town through which we passed, not far +from the south end of Moosehead, was the most celebrated moose-hunter +of those parts. Indians and whites spoke with equal respect of +him. Tahmunt said, that there were more moose here than in the +Adirondack country in New York, where he had hunted; that three years +before there were a great many about, and there were a great many now +in the woods, but they did not come out to the water. It was of no use +to hunt them at midnight,--they would not come out then. I asked +Sabattis, after he came home, if the moose never attacked him. He +answered, that you must not fire many times so as to mad him. "I fire +once and hit him in the right place, and in the morning I find him. He +won't go far. But if you keep firing, you mad him. I fired once five +bullets, every one through the heart, and he did not mind 'em at all; +it only made him more mad." I asked him if they did not hunt them with +dogs. He said, that they did so in winter, but never in the summer, +for then it was of no use; they would run right off straight and +swiftly a hundred miles. + +Another Indian said, that the moose, once scared, would run all day. A +dog will hang to their lips, and be carried along till he is swung +against a tree and drops off. They cannot run on a "glaze," though +they can run in snow four feet deep; but the caribou can run on +ice. They commonly find two or three moose together. They cover +themselves with water, all but their noses, to escape flies. He had +the horns of what he called "the black moose that goes in low lands." +These spread three or four feet. The "red moose" was another kind, +"running on mountains," and had horns which spread six feet. Such were +his distinctions. Both can move their horns. The broad flat blades are +covered with hair, and are so soft, when the animal is alive, that you +can run a knife through them. They regard it as a good or bad sign, if +the horns turn this way or that. His caribou horns had been gnawed by +mice in his wigwam, but he thought that the horns neither of the moose +nor of the caribou were ever gnawed while the creature was alive, as +some have asserted. An Indian, whom I met after this at Oldtown, who +had carried about a bear and other animals of Maine to exhibit, told +me that thirty years ago there were not so many moose in Maine as now; +also, that the moose were very easily tamed, and would come back when +once fed, and so would deer, but not caribou. The Indians of this +neighborhood are about as familiar with the moose as we are with the +ox, having associated with them for so many generations. Father +Rasles, in his Dictionary of the Abenaki Language, gives not only a +word for the male moose, (_aianbe_) and another for the female, +(_herar_,) but for the bone which is in the middle of the heart +of the moose (!), and for his left hind-leg. + +There were none of the small deer up there; they are more common about +the settlements. One ran into the city of Bangor two years before, and +jumped through a window of costly plate glass, and then into a mirror, +where it thought it recognized one of its kind, and out again, and so +on, leaping over the heads of the crowd, until it was captured. This +the inhabitants speak of as the deer that went a-shopping. The +last-mentioned Indian spoke of the _lunxus_ or Indian devil, +(which I take to be the cougar, and not the _Gulo luscus_,) as +the only animal in Maine which man need fear; it would follow a man, +and did not mind a fire. He also said, that beavers were getting to be +pretty numerous again, where we went, but their skins brought so +little now that it was not profitable to hunt them. + +I had put the ears of our moose, which were ten inches long, to dry +along with the moose-meat over the fire, wishing to preserve them; but +Sabattis told me that I must skin and cure them, else the hair would +all come off. He observed, that they made tobacco-pouches of the skins +of their ears, putting the two together inside to inside. I asked him +how he got fire; and he produced a little cylindrical box of +friction-matches. He also had flints and steel, and some punk, which +was not dry; I think it was from the yellow birch. "But suppose you +upset, and all these and your powder get wet." "Then," said he, "we +wait till we get to where there is some fire." I produced from my +pocket a little vial, containing matches, stoppled water-tight, and +told him, that, though we were upset, we should still have some dry +matches; at which he stared without saying a word. + +We lay awake thus a long while talking, and they gave us the meaning +of many Indian names of lakes and streams in the vicinity,--especially +Tahmunt. I asked the Indian name of Moosehead Lake. Joe answered, +_Sebamook_; Tahmunt pronounced it _Sebemook_. When I asked +what it meant, they answered, Moosehead Lake. At length, getting my +meaning, they alternately repeated the word over to themselves, as a +philologist might,--_Sebamook_,--_Sebamook_,--now and then +comparing notes in Indian; for there was a slight difference in their +dialects; and finally Tahmunt said, "Ugh! I know,"--and he rose up +partly on the moose-hide,--"like as here is a place, and there is a +place," pointing to different parts of the hide, "and you take water +from there and fill this, and it stays here; that is _Sebamook_." +I understood him to mean that it was a reservoir of water which did +not run away, the river coming in on one side and passing out again +near the same place, leaving a permanent bay. Another Indian said, +that it meant Large-Bay Lake, and that _Sebago_ and _Sebec_, +the names of other lakes, were kindred words, meaning large open +water. Joe said that _Seboois_ meant Little River. I observed +their inability, often described, to convey an abstract idea. Having +got the idea, though indistinctly, they groped about in vain for words +with which to express it. Tahmunt thought that the whites called it +Moosehead Lake, because Mount Kineo, which commands it, is shaped like +a moose's head, and that Moose River was so called "because the +mountain points right across the lake to its mouth." John Josselyn, +writing about 1673, says, "Twelve miles from Casco Bay, and passable +for men and horses, is a lake, called by the Indians Sebug. On the +brink thereof, at one end, is the famous rock, shaped like a moose +deer or helk, diaphanous, and called the Moose Rock." He appears to +have confounded Sebamook with Sebago, which is nearer, but has no +"diaphanous" rock on its shore. + +I give more of their definitions, for what they are worth,--partly +_because_ they differ sometimes from the commonly received ones. They +never analyzed these words before. After long deliberation and +repeating of the word, for it gave much trouble, Tahmunt said that +_Chesuncook_ meant a place where many streams emptied in (?), and he +enumerated them,--Penobscot, Umbazookskus, Cusabesex, Red Brook, +etc.--"_Caucomgomoc_,--what does that mean?" "What are those +large white birds?" he asked. "Gulls," said I. "Ugh! Gull +Lake."--_Pammadumcook_, Joe thought, meant the Lake with Gravelly +Bottom or Bed.--_Kenduskeag_, Tahmunt concluded at last, after asking +if birches went up it, for he said that he was not much acquainted +with it, meant something like this: "You go up Penobscot till you come +to _Kenduskeag_, and you go by, you don't turn up there. That is +_Kenduskeag_." (?) Another Indian, however, who knew the river better, +told us afterward that it meant Little Eel River.--_Mattawamkeag_ was +a place where two rivers meet. (?)--_Penobscot_ was Rocky River. One +writer says, that this was "originally the name of only a section of +the main channel, from the head of the tide-water to a short distance +above Oldtown." + +A very intelligent Indian, whom we afterward met, son-in-law of +Neptune, gave us also these other definitions:--_Umbazookskus_, Meadow +Stream; _Millinoket_, Place of Islands; _Aboljacarmegus_, Smooth-Ledge +Falls (and Dead-Water); _Aboljacarmeguscook_, the stream emptying in; +(the last was the word he gave when I asked about _Aboljacknagesic_, +which he did not recognize;) _Mattahumkeag_, Sand-Creek Pond; +_Piscataquis_, Branch of a River. + +I asked our hosts what _Musketaquid_, the Indian name of Concord, +Mass., meant; but they changed it to _Musketicook_, and repeated +that, and Tahmunt said that it meant Dead Stream, which is probably +true. _Cook_ appears to mean stream, and perhaps _quid_ +signifies the place or ground. When I asked the meaning of the names +of two of our hills, they answered that they were another language. As +Tahmunt said that he traded at Quebec, my companion inquired the +meaning of the word _Quebec_, about which there has been so much +question. He did not know, but began to conjecture. He asked what +those great ships were called that carried soldiers. "Men-of-war," we +answered. "Well," he said, "when the English ships came up the river, +they could not go any further, it was so narrow there; they must go +back,--go-back,--that's Que-bec." I mention this to show the value of +his authority in the other cases. + +Late at night the other two Indians came home from moose-hunting, not +having been successful, aroused the fire again, lighted their pipes, +smoked awhile, took something strong to drink, and ate some +moose-meat, and, finding what room they could, lay down on the +moose-hides; and thus we passed the night, two white men and four +Indians, side by side. + +When I awoke in the morning the weather was drizzling. One of the +Indians was lying outside, rolled in his blanket, on the opposite side +of the fire, for want of room. Joe had neglected to awake my +companion, and he had done no hunting that night. Tahmunt was making a +cross-bar for his canoe with a singularly shaped knife, such as I have +since seen other Indians using. The blade was thin, about three +quarters of an inch wide, and eight or nine inches long, but curved +out of its plane into a hook, which he said made it more convenient to +shave with. As the Indians very far north and northwest use the same +kind of knife, I suspect that it was made according to an aboriginal +pattern, though some white artisans may use a similar one. The Indians +baked a loaf of flour bread in a spider on its edge before the fire +for their breakfast; and while my companion was making tea, I caught a +dozen sizable fishes in the Penobscot, two kinds of sucker and one +trout. After we had breakfasted by ourselves, one of our bedfellows, +who had also breakfasted, came along, and, being invited, took a cup +of tea, and finally, taking up the common platter, licked it +clean. But he was nothing to a white fellow, a lumberer, who was +continually stuffing himself with the Indians' moose-meat, and was the +butt of his companions accordingly. He seems to have thought that it +was a feast "to eat all." It is commonly said that the white man +finally surpasses the Indian on his own ground, and it was proved true +in this case. I cannot swear to his employment during the hours of +darkness, but I saw him at it again as soon as it was light, though he +came a quarter of a mile to his work. + +The rain prevented our continuing any longer in the woods; so giving +some of our provisions and utensils to the Indians, we took leave of +them. This being the steamer's day, I set out for the lake at once. At +the carry-man's camp I saw many little birds, brownish and yellowish, +with some white tail-feathers, hopping on the wood-pile, in company +with the slate-colored snow-bird, (_Fringilla hiemalis_,) but +more familiar than they. The lumberers said that they came round their +camps, and they gave them a vulgar name. Their simple and lively note, +which was heard in all the woods, was very familiar to me, though I +had never before chanced to see the bird while uttering it, and it +interested me not a little, because I had had many a vain chase in a +spring-morning in the direction of that sound, in order to identify +the bird. On the 28th of the next month, (October,) I saw in my yard, +in a drizzling day, many of the same kind of birds flitting about amid +the weeds, and uttering a faint _chip_ merely. There was one +full-plumaged Yellow-crowned Warbler (_Sylvia coronata_) among +them, and I saw that the others were the young birds of that +season. They had followed me from Moosehead and the North. I have +since frequently seen the full-plumaged ones while uttering that note +in the spring. + +I walked over the carry alone and waited at the head of the lake. An +eagle, or some other large bird, flew screaming away from its perch by +the shore at my approach. For an hour after I reached the shore there +was not a human being to be seen, and I had all that wide prospect to +myself. I thought that I heard the sound of the steamer before she +came in sight on the open lake. I noticed at the landing, when the +steamer came in, one of our bedfellows, who had been a-moose-hunting +the night before, now very sprucely dressed in a clean white shirt and +fine black pants, a true Indian dandy, who had evidently come over the +carry to show himself to any arrivers on the north shore of Moosehead +Lake, just as New York dandies take a turn up Broadway and stand on +the steps of a hotel. + +Midway the lake we took on board two manly-looking middle-aged men, +with their _bateau_, who had been exploring for six weeks as far +as the Canada line, and had let their beards grow. They had the skin +of a beaver, which they had recently caught, stretched on an oval +hoop, though the fur was not good at that season. I talked with one of +them, telling him that I had come all this distance partly to see +where the white-pine, the Eastern stuff of which our houses are built, +grew, but that on this and a previous excursion into another part of +Maine I had found it a scarce tree; and I asked him where I must look +for it. With a smile, he answered, that he could hardly tell +me. However, he said that he had found enough to employ two teams the +next winter in a place where there was thought to be none left. What +was considered a "tip-top" tree now was not looked at twenty years +ago, when he first went into the business; but they succeeded very +well now with what was considered quite inferior timber then. The +explorer used to cut into a tree higher and higher up, to see if it +was false-hearted, and if there was a rotten heart as big as his arm, +he let it alone; but now they cut such a tree, and sawed it all around +the rot, and it made the very best of boards, for in such a case they +were never shaky. + +One connected with lumbering operations at Bangor told me that the +largest pine belonging to his firm, cut the previous winter, "scaled" +in the woods four thousand five hundred feet, and was worth ninety +dollars in the log at the Bangor boom in Oldtown. They cut a road +three and a half miles long for this tree alone. He thought that the +principal locality for the white-pine that came down the Penobscot now +was at the head of the East Branch and the Allegash, about Webster +Stream and Eagle and Chamberlain Lakes. Much timber has been stolen +from the public lands. (Pray, what kind of forest-warden is the Public +itself?) I heard of one man who, having discovered some particularly +fine trees just within the boundaries of the public lands, and not +daring to employ an accomplice, cut them down, and by means of block +and tackle, without cattle, tumbled them into a stream, and so +succeeded in getting off with them without the least assistance. +Surely, stealing pine-trees in this way is not so mean as robbing +hen-roosts. + +We reached Monson that night, and the next day rode to Bangor, all the +way in the rain again, varying our route a little. Some of the taverns +on this road, which were particularly dirty, were plainly in a +transition state from the camp to the house. + + * * * * * + +The next forenoon we went to Oldtown. One slender old Indian on the +Oldtown shore, who recognized my companion, was full of mirth and +gestures, like a Frenchman. A Catholic priest crossed to the island in +the same _bateau_ with us. The Indian houses are framed, mostly of one +story, and in rows one behind another, at the south end of the island, +with a few scattered ones. I counted about forty, not including the +church and what my companion called the council-house. The last, which +I suppose is their town-house, was regularly framed and shingled like +the rest. There were several of two stories, quite neat, with +front-yards inclosed, and one at least had green blinds. Here and +there were moose-hides stretched and drying about them. There were no +cart-paths, nor tracks of horses, but foot-paths; very little land +cultivated, but an abundance of weeds, indigenous and naturalized; +more introduced weeds than useful vegetables, as the Indian is said to +cultivate the vices rather than the virtues of the white man. Yet +this village was cleaner than I expected, far cleaner than such Irish +villages as I have seen. The children were not particularly ragged nor +dirty. The little boys met us with bow in hand and arrow on string, +and cried, "Put up a cent." Verily, the Indian has but a feeble hold +on his bow now; but the curiosity of the white man is insatiable, and +from the first he has been eager to witness this forest +accomplishment. That elastic piece of wood with its feathered dart, so +sure to be unstrung by contact with civilization, will serve for the +type, the coat-of-arms of the savage. Alas for the Hunter Race! the +white man has driven off their game, and substituted a cent in its +place. I saw an Indian woman washing at the water's edge. She stood on +a rock, and, after dipping the clothes in the stream, laid them on the +rock, and beat them with a short club. In the grave-yard, which was +crowded with graves, and overrun with weeds, I noticed an inscription +in Indian, painted on a wooden grave-board. There was a large wooden +cross on the island. + +Since my companion knew him, we called on Governor Neptune, who +lived in a little "ten-footer," one of the humblest of them +all. Personalities are allowable in speaking of public men, therefore +I will give the particulars of our visit. He was a-bed. When we +entered the room, which was one half of the house, he was sitting on +the side of the bed. There was a clock hanging in one corner. He had +on a black frock-coat, and black pants, much worn, white cotton shirt, +socks, a red silk handkerchief about his neck, and a straw hat. His +black hair was only slightly grayed. He had very broad cheeks, and his +features were decidedly and refreshingly different from those of any +of the upstart Native American party whom I have seen. He was no +darker than many old white men. He told me that he was eighty-nine; +but he was going a-moose-hunting that fall, as he had been the +previous one. Probably his companions did the hunting. We saw various +squaws dodging about. One sat on the bed by his side and helped him +out with his stories. They were remarkably corpulent, with smooth, +round faces, apparently full of good-humor. Certainly our much-abused +climate had not dried up their adipose substance. While we were +there,--for we stayed a good while,--one went over to Oldtown, +returned and cut out a dress, which she had bought, on another bed in +the room. The Governor said, that "he could remember when the moose +were much larger; that they did not use to be in the woods, but came +out of the water, as all deer did. Moose was whale once. Away down +Merrimack way, a whale came ashore in a shallow bay. Sea went out and +left him, and he came up on land a moose. What made them know he was a +whale was, that at first, before he began to run in bushes, he had no +bowels inside, but"----and then the squaw who sat on the bed by his +side, as the Governor's aid, and had been putting in a word now and +then and confirming the story, asked me what we called that soft thing +we find along the sea-shore. "Jelly-fish," I suggested. "Yes," said +he, "no bowels, but jelly-fish." + +There may be some truth in what he said about the moose growing larger +formerly; for the quaint John Josselyn, a physician who spent many +years in this very district of Maine in the seventeenth century, says, +that the tips of their horns "are sometimes found to be two fathoms +asunder,"--and he is particular to tell us that a fathom is six +feet,--"and [they are] in height, from the toe of the forefoot to the +pitch of the shoulder, twelve foot, both which hath been taken by some +of my sceptique readers to be monstrous lies"; and he adds,--"There +are certain transcendentia in every creature, which are the indelible +character of God, and which discover God." This is a greater dilemma +to be caught in than is presented by the cranium of the young Bechuana +ox, apparently another of the _transcendentia_, in the collection +of Thomas Steel, Upper Brook Street, London, whose "entire length of +horn, from tip to tip, along the curve, is 13 ft. 5 in.; distance +(straight) between the tips of the horns, 8 ft. 8-1/2 in." However, the +size both of the moose and the cougar, as I have found, is generally +rather underrated than overrated, and I should be inclined to add to +the popular estimate a part of what I subtracted from Josselyn's. + +But we talked mostly with the Governor's son-in-law, a very sensible +Indian; and the Governor, being so old and deaf, permitted himself to +be ignored, while we asked questions about him. The former said, that +there were two political parties among them,--one in favor of schools, +and the other opposed to them, or rather they did not wish to resist +the priest, who was opposed to them. The first had just prevailed at +the election and sent their man to the legislature. Neptune and +Aitteon and he himself were in favor of schools. He said, "If Indians +got learning, they would keep their money." When we asked where Joe's +father, Aitteon, was, he knew that he must be at Lincoln, though he +was about going a-moose-hunting, for a messenger had just gone to him +there to get his signature to some papers. I asked Neptune if they had +any of the old breed of dogs yet. He answered, "Yes." "But that," said +I, pointing to one that had just come in, "is a Yankee dog." He +assented. I said that he did not look like a good one. "Oh, yes!" he +said, and he told, with much gusto, how, the year before, he had +caught and held by the throat a wolf. A very small black puppy rushed +into the room and made at the Governor's feet, as he sat in his +stockings with his legs dangling from the bedside. The Governor rubbed +his hands and dared him to come on, entering into the sport with +spirit. Nothing more that was significant transpired, to my knowledge, +during this interview. This was the first time that I ever called on a +governor, but, as I did not ask for an office, I can speak of it with +the more freedom. + +An Indian who was making canoes behind a house, looking up pleasantly +from his work,--for he knew my companion,--said that his name was Old +John Pennyweight. I had heard of him long before, and I inquired after +one of his contemporaries, Joe Four-pence-ha'penny; but, alas! he no +longer circulates. I made a faithful study of canoe-building, and I +thought that I should like to serve an apprenticeship at that trade +for one season, going into the woods for bark with my "boss," making +the canoe there, and returning in it at last. + +While the _bateau_ was coming over to take us off, I picked up +some fragments of arrow-heads on the shore, and one broken stone +chisel, which were greater novelties to the Indians than to me. After +this, on Old Fort Hill, at, the bend of the Penobscot, three miles +above Bangor, looking for the site of an Indian town which some think +stood thereabouts, I found more arrow-heads, and two little dark and +crumbling fragments of Indian earthenware, in the ashes of their +fires. The Indians on the Island appeared to live quite happily and +to be well treated by the inhabitants of Oldtown. + +We visited Veazie's mills, just below the Island, where were sixteen +sets of saws,--some gang saws, sixteen in a gang, not to mention +circular saws. On one side, they were hauling the logs up an +inclined plane by water-power; on the other, passing out the boards, +planks, and sawed timber, and forming them into rafts. The trees were +literally drawn and quartered there. In forming the rafts, they use +the lower three feet of hard-wood saplings, which have a crooked and +knobbed butt-end, for bolts, passing them up through holes bored in +the corners and sides of the rafts, and keying them. In another +apartment they were making fence-slats, such as stand all over New +England, out of odds and ends,--and it may be that I saw where the +picket-fence behind which I dwell at home came from. I was surprised +to find a boy collecting the long edgings of boards as fast as cut +off, and thrusting them down a hopper, where they were _ground +up_ beneath the mill, that they might be out of the way; otherwise +they accumulate in vast piles by the side of the building, increasing +the danger from fire, or, floating off, they obstruct the river. This +was not only a saw-mill, but a grist-mill, then. The inhabitants of +Oldtown, Stillwater, and Bangor cannot suffer for want of +kindling-stuff, surely. Some get their living exclusively by picking +up the drift-wood and selling it by the cord in the winter. In one +place I saw where an Irishman, who keeps a team and a man for the +purpose, had covered the shore for a long distance with regular piles, +and I was told that he had sold twelve hundred dollars' worth in a +year. Another, who lived by the shore, told me that he got all the +material of his out-buildings and fences from the river; and in that +neighborhood I perceived that this refuse wood was frequently used +instead of sand to fill hollows with, being apparently cheaper than +dirt. + +I got my first clear view of Katadn, on this excursion, from a hill +about two miles northwest of Bangor, whither I went for this +purpose. After this I was ready to return to Massachusetts. + + * * * * * + +Humboldt has written an interesting chapter on the primitive forest, +but no one has yet described for me the difference between that wild +forest which once occupied our oldest townships, and the tame one +which I find there to-day. It is a difference which would be worth +attending to. The civilized man not only clears the land permanently +to a great extent, and cultivates open fields, but he tames and +cultivates to a certain extent the forest itself. By his mere +presence, almost, he changes the nature of the trees as no other +creature does. The sun and air, and perhaps fire, have been +introduced, and grain raised where it stands. It has lost its wild, +damp, and shaggy look, the countless fallen and decaying trees are +gone, and consequently that thick coat of moss which lived on them is +gone too. The earth is comparatively bare and smooth and dry. The +most primitive places left with us are the swamps, where the spruce +still grows shaggy with usnea. The surface of the ground in the Maine +woods is everywhere spongy and saturated with moisture. I noticed that +the plants which cover the forest floor there are such as are commonly +confined to swamps with us,--the _Clintonia borealis_, orchises, +creeping snowberry, and others; and the prevailing aster there is the +_Aster acuminatus_, which with us grows in damp and shady +woods. The asters _cordifolias_ and _macrophyllus_ also are +common, asters of little or no color, and sometimes without petals. I +saw no soft, spreading, second-growth white-pines, with smooth bark, +acknowledging the presence of the wood-chopper, but even the young +white-pines were all tall and slender rough-barked trees. + +Those Maine woods differ essentially from ours. There you are never +reminded that the wilderness which you are threading is, after all, +some villager's familiar wood-lot, some widow's thirds, from which her +ancestors have sledded fuel for generations, minutely described in +some old deed which is recorded, of which the owner has got a plan +too, and old bound-marks may be found every forty rods, if you will +search. 'Tis true, the map may inform you that you stand on land +granted by the State to some academy, or on Bingham's purchase; but +these names do not impose on you, for you see nothing to remind you of +the academy or of Bingham. What were the "forests" of England to +these? One writer relates of the Isle of Wight, that in Charles the +Second's time "there were woods in the island so complete and +extensive, that it is said a squirrel might have travelled in several +parts many leagues together on the top of the trees." If it were not +for the rivers, (and he might go round their heads,) a squirrel could +here travel thus the whole breadth of the country. + +We have as yet had no adequate account of a primitive pine-forest. I +have noticed that in a physical atlas lately published in +Massachusetts, and used in our schools, the "wood land" of North +America is limited almost solely to the valleys of the Ohio and some +of the Great Lakes, and the great pine-forests of the globe are not +represented. In our vicinity, for instance, New Brunswick and Maine +are exhibited as bare as Greenland. It may be that the children of +Greenville, at the foot of Moosehead Lake, who surely are not likely +to be scared by an owl, are referred to the valley of the Ohio to get +an idea of a forest; but they would not know what to do with their +moose, bear, caribou, beaver, etc., there. Shall we leave it to an +Englishman to inform us, that "in North America, both in the United +States and Canada, are the most extensive pine-forests in the world"? +The greater part of New Brunswick, the northern half of Maine, and +adjacent parts of Canada, not to mention the northeastern part of New +York and other tracts further off, are still covered with an almost +unbroken pine-forest. + +But Maine, perhaps, will soon be where Massachusetts is. A good part +of her territory is already as bare and common-place as much of our +neighborhood, and her villages generally are not so well shaded as +ours. We seem to think that the earth must go through the ordeal of +sheep-pasturage before it is habitable by man. Consider Nahant, the +resort of all the fashion of Boston,--which peninsula I saw but +indistinctly in the twilight, when I steamed by it, and thought that +it was unchanged since the discovery. John Smith described it in 1614 +as "the Mattahunts, two pleasant isles of groves, gardens, and +cornfields"; and others tell us that it was once well wooded, and even +furnished timber to build the wharves of Boston. Now it is difficult +to make a tree grow there, and the visitor comes away with a vision of +Mr. Tudor's ugly fences a rod high, designed to protect a few +pear-shrubs. And what are we coming to in our Middlesex towns?--a +bald, staring town-house, or meeting-house, and a bare liberty-pole, +as leafless as it is fruitless, for all I can see. We shall be obliged +to import the timber for the last, hereafter, or splice such sticks as +we have;--and our ideas of liberty are equally mean with these. The +very willow-rows lopped every three years for fuel or powder,--and +every sizable pine and oak, or other forest tree, cut down within the +memory of man! As if individual speculators were to be allowed to +export the clouds out of the sky, or the stars out of the firmament, +one by one. We shall be reduced to gnaw the very crust of the earth +for nutriment. + +They have even descended to smaller game. They have lately, as I hear, +invented a machine for chopping up huckleberry-bushes fine, and so +converting them into fuel!--bushes which, for fruit alone, are worth +all the pear-trees in the country many times over. (I can give you a +list of the three best kinds, if you want it.) At this rate, we shall +all be obliged to let our beards grow at least, if only to hide the +nakedness of the land and make a sylvan appearance. The farmer +sometimes talks of "brushing up," simply as if bare ground looked +better than clothed ground, than that which wears its natural +vesture,--as if the wild hedges, which, perhaps, are more to his +children than his whole farm beside, were _dirt_. I know of one +who deserves to be called the Tree-hater, and, perhaps, to leave this +for a new patronymic to his children. You would think that he had +been warned by an oracle that he would be killed by the fall of a +tree, and so was resolved to anticipate them. The journalists think +that they cannot say too much in favor of such "improvements" in +husbandry; it is a safe theme, like piety; but as for the beauty of +one of these "model farms," I would as lief see a patent churn and a +man turning it. They are, commonly, places merely where somebody is +making money, it may be counterfeiting. The virtue of making two +blades of grass grow where only one grew before does not begin to be +superhuman. + +Nevertheless, it was a relief to get back to our smooth, but still +varied landscape. For a permanent residence, it seemed to me that +there could be no comparison between this and the wilderness, +necessary as the latter is for a resource and a background, the raw +material of all our civilization. The wilderness is simple, almost to +barrenness. The partially cultivated country it is which chiefly has +inspired, and will continue to inspire, the strains of poets, such as +compose the mass of any literature. Our woods are sylvan, and their +inhabitants woodmen and rustics,--that is, _selvaggia_, and the +inhabitants are _salvages_. A civilized man, using the word in +the ordinary sense, with his ideas and associations, must at length +pine there, like a cultivated plant, which clasps its fibres about a +crude and undissolved mass of peat. At the extreme North, the voyagers +are obliged to dance and act plays for employment. Perhaps our own +woods and fields,--in the best wooded towns, where we need not quarrel +about the huckleberries,--with the primitive swamps scattered here and +there in their midst, but not prevailing over them, are the perfection +of parks and groves, gardens, arbors, paths, vistas, and landscapes. +They are the natural consequence of what art and refinement we as a +people have,--the common which each village possesses, its true +paradise, in comparison with which all elaborately and wilfully +wealth-constructed parks and gardens are paltry imitations. Or, I +would rather say, such _were_ our groves twenty years ago. The +poet's, commonly, is not a logger's path, but a woodman's. The logger +and pioneer have preceded him, like John the Baptist; eaten the wild +honey, it may be, but the locusts also; banished decaying wood and the +spongy mosses which feed on it, and built hearths and humanized Nature +for him. + +But there are spirits of a yet more liberal culture, to whom no +simplicity is barren. There are not only stately pines, but fragile +flowers, like the orchises, commonly described as too delicate for +cultivation, which derive their nutriment from the crudest mass of +peat. These remind us, that, not only for strength, but for beauty, +the poet must, from time to time, travel the logger's path and the +Indian's trail, to drink at some new and more bracing fountain of the +Muses, far in the recesses of the wilderness. + +The kings of England formerly had their forests "to hold the king's +game," for sport or food, sometimes destroying villages to create or +extend them; and I think that they were impelled by a true +instinct. Why should not we, who have renounced the king's authority, +have our national preserves, where no villages need be destroyed, in +which the bear and panther, and some even of the hunter race, may +still exist, and not be "civilized off the face of the earth,"--our +forests, not to hold the king's game merely, but to hold and preserve +the king himself also, the lord of creation,--not for idle sport or +food, but for inspiration and our own true re-creation? or shall we, +like villains, grub them all up, poaching on our own national domains? + + + + +MY CHILDREN. + + + Have you seen Annie and Kitty, + Two merry children of mine? + All that is winning and pretty + Their little persons combine. + + Annie is kissing and clinging + Dozens of times in a day,-- + Chattering, laughing, and singing, + Romping, and running away. + + Annie knows all of her neighbors. + Dainty and dirty alike,-- + Learns all their talk, and, "be jabers," + Says she "adores little Mike!" + + Annie goes mad for a flower, + Eager to pluck and destroy,-- + Cuts paper dolls by the hour, + Always her model--a boy! + + Annie is full of her fancies, + Tells most remarkable lies, + (Innocent little romances,) + Startling in one of her size. + + Three little prayers we have taught her, + Graded from winter to spring; + Oh, you should listen my daughter + Saying them all in a string! + + Kitty--ah, how my heart blesses + Kitty, my lily, my rose! + Wary of all my caresses, + Chary of all she bestows. + + Kitty loves quietest places, + Whispers sweet sermons to chairs, + And, with the gravest of faces, + Teaches old Carlo his prayers. + + Matronly, motherly creature! + Oh, what a doll she has built-- + Guiltless of figure or feature-- + Out of her own little quilt! + + Nought must come near it to wake it; + Noise must not give it alarm; + And when she sleeps, she must take it + Into her bed, on her arm. + + Kitty is shy of a caller, + Uttering never a word; + But when alone in the parlor, + Talks to herself like a bird. + + Kitty is contrary, rather, + And, with a comical smile, + Mutters, "I won't," to her father,-- + Eyeing him slyly the while. + + Loving one more than the other + Isn't the thing, I confess; + And I observe that their mother + Makes no distinction in dress. + + Preference must be improper + In a relation like this; + I wouldn't toss up a copper-- + (Kitty, come, give me a kiss!) + + + + +THE KINLOCH ESTATE, AND HOW IT WAS SETTLED. + +[Continued.] + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +Early Monday morning, Mr. Hardwick walked across the green to call +upon Mrs. Kinloch. Lucy Ransom, the house-maid, washing in the +back-yard, saw him coming, and told her mistress;--before he rang, +Mrs. Kinloch had time to tie on her lace cap, smooth her hair, and +meet him in the hall. + +"Good mum-morning, Mrs. Kinloch!" + +"Walk in, Mr. Hardwick,--this way, into the sitting-room." + +He took a seat quietly by the maple-shaded window. Mrs. Kinloch was +silent and composed. Her coolness nerved instead of depressing him, +and he began at once. + +"I've ker-come to see you about the debt which my nun-nephew, Mark, +owes the estate." + +"I don't know what _I_ can do about it," she replied, in a placid +tone. + +"We've ben nun-neighbors, now, these f-fifteen years, Mrs. Kinloch, +and never h-had any difficulty th-that I know on. An' as the ler-law +had been used per-pretty ha'sh toward Mark, I th-thought I'd see ef +'twa'n't per-possible't some mistake had ben made." + +"I don't know what mistake there has been. Squire Clamp must collect +whatever is due. It isn't harsh to do that, is it?" + +"Not ha'sh to a-ask for it, but not jest the ker-kind thing to bring +ser-suit before askin'. Mark got a word and a ber-blow, but the blow +came f-first. We didn't treat yer-you so when you was a widder." + +"So you go back to old times, and bring up my poverty and your +charity, do you?" said the widow, bitterly. + +"By nun-no means," replied the blacksmith. "I don't w-wish to open +'counts th-that've ben settled so long; an' more, I don't intend to +ber-ber-beg from you, nor a-anybody else. We pay our debts, an' don't +'xpect nor don't wer-want to do any different." + +"Then I don't see what you are so flurried about." + +"Ef so be Squire Ker-Kinloch was alive, I could tell you ber-better; +or rather, I shouldn't have to go to yer-you about it. He allers give +Mark to underst-hand that he shouldn't be hard upon him,--th-that he +could pay along as he ger-got able." + +"Why should he favor him more than others? I am sure not many men +would have lent the money in the first place, and I don't think it +looks well to be hanging back now." + +"As to why yer-your husband was disposed to favor Mark, I have +_my_ opinion. But the der-dead shall rest; I sh-sha'n't call up +their pale faces." He drew his breath hard, and his eyes looked full +of tender memories. + +After a moment he went on. "I don't w-wish to waste words; I +mum-merely come to say that Mark has five hunderd dollars, and that I +can scrape up a couple o' hunderd more, and will give my note w-with +him for the balance. Th-that's all we can handily do; an' ef that'll +arnswer, we should ler-like to have you give word to stop the suit." + +"You will have to go to Squire Clamp," was the reply. "I don't presume +to dictate to my lawyer, but shall let him do what he thinks best. You +haven't been to him, I conclude? I don't think he will be +unreasonable." + +Mr. Hardwick looked steadily at her. + +"Wer-well, Mrs. Kinloch," said he, slowly, "I th-think I +understand. Ef I don't, it isn't because you don't mum-make the matter +plain. I sha'n't go to Squire Clamp till I have the mum-money, all of +it. I hope no a-a-enemy of yourn will be so hard to y-you as my +friends are to me." + +With singular command over her tongue and temper, Mrs. Kinloch +contented herself with hoping that he would find no difficulty in +arranging matters with the lawyer, bade him good-morning, civilly, and +shut the door behind him. But when he was gone, her anger, kept so +well under control before, burst forth. + +"Stuttering old fool!" she exclaimed, "to come here to badger me!--to +throw up to me the wood he cut, or the apples he brought me!--as +though Mr. Kinloch hadn't paid that ten times over! He'll find how it +is before long." + +"What's the matter?" asked Mildred, meeting her step-mother in the +hall, and noticing her flushed cheek, her swelling veins, and +contorted brows. + +"Why, nothing, but a talk with Uncle Ralph, who has been rather +saucy." + +"Saucy? Uncle Ralph saucy? Why, he is the most kindly man in the +world,--sometimes hasty, but always well-mannered. I don't see how he +could be saucy." + +"I advise you not to stand up for him against your mother." + +"I shouldn't defend him in anything wrong; but I think there must be +some misunderstanding." + +"He is like Mark, I suppose, always perfect in your eyes." + +This was the first time since Mr. Kinloch's death that the step-mother +had ever alluded to the fondness which had existed between Mark and +Mildred as school-children, and her eyes were bent upon the girl +eagerly. It was as though she had knocked at the door of her heart, +and waited for its opening to look into the secret recesses. A quick +flush suffused Mildred's face and neck. + +"You are unkind, mother," she said; for the glance was sharper than +the words; and then, bursting into tears, she went to her room. + +"So it has come to this!" said Mrs. Kinloch to herself. "Well, I did +not begin at all too soon." + +She walked through the hall to the back piazza. She heard voices from +beyond the shrubbery that bordered the grass-plot where the clothes +were hung on lines to dry. Lucy, the maid, evidently was there, for +one; indeed, by shifting her position so as to look through an opening +in the bushes, Mrs. Kinloch could see the girl; but she was not busy +with her clothes-basket. An arm was bent around her plump and graceful +figure. The next instant, as Mrs. Kinloch saw by standing on tiptoe, +two forms swayed toward each other, and Lucy, no way reluctantly, +received a kiss from--Hugh Branning! + +Very naughty, certainly,--but it is incumbent on me to tell the truth, +and accordingly I have put it down. + +Now my readers are doubtless prepared for a catastrophe. They will +expect to hear Mrs. Kinloch cry, "Lucy Ransom, you jade, what are you +doing? Take your clothes and trumpery and leave this house!" You will +suppose that her son Hugh will be shut up in the cellar on bread and +water, or sent off to sea in disgrace. That is the traditional way +with angry mistresses, I know; but Mrs. Kinloch was not one of the +common sort. She did not know Talleyrand's maxim,--"Never act from +first impulses, for they are always--_right_!" Indeed, I doubt if +she had ever heard of that slippery Frenchman; but observation and +experience had led her to adopt a similar line of policy. + +Therefore she did not scold or send away Lucy; she could not well do +without her; and besides, there were reasons which made it desirable +that the girl should remain friendly. She did not call out to her +hopeful son, either,--although her fingers _did_ itch to tweak +his profligate ears. She knew that a dispute with him would only end +in his going off in a huff, and she thought she could employ him +better. So she coughed first and then stepped out into the yard. Hugh +presently came sauntering down the walk, and Lucy sang among the +clothes-lines as blithely and unconcerned as though her lips had never +tasted any flavor more piquant than bread and butter. + +It was rather an equivocal look which the mistress cast over her +shoulder at the girl. It might have said,--"Poor fool! singe your +wings in the candle, if you will." It might have been only the scorn +of outraged virtue. + +"Hugh," said Mrs. Kinloch, "come into the house a moment. I want to +speak with you." + +The young man looked up rather astonished, but he could not read his +mother's placid face. Her hair lay smooth on her temples, under her +neat cap; her face was almost waxy pale, her lips gently pressed +together; and if her clear, gray eyes had beamed with a warm or more +humid light, she might have served a painter as a model for a + + + "steadfast nun, devout and pure." + + +When they reached the sitting-room, Mrs. Kinloch began. + +"Hugh, do you think of going to sea again? Now that I am alone in the +world, don't you think you can make up your mind to stay at home?" + +"I haven't thought much about it, mother. I suppose I should go when +ordered, as a matter of course; I have nothing else to do." + +"That need not be a reason. There is plenty to do without waiting for +promotion in the navy till you are gray." + +"Why, mother, you know I have no profession, and, I suppose I may say, +no money. At least, the Squire made no provision for me that I know +of, and I'm sure you cannot wish me to live on your 'thirds.'" + +"My son, you should have some confidence in my advice, by this +time. It doesn't require a great fortune to live comfortably here." + +"Yes, but it is deused dull in this old town. No theatre,--no +concert,--no music at all, but from organ-grinders,--no +parties,--nothing, in fact, but prayer-meetings from one week's end to +another. I should die of the blues here." + +"Only find something to do, settle yourself into a pleasant home, and +you'll forget your uneasiness." + +"That's very well to say"---- + +"And very easy to do. But it isn't the way to begin by flirting with +every pretty, foolish girl you see. Oh, Hugh! you are all I have now +to love. I shall grow old soon, and I want to lean upon you. Give up +the navy; be advised by me." + +Hugh whistled softly. He did not suppose that his mother knew of his +gallantry. He was amused at her sharp observation. + +"So you think I'm a flirt, mother?" said he. "You are out, +entirely. I'm a pattern of propriety at home!" + +"You need not tell me, Hugh! I know more than you think. But I didn't +know that a son of mine could be so simple as I find you are." + +"She's after me," thought Hugh. "She saw me, surely." + +His mother went on. + +"With such an opportunity as you have to get yourself a wife----Don't +laugh! I want to see you married, for you will never sow your wild +oats until you are. With such a chance as you have"---- + +"Why, mother," broke in Hugh, "it isn't so bad as that." + +"Isn't so bad? What do you mean?" + +"Why, _you_ know what you're driving at, and so do I. Lucy is a +good girl enough, but I never meant anything serious. There's no need +of my marrying her." + +"What _are_ you talking about?" + +"Now, mother, what's the use? You are only trying to read me a moral +lecture, because I gave Lucy a harmless smack." + +"Lucy Ransom!" repeated Mrs. Kinloch, with ineffable scorn. "Lucy +Ransom! I hope my son isn't low enough to dally with a housemaid, a +scullion! If I _had_ seen such a spectacle, I should have kept my +mouth shut for shame. 'A guilty conscience needs no accuser'; but I am +sorry you had not pride enough to keep your disgusting fooleries to +yourself." + +"Regularly sold!" muttered Hugh, as he beat a rat-tattoo on the +window-pane. + +"I gave you credit for more penetration, Hugh. Now, just look a +minute. What would you think of the shrewdness of a young man, who +had no special turn for business, but a great fondness for taking his +ease,--with no money nor prospect of any,--and who, when he had the +opportunity to step at once into fortune and position, made no +movement to secure it?" + +"Well, the application?" + +"The fortune may be yours, if you will." + +"Don't tell me riddles. Show me the prize, and I'm after it." + +"But it has an incumbrance." + +"Well?" + +"A pretty, artless, affectionate little woman, who will make you the +best wife in the world." + +"Splendid, by Jove! Who is she?" + +"You needn't look far. We generally miss seeing the thing that is +under our nose." + +"Why, mother, there isn't an heiress in Innisfield except my sister +Mildred." + +"Mildred is not your sister. You are no more to each other than the +two farthest persons on earth." + +"True enough! Well, mother, you _are_ an old 'un!" + +"Don't!"--with a look of disgust,--"don't use your sailor slang here! +To see that doesn't require any particular shrewdness." + +"But Mildred never liked me much. She always ran from me, like the +kitten from old Bose. She has always looked as though she thought I +would bite, and that it was best she should keep out of reach under a +chair." + +"Any young man of good address and fair intelligence can make an +impression on a girl of eighteen, if he has the will, the time, and +the opportunity. You have everything in your favor, and if you don't +take the fortune that lies right in your path, you deserve to go to +the poor-house." + +Hugh meditated. + +"Good-morning," said Mrs. Kinloch. "You know the horse and carriage, +or the saddle-ponies, are always yours when you want to use them." + +Great discoveries seem always so simple, that we wonder they were not +made from the first. The highest truths are linked with the commonest +objects and events of daily life. + +Hugh looked about him as much astonished as though he had been shown a +gold mine in old Quobbin, where he could dig for the asking. What +determination he made, the course of our story will show. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +Hugh had ordered George, the Asiatic, to saddle the ponies after +dinner, intending to ask Mildred to take a ride northward, through the +pine woods; but on making inquiries, he found that she had walked out, +leaving word that she should be absent all day. + +"Confound it!" thought he,--"a mishap at the start! I'm afraid the +omen isn't a good one. However, I must kill time some way. I can't lay +up here, like a ship in ordinary; better be shaken by storms or +covered with barnacles at sea than be housed up, worm-eaten or +crumbled into powder by dry-rot on shore." + +He went to ride alone, but did not go in the direction of the pine +woods. + +Mildred could not get over the unpleasant impressions of the morning, +so, rather than remain in her room this fine day, she had walked +across the meadow, east of the mill-pond, to a farm-house, where she +was a frequent and welcome visitor. On her way, she called for Lizzy +Hardwick, the blacksmith's daughter, who accompanied her. Mr. Alford, +the farmer, was a blunt, good-humored, and rather eccentric man, +shrewd and well to do, but kindly and charitable. He had no children, +and he enjoyed the occasional visits of his favorites heartily; so did +his wife, Aunt Mercy. Her broad face brightened as she saw the girls +coming, and her plump hands were both extended to greet them. They +went to the dairy to see the creaking cheese-presses, ate of the fresh +curd, saw the golden stores of butter;--thence to the barn, where they +clambered upon the hay-mow, found the nest of a bantam, took some of +the little eggs in their pockets;--then coming into the yard, they +patted the calves' heads, scattered oats for the doves, that, with +pink feet and pearly blue necks, crowded around them to be fed, and +next began to chase a fine old gander down to the brook, when +Mr. Alford, getting over the fence, called out, "Hold on, girls! don't +bother Uncle Ralph!--don't!" + +"Where is Uncle Ralph?" asked Mildred. + +"Why, that gander you've been chasin'; and he's about the harn'somest +bird I know on, too. Talk about swans! there never was a finer neck, +nor a prettier coat of feathers on anything that ever swum. His wings +are powerful; only let him spread 'em, and up he goes; but as for his +feet, he limps just a little, as you see. No offence, Lizzy. I love +your father as well as you do; but when I hear him, with his idees so +grand,--the minister don't begin with him,--and yet to be bothered, as +he is sometimes, to get a word out, I think of my good old fellow +here, whose wings are so much better'n his legs. Come here, Ralph! You +see he knows his name. There!"--patting his head,--"that's a good +fellow! Now go and help marm attend to your goslins." + +The kindly tone and the caress took away from the comparison any idea +of disrespect, and the girls laughed at the odd conceit,--Lizzy, at +least, not a little proud of the implied compliment. Mr. Alford left +them, to attend to his affairs, and they went on with their +romp,--running on the top of the smooth wall beside the meadow, +gathering clusters of lilac blossoms from the fatherly great posy that +grew on the sunny side of the house, and admiring the solitary state +of the peacock, as, with dainty step, he trailed his royal robe over +the sward. Soon they heard voices at the house, and, going round the +corner of the shed, saw Uncle Ralph and Mark Davenport talking with +Mr. Alford at the door. + +Not to make a mystery of a simple matter, the blacksmith had come to +borrow of Mr. Alford the money necessary to make up the amount owing +by Mark to the Kinloch estate. + +The young man had shown great readiness to accompany his uncle; +praiseworthy, certainly; but I am inclined to think he had somehow got +an intimation that the girls had preceded him. + +Fortunately, the farmer was able to lend the sum wanted, and, as he +had an errand in town, he took Mr. Hardwick with him in his wagon. + +Mark was left, nothing loath, to walk home with the girls. Do not +think he was wanting in affection for his cousin Lizzy, if he wished +that she were, just for one hour, a hundred miles away. They took a +path that led over the plain to the river, intending to cross upon a +foot-bridge, a short distance above the village. But though Mark was +obliged to be silent on the matter he had most at heart, Mildred was +not unaware of his feelings. A tone, a look, a grasp of the hand +serves for an index, quite as well as the most fervent speech. The +river makes a beautiful bend near the foot-bridge, and its bank is +covered with a young growth of white pines. They sat down on a +hillock, under the trees, whose spicy perfume filled the air, and +looked down the stream towards the village. How fair it lay in the +soft air of that June day! The water was deep and blue, with a +reflected heaven. The mills that cluster about the dam, a mile below, +were partially concealed by young elms, silver-poplars, and +water-maples. Gardens sloped on either bank to the water's edge. Neat, +white houses gleamed through the trees and shrubbery around the bases +of the hills that hem in the valley; and the tall, slender spire of +the meeting-house shewed fairly against its densely-wooded +background. Verily, if I were a painter, I should desire no lovelier +scene for my canvas than that on which Mark and Mildred looked. Lizzy +walked away, and began hunting checkerberries with an unusual +ardor. She _did_ understand; she would not be Mademoiselle de +Trop any longer. Kind soul! so unlike young women in general, who +won't step aside gracefully, when they should! Further I can vouch, +that she neither hemmed, nor made eyes, nor yet repeated the well-worn +proverb, "Two's company, but three's none." No, she gathered berries +and sang snatches of songs as though she were quite alone. + +Now those of my readers who have the good-fortune still to linger in +teens are expecting that I shall treat them to a report of this +delightful _tete-a-tete_. But it must not be told. The older +people would skip it, or say, "Pshaw!" And besides, if it were set +down faithfully, you would be sadly disappointed; the cleverest men, +even, are quite sure to appear silly (to other people) when in +love. The speeches of the Romeos and Claude Melnottes, with which you +have been so enchanted, would be common-place enough, if translated +into the actual prose in which they were delivered. When Shakspeare +wooed Anne Hathaway, it might have been different; but consider, you +will wait some time before you find a lover like him. No, when your +time comes, it will be soon enough. You will see your hero in his +velvet cloak and plumed hat, with the splendor of scenery and the +intoxication of the music. I don't choose to show him to you in +morning dress at rehearsal, under daubed canvas and dangling +machinery. + +However full of poetry and passion Mark's declaration was for Mildred, +to him it was tame and hesitating enough. It seemed to him that he +could not force into the cold formula of words the emotion that +agitated him. But with quickening breath he poured out his love, his +hopes, and his fears,--the old burden! She trembled, her eyelids +fell; but at length, roused by his pleading tones, she looked +up. Their eyes met; one look was enough; it was a reciprocal electric +flash. With a sudden energy he clasped her in his arms; and it was a +very pretty tableau they made! But in the quick movement his heedless +foot chanced to touch a stone, which rolled down the bank and fell +into the stream with a splash. The charm was broken. + +"What's that?" cried Lizzy from a distance, forgetting her +discretion. "Did a pickerel jump?" + +"No," replied Mark, "the pickerel know me of old, and don't come about +for fear that I have a hook and line in my pocket. It was only a stone +rolling into the river." + +"You come here a moment," continued the unthoughtful Lizzy; "here's a +beautiful sassafras sapling, and I can't pull it up by the roots +alone." + +"Send for the dentist, then." + +"Go and help her," said Mildred, softly. + +"Well," said Mark, with a look of enforced resignation,--"if I must." + +The sapling grew on the steep bank, perhaps fifty yards from where he +had been sitting. He did not use sufficient care to brace himself, as +he pulled with all his might, and in a moment, he knew not how, he +rolled down into the river. The girls first screamed, and then, as he +came out of the water, shaking himself like a Newfoundland dog, they +laughed immoderately. The affair did not seem very funny to Mark, and +he joined in the laugh with no great heartiness. The shock had +effectually dispelled all the romance of the hour. + +"I'm so sorry!" said Lizzy, still laughing at his grotesque and +dripping figure. + +"You must hurry and get dry clothes on, Mark," said Mildred. "Squire +Clamp's is the nearest house across the bridge." + +"Hang Squire Clamp! his clothes would poison me. I'd as lief go to a +quarantine hospital to be dressed." + +"Don't!" said Lizzy. + +But he kept on in the same mercurial strain.--"Clamp lives on poison, +like Rappaccini's daughter, in Hawthorne's story; only it makes him +ugly instead of fair, as that pretty witch was. His wife never had any +trouble with spiders as long as she lived; he had only to blow into a +nest, and the creatures would tumble out, and give up their venomous +ghosts. No vermin but himself are to be seen in his neighborhood; the +rats even found they couldn't stand it, and had to emigrate." + +"The breath that killed spiders must have been a little too powerful, +at times, for Mrs. Clamp, one would think," said Mildred. + +"It was," said Mark. "She died one day, after Clamp had cheated a +widow out of her dower." + +"Don't stop longer for your fun," said Mildred, "you'll surely take +cold. Besides, I can't have you making any disparaging remarks upon my +guardian." + +"Bless my soul! your guardian! how imprudent, to be sure!"--with a +significant twinkle. "Well, I'm going. Banfield's is the nearest +house; so we'll part here." + +The girls went towards the village; and Mark, making vigorous strides +across the meadow, took a straight line for Banfield's. Near the +house is a piece of woods,--one corner of the leafy mantle that covers +the hill slipped down its side and trailing upon the borders of the +fertile field below. Just as he passed the woods he saw Hugh Branning +letting down the bars and leading his pony out into the road. The only +bridle-path through the woods led over the hill to the little house on +the westerly slope, where lived Dame Ransom, Lucy's bowed and wrinkled +grandmother. Mark wondered not a little where the midshipman had been; +but as he still retained the memory of the old quarrel, he did not +accost him, and presently thought no more of it. Reaching the house, +he got some dry clothes and then went home with bounding steps. The +earth was never so beautiful nor the sky so benign. The cloud of +doubt had furled off and left his heaven blue. He had spoken and found +that the dream of his boyhood and the hope of his youth had become the +proud triumph of his manhood. Mildred Kinloch loved him! loved him as +sincerely as when they were both children! What higher felicity was +to be thought of? And what a motive for exertion had he now! He would +be worthy of her, and the world should acknowledge that the heiress +had not stooped when she mated with him. + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +Mrs. Kinloch was surprised at finding that neither Hugh nor Mildred, +nor yet Lucy Ransom, was in the house. + +Mildred came home first and was not accompanied by Hugh, as +Mrs. Kinloch had hoped. He had not found her, then,--perhaps he had +not sought for her. Next Lucy returned, coming through the garden +which stretched up the hill. Being questioned, she answered that she +had been to her grandmother's, and had come back the nearest way over +the hill, through the woods. + +"What had she gone for after the fatigue of washing-day?" + +"Because Squire Clamp, who owned the house her grandmother lived in, +wanted her to take a message." + +Mrs. Kinloch began to become interested. "Squire Clamp!" she +exclaimed,--"when did you see him?" + +"He called here yesterday evening,--on his way to Mr. Hardwick's, I +guess." + +"Why didn't he ask _me_ if you could go? I think he's pretty free +to send my girls about the town on his errands." + +"You were out, Ma'am,--in the next house; and after he'd gone I forgot +it." + +"You remembered it to-day, it seems." + +"Yes'm; after dinner I thought of it and hurried right off; but granny +was sick and foolish, and didn't want to let me come away, so I +couldn't get back as quick as I meant to." + +"Well, you can go to the kitchen." + +"Yes'm." + +"I must keep an eye on that girl," thought Mrs. Kinloch. "She is +easily persuaded, fickle, without strong sense, and with only a very +shallow kind of cunning. She might do mischief. What can Squire Clamp +want? The old hovel her grandmother lives in isn't worth fifty +dollars. Whatever has been going on, I'm glad Hugh is not mixed up in +it." + +Just then Hugh rode up, and, tying his horse, came in. He seemed to +have lost something of the gayety of the morning. "I am tired," he +said. "I had to get off and lead the pony down the hill, and it's +steep and stony enough." + +"There are pleasant roads enough in the neighborhood," said his +mother, "without your being obliged to take to the woods and clamber +over the mountains." + +"I know it," he replied; "but I had been up towards the Allen place, +and I took a notion to come back over the hill." + +"Then you passed Lucy's house?" + +"Yes. The bridle-path leads down the hill about a mile above this; but +on foot one may keep along the ridge and come down into the valley +through our garden." + +"So I suppose; in fact, I believe Lucy has just returned that way." + +"Indeed! it's strange I didn't see her." + +"It is strange." + +Hugh bore the quiet scrutiny well, and his mother came to the +conclusion that the girl had told the truth about her going for the +lawyer. + +Presently Mildred came down from her room, and after a few minutes +Mrs. Kinloch went out, casting a fixed and meaning look at her +son. She seemed as impatient for the issue of her scheme, as the child +who, after planting a seed, waits for the green shoot, and twice a day +digs down to see if it has not sprouted. + +Mildred, as the reader may suppose, was not likely to be very +agreeable to her companion; the recollections of the day were too +vivid, too delicious. + +She could not part with them, but constantly repeated to herself the +words of love, of hope, and enthusiasm, which she had heard. So she +moved or talked as in a dream, mechanically, while her soul still +floated away on the summer-sea of reverie. + +Hugh looked at her with real admiration; and, in truth, she deserved +it. A fairer face you would not see in a day's journey; her smooth +skin, not too white, but of a rich creamy tint,--eyes brown and +inclined to be dreamy,--her hair chestnut and wavy,--a figure rather +below the medium size, but with full, graceful lines,--these, joined +with a gentle nature and a certain tremulous sensibility, constituted +a divinity that it was surely no sin to worship. If sin it were, all +the young men in Innisfield had need of immediate forgiveness. + +Hugh had some qualms about approaching the goddess. He was sensible of +a wide gulf between himself and her, and he could not but think that +she was aware of it too. + +"You have been to Mr. Alford's?" + +A momentary pause. + +"Did you speak, Hugh?" + +He repeated the question. Her eyes brightened a moment as she nodded +in the affirmative; then they grew dim again, like windows seen from +without when the light is withdrawn to an inner room. She seemed as +unconscious as a pictured Madonna. + +"A beautiful day for your walk," he ventured again. The same pause, +the same momentary interest as she answered, followed by the same +abstraction. + +"I suppose," said he, at length, "that I am having the last of my idle +days here; I expect to be ordered to sea shortly." + +"Indeed!" Mildred looked up. + +"I shall be very sorry to leave here," he continued. + +"Yes, Innisfield _is_ quite pretty this summer. But I supposed +that the pleasures of the seaport and of adventure abroad were more +attractive to you than this monotonous life." + +"'Tis rather slow here, but--I--I meant to say that I shall be sorry +to leave you." + +"Me? Why, mother can take care of me." + +"Certainly she will, but I shall miss you." + +"No doubt you'll think of us, when you are away; I'm sure we shall +remember you. We shall never sit down to the table without thinking of +your vacant chair." + +It was impossible to misinterpret her kind, simple, sisterly +tones. And Hugh could but feel that they indicated no particle of +tenderness for him. The task of winning her was yet wholly to be done, +and there was no prospect that she would give him the least +encouragement in advance, if she did not utterly refuse him at the +end. He saw that he must not count on an easy victory, but prepare for +it by a slow and gradual approach. + +Mildred sat some time leaning out of the window, then opening her +piano, for the first time since her father's death, she sat down and +played a nocturne by Mendelssohn. The music seemed a natural +expression of her feelings,--suited to the heart "steeped in golden +languors," in the "tranced summer calm." The tones rang through the +silent rooms, pervading all the charmed air, so that the ear tingled +in listening,--as the lips find a sharpness with the luscious flavor +of the pine-apple. The sound reached to the kitchen, and brought a +brief pleasure, but a bitterer pang of envy, to Lucy's swelling bosom. +It calmed for a moment the evil spirit in Hugh's troubled heart. And +Mrs. Kinloch in her solitary chamber, though she had always detested +the piano, thought she had never heard such music before. She had +found a new sense, that thrilled her with an exquisite delight. It was +a good omen, she was sure, that Mildred should now, after so long a +time, feel inclined to play. Only a light heart, and one supremely +careless or supremely happy, could touch the keys like that. "Hugh +must be a fortunate boy," she thought; and she could have hugged him +for joy. What thought Hugh, as she rose from her seat at the +instrument like one in a trance and walked towards the hall? +Conflicting emotions struggled for mastery; but, hardly knowing what +he did, he started up and offered her a caress. It was not unusual, +but her nerves had acquired an unwonted sensitiveness; she shuddered, +and rushed from him up the stairs. He could have torn his hair with +rage. + +"Am I, then, such a bear," he asked himself, "that she is afraid of +me?" + +A light at the end of the hall caught his eye. It was Lucy with +tear-stained cheeks going to bed,--unconscious that the flaring candle +she carried was dripping upon her dress,--unconscious that the one she +both loved and feared was looking at her as she slowly went up the +back-stairs. Truly, how little the inmates of that house knew of the +secrets of each other's hearts! It was strange,--was it not?--that, +after so long intimacy, they could not understand each other better! +How many hearts do _you_ really know? + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +"Verily, a good day's work," thought Squire Clamp, as he stretched his +legs in his office that Monday evening. "Mrs. Kinloch is a very shrewd +woman, an extraordinarily capable woman. What a wife for a lawyer +she'd make!--so long as she plotted for, and not against him. But +Theophilus Clamp was not born to be overreached by one of the weaker +sex. I was sure my late lamented friend could not have left his +affairs in such utter disorder,--no schedule of property,--no +statement of debts; too good a business man for that was Walter +Kinloch. I shall now be able to know from these documents what my +late client was really worth, and how large a dower the disconsolate +widow has reserved for herself. Doubtless she has put by enough to +suffice for her old age,--and mine, too, I am inclined to think; for I +don't believe I can do better than marry her when the mourning is +ended. My late spouse, to be sure, would make a quiet man rather +apprehensive about a second venture; but if Mrs. Kinloch _is_ a +Tartar, she is not a vulgar shrew, but will be lady-like, even if she +is bitter. I think I shall take her. Of course she'll consent. I +should like to see the unmarried woman in Innisfield that would dare +refuse Theophilus Clamp. When she knows--that I know--what she knows, +she'll do pretty much what I tell her. I wonder if she hasn't set on +foot a marriage between her scapegrace son and Mildred? That would be +a mishap, truly! But, as guardian, I can stave that off until the +estate is settled, my wedding over, and myself comfortably in +possession. Then, perhaps, we'll let the young folks marry,--at least +we'll think of it. If my son George, now, had not that unlucky +hare-lip, who knows? H'm, well, to business again. Let's see. It's +just as that remarkably keen woman suspected. Hardwick's shop does +stand partly on the land of the estate that joins it; the line will +run right through his forge, and leave the trip-hammer and water-wheel +in our possession; for I paced the distance this morning. Tomorrow +Gunter will make sure of it by a survey; though I think we'd better do +it while the old man is gone to dinner. He's sometimes apt to use +emphatic language. Perhaps now his mangy cur Caesar will seize me by +the coat again! Perhaps Mark will insult me, and the old man laugh at +it in his sleeve! I shouldn't wonder if they managed to pay the notes, +but on the title to the shop we have them fast." + +The lawyer looked at his watch. "Dear me! it's tea-time. I must go, +for the church-committee meet this evening. I think, however, I won't +complain of Hardwick to the deacons this time; for he'll be sure to +get into a passion when we commence our suit for ejectment, and I +shall then have a better case against him. A more disagreeable +Christian to fellowship with I don't know anywhere. + +"I _should_ like to know," he continued, as he locked the +office-door, "if that Lucy told me true,--if those were all the +papers. No will, no memorandum for one! Well, perhaps Mrs. Kinloch was +careful enough to give that secret to the keeping of the flames, +instead of her bureau. I will make close copies of what I have got for +Lucy to put back, and keep the originals myself. They'll be safest +with me. There's no telling what may happen to papers in a house where +there is a prying servant-girl." + +Whether the insects were poisoned by the air of the room, as Mark +Davenport suggested, I cannot say. But when Squire Clamp left the +office, it was as still as a tomb. No cricket chirped under the +hearth, no fly buzzed on the window-pane, no spiders came forth from +the dilapidated, dangling webs. Silence and dust had absolute +dominion. + +The next day Mark returned to New York. He had no opportunity of +bidding Mildred farewell, but he comforted himself by thinking he had +provided the means of safely communicating with her by letter. And as +the stage passed by the house, he caught a glimpse, first of her +fluttering handkerchief, and then of her graceful fingers wafting to +him a kiss. It was enough; it furnished him with food for a delightful +reverie as he went on his way. We shall leave him in his former +situation, from which, as a starting-point, he determines to win +fortune or fame, or both. He has your best wishes, no doubt, though +perhaps you think he will not force his way into the close ranks of +the great procession of life so soon as he expects. + +That day, while Mr. Hardwick was taking his dinner, his second son, +Milton, who had been fishing at the dam, came running into the house +quite out of breath. + +"F-father!" he stammered out. + +"Nun-now st-hop," said the black-smith. "W-what are you st-stuttering +for? Wah-wait till you can talk." + +"Why, father, yer-_you_ stutter." + +"Wer-well, yer-_you_ shan't." + +The look that came with this seemed to end the matter. A moment's rest +quieted the nerves of the boy, and he went on to say, that Squire +Clamp, and a man with a brass machine on his shoulder, and a chain, +ever so long, were walking about the shop on the bank of the +river. Lizzy at once looked out of the window and saw the man peering +into the shop-door, as if exploring the premises. + +Impelled by some presentiment of evil, Mr. Hardwick got up from the +table, and sternly motioning the boys back, went down to the shop. As +he came near the door, he saw the surveyor holding one end of the +chain and taking sight upon a staff which the lawyer within was +adjusting to its place by his direction. + +"Just as I expected," said Squire Clamp, in a satisfied tone. + +"An' jest as I expected," broke in Mr. Hardwick upon the astonished +pair. "I knew th-that ef Squire Clamp hed anythin' to do against me, +he wer-would sneak into the shop sus-some time when I'd ger-gone to +dinner." + +"We thought it would be most convenient, so as not to interrupt you +about your work." + +"Very ker-kind indeed! As ef you wa'n't tryin' to turn me out of +wer-work altogether! But 'tisn't any yer-use, Squire; this is a case +you can't be ber-both sides on." + +The lawyer turned, with a placid smile, to his companion. "Mr. Gunter, +I believe we have finished our measurements?" + +The man of chain and compass nodded. Nothing abashed by the lawyer's +cool manner, Mr. Hardwick turned to the surveyor, and asked if he +undertook to say that Walter Kinloch's deed called for land that was +covered by the shop? + +"I suppose so," was the answer. + +"An' now, Sus-squire Clamp," said Mr. Hardwick, "you know that it's +sus-seventeen or eighteen year sence I per-pulled down the old shop +and bought this land." + +"Yes, but, unfortunately, it takes twenty years to give you title," +put in the Squire. + +"Nun-never mind that now. Squire Kinloch knew this,--at least, that +there was room for der-difficulty; for we'd talked it over sus-several +times afore he died. An' he allers said th-that he'd hev new deeds +made out, so's to per-per-prevent just such a wrong as this. He didn't +'xpect to go so sus-sudden." + +"I'm sorry, Brother Hardwick, to see you bringing up your talk with +the lamented deceased, whom you represent as being willing to part +with his legal rights without a consideration. Even if you had +evidence of it, such an agreement would be a mere _nudum pactum_, +binding neither upon himself nor his heirs." + +"Squire Clamp! ger-get out of my shop! Fust to call me _Brother_, +next to doubt my word, an' last to sus-say that a man's free an' +der-deliberet promise--now he's where he can't sh-shame you into +honesty--sha'n't be kept!" + +The Squire smiled feebly. "You don't intend, Mister Hardwick, assault +and battery, do you?" + +"Yer-yes, ef you don't leave in q-q-q-quick time." And he strode up to +the astonished attorney, his blue eyes flashing, his curly gray hair +flying back from his forehead, like a lion's. + +Squire Clamp retreated to the street, took sight each way to be sure +he was off his antagonist's territory, and then vented his cautious +resentment in such well-considered phrases as a long course of +experience had taught him were not actionable at law, nor ground for +discipline in church. + +Prudence came to Uncle Ralph's aid, and he did not make further reply, +but locked the shop-door and returned to the house to finish his +dinner. The suit was commenced a few days afterwards. Mr. Hardwick +went to the county seat, some dozen miles distant, and secured the aid +of an able lawyer, who gave him hope of prevailing and keeping his +shop. + +The affair necessarily created a great stir in the busy little +town. As the cheerful clatter of the trip-hammer echoed along the +stream on still evenings, and the fiery plume waved over the chimney, +neighbors looked out from their windows, and wondered if the good +blacksmith would, after so many years of honest toil, be stripped of +his property and be reduced to dependence in his old age. The sympathy +of the villagers was wholly with him; but the lawyer held so many +threads of interest in his hands, that few dared to give an opinion +with much emphasis. + +Probably the person most grieved and indignant was the one who, next +after the blacksmith, was most interested in the event of the +suit,--namely, Mildred Kinloch. Though no mention was made of the +matter, at home, in her hearing, she could not fail to know what was +going on; but she had now sufficient knowledge of her step-mother and +her guardian to be aware that her influence would not be of the least +avail in changing their purpose. + +Mrs. Kinloch did not repeat the experiment she once made on Mildred's +sensibilities by referring to her partiality for Mark Davenport and +his relatives; but, on the contrary, was most gentle in her treatment +and most assiduous in her endeavors to provide amusement, so far as +the resources of the town allowed. In company with Hugh, Mildred +explored all the pleasant roads in the vicinity, all the picturesque +hills and brooks, caught trout, and snared gamebirds, (the last much +against her will,)--and by these means her time was fully +occupied. Hugh seemed to have totally changed; he no longer absented +himself from the family on mysterious errands; he went to church +regularly, and appeared to take pleasure in the frequent calls of +Mr. Rook, the minister. The neighbors began to say that there never +was a more dutiful son or a more attentive and affectionate brother. +Some half suspected the reason of the reformation,--no one so quick as +Squire Clamp, who had reasons of his own, as the reader knows, for +wishing delay. After a few months had passed, he thought it would be +dangerous to let the schemes of the widow go on longer without +interruption, and accordingly prepared to make a step towards his own +long-cherished purpose. + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +One afternoon, about six months after the opening of our story, +Mrs. Kinloch and her son were talking together concerning the progress +of his suit. He complained that he was no nearer the point than on the +first day he and Mildred rode out together. "It was like rounding Cape +Horn," he said, "where a ship might lie twenty days and drift back as +fast as she got ahead by tacking." In spite of all his attention and +kindness, Mildred was merely courteous in return;--he could not get +near her. If she smiled, it seemed as though it was from behind a +grating, as in a nunnery. Her pulse was always firm; and if her eye +was soft, it was steady as the full moon. He didn't believe she had +any blood in her. If she was in love with that fellow, she kept it +pretty closely covered up. + +Mrs. Kinloch encouraged her son to persevere; she was sure he had not +been skilful. "Mildred," she said, "was not to be won with as little +trouble as a silly, low-bred girl, like--like Lucy, for instance." + +"What the deuse are you always bringing up Lucy to me for?" said the +dutiful son. + +"Don't speak so!" + +"Confound it! I must. You keep a fellow shut up here for six months, +going to meeting five times a week; you give him no chance to work off +his natural spirits, and the devil in him will break out +somewhere. It's putting a stopper in a volcano; if you don't allow a +little fire and smoke, you're bound to have an earthquake." + +After this philosophical digression, the first topic was resumed, and +Mrs. Kinloch gave the young man some counsel, drawn from her own +experience or observation, touching the proper mode of awakening and +cultivating the tender passion. It is not every mother that does so +much for her son, but then few mothers have so urgent a motive. + +"_What_ was it that she advised him to do," did you ask? Really, +I've quite forgotten; and I am sure Mrs. Kinloch forgot also, at least +for that day, because something occurred which turned her thoughts for +the time in quite a different direction. + +The ponies were brought out for Hugh and Mildred to take their +customary canter. The young heiress, for whom so much time and pains +were spent, looked ill; the delicate flush had vanished from her +cheek; she seemed languid, and cheerful only by effort. A moment after +they had gone, as Mrs. Kinloch closed the door, for it was a raw +November day, she saw and picked up a rudely-folded letter in the +hall. "Good-bye, Lucy Ransom," were the words she read. They were +enough. Mrs. Kinloch felt that her heart was struck by a bolt of +ice. "Poor, misguided, miserable girl!" she said. "Why did I not see +that something was wrong? I felt it, I knew it,--but only as one knows +of evil in a dream. Who can calculate the mischief that will come of +this? O God! to have my hopes of so many years ruined, destroyed, by a +wretch whose power and existence even I had not once thought of! Has +she drowned herself, or fled to the city to hide her disgrace? But if +this should be imagination merely! She may have run away with some +lubberly fellow from the factory, whom she was ashamed to marry at +home. But no! she was too sad last evening when she asked to go to her +grandmother's for a day. What if"--The thought coursed round her brain +like fire on a train of gunpowder,--flew quicker than words could +utter it; and the woman bounded to her bureau, as though with muscles +of steel. She clutched at the papers and bank-notes in her private +drawer, and looked and counted them over a dozen times before she +could satisfy herself. Her thin fingers nervously opened the packages +and folds,--the papers crackling as her eye glanced over them. They +were there; but not _all_. She pored over the mystery,--her +thoughts running away upon every side-avenue of conjecture, and as +often returning to the frightful, remediless fact before her. She was +faint with sudden terror. By degrees she calmed herself, wiped the +cold sweat from her forehead, smiled at her fright, and sat down +again, with an attempt at self-control, to look through the drawers +thoroughly. As she went on, the tremor returned, and before she had +finished the fruitless search her heart beat so as to stop her breath; +she gasped in an agony that the soul rarely feels more than once in +this life. She shut up the drawers, walked up and down the room, +noticed with a shudder her own changed expression as she passed before +the mirror, and strove in vain to give some order to her confused and +tumultuous thoughts. At length she sat down exhausted. She was +startled by a knock. Opening the door, there in a newly-furbished +suit, with clean linen, and a brown wig worn for the first time on his +hitherto shining head, stood Theophilus Clamp. He had even picked a +blossom from the geranium in the hall and was toying with it like a +bashful boy. + +"A fine day, Ma'am!" said he, as he took a seat. + +"Yes, very," she answered, mechanically, scarcely looking up. + +"The young folks have gone out to ride, I suppose." + +"Yes, Sir."--A pause, in which Mrs. Kinloch covered her face with her +handkerchief. + +"You don't seem well, Ma'am. Shall I call Lucy?" + +"Lucy is gone," she answered,--quickly adding, "gone to her +grandmother's." + +"Well, that is singular. I've been today to look at my land above the +old lady's house, and she asked me to send word to Lucy to come up and +see her." + +"To-day?" + +"Yes, Ma'am; not two hours ago." + +Mrs. Kinloch was rapidly revolving probabilities. What interest had +Lucy to interfere with her affairs? As for Mildred, she was not to be +thought of as prying into secrets; she was too innocent. Hugh was too +careless. Who more than this man Clamp was likely to have done or +procured the mischief? "Have you given her the message?" + +"Of course not, Ma'am,--how could I?" + +"Then you haven't sent Lucy away on any errand?" + +"Certainly not, Madam," said the lawyer, beginning to wince under the +cross-examination. "Lucy's gone, you say; didn't she leave things all +right,--your papers, and--and so forth?" + +"Papers? Lucy is not presumed to know that I _have_ any papers; +if any are missing, I'll warrant they are in the hands of some one who +knows at least enough to read them." + +"She suspects me," thought the lawyer, "but can't have discovered that +hers are only copies; they're too well done." He then added aloud, +"Perhaps, Mrs. Kinloch, if you had honored me, your associate in the +administration of the estate, with your confidence touching the +private papers you speak of, I might have saved you some trouble in +keeping them." + +"Very likely; but no one spoke of papers beside yourself," she +replied, with a trace of sarcasm in the tone which ill suited the +expression of her pallid face and drooping head. + +"I'm sorry to see you looking so careworn, Mrs. Kinloch," said he, +with his blandest air. "I intended to bring up a topic more agreeable, +it is to be hoped, than runaway house-maids or old documents." He +rubbed his hands softly and turned his eyes with a glance meant to be +tender towards the place where her chair stood; if he had been a cat, +he would have purred the while. + +Mrs. Kinloch now, for the first time, observed the wig, the unusual +look of tidiness, and, above all, the flower in his hand; she also saw +the crucified smile that followed his last remark. "The ridiculous old +fool!" thought she,--"what can he mean?" But to him she translated +it,-- + +"What is the more agreeable topic?" + +"Really, you attack me like a lawyer. Don't you know, my dear Madam, +how it confuses one to be sharply interrogated?" + +"It would be something novel to see you confused, Squire Clamp." + +"Pray, don't banter, Mrs. Kinloch. I hoped to find you in a more +complaisant humor. There are topics which cannot be discussed with the +square precision of legal rules,--thoughts that require sympathy +before they can be expressed." And he dropped his eyes with a +ludicrous sigh. + +"Oh, I appreciate your tender susceptibilities. Please consider me as +asking the question again in the most engaging manner." + +His new wig was becoming uncomfortable, and he fidgeted in his chair, +twirling the luckless blossom. + +"Why, Mrs. Kinloch, the long regard I entertained for your late +lamented husband,--ah, I mean my regard for you,--ah, my lonely +domicil,--ah, since the decease of my--my sainted wife,--ah, and since +the Scripture says it is not good for man to live alone,--ah, your +charming qualities and many virtues,--not that your fortune,--ah,--I +mean to say, that, though not rich, I am not grasping,--and the +cottage where you lived would be a palace,--ah, for me, if not +unworthy,--ah, no desire to unduly shorten the period of +mourning,--ah, but life is short and uncertain"---- + +There was a dead silence. His mouth was vainly working, and his +expression confused and despairing. The flower had wilted in his moist +hand. Little streams of perspiration trickled down his face, to be +mopped up by his bandanna. Such was the ordeal of talking hollow +sentiment to a cool and self-possessed woman. She enjoyed the +exhibition for a time,--as what woman would not? But the waves of her +trouble rushed back upon her, and the spirit of mischief and coquetry +was overwhelmed. So she answered,-- + +"You are pleased to be polite,--perhaps gallant. You must excuse me +from taking part in such conversation to-day, however little is meant +by it,--and the less meant the better,--I am not well." + +She rose feebly, and walked towards the door with as much dignity as +her trembling frame could assume. He was abashed; his fine speeches +jumbled in meaningless fragments, his airy castle ready to topple on +his unlucky head. He would have been glad to rebuke her fickle humor, +as he thought it; but he knew he had made a fool of himself, so he +merely said,-- + +"No offence, I hope, Ma'am; none meant, certainly. Wish you +good-afternoon, Ma'am. Call and see you again some day, and hope to +find you better." + +_Would_ he find her better? While the mystery remained, while the +ruin of her hopes impended, what could restore to her the +cheerfulness, the courage, the self-command she had lost? + +[To be continued.] + + + + +"BRINGING OUR SHEAVES WITH US." + + + The time for toil is past, and night has come,-- + The last and saddest of the harvest-eves; + Worn out with labor long and wearisome, + Drooping and faint, the reapers hasten home, + Each laden with his sheaves. + + Last of the laborers thy feet I gain, + Lord of the harvest! and my spirit grieves + That I am burdened not so much with grain + As with a heaviness of heart and brain;-- + Master, behold my sheaves! + + Few, light, and worthless,--yet their trifling weight + Through all my frame a weary aching leaves; + For long I struggled with my hapless fate, + And staid and toiled till it was dark and late,-- + Yet these are all my sheaves. + + Full well I know I have more tares than wheat,-- + Brambles and flowers, dry stalks, and withered leaves + Wherefore I blush and weep, as at thy feet + I kneel down reverently, and repeat, + "Master, behold my sheaves!" + + I know these blossoms, clustering heavily + With evening dew upon their folded leaves, + Can claim no value nor utility,-- + Therefore shall fragrancy and beauty be + The glory of my sheaves. + + So do I gather strength and hope anew; + For well I know thy patient love perceives + Not what I did, but what I strove to do,-- + And though the full, ripe ears be sadly few, + Thou wilt accept my sheaves. + + + + +FARMING LIFE IN NEW ENGLAND. + + +New England does not produce the bread she eats, nor the raw materials +of the fabrics she wears. A multitude of her purely agricultural towns +are undergoing, more or less rapidly, a process of depopulation. Yet +these facts exist by the side of positive advances in agricultural +science and decided improvements in the means and modes of farming. +The plough is perfected, and the theory of ploughing is +understood. The advantages of thorough draining are universally +recognized, and tiles are for sale everywhere. Mowing and reaping +machines have ceased to be a novelty upon our plains and meadows. The +natural fertilizers have been analyzed, and artificial nutrients of +the soil have been contrived. The pick and pride of foreign herds +have regenerated our neat stock, and the Morgan and the Black-Hawk eat +their oats in our stalls. The sheepfold and the sty abound with choice +blood. Sterling agricultural journals are on every farmer's table, and +Saxton's hand-books upon agricultural specialties are scattered +everywhere. Public shows and fairs bring on an annual exacerbation of +the agricultural fever, which is constantly breaking out in new +places, beyond the power of the daily press to chronicle. Yet it is +too evident that the results are not at all commensurate with the +means under tribute and at command. What is the reason? + +In looking at the life of the New England farmer, the first fact that +strikes us is, that it is actually a very different thing from what it +might be and ought to be. There dwells in every mind, through all +callings and all professions, the idea that the farmer's life is, or +may be, is, or should be, the truest and sweetest life that man can +live. The merchant may win all the prizes of trade, the professional +man may achieve triumphs beyond his hopes, the author may find his +name upon every lip, and his works accounted among the nation's +treasures, and all may move amid the whirl and din of the most +inspiring life, yet there will come to every one, in quiet +evening-hours, the vision of the old homestead, long since forsaken; +or the imagination will weave a picture of its own,--a picture of +rural life, so homely, yet so beautiful, that the heart will breathe a +sigh upon it, the eye will drop a tear upon it, and the voice will +say, "It were better so!" + +In a city like Boston there are farms enough imagined every year to +make another New England. Could the fairest fancies of that congeries +of minds be embodied and exhibited, we should see green meadows +sparkling with morning dew,--silver-slippered rivulets skipping into +musical abysses,--quiet pasture-lands shimmering so sleepily in the +sun that the lazy flocks and herds forget to graze, and lie winking +and ruminating under the trees,--and yellow fields of grain, along the +hill-sides, billowy in the breeze, and bending before the shadows of +the clouds that sail above them. And mingling and harmonizing with +these visions, we should hear the lowing of kine, and the tinkle of +the bell that leads the flock, and the shout of the boy behind the +creeping plough, and the echoes of the axe, and the fall of the tree +in the distant forest, and the rhythmical clangor, softened into a +metallic whisper by the distance, of the mowers whetting their +scythes. With these visions and these sounds there would come to the +minds which give them birth convictions that rural life is the best +life, and resolutions that, by-and-by, in some golden hour, when the +sun of life begins to lengthen the eastward shadows, that life shall +be enjoyed, and that the soul shall pass at last from the quiet scenes +of Nature into those higher scenes which they symbolize. There is a +thought in all this that the farm is nearer heaven than the street,--a +reminiscence of the first estate, when man was lord of Eden; and this +thought, old as art and artificial life, cannot be rooted out of the +mind. It has a life of its own, independent of reason, above instinct, +among the quickest intuitions of the soul. + +Now this idea, so universal, so identical in millions of minds, +springing with such spontaneity in the midst of infinitely varied +circumstances, abiding with such tenacity in every soul, can have its +basis nowhere save in a Divine intention and a human possibility. The +cultivation of the farm is the natural employment of man. It is upon +the farm that virtue should thrive the best, that the body and the +mind should be developed the most healthfully, that temptations should +be the weakest, that social intercourse should be the simplest and +sweetest, that beauty should thrill the soul with the finest raptures, +and that life should be tranquillest in its flow, longest in its +period, and happiest in its passage and its issues. This is the +general and the first ideal of the farmer's life, based upon the +nature of the farmer's calling and a universally recognized human +want. Why does the actual differ so widely from the ideal? It is not +because the farmer's labor is hard and constant, alone. There is no +fact better established than that it is through the habitual use both +of the physical and mental powers that the soul achieves, or receives, +its most healthful enjoyment, and acquires that tone which responds +most musically to the touch of the opportunities of leisure. Why, +then, we repeat, does the actual differ so widely from the ideal? + +A general answer to this question is, that that is made an end of life +which should be but an incident or a means. Life is confounded with +labor, and thrift with progress; and material success is the aim to +which all other aims are made subordinate. There is no fact in +physiology better established than that hard labor, followed from day +to day and year to year, absorbing every thought and every physical +energy, has the direct tendency to depress the intellect, blunt the +sensibilities, and animalize the man. In such a life, all the +energies of the brain and nervous system are directed to the support +of nutrition and the stimulation of the muscular system. Man thus +becomes a beast of burden,--the creature of his calling; and though he +may add barn to barn and acre to acre, he does not lead a life which +rises in dignity above that of the beasts which drag his plough. He +eats, he works, he sleeps. Surely, there is no dignity in a life like +this; there is nothing attractive and beautiful and good in it. It is +a mean and contemptible life; and all its maxims, economies, +associations, and objects are repulsive to a mind which apprehends +life's true enjoyments and ends. We say that it is a pestilent +perversion. We say that it is the sale of the soul to the body; it is +turning the back upon life, upon growth, upon God, and descending into +animalism. + +The true ideal of the farmer's life--of any life--contemplates +something outside of, and above, the calling which is its instrument. +The farmer's life is no better than the life of a street-sweeper, if +it rise no higher than the farmer's work. If the farmer, standing +under the broad sky, breathing the pure air, listening to the song of +birds, watching the progress of + + + "The great miracle that still goes on," + + +to work the transformation of the brown seeds which he drops into the +soil into fields of green and gold, and gazing upon landscapes +shifting with the seasons and flushed with new tints through every +sunlit and moonlit hour, does not apprehend that his farm has higher +uses for him than those of feeding his person and his purse, he might +as well dwell in a coal-mine. + +Our soil is sterile, our modes of farming have been rude until within +a few years; and under the circumstances,--with the Yankee notion that +the getting of money is the chief end of man,--exclusive devotion to +labor has been deemed indispensable to success. The maxims of Franklin +have been literally received and adopted as divine truth. We have +believed that to labor is to be thrifty, that to be thrifty is to be +respectable, that to be respectable is to afford facilities for being +still more thrifty; and our experience is, that with increased thrift +comes increased labor. This is the circle of our ambitions and +rewards. All begins and ends in labor. The natural and inevitable +result of this is both physical and mental deterioration. + +It is doubtful whether the world furnishes a finer type of man, +physically and intellectually, than the Irish gentleman. He is +handsome, large, courageous,--a man of fine instincts, brilliant +imagination, courtly manners, and full, vital force. By the side of +the Irish gentleman, there has grown for centuries the Irish +peasant. He is ugly, of stunted stature, and pugnacious; and he +produces children like himself. The two classes started from a common +blood; they now present the broadest contrast. We do not say that +freedom from severe labor on one side, and confinement to it on the +other, are entirely responsible for this contrast; difference of food +and other obvious causes have had something to do with it; but we say +that hard labor has, directly and indirectly, degraded from a true +style of manhood the great mass of the Irish peasantry. They are a +marked class, and carry in their forms and faces the infallible +insignia of mental and physical degeneration. + +We would by no means compare New England farmers with the Irish +peasantry. We only present the contrast between these two classes of +the Irish population as the result of unremitting toil on one side, +and a more rational kind of life on the other. If we enter a New +England church, containing a strictly rural assembly, and then visit +another containing a class whose labor is lighter, and whose style of +life is based upon different ideas, we shall see a contrast less +marked, perhaps, but presenting similar features. The farming +population of New England is not a handsome population, generally. +The forms of both men and women are angular; their features are not +particularly intellectual; their movements are not graceful; and their +calling is evident by indubitable signs. The fact that the city +assemblage is composed of a finer and higher grade of men, women, and +children is of particular moment to our argument, because it is +composed of people who are only one, two, or three removes from a +rural origin. The city comes from the country; the street is +replenished by the farm; but the city children, going back to the +farm, show that a new element has been introduced into their +blood. The angles are rounded; the face is brighter; the movements are +more graceful; there is in every way a finer development. + +There is probably no better exponent of the farmer's life than the +farmer's home. We propose to present the portrait of such a home, and, +while we offer it as a just outline of the farmer's home generally, in +districts removed from large social centres, we gladly acknowledge the +existence of a great multitude of happy exceptions. But the sketch:--A +square, brown house; a chimney coming out of the middle of a roof; not +a tree nearer than the orchard, and not a flower at the door. At one +end projects a kitchen; from the kitchen projects a wood-shed and +wagon-cover, occupied at night by hens; beyond the wood-shed, a +hog-pen, fragrant and musical. Proceeding no farther in this +direction, we look directly across the road, to where the barn stands, +like the hull of a great black ship-of-the-line, with its port-holes +opened threateningly upon the fort opposite, out of one of which a +horse has thrust his head for the possible purpose of examining the +strength of the works. An old ox-sled is turned up against the wall +close by, where it will have the privilege of rotting. This whole +establishment was contrived with a single eye to utility. The barn +was built in such a manner that its deposits might be convenient to +the road which divides the farm, while the sty was made an attachment +of the house for convenience in feeding its occupants. + +We enter the house at the back door, and find the family at dinner in +the kitchen. A kettle of soap-grease is stewing upon the stove, and +the fumes of this, mingled with those that were generated by boiling +the cabbage which we see upon the table, and by perspiring men in +shirt-sleeves, and by boots that have forgotten or do not care where +they have been, make the air anything but agreeable to those who are +not accustomed to it. This is the place where the family live. They +cook everything here for themselves and their hogs. They eat every +meal here. They sit here every evening, and here they receive their +friends. The women in this kitchen toil incessantly, from the time +they rise in the morning until they go to bed at night. Here man and +woman, sons and daughters, live, in the belief that work is the great +thing, that efficiency in work is the crowning excellence of manhood +and womanhood, and willingly go so far into essential self-debasement, +sometimes, as to contemn beauty and those who love it, and to glory +above all things in brute strength and brute endurance. + +Here we are ready to state the point and the lesson of our +discussion:--The real reason for the deterioration of agriculture in +New England is to be found in the fact, that the farmer's life and the +farmer's home, generally, are unloved and unlovable things, and in the +multitude of causes which have tended to make them so. Let the son of +such a home as we have pictured get a taste of a better life than +this, or, through sensibilities which he did not inherit, apprehend a +worthier style of existence, and what inducements, save those which +necessity imposes, can retain him there? He hates the farm, and will +flee from it at the first opportunity. If the New England farmer's +life were a loved and lovable thing, the New England boys could hardly +be driven from the New England hills. They would not only find a way +to live here, but they would make farming profitable. They would honor +the employment to which they are bred, and would leave it, save in +exceptional instances, for no other. It is not strange that the +country grows thin and the city plethoric. It is not strange that +mercantile and mechanical employments are thronged by young men, +running all risks for success, when the alternative is a life in which +they find no meaning, and no inspiring and ennobling influence. + +The popular ideal of the farmer's life and home, to which we have +alluded, we believe to be what God intended. That life contemplates +the institution and maintenance of personal and social habits, and the +cultivation of tastes and faculties, separate from, and above, labor. +Every farm-house should be a residence of men and women, boys and +girls, who, appreciating something of the meaning and end of life, +rise from every period of labor into an atmosphere of intellectual and +social activity, or into some form of refined family enjoyment. It is +impossible to do this while surrounded with all the associations of +labor. If there is a room in every farmer's house where the work of +the family is done, there should be a room in every farmer's house +where the family should live,--where beauty should appeal to the eye, +where genuine comfort of appointments should invite to repose, where +books should be gathered, where neatness and propriety of dress should +be observed, and where labor may be forgotten. The life led here +should be labor's exceeding great reward. A family living like +this--and there are families that live thus--will ennoble and beautify +all their surroundings. There will be trees at their door, and +flowers in their garden, and pleasant and graceful architectural ideas +in their dwelling. Human life will stand in the foreground of such a +home,--human life, crowned with its dignities and graces,--while +animal life will be removed among the shadows, and the gross material +utilities, tastefully disguised, will be made to retire into an +unoffending and harmonious perspective. + +But we have alluded to other causes than labor as in some measure +responsible for the unattractiveness of the farmer's life, and +affecting adversely the farming interest. These touch the matter at +various points, and are charged with greater or less importance. We +know of no one cause more responsible for whatever there may be of +physical degeneracy among the farming population than the treatment of +its child-bearing women; and this, after all, is but a result of +entire devotion to the tyrannical idea of labor. If there be one +office or character higher than all others, it is the office or +character of mother. Surely, the bringing into existence of so +marvellous a thing as a human being, and the training of that being +until it assumes a recognized relation to God and human society, is a +sacred office, and one which does not yield in dignity and importance +to any other under heaven. For a woman who faithfully fulfils this +office, who submits without murmuring to all its pains, who patiently +performs its duties, and who exhausts her life in a ceaseless overflow +of love upon those whom God has given her, no words can express a true +man's veneration. She claims the homage of our hearts, the service of +our hands, the devotion of our lives. + +Yet what is the position of the mother in the New England farmer's +home? The farmer is careful of every animal he possesses. The +farm-yard and the stall are replenished with young, by creatures for +months dismissed from labor, or handled with intelligent care while +carrying their burden; because the farmer knows that only in this way +can he secure improvement, and sound, symmetrical development, to the +stock of his farm. In this he is a true, practical philosopher. But +what is his treatment of her who bears his children? The same +physiological laws apply to her that apply to the brute. Their strict +observance is greatly more imperative, because of her finer +organization; yet they are not thought of; and if the farm-yard fail +to shame the nursery, if the mother bear beautiful and well-organized +children, Heaven be thanked for a merciful interference with the +operation of its own laws! Is the mother in a farm-house ever regarded +as a sacred being? Look at her hands! Look at her face! Look at her +bent and clumsy form! Is it more important to raise fine colts than +fine men and women? Is human life to be made secondary and subordinate +to animal life? Is not she who should receive the tenderest and most +considerate ministries of the farmer's home, in all its appointments +and in all its service, made the ceaseless minister and servant of the +home and all within it, with utter disregard of her office? To expect +a population to improve greatly under this method is simply to expect +miracles; and to expect a farmer's life and a farmer's home to be +attractive, where the mother is a drudge, and secures less +consideration than the pets of the stall, is to expect impossibilities. + +Another cause which has tended to the deterioration of the farmer's +life is its solitariness. The towns in New England which were settled +when the Indians were in possession of the country, and which, for +purposes of defence, were settled in villages, have enjoyed great +blessings; but a large portion of agricultural New England was +differently settled. It is difficult to determine why isolation +should produce the effect it does upon the family development. The +Western pioneer, who, leaving a New England community, plants himself +and his young wife in the forest, will generally become a coarse man, +and will be the father of coarse children. The lack of the social +element in the farmer's life is doubtless a cause of some of its most +repulsive characteristics. Men are constituted in such a manner, that +constant social contact is necessary to the healthfulness of their +sympathies, the quickness of their intellects, and the symmetrical +development of their powers. It matters little whether a family be +placed in the depths of a Western forest, or upon the top of a New +England hill; the result of solitude will be the same in kind, if not +in degree. + +Now the farmer, partly from isolation and partly from absorption in +labor, is the most unsocial man in New England. The farmers are +comparatively few who go into society at all, who ever dine with their +neighbors, or who take any genuine satisfaction in the company of the +women whom their wives invite to tea. They may possibly be +farmers among farmers, but they are not men among men and +women. Intellectually, they are very apt to leave life where they +begin it. Socially, they become dead for years before they die. The +inhabitants of a city can have but a poor apprehension of the amount +of enjoyment and development that comes to them through social +stimulus. Like gold, humanity becomes bright by friction, and grows +dim for lack of it. So, we say, the farmer's life and home can never +be what they should be,--can never be attractive by the side of other +life containing a true social element,--until they have become more +social. The individual life must not only occupy a place above that of +a beast of burden, but that life must be associated with all congenial +life within its reach. The tree that springs in the open field, though +it be fed by the juices of a rood, through absorbents that penetrate +where they will, will present a hard and stunted growth; while the +little sapling of the forest, seeking for life among a million roots, +or growing in the crevice of a rock, will lift to the light its cap of +leaves upon a graceful stem, and whisper, even-headed, with the +stateliest of its neighbors. Men, like trees, were made to grow +together, and both history and philosophy declare that this Divine +intention cannot be ignored or frustrated with impunity. + +Traditional routine has also operated powerfully to diminish the +attractiveness of agricultural employments. This cause, very happily, +grows less powerful from year to year. The purse is seen to have an +intimate sympathy with intelligent farming. Were we to say that God +had so constituted the human mind that routine will tire and disgust +it, we should say in effect that he never intended the farmer's life +to be one of routine. Nature has done all she can to break up routine. +While the earth swings round its orbit once a year, and turns on its +axis once in twenty-four hours,--while the tide ebbs and flows twice +daily, and the seasons come and go in rotation, every atom changes its +relations to every other atom every moment. Influences are tossed into +these skeleton cycles of motion and event which start a myriad of +diverse currents, and break up the whole surface of life and being +into a healthful confusion. There are never two days alike. The +motherly sky never gives birth to twin clouds. The weather shakes its +bundle of mysteries in our faces, and banters us with, "Don't you wish +you knew?" We prophesy rain upon the morrow, and wake with a bar of +golden sunlight on the coverlet. We foretell a hard winter, and, +before it is half gone, become nervous lest we should miss our supply +of ice. The fly, the murrain, the potato-rot, and the grasshoppers, +all have a divine office in tipping over our calculations. The +phantom host of the great North come out for parade without +announcement, and shoot their arrows toward the zenith, and flout the +stars with their rosy flags, and retire, leaving us looking into +heaven and wondering. Long weeks of drought parch the earth, and then +comes the sweet rain, and sets the flowers and the foliage +dancing. All the seasons are either very late or very early, or, for +some reason, "the most remarkable within the memory of man." + +This is God's management for destroying routine within the law of +stated revolution, and for bringing the mind constantly into contact +with fresh influences. The soul, encased by a wall of adamantine +circumstances, and driven around a track of unvarying duties, +shrivels, or gets diseased. But these circumstances need not imprison +the farmer, nor these duties become the polished pavement of his +cell. He has his life among the most beautiful scenes of Nature and +the most interesting facts of Science. Chemistry, geology, botany, +meteorology, entomology, and a dozen other related or constituent +sciences,--what is intelligent farming but a series of experiments, +involving, first and last, all of these? What is a farm but a +laboratory where the most important and interesting scientific +problems are solved? The moment that any field of labor becomes +intelligently experimental, that moment routine ceases, and that field +becomes attractive. The most repulsive things under heaven become +attractive, on being invested with a scientific interest. All, +therefore, that a farmer has to do, to break up the traditional +routine of his method and his labor, is to become a scientific +farmer. He will then have an interest in his labor and its results +above their bare utilities. Labor that does not engage the mind has no +dignity; else the ox and the ass are kings in the world, and we are +but younger brothers in the royal family. So we say to every +farmer,--If you would make your calling attractive to yourself and +your boys, seek that knowledge which will break up routine, and make +your calling, to yourself and to them, an intelligent pursuit. + +A recent traveller in England speaks enthusiastically of a visit which +he paid to an old farm-house in that country, and of the garden-farm +upon which it stood, which had descended from father to son through a +period of five hundred years. He found a family of charming +intelligence and the politest culture. That hallowed soil was a +beautiful body, of which the family interests and associations were +the soul. To be dissociated from that soil forever would be +regarded by its proprietors as almost equivalent to family +annihilation. Proprietorship in English soil is one of the prime +ambitions of the true Englishman; but we do not find in New England +any kindred sentiments of pride in landed property and family +affection for the paternal acres. The nomadic tribes of Asia would +seem to have quite as strong local attachments as Yankee landholders, +most of whom will sell their homesteads as readily as they will their +horses. This fact we cannot but regard as one among the many causes +which have conspired to despoil the farmer's calling of some of its +legitimate attractions. The son slips away from the old homestead as +easily as he does from the door of a hotel. Very likely his father has +rooted up all home attachments by talking of removing Westward ever +since the boy saw the light. This lack of affection for the family +acres is doubtless owing somewhat to the fact that in this country +landed property is not associated with political privilege, as it has +been in England; but this cannot be the sole reason; for the sentiment +has a genuine basis in nature, and, in not a few instances, an actual +existence amongst us. + +Resulting from the operation of all the causes which we have briefly +noticed, there is another cause of the deterioration of farming life +in New England, which cannot be recovered from in many years. Actual +farming life has been brought into such harsh contrast with other +life, that its best materials have been sifted out of it, have slid +away from it. An inquiry at the doors of the great majority of farmers +would exhibit the general fact, that the brightest boys have gone to +college, or have become mechanics, or are teaching school, or are in +trade, or have emigrated to the West. There have been taken directly +out from the New England farming population its best elements,--its +quickest intelligence, its most stirring enterprise, its noblest and +most ambitious natures,--precisely those elements which were necessary +to elevate the standard of the farmer's calling and make it what it +should be. It is very easy to see why these men have not been retained +in the past; it is safe to predict that they will not be retained in +the future, unless a thorough reform be instituted. These men cannot +be kept on a routine farm, or tied to a home which has no higher life +than that of a workshop or a boarding-house. It is not because the +work of the farm is hard that men shun it. They will work harder and +longer in other callings for the sake of a better style of individual +and social life. They will go to the city, and cling to it while half +starving, rather than engage in the dry details and the hard and +homely associations of the life which they forsook. + +The boys are not the only members of the farmer's family that flee +from the farmer's life. The most intelligent and most enterprising of +the farmer's daughters become school-teachers, or tenders of shops, or +factory-girls. They contemn the calling of their father, and will, +nine times in ten, marry a mechanic in preference to a farmer. They +know that marrying a farmer is a very serious business. They remember +their worn-out mothers. They thoroughly understand that the vow that +binds them in marriage to a farmer seals them to a severe and homely +service that will end only in death. + +As a consequence of this sifting process, to which we have given but a +glance, a very decidedly depressing element is now being rapidly +introduced into New England farming life. The Irish girls have found +their way into the farmer's kitchen, and the Irish laborer has become +the annual "hired man." At present, there are no means of measuring +the effect of this new element; but it cannot fail to depress the tone +of farming society, and surround it with a new swarm of menial +associations. + +In our judgment, there is but little in the improved modes of farming, +in scientific discoveries, and new mechanical appliances, to be relied +upon for the elevation of New England agriculture and the emancipation +of New England farming life. The farmer needs new ideas more than he +needs new implements. The process of regeneration must begin in the +mind, and not in the soil. The proprietor of that soil should be the +true New England gentleman. His house should be the home of +hospitality, the embodiment of solid comfort and liberal taste, the +theatre of an exalted family-life which shall be the master and not +the servant of labor, and the central sun of a bright and happy social +atmosphere. When this standard shall be reached, there will be no +fear for New England agriculture. The noblest race of men and women +the sun ever shone upon will cultivate these valleys and build their +dwellings upon these hills; and they will cling to a life which +blesses them with health, plenty, individual development, and social +progress and happiness. This is what the farmer's life may be and +should be; and if it ever rise to this in New England, neither prairie +nor savanna can entice her children away; and waste land will become +as scarce, at last, as vacant lots in Paradise. + + + + +LES SALONS DE PARIS.[1] + + +The title is an ambitious one, for the _salons_ of Paris are +Paris itself; and, from the days of the Fronde and of the Hotel +Rambouillet down to our own, you may judge pretty accurately of what +is going on upon the great political stage of France by what is +observable in those green-rooms and _coulisses_ called the +Parisian drawing-rooms, and where, more or less, the actors of all +parties may be seen, either rehearsing their parts before the +performance, or seeking, after the performance is over, the several +private echoes of the general public sentiment that has burst forth +before the light of the foot-lamps. Shakspeare's declaration, that +"all the world's a stage," is nowhere so true as in the capital of +Gaul. There, most truly may it be said, are + + + ----"All the men and women merely players; + They have their exits and their entrances, + And one man in his time plays many parts." + + +Therefore might a profound and comprehensive study of the +drawing-rooms of Paris be in a manner a history of France in our own +times. + +Madame Ancelot's little volume does not aim so high; nor, had it done +so, would its author have possessed the talent requisite for carrying +out such a design. Madame Ancelot is a writer of essentially +second-rate and subordinate capacity, and consequently her account of +those _salons de Paris_ that she has seen (and she by no means +saw them all) derives no charm from the point of view she takes. To +say the truth, she has no "point of view" of her own; she tells what +she saw, and (thus far we must praise her) she tells it very +conscientiously. Having waited in every instance till the people she +has to speak of were dead, Mme. Ancelot has a pretty fair field before +her for the display of her sincerity, and we, the public, who are +neither kith nor kin of the deceased, are the gainers thereby. + +So interesting and so amusing is the subject Madame Ancelot has +chosen, that, in spite of her decided want of originality or even +talent in treating it, her book is both an amusing and an interesting +one. It is even more than that; for those who wish to have a correct +notion of certain epochs of the social civilization of modern France, +and of certain predominant types in French society during the +last forty years, Madame Ancelot's little volume is full of +instruction. Perhaps in no society, so much as in that of France, have +the political convulsions of the state reacted so forcibly upon the +relations of man to man, revolutionizing the homes of private persons, +even as the government and the monarchy were revolutionized. In +England, nothing of this kind is to be observed; and if you study +English society ten years, or twenty years, or fifty years after the +fall of Charles I., after the establishment of the Commonwealth, or +after the restoration of Charles II., the definitive exile of the +Stuarts, and the advent of a foreign dynasty to the throne, you find +everywhere its constitutive elements the same,--modified only by such +changes of time, circumstance, and fashion, as naturally, in every +country, modify the superficial aspect of all society. But in France, +it is the very _substratum_ of the social soil that is overturned, it +is the constitutive elements of society that are displaced; and the +consequence is a general derangement of all relative positions. + +In what is still termed _la vieille societe Francaise_, little or +nothing was left to chance, and one of its great characteristics was +order and the perfectly regular play of its machinery. Everything was +set down, _noted_, as it were, beforehand,--as strictly so as the +ceremonies of a grand diplomatic ceremony, after some treaty, or +marriage, or other occasion of solemn conference. Under this +_regime_, which endured till the Revolution of '93, (and even, +strangely enough, _beyond_ that period,) politeness was, of +course, the one chief quality of whosoever was well brought +up,--urbanity was the first sign of good company,--and for the simple +reason, that no one sought to infringe. There was no cause for +insolence, or for what in England is called "exclusiveness," because +there was no necessity to repel any disposition to encroach. No one +dreamed of the possibility of encroaching upon his neighbor's grounds, +or of taking, in the slightest degree, his neighbor's place. + +The first French Revolution caused no such sudden and total disruption +of the old social traditions as has been generally supposed; and as +far as mere social intercourse and social conventionalities were +concerned, there was, even amongst the terrible popular dictators of +1793, more of the _tone_ of the _ci-devant_ good company +than could possibly be imagined. In later times, every one who knew +Fouche remembers that he was constantly in the habit of expressing his +indignation at the want of good-breeding of the young exquisites of +the Empire, and used perpetually to exclaim, "In _my time_" this +or that "would not have been allowed," or, "In _my_ time we were +accustomed to do" so and so. Now Fouche's "time" was that which is +regarded as the period of universal beheading and levelling. + +It is certain, that, under the _regime_ of the Revolution itself, +bitter class-hatreds did not at first show themselves in the peaceful +atmosphere of society,--and that for more than one reason. First of +all, in a certain sense, "society," it may be said, was +_not_. Next, what subsisted of society was fragmentary, and was +formed by small isolated groups or coteries, pretty homogeneously +composed, or, when not so as to rank and station, rendered homogeneous +by community of suffering. It must not be imagined that only the +highest class in France paid for its opinions or its vanities with +loss of life and fortune. The victims were everywhere; for the changes +in the governing forces were so perpetual, that, more or less, every +particular form of envy and hatred had its day of power, and levelled +its blows at the objects of its special antipathy. In this way, the +aristocracy and the _bourgeoisie_ were often brought into +contact; marriages even were contracted, whether during imprisonment +or under the pressure of poverty, that never would have been dreamt of +in a normal state of things; and whilst parents of opposite conditions +shook hands in the scaffold-surveying _charrettes_, the children +either drew near to each other, in a mutual helpfulness, the principle +whereof was Christian charity, or met together to partake of +amusements, the aim whereof was oblivion. For several years, the turn +of every individual for execution might come, and therefore it was +difficult, on the other hand, to see who might also _not_ be a +friend. + +This began to be modified under the Empire, but in a shape not +hitherto foreseen. Military glory began to long for what the genuine +Revolutionists termed "feudal distinctions." Napoleon was desirous of +a court and of an aristocracy; he set to work to create a +_noblesse_, and dukes and counts were fabricated by the +dozen. Very soon the strong love of depreciation, that is inherent in +every Frenchman, seized upon even the higher plebeian classes, and, +discontented as they were at seeing the liberties of the movement of +'89 utterly confiscated by a military chief, and antipathetic as they +have been, time out of mind, to what are called _les traineurs de +sabre_, the civilians of France, her _bourgeois_, who were to +have their day,--but with very different feelings in 1830,--joined +with the genuine Pre-Revolutionary aristocrats, and the _noblesse de +l'Empire_ was laughed at and taken _en grippe_. Here was, in +reality, the first wide breach made in France in the edifice of +good-breeding and good-manners; and those who have been eye-witnesses +to the metamorphosis will admit that the guillotine of Danton and +Robespierre did even less to destroy _le bon ton_ of the +_ancien regime_ than was achieved by the guard-room habits and +morals of Bonaparte's glorious troopers, rushing, as they did, booted +and spurred, into the emblazoned sanctuary of heraldic distinctions, +and taking, as it were, _la societe_ by storm. + +But soon another alliance and other enmities were to be formed. The +Empire fell; the Bourbons returned to France; Louis XVIII. recognized +the _noblesse_ of the Imperial government, and the constitution of +society as it had been battled for by the Revolution. At the same time +his court was filled with all the great historic names of the country, +who returned, no longer avowedly the first in authority, and therefore +prompt to condescend, but the first in presumption, and therefore +prompt to take offence. The new alliance that was formed was that of +the plebeian caste with the _noblesse de l'Empire_, against which it +had been previously so incensed. Notwithstanding all the efforts +sincerely made by Louis XVIII. to establish a constitutional +government and to promote a genuine constitutional feeling throughout +France, class-hatreds rose gradually to so violent a height that the +king's only occupation soon grew to be the balancing of expediencies. +He was forever obliged to reflect upon the choices he could make +around him, since each choice made from one party insured him a +hundred enemies in the party opposed. This, which was the political +part of the drama,--that which regarded the scenes played upon the +public stage,--had its instantaneous reflex, as we have already said +in the commencement of these pages, in the _salons_, which were the +green-rooms and _coulisses_. Urbanity, amenity of language, the bland +demeanor hitherto characterized as _la grace Francaise_, all these +were at an end. Society in France, such as it had been once, the +far-famed model for all Europe, had ceased to exist. The ambition +which had once been identified with the cares of office or the dangers +of war now found sufficient food in the bickerings of party-spirit, +and revenged itself by _salon_ jokes and _salon_ impertinence for the +loss of a lead it either could not or would not take in +Parliament. The descendants of those very fathers and mothers who had, +in many cases, suffered incarceration, and death even, together, set +to hating each other cordially, because these would not abdicate what +those would not condescend to compete for. The _noblesse_ cried out, +that the _bourgeoisie_ was usurping all its privileges; and the +_bourgeoisie_ retorted, that the time for privilege was past. The two +classes could no longer meet together in the world, but formed utterly +different sets and _cliques_; and it must be avowed that neither of +the two gained in good-manners, or what may be called drawing-room +distinction. + +From 1815 to 1830, the _noblesse_ had officially the +advantage. From 1830 to 1848, the _bourgeoisie_ ruled over the +land. But now was to be remarked another social phenomenon, that +complicated _salon_ life more than ever. The middle classes, we +say, were in power; they were in all the centres of political +life,--in the Chambers, in the ministries, in the king's councils, in +diplomacy; and with them had risen to importance the Imperial +aristocracy, whose representatives were to be found in every +department of the public service. All this while, the old families of +the _ancien regime_ shut themselves up among themselves entirely, +constituted what is now termed the _Faubourg St. Germain_, which +never was so exclusive or so powerful (socially speaking) as under +Louis Philippe, and a tacit combat between envy and disdain was +carried on, such as perhaps no modern civilization ever witnessed. The +Faubourg St. Germain arrogated to itself the privilege of exclusively +representing _la societe Francaise_, and it must be confessed +that the behavior of its adversaries went far to substantiate its +claims. + +Our purpose in these pages is not to touch upon anything connected +with politics, or we could show, that, whilst apparently severed from +all activity upon the more conspicuous field of the capital, the +ancient French families were employed in reestablishing their +influence in the rural provincial centres; the result of which was the +extraordinary influx of Legitimist members into the Chamber formed by +the first Republican elections in 1848. But this is foreign to our +present aim. As to what regards French _society_, properly so +called, it was, from 1804, after the proclamation of the Empire, till +1848, after the fall of Louis Philippe, in gradual but incessant +course of sub-division into separate cliques, each more or less +bitterly disposed towards the others. From the moment when this began +to be the case, the edifice of French society could no longer be +studied as a whole, and it only remained to examine its component +parts as evidences of the tendencies of various classes in the nation. +In this assuredly not uninteresting study, Mme. Ancelot's book is of +much service; for a certain number of the different _salons_ she +names are, as it were, types of the different stages civilization has +attained to in the city which chooses to style itself "the brain of +Europe." + +The description, given in the little book before us, of what in Paris +constitutes a genuine _salon_, is a tolerably correct one. "A +_salon_," says Mme. Ancelot, "is not in the least like one of +those places in a populous town, where people gather together a crowd +of individuals unknown to each other, who never enter into +communication, and who are where they are, momentarily, either because +they expect to dance, or to hear music, or to show off the +magnificence of their dress. This is not what can ever be called a +_salon_. A _salon_ is an intimate and periodical meeting of +persons who for several years have been in the habit of frequenting +the same house, who enjoy each other's society, and who have some +reason, as they imagine, to be happy when they are brought in +contact. The persons who receive, form a link between the various +persons they invite, and this link binds the _habitues_ more +closely to one another, if, as is commonly the case, it is a woman of +superior mind who forms the point of union. A _salon_, to be +homogeneous, and to endure, requires that its _habitues_ should +have similar opinions and tastes, and, above all, enough of the +urbanity of bygone days to enable its frequenters to feel _at +home_ with every one in it, without the necessity of a formal +introduction. Formerly, this practice of speaking to persons you had +not been presented to was a proof of good-breeding; for it was well +known that in no house of any distinction would there be found a guest +who was not worthy to be the associate of whoever was noblest and +best. These habits of social intercourse gave a value to the +intellectual and moral qualities of the individual, quite independent +of his fortune or his rank; and in these little republics the real +sovereign was _merit_." + +Madame Ancelot is right here, and there were in Paris several of these +_salons_, which served as the models for those of all the rest of +Europe. Under the Restoration, two illustrious ladies tried to recall +to the generation that had sprung from the Empire or from emigration +what the famous _salons_ of old had once been, and the Duchesse +de Duras and the Marquise de Montcalm (sister to the then minister, +the Duc de Richelieu) drew around them all that was in any way +distinguished in France. But the many causes we have noted above made +the enterprise a difficult one, and the various divergences of +society, politically speaking, rendered the task of the mistress of a +house one of surpassing arduousness. Mme. de Stael, who, by her very +superiority perhaps,--certainly by her vehemence,--was prevented from +ever being a perfect example of what was necessary in this respect, +acquired the nickname of _Presidente de Salons_; and it would +appear, that, with her resolute air, her loud voice, and her violent +opinions, she really did seem like a kind of speaker of some House of +Commons disguised as a woman. That the management of a _salon_ +was no easy affair the following anecdote will prove. The Duchesse de +Duras one day asked M. de Talleyrand what he thought of the evening +_reunions_ at her house, and after a few words of praise, he +added: "But you are too vivacious as yet, too young. Ten years hence +you will know better how to manage it all." Mme. de Duras was then +somewhere about fifty-four or five! We perceive, therefore, that, +according to M. de Talleyrand, the proper manner of receiving a +certain circle of _habitues_ was likely to be the study of a +whole life. + +We select from Mme. Ancelot's book sketches of the following +_maitresses de maison_, because they seem to us the types of the +periods of transformation to which they correspond in the order of +date:--Mme. Lebrun, Mme. Gerard, Mme. d'Abrantes, Mme. Recamier, Mme. +Nodier. Mme. Lebrun corresponds to the period when Pre-Revolutionary +traditions were still in force, and when the remembrance yet +subsisted of a society that had been a real and not a fictive +unity. Mme. Gerard--or we should rather say her husband, for she +occupied herself little with her guests, whom the illustrious painter +entertained--represents the period of the Empire, prolonging itself +into the Restoration, and seeking by the immunities of talent and +intelligence to bring the two _regimes_ to meet upon what might be +termed neutral ground. Mme. d'Abrantes is the type of that last +remnant of the half-heroic, half-sentimental epoch which tried to +endure even after the first days of 1830, and of which certain verses +of Delphine Gay, certain impossible portraits of invincible colonels, +certain parts played by the celebrated Elleviou, and the +Troubadourish "_Partant pour la Syrie_" of Queen Hortense, are +emblematical. Mme. Recamier, although in date all but the contemporary +of Mme. Lebrun, is, in her position of mistress of a _salon_, +essentially the impersonation of a foible peculiar to the present day; +she typifies the class of women who, in Paris, are absolutely absorbed +by the thought of their _salons_, for whom to receive is to live, and +who are ready to expire at the notion of any celebrity not being a +frequenter of their tea-table. Mme. Nodier's--and here, as with Mme. +Gerard, we must substitute the husband for the wife, and say Charles +Nodier's--_salon_ was the menagerie whither thronged all the strange +beings who, after the Revolution of July, fancied they had some +special and extraordinary "call" in the world of Art. Nodier's +receptions at the Arsenal represent the literary and artistic movement +of 1830. + +To begin, then, with Mme. Lebrun. This lady was precisely one of +those individualities who, since the days of Louis XIV., had found it +easy to take their place in French society, who, under the ancien +_regime_, were the equals of the whole world, and who, since +"Equality" has been so formally decreed by the laws of the land, would +have found it impossible, under the Citizen King, Louis Philippe, or +under the so-called "Democratic Empire" of Louis Napoleon, to surround +themselves with any society save that of a perfectly inferior +description. + +Mme. Lebrun was the daughter of a very second-rate painter of the name +of Vigee, the sister of a poet of some talent of the same name, and +was married young to a picture-dealer of large fortune and most +expensive and dissipated, not to say dissolute habits, M. Lebrun. She +was young,--and, like Mme. Recamier and a few others, remained +youthful to a very late term of her existence,--remarkably beautiful, +full of talent, grace, and _esprit_, and possessed of the magnificent +acquirements as a portrait-painter that have made her productions to +this day valuable throughout the galleries of Europe. She was very +soon so brilliantly in fashion, that there was not a _grand seigneur_ +of the court, a _grande dame_ of the queen's intimacy, a rich +_fermier-general_, or a famous writer, artist, or _savant_, who did +not petition to be admitted to her soirees; and in her small +apartment, in the Rue de Clery, were held probably the last of those +intimate and charmingly unceremonious reunions which so especially +characterized the manners of the high society of France when all +question of etiquette was set aside. The witty Prince de Ligne, the +handsome Comte de Vaudreuil, the clever M. de Boufflers, and his +step-son, M. de Sabran, with such men as Diderot, d'Alembert, +Marmontel, and Laharpe, were the original _habitues_ of Mme. Lebrun's +drawing-room. At the same time used to visit her the bitter, bilious, +discontented David, the painter, who, though very young, was annoyed +at a woman having such incontestable proficiency in his own art, and +whose democratic ideas were hurt at her receiving such a number of +what he styled "great people." Madame Lebrun, one day,--little +dreaming that she was addressing a future _coupe-tete_ of the most +violent species, (perhaps the only genuine admirer of Marat,)--said, +smilingly, to the future painter of _Les Sabines_, "David, you are +wretched because you are neither Duke nor Marquis. I, to whom all such +titles are absolutely indifferent, I receive with sincere pleasure all +who make themselves agreeable." The apostrophe apparently hit home, +for David never returned to Mme. Lebrun's house, and was no +well-wisher of hers in later times. But on this occasion she had not +only told the truth to an individual, she had touched upon the secret +sore of the nation and the time; and vast classes were already +brooding in silence over the absurd, vain, and empty regret at being +"neither Duke nor Marquis." The Revolution was at hand, and the days +rapidly approaching when all such pleasant assemblies as those held by +Mme. Lebrun would become forever impossible. At some of these, the +crowd of intimates, and of persons all acquainted with each other, was +so great, that the highest dignitaries of the realm had to content +themselves with sitting down upon the floor; and on one occasion, the +Marechal de Noailles, who was of exceedingly large build, had to +request the assistance of several of his neighbors before he could be +brought from his squatting attitude to his feet again. + +Mme. Lebrun emigrated, like the majority of her associates,--going to +Russia, to Italy, to Germany, to England, and everywhere increasing +the number of her friends, besides preserving all those of former +times, whom she sedulously sought out in their voluntary exile, and to +whom, in many cases, she even proved an invaluable friend. In the +commencement of the Restoration, Mme. Lebrun returned to France, and +established herself definitively at Paris, and at Louveciennes near +Marly, where she had a delightful summer residence. Here, as in her +salons in the metropolis, she tried to bring back the tone of French +society to what it had been before the Revolution, and to show the +younger generations what had been the gayety, the grace, the +affability, the exquisite good-breeding of those who had preceded +them. The men and women of her own standing seconded her, but the +younger ones were not to be drawn into high-heartedness; and an +observer might have had before him the somewhat strange spectacle of +old age gay, gentle, unobservant of any stiff formality, and of youth +preoccupied and grave, and, instead of being refined in manners, +pedantic. "The younger frequenters of Mme. Lebrun's salon," says +Mme. Ancelot, "were strangers to the world into which they found +themselves raised; those who surrounded them were of an anterior +civilization; they could not grow to be identified with a past which +was unknown to them, or known only through recitals that disfigured +it.... Amidst the remnants of a society that had been historical, +there was, as it were, the breath of a spirit born of our days; new +ideas, new opinions, new hopes, nay, even new recollections, were +evident all around, and served to render social unity impossible; but, +above all, what failed in this one particular centre was youth,--there +were few or no young people." This was perfectly true; and +Mme. Lebrun's _salon_ is interesting only from the fact of its +being the last, perhaps, in which French people of our day can have +acquired a complete notion of what the Pre-Revolutionary _salons_ +of France were. + +The evening _reunions_ at the house of Gerard, the celebrated +painter, were among the most famous features of the society of the +Restoration. The gatherings at Mmes. de Duras's and de Montcalm's +splendid hotels were all but exclusively political and diplomatic; +whereas at Gerard's there was a mixture of these with the purely +mundane and artistic elements, and, above all, there was a portion of +Imperialist fame blended with all the rest, that was hard to be found +anywhere else. Gerard, too, had painted the portraits of so many +crowned heads, and been so much admitted into the intimacy of his +royal models, that, whenever a foreigner of any note visited Paris, he +almost immediately asked to be put in a way to be invited to the +celebrated artist's Wednesday receptions. This was, to a certain +degree, an innovation in regular French society; the French being most +truly, as has been said, the "Chinese of Europe," and liking nothing +less than the intermixture with themselves of anything foreign. But +Gerard was one of those essentially superior men who are able to +influence those around them, and bring them to much whereto no one +else could have persuaded them. Gerard, like many celebrated persons, +was infinitely superior to what he _did_. As far as what he +_did_ was concerned, Gerard, though a painter of great merit, was +far inferior to two or three of whom France has since been justly +proud; but in regard to what he _was_, Gerard was a man of +genius, who had in many ways few superiors. Few men, even in France, +have so highly deserved the reputation of _un homme d'esprit_. He +was as _spirituel_ as Talleyrand himself, and almost as +clear-sighted and profound. Add to this that nothing could surpass the +impression made by Gerard at first sight. He was strikingly like the +first Napoleon, but handsomer; with the same purity of outline, the +same dazzlingly lustrous eyes, full of penetration and thought, but +with a certain _sympathetic_ charm about his whole person that +the glorious conqueror of Marengo and Dictator of Gaul never +possessed. + +Gerard was not entirely French; born in Rome in 1770, his father only +was a native of France, his mother was an Italian; and from her he +inherited a certain combination of qualities and peculiarities that at +once distinguished him from the majority of his countrymen. Full of +poetic fire and inspiration, there was in Gerard at the same time a +strong critical propensity, that showed itself in his caustic wit and, +sometimes, not unmalicious remarks. There was also a perpetual +struggle in his character between reflection and the first impulse, +and sometimes the _etourderie_ of the French nature was suddenly +checked by the caution of the Italian; but, take him as he was, he was +a man in a thousand, and those who were in the habit of constantly +frequenting his house affirm loudly and with the deepest regret, that +they shall never "look upon his like again." + +Gerard had built for himself a house in the Rue des Augustins, near +the ancient church of St. Germain des Pres; and there, every Wednesday +evening, summer and winter, he received whatever was in any way +illustrious in France, or whatever the other capitals of Europe sent +to Paris, _en passant_. "Four small rooms," says Mme. Ancelot, +"and a very small antechamber, composed the whole apartment. At twelve +o'clock tea was served, with eternally the same cakes, over which a +pupil of Gerard's, Mlle. Godefroy, presided. Gerard himself talked; +his wife remained nailed to a whist-table, attending to nothing and to +nobody. Evening once closed in, cards were the only occupation of +Mme. Gerard." + +From Mme. de Stael down to Mlle. Mars, from Talleyrand and Pozzo di +Borgo down to M. Thiers, there were no celebrities, male or female, +that, during thirty years, (from 1805 to 1835,) did not flock to +Gerard's house, and all, how different soever might be their character +or position, agreed in the same opinion of their host; and those who +survive say of him to this day,--"Nothing in his _salons_ +announced that you were received by a great _Artist_, but before +half an hour had elapsed you felt you were the guest of a +distinguished Man; you had seen by a glance at Gerard's whole person +and air that he was something apart from others,--that the sacred fire +burned there!" + +The regret felt for Gerard's loss by all who ever knew him is not to +be told, and speaks as highly for those who cherished as for him who +inspired it. His, again, was one of the _salons_ (impossible now +in France) where genius and social superiority, whether of birth or +position, met together on equal terms. Without having, perhaps, as +large a proportion of the old _noblesse de cour_ at his house as +had Mme. Lebrun, Gerard received full as many of those eminent +personages whose political occupations would have seemed to estrange +them from the world of mixed society and the Arts. This is a +_nuance_ to be observed. Under the Empire, hard and despotic as +was the rule of Bonaparte, and anxious even as he was to draw round +him all the aristocratic names that would consent to serve his +government, there was--owing to the mere force of events and the +elective origin of the throne--a strong and necessary democratic +feeling, that assigned importance to each man according to his +works. Besides this, let it be well observed, the first Empire had a +strong tendency to protect and exalt the Arts, from its own very +ardent desire to be made glorious in the eyes of posterity. Napoleon +I. was, in his way, a consummate artist, a prodigiously intelligent +_metteur en scene_ of his own exploits, and he valued full as +much the man who delineated or sang his deeds, as the minister who +helped him to legislate, or the diplomatist who drew up protocols and +treaties. The Emperor was a lover of noise and show, and his time was +a showy and a noisy one. Bonaparte had, in this respect, little enough +of the genuine Tyrant nature. Unlike his nephew, he loved neither +silence nor darkness; he loved the reflection of his form in the broad +noon of publicity, and the echo of his tread upon the sounding soil of +popular renown. Could he have been sure that all free men would have +united their voices in chanting his exploits, he would have made the +citizens of France the freest in the whole world. Compression with him +was either a mere preventive against or vengeance for detraction. + +Now this publicity-loving nature was, we repeat, as much served by Art +and artists as by politicians; nay, perhaps more; and for this reason +artists stood high during the period of the Empire. Talma held a +social rank that under no other circumstances could have been his, and +a painter like Gerard could welcome to his house statesmen such as +Talleyrand or Daru, or marshals of France, and princes even. We shall +show, by-and-by, how this grew to be impossible later. At present we +will recur to Mme. Ancelot for a really very true description of two +persons who were among the _habitues_ of the closing years of +Gerard's weekly receptions, and one of whom was destined to universal +celebrity: we allude to Mme. Gay, and her daughter, Delphine,--later, +Mme. Girardin. Of these two, the mother, famous as Sophie Gay, was as +thorough a remnant of the exaggerations and bad taste of the Empire as +were the straight, stiff, mock-classical articles of furniture of the +Imperialist hotels, or the _or-moulu_ clocks so ridiculed by +Balzac, on which turbaned Mamelukes mourned their expiring steeds. All +the false-heroics of the literature of the Empire found their +representative (their last one, perhaps) in Mme. Sophie Gay, and it +has not been sufficiently remarked that she even transmitted a shade +of all this to her daughter, in other respects one of the most +sagacious spirits and one of the most essentially unconventional of +our own day. A certain something that was not in harmony with the tone +of contemporary writers here and there surprised you in Delphine de +Girardin's productions, and, as Jules Janin once said, "One would +think the variegated plumes of Murat's fantastic hat[2] were sweeping +through her brains!" This was her mother's doing. Delphine, who had +never lived during one hour of the glory of the Empire, had, through +the medium of her mother, acquired a slight tinge of its +_boursouflure_; and had it not been for her own personal good +taste, she would have been misled precisely by her strong lyrical +aptitudes. Madame Gay found in Gerard's _salon_ all the people +she had best known in her youth, and she was delighted to have her +early years recalled to her. Mme. Ancelot, who, like many of her +country women, felt a marked antipathy for Madame Gay, has given a +very true portrait of both mother and daughter. + +"Many years after," she writes, "when these ladies were (through M. de +Girardin) at the head of one of the chief organs of the Paris press, +they were much flattered and courted; at the period I speak of" (about +1817-1825) "their position was far from brilliant, and Mme. Gay was +far from popular. Every word that fell from her mouth, uttered in a +sharp tone, and full of bitterness and envy, went to speak ill of +others and prodigiously well of herself. She had a mania for titles +and tuft-hunting, and could speak of no one under a marquis, a count, +or a baron. Her daughter's beauty and talents caused her afterwards to +be more generally admitted into society; but at this period she was +avoided by most people." + +Her daughter's beauty was certainly marvellous, and when, under the +reign of Louis Philippe, American society had in Paris more than one +brilliant representative and more than one splendid centre of +hospitality, where all that was illustrious in the society of France +perpetually flocked, we make no doubt many of our countrymen noticed, +whether at theatre or concert or ball, the really queenlike air of +Mme. de Girardin, and the exquisitely classic profile, which, +enframed, as it were, by the capricious spirals of the lightest, +fairest flaxen hair, resembled the outline of some antique statue of a +Muse. + +Delphine Gay and her mother were more the ornaments of the +_salon_ of the Duchesse d'Abrantes, perhaps, than of that of +Gerard; and as the former continued open long after the latter was +closed by death, not only the young girl, whose verses were so +immensely in fashion during the Restoration, was one of the constant +guests of Junot's widow, but she continued to be so as the wife of +Emile de Girardin, the intelligent and enterprising founder of the +newspaper "La Presse." + +The _salon_ of the Duchesse d'Abrantes was one of the first of a +species which has since then found imitators by scores and hundreds +throughout France. It was the _salon_ of a person not in herself +sufficiently superior or even celebrated to attract the genuine +superiorities of the country without the accessory attractions of +luxury, and not sufficiently wealthy to draw around her by her +splendid style of receiving, and to disdain the bait held out to those +she invited by the presence of great "lions." Gerard gave to his +guests, at twelve o'clock at night, a cup of tea and "eternally the +same cakes" all the year round; but Gerard was the type of the great +honors rendered, as we have observed, to Art under the Empire, and to +his house men went as equals, whose daily occupations made them the +associates of kings. This was not the case with the Duchesse +d'Abrantes. She had notoriety, not fame. Her "Memoires" had been read +all through Europe, but it is to be questioned whether anything beyond +curiosity was satisfied by the book, and it certainly brought to its +author little or none of that which in France stands in lieu even of +fortune, but which is not easy to obtain, namely,--_consideration_. + +The Duchesse d'Abrantes was rather popular than otherwise; she was +even beloved by a certain number of persons; but she never was what is +termed _consideree_,--and this gave to her _salon_ a different aspect +from that of the others we have spoken of. A dozen names could be +mentioned, whose wearers, without any means of "entertaining" their +friends, or giving them more than a glass of _eau sucree_, were yet +surrounded by everything highest and best in the land, simply because +they were _gens considerables_, as the phrase went; but +Mme. d'Abrantes, who more or less received all that mixed population +known by the name of _tout Paris_, never was, we repeat, _consideree_. + +The way in which Mme. Ancelot introduces her "friend," the poor +Duchesse d'Abrantes, on the scene, is exceedingly amusing and natural; +and we have here at once the opportunity of applying the remark we +made in commencing these pages, upon Mme. Ancelot's truthfulness. She +is the _habituee_ of the house of Mme. d'Abrantes; she professes +herself attached to the Duchess; yet she does not scruple to tell +everything as it really is, nor, out of any of the usual little +weaknesses of friendship, does she omit any one single detail that +proves the strange and indeed somewhat "Bohemian" manner of life of +her patroness. We, the readers of her book, are obviously obliged to +her for her indiscretions; with those who object to them from other +motives we have nothing to do. + +Here, then, is the fashion in which we are introduced to Mme. la +Duchesse d'Abrantes, widow of Marshal Junot, and a born descendant of +the Comneni, Emperors of Byzantium. + +Mme. Ancelot is sitting quietly by her fireside, one evening in +October, (some short time after the establishment of the monarchy of +July,) waiting to hear the result of a representation at the Theatre +Francais, where a piece of her own is for the first time being +performed. All at once, she hears several carriages stop at her door, +a number of persons rush up the stairs, and she finds herself in the +arms of the Duchesse d'Abrantes, who was resolved, as she says, to be +the first to congratulate her on her success. The hour is a late one; +supper is served, and conversation is prolonged into the "small +hours." All at once Mme. d'Abrantes exclaims, with an explosion of +delight,--"Ah! what a charming time is the night! one is so +deliciously off for talking! so safe! so secure! safe from bores and +from duns!" (_on ne craint ni les ennuyeux ni les creanciers_.') + +Madame Ancelot affirms that this speech made a tremendous effect, and +that her guests looked at each other in astonishment. If this really +was the case, we can only observe that it speaks well for the +Parisians of the epoch at which it occurred; for, assuredly, at the +present day, no announcement of the kind would astonish or scandalize +any one. People in "good society," nowadays, in France, have got into +a habit of living from hand to mouth, and of living by expedients, +simply because they have not the strength of mind to live _out_ +of society, and because the life of "the world" forces them to +expenses utterly beyond what they have any means of providing +for. However, we are inclined to believe that some five-and-twenty +years ago this was in no degree a general case, and that Mme. +d'Abrantes might perfectly well have been the first _maitresse de +maison_ to whom it happened. + +"Alas!" sighs Mme. Ancelot, commenting upon her excellent friend's +strange confidence,--"it was the secret of her whole life that she +thus revealed to us in a moment of _abandon_,--the secret of an +existence that tried still to reflect the splendors of the Imperial +epoch, and that was at the same time perplexed and tormented by all +the thousand small miseries of pecuniary embarrassment. There were the +two extremes of a life that to the end excited my surprise. Grandeur! +want!--between those two opposites oscillated every day of the last +years of the Duchesse d'Abrantes; the exterior and visible portion of +that life arranged itself well or ill, as it best could, in the +middle,--now apparently colored by splendor, and now degraded by +distress; but at bottom the existence was unvaryingly what I state." + +Madame d'Abrantes, at the period of her greatest notoriety, occupied +the ground-floor of a hotel in the Rue Rochechouart, with a garden, +where dancing was often introduced upon the lawn. Some remnants of +the glories of Imperialism were collected there, but the principal +_habitues_ were men of letters, artists, and young men who danced +well! (_les jeunes beaux qui dansaient bien!_) That one phrase +characterizes at once the ex-_belle_ of the Empire, the +contemporary of the sentimental Hortense de Beauharnais, and of the +more than _legere_ Pauline Borghese. + +To the "new society of July" Mme. d'Abrantes was an object of great +curiosity. "I dote on seeing that woman!" said Balzac, one evening, +to Mme. Ancelot. "Only fancy! she saw Napoleon Bonaparte as a mere +boy,--knew him well,--knew him as a young man, unknown,--saw him +occupied, like anybody else, with the ordinary occurrences of +every-day life; then she saw him grow, and grow, and rise, and throw +the shadow of his name over the world. She seems to me somewhat like a +canonized creature who should all at once come and recount to me the +glories of paradise." + +Balzac, it must be premised, was bitten just at this period by the +Napoleon mania, and this transformed his inquisitive attachment for +Mme. d'Abrantes into a kind of passion. It was at this period that he +chose to set up in his habitation in the Rue Cassini a sort of altar, +on which he placed a small statue of the Emperor, with these words +engraved upon the pedestal:-- + + + "Ce qu'il avait commence par l'epee, + Je l'acheverai par la plume!" + + +What particular part of the Imperial work this was that Balzac was to +"complete by the pen" was never rightly discovered,--but for a time he +had a sun-stroke for Napoleon, and his attachment for Mme. d'Abrantes +partook of this influence. + +One anecdote told by Mme. Ancelot proves to what a degree the union of +"grandeur" and "want" she has alluded to went. "Mme. d'Abrantes," says +her biographer of the moment, "was always absorbed by the present +impression, whatever that might happen to be; she passed from joy to +despair like a child, and I never knew any house that was either so +melancholy or so gay." One evening, however, it would seem that the +Hotel d'Abrantes was gayer than usual. Laughter rang loud through the +rooms, the company was numerous, and the mistress of the house in +unparalleled high spirits. If the tide of conversation seemed to +slacken, quickly Madame la Duchesse had some inimitable story of the +_ridicules_ of the ladies of the Imperial court, and the whole +circle was soon convulsed at her stories, and at her way of telling +them. The tea-table was forgotten. Generally, tea at her house was +taken at eleven o'clock; but on this occasion, midnight was long past +before it was announced, and before her guests assembled round the +table. If our readers are curious to know why, here was the reason: +All that remained of the plate had that very morning been put in pawn, +and when tea should have been served it was found that tea-spoons were +wanting! Whilst these were being sent for to the house of a friend +who lent them, Madame la Duchesse took charge of her guests, and +drowned their impatience in their hilarity. + +It must be allowed that this lady was worthy to be the mother of the +young man who, one day, pointing to a sheet of stamped paper, on which +a bill of exchange might be drawn, said: "You see that; it is worth +five sous now; but if I sign my name to it, it will be worth nothing!" +This was a speech made by Junot's eldest son, known in Paris as the +Duc d'Abrantes, and as the intimate friend of Victor Hugo, from whom +at one time he was almost inseparable. + +The eccentric personage we have just spoken of--the Duchesse +d'Abrantes--died in the year 1838, in a garret, upon a truckle-bed, +provided for her by the charity of a friend. The royal family paid the +expenses of her funeral, and Chateaubriand, accompanied by nearly +every celebrity of the literary world, followed on foot behind her +coffin, from the church to the burying-ground. + +Madame d'Abrantes may be considered as the inventor, in France, of +what has since become so widely spread under the name of _les salons +picaresques_, and of what, at the present day, is famous under the +appellation of the _demi-monde_. Her example has been followed +by numberless imitators, and now, instead of presuming (as was the +habit formerly) that those only receive who are rich enough to do so, +it is constantly inquired, when any one in Paris opens his or her +house, whether he or she is ruined, and whether the _soirees_ +given are meant merely to throw dust into people's eyes. The history +of the tea-spoons--so singular at the moment of its occurrence--has +since been parodied a hundred times over, and sometimes by mistresses +of houses whose fortune was supposed to put them far above all such +expedients. Madame d'Abrantes, we again say, was the founder of a +_genre_ in Paris society, and as such is well worth studying. The +_genre_ is by no means the most honorable, but it is one too +frequently found now in the social centres of the French capital for +the essayist on Paris _salons_ to pass it over unnoticed. + +The _salon_ of Mme. Recamier is one of a totally different order, +and the world-wide renown of which may make it interesting to the +reader of whatever country. As far as age was concerned, Mme. +Recamier was the contemporary of Mme. d'Abrantes, of Gerard, nay, +almost of Mme. Lebrun; for the renown of her beauty dates from the +time of the French Revolution, and her early friendships associate her +with persons who even had time to die out under the first Empire; but +the _salon_ of Madame Recamier was among the exclusively modern +ones, and enjoyed all its lustre and its influence only after +1830. The cause of this is obvious: the circumstance that attracted +society to Mme. Recamier's house was no other than the certainty of +finding there M. de Chateaubriand. He was the divinity of the temple, +and the votaries flocked around his shrine. Before 1830 the temple had +been elsewhere, and, until her death, Mme. la Duchesse de Duras was +the high-priestess of the sanctuary, where a few privileged mortals +only were admitted to bow down before the idol. It is inconceivable +how easy a certain degree of renown finds it in Paris to establish one +of these undisputed sovereignties, before which the most important, +highest, most considerable individualities abdicate their own merit, +and prostrate themselves in the dust. M. de Chateaubriand in no way +justified the kind of worship that was paid him, nor did he even +obtain it so long as he was in a way actively to justify it. It was +when he grew old and produced nothing, and was hourly more and more +rusted over by selfishness, churlishness, and an exorbitant adoration +of his own genius, that the society of his country fell down upon its +knees before him, and was ready to make any sacrifice to insure to +itself the honor of one of his smiles or one of his looks. In this +disposition, Madame Recamier speedily obtained a leading influence +over Paris society, and when it was notorious that from four to six +every day the "Divinity" would be visible in her _salons_, her +_salons_ became the place of pilgrimage for all Paris. As with +those of Mme. d'Abrantes, there was a certain mixture amongst the +guests, because, without that, the _notoriety_, which neither +Chateaubriand nor Mme. Recamier disliked, would have been less easily +secured; but the tone of the _reunions_ was vastly different, and +at the celebrated receptions of the Abbaye aux Bois (where +Mme. Recamier spent her last quarter of a century) the somewhat +austere deportment of the _siecle de Louis XIV._ was in +vogue. All the amusements were in their nature grave. Mlle. Rachel +recited a scene from "Polyeucte" for the author of "Les Martyrs," and +for archbishops and cardinals; the Duc de Noailles read a chapter from +his history of Mme. de Maintenon; some performance of strictly +classical music was to be heard; or, upon state occasions, +Chateaubriand himself vouchsafed to impart to a chosen few a few pages +of the "Memoires d'Outre-Tombe." + +In her youth Mme. Recamier had been reputed beautiful, and her sole +occupation then was to do the honors of her beauty. She did not dream +of ever being anything else; and as she remained young marvellously +long,--as her beauty, or the charm, whatever it was, that +distinguished her, endured until a very late epoch of her life,--she +was far advanced in years before the idea of becoming famous through +any other medium save that of her exterior advantages ever struck +her. Madame Recamier had no intellectual superiority, but, +paraphrasing in action Moliere's witty sentence, that "silence, well +employed, may go far to establish a man's capacity," she resolved to +employ well the talent she possessed of making other people believe +themselves clever. Mme. Ancelot, whose "good friend" she is supposed +to have been, and who treats her with the same sincerity she applies +to Mme. d'Abrantes, has a very ingenious and, we have reason to fancy, +a very true parallel, for Mme. Recamier. She compares her to the +mendicant described by Sterne, (or Swift,) who always obtained alms +even from those who never gave to any other, and whose secret lay in +the adroit flatteries with which he seasoned all his beggings. The +best passages in Mme. Ancelot's whole Volume are those where she +paints Mme. Recamier, and we will therefore quote them. + +"The Recluse of the Abbaye aux Bois," she says, "had either read the +story of the beggar, or her instinct had persuaded her that vanity and +pride are the surest vulnerable points by which to attack and subject +the human heart. From the first to the last of all the orators, +writers, artists, or celebrities of no matter what species, that were +invited to Mme. Recamier's house, _all_ heard from her lips the +same admiring phrases, the first time they were presented to her. With +a trembling voice she used to say: 'The emotion I feel in the presence +of a superior being does not permit me to express, as I should wish to +do, all my admiration, all my sympathy;--but you can divine,--you can +understand;--my emotion tells the rest!' This eulogistic sentence, a +well-studied hesitation, words interrupted, and looks of the most +perfect enthusiasm, produced in the person thus received a far more +genuine emotion than that with which he was met. It was no other than +the artifice of wholesale, universal flattery,--always and invariably +the same,--with which Mme. Recamier achieved her greatest conquests, +and continued to draw around her almost all the eminent men of our +epoch. All this was murmured in soft, low tones, so that he only to +whom she spoke tasted the honey poured into his ear. Her grace of +manner all the while was infinite; for though she had no talent for +conversation, she had, in the highest degree, the ability which +enables one to succeed in certain little combinations, and when she +had determined that such or such a great man should become her +_habitue_, the web she spun round him on all sides was composed +of threads so imperceptibly fine and so innumerable, that those who +escaped were few, and gifted with marvellous address." + +Mme. Ancelot confesses to having "studied narrowly" all +Mme. Recamier's manoeuvres, and to having watched all the thousand +little traps she laid for social "lions"; but we are rather astonished +herein at Mme. Ancelot's astonishment, for, with more or less talent +and grace, these are the devices resorted to in Paris by a whole class +of _maitresses de maison_, of whom Mme. Recamier is simply the +most perfect type. + +But the most amusing part of all, and one that will be above all +highly relished by any one who has ever seen the same game carried on, +is the account of Mme. Recamier's campaign against M. Guizot, which +signally failed, all her small webs having been coldly brushed away by +the intensely vainglorious individual who knew he should not be placed +above Chateaubriand, and who would for no consideration under heaven +have been placed beneath him. The spectacle of this small and delicate +vanity doing battle against this vanity so infinitely hard and robust +is exquisitely diverting. Mme. Recamier put herself so prodigiously +out of her way; she who was indolent became active; she who was +utterly insensible to children became maternal; she who was of +delicate health underwent what only a vigorous constitution would +undertake. But all in vain; she either did not or would not see that +M. Guizot would not be _second_ where M. de Chateaubriand was +_first_. Besides, she split against another rock, that she had +either chosen to overlook, or the importance of which she had +undervalued. If Mme. Recamier had for the idol of her shrine at the +Abbaye aux Bois M. de Chateaubriand, M. Guizot had also _his_ +Madame Recamier, the "Egeria" of the Hotel Talleyrand,--the Princess +Lieven. The latter would have resisted to the death any attempt to +carry off "her Minister" from the _salons_ where his presence was +the "attraction" reckoned upon daily, nay, almost hourly; and against +such a rival as the venerable Princess Lieven, Mme. Recamier, spite of +all her arts and wiles, had no possible chance. However, she left +nothing untried, and when M. Guizot took a villa at Auteuil, whither +to repair of an evening and breathe the freshness of the half-country +air after the stormy debates of the Chambers, she also established +herself close by, and opened her attack on the enemy's outposts by a +request to be allowed to walk in the Minister's grounds, her own +garden being ridiculously small! This was followed by no end of +attentions directed towards Mme. de Meulan, M. Guizot's sister-in-law, +who saw through the whole, and laughed over it with her friends; no +end of little dancing _matinees_ were got up for the Minister's +young daughters, and no end even of sweet biscuits were perpetually +provided for a certain lapdog belonging to the family! All in vain! +We may judge, too, what transports of enthusiasm were enacted when the +Minister himself was _by chance (!)_ encountered in the alleys of +the park, and with what outpourings of admiration he was greeted, by +the very person who, of all others, was so anxious to become one of +his votaries. But, as we again repeat, it was of no use. M. Guizot +never consented to be one of the _habitues_ of the _salon_ +of the Abbaye aux Bois. It should be remarked, also, that M. Guizot +cared little for anything out of the immediate sphere of politics, and +of the politics of the moment; he took small interest in what went on +in Art, and none whatever in what went on in the so-called "world"; so +that where a _salon_ was not predominantly political, there was +small chance of presenting Louis Philippe's Prime-Minister with any +real attraction. For this reason he was now and then to be met at the +house of Mme. de Chatenay, often at that of Mme. de Boigne, but +_never_ in any of the receptions of the ordinary run of men and +women of the world. _His own salon_, we again say,--the +_salon_ where he was what Chateaubriand was at the Abbaye aux +Bois,--was the _salon_ of the Princess Lieven; and to have ever +thought she could induce M. Guizot to be in the slightest degree +faithless to this _habit_ argues, on the part of Mme. Recamier, +either a vanity more egregious than we had even supposed, or an +ignorance of what she had to combat that seems impossible. To have +imagined for a moment that she could induce M. Guizot to frequent her +_reunions_ shows that she appreciated neither Mme. de Lieven, nor +M. Guizot, nor, we may say, herself, in the light of the +high-priestess of Chateaubriand's temple. + +However, what Mme. Recamier went through with regard to the arrogant +President du Conseil of the Orleans dynasty, more than one of her +imitators are at this hour enduring for some "lion" infinitely +illustrious. This kind of hunt after celebrated persons is a feature +of French civilization, and a feature peculiarly characteristic of the +French women who take a pride in their receptions. A genuine +_maitresse de maison_ in Paris has no affections, no ties, save +those of her _salon_. She is wholly absorbed in thinking how she +shall render this more attractive than the _salon_ of some other +lady, who is her intimate friend, but whose sudden disappearance from +the social scene, by any catastrophe, death even, would not leave her +inconsolable. She has neither husband, children, relatives, nor +friends (in the genuine acceptation of the word);--she has, above all, +before all, always and invariably, her _salon_. This race of +women, who date undoubtedly from the famous Marquise de Rambouillet in +the time of the Fronde, are now dying out, and are infinitely less +numerous than they were even twenty years ago in Paris; but a few of +them still exist, and in these few the ardor we allude to, and which +would lead them, following in Mme. Recamier's track, to embark for the +North Cape in search of some great celebrity, is in no degree +abated. Madame Recamier is curious as the arch-type of this race, so +purely, thoroughly, exclusively Parisian. + +Perhaps to a foreigner, however, no _salon_ was more amusing than +that of Charles Nodier; but this was of an utterly different +description, and all but strictly confined to the world of Literature +and Art. Nodier himself occupied a prominent place in the literature +that was so much talked of during the last years of the Restoration +and the first years of the Monarchy of July, and his house was the +rendezvous for all the combatants of both sides, who at that period +were engaged in the famous Classico-Romantic struggle. Nodier was the +Head Librarian of the Arsenal, and it was in the _salons_ of this +historic palace that he held his weekly gatherings. He himself was +scarcely to be reputed exclusively of either party; he enjoyed the +favors of the Monarchy, and the sympathies of the Opposition; the +"Classics" elected him a member of the Academie Francaise, and the +"Romantics" were perpetually in his intimacy. The fact was, that +Nodier at heart believed in neither Classics nor Romantics, laughed at +both in his sleeve, and only cared to procure to himself the most +agreeable house, the greatest number of comforts, and the largest sums +of money possible. + +"By degrees," says Mme. Ancelot, "as Nodier cared less for other +people, he praised them more, probably in order to compensate them in +words for the less he gave them in affection. Besides this, he was +resolved not to be disturbed in his own vanities, and for this he knew +there was one only way, which was to foster the vanities of everybody +else. Never did eulogium take such varied forms to laud and exalt the +most mediocre things. Nowhere were so many geniuses whom the public +never guessed at raised to the rank of _divinities_ as in the +_salons_ of Charles Nodier." + +The description contained in the little volume before us, the manner +in which every petty scribbler of fiftieth-rate talent was transformed +into a giant in the society of Nodier, is extremely curious and +amusing, and the more so that it is strictly true, and tallies +perfectly with the recollections of the individuals who, at the period +mentioned, were admitted to the _reunions_ of the Arsenal. + +Every form of praise having been expended upon persons of infinitely +small merit, what was to be done when those of real superiority +entered upon the scene? It was impossible to apply to them the forms +of laudation adapted to their inferiors. Well, then, a species of +slang was invented, by which it was thought practicable to make the +genuine great men conceive they had passed into the condition of +demigods. A language was devised that was to express the fervor of the +adorers who were suddenly allowed to penetrate into Olympus, and the +strange, misapplied terms whereof seemed to the uninitiated the +language of insanity. For instance, if, after a dozen little unshaved, +unkempt poetasters had been called "sublime," Victor Hugo vouchsafed +to recite one of his really best Odes, what was the eulogistic form to +be adopted? Mme. Ancelot will tell us. + +"A pause would ensue, and at the end of a silence of some minutes, +when the echo of Hugo's sonorous voice had subsided, one after another +of the _elect_ would rise, go up to the poet, take his hand with +solemn emotion, and raise to the ceiling eyes full of mute enthusiasm. +The crowd of bystanders would listen all agape. Then, to the surprise, +almost to the consternation, of the uninitiated, one word only would +be spoken,--loudly, distinctly, and with strong, deep emphasis spoken; +that word would be: + + "_Cathedral!!!_ + +"The first orator, after this effort, would return to the place whence +he had come, and another, succeeding to him, after repeating the same +pantomime as the former, would exclaim: + + "_Ogive!!!_ + +"Then a third would come forward, and, after looking all around, would +risk the word: + + "_Pyramid-of-Egypt!!!_ + +"And thereat the whole assembly would start off into frenzies of +applause, and fifty or sixty voices would repeat in chorus the +sacramental words that had just been pronounced separately." + +The degree of absurdity to which a portion of society must have +attained before such scenes as the above could become possible may +serve as a commentary and an explanation to half the literature which +flooded the stage and the press in France for the first six or eight +years after the Revolution of 1830. However, to be just, we must, in +extenuation of all these absurdities, cite one passage more from +Mme. Ancelot's book, in which, in one respect, at all events, the +youth of twenty years ago in Paris are shown to have been superior to +the youth of the present day. + +"Nodier's parties were extremely amusing," says our authoress; "his +charming daughter was the life of the whole; she drew around her young +girls of her own age; poets, musicians, painters, young and joyous as +these, were their partners in the dance, and every one was +full of hope and dreaming of glory. But what brought all the +light-heartedness, all the enthusiasm, all the exultation to its +utmost height was, that, in all that youth, so trusting and so +hopeful, _no one gave a single thought to money!_" + +Assuredly, it would be impossible to say as much nowadays. + +Taken as a whole, Mme. Ancelot's little volume is, as we said, an +amusing and an instructive one. It is not so from any portion of her +own individuality she has infused into it, but, on the contrary, from +the entire sincerity with which it mirrors other people. We recommend +it to our readers, for it is a record of Paris society in its +successive transformations from 1789 to 1848, and paints a class of +people and a situation of things, equally true types whereof may +possibly not be observable in future times. + + +Footnote 1: _Les Salons de Paris.--Foyers Eteints_. Par +Mme. Ancelot. 12mo. Paris. + +Footnote 2: It will be remembered that on field-days Murat had +adopted a hat and feathers of a most ridiculous kind, and that have +become proverbial. + + + + +THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE. + + +A LEAF FROM KING ALFRED'S "OROSIUS." + + + Othere, the old sea-captain, + Who dwelt in Helgoland, + To Alfred, the Lover of Truth, + Brought a snow-white walrus-tooth, + Which he held in his brown right-hand. + + His figure was tall and stately; + Like a boy's his eye appeared; + His hair was yellow as hay, + But threads of a silvery gray + Gleamed in his tawny beard. + + Hearty and hale was Othere, + His cheek had the color of oak; + With a kind of laugh in his speech, + Like the sea-tide on a beach, + As unto the King he spoke. + + And Alfred, King of the Saxons, + Had a book upon his knees, + And wrote down the wondrous tale + Of him who was first to sail + Into the Arctic seas. + + "So far I live to the northward, + No man lives north of me; + To the east are wild mountain-chains, + And beyond them meres and plains; + To the westward all is sea. + + "So far I live to the northward, + From the harbor of Skeringes-hale, + If you only sailed by day, + With a fair wind all the way, + More than a month would you sail. + + "I own six hundred reindeer, + With sheep and swine beside; + I have tribute from the Fins,-- + Whalebone, and reindeer-skins, + And ropes of walrus-hide. + + "I ploughed the land with horses, + But my heart was ill at ease, + For the old seafaring men + Came to me now and then + With their sagas of the seas,-- + + "Of Iceland, and of Greenland, + And the stormy Hebrides, + And the undiscovered deep;-- + I could not eat nor sleep + For thinking of those seas. + + "To the northward stretched the desert,-- + How far I fain would know; + So at last I sallied forth, + And three days sailed due north, + As far as the whale-ships go. + + "To the west of me was the ocean,-- + To the right the desolate shore; + But I did not slacken sail + For the walrus or the whale, + Till after three days more. + + "The days grew longer and longer, + Till they became as one; + And southward through the haze + I saw the sullen blaze + Of the red midnight sun. + + "And then uprose before me, + Upon the water's edge, + The huge and haggard shape + Of that unknown North Cape, + Whose form is like a wedge. + + "The sea was rough and stormy, + The tempest howled and wailed, + And the sea-fog, like a ghost, + Haunted that dreary coast,-- + But onward still I sailed. + + "Four days I steered to eastward, + Four days without a night: + Bound in a fiery ring + Went the great sun, O King, + With red and lurid light." + + Here Alfred, King of the Saxons, + Ceased writing for a while; + And raised his eyes from his book, + With a strange and puzzled look, + And an incredulous smile. + + But Othere, the old sea-captain, + He neither paused nor stirred; + And the King listened, and then + Once more took up his pen, + And wrote down every word. + + "And now the land," said Othere, + "Bent southward suddenly, + And I followed the curving shore + And ever southward bore + Into a nameless sea. + + "And there we hunted the walrus, + The narwhale, and the seal: + Ha! 'twas a noble game, + And like the lightning's flame + Flew our harpoons of steel! + + "There were six of us altogether, + Norsemen of Helgoland; + In two days and no more + We killed of them threescore, + And dragged them to the strand!" + + Here Alfred the Truth-Teller + Suddenly closed his book, + And lifted his blue eyes + With doubt and strange surmise + Depicted in their look. + + And Othere, the old sea-captain, + Stared at him wild and weird, + Then smiled, till his shining teeth + Gleamed white from underneath + His tawny, quivering beard. + + And to the King of the Saxons, + In witness of the truth, + Raising his noble head, + He stretched his brown hand, and said. + "Behold this walrus-tooth!" + + + + +THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. + + +EVERY MAN HIS OWN BOSWELL. + +[The schoolmistress came down with a rose in her hair,--a fresh June +rose. She has been walking early; she has brought back two +others,--one on each cheek. + +I told her so, in some such pretty phrase as I could muster for the +occasion. Those two blush-roses I just spoke of turned into a couple +of damasks. I suppose all this went through my mind, for this was what +I went on to say:--] + +I love the damask rose best of all. The flowers our mothers and +sisters used to love and cherish, those which grow beneath our eaves +and by our doorstep, are the ones we always love best. If the +Houyhnhnms should ever catch me, and, finding me particularly vicious +and unmanageable, send a man-tamer to Rareyfy me, I'll tell you what +drugs he would have to take and how he would have to use them. Imagine +yourself reading a number of the Houyhnhnms Gazette, giving an account +of such an experiment. + +"MAN-TAMING EXTRAORDINARY. + +"The soft-hoofed semi-quadruped recently captured was subjected to the +art of our distinguished man-tamer in presence of a numerous +assembly. The animal was led in by two stout ponies, closely confined +by straps to prevent his sudden and dangerous tricks of +shoulder-hitting and foot-striking. His countenance expressed the +utmost degree of ferocity and cunning. + +"The operator took a handful of _budding lilac-leaves_, and +crushing them slightly between his hoofs, so as to bring out their +peculiar fragrance, fastened them to the end of a long pole and held +them towards the creature. Its expression changed in an instant,--it +drew in their fragrance eagerly, and attempted to seize them with its +soft split hoofs. Having thus quieted his suspicious subject, the +operator proceeded to tie a _blue hyacinth_ to the end of the +pole and held it out towards the wild animal. The effect was +magical. Its eyes filled as if with raindrops, and its lips trembled +as it pressed them to the flower. After this it was perfectly quiet, +and brought a measure of corn to the man-tamer, without showing the +least disposition to strike with the feet or hit from the shoulder." + +That will do for the Houyhnhnms Gazette.--Do you ever wonder why poets +talk so much about flowers? Did you ever hear of a poet who did not +talk about them? Don't you think a poem, which, for the sake of being +original, should leave them out, would be like those verses where the +letter _a_ or _e_ or some other is omitted? No,--they will +bloom over and over again in poems as in the summer fields, to the end +of time, always old and always new. Why should we be more shy of +repeating ourselves than the spring be tired of blossoms or the night +of stars? Look at Nature. She never wearies of saying over her floral +pater-noster. In the crevices of Cyclopean walls,--in the dust where +men lie, dust also,--on the mounds that bury huge cities, the Birs +Nemroud and the Babel-heap,--still that same sweet prayer and +benediction. The Amen! of Nature is always a flower. + +Are you tired of my trivial personalities,--those splashes and streaks +of sentiment, sometimes perhaps of sentimentality, which you may see +when I show you my heart's corolla as if it were a tulip? Pray, do +not give yourself the trouble to fancy me an idiot whose conceit it is +to treat himself as an exceptional being. It is because you are just +like me that I talk and know that you will listen. We are all +splashed and streaked with sentiments,--not with precisely the same +tints, or in exactly the same patterns, but by the same hand and from +the same palette. + +I don't believe any of you happen to have just the same passion for +the blue hyacinth which I have,--very certainly not for the crushed +lilac-leaf-buds; many of you do not know how sweet they are. You love +the smell of the sweet-fern and the bayberry-leaves, I don't doubt; +but I hardly think that the last bewitches you with young memories as +it does me. For the same reason I come back to damask roses, after +having raised a good many of the rarer varieties. I like to go to +operas and concerts, but there are queer little old homely sounds that +are better than music to me. However, I suppose it's foolish to tell +such things. + +----It is pleasant to be foolish at the right time,--said the +divinity-student;--saying it, however, in one of the dead languages, +which I think are unpopular for summer-reading, and therefore do not +bear quotation as such. + +Well, now,--said I,--suppose a good, clean, wholesome-looking +countryman's cart stops opposite my door.--Do I want any +huckleberries?--If I do not, there are those that do. Thereupon my +soft-voiced handmaid bears out a large tin pan, and then the wholesome +countryman, heaping the peck-measure, spreads his broad hands around +its lower arc to confine the wild and frisky berries, and so they run +nimbly along the narrowing channel until they tumble rustling down in +a black cascade and tinkle on the resounding metal beneath.--I won't +say that this rushing huckleberry hail-storm has not more music for me +than the "Anvil Chorus." + +----I wonder how my great trees are coming on this summer. + +----Where are your great trees, Sir? said the divinity-student. + +Oh, all round about New England. I call all trees mine that I have put +my wedding-ring on, and I have as many tree-wives as Brigham Young has +human ones. + +----One set's as green as the other,--exclaimed a boarder, who has +never been identified. + +They're all Bloomers,--said the young fellow called John. + +[I should have rebuked this trifling with language, if our landlady's +daughter had not asked me just then what I meant by putting my +wedding-ring on a tree.] + +Why, measuring it with my thirty-foot tape, my dear,--said I.--I have +worn a tape almost out on the rough barks of our old New England elms +and other big trees.--Don't you want to hear me talk trees a little +now? That is one of my specialties. + +[So they all agreed that they should like to hear me talk about +trees.] + +I want you to understand, in the first place, that I have a most +intense, passionate fondness for trees in general, and have had +several romantic attachments to certain trees in particular. Now, if +you expect me to hold forth in a "scientific" way about my +tree-loves,--to talk, for instance, of the Ulmus Americana, and +describe the ciliated edges of its samara, and all that,--you are an +anserine individual, and I must refer you to a dull friend who will +discourse to you of such matters. What should you think of a lover who +should describe the idol of his heart in the language of science, +thus: Class, Mammalia; Order, Primates; Genus, Homo; Species, +Europeus; Variety, Brown; Individual, Ann Eliza; Dental Formula + + + 2-2 1-1 2-2 3-3 + i--- c--- p--- m----, + 2-2 1-1 2-2 3-3 + + +and so on? + +No, my friends, I shall speak of trees as we see them, love them, +adore them in the fields, where they are alive, holding their green +sun-shades over our heads, talking to us with their hundred thousand +whispering tongues, looking down on us with that sweet meekness which +belongs to huge, but limited organisms,--which one sees in the brown +eyes of oxen, but most in the patient posture, the outstretched arms, +and the heavy-drooping robes of these vast beings endowed with life, +but not with soul,--which outgrow us and outlive us, but stand +helpless,--poor things!--while Nature dresses and undresses them, like +so many full-sized, but underwitted children. + +Did you ever read old Daddy Gilpin? Slowest of men, even of English +men; yet delicious in his slowness, as is the light of a sleepy eye in +woman. I always supposed "Dr. Syntax" was written to make fun of +him. I have a whole set of his works, and am very proud of it, with +its gray paper, and open type, and long ff, and orange-juice +landscapes. The _Pere_ Gilpin had the kind of science I like in +the study of Nature,--a little less observation than White of +Selborne, but a little more poetry.--Just think of applying the +Linnaean system to an elm! Who cares how many stamens or pistils that +little brown flower, which comes out before the leaf, may have to +classify it by? What we want is the meaning, the character, the +expression of a tree, as a kind and as an individual. + +There is a mother-idea in each particular kind of tree, which, if well +marked, is probably embodied in the poetry of every language. Take the +oak, for instance, and we find it always standing as a type of +strength and endurance. I wonder if you ever thought of the single +mark of supremacy which distinguishes this tree from all our other +forest-trees? All the rest of them shirk the work of resisting +gravity; the oak alone defies it. It chooses the horizontal direction +for its limbs, so that their whole weight may tell,--and then +stretches them out fifty or sixty feet, so that the strain may be +mighty enough to be worth resisting. You will find, that, in passing +from the extreme downward droop of the branches of the weeping-willow +to the extreme upward inclination of those of the poplar, they sweep +nearly half a circle. At 90 deg. the oak stops short; to slant upward +another degree would mark infirmity of purpose; to bend downwards, +weakness of organization. The American elm betrays something of both; +yet sometimes, as we shall see, puts on a certain resemblance to its +sturdier neighbor. + +It won't do to be exclusive in our taste about trees. There is hardly +one of them which has not peculiar beauties in some fitting place for +it. I remember a tall poplar of monumental proportions and aspect, a +vast pillar of glossy green, placed on the summit of a lofty hill, and +a beacon to all the country round. A native of that region saw fit to +build his house very near it, and, having a fancy that it might blow +down some time or other, and exterminate himself and any incidental +relatives who might be "stopping" or "tarrying" with him,--also +laboring under the delusion that human life is under all circumstances +to be preferred to vegetable existence,--had the great poplar cut +down. It is so easy to say, "It is only a poplar!" and so much harder +to replace its living cone than to build a granite obelisk! + +I must tell you about some of my tree-wives. I was at one period of my +life much devoted to the young lady-population of Rhode Island, a +small, but delightful State in the neighborhood of Pawtucket. The +number of inhabitants being not very large, I had leisure, during my +visits to the Providence Plantations, to inspect the face of the +country in the intervals of more fascinating studies of physiognomy. I +heard some talk of a great elm a short distance from the locality just +mentioned. "Let us see the great elm,"--I said, and proceeded to find +it,--knowing that it was on a certain farm in a place called Johnston, +if I remember rightly. I shall never forget my ride and my +introduction to the great Johnston elm. + +I always tremble for a celebrated tree when I approach it for the +first time. Provincialism has no _scale_ of excellence in man or +vegetable; it never knows a first-rate article of either kind when it +has it, and is constantly taking second and third rate ones for +Nature's best. I have often fancied the tree was afraid of me, and +that a sort of shiver came over it as over a betrothed maiden when she +first stands before the unknown to whom she has been plighted. Before +the measuring-tape the proudest tree of them all quails and shrinks +into itself. All those stories of four or five men stretching their +arms around it and not touching each other's fingers, of one's pacing +the shadow at noon and making it so many hundred feet, die upon its +leafy lips in the presence of the awful ribbon which has strangled so +many false pretensions. + +As I rode along the pleasant way, watching eagerly for the object of +my journey, the rounded tops of the elms rose from time to time at the +road-side. Wherever one looked taller and fuller than the rest, I +asked myself,--"Is this it?" But as I drew nearer, they grew +smaller,--or it proved, perhaps, that two standing in a line had +looked like one, and so deceived me. At last, all at once, when I was +not thinking of it,--I declare to you it makes my flesh creep when I +think of it now,--all at once I saw a great, green cloud swelling in +the horizon, so vast, so symmetrical, of such Olympian majesty and +imperial supremacy among the lesser forest-growths, that my heart +stopped short, then jumped at my ribs as a hunter springs at a +five-barred gate, and I felt all through me, without need of uttering +the words,--"This is it!" + +You will find this tree described, with many others, in the excellent +Report upon the Trees and Shrubs of Massachusetts. The author has +given my friend the Professor credit for some of his measurements, but +measured this tree himself, carefully. It is a grand elm for size of +trunk, spread of limbs, and muscular development,--one of the first, +perhaps the first, of the first class of New England elms. + +The largest actual girth I have ever found at five feet from the +ground is in the great elm lying a stone's throw or two north of the +main road (if my points of compass are right) in Springfield. But +this has much the appearance of having been formed by the union of two +trunks growing side by side. + +The West-Springfield elm and one upon Northampton meadows belong also +to the first class of trees. + +There is a noble old wreck of an elm at Hatfield, which used to spread +its claws out over a circumference of thirty-five feet or more before +they covered the foot of its bole up with earth. This is the American +elm most like an oak of any I have ever seen. + +The Sheffield elm is equally remarkable for size and perfection of +form. I have seen nothing that comes near it in Berkshire County, and +few to compare with it anywhere. I am not sure that I remember any +other first-class elms in New England, but there may be many. + +----What makes a first-class elm?--Why, size, in the first place, and +chiefly. Anything over twenty feet of clear girth, five feet above +the ground; and with a spread of branches a hundred feet across, may +claim that title, according to my scale. All of them, with the +questionable exception of the Springfield tree above referred to, +stop, so far as my experience goes, at about twenty-two or +twenty-three feet of girth and a hundred and twenty of spread. + +Elms of the second class, generally ranging from fourteen to eighteen +feet, are comparatively common. The queen of them all is that glorious +tree near one of the churches in Springfield. Beautiful and stately +she is beyond all praise. The "great tree" on Boston Common comes in +the second rank, as does the one at Cohasset, which used to have, and +probably has still, a head as round as an apple-tree, and that at +Newburyport, with scores of others which might be mentioned. These +last two have perhaps been over-celebrated. Both, however, are +pleasing vegetables. The poor old Pittsfield elm lives on its past +reputation. A wig of false leaves is indispensable to make it +presentable. + +[I don't doubt there may be some monster-elm or other, vegetating +green, but inglorious, in some remote New England village, which only +wants a sacred singer to make it celebrated. Send us your +measurements,--(certified by the postmaster, to avoid possible +imposition,)--circumference five feet from soil, length of line from +bough-end to bough-end, and we will see what can be done for you.] + +--I wish somebody would get us up the following work:-- + + +SYLVA NOVANGLICA. + +Photographs of New England Elms and other Trees, taken upon the Same +Scale of Magnitude. With Letter-Press Descriptions, by a Distinguished +Literary Gentleman. Boston: ---- ---- & Co. 185.. + +The same camera should be used,--so far as possible,--at a fixed +distance. Our friend, who is giving us so many interesting figures in +his "Trees of America," must not think this Prospectus invades his +province; a dozen portraits, with lively descriptions, would be a +pretty complement to his larger work, which, so far as published, I +find excellent. If my plan were carried out, and another series of a +dozen English trees photographed on the same scale, the comparison +would be charming. + +It has always been a favorite idea of mine to bring the life of the +Old and the New World face to face, by an accurate comparison of their +various types of organization. We should begin with man, of course; +institute a large and exact comparison between the development of +_la pianta umana_, as Alfieri called it, in different sections of +each country, in the different callings, at different ages, estimating +height, weight, force by the dynamometer and the spirometer, and +finishing off with a series of typical photographs, giving the +principal national physiognomies. Mr. Hutchinson has given us some +excellent English data to begin with. + +Then I would follow this up by contrasting the various parallel forms +of life in the two continents. Our naturalists have often referred to +this incidentally or expressly; but the _animus_ of Nature in the +two half-globes of the planet is so momentous a point of interest to +our race, that it should be made a subject of express and elaborate +study. Go out with me into that walk which we call _the Mall_, +and look at the English and American elms. The American elm is tall, +graceful, slender-sprayed, and drooping as if from languor. The +English elm is compact, robust, holds its branches up, and carries its +leaves for weeks longer than our own native tree. + +Is this typical of the creative force on the two sides of the ocean, +or not? Nothing but a careful comparison through the whole realm of +life can answer this question. + +There is a parallelism without identity in the animal and vegetable +life of the two continents, which favors the task of comparison in an +extraordinary manner. Just as we have two trees alike in many ways, +yet not the same, both elms, yet easily distinguishable, just so we +have a complete flora and a fauna, which, parting from the same ideal, +embody it with various modifications. Inventive power is the only +quality of which the Creative Intelligence seems to be economical; +just as with our largest human minds, that is the divinest of +faculties, and the one that most exhausts the mind which exercises it. +As the same patterns have very commonly been followed, we can see +which is worked out in the largest spirit, and determine the exact +limitations under which the Creator places the movement of life in all +its manifestations in either locality. We should find ourselves in a +very false position, if it should prove that Anglo-Saxons can't live +here, but die out, if not kept up by fresh supplies, as Dr. Knox and +other more or less wise persons have maintained. It may turn out the +other way, as I have heard one of our literary celebrities argue,--and +though I took the other side, I liked his best,--that the American is +the Englishman reinforced. + +--Will you walk out and look at those elms with me after breakfast?--I +said to the schoolmistress. + +[I am not going to tell lies about it, and say that she blushed,--as I +suppose she ought to have done, at such a tremendous piece of +gallantry as that was for our boarding-house. On the contrary, she +turned a little pale,--but smiled brightly and said,--Yes, with +pleasure, but she must walk towards her school.--She went for her +bonnet.--The old gentleman opposite followed her with his eyes, and +said he wished he was a young fellow. Presently she came down, +looking very pretty in her half-mourning bonnet, and carrying a +school-book in her hand.] + + +MY FIRST WALK WITH THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. + +This is the shortest way,--she said, as we came to a corner.--Then we +won't take it,--said I.--The schoolmistress laughed a little, and said +she was ten minutes early, so she could go round. + +We walked under Mr. Paddock's row of English elms. The gray squirrels +were out looking for their breakfasts, and one of them came toward us +in light, soft, intermittent leaps, until he was close to the rail of +the burial-ground. He was on a grave with a broad blue-slate-stone at +its head, and a shrub growing on it. The stone said this was the +grave of a young man who was the son of an Honorable gentleman, and +who died a hundred years ago and more.--Oh, yes, _died_,--with a +small triangular mark in one breast, and another smaller opposite, in +his back, where another young man's rapier had slid through his body; +and so he lay down out there on the Common, and was found cold the +next morning, with the night-dews and the death-dews mingled on his +forehead. + +Let us have one look at poor Benjamin's grave,--said I.--His bones lie +where his body was laid so long ago, and where the stone says they +lie,--which is more than can be said of most of the tenants of this +and several other burial-grounds. + +[The most accursed act of Vandalism ever committed within my knowledge +was the uprooting of the ancient gravestones in three at least of our +city burial-grounds, and one at least just outside the city, and +planting them in rows to suit the taste for symmetry of the +perpetrators. Many years ago, when this disgraceful process was going +on under my eyes, I addressed an indignant remonstrance to a leading +journal. I suppose it was deficient in literary elegance, or too warm +in its language; for no notice was taken of it, and the hyena-horror +was allowed to complete itself in the face of daylight. I have never +got over it. The bones of my own ancestors, being entombed, lie +beneath their own tablet; but the upright stones have been shuffled +about like chessmen, and nothing short of the Day of Judgment will +tell whose dust lies beneath any of those records, meant by affection +to mark one small spot as sacred to some cherished memory. Shame! +shame! shame!--that is all I can say. It was on public thoroughfares, +under the eye of authority, that this infamy was enacted. The red +Indians would have known better; the selectmen of an African +kraal-village would have had more respect for their ancestors. I +should like to see the gravestones which have been disturbed all +removed, and the ground levelled, leaving the flat tombstones; +epitaphs were never famous for truth, but the old reproach of "Here +lies" never had such a wholesale illustration as in these outraged +burial-places, where the stone does lie above, and the bones do not +lie beneath.] + +Stop before we turn away, and breathe a woman's sigh over poor +Benjamin's dust. Love killed him, I think. Twenty years old, and out +there fighting another young fellow on the Common, in the cool of that +old July evening;--yes, there must have been love at the bottom of it. + +The schoolmistress dropped a rosebud she had in her hand, through the +rails, upon the grave of Benjamin Woodbridge. That was all her +comment upon what I told her.--How women love Love! said I;--but she +did not speak. + +We came opposite the head of a place or court running eastward from +the main street.--Look down there,--I said.--My friend the Professor +lived in that house at the left hand, next the further corner, for +years and years. He died out of it, the other day.--Died?--said the +schoolmistress.--Certainly,--said I.--We die out of houses, just as we +die out of our bodies. A commercial smash kills a hundred men's +houses for them, as a railroad crash kills their mortal frames and +drives out the immortal tenants. Men sicken of houses until at last +they quit them, as the soul leaves its body when it is tired of its +infirmities. The body has been called "the house we live in"; the +house is quite as much the body we live in. Shall I tell you some +things the Professor said the other day?--Do!--said the +schoolmistress. + +A man's body,--said the Professor,--is whatever is occupied by his +will and his sensibility. The small room down there, where I wrote +those papers you remember reading, was much more a portion of my body +than a paralytic's senseless and motionless arm or leg is of his. + +The soul of a man has a series of concentric envelopes round it, like +the core of an onion, or the innermost of a nest of boxes. First he +has his natural garment of flesh and blood. Then, his artificial +integuments, with their true skin of solid stuffs, their cuticle of +lighter tissues, and their variously-tinted pigments. Thirdly, his +domicile, be it a single chamber or a stately mansion. And then, the +whole visible world, in which Time buttons him up as in a loose +outside wrapper. + +You shall observe,--the Professor said,--for, like Mr. John Hunter and +other great men, he brings in that _shall_ with great effect +sometimes,--you shall observe that a man's clothing or series of +envelopes do after a certain time mould themselves upon his individual +nature. We know this of our hats, and are always reminded of it when +we happen to put them on wrong side foremost. We soon find that the +beaver is a hollow cast of the skull, with all its irregular bumps and +depressions. Just so all that clothes a man, even to the blue sky +which caps his head,--a little loosely,--shapes itself to fit each +particular being beneath it. Farmers, sailors, astronomers, poets, +lovers, condemned criminals, all find it different, according to the +eyes with which they severally look. + +But our houses shape themselves palpably on our inner and outer +natures. See a householder breaking up and you will be sure of +it. There is a shell-fish which builds all manner of smaller shells +into the walls of its own. A house is never a home until we have +crusted it with the spoils of a hundred lives besides those of our own +past. See what these are, and you can tell what the occupant is. + +I had no idea,--said the Professor,--until I pulled up my domestic +establishment the other day, what an enormous quantity of roots I had +been making during the years I was planted there. Why, there wasn't a +nook or a corner that some fibre had not worked its way into; and when +I gave the last wrench, each of them seemed to shriek like a mandrake, +as it broke its hold and came away. + +There is nothing that happens, you know, which must not inevitably, +and which does not actually, photograph itself in every conceivable +aspect and in all dimensions. The infinite galleries of the Past await +but one brief process and all their pictures will be called out and +fixed forever. We had a curious illustration of the great fact on a +very humble scale. When a certain bookcase, long standing in one +place, for which it was built, was removed, there was the exact image +on the wall of the whole, and of many of its portions. But in the +midst of this picture was another,--the precise outline of a map +which had hung on the wall before the bookcase was built. We had all +forgotten everything about the map until we saw its photograph on the +wall. Then we remembered it, as some day or other we may remember a +sin which has been built over and covered up, when this lower universe +is pulled away from before the wall of Infinity, where the wrongdoing +stands self-recorded. + +The Professor lived in that house a long time,--not twenty years, but +pretty near it. When he entered that door, two shadows glided over the +threshold; five lingered in the doorway when he passed through it for +the last time,--and one of the shadows was claimed by its owner to be +longer than his own. What changes he saw in that quiet place! Death +rained through every roof but his; children came into life, grew to +maturity, wedded, faded away, threw themselves away; the whole drama +of life was played in that stock-company's theatre of a dozen houses, +one of which was his, and no deep sorrow or severe calamity ever +entered his dwelling. Peace be to those walls, forever,--the Professor +said,--for the many pleasant years he has passed within them! + +The Professor has a friend, now living at a distance, who has been +with him in many of his changes of place, and who follows him in +imagination with tender interest wherever he goes.--In that little +court, where he lived in gay loneliness so long,-- + +--in his autumnal sojourn by the Connecticut, where it comes loitering +down from its mountain fastnesses like a great lord, swallowing up the +small proprietary rivulets very quietly as it goes, until it gets +proud and swollen and wantons in huge luxurious oxbows about the fair +Northampton meadows, and at last overflows the oldest inhabitant's +memory in profligate freshets at Hartford and all along its lower +shores,--up in that caravansary on the banks of the stream where +Ledyard launched his log canoe, and the jovial old Colonel used to +lead the Commencement processions,--where blue Ascutney looked down +from the far distance, and the hills of Beulah, as the Professor +always called them, rolled up the opposite horizon in soft climbing +masses, so suggestive of the Pilgrim's Heavenward Path that he used to +look through his old "Dollond" to see if the Shining Ones were not +within range of sight,--sweet visions, sweetest in those Sunday walks +that carried them by the peaceful common, through the solemn village +lying in cataleptic stillness under the shadow of the rod of Moses, to +the terminus of their harmless stroll,--the patulous fage, in the +Professor's classic dialect,--the spreading beech, in more familiar +phrase,--[stop and breathe here a moment, for the sentence is not done +yet, and we have another long journey before us,]-- + +--and again once more up among those other hills that shut in the +amber-flowing Housatonic,--dark stream, but clear, like the lucid orbs +that shine beneath the lids of auburn-haired, sherry-wine-eyed +demi-blondes,--in the home overlooking the winding stream and the +smooth, flat meadow; looked down upon by wild hills, where the tracks +of bears and catamounts may yet sometimes be seen upon the winter +snow; facing the twin summits which rise in the far North, the highest +waves of the great land-storm in all this billowy region,--suggestive +to mad fancies of the breasts of a half-buried Titaness, stretched out +by a stray thunderbolt, and hastily hidden away beneath the leaves of +the forest,--in that home where seven blessed summers were passed, +which stand in memory like the seven golden candlesticks in the +beatific vision of the holy dreamer,-- + +--in that modest dwelling we were just looking at, not glorious, yet +not unlovely in the youth of its drab and mahogany,--full of great and +little boys' playthings from top to bottom,--in all these summer or +winter nests he was always at home and always welcome. + +This long articulated sigh of reminiscences,--this calenture which +shows me the maple-shadowed plains of Berkshire and the +mountain-circled green of Grafton beneath the salt waves that come +feeling their way along the wall at my feet, restless and +soft-touching as blind men's busy fingers,--is for that friend of mine +who looks into the waters of the Patapsco and sees beneath them the +same visions that paint themselves for me in the green depths of the +Charles. + +----Did I talk all this off to the schoolmistress?--Why, no,--of course +not. I have been talking with you, the reader, for the last ten +minutes. You don't think I should expect any woman to listen to such a +sentence as that long one, without giving her a chance to put in a +word? + +----What did I say to the schoolmistress?--Permit me one moment. I don't +doubt your delicacy and good-breeding; but in this particular case, as +I was allowed the privilege of walking alone with a very interesting +young woman, you must allow me to remark, in the classic version of a +familiar phrase, used by our Master Benjamin Franklin, it is _nullum +tui negotii_. + +When the schoolmistress and I reached the school-room door, the damask +roses I spoke of were so much heightened in color by exercise that I +felt sure it would be useful to her to take a stroll like this every +morning, and made up my mind I would ask her to let me join her again. + + +EXTRACT FROM MY PRIVATE JOURNAL. + +(_To be burned unread._) + +I am afraid I have been a fool; for I have told as much of myself to +this young person as if she were of that ripe and discreet age which +invites confidence and expansive utterance. I have been low-spirited +and listless, lately,--it is coffee, I think,--(I observe that which +is bought _ready-ground_ never affects the head,)--and I notice +that I tell my secrets too easily when I am downhearted. + +There are inscriptions on our hearts, which, like that on Dighton +Rock, are never to be seen except at dead-low tide. + +There is a woman's footstep on the sand at the side of my deepest +ocean-buried inscription! + +----Oh, no, no, no! a thousand times, no!--Yet what is this which has +been shaping itself in my soul?--Is it a thought?--is it a dream?--is +it a _passion_?--Then I know what comes next. + +----The Asylum stands on a bright and breezy hill; those glazed +corridors are pleasant to walk in, in bad weather. But there are iron +bars to all the windows. When it is fair, some of us can stroll +outside that very high fence. But I never see much life in those +groups I sometimes meet;--and then the careful man watches them so +closely! How I remember that sad company I used to pass on fine +mornings, when I was a schoolboy!--B., with his arms full of yellow +weeds,--ore from the gold mines which he discovered long before we +heard of California,--Y., born to millions, crazed by too much +plum-cake, (the boys said,) dogged, explosive,--made a Polyphemus of +my weak-eyed schoolmaster, by a vicious flirt with a stick,--(the +multi-millionnaires sent him a trifle, it was said, to buy another eye +with; but boys are jealous of rich folks,--and I don't doubt the good +people made him easy for life,)--how I remember them all! + +I recollect, as all do, the story of the Hall of Eblis, in "Vathek," +and how each shape, as it lifted its hand from its breast, showed its +heart,--a burning coal. The real Hall of Eblis stands on yonder +summit. Go there on the next visiting-day, and ask that figure +crouched in the corner, huddled up like those Indian mummies and +skeletons found buried in the sitting posture, to lift its hand,--look +upon its heart, and behold, not fire, but ashes.--No, I must not think +of such an ending! Dying would be a much more gentlemanly way of +meeting the difficulty. Make a will and leave her a house or two and +some stocks, and other little financial conveniences, to take away her +necessity for keeping school.--I wonder what nice young man's feet +would be in my French slippers before six months were over! Well, +what then? If a man really loves a woman, of course he wouldn't marry +her for the world, if he were not quite sure that he was the best +person she could by any possibility marry. + +----It is odd enough to read over what I have just been writing.--It +is the merest fancy that ever was in the world. I shall never be +married. She will; and if she is as pleasant as she has been so far, I +will give her a silver tea-set, and go and take tea with her and her +husband, sometimes. No coffee, I hope, though,--it depresses me +sadly. I feel very miserably;--they must have been grinding it at +home.--Another morning walk will be good for me, and I don't doubt the +schoolmistress will be glad of a little fresh air before school. + + * * * * * + +----The throbbing flushes of the poetical intermittent have been +coming over me from time to time of late. Did you ever see that +electrical experiment which consists in passing a flash through +letters of gold-leaf in a darkened room, whereupon some name or legend +springs out of the darkness in characters of fire? + +There are songs all written out in my soul, which I could read, if the +flash might but pass through them,--but the fire must come down from +heaven. Ah! but what if the stormy _nimbus_ of youthful passion +has blown by, and one asks for lightning from the ragged _cirrus_ +of dissolving aspirations, or the silvered _cumulus_ of sluggish +satiety? I will call on her whom the dead poets believed in, whom +living ones no longer worship,--the immortal maid, who, name her what +you will,--Goddess, Muse, Spirit of Beauty,--sits by the pillow of +every youthful poet, and bends over his pale forehead until her +tresses lie upon his cheek and rain their gold into his dreams. + + +MUSA. + + O my lost Beauty!--hast thou folded quite + Thy wings of morning light + Beyond those iron gates + Where Life crowds hurrying to the haggard Fates, + And Age upon his mound of ashes waits + To chill our fiery dreams, + Hot from the heart of youth plunged in his icy streams? + + Leave me not fading in these weeds of care, + Whose flowers are silvered hair!-- + Have I not loved thee long, + Though my young lips have often done thee wrong + And vexed thy heaven-tuned ear with careless song? + Ah, wilt thou yet return, + Bearing thy rose-hued torch, and bid thine altar burn? + + Come to me!--I will flood thy silent shrine + With my soul's sacred wine, + And heap thy marble floors + As the wild spice-trees waste their fragrant stores + In leafy islands walled with madrepores + And lapped in Orient seas, + When all their feathery palms toss, plume-like, in the breeze. + + Come to me!--thou shalt feed on honeyed words, + Sweeter than song of birds;-- + No wailing bulbul's throat, + No melting dulcimer's melodious note, + When o'er the midnight wave its murmurs float, + Thy ravished sense might soothe + With flow so liquid-soft, with strain so velvet-smooth. + + Thou shalt be decked with jewels, like a queen, + Sought in those bowers of green + Where loop the clustered vines + And the close-clinging dulcamara twines,-- + Pure pearls of Maydew where the moonlight shines, + And Summer's fruited gems, + And coral pendants shorn from Autumn's berried stems. + + Sit by me drifting on the sleepy waves,-- + Or stretched by grass-grown graves, + Whose gray, high-shouldered stones, + Carved with old names Life's time-worn roll disowns, + Lean, lichen-spotted, o'er the crumbled bones + Still slumbering where they lay + While the sad Pilgrim watched to scare the wolf away! + + Spread o'er my couch thy visionary wing! + Still let me dream and sing,-- + Dream of that winding shore + Where scarlet cardinals bloom,--for me no more,-- + The stream with heaven beneath its liquid floor, + And clustering nenuphars + Sprinkling its mirrored blue like golden-chaliced stars! + + Come while their balms the linden-blossoms shed!-- + Come while the rose is red,-- + While blue-eyed Summer smiles + O'er the green ripples round yon sunken piles + Washed by the moon-wave warm from Indian isles, + And on the sultry air + The chestnuts spread their palms like holy men in prayer! + + Oh, for thy burning lips to fire my brain + With thrills of wild sweet pain!-- + On life's autumnal blast, + Like shrivelled leaves, youth's passion-flowers are cast,-- + Once loving thee, we love thee to the last!-- + Behold thy new-decked shrine, + And hear once more the voice that breathed "Forever thine!" + + +THE TRUSTEE'S LAMENT. + +_Per aspera ad astra._ + +(SCENE.--Outside the gate of the Astronomical Observatory at Albany.) + + + There was a time when I was blest; + The stars might rise in East or West + With all their sines and wonders; + I cared for neither great nor small, + As pointedly unmoved by all + As, on the top of steeple tall, + A lightning-rod at thunders. + + What did I care for Science then? + I was a man with fellow-men, + And called the Bear the Dipper; + Segment meant piece of pie,--no more; + Cosine, the parallelogram that bore + JOHN SMITH & CO. above a door; + Arc, what called Noah skipper. + + No axes weighed upon my mind, + (Unless I had a few to grind.) + And as for my astronomy, + Had Hedgecock's quadrant then been known, + I might a lamp-post's height have shown + By gas-tronomic skill,--if none + Find fault with the metonymy. + + O hours of innocence! O ways + How far from these unhappy days + When all is vicy-versy! + No flower more peaceful took its due + Than I, who then no difference knew + 'Twixt Ursy Major and my true + Old crony, Major Hersey. + + Now in long broils and feuds we roast, + Like Strasburg geese that living toast + To make a liver-_pate_,-- + And all because we fondly strove + To set the city of our love + In scientific fame above + Her sister Cincinnati! + + We built our tower and furnished it + With everything folks said was fit, + From coping-stone to grounsel; + And then, to give a knowing air, + Just nominally assigned its care + To that unmanageable affair, + A Scientific Council. + + We built it, not that one or two + Astronomers the stars might view + And count the comets' hair-roots, + But that it might by all be said + How very freely we had bled,-- + We were not laying out a bed + To force their early square-roots. + + The observations _we_ wished made + Were on the spirit we'd displayed, + Worthy of Athens' high days; + But _they_'ve put in a man who thinks + Only of planets' nodes and winks, + So full of astronomic kinks + He eats star-fish on Fridays. + + The instruments we did not mean + For seeing through, but to be seen + At tap of Trustee's knuckle; + But the Director locks the gate, + And makes ourselves and strangers wait + While he is ciphering on a slate + The rust of Saturn's buckle. + + So on the wall's outside we stand, + Admire the keyhole's contour grand + And gateposts' sturdy granite;-- + But, ah, is Science safe, we say, + With one who treats Trustees this way? + Who knows but he may snub, some day, + A well-conducted planet? + + Who knows what mischief he may brew + With such a telescope brand-new + At the four-hundredth power? + He may bring some new comet down + So near that it'll singe the town + And do the Burgess-Corps crisp-brown + Ere they can storm his tower. + + We wanted (having got our show) + Some man, that had a name or so, + To be our public showman; + But this one shuts and locks the gate: + Who'll answer but he'll peculate, + (And, faith, some stars are missed of late,) + Now that he's watched by no man? + + Our own discoveries he may steal, + Or put night's candles out, to deal + At junkshops with the sockets: + _Savants_, in other lands or this, + If any theory you miss + Whereon your cipher graven is, + Don't fail to search his pockets! + + Lock up your comets: if that fails, + Then notch their ears and clip their tails, + That you at need may swear to 'em; + And watch your nebulous flocks at night, + For, if your palings are not tight, + He may, to gratify his spite, + Let in the Little Bear to 'em. + + Then he's so quarrelsome, we've fears + He'll set the very Twins by the ears,-- + So mad, if you resist him, + He'd get Aquarius to play + A milkman's trick, some cloudy day, + And water all the Milky Way + To starve some sucking system. + + But plaints are vain! through wrath or pride, + The Council all espouse his side + And will our missives con no more; + And who that knows what _savants_ are, + Each snappish as a Leyden jar, + Will hope to soothe the wordy war + 'Twixt Ologist and Onomer? + + Search a Reform Convention, where + He- and she-resiarehs prepare + To get the world in _their_ power, + You will not, when 'tis loudest, find + Such gifts to hug and snarl combined + As drive each astronomic mind + With fifty-score Great-Bear-power! + + No! put the Bootees on your foot, + Elope with Virgo, strive to shoot + That arrow of O'Ryan's, + Drain Georgian Ciders to the lees, + Attempt what crackbrained thing you please, + But dream not you can e'er appease + An angry man of science! + + Ah, would I were, as I was once, + To fair Astronomy a dunce, + Or launching _jeux d'esprit_ at her, + Of light zodiacal making light, + Deaf to all tales of comets bright, + And knowing but such stars as might + Roll r-rs at our theatre! + + Then calm I drew my night-cap on, + Nor bondsman was for what went on + Ere morning in the heavens; + Twas no concern of mine to fix + The Pleiades at seven or six,-- + But now the _omnium genitrix_ + Seems all at sixes and sevens. + + Alas, 'twas in an evil hour + We signed the paper for the tower, + With Mrs. D. to head it! + For, if the Council have their way, + We've merely had, as Frenchmen say, + The painful _maladie du_ pay, + While they get all the credit! + + Boys, henceforth doomed to spell Trustees, + Think not it ends in double ease + To those who hold the office; + Shun Science as you would Despair, + Sit not in Cassiopeia's chair, + Nor hope from Berenice's hair + To bring away your trophies! + + + + +THE POCKET-CELEBRATION OF THE FOURTH. + + +Well, it has happened, and we have survived it pretty well. The +Democratic Almanacs predicted a torrent, a whirlwind, and we know not +what meteoric phenomena,--but the next day Nature gave no sign, the +dome of the State-House was in its place, the Monument was as plumb as +ever, no chimney mourned a ravished brick, and the Republican Party +took its morning tea and toast in peace and safety. On the whole, it +must be considered a wonderful escape. Since Partridge's time there +had been no such prophecies,--since Miller's, no such perverse +disobligingness in the event. + +But what had happened? Why, the Democratic Young Men's Celebration, to +be sure, and Mr. Choate's Oration. + +The good city of Boston in New England, for we know not how many +years, had been in the habit of celebrating the National Birthday, +first, with an oration, as became the Athens of America, and second, +with a dinner, as was meet in the descendants of Teutonic forefathers. +The forenoon's oration glorified us in the lump as a people, and every +man could reckon and appropriate his own share of credit by the simple +arithmetical process of dividing the last census by the value he set +upon himself, a divisor easily obtained by subtracting from the total +of inhabitants in his village the number of neighbors whom he +considered ciphers. At the afternoon's dinner, the pudding of praise +was served out in slices to favored individuals; dry toasts were drunk +by drier dignitaries; the Governor was compared to Solon; the Chief +Justice to Brutus; the Orator of the Day to Demosthenes; the Colonel +of the Boston Regiment to Julius Caesar; and everybody went home happy +from a feast where the historic parallels were sure to hold out to the +last Z in Lempriere. + +Gradually matters took a new course; the Union was suddenly supposed +to lie at the point of dissolution, and what we may call the +Doctor-Brandreth style of oratory began. Every orator mounted the +rostrum, like a mountebank at a fair, to proclaim the virtues of his +private panacea for the morbid Commonwealth, and, as was natural in +young students of political therapeutics, fancied that he saw symptoms +of the dread malady of Disunion in a simple eruption of Jethro Furber +at a convention of the Catawampusville Come-outers, or of Pyrophagus +Quattlebum at a training of the Palmetto Plug-Uglies,--neither of +which was skin-deep. The dinners became equally dreary. Did the eye of +a speaker light on the national dish of beans, he was reminded of the +languid pulse of the sentiment of union; did he see a broiled chicken, +it called up to his mind's eye the bird of our _un_common +country, with the gridiron on his breast, liable to be reduced at any +moment to the heraldic duality of his Austrian congener by the strife +of contending sections pulling in opposite directions; an innocent +pippin was enough to suggest the apple of discord; and with the +removal of the cloth came a dessert of diagnoses on the cancer that +was supposed to be preying on the national vitals. The only variety +was a cringing compliment, in which Bunker Hill curtsied to King's +Mountain, to any Southern brother who chanced to be present, and who +replied patronizingly,--while his compatriots at the warmer end of the +Union were probably, with amiable sincerity, applying to the Yankees +that epithet whose expression in type differs but little from that of +a doctorate in divinity, but which precedes the name it qualifies, as +that follows it, and was never, except by Beaumarchais and Fielding, +reckoned among titles of honor or courtesy. + +A delusion seemed to have taken possession of our public men, that the +people wanted doctors of the body-politic to rule over them, and, if +those were not to be had, would put up with the next best +thing,--quacks. Every one who was willing to be an Eminent Statesman +issued his circulars, like the Retired Physician, on all public +occasions, offering to send his recipe in return for a vote. The +cabalistic formula always turned out to be this:--"Take your humble +servant for four years at the White House; if no cure is effected, +repeat the dose." + +Meanwhile were there any symptoms of disease in the Constitution? Not +the least. The whole affair was like one of those alarms in a +country-town which begin with the rumor of ten cases of confluent +small-pox and end with the discovery that the doctor has been called +to a case of nettle-rash at Deacon Scudder's. But sober men, who +loved the Union in a quiet way, without advertising it in the +newspapers, and who were willing to sacrifice everything to the +Constitution but the rights it was intended to protect, began to fear +that the alarmists might create the disease which they kept up so much +excitement about. + +This being the posture of affairs, the city of Boston, a twelvemonth +since, chose for their annual orator a clergyman distinguished for +eloquence, and for that important part of patriotism, at least, which +consists in purity of life. This gentleman, being neither a candidate +for office nor the canvasser of a candidate, ventured upon a new kind +of address. He took for his theme the duties consequent upon the +privileges of Freedom, ventured to mention self-respect as one of +them, and commented upon the invitation of a Virginia Senator, the +author of the Fugitive Slave Bill, to a Seventeenth-of-June +Celebration, while the Senators of Massachusetts were neglected. In +speaking of this, he used, we believe, the word "flunkeyism." It is +not an elegant word; it is not even an English one;--but had the +speaker sought for a Saxon correlative, he could hardly have found one +that would have seemed more satisfactory, especially to those who +deserved it; for Saxon is straightforward, and a reluctance to be +classified (fatal to science) is characteristic of the human animal. + +An orator who suggests a new view of any topic is a disturber of the +digestive organs,--this was very properly a matter of offence to the +Aldermen who were to dine after the oration,--but an orator who +tampers with the language we have inherited from Shakspeare and +Milton, and which we share with Tupper, was an object for deeper +reprobation. The Young Men's Democratic Association of Boston are +purists; they are jealous for their mother-tongue,--and it is the more +disinterested in them as a large proportion of them are Irishmen; they +are exclusive,--a generous confusion of ideas as to the meaning of +democracy, even more characteristically Hibernian; they are +sentimental, too,--melancholy as gibcats,--and feared (from last +year's example) that the city might not furnish them with a +sufficiently lachrymose Antony to hold up before them the bloody +garment of America, and show what rents the envious Blairs and Wilsons +and Douglasses had made in it. Accordingly they resolved to have a +public celebration all to themselves,--a pocket-edition of the +cumbrous civic work,--and as the city provided fireworks in the +evening, in order to be beforehand with it in their pyrotechnics, they +gave Mr. Choate in the forenoon. + +We did not hear Mr. Choate's oration; we only read it in the +newspapers. Cold fireworks, the morning after, are not enlivening. +You have the form without the fire, and the stick without the soar. +But we soon found that we were to expect no such disappointment from +Mr. Choate. He seems to announce at the outset that he has closed his +laboratory. The Prospero of periods had broken his wand and sunk his +book deeper than ever office-hunter sounded. The boys in the street +might wander fancy-free, and fire their Chinese crackers as they +listed; but for him this was a solemn occasion, and he invited his +hearers to a Stoic feast of Medford crackers and water, to a +philosophic banquet of metaphors and metaphysics. + +We confess that we expected a great deal. Better a crust with Plato +than nightingales' tongues with Apicius; and if Mr. Choate promised +only the crust, we were sure of one melodious tongue, at least, before +the meal was over. He is a man of whom any community might be +proud. Were society an organized thing here, as in Europe, no dinner +and no drawing-room would be perfect without his talk. He would have +been heard gladly at Johnson's club. The Hortensins of our courts, +with a cloud of clients, he yet finds time to be a scholar and a +critic, and to read Plato and Homer as they were read by Plato's and +Homer's countrymen. Unsurpassed in that eloquence which, if it does +not convince, intoxicates a jury, he was counted, so long as Webster +lived, the second advocate of our bar. + +All this we concede to Mr. Choate with unreserved admiration; but +when, leaving the field where he had won his spurs as the successful +defender of men criminally accused, he undertakes to demonstrate the +sources whence national life is drawn, and the causes which lead to +its decay,--to expound authoritatively the theory of political ethics +and the principles of sagacious statesmanship, wary in its steps, and +therefore durable in its results,--it becomes natural and fair to ask, +What has been the special training that has fitted him for the task? +More than this: when he comes forward as the public prosecutor of the +Republican Party, it becomes our duty to examine the force of his +arguments and the soundness of his logic. Has his own experience given +him any right to talk superciliously to a great party overwhelmingly +triumphant in the Free States? And does his oration show him to +possess such qualities of mind, such grasp of reason, such continuity +of induction, as to entitle him to underrate the intelligence of so +large a number of his fellow-citizens by accusing them of being +incapable of a generalization and incompetent to apprehend a +principle? + +The Bar has given few historically-great statesmen to the +world,--fewer than the Church, which Mr. Choate undervalues in a +sentence which, we cannot help thinking, is below the dignity of the +occasion, and jarringly discordant with the generally elevated tone of +his address. Burke, an authority whom Mr. Choate will not call in +question, has said that the training of the bar tends to make the +faculties acute, but at the same time narrow. The study of +jurisprudence may, no doubt, enlarge the intellect; but the habit of +mind induced by an indiscriminate advocacy--which may be summoned to +the defence of a Sidney to-day and of a spoon-thief to-morrow--is +rather that of the sophist than of the philosophic reasoner. Not +truth, but the questionable victory of the moment, becomes naturally +and inevitably the aim and end of all the pleader's faculties. For +him the question is not what principle, but what interest of John Doe, +may be at stake. Such has been Mr. Choate's school as a reasoner. As +a politician, his experience has been limited. The member of a party +which rarely succeeded in winning, and never in long retaining, the +suffrages of the country, he for a time occupied a seat in the Senate, +but without justifying the expectations of his friends. So far, his +history shows nothing that can give him the right to assume so high +and mighty a tone in speaking of his political opponents. + +But in his scholarship he has a claim to be heard, and to be heard +respectfully. Here lies his real strength, and hence is derived the +inspiration of his better eloquence. The scholar enjoys more than the +privilege, without the curse, of the Wandering Jew. He can tread the +windy plain of Troy, he can listen to Demosthenes, can follow Dante +through Paradise, can await the rising of the curtain for the first +acting of Hamlet. Mr. Choate's oration shows that he has drawn that +full breath which is, perhaps, possible only under a Grecian sky, and +it is, in its better parts, scholarly in the best sense of the +word.[1] It shows that he has read out-of-the-way books, like Bodinus +"De Republica," and fresh ones, like Gladstone's Homer,--that he can +do justice, with Spinoza, to Machiavelli,--and that in letters, at +least, he has no narrow prejudices. Its sentences are full of +scholarly allusion, and its language glitters continually with pattins +of bright gold from Shakspeare. We abhor that profane vulgarity of our +politics which denies to an antagonist the merits which are justly +his, because he may have been blinded to the truth of our principles +by the demerits which are justly ours,--which hates the man because it +hates his creed, and, instead of grappling with his argument, seeks in +the kitchen-drains of scandal for the material to bespatter his +reputation. Let us say, then, honestly, what we honestly think,--the +feeling, the mastery and choice of language, the intellectual +comprehensiveness of glance, which can so order the many-columned +aisle of a period, that the eye, losing none of the crowded +particulars, yet sees through all, at the vista's end, the gleaming +figure of thought to enshrine which the costly fabric was reared,--all +these qualities of the orator demand and receive our sincere +applause. In an age when indolence or the study of French models has +reduced our sentences to the economic curtness of telegraphic +despatches, to the dimension of the epigram without its point, +Mr. Choate is one of the few whose paragraphs echo with the +long-resounding pace of Dryden's coursers, and who can drive a +predicate and six without danger of an overset. + +Mr. Choate begins by congratulating his hearers that there comes one +day in our year when "faults may be forgotten,-- ... when the +arrogance of reform, the excesses of reform, the strife of parties, +the rivalries of regions, shall give place to a wider, warmer, juster +sentiment,--when, turning from the corners and dark places of +offensiveness, ... we may go up together to the serene and secret +mountain-top," etc. Had he kept to the path which he thus marked out +for himself, we should have had nothing to say. But he goes out of +his way to indulge a spleen unworthy of himself and the occasion, and +brings against political opponents, sometimes directly, sometimes by +innuendo, charges which, as displaying personal irritation, are +impolitic and in bad taste. One fruit of scholarship, and its fairest, +he does not seem to have plucked,--one proof of contented conviction +in the truth of his opinions he does not give,--that indifference to +contemporary clamor and hostile criticism, that magnanimous +self-trust, which, assured of its own loyalty to present duty, can +wait patiently for future justice. + +His exordium over, Mr. Choate proceeds to define and to discuss +Nationality. We heartily agree with him in all he says in its praise, +and draw attention, in passing, to a charming idyllic passage in which +he speaks of the early influences which first develope in us its +germinal principle. But when he says, that the sentiment of a national +life, once existing, must still be kept alive by an exercise of the +reason and the will, we dissent. It must be a matter of instinct, or +it is nothing. The examples of nationality which he cites are those of +ancient Greece and modern Germany. Now we affirm, that, with +accidental exceptions, nationality has always been a matter of race, +and was eminently so in the instances he quotes. If we read rightly, +the nationality which glows in the "Iliad," and which it was, perhaps, +one object of the poem to rouse or to make coherent, is one of blood, +not territory. The same is true of Germany, of Russia, (adding the +element of a common religious creed,) and of France, where the Celtic +sentiment becomes day by day more predominant. The exceptions are +England and Switzerland, whose intense nationality is due to +insulation, and Holland, which was morally an island, cut off as it +was from France by difference of language and antipathy of race, and +from kindred Germany by the antagonism of institutions. A patriotism +by the chart is a monster that the world ne'er saw. Men may fall in +love with a lady's picture, but not with the map of their country. +Few persons have the poetic imagination of Mr. Choate, that can vivify +the dead lines and combine the complex features. It seems to us that +our own problem of creating a national sentiment out of such diverse +materials of race, such sometimes discordant or even hostile +traditions, and then of giving it an intenseness of vitality that can +overcome our vast spaces and our differences of climate and interest, +is a new problem, not easily to be worked out by the old +methods. Mr. Choate's plan seems to consist in the old formula of the +Fathers. He would have us think of their sacrifices and their +heroisms, their common danger and their common deliverance. +Excellent, as far as it goes; but what are we to do with the large +foreign fraction of our population imported within the last forty +years, a great proportion of whom never so much as heard even of the +war of 1812? Shall we talk of Bennington and Yorktown to the Germans, +whose grandfathers, if they were concerned at all in those memorable +transactions, were concerned on the wrong side? Shall we talk of the +constancy of Puritan Pilgrims to the Romanist Irishman, who knows more +of Brian Boroo than of the Mayflower? + +It will be many generations before we become so fused as to have a +common past, and the conciliation and forbearance which Mr. Choate +recommends to related sections of country will be more than equally +necessary to unrelated races. But while we are waiting for a past in +which we can all agree, Mr. Choate sees danger in the disrespect which +he accuses certain _anonymi_ of entertaining for the past in +general. But for what past? Does Mr. Choate mean our own American +past? Does he refer us to that for lessons of forbearance, submission, +and waiting for God's good time? Is the contemplation of their own +history and respect for their own traditions the lenitive he +prescribes for a people whose only history is a revolution, whose only +tradition is rebellion? To what past and to what tradition did the +Pilgrim Fathers appeal, except to that past, older than all history, +that tradition, sacred from all decay, which, derived from an +antiquity behind and beyond all the hoary generations, points the +human soul to the God from whom it derived life, and with it the +privilege of freedom and the duty of obedience? To what historical +past did Jefferson go for the preamble of the Declaration, unless to +the reveries of a half-dozen innovating enthusiasts, men of the +closet,--of that class which Mr. Choate disparages by implication, +though it has done more to shape the course of the world than any +number of statesmen, whose highest office is, commonly, to deal +prudently with the circumstances of the moment? + +Mr. Choate does a great injustice to the Republican Party when he lays +this irreverence for the past to their charge. As he seems to think +that he alone has read books and studied the lessons of antiquity, he +will be pleased to learn that there are persons also in that party who +have not neglected all their opportunities in that kind. The object of +the Republicans is to bring back the policy and practice of the +Republic to some nearer agreement with the traditions of the +fathers. They also have a National Idea,--for some of them are capable +of distinguishing "a phrase from an idea," or Mr. Choate would find it +easier to convert them. They propose to create a National Sentiment, +in the only way that is possible under conditions like ours, by +clearing the way for the development of a nation which shall be, not +only in Fourth-of-July orations, but on every day in the year, and in +the mouths of all peoples, great and wise, just and brave, and whose +idea, always august and venerable, by turns lovely and terrible, shall +bind us all in a common nationality by our loyalty to what is true, +our reverence for what is good, our love for what is beautiful, and +our sense of security in what is mighty. That is the America which the +Fathers conceived, and it is that to which the children look +forward,--an America which shall displace Ireland and Germany, +Massachusetts and Carolina, in the hearts of those who call them +mother, with an image of maternity at once more tender and more +majestic. + +There is a past for which Republicans have indeed no respect,--but it +is one of recent date; there is a history from which they refuse to +take lessons except for warning and not example,--but it is a history +which is not yet written. When the future historian shall study that +past and gather materials for writing that history, he will find cause +for wonder at the strength of that national vitality which could +withstand and survive, not the efforts of Mr. Choate's dreadful +reformers, but of an administration calling itself Democratic, which, +with the creed of the Ostend Manifesto for its foreign, and the +practice of Kansas for its domestic policy, could yet find a scholar +and a gentleman like Mr. Choate to defend it. + +Mr. Choate charges the Republicans with being incapable of a +generalization. They can, at least, generalize so far as this, that, +when they find a number of sophistries in an argument, they conclude +that the cause which requires their support must be a weak one. One of +the most amusing of these in the oration before us is where (using the +very same arguments that were urged in favor of that coalition in +Massachusetts against the morality of which the then party of Mr. +Choate exclaimed so loudly) he extols the merits of Compromise in +statesmanship. In support of what he says on this subject, he quotes +from a speech of Archbishop Whately a passage in favor of +Expediency. It is really too bad, that the Primate of Ireland, of all +men living, should be made the abetter in two fallacies. In the first +place, Mr. Choate assumes that there are certain deluded persons who +affirm that all compromises in politics are wrong. Having stuffed out +his man of straw, he proceeds gravely to argue with him, as if he were +as cunning of fence as Duns Scotus. One would think, from some of the +notions he deems it necessary to combat, that we were living in the +time of the Fifth-Monarchy men, and that Captain Venner with his troop +was ready to issue from the garrets of Batterymarch Street, to find +Armageddon in Dock Square, and the Beast of the Revelation in the +Chief of Police. There is no man who believes that the ship of State, +any more than an ordinary vessel, can be navigated by the New +Testament alone; but neither will be the worse for having it +aboard. The Puritans sailed theirs by Deuteronomy, but it was a +Deuteronomy qualified by an eye to the main chance. Mr. Choate's +syllogism may be stated thus: Some compromises are necessary in order +to carry on a free government; but this is a compromise; therefore it +is necessary. Here is the first fallacy. The other syllogism runs +thus: Expediency is essential in politics; so also is compromise; +therefore some particular compromise is expedient. Fallacy number +two. The latent application in this part of Mr. Choate's oration is, +of course, to Compromises on the Slavery question. We agree with him, +that no man of sense will deny that compromise is essential in +politics, and especially in our politics. With a single exception, all +that he says on this topic is expressed with masterly force and +completeness. But when we come to the application of it, the matter +assumes another face. Men of sense may, and do, differ as to what _is_ +a compromise, or, agreeing in that, they may differ again as to +whether it be expedient. For example, if a man, having taken another's +cloak, insist on taking his coat also, the denudee, though he might +congratulate himself on having been set forward so far on his way +toward the natural man of Rousseau, would hardly call the affair a +compromise on the part of the denuder. Or again, if his brother with +principles should offer to compromise about the coat by taking only +half of it, he would be in considerable doubt whether the arrangement +were expedient. Now there are many honest people, not as eloquent as +Mr. Choate, not as scholarly, and perhaps not more illogical, who +firmly believe that our compromises on the question of Slavery have +afforded examples of both the species above described. It is not +unnatural, therefore, that, while they assent to his general +theory, they should protest against his mode of applying it to +particulars. They may be incapable of a generalization, (they +certainly are, if this be Mr. Choate's notion of one,) but they are +incapable also of a deliberate fallacy. We think we find here one of +the cases in which his training as an advocate has been of evil effect +on his fairness of mind. No more potent lie can be made than of the +ashes of truth. A fallacy is dangerous because of the half-truth in +it. Swallow a strong dose of pure poison, and the stomach may reject +it; but take half as much, mixed with innocent water, and it will do +you a mischief. But Mr. Choate is nothing, if not illogical: +recognizing the manifest hand of God in the affairs of the world, he +would leave the question of Slavery with Him. Now we offer Mr. Choate +a _dilemma_: either God _always_ interferes, or _sometimes_: if +always, why need Mr. Choate meddle? why not leave it to Him to avert +the dangers of Anti-slavery, as well as to remedy the evils of +Slavery?--if only sometimes, (_nec deus intersit nisi dignus vindice +nodus,_) who is to decide when the time for human effort has come? +Each man for himself, or Mr. Choate for all? + +Let us try Mr. Choate's style of reasoning against himself. He says, +"One may know Aristophanes and Geography and the Cosmical Unity and +Telluric Influences," (why _didn't_ he add, "Neptune, Plutarch, +and Nicodemus"!) "and the smaller morals of life, and the sounding +pretensions of philanthropy," (this last, at any rate, is useful +knowledge,) "and yet not know America." We must confess, that we do +not see why on earth he should. In fact, by the time he had got to +the "Telluric Influences," (whatever they are,) we should think he +might consider his education completed, and his head would even then +be as great a wonder as that of the schoolmaster in the "Deserted +Village." In the same way, a man might have seen a horse, (if only a +clothes-horse,) a dog, a cat, and a tadpole, and yet never have seen +the elephant,--a most blame-worthy neglect of opportunities. But let +us apply Mr. Choate's syllogistic process to the list of this +extraordinary nameless person's acquirements. The Republican Party do +_not_ know any of these amazing things; _ergo_, they must +know America; and the corollary (judging from Mr. Choate's own +practice, as displayed in the parts of his oration which we are sure +he will one day wish to blot) would seem to be, that, having the honor +of her acquaintance, they may apply very contemptuous epithets to +everybody that disagrees with them. The only weak point in our case +is, that Mr. Choate himself seems to allow them the one merit of +knowing something of Geography,--for he says they wished to elect a +"geographical President,"--but, perhaps, as they did not succeed in +doing so, he will forgive them the possession of that accomplishment, +so hostile to a knowledge of America. + +We confess that we were surprised to find Mr. Choate reviving, on "the +serene and secret mountain-top,"--which, being interpreted, means the +rather prosaic Tremont Temple,--the forgotten slang of a bygone +political contest, as in the instance we have just quoted of the +"geographical President." We think that Colonel Fremont might be +allowed to rest in peace, now that a California court has +decided--with a logic worthy of Mr. Choate himself--that he has no +manner of right to the gold in his Mariposa mines, _because_ he +owns them. But we should like to have Mr. Choate define, when he has +leisure, where an unfortunate candidate can take up his abode, in +order to escape the imputation of being "geographical." It is a grave +charge to be brought against any man, as we see by its being coupled +with those dreadful Telluric Influences and Cosmical (ought we not to +_dele_ the _s?_) Unities; and since the most harmless man in +the world may become a candidate before he expects it, it would be +charitable to warn him beforehand what is an allowable _habitat_ +in such a contingency. + +We said we were surprised at seeing our old friend, the "geographical +President," again; but we soon found that he reappeared only as the +file-leader of a ragged regiment of kindred scarecrows,--nay, with +others so battered and bedraggled, that they were scarce fit to be the +camp-followers of the soldiery with whom Falstaff refused to march +through Coventry. The sarcasms which Mr. Choate vents against the +Anti-slavery sentiment of the country are so old as to be positively +respectable,--we wish we could say that their vivacity increased with +their years,--and as for his graver indictments, there never was +anything so ancient, unless it be an American lad of eighteen. There +are not a great many of either, but they are made to recur often +enough to produce the impression of numbers. They remind us of the +theatric army, composed always of the same old guard of +supernumeraries and candle-snuffers, and which, by marching round and +round the paper forest in the background, would make six men pass +muster very well for sixty, did not the fatally regular recurrence of +the hero whose cotton armor bunches at the knees, and the other whose +legs insist on the un-Grecian eccentricity of being straight in +profile and crooked in a front view, bring us back to calmer +estimates. + +We used the word _indictments_ with design, both as appropriate +to Mr. Choate's profession and exactly descriptive of the thing +itself. For, as in an indictment for murder, in order to close every +loophole of evasion, the prudent attorney affirms that the accused did +the deed with an awfully destructive _to-wit_,--with a knife, +axe, bludgeon, pistol, bootjack, six-pounder, and what not, which were +then and there in the Briarean hands of him the said What's-his-name, +so Mr. Choate represents the Republican Party to have attempted the +assassination of the Constitution with a most remarkable medley of +instruments. He does not, indeed, use the words "Republican Party," +but it is perfectly clear from the context, as in the case of the +"geographical President," for whom the charges are intended. Out of +tenderness for the artist, let him for whom the garment is intended +put it on, though it may not fit him,--and for our own parts, as +humble members of the Anti-slave-trade, Anti-filibuster, and +Anti-disreputable-things-generally Party, we don our Joseph's coat +(for Mr. Choate could not make one that was not of many colors) with +good-humored serenity. + +Of course, Sectionalism is not forgotten. The pumpkin-lantern, that +had performed so many offices of alarm, though a little wrinkled now, +was too valuable a stage-property to be neglected. In the hands of so +skilful an operator, its slender body flutters voluminous with new +folds of inexpensive cotton, and its eyes glare with the baleful +terrors of unlimited tallow. Mr. Choate honestly confesses that +sectional jealousies are coeval with the country itself, but it is +only as fomented by Anti-slavery-extension that he finds them +dreadful. When South Carolina threatened disunion unless the Tariff of +the party to which Mr. Choate then belonged were modified, did he +think it necessary for the Protectionists to surrender their policy? +There is not, and there never was, any party numerically considerable +at the North, in favor of disunion. Were homilies on fraternal +concessions the things to heal this breach, the South is the fitting +place for their delivery; but mouth-glue, however useful to stick +slight matters together, is not the cement with which confederacies +are bound to a common centre. There must be the gravitation of +interest as well as of honor and duty. We wonder that the parallel +case of Scotland and England did not occur to Mr. Choate, in speaking +upon this point. Scotland was clamorous and England jealously +contemptuous, for nearly a century. Twice since the union, the land +of cakes has been in rebellion; but as long as a pound Scots was only +a twentieth part of a pound English,--as long as the treasury was +filled chiefly from south the Tweed, and the sons of poor and proud +Scottish lairds could make glittering abstractions from it,--as long +as place was to be won or hoped for,--there was no danger. So with +us,--though Jacob and Esau quarrelled already in the womb, yet, so +long as the weaker and more politic brother can get the elder +brother's portion, and simple Esau hunts his whales and pierces his +untrodden forests, content with his mess of pottage,--honestly abiding +by his bargain, though a little puzzled at its terms,--we think that +fratricide, or the sincere thought of it, is very far off. + + * * * * * + +We should be glad to extract some passages of peculiar force and +beauty,--such as that where Mr. Choate rebukes the undue haste of +reformers, and calls to mind the slow development and longevity of +states and ideas. But our duty is the less pleasing one of pointing to +some of the sophistries of the argument and some of the ill-advised +ebullitions of the orator. We leave his exegesis of "Render unto +Caesar" to answer itself; but what can be worse than this,--worse in +taste, in temper, in reason? + + + "There is a cant of shallowness and fanaticism which misunderstands + and denies this. There is a distempered and ambitious morality which + says civil prudence is no virtue. There is a philanthropy,--so it + calls itself,--pedantry, arrogance, folly, cruelty, impiousness, I + call it, fit enough for a pulpit, totally unfit for a people,--fit + enough for a preacher, totally unfit for a statesman." + + +Think of it!--fit enough for St. Augustine and St. Francis, (to +mention no greater names,) fit enough for Taylor and Barrow, for +Bossuet and Fenelon, but not for Mr. Buchanan or Mr. Cushing! + +In another place Mr. Choate says, "that even the laughter of fools, +and children, and madmen, little ministers, little editors, and little +politicians, can inflict the mosquito-bite, not deep, but stinging." +As this is one of the best of his sarcasms, we give it the advantage +of the circulation of the "Atlantic,"--generous and tidal circulation, +as he himself might call it. We do not think the mosquito image +new,--if we remember, the editor of the Bungtown Copperhead uses it +weekly against "our pitiful contemporary,"--though the notion of a +mosquito-bite inflicted by a laugh is original with Mr. Choate, unless +Lord Castlereagh may have used it before. But we would seriously ask +Mr. Choate who the big ministers of the country are, if the Beechers, +if Wayland, Park, Bushnell, Cheever, Furness, Parker, Hedge, Bellows, +and Huntington are the little ones? + +There is an amusing passage in which Mr. Choate would seem to assume +to himself and those who agree with him the honors of martyrdom. This +shows a wonderful change in public opinion; though the martyrs in the +"Legenda Aurea" and Fox seem to have had a harder time of it than we +supposed to be the case with Mr. Choate. + +We have not space to follow him farther, and only the reputation of +the man, and the singularity of the occasion, which gave a kind of +national significance to the affair, would have tempted us to intrude +upon the select privacy of the Young Men's Democratic Association. + +Finally, as Mr. Choate appears to have a very mean opinion of the +understandings and the culture of those opposed to him in politics, we +beg to remind him, since he has been led out, like Balaam, to prophesy +against the tents and armies of the Republican Israel, and has ended +by proving their invincibility, that it was an animal in all respects +inferior to a prophet, and in some to a politician, who was first +aware of the presence of the heavenly messenger; and it may be that +persons incapable of a generalization--as that patient creature +undoubtedly was--may see as far into the future as the greatest +philosopher who turns his eyes always to the past. + + +Footnote 1: We may be allowed to wonder, however, at his speaking of +"memories that burn and revel in the pages of Herodotus,"--a phrase +which does injustice to the simple and quiet style of the delightful +Pepys of Antiquity. + + + + +LITERARY NOTICES. + +DR. ASA GRAY'S _Botanical Series_, New York, Ivison & Phinney, +consisting of-- + +I. _How Plants Grow_, etc., _with a Popular Flora,_ +etc. 16mo. pp. 233. + +II. _First Lessons in Botany and Vegetable Physiology._ +8vo. pp. 236. + +III. _Introduction to Structural and Systematic Botany and Vegetable +Physiology._ 8vo. pp. 555. + +IV. _Manual of the Botany of the Northern United States, including +Virginia, Kentucky,_ etc. 8vo. pp. 636. + +V. Same as IV., with the _Mosses and Liverworts_ added, +illustrated by Engravings, pp. 739. + +VI. Same as IV., with II. bound up with it. pp. 872. + +The first-named of these books is a new candidate for public favor; +the others are revised and improved editions of books which have +already been favorably received. We have sometimes thought that the +popularity of a school-book is in inverse proportion to its merits, +and are glad to learn that five editions of Dr. Gray's "Structural and +Systematic Botany" are witnesses against the truth of this assumption. +No man can deny that Dr. Gray's books are all of the highest order of +merit. The accuracy and extent of his scholarship are manifest on +every page,--a scholarship consisting not merely in an extensive +acquaintance with the works of other botanists, but in a careful +confirmation of their results, and in additions to their knowledge, by +an observation of Nature for himself. His clearness of style is an +equally valuable characteristic, making the reader sure that he +understands Dr. Gray, and that Dr. Gray understands the subject. In +the "Manual" this clearness of style extends to the judicious +selection of distinctive marks, whereby allied species may be +distinguished from each other. Even the most difficult genera of +golden-rods, asters, and grasses become intelligible in this manual; +and many a less difficult genus which puzzled our boyhood, with +Beck's, Eaton's, and Pursh's manuals, became so plain in Gray, that we +cannot now imagine where was the difficulty. The extent of the field +which Gray's Manual covers prevents him, of course, from giving +such lifelike descriptions of plants as may be found in Dr. +Bigelow's "Plants of Boston and its Vicinity," or such minute +word-daguerreotypes as those in Mr. Emerson's "Trees of +Massachusetts,"--books which no New England student of botany can +afford to be without; but, on the other hand, the description of each +species, aided by typographical devices of Italics, etc., is +sufficient for any intelligent observer to identify a specimen. The +exquisite engravings, illustrating the genera of Ferns, Hepaticae, and +Mosses, are also a great assistance. + +The volume which we have marked III. is the fifth revised edition of +the "Botanical Text-Book." It contains a complete, although concise, +sketch of Structural Botany and Vegetable Physiology, and a birds'-eye +view of the whole vegetable kingdom in its subdivision into families, +illustrated by over thirteen hundred engravings on wood. It has become +a standard of botany, wherever our language is read. + +For those who do not wish to pursue the study so far, the "First +Lessons" is one of the most happily arranged and happily written +scientific text-books ever published, and is illustrated by three +hundred and sixty well-executed wood-cuts. This takes scholars of +thirteen or fourteen years of age far enough into the recesses of the +science for them to see its beauties, and to learn the passwords which +shall admit them to all its hidden and inexhaustible treasures. It +goes over substantially the same ground that is covered by the volume +we have marked III., but in simpler language and with much less +detail; and closes with clear practical directions how to collect +specimens and make an herbarium. + +The first book is intended for children of ten or twelve years old, at +home or in school. We hail it as a remarkably successful effort of a +truly learned man to write a book actually adapted to young children. +While all teachers, and writers upon education, insist on the +importance of having a child's first impressions such as shall not +need to be afterwards corrected, and such as shall attract the child +towards the study to which it is introduced, our elementary books have +usually sinned in one or both these points. They are either dry and +repulsive, or else vague and incorrect;--frequently have both +faults. But the child is here told "how plants grow" in a very +pleasant manner, with neat and pretty pictures to illustrate the +words, by one whose thorough knowledge and perspicuity of style +prevent him from ever giving a wrong impression. The "Popular Flora" +which is appended, contains a description of about one hundred +families of the most common cultivated and wild plants, and of the +most familiar genera and species in each family. The English names are +in all cases put in the foreground in bold type,--while the Latin +names stand modestly back, half hidden in parentheses and Italics; and +these English names are in general very well selected,--although we +think that when two or three English names are given to one plant, or +one name to several plants, Dr. Gray ought to indicate which name he +prefers. He allows "Dogwood" to stand without rebuke for the poison +sumac, as well as for the flowering cornel; and gives "Winterberry" +and "Black Alder" without comment to _Prinos verticellata_. A +word of preference on his part might do something towards reforming +and simplifying the popular nomenclature, and this child's manual is +the place to utter that word. We think also that in a second edition +of this Popular Flora it would be well to give a _popular_ +description of a few of the most beautiful flowers belonging to those +families which are too difficult for the child properly to +analyze. Thus, Arethusa, Cypripedium, Pogonia, Calopogon, Spiranthes, +Festuca, Osmunda, Onoclea, Lycopodium, Polytrichum, Bryum, Marchantia, +Usnea, Parmelia, Cladonia, Agaricus, Chondrus, and perhaps a few other +genera, furnish plants so familiar and so striking that a child will +be sure to inquire concerning them, and a general description could +easily be framed in a few words which could not mislead him concerning +them. + +In writing for children, Dr. Gray seems to have put on a new nature, +in which we have a much fuller sympathy with him than we have ever had +in reading his larger books. We do not like that cold English common +sense which seems reluctant to admit any truth in the higher regions +of thought; and we confess, that, until we had read this little +child's book, "How Plants Grow," we had always suspected Dr. Gray of +leaning towards that old error, so finely exposed by Agassiz in +zooelogy, of considering genera, families, etc., as divisions made by +human skill, for human convenience,--instead of as divisions belonging +to the Creator's plan, as yet but partially understood by human +students. + +We hope that the appearance of this masterly little book, so finely +adapted to the child's understanding, may have the effect of +introducing botany into the common schools. The natural taste of +children for flowers indicates clearly the propriety and utility of +giving them lessons upon botany in their earliest years. Go into any +of our New England country-schools at this season of the year, and you +will find a bouquet of wild flowers on the teacher's desk. Take it up +and separate it,--show each flower to the school, tell its name, and +its relationship to other and more familiar cultivated flowers, the +characteristic sensible properties of its family, etc.,--and you will +find the younger scholars your most attentive listeners. And if any +practical man ask, What is the use of the younger scholars learning +anything about wild flowers, which the cultivation of the country may +soon render extinct, and which are but weeds at best?--there are two +sufficient answers ready: first, that all truth is divine, and that +the workmanship of infinite skill is beautiful and worthy of the eyes +which may behold it; secondly, that no mental discipline is better +adapted for the young mind than this learning how to distinguish +plants. No more striking deficiency is observable, in most men, than +the lack of a power to observe closely and with accuracy. The general +inaccuracy of testimony, usually ascribed to inaccuracy of memory, is +in fact to be attributed to inaccuracy of observation. In like +manner, a large proportion of popular errors of judgment spring from +an imperfect perception of the data on which the true conclusions +should be founded. The best remedy for this lack of clear perceptions +would evidently be the cultivation of those habits of close +observation and nice discrimination necessary in a successful +naturalist. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATLANTIC MONTHLY, VOLUME 2, ISSUE +10, AUGUST, 1858*** + + +******* This file should be named 10626.txt or 10626.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/6/2/10626 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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