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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:43:14 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:43:14 -0700 |
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diff --git a/13924-h/13924-h.htm b/13924-h/13924-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4eb5ec6 --- /dev/null +++ b/13924-h/13924-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10329 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta name="generator" content= +"HTML Tidy for Mac OS X (vers 1st August 2004), see www.w3.org" /> +<meta http-equiv="content-type" content= +"text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> +<title>The Atlantic Monthly, No. 51.</title> + +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[*/ + <!-- + body {font-family: serif;margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;} + p {text-align: justify;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + pre {font-family:monospace;font-size: 0.8em;} + sup {font-size:0.7em;} + hr {width: 50%;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + hr.short {width:25%;} + + ul {list-style-type:none;margin-left:1em;text-indent:-1em;} + .newlet {padding-top: 1em;} + .toctitle { padding-top: 2em; font-size: 110%; font-weight: bold;} + .returnTOC {text-align:right;font-size:.7em;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem p.i6 {margin-left: 3em;} + + .quote {text-align:justify;text-indent:0em;margin-left:10%;margin-right:10%;} + .note {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + p.cen {text-align:center;} + p.rgt {text-align:right;} + span.sidenote {position: absolute; right: 1%; left: 87%; font-size: .7em;text-align:left;text-indent:0em;} + + a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} + a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} + a:hover {color:red} + --> +/*]]>*/ +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13924 ***</div> + +<h1>THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.</h1> +<h2>A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>VOLUME IX.</h2> +<h3>M DCCC LXII.</h3> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<!-- [Transcriber's note: Converted page numbers to issue numbers.] --> +<p class="cen" style="font-size:80%;"><em><span style= +"text-decoration:underline;">Underlined</span> titles are in this +issue</em></p> +<table summary="contents"> +<tr> +<td class="toctitle">CONTENTS.</td> +<td class="toctitle">ISSUE.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">A.C., The Experiences of the,</td> +<td class="newlet">52.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="text-decoration:underline;">Agnes of Sorrento,</td> +<td><a href="#agnes">51</a>, 52, 53, 54.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>American Civilization,</td> +<td>54.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Author of “Charles Auchester,” The,</td> +<td>56.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="text-decoration:underline;">Autobiographical Sketches of +a Strength-Seeker,</td> +<td><a href="#strength">51</a>.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Childhood, Concerning the Sorrows of,</td> +<td class="newlet">53.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Clough, Arthur Hugh,</td> +<td>54.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="text-decoration:underline;">Cooper, James Fenimore,</td> +<td><a href="#cooper">51</a>.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Ease in Work,</td> +<td class="newlet">52.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Forester, The,</td> +<td class="newlet">54.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="text-decoration:underline;">Fremont’s Hundred Days +in Missouri,</td> +<td><a href="#fremont">51</a>, 52, 53.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Fruits of Free Labor in the Smaller Islands of the British West +Indies,</td> +<td>53.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">German Burns, The,</td> +<td class="newlet">54.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Health of Our Girls, The,</td> +<td class="newlet">56.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Hindrance,</td> +<td>55.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Horrors of San Domingo, The,</td> +<td>56.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Individuality,</td> +<td class="newlet">54.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet" style="text-decoration:underline;">Jefferson and +Slavery,</td> +<td class="newlet"><a href="#jefferson">51</a>.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>John Lamar,</td> +<td>54.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Letter to a Young Contributor,</td> +<td class="newlet">54.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="text-decoration:underline;">Light Literature,</td> +<td><a href="#light">51</a>.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="text-decoration:underline;">Love and Skates,</td> +<td><a href="#skates">51</a>, 52.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Man under Sealed Orders,</td> +<td class="newlet">55.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="text-decoration:underline;">Methods of Study in Natural +History,</td> +<td><a href="#naturalhistory">51</a>, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>My Garden,</td> +<td>55.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet" style="text-decoration:underline;">Old Age,</td> +<td class="newlet"><a href="#oldage">51</a>.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Our Artists in Italy,</td> +<td>52.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Père Antoine’s Date-Palm,</td> +<td class="newlet">56.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="text-decoration:underline;">Pilgrimage to Old +Boston,</td> +<td><a href="#boston">51</a>.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Raft that no Man made, A,</td> +<td class="newlet">53.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Richelieu, The Statesmanship of,</td> +<td>55.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Rifle, The Use of the,</td> +<td>53.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Saltpetre as a Source of Power,</td> +<td class="newlet">55.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Sam Adams Regiments in the Town of Boston, The,</td> +<td>56.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Slavery, in its Principles, Development, and Expedients,</td> +<td>55.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Snow,</td> +<td>52.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>“Solid Operations in Virginia”,</td> +<td>56.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>South Breaker, The,</td> +<td>55, 56.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Spain, The Rehabilitation of,</td> +<td>53.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Spirits,</td> +<td>55.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="text-decoration:underline;">Story of To-Day, A,</td> +<td><a href="#today">51</a>, 52, 53.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Taxation,</td> +<td class="newlet">53.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Then and Now in the Old Dominion,</td> +<td>54.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Walking,</td> +<td class="newlet">56.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>War and Literature,</td> +<td>56.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Weather in War,</td> +<td>55.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>What shall We do with Them?,</td> +<td>54.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toctitle">POETRY.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Astraea at the Capitol,</td> +<td class="newlet">56.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>At Port Royal, 1861,</td> +<td>52.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Battle-Hymn of the Republic,</td> +<td class="newlet">52.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="text-decoration:underline;">Birdofredum Sawin, Esq., to +Mr. Hosea Biglow,</td> +<td><a href="#birdofredum">51</a>, 53.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Compensation,</td> +<td class="newlet">54.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Exodus,</td> +<td class="newlet">54.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Lines written under a Portrait of Theodore +Winthrop,</td> +<td class="newlet">55.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Lyrics of the Street,</td> +<td>55.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Mason and Slidell: A Yankee Idyl,</td> +<td class="newlet">52.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Message of Jeff Davis in Secret Session, A,</td> +<td>54.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Midwinter,</td> +<td>52.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Mountain Pictures,</td> +<td>53, 54.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Order for a Picture, An,</td> +<td class="newlet">56.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Out of the Body to God,</td> +<td>56.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet" style="text-decoration:underline;">Per Tenebras, +Lumina,</td> +<td class="newlet"><a href="#tenebras">51</a>.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Sonnet,</td> +<td class="newlet">56.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Southern Cross, The,</td> +<td>53.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Speech of Hon’ble Preserved Doe in Secret Caucus,</td> +<td>55.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Strasburg Clock, The,</td> +<td>54.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Sunthin’ in the Pastoral Line,</td> +<td>56.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Titmouse, The,</td> +<td class="newlet">55.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="text-decoration:underline;">True Heroine, The,</td> +<td><a href="#heroine">51</a>.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Under the Snow,</td> +<td class="newlet">55.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Volunteer, The,</td> +<td class="newlet">55.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Voyage of the Good Ship Union,</td> +<td>53.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toctitle">REVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet" style="text-decoration:underline;"> +Arnold’s Lectures on translating Homer,</td> +<td class="newlet"><a href="#arnold">51</a>.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Book about Doctors, A,</td> +<td class="newlet">54.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Botta’s Discourse on the Life, Character, and Policy of +Count Cavour,</td> +<td>55.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Cloister and the Hearth, The,</td> +<td class="newlet">52.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">De Vere, Aubrey, Poems by,</td> +<td class="newlet">54.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Dickens’s Works, Household Edition,</td> +<td>55.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Harris’s Insects Injurious to +Vegetation,</td> +<td class="newlet">55.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">John Brent,</td> +<td class="newlet">54.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Leigh Hunt, Correspondence of,</td> +<td class="newlet">55.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Lessons in Life,</td> +<td>52.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet" style="text-decoration:underline;"> +Müller’s Lectures on the Science of Language,</td> +<td class="newlet"><a href="#mueller">51</a>.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet" style="text-decoration:underline;"> +Newman’s Homeric Translation in Theory and in Practice,</td> +<td class="newlet"><a href="#newman">51</a>.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Pauli’s Pictures of Old England,</td> +<td class="newlet">55.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Record of an Obscure Man,</td> +<td class="newlet">55.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Tragedy of Errors,</td> +<td class="newlet">55.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="newlet">Willmott’s English Sacred Poetry,</td> +<td class="newlet">52.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toctitle">FOREIGN LITERATURE,</td> +<td style="padding-top:2em;">54, 55.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toctitle" style="text-decoration:underline;"> +OBITUARY,</td> +<td style="padding-top:2em;"><a href="#obit">51</a>.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toctitle">RECENT AMERICAN PUBLICATIONS,</td> +<td style="padding-top:2em;">52, 53, 54, 55.</td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class="full" /> +<h1>THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.</h1> +<h2>A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS.</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<h3>VOL. IX.—JANUARY, 1862.—NO. LI.</h3> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2><a id="naturalhistory" name="naturalhistory">METHODS OF STUDY +IN NATURAL HISTORY.</a></h2> +<h3>I.</h3> +<p>It is my intention, in this series of papers, to give the +history of the progress in Natural History from the +beginning,—to show how men first approached Nature,—how +the facts of Natural History have been accumulated, and how those +facts have been converted into science. In so doing, I shall +present the methods employed in Natural History on a wider scale +and with broader generalizations than if I limited myself to the +study as it exists to-day. The history of humanity, in its efforts +to understand the Creation, resembles the development of any +individual mind engaged in the same direction. It has its infancy, +with the first recognition of surrounding objects; and, indeed, the +early observers seem to us like children in their first attempts to +understand the world in which they live. But these efforts, that +appear childish to us now, were the first steps in that field of +knowledge which is so extensive that all our progress seems only to +show us how much is left to do.</p> +<p>Aristotle is the representative of the learning of antiquity in +Natural Science. The great mind of Greece in his day, and a leader +in all the intellectual culture of his time, he was especially a +naturalist, and his work on Natural History is a record not only of +his own investigations, but of all preceding study in this +department. It is evident that even then much had been done, and, +in allusion to certain peculiarities of the human frame, which he +does not describe in full, he refers his readers to familiar works, +saying, that illustrations in point may be found in anatomical +text-books.<sup>1</sup><span class="sidenote">1. See Aristotle's +<em>Zoölogy</em>, Book I., Chapter xiv.</span></p> +<p>Strange that in Aristotle’s day, two thousand years ago, +such books should have been in general use, and that in our time we +are still in want of elementary text-books of Natural History, +having special reference to the animals of our own country, and +adapted to the use of schools. One fact in Aristotle’s +“History of Animals” is very striking, and makes it +difficult for us to understand much of its contents. It never +occurs to him that a time may come when the Greek +language—the language of all culture and science in his +time—would not be the language of all cultivated men. He +took, therefore, little pains to characterize the animals he +alludes to, otherwise than by their current names; and of his +descriptions of their habits and peculiarities, much is lost upon +us from their local character and expression. There is also a total +absence of systematic form, of any classification or framework to +express the divisions of the animal kingdom into larger or lesser +groups. His only divisions are genera and species: classes, orders, +and families, as we understand them now, are quite foreign to the +Greek conception of the animal kingdom. Fishes and birds, for +instance, they considered as genera, and their different +representatives as species. They grouped together quadrupeds also +in contradistinction to animals with legs and wings, and they +distinguished those that bring forth living young from those that +lay eggs. But though a system of Nature was not familiar even to +their great philosopher, and Aristotle had not arrived at the idea +of a classification on general principles, he yet stimulated a +search into the closer affinities among animals by the differences +he pointed out. He divided the animal kingdom into two groups, +which he called <em>Enaima</em> and <em>Anaima</em>, or animals +with blood and animals without blood. We must remember, however, +that by the word <em>blood</em> he designated only the red fluid +circulating in the higher animals; whereas a fluid akin to blood +exists in all animals, variously colored in some, but colorless in +a large number of others.</p> +<p>After Aristotle, a long period elapsed without any addition to +the information he left us. Rome and the Middle Ages gave us +nothing, and even Pliny added hardly a fact to those that Aristotle +recorded. And though the great naturalists of the sixteenth century +gave a new impulse to this study, their investigations were chiefly +directed towards a minute acquaintance with the animals they had an +opportunity of observing, mingled with commentaries upon the +ancients. Systematic Zoölogy was but little advanced by their +efforts.</p> +<p>We must come down to the last century, to Linnæus, before +we find the history taken up where Aristotle had left it, and some +of his suggestions carried out with new vigor and vitality. +Aristotle had distinguished only between genera and species; +Linnæus took hold of this idea, and gave special names to +other groups, of different weight and value. Besides species and +genera, he gives us orders and classes,—considering classes +the most comprehensive, then orders, then genera, then species. He +did not, however, represent these groups as distinguished by their +nature, but only by their range; they were still to him, as genera +and species had been to Aristotle, only larger or smaller groups, +not founded upon and limited by different categories of structure. +He divided the animal kingdom into six classes, which I give here, +as we shall have occasion to compare them with other +classifications:—<em>Mammalia</em>, <em>Birds</em>, +<em>Reptiles</em>, <em>Fishes</em>, <em>Insects</em>, +<em>Worms</em>.</p> +<p>That this classification should have expressed all that was +known in the last century of the most general relations among +animals only shows how difficult it is to generalize on such a +subject; nor should we expect to find it an easy task, when we +remember the vast number of species (about a quarter of a million) +already noticed by naturalists. Linnæus succeeded, however, +in finding a common character on which to unite most of his +classes; but the Mammalia, that group to which we ourselves belong, +remained very imperfect. Indeed, in the earlier editions of his +classification, he does not apply the name of Mammalia to this +class, but calls the higher animals <em>Quadrupedia</em>, +characterizing them as the animals with four legs and covered with +fur or hair, that bring forth living young and nurse them with +milk. In thus admitting external features as class characters, he +excluded many animals which by their mode of reproduction, as well +as by their respiration and circulation, belong to this class as +much as the Quadrupeds,—as, for instance, all the Cetaceans, +(Whales, Porpoises, and the like,) which, though they have not +legs, nor are their bodies covered with hair or fur, yet bring +forth living young, nurse them with milk, are warm-blooded and +air-breathing. As more was learned of these animals, there arose +serious discussion and criticism among contemporary naturalists +respecting the classification of Linnæus, all of which led to +a clearer insight into the true relations among animals. +Linnæus himself, in his last edition of the “Systema +Naturæ,” shows us what important progress he had made +since he first announced his views; for he there substitutes for +the name of <em>Quadrupedia</em> that of <em>Mammalia</em>, +including among them the Whales, which he characterizes as +air-breathing, warm-blooded, and bringing forth living young which +they nurse with milk. Thus the very deficiencies of his +classification stimulated naturalists to new criticism and +investigation into the true limits of classes, and led to the +recognition of one most important principle,—that such groups +are founded, not on external appearance, but on internal structure, +and that internal structure, therefore, is the thing to be studied. +The group of Quadrupeds was not the only defective one in this +classification of Linnæus; his class of Worms, also, was most +heterogeneous, for he included among them Shell-Fishes, Slugs, +Star-Fishes, Sea-Urchins, and other animals that bear no relation +whatever to the class of Worms.</p> +<p>But whatever its defects, the classification of Linnæus +was the first attempt at grouping animals together according to +certain common structural characters. His followers and pupils +engaged at once in a scrutiny of the differences and similarities +among animals, which soon led to a great increase in the number of +classes: instead of six, there were presently nine, twelve, and +more. But till Cuvier’s time there was no great principle of +classification. Facts were accumulated and more or less +systematized, but they were not yet arranged according to law; the +principle was still wanting by which to generalize them and give +meaning and vitality to the whole. It was Cuvier who found the key. +He himself tells us how he first began, in his investigations upon +the internal organization of animals, to use his dissections with +reference to finding the true relations between animals, and how, +ever after, his knowledge of anatomy assisted him in his +classifications, and his classifications threw new light again on +his anatomical investigations,—each science thus helping to +fertilize the other. He was not one of those superficial observers +who are in haste to announce every new fact that they chance to +find, and his first paper<sup>2</sup><span class="sidenote">2. Sur +un nouveau rapprochement à établir entre les Classes +qui composent le Règne Animal. <em>Ann. Mus.</em>, Vol. +XIX.</span> specially devoted to classification gave to the world +the ripe fruit of years of study. This was followed by his great +work, “Le Règne Animal.” He said that animals +were united in their most comprehensive groups, not on special +characters, but on different <em>plans of +structure</em>,—moulds, he called them, in which all animals +had been cast. He tells us this in such admirable language that I +must, to do justice to his thought, give it in his own +words:—</p> +<p class="quote">“Si l’on considère le +règne animal d’après les principes que nous +venons de poser en se débarrassant des +préjugés établis sur les divisions +anciennement admises, en n’ayant égard +qu’à l’organisation et à la nature des +animaux, et non pas à leur grandeur, à leur +utilité, au plus ou moins de connaissance que nous en avons, +ni à toutes les autres circonstances accessoires, on +trouvera qu’il existe quatre formes principales, quatre plans +généraux, si l’on peut s’exprimer ainsi, +d’après lesquels tous les animaux semblent avoir +été modelés, et dont les divisions +ultérieures, de quelque titre que les naturalistes les aient +décorées, ne sont que des modifications assez +légères, fondées sur le développement +ou l’addition de quelques parties, qui ne changent rien +à l’essence du plan.”</p> +<p>The value of this principle was soon tested by its application +to facts already known, and it was found that animals whose +affinities had been questionable before were now at once referred +to their true relations with other animals by ascertaining whether +they were built on one or another of these plans. Of such plans or +structural conceptions Cuvier found in the whole animal kingdom +only four, which he called <em>Vertebrates</em>, <em>Mollusks</em>, +<em>Articulates</em>, and <em>Radiates</em>.</p> +<p>With this new principle as the basis of investigation, it was no +longer enough for the naturalist to know a certain amount of +features characteristic of a certain number of animals,—he +must penetrate deep enough into their organization to find the +secret of their internal structure. Till he can do this, he is like +the traveller in a strange city, who looks on the exterior of +edifices entirely new to him, but knows nothing of the plan of +their internal architecture. To be able to read in the finished +structure the plan on which the whole is built is now essential to +every naturalist.</p> +<p>There have been many criticisms on this division of +Cuvier’s, and many attempts to change it; but though some +improvements have been made in the details of his classification, +all departures from its great fundamental principle are errors, and +do but lead us away from the recognition of the true affinities +among animals.</p> +<p>Each of these plans may be stated in the most general terms. In +the <em>Vertebrates</em> there is a vertebral column terminating in +a prominent head; this column has an arch above and an arch below, +forming a double internal cavity. The parts are symmetrically +arranged on either side of the longitudinal axis of the body. In +the <em>Mollusks</em>, also, the parts are arranged according to a +bilateral symmetry on either side of the body, but the body has but +one cavity, and is a soft, concentrated mass, without a distinct +individualization of parts. In the <em>Articulates</em> there is +but one cavity, and the parts are here again arranged on either +side of the longitudinal axis, but in these animals the whole body +is divided from end to end into transverse rings or joints movable +upon each other. In the <em>Radiates</em> we lose sight of the +bilateral symmetry so prevalent in the other three, except as a +very subordinate element of structure; the plan of this lowest type +is an organic sphere, in which all parts bear definite relations to +a vertical axis.</p> +<p>It is not upon any special features, then, that these largest +divisions of the animal kingdom are based, but simply upon the +general structural idea. Striking as this statement was, it was +coldly received at first by contemporary naturalists: they could +hardly grasp Cuvier’s wide generalizations, and perhaps there +was also some jealousy of the grandeur of his views. Whatever the +cause, his principle of classification was not fully appreciated; +but it opened a new road for study, and gave us the keynote to the +natural affinities among animals. Lamarck, his contemporary, not +recognizing the truth of this principle, distributed the animal +kingdom into two great divisions, which he calls +<em>Vertebrates</em> and <em>Invertebrates</em>. Ehrenberg also, at +a later period, announced another division under two +heads,—those with a continuous solid nervous centre, and +those with merely scattered nervous +swellings.<sup>3</sup><span class="sidenote">3. For more details +upon the different systems of Zoölogy, see Agassiz's Essay on +Classification in his <em>Contributions to the Natural History of +the United States</em>, Vol. I.</span></p> +<p>But there was no real progress in either of these latter +classifications, so far as the primary divisions are concerned; for +they correspond to the old division of Aristotle, under the head of +animals with or without blood, the <em>Enaima</em> and +<em>Anaima</em>. This coincidence between systems based on +different foundations may teach us that every structural +combination includes certain inherent necessities which will bring +animals together on whatever set of features we try to classify +them; so that the division of Aristotle, founded on the circulating +fluids, or that of Lamarck, on the absence or presence of a +backbone, or that of Ehrenberg, on the differences of the nervous +system, cover the same ground. Lamarck attempted also to use the +faculties of animals as a groundwork for division among them. But +our knowledge of the psychology of animals is still too imperfect +to justify any such use of it. His divisions into Apathetic, +Sensitive, and Intelligent animals are entirely theoretical. He +places, for instance, Fishes and Reptiles among the Intelligent +animals, as distinguished from Crustacea and Insects, which he +refers to the second division. But one would be puzzled to say how +the former manifest more intelligence than the latter, or why the +latter should be placed among the Sensitive animals. Again, some of +the animals that he calls Apathetic have been proved by later +investigators to show an affection and care for their young, +seemingly quite inconsistent with the epithet he has applied to +them. In fact, we know so little of the faculties of animals that +any classification based upon our present information about them +must be very imperfect.</p> +<p>Many modifications of Cuvier’s great divisions have been +attempted. Some naturalists, for instance, have divided off a part +of the Radiates and Articulates, insisting upon some special +features of structure, and mistaking these for the more important +and general characteristics of their respective plans. All +subsequent investigations of such would-be improvements show them +to be retrograde movements, only proving more clearly that Cuvier +detected in his four plans all the great structural ideas on which +the vast variety of animals is founded. This result is of greater +importance than may at first appear. Upon it depends the question, +whether all such classifications represent merely individual +impressions and opinions of men, or whether there is really +something in Nature that presses upon us certain divisions among +animals, certain affinities, certain limitations, founded upon +essential principles of organization. Are our systems the +inventions of naturalists, or only their reading of the Book of +Nature? and can that book have more than one reading? If these +classifications are not mere inventions, if they are not an attempt +to classify for our own convenience the objects we study, then they +are thoughts which, whether we detect them or not, are expressed in +Nature,—then Nature is the work of thought, the production of +intelligence carried out according to plan, therefore +premeditated,—and in our study of natural objects we are +approaching the thoughts of the Creator, reading His conceptions, +interpreting a system that is His and not ours.</p> +<p>All the divergence from the simplicity and grandeur of this +division of the animal kingdom arises from an inability to +distinguish between a plan and the execution, of a plan. We allow +the details to shut out the plan itself, which exists quite +independent of special forms. I hope we shall find a meaning in all +these plans that will prove them to be the parts of one great +conception and the work of one Mind.</p> +<h3>II.</h3> +<p>Proceeding upon the view that there is a close analogy between +the way in which every individual student penetrates into Nature +and the progress of science as a whole in the history of humanity, +I continue my sketch of the successive steps that have led to our +present state of knowledge. I began with Aristotle, and showed that +this great philosopher, though he prepared a digest of all the +knowledge belonging to his time, yet did not feel the necessity of +any system or of any scientific language differing from the common +mode of expression of his day. He presents his information as a man +with his eyes open narrates in a familiar style what he sees. As +civilization spread and science had its representatives in other +countries besides Greece, it became indispensable to have a common +scientific language, a technical nomenclature, combining many +objects under common names, and enabling every naturalist to +express the results of his observations readily and simply in a +manner intelligible to all other students of Natural History.</p> +<p>Linnæus devised such a system, and to him we owe a most +simple and comprehensive scientific mode of designating animals and +plants. It may at first seem no advantage to give up the common +names of the vernacular and adopt the unfamiliar ones, but a word +of explanation will make the object clear. Perceiving, for +instance, the close relations between certain members of the larger +groups, Linnæus gave to them names that should be common to +all, and which are called generic names,—as we speak of +Ducks, when we would designate in one word the Mallard, the +Widgeon, the Canvas-Back, etc.; but to these generic names he added +qualifying epithets, called specific names, to indicate the +different kinds in each group. For example, the Lion, the Tiger, +the Panther, the Domestic Cat constitute such a natural group, +which Linnæus called <em>Felis</em>, Cat, indicating the +whole genus; but the species he designates as <em>Felis catus</em>, +the Domestic Cat,—<em>Felis leo</em>, the +Lion,—<em>Felis tigris</em>, the Tiger,—<em>Felis +panthera</em>, the Panther. So he called all the Dogs +<em>Canis</em>; but for the different kinds we have <em>Canis +familiaris</em>, the Domestic Dog,—<em>Canis lupus</em>, the +Wolf,—<em>Canis vulpes</em>, the Fox, etc.</p> +<p>In some families of the vegetable kingdom we can appreciate +better the application of this nomenclature, because we have +something corresponding to it in the vernacular. We have, for +instance, one name for all the Oaks, but we call the different +kinds Swamp Oak, Red Oak, White Oak, Chestnut Oak, etc. So +Linnæus, in his botanical nomenclature, called all the Oaks +by the generic name <em>Quercus</em>, (characterizing them by their +fruit, the acorn, common to all,) and qualified them as <em>Quercus +bicolor</em>, <em>Quercus rubra</em>, <em>Quercus alba</em>, +<em>Quercus castanea</em>, etc., etc. His nomenclature, being so +easy of application, became at once exceedingly popular and made +him the great scientific legislator of his century. He insisted on +Latin names, because, if every naturalist should use his own +language, it must lead to great confusion, and this Latin +nomenclature of double significance was adopted by all. Another +advantage of this binominal Latin nomenclature consists in +preventing the confusion frequently arising from the use of the +same name to designate different animals in different parts of the +world,—as, for instance, the name of Robin, used in America +to designate a bird of the Thrush family, entirely different from +the Robin of the Old World,—or of different names for the +same animal, as Perch or Chogset or Burgall for our Cunner. Nothing +is more to be deprecated than an over-appreciation of +technicalities, valuing the name more highly than the thing; but +some knowledge of this nomenclature is necessary to every student +of Nature.</p> +<p>The improvements in science thus far were chiefly verbal. Cuvier +now came forward and added a principle. He showed that all animals +are built upon a certain number of definite plans. This momentous +step, the significance of which is not yet appreciated to its full +extent; for, had its importance been understood, the efforts of +naturalists would have been directed toward a further illustration +of the distinctive characteristics of all the plans,—instead +of which, the division of the animal kingdom into larger and +smaller groups chiefly attracted their attention, and has been +carried too far by some of them. Linnæus began with six +classes, Cuvier brought them up to nineteen, and at last the animal +kingdom was subdivided by subsequent investigators into +twenty-eight classes. This multiplication of divisions, however, +soon suggested an important question: How far are these divisions +natural or inherent in the objects themselves, and not dependent on +individual views?</p> +<p>While Linnæus pointed out classes, orders, genera, and +species, other naturalists had detected other divisions among +animals, called families. Lamarck, who had been a distinguished +botanist before he began his study of the animal kingdom, brought +to his zoölogical researches his previous methods of +investigation. Families in the vegetable kingdom had long been +distinguished by French botanists; and one cannot examine the +groups they call by this name, without perceiving, that, though +they bring them together and describe them according to other +characters, they have been unconsciously led to unite them from the +general similarity of their port and bearing. Take, for instance, +the families of Pines, Oaks, Beeches, Maples, etc., and you feel at +once, that, besides the common characters given in the technical +descriptions of these trees, there is also a general resemblance +among them that would naturally lead us to associate them together, +even if we knew nothing of the other features of their structure. +By an instinctive recognition of this family likeness between +plants, botanists have been led to seek for structural characters +on which to unite them, and the groups so founded generally +correspond with the combinations suggested by their appearance.</p> +<p>By a like process Lamarck combined animals into families. His +method was adopted by French naturalists generally, and found favor +especially with Cuvier, who was particularly successful in limiting +families among animals, and in naming them happily, generally +selecting names expressive of the features on which the groups were +founded, or borrowing them from familiar animals. Much, indeed, +depends upon the pleasant sound and the significance of a name; for +an idea reaches the mind more easily when well expressed, and +Cuvier’s names were both simple and significant. His +descriptions are also remarkable for their graphic +precision,—giving all that is essential, omitting all that is +merely accessory. He has given us the key-note to his progress in +his own expressive language:—</p> +<p class="quote">“Je dus donc, et cette obligation me prit un +temps considérable, je dus faire marcher de front +l’anatomie et la zoologie, les dissections et le classement; +chercher dans mes premières remarques sur +l’organisation des distributions meilleures; m’en +servir pour arriver à des remarques nouvelles; employer +encore ces remarques à perfectionner les distributions; +faire sortir enfin de cette fécondation mutuelle des deux +sciences, l’une par l’autre, un système +zoologique propre à servir d’introducteur et de guide +dans le champ de l’anatomie, et un corps de doctrine +anatomique propre à servir de développement et +d’explication au système zoologique.”</p> +<p>It is deeply to be lamented that so many naturalists have +entirely overlooked this significant advice of Cuvier’s, to +combine zoölogical and anatomical studies in order to arrive +at a clearer perception of the true affinities among animals. To +sum it up in one word, he tells us that the secret of his method is +“comparison,”—ever comparing and comparing +throughout the enormous range of his knowledge of the organization +of animals, and founding upon the differences as well as the +similarities those broad generalizations under which he has +included all animal structures. And this method, so prolific in his +hands, has also a lesson for us all. In this country there is a +growing interest in the study of Nature; but while there exist +hundreds of elementary works illustrating the native animals of +Europe, there are few such books here to satisfy the demand for +information respecting the animals of our land and water. We are +thus forced to turn more and more to our own investigations and +less to authority; and the true method of obtaining independent +knowledge is this very method of +Cuvier’s,—comparison.</p> +<p>Let us make the most common application of it to natural +objects. Suppose we see together a Dog, a Cat, a Bear, a Horse, a +Cow, and a Deer. The first feature that strikes us as common to any +two of them is the horn in the Cow and Deer. But how shall we +associate either of the others with these? We examine the teeth, +and find those of the Dog, the Cat, and the Bear sharp and cutting, +while those of the Cow, the Deer, and the Horse have flat surfaces, +adapted to grinding and chewing, rather than cutting and tearing. +We compare these features of their structure with the habits of +these animals, and find that the first are carnivorous, that they +seize and tear their prey, while the others are herbivorous or +grazing animals, living only on vegetable substances, which they +chew and grind. We compare farther the Horse and Cow, and find that +the Horse has front teeth both in the upper and lower jaw, while +the Cow has them only in the lower; and going still farther and +comparing the internal with the external features, we find this +arrangement of the teeth in direct relation to the different +structure of the stomach in the two animals,—the Cow having a +stomach with four pouches, adapted to a mode of digestion by which +the food is prepared for the second mastication, while the Horse +has a simple stomach. Comparing the Cow and the Deer, we find that +the digestive apparatus is the same in both; but though they both +have horns, in the Cow the horn is hollow, and remains through life +firmly attached to the bone, while in the Deer it is solid and is +shed every year. With these facts before us, we cannot hesitate to +place the Dog, the Cat, and the Bear in one division, as +carnivorous animals, and the other three in another division as +herbivorous animals,—and looking a little farther, we +perceive, that, in common with the Cow and the Deer, the Goat and +the Sheep have cloven feet, and that they are all ruminants, while +the Horse has a single hoof, does not ruminate, and must therefore +be separated from them, even though, like them, he is +herbivorous.</p> +<p>This is but the simplest illustration, taken from the most +familiar objects, of this comparative method; but the same process +is equally applicable to the most intricate problems in animal +structures, and will give us the clue to all true affinities +between animals. The education of a naturalist, now, consists +chiefly in learning how to compare. If he have any power of +generalization, when he has collected his facts, this habit of +mental comparison will lead him up to principles, to the great laws +of combination. It must not discourage us, that the process is a +slow and laborious one, and the results of one lifetime after all +very small. It might seem invidious, were I to show here how small +is the sum total of the work accomplished even by the great +exceptional men, whose names are known throughout the civilized +world. But I may at least be permitted to speak of my own efforts, +and to sum up in the fewest words the result of my life’s +work. I have devoted my whole life to the study of Nature, and yet +a single sentence may express all that I have done. I have shown +that there is a correspondence between the succession of Fishes in +geological times and the different stages of their growth in the +egg,—this is all. It chanced to be a result that was found to +apply to other groups and has led to other conclusions of a like +nature. But, such as it is, it has been reached by this system of +comparison, which, though I speak of it now in its application to +the study of Natural History, is equally important in every other +branch of knowledge. By the same process the most mature results of +scientific research in Philology, in Ethnology, and in Physical +Science are reached. And let me say that the community should +foster the purely intellectual efforts of scientific men as +carefully as they do their elementary schools and their practical +institutions, generally considered so much more useful and +important to the public. For from what other source shall we derive +the higher results that are gradually woven into the practical +resources of our life, except from the researches of those very men +who study science not for its uses, but for its truth? It is this +that gives it its noblest interest: it must be for truth’s +sake, and not even for the sake of its usefulness to humanity, that +the scientific man studies Nature. The application of science to +the useful arts requires other abilities, other qualities, other +tools than his; and therefore I say that the man of science who +follows his studies into their practical application is false to +his calling. The practical man stands ever ready to take up the +work where the scientific man leaves it, and to adapt it to the +material wants and uses of daily life.</p> +<p>The publication of Cuvier’s proposition, that the animal +kingdom is built on four plans, created an extraordinary excitement +throughout the scientific world. All naturalists proceeded to test +it, and many soon recognized in it a great scientific +truth,—while others, who thought more of making themselves +prominent than of advancing science, proposed poor amendments, that +were sure to be rejected on farther investigation. There were, +however, some of these criticisms and additions that were truly +improvements, and touched upon points overlooked by Cuvier. +Blainville, especially, took up the element of form among +animals,—whether divided on two sides, whether radiated, +whether irregular, etc. He, however, made the mistake of giving +very elaborate names to animals already known under simpler ones. +Why, for instance, call all animals with parts radiating in every +direction <em>Actinomorpha</em> or <em>Actinozoaria</em>, when they +had received the significant name of <em>Radiates</em>? It seemed, +to be a new system, when in fact it was only a new name. Ehrenberg, +likewise, made an important distinction, when he united the animals +according to the difference in their nervous systems; but he also +incumbered the nomenclature unnecessarily, when he added to the +names <em>Anaima</em> and <em>Enaima</em> of Aristotle those of +<em>Myeloneura</em> and <em>Ganglioneura</em>.</p> +<p>But it is not my object to give all the classifications of +different authors here, and I will therefore pass over many noted +ones, as those of Burmeister, Milne, Edwards, Siebold and Stannius, +Owen, Leuckart, Vogt, Van Beneden, and others, and proceed to give +some account of one investigator who did as much for the progress +of Zoölogy as Cuvier, though he is comparatively little known +among us. Karl Ernst von Baer proposed a classification based, like +Cuvier’s, upon plan; but he recognized what Cuvier failed to +perceive,—namely, the importance of distinguishing between +type (by which he means exactly what Cuvier means by plan) and +complication of structure,—in other words, between plan and +the execution of the plan. He recognized four types, which +correspond exactly to Cuvier’s four plans, though he calls +them by different names. Let us compare them.</p> +<table summary="classifications" style="margin-left:15%;"> +<tr> +<td><em>Cuvier</em>.</td> +<td><em>Baer</em>.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Radiates,</td> +<td>Peripheric,</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Mollusks,</td> +<td>Massive,</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Articulates,</td> +<td>Longitudinal,</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>Vertebrates.</td> +<td>Doubly Symmetrical.</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p>Though perhaps less felicitous, the names of Baer express the +same ideas as those of Cuvier. By the <em>Peripheric</em> he +signified those in which all the parts converge from the periphery +or circumference of the animal to its centre. Cuvier only reverses +this definition in his name of <em>Radiates</em>, signifying the +animals in which all parts radiate from the centre to the +circumference. By <em>Massive</em>, Baer indicated those animals in +which the structure is soft and concentrated, without a very +distinct individualization of parts,—exactly the animals +included by Cuvier under his name of <em>Mollusks</em>, or +soft-bodied animals. In his selection of the epithet +<em>Longitudinal</em>, Baer was less fortunate; for all animals +have a longitudinal diameter, and this word was not, therefore, +sufficiently special. Yet his <em>Longitudinal</em> type answers +exactly to Cuvier’s <em>Articulates</em>,—animals in +which all parts are arranged in a succession of articulated joints +along a longitudinal axis. Cuvier has expressed this jointed +structure in the name <em>Articulates</em>; whereas Baer, in his +name of <em>Longitudinal</em>, referred only to the arrangement of +joints in longitudinal succession, in a continuous string, as it +were, one after another. For the <em>Doubly Symmetrical</em> type +his name is the better of the two; for Cuvier’s name of +<em>Vertebrates</em> alludes only to the backbone,—while +Baer, who is an embryologist, signifies in his their mode of growth +also. He knew what Cuvier did not know, that in its first formation +the germ of the Vertebrate divides in two folds: one turning up +above the backbone, to inclose all the sensitive Organs,—the +spinal marrow, the organs of sense, all those organs by which life +is expressed; the other turning down below the backbone, and +inclosing all those organs by which life is maintained,—the +organs of digestion, of respiration, of circulation, of +reproduction, etc. So there is in this type not only an equal +division of parts on either side, but also a division above and +below, making thus a double symmetry in the plan, expressed by Baer +in the name he gave it. Baer was perfectly original in his +conception of these four types, for his paper was published in the +very same year with that of Cuvier. But even in Germany, his native +land, his ideas were not fully appreciated: strange that it should +be so,—for, had his countrymen recognized his genius, they +might have claimed him as the compeer of the great French +naturalist.</p> +<p>Baer also founded the science of Embryology, under the guidance +of his teacher, Dollinger. His researches in this direction showed +him that animals were not only built on four plans, but that they +grew according to four modes of development. The Vertebrate arises +from the egg differently from the Articulate,—the Articulate +differently from the Mollusk,—the Mollusk differently from +the Radiate. Cuvier only showed us the four plans as they exist in +the adult; Baer went a step farther, and showed us the four plans +in the process of formation. But his greatest scientific +achievement is perhaps the discovery that all animals originate in +eggs, and that all these eggs are at first identical in substance +and structure. The wonderful and untiring research condensed into +this simple statement, that all animals arise from eggs and that +all those eggs are identical in the beginning, may well excite our +admiration. This egg consists of an outer envelope, the vitelline +membrane, containing a fluid more or less dense, the yolk; within +this is a second envelope, the so-called germinative vesicle, +containing a somewhat different and more transparent fluid, and in +the fluid of this second envelope float one or more so-called +germinative specks. At this stage of their growth all eggs are +microsopically small, yet each one has such tenacity of its +individual principle of life that no egg was ever known to swerve +from the pattern of the parent animal that gave it birth.</p> +<h3>III.</h3> +<p>From the time that Linnæus showed us the necessity of a +scientific system as a framework for the arrangement of scientific +facts in Natural History, the number of divisions adopted by +zoölogists and botanists increased steadily. Not only were +families, orders, and classes added to genera and species, but +these were further multiplied by subdivisions of the different +groups. But as the number of divisions increased, they lost in +precise meaning, and it became more and more doubtful how far they +were true to Nature. Moreover, these divisions were not taken in +the same sense by all naturalists: what were called families by +some were called orders by others, while the orders of some were +the classes of others, till it began to be doubted whether these +scientific systems had any foundation in Nature, or signified +anything more than that it had pleased Linnæus, for instance, +to call certain groups of animals by one name, while Cuvier had +chosen to call them by another.</p> +<p>These divisions are, first, the most comprehensive groups, the +primary divisions, called branches by some, types by others, and +divided by some naturalists into so-called sub-types, meaning only +a more limited circumscription of the same kind of group; next we +have classes, and these also have been divided into sub-classes, +then orders and sub-orders, families, sub-families, and tribes; +then genera, species, and varieties. With reference to the +question, whether these groups really exist in Nature or are merely +the expression of individual theories and opinions, it is worth +while to study the works of the early naturalists, in order to +trace the natural process by which scientific classification has +been reached; for in this, as in other departments of learning, +practice has always preceded theory. We do the thing before we +understand why we do it: speech precedes grammar, reason precedes +logic; and so a division of animals into groups, upon an +instinctive perception of their differences, has preceded all our +scientific creeds and doctrines. Let us, therefore, proceed to +examine the meaning of these names as adopted by naturalists.</p> +<p>When Cuvier proposed his four primary divisions of the animal +kingdom, he added his argument for their +adoption,—<em>because</em>, he said, they are constructed on +four different plans. All the progress in our science since his +time confirms this result; and I shall attempt to show that there +are really four, and only four, such structural ideas at the +foundation of the animal kingdom, and that all animals are included +under one or another of them. But it does not follow, that, because +we have arrived at a sound principle, we are therefore unerring in +our practice. From ignorance we may misplace animals, and include +them under the wrong division. This is a mistake, however, which a +better insight into their organization rectifies; and experience +constantly proves, that, whenever the structure of an animal is +perfectly understood, there is no hesitation as to the head under +which it belongs. We may consequently test the merits of these four +primary groups on the evidence furnished by investigation. It has +already been seen that these plans may be presented in the most +abstract manner without any reference to special animals. +<em>Radiation</em> expresses in one word the idea on which the +lowest of these types is based. In <em>Radiates</em> we have no +prominent bilateral symmetry, as in all other animals, but an +all-sided symmetry, in which there is no right and left, no +anterior and posterior extremity, no above and below. They are +spheroidal bodies; yet, though many of them remind us of a sphere, +they are by no means to be compared to a mathematical sphere, but +rather to an organic sphere, so loaded with life, as it were, as to +produce an infinite variety of radiate symmetry. The whole +organization is arranged around a centre toward which all the parts +converge, or, in a reverse sense, from which all the parts radiate. +In <em>Mollusks</em> there is a longitudinal axis and a bilateral +symmetry; but the longitudinal axis in these soft concentrated +bodies is not very prominent; and though the two ends of this axis +are distinct from each other, the difference is not so marked that +we can say at once, for all of them, which is the anterior and +which the posterior extremity. In this type, right and left have +the preponderance over the other diameters of the body. The sides +are the prominent parts,—they are charged with the important +organs, loaded with those peculiarities of the structure that give +it character. The Oyster is a good instance of this, with its +double valve, so swollen on one side, so flat on the other. There +is an unconscious recognition of this in the arrangement of all +collections of Mollusks; for, though the collectors do not put up +their specimens with any intention of illustrating this +peculiarity, they instinctively give them the position best +calculated to display their distinctive characteristics, and to +accomplish this they necessarily place them in such a manner as to +show the sides. In <em>Articulates</em> there is also a +longitudinal axis of the body and a bilateral symmetry in the +arrangement of parts; the head and tail are marked, and the right +and left sides are distinct. But the prominent tendency in this +type is the development of the dorsal and ventral region; here +above and below prevail over right and left. It is the back and the +lower side that have the preponderance over any other part of the +structure in Articulates. The body is divided from end to end by a +succession of transverse constrictions, forming movable rings; but +the character of the animal, its striking features, are always +above or below, and especially developed on the back. Any +collection of Insects or Crustacea is an evidence of this; being +always instinctively arranged in such a manner as to show the +predominant features, they uniformly exhibit the back of the +animal. The profile view of an Articulate has no significance; +whereas in a Mollusk, on the contrary, the profile view is the most +illustrative of the structural character. In the highest division, +the <em>Vertebrates</em>, so characteristically called by Baer the +<em>Doubly Symmetrical</em> type, a solid column runs through the +body with an arch above and an arch below, thus forming a double +internal cavity. In this type, the head is the prominent feature; +it is, as it were, the loaded end of the longitudinal axis, so +charged with vitality as to form an intelligent brain, and rising +in man to such predominance as to command and control the whole +organism. The structure is arranged above and below this axis, the +upper cavity containing all the sensitive organs, and the lower +cavity containing all those by which life is maintained.</p> +<p>While Cuvier and his followers traced these four distinct plans, +as shown in the adult animal, Baer opened to us a new field of +investigation in the embryology of the four types, showing that for +each there was a special mode of growth in the egg. Looking at them +from this point of view, we shall see that these four types, with +their four modes of growth, seem to fill out completely the plan or +outline of the animal kingdom, and leave no reason to expect any +further development or any other plan of animal life within these +limits. The eggs of all animals are spheres, such as I have +described them; but in the Radiate the whole periphery is +transformed into the germ, so that it becomes, by the liquefying of +the yolk, a hollow sphere. In the Mollusks, the germ lies above the +yolk, absorbing its whole substance through the under side, thus +forming a massive close body instead of a hollow one. In the +Articulate, the germ is turned in a position exactly opposite to +that of the Mollusk, and absorbs the yolk upon the back. In the +Vertebrate, the germ divides in two folds, one turning upward, the +other turning downward, above and below the central backbone. These +four modes of development seem to exhaust the possibilities of the +primitive sphere, which is the foundation of all animal life, and +therefore I believe that Cuvier and Baer were right in saying that +the whole animal kingdom is included under these four structural +ideas.</p> +<p>Leuckart proposed to subdivide the Radiates into two groups: the +Coelenterata, including Polyps and Acalephs or +Jelly-Fishes,—and Echinoderms, including Star-Fishes, +Sea-Urchins, and Holothurians. His reason for this distinction is +the fact that in the latter the organs are inclosed within walls of +their own, distinct from the body-wall; whereas in the former the +organs are formed by internal folds of the outer wall of the body, +as in the Polyps, or are hollowed out of the substance of the body, +as in Jelly-Fishes. This implies no difference in the plan, but +merely a difference in the execution of the plan. Both are equally +radiate in their structure; and when Leuckart separated them as +distinct primary types, he mistook a difference in the material +expression of the plan for a difference in the plan itself. So some +naturalists have distinguished Worms from the other Articulates as +a separate division. But the structural plan of this type is a body +divided by transverse constrictions or joints; and whether those +joints are uniformly arranged from one end of the body to the +other, as in the Worms, or whether the front joints are soldered +together so as to form two regions of the body, as in Crustacea, or +divided so as to form three regions of the body, as in winged +Insects, does not in the least affect the typical character of the +structure, which remains the same in all. Branches or types, then, +are natural groups of the animal kingdom, founded on plans of +structure or structural ideas.</p> +<p>What now are classes? Are they lesser divisions, differing only +in extent, or are they founded on special characters? I believe the +latter view to be the true one, and that class characters have a +significance quite different from that of their mere range or +extent. These divisions are founded on certain categories of +structure; and were there but one animal of a class in the world, +if it had those characters on which a class is founded, it would be +as distinct from all other animals as if its kind were counted by +thousands. Baer approached the idea of the classes when he +discriminated between plan of structure or type and the degree of +perfection in the structure. But while he understands the +distinction between a plan and its execution, his ideas respecting +the different features of structure are not quite so precise. He +does not, for instance, distinguish between the complication of a +given structure and the mode of execution of a plan, both of which +are combined in what he calls degrees of perfection. And yet, +without this distinction, the difference between classes and orders +cannot be understood; for classes and orders rest upon a just +appreciation of these two categories, which are quite distinct from +each other, and have by no means the same significance. Again, +quite distinct from both of these is the character of form, not to +be confounded either with complication of structure, on which +orders are based, or with the execution of the plan, on which +classes rest. An example will show that form is no guide for the +determination of classes or orders. Take, for instance, a +Beche-de-Mer, a member of the highest class of Radiates, and +compare it with a Worm. They are both long cylindrical bodies; but +one has parallel divisions along the length of the body, the other +has the body divided by transverse rings. Though in external form +they resemble each other, the one is a worm-like Radiate, the other +is a worm-like Articulate, each having the structure of its own +type; so that they do not even belong to the same great division of +the animal kingdom, much less to the same class. We have a similar +instance in the Whales and Fishes,—the Whales having been for +a long time considered as Fishes, on account of their form, while +their structural complication shows them to be a low order of the +class of Mammalia, to which we ourselves belong, that class being +founded upon a particular mode of execution of the plan +characteristic of the Vertebrates, while the order to which the +Whales belong depends upon their complication of structure, as +compared with other members of the same class. We may therefore say +that neither form nor complication of structure distinguishes +classes, but simply the mode of execution of a plan. In +Vertebrates, for instance, how do we distinguish the class of +Mammalia from the other classes of the type? By the peculiar +development of the brain, by their breathing through lungs, by +their double circulation, by their bringing forth living young and +nursing them with milk. In this class the beasts of prey form a +distinct order, superior to the Whales or the herbivorous animals, +on account of the higher complication of their structure; and for +the same reason we place the Monkeys above them all. But among the +beasts of prey we distinguish the Bears, as a family, from the +family of Dogs, Wolves, and Cats, on account of their different +form, which does not imply a difference either in the complication +of their structure or in the mode of execution of their plan.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2><a id="agnes" name="agnes">AGNES OF SORRENTO.</a></h2> +<h3>CHAPTER XVIII.</h3> +<h4>THE PENANCE.</h4> +<p>The course of our story requires us to return to the Capuchin +convent, and to the struggles and trials of its Superior; for in +his hands is the irresistible authority which must direct the +future life of Agnes.</p> +<p>From no guilty compliances, no heedless running into temptation, +had he come to love her. The temptation had met him in the direct +path of duty; the poison had been breathed in with the perfume of +sweetest and most life-giving flowers: nor could he shun that +temptation, nor cease to inhale that fatal sweetness, without +confessing himself vanquished in a point where, in his view, to +yield was to be lost. The subtle and deceitful visit of Father +Johannes to his cell had the effect of thoroughly rousing him to a +complete sense of his position, and making him feel the immediate, +absolute necessity of bringing all the energy of his will, all the +resources of his nature to bear on its present difficulties. For he +felt, by a fine intuition, that already he was watched and +suspected;—any faltering step now, any wavering, any change +in his mode of treating his female penitents, would be maliciously +noted. The military education of his early days had still left in +his mind a strong residuum of personal courage and honor, which +made him regard it as dastardly to flee when he ought to conquer, +and therefore he set his face as a flint for victory.</p> +<p>But reviewing his interior world, and taking a survey of the +work before him, he felt that sense of a divided personality which +often becomes so vivid in the history of individuals of strong will +and passion. It seemed to him that there were two men within him: +the one turbulent, passionate, demented; the other vainly +endeavoring by authority, reason, and conscience to bring the rebel +to subjection. The discipline of conventual life, the extraordinary +austerities to which he had condemned himself, the monotonous +solitude of his existence, all tended to exalt the vivacity of the +nervous system, which, in the Italian constitution, is at all times +disproportionately developed; and when those weird harp-strings of +the nerves are once thoroughly unstrung, the fury and tempest of +the discord sometimes utterly bewilders the most practised +self-government.</p> +<p>But he felt that <em>something</em> must be done with himself, +and done immediately; for in a few days he must again meet Agnes at +the confessional. He must meet her, not with weak tremblings and +passionate fears, but calm as Fate, inexorable as the Judgment-Day. +He must hear her confession, not as man, but as God; he must +pronounce his judgments with a divine dispassionateness. He must +dive into the recesses of her secret heart, and, following with +subtile analysis all the fine courses of those fibres which were +feeling their blind way towards an earthly love, must tear them +remorselessly away. Well could he warn her of the insidiousness of +earthly affections; better than any one else he could show her how +a name that was blended with her prayers and borne before the +sacred shrine in her most retired and solemn hours might at last +come to fill all her heart with a presence too dangerously dear. He +must direct her gaze up those mystical heights where an unearthly +marriage awaited her, its sealed and spiritual bride; he must hurry +her footsteps onward to the irrevocable issue.</p> +<p>All this was before him. But ere it could be done, he must +subdue himself,—he must become calm and pulseless, in deadly +resolve; and what prayer, what penance might avail for this? If all +that he had already tried had so miserably failed, what hope? He +resolved to quit for a season all human society, and enter upon one +of those desolate periods of retreat from earthly converse well +known in the annals of saintship as most prolific in spiritual +victories.</p> +<p>Accordingly, on the day after the conversation with Father +Johannes, he startled the monks by announcing to them that he was +going to leave them for several days.</p> +<p>“My brothers,” he said, “the weight of a +fearful penance is laid upon me, which I must work out alone. I +leave you today, and charge you not to seek to follow my footsteps; +but, as you hope to escape hell, watch and wrestle for me and +yourselves during the time I am gone. Before many days I hope to +return to you with renewed spiritual strength.”</p> +<p>That evening, while Agnes and her uncle were sitting together in +their orange-garden, mingling their parting prayers and hymns, +scenes of a very different description surrounded the Father +Francesco.</p> +<p>One who looks on the flowery fields and blue seas of this +enchanting region thinks that the Isles of the Blest could scarcely +find on earth a more fitting image; nor can he realize, till +experience proves it to him, that he is in the immediate vicinity +of a weird and dreary region which might represent no less the +goblin horrors of the damned.</p> +<p>Around the foot of Vesuvius lie fair villages and villas +garlanded with roses and flushing with grapes whose juice gains +warmth from the breathing of its subterraneous fires, while just +above them rises a region more awful than can be created by the +action of any common causes of sterility. There, immense tracts +sloping gradually upward show a desolation so peculiar, so utterly +unlike every common solitude of Nature, that one enters upon it +with the shudder we give at that which is wholly unnatural. On all +sides are gigantic serpent convolutions of black lava, their +immense folds rolled into every conceivable contortion, as if, in +their fiery agonies, they had struggled and wreathed and knotted +together, and then grown cold and black with the imperishable signs +of those terrific convulsions upon them. Not a blade of grass, not +a flower, not even the hardiest lichen, springs up to relieve the +utter deathliness of the scene. The eye wanders from one black, +shapeless mass to another, and there is ever the same suggestion of +hideous monster life,—of goblin convulsions and strange +fiend-like agonies in some age gone by. One’s very footsteps +have an unnatural, metallic clink, and one’s garments +brushing over the rough surface are torn and fretted by its sharp, +remorseless touch,—as if its very nature were so pitiless and +acrid that the slightest contact revealed it.</p> +<p>The sun was just setting over the beautiful Bay of +Naples,—with its enchanted islands, its jewelled city, its +flowery villages, all bedecked and bedropped with strange shiftings +and flushes of prismatic light and shade, as if they belonged to +some fairy-land of perpetual festivity and singing,—when +Father Francesco stopped in his toilsome ascent up the mountain, +and, seating himself on ropy ridges of black lava, looked down on +the peaceful landscape.</p> +<p>Above his head, behind him, rose the black cone of the mountain, +over whose top the lazy clouds of thin white smoke were floating, +tinged with the evening light; around him the desolate convulsed +waste,—so arid, so supernaturally dreary; and below, like a +soft enchanted dream, the beautiful bay, the gleaming white villas +and towers, the picturesque islands, the gliding sails, flecked and +streaked and dyed with the violet and pink and purple of the +evening sky. The thin new moon and one glittering star trembled +through the rosy air.</p> +<p>The monk wiped from his brow the sweat that had been caused by +the toil of his hurried journey, and listened to the bells of the +Ave Maria pealing from the different churches of Naples, filling +the atmosphere with a soft tremble of solemn dropping sound, as if +spirits in the air took up and repeated over and over the angelic +salutation which a thousand earthly lips were just then uttering. +Mechanically he joined in the invocation which at that moment +united the hearts of all Christians, and as the words passed his +lips, he thought, with a sad, desolate longing, of the hour of +death of which they spake.</p> +<p>“It must come at last,” he said. “Life is but +a moment. Why am I so cowardly? why so unwilling to suffer and to +struggle? Am I a warrior of the Lord, and do I shrink from the +toils of the camp, and long for the ease of the court before I have +earned it? Why do we clamor for happiness? Why should we sinners be +happy? And yet, O God, why is the world made so lovely as it lies +there, why so rejoicing, and so girt with splendor and beauty, if +we are never to enjoy it? If penance and toil were all we were sent +here for, why not make a world grim and desolate as this around +me?—then there would be nothing to seduce us. But our path is +a constant fight; Nature is made only to be resisted; we must walk +the sharp blade of the sword over the fiery chasm to Paradise. +Come, then!—no shrinking!—let me turn my back on +everything dear and beautiful, as now on this landscape!”</p> +<p>He rose and commenced the perpendicular ascent of the cone, +stumbling and climbing over the huge sliding blocks of broken lava, +which grated and crunched beneath his feet with a harsh metallic +ring. Sometimes a broken fragment or two would go tinkling down the +rough path behind him, and sometimes it seemed as if the whole +loose black mass from above were about to slide, like an avalanche, +down upon his head;—he almost hoped it would. Sometimes he +would stop, overcome by the toil of the ascent, and seat himself +for a moment on a black fragment, and then his eye would wander +over the wide and peaceful panorama below. He seemed to himself +like a fly perched upon some little roughness of a perpendicular +wall, and felt a strange airy sense of pleasure in being thus +between earth and heaven. A sense of relief, of beauty, and +peacefulness would steal over him, as if he were indeed something +disfranchised and disembodied, a part of the harmonious and +beautiful world that lay stretched out beneath him; in a moment +more he would waken himself with a start, and resume his toilsome +journey with a sullen and dogged perseverance.</p> +<p>At last he gained the top of the mountain,—that weird, +strange region where the loose, hot soil, crumbling beneath his +feet, was no honest foodful mother earth, but an acrid mass of +ashes and corrosive minerals. Arsenic, sulphur, and many a sharp +and bitter salt were in all he touched, every rift in the ground +hissed with stifling steam, while rolling clouds of dun sullen +smoke, and a deep hollow booming, like the roar of an immense +furnace, told his nearness to the great crater. He penetrated the +sombre tabernacle, and stood on the very brink of a huge basin, +formed by a wall of rocks around a sunken plain, the midst of which +rose the black cone of the subterraneous furnace, which crackled +and roared and from time to time spit up burning stones and cinders +or oozed out slow ropy streams of liquid fire.</p> +<p>The sulphurous cliffs were dyed in many a brilliant shade of +brown and orange by the admixture of various ores, but their +brightness seemed strange and unnatural, and the dizzying whirls of +vapor, now enveloping the whole scene in gloom, now lifting in this +spot and now in that, seemed to magnify the dismal pit to an +indefinite size. Now and then there would come up from the very +entrails of the mountain a sort of convulsed sob of hollow sound, +and the earth would quiver beneath his feet, and fragments from the +surrounding rocks would scale off and fall with crashing +reverberations into the depth beneath; at such moments it would +seem as if the very mountain were about to crush in and bear him +down in its ruins.</p> +<p>Father Francesco, though blinded by the smoke and choked by the +vapor, could not be content without descending into the abyss and +exploring the very <em>penetralia</em> of its mysteries. Steadying +his way by means of a cord which he fastened to a firm projecting +rock, he began slowly and painfully clambering downward. The wind +was sweeping across the chasm from behind, bearing the noxious +vapors away from him, or he must inevitably have been stifled. It +took him some little time, however, to effect his descent; but at +length he found himself fairly landed on the dark floor of the +gloomy inclosure.</p> +<p>The ropy, pitch-black undulations of lava yawned here and there +in red-hot cracks and seams, making it appear to be only a crust +over some fathomless depth of molten fire, whose moanings and +boilings could be heard below. These dark congealed billows creaked +and bent as the monk stepped upon them, and burned his feet through +his coarse sandals; yet he stumbled on. Now and then his foot would +crush in, where the lava had hardened in a thinner crust, and he +would draw it suddenly back from the lurid red-hot metal beneath. +The staff on which he rested was constantly kindling into a light +blaze as it slipped into some heated hollow, and he was fain to +beat out the fire upon the cooler surface. Still he went on +half-stifled by the hot and pungent vapor, but drawn by that +painful, unnatural curiosity which possesses one in a nightmare +dream. The great cone in the centre was the point to which he +wished to attain,—the nearest point which man can gain to +this eternal mystery of fire. It was trembling with a perpetual +vibration, a hollow, pulsating undertone of sound like the surging +of the sea before a storm, and the lava that boiled over its sides +rolled slowly down with a strange creaking; it seemed the +condensed, intensified essence and expression of eternal fire, +rising and still rising from some inexhaustible fountain of +burning.</p> +<p>Father Francesco drew as near as he could for the stifling heat +and vapor, and, resting on his staff, stood gazing intently. The +lurid light of the fire fell with an unearthly glare on his pale, +sunken features, his wild, haggard eyes, and his torn and +disarranged garments. In the awful solitude and silence of the +night he felt his heart stand still, as if indeed he had touched +with his very hand the gates of eternal woe, and felt its fiery +breath upon his cheek. He half-imagined that the seams and clefts +which glowed in lurid lines between the dark billows would gape yet +wider and show the blasting secrets of some world of fiery despair +below. He fancied that he heard behind and around the mocking laugh +of fiends, and that confused clamor of mingled shrieks and +lamentations which Dante describes as filling the dusky approaches +to that forlorn realm where hope never enters.</p> +<p>“Ah, God,” he exclaimed, “for this vain life +of man! They eat, they drink, they dance, they sing, they marry and +are given in marriage, they have castles and gardens and villas, +and the very beauty of Paradise seems over it all,—and yet +how close by burns and roars the eternal fire! Fools that we are, +to clamor for indulgence and happiness in this life, when the +question is, to escape everlasting burnings! If I tremble at this +outer court of God’s wrath and justice, what must be the +fires of hell? These are but earthly fires; they can but burn the +body: those are made to burn the soul; they are undying as the soul +is. What would it be to be dragged down, down, down, into an abyss +of soul-fire hotter than this for ages on ages? This might bring +merciful death in time: that will have no end.”</p> +<p>The monk fell on his knees and breathed out piercing +supplications. Every nerve and fibre within him seemed tense with +his agony of prayer. It was not the outcry for purity and peace, +not a tender longing for forgiveness, not a filial remorse for sin, +but the nervous anguish of him who shrieks in the immediate +apprehension of an unendurable torture. It was the cry of a man +upon the rack, the despairing scream of him who feels himself +sinking in a burning dwelling. Such anguish has found an utterance +in Stradella’s celebrated “Pietà, +Signore,” which still tells to our ears, in its wild moans +and piteous shrieks, the religious conceptions of his day; for +there is no phase of the Italian mind that has not found expression +in its music.</p> +<p>When the oppression of the heat and sulphurous vapor became too +dreadful to be borne, the monk retraced his way and climbed with +difficulty up the steep sides of the crater, till he gained the +summit above, where a comparatively free air revived him. All night +he wandered up and down in that dreary vicinity, now listening to +the mournful roar and crackle of the fire, and now raising his +voice in penitential psalms or the notes of that terrific +“Dies Iræ” which sums up all the intense fear and +horror with which the religion of the Middle Ages clothed the idea +of the final catastrophe of humanity. Sometimes prostrating himself +with his face towards the stifling soil, he prayed with agonized +intensity till Nature would sink in a temporary collapse, and +sleep, in spite of himself, would steal over him.</p> +<p>So waned the gloomy hours of the night away, till the morning +broke in the east, turning all the blue wavering floor of the sea +to crimson brightness, and bringing up, with the rising breeze, the +barking of dogs, the lowing of kine, the songs of laborers and +boatmen, all fresh and breezy from the repose of the past +night.</p> +<p>Father Francesco heard the sound of approaching footsteps +climbing the lava path, and started with a nervous trepidation. +Soon he recognized a poor peasant of the vicinity, whose child he +had tended during a dangerous illness. He bore with him a little +basket of eggs, with a melon and a fresh green salad.</p> +<p>“Good morning, holy father,” he said, bowing humbly. +“I saw you coming this way last night, and I could hardly +sleep for thinking of you; and my good woman, Teresina, would have +it that I should come out to look after you. I have taken the +liberty to bring a little offering;—it was the best we +had.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, my son,” said the monk, looking +wistfully at the fresh, honest face of the peasant. “You have +taken too much trouble for such a sinner. I must not allow myself +such indulgences.”</p> +<p>“But your Reverence must live. Look you,” said the +peasant, “at least your Reverence will take an egg. See here, +how handily I can cook one,” he added, striking his stick +into a little cavity of a rock, from which, as from an +escape-valve, hissed a jet of hot steam,—“see here, I +nestle the egg in this little cleft, and it will be done in a +twinkling. Our good God gives us our fire for nothing +here.”</p> +<p>There was something wholesomely kindly and cheerful in the +action and expression of the man, which broke upon the overstrained +and disturbed musings of the monk like daylight on a ghastly dream. +The honest, loving heart sees love in everything; even the fire is +its fatherly helper, and not its avenging enemy.</p> +<p>Father Francesco took the egg, when it was done, with a silent +gesture of thanks.</p> +<p>“If I might make bold to say,” said the peasant, +encouraged, “your Reverence should have some care for +yourself. If a man will not feed himself, the good God will not +feed him; and we poor people have too few friends already to let +such as you die. Your hands are trembling, and you look worn out. +Surely you should take something more, for the very love of the +poor.”</p> +<p>“My son, I am bound to do a heavy penance, and to work out +a great conflict. I thank you for your undeserved kindness. Leave +me now to myself, and come no more to disturb my prayers. Go, and +God bless you!”</p> +<p>“Well,” said the peasant, putting down the basket +and melon, “I shall leave these things here, any way, and I +beg your Reverence to have a care of yourself. Teresina fretted all +night for fear something might come to you. The bambino that you +cured is grown a stout little fellow, and eats enough for +two,—and it is all of you; so she cannot forget it. She is a +busy little woman, is Teresina; and when she gets a thought in her +head, it buzzes, buzzes, like a fly in a bottle, and she will have +it your Reverence is killing yourself by inches, and says she, +‘What will all the poor do when he is gone?’ So your +Reverence must pardon us. We mean it all for the best.”</p> +<p>So saying, the man turned and began sliding and slipping down +the steep ashy sides of the mountain cone with a dexterity which +carried him to the bottom in a few moments; and on he went, sending +back after him a cheerful little air, the refrain of which is still +to be heard in our days in that neighborhood. A word or two of the +gay song fluttered back on the ear of the monk,—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Tutta gieja, tutta festa.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>So gay and airy it was in its ringing cadence that it seemed a +musical laugh springing from sunny skies, and came fluttering into +the dismal smoke and gloom of the mountain-top like a very +butterfly of sound. It struck on the sad, leaden ear of the monk +much as we might fancy the carol of a robin over a grave might +seem, could the cold sleeper below wake one moment to its +perception. If it woke one regretful sigh and drew one wandering +look downward to the elysian paradise that lay smiling at the foot +of the mountain, he instantly suppressed the feeling, and set his +face in its old deathly stillness.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER XIX.</h3> +<h4>CLOUDS DEEPENING.</h4> +<p>After the departure of her uncle to Florence, the life of Agnes +was troubled and harassed from a variety of causes.</p> +<p>First, her grandmother was sulky and moody, and though saying +nothing directly on the topic nearest her heart, yet intimating by +every look and action that she considered Agnes as a most +ungrateful and contumacious child. Then there was a constant +internal perplexity,—a constant wearying course of +self-interrogation and self-distrust, the pain of a sensitive +spirit which doubts at every moment whether it may not be falling +into sin. The absence of her kind uncle at this time took from her +the strongest support on which she had leaned in her perplexities. +Cheerful, airy, and elastic in his temperament, always full of +fresh-springing and beautiful thoughts, as an Italian dell is of +flowers, the charming old man seemed, while he stayed with Agnes, +to be the door of a new and fairer world, where she could walk in +air and sunshine, and find utterance for a thousand thoughts and +feelings which at all other times lay in cold repression in her +heart. His counsels were always so wholesome, his sympathies so +quick, his devotion so fervent and cheerful, that while with him +Agnes felt the burden of her life insensibly lifted and carried for +her as by some angel guide.</p> +<p>Now they had all come back upon her, heavier a thousand-fold +than ever they had been before. Never did she so much need counsel +and guidance,—never had she so much within herself to be +solved and made plain to her own comprehension; yet she thought +with a strange shiver of her next visit to her confessor. That +austere man, so chilling, so awful, so far above all conception of +human weaknesses, how should she dare to lay before him all the +secrets of her breast, especially when she must confess to having +disobeyed his most stringent commands? She had had another +interview with this forbidden son of perdition, but how it was she +knew not. How could such things have happened? Instead of shutting +her eyes and turning her head and saying prayers, she had listened +to a passionate declaration of love, and his last word had called +her his wife. Her heart thrilled every time she thought of it; and +somehow she could not feel sure that it was exactly a thrill of +penitence. It was all like a strange dream to her; and sometimes +she looked at her little brown hands and wondered if he really had +kissed them,—he, the splendid strange vision of a man, the +prince from fairyland! Agnes had never read romances, it is true, +but she had been brought up on the legends of the saints, and there +never was a marvel possible to human conception that had not been +told there. Princes had come from China and Barbary and Abyssinia +and every other strange out-of-the-way place, to kneel at the feet +of fair, obdurate saints who would not even turn the head to look +at them; but she had acted, she was conscious, after a much more +mortal fashion, and so made herself work for confession and +penance. Yet certainly she had not meant to do so; the interview +came on her so suddenly, so unexpectedly; and somehow he +<em>would</em> speak, and he would not go when she asked him to; +and she remembered how he looked when he stood right before her in +the doorway and told her she <em>should</em> hear him,—how +the color flushed up in his cheeks, what a fire there was in his +great dark eyes; he looked as if he were going to do something +desperate then; it made her hold her breath even now to think of +it.</p> +<p>“These princes and nobles,” she thought, “are +so used to command, it is no wonder they make us feel as if they +must have their will. I have heard grandmother call them wolves and +vultures, that are ready to tear us poor folk to pieces; but I am +sure he seems gentle. I’m sure it isn’t wicked or cruel +for him to want to make me his wife; and he couldn’t know, of +course, why it wasn’t right he should; and it really is +beautiful of him to love me so. Oh, if I were only a princess, and +he loved me that way, how glad I should be to give up everything +and go to him alone! And then we would pray together; and I really +think that would be much better than praying all alone. He said men +had so much more to tempt them. Ah, that is true! How can little +moles that grub in the ground know of the dangers of eagles that +fly to the very sun? Holy Mother, look mercifully upon him and save +his soul!”</p> +<p>Such were the thoughts of Agnes the day when she was preparing +for her confession; and all the way to church she found them +floating and dissolving and reappearing in new forms in her mind, +like the silvery smoke-clouds which were constantly veering and +sailing over Vesuvius.</p> +<p>Only one thing was firm and never changing, and that was the +purpose to reveal everything to her spiritual director. When she +kneeled at the confessional with closed eyes, and began her +whispered acknowledgments, she tried to feel as if she were +speaking in the ear of God alone,—that God whose spirit she +was taught to believe, for the time being, was present in His +minister before whom her inmost heart was to be unveiled.</p> +<p>He who sat within had just returned from his lonely retreat with +his mind and nerves in a state of unnatural tension,—a sort +of ecstatic clearness and calmness, which he mistook for victory +and peace. During those lonely days when he had wandered afar from +human converse, and was surrounded only by objects of desolation +and gloom, he had passed through as many phases of strange, +unnatural experience as there were flitting smoke-wreaths eddying +about him.</p> +<p>There are depths in man’s nature and his possibilities +which no plummet has ever sounded,—the wild, lonely joys of +fanatical excitement, the perfectly ravenous appetite for +self-torture, which seems able, in time, to reverse the whole human +system, and make a heaven of hell. How else can we understand the +facts related both in Hindoo and in Christian story, of those men +and women who have found such strange raptures in slow tortures, +prolonged from year to year, till pain became a habit of body and +mind? It is said, that, after the tortures of the rack, the +reaction of the overstrained nerves produces a sense of the most +exquisite relief and repose; and so when mind and body are +harrowed, harassed to the very outer verge of endurance, come wild +throbbings and transports, and strange celestial clairvoyance, +which the mystic hails as the descent of the New Jerusalem into his +soul.</p> +<p>It had seemed to Father Francesco, when he came down from the +mountain, that he had left his body behind him,—that he had +left earth and earthly things; his very feet touching the ground +seemed to tread not on rough, resisting soil, but upon elastic +cloud. He saw a strange excess of beauty in every flower, in every +leaf, in the wavering blue of the sea, in the red grottoed rocks +that overhung the shore, with their purple, green, orange, and +yellow hangings of flower-and-leaf-tapestry. The songs of the +fishermen on the beach, the peasant-girls cutting flowery fodder +for the cattle, all seemed to him to have an unnatural charm. As +one looking through a prism sees a fine bordering of rainbow on +every object, so he beheld a glorified world. His former self +seemed to him something forever past and gone. He looked at himself +as at another person, who had sinned and suffered, and was now +resting in beatified repose; and he fondly thought all this was +firm reality, and believed that he was now proof against all +earthly impressions, able to hear and to judge with the +dispassionate calmness of a disembodied spirit. He did not know +that this high-strung calmness, this fine clearness, were only the +most intense form of nervous sensibility, and as vividly +susceptible to every mortal impression as is the vitalized chemical +plate to the least action of the sun’s rays.</p> +<p>When Agnes began her confession, her voice seemed to him to pass +through every nerve; it seemed as if he could feel her presence +thrilling through the very wood of the confessional. He was +astonished and dismayed at his own emotion. But when she began to +speak of the interview with the cavalier, he trembled from head to +foot with uncontrollable passion. Nature long repressed came back +in a tempestuous reaction. He crossed himself again and again, he +tried to pray, and blessed those protecting shadows which concealed +his emotion from the unconscious one by his side. But he set his +teeth in deadly resolve, and his voice, as he questioned her, came +forth cutting and cold as ice crystals.</p> +<p>“Why did you listen to a word?”</p> +<p>“My father, it was so sudden. He wakened me from sleep. I +answered him before I thought.”</p> +<p>“You should not have been sleeping. It was a sinful +indolence.”</p> +<p>“Yes, my father.”</p> +<p>“See now to what it led. The enemy of your soul, ever +watching, seized this moment to tempt you.”</p> +<p>“Yes, my father.”</p> +<p>“Examine your soul well,” said Father Francesco, in +a tone of austere severity that made Agnes tremble. “Did you +not find a secret pleasure in his words?”</p> +<p>“My father, I fear I did,” said she, with a +trembling voice.</p> +<p>“I knew it! I knew it!” the priest muttered to +himself, while the great drops started on his forehead, in the +intensity of the conflict he repressed. Agnes thought the solemn +pause that followed was caused by the horror that had been inspired +by her own sinfulness.</p> +<p>“You did not, then, heartily and truly wish him to go from +you?” pursued the cold, severe voice.</p> +<p>“Yes, my father, I did. I wished him to go with all my +soul.”</p> +<p>“Yet you say you found pleasure in his being near +you,” said Father Francesco, conscious how every string of +his own being, even in this awful hour, was vibrating with a sort +of desperate, miserable joy in being once more near to her.</p> +<p>“Ah,” sighed Agnes, “that is true, my +father,—woe is me! Please tell me how I could have helped it. +I was pleased before I knew it.”</p> +<p>“And you have been thinking of what he said to you with +pleasure since?” pursued the confessor, with an intense +severity of manner, deepening as he spoke.</p> +<p>“I <em>have</em> thought of it,” faltered Agnes.</p> +<p>“Beware how you trifle with the holy sacrament! Answer +frankly. You have thought of it with <em>pleasure</em>. Confess +it.”</p> +<p>“I do not understand myself exactly,” said Agnes. +“I have thought of it partly with pleasure and partly with +pain.”</p> +<p>“Would you like to go with him and be his wife, as he +said?”</p> +<p>“If it were right, father,—not otherwise.”</p> +<p>“Oh, foolish child! oh, blinded soul! to think of right in +connection with an infidel and heretic! Do you not see that all +this is an artifice of Satan? He can transform himself into an +angel of light. Do you suppose this heretic would be brought back +to the Church by a foolish girl? Do you suppose it is your prayers +he wants? Why does, he not seek the prayers of the Church,—of +holy men who have power with God? He would bait his hook with this +pretence that he may catch your soul. Do you believe me?”</p> +<p>“I am bound to believe you, my father.”</p> +<p>“But you do not. Your heart is going after this wicked +man.”</p> +<p>“Oh, my father, I do not wish it should. I never wish or +expect to see him more. I only pray for him that his soul may not +be lost.”</p> +<p>“He has gone, then?”</p> +<p>“Yes, my father. And he went with my uncle, a most holy +monk, who has undertaken the work of his salvation. He listens to +my uncle, who has hopes of restoring him to the Church.”</p> +<p>“That is well. And now, my daughter, listen to me. You +must root out of your thought every trace and remembrance of these +words of sinful earthly love which he hath spoken. Such love would +burn your soul to all eternity with fire that never could be +quenched. If you can tear away all roots and traces of this from +your heart, if by fasting and prayer and penance you can become +worthy to be a bride of your divine Lord, then your prayers will +gain power, and you may prevail to secure his eternal salvation. +But listen to me, daughter,—listen and tremble! If ever you +should yield to his love and turn back from this heavenly marriage +to follow him, you will accomplish his damnation and your own; to +all eternity he will curse you, while the fire rages and consumes +him,—he will curse the hour that he first saw you.”</p> +<p>These words were spoken with an intense vehemence which seemed +almost supernatural. Agnes shivered and trembled; a vague feeling +of guilt overwhelmed and disheartened her; she seemed to herself +the most lost and abandoned of human beings.</p> +<p>“My father, I shall think no penance too severe that may +restore my soul from this sin. I have already made a vow to the +blessed Mother that I will walk on foot to the Holy City, praying +in every shrine and holy place; and I humbly ask your +approval.”</p> +<p>This announcement brought to the mind of the monk a sense of +relief and deliverance. He felt already, in the terrible storm of +agitation which this confession had aroused within him, that nature +was not dead, and that he was infinitely farther from the victory +of passionless calm than he had supposed. He was still a +man,—torn with human passions, with a love which he must +never express, and a jealousy which burned and writhed at every +word which he had wrung from its unconscious object. Conscience had +begun to whisper in his ear that there would be no safety to him in +continuing this spiritual dictatorship to one whose every word +unmanned him,—that it was laying himself open to a ceaseless +temptation, which in some blinded, dreary hour of evil might hurry +him into acts of horrible sacrilege; and he was once more feeling +that wild, stormy revolt of his inner nature that so distressed him +before he left the convent.</p> +<p>This proposition of Agnes’ struck him as a compromise. It +would take her from him only for a season, she would go under his +care and direction, and he would gradually recover his calmness and +self-possession in her absence. Her pilgrimage to the holy places +would be a most proper and fit preparation for the solemn +marriage-rite which should forever sunder her from all human ties +and make her inaccessible to all solicitations of human love. +Therefore, after an interval of silence, he answered,—</p> +<p>“Daughter, your plan is approved. Such pilgrimages have +ever been held meritorious works in the Church, and there is a +special blessing upon them.”</p> +<p>“My father,” said Agnes, “it has always been +in my heart from my childhood to be the bride of the Lord; but my +grandmother, who brought me up, and to whom I owe the obedience of +a daughter, utterly forbids me: she will not hear a word of it. No +longer ago than last Monday she told me I might as well put a knife +into her heart as speak of this.”</p> +<p>“And you, daughter, do you put the feelings of any earthly +friend before the love of your Lord and Creator who laid down His +life for you? Hear what He saith:—‘He that loveth +father or mother more than me is not worthy of +me.’”</p> +<p>“But my poor old grandmother has no one but me in the +world, and she has never slept a night without me; she is getting +old, and she has worked for me all her good days;—it would be +very hard for her to lose me.”</p> +<p>“Ah, false, deceitful heart! Has, then, thy Lord not +labored for thee? Has He not borne thee through all the years of +thy life? And wilt thou put the love of any mortal before +His?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied Agnes, with a sort of hardy +sweetness,—“but my Lord does not need me as grandmother +does; He is in glory, and will never be old or feeble; I cannot +work for Him and tend Him as I shall her. I cannot see my way clear +at present; but when she is gone, or if the saints move her to +consent, I shall then belong to God alone.”</p> +<p>“Daughter, there is some truth in your words; and if your +Lord accepts you, He will dispose her heart. Will she go with you +on this pilgrimage?”</p> +<p>“I have prayed that she might, father,—that her soul +may be quickened; for I fear me, dear old grandmamma has found her +love for me a snare,—she has thought too much of my interests +and too little of her own soul, poor grandmamma!”</p> +<p>“Well, child, I shall enjoin this pilgrimage on her as a +penance.”</p> +<p>“I have grievously offended her lately,” said Agnes, +“in rejecting an offer of marriage with a man on whom she had +set her heart, and therefore she does not listen to me as she is +wont to do.”</p> +<p>“You have done right in refusing, my daughter. I will +speak to her of this, and show her how great is the sin of opposing +a holy vocation in a soul whom the Lord calls to Himself, and +enjoin her to make reparation by uniting with you in this holy +work.”</p> +<p>Agnes departed from the confessional without even looking upon +the face of her director, who sat within listening to the rustle of +her dress as she rose,—listening to the soft fall of her +departing footsteps, and praying that grace might be given him not +to look after her: and he did not, though he felt as if his life +were going with her.</p> +<p>Agnes tripped round the aisle to a little side-chapel where a +light was always kept burning by her before a picture of Saint +Agnes, and, kneeling there, waited till her grandmother should be +through with her confession.</p> +<p>“Ah, sweet Saint Agnes,” she said, “pity me! I +am a poor ignorant young girl, and have been led into grievous sin; +but I did not mean to do wrong,—I have been trying to do +right; pray for me, that I may overcome as you did. Pray our dear +Lord to send you with us on this pilgrimage, and save us from all +wicked and brutal men who would do us harm. As the Lord delivered +you in sorest straits, keeping soul and body pure as a lily, ah, +pray Him to keep me! I love you dearly,—watch over me and +guide me.”</p> +<p>In those days of the Church, such addresses to the glorified +saints had become common among all Christians. They were not +regarded as worship, any more than a similar outpouring of +confidence to a beloved and revered friend yet in the body. Among +the hymns of Savonarola is one addressed to Saint Mary Magdalen, +whom he regarded with an especial veneration. The great truth, that +God is not the God of the dead, but of the living, that +<em>all</em> live to Him, was in those ages with the truly +religious a part of spiritual consciousness. The saints of the +Church Triumphant, having become one with Christ as he is one with +the Father, were regarded as invested with a portion of his +divinity, and as the ministering agency through which his +mediatorial government on earth was conducted; and it was thought +to be in the power of the sympathetic heart to attract them by the +outflow of its affections, so that their presence often +overshadowed the walks of daily life with a cloud of healing and +protecting sweetness.</p> +<p>If the enthusiasm of devotion in regard to these invisible +friends became extravagant and took the language due to God alone, +it was no more than the fervid Italian nature was always doing with +regard to visible objects of affection. Love with an Italian always +tends to become worship, and some of the language of the poets +addressed to earthly loves rises into intensities of expression due +only to the One, Sovereign, Eternal Beauty. One sees even in the +writings of Cicero that this passionate adoring kind of love is not +confined to modern times. When he loses the daughter in whom his +heart is garnered up, he finds no comfort except in building a +temple to her memory,—a blind outreaching towards the +saint-worship of modern times.</p> +<p>Agnes rose from her devotions, and went with downcast eyes, her +lips still repeating prayers, to the font of holy water, which was +in a dim shadowy corner, where a painted window cast a gold and +violet twilight. Suddenly there was a rustle of garments in the +dimness, and a jewelled hand essayed to pass holy water to her on +the tip of its finger. This mark of Christian fraternity, common in +those times, Agnes almost mechanically accepted, touching her +slender finger to the one extended, and making the sign of the +cross, while she raised her eyes to see who stood there. Gradually +the haze cleared from her mind, and she awoke to the consciousness +that it was the cavalier! He moved to come towards her, with a +bright smile on his face; but suddenly she became pale as one who +has seen a spectre, and, pushing from her with both hands, she said +faintly, “Go, go!” and turned and sped up the aisle +silently as a sunbeam, joining her grandmother, who was coming from +the confessional with a gloomy and sullen brow.</p> +<p>Old Elsie had been enjoined to unite with her grandchild in this +scheme of a pilgrimage, and received the direction with as much +internal contumacy as would a thriving church-member of Wall Street +a proposition to attend a protracted meeting in the height of the +business season. Not but that pilgrimages were holy and gracious +works,—she was too good a Christian not to admit +that,—but why must holy and gracious works be thrust on her +in particular? There were saints enough who liked such things; and +people <em>could</em> get to heaven without,—if not with a +very abundant entrance, still in a modest way,—and +Elsie’s ambition for position and treasure in the spiritual +world was of a very moderate cast.</p> +<p>“Well, now, I hope you are satisfied,” she said to +Agnes, as she pulled her along with no very gentle hand; +“you’ve got me sent off on a pilgrimage,—and my +old bones must be rattling up and down all the hills between here +and Rome,—and who’s to see to the +oranges?—they’ll all be stolen, every one.”</p> +<p>“Grandmother,” began Agnes in a pleading +voice—</p> +<p>“Oh, you hush up! I know what you’re going to say: +‘The good Lord will take care of them.’ I wish He may! +He has His hands full, with all the people that go cawing and +psalm-singing like so many crows, and leave all their affairs to +Him!”</p> +<p>Agnes walked along disconsolate, with her eyes full of tears, +which coursed one another down her pale cheeks.</p> +<p>“There’s Antonio,” pursued Elsie, “would +perhaps look after things a little. He is a good fellow, and only +yesterday was asking if he couldn’t do something for us. +It’s you he does it for,—but little you care who loves +you, or what they do for you!”</p> +<p>At this moment they met old Jocunda, whom we have before +introduced to the reader as portress of the Convent. She had on her +arm a large square basket, which she was storing for its practical +uses.</p> +<p>“Well, well, Saint Agnes be praised, I have found you at +last,” she said. “I was wanting to speak about some of +your blood-oranges for conserving. An order has come down from our +dear gracious lady, the Queen, to prepare a lot for her own blessed +eating, and you may be sure I would get none of anybody but +you.—But what’s this, my little heart, my little +lamb?—crying?—tears in those sweet eyes? What’s +the matter now?”</p> +<p>“Matter enough for me!” said Elsie. +“It’s a weary world we live in. A body can’t turn +any way and not meet with trouble. If a body brings up a girl one +way, why, every fellow is after her, and one has no peace; and if a +body brings her up another way, she gets her head in the clouds, +and there’s no good of her in this world. Now look at that +girl,—doesn’t everybody say it’s time she were +married?—but no marrying for her! Nothing will do but we must +off to Rome on a pilgrimage,—and what’s the good of +that, I want to know? If it’s praying that’s to be +done, the dear saints know she’s at it from morning till +night,—and lately she’s up and down three or four times +a night with some prayer or other.”</p> +<p>“Well, well,” said Jocunda, “who started this +idea?”</p> +<p>“Oh, Father Francesco and she got it up between +them,—and nothing will do but I must go, too.”</p> +<p>“Well, now, after all, my dear,” said Jocunda, +“do you know, I made a pilgrimage once, and it isn’t so +bad. One gets a good deal by it, first and last. Everybody drops +something into your hand as you go, and one gets treated as if one +were somebody a little above the common; and then in Rome one has a +princess or a duchess or some noble lady who washes one’s +feet, and gives one a good supper, and perhaps a new suit of +clothes, and all that,—and ten to one there comes a pretty +little sum of money to boot, if one plays one’s cards well. A +pilgrimage isn’t bad, after all;—one sees a world of +fine things, and something new every day.”</p> +<p>“But who is to look after our garden and dress our +trees?”</p> +<p>“Ah, now, there’s Antonio, and old Meta his +mother,” said Jocunda, with a knowing wink at Agnes. “I +fancy there are friends there that would lend a hand to keep things +together against the little one comes borne. If one is going to be +married, a pilgrimage brings good luck in the family. All the +saints take it kindly that one comes so far to see them, and are +more ready to do a good turn for one when one needs it. The blessed +saints are like other folks,—they like to be treated with +proper attention.”</p> +<p>This view of pilgrimages from the material stand-point had more +effect on the mind of Elsie than the most elaborate appeals of +Father Francesco. She began to acquiesce, though with a reluctant +air.</p> +<p>Jocunda, seeing her words had made some impression, pursued her +advantage on the spiritual ground.</p> +<p>“To be sure,” she added, “I don’t know +how it is with you; but I know that <em>I</em> have, one way and +another, rolled up quite an account of sins in my life. When I was +tramping up and down with my old man through the country,—now +in this castle and then in that camp, and now and then in at the +sacking of a city or village, or something of the kind,—the +saints forgive us!—it does seem as if one got into things +that were not of the best sort, in such times. It’s true, +it’s been wiped out over and over by the priest; but then a +pilgrimage is a good thing to make all sure, in case one’s +good works should fall short of one’s sins at last. I can +tell you, a pilgrimage is a good round weight to throw into the +scale; and when it comes to heaven and hell, you know, my dear, +why, one cannot be too careful.”</p> +<p>“Well, that may be true enough,” said +Elsie,—“though, as to my sins, I have tried to keep +them regularly squared up and balanced as I went along. I have +always been regular at confession, and never failed a jot or tittle +in what the holy father told me. But there may be something in what +you say; one can’t be too sure; and so I’ll e’en +school my old bones into taking this tramp.”</p> +<p>That evening, as Agnes was sitting in the garden at sunset, her +grandmother bustling in and out, talking, groaning, and, hurrying +in her preparations for the anticipated undertaking, suddenly there +was a rustling in the branches overhead, and a bouquet of rose-buds +fell at her feet. Agnes picked it up, and saw a scrip of paper +coiled among the flowers. In a moment remembering the apparition of +the cavalier in the church in the morning, she doubted not from +whom it came. So dreadful had been the effect of the scene at the +confessional, that the thought of the near presence of her lover +brought only terror. She turned pale; her hands shook. She shut her +eyes, and prayed that she might not be left to read the paper; and +then, summoning all her resolution, she threw the bouquet with +force over the wall. It dropped down, down, down the gloomy, +shadowy abyss, and was lost in the damp caverns below.</p> +<p>The cavalier stood without the wall, waiting for some responsive +signal in reply to his missive. It had never occurred to him that +Agnes would not even read it, and he stood confounded when he saw +it thrown back with such apparent rudeness. He remembered her pale, +terrified look on seeing him in the morning. It was not +indifference or dislike, but mortal fear, that had been shown in +that pale face.</p> +<p>“These wretches are practising on her,” he said, in +wrath,—“filling her head with frightful images, and +torturing her sensitive conscience till she sees sin in the most +natural and innocent feelings.”</p> +<p>He had learned from Father Antonio the intention of Agnes to go +on a pilgrimage, and he longed to see and talk with her, that he +might offer her his protection against dangers which he understood +far better than she. It had never even occurred to him that the +door for all possible communication would be thus suddenly barred +in his face.</p> +<p>“Very well,” he said to himself, with a darkening +brow,—“let them have it their own way here. She must +pass through my dominions before she can reach Rome, and I will +find a place where I <em>can</em> be heard, without priest or +grandmother to let or hinder. She is mine, and I will care for +her.”</p> +<p>But poor Agnes had the woman’s share of the misery to +bear, in the fear and self-reproach and distress which every +movement of this kind cost her. The involuntary thrill at seeing +her lover, at hearing from him, the conscious struggle which it +cost her to throw back his gift, were all noted by her accusing +conscience as so many sins. The next day she sought again her +confessor, and began an entrance on those darker and more chilly +paths of penance, by which, according to the opinion of her times, +the peculiarly elect of the Lord were supposed to be best trained. +Hitherto her religion had been the cheerful and natural expression +of her tender and devout nature according to the more beautiful and +engaging devotional forms of her Church. During the year when her +confessor had been, unconsciously to himself, led by her instead of +leading, her spiritual food had been its beautiful old hymns and +prayers, which she found no weariness in often repeating. But now +an unnatural conflict was begun in her mind, directed by a +spiritual guide in whom every natural and normal movement of the +soul had given way before a succession of morbid and unhealthful +experiences. From that day Agnes wore upon her heart one of those +sharp instruments of torture which in those times were supposed to +be a means of inward grace,—a cross with seven steel points +for the seven sorrows of Mary. She fasted with a severity which +alarmed her grandmother, who in her inmost heart cursed the day +that ever she had placed her in the way of saintship.</p> +<p>“All this will just end in spoiling her +beauty,—making her as thin as a shadow,”—said +Elsie; “and she was good enough before.”</p> +<p>But it did not spoil her beauty,-it only changed its character. +The roundness and bloom melted away,—but there came in their +stead that solemn, transparent clearness of countenance, that +spiritual light and radiance, which the old Florentine painters +gave to their Madonnas.</p> +<p>It is singular how all religious exercises and appliances take +the character of the nature that uses them. The pain and penance, +which so many in her day bore as a cowardly expedient for averting +divine wrath, seemed, as she viewed them, a humble way of becoming +associated in the sufferings of her Redeemer. “<em>Jesu +dulcis memoria</em>,” was the thought that carried a +redeeming sweetness with every pain. Could she thus, by suffering +with her Lord, gain power like Him to save,—a power which +should save that soul so dear and so endangered! “Ah,” +she thought, “I would give my life-blood, drop by drop, if +only it might avail for his salvation!”</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2><a id="heroine" name="heroine">THE TRUE HEROINE.</a></h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>What was she like? I cannot tell.</p> +<p>I only know God loved her well.</p> +<p>Two noble sons her gray hairs blest,—</p> +<p>And he, their sire, was now at rest.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>And why her children loved her so,</p> +<p>And called her blessed, all shall know:</p> +<p>She never had a selfish thought,</p> +<p>Nor valued what her hand had wrought.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>She could be just in spite of love;</p> +<p>And cherished hates she dwelt above;</p> +<p>In sick-rooms they that had her care</p> +<p>Said she was wondrous gentle there.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>It was a fearful trust, she knew,</p> +<p>To guide her young immortals through;</p> +<p>But Love and Truth explained the way,</p> +<p>And Piety made perfect day.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>She taught them to be pure and true,</p> +<p>And brave, and strong, and courteous, too;</p> +<p>She made them reverence silver hairs,</p> +<p>And feel the poor man’s biting cares.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>She won them ever to her side;</p> +<p><em>Home</em> was their treasure and their pride:</p> +<p>Its food, drink, shelter pleased them best,</p> +<p>And there they found the sweetest rest.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>And often, as the shadows fell,</p> +<p>And twilight had attuned them well,</p> +<p>She sang of many a noble deed,</p> +<p>And marked with joy their eager heed.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>And most she marked their kindling eyes</p> +<p>When telling of the victories</p> +<p>That made the Stars and Stripes a name,</p> +<p>Their country rich in honest fame.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>It was a noble land, she said,—</p> +<p>Its poorest children lacked not bread;</p> +<p>It was so broad, so rich, so free,</p> +<p>They sang its praise beyond the sea;</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>And thousands sought its kindly shore,</p> +<p>And none were poor and friendless more;</p> +<p>All blessed the name of Washington,</p> +<p>And loved the Union, every one.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>She made them feel that they were part</p> +<p>Of a great nation’s living heart.—</p> +<p>So they grew up, true patriot boys,</p> +<p>And knew not all their mother’s joys.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Sad was the hour when murmurs loud</p> +<p>From a great black advancing cloud</p> +<p>Made millions feel the coming breath</p> +<p>Of maddened whirlwinds, full of death!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>She prayed the skies might soon be bright,</p> +<p>And made her sons prepare for fight</p> +<p>Brave youths!—their zeal proved clearly then</p> +<p>In such an hour youths can be men!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>By day she went from door to door,—</p> +<p>Men caught her soul, unfelt before;</p> +<p>By night she prayed, and planned, and dreamed,</p> +<p>Till morn’s red light war’s lightning seemed.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The cry went forth; forth stepped her sons</p> +<p>In martial blaze of gleaming guns:</p> +<p>Still striding on to perils dire,</p> +<p>They turned to catch her glance of fire.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>No fears, no fond regrets she knew,</p> +<p>But proudly watched them fade from view:</p> +<p>“Lord, keep them so!” she said, and turned</p> +<p>To where her lonely hearth-fire burned.</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2><a id="jefferson" name="jefferson">JEFFERSON AND +SLAVERY.</a></h2> +<p>Any one who feels deeply the truths in which our great men of +old founded this Democracy, and who sees clearly the great lines of +political architecture by which alone it shall stand firm or rise +high, finds in the direct plan and work the agency mainly of six +men.</p> +<p>These may be set in three groups.</p> +<p><em>First</em>, three men, who, through a series of earnest +thoughts, taking shape sometimes in apt words, sometimes in bold +acts, did most to <em>found</em> the Republic: and these three are +Washington, Adams, and Jefferson.</p> +<p><em>Secondly</em>, two men, who, as statesmen, by a healthful +division between the two great natural policies, and, as +politicians, by a healthful antagonism between the two great +natural parties, did most to <em>build</em> the Republic: and these +two are Jefferson and Hamilton.</p> +<p><em>Thirdly</em>, three men, who, having a clear theory in their +heads, and a deep conviction in their hearts, working on the nation +by sermons, epistles, programmes, hints, quips, innuendoes, by +every form of winged word, have done most to get this people into +simple trains of humanitarian thought, and have therefore done most +to <em>brace</em> the Republic: and these three men are Franklin, +Jefferson, and Channing.</p> +<p>So, rising above the dust raised in our old quarrels, and taking +a broad view over this Democracy, we see Jefferson firmly placed in +each of these groups.</p> +<p>If we search in Jefferson’s writings and in the +contemporary records to ascertain what that power was which won him +these positions, we find that it was no personal skill in cajoling +friends or scaring enemies. No sound-hearted man ever rose from +talk with him with a tithe of the veneration felt by those who sat +at the feet of Washington or Hamilton or Channing. Neither was his +position due to oratory: he could deal neither in sweet words nor +in lofty words. Yet, in spite of these wants, he wrought on the +nation with immense power.</p> +<p>The real secret of this power was, first of all, that Jefferson +saw infinitely deeper into the principles of the rising Democracy, +and infinitely farther into its future working, than any other man +of his time. Those who earnestly read him will often halt astounded +at proofs of a foresight in him almost miraculous. Even in masses +of what men have called his puerility there are often germs of +immense worth,—taking years, perhaps, to show life, but sure +to be alive at last.</p> +<p>Take, as the latest examples of this, three germ-truths which +have recently come to full life, after having been trodden under +foot for fifty years.</p> +<p>Early in our national life Jefferson declared against the +usurpations of the national judiciary. Straightway his supporters +were divided, mainly between those who sorrowed and those who stood +silent; while his opponents were divided only between those who +laughed and those who cursed. But who laughs now? Jefferson foresaw +but too well. The usurpations of the national judiciary have come +in shapes most hideous,—in the <em>obiter dicta</em> of the +Dred Scott decision, and in the use of quibbles to entangle our +defenders and set loose our traitors.</p> +<p>Take an example of another kind. In his early career Jefferson +gave forth a scheme of harbor-defence by gun-boats and floating +batteries. This was partially carried out, and only partially; so +it failed. On these gun-boats and batteries his enemies never tired +of trying their wit, and certainly seemed to make a brilliant point +against his foresight and economy. But, in these latter years, many +Americans besides ourself, visiting Cronstadt during the blockade +by the Allied fleet, saw not only how the Allies failed of a +conquest, the first summer, for want of gun-boats, but how the +Russians protected themselves greatly, during the second summer, by +means of them. We were shown, too, that not only could good work be +done by those driven by steam, but that the greater number driven +by oarsmen were of much service, not only in vexing the enemy, but +in protecting the whole exposed coast. Here was Jefferson’s +scheme to the letter. Here was a despised thought of the past +become a proud fact of the present. Here had the Autocrat reared a +monument to our great Democrat,—gaining praise for Jefferson +long after his enemies and their factious laughter had died out +forever.</p> +<p>But take what the main body of cultured Americans have thought +Jefferson’s chronic whimsey,—his belief that the heart +of England must be ever set against all our liberty and prosperity. +As we now breast the terrific storm which English reasonings and +taunts had encouraged us to brave, and hear, swelling above the +faint English God-speed, misstatements, gibes, reproofs, malignant +prophecies, who of us shall say that the English character and +policy of 1861 were not better foreknown by Jefferson in 1820 than +by ourselves In 1860?</p> +<p>So much for Jefferson’s insight and foresight. But there +was yet a greater quality which gave him a place in each of these +three great groups,—his faith in Democracy.</p> +<p>At a time when the French Revolution had scared even Burke, and +when the British Constitution was thought by many to have seduced +even Washington, Jefferson held fast to his great faith in the +rights and capacities of the people. The only effect on him of the +shocks and failures of that period was to make his anxiety +sometimes morbid, and his action sometimes spasmodic. Hence much +that to many men has seemed unjust suspicion of Adams, and +persecution of Hamilton, and disrespect for Washington. Yet all +this was but the jarring of that strong mind in the struggle and +crash of his times,—mere spasms of bigotry which prove the +vigor of his faith in Democracy.</p> +<p>Jefferson, then, known of all men not fettered by provincial +traditions as invested with this foresight and this faith, is +become to a vast party an idol, and from his writings issue +oracles. But the priests at his shrines, having waxed fat in +honors, have at last so befogged his sentiments and wrested his +arguments, that thousands of true men regard him sorrowfully as the +promoter of that Slavery-Despotism which to-day blooms in treason. +It is worth our while, therefore, to seek to know whether Jefferson +the god of the Oligarchs is Jefferson the Democrat. Let us, by the +simplest and fairest process possible, try to come at his real +opinions on Slavery,—just as they grew when he did so much to +found the Republic,—just as they flourished when he did so +much to build the Republic,—just as they were re-wrought and +polished when he did so much to brace the Republic.</p> +<p>The whole culture of Jefferson’s youth was, of all things +in the world, least likely to make him support slavery or apologize +for it. The man who did most to work into his mind ideas of moral +and political science was Dr. William Small, a liberal Scotchman; +the man who did most to direct his studies in law, and his +grappling with social problems, was George Wythe. To both of these +Jefferson confessed the deepest debt for their efforts to +strengthen his mind and make his footing firm. Now, of all men in +this country at that time, these two were least likely to support +pro-slavery theories or tolerate pro-slavery cant. For while to +Small’s soundness there is abundance of general testimony, +there is to Wythe’s soundness testimony the most pointed. We +have but to take the first volume of Jefferson’s Works, +published by order of Congress, and we find Jefferson’s +anti-slavery letter to Dr. Price, written in 1785, urging the +Doctor to work against pro-slavery ideas in the young men, and to +exhort the young men of Virginia to the “redress of the +enormity.” Incidentally he speaks of Mr. Wythe as already +doing great good in this direction among these same young men, and +declares him “one of the most virtuous of characters, and +whose sentiments on the subject of slavery are +unequivocal.”</p> +<p>So much for the <em>direct</em> influences on Jefferson’s +early culture.</p> +<p>Studying, next, the <em>indirect</em> influences on his early +culture, we see that the reform literature of that time was coming +almost entirely from France. Active, earnest men everywhere were +grasping the theories and phrases of Voltaire and Rousseau and +Montesquieu, to wield them against every tyranny. Terrible weapons +these,—often searing and scarring frightfully those who +brandished them,—yet there was not one chance in a thousand +that any man who had once made any considerable number of these +ideas his own could ever support slavery. Whoever, at that time, +studied the “Contrat Social,” or the defence of Jean +Calas, whatever other sins he might commit, was no more likely to +advocate systematic oppression than are they who now read with +reverence Dr. Arnold and Charles Kingsley; and whoever, at that +time, read earnestly “The Spirit of the Laws” was as +sure to fight slavery as any man who to-day reveres Channing or +Theodore Parker. Those French thinkers threw such heat and light +into Jefferson’s young mind, that every filthy weed of +tyrannic quibble or pro-slavery paradox must have been +shrivelled.</p> +<p>And the young statesman grew under this influence as we should +expect. In his twenty-seventh year he sat in the Virginia House of +Burgesses, and his first effort in legislation was, in his own +words, “an effort for the permission of the emancipation of +slaves, which was rejected, and, indeed, during the regal +government nothing liberal could expect success.” His whole +career in those years, whether as public man or private man, shows +that his hatred of slavery was bitter. But there was such a press +of other work during this founding period, that this hatred took +shape not so much in a steady siege as in a series of pitched +battles. The work to be done was immense, and Jefferson bore the +bulk of it. He took upon himself one-third of the revising and +codifying of the Virginia laws, and did even more than this. He +undertook, in his own words, “a distinct series of labors +which formed <em>a system by which every fibre would be eradicated +of ancient or future aristocracy</em>.” He effected the +repeal of the laws of entail, and this prevented an aristocratic +absorption of the soil; he effected the abolition of primogeniture, +and this destroyed all chance of rebuilding feudal families; he +effected a restoration of the rights of conscience, and this +overthrew all hope of an Established Church; he forced on the bill +for general education,—for thus, he said, would the people be +“qualified to understand their rights, to maintain them, and +to exercise with intelligence their parts in +self-government.” In all this work his keen common sense +always cut his way through questions at which other men stopped or +stumbled. Thus, in the discussion on primogeniture, when Isaac +Pendleton proposed, as a compromise, that they should adopt the +Hebrew principle and give a double portion to the eldest son, +Jefferson cut at once into the heart of the question. As he himself +relates,—“I observed, that, if the eldest son could eat +twice as much, or do double work, it might be a natural evidence of +his right to a double portion; but being on a par in his powers and +wants with his brothers and sisters, he should be on a par also in +the partition of the patrimony. And such was the decision of the +other members.”</p> +<p>But such fierceness against the bulwarks of aristocracy, and +such keenness in cutting through its heavy arguments, carried him +farther. Logic forced him to pass from the attack on aristocracy to +the attack on slavery, just as logic forces the Confederate +oligarchs of to-day to pass from the defence of slavery to the +defence of aristocracy. He was sure to fight this vilest of +tyrannies, and he gave quick thrusts and heavy blows. In 1778 he +brought in a bill to prevent the further importation of slaves into +Virginia. “This,” he says, “passed without +opposition, and stopped the increase of the evil by importation, +leaving to future efforts its final eradication.” Years +afterward he wrote as follows:—“I have sometimes asked +myself whether my country is better for my having lived at all: I +do not know that it is. I have been the instrument of doing the +following things.” Of these things there were just ten. Just +ten great worthy deeds in a life like Jefferson’s!—and +one of these he declares “the act prohibiting the importation +of slaves.”</p> +<p>Close upon this followed a fiercer grapple,—his third +great legislative attack on slavery. In his revision of the +Virginia laws he reported “a bill to emancipate all slaves +born after the passing of the act.” Attached to this was a +plan for the instruction of the young negroes thus set free.</p> +<p>To follow Jefferson and understand him, we must bear in mind +that the Virginia which educated him was not behind a dozen smaller +States in fertility, enterprise, and republican feeling. Its best +men were haters of slavery. The efforts of its leaders were +directed to other things than plans for taxing oysters or filching +the gains of free negroes. Forth from the Virginia of that time +were hurled against negro slavery the thrilling invectives of +Patrick Henry, the startling prophecies of Madison, and the +declaration of Washington, “For the abolition of slavery by +law my vote shall not be wanting.”</p> +<p>For a mirror of that Virginia statesmanship, in its dealings +with human rights, take the “Dissertation on Slavery with a +Proposal for the Gradual Abolition of it in the State of Virginia, +written by St. George Tucker, Professor of Law in the University of +William and Mary, and one of the Judges of the General Court in +Virginia,” published in 1791. It proves, that, between the +passage of the act of 1782 allowing manumission and the year 1791, +more than ten thousand slaves had been set free. One is tempted to +believe that the new Massachusetts school caught its fire from this +old Virginia school; for this friend of Jefferson speaks of +“the inconsistency of invoking God for liberty in our +Revolution and imposing on our fellow-men who differ from us in +complexion a slavery ten thousand times more cruel than the +grievances and oppressions of which we complained.” Such was +the utterance of the Virginia school of statesmanship in which +Jefferson was trained.</p> +<p>And his views progressed, as we should expect. On the occasion +of a call for instructions to the first Virginia delegates to +Congress respecting an address to the King, Jefferson drew up a +paper, which, though greatly admired, was thought too bold. In one +passage he goes beyond his masters, and says,—“For the +most trifling reasons, and sometimes for no conceivable reasons at +all, his Majesty has rejected laws of the most salutary tendency. +<em>The abolition of domestic slavery is the great object of desire +in these Colonies, where it was unhappily introduced in their +infant state.</em> But, previous to the enfranchisement of the +slaves we have, it is necessary to exclude all further importations +from Africa. Yet our repeated efforts to effect this, by +prohibiting and by imposing duties which might amount to +prohibition, have been hitherto defeated by his Majesty’s +negative,—thus preferring the advantages of a few British +corsairs to the lasting interests of the American States, and to +the rights of human nature, deeply wounded by this infamous +practice.”</p> +<p>These words are hot and bright, but they are mere sparkles +compared to the full-flaming orb of freedom which our statesman +gave afterward. For, take the Declaration of Independence, as it +issued from Carpenter’s Hall, after slavery-loving planters +of the South and money-loving ship-owners of the North had, as they +thought, made it neutral, and we all, North and South, recognize in +it the boldest anti-slavery document extant. Why else do Northern +demagogues ridicule it, and Southern demagogues revile it? Yet +Jefferson made it far stronger and sharper against negro slavery +than it is now. Look closely at the well-known +fac-simile:—</p> +<pre style="text-align:center;"> +he has waged cruel war against human nature itself, violating it’s most sac- +-red rights of life & liberty in the persons of a distant people who never of- +fended him, captivating & carrying them into slavery in another hemis- +-sphere, or to incur miserable death in their transportation thither, this +piratical warfare, the opprobrium of <span style= +"text-decoration:underline;">infidel</span> powers, is the warfare of the +<span style= +"text-decoration:underline;">Christian</span> king of Great Britain determined to keep open a market +<span style="text-decoration:line-through;">and</span> +where MEN should be bought & sold he has prostituted his negative +for suppressing every legislative attempt to prohibit or to restrain this +<span style= +"text-decoration:line-through;">determining to keep open a market where MEN should be bought & sold:</span> +execrable commerce: and that this assemblage of horrors might want no fact +of distinguished die, he is now exciting those very people to rise in arms +among us, and to purchase that liberty of which <span style= +"text-decoration:underline;">he</span> has deprived them, +by murdering the people upon whom <span style= +"text-decoration:underline;">he</span> also obtruded them: thus paying +off former crimes committed against the <span style= +"text-decoration:underline;">liberties</span> of one people, with crimes +which he urges them to commit against the <span style= +"text-decoration:underline;">lives</span> of another. +</pre> +<p>There stands to this day that precious original,—hot +first-thoughts and cold second-thoughts, all in Jefferson’s +own hand. Look for a moment at the rich current of internal +evidence running through that rough draught, and through all its +erasures, changes, and emphatic markings,—evidence of the +deepest hatred not only of all tyranny, but of all slavery. Thus, +after he had written the passage, “determined to keep open a +market where MEN should be bought & sold,” the idea +continues hot in his mind; for, after smouldering a few moments, it +flames forth again, is written again in the same phrasing, with the +same show of emphasis, before he bethinks himself to erase it. +Then, too, the words Christian and MEN are the only words +emphasized by careful pen-printing in large letters;—and this +labored movement of his pen marks the injury which he deemed the +greater; for the largest letters and deepest emphasis are reserved +for MEN. Evidently, that word points out the wrong which, as +Jefferson thought, “a candid world” would forever +regard as the supreme wrong.</p> +<p>We have now noted Jefferson’s battle against slavery in +the founding of the Republic: let us go on to his work in the +building of the Republic.</p> +<p>In 1782 he gave forth the “Notes on Virginia.” His +opposition to slavery is as fierce here as of old, but it takes +various phases,—sometimes sweeping against the hated system +with a torrent of facts,—sometimes battering it with a hard, +cold logic,—sometimes piercing it with deadly queries and +suggestions,—and sometimes, with his blazing hate of all +oppression, biting and burning through every pro-slavery +theory.</p> +<p>But in taking up the “Notes,” we must understand the +relation of Jefferson’s way of thinking to his way of +working. In his thinking, the slave system was evidently a +violation of the whole body of good principles, for he calls it an +“<em>evil</em>”;—a violation of morality, for he +calls it an “<em>enormity</em>”;—a violation of +justice, for he calls it a “<em>wrong</em>”;—a +violation of republican pretensions, for he calls it a +“<em>hideous blot</em>”;—a violation of the +healthy action of our institutions, for he calls it a +“<em>disease</em>”;—a violation of our whole +public happiness, for he calls it a “<em>curse</em>.” +But his way of working was more calm and cool,—often +displeasing those whose plans of action are formed far from any +direct entanglement in the slave system.</p> +<p>This union of fervent thought and cool action has, of course, +brought upon Jefferson the invectives of two great classes. One +class have looked merely at his thinking, and have distrusted him +as a dreamer. To these he is a dealer in oracles, at second-hand, +from Voltaire and Diderot. The other class have studied his plans +of practical philanthropy, with all his shrewd researches and +homely discussions in agriculture, finance, mechanics, and +architecture, and have ridiculed him as a tinker. To such Jefferson +seems a grandmotherly sort of person,—riding about in a gig +arranged to register the length of his rides,—walking about +in boots arranged to register the length of his +walks,—weatherwise, and profound in dealing with smoky +chimneys and sheep-breeding.</p> +<p>But whether men have cavilled at him for a dreamer or laughed at +him for a tinker, they have been mainly foolish, for they have +cavilled and laughed at the very combination which made him +powerful. In no other American have been so happily blended highest +skill in theory and highest strength in practice.</p> +<p>The remarks, in the “Notes on Virginia,” on the +colored race are clear and fair. He studied carefully and stated +fully all that could be learned in his time. On the whole, his +examination greatly encourages those who hope good things for that +race. But one distinction must be made. As to those profound views +of the character and destiny of the race which come only by +observation of a long historic development, in a wide range of +climate, in great variety of social position, Jefferson could, as +he confesses, know almost nothing,—for the same reason that +the keenest observer of William the Conqueror’s Norman +robbers and Saxon swineherds would have failed to foretell the +great dominant race which has come from them by free growth and +good culture. But, on the other hand, of all that comes by +observation of the daily life of the black race, as it then was, he +knew almost everything.</p> +<p>He declares that the black race is inferior to the white in +mind, but not in heart. The poems of black Phillis Wheatley seem to +him to prove not much; but the letters of black Ignatius Sancho he +praises for depth of feeling, happy turn of thought, and ease of +style, though he finds no depth of reasoning. He does not praise +the mental capacity of the race, but, at last, as if conscious, +that, if developed under a free system, it might be far better, he +quotes the Homeric lines,—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Jove fixed it certain that whatever day</p> +<p>Makes man a slave takes half his worth away.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>And shortly after, he declares it “a <em>suspicion</em> +only that the blacks are inferior in the endowments of body or +mind,”—that “in memory they are equal to the +whites,”—that “in music they are more generally +gifted than the whites with accurate ears for time and +tune.”</p> +<p>But there is one statement which we especially commend to those +in search of an effective military policy in the present crisis. +Jefferson declares of the negroes, that they are “at least as +brave as the whites, and more adventuresome.” May not this +truth account for the fact that one of the most daring deeds in the +present war was done by a black man?</p> +<p>Still later, Jefferson says,—“Whether further +observation will or will not verify the conjecture that Nature has +been less bountiful to them in the endowments of the head, I +believe that in those of the heart she will be found to have done +them justice. That disposition to theft with which they have been +branded must be ascribed to their situation, and not to any +depravity of the moral sense. The man in whose favor no laws of +property exist probably feels himself less bound to respect those +made in favor of others. When arguing for ourselves, we lay it down +as fundamental, that laws, to be just, must give reciprocation of +right,—that, without this, they are mere arbitrary rules of +conduct, founded in force, and not in conscience; and it is a +problem which I give to the master to solve, whether the religious +precepts against the violation of property were not framed for him +as well as his slave,—and whether the slave may not as +justifiably take a little from one who has taken all from him as he +may slay one who would slay him. That a change in the relations in +which a man is placed should change his ideas of moral right and +wrong is neither new, nor peculiar to the color of the +blacks.”</p> +<p>Here Jefferson puts forth that very idea for which Gerrit Smith, +a few years ago, was threatened with the penalties of treason.</p> +<p>But to quote further from the same source:—</p> +<p class="quote">“Notwithstanding these considerations, which +must weaken their respect for the laws of property, we find among +them numerous instances of the most rigid integrity, and as many as +among their instructed masters, of benevolence, gratitude, and +unshaken fidelity. The opinion that they are inferior in the +faculties of reason and imagination must be hazarded with great +diffidence.”</p> +<p>The old hot thought blazes forth again in the chapter on +“Particular Manners and Customs.” Can men speak against +the proclamations of Abolition Conventions after such fiery words +from Jefferson?</p> +<p class="quote">“The whole commerce between master and slave +is a perpetual exercise of the most boisterous passions, the most +unremitting despotism, on the one part, and degrading submission on +the other. Our children see this, and learn to imitate it; for man +is an imitative animal. If a parent could find no motive either in +his philanthropy or his self-love for restraining the intemperance +of passion toward his slave, it should always be a sufficient one +that his child is present. But generally it is not sufficient. The +parent storms, the child looks on, catches the lineaments of wrath, +puts on the same airs in the circle of smaller slaves, gives a +loose rein to the worst of passions, and thus nursed, educated, and +daily exercised in tyranny, cannot but be stamped by its odious +peculiarities. The man must be a prodigy who can retain his manners +and morals undepraved by such circumstances.” (Here fire +begins to flicker up around the words.) “And with what +execration should a statesman be loaded, who, permitting one half +the <em>citizens</em>” (note the word) “to trample on +the <em>rights</em>” (note the word) “of the other, +transforms those into despots and these into enemies, destroys the +morals of the one and the <em>amor patriae</em> of the other! And +can the liberties of a nation be thought secure, when we have +removed their only firm basis,—a conviction in the minds of +the people that their liberties are the gifts of God, that they are +not to be violated but with His wrath?” (Now bursts forth +prophecy. The whole page flames in a moment.) “Indeed, I +tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just; that His +justice cannot sleep forever; that, considering numbers, nature, +and natural means only, a revolution of the wheel of Fortune, an +exchange of situation, is among possible events; that it may become +probable by supernatural interference! The Almighty has no +attribute which can take side with us in such a contest.”</p> +<p>Well may Jefferson say, immediately after this, that “it +is impossible to be temperate and to pursue this subject through +the various considerations of policy, of morals, of history natural +and civil.” For no Abolitionist ever branded the slave-system +with words more fiery.</p> +<p>In 1784 Jefferson drew up the ordinance for the government of +the Western Territory. One famous clause runs thus:—</p> +<p class="quote">“After the year 1800 of the Christian era +there shall be neither slavery nor involuntary servitude in any of +the said States, otherwise than in punishment of crimes whereof the +party shall have been convicted to be personally guilty.”</p> +<p>In Randall’s “Life of Jefferson,” a work in +many respects admirable, this clause is glossed with the +declaration that Jefferson intended merely to prevent an immense +new importation of slaves from Africa to fill the Territory; but +Mr. Randall would have shown far greater insight, had he added to +this half-truth, that the idea of legally grasping and strangling +this curse flows from the ideas of the “Notes” as hot +metal flows from fiery furnace,—that the Ordinance of 1784 +was but a minting of that true metal drawn from those old glowing +thoughts and words.</p> +<p>But Jefferson’s hatred of slavery is not less fierce in +his letters.</p> +<p>Dr. Price writes a pamphlet in England against slavery, and +straightway Jefferson seizes his pen to urge him to write more, and +more clearly for America, and more directly at American young men, +saying, in encouragement,—“Northward of the Chesapeake +you may find, here and there, an opponent to your doctrine, as you +may find, here and there, a murderer.” He speaks hopefully of +the disposition in Virginia to “redress this +enormity,”—calls the fight against slavery “the +interesting spectacle of justice in conflict with avarice and +oppression,”—speaks of the side hostile to slavery as +“the sacred side.” The date is 1785.</p> +<p>This welcome to Dr. Price’s onslaught will serve as +antidote to Mr. Randall’s poisonous declaration, that +Jefferson was opposed to interference with slave institutions by +those living outside of Slave States.</p> +<p>In 1786 Jefferson wrote to correct M. de Meusnier’s +statement of the efforts already made for emancipation; and, +referring to the holding of slaves by a people who had clamored +loudly and fought bravely for freedom, he says,—</p> +<p class="quote">“What a stupendous, what an incomprehensible +machine is man,—who can endure toil, famine, stripes, +imprisonment, and death itself, in vindication of his own liberty, +and, in the next moment, be deaf to all those motives whose power +supported him through his trial, and inflict on his fellow-men +<em>a bondage one hour of which is fraught with more misery than +ages of that which he rose in rebellion to oppose</em>!”</p> +<p>Here, in Jefferson himself, then, is the source of that venom +with which earnest men, throughout the land, are stinging to death +the organization which stole his name to destroy his ideas.</p> +<p>In 1788, Jefferson, being Minister at Paris, receives a note +from M. de Warville tendering him membership in the Society for the +Abolition of the Slave-Trade. Jefferson is forced by his peculiar +position to decline, but he takes pains to say,—“You +know that nobody wishes more ardently to see an abolition not only +of the trade, but of the <em>condition</em> of slavery.”</p> +<p>Here is no non-committalism, no wistful casting about for +loop-holes, no sly putting out of hooks to catch backers, not the +feeblest germ of quibble or lie. The man answers more than he is +asked. Is there not, in the present dearth, something refreshing in +this old candor?</p> +<p>But some have thought Jefferson’s later expressions +against slavery wanting in heartiness. Let us examine.</p> +<p>The whole world knows, that, when a wrong stings a man, making +him fierce and loud, his <em>direct</em> expressions have often +small value; but that his <em>parenthetical</em> expressions often +have great value. This is one of the simplest principles in homely +every-day criticism, serving truth-seekers, wherever wordy war +rages, whether among statesmen or hackmen.</p> +<p>Now, in Jefferson’s letter to Dr. Gordon,—written in +1788,—he is greatly stirred by his own recital of the +shameful ravages on his property by the British army. Just at the +moment when his indignation was at the hottest, there shot out of +his heart, and off his pen, one of these side-thoughts, one of +these fragments of the man’s ground-idea, which, at such +moments, truth-seekers always watch for. Jefferson says of +Cornwallis,—</p> +<p class="quote">“He destroyed all my growing crops of corn +and tobacco; he burned all my barns containing the same articles of +the last year, having first taken what corn he wanted; he used, as +was to be expected, all my stock of cattle, sheep, and hogs, for +the sustenance of his army, and carried off all the horses capable +of service,—of those too young for service he cut the +throats; and he burned all the fences in the plantation, so as to +make it an absolute waste. <em>He carried off also about thirty +slaves. Had this been to give them their freedom, he would have +done right</em>.”</p> +<p>But we turn to a seeming discrepancy between these thousand +earnest declarations of Jefferson the private citizen, and the +cold, formal tone of Jefferson the Secretary of State. In this high +office he reclaims slaves from the Spanish power in Florida, and +demands compensation for slaves carried off by the British at the +evacuation of New York. For a moment that transition from personal +warmth to diplomatic coolness is as the Russian plunge from +steam-bath to snow-heap.</p> +<p>Yet, if truth-seekers do not stop to moan, they may easily find +a complete explanation. As private citizen, in a State, dealing +with his home Government, Jefferson had the right to move heaven +and earth against slavery, and bravely he did it; but, as public +servant of the nation, dealing with foreign Governments, his rights +and duties were different, and his tone must be different. As a +private person, writing for man as man, Jefferson forgot readily +enough all differences of nation. He wrote as readily and fully of +the hideousness of slavery to Meusnier and Warville in France, or +to Price and Priestley in England, as to any of his neighbors; but, +as public servant of the nation, writing to Hammond or Viar, +representatives of foreign powers, he made no apology for our +miseries. England might be ready enough to act the part of Dives, +but Jefferson was not the statesman to put America in the attitude +of Lazarus,—begging, and showing sores.</p> +<p>But we have to note yet another change in Jefferson’s +modes of work and warfare.</p> +<p>As he wrought and fought in this second period, which, for easy +reference, we call the building period, he was forced into new +methods. In the former period we saw him thinking and speaking and +working against every effort to found pro-slavery theories or +practices. Eagerness was then the best quality for work, and +quickness the best quality for fight. But now the case was +different. An institution which Jefferson hated had, in spite of +his struggles, been firmly founded. The land was full of the towers +of the slave aristocracy. He saw that his mode of warfare must be +changed. His old way did well in the earlier days, for +tower-builders may be driven from their work by a sweeping charge +or sudden volley; but towers, when built, must be treated with +steady battering and skilful mining.</p> +<p>In 1797, Jefferson, writing to St. George Tucker, speaks of the +only possible emancipation as “a compromise between the +passions, prejudices, and real difficulties, which will each have +their weight in the operation.” Afterwards, in his letters to +Monroe and Rufus King, he advocates a scheme of colonization to +some point not too distant. But let no man, on this account, claim +Jefferson as a supporter of the do-nothing school of Northern +demagogues, or of the mad school of Southern fanatics who proclaim +this ulcerous mass a beauty, and who howl at all who refuse its +infection. For, note, in that same letter to St. George Tucker, the +fervor of the Jeffersonian theory: bitter as Tucker’s +pamphlet against slavery was, he says,—“You know my +subscription to its doctrines.” Note also the vigor of the +Jeffersonian practice: speaking of emancipation, he +says,—“The sooner we put some plan under way, the +greater hope there is that it may be permitted to proceed peaceably +to its ultimate effect.” And now bursts forth prophecy again. +“<em>But if something is not done, and soon done, we shall be +the murderers of our own children</em>.” “If we had +begun sooner, we might probably have been allowed a lengthier +operation to clear ourselves; but every day’s delay lessens +the time we may take for emancipation.”</p> +<p>Here is no trace of the theory inflicting a present certain evil +on a great white population in order to do a future doubtful good +to a smaller black population. And this has been nowhere better +understood than among the slave oligarchs of his own time. Note one +marked example.</p> +<p>In 1801, Jefferson was elected to the Presidency on the +thirty-sixth ballot. Thirty-five times Delaware, Maryland, and +South Carolina voted against him. The following year Mr. Rutledge +of South Carolina, feeling an itching to specify to Congress his +interests in Buncombe and his relations to the universe, palavered +in the usual style, but let out one truth, for which, as +truth-searchers, we thank him. He said,—</p> +<p class="quote">“Permit me to state, that, beside the +objections common to my friend from Delaware and myself, there was +a strong one which I felt with peculiar force. It resulted from a +firm belief that the gentleman in question [Jefferson] <em>held +opinions respecting a certain description of property in my State +which, should they obtain generally, would endanger +it</em>.”<sup>4</sup><span class="sidenote">4. Benton’s +<em>Abridgment</em>, Vol. II. p. 636.</span></p> +<p>We come now to Jefferson’s Presidency. In this there was +no great chance to deal an effective blow at slavery; but some have +grown bitter over a story that he favored the schemes to break the +slavery-limitation in Ohio. Such writers have not stopped to +consider that it is more probable that a few Southern members, +eager to drum in recruits, falsely claimed the favor of the +President, than that Jefferson broke the slavery-limitation which +he himself planned. Then, too, came the petitions of the abolition +societies against slavery in Louisiana; and Hildreth blames +Jefferson for his slowness to assist; but ought we not here to take +some account of the difficulties of the situation? Ought not some +weight to be given to Jefferson’s declaration to Kerchival, +that in his administration his “efforts in relation to peace, +slavery, and religious freedom were all in accordance with +Quakerism”?</p> +<p>We pass now to the third great period, in which, as thinker and +writer, he did so much to brace the Republic.</p> +<p>First of all, in this period we see him revising the translation +and arranging the publication of De Tracy’s +“Commentaire sur l’Esprit des Lois.” He takes +endless pains to make its hold firm on America; engages his old +companion in abolitionism, St. George Tucker, to circulate it; +makes it a text-book in the University of Virginia; tells his +friend Cabell to read it, for it is “the best book on +government in the world.” Now this “best book on +government” is killing to every form of tyranny or slavery; +its arguments pierce all their fallacies and crush all their +sophistries. That famous plea which makes Alison love Austria and +Palmer love Louisiana—the plea that a people can be best +educated for freedom and religion by dwarfing their minds and tying +their hands—is, in this book, shivered by argument and burnt +by invective.</p> +<p>As we approach the last years of Jefferson’s life we find +several letters of his on slavery. Some have thought them mere +heaps of ashes,—poor remains of the flaming thoughts and +words of earlier years. This mistake is great. Touch the seeming +heap of ashes, and those thoughts and words dart forth, fiery as of +old.</p> +<p>In 1814, Edward Coles attacks slavery vigorously, and calls on +the great Democrat to destroy it. Jefferson’s approving reply +is the complete summary of his matured views on slavery. Take a few +declarations as specimens.<sup>5</sup><span class="sidenote">5. +Randall, Vol. III., Appendix.</span></p> +<p class="quote">“The sentiments breathed through the whole +do honor both to the head and heart of the writer. Mine, on the +subject of the slavery of negroes, have long since been in +possession of the public, and time has only served to give them +stronger proof. The love of justice and the love of country plead +equally the cause of these people, and it is a mortal reproach to +us that they should have pleaded so long in vain.”</p> +<p class="quote">“The hour of emancipation is advancing in +the march of time. It will come; and whether brought on by the +generous energy of our own minds or by the bloody process of St. +Domingo … is a leaf of our history not yet turned +over.”</p> +<p class="quote">“As to the method by which this difficult +work is to be effected, if permitted to be done by ourselves, I +have seen no proposition so expedient, on the whole, as that of +emancipation of those born after a given day.”</p> +<p class="quote">“This enterprise is for the young,—for +those who can follow it up and bear it through to its consummation. +It shall have all my prayers.”</p> +<p>No wonder that this letter of Jefferson to Coles seems to have +been carefully suppressed by Southern editors of the Jeffersonian +writings.</p> +<p>Take also the letters to Mr. Barrows and to Dr. Humphreys of +1815-17. Disappointment is expressed at the want of a more general +anti-slavery feeling among the young men; hope is expressed that +“time will soften down the master and educate the +slave”; faith is expressed that slavery will yield, +“because we are not in a world ungoverned by the laws and +power of a Supreme Agent.”</p> +<p>Entering now the stormy period of the Missouri Debate, we have +one declaration from Jefferson which, at first, surprises and pains +us,—the opinion given in a letter to Lafayette, that +spreading slavery will “dilute the evil everywhere, and +facilitate the means of getting rid of it.” The mistake is +gross indeed. To all of us, with the political knowledge forced +upon us by events since Jefferson’s death, it seems +atrocious. But unpardonable as such a theory is <em>now</em>, was +it so <em>then</em>?</p> +<p>Jefferson had not before him the experience of these last forty +years of weakness and poverty and barbarism in our new Slave +States,—and of that tenacity of life which slavery shares +with so many other noxious growths. Hastily, then, he broached this +opinion. Let it stand; and let the remark on “geographical +lines,” and the two or three severe criticisms of Northern +men, wrested from him in the excitement of the Missouri struggle, +be tied to it and given to the Oligarchs. These expressions were +drawn from him in his old age,—in his vexation at unfair +attacks,—in his depression at the approach of +poverty,—in his suffering under the encroachments of disease. +Any one of those bold declarations in the vigor of his manhood will +forever efface all memory of them.</p> +<p>The opinion expressed by Jefferson, at the same period, that +“the General Government cannot interfere with slavery in the +States,” all our parties now accept—as a <em>peace</em> +policy; but if we are forced into an opposite <em>war</em> policy, +let our generals remember Jefferson’s declaration as to the +taking of his slaves by Cornwallis: “<em>Had this been to +give them their freedom, he would have done right</em>.”</p> +<p>But there is one letter which all Northern statesmen should +ponder. It warns them solemnly, for it was written a very short +time before Jefferson’s death;—it warns them sharply, +for it struck one whom the North has especially honored. This son +of the North had made a well-known unfortunate speech in Congress, +and had sent it to Jefferson. In his answer the old statesman +declares,—</p> +<p class="quote">“On the question of the lawfulness of +slavery, that is, <em>of the right of one man to appropriate to +himself the faculties of another without his consent, I certainly +retain my early opinions</em>. On that, however, of third persons +to interfere between the parties, and the effect of Constitutional +modifications of that pretension, we are probably nearer +together.”</p> +<p>There was a blow well dealt,—though at one now greatly +honored. We may refuse the subordinate idea in the letter, but we +will glory in that main confession of political faith, in the last +year of Jefferson’s life; and we will not forget that the +last of his letters on slavery chastised the worst sin of Northern +statesmanship.</p> +<p>Jefferson, then, in dealing with slavery, was a real political +seer and giver of oracles,—always sure to say +<em>something</em>; whereas the “leading men” who in +these latter days have usurped his name are neither political seers +nor givers of oracles, but mere political fakirs,—striving, +their lives long, to enter political blessedness by solemnly doing +and seeing and saying—<em>nothing</em>.</p> +<p>Jefferson was a true political warrior, and his battle for human +rights compares with the Oligarchist battle against them as the +warfare of Cortés compares with Aztec warfare. He is the man +full of strong thought backed by civilization: they, the men trying +to keep up their faith in idols, trying to scare with war-paint, +trying to startle with war-whoop, trying to vex with showers of +poor Aztec arrows.</p> +<p>Jefferson was an orator,—not in that he fed petty +assemblages with narcotic words to stupefy conscience, or corrosive +words to kill conscience, but in that he gave to the world those +decisive, true words which shall yet pierce all tyranny and +slavery.</p> +<p>Jefferson was the founder of a democratic system, strong and +full-orbed: “leading men” have fastened his name to an +aristocratic system with mobocratic cries.</p> +<p>This great tree of Liberty which we are all trying to plant +will, of course, not grow as <em>we</em> will, but as God and +Nature will. Some branches will be exuberant through too great +wealth of sunshine,—others gnarled and awry through too great +fury of storms. We need find no fault with any growth, but we may +admire some branches and prize some fruits more than others. Some +grafts set by noblest hands have often blossomed in bad temper and +borne fruit bitter and sour. Some fruitage has been of that poor +Dead-Sea sort,—splendid in coating, but inwardly +ashes,—wretched “protective” schemes and the +like. The world may yet see that the limbs of toughest fibre and +fruit of richest flavor have come from grafts set by just such +strong men in theory and in practice as Thomas Jefferson.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2><a id="today" name="today">A STORY OF TO-DAY.</a></h2> +<h3>PART IV.</h3> +<p>An hour after, the evening came on sultry, the air murky, +opaque, with yellow trails of color dragging in the west: a sullen +stillness in the woods and farms; only, in fact, that dark, +inexplicable hush that precedes a storm. But Lois, coming down the +hill-road, singing to herself, and keeping time with her whip-end +on the wooden measure, stopped when she grew conscious of it. It +seemed to her blurred fancy more than a deadening sky: a something +solemn and unknown, hinting of evil to come. The dwarf-pines on the +road-side scowled weakly at her through the gray; the very silver +minnows in the pools she passed flashed frightened away, and +darkened into the muddy niches. There was a vague dread in the +sudden silence. She called to the old donkey, and went faster down +the hill, as if escaping from some overhanging peril, unseen. She +saw Margaret coming up the road. There was a phaëton behind +her, and some horsemen: she jolted the cart off into the stones to +let them pass, seeing Mr. Holmes’s face in the carriage as +she did so. He did not look at her; had his head turned towards the +gray distance. Lois’s vivid eye caught the full meaning of +the woman beside him. The face hurt her: not fair, as Polston +called it: vapid and cruel. She was dressed in yellow: the color +seemed jeering and mocking to the girl’s sensitive instinct, +keenly alive to every trifle. She did not know that it is the color +of shams, and that women like this are the most deadly of shams. As +the phaëton went slowly down, Margaret came nearer, meeting it +on the road-side, the dust from the wheels stifling the air. Lois +saw her look up, and then suddenly stand still, holding to the +fence, as they met her. Holmes’s cold, wandering eye turned +on the little dusty figure standing there, poor and despised. +Polston called his eyes hungry: it was a savage hunger that sprang +into them now; a gray shadow creeping over his set face, as he +looked at her, in that flashing moment. The phaëton was gone +in an instant, leaving her alone in the muddy road. One of the men +looked back, and then whispered something to the lady with a laugh. +She turned to Holmes, when he had finished, fixing her light, +confusing eyes on his face, and softening her voice.</p> +<p>“Fred swears that woman we passed was your first love. +Were you, then, so chivalric? Was it to have been a second romaunt +of ‘King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid’?”</p> +<p>He met her look, and saw the fierce demand through the softness +and persiflage. He gave it no answer, but, turning to her, kindled +into the man whom she was so proud to show as her capture,—a +man far off from Stephen Holmes. Brilliant she called +him,—frank, winning, generous. She thought she knew him well; +held him a slave to her fluttering hand. Being proud of her slave, +she let the hand flutter down now somehow with some flowers it held +until it touched his hard fingers, her cheek flushing into rose. +The nerveless, spongy hand,—what a death-grip it had on his +life! He did not look back once at the motionless, dusty figure on +the road. What was that Polston had said about starving to death +for a kind word? <em>Love?</em> He was sick of the sickly +talk,—crushed it out of his heart with a savage scorn. He +remembered his father, the night he died, had said in his weak +ravings that God was love. Was He? No wonder, then, He was the God +of women, and children, and unsuccessful men. For him, he was done +with it. He was here with stronger purpose than to yield to +weaknesses of the flesh. He had made his choice,—a straight, +hard path upwards; he was deaf now and forever to any word of +kindness or pity. As for this woman beside him, he would be just to +her, in justice to himself: she never should know the loathing in +his heart: just to her as to all living creatures. Some little, +mean doubt kept up a sullen whisper of bought and +sold,—sold,—but he laughed it down. He sat there with +his head steadily turned towards her: a kingly face, she called it, +and she was right,—it was a kingly face: with the same +shallow, fixed smile on his mouth,—no weary cry went up to +God that day so terrible in its pathos, I think: with the same dull +consciousness that this was the trial night of his life,—that +with the homely figure on the road-side he had turned his back on +love and kindly happiness and warmth, on all that was weak and +useless in the world. He had made his choice; he would abide by +it,—he would abide by it. He said that over and over again, +dulling down the death-gnawing of his outraged heart.</p> +<p>Miss Herne was quite contented, sitting by him, with herself, +and the admiring world. She had no notion of trial nights in life. +Not many temptations pierced through her callous, flabby +temperament to sting her to defeat or triumph. There was for her no +under-current of conflict, in these people whom she passed, between +self and the unseen power that Holmes sneered at, whose name was +love; they were nothing but movables, pleasant or ugly to look at, +well- or ill-dressed. There were no dark iron bars across her life +for her soul to clutch and shake madly,—nothing “in the +world amiss, to be unriddled by-and-by.” Little Margaret, +sitting by the muddy road, digging her fingers dully into the +clover-roots, while she looked at the spot where the wheels had +passed, looked at life differently, it may be;—or old Joe +Yare by the furnace-fire, his black face and gray hair bent over a +torn old spelling-book Lois had given him. The night perhaps was +going to be more to them than so many rainy hours for +sleeping,—the time to be looked back on through coming lives +as the hour when good and ill came to them, and they made their +choice, and, as Holmes said, did abide by it.</p> +<p>It grew cool and darker. Holmes left the phaëton before +they entered town, and turned back. He was going to see this +Margaret Howth, tell her what he was going to do. Because he was +going to leave a clean record. No one should accuse him of want of +honor. This girl alone of all living beings had a right to see him +as he stood, justified to himself. Why she had this right, I do not +think he answered to himself. Besides, he must see her, if only on +business. She must keep her place at the mill: he would not begin +his new life by an act of injustice, taking the bread out of +Margaret’s mouth. <em>Little Margaret!</em> He stopped +suddenly, looking down into a deep pool of water by the road-side. +What madness of weariness crossed his brain just then I do not +know. He shook it off. Was he mad? Life was worth more to him than +to other men, he thought; and perhaps he was right. He went slowly +through the cool dusk, looking across the fields, up at the pale, +frightened face of the moon hooded in clouds: he did not dare to +look, with all his iron nerve, at the dark figure beyond him on the +road. She was sitting there just where he had left her: be knew she +would be. When he came closer, she got up, not looking towards him; +but he saw her clasp her hands behind her, the fingers plucking +weakly at each other. It was an old, childish fashion of hers, when +she was frightened or hurt. It would only need a word, and he could +be quiet and firm,—she was such a child compared to him: he +always had thought of her so. He went on up to her slowly, and +stopped; when she looked at him, he untied the linen bonnet that +hid her face, and threw it back. How thin and tired the little face +had grown! Poor child! He put his strong arm kindly about her, and +stooped to kiss her hand, but she drew it away. God! what did she +do that for? Did not she know that he could put his head beneath +her foot then, he was so mad with pity for the woman he had +wronged? Not love, he thought, controlling himself,—it was +only justice to be kind to her.</p> +<p>“You have been ill, Margaret, these two years, while I was +gone?”</p> +<p>He could not hear her answer; only saw that she looked up with a +white, pitiful smile. Only a word it needed, he thought,—very +kind and firm: and he must be quick,—he could not bear this +long. But he held the little worn fingers, stroking them with an +unutterable tenderness.</p> +<p>“You must let these fingers work for me, Margaret,” +he said, at last, “when I am master in the mill.”</p> +<p>“It is true, then, Stephen?”</p> +<p>“It is true,—yes.”</p> +<p>She lifted her hand to her head, uncertainly: he held it +tightly, and then let it go. What right had he to touch the dust +upon her shoes,—he, bought and sold? She did not speak for a +time; when she did, it was a weak and sick voice.</p> +<p>“I am glad. I saw her, you know. She is very +beautiful.”</p> +<p>The fingers were plucking at each other again; and a strange, +vacant smile on her face, trying to look glad.</p> +<p>“You love her, Stephen?”</p> +<p>He was quiet and firm enough now.</p> +<p>“I do not. Her money will help me to become what I ought +to be. She does not care for love. You want me to succeed, +Margaret? No one ever understood me as you did, child though you +were.”</p> +<p>Her whole face glowed.</p> +<p>“I know! I know! I did understand you!”</p> +<p>She said, lower, after a little while,—</p> +<p>“I knew you did not love her.”</p> +<p>“There is no such thing as love in real life,” he +said, in his steeled voice. “You will know that, when you +grow older. I used to believe in it once, myself.”</p> +<p>She did not speak, only watched the slow motion of his lips, not +looking into his eyes,—as she used to do in the old time. +Whatever secret account lay between the souls of this man and woman +came out now, and stood bare on their faces.</p> +<p>“I used to think that I, too, loved,” he went on, in +his low, hard tone. “But it kept me back, Margaret, +and”—</p> +<p>He was silent.</p> +<p>“I know, Stephen. It kept you back”—</p> +<p>“And I put it away. I put it away to-night, +forever.”</p> +<p>She did not speak; stood quite quiet, her head bent on her +breast. His conscience was quite clear now. But he almost wished he +had not said it, she was such a weak, sickly thing. She sat down at +last, burying her face in her hands, with a shivering sob. He dared +not trust himself to speak again.</p> +<p>“I am not proud,—as a woman ought to be,” she +said, wearily, when he wiped her clammy forehead.</p> +<p>“You loved me, then?” he whispered.</p> +<p>Her face flashed at the unmanly triumph; her puny frame started +up, away from him.</p> +<p>“I did love you, Stephen. I love you now,—as you +might be, not as you are,—not with those cold, inhuman eyes. +I do understand you,—I do. I know you for a better man than +you know yourself this night.”</p> +<p>She turned to go. He put his hand on her arm; something we have +never seen on his face struggled up,—the better soul that she +knew.</p> +<p>“Come back,” he said, hoarsely; “don’t +leave me with myself. Come back, Margaret.”</p> +<p>She did not come; stood leaning, her sudden strength gone, +against the broken wall. There was a heavy silence. The night +throbbed slow about them. Some late bird rose from the sedges of +the pool, and with a frightened cry flapped its tired wings, and +drifted into the dark. His eyes, through the gathering shadow, +devoured the weak, trembling body, met the soul that looked at him, +strong as his own. Was it because it knew and trusted him that all +that was pure and strongest in his crushed nature struggled madly +to be free? He thrust it down; the self-learned lesson of years was +not to be conquered in a moment.</p> +<p>“There have been times,” he said, in a smothered, +restless voice, “when I thought you belonged to me. Not here, +but before this life. My soul and body thirst and hunger for you, +then, Margaret.”</p> +<p>She did not answer; her hands worked feebly together.</p> +<p>He came nearer, and held up his arras to where she +stood,—the heavy, masterful face pale and wet.</p> +<p>“I need you, Margaret. I shall be nothing without you, +now. Come, Margaret, little Margaret!”</p> +<p>She came to him, and put her hands in his.</p> +<p>“No, Stephen,” she said.</p> +<p>If there were any pain in her tone, she kept it down, for his +sake.</p> +<p>“Never, I could never help you,—as you are. It might +have been, once. Good-bye, Stephen.”</p> +<p>Her childish way put him in mind of the old days when this girl +was dearer to him than his own soul. She was so yet. He held her, +looking down into her eyes. She moved uneasily; she dared not trust +her resolution.</p> +<p>“You will come?” he said. “It might have +been,—it shall be again.”</p> +<p>“It may be,” she said, humbly. “God is good. +And I believe in you, Stephen. I will be yours some time: we cannot +help it, if we would: but not as you are.”</p> +<p>“You do not love me?” he said, flinging off her +hand.</p> +<p>She said nothing, gathered her damp shawl around her, and turned +to go. Just a moment they stood, looking at each other. If the dark +square figure standing there had been an iron fate trampling her +young life down into hopeless wretchedness, she forgot it now. +Women like Margaret are apt to forget. His eye never abated in its +fierce question.</p> +<p>“I will wait for you yonder, if I die first,” she +whispered.</p> +<p>He came closer, waiting for an answer.</p> +<p>“And—I love you, Stephen.”</p> +<p>He gathered her in his arms, and put his cold lips to hers, +without a word; then turned and left her slowly.</p> +<p>She made no sign, shed no tear, as she stood watching him go. It +was all over: she had willed it, herself, and yet—he could +not go! God would not suffer it! Oh, he could not leave +her,—he could not!—He went down the hill, slowly. If it +were a trial of life and death for her, did he know or +care?—He did not look back. What if he did not? his heart was +true; he suffered in going; even now he walked wearily. God forgive +her, if she had wronged him!—What did it matter, if he were +hard in this life, and it hurt her a little? It would come +right,—beyond, some time. But life was long.—She would +not sit down, sick as she was: he might turn, and it would vex him +to see her suffer.—He walked slowly; once he stopped to pick +up something. She saw the deep-cut face and half-shut eyes. How +often those eyes had looked into her soul, and it had answered! +They never would look so any more.—There was a tree by the +place where the road turned into town. If he came back, he would be +sure to turn there.—How tired he walked, and slow!—If +he was sick, that beautiful woman could be near him,—help +him.—She never would touch his hand again,—never again, +never,—unless he came back now.—He was near the tree: +she closed her eyes, turning away. When she looked again, only the +bare road lay there, yellow and wet. It was over, now.</p> +<p>How long she sat there she did not know. She tried once or twice +to go to the house, but the lights seemed so far off that she gave +it up and sat quiet, unconscious except of the damp stones her head +leaned on and the stretch of muddy road. Some time, she knew not +when, there was a heavy step beside her, and a rough hand shook +hers where she stooped feebly tracing out the lines of mortar +between the stones. It was Knowles. She looked up, bewildered.</p> +<p>“Hunting catarrhs, eh?” he growled, eying her +keenly. “Got your father on the Bourbons, so took the chance +to come and find you. He’ll not miss <em>me</em> for an hour. +That man has a natural hankering after treason against the people. +Lord, Margaret! what a stiff old head he’d have carried to +the guillotine! How he’d have looked at the +<em>canaille</em>!”</p> +<p>He helped her up gently enough.</p> +<p>“Your bonnet’s like a wet rag,”—with a +furtive glance at the worn-out face. A hungry face always, with her +life unfed by its stingy few crumbs of good; but to-night it was +vacant with utter loss.</p> +<p>She got up, trying to laugh cheerfully, and went beside him down +the road.</p> +<p>“You saw that painted Jezebel to-night, +and”—stopping abruptly.</p> +<p>She had not heard him, and he followed her doggedly, with an +occasional snort or grunt or other inarticulate damn at the +obstinate mud. She stopped at last, with a quick gasp. Looking at +her, he chafed her limp hands,—his huge, uncouth face growing +pale. When she was better, he said, gravely,—</p> +<p>“I want you, Margaret. Not at home, child. I want to show +you something.”</p> +<p>He turned with her suddenly off the main road into a by-path, +helping her along, watching her stealthily, but going on with his +disjointed, bearish growls. If it stung her from her pain, vexing +her, he did not care.</p> +<p>“I want to show you a bit of hell: outskirt. You’re +in a fit state: it’ll do you good. I’m minister there. +The clergy can’t attend to it just now: they’re too +busy measuring God’s truth by the States’-Rights +doctrine or the Chicago Platform. Consequence, religion yields to +majorities. Are you able? It’s only a step.”</p> +<p>She went on indifferently. The night was breathless and dark. +Black, wet gusts dragged now and then through the skyless fog, +striking her face with a chill. The Doctor quit talking, hurrying +her, watching her anxiously. They came at last to the +railway-track, with long trains of empty freight-cars.</p> +<p>“We are nearly there,” he whispered. +“It’s time you knew your work, and forgot your +weakness. The curse of pampered generations. ‘High Norman +blood,’—pah!”</p> +<p>There was a broken gap in the fence. He led her through it into +a muddy yard. Inside was one of those taverns you will find in the +suburbs of large cities, haunts of the lowest vice. This one was a +smoky frame standing on piles over an open space where hogs were +rooting. Half a dozen drunken Irishmen were playing poker with a +pack of greasy cards in an out-house. He led her up the rickety +ladder to the one room, where a flaring tallow-dip threw a saffron +glare into the darkness. A putrid odor met them at the door. She +drew back, trembling.</p> +<p>“Come here!” he said, fiercely, clutching her hand. +“Women as fair and pure as you have come into dens like +this,—and never gone away. Does it make your delicate breath +faint? And you a follower of the meek and lowly Jesus! Look here! +and here!”</p> +<p>The room was swarming with human life. Women, idle trampers, +whiskey-bloated, filthy, lay half-asleep or smoking on the floor, +and set up a chorus of whining begging when they entered. +Half-naked children crawled about in rags. On the damp, mildewed +walls there was hung a picture of the Benicia Boy, and close by Pio +Nono, crook in hand, with the usual inscription, “Feed my +sheep.” The Doctor looked at it.</p> +<p>”’<em>Tu es Petrus, et super +hanc</em>‘—Good God! what is truth?” he muttered, +bitterly.</p> +<p>He dragged her closer to the women, through the darkness and +foul smell.</p> +<p>“Look in their faces,” he whispered. “There is +not one of them that is not a living lie. Can they help it? Think +of the centuries of serfdom and superstition through which their +blood has crawled. Come closer,—here.”</p> +<p>In the corner slept a heap of half-clothed blacks. Going on the +underground railroad to Canada. Stolid, sensual wretches, with here +and there a broad, melancholy brow and desperate jaws. One little +pickaninny rubbed its sleepy eyes and laughed at them.</p> +<p>“So much flesh and blood out of the market, +unweighed!”</p> +<p>Margaret took up the child, kissing its brown face. Knowles +looked at her.</p> +<p>“Would you touch her? I forgot you were born down South. +Put it down, and come on.”</p> +<p>They went out of the door. Margaret stopped, looking back.</p> +<p>“Did I call it a bit of hell? It’s only a glimpse of +the under-life of America,—God help us!—where all men +are born free and equal.”</p> +<p>The air in the passage grew fouler. She leaned back faint and +shuddering. He did not heed her. The passion of the man, the +terrible pity for these people, came out of his soul now, whitening +his face and dulling his eyes.</p> +<p>“And you,” he said, savagely, “you sit by the +road-side, with help in your hands, and Christ in your heart, and +call your life lost, quarrel with your God, because that mass of +selfishness has left you,—because you are balked in your puny +hope! Look at these women. What is their loss, do you think? Go +back, will you, and drone out your life whimpering over your lost +dream, and go to Shakspeare for tragedy when you want it? Tragedy! +Come here,—let me hear what you call this.”</p> +<p>He led her through the passage, up a narrow flight of stairs. An +old woman in a flaring cap sat at the top, nodding,—wakening +now and then, to rock herself to and fro, and give the shrill Irish +keen.</p> +<p>“You know that stoker who was killed in the mill a month +ago? Of course not,—what are such people to you? There was a +girl who loved him,-you know what that is? She’s dead now, +here. She drank herself to death,—a most unpicturesque +suicide. I want you to look at her. You need not blush for her life +of shame, now; she’s dead.—Is Hetty here?”</p> +<p>The woman got up.</p> +<p>“She is, Zur. She is, Mem. She’s lookin’ foine +in her Sunday suit. Shrouds is gone out, Mem, they say.”</p> +<p>She went tipping over the floor to something white that lay on a +board, a candle at the head, and drew off the sheet. A girl of +fifteen, almost a child, lay underneath, dead,—her lithe, +delicate figure decked out in a barred plaid skirt, and stained, +faded velvet bodice,—her neck and arms bare. The small face +was purely cut, haggard, patient in its sleep,—the soft, fair +hair gathered off the tired forehead. Margaret leaned over her +shuddering, pinning her handkerchief about the child’s dead +neck.</p> +<p>“How young she is!” muttered Knowles. +“Merciful God, how young she is!—What is that you +say?” sharply, seeing Margaret’s lips move.</p> +<p>“‘He that is without sin among you, let him first +cast a stone at her.’”</p> +<p>“Ah, child, that is old-time philosophy. Put your hand +here, on her dead face. Is your loss like hers?” he said +lower, looking into the dull pain in her eyes. Selfish pain he +called it.</p> +<p>“Let me go,” she said. “I am tired.”</p> +<p>He took her out into the cool, open road, leading her tenderly +enough,—for the girl suffered, he saw.</p> +<p>“What will you do?” he asked her then. “It is +not too late,—will you help me save these people?”</p> +<p>She wrung her hands helplessly.</p> +<p>“What do you want with me?” she cried, weakly. +“I have enough to bear.”</p> +<p>The burly black figure before her seemed to tower and +strengthen; the man’s face in the wan light showed a terrible +life-purpose coming out bare.</p> +<p>“I want you to do your work. It is hard; it will wear out +your strength and brain and heart. Give yourself to these people. +God calls you to it. There is none to help them. Give up love, and +the petty hopes of women. Help me. God calls you to the +work.”</p> +<p>She went on blindly: he followed her. For years he had set apart +this girl to help him in his scheme: he would not be balked now. He +had great hopes from his plan: he meant to give all he had: it was +the noblest of aims. He thought some day it would work like leaven +through the festering mass under the country he loved so well, and +raise it to a new life. If it failed,—if it failed, and saved +one life, his work was not lost. But it could not fail.</p> +<p>“Home!” he said, stopping her as she reached the +stile,—“oh, Margaret, what is home? There is a cry +going up night and day from homes like that den yonder, for +help,—and no man listens.”</p> +<p>She was weak; her brain faltered.</p> +<p>“Does God call me to this work? Does He call me?” +she moaned.</p> +<p>He watched her eagerly.</p> +<p>“He calls you. He waits for your answer. Swear to me that +you will help His people. Give up father and mother and love, and +go down as Christ did. Help me to give liberty and truth and +Jesus’ love to these wretches on the brink of hell. Live with +them, raise them with you.”</p> +<p>She looked up, white; she was a weak, weak woman, sick for her +natural food of love.</p> +<p>“Is it my work?”</p> +<p>“It is your work. Listen to me, Margaret,” softly. +“Who cares for you? You stand alone to-night. There is not a +single human heart that calls you nearest and best. Shiver, if you +will,—it is true. The man you wasted your soul on left you in +the night and cold to go to his bride,—is sitting by her now, +holding her hand in his.”</p> +<p>He waited a moment, looking down at her, until she should +understand.</p> +<p>“Do you think you deserved this of God? I know that yonder +on the muddy road you looked up to Him, and knew it was not just; +that you had done right, and this was your reward. I know that for +these two years you have trusted in the Christ you worship to make +it right, to give you your heart’s desire. Did He do it? Did +He hear your prayer? Does He care for your weak love, when the +nations of the earth are going down? What is your poor hope to Him, +when the very land you live in is a wine-press that will be trodden +some day by the fierceness and wrath of Almighty God? O +Christ!—if there be a Christ,—help me to save +it!”</p> +<p>He looked up,—his face white with pain. After a time he +said to her,—</p> +<p>“Help me, Margaret! Your prayer was selfish; it was not +heard. Give up your idle hope that Christ will aid you. Swear to +me, this night when you have lost all, to give yourself to this +work.”</p> +<p>The storm had been dark and windy: it cleared now slowly, the +warm summer rain falling softly, the fresh blue stealing broadly +from behind the gray. It seemed to Margaret like a blessing; for +her brain rose up stronger, more healthful.</p> +<p>“I will not swear,” she said, weakly. “I think +He heard my prayer. I think He will answer it. He was a man, and +loved as we do. My love is not selfish; it is the best gift God has +given me.”</p> +<p>Knowles went slowly with her to the house. He was not baffled. +He knew that the struggle was yet to come; that, when she was +alone, her faith in the far-off Christ would falter; that she would +grasp at this work, to fill her empty hands and starved heart, if +for no other reason,—to stifle by a sense of duty her +unutterable feeling of loss. He was keenly read in woman’s +heart, this Knowles. He left her silently, and she passed through +the dark passage to her own room.</p> +<p>Putting her damp shawl off, she sat down on the floor, leaning +her head on a low chair,—one her father had given her for a +Christmas gift when she was little. How fond Holmes and her father +used to be of each other! Every Christmas he spent with them. She +remembered them all now. “He was sitting by her now, holding +her hand in his.” She said that over to herself, though it +was not hard to understand.</p> +<p>After a long time, her mother came with a candle to the +door.</p> +<p>“Good-night, Margaret. Why, your hair is wet, +child!”</p> +<p>For Margaret, kissing her good-night, had laid her head down a +minute on her breast. She stroked the hair a moment, and then +turned away.</p> +<p>“Mother, could you stay with me to-night?”</p> +<p>“Why, no, Maggie,—your father wants me to read to +him.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I know. Did he miss me +to-night,—father?”</p> +<p>“Not much; we were talking old times over,—in +Virginia, you know.”</p> +<p>“I know; good-night.”</p> +<p>She went back to the chair. Tige was there,—for he used to +spend half of his time on the farm. She put her arm about his head. +God knows how lonely the poor child was when she drew the dog so +warmly to her heart: not for his master’s sake alone; but it +was all she had. He grew tired at last, and whined, trying to get +out.</p> +<p>“Will you go, Tige?” she said, and opened the +window.</p> +<p>He jumped out, and she watched him going towards town. Such a +little thing, it was! But not even a dog “called her nearest +and best.”</p> +<p>Let us be silent; the story of the night is not for us to read. +Do you think that He, who in the far, dim Life holds the worlds in +His hand, knew or cared how alone the child was? What if she wrung +her thin hands, grew sick with the slow, mad, solitary +tears?—was not the world to save, as Knowles said?</p> +<p>He, too, had been alone; He had come unto His own, and His own +received him not: so, while the struggling world rested, +unconscious, in infinite calm of right, He came close to her with +human eyes that had loved, and not been loved, and had suffered +with that pain. And, trusting Him, she only said, “Show me my +work! Thou that takest away the pain of the world, have mercy upon +me!”</p> +<p>For that night, at least, Holmes swept his soul clean of doubt +and indecision; one of his natures was conquered,—finally, he +thought. Polston, if he had seen his face as he paced the street +slowly home to the mill, would have remembered his mother’s +the day she died. How the stern old woman met death half-way! why +should she fear? she was as strong as he. Wherein had she failed of +duty? her hands were clean: she was going to meet her just +reward.</p> +<p>It was different with Holmes, of course, with his self-existent +soul. It was life he accepted to-night, he thought,—a life of +growth, labor, achievement,—eternal.</p> +<p>“<em>Ohne Hast, aber ohne Rast</em>,”—favorite +words with him. He liked to study the nature of the man who spoke +them; because, I think, it was like his own,—a Titan strength +of endurance, an infinite capability of love and hate and +suffering, and over all (the peculiar identity of the man) a cold, +speculative eye of reason, that looked down into the passion and +depths of his growing self, and calmly noted them, a lesson for all +time.</p> +<p>“<em>Ohne Hast</em>.” Going slowly through the +night, he strengthened himself by marking how all things in Nature +accomplish a perfected life through slow, narrow fixedness of +purpose,—each life complete in itself: why not his own, then? +The windless gray, the stars, the stone under his feet, stood alone +in the universe, each working out its own soul into deed. If there +were any all-embracing harmony, one soul through all, he did not +see it. Knowles—that old skeptic—believed in it, and +called it Love. Even Goethe himself, what was it he said? +“<em>Der Allumfasser, der Allerhalter, fasst und erhält +er nicht dich, mich, sich selbst</em>?”</p> +<p>There was a curious power in the words, as he lingered over +them, like half-comprehended music,—as simple and tender as +if they had come from the depths of a woman’s heart: it +touched him deeper than his power of control. Pah! it was a dream +of Faust’s; he, too, had his Margaret; he fell, through that +love.</p> +<p>He went on slowly to the mill. If the name or the words woke a +subtile remorse or longing, he buried them under restful composure. +Whether they should ever rise like angry ghosts of what might have +been, to taunt the man, only the future could tell.</p> +<p>Going through the gas-lit streets, Holmes met some cordial +greeting at every turn. What a just, clever fellow he was! people +said: one of those men improved by success: just to the defrauding +of himself: saw the true worth of everybody, the very lowest: +hadn’t one spark of self-esteem: despised all humbug and +show, one could see, though he never said it: when he was a boy, he +was moody, with passionate likes and dislikes; but success had +improved him, vastly. So Holmes was popular, though the beggars +shunned him, and the lazy Italian organ-grinders never held their +tambourines up to him.</p> +<p>The mill street was dark; the building threw its great shadow +over the square. It was empty, he supposed; only one hand generally +remained to keep in the furnace-fires. Going through one of the +lower passages, he heard voices, and turned aside to examine. The +management was not strict, and in case of a fire the mill was not +insured: like Knowles’s carelessness.</p> +<p>It was Lois and her father,—Joe Yare being feeder that +night. They were in one of the great furnace-rooms in the +cellar,—a very comfortable place that stormy night. Two or +three doors of the wide brick ovens were open, and the fire threw a +ruddy glow over the stone floor, and shimmered into the dark +recesses of the shadows, very home-like after the rain and mud +without. Lois seemed to think so, at any rate, for she had made a +table of a store-box, put a white cloth on it, and was busy getting +up a regular supper for her father,—down on her knees before +the red coals, turning something on an iron plate, while some +slices of ham sent up a cloud of juicy, hungry smell.</p> +<p>The old stoker had just finished slaking the out-fires, and was +putting some blue plates on the table, gravely straightening them. +He had grown old, as Polston said,—Holmes saw, stooped much, +with a low, hacking cough; his coarse clothes were curiously clean: +that was to please Lois, of course. She put the ham on the table, +and some bubbling coffee, and then, from a hickory board in front +of the fire, took off, with a jerk, brown, flaky slices of Virginia +johnny-cake.</p> +<p>“Ther’ yoh are, father, hot ‘n’ +hot,” with her face on +fire,—“ther’—yoh—are,—coaxin’ +to be eatin’.—Why, Mr. Holmes! Father! Now, ef yoh +jes’ hedn’t hed yer supper?”</p> +<p>She came up, coaxingly. What brooding brown eyes the poor +cripple had! Not many years ago he would have sat down with the two +poor souls and made a hearty meal of it: he had no heart for such +follies now.</p> +<p>Old Yare stood in the background, his hat in his hand, stooping +in his submissive negro fashion, with a frightened watch on +Holmes.</p> +<p>“Do you stay here, Lois?” he asked, kindly, turning +his back on the old man.</p> +<p>“On’y to bring his supper. I couldn’t bide all +night ’n th’ mill,”—the old shadow coming +on her face,—“I couldn’t, yoh know. <em>He</em> +doesn’t mind it.”</p> +<p>She glanced quickly from one to the other in the silence, seeing +the fear on her father’s face.</p> +<p>“Yoh know father, Mr. Holmes? He’s back now. This is +him.”</p> +<p>The old man came forward, humbly.</p> +<p>“It’s me, Master Stephen.”</p> +<p>The sullen, stealthy face disgusted Holmes. He nodded, +shortly.</p> +<p>“Yoh’ve been kind to my little girl while I was +gone,” he said, catching his breath. “I thank yoh, +master.”</p> +<p>“You need not. It was for Lois.”</p> +<p>“’Twas fur her I comed back hyur. ’Twas a +resk,”—with a dumb look of entreaty at +Holmes,—“but fur her I thort I’d try it. I know +’twas a resk; but I thort them as cared fur Lo wud be +merciful. She’s a good girl, Lo. She’s all I +hev.”</p> +<p>Lois brought a box over, lugging it heavily.</p> +<p>“We hevn’t chairs; but yoh’ll sit down, Mr. +Holmes?” laughing as she covered it with a cloth. +“It’s a warrm place, here. Father studies ‘n his +watch, ‘n’ I’m teacher,”—showing the +torn old spelling-book.</p> +<p>The old man came eagerly forward, seeing the smile flicker on +Holmes’s face.</p> +<p>“It’s slow work, master,—slow. But Lo’s +a good teacher, ’n’ I’m +tryin’,—I’m tryin’ hard.”</p> +<p>“It’s not slow, Sir, seein’ father +hedn’t ’dvantages, like me. He was a”—</p> +<p>She stopped, lowering her voice, a hot flush of shame on her +face.</p> +<p>“I know.”</p> +<p>“Ben’t that ’n ’xcuse, master, +seein’ I knowed noght at the beginnin’? Thenk o’ +that, master. I’m tryin’ to be a different man. Fur Lo. +I <em>am</em> tryin’.”</p> +<p>Holmes did not notice him.</p> +<p>“Good-night, Lois,” he said, kindly, as she lighted +his lamp.</p> +<p>He put some money on the table.</p> +<p>“You must take it,” as she looked uneasy. “For +Tiger’s board, say. I never see him now. A bright new frock, +remember.”</p> +<p>She thanked him, her eyes brightening, looking at her +father’s patched coat.</p> +<p>The old man followed Holmes out.</p> +<p>“Master Holmes”—</p> +<p>“Have done with this,” said Holmes, sternly. +“Whoever breaks law abides by it. It is no affair of +mine.”</p> +<p>The old man clutched his hands together fiercely, struggling to +be quiet.</p> +<p>“Ther’s none knows it but yoh,” he said, in a +smothered voice. “Fur God’s sake be merciful! +It’ll kill my girl,—it’ll kill her. Gev me a +chance, master.”</p> +<p>“You trouble me. I must do what is just.”</p> +<p>“It’s not just,” he said, savagely. +“What good’ll it do me to go back ther’? I was +goin’ down, down, an’ bringin’ th’ others +with me. What good’ll it do you or the rest to hev me +ther’? To make me afraid? It’s poor learnin’ frum +fear. Who taught me what was right? Who cared? No man cared fur my +soul, till I thieved ’n’ robbed; ‘n’ then +judge ’n’ jury ’n’ jailers was glad to +pounce on me. Will yoh gev me a chance? will yoh?”</p> +<p>It was a desperate face before him; but Holmes never knew +fear.</p> +<p>“Stand aside,” he said, quietly. “To-morrow I +will see you. You need not try to escape.”</p> +<p>He passed him, and went slowly up through the vacant mill to his +chamber.</p> +<p>The man sat down on the lower step a few moments, quite quiet, +crushing his hat up in a slow, steady way, looking up at the mouldy +cobwebs on the wall. He got up at last, and went in to Lois. Had +she heard? The old scarred face of the girl looked years older, he +thought,—but it might be fancy. She did not say anything for +a while, moving slowly, with a new gentleness, about him; her very +voice was changed, older. He tried to be cheerful, eating his +supper: she need not know until to-morrow. He would get out of the +town to-night, or—There were different ways to escape. When +he had done, he told her to go; but she would not.</p> +<p>“Let me stay th’ night,” she said. “I +ben’t afraid o’ th’ mill.”</p> +<p>“Why, Lo,” he said, laughing, “yoh used to say +yer death was hid here, somewheres.”</p> +<p>“I know. But ther’s worse nor death. But it’ll +come right,” she said, persistently, muttering to herself, as +she leaned her face on her knees, +watching,—“it’ll come right.”</p> +<p>The glimmering shadows changed and faded for an hour. The man +sat quiet. There was not much in the years gone to soften his +thought, as it grew desperate and cruel: there was oppression and +vice heaped on him, and flung back out of his bitter heart. Nor +much in the future: a blank stretch of punishment to the end. He +was an old man: was it easy to bear? What if he were black? what if +he were born a thief? what if all the sullen revenge of his nature +had made him an outcast from the poorest poor? Was there no latent +good in this soul for which Christ died, that a kind hand might not +have brought to life? None? Something, I think, struggled up in the +touch of his hand, catching the skirt of his child’s dress, +when it came near him, with the timid tenderness of a mother +touching her dead baby’s hair,—as something holy, far +off, yet very near: something in his old crime-marked face,—a +look like this dog’s, putting his head on my knee,—a +dumb, unhelpful love in his eyes, and the slow memory of a wrong +done to his soul in a day long past. A wrong to both, you say, +perhaps; but if so, irreparable, and never to be recompensed. +Never?</p> +<p>“Yoh must go, my little girl,” he said at last.</p> +<p>Whatever he did must be done quickly. She came up, combing the +thin gray hairs through her fingers.</p> +<p>“Father, I dunnot understan’ what it is, rightly. +But stay with me,—stay, father!”</p> +<p>“Yoh’ve a many frien’s, Lo,” he said, +with a keen flash of jealousy. “Ther’s none like +yoh,—none.”</p> +<p>She put her misshapen head and scarred face down on his hand, +where he could see them. If it had ever hurt her to be as she was, +if she had ever compared herself bitterly with fair, beloved women, +she was glad now and thankful for every fault and deformity that +brought her nearer to him, and made her dearer.</p> +<p>“They’re kind, but ther’s not many loves me +with true love, like yoh. Stay, father! Bear it out, whatever it +be. Th’ good time’ll come, father.”</p> +<p>He kissed her, saying nothing, and went with her down the +street. When he left her, she waited, and, creeping back, hid near +the mill. God knows what vague dread was in her brain; but she came +back to watch and help.</p> +<p>Old Yare wandered through the great loom-rooms of the mill with +but one fact clear in his cloudy, faltering perception,—that +above him the man lay quietly sleeping who would bring worse than +death on him to-morrow. Up and down, aimlessly, with his +stoker’s torch in his hand, going over the years gone and the +years to come, with the dead hatred through all of the pitiless man +above him,—with now and then, perhaps, a pleasanter thought +of things that had been warm and cheerful in his life,—of the +corn-huskings long ago, when he was a boy, down in “th’ +Alabam’,”—of the scow his young master gave him +once, the first thing he really owned: he was almost as proud of it +as he was of Lois when she was born. Most of all remembering the +good times in his life, he went back to Lois. It was all good, +there, to go back to. What a little chub she used to be! +Remembering, with bitter remorse, how all his life he had meant to +try and do better, on her account, but had kept putting off and +putting off until now. And now—Did nothing lie before him but +to go back and rot yonder? Was that the end, because he never had +learned better, and was a “dam’ nigger”?</p> +<p>“I’ll <em>not</em> leave my girl!” he +muttered, going up and down,—“I’ll <em>not</em> +leave my girl!”</p> +<p>If Holmes did sleep above him, the trial of the day, of which we +have seen nothing, came back sharper in sleep. While the strong +self in the man lay torpid, whatever holier power was in him came +out, undaunted by defeat, and unwearied, and took the form of +dreams, those slighted messengers of God, to soothe and charm and +win him out into fuller, kindlier life. Let us hope that they did +so win him; let us hope that even in that unreal world the better +nature of the man triumphed at last, and claimed its reward before +the terrible reality broke upon him.</p> +<p>Lois, over in the damp, fresh-smelling lumber-yard, sat coiled +up in one of the creviced houses made by the jutting boards. She +remembered how she used to play in them, before she went into the +mill. The mill,—even now, with the vague dread of some +uncertain evil to come, the mill absorbed all fear in its old hated +shadow. Whatever danger was coming to them lay in it, came from it, +she knew, in her confused, blurred way of thinking. It loomed up +now, with the square patch of ashen sky above, black, heavy with +years of remembered agony and loss. In Lois’s hopeful, warm +life this was the one uncomprehended monster. Her crushed brain, +her unwakened powers, resented their wrong dimly to the mass of +iron and work and impure smells, unconscious of any remorseless +power that wielded it. It was a monster, she thought, through the +sleepy, dreading night,—a monster that kept her wakeful with +a dull, mysterious terror.</p> +<p>When the night grew sultry and deepest, she started from her +half-doze to see her father come stealthily out and go down the +street. She must have slept, she thought, rubbing her eyes, and +watching him out of sight,—and then, creeping out, turned to +glance at the mill. She cried out, shrill with horror. It was a +live monster now,—in one swift instant, alive with +fire,—quick, greedy fire, leaping like serpents’ +tongues out of its hundred jaws, hungry sheets of flame maddening +and writhing towards her, and under all a dull and hollow roar that +shook the night. Did it call her to her death? She turned to fly, +and then—He was alone, dying! He had been so kind to her! She +wrung her hands, standing there a moment. It was a brave hope that +was in her heart, and a prayer on her lips never left unanswered, +as she hobbled, in her lame, slow way, up to the open black door, +and, with one backward look, went in.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2><a id="cooper" name="cooper">JAMES FENIMORE COOPER.</a></h2> +<p>The publication, now brought to a close, of a new edition of the +novels of Cooper<sup>6</sup><span class="sidenote">6. We refer to +the new edition of the novels of Cooper by Messrs. W.A. Townsend +& Co., with illustrations by Darley.</span> gives us a fair +occasion for discharging a duty which Maga has too long neglected, +and saying something upon the genius of this great writer, and, +incidentally, upon the character of a man who would have been a +noticeable, not to say remarkable person, had he never written a +line. These novels stand before us in thirty-two goodly duodecimo +volumes, well printed, gracefully illustrated, and, in all external +aspects, worthy of generous commendation. With strong propriety, +the publishers dedicate this edition of the “first American +novelist” to “the American People.” No one of our +great writers is more thoroughly American than Cooper; no one has +caught and reproduced more broadly and accurately the spirit of our +institutions, the character of our people, and even the aspects of +Nature in this our Western world. He was a patriot to the very core +of his heart; he loved his country with a fervid, but not an +undiscerning love: it was an intelligent, vigilant, discriminating +affection that bound his heart to his native land; and thus, while +no man defended his country more vigorously when it was in the +right, no one reproved its faults more courageously, or gave +warning and advice more unreservedly, where he felt that they were +needed.</p> +<p>This may be one reason why Cooper has more admirers, or at least +fewer disparagers, abroad than at home. On the Continent of Europe +his novels are everywhere read, with an eager, unquestioning +delight. His popularity is at least equal to that of Scott; and we +think a considerable amount of testimony could be collected to +prove that it is even greater. But the fact we have above stated is +not the only explanation of this. He was the first writer who made +foreign nations acquainted with the characters and incidents of +American frontier and woodland life; and his delineations of Indian +manners and traits were greatly superior in freshness and power, if +not in truth, to any which had preceded them. His novels opened a +new and unwrought vein of interest, and were a revelation of +humanity under aspects and influences hitherto unobserved by the +ripe civilization of Europe. The taste which had become cloyed with +endless imitations of the feudal and mediaeval pictures of Scott +turned with fresh delight to such original figures—so full of +sylvan power and wildwood grace—as Natty Bumppo and Uncas. +European readers, too, received these sketches with an unqualified, +because an ignorant admiration. We, who had better knowledge, were +more critical, and could see that the drawing was sometimes faulty, +and the colors more brilliant than those of life.</p> +<p>The acute observer can detect a parallel between the relation of +Cooper to America and that of Scott to Scotland. Scott was as +hearty a Scotchman as Cooper an American: but Scott was a Tory in +politics and an Episcopalian in religion; and the majority of +Scotchmen are Whigs in politics and Presbyterians in religion. In +Scott, as in Cooper, the elements of passion and sympathy were so +strong that he could not be neutral or silent on the great +questions of his time and place. Thus, while the Scotch are proud +of Scott, as they well may be,—while he has among his own +people most intense and enthusiastic admirers,—the proportion +of those who yield to his genius a cold and reluctant homage is +probably greater in Scotland than in any other country in +Christendom. “The rest of mankind recognize the essential +truth of his delineations, and his loyalty to all the primal +instincts and sympathies of humanity”; but the Scotch cannot +forget that he opposed the Reform Bill, painted the Covenanters +with an Episcopalian pencil, and made a graceful and heroic image +of the detested Claverhouse.</p> +<p>The novels of Cooper, in the dates of their publication, cover a +period of thirty years: beginning with “Precaution,” in +1820, and ending with “The Ways of the Hour,” in 1850. +The production of thirty-two volumes in thirty years is honorable +to his creative energy, as well as to the systematic industry of +his habits. But even these do not constitute the whole of his +literary labors during these twenty-nine years. We must add five +volumes of naval history and biography, ten volumes of travels and +sketches in Europe, and a large amount of occasional and +controversial writings, most of which is now hidden away in that +huge wallet wherein Time puts his alms for Oblivion. His literary +productions other than his novels would alone be enough to save him +from the reproach of idleness. In estimating a writer’s +claims to honor and remembrance, the quantity as well as the +quality of his work should surely be taken into account; and in +summing up the case of our great novelist to the jury of posterity, +this point should be strongly put.</p> +<p>Cooper’s first novel, “Precaution,” was +published when he was in his thirty-first year. It owed its +existence to an accident, and was but an ordinary production, as +inferior to the best of his subsequent works as Byron’s +“Hours of Idleness” to “Childe Harold.” It +was a languid and colorless copy of exotic forms: a mere scale +picked from the surface of the writer’s mind, with neither +beauty nor vital warmth to commend it. We speak from the vague +impressions which many long years have been busy in effacing; and +we confess that it would require the combined forces of a long +voyage and a scanty library to constrain us to the task of reading +it anew.</p> +<p>And yet, such as it was, it made a certain impression at the +time of its appearance. The standard by which it was tried was very +unlike that which would now be applied to it: there was all the +difference between the two that there is between strawberries in +December and strawberries in June. American literature was then +just beginning to “glint forth” like Burns’s +mountain daisy, and rear its tender form above the parent earth. +The time had, indeed, gone by—which a friend of ours, not yet +venerable, affirms he can well remember—when school-boys and +collegians, zealous for the honor of indigenous literature, were +obliged to cite, by way of illustration, such works as +Morse’s Geography and Hannah Adams’s “History of +the Jews”; but it was only a faint, crepuscular light, that +streaked the east, and gave promise of the coming day. Irving had +just completed his “Sketch-Book,” which was basking in +the full sunshine of unqualified popularity. Dana, in the +thoughtful and meditative beauty of “The Idle Man,” was +addressing a more limited public. Percival had just before +published a small volume of poems; Halleck’s +“Fanny” had recently appeared; and so had a small +duodecimo volume by Bryant, containing “The Ages,” and +half a dozen smaller poems. Miss Sedgwick’s “New +England Tale” was published about the same time. But a large +proportion of those who are now regarded as our ablest writers were +as yet unknown, or just beginning to give sign of what they were. +Dr. Channing was already distinguished as an eloquent and powerful +preacher, but the general public had not yet recognized in him that +remarkable combination of loftiness of thought with magic charm of +style, which was soon to be revealed in his essays on Milton and +Napoleon Bonaparte. Ticknor and Everett were professors in Harvard +College, giving a new impulse to the minds of the students by their +admirable lectures; and the latter was also conducting the +“North American Review.” Neither had as yet attained to +anything more than a local reputation. Prescott, a gay and +light-hearted young man,—gay and light-hearted, in spite of +partial blindness,—the darling of society and the idol of his +home, was silently and resolutely preparing himself for his chosen +function by a wide and thorough course of patient study. Bancroft +was in Germany, and working like a German. Emerson was a Junior in +College. Hawthorne, Longfellow, Holmes, Whittier, and Poe were +school-boys; Mrs. Stowe was a school-girl; Whipple and Lowell were +in the nursery, and Motley and the younger Dana had not long been +out of it.</p> +<p>“Precaution,” though an indifferent novel, was yet a +novel; of the orthodox length, with plot, characters, and +incidents; and here and there a touch of genuine power, as in the +forty-first chapter, where the scene is on board a man-of-war +bringing her prizes into port. It found many readers, and excited a +good deal of curiosity as to who the author might be.</p> +<p>“Precaution” was published on the 25th of August, +1820, and “The Spy” on the 17th of September, 1821. The +second novel was a great improvement upon the first, and fairly +took the public by storm. We are old enough to remember its first +appearance; the eager curiosity and keen discussion which it +awakened; the criticism which it called forth; and, above all, the +animated delight with which it was received by all who were young +or not critical. Distinctly, too, can we recall the breathless +rapture with which we hung over its pages, in those happy days when +the mind’s appetite for books was as ravenous as the +body’s for bread-and-butter, and a novel, with plenty of +fighting in it, was all we asked at a writer’s hands. In +order to qualify ourselves for the task which we have undertaken in +this article, we have read “The Spy” a second time; and +melancholy indeed was the contrast between the recollections of the +boy and the impressions of the man. It was the difference between +the theatre by gas-light and the theatre by day-light: the gold was +pinchbeck, the gems were glass, the flowers were cambric and +colored paper, the goblets were gilded pasteboard. Painfully did +the ideal light fade away, and the well-remembered scene stand +revealed in disenchanting day. With incredulous surprise, with a +constant struggle between past images and present revelations, were +we forced to acknowledge the improbability of the story, the +clumsiness of the style, the awkwardness of the dialogue, the want +of Nature in many of the characters, the absurdity of many of the +incidents, and the painfulness of some of the scenes. But with all +this, a candid, though critical judgment could not but admit that +these grave defects were attended by striking merits, which pleaded +in mitigation of literary sentence. It was stamped with a truth, +earnestness, and vital power, of which its predecessor gave no +promise. Though the story was improbable, it seized upon the +attention with a powerful grasp from the very start, and the hold +was not relaxed till the end. Whatever criticism it might +challenge, no one could call it dull: the only offence in a book +which neither gods nor men nor counters can pardon. If the +narrative flowed languidly at times, there were moments in which +the incidents flashed along with such vivid rapidity that the +susceptible reader held his breath over the page. The character of +Washington was an elaborate failure, and the author, in his later +years, regretted that he had introduced this august form into a +work of fiction; but Harvey Birch was an original sketch, happily +conceived, and, in the main, well sustained. His mysterious figure +was recognized as a new accession to the repertory of the novelist, +and not a mere modification of a preëxisting type. And, above +all, “The Spy” had the charm of reality; it tasted of +the soil; it was the first successful attempt to throw an +imaginative light over American history, and to do for our country +what the author of “Waverley” had done for Scotland. +Many of the officers and soldiers of the Revolutionary War were +still living, receiving the reward of their early perils and +privations in the grateful reverence which was paid to them by the +contemporaries of their children and grandchildren. Innumerable +traditionary anecdotes of those dark days of suffering and +struggle, unrecorded in print, yet lingered in the memories of the +people, and were told in the nights of winter around the farm-house +fire; and of no part of the country was this more true than of the +region in which the scene of the novel is laid. The enthusiasm with +which it was there read was the best tribute to the substantial +fidelity of its delineations. All over the country, it enlisted in +its behalf the powerful sentiment of patriotism; and whatever the +critics might say, the author had the satisfaction of feeling that +the heart of the people was with him.</p> +<p>Abroad, “The Spy” was received with equal favor. It +was soon translated into most of the languages of Europe; and even +the “gorgeous East” opened for it its rarely moving +portals. In 1847, a Persian version was published in Ispahan; and +by this time it may have crossed the Chinese wall, and be +delighting the pig-tailed critics and narrow-eyed beauties of +Pekin.</p> +<p>The success of “The Spy” unquestionably determined +Cooper’s vocation, and made him a man of letters. But he had +not yet found where his true strength lay. His training and +education had not been such as would seem to be a good preparation +for a literary career. His reading had been desultory, and not +extensive; and the habit of composition had not been formed in +early life. Indeed, in mere style, in the handling of the tools of +his craft, Cooper never attained a master’s ease and power. +In his first two novels the want of technical skill and literary +accomplishment was obvious; and the scenery, subjects, and +characters of these novels did not furnish him with the opportunity +of turning to account the peculiar advantages which had come to him +from the events of his childhood and youth. In his infancy he was +taken to Cooperstown, a spot which his father had just begun to +reclaim from the dominion of the wilderness. Here his first +impressions of the external world, as well as of life and manners, +were received. At the age of sixteen he became a midshipman in the +United States navy, and remained in the service for six years. A +father who, in training up his son for the profession of letters, +should send him into the wilderness in his infancy and to sea at +sixteen, would seem to be shooting very wide of the mark; but in +this, as in so many things, there is a divinity that shapes our +rough-hewn ends. Had Cooper enjoyed the best scholastic advantages +which the schools and colleges of Europe could have furnished, they +could not have fitted him for the work he was destined to do so +well as the apparently untoward elements we have above adverted to; +for Natty Bumppo was the fruit of his woodland experience, and Long +Tom Coffin of his sea-faring life.</p> +<p>“The Pioneers” and “The Pilot” were both +published in 1823; “Lionel Lincoln” in 1825; and +“The Last of the Mohicans” in 1826. We may put +“Lionel Lincoln” aside, as one of his least successful +productions; but the three others were never surpassed, and rarely +equalled, by any of his numerous subsequent works. All the +powerful, and nearly all the attractive, qualities of his genius +were displayed in these three novels, in their highest degree and +most ample measure. Had he never written any more,—though we +should have missed many interesting narratives, admirable pictures, +and vigorously drawn characters,—we are not sure that his +fame would not have been as great as it is now. From these, and +“The Spy,” full materials may be drawn for forming a +correct estimate of his merits and his defects. In these, his +strength and weakness, his gifts and deficiencies, are amply shown. +Here, then, we may pause, and, without pursuing his literary +biography any farther, proceed to set down our estimate of his +claims as a writer. Any critic who dips his pen in ink and not in +gall would rather praise than blame; therefore we will dispose of +the least gracious part of our task first, and begin with his +blemishes and defects.</p> +<p>A skilful construction of the story is a merit which the public +taste no longer demands, and it is consequently fast becoming one +of the lost arts. The practice of publishing novels in successive +numbers, so that one portion is printed before another is written, +is undoubtedly one cause of this. But English and American readers +have not been accustomed to this excellence in the works of their +best writers of fiction; and therefore they are not sensitive to +the want of it. This is certainly not one of Scott’s strong +points. Fielding’s “Tom Jones” is, in this +respect, superior to any of the “Waverley Novels,” and +without an equal, so far as we know, in English literature. But, in +sitting in judgment upon a writer of novels, we cannot waive an +inquiry into his merits on this point. Are his stories, simply as +stories, well told? Are his plots symmetrically constructed and +harmoniously evolved? Are his incidents probable? and do they all +help on the catastrophe? Does he reject all episodical matter which +would clog the current of the narrative? Do his novels have unity +of action? or are they merely a series of sketches, strung together +without any relation of cause and effect? Cooper, tried by these +rules, can certainly command no praise. His plots are not carefully +or skilfully constructed. His incidents are not probable in +themselves, nor do they succeed each other in a natural and +dependent progression. His characters get into scrapes from which +the reasonable exercise of common faculties should have saved them; +and they are rescued by incredible means and impossible +instruments. The needed man appears as unaccountably and +mysteriously as if he had dropped from the clouds, or emerged from +the sea, or crept up through a fissure in the earth. The winding up +of his stories is often effected by devices nearly as improbable as +a violation of the laws of Nature. His personages act without +adequate motives; they rush into needless dangers; they trust their +fate, with unsuspecting simplicity, to treacherous hands.</p> +<p>In works of fiction the skill of the writer is most +conspicuously shown when the progress of the story is secured by +natural and probable occurrences. Many events take place in history +and in common life which good taste rejects as inadmissible in a +work of imagination. Sudden death by disease or casualty is no very +uncommon occurrence in real life; but it cannot be used in a novel +to clear up a tangled web of circumstance, without betraying +something of a poverty of invention in the writer. He is the best +artist who makes least use of incidents which lie out of the beaten +path of observation and experience. In constructive skill +Cooper’s rank is not high; for all his novels are more or +less open to the criticism that too frequent use is made in them of +events very unlikely to have happened. He leads his characters into +such formidable perils that the chances are a million to one +against their being rescued. Such a run is made upon our credulity +that the fund is soon exhausted, and the bank stops payment.</p> +<p>For illustration of the above strictures we will refer to a +single novel, “The Last of the Mohicans,” which +everybody will admit to be one of the most interesting of his +works,—full of rapid movement, brilliant descriptions, +hair-breadth escapes, thrilling adventures,—which young +persons probably read with more rapt attention than any other of +his narratives. In the opening chapter we find at Fort Edward, on +the head-waters of the Hudson, the two daughters of Colonel Munro, +the commander of Fort William Henry, on the shores of Lake George; +though why they were at the former post, under the protection of a +stranger, and not with their father, does not appear. Information +is brought of the approach of Montcalm, with a hostile army of +Indians and Frenchmen, from the North; and the young ladies are +straightway hurried off to the more advanced, and consequently more +dangerous post, when prudence and affection would have dictated +just the opposite course. Nor is this all. General Webb, the +commander of Fort Edward, at the urgent request of Colonel Munro, +sends him a reinforcement of fifteen hundred men, who march off +through the woods, by the military road, with drums beating and +colors flying; and yet, strange to say, the young ladies do not +accompany the troops, but set off, on the very same day, by a +by-path, attended by no other escort than Major Heyward, and guided +by an Indian whose fidelity is supposed to be assured by his having +been flogged for drunkenness by the orders of Colonel Munro. The +reason assigned for conduct so absurd that in real life it would +have gone far to prove the parties having a hand in it not to be +possessed of that sound and disposing mind and memory which the law +requires as a condition precedent to making a will is, that hostile +Indians, in search of chance scalps, would be hovering about the +column of troops, and so leave the by-path unmolested. But the +servants of the party follow the route of the column: a measure, we +are told, dictated by the sagacity of the Indian guide, in order to +diminish the marks of their trail, if, haply, the Canadian savages +should be prowling about so far in advance of their army! +Certainly, all the sagacity of the fort would seem to have been +concentrated in the person of the Indian. How much of this +improbability might have been avoided, if the action had been +reversed, and the young ladies, in view of the gathering cloud of +war, had been sent from the more exposed and less strongly guarded +point of Fort William Henry to the safe fortress of Fort Edward! +Then the smallness of the escort and the risks of the journey would +have been explained and excused by the necessity of the case; and +the subsequent events of the novel might have been easily +accommodated to the change we have indicated.</p> +<p>One of the best of Cooper’s novels—as a work of art +perhaps the very best—is “The Bravo.” But the +character of Jacopo Frontoni is a sort of moral impossibility, and +the clearing up of the mystery which hangs over his life and +conduct, which is skilfully reserved to the last moment, is +consequently unsatisfactory. He is represented as a young man of +the finest qualities and powers, who, in the hope of rescuing a +father who had been falsely imprisoned by the Senate, consents to +assume the character, and bear the odium, of a public bravo, or +assassin, though entirely innocent. This false position gives rise +to many most effective scenes and incidents, and the character is +in many respects admirably drawn. But when the end comes, we lay +down the book and say,—“This could never have been: a +virtuous and noble young man could not for years have been believed +to be the most hateful of mankind; the laws of Nature and the laws +of the human mind forbid it: so vast a web of falsehood could not +have been woven without a flaw: we can credit much of the organized +and pitiless despotism of Venice, but could it work +miracles?”</p> +<p>Further illustrations of this same defect might easily be cited, +if the task were not ungracious. Neither books, nor pictures, nor +men and women should be judged by their defects. It is enough to +say that Cooper never wrote a novel in regard to which the reader +must not lay aside his critical judgment upon the structure of the +story and the interdependence of the incidents, and let himself be +borne along by the rapid flow of the narrative, without questioning +too curiously as to the nature of the means and instruments +employed to give movement to the stream.</p> +<p>In the delineation of character, Cooper may claim great, but not +unqualified praise. This is a vague statement; and to draw a +sharper line of discrimination, we should say that he is generally +successful—sometimes admirably so—in drawing personages +in whom strong primitive traits have not been effaced by the +attritions of artificial life, and generally unsuccessful when he +deals with those in whom the original characteristics are less +marked, or who have been smoothed by education and polished by +society. It is but putting this criticism in another form to say +that his best characters are persons of humble social position. He +wields his brush with a vigorous hand, but the brush itself has not +a fine point. Of all the children of his brain, Natty Bumppo is the +most universal favorite,—and herein the popular judgment is +assuredly right. He is an original conception,—and not more +happily conceived than skilfully executed. It was a hazardous +undertaking to present the character backwards, and let us see the +closing scenes of his life first,—like a Hebrew Bible, of +which the beginning is at the end; but the author’s genius +has triumphed over the perils of the task, and given us a +delineation as consistent and symmetrical as it is striking and +vigorous. Ignorant of books, simple, and credulous, guileless +himself, and suspecting no evil in others, with moderate +intellectual powers, he commands our admiration and respect by his +courage, his love of Nature, his skill in woodland lore, his +unerring moral sense, his strong affections, and the veins of +poetry that run through his rugged nature like seams of gold in +quartz. Long Tom Coffin may be described as Leatherstocking +suffered a sea-change,—with a harpoon instead of a rifle, and +a pea-jacket instead of a hunting-shirt. In both the same primitive +elements may be discerned: the same limited intellectual range +combined with professional or technical skill; the same generous +affections and unerring moral instincts; the same religious +feeling, taking the form at times of fatalism or superstition. Long +Tom’s love of the sea is like Leatherstocking’s love of +the woods; the former’s dislike of the land is like the +latter’s dislike of the clearings. Cooper himself, as we are +told by his daughter, was less satisfied, in his last years, with +Long Tom Coffin than most of his readers,—and, of the two +characters, considered that of Boltrope the better piece of +workmanship. We cannot assent to this comparative estimate; but we +admit that Boltrope has not had full justice done to him in popular +judgment. It is but a slight sketch, but it is extremely well done. +His death is a bit of manly and genuine pathos; and in his +conversations with the chaplain there is here and there a touch of +true humor, which we value the more because humor was certainly not +one of the author’s best gifts.</p> +<p>Antonio, the old fisherman, in “The Bravo,” is +another very well drawn character, in which we can trace something +of a family likeness to the hunter and sailor above mentioned. The +scene in which he is shrived by the Carmelite monk, in his boat, +under the midnight moon, upon the Lagoons, is one of the finest we +know of in the whole range of the literature of fiction, leaving +upon the mind a lasting impression of solemn and pathetic beauty. +In “The Chainbearer,” the Yankee squatter, +Thousandacres, is a repulsive figure, but drawn with a powerful +pencil. The energy of character, or rather of action, which is the +result of a passionate love of money, is true to human nature. The +closing scenes of his rough and lawless life, in which his latent +affection for his faithful wife throws a sunset gleam over his hard +and selfish nature, and prevents it from being altogether hateful, +are impressively told, and are touched with genuine tragic +power.</p> +<p>On the other hand, Cooper generally fails when he undertakes to +draw a character which requires for its successful execution a nice +observation and a delicate hand. His heroes and heroines are apt to +abuse the privilege which such personages have enjoyed, time out of +mind, of being insipid. Nor can he catch and reproduce the easy +grace and unconscious dignity of high-bred men and women. His +gentlemen, whether young or old, are apt to be stiff, priggish, and +commonplace; and his ladies, especially his young ladies, are as +deficient in individuality as the figures and faces of a +fashion-print. Their personal and mental charms are set forth with +all the minuteness of a passport; but, after all, we cannot but +think that these fine creatures, with hair, brow, eyes, and lips of +the most orthodox and approved pattern, would do very little +towards helping one through a rainy day in a country-house. Judge +Temple, in “The Pioneers,” and Colonel Howard, in +“The Pilot,” are highly estimable and respectable +gentlemen, but, in looking round for the materials of a pleasant +dinner-party, we do not think they would stand very high on the +list. They are fair specimens of their class,—the educated +gentleman in declining life,—many of whom are found in the +subsequent novels. They are wanting in those natural traits of +individuality by which, in real life, one human being is +distinguished from another. They are obnoxious to this one general +criticism, that the author is constantly reminding us of the +qualities of mind and character on which he rests their claims to +favor, without causing them to appear naturally and unconsciously +in the course of the narrative. The defect we are adverting to may +be illustrated by comparing such personages of this class as Cooper +has delineated with Colonel Talbot, in “Waverley,” +Colonel Mannering and Counsellor Pleydell, in “Guy +Mannering,” Monkbarns, in “The Antiquary,” and +old Osbaldistone, in “Rob Roy.” These are all old men: +they are all men of education, and in the social position of +gentlemen; but each has certain characteristics which the others +have not: each has the distinctive individual flavor-perceptible, +but indescribable, like the savor of a fruit—which is wanting +in Cooper’s well-dressed and well-behaved lay-figures.</p> +<p>In the delineation of female loveliness and excellence Cooper is +generally supposed to have failed,—at least, comparatively +so. But in this respect full justice has hardly been done him; and +this may be explained by the fact that it was from the heroines of +his earlier novels that this unfavorable judgment was drawn. +Certainly, such sticks of barley-candy as Frances Wharton, Cecilia +Howard, and Alice Munro justify the common impression. But it would +be as unfair to judge of what he can do in this department by his +acknowledged failures as it would be to form an estimate of the +genius of Michel Angelo from the easel-picture of the Virgin and +Child in the Tribune at Florence. No man ever had a juster +appreciation of, and higher reverence for, the worth of woman than +Cooper. Towards women his manners were always marked by chivalrous +deference, blended as to those of his own household with the most +affectionate tenderness. His own nature was robust, self-reliant, +and essentially masculine: such men always honor women, but they +understand them better as they grow older. There is so much +foundation for the saying, that men are apt to love their first +wives best, but to treat their second wives best. Thus the reader +who takes up his works in chronological order will perceive that +the heroines of his later novels have more spirit and character, +are drawn with a more discriminating touch, take stronger hold upon +the interest, than those of his earlier. Ursula Malbone is a finer +girl than Cecilia Howard, or even Elizabeth Temple. So when he has +occasion to delineate a woman who, from her position in life, or +the peculiar circumstances into which she is thrown, is moved by +deeper springs of feeling, is obliged to put forth sterner +energies, than are known to females reared in the sheltered air of +prosperity and civilization,—when he paints the heart of +woman roused by great perils, overborne by heavy sorrows, wasted by +strong passions,—we recognize the same master-hand which has +given us such powerful pictures of character in the other sex. In +other words, Cooper is not happy in representing those shadowy and +delicate graces which belong exclusively to woman, and distinguish +her from man; but he is generally successful in sketching in woman +those qualities which are found in both sexes. In “The +Bravo,” Donna Violetta, the heroine, a rich and high-born +young lady, is not remarkable one way or the other; but Gelsomina, +the jailer’s daughter, born in an inferior position, reared +in a sterner school of discipline and struggle, is a beautiful and +consistent creation, constantly showing masculine energy and +endurance, yet losing nothing of womanly charm. Ruth, in “The +Wept of the Wish-ton-Wish,” Hetty Hutter, the weak-minded and +sound-hearted girl, in “The Deerslayer,” Mabel Dunham, +and the young Indian woman, “Dew of June,” in +“The Pathfinder,” are further cases in point. No one +can read the books in which these women are represented and say +that Cooper was wanting in the power of delineating the finest and +highest attributes of womanhood,</p> +<p>Cooper cannot be congratulated upon his success in the few +attempts he has made to represent historical personages. +Washington, as shown to us in “The Spy,” is a formal +piece of mechanism, as destitute of vital character as +Maelzel’s automaton trumpeter. This, we admit, was a very +difficult subject, alike from the peculiar traits of Washington, +and from the reverence in which his name and memory are held by his +countrymen. But the sketch, in “The Pilot,” of Paul +Jones, a very different person, and a much easier subject, is +hardly better. In both cases, the failure arises from the fact that +the author is constantly endeavoring to produce the legitimate +effect of mental and moral qualities by a careful enumeration of +external attributes. Harper, under which name Washington is +introduced, appears in only two or three scenes; but, during these, +we hear so much of the solemnity and impressiveness of his manner, +the gravity of his brow, the steadiness of his gaze, that we get +the notion of a rather oppressive personage, and sympathize with +the satisfaction of the Whartons, when he retires to his own room, +and relieves them of his tremendous presence. Mr. Gray, who stands +for Paul Jones, is more carefully elaborated, but the result is far +from satisfactory. We are so constantly told of his calmness and +abstraction, of his sudden starts and bursts of feeling, of his low +voice, of his fits of musing, that the aggregate impression is that +of affectation and self-consciousness, rather than of a simple, +passionate, and heroic nature. Mr. Gray does not seem to us at all +like the rash, fiery, and dare-devil Scotchman of history. His +conduct and conversation, as recounted in the fifth chapter of the +novel, are unnatural and improbable; and we cannot wonder that the +first lieutenant did not know what to make of so melodramatic and +sententious a gentleman, in the guise of a pilot.</p> +<p>Cooper, as we need hardly say, has drawn copiously upon Indian +life and character for the materials of his novels; and among +foreign nations much of his reputation is due to this fact. +Civilized men and women always take pleasure in reading about the +manners and habits of savage life; and those in whom the shows of +things are submitted to the desires of the mind delight to invest +them with those ideal qualities which they do not find, or think +they do not, in the artificial society around them. Cooper had +enjoyed no peculiar opportunities of studying by personal +observation the characteristics of the Indian race, but he had +undoubtedly read everything he could get hold of in illustration of +the subject. No one can question the vividness and animation of his +sketches, or their brilliant tone of color. He paints with a pencil +dipped in the glow of our sunset skies and the crimson of our +autumn maples. Whenever he brings Indians upon the stage, we may be +sure that scenes of thrilling interest are before us: that rifles +are to crack, tomahawks to gleam, and arrows to dart like sunbeams +through the air; that a net of peril is to be drawn around his hero +or heroine, from the meshes of which he or she is to be extricated +by some unexpected combination of fortunate circumstances. We +expect a succession of startling incidents, and a rapid course of +narrative without pauses or languid intervals. We do not object to +his idealizing his Indians: this is the privilege of the novelist, +time out of mind. He may make them swift of foot, graceful in +movement, and give them a form like the Apollo’s; he may put +as much expression as he pleases into their black eyes; he may +tessellate their speech as freely as he will with poetical and +figurative expressions, drawn from the aspects of the external +world: for all this there is authority, and chapter and verse may +be cited in support of it. But we have a right to ask that he shall +not transcend the bounds of reason and possibility, and represent +his red men as moved by motives and guided by sentiments which are +wholly inconsistent with the inexorable facts of the case. We +confess to being a little more than skeptical as to the Indian of +poetry and romance: like the German’s camel, he is evolved +from the depth of the writer’s own consciousness. The poet +takes the most delicate sentiments and the finest emotions of +civilization and cultivation, and grafts them upon the best +qualities of savage life; which is as if a painter should represent +an oak-tree bearing roses. The life of the North-American Indian, +like that of all men who stand upon the base-line of civilization, +is a constant struggle, and often a losing struggle, for mere +subsistence. The sting of animal wants is his chief motive of +action, and the full gratification of animal wants his highest +ideal of happiness. The “noble savage,” as sketched by +poets, weary of the hollowness, the insincerity, and the meanness +of artificial life, is really a very ignoble creature, when seen in +the “open daylight” of truth. He is selfish, sensual, +cruel, indolent, and impassive. The highest graces of character, +the sweetest emotions, the finest sensibilities,—which make +up the novelist’s stock in trade,—are not and cannot be +the growth of a so-called state of Nature, which is an essentially +unnatural state. We no more believe that Logan ever made the speech +reported by Jefferson, in so many words, than we believe that +Chatham ever made the speech in reply to Walpole which begins with, +“The atrocious crime of being a young man”; though we +have no doubt that the reporters in both cases had something fine +and good to start from. We accept with acquiescence, nay, with +admiration, such characters as Magua, Chingachgook, Susquesus, +Tamenund, and Canonchet; but when we come to Uncas, in “The +Last of the Mohicans,” we pause and shake our heads with +incredulous doubt. That a young Indian chief should fall in love +with a handsome quadroon like Cora Munro—for she was neither +more nor less than that—is natural enough; but that he should +manifest his passion with such delicacy and refinement is +impossible. We include under one and the same name all the +affinities and attractions of sex, but the appetite of the savage +differs from the love of the educated and civilized man as much as +charcoal differs from the diamond. The sentiment of love, as +distinguished from the passion, is one of the last and best results +of Christianity and civilization: in no one thing does savage life +differ from civilized more than in the relations between man and +woman, and in the affections that unite them. Uncas is a graceful +and beautiful image; but he is no Indian.</p> +<p>We turn now to a more gracious part of our task, and proceed to +say something of the many striking excellences which distinguish +Cooper’s writings, and have given him such wide popularity. +Popularity is but one test of merit, and not the +highest,—gauging popularity by the number of readers, at any +one time, irrespective of their taste and judgment. In this sense, +“The Scottish Chiefs” and “Thaddeus of +Warsaw” were once as popular as any of the Waverley Novels. +But Cooper’s novels have enduring merit, and will surely keep +their place in the literature of the language. The manners, habits, +and costumes of England have greatly changed during the last +hundred years; but Richardson and Fielding are still read. We must +expect corresponding changes in this country during the next +century; but we may confidently predict that in the year 1962 young +and impressible hearts will be saddened at the fate of Uncas and +Cora, and exult when Captain Munson’s frigate escapes from +the shoals.</p> +<p>A few pages back we spoke of Cooper’s want of skill in the +structure of his plots, and his too frequent recurrence to +improbable incidents to help on the course of his stories. But most +readers care little about this defect, provided the writer betrays +no poverty of invention, and succeeds in making his narratives +interesting. Herein Cooper never lays himself open to that +instinctive and unconscious criticism, which is the only kind an +author need dread, because from it there is no appeal. It is bad to +have a play hissed down, but it is worse to have it yawned down. +But over Cooper’s pages his readers never yawn. They never +break down in the middle of one of his stories. The fortunes of his +characters are followed with breathless and accumulating interest +to the end. In vain does the dinner-bell sound, or the clock strike +the hour of bed-time: the book cannot be laid down till we know +whether Elizabeth Temple is to get out of the woods without being +burned alive, or solve the mystery that hangs over the life of +Jacopo Frontoni. He has in ample measure that paramount and +essential merit in a novelist of fertility of invention. The +resources of his genius, alike in the devising of incidents and the +creation of character, are inexhaustible. His scenes are laid on +the sea and in the forest,—in Italy, Germany, Switzerland, +and Spain,—amid the refinements and graces of civilization +and the rudeness and hardships of frontier and pioneer life; but +everywhere he moves with an easy and familiar tread, and +everywhere, though there may be the motive and the cue for minute +criticism, we recognize the substantial truth of his pictures. In +all his novels the action is rapid and the movement animated: his +incidents may not be probable, but they crowd upon each other so +thickly that we have not time to raise the question: before one +impression has become familiar, the scene changes, and new objects +enchain the attention. All rapid motion is exhilarating alike to +mind and body; and in reading Cooper’s novels we feel a +pleasure analogous to that which stirs the blood when we drive a +fast horse or sail with a ten-knot breeze. This fruitfulness in the +invention of incidents is nearly as important an element in the +composition of a novelist as a good voice in that of a singer. A +powerful work of fiction may be produced by a writer who has not +this gift; but such works address a comparatively limited public. +To the common mind no faculty in the novelist is so fascinating as +this. “Caleb Williams” is a story of remarkable power; +but “Ivanhoe” has a thousand readers to its one.</p> +<p>In estimating novelists by the number and variety of characters +with which they have enriched the repertory of fiction, +Cooper’s place, if not the highest, is very high. The +fruitfulness of his genius in this regard is kindred to its +fertility in the invention of incidents. We can pardon in a +portrait-gallery of such extent here and there an ill-drawn figure +or a face wanting in expression. With the exception of Scott, and +perhaps of Dickens, what writer of prose fiction has created a +greater number of characters such as stamp themselves upon the +memory so that an allusion to them is well understood in cultivated +society? Fielding has drawn country squires, and Smollett has drawn +sailors; but neither has intruded upon the domain of the other, nor +could he have made the attempt without failure. Some of our living +novelists have a limited list of characters; they have half a dozen +types which we recognize as inevitably as we do the face and voice +of an actor in the king, the lover, the priest, or the bandit: but +Cooper is not a mere mannerist, perpetually copying from himself. +His range is very wide: it includes white men, red men, and black +men,—sailors, hunters, and soldiers,—lawyers, doctors, +and clergymen,—past generations and present,—Europeans +and Americans,—civilized and savage life. All his +delineations are not successful; some are even unsuccessful: but +the aberrations of his genius must be viewed in connection with the +extent of the orbit through which it moves. The courage which led +him to expose himself to so many risks of failure is itself a proof +of conscious power.</p> +<p>Cooper’s style has not the ease, grace, and various power +of Scott’s,—or the racy, idiomatic character of +Thackeray’s,—or the exquisite purity and transparency +of Hawthorne’s: but it is a manly, energetic style, in which +we are sure to find good words, if not the best. It has certain +wants, but it has no marked defects; if it does not always command +admiration, it never offends. It has not the highest finish; it +sometimes betrays carelessness: but it is the natural garb in which +a vigorous mind clothes its conceptions. It is the style of a man +who writes from a full mind, without thinking of what he is going +to say; and this is in itself a certain kind of merit. His +descriptive powers are of a high order. His love of Nature was +strong; and, as is generally the case with intellectual men, it +rather increased than diminished as he grew older. It was not the +meditative and self-conscious love of a sensitive spirit, that +seeks in communion with the outward world a relief from the burdens +and struggles of humanity, but the hearty enjoyment of a thoroughly +healthy nature, the schoolboy’s sense of a holiday dwelling +in a manly breast. His finest passages are those in which he +presents the energies and capacities of humanity in combination +with striking or beautiful scenes in Nature. His genius, which +sometimes moves with “compulsion and laborious flight” +when dealing with artificial life and the manners and speech of +cultivated men, and women, here recovers all its powers, and sweeps +and soars with victorious and irresistible wing. The breeze from +the sea, the fresh air and wide horizon of the prairies, the +noonday darkness of the forest are sure to animate his drooping +energies, and breathe into his mind the inspiration of a fresh +life. Here he is at home, and in his congenial element: he is the +swan on the lake, the eagle in the air, the deer in the woods. The +escape of the frigate, in the fifth chapter of “The +Pilot,” is a well-known passage of this kind; and nothing can +be finer. The technical skill, the poetical feeling, the rapidity +of the narrative, the distinctness of the details, the vividness of +the coloring, the life, power, and animation which breathe and burn +in every line, make up a combination of the highest order of +literary merit. It is as good a sea-piece as the best of +Turner’s; and we cannot give it higher praise. We hear the +whistling of the wind through the rigging, and the roar of the +pitiless sea, bellowing for its prey; we see the white caps of the +waves flashing with spectral light through the darkness, and the +gallant ship whirled along like a bubble by the irresistible +current; we hold our breath as we read of the expedients and +manoeuvres which most of us but half understand, and heave a long +sigh of relief when the danger is past, and the ship reaches the +open sea. A similar passage, though of more quiet and gentler +beauty, is the description of the deer-chase on the lake, in the +twenty-seventh chapter of “The Pioneers.” Indeed, this +whole novel is full of the finest expressions of the author’s +genius. Into none of his works has he put more of the warmth of +personal feeling and the glow of early recollection. His own heart +beats through every line. The fresh breezes of the morning of life +play round its pages, and its unexhaled dew hangs upon them. It is +colored throughout with the rich hues of sympathetic emotion. All +that is attractive in pioneer life is reproduced with substantial +truth; but the pictures are touched with those finer lights which +time pours over the memories of childhood. With what spirit and +power all the characteristic incidents and scenes of a new +settlement are described,—pigeon-shooting, bass-fishing, +deer-hunting, the making of maple-sugar, the turkey-shooting at +Christmas, the sleighing-parties in winter! How distinctly his +landscapes are painted,—the deep, impenetrable forest, the +gleaming lake, the crude aspect and absurd architecture of the +new-born village! How full of poetry in the ore is the conversation +of Leatherstocking! The incongruities and peculiarities of social +life which are the result of a sudden rush of population into the +wilderness are also well sketched; though with a pencil less free +and vivid than that with which he paints the aspects of Nature and +the movements of natural man. As respects the structure of the +story, and the probability of the incidents, the novel is open to +criticism; but such is the fascination that hangs over it, that it +is impossible to criticize. To do this would be as ungracious as to +correct the language and pronunciation of an old friend who revives +by his conversation the fading memories of school-boy and college +life.</p> +<p>Cooper would have been a better writer, if he had had more of +the quality of humor, and a keener sense of the ridiculous; for +these would have saved him from his too frequent practice of +introducing both into his narrative and his conversations, but more +often into the latter, scraps of commonplace morality, and bits of +sentiment so long worn as to have lost all their gloss. In general, +his genius does not appear to advantage in dialogue. His characters +have not always a due regard to the brevity of human life. They +make long speeches, preach dull sermons, and ventilate very +self-evident propositions with great solemnity of utterance. Their +discourse wants not only compression, but seasoning. They are +sometimes made to talk in such a way that the force of caricature +can hardly go farther. For instance, in “The Pioneers,” +Judge Temple, coming into a room in his house, and seeing a fire of +maple-logs, exclaims to Richard Jones, his kinsman and +factotum,—“How often have I forbidden the use of the +sugar-maple in my dwelling! The sight of that sap, as it +<em>exudes</em> with the heat, is painful to me, Richard.” +And in another place, he is made to say to his +daughter,—“Remember the heats of July, my daughter; nor +venture farther than thou canst <em>retrace before the +meridian</em>.” We may be sure that no man of woman born, in +finding fault about the burning of maple-logs, ever talked of the +sap’s “exuding”; or, when giving a daughter a +caution against walking too far, ever translated getting home +before noon into “retracing before the meridian.” This +is almost as bad as Sir Piercie Shafton’s calling the cows +“the milky mothers of the herds.”</p> +<p>So, too, a lively perception of the ludicrous would have saved +Cooper from certain peculiarities of phrase and awkwardnesses of +expression, frequently occurring in his novels, such as might +easily slip from the pen in the rapidity of composition, but which +we wonder should have been overlooked in the proof-sheet. A few +instances will illustrate our meaning. In the elaborate description +of the personal charms of Cecilia Howard, in the tenth chapter of +“The Pilot,” we are told of “a small hand which +<em>seemed to blush at its own naked beauties</em>.” In +“The Pioneers,” speaking of the head and brow of Oliver +Edwards, he says,—“The very air and manner with which +<em>the member haughtily maintained itself</em> over the coarse and +even wild attire,” etc. In “The Bravo,” we +read,—“As the stranger passed, his <em>glittering +organs rolled over</em> the persons of the gondolier and his +companion,” etc.; and again, in the same +novel,—“The packet was received calmly, though <em>the +organ</em> which glanced at its seal,” etc. In “The +Last of the Mohicans,” the complexion of Cora appears +“charged with the color of the rich blood that <em>seemed +ready to burst its bounds</em>.” These are but trivial +faults; and if they had not been so easily corrected, it would have +been hypercriticism to notice them.</p> +<p>Every author in the department of imaginative literature, +whether of prose or verse, puts more or less of his personal traits +of mind and character into his writings. This is very true of +Cooper; and much of the worth and popularity of his novels is to be +ascribed to the unconscious expressions and revelations they give +of the estimable and attractive qualities of the man. Bryant, in +his admirably written and discriminating biographical sketch, +originally pronounced as a eulogy, and now prefixed to +“Precaution” in Townsend’s edition, relates that +a distinguished man of letters, between whom and Cooper an unhappy +coolness had for some time existed, after reading “The +Pathfinder,” remarked,—“They may say what they +will of Cooper, the man who wrote this book is not only a great +man, but a good man.” This is a just tribute; and the +impression thus made by a single work is confirmed by all. +Cooper’s moral nature was thoroughly sound, and all his moral +instincts were right. His writings show in how high regard he held +the two great guardian virtues of courage in man and purity in +woman. In all his novels we do not recall a single expression of +doubtful morality. He never undertakes to enlist our sympathies on +the wrong side. If his good characters are not always engaging, he +never does violence to virtue by presenting attractive qualities in +combination with vices which in real life harden the heart and +coarsen the taste. We do not find in his pages those moral monsters +in which the finest sensibilities, the richest gifts, the noblest +sentiments are linked to heartless profligacy, or not less +heartless misanthropy. He never palters with right; he enters into +no truce with wrong; he admits of no compromise on such points. How +admirable in its moral aspect is the character of Leatherstocking! +he is ignorant, and of very moderate intellectual range or grasp; +but what dignity, nay, even grandeur, is thrown around him from his +noble moral qualities,—his undeviating rectitude, his +disinterestedness, his heroism, his warm affections! No writer +could have delineated such a character so well who had not an +instinctive and unconscious sympathy with his intellectual +offspring. Praise of the same kind belongs to Long Tom Coffin, and +Antonio, the old fisherman. The elements of character—truth, +courage, and affection—are the same in all. Harvey Birch and +Jacopo Frontoni are kindred conceptions: both are in a false +relation to those around them; both assume a voluntary load of +obloquy; both live and move in an atmosphere of suspicion and +distrust; but in both the end sanctifies and exalts the means; the +element of deception in both only adds to the admiration finally +awakened. The carrying out of conceptions like these—the +delineation of a character that perpetually weaves a web of +untruth, and yet through all maintains our respect, and at last +secures our reverence—was no easy task; but Cooper’s +success is perfect.</p> +<p>Cooper was fortunate in having been born with a vigorous +constitution, and in having kept through life the blessing of +robust health. He never suffered from remorse of the stomach or +protest of the brain; and his writings are those of a man who +always digested his dinner and never had a headache. His novels, +like those of Scott, are full of the breeze and sunshine of health. +They breathe of manly tastes, active habits, sound sleep, a relish +for simple pleasures, temperate enjoyments, and the retention in +manhood of the fresh susceptibilities of youth. His genius is +thoroughly masculine. He is deficient in acute perception, in +delicate discrimination, in fine analysis, in the skill to seize +and arrest exceptional peculiarities; but he has in large measure +the power to present the broad characteristics of universal +humanity. It is to this power that he owes his wide popularity. At +this moment, in every public and circulating library in England or +America, the novels of Cooper will be found to be in constant +demand. He wrote for the many, and not for the few; he hit the +common mind between wind and water; a delicate and fastidious +literary appetite may not be attracted to his productions, but the +healthy taste of the natural man finds therein food alike +convenient and savory.</p> +<p>In a manly, courageous, somewhat impulsive nature like +Cooper’s we should expect to find prejudices; and he was a +man of strong prejudices. Among others, was an antipathy to the +people of New England. His characters, male and female, are +frequently Yankees, but they are almost invariably caricatures; +that is, they have all the unamiable characteristics and +unattractive traits which are bestowed upon the people of New +England by their ill-wishers. Had he ever lived among them, with +his quick powers of observation and essentially kindly judgment of +men and life, he could not have failed to correct his +misapprehensions, and to perceive that he had taken the reverse +side of the tapestry for the face.</p> +<p>Cooper, with a very keen sense of injustice, conscious of +inexhaustible power, full of vehement impulses, and not largely +endowed with that safe quality called prudence, was a man likely to +get involved in controversies. It was his destiny, and he never +could have avoided it, to be in opposition to the dominant public +sentiment around him. Had he been born in Russia, he could hardly +have escaped a visit to Siberia; had he been born in Austria, he +would have wasted some of his best years in Spielberg. Under a +despotic government he would have been a vehement Republican; in a +Catholic country he would have been the most uncompromising of +Protestants. He had full faith in the institutions of his own +country; and his large heart, hopeful temperament, and robust soul +made him a Democrat; but his democracy had not the least tinge of +radicalism. He believed that man had a right to govern himself, and +that he was capable of self-government; but government, the +subordination of impulse to law, he insisted upon as rigorously as +the veriest monarchist or aristocrat in Christendom. He would have +no authority that was not legitimate; but he would tolerate no +resistance to legitimate authority. All his sentiments, impulses, +and instincts were those of a gentleman; and vulgar manners, coarse +habits, and want of respect for the rights of others were highly +offensive to him. When in Europe, he resolutely, and at no little +expense of time and trouble, defended America from unjust +imputations and ignorant criticism; and when at home, with equal +courage and equal energy, he breasted the current of public Opinion +where he deemed it to be wrong, and resisted those most formidable +invasions of right, wherein the many combine to oppress the one. +His long controversy with the press was too important an episode in +his life to be passed over by us without mention; though our limits +will not permit us to make anything more than a passing allusion to +it. The opinion which will be formed upon Cooper’s course in +this matter will depend, in a considerable degree, upon the +temperament of the critic. Timid men, cautious men, men who love +their ease, will call him Quixotic, rash, imprudent, to engage in a +controversy in which he had much to lose and little to gain; but +the reply to such suggestions is, that, if men always took counsel +of indolence, timidity, and selfishness, no good would ever be +accomplished, and no abuses ever be reformed. Cooper may not have +been judicious in everything he said and did; but that he was right +in the main, both in motive and conduct, we firmly believe. He +acted from a high sense of duty; there was no alloy of +vindictiveness or love of money in the impulses which moved him. +Criticism the most severe and unsparing he accepted as perfectly +allowable, so long as it kept within the limits of literary +judgment; but any attack upon his personal character, especially +any imputation or insinuation involving a moral stain, he would not +submit to. He appealed to the laws of the land to vindicate his +reputation and punish his assailants. Long and gallant was the +warfare he maintained,—a friendless, solitary +warfare,—and all the hydra-heads of the press hissing and +ejaculating their venom upon him,—with none to stand by his +side and wish him God-speed. But he persevered, and, what is more, +he succeeded: that, is to say, he secured all the substantial +fruits of success. He vindicated the principle for which he +contended: he compelled the newspapers to keep within the pale of +literary criticism; he confirmed the saying of President Jackson, +that “desperate courage makes one a majority.”</p> +<p>Two of his novels, “Homeward Bound” and “Home +as Found,” bear a strong infusion of the feelings which led +to his contest with the press. After the publication of these, he +became much interested in the well-known Anti-Rent agitation by +which the State of New York was so long shaken; and three of his +novels, “Satanstoe,” “The Chainbearer,” and +“The Redskins,” forming one continuous narrative, were +written with reference to this subject. Many professed +novel-readers are, we suspect, repelled from these books, partly +because of this continuity of the story, and partly because they +contain a moral; but we assure them, that, if on these grounds they +pass them by, they lose both pleasure and profit. They are written +with all the vigor and spirit of his prime; they have many powerful +scenes and admirably drawn characters; the pictures of colonial +life and manners in “Satanstoe” are animated and +delightful; and in all the legal and ethical points for which the +author contends he is perfectly right. In his Preface to “The +Chainbearer” he says,—“In our view, New York is +at this moment a disgraced State; and her disgrace arises from the +fact that her laws are trampled under foot, without any +efforts—at all commensurate with the object—being made +to enforce them.” That any commonwealth is a disgraced State +against which such charges can with truth be made no one will deny; +and any one who is familiar with the history of that wretched +business will agree, that, at the time it was made, the charge was +not too strong. Who can fail to admire the courage of the man who +ventured to write and print such a judgment as the above against a +State of which he was a native, a citizen, and a resident, and in +which the public sentiment was fiercely the other way? Here, too, +Cooper’s motives were entirely unselfish: he had almost no +pecuniary interest in the question of Anti-Rentism; he wrote all in +honor, unalloyed by thrift. His very last novel, “The Ways of +the Hour,” is a vigorous exposition of the defects of the +trial by jury in cases where a vehement public sentiment has +already tried the question, and condemned the prisoner. The story +is improbable, and the leading character is an impossible being; +but the interest is kept up to the end,—it has many most +impressive scenes,—it abounds with shrewd and sound +observations upon life, manners, and politics,—and all the +legal portion is stamped with an acuteness and fidelity to truth +which no professional reader can note without admiration.</p> +<p>Cooper’s character as a man is the more admirable to us +because it was marked by strong points which are not common in our +country, and which the institutions of our country do not foster. +He had the courage to defy the majority: he had the courage to +confront the press: and not from the sting of ill-success, not from +mortified vanity, not from wounded self-love, but from an heroic +sense of duty. How easy a life might he have purchased by the cheap +virtues of silence, submission, and acquiescence! Booksellers would +have enriched him; society would have caressed him; political +distinction would have crowned him: he had only to watch the course +of public sentiment, and so dispose himself that he should seem to +lead where he only followed, and all comfortable things would have +been poured into his lap. But he preferred to breast the stream, to +speak ungrateful truths. He set a wholesome example in this +respect; none the less valuable because so few have had the +manliness and self-reliance to imitate him. More than twenty years +ago De Tocqueville said,—“I know of no country in which +there is so little true independence of mind and freedom of +discussion as in America”: words which we fear are not less +true to-day than when they were written. Cooper’s dauntless +courage would have been less admirable, had he been hard, cold, +stern, and impassive: but he was none of these. He was full of warm +affections, cordial, sympathetic, and genial; he had a +woman’s tenderness of heart; he was the most faithful of +friends; and in his own home no man was ever more gentle, gracious, +and sweet. The blows he received fell upon a heart that felt them +keenly; but he bared his breast none the less resolutely to the +contest because it was not protected by an armor of +insensibility.</p> +<p>But we must bring this long paper to a close. We cannot give to +it the interest which comes from personal recollections. We saw +Cooper once, and but once. This was the very year before he died, +in his own home, and amid the scenes which his genius has made +immortal. It was a bright midsummer’s day, and we walked +together about the village, and around the shores of the lake over +which the canoe of Indian John had glided. His own aspect was as +sunny as that of the smiling heavens above us; age had not touched +him with its paralyzing finger: his vigorous frame, elastic step, +and animated glance gave promise of twenty years more of energetic +life. His sturdy figure, healthy face, and a slight bluffness of +manner reminded one more of his original profession than of the +life and manners of a man of letters. He looked like a man who had +lived much in the open air,—upon whom the rain had fallen, +and against whom the wind had blown. His conversation was hearty, +spontaneous, and delightful from its frankness and fulness, but it +was not pointed or brilliant; you remembered the healthy ring of +the words, but not the words themselves. We recollect, that, as we +were standing together on the shores of the lake,—shores +which are somewhat tame, and a lake which can claim no higher +epithet than that of pretty,—he said: “I suppose it +would be patriotic to say that this is finer than Como, but we know +that it is not.” We found a chord of sympathy in our common +impressions of the beauty of Sorrento, about which, and his +residence there, he spoke with contagious animation. Who could have +thought that that rich and abundant life was so near its close? +Nothing could be more thoroughly satisfying than the impression he +left in this brief and solitary interview. His air and movement +revealed the same manly, brave, true-hearted, warm-hearted man that +is imaged in his books. Grateful are we for the privilege of having +seen, spoken with, and taken by the hand the author of “The +Pathfinder” and “The Pilot”: “it is a +pleasure to have seen a great man.” Distinctly through the +gathering mists of years do his face and form rise up before the +mind’s eye: an image of manly self-reliance, of frank +courage, of generous impulse; a frank friend, an open enemy; a man +whom many misunderstood, but whom no one could understand without +honoring and loving.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2><a id="tenebras" name="tenebras">PER TENEBRAS, LUMINA.</a></h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>I know how, through the golden hours</p> +<p class="i2">When summer sunlight floods the deep,</p> +<p>The fairest stars of all the heaven</p> +<p class="i2">Climb up, unseen, the effulgent steep.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Orion girds him with a flame;</p> +<p class="i2">And, king-like, from the eastward seas,</p> +<p>Comes Aldebaran, with his train</p> +<p class="i2">Of Hyades and Pleiades.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>In far meridian pride, the Twins</p> +<p class="i2">Build, side by side, their luminous thrones;</p> +<p>And Sirius and Procyon pour</p> +<p class="i2">A splendor that the day disowns.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>And stately Leo, undismayed,</p> +<p class="i2">With fiery footstep tracks the Sun,</p> +<p>To plunge adown the western blaze,</p> +<p class="i2">Sublimely lost in glories won.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>I know, if I were called to keep</p> +<p class="i2">Pale morning watch with Grief and Pain,</p> +<p>Mine eyes should see their gathering might</p> +<p class="i2">Rise grandly through the gloom again.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>And when the Winter Solstice holds</p> +<p class="i2">In his diminished path the Sun,—</p> +<p>When hope, and growth, and joy are o’er,</p> +<p class="i2">And all our harvesting is done,—</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>When, stricken, like our mortal Life,</p> +<p class="i2">Darkened and chill, the Year lays down</p> +<p>The summer beauty that she wore,</p> +<p class="i2">Her summer stars of Harp and Crown,—</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Thick trooping with their golden tread</p> +<p class="i2">They come, as nightfall fills the sky,</p> +<p>Those strong and solemn sentinels,</p> +<p class="i2">To hold their mightier watch on high.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Ah, who shall shrink from dark and cold,</p> +<p class="i2">Or fear the sad and shortening days,</p> +<p>Since God doth only so unfold</p> +<p class="i2">The wider glory to his gaze?</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Since loyal Truth, and holy Trust,</p> +<p class="i2">And kingly Strength defying Pain,</p> +<p>Stern Courage, and sure Brotherhood</p> +<p class="i2">Are born from out the depths again?</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Dear Country of our love and pride!</p> +<p class="i2">So is thy stormy winter given!</p> +<p>So, through the terrors that betide,</p> +<p class="i2">Look up, and hail thy kindling heaven!</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2><a id="skates" name="skates">LOVE AND SKATES.</a></h2> +<h4>IN TWO PARTS.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> +<h3>PART I.</h3> +<h4>CHAPTER I.</h4> +<h5>A KNOT AND A MAN TO CUT IT.</h5> +<p>Consternation! Consternation in the back office of Benjamin +Brummage, Esq., banker in Wall Street.</p> +<p>Yesterday down came Mr. Superintendent Whiffler, from +Dunderbunk, up the North River, to say, that, “unless +something be done, <em>at once</em>, the Dunderbunk Foundry and +Iron-Works must wind up.” President Brummage forthwith +convoked his Directors. And here they sat around the green table, +forlorn as the guests at a Barmecide feast.</p> +<p>Well they might be forlorn! It was the rosy summer solstice, the +longest and fairest day of all the year. But rose-color and +sunshine had fled from Wall Street. Noisy Crisis towing black +Panic, as a puffing steam-tug drags a three-decker cocked and +primed for destruction, had suddenly sailed in upon Credit.</p> +<p>As all the green inch-worms vanish on the tenth of every June, +so on the tenth of that June all the money in America had buried +itself and was as if it were not. Everybody and everything was +ready to fail. If the hindmost brick went, down would go the whole +file.</p> +<p>There were ten Directors of the Dunderbunk Foundry.</p> +<p>Now, not seldom, of a Board of ten Directors, five are wise and +five are foolish: five wise, who bag all the Company’s funds +in salaries and commissions for indorsing its paper; five foolish, +who get no salaries, no commissions, no dividends,—nothing, +indeed, but abuse from the stockholders, and the reputation of +thieves. That is to say, five of the ten are pick-pockets; the +other five, pockets to be picked.</p> +<p>It happened that the Dunderbunk Directors were all honest and +foolish but one. He, John Churm, honest and wise, was off at the +West, with his Herculean shoulders at the wheels of a dead-locked +railroad. These honest fellows did not wish Dunderbunk to fail for +several reasons. First, it was not pleasant to lose their +investment. Second, one important failure might betray Credit to +Crisis with Panic at its heels, whereupon every investment would be +in danger. Third, what would become of their Directorial +reputations? From President Brummage down, each of these gentlemen +was one of the pockets to be picked in a great many companies. Each +was of the first Wall-Street fashion, invited to lend his name and +take stock in every new enterprise. Any one of them might have +walked down town in a long patchwork toga made of the newspaper +advertisements of boards in which his name proudly figured. If +Dunderbunk failed, the toga was torn, and might presently go to +rags beyond repair. The first rent would inaugurate universal +rupture. How to avoid this disaster?—that was the +question.</p> +<p>“State the case, Mr. Superintendent Whiffler,” said +President Brummage, in his pompous manner, with its pomp a little +collapsed, <em>pro tempore</em>.</p> +<p>Inefficient Whiffler whimpered out his story.</p> +<p>The confessions of an impotent executive are sorry stuff to +read. Whiffler’s long, dismal complaint shall not be +repeated. He had taken a prosperous concern, had carried on things +in his own way, and now failure was inevitable. He had bought raw +material lavishly, and worked it badly into half-ripe material, +which nobody wanted to buy. He was in arrears to his hands. He had +tried to bully them, when they asked for their money. They had +insulted him, and threatened to knock off work, unless they were +paid at once. “A set of horrid ruffians,” Whiffler +said,—“and his life wouldn’t be safe many days +among them.”</p> +<p>“Withdraw, if you please, Mr. Superintendent,” +President Brummage requested. “The Board will discuss +measures of relief.”</p> +<p>The more they discussed, the more consternation. Nobody said +anything to the purpose, except Mr. Sam Gwelp, his late +father’s lubberly son and successor.</p> +<p>“Blast!” said he; “we shall have to let it +slide!”</p> +<p>Into this assembly of imbeciles unexpectedly entered Mr. John +Churm. He had set his Western railroad trains rolling, and was just +returned to town. Now he was ready to put those Herculean shoulders +at any other bemired and rickety no-go-cart.</p> +<p>Mr. Churm was not accustomed to be a Director in feeble +companies. He came into Dunderbunk recently as executor of his +friend Damer, a year ago bored to death by a silly wife.</p> +<p>Churm’s bristly aspect and incisive manner made him a +sharp contrast to Brummage. The latter personage was flabby in +flesh, and the oppressively civil counter-jumper style of his youth +had grown naturally into a deportment of most imposing +pomposity.</p> +<p>The Tenth Director listened to the President’s recitative +of their difficulties, chorused by the Board.</p> +<p>“Gentlemen,” said Director Churm, “you want +two things. The first is Money!”</p> +<p>He pronounced this cabalistic word with such magic power that +all the air seemed instantly filled with a cheerful flight of gold +American eagles, each carrying a double eagle on its back and a +silver dollar in its claws; and all the soil of America seemed to +sprout with coin, as after a shower a meadow sprouts with the +yellow buds of the dandelion.</p> +<p>“Money! yes, Money!” murmured the Directors.</p> +<p>It seemed a word of good omen, now.</p> +<p>“The second thing,” resumed the newcomer, “is +a Man!”</p> +<p>The Directors looked at each other and did not see such a +being.</p> +<p>“The actual Superintendent of Dunderbunk is a +dunderhead,” said Churm.</p> +<p>“Pun!” cried Sam Gwelp, waking up from a snooze.</p> +<p>Several of the Directors, thus instructed, started a +complimentary laugh.</p> +<p>“Order, gentlemen! Orrderr!” said the President, +severely, rapping with a paper-cutter.</p> +<p>“We must have a Man, not a Whiffler!” Churm +continued. “And I have one in my eye.”</p> +<p>Everybody examined his eye.</p> +<p>“Would you be so good as to name him?” said Old +Brummage, timidly.</p> +<p>He wanted to see a Man, but feared the strange creature might be +dangerous.</p> +<p>“Richard Wade,” says Churm. They did not know him. +The name sounded forcible.</p> +<p>“He has been in California,” the nominator said.</p> +<p>A shudder ran around the green table. They seemed to see a +frowzy desperado, shaggy as a bison, in a red shirt and jackboots, +hung about the waist with an assortment of six-shooters and +bowie-knives, and standing against a background of mustangs, +monte-banks, and lynch-law.</p> +<p>“We must get Wade,” Churm says, with authority. +“He knows Iron by heart. He can handle Men. I will back him +with my blank check, to any amount, to his order.”</p> +<p>Here a murmur of applause, swelling to a cheer, burst from the +Directors.</p> +<p>Everybody knew that the Geological Bank deemed Churm’s +deposits the fundamental stratum of its wealth. They lay there in +the vaults, like underlying granite. When hot times came, they +boiled up in a mountain to buttress the world.</p> +<p>Churm’s blank check seemed to wave in the air like an +oriflamme of victory. Its payee might come from Botany Bay; he +might wear his beard to his knees, and his belt stuck full of +howitzers and boomerangs; he might have been repeatedly hung by +Vigilance Committees, and as often cut down and revived by +galvanism; but brandishing that check, good for anything less than +a million, every Director in Wall Street was his slave, his friend, +and his brother.</p> +<p>“Let us vote Mr. Wade in by acclamation,” cried the +Directors.</p> +<p>“But, gentlemen,” Churm interposed, “if I give +him my blank check, he must have <em>carte blanche</em>, and no one +to interfere in his management.”</p> +<p>Every Director, from President Brummage down, drew a long face +at this condition.</p> +<p>It was one of their great privileges to potter in the Dunderbunk +affairs and propose ludicrous impossibilities.</p> +<p>“Just as you please,” Churm continued. “I name +a competent man, a gentleman and fine fellow. I back him with all +the cash he wants. But he must have his own way. Now take him, or +leave him!”</p> +<p>Such despotic talk had never been heard before in that +Directors’ Room. They relucted a moment. But they thought of +their togas of advertisements in danger. The blank check shook its +blandishments before their eyes.</p> +<p>“We take him,” they said, and Richard Wade was the +new Superintendent unanimously.</p> +<p>“He shall be at Dunderbunk to take hold to-morrow +morning,” said Churm, and went off to notify him.</p> +<p>Upon this, Consternation sailed out of the hearts of Brummage +and associates.</p> +<p>They lunched with good appetites over the green table, and the +President confidently remarked,—</p> +<p>“I don’t believe there is going much of a crisis, +after all.”</p> +<h4>CHAPTER II.</h4> +<h5>BARRACKS FOR THE HERO.</h5> +<p>Wade packed his kit, and took the Hudson-River train for +Dunderbunk the same afternoon.</p> +<p>He swallowed his dust, he gasped for his fresh air, he wept over +his cinders, he refused his “lozengers,” he was admired +by all the pretty girls and detested by all the puny men in the +train, and in good time got down at his station.</p> +<p>He stopped on the platform to survey the land—and +water-privileges of his new abode.</p> +<p>“The June sunshine is unequalled,” he soliloquized, +“the river is splendid, the hills are pretty, and the +Highlands, north, respectable; but the village has gone to seed. +Place and people look lazy, vicious, and ashamed. I suppose those +chimneys are my Foundry. The smoke rises as if the furnaces were +ill-fed and weak in the lungs. Nothing, I can see, looks alive, +except that queer little steamboat coming in,—the ‘I. +Ambuster,’—jolly name for a boat!”</p> +<p>Wade left his traps at the station, and walked through the +village. All the gilding of a golden sunset of June could not make +it anything but commonplace. It would be forlorn on a gray day, and +utterly dismal in a storm.</p> +<p>“I must look up a civilized house to lodge in,” +thought the stranger. “I cannot possibly camp at the tavern. +Its offence is rum, and smells to heaven.”</p> +<p>Presently our explorer found a neat, white, two-story, home-like +abode on the upper street, overlooking the river.</p> +<p>“This promises,” he thought. “Here are roses +on the porch, a piano, or at least a melodeon, by the +parlor-window, and they are insured in the Mutual, as the +Mutual’s plate announces. Now, if that nice-looking person in +black I see setting a table in the back-room is a widow, I will +camp here.”</p> +<p>Perry Purtett was the name on the door, and opposite the sign of +an <em>omnium-gatherum</em> country-store hinted that Perry was +deceased. The hint was a broad one. Wade read, “Ringdove, +Successor to late P. Purtett.”</p> +<p>“It’s worth a try to get in here out of the pagan +barbarism around. I’ll propose—as a lodger—to the +widow.”</p> +<p>So said Wade, and rang the bell under the roses. A pretty, slim, +delicate, fair-haired maiden answered.</p> +<p>“This explains the roses and the melodeon,” thought +Wade, and asked, “Can I see your mother?”</p> +<p>Mamma came. “Mild, timid, accustomed to depend on the late +Perry, and wants a friend,” Wade analyzed, while he bowed. He +proposed himself as a lodger.</p> +<p>“I didn’t know it was talked of generally,” +replied the widow, plaintively; “but I have said that we felt +lonesome, Mr. Purtett bein’ gone, and if the new +minister”—</p> +<p>Here she paused. The cut of Wade’s jib was unclerical. He +did not stoop, like a new minister. He was not pallid, meagre, and +clad in unwholesome black, like the same. His bronzed face was +frank and bold and unfamiliar with speculations on Original Sin or +Total Depravity.</p> +<p>“I am not the new minister,” said Wade, smiling +slightly over his moustache; “but a new Superintendent for +the Foundry.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Whiffler is goin’?” exclaimed Mrs. +Purtett.</p> +<p>She looked at her daughter, who gave a little sob and ran out of +the room.</p> +<p>“What makes my daughter Belle feel bad,” says the +widow, “is, that she had a friend,—well, it isn’t +too much to say that they was as good as engaged,—and he was +foreman of the Foundry finishin’-shop. But somehow Whiffler +spoilt him, just as he spoils everything he touches; and last +winter, when Belle was away, William Tarbox—that’s his +name, and his head is runnin’ over with inventions—took +to spreein’ and liquor, and got ashamed of himself, and let +down from a foreman to a hand, and is all the while lettin’ +down lower.”</p> +<p>The widow’s heart thus opened, Wade walked in as consoler. +This also opened the lodgings to him. He was presently installed in +the large and small front-rooms up-stairs, unpacking his traps, and +making himself permanently at home.</p> +<p>Superintendent Whiffler came over, by-and-by, to see his +successor. He did not like his looks. The new man should have +looked mean or weak or rascally, to suit the outgoer.</p> +<p>“How long do you expect to stay?” asks Whiffler, +with a half-sneer, watching Wade hanging a map and a print +<em>vis-à-vis</em>.</p> +<p>“Until the men and I, or the Company and I, cannot pull +together.”</p> +<p>“I’ll give you a week to quarrel with both, and +another to see the whole concern go to everlasting smash. And now, +if you’re ready, I’ll go over the accounts with you and +prove it.”</p> +<p>Whiffler himself, insolent, cowardly, and a humbug, if not a +swindler, was enough, Wade thought, to account for any failure. But +he did not mention this conviction.</p> +<h4>CHAPTER III.</h4> +<h5>HOW TO BEHEAD A HYDRA!</h5> +<p>At ten next morning, Whiffler handed over the safe-key to Wade, +and departed to ruin some other property, if he could get one to +ruin. Wade walked with him to the gate.</p> +<p>“I’m glad to be out of a sinking ship,” said +the ex-boss. “The Works will go down, sure as shooting. And I +think myself well out of the clutches of these men. They’re a +bullying, swearing, drinking set of infernal ruffians. Foremen are +just as bad as hands. I never felt safe of my life with +‘em.”</p> +<p>“A bad lot, are they?” mused Wade, as he returned to +the office. “I must give them a little sharp talk by way of +Inaugural.”</p> +<p>He had the bell tapped and the men called together in the main +building.</p> +<p>Much work was still going on in an inefficient, unsystematic +way.</p> +<p>While hot fires were roaring in the great furnaces, smoke rose +from the dusty beds where Titanic castings were cooling. Great +cranes, manacled with heavy chains, stood over the furnace-doors, +ready to lift steaming jorums of melted metal, and pour out, hot +and hot, for the moulds to swallow.</p> +<p>Raw material in big heaps lay about, waiting for the fire to +ripen it. Here was a stack of long, rough, rusty pigs, clumsy as +the shillelabs of the Anakim. There was a pile of short, thick +masses, lying higgledy-piggledy, stuff from the neighboring mines, +which needed to be crossed with foreign stock before it could be of +much use in civilization.</p> +<p>Here, too, was raw material organized: a fly-wheel, large enough +to keep the knobbiest of asteroids revolving without a wabble; a +cross-head, cross-tail, and piston-rod, to help a great sea-going +steamer breast the waves; a light walking-beam, to whirl the +paddles of a fast boat on the river; and other members of machines, +only asking to be put together and vivified by steam and they would +go at their work with a will.</p> +<p>From the black rafters overhead hung the heavy folds of a dim +atmosphere, half dust, half smoke. A dozen sunbeams, forcing their +way through the grimy panes of the grimy upper windows, found this +compound quite palpable and solid, and they moulded out of it a +series of golden bars set side by side aloft, like the pipes of an +organ out of its perpendicular.</p> +<p>Wade grew indignant, as he looked about him and saw so much good +stuff and good force wasting for want of a little will and skill to +train the force and manage the stuff. He abhorred bankruptcy and +chaos.</p> +<p>“All they want here is a head,” he thought.</p> +<p>He shook his own. The brain within was well developed with +healthy exercise. It filled its case, and did not rattle like a +withered kernel, or sound soft like a rotten one. It was a +vigorous, muscular brain. The owner felt that he could trust it for +an effort, as he could his lungs for a shout, his legs for a leap, +or his fist for a knock-down argument.</p> +<p>At the tap of the bell, the “bad lot” of men came +together. They numbered more than two hundred, though the Foundry +was working short. They had been notified that “that gonoph +of a Whiffler was kicked out, and a new feller was in, who looked +cranky enough, and wanted to see ‘em and tell ‘em +whether he was a damn’ fool or not.”</p> +<p>So all hands collected from the different parts of the Foundry +to see the head.</p> +<p>They came up with easy and somewhat swaggering bearing,—a +good many roughs, with here and there a ruffian. Several, as they +approached, swung and tossed, for mere overplus of strength, the +sledges with which they had been tapping at the bald shiny pates of +their anvils. Several wielded their long pokers like lances.</p> +<p>Grimy chaps, all with their faces streaked, like Blackfeet in +their warpaint. Their hairy chests showed, where some men parade +elaborate shirt-bosoms. Some had their sleeves pushed up to the +elbow to exhibit their compact flexors and extensors. Some had +rolled their flannel up to the shoulder, above the bulging muscles +of the upper arm. They wore aprons tied about the neck, like the +bibs of our childhood,—or about the waist, like the +coquettish articles which young housewives affect. But there was no +coquetry in these great flaps of leather or canvas, and they were +besmeared and rust-stained quite beyond any bib that ever suffered +under bread-and-molasses or mud-pie treatment.</p> +<p>They lounged and swaggered up, and stood at ease, not without +rough grace, in a sinuous line, coiled and knotted like a +snake.</p> +<p>Ten feet back stood the new Hercules who was to take down that +Hydra’s two hundred crests of insubordination.</p> +<p>They inspected him, and he them as coolly. He read and ticketed +each man, as he came up,—good, bad, or on the +fence,—and marked each so that he would know him among a +myriad.</p> +<p>The Hands faced the Head. It was a question whether the two +hundred or the one would be master in Dunderbunk.</p> +<p>Which was boss? An old question.</p> +<p>It has to be settled whenever a new man claims power, and there +is always a struggle until it is fought out by main force of brain +or muscle.</p> +<p>Wade had made up his mind on this subject. He waited a moment +until the men were still. He was a Saxon six-footer of thirty. He +stood easily on his pins, as if he had eyed men and facts before. +His mouth looked firm, his brow freighted, his nose +clipper,—that the hands could see. But clipper noses are not +always backed by a stout hull. Seemingly freighted brows sometimes +carry nothing but ballast and dunnage. The firmness may be all in +the moustache, while the mouth hides beneath, a mere silly slit. +All which the hands knew.</p> +<p>Wade began, short and sharp as a trip-hammer, when it has a bar +to shape.</p> +<p>“I’m the new Superintendent. Richard Wade is my +name. I rang the bell because I wanted to see you and have you see +me. You know as well as I do that these Works are in a bad way. +They can’t stay so. They must come up and pay you regular +wages and the Company profits. Every man of you has got to be here +on the spot when the bell strikes, and up to the mark in his work. +You haven’t been,—and you know it. You’ve turned +out rotten iron,—stuff that any honest shop would be ashamed +of. Now there’s to be a new leaf turned over here. +You’re to be paid on the nail; but you’ve got to earn +your money. I won’t have any idlers or shirkers or rebels +about me. I shall work hard myself, and every man of you will, or +he leaves the shop. Now, if anybody has a complaint to make, +I’ll hear him before you all.”</p> +<p>The men were evidently impressed with Wade’s Inaugural. It +meant something. But they were not to be put down so easily, after +long misrule. There began to be a whisper,—</p> +<p>“B’il in, Bill Tarbox! and talk up to +him!”</p> +<p>Presently Bill shouldered forward and faced the new ruler.</p> +<p>Since Bill took to drink and degradation, he had been the +butt-end of riot and revolt at the Foundry. He had had his own way +with Whiffler. He did not like to abdicate and give in to this new +chap without testing him.</p> +<p>In a better mood, Bill would have liked Wade’s looks and +words; but today he had a sore head, a sour face, and a bitter +heart from last night’s spree. And then he had heard—it +was as well known already in Dunderbunk as if the town-crier had +cried it—that Wade was lodging at Mrs. Purtett’s, where +poor Bill was excluded. So Bill stepped forward as spokesman of the +ruffianly element, and the immoral force gathered behind and backed +him heavily.</p> +<p>Tarbox, too, was a Saxon six-footer of thirty. But he had sagged +one inch for want of self-respect. He had spoilt his color and dyed +his moustache. He wore foxy-black pantaloons tucked into red-topped +boots, with the name of the maker on a gilt shield. His red flannel +shirt was open at the neck and caught with a black handkerchief. +His damaged tile was in permanent crape for the late lamented +Poole.</p> +<p>“We allow,” says Bill, in a tone halfway between +Lablache’s <em>De profundis</em> and a burglar’s +bull-dog’s snarl, “that we’ve did our work as +good as need to be did. We ‘xpect we know our rights. We +ha’n’t ben treated fair, and I’m damned if +we’re go’n’ to stan’ it.”</p> +<p>“Stop!” says Wade. “No swearing in this +shop!”</p> +<p>“Who the Devil is go’n’ to stop it?” +growled Tarbox.</p> +<p>“I am. Do you step back now, and let some one come out who +can talk like a gentleman!”</p> +<p>“I’m damned if I stir till I’ve had my say +out,” says Bill, shaking himself up and looking +dangerous.</p> +<p>“Go back!”</p> +<p>Wade moved close to him, also looking dangerous.</p> +<p>“Don’t tech me!” Bill threatened, squaring +off.</p> +<p>He was not quick enough. Wade knocked him down flat on a heap of +moulding-sand. The hat in mourning for Poole found its place in a +puddle.</p> +<p>Bill did not like the new Emperor’s method of compelling +<em>kotou</em>. Round One of the mill had not given him enough.</p> +<p>He jumped up from his soft bed and made a vicious rush at Wade. +But he was damaged by evil courses. He was fighting against law and +order, on the side of wrong and bad manners.</p> +<p>The same fist met him again, and heavier.</p> +<p>Up went his heels! Down went his head! It struck the ragged edge +of a fresh casting, and there he lay stunned and bleeding on his +hard black pillow.</p> +<p>“Ring the bell to go to work!” said Wade, in a tone +that made the ringer jump. “Now, men, take hold and do your +duty and everything will go smooth!”</p> +<p>The bell clanged in. The line looked at its prostrate champion, +then at the new boss standing there, cool and brave, and not afraid +of a regiment of sledge-hammers.</p> +<p>They wanted an Executive. They wanted to be well governed, as +all men do. They wanted disorder out and order in. The new man +looked like a man, talked fair, hit hard. Why not all hands give in +with a good grace and go to work like honest fellows?</p> +<p>The line broke up. The hands went off to their duty. And there +was never any more insubordination at Dunderbunk.</p> +<p>This was June.</p> +<p>Skates in the next chapter.</p> +<p>Love in good time afterward shall glide upon the scene.</p> +<h4>CHAPTER IV.</h4> +<h5>A CHRISTMAS GIFT.</h5> +<p>The pioneer sunbeam of next Christmas morning rattled over the +Dunderbunk hills, flashed into Richard Wade’s eyes, waked +him, and was off, ricochetting across the black ice of the +river.</p> +<p>Wade jumped up, electrified and jubilant. He had gone to bed, +feeling quite too despondent for so healthy a fellow. Christmas +Eve, the time of family-meetings, reminded him how lonely he was. +He had not a relative in the world, except two little +nieces,—one as tall as his knee, the other almost up to his +waist; and them he had safely bestowed in a nook of New England, to +gain wit and virtues as they gained inches.</p> +<p>“I have had a stern and lonely life,” thought Wade, +as he blew out his candle last night, “and what has it +profited me?”</p> +<p>Perhaps the pioneer sunbeam answered this question with a +truism, not always as applicable as in this case,—“A +brave, able, self-respecting manhood is fair profit for any +man’s first thirty years of life.”</p> +<p>But, answered or not, the question troubled Wade no more. He +shot out of bed in tip-top spirits; shouted “Merry +Christmas!” at the rising disk of the sun; looked over the +black ice; thrilled with the thought of a long holiday for skating; +and proceeded to dress in a knowing suit of rough clothes, singing, +“<em>Ah, non giunge</em>!” as he slid into them.</p> +<p>Presently, glancing from his south window, he observed several +matinal smokes rising from the chimneys of a country-house a mile +away, on a slope fronting the river.</p> +<p>“Peter Skerrett must be back from Europe at last,” +he thought. “I hope he is as fine a fellow as he was ten +years ago. I hope marriage has not made him a muff, and wealth a +weakling.”</p> +<p>Wade went down to breakfast with an heroic appetite. His +“Merry Christmas” to Mrs. Purtett was followed up by a +ravished kiss and the gift of a silver butter-knife. The good widow +did not know which to be most charmed with. The butter-knife was +genuine, shining, solid silver, with her initials, M.B.P., Martha +Bilsby Purtett, given in luxuriant flourishes; but then the kiss +had such a fine twang, such an exhilarating titillation! The late +Perry’s kisses, from first to last, had wanted point. They +were, as the Spanish proverb would put it, unsavory as unsalted +eggs, for want of a moustache. The widow now perceived, with mild +regret, how much she had missed when she married “a man all +shaven and shorn.” Her cheek, still fair, though forty, +flushed with novel delight, and she appreciated her lodger more +than ever.</p> +<p>Wade’s salutation to Belle Purtett was more distant. There +must be a little friendly reserve between a handsome young man and +a pretty young woman several grades lower in the social scale, +living in the same house. They were on the most cordial terms, +however; and her gift—of course embroidered +slippers—and his to her—of course “The +Illustrated Poets,” in Turkey morocco—were exchanged +with tender good-will on both sides.</p> +<p>“We shall meet on the ice, Miss Belle,” said Wade. +“It is a day of a thousand for skating.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Ringdove says you are a famous skater,” Belle +rejoined. “He saw you on the river yesterday +evening.”</p> +<p>“Yes; Tarbox and I were practising to exhibit to-day; but +I could not do much with my dull old skates.”</p> +<p>Wade breakfasted deliberately, as a holiday morning allowed, and +then walked down to the Foundry. There would be no work done +to-day, except by a small gang keeping up the fires. The +Superintendent wished only to give his First Semi-Annual Report an +hour’s polishing, before he joined all Dunderbunk on the +ice.</p> +<p>It was a halcyon day, worthy of its motto, “Peace on +earth, good-will to men.” The air was electric, the sun +overflowing with jolly shine, the river smooth and sheeny from the +hither bank to the snowy mountains opposite.</p> +<p>“I wish I were Rembrandt, to paint this grand shadowy +interior,” thought Wade, as he entered the silent, deserted +Foundry. “With the gleam of the snow in my eyes, it looks +deliciously warm and <em>chiaroscuro</em>. When the men are here +and ‘<em>fervet opus</em>,’—the pot +boils,—I cannot stop to see the picturesque.”</p> +<p>He opened his office, took his Report and began to complete it +with ,s, ;s, and .s in the right places.</p> +<p>All at once the bell of the Works rang out loud and clear. +Presently the Superintendent became aware of a tramp and a bustle +in the building. By-and-by came a tap at the office-door.</p> +<p>“Come in,” said Wade, and, enter young Perry +Purtett.</p> +<p>Perry was a boy of fifteen, with hair the color of fresh +sawdust, white eyebrows, and an uncommonly wide-awake look. +Ringdove, his father’s successor, could never teach Perry the +smirk, the grace, and the seductiveness of the counter, so the boy +had found his place in the finishing-shop of the Foundry.</p> +<p>“Some of the hands would like to see you for half a jiff, +Mr. Wade,” said he. “Will you come along, if you +please?”</p> +<p>There was a good deal of easy swagger about Perry, as there is +always in boys and men whose business is to watch the lunging of +steam-engines. Wade followed him. Perry led the way with a jaunty +air that said,—</p> +<p>“Room here! Out of the way, you lubberly bits of +cast-iron! Be careful, now, you big derricks, or I’ll walk +right over you! Room now for Me and My suite!”</p> +<p>This pompous usher conducted the Superintendent to the very spot +in the main room of the Works where, six months before, the +Inaugural had been pronounced and the first Veto spoken and +enacted.</p> +<p>And there, as six months before, stood the Hands awaiting their +Head. But the aprons, the red shirts, and the grime of working-days +were off, and the whole were in holiday rig,—as black and +smooth and shiny from top to toe as the members of a Congress of +Undertakers.</p> +<p>Wade, following in the wake of Perry, took his stand facing the +rank, and waited to see what he was summoned for. He had not long +to wait.</p> +<p>To the front stepped Mr. William Tarbox, foreman of the +finishing-shop, no longer a boy, but an erect, fine-looking fellow, +with no nitrate in his moustache, and his hat permanently out of +mourning for the late Mr. Poole.</p> +<p>“Gentlemen,” said Bill, “I move that this +meeting organize by appointing Mr. Smith Wheelwright Chairman. As +many as are in favor of this motion, please to say +‘Aye.’”</p> +<p>“Aye!” said the crowd, very loud and big. And then +every man looked at his neighbor, a little abashed, as if he +himself had made all the noise.</p> +<p>“This is a free country,” continues Bill. +“Every woter has a right to a fair shake. Contrary minds, +‘No.’”</p> +<p>No contrary minds. The crowd uttered a great silence. Every man +looked at his neighbor, surprised to find how well they agreed.</p> +<p>“Unanimous!” Tarbox pronounced. “No fractious +minorities <em>here</em>, to block the wheels of +legislation!”</p> +<p>The crowd burst into a roar at this significant remark, and, +again abashed, dropped portcullis on its laughter, cutting off the +flanks and tail of the sound.</p> +<p>“Mr. Purtett, will you please conduct the Chairman to the +Chair,” says Bill, very stately.</p> +<p>“Make way here!” cried Perry, with the manner of a +man seven feet high. “Step out now, Mr. Chairman!”</p> +<p>He took a big, grizzled, docile-looking fellow patronizingly by +the arm, led him forward, and chaired him on a large cylinder-head, +in the rough, just hatched out of its mould.</p> +<p>“Bang away with that, and sing out, +‘Silence!’” says the knowing boy, handing +Wheelwright an iron bolt, and taking his place beside him, as +prompter.</p> +<p>The docile Chairman obeyed. At his breaking silence by hooting +“Silence!” the audience had another mighty bob-tailed +laugh.</p> +<p>“Say, ‘Will some honorable member state the object +of this meeting?’” whispered the prompter.</p> +<p>“Will some honorable mumbler state the subject of this +‘ere meetin’?” says Chair, a little bashful and +confused.</p> +<p>Bill Tarbox advanced, and, with a formal bow, began,—</p> +<p>“Mr. Chairman”—</p> +<p>“Say, ‘Mr. Tarbox has the floor,’” piped +Perry.</p> +<p>“Mr. Tarbox has the floor,” diapasoned the +Chair.</p> +<p>“Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen”—Bill began, and +stopped.</p> +<p>“Say, ‘Proceed, Sir!’” suggested Perry, +which the senior did, magnifying the boy’s whisper a dozen +times.</p> +<p>Again Bill began and stopped.</p> +<p>“Boys,” said he, dropping grandiloquence, +“when I accepted the office of Orator of the Day at our +primary, and promised to bring forward our Resolutions in honor of +Mr. Wade with my best speech, I didn’t think I was going to +have such a head of steam on that the walves would get stuck and +the piston jammed and I couldn’t say a word.</p> +<p>“But,” he continued, warming up, “when I think +of the Indian powwow we had in this very spot six months +ago,—and what a mean bloat I was, going to the stub-tail dogs +with my hat over my eyes,—and what a hard lot we were all +round, livin’ on nothing but argee whiskey, and rampin’ +off on benders, instead of makin’ good iron,—and how +the Works was flat broke,—and how Dunderbunk was full of +women crying over their husbands and mothers ashamed of their +sons,—boys, when I think how things was, and see how they +are, and look at Mr. Wade standing there like a”—</p> +<p>Bill hesitated for a comparison.</p> +<p>“Like a thousand of brick,” Perry Purtett suggested, +<em>sotto voce</em>.</p> +<p>The Chairman took this as a hint to himself.</p> +<p>“Like a thousand of brick,” he said, with the voice +of a Stentor.</p> +<p>Here the audience roared and cheered, and the Orator got a fresh +start.</p> +<p>“When you came, Mr. Wade,” he resumed, “we was +about sick of putty-heads and sneaks that didn’t know enough +or didn’t dare to make us stand round and bone in. You walked +in, b’ilin’ over with grit. You took hold as if you +belonged here. You made things jump like a two-headed tarrier. All +we wanted was a live man, to say, ‘Here, boys, all together +now! You’ve got your stint, and I’ve got mine. +I’m boss in this shop,—but I can’t do the first +thing, unless every man pulls his pound. Now, then, my hand is on +the throttle, grease the wheels, oil the walves, poke the fires, +hook on, and let’s yank her through with a +will!’”</p> +<p>At this figure the meeting showed a tendency to cheer. +“Silence!” Perry sternly suggested. +“Silence!” repeated the Chair.</p> +<p>“Then,” continued the Orator, “you +wasn’t one of the uneasy kind, always fussin’ and +cussin’ round. You wasn’t always spyin’ to see we +didn’t take home a cross-tail or a hundred-weight of +cast-iron in our pants’ pockets, or go to swiggin’ hot +metal out of the ladles on the sly.”</p> +<p>Here an enormous laugh requited Bill’s joke. Perry +prompted, the Chair banged with his bolt and cried, +“Order!”</p> +<p>“Well, now, boys,” Tarbox went on, “what has +come of having one of the right sort to be boss? Why, this. The +Works go ahead, stiddy as the North River. We work full time and +full-handed. We turn out stuff that no shop needs to be ashamed of. +Wages is on the nail. We have a good time generally. How is that, +boys,—Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen?”</p> +<p>“That’s so!” from everybody.</p> +<p>“And there’s something better yet,” Bill +resumed. “Dunderbunk used to be full of crying women. +They’ve stopped crying now.”</p> +<p>Here the whole assemblage, Chairman and all, burst into an +irrepressible cheer.</p> +<p>“But I’m making my speech as long as a +lightning-rod,” said the speaker. “I’ll put on +the brakes, short. I guess Mr. Wade understands pretty well, now, +how we feel; and if he don’t, here it all is in shape, in +this document, with ‘Whereas’ at the top and +‘Resolved’ entered along down in five places. Mr. +Purtett, will you hand the Resolutions to the +Superintendent?”</p> +<p>Perry advanced and did his office loftily, much to the amusement +of Wade and the workmen.</p> +<p>“Now,” Bill resumed, “we wanted, besides, to +make you a little gift, Mr. Wade, to remember the day by. So we got +up a subscription, and every man put in his dime. Here’s the +present,—hand ‘em over, Perry!</p> +<p>“There, Sir, is THE BEST PAIR OF SKATES to be had in York +City, made for work, and no nonsense about ‘em. We Dunderbunk +boys give ‘em to you, one for all, and hope you’ll like +‘em and beat the world skating, as you do in all the things +we’ve knowed you try.</p> +<p>“Now, boys,” Bill perorated, “before I retire +to the shades of private life, I motion we give Three +Cheers—regular Toplifters—for Richard Wade!”</p> +<p>“Hurrah! Wade and Good Government!” “Hurrah! +Wade and Prosperity!” “Hurrah! Wade and the +Women’s Tears Dry!”</p> +<p>Cheers like the shout of Achilles! Wielding sledges is good for +the bellows, it appears. Toplifters! Why, the smoky black rafters +overhead had to tug hard to hold the roof on. Hurrah! From every +corner of the vast building came back rattling echoes. The Works, +the machinery, the furnaces, the stuff, all had their voice to add +to the verdict.</p> +<p>Magnificent music! and our Anglo-Saxon is the only race in the +world civilized enough to join in singing it. We are the only +hurrahing people,—the only brood hatched in a +“Hurrah’s nest.”</p> +<p>Silence restored, the Chairman, prompted by Perry, said, +“Gentlemen, Mr. Wade has the floor for a few +remarks.”</p> +<p>Of course Wade had to speak, and did. He would not have been an +American in America else. But his heart was too full to say more +than a few hearty and earnest words of good feeling.</p> +<p>“Now, men,” he closed, “I want to get away on +the river and see if my skates will go as they look; so I’ll +end by proposing three cheers for Smith Wheelwright, our Chairman, +three for our Orator, Tarbox, three for Old +Dunderbunk,—Works, Men, Women, and Children; and one big +cheer for Old Father Iron, as rousing a cheer as ever was +roared.”</p> +<p>So they gave their three times three with enormous enthusiasm. +The roof shook, the furnaces rattled, Perry Purtett banged with the +Chairman’s hammer, the great echoes thundered through the +Foundry.</p> +<p>And when they ended with one gigantic cheer for IRON, tough and +true, the weapon, the tool, and the engine of all +civilization,—it seemed as if the uproar would never cease +until Father Iron himself heard the call in his smithy away under +the magnetic pole, and came clanking up, to return thanks in +person.</p> +<h4>CHAPTER V.</h4> +<h5>SKATING AS A FINE ART.</h5> +<p>Of all the plays that are played by this playful world on its +play-days, there is no play like Skating.</p> +<p>To prepare a board for the moves of this game of games, a panel +for the drawings of this Fine Art, a stage for the +<em>entrechats</em> and <em>pirouettes</em> of its graceful adepts, +Zero, magical artificer, had been, for the last two nights, sliding +at full speed up and down the North River.</p> +<p>We have heard of Midas, whose touch made gold, and of the virgin +under whose feet sprang roses; but Zero’s heels and toes were +armed with more precious influences. They left a diamond way, where +they slid,—a hundred and fifty miles of diamond, half a mile +wide and six inches thick.</p> +<p>Diamond can only reflect sunlight; ice can contain it. +Zero’s product, finer even than diamond, was filled—at +the rate of a million to the square foot—with bubbles +immeasurably little, and yet every one big enough to comprise the +entire sun in small, but without alteration or abridgment. When the +sun rose, each of these wonderful cells was ready to catch the tip +of a sunbeam and house it in a shining abode.</p> +<p>Besides this, Zero had inlaid its work, all along shore, with +exquisite marquetry of leaves, brown and evergreen, of sprays and +twigs, reeds and grasses. No parquet in any palace from +Fontainebleau to St. Petersburg could show such delicate patterns, +or could gleam so brightly, though polished with all the wax in +Christendom.</p> +<p>On this fine pavement, all the way from Cohoes to Spuyten +Duyvil, Jubilee was sliding without friction, the Christmas morning +of these adventures.</p> +<p>Navigation was closed. Navigators had leisure. The sloops and +schooners were frozen in along shore, the tugs and barges were laid +up in basins, the floating palaces were down at New York, +deodorizing their bar-rooms, regilding their bridal chambers, and +enlarging their spittoon accommodations alow and aloft, for next +summer. All the population was out on the ice, skating, sliding, +sledding, slipping, tumbling, to its heart’s content.</p> +<p>One person out of every Dunderbunk family was of course at home, +roasting Christmas turkey. The rest were already at high jinks on +Zero’s Christmas present, when Wade and the men came down, +from the meeting.</p> +<p>Wade buckled on his new skates in a jiffy. He stamped to settle +himself, and then flung off half a dozen circles on the right leg, +half a dozen with the left, and the same with either leg +backwards.</p> +<p>The ice, traced with these white peripheries, showed like a +blackboard where a school has been chalking diagrams of Euclid, to +point at with the “slow unyielding finger” of +demonstration.</p> +<p>“Hurrah!” cries Wade, halting in front of the men, +who, some on the Foundry wharf, some on the deck of our first +acquaintance at Dunderbunk, the tug “L Ambuster,” were +putting on their skates or watching him, “Hurrah! the skates +are perfection! Are you ready, Bill?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” says Tarbox, whizzing off rings, as exact as +Giotto’s autograph.</p> +<p>“Now, then,” Wade said, “we’ll give +Dunderbunk a laugh, as we practised last night.”</p> +<p>They got under full headway, Wade backwards, Bill forwards, +holding hands. When they were near enough to the merry throng out +in the stream, both dropped into a sitting posture, with the left +knee bent, and each with his right leg stretched out parallel to +the ice and fitting compactly by the other man’s leg. In this +queer figure they rushed through the laughing crowd.</p> +<p>Then all Dunderbunk formed a ring, agog for a grand show of</p> +<p class="cen">SKATING AS A FINE ART.</p> +<p>The world loves to see Great Artists, and expects them to do +their duty.</p> +<p>It is hard to treat of this Fine Art by the Art of Fine Writing. +Its eloquent motions must be seen.</p> +<p>To skate Fine Art, you must have a Body and a Soul, each of the +First Order; otherwise you will never get out of coarse art and +skating in one syllable. So much for yourself, the motive power. +And your machinery,—your smooth-bottomed rockers, the same +shape stem and stern,—this must be as perfect as the man it +moves, and who moves it.</p> +<p>Now suppose you wish to skate so that the critics will say, +“See! this athlete docs his work as Church paints, as Darley +draws, as Palmer chisels, as Wittier strikes the lyre, and +Longfellow the dulcimer; he is as terse as Emerson, as clever as +Holmes, as graceful as Curtis; he is as calm as Seward, as keen as +Phillips, as stalwart as Beecher; be is Garibaldi, he is Kit +Carson, he is Blondin; he is as complete as the steamboat +Metropolis, as Steers’s yacht, as Singer’s +sewing-machine, as Colt’s revolver, as the steam-plough, as +Civilization.” You wish to be so ranked among the people and +things that lead the age;—consider the qualities you must +have, and while you consider, keep your eye on Richard Wade, for he +has them all in perfection.</p> +<p>First,—of your physical qualities. You must have lungs, +not bellows; and an active heart, not an assortment of sluggish +auricles and ventricles. You must have legs, not shanks. Their +shape is unimportant, except that they must not interfere at the +knee. You must have muscles, not flabbiness; sinews like wire; +nerves like sunbeams; and a thin layer of flesh to cushion the +gable-ends, where you will strike, if you tumble,—which, once +for all be it said, you must never do. You must be all +<em>momentum</em>, and no <em>inertia</em>. You must be one part +grace, one force, one agility, and the rest caoutchouc, Manila +hemp, and watch-spring. Your machine, your body, must be thoroughly +obedient. It must go just so far and no farther. You have got to be +as unerring as a planet holding its own, emphatically, between +forces centripetal and centrifugal. Your <em>aplomb</em> must be as +absolute as the pounce of a falcon.</p> +<p>So much for a few of the physical qualities necessary to be a +Great Artist in Skating. See Wade, how be shows them!</p> +<p>Now for the moral and intellectual. Pluck is the first;—it +always is the first quality. Then enthusiasm. Then patience. Then +pertinacity. Then a fine aesthetic faculty,—in short, good +taste. Then an orderly and submissive mind, that can consent to act +in accordance with the laws of Art. Circumstances, too, must have +been reasonably favorable. That well-known skeptic, the King of +tropical Bantam, could not skate, because he had never seen ice and +doubted even the existence of solid water. Widdrington, after the +Battle of Chevy Chace, could not have skated, because he had no +legs,—poor fellow!</p> +<p>But granted the ice and the legs, then if you begin in the +elastic days of youth, when cold does not sting, tumbles do not +bruise, and duckings do not wet; if you have pluck and ardor enough +to try everything; if you work slowly ahead and stick to it; if you +have good taste and a lively invention; if you are a man, and not a +lubber;—then, in fine, you may become a Great Skater, just as +with equal power and equal pains you may put your grip on any kind +of Greatness.</p> +<p>The technology of skating is imperfect. Few of the great feats, +the Big Things, have admitted names. If I attempted to catalogue +Wade’s achievements, this chapter might become an +unintelligible rhapsody. A sheet of paper and a pen-point cannot +supply the place of a sheet of ice and a skate-edge. Geometry must +have its diagrams, Anatomy its <em>corpus</em> to carve. Skating +also refuses to be spiritualized into a Science; it remains an Art, +and cannot be expressed in a formula.</p> +<p>Skating has its Little Go, its Great Go, its Baccalaureate, its +M.A., its F.S.D., (Doctor of Frantic Skipping,) its A.G.D., (Doctor +of Airy Gliding,) its N.T.D., (Doctor of No Tumbles,) and finally +its highest degree, U.P. (Unapproachable Podographer).</p> +<p>Wade was U.P.</p> +<p>There were a hundred of Dunderbunkers who had passed their +Little Go and could skate forward and backward easily. A +half-hundred, perhaps, were through the Great Go; these could do +outer edge freely. A dozen had taken the Baccalaureate, and were +proudly repeating the pirouettes and spread-eagles of that degree. +A few could cross their feet, on the edge, forward and backward, +and shift edge on the same foot, and so were <em>Magistri +Artis</em>.</p> +<p>Wade, U.P., added to these an indefinite list of combinations +and fresh contrivances. He spun spirals slow, and spirals neck or +nothing. He pivoted on one toe, with the other foot cutting rings, +inner and outer edge, forward and back, He skated on one foot +better than the M.A.s could on both. He ran on his toes; he slid on +his heels; he cut up shines like a sunbeam on a bender; he swung, +light as if he could fly, if he pleased, like a wing-footed +Mercury; he glided as if will, not muscle, moved him; he tore about +in frenzies; his pivotal leg stood firm, his balance leg flapped +like a graceful pinion; he turned somersets; he jumped, whirling +backward as he went, over a platoon of boys laid flat on the +ice;—the last boy winced, and thought he was amputated; but +Wade flew over, and the boy still holds together as well as most +boys. Besides this, he could write his name, with a flourish at the +end, like the <em>rubrica</em> of a Spanish <em>hidalgo</em>. He +could podograph any letter, and multitudes of ingenious curlicues +which might pass for the alphabets of the unknown tongues. He could +<em>not</em> tumble.</p> +<p>It was Fine Art.</p> +<p>Bill Tarbox sometimes pressed the champion hard. But Bill +stopped just short of Fine Art, in High Artisanship.</p> +<p>How Dunderbunk cheered this wondrous display! How delighted the +whole population was to believe they possessed the best skater on +the North River! How they struggled to imitate! How they tumbled, +some on their backs, some on their faces, some with dignity like +the dying Caesar, some rebelliously like a cat thrown out of a +garret, some limp as an ancient acrobate! How they laughed at +themselves and at each other!</p> +<p>“It’s all in the new skates,” says Wade, +apologizing for his unapproachable power and finish.</p> +<p>“It’s suthin’ in the man,” says Smith +Wheelwright.</p> +<p>“Now chase me, everybody,” said Wade.</p> +<p>And, for a quarter of an hour, he dodged the merry crowd, until +at last, breathless, he let himself be touched by pretty Belle +Purtett, rosiest of all the Dunderbunk bevy of rosy maidens on the +ice.</p> +<p>“He rayther beats Bosting,” says Captain Isaac +Ambuster to Smith Wheelwright. “It’s so cold there that +they can skate all the year round; but he beats them, all the +same.”</p> +<p>The Captain was sitting in a queer little bowl of a skiff on the +deck of his tug, and rocking it like a cradle, as he talked.</p> +<p>“Bosting’s always hard to beat in anything,” +rejoined the ex-Chairman. “But if Bosting is to be beat, +here’s the man to do it.”</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p>And now, perhaps, gentle reader, you think I have said enough in +behalf of a limited fraternity, the Skaters.</p> +<p>The next chapter, then, shall take up the cause of the Lovers, a +more numerous body, and we will see whether True Love, which never +makes “smooth running,” can help its progress by a +skate-blade.</p> +<h4>CHAPTER VI.</h4> +<h5>“GO NOT, HAPPY DAY, TILL THE MAIDEN YIELDS.”</h5> +<p>Christmas noon at Dunderbunk. Every skater was in galloping +glee,—as the electric air, and the sparkling sun, and the +glinting ice had a right to expect that they all should be.</p> +<p>Belle Purtett, skating simply and well, had never looked so +pretty and graceful. So thought Bill Tarbox.</p> +<p>He had not spoken to her, nor she to him, for more than six +months. The poor fellow was ashamed of himself and penitent for his +past bad courses. And so, though he longed to have his old flame +recognize him again, and though he was bitterly jealous and +miserably afraid he should lose her, he had kept away and consumed +his heart like a true despairing lover.</p> +<p>But to-day Bill was a lion, only second to Wade, the +unapproachable lion-in-chief. Bill was reinstated in public esteem, +and had won back his standing in the Foundry. He had to-day made a +speech which Perry Purtett gave everybody to understand “none +of Senator Bill Seward’s could hold the tallow to.” +Getting up the meeting and presenting Wade with the skates was +Bill’s own scheme, and it had turned out an eminent success. +Everything began to look bright to him. His past life drifted out +of his mind like the rowdy tales he used to read in the Sunday +newspapers.</p> +<p>He had watched Belle Purtett all the morning, and saw that she +distinguished nobody with her smiles, not even that <em>coq du +village</em>, Ringdove. He also observed that she was furtively +watching him.</p> +<p>By-and-by she sailed out of the crowd, and went off a little way +to practise.</p> +<p>“Now,” said he to himself, “sail in, Bill +Tarbox!”</p> +<p>Belle heard the sharp strokes of a powerful skater coming after +her. Her heart divined who this might be. She sped away like the +swift Camilla, and her modest drapery showed just enough and +“<em>ne quid nimis</em>” of her ankles.</p> +<p>Bill admired the grace and the ankles immensely. But his hopes +sank a little at the flight,—for he thought she perceived his +chase and meant to drop him. Bill had not bad a classical +education, and knew nothing of Galatea in the Eclogue,—how +she did not hide, until she saw her swain was looking fondly +after.</p> +<p>“She wants to get away,” he thought “But she +sha’n’t,—no, not if I have to follow her to +Albany.”</p> +<p>He struck out mightily. Presently the swift Camilla let herself +be overtaken.</p> +<p>“Good morning, Miss Purtett.” (Dogged air.)</p> +<p>“Good morning, Mr. Tarbox.” (Taken-by-surprise +air.)</p> +<p>“I’ve been admiring your skating,” says Bill, +trying to be cool.</p> +<p>“Have you?” rejoins Belle, very cool and +distant.</p> +<p>“Have you been long on the ice?” he inquired, +hypocritically.</p> +<p>“I came on two hours ago with Mr. Ringdove and the +girls,” returned she, with a twinkle which said, “Take +that, Sir, for pretending you did not see me.”</p> +<p>“You’ve seen Mr. Wade skate, then,” Bill said, +ignoring Ringdove.</p> +<p>“Yes; isn’t it splendid?” Belle replied, +kindling.</p> +<p>“Tip-top!”</p> +<p>“But then he does everything better than +anybody.”</p> +<p>“So he does!” Bill said,—true to his friend, +and yet beginning to be jealous of this enthusiasm. It was not the +first time he had been jealous of Wade; but he had quelled his +fears, like a good fellow.</p> +<p>Belle perceived Bill’s jealousy, and could have cried for +joy. She had known as little of her once lover’s heart as he +of hers. She only knew that he stopped coming to see her when he +fell, and had not renewed his visits now that he was risen again. +If she had not been charmingly ruddy with the brisk air and +exercise, she would have betrayed her pleasure at Bill’s +jealousy with a fine blush.</p> +<p>The sense of recovered power made her wish to use it again. She +must tease him a little. So she continued, as they skated on in +good rhythm,—</p> +<p>“Mother and I wouldn’t know what to do without Mr. +Wade. We like him <em>so</em> much,”—said ardently.</p> +<p>What Bill feared was true, then, he thought. Wade, noble fellow, +worthy to win any woman’s heart, had fascinated his +landlady’s daughter.</p> +<p>“I don’t wonder you like him,” said he. +“He deserves it.”</p> +<p>Belle was touched by her old lover’s forlorn tone.</p> +<p>“He does indeed,” she said. “He has helped and +taught us all so much. He has taken such good care of Perry. And +then”—here she gave her companion a little look and a +little smile—“he speaks so kindly of you, Mr. +Tarbox.”</p> +<p>Smile, look, and words electrified Bill. He gave such a spring +on his skates that he shot far ahead of the lady. He brought +himself back with a sharp turn.</p> +<p>“He has done kinder than he can speak,” says Bill. +“He has made a man of me again, Miss Belle.”</p> +<p>“I know it. It makes me very happy to hear you able to say +so of yourself.” She spoke gravely.</p> +<p>“Very happy”—about anything that concerned +him? Bill had to work off his overjoy at this by an exuberant +flourish. He whisked about Belle,—outer edge backward. She +stopped to admire. He finished by describing on the virgin ice, +before her, the letters B.P., in his neatest style of +podography,—easy letters to make, luckily.</p> +<p>“Beautiful!” exclaimed Belle. “What are those +letters? Oh! B.P.! What do they stand for?”</p> +<p>“Guess!”</p> +<p>“I’m so dull,” said she, looking bright as a +diamond. “Let me think! B.P.? British Poets, +perhaps.”</p> +<p>“Try nearer home!”</p> +<p>“What are you likely to be thinking of that begins with +B.P.?—Oh, I know! Boiler Plates!”</p> +<p>She looked at him,—innocent as a lamb. Bill looked at her, +delighted with her little coquetry. A woman without coquetry is +insipid as a rose without scent, as Champagne without bubbles, or +as corned beef without mustard.</p> +<p>“It’s something I’m thinking of most of the +time,” says he; “but I hope it’s softer than +Boiler Plates. B.P. stands for Miss Isabella Purtett.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” says Belle, and she skated on in silence.</p> +<p>“You came down with Alonzo Ringdove?” Bill asked, +suddenly, aware of another pang after a moment of peace.</p> +<p>“He came with me and his sisters,” she replied.</p> +<p>Yes; poor Ringdove had dressed himself in his shiniest black, +put on his brightest patent-leather boots, with his new swan-necked +skates newly strapped over them, and wore his new dove-colored +overcoat with the long skirts, on purpose to be lovely in the eyes +of Belle on this occasion. Alas, in vain!</p> +<p>“Mr. Ringdove is a great friend of yours, isn’t +he?”</p> +<p>“If you ever came to see me now, you would know who my +friends are, Mr. Tarbox.”</p> +<p>“Would you be my friend again, if I came, Miss +Belle?”</p> +<p>“Again? I have always been so,—always, +Bill.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, something more than my friend,—now that +I am trying to be worthy of more, Belle?”</p> +<p>“What more can I be?” she said, softly.</p> +<p>“My wife.”</p> +<p>She curved to the right. He followed. To the left. He was not to +be shaken off.</p> +<p>“Will you promise me not to say <em>walves</em> instead of +<em>valves</em>, Bill?” she said, looking pretty and saucy as +could be. “I know, to say W for V is fashionable in the iron +business; but I don’t like it.”</p> +<p>“What a thing a woman is to dodge!” says Bill. +“Suppose I told you that men brought up inside of boilers, +hammering on the inside against twenty hammering like Wulcans on +the outside, get their ears so dumfounded that they can’t +tell whether they are saying <em>valves</em> or <em>walves</em>, +<em>wice</em> or <em>virtue</em>,—suppose I told you +that,—what would you say, Belle?”</p> +<p>“Perhaps I’d say that you pronounce <em>virtue</em> +so well, and act it so sincerely, that I can’t make any +objection to your other words. If you’d asked me to be your +<em>vife</em>, Bill, I might have said I didn’t understand; +but <em>wife</em> I do understand, and I say”—</p> +<p>She nodded, and tried to skate off. Bill stuck close to her +side.</p> +<p>“Is this true, Belle?” he said, almost +doubtfully.</p> +<p>“True as truth!”</p> +<p>She put out her hand. He took it, and they skated on +together,—hearts beating to the rhythm of their movements. +The uproar and merriment of the village came only faintly to them. +It seemed as if all Nature was hushed to listen to their plighted +troth, their words of love renewed, more earnest for long +suppression. The beautiful ice spread before them, like their life +to come, a pathway untouched by any sorrowful or weary footstep. +The blue sky was cloudless. The keen air stirred the pulses like +the vapor of frozen wine. The benignant mountains westward kindly +surveyed the happy pair, and the sun seemed created to warm and +cheer them.</p> +<p>“And you forgive me, Belle?” said the lover. +“I feel as if I had only gone bad to make me know how much +better going right is.”</p> +<p>“I always knew you would find it out. I never stopped +hoping and praying for it.”</p> +<p>“That must have been what brought Mr. Wade +here.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I did hate him so, Bill, when I heard of something +that happened between you and him! I thought him a brute and a +tyrant. I never could get over it, until he told mother that you +were the best machinist he ever knew, and would some time grow to +be a great inventor.”</p> +<p>“I’m glad you hated him. I suffered rattlesnakes and +collapsed flues for fear you’d go and love him.”</p> +<p>“My affections were engaged,” she said, with simple +seriousness.</p> +<p>“Oh, if I’d only thought so long ago! How lovely you +are!” exclaims Bill, in an ecstasy. “And how refined! +And how good! God bless you!”</p> +<p>He made up such a wishful mouth,—so wishful for one of the +pleasurable duties of mouths, that Belle blushed, laughed, and +looked down, and as she did so saw that one of her straps was +trailing.</p> +<p>“Please fix it, Bill,” she said, stopping and +kneeling.</p> +<p>Bill also knelt, and his wishful mouth immediately took its +chance.</p> +<p>A manly smack and sweet little feminine chirp sounded as their +lips met.</p> +<p>Boom! twanging gay as the first tap of a marriage-bell, a loud +crack in the ice rang musically for leagues up and down the river. +“Bravo!” it seemed to say. “Well done, Bill +Tarbox! Try again!” Which the happy fellow did, and the happy +maiden permitted.</p> +<p>“Now,” said Bill, “let us go and hug Mr. +Wade!”</p> +<p>“What! Both of us?” Belle protested. “Mr. +Tarbox, I am ashamed of you!”</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2><a id="light" name="light">LIGHT LITERATURE.</a></h2> +<p>Though the smallest boulder is heavy, and even the merest pebble +has a perceptible weight, yet the entire planet, toward which both +gravitate, floats more lightly than any feather. In literature +somewhat analogous may be observed. Here also are found the +insignificant lightness of the pebble and the mighty lightness of +the planet; while between them range the weighty masses, superior +to the petty ponderability of the one, and unequal to the +firmamental float of the other. Accordingly, setting out from the +mote-and-pebble extreme, you find, that, up to a certain point, +increasing values of thought are commonly indicated by increasing +gravity, by more and more of state-paper weightiness; but beyond +this the rule is reversed, and lightness becomes the sign and +measure of excellence. Bishop Butler and Richard +Hooker—especially the latter, the first book of whose +“Ecclesiastical Polity” is a truly noble piece of +writing—stand, perhaps, at the head of the weighty class of +writers in our language; but going beyond these to the +“Areopagitica” of Milton, or even to the powerful prose +of Raleigh, you pass the boundary-line, and are touched with the +buoyant influences of the Muse. Shakspeare and Plato are lighter +than levity; they are lifting forces, and weigh <em>less</em> than +nothing. The novelette of the season, or any finest and flimsiest +gossamer that is fabricated in our literary looms, compares with +“Lear,” with “Prometheus Bound,” with any +supreme work, only as cobwebs and thistle-down, that are easily +borne by the breeze, may compare with sparrows and thrushes, that +can fly and withal sing.</p> +<p>There is a call for “light reading,” and I for one +applaud the demand. A lightening influence is the best that books +or men can bestow upon us. Information is good, but invigoration is +a thousand times better. Cheer, cheer and vigor for the +world’s heart! It is because man’s hope is so low, and +his imaginations so poor, that he is earthly and evil. Wings for +these unfledged hearts! Transformation for these grubs! Give us +animation, inspiration, joy, faith! Give us enlivening, lightsome +airs, to which our souls shall, on a sudden, begin to dance, +keeping step with the angels! What else is worth having? Each one +of these sordid sons of men—is he not a new-born Apollo, who +waits only for the ambrosia from Olympus, to spring forth in +divineness of beauty and strength?</p> +<p>Nevertheless, I know not of any reading so hopelessly heavy as +large portions of that which claims the name of light. Light +writing it may be; but, considered as reading, one would be unjust +to charge upon it any lack of avoirdupois. It is like the bran of +wheat, which, though of little weight in the barrel, is heavy +enough in the stomach,—Dr. Sylvester Graham to the contrary +notwithstanding. It is related of an Italian culprit, that, being +required, in punishment of his crime, to make choice between lying +in prison for a term of years and reading the history of +Guicciardini, he chose the latter, but, after a brief trial, +petitioned for leave to reverse his election. I never attempted +Guicciardini; but I <em>did</em> once attempt Pope’s +“Dunciad.” And was it really the doom of a generation +of readers to find delight in this book? One must suppose so. There +are those in our day whose hard fate it is to read and to like +James’s and Bulwer’s novels. But greatly mistaken is +the scholar who, for relief from severe studies, goes to an empty +or insincere book. It is like saying money, after large and worthy +expenditures, by purchasing at a low price that which is worth +nothing,—buying “gold” watches at a mock-auction +room.</p> +<p>Indeed, no book, however witty, lively, saltatory, can have the +volant effects we covet, if it want substance and seriousness. +Substance, however, is to be widely distinguished from +ponderability. Oxygen is not so ponderous as lead or granite, but +it is far more substantial than either, and, as every one knows, +infinitely more serviceable to life. The distinction is equally +valid when applied to books and to men. The “airy +nothings” of imagination prove to be the most enduring +somethings of the world’s literature; and the last lightness +of heart may go with the purest truth of soul and the most precious +virtue of intelligence. All expressions carry the perpetual savors +of their origin; and as brooks that dance and frolic with the +sunbeams and murmur to the birds, light-hearted forever, will yet +bear sands of gold, if they flow from auriferous hills, so any +bubble and purl of laughter, proceeding from a wise and wealthy +soul, will bear a noble significance. In point of fact, some of the +merriest books in the world are among the most richly freighted. +And as airy and mirthful books may be substantial and serious, so +it is an effect very similar to that of noble and significant mirth +that is produced upon us by the grandest pieces of serious writing. +Thus, he who rightly reads the “Phaedon” or +“Phaedrus” of Plato smiles through all the depths of +his brain, though no pronounced smile show on his face; and he who +rightly reads the book of Cervantes, though the laughters plunge, +as it were, in cascades from his lips, is earnest at heart, and +full of sound and tender meditations.</p> +<p>If now, setting aside all books, whether pretending to gayety or +gravity, that are simply empty and ineffectual, we inquire for the +prime distinction between books light in a worthy and unworthy +sense, it will appear to be the distinction between inspiration and +alcohol,—between effects divinely real and effects illusory +and momentary. The drunkard dreams of flying, and fancies the stars +themselves left below him, while he is really lying in the gutter. +There are those, and numbers of those, who in reading seek no more +than to be cheated in a similar way. Indeed, to acknowledge a +disagreeable fact, there is a very great deal of reading in our day +that is simply a substitute for the potations and +“heavy-handed revel” of our Saxon ancestors. In both +cases it is a spurious exaltation of feeling that is sought; in +both cases those who for a moment seem to themselves larks +ascending to meet the sun are but worms eating earth.</p> +<p>This celestial lightness, which constitutes the last praise and +causes the purest benefit of books, comes not of any manner of +writing; no mere vivacity, though that of a French writer of +memoirs, though that of Arsène Houssaye himself, can compass +it; by no knack or talents is it to be attained. Perfect style has, +indeed, many allurements, and is of exceeding price; but it is no +chariot of Elijah, nevertheless. Was ever style more delightful, of +its kind, than Dryden’s? Was ever style more heavy and +monotonous than that of Swedenborg in his theological works? But I +have read Dryden, not indeed without pleasure in his masterly +exquisite ease and sureness of statement and his occasional touches +of admirable good sense, yet with no slightest liberation of +spirit, with no degree, greater or less, of that magical and +marvellous evocation, of inward resource, whose blessed surprise +now and then in life makes for us angelic moments, and feelingly +persuades us that our earth also is a star and in the sky. On the +other hand, I once read Swedenborg’s “Angelic Wisdom +concerning the Divine Love and the Divine Wisdom” with such +enticement, such afflatus, such quickening and heightening of soul, +as I cannot describe without seeming excessive. Until half through +the book, I turned every page with the feeling that before another +page I might see the chasm between the real and phenomenal worlds +fairly bridged over. Of course, it disappointed me in the end; but +what of that? To have kindled and for a time sustained the +expectation which should render possible such disappointment was a +benefit that a whole Bodleian Library might fail to confer. These +benefits come to us not from the writer as such, but from the man +behind the writer. He who dwells aloft amid the deathless orient +imaginations of the human race, easily inhabiting their atmosphere +as his native element,—about him, and him only, are the halos +and dawns of immortal youth; and his speech, though with many +babyish or barbarous fancies, many melancholies and vices of the +blood compounded, carries nevertheless some refrain of divine +hilarity, that beguiles men of their sordidness, their sullenness, +and low cares, they know not how nor why.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2><a id="boston" name="boston">PILGRIMAGE TO OLD BOSTON.</a></h2> +<p>We set out at a little past eleven, and made our first stage to +Manchester. We were by this time sufficiently Anglicized to reckon +the morning a bright and sunny one; although the May sunshine was +mingled with water, as it were, and distempered with a very bitter +east-wind.</p> +<p>Lancashire is a dreary county, (all, at least, except its hilly +portions,) and I have never passed through it without wishing +myself anywhere but in that particular spot where I then happened +to be. A few places along our route were historically interesting; +as, for example, Bolton, which was the scene of many remarkable +events in the Parliamentary War, and in the market-square of which +one of the Earls of Derby was beheaded. We saw, along the way-side, +the never-failing green fields, hedges, and other monotonous +features of an ordinary English landscape. There were little +factory villages, too, or larger towns, with their tall chimneys, +and their pennons of black smoke, their uglinesses of brick-work, +and their heaps of refuse matter from the furnace, which seems to +be the only kind of stuff which Nature cannot take back to herself +and resolve into the elements, when man has thrown it aside. These +hillocks of waste and effete mineral always disfigure the +neighborhood of ironmongering towns, and, even after a considerable +antiquity, are hardly made decent with a little grass.</p> +<p>At a quarter to two we left Manchester by the Sheffield and +Lincoln Railway. The scenery grew rather better than that through +which we had hitherto passed, though still by no means very +striking; for (except in the show-districts, such as the Lake +country, or Derbyshire) English scenery is not particularly well +worth looking at, considered as a spectacle or a picture. It has a +real, homely charm of its own, no doubt; and the rich verdure, and +the thorough finish added by human, art, are perhaps as attractive +to an American eye as any stronger feature could be. Our journey, +however, between Manchester and Sheffield was not through a rich +tract of country, but along a valley walled in by bleak, ridgy +hills extending straight as a rampart, and across black moorlands +with here and there a plantation of trees. Sometimes there were +long and gradual ascents, bleak, windy, and desolate, conveying the +very impression which the reader gets from many passages of Miss +Bronté’s novels, and still more from those of her two +sisters. Old stone or brick farm-houses, and, once in a while, an +old church-tower, were visible: but these are almost too common +objects to be noticed in an English landscape.</p> +<p>On a railway, I suspect, what little we do see of the country is +seen quite amiss, because it was never intended to be looked at +from any point of view in that straight line; so that it is like +looking at the wrong side of a piece of tapestry. The old highways +and footpaths were as natural as brooks and rivulets, and adapted +themselves by an inevitable impulse to the physiognomy of the +country; and, furthermore, every object within view of them had +some subtile reference to their curves and undulations: but the +line of a railway is perfectly artificial, and puts all precedent +things at sixes-and-sevens. At any rate, be the cause what it may, +there is seldom anything worth seeing—within the scope of a +railway traveller’s eye; and if there were, it requires an +alert marksman to take a flying shot at the picturesque.</p> +<p>At one of the stations, (it was near a village of ancient +aspect, nestling round a church, on a wide Yorkshire moor,) I saw a +tall old lady in black, who seemed to have just alighted from the +train. She caught my attention by a singular movement of the head, +not once only, but continually repeated, and at regular intervals, +as if she were making a stern and solemn protest against some +action that developed itself before her eyes, and were foreboding +terrible disaster, if it should be persisted in. Of course, it was +nothing more than a paralytic or nervous affection; yet one might +fancy that it had its origin in some unspeakable wrong, perpetrated +half a lifetime ago in this old gentlewoman’s presence, +either against herself or somebody whom she loved still better. Her +features had a wonderful sternness, which, I presume, was caused by +her habitual effort to compose and keep them quiet, and thereby +counteract the tendency to paralytic movement. The slow, regular, +and inexorable character of the motion,—her look of force and +self-control, which had the appearance of rendering it voluntary, +while yet it was so fateful,—have stamped this poor +lady’s face and gesture into my memory; so that, some dark +day or other, I am afraid she will reproduce herself in a dismal +romance.</p> +<p>The train stopped a minute or two, to allow the tickets to be +taken, just before entering the Sheffield station, and thence I had +a glimpse of the famous town of razors and penknives, enveloped in +a cloud of its own diffusing. My impressions of it are extremely +vague and misty,—or, rather, smoky: for Sheffield seems to me +smokier than Manchester, Liverpool, or Birmingham,—smokier +than all England besides, unless Newcastle be the exception. It +might have been Pluto’s own metropolis, shrouded in +sulphurous vapor; and, indeed, our approach to it had been by the +Valley of the Shadow of Death, through a tunnel three miles in +length, quite traversing the breadth and depth of a mountainous +hill.</p> +<p>After passing Sheffield, the scenery became softer, gentler, yet +more picturesque. At one point we saw what I believe to be the +utmost northern verge of Sherwood Forest,—not consisting, +however, of thousand-year oaks, extant from Robin Hood’s +days, but of young and thriving plantations, which will require a +century or two of slow English growth to give them much breadth of +shade. Earl Fitzwilliam’s property lies in this neighborhood, +and probably his castle was hidden among some soft depth of foliage +not far off. Farther onward the country grew quite level around us, +whereby I judged that we must now be in Lincolnshire; and shortly +after six o’clock we caught the first glimpse of the +Cathedral towers, though they loomed scarcely huge enough for our +preconceived idea of them. But, as we drew nearer, the great +edifice began to assert itself, making us acknowledge it to be +larger than our receptivity could take in.</p> +<p>At the railway-station we found no cab, (it being an unknown +vehicle in Lincoln,) but only an omnibus belonging to the +Saracen’s Head, which the driver recommended as the best +hotel in the city, and took us thither accordingly. It received us +hospitably, and looked comfortable enough; though, like the hotels +of most old English towns, it had a musty fragrance of antiquity, +such as I have smelt in a seldom-opened London church where the +broad-aisle is paved with tombstones. The house was of an ancient +fashion, the entrance into its interior court-yard being through an +arch, in the side of which is the door of the hotel. There are long +corridors, an intricate arrangement of passages, and an up-and-down +meandering of staircases, amid which it would be no marvel to +encounter some forgotten guest who had gone astray a hundred years +ago, and was still seeking for his bed-room while the rest of his +generation were in their graves. There is no exaggerating the +confusion of mind that seizes upon a stranger in the bewildering +geography of a great old-fashioned English inn.</p> +<p>This hotel stands in the principal street of Lincoln, and within +a very short distance of one of the ancient city-gates, which is +arched across the public way, with a smaller arch for +foot-passengers on either side; the whole, a gray, time-gnawn, +ponderous, shadowy structure, through the dark vista of which you +look into the Middle Ages. The street is narrow, and retains many +antique peculiarities; though, unquestionably, English domestic +architecture has lost its most impressive features, in the course +of the last century. In this respect, there are finer old towns +than Lincoln: Chester, for instance, and Shrewsbury,—which +last is unusually rich in those quaint and stately edifices where +the gentry of the shire used to make their winter-abodes, in a +provincial metropolis. Almost everywhere, nowadays, there is a +monotony of modern brick or stuccoed fronts, hiding houses that are +older than ever, but obliterating the picturesque antiquity of the +street.</p> +<p>Between seven and eight o’clock (it being still broad +daylight in these long English days) we set out to pay a +preliminary visit to the exterior of the Cathedral. Passing through +the Stone Bow, as the city-gate close by is called, we ascended a +street which grew steeper and narrower as we advanced, till at last +it got to be the steepest street I ever climbed,—so steep +that any carriage, if left to itself, would rattle downward much +faster than it could possibly be drawn up. Being almost the only +hill in Lincolnshire, the inhabitants seem disposed to make the +most of it. The houses on each side had no very remarkable aspect, +except one with a stone portal and carved ornaments, which is now a +dwelling-place for poverty-stricken people, but may have been an +aristocratic abode in the days of the Norman kings, to whom its +style of architecture dates back. This is called the Jewess’s +House, having been inhabited by a woman of that faith who was +hanged six hundred years ago.</p> +<p>And still the street grew steeper and steeper. Certainly, the +Bishop and clergy of Lincoln ought not to be fat men, but of very +spiritual, saint-like, almost angelic habit, if it be a frequent +part of their ecclesiastical duty to climb this hill; for it is a +real penance, and was probably performed as such, and groaned over +accordingly, in monkish times. Formerly, on the day of his +installation, the Bishop used to ascend the hill barefoot, and was +doubtless cheered and invigorated by looking upward to the grandeur +that was to console him for the humility of his approach. We, +likewise, were beckoned onward by glimpses of the Cathedral towers, +and, finally, attaining an open square on the summit, we saw an old +Gothic gateway to the left hand, and another to the right. The +latter had apparently been a part of the exterior defences of the +Cathedral, at a time when the edifice was fortified. The west front +rose behind. We passed through one of the side-arches of the Gothic +portal, and found ourselves in the Cathedral Close, a wide, level +space, where the great old Minster has fair room to sit, looking +down on the ancient structures that surround it, all of which, in +former days, were the habitations of its dignitaries and officers. +Some of them are still occupied as such, though others are in too +neglected and dilapidated a state to seem worthy of so splendid an +establishment. Unless it be Salisbury Close, however, (which is +incomparably rich as regards the old residences that belong to it,) +I remember no more comfortably picturesque precincts round any +other cathedral. But, in, truth, almost every cathedral close, in +turn, has seemed to me the loveliest, coziest, safest, least +wind-shaken, most decorous, and most enjoyable shelter that ever +the thrift and selfishness of mortal man contrived for himself. How +delightful, to combine all this with the service of the temple!</p> +<p>Lincoln Cathedral is built of a yellowish brown-stone, which +appears either to have been largely restored, or else does not +assume the hoary, crumbly surface that gives such a venerable +aspect to most of the ancient churches and castles in England. In +many parts, the recent restorations are quite evident; but other, +and much the larger portions, can scarcely have been touched for +centuries: for there are still the gargoyles, perfect, or with +broken noses, as the case may be, but showing that variety and +fertility of grotesque extravagance which no modern imitation can +effect. There are innumerable niches, too, up the whole height of +the towers, above and around the entrance, and all over the walls: +most of them empty, but a few containing the lamentable remnants of +headless saints and angels. It is singular what a native animosity +lives in the human heart against carved images, insomuch that, +whether they represent Christian saint or Pagan deity, all +unsophisticated men seize the first safe opportunity to knock off +their heads! In spite of all dilapidations, however, the effect of +the west front of the Cathedral is still exceedingly rich, being +covered from massive base to airy summit with the minutest details +of sculpture and carving: at least, it was so once; and even now +the spiritual impression of its beauty remains so strong, that we +have to look twice to see that much of it has been obliterated. I +have seen a cherry-stone carved all over by a monk, so minutely +that it must have cost him half a lifetime of labor; and this +cathedral front seems to have been elaborated in a monkish spirit, +like that cherry-stone. Not that the result is in the least petty, +but miraculously grand, and all the more so for the faithful beauty +of the smallest details.</p> +<p>An elderly man, seeing us looking up at the west front, came to +the door of an adjacent house, and called to inquire if we wished +to go into the Cathedral; but as there would have been a dusky +twilight beneath its roof, like the antiquity that has sheltered +itself within, we declined for the present. So we merely walked +round the exterior, and thought it more beautiful than that of +York; though, on recollection, I hardly deem it so majestic and +mighty as that. It is vain to attempt a description, or seek even +to record the feeling which the edifice inspires. It does not +impress the beholder as an inanimate object, but as something that +has a vast, quiet, long-enduring life of its own,—a creation +which man did not build, though in some way or other it is +connected with him, and kindred to human nature. In short, I fall +straightway to talking nonsense, when I try to express my inner +sense of this and other cathedrals.</p> +<p>While we stood in the close, at the eastern end of the Minster, +the clock chimed the quarters; and then Great Tom, who hangs in the +Rood Tower, told us it was eight o’clock, in far the sweetest +and mightiest accents that I ever heard from any bell,—slow, +and solemn, and allowing the profound reverberations of each stroke +to die away before the next one fell. It was still broad daylight +in that upper region of the town, and would be so for some time +longer; but the evening atmosphere was getting sharp and cool. We +therefore descended the steep street,—our younger companion +running before us, and gathering such headway that I fully expected +him to break his head against some projecting wall.</p> +<p>In the morning we took a fly, (an English term for an +exceedingly sluggish vehicle,) and drove up to the Minster by a +road rather less steep and abrupt than the one we had previously +climbed. We alighted before the west front, and sent our charioteer +in quest of the verger; but, as he was not immediately to be found, +a young girl let us into the nave. We found it very grand, it is +needless to say, but not so grand, methought, as the vast nave of +York Cathedral, especially beneath the great central tower of the +latter. Unless a writer intends a professedly architectural +description, there is but one set of phrases in which to talk of +all the cathedrals in England, and elsewhere. They are alike in +their great features: an acre or two of stone flags for a pavement; +rows of vast columns supporting a vaulted roof at a dusky height; +great windows, sometimes richly bedimmed with ancient or modern +stained glass; an elaborately carved screen between the nave and +chancel, breaking the vista that might else be of such glorious +length, and which is further choked up by a massive organ,—in +spite of which obstructions, you catch the broad, variegated +glimmer of the painted east window, where a hundred saints wear +their robes of transfiguration. Within the screen are the carved +oaken stalls of the Chapter and Prebendaries, the Bishop’s +throne, the pulpit, the altar, and whatever else may furnish out +the Holy of Holies. Nor must we forget the range of chapels, (once +dedicated to Catholic saints, but which have now lost their +individual consecration,) nor the old monuments of kings, warriors, +and prelates, in the side-aisles of the chancel. In close +contiguity to the main body of the Cathedral is the Chapter-House, +which, here at Lincoln, as at Salisbury, is supported by one +central pillar rising from the floor, and putting forth branches +like a tree, to hold up the roof. Adjacent to the Chapter-House are +the cloisters, extending round a quadrangle, and paved with +lettered tombstones, the more antique of which have had their +inscriptions half obliterated by the feet of monks taking their +noontide exercise in these sheltered walks, five hundred years ago. +Some of these old burial-stones, although with ancient crosses +engraved upon them, have been made to serve as memorials to dead +people of very recent date.</p> +<p>In the chancel, among the tombs of forgotten bishops and +knights, we saw an immense slab of stone purporting to be the +monument of Catherine Swineferd, wife of John of Gaunt; also, here +was the shrine of the little Saint Hugh, that Christian child who +was fabled to have been crucified by the Jews of Lincoln. The +Cathedral is not particularly rich in monuments; for it suffered +grievous outrage and dilapidation, both at the Reformation and in +Cromwell’s time. This latter iconoclast is in especially bad +odor with the sextons and vergers of most of the old churches which +I have visited. His soldiers stabled their steeds in the nave of +Lincoln Cathedral, and hacked and hewed the monkish sculptures, and +the ancestral memorials of great families, quite at their wicked +and plebeian pleasure. Nevertheless, there are some most exquisite +and marvellous specimens of flowers, foliage, and grape-vines, and +miracles of stone-work twined about arches, as if the material had +been as soft as wax in the cunning sculptor’s +hands,—the leaves being represented with all their veins, so +that you would almost think it petrified Nature, for which he +sought to steal the praise of Art. Here, too, were those grotesque +faces which always grin at you from the projections of monkish +architecture, as if the builders had gone mad with their own deep +solemnity, or dreaded such a catastrophe, unless permitted to throw +in something ineffably absurd.</p> +<p>Originally, it is supposed, all the pillars of this great +edifice, and all these magic sculptures, were polished to the +utmost degree of lustre; nor is it unreasonable to think that the +artists would have taken these further pains, when they had already +bestowed so much labor in working out their conceptions to the +extremest point. But, at present, the whole interior of the +Cathedral is smeared over with a yellowish wash, the very meanest +hue imaginable, and for which somebody’s soul has a bitter +reckoning to undergo.</p> +<p>In the centre of the grassy quadrangle about which the cloisters +perambulate is a small, mean, brick building, with a locked door. +Our guide,—I forgot to say that we had been captured by a +verger, in black, and with a white tie, but of a lusty and jolly +aspect,—our guide unlocked this door, and disclosed a flight +of steps. At the bottom appeared what I should have taken to be a +large square of dim, worn, and faded oil-carpeting, which might +originally have been painted of a rather gaudy pattern. This was a +Roman tessellated pavement, made of small colored bricks, or pieces +of burnt clay. It was accidentally discovered here, and has not +been meddled with, further than by removing the superincumbent +earth and rubbish.</p> +<p>Nothing else occurs to me, just now, to be recorded about the +interior of the Cathedral, except that we saw a place where the +stone pavement had been worn away by the feet of ancient pilgrims +scraping upon it, as they knelt down before a shrine of the +Virgin.</p> +<p>Leaving the Minster, we now went along a street of more +venerable appearance than we had heretofore seen, bordered with +houses, the high, peaked roofs of which were covered with red +earthen tiles. It led us to a Roman arch, which was once the +gateway of a fortification, and has been striding across the +English street ever since the latter was a faint village-path, and +for centuries before. The arch is about four hundred yards from the +Cathedral; and it is to be noticed that there are Roman remains in +all this neighborhood, some above ground, and doubtless innumerable +more beneath it; for, as in ancient Rome itself, an inundation of +accumulated soil seems to have swept over what was the surface of +that earlier day. The gateway which I am speaking about is probably +buried to a third of its height, and perhaps has as perfect a Roman +pavement (if sought for at the original depth) as that which runs +beneath the Arch of Titus. It is a rude and massive structure, and +seems as stalwart now as it could have been two thousand years ago; +and though Time has gnawed it externally, he has made what amends +he could by crowning its rough and broken summit with grass and +weeds, and planting tufts of yellow flowers on the projections up +and down the sides.</p> +<p>There are the ruins of a Norman castle, built by the Conqueror, +in pretty close proximity to the Cathedral; but the old gateway is +obstructed by a modern door of wood, and we were denied admittance +because some part of the precincts are used as a prison. We now +rambled about on the broad back of the hill, which, besides the +Minster and ruined castle, is the site of some stately and queer +old houses, and of many mean little hovels. I suspect that all or +most of the life of the present day has subsided into the lower +town, and that only priests, poor people, and prisoners dwell in +these upper regions. In the wide, dry moat at the base of the +castle-wall are clustered whole colonies of small houses, some of +brick, but the larger portion built of old stones which once made +part of the Norman keep, or of Roman structures that existed before +the Conqueror’s castle was ever dreamed about. They are like +toadstools that spring up from the mould of a decaying tree. Ugly +as they are, they add wonderfully to the picturesqueness of the +scene, being quite as valuable, in that respect, as the great, +broad, ponderous ruin of the castle-keep, which rose high above our +heads, heaving its huge gray mass out of a bank of green foliage +and ornamental shrubbery, such as lilacs and other +flowering-plants, in which its foundations were completely +hidden.</p> +<p>After walking quite round the castle, I made an excursion +through the Roman gateway, along a pleasant and level road bordered +with dwellings of various character. One or two were houses of +gentility, with delightful and shadowy lawns before them; many had +those high, red-tiled roofs, ascending into acutely pointed gables, +which seem to belong to the same epoch as some of the edifices in +our own earlier towns; and there were pleasant-looking cottages, +very sylvan and rural, with hedges so dense and high, fencing them +in, as almost to hide them up to the eaves of their thatched roofs. +In front of one of these I saw various images, crosses, and relics +of antiquity, among which were fragments of old Catholic +tombstones, disposed by way of ornament.</p> +<p>We now went home to the Saracen’s Head; and as the weather +was very unpropitious, and it sprinkled a little now and then, I +would gladly have felt myself released from further thraldom to the +Cathedral. But it had taken possession of me, and would not let me +be at rest; so at length I found myself compelled to climb the hill +again, between daylight and dusk. A mist was now hovering about the +upper height of the great central tower, so as to dim and half +obliterate its battlements and pinnacles, even while I stood in the +close beneath it. It was the most impressive view that I had had. +The whole lower part of the structure was seen with perfect +distinctness; but at the very summit the mist was so dense as to +form an actual cloud, as well denned as ever I saw resting on a +mountain-top. Really and literally, here was a “cloud-capt +tower.”</p> +<p>The entire Cathedral, too, transfigured itself into a richer +beauty and more imposing majesty than ever. The longer I looked, +the better I loved it. Its exterior is certainly far more beautiful +than that of York Minster; and its finer effect is due, I think, to +the many peaks in which the structure ascends, and to the pinnacles +which, as it were, repeat and re-echo them into the sky. York +Cathedral is comparatively square and angular in its general +effect; but here there is a continual mystery of variety, so that +at every glance you are aware of a change, and a disclosure of +something new, yet working an harmonious development of what you +have heretofore seen. The west front is unspeakably grand, and may +be read over and over again forever, and still show undetected +meanings, like a great, broad page of marvellous writing in +black-letter,—so many sculptured ornaments there are, +blossoming out before your eyes, and gray statues that have grown +there since you looked last, and empty niches, and a hundred airy +canopies beneath which carved images used to be, and where they +will show themselves again, if you gaze long enough.—But I +will not say another word about the Cathedral.</p> +<p>We spent the rest of the day within the sombre precincts of the +Saracen’s Head, reading yesterday’s +“Times,” “The Guide-Book of Lincoln,” and +“The Directory of the Eastern Counties.” Dismal as the +weather was, the street beneath our window was enlivened with a +great bustle and turmoil of people all the evening, because it was +Saturday night, and they had accomplished their week’s toil, +received their wages, and were making their small purchases against +Sunday, and enjoying themselves as well as they knew how. A band of +music passed to and fro several times, with the rain-drops falling +into the mouth of the brazen trumpet and pattering on the +bass-drum; a spirit-shop, opposite the hotel, had a vast run of +custom; and a coffee-dealer, in the open air, found occasional vent +for his commodity, in spite of the cold water that dripped into the +cups. The whole breadth of the street, between the Stone Bow and +the bridge across the Witham, was thronged to overflowing, and +humming with human life.</p> +<p>Observing in the Guide-Book that a steamer runs on the River +Witham between Lincoln and Boston, I inquired of the waiter, and +learned that she was to start on Monday, at ten o’clock. +Thinking it might be an interesting trip, and a pleasant variation +of our customary mode of travel, we determined to make the voyage. +The Witham flows through Lincoln, crossing the main street under an +arched bridge of Gothic construction, a little below the +Saracen’s Head. It has more the appearance of a canal than of +a river, in its passage through the town,—being bordered with +hewn stone mason-work on each side, and provided with one or two +locks. The steamer proved to be small, dirty, and altogether +inconvenient. The early morning had been bright; but the sky now +lowered upon us with a sulky English temper, and we had not long +put off before we felt an ugly wind from the German Ocean blowing +right in our teeth. There were a number of passengers on board, +country-people, such as travel by third-class on the railway; for, +I suppose, nobody but ourselves ever dreamt of voyaging, by the +steamer for the sake of what he might happen upon in the way of +river-scenery.</p> +<p>We bothered a good while about getting through a preliminary +lock; nor, when fairly under way, did we ever accomplish, I think, +six miles an hour. Constant delays were caused, moreover, by +stopping to take up passengers and freight,—not at regular +landing-places, but anywhere along the green banks. The scenery was +identical with that of the railway, because the latter runs along +by the river-side through the whole distance, or nowhere departs +from it except to make a short cut across some sinuosity; so that +our only advantage lay in the drawling, snail-like slothfulness of +our progress, which allowed us time enough and to spare for the +objects along the shore. Unfortunately, there was nothing, or next +to nothing, to be seen,—the country being one unvaried level +over the whole thirty miles of our voyage,—not a hill in +sight, either near or far, except that solitary one on the summit +of which we had left Lincoln Cathedral. And the Cathedral was our +landmark for four hours or more, and at last rather faded out than +was hidden by any intervening object.</p> +<p>It would have been a pleasantly lazy day enough, if the rough +and bitter wind had not blown directly in our faces, and chilled us +through, in spite of the sunshine that soon succeeded a sprinkle or +two of rain. These English east-winds, which prevail from February +till June, are greater nuisances than the east-wind of our own +Atlantic coast, although they do not bring mist and storm, as with +us, but some of the sunniest weather that England sees. Under their +influence, the sky smiles and is villanous.</p> +<p>The landscape was tame to the last degree, but had an English +character that was abundantly worth our looking at. A green +luxuriance of early grass; old, high-roofed farm-houses, surrounded +by their stone barns and ricks of bay and grain; ancient villages, +with the square, gray tower of a church seen afar over the level +country, amid the cluster of red roofs; here and there a shadowy +grove of venerable trees, surrounding what was perhaps an +Elizabethan ball, though it looked more like the abode of some rich +yeoman. Once, too, we saw the tower of a mediaeval castle, that of +Tattershall, built by a Cromwell, but whether of the +Protector’s family I cannot tell. But the gentry do not +appear to have settled multitudinously in this tract of country; +nor is it to be wondered at, since a lover of the picturesque would +as soon think of settling in Holland. The river retains its +canal-like aspect all along; and only in the latter part of its +course does it become more than wide enough for the little steamer +to turn itself round,—at broadest, not more than twice that +width.</p> +<p>The only memorable incident of our voyage happened when a +mother-duck was leading her little fleet of five ducklings across +the river, just as our steamer went swaggering by, stirring the +quiet stream into great waves that lashed the banks on either side. +I saw the imminence of the catastrophe, and hurried to the stern of +the boat to witness, since I could not possibly avert it. The poor +ducklings had uttered their baby-quacks, and striven with all their +tiny might to escape: four of them, I believe, were washed aside +and thrown off unhurt from the steamer’s prow; but the fifth +must have gone under the whole length of the keel, and never could +have come up alive.</p> +<p>At last, in, mid-afternoon, we beheld the tall tower of Saint +Botolph’s Church (three hundred feet high, the same elevation +as the tallest tower of Lincoln Cathedral) looming in the distance. +At about half-past four we reached Boston, (which name has been +shortened, in the course of ages, by the quick and slovenly English +pronunciation, from Botolph’s town,) and were taken by a cab +to the Peacock, in the market-place. It was the best hotel in town, +though a poor one enough; and we were shown into a small, stilled +parlor, dingy, musty, and scented with stale +tobacco-smoke,—tobacco-smoke two days old, for the waiter +assured us that the room had not more recently been fumigated. An +exceedingly grim waiter he was, apparently a genuine descendant of +the old Puritans of this English Boston, and quite as sour as those +who peopled the daughter-city in New England. Our parlor had the +one recommendation of looking into the market-place, and affording +a sidelong glimpse of the tail spire and noble old church.</p> +<p>In my first ramble about the town, chance led me to the +river-side, at that quarter where the port is situated. Here were +long buildings of an old-fashioned aspect, seemingly warehouses, +with windows in the high, steep roofs. The Custom-House found ample +accommodation within an ordinary dwelling-house. Two or three large +schooners were moored along the river’s brink, which had here +a stone margin; another large and handsome schooner was evidently +just finished, rigged and equipped for her first voyage; the +rudiments of another were on the stocks, in a ship-yard bordering +on the river. Still another, while I was looking on, came up the +stream, and lowered her main-sail, from a foreign voyage. An old +man on the bank hailed her and inquired about her cargo; but the +Lincolnshire people have such a queer way of talking English that I +could not understand the reply. Farther down the river, I saw a +brig, approaching rapidly under sail. The whole scene made an odd +impression of bustle, and sluggishness, and decay, and a remnant of +wholesome life; and I could not but contrast it with the mighty and +populous activity of our own Boston, which was once the feeble +infant of this old English town;—the latter, perhaps, almost +stationary ever since that day, as if the birth of such an +offspring had taken away its own principle of growth. I thought of +Long Wharf, and Faneuil Hall, and Washington Street, and the Great +Elm, and the State-House, and exulted lustily,—but yet began +to feel at home in this good old town, for its very name’s +sake, as I never had before felt, in England.</p> +<p>The next morning we came out in the early sunshine, (the sun +must have been shining nearly four hours, however, for it was after +eight o’clock,) and strolled about the streets, like people +who had a right to be there. The market-place of Boston is an +irregular square, into one end of which the chancel of the church +slightly projects. The gates of the church-yard were open and free +to all passengers, and the common footway of the towns-people seems +to lie to and fro across it. It is paved, according to English +custom, with flat tombstones; and there are also raised, or +altar-tombs, some of which have armorial bearings on them. One +clergyman has caused himself and his wife to be buried right in the +middle of the stone-bordered path that traverses the church-yard; +so that not an individual of the thousands who pass along this +public way can help trampling over him or her. The scene, +nevertheless, was very cheerful in the morning sun: people going +about their business in the day’s primal freshness, which was +just as fresh here as in younger villages; children, with +milk-pails, loitering over the burial-stones; school-boys playing +leap-frog with the altar-tombs; the simple old town preparing +itself for the day, which would be like myriads of other days that +had passed over it, but yet would be worth living through. And down +on the church-yard, where were buried many generations whom it +remembered in their time, looked the stately tower of Saint +Botolph; and it was good to see and think of such an age-long +giant, intermarrying the present epoch with a distant past, and +getting quite imbued with human nature by being so immemorially +connected with men’s familiar knowledge and homely interests. +It is a noble tower; and the jackdaws evidently have pleasant homes +in their hereditary nests among its topmost windows, and live +delightful lives, flitting and cawing about its pinnacles and +flying-buttresses. I should almost like to be a jackdaw myself, for +the sake of living up there.</p> +<p>In front of the church, not more than twenty yards off, and with +a low brick wall between, flows the River Witham. On the hither +bank a fisherman was washing his boat; and another skiff, with her +sail lazily half-twisted, lay on the opposite strand. The stream, +at this point, is about of such width, that, if the tall tower were +to tumble over flat on its face, its top-stone might perhaps reach +to the middle of the channel. On the farther shore there is a line +of antique-looking houses, with roofs of red tile, and windows +opening out of them,—some of these dwellings being so +ancient, that the Reverend Mr. Cotton, subsequently our first +Boston minister, must have seen them with his own bodily eyes, when +he used to issue from the front-portal after service. Indeed, there +must be very many houses here, and even some streets, that bear +much the aspect that they did when the Puritan divine paced +solemnly among them.</p> +<p>In our rambles about town, we went into a bookseller’s +shop to inquire if he had any description of Boston for sale. He +offered me (or, rather, produced for inspection, not supposing that +I would buy it) a quarto history of the town, published by +subscription, nearly forty years ago. The bookseller showed himself +a well-informed and affable man, and a local antiquary, to whom a +party of inquisitive strangers were a godsend. He had met with +several Americans, who, at various times, had come on pilgrimages +to this place, and had been in correspondence with others. +Happening to have heard the name of one member of our party, he +showed us great courtesy and kindness, and invited us into his +inner domicile, where, as he modestly intimated, he kept a few +articles which it might interest us to see. So we went with him +through the shop, up-stairs, into the private part of his +establishment; and, really, it was one of the rarest adventures I +ever met with, to stumble upon this treasure of a man, with his +treasury of antiquities and curiosities, veiled behind the +unostentatious front of a bookseller’s shop, in a very +moderate line of village-business. The two up-stair rooms into +which he introduced us were so crowded with inestimable articles, +that we were almost afraid to stir, for fear of breaking some +fragile thing that had been accumulating value for unknown +centuries.</p> +<p>The apartment was hung round with pictures and old engravings, +many of which were extremely rare. Premising that he was going to +show us something very curious, Mr. Porter went into the next room +and returned with a counterpane of fine linen, elaborately +embroidered with silk, which so profusely covered the linen that +the general effect was as if the main texture were silken. It was +stained, and seemed very old, and had an ancient fragrance. It was +wrought all over with birds and flowers in a most delicate style of +needle-work, and among other devices, more than once repeated, was +the cipher, M.S.,—being the initials of one of the most +unhappy names that ever a woman bore. This quilt was embroidered by +the hands of Mary-Queen of Scots, during her imprisonment at +Fotheringay Castle; and having evidently been a work of years, she +had doubtless shed many tears over it, and wrought many doleful +thoughts and abortive schemes into its texture, along with the +birds and flowers. As a counterpart to this most precious relic, +our friend produced some of the handiwork of a former Queen of +Otaheite, presented by her to Captain Cook: it was a bag, cunningly +made of some delicate vegetable stuff, and ornamented with +feathers. Next, he brought out a green silk waistcoat of very +antique fashion, trimmed about the edges and pocket-holes with a +rich and delicate embroidery of gold and silver. This (as the +possessor of the treasure proved, by tracing its pedigree till it +came into his hands) was once the vestment of Queen +Elizabeth’s Lord Burleigh: but that great statesman must have +been a person of very moderate girth in the chest and waist; for +the garment was hardly more than a comfortable fit for a boy of +eleven, the smallest American of our party, who tried on the +gorgeous waistcoat. Then, Mr. Porter produced some curiously +engraved drinking-glasses, with a view of Saint Botolph’s +steeple on one of them, and other Boston edifices, public or +domestic, on the remaining two, very admirably done. These crystal +goblets had been a present, long ago, to an old master of the Free +School from his pupils; and it is very rarely, I imagine, that a +retired schoolmaster can exhibit such trophies of gratitude and +affection, won from the victims of his birch rod.</p> +<p>Our kind friend kept bringing out one unexpected and wholly +unexpectable thing after another, as if he were a magician, and had +only to fling a private signal into the air, and some attendant imp +would hand forth any strange relic we might choose to ask for. He +was especially rich in drawings by the Old Masters, producing two +or three, of exquisite delicacy, by Raphael, one by Salvator, a +head by Rembrandt, and others, in chalk or pen-and-ink, by +Giordano, Benvenuto Cellini, and hands almost as famous; and +besides what were shown us, there seemed to be an endless supply of +these art-treasures in reserve. On the wall hung a crayon-portrait +of Sterne, never engraved, representing him as a rather young man, +blooming, and not uncomely: it was the worldly face of a man fond +of pleasure, but without that ugly, keen, sarcastic, odd expression +that we see in his only engraved portrait. The picture is an +original, and must needs be very valuable; and we wish it might be +prefixed to some new and worthier biography of a writer whose +character the world has always treated with singular harshness, +considering how much it owes him. There was likewise a +crayon-portrait of Sterne’s wife, looking so haughty and +unamiable, that the wonder is, how he ever contrived to live a week +with such an awful woman.</p> +<p>After looking at these, and a great many more things than I can +remember, above stairs, we went down to a parlor, where this +wonderful bookseller opened an old cabinet, containing numberless +drawers, and looking just fit to be the repository of such +knick-knacks as were stored up in it. He appeared to possess more +treasures than he himself knew of, or knew where to find; but, +rummaging here and there, he brought forth things new and old: +rose-nobles, Victoria crowns, gold angels, double-sovereigns of +George IV., two-guinea pieces of George II.; a marriage-medal of +the first Napoleon, only forty-five of which were ever struck off, +and of which even the British Museum does not contain a specimen +like this, in gold; a brass medal, three or four inches in +diameter, of a Roman Emperor; together with buckles, bracelets, +amulets, and I know not what besides. There was a green silk tassel +from the fringe of Queen Mary’s bed at Holyrood Palace. There +were illuminated missals, antique Latin Bibles, and (what may seem +of especial interest to the historian) a Secret-Book of Queen +Elizabeth, written, for aught I know, by her own hand. On +examination, however, it proved to contain, not secrets of State, +but recipes for dishes, drinks, medicines, washes, and all such +matters of housewifery, the toilet, and domestic quackery, among +which we were horrified by the title of one of the nostrums, +“How to kill a Fellow quickly”! We never doubted that +bloody Queen Bess might often have had occasion for such a recipe, +but wondered at her frankness, and at her attending to these +anomalous necessities in such a methodical way. The truth is, we +had read amiss, and the Queen had spelt amiss: the word was +“Fellon,”—a sort of whitlow,—not +“Fellow.”</p> +<p>Our hospitable friend now made us drink a glass of wine, as old +and genuine as the curiosities of his cabinet; and while sipping +it, we ungratefully tried to excite his envy, by telling of various +things, interesting to an antiquary and virtuoso, which we had seen +in the course of our travels about England. We spoke, for instance, +of a missal bound in solid gold and set round with jewels, but of +such intrinsic value as no setting could enhance, for it was +exquisitely illuminated, throughout, by the hand of Raphael +himself. We mentioned a little silver case which once contained a +portion of the heart of Louis XIV, nicely done up in spices, but, +to the owner’s horror and astonishment, Dean Buckland popped +the kingly morsel into his mouth, and swallowed it. We told about +the black-letter prayer-book of King Charles the Martyr, used by +him upon the scaffold, taking which into our hands, it opened of +itself at the Communion Service; and there, on the left-hand page, +appeared a spot about as large as a sixpence, of a yellowish or +brownish hue: a drop of the King’s blood had fallen +there.</p> +<p>Mr. Porter now accompanied us to the church, but first leading +us to a vacant spot of ground where old John Cotton’s +vicarage had stood till a very short time since. According to our +friend’s description, it was a humble habitation, of the +cottage order, built of brick, with a thatched roof. The site is +now rudely fenced in, and cultivated as a vegetable garden. In the +right-hand aisle of the church there is an ancient chapel, which, +at the time of our visit, was in process of restoration, and was to +be dedicated to Cotton, whom these English people consider as the +founder of our American Boston. It would contain a painted +memorial-window, in honor of the old Puritan minister. A festival +in commemoration of the event was to take place in the ensuing +July, to which I had myself received an invitation, but I knew too +well the pains and penalties incurred by an invited guest at public +festivals in England to accept it. It ought to be recorded, (and it +seems to have made a very kindly impression on our kinsfolk here,) +that five hundred pounds had been contributed by persons in the +United States, principally in Boston, towards the cost of the +memorial-window, and the repair and restoration of the chapel.</p> +<p>After we emerged from the chapel, Mr. Porter approached us with +the vicar, to whom he kindly introduced us, and then took his +leave. May a stranger’s benediction rest upon him! He is a +most pleasant man; rather, I imagine, a virtuoso than an antiquary; +for he seemed to value the Queen of Otaheite’s bag as highly +as Queen Mary’s embroidered quilt, and to have an omnivorous +appetite for everything strange and rare. Would that we could fill +up his shelves and drawers (if there are any vacant spaces left) +with the choicest trifles that have dropped out of Time’s +carpet-bag, or give him the carpet-bag itself, to take out what he +will!</p> +<p>The vicar looked about thirty years old, a gentleman, evidently +assured of his position, (as clergymen of the Established Church +invariably are,) comfortable and well-to-do, a scholar and a +Christian, and fit to be a bishop, knowing how to make the most of +life without prejudice to the life to come. I was glad to see such +a model English priest so suitably accommodated with an old English +church. He kindly and courteously did the honors, showing us quite +round the interior, giving us all the information that we required, +and then leaving us to the quiet enjoyment of what we came to +see.</p> +<p>The interior of Saint Botolph’s is very fine and +satisfactory, as stately, almost, as a cathedral, and has been +repaired—so far as repairs were necessary—in a chaste +and noble style. The great eastern window is of modern painted +glass, but is the richest, mellowest, and tenderest modern window +that I have ever seen: the art of painting these glowing +transparencies in pristine perfection being one that the world has +lost. The vast, clear space, of the interior church delighted me. +There was no screen,—nothing between the vestibule and the +altar to break the long vista; even the organ stood +aside,—though it by-and-by made us aware of its presence by a +melodious roar. Around the walls there were old engraved brasses, +and a stone coffin, and an alabaster knight of Saint John, and an +alabaster lady, each recumbent at full length, as large as life, +and in perfect preservation, except for a slight modern touch at +the tips of their noses. In the chancel we saw a great deal of +oaken work, quaintly and admirably carved, especially about the +seats formerly appropriated to the monks, which were so contrived +as to tumble down with a tremendous crash, if the occupant happened +to fall asleep.</p> +<p>We now essayed to climb into the upper regions. Up we went, +winding and still winding round the circular stairs, till we came +to the gallery beneath the stone roof of the tower, whence we could +look down and see the raised Fort, and my Talma lying on one of the +steps, and looking about as big as a pocket-handkerchief. Then up +again, up, up, up, through a yet smaller staircase, till we emerged +into another stone gallery, above the jackdaws, and far above the +roof beneath which we had before made a halt. Then up another +flight, which led us into a pinnacle of the temple, but not the +highest; so, retracing our steps, we took the right turret this +time, and emerged into the loftiest lantern, where we saw level +Lincolnshire, far and near, though with a haze on the distant +horizon. There were dusty roads, a river, and canals, converging +towards Boston, which—a congregation of red-tiled +roofs—lay beneath our feet, with pigmy people creeping about +its narrow streets. We were three hundred feet aloft, and the +pinnacle on which we stood is a landmark forty miles at sea.</p> +<p>Content, and weary of our elevation, we descended the corkscrew +stairs and left the church; the last object that we noticed in the +interior being a bird, which appeared to be at home there, and +responded with its cheerful notes to the swell of the organ. +Pausing on the church-steps, we observed that there were formerly +two statues, one on each side of the door-way; the canopies still +remaining, and the pedestals being about a yard from the ground. +Some of Mr. Cotton’s Puritan parishioners are probably +responsible for the disappearance of these stone saints. This +door-way at the base of the tower is now much dilapidated, but must +once have been very rich and of a peculiar fashion. It opens its +arch through a great square tablet of stone, reared against the +front of the tower. On most of the projections, whether on the +tower or about the body of the church, there are gargoyles of +genuine Gothic grotesqueness,—fiends, beasts, angels, and +combinations of all three; and where portions of the edifice are +restored, the modern sculptors have tried to imitate these wild +fantasies, but with very poor success. Extravagance and absurdity +have still their law, and should pay as rigid obedience to it as +the primmest things on earth.</p> +<p>In our further rambles about Boston, we crossed the river by a +bridge, and observed that the larger part of the town seems to lie +on that side of its navigable stream. The crooked streets and +narrow lanes reminded me much of Hanover Street, Ann Street, and +other portions of the North End of our American Boston, as I +remember that picturesque region in my boyish days. It is not +unreasonable to suppose that the local habits and recollections of +the first settlers may have had some influence on the physical +character of the streets and houses in the New-England metropolis; +at any rate, here is a similar intricacy of bewildering lanes, and +numbers of old peaked and projecting-storied dwellings, such as I +used to see there. It is singular what a home-feeling and sense of +kindred I derived from this hereditary connection and fancied +physiognomical resemblance between the old town and its well-grown +daughter, and how reluctant I was, after chill years of banishment, +to leave this hospitable place, on that account. Moreover, it +recalled some of the features of another American town, my own dear +native place, when I saw the seafaring people leaning against +posts, and sitting on planks, under the lee of warehouses,—or +lolling on long-boats, drawn up high and dry, as sailors and old +wharf-rats are accustomed to do, in seaports of little business. In +other respects, the English town is more village-like than either +of the American ones. The women and budding girls chat together at +their doors, and exchange merry greetings with young men; children +chase one another in the summer twilight; school-boys sail little +boats on the river, or play at marbles across the flat tombstones +in the churchyard; and ancient men, in breeches and long +waistcoats, wander slowly about the streets, with a certain +familiarity of deportment, as if each one were everybody’s +grandfather. I have frequently observed, in old English towns, that +Old Age comes forth more cheerfully, and genially into the sunshine +than among ourselves, where the rush, stir, bustle, and irreverent +energy of youth are so preponderant, that the poor, forlorn +grandsires begin to doubt whether they have a right to breathe in +such a world any longer, and so hide their silvery heads in +solitude. Speaking of old men, I am reminded of the scholars of the +Boston Charity-School, who walk about in antique, long-skirted blue +coats, and knee-breeches, and with bands at their +necks,—perfect and grotesque pictures of the costume of three +centuries ago.</p> +<p>On the morning of our departure, I looked from the parlor-window +of the Peacock into the market-place, and beheld its irregular +square already well-covered with booths, and more in process of +being put up, by stretching tattered sail-cloth on poles. It was +market-day. The dealers were arranging their commodities, +consisting chiefly of vegetables, the great bulk of which seemed to +be cabbages. Later in the forenoon there was a much greater variety +of merchandise: basket-work, both for fancy and use; twig-brooms, +beehives, oranges, rustic attire; all sorts of things, in short, +that are commonly sold at a rural fair. I heard the lowing of +cattle, too, and the bleating of sheep, and found that there was a +market for cows, oxen, and pigs, in another part of the town. A +crowd of towns-people and Lincolnshire yeomen elbowed one another +in the square; Mr. Punch was squeaking in one corner, and a +vagabond juggler tried to find space for his exhibition in another: +so that my final glimpse of Boston was calculated to leave a +livelier impression than my former ones. Meanwhile the tower of +Saint Botolph’s looked benignantly down; and I fancied that +it was bidding me farewell, as it did Mr. Cotton, two or three +hundred years ago, and telling me to describe its venerable height, +and the town beneath it, to the people of the American city, who +are partly akin, if not to the living inhabitants of Old Boston, +yet to some of the dust that lies in its churchyard.</p> +<p>One thing more. They have a Bunker Hill in the vicinity of their +town; and (what could hardly be expected of an English community) +seem proud to think that their neighborhood has given name to our +first and most widely celebrated and best-remembered +battle-field.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2><a id="strength" name="strength">AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES OF A +STRENGTH-SEEKER.</a></h2> +<p>“There goes the smallest fellow in our class.”</p> +<p>I was crossing one of the paths that intersect the college green +of old Harvard when this remark fell upon my ears. Looking up, I +saw two stalwart Freshmen on their way to recitation, one of whom +had called the other’s attention to my humble self by this +observation, reminding me of a distinction which I did not +covet.</p> +<p>It was not quite true. There was one, and only one, member of +the class of ‘54 who was as small as I. Some consolation, +though not much, in that! But the air of amused compassion with +which the lusty Down-Easter, who had made me feel what the +<em>digito monstrari</em> was, now looked down on me, raised a +feeling of resentment and self-depreciation which left me in no +mood to make a brilliant show of scholarship in construing my +“Isocrates” that morning.</p> +<p>“True, I am small, nay, diminutive,” I soliloquized, +as I wended my way homeward under the classic umbrage of venerable +elms. “But surely this is no fault of mine.—Hold there! +Are you quite sure it’s no fault of yours? Are we not +responsible to a much greater extent than we imagine for our +physical condition? After making all abatement for insurmountable +hereditary influences upon organization,—after granting to +that remorseless law of genealogical transmission its proper +weight,—after admitting the seemingly capricious facts of +what the modern French physiologists call <em>atavism</em>, under +which we are made drunkards or consumptives, lunatics or wise men, +short or tall, because of certain dominant traits in some remote +ancestor,—after conceding all this, does not Nature leave it +largely in our own power to counteract both physical and moral +tendencies, and to mould the body as well as the mind, if we will +only put forth in action the requisite energy of will?”</p> +<p>This disposition to cavil at received axioms has beset me +through life. No sooner does a truth present itself than I want to +see it on its other side. If I hear the Devil spoken ill of, I +puzzle myself to find what can be said in his favor. The man who +thus halts between conflicting opinions, solicitous to give both +their due, and to see the truth, pure and simple and entire, may +miss laying hold of great convictions till it is too late for him +to act on them; but what he accepts he generally holds.</p> +<p>My meditations on the subject of my inferior stature led me to a +determination to try what gymnastic practice could do to remedy the +defect. For some thirty years, gymnastics, first introduced into +this country, I believe, at the Round-Hill School at Northampton, +then under the charge of Messrs. Cogswell and Bancroft, had +languished and revived fitfully at Cambridge. It was during one of +the languishing periods that I began my practice. For some five or +six weeks I kept it up with enthusiasm. Then I began to grow less +methodical and regular in my habits of exercise; and then to find +excuses for my delinquencies.</p> +<p>After all, what matter, if, like Paul’s, my “bodily +presence is weak”? Were not Alexander the Great and Napoleon +small men? Were not Pope, and Dr. Watts, and Moore, and Campbell, +and a long list of authors, artists, and philosophers, considerably +under medium height? Were not Garrick and Kean and the elder Booth +all under five feet four or five? Is there not a volume somewhere +in our college library, written by a learned Frenchman, devoted +exclusively to the biography of men who have been great in mind, +though diminutive in stature? Is not Lord John Russell as small +almost as I? Have I many inches to grow before I shall be as tall +as Dr. Holmes?</p> +<p>These consolatory considerations softened my chagrin at the +contemplation of my height. “Care I for the limb, the thews, +the stature, bulk, and big assemblance of a man? Give me the +spirit, Master Shallow,—the spirit!”</p> +<p>And so my gymnastic ardor, after a brief blaze, flickered, fell, +was ashes. But it was destined to be soon revived by an incident, +trifling in itself, though of a character to assume exaggerated +proportions in the mind of a sensitive boy. A youth, who had +considerably the advantage of me both in inches and in years, and +whose overflow of animal spirits required some object to vent +itself upon, selected me as the victim of his ebullient vivacity. +He began by tossing my book down stairs. This seemed to me rather +rough play, especially from one with whom I was not, at the time, +on terms of intimacy; but, making allowance for the hilarity of +classmates just let loose from recitation, I picked up, without a +thought of resentment, the abused volume, and took no further +notice of the matter. I subsequently found that it was merely the +commencement of a series of similar annoyances. This lively +classmate would even play tricks on me at the dinner table.</p> +<p>What was to be done? I mentioned the grievance to a friend, and +he remonstrated with my lively classmate, threatening him with my +serious displeasure. “Pooh! how can he help himself?” +was the reply which came duly to my ears.</p> +<p>Sure enough! How could I help myself? The aggressor was my +superior in weight and size. It was a plain case that I should get +badly and ridiculously whipped, if I attempted to cope with him in +any pugilistic encounter. But how would it do to demand of him the +satisfaction of a gentleman? True, I knew nothing of +pistol-shooting, and had never handled a small-sword. No matter for +that!</p> +<p>But another consideration speedily drove this scheme of +vengeance <em>à l’outrance</em> out of my head. Not +many years before, a peppery little Freshman had been insulted, as +he thought, by a Sophomore. The Soph, I believe, had knocked the +young one’s hat over his eyes, as they were kicking foot-ball +in the Delta. Freshman sent a challenge, the effect of which was to +excite inextinguishable laughter among the Sophs convened over +their cigars in the aggressor’s room. Amid roars, one of the +conspirators penned an acceptance, fixing as the weapon, hair +triggers,—time, five o’clock in the +morning,—place, the Delta,—second, the bearer, Mr. +M——, the writer of this reply.</p> +<p>It was a cruel business. A sham second was imposed on poor +little Fresh. Brave as Julius Caesar, he sat up all night writing +letters and preparing his will. Prompt to the moment, he was on the +chosen ground. An unusually large delegation for such a delicate +affair seemed to be present. One rascal who wore enormous green +goggles was pointed out to the innocent as Dr. Von Guldenstubbe, a +celebrated German surgeon, just from Leipsic. Little Fresh shook +hands with him gravely, amid the smothered laughter of the +conspirators. The distance was to be five paces; for it was +whispered so as to reach the ear of Fresh, that Soph was thirsting +for his heart’s blood. They take their places,—the +signal is given,—they fire,—and with a hideous groan +and a wild pirouette, the Soph falls to the ground.</p> +<p>The Freshman is led up near enough to see the fellow’s +face covered with blood, and to hear his cries to his friends to +put him out of his misery. Intensely agitated, poor little Fresh is +hurried by pretended friends into a carriage, and driven off; and +it is not till a week afterwards that he learns he has been the +victim of a hoax.</p> +<p>No! it would never answer for me to run the risk of being +<em>sold</em> in any such way as this. I must select a surer and +more practical vengeance. I thought the matter over intently, and +finally resolved that I would put myself on a physical equality +with my persecutor, and then meet him in a fair fight with such +weapons as Nature had given us both. I accordingly said to the +friend and classmate who had played the part of intercessor, +“Wait two years, and I promise you I will either make my +tormentor apologize or give him such a thrashing as he will +remember for the rest of his life.”</p> +<p>Thus was my resolve renewed to accomplish myself as a gymnast, +and, above all, to develop my physical strength. My previous +attempts in the gymnasium had been spasmodic and irregular. Having +now a definite object in view, I set about my work in earnest, and +went through a daily systematic practice of a little more than an +hour’s duration.</p> +<p>The gymnasium was kept by a Mr. Law, and, though ordinary in its +accommodations, had a good arrangement of apparatus, of which I +faithfully availed myself. The spring-board, horse, +vaulting-apparatus, parallel bars, suspended rings, horizontal and +inclined ladders, pulley-weights, pegs, climbing-rope, trapezoid, +etc., were all put in frequent requisition. My time for exercise +was generally in the evening, when I would find myself almost +alone,—while the clicking of balls from the billiard-rooms +and bowling-alleys down-stairs announced that a busy crowd—if +amusement may be called a business—were there assembled.</p> +<p>Naturally indolent, it was not without a severe struggle that I +overcame a besetting propensity to confine myself to sedentary +pursuits. The desire of retaliation soon became extinct. My pledge +to my friend and sympathizer, that in two years I would cry +<em>quittance</em> to my foe, would occasionally act as a spur in +the side of my intent; but my two best aids in supplying me with +the motive power to keep up my gymnastic practice were +<em>habit</em> and <em>progress</em>. What will not habit make easy +to us, whether it be for good or for evil? And what an incentive we +have to renewed effort in finding that we are making actual +progress,—that we can do with comparative facility to-day +what we could do only with difficulty yesterday!</p> +<p>Two years, while we are yet on the sunny side of twenty, are no +trifle; but for two years I persistently and methodically went +through the exercises of the gymnasium. At the end of that time I +had quite lost sight of my original object in cultivating my +athletic powers; for all annoyances towards me had long since been +dropped by my old enemy. But punctually on the day of expiration, +the friend who had listened to my pledge came to me and claimed its +fulfilment. From some evidences which he had recently had of my +strength he felt a soothing assurance that I should have no +difficulty in making good my promise.</p> +<p>I accordingly called on the lively young gentleman who two years +before had indulged in those little frolics at my expense. With +diplomatic ceremony and circumlocution I introduced the object of +my visit, and wound up with an <em>ultimatum</em> to this effect: +There must either be a frank apology for past indignities, or he +must accompany me, each with a friend, to some suitable spot, and +there decide which was “the better man.”</p> +<p>If he had been called on to expiate an offence committed before +he was breeched, the young gentleman could not have been more +astounded. Two years had made some change in our relative +positions. I was now about his equal in size, and felt a +comfortable sense of my superiority, so far as strength was +concerned. My shoulders had broadened, and my muscles been +developed, so as to present to the critical and interested observer +a somewhat threatening appearance. Mr. —— (who, by the +way, was a good fellow in the main) protested that he had never +intended to give me any offence,—that he, in fact, did not +remember the circumstances to which I referred,—and finished +by peremptorily declining my proposal. When I reflected on the +disparity between us in strength, which my two years’ +practice had established, I felt that it would be cowardly for me +to urge the matter further, especially as it was so long a time +since he had given me cause of complaint. I have only to add, that +we parted without a collision, and that, in my heart, I could not +help thanking him for the service he had rendered in inciting me to +the regimen which had resulted so beneficially to my health.</p> +<p>The impetus given to my gymnastic education by the little +incident I have just related was continued without abatement +through my whole college life. Gradually I acquired the reputation +of being the strongest man in my class. I discovered that with +every day’s development of my strength there was an increase +of my ability to resist and overcome all fleshly ailments, pains, +and infirmities,—a discovery which subsequent experience has +so amply confirmed, that, if I were called on to condense the +proposition which sums it up into a formula, it would be in these +words: <em>Strength is Health</em>.</p> +<p>Until I had renovated my bodily system by a faithful gymnastic +training, I had been subject to nervousness, headache, indigestion, +rush of blood to the head, and a weak circulation. It was torture +to me to have to listen to the grating of a slate-pencil, the +filing of a saw, or the scratching of glass. As I grew in strength, +my nerves ceased to be impressible to such annoyances. Another good +effect was to take away all appetite for any stimulating food or +drink. Although I had never applied “rebellious +liquors” to my blood, I had been in the habit of taking a +bowl of strong coffee morning and night. Now a craving for milk +took the place of this want, and my coffee was gradually diminished +to less than a fourth of what had been a customary indulgence.</p> +<p>At last arrived the eagerly looked-for day of release from +collegiate restrictions and labors. I graduated, and the question, +so momentous in the history of all adolescents, “What shall I +be?” addressed itself seriously to my mind. My father was +desirous that I should choose medicine for a profession, and become +the fourth physician, in lineal sequence, of my family on the +paternal side.</p> +<p>Medicine. I cavilled at it awhile, that I might bring out to +view its grimmest and most discouraging aspect The cares, trials, +humiliations of a young physician, his months and years of +uncompensated drudgery, passed in awful review before me. I thought +of his toils among the poor and lowly, the vicious and +depraved,—of his broken sleep,—the interruptions of his +social ease,—and then of the many scenes so repugnant to +delicate nerves which he has to pass through,—scenes of pain +and insanity, of maimed and severed limbs, and all the +eccentricities and fearful forms of disease. These considerations +pressed with such weight on my mind that for a time my ancestral +craft was in danger of being ignominiously rejected by me. Indeed, +I began to think seriously of adopting a very different vocation. +And here I will make a confession, if the gentle reader will take +it confidentially.</p> +<p>It is a familiar fact, that every college-boy has to pass +through an attack of the rhyming frenzy as regularly as the child +has to submit to measles and the whooping-cough. A less frequent, +but not less trying complaint, is that which manifests itself in a +passion for the stage and in an espousal of the delusion that one +was born for a great actor. At any rate, this last was the type +which my juvenile <em>malaise-du-coeur</em> finally assumed.</p> +<p>I have heard of a young gentleman who, whenever he was hard up +for money, went to his nearest relatives and threatened them with +the publication of a volume of his original poems. This threat +never failed to open the paternal purse. I do not know what effect +the intimation of my histrionic aspirations would have had; but one +fine day I found myself on my way to Rochester, in the State of New +York.</p> +<p>My <em>rôle</em> of dramatic characters was a very modest +one for a beginner. It embraced only Richelieu, Bertram, Brutus, +Lear, Richard, Shylock, Sir Giles Overreach, Hamlet, Othello, and +Macbeth. My principal literary recreation for several years had +been in studying these parts; and as I knew them by heart, I did +not doubt that a few rehearsals would put me in possession of the +requisite stage-business. And yet my familiarity with the theatre +was very limited. I had never been behind the scenes. Once, with a +classmate, I had penetrated in the daytime to the stage of the old +Federal-Street Theatre, and looked with awe on the boards formerly +trodden by the elder Kean; but a growl from that august +functionary, the prompter, sent us back in quick retreat, and I had +never ventured again into those sacred precincts.</p> +<p>Arrived at Rochester,—which place I had selected for my +<em>début</em> because of its remoteness from home,—I +looked in, the evening of my arrival, to see the performances at +the theatre. It was a hall of humble dimensions, seating an +audience of five or six hundred. The piece was a travesty of +“Hamlet,” neither edifying nor amusing. A little of the +<em>couleur-de-rose</em> which had flushed my prospect faded that +night; but the few friends at home to whom I had confided my plans +had so pertinaciously assured me that I—the most diffident +man in the world—could never appear before an audience +without letting them see I was shaky in the knees, that I resolved +to do what I could to show my depreciators they were false +prophets.</p> +<p>And so I called on the manager,—with a beating heart, as +you may suppose. He was a small, quiet, gentlemanly person, whom I +regret I cannot, consistently with historical truth, show up as a +Crummles. But not even Dickens could have found any salient trait +for ridicule in the man. Frankly and kindly he went into the +statistics of the theatrical business, and showed me, that, unless +I was rich, and could afford to play for my own amusement, the +stage held out few inducements; it was barren of promise to a young +man anxious to make himself independent of the world.</p> +<p>I did not reply, “Perish the lucre!” but said that I +would be content, in the early part of my career, to labor for +reputation. He soon satisfied me that he could not give up his +stage to an experimentalist, and I did not urge my suit; but bade +Mr. S. good morning, and, a day or two afterwards, started for +Niagara. Here, wet by the mist and listening to the roar of the +great cataract, I speedily forgot my chagrin, and took a not +unfriendly leave of the illusions which had lured me on to try my +fortune on the stage. Even now they return occasionally with all +their fascination.</p> +<p>While at Rochester, as I was passing through the principal +street, I met a crowd assembled about a lifting-machine. On making +trial of it, I found I could lift four hundred and twenty pounds. I +had then been for four years a gymnast, and I supposed my practice +would have qualified me to make the crowd stare at my achievement. +But the result was far from triumphant. I found what many other +gymnasts will find, that <em>main strength</em>, by which I mean +the strength of the truckman and the porter, cannot be acquired in +the ordinary exercises of the gymnasium.</p> +<p>Returning home, I began the study of anatomy and physiology, and +in the autumn of 1854 entered the Harvard Medical School. The +question of the extent to which human strength can be developed had +long been invested with a scientific interest to my mind. One of +the greatest lifting feats on authentic record is that of Thomas +Topham, an Englishman, who in Bath Street, Cold Bath Fields, +London, on the 28th of May, 1741, lifted three hogsheads of water, +said to weigh, with the connections, <em>eighteen hundred and +thirty-six pounds</em>. In the performance of this feat, Topham +stood on a raised platform, his hands grasping a fixture on either +side, and a broad strap over his shoulders communicating with the +weight. An immense concourse of persons was assembled on the +occasion,—the performance having been announced as “in +honor of Admiral Vernon,” or rather, “in commemoration +of his taking Porto Bello with six ships only.” Being a +descendant myself from the Vernon family of Haddon Hall, +Derbyshire, England, I have reserved it for future genealogical +inquiry to learn whether the Admiral was connected with that branch +of the Vernons. If so, a somewhat remarkable coincidence is +involved.</p> +<p>I now informed my father that I intended to go through a series +of experiments in lifting. He was afraid I should injure myself, +and expressly forbade any such practice on his premises. To gratify +him, I gave up testing the question for a whole year.</p> +<p>But the desire re-awoke, and I had frequent arguments with my +father in the endeavor to overcome his objections.</p> +<p>“Look at that man,” he said to me one +day,—pointing to a large, stout individual in front of +us,—“you might practise lifting all your life, and +never be able to lift as much as that big fellow.”</p> +<p>“Let me construct a lifting-apparatus in the back-yard, +and I will soon prove to you that you are mistaken,” I +replied.</p> +<p>Finding that I was bent on the experiment, he at length gave a +reluctant consent.</p> +<p>It was now the August of 1855, and I was in my twenty-second +year. My first lifting-apparatus was constructed in the following +manner. I first sank into the ground a hogshead, and into the +hogshead a flour-barrel. Then I lowered to the bottom of the barrel +a rope having at the end a round stick transversely balanced, about +four inches in diameter and fifteen inches long. A quantity of +gravel, nearly sufficient to bury the stick, was then thrown into +the barrel; some oblong stones were placed across the stick and +across and between one another, and the interstices filled with +smaller stones and gravel. When I had by this method about +two-thirds filled the barrel, taking care to keep the axis of the +rope in correspondence with the long axis of the barrel, I judged I +had a sufficient weight for a first trial. I now formed a loop in +the end of the rope over the top of the barrel, and put through it +a piece of a hoe-handle, about two feet long; and standing astride +of the hogshead, and holding the handle with one hand before me and +the other behind,—straightening my body, previously a little +flexed,—with mouth closed, head up, chest out, and shoulders +down,—I succeeded in lifting the barrel, containing a weight +of between four and five hundred pounds, some five or six inches +from the bottom of the hogshead.</p> +<p>It was no great feat, after all, considering that I had been for +five years a gymnast. I found that I was inharmoniously developed +in many points of my frame,—was perilously weak in the sides, +between the shoulders, and at the back of the head. However, the +day after this trial, I succeeded in lifting the same weight with +somewhat less difficulty. This induced me to add on a few pounds; +and in three or four weeks I could lift between six and seven +hundred. I now had the satisfaction of seeing the stout gentleman, +whom a few months before my father had pointed out as possessed of +a strength I could never attain to, introduced to an inspection of +my apparatus. Through the blinds of a back-parlor window I watched +his movements, as, encouraged by <em>pater-familias</em>, he drew +off his coat, moistened his hands, and undertook to “snake +up” the big weight. An ignominious failure to start the +barrel was the result. The stout gentleman tugged till he was so +red in the face that apoplexy seemed imminent, and then he +dejectedly gave it up. The reputation he had long enjoyed of being +one of the “strongest men about” must henceforth be a +thing of the past till it fades into a myth.</p> +<p>In the December of 1855 I was admitted to the arcana of the +dissecting-room, and forthwith commenced some experiments with the +view of testing the sustaining power of human bones. Some one had +told me, that, in lifting a heavy weight, there was danger of +fracturing the neck of the thigh-bone; but my experiments satisfied +me, that, if properly positioned, it would safely bear a strain of +two or three thousand pounds. And so I concluded that I might +securely continue my practice of lifting till I reached the +last-named limit.</p> +<p>In order to get all possible hints from the inspiration and +experience of the past, I studied some of the ancient statues. The +specimens of Grecian statuary at the Boston Athenæum were +objects of my frequent contemplation,—especially the +Farnesian Hercules. From this I derived a proper conception of the +bodily outline compatible with the exercise of the greatest amount +of strength. I was particularly struck by the absence of all +exaggeration in the muscular developments as represented. I saw by +this statue that a Hercules must be free from superfluous flesh, +neatly made, and finely organized,—that form and quality were +of more account than quantity in his formation. Some years earlier +I might have been more attracted by the Apollo Belvedere; but it +was a Hercules I dreamed of becoming, and the Apollo was but the +incipient and potential Hercules. Two other statues that shared my +admiration and study were the Quoit-Thrower and the Dying +Gladiator. From the careful inspection of all these relics of +ancient Art I obtained some valuable hints as to my own physical +deficiencies. I learned that the upper region of my chest needed +developing, and that in other points I had not yet reached the +artist’s ideal of a strong man.</p> +<p>Good casts of these and other masterpieces in statuary may be +had at a trifling cost. Why are they not generally introduced into +the gymnasia attached to our colleges and schools? The habitual +contemplation of such works could not fail to have a good effect +upon the physical bearing and development of the young. We are the +creatures of imitation. I remember, at the school I attended in my +seventh year, the strongest boy among my mates was quite +round-shouldered. Fancying that he derived his strength from his +stoop, I began to imitate him; and it was not till I learned that +he was strong in spite of his round shoulders, and not because of +them, that I gave up aping his peculiarity.</p> +<p>On the 29th of January, 1856, I lifted seven hundred pounds in +Bailey’s Gymnasium, Franklin Street, Boston. The exhibition +created great surprise among the lookers-on; and at that time it +was, perhaps, an extraordinary feat; but since the extension and +growth of the lifting mania, it would not be regarded by the +knowing ones as anything to marvel at. The fourth of April +following, my lifting capacity had reached eight hundred and forty +pounds.</p> +<p>On Fast-Day of that year, two Irishmen knocked at my door and +asked to see the strong man. I presented myself, and they told me +there was great curiosity among the “ould counthrymen” +in the vicinity to ascertain if one Pat Farren, the strongest +Irishman in Roxbury, could lift my weight. “Would it be +convanient for me to let him thry?” +“Certainly,—and I think he’ll lift it,” I +modestly added.</p> +<p>Soon afterwards a delegation of Irishmen, rather startling from +its numbers, entered the yard. Among them was Mr. Farren. They +surrounded my lifting-apparatus, while I, unseen, surveyed them +from a back window. I saw Mr. Farren take the handle, straddle the +hogshead, throw himself into a lifting posture, and, straining +every muscle to its utmost tension, give a tremendous pull. But the +weight made no sign; and his friends, thinking he was merely +feeling it, said, “Wait a bit,—Pat’ll have it up +the next pull.” Mr. Farren rested a moment,—then threw +off his coat, rubbed his hands, and, seizing the handle a second +time, tugged away at it till his muscles swelled and his frame +quivered. But he failed in starting the barrel, and a burst of +laughter from his friends and backers announced his defeat.</p> +<p>It is now but justice to Mr. Farren to say that it could hardly +be expected of him to lift such a weight at either the first trial +or the second. A want of confidence, or the maladjustment of the +rope, might have interfered with the full exercise of his strength. +I need not say that his discomfiture was witnessed by me from my +hiding-place with the liveliest satisfaction; for I had begun to +pride myself on being able to outlift any man in the country.</p> +<p>In May, 1856, I received the appointment of medical assistant to +Dr. Walker, at the Lunatic Hospital, South Boston, and gave up for +a couple of months my practice of lifting. The consequence was a +rapid diminution of strength, which suggested to me a return to the +lifting exercise. Near the hospital was a large unoccupied +building, formerly the House of Industry. In the cellar of this +building I put a barrel, and loaded it with rocks and gravel as I +had done in Roxbury. Immediately overhead, on the first floor, I +cut a hole, about six inches square, and passed up a rope attached +to the barrel. This rope I looped at the end, for the reception of +a handle. On the floor I nailed two cleats between three and four +feet apart, as guards to keep my feet from slipping. Beginning with +about six hundred pounds, I added a few pounds daily, till I was +able, in November, 1856, to lift with my hands alone nine hundred +pounds.</p> +<p>Returning home the ensuing winter, I attended a second course of +medical lectures, and, in the routine of labors incident to a +medical student’s life, omitted to develop further my powers +as a lifter. In the summer of 1857 I became a practitioner of +medicine. In the autumn of that year, a gentleman, who had been +looking at my lifting-apparatus, remarked to me, “If you are +as strong as they tell me, what is to prevent your seizing hold of +me, (I weigh only a hundred and eighty pounds) holding me at +arm’s-length over your head, and pitching me over that +fence?” To this I replied, that, if he would give me six +weeks for practice, I would satisfy him the thing could be done. He +agreed to be on hand at the end of the time named.</p> +<p>In order to be sure of the muscles that would be brought into +play by the feat, I procured an oblong box with a handle on either +side running the whole length. Into the box I threw a number of +brick-bats,—then raised the box at arm’s-length above +my head, and threw it over my vaulting-pole, which was at an +elevation of six and a half feet from the ground. Subsequently I +added more brick-bats, till gradually their weight amounted to +precisely one hundred and eighty pounds. Having practised till I +could easily handle and throw the box thus charged, I informed my +challenger that I was ready for him. He came, when, seizing him by +the middle, I lifted him struggling above my head, and threw him +over the fence before he was hardly aware of my intent. As he was +somewhat corpulent and puffy, and the act involved an abdominal +pressure which was by no means agreeable, he expressed himself +perfectly satisfied with the experiment, but objected very +decidedly to its repetition.</p> +<p>In June, 1858, I commenced practising with two fifty-pound +dumb-bells, and subsequently added one of a hundred pounds, which I +was prompted to get from hearing that one of that weight was used +by Mr. James Montgomery, at that time a celebrated gymnast of New +York City, and afterwards a successful teacher at the Albany +Gymnasium. Not having given much attention to the development of +the extensor muscles of the arms for several months previous, it +was a number of weeks before I could put this dumb-bell up at +arm’s-length above my head with one hand. As soon as I +succeeded in doing this with comparative ease, I procured another +hundred-pound dumb-bell, and in a few months succeeded in +exercising with both of the instruments at the same time, raising +each alternately above my head. I then commenced practice with a +dumb-bell weighing one hundred and forty-one pounds. It consisted +of two shells connected by a handle, which, being removable, +allowed me to introduce shot, from time to time, into the cavities +of the shells. After a few months of practice, I could, with a +jerk, raise the instrument from my shoulder to arm’s-length +above my head. My first public exhibition of this feat took place +in Philadelphia, in April, 1860.</p> +<p>The spring of 1859 was now drawing nigh, and I began to think of +giving a public lecture on Physical Culture, illustrating it with +some exhibitions of the strength to which I had attained. My father +approved the venture, but, bethinking himself of my extreme +diffidence, significantly asked, <em>when</em> I would be ready to +permit a public announcement of my intention. “Oh, in a few +days,” I replied, as if it were as small a matter for me to +lecture in public as to lift a thousand pounds in a gymnasium. +Weeks flew by, and still to the galling inquiry, +“<em>When?</em>” I could only answer, “Soon, but +not just yet.” February and March had come and gone, and +still I was not ready. Finally, to the oft-renewed interrogatory, I +made this reply: “As soon as I can shoulder a barrel of +flour, a feat which I am determined to accomplish before an +audience, you may announce my lecture.”</p> +<p>I had then been practising some two months with a loaded barrel, +so contrived that it should weigh a little more each succeeding +day; and it had now reached a hundred and ninety pounds. About this +time it occurred to me, that, among my many experiments, I had +never fairly tried that of a vegetable diet. I read anew the works +of Graham and Alcott; and conceiving that my strength had reached a +stagnation-point, I gave up meat, and restricted my animal diet to +milk.</p> +<p>A barrel of flour weighs on an average two hundred and sixteen +pounds. I therefore could not succeed in shouldering one until +twenty-six pounds had been added to my loaded barrel. Day after day +I shouldered my one hundred and ninety pounds, but could not get an +ounce beyond that limit. My grand theory of the possible +development of a man’s strength began to look somewhat +insecure.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“So fares the system-building sage,</p> +<p>Who, plodding on from youth to age,</p> +<p>Has proved all other reasoners fools,</p> +<p>And bound all Nature by his rules,—</p> +<p>So fares he in that dreadful hour</p> +<p>When injured Truth exerts her power</p> +<p>Some new phenomenon to raise,</p> +<p>Which, bursting on his frighted gaze,</p> +<p>From its proud summit to the ground,</p> +<p>Proves the whole edifice unsound.”</p> +</div> +<p>JAMES BEATTIE</p> +</div> +<p>The shouldering of a barrel of flour is a feat, by the way, +which many an old inhabitant will tell you that he, or some friend +of his, could accomplish in his eighteenth year. Why it should +always be among the <em>res gestæ temporis acti</em> cannot +be readily explained. It is a common belief that any stout truckman +can do the thing; but I have been assured by one of the leading +truckmen of Boston, that there are not, probably, three individuals +in the city who are equal to the accomplishment.</p> +<p>The mode of life that I had hitherto found essential to the +keeping up of my strength was quite simple, and rather negative +than positive. From tobacco and all ardent spirits, including wine, +I had to abstain as a matter of course. Beer and all fermented +liquors had also been ruled out. Impure air must be avoided like +poison. Summer and winter I slept with my windows open. Badly +ventilated apartments were scrupulously shunned. Cold bathing of +the entire person was rarely practised oftener than once a week in +cold weather or twice a week in warm weather. A more frequent +ablution seemed to over-stimulate the excretory functions of the +skin, so that excessive bathing defeated its very object. The +“tranquil mind” must be preserved with little or no +interruption. Great physical strength cannot coexist with an +unhappy, discontented temper. You must be habitually cheerful, if +you would be strong. With regard to diet,—that was the very +experiment I was trying,—the experiment, namely, of going +without solid animal food. With me it did not succeed. So far from +gaining in strength, hardly did I hold my own. Suddenly I resolved +to give up my vegetable diet, and return to beef-steaks, +mutton-chops, and loins of veal. A daily appreciable increase of +strength was soon the consequence. Within ten days I succeeded in +shouldering the loaded barrel weighing two hundred and sixteen +pounds; and a day or two after I shouldered, in the presence of our +grocer himself, a barrel of flour.</p> +<p>I had now no further excuse for deferring my promised lecture. +The month of May had arrived. My father delicately broached the +subject of the announcement. Being a little fractious, perhaps from +some ebb in my strength, I hastily replied,—</p> +<p>“Announce it for the 30th of May.”</p> +<p>“What hall shall I engage?”</p> +<p>“Any hall in Boston. Why not the Music Hall?” I +added, affecting a valor I was far from feeling; but, like Macbeth, +I now realized that “returning were as tedious as go +o’er.”</p> +<p>Mercantile Hall, in Summer Street, was engaged for me,—it +being central, modest in point of size, commodious, and favorably +known. At this time I was in excellent health and weighed one +hundred and forty-three pounds. But from the moment of the public +announcement of my lecture, my appetite for food, for meat +particularly, began to fail me. “How peevish and irritable he +is growing!” I heard one member of the family remark to +another. Soon the grocer’s scales indicated that my weight +was diminishing. It fell to one hundred and forty-one,—then +to one hundred and forty,—then to one hundred and +thirty-eight,—and finally, when the 30th of May arrived, I +found I weighed only one hundred and thirty-four pounds!</p> +<p>The crisis was now at hand. Do not laugh at me, ye self-assured +ones, with your comfortable sense of your own powers,—ye who +care as little for an audience as for a field of cabbages,—do +not jeer at one who has felt the pangs of shyness and quailed under +the imaginary terrors of a first public appearance. For you it may +be a small matter to face an audience,—that nearest +approximation to the many-headed monster which we can palpably +encounter; but for one whose diffidence had become the standard of +that quality to his acquaintances the venture was perilous and +desperate, as the sequel showed.</p> +<p>Never had time rolled by with such fearful velocity as on that +eventful day. Breakfast was hardly over before preparations were +being made for dinner. Small appetite had I for either. Before I +had finished pacing the parlor there was a summons to tea. It was +like the summons to the criminal: “Rise up, Master +Barnardine, and be hanged.” With a most shallow affectation +of <em>nonchalance</em> I sat down at the table. A child might have +detected my agitation; and yet, with horrible insincerity, I +alluded to the news of the day, and asked the family why they were +all so silent. They saw from my look that they might as well have +joked with a man on his way to execution.</p> +<p>Having dressed and adorned myself for the sacrifice, I returned +to the parlor, when the rumbling of coach-wheels, the sudden +letting down of steps, and then a frightfully discordant ring of +the doorbell, sent the blood from my cheeks and made my heart +palpitate like a trip-hammer. “Is th-th-that the +off-officer,—I mean the coachman?” I stammered. Yes, +there was no doubt about it.</p> +<p>Straightening my person, I affected a dignified calmness, and +assured my dear, anxious mother that I was not in the least +nervous,—oh, not in the least!</p> +<p>It was a gloomy night, and the streets wore a dismal aspect. The +hall was distant about three miles; but in some mysterious manner, +or by some route which I have never been able to discover, the +coachman seemed to abridge the distance to less than half a mile. +We are in Summer Street,—before the door. Some juvenile +amateurs, attracted by stories of the strong man, surround the +carriage to get a sight of him.</p> +<p>“Ha! what are these? Sure, hangmen, That come to bind my +hands, and then to drag me Before the judgment-seat: now they are +new shapes, And do appear like Furies!”</p> +<p>The words of Sir Giles Overreach, one of the parts I had studied +during my histrionic <em>accès</em>, were not at all +inappropriate to the state of mind in which, with knee-joints +slipping from under me, I now made my way up-stairs. Having reached +the upper entry, I paused, and glanced at the audience through the +windows, before entering the little retiring-room behind the stage. +With an inward groan at my presumption, I passed on. To think, +that, but for my own madness, I might have been at that moment +comfortably at home, reading the evening paper! Nay, were it not +better to be tossing on stormy seas, driving on a lee-shore, +toiling as a slave under a tropic sun, than here, with a gaping +audience waiting to devour me with their eyes and ears?</p> +<p>The first thing I did, on reaching the retiring-room, was to +give way to a fearful fascination and take another peep at the +audience from behind a curtain at the side-entrance. I then looked +at my watch. Twenty minutes to eight! People were pouring in, +notwithstanding the inclement weather. The hall was nearly crowded +already. One familiar face after another was recognized. Surely +everybody I know is present.</p> +<p>Another look at my watch. Quarter to eight! Suddenly the frantic +thought occurred to me, What if I have lost my manuscript? Where +did I put it? ‘Tis in none of my pockets! Good gracious! Has +any one seen my manuscript? Come, Jerome, no fooling at a time like +this! Where have you hidden it? What! You know nothing about it? +<em>Hunt</em> for it, then! Wouldn’t it be a charming scrape, +if I couldn’t find my lecture? Isn’t this it, in the +drawer? Oh, yes! I must have put it there unconsciously.</p> +<p>Being in a high state of perspiration, and wiping my forehead +incessantly, I disarrange my hair. Where’s that brush? No one +can tell. Agony! Where’s the brush? Here on the floor. Oh, +yes! There! What a blaze my cheeks are in! The audience will think +they are flushed with Bourbon. No matter. That manuscript has +disappeared again. Confusion! Where is it? Here in your +overcoat-pocket. All right.</p> +<p>Five minutes to eight. Grasping the scroll, I rush to the +side-entrance. The audience begin to manifest their impatience by +applause. Suddenly I hear the bell of the Old South Church strike +eight. The last vibration passes like an ice-bolt through my heart. +Wrought up to desperation, I thrust aside the curtain. This gives a +portion of the audience a sight of me, and I hear some one exclaim, +“There he is!” Horrible exposure! I dodge back out of +view, as if to escape the discharge of a battery. A round of +impatient applause rouses me. I count three, and precipitate myself +forward to the centre of the stage.</p> +<p>The hall is filled,—all the seats and most of the +standing-places occupied. But I can no longer recognize any one. +Friend and foe are confounded in an undistinguishable mass; or, +rather, they are but parts and members of one hideous monster, +moving itself by one volition, winking its thousand eyes all at +once, and ready to swallow me with a single deglutition. However, +the plunge is made. The worst is over. I rallied from the shock, +and in a clear, but unnecessarily loud and ponderous voice, pitched +many degrees too high, I commenced my lecture.</p> +<p>For some ten minutes, if I may believe the tender reports in the +newspapers the next day, I got on very respectably. I had won the +attention of the audience. But, at an unlucky moment, a fresh +arrival of persons at the door made the monster turn his thousand +eyes in that direction. I mistook it for an indication that he was +getting weary of my talk. My attention was distracted. Then came a +suspension of all thought, an appalling paralysis of memory. Having +learnt the first part of my discourse by heart, I had been reciting +it without turning over the leaves of the manuscript; and now I was +unable to recollect at what point I had left off, or whether I had +given five pages or ten.</p> +<p>Frightful dilemma! Stupefied with horror, I gazed intently on +the page before me till the lines became all blurred, and a blue +mist wavered before my eyes. Then came a pause of intensest +silence. The monster lying in wait for me evidently began to +anticipate that his victim’s time was come, and so, like a +crafty monster, he remained still and patient. Who could endure a +nightmare like this? I felt myself reeling to and fro. Then a +pleasant thrill, like that, perhaps, which drowning men feel, ran +through my frame. All became dark,—and the strong man +dropped, like a felled ox, senseless on the stage.</p> +<p>When consciousness returned I was lying flat on my back, and +several persons were bending over me.</p> +<p>“Keep down,—don’t rise,” some one +said.</p> +<p>“What has happened?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Nothing,—only you were a little faint.”</p> +<p>“Faint? A man who can lift a thousand pounds +faint—at the sight of an audience? Absurd! Let me +rise.”</p> +<p>And in spite of all opposition I rose, grasped my manuscript, +walked to the front of the stage, and resumed my lecture. Alas!</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Reaching above our nature does no good;</p> +<p>We must sink back into our own flesh and blood.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>I had not proceeded far before I felt symptoms of a repetition +of the calamity; and lest I should be overtaken before I could +retreat, I stammered a few words of apology, and withdrew +ingloriously from public view. Fresh air and a draught of water, +which some obliging friend had dashed with <em>eau-de-vie</em>, +soon restored me. But I took the advice of friends and did not make +a third attempt that evening.</p> +<p>The audience, had it been wholly composed of brothers and +sisters, could not have been more indulgent and considerate. One +skeptical gentleman was heard to say,—</p> +<p>“I don’t believe he can lift nine hundred +pounds.”</p> +<p>And another added,—</p> +<p>“Nor I,—any more than that he can shoulder a barrel +of flour.”</p> +<p>“Or raise his body by the little finger of one +hand,” said another.</p> +<p>Whereupon a venerable citizen, a gentleman long known and +respected as the very soul of honor, truthfulness, and uprightness, +came forward on the stage before the audience, and with emphatic +earnestness, and in a loud, intrepid tone of voice, +exclaimed,—</p> +<p>“Ladies and gentlemen,—The heat of the room was too +much for the lecturer; but he can easily do all the feats announced +in the bills. <em>I’ve seen him do them twenty +times</em>.”</p> +<p>The dear, but infatuated old gentleman! He had never seen me do +anything of the kind. He hardly knew me by sight. He thought only +of coming to the rescue of an unfortunate lecturer, prostrated on +the very threshold of his career; and a friendly hallucination made +him for the moment really believe what he said. His unpremeditated +assertion must have been set down by the recording angel on the +same page with Uncle Toby’s oath, and then obliterated in the +same manner.</p> +<p>Ten days after the above-mentioned catastrophe, having engaged +the largest hall in Boston, (the Music Hall,) I delivered my +lecture—in the words of the newspapers—“with +<em>éclat</em>.” The illustrations of strength which I +exhibited on the occasion, though far inferior to subsequent +efforts, were looked on as most extraordinary. The weight I lifted +before the audience, with my hands alone, was nine hundred and +twenty-nine pounds. This was testified to by the City Sealer of +Weights and Measures, Mr. Moulton. My success induced me to repeat +my lecture in other places. Invitations and liberal offers poured +in upon me from all directions; and during the ensuing seasons, I +lectured in Baltimore, Philadelphia, Cincinnati, Albany, and many +of the principal cities throughout the Northern States and the +Canadas.</p> +<p>To return to my lifting experiments. I had promised my father to +“stop at a thousand pounds.” In the autumn of 1859 I +had reached ten hundred and thirty-two pounds. An incident now +occurred that induced me to reconsider my promise and get +absolution from it. One day, while engaged in lifting, I had a +visit from two powerful-looking men who asked permission to try my +weight. One of them was five feet ten inches in height, and a +hundred and ninety-two pounds in weight. The other was fully six +feet in his stockings, and two hundred and twelve pounds in +weight,—a fearful superiority in the eyes of a man, under +five feet seven and weighing less than a hundred and fifty pounds. +The smaller of these men failed to lift eight of my iron disks, +which, with the connections, amounted to eight hundred and +twenty-seven pounds. The larger individual fairly lifted them at +the second or third trial, but declined to attempt an increase. +They left me, and I soon, afterward heard that they were practising +with a view of “outlifting Dr. Windship.”</p> +<p>My father had incautiously remarked to me, “Those huge +fellows, with a little practice, can lift your weight and you on +top of it. You can’t expect to compete with giants.” +This decided me to test the question whether five feet seven must +necessarily yield to mere bulk in the attainment of the maximum of +human strength. I had the start of my competitors by some two +hundred pounds, and I determined to preserve that distance between +us. In the autumn of that year I advanced to lifting with the hands +eleven hundred and thirty-three pounds, and in the spring of 1860 +to twelve hundred and eight. I have had no evidence that my +competitors ever got beyond a thousand pounds; though I doubt not, +if they had had my leisure for practice, they might have surpassed +me.</p> +<p>In July, 1860, I commenced lifting by means of a padded rope +over my shoulders,—my body, during the act of lifting, being +steadied and partly supported by my hands grasping a stout frame at +each side. After a few unsuccessful preliminary trials, I quickly +advanced to fourteen hundred pounds. The stretching of the rope now +proved so great an annoyance, that I substituted for it a stout +leather band of double thickness, about two inches and a half wide, +and which had been subjected to a process which was calculated to +render it proof against stretching more than half an inch under any +weight it was capable of sustaining. But on trial, I found, almost +to my despair, that it was of a far more yielding nature than the +rope, and consequently the rope was again brought into requisition. +A few weeks of unsatisfactory practice followed, when it occurred +to me that an iron chain, inasmuch as it could not stretch, might +be advantageously used, provided it could be so padded as not to +chafe my shoulders. After many experiments I succeeded in this +substitution; but the chain had yet one objection in common with +the rope and the strap, arising from the difficulty of getting it +properly adjusted. I contented myself with its use, however, until +the spring of 1861, when I hit upon a contrivance which has proved +a complete success. It consists of a wooden yoke fitting across my +shoulders, and having two chains connected with it in such a manner +as to enable me to lift on every occasion to the most advantage. +With this contrivance my lifting-power has advanced with +mathematical certainty, slowly, but surely, to <em>two thousand and +seven pounds</em>, up to this twenty-third day of November, +1861.</p> +<p>In my public experiments in lifting, when I have not used the +iron weights cast for the purpose, I have, as a convenient +substitute, used kegs of nails. It recently occurred to me, that, +if, instead of these kegs, I could employ a number of men selected +from the audience, the spectacle would he still more satisfactory +to the skeptical. Accordingly I contrived an apparatus by means of +which I have been able to present this convincing proof of the +actual weight lifted. I introduced it after my lecture at the +Town-Hall in Brighton, Massachusetts, on the 9th of October, 1861; +and the following account of the result appeared in one of the city +papers:—</p> +<p>“Standing upon a staging at an elevation of about eight or +ten feet from the floor, the Doctor lifted and sustained, for a +considerable time and without apparent difficulty, a platform +suspended beneath him on which stood twelve gentlemen, all heavier +individually than the Doctor himself, and weighing, inclusive of +the entire apparatus lifted with them, <em>nearly nineteen hundred +pounds avoirdupois</em>. In the performance of this tremendous +feat, Dr. W. employed neither straps, bands, nor +girdle,—nothing in short but a stout oaken stick fitting +across his shoulders, and having attached to it a couple of rather +formidable-looking chains. At his request, a committee, appointed +by the audience, and furnished with one of Fairbanks’s +scales, superintended all the experiments.”</p> +<p>The exact weight lifted on this occasion was eighteen hundred +and thirty-six pounds. A few evenings after, I lifted, in the same +way, in Lynn, eighteen hundred and sixty; in Brookline, eighteen +hundred and ninety; in Medford, nineteen hundred and thirty-four; +in Maiden, nineteen hundred and two; and in Charlestown, nineteen +hundred and forty.</p> +<p>As my strength is still increasing in an undiminished ratio, I +am fairly beginning to wonder where the limit will be; and the old +adage of the camel’s back and the last feather occasionally +suggests itself. I have fixed three thousand pounds as my <em>ne +plus ultra</em>.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2><a id="fremont" name="fremont">FREMONT’S HUNDRED DAYS IN +MISSOURI.</a></h2> +<h3>I.</h3> +<p>The narrative we propose to give of events in Missouri is not +intended to be a defence of General Fremont, nor in any respect an +answer to the charges which have been made against him. Our purpose +is the more humble one of presenting a hasty sketch of the +expedition to Springfield, confining ourselves almost entirely to +the incidents which came under the observation of an officer of the +General’s staff.</p> +<p>General Fremont was in command of the Western Department +precisely One Hundred Days. He assumed the command at the time when +the army with which Lyon had captured Camp Jackson and won the +Battle of Booneville was on the point of dissolution. The enemy, +knowing that the term for which our soldiers had been enlisted was +near its close, began offensive movements along their whole line. +Cairo, Bird’s Point, Ironton, and Springfield were +simultaneously threatened. Jeff Thompson wrote to his friends in +St. Louis, promising to be in that city in a month. The sad, but +glorious day upon Wilson’s Creek defeated the Rebel designs, +and compelled McCulloch, Pillow, Hardee, and Thompson to +retire.</p> +<p>Relieved from immediate danger, General Fremont found an +opportunity to organize the expedition down the Mississippi. Won by +the magic of his name and the ceaseless energy of his action, the +hardy youth of the Northwest, flocked into St. Louis, eager to +share his labors and his glory. There was little time for +organization and discipline. They were armed with such weapons as +could be procured against the competition of the General +Government, and at once forwarded to the exposed points. History +can furnish few parallels to the hasty levy and organization of the +Army of the West. When suddenly required to defend Washington, the +Government was able to summon the equipped and disciplined militia +of the East, and could call upon the inexhaustible resources of a +wealthy and skilful people. But in the West there was neither a +disciplined militia nor trained mechanics. Men, indeed, brave, +earnest, patriotic men, were plenty,—men who appreciated the +magnitude and importance of the task before them, and who were +confident of their ability to accomplish it. But to introduce order +into their tumultuous ranks, to place arms in their eager hands, to +clothe and feed them, to provide them with transportation and +equipage for the march, and inspire them with confidence for the +siege and the battle,—this labor the General, almost unaided, +was called upon to perform. Like all the rest of our generals, he +was without experience in military affairs of such magnitude and +urgency, and he was compelled to rely chiefly upon the assistance +of men entirely without military training and knowledge. The +general staff and the division and brigade staffs were, from the +necessity of the case, made up mainly of civilians. A small number +of foreign officers brought to his aid their learning and +experience, and a still smaller number of West-Point officers gave +him their invaluable assistance. In spite of all difficulties the +work proceeded. In six weeks the strategic positions were placed in +a state of defence, and an army of sixty thousand men, with a +greater than common proportion of cavalry and artillery, stood +ready to clear Missouri of the invader and to open the valley of +the Mississippi. At this time the sudden appearance of Price in the +West, and the fall of Lexington, compelled the General to take the +field.</p> +<p>We will now confine ourselves to the narrative of the incidents +of the march to Springfield, as it is given in the journal which +has been placed in our hands.</p> +<h4>FROM ST. LOUIS TO WARSAW.</h4> +<p><em>St. Louis, September 27th, 1861.</em> For four days the +head-quarters have been ready to take the field at an hour’s +notice. The baggage has been packed, the wagons loaded, horses have +stood saddled all through the day, and the officers have been +sitting at their desks, booted and spurred, awaiting the order for +their departure. It is not unlikely that the suspense in which they +are held and the constant condition of readiness which is required +of them are a sort of preliminary discipline to which the General +is subjecting them. Yesterday the body-guard left by the river, and +the staff-horses went upon the same steamer, so that we cannot be +detained much longer.</p> +<p><em>Jefferson City, September 28th.</em> Yesterday, at eleven +o’clock, we were informed that the General would leave for +Jefferson City at noon; and that those members of the staff who +were not ready would be left behind, and their places filled in the +field. At the appointed hour we were all gathered at the depot. The +General drove down entirely unattended. Most of the train was +occupied by a battalion of sharp-shooters, but in the rear car the +General and his staff found seats. The day was cloudy and damp; +there was no one to say farewell; and as the train passed through +the cold hills, a feeling of gloom seemed to pervade the company. +Nature was in harmony with the clouded fortunes of our General, and +the laboring locomotive dragged us at a snail’s pace, as if +it were unwilling to assist us in our adventure.</p> +<p>Those who were strangers in the West looked out eagerly for the +Missouri, hoping to find the valley of the river rich in scenery +which would relieve the tedium of the journey. But when we came out +upon the river-bank and looked at the dull shores, and the sandy +bed, which the scant stream does not cover, but through which it +creeps, treacherous and slimy, in half a dozen channels, there was +no pleasure to the eye, no relief for the spirit. Late in the +afternoon we approached a little village, and were greeted with +music and hearty cheers,—the first sign of hospitality the +day had furnished. It was the German settlement of Hermann, famous +for good cheer and good wines. The Home-Guard was drawn up at the +station, files of soldiers kept the passage clear to the +dining-room, and through an avenue of muskets, and amidst the +shouts of an enthusiastic little crowd, the General passed into a +room decorated with flowers, through the centre of which was +stretched a table groaning under the weight of delicious fruits and +smoking viands. With little ceremony the hungry company seated +themselves, and vigorously assailed the tempting array, quite +unconscious of the curious glances of a motley assemblage of men, +women, and children who assisted at the entertainment. The day had +been dark, the journey dull, and the people we had seen silent and +sullen; but here was a welcome, the hearty, generous welcome of +sympathizing friends, who saw in their guests the defenders of +their homes. They were Germans, and our language came broken from +their lips. But they are Germans who fill the ranks of our +regiments. Look where you will, and the sturdy Teuton meets your +eye. If Missouri shall be preserved for the Union and civilization, +it will be by the valor of men who learned their lessons of +American liberty and glory upon the banks of the Rhine and the +Elbe. We think of this at Hermann, and we pledge our German hosts +and our German fellow-soldiers in strong draughts of delicious +Catawba,—not such Catawba as is sent forth from the slovenly +manufactories of Cincinnati, for the careful vintners of Hermann +select the choice grapes, and in the quiet cellars of Hermann the +Catawba has time to grow old and to ripen.</p> +<p>We at length extricate ourselves from the maze of corn-cakes and +pancakes, waffles and muffins and pies without number, with which +our kind friends of Hermann tempt and tantalize our satiated +palates, and once more set forth after the wheezing, reluctant +locomotive, over the rough road, through the dreary hills, along +the bank of the treacherous river.</p> +<p>At ten o’clock, in ten weary hours, we have accomplished +one hundred and twenty miles, and have reached Jefferson City. The +train backs and starts ahead, halts and backs and jerks, and +finally, with a long sigh of relief, the locomotive stops, and a +gentleman in citizen’s dress enters the car, carrying a +lantern in his hand. It was Brigadier-General Price, commanding at +Jefferson City. He took possession of the General, and, with us +closely following, left the car. But leaving the train was a +somewhat more difficult matter. We went along-side the train, over +the train, under the train, but still those cars seemed to surround +us like a corral. We at length outflanked the train, but still +failed to extricate ourselves from the labyrinth. Informed, or +rather deluded, by the “lantern dimly burning,” we +floundered into ditches and scrambled out of them, we waded +mud-puddles and stumbled over boulders, until finally the +ever-present train disappeared in the darkness, we rushed up a +steep hill, heard the welcome sound as our feet touched a brick +walk, and, after turning two or three corners, found ourselves in +the narrow hall of the “principal hotel.” We were tired +and disgusted, and no one stood upon the order of his going, but +went at once to sleep upon whatever floor, table, or bed offered +itself.</p> +<p>This morning we are pleased to hear that the General has +resolved to go into camp. Of course the best houses in the place +are at our disposal, but it is wisely thought that our soldier-life +will not begin until we are fairly under canvas.</p> +<p>All day we have had an exhibition of a Missouri crowd. The +sidewalk has been fringed with curious gazers waiting to catch a +glimpse of the General. Foote, the comedian, said, that, until he +landed on the quays at Dublin, he never knew what the London +beggars did with their old clothes. One should go to Missouri to +see what the New-York beggars do with their old clothes. But it is +not the dress alone. Such vacant, listless faces, with laziness +written in every line, and ignorance seated upon every feature! Is +it for these that the descendants of New England and the thrifty +Germans are going forth to battle? If Missouri depended upon the +Missourians, there would be little chance for her safety, and, +indeed, not very much to save.</p> +<p><em>October 4th.</em> We have been in camp since Sunday, the +29th of September. Our tents are pitched upon abroad shelf half-way +down a considerable hill. Behind us the hill rises a hundred feet +or more, shutting us in from the south; in front, to the north, the +hill inclines to a ravine which separates us from other less lofty +hills. Our camp is upon open ground, but there is a fine forest to +the east and west.</p> +<p>In a few days we have all become very learned in camp-life. We +have found out what we want and what we do not want. Fortunately, +St. Louis is near at hand, and we send there to provide for our +necessities, and also to get rid of our superfluities. The troops +have been gathering all the week. There are several regiments in +front of us, and batteries of artillery behind us. Go where you +will, spread out upon the plain or shining amidst the trees you +will see the encampments. Head-quarters are busy providing for the +transportation and the maintenance of this great force; and as +rapidly as the railway can carry them, regiment after regiment is +sent west. There is plenty of work for the staff-officers; and yet +our life is not without its pleasures. The horses and their riders +need training. This getting used to the saddle is no light matter +for the civilian spoiled by years of ease and comfort. But the +General gives all his officers plenty of horseback discipline. Then +there is the broadsword exercise to fill up the idle time. Evening +is the festive hour in camp; though I judge, from what I have seen +and heard, that our camp has little of the gayety which is commonly +associated with the soldier’s life. We are too busy for +merrymaking, but in the evening there are pleasant little circles +around the fires or in the snug tents. There are old campaigners +among us, men who have served in Mexico and Utah, and others whose +lives have been passed upon the Plains; they tell us campaign +stories, and teach the green hands the slang and the airs of the +camp. But the unfailing amusement is the band. This is the special +pride of the General, and soon after nightfall the musicians appear +upon the little <em>plaza</em> around which the tents are grouped. +At the first note the audience gather. The guardsmen come up from +their camp on the edge of the ravine, the negro-quarter is +deserted, the wagoners flock in from the surrounding forest, the +officers stroll out of their tents,—a picturesque crowd +stands around the huge camp-fire. The programme is simple and not +often varied. It uniformly opens with “The Star-Spangled +Banner,” and closes with “Home, Sweet Home.” By +way of a grand <em>finale</em>, a procession is organized every +night, led by some score of negro torch-bearers, which makes the +circuit of the camp,—a performance which never fails to +produce something of a stampede among the animals.</p> +<p>Last night we had an alarm. About eleven o’clock, when the +camp was fairly asleep, some one tried to pass a picket half a mile +west of us. The guard fired at the intruder, and in an instant the +regimental drums sounded the long roll. We started from our beds, +with frantic haste buckled on swords, spurs, and pistols, hurried +servants after the horses, and hastened to report for duty to the +General. The officer who was first to appear found him standing in +front of his tent, himself the first man in camp who was ready for +service. Presently a messenger came with information as to the +cause of the alarm, and we were dismissed.</p> +<p>At two o’clock in the morning there was another alarm. +Again the body-guard bugles sounded and the drums rolled. Again +soldiers sprang to their arms, and officers rushed to report to the +General,—the first man finding him, as before, leaning upon +his sword in front of his tent. But, alas for the reputation of our +mess, not one of its number appeared. In complete unconsciousness +of danger or duty, we slept on. Colonel S. said he heard “the +music, but thought it was a continuation of the evening’s +serenade,” and went to sleep again. It was not long before we +discovered that the General knew that four members of his staff did +not report to him when the long roll was sounded.</p> +<p>There are several encampments on the hill-sides north of us +which are in full view from our quarters, and it is not the least +of our amusements to watch the regiments going through the +afternoon drill. In the soft light of these golden days we see the +long blue lines, silver-tipped, wheel and turn, scatter and form, +upon the brown hill-sides. Now the slopes are dotted with +skirmishers, and puffs of gray smoke rise over the kneeling +figures; again a solid wall of bayonets gleams along the crest of +the hill, and peals of musketry echo through the woods in the +ravines.</p> +<p>Colonel Myscall Johnson, a Methodist exhorter and formidable +Rebel marauder, is said to be forty miles south of us with a small +force, and some of the Union farmers came into camp to-day asking +for protection. Zagonyi, the commander of the body-guard, is +anxious to descend upon Johnson and scatter his thieving crew; but +it is not probable he will obtain permission. The Union men of +Missouri are quite willing to have you fight for them, but their +patriotism does not go farther than this. These people represent +that three-fourths of the inhabitants of Miller County are loyal. +The General probably thinks, if this be true, they ought to be able +to take care of Johnson’s men. But a suggestion that they +should defend their own homes and families astonishes our Missouri +friends. General Lyon established Home-Guards throughout the State, +and armed them with several thousand Springfield muskets taken from +the arsenal at St. Louis. Most of these muskets are now in +Price’s army, and are the most formidable weapons he has. In +some instances the Rebels enlisted in the Home-Guards and thus +controlled the organization, carrying whole companies into +Price’s ranks. In other cases bands of Rebels scoured the +country, went to the house of every Home-Guard, and took away his +musket. In the German settlements alone the Guards still preserve +their organization and their arms.</p> +<p>A few days ago it fell to the lot of our mess to entertain a +Rebel officer who had come in with a flag of truce. Strange to say, +he was a New-Yorker, and had a younger brother in one of the +Indiana regiments. He was a pleasant and courteous gentleman, +albeit his faded dress, with its red-flannel trimmings, did not +indicate great prosperity in the enemy’s camp. We gave him +the best meal we could command. I apologized because it was no +better. He replied,—“Make no apology, Sir. It is the +best dinner I have eaten these three months. I have campaigned it a +good deal this summer upon three ears of roast corn a day.” +He added,—“I never have received a cent of pay. None of +us have. We never expect to receive any.” This captain has +already seen considerable service. He was at Booneville, Carthage, +Wilson’s Creek, and Lexington. His descriptions of these +engagements were animated and interesting, his point of view +presenting matters in a novel light. He spoke particularly of a +gunner stationed at the first piece in Totten’s battery, +saying that his energy and coolness made him one of the most +conspicuous figures of the day. “Our sharp-shooters did their +best, but they failed to bring him down. There he was all day long, +doing his duty as if on parade.” He also told us there was no +hard fighting at Lexington. “We knew,” said he, +“the place was short of water, and so we spared our men, and +waited for time to do the work.”</p> +<p><em>Camp Lovejoy, October 7th.</em> For the last two days the +troops have been leaving Jefferson City, and the densely peopled +hills are bare. This morning, at seven o’clock, we began to +break camp. There was no little trouble and confusion in lowering +the tents and packing the wagons. It took us a long time to-day, +but we shall soon get accustomed to it, and become able to move +more quickly. At noon we left Jefferson City, going due west.</p> +<p>Out little column consists of three companies of the body-guard, +numbering about two hundred and fifty men, a battalion of +sharp-shooters (infantry) under Major Holman, one hundred and +eighty strong, and the staff. The march is in the following order. +The first company of the guard act as advance-guard; then comes the +General, followed by his staff, riding by twos, according to rank; +the other two companies of the guard come next. The sharp-shooters +accompany and protect the train. Our route lay through a broken and +heavily wooded region. The roads were very bad, but the day was +bright, and the march was a succession of beautiful pictures, of +which the long and brilliant line of horsemen winding through the +forest was the chief ornament.</p> +<p>We reached camp at three o’clock. It is a lovely spot, +upon a hill-side, with a clear, swift-running brook washing the +foot of the hill. Presently the horses are tied along the fences, +riders are lounging under the trees, the kitchen-fires are lighted, +guardsmen are scattered along the banks of the stream bathing, the +wagons roll heavily over the prairie and are drawn up along the +edge of the wood, tents are raised, tent-furniture is hastily +arranged, and the camp looks as if it had been there a month. +Before dark a regiment of infantry and two batteries of artillery +come up. The men sleep in the open air without tents, and +innumerable fires cover the hill-sides.</p> +<p>We are upon land which is owned by an influential and wealthy +citizen, who is an open Secessionist in opinion, though he has had +the prudence not to take up arms. By way of a slight punishment, +the General has annoyed the old man by naming his farm “Camp +Owen Lovejoy,” a name which the Union neighbors will not fail +to make perpetual.</p> +<p><em>California, October 8th.</em> This morning we broke camp at +six o’clock and marched at eight. The road was bad, for which +the beauty of the scenery did not entirely compensate. +To-day’s experience has taught us how completely an army is +tied to the wheels of the wagons. Tell a general how fast the train +can travel and he will know how long the journey will be. We passed +our wagons in a terrible plight: some upset, some with balky mules, +some stuck in the mud, and some broken down. The loud-swearing +drivers, and the stubborn, patient, hard-pulling mules did not fail +to vary and enliven the scene.</p> +<p>A journey of eighteen miles brought us to this place, where we +are encamped upon the county fair-ground. California is a mean, +thriftless village; there are no trees shading the cottages, no +shrubbery in the yards. The place is only two or three years old, +but already wears a slovenly air of decay.</p> +<p>I set out with Colonel L. upon a foraging expedition. We passed +a small house, in front of which a fat little negro-girl was +drawing a bucket of water from the well, the girl puffing and the +windlass creaking.</p> +<p>“Will Massa have a drink of water?”</p> +<p>It was the first token of hospitality since Hermann. We stopped +and drank from the bucket, but had not been there a minute before +the mistress ran out, with suspicion in her face, to protect her +property. A single question sufficed to show the politics of that +house.</p> +<p>“Where is your husband?”</p> +<p>“He went off a little while ago.”</p> +<p>This was the Missouri way of informing us that he was in the +Rebel army.</p> +<p>A little farther on we came to what was evidently the chief +house of the place. A bevy of maidens stood at the gate, supported +by a pleasant matron, fair and fat.</p> +<p>“Can you sell us some bread?” was our rather +practical inquiry.</p> +<p>“We have none baked, but will bake you some by +sundown,” was the answer, given in a hearty, generous +voice.</p> +<p>The bargain was soon made. Our portly dame proved to be a +Virginian, who still cherished a true Virginian love for the +Union.</p> +<p><em>Tipton, October 9th.</em> The General was in the saddle very +early, and left camp before the staff was ready. I was fortunate +enough to be on hand, and indulged in some excusable banter when +the tardy members of our company rode up after we were a mile or +two on the way. We have marched twelve miles to-day through a +lovely country. We have left the hills and stony roads behind us, +and now we pass over beautiful little prairies, bordered by forests +blazing with the crimson and gold of autumn. The day’s ride +has been delightful, the atmosphere soft and warm, the sky +cloudless, and the prairie firm and hard under our horses’ +feet. We passed several regiments on the road, who received the +General with unbounded enthusiasm; and when we entered Tipton, we +found the country covered with tents, and alive with men and +horses. Amidst the cheers of the troops, we passed through the +camps, and settled down upon a fine prairie-farm a mile to the +southwest of Tipton. The divisions of Asboth and Hunter are here, +not less than twelve thousand men, and from this point our course +is to be southward.</p> +<p><em>Camp Asboth, near Tipton, October 11th.</em> For the last +twenty-four hours it has rained violently, and the prairie upon +which we are encamped is a sea of black mud. But the tents are +tight, and inside we contrive to keep comparatively warm.</p> +<p>The camp is filled with speculations as to our future course. +Shall we follow Price, who is crossing the Osage now, or are we to +garrison the important positions upon this line and return to St. +Louis and prepare for the expedition down the river? The General is +silent, his reserve is never broken, and no one knows what his +plans are, except those whose business it is to know. I will here +record the plan of the campaign.</p> +<p>Our campaign has been in some measure decided by the movements +of the Rebels. The sudden appearance of Price in the West, +gathering to his standard many thousands of the disaffected, has +made it necessary for the General to check his bold and successful +progress. Carthage, Wilson’s Creek, and Lexington have given +to Price a prestige which it is essential to destroy. The gun-boats +cannot be finished for two months or more, and we cannot go down +the Mississippi until the flotilla is ready; and from the character +of the country upon each side of the river it will be difficult to +operate there with a large body of men. In Southwestern Missouri we +are sure of fine weather till the last of November, the prairies +are high and dry, and there are no natural obstacles except such as +it will excite the enthusiasm of the troops to overcome. Therefore +the General has determined to pursue Price until he catches him. He +can march faster than we can now, but we shall soon be able to move +faster than it is possible for him to do. The Rebels have no base +of operations from which to draw supplies; they depend entirely +upon foraging; and for this reason Price has to make long halts +wherever he finds mills, and grind the flour. He is so deficient in +equipage, also, that it will be impossible for him to carry his +troops over great distances. But we can safely calculate that Price +and Rains will not leave the State; their followers are enlisted +for six months, and are already becoming discontented at their +continued retreat, and will not go with them beyond the borders. +This is the uniform testimony of deserters and scouts. Price +disposed of, either by a defeat or by the dispersal of his army, we +are to proceed to Bird’s Point, or into Arkansas, according +to circumstances. A blow at Little Rock seems now the wisest, as it +is the boldest plan. We can reach that place by the middle of +November; and if we obtain possession of it, the position of the +enemy upon the Mississippi will be completely turned. The +communications of Pillow, Hardee, and Thompson, who draw their +supplies through Arkansas, will be cut off, they will be compelled +to retreat, and our flotilla and the reinforcements can descend the +river to assist in the operations against Memphis and the attack +upon New Orleans.</p> +<p>This campaign may be difficult, the army will have to encounter +hardships and perils, but, unless defeated in the field, the +enterprise will be successful. No hardships or perils can daunt the +spirit of the General, or arrest the march of the enthusiastic army +his genius has created.</p> +<p>Our column is composed of five divisions, under Generals Hunter, +Pope, Sigel, McKinstry, and Asboth, and numbers about thirty +thousand men, including over five thousand cavalry and eighty-six +pieces of artillery, a large proportion of which are rifled. The +infantry is generally well, though not uniformly armed. But the +cavalry is very badly armed. Colonel Carr’s regiment has no +sabres, except for the commissioned and non-commissioned officers. +The men carry Hall’s carbines and revolvers. Major +Waring’s fine corps, the Fremont Hussars, is also deficient +in sabres, and some of the companies are provided with +lances,—formidable weapons in skilful bands, but only an +embarrassment to our raw troops.</p> +<p>Lane and Sturgis are to come from Kansas and join us on the +Osage, and Wyman is to bring his command from Rolla and meet us +south of that river.</p> +<p>Paducah, Cairo, Bird’s Point, Cape Girardeau, and Ironton +are well protected against attack, and the commanders at those +posts are ordered to engage the enemy as soon as we catch Price; +and if the Rebels retreat, they are to pursue them. Thus our +expedition is part of a combined and extended movement, and, +instead of having no purpose except the defeat of Price, we are on +the road to New Orleans.</p> +<p>Next Monday we are to start. Asboth will go from here, Hunter by +way of Versailles, McKinstry from Syracuse, Pope from his present +position in the direction of Booneville, and Sigel from Sedalia. We +are to cross the Osage at Warsaw; and as Sigel has the shortest +distance to march, he is expected to reach that town first.</p> +<p>Precious time has already been lost because of a lack of +transportation and supplies. Foraging parties have been scouring +the country, and large numbers of wagons, horses, and mules have +been brought in. This property is all appraised, and when taken +from Union men it is paid for. In doubtful cases a certificate is +given to the owner, which recites that he is to be paid in case he +shall continue to be loyal to the Government. We thus obtain a hold +upon these people which an oath of allegiance every day would not +give us.</p> +<p><em>Camp Asboth, October 13th.</em> Mr. Cameron, Senator +Chandler of Michigan, and Adjutant-General Thomas arrived at an +early hour this morning; and at eight o’clock, the General, +attended by his staff and body-guard, repaired to the +Secretary’s quarters. After a short stay there, the whole +party, except General Thomas, set out for Syracuse to review the +division of General McKinstry. The day was fine, and we proceeded +at a hand gallop until we reached a prairie some three or four +miles wide. Here the Secretary set spurs to his horse, and we tore +across the plain as fast as our animals could be driven. Passing +from the open plain into a forest, the whole cortege dashed over a +very rough road with but little slackening of our pace; nor did we +draw rein until we reached Syracuse. A few moments were passed in +the interchange of the usual civilities, and we then went a mile +farther on, to a large prairie upon which the division was drawn +up. McKinstry has the flower of the army. He has in his ranks some +regular infantry, cavalry, and artillery, and among his subordinate +officers are Totten, Steele, Kelton, and Stanley, all distinguished +in the regular service. There was no time for the observance of the +usual forms of a review. The Secretary passed in front and behind +the lines, made a short address, and left immediately by rail for +St. Louis, stopping at Tipton to review Asboth’s division. +The staff and guard rode slowly back to camp, both men and animals +having had quite enough of the day’s work. It is said, that +Adjutant-General Thomas has expressed the opinion that we shall not +be able to move from here, because we have no transportation. As we +are ordered to march to-morrow, the prediction will soon be +tested.</p> +<p><em>Camp Zagonyi, October 14th.</em> We were in the saddle this +morning at nine o’clock, A short march of eleven miles, in a +south-westerly direction, and through a prairie country, brought us +to our camp. As we came upon the summit of a hill which lies to the +west of our present position, our attention was directed to a group +standing in front of a house about a mile distant. We had hardly +caught sight of them when half a dozen men and three women mounted +their horses and started at full speed towards the northeast, each +man leading a horse. The General ordered some of the body-guard to +pursue and try to stop the fugitives. We eagerly watched the chase. +A narrow valley separated us from the elevation upon which the +farm-house stood, and a small stream with low banks ran through the +bottom of the valley. The pursuit was active, the guardsmen ran +their horses down the slope, leaped the pool, and rushed up the +opposite hill; but the runaways were on fresh horses, and had no +rough ground to pass, and so they escaped. One of them lost the +horse he was leading, and it was caught by a guardsman. This was +the first exhibition we have seen of a desire on the part of the +inhabitants to avoid us.</p> +<p>The General established head-quarters along-side the house where +we first discovered the Rebel party. Our position is the most +beautiful one we have yet found. To the west stretches an +undulating prairie, separated from us by a valley, into which our +camping-ground subsides with a mild declivity; to the north is a +range of low hills, their round sides unbroken by shrub or tree; +while to the south stretches an extensive tract of low land, +densely covered with timber, and resplendent with the colors of +autumn.</p> +<p>Before dark the whole of Asboth’s division came up and +encamped on the slopes to the west and north: not less than seven +thousand men are here. This evening the scene is beautiful. I sit +in the door of my lodge, and as far as the eye can reach the +prairie is dotted with tents, the dark forms of men and horses, the +huge white-topped wagons,—and a thousand fires gleam through +the faint moonlight. Our band is playing near the General’s +quarters, its strains are echoed by a score of regimental bands, +and their music is mingled with the numberless noises of camp, the +hum of voices, the laughter from the groups around the fires, the +clatter of hoofs as some rider hurries to the General, the distant +challenges of the sentries, the neighing of horses, the hoarse +bellowing of the mules, and the clinking of the cavalry anvils. +This, at last, is the romance of war. How soon will our ears be +saluted by sterner music?</p> +<p><em>Camp Hudson, October 15th.</em> We moved at seven +o’clock this morning. For the first four miles the road ran +through woods intersected by small streams. The ground was as rough +as it could well be, and the teams which had started before us were +struggling through the mire and over the rocks. We dashed past them +at a fast trot, and in half an hour came upon a high prairie. The +prairies of Southern Missouri are not large and flat, like the +monotonous levels of Central Illinois, but they are rolling, +usually small, and broken by frequent narrow belts of timber. In +the woods there are hills, rocky soil, and always one, often two +streams, clear and rapid as a mountain-brook in New England.</p> +<p>The scenery to-day was particularly attractive, a constant +succession of prairies surrounded by wooded hills. As we go south, +the color of the forest becomes richer, and the atmosphere more +mellow and hazy.</p> +<p>During the first two hours we passed several regiments of foot. +The men were nearly all Germans, and I scanned the ranks carefully, +longing to see an American countenance. I found none, but caught +sight of one arch-devil-may-care Irish face. I doubt whether there +is a company in the army without an Irishman in it, though the +proportion of Irishmen in our ranks is not so great as at the +East.</p> +<p>Early in the afternoon we rode up to a farm-house, at the gate +of which a middle-aged woman was standing, crying bitterly. The +General stopped, and the woman at once assailed him vehemently. She +told him the soldiers had that day taken her husband and his team +away with them. She said that there was no one left to take care of +her old blind mother,—at which allusion, the blind mother +tottered down the walk and took a position in the rear of the +attacking party,—that they had two orphan girls, the children +of a deceased sister, and the orphans had lost their second father. +The assailants were here reinforced by the two orphan girls. She +protested that her husband was loyal,—“Truly, Sir, he +was a Union man and voted for the Union, and always told his +neighbors Disunion would do nothing except bring trouble upon +innocent people, as indeed it has,” said she, with a fresh +flood of tears. The General was moved by her distress, and ordered +Colonel E. to have the man, whose name is Rutherford, sent back at +once.</p> +<p>A few rods farther on we came to another house, in front of +which was another weeping woman afflicted in the same way. Several +little flaxen-haired children surrounded her, and a white-bearded +man, trembling with age, stood behind, leaning upon a staff. Her +earnestness far surpassed that of Mrs. Rutherford. She wrung her +hands, and could hardly speak for her tears. She seized the +General’s hand and entreated him to return her husband, with +an expression of distress which the hardest heart could not resist. +The General comforted the poor woman with a few kind words, and +promised to grant what she asked.</p> +<p>It is very difficult to refuse such requests, and yet, in point +of fact, no great hardship or sacrifice is required of these men. +They profess to be Union men, but they are not in arms for the +Union, and a Federal general now asks of them that they shall help +the army for a day with their teams. To those who come here from +all parts of the nation to defend these homes this does not appear +to be a harsh demand.</p> +<p>We arrived at camp about five o’clock. Our day’s +march was twenty-two miles, and the wagons were far behind. A +neighboring farm-house afforded the General and a few of his +officers a dinner, but it was late in the evening before the tents +were pitched.</p> +<p><em>Warsaw, October 17th.</em> Yesterday we made our longest +march, making twenty-five miles, and encamped three miles north of +this place.</p> +<p>It is a problem, why riding in a column should be so much more +wearisome than riding alone, but so it undeniably is. Men who would +think little of a sixty-mile ride were quite broken down by +to-day’s march.</p> +<p>As soon as we reached camp, the General asked for volunteers +from the staff to ride over to Warsaw: of course the whole staff +volunteered. On the way we met General Sigel. This very able and +enterprising officer is a pleasant, scholarly-looking gentleman, +his studious air being increased by the spectacles he always wears. +His figure is light, active, and graceful, and he is an excellent +horseman. The country has few better heads than his. Always on the +alert, he is full of resources, and no difficulties daunt him. +Planter, Pope, and McKinstry are behind, waiting for tea and +coffee, beans and flour, and army-wagons. Sigel gathered the +ox-team and the farmers’ wagons and brought his division +forward with no food for his men but fresh beef. His advance-guard +is already across the Osage, and in a day or two his whole division +will be over.</p> +<p>Guided by General Sigel, we rode down to the ford across the +Osage. The river here is broad and rapid, and its banks are immense +bare cliffs rising one hundred feet perpendicularly from the +water’s edge. The ford is crooked, uncertain, and never +practicable except for horsemen. The ferry is an old flat-boat +drawn across by a rope, and the ascent up the farther bank is steep +and rocky. It will not answer to leave in our rear this river, +liable to be changed by a night’s rain into a fierce torrent, +with no other means of crossing it than the rickety ferry. A bridge +must at once be built, strong and firm, a safe road for the army in +case of disaster. So decides the General. And as we look upon the +swift-running river and its rocky shores, cold and gloomy in the +twilight, every one agrees that the General is right. His decision +has since been strongly supported, for to-day two soldiers of the +Fremont Hussars were drowned in trying to cross the ford, and the +water is now rising rapidly.</p> +<p>This morning we moved into Warsaw, and for the first time the +staff is billeted in the Secession houses of the town; but the +General clings to his tent. Our mess is quartered in the house of +the county judge, who says his sympathies are with the South. But +the poor man is so frightened, that we pity and protect him.</p> +<p>Bridge-building is now the sole purpose of the army. There is no +saw-mill here, nor any lumber. The forest must be cut down and +fashioned into a bridge, as well as the tools and the skill at +command will permit. Details are already told off from the +sharp-shooters, the cadets, and even the body-guard, and the banks +of the river now resound with the quick blows of their axes.</p> +<p><em>Warsaw, October 21st.</em> Four days we have been waiting +for the building of the bridge. By night and by day the work goes +on, and now the long black shape is striding slowly across the +stream. In a few hours it will have gained the opposite bank, and +then, Ho, for Springfield!</p> +<p>Our scouts have come in frequently the last few days. They tell +us Price is at Stockton, and is pushing rapidly on towards the +southwest. He has been grinding corn near Stockton, and has now +food enough for another journey. His army numbers twenty thousand +men, of whom five thousand have no arms. The rest carry everything, +from double-barrelled shot-guns to the Springfield muskets taken +from the Home-Guards. They load their shot-guns with a +Minié-ball and two buck-shot, and those who have had +experience say that at one hundred yards they are very effective +weapons. There is little discipline in the Rebel army, and the only +organization is by companies. The men are badly clothed, and +without shoes, and often without food. The deserters say that those +who remain are waiting only to get the new clothes which McCulloch +is expected to bring from the South.</p> +<p>McCulloch, the redoubtable Ben, does not seem to be held in high +esteem by the Rebel soldiers. They say he lacks judgment and +self-command. But all speak well of Price. No one can doubt that he +is a man of unusual energy and ability. McCulloch will increase +Price’s force to about thirty-five thousand, which number we +must expect to meet.</p> +<p>Hunter and McKinstry have not yet appeared, but Pope reported +himself last night, and some of his men came in to-day.</p> +<p><em>Camp White, October 22d.</em> The bridge is built, and the +army is now crossing the Osage. In five days a firm road has been +thrown across the river, over which our troops may pass in a day. +The General and staff crossed by the ferry, and are now encamped +two miles south of the Pomme-de-Terre.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2><a id="birdofredum" name="birdofredum">BIRDOFREDUM SAWIN, ESQ., +TO MR. HOSEA BIGLOW.</a></h2> +<p class="note"><em>Letter from the REVEREND HOMER WILBUR, A.M., +inclosing the Epistle aforesaid.</em></p> +<p class="rgt">Jaalam, 15th Nov., 1861.</p> +<p>It is not from any idle wish to obtrude my humble person with +undue prominence upon the publick view that I resume my pen upon +the present occasion. <em>Juniores ad labores.</em> But having been +a main instrument in rescuing the talent of my young parishioner +from being buried in the ground, by giving it such warrant with the +world as would be derived from a name already widely known by +several printed discourses, (all of which I maybe permitted without +immodesty to state have been deemed worthy of preservation in the +Library of Harvard College by my esteemed friend Mr. Sibley,) it +seemed becoming that I should not only testify to the genuineness +of the following production, but call attention to it, the more as +Mr. Biglow had so long been silent as to be in danger of absolute +oblivion. I insinuate no claim to any share in the authourship +(<em>vix ea nostra voco</em>) of the works already published by Mr. +Biglow, but merely take to myself the credit of having fulfilled +toward them the office of taster, (<em>experto crede</em>,) who, +having first tried, could afterward bear witness,—an office +always arduous, and sometimes even dangerous, as in the ease of +those devoted persons who venture their lives in the deglutition of +patent medicines (<em>dolus latet in generalibus</em>, there is +deceit in the most of them) and thereafter are wonderfully +preserved long enough to append their signatures to testimonials in +the diurnal and hebdomadal prints. I say not this as covertly +glancing at the authours of certain manuscripts which have been +submitted to my literary judgment, (though an epick in twenty-four +books on the “Taking of Jericho” might, save for the +prudent forethought of Mrs. Wilbur in secreting the same just as I +had arrived beneath the walls and was beginning a catalogue of the +various horns and their blowers, too ambitiously emulous in +longanimity of Homer’s list of ships, might, I say, have +rendered frustrate any hope I could entertain <em>vacare Musis</em> +for the small remainder of my days,) but only further to secure +myself against any imputation of unseemly forthputting. I will +barely subjoin, in this connection, that, whereas Job was left to +desire, in the soreness of his heart, that his adversary had +written a book, as perchance misanthropically wishing to indite a +review thereof, yet was not Satan allowed so far to tempt him as to +send Bildad, Eliphaz, and Zophar each with an unprinted work in his +wallet to be submitted to his censure. But of this enough. Were I +in need of other excuse, I might add that I write by the express +desire of Mr. Biglow himself, whose entire winter leisure is +occupied, as he assures me, in answering demands for autographs, a +labour exacting enough in itself, and egregiously so to him, who, +being no ready penman, cannot sign so much as his name without +strange contortions of the face (his nose, even, being essential to +complete success) and painfully suppressed Saint-Vitus-dance of +every muscle in his body. This, with his having been put in the +Commission of the Peace by our excellent Governour (<em>O, si sic +omnes!</em>) immediately on his accession to office, keeps him +continually employed. <em>Haud inexpertus loquor,</em> having for +many years written myself J.P., and being not seldom applied to for +specimens of my chirography, a request to which I have sometimes +too weakly assented, believing as I do that nothing written of set +purpose can properly be called an autograph, but only those +unpremeditated sallies and lively runnings which betray the +fireside Man instead of the hunted Notoriety doubling on his +pursuers. But it is time that I should bethink me of Saint +Austin’s prayer, <em>Libera me a meipso,</em> if I would +arrive at the matter in hand.</p> +<p>Moreover, I had yet another reason for taking up the pen myself. +I am informed that the “Atlantic Monthly” is mainly +indebted for its success to the contributions and editorial +supervision of Dr. Holmes, whose excellent “Annals of +America” occupy an honoured place upon my shelves. The +journal itself I have never seen; but if this be so, it should seem +that the recommendation of a brother-clergyman (though <em>par +magis quam similis</em>) would carry a greater weight. I suppose +that you have a department for historical lucubrations, and should +be glad, if deemed desirable, to forward for publication my +“Collections for the Antiquities of Jaalam” and my (now +happily complete) pedigree of the Wilbur family from <em>fons et +origo</em>, the Wild-Boar of Ardennes. Withdrawn from the active +duties of my profession by the settlement of a colleague-pastor, +the Reverend Jeduthun Hitchcock, formerly of Brutus Four-Corners, I +might find time for further contributions to general literature on +similar topicks. I have made large advances toward a completer +genealogy of Mrs. Wilbur’s family, the Pilcoxes, not, if I +know myself, from any idle vanity, but with the sole desire of +rendering myself useful in my day and generation. <em>Nulla dies +sine lineâ.</em> I inclose a meteorological register, a list +of the births, deaths, and marriages, and a few +<em>memorabilia</em>, of longevity in Jaalam East Parish for the +last half-century. Though spared to the unusual period of more than +eighty years, I find no diminution of my faculties or abatement of +my natural vigour, except a scarcely sensible decay of memory and a +necessity of recurring to younger eyesight for the finer print in +Cruden. It would gratify me to make some further provision for +declining years from the emoluments of my literary labours. I had +intended to effect an insurance on my life, but was deterred +therefrom by a circular from one of the offices, in which the +sudden deaths of so large a proportion of the insured was set forth +as an inducement, that it seemed to me little less than a tempting +of Providence. <em>Neque in summâ inopiâ levis esse +senectus potest, ne sapienti quidem.</em></p> +<p>Thus far concerning Mr. Biglow; and so much seemed needful +(<em>brevis esse laboro</em>) by way of preliminary, after a +silence of fourteen years. He greatly fears lest he may in this +essay have fallen below himself, well knowing, that, if exercise be +dangerous on a full stomach, no less so is writing on a full +reputation. Beset as he has been on all sides, he could not +refrain, and would only imprecate patience till he shall again have +“got the hang” (as he calls it) of an accomplishment +long disused. The letter of Mr. Sawin was received some time in +last June, and others have followed which will in due season be +submitted to the publick. How largely his statements are to be +depended on, I more than merely dubitate. He was always +distinguished for a tendency to exaggeration,—it might almost +be qualified by a stronger term. <em>Fortiter mentire, aliquid +hæret</em>, seemed to be his favourite rule of rhetorick. +That he is actually where he says he is the post-mark would seem to +confirm; that he was received with the publick demonstrations he +describes would appear consonant with what we know of the habits of +those regions; but further than this I venture not to decide. I +have sometimes suspected a vein of humour in him which leads him to +speak by contraries; but since, in the unrestrained intercourse of +private life, I have never observed in him any striking powers of +invention, I am the more willing to put a certain qualified faith +in the incidents and the details of life and manners which give to +his narratives some of the interest and entertainment which +characterize a Century Sermon.</p> +<p>It may be expected of me that I should say something to justify +myself with the world for a seeming inconsistency with my +well-known principles in allowing my youngest son to raise a +company for the war, a fact known to all through the medium of the +publick prints. I did reason with the young man, but <em>expellas +naturam furcâ, tamenusque recurrit</em>. Having myself been a +chaplain in 1812, I could the less wonder that a man of war had +sprung from my loins. It was, indeed, grievous to send my Benjamin, +the child of my old age; but after the discomfiture of Manassas, I +with my own hands did buckle on his armour, trusting in the great +Comforter for strength according to my need. For truly the memory +of a brave son dead in his shroud were a greater staff of my +declining years than a coward, though his days might be long in the +land and he should get much goods. It is not till our earthen +vessels are broken that we find and truly possess the treasure that +was laid up in them. <em>Migravi in animam meam</em>, I have sought +refuge in my own soul; nor would I be shamed by the heathen +comedian with his <em>Nequam illud verbum, bene vult, nisi bene +facit</em>. During our dark days, I read constantly in the inspired +book of Job, which I believe to contain more food to maintain the +fibre of the soul for right living and high thinking than all pagan +literature together, though I would by no means vilipend the study +of the classicks. There I read that Job said in his despair, even +as the fool saith in his heart there is no God,—“The +tabernacles of robbers prosper, and they that provoke God are +secure.” <em>Job</em> xii. 6. But I sought farther till I +found this Scripture also, which I would have those perpend who +have striven to turn our Israel aside to the worship of strange +gods:—“If I did despise the cause of my man-servant or +of my maid-servant when they contended with me, what then shall I +do when God riseth up? and when he visiteth, what shall I answer +him?” <em>Job</em> xxxi. 13-14. On this text I preached a +discourse on the last day of Fasting and Humiliation with general +acceptance, though there were not wanting one or two Laodiceans who +said that I should have waited till the President announced his +policy. But let us hope and pray, remembering this of Saint +Gregory, <em>Vult Deus rogari, vult cogi, vult quâdam +importunitate vinci</em>.</p> +<p>We had our first fall of snow on Friday last. Frosts have been +unusually backward this fall. A singular circumstance occurred in +this town on the 20th October, in the family of Deacon Pelatiah +Tinkham. On the previous evening, a few moments before +family-prayers,</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<p class="note">[The editors of the “Atlantic” find it +necessary here to cut short the letter of their valued +correspondent, which seemed calculated rather on the rates of +longevity in Jaalam than for less favored localities. They have +every encouragement to hope that he will write again.]</p> +<p class="rgt">With esteem and respect,<br /> +Your obedient servant<br /> +HOMER WILBUR, A.M.</p> +<hr class="short" /> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>It’s some consid’ble of a spell sence I hain’t +writ no letters,</p> +<p>An’ ther’ ’s gret changes hez took place in +all polit’cle metters:</p> +<p>Some canderdates air dead an’ gone, an’ some hez ben +defeated,</p> +<p>Which ’mounts to pooty much the same; fer it’s ben +proved repeated</p> +<p>A betch o’ bread thet hain’t riz once ain’t +goin’ to rise agin,</p> +<p>An’ it’s jest money throwed away to put the emptins +in:</p> +<p>But thet’s wut folks wun’t never larn; they dunno +how to go,</p> +<p>Arter you want their room, no more ’n a bullet-headed +beau;</p> +<p>Ther’ ’s ollers chaps a-hangin’ roun’ +thet can’t see pea-time’s past,</p> +<p>Mis’ble as roosters in a rain, heads down an’ tails +half-mast:</p> +<p>It ain’t disgraceful bein’ beat, when a holl nation +doos it,</p> +<p>But Chance is like an amberill,—it don’t take twice +to lose it.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>I spose you’re kin’ o’ cur’ous, now, to +know why I hain’t writ.</p> +<p>Wal, I’ve ben where a litt’ry taste don’t +somehow seem to git</p> +<p>Th’ encouragement a feller’d think, thet’s +used to public schools,</p> +<p>An’ where sech things ez paper ’n’ ink air +clean agin the rules:</p> +<p>A kind o’ vicyvarsy house, built dreffle strong an’ +stout,</p> +<p>So ’s ’t honest people can’t git in, ner +t’ other sort git out,</p> +<p>An’ with the winders so contrived, you’d +prob’ly like the view</p> +<p>Better a-lookin’ in than out, though it seems +sing’lar, tu;</p> +<p>But then the landlord sets by ye, can’t bear ye out +o’ sight,</p> +<p>And locks ye up ez reg’lar ez an outside door at +night.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>This world is awfle contrary: the rope may stretch your neck</p> +<p>Thet mebby kep’ another chap frum washin’ off a +wreck;</p> +<p>An’ you will see the taters grow in one poor +feller’s patch,</p> +<p>So small no self-respectin’ hen thet vallied time +’ould scratch,</p> +<p>So small the rot can’t find ’em out, an’ then +agin, nex’ door,</p> +<p>Ez big ez wut hogs dream on when they’re ’most too +fat to snore.</p> +<p>But groutin’ ain’t no kin’ o’ use; +an’ ef the fust throw fails,</p> +<p>Why, up an’ try agin, thet’s all,—the coppers +ain’t all tails;</p> +<p>Though I <em>hev</em> seen ’em when I thought they hed +n’t no more head</p> +<p>Than’d sarve a nussin’ Brigadier thet gits some ink +to shed.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>When I writ last, I’d ben turned loose by thet blamed +nigger, Pomp,</p> +<p>Ferlorner than a musquash, ef you’d took an’ dreened +his swamp:</p> +<p>But I ain’t o’ the meechin’ kind, thet sets +an’ thinks fer weeks</p> +<p>The bottom’s out o’ th’ univarse coz their own +gillpot leaks.</p> +<p>I hed to cross bayous an’ criks, (wal, it did beat all +natur’,)</p> +<p>Upon a kin’ o’ corderoy, fust log, then +alligator:</p> +<p>Luck’ly the critters warn’t sharp-sot; I +guess’t wuz overruled</p> +<p>They’d done their mornin’s marketin’ an’ +gut their hunger cooled;</p> +<p>Fer missionaries to the Creeks an’ runaway’s air +viewed</p> +<p>By them an’ folks ez sent express to be their +reg’lar food:</p> +<p>Wutever ’t wuz, they laid an’ snoozed ez peacefully +ez sinners,</p> +<p>Meek ez disgestin’ deacons be at ordination dinners;</p> +<p>Ef any on ’em turned an’ snapped, I let ’em +kin’ o’ taste</p> +<p>My live-oak leg, an’ so, ye see, ther’ warn’t +no gret o’ waste,</p> +<p>Fer they found out in quicker time than ef they’d ben to +college</p> +<p>’T warn’t heartier food than though ’t wuz +made out o’ the tree o’ knowledge.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>But <em>I</em> tell <em>you</em> my other leg hed larned wut +pizon-nettle meant,</p> +<p>An’ var’ous other usefle things, afore I reached a +settlement,</p> +<p>An’ all o’ me thet wuz n’t sore an’ +sendin’ prickles thru me</p> +<p>Wuz jest the leg I parted with in lickin’ Montezumy:</p> +<p>A usefle limb it ’s ben to me, an’ more of a +support</p> +<p>Than wut the other hez ben,—coz I dror my pension for +’t.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Wal, I gut in at last where folks wuz civerlized an’ +white,</p> +<p>Ez I diskivered to my cost afore ’t wuz hardly night;</p> +<p>Fer ’z I wuz settin’ in the bar a-takin’ +sunthin’ hot,</p> +<p>An’ feelin’ like a man agin, all over in one +spot,</p> +<p>A feller thet sot opposite, arter a squint at me,</p> +<p>Lep up an’ drawed his peacemaker, an’, “Dash +it, Sir,” suz he,</p> +<p>“I’m doubledashed if you ain’t him thet stole +my yaller chettle,</p> +<p>(You’re all the stranger thet’s around,) so now +you’ve gut to settle;</p> +<p>It ain’t no use to argerfy ner try to cut up frisky,</p> +<p>I know ye ez I know the smell o’ ole chain-lightnin’ +whiskey;</p> +<p>We’re lor-abidin’ folks down here, we’ll fix +ye so ’s ’t a bar</p> +<p>Wouldn’ tech ye with a ten-foot pole; (Jedge, you jest +warm the tar;)</p> +<p>You’ll think you’d better ha’ gut among a +tribe o’ Mongrel Tartars,</p> +<p>’Fore we’ve done showin’ how we raise our +Southun prize tar-martyrs;</p> +<p>A moultin’ fallen cherubim, ef he should see ye, ’d +snicker,</p> +<p>Thinkin’ he hedn’t nary chance. Come, genlemun, +le’ ’s liquor;</p> +<p>An’, Gin’ral, when you ‘ve mixed the drinks +an’ chalked ’em up, tote roun’</p> +<p>An’ see ef ther’ ’s a feather-bed +(thet’s borryable) in town.</p> +<p>We’ll try ye fair, Ole Grafted-Leg, an’ ef the tar +wun’t stick,</p> +<p>Th’ ain’t not a juror here but wut’ll +’quit ye double-quick.”</p> +<p>To cut it short, I wun’t say sweet, they gi’ me a +good dip,</p> +<p>(They ain’t <em>perfessin’</em> Bahptists here,) +then give the bed a rip,—</p> +<p>The jury ’d sot, an’ quicker ’n a flash they +hetched me out, a livin’</p> +<p>Extemp’ry mammoth turkey-chick fer a Feejee +Thanksgivin’.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Thet I felt some stuck up is wut it’s nat’ral to +suppose,</p> +<p>When poppylar enthusiasm hed furnished me sech clo’es;</p> +<p>(Ner ’t ain’t without edvantiges, this kin’ +o’ suit, ye see,</p> +<p>It’s water-proof, an’ water’s wut I like +kep’ out o’ me;)</p> +<p>But nut content with thet, they took a kerridge from the +fence</p> +<p>An’ rid me roun’ to see the place, entirely free +‘f expense,</p> +<p>With forty-’leven new kines o’ sarse without no +charge acquainted me,</p> +<p>Gi’ me three cheers, an’ vowed thet I wuz all their +fahncy painted me;</p> +<p>They treated me to all their eggs; (they keep ’em, I +should think,</p> +<p>Fer sech ovations, pooty long, for they wuz mos’ +distinc’;)</p> +<p>They starred me thick ’z the Milky-Way with +indiscrim’nit cherity,</p> +<p>For wut we call reception eggs air sunthin’ of a +rerity;</p> +<p>Green ones is plentifle anough, skurce wuth a nigger’s +getherin’,</p> +<p>But your dead-ripe ones ranges high fer treatin’ Nothun +bretherin:</p> +<p>A spotteder, ringstreakeder child the’ warn’t in +Uncle Sam’s</p> +<p>Holl farm,—a cross of stripèd pig an’ one +o’ Jacob’s lambs;</p> +<p>’T wuz Dannil in the lions’ den, new an’ +enlarged edition,</p> +<p>An’ everythin’ fust-rate o’ ’ts kind, +the’ warn’t no impersition.</p> +<p>People’s impulsiver down here than wut our folks to home +be,</p> +<p>An’ kin’ o’ go it ’ith a resh in +raisin’ Hail Columby:</p> +<p>Thet’s <em>so</em>: an’ they swarmed out like bees, +for your real Southun men’s</p> +<p>Time isn’t o’ much more account than an ole +settin’ hen’s;</p> +<p>(They jest work semioccashnally, or else don’t work at +all,</p> +<p>An’ so their time an’ ’tention both air et +saci’ty’s call.)</p> +<p>Talk about hospitality! wut Nothun town d’ ye know</p> +<p>Would take a totle stranger up an’ treat him gratis +so?</p> +<p>You’d better b’lieve ther’ ’s +nothin’ like this spendin’ days an’ nights</p> +<p>Along ’ith a dependent race fer civerlizin’ +whites.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>But this wuz all prelim’nary; it’s so Gran’ +Jurors here</p> +<p>Fin’ a true bill, a hendier way than ourn, an’ nut +so dear;</p> +<p>So arter this they sentenced me, to make all tight +’n’ snug,</p> +<p>Afore a reg’lar court o’ law, to ten years in the +Jug.</p> +<p>I didn’ make no gret defence: you don’t feel much +like speakin’,</p> +<p>When, ef you let your clamshells gape, a quart o’ tar will +leak in:</p> +<p>I <em>hev</em> hearn tell o’ wingèd words, but pint +o’ fact it tethers</p> +<p>The spoutin’ gift to hev your words tu thick sot on with +feathers,</p> +<p>An’ Choate ner Webster wouldn’t ha’ made an A +1 kin’ o’ speech,</p> +<p>Astride a Southun chestnut horse sharper ’n a baby’s +screech.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Two year ago they ketched the thief, ’n’ +seein’ I wuz innercent,</p> +<p>They jest oncorked an’ le’ me run, an’ in my +stid the sinner sent</p> +<p>To see how <em>he</em> liked pork ’n’ pone flavored +with wa’nut saplin’,</p> +<p>An’ nary social priv’ledge but a one-hoss, +starn-wheel chaplin.</p> +<p>When I come out, the folks behaved mos’ gen’manly +an’ harnsome;</p> +<p>They ’lowed it wouldn’t be more ’n right, ef I +should cuss ’n’ darn some:</p> +<p>The Cunnle he apolergized; suz he, “I’ll du wut +’s right,</p> +<p>I’ll give ye settisfection now by shootin’ ye at +sight,</p> +<p>An’ give the nigger, (when he’s caught,) to pay him +fer his trickin’</p> +<p>In gittin’ the wrong man took up, a most H fired +lickin’,—</p> +<p>It’s jest the way with all on ’em, the inconsistent +critters,</p> +<p>They’re ’most enough to make a man blaspheme his +mornin’ bitters;</p> +<p>I’ll be your frien’ thru thick an’ thin +an’ in all kines o’ weathers,</p> +<p>An’ all you’ll hev to pay fer ’s jest the +waste o’ tar an’ feathers:</p> +<p>A lady owned the bed, ye see, a widder, tu, Miss Shennon;</p> +<p>It wuz her mite; we would ha’ took another, ef ther +’d ben one:</p> +<p>We don’t make <em>no</em> charge for the ride an’ +all the other fixins.</p> +<p>Le’ ’s liquor; Gin’ral, you can chalk our +friend for all the mixins.”</p> +<p>A meetin’ then wuz called, where they “RESOLVED, +Thet we respec’</p> +<p>B.S. Esquire for quallerties o’ heart an’ +intellec’</p> +<p>Peculiar to Columby’s sile, an’ not to no one +else’s,</p> +<p>Thet makes Európean tyrans scringe in all their gilded +pel’ces,</p> +<p>An’ doos gret honor to our race an’ Southun +institootions”:</p> +<p>(I give ye jest the substance o’ the leadin’ +resolootions:)</p> +<p>“RESOLVED, Thet we revere in him a soger ’thout a +flor,</p> +<p>A martyr to the princerples o’ libbaty an’ lor:</p> +<p>RESOLVED, Thet other nations all, ef sot ’longside +o’ us,</p> +<p>For vartoo, larnin’, chivverlry, ain’t noways wuth a +cuss.”</p> +<p>They gut up a subscription, tu, but no gret come o’ +<em>that</em>;</p> +<p>I ’xpect in cairin’ of it roun’ they took a +leaky hat;</p> +<p>Though Southun genelmun ain’t slow at puttin’ down +their name,</p> +<p>(When they can write,) fer in the eend it comes to jest the +same,</p> +<p>Because, ye see, ’t ’s the fashion here to sign +an’ not to think</p> +<p>A critter’d be so sordid ez to ax ’em for the +chink:</p> +<p>I didn’t call but jest on one, an’ <em>he</em> +drawed toothpick on me,</p> +<p>An’ reckoned he warn’t goin’ to stan’ no +sech dog-gauned econ’my;</p> +<p>So nothin’ more wuz realized, ’ceptin’ the +good-will shown,</p> +<p>Than ef ’t had ben from fust to last a reg’lar +Cotton Loan.</p> +<p>It’s a good way, though, come to think, coz ye enjy the +sense</p> +<p>O’ lendin’ lib’rally to the Lord, an’ +nary red o’ ’xpense:</p> +<p>Sence then I’ve gut my name up for a +gin’rous-hearted man</p> +<p>By jes’ subscribin’ right an’ left on this +high-minded plan;</p> +<p>I’ve gin away my thousans so to every Southun sort</p> +<p>O’ missions, colleges, an’ sech, ner ain’t no +poorer for ’t.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>I warn’t so bad off, arter all; I needn’t hardly +mention</p> +<p>That Guv’ment owed me quite a pile for my arrears o’ +pension,—</p> +<p>I mean the poor, weak thing we <em>hed</em>: we run a new one +now,</p> +<p>Thet strings a feller with a claim up tu the nighest bough,</p> +<p>An’ <em>prectises</em> the rights o’ man, purtects +down-trodden debtors,</p> +<p>Ner wun’t hev creditors about a-scrougin’ o’ +their betters:</p> +<p>Jeff’s gut the last idees ther’ is, poscrip’, +fourteenth edition,</p> +<p>He knows it takes some enterprise to run an oppersition;</p> +<p>Ourn’s the fust thru-by-daylight train, with all +ou’doors for deepot,</p> +<p>Yourn goes so slow you’d think ’t wuz drawed by a +last cent’ry teapot;—</p> +<p>Wal, I gut all on ’t paid in gold afore our State +seceded,</p> +<p>An’ done wal, for Confed’rit bonds warn’t jest +the cheese I needed:</p> +<p>Nut but wut they’re ez <em>good</em> ez gold, but then +it’s hard a-breakin’ on ’em,</p> +<p>An’ ignorant folks is ollers sot an’ wun’t git +used to takin’ on ’em;</p> +<p>They’re wuth ez much ez wut they wuz afore ole +Mem’nger signed ’em,</p> +<p>An’ go off middlin’ wal for drinks, when ther’ +’s a knife behind ’em:</p> +<p>We <em>du</em> miss silver, jest fer thet an’ ridin’ +in a bus,</p> +<p>Now we’ve shook off the despots thet wuz suckin’ at +our pus;</p> +<p>An’ it’s <em>because</em> the South’s so rich; +’t wuz nat’ral to expec’</p> +<p>Supplies o’ change wuz jest the things we shouldn’t +recollec’;</p> +<p>We’d ough’ to ha’ thought aforehan’, +though, o’ thet good rule o’ Crockett’s,</p> +<p>For ’t ’s tiresome cairin’ cotton-bales +an’ niggers in your pockets,</p> +<p>Ner ’t ain’t quite hendy to pass off one o’ +your six-foot Guineas</p> +<p>An’ git your halves an’ quarters back in gals +an’ pickaninnies:</p> +<p>Wal, ’t ain’t quite all a feller ’d ax, but +then ther’ ’s this to say,</p> +<p>It’s on’y jest among ourselves thet we expec’ +to pay;</p> +<p>Our system would ha’ caird us thru in any Bible +cent’ry,</p> +<p>’Fore this onscripted plan come up o’ books by +double entry;</p> +<p>We go the patriarkle here out o’ all sight an’ +hearin’,</p> +<p>For Jacob warn’t a circumstance to Jeff at +financierin’;</p> +<p><em>He</em> never ’d thought o’ borryin’ from +Esau like all nater</p> +<p>An’ then cornfiscatin’ all debts to sech a small +pertater;</p> +<p>There’s p’litickle econ’my, now, combined +’ith morril beauty</p> +<p>Thet saycrifices privit eends (your in’my’s, tu) to +dooty!</p> +<p>Wy, Jeff’d ha’ gin him five an’ won his +eye-teeth ’fore he knowed it,</p> +<p>An’, slid o’ wastin’ pottage, he’d +ha’ eat it up an’ owed it.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>But I wuz goin’ on to say how I come here to +dwall;—</p> +<p>’Nough said, thet, arter lookin’ roun’, I +liked the place so wal,</p> +<p>Where niggers doos a double good, with us atop to stiddy +’em,</p> +<p>By bein’ proofs o’ prophecy an’ +cirkleatin’ medium,</p> +<p>Where a man’s sunthin’ coz he’s white, +an’ whiskey’s cheap ez fleas,</p> +<p>An’ the financial pollercy jest sooted my idees,</p> +<p>Thet I friz down right where I wuz, merried the Widder +Shennon,</p> +<p>(Her thirds wuz part in cotton-land, part in the curse o’ +Canaan,)</p> +<p>An’ here I be ez lively ez a chipmunk on a wall,</p> +<p>With nothin’ to feel riled about much later ’n +Eddam’s fall.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Ez fur ez human foresight goes, we made an even trade:</p> +<p>She gut an overseer, an’ I a fem’ly ready-made,</p> +<p>(The youngest on ’em’s ’most growed up,) +rugged an’ spry ez weazles,</p> +<p>So’s ’t ther’ ’s no resk o’ +doctors’ bills fer hoopin’-cough an’ measles.</p> +<p>Our farm’s at Turkey-Buzzard Roost, Little Big Boosy +River,</p> +<p>Wal located in all respex,—fer ’t ain’t the +chills ’n’ fever</p> +<p>Thet makes my writin’ seem to squirm; a Southuner’d +allow I’d</p> +<p>Some call to shake, for I’ve jest hed to meller a new +cowhide.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Miss S. is all ’f a lady; th’ ain’t no better +on Big Boosy,</p> +<p>Ner one with more accomplishmunts ’twixt here an’ +Tuscaloosy;</p> +<p>She’s an F.F., the tallest kind, an’ prouder +’n the Gran’ Turk,</p> +<p>An’ never hed a relative thet done a stroke o’ +work;</p> +<p>Hern ain’t a scrimpin’ fem’ly sech ez +<em>you</em> git up Down East,</p> +<p>Th’ ain’t a growed member on ’t but owes his +thousuns et the least:</p> +<p>She <em>is</em> some old; but then agin ther’ ’s +drawbacks in my sheer;</p> +<p>Wut’s left o’ me ain’t more ’n enough to +make a Brigadier:</p> +<p>The wust is, she hez tantrums; she is like Seth Moody’s +gun</p> +<p>(Him thet wuz nicknamed frum his limp Ole Dot an’ Kerry +One);</p> +<p>He’d left her loaded up a spell, an’ hed to git her +clear,</p> +<p>So he onhitched,—Jeerusalem! the middle o’ last +year</p> +<p>Wuz right nex’ door compared to where she kicked the +critter tu</p> +<p>(Though <em>jest</em> where he brought up wuz wut no human never +knew);</p> +<p>His brother Asaph picked her up an’ tied her to a +tree,</p> +<p>An’ then she kicked an hour ’n’ a half afore +she’d let it be:</p> +<p>Wal, Miss S. <em>doos</em> hev cuttins-up an’ pourins-out +o’ vials,</p> +<p>But then she hez her widder’s thirds, an’ all on us +hez trials.</p> +<p>My objec’, though, in writin’ now warn’t to +allude to sech,</p> +<p>But to another suckemstance more dellykit to tech,—</p> +<p>I want thet you should grad’lly break my merriage to +Jerushy,</p> +<p>An’ ther’ ’s a heap of argymunts thet’s +emple to indooce ye:</p> +<p>Fust place, State’s Prison,—wal, it’s true it +warn’t fer crime, o’ course,</p> +<p>But then it’s jest the same fer her in gittin’ a +disvorce;</p> +<p>Nex’ place, my State’s secedin’ out hez +leg’lly lef’ me free</p> +<p>To merry any one I please, pervidin’ it’s a she;</p> +<p>Fin’lly, I never wun’t come back, she needn’t +hev no fear on ’t,</p> +<p>But then it ’s wal to fix things right fer fear Miss S. +should hear on ’t;</p> +<p>Lastly, I’ve gut religion South, an’ Rushy +she’s a pagan</p> +<p>Thet sets by th’ graven imiges o’ the gret Nothun +Dagon;</p> +<p>(Now I hain’t seen one in six munts, for, sence our +Treasury Loan,</p> +<p>Though yaller boys is thick anough, eagles hez kind o’ +flown;)</p> +<p>An’ ef J. wants a stronger pint than them thet I hev +stated,</p> +<p>Wy, she’s an aliun in’my now, an’ I’ve +ben cornfiscated,—</p> +<p>For sence we’ve entered on th’ estate o’ the +late nayshnul eagle,</p> +<p>She hain’t no kin’ o’ right but jest wut I +allow ez legle:</p> +<p>Wut <em>doos</em> Secedin’ mean, ef’t ain’t +thet nat’rul rights hez riz, ’n’</p> +<p>Thet wut is mine’s my own, but wut’s another +man’s ain’t his’n?</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Bersides, I couldn’t do no else; Miss S. suz she to +me,</p> +<p>“You’ve sheered my bed,” [Thet’s when I +paid my interdiction fee</p> +<p>To Southun rites,] “an’ kep’ your +sheer,” [Wal, I allow it sticked</p> +<p>So’s ’t I wuz most six weeks in jail afore I gut me +picked,]</p> +<p>“Ner never paid no demmiges; but thet wun’t do no +harm,</p> +<p>Pervidin’ thet you’ll ondertake to oversee the +farm;</p> +<p>(My eldes’ boy is so took up, wut with the Ringtail +Rangers</p> +<p>An’ settin’ in the Jestice-Court for welcomin’ +o’ strangers”;)</p> +<p>[He sot on <em>me</em>;] “an’ so, ef you’ll +jest ondertake the care</p> +<p>Upon a mod’rit sellery, we’ll up an’ call it +square;</p> +<p>But ef you <em>can’t</em> conclude,” suz she, +an’ give a kin’ o’ grin,</p> +<p>“Wy, the Gran’ Jury, I expect, ‘ll hev to set +agin.”</p> +<p>Thet’s the way metters stood at fust; now wut wuz I to +du,</p> +<p>But jest to make the best on’t an’ off coat +an’ buckle tu?</p> +<p>Ther’ ain’t a livin’ man thet finds an income +necessarier</p> +<p>Than me,—bimeby I’ll tell ye how I fin’lly +come to merry her.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>She hed another motive, tu: I mention of it here</p> +<p>T’ encourage lads thet’s growin’ up to study +’n’ persevere,</p> +<p>An’ show ’em how much better ’t pays to mind +their winter-schoolin’</p> +<p>Than to go off on benders ’n’ sech, an’ waste +their time in foolin’;</p> +<p>Ef ’t warn’t for studyin’, evening, I never +’d ha’ ben here</p> +<p>An orn’ment o’ saciety, in my approprut spear:</p> +<p>She wanted somebody, ye see, o’ taste an’ +cultivation,</p> +<p>To talk along o’ preachers when they stopt to the +plantation;</p> +<p>For folks in Dixie th’t read an’ write, onless it is +by jarks,</p> +<p>Is skurce ez wut they wuz among th’ oridgenal +patriarchs;</p> +<p>To fit a feller f’ wut they call the soshle +higherarchy,</p> +<p>All thet you’ve gut to know is jest beyund an evrage +darky;</p> +<p>Schoolin’ ’s wut they can’t seem to +stan’, they’re tu consarned high-pressure,</p> +<p>An’ knowin’ t’ much might spile a boy for +bein’ a Secesher.</p> +<p>We hain’t no settled preachin’ here, ner ministeril +taxes;</p> +<p>The min’ster’s only settlement ’s the +carpet-bag he packs his</p> +<p>Razor an’ soap-brush intu, with his hymbook an’ his +Bible,—</p> +<p>But they <em>du</em> preach, I swan to man, it’s +puf’kly indescrib’le!</p> +<p>They go it like an Ericsson’s ten-hoss-power coleric +ingine,</p> +<p>An’ make Ole Split-Foot winch an’ squirm, for all +he’s used to singein’;</p> +<p>Hawkins’s whetstone ain’t a pinch o’ +primin’ to the innards</p> +<p>To hearin’ on ’em put free grace t’ a lot +o’ tough old sin-hards!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>But I must eend this letter now: ’fore long I’ll +send a fresh un;</p> +<p>I’ve lots o’ things to write about, perticklerly +Seceshun:</p> +<p>I’m called off now to mission-work, to let a leetle law +in</p> +<p>To Cynthy’s hide: an’ so, till death,</p> +</div> +</div> +<p class="rgt">Yourn,<br /> +BIRDOFREDUM SAWIN.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2><a id="oldage" name="oldage">OLD AGE</a>.</h2> +<p>On the last anniversary of the Phi Beta Kappa Society at +Cambridge, the venerable President Quincy, senior member of the +Society, as well as senior alumnus of the University, was received +at the dinner with peculiar demonstrations of respect. He replied +to these compliments in a speech, and, gracefully claiming the +privileges of a literary society, entered at some length into an +Apology for Old Age, and, aiding himself by notes in his hand, made +a sort of running commentary on Cicero’s chapter “De +Senectute.” The character of the speaker, the transparent +good faith of his praise and blame, and the +<em>naïveté</em> of his eager preference of +Cicero’s opinions to King David’s, gave unusual +interest to the College festival. It was a discourse full of +dignity, honoring him who spoke and those who heard.</p> +<p>The speech led me to look over at home—an easy +task—Cicero’s famous essay, charming by its uniform +rhetorical merit; heroic with Stoical precepts; with a Roman eye to +the claims of the State; happiest, perhaps, in his praise of life +on the farm; and rising, at the conclusion, to a lofty strain. But +he does not exhaust the subject; rather invites the attempt to add +traits to the picture from our broader modern life.</p> +<p>Cicero makes no reference to the illusions which cling to the +element of time, and in which Nature delights. Wellington, in +speaking of military men, said,—“What masks are these +uniforms to hide cowards! When our journal is published, many +statues must come down.” I have often detected the like +deception in the cloth shoe, wadded pelisse, wig and spectacles, +and padded chair of Age. Nature lends herself to these illusions, +and adds dim sight, deafness, cracked voice, snowy hair, short +memory, and sleep. These also are masks, and all is not Age that +wears them. Whilst we yet call ourselves young, and all our mates +are yet youths and boyish, one good fellow in the set prematurely +sports a gray or a bald head, which does not impose on us who know +how innocent of sanctity or of Platonism he is, but does not less +deceive his juniors and the public, who presently distinguish him +with a most amusing respect: and this lets us into the secret, that +the venerable forms that so awed our childhood were just such +impostors. Nature is full of freaks, and now puts an old head on +young shoulders, and then a young heart beating under fourscore +winters.</p> +<p>For if the essence of age is not present, these signs, whether +of Art or Nature, are counterfeit and ridiculous: and the essence +of age is intellect. Wherever that appears, we call it old. If we +look into the eyes of the youngest person, we sometimes discover +that here is one who knows already what you would go about with +much pains to teach him; there is that in him which is the ancestor +of all around him: which fact the Indian Vedas express, when they +say, “He that can discriminate is the father of his +father.” And in our old British legends of Arthur and the +Round-Table, his friend and counsellor, Merlin the Wise, is a babe +found exposed in a basket by the river-side, and, though an infant +of only a few days, he speaks to those who discover him, tells his +name and history, and presently foretells the fate of the +by-standers. Wherever there is power, there is age. Don’t be +deceived by dimples and curls. I tell you that babe is a thousand +years old.</p> +<p>Time is, indeed, the theatre and seat of illusion. Nothing is so +ductile and elastic. The mind stretches an hour to a century, and +dwarfs an age to an hour. Saadi found in a mosque at Damascus an +old Persian of a hundred and fifty years who was dying, and was +saying to himself, “I said, coming into the world by birth, +‘I will enjoy myself for a few moments.’ Alas! at the +variegated table of life I partook of a few mouthfuls, and the +Fates said, ‘<em>Enough!</em>’” That which does +not decay is so central and controlling in us, that, as long as one +is alone by himself, he is not sensible of the inroads of time, +which always begin at the surface-edges. If, on a winter day, you +should stand within a bell-glass, the face and color of the +afternoon clouds would not indicate whether it were June or +January; and if we did not find the reflection of ourselves in the +eyes of the young people, we could not know that the century-clock +had struck seventy instead of twenty. How many men habitually +believe that each chance passenger with whom they converse is of +their own age, and presently find it was his father, and not his +brother, whom they knew!</p> +<p>But, not to press too hard on these deceits and illusions of +Nature, which are inseparable from our condition, and looking at +age under an aspect more conformed to the common sense, if the +question be the felicity of age, I fear the first popular judgments +will be unfavorable. From the point of sensuous experience, seen +from the streets and markets and the haunts of pleasure and gain, +the estimate of age is low, melancholy, and skeptical. Frankly face +the facts, and see the result. Tobacco, coffee, alcohol, hashish, +prussic acid, strychnine, are weak dilutions: the surest poison is +time. This cup, which Nature puts to our lips, has a wonderful +virtue, surpassing that of any other draught. It opens the senses, +adds power, fills us with exalted dreams, which we call hope, love, +ambition, science: especially, it creates a craving for larger +draughts of itself. But they who take the larger draughts are drunk +with it, lose their stature, strength, beauty, and senses, and end +in folly and delirium. We postpone our literary work until we have +more ripeness and skill to write, and we one day discover that our +literary talent was a youthful effervescence which we have now +lost. We had a judge in Massachusetts who at sixty proposed to +resign, alleging that he perceived a certain decay in his +faculties: he was dissuaded by his friends, on account of the +public convenience at that time. At seventy it was hinted to him +that it was time to retire; but he now replied, that he thought his +judgment as robust, and all his faculties as good as ever they +were. But besides the self-deception, the strong and hasty laborers +of the street do not work well with the chronic valetudinarian. +Youth is everywhere in place. Age, like woman, requires fit +surroundings. Age is comely in coaches, in churches, in chairs of +state and ceremony, in council-chambers, in courts of justice, and +historical societies. Age is becoming in the country. But in the +rush and uproar of Broadway, if you look into the faces of the +passengers, there is dejection or indignation in the seniors, a +certain concealed sense of injury, and the lip made up with a +heroic determination not to mind it. Few envy the consideration +enjoyed by the oldest inhabitant. We do not count a man’s +years, until he has nothing else to count. The vast inconvenience +of animal immortality was told in the fable of Tithonus. In short, +the creed of the street is, Old Age is not disgraceful, but +immensely disadvantageous. Life is well enough, but we shall all be +glad to get out of it, and they will all be glad to have us.</p> +<p>This is odious on the face of it. Universal convictions are not +to be shaken by the whimseys of overfed butchers and firemen, or by +the sentimental fears of girls who would keep the infantile bloom +on their cheeks. We know the value of experience. Life and art are +cumulative; and he who has accomplished something in any department +alone deserves to be heard on that subject. A man of great +employments and excellent performance used to assure me that he did +not think a man worth anything until he was sixty; although this +smacks a little of the resolution of a certain “Young +Men’s Republican Club,” that all men should be held +eligible who were under seventy. But in all governments, the +councils of power were held by the old; and patricians or +<em>patres</em>, senate or <em>senes</em>, <em>seigneurs</em> or +seniors, <em>gerousia</em>, the senate of Sparta, the presbytery of +the Church, and the like, all signify simply old men.</p> +<p>This cynical lampoon is refuted by the universal prayer for long +life, which is the verdict of Nature, and justified by all history. +We have, it is true, examples of an accelerated pace, by which +young men achieved grand works; as in the Macedonian Alexander, in +Raffaelle, Shakspeare, Pascal, Burns, and Byron; but these are rare +exceptions. Nature, in the main, vindicates her law. Skill to do +comes of doing; knowledge comes by eyes always open, and working +hands; and there is no knowledge that is not power. And if the life +be true and noble, we have quite another sort of seniors than the +frowzy, timorous, peevish dotards who are falsely +old,—namely, the men who fear no city, but by whom cities +stand; who appearing in any street, the people empty their houses +to gaze at and obey them: as at “My Cid, with the fleecy +beard,” in Toledo; or Bruce, as Barbour reports him; as blind +old Dandolo, elected Doge at eighty-four years, storming +Constantinople at ninety-four, and after the revolt again +victorious, and elected at the age of ninety-six to the throne of +the Eastern Empire, which he declined, and died Doge at +ninety-seven. We still feel the force of Socrates, “whom +well-advised the oracle pronounced wisest of men”; of +Archimedes, holding Syracuse against the Romans by his wit, and +himself better than all their nation; of Michel Angelo, wearing the +four crowns of architecture, sculpture, painting, and poetry; of +Galileo, of whose blindness Castelli said, “The noblest eye +is darkened that Nature ever made,—an eye that hath seen more +than all that went before him, and hath opened the eyes of all that +shall come after him”; of Newton, who made an important +discovery for every one of his eighty-five years; of Bacon, who +“took all knowledge to be his province”; of Fontenelle, +“that precious porcelain vase laid up in the centre of France +to be guarded with the utmost care for a hundred years”; of +Franklin, Jefferson, and Adams, the wise and heroic statesmen; of +Washington, the perfect citizen; of Wellington, the perfect +soldier; of Goethe, the all-knowing poet; of Humboldt, the +encyclopædia of science.</p> +<p>Under the general assertion of the well-being of age, we can +easily count particular benefits of that condition. It has +weathered the perilous capes and shoals in the sea whereon we sail, +and the chief evil of life is taken away in removing the grounds of +fear. The insurance of a ship expires as she enters the harbor at +home. It were strange, if a man should turn his sixtieth year +without a feeling of immense relief from the number of dangers he +has escaped. When the old wife says, “Take care of that tumor +in your shoulder, perhaps it is cancerous,”—he replies, +“What if it is?” The humorous thief who drank a pot of +beer at the gallows blew off the froth because he had heard it was +unhealthy; but it will not add a pang to the prisoner marched out +to be shot, to assure him that the pain in his knee threatens +mortification. When the pleuro-pneumonia of the cows raged, the +butchers said, that, though the acute degree was novel, there never +was a time when this disease did not occur among cattle. All men +carry seeds of all distempers through life latent, and we die +without developing them: such is the affirmative force of the +constitution. But if you are enfeebled by any cause, the disease +becomes strong. At every stage we lose a foe. At fifty years, +‘t is said, afflicted citizens lose their sick-headaches. I +hope this <em>hegira</em> is not as movable a feast as that one I +annually look for, when the horticulturists assure me that the +rose-bugs in our gardens disappear on the tenth of July: they stay +a fortnight later in mine. But be it as it may with the +sick-headache,—‘t is certain that graver headaches and +heart-aches are lulled, once for all, as we come up with certain +goals of time. The passions have answered their purpose: that +slight, but dread overweight, with which, in each instance, Nature +secures the execution of her aim, drops off. To keep man in the +planet, she impresses the terror of death. To perfect the +commisariat, she implants in each a little rapacity to get the +supply, and a little over-supply, of his wants. To insure the +existence of the race, she reinforces the sexual instinct, at the +risk of disorder, grief, and pain. To secure strength, she plants +cruel hunger and thirst, which so easily overdo their office, and +invite disease. But these temporary stays and shifts for the +protection of the young animal are shed as fast as they can be +replaced by nobler resources. We live in youth amidst this rabble +of passions, quite too tender, quite too hungry and irritable. +Later, the interiors of mind and heart open, and supply grander +motives. We learn the fatal compensations that wait on every act. +Then,—one mischief at a time,—this riotous +time-destroying crew disappear.</p> +<p>I count it another capital advantage of age, this, that a +success more or less signifies nothing. Little by little, it has +amassed such a fund of merit, that it can very well afford to go on +its credit when it will. When I chanced to meet the poet +Wordsworth, then sixty-three years old, he told me, “that he +had just had a fall and lost a tooth, and, when his companions were +much concerned for the mischance, he had replied, that he was glad +it had not happened forty years before.” Well, Nature takes +care that we shall not lose our organs forty years too soon. A +lawyer argued a cause yesterday in the Supreme Court, and I was +struck with a certain air of levity and defiance which vastly +became him. Thirty years ago it was a serious concern to him +whether his pleading was good and effective. Now it is of +importance to his client, but of none to himself. It is long +already fixed what he can do and cannot do, and his reputation does +not gain or suffer from one or a dozen new performances. If he +should, on a new occasion, rise quite beyond his mark, and do +somewhat extraordinary and great, that, of course, would instantly +tell; but he may go below his mark with impunity, and people will +say, “Oh, he had headache,” or, “He lost his +sleep for two nights.” What a lust of appearance, what a load +of anxieties that once degraded him, he is thus rid of! Every one +is sensible of this cumulative advantage in living. All the good +days behind him are sponsors, who speak for him when he is silent, +pay for him when he has no money, introduce him where he has no +letters, and work for him when he sleeps.</p> +<p>A third felicity of age is, that it has found expression. Youth +suffers not only from ungratified desires, but from powers untried, +and from a picture in his mind of a career which has, as yet, no +outward reality. He is tormented with the want of correspondence +between things and thoughts. Michel Angelo’s head is full of +masculine and gigantic figures as gods walking, which make him +savage until his furious chisel can render them into marble; and of +architectural dreams, until a hundred stone-masons can lay them in +courses of travertine. There is the like tempest in every good head +in which some great benefit for the world is planted. The throes +continue until the child is born. Every faculty new to each man +thus goads him and drives him out into doleful deserts, until it +finds proper vent. All the functions of human duty irritate and +lash him forward, bemoaning and chiding, until they are performed. +He wants friends, employment, knowledge, power, house and land, +wife and children, honor and fame; he has religious wants, +aesthetic wants, domestic, civil, humane wants. One by one, day +after day, he learns to coin his wishes into facts. He has his +calling, homestead, social connection, and personal power, and +thus, at the end of fifty years, his soul is appeased by seeing +some sort of correspondence between his wish and his possession. +This makes the value of age, the satisfaction it slowly offers to +every craving. He is serene who does not feel himself pinched and +wronged, but whose condition, in particular and in general, allows +the utterance of his mind. In old persons, when thus fully +expressed, we often observe a fair, plump, perennial, waxen +complexion, which indicates that all the ferment of earlier days +has subsided into serenity of thought and behavior.</p> +<p>For a fourth benefit, age sets its house in order, and finishes +its works, which to every artist is a supreme pleasure. Youth has +an excess of sensibility, to which every object glitters and +attracts. We leave one pursuit for another, and the young +man’s year is a heap of beginnings. At the end of a +twelvemonth, he has nothing to show for it, not one completed work. +But the time is not lost. Our instincts drove us to hive +innumerable experiences, that are yet of no visible value, and +which we may keep for twice seven years before they shall be +wanted. The best things are of secular growth. The instinct of +classifying marks the wise and healthy mind. Linnæus projects +his system, and lays out his twenty-four classes of plants, before +yet he has found in Nature a single plant to justify certain of his +classes. His seventh class has not one. In process of time, he +finds with delight the little white <em>Trientalis</em>, the only +plant with seven petals and sometimes seven stamens, which +constitutes a seventh class in conformity with his system. The +conchologist builds his cabinet whilst as yet he has few shells. He +labels shelves for classes, cells for species: all but a few are +empty. But every year fills some blanks, and with accelerating +speed as he becomes knowing and known. An old scholar finds keen +delight in verifying all the impressive anecdotes and citations he +has met with in miscellaneous reading and hearing, in all the years +of youth. We carry in memory important anecdotes, and have lost all +clue to the author from whom we had them. We have a heroic speech +from Rome or Greece, but cannot fix it on the man who said it. We +have an admirable line worthy of Horace, ever and anon resounding +in our mind’s ear, but have searched all probable and +improbable books for it in vain. We consult the reading men: but, +strangely enough, they who know everything know not this. But +especially we have a certain insulated thought, which haunts us, +but remains insulated and barren. Well, there is nothing for all +this but patience and time. Time, yes, that is the finder, the +unweariable explorer, not subject to casualties, omniscient at +last. The day comes when the hidden author of our story is found; +when the brave speech returns straight to the hero who said it; +when the admirable verse finds the poet to whom it belongs; and +best of all, when the lonely thought, which seemed so wise, yet +half-wise, half-thought, because it cast no light abroad, is +suddenly matched in our mind by its twin, by its sequence, or next +related analogy, which gives it instantly radiating power, and +justifies the superstitious instinct with which we had hoarded it. +We remember our old Greek Professor at Cambridge, an ancient +bachelor, amid his folios, possessed by this hope of completing a +task, with nothing to break his leisure after the three hours of +his daily classes, yet ever restlessly stroking his leg, and +assuring himself “he should retire from the University and +read the authors.” In Goethe’s Romance, Makaria, the +central figure for wisdom and influence, pleases herself with +withdrawing into solitude to astronomy and epistolary +correspondence. Goethe himself carried this completion of studies +to the highest point. Many of his works hung on the easel from +youth to age, and received a stroke in every month or year of his +life. A literary astrologer, he never applied himself to any task +but at the happy moment when all the stars consented. Bentley +thought himself likely to live till fourscore,—long enough to +read everything that was worth reading,—”<em>Et tunc +magna mei sub terris ibit imago</em>.” Much wider is spread +the pleasure which old men take in completing their secular +affairs, the inventor his inventions, the agriculturist his +experiments, and all old men in finishing their houses, rounding +their estates, clearing their titles, reducing tangled interests to +order, reconciling enmities, and leaving all in the best posture +for the future. It must be believed that there is a proportion +between the designs of a man and the length of his life: there is a +calendar of his years, so of his performances.</p> +<p>America is the country of young men, and too full of work +hitherto for leisure and tranquillity; yet we have had robust +centenarians, and examples of dignity and wisdom. I have lately +found in an old note-book a record of a visit to Ex-President John +Adams, in 1825, soon after the election of his <em>son</em> to the +Presidency. It is but a sketch, and nothing important passed in the +conversation; but it reports a moment in the life of a heroic +person, who, in extreme old age, appeared still erect, and worthy +of his fame.</p> +<p class="quote">——, <em>Feb.</em>, 1825. To-day, at +Quincy, with my brother, by invitation of Mr. Adams’s family. +The old President sat in a large stuffed arm-chair, dressed in a +blue coat, black small-clothes, white stockings, and a cotton cap +covered his bald head. We made our compliment, told him he must let +us join our congratulations to those of the nation on the happiness +of his house. He thanked us, and said, “I am rejoiced, +because the nation is happy. The time of gratulation and +congratulations is nearly over with me: I am astonished that I have +lived to see and know of this event. I have lived now nearly a +century: [he was ninety in the following October:] a long, +harassed, and distracted life.”—I said, “The +world thinks a good deal of joy has been mixed with +it.”—“The world does not know,” he replied, +“how much toil, anxiety, and sorrow I have +suffered.”—I asked if Mr. Adams’s letter of +acceptance had been read to him.—“Yes,” he said, +and added, “My son has more political prudence than any man +that I know who has existed in my time; he never was put off his +guard: and I hope he will continue such; but what effect age may +work in diminishing the power of his mind, I do not know; it has +been very much on the stretch, ever since he was born. He has +always been laborious, child and man, from +infancy.”—When Mr. J.Q. Adams’s age was +mentioned, he said, “He is now fifty-eight, or will be in +July”; and remarked that “all the Presidents were of +the same age: General Washington was about fifty-eight, and I was +about fifty-eight, and Mr. Jefferson, and Mr. Madison, and Mr. +Monroe.”—We inquired, when he expected to see Mr. +Adams.—He said, “Never: Mr. Adams will not come to +Quincy, but to my funeral. It would be a great satisfaction to me +to see him, but I don’t wish him to come on my +account.”—He spoke of Mr. Lechmere, whom “he well +remembered to have seen come down daily, at a great age, to walk in +the old town-house,”—adding, “And I wish I could +walk as well as he did. He was Collector of the Customs for many +years, under the Royal Government”—E. said, “I +suppose, Sir, you would not have taken his place, even to walk as +well as he.”—“No,” he replied, “that +was not what I wanted.”—He talked of Whitefield, and +“remembered, when he was a Freshman in college, to have come +in to the <em>Old South</em>, [I think,] to hear him, but could not +get into the house;—I, however, saw him,” he said, +“through a window, and distinctly heard all. He had a voice +such as I never heard before or since. He cast it out so that you +might hear it at the meeting-house, [pointing towards the Quincy +meeting-house,] and he had the grace of a dancing-master, of an +actor of plays. His voice and manner helped him more than his +sermons. I went with Jonathan Sewall.”—“And you +were pleased with him, Sir?”—“Pleased! I was +delighted beyond measure.”—We asked, if at +Whitefield’s return the same popularity +continued.—“Not the same fury,” he said, +“not the same wild enthusiasm as before, but a greater +esteem, as he became more known. He did not terrify, but was +admired.”</p> +<p>We spent about an hour in his room. He speaks very distinctly +for so old a man, enters bravely into long sentences, which are +interrupted by want of breath, but carries them invariably to a +conclusion, without ever correcting a word.</p> +<p>He spoke of the new novels of Cooper, and “Peep at the +Pilgrims,” and “Saratoga,” with praise, and named +with accuracy the characters in them. He likes to have a person +always reading to him, or company talking in his room, and is +better the next day after having visitors in his chamber from +morning to night.</p> +<p>He received a premature report of his son’s election, on +Sunday afternoon, without any excitement, and told the reporter he +had been hoaxed, for it was not yet time for any news to arrive. +The informer, something damped in his heart, insisted on repairing +to the meeting-house, and proclaimed it aloud to the congregation, +who were so overjoyed that they rose in their seats and cheered +thrice. The Reverend Mr. Whitney dismissed them immediately.</p> +<p>When life has been well spent, age is a loss of what it can well +spare,—muscular strength, organic instincts, gross bulk, and +works that belong to these. But the central wisdom, which was old +in infancy, is young in fourscore years, and, dropping off +obstructions, leaves in happy subjects the mind purified and wise. +I have heard that whoever loves is in no condition old. I have +heard, that, whenever the name of man is spoken, the doctrine of +immortality is announced; it cleaves to his constitution. The mode +of it baffles our wit, and no whisper comes to us from the other +side. But the inference from the working of intellect, hiving +knowledge, hiving skill,—at the end of life just ready to be +born,—affirms the inspirations of affection and of the moral +sentiment.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>REVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES.</h2> +<p class="note"><a id="mueller" name="mueller"><em>Lectures on the +Science of Languages</em></a>, delivered at the Royal Institution +of Great Britain in April, May, and June, 1861. By MAX MÜLLER, +M.A., Fellow of All-Souls College, Oxford; Corresponding Member of +the Imperial Institute of France. London: Longman, Green, Longman, +& Roberts. 1861. 8vo. pp. xii., 399.</p> +<p>The name of Mr. Max Müller is familiar to American students +as that of a man who, learned in the high German fashion, has the +pleasant faculty, unhappily too rare among Germans, of +communicating his erudition in a way not only comprehensible, but +agreeable to the laity. The Teutonic <em>Gelehrte</em>, gallantly +devoting a half-century to his pipe and his locative case, fencing +the result of his labors with a bristling hedge of abbreviations, +cross-references, and untranslated citations that take panglottism +for granted as an ordinary incident of human culture, too hastily +assumes a tenacity of life on the part of his reader as great as +his own. All but those with whom the study of language is a +specialty pass him by as Dante does Nimrod, gladly concluding</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Che così è a lui ciascun linguaggio,</p> +<p>Come il suo ad altrui, che a nullo è noto.”</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>The brothers Grimm are known to what is called the reading +public chiefly as contributors to the literature of the nursery; +and as for Bopp, Pott, Zeuss, Lassen, Diefenbach, and the rest, men +who look upon the curse of Babel as the luckiest event in human +annals, their names and works are terrors to the uninitiated. They +are the giants of these latter days, of whom all we know is that +they now and then snatch up some unhappy friend of ours and +imprison him in their terrible castle of Nongtongpaw, whence, if he +ever escape, he comes back to us emaciated, unintelligible, and +with a passion for roots that would make him an ornament of society +among the Digger Indians.</p> +<p>Yet though in metaphor giants of learning, their office seems +practically rather that of the dwarfs, as gatherers and guardians +of treasure useless to themselves, but with which some +luck’s-child may enrich himself and his neighbors. Other +analogies between them and the dwarfs, such as their accomplishing +superhuman things and being prematurely subject to the dryness of +old ago, (“<em>Der Zwerg ist schon im siebenten Jahr ein +Greis</em>,” says Grimm,) will at once suggest +themselves.</p> +<p>Mr. Müller is one of the agreeable luck’s-children +who lay these swarthy miners under contribution for us, understand +their mystic sign-language, and save us the trouble of climbing the +mountain and scratching through the thickets for ourselves. Happy +the man who can make knowledge entertaining! Thrice happy his +readers! The author of these Lectures is already well known as not +only, perhaps, the best living scholar of Sanscrit literature, (and +by scholar we mean one who regards study as a means, not an end, +and who is capable of drawing original conclusions,) but a +<em>savant</em> who can teach without tiring, and can administer +learning as if it were something else than medicine. Whoever reads +this volume will regret that Mr. Müller’s eminent +qualifications for the Boden Professorship at Oxford should have +failed to turn the scale against the assumed superior orthodoxy of +his competitor. Was it in Sanscrit that he was heterodox? or in +Hindoo mythology?</p> +<p>The Lectures are nine in number. The titles of them will show +the range and nature of Mr. Müller’s dissertations. They +are, (1.) On the science of language as one of the physical +sciences; (2.) On the growth of language in contradistinction to +the history of language; (3.) On the empirical stage in the science +of language; (4.) On the classificatory stage in the same; (5.) On +the genealogical classification of languages; (6.) On comparative +grammar; (7.) On the constituent elements of language; (8.) On the +morphological classification of languages; (9.) On the theoretical +stage in the science of languages and the origin of language. An +Appendix contains a genealogical table of languages; and an ample +Index (why have authors forgotten, what was once so well known, +that an index is all that saves the contents of a book from being +mere birds in the bush?) makes the volume as useful on the shelf as +it is interesting and instructive in the hand. Of the catholic +spirit in which Mr. Müller treats his various topics of +discussion and illustration, his own theory of the true method of +investigation is the best proof.</p> +<p class="quote">“There are two ways,” he says, in +discussing the origin of language, “of judging of former +philosophers. One is, to put aside their opinions as simply +erroneous, where they differ from our own. This is the least +satisfactory way of studying ancient philosophy. Another way is, to +try to enter into the opinions of those from whom we differ, to +make them, our a time at least, our own, till at least we discover +the point of view from which each philosopher looked at the facts +before him and catch the light in which he regarded them. We shall +then find that there is much less of downright error in the history +of philosophy than is commonly supposed; nay, <em>we shall find +nothing so conducive to a right appreciation of truth as a right +appreciation of the error by which it is surrounded</em>.” +(p. 360. The Italics are ours.)</p> +<p>A mere philologist might complain that the book contained +nothing new. And this is in the main true, though by no means +altogether so, especially as regards the nomenclature of +classification, and the illustration of special points by pertinent +examples. In this last respect Mr. Müller is particularly +happy, as, for instance, in what he says of “Yes ’r and +Yes ’m.” (pp. 210 ff.) And as regards originality in +the treatment of a purely scientific subject, a good deal depends +on the meaning we attach to the term. If we understand by it +striking conclusions drawn from theoretic premises, (as in +Knox’s “Races of Man,”) clever generalizations +from fortuitous analogies and coincidences insufficiently weighed, +(as in Pococke’s “India in Greece,”) or, to take +a philologic example, speculations suggestive of thought, it may +be, but too insecurely based on positive data, (as in Rapp’s +“Physiologie der Sprache,”) we shall vainly seek for +such originality in Mr. Müller’s Lectures. But if we +take it to mean, as we certainly prefer to do, safety of conclusion +founded on thorough knowledge and comparison, clear statement +guarded on all sides by long intimacy with the subject, and theory +the result of legitimate deduction and judicial weighing of +evidence, we shall find enough in the book to content us. Mr. +Müller does not now enter the lists for the first time to win +his spurs as an original writer. The plan of the work before us +necessarily excluded any great display of recondite learning or of +profound speculation. Delivered at first as popularly scientific +lectures, and now published for the general reader, it seems to us +admirably conceived and executed. Easily comprehensible, and yet +always pointing out the sources of fuller investigation, it is +ample both to satisfy the desire of those who wish to get the +latest results of philology and to stimulate the curiosity of +whoever wishes to go farther and deeper. It is by far the best and +clearest summing-up of the present condition of the Science of +Language that we have ever seen, while the liveliness of the style +and the variety and freshness of illustration make it exceedingly +entertaining.</p> +<p>We hope that a book of such slight assumption and such solid +merit, a model of clear arrangement and popular treatment, may be +widely read in this country, where the ignorance, carelessness, or +dishonest good-nature even of journals professedly literary is apt +to turn over the unlearned reader to such blind guides as +Swinton’s “Rambles among Words,” compounds of +plagiarism and pretension. Philology as a science is but just +beginning to assert its claims in America, though we may already +point with satisfaction to several distinguished workers in the +field. The names of Professor Sophocles, at Cambridge, and +Professor Whitney, at New Haven, rank with those of European +scholars; and we have already borne the warmest testimony in these +pages to the value of Mr. Marsh’s contributions to the study +of English, a judgment which we are glad to see confirmed by the +weighty authority of Mr, Müller.</p> +<hr /> +<ol> +<li style="padding-bottom:1em;"><a id="arnold" name="arnold"><em>On +Translating Homer</em></a>. Three Lectures given at Oxford by +MATTHEW ARNOLD, M.A., Professor of Poetry in the University of +Oxford, and formerly Fellow of Oriel College. London: Longmans. +1861. pp. 104.</li> +<li><a id="newman" name="newman"><em>Homeric Translation in Theory +and Practice</em></a>. A Reply to Matthew Arnold, Esq., Professor +of Poetry at Oxford. By FRANCIS W. NEWMAN, a Translator of the +Iliad. London: Williams & Norgate. 1801. pp. 104.</li> +</ol> +<p>MR. F.W. NEWMAN, Professor of Latin in the University of London, +probably without much hope of satisfying himself, and certain to +dissatisfy every one who could read, or pretend to read, the +original, did nevertheless complete and publish a translation of +the “Iliad.” And now, unmindful of Bentley’s +<em>dictum</em>, that no man was ever written down but by himself, +he has published an answer to Mr. Arnold’s criticism of his +work. Thackeray has said that it is of no use pretending not to +care if your book is cut up by the “Times”; and it is +not surprising that Mr. Newman should be uneasy at being first held +up as an awful example to the youth of Oxford in academical +lectures, and then to the public of England in a printed monograph, +by a man of so much reputation for scholarship and taste as the +present incumbent of Thomas Warton’s chair.</p> +<p>Mr. Arnold’s little book is, we need scarcely say, full of +delicate criticism and suggestion. He treats his subject with great +cleverness, and on many points carries the reader along with him. +Especially good is all that he says about the “grand +style,” so far as his general propositions are concerned. But +when he comes to apply his criticisms, he instinctively feels the +want of an absolute standard of judgment in aesthetic matters, and +accordingly appeals to the verdict of +“scholars,”—a somewhat vague term, to be sure, +but by which he evidently understands men not merely of learning, +but of taste. Of course, his reasoning is all <em>a +posteriori</em>, and from the narrowest premises,—namely, +from an unpleasant effect on his own nerves, to an efficient cause +in the badness of Mr. Newman’s translation.</p> +<p>No quarrels, perhaps, are so bitter as those about matters of +taste: hardly even is the <em>odium theologicum</em>, so profound +as the <em>odium æstheticum</em>. A man, perhaps, will more +easily forgive another for disbelieving his own total depravity +than for believing that Guido is a great painter or Tupper an +inspiring poet. The present dispute, therefore, tenderly personal +as it is on the part of one of the pleaders, is especially +interesting as showing a very decided and gratifying advance in the +civilization of literary men to-day as compared with that of a +century or indeed half a century ago. If we go back still farther, +matters were still worse, and we find Luther and even Milton raking +the kennel for dirt dirty enough to fling at an antagonist. But +even within the memory of man, the style of the +“Dunciad” was hardly obsolete in +“Blackwood” and the “Quarterly.” It is very +pleasant, in the present case, to see both attack and defence +conducted with so gentlemanlike a reserve,—and the latter, +which is even more surprising, with an approach to amenity.</p> +<p>In Mr. Newman the Professor of Poetry finds an able and wary +antagonist, and one who, in point of learning, carries heavier +metal than himself. The dispute turns partly on the character of +Homer’s poetry, partly on the true method of translation, +(especially Homeric translation,) and partly on the particular +merits of Mr. Newman’s attempt as compared with those of +others. Of course, many side-topics are incidentally touched upon, +among others, the English hexameter, Mr. Newman’s objections +to which are particularly worthy of attention.</p> +<p>Mr. Newman instantly sees and strikes at the weak point of his +adversary’s argument. “You appeal to scholars,” +he says in substance; “you admit that I am one; now you +<em>don’t</em> like my choice of words or metre; I +<em>do</em>; who, then, shall decide? Why, the public, of course, +which is the court of last appeal in such cases.” It appears +to us, that, on most of the points at issue, the truth lies +somewhere between the two disputants. We do not think that Mr. +Newman has made out his case that Homer was antiquated, quaint, and +even grotesque to the Greeks themselves because his cast of thought +and his language were archaic, or strange to them because he wrote +in a dialect almost as different from Attic as Scotch from English. +The Bible is as far from us in language and in the Orientalism of +its thought and expression as Homer was from them; yet we are so +familiar with it that it produces on us no impression of being +antiquated or quaint, seldom of being grotesque, and what is still +more to the purpose, produces that impression as little on +illiterate persons to whom many of the words are incomprehensible. +So, too, it seems to us, no part of Burns is alien to a man whose +mother-tongue is English, in the same sense that some parts of +Béranger are; because Burns, though a North Briton, was +still a Briton, as Homer, though an Ionian, was still a Greek. We +think he does prove that neither Mr. Arnold nor any other scholar +can form any adequate conception of the impression which the poems +of Homer produced either on the ear or the mind of a Greek; but in +doing this he proves too much for his own case, where it turns upon +the class of words proper to be used in translating him. Mr. Newman +says he sometimes used low words; and since his theory of the duty +of a translator is, that he should reproduce the moral effect of +his author,—be noble where he is noble, barbarous, if he be +barbarous, and quaint, if quaint,—so he should render low +words by words as low. But here his own dilemma meets him: how does +he know that Homer’s words <em>did</em> seem low to a Greek? +We agree with him in refusing to be conventional; so would Mr. +Arnold; only one would call conventional what the other would call +elegant, the question again resolving itself into one of personal +taste. We agree with him also in his preference for words that have +it certain strangeness and antique dignity about them, but think he +should stop short of anything that needs a glossary. He might learn +from Chapman’s version, however, that it is not the widest +choice of archaic words, but intensity of conception and phrase, +that gives a poem life, and keeps it living, in spite of grave +defects. Where Chapman, in a famous passage, +(“Odyssey,” v. 612,) tells us, that, when Ulysses +crawled ashore after his shipwreck, “<em>the sea had soaked +his heart through</em>,” it is not the mere simplicity of the +language, but the vivid conception which went before and compelled +the simplicity, that is impressive. We believe Mr. Newman is right +in refusing to sacrifice a good word because it may be pronounced +mean by individual caprice, wrong in attempting the fatal +impossibility of rescuing a word which to all minds alike conveys a +low or ludicrous meaning, as, for example, <em>pate</em>, and +<em>dopper</em>, for which he does battle doughtily. Mr. Newman is +guilty of a fallacy when he brings up <em>brick, sell</em>, and +<em>cut</em> as instances in support of his position, for in these +cases Mr. Arnold would only object to his use of them in their +<em>slang</em> sense. He himself would hardly venture to say that +Hector was a <em>brick</em>, that Achilles <em>cut</em> Agamemnon, +or that Ulysses <em>sold</em> Polyphemus. It is precisely because +Hobbes used language in this way that his translation of Homer is +so ludicrous. Wordsworth broke down in his theory, that the +language of poetry should be the every-day speech of men and women, +though he nearly succeeded in finally extirpating “poetic +diction.” We think the proper antithesis is not between +prosaic and poetic words, nor between the speech of actual life and +a conventionalized diction, but between the language of +<em>real</em> life (which is something different from the actual, +or matter-of-fact) and that of <em>artificial</em> life, or +society,—that is, between phrases fit to express the highest +passion, feeling, aspiration, and those adapted to the intercourse +of polite life, whence all violent emotion, or, at least, the +expression of it, is excluded. This latter highly artificial and +polished dialect is accordingly as suitable to the Mock-Heroic +(like “The Rape of the Lock”) as it is inefficient and +even distasteful when employed for the higher and more serious +purposes of poetry. It was most fortunate for English poetry that +our translation of the Bible and Shakspeare arrested our language, +and, as it were, crystallized it, precisely at its freshest and +most vigorous period, giving us an inexhaustible mine of words +familiar to the heart and mind, yet unvulgarized to the ear by +trivial associations.</p> +<p>The whole question of Homeric translation in its entire range, +between Chapman on the one hand and Pope and Cowper on the other, +is opened afresh by this controversy. The difficulty of the +undertaking, and still more of dogmatizing on the proper mode of +executing it, is manifest from the fact that Mr. Newman is quite as +successful in turning some specimens of Mr. Arnold’s into +ridicule as the latter had been with his. Meanwhile we commend the +two little books to our readers as containing an able and +entertaining discussion on a question of general and permanent +interest, and as showing that the “Quarrels of Authors” +may be conducted in a dignified and scholarly way.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2><a id="obit" name="obit">OBITUARY.</a></h2> +<p>The last English steamer brings us the sad news of the death of +Arthur Hugh Clough. Mr. Clough had so many personal friends, as +well as warm admirers, in America, that his death will be felt by +numbers of our readers both as a private grief and a public loss. +The earth will not soon close over a man of more lovely character +or more true and delicate genius. This is not the place or the +occasion to do justice to the many eminent qualities of his heart +and mind, and we only allude to his death at all because in him the +“Atlantic” has lost one of its most valued +contributors.</p> +<hr class="full" /> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13924 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |