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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/16200-8.txt b/16200-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..aa0b382 --- /dev/null +++ b/16200-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9709 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 13, No. 75, +January, 1864, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 13, No. 75, January, 1864 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: July 4, 2005 [EBook #16200] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY, VOLUME *** + + + + +Produced by Cornell University, Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine +Paolucci and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +[Transcriber's note: All footnotes moved to end of document] + + + + +THE + +ATLANTIC MONTHLY. + + +A MAGAZINE OF + +LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS. + +VOLUME XIII. + +[Illustration] + +BOSTON: + +TICKNOR AND FIELDS, + +135, WASHINGTON STREET. + + * * * * * + +LONDON: TRÜBNER AND COMPANY. + +M DCCC LXIV. + +Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by TICKNOR AND +FIELDS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of +Massachusetts. + +PRINTED BY SAM'L CHISM, Franklin Printing House, 112 Congress St., +Boston + +RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: STEREOTYPED BY H.O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +Ambassadors in Bonds _Caroline Chesebro_ +Annesley Hall and Newstead Abbey _Mrs. R.C. Waterston_ + +Beginning of the End, The _C.C. Hazewell_ +Bryant _G.S. Hillard_ + +California as a Vineland +Convulsionists of St. Médard, The _Robert Dale Owen_ +Cruise on Lake Ladoga, A _Bayard Taylor_ + +Fast-Day at Foxden, A +Fighting Facts for Fogies _C.C. Hazewell_ +First Visit to Washington, The _J.T. Trowbridge_ +Fouquet the Magnificent _F. Sheldon_ + +Genius _J. Brownlee Brown_ +Glacial Period _Prof. Louis Agassiz_ +Glaciers, External Appearance of _Prof. Louis Agassiz_ +Glen Roy, in Scotland, The Parallel Roads of _Prof. Louis Agassiz_ +Gold-Fields of Nova Scotia, The _Arthur Gilman_ +Guides, A Talk about _Maria S. Cummins_ + +Half-Life, A, and Half a Life _Miss E.H. Appleton_ +House and Home Papers _Harriet Beecher Stowe_ + +Irving, Washington _Donald G. Mitchell_ + +Life on the Sea Islands _Miss Forten_ + +Minister Plenipotentiary, The _O.W. Holmes_ +Mormons, Among the _Fitz-Hugh Ludlow_ +My Book _Gail Hamilton_ + +New-England Revolution of the Seventeenth Century, The, _J.G. Palfrey_ +Northern Invasions _E.E. Hale_ + +Old Bachelor, Some Account of the Early Life of an _Mrs. A.M. Diaz_ +Our Progressive Independence _O.W. Holmes_ +Our Soldiers _Mrs. Furness_ + +Peninsular Campaign, The _Lt.-Col. B.L. Alexander_ +Pictor Ignotus _Gail Hamilton_ +Presidential Election, The _C.C. Hazewell_ + +Queen of California, The _E.E. Hale_ + +Ray _Harriet E. Prescott_ +Relation of Art to Nature, On the _J. Eliot Cabot_ +Rim, The _Harriet E. Prescott_ +Robson _George Augustus Sala_ + +Schoolmaster's Story, The _Mrs. A.M. Diaz_ +Stephen Yarrow _Author of "Life in the Iron Mills"_ + +Thackeray, William Makepeace _Bayard Taylor_ +Types _William Winter_ + +Victory, How to Use _E.E. Hale_ + +Yo-Semite, Seven Weeks in the Great _Fitz-Hugh Ludlow_ + +Wet-Weather Work _Donald G. Mitchell_ + +Whittier _D.A. Wasson_ +Winthrop, Governor John, in Old England _G.E. Ellis_ + + +POETRY. + +Black Preacher, The _J.R. Lowell_ +Brother of Mercy, The _John G. Whittier_ + +Dante's "Paradiso," Three Cantos of _H.W. Longfellow_ + +Gold Hair _Robert Browning_ + +Kalif of Baldacca, The _H.W. Longfellow_ + +Last Charge, The _O.W. Holmes_ + +Memoriæ Positum R.G.S _J.R. Lowell_ +My Brother and I _J.T. Trowbridge_ + +Neva, The _Bayard Taylor_ + +On Picket Duty _Mrs. W.T. Johnson_ +Our Classmate _O.W. Holmes_ + +Planting of the Apple-Tree, The _W.C. Bryant_ +Presence _Alice, Gary_ +Prospice _Robert Browning_ + +Reaper's Dream, The _T.B. Read_ +Reënlisted _Lucy Larcom_ + +Shakspeare _O.W. Holmes_ +Snow _Elizabeth A.C. Akers_ +Snow-Man, The _C.J. Sprague_ +Song _Alice Cary_ + +To a Young Girl Dying _T.W. Parsons_ + +Under the Cliff _Robert Browning_ + +Wreck of Rivermouth, The _John G. Whittier_ + + +REVIEWS AND LITERACY NOTICES. + +Adams's Church Pastorals +Agassiz's Methods of Study in Natural History +Alger's Critical History of the Doctrine of a Future Life + +Boynton's History of West Point +Browning's Sordello, Strafford, Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day + +Craik's History of English Literature + +Draper's History of the Intellectual Development of Europe +Dream Children + +Foederalist, The, Dawson's Edition + +Gillett's Life and Times of Huss + +Hallam's Remains +Hannah Thurston + +Merivale's History of the Romans under the Empire +Mill's Principles of Political Economy +My Days and Nights on the Battle-field +My Farm of Edgewood + +Peculiar +Possibilities of Creation + +Ray's Mental Hygiene +Renan, De l'Origine du Langage + +Smiles's Industrial Biography +Spencer's Illustrations of Progress + +Thackeray's Roundabout Papers +Ticknor's Life of Prescott +Tuckerman's Poems +Tyndall on Heat + +Weiss's Life and Correspondence of Theodore Parker + + +RECENT AMERICAN PUBLICATIONS + + + + +THE + +ATLANTIC MONTHLY. + +A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS. + +VOL. XIII.--JANUARY, 1864--NO. LXXV. + +Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by TICKNOR AND +FIELDS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of +Massachusetts. + + * * * * * + +GOVERNOR JOHN WINTHROP IN OLD ENGLAND. + + +Our magazine was introduced to the world bearing on the cover of its +first number a vignette of the portraiture of the ever honored and +revered John Winthrop, first Governor of the Colony of Massachusetts +Bay. The effigies expressed a countenance, features, and a tone of +character in beautiful harmony with all that we know of the man, all +that he was and did. Gravity and loftiness of soul, tempered by a mild +and tender delicacy, depth of experience, resolution of purpose, native +dignity, acquired wisdom, and an harmonious equipoise of the robust +virtues and the winning graces have set their unmistakable tokens on +those lineaments. That vignette, after renewing from month to month +before our readers, for nearly four years, as gracious and fragrant a +memory as can engage the love of a New-England heart, gave place, in the +month of June, 1861, to the only emblem, no longer personal, which might +claim to supplant it. The national flag, during a struggle which has +seen its dignity insulted only to rouse and nerve the spirit which shall +vindicate its glory, has displaced that bearded and ruffed portraiture. + +The visitor to the Massachusetts State-House may see, hanging in its +Senate-Chamber, tolerably well preserved on its canvas, what is +believed, on trustworthy evidence, to be Vandyck's own painting of +Winthrop. Another portrait of him--not so agreeable to the eye, nor so +faithful, we are sure, to the original, yet reputed to date from the +lifetime of its subject--hangs in the Hall of the American Antiquarian +Society at Worcester. Those of our readers who have not lovingly pored +and paused over Mr. Savage's elaborately illustrated edition of Governor +Winthrop's Journal do not know what a profitable pleasure invites them, +whenever they shall have grace to avail themselves of it. But who that +knows John Winthrop through such materials of memory and such fruits of +high and noble service as up to this time have been accessible and +extant here has not longed for, and will not most heartily welcome, a +new contribution, coming by surprise, unlooked for, unhoped for even, +but yielding, from the very fountain-head, the means of a most intimate +converse with him in that period of his life till now wholly unrecorded +for us? We had known his character as displayed here. We have now a most +authentic and complete development of the process by which that +character was moulded and built abroad. The President of the +Massachusetts Historical Society has been privileged to do a service +which, with most rare felicity, embraces his indebtedness to his own +good name, to his official place, and to the city and State which have +invested him with so many of their highest honors. + +The Honorable Robert C. Winthrop, a descendant in the seventh generation +from our honored First Governor, seizing upon a brief vacation-interval +in the course of his high public service, made a visit to England in the +summer of 1847. He was naturally drawn towards his ancestral home at +Groton, in Suffolk. The borough itself, with its own due share of +historic interest, from men of mark and their deeds, is composed of one +of those clusters of villages which are sure in an English landscape to +have some charm in their picturesque combinations. The visitor had the +privilege of worshipping on a Sunday in the same parish church where his +ancestors, holding the right of presentation, had joined in the same +form of service, to whose font they had brought their children in +baptism, and at whose altar-rails they had stood for "the solemnization +of matrimony," and knelt in the office of communion. The second entry +made in the parish register, still retained in the vestry, records the +death of the head of the family in 1562. Outside the church, and close +against its walls, is the tomb of the Winthrop family, which, by a happy +coincidence, had just been repaired, as if ready to receive a visitor +from a land where tombs are not supposed to have the justification of +age for being dilapidated. The father, the grandfather, and perhaps the +great-grandfather of our John Winthrop were committed to that +repository. The family name and arms, with a Latin inscription in memory +of the parents of the Governor, are legible still, "_Beati sunt +pacifici_" is the benediction which either the choice of those who rest +beneath it, or the congenial tribute of some survivor, has selected to +close the epitaph. Only traces of the cellar of the mansion-house and of +its garden-plot are now visible to mark the home where the Chief +Magistrates of Massachusetts and Connecticut, father and son, had lived +together and had matured the "conclusions" on which they exiled +themselves. + +A monstrous and idle tradition, heard by the visitor, as he surveyed the +outlines of his ancestral home, prompted him to that labor of love which +he has so felicitously performed, and with such providential helps, in a +biography. The absurdity of the tradition, equally defiant as it is of +the consistencies of character and the facts of chronology, is a warning +to those who rely on these floating confoundings of fact and fiction, +which, as some one has said, "are almost as misleading as history." Two +hundred years and more had seen that manor-house deserted of its former +occupants. The neighboring residents had kept their name in remembrance, +more, probably, through the help of the tomb than of the dwelling. +Speculation and romance would deal with them as an extinct or an exiled +family. The story had become current on the spot, that the Winthrops +were regicides, and had fled to America, having, however, buried some +precious hoard of money about their premises before their flight. Our +author suggests the altogether likely idea that a suspicion might have +attached to him as having come over to search for that treasure. Little +may he have imagined what thoughts may have distracted the reverence of +some of his humble fellow-worshippers in Groton Church who whispered the +nature of his errand one to another. Our honored Governor and his son of +Connecticut had been near a score of years on this soil before Charles +I. was beheaded. Mr. Savage informs us that he was once asked by a +descendant of the father whether he had received before his death +tidings of the execution of his old master. The annotator is able to +quote a letter from Roger Williams, "to his honored kind friend, Mr. +John Winthrop at Nameag," [New London,] lettered on the back, "Mr. +Williams of ye high news about the king." This letter, conveying recent +tidings, was dated at Narragansett, June 26, 1649, two months after the +elder Winthrop had died in Boston. + +It was but natural that even the absurdity of the tradition lingering +around the traces of the Groton manor should have served, with other far +more constraining inducements, to excite in the visitor a purpose to +employ his first period of relief from official service in rendering an +act of public as well as of private obligation to the memory of his +progenitors,--especially as there existed no adequate and extended +biography, but only scattered and fragmentary memorials of them in our +copious literary stores. Happily for him, and surely to the highest +gratification of those who were to be his readers, materials most +abundant, and of the most authentic and self-revealing sort, in journals +and letters, were attainable, to give to the work essentially the +character of an autobiography, and that, too, of the most attractive +cast. A second visit of the author to England in 1859-60, and the most +opportune reception of a large collection of original papers, preserved +in another line of the Governor's descendants, put his fortunate +biographer in possession of the means for completing a work surpassed by +no similar volume known to us in the gracious attractions and in the +substantial interest of its contents. The book may safely rely for its +due reception upon the noble character, complete and harmonious in all +the virtues, and upon the eminent public services, of its subject. It +has other strong recommendations, affording, in style, method, and +spirit, a model for books of the same class, and embracing all those +paramount qualities of thoroughness, research, accuracy, good taste, +incidental illustration, and, above all, an appreciative spirit, which +stamp the worth of such labors. + +We must leave almost unnoticed the author's elaborate chapter on the +pedigree and the early history of the Winthrop family. He is content to +begin this side of those who "came over with the Conqueror," and to +accept for ancestry men and women untitled, of the sterling English +stock, delvers of the soil, and spinners of the fabrics of which it +affords the raw material. He finds almost his own full name introducing +a record on the Rolls of Court in the County of York for the year 1200. +Adam Winthrop, grandfather of our Governor, himself the father, as he +was also the son of other Adams, was born in Lavenham, Suffolk, October +9, 1498, six years after the discovery of this country by Columbus, and +in the same year in which occurred the voyage of Vespucius, who gave his +name to the continent. This second Adam Winthrop, at the age of +seventeen, went to London, binding himself as an apprentice for ten +years under the well-esteemed and profitable guild of the "clothiers," +or cloth-workers. At the expiration of his apprenticeship, in 1526, he +was sworn a citizen of London, and, after filling the subordinate +dignities of his craft, rose to the mastership of his company in 1551. +The Lordship of the Manor of Groton, at the dissolution of the +monasteries, was granted to Adam Winthrop in 1544. Retaining his +mercantile relations in the great city, and probably residing there at +intervals, he seated himself in landed dignity at his manor, and there +he died in 1562. His memorialist now holds in his possession the +original bronze plate which was put upon his tomb three hundred years +ago, and which was probably removed to give place to the new inscription +connected with the repairs already referred to. This ancient sepulchral +brass bears in quaint old English characters the following +inscription:--"Here lyeth Mr. Adam Wynthrop, Lorde & Patron of Groton, +whiche departed owt of this Worlde the IXth day of November, in the +yere of owre Lorde God MCCCCCLXII." His widow, who had been his second +wife, married William Mildmay; and his daughter Alice married Mr. +Mildmay's son Thomas, who, being afterwards knighted, secured to the +cloth-worker's daughter the title of "Lady Mildmay." In the cabinet of +the American Antiquarian Society at Worcester, the visitor, on the +asking, may be gratified with the sight and touch of a curious old relic +which will bring him almost into contact with a most agreeable +family-circle of the olden time. It is a serviceable posset-pot, with a +silver tip and lid, both of which are gilded, the cover, still playing +faithfully on its hinge, being chased with the device of Adam and Eve in +the garden partaking of the forbidden fruit. An accompanying record +reads as follows:--"At ye Feast of St. Michael, Ano. 1607, my Sister, +ye Lady Mildmay, did give me a Stone Pot, tipped & covered wth. a +Silver Lydd." How many comforting concoctions and compounds, alternating +with herb-drinks and medicated potions, may have been quaffed or +swallowed with wry face from that precious old cup, who can now tell? +Probably it ministered its more inviting contents to the elders of the +successive generations in the family, while it was known by the younger +members in their turn in connection with certain penalties for +overeating and chills got from hard play. While having the relic in +hand, the other day, the prompting was irresistible to bring it close to +the appropriate organ, to ascertain, if possible, what had been the +predominant character of its contents. But, faithful as the grave, it +would reveal no secrets; having parted with all transient and artificial +odors, it has resumed, as is most fitting, the smell of its parent +earth. + +The writer of that record accompanying the "Stone-Pot" with its "Silver +Lydd" was Adam Winthrop, father of our Governor, and son of the +last-mentioned Lord of Groton. This third Adam Winthrop--the sixth child +of his father's second wife, and the eleventh of his thirteen +children--was born in London, "in the street which is called Gracious," +(Grace-Church,) August 10, 1548. Losing his father at the age of +fourteen, he was early bred as a lawyer in London, but soon engaged in +agricultural interests at Groton, to the lordship of which he acceded by +a license of alienation from an elder brother. There are sundry +authentic relics and tokens of this good man which reveal to us those +traits of his character, and those ways and influences of his domestic +life, under the high-toned, yet most genial training of which his son +was educated to the great enterprise Providence intended for him. There +are even poetical pieces extant which prove that Adam sought intercourse +with the Muses by making advances on his own part, though we must +confess that he does not appear to have been fairly met half-way by that +capricious and fastidious sisterhood. Many of his almanacs and diaries, +with entries dating from 1595, and from which the author makes liberal +and interesting transcripts in an Appendix, have been happily preserved, +and have a grateful use to us. They help us to reconstruct an old home, +a pleasant one, in or near which three generations of a good stock lived +together after the highest pattern of an orderly, exemplary, prospered, +and pious household. We infer from many significant trifles, that, while +the old English comfort-loving, generous, and hospitable style prevailed +there, the severer spirit of Puritanism had not attained ascendancy. +Intercourse with the metropolis, though embarrassed with conditions +requiring some buffeting and hardship, was compensated by the zest of +adventure, and it was frequent enough to quicken the minds and to add to +the bodily comforts and refinements of the family. Adam Winthrop must +have been a fine specimen of the old English gentleman, with all of +native polish which courtly experiences might or might not have given +him, and with a simple, high-toned, upright, and neighborly spirit, +which made him an apt and a faithful administrator of a great variety of +trusts. His old Bible, now in the possession of Mr. George Livermore of +Cambridge, represented the divine presence and law in his household, +for all its members, parents and children, masters and servants. He +entertained hospitably his full share of "the godly preachers," who were +the wandering luminaries, and, in some respects, the angelic visitants +of those days. He was evidently a very patient listener to sermons, +though we have not the proof in any surviving notebooks of his that one +of his excellent son John's furnishes us, that he took pains to +transcribe the heads, the savory passages, and the textual attestations +of the elaborate, but utterly juiceless sermons of the time. The entries +in his almanacs afford a curious variety, in which interesting events of +public importance alternate with homely details touching the affairs of +his neighborhood and the incidents in the domestic life of his relatives +and acquaintance. One matter, as we shall soon see, on which a fact in +the life, of Governor Winthrop depends, finds an unexpected disclosure +from Adam's pen. Here are a few excerpts from these entries:--"1597. The +VIth of July I received a privie seale to lend the Q. matie [Elizabeth] +£XX. for a yere."--"1602. Sept. the 27th day in ye mornying the Bell +did goe for mother [a conventional epithet] Tiffeyn, but she recouered." +This decides a matter which has sometimes been disputed,--that, while +with us, in our old times, "the passing bell" indicated the progress of +a funeral train, anciently in England it signified that a soul was +believed to be passing from a body supposed to be _in extremis_. And a +doleful sound it must have been to those of whom it made a false report, +as of "mother Tiffeyn."--"_Decem._ ye XXI day my brother Alibaster came +to my house & toulde me yt he made certayne inglishe verses in his +sleepe, wh. he recited unto me, & I lent him XLs."--"1603 April ye +28th day was the funeralles kept at Westminster for our late Queene +Elizabethe."--"1603. On Munday ye seconde of Maye, one Keitley, a +blackesmythe, dwellinge in Lynton in Cambridgeshire, had a poore man to +his father whom he kepte. A gentleman of ye same Towne sent a horse to +shoe, the father held up the horses legge whilest his soonne did shoe +him. The horse struggled & stroke the father on ye belly with his foote +& overthrewe him. The soonne laughed thereat & woulde not helpe his +father uppe, for the which some that were present reproved him greatlye. +The soonne went forwarde in shoinge of ye horse, & when he had donne he +went uppon his backe, mynding to goe home with him. The horse presently +did throughe him of his backe against a poste & clave his hed in sonder. +Mistress Mannocke did knowe ye man, for his mother was her nurse. +_Grave judicium Dei in irrisorem patris sui_." These little scraps of +Latin, sometimes running into a distich, are frequent signs of a certain +classical proclivity of the writer. Any one who should infer, from the +good man's arbitrary mode of spelling many words, that he was an +illiterate person, would be grievously mistaken, in his ignorance of the +universal characteristic and license of that age in that matter. The +Queen herself was by no means so good a "speller," by our standard, as +was Adam Winthrop. The extraordinary way in which letters were then left +out of words where they were needed, and most lavishly multiplied where +no possible use could be made of them, is a phenomenon never accounted +for. + +Adam Winthrop was for several years auditor of the accounts of Trinity +and St. John's Colleges, Cambridge, and records his visits to the +University in the discharge of his duties. We have specimens of a +pleasant correspondence between him and his sister, Lady Mildmay, also +with his wife, marked by a sweet and gentle tone, the utterance of a +kindly spirit,--fragrant records of hearts once so warm with love. + +It must have been with supreme delight that Adam entered in his diary, +that on January 12, 1587, [January 22, 1588, N.S.,] was born his only +son, John, one of five children by his second wife. John came into the +world between the years that marked, respectively, the execution of +Mary, Queen of Scots, and the visit of the Spanish Armada. We can well +conceive under what gracious and godly influences he received his early +nurture. His mother died only one year before he, at the age of +forty-two, embarked for America, his father having not long preceded +her. Evidence abundant was in our possession that John Winthrop had +received what even now would be called a good education, and what in his +own time was a comparatively rare one. It had generally been taken for +granted, however, that he had never been a member of either of the +Universities. His present biographer tells us that long before +undertaking his present grateful task he had never been reconciled to +admit the inference which had been drawn from silence on this point. He +remembered, by references in his own reading, that by some oversight +there had been an omission of names in the Cambridge University Register +from June, 1589, to June, 1602, and that no admissions were recorded +earlier than 1625. John Winthrop might, therefore, have at least "gone +to college," if he had not "gone through college." His biographer had +also noticed in the Governor's "Christian Experience," drawn up and +signed by him in New England on his forty-ninth birthday, 1636-7, an +allusion to his having been at Cambridge when "about 14 yrs of age," and +having had a lingering fever there. An entry in the records of his +father must have been a most grateful discovery to the Governor's +descendant in the seventh generation. "1602. The 2d of December I rode +to Cambridge. The VIIIth day John my soonne was admitted into Trinitie +College." But the old mystery vanishes only to give place to another, +which has a spice of romance in it. John Winthrop did not graduate at +Cambridge. He was a lawful husband when seventeen years of age, and a +happy father at eighteen. + +In a time-stained and most precious document from his pen and from his +heart, relating his religious experience, to be referred to more +particularly by-and-by, he charges himself in his youth with grievous +sin. What we know of his whole life and character would of itself forbid +us to accept literally his severe self-judgment, much more to draw from +his language the inference which like language would warrant, if used in +our times. Those who have even but a superficial acquaintance with +religious diaries, especially with such as date from near that age, need +not be told that their writers, when sincerely devout by the Puritan +standard, aimed to search and judge their own hearts and lives with all +that penetrating, self-revealing, unsparing scrutiny and severity which +they believed were turned upon them by the all-seeing eye of infinite +purity. They wished to anticipate the Great Tribunal, and to avert the +surprise of any new disclosure there by admitting to themselves while +still in the flesh the worst that it could pronounce against them. Men +and women who before the daily companions and witnesses of their lives +would stand stoutly, and honestly too, in self-defence against all +imputations, and might even boast themselves--as St. Paul did--of a +surplusage of merits of some sort, when registering the barometer and +the thermometer of their religious experience were the most unrelenting +self-accusers. It is safe to say, as a general thing, that those who in +that introspection, in the measurement of their heats and chills of +piety, grieved most deeply and found the most ingenious causes for +self-infliction were either the most calculating hypocrites or the most +truly godly. To which of the two classes any one particular individual +might belong could not always be infallibly concluded from what he +wrote. That comfort-loving and greed-indulging, yet picturesque, old +sinner, Samuel Pepys, Esq., did not profess to keep a religious diary. +But many such diaries have been kept by men who might have covered +alternate pages with matter similar to his own, or with worse. We must +interpret the religious diaries of that age by aids independent of +those which their contents furnish us. John Winthrop, writing of his +youth when he had grown to the full exalted stature of Christian +manhood, and though sweetly mellowed in the graces of his character by +genial ripening from within his soul, was still a Puritan of the +severest standard theologically, and, by principle, charges himself with +heinous sin. We feel assured that he was not only guiltless of any folly +or error that would deserve such a designation, but that he even +overstated the degree of his addiction to the lighter human faults. Only +after such a preliminary assertion of incredulity as to any literal +truth in them, could we consent to copy his own words, as follows:--"In +my youth I was very lewdly disposed, inclining unto & attempting (so far +as my heart enabled me) all kinds of wickedness, except swearing & +scorning religion, wh. I had no temptation unto in regard of my +education. About ten years of age I had some notions of God: for, in +some frighting or danger, I have prayed unto God, & found manifest +answer: ye remembrance whereof, many years after, made me think that +God did love me: but it made me no whit the better. After I was twelve +years old, I began to have some more savor of religion: & I thought I +had more understanding in divinity than many of my years," etc. Yes, he +evidently had. And though the kind of "divinity" which had trained his +soul was of a grim sort, his own purity and gentleness of spirit +softened it while accepting it. He adds,--"Yet I was still very wild & +dissolute: & as years came on, my lusts grew stronger, but yet under +some restraint of my natural reason, whereby I had that command of +myself that I could turn into any form. I would, as occasion required, +write letters, &c. of mere vanity; & if occasion was, I could write +savoury & godly counsel." Seeing, however, that he was made a Justice of +the Peace when eighteen years of age, the inference is a fair one--his +own self-accusation to the contrary notwithstanding--that he was known +in his own neighborhood as a youth of extraordinary excellence of +character. + +It would appear from the entries in his father's diaries that he was a +member of college some eighteen months. Why he left before completing +his course is to find its explanation for us either in the extreme +sickness before referred to as visited upon him there, or in the +agreeable "change in his condition," as the awkward and sheepish phrase +is, which immediately followed. The latter alternative leaves scope and +offers temptations for such inventiveness of fancy about details and +incidents, whys and wherefores, as the absence of all but the following +stingy revelations may justify. The good Adam, after recording, in +November, 1604, and in the ensuing March, two mysterious rides with his +son, has left, this, under date of March 28th, 1605:--"My soonne was +sollemly contracted to Mary Foorth, by Mr. Culverwell minister of Greate +Stambridge in Essex _cum consensu parentum_." Another ride into Essex, +this time by the son alone, is entered under April 9th, and then on the +16th his marriage, "_Ætatis suæ 17 [annis] 3 mensibus et 4 diebus +completis_." This reads pleasantly:--"The VIIIth of May my soonne & his +wife came to Groton from London, & ye IXth I made a marriage feaste, +when Sr. Thomas Mildmay & his lady my sister were present. The same day +my sister Veysye came to me, & departed on ye 24th of Maye. My dawter +Fones came the VIIIth & departed home ye XXIIId of Maye." An +expeditious closing up, with honey-moon and marriage-feast, of an +evident love-passage, whose longer or shorter antecedents are not +revealed. The biographer leaves his readers their choice of assigning +the abrupt close of the college course of John Winthrop either to his +grievous sickness, or to his love for Mary Forth, daughter and sole heir +of John Forth, Esq., of Great Stambridge. We incline rather to the +latter alternative as the stronger one, inasmuch as love for Mary may +not only have been the direct cause of his loathing Cambridge, but may +even have been the cause of his sickness, which in that case becomes so +secondary a cause as hardly to be a cause at all. One thing is certain: +our honored Puritan ancestors had no scruples against short engagements, +early marriages, or rematings as often as circumstances favored. + +The young bridegroom himself, in the record of his experience, which we +quote again for another purpose, reserves the confession of any haste on +his own part to enter the married state, and would seem delicately to +insinuate parental influence in the case. "About eighteen years of age, +being a man in stature & understanding, as my parents conceived me, I +married into a family under Mr. Culverwell his ministry in Essex, &, +living there sometimes, I first found ye ministry of the word come home +to my heart with power (for in all before I found only light): & after +that, I found ye like in ye ministry of many others: so as there began +to be some change: wh. I perceived in myself, & others took notice of." + +Six children were born to John Winthrop and his first wife,--three sons +and three daughters. John, the eldest of these, afterwards Governor of +Connecticut, was born February 22, 1606. Mary, the only one of the +daughters surviving infancy, also came to this country, and married a +son of Governor Thomas Dudley. In less than eleven years after her +marriage, Mary Forth died, the husband being not yet twenty-eight years +old, and the eldest child but nine. + +The earliest record of his religious experience appears to have been +made under date of 1606. Read with the allowances and abatements to +which reference has already been made, all that this admirable man has +left for us of this self-revelation--little dreaming that it would have +such readers--is profoundly interesting and instructive, when estimated +from a right point of view and with any degree of congeniality of +spirit. Those who are familiar with his published New-England Journal +have already recognized in him a man of a simple and humble spirit, of a +grave, but not a gloomy temperament, kindly in his private estimate and +generous in his public treatment of others, most unselfish, and rigidly +upright. The noble native elements of his character, and the peculiar +tone and style of the piety under which his religious experience was +developed, mutually reacted upon each other, the result being that his +natural virtues were refined and spiritualized, while the morbid and +superstitious tendencies of his creed were to a degree neutralised. He +seems to refer the _crisis_ in his religious experience to a date +immediately following upon his first marriage. But, as we shall see, a +repeated trial in the furnace of sharp affliction deepened and enriched +that experience. He tells us that during those happy years of his first +marriage he had proposed to himself a change from the legal profession +to the ministry. By a second marriage, December 6, 1615, to Thomasine +Clopton, of a good family in the neighborhood, he had the promise of +renewed joy in a condition which his warm-hearted sociability and his +intense fondness for domestic relations made essential to his happiness, +if not to his virtue. But one single year and one added day saw her and +her infant child committed to the tomb, and made him again desolate. His +biographer, not without misgivings indeed, but with a deliberation and +healthfulness of judgment which most of his readers will approve as +allowed to overrule them, has spread before us at length, from the most +sacred privacy of the stricken mourner, heart-exercises and scenes in +the death-chamber, such as engage with most painful, but still +entrancing sympathy, the very soul of the reader. We know not where, in +all our literature, to find matter like this, so bedewed and steeped in +tenderness, so swift in its alternations between lacerating details and +soothing suggestions. The author has put into print all that remains of +the record of John Winthrop's "Experience," in passages written +contemporaneously with its incidents,--a document distinct from the +record of his "Christian Experience," written here. The account of +Thomasine's death-bed exercises, as deciphered from the perishing +manuscript, must, we think, stand by itself, either for criticism, or +for the defiance of criticism. What we have had of similar scenes only +in fragments, and as seen though veils, is here in the fulness of all +that can harrow or comfort the human heart, spread before us clear of +any withholding. It was the same year in which Shakspeare died, in a +house built by Sir Hugh Clopton, a member of the same family-connection +with Thomasine. Hour by hour, almost minute by minute, the stages of her +transition are reported with infinite minuteness. Her own prayers, and +those of a steady succession of religious friends, are noted; the +melting intonations of her own utterances of anxiety or peace; the +parting counsels or warnings addressed to her dependants; the last +breathings of affection to those dearest; the occasional aberrations and +cloudings of intelligence coming in the progress of her disease, which +were assigned to temptations from Satan: all these are given to us. "Her +feaver increased very violently upon hir, wh. the Devill made advantage +of to moleste hir comforte, but she declaringe unto us with what +temptations the devill did assault hir, bent hirselfe against them, +prayinge with great vehemence for Gods helpe, & that he would not take +away his lovinge kindnesse from hir, defyinge Satan, & spitting at him, +so as we might see by hir setting of hir teethe, & fixinge her eyes, +shakinge hir head & whole bodye, that she had a very greatt conflicte +with the adversarye." The mourner follows this scene to its close. +Having transfigured all its dreariest passages with the kindling glow of +his own undismayed faith, he lets his grateful spirit crown it with a +sweet peace, and then he pays a most tender tribute to the gentle +loveliness, fidelity, and Christian excellence of her with whom he had +shared so true, though so brief, a joy. + +This renewed affliction is turned by the still young sufferer to uses +which should assure and intensify his piety according to the best +Puritan type of it. He continues his heart-record. He subjects his mode +of life, his feelings, habits and aims, the material of his daily food, +and the degree of his love for various goods, as they are to be measured +by a true scale, to the most rigid tests. He spares himself in nothing. +The Bible does him as direct a service in rebuke and guidance as if +every sentence in it had been written for himself. It is interesting to +note that the quotations from it are from a version that preceded our +own. His rules of self-discipline and spiritual culture, while wholly +free from unwholesome asceticism, nevertheless required the curbing of +all desires, and the utter subjection of every natural prompting to a +crucial test, before its innocent or edifying character could pass +unchallenged. + +Vain would be the attempt in our generation to make Puritanism lovely or +attractive. Its charms were for its original and sincere disciples, and +do not survive them. There is no fashion of dress or furniture which may +not be revived, and, if patronized as fashion, be at least tolerated. +But for Puritanism there is no restoration. Its rehabilitated relics do +not produce their best influence in any attempt to attract our +admiration,--which they cannot do,--but in engaging our hearts' tolerant +respect and confidence towards those who actually developed its +principles at first-hand, its original disciples, who brought it into +discredit afterwards by the very fidelity of their loyalty to it. +Puritanism is an engaging and not offensive object to use, when regarded +as the characteristic of only one single generation of men and women and +children. It could not pass from that one generation into another +without losing much of what grace it had, and acquiring most odious and +mischievous elements. Entailed Puritanism being an actual impossibility, +all attempts to realize it, all assumptions of success in it, have the +worst features of sham and hypocrisy. The diligent students of the +history and the social life of our own colonial days know very well what +an unspeakable difference there was, in all that makes and manifests +characters and dispositions, between the first comers here and the first +native-born generation, and how painfully that difference tells to the +discredit of the latter. The tap-roots of Puritanism struck very deep, +and drew the sap of life vigorously. They dried very soon; they are now +cut; and whatever owed its life exclusively to them has withered and +must perish. A philosophy of Nature and existence now wholly discredited +underlay the fundamental views and principles of Puritanism. The early +records of our General Court are thickly strown with appointments of +Fast-Days that the people might discover the especial occasion of God's +anger toward them, manifested in the blight of some expected harvest, or +in a scourge upon the cattle in the field. Some among us who claim to +hold unreduced or softened the old ancestral faith have been twice in +late years convened in our State-House, by especial call, to legislate +upon the potato-disease and the pleuro-pneumonia among our herds. Their +joint wisdom resulted in money-appropriations to discover causes and +cures. The debates held on these two occasions would have grievously +shocked our ancestors. But are there any among us who could in full +sincerity, with logic and faith, have stood for the old devout theory of +such visitations? + +But if it would be equally vain and unjust to attempt to make Puritanism +lovely to ourselves,--a quality which its noblest disciples did not +presume to make its foremost attraction,--there is all the more reason +why we should do it justice in its original and awfully real presentment +in its single generation of veritable discipleship. What became +drivelling and cant, presumption and bigotry, pretence and hypocrisy, as +soon as a fair trial had tested it, was in the hearts, the speech, the +convictions, and the habits of a considerable number of persons in one +generation, the most thoroughly honest and earnest product of all the +influences which had trained them. We read the heart-revelations of John +Winthrop with the profoundest confidence, and even with a constraining +sympathy. We venture to say that when this book shall be consulted, +through all time to come, for the various uses of historical, religious, +or literary illustration, not even the most trifling pen will ever turn +a single sentence from its pages to purposes of levity or ridicule. Here +we have Puritanism at first-hand: the original, unimitated, and +transient resultant of influences which had been working to produce it, +and which would continue their working so as to insure modifications of +it. Winthrop notes it for a special Providence that his wife discovered +a loathsome spider in the children's porridge before they had partaken +of it. His religious philosophy stopped there. He did not put to himself +the sort of questions which open in a train to our minds from any one +observed fact, else he would have found himself asking after the special +Providence which allowed the spider to fall into the porridge. His +friend and successor in high-magistracy in New England, Governor John +Endecott, wrote him a letter years afterward which is so characteristic +of the faith of both of them that we will make free use of it. The +letter is dated Salem, July 28th, 1640, and probably refers to the +disaster by which the ship Mary Rose "was blown in pieces with her own +powder, being 21 barrels," in Charlestown harbor, the day preceding.[A] + + "DEAREST SIR,--Hearing of ye remarkable stroake of Gods + hand uppon ye shippe & shippes companie of Bristoll, as also of + some Atheisticall passages & hellish profanations of ye Sabbaths + & deridings of ye people & wayes of God, I thought good to desire + a word or two of you of ye trueth of what you have heard. Such an + extraordinary judgement would be searched into, what Gods meaninge + is in it, both in respect of those whom it concernes more + especiallie in England, as also in regard of ourselves. God will + be honred in all dealings. We have heard of severall ungodlie + carriadges in that ship, as, first, in their way overbound they + wld. constantlie jeere at ye holy brethren of New England, & some + of ye marineer's would in a scoffe ask when they should come to + ye holie Land? 2. After they lay in the harbor Mr. Norice sent to + ye shippe one of our brethren uppon busines, & hee heard them + say, This is one of ye holie brethren, mockinglie & + disdainefullie. 3. That when some have been with them aboard to + buy necessaries, ye shippe men would usuallie say to some of them + that they could not want any thinge, they were full of ye + Spiritt. 4. That ye last Lords Day, or ye Lords Day before, + there were many drinkings aboard with singings & musick in tymes + of publique exercise. 5. That ye last fast ye master or captaine + of the shippe, with most of ye companie, would not goe to ye + meetinge, but read ye booke of common prayer so often over that + some of ye company said hee had worne that threed-bare, with many + such passages. Now if these or ye like be true, as I am persuaded + some of them are, I think ye trueth heereof would be made knowen, + by some faithfull hand in Bristoll or else where, for it is a very + remarkable & unusuall stroake," etc., etc. + +Governor Winthrop, who was a man of much milder spirit than Endecott, +faithfully records this judgment, under its date in his Journal, with +additional particulars. The explosion took place "about dinner time, no +man knows how, & blew up all, viz. the captain, & nine or ten of his +men, & some four or five strangers. There was a special providence that +there were no more, for many principal men were going aboard at that +time, & some were in a boat near the ship, & others were diverted by a +sudden shower of rain, & others by other occasions." The good Governor +makes this startling record the occasion for mentioning "other examples +of like kind." Yet the especial providential significance which both he +and Endecott could assign to such a calamity would need a readjustment +in its interpretation, if compelled to take in two other conditions +under which the mysterious ways of that Providence are manifested, +namely: first, that many ships on board which there have been no such +profane doings have met with similar disaster; and second, that many +ships on board which there has been more heinous sinning have escaped +the judgment. + +But, as we have said, Puritanism was temporarily consistent with the +philosophy of life and Nature for one age. It held no divided sway over +John Winthrop, but filled his heart, his mind, and his spirit. If, by +its influence over any one human being, regarded as an unqualified, +unmodified style of piety, demanding entire allegiance, and not yielding +to any mitigation through the tempering qualities of an individual,--if, +of itself and by itself, Puritanism could be made lovely to us, John +Winthrop might well be charged with that exacting representative office. +We repeat, that we have no abatement to make of our exalted regard for +him through force of a single sentence from his pen. Most profoundly are +we impressed by the intensity and thoroughness of conviction, the +fulness and frankness of avowal, and the delicate and fervent +earnestness of self-consecration, which make these ancient oracles of a +human heart fragrant with the odor of true piety. He uses no hackneyed +terms, no second-hand or imitated phrases. His language, as well as his +thoughts, his method, and ideal standard, are purely his own. Indeed, we +might set up and sustain for him a claim of absolute individuality, if +not even of originality, in the standard of godliness and righteousness +which he fashioned for himself, and then with such zeal and heroism +sought to attain. + +Entering a third time the married state, John Winthrop, in April, 1618, +took to wife Margaret, daughter of Sir John Tyndal. The clouds, which +had gathered so deeply in repeated bereavement and gloom over his +earlier years of domestic life, yielded now, and left alike the sky and +the horizon of his prospects, to give place soon to the anxieties of +grave enterprises, which animated while they burdened his spirit. This +excellent and brave-hearted lady, as she opens her soul, and almost +reveals what must have been a sweet and winning countenance, to the +reader of her own letters in these pages, will henceforward be one of +the enshrined saints of the New-England calendar. Little did she dream +at her marriage what a destiny was before her. There was in store for +her husband nearly thirty years of the truest heart-love and the closest +sympathy in religious trust and consecration with her. We may anticipate +our narrative at this point, to say that her situation did not allow her +to accompany him on his own removal to this side of the ocean, but she +followed him a year and a half afterwards, arriving in November, 1631, +with his eldest son and others of his children, having lost on the +voyage an infant whom he had probably never seen. Her death, in a +prevailing sickness, June 14, 1647, drew from her husband this tribute +to her:--"In this sickness the Governour's wife, daughter of Sir John +Tindal, Knight, left this world for a better, being about fifty-six +years of age: a woman of singular virtue, prudence, modesty, & piety & +specially beloved & honored of all the country." Though in the December +of the same year we find the Governor again married, now to the Widow +Martha Coytemore, we refer the incident to wilderness-straits and the +exactions of necessity or expediency in domestic life. + +But we must return to Margaret, the bride. It seems that there was some +objection offered to Winthrop's suit by the lady's relatives. In one of +the two charming letters which are preserved as written during his +courtship to her, he refers to some "unequall conflicte" which she had +to bear. These two letters, with one addressed to the lady by Father +Adam, are unique as specimens of Puritan love-making. Solomon's Song is +here put to the best use for which it is adapted, its only safe use. + +The family-letters, which now increase in number, and vastly in their +cheerfulness and radiance of spirit, and the birth of more children, +present to us the most captivating glimpses of the English life of our +first Chief Magistrate. From a will which he made in Groton in 1620, of +course superseded after his change of country, it appears that he had +then five sons and one daughter. The Lordship of Groton had been +assigned to him by his father. This was the year of the hegira of the +Plymouth Pilgrims, but we have as yet no intimation that Winthrop was +looking in this direction. + +For more than a decade of years the family-history now passes on, for +the most part placidly, interspersed with those incidents and anxieties +which give alike the charm and the import to the routine of existence to +any closely knit fellowships sharing it together. Enough of the fragrant +old material, in fast decaying papers, has come to light and been +transcribed for security against all future risks, to preserve to us a +fair restoration of the lights and shades of that domestic experience. +Time has dealt kindly in sparing a variety of specimens, so as to give +to that restoration a kaleidoscopic character. Winthrop's frequent +visits to London, on his professional errands, gave occasion to constant +correspondence between him and his wife, and so we have epistles +burdened with the intensities and refinements of the purest affection. +An occasional reference to church affairs by the Patron of Groton, with +extracts from the record of his religious experience, continue for us +the evidence that Winthrop was growing and deepening in the roots of +his noble style of life. His piety evidently ripened and mellowed into +the richest fruitage which any form of theological or devotional faith +can produce. A severe and wellnigh fatal illness in London, which he +concealed from his wife at Groton till its crisis was past, was made by +him the occasion, as of many other good resolutions, so also of a +renouncement of the use of tobacco, in which, by his own account, he, +like many men as well as women at that time, had gone to excess. His +good wife, though positively enjoined by him not to venture upon the +winter's journey, in the letter which communicated to her the first +tidings of his illness, immediately went to him in the great city, +attended only by a female servant. In a previous malady from which he +had suffered severely in one of his hands while at home, his son John, +in London, had consulted in his behalf one of the helpful female +practitioners of the time, and the correspondence relating to her +advice, her ointments, and their efficacy, gives us some curiously +illustrative matter in the history of the healing art. The good woman +was sure that she could at once cure her patient, if he could be beneath +her hands. She would receive no compensation. + +A mystery has attached to a certain "office" which Winthrop held in +London, and to which, in one of his previously published letters, he +referred as having lost it. It now appears that that office was an +Attorneyship of the Court of Wards and Liveries, an honorable and +responsible trust. Its duties, with other provisional engagements, +separated him so much from his home at one period, that he meditated the +removal of his family from Groton. His wife's letters on the subject are +delightful revelations of confidences. It is still only by inference +that we can assign the loss of his office, to the business of which we +have many references, to any especial cause. It may have been +surrendered by him because he longed for more home-life, or because the +growing spirit of discontent and apprehension as to the state of public +affairs, which he shared with so many of his friends, made him obnoxious +to the controlling heads in civil life. + +We have also some admirable specimens of his correspondence with his son +John, who, after his preliminary education at the school at Bury St. +Edmund's, became, in 1622, in his seventeenth year, a member of Trinity +College, Dublin, near his uncle and aunt Downing, parents of the famous +Sir George Downing. These are beautiful and wise and generous +expressions of a father's love and advice and dealings with a son, +exposed to temptation at a critical age, and giving promise of the +abilities and virtues which he afterwards exhibited so nobly as Governor +of Connecticut. In one of the letters, to which the father asks replies +in Latin, he writes, "I will not limit your allowance less than to ye +uttermost of mine own estate. So as, if £20 be too little (as I always +accounted it), you shall have £30; & when that shall not suffice, you +shall have more. Only hold a sober & frugal course (yet without +baseness), & I will shorten myself to enlarge you." In another letter +there is this fit commemoration of his father, Adam, dying at the age of +seventy-five:--"I am sure, before this, you have knowledge of that wh., +at the time when you wrote, you were ignorant of: viz., the departure of +your grandfather (for I wrote over twice since). He hath finished his +course: & is gathered to his people in peace, as the ripe corn into the +barn. He thought long for ye day of his dissolution, & welcomed it most +gladly. Thus is he gone before; & we must go after, in our time. This +advantage he hath of us,--he shall not see ye evil wh. we may meet with +ere we go hence. Happy those who stand in good terms with God & their +own conscience: they shall not fear evil tidings: & in all changes they +shall be ye same." + +There are likewise letters to the student at Dublin from his brother +Forth, who succeeded him at the school at St. Edmund's. It is curious to +note in these epistles of the school-boy the indifferent success of his +manifestly sincere effort to use the technical language of Puritanism +and to express its aims and ardors. The youth evidently feels freer when +writing of the fortunes of some of his school-mates. This same Forth +Winthrop became in course a student at Cambridge, and we have letters to +his father, carried by the veritable Hobson immortalized by Milton. + +The younger John went, on graduating, to London, to fit himself for the +law. His name is found on the books as admitted to the Inner Temple in +1624. He appears early to have cherished some matrimonial purposes which +did not work felicitously. Not liking his profession, he turned his +thoughts toward the sea. He obtained a secretaryship in the naval +service, and joined the expedition under the Duke of Buckingham, +designed to relieve the French Protestants at Rochelle, in 1627. He +afterwards made an Oriental tour, of the stages of which we have some +account in his letters, in 1628-9, from Leghorn, Constantinople, etc. He +was thwarted in a purpose to visit Jerusalem, and returned to England, +by Holland. Notwithstanding the industrious fidelity of his father as a +letter-writer, the son received no tidings from home during his whole +absence of nearly fifteen months. What a contrast with our times! + +Before undertaking this Oriental tour, the younger John had had +proposals made to him, which seem to have engaged his own inclinations, +to connect himself with Endecott's New-England enterprise. He wrote to +consult the wishes of his father on the subject; but that father, who in +less than two years was to find himself pledged to a more comprehensive +scheme, involving a life-long exile in that far-off wilderness, +dissuaded his son from the premature undertaking. It does not appear +that the father had as yet presented to his mind the possibility of any +such step. Yet, from the readiness which marked his own earnest and +complete sympathy in the enterprise when first we find him concerned in +it, we must infer that he had much previous acquaintance and sympathy +with the early New-England adventurers from the moment that a religious +spirit became prominent in their fellowship. He was a man who undertook +no great work without the most careful deliberation, and a slow maturing +of his decision. + +During the absence of John at the East, many interesting and serious +incidents occurred in the personal experience and in the domestic +relations of his father, which doubtless helped the preparation of his +spirit for the critical event of his life. He had that severe and +threatening illness in London already referred to. We have many letters +covering the period, filled with matter over which, as so full of what +is common to the human heart in all time, we linger with consenting +sympathy. A wayward and unconverted son, Henry by name, caused his +father an anxiety which we see struggling painfully with parental +affection and a high-toned Christian aim for all the members of his +family. The son's course indicated rather profitlessness and +recklessness than vice. He connected himself with an enterprise at +Barbadoes. He drew heavily on his father's resources for money, and +returned him some tobacco, which the father very frankly writes to him +was "very ill-conditioned, foul, & full of stalks, & evil-colored." He +came over in the same expedition, though not in the same ship, with his +father, and was accidentally drowned at Salem, July 2, 1630. In the +first letter which the good Governor wrote to his wife after his landing +here, dated "Charlestown, July 16, 1630," are these sentences:--"We have +met with many sad & discomfortable things, as thou shalt hear after; & +ye Lord's hand hath been heavy upon myself in some very near to me. My +son Henry! my son Henry! ah, poor child!" While the father was writing +from London to this son, then supposed to be at Barbadoes, he had other +matters of anxiety. His endeared brother-in-law, Fones, died, April 15, +1629, and four days afterwards Winthrop was called to part, at Groton, +with his venerated mother, who died under the roof where she had lived +so happily and graciously with his own family in his successive sorrows +and delights. + +The loss or resignation of his office, with the giving up of his +law-chamber in London, and his evident premonitions of the sore troubles +in affairs of Church and State which were soon to convulse his native +land, doubtless guided him to a decision, some of the stages and +incidents of which have left no record for us. Enough, however, of the +process may still be traced among papers which have recently come to +light, to open to us its inner workings, and to explain its development. +A ride with his brother Downing into Lincolnshire, July 28, 1629, finds +an entry in Winthrop's "Experiences," that it may mark his gratitude to +the Providence which preserved his life, when, as he writes, "my horse +fell under me in a bogge in the fennes, so as I was allmost to ye +waiste in water." Beyond all doubt this ride was taken by the +sympathizing travellers on a prearranged visit to Isaac Johnson, another +of the New-England worthies, at Sempringham, on business connected with +the Massachusetts enterprise. But the first recovered and extant +document which proves that Winthrop was committing himself to the great +work is a letter of his son John's, dated London, August 21, 1629, in +reply to one from his father, which, it is evident from the tenor of the +answer, had directly proposed the embarking of the interest of the whole +family in the enterprise. A certain mysterious paper of "Conclusions," +referred to by the son, had been inclosed in the father's letter, which +appears to be irrecoverable. There has been much discussion, with rival +and contested claims and pleas, as to the authorship of that most +valuable and critical document containing the propositions for the +enterprise, with reasons and grounds, objections and answers. Our author +urges, with force of arguments and the evidence of authentic papers, +entirely to our satisfaction, that John Winthrop was essentially and +substantially the digester and exponent of those pregnant +considerations. The correspondence which follows proves how +conscientiously the enterprise was weighed, and the reasons and +objections debated. Godly ministers were consulted for their advice and +coöperation. No opposition or withholding of any shade or degree would +seem to have been made by any member of Winthrop's family; his gentle, +meek-hearted, but most heroic and high-souled wife, being, from first to +last, his most cordial sympathizer and ally. We next find him entering +into the decisive "Agreement," at Cambridge, with eleven other of the +foremost adventurers to New England, which pledged them "to inhabit and +continue there." It was only after most protracted, and, we may be sure, +most devout deliberation, that the great decision was made, which +involved the transfer of the patent, the setting up of a self-governing +commonwealth on the foreign soil, and the committal of those who were to +be its members to a life-long and exacting undertaking, from which there +were to be no lookings-back. A day was appointed for the company to +meet, on which two committees were chosen, to weigh and present with +full force, respectively, the reasons for a removal, and the reasons +against it. The "show of hands," when these committees reported, fixed +the purpose of the company on what they did not hesitate to believe was +the leading of Providence. + +From that moment we find Winthrop busy with cares and efforts of the +most exacting character, drawing upon all his great energies, and +engaging the fondest devotion of his manly and Christian heart. He gave +himself, without stint or regret, with an unselfish and supreme +consecration, to the work, cherishing its great aim as the matter of his +most earnest piety, and attending to its pettiest details with a +scrupulous fidelity which proved that conscience found its province +there. We seem almost to be made spectators of the bustle and fervor of +the old original Passover scenes of the Hebrew exodus. It is refreshing +to pause for a moment over a touch of our common humanity, which we meet +by the way. Winthrop in London "feeds with letters" the wife from whom +he was so often parted. In one of them he tells her that he has +purchased for her the stuff for a "gowne" to be sent by the carrier, and +he adds, "Lett me knowe what triminge I shall send for thy gowne." But +Margaret, who could trust her honored husband in everything else, was a +woman still, and must reserve, not only the rights of her sex, but the +privilege of her own good taste for the fitnesses of things. So she +guardedly replies,--in a postscript, of course,--"When I see the cloth, +I will send word what triminge will serve." In a modest parenthesis of +another letter to her, dated October 29, 1629, he speaks of himself, as +if all by the way, as "beinge chosen by ye Company to be their +Governor." The circumstances of his election and trust, so honorable and +dignified, are happily told with sufficient particularity on our own +Court Records. Governor Cradock, his honored predecessor, not intending +immediate emigration, put the proposition, and announced the result +which gave him such a successor. + +Attending frequently upon meetings of the Company, and supervising its +own business as well as his private affairs, all having in view what +must then have been in the scale of the time a gigantic undertaking, +full of vexations and embarrassments, Winthrop seizes upon a few days of +crowded heart-strugglings to make his last visit at the dear homestead, +and then to take of it his eternal farewell. How lovingly and admiringly +do we follow him on his way from London, taking his last view of those +many sweet scenes which were thenceforward to embower in his memory all +the joys of more than forty years! He did not then know for what a +rugged landscape, and for what uncouth habitations, he was to exchange +those fair scenes and the ivy-clad and -festooned churches and cottages +of his dear England. His wife, for reasons of prudence, was to remain +for a while with some of his children, beside his eldest son, and was to +follow him when he had made fit preparation for her. His last letters to +her (and each of many was written as the last, because of frequent +delays) after the embarkation of the company, are gems and jewels of a +heart which was itself the pure shrine of a most fond and faithful love. +His leave-taking at Groton was at the end of February, 1630; his +embarkation was on March 22. The ships were weather-bound successively +at Cowes and at Yarmouth, whence were written those melting epistles. A +letter which he wrote to Sir William Spring, one of the Parliamentary +members from Suffolk, a dear religions friend of his, overflows with an +ardor and intenseness of affection which passes into the tone and +language of feminine endearment, and fashions passages from the Song of +Solomon into prayers. One sentence of that letter keeps sharp its +lacerating point for the reader of to-day. "But I must leave you all: +our farewells usually are pleasant passages; mine must be sorrowful; +this addition of forever is a sad close." And it was to be forever. +Winthrop was never to see his native land again. Many of his associates +made one or more homeward voyages. A few of them returned to resume +their English citizenship in those troublous times which invited and +exercised energies like those which had essayed to tame a wilderness. +But the great and good leader of his blessed exodus never found the +occasion, we know not that he ever felt the prompting, to recross the +ocean. The purpose of his life and soul was a unit in its substance and +consecration, and it had found its object. For nineteen years, most of +them as Governor, and always as the leading spirit and the recognized +Moses of the enterprise, he was spared to see the planting and the +building-up which subdued the wilderness and reared a commonwealth. He +had most noble and congenial associates in the chief magistrates of the +other New-England colonies. Bradford and Winslow of Plymouth, Eaton of +New Haven, his own son and Haynes and Hopkins of Connecticut, and +Williams of Providence Plantations, were all of them men of signal +virtue. They have all obtained a good report, and richly and eminently +do they deserve it. They were, indeed, a providential galaxy of +pure-hearted, unspotted, heroic men. There is a mild and sweet beauty in +the star of Winthrop, the lustre of which asks no jealous or rival +estimation. + + * * * * * + +THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE-TREE. + + + Come, let us plant the apple-tree! + Cleave the tough greensward with the spade; + Wide let its hollow bed be made; + There gently lay the roots, and there + Sift the dark mould with kindly care, + And press it o'er them tenderly, + As, round the sleeping infant's feet, + We softly fold the cradle-sheet: + So plant we the apple-tree. + + What plant we in the apple-tree? + Buds, which the breath of summer days + Shall lengthen into leafy sprays; + Boughs, where the thrush with crimson breast + Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest. + We plant upon the sunny lea + A shadow for the noontide hour, + A shelter from the summer shower, + When we plant the apple-tree. + + What plant we in the apple-tree? + Sweets for a hundred flowery springs, + To load the May-wind's restless wings, + When, from the orchard-row, he pours + Its fragrance through our open doors; + A world of blossoms for the bee; + Flowers for the sick girl's silent room; + For the glad infant sprigs of bloom. + We plant with the apple-tree. + + What plant we in the apple-tree? + Fruits that shall swell in sunny June, + And redden in the August noon, + And drop, as gentle airs come by + That fan the blue September sky; + While children, wild with noisy glee, + Shall scent their fragrance as they pass, + And search for them the tufted grass + At the foot of the apple-tree. + + And when above this apple-tree + The winter stars are quivering bright, + And winds go howling through the night, + Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth, + Shall peel its fruit by cottage-hearth, + And guests in prouder homes shall see, + Heaped with the orange and the grape, + As fair as they in tint and shape, + The fruit of the apple-tree. + + The fruitage of this apple-tree + Winds and our flag of stripe and star + Shall bear to coasts that lie afar, + Where men shall wonder at the view, + And ask in what fair groves they grew; + And they who roam beyond the sea + Shall look, and think of childhood's day, + And long hours passed in summer play + In the shade of the apple-tree. + + Each year shall give this apple-tree + A broader flush of roseate bloom, + A deeper maze of verdurous gloom, + And loosen, when the frost-clouds lower, + The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower; + The years shall come and pass, but we + Shall hear no longer, where we lie, + The summer's songs, the autumn's sigh, + In the boughs of the apple-tree. + + And time shall waste this apple-tree. + Oh, when its aged branches throw + Thin shadows on the sward below, + Shall fraud and force and iron will + Oppress the weak and helpless still? + What shall the tasks of mercy be, + Amid the toils, the strifes, the tears + Of those who live when length of years + Is wasting this apple-tree? + + "Who planted this old apple-tree?" + The children of that distant day + Thus to some aged man shall say; + And, gazing on its mossy stem, + The gray-haired man shall answer them: + "A poet of the land was he, + Born in the rude, but good old times; + 'Tis said he made some quaint old rhymes + On planting the apple-tree." + + * * * * * + +RAY. + + +So Beltran was a Rebel. + +Vivia stood before the glass, brushing out black shadows from her long, +fine hair. There lay the letter as little Jane had left it, as she had +let it lie till all the doors had clanged between, as she had laid it +down again. She paused, with the brush half lifted, to glance once more +at the clear superscription, to turn it and touch with her finger-tips +the firm seal. Then she went on lengthening out the tresses that curled +back again at the end like something instinct with life. + +How long it had been in coming!--gradual journeys up from those Southern +shores, and slumber in some comrade's care till a flag of truce could +bear it across beneath the shelter of its white wing. Months had passed. +And where was Beltran now? Living,--Vivia had a proud assurance in her +heart of that! Her heart that went swiftly gliding back into the past, +and filling old scenes with fresh fire. Thinking thus, she bent forward +with dark, steady gaze, as if she sought for its pictures in the +uncertain depths of the mirror, and there they rose as of old the +crystal gave them back to the seeker. It was no gracious woman bending +there that she saw, but a scene where the very air infused with sunlight +seemed to glow, the house with its wide veranda veiled in vines, and +above it towering the rosy cloud of an oleander-tree, behind it the far +azure strip of the bay, before it the long low line of sandy beach where +the waters of the Gulf forever swung their silver tides with a sullen +roar,--for the place was one of those islands that make the perpetual +fortifications of the Texan coast. Vivia, a slender little maiden of +eleven summers, rocks in a boat a rod from shore, and by her side, his +length along the warm wave, his arm along the boat, a boy floats in his +linen clothes, an amphibious child, so undersized as to seem but little +more than a baby, and yet a year her senior. He swims round and round +the skiff in circling frolics, followed by the great dog who gambols +with them, he dives under it and comes up far in advance, he treads +water as he returns, and, seizing the painter, draws it forward while +she sits there like Thetis guiding her sea-horses. Then, as the sun +flings down more fervid showers, together they beach the boat and +scamper up the sand, where old Disney, who has been dredging for oysters +in the great bed below, crowns his basket with little Ray, and bears him +off perched aloft on his bent back. Vivia walks beside the old slave in +her infantile dignity, and disregards the sundry attempts of Ray's +outstretched arms, till of a sudden the beating play of hoofs runs along +the ground, and Beltran, with his morning's game, races by on his fiery +mustang, and, scarcely checking his speed as he passes, stoops from the +saddle and lifts the little girl before him. Vivia would look back in +triumph upon Ray in his ignoble conveyance, but the affair has already +been too much for him, he has flung himself on the instant from old +Disney's basket, as if he were careless whether he fell under the +horse's feet or not, but knowing perfectly well that Beltran will catch +him. And Beltran, suddenly pulling up with a fierce rein, does catch +him, bestows him with Vivia, slightly to her dainty discomfort, and +dashes on. Noon deepens; Vivia does not sleep, she seeks Ray, Ray who +does not sleep either, but who is not to be beguiled. For, one day, the +child in his troubled dreams had been found by Beltran with a white coil +of fangs and venom for his pillow; and never since has Beltran taken his +noontide siesta but Ray watches beside him till the thick brown lashes +lift themselves once more. For, if Ray knows what worship is, he would +show you Beltran enshrined in his heart, this brother a dozen years his +elder, who had hailed his birth with stormy tears of joy, who had +carried him for years when he was yet too weak to walk, who in his own +full growth would seem to have absorbed the younger's share, were it not +that, tiny as Ray may be, his every nerve is steel, made steel, though, +by the other, and so trained and suppled and put at his service. It was +Beltran who had first flung him astride the saddle and sent him loping +off to town alone, but who had secretly followed him from thicket to +thicket, and stood ready in the market-place at last to lift him down; +it was Beltran who had given him his own rifle, had taught him to take +the bird on the wing, had led him out at night to see the great silent +alligator in his scale-armor sliding over the land from the coast and +plunging into the fresh waters of the bay,--who took him with him on the +long journeys for gathering in the cattle of the vast stock-farm, let +him sleep beside himself on the bare prairie-floor, like a man, with his +horse tethered to his boot, told him the spot in the game on which to +draw his bead, showed him what part to dress, and made him _chef de +cuisine_ in every camp they crossed; it was he who had taught him how to +hold himself in any wild stampede, on the prairie how to conquer fire +with fire, to find water as much his element as air; it is Beltran, in +short, who has made him this little marvel which at twelve years old he +finds himself to be,--this brother who serves him so, and whom he +adores, for whom he passionately expresses his devotion,--this brother +whom he loves as he loves the very life he lives. So Vivia, too, sits +down at Beltran's feet that day, and busies herself with those pink +plumes of the spoonbill's wings which he brought home to her,--so that, +when he wakes, he sees her standing there like the spirit of his dream, +her dark eyes shining out from under the floating shadowy hair, and the +rosy wings trembling on her little white shoulders. And just then +Beltran has no word for Ray, the customary smiling word always waited +for, since his eyes are on the vision at his feet, and straightway the +child springs down, springs where he can intercept Beltran's view, seems +to rise in his wrath a head above the girl, and, looking at Beltran all +the while, slaps Vivia on the cheek. Instantly two hands have clasped +about his wrists, two hands that hold him in a vice, and two eyes are +gazing down into his own and paralyzing him. Still the grasp, the gaze, +continue; as Vivia watches that look, a great blue glow from those eyes +seems to cloud her own brain. The color rises on Ray's cheeks, his angry +eyes fall, his chest heaves, his lips tremble, off from the long black +lashes spin sprays of tears, he cannot move, he is so closely held, but +slowly he turns his head, meets the red lips of the forgiving girl with +his, then casts himself with sobs on Beltran's breast. And all that +evening, as the sudden heavy clouds drive down and quench sunset and +starlight, while they sit about a great fire, Beltran keeps her at his +side and Ray maintains his place, and within there is light and love, +and without the sand trembles to the shock of sound and the thunder of +the surf, and the heaven is full of the wildly flying blast of the +Norther. + +Still, as Vivia gazed into the silent mirror, the salient points of her +life started up as if memory held a torch to them in their dark +recesses, and another picture printed its frosty _spiculæ_ upon the gray +surface of the glass before her. No ardent arch of Southern noontide +now, no wealth of flower and leaf, no pomp of regnant summer, but winter +has darkened down over sad Northern countries, and white Arctic splendor +hedges a lake about with the beauty of incomparable radiance; the trees +whose branches overhang the verge are foamy fountains, frozen as they +fall; distantly beyond them the crisp upland fields stretch their snowy +sparkle to touch the frigid-flashing sapphire of the sky, and bluer than +the sky itself their shadows fall about them; every thorn, every stem, +is set, a spike of crusted lustre in its icy mail; the tingling air +takes the breath in silvery wreaths; and wherever the gay garment of a +skater breaks the monotone with a gleam of crimson or purple, the +shining feet beneath chisel their fantastic curves upon a floor that is +nothing but one glare of crystal sheen. And here, hero of the scene, +glides Beltran, master of the Northern art as school-days made him, +skates as of old some young Viking skated, all his being bubbling in a +lofty glee, with blue eyes answering this icy brilliance as they dazzle +back from the tawny countenance, with every muscle rippling grace and +vigor to meet the proud volition, lithely cutting the air, swifter than +the swallow's wing in its arrowy precision, careless as the floating +flake in effortless motion, skimming along the lucid sheathing that +answers his ringing heel with a tune of its own, and swaying in his +almost aërial medium, lightly, easily, as the swimming fish sways to the +currents of the tide. Scoring whitely their tracery of intricate lines, +the groups go by in whorls, in angles, in sweeping circles, and the ice +shrinks beneath them; here a fairy couple slide along, waving and bowing +and swinging together; far away some recluse in his pleasure sports +alone with folded arms, careening in the outward roll like the mast of a +phantom-craft; everywhere inshore clusters of ruddy-cheeked boys race +headlong with their hawkey-sticks, and with their wild cries, making +benders where the ice surges in a long swell: and constantly in +Beltran's wake slips Vivia, a scarlet shadow, while a clumsy little +black outline is ever designing itself at her heels as Ray strives in +vain to perfect the mysteries of the left stroke. All about, the keen +air breathes its exhilaration, and the glow seems to penetrate the pores +till the very blood dances along filled with such intoxicating +influence; all above, the afternoon heaven deepens till it has no hidden +richness, and between one and the pale gold of the coldly reddening +horizon the white air seems hollow as the flaw in some great transparent +jewel. Still they wind away in their gladness, when hurriedly Beltran +reaches his hand for the heedless Vivia's, and hurriedly she sees +terrifying grooves spreading round them, a great web-work of +cracks,--the awful ice lifts itself, sinks, and out of a monstrous +fissure chill death rises to meet them and ingulf them. In an instant, +Ray, who might have escaped, has hurled himself upon them, and then, as +they all struggle for one drowning breath in the flood, Vivia dimly +divines through her horror an arm stretched first towards Ray, snatched +back again, and bearing her to safety. Ray has already scrambled from +the shallow breach where his brother alone found bottom; waiting hands +assist Beltran; but as she lingers that moment shivering on the brink, +blindly remembering the double movement of that arm beneath the ice, she +silently asks, with a thrill, if he suffered Ray to save himself because +he was a boy, and could, or because--because she was Vivia! + +Southern noontide, winter twilight lost themselves again, as Vivia +gazed, in the soft starry gleam of an April midnight. A quiet room, +dimly lighted by a flame that dying eyes no longer see; two figures +kneeling, one at either side of the mother,--the little apple-blossom of +a mother brought up to die among her own people,--one shaking with his +storm of sobs, the other supporting the dear, weary head on his strong +breast, and stifling his very heart-beat lest it stir the frail life too +roughly. And the mother lifts the lids of her faint eyes, as when a +parting vapor reveals rifts of serene heaven, gazes for a moment into +the depths of her first-born's tenderness, gropes darkly for his fingers +and for the hot little hand thrust eagerly forth to meet hers, closes +one about the other, and folds them both upon her own heart. Then +Beltran bends and gathers from the lips the life that kindled his. With +a despairing cry, Ray flings himself forward, and dead and living lie in +Beltran's arms, while the strong convulsion of his heart rends up a +hollow groan from its emptiness. And Vivia draws aside the curtain, and +the gentle wind brings in the sweet earthy scent of fresh furrows lately +wet with showers, and the ever-shifting procession of the silent stars +unveil themselves of gauzy cloud, and glance sadly down with their +abiding eyes upon these fleeting shadows. + +After all, who can deny that there is magic in a mirror, a weird +atmosphere imprisoned, between the metal and the glass, borrowing the +occult powers of the gulf of space, and returning to us our own wraith +and apparition at any hour of the day or night when we smite it with a +ray of light,--reaching with its searching power into the dark places +where we have hidden ourselves, and seizing and projecting them in open +sight? Who doubts that this sheeny panel on so many walls, with wary art +slurring off its elusive gleam, could, at the one compelling word, paint +again the reflections of all on which it silently dreams in its reticent +heart,--the joy, the grief, the weeping face, the laughing lip, the +lover's kiss, the tyrant's sneer, almost the crouched and bleeding soul +on which that sneer descended, of which some wandering beam carried +record? When we remember the violin, inwardly ridged with the vibrations +of old tunes, old discords, who would wonder to find some charactery of +light tracing its indelible script within the crystal substance? And +here, if Vivia saw one other scene blaze out before her and vanish, why +not believe, for fancy's sake, that it was as real a picture as the +image of the dark and beautiful girl herself bending there with the +carmine stain upon her cheek, the glowing, parted lips, the shining +eyes, the shadowy hair? + +Late spring down on the Maryland farm: you know it by the intense blue +through that quaint window draped with such a lushness of vines, such a +glory of blossom. In at the open door, whose frame is arabesqued with +hanging sprays of sweetbrier, with the pendent nest, with fluttering +moth-wings sunshine-dusted, with crowds of bursting buds, pours the +mellow sun in one great stream, pours from the peach-orchards the +fragrant breeze laden with bird-song. A girl, standing aside, with +clasped hands drooping before her, her gaze upon a shadow on the floor +in the midst of that broad stream of light. Casting that shadow, under +the lintel, a young man clad for travel. Since he left his Southern +home, ruin has befallen it; he dares not ask one lapped in luxury to +share such broken fortunes as his seem to-day, even though such stout +shoulders, so valiant a heart, buffet them. If she loves, it is enough; +they can wait; their treasure neither moth nor rust can corrupt; their +jewel is imperishable. If she loves--He is looking in her eyes, holding +to her his hands. Slowly the girl meets his glance. A long look, one +long, silent look, infinitude in its assurance, its glow wrapping her, +blue and smiling as heaven itself, reaching him like the evening star +seen through tears,--a word, a touch, had profaned with a trait of +earthliness so remote, so spiritual a betrothal. He goes, and still the +upward-smiling girl sees the sunshine, hears the bird-song,--a boy +dashes by the door and down the path to meet the last, close-lingering +embrace of two waiting arms at the gate,--and then there is nothing but +Vivia bending and gazing at herself in the glass with a flushed and +fevered eagerness of rapture. + + "The wild, sweet tunes that darkly deep + Thrill through thy veins and shroud thy sleep, + That swing thy blood with proud, glad sway, + And beat thy life's arterial play,-- + Still wilt thou have this music sweep + Along thy brain its pulsing leap,-- + Keep love away! keep love away! + + "The joy of peace that wide and high + Like light floods through the soaring sky, + The day divine, the night akin, + Heaven in the heart, ah, wilt thou win, + The secret of the hoarded years, + Life rounded as the shining spheres,-- + Let love come in! let love come in!" + +she sang, to case her heart of its swelling gladness. + +But here Vivia dared not concentrate her recollections, dared not dally +with such distant delight,--twisted and tossed her hair into its coils, +and once more opened the letter. Ray had not lived for three years under +converging influences, years which are glowing wax beneath the seal of +fresh impressions, years when one puts off or takes on the tendencies +of a lifetime,--Ray had not lived those three school-years without +contracting habits, whims, determinations of his own: let her have +Beltran's reasons to meet Ray's objections. + +They were up at the little meadow-side cottage of Mrs. Vennard, Ray's +maternal aunt, a quiet widow, who was glad to receive her dying sister +in her house a year and a half ago, as she had often received her boys +before, and who was still willing to eke out her narrow income with the +board of one nephew and any summer guest; and as that summer guest, +owing to an old family-friendship that overlooked differences of rank +and wealth, Vivia had, for many a season, been established. Here, when +bodings of trouble began to darken her sunny fields, she had, in early +spring, withdrawn again, leaving her maiden aunt to attend to the +affairs of the homestead, or to find more luxurious residence in +watering-places or cities, as she chose. For Vivia liked the placid life +and freedom of the cottage, and here, too, she had oftenest met those +dear friends to whom one winter her father, long since dead, had taken +her, and half of all that was pleasant in her life had inwoven itself +with the simple surroundings of the place. Here, in that fatal spring +when the first tocsin alarmed the land, Ray, now scarcely any longer a +boy, yet with a boy's singleness of mind, though possessing neither +patience nor power for subtilties of difficult reason and truth, +thinking of no lonely portion, but of the one great fact of country, had +been fired with spontaneous fervor, and had ever since been like some +restive steed champing the bit and quivering to start. As for Vivia, she +was a Maryland woman. Too burningly indignant, the blood bubbled in her +heart for words sometimes, and she would be glad of Beltran's weapons +with which to confront Kay when he returned from Boston, whither, the +day before, without a word's explanation, he had betaken himself. So she +turned again to the open letter, and scanned its weightiest paragraphs. + +"There is a strange reversal of right and wrong, when the American Peace +Society declares itself for war. There is, then, a greater evil than +war, even than civil war, with its red, fratricidal hands?--Slavery. +But, could that be destroyed, it would be the first great evil ever +overcome by force of arms. They fight tangibly with an intangible foe; +tangible issues rise between them; the black, intangible phantom hovers +safe behind. But even should they visibly succeed, is there not left the +very root of the matter to put forth fresh growth,--that moral condition +in which the thing lived at all? An evil that has its source in the +heart must be eradicated by slow medicinal cure of the blood. To fight +against the stars in their courses, one must have brands of starry +temper. No sudden shocks of battle will sweep Slavery from the sphere. +Can one conquer the universe by proclamation? 'Lyra will rise +to-morrow,' said some one, after Cæsar reformed the calendar. +'Doubtless,' replied Cicero, 'there is an edict for it.' But, believe +me, there can be no broad, stupendous evil, unless it be a part of God's +plan; and in His own time, without other help from us than the +performance of our duty, it will slough off its slime and rise into some +fair superstructure. Our efforts dash like spray against the rock,--the +spray is broken, the rock remains. To annihilate evil with evil,--that +is an error in itself against which every man is justified in taking up +his sword. + +"So far, I have allowed the sin. Yet, sin or not, in this country the +estate of the slave is unalterable. Segregately, the institution is +their protection. For though there is no record of the contact of +superior and inferior races on a basis of equality, where the inferior +did not absorb the superior, yet, if every slave were set free to-day, +imbruted through generations, it could not be on a basis of equality +that we should meet, and they would be as inevitably sunk and lost as +the detritus that a river washes into the sea. If the black stay here, +it must be as a menial. In his own latitudes, where, after the third +generation, the white man ceases to exist, he is the stronger; there the +black man is king: let him betake himself to his realm. Abolition is +impracticable, colonization feasible; on either is gunpowder wasted: one +cannot explode a lie by the blast. + +"But saying the worst of our incubus that can be said, could all its +possible accumulation of wrong and woe exceed that of four years of such +a war as this? Think a moment of what this land was, what a great beacon +and celestial city across the waves to the fugitives from tyranny; think +of our powerful pride in eastern seas, in western ports, when each +ship's armament carried with it the broadside of so many sovereign +States, when each citizen felt his own hand nerved with a people's +strength, when no young man woke in the morning without the perpetual +aurora of high hopes before him, when peace and plenty were all about +us,--and then think of misery at every hearth, of civilization thrust +back a century, of the prestige of freedom lost among the nations, of +the way paved for despots. And how needlessly! + +"They taunted us, us the source of all their wealth, with the pauper's +deserting the poor-house; we put it to proof; when, lo! with a hue and +cry, the blood-hounds are upon us, the very dogs of war. So needless a +war! For has it not been a fundamental principle that every people has a +right to govern itself? We chose to exercise that right. Was it worth +the while to refuse it? Exhausted, drained, dispeopled, they may chain a +vassal province to their throne; but, woe be to them, upon that +conquering day, their glory has departed from them! The first Revolution +was but the prologue to this: that was sealed in blood; in this might +have been demonstrated the progress made under eighty years of freedom, +by a peaceful separation. It is the Flight of the Tartar Tribe anew, and +the whole barbarous Northern nation pours its hordes after, hangs on the +flank, harasses, impedes, slaughters,--but we reach the shadow of the +Great Wall at last. If we had not the right to leave the league, how had +we the right to enter? If we had not the right to leave, they also had +not the right to withhold us. Yet, when we entered, resigning much, +receiving much, retaining more, we were each a unit, a power, a +commonwealth, a nation, or, as we chose to term it, a State,--as much a +state as any of the great states of Europe, as Britain, as France, as +Spain, and jealously ever since have we individually regarded any +infringement on our integrity. That, and not the mere tangle of race +that in time must unravel itself, is the question of the age. Long ago +it was said that our people, holding it by transmission, never having +struggled for it, would some day cease rightly to value the one chief +bulwark of liberty. Nothing is more true. They of the North will lose +it, we of the South shall gain it; for, battling on a grander scale than +our ancestors, the South is to-day taking out the great _habeas corpus_ +of States!" + +No matter whether all this was sophistry or truth. Beltran had said +it,--that was enough; so strongly did she feel his personality in what +he wrote, that the soul was exultant, jubilant, defiant, within her. +Other words there were in the letter, such words as are written to but +one; the blood swept up to Vivia's lips as she recalled them, and her +heart sprang and bounded like one of those balls kept in perpetual play +by the leaping, bubbling column of a fountain. She was in one of those +dangerous states of excitement after which the ancients awaited +disaster. That last picture of the mirror dazzled her vision again; she +saw the sunshine, smelt the perfume, heard the bird-song. How a year had +changed the scene! The house was a barrack; now down in her Maryland +peach-orchards the black muzzles of Federal cannon yawned, and under the +flickering shadows and sunshine the grimy gunners, knee-deep in grass +and dew, brushed away the startled clover-blooms, as they touched fire +to the breach. Beltran was a Rebel. Vivia was a Rebel, too! She ran +down-stairs into her little parlor overflowing with flowers. As she +walked to and fro, the silent keys of her pianoforte met her eye. +Excellent conductors. Half standing, half sitting, she awoke its voices, +and, to a rolling, silvery thunder of accompaniment, commenced +singing,-- + + "The lads of Kilmarnock had swords and had spears + And lang-bladed daggers to kill cavaliers, + But they shrunk to the wall and the causey left free + At one toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee! + So fill up my cup, come fill up my can, + Saddle my horses and call up my men, + Open your west-port and let me gae free, + For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!" + +Some one in the distance, echoing the last line with an emphasis, caught +her ear in the pause. It was Ray. He had already returned, then. She +snatched the letter and sped into the kitchen, where she was sure to +find him. + +Mrs. Vennard rocked in her miniature sitting-room at one side, +contentedly matching patchwork. Little Jane Vennard, her +step-daughter,--usually at work in the mills, but, since their close, +making herself busy at home, whither she had brought a cookery-book +through which Ray declared he expected to eat his way,--bustled about +from room to room. Ray sat before the fire in the kitchen and toasted +some savory morsel suspended on a string athwart the blaze. + +"Where have you been, Ray?" said Vivia, approaching, with her glowing +cheeks, her sparkling eyes. "And what are you doing now?" + +"Trying camp-life again," replied Ray, looking up at her in a fixed +admiration. + +"I've had a letter from Beltran." + +"Oh! where is he?" cried Ray. + +"Beltran is in camp." + +"And where?" + +"Perhaps on the Rio Grande, perhaps on the Potomac." + +"Do you mean to say," cried Ray, springing up, while string and all fell +into the coals, "that Beltran, my brother"-- + +"Is a Rebel." + +"Then I am a rebel, too," said Ray, chokingly, sitting down again, and +mechanically stooping to pick up the burning string,--"a rebel to him!" + +"You won't be a rebel to him, if you'll listen to reason,--his reason." + +"He's got no reason. It's only because he was there." + +"Now, Raymond Lamar! if you talk so, you sha'n't read the letter!" + +"I don't want to read it." + +"Have you left off loving Beltran, because he differs from you?" + +"Left off loving Beltran!" + +Vivia waited a moment, leaning on the back of his chair, and then Ray, +bending, covered his face with his hands, and the large tears oozed from +between his brown fingers. + +Little Jane, whipping the frothy snow of her eggs, went on whipping all +the harder for fear Ray should know she saw him. And Vivia, with one +hand upon his head, took away the brown fingers, that her own cool, +fragrant palm might press upon his burning lids. Such sudden tears +belong to such tropical natures. For there was no anger or sullenness in +Ray's grief; he was just and simply sorry. + +"He must have forgotten me," said Ray, after a sober while. + +"There was this note for you in mine, and a draft on New York, because +he thought you might be in arrears." + +"No, I'm not. Aunty can have the draft, though; she may need it before I +come back," said Ray, brokenly, gazing into the fire. "Do you suppose +Beltran wrote mine or yours first?" + +"Yours." + +"Then you've the last thing he ever set his hand to, perhaps!" + +"Don't talk so, child!" said Vivia, with an angry shiver. "Come back! +Where are you going?" + +"I enlisted, yesterday, in the Kansas Cavalry." + +"Great heavens, Ray! was there not another regiment in all the world +than one to be sent down to New Mexico to meet Beltran and the Texan +Rangers?" cried Vivia, wringing her hands. + +Ray was on his feet again, a swarm of expletives buzzing inarticulately +at his lips. + +"I never thought of that," said he, whiter than ashes. + +"What made you? oh, what made you?" + +"There was no other company. I liked this captain. He gave me to-day's +furlough. I'm going to-night; little Jane's promised to fix my traps; +she's making me these cookies now, you see. Pshaw! Beltran's up on the +Potomac, or else you couldn't have gotten this letter,--don't you know? +You made my heart jump into my mouth!" + +And resuming his seat, to find his string and jack in cinders, he turned +round astride his chair and commenced notching his initials into its +back, with cautious glances at his aunt. + +"That's for little Jane to cry over after I'm gone," said he. + +"Ray--How do you think Beltran will like it?" + +"I can't help what Beltran likes. I shall be doing God's work." + +"Beltran says God does His own work. He only requires of us our duty." + +"That is my duty." + +"You feel, Ray, as if you were possessed by the holy ardor of another +Sir Galahad!" + +"I feel, Vivia, that I shall give what strength I have towards ridding +the world of its foulest disease." + +"With what a good grace that comes from you!" + +"With all the better grace." + +"The old Berserker rage over again!" + +"Quite as fine as running amuck." + +"Ray, the race that does not rise for itself deserves its fate." + +"Vivia, no race deserves such a fate as this one has found." + +"Idle! I have seen slavery; own slaves: there is nothing monstrous in +it." + +"In Maryland." + +"Anywhere." + +"Wailing children, sundered families, women under the lash"-- + +"You know very well, Ray, that there is a law against the separation of +families." + +"I never heard of it." + +"Audubon says there is." + +"A little bird told him," interpolated Jane. + +"But I've seen them separated." + +"I don't believe," urged Vivia, "but for exceptional abuses, there's a +system providing for a happier peasantry on the face of the earth." + +"It can't be a good system that allows such abuses." + +"There are even abuses of the sacraments." + +"Pshaw, Vivia!" + +"Well, Ray, I don't believe in this pseudo-chivalry of yours, any more +than Beltran does." + +"If Beltran said black was white, you'd think that true!" + +"_If_ Beltran said so, it _would_ be true." + +"It's no more likely that he should be right than that I should be." + +"You couldn't have spoken so about Beltran once!" + +"Well, black or white, slave or free, never think I shall sit by and see +my country fall to ruins." + +"Your country? Do you suppose you love it any more than I do?" + +"You're a woman." + +"Suppose I am a woman, you unkind boy"-- + +"Well, you only love half of it,--the Southern half." + +"I love my whole country!" cried Vivia, all aflame. "I love these +purple, rust-stained granites here, the great savannas there,--the pine +forests, the sea-like prairies,--every river rolling down its rocky +bed,--every inch of its beautiful, glorious soil,--all its proud, free +people. I love my whole country!" + +"Only you hate some of its parasites. But Beltran would tell you that +you haven't got any country. You may love your native State. As for +country, it's nothing but a--what-you-may-call-it." + +"Very true. It is in observing the terms of that +what-you-may-call-it,--that federation, that bond,--in mutual +concessions, in fraternal remembrances, that we gain a country. And what +a country!" + +"Yes, what a country, Vivia! And shall I consent to resign an atom of it +while there's a drop of blood in my body, to lose a single grain of its +dust? When Beltran brought me here three years ago, I sailed day and +night up a mighty river, from one zone into another,--sailed for weeks +between banks that were still my own country. And if I had ever +returned, we should have passed by the thundering ledges of New England, +Jersey surfs and shallows, the sand-bars of the Carolinas, the shores of +Florida lying like a faint green cloud long and low upon the +horizon,--sailing a thousand miles again in our own waters. Enormous +borders! and throughout their vast stretch happiness and promise! And +shall I give such dominion to the first traitor that demands it? No! nor +to the thousandth! There she lies, bleeding, torn, prostrate, a byword! +Why, Vivia, this was my country, she that made me, reared me, gladdened +me! It is the now crusade. I understand none of your syllogisms. My +country is in danger. Here's my hand!" + +And Ray stood erect, bristling and fiery, as some one reddening in the +very light of battle. + +And answering him only with flashing eyes, Vivia sang, in her +triumphant, thrilling tones,-- + + "Hark to a wandering child's appeal, + Maryland! my Maryland! + My mother State, to thee I kneel, + Maryland! my Maryland! + For life and death, for woe and weal, + Thy peerless chivalry reveal, + And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, + Maryland! my Maryland!" + +"You're a wicked girl, Vivia, if you _are_ as beautiful as Phryne!" +exclaimed Ray, while little Jane picked herself up from the table, +across which she had been leaning with both arms and her dish-towel, and +staring forgetfully at him. + +Vivia laughed. + +"Well, you young fanatic," said she, "we can't convert each other. We +are both incontrovertible. Let us be friends. One needs more time than +we have to quarrel in." + +"Yes," said Ray. "I am going this afternoon, and I shall drink of every +river west of the Mississippi before I come back. It's a wild life, a +royal life; I am thirsty for its excitement and adventure." + +"Jane," called Mrs. Vennard from within, "did you find all the nests +to-day?" + +"All but two, Ma'am," said little Jane, as she let a tempting odor +escape from the tin oven. "The black hen got over the fence last night; +she's down in the lot. And the cropple-crown laid away." + +"You'd better get them." + +"Yes, Ma'am." + +"If you'd just as lief." + +"Oh, yes, Ma'am!" + +"We'll go, too," said Ray. + +"Oh, no, you needn't." + +"We'd like to, little Jane. Are the cookies done? By George! don't they +look like manna? They'll last all the way to Fort Riley. And be manna in +the wilderness. Smoking hot. Have some, Vivia? Little Jane, I say, 't +would be jolly, if you'd go along and cook for the regiment." + +"Is that all you'd want of me?" + +"It's a wonderful region for grasshoppers out there, you know; you'd +improvise us such charming dishes of locusts and wild honey! As for +cookies, a snowflake and a sunbeam, and there they are," said Ray, +making inroads on the Fort-Riley stores; while little Jane set down a +cup of beaten cream by his side. + +"Janets are trumps! Vivia, don't you wish you were going to the war?" + +"Yes," said Vivia. + +"There is something in it, isn't there?" said Ray. "You'll sit at home, +and how your blood will boil! What keeps you women alive? Darning +stockings, I suppose. There's only one thing I dread: 't would be hard +to read of other men's glory, and I lying flat on my back. Would you +make me cookies then, little Jane?" + +Little Jane only gave him one swift, shy look: there was more promise in +it than in many a vow. In return, Ray tossed her the sparkle of his +dancing glance an instant, and then his eager fancies caught him again. + +"We read of them," said he, "those splendid scenes. What can there be +like acting them? Ah, what a throb there is in it! The rush, the roar, +the onslaught, the clanging trumpet, the wreathing smoke, and the mad +horses. Dauntlessly defying danger. Ravishing fame from the teeth of the +battery. See in what a great leap of the heart you spring with the +forlorn hope up the escalade! Your soul kindles and flashes with your +blade. You are nothing but a wrath. To die so, with all one's spirit at +white-heat, awake, alert, aflame, must send one far up and along the +heights of being. And if you live, there are other things to do; and how +the women feel their fiery pulses fly, their hot tears start, as you go +by, thinking of all the tumult, the din, the daring, the danger, and you +a part of it!" + +Little Jane was trembling and tying on her bonnet. As for Vivia, she +burst into tears. + +"Oh, Ray!" sobbed she, "I wish I were a man!" + +"I don't!" said he. "Oh, it's rip-roarious! Come, let's follow our +leader. We'll bring you back the cropple-crown, auntie." + +And so they departed, while, breaking into fresh carols, ringing and +dulcet, as they went, Vivia's voice resounded till the woods pealed to +the echo:-- + + "He waved his proud arm, and the trumpets were blown + The kettle-drums clashed, and the horsemen rode on, + Till o'er Ravelston crags and on Clermiston lea + Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny Dundee!" + +Pursuing the white sun-bonnet down the pasture, Ray kept springing ahead +with his elastic foot, threshing the juniper-plats that little Jane had +already searched, and scattering about them the pungent fragrance of the +sweet-fern thickets,--the breath of summer itself; then returning for a +sober pace or two, would take off his hat, thrust a hand through the +masses of his hair that looked like carved ebony, and show Vivia that +his shadow was exactly as long as her own. And Vivia saw that all this +beating and longing and burning had loosened and shot into manhood a +nature that under the snow of its eightieth winter would yet be that of +a boy. Ray could never be any taller than he was to-day, but he had +broad, sturdy shoulders and a close-knit, nervous frame, while in his +honest, ugly face, that, arch or grave, kept its one contrast of black +eyes and brilliant teeth, there was as much to love as in the superb +beauty of Beltran. + +They had reached the meadow's edge at length; Ray was growing more +serious, as the time hurried, when little Jane, with a smothered +exclamation, prepared to cross the wall. For there they were, sleek and +glossy, chattering gently to each other, pecking about, the wind blowing +open their feathers till they became top-heavy, and looking for all the +world, as Janet said, like pretty little old ladies dressed up to go out +to tea. And near them, quite at home in the marshy domain, strutted and +lunched a fine gallant of a turkey, who ruffled his redness, dropped all +his plumes about him, and personated nothing less than some stately +dowager sailing in flounces and brocades. Ray caught back their +discoverer, launched a few stepping-stones across, and, speeding from +foothold to foothold, very soon sent His Magnificence fluttering over +the fence and forward before them, and returned with the two little +runaway hens slung over his arm, where, after a trifle of protestation +and a few subdued cackles of crestfallen acquiescence, having a great +deal to tell the other hens on reaching home once more, they very +contentedly enjoyed the new aspect of the world upsidedown. + +"And here's where she's made her nest," said little Jane, stepping aside +from a tangle of blackberry-vines, herds-grass, and harebells, where lay +a half-dozen pullet pearls. "A pretty mother you'd make, Miss, gadding +and gossiping down in the meadow with that naughty black hen! Who do you +suppose is going to bring up your family for you? Did you speak to the +butterflies to hatch them under their yellow wings? I shall just tie you +to an old shoe!" + +And taking the winking, blinking culprits from Kay, she ran along home +to make ready his package, for which there was not more than an hour +left. Vivia turned to follow, for she also wanted to help; but Ray, +lingering by the wall and pointing out some object, caused her to +remain. + +"It will be such a long time before I see it again," said he. + +They leaned upon the stone wall, interspersed, overgrown, and veiled +with moss and maiden-hair and blossoming brambles. Before them lay the +long meadow, sprinkled with sunbeams, green to its last ripe richness, +discolored only where the tall grass made itself hoary in the breeze, or +where some trail of dun brown ran up through all intermediate tints to +break in a glory of gold at the foot of the screen of woods that far +away gloomed like a frowning fortress of shade, but, approaching, +feathered off its tips in the glow, and let the mellow warmth of olive +light gild to a lustrous depth all its darkly verdurous hollows. Near +them the vireos were singing loud and sweet. + +"Vivia," said Ray, after a pause, "if I should never come back"-- + +"You will come back." + +"But if I never did,--should you greatly care?" + +"Beginning to despond! That is good! You won't go, then?" + +"If the way lay over the bottomless pit, I should go." + +"And you can't get free, if you want to?" + +"No!" + +"Ray, I could easily raise money enough upon my farm to buy"-- + +"If you talk so," said Ray, whipping off the flowers, but looking up at +her as he bent, and smiling, "I shall inform against you, and have your +farm confiscated." + +"What! I can't talk as I please in a free country? Oh, it's not free, +then! They've discovered at length that there's something better than +freedom. They sent a woman to prison this spring for eating an orange in +the street. They confiscated a girl's wedding-gown the other day, and +now they've confiscated her bridegroom. Oh, it's a great cause that +can't get along without my wedding-gown! _Noblesse oblige_!" + +"It takes more wedding-gowns than yours, Vivia. Dips them in mourning." + +"Pray God it won't take mine yet!" cried she, with sudden fire. + +"Vivia," said Ray, facing her, "I asked you a question. Why didn't you +answer it? Shouldn't you care?" + +"You know, dear child, I should,--we all should, terribly." + +"But, Vivia, I mean, that you--that I"-- + +He paused, the ardor and eagerness suspended on cheek and lip, for Vivia +met his glance and understood its simple speech,--since in some degree a +dark eye lets you into the soul, where a blue one bluffs you off with +its blaze, and under all its lucent splendor is as impenetrable as a +turquoise. A girl of more vanity would have waited for plainer words. +But Vivia only placed her warm hand on his, and said gently,-- + +"Ray, I love Beltran." + +There was a moment's quiet, while Ray looked away,--supporting his chin +upon one hand, and a black cloud sweeping torridly down the stern face. +One sharp struggle. A moment's quiet. Into it a wild rose kept shaking +sweetness. After it a vireo broke into tremulous melody, gushing higher, +fuller, stronger, clearer. Ray turned, his eyes wet, his face beaming. +Said he,-- + +"I am more glad than if it were myself!" + +Then Vivia bent, and, flushed with noble shame, she kissed him on the +lips. A word, a grasp, she was leaning alone over the old stone wall, +the birds were piping and fluting about her, and Ray was gone. + + * * * * * + +A month of rushing over land and lake, of resting at the very spots +where he and Beltran had stayed together three years ago, of repeating +the brief strolls they took, of reading again and again that last note, +and Ray had crossed the great river of the West, and reached the +headquarters of his regiment. There, induing their uniforms, and +training their horses, all of which were yet to be shod, they brushed +about the country, and skirmished with guerrillas, until going into camp +for thorough drill preparatory to active service. + +Convoying Government-trains through a region where were assembled in +their war-paint thousands of Indians from the wild tribes of the plains +and hills was venturous work enough, but it was not that to which Ray +aspired. He must be one of those cherubim who on God's bidding speed; he +could not serve with those who only stand and wait. His hot soul grew +parched and faint with longing, and all the instincts of his battling +blood began to war among themselves. At length one night there was +hammering and clinking at the red field-fires, and by daybreak they were +off for a mad gallop over plain and mountain, down river-banks and +across deserts into New Mexico. + +Fording the shallow Arkansas, trailing their way through prairie and +timber,--reaching and skirting the scorching stretch,--riding all day, +consumed with thirst, from green-mantling pool to pool, till the last +lay sixty miles behind them, and men and horses made desperately for the +stream, dashing in together to drink their fill, when they found it +again foaming down the centre of its vast level plain, that receded +twenty miles on either side without shrub or hillock,--finally their +path wound in among the hills, and a day dawned that Ray will never +forget. + +The stars were large and solemn, hovering golden out of the high, dark +heaven, as the troop defiled into the _cañon_; they glinted with a +steely lustre through the roof of fallen trees that arched the gorge +from side to side, then a wind of morning blew and they grew pallid and +wan in a shining haze, and, towering far up above them, vaguely terrific +in shadow, the horsemen saw the heights they were to climb all grayly +washed in the night-dew. So they swept up the mountain-side in their gay +and breezy career, on from ascent to ascent, from abutment to abutment, +crossing shrunken torrents, winding along sheer precipices, up into the +milky clouds of heaven itself, till the rosy flare of dawn bathed all +the air about them. There they halted, while, struggling after them, the +first triumphant beam struck the bosses of their harness to glittering +jewel-points, and, breaking through layer on layer of curdling vapor at +their feet, suffused it to a wondrous fleece, where carnation and violet +and the fire that lurks in the opal, wreathing with gorgeous involution, +seethed together, until, at last, the whole resplendent mist wound +itself away in silver threads on the spindles of the wind. Then boot in +the stirrup again, onward, over the mountain's ridge, desolate rook +defying the sun, downward, plunging through hanging forests, clearing +the chasm, bridging ravines, and still at noon the eagles, circling and +screaming above them, shook over them the dew from their plumes. +Downward afresh in their wild ride, the rainbows of the cascades flying +beside them, their afternoon shadows streaming up behind them, darkness +beginning to gather in the deeps below them, the mighty mountain-masses +around rearing themselves impenetrably in boding blackness and mystery +against the yellow gleam, the purple breath of evening wrapping them, +the dew again, again the stars, and they camped at the foot of a spur +of hills with a waterfall for sentry on their left. + +Through all the dash of the day, Ray had been in sparkling spirits, a +very ecstasy of excitement, brimmed with an exuberance of valiant glee +that played itself away in boyish freaks of daring and reckless acts of +horsemanship. Now a loftier mood had followed, and, still wrought to +some extreme tension, full of blind anticipation and awful assurance, he +sat between the camp-fires, his hands clasped over his knees, and +watched the evening star where it hung in a cleft of the rocks and +seemed like the advent of some great spirit of annunciation. The tired +horses had been staked out to graze, a temporary abatis erected, +scouting-parties sent off in opposite directions, and at last the frosty +air grew mild and mellow over the savory steam of broiling steaks and +coffee smoking on beds of coals. There was a moment's lull in the hum of +the little encampment, in all the jest and song and jingling stir of +this scornfully intrepid company; perhaps for an instant the sense of +the wilderness overawed them; perhaps it was only the customary +precursor of increasing murmur;--before leaving his place, Ray suddenly +stooped and laid his ear on the earth. There it was! Far off, far off, +the phantasmal stroke of hoofs, rapid, many, unswerving. It had +come,--all that he had awaited,--fate, or something else. Low and clear +in the distance one bugle blew blast of warning. When he rose, the great +yellow planet, wheeling slowly down the giant cleft in the rock, had +vanished from sight. + +Every man was on his feet, the place in alarum. Behind and beside them +loomed the precipice and the waterfall;--there was surrender, there was +conquest; there was no retreat. The fires were extinguished, the +breastworks strengthened, weapons adjusted, and all the ireful +preparations for hasty battle made. Then they expected their foe. Slowly +over the crown of the mountain above them an aurora crept and brandished +its spears. + +As they waited there those few breathless moments, Ray examined his +rifle coolly enough, and listened to the chirp of a solitary cricket +that sung its thin strain so unbrokenly on the edge of strife as to +represent something sublime in its petty indifference. He was stationed +on the extreme left; near him the tumult of the torrent drowned much +discordant noise, its fairy scarf forever forming and falling and +floating on the evening air. He thought of Vivia sitting far away and +looking out upon the quiet starlight night; then he thought of swampy +midnight lairs, with maddened men in fevered covert there,--of little +children crying for their mothers,--of girls betrayed to hell,--of flesh +and blood at price,--of blistering, crisping fagot and stake to-day,--of +all the anguish and despair down there before him. And with the vivid +sting of it such a wrath raged along his veins, such a holy fire, that +it seemed there were no arms tremendous enough for his handling, through +his shut teeth darted imprecatory prayers for the power of some almighty +vengeance, his soul leaped up in impatient fury, his limbs tingled for +the death-grapple, when suddenly sound surged everywhere about them and +they were in the midst of conflict. Silver trumpet-peals and clash and +clang of iron, crying voices, whistling, singing, screaming shot, +thunderous drum-rolls, sharp sheet of flame and instant abyss of +blackness, horses' heads vaulting into sight, spurts of warm blood upon +the brow, the bullet rushing like a blast beside the ear, all the +terrible tempest of attack, trampled under the flashing hoof, climbing, +clinching, slashing, back-falling beneath cracking revolvers, hand to +hand in the night, both bands welded in one like hot and fusing metal, a +spectral struggle of shuddering horror only half guessed by lurid gleams +and under the light cloud flying across the stars. Clearly and remotely +over the plain the hidden east sent up a glow into the sky; its +reflection lay on Ray; he fought like one possessed of a demon, +scattering destruction broadcast, so fiercely his anger wrapped him, +white and formidable. Fresh onset after repulse, and, like the very +crest of the toppling wave, one shadowy horseman in all the dark rout, +spurring forward, the fight reeling after him, the silver lone star +fitfully flashing on his visor, the boy singled for his rifle;--inciting +such fearless rivalry, his fall were the fall of a hundred. Something +hindered; the marksman delayed an instant; he would not waste a shot; +and watching him, the dim outline, the sweeping sabre, the proud +prowess, a strange yearning pity seized Ray, and he had half the mind to +spare. In the midst of the shock and uproar there came to him a pulse of +the brain's double action; he seemed long ago to have loved, to have +admired, to have gloried in this splendid valor. But with the hint, and +the humanity of it, back poured the ardor of his sacred devotion, all +the impulsions of his passionate purpose: here was God's work! And then, +with one swift bound of magnificent daring and defiance, the horseman +confronted him, the fore-feet of his steed planted firmly half up the +abatis, and his steel making lightnings round about him. There was a +blinding flare of light full upon Ray's fiery form; in the sudden +succeeding darkness horseman and rider towered rigid like a monolith of +black marble. A great voice cried his name, a sabre went hurtling in one +shining crescent across the white arc of the waterfall. Too late! There +was another flare of light, but this time on the rider's face, a sound +like the rolling of the heavens together in a scroll, and Ray, in one +horrid, dizzy blaze, saw the broad gleam of the ivory brow, of the azure +fire in the eyes, heard the heavy, downfalling crash, and, leaping over +the abatis, deep into the midst of the slippery, raging death below, +seized and drew something away, and fell upon it prostrate. There, under +the tossing torrent, dragging himself up to the seal of their agony and +their reproach, Ray looked into those dead eyes, which, lifted beyond +the everlasting stars, felt not that he had crossed their vision. + +Far away from outrage and disaster, many a weary stretch of travel, the +meadow-side cottage basked in the afternoon sunlight of late +Indian-summer. All the bare sprays of its shadowing limes quivered in +the warmth of their purple life against a divine depth of heaven, and +the woody distances swathed themselves in soft blue smoke before the +sighing south-wind. + +Round the girl who sat on the low door-stone, with idle hands crossed +before her, puffs of ravishing resinous fragrance floated and fainted. +Two butterflies, that spread their broad yellow wings like detached +flakes of living sunshine stolen out of the sweet November weather, +fluttered between the glossy darkness of her hair and a little +posthumous rose, that, blowing beside the door, with time only half to +unfold its white petals, surveyed the world in a quaint and sad +surprise. + +Vivia looked on all the tender loveliness of the dying year with a +listless eye: waiting, weary waiting, makes the soul torpid to all but +its pain. It was long since there had been any letter from Ray. In all +this oppression of summer and of autumn there had come no report of +Beltran. Her heart had lost its proud assurance, worn beneath the long +strain of such suspense. Could she but have one word from him, half the +term of her own life would be dust in the balance. A thousand +fragmentary purposes were ever flitting through her thought. If she +might know that he was simply living, if she could be sure he wanted +her, she would make means to break through that dividing line, to find +him, to battle by his side, to die at his feet! Her Beltran! so grave, +so good, so heroic! and the thought of him in all his pride and beauty +and power, in all his lofty gentleness and tender passion, in his +strength tempered with genial complaisance and gracious courtesy, sent +the old glad life, for a second, spinning from heart to lip. + +The glassy lake began to ruffle itself below her, feeling the pulses of +its interfluent springs, or sending through unseen sluices word of +nightfall and evening winds to all its clustering companions that +darkened their transparent depths in forest-shadows. As she saw it, and +thought how soon now it would ice itself anew, the remembrance rushed +over her, like a warm breath, of the winter's night after their escape +from its freezing pool, when Beltran sat with them roasting chestnuts +and spicing ale before the fire that so gayly crackled up the +kitchen-chimney, a night of cheer. And how had it all faded! whither had +they all separated? where were those brothers now? Heaven knew. + +It had been a hard season, these months at the cottage. The price of +labor had been high enough to exceed their means, and so the land had +yielded ill, the grass was uncut on many a meadow; Ray's draft had not +been honored; Vivia had of course received no dividend from her +Tennessee State-bonds, and her peach-orchards were only a place of +forage. Still Vivia stayed at the cottage, not so much by fervent +entreaty, or because she had no other place to go to, as because there +were strange, strong ties binding her there for a while. Should all else +fail, with the ripened wealth of her voice at command, her future was of +course secure from want. But there was a drearier want at Vivia's door, +which neither that nor any other wealth would ever meet. + +Little Jane came up the field with a basket of the last barberries +lightly poised upon her head. A narrow wrinkle was beginning to divide +the freckled fairness of her forehead. She kept it down with many an +endeavor. Trying to croon to herself as she passed, and stopping only to +hang one of the scarlet girandoles in Vivia's braids, she went in. The +sunshine, loath to leave her pleasant little figure, followed after her, +and played about her shadow on the floor. + +Vivia still sat there and questioned the wide atmosphere, that, brooding +palpitant between her and the lake, still withheld the desolating secret +that horizon must have whispered to horizon throughout the aching +distance. + + "Oh that the bells in all these silent spires + Would clash their clangor on the sleeping air, + Ring their wild music out with throbbing choirs, + Ring peace in everywhere!" + +she sang, and trembled as she sang. But there the burden broke, and +rising, her eyes shaded by her hand, Vivia gazed down the lonely road +where a stage-coach rolled along in a cloud of dust. What prescience, +what instinct, it was that made her throw the shawl over her head, the +shawl that Beltran liked to have her wear, and hasten down the field and +away to lose herself in the wood, she alone could have told. + +The slow minutes crept by, the coach had passed at length with loud +wheel and resounding lash, its last dust was blowing after it, and it +had left upon the door-stone a boy in army-blue, with his luggage beside +him. A ghastly visage, a shrunken form, a crippled limb, were what he +brought home from the war. With his one foot upon the threshold, he +paused, and turned the face, gray under all its trace of weather, and +furrowed, though so young, to meet the welcoming wind. He gazed upon the +high sky out of which the sunshine waned, on the long champaign blending +its gold and russet in one, on the melancholy forest over which the +twilight was stealing; he lifted his cap with a gesture as if he bade it +all farewell,--then he grasped his crutch and entered. + +Without a word, Mrs. Vennard dropped the needles she was sorting upon +the mat about her. Little Jane sprang forward, but checked herself in a +strange awe. + +"Let me go to bed, auntie," said he, with a dry sob; "and I never want +to get up again!" + + * * * * * + +Midnight was winding the world without in a white glimmer of misty +moonlight, when the sharp beam of a taper smote Ray's sleepless eyes, +and he saw Vivia at last standing before him. Over her wrapper clung the +old shawl whose snowy web was sown with broidery of linnæa-bells, green +vine and rosy blossom. Round her shoulders fell her shadowy hair. +Through her slender fingers the redness of the flame played, and on her +cheek a hectic coming and going like the broad beat and flush of an +artery left it whiter than the spectral moonlight on the pane. She took +away her hand, and let the illumination fall full upon his face,--a face +haggard as a dead man's. + +"Ray," she said, "where is Beltran?" Only silence replied to her. He lay +and stared up at her in a fixed and glassy glare. Breathless silence. +Then Ray groaned, and turned his face to the wall. Vivia blew out the +light. + + * * * * * + +The weeks crept away with the setting-in of the frosts. Little Jane's +heart was heavy for all the misery she saw about her, but she had no +time to make moan. Ray's amputated ankle was giving fresh trouble, and +after that was well over, he still kept his room, refusing food or fire, +and staring with hot, wakeful eyes at the cold ceiling. Vivia lingered, +subdued and pale, beside the hearth, doing any quiet piece of work that +came to hand; no one had seen her shed tears,--she had shown no +strenuous sorrow; on the night of Ray's return she had slept her first +unbroken sleep for months; her nerves, stretched so intensely and so +long, lay loosely now in their passionate reaction; some element more +interior than they saved her from prostration. She stayed there, sad and +still, no longer any sparkle or flush about her, but with a mildness so +unlike the Vivia of June that it had in it something infinitely +touching. She would have been glad to assist little Jane in her crowded +duties, yet succeeded only in being a hindrance; and learning a little +of broths and diet-drinks every day, she contented herself with sitting +silent and dreamy, and transforming old linen garments into bandages. +Mrs. Vennard, meanwhile, waited on her nephew and bewailed herself. + +But for little Jane,--she had no time to bewail herself. She had all +these people, in fact, on her hands, and that with very limited means to +meet their necessities. It was true they need not experience actual +want,--but there was her store to be managed so that it should be at +once wholesome and varied, and the first thing to do was to take an +account of stock. The autumn's work had already been well done. She had +carried berries enough to market to let her preserve her quinces and +damsons in sirups clear as sunshine, and make her tiny allowance of +currant and blackberry wines, where were innocently simulated the +flavors of rare vintages. Crook-necked squashes decked the tall +chimney-piece amid bunches of herbs and pearly strings of onions. She +and Vivia had gathered the ripened apples themselves, and now goodly +garlands of them hung from the attic-rafters, above the dried beans +whose blossoms had so sweetened June, and above last year's corn-bins. +That corn the first passing neighbor should take to mill and exchange a +portion of for cracked wheat; and as the flour-barrel still held out, +they would be tolerably well off for cereals, little Jane thought. They +had kept only one cow, and Tommy Low would attend to her for the sake of +his suppers,--suppers at which Vivia must forego her water-cresses now; +but Janet had a bed of mushrooms growing down-cellar, that, broiled and +buttered, were, she fancied, quite equal to venison-steaks. The hens, of +course, must be sacrificed, all but a dozen of them; for, as there was +no fresh meat for them in winter, they wouldn't lay, and would be only a +dead weight, she said to herself, as, with her apron thrown over her +neck, she stood watching them, finger on lip. However, that would give +them poultry all through the holidays. Then there were the pigs to be +killed on halves by a neighbor, as almost everything else out-doors had +now to be done; and when that was accomplished, she found no time to +call her soul her own while making her sausage and bacon and souse and +brawn. Part of the pork would produce salt fish, without which what +farm-house would stand?--and with old hucklebones, her potatoes and +parsnips, those ruby beets and golden carrots, there was many a Julien +soup to be had. Jones's-root, bruised and boiled, made a chocolate as +good as Spanish. Instead of ginger, there were the wild caraway-seeds +growing round the house. If she could only contrive some sugar and some +vanilla-beans, she would be well satisfied to open her campaign. But as +there had been for weeks only one single copper cent and two +postage-stamps in the house, that seemed an impossibility. Hereupon an +idea seized little Jane, and for several days she was busy in a +mysterious rummage. Garrets and closets surrendered their hoards to her; +files of old newspapers, old ledgers, old letter-backs, began to +accumulate in heaps,--everything but books, for Jane had a religious +respect for their recondite lore; she cut the margins off the magazines, +and she grew miserly of the very shreds ravelling under Vivia's fingers. +At length, one morning, after she had watched the windows unweariedly as +a cat watches a mouse-hole, she hurriedly exclaimed,-- + +"There he is!" + +"Who" asked Mrs. Vennard as hurriedly, with a dim idea that people in +their State received visits from the sheriff. + +"Our treasurer!" said little Jane. + +And, indeed, the red cart crowned with yellow brooms and dazzling tin, +the delight of housewives in lone places, was winding along the road; +and in a few moments little Jane accosted its driver, standing +victorious in the midst of her bags and bundles and baskets. + +"How much were white rags?" + +"Twelve cents." + +Laconic, through the urgencies of tobacco. + +"What?" + +"Twelve cents." + +"And colored?" + +"Wal, they were consider'ble." + +"And paper?" + +"Six cents. 'T used to be half a cent Six cents now." + +"But the reason?" breathlessly. + +"Reckoned 'twas the war's much as anything." + +One good thing out of Nazareth! Little Jane saw herself on the road to +riches, and immediately had thoughts of selling the whole +household-equipment for rags. She displayed her commodities. + +"Did he pay in money?" + +"Didn't like to; but then he did." + +"Fine day, to-day." + +"Wal, 'twas." + +And when the reluctant tinman went on his way again, she returned to +spread the fabulous result before her mother. There were sugars and +spices and whatnot. And though--woe worth the day!--she found that the +sum yielded only half what once it would, still, by drinking her own tea +in its acritude, they would do admirably; for tea even little Jane +required as her tonic, and without it felt like nothing but a mollusk. + +All this was very well, so far as it went; but the thrifty housekeeper +soon found that it went no way at all. Those for whom she made her +efforts wanted none of their results. She would have given all she had +in the world to help these suffering beings; but her little cooking and +concocting were all that she could do, and those they disregarded +utterly. When in the dull forenoon she would have enlivened Vivia with +her precious elderberry-wine, that a connoisseur must taste twice before +telling from purplest Port, and Vivia only wet her lips at it, or when +she carried Ray a roasted apple, its burnished sides bursting with juice +and clotted with cream, and the boy glanced at it and never saw it, +little Jane felt ready to cry; and she set to bethinking herself +seriously if there were nothing else to be done. + +One day, it was the day before Christmas, Jane took up to Ray's room one +of her trifles, a whip, whose _suave_ and frothy nothingness was piled +over the sweet plum-pulp at bottom. Ray lay on the outside of the bed, +with his thick poncho over him; he looked at her and at her tray, played +with the teaspoon a moment, then rolled upon his side and shut his +eyes. Little Jane took a half-dozen steps about the room, reached the +door, hesitated, and came back. + +"Ray," said she, under her breath and with tears in her voice, "I wish +you wouldn't do so. You don't know how it makes me feel. I can't do +anything for you but bring whips and custards; and you won't touch +those." + +Ray turned and looked up at her. + +"Do you care, Janet?" said he; and, rising on one arm, he lifted the +glass, and finished its delicate sweetmeat with a gust. + +But as he threw himself back, little Jane took heart of grace once more. + +"Ray, dear," said she, "I don't think it's right for you to stay here +alone in the cold. Won't you come down where it's warm? It's so much +more cheerful by the fire." + +"I don't want to be cheerful," said Ray. + +Janet looked at the door, then summoned her forces, and, holding the +high bedpost with both hands, said,-- + +"Ray, if God sent you any trouble, He never meant for you to take it so. +You are repulsing Him every day. You are straightening yourself against +Him. You are like a log on His hands. Can't you bend beneath it? Dear +Ray, you need comfort, but you never will find it till you take up your +life and your duties again, and come down among us." + +"What duties have I?" said Ray, hoarsely, looking along his footless +limb. "The sooner my life ends, oh, the better! I want no comfort!" + +But little Jane had gone. + +Christmas day dawned clear and keen; the sky was full of its bluest +sparkle, and, wheresoever it mounted and stretched over snowy fields, +seemed to hold nothing but gladness. Vivia had wrapped herself in her +cloak, and walked two miles to an early church-service, so if by any +accord of worship she might put her heart in tune with the universe. She +had been at home a half-hour already, and sat in her old nook with some +idle work between her fingers. A broad blaze rolled its rosy volumes up +the chimney, and threw its reflections on the shining shelves and into +the great tin-kitchen, that, planted firmly, held up to the heat the +very bird that had moved so majestically over the spring meadow, and +which Mrs. Vennard was at present basting with such assiduity, that, if +ever the knife should penetrate the crisp depth of envelope, it would +certainly find the inclosure unscathed by fire. Little Jane was stirring +enormous raisins into some wonderful batter of a pudding,--for she +remembered the time when somebody used to pick out all his plums and +leave the rest, and she meant, that, so far as her skill and her +resources would go, there should be no abatement of Christmas cheer +to-day. And if, after all, everybody disdained the bounteous affair, why +it could go to Tommy Low's mother, who would not by any means disdain +it. Every now and then she turned an anxious ear for any movement in the +cold distance,--but there was only silence. + +Suddenly Vivia started. A door had swung to, a strange sharp sound +echoed on the staircase, the kitchen-door opened and closed, and Ray set +his back against it. He did not attempt to move, but stood there darkly +surveying them. Vivia looked at him a second, then rose quickly, crossed +the room, and kissed him. Immediately Mrs. Vennard made a commotion, +while the other led him forward and placed him in her chair. Little Jane +pushed aside the pudding hastily, and proceeded to mull some of her mock +Sherry, that his heart might be warmed within him; and the cat came +rubbing against his crutch, as if she would make friends with it and +take it into the family. Mrs. Vennard resumed her basting; Vivia began +talking to him about her work and about her walk, murmuring pleasantly +in her clear, low tone,--Janet now and then putting in a word. Ray sat +there, sipping his spicy draught, and looking out with an unacquainted +air at the stir to which his coming had lent some gladness. But his face +was yet overcast with the shadows of the grave. In vain Mrs. Vennard +fussed and fidgeted, in vain little Jane uttered any of her brisk, but +sorry jesting, in vain Vivia's gentle voice;--it all touched Ray's heart +no other way than as the rain slips along a tombstone. Vivia folded her +work and disappeared; she was going to light a fire in her parlor, where +there had been none yet, and where by-and-by in the evening shadows she +might play to Ray, and charm him, perhaps, to rest. Mrs. Vennard divined +her purpose, and hurried after her to join in the task. Ray found +himself alone in his corner; he shivered. In spite of all the weeks of +solitude, a sudden chill seized him; he gathered up his crutches, and +stalked on them to the table where little Jane was yet finding something +to do. She brought him a chair, and for a minute or two he watched her; +then he was only staring vacantly at his hands, as they lay before him +on the table. + +If Janet was a busy soul, she was just as certainly a busybody. She had +the loving and innocent habit of making herself a member of every one's +equation. Just now she ached inwardly, when looking at Ray, and it was +impossible for her not to try and help him. + +"Ray, dear," said she, leaving her work and standing before him, "I +think you ought to smile now. Vivia has forgiven you. Take it as an +earnest that God forgives you, too." + +"I haven't sinned against God," said Ray. "I don't know who I sinned +against. I killed my brother." + +And his face fell forward on his hands and wet them with jets of +scalding tears. Full of awe and misery, little Jane dropped upon her +knees beside him, and, clasping his hands in hers, said to herself some +silent prayer. + + * * * * * + +After that placid-ending Christmas, after that first prayer, those first +tears, after Vivia's music at nightfall, Ray was another creature. He no +longer shut himself up in his room, but was down and about with little +Jane at peep of day. Indeed, he had now a horror of being alone, +following Janet from morn till eve, like a shadow, and stooping forward, +when the dark began to gather, with great, silent tears rolling over his +face, unless she came and took the cricket at his foot, slipping her +warm hand into his, and helping him to himself with the unspoken +sympathy. But it was a horror which nothing wholly lulled to sleep at +last but Vivia's singing. Every night, for an hour or more, Vivia +wrought the music's spell about him, while he lay back in his chair, and +little Jane retreated across the hearth, not daring to intrude on such a +season. They were seldom purely sad things that she played: sometimes +the melody murmured its _cantabile_ like a summer brook into which +moonbeams bent, flowing along the lowland, breaking only in sprays of +tune, and seeming to paint in its bosom the sleeping shadows of the fair +field-flowers; and if ever the gentle strain lost its way, and found +itself wandering among the massive chords, the profound melancholy, the +blind groping of any Fifth Symphony or piercing Stabat Mater, she +answered it, singing Elijah's hymn of rest; and as she sang, there grew +in her voice a strength, a sweetness, that satisfied the very soul. When +the nine-o'clock bell rang in from the village through the winter +night's crystal clearness, little Jane would lightly nudge her mother +and steal away to bed; and in the ruddy twilight of the felling fire the +two talked softly, talked,--but never of that dark thing lying most +deeply in the heart of either. Perhaps, by-and-by, when the thrilling +wound should be only a scar, if ever that time should come, the one +would be able to speak, the other to hear. + +Week after week, now, Ray began to occupy himself about the house more +and more, resuming in succession odd little jobs that during all this +time had remained unfinished as on the day he went. He seemed desirous +of taking up the days exactly as he had left them, of bridging over this +gap and chasm, of ignoring the fatal summer. Something so dreadful had +fallen into his life that it could not assimilate itself with the +tissues of daily existence. The work must be slow that would volatilize +such a black body of horror till it leavened all the being into power +and grace undreamed of before. + +But little Jane did not philosophize upon what she was so glad to see; +she hailed every sign of outside interest as a symptom of returning +health, and gave him a thousand occasions. Yesterday there were baskets +to braid, and to-day he must initiate her in the complications of a +dozen difficult sailor's-knots that he knew, and to-morrow there would +be woodchuck-traps to make and show her how to set. For Janet's chief +vexation had overtaken her in the absence of fresh eggs for breakfast, +an absence that would be enduring, unless the small game of the forest +could be lured into her snares and parcelled among the apathetic hens. +Many were the recipes and the consultations on the subject, till at last +Ray wrote out for her, in black-letter, a notice to be pinned up in the +sight of every delinquent: "Twelve eggs, or death!" Whether it were the +frozen rabbit-meat flung among them the day before, or whether it were +the timely warning, there is no one to tell; but the next morning twelve +eggs lay in the various hiding-places, which Mrs. Vennard declared to be +as good eggs as ever were laid, and custards and cookies renewed their +reign. Here, suddenly, Ray remembered the purse in his haversack, +containing all his uncounted pay. It was a weary while that he stayed +alone in the cold, leaning over it as if he stared at the thirty pieces +of silver, a faint sickness seized him, then hurriedly sweeping it up, +with a red spot burning cruelly into either cheek, he brought it down, +and emptied it in little Jane's lap, though he would rather have seen it +ground to impalpable dust. But, after a moment's thought, the astonished +recipient kept it for a use of her own. Finally, one night, Ray proposed +to instruct Janet in some particular branch of his general ignorance; +and after those firelight-recitations, little Jane forgot to move her +seat away, and her hand was kept in his through all the hour of Vivia's +slow enchantment. + +So the cold weather wore away, and spring stole into the scene like a +surprise, finding Vivia as the winter found her,--but Ray still +undergoing volcanic changes, now passionless lulls and now rages and +spasms of grief: gradually out of them all he gathered his strength +about him. + +It was once more a morning of early June, sunrise was blushing over the +meadows, and the gossamers of hoar dew lay in spidery veils of woven +light and melted under the rosy beams. From her window one heard Vivia +singing, and the strain stole down like the breath of the heavy +honeysuckles that trellised her pane:-- + + "No more for me the eager day + Breaks its bright prison-bars; + The sunshine Thou hast stripped away, + But bared the eternal stars. + + "Though in the cloud the wild bird sings, + His song falls not for me, + Alone while rosy heaven rings,-- + But, Lord, alone with Thee!" + +One well could know, in listening to the liquid melody of those clear +tones, that love and sorrow had transfused her life at last to woof and +warp of innermost joy that death itself could neither tarnish nor +obscure. In a few moments she came down and joined Ray, where he stood +upon the door-stone, with one arm resting over the shoulder of little +Jane, and watched with him the antics of a youth who postured before +them. It was some old acquaintance of Ray's, returned from the war; and +as if he would demonstrate how wonderfully martial exercise supples +joint and sinew, he was leaping in the air, turning his heel where his +toe should be, hanging his foot on his arm and throwing it over his +shoulder in a necklace, skipping and prancing on the grass like a +veritable saltinbanco. Ray looked grimly on and inspected the +evolutions; then there was long process of question and answer and +asseveration, and, when the youth departed, little Jane had announced +with authority that Ray should throw away his crutch and stand on two +feet of his own again. + +"What a gay fellow he is!" said Ray, drawing a breath of relief. +"They're all alike, dancing on graves. To be an old Téméraire decked out +in signal-flags after thunderous work well done, and settling down, is +one thing. But we,--to-day, when one would think every woman in the land +should wear the sackcloth and ashes of mourning, we break into a +splendor of apparel that defies the butterflies and boughs of the dying +year." + +"Two striking examples before you," said little Jane, with a laugh, as +she looked at her old print and at Vivia's gray gown. + +"I wasn't thinking of you. I saw the ladies in the village +yesterday,--they were pied and parded." + +"Children," said Mrs. Vennard from within, "I've taken up the coffee +now. I sha'n't wait a minute longer. Vivia, I'll beat an egg into +yours." + +But the children had wandered down to the lake-shore, oblivious of her +cry, and were standing on the rock watching their images glassed below +and ever freshly shattered with rippling undulations. A wherry chained +beside them Vivia rocked lightly with her foot. + +"You and little Jane will set me down by-and-by?" she asked. "'T will be +so much pleasanter than the coach." + +"And, Vivia dear, you will go, then?" exclaimed little Jane, with +tearful eyes. "You will certainly go?" + +"Yes," said Vivia, looking out and far away, "I shall go to do that"-- + +"Which no one can ever do for _you_," said Ray, with a shudder. + +"Which some woman will praise Heaven for." + +"God bless you, Vivia!" cried little Jane. + +"He has already blessed me," said Vivia, softly. + +Janet nestled nearer to Ray's side, as they stood. There was a tremor of +gladness through all the dew of her glance. Ray looked down at her for a +moment, and his hard brow softened, in his eyes hung a light like the +reflection of a star in a breaking wave. + +"He has blessed me, too," said he. "Some day I shall be a man again. I +have thrown away my crutch, Vivia,--for all my life I am going to have +this little shoulder to lean upon." + +And over his sombre face a smile crept and deepened, like the yellow +ray, that, after a long, dark day of driving rain, suddenly gilds the +tree-tops and brims the sky; and though, when it went, the gloom shut +drearily down again, still it bore the promise of fair day to-morrow. + + * * * * * + +HOUSE AND HOME PAPERS. + +BY CHRISTOPHER CROWFIELD. + + +I. + +THE RAVAGES OF A CARPET. + + +"My dear, it's so cheap!" + +These words were spoken by my wife, as she sat gracefully on a roll of +Brussels carpet which was spread out in flowery lengths on the floor of +Messrs. Ketchem & Co. + +"It's _so_ cheap!" + +Milton says that the love of praise is the last infirmity of noble +minds. I think he had not rightly considered the subject. I believe that +last infirmity is the love of getting things cheap! Understand me, now. +I don't mean the love of getting cheap things, by which one understands +showy, trashy, ill-made, spurious articles, bearing certain apparent +resemblances to better things. All really sensible people are quite +superior to that sort of cheapness. But those fortunate accidents which +put within the power of a man things really good and valuable for half +or a third of their value what mortal virtue and resolution can +withstand? My friend Brown has a genuine Murillo, the joy of his heart +and the light of his eyes, but he never fails to tell you, as its +crowning merit, how he bought it in South America for just nothing,--how +it hung smoky and deserted in the back of a counting-room, and was +thrown in as a makeweight to bind a bargain, and, upon being cleaned, +turned out a genuine Murillo; and then he takes out his cigar, and calls +your attention to the points in it; he adjusts the curtain to let the +sunlight fall just in the right spot; he takes you to this and the other +point of view; and all this time you must confess, that, in your mind as +well as his, the consideration that he got all this beauty for ten +dollars adds lustre to the painting. Brown has paintings there for which +he paid his thousands, and, being well advised, they are worth the +thousands he paid; but this ewe-lamb that he got for nothing always +gives him a secret exaltation in his own eyes. He seems to have credited +to himself personally merit to the amount of what he should have paid +for the picture. Then there is Mrs. Croesus, at the party yesterday +evening, expatiating to my wife on the surprising cheapness of her +point-lace set,--"Got for just nothing at all, my dear!" and a circle of +admiring listeners echoes the sound. "Did you ever _hear_ anything like +it? I never heard of such a thing in my life"; and away sails Mrs. +Croesus as if she had a collar composed of all the cardinal virtues. In +fact, she is buoyed up with a secret sense of merit, so that her satin +slippers scarcely touch the carpet. Even I myself am fond of showing a +first edition of "Paradise Lost," for which I gave a shilling in a +London book-stall, and stating that I would not take a hundred dollars +for it. Even I must confess there are points on which I am mortal. + +But all this while my wife sits on her roll of carpet, looking into my +face for approbation, and Marianne and Jane are pouring into my ear a +running-fire of "How sweet! How lovely! Just like that one of Mrs. +Tweedleum's!" + +"And she gave two dollars and seventy-five cents a yard for hers, and +this is"-- + +My wife here put her hand to her mouth, and pronounced the incredible +sum in a whisper, with a species of sacred awe, common, as I have +observed, to females in such interesting crises. In fact, Mr. Ketchem, +standing smiling and amiable by, remarked to me that really he hoped +Mrs. Crowfield would not name generally what she gave for the article, +for positively it was so far below the usual rate of prices that he +might give offence to other customers; but this was the very last of +the pattern, and they were anxious to close off the old stock, and we +had always traded with them, and he had a great respect for my wife's +father, who had always traded with their firm, and so, when there were +any little bargains to be thrown in any one's way, why, he naturally, of +course--And here Mr. Ketchem bowed gracefully over the yardstick to my +wife, and I consented. + +Yes, I consented; but whenever I think of myself at that moment, I +always am reminded, in a small way, of Adam taking the apple; and my +wife, seated on that roll of carpet, has more than once suggested to my +mind the classic image of Pandora opening her unlucky box. In fact, from +the moment I had blandly assented to Mr. Ketchem's remarks, and said to +my wife, with a gentle air of dignity, "Well, my dear, since it suits +you, I think you had better take it," there came a load on my prophetic +soul, which not all the fluttering and chattering of my delighted girls +and the more placid complacency of my wife could entirely dissipate. I +presaged, I know not what, of coming woe; and all I presaged came to +pass. + +In order to know just _what_ came to pass, I must give you a view of the +house and home into which this carpet was introduced. + +My wife and I were somewhat advanced housekeepers, and our dwelling was +first furnished by her father, in the old-fashioned jog-trot days, when +furniture was made with a view to its lasting from generation to +generation. Everything was strong and comfortable,--heavy mahogany, +guiltless of the modern device of veneering, and hewed out with a square +solidity which had not an idea of change. It was, so to speak, a sort of +granite foundation of the household structure. Then, we commenced +housekeeping with the full idea that our house was a thing to be lived +in, and that furniture was made to be used. That most sensible of women, +Mrs. Crowfield, agreed fully with me that in our house there was to be +nothing too good for ourselves,--no rooms shut up in holiday attire to +be enjoyed by strangers for three or four days in the year, while we +lived in holes and corners,--no best parlor from which we were to be +excluded,--no best china which we were not to use,--no silver plate to +be kept in the safe in the bank, and brought home only in case of a +grand festival, while our daily meals were served with dingy Britannia. +"Strike a broad, plain average," I said to my wife; "have everything +abundant, serviceable; and give all our friends exactly what we have +ourselves, no better and no worse";--and my wife smiled approval on my +sentiment. + +Smile! she did more than smile. My wife resembles one of those convex +mirrors I have sometimes seen. Every idea I threw out, plain and simple, +she reflected back upon me in a thousand little glitters and twinkles of +her own; she made my crude conceptions come back to me in such perfectly +dazzling performances that I hardly recognized them. My mind warms up, +when I think what a home that woman made of our house from the very +first day she moved into it. The great, large, airy parlor, with its +ample bow-window, when she had arranged it, seemed a perfect trap to +catch sunbeams. There was none of that discouraging trimness and newness +that often repel a man's bachelor-friends after the first call, and make +them feel,--"Oh, well, one cannot go in at Crowfield's now, unless one +is dressed; one might put them out." The first thing our parlor said to +any one was, that we were not people to be put out, that we were +wide-spread, easy-going, and jolly folk. Even if Tom Brown brought in +Ponto and his shooting-bag, there was nothing in that parlor to strike +terror into man and dog; for it was written on the face of things, that +everybody there was to do just as he or she pleased. There were my books +and my writing-table spread out with all its miscellaneous confusion of +papers on one side of the fireplace, and there were my wife's great, +ample sofa and work-table on the other; there I wrote my articles for +the "North American," and there she turned and ripped and altered her +dresses, and there lay crochet and knitting and embroidery side by side +with a weekly basket of family-mending, and in neighborly contiguity +with the last book of the season, which my wife turned over as she took +her after-dinner lounge on the sofa. And in the bow-window were canaries +always singing, and a great stand of plants always fresh and blooming, +and ivy which grew and clambered and twined about the pictures. Best of +all, there was in our parlor that household altar, the blazing +wood-fire, whose wholesome, hearty crackle is the truest household +inspiration. I quite agree with one celebrated American author who holds +that an open fireplace is an altar of patriotism. Would our +Revolutionary fathers have gone barefooted and bleeding over snows to +defend air-tight stoves and cooking-ranges? I trow not. It was the +memory of the great open kitchen-fire, with its back-log and fore-stick +of cord-wood, its roaring, hilarious voice of invitation, its dancing +tongues of flame, that called to them through the snows of that dreadful +winter to keep up their courage, that made their hearts warm and bright +with a thousand reflected memories. Our neighbors said that it was +delightful to sit by our fire,--but then, for their part, they could not +afford it, wood was so ruinously dear, and all that. Most of these +people could not, for the simple reason that they felt compelled, in +order to maintain the family-dignity, to keep up a parlor with great +pomp and circumstance of upholstery, where they sat only on +dress-occasions, and of course the wood-fire was out of the question. + +When children began to make their appearance in our establishment, my +wife, like a well-conducted housekeeper, had the best of +nursery-arrangements,--a room all warmed, lighted, and ventilated, and +abounding in every proper resource of amusement to the rising race; but +it was astonishing to see how, notwithstanding this, the centripetal +attraction drew every pair of little pattering feet to our parlor. + +"My dear, why don't you take your blocks up-stairs?" + +"I want to be where oo are," said with a piteous under-lip, was +generally a most convincing answer. + +Then the small people could not be disabused of the idea that certain +chief treasures of their own would be safer under papa's writing-table +or mamma's sofa than in the safest closet of their own domains. My +writing-table was dockyard for Arthur's new ship, and stable for little +Tom's pepper-and-salt-colored pony, and carriage-house for Charley's new +wagon, while whole armies of paper dolls kept house in the recess behind +mamma's sofa. + +And then, in due time, came the tribe of pets who followed the little +ones and rejoiced in the blaze of the firelight. The boys had a splendid +Newfoundland, which, knowing our weakness, we warned them with awful +gravity was never to be a parlor-dog; but, somehow, what with little +beggings and pleadings on the part of Arthur and Tom, and the piteous +melancholy with which Rover would look through the window-panes, when +shut out from the blazing warmth into the dark, cold veranda, it at last +came to pass that Rover gained a regular corner at the hearth, a regular +_status_ in every family-convocation. And then came a little +black-and-tan English terrier for the girls; and then a fleecy poodle, +who established himself on the corner of my wife's sofa; and for each of +these some little voices pleaded, and some little heart would be so near +broken at any slight, that my wife and I resigned ourselves to live in +menagerie, the more so as we were obliged to confess a lurking weakness +towards these four-footed children ourselves. + +So we grew and flourished together,--children, dogs, birds, flowers, and +all; and although my wife often, in paroxysms of housewifeliness to +which the best of women are subject, would declare that we never were +fit to be seen, yet I comforted her with the reflection that there were +few people whose friends seemed to consider them better worth seeing, +judging by the stream of visitors and loungers which was always setting +towards our parlor. People seemed to find it good to be there; they said +it was somehow home-like and pleasant, and that there was a kind of +charm about it that made it easy to talk and easy to live; and as my +girls and boys grew up, there seemed always to be some merry doing or +other going on there. Arty and Tom brought home their college friends, +who straightway took root there and seemed to fancy themselves a part of +us. We had no reception-rooms apart, where the girls were to receive +young gentlemen; all the courting and flirting that were to be done had +for their arena the ample variety of surface presented by our parlor, +which, with sofas and screens and lounges and recesses and writing-and +work-tables disposed here and there, and the genuine _laisser aller_ of +the whole _menage_, seemed, on the whole, to have offered ample +advantages enough; for, at the time I write of, two daughters were +already established in marriage, and a third engaged, while my youngest +was busy, as yet, in performing that little domestic ballet of the cat +with the mouse, in the case of a most submissive youth of the +neighborhood. + +All this time our parlor-furniture, though of that granitic formation I +have indicated, began to show marks of that decay to which things +sublunary are liable. I cannot say that I dislike this look in a room. +Take a fine, ample, hospitable apartment, where all things, freely and +generously used, softly and indefinably grow old together, there is a +sort of mellow tone and keeping which pleases my eye. What if the seams +of the great inviting arm-chair, where so many friends have sat and +lounged, do grow white? What, in fact, if some easy couch has an +undeniable hole worn in its friendly cover? I regard with tenderness +even these mortal weaknesses of these servants and witnesses of our good +times and social fellowship. No vulgar touch wore them; they may be +called, rather, the marks and indentations which the glittering in and +out of the tide of social happiness has worn in the rocks of our strand. +I would no more disturb the gradual toning-down and aging of a well-used +set of furniture by smart improvements than I would have a modern dauber +paint in emendations in a fine old picture. + +So we men reason; but women do not always think as we do. There is a +virulent demon of housekeeping, not wholly cast out in the best of them, +and which often breaks out in unguarded moments. In fact, Miss Marianne, +being on the lookout for furniture wherewith to begin a new +establishment, and Jane, who had accompanied her in her peregrinations, +had more than once thrown out little disparaging remarks on the +time-worn appearance of our establishment, suggesting comparison with +those of more modern-furnished rooms. + +"It is positively scandalous, the way our furniture looks," I one day +heard her declaring to her mother; "and this old rag of a carpet!" + +My feelings were hurt, not the less so that I knew that the large cloth +which covered the middle of the floor, and which the women call a +bocking, had been bought and nailed down there, after a solemn +family-counsel, as the best means of concealing the too evident darns +which years of good cheer had made needful in our stanch old household +friend, the three-ply carpet, made in those days when to be a three-ply +was a pledge of continuance and service. + +Well, it was a joyous and bustling day, when, after one of those +domestic whirlwinds which the women are fond of denominating +house-cleaning, the new Brussels carpet was at length brought in and +nailed down, and its beauty praised from mouth to mouth. Our old friends +called in and admired, and all seemed to be well, except that I had that +light and delicate presage of changes to come which indefinitely brooded +over me. + +The first premonitory symptom was the look of apprehensive suspicion +with which the female senate regarded the genial sunbeams that had +always glorified our bow-window. + +"This house ought to have inside blinds," said Marianne, with all the +confident decision of youth; "this carpet will be ruined, if the sun is +allowed to come in like that." + +"And that dirty little canary must really be hung in the kitchen," said +Jane; "he always did make such a litter, scattering his seed-chippings +about; and he never takes his bath without flirting out some water. And, +mamma, it appears to me it will never do to have the plants here. Plants +are always either leaking through the pots upon the carpet, or +scattering bits of blossoms and dead leaves, or some accident upsets or +breaks a pot. It was no matter, you know, when we had the old carpet; +but this we really want to have kept nice." + +Mamma stood her ground for the plants,--darlings of her heart for many a +year,--but temporized, and showed that disposition towards compromise +which is most inviting to aggression. + +I confess I trembled; for, of all radicals on earth, none are to be +compared to females that have once in hand a course of domestic +innovation and reform. The sacred fire, the divine _furor_, burns in +their bosoms, they become perfect Pythonesses, and every chair they sit +on assumes the magic properties of the tripod. Hence the dismay that +lodges in the bosoms of us males at the fateful spring and autumn +seasons, denominated house-cleaning. Who can say whither the awful gods, +the prophetic fates, may drive our fair household divinities; what sins +of ours may be brought to light; what indulgences and compliances, which +uninspired woman has granted in her ordinary mortal hours, may be torn +from us? He who has been allowed to keep a pair of pet slippers in a +concealed corner, and by the fireside indulged with a chair which he +might, _ad libitum_, fill with all sorts of pamphlets and miscellaneous +literature, suddenly finds himself reformed out of knowledge, his +pamphlets tucked away into pigeon-holes and corners, and his slippers +put in their place in the hall, with, perhaps, a brisk insinuation about +the shocking dust and disorder that men will tolerate. + +The fact was, that the very first night after the advent of the new +carpet I had a prophetic dream. Among our treasures of art was a little +etching, by an English artist-friend, the subject of which was the +gambols of the household fairies in a baronial library after the +household were in bed. The little people are represented in every +attitude of frolic enjoyment. Some escalade the great arm-chair, and +look down from its top as from a domestic Mont Blanc; some climb about +the bellows; some scale the shaft of the shovel; while some, forming in +magic ring, dance festively on the yet glowing hearth. Tiny troops +promenade the writing-table. One perches himself quaintly on the top of +the inkstand, and holds colloquy with another who sits cross-legged on a +paper-weight, while a companion looks down on them from the top of the +sand-box. It was an ingenious little device, and gave me the idea which +I often expressed to my wife, that much of the peculiar feeling of +security, composure, and enjoyment which seems to be the atmosphere of +some rooms and houses came from the unsuspected presence of these little +people, the household fairies, so that the belief in their existence +became a solemn article of faith with me. + +Accordingly, that evening, after the installation of the carpet, when my +wife and daughters had gone to bed, as I sat with my slippered feet +before the last coals of the fire, I fell asleep in my chair, and, lo! +my own parlor presented to my eye a scene of busy life. The little +people in green were tripping to and fro, but in great confusion. +Evidently something was wrong among them; for they were fussing and +chattering with each other, as if preparatory to a general movement. In +the region of the bow-window I observed a tribe of them standing with +tiny valises and carpet-bags in their hands, as though about to depart +on a journey. On my writing-table another set stood around my inkstand +and pen-rack, who, pointing to those on the floor, seemed to debate some +question among themselves; while others of them appeared to be +collecting and packing away in tiny trunks certain fairy treasures, +preparatory to a general departure. When I looked at the social hearth, +at my wife's sofa and work-basket, I saw similar appearances of +dissatisfaction and confusion. It was evident that the household fairies +were discussing the question of a general and simultaneous removal. I +groaned in spirit, and, stretching out my hand, began a conciliatory +address, when whisk went the whole scene from before my eyes, and I +awaked to behold the form of my wife asking me if I were ill or had had +the nightmare that I groaned so. I told her my dream, and we laughed at +it together. + +"We must give way to the girls a little," she said. "It is natural, you +know, that they should wish us to appear a little as other people do. +The fact is, our parlor is somewhat dilapidated; think how many years we +have lived in it without an article of new furniture." + +"I hate new furniture," I remarked, in the bitterness of my soul. "I +hate anything new." + +My wife answered me discreetly, according to approved principles of +diplomacy. I was right. She sympathized with me. At the same time, it +was not necessary, she remarked, that we should keep a hole in our +sofa-cover and arm-chair; there would certainly be no harm in sending +them to the upholsterer's to be new-covered; she didn't much mind, for +her part, moving her plants to the south back-room, and the bird would +do well enough in the kitchen: I had often complained of him for singing +vociferously when I was reading aloud. + +So our sofa went to the upholsterer's; but the upholsterer was struck +with such horror at its clumsy, antiquated, unfashionable appearance, +that he felt bound to make representations to my wife and daughters: +positively, it would be better for them to get a new one, of a tempting +pattern, which he showed them, than to try to do anything with that. +With a stitch or so here and there it might do for a basement +dining-room; but, for a parlor, he gave it as his disinterested +opinion,--he must say, if the case were his own, he should get, etc., +etc. In short, we had a new sofa and new chairs, and the plants and the +birds were banished, and some dark green blinds were put up to exclude +the sun from the parlor, and the blessed luminary was allowed there only +at rare intervals when my wife and daughters were out shopping, and I +acted out my uncivilized male instincts by pulling up every shade and +vivifying the apartment as in days of old. + +But this was not the worst of it. The new furniture and new carpet +formed an opposition party in the room. I believe in my heart that for +every little household fairy that went out with the dear old things +there came in a tribe of discontented brownies with the new ones. These +little wretches were always twitching at the gowns of my wife and +daughters, jogging their elbows, and suggesting odious comparisons +between the smart new articles and what remained of the old ones. They +disparaged my writing-table in the corner; they disparaged the +old-fashioned lounge in the other corner, which had been the maternal +throne for years; they disparaged the work-table, the work-basket, with +constant suggestions of how such things as these would look in certain +well-kept parlors where new-fashioned furniture of the same sort as ours +existed. + +"We don't have any parlor," said Jane, one day. "Our parlor has always +been a sort of log-cabin,--library, study, nursery, greenhouse, all +combined. We never have had things like other people." + +"Yes, and this open fire makes such a dust; and this carpet is one that +shows every speck of dust; it keeps one always on the watch." + +"I wonder why papa never had a study to himself; I'm sure I should think +he would like it better than sitting here among us all. Now there's the +great south-room off the dining-room; if he would only move his things +there, and have his open fire, we could then close up the fireplace, and +put lounges in the recesses, and mamma could have her things in the +nursery,--and then we should have a parlor fit to be seen." + +I overheard all this, though I pretended not to,--the little busy chits +supposing me entirely buried in the recesses of a German book over which +I was poring. + +There are certain crises in a man's life when the female element in his +household asserts itself in dominant forms that seem to threaten to +overwhelm him. The fair creatures, who in most matters have depended on +his judgment, evidently look upon him at these seasons as only a +forlorn, incapable male creature, to be cajoled and flattered and +persuaded out his native blindness and absurdity into the fairy-land of +their wishes. + +"Of course, mamma," said the busy voices, "men can't understand such +things. What _can_ men know of housekeeping, and how things ought to +look? Papa never goes into company; he don't know and don't care how the +world is doing, and don't see that nobody now is living as we do." + +"Aha, my little mistresses, are you there?" I thought; and I mentally +resolved on opposing a great force of what our politicians call +_backbone_ to this pretty domestic conspiracy. + +"When you get my writing-table out of this corner, my pretty dears, I'd +thank you to let me know it." + +Thus spake I in my blindness, fool that I was. Jupiter might as soon +keep awake, when Juno came in best bib and tucker, and with the _cestus_ +of Venus, to get him to sleep. Poor Slender might as well hope to get +the better of pretty Mistress Anne Page, as one of us clumsy-footed men +might endeavor to escape from the tangled labyrinth of female wiles. + +In short, in less than a year it was all done, without any quarrel, any +noise, any violence,--done, I scarce knew when or how, but with the +utmost deference to my wishes, the most amiable hopes that I would not +put myself out, the most sincere protestations, that, if I liked it +better as it was, my goddesses would give up and acquiesce. In fact, I +seemed to do it of myself, constrained thereto by what the Emperor +Napoleon has so happily called the logic of events,--that old, +well-known logic by which the man who has once said A must say B, and he +who has said B must say the whole alphabet. In a year, we had a parlor +with two lounges in decorous recesses, a fashionable sofa, and six +chairs and a looking-glass, and a grate always shut up, and a hole in +the floor which kept the parlor warm, and great, heavy curtains that +kept out all the light that was not already excluded by the green +shades. + +It was as proper and orderly a parlor as those of our most fashionable +neighbors; and when our friends called, we took them stumbling into its +darkened solitude, and opened a faint crack in one of the window-shades, +and came down in our best clothes, and talked with them there. Our old +friends rebelled at this, and asked what they had done to be treated so, +and complained so bitterly that gradually we let them into the secret +that there was a great south-room which I had taken for my study, where +we all sat, where the old carpet was down, where the sun shone in at the +great window, where my wife's plants flourished and the canary-bird +sang, and my wife had her sofa in the corner, and the old brass andirons +glistened and the wood-fire crackled,--in short, a room to which all the +household fairies had emigrated. + +When they once had found _that_ out, it was difficult to get any of them +to sit in our parlor. I had purposely christened the new room _my +study_, that I might stand on my rights as master of ceremonies there, +though I opened wide arms of welcome to any who chose to come. So, then, +it would often come to pass, that, when we were sitting round the fire +in my study of an evening, the girls would say,-- + +"Come, what do we always stay here for? Why don't we ever sit in the +parlor?" + +And then there would be manifested among guests and family-friends a +general unwillingness to move. + +"Oh, hang it, girls!" would Arthur say; "the parlor is well enough, all +right; let it stay as it is, and let a fellow stay where he can do as he +pleases and feels at home"; and to this view of the matter would respond +divers of the nice young bachelors who were Arthur's and Tom's sworn +friends. + +In fact, nobody wanted to stay in our parlor now. It was a cold, +correct, accomplished fact; the household fairies had left it,--and when +the fairies leave a room, nobody ever feels at home in it. No pictures, +curtains, no wealth of mirrors, no elegance of lounges, can in the least +make up for their absence. They are a capricious little set; there are +rooms where they will _not_ stay, and rooms where they _will_; but no +one can ever have a good time without them. + + * * * * * + +THREE CANTOS OF DANTE'S "PARADISO." + +[Transcribers Note: Line that had notes associated with them have been +numbered. The notes have been moved to the end of the canto.] + + +CANTO XXIII. + + Even as a bird, 'mid the beloved leaves, [1] + Quiet upon the nest of her sweet brood + Throughout the night, that hideth all things from us, + Who, that she may behold their longed-for looks + And find the nourishment wherewith to feed them, + In which, to her, grave labors grateful are, + Anticipates the time on open spray + And with an ardent longing waits the sun, + Gazing intent, as soon as breaks the dawn: + Even thus my Lady standing was, erect + And vigilant, turned round towards the zone + Underneath which the sun displays least haste; [12] + So that beholding her distraught and eager, + Such I became as he is, who desiring + For something yearns, and hoping is appeased. + But brief the space from one When to the other; + From my awaiting, say I, to the seeing + The welkin grow resplendent more and more. + And Beatrice exclaimed: "Behold the hosts + Of the triumphant Christ, and all the fruit + Harvested by the rolling of these spheres!" [21] + It seemed to me her face was all on flame; + And eyes she had so full of ecstasy + That I must needs pass on without describing. + As when in nights serene of the full moon + Smiles Trivia among the nymphs eternal + Who paint the heaven through all its hollow cope, + Saw I, above the myriads of lamps, + A sun that one and all of them enkindled, [29] + E'en as our own does the supernal stars. + And through the living light transparent shone + The lucent substance so intensely clear + Into my sight, that I could not sustain it. + O Beatrice, my gentle guide and dear! + She said to me: "That which o'ermasters thee + A virtue is which no one can resist. + There are the wisdom and omnipotence + That oped the thoroughfares 'twixt heaven and earth, + For which there erst had been so long a yearning." + As fire from out a cloud itself discharges, + Dilating so it finds not room therein, + And down, against its nature, falls to earth, + So did my mind, among those aliments + Becoming larger, issue from itself, + And what became of it cannot remember. + "Open thine eyes, and look at what I am: [45] + Thou hast beheld such things, that strong enough + Hast thou become to tolerate my smile." + I was as one who still retains the feeling + Of a forgotten dream, and who endeavors + In vain to bring it back into his mind, + When I this invitation heard, deserving + Of so much gratitude, it never fades + Out of the book that chronicles the past. + If at this moment sounded all the tongues + That Polyhymnia and her sisters made [55] + Most lubrical with their delicious milk, + To aid me, to a thousandth of the truth + It would not reach, singing the holy smile, + And how the holy aspect it illumed. + And therefore, representing Paradise, + The sacred poem must perforce leap over, + Even as a man who finds his way cut off. + But whoso thinketh of the ponderous theme, + And of the mortal shoulder that sustains it, + Should blame it not, if under this it trembles. + It is no passage for a little boat + This which goes cleaving the audacious prow, + Nor for a pilot who would spare himself. + "Why does my face so much enamor thee, + That to the garden fair thou turnest not, + Which under the rays of Christ is blossoming? + There is the rose in which the Word Divine [72] + Became incarnate; there the lilies are + By whose perfume the good way was selected." + Thus Beatrice; and I, who to her counsels + Was wholly ready, once again betook me + Unto the battle of the feeble brows. + As in a sunbeam, that unbroken passes [78] + Through fractured cloud, ere now a meadow of flowers + Mine eyes with shadow covered have beheld, + So I beheld the multitudinous splendors + Refulgent from above with burning rays, + Beholding not the source of the effulgence. + O thou benignant power that so imprint'st them! [89] + Thou didst exalt thyself to give more scope + There to the eyes, that were not strong enough. + The name of that fair flower I e'er invoke + Morning and evening utterly enthralled + My soul to gaze upon the greater fire. + And when in both mine eyes depicted were + The glory and greatness of the living star + Which conquers there, as here below it conquered, + Athwart the heavens descended a bright sheen [98] + Formed in a circle like a coronal, + And cinctured it, and whirled itself about it. + Whatever melody most sweetly soundeth + On earth, and to itself most draws the soul, + Would seem a cloud that, rent asunder, thunders, + Compared unto the sounding of that lyre + Wherewith was crowned the sapphire beautiful, + Which gives the clearest heaven its sapphire hue. [106] + "I am Angelic Love, that circle round + The joy sublime which breathes from out the bosom + That was the hostelry of our Desire; + And I shall circle, Lady of Heaven, while + Thou followest thy Son, and mak'st diviner + The sphere supreme, because thou enterest it." + Thus did the circulated melody + Seal itself up; and all the other lights + Were making resonant the name of Mary. + The regal mantle of the volumes all [116] + Of that world, which most fervid is and living + With breath of God and with his works and ways, + Extended over us its inner curve, + So very distant, that its outward show, + There where I was, not yet appeared to me. + Therefore mine eyes did not possess the power + Of following the incoronated flame, + Which had ascended near to its own seed. + And as a little child, that towards its mother + Extends its arms, when it the milk has taken, + Through impulse kindled into outward flame, + Each of those gleams of white did upward stretch + So with its summit, that the deep affection + They had for Mary was revealed to me. + Thereafter they remained there in my sight, + _Regina coeli_ singing with such sweetness, [132] + That ne'er from me has the delight departed. + Oh, what exuberance is garnered up + In those resplendent coffers, which had been + For sowing here below good husbandmen! + There they enjoy and live upon the treasure [137] + Which was acquired while weeping in the exile + Of Babylon, wherein the gold was left. + There triumpheth beneath the exalted Son + Of God and Mary, in his victory, + Both with the ancient council and the new, + He who doth keep the keys of such a glory. [143] + +[Line 1: Dante is with Beatrice in the eighth circle, that of the fixed +stars. She is gazing upwards, watching for the descent of the Triumph of +Christ.] + +[Line 12: Under the meridian, or at noon, the shadows being shorter move +slower, and, therefore the sun seems less in haste.] + +[Line 21: By the beneficent influences of the stars.] + +[Line 29: The old belief that the stars were fed by the light of the +sun. So Milton,-- + + "Hither, as to their fountain, other stars + Repair, and in their golden urns draw light." + +Here the stars are souls, the sun is Christ.] + +[Line 45: Beatrice speaks.] + +[Line 55: The Muse of harmony and singing.] + +[Line 72: The rose is the Virgin Mary, _Rosa Mundi, Rosa Mystica_; the +lilies are the Apostles and other saints.] + +[Line 78: The struggle between his eyes and the light.] + +[Line 89: Christ reascends, that Dante's dazzled eyes, too feeble to +bear the light of his presence, may behold the splendors around him. + +The greater fire is the Virgin Mary, greater than any of those +remaining. She is the living star, surpassing in brightness all other +souls in heaven, as she did here on earth: _Stella Maris, Stella +Matutina_.] + +[Line 98: The Angel Gabriel, or Angelic Love.] + +[Line 106: Sapphire is the color in which the old painters arrayed the +Virgin.] + +[Line 116: The regal mantle of all the volumes, or rolling orbs, of the +world is the crystalline heaven, or _Primus Mobile_, which infolds all +the others like a mantle.] + +[Line 132: Easter hymn to the Virgin.] + +[Line 137: Caring not for gold in the Babylonian exile of this life, +they laid up treasures in the other.] + +[Line 143: St. Peter, keeper of the keys, with the holy men of the Old +and the New Testament.] + + +CANTO XXIV. + + "O company elect to the great supper [1] + Of the Lamb glorified, who feedeth you + So that forever full is your desire, + If by the grace of God this man foretastes + Of whatsoever falleth from your table, + Or ever death prescribes to him the time, + Direct your mind to his immense desire, [7] + And him somewhat bedew; ye drinking are + Forever from the fount whence comes his thought." [9] + Thus Beatrice; and those enraptured spirits + Made themselves spheres around their steadfast poles, + Flaming intensely in the guise of comets. + And as the wheels in works of horologes + Revolve so that the first to the beholder + Motionless seems, and the last one to fly, + So in like manner did those carols, dancing [16] + In different measure, by their affluence + Make me esteem them either swift or slow. + From that one which I noted of most beauty + Beheld I issue forth a fire so happy + That none it left there of a greater splendor; + And around Beatrice three several times [22] + It whirled itself with so divine a song, + My fantasy repeats it not to me; + Therefore the pen skips, and I write it not, + Since our imagination for such folds, + Much more our speech, is of a tint too glaring. [27] + "O holy sister mine, who us implorest [28] + With such devotion, by thine ardent love + Thou dost unbind me from that beautiful sphere!" + Thus, having stopped, the beatific fire + Unto my Lady did direct its breath, + Which spake in fashion as I here have said. + And she: "O light eterne of the great man + To whom our Lord delivered up the keys + He carried down of this miraculous joy, + This one examine on points light and grave, + As good beseemeth thee, about the Faith + By means of which thou on the sea didst walk. + If he loves well, and hopes well, and believes, + Is hid not from thee; for thou hast thy sight + Where everything beholds itself depicted. [42] + But since this kingdom has made citizens + By means of the true Faith, to glorify it + 'Tis well he have the chance to speak thereof." + As baccalaureate arms himself, and speaks not + Until the master doth propose the question, + To argue it, and not to terminate it, + So did I arm myself with every reason, + While she was speaking, that I might be ready + For such a questioner and such profession. + "Speak on, good Christian; manifest thyself; [52] + Say, what is Faith?" Whereat I raised my brow + Unto that light from which this was breathed forth. + Then turned I round to Beatrice, and she + Prompt signals made to me that I should pour + The water forth from my internal fountain. + "May grace, that suffers me to make confession," + Began I, "to the great Centurion, [59] + Cause my conceptions all to be explicit!" + And I continued: "As the truthful pen, + Father, of thy dear brother wrote of it, + Who put with thee Rome into the good way, + Faith is the substance of the things we hope for, + And evidence of those that are not seen; + And this appears to me its quiddity." [66] + Then heard I: "Very rightly thou perceivest, + If well thou understandest why he placed it + With substances and then with evidences." + And I thereafterward: "The things profound, + That here vouchsafe to me their outward show, + Unto all eyes below are so concealed, + That they exist there only in belief, + Upon the which is founded the high hope, + And therefore take the nature of a substance. + And it behooveth us from this belief + To reason without having other views, + And hence it has the nature of evidence." + Then heard I: "If whatever is acquired + Below as doctrine were thus understood, + No sophist's subtlety would there find place." + Thus was breathed forth from that enkindled love; + Then added: "Thoroughly has been gone over + Already of this coin the alloy and weight; + But tell me if thou hast it in thy purse?" + And I: "Yes, both so shining and so round, + That in its stamp there is no peradventure." + Thereafter issued from the light profound + That there resplendent was: "This precious jewel, + Upon the which is every virtue founded, + Whence hadst thou it?" And I: "The large outpouring + Of the Holy Spirit, which has been diffused + Upon the ancient parchments and the new, [93] + A syllogism is, which demonstrates it + With such acuteness, that, compared therewith, + All demonstration seems to me obtuse." + And then I heard: "The ancient and the new + Postulates, that to thee are so conclusive, + Why dost thou take them for the word divine?" + And I: "The proof, which shows the truth to me, + Are the works subsequent, whereunto Nature + Ne'er heated iron yet, nor anvil beat." + 'Twas answered me: "Say, who assureth thee + That those works ever were? the thing itself + We wish to prove, nought else to thee affirms it." + "Were the world to Christianity converted," + I said, "withouten miracles, this one + Is such, the rest are not its hundredth part; + For thou didst enter destitute and fasting + Into the field to plant there the good plant, + Which was a vine and has become a thorn!" + This being finished, the high, holy Court + Resounded through the spheres, "One God we praise!" + In melody that there above is chanted. + And then that Baron, who from branch to branch, [115] + Examining, had thus conducted me, + Till the remotest leaves we were approaching, + Did recommence once more: "The Grace that lords it + Over thy intellect thy mouth has opened, + Up to this point, as it should opened be, + So that I do approve what forth emerged; + But now thou must express what thou believest, + And whence to thy belief it was presented." + "O holy father! O thou spirit, who seest + What thou believedst, so that thou o'ercamest, + Towards the sepulchre, more youthful feet," [126] + Began I, "thou dost wish me to declare + Forthwith the manner of my prompt belief, + And likewise thou the cause thereof demandest. + And I respond: In one God I believe, + Sole and eterne, who all the heaven doth move, + Himself unmoved, with love and with desire; + And of such faith not only have I proofs + Physical and metaphysical, but gives them + Likewise the truth that from this place rains down + Through Moses, through the Prophets and the Psalms, + Through the Evangel, and through you, who wrote + After the fiery Spirit sanctified you; [138] + In Persons three eterne believe I, and these + One essence I believe, so one and trine, + They bear conjunction both with _sunt_ and _est_. + With the profound conjunction and divine, + Which now I touch upon, doth stamp my mind + Ofttimes the doctrine evangelical. + This the beginning is, this is the spark + Which afterwards dilates to vivid flame, + And, like a star in heaven, is sparkling in me." + Even as a lord, who hears what pleases him, + His servant straight embraces, giving thanks + For the good news, as soon as he is silent; + So, giving me its benediction, singing, + Three times encircled me, when I was silent, + The apostolic light, at whose command + I spoken had, in speaking I so pleased him. + +[Line 1: Beatrice speaks.] + +[Line 7: Hunger and thirst after things divine.] + +[Line 9: The grace of God.] + +[Line 16: The carol was a dance as well as a song.] + +[Line 22: St. Peter thrice encircles Beatrice, as the Angel Gabriel did +the Virgin Mary in the preceding canto.] + +[Line 27: Too glaring for painting such delicate draperies of song.] + +[Line 28: St. Peter speaks to Beatrice.] + +[Line 42: Fixed upon God, in whom all things reflected.] + +[Line 52: St. Peter speaks to Dante.] + +[Line 59: The great Head of the Church.] + +[Line 66: In the Scholastic Philosophy, the essence of a thing, +distinguishing it from all other things, was called its _quiddity_: an +answer to the question, _Quid est?_] + +[Line 93: The Old and New Testaments.] + +[Line 115: In the Middle Ages earthly titles were sometimes given to the +saints. Thus, Boccaccio speaks of _Baron Messer San Antonio_.] + +[Line 126: St. John, xx. 3-8. St. John was the first to reach the +sepulchre, but St. Peter the first to enter it.] + +[Line 138: St. Peter and the other Apostles after Pentecost.] + + +CANTO XXV. + + If e'er it happen that the Poem Sacred, [1] + To which both heaven and earth have set their hand + Till it hath made me meagre many a year, + O'ercome the cruelty that bars me out + From the fair sheepfold, where a lamb I slumbered, + Obnoxious to the wolves that war upon it, + With other voice henceforth, with other fleece + Will I return as poet, and at my font + Baptismal will I take the laurel-crown; [9] + Because into the Faith that maketh known + All souls to God there entered I, and then + Peter for her sake so my brow encircled. + Thereafterward towards us moved a light + Out of that band whence issued the first-fruits [14] + Which of his vicars Christ behind him left, + And then, my Lady, full of ecstasy, + Said unto me: "Look, look! behold the Baron + For whom below Galicia is frequented." [18] + In the same way as, when a dove alights + Near his companion, both of them pour forth, + Circling about and murmuring, their affection, + So I beheld one by the other grand + Prince glorified to be with welcome greeted, + Lauding the food that there above is eaten. + But when their gratulations were completed, + Silently _coram me_ each one stood still, + So incandescent it o'ercame my sight. + Smiling thereafterwards, said Beatrice: + "Spirit august, by whom the benefactions + Of our Basilica have been described, [30] + Make Hope reverberate in this altitude; + Thou knowest as oft thou dost personify it + As Jesus to the three gave greater light,"-- [33] + "Lift up thy head, and make thyself assured; [34] + For what comes hither from the mortal world + Must needs be ripened in our radiance." + This exhortation from the second fire [37] + Came; and mine eyes I lifted to the hills, [38] + Which bent them down before with too great weight, + "Since, through his grace, our Emperor decrees + Thou shouldst confronted be, before thy death, + In the most secret chamber, with his Counts, [42] + So that, the truth beholding of this court, + Hope, which below there rightly fascinates, + In thee and others may thereby be strengthened; + Say what it is, and how is flowering with it + Thy mind, and say from whence it came to thee": + Thus did the second light continue still. + And the Compassionate, who piloted [49] + The plumage of my wings in such high flight, + In the reply did thus anticipate me: + "No child whatever the Church Militant + Of greater hope possesses, as is written + In that Sun which irradiates all our band; [54] + Therefore it is conceded him from Egypt + To come into Jerusalem to see, [56] + Or ever yet his warfare is completed. + The other points, that not for knowledge' sake [58] + Have been demanded, but that he report + How much this virtue unto thee is pleasing, + To him I leave; for hard he will not find them, + Nor to be boasted of; them let him answer; + And may the grace of God in this assist him!" + As a disciple, who obeys his teacher, + Ready and willing, where he is expert, + So that his excellence may be revealed, + "Hope," said I, "is the certain expectation [67] + Of glory in the hereafter, which proceedeth + From grace divine and merit precedent. + From many stars this light comes unto me; + But he instilled it first into my heart, + Who was chief singer unto the chief captain. [72] + _Hope they in thee_, in the high Theody + He says, _all those who recognize thy name_; [74] + And who does not, if he my faith possesses? [75] + Thou didst instil me, then, with his instilling + In the Epistle, so that I am full, + And upon others rain again your rain." [78] + While I was speaking, in the living bosom + Of that effulgence quivered a sharp flash, + Sudden and frequent, in the guise of lightning. + Then breathed: "The love wherewith I am inflamed + Towards the virtue still, which followed me + Unto the palm and issue of the field, + Wills that I whisper thee, thou take delight + In her; and grateful to me is thy saying + Whatever things Hope promises to thee." + And I: "The ancient Scriptures and the new + The mark establish, and this shows it me, [89] + Of all the souls whom God has made his friends. + Isaiah saith, that each one garmented + In his own land shall be with twofold garments, [92] + And his own land is this sweet life of yours. + Thy brother, too, far more explicitly, + There where he treateth of the robes of white, [95] + This revelation manifests to us." + And first, and near the ending of these words, + _Sperent in te_ from over us was heard, + To which responsive answered all the carols. [99] + Thereafterward among them gleamed a light, [100] + So that, if Cancer such a crystal had, + Winter would have a month of one sole day. [102] + And as uprises, goes, and enters the dance + A joyous maiden, only to do honor + To the new bride, and not from any failing, [105] + So saw I the illuminated splendor + Approach the two, who in a wheel revolved, [107] + As was beseeming to their ardent love. + It joined itself there in the song and music; + And fixed on them my Lady kept her look, + Even as a bride, silent and motionless. + "This is the one who lay upon the breast + Of him our Pelican; and this is he + To the great office from the cross elected." [114] + My Lady thus; but therefore none the more + Removed her sight from its fixed contemplation, + Before or afterward, these words of hers. + Even as a man who gazes, and endeavors + To see the eclipsing of the sun a little, + And who, by seeing, sightless doth become, + So I became before that latest fire, [122] + While it was said, "Why dost thou daze thyself + To see a thing which here has no existence? [124] + Earth upon earth my body is, and shall be + With all the others there, until our number + With the eternal proposition tallies; [127] + With the two garments in the blessed cloister [128] + Are the two lights alone that have ascended: [129] + And this shalt thou take back into your world." [130] + And at this utterance the flaming circle + Grew quiet, with the dulcet intermingling + Of sound that by the trinal breath was made, [133] + As to escape from danger or fatigue + The oars that erst were in the water beaten + Are all suspended at a whistle's sound. + Ah, how much in my mind was I disturbed, + When I turned round to look on Beatrice, + At not beholding her, although I was + Close at her side and in the Happy World! + + +[Line 1: This "Divina Commedia," in which human science or Philosophy is +symbolized in Virgil, and divine science or Theology in Beatrice. + +"_Fiorenza la Bella_," Florence the Fair. In one of his Canzoni, Dante +says,-- + + "O mountain-song of mine, thou goest thy way; + Florence my town thou shalt perchance behold, + Which bars me from itself, + Devoid of love and naked of compassion."] + + +[Line 9: This allusion to the Church of San Giovanni, "_il mio bel San +Giovanni_," as Dante calls it elsewhere, (Inf. xix. 17,) is a fitting +prelude to the Canto in which St. John is to appear. Like the "laughing +of the grass" in Canto xxx. 77, it is a "foreshadowing preface," +_ombrifero prefazio_, of what follows. + +See Canto xxiv. 150; + + "So, giving me its benediction, singing, + Three times encircled me, when I was silent, + The apostolic light."] + +[Line 14: St. Peter. "That we should be a kind of first-fruits of his +creatures." Epistle of St. James, i. 18.] + +[Line 18: St. James. Pilgrimages are made to his tomb at Compostella in +Galicia.] + +[Line 30: The General Epistle of St. James, called the _Epistola +Cattolica_, i. 17. "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from +above, and cometh down from the Father of lights." Our Basilica: +Paradise: the Church Triumphant.] + +[Line 33: Peter, James, and John, representing the three theological +virtues, Faith, Hope, and Charity, and distinguished above the other +apostles by clearer manifestations of their Master's favor.] + +[Line 34: St. James speaks.] + +[Line 37: The three Apostles, luminous above him, overwhelming him with +light.] + +[Line 38: "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh +my help." Psalm cxxi. 1.] + +[Line 42: The most august spirits of the Celestial City.] + +[Line 49: Beatrice.] + +[Line 54: In God, + + "Where everything beholds itself depicted." + +Canto xxiv. 42.] + +[Line 56: To come from earth to heaven.] + +[Line 58: "Say what it is," and "whence it came to thee."] + +[Line 67: "_Est spes certa expectatio futuræ beatitudinis, veniens ex +Dei gratia et meritis præcedentibus_." Petrus Lombardus, _Magister +Sententiarum_.] + +[Line 72: The Psalmist David.] + +[Line 74: The Book of Psalms, or Songs of God.] + +[Line 75: "And they that know thy name will put their trust in thee." +Psalm ix. 10.] + +[Line 78: Your rain: that is, of David and yourself.] + +[Line 89: "The mark of the high calling and election sure."] + +[Line 92: The twofold garments are the glorified spirit and the +glorified body.] + +[Line 95: St. John, in the Apocalypse, vii. 9. "A great multitude which +no man could number ... clothed with white robes."] + +[Line 99: Dances and songs commingled; the circling choirs, the +celestial choristers.] + +[Line 100: St. John the Evangelist.] + +[Line 102: In winter the constellation Cancer rises at sunset; and if it +had one star as bright as this, it would turn night into day.] + +[Line 105: Such as vanity, ostentation, or the like.] + +[Line 107: St. Peter and St. James are joined by St. John.] + +[Line 114: Christ. "Then saith he to the disciple, 'Behold thy mother!' +And from that hour that disciple took her unto his own home." St. John, +xix. 27.] + +[Line 122: St. John.] + +[Line 124: "If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee."] + +[Line 127: Till the predestined number of the elect is complete.] + +[Line 128: The two garments: the glorified spirit and the glorified +body.] + +[Line 129: The two lights: Christ and the Virgin Mary.] + +[Line 130: Carry back these tidings.] + +[Line 133: The sacred trio of St. Peter, St. James, and St. John.] + + * * * * * + +EXTERNAL APPEARANCE OF GLACIERS. + + +Thus far we have examined chiefly the internal structure of the glacier; +let us look now at its external appearance, and at the variety of +curious phenomena connected with the deposit of foreign materials upon +its surface, some of which seem quite inexplicable at first sight. Among +the most striking of these are the large boulders elevated on columns of +ice, standing sometimes ten feet or more above the level of the glacier, +and the sand-pyramids, those conical hills of sand which occur not +infrequently on all the large Alpine glaciers. One is at first quite at +a loss to explain the presence of these pyramids in the midst of a +frozen ice-field, and yet it has a very simple cause. + +I have spoken of the many little rills arising on the surface of the ice +in consequence of its melting. Indeed, the voice of the waters is rarely +still on the glacier during the warm season, except at night. On a +summer's day, a thousand streams are born before noontide, and die again +at sunset; it is no uncommon thing to see a full cascade come rushing +out from the lower end of a glacier during the heat of the day, and +vanish again at its decline. Suppose one of these rivulets should fall +into a deep, circular hole, such as often occur on the glacier, and the +nature of which I shall presently explain, and that this cylindrical +opening narrows to a mere crack at a greater or less depth within the +ice, the water will find its way through the crack and filter down into +the deeper mass; but the dust and sand carried along with it will be +caught there, and form a deposit at the bottom of the hole. As day after +day, throughout the summer, the rivulet is renewed, it carries with it +an additional supply of these light materials, until the opening is +gradually filled and the sand is brought to a level with the surface of +the ice. We have already seen, that, in consequence of evaporation, +melting, and other disintegrating causes, the level of the glacier sinks +annually at the rate of from five to ten feet, according to stations. +The natural consequence, of course, must be, that the sand is left +standing above the surface of the ice, forming a mound which would +constantly increase in height in proportion to the sinking of the +surrounding ice, had it sufficient solidity to retain its original +position. But a heap of sand, if unsupported, must very soon subside and +be dispersed; and, indeed, these pyramids, which are often quite lofty, +and yet look as if they would crumble at a touch, prove, on nearer +examination, to be perfectly solid, and are, in fact, pyramids of ice +with a thin sheet of sand spread over them. A word will explain how this +transformation is brought about. As soon as the level of the glacier +falls below the sand, thus depriving it of support, it sinks down and +spreads slightly over the surrounding surface. In this condition it +protects the ice immediately beneath it from the action of the sun. In +proportion as the glacier wastes, this protected area rises above the +general mass and becomes detached from it. The sand, of course, slides +down over it, spreading toward its base, so as to cover a wider space +below, and an ever-narrowing one above, until it gradually assumes the +pyramidal form in which we find it, covered with a thin coating of sand. +Every stage of this process may occasionally be seen upon the same +glacier, in a number of sand-piles raised to various heights above the +surface of the ice, approaching the perfect pyramidal form, or falling +to pieces after standing for a short time erect. + +The phenomenon of the large boulders, supported on tall pillars of ice, +is of a similar character. A mass of rock, having fallen on the surface +of the glacier, protects the ice immediately beneath it from the action +of the sun; and as the level of the glacier sinks all around it, in +consequence of the unceasing waste of the surface, the rock is +gradually left standing on an ice-pillar of considerable height. In +proportion as the column rises, however, the rays of the sun reach its +sides, striking obliquely upon them under the boulder, and wearing them +away, until the column becomes at last too slight to sustain its burden, +and the rock falls again upon the glacier; or, owing to the unequal +action of the sun, striking of course with most power on the southern +side, the top of the pillar becomes slanting, and the boulder slides +off. These ice-pillars, crowned with masses of rock, form a very +picturesque feature in the scenery of the glacier, and are represented +in many of the landscapes in which Swiss artists have endeavored to +reproduce the grandeur and variety of Alpine views, especially in the +masterly Aquarelles of Lory. The English reader will find them admirably +well described and illustrated in Dr. Tyndall's work upon the glaciers. +They are known throughout the Alps as "glacier-tables"; and many a time +my fellow-travellers and I have spread our frugal meal on such a table, +erected, as it seemed, especially for our convenience. + +Another curious effect is that produced by small stones or pebbles, +small enough to become heated through by the sun in summer. Such a +heated pebble will of course melt the ice below it, and so wear a hole +for itself into which it sinks. This process will continue as long as +the sun reaches the pebble with force enough to heat it. Numbers of such +deep, round holes, like organ-pipes, varying in size from the diameter +of a minute pebble or a grain of coarse sand to that of an ordinary +stone, are found on the glacier, and at the bottom of each is the pebble +by which it was bored. The ice formed by the freezing of water +collecting in such holes and in the fissures of the surface is a pure +crystallized ice, very different in color from the ice of the great mass +of the glacier produced by snow; and sometimes, after a rain and frost, +the surface of a glacier looks like a mosaic-work, in consequence of +such veins and cylinders or spots of clear ice with which it is inlaid. + +Indeed, the aspect of the glacier changes constantly with the different +conditions of the temperature. We may see it, when, during a long dry +season, it has collected upon its surface all sorts of light floating +materials, as dust, sand, and the like, so that it looks dull and +soiled,--or when a heavy rain has washed the surface clean from all +impurities and left it bright and fresh. We may see it when the heat and +other disintegrating influences have acted upon the ice to a certain +superficial depth, so that its surface is covered with a decomposed +crust of broken, snowy ice, so permeated with air that it has a +dead-white color, like pounded ice or glass. Those who see the glacier +in this state miss the blue tint so often described as characteristic of +its appearance in its lower portion, and as giving such a peculiar +beauty to its caverns and vaults. But let them come again after a summer +storm has swept away this loose sheet of broken, snowy ice above, and +before the same process has had time to renew it, and they will find the +compact, solid surface of the glacier of as pure a blue as if it +reflected the sky above. We may see it in the early dawn, before the new +ice of the preceding night begins to yield to the action of the sun, and +the surface of the glacier is veined and inlaid with the water poured +into its holes and fissures during the day and transformed into pure, +fresh ice during the night,--or when the noonday heat has wakened all +its streams, and rivulets sometimes as large as rivers rush along its +surface, find their way to the lower extremity of the glacier, or, +dashing down some gaping crevasse or open well, are lost beneath the +ice. + +It would seem from the quantity of water that is sometimes ingulfed +within these open breaks in the ice, that the glacier must occasionally +be fissured to a very great depth. I remember once, when boring a hole +in the glacier in order to let down a self-regulating thermometer into +its interior, seeing an immense fissure suddenly rent open, in +consequence, no doubt, of the shocks given to the ice by the blows of +the instruments. The effect was like that of an earthquake; the mass +seemed to rock beneath us, and it was difficult to keep our feet. One of +these glacial rivers was flowing past the spot at the time, and it was +instantly lost in the newly formed chasm. However deep and wide the +fissure might be, such a stream of water, constantly poured into it, and +daily renewed throughout the summer, must eventually fill it and +overflow, unless it finds its way through the whole mass of the glacier +to the bottom on which it rests; it must have an outlet above or below. +The fact that considerable rivulets (too broad to leap across, and too +deep to wade through safely even with high boots) may entirely vanish in +the glacier unquestionably shows one of two things,--that the whole mass +must be soaked with water like a wet sponge, or the cavities reach the +bottom of the glacier. Probably the two conditions are generally +combined. + +In direct connection with the narrower fissures are the so-called +_moulins_,--the circular wells on the glacier. We will suppose that a +transverse, narrow fissure has been formed across the glacier, and that +one of the many rivulets flowing longitudinally along its surface +empties into it. As the surface-water of the glacier, producing these +rivulets, arises not only from the melting of the ice, but also from the +condensation of vapor, or even from rain-falls, and flows over the +scattered dust-particles and fragments of rock, it has always a +temperature slightly above 32°, so that such a rivulet is necessarily +warmer than the icy edge of the fissure over which it precipitates +itself. In consequence of its higher temperature it melts the edge, +gradually wearing it backward, till the straight margin of the fissure +at the spot over which the water falls is changed to a semicircle; and +as much of the water dashes in spray and foam against the other side, +the same effect takes place there, by which a corresponding semicircle +is formed exactly opposite the first. This goes on not only at the upper +margin, but through the whole depth of the opening as far down as the +water carries its higher temperature. In short, a semicircular groove is +excavated on either side of the fissure for its whole depth along the +line on which the rivulet holds its downward course. After a time, in +consequence of the motion of the glacier, such a fissure may close +again, and then the two semicircles thus brought together form at once +one continuous circle, and we have one of the round deep openings on the +glacier known as _moulins_, or wells, which may of course become +perfectly dry, if any accident turns the rivulet aside or dries up its +source. The most common cause of the intermittence of such a waterfall +is the formation of a crevasse higher up, across the watercourse which +supplied it, and which now begins another excavation. + +These wells are often very profound. I have lowered a line for more than +seven hundred feet in one of them before striking bottom; and one is by +no means sure even then of having sounded the whole depth, for it may +often happen that the water meets with some obstacle which prevents its +direct descent, and, turning aside, continues its deeper course at a +different angle. Such a well may be like a crooked shaft in a mine, +changing its direction from time to time. I found this to be the case in +one into which I caused myself to be lowered in order to examine the +internal structure of the glacier. For some time my descent was straight +and direct, but at a depth of about fifty feet there was a +landing-place, as it were, from which the opening continued its farther +course at quite a different angle. It is within these cylindrical +openings in the ice that those accumulations of sand collect which form +the pyramids described above. + +One may often trace the gradual formation of these wells, because, as +they require certain similar conditions, they are very apt to be found +in various stages of completion along the same track where these +conditions occur. Fissures, for instance, will often be produced along +the same line, because, as the mass of the glacier moves on, its upper +portions, as they advance, come successively in contact with +inequalities of the bottom, in consequence of which the ice is strained +beyond its power of resistance and cracks across. Rivulets are also +likely to be renewed summer after summer over the same track, because +certain conditions of the surface of the glacier, to which I have not +yet alluded, and which favor the more rapid melting of the ice, remain +unchanged year after year. Of course, the wells do not remain stationary +any more than any other feature of the glacier. They move on with the +advancing mass of ice, and we consequently find the older ones +considerably lower down than the more recent ones. In ascending such a +track as I have described, along which fissures and rivulets are likely +to occur, we may meet first with a sand-pyramid; at a certain distance +above that there may be a circular opening filled to its brim with the +sand which has just reached the surface of the ice; a little above may +be an open well with the rivulet still pouring into it; or higher up, we +may meet an open fissure with the two semicircles opposite each other on +the margins, but not yet united, as they will be presently by the +closing of the fissure; or we may find near by another fissure, the +edges of which are just beginning to wear in consequence of the action +of the water. Thus, though we cannot trace the formation of such a +cylindrical shaft in the glacier from the beginning to the end, we may +by combining the separate facts observed in a number decipher their +whole history. + +In describing the surface of the glacier, I should not omit the shallow +troughs which I have called "meridian holes," from the accuracy with +which they register the position of the sun. Here and there on the +glacier there are patches of loose materials, dust, sand, pebbles, or +gravel, accumulated by diminutive water-rills, and small enough to +become heated during the day. They will, of course, be warmed first on +their eastern side, then, still more powerfully, on their southern side, +and in the afternoon with less force again on their western side, while +the northern side will remain comparatively cool. Thus around more than +half of their circumference they melt the ice in a semicircle, and the +glacier is covered with little crescent-shaped troughs of this +description, with a steep wall on one side and a shallow one on the +other, and a little heap of loose materials in the bottom. They are the +sundials of the glacier, recording the hour by the advance of the sun's +rays upon them. + +In recapitulating the results of my glacial experience, even in so +condensed a form as that in which I intend to present them here, I shall +be obliged to enter somewhat into personal narration, though at the risk +of repeating what has been already told by the companions of my +excursions, some of whom wrote out in a more popular form the incidents +of our daily life which could not be fitly introduced into my own record +of scientific research. When I first began my investigations upon the +glaciers, now more than twenty-five years ago, scarcely any measurements +of their size or their motion had been made. One of my principal +objects, therefore, was to ascertain the thickness of the mass of ice, +generally supposed to be from eighty to a hundred feet, and even less. +The first year I took with me a hundred feet of iron rods, (no easy +matter, where it had to be transported to the upper part of a glacier on +men's backs,) thinking to bore the glacier through and through. As well +might I have tried to sound the ocean with a ten-fathom line. The +following year I took two hundred feet of rods with me, and again I was +foiled. Eventually I succeeded in carrying up a thousand feet of line, +and satisfied myself, after many attempts, that this was about the +average thickness of the glacier of the Aar, on which I was working. I +mention these failures, because they give some idea of the +discouragements and difficulties which meet the investigator in any new +field of research; and the student must remember, for his consolation +under such disappointments, that his failures are almost as important to +the cause of science and to those who follow him in the same road as his +successes. It is much to know what we _cannot_ do in any given +direction,--the first step, indeed, toward the accomplishment of what we +can do. + +A like disappointment awaited me in my first attempt to ascertain by +direct measurement the rate of motion in the glacier. Early observers +had asserted that the glacier moved, but there had been no accurate +demonstration of the fact, and so uniform is its general appearance from +year to year that even the fact of its motion was denied by many. It is +true that the progress of boulders had been watched; a mass of rock +which had stood at a certain point on the glacier was found many feet +below that point the following year; but the opponents of the theory +insisted that it did not follow, because the mass of rock had moved, +that therefore the mass of ice had moved with it. They believed that the +boulder might have slid down for that distance. Neither did the +occasional encroachment of the glaciers upon the valleys prove anything; +it might he solely the effect of an unusual accumulation of snow in cold +seasons. Here, then, was another question to be tested; and one of my +first experiments was to plant stakes in the ice to ascertain whether +they would change their position with reference to the sides of the +valley or not. If the glacier moved, my stakes must of course move with +it; if it was stationary, my stakes would remain standing where I had +placed them, and any advance of other objects upon the surface of the +glacier would be proved to be due to their sliding, or to some motion of +their own, and not to that of the mass of ice on which they rested. I +found neither the one nor the other of my anticipated results; after a +short time, all the stakes lay flat on the ice, and I learned nothing +from my first series of experiments, except that the surface of the +glacier is wasted annually for a depth of at least five feet, in +consequence of which my rods had lost their support, and fallen down. +Similar disappointment was experienced by my friend Escher upon the +great glacier of Aletsch. + +My failure, however, taught me to sink the next set of stakes ten or +fifteen feet below the surface of the ice, instead of five; and the +experiment was attended with happier results. A stake planted eighteen +feet deep in the ice, and cut on a level with the surface of the +glacier, in the summer of 1840, was found, on my return in the summer of +1841, to project seven feet, and in the beginning of September it showed +ten feet above the surface. Before leaving the glacier, in September, +1841, I planted six stakes at a certain distance from each other in a +straight line across the upper part of the glacier, taking care to have +the position of all the stakes determined with reference to certain +fixed points on the rocky walls of the valley. When I returned, the +following year, all the stakes had advanced considerably, and the +straight line had changed to a crescent, the central rods having moved +forward much faster than those nearer the sides, so that not only was +the advance of the glacier clearly demonstrated, but also the fact that +its middle portion moved faster than its margins. This furnished the +first accurate data on record concerning the average movement of the +glacier during the greater part of one year. In 1842 I caused a +trigonometric survey of the whole glacier of the Aar to be made, and +several lines across its whole width were staked and determined with +reference to the sides of the valley;[B] for a number of successive +years the survey was repeated, and furnished the numerous data +concerning the motion of the glacier which I have published. I shall +probably never have an opportunity of repeating these experiments, and +examining anew the condition of the glacier of the Aar; but as all the +measurements were taken with reference to certain fixed points recorded +upon the map mentioned in the note, it would be easy to renew them over +the same locality, and to make a direct comparison with my first results +after an interval of a quarter of a century. Such a comparison would be +very valuable to science, as showing any change in the condition of the +glacier, its rate of motion, etc., since the time my survey was made. + +These observations not only determined the fact of the motion of the +glacier itself, as well as the inequality of its motion in different +parts, but explained also a variety of phenomena indirectly connected +with it. Among these were the position and direction of the crevasses, +those gaping fissures of unknown depths, sometimes a mile or more in +length, and often measuring several hundred feet in width, the terror, +not only of the ordinary traveller, but of the most experienced +mountaineers. There is a variety of such crevasses upon the glacier, but +the most numerous and dangerous are the transverse and lateral ones. The +transverse ones were readily accounted for after the motion of the +glacier was admitted; they must take place, whenever, the glacier +advancing over inequalities or steeper parts of its bed, the tension of +the mass was so great that the cohesion of the particles was overcome, +and the ice consequently rent apart. This would be especially the case +wherever some steep angle in the bottom over which it moved presented an +obstacle to the even advance of the mass. But the position of the +lateral ones was not so easily understood. They are especially apt to +occur wherever a promontory of rock juts out into the glacier; and when +fresh, they usually slant obliquely upward, trending from the prominent +wall toward the head of the glacier, while, when old, on the contrary, +they turn downward, so that the crevasses around such a promontory are +often arranged in the shape of a spread fan, diverging from it in +different directions. When the movement of the glacier was fully +understood, however, it became evident, that, in its effort to force +itself around the promontory, the ice was violently torn apart, and that +the rent must take place in a direction at right angles with that in +which the mass was moving. If the mass be moving inward and downward, +the direction of the rent must be obliquely upward. As now the mass +continues to advance, the crevasses must advance with it; and as it +moves more rapidly toward the middle than on the margins, that end of +the crevasse which is farthest removed from the projecting rock must +move more rapidly also; the consequence is, that all the older lateral +crevasses, after a certain time, point downward, while the fresh ones +point upward. + +Not only does the glacier collect a variety of foreign materials on its +upper surface, but its sides as well as its lower surface are studded +with boulders, stones, pebbles, sand, coarse and fine gravel, so that it +forms in reality a gigantic rasp, with sides hundreds of feet deep, and +a surface thousands of feet wide and many miles in length, grinding over +the bottom and along the walls between which it moves, polishing, +grooving, and scratching them as it passes onward. One who is familiar +with the track of this mighty engine will recognize at once where the +large boulders have hollowed out their deeper furrows, where small +pebbles have drawn their finer marks, where the stones with angular +edges have left their sharp scratches, where sand and gravel have rubbed +and smoothed the rocky surface, and left it bright and polished as if it +came from the hand of the marble-worker. These marks are not to be +mistaken by any one who has carefully observed them; the scratches, +furrows, grooves, are always rectilinear, trending in the direction in +which the glacier is moving, and most distinct on that side of the +surface-inequalities facing the direction of the moving mass, while the +lee-side remains mostly untouched. + +It may be asked, how it is known that the glacier carries this powerful +apparatus on its sides and bottom, when they are hidden from sight. I +answer, that we might determine the fact theoretically from certain +known conditions respecting the conformation of the glacier; to which I +shall allude presently; but we need not resort to this kind of evidence, +since we have ocular demonstration of the truth. Here and there on the +sides of the glacier it is possible to penetrate between the walls and +the ice to a great depth, and even to follow such a gap to the very +bottom of the valley, and everywhere do we find the surface of the ice +fretted as I have described it, with stones of every size, from the +pebble to the boulder, and also with sand and gravel of all sorts, from +the coarsest grain to the finest, and these materials, more or less +firmly set in the ice, form the grating surface with which, in its +onward movement down the Alpine valleys, it leaves everywhere +unmistakable, traces of its passage. + +We come now to the moraines, those walls of loose materials built by the +glaciers themselves along their road. They have been divided into three +classes, namely, lateral, medial, and terminal moraines. Let us look +first at the lateral ones; and to understand them we must examine the +conformation of the glacier below the _névé_, where it assumes the +character of pure compact ice. We have seen that the fields of snow, +where the glaciers have their origin, are level, and that lower down, +where these masses of snow begin to descend toward the narrower valley, +they follow its trough-like shape, sinking toward the centre and sloping +upward against the sides, so that the surface of the glacier, about the +region of the _névé_, is slightly concave. But lower down in the glacier +proper, where it is completely transformed into ice, its surface becomes +convex, for the following reason: The rocky walls of the valley, as they +approach the plain, partake of its higher temperature. They become +heated by the sun during the day in summer, so that the margins of the +glacier melt rapidly in contact with them. In consequence of this, there +is always in the lower part of the glacier a broad depression between +the ice and the rocky walls, while, as this effect is not felt in the +centre of the glacier, it there retains a higher level. The natural +result of this is a convex surface, arching upward toward the middle, +sinking toward the sides. It is in these broad, marginal depressions +that the lateral moraines accumulate; masses of rock, stones, pebbles, +dust, all the fragments, in short, which become loosened from the rocky +walls above, fall into them, and it is a part of the materials so +accumulated which gradually work their way downward between the ice and +the walls, till the whole side of the glacier becomes studded with them. +It is evident, that, when the glacier runs in a northerly or southerly +direction, both the walls will be affected by the sun, one in the +morning, the other in the afternoon, and in such a case the sides will +be uniform, or nearly so. But when the trend of the valley is from east +to west, or from west to east, the northern side only will feel the full +force of the sun; and in such a case, only one side of the glacier will +be convex in outline, while the other will remain nearly on a level with +the middle. The large masses of loose materials which accumulate between +the glacier and its rocky walls and upon its margins form the lateral +moraines. These move most slowly, as the marginal portions of the +glacier advance at a much slower rate than its centre. + +The medial moraines arise in a different way, though they are directly +connected with the lateral moraines. It often happens that two smaller +glaciers unite, running into each other to form a larger one. Suppose +two glaciers to be moving along two adjoining valleys, converging toward +each other, and running in an easterly or westerly direction; at a +certain point these two valleys open into a single valley, and here, of +course, the two glaciers must meet, like two rivers rushing into a +common bed. But as glaciers consist of a solid, and not a fluid, there +will be no indiscriminate mingling of the two, and they will hold their +course side by side. This being the case, the lateral moraine on the +southern side of the northernmost glacier and that on the northern side +of the southernmost one must meet in the centre of the combined +glaciers. Such are the so-called medial moraines formed by the junction +of two lateral ones. Sometimes a glacier may have a great number of +tributaries, and in that case we may see several such moraines running +in straight lines along its surface, all of which are called medial +moraines in consequence of their origin midway between two combining +glaciers. The glacier of the Aar represented in the wood-cut below +affords a striking example of a large medial moraine. It is formed by +the junction of the glaciers of the Lauter-Aar, on the right-hand side +of the wood-cut, and the Finster-Aar, on the left; and the union of +their inner lateral moraines, in the centre of the diagram, forms the +stony wall down the centre of the larger glacier, called its medial +moraine. This moraine at some points is not less than sixty feet high. +We have here an effect similar to that of the glacier-tables and the +sand-pyramids. The wall protects the ice beneath it, and prevents it +from sinking at the same rate as the surrounding surface, while its +heated surface increases the melting of the adjacent surfaces of ice, +thus forming longitudinal depressions along the medial moraines, in +which the largest rivulets and the most conspicuous sand-pyramids, the +deepest wells and the finest waterfalls, are usually met with. As the +medial moraines rest upon that part of the glacier which moves fastest, +they of course advance much more rapidly than the lateral moraines. + +[Illustration: Glacier of the Aar.] + +The terminal moraines consist of all the _débris_ brought down by the +glacier to its lower extremity. In consequence of the more rapid +movement of the centre of the glacier, it always terminates in a +semicircle at its lower end, where these materials collect, and the +terminal moraines, of course, follow the outline of the glacier. The +wood-cut below represents the terminal moraine of the glacier of Viesch. + +[Illustration] + +Sometimes, when a number of cold summers have succeeded each other, +preventing the glacier from melting in proportion to its advance, the +accumulation of materials at its terminus becomes very considerable; and +when, in consequence of a succession of warm summers, it gradually melts +and retreats from the line it has been occupying, a large semicircular +wall is left, spanning the valley from side to side, through which the +stream issuing from the glacier may be seen cutting its way. It is +important to notice that such terminal moraines may actually span the +whole width of a valley, from side to side, and be interrupted only +where watercourses of sufficient power break through them. To suppose +that such transverse walls of loose materials could be thrown across a +valley by a river were to suppose that it could build dams across its +bed while it is flowing. Such transverse or crescent-shaped moraines are +everywhere the work of glaciers. + +All these moraines are the land-marks, so to speak, by which we trace +the height and extent, as well as the progress and retreat, of glaciers +in former times. Suppose, for instance, that a glacier were to disappear +entirely. For ages it has been a gigantic ice-raft, receiving all sorts +of materials on its surface as it travelled onward, and bearing them +along with it; while the hard particles of rock set in its lower surface +have been polishing and fashioning the whole surface over which it +extended. As it now melts, it drops its various burdens on the ground; +boulders are the mile-stones marking the different stages of its +journey, the terminal and lateral moraines are the framework which it +erected around itself as it moved forward, and which define its +boundaries centuries after it has vanished, while the scratches and +furrows it has left on the surface below show the direction of its +motion. + +All the materials which reach the bottom of the glacier, and are moving +under its weight, so far as they are not firmly set in the ice must be +pressed against one another, as well as against the rocky bottom, and +will be rounded off, polished, and scratched, like the rock itself over +which they pass. The pebbles or stones set fast in the ice will be thus +polished and scratched, however, only over the surface exposed; but, as +they may sometimes move in their socket, like a loosely mounted stone, +the different surfaces may in turn undergo this process, and in the end +all the loose materials under a glacier become more or less polished, +scratched, and grooved. These marks exhibit also the peculiarity so +characteristic of the grooves and scratches on the bed and walls of the +valley: they are rectilinear, trending in the direction in which the +superincumbent mass advances, though, of course, owing to the changes in +the position of the pebbles or boulders, they may cross each other in +every direction on their surface. + +As the larger materials are pressed onward with the finer ones, that is, +with the sand, gravel, and mud accumulated at the bottom of the glacier, +the component parts of this underlying bed of _débris_ will be mixed +together without any reference to their size or weight. The softest mud +and finest sand may be in immediate contact with the bottom of the +valley, while larger rocks and pebbles may be held in the ice above; or +their position may be reversed, and the coarser materials may rest +below, while the finer ones are pressed between them or overlying them. +In short, the whole accumulation of loose _débris_ under the glacier, +resulting from the trituration of all kinds of angular fragments +reaching the lower surface of the ice, presents a sort of paste in which +coarser and lighter materials are impacted without reference to bulk or +weight. Those fragments which are most polished, rounded, grooved, or +scratched, have travelled longest under the glacier, and are derived +from the hardest rocks, which have resisted the general crushing and +pounding for a longer time. The masses of rock on the upper surface of +the glacier, on the contrary, are carried along on its back without +undergoing any such friction. Lying side by side, or one above another, +without being subject to pressure from the ice, they retain, both in the +lateral and medial moraines, and even in the terminal moraines, their +original size, their rough surfaces, and their angular form. Whenever, +therefore, a glacier melts, it is evident that the lower materials will +be found covered by the angular surface-materials now brought into +immediate contact with the former in consequence of the disappearance of +the intervening ice. The most careful observations and surveys have +shown this everywhere to be the case; wherever a large tract of glacier +has disappeared, the moraines, with their large angular boulders, are +found resting upon this bottom layer of rounded materials scattered +through a paste of mud and sand. + +We shall see hereafter how far we can follow these traces, and what they +tell us of the past history of glaciers, and of the changes the climates +of our globe have undergone. + + * * * * * + +STEPHEN YARROW. + +A CHRISTMAS STORY. + + +Sometime in the year 1856, a family named Yarrow moved into the +neighborhood where I then lived, and rented a small house with a bit of +ground attached to it, on one of the rich bottom-farms lying along the +eastern shore of the Ohio. The mother, two or three children, and their +dog Ready made up the quiet household: not one to attract notice from +any cause. People soon knew Martha Yarrow,--all that was in her. She was +Western- and farm-born; whatever Nature had given her of good or bad, +therefore, thrust itself out at once with pungent directness. + +The family supported themselves by selling their poultry and vegetables +to the hucksters, leading an eventless life enough, until the change +occurred, some five years after they came into the neighborhood, of +which I am going to tell you. + +I called it a Christmas Story, not so much because it happened on a +Christmas, as because the meaning of it seemed suited to that day; and I +thought, too, that nobody grows tired of Christmas stories, especially +if he chance to have been born in one of those families where the day is +kept in the old fashion: it roots itself so deep, that memory, in +whatever quaint superstition, or homely affection for mother or brother, +or unreasoning trust in God, may outlive our childhood, and underlie our +older years. And surely that is as just, as wise a thing,--to strip off +for a child the smirched trading-dress of one day at least, and send it +down through the long procession of the years with its true face bared, +to waken in him a live sense of man's love and God's love. Some one, +perhaps, had done this for this woman, Mrs. Yarrow, long ago; for, let +the months before and after be bare as they chose, she kept this day of +Christmas with a feverish anxiety, more eager than her children even to +make every moment warm and throb with pleasure, and enjoying them +herself, to their last breath, with the whole zest of a nervous, +strong-blooded nature. Yet she may have had another reason for it. + +The evening before the Christmas of which we write, she had gone out to +the well with her son before closing the house for the night. + +"There's no danger of thaw before morning, Jem?"--looking anxiously up +into the night, as they rested the bucket on the curb. + +"Thaw! there's a woman's notion for you! Why, the very crow is frozen +out of the cocks yonder!"--stretching his arms, and clapping his hollow +cheat, as if he were six feet high. "No, we'll not have a thaw, little +woman." + +The children often called her that, in a fond, protecting way; but it +sounded most oddly from Jem, he was such a weak, swaggering sparrow of a +little chap. He stretched his hands as high as he could reach up to her +hips, and smoothed her linsey dress down: if it had been her face, the +touch could not have been more tender. + +"You don't think of the luck we always have. Why, it couldn't rain on +Christmas for you or me, mother!" + +She laughed, nodding several times. + +"Well, that is sure, Jem," stopping to look into the lean, emphatic +little face, and to pass her hand over the tow-colored hair. + +Somehow, the bond between mother and son was curiously strong to-night. +It was always so on Christmas. At other times they were much like two +children in companionship, but Christmas never came without bringing a +vague sense of cowering close together as though some danger stood near +them. There was something half fierce, now, in the way she caressed his +face. + +"Come on with the bucket, brother," she said, cheerfully, stamping the +clogging snow from her shoes, shading her eyes with her hand, and +looking over the white stretch to the black line of hills chopping the +east. "More like a hail-gust than rain. But I was afraid of that, you +see," as they went up the path. "There's an old saying, that trouble +always comes with rain. And it did in my life--to me"-- + +She was talking to herself. Jem whistled, pretending not to hear; but he +peered sharply into her face, with the relish which all sickly, +premature children have for a mystery or pain. Very seldom was there +hint of either about Martha Yarrow. She was an Ohio woman, small-boned, +muscular, with healthy, quick blood, not a scrofulous, ill-tempered drop +in her veins; in her brain only a very few and obstinate opinions, +maybe, but all of them lying open to the sight of anybody who cared to +know them. Not long ago, she had been a pretty, bouncing country-belle; +now, she was a hard-working housewife: a Whig, because all the Clarks +(her own family) were Whigs: going to the Baptist church, with no clear +ideas about close communion or immersion, because she had married a +country-parson. With a consciousness that she had borne a heavier pain +in her life than most women, and ought to feel scourged and sad, she did +cry out with such feeling sometimes,--but with a keen, natural relish +for apple-butter parings, or fair-days, or a neighbor dropping in to +tea, or anything that would give the children and herself a chance to +joke and laugh, and be like other people again. Between the two +feelings, her temper was odd and uncertain enough. But in this December +air, now, her still rounded cheek grew red, her breast heaved, her eyes +sparkled, glad as a child would be, simply because it was cold and +Christmas was coming; while the child Jem, with his tougher, less sappy +animal nature, jogged gravely beside her, head and eyes down. As for her +every-day life, nobody's fires burned, nobody's windows shone like +Martha Yarrow's; not a pound of butter went to market with the creamy, +clovery taste her fingers worked into hers. She put a flavor, an elastic +spring, into every bit of work she did, making it play. The very +nervousness of the woman, her sudden fits of laughter and tears, +impressed you as the effervescence of a zest of life which began at her +birth. Nobody ever got to the end, or expected to get to the end, of her +stories and scraps of old songs. Then, every day some new plan, keeping +the whole house awake and alive: when Tom's birthday came, a +surprise-feast of raspberries and cake; when Jem's new trousers were +produced, they had been made up over-night, a dead secret, ten shining +dimes in the pocket, fresh from the mint; even the penny string of blue +beads for Catty, bought of Sims the peddler, was hid under her plate, +and made quite a jollification of that supper. You may be sure, the five +years just gone in that house had been short and merry and cozy enough +for the children. Before that--Here Jem's memory flagged: he had been a +baby then; Catty just born; yet, somehow, he never thought of that +unknown time without the furtive, keen glance into his mother's face, +and a frightened choking in the heart under his puny chest. Somewhere, +back yonder, or in the years coming, some vague horror waited for him to +fight. To-night, (always at Christmas, although then the glow and +comfort of all days reached its heat,) this unaccountable dread was on +the boy; why, he never knew. It might be that under the hurry and +preparation of Martha Yarrow on that day some deeper meaning did lie, +which his instinct had discerned: more probably, however, it was but the +sickly vagary of a child grown old too fast. + +They hurried along the path now to reach the house and shut the night +outside, for every moment the cold and dark were growing heavier; the +snow rasping under their feet, as its crust cracked; overhead, the +sky-air frozen thin and gray, holding dead a low, watery half-moon; now +and then a more earthy, thicker gust breaking sharply round the hill, +taking their breath. It was only a step, however, and Tom was holding +the house-door open, letting a ruddy light stream out, and with it a +savory smell of supper. Tom halloed, and that blue-eyed pudge of a Catty +pounded on the window with her fat little fist. How hot the fire glowed! +Somehow all Christmas seemed waiting in there. It was time to hurry +along. Even Ready came out, shaking his shaggy old sides impatiently in +the snow, and began to dog them, snapping at Jem's heels. Like most old +people, he liked his ease, and was apt to be out of sorts, if meals were +kept waiting. Ready's whims always made Martha laugh as she did when she +was a young girl: they knew each other then, long before Jem was born. + +"Come on, old Truepenny," she said, going in. + +There _was_ comfort. Nothing in that house, from the red woollen +curtains to the bright poker, which did not have its part to play for +Christmas. Nothing that did not say "Christmas," from Catty's eyes to +the very supper-table. Of course, I don't mean the Christmas dinner, +when I say supper. Tom could have told you. Somewhere in his paunchy +little body he kept a perpetual bill of fare, checked off or unchecked. +He based and stayed his mind now on preparations in the pantry. +Something solid there! A haunch of venison, mince-meat, winter +succotash, a roasted peahen,--and that is the top and crown of Nature's +efforts in the way of fowls. For suppers,--pish! However, Tom ate with +the rest. Mother was hungry; so they were very leisurely, and joked and +laughed to that extent that even Catty was uproarious when they were +through. Then Jem fell to work at the great coals, and battered them +into a rousing fire. + +"I'll go and fasten the shutters," said Tom. + +Martha Yarrow's back was to the window. She turned sharply. The sickly +white moon lighted up the snow-waste out there; some one might be out in +those frozen fields,--some one who was coming home,--who had been gone +for years,--years. Jem was watching her. + +"Leave the windows alone, Tom," he said. "It won't hurt the night to see +my fire." + +He pulled his cricket close up to her, and took her hand to pet. It was +cold, and her teeth chattered. However, they were all so snug and close +together, and Christmas, that great warm-hearted day, was so near upon +them, as full of love and hearty, warm enjoyment as the living God could +send it, that its breath filled all their hearts; and presently Martha +Yarrow's face was brighter than Catty's. They were noisy and busy +enough. The programme for to-morrow was to make out; that put all heads +to work to plan: the stockings to be opened, and dinner, and maybe a +visit to the menagerie in the afternoon. That was Martha's surprise, and +she was not disappointed in the applause it brought. It made the tears +come to her eyes, an hour after, when she was going to bed, remembering +it. + +"It takes such a little thing to make them happy," she said to +herself,--"or me, either," with a somewhat silly face. + +She tried to thank God for giving them so much, but only sobbed. After +the confusion about the show was over, and Catty had been wakened into a +vague jungle of tigers and lions and Shetland ponies, and put to sleep +again, they subsided enough to remember the winding-up of the day. Quiet +that was to be; the children from Shag's Point were coming up, some +half-dozen in all, for their share of Christmas. Poorer than the +Yarrows, you understand? though but a little; in fact, there were not +many steps farther down: peahens and cranberries were not for every day. +Well, to-morrow evening Jem would tell them the story of the Stable and +the Child, and how that the Child was with us yet, if we could only see. +Jem was always his mother's spokesman, and put the meaning of Christmas +into words: she never talked of such things. Yet they always watched her +face, when they spoke of them,--watched it now, and looked, as she did, +into the little room beyond the kitchen where they sat, their eyes +growing still and brighter. There might have been a tinge of the savage +or the Frenchman in Martha Yarrow's nature, she had so strong a +propensity to make real, apparent to the senses, what few ideas she had, +even her religion. A good skill to do it, too. The recess out of the +kitchen was only a small closet, but, with the aid of a softly tinted +curtain or two, and the nebulous light of a concealed lamp, she had +contrived to give it an air of distance and reserve. Within were green +wreaths hung over the whitewashed walls, and an altar-shaped little +white table, covered with heaps of crimson leaves and bright berries, +such as grow in the snow; only a few flowers, but enough to fill the air +with fragrance; the children's Christmas gifts, and wax-lights burning +before a picture, the child Jesus, looking down on them with a smile as +glad as their own. A thoroughly real person to the boys, this Christ for +childhood; for she built the little altar before this picture on all +their holidays: something in the woman herself needing the story of the +Stable and the Child. If she were doing a healthier work on the souls of +that morbid Jem and glutton Tom than could a thousand after-sermons, she +did not know it: never guessed, either, when they absorbed day by day +hardly enough the force of her tough-muscled endurance and wholesome +laugh, that she prepared the way of the Lord and made His paths +straight. Yet what matter who knew? + +But to go on with our story. There were times--once or twice to-night, +for instance--when she ceased doing even her unconscious work. +Assuredly, somewhere back in her life, something had gone amiss with +this silly, helpful creature, and left a taint on her brain. The hearty, +pretty smile would go suddenly from her face, something foreign looking +out of it, instead, as if a pestilent thought had got into her soul; she +would rise uneasily, going to the window, looking out, her forehead +leaning on the glass, her body twitching weakly. One would think from +her face she saw some work in the world which God had forgotten. What +could it matter to her? Whatever hurt her, it was the one word which her +garrulous lips never hinted. Once to-night she spoke more plainly than +Jem had ever known her to do in all his life. It was after the children +had gone to bed, which they did, shouting and singing, and playing +circus-riders over the pillows, their mother leaning her elbows on the +foot-board, laughing, in the mean time. Jem got up, after the others +were asleep, and stole after her, in his little flannel drawers, back to +the kitchen. By the window again, as he had feared, the woollen sock +which she was knitting for Tom in her hand, the yarn all tangled and +broken. Ready was by her knees, winking sleepily. The old dog was +growing surly with his years, as we said: Jem remembered when he used to +romp and tussle with him, but that was long ago: he lay in the +chimney-corner always now, growling at Martha herself even, if her +singing or laugh disturbed his nap. But when these strange moods came on +her, Jem noticed that the yellow old beast seemed conscious of it sooner +than any one beside, crept up to her, stood by her: that she clung to +him, not to her children. He was licking her hand now, his red eye, +drowsy though it was, watching her as if danger were nigh. A dog you +would not slight. Inside of his hot-headedness and courage there was +that reserved look in his eyes, which some men and brutes have, that +says they have a life of their own to live separate from yours, and they +know it. The boy crept up jealously, thrust his numb fingers into his +mother's hand. She started, looking down. + +"It grows into a clear winter's night, Jemmy," trying to speak +carelessly. + +So they stood looking out together. The fire had burned down into a +great bed of flameless coals, the kitchen glowed warm and red, throwing +out even a patch of ruddy light on the snow-covered yard without. A +cold, but comfortable home-look out there: the bit of garden, fences, +cow-house, pump, heaped with the snow; old Dolly asleep in her stable: +Jem wrapped himself in his mother's skirt with a sudden relish of warm +snugness. What made her pull at Ready's neck with such nervous jerks? +She saw nothing beyond? Jem stood on tiptoe, peering out. There was no +hint of the hailstorm they had prophesied, in the night: the moon stood +lower now in the sky, filling the air with a yellow, frosty brilliance. +Yet something strangely cold, dead, unfamiliar, in the night yonder, +chilled him. Neither sound nor motion there; hills, river, and fields, +distinct, sharply cut in pallor, but ghost-like: it made him afraid. +There seemed to be no end of them; the hills to the north ran low, and +beyond them he could see more blue and cold and distance, going on--who +could tell where? to the eternal ice and snow, it might be. She felt it, +he knew. The boy was frightened, tried to pull her back to the fire, +when something he saw outside made him stop suddenly. Shag's Hill, the +nearest of the ledge to the house, is a low, narrow cone, with a sharp +rim against the sky; the moon had sunk half behind it, lighting the +surface of drifted snow which faced them. Across this there suddenly +fell a long, uncertain shadow, which belonged neither to bush nor tree: +it might be the flicker of a cloud; or a man, passing across the top of +the hill, would make it. It was nothing; some of the coal-diggers from +the Point going home; he pulled at her petticoat again. + +"Come to the fire, dear," he said, looking up. + +Her whole face and neck were hot; she laughed and trembled as if some +spasm were upon her. + +"Do you see?" she cried, trying to force the window open. "Oh, Jemmy, it +might be! it might!" + +Jem was used to his mother's unaccountable whims of mood. Ready, +however, startled him. The dog pricked up his ears, sniffed the air once +or twice, then, after a grave pause of a minute, with a sharp howl, such +as Jem had not heard him give for years, dashed through the kitchen into +the wash-shed and out across the fields. Martha Yarrow turned away from +the window, and leaned her head against the dresser-shelves: standing +quite still, only that she clutched Jem's hand. The clock ticked noisily +as a half-hour went by; the fire burned lower and dark. The dog came +back at last, dragging his feet heavily, came up close to her, and +crouched down with a half human moan. After a long time he got up, went +out into the wash-kitchen in a spiritless way, and did not return again +that night. She did not move. It seemed a long time to the child before +she turned, her face wet with tears, and took him up in her arms, +chafing his cold feet. + +"It could not be! I knew that, Jemmy. I wasn't a fool. But I +thought--Oh, Pet, I've waited such a long while!" + +He patted her cheeks, soothing her,--the more effectually, perhaps, that +he did not know what troubled her. + +"Why, it's Christmas, mother," he said. + +"I know that. You see, I thought," her eyes fastened on his in an +appealing sort of way, "that, being Christmas, if there should be any +lost body wandering out on the fields that God had forgotten--What +then?" all the blood gone from her face. "Why, what then, Jem? No home, +no one to say to him, 'Here's home, here's wife and children a-waiting +to love you,--oh, sick with waiting to love you!' No one to say that, +Jem. And him wandering out in the cold, going quick back to the mouth of +hell, not knowing how God loved him." + +"If there is such a one," Jem said, steadily, though his lip trembled, +"God will let him know." + +"There is no such one," sharply. "There is no one yonder but knows his +home, and is nearer to his God than you or I, James Yarrow." + +The boy made no reply,--sat on her knees looking earnestly into the +fire. He had more nearly guessed her secret than she knew,--near enough +to know how to comfort her. After a while, when she was quiet, he +turned, and put his thin arms about her neck, smiling. + +"Take me into your bed, mother, I'm so cold! Let me into old Catty's +place this once." + +She nodded, pleased, and, putting him to bed, soon followed him. When +she held him snugly in her arms, the replenished fire making hot, +flickering shadows from the next room, he whispered,-- + +"Next Christmas, mother! Only one year more!" + +Again the quick shiver of her body; but this time her breath was gentle, +a soft light in her eyes. + +"Well, and then, my son?" + +"Why, some one else then will call me son. How long he has been gone, +dear! so long that I never saw him since I was a bit of a baby." + +"Five years. Yes. Well, dear?" anxiously. + +Her eyes were shut, he stroked the lids softly, thinking how moist and +red her lips were: never as beautiful a face as the little mother's; for +so Jem, feeling quite grown up in his heart, called her there. + +"Well, then, no more trouble, but somebody to take care of us all the +time. Whenever I see a preacher, now, I think of father"--stopping +abruptly, with that anxious, incisive look so sad to see on a child's +face. + +She did not reply at first; then,-- + +"He preached God's word as he knew it," she said, dryly. + +"And whenever I hear of a good, brave man, I think, 'That's like +father!'" + +Her eyes opened now. + +"That's true, Jemmy! God knows that's true! So proud my boy will be of +his father!" + +She did not say anything more, but began playing with his hair, her +month unsteady, and a bashful, dreamy smile in her eyes. She looked very +young and girlish in the mellow light. + +"He's not coarse like me, Jem," she said at last. "Even more like a +woman in some ways. He always came nearer to you children, for instance; +I mind how you always used to creep away from me close to him at night. +He hates noise, Stephen does,--and mean, scraping ways, such as we're +used to, being poor. My boy'll mind that? We'll keep anything shabby out +of his sight, when he comes back." + +"I'll mind," said Jem, dryly. "But--Well, no matter. We're to try and be +like him, Tom and I? I understand." + +She drew down her head suddenly into the pillow. Jem had been growing +sleepy, but he started wide awake now, trying to see her face: the +pretty pink color his questions had brought was gone from it. + +"Did you speak, mother?" + +No answer. + +"I said we are to be men like him, Tom and I, if we can?" + +He knew he had touched her to the quick somehow: his heart beat thick +with the old childish terror, as he waited for her answer. + +"Yes, you are to try, my son." + +Martha Yarrow's frivolous chirruping voice was altered, with meaning in +it he never had heard before, as if her answer came out of some depth +where God had faced her soul, and forced it to speak truth. But when, +after that, the boy, curious to know more, went on with his questions, +she quieted him gravely, kissed him good-night, and turned over,--to +sleep, he concluded, from her regular breathing. However, when Jem, +after a while, began to snore, she got up and went to the kitchen-fire, +kneeling down on the stone hearth: her head was on fire, and her body +cold. + +"So they _shall_ be like him!" she whispered, with a fierce, baited +look, as if by her wife's trust in him she defied the whole world. "I +have kept my word. I've tried to make his sons what God made him in the +beginning." + +That was true: she had kept her word. Five years ago, when the great +scandal came on the church in ----, and their minister was tried for +forgery, and sentenced to six years' imprisonment in the penitentiary, +the first letter his wife wrote to him there had these words: "For the +boys, my husband, they never shall know of this thing. They shall know +you as God and I do, Stephen. I'll make them men like you, if I can: +except in your religion; for I believe, before God, the Devil taught you +that." + +When the man read that in his cell, a dry, quiet smile came over his +face. He had not expected such a keen opinion from his shallow, +easy-going wife: he did not think there was so much insight in her. + +"It's a deep sounding you give, Martha, true or not," folding up the +letter. "And so the boys will never know?" going back to his solitary +cobbling, for they were making a shoemaker of him. + +If there were any remorse under his quiet, or impatience at fate, or +gnawing homesickness, he did not show it. That was the last letter or +message that came from his wife. The friends of other prisoners were +admitted to visit them, but no one ever asked to see him; the five years +went by; every day the same bar of sunlight struck across his bench, and +glittered on the point of his awl, gray in winter, yellow in summer; but +no day brought a word or a sign from the outer world but that. The man +grew thin, mere skin and bone; but then he was scrofulous. He asked no +questions, ceased at last to look up, when the jailer brought his meals, +to see if he carried a letter. Sometimes, when he used to stand chafing +his stubbly chin in the evening at the slit cut in the stones for his +window, looking at the red brick chimney-pot he could see over the +penitentiary-wall, it seemed like something of outer life, and he would +mutter, "She said the boys would never know." Once, too, a year or two +after that, when the jailer came into "quiet Stevy's" cell, (for so he +nicknamed him,) Yarrow came up, and took him by the coat-buttons, +looking up and gabbling something about Martha and the little chaps in a +maudlin sort of way,--then, with a silly laugh, lay down on his pallet. + +"I never felt sorry for the little whiffet before," said the fat jailer, +when he came out. "He's so close; but it's a cursed shame in his people +to give him the go-by that way,--there!" + +But when he went back an hour or two after, he found he had gained no +ground with Stevy; he was dry, silent as ever: he had come to himself, +meanwhile, and shivered with disgust at the fear that any madness had +made him commit himself to this mass of flesh. + +"'Mortised with the sacred garlic,'" he muttered, with the usual dry +twinkle in his eyes. + +Ben caught the last word. + +"It's a good yarb, garlic," he said, confusedly. "Uses it on hot coals +mostly, under broilin' steaks. Well, good night.--He's a queer chap, +though," after he had gone out,--"beyond me." + +Five years being gone, Martha Yarrow, sitting by her fire to-night, +could only repeat the words of her letter. She had taken out a +daguerreotype of her husband, and was looking at it. He was a small man; +young; dressed in a suit of rusty black, with a certain subdued, +credulous, incomplete air about him, like a man forced at birth into +some iron mould of circumstance, and whose own proper muscles and soul +had never had a chance of air to grow. A homely, saddened, uncouthly +shaped face,--one that would be sure to go snubbed and unread through +the world, to find at last some woman who would know its latent meaning, +and worship it with the heat of passion which this country-girl had +given. Withal, a cheerful, quizzical smile on the lips. Poor Martha's +eyes filled, the moment she looked at that; and so she went back to her +first years of married life, full of keen, relishing enjoyment, all +coming from him, quiet, silent as he was,--remembering how her maddest +freaks were indulged with that same odd, dry laugh. She stood alone now. + +"And in these years I have grown used to being alone,"--standing up, +stretching her arms suddenly above her head, and letting them fall +again. + +It was a lie: she knew that the tired sinking within her of body and +soul was harder to bear now than the day he went away, and she weaker to +bear it. If she could but lean her head on his breast for one moment, +and feel him pat her hair with the old "Tut! tut! why, what ails my +girl?" it would give her more strength than all her prayers. She +couldn't think of herself as anything but a girl, when she remembered +her husband: these years were nothing. + +Her mouth grew drier and hotter, as she sat there looking into the face, +polishing the glass with her hand, kissing it. "I'm so tired, Stephen!" +she would whisper now and then. Only those who know the unuttered +mysterious bond in the soul of a true wife and husband can comprehend +what Martha Yarrow bore, when it was torn apart, and by no fault of +hers. "God meant him for me," she sometimes said, savagely; "no man had +a right to part us." She looked at the picture, feeling that he was +purer than any baby she had nursed at her breast, nearer God. "It was +his religion was to blame. That was the ruin of us all. I believe he +never knew who the good God was; how could he?" thinking of his father, +who used to sit in the chimney-corner,--one of those acrid +doctrine-professors who sour the water of life into gall and vinegar +before they dole it out to their children. She was glad she had told him +her mind before they parted,--to what his teaching had brought his son. +"I cut deep that day, and I thank God for it," she said, her face white. + +She had brought the children here to be near the penitentiary, but she +had never been allowed to see him. No letters came from him. His +brother, John Yarrow, sent hers to him. There was some formula of +admission, he said, which she did not understand. The time was nearly +up; in one year more he would be free. Well, and then? He had been in +one of the ways that butted down on hell; how would he come back to her? +In all these years, silence. Who would bring him back? Who? They were +keen enough to put him in,--but who would stay with him, to say, "You've +slipped, boy, but stand up again"? Who would hold out a kind hand at the +gate, when he came out, with "Here's a place, Yarrow. Here's home, and +love, and God waiting; try another chance"? Who would do that? No wonder +she looked out that night, thinking there was some work forgotten. + +Martha sat there until dawn came, moving only to replenish the fire lest +the children should take cold. In all her life she never forgot that +night. Some furious instinct seemed at work within her, goading her to +be up and doing. What should she do? Why should she disquiet herself? +Her husband was safe asleep in his cell. Yet all night long she could +not keep her soul back from crying to God to save him in his deadly +peril, to bring him there at once to her, to the children. When morning +broke, cold and sweet-breathed, russet clouds, dyed with the latent +crimson day, thronging up from behind the hills, she tried to thrust +down all the pains of the night as moody fancies. They did not go. She +bathed herself, woke the children, laughed and romped with them (for +their year's holiday should not be damped); but the cold, unsufferable +weight within dragged her physically down. Trifles without, too, beset +her with vague fears. Ready was gone; for years he had not left the +house at night. The children began to look with uneasy eyes at her face: +she would betray all. She kept her fingers thrust in the breast of her +wrapper to touch the case of the picture: she could hold herself quiet +so. How cold and unmeaning the light was that day to her! and every tick +of the clock seemed to beat straight on her brain. So the morning crept +by. She grew so sure--without reason--that it was the last day of +waiting, that, when the children went out to build their snow-man, she +sat down on Jem's chest, shivering and dizzy; when the snow cracked +under a step outside, afraid to turn her head,--thinking he would be +standing in the door, with the old patient smile on his mouth, and his +hand out. But he did not come. + + * * * * * + +About half a mile on the other side of Shag's Hill there is a hotel, off +from the road, looking like an overgrown Swiss _châlet_. Not a +country-tavern by any means. Starr, a New-York caterer, keeps it, as a +sort of boarding-house for a few wealthy Pittsburg families in summer: +however, if you should stop there at any time of the year, you would be +sure of a delicate _croquette_ and a fair glass of wine. Usually, Starr +and his family are the only occupants in winter, but on this Christmas +eve there were lights in two of the upper rooms. M. Soulé, the Mobile +financier, so well known through the West, with his family, had occupied +them for about a week; this evening, too, a Mr. Frazier from St. Louis +was at the house: there was a collision of trains near Beaver, and he +had left the other passengers and come over to Starr's, intending to go +on horseback up to Pittsburg in the morning. An old acquaintance of the +Soulés, apparently: he had dined with them that evening, and when Starr +went up about ten o'clock to know if Mr. Soulé wished to go out gunning +in the morning, he found the old man still standing with his back to the +fire, talking sharply of the Little Miami Railroad shares, then +beginning to go up. "A thorough old Shylock," thought Starr, waiting, +scanning the acrid, wizened face with its protruding black eyes, the +dried-up figure in a baggy suit of blue, a white collar turned down +nearly to the shoulders, and the gray hair knotted in a queue. He looked +at the landlord, scowling at the interruption: M. Soulé, on the +contrary, spoke heartily, as if suddenly relieved of a bore. + +"Of course, of course, Starr; I'll be off by four. I'll saddle my own +horse,--no need to disturb any of your people; let them sleep on +Christmas at least, poor devils. The partridges about here are really +worth tasting," turning to Frazier, "and Starr tells me of a mythical +deer back in the hills. You see," with a bow, "it will not be possible +for me to breakfast with you. I'll see you at Pittsburg about those +snares,--say, on Monday." + +"Yes," buttoning his coat, with a furtive glance of contempt at Soulé's +burly figure and eager face. Was this the far-famed Nimrod of the +money-hunt? "I'll say to Pryor you had other game on hand to-day." + +"Other game,--yes," with a sudden gravity,--pushing his hair back, and +looking in the fire, while the old man made his formal adieus to his +wife. They lasted some time, for Madame Soulé was a courtly little body, +with all her quiet. + +"I must make an early start, too," said Frazier, turning again. "Glad of +the chance to take a bracing ride. Banks closed to-morrow, so no time's +lost, eh? Well, good night, Soulé," perceiving that the other did not +see his outstretched hand; "don't come down; good night"; and so +shuffled down the stairs. + +"Pah!" said Soulé, with a breath of relief. "His blood's like water. He +never owed a dollar, and never gave one away." + +The usual genial laugh came back to his face, as he turned to Madame +Soulé and began to romp with the baby lying in her lap. He was a tall +man, about six feet high, with a handsome face, red hair, a frank blue +eye, and a natural, genuine laugh. Whatever else history may record of +him, a man of generous blood and sensitive instincts. His subdued dress, +quiet voice, suited him, were indigenous to his nature, not assumed: +even Starr could see that. Starr used afterwards, when they became the +country's gossip, to talk of little traits in these people, showing the +purity of their refinement. To this day he believes in them. How +unostentatious their kindness was: the delicate, scentless air that hung +about them: the fresh flowers always near. "Eating with iron forks, an' +not a word,--my silver being packed; their under-clothes like gossamer, +outside plainer than mine. Bah! I know the real stuff, when I see it, I +hope. No sham there!" + +When the baby was tired of its romp, Madame Soulé hushed it to sleep. +She was the quietest nurse ever lived,--the quietest woman,--one whom +you scarce noted when with her, and forgot as soon as you left the room. +Nature had made her up with its most faint, few lines, and palest +coloring. Soulé, however, had found out the delicate beauty, and all +else that lay beneath. There was a passionate fierceness sometimes in +his look at her, and a something else stranger,--such an expression as a +dog gives his master. She never talked but to him. + +"I thought you would have breakfasted with him, perhaps," she said, now. + +"No. I'm too much of an Arab, Judith. I can't eat a man's salt and empty +his pocket at the same time." + +"I'm glad you did not," smiling as the baby caught at his father's +seals, then glancing at the watch when Soulé held it out for him. +"Nearly eleven. It is time your brother was here. See, John, how pink +its feet are, and dimpled,"--putting one to her mouth with a burst of +childish laughter. + +Soulé played with a solitary white calla that stood near in a crystal +vase, gulped down a glass of wine hastily, held the delicate glass up to +see how like a golden bubble it was, then threw it down. + +"Are you sure we are right in this, child?" + +She stopped playing with the baby, but did not look up. + +"About your brother?" + +"I thought"--with the doubtful look of one who is about to essay his +strength against flint. "It has been a hard life,--Stephen's,--and +through us. What if we let him go?" anxiously. "What would be better? He +has children,"--taking the baby's hand in his. + +"Yes, children,--clods, like his wife,"--the pink lip curling. "You +should know your brother, John Yarrow. You do know the stuff that is in +him. Will his brain ever muddle down to find comfort in that +inn-keeper's daughter? Is it likely? Besides, they are dead to him now. +You have succeeded in keeping them apart." + +If she saw the dark flush in his face at this, she did not notice it, +but went on hastily. + +"Stephen never had a chance, and you know it, John. He was too weak to +break the trammels at home, as you did,--let himself be forced to preach +what his soul knew was a lie. When you tried to open the door for him to +a broader life"-- + +"I shut him in a penitentiary-cell," with a bitter laugh. "They taught +him to make shoes." + +"Was it your fault? Now that he is free, then," going on steadily, still +patting the child's cheek, "you mean to shake him off,--having used him. +Push him back into the old slough. He can make a decent living there, +cobbling, I know. Be generous, John," with a keen glance of the pale +brown eyes. "If you succeed in this thing to-morrow, take him with us +out of the United States. There is trouble coming here. Give him a +chance for education,--to know something of the world he lives in,--to +catch one or two free breaths before he dies. He has been the man in the +iron cage, since his birth, it seems to me." + +She got up as she spoke, rang the bell, and gave the baby to its nurse, +wrapping it up in a blanket or two. When she turned, her husband was +standing on the hearth-rug, a half-laugh in his eyes. + +"Judith!" + +"What is it?" + +"The plain meaning of all this is, that there is no one who can do this +foul job to-morrow but Stephen Yarrow, and for my sake it must be done; +_ergo_--Well, well! You do love me, child!" + +Her eyes filled with sudden tears; she caught hold of his arm, and clung +to it. + +"I do love you, God knows! What is Stephen Yarrow to me, soul or body? +Don't be harsh with me, John!" + +"Harsh? No, Judith," stroking the colorless curls gently; looking back; +thinking that she had done much for him; he would humor her whim, not +behave like a beast to _her_. But his brother--It would be better for +Stephen in the end. Certainly. Yet he sighed: a womanish, unable sigh. + +A year or two afterwards, (for I am not writing of a fictitious +character,) this man's frauds were discovered. They were larger and more +uniformly successful than any that had ever been perpetrated in the +States, but there was about them a subtle, dogged daring that did not +belong to Yarrow's character, and shrewd people who had known them began +to talk of this shadow of a woman who went about with him,--a quadroon, +they said,--and hinted strongly that it was she who had been the vital +power of the partnership, and Yarrow but the well-chosen tool. There are +no means of knowing the truth of the conjecture, for Yarrow escaped: she +followed him, but is dead, so their secret is safe. Fraud, however, was +but one half of his story. Soulé gave like a prince,--secretly, with a +woman-like, anxious helpfulness, a passionate eagerness, as if the pain +or want of a human being were insufferable to him. In this he was alone: +the woman had no share in it. She was as cold, impervious to the +suffering of others as nothing but a snake or a selfish woman can be: +whatever muddy human feeling did ooze from her brain was for this man +only. And yet, when we think of it, she was, as they guessed, a +quadroon: maybe, under the low, waxy-skinned forehead that Yarrow's +fingers were patting that night there might have been a revengeful +consciousness of the wrongs of her race that justified to her the harm +she did. It is likely: the coarsest negroes argue in that way. God help +them! At any rate, we shall come closest to Christ's rule of justice in +trying to find a sore heart behind the vicious fingers of the woman. + +While the two stood in the pleasant light of the warm room waiting for +him, Stephen Yarrow came towards the house across the fields. It was his +shadow that his wife and Jem saw crossing Shag's Hill. He was a free man +now,--by virtue of his nickname, "quiet Stevy," in part. It startled him +as much as the jailer, when his release was sent in a year before the +time, "in consideration of his uniform good conduct." The truth was, +that M. Soulé took an interest in the poor wretch, and had said a few +words in his favor to the Governor at a dinner-party the other evening, +so the release was signed the next day. Soulé had called to see the man +when he came to Pittsburg, and spent an hour or two in his cell. The +next morning he was free to go, but he had stayed a week longer, making +a pair of red morocco shoes for the jailer's little girl,--idling over +them: when they were done, tying them on, himself, with a wonderful +bow-knot, and looking anxiously in her clean Dutch face to see if she +were pleased. + +"Kiss the gentleman, Meg," growled Ben. "Where's yer manners?" + +Stephen drew back sharply. The innocent baby! who lived out-of-doors! +Ben must have forgotten who _he_ was: a thief, belonging to this cell. +They were going to let him out; but what difference did that make? His +thin face grew wet with perspiration, as he walked away. Why, his very +fingers had felt too impure to him, as he tied on her shoes. He went +away an hour after, only nodding goodbye to Ben, looking down with an +odd grin at the clothes he had asked the jailer to buy for him. Ben had +chosen a greenish coat and trousers and yellow waistcoat. He did not +shake hands with him. Ben had been mixing hog-food, and the marks were +on his fingers. This was yesterday: he was going now to meet his +brother, as he requested. Well, what else was there for him to do? + +He did not look up often, as he plodded over the fields: when he did, it +hurt him somehow, this terrible wastefulness, this boundless unused air, +and stretch of room. It even pained hiss weakened eyes: so long the +oblong slip of clay running from the cell to the wall had been his +share, and the yellow patch of sky and brick chimney-top beyond. For so +many thousands, too, no more. But they were thieves, foul, like him. +Pure men this was for. Stephen looked like an old man now, in spite of +Ben's party-colored rigging: stooped and lean, his step slouched: his +head almost bald under the old fur cap. Something in the sharpened face, +too, looked as if more than eyesight had been palsied in these years of +utter solitude: the brain was dulled with sluggishly gnawing over and +over the few animal ideas they leave for prisoners' souls,--or, as +probably, thoroughly imbruted by them. Soulé thought the latter. + +When the convict had finished his dull walk, he sat down on the wooden +staircase that led to his brother's rooms for half an hour, slowly +rubbing his legs, conscious of nothing but some flesh-pain, +apparently,--and when he did enter the chamber, bowed as indifferently +to Soulé and his wife as though they had parted carelessly yesterday. +His brother glanced at the woman: one look would certainly be enough for +her. Poor Stephen's power? If it ever had been, its essence was long +since exhaled: there was nothing in his whole nature now but the stalest +dregs, surely? Perhaps she thought differently: she looked at the man +keenly, and then gave a quick, warning glance to her husband, as she sat +down to her sewing. Soulé did not heed it as he usually did: he was +choked and sick to see what a wreck his brother really was. God help us! +to think of the time when Stephen and he were boys together, and this +was the end of it! + +"Come to the fire, old fellow!" he said, huskily. "You're blue with +cold. We used to have snows like this at home, eh?" + +The man passed the lady with the quaint, shy bow that used to be +habitual with him towards women, (he still used it to the jailer's +wife,) and held his hands over the blaze. His brother followed him: his +wife had never seen him so nervous or excited: he stood close to the +convict, smoothing his coat on the shoulder, taking off his cap. + +"Why, why! this cloth's too thin, even for summer; I--Oh, Stephen, these +are hard times,--hard! But I mean to do something for you, God knows. +Sit down, sit down, you're tired, boy," turning off, going to the +window, his hands behind him,--coming back again. "We're going to help +you, Judith and I." + +Soulé did not see the look which the convict shot at the woman, when he +spoke these words; but she did,--and knew, that, however her husband +might contrive to deceive himself, he never would his brother. If +Stephen Yarrow's soul went down to any deeper depth to-night, it would +be conscious in its going. What manner of man was he? What was his wife, +or long-ago home, or his old God, now, to him? It mattered to them: for, +if he were not a tool, they were ruined. She stitched quietly at her +soft floss and flannel. Soulé was sincere; let him explain what his wish +was, himself; it would be wiser for her to be silent; this man, she +remembered, had eyes that never understood a lie. + +Yarrow did not sit down; his brother stood close, leaning his unsteady +hand upon his arm. + +"I knew you would not fail me, Stephen. To-morrow will be a +turning-point in both our lives. Circumstances have conspired to help me +in my plan." + +He began to stammer. The other looked at him quietly, inquiringly. + +"You remember what I told you on Tuesday?" more hastily. "I have dealt +heavily in stocks lately; it needs one blow more, and our future is +secure for life. Yours and mine, I mean,--yours and mine, Stephen. This +paper old Frazier carries,--he Is going to New York with it. If I can +keep it out of the market for a week, my speculation is assured,--I can +realize half a million, at least. Frazier is an old man, weak: he +crosses the Narrows to-morrow morning on horseback." + +He stopped abruptly, playing with a shell on the mantel-shelf. + +"I understand," in a dry voice; "you want him robbed; and my hands came +at the right nick of time." + +"Pish! you use coarse words. A man's brain must be distempered to call +that robbery; the paper, as I said, is neither money nor its +equivalent." + +There was a silence of some moments. + +"I must have it," his eye growing fierce. "You could take it and leave +the man unhurt. I could have done it myself, but he's an old man, I want +him left unhurt. If I had done it--Well," chewing his lips, "it would +not have been convenient for him to have gone on with that story. He +knows me. Is the affair quite plain now?" + +Yarrow nodded slowly, looking in the fire. + +"If I were not strong enough to-morrow, what then?" + +"I will be with you,--near. I must have the paper. He is an old Shylock, +after all," with a desperate carelessness. "His soul would not weigh +heavily against me, if it were let out." + +Yarrow passed his hand over his face; it was colorless. Yet he looked +bewildered. The bare thought of murder was not clear to him yet. + +"Drink some wine, Stephen," said his brother, pouring out a goblet for +himself. "I carry my own drinking-apparatus. This Sherry"-- + +Yarrow tasted it, and put down the glass. + +"I was cheated in it, eh?" + +"Yes, you were." + +"Your palate was always keener than mine. I"-- + +His mouth looked blue and cold under his whiskers: then they both stood +vacantly silent, while the woman sewed. + +"Tut! we will look at the matter practically, as business-men," said +Soulé at last, affecting a gruff, hearty tone, and walking about,--but +was silent there. + +The convict did not answer. No sound but the rough wind without blowing +the drifted snow and pebbles from the asphalt roof against the frosted +panes, and the angry fire of bitumen within breaking into clefts of blue +and scarlet flame, thrusting its jets of fierce light out from its cage: +impatient, it may be, of this convict, this sickly, shrivelled bit of +humanity standing there; wondering the nauseated life in his nostrils or +soul claimed yet its share of God's breath. Society had taken the man +like a root torn out of native unctuous soil, kept it in a damp cellar, +hid out the breath and light. If after a while it withered away, whose +fault was it? If there were no hand now to plant it again, do you look +for it to grow rotten, or not? One would have said Soulé was a root that +had been planted in fat, loamy ground, to look at him. There was a +healthy, liberal, lazy life for you! Yet the winter sky looked gray and +dumb when he passed the window, and the fire-light broke fiercest +against his bluff figure going to and fro. No matter; something there +that would have warmed your heart to him: something genial, careless, +big-natured, from the loose red hair to the indolent, portly stride. +"Who knows? A comfortable, true-hearted, merry clergyman,--a jolly +farmer, with open house, and a bit of good racing-stock in the +stable,--if bigotry in his boyhood, and this woman, had not crossed him. +They had crossed him: there was not an atom of unpolluted nature left: +you saw the taint in every syllable he spoke. Fresh and malignant +to-night, when this tempted soul hung in the balance. + +"We're letting the matter slip too long. Something must be decided upon. +Stephen!" nervously, "wake up! You have forgotten our subject, I think." + +"No," the bald head raised out of the coat-collar in which it had sunk. +"Go on." + +Soulé looked at him perplexed a moment. Was he dulled, or had he +learned in those years to shut in looks and thoughts closer prisoners +than himself? + +"It is a mere question of time," he said, a little composed. "Frazier is +an agent: shall this money accrue to me or to his employers? I have +risked all on it. I must have it at any cost." + +"At any cost?" + +"At any," boldly. "Is it any easier for me to talk of that chance than +you, Stephen?" + +"No, John. Your hands are clean," with an exhausted look. "I know that. +You had a kind Irish heart. What money you made with one hand you flung +away with the other." + +Soulé blushed like a woman. + +"No matter," beating some dust off his boot. "But for Frazier,--I've +talked that over with Judith, and--I don't value human life as you do: +it may Lave been my residence in the South. It matters little how a man +dies, so he lives right. This Frazier, if he dies to defend his package, +would do a nobler deed than in any of his dime-scraping days. For me, my +part is not robbery. The paper is neither specie nor a draft." + +His tongue swung fluently now, for it had convinced himself. + +"There is but a night left to decide. What will you do, Stephen?" + +He put his hand on the green coat with its gaudy buttons, and leaned +against his brother as they used to go arms over shoulders to school. +Soulé's big throat was full of tears; he had never felt so full of +sorrowful pity as in this the foulest purpose of his life. Unselfish it +seemed to him. O God! what a hard life Stephen's had been! This would +cure him: two or three sea-voyages, a winter in Florence, would freshen +him a little, maybe,--but not much. + +"Eh? What will you do, old fellow?" striking his shoulder. "This is the +last night." + +"I know that. I have been waiting for it all my life." + +He put his red handkerchief up to his mouth to conceal the face, as if +its meaning were growing too plain. Soulé looked at him fixedly a +moment, then, taking him by the button, began tapping off his sentences +on his breast. + +"I'll state the case. I'll be plain. Stephen, you want food; you want +clothes; you"-- + +"Is that all I want?" facing him. + +The woman started, as she saw his face fully, and his look, for the +first time. A quiet blue eye, unutterably kind and sad: a slow, +compelling face, that would look on his life barely, day after day, year +after year, never drowsing over its sore or pain until he had wrung its +full meaning out to the last dregs. + +"All you want? Clothing? food?" stammered Soulé,--something in the face +having stopped his garrulous breath. "I did not say that, Stephen." + +The wind struck sharper on the rattling panes; the yellow and brown +heats grew deeper. One saw how it was then. No beggar turned from God so +empty-handed as this man to-day. His place in the world slipped: his +chance gone: sick, sinking; his brain mad for knowledge: his hands +stretched out for work: no man to give it to him: whatever God he had +lost to him: the thief's smell, he thought, on every breath he drew, +every rag of clothes he wore. Hundreds of convicts leave our +prison-doors with souls as hungry and near death as this. + +"I have lost something--since I went in there," he said, jerking his +thumb over his shoulder. "I do not think it will ever come back." + +"No?" + +Soulé put his big hand to his face mechanically. + +"Don't say that, boy! I know--The world has gone on, it has left you +behind--You"-- + +He choked,--could not go on: he would have put half the strength and +life in himself into Yarrow's lank little body that moment, if he could. +There was a something else lost, different from all these, of which they +both thought, but they did not speak of it. The convict looked out into +the night. Beyond the square patch of window and that near dark, how +full the world was of happy homes getting ready for Christmas! children +and happy wives! Soulé understood. + +"I don't say I can bring you back what you have lost, Stephen. I offer +you the best I can. You're not an old man,--barely thirty: you must have +years to acquire fresh bone and muscle. Set your brain to work, +meanwhile. Give it a chance." + +"It never had one," said the convict, with a queer, faint smile. + +"Hillo! that looks like old times!" brightening up. "No, it never had. +Do you think I forget our alley-house with its three rooms? the +carpentering by day, and the arithmetic by night? the sweltering, sultry +Sunday mornings in church, and the afternoons sniffling over the +catechism among the rain-butts in the back-yard? Do you remember the +preachers, the travelling agents, that put up with us? how they snarled +at other churches, and helped themselves out of the shop, as if to be a +man of God implied a mean beggar? I don't say my father was a hypocrite +when he made you a colporteur, and so one of them; but"-- + +He paused. Even in this frothy-brained fellow, his religion or his doubt +lay deeper than all. His face grew dark. + +"I tell you, if there is one thing I loathe, it is the God and His day +that were taught to me when I was a child: joyless, hard, cruel. +Fire--humph!--and brimstone for all but a few hundred. I remember. Well, +I don't know yet if there is any better," with a vague look. "A man +shifts for himself in the next chance as well as now, I suppose. Did you +believe what you preached, Stephen?" with an abrupt change. "God! how +you used to writhe under it at first!" + +"They forced me into it," said Yarrow. "I was only a boy. You remember +that I was only a boy,--just out of the shop. The more uneducated a man +was in our church-pulpit then, the better. _I_ knew nothing, John," +appealingly. "When I preached about foreordination and hell-fire, it was +in coarse slang: I knew that. I used to think there might be a different +God and books and another life farther out in the world, if I could only +get at it. I never was strong, and they had forced me into it; and when +you came to me to help you with your plan, I wanted to get out, and"-- + +"You did help me,"--chafing the limp fingers. "That was my first start, +that Pesson note. I owe that to you, Stephen." + +"I have paid for it," looking him steadily in the eye, some unexpected +manliness rising up, making his tone bitter and marrowy. "I paid for it. +But no matter for that. But now you come again. I have had time to think +over these things in yonder, John." + +Soulé dropped his hand, drew back, and was silent a moment. + +"Let it be so. But did you think what you would do, if you refused your +aid to me? Have you found work? or a God to preach?" + +Something in these last words took Yarrow's sudden strength away. He did +not answer for a moment. + +"Work?" feebly. "No,--I haven't heard of any work. As for a God"-- + +"Well, then, what are your purposes?" coldly. + +Another silence. + +"I don't know. I never was worth much," he gasped out at last, stooping, +and pulling at his shoestrings. + +"And now"--said Soulé. + +"There's no need for you to say that!" with a sharp cry. "I don't forget +that I have slipped,--that it's too late,--I don't forget." + +His hands jerked at his coat-fronts in a wild, dazed way. + +"Stephen!" + +The woman rose, and let in the air. + +"I thank you. I'm not sick." + +Soulé turned away. He could not meet the look on the pinched +convict-face,--the soul of the man crying out for God or his brother, +something to help. There was a silence for a few moments. + +"You will come with me, Stephen," quietly: then, after a pause, "It is +for life. There is but little time left to decide." + +Was there no help? Had the true God no messenger? The winter-wind +blowing through the window filled with fine frost wet his face, lifted +the smothering off his lungs. His eyes grew clear, as his full sense +returned after a while: seeing only at first, it so happened, the fire +in its square frame; and thinking only of that, as the mind always +drowsily absorbs the nearest trifle after a spasm of pain. A bed of pale +red coals now, furred over with white and pearl-colored ashes. It was a +long time since he had seen any open fire,--years, he believed. Where +was it that there had been a fire just like that, with the ashes like +moss over the heat,--and on a night in winter, too, the wind rattling +the panes? Where was it? While Soulé stood waiting for his answer, his +mind was drifting back, like that of a man in his dotage, through its +dull, muddy thoughts, after that one silly memory. He struck on it at +last. A year or two after he was married. In the bedroom. Martha was +sitting by the fire, with the old yellow dog beside her: she was trying +to ride the baby on his neck,--he was the clumsiest brute! He came in +and stopped to see the fun; he noticed the fire then, how cozy and warm +it all was: outside it was hailing, a gust shaking the house. He had +been doing a bit of carpentering,--he did like to go back to the old +trade! This was a wicker chair for the baby,--he had made it in the +stable for a surprise: the girl always liked surprises and such +nonsense. He put it down with a flourish, and he remembered how she +laughed, and Ready growled, and how he and she both got on their knees +to seat the youngster in, and tie him with his bandanna handkerchief. So +silly that all was! When they were on the floor there, and had Master +Jem fastened in, be remembered how she suddenly turned, and put her arms +about his neck, as shyly as when they were first married, and kissed +him. "Only God knows how good you are to me, Stephen," she said. There +were tears in her eyes.--Yarrow passed his hand over his forehead. Did +ever a thought come into your mind like a fresh, clean air into a +stove-heated, foul room? or like the first hearty, living call of +Greatheart through the dungeons of Giant Despair? + +"You do not answer me, Stephen?" said his brother. "You will go with +me?" + +Yarrow's head was more erect, his eyes less glazed. + +"It may be. The chance for me's over in the world, I think. I may as +well serve you. And yet"-- + +"What?" + +"Give me time to think. I want out-of-doors. It's close here. I'll meet +you in the morning." + +Soulé caught his wife's uneasy glance. + +"What is this, Stephen?" + +"Nothing," looking dully out into the night. + +"Then"-- + +"There's some you said were dead,"--as if no one were speaking, with the +same dull look. "Or lost: I think they're not dead. If there might be a +chance yet! If I could but see Martha and the little chaps, it would +save me, John Yarrow, no matter what they'd learned to think of me. +They're mine,--my little chaps. She said the boys should never know. She +said that of her own free will." + +"Is it likely she could keep her word?" said Soulé, sneeringly. + +"Why, why, she loved me, John,"--a moist color and smile coming out on +his face. "There's a little thing I minded just now that--Yes, Martha +kept her word." + +He tapped with his fingers thoughtfully on the mantel-shelf, the smile +lingering yet on his face. The woman's woollen sewing fell from her +hand, and she spoke for the first time. Her tone had a harsh, metallic +twang in it: Yarrow turned curiously, as he heard it. + +"What could they be to you, if you found them? They have forgotten you. +In five years they have not sent you a message." + +"No,--I know, Madam." + +Even that did not hurt him. His face kindled slowly,--still turned to +the fire, as if it were telling him some old story: looking to her at +last, steadfast and manly, like a man who has healthy common-sense +dominant in his head, and an unselfish love at work in his heart. Such a +one is not far from the kingdom of heaven. + +"It seems to me as if there might be a chance--yet. It's a long time. +But Martha loved me, Madam. You don't know--I think I'll go, John. It's +close here, 's I said. I'll meet you at the far bridge by dawn, and let +you know." + +"It is your only chance," said Soulé, roughly, as he followed him to the +door. + +He was a ruined man, if he were balked in this. + +"You do not know how the world meets a returned felon, Stephen; you"-- + +"Let me go," feebly, putting his hand up to his chin in the old fashion. + +"I think I know that. I--I've thought of that a good deal. But it seemed +to me as if there might be a chance"; and so, without a word of +farewell, went stumbling down the stairs. + +He had given a wistful look at the fire, as he turned away. Perhaps that +would comfort him. God surely has "many voices in the world, and none of +them is without its signification." + +An hour before dawn, Yarrow found the place in which he had appointed to +meet his brother. The night had been dark, hailing at intervals; he had +gone tramping up and down the hills and stubble-fields, through snow and +half-frozen mud-gullies, hardly conscious of what he did. The night +seemed long to him now, looking back. He found a burnt sycamore-stump +and got up on it, shivered awhile, felt his shirt, which was wet to the +skin, then took off his shoes and cleared the lumps of slush out of +them. There was something horrible to him in this unbroken silence and +dark and wet cold: he had been in his hot cell so long, the frost stung +him differently from other men, the icy thaw was wetter. It was a narrow +cut in the hills where he was, a bridle-road leading back and running +zigzag for some miles until it returned to the railroad-track. A lonely, +unfrequented place: Frazier would take this by-path; Soulé had chosen it +well to meet him. There was a rickety bridge crossing a hill-stream a +few rods beyond. Yarrow pushed the dripping cap off his forehead, and +looked around. No light nor life on any side: even in the heavens yawned +that breathless, uncolored silence that precedes a winter's dawn. He +could see the Ohio through the gully: why, it used to be a broad, +full-breasted river, glancing all over with light, loaded with steamers +and rafts going down to the Mississippi. He had gone down once, rafting, +with lumber, and a jolly three weeks' float they had of it. Now it was a +solid, shapeless mass of blocks of ice and mud. Winter? yes, but the +world was altered somehow, the very river seemed struck with death. His +teeth chattered; he began to try to rub some warmth into his rheumatic +legs and arms; tried to bring back the fancy of last night about Martha +and the fire. But that was a long way off: there were all these years' +mastering memories to fade it out, you know, and besides, a diseased +habit of desponding. The world was wide to him, cowering out from a +cell: where were Martha and the little chaps lost in it? John said they +were dead. Where should he turn now? There was an aguish pain in his +spine that blinded him: since yesterday he had eaten nothing,--he had no +money to buy a meal; he was a felon,--who would give him work? "There's +some things certain in the world," he muttered. + +"That was silly last night,--silly. And yet,--if there could have been a +chance!" + +He looked up steadily into the sickly, discolored sky: nothing there but +the fog from these swamps. He had not wished so much that he could hear +of Martha and the children, when he looked up, as of something else +that he needed more. Even the foulest and most careless soul that God +ever made has some moments when it grows homesick, conscious of the +awful vacuum below its life, the Eternal Arm not being there. Yarrow was +neither foul nor careless. All his life, most in those years in the +prison, he had been hungry for Something to rest on, to own him. +Sometimes, when his evil behavior had seemed vilest to him, he had felt +himself trembling on the verge of a great forgiveness. But he could see +so little of the sky in the cell there,--only that three-cornered patch: +he had a fancy, that, if once he were out in the world that He made,--in +the free air,--that, if there were a God, he would find Him out. He had +not found Him. + +He sat on the stump awhile, his hands over his eyes, then got down +slowly, buttoning his soggy waistcoat and coat. + +"I don't see as there's a chance," he said, dully. "I was a fool to +think there was any better God than the one that"--digging his toe into +the frozen pools. "It's all ruled. I'm not one of the elect." + +That was all. After that, he stood waiting for his brother. + +"I'll help him. He's the best I know." + +Even the faint sigh choked before it rose to his lips,--both manhood and +hope were so dead with inanition; yet a life's failure went in it. + +While he stood waiting, Martha Yarrow sat by her kitchen-fire crying to +God to help him; but He knew what things were needed before she asked +Him. + +Soulé, with his gun and game-bag, had been coursing over the hills three +miles back, since four o'clock. He had bagged a squirrel or two, enough +to suffice for his morning's work, and now, his piece unloaded, came +stealthily towards the place of rendezvous. He had little hope that +Stephen would help him: he had made up his mind to go through the affair +alone. If _he_ did it, that involved--Pah! what was in a word? Men died +every day. He had quite resolved: Judith and he had talked the matter +over all night. But if Frazier were a younger man, and could fight for +it! Perhaps he was armed: Soulé's face flashed: he stooped and broke the +trigger of his gun, and then went on with a much less heavy step. They +would be more even now. He wanted to reach the bridge by dawn, and meet +his brother. If he refused to help him, he would send him away, and wait +for Frazier alone. About nine o'clock he might expect him. + +Frazier, however, had changed his plan. He told Starr the night before, +that, as M. Soulé would not breakfast with him, he had concluded to rise +early, and be off by dawn. "If there's nothing to be done about the +Miami shares, there is no use wasting time here," he thought. So, while +Stephen Yarrow waited near the bridge, the smoke was curling out of the +kitchen-chimney where the cook was making ready the cashier's beefsteak, +and the old man was crawling out of bed. He could hear Starr's children +in the room overhead making an uproar over their stockings. "Christmas +morning, by the way! I must take some knick-knack back to Totty." (As if +his trunk were not always filled with things for Totty, and his shirts +crammed into the lid, when he came home!) "Something for mother, too," +as he pulled on his socks. "Gloves, now, hey? A dozen pair. I wish I had +asked Madame Soulé what size she wore, last night. Their hands are about +the same size. Mother always had a tidy little paw. So will Totty, eh?" +And so finished dressing, thinking Soulé had a neat little wife, but +insipid. + +So Christmas morning came to all of them, the day when, a long time ago, +One who had made a good happy world came back to find and save that +which was lost in it. In these few hundred years had He forgotten the +way of finding? + +Stephen Yarrow had fallen into an uneasy doze by the road-side. He had +done with thinking, when he said, "I'll go with John." The way through +life seemed to open clear, exactly the same as it had been before. There +was an end of it. There might have been a chance, but there was none. He +drowsed off into a brutish slumber. Something like a kiss woke him. It +was only the morning air. A clear, sweet-breathed dawn, as we said, that +seemed somehow to have caught a scent of far-off harvest-farms, in lands +where it was not winter. Warm brown clouds yonder with a glow like wine +in them, the splendor of the coming day hinting of itself through. + +"I must have slept," said Yarrow, taking off his cap to shake it dry. + +There were a thousand shining points on the dingy fur. He rubbed his +heavy eyes and looked about him. The misty rime of the night had frozen +on hills and woods and river,--frosted the whole earth in one +glittering, delicate sheath. The first level bar of sunlight put into +the nostrils of the dead world of the night before the breath of life. +Once in a lifetime, maybe, the sight meets a man's eyes which Yarrow saw +that morning. The very clear blue of the air thrilled with electric +vigor; from the rounded rose-colored summits of the western hills to the +tiniest ire-cased grass-spear at his feet, the land flashed back +unnumbered soft and splendid dyes to heaven; the hemlock-forests near +had grouped themselves into glittering temples, mosques, churches, +whatever form in which men have tried to please God by worshipping Him; +the smoke from the distant village floated up in a constant silver and +violet vapor like an incense-breath. Neither was it a dead morning. The +far-off tinkle of cowbells reached him now and then, the cheery crow +from one farm-yard to another, even children's voices calling, and at +last a slow, sweet chime of churchbells. + +"They told me it was Christmas morning," he said, pulling off the old +cap again. + +Yarrow's chin had sunk on his breast, as his eager eyes drank all this +morning in. He breathed short and quick, like a child before whom some +incredible pleasure flashes open. + +"Well," with a long breath, putting on his cap, "I didn't think of aught +like this, yonder. God help us!" + +He didn't know why he smiled or rubbed his hands cheerfully. His sleep +had refreshed him, maybe. But it seemed as if the great beauty and +tenderness of the world were for him, this morning,--as if some great +Power stretched out its arms to him, and spoke through it. + +"I'll not be silly again," straightening himself, and buttoning his +coat; but before the words were spoken, his head had sunk again, and he +stood quiet. + +Something in all this brought Martha and the little chaps before him, he +did not know why, but his heart ached with a sharper pain than ever, +that made his eyes wet with tears. + +"If there should be a chance!"--lifting his hands to the deep of blue in +the east. + +This was the free air in which he used to think he could find God. + +"What if it were true that He was there,--loving, not hating, taking +care of Martha, and"-- + +He stopped, catching the word. + +"No. I've slipped. I don't forget." + +He did forget. He did not remember that he was a thief, standing there. +Whatever substance had been in him at his birth trustworthy rose up now +to meet the voice of God that called to him aloud. His lank jaws grew +red, his eyes a deeper blue, a look in them which his mother may have +seen the like of years and years ago; he beat with his knuckles on his +breast nervously. + +"If there could be a chance!" he said, unceasingly; "if I might try +again!" + +There was a crackling in the snow-laden bushes upon the hill: he looked +back, and saw his brother coming from the other side, his game-bag over +his shoulder, stooping to avoid notice, his eyes fixed intently on some +object on the road beyond. It was an old man on horseback, jogging +slowly up the path, whistling as he came. Yarrow shuddered with a sudden +horror. + +"He means murder! That is Frazier. You could not do it to-day, John! +To-day!" as if Soulé could hear him. + +He was between his brother and his victim. The old man came slower, the +hill being steep, looking at the frosted trees, and seeing neither +Yarrow nor the burly figure crouching, tiger-like, among the bushes. One +moment, and he would have passed the bend of the hill,--Soulé could +reach him. + +"God help me!" whispered Yarrow, and threw himself forward, pushing the +horse back on his haunches. "Go back! Ten steps farther, and it's too +late! Back, I say!" + +The old man gasped. + +"Why! what! a slip? an' water-gully?" + +"No matter," leading the horse, trembling from head to foot. + +Up on the hill there was a sharp break, a heavy footstep on a dead root. +Would John go back or come on? he was strong enough to master both. +Yarrow's throat choked, but he led the horse steadily down the path, +deaf to Frazier's questions. + +"Do not draw rein until you reach the station," giving him the bridle at +last. + +The old man looked back: he had seen the figure dimly. + +"If there's danger, I'll not leave you to meet it alone, my friend," +fumbling in his breast for a weapon. + +Yarrow stamped impatiently. + +"Put spurs to your horse!"--wiping his mouth; "it will be yet too late!" + +Frazier gave a glance at his face, and obeyed him. A moment more, and he +was out of sight. Yarrow watched him, and then slowly turned, and raised +his head. Soulé had come down, and was standing close beside him, +leaning on his gun. It was the last time the brothers ever faced each +other, and their natures, as God made them, came out bare in that look: +Yarrow's, under all, was the tougher-fibred of the two. John's eyes +fell. + +"Stephen, this will hurt me. I"-- + +"I thought it was well done,"--his hand going uncertainly to his mouth. + +"Well, well! you have chosen,"--after a pause. + +"Good bye." + +"Good bye, boy." + +They held each other's hands for a minute; then Soulé turned off, and +strode down the hill. He loosened his cravat as he went, and took a long +breath of relief. + +"It was a vile job! But"--his face much troubled. But his wife heard the +story without a word, nor ever alluded to it afterwards. She was human, +like the rest of us. + +A moment after he was gone, a curious change took place in the convict, +a reaction,--the excitement being gone. The pain and exposure and hunger +had room to tell now on body and soul. He stretched himself out on a +drift of snow, drunken with sleep, yet every nerve quivering and +conscious, trying to catch another echo of Soulé's step. He was his +brother, he was all he had; it was terrible to be thus alone in the +world: going back to the time when they worked in the shop together. He +raised his head even, and called him,--"Jack!"--once or twice, as he +used to then. It was too late. Such a generous, bull-headed fellow he +was then, taking his own way, and being led at last. He was gone now, +and forever. He was all he had. + +The day was out broadly now,--a thorough winter's day, cold and clear, +the frosty air sending a glow through your blood. It sent none into +Yarrow's thinned veins: he was too far gone with all these many years. +The place, as I said, was a lonely one, niched between hills, yet near +enough main roads for him to hear sounds from them: people calling to +each other, about Christmas often; carriages rolling by; great Conestoga +wagons, with their dozens of tinkling bells, and the driver singing; +dogs and children chasing each other through the snow. The big world +was awake and busy and glad, but it passed him by. + +"For this man that might have been it has as much use as for a bit of +cold victuals thrown into the street. And the worst is," with a bitter +smile, "I know it, to my heart's core." + +The morning passed by, as he lay there, growing colder, his brain +duller. + +"I did not think this coat was so thin," he would mutter, as he tried to +pull it over him. + +If he got up, where should he go? What use, eh? It was warmer in the +snow than walking about. Conscious at last only of a metallic taste in +his mouth, a weakness creeping closer to his heart every moment, and a +dull wonder if there could yet be a chance. It seemed very far away now. +And Martha and the little chaps--Oh, well! + +Some hours may have passed as he lay there, and sleep came; for I fancy +it was a dream that brought the final sharp thought into his brain. He +dragged himself up on one elbow, the old queer smile on his lips. + +"I will try," he said. + +It took him some time to make his way out into the main road, but he did +it at last, straightening his wet hair under the old cap. + +"It's so like a dog to die that way! I'll try, just once, how the world +looks when I face it." + +He sat down outside of a blacksmith's forge, the only building in sight, +on the pump-trough, and looked wearily about. His head fell now and then +on his breast from weakness. + +"It won't be a very long trial. I'll not beg for food, and I'm not equal +to much work just now,"--with the same grim half-smile. + +No one was in sight but the blacksmith and some crony, looking over a +newspaper. Inside. They nodded, when they saw him, and said,-- + +"Hillo!" + +"Hillo!" said Yarrow. + +Then they went on with their paper. That was the only sound for a long +time. Some farmers passed after a while, giving him good-morning, in +country-fashion. A trifle, but it was warm, heartsome: he had put the +world on trial, you know, and he was not very far from death. Men more +soured than Yarrow have been surprised to find it was God's world, with +God's own heart, warm and kindly, speaking through every human heart in +it, if they touched them right. About noon, the blacksmith's children +brought him his dinner in a tin bucket, leaving it inside. When they +came out, one freckled baby-girl came up to Yarrow. + +"Tie my shoe," she said, putting up one foot, peremptorily. "Are you +hungry?" looking at him curiously, after he had done it, at the same +time holding up a warm seed-cake she was eating to his mouth. He was +ashamed that the spicy smile tempted him to take it. He put it away, and +seated her on his foot. + +"Let me ride you plough-boy fashion," he said, trotting her gently for a +minute. + +Her father passed them. + +"You must pardon me," said Yarrow, with a bow. "I used to ride my boy +so, and"-- + +"Eh? Yes. Sudy's a good girl. You've lost your little boy, now?" looking +in Yarrow's face. + +"Yes, I've lost him." + +The blacksmith stood silent a moment, then went in. Soon after a tall +man rode up on a gray horse; it had cast a shoe, and while the smith +went to work within, the rider sat down by Yarrow on the trough, and +began to talk of the weather, politics, etc., in a quiet, pleasant way, +making a joke now and then. He had a thin face, with a scraggy fringe of +yellow hair and whisker about it, and a gray, penetrating eye. The shoe +was on presently, and mounting, with a touch of his hat to Yarrow, he +rode off. The convict hesitated a moment, then called to him. + +"I have a word to say to you," coming up, and putting his hand on the +horse's mane. + +The man glanced at him, then jumped down. + +"Well, my friend?" + +"You're a clergyman?" + +"Yes." + +"So was I once. If you had known, just now, that I was a felon two days +ago released from the penitentiary, what would you have said to me? +Guilty, when I went in, remember. A thief." + +The man was silent, looking in Yarrow's face. Then he put his hand on +his arm. + +"Shall I tell you?" + +"Go on." + +"I would have said, that, if ever you preach God's truth again, you will +have learned a deeper lesson than I." + +If he meant to startle the man's soul into life, he had done it. He a +teacher, who hardly knew if that good God lived! + +"Let me go," he cried, breaking loose from the other's hand. + +"No. I can help you. For God's sake tell me who you are." + +But Yarrow left him, and went down the road, hiding, when he tried to +pursue him,--sitting close behind a pile of lumber. He was there when +found: so tired that the last hour and the last years began to seem like +dreams. Something cold roused him, nozzling at his throat. An old yellow +dog, its eyes burning. + +"Why, Ready," he said, faintly, "have you come?" + +"Come home," said the dog's eyes, speaking out what the whole day had +tried to say: "they're waiting for you; they've been waiting always; +home's there, and love's there, and the good God's there, and it's +Christmas day. Come home!" + +Yarrow struggled up, and put his arms about the dog's neck: kissed him +with all the hunger for love smothered in these many years. + +"He don't know I'm a thief," he thought. + +Ready bit angrily at coat and trousers. + +"Be a man, and come home." + +Yarrow understood. He caught his breath, as he went along, holding by +the fence now and then. + +"It's the chance!" he said. "And Martha! It's Martha and the little +chaps!" + +But he was not sure. He was yet so near to the place where it would have +been forever too late. If Ready saw that with his wary eye, turned now +and then, as he trotted before,--if he had any terror in his dumb soul, +(or whatever you choose to call it,) or any mad joy, or desire to go +clean daft with rollicking in the snow at what he had done, he put it +off to another season, and kept a stern face on his captive. But Yarrow +watched it; it was the first home-face of them all. + +"Be a man," it said. "Let the thief go. Home's before you, and love, and +years of hard work for the God you did not know." + +So they went on together. They came at last to the house,--home. He grew +blind then, and stopped at the gate; but the dog went slower, and waited +for him to follow, pushed the door open softly, and, when he went in, +laid down in his old place, and put his paws over his face. + +When Martha Yarrow heard the step at last, she got up. But seeing how it +was with him, she only put her arms quietly about his neck, and said,-- + +"I've waited so long, my husband!" + +That was all. + +He lay in his old bed that evening; he made her open the door, feeling +strong enough to look at them now, Jem and Tom and Catty, in the warm, +well-lighted room, with all its little Christmas gayeties. They had +known many happy holidays, but none like this: coming in on tiptoe to +look at the white, sad face on the pillow, and to say, under their +breath, "It's father." They had waited so long for him. When he heard +them, the closed eyes always opened anxiously, and looked at them: kind +eyes, full of a more tender, wishful love than even mother's. They came +in only now and then, but Martha he would not let go from him, held her +hand all day. Ready had made his way up on the bed and lay over his +feet. + +"That's right, old Truepenny!" he said. + +They laughed at that: he had not forgotten the old name. When Martha +looked at the old yellow dog, she felt her eyes fill with tears. + +"God did not want a messenger," she thought: as if He ever did! + +That evening, while he lay with her head on his breast, as she sat by +the bed, he watched the boys a long time. + +"Martha," he said, at last, "you said that they should never know. Did +you keep your word?" + +"I kept it, Stephen." + +He was quiet a long while after that, and then he said,-- + +"Some day I will tell them. It's all clearer to me now. If ever I find +the good God, I'll teach Him to my boys out of my own life. They'll not +love me less." + +He did not talk much that day; even to her he could not say that which +was in his heart; but it seemed to him there was One who heard and +understood,--looking out, after all was quiet that night, into the far +depth of the silent sky, and going over his whole wretched life down to +that bitterest word of all, as if he had found a hearer more patient, +more tender than either wife or child. + +"Is there any use to try?" he cried. "I was a thief." + +Then, in the silence, came to him the memory of the old question,-- + +"Hath no man condemned thee?" + +He put his hands over his face:-- + +"No man, Lord!" + +And the answer came for all time:-- + +"Neither do I condemn thee. Go, and sin no more." + + + * * * * * + +MEMORIÆ POSITUM + +R.G.S. + +1863. + + + I. + + Beneath the trees, + My life-long friends in this dear spot, + Sad now for eyes that see them not, + I hear the autumnal breeze + Wake the sear leaves to sigh for gladness gone, + Whispering hoarse presage of oblivion,-- + Hear, restless as the seas, + Time's grim feet rustling through the withered grace + Of many a spreading realm and strong-stemmed race, + Even as my own through these. + + Why make we moan + For loss that doth enrich us yet + With upward yearnings of regret? + Bleaker than unmossed stone + Our lives were but for this immortal gain + Of unstilled longing and inspiring pain! + As thrills of long-hushed tone + Live in the viol, so our souls grow fine + With keen vibrations from the touch divine + Of noble natures gone. + + 'T were indiscreet + To vex the shy and sacred grief + With harsh obtrusions of relief; + Yet, Verse, with noiseless feet, + Go whisper, "_This_ death hath far choicer ends + Than slowly to impearl in hearts of friends; + These obsequies 'tis meet + Not to seclude in closets of the heart, + But, church-like, with wide door-ways, to impart + Even to the heedless street." + + II. + + Brave, good, and true, + I see him stand before me now, + And read again on that clear brow, + Where victory's signal flew, + _How sweet were life!_ Yet, by the mouth firm-set, + And look made up for Duty's utmost debt, + I could divine he knew + That death within the sulphurous hostile lines, + In the mere wreck of nobly pitched designs, + Plucks heart's-ease, and not rue. + + Happy their end + Who vanish down life's evening stream + Placid as swans that drift in dream + Round the next river-bend! + Happy long life, with honor at the close, + Friends' painless tears, the softened thought of foes! + And yet, like him, to spend + All at a gush, keeping our first faith sure + From mid-life's doubt and eld's contentment poor, + What more could Fortune send? + + Right in the van, + On the red rampart's slippery swell, + With heart that beat a charge, he fell + Forward, as fits a man: + But the high soul burns on to light men's feet + Where death for noble ends makes dying sweet; + His life her crescent's span + Orbs full with share in their undarkening days + Who ever climbed the battailous steeps of praise + Since valor's praise began. + + III. + + His life's expense + Hath won for him coeval youth + With the immaculate prime of Truth; + While we, who make pretence + At living on, and wake and eat and sleep, + And life's stale trick by repetition keep, + Our fickle permanence + (A poor leaf-shadow on a brook, whose play + Of busy idlesse ceases with our day) + Is the mere cheat of sense. + + We bide our chance, + Unhappy, and make terms with Fate + A little more to let us wait: + He leads for aye the advance, + Hope's forlorn-hopes that plant the desperate good + For nobler Earths and days of manlier mood; + Our wall of circumstance + Cleared at a bound, he flashes o'er the fight, + A saintly shape of fame, to cheer the right + And steel each wavering glance. + + I write of one, + While with dim eyes I think of three: + Who weeps not others fair and brave as he? + Ah, when the fight is won, + Dear Land, whom triflers now make bold to scorn, + (Thee! from whose forehead Earth awaits her morn!) + How nobler shall the sun + Flame in thy sky, how braver breathe thy air, + That thou bred'st children who for thee could dare + And die as thine have done! + + * * * * * + +MY BOOK. + + +The trouble about biographies is that by the time they are written the +person is dead. You have heard of him remotely. You know that he sang a +world's songs, founded great empires, won brilliant victories, did +heroes' work; but you do not know the little tender touches of his life, +the things that bring him into near kinship with humanity, and set him +by the household hearth without unclasping the diadem from his brow, +until he is dead, and it is too late forevermore. Then with vague +restlessness you visit the brook in which his trout-line drooped, you +pluck a leaf from the elm that shaded his regal head, you walk in the +graveyard that holds in its bosom his silent dust, only to feel with +unavailing regret that no sunshine of his presence can gleam upon you. +The life that stirred in his voice, shone in his eye, and fortressed +itself in his unconscious bearing, can make to you no revelation. It is +departed, none knows whither. He is as much a part of the past as if he +had tended docks for Abraham on the plains of Mamre. + +This, when biographies are at their best. Generally, they are at their +worst. Generally, they don't know the things you wish to learn, and when +they do, they don't tell them. They give you statistics, facts, +reflections, eulogies, dissertations; but what you hunger and thirst +after is the man's inner life. Of what use is it to know what a man +does, unless you know what made him do it? This you can seldom learn +from memoirs. Look at the numerous brood that followed in the wake of +Shelley's fame. Every one gives you, not Shelley, but himself, served up +in Shelley sauce. Think of your own experience: do you not know that the +vital facts of your life are hermetically sealed? Do you not know that +you are a world within a world, whose history and geography may be +summed up in that phrase which used to make the interior of Africa the +most delightful spot in the whole atlas,--"Unexplored Region"? One +person may have started an expedition here, and another there. Here one +may have struck a river-course, and there one may have looked down into +a valley-depth, and all may have brought away their golden grain; but +the one has not followed the river to its source, nor the other wandered +bewilderingly through the valley-lands, and none have traversed the +Field of the Cloth of Gold. So the geographies are all alike: +boundaries, capital, chief towns, rivers, mountains, and lakes. And what +is true of you is doubtless true of all. Faith is not to be put in +biographies. They can tell what your name is, and what was your +grandfather's coat of arms, when you were born, where you lived, and how +you died,--though, if they are no more accurate after you are dead than +they are before, their statements will hardly come under the head of +"reliable intelligence." But even if they are accurate, what then? +Suppose you were born in Pikesville: a thousand people drew their first +breath there, and not one of them was like you in character or fate. You +were born in some year of our Lord. Thousands upon thousands date from +the same year, and each went his own way,-- + + "One to long darkness and the frozen tide, + One to the peaceful sea!" + +All this is nothing and accounts for nothing, yet this is all. Whether +you were susceptible of calmness or deeply turbulent,--whether you were +amiable, or only amiably disposed,--whether you were inwardly blest and +only superficially unrestful, safely moored even while tossing on an +unquiet sea,--what you thought, what you hoped, how you felt, yes, and +how you lived and loved and hated, they do not know and cannot tell. A +biographer may be ever so conscientious, but he stands on the outside of +the circle of his subject, and his view will lack symmetry. There is but +one who, from his position in the centre, is competent to give a fair +and full picture, and that is your own self. A few may possess +imagination, and so partially atone for the disadvantages of position; +but, ten hundred thousand to one, they will not have a chance at your +life. You must die knowing that you are at the mercy of whoever can hold +a pen. + +Unless you take time by the forelock and write your biography yourself! +Then you will be sure to do no harm, inasmuch as no one is obliged to +read your narrative; and you may do much good, because, if any one does +read it and become interested in you, he will have the pleasant +consciousness of living in the same world with you. When he drives +through your street, he can put his head out of the carriage-window and +stand a chance of seeing you just coming in at the front gate. Also, if +you write your biography yourself, you can have your choice as to what +shall go in and what shall stay out. You can make a discreet selection +of your letters, giving the go-by to that especial one in which you +rather--is there such a word as spooneyly?--offered yourself to your +wife. Every word was as good as the Bank of England to her, for to her +you were a lover, a knight, a great brown-bearded angel, and all +metaphors, however violent, fell upon good ground. But to the people who +read your life you will be a trader, a lawyer, a shoemaker, who pays his +butcher's bills and looks after the main chance, and the metaphors, +emptied of their fire, but retaining their form, will seem incongruous, +not to say ridiculous. I do not say that your wife's lover and knight +and angel are not a higher and a better, yes, and a truer you, than the +world's trader and lawyer; still your love-letters will probably do +better in the bosom of the love-lettered than on a bookseller's shelves. +Besides these advantages, there is another in præ-humous publication. If +you wait for your biography till you are dead, it is extremely probable +you will lose it altogether. The world has so much to see to ahead that +it can hardly spare a glance over its shoulder to take note of what is +behind. Take the note yourself and make sure of it You will then know +where you are, and be master of the situation. + +I purpose, therefore, to write the history of my life, from my entrance +upon it down to a period which is within the memory of men still living. +In so doing, I shall not be careful to trace out that common ground +which may be supposed to underlie all lives, but only indicate those +features which serve to distinguish one from another. Everybody is +christened, cuts his teeth, and eats bread and molasses. Silently will +we, therefore, infer the bread and molasses, and swiftly stride in +seven-league boots from mountain-peak to mountain-peak. + +I was born of parents who, though not poor, were respectable, and I had +also the additional distinction of being a precocious child. I differed +from most precocious children, however, in not dying young, and that +opportunity, once let slip, is now forever gone. I believe the +precocious children who do not die young develop into idiots. My family +have never been without well-grounded fears in that line. + +Nothing of any importance happened to me after I was born till I grew up +and wrote a book. Indeed, I believe I may say even that never happened, +for I did not write a book. Rather a book came to pass,--somewhat like +the goldsmithery of Aaron, who threw the ear-rings into the fire, and +"there came out this calf"! I went out one day alone, as was my wont, in +an open boat, and drifted beyond sight of land. I had heard that +shipwrecked mariners sometimes throw out a bottle of papers to give +posterity a clue to their fate. I threw out a bottle of papers, less out +of regard to posterity than to myself. They floated into a +printing-press, stiffened themselves, and came forth a book, whereon I +sailed safely ashore, grateful. Alas, in another confusion will there be +another resource? + +It is this book which is to form the first, and quite possibly the last +chapter of my life and sufferings, for I don't suppose anything will +ever happen to me again. To be sure, in the book I have just been +reading a girl marries her groom, leaves him, rejects two lovers, kills +her husband, accepts one lover, loses him, marries the second, first +husband comes to light again and is shot, marries second husband over +again, and goes a-journeying with second husband and first lover, first +cousin and two children, in the South of France, before she is +twenty-two years old. But in my country girls think themselves extremely +well off for adventures with one marriage and no murder. But then the +girls in my country do not have the murderous black eyes which shine so +in romances. + +My book being fairly wound up and set a-going, of course you wish to +know what came of it. Don't pretend you don't care, for you know you do. +Only don't look at me too closely, or you will disconcert me. Veil now +and then your intent eyes, or my story will surely droop under their +steadfastness. Look sometimes into yonder sunset sky and the beautiful +reticulations drawn darkly against its glowing sheets of color. You +will none the less listen, and I shall all the more enjoy. + +You have read much about the anxieties, the forebodings, the +anticipatory tremors of new authors. So have I, but I never felt +them,--not a single foreboding. I was delighted to write a book, and it +never occurred to me that everybody would not be just as delighted to +read it. The first time my book weighed on me was one morning when a +thin, meagre little letter came to me, which turned out to be only a +card bearing the laconic inscription,-- + +"Twelve copies 'New Sun' sent by express, with the compliments of the +Publishers." + +The "New Sun" was my book. I put on my hat and walked straightway up to +the hole in the rock, about a mile round the corner, where the +expressman always leaves my parcels, and took up the package to bring +home. It was very heavy. I balanced it first on one arm and then on the +other, until, as the poet has it,-- + + "Both were nigh to breaking." + +Then I lifted it by the cords, but they cut my fingers. Then I +remembered the natural law, that internal atmospheric pressure prevents +any consciousness of the enormous external pressure exerted by an +atmosphere forty-five miles thick, and applied the law, saying, "These +books have all been upon the inside of my head, of course I shall not +feel them on the outside." So I put the package on my head, and walked +on, making believe I was in a gymnasium, keeping a sharp watch fore and +aft, and considering the distant rumbling of wheels a signal for +lowering my colors. In my country people do not carry their burdens on +their heads, nor would they be likely to account for me on the +principles of Natural Philosophy. I might have been apprehended as a +lunatic, but for my timely caution. Thus the "New Suns" came home and +were speedily divested of their dun wrappings. I lingered over them, +admiring their clear type, their fragrance, their crispness. I opened +them wide, because they would open so frankly. I delighted myself with +their fair, fine smoothness. And then I began to read. I am ashamed to +say I never read a more interesting book! + +How very true it is that suffering is about equally distributed, after +all! If you don't have your troubles spread out, you have them in a +lump. The furies may seem to be held in abeyance, but they will only lay +on their lashes all the harder when they do come. My unnatural calmness +was succeeded by a storm of consternation. I pass over the few days that +followed. If you ever put yourself into a pillory in the night just to +see how it seemed, and then found yourself fastened there in good +earnest, and day dawning, and all the marketmen and shopkeepers up and +stirring, and everybody coming by in a few minutes, you will not need to +ask how I felt. When you write a book, you are quite alone and your pen +is entirely private; but when it comes to you so unquestionably printed, +and inexorable, and out-of-doors--Ah, me! It did not seem like a book at +all,--not at all the abstraction and impersonality that were intended, +but my proper self bevelled and (with another syllable inserted) walking +out into the world with malice aforethought. + +But though a writer is before critics, did it never occur to you that +the critics are just as much before the writers? A critic's talk about a +book is just as truly a revelation of the critic as the writer's talk in +the book is a revelation of the writer. One man gives you an opinion +that implies attention. He does not go into the depths of the matter, +but he tells you honestly what he likes and what he does not like. This +is good. This is precisely what you wish to know, and will indirectly +help you. Another, from the steps of a throne, in a few sentences, it +may be, or a few columns, classifies you, interprets you not only to the +world, but to yourself; and for this you are immeasurably glad and +grateful. It is neither praise nor censure that you value, but +recognition. Let a writer but feel that a critic reaches into the +_arcana_ of his thought, and no assent is too hearty, nor any dissent +too severe. Another glances up from his eager political strife, and with +the sincerest kindness pens you a nice little sugar-plum, chiefly flour +and water, but flavored with sugar. Thank you! Another flounders in a +wash of words, holding in solution the faintest salt of sense. Heaven +help him! Another dips his spear-point in poison and lets fly. Do you +not see that these people are an open book? Do you not read here the +tranquillity of a self-poised life, the Inner sight of clairvoyance, the +bitterness of disappointed hopes and unsuccessful plans, the amiability +that is not founded upon strength, the pettiness that puts pique above +principle, the frankness that scorns affectation, the comprehensiveness +that embraces all things in its vision, and commands not only +acquiescence, but allegiance, the great-heartedness that by virtue of +its own magnetism attracts all that is good and annihilates all that is +bad? + +When my poor little ewe-lamb went out into the world, I did not fear any +shearing he might encounter in America. I don't mind my own countrymen. +I like them, but I am not afraid of them. Two elements go to make up a +book: matter and manner. The former, of course, is its author's own. He +maintains it against all comers. Opposition does not terrify him, for it +is a mere difference of opinion. One is just as likely to be right as +another, and in a hundred years probably we shall all be found wrong +together. But manner can be judged by a fixed standard. Bad English is +bad English this very day, whatever you or I think about it; and bad +English is a bad thing. When I know it, I avoid it, except under extreme +temptation; but the trouble is, I don't know it. I am continually +learning that words in certain relations are misplaced where I never +suspected the smallest derangement, and, no doubt, there are many +dislocations which I have not yet discovered. So far as my own people +are concerned, I don't take this to heart,--because my countryman very +likely perpetrates three barbarisms in correcting my one. He knows this +thing that I did not, but then I know something else that he does not, +and so keep the balance true. Moreover, my America, if I don't use good +English, whose fault is it? You have had me from the beginning. The raw +material was as good as the average; why did you not work it up better? +I went to the best schools you gave me. I learned everything I was set +to learn. You can nowhere find a teacher who will tell you that I ever +evaded a lesson. I was greedy of gain. I spared neither time nor toil. I +lost no opportunity, and here I am, just as good as you made me. So, if +there is any one to blame, it is you, for not giving me better +facilities. The Children's Aid Society warned New York a dozen years ago +that a "dangerous class of untaught" pagans was growing up in her +streets; but she did not think it worth while to arouse herself and +educate them, and one morning she found them burning her house over her +head. You too, my country, have been repeatedly warned of your dangerous +class, a class whom, with malice aforethought, you leave half educated, +and, from ignorance, idle,--and now comes Nemesis! New York had a mob, +and you have--me. + +The real ogre was those terrible Englishmen. I was brought up on the +British Quarterlies. Their high and mighty ways entered into my soul. I +never did have any courage or independence, to begin with; and when they +condescended to tread our shores with such lordly airs, I should have +been only too glad to burn incense for a propitiation. So impressive was +their loftiness, their haughty patronage, that their supercilious sneers +at our provincialism were heart-rending, I came to look at everything +with an eye to English judgment. It was not so much whether a book or a +custom were good as whether it would be likely to meet with English +approval. To be the object of their displeasure was a calamity, and at +even a growl from their dreadful throats I was ready to die of terror. +And this slavish subservience lasted beyond the school-room. + +But it so happened that by the time my book was set afloat, the +Reviewers had lost their fangs. The war came, and they went over to the +enemy, every one: "North British," "London Quarterly," "Edinburgh," and +even the liberal "Westminster," had but one tone. "Blackwood" was seized +with an evil spirit, and wallowed foaming. The English people may be all +right at the heart. Their slow, but sure and sturdy sense may bring them +at length within hailing distance of the truth. Noble men among them, +Mill and Cairnes and Smith and their kind, made their voices heard in +the midst of opposing din, even through the very pages which had rung +with Southern cheers: but it is not the English people who make up the +Quarterly Reviews. It was not the voice of Mill or Cairnes that answered +first across the waters to the boom of Liberty's guns. When our blood +was hot and our hearts high, and sneers were ten thousand times harder +to bear than blows, we found sneers in plenty where we looked for +God-speed. It may not have been the English heart, only the English +head. But we could not get at the English heart, and the English head +was continually thrust against ours. The fires may have burned warmly on +many a hearth, but we could not see them. The only light that shot +athwart the waters was from the high watch-towers, and it was lurid. +This wrought a change. The English may take on airs in literature; for +our little leisure leaves us short repose, and it would be strange +indeed, if their civilization of centuries had not left its marks in a +finer culture and a deeper thought. But when, leaving literature and +coming down into the fastnesses of life, they gave us hatred for love, +and scorn for reverence,--when they sneered at that which we held +sacred, and reviled that which we counted honorable,--when, green-eyed +and gloating, they saw through their glasses not only darkly, but +disjointed and askance,--when devotion became to them fanaticism, and +love of liberty was lust of power,--did virtue go out of them, or had it +never been in? This, at least, was wrought: when one part of the temple +of our reverence was undermined, the whole structure came down. They who +showed themselves so morally weak cannot maintain even the intellectual +or æsthetic superiority which they have assumed. Henceforth their blame +or praise is not what it was hitherto. When a man rails at my country, +it is little that he rails at me. If they have called the master of the +house Beëlzebub, they of his household would as soon be called little +flies as anything else. + +(As a matter of fact, I don't suppose my little venture has ever been +heard of across the ocean. You think it is very presumptuous in me ever +to have thought of it; but I did not think of it. I was only afraid of +it. Suppose the British Quarterly has not vision microscopic enough to +discern you; you like to know how you would feel in a certain +contingency, even if it should never happen. Besides, so many strange +things arise every day, that incongruity seems to have lost its force. +Nothing surprises. Cause and effect are continually dissolving +partnership. Merit and reward do not hunt in couples. If the Tycoon +should send a deputation requesting me to come over at once and settle +matters between himself and his Daimios, I should simply tell him that I +had not the time, but I should not be surprised.) + +But if we only did reverence England as once we reverenced her, this is +what I would say:--"Upon my country do not visit my sins. Upon my +country's fame let me fasten no blot. Wherever I am wrong, inelegant, +inaccurate, provincial, visit all your reprobation upon me,-- + + 'Me, me: adsum, qui feci; in me convertite ferrum, + O Angli! mea fraus omnis,'-- + +upon me as a writer, not upon me as an American. Do not regard me as the +exponent of American culture, or as anywhere near the high-water mark of +American letters. I am not one of the select few, but of the promiscuous +many. Born and bred in a farm-yard, and pattering about among the hens +and geese and calves and lambs when other children were learning to talk +like gentlemen and scholars, what can you expect of me? It is a wonder +that I am as tolerable as I am. It is a sign of the greatness of my +country, that I, who, if I lived in England, should be scattering my +_h_-s in wild confusion, and asking whether Americans were black or +copper-colored, am able in this land of free schools and equal rights to +straighten out my verbs and keep my nouns intact. If you will see the +highest, look on the heights. If you look at me, look at me where I am: +not among those whose infancy was cradled in leisure and luxury, whose +life from the beginning has been carefully attuned to the finest issues, +who for purity of language and dignity of mental bearing may throw down +the gauntlet to the proudest nation in the world,--but among those +children of the soil who take its color, who share its qualities, who +give out its fragrance, who love it and lay their hearts to it and grow +with it, rocky and rugged, yet cherish, it may be hoped, its little +dimples of verdure here and there,--who show not what, with closest +cultivation, it might become, but what, under the broad skies and the +free winds and the common dews and showers, it is. Our conservatories +can boast hues as gorgeous, forms as stately, texture as fine as yours; +but don't look for camellias in a cornfield." + +Does this seem a little inconsistent with what I was saying just now to +my homemade critics? Very likely. But truth is many-sided, and one side +you may present at home and the other abroad, according to the +exigencies of the case. You may lecture your country in one breath, and +defend her in the next, without being inconsistent. + +Oh, England, England! what shall recompense us for our Lost Leader? +Great and Mighty One, from whose brow no hand but thine own could ever +have plucked the crown! Beautiful land, sacred with the ashes of our +sires, radiant with the victories of the past, brilliant with hopes for +the future,-- + + "O Love, I have loved you! O my soul, + I have lost you!" + +Ah, if these two fatal years might be blotted out! If we could stand +once again where we stood on that October day when the young Prince, +whose gentle blood commanded our attention, and whose gentle ways won +our hearts, bore back to his mother-land and ours the benedictions of a +people! Upon that pale, that white-faced shore I shall one day look, but +woe is me for the bitter memories that will spring up for the love and +loyalty so ruthlessly rent away! + +So I borrow your ears, my countrymen, and tell you why it is impossible +to defer to you as much as one would like. Partly, it is because you +talk so wide of the mark. It may not be practicable or desirable to say +much; but so much the more ought what you do say to be to the point. A +good carpenter needs not to vindicate his skill by hammering away hour +after hour on the same shingle; but while he does strike, he hits the +nail on the head. Moreover, you show by your remarks that you have +such--such--well, _stupid_ is what I mean, but I am afraid it would not +be polite to employ that word, so I merely give you the meaning, and +leave you to choose a word to your liking--ideas about the nature, the +facts, and the objects of writing. Look at it a moment. With your gray +goose-quill you sit, O Rhadamanthus, and to your waiting audience +pleasantly enough affirm that I have "taken Benlomond for my model." But +when I happen to remember that the larger part of my book was written +and printed not only before I had ever met Benlomond, but before he had +ever been heard of in this country at least, what faith can I have in +your sagacity? And when, remembering those remarkable coincidences +which sometimes surprise and baffle us, which in science make Adams and +Le Verrier discover the same planet at the same time without knowing +anything of each other's calculations, and which in any department seem +to indicate that a great tide sweeps over humanity, bearing us on its +bosom whithersoever it will, so that + + "God's puppets, best and worst, + Are we; there is no last nor first,"-- + +I institute an examination of Benlomond to discover those generic or +specific peculiarities which are supposed to have made their mark on me, +why, I find for resemblance, that the situations, look you, is both +alike. There is a river in Macedon; there is also, moreover, a river in +Monmouth: 'tis as like as my fingers to my fingers, and there is salmons +in both! + +Have I taken Benlomond for my model? But why not Josephus and Ricardo +and François and Michel, any and all who have poured their fancies and +feelings into this mould? Why select the last disciple and ignore the +first apostle? Many prophets have been in Israel whom I resemble as +much, to say the least, as this Benlomond. Is it not, my friend, that, +in the multitude of your words and ways, you have not found time to +renew your acquaintance with these ancient worthies, and so their +features have somewhat faded from your memory? but Benlomond came in but +yesterday, and because he is a newspaper-topic, him you know; and +because at the first blush you running can read that there is a river in +Monmouth and also a river in Macedon, and salmons in both,--'tis as like +as my fingers to my fingers, and Monmouth was built on the model of +Macedon! Ah, my eagle-eyes, Judea, too, had its Jordan, and Damascus its +Abana and Pharpar, and little Massachusetts its Merrimac, which, + + "poet-tuned, + Goes singing down his meadows." + +But Judea did not type Damascus. The Merrimac bears not the sign of +Abana, nor was Abana born of Jordan: all, obedient to the word of the +Lord, trickled forth from their springs among the hills, and wander +down, one through his vine-land, one through his olive-groves, and one +to meet the roaring of the mill-wheel's rage. + +I lay no claim to originality. Uttering feebly, but only + + "The thoughts that arise in me," + +I know full well that the soil has been tilled and the seed scattered of +all that is worthy in the world. Where giants have wrestled, it is not +for pigmies to boast their prowess. Where the gods have trodden, let +mortals walk unsandalled. The lowliest of their learners, I sit at the +feet of the masters. To me, as to all the world, the great and the good +of the olden times have left their legacy, and the monarchs of to-day +have scattered blessing. Upon me, as upon all, have their grateful +showers descended. My brow have they crowned with their goodness, and on +my life have their paths dropped fatness. Dreaming under their vines and +fig-trees, I have gathered in my lap and garnered in my heart their +mellow fruits. + + "With them I take delight in weal + And seek relief in woe, + And while I understand and feel + How much to them I owe, + My cheeks have often been bedewed + With tears of heartfelt gratitude." + +But, though with gladness and joy I render unto Cæsar the things that +are Cæsar's, he shall not have that which does not belong to him. +Neither Benlomond, nor any living man, nor any one man, living or dead, +has any claim to my fealty, be it worth much or little. If I cannot go +in to the banquet on Olympus by the bidding of the master of the feast, +I will forswear ambrosia altogether, and to the end of my days feed on +millet with the peasants in the Vale of Tempe. + +Then you sail on another tack, smile and shake your head and say, "It is +all very well, but it has not the element of immortality. Observe the +difference between this writer and Charles Lamb. One is ginger-pop beer +that foams and froths and is gone, while the other is the sound Madeira +that will be better fifty years hence than now." + +Well, what of it? Do you mean to say, that, because a man has no +argosies sailing in from, the isles of Eden, freighted with the juices +of the tropics, he shall not brew hops in his own cellar? Because you +will have none but the vintages of dead centuries, shall not the people +delight their hearts with new wine? Because you are an epicure, shall +there be no more cakes and ale? Go to! It is a happy fate to be a poet's +Falernian, old and mellow, sealed in _amphoræ_, to be crowned with +linden-garlands and the late rose. But for all earth's acres there are +few Sabine farms, whither poet, sage, and statesman come to lose in the +murmur of Bandusian founts the din of faction and of strife; and even +there it is not always Cæcuban or Calenian, neither Formian nor +Falernian, but the _vile Sabinum_ in common cups and wreathed with +simple myrtle, that bubbles up its welcome. So, since there must be +lighter draughts, or many a poor man go thirsty, we who are but the +ginger-pop of life may well rejoice, remembering that ginger-pop is +nourishing and tonic,--that thousands of weary wayfarers who could never +know the taste of the costly brands, and who go sadly and wearily, will +be fleeter of foot and gladder of soul because of its humble and +evanescent foam. + +Ginger-pop beer is it that you scoff? Verily, you do an unconsidered +deed. When one remembers all the liquids, medicinal, soporific, insipid, +poisonous, which flood the throat of humanity, one may deem himself a +favorite of Fortune to be placed so high in the catalogue. Though upon +his lowliness gleam down the rosy and purple lights of rare old wines +aloft, yet from his altitude he can look below upon a profane crowd in +thick array of depth immeasurable, and rejoice that he is not stagnant +water nor exasperated vinegar nor disappointed buttermilk. Nay, I am not +only content, but exultant. It may be an ignoble satisfaction, yet I +believe I would rather flash and fade in one moment of happy daylight +than be corked and cob-webbed for fifty years in the dungeons of an +unsunned cellar, with a remote possibility, indeed, of coming up from my +incarceration to moisten the lips of beauty or loosen the tongue of +eloquence, but with a far surer prospect of but adding one more to the +potations of the glutton and wine-bibber. + +And what, after all, is this oblivion which you flaunt so threateningly? +Even if I do encounter it, no misfortune will happen unto me but such as +is common unto men. Of all the souls of this generation, the number that +will sift through the meshes of the years is infinitesimately small. The +overwhelming majority of names will turn out to be chaff, and be blown +away. I shall be forgotten, but I shall be forgotten in very good +company. The greater part of my kin-folk and acquaintance, your own +self, my critic, and your family and friends, will go down in the same +darkness which ingulfs me. When I am dead, I shall be no deader than the +rest of you, and I shall have been a great deal more alive while I _was_ +alive. + +I am not afraid to be forgotten. Posterity will have its own +soothsayers, and somewhere among the stars, I trust, I shall be living a +life so intense and complete that I shall never once think to lament +that I am not mulling on a bookshelf down here. Besides, if you insist +upon it, I am not going to be forgotten. You don't know anything more +about it than I do. Knowledge is not always prescience. "This will never +do," ruled Jeffrey from his judgment-seat. "Order reigns in Warsaw," +pronounced Sebastiani. "I have now gone through the Bible," chuckled Tom +Paine, "as a man would go through a wood with an axe on his shoulder, +and fell trees. Here they lie, and the priests, if they can, may replant +them. They may, perhaps, stick them in the ground, but they will never +make them grow." But Wordsworth to-day is reverenced by the nation that +could barb no arrow sharp enough to shoot at him. The evening sky that +bends above Warsaw is red with the watch-fires of her old warfare +bursting anew from their smouldering ashes. And the oaks that doughty +Paine fancied himself to have levelled show not so much as a scratch +upon their sturdy trunks. Nay, I do not forget that even Charles Lamb +was fiercely belabored by his own generation. So, when upon me you pass +sentence of speedy death, I assure you that I shall live a thousand +years, and there is nobody in the world who can demonstrate that I am in +the wrong. Even if after a while I disappear, it proves nothing; you +cannot tell whether I am really submerged, or only lying in the trough +of the sea to mount the crest of the coming wave. Till the thousandth +year proves me moribund, I shall stoutly maintain that I am immortal. + +Concerning Charles Lamb the less you say the better. It is easy to build +up a reputation for sagacity by offering incense to the gods who are +already shrined. Of course there is a difference between us. A pretty +rout you would make, if there were not. But, for all your adoration of +Charles Lamb, I dare say he would have liked me a great deal better than +he would you. Would? Why should I intrench myself in hypothesis? _Does_ +he not? When I knock at the door of the Inner Temple, does he not fling +it wide open, and does not his face welcome me? When the red fire glows +on the hearth, have I not sat far into the night, Bridget sitting beside +me with heaven's own light shining in her beautiful eyes, and above her +dear head the white gleam of guardian angels hovering tenderly? And when +Elia arches his brows, and lowers at me his storm-clouds, which I do not +mind for the sunshine that will not be hidden behind them,--when in the +sweet, play of June lights and shadows, and the golden haze of +Indian-summer, I forget even the kingly words that go ringing through +the land, waking the mountain-echo,--when I look out upon this gray +afternoon, and see no leaden skies, no pinched and sullen fields, but +green paths, gem-bestrewn from autumn's jewelled hand, and warm light +glinting through the apple-trees under which he stood that soft October +day, till + + "Conscious seems the frozen sod + And beechen slope whereon he trod,"-- + +O Alexander, get out of my sunshine with your bugbear of a Charles Lamb! +"I have heard you for some time with patience. I have been cool,--quite +cool; but don't put me in a frenzy!" + +Well, friend, when you have satisfied yourself with the limiting, you +begin on the descriptive adjectives, and pronounce me egotistical. +Certainly. I should be unlike all others of my race, if I were not. It +is a wise and merciful arrangement of Providence, that every one is to +himself the centre of the universe. What a fatal world would this be, if +it were otherwise! When one thinks what a collection of insignificances +we are, how dispensable the most useful of us is to everybody, how +little there is in any of us to make any one care about us, and of how +small importance it is to others what becomes of us,--when one thinks +that even this round earth is so small, that, if it should fall into the +arms of the sun, the sun would just open his mouth and swallow it whole, +and nobody ever suspect it, (_vide_ Tyndall on Heat,) one must see that +this self-love, self-care, and self-interest play a most important part +in the Divine Economy. If one did not keep himself afloat, he would +surely go under. As it is, no matter how disagreeable a person is, he +likes himself,--no matter how uninteresting, he is interested in +himself. Everybody, you, my critic, as well, likes to talk about +himself, if he can get other people to listen; and so long as I can get +several thousand people to listen to me, I shall keep talking, you may +be sure, and so would you,--and if you don't, it is only because you +can't! You are just as egotistical as I am, only you won't own it +frankly, as I do. True, I might escape censure by using such +circumlocutions as "the writer," "the author," or still more cumbrously +by dressing out some lay figure, calling it Frederic or Frederika, and +then, like the Delphic priestesses, uttering my sentiments through its +mouth, for the space of a folio novel; but at bottom it would be my own +self all the while; and besides, in order to get at the thing I wanted +to say, I should have to detain you on a thousand things that I did not +care about, but which would be necessary as links, because, when you +have made a man or a woman, you must do, something with him. You can't +leave him standing, without any visible means of support. One person +writes a novel of four hundred pages to convince you in a roundabout +way, through thirty different characters, that a certain law, or the +mode of administering it, is unjust. He does not mention himself, but +makes his men and women speak his arguments. Another man writes a +treatise of forty pages and gives you his views out of his own mouth. +But he does not put himself into his treatise any more than the other +into his novel. For my part, I think the use of "I" is the shortest and +simplest way of launching one's opinions. Even a _we_ bulges out into +twice the space that _I_ requires, besides seeming to try to evade +responsibility. Better say "_I_" straight out,--"_I_," responsible for +my words here and elsewhere, as they used to say in Congress under the +old _régime_. Besides being the most brave, "I" is also the most modest. +It delivers your opinions to the world through a perfectly transparent +medium. "I" has no relations. It has no consciousness. It is a pure +abstraction. It detains you not a moment from the subject. "The writer" +does. It brings up ideas entirely detached from the theme, and is +therefore impertinent. All you are after is the thing that is thought. +It is not of the smallest consequence who thought it. You may be certain +that it is not always the people who use "I" the most freely who think +most about themselves; and if you are offended, consider whether it may +not be owing to a certain morbidness of your taste as much as to egotism +in the offender. + +Remember, also, that, when a writer talks of himself, he is not +necessarily speaking of his own definite John Smith-ship, that does the +marketing and pays the taxes and is a useful member of society. Not at +all. It is himself as one unit of the great sum of mankind. He means +himself, not as an isolated individual, but as a part of humanity. His +narration is pertinent, because it relates to the human family. He +brings forward a part of the common property. He does not touch that +which pertains exclusively to himself. His self is self-created. His +imaginative may have as large a share in the person as his descriptive +powers. You don't understand me precisely? Sorry for you. + +You think me arrogant. You would think so a great deal more, if you knew +me better. At heart I believe I incline very much to the opinion of a +charming friend of mine, that, "after all, nobody in the world is of +much account but Susy and me,"--only in my formula I leave out Susy. +Don't, therefore, think solely of the arrogance that is revealed, but +think also of the masses concealed, and in consideration of the greater +repression pardon the great expression. It is not the persons who sin +the least, but those who overcome the strongest temptations, who are the +most virtuous. People endowed by Nature with a sweet humility do not +deserve half the credit for their lovely character that those who are +naturally selfish and arrogant often deserve for being no more +disagreeable than they are. Yes, it must be confessed, you are right in +attributing arrogance,--though, after this meek confession and +repentance, if you do not forgive me freely and fully, for past and +future, your secondary will be a great deal worse than my original +sin;--but you never would accuse me of "an arrogance that disdains +docility," if you had seen the mean-spirited way in which I sit down by +the side of an editor and let him _ram-page_ over my manuscript. Out +fly my best thoughts, my finest figures, my sharpest epigrams,--without +chloroform,--and I give no sign. I have heard that successful authors +can always have everything their own way. I must be the greatest--or the +smallest--failure of the age. + +"It will be much better to omit this," says the High Inquisitor, turning +the thumb-screw. + +"No," I writhe. "Take everything else, but leave that." + +"I am glad to see that you agree with me," he responds, with +Mephistophelian courtesy; and away it goes, and I say nothing, thankful +that enough is left to hobble in at all. + +"Revealing somewhat of the arrogance of success," you comment, directed +by your Evil Genius, upon that especial chapter which was written in a +gully of the Valley of Humiliation, when I was gasping under an Ætna of +rejected manuscripts,--when there was not a respectable newspaper in the +country by which I had not been "declined with thanks,"--when, in the +desperation of my determination, I had recourse to bribery, and sent an +editor a dollar with the manuscript, to pay him for the fifteen minutes +it would take to read it. (_Mem._ I never heard from editor, manuscript, +or dollar.) No, it may be arrogance, but it is not the arrogance of +success. Whatever it was, it was in the grain. And, to look at it in +another light, I cannot have been "spoiled by the indulgent praise which +my early efforts received," because, on the other hand, I have always +been praised,-- + + "Like to the Pontic monarch of old days, + I fed on poisons, till they had no power, + But were a kind of nutriment." + +The earliest event I remember is being presented with two cents by one +of the "Committee" visiting the school. And if I could stand two cents +in my tender infancy, don't you suppose I can stand your penny-a-lining +now I am grown up? I may have been spoiled, or I may not have been worth +much to begin with; but the mischief was all done before you ever heard +of me. Confine yourself to facts: dismiss conjectures. State actions: +shun motives. Give results: avoid causes, if you would insure confidence +in your sagacity. + +But all this will I forgive and forget, if you will not tell me to stop +writing. _That_ I cannot and will not do. You may iterate and reiterate, +that the public will tire of me. I am sorry for the public, but it is +strong and will be easily rested. Sorry? No, I am not; I am glad. I +should like to pay back a part of the weariness which the public has +inflicted on me in the shape of lectures, lessons, sermons, speeches, +customs, fashions. Why should it have the monopoly of fatiguing? +Minorities have their rights as well as majorities. The spout of a +tea-kettle is not to be compared, in point of bulk, to the tea-kettle, +but it puts in a claim for an equal depth of water, and Nature +acknowledges the claim. I cannot think of reining in yet. I have but +just begun. And everything is so interesting. Nothing is isolated. +Nothing is insignificant. Everything you touch thrills. It does not seem +to matter much what you look at: only look long enough, and a life, its +life, starts out. You see that it has causes and consequences, +dependencies, bearings, and all manner of social interests; and before +you know it, you have become involved in those interests and are one of +the family. For the time, you stake all on that issue, and fight to the +death. As soon as that is decided, and you stop to take breath a moment, +something else comes equally interesting and seeming equally important, +and again your lance is in rest. When it comes to the _quantities_ of +morals, there isn't much difference between one thing and another. And +you ask me to fold my hands and sit still! Not I. One of my youthful +maxims was, "Do something, if it's mischief"; and I intend to follow it, +especially the condition. I promise to do the best I can, but I shall do +it. I will never write for the sake of writing, but I will say my say. +I have not been rumbling underground all my life, to find a volcano at +last, and then let it be choked up after a single eruption. There are +rows of blocks standing around the walls of my workshop, waiting to be +chiselled. They won't be Apollos,--but even Puck is a Robin Goodfellow, +since, + + "In one night, ere glimpse of morn, + His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn + That ten day-laborers could not end." + +And I shall not confine myself to my sphere. I hate my sphere. I like +everything that is outside of it,--or, better still, my sphere rounds +out infinitely into space. _Nihil humani a me alienum puto._ I was born +into the whole world. I am monarch of all I survey. Wherever I see +symptoms of a pie, thither shall my fingers travel. Wherever a windmill +flaps, it shall go hard but I will have a tilt at it. I shall not wait +till I know what I am talking about. If I did, I never should talk at +all. It is a well-known principle in educational science, that the +surest way to learn anything is to teach it. How fast would Geology get +on, if its professors talked only of what they knew? Planting their feet +firmly on facts, they feel about in all directions for theories. By +carefully noting, publishing, comparing, discussing their uncertainties, +they presently arrive at a certainty. Horace might advocate nine years' +delay. He was building for himself a monument that should defy the +rolling years. He was setting to work in cool blood to compass +immortality, and a little time, more or less, made no difference. Apollo +and Bacchus could afford to wait. Beautiful daughters of beautiful +mothers will exist to the world's end, and their praises will always be +in order. But when, unmindful of the next generation, which will have +its books and its memories, though you are unread and forgotten, mindful +only of this generation which groans and travails in pain, you look on +suffering that you yearn to assuage, danger of which you long to warn, +sadness which you would fain dispel, burdens which you would strive, +though ever so little, to lighten, delay, even for things so desirable +as complete knowledge and perfect polish, becomes not only absurd, but +impossible. Better shoot into the cavern, even if you don't know in what +precise part of it the dragon lies coiled. The flash of your powder may +reveal his whereabouts to a surer marksman. A transient immortality is +of no importance; it is of importance that hearts be purified, homes +made happy, paths cleared, clouds dispelled. Is that ignoble? Very well. +But the noblest way to benefit posterity is to serve the present +age,--to serve it by doing one's best, indeed, but by doing it now, not +waiting for some distant day when one can do it better. A writer +deserves no pardon for careless or hurried writing. As much time as he +has mental ability to spend on it, so much time he should devote to it. +But then speed it on its way. Shut it up for a term of years, and you +will perhaps have a manuscript that says _begin_ where it used to say +_commence_, but in the mean time all the people whom you wished to save +have died of a broken heart,--or lived with one, which is still worse. +Besides, even for improvement, it is better to publish your paper than +to keep it in the drawer. There, all the amendments it can receive will +come from the few feeble advances in knowledge which you may be so +fortunate as to make. But print it and every one immediately gives you +especial attention and the benefit of his judgment. If you should happen +to serve in the right wing of Orthodoxy, you will have the inestimable +boon of the freest criticism from the left wing. And it is the religious +newspapers for not mincing matters. Between Jew and Gentile hostility is +the normal condition of things; and is carried on peaceably enough; but +when Jew meets Jew, then comes the tug of war! These people obey to the +letter the Apostolic injunction, and confess your faults one to another +with a relish that is marvellous to behold, and which must furnish to +the unbelieving world a lively commentary on the old text, "Behold how +these Christians love one another!" When their own list of your +shortcomings is exhausted, ten to one they will take up the parable of +somebody else; and if little Johnny Horner sitting in the corner of his +sanctum has not room in his crowded columns for the whole pie in which +his brother Horner has served you up, never fear but he will put in his +thumb and pick out the plums to enliven his feast withal. + +No. I shall keep on writing,--hit, if I can, miss, if I must, but shoot +any way. There is a great deal of firing that kills no men and breaches +no walls, but it worries the enemy. John Brown did not in the least know +what he was doing. His definite attempt was a fatal failure; but the +great and guilty conspiracy behind, of which he saw nothing, was smitten +to the heart under his random blows; his sixteen white men and five +negroes, flung blindly and recklessly against the ramparts of Slavery, +were but the precursors of that great host, black and white, which has +since gone down, organized and intelligent, to tread the wine-press of +the wrath of God. + +I fear I am committing the rhetorical error of comparing small things +with great; but, if Virgil could bring in the Cyclops and their +thunderbolts to illustrate his bees, and Demetrius Phalereus justify it, +you will hardly count it a capital offence in me,--and I don't much care +if you do, if I can only convince you that I am not going to be silent +because I don't know the Alpha and Omega of things. I don't pretend to +be logical, or consistent, or coherent. Nature is not. A forest of oaks +burns down or is cut down, and do oaks spring again? No. Pines. Logic, +is baffled, but the land is bettered. A field of corn is planted, and +Nature does not set herself to protect it, but sends a flock of crows to +devour it; the farmers grumble, but the crows are saved alive. Freezing +water contracts awhile, and then without any provocation turns right +about face and expands; if your pitcher stands in the way, so much the +worse for your pitcher, but the little fishes are grateful; and with all +her whims and inconsequences, Nature gets on from year to year without +once failing of seed-time and harvest, cold or heat. How is it with you +and your logic, you men who have been to college and discovered what you +are talking about? You who discuss politics and decide affairs, are you +not continually accusing each other of sophistry, inconsistency, and +shying away from the point? Take up any political or religious +newspaper, and see, if any faith is to be put in testimony, how +deficient in logic are all these logic-mongers,--how all the learned and +logical are accused by other learned and logical of false assumptions, +of invalid reasoning, of foregone conclusions, of pride and prejudice +and passion. One would say that the result of your profound researches +was only to make you more intensely illogical than you could otherwise +be. + + "As skilful divers to the bottom fall + Swifter than they who cannot swim at all, + So in the sea of sophisms, to my thinking. + You have a strange alacrity in sinking." + +(_Ego et Dorset fecimus!_) + +Sure I am my humble ability in the way of unreason can never compass +fallacies so stupendous as those which you attribute to each other; and +if this is all the result of your logic, I will none of it, initialed to +possess at least the advantage, that, when I write nonsense, I know it +is nonsense, while you write it and think it sense. But your thinking so +does not make it so, and you need not rule me out of court on the +strength of it. I acknowledge, in the domain of letters, none but +Squatter Sovereignty. In literature, unlike morals, might makes right. +If I think you are cultivating the soil to its utmost capacity, I shall +not meddle; but if it seems to me that you are letting it lie fallow +while I can draw a furrow to some purpose, you need not warn me off with +your old title-deeds; in my ploughshare shall drive. To a better farmer +I will yield right gladly, but I will not be scared away by a +sign-board. + +Nor need you go very far out of your way to affirm that I have not the +requisite experience for writing on such and such topics. As a principle +your remark is absurd. Cannot a doctor prescribe for typhus fever, +unless he has had typhus fever himself? On the contrary, is he not the +better able to prescribe from always having had a sound mind in a sound +body? As a fact, my experience in those things concerning which you +allege its insufficiency has never been presented to you for judgment, +and its discussion is therefore entirely irrelevant. If my statements +are false, they are false; if my arguments are inconclusive, they are +inconclusive: disprove the one and refute the other. But whether this +state of things be owing to a want of experience, or inability to use +experience aright, or any personal circumstance whatever, is a matter in +regard to which all the laws of literary courtesy forbid you to concern +yourself. + +And pray, Gentle Critic, do not tell me that I must be content simply to +amuse, or _must_--anything else. Must is a hard word; be not +over-confident of its power. I feel a grandmotherly interest in the +world and its ways; and much as I should like to amuse it, I shall never +be content with that. You may not _like_ to be instructed, my dear +children, but instructed you shall be. You read long ago, in your +story-book, that little Tommy Piper didn't want his face washed, though +he was very willing to be amused with soap-bubbles; but his face needed +washing and got it. I come to you with soap-bubbles indeed, but with +scrubbing-brushes also. If you take to them kindly, it will soon be +over; but if you scream and struggle, I shall not only scrub the harder, +but be all the longer about it. + +Sometimes your grave refutations are very amusing. It is astonishing to +see how crank-proof sundry minds are. Everything seems to them on a dead +level of categorical proposition. They walk up to every statue with +their measuring-line of _Barbara, Celarent, Darii, Ferioque Prioris_, +and measure them off with equal solemnity, telling you severely that +this nose is far longer than the classic rule admits, and this arm has +not the swelling proportions of life,--never seeing, that, though +another statue was indeed designed for an Antinoüs, this was never meant +to be anything but a broomstick dressed in your grandfather's cloak, +with a lantern in a pumpkin for a head. Oh, the dreariness of having to +explain pleasantry! of appending to your banter Artemas Ward's +parenthesis, "This is a goak"! of dealing with people who do not know +the difference between a blow and a "love-pat," between Quaker guns and +an Armstrong battery, between a granite paving-stone and the moonshine +on a mud-puddle! + +Dear Public, don't begin to be tired yet. I am not. There are many books +still to come, if they can ever be brought to light. They were ready +long ago, but no publisher could be found; and now that I have found a +publisher, I cannot find the books. There is a treatise on the Curvature +of the Square,--a Dissertation on Foreign Literature,--two or three +novels,--a book on Human Life, that is going to turn the world upside +down,--a book on Theology, dull enough to be sensible, that is going to +turn it back again,--and a bandboxful of children's stories. Still, in +spite of this formidable prospect, take the consolation that an end is +sure to come. There is not a particle of reserved force or dormant power +or anything of the kind for you to dread. All there is of me is awake. I +have struck twelve, and at longest it will be but a little while before +I shall run down,-- + + "And silence like a poultice come + To heal the blows of sound." + +And does not the exquisite sensation of departed pain almost atone for +the discomfort of its presence? How heartily, for your sake, would I be +the most profound and able writer in the world, and how gladly should +all my profundity and ability be laid at your feet! And since + + "the good but wished with God is done," + +can you not find it in your heart to "yearn o'er my little good and +pardon _my_ much ill"? + +Public, you must, whether you can or not. It is a case of life and +death. I am good for nothing but writing; and if you take that resource +away,--you know what the book says about mischief and Satan and idle +hands! and you certainly will take it away, if you do not speak +peaceably unto me. All that I said before was only bravado,--just to +keep a bold front to the foe. I can confide to you under the rose, that, +though without are fightings, within are fears. Pope, was it, who used +to look around upon the missives hurled at him, and say, "These are my +amusement"? But they are not mine. I want you to _like_ me and be +good-natured. It is not that you must always agree with opinions, or not +take exception to what is exceptionable; it is only that you shall not +say things in a sour, cross, disagreeable way. Impale the bait on your +arming-wire, but handle it as if you loved it. Talk thunderbolts, if +necessary, but don't "make faces." The soft south-wind is very, +charming; the northwest-wind, though sharp, is bracing and healthful; +but your raw east-winds,--oh! chain them in the caverns of Æolia, the +country of storms. + +Bear with me a little longer in my folly; and, indeed, bear with me, you +who are strong, for the sake of the weak. Many and many there may be to +whom the meat of your metaphysics is indigestible and unpalatable, but +who find strength and cheer in the sincere milk of such words as I can +give. To you who have already set your feet on the high places, that may +be but a bruised reed which is a staff to those who are still struggling +up. Do you go on churning the cream of thought, and salting down its +butter for future ages; I will spread it on thin for the weak digestions +of this. Let scarfs, garters, gold amuse your riper stage, and beads and +prayer-books be the toys of age, but wax not over-wroth, when you behold +the child, by Nature's kindly law, pleased with a rattle! + +And after all, Dear Public, it is partly your own fault that I venture +to make still further draughts upon your patience. Though I have trimmed +my sails to opposing rather than to favoring gales, it is not because +the latter have been wanting. But a pin that pricks your finger attracts +to itself far more attention for the time than the thousand influences +that wrap you about only to soothe and delight. The reception that has +been harsh and unfriendly bears no manner of proportion to that which +has been genial and generous. So where you have given me an inch I take +an ell, and commission this bright morning--shine to bear to you my +thanks. For every kind word, whether it have come to me through the +highways or the by-ways, from far or near, from known or unknown, I pray +you receive my grateful acknowledgment. And do not fail to remember, +that he, who, even though self-impelled, goes out from the shelter of +his selfhood into the presence of the great congregation, incurs a Loss +which no praise can make good, encounters a Fate against which no +appreciation is a shield, invokes a Shadow in which the _mens conscia +recti_ is the only resource, and the knowledge of shadows dispelled the +only consolation. + + * * * * * + +THE MINISTER PLENIPOTENTIARY. + + +Mr. Henry Ward Beecher went to Great Britain already well known at home +as the favorite preacher of a large parish, an ardent advocate of +certain leading reforms, one of the most popular lecturers of the +country, a bold, outspoken, fertile, ready, crowd-compelling orator, +whose reported sermons and speeches were fuller of catholic humanity +than of theological subtilties, and whose sympathies were of that lively +sort which are apt to leap the sectarian fold and find good Christians +in every denomination. He was welcomed by friendly persons on the other +side of the Atlantic, partly for these merits, partly also as "the son +of the celebrated Dr. Beecher" and "the brother of Mrs. Beecher Stowe." + +After a few months' absence he returns to America, having finished a +more remarkable embassy than any envoy who has represented us in Europe +since Franklin pleaded the cause of the young Republic at the Court of +Versailles. He kissed no royal hand, he talked with no courtly +diplomatists, he was the guest of no titled legislator, he had no +official existence. But through the heart of the people he reached +nobles, ministers, courtiers, the throne itself. He whom the "Times" +attacks, he whom "Punch" caricatures, is a power in the land. We may be +very sure, that, if an American is the aim of their pensioned garroters +and hired vitriol-throwers, he is an object of fear as well as of +hatred, and that the assault proves his ability as well as his love of +freedom and zeal for the nation to which he belongs. + +Mr. Beecher's European story is a short one in time, but a long one in +events. He went out a lamb, a tired clergyman in need of travel; and as +such he did not strive nor cry, nor did any man hear his voice in the +streets. But in the den of lions where his pathway led him he remembered +hid own lion's nature, and uttered his voice to such effect that its +echoes in the great vaulted caverns of London and Liverpool are still +reaching us, as the sound of the woodman's axe is heard long after the +stroke is seen, as the light of the star shines upon us many days after +its departure from the source of radiance. + +Mr. Beecher made a single speech in Great Britain, but it was delivered +piecemeal in different places. Its exordium was uttered on the ninth of +October at Manchester, and its peroration was pronounced on the +twentieth of the same month in Exeter Hall. He has himself furnished us +an analysis of the train of representations and arguments of which this +protracted and many-jointed oration was made up. At Manchester he +attempted to give a history of that series of political movements, +extending through half a century, the logical and inevitable end of +which was open conflict between the two opposing forces of Freedom and +Slavery. At Glasgow his discourse seems to have been almost +unpremeditated. A meeting of one or two Temperance advocates, who had +come to greet him as a brother in their cause, took on, "quite +accidentally," a political character, and Mr. Beecher gratified the +assembly with an address which really looks as if it had been in great +measure called forth by the pressure of the moment. It seems more like a +conversation than a set harangue. First, he very good-humoredly defines +his position on the Temperance question, and then naturally slides into +some self-revelations, which we who know him accept as the simple +expression of the man's character. This plain speaking made him at home +among strangers more immediately, perhaps, than anything else he could +have told them. "I am born without moral fear. I have expressed my views +in any audience, and it never cost me a struggle. I never could help +doing it." + +The way a man handles his egoisms is a test of his mastery over an +audience or a class of readers. What we want to know about the person +who is to counsel or lead us is just what he is, and nobody can tell us +so well as himself. Every real master of speaking or writing uses his +personality as he would any other serviceable material; the very moment +a speaker or writer begins to use it, not for his main purpose, but for +vanity's sake, as all weak people are sure to do, hearers and readers +feel the difference in a moment. Mr. Beecher is a strong, healthy man, +in mind and body. His nerves have never been corrugated with alcohol; +his thinking-marrow is not brown with tobacco-fumes, like a meerschaum, +as are the brains of so many unfortunate Americans; he is the same +lusty, warm-blooded, strong-fibred, brave-hearted, bright-souled, +clear-eyed creature that he was when the college boys at Amherst +acknowledged him as the chiefest among their football-kickers. He has +the simple frankness of a man who feels himself to be perfectly sound in +bodily, mental, and moral structure; and his self-revelation is a +thousand times nobler than the assumed impersonality which is a common +trick with cunning speakers who never forget their own interests. Thus +it is, that, wherever Mr. Beecher goes, everybody feels, after he has +addressed them once or twice, that they know him well, almost as if they +had always known him; and there is not a man in the land who has such a +multitude that look upon him as if he were their brother. + +Having magnetized his Glasgow audience, he continued the subject already +opened at Manchester by showing, in the midst of that great toiling +population, the deadly influence exerted by Slavery in bringing labor +into contempt, and its ruinous consequences to the free working-man +everywhere. In Edinburgh he explained how the Nation grew up out of +separate States, each jealous of its special sovereignty; how the +struggle for the control of the united Nation, after leaving it for a +long time in the hands of the South, to be used in favor of Slavery, at +length gave it into those of the North, whose influence was to be for +Freedom; and that for this reason the South, when it could no longer +rule the Nation, rebelled against it. In Liverpool, the centre of vast +commercial and manufacturing interests, he showed how those interests +are injured by Slavery,--"that this attempt to cover the fairest portion +of the earth with a slave-population that buys nothing, and a degraded +white population that buys next to nothing, should array against it the +sympathy of every true political economist and every thoughtful and +far-seeing manufacturer, as tending to strike at the vital want of +commerce,--not the want of cotton, but the want of customers." + +In his great closing effort at Exeter Hall in London, Mr. Beecher began +by disclaiming the honor of having been a pioneer in the anti-slavery +movement, which he found in progress at his entry upon public life, when +he "fell into the ranks, and fought as well as he knew how, in the ranks +or in command." He unfolded before his audience the plan and connection +of his previous addresses, showing how they were related to each other +as parts of a consecutive series. He had endeavored, he told them, to +enlist the judgment, the conscience, the interests of the British people +against the attempt to spread Slavery over the continent, and the +rebellion it has kindled. He had shown that Slavery was the only cause +of the war, that sympathy with the South was only aiding the building up +of a slave-empire, that the North was contending for its own existence +and that of popular institutions. + +Mr. Beecher then asked his audience to look at the question with him +from the American point of view. He showed how the conflict began as a +moral question; the sensitiveness of the South; the tenderness for them +on the part of many Northern apologizers, with whom he himself had never +stood. He pointed out how the question gradually emerged in politics; +the encroachments of the South, until they reached the Judiciary itself; +he repeated to them the admissions of Mr. Stephens as to the +preponderating influence the South had all along held in the Government. +An interruption obliged him to explain that adjustment of our State and +National governments which Englishmen seem to find so hard to +understand. Nothing shows his peculiar powers to more advantage than +just such interruptions. Then he displays his felicitous facility of +illustration, his familiar way of bringing a great question to the test +of some parallel fact that everybody before him knows. An American +state-question looks as mysterious to an English audience as an ear of +Indian corn wrapt in its sheath to an English wheat-grower. Mr. Beecher +husks it for them as only an American born and bred can do. He wants a +few sharp questions to rouse his quick spirit. He could almost afford to +carry with him his _picadores_ to sting him with sarcasms, his _chulos_ +to flap their inflammatory epithets in his face, and his _banderilleros_ +to stab him with their fiery insults into a _plaza de toros_,--an +audience of John Bulls. + +Having cleared up this matter so that our comatose cousins understood +the relations of the dough and the apple in our national dumpling,--to +borrow one of their royal reminiscences,--having eulogized the fidelity +of the North to the national compact, he referred to the action of "that +most true, honest, just, and conscientious magistrate, Mr. Lincoln,"--at +the mention of whose name the audience cheered as long and loud as if +they had descended from the ancient Ephesians. + +Mr. Beecher went on to show how the North could not help fighting when +it was attacked, and to give the reasons that made it necessary to +fight,--reasons which none but a consistent Friend or avowed +non-resistant can pretend to dispute: His ordinary style in speaking is +pointed, _staccatoed_, as is that of most successful extemporaneous +speakers; he is "short-gaited"; the movement of his thoughts is that of +the chopping sea, rather than the long, rolling, rhythmical +wave-procession of phrase-balancing rhetoricians. But when the lance has +pricked him deep enough, when the red flag has flashed in his face often +enough, when the fireworks have hissed and sputtered around him long +enough, when the cheers have warmed him so that all his life is roused, +then his intellectual sparkle becomes a steady glow, and his nimble +sentences change their form, and become long-drawn, stately periods. + +"Standing by my cradle, standing by my hearth, standing by the altar of +the church, standing by all the places that mark the name and memory of +heroic men who poured their blood and lives for principle, I declare +that in ten or twenty years of war we will sacrifice everything we have +for principle. If the love of popular liberty is dead in Great Britain, +you will not understand us; but if the love of liberty lives as it once +lived, and has worthy successors of those renowned men that were our +ancestors as much as yours, and whose example and principles we inherit +to make fruitful as so much seed-corn in a new and fertile land, then +you will understand our firm, invincible determination--deep as the sea, +firm as the mountains, but calm as the heavens above us--to fight this +war through at all hazards and at every cost." + +When have Englishmen listened to nobler words, fuller of the true soul +of eloquence? Never, surely, since their nation entered the abdominous +period of its existence, recognized in all its ideal portraits, for +which food and sleep are the prime conditions of well-being. Yet the old +instinct which has made the name of Englishman glorious in the past was +there, in the audience before him, and there was "immense cheering," +relieved by some slight colubrine demonstrations. + +Mr. Beecher openly accused certain "important organs" of deliberately +darkening the truth and falsifying the facts. The audience thereupon +gave three groans for a paper called the "Times," once respectably +edited, now deservedly held as cheap as an epigram of Mr. Carlyle's or a +promise to pay dated at Richmond. He showed the monstrous absurdity of +England's attacking us for fighting, and for fighting to uphold a +principle. "On what shore has not the prow of your ships dashed? What +land is there with a name and a people where your banner has not led +your soldiers? And when the great resurrection-_reveille_ shall sound, +it will muster British soldiers from every clime and people under the +whole heaven. Ah! but it is said this is war against your own blood. How +long is it since you poured soldiers into Canada, and let all your yards +work day and night to avenge the taking of two men out of the Trent?" +How ignominious the pretended humanity of England looked in the light of +these questions! And even while Mr. Beecher was speaking, a lurid glow +was crimsoning the waters of the Pacific from the flames of a great +burning city, set on fire by British ships to avenge a crime committed +by some remote inhabitant of the same country,--an act of wholesale +barbarity unapproached by any deed which can be laid to the charge of +the American Union in the course of this long, exasperating conflict! + +Mr. Beecher explained that the people who sympathized with the South +were those whose voices reached America, while the friends of the North +were little heard. The first had bows and arrows; the second have +shafts, but no bows to launch them. + +"How about the Russians?" + +Everybody remembers how neatly Mr. Beecher caught this envenomed dart, +and, turning it end for end, drove it through his antagonist's shield of +triple bull's-hide. "Now you know what we felt when you were flirting +with Mr. Mason at your Lord Mayor's banquet." A cleaner and straighter +"counter" than that, if we may change the image to one his audience +would appreciate better, is hardly to be found in the records of British +pugilism. + +The orator concluded by a rather sanguine statement of his change of +opinion as to British sentiment, of the assurance he should carry back +of the enthusiasm for the cause of the North, and by an exhortation to +unity of action with those who share their civilization and religion, +for the furtherance of the gospel and the happiness of mankind. + +The audience cheered again, Professor Newman moved a warm vote of +thanks, and the meeting dissolved, wiser and better, we hope, for the +truths which had been so boldly declared before them. + +What is the net result, so far as we can see, of Mr. Beecher's voluntary +embassy? So far as he is concerned, it has been to lift him from the +position of one of the most popular preachers and lecturers, to that of +one of the most popular men in the country. Those who hate his +philanthropy admire his courage. Those who disagree with him in theology +recognize him as having a claim to the title of Apostle quite as good as +that of John Eliot, whom Christian England sent to heathen America two +centuries ago, and who, in spite of the singularly stupid questionings +of the natives, and the violent opposition of the sachems and powwows, +or priests, succeeded in reclaiming large numbers of the copper-colored +aborigines. + +The change of opinion wrought by Mr. Beecher in England is far less easy +to estimate; indeed, we shall never have the means of determining what +it may have been. The organs of opinion which have been against us will +continue their assaults, and those which have been our friends will +continue to defend us. The public men who have committed themselves will +be consistent in the right or in the wrong, as they may have chosen at +first. To know what Mr. Beecher has effected, we must not go to Exeter +Hall and follow its enthusiastic audience as they are swayed hither and +thither by his arguments and appeals; we must not count the crowd of +admiring friends and sympathizers whom he, like all personages of note, +draws around him: the fire-fly calls other fire-flies about him, but +the great community of beetles goes blundering round in the dark as +before. Mr. Cobden has given us the test in a letter quoted by Mr. +Beecher in the course of his speech at the Brooklyn Academy. "You will +carry back," he says, "an intimate acquaintance with a state of feeling +in this country among what, for [want of] a better name, I call the +ruling class. Their sympathy is undoubtedly strongly for the South, with +the instinctive satisfaction at the prospect of the disruption of the +great Republic. It is natural enough." "But," he says, "our masses have +an instinctive feeling that their cause is bound up in the prosperity of +the States,--the United States. It is true that they have not a particle +of power in the direct form of a vote; but when millions in this country +are led by the religious middle class, they can go and prevent the +governing class from pursuing a policy hostile to their sympathies." + +This power of the non-voting classes is an idea that gives us pause. It +is one of those suggestions, like Lord Brougham's of the "unknown +public," which, in a single phrase, and a sentence or two of +explanation, tell a whole history. This is the class John Bunyan wrote +for before the bishops had his Allegory in presentable calf and +gold-leaf,--before England knew that her poor tinker had shaped a +pictured urn for her full of such visions as no dreamer had seen since +Dante. This is the class that believes in John Bright and Richard Cobden +and all the defenders of true American principles. It absorbs +intelligence as melting ice renders heat latent; there is no living +power directly generated with which we can move pistons and wheels, but +the first step in the production of steam-force is to make the ice +fluid. No intellectual thermometer can reveal to us how much ignorance +or prejudice has melted away in the fire of Mr. Beecher's passionate +eloquence, but by-and-by this will tell as a working-force. The +non-voter's conscience will reach the Privy Council, and the hand of the +ignorant, but Christianized laborer trace its own purpose in the letters +of the royal signature. + +We are living in a period, not of events only, but of epochs. We are in +the transition-stage from the miocene to the pliocene period of human +existence. A new heaven is forming over our head behind the curtain of +clouds which rises from our smoking battle-fields. A new earth is +shaping itself under our feet amidst the tremors and convulsions that +agitate the soil upon which we tread. But there is no such thing as a +surprise in the order of Nature. The kingdom of God, even, cometh not +with observation. + +The visit of an overworked clergyman to Europe is not in appearance an +event of momentous interest to the world. The fact that he delivered a +few speeches before British audiences might seem to merit notice in a +local paper or two, but is of very little consequence, one would say, to +the British nation, compared to the fact that Her Majesty took an airing +last Wednesday, or of much significance to Americans, by the side of the +fact that his Excellency, Governor Seymour, had written a letter +recommending the Union Fire Company always to play on the wood-shed when +the house is in flames. + +But, in point of fact, this unofficial visit of a private citizen--in +connection with these addresses delivered to miscellaneous crowds by an +envoy not extraordinary and a minister nullipotentiary, for all that his +credentials showed--was an event of national importance. It was much +more than this; it was the beginning of a new order of things in the +relations of nations to each other. It is but a little while since any +graceless woman who helped a crowned profligate to break the +commandments could light a national quarrel with the taper that sealed +her _billets-doux_ to his equerries and grooms, and kindle it to a war +with the fan that was supposed to hide her blushes. More and more, by +virtue of advancing civilization and easy intercourse between distant +lands, the average common sense and intelligence of the people begin to +reach from nation to nation. Mr. Beecher's visit is the most notable +expression of this movement of national life. It marks the _nisus +formativus_ which begins the organization of that unwritten and only +half spoken public opinion recognized by Mr. Cobden as a great +underlying force even in England. It needs a little republican +pollen-dust to cause the evolution of its else barren germs. The fruit +of Mr. Beecher's visit will ripen in due time, not only in direct +results, but in opening the way to future moral embassies, going forth +unheralded, unsanctioned by State documents, in the simple strength of +Christian manhood, on their errands of truth and peace. + +The Devil had got the start of the clergyman, as he very often does, +after all. The wretches who have been for three years pouring their +leperous distilment into the ears of Great Britain had preoccupied the +ground, and were determined to silence the minister, if they could. For +this purpose they looked to the heathen populace of the nominally +Christian British cities. They covered the walls with blood-red +placards, they stimulated the mob by inflammatory appeals, they filled +the air with threats of riot and murder. It was in the midst of scenes +like these that the single, solitary American opened his lips to speak +in behalf of his country. + +The danger is now over, and we find it hard to make real to our +imagination the terrors of a mob such as swarms out of the dens of +Liverpool and London. We know well enough in this country what Irish +mobs are: the Old Country exports them to us in pieces, ready to put +together on arriving, as we send houses to California. Ireland is the +country of shillalahs and broken crowns, of Donnybrook fairs, where men +with whiskey in their heads settle their feuds or work off their +sprightliness with the arms of Nature, sometimes aided by the least +dangerous of weapons. But England is the land of prize-fights, of +scientific brutality, which has flourished under the patronage of her +hereditary legislators and other "Corinthian" supporters. The pugilistic +dynasty came in with the House of Brunswick, and has held divided empire +with it ever since. The Briton who claims Chatham's language as his +mother-tongue may appropriate the dialect of the ring as far more truly +indigenous than the German-French of his every-day discourse. Of the +three Burkes whose names are historical, the orator is known to but a +few hundred thousands. The prize-fighter, with his interesting personal +infirmity, is the common property of the millions, and would have headed +the list in celebrity, but for that other of the name who added a new +invention to the arts of industry and enriched the English language with +a term which bids fair to outlive the reputation of his illustrious +namesake. Around the professors and heroes of the art of personal +violence are collected the practitioners of various callings less +dignified by the manly qualities they demand. The Gangs of Three that +waylay the solitary pedestrian,--the Choker in the middle, next the +victim who is to be strangled and cleaned out,--the larger guilds of +Hustlers who bonnet a man and beat his breath out of him and empty his +pockets before he knows what is the matter with him,--the Burglars, with +their "jimmies" in their pockets,--the fighting robbers, with their +brass knuckles,--the whole set in a vast thief-constituency, thick as +rats in sewers,--these were the disputants whom the emissaries of the +Slave Power called upon to refute the arguments of the Brooklyn +clergyman. + +It was not pleasant to move in streets where such human rattlesnakes and +cobras were coiling and lying in wait. Great cities are the +poison-glands of civilization everywhere; but the secretions of those +hideous crypts and blind passages that empty themselves into the +thoroughfares of English towns are so deadly, that, but for her penal +colonies, England, girt by water, as the scorpion with flame, would +perish, self-stung, by her own venom. The legates of the great +Anti-Civilization have colonized England, as England has colonized +Botany Bay. They know the venal ruffianism of the fist and bludgeon, as +well as that of the press. Fortunately, they are short of funds, or Mr. +Beecher might have disappeared after the manner of Romulus, and never +have come to light, except in the saintly fashion of relics,--such as +white finger-rings and breastpins, like those which some devotees of the +Southern mode of worship are said to have been fond of wearing. + +From these dangers, which he faced like a man, we welcome him back to a +country which is proud of his courage and ability and grateful for his +services. The highest and lowest classes of England cannot be in +sympathy with the free North. No dynasty can look the fact of +successful, triumphant self-government in the face without seeing a +shroud in its banner and hearing a knell in its shouts of victory. As to +those lower classes who are too low to be reached by the life-giving +breath of popular liberty, we cannot reach them yet. A Christian +civilization has suffered them, in the very heart of its great cities, +to sink almost to the level of Du Chaillu's West-African quadrumana. But +the thoughtful, religious middle class of Great Britain, with their +enlightened leaders and their conscientious followers among the laboring +masses, have listened and will always listen to the voice of any true +and adequate representative of that new form of human society now in +full course of development in Republican North America. They have never +listened to a nobler and more thoroughly national speaker than the +minister, clothed with full powers from Nature and bearing the authentic +credentials from his Divine Master, to whom, on his return from his +successful embassy, we renew our grateful welcome. + + * * * * * + +THE BEGINNING OF THE END. + +A GREETING FOR THE NEW YEAR. + + +We are at the close of the third year of the Secession War. It is +customary to speak of the contest as having been inaugurated by the +attack on Fort Sumter, April 12, 1861; but, in strictness, it was begun +in December, 1860, when the Carolinians formally seceded from the Union, +which was as much an act of war as that involved in firing upon the +national flag that waved over the strongest of the Federal forts at +Charleston. Even those who insist that there can be no war without the +use of weapons must admit that the act of firing upon the Star of the +West, which vessel was seeking to land men and stores at Sumter, was an +overt act, and as significant of the purpose of the Secessionists as +anything since done by them. That occurred in January, 1861; and because +our Government did not choose to accept it as the beginning of those +hostilities which had been resolved upon by the Southern ultras, it does +not follow that men are bound to shut their eyes to the truth. But we +all took the insults that were offered to the flag in President +Buchanan's time as coolly as if that were the proper course of things, +while the attack on Sumter had the same effect on us that the +acknowledgment of the Pretender as King of Great Britain and Ireland by +Louis XIV. had on the English. War was then promptly accepted, and has +ever since been waged, with that various fortune which is known to all +contests, and which will be so known while wars shall be known on +earth,--in other words, while our planet shall be the abiding-place of +men. We have had victories, and we have had defeats, which is the +common lot; but, taken as a whole, we have but little reason to complain +of results, if we compare our situation now with what it was at the +close of 1862. Great things have been done in 1863, such as place the +military result of the war beyond all doubt, and permitting us to hope +for the early restoration of peace, provided the people shall furnish +their Government with the human material necessary to inflict upon the +enemy that grace stroke which shall put them out of their pain by +putting an end to their existence; and that Government itself shall not +be wanting in that energy, without which men and money are worse than +useless in war,--for then they would be but wasted. + +The year opened darkly for us; for not even the success of General +Rosecrans on the well-contested field of Murfreesboro'--a success +literally extorted from a brave and stubborn and skilful foe--could +altogether compensate for the Union defeat at Fredericksburg, a defeat +that gave additional force to the gloomy words of those _grognards_ who +had adopted the doctrine that it was impossible for the Army of the +Potomac to accomplish anything worthy of its numbers, and of the +position and purpose assigned to it in the war. Months rolled on, and +little was done, the mere military losses and gains being not far from +equally shared by the two parties; but that was positively a loss to the +enemy, whose position it has been from the first, that they must have so +large a proportion of the successes as should tend to encourage their +people at home and their advocates abroad, and so compensate for their +inferiority in numbers and in property. Nothing has tended more, all +through the war, to show the vast difference in the parties to it, than +the little effect which serious reverses have had on the Unionists in +comparison with the effect of similar reverses on the Confederates. No +blow that we have received--and many blows have been dealt upon us--has +been followed by any loss of territory, any decrease of the means of +warfare, or any diminution of our purpose to carry on the contest to the +last piece of gold and the last greasy greenback. The enemy have taken +of our men, our cannon, our stores, and our money, more than once, but +not one of their victories produced any "fruit" beyond what was gleaned +from the battle-field itself. Our victories, on the contrary, have been +fruitful, as the position of our forces on the enemy's coast, and on +much of their territory, and in many of their ports, most satisfactorily +proves. As an English military critic said, the Rebels might gain +battles, but all the solid advantages were with their opponents. A Union +victory was so much achieved toward final and complete success; a +Confederate victory only operated to postpone the subjugation of the +Rebels for a few days, or perhaps weeks. We could afford to blunder, +while they could not; and the prospect of the gallows made the brains of +Davis and Lee uncommonly clear, and caused them to plan skilfully and to +strike boldly, in order that they might get out and keep out of the road +that leads to it,--the road to ruin. + +The movement in April, under General Hooker, which led to the Battle of +Chancellorsville, was a failure, and for some time the country was much +depressed in consequence; but our failure, there and then, proved to be +really a great gain. Had General Hooker succeeded in defeating General +Lee in battle, the latter would, it is altogether probable, have +succeeded in retreating to Richmond, behind the defences of which he +would have held our forces at bay, and the Peninsular campaign of 1862 +might have been repeated; for we had not men enough to render the +capture of Richmond certain through the effect of regular and steady +operations. The death of Stonewall Jackson, one of the incidents of the +April advance, was a severe loss to the enemy, and promises to be as +fatal to their cause as was that of Dundee to the hopes of the House of +Stuart. General Lee's success was really fatal to him. It compelled him +to make a movement in his turn, in June, and at Gettysburg we had ample +compensation for Chancellorsville; and the capture of Morgan and his +men, in Ohio, following hard upon Lee's retreat from Pennsylvania, put +an end to all attempts at invasion on the part of the Rebels, while we +continued to hold all that we had acquired of their territory, and soon +added more of it to our previous acquisitions. At the same time that +General Meade was disposing of the main Rebel army, General Grant was +taking Vicksburg, and General Banks was triumphing at Port Hudson. +Generals Pemberton and Gardner had defended those Southern strongholds +with a skill and a gallantry that do them great credit, considering them +merely as military operations; but the superior generalship of General +Grant at and near Vicksburg compelled them to surrender, and to place in +Union hands posts the possession of which was necessary to maintain the +integrity of the Confederacy. General Grant's least merit was the taking +of Vicksburg. The operations through the success of which he was enabled +to shut up a large force of brave men in Vicksburg, and to cut them off +from all hope of being relieved, were of the highest order of military +excellence, and justly entitle him to be called a great soldier, and no +man can be only a great soldier, for that intellectual rank implies in +its possessor qualities that fit him for any department of his country's +service. General Grant was admirably seconded and supported by his +lieutenants and their subordinates and men, or he must have failed +before such courageous and stubborn foes. He was also supported by the +naval force commanded by Admiral Porter, whose heroic exploits and +scientific services added new lustre to a name that already stood most +high in our naval history. He commanded men worthy of himself and the +service, and whose deeds must be ever remembered. General Banks and his +associates were not less successful in their undertaking, and had been +as well seconded as General Grant. The Mississippi was placed at our +control, and the enemy were deprived of those supplies, both domestic +and foreign, which they had drawn in so large quantities from the +trans-Mississippi territory. Through Texas, which had contrived to keep +up a great commerce, the supplies of foreign _matériel_ had been very +large; and from the same rich and extensive State came thousands of +beeves, sheep, and hogs, that were consumed by Southern soldiers in +Virginia and the Carolinas. Generals Grant and Banks put an end to this +mode of supplying the Rebels with food and other articles; and at a +later period the success of General Banks near the Rio Grande was hardly +less useful in putting an end to much of the Texan foreign trade, +whereby the Rebels beyond the Mississippi must find their powers to do +mischief very materially lessened. + +In the mean time, Charleston, whence rebellion had spread over the +South, had been assailed by a large force, military and naval, commanded +by General Gillmore and Rear-Admiral Dahlgren. General Gillmore had +become famous as the captor of Fort Pulaski, under circumstances that +had seemed to render success impossible; and hence it was expected that +he would quickly take Charleston. It is not believed that that very able +and modest officer ever said a word to give rise to the popular +expectation. He knew the gravity of the task he had undertaken, and we +believe, that, if all the facts connected therewith could be published, +it would be found that he has accomplished all that he ever promised to +do or expected to do. He has done much, and done it admirably; and not +the least of the effects of his deeds is this,--that the report of his +guns reached to Europe, and caused the intelligent military men of that +dominating quarter of the world to doubt whether their respective +countries were militarily prepared to support intervention, even if to +intervention there existed no moral or political objections. He has +demolished Sumter, and that fortress which was the scene of our first +failure has ceased to exist. He has completed the blockade of +Charleston, which was almost daily violated before he brought his +batteries into play. We have the high authority of no less a personage +than Mr. Jefferson Davis himself,--a gentleman who never "speaks out" +when anything is to be made by reticence,--that Wilmington is now the +only port left to the Confederacy; and this is the highest possible +compliment that could be paid to the excellence of General Gillmore's +operations, and to the value of his services. Since he arrived near +Charleston, that port has been as hermetically sealed as Cronstadt in +December; whereas, until he began his scientific and most useful labors, +Charleston was one of the most flourishing seaports in the whole circle +of commerce. As to the taking of Charleston, our opinion is, and has +been from the first, that the history of the War of the American +Revolution demonstrates that the Carolina city can be had only as the +result of extensive land-operations, carried on by a power which has +command of the sea. Sir Henry Clinton failed before the place in 1776, +his attack being naval in its character; and he succeeded in taking it +in 1780, when he had control of the main-land, and made his approaches +regularly. Even after he had obtained command of the harbor, and Fort +Moultrie had been first passed and then taken, and no American maritime +force remained to oppose his fleet, he had to depend upon the action of +his army for success. We fear that the event will prove that we can +succeed at Charleston only by following Sir Henry's wise course. "The +things which have been are the things which shall be." + +Late in the summer, General Rosecrans resumed operations, and marched +upon Chattanooga, while General Burnside moved into East Tennessee, and +obtained possession of Knoxville. General Burnside's march was one of +the most difficult ever made in war, and tasked the powers of his men to +the utmost; but all difficulties were surmounted, and the loyal people +of the country which he entered and regained were gladdened by seeing +the national flag flying once more over their heads. Both these +movements were at first brilliantly successful; but the enemy were +impressed with the importance of the points taken or threatened by our +forces, and they concentrated great masses of troops, in the hope of +being able to defeat our armies, regain the territory lost, and transfer +the seat of war far to the north. The Battle of Chickamauga was fought, +and a portion of General Rosecrans's army was defeated, while another +portion, under General Thomas, stubbornly maintained its ground, and +inflicted great damage on the enemy. The effect of General Thomas's +heroic resistance was, that the enemy's grand purpose was baffled. Their +loss was so severe, and their men had been so roughly handled, that they +could not advance farther, and the time thus gained was promptly turned +to account, by General Rosecrans in the first instance, and by +Government. The Union army was soon reorganized by its energetic leader, +and placed in condition to make effectual resistance to the enemy, +should they endeavor to advance. The Government's action was rapid and +useful. General Grant was placed in immediate command of the army, which +was largely reinforced, and preparations were quickly made for the +resumption of offensive operations. In the mean time, General Bragg had +sent General Longstreet to attack General Burnside; and as Longstreet +has been looked upon, since the death of Jackson, as the best of the +Rebel fighting generals, great hopes were entertained of his success. +Apparently taking advantage of the absence of so large a body of Rebel +troops under so good a leader, General Grant resumed the offensive on +the twenty-third of November, and during three days' hard fighting +inflicted upon General Bragg a series of defeats, in which Generals +Thomas, Hooker, and Sherman were the active Union commanders. The +Unionists were completely victorious at all points, taking several +strong positions, forty-six pieces of cannon, five thousand muskets, +valuable stores, and seven thousand prisoners, besides killing and +wounding great numbers. All these successes were gained at a cost of +only forty-five hundred men. The skill of General Grant and his +lieutenants, and the valor of their troops, were signally displayed in +these operations, the first assured intelligence of which reached the +North in time to add to the pleasures of the National Thanksgiving, as +the first news of Gettysburg had come to us on the Fourth of July. + +The November victories put an end to all fear that the enemy might be +able to carry out their original project, while it seemed to be certain +that the scene of active operations would be transferred from East +Tennessee to Northern Georgia. General Burnside still held Knoxville, +and it was supposed that General Longstreet would find it difficult to +escape destruction. General Bragg had retreated to Dalton, which is +about a hundred miles from Atlanta, and is reported to have summoned +General Longstreet to rejoin him. The Army of the Potomac, which had +borne itself very gallantly in some of the autumnal operations +consequent on Lee's advance, had followed the army commanded by this +General when it retreated, inflicting on it considerable loss, and +crossing the Rapid Ann.[C] + +Victories have been gained by the Unionists in other quarters,--in +Missouri, in Arkansas, in Louisiana, and in Mississippi,--whereby the +enemy's numbers have been diminished, and territory brought under the +Union flag that until recently was held by the Rebels, and from which +they drew means of subsistence now no longer available to them. + +The effects of all the successes which have been mentioned are various. +We have deprived the enemy of extensive portions of territory, in most +of their States. Tennessee is rescued; Maryland, Kentucky, and Missouri +are placed beyond all danger of being taken by the Rebels; in Arkansas, +Louisiana, and Texas we hold places of much political and military +importance; Mississippi is practically ours; Alabama yields little to +our foe; Georgia is invaded, instead of remaining the basis of a grand +attack on Tennessee and Kentucky; the Carolinas, greatly favored by +geographical circumstances, are barely able to hold out against attacks +that are _not_ made in force, and portions of their territory are ours; +Virginia is exhausted, and there the enemy cannot long remain, even +should they meet with no reverses in the field; and, finally, as General +Grant's successes at Vicksburg halved the Confederacy, so have his +Chattanooga successes quartered it. The Rebels are no longer one people, +but are divided into a number of communities, which cannot act together, +even if we could suppose their populations to be animated by one spirit, +which certainly they are not. Of the inhabitants of the original +Confederacy probably two-fifths are no longer under the control of the +Richmond Government; and of the remainder a very large proportion are +said to be massed in Georgia, a State that has hitherto suffered little +from the war, but which now seems about to become the scene of vast and +important operations, which cannot be carried on without causing +sweeping devastation. The public journals state that there are two +million slaves in Georgia, most of whom have been taken or sent thither +by their owners, inhabitants of other States. This must tend greatly to +increase the difficulties of the enemy, whose stores of food and +clothing are not large in any of the Atlantic or Gulf States. + +Much stress has been placed on "the starvation-theory," and it is +probable that there is much suffering in the Confederacy; but this does +not proceed so much from the positive absence of food as from other +causes. The first of these causes is undoubtedly the loss of all faith +in the Southern currency. That currency has not yet fallen so low as the +Continental currency fell, when it required a bushel of it to pay for a +peck of potatoes, but it is at a terrible discount, and the day is fast +coming when it will be regarded as of no more value than so many pieces +of brown paper; and its depreciation, and the prospect of its soon +becoming utterly worthless, are among the chief consequences of the +triumphs of our arms. Men see that there will be no power to make +payment, and they will not part with their property for rags so rotten. +They may wish success to the Confederate cause, but "they must live," +and live they cannot on paper that is nothing but paper. The journal +that is understood to speak for Mr. Davis recommends a forced loan, the +last resort of men the last days of whose power are near at hand. +Another cause of the scarcity of food in the South is to be found in the +condition of Southern communications. If all the food in the Confederacy +could be equally distributed, now and hereafter, we doubt not that every +person living there would get enough to eat, and even have something to +spare,--civilians as well as soldiers, blacks as well as whites; but no +such distribution is possible, because there are but indifferent means +for the conveyance of food from places where it is abundant to places +where famine's ascendency is becoming established. The Southern railways +have been terribly worked for three years, and are now worn out, with no +hope of their rails and rolling-stock being renewed. Our troops have +rendered hundreds of miles of those ways useless, and they have +possession of other lines. Southern harbors and rivers are held or +commanded by Northern ships or armies. The Mississippi, which was once +so useful to the Rebels, has, now that we control it, become a "big +ditch," separating their armies from their principal source of supply. +It is that "last ditch" in which they are to die. That wide extent of +Southern territory, which has so often been mentioned at home and abroad +as presenting the leading reason why we never could conquer the Rebels, +now works against them, and in our favor. Food may be abundant to +wastefulness in some States, while in others people may be dying for the +want of it. The Secessionists are now situated as most peoples used to +be, before good roads became common. The South is becoming reduced to +that state which was known to some parts of England before that country +had made for itself the best roads of Christendom, and when there would +be starvation in one parish, while perhaps in the next the fruits of the +earth were rotting on its surface, because there were no means of +getting them to market. With a currency so debased that no man will +willingly take it, while all men readily take Union greenbacks,--with +railways either worn out or held by foes,--with but one harbor this side +of the Mississippi that is not closely shut up, and that harbor in +course of becoming closed completely,--with their rivers furnishing +means for attack, instead of lines of defence,--with their territory and +numbers daily decreasing,--with defeat overtaking their armies on almost +every field,--with the expressed determination of the North to prosecute +the war, be the consequences what they may,--with the constant increase +of Union numbers,--and with the steady refusal of foreign powers to +recognize the Confederacy, or to afford it any countenance or open +assistance,--the Rebels must be infatuated, and determined to provoke +destruction, if they do not soon make overtures for peace. + +It is all very well for the "chivalrous classes" at the South, whoever +they may happen to be, to talk about "dying in the last ditch," and of +imitating the action of Pelayo and his friends; but common folk like to +die in their beds, and to receive the inevitable visitant with decorum, +to an exhibition of which ditches are decidedly unfavorable. As to +Pelayo, he lived in an age in which there were neither railways nor +rifled cannon, neither steamships nor Parrott guns, neither Monitors +nor greenbacks,--else he and his would either have been routed out of +the Asturian Mountains, or have been compelled to remain there forever. +The conditions of modern life and society are highly unfavorable to +those heroic modes of resistance and existence in which alone gentlemen +of Pelayo's pursuits can hope to flourish. We Saracens of the North +would ask nothing better than to have Pelayo Davis lead all his valiant +ragamuffins into the strongest range of mountains that could be found in +all Secessia, there to establish the new Kingdom of Gijon. We should +deserve the worst that could befall us, if we failed to vindicate the +common American idea, that this country is no place for lovers of crowns +and kingdoms. + +As to the guerrillas, we know that they are an exasperating set of +fellows, but they must soon disappear before the advance of the Union +armies. A guerrillade on an extensive scale and of long continuance is +possible only while it is supported by the presence of large and +successful regular armies. Had Wellington been driven out of the +Peninsula, the Spanish guerrillas would have given little trouble to the +intrusive French king at Madrid. Defeat Lee, and Mosby will vanish. +After all, the Southern guerrillas are not much worse than other +Southrons were at no very remote period. It is within the memory of even +middle-aged persons, that the southwestern portion of our country was in +as lawless a state as ever were the borders of England and Scotland, and +with no Belted Will to hang up ruffians to swing in the wind. As those +ruffians were mostly removed by time, and the scenes of their labors +became the seats of prosperous and well-ordered communities, so will the +guerrillas of to-day be made to give way by that inexorable reformer and +avenger. Order will once more prevail in the Southwest, and cotton, +tobacco, and rice again yield their increase to regular industry,--an +industry that shall be all the more productive, because exercised by +free men. + +The political incidents of 1863 are as encouraging as the incidents of +war. The discontent that existed toward the close of 1862--a discontent +by no means groundless--led to the apparent defeat of the war-party in +many States, and to the decrease of its strength in others. But it was +an illogical conclusion that the people were dissatisfied with the war, +when they only meant to express their dissatisfaction with the manner in +which it was conducted. Their votes in 1863 truly expressed their +feeling. In every State but New Jersey the war-party was successful, its +majority in Ohio being 100,000, in New York 30,000, in Pennsylvania +15,000, in Massachusetts, 40,000, in Iowa 32,000, in Maine 22,000, in +California 20,000. And so on throughout the country. The popular voice +is still for war, but for war boldly, and therefore wisely, waged. + +The improvement that has taken place in our foreign relations is even +greater than that which has come over our domestic affairs; and for the +first time since the opening of the civil war, it is possible for +Americans to say that there is every reason for believing that they are +to be left to settle their own affairs according to their own ideas as +to the fitness of things. This change, like all important changes in +human affairs, is due to a variety of causes. In part it is owing to +what we considered to be among our greatest misfortunes, and in part to +those successes which changed the condition of affairs. Our failure at +Fredericksburg, at the close of 1862, strengthened the general European +impression that the Rebels were to succeed; and as their defeat at +Murfreesboro was not followed by an advance of our forces, that +impression was not weakened by General Bragg's failure, though that was +more signal than was the failure of General Burnside. If the Rebels were +to succeed, why should European governments do anything in aid of their +cause, at the hazard of war with us? Our defeat at Chancellorsville, +last May, tended still further to strengthen foreign belief that the +Secessionists were to be the winning party, and that they were competent +to do all their own work; but if it had not soon been followed by signal +reverses to the Rebel arms, it is certain that the Confederacy would +have been acknowledged by most European nations, on the plausible ground +that its existence had been established on the battle-field, and that we +could not object to the admission of a self-evident fact by foreign +sovereigns and statesmen, who were bound to look after the welfare of +their own subjects and countrymen, whose interests were greatly +concerned with the trade of our Southern country. Fortunately for all +parties but the Rebels, those reverses came suddenly and with such +emphasis as to create serious doubts in the European mind as to the +superiority of the South as a fighting community. In an evil hour for +his cause, General Lee abandoned that wise defensive system to which he +had so long and so successfully adhered, and made a movement into the +Free States. What was the immediate cause of his change of proceeding +will probably never be accurately known to the existing generation. On +the face of things no good political reason appears for that change +being made; and on military grounds it was sure to lead to disaster, +unless the North had become the most craven of countries. So bad was +Lee's advance into the North, militarily speaking, that it would have +been the part of good policy to allow him to march without resistance to +a point at least a hundred miles beyond that field on which he was to +find his fate. A Gettysburg that should have been fought that distance +from the base of Southern operations could have had no other result than +the destruction of the main Southern army; and that occurring at about +the same time that Port Hudson and Vicksburg surrendered, the war could +have been ended by a series of thunder-strokes. Not a man of Lee's army +could have escaped. But the pride of the country prevented the adoption +of a course that promised the most splendid of successes, and compelled +our Government and our commander to forego the noblest opportunity that +had presented itself to effect the enemy's annihilation. Gettysburg was +made immortal, and Lee escaped, not without tremendous losses, yet with +the larger part of his army, and with much booty, that perhaps +compensated his own loss in _matériel_. He was beaten, on a field of his +own choosing, and with numbers in his favor; and his previous victories, +the almost uniform success that had attended his earlier movements, made +his Pennsylvania reverses all the more grave in the estimation of +foreigners. Immediately after news was sent abroad of his defeat and +retreat, tidings came to us, and soon were spread over the world, that +the Rebels had experienced the most terrible disasters in the Southwest, +whereby the so-called Confederacy had been cut in two. These facts gave +pause to those intentions of acknowledgment which had undoubtedly been +entertained in European courts and cabinets; and nothing afterward +occurred, down to the day of Chickamauga, which was calculated to effect +a change in the minds of the rulers of the Old World. But when +intelligence of Chickamauga reached Europe, England had taken a position +so determinedly hostile to intervention in any of its many forms and +stages that even a much greater disaster than that could have produced +no evil to our cause abroad. For it is to be remembered that the whole +business of intervention has lain from the beginning in the bosom of +England, and that, if she had chosen to act against us in force, she +could have done so with the strongest hope of success, if merely our +humiliation, or even our destruction, had been her object, and without +any immediate danger threatening herself as the consequence of her +hostile action. The French Government, not France, or any considerable +portion of the French people, has been ready to interfere in behalf of +the Rebels for more than two years, and would have entered upon the +process of intervention long since, if it had not been held back by the +obstinate refusal of England to unite with her in that pro-slavery +crusade which, it is with regret we say it, the French Emperor has so +much at heart; and without the aid and assistance of England, the ruler +of France could not and durst not move an inch against us. Not the +least, nor least strange, of the changes of this mutable world is to be +seen in the circumstance that France should be restrained from undoing +the work of the Bourbons and of Napoleon I. by England's firm opposition +to the wishes and purposes of Napoleon III. The Bourbon policy, as well +in Spain as in France, brought about the early overthrow of England's +rule over the territory of the old United States; and the first Napoleon +sold Louisiana to us for a song, because he was convinced, that, by so +doing, he should aid to build up a formidable naval rival of England. +The man who seeks to undo all this, to destroy what Bourbon and +Bonaparte sacrificed so much to effect, is the heir of Bonaparte, and +the expounder and illustrator of Napoleon's ideas; and the power that +places herself resolutely across his path, and will not join in his plot +to erase us from the list of nations is--England! In a romance such a +state of things would be pronounced too absurd for invention; but in +this every-day world it is nothing but a commonplace incident, +extraordinary as it may seem at the first thought that is bestowed upon +it. + +That England governs France in this matter of intervention in our +quarrel is clear enough, as also are the reasons why Paris will not move +to the aid of the Rebels unless London shall keep even step with her. +France asked England to unite with her in an offer of mediation, which +would have been an armed mediation, had England fallen into the Gallic +trap, but which amounted to nothing when it proceeded from France alone. +England withdrew from the Mexican business as soon as she saw that +France was bent upon a course that might lead to trouble with the United +States, and left her to create a throne in that country. As soon as +England put the broad arrow upon the rams of that eminent pastoral +character, Laird of Birkenhead, France withdrew the permission which she +had formally bestowed upon MM. Arman and Vorney to build four powerful +steamships for the Rebels at Nantes and Bordeaux. France would +acknowledge the Confederacy to-day, and send a minister to Richmond, and +consuls to Mobile and Galveston and Wilmington, if England would but +agree to be to her against us what Spain was to her for us in the days +of our Revolution. But England will not join with her ancient enemy to +effect the ruin of a country of the existence of which she should be +proud, seeing that it is her own creation. + +Why, then, is it that there is so much ill-feeling in America toward +England, while none is felt toward France,--England being, as it were, +our shield against that French sword which is raised over our head, upon +which its holder would bring it down with imperial force? Principally +the difference is due to that peculiarity in the human character which +leads men to think much of insults and but little of injuries. We doubt +if any strong enmity was ever created in the minds of men or nations +through the infliction of injuries, though injuring parties have an +undoubted right to hate their victims; and we are sure that an insult +was never yet forgiven by any nation, or by any individual, whose +resentment was of any account. Now, England has poured insults upon us, +or rather Englishmen have done so, until we have become as sore as bears +who have been assailed by bees. English statesmen and politicians have +told us that we were wrong in fighting for the restoration of the Union, +violating our own principles, and literally committing the grossest, of +crimes,--taking care to add, that our sins would provide their own +punishment, for we could not put down the Rebels. Even moderate-minded +men in England have not hesitated to condemn our course, while admitting +that our conduct was natural, on the ground that we had no hope of +success, and that useless wars are simply horrible. Our English enemies +have been fierce and vindictive blackguards,--as witness Roebuck, +Lyndsay, and Lord R. Cecil,--while most of our friends there have deemed +it the best policy to make use of very moderate language, when speaking +of our cause, or of the conduct of our public men. Englishmen of +distinction, some of whom have long been held in high esteem here, have +not hesitated to express a desire for our overthrow, because we were +becoming too strong, though our free population is not materially +different, as regards numbers, from that of the British Islands, and is +as nothing when compared with the number of Queen Victoria's subjects. +They were not ashamed to be so thoroughly un-English as to admit the +existence of fear in their minds of a people living three thousand miles +from their country: a circumstance to be noted; for your Englishman is +apt to err on the side of contempt for others, and as a rule he fears +nobody. Others have so wantonly misrepresented the character of our +cause,--Mr. Carlyle is a notable member of this class,--that it is +impossible not to be offended, when listening to their astounding +falsehoods. But it is the British press that has done most to array +Americans against England. That press is very ably conducted, and the +most noted of its members have displayed a degree of hostility toward us +that could not have been predicted without the prophet being suspected +of madness, or of diabolical inspiration. All its articles attacking us +are reproduced here, and are read by everybody, and the effect thereof +can be imagined. Toward us British journalists are playing the same part +that was played by their predecessors toward France sixty years since, +and which converted what was meant to be a permanent peace into the mere +truce of Amiens. Insolent and egotistical as a class, though there are +highly honorable exceptions, those journalists have done more to make +their country the object of dislike than has been accomplished by all +other Englishmen. Their deeds show that the pen _is_ mightier than the +sword, and that its conquests are permanent. It has been said that +France has been as unfriendly to us as England, and that, therefore, we +ought to feel for her the same dislike as that of which England is the +object. But, admitting the assertion to be true, we know little of what +the French have said or written concerning us. The difference of +language prevents us from taking much offence at Gallic criticism. Not +one American in a hundred reads French; and of those who do read it, not +one in a thousand, journalists apart, ever sees a French quarterly, +monthly, weekly, or daily publication. Occasionally, an article from a +French journal is translated for some one of our newspapers, but it is +oftener of a friendly character than otherwise. The best French +publications support the Union cause, at their head standing the +"Débats," which is not the inferior of the "Times" in respect to +ability, and is far its superior in all other respects. Besides, judging +from such articles from the French presses devoted to Secession +interests as have come under our observation, they are neither so able +nor so venomous as those which appear in British Secession journals and +magazines. Most of them might be translated for the purpose of showing +that the French have no wish for our destruction, while the language of +the British articles indicates the existence of an intense personal +hostility, and an eager desire to see the United States partitioned like +Poland. We should be something much above, or as much below, the +standard of humanity, if we were not moved deeply by such evidences of +fierce hatred, expressed in the fiercest of language. + +In assuming a strictly impartial position, England follows a sense of +interest, which is proper and praiseworthy. She cannot, supposing her to +be wise, be desirous of our destruction; for, that accomplished, she +would be more open than ever to a French attack. Let Napoleon III. +accomplish those European purposes to which his mind is now directed, +and he would be impelled to quarrel with England by a variety of +considerations, should this Republic be broken up into half a dozen +feeble and quarrelsome confederacies. But with the United States in +existence, and powerful enough to command respect, he would not dare to +seek the overthrow of the British Empire. We could not permit him to +head a crusade for England's annihilation, no matter what might be our +feeling toward the mother-land. A just regard for our own interests +would impel us to side with her, should she be placed in serious danger. +Such was, substantially, President Jefferson's opinion, sixty years ago, +when the first Napoleon was so bent upon the conquest of England; and we +think that his views are applicable to the existing circumstances of the +world. Where should we have been now, if England had quarrelled with and +been conquered by Napoleon III.? We must distinguish between the English +nation and Englishmen,--between the English Government, which has, +perhaps, borne itself as favorably toward us as it could, and that +English aristocracy which has, as a rule, exhibited so strong a desire +to have us extinguished, even while it has repeatedly refused to take +steps preparatory to war; and the two countries should be persuaded to +understand that neither can perish without the life of the other being +placed in great danger. The best answer to be made to the wordy attacks +of Englishmen is to be found in success. That answer would be complete; +and if it cannot be made, what will it signify to us what shall be said +of us by foreigners? The bitterest attacks can never disturb the dead. + +One cause of the change of England's course toward us is to be found in +our own change of moral position. The President's Emancipation +Proclamation went into effect on the first of January, 1863; and from +that time the anti-slavery people of England have been on our side; and +their influence is great, and bears upon the supporters of the +Palmerston Ministry with peculiar force. Had our Government persisted in +the pro-slavery policy which it favored down to the autumn of 1862, it +is not at all unlikely that the English intervention party would have +been strong enough to compel their country to go with France in her +mediation scheme,--and the step from mediation to intervention would +have been but a short one; but the committal of the North to +anti-slavery views, and the union of their cause with that of +emancipation, threw the English Abolitionists, men who largely represent +England's moral worth, on our side. The Proclamation, therefore, even if +it could be proved that it had not led to the liberation of one slave, +has been of immense service to us, and the President deserves the thanks +of every loyal American for having issued it. He threw a shell into the +foreign Secession camp, the explosion of which was fatal to that +"cordial understanding" that was to have operated for our annihilation. + + * * * * * + +Such was the year of the Proclamation, and its history is marvellous in +our eyes. It stands in striking contrast to the other years of the war, +both of which closed badly for us, and left the impression that the +enemy's case was a good one, speaking militarily. Our improved condition +should be attributed to the true cause. When, in the Parliament of 1601, +Mr. Speaker Croke said that the kingdom of England "had been defended by +the mighty arm of the Queen," Elizabeth exclaimed from the throne, "No, +Mr. Speaker, but rather by the mighty hand of God!" So with us. We have +been saved "by the mighty hand of God." Neither "malice domestic" nor +"foreign levy" has prevailed at our expense. Whether we had the right to +expect Heaven's aid, we cannot undertake to say; but we know that we +should not have deserved it, had we continued to link the nation's cause +to that of oppression, and had we shed blood and expended gold in order +to restore the system of slavery and the sway of slaveholders. + + * * * * * + +REVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES. + + +_Life and Correspondence of Theodore Parker, Minister of the +Twenty-Eighth Congregational Society, Boston_. By JOHN WEISS. +In Two Volumes. 8vo. London. + +Such a life of Theodore Parker as Mr. Parton has written of Andrew +Jackson would be accepted as an American classic. For such a life, +however, it is manifestly unreasonable to look. Not until the present +generation has passed away, not until the perilous questions which vex +men's souls to-day shall rest forever, could any competent biographer +regard the "iconoclast of the Music Hall" as a subject for complacent +literary speculation or calm judicial discourse. For us, this life of +Parker must be interpreted by one of the family. He shall best use these +precious letters and journals who is spiritually related to their +writer, if not bound to him by the feebler tie of blood. And assuming +the necessity of a partisan, or, as it might more gently be expressed, +wholly sympathetic biographer, there is little but commendation for Mr. +Weiss. With admirable clearness and strength he rings out the full tone +of thought and belief among that earnest school of thinkers and doers of +which Theodore Parker was the representative. Full as are these goodly +octavos with the best legacies of him whose life is written, we have +returned no less frequently to the deeply reflective arguments and acute +criticisms of Mr. Weiss. Let the keen discrimination of a passage taken +almost at random justify us, if it may. + +"Some people say that they are not indebted to Mr. Parker for a single +thought. The word 'thought' is so loosely used that a definition of +terms must precede our estimate of Mr. Parker's suggestiveness and +originality. Men who are kept by a commonplace-book go about raking +everywhere for glittering scraps, which they carry home to be sorted in +their æsthetic junk-shop. Any portable bit that strikes the fancy is a +thought. There are literary rag-pickers of every degree of ability; and +a great deal of judgment can be shown in finding the scrap or nail you +want in a heap of rubbish. Quotable matter is generally considered to be +strongly veined with thought. Some people estimate a writer according to +the number of apt sentences imbedded in his work. But who is judge of +aptness itself? What is apt for an epigram is not apt for a revolution: +the shock of a witty antithesis is related to the healthy stimulus of +creative thinking, as a small electrical battery to the terrestrial +currents. Well-built rhetorical climaxes, sharp and sudden contrasts, +Poor Richard's common-sense, a page boiled down to a sentence, a fresh +simile from Nature, a subtle mood projected upon Nature, a swift +controversial retort, all these things are called thoughts. The pleasure +in them is so great, that one fancies they leave him in their debt. That +depends upon one's standard of indebtedness. Now a penny-a-liner is +indebted to a single phrase which furnishes his column; a clergyman near +Saturday night seizes with rapture the clue of a fine simile which spins +into a 'beautiful sermon'; for the material of his verses a rhymester is +'indebted' to an anecdote or incident. In a higher degree all kinds of +literary work are indebted to that commerce of ideas between the minds +of all nations, which fit up interiors more comfortably, and upholster +them better than before. And everything that gets into circulation is +called a thought, be it a discovery in science, a mechanical invention, +the statement of a natural law, comparative statistics, rules of +economy, diplomatic circulars, and fine magazine-writing. It is the +manoeuvring of the different arms in the great service of humanity, +solid or dashing, on a field already gained. But the thought which +organizes the fresh advance goes with the pioneer-train that bridges +streams, that mines the hill, that feels the country. The controlling +plan puts itself forth with that swarthy set of leather-aproned men +shouldering picks and axes. How brilliantly the uniforms defile +afterward, with flashing points and rhythmic swing, over the fresh +causeway, to hold and maintain a position whose value was ideally +conceived! So that the brightest facings do not cover the boldest +thought." + +By omissions here and there,--in all not amounting to ten pages of +printed matter,--these literary remains of Theodore Parker might have +been made less offensive to believers in the Christian Revelation, as +well as to the not small class of gentlemanly skeptics who go through +whatever motions the best society esteems correct. In these days, many +worthy people, who are not quite sound upon Noah's ark, or even the +destruction of the swine, will wince perceptibly at hearing the Lord's +Supper called "a heathenish rite." And it would be unfair to the +memories of most noted men to stereotype for ten thousand eyes the rough +estimates of familiar letters, or the fragmentary ejaculations of a +private journal. But Mr. Parker never scrupled to exhibit before the +world all that was worst in him. There are few chapters that will not +recall defects publicly shown by the preacher and author. The reader can +scarcely miss a corroboration of a shrewd observation of Macaulay, that +there is no proposition so monstrously untrue in politics or morals as +to be incapable of proof by what shall sound like a logical +demonstration from admitted principles. Theodore Parker was a strong and +honest man. Yet few strong men have so lain at the mercy of some narrow +bit of logic; few honest ones have so warped facts to match opinions. We +speak of exceptional instances, not of ordinary habits. He seemed unable +to persuade himself that a scheme of faith which was false to him could +be true to others of equal intelligence and virtue. He fell too easily +into the spasmodic vice of the day, and said striking things rather than +true ones. He assumed a basis of faith every whit as dogmatic as special +revelation, and sometimes grievously misrepresented the creeds which he +assailed. Strangers might go to the Music Hall to breathe the free air +of a catholic liberality, and find nothing but the old fierceness of +sectarianism broken loose against the sects. Let us make every deduction +which a candid criticism is compelled to claim, and Theodore Parker +stands a noble representative of Republican America. His place is still +among the immortals who are not the creatures of an age, but its +regenerators. For it is not the life of a great skeptic, but the work of +a great believer, which is brought before us in these volumes. This +uncompromising enemy of the creeds was the ally of their highest uses. +His soul never lacked that dear and personal object of worship which is +offered by the Christian Revelation in its common acceptance. He could +have lived in no more jubilant confidence of immortality, had he enjoyed +the tactual satisfactions of Thomas himself. No Catholic nun feels more +delicious assurance of the protection of the Virgin, no Protestant +maiden knows a more blissful consciousness of the Saviour's marital +affection towards her particular church, than felt this Theodore Parker +in the fatherly and motherly tenderness of the Great Cause of All. +Certainly, few doubters have ever doubted to so much purpose as he. Men +who are skeptical through the intellect in the Christian creeds seldom +live so sturdily the Christian life. Yet we cannot think that the +fervent faith with which he wrought came from what was exceptional in +his belief; it was rather a good gift of native and special sort. For it +is a true insight which leads Tennyson to warn him whose faith does not +trust itself to form, that his sister is "quicker unto good" from the +hallowed symbol through which she receives a divine truth. Many who +flatter themselves that they have outgrown the need of a human +embodiment of the Father's love have only induced a plasticity of mind +which prevents the life from taking shape in any positive affirmation. +"It is a strong help to me," writes a Congregational minister, "to find +a man, standing on the extreme verge of liberal theology, holding so +firmly, so tenaciously, to the one true religion, love to God and man." +But may all men stand there, and cling to it as resolutely as he did? + +The ancestors of Theodore Parker seem to have been creditable offshoots +from the Puritan stock. They were men and women of thrift and sagacity. +Of his mother there are very sweet glimpses. He describes her as +"imaginative, delicate-minded, and poetic, yet a very practical woman." +She appears to have been thoroughly religious, but without taste for the +niceties of dogmatic theology. Piety did not have to be laboriously put +into her, before it could generously come out. "I have known few," +writes her son, "in whom the religious instincts were so active and +profound, and who seemed to me to enjoy so completely the life of God in +the soul of man." And again he says, "Religion was the inheritance my +mother gave,--gave me in my birth,--gave me in her teachings. Many sons +have been better born than I, few have had so good a mother. I mention +these things to show you how I came to have the views of religion that I +have now. My head is not more natural to my body, has not more grown +with it, than my religion out of my soul and with it. With me religion +was not carpentry, something built up of dry wood, from without; but it +was growth,--growth of a germ in my soul." Thus we see that Parker was +not singular in his sources of goodness and nobility: here also have the +strong and worthy men of all time received their inspiration. The +mother's sphere is never confined to the household, but expands for joy +or bitterness through the world at large. A youth of farm-work, snatches +of study, and school-teaching, seem to be the appointed _curriculum_ for +our trustworthy men. In addition to this, Theodore achieves a slight +connection with Harvard,--insufficient for a degree, yet enough for him, +if not for the College. Then he teaches a private class in Boston, and +presently opens school in Watertown. Here, for the first time, comes a +modest success after the world's measurement. He has soon thirty-five, +and afterwards fifty-four scholars. And now occurs an incident which is +unaccountably degraded to the minion type of a note. It is, however, +just what the reader wants to know, and deserves Italics and +double-leading, if human actions are ever sufficiently noteworthy for +these honors. The Watertown teacher receives a colored girl who has been +sent to him, and then consents to dismiss her in deference to the +prejudices of Caucasian patrons. Simon Peter denied the Saviour for whom +he was afterwards crucified with his head hanging down. One day we shall +find this schoolmaster leaving most cherished work, and braving all +social obloquies, that he may stand closer than a brother to the +despised and ignorant of the outcast race. The colored girl was amply +avenged. But the teacher is here, as ever after, a learner, and his +leisure is filled with languages, Latin, Greek, Hebrew, German, Spanish, +and French. During his subsequent stay at the Cambridge Divinity School, +there are added studies in Italian, Portuguese, Icelandic, Chaldaic, +Arabic, Persian, and Coptic. Of his proficiency in this Babel of tongues +the evidence is not very conclusive. Professor Willard is said to have +applied to the young divinity-student for advice in some nice matters of +Hebrew and Syriac. Theology there can be no doubt that he thoroughly +mastered. After a brief season of itinerancy through Massachusetts +pulpits, he is settled at West Roxbury. And here begins that agony of +doubt dismal and unprofitable to contemplate, when it is not redeemed by +a manly ardor which searches on for attainable grounds of trust. But in +this young minister the faith of a little child cannot be superseded by +the advents of geology and carnal criticism. Some of the Biblical +conceptions of the Deity may be found inadequate, but Nature and the +human soul are full of His presence and glow with His inspirations. +Within the limits of capacity and obedience, every man and woman may +receive direct nourishment from God. At length the South-Boston sermon +of 1841 separates the position of Theodore Parker from that of his +Unitarian brethren. After this, his life belongs to the public. He is +known of men as an assailant of respectable and sacred things, a bitter +critic of political and social usages. That these manifestations were +but small portions of the total of his life, the public may now discern. + +We can recall no published correspondence of the century which combines +more excellent and diverse qualities than this with which Mr. Weiss has +plentifully filled his pages. Occasions for which the completest of +Complete Letter-Writers has failed to provide are met by Mr. Parker with +consummate discretion. His letters are to Senators, Shakers, Professors, +Doctors, Slaveholders, Abolitionists, morbid girls, and heroic women: +they are all equally rich in spontaneity, simplicity, and point. Keen +criticisms of noted men, speculations upon society, homely wisdom of the +household, estimates of the arts, and consolations of religion, all +packed in plain and precise English, seem to have been ever ready for +delivery. If Mr. Parker had not chosen the unpopularity of a great man, +he could have had the abundant popularity of a clever one. Let us see +how he outlines the Seer of Stockholm for an inquiring correspondent:-- + +"Swedenborg has had the fate to be worshipped as a half-god, on the one +side; and on the other, to be despised and laughed at. It seems to me +that he was a man of genius, of wide learning, of deep and genuine piety +But he had an abnormal, queer sort of mind, dreamy, dozy, clairvoyant, +Andrew-Jackson-Davisy; and besides, he loved opium and strong coffee, +and wrote under the influence of those drugs. A wise man may get many +nice bits out of him, and be the healthier for such eating; but if he +swallows Swedenborg whole, as the fashion is with his followers,--why, +it lays hard in the stomach, and the man has a nightmare on him all his +natural life, and talks about 'the Word,' and 'the Spirit,' +'correspondences,' 'receivers.' Yet the Swedenborgians have a calm and +religious beauty in their lives which is much to be admired." + +The deeply affectionate nature of Theodore Parker glows warmly through +the Correspondence and Journal. His friends were necessities, and were +loved with a devotion by no means characteristic of Americans. He could +give his life to ideas, but his heart must be given to persons, young +and old. Turning from his task of opposition and conflict, he would +yearn for the society of little children, whose household loves might +dull the noise and violence and passion through which he daily walked. +"The great joy of my life," he writes, "cannot be _intellectual action_, +neither _practical work_. Though I joy in both, it is the affections +which open the spring of mortal delight. But the object of my +affections, dearest of all, is not at hand. How strange that I should +have no children, and only get a little sad sort of happiness, not of +the affectional quality! I am only _an old maid in life_, after all my +bettying about in literature and philanthropy." And in a letter to Dr. +Francis there comes an exclamation of which the arrangement is very +pathetic in its significance,--"I have no child, and the worst +reputation of any minister in all America!" + +We are in no position to estimate with any exactness either the +adaptation of Theodore Parker to our national well-being or his positive +aid to the mental and moral progress of New-England society. Violent +denunciations in the interest of the various sects and policies that he +attacked will for the present be levelled against him. Neither will +there be wanting extravagant eulogiums from personal friends, +fellow-religionists, and zealous reformers. Only the distant view of a +generation yet to be can see him in just relation to the men of this +time. In judging the weight and work of a contemporary, we attach an +over-importance to the number and social position of his nominal +adherents; while, in estimating the utility of an historic leader, we +instinctively feel that these things are almost the last to be +considered. For the greatest influence for good has come from men who +have struggled in feeble minorities,--ever alienating would-be friends +by an invincible honesty, or even by an invincible fanaticism. Not to +the excellences or extravagances of a handful of persons who precisely +agree with his views of Christianity may we look for the influence of +Theodore Parker which to-day works among us. We might find it in greater +power in Brownson's Catholic Review, in the humane magnetism of orthodox +Mr. Beecher, in the Episcopal ministrations of Dr. Tyng. For any +intelligent Christian must allow that those claiming to represent the +Church of Christ have too often sided with the oppressor, fettered human +thought in departments foreign to religion, and inculcated degrading +beliefs, which scholars eminent in orthodoxy declare indeducible from +any Biblical precept. It is not the incredibleness of a metaphysical +belief, but a laxity or cowardice of the practice connected with it, +which can point the reformer's gibe and wing his sarcasm. Theodore +Parker virtually told the Christian minister that he must reprove +profitable and popular sins, or else stand at great disadvantage in the +trial between Rationalism and Supernaturalism which is vexing the age. +In rich and prosperous communities Christianity has been too prone to +degenerate into a mere credence of dogma; it must reassert itself as the +type of ethics. It is also good that the clergy, intrusted with the +defence of the faith delivered to saints, be compelled to place +themselves on a level with the ripest scholarship of the day. For ends +such as these the life of this critic and protester has abundantly +wrought. If he has pulled down a meeting-house here and there, we are +confident that he has been instrumental in building up many more to an +effective Christianity. + + +_Peculiar. A Tale of the Great Transition_. By EPES SARGENT. +New York: G.W. Carleton. 12mo. + +There seems to be an element of luck in the production of highly +successful plays and novels. To succeed in this department of +imaginative writing, it is not enough that the author has literary +power and skill. Else why do the failures of every great novelist and +playwright almost always outnumber the successes? Even Shakspeare offers +no exception to the fact. What a descent from "Hamlet" to "Titus +Andronicus," from "Othello" to "Cymbeline"! Miss Bronté writes "Jane +Eyre," and fails ever afterwards to come up to her own standard. Bulwer +delights us with "The Caxtons," and then sinks to the dulness of "The +Strange Story." Dickens gives us "Oliver Twist," and then tries the +patience of confiding readers in "Martin Chuzzlewit." We will not +undertake to analyze all the reasons for these startling discrepancies; +but one obvious reason is _infelicity in the choice of a subject_. A +subject teeming with the right capabilities will often enable an +ordinary playwright to produce a drama that will rouse an audience to +wild enthusiasm; whereas, if the subject is un-pregnant with dramatic +issues, not even genius can invest it with the charm that commands the +sympathy and attention of the many. Watch a large, miscellaneous +audience, as it listens, rapt, intent, and weeping, to Kotzebue's +"Stranger," and see the same audience as it tries to attend to +Talfourd's "Ion." Yet here it is the hack writer who succeeds and the +true poet who fails. Why? Because the former has hit upon a subject +which gives him at once the advantage of nearness to the popular heart, +while the latter has selected a theme remote and unsympathetic. + +In "Peculiar" Mr. Sargent has had the luck, if we may so call it, of +finding the materials for his plot in incidents which carry in +themselves so much of dramatic power that a story is evolved from them +with the facility and inevitableness of a fate. When the United States +forces under General Butler occupied New Orleans, certain developments +connected with the workings of "the peculiar institution" were made, +which showed a state of social degradation of which we had not supposed +even Slavery capable. It appeared that women, so white as to be +undistinguishable from the fairest Anglo-Saxons, were held as slaves, +lashed as slaves, subjected to all the indignities which irresponsible +mastership involves. + +"Peculiar" derives its title from one of the characters of the novel, an +escaped negro slave, who has received from his sportive master the name +of "Peculiar Institution." The great dramatic fact of the story lies in +the kidnapping of the infant child of wealthy Northern parents who have +been killed in a steamboat-explosion on the Mississippi. The child, a +girl, is saved from the water, but saved by two "mean whites," creatures +and hangers-on of the Slave Power, who take her to New Orleans, and +finally, being in want of money, sell her with other slaves at auction. +In a very graphic and truthful scene, the "vendue" is depicted. About +this little girl, Clara by name, the intensest interest is thenceforth +made to centre. Her every movement is artfully made a matter of moment +to the reader. + +Antecedent to the introduction of Clara, the true heroine of the novel, +we have the story of Estelle, also a white slave. At first this story +seems like an episode, but it is soon found to be inextricably +interwoven with the plot. The author has shown remarkable dexterity in +preserving the unity of the action so impressively, while dealing with +such a variety of characters. Like a floating melody or _tema_ in a +symphony or an opera, the _souvenirs_ of Estelle are introduced almost +with the effect of pathetic music. Indeed, to those accustomed to look +at plots as works of art, the constructive skill manifest in this novel +will be not the least of its attractive features. + +One word as to the characters. These are drawn with a firm, confident +pencil, as if they were portraits from life. Occasionally, from very +superabundance of material, the author leaves his outline unfilled. But +the important characters are all live and actual flesh and blood. In +Pompilard, a capitally drawn figure, many New-Yorkers will recognize an +original, faithfully limned. In Colonel Delancy Hyde, "Virginia-born," +we have a most amusing representative of the lower orders of the +"Chivalry." Estelle is a charming creation, and we know of few such +touching love-stories as that through which she moves with such +naturalness and grace. In the cousins Vance and Kenrick we have strongly +marked and delicately discriminated portraits. The negro "Peculiar" is +made to attract much of our sympathy and respect. He is not the buffoon +that the stage and the novel generally make of the black man. He belongs +rather to the class of which Frederick Douglas is a type. It is no more +than poetic justice that from "Peculiar" the book should take its name. + +We should say more of the plot, did we not purposely abstain from +marring the reader's interest by any indiscreet foreshadowing. Everybody +seems to be reading or intending to read the book; and its success is +already so far assured that no hostile criticism can gainsay or check +it. Not the least of the merits of "Peculiar" is the healthy patriotic +spirit which runs through it, vivifying and intensifying the whole. The +style is remarkably animated, often eloquent, and would of itself impart +interest to a story far less rich than this in incident, and less +powerful in plot. + + +_The Life of William Hickling Prescott_. By GEORGE TICKNOR. +Boston: Ticknor & Fields. + +The third edition of Mr. Ticknor's "History of Spanish Literature" was +noticed with due commendation in our number for November last. That was +a work drawn exclusively from the region of the intellect, and written +by the "dry light" of the understanding. The author appeared throughout +in a purely judicial capacity. His task was to summon before his +literary tribunal the writers of a foreign country, and mostly of past +generations, and pronounce sentence upon their claims and merits. +Learning, method, sound judgment, and good taste are displayed in it; +but the subject afforded no chance for the expression of those personal +traits which are shown in daily life, and make up a man's reputation in +the community where he dwells. + +But the Life of Prescott is a book of another mood, and drawn from other +fountains than those of the understanding. It glows with human +sympathies, and is warm with human feeling. It is the record of a long +and faithful friendship, which began in youth and continued unbroken to +the last. It is the elder of the two that discharges this last office of +affection to his younger brother. Mr. Ticknor could not write the life +of Mr. Prescott without showing how worthy he himself was of having so +true, so loving, and so faithful a friend. But he has done this +unconsciously and unintentionally. For it is one of the charms of this +delightful book--one of the most attractive of the attractive class of +literary biography to which it belongs that we have ever read--that the +biographer never intrudes himself between his subject and the reader. +The story of Mr. Prescott's life is told simply and naturally, and as +far as possible in Mr. Prescott's own words, drawn from his diaries and +letters. Whatever Mr. Ticknor has occasion to say is said with good +taste and good feeling, and he has shown a fine judgment in making his +portraiture of his friend so life-like and so true in detail, and yet in +never overstepping the line of that inner circle into which the public +has no right to enter. We have in these pages a record of Mr. Prescott's +life from his cradle to his grave, sufficiently minute to show what +manner of man he was, and what influences went to make up his mind and +character; and it is a record of more than common value, as well as +interest. + +For the last twenty years of his life Mr. Prescott was one of the most +eminent and widely known of the residents of Boston. He was universally +beloved, esteemed, and admired. He was one of the first persons whom a +stranger coming among us wished to see. His person and countenance were +familiar to many who had no further acquaintance with him; and as he +walked about our streets, many a glance of interest was turned upon him +of which he himself was unconscious. The general knowledge that his +literary honors had been won under no common difficulties, owing to his +defective sight, invested his name and presence with a peculiar feeling +of admiration and regard. The public at large, including those persons +who had but a slight acquaintance with him, saw in him a man very +attractive in personal appearance, and of manners singularly frank and +engaging. There was the same charm in his conversation, his aspect, the +expression of his countenance, that was felt in his writings. Everything +that he did seemed to have been done easily, spontaneously, and without +effort. There were no marks of toil and endurance, of temptations +resisted and seductions overcome. His graceful and limpid style seemed +to flow along with the natural movement of a running stream, and to +those who saw his winning smile and listened to his gay and animated +talk he appeared like one who had basked in sunshine all his days and +never known the iron discipline of life. + +But this was not true; at least, it was not the whole truth. Besides +this external, superficial aspect, there was an inner life which was +known only to the few who knew him intimately, and which his biography +has now revealed to the world. This memoir sets the author of "Ferdinand +and Isabella" before the public, as Mr. Ticknor says in his preface, "as +a man whose life for more than forty years was one of almost constant +struggle,--of an almost constant sacrifice of impulse to duty, of the +present to the future." Take Mr. Prescott as he was at the age of +twenty-five, and see what the chances are, as the world goes, of his +becoming a laborious and successful man of letters. He was handsome in +person, attractive in manners, possessed of a competent property, very +happy in his domestic relations, with one eye destroyed and the other +impaired by a cruel accident; what was more probable, more natural, than +that he should become a mere man of wit and pleasure about town, and +never write anything beyond a newspaper-article or a review? And we +should remember that defective sight was not the only disability under +which he labored. His health was never robust, and he was a frequent +sufferer from rheumatism and dyspepsia,--the former a winter visitor, +and the latter a summer. And not only this, but there was yet another +lion in his path. His temperament was naturally indolent. He was fond of +social gayety, of light reading, of domestic chat. He had that love of +lounging which Sydney Smith said no Scotchman but Sir James Mackintosh +ever had. But there was a stoical element in him, lying beneath this +easy and pleasure-loving temperament, and subduing and controlling it. +He had a vigilant conscience and a very strong will. He had early come +to the conclusion that not only no honor and no usefulness, but no +happiness, could be secured without a regular and daily recurring +occupation. He made up his mind, after due reflection and consideration, +to make literature his profession; and not only that, but he further +made up his mind to toil in this, his chosen and voluntary vocation, +with the patient and uninterrupted industry of a professional man whose +daily bread depends upon his daily labor. + +And the biography before us reveals that inner life of struggle and +conquest which, while Mr. Prescott was living, was known only to his +most intimate friends. We see here how resolutely and steadily he +contended, not only against defective sight and indifferent health, but +also against the love of ease and the seductions of indolence. We see +with what strenuous effort his literary honors were won, as well as with +what gentleness they were worn. And thus the work has a distinct moral +value, and is full of encouragement to those who, under similar or +inferior disabilities, have determined to make the choice of Hercules, +and prefer a life of labor to a life of pleasure. And this moral lesson +is conveyed in a most winning and engaging way. The interest of the +narrative is kept up to the end with the freshness of a well-constructed +work of fiction. It is an interest not derived from stirring adventures, +for Mr. Prescott's life was very uneventful, but from its happy +portraiture of those delightful qualities of mind and character of which +his life was a revelation. Though it tells of constant struggle and not +a little suffering, the tone of the book is genial, sunny, and cheerful, +as was the temperament of the historian himself. For it is a remarkable +fact that Mr. Prescott's bodily infirmities never had any effect in +making his mind or his character morbid. His spiritual nature was +eminently healthy. His leading intellectual trait was sound good sense +and the power of seeing men and things as they were. He had no whims, no +paradoxes, no prejudices. His histories reflect the aggregate judgment +of mankind upon the personages he describes and the events he narrates, +without extravagance or overstatement in any direction. And it was the +same with his character, as shown in daily life; it was frank, generous, +cordial, and manly. No man was less querulous, less irritable, less +exacting than he. His social nature was warm; discriminating, but not +fastidious. He liked men for the good there was in them, and his taste +in friendship was wide and catholic. He was rich in friends, and this +book proves how just a title to such wealth he could show. We shall be +surprised, if this biography does not attain a popularity as wide and +as enduring as that enjoyed by any of Mr. Prescott's historical works. +It is largely made up of extracts from his letters and private journals, +which are full of the playful humor, the ready sympathy, the sunny +temper, the kindly judgment of men and things, which made the historian +so dear to his friends and so popular among his acquaintances. + +We cannot dismiss this book without saying a word or two in praise of +its externals. Handsome books are, happily, no longer so rare a product +of the American press as to require heralding when they do appear, but +this is so beautiful a specimen of the art of book-manufacturing that it +deserves special commendation. The type, paper, press-work, and +illustrations are all admirable, and the whole is a result not easily to +be surpassed in any part of the world. + + +_My Farm of Edgewood. A Country Book_. By the Author of "Reveries of a +Bachelor." New York: Charles Scribner. 12mo. + +When "Ik Marvel" ten years ago turned farmer, a good proportion of the +reading public supposed that his experiment would combine the defects of +gentleman- and poet-farming, and that he would escape the bankruptcy of +Shenstone only by possessing the purse of Astor. That a man of refined +sentiments, elegant tastes, wide cultivation, and humane and tender +genius, given, moreover, to indulgences in "Reveries" and the +"Dream-Life," should succeed in the real business of agriculture, seemed +a monstrous supposition to those cockney idealists who consider the +cultivation of the mind incompatible with the cultivation of the ground, +who cannot bring, by any theory of the association of ideas, practical +talent into neighborly good-will with lofty aspirations, and who +necessarily connect the government of brutes with an imbruted +intelligence. The book we have under review is a blunt contradiction to +objectors of the literary class. That it is practical, the coarsest +farmer must admit; that its practicality is not purchased by any mean +and unwise concessions to "popular prejudice," the most sensitive +_littérateur_ will concede; and that the whole representation +constitutes a most charming book, all readers will be eager to +pronounce. Indeed, the critic of the volume is somewhat puzzled to +harmonize the fine rhythm of the periods, and the superb propriety of +the tone, with the subject-matter. The bleakest and most ghastly aspects +of Nature,--the most prosaic facts of the farmer's life,--Irish servants +and compost-heaps,--cows which try to consume their own milk,--beehives +which send forth swarms to sting the children of the house, and give no +honey,--soils which refuse to bear the products which intelligence has +anticipated,--all are transformed into "something rich and strange" by +the poet's alchemy, without any sacrifice of truth, or the insertion of +details which a farmer would disavow as inaccurate or sentimental. The +"Ik" is a full counterpoise to the "Marvel," even to the most literal +reader of the volume, though it is certain that no book has ever before +appeared in our country in which the farmer-life of New England has +assumed so poetic a form. The "chiel" among the agriculturists "taking +notes" will be more likely to seduce than to warn; and if the record of +his eventual triumphs be received as gospel truth, we must expect a vast +emigration of the men of mind from the cities to the country. Who would +not cheerfully encounter all the vexations attending a settlement in "My +Farm in Edgewood" for the compensations so bountifully provided for the +privations? + +To the literary reader the doubt will arise, whether the writer of this +work might not have more profitably employed his time, during the last +ten years, in creating thoughts than in "improving" land,--in diffusing +information than in selling milk. As a poetic, scientific, and practical +farmer, he has doubtless silenced all cynic doubts of his capacity to +make four or six per cent. on the capital he invested in land; but it is +plain, that, without capital, he might have made three or four times as +much by the genial exercise of his literary power. The talent exercised +on his farm we must, therefore, consider from a financial point of view +to have been more or less wasted. As a "gentleman-farmer," he might +easily have repaired from his study all the losses which his trained +subordinates of the garden and the field incurred from the lack of his +constant superintendence. Everything which a man of mind could want in a +country-residence might have been obtained without his personal +oversight of every minute detail, and the net result of the gains of the +year would have been greater, if, instead of riding daily into New Haven +to sell his milk, he had stayed quietly in his study to write for the +magazines. This calculation we have made from a rigid scrutiny of the +figures in which the author sums up, year after year, his gains. + +We have been provoked into this comparison by the evident glee with +which Ik Marvel parades the results of his agricultural labors. So +earnest is he to show that a man of genius can make money by farming, +that he is inclined to overlook the distinction between the work of an +ordinary and that of an extraordinary mind. Waiving this consideration, +we have nothing to object to his ten years' seclusion from literature. +That seclusion has brought him into contact with the rough realities of +a farmer's life, has enabled him personally to inspect every process of +agriculture, and furnish his mind with an entirely new class of facts. +The result is a book whose merit can hardly be overpraised. It should be +in every farmer's library, as a volume full of practical advice to aid +his daily work, and full of ennobling suggestions to lift his calling +into a kind of epic dignity. As a book for the generality of readers, it +far exceeds any previous work of the author in force, naturalness, and +beauty, in vividness of description and richness of style, and in that +indefinable element of genius which envelops the most prosaic details in +an atmosphere of refinement and grace. + + +_Methods of Study in Natural History_. By L. AGASSIZ. Boston: +Ticknor & Fields. 12mo. + +A work from the scientific storehouse of Professor Agassiz needs only to +have attention called to its existence to command universal welcome. The +readers of the "Atlantic" are already in some measure familiar with its +contents, being a reprint of a series of papers published in this +journal; but they will be read again with double satisfaction in this +continuous form. The avowed purpose is "to give some general hints to +young students as to the methods by which scientific truth has been +reached." + +There are many lovers of Nature, and many students of Nature; but there +are very few whom we may term philosophers of Nature. In other words, +there are those who are charmed with the external world, its landscapes, +its beauteous forms and tints, and all its various adaptations to +fascinate the senses,--and those who delight in deciphering and +describing all the details of individual objects, and their wonderful +fitness to the role they have severally or unitedly to play; and there +is the man who, endowed with all this, seeks to go still farther, and +from myriads of observations to deduce great general truths. He is the +philosopher. + +When Agassiz arrived in this country, there were many good observers of +Nature here, and many who had accumulated a large store of facts. Each +one had been working in his own way, almost alone, scarcely knowing the +ultimate aims of scientific research, much less knowing how to arrive at +them. To him, more than to any other person, zoölogists in this country +are indebted for showing them how to work, and for presenting to them a +plan to be worked out, with processes and means by which this is to be +done. And now he designs to diffuse these high aims and methods +throughout the community. As he says, "The time has come when scientific +truth must cease to be the property of the few, when it must be woven +into the common life of the world." Of all men, he is the one to gain +the ear and understanding of the public on such matters, and to command +the recognition of his conclusions. His faculty of simplifying great +principles, and of clothing them in such language and with such +illustrations as to render them intelligible and attractive to the +uninstructed, is one of Professor Agassiz's most rare characteristics. +In these chapters he has unfolded some of the methods by which high +scientific results have been and may be attained, and has well +illustrated them. In a short sketch of the progress of Natural History, +he has noticed the methods which were successively pursued in its study, +and the long time which elapsed before anything like true science was +developed; he has pointed out the necessity and nature of +classification, the important terms employed, as classes, orders, +families, genera, and species, and their signification, and dwells upon +the great idea that all the denominations represented by these terms +exist definitely in Nature, and can be legitimate and permanent only as +they conform to the plan laid down by Nature herself. Much of the work +is devoted to the enforcement of this doctrine. He shows us, more +especially by the class of Radiates, how objects at first view widely +different all conform to the same definite plan, and how some which +during a part of their history would not be suspected of having any +alliance with each other, yet, by alternate generations, come to be +identical. He shows, by the ovarian egg, the great simplicity and +apparent identity of the beginnings of all animal life, and the +successive steps by which the diversified forms of animals are +developed, and insists upon the necessity of following the history of an +animal through all its phases before its true place in the grand plan +can be determined. He discusses the permanence of species, and the +limits of their variation, which he illustrates more especially by the +growth of corals, and most emphatically expresses his dissent from the +startling development-doctrines of Darwin. But it would be fruitless to +attempt an abstract of the numerous truths he has alluded to, and the +methods by which such truths are to be sought. It is to these truths, in +contradistinction to the mere study and description of species, and the +building up of systems on external characters alone, that he hopes to +direct attention. Those comprehensive truths are few. Agassiz tells us, +that, after a whole life devoted to the study of Nature, a simple +sentence may express all he himself has 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." +Though this is by no means the limit of his claim so modestly expressed, +yet that was a grand generalization, and, like the great doctrine of +gravitation, and the demonstration by Cuvier of the existence of races +of animals and plants on the globe anterior to those now existing, it +proves to be of almost indefinite application, and, like those +doctrines, has revolutionized science. + +The peculiar scientific views here presented this is no place to +criticize. But we may say that to every student of liberal culture this +work is essential. Every teacher's table and every school-library should +be furnished with it. + + +_Hannah Thurston: A Story of American Life_. By BAYARD TAYLOR. +New York: G.P. Putnam. + +Mr. Bayard Taylor evidently does not subscribe to the theory which +"Friends in Council" attributes to a large class: "that men cannot excel +in more things than one; and that, if they can, they had better be quiet +about it." Having already achieved a reputation as a traveller, a poet, +and a secretary to a foreign legation, he now enters the lists with the +novelists, who must look well to their laurels, if they would not have +them snatched from their brows by this new-comer. + +The book is called "A Story of American Life." It is American life, just +as the statue of the Venus de' Medici or the Apollo Belvedere is the +representation of the human figure. No Athenian belle, no Delphic +athlete, stood for those beautiful shapes; but the nose was modelled +from one copy, the limbs from another, the brow from a third, and the +result is a joy forever. So the American life portrayed in this story is +a conglomeration, and partially a caricature, of the various _isms_ +which have disturbed the strata of our social life. That early American +village should present within its outmost circle the collection of +peculiarities gathered here would be little less than marvellous. That +they are found in so many American villages as to justify their being +attributed to American villages in general is preposterous. Certainly, +this picture does not daguerreotype New England, however it may be in +New York,--and though New England is small and provincial and New York +is large and cosmopolitan, still we respectfully submit that any +characteristic which may belong to New York and does not belong to New +England is local and not national; and though a writer, for his own +convenience and the better to convey his moral, may, if he choose, group +all the wickednesses and weaknesses of the land in one secluded spot, he +ought not to convey to strangers so wrong an idea of our rural social +life as to make that spot the exponent of all.--So much for the title. + +We now open the book, and are immediately in the midst of scenes which +have an indescribable familiarity. We have a confused sense of having +met these people before. Certainly they have a strong family-likeness to +denizens of modern novels. The sewing-circles and small-talk savor of +the cheap wit of Widow Bedott. Jutnapore must have descended in a right +line from Borrioboola-Gha. The traditional spinsters with their +"withered bosoms" march in four abreast. The hereditary clergymen, +hungry, sectarian, sanctimonious, rabid, form into line with the +precision acquired by long drill. The hero and heroine stand up as good +as married in the first chapter. The features of the hero are instantly +recognizable. There is the small stir, the rising of the curtain, and +_some one_ steps upon the stage, "tall and sunburnt, with a +moustache,"--'tis he! Alonzo!--"with easy self-possession and a genial +air,"--the very man,--"habitual manners slightly touched with reserve, +but no man could unbend more easily,"--who but he, our old +acquaintance?--"a rich baritone voice," "strung with true masculine +fibre," striking in among the sharps and flats and bringing them all +into harmony,--that is the invariable way. "Generally, the least +intellectual persons sing with the truest and most touching expression, +because voice and intellect are rarely combined, [the reason seems to us +rather a restatement of the fact,] but Maxwell Woodbury's fine organ had +not been given to him at the expense of his brain." Certainly not. He +never would have been our hero, if it had. When you add, that "his +manners were thoroughly refined, and his property large enough and not +too large for leisure," why, one might almost send a sheriff to arrest +him, trusting to this description to make sure of his identity. The +heroine is of course the "pale, quiet, earnest-looking girl," who, in +the midst of snoods, frocks, jackets, pocket-handkerchiefs, and other +commonplace handicraft, is embroidering with green silk upon warm brown +cloth the thready stems and frail diminishing fronds of a group of +fern-leaves,--who alone among assured matrons and faded spinsters is +visited by "a flitting blush, delicate and transient as the shadow of a +rose tossed upon marble,"--and who matches the "glorious lay" of the +hero, that "thrilled and shook her with its despairing solemnity," with +an Alpine song, that, pure and sweet, sets the hero once more face to +face with the Rosenlaui glacier and the jagged pyramid of the +Wetterhorn. + +To this there is no special objection. Every man has a right to heap +virtues and graces upon his hero, and to heighten their effect by as +much uncouthness and insincerity as he chooses to attribute to the +subordinates; but so far as he professes to represent life, he should +keep within the bounds of natural laws. If he chooses to introduce +time-honored personages, we shall not quarrel with him, although we +certainly think it desirable that some fresh piquancy in their +characters shall be the vindication of their reappearance. We may regret +that a subtle, but palpable ridicule is cast upon foreign missions,--a +cause which, whether successful or unsuccessful in its immediate +objects, will forever stand recorded as one of the most unselfish, the +most sublime, and the most Christ-like movements that have ever been +originated by man. The hero does, indeed, patronize them to the extent +of saying that he has "seen something of your missions in India, and +believes that they are capable of accomplishing much good,"--adding, +however, lest his words excite hopes too sanguine, "Still, you must not +expect immediate returns. It is only the lowest caste that is now +reached, and the Christianizing of India must come, eventually, from the +highest,"--words which we shall be very ready to take as opinion, but +very slow to receive as oracle, since, from the time when the Founder of +Christianity was upon the earth, and the common people heard him gladly, +while the higher classes thrust him out of their synagogues, till the +present day, the history of Christianity has been the history of an +influence rising from the lower layers of society into the upper, rather +than filtering down from the upper into the lower. + +Since, also, however vulgarly the Grindles may put it, it is true that +drunkenness _is_ the agony of wives, the dread of mothers,--that it does +destroy hopes, desolate hearths, break hearts,--that within the last two +years it has added to its terrible deeds wide disasters to our arms, +long sorrow to our country, and fruitless death in a thousand +households,--we think it would have been well, if the discredit cast +upon temperance measures, and the discomfiture visited upon its +advocates, had been accompanied by a less covert recognition of the evil +and by a more obvious sympathy with its victims. Since the methods taken +to insure self-control are insufficient, would it not have been possible +to indicate better? Since Woodbury does not think abstinence to be the +cure of intemperance, could he not justify his practice by a higher +principle than self-indulgence, lay it on a deeper foundation than +dilettanteism? + +We regret, also, that in a book by Bayard Taylor there should have been +found room for such a paragraph as this:-- + + "The churches in the village undertook their periodical + 'revivals,' which absorbed the interest of the community while + they lasted. It was not the usual season in Ptolemy for such + agitations of the religious atmosphere,--but the Methodist + clergyman, a very zealous and impassioned speaker, having + initiated the movement with great success, the other sects became + alarmed lest he should sweep all the repentant sinners of the + place into his own fold. As soon as they could obtain help from + Tiberius, the Baptists followed, and the Rev. Lemuel Styles was + constrained to do likewise. For a few days the latter regained the + ground he had lost, and seemed about to distance his competitors. + Luckily for him,... the material for conversion, drawn upon from + so many different quarters, was soon exhausted; but the rival + churches stoutly held out, until convinced that neither had any + further advantage to gain over the other." + +No one who has given to the religious phenomena of the day the smallest +degree of intellectual and sympathetic attention can fail to pronounce +this a gross and ill-bred caricature. Ridicule is the legitimate weapon +of Truth; but ridicule that strikes rudely and indiscriminately, +wounding without benefiting, is not found in the hands of Christian +courtesy. We regret these blemishes, and such as these, the more because +we are persuaded that the effects produced were not intended by the +author. We believe, not only from his previous reputation, but from the +spirit of the book, which warms, deepens, and clarifies itself as it +goes on, that he aimed only at results pure, healthful, and desirable. +It is by no design of his, that young feet, already wavering downward, +will not be strengthened to pause, to turn, to steady themselves, but +will rather be lured on by his words. It is no purpose of his to make +the crusts of Materialism harden still more hopelessly above the stifled +soul. He designs to ridicule only that which is ridiculous. There are +evidences of a purpose to relieve the darkness of his coloring in each +instance by lines of light, but it is not made palpable enough for +running readers. He has seen the weakness that generally develops itself +in, and the hypocrisy that almost invariably clings to the skirts of a +great popular movement, and it is these alone which he aims to bring +down. In this he is right. He errs in that his vision is neither clear +nor broad. He does not always wisely discriminate as to the nature or +extent of the disease, or the effect of the remedy which he applies. The +cause of the difficulty has baffled his researches. The people upon whom +his strictures fall, and to whom strictures belong, will be inflamed, +but they will not be enlightened; and they who do see the real nature of +the movement, its bane as well as its blessing, and who are constantly +laboring to separate the chaff from the wheat, will not be helped, but +hindered, by his well-meant efforts. + +But, as we intimated, the book, like fame, increases in going. Under all +the wit and humor, which are often very charming, under all the satire, +which is none the less enjoyable because occasionally half-hidden, under +the somewhat multifarious machinery, which the peculiar structure of the +book renders necessary, there rises slowly into view and presently into +prominence the outline of a purpose as noble as it is rare. In the teeth +of popular prejudice, Bayard Taylor has had the courage to take for his +heroine a woman "strong-minded," austere in her faith, past her first +youth, given to public speaking, and imbued, we might almost say to +stubbornness, with ultra ideas of "woman's rights." True, he has given +her to us in the most modified form possible to such a character, +utterly pure, unselfish, true, refined, without ambition, impelled by +the highest motives, and guided by the highest principles. But the +conjunction of these two classes of qualities in one person is the real +Malakoff. That accomplished and the work is done. In this conception +lies the true originality of the book. In this attempt lies the true +consciousness of power. He who can make his hero say,--"It was my +profound appreciation of those very elements in your character which led +you to take up these claims of woman and make them your own, that opened +the way for you to my heart: I reverence the qualities, without +accepting all the conclusions born of them,"--has a deeper insight than +most of his fellows. He shows that he looks at things, and not at the +traditions of things. He is not led away by the cry of the mob, and the +gleam of gold so pure and solid almost changes into indignation our +regret that he has ever suffered himself to be deceived by the glare of +tawdry tinsel. + +Yet even here he has not struck all truth. It is the most improbable +thing in the world that any woman should have built up such a wall +around herself as is represented here. It is morally impossible that +such a woman as Hannah Thurston should have done it. It is simply +unnatural. It might, perhaps, happen, just as a woman might happen to +have been born with five fingers on each hand. But it is not with freaks +of Nature, it is with Nature, that we have to deal. Girls may please +themselves with fine-sounding phrases about equal powers and equal +rights in marriage, but they generally vanish with the first approach of +a living affection. No idea of independence or equality ever, we dare +affirm, came between a great nature and its great love. No woman of +exalted aims and large capacities, it may be safely said, will ever be +held back from love, or even from marriage, by any scruples as to her +relative standing. The stumbling-block in the way of such a woman as +Hannah Thurston would not be a dread of the "submission of love," but +rather of a submission without love, a submission of mere contiguity to +somewhat hard, false, coarse, unjust, naming itself with a name to which +it had no title. If she trusted her lover thoroughly, she would intrust +all risks to love. She would know with her head and feel with her heart, +that, with the chivalry, the intensity, the reverence, the elevation of +such a sentiment as she imagined, there could be neither bondage nor +freedom, neither mine nor thine, but a oneness that would bring all +relations into harmony with itself. The very essence of love is +humility, and at the same time its glory is that it abolishes all laws, +all rights, all powers, and is to itself alone law, right, and power. By +the completeness of self-abnegation may the footsteps of love be traced. +This partially the author recognizes, choosing it for the conclusion of +the whole matter, but erring in that he makes it come with resistance +and reluctance, the conquest of love, instead of spontaneously and +unconsciously, its necessary concomitant. + +In the hero of the story and his relations to the heroine, with +occasional questionable traits, we find often a generosity, delicacy, +and devotion which give promise of good. A man who can conceive a +character so much above the common level, where the common level has +always been low, cannot fail by continued observation and candid +thinking to rise still higher. Frequently already, seeming hardly to be +conscious of it, he impinges upon a far-reaching, deep-lying, but +generally unrecognized truth. When men shall have come to study the +nature of woman, instead of haranguing about her duties, a great point +will have been gained. + +The blemishes which we have pointed out, and others which we have not +pointed out, are only blemishes, and chiefly upon the surface. They mar, +but they do not vitiate. + +The limits of a magazine will not admit that adequate analysis and +criticism which the ability of the book, both in point of subject and +treatment, deserves. We have only space to say, that, making every +allowance for every fault, it has the merit of being a pioneer, and an +able pioneer, in a tract which has been hitherto, so far as we know, +unbroken wilderness. Its author has not solved the problem,--he does not +even understand all its conditions; but he is travelling in the +direction of the true solution: and he offers us the rare, we had almost +said the solitary, spectacle of a man and an opponent bringing to the +discussion of the "Woman's-Rights question" an appreciable degree of +sense, justice, and moral dignity. + + * * * * * + +RECENT AMERICAN PUBLICATIONS + +RECEIVED BY THE EDITORS OF THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY. + + +Manual of Instructions for Military Surgeons, on the Examination of +Recruits and Discharge of Soldiers. With an Appendix, containing the +Official Regulations of the Provost-Marshal-General's Bureau, and those +for the Formation of the Invalid Corps, etc. Prepared at the Request of +the U.S. Sanitary Commission. By John Ordronaux, M.D., Professor of +Medical Jurisprudence in Columbia College, New York. New York. D. Van +Nostrand. 12mo. pp. 238. $1.50. + +Systems of Military Bridges in Use by the United States Army, those +adopted by the. Great European Powers, and such as are employed in +British India. With Directions for the Preservation, Destruction, and +Reestablishment of Bridges. By Brigadier-General George W. Cullum, +Lieutenant-Colonel Corps of Engineers U.S. Army, Chief of Staff of the +General-in-Chief of the Armies of the United States. New York. D. Van +Nostrand. 8vo. pp. vi., 236. $3.50 + +General Order No. 100, Adjutant-General's Office. Instructions for the +Government of Armies of the United States in the Field. Prepared by +Francis Lieber, LL.D., and revised by a Board of Officers. New York. D. +Van Nostrand. 16mo. paper, pp. 36. 25 cts. + +A Treatise on Hygiene, with Special Reference to the Military Service. +By William A. Hammond, M.D., Surgeon-General U.S. Army, Fellow of the +College of Physicians of Philadelphia, Member of the Philadelphia +Pathological Society, of the Academy of Natural Sciences, of the +American Philosophical Society, Honorary Corresponding Member of the +British Medical Association, etc., etc. Philadelphia. J.B. Lippincott & +Co. 8vo. pp. xvi., 604. $5.00. + +A Supplement to Ure's Dictionary of Arts, Manufactures, and Mines, +containing a Clear Exposition of their Principles and Practice. From the +Last Edition. Edited by Robert Hunt, F.R.S., F.S.S., Keeper of Mining +Records, etc., assisted by Numerous Contributors Eminent in Science and +Familiar with Manufactures. Illustrated with Seven Hundred Engravings on +Wood. New York. D. Appleton & Co. 8vo. pp. 1095. $7.00. + +Works of Charles Dickens. Household Edition. Illustrated from Drawings +by F.O.C. Darley and John Gilbert. Bleak House. In Four Volumes. New +York. Sheldon & Co. 16mo. pp. 312, 321, 320, 308. $4.00. + +War-Pictures from the South. By B. Estvan, Colonel of Cavalry in the +Confederate Army. New York. D. Appleton & Co. 12mo. pp. viii., 352., +$1.25. + +In the Tropics. By a Settler in San Domingo. With an Introductory Notice +by Richard B. Kimball, Author of "St. Leger," etc. New York. G.W. +Carleton. 16mo. pp. 306. $1.25. + +Rockford; or, Sunshine and Storm. By Mrs. Lillie Devereux Umstead, +Author of "Southwold." New York. G.W. Carleton. 16mo. pp. 308. $1.00. + +What to Eat and How to Cook it: containing over One Thousand Receipts, +systematically and practically arranged, to enable the Housekeeper to +prepare the most Difficult or Simpler Dishes in the Best Manner. By +Pierre Blot, late Editor of the "Almanach Gastronomique" of Paris, and +other Gastronomical Works. New York. D. Appleton & Co. 16mo. pp. 259. +$1.00. + +A Critical History of Free Thought in Reference to the Christian +Religion. Eight Lectures preached before the University of Oxford, in +the Year MDCCCLXII., on the Foundation of the late John Bampton, M.A., +Canon of Salisbury. By Adam Storey Farrar, M.A., Michel Fellow of +Queen's College, Oxford. New York. D. Appleton & Co. 12mo. pp. xlvi., +487. $2.00. + +The White-Mountain Guide-Book. Third Edition. Concord, N.H. Edson C. +Eastman. 16mo. pp. 222. 75 cts. + +The Historical Shakspearian Reader: comprising the "Histories" or +"Chronicle Plays" of Shakspeare; carefully expurgated and revised, with +Explanatory Notes. Expressly adapted for the Use of Schools, Colleges, +and the Family Reading-Circle. By John W.S. Hows, Author of "The +Shakspearian Reader," etc. New York. D. Appleton & Co. 12mo. pp. 503. +$1.50. + +The Gold-Seekers. A Tale of California. By Gustave Aimard. Philadelphia. +T.B. Peterson & Brothers. 8vo. paper, pp. 148. 50 cts. + +Peter Carradine; or, The Martindale Pastoral. By Caroline Chesebro. New +York. Sheldon & Co. 12mo. pp. 399. $1.50. + +Sights A-Foot. By Wilkie Collins. Philadelphia. T.B. Peterson & +Brothers. 8vo. pp. 135. 50 cts. + +Light. By Helen Modêt. New York. D. Appleton & Co. 12mo. pp. 339. $1.25. + +The Young Parson. Philadelphia. Smith, English, & Co. 12mo. pp. 384. +$1.25. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[A] The letter is given in the valuable collection of "Winthrop Papers," +drawn from the same rich repository which has furnished many of the +precious materials in the volume before us. The collection appears as +the Sixth Volume of the IVth Series of Collections of the Massachusetts +Historical Society. + +[B] All the trigonometrical measurements connected with my experiments +were very ably conducted by Mr. Wild, now Professor at the Federal +Polytechnic School in Zurich; they are recorded in the topographical +survey and map of the glacier of the Aar, accompanying my "Système +Glaciare." + +[C] Since the above was written, intelligence has been received of the +defeat of General Longstreet, the losses experienced by the enemy being +great. This disposes of the remains of the great army which Mr. Davis +had assembled to reconquer Tennessee, and to reëstablish communications +between the various parts of the Southern Confederacy on this side of +the Mississippi. The Army of the Potomac has returned to its former +ground, near Washington. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 13, No. +75, January, 1864, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY, VOLUME *** + +***** This file should be named 16200-8.txt or 16200-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/2/0/16200/ + +Produced by Cornell University, Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine +Paolucci and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 13, No. 75, January, 1864 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: July 4, 2005 [EBook #16200] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY, VOLUME *** + + + + +Produced by Cornell University, Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine +Paolucci and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<p><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3"></a></p> +<h1>THE</h1> + +<h1>ATLANTIC MONTHLY.</h1> + + +<h3>A MAGAZINE OF</h3> + +<h2>LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS.</h2> + +<h3>VOLUME XIII.</h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 199px;"> +<img src="images/image003.png" width="199" height="179" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>BOSTON:</p> + +<p>TICKNOR AND FIELDS,</p> + +<p>135, WASHINGTON STREET.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>LONDON: TRÜBNER AND COMPANY.</p> + +<p>M DCCC LXIV.</p> + +<p>Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by TICKNOR AND<a name="Page_4" id="Page_4"></a> +FIELDS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of +Massachusetts.</p> + +<p>PRINTED BY SAM'L CHISM, Franklin Printing House, 112 Congress St., +Boston</p> + +<p>RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: STEREOTYPED BY H.O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5"></a></p> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'>Ambassadors in Bonds</td><td align='left'><i>Caroline Chesebro</i></td><td align='left'>281</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Annesley Hall and Newstead Abbey</td><td align='left'><i>Mrs. R.C. Waterston</i></td><td align='left'>239</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Beginning of the End, The</td><td align='left'><i>C.C. Hazewell</i></td><td align='left'><a href="#THE_BEGINNING_OF_THE_END"><b>112</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Bryant</td><td align='left'><i>G.S. Hillard</i></td><td align='left'>233</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>California as a Vineland</td><td align='left'>----</td><td align='left'>600</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Convulsionists of St. Médard, The</td><td align='left'><i>Robert Dale Owen</i></td><td align='left'>209, 339</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Cruise on Lake Ladoga, A</td><td align='left'><i>Bayard Taylor</i></td><td align='left'>521</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Fast-Day at Foxden, A</td><td align='left'>----</td><td align='left'>676</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Fighting Facts for Fogies</td><td align='left'><i>C.C. Hazewell</i></td><td align='left'>393</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>First Visit to Washington, The</td><td align='left'><i>J.T. Trowbridge</i></td><td align='left'>448</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Fouquet the Magnificent</td><td align='left'><i>F. Sheldon</i></td><td align='left'>467</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Genius</td><td align='left'><i>J. Brownlee Brown</i></td><td align='left'>137</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Glacial Period</td><td align='left'><i>Prof. Louis Agassiz</i></td><td align='left'>224</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Glaciers, External Appearance of</td><td align='left'><i>Prof. Louis Agassiz</i></td><td align='left'><a href="#EXTERNAL_APPEARANCE_OF_GLACIERS"><b>56</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Glen Roy, in Scotland, The Parallel Roads of</td><td align='left'><i>Prof. Louis Agassiz</i></td><td align='left'>723</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Gold-Fields of Nova Scotia, The</td><td align='left'><i>Arthur Gilman</i></td><td align='left'>576</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Guides, A Talk about</td><td align='left'><i>Maria S. Cummins</i></td><td align='left'>649</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Half-Life, A, and Half a Life</td><td align='left'><i>Miss E.H. Appleton</i></td><td align='left'>157</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>House and Home Papers</td><td align='left'><i>Harriet Beecher Stowe</i></td><td align='left'><a href="#HOUSE_AND_HOME_PAPERS"><b>40</b></a>, 201, 353, 458, 621, 754</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Irving, Washington</td><td align='left'><i>Donald G. Mitchell</i></td><td align='left'>694</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Life on the Sea Islands</td><td align='left'><i>Miss Forten</i></td><td align='left'>587, 666</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Minister Plenipotentiary, The</td><td align='left'><i>O.W. Holmes</i></td><td align='left'><a href="#THE_MINISTER_PLENIPOTENTIARY"><b>106</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Mormons, Among the</td><td align='left'><i>Fitz-Hugh Ludlow</i></td><td align='left'>479</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>My Book</td><td align='left'><i>Gail Hamilton</i></td><td align='left'><a href="#MY_BOOK"><b>90</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>New-England Revolution of the Seventeenth Century, The,</td><td align='left'><i>J.G. Palfrey</i></td><td align='left'>553</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Northern Invasions</td><td align='left'><i>E.E. Hale</i></td><td align='left'>245</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Old Bachelor, Some Account of the Early Life of an</td><td align='left'><i>Mrs. A.M. Diaz</i></td><td align='left'>560</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Our Progressive Independence</td><td align='left'><i>O.W. Holmes</i></td><td align='left'>497</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Our Soldiers</td><td align='left'><i>Mrs. Furness</i></td><td align='left'>364</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Peninsular Campaign, The</td><td align='left'><i>Lt.-Col. B.L. Alexander</i></td><td align='left'>379</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Pictor Ignotus</td><td align='left'><i>Gail Hamilton</i></td><td align='left'>433</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Presidential Election, The</td><td align='left'><i>C.C. Hazewell</i></td><td align='left'>631</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Queen of California, The</td><td align='left'><i>E.E. Hale</i></td><td align='left'>265</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Ray</td><td align='left'><i>Harriet E. Prescott</i></td><td align='left'><a href="#RAY"><b>19</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Relation of Art to Nature, On the</td><td align='left'><i>J. Eliot Cabot</i></td><td align='left'>183, 313</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Rim, The</td><td align='left'><i>Harriet E. Prescott</i></td><td align='left'>605, 701</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Robson</td><td align='left'><i>George Augustus Sala</i></td><td align='left'>715</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Schoolmaster's Story, The</td><td align='left'><i>Mrs. A.M. Diaz</i></td><td align='left'>416</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Stephen Yarrow</td><td align='left'><i>Author of "Life in the Iron Mills</i>"</td><td align='left'><a href="#STEPHEN_YARROW"><b>66</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Thackeray, William Makepeace</td><td align='left'><i>Bayard Taylor</i></td><td align='left'>371</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Types</td><td align='left'><i>William Winter</i></td><td align='left'>615</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Victory, How to Use</td><td align='left'><i>E.E. Hale</i></td><td align='left'>763</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Yo-Semite, Seven Weeks in the Great</td><td align='left'><i>Fitz-Hugh Ludlow</i></td><td align='left'>739</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Wet-Weather Work</td><td align='left'><i>Donald G. Mitchell</i></td><td align='left'>304, 539</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Whittier</td><td align='left'><i>D.A. Wasson</i></td><td align='left'>331</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Winthrop, Governor John, in Old England</td><td align='left'><i>G.E. Ellis</i></td><td align='left'><a href="#GOVERNOR_JOHN_WINTHROP_IN_OLD_ENGLAND"><b>1</b></a></td></tr> +</table><br /></div> + + +<h3>POETRY.<br /><br /></h3> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'>Black Preacher, The</td><td align='left'><i>J.R. Lowell</i></td><td align='left'>465</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Brother of Mercy, The</td><td align='left'><i>John G. Whittier</i></td><td align='left'>279</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Dante's "Paradiso," Three Cantos of</td><td align='left'><i>H.W. Longfellow</i></td><td align='left'><a href="#THREE_CANTOS_OF_DANTES_PARADISO"><b>47</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Gold Hair</td><td align='left'><i>Robert Browning</i></td><td align='left'>596<a name="Page_6" id="Page_6"></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Kalif of Baldacca, The</td><td align='left'><i>H.W. Longfellow</i></td><td align='left'>664</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Last Charge, The</td><td align='left'><i>O.W. Holmes</i></td><td align='left'>244</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Memoriæ Positum R.G.S</td><td align='left'><i>J.R. Lowell</i></td><td align='left'><a href="#MEMORIAE_POSITUM"><b>88</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>My Brother and I</td><td align='left'><i>J.T. Trowbridge</i></td><td align='left'>156</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Neva, The</td><td align='left'><i>Bayard Taylor</i></td><td align='left'>713</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>On Picket Duty</td><td align='left'><i>Mrs. W.T. Johnson</i></td><td align='left'>495</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Our Classmate</td><td align='left'><i>O.W. Holmes</i></td><td align='left'>329</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Planting of the Apple-Tree, The</td><td align='left'><i>W.C. Bryant</i></td><td align='left'><a href="#THE_PLANTING_OF_THE_APPLE-TREE"><b>17</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Presence</td><td align='left'><i>Alice, Gary</i></td><td align='left'>223</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Prospice</td><td align='left'><i>Robert Browning</i></td><td align='left'>694</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Reaper's Dream, The</td><td align='left'><i>T.B. Read</i></td><td align='left'>550</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Reënlisted</td><td align='left'><i>Lucy Larcom</i></td><td align='left'>629</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Shakspeare</td><td align='left'><i>O.W. Holmes</i></td><td align='left'>762</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Snow</td><td align='left'><i>Elizabeth A.C. Akers</i></td><td align='left'>200</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Snow-Man, The</td><td align='left'><i>C.J. Sprague</i></td><td align='left'>574</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Song</td><td align='left'><i>Alice Cary</i></td><td align='left'>363</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>To a Young Girl Dying</td><td align='left'><i>T.W. Parsons</i></td><td align='left'>604</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Under the Cliff</td><td align='left'><i>Robert Browning</i></td><td align='left'>737</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Wreck of Rivermouth, The</td><td align='left'><i>John G. Whittier</i></td><td align='left'>412</td></tr> +</table><br /><br /></div> + +<h3>REVIEWS AND LITERACY NOTICES.<br /><br /></h3> + +<div class='left'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'>Adams's Church Pastorals</td><td align='left'>773</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Agassiz's Methods of Study in Natural History</td><td align='left'><a href="#Natural_History"><b>131</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Alger's Critical History of the Doctrine of a Future Life</td><td align='left'>253</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Boynton's History of West Point</td><td align='left'>258</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Browning's Sordello, Strafford, Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day</td><td align='left'>639</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Craik's History of English Literature</td><td align='left'>518</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Draper's History of the Intellectual Development of Europe</td><td align='left'>642</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Dream Children</td><td align='left'>256</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Fœderalist, The, Dawson's Edition</td><td align='left'>519</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Gillett's Life and Times of Huss</td><td align='left'>638</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Hallam's Remains</td><td align='left'>256</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Hannah Thurston</td><td align='left'><a href="#Hannah_Thurston"><b>132</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Merivale's History of the Romans under the Empire</td><td align='left'>768</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Mill's Principles of Political Economy</td><td align='left'>250</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>My Days and Nights on the Battle-field</td><td align='left'>516</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>My Farm of Edgewood</td><td align='left'><a href="#Edgewood"><b>130</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Peculiar</td><td align='left'><a href="#Peculiar"><b>126</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Possibilities of Creation</td><td align='left'>778</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Ray's Mental Hygiene</td><td align='left'>388</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Renan, De l'Origine du Langage</td><td align='left'>647</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Smiles's Industrial Biography</td><td align='left'>636</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Spencer's Illustrations of Progress</td><td align='left'>775</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Thackeray's Roundabout Papers</td><td align='left'>261</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Ticknor's Life of Prescott</td><td align='left'><a href="#Prescott"><b>128</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Tuckerman's Poems</td><td align='left'>777</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Tyndall on Heat</td><td align='left'>512</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Weiss's Life and Correspondence of Theodore Parker</td><td align='left'><a href="#Theodore_Parker"><b>123</b></a></td></tr> +</table><br /><br /></div> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'>RECENT AMERICAN PUBLICATIONS</td><td align='left'><a href="#RECENT_AMERICAN_PUBLICATIONS"><b>136</b></a>, 261, 392, 520, 779</td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7"></a></p> +<h1>THE</h1> + +<h1>ATLANTIC MONTHLY.</h1> + +<h2>A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS.</h2> + +<h3>VOL. XIII.—JANUARY, 1864—NO. LXXV.</h3> + +<p>Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by TICKNOR AND +FIELDS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of +Massachusetts.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="GOVERNOR_JOHN_WINTHROP_IN_OLD_ENGLAND" id="GOVERNOR_JOHN_WINTHROP_IN_OLD_ENGLAND"></a>GOVERNOR JOHN WINTHROP IN OLD ENGLAND.</h2> + + +<p>Our magazine was introduced to the world bearing on the cover of its +first number a vignette of the portraiture of the ever honored and +revered John Winthrop, first Governor of the Colony of Massachusetts +Bay. The effigies expressed a countenance, features, and a tone of +character in beautiful harmony with all that we know of the man, all +that he was and did. Gravity and loftiness of soul, tempered by a mild +and tender delicacy, depth of experience, resolution of purpose, native +dignity, acquired wisdom, and an harmonious equipoise of the robust +virtues and the winning graces have set their unmistakable tokens on +those lineaments. That vignette, after renewing from month to month +before our readers, for nearly four years, as gracious and fragrant a +memory as can engage the love of a New-England heart, gave place, in the +month of June, 1861, to the only emblem, no longer personal, which might +claim to supplant it. The national flag, during a struggle which has +seen its dignity insulted only to rouse and nerve the spirit which shall +vindicate its glory, has displaced that bearded and ruffed portraiture.</p> + +<p>The visitor to the Massachusetts State-House may see, hanging in its +Senate-Chamber, tolerably well preserved on its canvas, what is +believed, on trustworthy evidence, to be Vandyck's own painting of +Winthrop. Another portrait of him—not so agreeable to the eye, nor so +faithful, we are sure, to the original, yet reputed to date from the +lifetime of its subject—hangs in the Hall of the American Antiquarian +Society at Worcester. Those of our readers who have not lovingly pored +and paused over Mr. Savage's elaborately illustrated edition of Governor +Winthrop's Journal do not know what a profitable pleasure invites them, +whenever they shall have grace to avail themselves of it. But who that +knows John Winthrop through such materials of memory and such fruits of +high and noble service as up to this time have been accessible and +extant here has not longed for, and will not most heartily welcome, a +new contribution, coming by surprise, unlooked for, unhoped for even, +but yielding, from the very fountain-head, the means of a most intimate +converse with him in that period of his life till<a name="Page_8" id="Page_8"></a> now wholly unrecorded +for us? We had known his character as displayed here. We have now a most +authentic and complete development of the process by which that +character was moulded and built abroad. The President of the +Massachusetts Historical Society has been privileged to do a service +which, with most rare felicity, embraces his indebtedness to his own +good name, to his official place, and to the city and State which have +invested him with so many of their highest honors.</p> + +<p>The Honorable Robert C. Winthrop, a descendant in the seventh generation +from our honored First Governor, seizing upon a brief vacation-interval +in the course of his high public service, made a visit to England in the +summer of 1847. He was naturally drawn towards his ancestral home at +Groton, in Suffolk. The borough itself, with its own due share of +historic interest, from men of mark and their deeds, is composed of one +of those clusters of villages which are sure in an English landscape to +have some charm in their picturesque combinations. The visitor had the +privilege of worshipping on a Sunday in the same parish church where his +ancestors, holding the right of presentation, had joined in the same +form of service, to whose font they had brought their children in +baptism, and at whose altar-rails they had stood for "the solemnization +of matrimony," and knelt in the office of communion. The second entry +made in the parish register, still retained in the vestry, records the +death of the head of the family in 1562. Outside the church, and close +against its walls, is the tomb of the Winthrop family, which, by a happy +coincidence, had just been repaired, as if ready to receive a visitor +from a land where tombs are not supposed to have the justification of +age for being dilapidated. The father, the grandfather, and perhaps the +great-grandfather of our John Winthrop were committed to that +repository. The family name and arms, with a Latin inscription in memory +of the parents of the Governor, are legible still, "<i>Beati sunt +pacifici</i>" is the benediction which either the choice of those who rest +beneath it, or the congenial tribute of some survivor, has selected to +close the epitaph. Only traces of the cellar of the mansion-house and of +its garden-plot are now visible to mark the home where the Chief +Magistrates of Massachusetts and Connecticut, father and son, had lived +together and had matured the "conclusions" on which they exiled +themselves.</p> + +<p>A monstrous and idle tradition, heard by the visitor, as he surveyed the +outlines of his ancestral home, prompted him to that labor of love which +he has so felicitously performed, and with such providential helps, in a +biography. The absurdity of the tradition, equally defiant as it is of +the consistencies of character and the facts of chronology, is a warning +to those who rely on these floating confoundings of fact and fiction, +which, as some one has said, "are almost as misleading as history." Two +hundred years and more had seen that manor-house deserted of its former +occupants. The neighboring residents had kept their name in remembrance, +more, probably, through the help of the tomb than of the dwelling. +Speculation and romance would deal with them as an extinct or an exiled +family. The story had become current on the spot, that the Winthrops +were regicides, and had fled to America, having, however, buried some +precious hoard of money about their premises before their flight. Our +author suggests the altogether likely idea that a suspicion might have +attached to him as having come over to search for that treasure. Little +may he have imagined what thoughts may have distracted the reverence of +some of his humble fellow-worshippers in Groton Church who whispered the +nature of his errand one to another. Our honored Governor and his son of +Connecticut had been near a score of years on this soil before Charles +I. was beheaded. Mr. Savage informs us that he was once asked by a +descendant of the father whether he had received before his death +tidings of the execution of his old master. The<a name="Page_9" id="Page_9"></a> annotator is able to +quote a letter from Roger Williams, "to his honored kind friend, Mr. +John Winthrop at Nameag," [New London,] lettered on the back, "Mr. +Williams of y<sup>e</sup> high news about the king." This letter, conveying recent +tidings, was dated at Narragansett, June 26, 1649, two months after the +elder Winthrop had died in Boston.</p> + +<p>It was but natural that even the absurdity of the tradition lingering +around the traces of the Groton manor should have served, with other far +more constraining inducements, to excite in the visitor a purpose to +employ his first period of relief from official service in rendering an +act of public as well as of private obligation to the memory of his +progenitors,—especially as there existed no adequate and extended +biography, but only scattered and fragmentary memorials of them in our +copious literary stores. Happily for him, and surely to the highest +gratification of those who were to be his readers, materials most +abundant, and of the most authentic and self-revealing sort, in journals +and letters, were attainable, to give to the work essentially the +character of an autobiography, and that, too, of the most attractive +cast. A second visit of the author to England in 1859-60, and the most +opportune reception of a large collection of original papers, preserved +in another line of the Governor's descendants, put his fortunate +biographer in possession of the means for completing a work surpassed by +no similar volume known to us in the gracious attractions and in the +substantial interest of its contents. The book may safely rely for its +due reception upon the noble character, complete and harmonious in all +the virtues, and upon the eminent public services, of its subject. It +has other strong recommendations, affording, in style, method, and +spirit, a model for books of the same class, and embracing all those +paramount qualities of thoroughness, research, accuracy, good taste, +incidental illustration, and, above all, an appreciative spirit, which +stamp the worth of such labors.</p> + +<p>We must leave almost unnoticed the author's elaborate chapter on the +pedigree and the early history of the Winthrop family. He is content to +begin this side of those who "came over with the Conqueror," and to +accept for ancestry men and women untitled, of the sterling English +stock, delvers of the soil, and spinners of the fabrics of which it +affords the raw material. He finds almost his own full name introducing +a record on the Rolls of Court in the County of York for the year 1200. +Adam Winthrop, grandfather of our Governor, himself the father, as he +was also the son of other Adams, was born in Lavenham, Suffolk, October +9, 1498, six years after the discovery of this country by Columbus, and +in the same year in which occurred the voyage of Vespucius, who gave his +name to the continent. This second Adam Winthrop, at the age of +seventeen, went to London, binding himself as an apprentice for ten +years under the well-esteemed and profitable guild of the "clothiers," +or cloth-workers. At the expiration of his apprenticeship, in 1526, he +was sworn a citizen of London, and, after filling the subordinate +dignities of his craft, rose to the mastership of his company in 1551. +The Lordship of the Manor of Groton, at the dissolution of the +monasteries, was granted to Adam Winthrop in 1544. Retaining his +mercantile relations in the great city, and probably residing there at +intervals, he seated himself in landed dignity at his manor, and there +he died in 1562. His memorialist now holds in his possession the +original bronze plate which was put upon his tomb three hundred years +ago, and which was probably removed to give place to the new inscription +connected with the repairs already referred to. This ancient sepulchral +brass bears in quaint old English characters the following +inscription:—"Here lyeth Mr. Adam Wynthrop, Lorde & Patron of Groton, +whiche departed owt of this Worlde the IX<sup>th</sup> day of November, in the +yere of owre Lorde God MCCCCCLXII." His widow, who had been his second +wife, married William Mildmay;<a name="Page_10" id="Page_10"></a> and his daughter Alice married Mr. +Mildmay's son Thomas, who, being afterwards knighted, secured to the +cloth-worker's daughter the title of "Lady Mildmay." In the cabinet of +the American Antiquarian Society at Worcester, the visitor, on the +asking, may be gratified with the sight and touch of a curious old relic +which will bring him almost into contact with a most agreeable +family-circle of the olden time. It is a serviceable posset-pot, with a +silver tip and lid, both of which are gilded, the cover, still playing +faithfully on its hinge, being chased with the device of Adam and Eve in +the garden partaking of the forbidden fruit. An accompanying record +reads as follows:—"At y<sup>e</sup> Feast of St. Michael, An<sup>o</sup>. 1607, my Sister, +y<sup>e</sup> Lady Mildmay, did give me a Stone Pot, tipped & covered w<sup>th</sup>. a +Silver Lydd." How many comforting concoctions and compounds, alternating +with herb-drinks and medicated potions, may have been quaffed or +swallowed with wry face from that precious old cup, who can now tell? +Probably it ministered its more inviting contents to the elders of the +successive generations in the family, while it was known by the younger +members in their turn in connection with certain penalties for +overeating and chills got from hard play. While having the relic in +hand, the other day, the prompting was irresistible to bring it close to +the appropriate organ, to ascertain, if possible, what had been the +predominant character of its contents. But, faithful as the grave, it +would reveal no secrets; having parted with all transient and artificial +odors, it has resumed, as is most fitting, the smell of its parent +earth.</p> + +<p>The writer of that record accompanying the "Stone-Pot" with its "Silver +Lydd" was Adam Winthrop, father of our Governor, and son of the +last-mentioned Lord of Groton. This third Adam Winthrop—the sixth child +of his father's second wife, and the eleventh of his thirteen +children—was born in London, "in the street which is called Gracious," +(Grace-Church,) August 10, 1548. Losing his father at the age of +fourteen, he was early bred as a lawyer in London, but soon engaged in +agricultural interests at Groton, to the lordship of which he acceded by +a license of alienation from an elder brother. There are sundry +authentic relics and tokens of this good man which reveal to us those +traits of his character, and those ways and influences of his domestic +life, under the high-toned, yet most genial training of which his son +was educated to the great enterprise Providence intended for him. There +are even poetical pieces extant which prove that Adam sought intercourse +with the Muses by making advances on his own part, though we must +confess that he does not appear to have been fairly met half-way by that +capricious and fastidious sisterhood. Many of his almanacs and diaries, +with entries dating from 1595, and from which the author makes liberal +and interesting transcripts in an Appendix, have been happily preserved, +and have a grateful use to us. They help us to reconstruct an old home, +a pleasant one, in or near which three generations of a good stock lived +together after the highest pattern of an orderly, exemplary, prospered, +and pious household. We infer from many significant trifles, that, while +the old English comfort-loving, generous, and hospitable style prevailed +there, the severer spirit of Puritanism had not attained ascendancy. +Intercourse with the metropolis, though embarrassed with conditions +requiring some buffeting and hardship, was compensated by the zest of +adventure, and it was frequent enough to quicken the minds and to add to +the bodily comforts and refinements of the family. Adam Winthrop must +have been a fine specimen of the old English gentleman, with all of +native polish which courtly experiences might or might not have given +him, and with a simple, high-toned, upright, and neighborly spirit, +which made him an apt and a faithful administrator of a great variety of +trusts. His old Bible, now in the possession of Mr. George Livermore of +Cambridge, represented the divine presence<a name="Page_11" id="Page_11"></a> and law in his household, +for all its members, parents and children, masters and servants. He +entertained hospitably his full share of "the godly preachers," who were +the wandering luminaries, and, in some respects, the angelic visitants +of those days. He was evidently a very patient listener to sermons, +though we have not the proof in any surviving notebooks of his that one +of his excellent son John's furnishes us, that he took pains to +transcribe the heads, the savory passages, and the textual attestations +of the elaborate, but utterly juiceless sermons of the time. The entries +in his almanacs afford a curious variety, in which interesting events of +public importance alternate with homely details touching the affairs of +his neighborhood and the incidents in the domestic life of his relatives +and acquaintance. One matter, as we shall soon see, on which a fact in +the life, of Governor Winthrop depends, finds an unexpected disclosure +from Adam's pen. Here are a few excerpts from these entries:—"1597. The +VI<sup>th</sup> of July I received a privie seale to lend the Q. matie [Elizabeth] +£XX. for a yere."—"1602. Sept. the 27<sup>th</sup> day in y<sup>e</sup> mornying the Bell +did goe for mother [a conventional epithet] Tiffeyn, but she recouered." +This decides a matter which has sometimes been disputed,—that, while +with us, in our old times, "the passing bell" indicated the progress of +a funeral train, anciently in England it signified that a soul was +believed to be passing from a body supposed to be <i>in extremis</i>. And a +doleful sound it must have been to those of whom it made a false report, +as of "mother Tiffeyn."—"<i>Decem.</i> y<sup>e</sup> XXI day my brother Alibaster came +to my house & toulde me y<sup>t</sup> he made certayne inglishe verses in his +sleepe, wh. he recited unto me, & I lent him XL<sup>s</sup>."—"1603 April y<sup>e</sup> +28<sup>th</sup> day was the funeralles kept at Westminster for our late Queene +Elizabethe."—"1603. On Munday y<sup>e</sup> seconde of Maye, one Keitley, a +blackesmythe, dwellinge in Lynton in Cambridgeshire, had a poore man to +his father whom he kepte. A gentleman of y<sup>e</sup> same Towne sent a horse to +shoe, the father held up the horses legge whilest his soonne did shoe +him. The horse struggled & stroke the father on y<sup>e</sup> belly with his foote +& overthrewe him. The soonne laughed thereat & woulde not helpe his +father uppe, for the which some that were present reproved him greatlye. +The soonne went forwarde in shoinge of y<sup>e</sup> horse, & when he had donne he +went uppon his backe, mynding to goe home with him. The horse presently +did throughe him of his backe against a poste & clave his hed in sonder. +Mistress Mannocke did knowe y<sup>e</sup> man, for his mother was her nurse. +<i>Grave judicium Dei in irrisorem patris sui</i>." These little scraps of +Latin, sometimes running into a distich, are frequent signs of a certain +classical proclivity of the writer. Any one who should infer, from the +good man's arbitrary mode of spelling many words, that he was an +illiterate person, would be grievously mistaken, in his ignorance of the +universal characteristic and license of that age in that matter. The +Queen herself was by no means so good a "speller," by our standard, as +was Adam Winthrop. The extraordinary way in which letters were then left +out of words where they were needed, and most lavishly multiplied where +no possible use could be made of them, is a phenomenon never accounted +for.</p> + +<p>Adam Winthrop was for several years auditor of the accounts of Trinity +and St. John's Colleges, Cambridge, and records his visits to the +University in the discharge of his duties. We have specimens of a +pleasant correspondence between him and his sister, Lady Mildmay, also +with his wife, marked by a sweet and gentle tone, the utterance of a +kindly spirit,—fragrant records of hearts once so warm with love.</p> + +<p>It must have been with supreme delight that Adam entered in his diary, +that on January 12, 1587, [January 22, 1588, N.S.,] was born his only +son, John, one of five children by his second wife. John came into the +world between the years that marked, respectively, the execution<a name="Page_12" id="Page_12"></a> of +Mary, Queen of Scots, and the visit of the Spanish Armada. We can well +conceive under what gracious and godly influences he received his early +nurture. His mother died only one year before he, at the age of +forty-two, embarked for America, his father having not long preceded +her. Evidence abundant was in our possession that John Winthrop had +received what even now would be called a good education, and what in his +own time was a comparatively rare one. It had generally been taken for +granted, however, that he had never been a member of either of the +Universities. His present biographer tells us that long before +undertaking his present grateful task he had never been reconciled to +admit the inference which had been drawn from silence on this point. He +remembered, by references in his own reading, that by some oversight +there had been an omission of names in the Cambridge University Register +from June, 1589, to June, 1602, and that no admissions were recorded +earlier than 1625. John Winthrop might, therefore, have at least "gone +to college," if he had not "gone through college." His biographer had +also noticed in the Governor's "Christian Experience," drawn up and +signed by him in New England on his forty-ninth birthday, 1636-7, an +allusion to his having been at Cambridge when "about 14 yrs of age," and +having had a lingering fever there. An entry in the records of his +father must have been a most grateful discovery to the Governor's +descendant in the seventh generation. "1602. The 2<sup>d</sup> of December I rode +to Cambridge. The VIII<sup>th</sup> day John my soonne was admitted into Trinitie +College." But the old mystery vanishes only to give place to another, +which has a spice of romance in it. John Winthrop did not graduate at +Cambridge. He was a lawful husband when seventeen years of age, and a +happy father at eighteen.</p> + +<p>In a time-stained and most precious document from his pen and from his +heart, relating his religious experience, to be referred to more +particularly by-and-by, he charges himself in his youth with grievous +sin. What we know of his whole life and character would of itself forbid +us to accept literally his severe self-judgment, much more to draw from +his language the inference which like language would warrant, if used in +our times. Those who have even but a superficial acquaintance with +religious diaries, especially with such as date from near that age, need +not be told that their writers, when sincerely devout by the Puritan +standard, aimed to search and judge their own hearts and lives with all +that penetrating, self-revealing, unsparing scrutiny and severity which +they believed were turned upon them by the all-seeing eye of infinite +purity. They wished to anticipate the Great Tribunal, and to avert the +surprise of any new disclosure there by admitting to themselves while +still in the flesh the worst that it could pronounce against them. Men +and women who before the daily companions and witnesses of their lives +would stand stoutly, and honestly too, in self-defence against all +imputations, and might even boast themselves—as St. Paul did—of a +surplusage of merits of some sort, when registering the barometer and +the thermometer of their religious experience were the most unrelenting +self-accusers. It is safe to say, as a general thing, that those who in +that introspection, in the measurement of their heats and chills of +piety, grieved most deeply and found the most ingenious causes for +self-infliction were either the most calculating hypocrites or the most +truly godly. To which of the two classes any one particular individual +might belong could not always be infallibly concluded from what he +wrote. That comfort-loving and greed-indulging, yet picturesque, old +sinner, Samuel Pepys, Esq., did not profess to keep a religious diary. +But many such diaries have been kept by men who might have covered +alternate pages with matter similar to his own, or with worse. We must +interpret the religious diaries of that age by aids independent of +those<a name="Page_13" id="Page_13"></a> which their contents furnish us. John Winthrop, writing of his +youth when he had grown to the full exalted stature of Christian +manhood, and though sweetly mellowed in the graces of his character by +genial ripening from within his soul, was still a Puritan of the +severest standard theologically, and, by principle, charges himself with +heinous sin. We feel assured that he was not only guiltless of any folly +or error that would deserve such a designation, but that he even +overstated the degree of his addiction to the lighter human faults. Only +after such a preliminary assertion of incredulity as to any literal +truth in them, could we consent to copy his own words, as follows:—"In +my youth I was very lewdly disposed, inclining unto & attempting (so far +as my heart enabled me) all kinds of wickedness, except swearing & +scorning religion, wh. I had no temptation unto in regard of my +education. About ten years of age I had some notions of God: for, in +some frighting or danger, I have prayed unto God, & found manifest +answer: y<sup>e</sup> remembrance whereof, many years after, made me think that +God did love me: but it made me no whit the better. After I was twelve +years old, I began to have some more savor of religion: & I thought I +had more understanding in divinity than many of my years," etc. Yes, he +evidently had. And though the kind of "divinity" which had trained his +soul was of a grim sort, his own purity and gentleness of spirit +softened it while accepting it. He adds,—"Yet I was still very wild & +dissolute: & as years came on, my lusts grew stronger, but yet under +some restraint of my natural reason, whereby I had that command of +myself that I could turn into any form. I would, as occasion required, +write letters, &c. of mere vanity; & if occasion was, I could write +savoury & godly counsel." Seeing, however, that he was made a Justice of +the Peace when eighteen years of age, the inference is a fair one—his +own self-accusation to the contrary notwithstanding—that he was known +in his own neighborhood as a youth of extraordinary excellence of +character.</p> + +<p>It would appear from the entries in his father's diaries that he was a +member of college some eighteen months. Why he left before completing +his course is to find its explanation for us either in the extreme +sickness before referred to as visited upon him there, or in the +agreeable "change in his condition," as the awkward and sheepish phrase +is, which immediately followed. The latter alternative leaves scope and +offers temptations for such inventiveness of fancy about details and +incidents, whys and wherefores, as the absence of all but the following +stingy revelations may justify. The good Adam, after recording, in +November, 1604, and in the ensuing March, two mysterious rides with his +son, has left, this, under date of March 28th, 1605:—"My soonne was +sollemly contracted to Mary Foorth, by Mr. Culverwell minister of Greate +Stambridge in Essex <i>cum consensu parentum</i>." Another ride into Essex, +this time by the son alone, is entered under April 9th, and then on the +16th his marriage, "<i>Ætatis suæ 17 [annis] 3 mensibus et 4 diebus +completis</i>." This reads pleasantly:—"The VIII<sup>th</sup> of May my soonne & his +wife came to Groton from London, & y<sup>e</sup> IX<sup>th</sup> I made a marriage feaste, +when S<sup>r</sup>. Thomas Mildmay & his lady my sister were present. The same day +my sister Veysye came to me, & departed on y<sup>e</sup> 24<sup>th</sup> of Maye. My dawter +Fones came the VIII<sup>th</sup> & departed home y<sup>e</sup> XXIII<sup>d</sup> of Maye." An +expeditious closing up, with honey-moon and marriage-feast, of an +evident love-passage, whose longer or shorter antecedents are not +revealed. The biographer leaves his readers their choice of assigning +the abrupt close of the college course of John Winthrop either to his +grievous sickness, or to his love for Mary Forth, daughter and sole heir +of John Forth, Esq., of Great Stambridge. We incline rather to the +latter alternative as the stronger one, inasmuch as love for Mary may +not only have been the direct cause of his loathing Cambridge, but may +even have<a name="Page_14" id="Page_14"></a> been the cause of his sickness, which in that case becomes so +secondary a cause as hardly to be a cause at all. One thing is certain: +our honored Puritan ancestors had no scruples against short engagements, +early marriages, or rematings as often as circumstances favored.</p> + +<p>The young bridegroom himself, in the record of his experience, which we +quote again for another purpose, reserves the confession of any haste on +his own part to enter the married state, and would seem delicately to +insinuate parental influence in the case. "About eighteen years of age, +being a man in stature & understanding, as my parents conceived me, I +married into a family under Mr. Culverwell his ministry in Essex, &, +living there sometimes, I first found y<sup>e</sup> ministry of the word come home +to my heart with power (for in all before I found only light): & after +that, I found y<sup>e</sup> like in y<sup>e</sup> ministry of many others: so as there began +to be some change: wh. I perceived in myself, & others took notice of."</p> + +<p>Six children were born to John Winthrop and his first wife,—three sons +and three daughters. John, the eldest of these, afterwards Governor of +Connecticut, was born February 22, 1606. Mary, the only one of the +daughters surviving infancy, also came to this country, and married a +son of Governor Thomas Dudley. In less than eleven years after her +marriage, Mary Forth died, the husband being not yet twenty-eight years +old, and the eldest child but nine.</p> + +<p>The earliest record of his religious experience appears to have been +made under date of 1606. Read with the allowances and abatements to +which reference has already been made, all that this admirable man has +left for us of this self-revelation—little dreaming that it would have +such readers—is profoundly interesting and instructive, when estimated +from a right point of view and with any degree of congeniality of +spirit. Those who are familiar with his published New-England Journal +have already recognized in him a man of a simple and humble spirit, of a +grave, but not a gloomy temperament, kindly in his private estimate and +generous in his public treatment of others, most unselfish, and rigidly +upright. The noble native elements of his character, and the peculiar +tone and style of the piety under which his religious experience was +developed, mutually reacted upon each other, the result being that his +natural virtues were refined and spiritualized, while the morbid and +superstitious tendencies of his creed were to a degree neutralised. He +seems to refer the <i>crisis</i> in his religious experience to a date +immediately following upon his first marriage. But, as we shall see, a +repeated trial in the furnace of sharp affliction deepened and enriched +that experience. He tells us that during those happy years of his first +marriage he had proposed to himself a change from the legal profession +to the ministry. By a second marriage, December 6, 1615, to Thomasine +Clopton, of a good family in the neighborhood, he had the promise of +renewed joy in a condition which his warm-hearted sociability and his +intense fondness for domestic relations made essential to his happiness, +if not to his virtue. But one single year and one added day saw her and +her infant child committed to the tomb, and made him again desolate. His +biographer, not without misgivings indeed, but with a deliberation and +healthfulness of judgment which most of his readers will approve as +allowed to overrule them, has spread before us at length, from the most +sacred privacy of the stricken mourner, heart-exercises and scenes in +the death-chamber, such as engage with most painful, but still +entrancing sympathy, the very soul of the reader. We know not where, in +all our literature, to find matter like this, so bedewed and steeped in +tenderness, so swift in its alternations between lacerating details and +soothing suggestions. The author has put into print all that remains of +the record of John Winthrop's "Experience," in passages written +contemporaneously with its incidents,—a<a name="Page_15" id="Page_15"></a> document distinct from the +record of his "Christian Experience," written here. The account of +Thomasine's death-bed exercises, as deciphered from the perishing +manuscript, must, we think, stand by itself, either for criticism, or +for the defiance of criticism. What we have had of similar scenes only +in fragments, and as seen though veils, is here in the fulness of all +that can harrow or comfort the human heart, spread before us clear of +any withholding. It was the same year in which Shakspeare died, in a +house built by Sir Hugh Clopton, a member of the same family-connection +with Thomasine. Hour by hour, almost minute by minute, the stages of her +transition are reported with infinite minuteness. Her own prayers, and +those of a steady succession of religious friends, are noted; the +melting intonations of her own utterances of anxiety or peace; the +parting counsels or warnings addressed to her dependants; the last +breathings of affection to those dearest; the occasional aberrations and +cloudings of intelligence coming in the progress of her disease, which +were assigned to temptations from Satan: all these are given to us. "Her +feaver increased very violently upon hir, wh. the Devill made advantage +of to moleste hir comforte, but she declaringe unto us with what +temptations the devill did assault hir, bent hirselfe against them, +prayinge with great vehemence for Gods helpe, & that he would not take +away his lovinge kindnesse from hir, defyinge Satan, & spitting at him, +so as we might see by hir setting of hir teethe, & fixinge her eyes, +shakinge hir head & whole bodye, that she had a very greatt conflicte +with the adversarye." The mourner follows this scene to its close. +Having transfigured all its dreariest passages with the kindling glow of +his own undismayed faith, he lets his grateful spirit crown it with a +sweet peace, and then he pays a most tender tribute to the gentle +loveliness, fidelity, and Christian excellence of her with whom he had +shared so true, though so brief, a joy.</p> + +<p>This renewed affliction is turned by the still young sufferer to uses +which should assure and intensify his piety according to the best +Puritan type of it. He continues his heart-record. He subjects his mode +of life, his feelings, habits and aims, the material of his daily food, +and the degree of his love for various goods, as they are to be measured +by a true scale, to the most rigid tests. He spares himself in nothing. +The Bible does him as direct a service in rebuke and guidance as if +every sentence in it had been written for himself. It is interesting to +note that the quotations from it are from a version that preceded our +own. His rules of self-discipline and spiritual culture, while wholly +free from unwholesome asceticism, nevertheless required the curbing of +all desires, and the utter subjection of every natural prompting to a +crucial test, before its innocent or edifying character could pass +unchallenged.</p> + +<p>Vain would be the attempt in our generation to make Puritanism lovely or +attractive. Its charms were for its original and sincere disciples, and +do not survive them. There is no fashion of dress or furniture which may +not be revived, and, if patronized as fashion, be at least tolerated. +But for Puritanism there is no restoration. Its rehabilitated relics do +not produce their best influence in any attempt to attract our +admiration,—which they cannot do,—but in engaging our hearts' tolerant +respect and confidence towards those who actually developed its +principles at first-hand, its original disciples, who brought it into +discredit afterwards by the very fidelity of their loyalty to it. +Puritanism is an engaging and not offensive object to use, when regarded +as the characteristic of only one single generation of men and women and +children. It could not pass from that one generation into another +without losing much of what grace it had, and acquiring most odious and +mischievous elements. Entailed Puritanism being an actual impossibility, +all attempts to realize it, all assumptions of success in it, have the<a name="Page_16" id="Page_16"></a> +worst features of sham and hypocrisy. The diligent students of the +history and the social life of our own colonial days know very well what +an unspeakable difference there was, in all that makes and manifests +characters and dispositions, between the first comers here and the first +native-born generation, and how painfully that difference tells to the +discredit of the latter. The tap-roots of Puritanism struck very deep, +and drew the sap of life vigorously. They dried very soon; they are now +cut; and whatever owed its life exclusively to them has withered and +must perish. A philosophy of Nature and existence now wholly discredited +underlay the fundamental views and principles of Puritanism. The early +records of our General Court are thickly strown with appointments of +Fast-Days that the people might discover the especial occasion of God's +anger toward them, manifested in the blight of some expected harvest, or +in a scourge upon the cattle in the field. Some among us who claim to +hold unreduced or softened the old ancestral faith have been twice in +late years convened in our State-House, by especial call, to legislate +upon the potato-disease and the pleuro-pneumonia among our herds. Their +joint wisdom resulted in money-appropriations to discover causes and +cures. The debates held on these two occasions would have grievously +shocked our ancestors. But are there any among us who could in full +sincerity, with logic and faith, have stood for the old devout theory of +such visitations?</p> + +<p>But if it would be equally vain and unjust to attempt to make Puritanism +lovely to ourselves,—a quality which its noblest disciples did not +presume to make its foremost attraction,—there is all the more reason +why we should do it justice in its original and awfully real presentment +in its single generation of veritable discipleship. What became +drivelling and cant, presumption and bigotry, pretence and hypocrisy, as +soon as a fair trial had tested it, was in the hearts, the speech, the +convictions, and the habits of a considerable number of persons in one +generation, the most thoroughly honest and earnest product of all the +influences which had trained them. We read the heart-revelations of John +Winthrop with the profoundest confidence, and even with a constraining +sympathy. We venture to say that when this book shall be consulted, +through all time to come, for the various uses of historical, religious, +or literary illustration, not even the most trifling pen will ever turn +a single sentence from its pages to purposes of levity or ridicule. Here +we have Puritanism at first-hand: the original, unimitated, and +transient resultant of influences which had been working to produce it, +and which would continue their working so as to insure modifications of +it. Winthrop notes it for a special Providence that his wife discovered +a loathsome spider in the children's porridge before they had partaken +of it. His religious philosophy stopped there. He did not put to himself +the sort of questions which open in a train to our minds from any one +observed fact, else he would have found himself asking after the special +Providence which allowed the spider to fall into the porridge. His +friend and successor in high-magistracy in New England, Governor John +Endecott, wrote him a letter years afterward which is so characteristic +of the faith of both of them that we will make free use of it. The +letter is dated Salem, July 28th, 1640, and probably refers to the +disaster by which the ship Mary Rose "was blown in pieces with her own +powder, being 21 barrels," in Charlestown harbor, the day preceding.<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dearest Sir</span>,—Hearing of y<sup>e</sup> remarkable stroake of Gods +hand uppon y<sup>e</sup> shippe & shippes companie of Bristoll, as also of +some Atheisticall passages &<a name="Page_17" id="Page_17"></a> hellish profanations of y<sup>e</sup> Sabbaths +& deridings of y<sup>e</sup> people & wayes of God, I thought good to desire +a word or two of you of y<sup>e</sup> trueth of what you have heard. Such an +extraordinary judgement would be searched into, what Gods meaninge +is in it, both in respect of those whom it concernes more +especiallie in England, as also in regard of ourselves. God will +be honred in all dealings. We have heard of severall ungodlie +carriadges in that ship, as, first, in their way overbound they +wld. constantlie jeere at y<sup>e</sup> holy brethren of New England, & some +of y<sup>e</sup> marineer's would in a scoffe ask when they should come to +y<sup>e</sup> holie Land? 2. After they lay in the harbor Mr. Norice sent to +y<sup>e</sup> shippe one of our brethren uppon busines, & hee heard them +say, This is one of y<sup>e</sup> holie brethren, mockinglie & +disdainefullie. 3. That when some have been with them aboard to +buy necessaries, y<sup>e</sup> shippe men would usuallie say to some of them +that they could not want any thinge, they were full of y<sup>e</sup> +Spiritt. 4. That y<sup>e</sup> last Lords Day, or y<sup>e</sup> Lords Day before, +there were many drinkings aboard with singings & musick in tymes +of publique exercise. 5. That y<sup>e</sup> last fast y<sup>e</sup> master or captaine +of the shippe, with most of y<sup>e</sup> companie, would not goe to y<sup>e</sup> +meetinge, but read y<sup>e</sup> booke of common prayer so often over that +some of y<sup>e</sup> company said hee had worne that threed-bare, with many +such passages. Now if these or y<sup>e</sup> like be true, as I am persuaded +some of them are, I think y<sup>e</sup> trueth heereof would be made knowen, +by some faithfull hand in Bristoll or else where, for it is a very +remarkable & unusuall stroake," etc., etc.</p></div> + +<p>Governor Winthrop, who was a man of much milder spirit than Endecott, +faithfully records this judgment, under its date in his Journal, with +additional particulars. The explosion took place "about dinner time, no +man knows how, & blew up all, viz. the captain, & nine or ten of his +men, & some four or five strangers. There was a special providence that +there were no more, for many principal men were going aboard at that +time, & some were in a boat near the ship, & others were diverted by a +sudden shower of rain, & others by other occasions." The good Governor +makes this startling record the occasion for mentioning "other examples +of like kind." Yet the especial providential significance which both he +and Endecott could assign to such a calamity would need a readjustment +in its interpretation, if compelled to take in two other conditions +under which the mysterious ways of that Providence are manifested, +namely: first, that many ships on board which there have been no such +profane doings have met with similar disaster; and second, that many +ships on board which there has been more heinous sinning have escaped +the judgment.</p> + +<p>But, as we have said, Puritanism was temporarily consistent with the +philosophy of life and Nature for one age. It held no divided sway over +John Winthrop, but filled his heart, his mind, and his spirit. If, by +its influence over any one human being, regarded as an unqualified, +unmodified style of piety, demanding entire allegiance, and not yielding +to any mitigation through the tempering qualities of an individual,—if, +of itself and by itself, Puritanism could be made lovely to us, John +Winthrop might well be charged with that exacting representative office. +We repeat, that we have no abatement to make of our exalted regard for +him through force of a single sentence from his pen. Most profoundly are +we impressed by the intensity and thoroughness of conviction, the +fulness and frankness of avowal, and the delicate and fervent +earnestness of self-consecration, which make these ancient oracles of a +human heart fragrant with the odor of true piety. He uses no hackneyed +terms, no second-hand or imitated phrases. His language, as well as his +thoughts, his method, and ideal standard, are purely his own. Indeed, we +might set up and sustain for him a claim of absolute individuality, if +not even of originality, in the standard of godliness and righteousness +which he fashioned for himself,<a name="Page_18" id="Page_18"></a> and then with such zeal and heroism +sought to attain.</p> + +<p>Entering a third time the married state, John Winthrop, in April, 1618, +took to wife Margaret, daughter of Sir John Tyndal. The clouds, which +had gathered so deeply in repeated bereavement and gloom over his +earlier years of domestic life, yielded now, and left alike the sky and +the horizon of his prospects, to give place soon to the anxieties of +grave enterprises, which animated while they burdened his spirit. This +excellent and brave-hearted lady, as she opens her soul, and almost +reveals what must have been a sweet and winning countenance, to the +reader of her own letters in these pages, will henceforward be one of +the enshrined saints of the New-England calendar. Little did she dream +at her marriage what a destiny was before her. There was in store for +her husband nearly thirty years of the truest heart-love and the closest +sympathy in religious trust and consecration with her. We may anticipate +our narrative at this point, to say that her situation did not allow her +to accompany him on his own removal to this side of the ocean, but she +followed him a year and a half afterwards, arriving in November, 1631, +with his eldest son and others of his children, having lost on the +voyage an infant whom he had probably never seen. Her death, in a +prevailing sickness, June 14, 1647, drew from her husband this tribute +to her:—"In this sickness the Governour's wife, daughter of Sir John +Tindal, Knight, left this world for a better, being about fifty-six +years of age: a woman of singular virtue, prudence, modesty, & piety & +specially beloved & honored of all the country." Though in the December +of the same year we find the Governor again married, now to the Widow +Martha Coytemore, we refer the incident to wilderness-straits and the +exactions of necessity or expediency in domestic life.</p> + +<p>But we must return to Margaret, the bride. It seems that there was some +objection offered to Winthrop's suit by the lady's relatives. In one of +the two charming letters which are preserved as written during his +courtship to her, he refers to some "unequall conflicte" which she had +to bear. These two letters, with one addressed to the lady by Father +Adam, are unique as specimens of Puritan love-making. Solomon's Song is +here put to the best use for which it is adapted, its only safe use.</p> + +<p>The family-letters, which now increase in number, and vastly in their +cheerfulness and radiance of spirit, and the birth of more children, +present to us the most captivating glimpses of the English life of our +first Chief Magistrate. From a will which he made in Groton in 1620, of +course superseded after his change of country, it appears that he had +then five sons and one daughter. The Lordship of Groton had been +assigned to him by his father. This was the year of the hegira of the +Plymouth Pilgrims, but we have as yet no intimation that Winthrop was +looking in this direction.</p> + +<p>For more than a decade of years the family-history now passes on, for +the most part placidly, interspersed with those incidents and anxieties +which give alike the charm and the import to the routine of existence to +any closely knit fellowships sharing it together. Enough of the fragrant +old material, in fast decaying papers, has come to light and been +transcribed for security against all future risks, to preserve to us a +fair restoration of the lights and shades of that domestic experience. +Time has dealt kindly in sparing a variety of specimens, so as to give +to that restoration a kaleidoscopic character. Winthrop's frequent +visits to London, on his professional errands, gave occasion to constant +correspondence between him and his wife, and so we have epistles +burdened with the intensities and refinements of the purest affection. +An occasional reference to church affairs by the Patron of Groton, with +extracts from the record of his religious experience, continue for us +the evidence that Winthrop was growing and deepening in the roots<a name="Page_19" id="Page_19"></a> of +his noble style of life. His piety evidently ripened and mellowed into +the richest fruitage which any form of theological or devotional faith +can produce. A severe and wellnigh fatal illness in London, which he +concealed from his wife at Groton till its crisis was past, was made by +him the occasion, as of many other good resolutions, so also of a +renouncement of the use of tobacco, in which, by his own account, he, +like many men as well as women at that time, had gone to excess. His +good wife, though positively enjoined by him not to venture upon the +winter's journey, in the letter which communicated to her the first +tidings of his illness, immediately went to him in the great city, +attended only by a female servant. In a previous malady from which he +had suffered severely in one of his hands while at home, his son John, +in London, had consulted in his behalf one of the helpful female +practitioners of the time, and the correspondence relating to her +advice, her ointments, and their efficacy, gives us some curiously +illustrative matter in the history of the healing art. The good woman +was sure that she could at once cure her patient, if he could be beneath +her hands. She would receive no compensation.</p> + +<p>A mystery has attached to a certain "office" which Winthrop held in +London, and to which, in one of his previously published letters, he +referred as having lost it. It now appears that that office was an +Attorneyship of the Court of Wards and Liveries, an honorable and +responsible trust. Its duties, with other provisional engagements, +separated him so much from his home at one period, that he meditated the +removal of his family from Groton. His wife's letters on the subject are +delightful revelations of confidences. It is still only by inference +that we can assign the loss of his office, to the business of which we +have many references, to any especial cause. It may have been +surrendered by him because he longed for more home-life, or because the +growing spirit of discontent and apprehension as to the state of public +affairs, which he shared with so many of his friends, made him obnoxious +to the controlling heads in civil life.</p> + +<p>We have also some admirable specimens of his correspondence with his son +John, who, after his preliminary education at the school at Bury St. +Edmund's, became, in 1622, in his seventeenth year, a member of Trinity +College, Dublin, near his uncle and aunt Downing, parents of the famous +Sir George Downing. These are beautiful and wise and generous +expressions of a father's love and advice and dealings with a son, +exposed to temptation at a critical age, and giving promise of the +abilities and virtues which he afterwards exhibited so nobly as Governor +of Connecticut. In one of the letters, to which the father asks replies +in Latin, he writes, "I will not limit your allowance less than to y<sup>e</sup> +uttermost of mine own estate. So as, if £20 be too little (as I always +accounted it), you shall have £30; & when that shall not suffice, you +shall have more. Only hold a sober & frugal course (yet without +baseness), & I will shorten myself to enlarge you." In another letter +there is this fit commemoration of his father, Adam, dying at the age of +seventy-five:—"I am sure, before this, you have knowledge of that wh., +at the time when you wrote, you were ignorant of: viz., the departure of +your grandfather (for I wrote over twice since). He hath finished his +course: & is gathered to his people in peace, as the ripe corn into the +barn. He thought long for y<sup>e</sup> day of his dissolution, & welcomed it most +gladly. Thus is he gone before; & we must go after, in our time. This +advantage he hath of us,—he shall not see y<sup>e</sup> evil wh. we may meet with +ere we go hence. Happy those who stand in good terms with God & their +own conscience: they shall not fear evil tidings: & in all changes they +shall be y<sup>e</sup> same."</p> + +<p>There are likewise letters to the student at Dublin from his brother +Forth, who succeeded him at the school at St. Edmund's. It is curious to +note in these<a name="Page_20" id="Page_20"></a> epistles of the school-boy the indifferent success of his +manifestly sincere effort to use the technical language of Puritanism +and to express its aims and ardors. The youth evidently feels freer when +writing of the fortunes of some of his school-mates. This same Forth +Winthrop became in course a student at Cambridge, and we have letters to +his father, carried by the veritable Hobson immortalized by Milton.</p> + +<p>The younger John went, on graduating, to London, to fit himself for the +law. His name is found on the books as admitted to the Inner Temple in +1624. He appears early to have cherished some matrimonial purposes which +did not work felicitously. Not liking his profession, he turned his +thoughts toward the sea. He obtained a secretaryship in the naval +service, and joined the expedition under the Duke of Buckingham, +designed to relieve the French Protestants at Rochelle, in 1627. He +afterwards made an Oriental tour, of the stages of which we have some +account in his letters, in 1628-9, from Leghorn, Constantinople, etc. He +was thwarted in a purpose to visit Jerusalem, and returned to England, +by Holland. Notwithstanding the industrious fidelity of his father as a +letter-writer, the son received no tidings from home during his whole +absence of nearly fifteen months. What a contrast with our times!</p> + +<p>Before undertaking this Oriental tour, the younger John had had +proposals made to him, which seem to have engaged his own inclinations, +to connect himself with Endecott's New-England enterprise. He wrote to +consult the wishes of his father on the subject; but that father, who in +less than two years was to find himself pledged to a more comprehensive +scheme, involving a life-long exile in that far-off wilderness, +dissuaded his son from the premature undertaking. It does not appear +that the father had as yet presented to his mind the possibility of any +such step. Yet, from the readiness which marked his own earnest and +complete sympathy in the enterprise when first we find him concerned in +it, we must infer that he had much previous acquaintance and sympathy +with the early New-England adventurers from the moment that a religious +spirit became prominent in their fellowship. He was a man who undertook +no great work without the most careful deliberation, and a slow maturing +of his decision.</p> + +<p>During the absence of John at the East, many interesting and serious +incidents occurred in the personal experience and in the domestic +relations of his father, which doubtless helped the preparation of his +spirit for the critical event of his life. He had that severe and +threatening illness in London already referred to. We have many letters +covering the period, filled with matter over which, as so full of what +is common to the human heart in all time, we linger with consenting +sympathy. A wayward and unconverted son, Henry by name, caused his +father an anxiety which we see struggling painfully with parental +affection and a high-toned Christian aim for all the members of his +family. The son's course indicated rather profitlessness and +recklessness than vice. He connected himself with an enterprise at +Barbadoes. He drew heavily on his father's resources for money, and +returned him some tobacco, which the father very frankly writes to him +was "very ill-conditioned, foul, & full of stalks, & evil-colored." He +came over in the same expedition, though not in the same ship, with his +father, and was accidentally drowned at Salem, July 2, 1630. In the +first letter which the good Governor wrote to his wife after his landing +here, dated "Charlestown, July 16, 1630," are these sentences:—"We have +met with many sad & discomfortable things, as thou shalt hear after; & +y<sup>e</sup> Lord's hand hath been heavy upon myself in some very near to me. My +son Henry! my son Henry! ah, poor child!" While the father was writing +from London to this son, then supposed to be at Barbadoes, he had other +matters of anxiety. His endeared brother-in-law, Fones, died, April 15, +1629, and four days afterwards<a name="Page_21" id="Page_21"></a> Winthrop was called to part, at Groton, +with his venerated mother, who died under the roof where she had lived +so happily and graciously with his own family in his successive sorrows +and delights.</p> + +<p>The loss or resignation of his office, with the giving up of his +law-chamber in London, and his evident premonitions of the sore troubles +in affairs of Church and State which were soon to convulse his native +land, doubtless guided him to a decision, some of the stages and +incidents of which have left no record for us. Enough, however, of the +process may still be traced among papers which have recently come to +light, to open to us its inner workings, and to explain its development. +A ride with his brother Downing into Lincolnshire, July 28, 1629, finds +an entry in Winthrop's "Experiences," that it may mark his gratitude to +the Providence which preserved his life, when, as he writes, "my horse +fell under me in a bogge in the fennes, so as I was allmost to y<sup>e</sup> +waiste in water." Beyond all doubt this ride was taken by the +sympathizing travellers on a prearranged visit to Isaac Johnson, another +of the New-England worthies, at Sempringham, on business connected with +the Massachusetts enterprise. But the first recovered and extant +document which proves that Winthrop was committing himself to the great +work is a letter of his son John's, dated London, August 21, 1629, in +reply to one from his father, which, it is evident from the tenor of the +answer, had directly proposed the embarking of the interest of the whole +family in the enterprise. A certain mysterious paper of "Conclusions," +referred to by the son, had been inclosed in the father's letter, which +appears to be irrecoverable. There has been much discussion, with rival +and contested claims and pleas, as to the authorship of that most +valuable and critical document containing the propositions for the +enterprise, with reasons and grounds, objections and answers. Our author +urges, with force of arguments and the evidence of authentic papers, +entirely to our satisfaction, that John Winthrop was essentially and +substantially the digester and exponent of those pregnant +considerations. The correspondence which follows proves how +conscientiously the enterprise was weighed, and the reasons and +objections debated. Godly ministers were consulted for their advice and +coöperation. No opposition or withholding of any shade or degree would +seem to have been made by any member of Winthrop's family; his gentle, +meek-hearted, but most heroic and high-souled wife, being, from first to +last, his most cordial sympathizer and ally. We next find him entering +into the decisive "Agreement," at Cambridge, with eleven other of the +foremost adventurers to New England, which pledged them "to inhabit and +continue there." It was only after most protracted, and, we may be sure, +most devout deliberation, that the great decision was made, which +involved the transfer of the patent, the setting up of a self-governing +commonwealth on the foreign soil, and the committal of those who were to +be its members to a life-long and exacting undertaking, from which there +were to be no lookings-back. A day was appointed for the company to +meet, on which two committees were chosen, to weigh and present with +full force, respectively, the reasons for a removal, and the reasons +against it. The "show of hands," when these committees reported, fixed +the purpose of the company on what they did not hesitate to believe was +the leading of Providence.</p> + +<p>From that moment we find Winthrop busy with cares and efforts of the +most exacting character, drawing upon all his great energies, and +engaging the fondest devotion of his manly and Christian heart. He gave +himself, without stint or regret, with an unselfish and supreme +consecration, to the work, cherishing its great aim as the matter of his +most earnest piety, and attending to its pettiest details with a +scrupulous fidelity which proved that conscience found its province<a name="Page_22" id="Page_22"></a> +there. We seem almost to be made spectators of the bustle and fervor of +the old original Passover scenes of the Hebrew exodus. It is refreshing +to pause for a moment over a touch of our common humanity, which we meet +by the way. Winthrop in London "feeds with letters" the wife from whom +he was so often parted. In one of them he tells her that he has +purchased for her the stuff for a "gowne" to be sent by the carrier, and +he adds, "Lett me knowe what triminge I shall send for thy gowne." But +Margaret, who could trust her honored husband in everything else, was a +woman still, and must reserve, not only the rights of her sex, but the +privilege of her own good taste for the fitnesses of things. So she +guardedly replies,—in a postscript, of course,—"When I see the cloth, +I will send word what triminge will serve." In a modest parenthesis of +another letter to her, dated October 29, 1629, he speaks of himself, as +if all by the way, as "beinge chosen by y<sup>e</sup> Company to be their +Governor." The circumstances of his election and trust, so honorable and +dignified, are happily told with sufficient particularity on our own +Court Records. Governor Cradock, his honored predecessor, not intending +immediate emigration, put the proposition, and announced the result +which gave him such a successor.</p> + +<p>Attending frequently upon meetings of the Company, and supervising its +own business as well as his private affairs, all having in view what +must then have been in the scale of the time a gigantic undertaking, +full of vexations and embarrassments, Winthrop seizes upon a few days of +crowded heart-strugglings to make his last visit at the dear homestead, +and then to take of it his eternal farewell. How lovingly and admiringly +do we follow him on his way from London, taking his last view of those +many sweet scenes which were thenceforward to embower in his memory all +the joys of more than forty years! He did not then know for what a +rugged landscape, and for what uncouth habitations, he was to exchange +those fair scenes and the ivy-clad and -festooned churches and cottages +of his dear England. His wife, for reasons of prudence, was to remain +for a while with some of his children, beside his eldest son, and was to +follow him when he had made fit preparation for her. His last letters to +her (and each of many was written as the last, because of frequent +delays) after the embarkation of the company, are gems and jewels of a +heart which was itself the pure shrine of a most fond and faithful love. +His leave-taking at Groton was at the end of February, 1630; his +embarkation was on March 22. The ships were weather-bound successively +at Cowes and at Yarmouth, whence were written those melting epistles. A +letter which he wrote to Sir William Spring, one of the Parliamentary +members from Suffolk, a dear religions friend of his, overflows with an +ardor and intenseness of affection which passes into the tone and +language of feminine endearment, and fashions passages from the Song of +Solomon into prayers. One sentence of that letter keeps sharp its +lacerating point for the reader of to-day. "But I must leave you all: +our farewells usually are pleasant passages; mine must be sorrowful; +this addition of forever is a sad close." And it was to be forever. +Winthrop was never to see his native land again. Many of his associates +made one or more homeward voyages. A few of them returned to resume +their English citizenship in those troublous times which invited and +exercised energies like those which had essayed to tame a wilderness. +But the great and good leader of his blessed exodus never found the +occasion, we know not that he ever felt the prompting, to recross the +ocean. The purpose of his life and soul was a unit in its substance and +consecration, and it had found its object. For nineteen years, most of +them as Governor, and always as the leading spirit and the recognized +Moses of the enterprise, he was spared to see the planting and the +building-up which subdued the wilderness<a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"></a> and reared a commonwealth. He +had most noble and congenial associates in the chief magistrates of the +other New-England colonies. Bradford and Winslow of Plymouth, Eaton of +New Haven, his own son and Haynes and Hopkins of Connecticut, and +Williams of Providence Plantations, were all of them men of signal +virtue. They have all obtained a good report, and richly and eminently +do they deserve it. They were, indeed, a providential galaxy of +pure-hearted, unspotted, heroic men. There is a mild and sweet beauty in +the star of Winthrop, the lustre of which asks no jealous or rival +estimation.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_PLANTING_OF_THE_APPLE-TREE" id="THE_PLANTING_OF_THE_APPLE-TREE"></a>THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE-TREE.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come, let us plant the apple-tree!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cleave the tough greensward with the spade;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wide let its hollow bed be made;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There gently lay the roots, and there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sift the dark mould with kindly care,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And press it o'er them tenderly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As, round the sleeping infant's feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We softly fold the cradle-sheet:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So plant we the apple-tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What plant we in the apple-tree?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Buds, which the breath of summer days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall lengthen into leafy sprays;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Boughs, where the thrush with crimson breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We plant upon the sunny lea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A shadow for the noontide hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A shelter from the summer shower,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When we plant the apple-tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What plant we in the apple-tree?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweets for a hundred flowery springs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To load the May-wind's restless wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, from the orchard-row, he pours<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its fragrance through our open doors;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A world of blossoms for the bee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flowers for the sick girl's silent room;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the glad infant sprigs of bloom.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We plant with the apple-tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What plant we in the apple-tree?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fruits that shall swell in sunny June,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And redden in the August noon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And drop, as gentle airs come by<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fan the blue September sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While children, wild with noisy glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall scent their fragrance as they pass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And search for them the tufted grass<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At the foot of the apple-tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when above this apple-tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The winter stars are quivering bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And winds go howling through the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall peel its fruit by cottage-hearth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And guests in prouder homes shall see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heaped with the orange and the grape,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As fair as they in tint and shape,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fruit of the apple-tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The fruitage of this apple-tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Winds and our flag of stripe and star<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall bear to coasts that lie afar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where men shall wonder at the view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ask in what fair groves they grew;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And they who roam beyond the sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall look, and think of childhood's day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And long hours passed in summer play<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the shade of the apple-tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Each year shall give this apple-tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A broader flush of roseate bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A deeper maze of verdurous gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And loosen, when the frost-clouds lower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The years shall come and pass, but we<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall hear no longer, where we lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The summer's songs, the autumn's sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the boughs of the apple-tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And time shall waste this apple-tree.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, when its aged branches throw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thin shadows on the sward below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall fraud and force and iron will<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oppress the weak and helpless still?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What shall the tasks of mercy be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the toils, the strifes, the tears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of those who live when length of years<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is wasting this apple-tree?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Who planted this old apple-tree?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The children of that distant day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus to some aged man shall say;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, gazing on its mossy stem,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gray-haired man shall answer them:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"A poet of the land was he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Born in the rude, but good old times;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis said he made some quaint old rhymes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On planting the apple-tree."<br /></span> +</div></div><p><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="RAY" id="RAY"></a>RAY.</h2> + + +<p>So Beltran was a Rebel.</p> + +<p>Vivia stood before the glass, brushing out black shadows from her long, +fine hair. There lay the letter as little Jane had left it, as she had +let it lie till all the doors had clanged between, as she had laid it +down again. She paused, with the brush half lifted, to glance once more +at the clear superscription, to turn it and touch with her finger-tips +the firm seal. Then she went on lengthening out the tresses that curled +back again at the end like something instinct with life.</p> + +<p>How long it had been in coming!—gradual journeys up from those Southern +shores, and slumber in some comrade's care till a flag of truce could +bear it across beneath the shelter of its white wing. Months had passed. +And where was Beltran now? Living,—Vivia had a proud assurance in her +heart of that! Her heart that went swiftly gliding back into the past, +and filling old scenes with fresh fire. Thinking thus, she bent forward +with dark, steady gaze, as if she sought for its pictures in the +uncertain depths of the mirror, and there they rose as of old the +crystal gave them back to the seeker. It was no gracious woman bending +there that she saw, but a scene where the very air infused with sunlight +seemed to glow, the house with its wide veranda veiled in vines, and +above it towering the rosy cloud of an oleander-tree, behind it the far +azure strip of the bay, before it the long low line of sandy beach where +the waters of the Gulf forever swung their silver tides with a sullen +roar,—for the place was one of those islands that make the perpetual +fortifications of the Texan coast. Vivia, a slender little maiden of +eleven summers, rocks in a boat a rod from shore, and by her side, his +length along the warm wave, his arm along the boat, a boy floats in his +linen clothes, an amphibious child, so undersized as to seem but little +more than a baby, and yet a year her senior. He swims round and round +the skiff in circling frolics, followed by the great dog who gambols +with them, he dives under it and comes up far in advance, he treads +water as he returns, and, seizing the painter, draws it forward while +she sits there like Thetis guiding her sea-horses. Then, as the sun +flings down more fervid showers, together they beach the boat and +scamper up the sand, where old Disney, who has been dredging for oysters +in the great bed below, crowns his basket with little Ray, and bears him +off perched aloft on his bent back. Vivia walks beside the old slave in +her infantile dignity, and disregards the sundry attempts of Ray's +outstretched arms, till of a sudden the beating play of hoofs runs along +the ground, and Beltran, with his morning's game, races by on his fiery +mustang, and, scarcely checking his speed as he passes, stoops from the +saddle and lifts the little girl before him. Vivia would look back in +triumph upon Ray in his ignoble conveyance, but the affair has already +been too much for him, he has flung himself on the instant from old +Disney's basket, as if he were careless whether he fell under the +horse's feet or not, but knowing perfectly well that Beltran will catch +him. And Beltran, suddenly pulling up with a fierce rein, does catch +him, bestows him with Vivia, slightly to her dainty discomfort, and +dashes on. Noon deepens; Vivia does not sleep, she seeks Ray, Ray who +does not sleep either, but who is not to be beguiled. For, one day, the +child in his troubled dreams had been found by Beltran with a white coil +of fangs and venom for his pillow; and never since has Beltran taken his +noontide siesta but Ray watches beside him till the thick brown lashes +lift themselves once more. For, if Ray knows what worship is, he would +show you Beltran enshrined in his heart, this brother a dozen years his +elder, who had hailed his birth with stormy tears of<a name="Page_26" id="Page_26"></a> joy, who had +carried him for years when he was yet too weak to walk, who in his own +full growth would seem to have absorbed the younger's share, were it not +that, tiny as Ray may be, his every nerve is steel, made steel, though, +by the other, and so trained and suppled and put at his service. It was +Beltran who had first flung him astride the saddle and sent him loping +off to town alone, but who had secretly followed him from thicket to +thicket, and stood ready in the market-place at last to lift him down; +it was Beltran who had given him his own rifle, had taught him to take +the bird on the wing, had led him out at night to see the great silent +alligator in his scale-armor sliding over the land from the coast and +plunging into the fresh waters of the bay,—who took him with him on the +long journeys for gathering in the cattle of the vast stock-farm, let +him sleep beside himself on the bare prairie-floor, like a man, with his +horse tethered to his boot, told him the spot in the game on which to +draw his bead, showed him what part to dress, and made him <i>chef de +cuisine</i> in every camp they crossed; it was he who had taught him how to +hold himself in any wild stampede, on the prairie how to conquer fire +with fire, to find water as much his element as air; it is Beltran, in +short, who has made him this little marvel which at twelve years old he +finds himself to be,—this brother who serves him so, and whom he +adores, for whom he passionately expresses his devotion,—this brother +whom he loves as he loves the very life he lives. So Vivia, too, sits +down at Beltran's feet that day, and busies herself with those pink +plumes of the spoonbill's wings which he brought home to her,—so that, +when he wakes, he sees her standing there like the spirit of his dream, +her dark eyes shining out from under the floating shadowy hair, and the +rosy wings trembling on her little white shoulders. And just then +Beltran has no word for Ray, the customary smiling word always waited +for, since his eyes are on the vision at his feet, and straightway the +child springs down, springs where he can intercept Beltran's view, seems +to rise in his wrath a head above the girl, and, looking at Beltran all +the while, slaps Vivia on the cheek. Instantly two hands have clasped +about his wrists, two hands that hold him in a vice, and two eyes are +gazing down into his own and paralyzing him. Still the grasp, the gaze, +continue; as Vivia watches that look, a great blue glow from those eyes +seems to cloud her own brain. The color rises on Ray's cheeks, his angry +eyes fall, his chest heaves, his lips tremble, off from the long black +lashes spin sprays of tears, he cannot move, he is so closely held, but +slowly he turns his head, meets the red lips of the forgiving girl with +his, then casts himself with sobs on Beltran's breast. And all that +evening, as the sudden heavy clouds drive down and quench sunset and +starlight, while they sit about a great fire, Beltran keeps her at his +side and Ray maintains his place, and within there is light and love, +and without the sand trembles to the shock of sound and the thunder of +the surf, and the heaven is full of the wildly flying blast of the +Norther.</p> + +<p>Still, as Vivia gazed into the silent mirror, the salient points of her +life started up as if memory held a torch to them in their dark +recesses, and another picture printed its frosty <i>spiculæ</i> upon the gray +surface of the glass before her. No ardent arch of Southern noontide +now, no wealth of flower and leaf, no pomp of regnant summer, but winter +has darkened down over sad Northern countries, and white Arctic splendor +hedges a lake about with the beauty of incomparable radiance; the trees +whose branches overhang the verge are foamy fountains, frozen as they +fall; distantly beyond them the crisp upland fields stretch their snowy +sparkle to touch the frigid-flashing sapphire of the sky, and bluer than +the sky itself their shadows fall about them; every thorn, every stem, +is set, a spike of crusted lustre in its icy mail; the tingling air +takes the breath in silvery wreaths; and wherever the gay garment of a +skater breaks the monotone with a gleam of<a name="Page_27" id="Page_27"></a> crimson or purple, the +shining feet beneath chisel their fantastic curves upon a floor that is +nothing but one glare of crystal sheen. And here, hero of the scene, +glides Beltran, master of the Northern art as school-days made him, +skates as of old some young Viking skated, all his being bubbling in a +lofty glee, with blue eyes answering this icy brilliance as they dazzle +back from the tawny countenance, with every muscle rippling grace and +vigor to meet the proud volition, lithely cutting the air, swifter than +the swallow's wing in its arrowy precision, careless as the floating +flake in effortless motion, skimming along the lucid sheathing that +answers his ringing heel with a tune of its own, and swaying in his +almost aërial medium, lightly, easily, as the swimming fish sways to the +currents of the tide. Scoring whitely their tracery of intricate lines, +the groups go by in whorls, in angles, in sweeping circles, and the ice +shrinks beneath them; here a fairy couple slide along, waving and bowing +and swinging together; far away some recluse in his pleasure sports +alone with folded arms, careening in the outward roll like the mast of a +phantom-craft; everywhere inshore clusters of ruddy-cheeked boys race +headlong with their hawkey-sticks, and with their wild cries, making +benders where the ice surges in a long swell: and constantly in +Beltran's wake slips Vivia, a scarlet shadow, while a clumsy little +black outline is ever designing itself at her heels as Ray strives in +vain to perfect the mysteries of the left stroke. All about, the keen +air breathes its exhilaration, and the glow seems to penetrate the pores +till the very blood dances along filled with such intoxicating +influence; all above, the afternoon heaven deepens till it has no hidden +richness, and between one and the pale gold of the coldly reddening +horizon the white air seems hollow as the flaw in some great transparent +jewel. Still they wind away in their gladness, when hurriedly Beltran +reaches his hand for the heedless Vivia's, and hurriedly she sees +terrifying grooves spreading round them, a great web-work of +cracks,—the awful ice lifts itself, sinks, and out of a monstrous +fissure chill death rises to meet them and ingulf them. In an instant, +Ray, who might have escaped, has hurled himself upon them, and then, as +they all struggle for one drowning breath in the flood, Vivia dimly +divines through her horror an arm stretched first towards Ray, snatched +back again, and bearing her to safety. Ray has already scrambled from +the shallow breach where his brother alone found bottom; waiting hands +assist Beltran; but as she lingers that moment shivering on the brink, +blindly remembering the double movement of that arm beneath the ice, she +silently asks, with a thrill, if he suffered Ray to save himself because +he was a boy, and could, or because—because she was Vivia!</p> + +<p>Southern noontide, winter twilight lost themselves again, as Vivia +gazed, in the soft starry gleam of an April midnight. A quiet room, +dimly lighted by a flame that dying eyes no longer see; two figures +kneeling, one at either side of the mother,—the little apple-blossom of +a mother brought up to die among her own people,—one shaking with his +storm of sobs, the other supporting the dear, weary head on his strong +breast, and stifling his very heart-beat lest it stir the frail life too +roughly. And the mother lifts the lids of her faint eyes, as when a +parting vapor reveals rifts of serene heaven, gazes for a moment into +the depths of her first-born's tenderness, gropes darkly for his fingers +and for the hot little hand thrust eagerly forth to meet hers, closes +one about the other, and folds them both upon her own heart. Then +Beltran bends and gathers from the lips the life that kindled his. With +a despairing cry, Ray flings himself forward, and dead and living lie in +Beltran's arms, while the strong convulsion of his heart rends up a +hollow groan from its emptiness. And Vivia draws aside the curtain, and +the gentle wind brings in the sweet earthy scent of fresh furrows lately +wet with showers, and the ever-shifting procession of the silent stars +unveil themselves of gauzy cloud,<a name="Page_28" id="Page_28"></a> and glance sadly down with their +abiding eyes upon these fleeting shadows.</p> + +<p>After all, who can deny that there is magic in a mirror, a weird +atmosphere imprisoned, between the metal and the glass, borrowing the +occult powers of the gulf of space, and returning to us our own wraith +and apparition at any hour of the day or night when we smite it with a +ray of light,—reaching with its searching power into the dark places +where we have hidden ourselves, and seizing and projecting them in open +sight? Who doubts that this sheeny panel on so many walls, with wary art +slurring off its elusive gleam, could, at the one compelling word, paint +again the reflections of all on which it silently dreams in its reticent +heart,—the joy, the grief, the weeping face, the laughing lip, the +lover's kiss, the tyrant's sneer, almost the crouched and bleeding soul +on which that sneer descended, of which some wandering beam carried +record? When we remember the violin, inwardly ridged with the vibrations +of old tunes, old discords, who would wonder to find some charactery of +light tracing its indelible script within the crystal substance? And +here, if Vivia saw one other scene blaze out before her and vanish, why +not believe, for fancy's sake, that it was as real a picture as the +image of the dark and beautiful girl herself bending there with the +carmine stain upon her cheek, the glowing, parted lips, the shining +eyes, the shadowy hair?</p> + +<p>Late spring down on the Maryland farm: you know it by the intense blue +through that quaint window draped with such a lushness of vines, such a +glory of blossom. In at the open door, whose frame is arabesqued with +hanging sprays of sweetbrier, with the pendent nest, with fluttering +moth-wings sunshine-dusted, with crowds of bursting buds, pours the +mellow sun in one great stream, pours from the peach-orchards the +fragrant breeze laden with bird-song. A girl, standing aside, with +clasped hands drooping before her, her gaze upon a shadow on the floor +in the midst of that broad stream of light. Casting that shadow, under +the lintel, a young man clad for travel. Since he left his Southern +home, ruin has befallen it; he dares not ask one lapped in luxury to +share such broken fortunes as his seem to-day, even though such stout +shoulders, so valiant a heart, buffet them. If she loves, it is enough; +they can wait; their treasure neither moth nor rust can corrupt; their +jewel is imperishable. If she loves—He is looking in her eyes, holding +to her his hands. Slowly the girl meets his glance. A long look, one +long, silent look, infinitude in its assurance, its glow wrapping her, +blue and smiling as heaven itself, reaching him like the evening star +seen through tears,—a word, a touch, had profaned with a trait of +earthliness so remote, so spiritual a betrothal. He goes, and still the +upward-smiling girl sees the sunshine, hears the bird-song,—a boy +dashes by the door and down the path to meet the last, close-lingering +embrace of two waiting arms at the gate,—and then there is nothing but +Vivia bending and gazing at herself in the glass with a flushed and +fevered eagerness of rapture.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The wild, sweet tunes that darkly deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thrill through thy veins and shroud thy sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That swing thy blood with proud, glad sway,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And beat thy life's arterial play,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still wilt thou have this music sweep<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Along thy brain its pulsing leap,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keep love away! keep love away!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The joy of peace that wide and high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like light floods through the soaring sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The day divine, the night akin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heaven in the heart, ah, wilt thou win,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The secret of the hoarded years,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Life rounded as the shining spheres,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let love come in! let love come in!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>she sang, to case her heart of its swelling gladness.</p> + +<p>But here Vivia dared not concentrate her recollections, dared not dally +with such distant delight,—twisted and tossed her hair into its coils, +and once more opened the letter. Ray had not lived for three years under +converging influences, years which are glowing wax beneath the seal of +fresh impressions, years when one puts off or takes on the tendencies +<a name="Page_29" id="Page_29"></a>of a lifetime,—Ray had not lived those three school-years without +contracting habits, whims, determinations of his own: let her have +Beltran's reasons to meet Ray's objections.</p> + +<p>They were up at the little meadow-side cottage of Mrs. Vennard, Ray's +maternal aunt, a quiet widow, who was glad to receive her dying sister +in her house a year and a half ago, as she had often received her boys +before, and who was still willing to eke out her narrow income with the +board of one nephew and any summer guest; and as that summer guest, +owing to an old family-friendship that overlooked differences of rank +and wealth, Vivia had, for many a season, been established. Here, when +bodings of trouble began to darken her sunny fields, she had, in early +spring, withdrawn again, leaving her maiden aunt to attend to the +affairs of the homestead, or to find more luxurious residence in +watering-places or cities, as she chose. For Vivia liked the placid life +and freedom of the cottage, and here, too, she had oftenest met those +dear friends to whom one winter her father, long since dead, had taken +her, and half of all that was pleasant in her life had inwoven itself +with the simple surroundings of the place. Here, in that fatal spring +when the first tocsin alarmed the land, Ray, now scarcely any longer a +boy, yet with a boy's singleness of mind, though possessing neither +patience nor power for subtilties of difficult reason and truth, +thinking of no lonely portion, but of the one great fact of country, had +been fired with spontaneous fervor, and had ever since been like some +restive steed champing the bit and quivering to start. As for Vivia, she +was a Maryland woman. Too burningly indignant, the blood bubbled in her +heart for words sometimes, and she would be glad of Beltran's weapons +with which to confront Kay when he returned from Boston, whither, the +day before, without a word's explanation, he had betaken himself. So she +turned again to the open letter, and scanned its weightiest paragraphs.</p> + +<p>"There is a strange reversal of right and wrong, when the American Peace +Society declares itself for war. There is, then, a greater evil than +war, even than civil war, with its red, fratricidal hands?—Slavery. +But, could that be destroyed, it would be the first great evil ever +overcome by force of arms. They fight tangibly with an intangible foe; +tangible issues rise between them; the black, intangible phantom hovers +safe behind. But even should they visibly succeed, is there not left the +very root of the matter to put forth fresh growth,—that moral condition +in which the thing lived at all? An evil that has its source in the +heart must be eradicated by slow medicinal cure of the blood. To fight +against the stars in their courses, one must have brands of starry +temper. No sudden shocks of battle will sweep Slavery from the sphere. +Can one conquer the universe by proclamation? 'Lyra will rise +to-morrow,' said some one, after Cæsar reformed the calendar. +'Doubtless,' replied Cicero, 'there is an edict for it.' But, believe +me, there can be no broad, stupendous evil, unless it be a part of God's +plan; and in His own time, without other help from us than the +performance of our duty, it will slough off its slime and rise into some +fair superstructure. Our efforts dash like spray against the rock,—the +spray is broken, the rock remains. To annihilate evil with evil,—that +is an error in itself against which every man is justified in taking up +his sword.</p> + +<p>"So far, I have allowed the sin. Yet, sin or not, in this country the +estate of the slave is unalterable. Segregately, the institution is +their protection. For though there is no record of the contact of +superior and inferior races on a basis of equality, where the inferior +did not absorb the superior, yet, if every slave were set free to-day, +imbruted through generations, it could not be on a basis of equality +that we should meet, and they would be as inevitably sunk and lost as +the detritus that a river washes into the sea. If the black stay here, +it must be <a name="Page_30" id="Page_30"></a>as a menial. In his own latitudes, where, after the third +generation, the white man ceases to exist, he is the stronger; there the +black man is king: let him betake himself to his realm. Abolition is +impracticable, colonization feasible; on either is gunpowder wasted: one +cannot explode a lie by the blast.</p> + +<p>"But saying the worst of our incubus that can be said, could all its +possible accumulation of wrong and woe exceed that of four years of such +a war as this? Think a moment of what this land was, what a great beacon +and celestial city across the waves to the fugitives from tyranny; think +of our powerful pride in eastern seas, in western ports, when each +ship's armament carried with it the broadside of so many sovereign +States, when each citizen felt his own hand nerved with a people's +strength, when no young man woke in the morning without the perpetual +aurora of high hopes before him, when peace and plenty were all about +us,—and then think of misery at every hearth, of civilization thrust +back a century, of the prestige of freedom lost among the nations, of +the way paved for despots. And how needlessly!</p> + +<p>"They taunted us, us the source of all their wealth, with the pauper's +deserting the poor-house; we put it to proof; when, lo! with a hue and +cry, the blood-hounds are upon us, the very dogs of war. So needless a +war! For has it not been a fundamental principle that every people has a +right to govern itself? We chose to exercise that right. Was it worth +the while to refuse it? Exhausted, drained, dispeopled, they may chain a +vassal province to their throne; but, woe be to them, upon that +conquering day, their glory has departed from them! The first Revolution +was but the prologue to this: that was sealed in blood; in this might +have been demonstrated the progress made under eighty years of freedom, +by a peaceful separation. It is the Flight of the Tartar Tribe anew, and +the whole barbarous Northern nation pours its hordes after, hangs on the +flank, harasses, impedes, slaughters,—but we reach the shadow of the +Great Wall at last. If we had not the right to leave the league, how had +we the right to enter? If we had not the right to leave, they also had +not the right to withhold us. Yet, when we entered, resigning much, +receiving much, retaining more, we were each a unit, a power, a +commonwealth, a nation, or, as we chose to term it, a State,—as much a +state as any of the great states of Europe, as Britain, as France, as +Spain, and jealously ever since have we individually regarded any +infringement on our integrity. That, and not the mere tangle of race +that in time must unravel itself, is the question of the age. Long ago +it was said that our people, holding it by transmission, never having +struggled for it, would some day cease rightly to value the one chief +bulwark of liberty. Nothing is more true. They of the North will lose +it, we of the South shall gain it; for, battling on a grander scale than +our ancestors, the South is to-day taking out the great <i>habeas corpus</i> +of States!"</p> + +<p>No matter whether all this was sophistry or truth. Beltran had said +it,—that was enough; so strongly did she feel his personality in what +he wrote, that the soul was exultant, jubilant, defiant, within her. +Other words there were in the letter, such words as are written to but +one; the blood swept up to Vivia's lips as she recalled them, and her +heart sprang and bounded like one of those balls kept in perpetual play +by the leaping, bubbling column of a fountain. She was in one of those +dangerous states of excitement after which the ancients awaited +disaster. That last picture of the mirror dazzled her vision again; she +saw the sunshine, smelt the perfume, heard the bird-song. How a year had +changed the scene! The house was a barrack; now down in her Maryland +peach-orchards the black muzzles of Federal cannon yawned, and under the +flickering shadows and sunshine the grimy gunners, knee-deep in grass +and dew, brushed away the startled clover-blooms, as they <a name="Page_31" id="Page_31"></a>touched fire +to the breach. Beltran was a Rebel. Vivia was a Rebel, too! She ran +down-stairs into her little parlor overflowing with flowers. As she +walked to and fro, the silent keys of her pianoforte met her eye. +Excellent conductors. Half standing, half sitting, she awoke its voices, +and, to a rolling, silvery thunder of accompaniment, commenced +singing,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The lads of Kilmarnock had swords and had spears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lang-bladed daggers to kill cavaliers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But they shrunk to the wall and the causey left free<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At one toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So fill up my cup, come fill up my can,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Saddle my horses and call up my men,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Open your west-port and let me gae free,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Some one in the distance, echoing the last line with an emphasis, caught +her ear in the pause. It was Ray. He had already returned, then. She +snatched the letter and sped into the kitchen, where she was sure to +find him.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Vennard rocked in her miniature sitting-room at one side, +contentedly matching patchwork. Little Jane Vennard, her +step-daughter,—usually at work in the mills, but, since their close, +making herself busy at home, whither she had brought a cookery-book +through which Ray declared he expected to eat his way,—bustled about +from room to room. Ray sat before the fire in the kitchen and toasted +some savory morsel suspended on a string athwart the blaze.</p> + +<p>"Where have you been, Ray?" said Vivia, approaching, with her glowing +cheeks, her sparkling eyes. "And what are you doing now?"</p> + +<p>"Trying camp-life again," replied Ray, looking up at her in a fixed +admiration.</p> + +<p>"I've had a letter from Beltran."</p> + +<p>"Oh! where is he?" cried Ray.</p> + +<p>"Beltran is in camp."</p> + +<p>"And where?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps on the Rio Grande, perhaps on the Potomac."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say," cried Ray, springing up, while string and all fell +into the coals, "that Beltran, my brother"—</p> + +<p>"Is a Rebel."</p> + +<p>"Then I am a rebel, too," said Ray, chokingly, sitting down again, and +mechanically stooping to pick up the burning string,—"a rebel to him!"</p> + +<p>"You won't be a rebel to him, if you'll listen to reason,—his reason."</p> + +<p>"He's got no reason. It's only because he was there."</p> + +<p>"Now, Raymond Lamar! if you talk so, you sha'n't read the letter!"</p> + +<p>"I don't want to read it."</p> + +<p>"Have you left off loving Beltran, because he differs from you?"</p> + +<p>"Left off loving Beltran!"</p> + +<p>Vivia waited a moment, leaning on the back of his chair, and then Ray, +bending, covered his face with his hands, and the large tears oozed from +between his brown fingers.</p> + +<p>Little Jane, whipping the frothy snow of her eggs, went on whipping all +the harder for fear Ray should know she saw him. And Vivia, with one +hand upon his head, took away the brown fingers, that her own cool, +fragrant palm might press upon his burning lids. Such sudden tears +belong to such tropical natures. For there was no anger or sullenness in +Ray's grief; he was just and simply sorry.</p> + +<p>"He must have forgotten me," said Ray, after a sober while.</p> + +<p>"There was this note for you in mine, and a draft on New York, because +he thought you might be in arrears."</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not. Aunty can have the draft, though; she may need it before I +come back," said Ray, brokenly, gazing into the fire. "Do you suppose +Beltran wrote mine or yours first?"</p> + +<p>"Yours."</p> + +<p>"Then you've the last thing he ever set his hand to, perhaps!"</p> + +<p>"Don't talk so, child!" said Vivia, with an angry shiver. "Come back! +Where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"I enlisted, yesterday, in the Kansas Cavalry."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32"></a>"Great heavens, Ray! was there not another regiment in all the world +than one to be sent down to New Mexico to meet Beltran and the Texan +Rangers?" cried Vivia, wringing her hands.</p> + +<p>Ray was on his feet again, a swarm of expletives buzzing inarticulately +at his lips.</p> + +<p>"I never thought of that," said he, whiter than ashes.</p> + +<p>"What made you? oh, what made you?"</p> + +<p>"There was no other company. I liked this captain. He gave me to-day's +furlough. I'm going to-night; little Jane's promised to fix my traps; +she's making me these cookies now, you see. Pshaw! Beltran's up on the +Potomac, or else you couldn't have gotten this letter,—don't you know? +You made my heart jump into my mouth!"</p> + +<p>And resuming his seat, to find his string and jack in cinders, he turned +round astride his chair and commenced notching his initials into its +back, with cautious glances at his aunt.</p> + +<p>"That's for little Jane to cry over after I'm gone," said he.</p> + +<p>"Ray—How do you think Beltran will like it?"</p> + +<p>"I can't help what Beltran likes. I shall be doing God's work."</p> + +<p>"Beltran says God does His own work. He only requires of us our duty."</p> + +<p>"That is my duty."</p> + +<p>"You feel, Ray, as if you were possessed by the holy ardor of another +Sir Galahad!"</p> + +<p>"I feel, Vivia, that I shall give what strength I have towards ridding +the world of its foulest disease."</p> + +<p>"With what a good grace that comes from you!"</p> + +<p>"With all the better grace."</p> + +<p>"The old Berserker rage over again!"</p> + +<p>"Quite as fine as running amuck."</p> + +<p>"Ray, the race that does not rise for itself deserves its fate."</p> + +<p>"Vivia, no race deserves such a fate as this one has found."</p> + +<p>"Idle! I have seen slavery; own slaves: there is nothing monstrous in +it."</p> + +<p>"In Maryland."</p> + +<p>"Anywhere."</p> + +<p>"Wailing children, sundered families, women under the lash"—</p> + +<p>"You know very well, Ray, that there is a law against the separation of +families."</p> + +<p>"I never heard of it."</p> + +<p>"Audubon says there is."</p> + +<p>"A little bird told him," interpolated Jane.</p> + +<p>"But I've seen them separated."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe," urged Vivia, "but for exceptional abuses, there's a +system providing for a happier peasantry on the face of the earth."</p> + +<p>"It can't be a good system that allows such abuses."</p> + +<p>"There are even abuses of the sacraments."</p> + +<p>"Pshaw, Vivia!"</p> + +<p>"Well, Ray, I don't believe in this pseudo-chivalry of yours, any more +than Beltran does."</p> + +<p>"If Beltran said black was white, you'd think that true!"</p> + +<p>"<i>If</i> Beltran said so, it <i>would</i> be true."</p> + +<p>"It's no more likely that he should be right than that I should be."</p> + +<p>"You couldn't have spoken so about Beltran once!"</p> + +<p>"Well, black or white, slave or free, never think I shall sit by and see +my country fall to ruins."</p> + +<p>"Your country? Do you suppose you love it any more than I do?"</p> + +<p>"You're a woman."</p> + +<p>"Suppose I am a woman, you unkind boy"—</p> + +<p>"Well, you only love half of it,—the Southern half."</p> + +<p>"I love my whole country!" cried Vivia, all aflame. "I love these +purple, rust-stained granites here, the great savannas there,—the pine +forests, the sea-like prairies,—every river rolling down its rocky +bed,—every inch of its beautiful, glorious soil,—all its proud, free +people. I love my whole country!"</p> + +<p>"Only you hate some of its parasites. But Beltran would tell you that +you haven't got any country. You may love your <a name="Page_33" id="Page_33"></a>native State. As for +country, it's nothing but a—what-you-may-call-it."</p> + +<p>"Very true. It is in observing the terms of that +what-you-may-call-it,—that federation, that bond,—in mutual +concessions, in fraternal remembrances, that we gain a country. And what +a country!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, what a country, Vivia! And shall I consent to resign an atom of it +while there's a drop of blood in my body, to lose a single grain of its +dust? When Beltran brought me here three years ago, I sailed day and +night up a mighty river, from one zone into another,—sailed for weeks +between banks that were still my own country. And if I had ever +returned, we should have passed by the thundering ledges of New England, +Jersey surfs and shallows, the sand-bars of the Carolinas, the shores of +Florida lying like a faint green cloud long and low upon the +horizon,—sailing a thousand miles again in our own waters. Enormous +borders! and throughout their vast stretch happiness and promise! And +shall I give such dominion to the first traitor that demands it? No! nor +to the thousandth! There she lies, bleeding, torn, prostrate, a byword! +Why, Vivia, this was my country, she that made me, reared me, gladdened +me! It is the now crusade. I understand none of your syllogisms. My +country is in danger. Here's my hand!"</p> + +<p>And Ray stood erect, bristling and fiery, as some one reddening in the +very light of battle.</p> + +<p>And answering him only with flashing eyes, Vivia sang, in her +triumphant, thrilling tones,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Hark to a wandering child's appeal,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Maryland! my Maryland!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My mother State, to thee I kneel,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Maryland! my Maryland!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For life and death, for woe and weal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy peerless chivalry reveal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Maryland! my Maryland!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"You're a wicked girl, Vivia, if you <i>are</i> as beautiful as Phryne!" +exclaimed Ray, while little Jane picked herself up from the table, +across which she had been leaning with both arms and her dish-towel, and +staring forgetfully at him.</p> + +<p>Vivia laughed.</p> + +<p>"Well, you young fanatic," said she, "we can't convert each other. We +are both incontrovertible. Let us be friends. One needs more time than +we have to quarrel in."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Ray. "I am going this afternoon, and I shall drink of every +river west of the Mississippi before I come back. It's a wild life, a +royal life; I am thirsty for its excitement and adventure."</p> + +<p>"Jane," called Mrs. Vennard from within, "did you find all the nests +to-day?"</p> + +<p>"All but two, Ma'am," said little Jane, as she let a tempting odor +escape from the tin oven. "The black hen got over the fence last night; +she's down in the lot. And the cropple-crown laid away."</p> + +<p>"You'd better get them."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Ma'am."</p> + +<p>"If you'd just as lief."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, Ma'am!"</p> + +<p>"We'll go, too," said Ray.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, you needn't."</p> + +<p>"We'd like to, little Jane. Are the cookies done? By George! don't they +look like manna? They'll last all the way to Fort Riley. And be manna in +the wilderness. Smoking hot. Have some, Vivia? Little Jane, I say, 't +would be jolly, if you'd go along and cook for the regiment."</p> + +<p>"Is that all you'd want of me?"</p> + +<p>"It's a wonderful region for grasshoppers out there, you know; you'd +improvise us such charming dishes of locusts and wild honey! As for +cookies, a snowflake and a sunbeam, and there they are," said Ray, +making inroads on the Fort-Riley stores; while little Jane set down a +cup of beaten cream by his side.</p> + +<p>"Janets are trumps! Vivia, don't you wish you were going to the war?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Vivia.</p> + +<p>"There is something in it, isn't there?" said Ray. "You'll sit at home, +and how your blood will boil! What keeps you <a name="Page_34" id="Page_34"></a>women alive? Darning +stockings, I suppose. There's only one thing I dread: 't would be hard +to read of other men's glory, and I lying flat on my back. Would you +make me cookies then, little Jane?"</p> + +<p>Little Jane only gave him one swift, shy look: there was more promise in +it than in many a vow. In return, Ray tossed her the sparkle of his +dancing glance an instant, and then his eager fancies caught him again.</p> + +<p>"We read of them," said he, "those splendid scenes. What can there be +like acting them? Ah, what a throb there is in it! The rush, the roar, +the onslaught, the clanging trumpet, the wreathing smoke, and the mad +horses. Dauntlessly defying danger. Ravishing fame from the teeth of the +battery. See in what a great leap of the heart you spring with the +forlorn hope up the escalade! Your soul kindles and flashes with your +blade. You are nothing but a wrath. To die so, with all one's spirit at +white-heat, awake, alert, aflame, must send one far up and along the +heights of being. And if you live, there are other things to do; and how +the women feel their fiery pulses fly, their hot tears start, as you go +by, thinking of all the tumult, the din, the daring, the danger, and you +a part of it!"</p> + +<p>Little Jane was trembling and tying on her bonnet. As for Vivia, she +burst into tears.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Ray!" sobbed she, "I wish I were a man!"</p> + +<p>"I don't!" said he. "Oh, it's rip-roarious! Come, let's follow our +leader. We'll bring you back the cropple-crown, auntie."</p> + +<p>And so they departed, while, breaking into fresh carols, ringing and +dulcet, as they went, Vivia's voice resounded till the woods pealed to +the echo:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He waved his proud arm, and the trumpets were blown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The kettle-drums clashed, and the horsemen rode on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till o'er Ravelston crags and on Clermiston lea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny Dundee!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Pursuing the white sun-bonnet down the pasture, Ray kept springing ahead +with his elastic foot, threshing the juniper-plats that little Jane had +already searched, and scattering about them the pungent fragrance of the +sweet-fern thickets,—the breath of summer itself; then returning for a +sober pace or two, would take off his hat, thrust a hand through the +masses of his hair that looked like carved ebony, and show Vivia that +his shadow was exactly as long as her own. And Vivia saw that all this +beating and longing and burning had loosened and shot into manhood a +nature that under the snow of its eightieth winter would yet be that of +a boy. Ray could never be any taller than he was to-day, but he had +broad, sturdy shoulders and a close-knit, nervous frame, while in his +honest, ugly face, that, arch or grave, kept its one contrast of black +eyes and brilliant teeth, there was as much to love as in the superb +beauty of Beltran.</p> + +<p>They had reached the meadow's edge at length; Ray was growing more +serious, as the time hurried, when little Jane, with a smothered +exclamation, prepared to cross the wall. For there they were, sleek and +glossy, chattering gently to each other, pecking about, the wind blowing +open their feathers till they became top-heavy, and looking for all the +world, as Janet said, like pretty little old ladies dressed up to go out +to tea. And near them, quite at home in the marshy domain, strutted and +lunched a fine gallant of a turkey, who ruffled his redness, dropped all +his plumes about him, and personated nothing less than some stately +dowager sailing in flounces and brocades. Ray caught back their +discoverer, launched a few stepping-stones across, and, speeding from +foothold to foothold, very soon sent His Magnificence fluttering over +the fence and forward before them, and returned with the two little +runaway hens slung over his arm, where, after a trifle of protestation +and a few subdued cackles of crestfallen acquiescence, having a great +deal to tell the other hens on reaching home once more, they very +contentedly <a name="Page_35" id="Page_35"></a>enjoyed the new aspect of the world upsidedown.</p> + +<p>"And here's where she's made her nest," said little Jane, stepping aside +from a tangle of blackberry-vines, herds-grass, and harebells, where lay +a half-dozen pullet pearls. "A pretty mother you'd make, Miss, gadding +and gossiping down in the meadow with that naughty black hen! Who do you +suppose is going to bring up your family for you? Did you speak to the +butterflies to hatch them under their yellow wings? I shall just tie you +to an old shoe!"</p> + +<p>And taking the winking, blinking culprits from Kay, she ran along home +to make ready his package, for which there was not more than an hour +left. Vivia turned to follow, for she also wanted to help; but Ray, +lingering by the wall and pointing out some object, caused her to +remain.</p> + +<p>"It will be such a long time before I see it again," said he.</p> + +<p>They leaned upon the stone wall, interspersed, overgrown, and veiled +with moss and maiden-hair and blossoming brambles. Before them lay the +long meadow, sprinkled with sunbeams, green to its last ripe richness, +discolored only where the tall grass made itself hoary in the breeze, or +where some trail of dun brown ran up through all intermediate tints to +break in a glory of gold at the foot of the screen of woods that far +away gloomed like a frowning fortress of shade, but, approaching, +feathered off its tips in the glow, and let the mellow warmth of olive +light gild to a lustrous depth all its darkly verdurous hollows. Near +them the vireos were singing loud and sweet.</p> + +<p>"Vivia," said Ray, after a pause, "if I should never come back"—</p> + +<p>"You will come back."</p> + +<p>"But if I never did,—should you greatly care?"</p> + +<p>"Beginning to despond! That is good! You won't go, then?"</p> + +<p>"If the way lay over the bottomless pit, I should go."</p> + +<p>"And you can't get free, if you want to?"</p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<p>"Ray, I could easily raise money enough upon my farm to buy"—</p> + +<p>"If you talk so," said Ray, whipping off the flowers, but looking up at +her as he bent, and smiling, "I shall inform against you, and have your +farm confiscated."</p> + +<p>"What! I can't talk as I please in a free country? Oh, it's not free, +then! They've discovered at length that there's something better than +freedom. They sent a woman to prison this spring for eating an orange in +the street. They confiscated a girl's wedding-gown the other day, and +now they've confiscated her bridegroom. Oh, it's a great cause that +can't get along without my wedding-gown! <i>Noblesse oblige</i>!"</p> + +<p>"It takes more wedding-gowns than yours, Vivia. Dips them in mourning."</p> + +<p>"Pray God it won't take mine yet!" cried she, with sudden fire.</p> + +<p>"Vivia," said Ray, facing her, "I asked you a question. Why didn't you +answer it? Shouldn't you care?"</p> + +<p>"You know, dear child, I should,—we all should, terribly."</p> + +<p>"But, Vivia, I mean, that you—that I"—</p> + +<p>He paused, the ardor and eagerness suspended on cheek and lip, for Vivia +met his glance and understood its simple speech,—since in some degree a +dark eye lets you into the soul, where a blue one bluffs you off with +its blaze, and under all its lucent splendor is as impenetrable as a +turquoise. A girl of more vanity would have waited for plainer words. +But Vivia only placed her warm hand on his, and said gently,—</p> + +<p>"Ray, I love Beltran."</p> + +<p>There was a moment's quiet, while Ray looked away,—supporting his chin +upon one hand, and a black cloud sweeping torridly down the stern face. +One sharp struggle. A moment's quiet. Into it a wild rose kept shaking +sweetness. After it a vireo broke into tremulous melody, gushing higher, +fuller, stronger, clearer. Ray turned, his eyes wet, his face beaming. +Said he,—</p> + +<p><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36"></a>"I am more glad than if it were myself!"</p> + +<p>Then Vivia bent, and, flushed with noble shame, she kissed him on the +lips. A word, a grasp, she was leaning alone over the old stone wall, +the birds were piping and fluting about her, and Ray was gone.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>A month of rushing over land and lake, of resting at the very spots +where he and Beltran had stayed together three years ago, of repeating +the brief strolls they took, of reading again and again that last note, +and Ray had crossed the great river of the West, and reached the +headquarters of his regiment. There, induing their uniforms, and +training their horses, all of which were yet to be shod, they brushed +about the country, and skirmished with guerrillas, until going into camp +for thorough drill preparatory to active service.</p> + +<p>Convoying Government-trains through a region where were assembled in +their war-paint thousands of Indians from the wild tribes of the plains +and hills was venturous work enough, but it was not that to which Ray +aspired. He must be one of those cherubim who on God's bidding speed; he +could not serve with those who only stand and wait. His hot soul grew +parched and faint with longing, and all the instincts of his battling +blood began to war among themselves. At length one night there was +hammering and clinking at the red field-fires, and by daybreak they were +off for a mad gallop over plain and mountain, down river-banks and +across deserts into New Mexico.</p> + +<p>Fording the shallow Arkansas, trailing their way through prairie and +timber,—reaching and skirting the scorching stretch,—riding all day, +consumed with thirst, from green-mantling pool to pool, till the last +lay sixty miles behind them, and men and horses made desperately for the +stream, dashing in together to drink their fill, when they found it +again foaming down the centre of its vast level plain, that receded +twenty miles on either side without shrub or hillock,—finally their +path wound in among the hills, and a day dawned that Ray will never +forget.</p> + +<p>The stars were large and solemn, hovering golden out of the high, dark +heaven, as the troop defiled into the <i>cañon</i>; they glinted with a +steely lustre through the roof of fallen trees that arched the gorge +from side to side, then a wind of morning blew and they grew pallid and +wan in a shining haze, and, towering far up above them, vaguely terrific +in shadow, the horsemen saw the heights they were to climb all grayly +washed in the night-dew. So they swept up the mountain-side in their gay +and breezy career, on from ascent to ascent, from abutment to abutment, +crossing shrunken torrents, winding along sheer precipices, up into the +milky clouds of heaven itself, till the rosy flare of dawn bathed all +the air about them. There they halted, while, struggling after them, the +first triumphant beam struck the bosses of their harness to glittering +jewel-points, and, breaking through layer on layer of curdling vapor at +their feet, suffused it to a wondrous fleece, where carnation and violet +and the fire that lurks in the opal, wreathing with gorgeous involution, +seethed together, until, at last, the whole resplendent mist wound +itself away in silver threads on the spindles of the wind. Then boot in +the stirrup again, onward, over the mountain's ridge, desolate rook +defying the sun, downward, plunging through hanging forests, clearing +the chasm, bridging ravines, and still at noon the eagles, circling and +screaming above them, shook over them the dew from their plumes. +Downward afresh in their wild ride, the rainbows of the cascades flying +beside them, their afternoon shadows streaming up behind them, darkness +beginning to gather in the deeps below them, the mighty mountain-masses +around rearing themselves impenetrably in boding blackness and mystery +against the yellow gleam, the purple breath of evening wrapping them, +the dew again, again the stars, and they camped at the <a name="Page_37" id="Page_37"></a>foot of a spur +of hills with a waterfall for sentry on their left.</p> + +<p>Through all the dash of the day, Ray had been in sparkling spirits, a +very ecstasy of excitement, brimmed with an exuberance of valiant glee +that played itself away in boyish freaks of daring and reckless acts of +horsemanship. Now a loftier mood had followed, and, still wrought to +some extreme tension, full of blind anticipation and awful assurance, he +sat between the camp-fires, his hands clasped over his knees, and +watched the evening star where it hung in a cleft of the rocks and +seemed like the advent of some great spirit of annunciation. The tired +horses had been staked out to graze, a temporary abatis erected, +scouting-parties sent off in opposite directions, and at last the frosty +air grew mild and mellow over the savory steam of broiling steaks and +coffee smoking on beds of coals. There was a moment's lull in the hum of +the little encampment, in all the jest and song and jingling stir of +this scornfully intrepid company; perhaps for an instant the sense of +the wilderness overawed them; perhaps it was only the customary +precursor of increasing murmur;—before leaving his place, Ray suddenly +stooped and laid his ear on the earth. There it was! Far off, far off, +the phantasmal stroke of hoofs, rapid, many, unswerving. It had +come,—all that he had awaited,—fate, or something else. Low and clear +in the distance one bugle blew blast of warning. When he rose, the great +yellow planet, wheeling slowly down the giant cleft in the rock, had +vanished from sight.</p> + +<p>Every man was on his feet, the place in alarum. Behind and beside them +loomed the precipice and the waterfall;—there was surrender, there was +conquest; there was no retreat. The fires were extinguished, the +breastworks strengthened, weapons adjusted, and all the ireful +preparations for hasty battle made. Then they expected their foe. Slowly +over the crown of the mountain above them an aurora crept and brandished +its spears.</p> + +<p>As they waited there those few breathless moments, Ray examined his +rifle coolly enough, and listened to the chirp of a solitary cricket +that sung its thin strain so unbrokenly on the edge of strife as to +represent something sublime in its petty indifference. He was stationed +on the extreme left; near him the tumult of the torrent drowned much +discordant noise, its fairy scarf forever forming and falling and +floating on the evening air. He thought of Vivia sitting far away and +looking out upon the quiet starlight night; then he thought of swampy +midnight lairs, with maddened men in fevered covert there,—of little +children crying for their mothers,—of girls betrayed to hell,—of flesh +and blood at price,—of blistering, crisping fagot and stake to-day,—of +all the anguish and despair down there before him. And with the vivid +sting of it such a wrath raged along his veins, such a holy fire, that +it seemed there were no arms tremendous enough for his handling, through +his shut teeth darted imprecatory prayers for the power of some almighty +vengeance, his soul leaped up in impatient fury, his limbs tingled for +the death-grapple, when suddenly sound surged everywhere about them and +they were in the midst of conflict. Silver trumpet-peals and clash and +clang of iron, crying voices, whistling, singing, screaming shot, +thunderous drum-rolls, sharp sheet of flame and instant abyss of +blackness, horses' heads vaulting into sight, spurts of warm blood upon +the brow, the bullet rushing like a blast beside the ear, all the +terrible tempest of attack, trampled under the flashing hoof, climbing, +clinching, slashing, back-falling beneath cracking revolvers, hand to +hand in the night, both bands welded in one like hot and fusing metal, a +spectral struggle of shuddering horror only half guessed by lurid gleams +and under the light cloud flying across the stars. Clearly and remotely +over the plain the hidden east sent up a glow into the sky; its +reflection lay on Ray; he fought like one possessed of a demon, +scattering destruction broadcast, so fiercely his anger wrapped him, +white and formidable.<a name="Page_38" id="Page_38"></a> Fresh onset after repulse, and, like the very +crest of the toppling wave, one shadowy horseman in all the dark rout, +spurring forward, the fight reeling after him, the silver lone star +fitfully flashing on his visor, the boy singled for his rifle;—inciting +such fearless rivalry, his fall were the fall of a hundred. Something +hindered; the marksman delayed an instant; he would not waste a shot; +and watching him, the dim outline, the sweeping sabre, the proud +prowess, a strange yearning pity seized Ray, and he had half the mind to +spare. In the midst of the shock and uproar there came to him a pulse of +the brain's double action; he seemed long ago to have loved, to have +admired, to have gloried in this splendid valor. But with the hint, and +the humanity of it, back poured the ardor of his sacred devotion, all +the impulsions of his passionate purpose: here was God's work! And then, +with one swift bound of magnificent daring and defiance, the horseman +confronted him, the fore-feet of his steed planted firmly half up the +abatis, and his steel making lightnings round about him. There was a +blinding flare of light full upon Ray's fiery form; in the sudden +succeeding darkness horseman and rider towered rigid like a monolith of +black marble. A great voice cried his name, a sabre went hurtling in one +shining crescent across the white arc of the waterfall. Too late! There +was another flare of light, but this time on the rider's face, a sound +like the rolling of the heavens together in a scroll, and Ray, in one +horrid, dizzy blaze, saw the broad gleam of the ivory brow, of the azure +fire in the eyes, heard the heavy, downfalling crash, and, leaping over +the abatis, deep into the midst of the slippery, raging death below, +seized and drew something away, and fell upon it prostrate. There, under +the tossing torrent, dragging himself up to the seal of their agony and +their reproach, Ray looked into those dead eyes, which, lifted beyond +the everlasting stars, felt not that he had crossed their vision.</p> + +<p>Far away from outrage and disaster, many a weary stretch of travel, the +meadow-side cottage basked in the afternoon sunlight of late +Indian-summer. All the bare sprays of its shadowing limes quivered in +the warmth of their purple life against a divine depth of heaven, and +the woody distances swathed themselves in soft blue smoke before the +sighing south-wind.</p> + +<p>Round the girl who sat on the low door-stone, with idle hands crossed +before her, puffs of ravishing resinous fragrance floated and fainted. +Two butterflies, that spread their broad yellow wings like detached +flakes of living sunshine stolen out of the sweet November weather, +fluttered between the glossy darkness of her hair and a little +posthumous rose, that, blowing beside the door, with time only half to +unfold its white petals, surveyed the world in a quaint and sad +surprise.</p> + +<p>Vivia looked on all the tender loveliness of the dying year with a +listless eye: waiting, weary waiting, makes the soul torpid to all but +its pain. It was long since there had been any letter from Ray. In all +this oppression of summer and of autumn there had come no report of +Beltran. Her heart had lost its proud assurance, worn beneath the long +strain of such suspense. Could she but have one word from him, half the +term of her own life would be dust in the balance. A thousand +fragmentary purposes were ever flitting through her thought. If she +might know that he was simply living, if she could be sure he wanted +her, she would make means to break through that dividing line, to find +him, to battle by his side, to die at his feet! Her Beltran! so grave, +so good, so heroic! and the thought of him in all his pride and beauty +and power, in all his lofty gentleness and tender passion, in his +strength tempered with genial complaisance and gracious courtesy, sent +the old glad life, for a second, spinning from heart to lip.</p> + +<p>The glassy lake began to ruffle itself below her, feeling the pulses of +its interfluent springs, or sending through unseen sluices word of +nightfall and evening <a name="Page_39" id="Page_39"></a>winds to all its clustering companions that +darkened their transparent depths in forest-shadows. As she saw it, and +thought how soon now it would ice itself anew, the remembrance rushed +over her, like a warm breath, of the winter's night after their escape +from its freezing pool, when Beltran sat with them roasting chestnuts +and spicing ale before the fire that so gayly crackled up the +kitchen-chimney, a night of cheer. And how had it all faded! whither had +they all separated? where were those brothers now? Heaven knew.</p> + +<p>It had been a hard season, these months at the cottage. The price of +labor had been high enough to exceed their means, and so the land had +yielded ill, the grass was uncut on many a meadow; Ray's draft had not +been honored; Vivia had of course received no dividend from her +Tennessee State-bonds, and her peach-orchards were only a place of +forage. Still Vivia stayed at the cottage, not so much by fervent +entreaty, or because she had no other place to go to, as because there +were strange, strong ties binding her there for a while. Should all else +fail, with the ripened wealth of her voice at command, her future was of +course secure from want. But there was a drearier want at Vivia's door, +which neither that nor any other wealth would ever meet.</p> + +<p>Little Jane came up the field with a basket of the last barberries +lightly poised upon her head. A narrow wrinkle was beginning to divide +the freckled fairness of her forehead. She kept it down with many an +endeavor. Trying to croon to herself as she passed, and stopping only to +hang one of the scarlet girandoles in Vivia's braids, she went in. The +sunshine, loath to leave her pleasant little figure, followed after her, +and played about her shadow on the floor.</p> + +<p>Vivia still sat there and questioned the wide atmosphere, that, brooding +palpitant between her and the lake, still withheld the desolating secret +that horizon must have whispered to horizon throughout the aching +distance.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh that the bells in all these silent spires<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Would clash their clangor on the sleeping air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ring their wild music out with throbbing choirs,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ring peace in everywhere!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>she sang, and trembled as she sang. But there the burden broke, and +rising, her eyes shaded by her hand, Vivia gazed down the lonely road +where a stage-coach rolled along in a cloud of dust. What prescience, +what instinct, it was that made her throw the shawl over her head, the +shawl that Beltran liked to have her wear, and hasten down the field and +away to lose herself in the wood, she alone could have told.</p> + +<p>The slow minutes crept by, the coach had passed at length with loud +wheel and resounding lash, its last dust was blowing after it, and it +had left upon the door-stone a boy in army-blue, with his luggage beside +him. A ghastly visage, a shrunken form, a crippled limb, were what he +brought home from the war. With his one foot upon the threshold, he +paused, and turned the face, gray under all its trace of weather, and +furrowed, though so young, to meet the welcoming wind. He gazed upon the +high sky out of which the sunshine waned, on the long champaign blending +its gold and russet in one, on the melancholy forest over which the +twilight was stealing; he lifted his cap with a gesture as if he bade it +all farewell,—then he grasped his crutch and entered.</p> + +<p>Without a word, Mrs. Vennard dropped the needles she was sorting upon +the mat about her. Little Jane sprang forward, but checked herself in a +strange awe.</p> + +<p>"Let me go to bed, auntie," said he, with a dry sob; "and I never want +to get up again!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Midnight was winding the world without in a white glimmer of misty +moonlight, when the sharp beam of a taper smote Ray's sleepless eyes, +and he saw Vivia at last standing before him. Over her wrapper clung the +old shawl whose <a name="Page_40" id="Page_40"></a>snowy web was sown with broidery of linnæa-bells, green +vine and rosy blossom. Round her shoulders fell her shadowy hair. +Through her slender fingers the redness of the flame played, and on her +cheek a hectic coming and going like the broad beat and flush of an +artery left it whiter than the spectral moonlight on the pane. She took +away her hand, and let the illumination fall full upon his face,—a face +haggard as a dead man's.</p> + +<p>"Ray," she said, "where is Beltran?" Only silence replied to her. He lay +and stared up at her in a fixed and glassy glare. Breathless silence. +Then Ray groaned, and turned his face to the wall. Vivia blew out the +light.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The weeks crept away with the setting-in of the frosts. Little Jane's +heart was heavy for all the misery she saw about her, but she had no +time to make moan. Ray's amputated ankle was giving fresh trouble, and +after that was well over, he still kept his room, refusing food or fire, +and staring with hot, wakeful eyes at the cold ceiling. Vivia lingered, +subdued and pale, beside the hearth, doing any quiet piece of work that +came to hand; no one had seen her shed tears,—she had shown no +strenuous sorrow; on the night of Ray's return she had slept her first +unbroken sleep for months; her nerves, stretched so intensely and so +long, lay loosely now in their passionate reaction; some element more +interior than they saved her from prostration. She stayed there, sad and +still, no longer any sparkle or flush about her, but with a mildness so +unlike the Vivia of June that it had in it something infinitely +touching. She would have been glad to assist little Jane in her crowded +duties, yet succeeded only in being a hindrance; and learning a little +of broths and diet-drinks every day, she contented herself with sitting +silent and dreamy, and transforming old linen garments into bandages. +Mrs. Vennard, meanwhile, waited on her nephew and bewailed herself.</p> + +<p>But for little Jane,—she had no time to bewail herself. She had all +these people, in fact, on her hands, and that with very limited means to +meet their necessities. It was true they need not experience actual +want,—but there was her store to be managed so that it should be at +once wholesome and varied, and the first thing to do was to take an +account of stock. The autumn's work had already been well done. She had +carried berries enough to market to let her preserve her quinces and +damsons in sirups clear as sunshine, and make her tiny allowance of +currant and blackberry wines, where were innocently simulated the +flavors of rare vintages. Crook-necked squashes decked the tall +chimney-piece amid bunches of herbs and pearly strings of onions. She +and Vivia had gathered the ripened apples themselves, and now goodly +garlands of them hung from the attic-rafters, above the dried beans +whose blossoms had so sweetened June, and above last year's corn-bins. +That corn the first passing neighbor should take to mill and exchange a +portion of for cracked wheat; and as the flour-barrel still held out, +they would be tolerably well off for cereals, little Jane thought. They +had kept only one cow, and Tommy Low would attend to her for the sake of +his suppers,—suppers at which Vivia must forego her water-cresses now; +but Janet had a bed of mushrooms growing down-cellar, that, broiled and +buttered, were, she fancied, quite equal to venison-steaks. The hens, of +course, must be sacrificed, all but a dozen of them; for, as there was +no fresh meat for them in winter, they wouldn't lay, and would be only a +dead weight, she said to herself, as, with her apron thrown over her +neck, she stood watching them, finger on lip. However, that would give +them poultry all through the holidays. Then there were the pigs to be +killed on halves by a neighbor, as almost everything else out-doors had +now to be done; and when that was accomplished, she found no time to +call her soul her own while making her sausage and bacon and souse and +brawn. Part of the pork would produce <a name="Page_41" id="Page_41"></a>salt fish, without which what +farm-house would stand?—and with old hucklebones, her potatoes and +parsnips, those ruby beets and golden carrots, there was many a Julien +soup to be had. Jones's-root, bruised and boiled, made a chocolate as +good as Spanish. Instead of ginger, there were the wild caraway-seeds +growing round the house. If she could only contrive some sugar and some +vanilla-beans, she would be well satisfied to open her campaign. But as +there had been for weeks only one single copper cent and two +postage-stamps in the house, that seemed an impossibility. Hereupon an +idea seized little Jane, and for several days she was busy in a +mysterious rummage. Garrets and closets surrendered their hoards to her; +files of old newspapers, old ledgers, old letter-backs, began to +accumulate in heaps,—everything but books, for Jane had a religious +respect for their recondite lore; she cut the margins off the magazines, +and she grew miserly of the very shreds ravelling under Vivia's fingers. +At length, one morning, after she had watched the windows unweariedly as +a cat watches a mouse-hole, she hurriedly exclaimed,—</p> + +<p>"There he is!"</p> + +<p>"Who" asked Mrs. Vennard as hurriedly, with a dim idea that people in +their State received visits from the sheriff.</p> + +<p>"Our treasurer!" said little Jane.</p> + +<p>And, indeed, the red cart crowned with yellow brooms and dazzling tin, +the delight of housewives in lone places, was winding along the road; +and in a few moments little Jane accosted its driver, standing +victorious in the midst of her bags and bundles and baskets.</p> + +<p>"How much were white rags?"</p> + +<p>"Twelve cents."</p> + +<p>Laconic, through the urgencies of tobacco.</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Twelve cents."</p> + +<p>"And colored?"</p> + +<p>"Wal, they were consider'ble."</p> + +<p>"And paper?"</p> + +<p>"Six cents. 'T used to be half a cent Six cents now."</p> + +<p>"But the reason?" breathlessly.</p> + +<p>"Reckoned 'twas the war's much as anything."</p> + +<p>One good thing out of Nazareth! Little Jane saw herself on the road to +riches, and immediately had thoughts of selling the whole +household-equipment for rags. She displayed her commodities.</p> + +<p>"Did he pay in money?"</p> + +<p>"Didn't like to; but then he did."</p> + +<p>"Fine day, to-day."</p> + +<p>"Wal, 'twas."</p> + +<p>And when the reluctant tinman went on his way again, she returned to +spread the fabulous result before her mother. There were sugars and +spices and whatnot. And though—woe worth the day!—she found that the +sum yielded only half what once it would, still, by drinking her own tea +in its acritude, they would do admirably; for tea even little Jane +required as her tonic, and without it felt like nothing but a mollusk.</p> + +<p>All this was very well, so far as it went; but the thrifty housekeeper +soon found that it went no way at all. Those for whom she made her +efforts wanted none of their results. She would have given all she had +in the world to help these suffering beings; but her little cooking and +concocting were all that she could do, and those they disregarded +utterly. When in the dull forenoon she would have enlivened Vivia with +her precious elderberry-wine, that a connoisseur must taste twice before +telling from purplest Port, and Vivia only wet her lips at it, or when +she carried Ray a roasted apple, its burnished sides bursting with juice +and clotted with cream, and the boy glanced at it and never saw it, +little Jane felt ready to cry; and she set to bethinking herself +seriously if there were nothing else to be done.</p> + +<p>One day, it was the day before Christmas, Jane took up to Ray's room one +of her trifles, a whip, whose <i>suave</i> and frothy nothingness was piled +over the sweet plum-pulp at bottom. Ray lay on the outside of the bed, +with his thick poncho over him; he looked at her and at her tray, played +with the teaspoon a moment, <a name="Page_42" id="Page_42"></a>then rolled upon his side and shut his +eyes. Little Jane took a half-dozen steps about the room, reached the +door, hesitated, and came back.</p> + +<p>"Ray," said she, under her breath and with tears in her voice, "I wish +you wouldn't do so. You don't know how it makes me feel. I can't do +anything for you but bring whips and custards; and you won't touch +those."</p> + +<p>Ray turned and looked up at her.</p> + +<p>"Do you care, Janet?" said he; and, rising on one arm, he lifted the +glass, and finished its delicate sweetmeat with a gust.</p> + +<p>But as he threw himself back, little Jane took heart of grace once more.</p> + +<p>"Ray, dear," said she, "I don't think it's right for you to stay here +alone in the cold. Won't you come down where it's warm? It's so much +more cheerful by the fire."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to be cheerful," said Ray.</p> + +<p>Janet looked at the door, then summoned her forces, and, holding the +high bedpost with both hands, said,—</p> + +<p>"Ray, if God sent you any trouble, He never meant for you to take it so. +You are repulsing Him every day. You are straightening yourself against +Him. You are like a log on His hands. Can't you bend beneath it? Dear +Ray, you need comfort, but you never will find it till you take up your +life and your duties again, and come down among us."</p> + +<p>"What duties have I?" said Ray, hoarsely, looking along his footless +limb. "The sooner my life ends, oh, the better! I want no comfort!"</p> + +<p>But little Jane had gone.</p> + +<p>Christmas day dawned clear and keen; the sky was full of its bluest +sparkle, and, wheresoever it mounted and stretched over snowy fields, +seemed to hold nothing but gladness. Vivia had wrapped herself in her +cloak, and walked two miles to an early church-service, so if by any +accord of worship she might put her heart in tune with the universe. She +had been at home a half-hour already, and sat in her old nook with some +idle work between her fingers. A broad blaze rolled its rosy volumes up +the chimney, and threw its reflections on the shining shelves and into +the great tin-kitchen, that, planted firmly, held up to the heat the +very bird that had moved so majestically over the spring meadow, and +which Mrs. Vennard was at present basting with such assiduity, that, if +ever the knife should penetrate the crisp depth of envelope, it would +certainly find the inclosure unscathed by fire. Little Jane was stirring +enormous raisins into some wonderful batter of a pudding,—for she +remembered the time when somebody used to pick out all his plums and +leave the rest, and she meant, that, so far as her skill and her +resources would go, there should be no abatement of Christmas cheer +to-day. And if, after all, everybody disdained the bounteous affair, why +it could go to Tommy Low's mother, who would not by any means disdain +it. Every now and then she turned an anxious ear for any movement in the +cold distance,—but there was only silence.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Vivia started. A door had swung to, a strange sharp sound +echoed on the staircase, the kitchen-door opened and closed, and Ray set +his back against it. He did not attempt to move, but stood there darkly +surveying them. Vivia looked at him a second, then rose quickly, crossed +the room, and kissed him. Immediately Mrs. Vennard made a commotion, +while the other led him forward and placed him in her chair. Little Jane +pushed aside the pudding hastily, and proceeded to mull some of her mock +Sherry, that his heart might be warmed within him; and the cat came +rubbing against his crutch, as if she would make friends with it and +take it into the family. Mrs. Vennard resumed her basting; Vivia began +talking to him about her work and about her walk, murmuring pleasantly +in her clear, low tone,—Janet now and then putting in a word. Ray sat +there, sipping his spicy draught, and looking out with an unacquainted +air at the stir to which his coming had lent some gladness. But his face +was yet overcast <a name="Page_43" id="Page_43"></a>with the shadows of the grave. In vain Mrs. Vennard +fussed and fidgeted, in vain little Jane uttered any of her brisk, but +sorry jesting, in vain Vivia's gentle voice;—it all touched Ray's heart +no other way than as the rain slips along a tombstone. Vivia folded her +work and disappeared; she was going to light a fire in her parlor, where +there had been none yet, and where by-and-by in the evening shadows she +might play to Ray, and charm him, perhaps, to rest. Mrs. Vennard divined +her purpose, and hurried after her to join in the task. Ray found +himself alone in his corner; he shivered. In spite of all the weeks of +solitude, a sudden chill seized him; he gathered up his crutches, and +stalked on them to the table where little Jane was yet finding something +to do. She brought him a chair, and for a minute or two he watched her; +then he was only staring vacantly at his hands, as they lay before him +on the table.</p> + +<p>If Janet was a busy soul, she was just as certainly a busybody. She had +the loving and innocent habit of making herself a member of every one's +equation. Just now she ached inwardly, when looking at Ray, and it was +impossible for her not to try and help him.</p> + +<p>"Ray, dear," said she, leaving her work and standing before him, "I +think you ought to smile now. Vivia has forgiven you. Take it as an +earnest that God forgives you, too."</p> + +<p>"I haven't sinned against God," said Ray. "I don't know who I sinned +against. I killed my brother."</p> + +<p>And his face fell forward on his hands and wet them with jets of +scalding tears. Full of awe and misery, little Jane dropped upon her +knees beside him, and, clasping his hands in hers, said to herself some +silent prayer.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>After that placid-ending Christmas, after that first prayer, those first +tears, after Vivia's music at nightfall, Ray was another creature. He no +longer shut himself up in his room, but was down and about with little +Jane at peep of day. Indeed, he had now a horror of being alone, +following Janet from morn till eve, like a shadow, and stooping forward, +when the dark began to gather, with great, silent tears rolling over his +face, unless she came and took the cricket at his foot, slipping her +warm hand into his, and helping him to himself with the unspoken +sympathy. But it was a horror which nothing wholly lulled to sleep at +last but Vivia's singing. Every night, for an hour or more, Vivia +wrought the music's spell about him, while he lay back in his chair, and +little Jane retreated across the hearth, not daring to intrude on such a +season. They were seldom purely sad things that she played: sometimes +the melody murmured its <i>cantabile</i> like a summer brook into which +moonbeams bent, flowing along the lowland, breaking only in sprays of +tune, and seeming to paint in its bosom the sleeping shadows of the fair +field-flowers; and if ever the gentle strain lost its way, and found +itself wandering among the massive chords, the profound melancholy, the +blind groping of any Fifth Symphony or piercing Stabat Mater, she +answered it, singing Elijah's hymn of rest; and as she sang, there grew +in her voice a strength, a sweetness, that satisfied the very soul. When +the nine-o'clock bell rang in from the village through the winter +night's crystal clearness, little Jane would lightly nudge her mother +and steal away to bed; and in the ruddy twilight of the felling fire the +two talked softly, talked,—but never of that dark thing lying most +deeply in the heart of either. Perhaps, by-and-by, when the thrilling +wound should be only a scar, if ever that time should come, the one +would be able to speak, the other to hear.</p> + +<p>Week after week, now, Ray began to occupy himself about the house more +and more, resuming in succession odd little jobs that during all this +time had remained unfinished as on the day he went. He seemed desirous +of taking up the days exactly as he had left them, of bridging over this +gap and chasm, of ignoring the <a name="Page_44" id="Page_44"></a>fatal summer. Something so dreadful had +fallen into his life that it could not assimilate itself with the +tissues of daily existence. The work must be slow that would volatilize +such a black body of horror till it leavened all the being into power +and grace undreamed of before.</p> + +<p>But little Jane did not philosophize upon what she was so glad to see; +she hailed every sign of outside interest as a symptom of returning +health, and gave him a thousand occasions. Yesterday there were baskets +to braid, and to-day he must initiate her in the complications of a +dozen difficult sailor's-knots that he knew, and to-morrow there would +be woodchuck-traps to make and show her how to set. For Janet's chief +vexation had overtaken her in the absence of fresh eggs for breakfast, +an absence that would be enduring, unless the small game of the forest +could be lured into her snares and parcelled among the apathetic hens. +Many were the recipes and the consultations on the subject, till at last +Ray wrote out for her, in black-letter, a notice to be pinned up in the +sight of every delinquent: "Twelve eggs, or death!" Whether it were the +frozen rabbit-meat flung among them the day before, or whether it were +the timely warning, there is no one to tell; but the next morning twelve +eggs lay in the various hiding-places, which Mrs. Vennard declared to be +as good eggs as ever were laid, and custards and cookies renewed their +reign. Here, suddenly, Ray remembered the purse in his haversack, +containing all his uncounted pay. It was a weary while that he stayed +alone in the cold, leaning over it as if he stared at the thirty pieces +of silver, a faint sickness seized him, then hurriedly sweeping it up, +with a red spot burning cruelly into either cheek, he brought it down, +and emptied it in little Jane's lap, though he would rather have seen it +ground to impalpable dust. But, after a moment's thought, the astonished +recipient kept it for a use of her own. Finally, one night, Ray proposed +to instruct Janet in some particular branch of his general ignorance; +and after those firelight-recitations, little Jane forgot to move her +seat away, and her hand was kept in his through all the hour of Vivia's +slow enchantment.</p> + +<p>So the cold weather wore away, and spring stole into the scene like a +surprise, finding Vivia as the winter found her,—but Ray still +undergoing volcanic changes, now passionless lulls and now rages and +spasms of grief: gradually out of them all he gathered his strength +about him.</p> + +<p>It was once more a morning of early June, sunrise was blushing over the +meadows, and the gossamers of hoar dew lay in spidery veils of woven +light and melted under the rosy beams. From her window one heard Vivia +singing, and the strain stole down like the breath of the heavy +honeysuckles that trellised her pane:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"No more for me the eager day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Breaks its bright prison-bars;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sunshine Thou hast stripped away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But bared the eternal stars.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Though in the cloud the wild bird sings,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His song falls not for me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone while rosy heaven rings,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But, Lord, alone with Thee!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>One well could know, in listening to the liquid melody of those clear +tones, that love and sorrow had transfused her life at last to woof and +warp of innermost joy that death itself could neither tarnish nor +obscure. In a few moments she came down and joined Ray, where he stood +upon the door-stone, with one arm resting over the shoulder of little +Jane, and watched with him the antics of a youth who postured before +them. It was some old acquaintance of Ray's, returned from the war; and +as if he would demonstrate how wonderfully martial exercise supples +joint and sinew, he was leaping in the air, turning his heel where his +toe should be, hanging his foot on his arm and throwing it over his +shoulder in a necklace, skipping and prancing on the grass like a +veritable saltinbanco. Ray looked grimly on and inspected the +evolutions; then there was long process of <a name="Page_45" id="Page_45"></a>question and answer and +asseveration, and, when the youth departed, little Jane had announced +with authority that Ray should throw away his crutch and stand on two +feet of his own again.</p> + +<p>"What a gay fellow he is!" said Ray, drawing a breath of relief. +"They're all alike, dancing on graves. To be an old Téméraire decked out +in signal-flags after thunderous work well done, and settling down, is +one thing. But we,—to-day, when one would think every woman in the land +should wear the sackcloth and ashes of mourning, we break into a +splendor of apparel that defies the butterflies and boughs of the dying +year."</p> + +<p>"Two striking examples before you," said little Jane, with a laugh, as +she looked at her old print and at Vivia's gray gown.</p> + +<p>"I wasn't thinking of you. I saw the ladies in the village +yesterday,—they were pied and parded."</p> + +<p>"Children," said Mrs. Vennard from within, "I've taken up the coffee +now. I sha'n't wait a minute longer. Vivia, I'll beat an egg into +yours."</p> + +<p>But the children had wandered down to the lake-shore, oblivious of her +cry, and were standing on the rock watching their images glassed below +and ever freshly shattered with rippling undulations. A wherry chained +beside them Vivia rocked lightly with her foot.</p> + +<p>"You and little Jane will set me down by-and-by?" she asked. "'T will be +so much pleasanter than the coach."</p> + +<p>"And, Vivia dear, you will go, then?" exclaimed little Jane, with +tearful eyes. "You will certainly go?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Vivia, looking out and far away, "I shall go to do that"—</p> + +<p>"Which no one can ever do for <i>you</i>," said Ray, with a shudder.</p> + +<p>"Which some woman will praise Heaven for."</p> + +<p>"God bless you, Vivia!" cried little Jane.</p> + +<p>"He has already blessed me," said Vivia, softly.</p> + +<p>Janet nestled nearer to Ray's side, as they stood. There was a tremor of +gladness through all the dew of her glance. Ray looked down at her for a +moment, and his hard brow softened, in his eyes hung a light like the +reflection of a star in a breaking wave.</p> + +<p>"He has blessed me, too," said he. "Some day I shall be a man again. I +have thrown away my crutch, Vivia,—for all my life I am going to have +this little shoulder to lean upon."</p> + +<p>And over his sombre face a smile crept and deepened, like the yellow +ray, that, after a long, dark day of driving rain, suddenly gilds the +tree-tops and brims the sky; and though, when it went, the gloom shut +drearily down again, still it bore the promise of fair day to-morrow.</p><p><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="HOUSE_AND_HOME_PAPERS" id="HOUSE_AND_HOME_PAPERS"></a>HOUSE AND HOME PAPERS.</h2> + +<h3>BY CHRISTOPHER CROWFIELD.</h3> + + +<h3>I.</h3> + +<h3>THE RAVAGES OF A CARPET.</h3> + + +<p>"My dear, it's so cheap!"</p> + +<p>These words were spoken by my wife, as she sat gracefully on a roll of +Brussels carpet which was spread out in flowery lengths on the floor of +Messrs. Ketchem & Co.</p> + +<p>"It's <i>so</i> cheap!"</p> + +<p>Milton says that the love of praise is the last infirmity of noble +minds. I think he had not rightly considered the subject. I believe that +last infirmity is the love of getting things cheap! Understand me, now. +I don't mean the love of getting cheap things, by which one understands +showy, trashy, ill-made, spurious articles, bearing certain apparent +resemblances to better things. All really sensible people are quite +superior to that sort of cheapness. But those fortunate accidents which +put within the power of a man things really good and valuable for half +or a third of their value what mortal virtue and resolution can +withstand? My friend Brown has a genuine Murillo, the joy of his heart +and the light of his eyes, but he never fails to tell you, as its +crowning merit, how he bought it in South America for just nothing,—how +it hung smoky and deserted in the back of a counting-room, and was +thrown in as a makeweight to bind a bargain, and, upon being cleaned, +turned out a genuine Murillo; and then he takes out his cigar, and calls +your attention to the points in it; he adjusts the curtain to let the +sunlight fall just in the right spot; he takes you to this and the other +point of view; and all this time you must confess, that, in your mind as +well as his, the consideration that he got all this beauty for ten +dollars adds lustre to the painting. Brown has paintings there for which +he paid his thousands, and, being well advised, they are worth the +thousands he paid; but this ewe-lamb that he got for nothing always +gives him a secret exaltation in his own eyes. He seems to have credited +to himself personally merit to the amount of what he should have paid +for the picture. Then there is Mrs. Croesus, at the party yesterday +evening, expatiating to my wife on the surprising cheapness of her +point-lace set,—"Got for just nothing at all, my dear!" and a circle of +admiring listeners echoes the sound. "Did you ever <i>hear</i> anything like +it? I never heard of such a thing in my life"; and away sails Mrs. +Croesus as if she had a collar composed of all the cardinal virtues. In +fact, she is buoyed up with a secret sense of merit, so that her satin +slippers scarcely touch the carpet. Even I myself am fond of showing a +first edition of "Paradise Lost," for which I gave a shilling in a +London book-stall, and stating that I would not take a hundred dollars +for it. Even I must confess there are points on which I am mortal.</p> + +<p>But all this while my wife sits on her roll of carpet, looking into my +face for approbation, and Marianne and Jane are pouring into my ear a +running-fire of "How sweet! How lovely! Just like that one of Mrs. +Tweedleum's!"</p> + +<p>"And she gave two dollars and seventy-five cents a yard for hers, and +this is"—</p> + +<p>My wife here put her hand to her mouth, and pronounced the incredible +sum in a whisper, with a species of sacred awe, common, as I have +observed, to females in such interesting crises. In fact, Mr. Ketchem, +standing smiling and amiable by, remarked to me that really he hoped +Mrs. Crowfield would not name generally what she gave for the article, +for positively it was so far below the usual rate of prices that he +might give offence <a name="Page_47" id="Page_47"></a>to other customers; but this was the very last of +the pattern, and they were anxious to close off the old stock, and we +had always traded with them, and he had a great respect for my wife's +father, who had always traded with their firm, and so, when there were +any little bargains to be thrown in any one's way, why, he naturally, of +course—And here Mr. Ketchem bowed gracefully over the yardstick to my +wife, and I consented.</p> + +<p>Yes, I consented; but whenever I think of myself at that moment, I +always am reminded, in a small way, of Adam taking the apple; and my +wife, seated on that roll of carpet, has more than once suggested to my +mind the classic image of Pandora opening her unlucky box. In fact, from +the moment I had blandly assented to Mr. Ketchem's remarks, and said to +my wife, with a gentle air of dignity, "Well, my dear, since it suits +you, I think you had better take it," there came a load on my prophetic +soul, which not all the fluttering and chattering of my delighted girls +and the more placid complacency of my wife could entirely dissipate. I +presaged, I know not what, of coming woe; and all I presaged came to +pass.</p> + +<p>In order to know just <i>what</i> came to pass, I must give you a view of the +house and home into which this carpet was introduced.</p> + +<p>My wife and I were somewhat advanced housekeepers, and our dwelling was +first furnished by her father, in the old-fashioned jog-trot days, when +furniture was made with a view to its lasting from generation to +generation. Everything was strong and comfortable,—heavy mahogany, +guiltless of the modern device of veneering, and hewed out with a square +solidity which had not an idea of change. It was, so to speak, a sort of +granite foundation of the household structure. Then, we commenced +housekeeping with the full idea that our house was a thing to be lived +in, and that furniture was made to be used. That most sensible of women, +Mrs. Crowfield, agreed fully with me that in our house there was to be +nothing too good for ourselves,—no rooms shut up in holiday attire to +be enjoyed by strangers for three or four days in the year, while we +lived in holes and corners,—no best parlor from which we were to be +excluded,—no best china which we were not to use,—no silver plate to +be kept in the safe in the bank, and brought home only in case of a +grand festival, while our daily meals were served with dingy Britannia. +"Strike a broad, plain average," I said to my wife; "have everything +abundant, serviceable; and give all our friends exactly what we have +ourselves, no better and no worse";—and my wife smiled approval on my +sentiment.</p> + +<p>Smile! she did more than smile. My wife resembles one of those convex +mirrors I have sometimes seen. Every idea I threw out, plain and simple, +she reflected back upon me in a thousand little glitters and twinkles of +her own; she made my crude conceptions come back to me in such perfectly +dazzling performances that I hardly recognized them. My mind warms up, +when I think what a home that woman made of our house from the very +first day she moved into it. The great, large, airy parlor, with its +ample bow-window, when she had arranged it, seemed a perfect trap to +catch sunbeams. There was none of that discouraging trimness and newness +that often repel a man's bachelor-friends after the first call, and make +them feel,—"Oh, well, one cannot go in at Crowfield's now, unless one +is dressed; one might put them out." The first thing our parlor said to +any one was, that we were not people to be put out, that we were +wide-spread, easy-going, and jolly folk. Even if Tom Brown brought in +Ponto and his shooting-bag, there was nothing in that parlor to strike +terror into man and dog; for it was written on the face of things, that +everybody there was to do just as he or she pleased. There were my books +and my writing-table spread out with all its miscellaneous confusion of +papers on one side of the fireplace, and there were my wife's great, +ample sofa and work-table on the other; there I wrote my articles for +the "North American,"<a name="Page_48" id="Page_48"></a> and there she turned and ripped and altered her +dresses, and there lay crochet and knitting and embroidery side by side +with a weekly basket of family-mending, and in neighborly contiguity +with the last book of the season, which my wife turned over as she took +her after-dinner lounge on the sofa. And in the bow-window were canaries +always singing, and a great stand of plants always fresh and blooming, +and ivy which grew and clambered and twined about the pictures. Best of +all, there was in our parlor that household altar, the blazing +wood-fire, whose wholesome, hearty crackle is the truest household +inspiration. I quite agree with one celebrated American author who holds +that an open fireplace is an altar of patriotism. Would our +Revolutionary fathers have gone barefooted and bleeding over snows to +defend air-tight stoves and cooking-ranges? I trow not. It was the +memory of the great open kitchen-fire, with its back-log and fore-stick +of cord-wood, its roaring, hilarious voice of invitation, its dancing +tongues of flame, that called to them through the snows of that dreadful +winter to keep up their courage, that made their hearts warm and bright +with a thousand reflected memories. Our neighbors said that it was +delightful to sit by our fire,—but then, for their part, they could not +afford it, wood was so ruinously dear, and all that. Most of these +people could not, for the simple reason that they felt compelled, in +order to maintain the family-dignity, to keep up a parlor with great +pomp and circumstance of upholstery, where they sat only on +dress-occasions, and of course the wood-fire was out of the question.</p> + +<p>When children began to make their appearance in our establishment, my +wife, like a well-conducted housekeeper, had the best of +nursery-arrangements,—a room all warmed, lighted, and ventilated, and +abounding in every proper resource of amusement to the rising race; but +it was astonishing to see how, notwithstanding this, the centripetal +attraction drew every pair of little pattering feet to our parlor.</p> + +<p>"My dear, why don't you take your blocks up-stairs?"</p> + +<p>"I want to be where oo are," said with a piteous under-lip, was +generally a most convincing answer.</p> + +<p>Then the small people could not be disabused of the idea that certain +chief treasures of their own would be safer under papa's writing-table +or mamma's sofa than in the safest closet of their own domains. My +writing-table was dockyard for Arthur's new ship, and stable for little +Tom's pepper-and-salt-colored pony, and carriage-house for Charley's new +wagon, while whole armies of paper dolls kept house in the recess behind +mamma's sofa.</p> + +<p>And then, in due time, came the tribe of pets who followed the little +ones and rejoiced in the blaze of the firelight. The boys had a splendid +Newfoundland, which, knowing our weakness, we warned them with awful +gravity was never to be a parlor-dog; but, somehow, what with little +beggings and pleadings on the part of Arthur and Tom, and the piteous +melancholy with which Rover would look through the window-panes, when +shut out from the blazing warmth into the dark, cold veranda, it at last +came to pass that Rover gained a regular corner at the hearth, a regular +<i>status</i> in every family-convocation. And then came a little +black-and-tan English terrier for the girls; and then a fleecy poodle, +who established himself on the corner of my wife's sofa; and for each of +these some little voices pleaded, and some little heart would be so near +broken at any slight, that my wife and I resigned ourselves to live in +menagerie, the more so as we were obliged to confess a lurking weakness +towards these four-footed children ourselves.</p> + +<p>So we grew and flourished together,—children, dogs, birds, flowers, and +all; and although my wife often, in paroxysms of housewifeliness to +which the best of women are subject, would declare that we never were +fit to be seen, yet I comforted her with the reflection that there were +few people whose friends seemed to <a name="Page_49" id="Page_49"></a>consider them better worth seeing, +judging by the stream of visitors and loungers which was always setting +towards our parlor. People seemed to find it good to be there; they said +it was somehow home-like and pleasant, and that there was a kind of +charm about it that made it easy to talk and easy to live; and as my +girls and boys grew up, there seemed always to be some merry doing or +other going on there. Arty and Tom brought home their college friends, +who straightway took root there and seemed to fancy themselves a part of +us. We had no reception-rooms apart, where the girls were to receive +young gentlemen; all the courting and flirting that were to be done had +for their arena the ample variety of surface presented by our parlor, +which, with sofas and screens and lounges and recesses and writing-and +work-tables disposed here and there, and the genuine <i>laisser aller</i> of +the whole <i>menage</i>, seemed, on the whole, to have offered ample +advantages enough; for, at the time I write of, two daughters were +already established in marriage, and a third engaged, while my youngest +was busy, as yet, in performing that little domestic ballet of the cat +with the mouse, in the case of a most submissive youth of the +neighborhood.</p> + +<p>All this time our parlor-furniture, though of that granitic formation I +have indicated, began to show marks of that decay to which things +sublunary are liable. I cannot say that I dislike this look in a room. +Take a fine, ample, hospitable apartment, where all things, freely and +generously used, softly and indefinably grow old together, there is a +sort of mellow tone and keeping which pleases my eye. What if the seams +of the great inviting arm-chair, where so many friends have sat and +lounged, do grow white? What, in fact, if some easy couch has an +undeniable hole worn in its friendly cover? I regard with tenderness +even these mortal weaknesses of these servants and witnesses of our good +times and social fellowship. No vulgar touch wore them; they may be +called, rather, the marks and indentations which the glittering in and +out of the tide of social happiness has worn in the rocks of our strand. +I would no more disturb the gradual toning-down and aging of a well-used +set of furniture by smart improvements than I would have a modern dauber +paint in emendations in a fine old picture.</p> + +<p>So we men reason; but women do not always think as we do. There is a +virulent demon of housekeeping, not wholly cast out in the best of them, +and which often breaks out in unguarded moments. In fact, Miss Marianne, +being on the lookout for furniture wherewith to begin a new +establishment, and Jane, who had accompanied her in her peregrinations, +had more than once thrown out little disparaging remarks on the +time-worn appearance of our establishment, suggesting comparison with +those of more modern-furnished rooms.</p> + +<p>"It is positively scandalous, the way our furniture looks," I one day +heard her declaring to her mother; "and this old rag of a carpet!"</p> + +<p>My feelings were hurt, not the less so that I knew that the large cloth +which covered the middle of the floor, and which the women call a +bocking, had been bought and nailed down there, after a solemn +family-counsel, as the best means of concealing the too evident darns +which years of good cheer had made needful in our stanch old household +friend, the three-ply carpet, made in those days when to be a three-ply +was a pledge of continuance and service.</p> + +<p>Well, it was a joyous and bustling day, when, after one of those +domestic whirlwinds which the women are fond of denominating +house-cleaning, the new Brussels carpet was at length brought in and +nailed down, and its beauty praised from mouth to mouth. Our old friends +called in and admired, and all seemed to be well, except that I had that +light and delicate presage of changes to come which indefinitely brooded +over me.</p> + +<p>The first premonitory symptom was the look of apprehensive suspicion +with which the female senate regarded the genial <a name="Page_50" id="Page_50"></a>sunbeams that had +always glorified our bow-window.</p> + +<p>"This house ought to have inside blinds," said Marianne, with all the +confident decision of youth; "this carpet will be ruined, if the sun is +allowed to come in like that."</p> + +<p>"And that dirty little canary must really be hung in the kitchen," said +Jane; "he always did make such a litter, scattering his seed-chippings +about; and he never takes his bath without flirting out some water. And, +mamma, it appears to me it will never do to have the plants here. Plants +are always either leaking through the pots upon the carpet, or +scattering bits of blossoms and dead leaves, or some accident upsets or +breaks a pot. It was no matter, you know, when we had the old carpet; +but this we really want to have kept nice."</p> + +<p>Mamma stood her ground for the plants,—darlings of her heart for many a +year,—but temporized, and showed that disposition towards compromise +which is most inviting to aggression.</p> + +<p>I confess I trembled; for, of all radicals on earth, none are to be +compared to females that have once in hand a course of domestic +innovation and reform. The sacred fire, the divine <i>furor</i>, burns in +their bosoms, they become perfect Pythonesses, and every chair they sit +on assumes the magic properties of the tripod. Hence the dismay that +lodges in the bosoms of us males at the fateful spring and autumn +seasons, denominated house-cleaning. Who can say whither the awful gods, +the prophetic fates, may drive our fair household divinities; what sins +of ours may be brought to light; what indulgences and compliances, which +uninspired woman has granted in her ordinary mortal hours, may be torn +from us? He who has been allowed to keep a pair of pet slippers in a +concealed corner, and by the fireside indulged with a chair which he +might, <i>ad libitum</i>, fill with all sorts of pamphlets and miscellaneous +literature, suddenly finds himself reformed out of knowledge, his +pamphlets tucked away into pigeon-holes and corners, and his slippers +put in their place in the hall, with, perhaps, a brisk insinuation about +the shocking dust and disorder that men will tolerate.</p> + +<p>The fact was, that the very first night after the advent of the new +carpet I had a prophetic dream. Among our treasures of art was a little +etching, by an English artist-friend, the subject of which was the +gambols of the household fairies in a baronial library after the +household were in bed. The little people are represented in every +attitude of frolic enjoyment. Some escalade the great arm-chair, and +look down from its top as from a domestic Mont Blanc; some climb about +the bellows; some scale the shaft of the shovel; while some, forming in +magic ring, dance festively on the yet glowing hearth. Tiny troops +promenade the writing-table. One perches himself quaintly on the top of +the inkstand, and holds colloquy with another who sits cross-legged on a +paper-weight, while a companion looks down on them from the top of the +sand-box. It was an ingenious little device, and gave me the idea which +I often expressed to my wife, that much of the peculiar feeling of +security, composure, and enjoyment which seems to be the atmosphere of +some rooms and houses came from the unsuspected presence of these little +people, the household fairies, so that the belief in their existence +became a solemn article of faith with me.</p> + +<p>Accordingly, that evening, after the installation of the carpet, when my +wife and daughters had gone to bed, as I sat with my slippered feet +before the last coals of the fire, I fell asleep in my chair, and, lo! +my own parlor presented to my eye a scene of busy life. The little +people in green were tripping to and fro, but in great confusion. +Evidently something was wrong among them; for they were fussing and +chattering with each other, as if preparatory to a general movement. In +the region of the bow-window I observed a tribe of them standing with +tiny valises and carpet-bags in their hands, as though about to depart +on a journey. On my writing-table another <a name="Page_51" id="Page_51"></a>set stood around my inkstand +and pen-rack, who, pointing to those on the floor, seemed to debate some +question among themselves; while others of them appeared to be +collecting and packing away in tiny trunks certain fairy treasures, +preparatory to a general departure. When I looked at the social hearth, +at my wife's sofa and work-basket, I saw similar appearances of +dissatisfaction and confusion. It was evident that the household fairies +were discussing the question of a general and simultaneous removal. I +groaned in spirit, and, stretching out my hand, began a conciliatory +address, when whisk went the whole scene from before my eyes, and I +awaked to behold the form of my wife asking me if I were ill or had had +the nightmare that I groaned so. I told her my dream, and we laughed at +it together.</p> + +<p>"We must give way to the girls a little," she said. "It is natural, you +know, that they should wish us to appear a little as other people do. +The fact is, our parlor is somewhat dilapidated; think how many years we +have lived in it without an article of new furniture."</p> + +<p>"I hate new furniture," I remarked, in the bitterness of my soul. "I +hate anything new."</p> + +<p>My wife answered me discreetly, according to approved principles of +diplomacy. I was right. She sympathized with me. At the same time, it +was not necessary, she remarked, that we should keep a hole in our +sofa-cover and arm-chair; there would certainly be no harm in sending +them to the upholsterer's to be new-covered; she didn't much mind, for +her part, moving her plants to the south back-room, and the bird would +do well enough in the kitchen: I had often complained of him for singing +vociferously when I was reading aloud.</p> + +<p>So our sofa went to the upholsterer's; but the upholsterer was struck +with such horror at its clumsy, antiquated, unfashionable appearance, +that he felt bound to make representations to my wife and daughters: +positively, it would be better for them to get a new one, of a tempting +pattern, which he showed them, than to try to do anything with that. +With a stitch or so here and there it might do for a basement +dining-room; but, for a parlor, he gave it as his disinterested +opinion,—he must say, if the case were his own, he should get, etc., +etc. In short, we had a new sofa and new chairs, and the plants and the +birds were banished, and some dark green blinds were put up to exclude +the sun from the parlor, and the blessed luminary was allowed there only +at rare intervals when my wife and daughters were out shopping, and I +acted out my uncivilized male instincts by pulling up every shade and +vivifying the apartment as in days of old.</p> + +<p>But this was not the worst of it. The new furniture and new carpet +formed an opposition party in the room. I believe in my heart that for +every little household fairy that went out with the dear old things +there came in a tribe of discontented brownies with the new ones. These +little wretches were always twitching at the gowns of my wife and +daughters, jogging their elbows, and suggesting odious comparisons +between the smart new articles and what remained of the old ones. They +disparaged my writing-table in the corner; they disparaged the +old-fashioned lounge in the other corner, which had been the maternal +throne for years; they disparaged the work-table, the work-basket, with +constant suggestions of how such things as these would look in certain +well-kept parlors where new-fashioned furniture of the same sort as ours +existed.</p> + +<p>"We don't have any parlor," said Jane, one day. "Our parlor has always +been a sort of log-cabin,—library, study, nursery, greenhouse, all +combined. We never have had things like other people."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and this open fire makes such a dust; and this carpet is one that +shows every speck of dust; it keeps one always on the watch."</p> + +<p>"I wonder why papa never had a study to himself; I'm sure I should think +he would like it better than sitting here among us all. Now there's the +great south-room off the dining-room; if he <a name="Page_52" id="Page_52"></a>would only move his things +there, and have his open fire, we could then close up the fireplace, and +put lounges in the recesses, and mamma could have her things in the +nursery,—and then we should have a parlor fit to be seen."</p> + +<p>I overheard all this, though I pretended not to,—the little busy chits +supposing me entirely buried in the recesses of a German book over which +I was poring.</p> + +<p>There are certain crises in a man's life when the female element in his +household asserts itself in dominant forms that seem to threaten to +overwhelm him. The fair creatures, who in most matters have depended on +his judgment, evidently look upon him at these seasons as only a +forlorn, incapable male creature, to be cajoled and flattered and +persuaded out his native blindness and absurdity into the fairy-land of +their wishes.</p> + +<p>"Of course, mamma," said the busy voices, "men can't understand such +things. What <i>can</i> men know of housekeeping, and how things ought to +look? Papa never goes into company; he don't know and don't care how the +world is doing, and don't see that nobody now is living as we do."</p> + +<p>"Aha, my little mistresses, are you there?" I thought; and I mentally +resolved on opposing a great force of what our politicians call +<i>backbone</i> to this pretty domestic conspiracy.</p> + +<p>"When you get my writing-table out of this corner, my pretty dears, I'd +thank you to let me know it."</p> + +<p>Thus spake I in my blindness, fool that I was. Jupiter might as soon +keep awake, when Juno came in best bib and tucker, and with the <i>cestus</i> +of Venus, to get him to sleep. Poor Slender might as well hope to get +the better of pretty Mistress Anne Page, as one of us clumsy-footed men +might endeavor to escape from the tangled labyrinth of female wiles.</p> + +<p>In short, in less than a year it was all done, without any quarrel, any +noise, any violence,—done, I scarce knew when or how, but with the +utmost deference to my wishes, the most amiable hopes that I would not +put myself out, the most sincere protestations, that, if I liked it +better as it was, my goddesses would give up and acquiesce. In fact, I +seemed to do it of myself, constrained thereto by what the Emperor +Napoleon has so happily called the logic of events,—that old, +well-known logic by which the man who has once said A must say B, and he +who has said B must say the whole alphabet. In a year, we had a parlor +with two lounges in decorous recesses, a fashionable sofa, and six +chairs and a looking-glass, and a grate always shut up, and a hole in +the floor which kept the parlor warm, and great, heavy curtains that +kept out all the light that was not already excluded by the green +shades.</p> + +<p>It was as proper and orderly a parlor as those of our most fashionable +neighbors; and when our friends called, we took them stumbling into its +darkened solitude, and opened a faint crack in one of the window-shades, +and came down in our best clothes, and talked with them there. Our old +friends rebelled at this, and asked what they had done to be treated so, +and complained so bitterly that gradually we let them into the secret +that there was a great south-room which I had taken for my study, where +we all sat, where the old carpet was down, where the sun shone in at the +great window, where my wife's plants flourished and the canary-bird +sang, and my wife had her sofa in the corner, and the old brass andirons +glistened and the wood-fire crackled,—in short, a room to which all the +household fairies had emigrated.</p> + +<p>When they once had found <i>that</i> out, it was difficult to get any of them +to sit in our parlor. I had purposely christened the new room <i>my +study</i>, that I might stand on my rights as master of ceremonies there, +though I opened wide arms of welcome to any who chose to come. So, then, +it would often come to pass, that, when we were sitting round the fire +in my study of an evening, the girls would say,—</p> + +<p>"Come, what do we always stay here for? Why don't we ever sit in the +parlor?"</p> + +<p>And then there would be manifested <a name="Page_53" id="Page_53"></a>among guests and family-friends a +general unwillingness to move.</p> + +<p>"Oh, hang it, girls!" would Arthur say; "the parlor is well enough, all +right; let it stay as it is, and let a fellow stay where he can do as he +pleases and feels at home"; and to this view of the matter would respond +divers of the nice young bachelors who were Arthur's and Tom's sworn +friends.</p> + +<p>In fact, nobody wanted to stay in our parlor now. It was a cold, +correct, accomplished fact; the household fairies had left it,—and when +the fairies leave a room, nobody ever feels at home in it. No pictures, +curtains, no wealth of mirrors, no elegance of lounges, can in the least +make up for their absence. They are a capricious little set; there are +rooms where they will <i>not</i> stay, and rooms where they <i>will</i>; but no +one can ever have a good time without them.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THREE_CANTOS_OF_DANTES_PARADISO" id="THREE_CANTOS_OF_DANTES_PARADISO"></a>THREE CANTOS OF DANTE'S "PARADISO."</h2> + +<p>[Transcribers Note: Line that had notes associated with them have been +numbered. The notes have been moved to the end of the canto.]</p> + + +<h3>CANTO XXIII.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Even as a bird, 'mid the beloved leaves, <a href="#Line_1">[1]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Quiet upon the nest of her sweet brood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Throughout the night, that hideth all things from us,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, that she may behold their longed-for looks<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And find the nourishment wherewith to feed them,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In which, to her, grave labors grateful are,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Anticipates the time on open spray<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And with an ardent longing waits the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gazing intent, as soon as breaks the dawn:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even thus my Lady standing was, erect<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And vigilant, turned round towards the zone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Underneath which the sun displays least haste; <a href="#Line_12">[12]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">So that beholding her distraught and eager,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such I became as he is, who desiring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For something yearns, and hoping is appeased.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But brief the space from one When to the other;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From my awaiting, say I, to the seeing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The welkin grow resplendent more and more.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Beatrice exclaimed: "Behold the hosts<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the triumphant Christ, and all the fruit<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Harvested by the rolling of these spheres!" <a href="#Line_21">[21]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">It seemed to me her face was all on flame;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And eyes she had so full of ecstasy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That I must needs pass on without describing.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As when in nights serene of the full moon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Smiles Trivia among the nymphs eternal<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who paint the heaven through all its hollow cope,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saw I, above the myriads of lamps,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A sun that one and all of them enkindled, <a href="#Line_29">[29]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">E'en as our own does the supernal stars.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through the living light transparent shone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The lucent substance so intensely clear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Into my sight, that I could not sustain it.<br /></span><p><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54"></a></p> +<span class="i0">O Beatrice, my gentle guide and dear!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She said to me: "That which o'ermasters thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A virtue is which no one can resist.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There are the wisdom and omnipotence<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That oped the thoroughfares 'twixt heaven and earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For which there erst had been so long a yearning."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As fire from out a cloud itself discharges,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dilating so it finds not room therein,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And down, against its nature, falls to earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So did my mind, among those aliments<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Becoming larger, issue from itself,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And what became of it cannot remember.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Open thine eyes, and look at what I am: <a href="#Line_4">[45]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou hast beheld such things, that strong enough<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hast thou become to tolerate my smile."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I was as one who still retains the feeling<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of a forgotten dream, and who endeavors<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In vain to bring it back into his mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I this invitation heard, deserving<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of so much gratitude, it never fades<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Out of the book that chronicles the past.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If at this moment sounded all the tongues<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That Polyhymnia and her sisters made <a href="#Line_55">[55]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Most lubrical with their delicious milk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To aid me, to a thousandth of the truth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It would not reach, singing the holy smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And how the holy aspect it illumed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And therefore, representing Paradise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sacred poem must perforce leap over,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Even as a man who finds his way cut off.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But whoso thinketh of the ponderous theme,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And of the mortal shoulder that sustains it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Should blame it not, if under this it trembles.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is no passage for a little boat<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This which goes cleaving the audacious prow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor for a pilot who would spare himself.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Why does my face so much enamor thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That to the garden fair thou turnest not,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which under the rays of Christ is blossoming?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is the rose in which the Word Divine <a href="#Line_72">[72]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Became incarnate; there the lilies are<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By whose perfume the good way was selected."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus Beatrice; and I, who to her counsels<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was wholly ready, once again betook me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unto the battle of the feeble brows.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in a sunbeam, that unbroken passes <a href="#Line_78">[78]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through fractured cloud, ere now a meadow of flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mine eyes with shadow covered have beheld,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I beheld the multitudinous splendors<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Refulgent from above with burning rays,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beholding not the source of the effulgence.<br /></span><p><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55"></a></p> +<span class="i0">O thou benignant power that so imprint'st them! <a href="#Line_89">[89]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou didst exalt thyself to give more scope<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There to the eyes, that were not strong enough.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The name of that fair flower I e'er invoke<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Morning and evening utterly enthralled<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My soul to gaze upon the greater fire.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when in both mine eyes depicted were<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The glory and greatness of the living star<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which conquers there, as here below it conquered,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Athwart the heavens descended a bright sheen <a href="#Line_98">[98]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Formed in a circle like a coronal,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And cinctured it, and whirled itself about it.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whatever melody most sweetly soundeth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On earth, and to itself most draws the soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would seem a cloud that, rent asunder, thunders,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Compared unto the sounding of that lyre<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wherewith was crowned the sapphire beautiful,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which gives the clearest heaven its sapphire hue. <a href="#Line_106">[106]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">"I am Angelic Love, that circle round<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The joy sublime which breathes from out the bosom<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That was the hostelry of our Desire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I shall circle, Lady of Heaven, while<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou followest thy Son, and mak'st diviner<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sphere supreme, because thou enterest it."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus did the circulated melody<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seal itself up; and all the other lights<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Were making resonant the name of Mary.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The regal mantle of the volumes all <a href="#Line_116">[116]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of that world, which most fervid is and living<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With breath of God and with his works and ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Extended over us its inner curve,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So very distant, that its outward show,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There where I was, not yet appeared to me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Therefore mine eyes did not possess the power<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of following the incoronated flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which had ascended near to its own seed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as a little child, that towards its mother<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Extends its arms, when it the milk has taken,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through impulse kindled into outward flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each of those gleams of white did upward stretch<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So with its summit, that the deep affection<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They had for Mary was revealed to me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thereafter they remained there in my sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Regina cœli</i> singing with such sweetness, <a href="#Line_132">[132]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">That ne'er from me has the delight departed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, what exuberance is garnered up<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In those resplendent coffers, which had been<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For sowing here below good husbandmen!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There they enjoy and live upon the treasure <a href="#Line_137">[137]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which was acquired while weeping in the exile<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Babylon, wherein the gold was left.<br /></span><p><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56"></a></p> +<span class="i0">There triumpheth beneath the exalted Son<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of God and Mary, in his victory,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Both with the ancient council and the new,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He who doth keep the keys of such a glory. <a href="#Line_143">[143]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>[<a name="Line_1" id="Line_1"></a>Line 1: Dante is with Beatrice in the eighth circle, that of the fixed +stars. She is gazing upwards, watching for the descent of the Triumph of +Christ.]</p> + +<p>[<a name="Line_12" id="Line_12"></a>Line 12: Under the meridian, or at noon, the shadows being shorter move +slower, and, therefore the sun seems less in haste.]</p> + +<p>[<a name="Line_21" id="Line_21"></a>Line 21: By the beneficent influences of the stars.]</p> + +<p>[<a name="Line_29" id="Line_29"></a>Line 29: The old belief that the stars were fed by the light of the +sun. So Milton,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Hither, as to their fountain, other stars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Repair, and in their golden urns draw light."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Here the stars are souls, the sun is Christ.]</p> + +<p>[<a name="Line_4" id="Line_4"></a>Line 45: Beatrice speaks.]</p> + +<p>[<a name="Line_55" id="Line_55"></a>Line 55: The Muse of harmony and singing.]</p> + +<p>[<a name="Line_72" id="Line_72"></a>Line 72: The rose is the Virgin Mary, <i>Rosa Mundi, Rosa Mystica</i>; the +lilies are the Apostles and other saints.]</p> + +<p>[<a name="Line_78" id="Line_78"></a>Line 78: The struggle between his eyes and the light.]</p> + +<p>[<a name="Line_89" id="Line_89"></a>Line 89: Christ reascends, that Dante's dazzled eyes, too feeble to +bear the light of his presence, may behold the splendors around him.</p> + +<p>The greater fire is the Virgin Mary, greater than any of those +remaining. She is the living star, surpassing in brightness all other +souls in heaven, as she did here on earth: <i>Stella Maris, Stella +Matutina</i>.]</p> + +<p>[<a name="Line_98" id="Line_98"></a>Line 98: The Angel Gabriel, or Angelic Love.]</p> + +<p>[<a name="Line_106" id="Line_106"></a>Line 106: Sapphire is the color in which the old painters arrayed the +Virgin.]</p> + +<p>[<a name="Line_116" id="Line_116"></a>Line 116: The regal mantle of all the volumes, or rolling orbs, of the +world is the crystalline heaven, or <i>Primus Mobile</i>, which infolds all +the others like a mantle.]</p> + +<p>[<a name="Line_132" id="Line_132"></a>Line 132: Easter hymn to the Virgin.]</p> + +<p>[<a name="Line_137" id="Line_137"></a>Line 137: Caring not for gold in the Babylonian exile of this life, +they laid up treasures in the other.]</p> + +<p>[<a name="Line_143" id="Line_143"></a>Line 143: St. Peter, keeper of the keys, with the holy men of the Old +and the New Testament.]</p> + + +<h3>CANTO XXIV.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O company elect to the great supper <a href="#a1">[1]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of the Lamb glorified, who feedeth you<br /></span> +<span class="i3">So that forever full is your desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If by the grace of God this man foretastes<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of whatsoever falleth from your table,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Or ever death prescribes to him the time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Direct your mind to his immense desire, <a href="#a7">[7]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i3">And him somewhat bedew; ye drinking are<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Forever from the fount whence comes his thought." <a href="#a9">[9]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus Beatrice; and those enraptured spirits<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Made themselves spheres around their steadfast poles,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Flaming intensely in the guise of comets.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as the wheels in works of horologes<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Revolve so that the first to the beholder<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Motionless seems, and the last one to fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So in like manner did those carols, dancing <a href="#a16">[16]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i3">In different measure, by their affluence<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Make me esteem them either swift or slow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From that one which I noted of most beauty<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Beheld I issue forth a fire so happy<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That none it left there of a greater splendor;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And around Beatrice three several times <a href="#a22">[22]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i3">It whirled itself with so divine a song,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My fantasy repeats it not to me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Therefore the pen skips, and I write it not,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Since our imagination for such folds,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Much more our speech, is of a tint too glaring. <a href="#a27">[27]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">"O holy sister mine, who us implorest <a href="#a28">[28]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i3">With such devotion, by thine ardent love<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Thou dost unbind me from that beautiful sphere!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus, having stopped, the beatific fire<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Unto my Lady did direct its breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Which spake in fashion as I here have said.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she: "O light eterne of the great man<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To whom our Lord delivered up the keys<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He carried down of this miraculous joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This one examine on points light and grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">As good beseemeth thee, about the Faith<br /></span> +<span class="i3">By means of which thou on the sea didst walk.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If he loves well, and hopes well, and believes,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Is hid not from thee; for thou hast thy sight<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Where everything beholds itself depicted. <a href="#a42">[42]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But since this kingdom has made citizens<br /></span> +<span class="i3">By means of the true Faith, to glorify it<br /></span> +<span class="i3">'Tis well he have the chance to speak thereof."<br /></span><p><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57"></a></p> +<span class="i0">As baccalaureate arms himself, and speaks not<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Until the master doth propose the question,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To argue it, and not to terminate it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So did I arm myself with every reason,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While she was speaking, that I might be ready<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For such a questioner and such profession.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Speak on, good Christian; manifest thyself; <a href="#a52">[52]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Say, what is Faith?" Whereat I raised my brow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unto that light from which this was breathed forth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then turned I round to Beatrice, and she<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Prompt signals made to me that I should pour<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The water forth from my internal fountain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"May grace, that suffers me to make confession,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Began I, "to the great Centurion, <a href="#a59">[59]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cause my conceptions all to be explicit!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I continued: "As the truthful pen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Father, of thy dear brother wrote of it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who put with thee Rome into the good way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faith is the substance of the things we hope for,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And evidence of those that are not seen;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And this appears to me its quiddity." <a href="#a66">[66]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then heard I: "Very rightly thou perceivest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If well thou understandest why he placed it<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With substances and then with evidences."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I thereafterward: "The things profound,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That here vouchsafe to me their outward show,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unto all eyes below are so concealed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That they exist there only in belief,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon the which is founded the high hope,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And therefore take the nature of a substance.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it behooveth us from this belief<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To reason without having other views,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hence it has the nature of evidence."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then heard I: "If whatever is acquired<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Below as doctrine were thus understood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No sophist's subtlety would there find place."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus was breathed forth from that enkindled love;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then added: "Thoroughly has been gone over<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Already of this coin the alloy and weight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But tell me if thou hast it in thy purse?"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I: "Yes, both so shining and so round,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That in its stamp there is no peradventure."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thereafter issued from the light profound<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That there resplendent was: "This precious jewel,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon the which is every virtue founded,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whence hadst thou it?" And I: "The large outpouring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the Holy Spirit, which has been diffused<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon the ancient parchments and the new, <a href="#a93">[93]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A syllogism is, which demonstrates it<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With such acuteness, that, compared therewith,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All demonstration seems to me obtuse."<br /></span><p><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58"></a></p> +<span class="i0">And then I heard: "The ancient and the new<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Postulates, that to thee are so conclusive,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why dost thou take them for the word divine?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I: "The proof, which shows the truth to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are the works subsequent, whereunto Nature<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ne'er heated iron yet, nor anvil beat."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas answered me: "Say, who assureth thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That those works ever were? the thing itself<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We wish to prove, nought else to thee affirms it."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Were the world to Christianity converted,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I said, "withouten miracles, this one<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is such, the rest are not its hundredth part;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For thou didst enter destitute and fasting<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Into the field to plant there the good plant,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which was a vine and has become a thorn!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This being finished, the high, holy Court<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Resounded through the spheres, "One God we praise!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In melody that there above is chanted.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then that Baron, who from branch to branch, <a href="#a115">[115]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Examining, had thus conducted me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till the remotest leaves we were approaching,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did recommence once more: "The Grace that lords it<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Over thy intellect thy mouth has opened,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Up to this point, as it should opened be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So that I do approve what forth emerged;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But now thou must express what thou believest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And whence to thy belief it was presented."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"O holy father! O thou spirit, who seest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What thou believedst, so that thou o'ercamest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Towards the sepulchre, more youthful feet," <a href="#a126">[126]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Began I, "thou dost wish me to declare<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Forthwith the manner of my prompt belief,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And likewise thou the cause thereof demandest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I respond: In one God I believe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sole and eterne, who all the heaven doth move,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Himself unmoved, with love and with desire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And of such faith not only have I proofs<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Physical and metaphysical, but gives them<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Likewise the truth that from this place rains down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through Moses, through the Prophets and the Psalms,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through the Evangel, and through you, who wrote<br /></span> +<span class="i2">After the fiery Spirit sanctified you; <a href="#a138">[138]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Persons three eterne believe I, and these<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One essence I believe, so one and trine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They bear conjunction both with <i>sunt</i> and <i>est</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the profound conjunction and divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which now I touch upon, doth stamp my mind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ofttimes the doctrine evangelical.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This the beginning is, this is the spark<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which afterwards dilates to vivid flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, like a star in heaven, is sparkling in me."<br /></span><p><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59"></a></p> +<span class="i0">Even as a lord, who hears what pleases him,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His servant straight embraces, giving thanks<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For the good news, as soon as he is silent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, giving me its benediction, singing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Three times encircled me, when I was silent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The apostolic light, at whose command<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I spoken had, in speaking I so pleased him.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>[Line <a name="a1" id="a1"></a>1: Beatrice speaks.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="a7" id="a7"></a>7: Hunger and thirst after things divine.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="a9" id="a9"></a>9: The grace of God.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="a16" id="a16"></a>16: The carol was a dance as well as a song.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="a22" id="a22"></a>22: St. Peter thrice encircles Beatrice, as the Angel Gabriel did +the Virgin Mary in the preceding canto.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="a27" id="a27"></a>27: Too glaring for painting such delicate draperies of song.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="a28" id="a28"></a>28: St. Peter speaks to Beatrice.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="a42" id="a42"></a>42: Fixed upon God, in whom all things reflected.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="a52" id="a52"></a>52: St. Peter speaks to Dante.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="a59" id="a59"></a>59: The great Head of the Church.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="a66" id="a66"></a>66: In the Scholastic Philosophy, the essence of a thing, +distinguishing it from all other things, was called its <i>quiddity</i>: an +answer to the question, <i>Quid est?</i>]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="a93" id="a93"></a>93: The Old and New Testaments.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="a115" id="a115"></a>115: In the Middle Ages earthly titles were sometimes given to the +saints. Thus, Boccaccio speaks of <i>Baron Messer San Antonio</i>.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="a126" id="a126"></a>126: St. John, xx. 3-8. St. John was the first to reach the +sepulchre, but St. Peter the first to enter it.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="a138" id="a138"></a>138: St. Peter and the other Apostles after Pentecost.]</p> + + +<h3>CANTO XXV.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If e'er it happen that the Poem Sacred, <a href="#b1a">[1]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">To which both heaven and earth have set their hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till it hath made me meagre many a year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'ercome the cruelty that bars me out<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the fair sheepfold, where a lamb I slumbered,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Obnoxious to the wolves that war upon it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With other voice henceforth, with other fleece<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will I return as poet, and at my font<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Baptismal will I take the laurel-crown; <a href="#b9a">[9]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because into the Faith that maketh known<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All souls to God there entered I, and then<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Peter for her sake so my brow encircled.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thereafterward towards us moved a light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of that band whence issued the first-fruits <a href="#b14a">[14]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which of his vicars Christ behind him left,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then, my Lady, full of ecstasy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Said unto me: "Look, look! behold the Baron<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For whom below Galicia is frequented." <a href="#b18a">[18]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the same way as, when a dove alights<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Near his companion, both of them pour forth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Circling about and murmuring, their affection,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I beheld one by the other grand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Prince glorified to be with welcome greeted,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lauding the food that there above is eaten.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when their gratulations were completed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Silently <i>coram me</i> each one stood still,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So incandescent it o'ercame my sight.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smiling thereafterwards, said Beatrice:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Spirit august, by whom the benefactions<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of our Basilica have been described, <a href="#b30a">[30]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make Hope reverberate in this altitude;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou knowest as oft thou dost personify it<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As Jesus to the three gave greater light,"— <a href="#b33a">[33]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Lift up thy head, and make thyself assured; <a href="#b34a">[34]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">For what comes hither from the mortal world<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must needs be ripened in our radiance."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This exhortation from the second fire <a href="#b37a">[37]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Came; and mine eyes I lifted to the hills, <a href="#b38a">[38]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which bent them down before with too great weight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Since, through his grace, our Emperor decrees<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou shouldst confronted be, before thy death,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the most secret chamber, with his Counts, <a href="#b42a">[42]</a><br /></span><p><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60"></a></p> +<span class="i0">So that, the truth beholding of this court,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hope, which below there rightly fascinates,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In thee and others may thereby be strengthened;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Say what it is, and how is flowering with it<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy mind, and say from whence it came to thee":<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus did the second light continue still.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the Compassionate, who piloted <a href="#b49a">[49]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The plumage of my wings in such high flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the reply did thus anticipate me:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"No child whatever the Church Militant<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of greater hope possesses, as is written<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In that Sun which irradiates all our band; <a href="#b54a">[54]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Therefore it is conceded him from Egypt<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To come into Jerusalem to see, <a href="#b56a">[56]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or ever yet his warfare is completed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The other points, that not for knowledge' sake <a href="#b58a">[58]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have been demanded, but that he report<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How much this virtue unto thee is pleasing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To him I leave; for hard he will not find them,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor to be boasted of; them let him answer;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And may the grace of God in this assist him!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a disciple, who obeys his teacher,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ready and willing, where he is expert,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So that his excellence may be revealed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Hope," said I, "is the certain expectation <a href="#b67a">[67]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of glory in the hereafter, which proceedeth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From grace divine and merit precedent.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From many stars this light comes unto me;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But he instilled it first into my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who was chief singer unto the chief captain. <a href="#b72a">[72]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Hope they in thee</i>, in the high Theody<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He says, <i>all those who recognize thy name</i>; <a href="#b74a">[74]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And who does not, if he my faith possesses? <a href="#b75a">[75]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou didst instil me, then, with his instilling<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the Epistle, so that I am full,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And upon others rain again your rain." <a href="#b78a">[78]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">While I was speaking, in the living bosom<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of that effulgence quivered a sharp flash,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sudden and frequent, in the guise of lightning.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then breathed: "The love wherewith I am inflamed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Towards the virtue still, which followed me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unto the palm and issue of the field,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wills that I whisper thee, thou take delight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In her; and grateful to me is thy saying<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whatever things Hope promises to thee."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I: "The ancient Scriptures and the new<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mark establish, and this shows it me, <a href="#b89a">[89]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of all the souls whom God has made his friends.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Isaiah saith, that each one garmented<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In his own land shall be with twofold garments, <a href="#b92a">[92]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And his own land is this sweet life of yours.<br /></span><p><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61"></a></p> +<span class="i0">Thy brother, too, far more explicitly,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There where he treateth of the robes of white, <a href="#b95a">[95]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">This revelation manifests to us."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And first, and near the ending of these words,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Sperent in te</i> from over us was heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To which responsive answered all the carols. <a href="#b99a">[99]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thereafterward among them gleamed a light, <a href="#b100a">[100]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">So that, if Cancer such a crystal had,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Winter would have a month of one sole day. <a href="#b102a">[102]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as uprises, goes, and enters the dance<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A joyous maiden, only to do honor<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the new bride, and not from any failing, <a href="#b105a">[105]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">So saw I the illuminated splendor<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Approach the two, who in a wheel revolved, <a href="#b107a">[107]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">As was beseeming to their ardent love.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It joined itself there in the song and music;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And fixed on them my Lady kept her look,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Even as a bride, silent and motionless.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"This is the one who lay upon the breast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of him our Pelican; and this is he<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the great office from the cross elected." <a href="#b114a"> [114]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Lady thus; but therefore none the more<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Removed her sight from its fixed contemplation,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before or afterward, these words of hers.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even as a man who gazes, and endeavors<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To see the eclipsing of the sun a little,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And who, by seeing, sightless doth become,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I became before that latest fire, <a href="#b122a">[122]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">While it was said, "Why dost thou daze thyself<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To see a thing which here has no existence? <a href="#b124a">[124]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Earth upon earth my body is, and shall be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With all the others there, until our number<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the eternal proposition tallies; <a href="#b127a">[127]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the two garments in the blessed cloister <a href="#b128a">[128]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are the two lights alone that have ascended: <a href="#b129a">[129]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And this shalt thou take back into your world." <a href="#b130a">[130]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And at this utterance the flaming circle<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Grew quiet, with the dulcet intermingling<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of sound that by the trinal breath was made, <a href="#b133a">[133]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">As to escape from danger or fatigue<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The oars that erst were in the water beaten<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are all suspended at a whistle's sound.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, how much in my mind was I disturbed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When I turned round to look on Beatrice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At not beholding her, although I was<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Close at her side and in the Happy World!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>[Line <a name="b1a" id="b1a"></a>1: This "Divina Commedia," in which human science or Philosophy is +symbolized in Virgil, and divine science or Theology in Beatrice.</p> + +<p>"<i>Fiorenza la Bella</i>," Florence the Fair. In one of his Canzoni, Dante +says,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O mountain-song of mine, thou goest thy way;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Florence my town thou shalt perchance behold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which bars me from itself,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Devoid of love and naked of compassion."]<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>[Line <a name="b9a" id="b9a"></a>9: This allusion to the Church of San Giovanni, "<i>il mio bel San +Giovanni</i>," as Dante calls it elsewhere, (Inf. xix. 17,) is a fitting +prelude to the Canto in which St. John is to appear. Like the "laughing +of the grass" in Canto xxx. 77, it is a "foreshadowing preface," +<i>ombrifero prefazio</i>, of what follows.</p> + +<p>See Canto xxiv. 150;</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"So, giving me its benediction, singing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Three times encircled me, when I was silent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The apostolic light."]<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>[Line <a name="b14a" id="b14a"></a>14: St. Peter. "That we should be a kind of first-fruits of his +creatures." Epistle of St. James, i. 18.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b18a" id="b18a"></a>18: St. James. Pilgrimages are made to his tomb at Compostella in +Galicia.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b30a" id="b30a"></a>30: The General Epistle of St. James, called the <i>Epistola +Cattolica</i>, i. 17. "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from +above, and cometh down from the Father of lights." Our Basilica: +Paradise: the Church Triumphant.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b33a" id="b33a"></a>33: Peter, James, and John, representing the three theological +virtues, Faith, Hope, and Charity, and distinguished above the other +apostles by clearer manifestations of their Master's favor.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b34a" id="b34a"></a>34: St. James speaks.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b37a" id="b37a"></a>37: The three Apostles, luminous above him, overwhelming him with +light.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b38a" id="b38a"></a>38: "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh +my help." Psalm cxxi. 1.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b42a" id="b42a"></a>42: The most august spirits of the Celestial City.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b49a" id="b49a"></a>49: Beatrice.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b54a" id="b54a"></a>54: In God,</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Where everything beholds itself depicted."</span><br /></p> + +<p>Canto xxiv. 42.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b56a" id="b56a"></a>56: To come from earth to heaven.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b58a" id="b58a"></a>58: "Say what it is," and "whence it came to thee."]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b67a" id="b67a"></a>67: "<i>Est spes certa expectatio futuræ beatitudinis, veniens ex +Dei gratia et meritis præcedentibus</i>." Petrus Lombardus, <i>Magister +Sententiarum</i>.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b72a" id="b72a"></a>72: The Psalmist David.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b74a" id="b74a"></a>74: The Book of Psalms, or Songs of God.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b75a" id="b75a"></a>75: "And they that know thy name will put their trust in thee." +Psalm ix. 10.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b78a" id="b78a"></a>78: Your rain: that is, of David and yourself.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b89a" id="b89a"></a>89: "The mark of the high calling and election sure."]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b92a" id="b92a"></a>92: The twofold garments are the glorified spirit and the +glorified body.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b95a" id="b95a"></a>95: St. John, in the Apocalypse, vii. 9. "A great multitude which +no man could number ... clothed with white robes."]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b99a" id="b99a"></a>99: Dances and songs commingled; the circling choirs, the +celestial choristers.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b100a" id="b100a"></a>100: St. John the Evangelist.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b102a" id="b102a"></a>102: In winter the constellation Cancer rises at sunset; and if it +had one star as bright as this, it would turn night into day.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b105a" id="b105a"></a>105: Such as vanity, ostentation, or the like.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b107a" id="b107a"></a>107: St. Peter and St. James are joined by St. John.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b114a" id="b114a"></a>114: Christ. "Then saith he to the disciple, 'Behold thy mother!' +And from that hour that disciple took her unto his own home." St. John, +xix. 27.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b122a" id="b122a"></a>122: St. John.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b124a" id="b124a"></a>124: "If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee."]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b127a" id="b127a"></a>127: Till the predestined number of the elect is complete.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b128a" id="b128a"></a>128: The two garments: the glorified spirit and the glorified +body.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b129a" id="b129a"></a>129: The two lights: Christ and the Virgin Mary.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b130a" id="b130a"></a>130: Carry back these tidings.]</p> + +<p>[Line <a name="b133a" id="b133a"></a>133: The sacred trio of St. Peter, St. James, and St. John.]</p><p><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="EXTERNAL_APPEARANCE_OF_GLACIERS" id="EXTERNAL_APPEARANCE_OF_GLACIERS"></a>EXTERNAL APPEARANCE OF GLACIERS.</h2> + + +<p>Thus far we have examined chiefly the internal structure of the glacier; +let us look now at its external appearance, and at the variety of +curious phenomena connected with the deposit of foreign materials upon +its surface, some of which seem quite inexplicable at first sight. Among +the most striking of these are the large boulders elevated on columns of +ice, standing sometimes ten feet or more above the level of the glacier, +and the sand-pyramids, those conical hills of sand which occur not +infrequently on all the large Alpine glaciers. One is at first quite at +a loss to explain the presence of these pyramids in the midst of a +frozen ice-field, and yet it has a very simple cause.</p> + +<p>I have spoken of the many little rills arising on the surface of the ice +in consequence of its melting. Indeed, the voice of the waters is rarely +still on the glacier during the warm season, except at night. On a +summer's day, a thousand streams are born before noontide, and die again +at sunset; it is no uncommon thing to see a full cascade come rushing +out from the lower end of a glacier during the heat of the day, and +vanish again at its decline. Suppose one of these rivulets should fall +into a deep, circular hole, such as often occur on the glacier, and the +nature of which I shall presently explain, and that this cylindrical +opening narrows to a mere crack at a greater or less depth within the +ice, the water will find its way through the crack and filter down into +the deeper mass; but the dust and sand carried along with it will be +caught there, and form a deposit at the bottom of the hole. As day after +day, throughout the summer, the rivulet is renewed, it carries with it +an additional supply of these light materials, until the opening is +gradually filled and the sand is brought to a level with the surface of +the ice. We have already seen, that, in consequence of evaporation, +melting, and other disintegrating causes, the level of the glacier sinks +annually at the rate of from five to ten feet, according to stations. +The natural consequence, of course, must be, that the sand is left +standing above the surface of the ice, forming a mound which would +constantly increase in height in proportion to the sinking of the +surrounding ice, had it sufficient solidity to retain its original +position. But a heap of sand, if unsupported, must very soon subside and +be dispersed; and, indeed, these pyramids, which are often quite lofty, +and yet look as if they would crumble at a touch, prove, on nearer +examination, to be perfectly solid, and are, in fact, pyramids of ice +with a thin sheet of sand spread over them. A word will explain how this +transformation is brought about. As soon as the level of the glacier +falls below the sand, thus depriving it of support, it sinks down and +spreads slightly over the surrounding surface. In this condition it +protects the ice immediately beneath it from the action of the sun. In +proportion as the glacier wastes, this protected area rises above the +general mass and becomes detached from it. The sand, of course, slides +down over it, spreading toward its base, so as to cover a wider space +below, and an ever-narrowing one above, until it gradually assumes the +pyramidal form in which we find it, covered with a thin coating of sand. +Every stage of this process may occasionally be seen upon the same +glacier, in a number of sand-piles raised to various heights above the +surface of the ice, approaching the perfect pyramidal form, or falling +to pieces after standing for a short time erect.</p> + +<p>The phenomenon of the large boulders, supported on tall pillars of ice, +is of a similar character. A mass of rock, having fallen on the surface +of the glacier, protects the ice immediately beneath it from the action +of the sun; and as the level of the glacier sinks all around it, in +<a name="Page_63" id="Page_63"></a>consequence of the unceasing waste of the surface, the rock is +gradually left standing on an ice-pillar of considerable height. In +proportion as the column rises, however, the rays of the sun reach its +sides, striking obliquely upon them under the boulder, and wearing them +away, until the column becomes at last too slight to sustain its burden, +and the rock falls again upon the glacier; or, owing to the unequal +action of the sun, striking of course with most power on the southern +side, the top of the pillar becomes slanting, and the boulder slides +off. These ice-pillars, crowned with masses of rock, form a very +picturesque feature in the scenery of the glacier, and are represented +in many of the landscapes in which Swiss artists have endeavored to +reproduce the grandeur and variety of Alpine views, especially in the +masterly Aquarelles of Lory. The English reader will find them admirably +well described and illustrated in Dr. Tyndall's work upon the glaciers. +They are known throughout the Alps as "glacier-tables"; and many a time +my fellow-travellers and I have spread our frugal meal on such a table, +erected, as it seemed, especially for our convenience.</p> + +<p>Another curious effect is that produced by small stones or pebbles, +small enough to become heated through by the sun in summer. Such a +heated pebble will of course melt the ice below it, and so wear a hole +for itself into which it sinks. This process will continue as long as +the sun reaches the pebble with force enough to heat it. Numbers of such +deep, round holes, like organ-pipes, varying in size from the diameter +of a minute pebble or a grain of coarse sand to that of an ordinary +stone, are found on the glacier, and at the bottom of each is the pebble +by which it was bored. The ice formed by the freezing of water +collecting in such holes and in the fissures of the surface is a pure +crystallized ice, very different in color from the ice of the great mass +of the glacier produced by snow; and sometimes, after a rain and frost, +the surface of a glacier looks like a mosaic-work, in consequence of +such veins and cylinders or spots of clear ice with which it is inlaid.</p> + +<p>Indeed, the aspect of the glacier changes constantly with the different +conditions of the temperature. We may see it, when, during a long dry +season, it has collected upon its surface all sorts of light floating +materials, as dust, sand, and the like, so that it looks dull and +soiled,—or when a heavy rain has washed the surface clean from all +impurities and left it bright and fresh. We may see it when the heat and +other disintegrating influences have acted upon the ice to a certain +superficial depth, so that its surface is covered with a decomposed +crust of broken, snowy ice, so permeated with air that it has a +dead-white color, like pounded ice or glass. Those who see the glacier +in this state miss the blue tint so often described as characteristic of +its appearance in its lower portion, and as giving such a peculiar +beauty to its caverns and vaults. But let them come again after a summer +storm has swept away this loose sheet of broken, snowy ice above, and +before the same process has had time to renew it, and they will find the +compact, solid surface of the glacier of as pure a blue as if it +reflected the sky above. We may see it in the early dawn, before the new +ice of the preceding night begins to yield to the action of the sun, and +the surface of the glacier is veined and inlaid with the water poured +into its holes and fissures during the day and transformed into pure, +fresh ice during the night,—or when the noonday heat has wakened all +its streams, and rivulets sometimes as large as rivers rush along its +surface, find their way to the lower extremity of the glacier, or, +dashing down some gaping crevasse or open well, are lost beneath the +ice.</p> + +<p>It would seem from the quantity of water that is sometimes ingulfed +within these open breaks in the ice, that the glacier must occasionally +be fissured to a very great depth. I remember once, when boring a hole +in the glacier in order to let down a self-regulating thermometer <a name="Page_64" id="Page_64"></a>into +its interior, seeing an immense fissure suddenly rent open, in +consequence, no doubt, of the shocks given to the ice by the blows of +the instruments. The effect was like that of an earthquake; the mass +seemed to rock beneath us, and it was difficult to keep our feet. One of +these glacial rivers was flowing past the spot at the time, and it was +instantly lost in the newly formed chasm. However deep and wide the +fissure might be, such a stream of water, constantly poured into it, and +daily renewed throughout the summer, must eventually fill it and +overflow, unless it finds its way through the whole mass of the glacier +to the bottom on which it rests; it must have an outlet above or below. +The fact that considerable rivulets (too broad to leap across, and too +deep to wade through safely even with high boots) may entirely vanish in +the glacier unquestionably shows one of two things,—that the whole mass +must be soaked with water like a wet sponge, or the cavities reach the +bottom of the glacier. Probably the two conditions are generally +combined.</p> + +<p>In direct connection with the narrower fissures are the so-called +<i>moulins</i>,—the circular wells on the glacier. We will suppose that a +transverse, narrow fissure has been formed across the glacier, and that +one of the many rivulets flowing longitudinally along its surface +empties into it. As the surface-water of the glacier, producing these +rivulets, arises not only from the melting of the ice, but also from the +condensation of vapor, or even from rain-falls, and flows over the +scattered dust-particles and fragments of rock, it has always a +temperature slightly above 32°, so that such a rivulet is necessarily +warmer than the icy edge of the fissure over which it precipitates +itself. In consequence of its higher temperature it melts the edge, +gradually wearing it backward, till the straight margin of the fissure +at the spot over which the water falls is changed to a semicircle; and +as much of the water dashes in spray and foam against the other side, +the same effect takes place there, by which a corresponding semicircle +is formed exactly opposite the first. This goes on not only at the upper +margin, but through the whole depth of the opening as far down as the +water carries its higher temperature. In short, a semicircular groove is +excavated on either side of the fissure for its whole depth along the +line on which the rivulet holds its downward course. After a time, in +consequence of the motion of the glacier, such a fissure may close +again, and then the two semicircles thus brought together form at once +one continuous circle, and we have one of the round deep openings on the +glacier known as <i>moulins</i>, or wells, which may of course become +perfectly dry, if any accident turns the rivulet aside or dries up its +source. The most common cause of the intermittence of such a waterfall +is the formation of a crevasse higher up, across the watercourse which +supplied it, and which now begins another excavation.</p> + +<p>These wells are often very profound. I have lowered a line for more than +seven hundred feet in one of them before striking bottom; and one is by +no means sure even then of having sounded the whole depth, for it may +often happen that the water meets with some obstacle which prevents its +direct descent, and, turning aside, continues its deeper course at a +different angle. Such a well may be like a crooked shaft in a mine, +changing its direction from time to time. I found this to be the case in +one into which I caused myself to be lowered in order to examine the +internal structure of the glacier. For some time my descent was straight +and direct, but at a depth of about fifty feet there was a +landing-place, as it were, from which the opening continued its farther +course at quite a different angle. It is within these cylindrical +openings in the ice that those accumulations of sand collect which form +the pyramids described above.</p> + +<p>One may often trace the gradual formation of these wells, because, as +they require certain similar conditions, they are very apt to be found +in various stages of completion <a name="Page_65" id="Page_65"></a>along the same track where these +conditions occur. Fissures, for instance, will often be produced along +the same line, because, as the mass of the glacier moves on, its upper +portions, as they advance, come successively in contact with +inequalities of the bottom, in consequence of which the ice is strained +beyond its power of resistance and cracks across. Rivulets are also +likely to be renewed summer after summer over the same track, because +certain conditions of the surface of the glacier, to which I have not +yet alluded, and which favor the more rapid melting of the ice, remain +unchanged year after year. Of course, the wells do not remain stationary +any more than any other feature of the glacier. They move on with the +advancing mass of ice, and we consequently find the older ones +considerably lower down than the more recent ones. In ascending such a +track as I have described, along which fissures and rivulets are likely +to occur, we may meet first with a sand-pyramid; at a certain distance +above that there may be a circular opening filled to its brim with the +sand which has just reached the surface of the ice; a little above may +be an open well with the rivulet still pouring into it; or higher up, we +may meet an open fissure with the two semicircles opposite each other on +the margins, but not yet united, as they will be presently by the +closing of the fissure; or we may find near by another fissure, the +edges of which are just beginning to wear in consequence of the action +of the water. Thus, though we cannot trace the formation of such a +cylindrical shaft in the glacier from the beginning to the end, we may +by combining the separate facts observed in a number decipher their +whole history.</p> + +<p>In describing the surface of the glacier, I should not omit the shallow +troughs which I have called "meridian holes," from the accuracy with +which they register the position of the sun. Here and there on the +glacier there are patches of loose materials, dust, sand, pebbles, or +gravel, accumulated by diminutive water-rills, and small enough to +become heated during the day. They will, of course, be warmed first on +their eastern side, then, still more powerfully, on their southern side, +and in the afternoon with less force again on their western side, while +the northern side will remain comparatively cool. Thus around more than +half of their circumference they melt the ice in a semicircle, and the +glacier is covered with little crescent-shaped troughs of this +description, with a steep wall on one side and a shallow one on the +other, and a little heap of loose materials in the bottom. They are the +sundials of the glacier, recording the hour by the advance of the sun's +rays upon them.</p> + +<p>In recapitulating the results of my glacial experience, even in so +condensed a form as that in which I intend to present them here, I shall +be obliged to enter somewhat into personal narration, though at the risk +of repeating what has been already told by the companions of my +excursions, some of whom wrote out in a more popular form the incidents +of our daily life which could not be fitly introduced into my own record +of scientific research. When I first began my investigations upon the +glaciers, now more than twenty-five years ago, scarcely any measurements +of their size or their motion had been made. One of my principal +objects, therefore, was to ascertain the thickness of the mass of ice, +generally supposed to be from eighty to a hundred feet, and even less. +The first year I took with me a hundred feet of iron rods, (no easy +matter, where it had to be transported to the upper part of a glacier on +men's backs,) thinking to bore the glacier through and through. As well +might I have tried to sound the ocean with a ten-fathom line. The +following year I took two hundred feet of rods with me, and again I was +foiled. Eventually I succeeded in carrying up a thousand feet of line, +and satisfied myself, after many attempts, that this was about <a name="Page_66" id="Page_66"></a>the +average thickness of the glacier of the Aar, on which I was working. I +mention these failures, because they give some idea of the +discouragements and difficulties which meet the investigator in any new +field of research; and the student must remember, for his consolation +under such disappointments, that his failures are almost as important to +the cause of science and to those who follow him in the same road as his +successes. It is much to know what we <i>cannot</i> do in any given +direction,—the first step, indeed, toward the accomplishment of what we +can do.</p> + +<p>A like disappointment awaited me in my first attempt to ascertain by +direct measurement the rate of motion in the glacier. Early observers +had asserted that the glacier moved, but there had been no accurate +demonstration of the fact, and so uniform is its general appearance from +year to year that even the fact of its motion was denied by many. It is +true that the progress of boulders had been watched; a mass of rock +which had stood at a certain point on the glacier was found many feet +below that point the following year; but the opponents of the theory +insisted that it did not follow, because the mass of rock had moved, +that therefore the mass of ice had moved with it. They believed that the +boulder might have slid down for that distance. Neither did the +occasional encroachment of the glaciers upon the valleys prove anything; +it might he solely the effect of an unusual accumulation of snow in cold +seasons. Here, then, was another question to be tested; and one of my +first experiments was to plant stakes in the ice to ascertain whether +they would change their position with reference to the sides of the +valley or not. If the glacier moved, my stakes must of course move with +it; if it was stationary, my stakes would remain standing where I had +placed them, and any advance of other objects upon the surface of the +glacier would be proved to be due to their sliding, or to some motion of +their own, and not to that of the mass of ice on which they rested. I +found neither the one nor the other of my anticipated results; after a +short time, all the stakes lay flat on the ice, and I learned nothing +from my first series of experiments, except that the surface of the +glacier is wasted annually for a depth of at least five feet, in +consequence of which my rods had lost their support, and fallen down. +Similar disappointment was experienced by my friend Escher upon the +great glacier of Aletsch.</p> + +<p>My failure, however, taught me to sink the next set of stakes ten or +fifteen feet below the surface of the ice, instead of five; and the +experiment was attended with happier results. A stake planted eighteen +feet deep in the ice, and cut on a level with the surface of the +glacier, in the summer of 1840, was found, on my return in the summer of +1841, to project seven feet, and in the beginning of September it showed +ten feet above the surface. Before leaving the glacier, in September, +1841, I planted six stakes at a certain distance from each other in a +straight line across the upper part of the glacier, taking care to have +the position of all the stakes determined with reference to certain +fixed points on the rocky walls of the valley. When I returned, the +following year, all the stakes had advanced considerably, and the +straight line had changed to a crescent, the central rods having moved +forward much faster than those nearer the sides, so that not only was +the advance of the glacier clearly demonstrated, but also the fact that +its middle portion moved faster than its margins. This furnished the +first accurate data on record concerning the average movement of the +glacier during the greater part of one year. In 1842 I caused a +trigonometric survey of the whole glacier of the Aar to be made, and +several lines across its whole width were staked and determined with +reference to the sides of the valley;<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a> for a number of successive +<a name="Page_67" id="Page_67"></a>years the survey was repeated, and furnished the numerous data +concerning the motion of the glacier which I have published. I shall +probably never have an opportunity of repeating these experiments, and +examining anew the condition of the glacier of the Aar; but as all the +measurements were taken with reference to certain fixed points recorded +upon the map mentioned in the note, it would be easy to renew them over +the same locality, and to make a direct comparison with my first results +after an interval of a quarter of a century. Such a comparison would be +very valuable to science, as showing any change in the condition of the +glacier, its rate of motion, etc., since the time my survey was made.</p> + +<p>These observations not only determined the fact of the motion of the +glacier itself, as well as the inequality of its motion in different +parts, but explained also a variety of phenomena indirectly connected +with it. Among these were the position and direction of the crevasses, +those gaping fissures of unknown depths, sometimes a mile or more in +length, and often measuring several hundred feet in width, the terror, +not only of the ordinary traveller, but of the most experienced +mountaineers. There is a variety of such crevasses upon the glacier, but +the most numerous and dangerous are the transverse and lateral ones. The +transverse ones were readily accounted for after the motion of the +glacier was admitted; they must take place, whenever, the glacier +advancing over inequalities or steeper parts of its bed, the tension of +the mass was so great that the cohesion of the particles was overcome, +and the ice consequently rent apart. This would be especially the case +wherever some steep angle in the bottom over which it moved presented an +obstacle to the even advance of the mass. But the position of the +lateral ones was not so easily understood. They are especially apt to +occur wherever a promontory of rock juts out into the glacier; and when +fresh, they usually slant obliquely upward, trending from the prominent +wall toward the head of the glacier, while, when old, on the contrary, +they turn downward, so that the crevasses around such a promontory are +often arranged in the shape of a spread fan, diverging from it in +different directions. When the movement of the glacier was fully +understood, however, it became evident, that, in its effort to force +itself around the promontory, the ice was violently torn apart, and that +the rent must take place in a direction at right angles with that in +which the mass was moving. If the mass be moving inward and downward, +the direction of the rent must be obliquely upward. As now the mass +continues to advance, the crevasses must advance with it; and as it +moves more rapidly toward the middle than on the margins, that end of +the crevasse which is farthest removed from the projecting rock must +move more rapidly also; the consequence is, that all the older lateral +crevasses, after a certain time, point downward, while the fresh ones +point upward.</p> + +<p>Not only does the glacier collect a variety of foreign materials on its +upper surface, but its sides as well as its lower surface are studded +with boulders, stones, pebbles, sand, coarse and fine gravel, so that it +forms in reality a gigantic rasp, with sides hundreds of feet deep, and +a surface thousands of feet wide and many miles in length, grinding over +the bottom and along the walls between which it moves, polishing, +grooving, and scratching them as it passes onward. One who is familiar +with the track of this mighty engine will recognize at once where the +large boulders have hollowed out their deeper furrows, where small +pebbles have drawn their finer marks, where the stones with angular +edges have left their sharp scratches, where sand and gravel have rubbed +and smoothed the rocky surface, and left it bright and polished as if it +came from the hand of the marble-worker. These marks are not to be +mistaken by any one who has carefully <a name="Page_68" id="Page_68"></a>observed them; the scratches, +furrows, grooves, are always rectilinear, trending in the direction in +which the glacier is moving, and most distinct on that side of the +surface-inequalities facing the direction of the moving mass, while the +lee-side remains mostly untouched.</p> + +<p>It may be asked, how it is known that the glacier carries this powerful +apparatus on its sides and bottom, when they are hidden from sight. I +answer, that we might determine the fact theoretically from certain +known conditions respecting the conformation of the glacier; to which I +shall allude presently; but we need not resort to this kind of evidence, +since we have ocular demonstration of the truth. Here and there on the +sides of the glacier it is possible to penetrate between the walls and +the ice to a great depth, and even to follow such a gap to the very +bottom of the valley, and everywhere do we find the surface of the ice +fretted as I have described it, with stones of every size, from the +pebble to the boulder, and also with sand and gravel of all sorts, from +the coarsest grain to the finest, and these materials, more or less +firmly set in the ice, form the grating surface with which, in its +onward movement down the Alpine valleys, it leaves everywhere +unmistakable, traces of its passage.</p> + +<p>We come now to the moraines, those walls of loose materials built by the +glaciers themselves along their road. They have been divided into three +classes, namely, lateral, medial, and terminal moraines. Let us look +first at the lateral ones; and to understand them we must examine the +conformation of the glacier below the <i>névé</i>, where it assumes the +character of pure compact ice. We have seen that the fields of snow, +where the glaciers have their origin, are level, and that lower down, +where these masses of snow begin to descend toward the narrower valley, +they follow its trough-like shape, sinking toward the centre and sloping +upward against the sides, so that the surface of the glacier, about the +region of the <i>névé</i>, is slightly concave. But lower down in the glacier +proper, where it is completely transformed into ice, its surface becomes +convex, for the following reason: The rocky walls of the valley, as they +approach the plain, partake of its higher temperature. They become +heated by the sun during the day in summer, so that the margins of the +glacier melt rapidly in contact with them. In consequence of this, there +is always in the lower part of the glacier a broad depression between +the ice and the rocky walls, while, as this effect is not felt in the +centre of the glacier, it there retains a higher level. The natural +result of this is a convex surface, arching upward toward the middle, +sinking toward the sides. It is in these broad, marginal depressions +that the lateral moraines accumulate; masses of rock, stones, pebbles, +dust, all the fragments, in short, which become loosened from the rocky +walls above, fall into them, and it is a part of the materials so +accumulated which gradually work their way downward between the ice and +the walls, till the whole side of the glacier becomes studded with them. +It is evident, that, when the glacier runs in a northerly or southerly +direction, both the walls will be affected by the sun, one in the +morning, the other in the afternoon, and in such a case the sides will +be uniform, or nearly so. But when the trend of the valley is from east +to west, or from west to east, the northern side only will feel the full +force of the sun; and in such a case, only one side of the glacier will +be convex in outline, while the other will remain nearly on a level with +the middle. The large masses of loose materials which accumulate between +the glacier and its rocky walls and upon its margins form the lateral +moraines. These move most slowly, as the marginal portions of the +glacier advance at a much slower rate than its centre.</p> + +<p>The medial moraines arise in a different way, though they are directly +connected with the lateral moraines. It often happens that two smaller +glaciers unite, running into each other to form a larger <a name="Page_69" id="Page_69"></a>one. Suppose +two glaciers to be moving along two adjoining valleys, converging toward +each other, and running in an easterly or westerly direction; at a +certain point these two valleys open into a single valley, and here, of +course, the two glaciers must meet, like two rivers rushing into a +common bed. But as glaciers consist of a solid, and not a fluid, there +will be no indiscriminate mingling of the two, and they will hold their +course side by side. This being the case, the lateral moraine on the +southern side of the northernmost glacier and that on the northern side +of the southernmost one must meet in the centre of the combined +glaciers. Such are the so-called medial moraines formed by the junction +of two lateral ones. Sometimes a glacier may have a great number of +tributaries, and in that case we may see several such moraines running +in straight lines along its surface, all of which are called medial +moraines in consequence of their origin midway between two combining +glaciers. The glacier of the Aar represented in the wood-cut below +affords a striking example of a large medial moraine. It is formed by +the junction of the glaciers of the Lauter-Aar, on the right-hand side +of the wood-cut, and the Finster-Aar, on the left; and the union of +their inner lateral moraines, in the centre of the diagram, forms the +stony wall down the centre of the larger glacier, called its medial +moraine. This moraine at some points is not less than sixty feet high. +We have here an effect similar to that of the glacier-tables and the +sand-pyramids. The wall protects the ice beneath it, and prevents it +from sinking at the same rate as the surrounding surface, while its +heated surface increases the melting of the adjacent surfaces of ice, +thus forming longitudinal depressions along the medial moraines, in +which the largest rivulets and the most conspicuous sand-pyramids, the +deepest wells and the finest waterfalls, are usually met with. As the +medial moraines rest upon that part of the glacier which moves fastest, +they of course advance much more rapidly than the lateral moraines.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 458px;"> +<img src="images/image069.png" width="458" height="271" alt="Glacier of the Aar." title="" /> +<span class="caption">Glacier of the Aar.</span> +</div> + +<p>The terminal moraines consist of all the <i>débris</i> brought down by the +glacier to its lower extremity. In consequence of the more rapid +movement of the centre of the glacier, it always terminates in <a name="Page_70" id="Page_70"></a>a +semicircle at its lower end, where these materials collect, and the +terminal moraines, of course, follow the outline of the glacier. The +wood-cut below represents the terminal moraine of the glacier of Viesch.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 493px;"> +<img src="images/image070.png" width="493" height="298" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Sometimes, when a number of cold summers have succeeded each other, +preventing the glacier from melting in proportion to its advance, the +accumulation of materials at its terminus becomes very considerable; and +when, in consequence of a succession of warm summers, it gradually melts +and retreats from the line it has been occupying, a large semicircular +wall is left, spanning the valley from side to side, through which the +stream issuing from the glacier may be seen cutting its way. It is +important to notice that such terminal moraines may actually span the +whole width of a valley, from side to side, and be interrupted only +where watercourses of sufficient power break through them. To suppose +that such transverse walls of loose materials could be thrown across a +valley by a river were to suppose that it could build dams across its +bed while it is flowing. Such transverse or crescent-shaped moraines are +everywhere the work of glaciers.</p> + +<p>All these moraines are the land-marks, so to speak, by which we trace +the height and extent, as well as the progress and retreat, of glaciers +in former times. Suppose, for instance, that a glacier were to disappear +entirely. For ages it has been a gigantic ice-raft, receiving all sorts +of materials on its surface as it travelled onward, and bearing them +along with it; while the hard particles of rock set in its lower surface +have been polishing and fashioning the whole surface over which it +extended. As it now melts, it drops its various burdens on the ground; +boulders are the mile-stones marking the different stages of its +journey, the terminal and lateral moraines are the framework which it +erected around itself as it moved forward, and which define its +boundaries centuries after it has vanished, while the scratches and +furrows it has left on the surface below show the direction of its +motion.</p> + +<p>All the materials which reach the bottom of the glacier, and are moving +under its weight, so far as they are not firmly set in the ice must be +pressed against one another, as well as against the rocky bottom, and +will be rounded off, polished, and scratched, like the rock itself over +which they pass. The pebbles or stones set fast in the ice will be thus +polished and scratched, however, only over the surface exposed; but, as +they may sometimes move in their socket, like a loosely mounted stone, +the different <a name="Page_71" id="Page_71"></a>surfaces may in turn undergo this process, and in the end +all the loose materials under a glacier become more or less polished, +scratched, and grooved. These marks exhibit also the peculiarity so +characteristic of the grooves and scratches on the bed and walls of the +valley: they are rectilinear, trending in the direction in which the +superincumbent mass advances, though, of course, owing to the changes in +the position of the pebbles or boulders, they may cross each other in +every direction on their surface.</p> + +<p>As the larger materials are pressed onward with the finer ones, that is, +with the sand, gravel, and mud accumulated at the bottom of the glacier, +the component parts of this underlying bed of <i>débris</i> will be mixed +together without any reference to their size or weight. The softest mud +and finest sand may be in immediate contact with the bottom of the +valley, while larger rocks and pebbles may be held in the ice above; or +their position may be reversed, and the coarser materials may rest +below, while the finer ones are pressed between them or overlying them. +In short, the whole accumulation of loose <i>débris</i> under the glacier, +resulting from the trituration of all kinds of angular fragments +reaching the lower surface of the ice, presents a sort of paste in which +coarser and lighter materials are impacted without reference to bulk or +weight. Those fragments which are most polished, rounded, grooved, or +scratched, have travelled longest under the glacier, and are derived +from the hardest rocks, which have resisted the general crushing and +pounding for a longer time. The masses of rock on the upper surface of +the glacier, on the contrary, are carried along on its back without +undergoing any such friction. Lying side by side, or one above another, +without being subject to pressure from the ice, they retain, both in the +lateral and medial moraines, and even in the terminal moraines, their +original size, their rough surfaces, and their angular form. Whenever, +therefore, a glacier melts, it is evident that the lower materials will +be found covered by the angular surface-materials now brought into +immediate contact with the former in consequence of the disappearance of +the intervening ice. The most careful observations and surveys have +shown this everywhere to be the case; wherever a large tract of glacier +has disappeared, the moraines, with their large angular boulders, are +found resting upon this bottom layer of rounded materials scattered +through a paste of mud and sand.</p> + +<p>We shall see hereafter how far we can follow these traces, and what they +tell us of the past history of glaciers, and of the changes the climates +of our globe have undergone.</p><p><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="STEPHEN_YARROW" id="STEPHEN_YARROW"></a>STEPHEN YARROW.</h2> + +<h3>A CHRISTMAS STORY.</h3> + + +<p>Sometime in the year 1856, a family named Yarrow moved into the +neighborhood where I then lived, and rented a small house with a bit of +ground attached to it, on one of the rich bottom-farms lying along the +eastern shore of the Ohio. The mother, two or three children, and their +dog Ready made up the quiet household: not one to attract notice from +any cause. People soon knew Martha Yarrow,—all that was in her. She was +Western- and farm-born; whatever Nature had given her of good or bad, +therefore, thrust itself out at once with pungent directness.</p> + +<p>The family supported themselves by selling their poultry and vegetables +to the hucksters, leading an eventless life enough, until the change +occurred, some five years after they came into the neighborhood, of +which I am going to tell you.</p> + +<p>I called it a Christmas Story, not so much because it happened on a +Christmas, as because the meaning of it seemed suited to that day; and I +thought, too, that nobody grows tired of Christmas stories, especially +if he chance to have been born in one of those families where the day is +kept in the old fashion: it roots itself so deep, that memory, in +whatever quaint superstition, or homely affection for mother or brother, +or unreasoning trust in God, may outlive our childhood, and underlie our +older years. And surely that is as just, as wise a thing,—to strip off +for a child the smirched trading-dress of one day at least, and send it +down through the long procession of the years with its true face bared, +to waken in him a live sense of man's love and God's love. Some one, +perhaps, had done this for this woman, Mrs. Yarrow, long ago; for, let +the months before and after be bare as they chose, she kept this day of +Christmas with a feverish anxiety, more eager than her children even to +make every moment warm and throb with pleasure, and enjoying them +herself, to their last breath, with the whole zest of a nervous, +strong-blooded nature. Yet she may have had another reason for it.</p> + +<p>The evening before the Christmas of which we write, she had gone out to +the well with her son before closing the house for the night.</p> + +<p>"There's no danger of thaw before morning, Jem?"—looking anxiously up +into the night, as they rested the bucket on the curb.</p> + +<p>"Thaw! there's a woman's notion for you! Why, the very crow is frozen +out of the cocks yonder!"—stretching his arms, and clapping his hollow +cheat, as if he were six feet high. "No, we'll not have a thaw, little +woman."</p> + +<p>The children often called her that, in a fond, protecting way; but it +sounded most oddly from Jem, he was such a weak, swaggering sparrow of a +little chap. He stretched his hands as high as he could reach up to her +hips, and smoothed her linsey dress down: if it had been her face, the +touch could not have been more tender.</p> + +<p>"You don't think of the luck we always have. Why, it couldn't rain on +Christmas for you or me, mother!"</p> + +<p>She laughed, nodding several times.</p> + +<p>"Well, that is sure, Jem," stopping to look into the lean, emphatic +little face, and to pass her hand over the tow-colored hair.</p> + +<p>Somehow, the bond between mother and son was curiously strong to-night. +It was always so on Christmas. At other times they were much like two +children in companionship, but Christmas never came without bringing a +vague sense of cowering close together as though some danger stood near +them. There <a name="Page_73" id="Page_73"></a>was something half fierce, now, in the way she caressed his +face.</p> + +<p>"Come on with the bucket, brother," she said, cheerfully, stamping the +clogging snow from her shoes, shading her eyes with her hand, and +looking over the white stretch to the black line of hills chopping the +east. "More like a hail-gust than rain. But I was afraid of that, you +see," as they went up the path. "There's an old saying, that trouble +always comes with rain. And it did in my life—to me"—</p> + +<p>She was talking to herself. Jem whistled, pretending not to hear; but he +peered sharply into her face, with the relish which all sickly, +premature children have for a mystery or pain. Very seldom was there +hint of either about Martha Yarrow. She was an Ohio woman, small-boned, +muscular, with healthy, quick blood, not a scrofulous, ill-tempered drop +in her veins; in her brain only a very few and obstinate opinions, +maybe, but all of them lying open to the sight of anybody who cared to +know them. Not long ago, she had been a pretty, bouncing country-belle; +now, she was a hard-working housewife: a Whig, because all the Clarks +(her own family) were Whigs: going to the Baptist church, with no clear +ideas about close communion or immersion, because she had married a +country-parson. With a consciousness that she had borne a heavier pain +in her life than most women, and ought to feel scourged and sad, she did +cry out with such feeling sometimes,—but with a keen, natural relish +for apple-butter parings, or fair-days, or a neighbor dropping in to +tea, or anything that would give the children and herself a chance to +joke and laugh, and be like other people again. Between the two +feelings, her temper was odd and uncertain enough. But in this December +air, now, her still rounded cheek grew red, her breast heaved, her eyes +sparkled, glad as a child would be, simply because it was cold and +Christmas was coming; while the child Jem, with his tougher, less sappy +animal nature, jogged gravely beside her, head and eyes down. As for her +every-day life, nobody's fires burned, nobody's windows shone like +Martha Yarrow's; not a pound of butter went to market with the creamy, +clovery taste her fingers worked into hers. She put a flavor, an elastic +spring, into every bit of work she did, making it play. The very +nervousness of the woman, her sudden fits of laughter and tears, +impressed you as the effervescence of a zest of life which began at her +birth. Nobody ever got to the end, or expected to get to the end, of her +stories and scraps of old songs. Then, every day some new plan, keeping +the whole house awake and alive: when Tom's birthday came, a +surprise-feast of raspberries and cake; when Jem's new trousers were +produced, they had been made up over-night, a dead secret, ten shining +dimes in the pocket, fresh from the mint; even the penny string of blue +beads for Catty, bought of Sims the peddler, was hid under her plate, +and made quite a jollification of that supper. You may be sure, the five +years just gone in that house had been short and merry and cozy enough +for the children. Before that—Here Jem's memory flagged: he had been a +baby then; Catty just born; yet, somehow, he never thought of that +unknown time without the furtive, keen glance into his mother's face, +and a frightened choking in the heart under his puny chest. Somewhere, +back yonder, or in the years coming, some vague horror waited for him to +fight. To-night, (always at Christmas, although then the glow and +comfort of all days reached its heat,) this unaccountable dread was on +the boy; why, he never knew. It might be that under the hurry and +preparation of Martha Yarrow on that day some deeper meaning did lie, +which his instinct had discerned: more probably, however, it was but the +sickly vagary of a child grown old too fast.</p> + +<p>They hurried along the path now to reach the house and shut the night +outside, for every moment the cold and dark were growing heavier; the +snow rasping under their feet, as its crust cracked; <a name="Page_74" id="Page_74"></a>overhead, the +sky-air frozen thin and gray, holding dead a low, watery half-moon; now +and then a more earthy, thicker gust breaking sharply round the hill, +taking their breath. It was only a step, however, and Tom was holding +the house-door open, letting a ruddy light stream out, and with it a +savory smell of supper. Tom halloed, and that blue-eyed pudge of a Catty +pounded on the window with her fat little fist. How hot the fire glowed! +Somehow all Christmas seemed waiting in there. It was time to hurry +along. Even Ready came out, shaking his shaggy old sides impatiently in +the snow, and began to dog them, snapping at Jem's heels. Like most old +people, he liked his ease, and was apt to be out of sorts, if meals were +kept waiting. Ready's whims always made Martha laugh as she did when she +was a young girl: they knew each other then, long before Jem was born.</p> + +<p>"Come on, old Truepenny," she said, going in.</p> + +<p>There <i>was</i> comfort. Nothing in that house, from the red woollen +curtains to the bright poker, which did not have its part to play for +Christmas. Nothing that did not say "Christmas," from Catty's eyes to +the very supper-table. Of course, I don't mean the Christmas dinner, +when I say supper. Tom could have told you. Somewhere in his paunchy +little body he kept a perpetual bill of fare, checked off or unchecked. +He based and stayed his mind now on preparations in the pantry. +Something solid there! A haunch of venison, mince-meat, winter +succotash, a roasted peahen,—and that is the top and crown of Nature's +efforts in the way of fowls. For suppers,—pish! However, Tom ate with +the rest. Mother was hungry; so they were very leisurely, and joked and +laughed to that extent that even Catty was uproarious when they were +through. Then Jem fell to work at the great coals, and battered them +into a rousing fire.</p> + +<p>"I'll go and fasten the shutters," said Tom.</p> + +<p>Martha Yarrow's back was to the window. She turned sharply. The sickly +white moon lighted up the snow-waste out there; some one might be out in +those frozen fields,—some one who was coming home,—who had been gone +for years,—years. Jem was watching her.</p> + +<p>"Leave the windows alone, Tom," he said. "It won't hurt the night to see +my fire."</p> + +<p>He pulled his cricket close up to her, and took her hand to pet. It was +cold, and her teeth chattered. However, they were all so snug and close +together, and Christmas, that great warm-hearted day, was so near upon +them, as full of love and hearty, warm enjoyment as the living God could +send it, that its breath filled all their hearts; and presently Martha +Yarrow's face was brighter than Catty's. They were noisy and busy +enough. The programme for to-morrow was to make out; that put all heads +to work to plan: the stockings to be opened, and dinner, and maybe a +visit to the menagerie in the afternoon. That was Martha's surprise, and +she was not disappointed in the applause it brought. It made the tears +come to her eyes, an hour after, when she was going to bed, remembering +it.</p> + +<p>"It takes such a little thing to make them happy," she said to +herself,—"or me, either," with a somewhat silly face.</p> + +<p>She tried to thank God for giving them so much, but only sobbed. After +the confusion about the show was over, and Catty had been wakened into a +vague jungle of tigers and lions and Shetland ponies, and put to sleep +again, they subsided enough to remember the winding-up of the day. Quiet +that was to be; the children from Shag's Point were coming up, some +half-dozen in all, for their share of Christmas. Poorer than the +Yarrows, you understand? though but a little; in fact, there were not +many steps farther down: peahens and cranberries were not for every day. +Well, to-morrow evening Jem would tell them the story of the Stable and +the Child, and how that the Child was with us yet, if we could only see. +Jem was always his <a name="Page_75" id="Page_75"></a>mother's spokesman, and put the meaning of Christmas +into words: she never talked of such things. Yet they always watched her +face, when they spoke of them,—watched it now, and looked, as she did, +into the little room beyond the kitchen where they sat, their eyes +growing still and brighter. There might have been a tinge of the savage +or the Frenchman in Martha Yarrow's nature, she had so strong a +propensity to make real, apparent to the senses, what few ideas she had, +even her religion. A good skill to do it, too. The recess out of the +kitchen was only a small closet, but, with the aid of a softly tinted +curtain or two, and the nebulous light of a concealed lamp, she had +contrived to give it an air of distance and reserve. Within were green +wreaths hung over the whitewashed walls, and an altar-shaped little +white table, covered with heaps of crimson leaves and bright berries, +such as grow in the snow; only a few flowers, but enough to fill the air +with fragrance; the children's Christmas gifts, and wax-lights burning +before a picture, the child Jesus, looking down on them with a smile as +glad as their own. A thoroughly real person to the boys, this Christ for +childhood; for she built the little altar before this picture on all +their holidays: something in the woman herself needing the story of the +Stable and the Child. If she were doing a healthier work on the souls of +that morbid Jem and glutton Tom than could a thousand after-sermons, she +did not know it: never guessed, either, when they absorbed day by day +hardly enough the force of her tough-muscled endurance and wholesome +laugh, that she prepared the way of the Lord and made His paths +straight. Yet what matter who knew?</p> + +<p>But to go on with our story. There were times—once or twice to-night, +for instance—when she ceased doing even her unconscious work. +Assuredly, somewhere back in her life, something had gone amiss with +this silly, helpful creature, and left a taint on her brain. The hearty, +pretty smile would go suddenly from her face, something foreign looking +out of it, instead, as if a pestilent thought had got into her soul; she +would rise uneasily, going to the window, looking out, her forehead +leaning on the glass, her body twitching weakly. One would think from +her face she saw some work in the world which God had forgotten. What +could it matter to her? Whatever hurt her, it was the one word which her +garrulous lips never hinted. Once to-night she spoke more plainly than +Jem had ever known her to do in all his life. It was after the children +had gone to bed, which they did, shouting and singing, and playing +circus-riders over the pillows, their mother leaning her elbows on the +foot-board, laughing, in the mean time. Jem got up, after the others +were asleep, and stole after her, in his little flannel drawers, back to +the kitchen. By the window again, as he had feared, the woollen sock +which she was knitting for Tom in her hand, the yarn all tangled and +broken. Ready was by her knees, winking sleepily. The old dog was +growing surly with his years, as we said: Jem remembered when he used to +romp and tussle with him, but that was long ago: he lay in the +chimney-corner always now, growling at Martha herself even, if her +singing or laugh disturbed his nap. But when these strange moods came on +her, Jem noticed that the yellow old beast seemed conscious of it sooner +than any one beside, crept up to her, stood by her: that she clung to +him, not to her children. He was licking her hand now, his red eye, +drowsy though it was, watching her as if danger were nigh. A dog you +would not slight. Inside of his hot-headedness and courage there was +that reserved look in his eyes, which some men and brutes have, that +says they have a life of their own to live separate from yours, and they +know it. The boy crept up jealously, thrust his numb fingers into his +mother's hand. She started, looking down.</p> + +<p>"It grows into a clear winter's night, Jemmy," trying to speak +carelessly.</p> + +<p>So they stood looking out together.<a name="Page_76" id="Page_76"></a> The fire had burned down into a +great bed of flameless coals, the kitchen glowed warm and red, throwing +out even a patch of ruddy light on the snow-covered yard without. A +cold, but comfortable home-look out there: the bit of garden, fences, +cow-house, pump, heaped with the snow; old Dolly asleep in her stable: +Jem wrapped himself in his mother's skirt with a sudden relish of warm +snugness. What made her pull at Ready's neck with such nervous jerks? +She saw nothing beyond? Jem stood on tiptoe, peering out. There was no +hint of the hailstorm they had prophesied, in the night: the moon stood +lower now in the sky, filling the air with a yellow, frosty brilliance. +Yet something strangely cold, dead, unfamiliar, in the night yonder, +chilled him. Neither sound nor motion there; hills, river, and fields, +distinct, sharply cut in pallor, but ghost-like: it made him afraid. +There seemed to be no end of them; the hills to the north ran low, and +beyond them he could see more blue and cold and distance, going on—who +could tell where? to the eternal ice and snow, it might be. She felt it, +he knew. The boy was frightened, tried to pull her back to the fire, +when something he saw outside made him stop suddenly. Shag's Hill, the +nearest of the ledge to the house, is a low, narrow cone, with a sharp +rim against the sky; the moon had sunk half behind it, lighting the +surface of drifted snow which faced them. Across this there suddenly +fell a long, uncertain shadow, which belonged neither to bush nor tree: +it might be the flicker of a cloud; or a man, passing across the top of +the hill, would make it. It was nothing; some of the coal-diggers from +the Point going home; he pulled at her petticoat again.</p> + +<p>"Come to the fire, dear," he said, looking up.</p> + +<p>Her whole face and neck were hot; she laughed and trembled as if some +spasm were upon her.</p> + +<p>"Do you see?" she cried, trying to force the window open. "Oh, Jemmy, it +might be! it might!"</p> + +<p>Jem was used to his mother's unaccountable whims of mood. Ready, +however, startled him. The dog pricked up his ears, sniffed the air once +or twice, then, after a grave pause of a minute, with a sharp howl, such +as Jem had not heard him give for years, dashed through the kitchen into +the wash-shed and out across the fields. Martha Yarrow turned away from +the window, and leaned her head against the dresser-shelves: standing +quite still, only that she clutched Jem's hand. The clock ticked noisily +as a half-hour went by; the fire burned lower and dark. The dog came +back at last, dragging his feet heavily, came up close to her, and +crouched down with a half human moan. After a long time he got up, went +out into the wash-kitchen in a spiritless way, and did not return again +that night. She did not move. It seemed a long time to the child before +she turned, her face wet with tears, and took him up in her arms, +chafing his cold feet.</p> + +<p>"It could not be! I knew that, Jemmy. I wasn't a fool. But I +thought—Oh, Pet, I've waited such a long while!"</p> + +<p>He patted her cheeks, soothing her,—the more effectually, perhaps, that +he did not know what troubled her.</p> + +<p>"Why, it's Christmas, mother," he said.</p> + +<p>"I know that. You see, I thought," her eyes fastened on his in an +appealing sort of way, "that, being Christmas, if there should be any +lost body wandering out on the fields that God had forgotten—What +then?" all the blood gone from her face. "Why, what then, Jem? No home, +no one to say to him, 'Here's home, here's wife and children a-waiting +to love you,—oh, sick with waiting to love you!' No one to say that, +Jem. And him wandering out in the cold, going quick back to the mouth of +hell, not knowing how God loved him."</p> + +<p>"If there is such a one," Jem said, steadily, though his lip trembled, +"God will let him know."</p> + +<p>"There is no such one," sharply. "There is no one yonder but knows his +<a name="Page_77" id="Page_77"></a>home, and is nearer to his God than you or I, James Yarrow."</p> + +<p>The boy made no reply,—sat on her knees looking earnestly into the +fire. He had more nearly guessed her secret than she knew,—near enough +to know how to comfort her. After a while, when she was quiet, he +turned, and put his thin arms about her neck, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Take me into your bed, mother, I'm so cold! Let me into old Catty's +place this once."</p> + +<p>She nodded, pleased, and, putting him to bed, soon followed him. When +she held him snugly in her arms, the replenished fire making hot, +flickering shadows from the next room, he whispered,—</p> + +<p>"Next Christmas, mother! Only one year more!"</p> + +<p>Again the quick shiver of her body; but this time her breath was gentle, +a soft light in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Well, and then, my son?"</p> + +<p>"Why, some one else then will call me son. How long he has been gone, +dear! so long that I never saw him since I was a bit of a baby."</p> + +<p>"Five years. Yes. Well, dear?" anxiously.</p> + +<p>Her eyes were shut, he stroked the lids softly, thinking how moist and +red her lips were: never as beautiful a face as the little mother's; for +so Jem, feeling quite grown up in his heart, called her there.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, no more trouble, but somebody to take care of us all the +time. Whenever I see a preacher, now, I think of father"—stopping +abruptly, with that anxious, incisive look so sad to see on a child's +face.</p> + +<p>She did not reply at first; then,—</p> + +<p>"He preached God's word as he knew it," she said, dryly.</p> + +<p>"And whenever I hear of a good, brave man, I think, 'That's like +father!'"</p> + +<p>Her eyes opened now.</p> + +<p>"That's true, Jemmy! God knows that's true! So proud my boy will be of +his father!"</p> + +<p>She did not say anything more, but began playing with his hair, her +month unsteady, and a bashful, dreamy smile in her eyes. She looked very +young and girlish in the mellow light.</p> + +<p>"He's not coarse like me, Jem," she said at last. "Even more like a +woman in some ways. He always came nearer to you children, for instance; +I mind how you always used to creep away from me close to him at night. +He hates noise, Stephen does,—and mean, scraping ways, such as we're +used to, being poor. My boy'll mind that? We'll keep anything shabby out +of his sight, when he comes back."</p> + +<p>"I'll mind," said Jem, dryly. "But—Well, no matter. We're to try and be +like him, Tom and I? I understand."</p> + +<p>She drew down her head suddenly into the pillow. Jem had been growing +sleepy, but he started wide awake now, trying to see her face: the +pretty pink color his questions had brought was gone from it.</p> + +<p>"Did you speak, mother?"</p> + +<p>No answer.</p> + +<p>"I said we are to be men like him, Tom and I, if we can?"</p> + +<p>He knew he had touched her to the quick somehow: his heart beat thick +with the old childish terror, as he waited for her answer.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you are to try, my son."</p> + +<p>Martha Yarrow's frivolous chirruping voice was altered, with meaning in +it he never had heard before, as if her answer came out of some depth +where God had faced her soul, and forced it to speak truth. But when, +after that, the boy, curious to know more, went on with his questions, +she quieted him gravely, kissed him good-night, and turned over,—to +sleep, he concluded, from her regular breathing. However, when Jem, +after a while, began to snore, she got up and went to the kitchen-fire, +kneeling down on the stone hearth: her head was on fire, and her body +cold.</p> + +<p>"So they <i>shall</i> be like him!" she whispered, with a fierce, baited +look, as if by her wife's trust in him she defied the whole world. "I +have kept my word.<a name="Page_78" id="Page_78"></a> I've tried to make his sons what God made him in the +beginning."</p> + +<p>That was true: she had kept her word. Five years ago, when the great +scandal came on the church in ——, and their minister was tried for +forgery, and sentenced to six years' imprisonment in the penitentiary, +the first letter his wife wrote to him there had these words: "For the +boys, my husband, they never shall know of this thing. They shall know +you as God and I do, Stephen. I'll make them men like you, if I can: +except in your religion; for I believe, before God, the Devil taught you +that."</p> + +<p>When the man read that in his cell, a dry, quiet smile came over his +face. He had not expected such a keen opinion from his shallow, +easy-going wife: he did not think there was so much insight in her.</p> + +<p>"It's a deep sounding you give, Martha, true or not," folding up the +letter. "And so the boys will never know?" going back to his solitary +cobbling, for they were making a shoemaker of him.</p> + +<p>If there were any remorse under his quiet, or impatience at fate, or +gnawing homesickness, he did not show it. That was the last letter or +message that came from his wife. The friends of other prisoners were +admitted to visit them, but no one ever asked to see him; the five years +went by; every day the same bar of sunlight struck across his bench, and +glittered on the point of his awl, gray in winter, yellow in summer; but +no day brought a word or a sign from the outer world but that. The man +grew thin, mere skin and bone; but then he was scrofulous. He asked no +questions, ceased at last to look up, when the jailer brought his meals, +to see if he carried a letter. Sometimes, when he used to stand chafing +his stubbly chin in the evening at the slit cut in the stones for his +window, looking at the red brick chimney-pot he could see over the +penitentiary-wall, it seemed like something of outer life, and he would +mutter, "She said the boys would never know." Once, too, a year or two +after that, when the jailer came into "quiet Stevy's" cell, (for so he +nicknamed him,) Yarrow came up, and took him by the coat-buttons, +looking up and gabbling something about Martha and the little chaps in a +maudlin sort of way,—then, with a silly laugh, lay down on his pallet.</p> + +<p>"I never felt sorry for the little whiffet before," said the fat jailer, +when he came out. "He's so close; but it's a cursed shame in his people +to give him the go-by that way,—there!"</p> + +<p>But when he went back an hour or two after, he found he had gained no +ground with Stevy; he was dry, silent as ever: he had come to himself, +meanwhile, and shivered with disgust at the fear that any madness had +made him commit himself to this mass of flesh.</p> + +<p>"'Mortised with the sacred garlic,'" he muttered, with the usual dry +twinkle in his eyes.</p> + +<p>Ben caught the last word.</p> + +<p>"It's a good yarb, garlic," he said, confusedly. "Uses it on hot coals +mostly, under broilin' steaks. Well, good night.—He's a queer chap, +though," after he had gone out,—"beyond me."</p> + +<p>Five years being gone, Martha Yarrow, sitting by her fire to-night, +could only repeat the words of her letter. She had taken out a +daguerreotype of her husband, and was looking at it. He was a small man; +young; dressed in a suit of rusty black, with a certain subdued, +credulous, incomplete air about him, like a man forced at birth into +some iron mould of circumstance, and whose own proper muscles and soul +had never had a chance of air to grow. A homely, saddened, uncouthly +shaped face,—one that would be sure to go snubbed and unread through +the world, to find at last some woman who would know its latent meaning, +and worship it with the heat of passion which this country-girl had +given. Withal, a cheerful, quizzical smile on the lips. Poor Martha's +eyes filled, the moment she looked at that; and so she went back to her +first years of married life, full of keen, relishing enjoyment, all +coming from him, quiet, silent as he <a name="Page_79" id="Page_79"></a>was,—remembering how her maddest +freaks were indulged with that same odd, dry laugh. She stood alone now.</p> + +<p>"And in these years I have grown used to being alone,"—standing up, +stretching her arms suddenly above her head, and letting them fall +again.</p> + +<p>It was a lie: she knew that the tired sinking within her of body and +soul was harder to bear now than the day he went away, and she weaker to +bear it. If she could but lean her head on his breast for one moment, +and feel him pat her hair with the old "Tut! tut! why, what ails my +girl?" it would give her more strength than all her prayers. She +couldn't think of herself as anything but a girl, when she remembered +her husband: these years were nothing.</p> + +<p>Her mouth grew drier and hotter, as she sat there looking into the face, +polishing the glass with her hand, kissing it. "I'm so tired, Stephen!" +she would whisper now and then. Only those who know the unuttered +mysterious bond in the soul of a true wife and husband can comprehend +what Martha Yarrow bore, when it was torn apart, and by no fault of +hers. "God meant him for me," she sometimes said, savagely; "no man had +a right to part us." She looked at the picture, feeling that he was +purer than any baby she had nursed at her breast, nearer God. "It was +his religion was to blame. That was the ruin of us all. I believe he +never knew who the good God was; how could he?" thinking of his father, +who used to sit in the chimney-corner,—one of those acrid +doctrine-professors who sour the water of life into gall and vinegar +before they dole it out to their children. She was glad she had told him +her mind before they parted,—to what his teaching had brought his son. +"I cut deep that day, and I thank God for it," she said, her face white.</p> + +<p>She had brought the children here to be near the penitentiary, but she +had never been allowed to see him. No letters came from him. His +brother, John Yarrow, sent hers to him. There was some formula of +admission, he said, which she did not understand. The time was nearly +up; in one year more he would be free. Well, and then? He had been in +one of the ways that butted down on hell; how would he come back to her? +In all these years, silence. Who would bring him back? Who? They were +keen enough to put him in,—but who would stay with him, to say, "You've +slipped, boy, but stand up again"? Who would hold out a kind hand at the +gate, when he came out, with "Here's a place, Yarrow. Here's home, and +love, and God waiting; try another chance"? Who would do that? No wonder +she looked out that night, thinking there was some work forgotten.</p> + +<p>Martha sat there until dawn came, moving only to replenish the fire lest +the children should take cold. In all her life she never forgot that +night. Some furious instinct seemed at work within her, goading her to +be up and doing. What should she do? Why should she disquiet herself? +Her husband was safe asleep in his cell. Yet all night long she could +not keep her soul back from crying to God to save him in his deadly +peril, to bring him there at once to her, to the children. When morning +broke, cold and sweet-breathed, russet clouds, dyed with the latent +crimson day, thronging up from behind the hills, she tried to thrust +down all the pains of the night as moody fancies. They did not go. She +bathed herself, woke the children, laughed and romped with them (for +their year's holiday should not be damped); but the cold, unsufferable +weight within dragged her physically down. Trifles without, too, beset +her with vague fears. Ready was gone; for years he had not left the +house at night. The children began to look with uneasy eyes at her face: +she would betray all. She kept her fingers thrust in the breast of her +wrapper to touch the case of the picture: she could hold herself quiet +so. How cold and unmeaning the light was that day to her! and every tick +of the clock seemed to beat straight <a name="Page_80" id="Page_80"></a>on her brain. So the morning crept +by. She grew so sure—without reason—that it was the last day of +waiting, that, when the children went out to build their snow-man, she +sat down on Jem's chest, shivering and dizzy; when the snow cracked +under a step outside, afraid to turn her head,—thinking he would be +standing in the door, with the old patient smile on his mouth, and his +hand out. But he did not come.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>About half a mile on the other side of Shag's Hill there is a hotel, off +from the road, looking like an overgrown Swiss <i>châlet</i>. Not a +country-tavern by any means. Starr, a New-York caterer, keeps it, as a +sort of boarding-house for a few wealthy Pittsburg families in summer: +however, if you should stop there at any time of the year, you would be +sure of a delicate <i>croquette</i> and a fair glass of wine. Usually, Starr +and his family are the only occupants in winter, but on this Christmas +eve there were lights in two of the upper rooms. M. Soulé, the Mobile +financier, so well known through the West, with his family, had occupied +them for about a week; this evening, too, a Mr. Frazier from St. Louis +was at the house: there was a collision of trains near Beaver, and he +had left the other passengers and come over to Starr's, intending to go +on horseback up to Pittsburg in the morning. An old acquaintance of the +Soulés, apparently: he had dined with them that evening, and when Starr +went up about ten o'clock to know if Mr. Soulé wished to go out gunning +in the morning, he found the old man still standing with his back to the +fire, talking sharply of the Little Miami Railroad shares, then +beginning to go up. "A thorough old Shylock," thought Starr, waiting, +scanning the acrid, wizened face with its protruding black eyes, the +dried-up figure in a baggy suit of blue, a white collar turned down +nearly to the shoulders, and the gray hair knotted in a queue. He looked +at the landlord, scowling at the interruption: M. Soulé, on the +contrary, spoke heartily, as if suddenly relieved of a bore.</p> + +<p>"Of course, of course, Starr; I'll be off by four. I'll saddle my own +horse,—no need to disturb any of your people; let them sleep on +Christmas at least, poor devils. The partridges about here are really +worth tasting," turning to Frazier, "and Starr tells me of a mythical +deer back in the hills. You see," with a bow, "it will not be possible +for me to breakfast with you. I'll see you at Pittsburg about those +snares,—say, on Monday."</p> + +<p>"Yes," buttoning his coat, with a furtive glance of contempt at Soulé's +burly figure and eager face. Was this the far-famed Nimrod of the +money-hunt? "I'll say to Pryor you had other game on hand to-day."</p> + +<p>"Other game,—yes," with a sudden gravity,—pushing his hair back, and +looking in the fire, while the old man made his formal adieus to his +wife. They lasted some time, for Madame Soulé was a courtly little body, +with all her quiet.</p> + +<p>"I must make an early start, too," said Frazier, turning again. "Glad of +the chance to take a bracing ride. Banks closed to-morrow, so no time's +lost, eh? Well, good night, Soulé," perceiving that the other did not +see his outstretched hand; "don't come down; good night"; and so +shuffled down the stairs.</p> + +<p>"Pah!" said Soulé, with a breath of relief. "His blood's like water. He +never owed a dollar, and never gave one away."</p> + +<p>The usual genial laugh came back to his face, as he turned to Madame +Soulé and began to romp with the baby lying in her lap. He was a tall +man, about six feet high, with a handsome face, red hair, a frank blue +eye, and a natural, genuine laugh. Whatever else history may record of +him, a man of generous blood and sensitive instincts. His subdued dress, +quiet voice, suited him, were indigenous to his nature, not assumed: +even Starr could see that. Starr used afterwards, when they became the +country's gossip, to talk of little traits in <a name="Page_81" id="Page_81"></a>these people, showing the +purity of their refinement. To this day he believes in them. How +unostentatious their kindness was: the delicate, scentless air that hung +about them: the fresh flowers always near. "Eating with iron forks, an' +not a word,—my silver being packed; their under-clothes like gossamer, +outside plainer than mine. Bah! I know the real stuff, when I see it, I +hope. No sham there!"</p> + +<p>When the baby was tired of its romp, Madame Soulé hushed it to sleep. +She was the quietest nurse ever lived,—the quietest woman,—one whom +you scarce noted when with her, and forgot as soon as you left the room. +Nature had made her up with its most faint, few lines, and palest +coloring. Soulé, however, had found out the delicate beauty, and all +else that lay beneath. There was a passionate fierceness sometimes in +his look at her, and a something else stranger,—such an expression as a +dog gives his master. She never talked but to him.</p> + +<p>"I thought you would have breakfasted with him, perhaps," she said, now.</p> + +<p>"No. I'm too much of an Arab, Judith. I can't eat a man's salt and empty +his pocket at the same time."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you did not," smiling as the baby caught at his father's +seals, then glancing at the watch when Soulé held it out for him. +"Nearly eleven. It is time your brother was here. See, John, how pink +its feet are, and dimpled,"—putting one to her mouth with a burst of +childish laughter.</p> + +<p>Soulé played with a solitary white calla that stood near in a crystal +vase, gulped down a glass of wine hastily, held the delicate glass up to +see how like a golden bubble it was, then threw it down.</p> + +<p>"Are you sure we are right in this, child?"</p> + +<p>She stopped playing with the baby, but did not look up.</p> + +<p>"About your brother?"</p> + +<p>"I thought"—with the doubtful look of one who is about to essay his +strength against flint. "It has been a hard life,—Stephen's,—and +through us. What if we let him go?" anxiously. "What would be better? He +has children,"—taking the baby's hand in his.</p> + +<p>"Yes, children,—clods, like his wife,"—the pink lip curling. "You +should know your brother, John Yarrow. You do know the stuff that is in +him. Will his brain ever muddle down to find comfort in that +inn-keeper's daughter? Is it likely? Besides, they are dead to him now. +You have succeeded in keeping them apart."</p> + +<p>If she saw the dark flush in his face at this, she did not notice it, +but went on hastily.</p> + +<p>"Stephen never had a chance, and you know it, John. He was too weak to +break the trammels at home, as you did,—let himself be forced to preach +what his soul knew was a lie. When you tried to open the door for him to +a broader life"—</p> + +<p>"I shut him in a penitentiary-cell," with a bitter laugh. "They taught +him to make shoes."</p> + +<p>"Was it your fault? Now that he is free, then," going on steadily, still +patting the child's cheek, "you mean to shake him off,—having used him. +Push him back into the old slough. He can make a decent living there, +cobbling, I know. Be generous, John," with a keen glance of the pale +brown eyes. "If you succeed in this thing to-morrow, take him with us +out of the United States. There is trouble coming here. Give him a +chance for education,—to know something of the world he lives in,—to +catch one or two free breaths before he dies. He has been the man in the +iron cage, since his birth, it seems to me."</p> + +<p>She got up as she spoke, rang the bell, and gave the baby to its nurse, +wrapping it up in a blanket or two. When she turned, her husband was +standing on the hearth-rug, a half-laugh in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Judith!"</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>"The plain meaning of all this is, that there is no one who can do this +foul job to-morrow but Stephen Yarrow, and <a name="Page_82" id="Page_82"></a>for my sake it must be done; +<i>ergo</i>—Well, well! You do love me, child!"</p> + +<p>Her eyes filled with sudden tears; she caught hold of his arm, and clung +to it.</p> + +<p>"I do love you, God knows! What is Stephen Yarrow to me, soul or body? +Don't be harsh with me, John!"</p> + +<p>"Harsh? No, Judith," stroking the colorless curls gently; looking back; +thinking that she had done much for him; he would humor her whim, not +behave like a beast to <i>her</i>. But his brother—It would be better for +Stephen in the end. Certainly. Yet he sighed: a womanish, unable sigh.</p> + +<p>A year or two afterwards, (for I am not writing of a fictitious +character,) this man's frauds were discovered. They were larger and more +uniformly successful than any that had ever been perpetrated in the +States, but there was about them a subtle, dogged daring that did not +belong to Yarrow's character, and shrewd people who had known them began +to talk of this shadow of a woman who went about with him,—a quadroon, +they said,—and hinted strongly that it was she who had been the vital +power of the partnership, and Yarrow but the well-chosen tool. There are +no means of knowing the truth of the conjecture, for Yarrow escaped: she +followed him, but is dead, so their secret is safe. Fraud, however, was +but one half of his story. Soulé gave like a prince,—secretly, with a +woman-like, anxious helpfulness, a passionate eagerness, as if the pain +or want of a human being were insufferable to him. In this he was alone: +the woman had no share in it. She was as cold, impervious to the +suffering of others as nothing but a snake or a selfish woman can be: +whatever muddy human feeling did ooze from her brain was for this man +only. And yet, when we think of it, she was, as they guessed, a +quadroon: maybe, under the low, waxy-skinned forehead that Yarrow's +fingers were patting that night there might have been a revengeful +consciousness of the wrongs of her race that justified to her the harm +she did. It is likely: the coarsest negroes argue in that way. God help +them! At any rate, we shall come closest to Christ's rule of justice in +trying to find a sore heart behind the vicious fingers of the woman.</p> + +<p>While the two stood in the pleasant light of the warm room waiting for +him, Stephen Yarrow came towards the house across the fields. It was his +shadow that his wife and Jem saw crossing Shag's Hill. He was a free man +now,—by virtue of his nickname, "quiet Stevy," in part. It startled him +as much as the jailer, when his release was sent in a year before the +time, "in consideration of his uniform good conduct." The truth was, +that M. Soulé took an interest in the poor wretch, and had said a few +words in his favor to the Governor at a dinner-party the other evening, +so the release was signed the next day. Soulé had called to see the man +when he came to Pittsburg, and spent an hour or two in his cell. The +next morning he was free to go, but he had stayed a week longer, making +a pair of red morocco shoes for the jailer's little girl,—idling over +them: when they were done, tying them on, himself, with a wonderful +bow-knot, and looking anxiously in her clean Dutch face to see if she +were pleased.</p> + +<p>"Kiss the gentleman, Meg," growled Ben. "Where's yer manners?"</p> + +<p>Stephen drew back sharply. The innocent baby! who lived out-of-doors! +Ben must have forgotten who <i>he</i> was: a thief, belonging to this cell. +They were going to let him out; but what difference did that make? His +thin face grew wet with perspiration, as he walked away. Why, his very +fingers had felt too impure to him, as he tied on her shoes. He went +away an hour after, only nodding goodbye to Ben, looking down with an +odd grin at the clothes he had asked the jailer to buy for him. Ben had +chosen a greenish coat and trousers and yellow waistcoat. He did not +shake hands with him. Ben had been mixing hog-food, and the marks were +on his fingers. This was yesterday: he was going now to meet <a name="Page_83" id="Page_83"></a>his +brother, as he requested. Well, what else was there for him to do?</p> + +<p>He did not look up often, as he plodded over the fields: when he did, it +hurt him somehow, this terrible wastefulness, this boundless unused air, +and stretch of room. It even pained hiss weakened eyes: so long the +oblong slip of clay running from the cell to the wall had been his +share, and the yellow patch of sky and brick chimney-top beyond. For so +many thousands, too, no more. But they were thieves, foul, like him. +Pure men this was for. Stephen looked like an old man now, in spite of +Ben's party-colored rigging: stooped and lean, his step slouched: his +head almost bald under the old fur cap. Something in the sharpened face, +too, looked as if more than eyesight had been palsied in these years of +utter solitude: the brain was dulled with sluggishly gnawing over and +over the few animal ideas they leave for prisoners' souls,—or, as +probably, thoroughly imbruted by them. Soulé thought the latter.</p> + +<p>When the convict had finished his dull walk, he sat down on the wooden +staircase that led to his brother's rooms for half an hour, slowly +rubbing his legs, conscious of nothing but some flesh-pain, +apparently,—and when he did enter the chamber, bowed as indifferently +to Soulé and his wife as though they had parted carelessly yesterday. +His brother glanced at the woman: one look would certainly be enough for +her. Poor Stephen's power? If it ever had been, its essence was long +since exhaled: there was nothing in his whole nature now but the stalest +dregs, surely? Perhaps she thought differently: she looked at the man +keenly, and then gave a quick, warning glance to her husband, as she sat +down to her sewing. Soulé did not heed it as he usually did: he was +choked and sick to see what a wreck his brother really was. God help us! +to think of the time when Stephen and he were boys together, and this +was the end of it!</p> + +<p>"Come to the fire, old fellow!" he said, huskily. "You're blue with +cold. We used to have snows like this at home, eh?"</p> + +<p>The man passed the lady with the quaint, shy bow that used to be +habitual with him towards women, (he still used it to the jailer's +wife,) and held his hands over the blaze. His brother followed him: his +wife had never seen him so nervous or excited: he stood close to the +convict, smoothing his coat on the shoulder, taking off his cap.</p> + +<p>"Why, why! this cloth's too thin, even for summer; I—Oh, Stephen, these +are hard times,—hard! But I mean to do something for you, God knows. +Sit down, sit down, you're tired, boy," turning off, going to the +window, his hands behind him,—coming back again. "We're going to help +you, Judith and I."</p> + +<p>Soulé did not see the look which the convict shot at the woman, when he +spoke these words; but she did,—and knew, that, however her husband +might contrive to deceive himself, he never would his brother. If +Stephen Yarrow's soul went down to any deeper depth to-night, it would +be conscious in its going. What manner of man was he? What was his wife, +or long-ago home, or his old God, now, to him? It mattered to them: for, +if he were not a tool, they were ruined. She stitched quietly at her +soft floss and flannel. Soulé was sincere; let him explain what his wish +was, himself; it would be wiser for her to be silent; this man, she +remembered, had eyes that never understood a lie.</p> + +<p>Yarrow did not sit down; his brother stood close, leaning his unsteady +hand upon his arm.</p> + +<p>"I knew you would not fail me, Stephen. To-morrow will be a +turning-point in both our lives. Circumstances have conspired to help me +in my plan."</p> + +<p>He began to stammer. The other looked at him quietly, inquiringly.</p> + +<p>"You remember what I told you on Tuesday?" more hastily. "I have dealt +heavily in stocks lately; it needs one blow more, and our future is +secure for life. Yours and mine, I mean,—yours and mine, Stephen. This +paper old Frazier <a name="Page_84" id="Page_84"></a>carries,—he Is going to New York with it. If I can +keep it out of the market for a week, my speculation is assured,—I can +realize half a million, at least. Frazier is an old man, weak: he +crosses the Narrows to-morrow morning on horseback."</p> + +<p>He stopped abruptly, playing with a shell on the mantel-shelf.</p> + +<p>"I understand," in a dry voice; "you want him robbed; and my hands came +at the right nick of time."</p> + +<p>"Pish! you use coarse words. A man's brain must be distempered to call +that robbery; the paper, as I said, is neither money nor its +equivalent."</p> + +<p>There was a silence of some moments.</p> + +<p>"I must have it," his eye growing fierce. "You could take it and leave +the man unhurt. I could have done it myself, but he's an old man, I want +him left unhurt. If I had done it—Well," chewing his lips, "it would +not have been convenient for him to have gone on with that story. He +knows me. Is the affair quite plain now?"</p> + +<p>Yarrow nodded slowly, looking in the fire.</p> + +<p>"If I were not strong enough to-morrow, what then?"</p> + +<p>"I will be with you,—near. I must have the paper. He is an old Shylock, +after all," with a desperate carelessness. "His soul would not weigh +heavily against me, if it were let out."</p> + +<p>Yarrow passed his hand over his face; it was colorless. Yet he looked +bewildered. The bare thought of murder was not clear to him yet.</p> + +<p>"Drink some wine, Stephen," said his brother, pouring out a goblet for +himself. "I carry my own drinking-apparatus. This Sherry"—</p> + +<p>Yarrow tasted it, and put down the glass.</p> + +<p>"I was cheated in it, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you were."</p> + +<p>"Your palate was always keener than mine. I"—</p> + +<p>His mouth looked blue and cold under his whiskers: then they both stood +vacantly silent, while the woman sewed.</p> + +<p>"Tut! we will look at the matter practically, as business-men," said +Soulé at last, affecting a gruff, hearty tone, and walking about,—but +was silent there.</p> + +<p>The convict did not answer. No sound but the rough wind without blowing +the drifted snow and pebbles from the asphalt roof against the frosted +panes, and the angry fire of bitumen within breaking into clefts of blue +and scarlet flame, thrusting its jets of fierce light out from its cage: +impatient, it may be, of this convict, this sickly, shrivelled bit of +humanity standing there; wondering the nauseated life in his nostrils or +soul claimed yet its share of God's breath. Society had taken the man +like a root torn out of native unctuous soil, kept it in a damp cellar, +hid out the breath and light. If after a while it withered away, whose +fault was it? If there were no hand now to plant it again, do you look +for it to grow rotten, or not? One would have said Soulé was a root that +had been planted in fat, loamy ground, to look at him. There was a +healthy, liberal, lazy life for you! Yet the winter sky looked gray and +dumb when he passed the window, and the fire-light broke fiercest +against his bluff figure going to and fro. No matter; something there +that would have warmed your heart to him: something genial, careless, +big-natured, from the loose red hair to the indolent, portly stride. +"Who knows? A comfortable, true-hearted, merry clergyman,—a jolly +farmer, with open house, and a bit of good racing-stock in the +stable,—if bigotry in his boyhood, and this woman, had not crossed him. +They had crossed him: there was not an atom of unpolluted nature left: +you saw the taint in every syllable he spoke. Fresh and malignant +to-night, when this tempted soul hung in the balance.</p> + +<p>"We're letting the matter slip too long. Something must be decided upon. +Stephen!" nervously, "wake up! You have forgotten our subject, I think."</p> + +<p>"No," the bald head raised out of the coat-collar in which it had sunk. +"Go on."</p> + +<p>Soulé looked at him perplexed a moment.<a name="Page_85" id="Page_85"></a> Was he dulled, or had he +learned in those years to shut in looks and thoughts closer prisoners +than himself?</p> + +<p>"It is a mere question of time," he said, a little composed. "Frazier is +an agent: shall this money accrue to me or to his employers? I have +risked all on it. I must have it at any cost."</p> + +<p>"At any cost?"</p> + +<p>"At any," boldly. "Is it any easier for me to talk of that chance than +you, Stephen?"</p> + +<p>"No, John. Your hands are clean," with an exhausted look. "I know that. +You had a kind Irish heart. What money you made with one hand you flung +away with the other."</p> + +<p>Soulé blushed like a woman.</p> + +<p>"No matter," beating some dust off his boot. "But for Frazier,—I've +talked that over with Judith, and—I don't value human life as you do: +it may Lave been my residence in the South. It matters little how a man +dies, so he lives right. This Frazier, if he dies to defend his package, +would do a nobler deed than in any of his dime-scraping days. For me, my +part is not robbery. The paper is neither specie nor a draft."</p> + +<p>His tongue swung fluently now, for it had convinced himself.</p> + +<p>"There is but a night left to decide. What will you do, Stephen?"</p> + +<p>He put his hand on the green coat with its gaudy buttons, and leaned +against his brother as they used to go arms over shoulders to school. +Soulé's big throat was full of tears; he had never felt so full of +sorrowful pity as in this the foulest purpose of his life. Unselfish it +seemed to him. O God! what a hard life Stephen's had been! This would +cure him: two or three sea-voyages, a winter in Florence, would freshen +him a little, maybe,—but not much.</p> + +<p>"Eh? What will you do, old fellow?" striking his shoulder. "This is the +last night."</p> + +<p>"I know that. I have been waiting for it all my life."</p> + +<p>He put his red handkerchief up to his mouth to conceal the face, as if +its meaning were growing too plain. Soulé looked at him fixedly a +moment, then, taking him by the button, began tapping off his sentences +on his breast.</p> + +<p>"I'll state the case. I'll be plain. Stephen, you want food; you want +clothes; you"—</p> + +<p>"Is that all I want?" facing him.</p> + +<p>The woman started, as she saw his face fully, and his look, for the +first time. A quiet blue eye, unutterably kind and sad: a slow, +compelling face, that would look on his life barely, day after day, year +after year, never drowsing over its sore or pain until he had wrung its +full meaning out to the last dregs.</p> + +<p>"All you want? Clothing? food?" stammered Soulé,—something in the face +having stopped his garrulous breath. "I did not say that, Stephen."</p> + +<p>The wind struck sharper on the rattling panes; the yellow and brown +heats grew deeper. One saw how it was then. No beggar turned from God so +empty-handed as this man to-day. His place in the world slipped: his +chance gone: sick, sinking; his brain mad for knowledge: his hands +stretched out for work: no man to give it to him: whatever God he had +lost to him: the thief's smell, he thought, on every breath he drew, +every rag of clothes he wore. Hundreds of convicts leave our +prison-doors with souls as hungry and near death as this.</p> + +<p>"I have lost something—since I went in there," he said, jerking his +thumb over his shoulder. "I do not think it will ever come back."</p> + +<p>"No?"</p> + +<p>Soulé put his big hand to his face mechanically.</p> + +<p>"Don't say that, boy! I know—The world has gone on, it has left you +behind—You"—</p> + +<p>He choked,—could not go on: he would have put half the strength and +life in himself into Yarrow's lank little body that moment, if he could. +There was a something else lost, different from all these, of which they +both thought, but they did not speak of it. The convict looked out into +the night. Beyond the square patch <a name="Page_86" id="Page_86"></a>of window and that near dark, how +full the world was of happy homes getting ready for Christmas! children +and happy wives! Soulé understood.</p> + +<p>"I don't say I can bring you back what you have lost, Stephen. I offer +you the best I can. You're not an old man,—barely thirty: you must have +years to acquire fresh bone and muscle. Set your brain to work, +meanwhile. Give it a chance."</p> + +<p>"It never had one," said the convict, with a queer, faint smile.</p> + +<p>"Hillo! that looks like old times!" brightening up. "No, it never had. +Do you think I forget our alley-house with its three rooms? the +carpentering by day, and the arithmetic by night? the sweltering, sultry +Sunday mornings in church, and the afternoons sniffling over the +catechism among the rain-butts in the back-yard? Do you remember the +preachers, the travelling agents, that put up with us? how they snarled +at other churches, and helped themselves out of the shop, as if to be a +man of God implied a mean beggar? I don't say my father was a hypocrite +when he made you a colporteur, and so one of them; but"—</p> + +<p>He paused. Even in this frothy-brained fellow, his religion or his doubt +lay deeper than all. His face grew dark.</p> + +<p>"I tell you, if there is one thing I loathe, it is the God and His day +that were taught to me when I was a child: joyless, hard, cruel. +Fire—humph!—and brimstone for all but a few hundred. I remember. Well, +I don't know yet if there is any better," with a vague look. "A man +shifts for himself in the next chance as well as now, I suppose. Did you +believe what you preached, Stephen?" with an abrupt change. "God! how +you used to writhe under it at first!"</p> + +<p>"They forced me into it," said Yarrow. "I was only a boy. You remember +that I was only a boy,—just out of the shop. The more uneducated a man +was in our church-pulpit then, the better. <i>I</i> knew nothing, John," +appealingly. "When I preached about foreordination and hell-fire, it was +in coarse slang: I knew that. I used to think there might be a different +God and books and another life farther out in the world, if I could only +get at it. I never was strong, and they had forced me into it; and when +you came to me to help you with your plan, I wanted to get out, and"—</p> + +<p>"You did help me,"—chafing the limp fingers. "That was my first start, +that Pesson note. I owe that to you, Stephen."</p> + +<p>"I have paid for it," looking him steadily in the eye, some unexpected +manliness rising up, making his tone bitter and marrowy. "I paid for it. +But no matter for that. But now you come again. I have had time to think +over these things in yonder, John."</p> + +<p>Soulé dropped his hand, drew back, and was silent a moment.</p> + +<p>"Let it be so. But did you think what you would do, if you refused your +aid to me? Have you found work? or a God to preach?"</p> + +<p>Something in these last words took Yarrow's sudden strength away. He did +not answer for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Work?" feebly. "No,—I haven't heard of any work. As for a God"—</p> + +<p>"Well, then, what are your purposes?" coldly.</p> + +<p>Another silence.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I never was worth much," he gasped out at last, stooping, +and pulling at his shoestrings.</p> + +<p>"And now"—said Soulé.</p> + +<p>"There's no need for you to say that!" with a sharp cry. "I don't forget +that I have slipped,—that it's too late,—I don't forget."</p> + +<p>His hands jerked at his coat-fronts in a wild, dazed way.</p> + +<p>"Stephen!"</p> + +<p>The woman rose, and let in the air.</p> + +<p>"I thank you. I'm not sick."</p> + +<p>Soulé turned away. He could not meet the look on the pinched +convict-face,—the soul of the man crying out for God or his brother, +something to help. There was a silence for a few moments.</p> + +<p>"You will come with me, Stephen,"<a name="Page_87" id="Page_87"></a> quietly: then, after a pause, "It is +for life. There is but little time left to decide."</p> + +<p>Was there no help? Had the true God no messenger? The winter-wind +blowing through the window filled with fine frost wet his face, lifted +the smothering off his lungs. His eyes grew clear, as his full sense +returned after a while: seeing only at first, it so happened, the fire +in its square frame; and thinking only of that, as the mind always +drowsily absorbs the nearest trifle after a spasm of pain. A bed of pale +red coals now, furred over with white and pearl-colored ashes. It was a +long time since he had seen any open fire,—years, he believed. Where +was it that there had been a fire just like that, with the ashes like +moss over the heat,—and on a night in winter, too, the wind rattling +the panes? Where was it? While Soulé stood waiting for his answer, his +mind was drifting back, like that of a man in his dotage, through its +dull, muddy thoughts, after that one silly memory. He struck on it at +last. A year or two after he was married. In the bedroom. Martha was +sitting by the fire, with the old yellow dog beside her: she was trying +to ride the baby on his neck,—he was the clumsiest brute! He came in +and stopped to see the fun; he noticed the fire then, how cozy and warm +it all was: outside it was hailing, a gust shaking the house. He had +been doing a bit of carpentering,—he did like to go back to the old +trade! This was a wicker chair for the baby,—he had made it in the +stable for a surprise: the girl always liked surprises and such +nonsense. He put it down with a flourish, and he remembered how she +laughed, and Ready growled, and how he and she both got on their knees +to seat the youngster in, and tie him with his bandanna handkerchief. So +silly that all was! When they were on the floor there, and had Master +Jem fastened in, be remembered how she suddenly turned, and put her arms +about his neck, as shyly as when they were first married, and kissed +him. "Only God knows how good you are to me, Stephen," she said. There +were tears in her eyes.—Yarrow passed his hand over his forehead. Did +ever a thought come into your mind like a fresh, clean air into a +stove-heated, foul room? or like the first hearty, living call of +Greatheart through the dungeons of Giant Despair?</p> + +<p>"You do not answer me, Stephen?" said his brother. "You will go with +me?"</p> + +<p>Yarrow's head was more erect, his eyes less glazed.</p> + +<p>"It may be. The chance for me's over in the world, I think. I may as +well serve you. And yet"—</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Give me time to think. I want out-of-doors. It's close here. I'll meet +you in the morning."</p> + +<p>Soulé caught his wife's uneasy glance.</p> + +<p>"What is this, Stephen?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," looking dully out into the night.</p> + +<p>"Then"—</p> + +<p>"There's some you said were dead,"—as if no one were speaking, with the +same dull look. "Or lost: I think they're not dead. If there might be a +chance yet! If I could but see Martha and the little chaps, it would +save me, John Yarrow, no matter what they'd learned to think of me. +They're mine,—my little chaps. She said the boys should never know. She +said that of her own free will."</p> + +<p>"Is it likely she could keep her word?" said Soulé, sneeringly.</p> + +<p>"Why, why, she loved me, John,"—a moist color and smile coming out on +his face. "There's a little thing I minded just now that—Yes, Martha +kept her word."</p> + +<p>He tapped with his fingers thoughtfully on the mantel-shelf, the smile +lingering yet on his face. The woman's woollen sewing fell from her +hand, and she spoke for the first time. Her tone had a harsh, metallic +twang in it: Yarrow turned curiously, as he heard it.</p> + +<p>"What could they be to you, if you found them? They have forgotten you. +In five years they have not sent you a message."</p><p><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88"></a></p> + +<p>"No,—I know, Madam."</p> + +<p>Even that did not hurt him. His face kindled slowly,—still turned to +the fire, as if it were telling him some old story: looking to her at +last, steadfast and manly, like a man who has healthy common-sense +dominant in his head, and an unselfish love at work in his heart. Such a +one is not far from the kingdom of heaven.</p> + +<p>"It seems to me as if there might be a chance—yet. It's a long time. +But Martha loved me, Madam. You don't know—I think I'll go, John. It's +close here, 's I said. I'll meet you at the far bridge by dawn, and let +you know."</p> + +<p>"It is your only chance," said Soulé, roughly, as he followed him to the +door.</p> + +<p>He was a ruined man, if he were balked in this.</p> + +<p>"You do not know how the world meets a returned felon, Stephen; you"—</p> + +<p>"Let me go," feebly, putting his hand up to his chin in the old fashion.</p> + +<p>"I think I know that. I—I've thought of that a good deal. But it seemed +to me as if there might be a chance"; and so, without a word of +farewell, went stumbling down the stairs.</p> + +<p>He had given a wistful look at the fire, as he turned away. Perhaps that +would comfort him. God surely has "many voices in the world, and none of +them is without its signification."</p> + +<p>An hour before dawn, Yarrow found the place in which he had appointed to +meet his brother. The night had been dark, hailing at intervals; he had +gone tramping up and down the hills and stubble-fields, through snow and +half-frozen mud-gullies, hardly conscious of what he did. The night +seemed long to him now, looking back. He found a burnt sycamore-stump +and got up on it, shivered awhile, felt his shirt, which was wet to the +skin, then took off his shoes and cleared the lumps of slush out of +them. There was something horrible to him in this unbroken silence and +dark and wet cold: he had been in his hot cell so long, the frost stung +him differently from other men, the icy thaw was wetter. It was a narrow +cut in the hills where he was, a bridle-road leading back and running +zigzag for some miles until it returned to the railroad-track. A lonely, +unfrequented place: Frazier would take this by-path; Soulé had chosen it +well to meet him. There was a rickety bridge crossing a hill-stream a +few rods beyond. Yarrow pushed the dripping cap off his forehead, and +looked around. No light nor life on any side: even in the heavens yawned +that breathless, uncolored silence that precedes a winter's dawn. He +could see the Ohio through the gully: why, it used to be a broad, +full-breasted river, glancing all over with light, loaded with steamers +and rafts going down to the Mississippi. He had gone down once, rafting, +with lumber, and a jolly three weeks' float they had of it. Now it was a +solid, shapeless mass of blocks of ice and mud. Winter? yes, but the +world was altered somehow, the very river seemed struck with death. His +teeth chattered; he began to try to rub some warmth into his rheumatic +legs and arms; tried to bring back the fancy of last night about Martha +and the fire. But that was a long way off: there were all these years' +mastering memories to fade it out, you know, and besides, a diseased +habit of desponding. The world was wide to him, cowering out from a +cell: where were Martha and the little chaps lost in it? John said they +were dead. Where should he turn now? There was an aguish pain in his +spine that blinded him: since yesterday he had eaten nothing,—he had no +money to buy a meal; he was a felon,—who would give him work? "There's +some things certain in the world," he muttered.</p> + +<p>"That was silly last night,—silly. And yet,—if there could have been a +chance!"</p> + +<p>He looked up steadily into the sickly, discolored sky: nothing there but +the fog from these swamps. He had not wished so much that he could hear +of<a name="Page_89" id="Page_89"></a> Martha and the children, when he looked up, as of something else +that he needed more. Even the foulest and most careless soul that God +ever made has some moments when it grows homesick, conscious of the +awful vacuum below its life, the Eternal Arm not being there. Yarrow was +neither foul nor careless. All his life, most in those years in the +prison, he had been hungry for Something to rest on, to own him. +Sometimes, when his evil behavior had seemed vilest to him, he had felt +himself trembling on the verge of a great forgiveness. But he could see +so little of the sky in the cell there,—only that three-cornered patch: +he had a fancy, that, if once he were out in the world that He made,—in +the free air,—that, if there were a God, he would find Him out. He had +not found Him.</p> + +<p>He sat on the stump awhile, his hands over his eyes, then got down +slowly, buttoning his soggy waistcoat and coat.</p> + +<p>"I don't see as there's a chance," he said, dully. "I was a fool to +think there was any better God than the one that"—digging his toe into +the frozen pools. "It's all ruled. I'm not one of the elect."</p> + +<p>That was all. After that, he stood waiting for his brother.</p> + +<p>"I'll help him. He's the best I know."</p> + +<p>Even the faint sigh choked before it rose to his lips,—both manhood and +hope were so dead with inanition; yet a life's failure went in it.</p> + +<p>While he stood waiting, Martha Yarrow sat by her kitchen-fire crying to +God to help him; but He knew what things were needed before she asked +Him.</p> + +<p>Soulé, with his gun and game-bag, had been coursing over the hills three +miles back, since four o'clock. He had bagged a squirrel or two, enough +to suffice for his morning's work, and now, his piece unloaded, came +stealthily towards the place of rendezvous. He had little hope that +Stephen would help him: he had made up his mind to go through the affair +alone. If <i>he</i> did it, that involved—Pah! what was in a word? Men died +every day. He had quite resolved: Judith and he had talked the matter +over all night. But if Frazier were a younger man, and could fight for +it! Perhaps he was armed: Soulé's face flashed: he stooped and broke the +trigger of his gun, and then went on with a much less heavy step. They +would be more even now. He wanted to reach the bridge by dawn, and meet +his brother. If he refused to help him, he would send him away, and wait +for Frazier alone. About nine o'clock he might expect him.</p> + +<p>Frazier, however, had changed his plan. He told Starr the night before, +that, as M. Soulé would not breakfast with him, he had concluded to rise +early, and be off by dawn. "If there's nothing to be done about the +Miami shares, there is no use wasting time here," he thought. So, while +Stephen Yarrow waited near the bridge, the smoke was curling out of the +kitchen-chimney where the cook was making ready the cashier's beefsteak, +and the old man was crawling out of bed. He could hear Starr's children +in the room overhead making an uproar over their stockings. "Christmas +morning, by the way! I must take some knick-knack back to Totty." (As if +his trunk were not always filled with things for Totty, and his shirts +crammed into the lid, when he came home!) "Something for mother, too," +as he pulled on his socks. "Gloves, now, hey? A dozen pair. I wish I had +asked Madame Soulé what size she wore, last night. Their hands are about +the same size. Mother always had a tidy little paw. So will Totty, eh?" +And so finished dressing, thinking Soulé had a neat little wife, but +insipid.</p> + +<p>So Christmas morning came to all of them, the day when, a long time ago, +One who had made a good happy world came back to find and save that +which was lost in it. In these few hundred years had He forgotten the +way of finding?</p> + +<p>Stephen Yarrow had fallen into an <a name="Page_90" id="Page_90"></a>uneasy doze by the road-side. He had +done with thinking, when he said, "I'll go with John." The way through +life seemed to open clear, exactly the same as it had been before. There +was an end of it. There might have been a chance, but there was none. He +drowsed off into a brutish slumber. Something like a kiss woke him. It +was only the morning air. A clear, sweet-breathed dawn, as we said, that +seemed somehow to have caught a scent of far-off harvest-farms, in lands +where it was not winter. Warm brown clouds yonder with a glow like wine +in them, the splendor of the coming day hinting of itself through.</p> + +<p>"I must have slept," said Yarrow, taking off his cap to shake it dry.</p> + +<p>There were a thousand shining points on the dingy fur. He rubbed his +heavy eyes and looked about him. The misty rime of the night had frozen +on hills and woods and river,—frosted the whole earth in one +glittering, delicate sheath. The first level bar of sunlight put into +the nostrils of the dead world of the night before the breath of life. +Once in a lifetime, maybe, the sight meets a man's eyes which Yarrow saw +that morning. The very clear blue of the air thrilled with electric +vigor; from the rounded rose-colored summits of the western hills to the +tiniest ire-cased grass-spear at his feet, the land flashed back +unnumbered soft and splendid dyes to heaven; the hemlock-forests near +had grouped themselves into glittering temples, mosques, churches, +whatever form in which men have tried to please God by worshipping Him; +the smoke from the distant village floated up in a constant silver and +violet vapor like an incense-breath. Neither was it a dead morning. The +far-off tinkle of cowbells reached him now and then, the cheery crow +from one farm-yard to another, even children's voices calling, and at +last a slow, sweet chime of churchbells.</p> + +<p>"They told me it was Christmas morning," he said, pulling off the old +cap again.</p> + +<p>Yarrow's chin had sunk on his breast, as his eager eyes drank all this +morning in. He breathed short and quick, like a child before whom some +incredible pleasure flashes open.</p> + +<p>"Well," with a long breath, putting on his cap, "I didn't think of aught +like this, yonder. God help us!"</p> + +<p>He didn't know why he smiled or rubbed his hands cheerfully. His sleep +had refreshed him, maybe. But it seemed as if the great beauty and +tenderness of the world were for him, this morning,—as if some great +Power stretched out its arms to him, and spoke through it.</p> + +<p>"I'll not be silly again," straightening himself, and buttoning his +coat; but before the words were spoken, his head had sunk again, and he +stood quiet.</p> + +<p>Something in all this brought Martha and the little chaps before him, he +did not know why, but his heart ached with a sharper pain than ever, +that made his eyes wet with tears.</p> + +<p>"If there should be a chance!"—lifting his hands to the deep of blue in +the east.</p> + +<p>This was the free air in which he used to think he could find God.</p> + +<p>"What if it were true that He was there,—loving, not hating, taking +care of Martha, and"—</p> + +<p>He stopped, catching the word.</p> + +<p>"No. I've slipped. I don't forget."</p> + +<p>He did forget. He did not remember that he was a thief, standing there. +Whatever substance had been in him at his birth trustworthy rose up now +to meet the voice of God that called to him aloud. His lank jaws grew +red, his eyes a deeper blue, a look in them which his mother may have +seen the like of years and years ago; he beat with his knuckles on his +breast nervously.</p> + +<p>"If there could be a chance!" he said, unceasingly; "if I might try +again!"</p> + +<p>There was a crackling in the snow-laden bushes upon the hill: he looked +back, and saw his brother coming from the other side, his game-bag over +his shoulder, stooping to avoid notice, his eyes fixed intently on some +object on <a name="Page_91" id="Page_91"></a>the road beyond. It was an old man on horseback, jogging +slowly up the path, whistling as he came. Yarrow shuddered with a sudden +horror.</p> + +<p>"He means murder! That is Frazier. You could not do it to-day, John! +To-day!" as if Soulé could hear him.</p> + +<p>He was between his brother and his victim. The old man came slower, the +hill being steep, looking at the frosted trees, and seeing neither +Yarrow nor the burly figure crouching, tiger-like, among the bushes. One +moment, and he would have passed the bend of the hill,—Soulé could +reach him.</p> + +<p>"God help me!" whispered Yarrow, and threw himself forward, pushing the +horse back on his haunches. "Go back! Ten steps farther, and it's too +late! Back, I say!"</p> + +<p>The old man gasped.</p> + +<p>"Why! what! a slip? an' water-gully?"</p> + +<p>"No matter," leading the horse, trembling from head to foot.</p> + +<p>Up on the hill there was a sharp break, a heavy footstep on a dead root. +Would John go back or come on? he was strong enough to master both. +Yarrow's throat choked, but he led the horse steadily down the path, +deaf to Frazier's questions.</p> + +<p>"Do not draw rein until you reach the station," giving him the bridle at +last.</p> + +<p>The old man looked back: he had seen the figure dimly.</p> + +<p>"If there's danger, I'll not leave you to meet it alone, my friend," +fumbling in his breast for a weapon.</p> + +<p>Yarrow stamped impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Put spurs to your horse!"—wiping his mouth; "it will be yet too late!"</p> + +<p>Frazier gave a glance at his face, and obeyed him. A moment more, and he +was out of sight. Yarrow watched him, and then slowly turned, and raised +his head. Soulé had come down, and was standing close beside him, +leaning on his gun. It was the last time the brothers ever faced each +other, and their natures, as God made them, came out bare in that look: +Yarrow's, under all, was the tougher-fibred of the two. John's eyes +fell.</p> + +<p>"Stephen, this will hurt me. I"—</p> + +<p>"I thought it was well done,"—his hand going uncertainly to his mouth.</p> + +<p>"Well, well! you have chosen,"—after a pause.</p> + +<p>"Good bye."</p> + +<p>"Good bye, boy."</p> + +<p>They held each other's hands for a minute; then Soulé turned off, and +strode down the hill. He loosened his cravat as he went, and took a long +breath of relief.</p> + +<p>"It was a vile job! But"—his face much troubled. But his wife heard the +story without a word, nor ever alluded to it afterwards. She was human, +like the rest of us.</p> + +<p>A moment after he was gone, a curious change took place in the convict, +a reaction,—the excitement being gone. The pain and exposure and hunger +had room to tell now on body and soul. He stretched himself out on a +drift of snow, drunken with sleep, yet every nerve quivering and +conscious, trying to catch another echo of Soulé's step. He was his +brother, he was all he had; it was terrible to be thus alone in the +world: going back to the time when they worked in the shop together. He +raised his head even, and called him,—"Jack!"—once or twice, as he +used to then. It was too late. Such a generous, bull-headed fellow he +was then, taking his own way, and being led at last. He was gone now, +and forever. He was all he had.</p> + +<p>The day was out broadly now,—a thorough winter's day, cold and clear, +the frosty air sending a glow through your blood. It sent none into +Yarrow's thinned veins: he was too far gone with all these many years. +The place, as I said, was a lonely one, niched between hills, yet near +enough main roads for him to hear sounds from them: people calling to +each other, about Christmas often; carriages rolling by; great Conestoga +wagons, with their dozens of tinkling bells, and the driver singing; +dogs <a name="Page_92" id="Page_92"></a>and children chasing each other through the snow. The big world +was awake and busy and glad, but it passed him by.</p> + +<p>"For this man that might have been it has as much use as for a bit of +cold victuals thrown into the street. And the worst is," with a bitter +smile, "I know it, to my heart's core."</p> + +<p>The morning passed by, as he lay there, growing colder, his brain +duller.</p> + +<p>"I did not think this coat was so thin," he would mutter, as he tried to +pull it over him.</p> + +<p>If he got up, where should he go? What use, eh? It was warmer in the +snow than walking about. Conscious at last only of a metallic taste in +his mouth, a weakness creeping closer to his heart every moment, and a +dull wonder if there could yet be a chance. It seemed very far away now. +And Martha and the little chaps—Oh, well!</p> + +<p>Some hours may have passed as he lay there, and sleep came; for I fancy +it was a dream that brought the final sharp thought into his brain. He +dragged himself up on one elbow, the old queer smile on his lips.</p> + +<p>"I will try," he said.</p> + +<p>It took him some time to make his way out into the main road, but he did +it at last, straightening his wet hair under the old cap.</p> + +<p>"It's so like a dog to die that way! I'll try, just once, how the world +looks when I face it."</p> + +<p>He sat down outside of a blacksmith's forge, the only building in sight, +on the pump-trough, and looked wearily about. His head fell now and then +on his breast from weakness.</p> + +<p>"It won't be a very long trial. I'll not beg for food, and I'm not equal +to much work just now,"—with the same grim half-smile.</p> + +<p>No one was in sight but the blacksmith and some crony, looking over a +newspaper. Inside. They nodded, when they saw him, and said,—</p> + +<p>"Hillo!"</p> + +<p>"Hillo!" said Yarrow.</p> + +<p>Then they went on with their paper. That was the only sound for a long +time. Some farmers passed after a while, giving him good-morning, in +country-fashion. A trifle, but it was warm, heartsome: he had put the +world on trial, you know, and he was not very far from death. Men more +soured than Yarrow have been surprised to find it was God's world, with +God's own heart, warm and kindly, speaking through every human heart in +it, if they touched them right. About noon, the blacksmith's children +brought him his dinner in a tin bucket, leaving it inside. When they +came out, one freckled baby-girl came up to Yarrow.</p> + +<p>"Tie my shoe," she said, putting up one foot, peremptorily. "Are you +hungry?" looking at him curiously, after he had done it, at the same +time holding up a warm seed-cake she was eating to his mouth. He was +ashamed that the spicy smile tempted him to take it. He put it away, and +seated her on his foot.</p> + +<p>"Let me ride you plough-boy fashion," he said, trotting her gently for a +minute.</p> + +<p>Her father passed them.</p> + +<p>"You must pardon me," said Yarrow, with a bow. "I used to ride my boy +so, and"—</p> + +<p>"Eh? Yes. Sudy's a good girl. You've lost your little boy, now?" looking +in Yarrow's face.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I've lost him."</p> + +<p>The blacksmith stood silent a moment, then went in. Soon after a tall +man rode up on a gray horse; it had cast a shoe, and while the smith +went to work within, the rider sat down by Yarrow on the trough, and +began to talk of the weather, politics, etc., in a quiet, pleasant way, +making a joke now and then. He had a thin face, with a scraggy fringe of +yellow hair and whisker about it, and a gray, penetrating eye. The shoe +was on presently, and mounting, with a touch of his hat to Yarrow, he +rode off. The convict hesitated a moment, then called to him.</p> + +<p>"I have a word to say to you," coming up, and putting his hand on the +horse's mane.</p><p><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93"></a></p> + +<p>The man glanced at him, then jumped down.</p> + +<p>"Well, my friend?"</p> + +<p>"You're a clergyman?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"So was I once. If you had known, just now, that I was a felon two days +ago released from the penitentiary, what would you have said to me? +Guilty, when I went in, remember. A thief."</p> + +<p>The man was silent, looking in Yarrow's face. Then he put his hand on +his arm.</p> + +<p>"Shall I tell you?"</p> + +<p>"Go on."</p> + +<p>"I would have said, that, if ever you preach God's truth again, you will +have learned a deeper lesson than I."</p> + +<p>If he meant to startle the man's soul into life, he had done it. He a +teacher, who hardly knew if that good God lived!</p> + +<p>"Let me go," he cried, breaking loose from the other's hand.</p> + +<p>"No. I can help you. For God's sake tell me who you are."</p> + +<p>But Yarrow left him, and went down the road, hiding, when he tried to +pursue him,—sitting close behind a pile of lumber. He was there when +found: so tired that the last hour and the last years began to seem like +dreams. Something cold roused him, nozzling at his throat. An old yellow +dog, its eyes burning.</p> + +<p>"Why, Ready," he said, faintly, "have you come?"</p> + +<p>"Come home," said the dog's eyes, speaking out what the whole day had +tried to say: "they're waiting for you; they've been waiting always; +home's there, and love's there, and the good God's there, and it's +Christmas day. Come home!"</p> + +<p>Yarrow struggled up, and put his arms about the dog's neck: kissed him +with all the hunger for love smothered in these many years.</p> + +<p>"He don't know I'm a thief," he thought.</p> + +<p>Ready bit angrily at coat and trousers.</p> + +<p>"Be a man, and come home."</p> + +<p>Yarrow understood. He caught his breath, as he went along, holding by +the fence now and then.</p> + +<p>"It's the chance!" he said. "And Martha! It's Martha and the little +chaps!"</p> + +<p>But he was not sure. He was yet so near to the place where it would have +been forever too late. If Ready saw that with his wary eye, turned now +and then, as he trotted before,—if he had any terror in his dumb soul, +(or whatever you choose to call it,) or any mad joy, or desire to go +clean daft with rollicking in the snow at what he had done, he put it +off to another season, and kept a stern face on his captive. But Yarrow +watched it; it was the first home-face of them all.</p> + +<p>"Be a man," it said. "Let the thief go. Home's before you, and love, and +years of hard work for the God you did not know."</p> + +<p>So they went on together. They came at last to the house,—home. He grew +blind then, and stopped at the gate; but the dog went slower, and waited +for him to follow, pushed the door open softly, and, when he went in, +laid down in his old place, and put his paws over his face.</p> + +<p>When Martha Yarrow heard the step at last, she got up. But seeing how it +was with him, she only put her arms quietly about his neck, and said,—</p> + +<p>"I've waited so long, my husband!"</p> + +<p>That was all.</p> + +<p>He lay in his old bed that evening; he made her open the door, feeling +strong enough to look at them now, Jem and Tom and Catty, in the warm, +well-lighted room, with all its little Christmas gayeties. They had +known many happy holidays, but none like this: coming in on tiptoe to +look at the white, sad face on the pillow, and to say, under their +breath, "It's father." They had waited so long for him. When he heard +them, the closed eyes always opened anxiously, and looked at them: kind +eyes, full of a more tender, wishful love than even mother's. They came +in only now and then, but Martha he would not let go from him, held her +hand all day. Ready <a name="Page_94" id="Page_94"></a>had made his way up on the bed and lay over his +feet.</p> + +<p>"That's right, old Truepenny!" he said.</p> + +<p>They laughed at that: he had not forgotten the old name. When Martha +looked at the old yellow dog, she felt her eyes fill with tears.</p> + +<p>"God did not want a messenger," she thought: as if He ever did!</p> + +<p>That evening, while he lay with her head on his breast, as she sat by +the bed, he watched the boys a long time.</p> + +<p>"Martha," he said, at last, "you said that they should never know. Did +you keep your word?"</p> + +<p>"I kept it, Stephen."</p> + +<p>He was quiet a long while after that, and then he said,—</p> + +<p>"Some day I will tell them. It's all clearer to me now. If ever I find +the good God, I'll teach Him to my boys out of my own life. They'll not +love me less."</p> + +<p>He did not talk much that day; even to her he could not say that which +was in his heart; but it seemed to him there was One who heard and +understood,—looking out, after all was quiet that night, into the far +depth of the silent sky, and going over his whole wretched life down to +that bitterest word of all, as if he had found a hearer more patient, +more tender than either wife or child.</p> + +<p>"Is there any use to try?" he cried. "I was a thief."</p> + +<p>Then, in the silence, came to him the memory of the old question,—</p> + +<p>"Hath no man condemned thee?"</p> + +<p>He put his hands over his face:—</p> + +<p>"No man, Lord!"</p> + +<p>And the answer came for all time:—</p> + +<p>"Neither do I condemn thee. Go, and sin no more."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="MEMORIAE_POSITUM" id="MEMORIAE_POSITUM"></a>MEMORIÆ POSITUM</h2> + +<h3>R.G.S.</h3> + +<h3>1863.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">I.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">Beneath the trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My life-long friends in this dear spot,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sad now for eyes that see them not,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I hear the autumnal breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wake the sear leaves to sigh for gladness gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whispering hoarse presage of oblivion,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Hear, restless as the seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Time's grim feet rustling through the withered grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of many a spreading realm and strong-stemmed race,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Even as my own through these.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">Why make we moan<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For loss that doth enrich us yet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With upward yearnings of regret?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Bleaker than unmossed stone<br /></span><p><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95"></a></p> +<span class="i0">Our lives were but for this immortal gain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of unstilled longing and inspiring pain!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As thrills of long-hushed tone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Live in the viol, so our souls grow fine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With keen vibrations from the touch divine<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of noble natures gone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">'T were indiscreet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To vex the shy and sacred grief<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With harsh obtrusions of relief;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Yet, Verse, with noiseless feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go whisper, "<i>This</i> death hath far choicer ends<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than slowly to impearl in hearts of friends;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">These obsequies 'tis meet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not to seclude in closets of the heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, church-like, with wide door-ways, to impart<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Even to the heedless street."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">II.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">Brave, good, and true,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I see him stand before me now,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And read again on that clear brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where victory's signal flew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>How sweet were life!</i> Yet, by the mouth firm-set,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And look made up for Duty's utmost debt,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I could divine he knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That death within the sulphurous hostile lines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the mere wreck of nobly pitched designs,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Plucks heart's-ease, and not rue.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">Happy their end<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who vanish down life's evening stream<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Placid as swans that drift in dream<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Round the next river-bend!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Happy long life, with honor at the close,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Friends' painless tears, the softened thought of foes!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And yet, like him, to spend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All at a gush, keeping our first faith sure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From mid-life's doubt and eld's contentment poor,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">What more could Fortune send?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">Right in the van,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the red rampart's slippery swell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With heart that beat a charge, he fell<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Forward, as fits a man:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the high soul burns on to light men's feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where death for noble ends makes dying sweet;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">His life her crescent's span<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Orbs full with share in their undarkening days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who ever climbed the battailous steeps of praise<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Since valor's praise began.<br /></span><p><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96"></a></p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">III.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">His life's expense<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hath won for him coeval youth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the immaculate prime of Truth;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">While we, who make pretence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At living on, and wake and eat and sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And life's stale trick by repetition keep,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Our fickle permanence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(A poor leaf-shadow on a brook, whose play<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of busy idlesse ceases with our day)<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is the mere cheat of sense.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">We bide our chance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unhappy, and make terms with Fate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A little more to let us wait:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">He leads for aye the advance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hope's forlorn-hopes that plant the desperate good<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For nobler Earths and days of manlier mood;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Our wall of circumstance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cleared at a bound, he flashes o'er the fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A saintly shape of fame, to cheer the right<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And steel each wavering glance.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">I write of one,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While with dim eyes I think of three:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who weeps not others fair and brave as he?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ah, when the fight is won,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dear Land, whom triflers now make bold to scorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Thee! from whose forehead Earth awaits her morn!)<br /></span> +<span class="i4">How nobler shall the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flame in thy sky, how braver breathe thy air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thou bred'st children who for thee could dare<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And die as thine have done!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="MY_BOOK" id="MY_BOOK"></a>MY BOOK.</h2> + + +<p>The trouble about biographies is that by the time they are written the +person is dead. You have heard of him remotely. You know that he sang a +world's songs, founded great empires, won brilliant victories, did +heroes' work; but you do not know the little tender touches of his life, +the things that bring him into near kinship with humanity, and set him +by the household hearth without unclasping the diadem from his brow, +until he is dead, and it is too late forevermore. Then with vague +restlessness you visit the brook in which his trout-line drooped, you +pluck a leaf from the elm that shaded his regal head, you walk in the +graveyard that holds in its bosom his silent dust, only to feel with +unavailing regret that no sunshine of his presence can gleam upon you. +The life that stirred in his voice, shone in his eye, and fortressed +itself in his unconscious bearing, <a name="Page_97" id="Page_97"></a>can make to you no revelation. It is +departed, none knows whither. He is as much a part of the past as if he +had tended docks for Abraham on the plains of Mamre.</p> + +<p>This, when biographies are at their best. Generally, they are at their +worst. Generally, they don't know the things you wish to learn, and when +they do, they don't tell them. They give you statistics, facts, +reflections, eulogies, dissertations; but what you hunger and thirst +after is the man's inner life. Of what use is it to know what a man +does, unless you know what made him do it? This you can seldom learn +from memoirs. Look at the numerous brood that followed in the wake of +Shelley's fame. Every one gives you, not Shelley, but himself, served up +in Shelley sauce. Think of your own experience: do you not know that the +vital facts of your life are hermetically sealed? Do you not know that +you are a world within a world, whose history and geography may be +summed up in that phrase which used to make the interior of Africa the +most delightful spot in the whole atlas,—"Unexplored Region"? One +person may have started an expedition here, and another there. Here one +may have struck a river-course, and there one may have looked down into +a valley-depth, and all may have brought away their golden grain; but +the one has not followed the river to its source, nor the other wandered +bewilderingly through the valley-lands, and none have traversed the +Field of the Cloth of Gold. So the geographies are all alike: +boundaries, capital, chief towns, rivers, mountains, and lakes. And what +is true of you is doubtless true of all. Faith is not to be put in +biographies. They can tell what your name is, and what was your +grandfather's coat of arms, when you were born, where you lived, and how +you died,—though, if they are no more accurate after you are dead than +they are before, their statements will hardly come under the head of +"reliable intelligence." But even if they are accurate, what then? +Suppose you were born in Pikesville: a thousand people drew their first +breath there, and not one of them was like you in character or fate. You +were born in some year of our Lord. Thousands upon thousands date from +the same year, and each went his own way,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"One to long darkness and the frozen tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One to the peaceful sea!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>All this is nothing and accounts for nothing, yet this is all. Whether +you were susceptible of calmness or deeply turbulent,—whether you were +amiable, or only amiably disposed,—whether you were inwardly blest and +only superficially unrestful, safely moored even while tossing on an +unquiet sea,—what you thought, what you hoped, how you felt, yes, and +how you lived and loved and hated, they do not know and cannot tell. A +biographer may be ever so conscientious, but he stands on the outside of +the circle of his subject, and his view will lack symmetry. There is but +one who, from his position in the centre, is competent to give a fair +and full picture, and that is your own self. A few may possess +imagination, and so partially atone for the disadvantages of position; +but, ten hundred thousand to one, they will not have a chance at your +life. You must die knowing that you are at the mercy of whoever can hold +a pen.</p> + +<p>Unless you take time by the forelock and write your biography yourself! +Then you will be sure to do no harm, inasmuch as no one is obliged to +read your narrative; and you may do much good, because, if any one does +read it and become interested in you, he will have the pleasant +consciousness of living in the same world with you. When he drives +through your street, he can put his head out of the carriage-window and +stand a chance of seeing you just coming in at the front gate. Also, if +you write your biography yourself, you can have your choice as to what +shall go in and what shall stay out. You can make a discreet selection +of your letters, giving the go-by to that especial one in which you +rather—is there such a word as <a name="Page_98" id="Page_98"></a>spooneyly?—offered yourself to your +wife. Every word was as good as the Bank of England to her, for to her +you were a lover, a knight, a great brown-bearded angel, and all +metaphors, however violent, fell upon good ground. But to the people who +read your life you will be a trader, a lawyer, a shoemaker, who pays his +butcher's bills and looks after the main chance, and the metaphors, +emptied of their fire, but retaining their form, will seem incongruous, +not to say ridiculous. I do not say that your wife's lover and knight +and angel are not a higher and a better, yes, and a truer you, than the +world's trader and lawyer; still your love-letters will probably do +better in the bosom of the love-lettered than on a bookseller's shelves. +Besides these advantages, there is another in præ-humous publication. If +you wait for your biography till you are dead, it is extremely probable +you will lose it altogether. The world has so much to see to ahead that +it can hardly spare a glance over its shoulder to take note of what is +behind. Take the note yourself and make sure of it You will then know +where you are, and be master of the situation.</p> + +<p>I purpose, therefore, to write the history of my life, from my entrance +upon it down to a period which is within the memory of men still living. +In so doing, I shall not be careful to trace out that common ground +which may be supposed to underlie all lives, but only indicate those +features which serve to distinguish one from another. Everybody is +christened, cuts his teeth, and eats bread and molasses. Silently will +we, therefore, infer the bread and molasses, and swiftly stride in +seven-league boots from mountain-peak to mountain-peak.</p> + +<p>I was born of parents who, though not poor, were respectable, and I had +also the additional distinction of being a precocious child. I differed +from most precocious children, however, in not dying young, and that +opportunity, once let slip, is now forever gone. I believe the +precocious children who do not die young develop into idiots. My family +have never been without well-grounded fears in that line.</p> + +<p>Nothing of any importance happened to me after I was born till I grew up +and wrote a book. Indeed, I believe I may say even that never happened, +for I did not write a book. Rather a book came to pass,—somewhat like +the goldsmithery of Aaron, who threw the ear-rings into the fire, and +"there came out this calf"! I went out one day alone, as was my wont, in +an open boat, and drifted beyond sight of land. I had heard that +shipwrecked mariners sometimes throw out a bottle of papers to give +posterity a clue to their fate. I threw out a bottle of papers, less out +of regard to posterity than to myself. They floated into a +printing-press, stiffened themselves, and came forth a book, whereon I +sailed safely ashore, grateful. Alas, in another confusion will there be +another resource?</p> + +<p>It is this book which is to form the first, and quite possibly the last +chapter of my life and sufferings, for I don't suppose anything will +ever happen to me again. To be sure, in the book I have just been +reading a girl marries her groom, leaves him, rejects two lovers, kills +her husband, accepts one lover, loses him, marries the second, first +husband comes to light again and is shot, marries second husband over +again, and goes a-journeying with second husband and first lover, first +cousin and two children, in the South of France, before she is +twenty-two years old. But in my country girls think themselves extremely +well off for adventures with one marriage and no murder. But then the +girls in my country do not have the murderous black eyes which shine so +in romances.</p> + +<p>My book being fairly wound up and set a-going, of course you wish to +know what came of it. Don't pretend you don't care, for you know you do. +Only don't look at me too closely, or you will disconcert me. Veil now +and then your intent eyes, or my story will surely droop under their +steadfastness. Look sometimes into yonder sunset sky and the beautiful +reticulations drawn darkly against <a name="Page_99" id="Page_99"></a>its glowing sheets of color. You +will none the less listen, and I shall all the more enjoy.</p> + +<p>You have read much about the anxieties, the forebodings, the +anticipatory tremors of new authors. So have I, but I never felt +them,—not a single foreboding. I was delighted to write a book, and it +never occurred to me that everybody would not be just as delighted to +read it. The first time my book weighed on me was one morning when a +thin, meagre little letter came to me, which turned out to be only a +card bearing the laconic inscription,—</p> + +<p>"Twelve copies 'New Sun' sent by express, with the compliments of the +Publishers."</p> + +<p>The "New Sun" was my book. I put on my hat and walked straightway up to +the hole in the rock, about a mile round the corner, where the +expressman always leaves my parcels, and took up the package to bring +home. It was very heavy. I balanced it first on one arm and then on the +other, until, as the poet has it,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Both were nigh to breaking."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Then I lifted it by the cords, but they cut my fingers. Then I +remembered the natural law, that internal atmospheric pressure prevents +any consciousness of the enormous external pressure exerted by an +atmosphere forty-five miles thick, and applied the law, saying, "These +books have all been upon the inside of my head, of course I shall not +feel them on the outside." So I put the package on my head, and walked +on, making believe I was in a gymnasium, keeping a sharp watch fore and +aft, and considering the distant rumbling of wheels a signal for +lowering my colors. In my country people do not carry their burdens on +their heads, nor would they be likely to account for me on the +principles of Natural Philosophy. I might have been apprehended as a +lunatic, but for my timely caution. Thus the "New Suns" came home and +were speedily divested of their dun wrappings. I lingered over them, +admiring their clear type, their fragrance, their crispness. I opened +them wide, because they would open so frankly. I delighted myself with +their fair, fine smoothness. And then I began to read. I am ashamed to +say I never read a more interesting book!</p> + +<p>How very true it is that suffering is about equally distributed, after +all! If you don't have your troubles spread out, you have them in a +lump. The furies may seem to be held in abeyance, but they will only lay +on their lashes all the harder when they do come. My unnatural calmness +was succeeded by a storm of consternation. I pass over the few days that +followed. If you ever put yourself into a pillory in the night just to +see how it seemed, and then found yourself fastened there in good +earnest, and day dawning, and all the marketmen and shopkeepers up and +stirring, and everybody coming by in a few minutes, you will not need to +ask how I felt. When you write a book, you are quite alone and your pen +is entirely private; but when it comes to you so unquestionably printed, +and inexorable, and out-of-doors—Ah, me! It did not seem like a book at +all,—not at all the abstraction and impersonality that were intended, +but my proper self bevelled and (with another syllable inserted) walking +out into the world with malice aforethought.</p> + +<p>But though a writer is before critics, did it never occur to you that +the critics are just as much before the writers? A critic's talk about a +book is just as truly a revelation of the critic as the writer's talk in +the book is a revelation of the writer. One man gives you an opinion +that implies attention. He does not go into the depths of the matter, +but he tells you honestly what he likes and what he does not like. This +is good. This is precisely what you wish to know, and will indirectly +help you. Another, from the steps of a throne, in a few sentences, it +may be, or a few columns, classifies you, interprets you not only to the +world, but to yourself; and for this you are immeasurably glad and +grateful. It <a name="Page_100" id="Page_100"></a>is neither praise nor censure that you value, but +recognition. Let a writer but feel that a critic reaches into the +<i>arcana</i> of his thought, and no assent is too hearty, nor any dissent +too severe. Another glances up from his eager political strife, and with +the sincerest kindness pens you a nice little sugar-plum, chiefly flour +and water, but flavored with sugar. Thank you! Another flounders in a +wash of words, holding in solution the faintest salt of sense. Heaven +help him! Another dips his spear-point in poison and lets fly. Do you +not see that these people are an open book? Do you not read here the +tranquillity of a self-poised life, the Inner sight of clairvoyance, the +bitterness of disappointed hopes and unsuccessful plans, the amiability +that is not founded upon strength, the pettiness that puts pique above +principle, the frankness that scorns affectation, the comprehensiveness +that embraces all things in its vision, and commands not only +acquiescence, but allegiance, the great-heartedness that by virtue of +its own magnetism attracts all that is good and annihilates all that is +bad?</p> + +<p>When my poor little ewe-lamb went out into the world, I did not fear any +shearing he might encounter in America. I don't mind my own countrymen. +I like them, but I am not afraid of them. Two elements go to make up a +book: matter and manner. The former, of course, is its author's own. He +maintains it against all comers. Opposition does not terrify him, for it +is a mere difference of opinion. One is just as likely to be right as +another, and in a hundred years probably we shall all be found wrong +together. But manner can be judged by a fixed standard. Bad English is +bad English this very day, whatever you or I think about it; and bad +English is a bad thing. When I know it, I avoid it, except under extreme +temptation; but the trouble is, I don't know it. I am continually +learning that words in certain relations are misplaced where I never +suspected the smallest derangement, and, no doubt, there are many +dislocations which I have not yet discovered. So far as my own people +are concerned, I don't take this to heart,—because my countryman very +likely perpetrates three barbarisms in correcting my one. He knows this +thing that I did not, but then I know something else that he does not, +and so keep the balance true. Moreover, my America, if I don't use good +English, whose fault is it? You have had me from the beginning. The raw +material was as good as the average; why did you not work it up better? +I went to the best schools you gave me. I learned everything I was set +to learn. You can nowhere find a teacher who will tell you that I ever +evaded a lesson. I was greedy of gain. I spared neither time nor toil. I +lost no opportunity, and here I am, just as good as you made me. So, if +there is any one to blame, it is you, for not giving me better +facilities. The Children's Aid Society warned New York a dozen years ago +that a "dangerous class of untaught" pagans was growing up in her +streets; but she did not think it worth while to arouse herself and +educate them, and one morning she found them burning her house over her +head. You too, my country, have been repeatedly warned of your dangerous +class, a class whom, with malice aforethought, you leave half educated, +and, from ignorance, idle,—and now comes Nemesis! New York had a mob, +and you have—me.</p> + +<p>The real ogre was those terrible Englishmen. I was brought up on the +British Quarterlies. Their high and mighty ways entered into my soul. I +never did have any courage or independence, to begin with; and when they +condescended to tread our shores with such lordly airs, I should have +been only too glad to burn incense for a propitiation. So impressive was +their loftiness, their haughty patronage, that their supercilious sneers +at our provincialism were heart-rending, I came to look at everything +with an eye to English judgment. It was not so much whether a book or a +custom were good as whether it would be likely to <a name="Page_101" id="Page_101"></a>meet with English +approval. To be the object of their displeasure was a calamity, and at +even a growl from their dreadful throats I was ready to die of terror. +And this slavish subservience lasted beyond the school-room.</p> + +<p>But it so happened that by the time my book was set afloat, the +Reviewers had lost their fangs. The war came, and they went over to the +enemy, every one: "North British," "London Quarterly," "Edinburgh," and +even the liberal "Westminster," had but one tone. "Blackwood" was seized +with an evil spirit, and wallowed foaming. The English people may be all +right at the heart. Their slow, but sure and sturdy sense may bring them +at length within hailing distance of the truth. Noble men among them, +Mill and Cairnes and Smith and their kind, made their voices heard in +the midst of opposing din, even through the very pages which had rung +with Southern cheers: but it is not the English people who make up the +Quarterly Reviews. It was not the voice of Mill or Cairnes that answered +first across the waters to the boom of Liberty's guns. When our blood +was hot and our hearts high, and sneers were ten thousand times harder +to bear than blows, we found sneers in plenty where we looked for +God-speed. It may not have been the English heart, only the English +head. But we could not get at the English heart, and the English head +was continually thrust against ours. The fires may have burned warmly on +many a hearth, but we could not see them. The only light that shot +athwart the waters was from the high watch-towers, and it was lurid. +This wrought a change. The English may take on airs in literature; for +our little leisure leaves us short repose, and it would be strange +indeed, if their civilization of centuries had not left its marks in a +finer culture and a deeper thought. But when, leaving literature and +coming down into the fastnesses of life, they gave us hatred for love, +and scorn for reverence,—when they sneered at that which we held +sacred, and reviled that which we counted honorable,—when, green-eyed +and gloating, they saw through their glasses not only darkly, but +disjointed and askance,—when devotion became to them fanaticism, and +love of liberty was lust of power,—did virtue go out of them, or had it +never been in? This, at least, was wrought: when one part of the temple +of our reverence was undermined, the whole structure came down. They who +showed themselves so morally weak cannot maintain even the intellectual +or æsthetic superiority which they have assumed. Henceforth their blame +or praise is not what it was hitherto. When a man rails at my country, +it is little that he rails at me. If they have called the master of the +house Beëlzebub, they of his household would as soon be called little +flies as anything else.</p> + +<p>(As a matter of fact, I don't suppose my little venture has ever been +heard of across the ocean. You think it is very presumptuous in me ever +to have thought of it; but I did not think of it. I was only afraid of +it. Suppose the British Quarterly has not vision microscopic enough to +discern you; you like to know how you would feel in a certain +contingency, even if it should never happen. Besides, so many strange +things arise every day, that incongruity seems to have lost its force. +Nothing surprises. Cause and effect are continually dissolving +partnership. Merit and reward do not hunt in couples. If the Tycoon +should send a deputation requesting me to come over at once and settle +matters between himself and his Daimios, I should simply tell him that I +had not the time, but I should not be surprised.)</p> + +<p>But if we only did reverence England as once we reverenced her, this is +what I would say:—"Upon my country do not visit my sins. Upon my +country's fame let me fasten no blot. Wherever I am wrong, inelegant, +inaccurate, provincial, visit all your reprobation upon me,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Me, me: adsum, qui feci; in me convertite ferrum,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Angli! mea fraus omnis,'—<br /></span> +</div></div><p><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102"></a></p> + +<p>upon me as a writer, not upon me as an American. Do not regard me as the +exponent of American culture, or as anywhere near the high-water mark of +American letters. I am not one of the select few, but of the promiscuous +many. Born and bred in a farm-yard, and pattering about among the hens +and geese and calves and lambs when other children were learning to talk +like gentlemen and scholars, what can you expect of me? It is a wonder +that I am as tolerable as I am. It is a sign of the greatness of my +country, that I, who, if I lived in England, should be scattering my +<i>h</i>-s in wild confusion, and asking whether Americans were black or +copper-colored, am able in this land of free schools and equal rights to +straighten out my verbs and keep my nouns intact. If you will see the +highest, look on the heights. If you look at me, look at me where I am: +not among those whose infancy was cradled in leisure and luxury, whose +life from the beginning has been carefully attuned to the finest issues, +who for purity of language and dignity of mental bearing may throw down +the gauntlet to the proudest nation in the world,—but among those +children of the soil who take its color, who share its qualities, who +give out its fragrance, who love it and lay their hearts to it and grow +with it, rocky and rugged, yet cherish, it may be hoped, its little +dimples of verdure here and there,—who show not what, with closest +cultivation, it might become, but what, under the broad skies and the +free winds and the common dews and showers, it is. Our conservatories +can boast hues as gorgeous, forms as stately, texture as fine as yours; +but don't look for camellias in a cornfield."</p> + +<p>Does this seem a little inconsistent with what I was saying just now to +my homemade critics? Very likely. But truth is many-sided, and one side +you may present at home and the other abroad, according to the +exigencies of the case. You may lecture your country in one breath, and +defend her in the next, without being inconsistent.</p> + +<p>Oh, England, England! what shall recompense us for our Lost Leader? +Great and Mighty One, from whose brow no hand but thine own could ever +have plucked the crown! Beautiful land, sacred with the ashes of our +sires, radiant with the victories of the past, brilliant with hopes for +the future,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O Love, I have loved you! O my soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have lost you!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Ah, if these two fatal years might be blotted out! If we could stand +once again where we stood on that October day when the young Prince, +whose gentle blood commanded our attention, and whose gentle ways won +our hearts, bore back to his mother-land and ours the benedictions of a +people! Upon that pale, that white-faced shore I shall one day look, but +woe is me for the bitter memories that will spring up for the love and +loyalty so ruthlessly rent away!</p> + +<p>So I borrow your ears, my countrymen, and tell you why it is impossible +to defer to you as much as one would like. Partly, it is because you +talk so wide of the mark. It may not be practicable or desirable to say +much; but so much the more ought what you do say to be to the point. A +good carpenter needs not to vindicate his skill by hammering away hour +after hour on the same shingle; but while he does strike, he hits the +nail on the head. Moreover, you show by your remarks that you have +such—such—well, <i>stupid</i> is what I mean, but I am afraid it would not +be polite to employ that word, so I merely give you the meaning, and +leave you to choose a word to your liking—ideas about the nature, the +facts, and the objects of writing. Look at it a moment. With your gray +goose-quill you sit, O Rhadamanthus, and to your waiting audience +pleasantly enough affirm that I have "taken Benlomond for my model." But +when I happen to remember that the larger part of my book was written +and printed not only before I had ever met Benlomond, but before he had +ever been heard of in this country at least, what faith can I have in +your sagacity? And when, remembering <a name="Page_103" id="Page_103"></a>those remarkable coincidences +which sometimes surprise and baffle us, which in science make Adams and +Le Verrier discover the same planet at the same time without knowing +anything of each other's calculations, and which in any department seem +to indicate that a great tide sweeps over humanity, bearing us on its +bosom whithersoever it will, so that</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">"God's puppets, best and worst,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are we; there is no last nor first,"—<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I institute an examination of Benlomond to discover those generic or +specific peculiarities which are supposed to have made their mark on me, +why, I find for resemblance, that the situations, look you, is both +alike. There is a river in Macedon; there is also, moreover, a river in +Monmouth: 'tis as like as my fingers to my fingers, and there is salmons +in both!</p> + +<p>Have I taken Benlomond for my model? But why not Josephus and Ricardo +and François and Michel, any and all who have poured their fancies and +feelings into this mould? Why select the last disciple and ignore the +first apostle? Many prophets have been in Israel whom I resemble as +much, to say the least, as this Benlomond. Is it not, my friend, that, +in the multitude of your words and ways, you have not found time to +renew your acquaintance with these ancient worthies, and so their +features have somewhat faded from your memory? but Benlomond came in but +yesterday, and because he is a newspaper-topic, him you know; and +because at the first blush you running can read that there is a river in +Monmouth and also a river in Macedon, and salmons in both,—'tis as like +as my fingers to my fingers, and Monmouth was built on the model of +Macedon! Ah, my eagle-eyes, Judea, too, had its Jordan, and Damascus its +Abana and Pharpar, and little Massachusetts its Merrimac, which,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"poet-tuned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Goes singing down his meadows."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But Judea did not type Damascus. The Merrimac bears not the sign of +Abana, nor was Abana born of Jordan: all, obedient to the word of the +Lord, trickled forth from their springs among the hills, and wander +down, one through his vine-land, one through his olive-groves, and one +to meet the roaring of the mill-wheel's rage.</p> + +<p>I lay no claim to originality. Uttering feebly, but only</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The thoughts that arise in me,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I know full well that the soil has been tilled and the seed scattered of +all that is worthy in the world. Where giants have wrestled, it is not +for pigmies to boast their prowess. Where the gods have trodden, let +mortals walk unsandalled. The lowliest of their learners, I sit at the +feet of the masters. To me, as to all the world, the great and the good +of the olden times have left their legacy, and the monarchs of to-day +have scattered blessing. Upon me, as upon all, have their grateful +showers descended. My brow have they crowned with their goodness, and on +my life have their paths dropped fatness. Dreaming under their vines and +fig-trees, I have gathered in my lap and garnered in my heart their +mellow fruits.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"With them I take delight in weal<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And seek relief in woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And while I understand and feel<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How much to them I owe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My cheeks have often been bedewed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With tears of heartfelt gratitude."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But, though with gladness and joy I render unto Cæsar the things that +are Cæsar's, he shall not have that which does not belong to him. +Neither Benlomond, nor any living man, nor any one man, living or dead, +has any claim to my fealty, be it worth much or little. If I cannot go +in to the banquet on Olympus by the bidding of the master of the feast, +I will forswear ambrosia altogether, and to the end of my days feed on +millet with the peasants in the Vale of Tempe.</p> + +<p>Then you sail on another tack, smile and shake your head and say, "It is +all very well, but it has not the element of immortality. Observe the +difference between <a name="Page_104" id="Page_104"></a>this writer and Charles Lamb. One is ginger-pop beer +that foams and froths and is gone, while the other is the sound Madeira +that will be better fifty years hence than now."</p> + +<p>Well, what of it? Do you mean to say, that, because a man has no +argosies sailing in from, the isles of Eden, freighted with the juices +of the tropics, he shall not brew hops in his own cellar? Because you +will have none but the vintages of dead centuries, shall not the people +delight their hearts with new wine? Because you are an epicure, shall +there be no more cakes and ale? Go to! It is a happy fate to be a poet's +Falernian, old and mellow, sealed in <i>amphoræ</i>, to be crowned with +linden-garlands and the late rose. But for all earth's acres there are +few Sabine farms, whither poet, sage, and statesman come to lose in the +murmur of Bandusian founts the din of faction and of strife; and even +there it is not always Cæcuban or Calenian, neither Formian nor +Falernian, but the <i>vile Sabinum</i> in common cups and wreathed with +simple myrtle, that bubbles up its welcome. So, since there must be +lighter draughts, or many a poor man go thirsty, we who are but the +ginger-pop of life may well rejoice, remembering that ginger-pop is +nourishing and tonic,—that thousands of weary wayfarers who could never +know the taste of the costly brands, and who go sadly and wearily, will +be fleeter of foot and gladder of soul because of its humble and +evanescent foam.</p> + +<p>Ginger-pop beer is it that you scoff? Verily, you do an unconsidered +deed. When one remembers all the liquids, medicinal, soporific, insipid, +poisonous, which flood the throat of humanity, one may deem himself a +favorite of Fortune to be placed so high in the catalogue. Though upon +his lowliness gleam down the rosy and purple lights of rare old wines +aloft, yet from his altitude he can look below upon a profane crowd in +thick array of depth immeasurable, and rejoice that he is not stagnant +water nor exasperated vinegar nor disappointed buttermilk. Nay, I am not +only content, but exultant. It may be an ignoble satisfaction, yet I +believe I would rather flash and fade in one moment of happy daylight +than be corked and cob-webbed for fifty years in the dungeons of an +unsunned cellar, with a remote possibility, indeed, of coming up from my +incarceration to moisten the lips of beauty or loosen the tongue of +eloquence, but with a far surer prospect of but adding one more to the +potations of the glutton and wine-bibber.</p> + +<p>And what, after all, is this oblivion which you flaunt so threateningly? +Even if I do encounter it, no misfortune will happen unto me but such as +is common unto men. Of all the souls of this generation, the number that +will sift through the meshes of the years is infinitesimately small. The +overwhelming majority of names will turn out to be chaff, and be blown +away. I shall be forgotten, but I shall be forgotten in very good +company. The greater part of my kin-folk and acquaintance, your own +self, my critic, and your family and friends, will go down in the same +darkness which ingulfs me. When I am dead, I shall be no deader than the +rest of you, and I shall have been a great deal more alive while I <i>was</i> +alive.</p> + +<p>I am not afraid to be forgotten. Posterity will have its own +soothsayers, and somewhere among the stars, I trust, I shall be living a +life so intense and complete that I shall never once think to lament +that I am not mulling on a bookshelf down here. Besides, if you insist +upon it, I am not going to be forgotten. You don't know anything more +about it than I do. Knowledge is not always prescience. "This will never +do," ruled Jeffrey from his judgment-seat. "Order reigns in Warsaw," +pronounced Sebastiani. "I have now gone through the Bible," chuckled Tom +Paine, "as a man would go through a wood with an axe on his shoulder, +and fell trees. Here they lie, and the priests, if they can, may replant +them. They may, perhaps, stick them in the ground, but they will never +make them grow." But Wordsworth to-day is <a name="Page_105" id="Page_105"></a>reverenced by the nation that +could barb no arrow sharp enough to shoot at him. The evening sky that +bends above Warsaw is red with the watch-fires of her old warfare +bursting anew from their smouldering ashes. And the oaks that doughty +Paine fancied himself to have levelled show not so much as a scratch +upon their sturdy trunks. Nay, I do not forget that even Charles Lamb +was fiercely belabored by his own generation. So, when upon me you pass +sentence of speedy death, I assure you that I shall live a thousand +years, and there is nobody in the world who can demonstrate that I am in +the wrong. Even if after a while I disappear, it proves nothing; you +cannot tell whether I am really submerged, or only lying in the trough +of the sea to mount the crest of the coming wave. Till the thousandth +year proves me moribund, I shall stoutly maintain that I am immortal.</p> + +<p>Concerning Charles Lamb the less you say the better. It is easy to build +up a reputation for sagacity by offering incense to the gods who are +already shrined. Of course there is a difference between us. A pretty +rout you would make, if there were not. But, for all your adoration of +Charles Lamb, I dare say he would have liked me a great deal better than +he would you. Would? Why should I intrench myself in hypothesis? <i>Does</i> +he not? When I knock at the door of the Inner Temple, does he not fling +it wide open, and does not his face welcome me? When the red fire glows +on the hearth, have I not sat far into the night, Bridget sitting beside +me with heaven's own light shining in her beautiful eyes, and above her +dear head the white gleam of guardian angels hovering tenderly? And when +Elia arches his brows, and lowers at me his storm-clouds, which I do not +mind for the sunshine that will not be hidden behind them,—when in the +sweet, play of June lights and shadows, and the golden haze of +Indian-summer, I forget even the kingly words that go ringing through +the land, waking the mountain-echo,—when I look out upon this gray +afternoon, and see no leaden skies, no pinched and sullen fields, but +green paths, gem-bestrewn from autumn's jewelled hand, and warm light +glinting through the apple-trees under which he stood that soft October +day, till</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Conscious seems the frozen sod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And beechen slope whereon he trod,"—<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>O Alexander, get out of my sunshine with your bugbear of a Charles Lamb! +"I have heard you for some time with patience. I have been cool,—quite +cool; but don't put me in a frenzy!"</p> + +<p>Well, friend, when you have satisfied yourself with the limiting, you +begin on the descriptive adjectives, and pronounce me egotistical. +Certainly. I should be unlike all others of my race, if I were not. It +is a wise and merciful arrangement of Providence, that every one is to +himself the centre of the universe. What a fatal world would this be, if +it were otherwise! When one thinks what a collection of insignificances +we are, how dispensable the most useful of us is to everybody, how +little there is in any of us to make any one care about us, and of how +small importance it is to others what becomes of us,—when one thinks +that even this round earth is so small, that, if it should fall into the +arms of the sun, the sun would just open his mouth and swallow it whole, +and nobody ever suspect it, (<i>vide</i> Tyndall on Heat,) one must see that +this self-love, self-care, and self-interest play a most important part +in the Divine Economy. If one did not keep himself afloat, he would +surely go under. As it is, no matter how disagreeable a person is, he +likes himself,—no matter how uninteresting, he is interested in +himself. Everybody, you, my critic, as well, likes to talk about +himself, if he can get other people to listen; and so long as I can get +several thousand people to listen to me, I shall keep talking, you may +be sure, and so would you,—and if you don't, it is only because you +can't! You are just as egotistical as I am, only you won't own it +frankly, as I do. True,<a name="Page_106" id="Page_106"></a> I might escape censure by using such +circumlocutions as "the writer," "the author," or still more cumbrously +by dressing out some lay figure, calling it Frederic or Frederika, and +then, like the Delphic priestesses, uttering my sentiments through its +mouth, for the space of a folio novel; but at bottom it would be my own +self all the while; and besides, in order to get at the thing I wanted +to say, I should have to detain you on a thousand things that I did not +care about, but which would be necessary as links, because, when you +have made a man or a woman, you must do, something with him. You can't +leave him standing, without any visible means of support. One person +writes a novel of four hundred pages to convince you in a roundabout +way, through thirty different characters, that a certain law, or the +mode of administering it, is unjust. He does not mention himself, but +makes his men and women speak his arguments. Another man writes a +treatise of forty pages and gives you his views out of his own mouth. +But he does not put himself into his treatise any more than the other +into his novel. For my part, I think the use of "I" is the shortest and +simplest way of launching one's opinions. Even a <i>we</i> bulges out into +twice the space that <i>I</i> requires, besides seeming to try to evade +responsibility. Better say "<i>I</i>" straight out,—"<i>I</i>," responsible for +my words here and elsewhere, as they used to say in Congress under the +old <i>régime</i>. Besides being the most brave, "I" is also the most modest. +It delivers your opinions to the world through a perfectly transparent +medium. "I" has no relations. It has no consciousness. It is a pure +abstraction. It detains you not a moment from the subject. "The writer" +does. It brings up ideas entirely detached from the theme, and is +therefore impertinent. All you are after is the thing that is thought. +It is not of the smallest consequence who thought it. You may be certain +that it is not always the people who use "I" the most freely who think +most about themselves; and if you are offended, consider whether it may +not be owing to a certain morbidness of your taste as much as to egotism +in the offender.</p> + +<p>Remember, also, that, when a writer talks of himself, he is not +necessarily speaking of his own definite John Smith-ship, that does the +marketing and pays the taxes and is a useful member of society. Not at +all. It is himself as one unit of the great sum of mankind. He means +himself, not as an isolated individual, but as a part of humanity. His +narration is pertinent, because it relates to the human family. He +brings forward a part of the common property. He does not touch that +which pertains exclusively to himself. His self is self-created. His +imaginative may have as large a share in the person as his descriptive +powers. You don't understand me precisely? Sorry for you.</p> + +<p>You think me arrogant. You would think so a great deal more, if you knew +me better. At heart I believe I incline very much to the opinion of a +charming friend of mine, that, "after all, nobody in the world is of +much account but Susy and me,"—only in my formula I leave out Susy. +Don't, therefore, think solely of the arrogance that is revealed, but +think also of the masses concealed, and in consideration of the greater +repression pardon the great expression. It is not the persons who sin +the least, but those who overcome the strongest temptations, who are the +most virtuous. People endowed by Nature with a sweet humility do not +deserve half the credit for their lovely character that those who are +naturally selfish and arrogant often deserve for being no more +disagreeable than they are. Yes, it must be confessed, you are right in +attributing arrogance,—though, after this meek confession and +repentance, if you do not forgive me freely and fully, for past and +future, your secondary will be a great deal worse than my original +sin;—but you never would accuse me of "an arrogance that disdains +docility," if you had seen the mean-spirited way in which I sit down by +the side of an editor <a name="Page_107" id="Page_107"></a>and let him <i>ram-page</i> over my manuscript. Out +fly my best thoughts, my finest figures, my sharpest epigrams,—without +chloroform,—and I give no sign. I have heard that successful authors +can always have everything their own way. I must be the greatest—or the +smallest—failure of the age.</p> + +<p>"It will be much better to omit this," says the High Inquisitor, turning +the thumb-screw.</p> + +<p>"No," I writhe. "Take everything else, but leave that."</p> + +<p>"I am glad to see that you agree with me," he responds, with +Mephistophelian courtesy; and away it goes, and I say nothing, thankful +that enough is left to hobble in at all.</p> + +<p>"Revealing somewhat of the arrogance of success," you comment, directed +by your Evil Genius, upon that especial chapter which was written in a +gully of the Valley of Humiliation, when I was gasping under an Ætna of +rejected manuscripts,—when there was not a respectable newspaper in the +country by which I had not been "declined with thanks,"—when, in the +desperation of my determination, I had recourse to bribery, and sent an +editor a dollar with the manuscript, to pay him for the fifteen minutes +it would take to read it. (<i>Mem.</i> I never heard from editor, manuscript, +or dollar.) No, it may be arrogance, but it is not the arrogance of +success. Whatever it was, it was in the grain. And, to look at it in +another light, I cannot have been "spoiled by the indulgent praise which +my early efforts received," because, on the other hand, I have always +been praised,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Like to the Pontic monarch of old days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I fed on poisons, till they had no power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But were a kind of nutriment."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The earliest event I remember is being presented with two cents by one +of the "Committee" visiting the school. And if I could stand two cents +in my tender infancy, don't you suppose I can stand your penny-a-lining +now I am grown up? I may have been spoiled, or I may not have been worth +much to begin with; but the mischief was all done before you ever heard +of me. Confine yourself to facts: dismiss conjectures. State actions: +shun motives. Give results: avoid causes, if you would insure confidence +in your sagacity.</p> + +<p>But all this will I forgive and forget, if you will not tell me to stop +writing. <i>That</i> I cannot and will not do. You may iterate and reiterate, +that the public will tire of me. I am sorry for the public, but it is +strong and will be easily rested. Sorry? No, I am not; I am glad. I +should like to pay back a part of the weariness which the public has +inflicted on me in the shape of lectures, lessons, sermons, speeches, +customs, fashions. Why should it have the monopoly of fatiguing? +Minorities have their rights as well as majorities. The spout of a +tea-kettle is not to be compared, in point of bulk, to the tea-kettle, +but it puts in a claim for an equal depth of water, and Nature +acknowledges the claim. I cannot think of reining in yet. I have but +just begun. And everything is so interesting. Nothing is isolated. +Nothing is insignificant. Everything you touch thrills. It does not seem +to matter much what you look at: only look long enough, and a life, its +life, starts out. You see that it has causes and consequences, +dependencies, bearings, and all manner of social interests; and before +you know it, you have become involved in those interests and are one of +the family. For the time, you stake all on that issue, and fight to the +death. As soon as that is decided, and you stop to take breath a moment, +something else comes equally interesting and seeming equally important, +and again your lance is in rest. When it comes to the <i>quantities</i> of +morals, there isn't much difference between one thing and another. And +you ask me to fold my hands and sit still! Not I. One of my youthful +maxims was, "Do something, if it's mischief"; and I intend to follow it, +especially the condition. I promise to do the best I can, but I shall do +it. I will never write for the sake of writing, but I will say my <a name="Page_108" id="Page_108"></a>say. +I have not been rumbling underground all my life, to find a volcano at +last, and then let it be choked up after a single eruption. There are +rows of blocks standing around the walls of my workshop, waiting to be +chiselled. They won't be Apollos,—but even Puck is a Robin Goodfellow, +since,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"In one night, ere glimpse of morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That ten day-laborers could not end."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And I shall not confine myself to my sphere. I hate my sphere. I like +everything that is outside of it,—or, better still, my sphere rounds +out infinitely into space. <i>Nihil humani a me alienum puto.</i> I was born +into the whole world. I am monarch of all I survey. Wherever I see +symptoms of a pie, thither shall my fingers travel. Wherever a windmill +flaps, it shall go hard but I will have a tilt at it. I shall not wait +till I know what I am talking about. If I did, I never should talk at +all. It is a well-known principle in educational science, that the +surest way to learn anything is to teach it. How fast would Geology get +on, if its professors talked only of what they knew? Planting their feet +firmly on facts, they feel about in all directions for theories. By +carefully noting, publishing, comparing, discussing their uncertainties, +they presently arrive at a certainty. Horace might advocate nine years' +delay. He was building for himself a monument that should defy the +rolling years. He was setting to work in cool blood to compass +immortality, and a little time, more or less, made no difference. Apollo +and Bacchus could afford to wait. Beautiful daughters of beautiful +mothers will exist to the world's end, and their praises will always be +in order. But when, unmindful of the next generation, which will have +its books and its memories, though you are unread and forgotten, mindful +only of this generation which groans and travails in pain, you look on +suffering that you yearn to assuage, danger of which you long to warn, +sadness which you would fain dispel, burdens which you would strive, +though ever so little, to lighten, delay, even for things so desirable +as complete knowledge and perfect polish, becomes not only absurd, but +impossible. Better shoot into the cavern, even if you don't know in what +precise part of it the dragon lies coiled. The flash of your powder may +reveal his whereabouts to a surer marksman. A transient immortality is +of no importance; it is of importance that hearts be purified, homes +made happy, paths cleared, clouds dispelled. Is that ignoble? Very well. +But the noblest way to benefit posterity is to serve the present +age,—to serve it by doing one's best, indeed, but by doing it now, not +waiting for some distant day when one can do it better. A writer +deserves no pardon for careless or hurried writing. As much time as he +has mental ability to spend on it, so much time he should devote to it. +But then speed it on its way. Shut it up for a term of years, and you +will perhaps have a manuscript that says <i>begin</i> where it used to say +<i>commence</i>, but in the mean time all the people whom you wished to save +have died of a broken heart,—or lived with one, which is still worse. +Besides, even for improvement, it is better to publish your paper than +to keep it in the drawer. There, all the amendments it can receive will +come from the few feeble advances in knowledge which you may be so +fortunate as to make. But print it and every one immediately gives you +especial attention and the benefit of his judgment. If you should happen +to serve in the right wing of Orthodoxy, you will have the inestimable +boon of the freest criticism from the left wing. And it is the religious +newspapers for not mincing matters. Between Jew and Gentile hostility is +the normal condition of things; and is carried on peaceably enough; but +when Jew meets Jew, then comes the tug of war! These people obey to the +letter the Apostolic injunction, and confess your faults one to another +with a relish that is marvellous to behold, and which must furnish to +the unbelieving world a lively commentary on the old text, "Behold how +these<a name="Page_109" id="Page_109"></a> Christians love one another!" When their own list of your +shortcomings is exhausted, ten to one they will take up the parable of +somebody else; and if little Johnny Horner sitting in the corner of his +sanctum has not room in his crowded columns for the whole pie in which +his brother Horner has served you up, never fear but he will put in his +thumb and pick out the plums to enliven his feast withal.</p> + +<p>No. I shall keep on writing,—hit, if I can, miss, if I must, but shoot +any way. There is a great deal of firing that kills no men and breaches +no walls, but it worries the enemy. John Brown did not in the least know +what he was doing. His definite attempt was a fatal failure; but the +great and guilty conspiracy behind, of which he saw nothing, was smitten +to the heart under his random blows; his sixteen white men and five +negroes, flung blindly and recklessly against the ramparts of Slavery, +were but the precursors of that great host, black and white, which has +since gone down, organized and intelligent, to tread the wine-press of +the wrath of God.</p> + +<p>I fear I am committing the rhetorical error of comparing small things +with great; but, if Virgil could bring in the Cyclops and their +thunderbolts to illustrate his bees, and Demetrius Phalereus justify it, +you will hardly count it a capital offence in me,—and I don't much care +if you do, if I can only convince you that I am not going to be silent +because I don't know the Alpha and Omega of things. I don't pretend to +be logical, or consistent, or coherent. Nature is not. A forest of oaks +burns down or is cut down, and do oaks spring again? No. Pines. Logic, +is baffled, but the land is bettered. A field of corn is planted, and +Nature does not set herself to protect it, but sends a flock of crows to +devour it; the farmers grumble, but the crows are saved alive. Freezing +water contracts awhile, and then without any provocation turns right +about face and expands; if your pitcher stands in the way, so much the +worse for your pitcher, but the little fishes are grateful; and with all +her whims and inconsequences, Nature gets on from year to year without +once failing of seed-time and harvest, cold or heat. How is it with you +and your logic, you men who have been to college and discovered what you +are talking about? You who discuss politics and decide affairs, are you +not continually accusing each other of sophistry, inconsistency, and +shying away from the point? Take up any political or religious +newspaper, and see, if any faith is to be put in testimony, how +deficient in logic are all these logic-mongers,—how all the learned and +logical are accused by other learned and logical of false assumptions, +of invalid reasoning, of foregone conclusions, of pride and prejudice +and passion. One would say that the result of your profound researches +was only to make you more intensely illogical than you could otherwise +be.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"As skilful divers to the bottom fall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swifter than they who cannot swim at all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So in the sea of sophisms, to my thinking.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You have a strange alacrity in sinking."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>(<i>Ego et Dorset fecimus!</i>)</p> + +<p>Sure I am my humble ability in the way of unreason can never compass +fallacies so stupendous as those which you attribute to each other; and +if this is all the result of your logic, I will none of it, initialed to +possess at least the advantage, that, when I write nonsense, I know it +is nonsense, while you write it and think it sense. But your thinking so +does not make it so, and you need not rule me out of court on the +strength of it. I acknowledge, in the domain of letters, none but +Squatter Sovereignty. In literature, unlike morals, might makes right. +If I think you are cultivating the soil to its utmost capacity, I shall +not meddle; but if it seems to me that you are letting it lie fallow +while I can draw a furrow to some purpose, you need not warn me off with +your old title-deeds; in my ploughshare shall drive. To a better farmer +I will yield right gladly, but I will not be scared away by a +sign-board.</p><p><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110"></a></p> + +<p>Nor need you go very far out of your way to affirm that I have not the +requisite experience for writing on such and such topics. As a principle +your remark is absurd. Cannot a doctor prescribe for typhus fever, +unless he has had typhus fever himself? On the contrary, is he not the +better able to prescribe from always having had a sound mind in a sound +body? As a fact, my experience in those things concerning which you +allege its insufficiency has never been presented to you for judgment, +and its discussion is therefore entirely irrelevant. If my statements +are false, they are false; if my arguments are inconclusive, they are +inconclusive: disprove the one and refute the other. But whether this +state of things be owing to a want of experience, or inability to use +experience aright, or any personal circumstance whatever, is a matter in +regard to which all the laws of literary courtesy forbid you to concern +yourself.</p> + +<p>And pray, Gentle Critic, do not tell me that I must be content simply to +amuse, or <i>must</i>—anything else. Must is a hard word; be not +over-confident of its power. I feel a grandmotherly interest in the +world and its ways; and much as I should like to amuse it, I shall never +be content with that. You may not <i>like</i> to be instructed, my dear +children, but instructed you shall be. You read long ago, in your +story-book, that little Tommy Piper didn't want his face washed, though +he was very willing to be amused with soap-bubbles; but his face needed +washing and got it. I come to you with soap-bubbles indeed, but with +scrubbing-brushes also. If you take to them kindly, it will soon be +over; but if you scream and struggle, I shall not only scrub the harder, +but be all the longer about it.</p> + +<p>Sometimes your grave refutations are very amusing. It is astonishing to +see how crank-proof sundry minds are. Everything seems to them on a dead +level of categorical proposition. They walk up to every statue with +their measuring-line of <i>Barbara, Celarent, Darii, Ferioque Prioris</i>, +and measure them off with equal solemnity, telling you severely that +this nose is far longer than the classic rule admits, and this arm has +not the swelling proportions of life,—never seeing, that, though +another statue was indeed designed for an Antinoüs, this was never meant +to be anything but a broomstick dressed in your grandfather's cloak, +with a lantern in a pumpkin for a head. Oh, the dreariness of having to +explain pleasantry! of appending to your banter Artemas Ward's +parenthesis, "This is a goak"! of dealing with people who do not know +the difference between a blow and a "love-pat," between Quaker guns and +an Armstrong battery, between a granite paving-stone and the moonshine +on a mud-puddle!</p> + +<p>Dear Public, don't begin to be tired yet. I am not. There are many books +still to come, if they can ever be brought to light. They were ready +long ago, but no publisher could be found; and now that I have found a +publisher, I cannot find the books. There is a treatise on the Curvature +of the Square,—a Dissertation on Foreign Literature,—two or three +novels,—a book on Human Life, that is going to turn the world upside +down,—a book on Theology, dull enough to be sensible, that is going to +turn it back again,—and a bandboxful of children's stories. Still, in +spite of this formidable prospect, take the consolation that an end is +sure to come. There is not a particle of reserved force or dormant power +or anything of the kind for you to dread. All there is of me is awake. I +have struck twelve, and at longest it will be but a little while before +I shall run down,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And silence like a poultice come<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To heal the blows of sound."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And does not the exquisite sensation of departed pain almost atone for +the discomfort of its presence? How heartily, for your sake, would I be +the most profound and able writer in the world, and how gladly should +all my profundity and ability be laid at your feet! And since</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"the good but wished with God is done,"<br /></span> +</div></div><p><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111"></a></p> + +<p>can you not find it in your heart to "yearn o'er my little good and +pardon <i>my</i> much ill"?</p> + +<p>Public, you must, whether you can or not. It is a case of life and +death. I am good for nothing but writing; and if you take that resource +away,—you know what the book says about mischief and Satan and idle +hands! and you certainly will take it away, if you do not speak +peaceably unto me. All that I said before was only bravado,—just to +keep a bold front to the foe. I can confide to you under the rose, that, +though without are fightings, within are fears. Pope, was it, who used +to look around upon the missives hurled at him, and say, "These are my +amusement"? But they are not mine. I want you to <i>like</i> me and be +good-natured. It is not that you must always agree with opinions, or not +take exception to what is exceptionable; it is only that you shall not +say things in a sour, cross, disagreeable way. Impale the bait on your +arming-wire, but handle it as if you loved it. Talk thunderbolts, if +necessary, but don't "make faces." The soft south-wind is very, +charming; the northwest-wind, though sharp, is bracing and healthful; +but your raw east-winds,—oh! chain them in the caverns of Æolia, the +country of storms.</p> + +<p>Bear with me a little longer in my folly; and, indeed, bear with me, you +who are strong, for the sake of the weak. Many and many there may be to +whom the meat of your metaphysics is indigestible and unpalatable, but +who find strength and cheer in the sincere milk of such words as I can +give. To you who have already set your feet on the high places, that may +be but a bruised reed which is a staff to those who are still struggling +up. Do you go on churning the cream of thought, and salting down its +butter for future ages; I will spread it on thin for the weak digestions +of this. Let scarfs, garters, gold amuse your riper stage, and beads and +prayer-books be the toys of age, but wax not over-wroth, when you behold +the child, by Nature's kindly law, pleased with a rattle!</p> + +<p>And after all, Dear Public, it is partly your own fault that I venture +to make still further draughts upon your patience. Though I have trimmed +my sails to opposing rather than to favoring gales, it is not because +the latter have been wanting. But a pin that pricks your finger attracts +to itself far more attention for the time than the thousand influences +that wrap you about only to soothe and delight. The reception that has +been harsh and unfriendly bears no manner of proportion to that which +has been genial and generous. So where you have given me an inch I take +an ell, and commission this bright morning—shine to bear to you my +thanks. For every kind word, whether it have come to me through the +highways or the by-ways, from far or near, from known or unknown, I pray +you receive my grateful acknowledgment. And do not fail to remember, +that he, who, even though self-impelled, goes out from the shelter of +his selfhood into the presence of the great congregation, incurs a Loss +which no praise can make good, encounters a Fate against which no +appreciation is a shield, invokes a Shadow in which the <i>mens conscia +recti</i> is the only resource, and the knowledge of shadows dispelled the +only consolation.</p><p><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_MINISTER_PLENIPOTENTIARY" id="THE_MINISTER_PLENIPOTENTIARY"></a>THE MINISTER PLENIPOTENTIARY.</h2> + + +<p>Mr. Henry Ward Beecher went to Great Britain already well known at home +as the favorite preacher of a large parish, an ardent advocate of +certain leading reforms, one of the most popular lecturers of the +country, a bold, outspoken, fertile, ready, crowd-compelling orator, +whose reported sermons and speeches were fuller of catholic humanity +than of theological subtilties, and whose sympathies were of that lively +sort which are apt to leap the sectarian fold and find good Christians +in every denomination. He was welcomed by friendly persons on the other +side of the Atlantic, partly for these merits, partly also as "the son +of the celebrated Dr. Beecher" and "the brother of Mrs. Beecher Stowe."</p> + +<p>After a few months' absence he returns to America, having finished a +more remarkable embassy than any envoy who has represented us in Europe +since Franklin pleaded the cause of the young Republic at the Court of +Versailles. He kissed no royal hand, he talked with no courtly +diplomatists, he was the guest of no titled legislator, he had no +official existence. But through the heart of the people he reached +nobles, ministers, courtiers, the throne itself. He whom the "Times" +attacks, he whom "Punch" caricatures, is a power in the land. We may be +very sure, that, if an American is the aim of their pensioned garroters +and hired vitriol-throwers, he is an object of fear as well as of +hatred, and that the assault proves his ability as well as his love of +freedom and zeal for the nation to which he belongs.</p> + +<p>Mr. Beecher's European story is a short one in time, but a long one in +events. He went out a lamb, a tired clergyman in need of travel; and as +such he did not strive nor cry, nor did any man hear his voice in the +streets. But in the den of lions where his pathway led him he remembered +hid own lion's nature, and uttered his voice to such effect that its +echoes in the great vaulted caverns of London and Liverpool are still +reaching us, as the sound of the woodman's axe is heard long after the +stroke is seen, as the light of the star shines upon us many days after +its departure from the source of radiance.</p> + +<p>Mr. Beecher made a single speech in Great Britain, but it was delivered +piecemeal in different places. Its exordium was uttered on the ninth of +October at Manchester, and its peroration was pronounced on the +twentieth of the same month in Exeter Hall. He has himself furnished us +an analysis of the train of representations and arguments of which this +protracted and many-jointed oration was made up. At Manchester he +attempted to give a history of that series of political movements, +extending through half a century, the logical and inevitable end of +which was open conflict between the two opposing forces of Freedom and +Slavery. At Glasgow his discourse seems to have been almost +unpremeditated. A meeting of one or two Temperance advocates, who had +come to greet him as a brother in their cause, took on, "quite +accidentally," a political character, and Mr. Beecher gratified the +assembly with an address which really looks as if it had been in great +measure called forth by the pressure of the moment. It seems more like a +conversation than a set harangue. First, he very good-humoredly defines +his position on the Temperance question, and then naturally slides into +some self-revelations, which we who know him accept as the simple +expression of the man's character. This plain speaking made him at home +among strangers more immediately, perhaps, than anything else he could +have told them. "I am born without moral fear. I have expressed my views +in any audience, and it never cost me a struggle. I never could help +doing it."</p><p><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113"></a></p> + +<p>The way a man handles his egoisms is a test of his mastery over an +audience or a class of readers. What we want to know about the person +who is to counsel or lead us is just what he is, and nobody can tell us +so well as himself. Every real master of speaking or writing uses his +personality as he would any other serviceable material; the very moment +a speaker or writer begins to use it, not for his main purpose, but for +vanity's sake, as all weak people are sure to do, hearers and readers +feel the difference in a moment. Mr. Beecher is a strong, healthy man, +in mind and body. His nerves have never been corrugated with alcohol; +his thinking-marrow is not brown with tobacco-fumes, like a meerschaum, +as are the brains of so many unfortunate Americans; he is the same +lusty, warm-blooded, strong-fibred, brave-hearted, bright-souled, +clear-eyed creature that he was when the college boys at Amherst +acknowledged him as the chiefest among their football-kickers. He has +the simple frankness of a man who feels himself to be perfectly sound in +bodily, mental, and moral structure; and his self-revelation is a +thousand times nobler than the assumed impersonality which is a common +trick with cunning speakers who never forget their own interests. Thus +it is, that, wherever Mr. Beecher goes, everybody feels, after he has +addressed them once or twice, that they know him well, almost as if they +had always known him; and there is not a man in the land who has such a +multitude that look upon him as if he were their brother.</p> + +<p>Having magnetized his Glasgow audience, he continued the subject already +opened at Manchester by showing, in the midst of that great toiling +population, the deadly influence exerted by Slavery in bringing labor +into contempt, and its ruinous consequences to the free working-man +everywhere. In Edinburgh he explained how the Nation grew up out of +separate States, each jealous of its special sovereignty; how the +struggle for the control of the united Nation, after leaving it for a +long time in the hands of the South, to be used in favor of Slavery, at +length gave it into those of the North, whose influence was to be for +Freedom; and that for this reason the South, when it could no longer +rule the Nation, rebelled against it. In Liverpool, the centre of vast +commercial and manufacturing interests, he showed how those interests +are injured by Slavery,—"that this attempt to cover the fairest portion +of the earth with a slave-population that buys nothing, and a degraded +white population that buys next to nothing, should array against it the +sympathy of every true political economist and every thoughtful and +far-seeing manufacturer, as tending to strike at the vital want of +commerce,—not the want of cotton, but the want of customers."</p> + +<p>In his great closing effort at Exeter Hall in London, Mr. Beecher began +by disclaiming the honor of having been a pioneer in the anti-slavery +movement, which he found in progress at his entry upon public life, when +he "fell into the ranks, and fought as well as he knew how, in the ranks +or in command." He unfolded before his audience the plan and connection +of his previous addresses, showing how they were related to each other +as parts of a consecutive series. He had endeavored, he told them, to +enlist the judgment, the conscience, the interests of the British people +against the attempt to spread Slavery over the continent, and the +rebellion it has kindled. He had shown that Slavery was the only cause +of the war, that sympathy with the South was only aiding the building up +of a slave-empire, that the North was contending for its own existence +and that of popular institutions.</p> + +<p>Mr. Beecher then asked his audience to look at the question with him +from the American point of view. He showed how the conflict began as a +moral question; the sensitiveness of the South; the tenderness for them +on the part of many Northern apologizers, with whom he himself had never +stood. He pointed out how the question gradually emerged in <a name="Page_114" id="Page_114"></a>politics; +the encroachments of the South, until they reached the Judiciary itself; +he repeated to them the admissions of Mr. Stephens as to the +preponderating influence the South had all along held in the Government. +An interruption obliged him to explain that adjustment of our State and +National governments which Englishmen seem to find so hard to +understand. Nothing shows his peculiar powers to more advantage than +just such interruptions. Then he displays his felicitous facility of +illustration, his familiar way of bringing a great question to the test +of some parallel fact that everybody before him knows. An American +state-question looks as mysterious to an English audience as an ear of +Indian corn wrapt in its sheath to an English wheat-grower. Mr. Beecher +husks it for them as only an American born and bred can do. He wants a +few sharp questions to rouse his quick spirit. He could almost afford to +carry with him his <i>picadores</i> to sting him with sarcasms, his <i>chulos</i> +to flap their inflammatory epithets in his face, and his <i>banderilleros</i> +to stab him with their fiery insults into a <i>plaza de toros</i>,—an +audience of John Bulls.</p> + +<p>Having cleared up this matter so that our comatose cousins understood +the relations of the dough and the apple in our national dumpling,—to +borrow one of their royal reminiscences,—having eulogized the fidelity +of the North to the national compact, he referred to the action of "that +most true, honest, just, and conscientious magistrate, Mr. Lincoln,"—at +the mention of whose name the audience cheered as long and loud as if +they had descended from the ancient Ephesians.</p> + +<p>Mr. Beecher went on to show how the North could not help fighting when +it was attacked, and to give the reasons that made it necessary to +fight,—reasons which none but a consistent Friend or avowed +non-resistant can pretend to dispute: His ordinary style in speaking is +pointed, <i>staccatoed</i>, as is that of most successful extemporaneous +speakers; he is "short-gaited"; the movement of his thoughts is that of +the chopping sea, rather than the long, rolling, rhythmical +wave-procession of phrase-balancing rhetoricians. But when the lance has +pricked him deep enough, when the red flag has flashed in his face often +enough, when the fireworks have hissed and sputtered around him long +enough, when the cheers have warmed him so that all his life is roused, +then his intellectual sparkle becomes a steady glow, and his nimble +sentences change their form, and become long-drawn, stately periods.</p> + +<p>"Standing by my cradle, standing by my hearth, standing by the altar of +the church, standing by all the places that mark the name and memory of +heroic men who poured their blood and lives for principle, I declare +that in ten or twenty years of war we will sacrifice everything we have +for principle. If the love of popular liberty is dead in Great Britain, +you will not understand us; but if the love of liberty lives as it once +lived, and has worthy successors of those renowned men that were our +ancestors as much as yours, and whose example and principles we inherit +to make fruitful as so much seed-corn in a new and fertile land, then +you will understand our firm, invincible determination—deep as the sea, +firm as the mountains, but calm as the heavens above us—to fight this +war through at all hazards and at every cost."</p> + +<p>When have Englishmen listened to nobler words, fuller of the true soul +of eloquence? Never, surely, since their nation entered the abdominous +period of its existence, recognized in all its ideal portraits, for +which food and sleep are the prime conditions of well-being. Yet the old +instinct which has made the name of Englishman glorious in the past was +there, in the audience before him, and there was "immense cheering," +relieved by some slight colubrine demonstrations.</p> + +<p>Mr. Beecher openly accused certain "important organs" of deliberately +darkening the truth and falsifying the facts. The audience thereupon +gave three groans for a paper called the "Times,"<a name="Page_115" id="Page_115"></a> once respectably +edited, now deservedly held as cheap as an epigram of Mr. Carlyle's or a +promise to pay dated at Richmond. He showed the monstrous absurdity of +England's attacking us for fighting, and for fighting to uphold a +principle. "On what shore has not the prow of your ships dashed? What +land is there with a name and a people where your banner has not led +your soldiers? And when the great resurrection-<i>reveille</i> shall sound, +it will muster British soldiers from every clime and people under the +whole heaven. Ah! but it is said this is war against your own blood. How +long is it since you poured soldiers into Canada, and let all your yards +work day and night to avenge the taking of two men out of the Trent?" +How ignominious the pretended humanity of England looked in the light of +these questions! And even while Mr. Beecher was speaking, a lurid glow +was crimsoning the waters of the Pacific from the flames of a great +burning city, set on fire by British ships to avenge a crime committed +by some remote inhabitant of the same country,—an act of wholesale +barbarity unapproached by any deed which can be laid to the charge of +the American Union in the course of this long, exasperating conflict!</p> + +<p>Mr. Beecher explained that the people who sympathized with the South +were those whose voices reached America, while the friends of the North +were little heard. The first had bows and arrows; the second have +shafts, but no bows to launch them.</p> + +<p>"How about the Russians?"</p> + +<p>Everybody remembers how neatly Mr. Beecher caught this envenomed dart, +and, turning it end for end, drove it through his antagonist's shield of +triple bull's-hide. "Now you know what we felt when you were flirting +with Mr. Mason at your Lord Mayor's banquet." A cleaner and straighter +"counter" than that, if we may change the image to one his audience +would appreciate better, is hardly to be found in the records of British +pugilism.</p> + +<p>The orator concluded by a rather sanguine statement of his change of +opinion as to British sentiment, of the assurance he should carry back +of the enthusiasm for the cause of the North, and by an exhortation to +unity of action with those who share their civilization and religion, +for the furtherance of the gospel and the happiness of mankind.</p> + +<p>The audience cheered again, Professor Newman moved a warm vote of +thanks, and the meeting dissolved, wiser and better, we hope, for the +truths which had been so boldly declared before them.</p> + +<p>What is the net result, so far as we can see, of Mr. Beecher's voluntary +embassy? So far as he is concerned, it has been to lift him from the +position of one of the most popular preachers and lecturers, to that of +one of the most popular men in the country. Those who hate his +philanthropy admire his courage. Those who disagree with him in theology +recognize him as having a claim to the title of Apostle quite as good as +that of John Eliot, whom Christian England sent to heathen America two +centuries ago, and who, in spite of the singularly stupid questionings +of the natives, and the violent opposition of the sachems and powwows, +or priests, succeeded in reclaiming large numbers of the copper-colored +aborigines.</p> + +<p>The change of opinion wrought by Mr. Beecher in England is far less easy +to estimate; indeed, we shall never have the means of determining what +it may have been. The organs of opinion which have been against us will +continue their assaults, and those which have been our friends will +continue to defend us. The public men who have committed themselves will +be consistent in the right or in the wrong, as they may have chosen at +first. To know what Mr. Beecher has effected, we must not go to Exeter +Hall and follow its enthusiastic audience as they are swayed hither and +thither by his arguments and appeals; we must not count the crowd of +admiring friends and sympathizers whom he, like all personages of note, +draws around him: the fire-fly <a name="Page_116" id="Page_116"></a>calls other fire-flies about him, but +the great community of beetles goes blundering round in the dark as +before. Mr. Cobden has given us the test in a letter quoted by Mr. +Beecher in the course of his speech at the Brooklyn Academy. "You will +carry back," he says, "an intimate acquaintance with a state of feeling +in this country among what, for [want of] a better name, I call the +ruling class. Their sympathy is undoubtedly strongly for the South, with +the instinctive satisfaction at the prospect of the disruption of the +great Republic. It is natural enough." "But," he says, "our masses have +an instinctive feeling that their cause is bound up in the prosperity of +the States,—the United States. It is true that they have not a particle +of power in the direct form of a vote; but when millions in this country +are led by the religious middle class, they can go and prevent the +governing class from pursuing a policy hostile to their sympathies."</p> + +<p>This power of the non-voting classes is an idea that gives us pause. It +is one of those suggestions, like Lord Brougham's of the "unknown +public," which, in a single phrase, and a sentence or two of +explanation, tell a whole history. This is the class John Bunyan wrote +for before the bishops had his Allegory in presentable calf and +gold-leaf,—before England knew that her poor tinker had shaped a +pictured urn for her full of such visions as no dreamer had seen since +Dante. This is the class that believes in John Bright and Richard Cobden +and all the defenders of true American principles. It absorbs +intelligence as melting ice renders heat latent; there is no living +power directly generated with which we can move pistons and wheels, but +the first step in the production of steam-force is to make the ice +fluid. No intellectual thermometer can reveal to us how much ignorance +or prejudice has melted away in the fire of Mr. Beecher's passionate +eloquence, but by-and-by this will tell as a working-force. The +non-voter's conscience will reach the Privy Council, and the hand of the +ignorant, but Christianized laborer trace its own purpose in the letters +of the royal signature.</p> + +<p>We are living in a period, not of events only, but of epochs. We are in +the transition-stage from the miocene to the pliocene period of human +existence. A new heaven is forming over our head behind the curtain of +clouds which rises from our smoking battle-fields. A new earth is +shaping itself under our feet amidst the tremors and convulsions that +agitate the soil upon which we tread. But there is no such thing as a +surprise in the order of Nature. The kingdom of God, even, cometh not +with observation.</p> + +<p>The visit of an overworked clergyman to Europe is not in appearance an +event of momentous interest to the world. The fact that he delivered a +few speeches before British audiences might seem to merit notice in a +local paper or two, but is of very little consequence, one would say, to +the British nation, compared to the fact that Her Majesty took an airing +last Wednesday, or of much significance to Americans, by the side of the +fact that his Excellency, Governor Seymour, had written a letter +recommending the Union Fire Company always to play on the wood-shed when +the house is in flames.</p> + +<p>But, in point of fact, this unofficial visit of a private citizen—in +connection with these addresses delivered to miscellaneous crowds by an +envoy not extraordinary and a minister nullipotentiary, for all that his +credentials showed—was an event of national importance. It was much +more than this; it was the beginning of a new order of things in the +relations of nations to each other. It is but a little while since any +graceless woman who helped a crowned profligate to break the +commandments could light a national quarrel with the taper that sealed +her <i>billets-doux</i> to his equerries and grooms, and kindle it to a war +with the fan that was supposed to hide her blushes. More and more, by +virtue of advancing civilization and easy intercourse between distant +lands, the average common sense and intelligence of the people begin to +reach from nation to nation. Mr. Beecher's <a name="Page_117" id="Page_117"></a>visit is the most notable +expression of this movement of national life. It marks the <i>nisus +formativus</i> which begins the organization of that unwritten and only +half spoken public opinion recognized by Mr. Cobden as a great +underlying force even in England. It needs a little republican +pollen-dust to cause the evolution of its else barren germs. The fruit +of Mr. Beecher's visit will ripen in due time, not only in direct +results, but in opening the way to future moral embassies, going forth +unheralded, unsanctioned by State documents, in the simple strength of +Christian manhood, on their errands of truth and peace.</p> + +<p>The Devil had got the start of the clergyman, as he very often does, +after all. The wretches who have been for three years pouring their +leperous distilment into the ears of Great Britain had preoccupied the +ground, and were determined to silence the minister, if they could. For +this purpose they looked to the heathen populace of the nominally +Christian British cities. They covered the walls with blood-red +placards, they stimulated the mob by inflammatory appeals, they filled +the air with threats of riot and murder. It was in the midst of scenes +like these that the single, solitary American opened his lips to speak +in behalf of his country.</p> + +<p>The danger is now over, and we find it hard to make real to our +imagination the terrors of a mob such as swarms out of the dens of +Liverpool and London. We know well enough in this country what Irish +mobs are: the Old Country exports them to us in pieces, ready to put +together on arriving, as we send houses to California. Ireland is the +country of shillalahs and broken crowns, of Donnybrook fairs, where men +with whiskey in their heads settle their feuds or work off their +sprightliness with the arms of Nature, sometimes aided by the least +dangerous of weapons. But England is the land of prize-fights, of +scientific brutality, which has flourished under the patronage of her +hereditary legislators and other "Corinthian" supporters. The pugilistic +dynasty came in with the House of Brunswick, and has held divided empire +with it ever since. The Briton who claims Chatham's language as his +mother-tongue may appropriate the dialect of the ring as far more truly +indigenous than the German-French of his every-day discourse. Of the +three Burkes whose names are historical, the orator is known to but a +few hundred thousands. The prize-fighter, with his interesting personal +infirmity, is the common property of the millions, and would have headed +the list in celebrity, but for that other of the name who added a new +invention to the arts of industry and enriched the English language with +a term which bids fair to outlive the reputation of his illustrious +namesake. Around the professors and heroes of the art of personal +violence are collected the practitioners of various callings less +dignified by the manly qualities they demand. The Gangs of Three that +waylay the solitary pedestrian,—the Choker in the middle, next the +victim who is to be strangled and cleaned out,—the larger guilds of +Hustlers who bonnet a man and beat his breath out of him and empty his +pockets before he knows what is the matter with him,—the Burglars, with +their "jimmies" in their pockets,—the fighting robbers, with their +brass knuckles,—the whole set in a vast thief-constituency, thick as +rats in sewers,—these were the disputants whom the emissaries of the +Slave Power called upon to refute the arguments of the Brooklyn +clergyman.</p> + +<p>It was not pleasant to move in streets where such human rattlesnakes and +cobras were coiling and lying in wait. Great cities are the +poison-glands of civilization everywhere; but the secretions of those +hideous crypts and blind passages that empty themselves into the +thoroughfares of English towns are so deadly, that, but for her penal +colonies, England, girt by water, as the scorpion with flame, would +perish, self-stung, by her own venom. The legates of the great +Anti-Civilization have colonized<a name="Page_118" id="Page_118"></a> England, as England has colonized +Botany Bay. They know the venal ruffianism of the fist and bludgeon, as +well as that of the press. Fortunately, they are short of funds, or Mr. +Beecher might have disappeared after the manner of Romulus, and never +have come to light, except in the saintly fashion of relics,—such as +white finger-rings and breastpins, like those which some devotees of the +Southern mode of worship are said to have been fond of wearing.</p> + +<p>From these dangers, which he faced like a man, we welcome him back to a +country which is proud of his courage and ability and grateful for his +services. The highest and lowest classes of England cannot be in +sympathy with the free North. No dynasty can look the fact of +successful, triumphant self-government in the face without seeing a +shroud in its banner and hearing a knell in its shouts of victory. As to +those lower classes who are too low to be reached by the life-giving +breath of popular liberty, we cannot reach them yet. A Christian +civilization has suffered them, in the very heart of its great cities, +to sink almost to the level of Du Chaillu's West-African quadrumana. But +the thoughtful, religious middle class of Great Britain, with their +enlightened leaders and their conscientious followers among the laboring +masses, have listened and will always listen to the voice of any true +and adequate representative of that new form of human society now in +full course of development in Republican North America. They have never +listened to a nobler and more thoroughly national speaker than the +minister, clothed with full powers from Nature and bearing the authentic +credentials from his Divine Master, to whom, on his return from his +successful embassy, we renew our grateful welcome.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_BEGINNING_OF_THE_END" id="THE_BEGINNING_OF_THE_END"></a>THE BEGINNING OF THE END.</h2> + +<h3>A GREETING FOR THE NEW YEAR.</h3> + + +<p>We are at the close of the third year of the Secession War. It is +customary to speak of the contest as having been inaugurated by the +attack on Fort Sumter, April 12, 1861; but, in strictness, it was begun +in December, 1860, when the Carolinians formally seceded from the Union, +which was as much an act of war as that involved in firing upon the +national flag that waved over the strongest of the Federal forts at +Charleston. Even those who insist that there can be no war without the +use of weapons must admit that the act of firing upon the Star of the +West, which vessel was seeking to land men and stores at Sumter, was an +overt act, and as significant of the purpose of the Secessionists as +anything since done by them. That occurred in January, 1861; and because +our Government did not choose to accept it as the beginning of those +hostilities which had been resolved upon by the Southern ultras, it does +not follow that men are bound to shut their eyes to the truth. But we +all took the insults that were offered to the flag in President +Buchanan's time as coolly as if that were the proper course of things, +while the attack on Sumter had the same effect on us that the +acknowledgment of the Pretender as King of Great Britain and Ireland by +Louis XIV. had on the English. War was then promptly accepted, and has +ever since been waged, with that various fortune which is known to all +contests, and which will be so known while wars shall be known on +earth,—in other words, while our planet shall be the abiding-place of +men. We have had victories, and we have had defeats, which <a name="Page_119" id="Page_119"></a>is the +common lot; but, taken as a whole, we have but little reason to complain +of results, if we compare our situation now with what it was at the +close of 1862. Great things have been done in 1863, such as place the +military result of the war beyond all doubt, and permitting us to hope +for the early restoration of peace, provided the people shall furnish +their Government with the human material necessary to inflict upon the +enemy that grace stroke which shall put them out of their pain by +putting an end to their existence; and that Government itself shall not +be wanting in that energy, without which men and money are worse than +useless in war,—for then they would be but wasted.</p> + +<p>The year opened darkly for us; for not even the success of General +Rosecrans on the well-contested field of Murfreesboro'—a success +literally extorted from a brave and stubborn and skilful foe—could +altogether compensate for the Union defeat at Fredericksburg, a defeat +that gave additional force to the gloomy words of those <i>grognards</i> who +had adopted the doctrine that it was impossible for the Army of the +Potomac to accomplish anything worthy of its numbers, and of the +position and purpose assigned to it in the war. Months rolled on, and +little was done, the mere military losses and gains being not far from +equally shared by the two parties; but that was positively a loss to the +enemy, whose position it has been from the first, that they must have so +large a proportion of the successes as should tend to encourage their +people at home and their advocates abroad, and so compensate for their +inferiority in numbers and in property. Nothing has tended more, all +through the war, to show the vast difference in the parties to it, than +the little effect which serious reverses have had on the Unionists in +comparison with the effect of similar reverses on the Confederates. No +blow that we have received—and many blows have been dealt upon us—has +been followed by any loss of territory, any decrease of the means of +warfare, or any diminution of our purpose to carry on the contest to the +last piece of gold and the last greasy greenback. The enemy have taken +of our men, our cannon, our stores, and our money, more than once, but +not one of their victories produced any "fruit" beyond what was gleaned +from the battle-field itself. Our victories, on the contrary, have been +fruitful, as the position of our forces on the enemy's coast, and on +much of their territory, and in many of their ports, most satisfactorily +proves. As an English military critic said, the Rebels might gain +battles, but all the solid advantages were with their opponents. A Union +victory was so much achieved toward final and complete success; a +Confederate victory only operated to postpone the subjugation of the +Rebels for a few days, or perhaps weeks. We could afford to blunder, +while they could not; and the prospect of the gallows made the brains of +Davis and Lee uncommonly clear, and caused them to plan skilfully and to +strike boldly, in order that they might get out and keep out of the road +that leads to it,—the road to ruin.</p> + +<p>The movement in April, under General Hooker, which led to the Battle of +Chancellorsville, was a failure, and for some time the country was much +depressed in consequence; but our failure, there and then, proved to be +really a great gain. Had General Hooker succeeded in defeating General +Lee in battle, the latter would, it is altogether probable, have +succeeded in retreating to Richmond, behind the defences of which he +would have held our forces at bay, and the Peninsular campaign of 1862 +might have been repeated; for we had not men enough to render the +capture of Richmond certain through the effect of regular and steady +operations. The death of Stonewall Jackson, one of the incidents of the +April advance, was a severe loss to the enemy, and promises to be as +fatal to their cause as was that of Dundee to the hopes of the House of +Stuart. General Lee's success was really fatal to him. It compelled him +to <a name="Page_120" id="Page_120"></a>make a movement in his turn, in June, and at Gettysburg we had ample +compensation for Chancellorsville; and the capture of Morgan and his +men, in Ohio, following hard upon Lee's retreat from Pennsylvania, put +an end to all attempts at invasion on the part of the Rebels, while we +continued to hold all that we had acquired of their territory, and soon +added more of it to our previous acquisitions. At the same time that +General Meade was disposing of the main Rebel army, General Grant was +taking Vicksburg, and General Banks was triumphing at Port Hudson. +Generals Pemberton and Gardner had defended those Southern strongholds +with a skill and a gallantry that do them great credit, considering them +merely as military operations; but the superior generalship of General +Grant at and near Vicksburg compelled them to surrender, and to place in +Union hands posts the possession of which was necessary to maintain the +integrity of the Confederacy. General Grant's least merit was the taking +of Vicksburg. The operations through the success of which he was enabled +to shut up a large force of brave men in Vicksburg, and to cut them off +from all hope of being relieved, were of the highest order of military +excellence, and justly entitle him to be called a great soldier, and no +man can be only a great soldier, for that intellectual rank implies in +its possessor qualities that fit him for any department of his country's +service. General Grant was admirably seconded and supported by his +lieutenants and their subordinates and men, or he must have failed +before such courageous and stubborn foes. He was also supported by the +naval force commanded by Admiral Porter, whose heroic exploits and +scientific services added new lustre to a name that already stood most +high in our naval history. He commanded men worthy of himself and the +service, and whose deeds must be ever remembered. General Banks and his +associates were not less successful in their undertaking, and had been +as well seconded as General Grant. The Mississippi was placed at our +control, and the enemy were deprived of those supplies, both domestic +and foreign, which they had drawn in so large quantities from the +trans-Mississippi territory. Through Texas, which had contrived to keep +up a great commerce, the supplies of foreign <i>matériel</i> had been very +large; and from the same rich and extensive State came thousands of +beeves, sheep, and hogs, that were consumed by Southern soldiers in +Virginia and the Carolinas. Generals Grant and Banks put an end to this +mode of supplying the Rebels with food and other articles; and at a +later period the success of General Banks near the Rio Grande was hardly +less useful in putting an end to much of the Texan foreign trade, +whereby the Rebels beyond the Mississippi must find their powers to do +mischief very materially lessened.</p> + +<p>In the mean time, Charleston, whence rebellion had spread over the +South, had been assailed by a large force, military and naval, commanded +by General Gillmore and Rear-Admiral Dahlgren. General Gillmore had +become famous as the captor of Fort Pulaski, under circumstances that +had seemed to render success impossible; and hence it was expected that +he would quickly take Charleston. It is not believed that that very able +and modest officer ever said a word to give rise to the popular +expectation. He knew the gravity of the task he had undertaken, and we +believe, that, if all the facts connected therewith could be published, +it would be found that he has accomplished all that he ever promised to +do or expected to do. He has done much, and done it admirably; and not +the least of the effects of his deeds is this,—that the report of his +guns reached to Europe, and caused the intelligent military men of that +dominating quarter of the world to doubt whether their respective +countries were militarily prepared to support intervention, even if to +intervention there existed no moral or political objections. He has +demolished Sumter, and that fortress which was the scene of our first +failure has <a name="Page_121" id="Page_121"></a>ceased to exist. He has completed the blockade of +Charleston, which was almost daily violated before he brought his +batteries into play. We have the high authority of no less a personage +than Mr. Jefferson Davis himself,—a gentleman who never "speaks out" +when anything is to be made by reticence,—that Wilmington is now the +only port left to the Confederacy; and this is the highest possible +compliment that could be paid to the excellence of General Gillmore's +operations, and to the value of his services. Since he arrived near +Charleston, that port has been as hermetically sealed as Cronstadt in +December; whereas, until he began his scientific and most useful labors, +Charleston was one of the most flourishing seaports in the whole circle +of commerce. As to the taking of Charleston, our opinion is, and has +been from the first, that the history of the War of the American +Revolution demonstrates that the Carolina city can be had only as the +result of extensive land-operations, carried on by a power which has +command of the sea. Sir Henry Clinton failed before the place in 1776, +his attack being naval in its character; and he succeeded in taking it +in 1780, when he had control of the main-land, and made his approaches +regularly. Even after he had obtained command of the harbor, and Fort +Moultrie had been first passed and then taken, and no American maritime +force remained to oppose his fleet, he had to depend upon the action of +his army for success. We fear that the event will prove that we can +succeed at Charleston only by following Sir Henry's wise course. "The +things which have been are the things which shall be."</p> + +<p>Late in the summer, General Rosecrans resumed operations, and marched +upon Chattanooga, while General Burnside moved into East Tennessee, and +obtained possession of Knoxville. General Burnside's march was one of +the most difficult ever made in war, and tasked the powers of his men to +the utmost; but all difficulties were surmounted, and the loyal people +of the country which he entered and regained were gladdened by seeing +the national flag flying once more over their heads. Both these +movements were at first brilliantly successful; but the enemy were +impressed with the importance of the points taken or threatened by our +forces, and they concentrated great masses of troops, in the hope of +being able to defeat our armies, regain the territory lost, and transfer +the seat of war far to the north. The Battle of Chickamauga was fought, +and a portion of General Rosecrans's army was defeated, while another +portion, under General Thomas, stubbornly maintained its ground, and +inflicted great damage on the enemy. The effect of General Thomas's +heroic resistance was, that the enemy's grand purpose was baffled. Their +loss was so severe, and their men had been so roughly handled, that they +could not advance farther, and the time thus gained was promptly turned +to account, by General Rosecrans in the first instance, and by +Government. The Union army was soon reorganized by its energetic leader, +and placed in condition to make effectual resistance to the enemy, +should they endeavor to advance. The Government's action was rapid and +useful. General Grant was placed in immediate command of the army, which +was largely reinforced, and preparations were quickly made for the +resumption of offensive operations. In the mean time, General Bragg had +sent General Longstreet to attack General Burnside; and as Longstreet +has been looked upon, since the death of Jackson, as the best of the +Rebel fighting generals, great hopes were entertained of his success. +Apparently taking advantage of the absence of so large a body of Rebel +troops under so good a leader, General Grant resumed the offensive on +the twenty-third of November, and during three days' hard fighting +inflicted upon General Bragg a series of defeats, in which Generals +Thomas, Hooker, and Sherman were the active Union commanders. The +Unionists were completely victorious at all <a name="Page_122" id="Page_122"></a>points, taking several +strong positions, forty-six pieces of cannon, five thousand muskets, +valuable stores, and seven thousand prisoners, besides killing and +wounding great numbers. All these successes were gained at a cost of +only forty-five hundred men. The skill of General Grant and his +lieutenants, and the valor of their troops, were signally displayed in +these operations, the first assured intelligence of which reached the +North in time to add to the pleasures of the National Thanksgiving, as +the first news of Gettysburg had come to us on the Fourth of July.</p> + +<p>The November victories put an end to all fear that the enemy might be +able to carry out their original project, while it seemed to be certain +that the scene of active operations would be transferred from East +Tennessee to Northern Georgia. General Burnside still held Knoxville, +and it was supposed that General Longstreet would find it difficult to +escape destruction. General Bragg had retreated to Dalton, which is +about a hundred miles from Atlanta, and is reported to have summoned +General Longstreet to rejoin him. The Army of the Potomac, which had +borne itself very gallantly in some of the autumnal operations +consequent on Lee's advance, had followed the army commanded by this +General when it retreated, inflicting on it considerable loss, and +crossing the Rapid Ann.<a name="FNanchor_C_3" id="FNanchor_C_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a></p> + +<p>Victories have been gained by the Unionists in other quarters,—in +Missouri, in Arkansas, in Louisiana, and in Mississippi,—whereby the +enemy's numbers have been diminished, and territory brought under the +Union flag that until recently was held by the Rebels, and from which +they drew means of subsistence now no longer available to them.</p> + +<p>The effects of all the successes which have been mentioned are various. +We have deprived the enemy of extensive portions of territory, in most +of their States. Tennessee is rescued; Maryland, Kentucky, and Missouri +are placed beyond all danger of being taken by the Rebels; in Arkansas, +Louisiana, and Texas we hold places of much political and military +importance; Mississippi is practically ours; Alabama yields little to +our foe; Georgia is invaded, instead of remaining the basis of a grand +attack on Tennessee and Kentucky; the Carolinas, greatly favored by +geographical circumstances, are barely able to hold out against attacks +that are <i>not</i> made in force, and portions of their territory are ours; +Virginia is exhausted, and there the enemy cannot long remain, even +should they meet with no reverses in the field; and, finally, as General +Grant's successes at Vicksburg halved the Confederacy, so have his +Chattanooga successes quartered it. The Rebels are no longer one people, +but are divided into a number of communities, which cannot act together, +even if we could suppose their populations to be animated by one spirit, +which certainly they are not. Of the inhabitants of the original +Confederacy probably two-fifths are no longer under the control of the +Richmond Government; and of the remainder a very large proportion are +said to be massed in Georgia, a State that has hitherto suffered little +from the war, but which now seems about to become the scene of vast and +important operations, which cannot be carried on without causing +sweeping devastation. The public journals state that there are two +million slaves in Georgia, most of whom have been taken or sent thither +by their owners, inhabitants of other States. This must tend greatly to +increase the difficulties of the enemy, whose stores of food and +clothing are not large in any of the Atlantic or Gulf States.</p> + +<p>Much stress has been placed on "the starvation-theory," and it is +probable that there is much suffering in the Confederacy; but this does +not proceed so much from the positive absence of food <a name="Page_123" id="Page_123"></a>as from other +causes. The first of these causes is undoubtedly the loss of all faith +in the Southern currency. That currency has not yet fallen so low as the +Continental currency fell, when it required a bushel of it to pay for a +peck of potatoes, but it is at a terrible discount, and the day is fast +coming when it will be regarded as of no more value than so many pieces +of brown paper; and its depreciation, and the prospect of its soon +becoming utterly worthless, are among the chief consequences of the +triumphs of our arms. Men see that there will be no power to make +payment, and they will not part with their property for rags so rotten. +They may wish success to the Confederate cause, but "they must live," +and live they cannot on paper that is nothing but paper. The journal +that is understood to speak for Mr. Davis recommends a forced loan, the +last resort of men the last days of whose power are near at hand. +Another cause of the scarcity of food in the South is to be found in the +condition of Southern communications. If all the food in the Confederacy +could be equally distributed, now and hereafter, we doubt not that every +person living there would get enough to eat, and even have something to +spare,—civilians as well as soldiers, blacks as well as whites; but no +such distribution is possible, because there are but indifferent means +for the conveyance of food from places where it is abundant to places +where famine's ascendency is becoming established. The Southern railways +have been terribly worked for three years, and are now worn out, with no +hope of their rails and rolling-stock being renewed. Our troops have +rendered hundreds of miles of those ways useless, and they have +possession of other lines. Southern harbors and rivers are held or +commanded by Northern ships or armies. The Mississippi, which was once +so useful to the Rebels, has, now that we control it, become a "big +ditch," separating their armies from their principal source of supply. +It is that "last ditch" in which they are to die. That wide extent of +Southern territory, which has so often been mentioned at home and abroad +as presenting the leading reason why we never could conquer the Rebels, +now works against them, and in our favor. Food may be abundant to +wastefulness in some States, while in others people may be dying for the +want of it. The Secessionists are now situated as most peoples used to +be, before good roads became common. The South is becoming reduced to +that state which was known to some parts of England before that country +had made for itself the best roads of Christendom, and when there would +be starvation in one parish, while perhaps in the next the fruits of the +earth were rotting on its surface, because there were no means of +getting them to market. With a currency so debased that no man will +willingly take it, while all men readily take Union greenbacks,—with +railways either worn out or held by foes,—with but one harbor this side +of the Mississippi that is not closely shut up, and that harbor in +course of becoming closed completely,—with their rivers furnishing +means for attack, instead of lines of defence,—with their territory and +numbers daily decreasing,—with defeat overtaking their armies on almost +every field,—with the expressed determination of the North to prosecute +the war, be the consequences what they may,—with the constant increase +of Union numbers,—and with the steady refusal of foreign powers to +recognize the Confederacy, or to afford it any countenance or open +assistance,—the Rebels must be infatuated, and determined to provoke +destruction, if they do not soon make overtures for peace.</p> + +<p>It is all very well for the "chivalrous classes" at the South, whoever +they may happen to be, to talk about "dying in the last ditch," and of +imitating the action of Pelayo and his friends; but common folk like to +die in their beds, and to receive the inevitable visitant with decorum, +to an exhibition of which ditches are decidedly unfavorable. As to +Pelayo, he lived in an age in which there were neither railways nor +rifled <a name="Page_124" id="Page_124"></a>cannon, neither steamships nor Parrott guns, neither Monitors +nor greenbacks,—else he and his would either have been routed out of +the Asturian Mountains, or have been compelled to remain there forever. +The conditions of modern life and society are highly unfavorable to +those heroic modes of resistance and existence in which alone gentlemen +of Pelayo's pursuits can hope to flourish. We Saracens of the North +would ask nothing better than to have Pelayo Davis lead all his valiant +ragamuffins into the strongest range of mountains that could be found in +all Secessia, there to establish the new Kingdom of Gijon. We should +deserve the worst that could befall us, if we failed to vindicate the +common American idea, that this country is no place for lovers of crowns +and kingdoms.</p> + +<p>As to the guerrillas, we know that they are an exasperating set of +fellows, but they must soon disappear before the advance of the Union +armies. A guerrillade on an extensive scale and of long continuance is +possible only while it is supported by the presence of large and +successful regular armies. Had Wellington been driven out of the +Peninsula, the Spanish guerrillas would have given little trouble to the +intrusive French king at Madrid. Defeat Lee, and Mosby will vanish. +After all, the Southern guerrillas are not much worse than other +Southrons were at no very remote period. It is within the memory of even +middle-aged persons, that the southwestern portion of our country was in +as lawless a state as ever were the borders of England and Scotland, and +with no Belted Will to hang up ruffians to swing in the wind. As those +ruffians were mostly removed by time, and the scenes of their labors +became the seats of prosperous and well-ordered communities, so will the +guerrillas of to-day be made to give way by that inexorable reformer and +avenger. Order will once more prevail in the Southwest, and cotton, +tobacco, and rice again yield their increase to regular industry,—an +industry that shall be all the more productive, because exercised by +free men.</p> + +<p>The political incidents of 1863 are as encouraging as the incidents of +war. The discontent that existed toward the close of 1862—a discontent +by no means groundless—led to the apparent defeat of the war-party in +many States, and to the decrease of its strength in others. But it was +an illogical conclusion that the people were dissatisfied with the war, +when they only meant to express their dissatisfaction with the manner in +which it was conducted. Their votes in 1863 truly expressed their +feeling. In every State but New Jersey the war-party was successful, its +majority in Ohio being 100,000, in New York 30,000, in Pennsylvania +15,000, in Massachusetts, 40,000, in Iowa 32,000, in Maine 22,000, in +California 20,000. And so on throughout the country. The popular voice +is still for war, but for war boldly, and therefore wisely, waged.</p> + +<p>The improvement that has taken place in our foreign relations is even +greater than that which has come over our domestic affairs; and for the +first time since the opening of the civil war, it is possible for +Americans to say that there is every reason for believing that they are +to be left to settle their own affairs according to their own ideas as +to the fitness of things. This change, like all important changes in +human affairs, is due to a variety of causes. In part it is owing to +what we considered to be among our greatest misfortunes, and in part to +those successes which changed the condition of affairs. Our failure at +Fredericksburg, at the close of 1862, strengthened the general European +impression that the Rebels were to succeed; and as their defeat at +Murfreesboro was not followed by an advance of our forces, that +impression was not weakened by General Bragg's failure, though that was +more signal than was the failure of General Burnside. If the Rebels were +to succeed, why should European governments do anything in aid of their +cause, at the hazard of war with us? Our defeat at Chancellorsville, +last May, tended still further to strengthen foreign belief <a name="Page_125" id="Page_125"></a>that the +Secessionists were to be the winning party, and that they were competent +to do all their own work; but if it had not soon been followed by signal +reverses to the Rebel arms, it is certain that the Confederacy would +have been acknowledged by most European nations, on the plausible ground +that its existence had been established on the battle-field, and that we +could not object to the admission of a self-evident fact by foreign +sovereigns and statesmen, who were bound to look after the welfare of +their own subjects and countrymen, whose interests were greatly +concerned with the trade of our Southern country. Fortunately for all +parties but the Rebels, those reverses came suddenly and with such +emphasis as to create serious doubts in the European mind as to the +superiority of the South as a fighting community. In an evil hour for +his cause, General Lee abandoned that wise defensive system to which he +had so long and so successfully adhered, and made a movement into the +Free States. What was the immediate cause of his change of proceeding +will probably never be accurately known to the existing generation. On +the face of things no good political reason appears for that change +being made; and on military grounds it was sure to lead to disaster, +unless the North had become the most craven of countries. So bad was +Lee's advance into the North, militarily speaking, that it would have +been the part of good policy to allow him to march without resistance to +a point at least a hundred miles beyond that field on which he was to +find his fate. A Gettysburg that should have been fought that distance +from the base of Southern operations could have had no other result than +the destruction of the main Southern army; and that occurring at about +the same time that Port Hudson and Vicksburg surrendered, the war could +have been ended by a series of thunder-strokes. Not a man of Lee's army +could have escaped. But the pride of the country prevented the adoption +of a course that promised the most splendid of successes, and compelled +our Government and our commander to forego the noblest opportunity that +had presented itself to effect the enemy's annihilation. Gettysburg was +made immortal, and Lee escaped, not without tremendous losses, yet with +the larger part of his army, and with much booty, that perhaps +compensated his own loss in <i>matériel</i>. He was beaten, on a field of his +own choosing, and with numbers in his favor; and his previous victories, +the almost uniform success that had attended his earlier movements, made +his Pennsylvania reverses all the more grave in the estimation of +foreigners. Immediately after news was sent abroad of his defeat and +retreat, tidings came to us, and soon were spread over the world, that +the Rebels had experienced the most terrible disasters in the Southwest, +whereby the so-called Confederacy had been cut in two. These facts gave +pause to those intentions of acknowledgment which had undoubtedly been +entertained in European courts and cabinets; and nothing afterward +occurred, down to the day of Chickamauga, which was calculated to effect +a change in the minds of the rulers of the Old World. But when +intelligence of Chickamauga reached Europe, England had taken a position +so determinedly hostile to intervention in any of its many forms and +stages that even a much greater disaster than that could have produced +no evil to our cause abroad. For it is to be remembered that the whole +business of intervention has lain from the beginning in the bosom of +England, and that, if she had chosen to act against us in force, she +could have done so with the strongest hope of success, if merely our +humiliation, or even our destruction, had been her object, and without +any immediate danger threatening herself as the consequence of her +hostile action. The French Government, not France, or any considerable +portion of the French people, has been ready to interfere in behalf of +the Rebels for more than two years, and would have entered upon the +process of intervention long since, if it <a name="Page_126" id="Page_126"></a>had not been held back by the +obstinate refusal of England to unite with her in that pro-slavery +crusade which, it is with regret we say it, the French Emperor has so +much at heart; and without the aid and assistance of England, the ruler +of France could not and durst not move an inch against us. Not the +least, nor least strange, of the changes of this mutable world is to be +seen in the circumstance that France should be restrained from undoing +the work of the Bourbons and of Napoleon I. by England's firm opposition +to the wishes and purposes of Napoleon III. The Bourbon policy, as well +in Spain as in France, brought about the early overthrow of England's +rule over the territory of the old United States; and the first Napoleon +sold Louisiana to us for a song, because he was convinced, that, by so +doing, he should aid to build up a formidable naval rival of England. +The man who seeks to undo all this, to destroy what Bourbon and +Bonaparte sacrificed so much to effect, is the heir of Bonaparte, and +the expounder and illustrator of Napoleon's ideas; and the power that +places herself resolutely across his path, and will not join in his plot +to erase us from the list of nations is—England! In a romance such a +state of things would be pronounced too absurd for invention; but in +this every-day world it is nothing but a commonplace incident, +extraordinary as it may seem at the first thought that is bestowed upon +it.</p> + +<p>That England governs France in this matter of intervention in our +quarrel is clear enough, as also are the reasons why Paris will not move +to the aid of the Rebels unless London shall keep even step with her. +France asked England to unite with her in an offer of mediation, which +would have been an armed mediation, had England fallen into the Gallic +trap, but which amounted to nothing when it proceeded from France alone. +England withdrew from the Mexican business as soon as she saw that +France was bent upon a course that might lead to trouble with the United +States, and left her to create a throne in that country. As soon as +England put the broad arrow upon the rams of that eminent pastoral +character, Laird of Birkenhead, France withdrew the permission which she +had formally bestowed upon MM. Arman and Vorney to build four powerful +steamships for the Rebels at Nantes and Bordeaux. France would +acknowledge the Confederacy to-day, and send a minister to Richmond, and +consuls to Mobile and Galveston and Wilmington, if England would but +agree to be to her against us what Spain was to her for us in the days +of our Revolution. But England will not join with her ancient enemy to +effect the ruin of a country of the existence of which she should be +proud, seeing that it is her own creation.</p> + +<p>Why, then, is it that there is so much ill-feeling in America toward +England, while none is felt toward France,—England being, as it were, +our shield against that French sword which is raised over our head, upon +which its holder would bring it down with imperial force? Principally +the difference is due to that peculiarity in the human character which +leads men to think much of insults and but little of injuries. We doubt +if any strong enmity was ever created in the minds of men or nations +through the infliction of injuries, though injuring parties have an +undoubted right to hate their victims; and we are sure that an insult +was never yet forgiven by any nation, or by any individual, whose +resentment was of any account. Now, England has poured insults upon us, +or rather Englishmen have done so, until we have become as sore as bears +who have been assailed by bees. English statesmen and politicians have +told us that we were wrong in fighting for the restoration of the Union, +violating our own principles, and literally committing the grossest, of +crimes,—taking care to add, that our sins would provide their own +punishment, for we could not put down the Rebels. Even moderate-minded +men in England have not hesitated to condemn our course, while admitting +that our conduct was natural, on the ground <a name="Page_127" id="Page_127"></a>that we had no hope of +success, and that useless wars are simply horrible. Our English enemies +have been fierce and vindictive blackguards,—as witness Roebuck, +Lyndsay, and Lord R. Cecil,—while most of our friends there have deemed +it the best policy to make use of very moderate language, when speaking +of our cause, or of the conduct of our public men. Englishmen of +distinction, some of whom have long been held in high esteem here, have +not hesitated to express a desire for our overthrow, because we were +becoming too strong, though our free population is not materially +different, as regards numbers, from that of the British Islands, and is +as nothing when compared with the number of Queen Victoria's subjects. +They were not ashamed to be so thoroughly un-English as to admit the +existence of fear in their minds of a people living three thousand miles +from their country: a circumstance to be noted; for your Englishman is +apt to err on the side of contempt for others, and as a rule he fears +nobody. Others have so wantonly misrepresented the character of our +cause,—Mr. Carlyle is a notable member of this class,—that it is +impossible not to be offended, when listening to their astounding +falsehoods. But it is the British press that has done most to array +Americans against England. That press is very ably conducted, and the +most noted of its members have displayed a degree of hostility toward us +that could not have been predicted without the prophet being suspected +of madness, or of diabolical inspiration. All its articles attacking us +are reproduced here, and are read by everybody, and the effect thereof +can be imagined. Toward us British journalists are playing the same part +that was played by their predecessors toward France sixty years since, +and which converted what was meant to be a permanent peace into the mere +truce of Amiens. Insolent and egotistical as a class, though there are +highly honorable exceptions, those journalists have done more to make +their country the object of dislike than has been accomplished by all +other Englishmen. Their deeds show that the pen <i>is</i> mightier than the +sword, and that its conquests are permanent. It has been said that +France has been as unfriendly to us as England, and that, therefore, we +ought to feel for her the same dislike as that of which England is the +object. But, admitting the assertion to be true, we know little of what +the French have said or written concerning us. The difference of +language prevents us from taking much offence at Gallic criticism. Not +one American in a hundred reads French; and of those who do read it, not +one in a thousand, journalists apart, ever sees a French quarterly, +monthly, weekly, or daily publication. Occasionally, an article from a +French journal is translated for some one of our newspapers, but it is +oftener of a friendly character than otherwise. The best French +publications support the Union cause, at their head standing the +"Débats," which is not the inferior of the "Times" in respect to +ability, and is far its superior in all other respects. Besides, judging +from such articles from the French presses devoted to Secession +interests as have come under our observation, they are neither so able +nor so venomous as those which appear in British Secession journals and +magazines. Most of them might be translated for the purpose of showing +that the French have no wish for our destruction, while the language of +the British articles indicates the existence of an intense personal +hostility, and an eager desire to see the United States partitioned like +Poland. We should be something much above, or as much below, the +standard of humanity, if we were not moved deeply by such evidences of +fierce hatred, expressed in the fiercest of language.</p> + +<p>In assuming a strictly impartial position, England follows a sense of +interest, which is proper and praiseworthy. She cannot, supposing her to +be wise, be desirous of our destruction; for, that accomplished, she +would be more open than ever to a French attack. Let Napoleon III. +accomplish those European purposes to <a name="Page_128" id="Page_128"></a>which his mind is now directed, +and he would be impelled to quarrel with England by a variety of +considerations, should this Republic be broken up into half a dozen +feeble and quarrelsome confederacies. But with the United States in +existence, and powerful enough to command respect, he would not dare to +seek the overthrow of the British Empire. We could not permit him to +head a crusade for England's annihilation, no matter what might be our +feeling toward the mother-land. A just regard for our own interests +would impel us to side with her, should she be placed in serious danger. +Such was, substantially, President Jefferson's opinion, sixty years ago, +when the first Napoleon was so bent upon the conquest of England; and we +think that his views are applicable to the existing circumstances of the +world. Where should we have been now, if England had quarrelled with and +been conquered by Napoleon III.? We must distinguish between the English +nation and Englishmen,—between the English Government, which has, +perhaps, borne itself as favorably toward us as it could, and that +English aristocracy which has, as a rule, exhibited so strong a desire +to have us extinguished, even while it has repeatedly refused to take +steps preparatory to war; and the two countries should be persuaded to +understand that neither can perish without the life of the other being +placed in great danger. The best answer to be made to the wordy attacks +of Englishmen is to be found in success. That answer would be complete; +and if it cannot be made, what will it signify to us what shall be said +of us by foreigners? The bitterest attacks can never disturb the dead.</p> + +<p>One cause of the change of England's course toward us is to be found in +our own change of moral position. The President's Emancipation +Proclamation went into effect on the first of January, 1863; and from +that time the anti-slavery people of England have been on our side; and +their influence is great, and bears upon the supporters of the +Palmerston Ministry with peculiar force. Had our Government persisted in +the pro-slavery policy which it favored down to the autumn of 1862, it +is not at all unlikely that the English intervention party would have +been strong enough to compel their country to go with France in her +mediation scheme,—and the step from mediation to intervention would +have been but a short one; but the committal of the North to +anti-slavery views, and the union of their cause with that of +emancipation, threw the English Abolitionists, men who largely represent +England's moral worth, on our side. The Proclamation, therefore, even if +it could be proved that it had not led to the liberation of one slave, +has been of immense service to us, and the President deserves the thanks +of every loyal American for having issued it. He threw a shell into the +foreign Secession camp, the explosion of which was fatal to that +"cordial understanding" that was to have operated for our annihilation.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Such was the year of the Proclamation, and its history is marvellous in +our eyes. It stands in striking contrast to the other years of the war, +both of which closed badly for us, and left the impression that the +enemy's case was a good one, speaking militarily. Our improved condition +should be attributed to the true cause. When, in the Parliament of 1601, +Mr. Speaker Croke said that the kingdom of England "had been defended by +the mighty arm of the Queen," Elizabeth exclaimed from the throne, "No, +Mr. Speaker, but rather by the mighty hand of God!" So with us. We have +been saved "by the mighty hand of God." Neither "malice domestic" nor +"foreign levy" has prevailed at our expense. Whether we had the right to +expect Heaven's aid, we cannot undertake to say; but we know that we +should not have deserved it, had we continued to link the nation's cause +to that of oppression, and had we shed blood and expended gold in order +to restore the system of slavery and the sway of slaveholders.</p><p><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="REVIEWS_AND_LITERARY_NOTICES" id="REVIEWS_AND_LITERARY_NOTICES"></a>REVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES.</h2> + + +<p><i>Life and Correspondence of <a name="Theodore_Parker" id="Theodore_Parker"></a>Theodore Parker, Minister of the +Twenty-Eighth Congregational Society, Boston</i>. By <span class="smcap">John Weiss.</span> +In Two Volumes. 8vo. London.</p> + +<p>Such a life of Theodore Parker as Mr. Parton has written of Andrew +Jackson would be accepted as an American classic. For such a life, +however, it is manifestly unreasonable to look. Not until the present +generation has passed away, not until the perilous questions which vex +men's souls to-day shall rest forever, could any competent biographer +regard the "iconoclast of the Music Hall" as a subject for complacent +literary speculation or calm judicial discourse. For us, this life of +Parker must be interpreted by one of the family. He shall best use these +precious letters and journals who is spiritually related to their +writer, if not bound to him by the feebler tie of blood. And assuming +the necessity of a partisan, or, as it might more gently be expressed, +wholly sympathetic biographer, there is little but commendation for Mr. +Weiss. With admirable clearness and strength he rings out the full tone +of thought and belief among that earnest school of thinkers and doers of +which Theodore Parker was the representative. Full as are these goodly +octavos with the best legacies of him whose life is written, we have +returned no less frequently to the deeply reflective arguments and acute +criticisms of Mr. Weiss. Let the keen discrimination of a passage taken +almost at random justify us, if it may.</p> + +<p>"Some people say that they are not indebted to Mr. Parker for a single +thought. The word 'thought' is so loosely used that a definition of +terms must precede our estimate of Mr. Parker's suggestiveness and +originality. Men who are kept by a commonplace-book go about raking +everywhere for glittering scraps, which they carry home to be sorted in +their æsthetic junk-shop. Any portable bit that strikes the fancy is a +thought. There are literary rag-pickers of every degree of ability; and +a great deal of judgment can be shown in finding the scrap or nail you +want in a heap of rubbish. Quotable matter is generally considered to be +strongly veined with thought. Some people estimate a writer according to +the number of apt sentences imbedded in his work. But who is judge of +aptness itself? What is apt for an epigram is not apt for a revolution: +the shock of a witty antithesis is related to the healthy stimulus of +creative thinking, as a small electrical battery to the terrestrial +currents. Well-built rhetorical climaxes, sharp and sudden contrasts, +Poor Richard's common-sense, a page boiled down to a sentence, a fresh +simile from Nature, a subtle mood projected upon Nature, a swift +controversial retort, all these things are called thoughts. The pleasure +in them is so great, that one fancies they leave him in their debt. That +depends upon one's standard of indebtedness. Now a penny-a-liner is +indebted to a single phrase which furnishes his column; a clergyman near +Saturday night seizes with rapture the clue of a fine simile which spins +into a 'beautiful sermon'; for the material of his verses a rhymester is +'indebted' to an anecdote or incident. In a higher degree all kinds of +literary work are indebted to that commerce of ideas between the minds +of all nations, which fit up interiors more comfortably, and upholster +them better than before. And everything that gets into circulation is +called a thought, be it a discovery in science, a mechanical invention, +the statement of a natural law, comparative statistics, rules of +economy, diplomatic circulars, and fine magazine-writing. It is the +manœuvring of the different arms in the great service of humanity, +solid or dashing, on a field already gained. But the thought which +organizes the fresh advance goes with the pioneer-train that bridges +streams, that mines the hill, that feels the country. The controlling +plan puts itself forth with that swarthy set of leather-aproned men +shouldering picks and axes. How brilliantly the uniforms defile +afterward, with flashing points and rhythmic swing, over the fresh +causeway, to hold and maintain a position whose value was ideally +conceived! So that the brightest facings do not cover the boldest +thought."</p> + +<p>By omissions here and there,—in all not amounting to ten pages of +printed matter,—these literary remains of Theodore Parker might have +been made less offensive to believers in the Christian Revelation, as +well as to the not small class of gentlemanly skeptics who go through +whatever motions the best society esteems correct. In these days, many +worthy people, who are not quite sound upon Noah's <a name="Page_130" id="Page_130"></a>ark, or even the +destruction of the swine, will wince perceptibly at hearing the Lord's +Supper called "a heathenish rite." And it would be unfair to the +memories of most noted men to stereotype for ten thousand eyes the rough +estimates of familiar letters, or the fragmentary ejaculations of a +private journal. But Mr. Parker never scrupled to exhibit before the +world all that was worst in him. There are few chapters that will not +recall defects publicly shown by the preacher and author. The reader can +scarcely miss a corroboration of a shrewd observation of Macaulay, that +there is no proposition so monstrously untrue in politics or morals as +to be incapable of proof by what shall sound like a logical +demonstration from admitted principles. Theodore Parker was a strong and +honest man. Yet few strong men have so lain at the mercy of some narrow +bit of logic; few honest ones have so warped facts to match opinions. We +speak of exceptional instances, not of ordinary habits. He seemed unable +to persuade himself that a scheme of faith which was false to him could +be true to others of equal intelligence and virtue. He fell too easily +into the spasmodic vice of the day, and said striking things rather than +true ones. He assumed a basis of faith every whit as dogmatic as special +revelation, and sometimes grievously misrepresented the creeds which he +assailed. Strangers might go to the Music Hall to breathe the free air +of a catholic liberality, and find nothing but the old fierceness of +sectarianism broken loose against the sects. Let us make every deduction +which a candid criticism is compelled to claim, and Theodore Parker +stands a noble representative of Republican America. His place is still +among the immortals who are not the creatures of an age, but its +regenerators. For it is not the life of a great skeptic, but the work of +a great believer, which is brought before us in these volumes. This +uncompromising enemy of the creeds was the ally of their highest uses. +His soul never lacked that dear and personal object of worship which is +offered by the Christian Revelation in its common acceptance. He could +have lived in no more jubilant confidence of immortality, had he enjoyed +the tactual satisfactions of Thomas himself. No Catholic nun feels more +delicious assurance of the protection of the Virgin, no Protestant +maiden knows a more blissful consciousness of the Saviour's marital +affection towards her particular church, than felt this Theodore Parker +in the fatherly and motherly tenderness of the Great Cause of All. +Certainly, few doubters have ever doubted to so much purpose as he. Men +who are skeptical through the intellect in the Christian creeds seldom +live so sturdily the Christian life. Yet we cannot think that the +fervent faith with which he wrought came from what was exceptional in +his belief; it was rather a good gift of native and special sort. For it +is a true insight which leads Tennyson to warn him whose faith does not +trust itself to form, that his sister is "quicker unto good" from the +hallowed symbol through which she receives a divine truth. Many who +flatter themselves that they have outgrown the need of a human +embodiment of the Father's love have only induced a plasticity of mind +which prevents the life from taking shape in any positive affirmation. +"It is a strong help to me," writes a Congregational minister, "to find +a man, standing on the extreme verge of liberal theology, holding so +firmly, so tenaciously, to the one true religion, love to God and man." +But may all men stand there, and cling to it as resolutely as he did?</p> + +<p>The ancestors of Theodore Parker seem to have been creditable offshoots +from the Puritan stock. They were men and women of thrift and sagacity. +Of his mother there are very sweet glimpses. He describes her as +"imaginative, delicate-minded, and poetic, yet a very practical woman." +She appears to have been thoroughly religious, but without taste for the +niceties of dogmatic theology. Piety did not have to be laboriously put +into her, before it could generously come out. "I have known few," +writes her son, "in whom the religious instincts were so active and +profound, and who seemed to me to enjoy so completely the life of God in +the soul of man." And again he says, "Religion was the inheritance my +mother gave,—gave me in my birth,—gave me in her teachings. Many sons +have been better born than I, few have had so good a mother. I mention +these things to show you how I came to have the views of religion that I +have now. My head is not more natural to my body, has not more grown +with it, than my religion out of my <a name="Page_131" id="Page_131"></a>soul and with it. With me religion +was not carpentry, something built up of dry wood, from without; but it +was growth,—growth of a germ in my soul." Thus we see that Parker was +not singular in his sources of goodness and nobility: here also have the +strong and worthy men of all time received their inspiration. The +mother's sphere is never confined to the household, but expands for joy +or bitterness through the world at large. A youth of farm-work, snatches +of study, and school-teaching, seem to be the appointed <i>curriculum</i> for +our trustworthy men. In addition to this, Theodore achieves a slight +connection with Harvard,—insufficient for a degree, yet enough for him, +if not for the College. Then he teaches a private class in Boston, and +presently opens school in Watertown. Here, for the first time, comes a +modest success after the world's measurement. He has soon thirty-five, +and afterwards fifty-four scholars. And now occurs an incident which is +unaccountably degraded to the minion type of a note. It is, however, +just what the reader wants to know, and deserves Italics and +double-leading, if human actions are ever sufficiently noteworthy for +these honors. The Watertown teacher receives a colored girl who has been +sent to him, and then consents to dismiss her in deference to the +prejudices of Caucasian patrons. Simon Peter denied the Saviour for whom +he was afterwards crucified with his head hanging down. One day we shall +find this schoolmaster leaving most cherished work, and braving all +social obloquies, that he may stand closer than a brother to the +despised and ignorant of the outcast race. The colored girl was amply +avenged. But the teacher is here, as ever after, a learner, and his +leisure is filled with languages, Latin, Greek, Hebrew, German, Spanish, +and French. During his subsequent stay at the Cambridge Divinity School, +there are added studies in Italian, Portuguese, Icelandic, Chaldaic, +Arabic, Persian, and Coptic. Of his proficiency in this Babel of tongues +the evidence is not very conclusive. Professor Willard is said to have +applied to the young divinity-student for advice in some nice matters of +Hebrew and Syriac. Theology there can be no doubt that he thoroughly +mastered. After a brief season of itinerancy through Massachusetts +pulpits, he is settled at West Roxbury. And here begins that agony of +doubt dismal and unprofitable to contemplate, when it is not redeemed by +a manly ardor which searches on for attainable grounds of trust. But in +this young minister the faith of a little child cannot be superseded by +the advents of geology and carnal criticism. Some of the Biblical +conceptions of the Deity may be found inadequate, but Nature and the +human soul are full of His presence and glow with His inspirations. +Within the limits of capacity and obedience, every man and woman may +receive direct nourishment from God. At length the South-Boston sermon +of 1841 separates the position of Theodore Parker from that of his +Unitarian brethren. After this, his life belongs to the public. He is +known of men as an assailant of respectable and sacred things, a bitter +critic of political and social usages. That these manifestations were +but small portions of the total of his life, the public may now discern.</p> + +<p>We can recall no published correspondence of the century which combines +more excellent and diverse qualities than this with which Mr. Weiss has +plentifully filled his pages. Occasions for which the completest of +Complete Letter-Writers has failed to provide are met by Mr. Parker with +consummate discretion. His letters are to Senators, Shakers, Professors, +Doctors, Slaveholders, Abolitionists, morbid girls, and heroic women: +they are all equally rich in spontaneity, simplicity, and point. Keen +criticisms of noted men, speculations upon society, homely wisdom of the +household, estimates of the arts, and consolations of religion, all +packed in plain and precise English, seem to have been ever ready for +delivery. If Mr. Parker had not chosen the unpopularity of a great man, +he could have had the abundant popularity of a clever one. Let us see +how he outlines the Seer of Stockholm for an inquiring correspondent:—</p> + +<p>"Swedenborg has had the fate to be worshipped as a half-god, on the one +side; and on the other, to be despised and laughed at. It seems to me +that he was a man of genius, of wide learning, of deep and genuine piety +But he had an abnormal, queer sort of mind, dreamy, dozy, clairvoyant, +Andrew-Jackson-Davisy; and besides, he loved opium and strong coffee, +and wrote under the influence <a name="Page_132" id="Page_132"></a>of those drugs. A wise man may get many +nice bits out of him, and be the healthier for such eating; but if he +swallows Swedenborg whole, as the fashion is with his followers,—why, +it lays hard in the stomach, and the man has a nightmare on him all his +natural life, and talks about 'the Word,' and 'the Spirit,' +'correspondences,' 'receivers.' Yet the Swedenborgians have a calm and +religious beauty in their lives which is much to be admired."</p> + +<p>The deeply affectionate nature of Theodore Parker glows warmly through +the Correspondence and Journal. His friends were necessities, and were +loved with a devotion by no means characteristic of Americans. He could +give his life to ideas, but his heart must be given to persons, young +and old. Turning from his task of opposition and conflict, he would +yearn for the society of little children, whose household loves might +dull the noise and violence and passion through which he daily walked. +"The great joy of my life," he writes, "cannot be <i>intellectual action</i>, +neither <i>practical work</i>. Though I joy in both, it is the affections +which open the spring of mortal delight. But the object of my +affections, dearest of all, is not at hand. How strange that I should +have no children, and only get a little sad sort of happiness, not of +the affectional quality! I am only <i>an old maid in life</i>, after all my +bettying about in literature and philanthropy." And in a letter to Dr. +Francis there comes an exclamation of which the arrangement is very +pathetic in its significance,—"I have no child, and the worst +reputation of any minister in all America!"</p> + +<p>We are in no position to estimate with any exactness either the +adaptation of Theodore Parker to our national well-being or his positive +aid to the mental and moral progress of New-England society. Violent +denunciations in the interest of the various sects and policies that he +attacked will for the present be levelled against him. Neither will +there be wanting extravagant eulogiums from personal friends, +fellow-religionists, and zealous reformers. Only the distant view of a +generation yet to be can see him in just relation to the men of this +time. In judging the weight and work of a contemporary, we attach an +over-importance to the number and social position of his nominal +adherents; while, in estimating the utility of an historic leader, we +instinctively feel that these things are almost the last to be +considered. For the greatest influence for good has come from men who +have struggled in feeble minorities,—ever alienating would-be friends +by an invincible honesty, or even by an invincible fanaticism. Not to +the excellences or extravagances of a handful of persons who precisely +agree with his views of Christianity may we look for the influence of +Theodore Parker which to-day works among us. We might find it in greater +power in Brownson's Catholic Review, in the humane magnetism of orthodox +Mr. Beecher, in the Episcopal ministrations of Dr. Tyng. For any +intelligent Christian must allow that those claiming to represent the +Church of Christ have too often sided with the oppressor, fettered human +thought in departments foreign to religion, and inculcated degrading +beliefs, which scholars eminent in orthodoxy declare indeducible from +any Biblical precept. It is not the incredibleness of a metaphysical +belief, but a laxity or cowardice of the practice connected with it, +which can point the reformer's gibe and wing his sarcasm. Theodore +Parker virtually told the Christian minister that he must reprove +profitable and popular sins, or else stand at great disadvantage in the +trial between Rationalism and Supernaturalism which is vexing the age. +In rich and prosperous communities Christianity has been too prone to +degenerate into a mere credence of dogma; it must reassert itself as the +type of ethics. It is also good that the clergy, intrusted with the +defence of the faith delivered to saints, be compelled to place +themselves on a level with the ripest scholarship of the day. For ends +such as these the life of this critic and protester has abundantly +wrought. If he has pulled down a meeting-house here and there, we are +confident that he has been instrumental in building up many more to an +effective Christianity.</p> + + +<p><i><a name="Peculiar" id="Peculiar"></a>Peculiar. A Tale of the Great Transition</i>. By <span class="smcap">Epes Sargent</span>. +New York: G.W. Carleton. 12mo.</p> + +<p>There seems to be an element of luck in the production of highly +successful plays and novels. To succeed in this department of +imaginative writing, it is not <a name="Page_133" id="Page_133"></a>enough that the author has literary +power and skill. Else why do the failures of every great novelist and +playwright almost always outnumber the successes? Even Shakspeare offers +no exception to the fact. What a descent from "Hamlet" to "Titus +Andronicus," from "Othello" to "Cymbeline"! Miss Bronté writes "Jane +Eyre," and fails ever afterwards to come up to her own standard. Bulwer +delights us with "The Caxtons," and then sinks to the dulness of "The +Strange Story." Dickens gives us "Oliver Twist," and then tries the +patience of confiding readers in "Martin Chuzzlewit." We will not +undertake to analyze all the reasons for these startling discrepancies; +but one obvious reason is <i>infelicity in the choice of a subject</i>. A +subject teeming with the right capabilities will often enable an +ordinary playwright to produce a drama that will rouse an audience to +wild enthusiasm; whereas, if the subject is un-pregnant with dramatic +issues, not even genius can invest it with the charm that commands the +sympathy and attention of the many. Watch a large, miscellaneous +audience, as it listens, rapt, intent, and weeping, to Kotzebue's +"Stranger," and see the same audience as it tries to attend to +Talfourd's "Ion." Yet here it is the hack writer who succeeds and the +true poet who fails. Why? Because the former has hit upon a subject +which gives him at once the advantage of nearness to the popular heart, +while the latter has selected a theme remote and unsympathetic.</p> + +<p>In "Peculiar" Mr. Sargent has had the luck, if we may so call it, of +finding the materials for his plot in incidents which carry in +themselves so much of dramatic power that a story is evolved from them +with the facility and inevitableness of a fate. When the United States +forces under General Butler occupied New Orleans, certain developments +connected with the workings of "the peculiar institution" were made, +which showed a state of social degradation of which we had not supposed +even Slavery capable. It appeared that women, so white as to be +undistinguishable from the fairest Anglo-Saxons, were held as slaves, +lashed as slaves, subjected to all the indignities which irresponsible +mastership involves.</p> + +<p>"Peculiar" derives its title from one of the characters of the novel, an +escaped negro slave, who has received from his sportive master the name +of "Peculiar Institution." The great dramatic fact of the story lies in +the kidnapping of the infant child of wealthy Northern parents who have +been killed in a steamboat-explosion on the Mississippi. The child, a +girl, is saved from the water, but saved by two "mean whites," creatures +and hangers-on of the Slave Power, who take her to New Orleans, and +finally, being in want of money, sell her with other slaves at auction. +In a very graphic and truthful scene, the "vendue" is depicted. About +this little girl, Clara by name, the intensest interest is thenceforth +made to centre. Her every movement is artfully made a matter of moment +to the reader.</p> + +<p>Antecedent to the introduction of Clara, the true heroine of the novel, +we have the story of Estelle, also a white slave. At first this story +seems like an episode, but it is soon found to be inextricably +interwoven with the plot. The author has shown remarkable dexterity in +preserving the unity of the action so impressively, while dealing with +such a variety of characters. Like a floating melody or <i>tema</i> in a +symphony or an opera, the <i>souvenirs</i> of Estelle are introduced almost +with the effect of pathetic music. Indeed, to those accustomed to look +at plots as works of art, the constructive skill manifest in this novel +will be not the least of its attractive features.</p> + +<p>One word as to the characters. These are drawn with a firm, confident +pencil, as if they were portraits from life. Occasionally, from very +superabundance of material, the author leaves his outline unfilled. But +the important characters are all live and actual flesh and blood. In +Pompilard, a capitally drawn figure, many New-Yorkers will recognize an +original, faithfully limned. In Colonel Delancy Hyde, "Virginia-born," +we have a most amusing representative of the lower orders of the +"Chivalry." Estelle is a charming creation, and we know of few such +touching love-stories as that through which she moves with such +naturalness and grace. In the cousins Vance and Kenrick we have strongly +marked and delicately discriminated portraits. The negro "Peculiar" is +made to attract much of our sympathy and respect. He is not <a name="Page_134" id="Page_134"></a>the buffoon +that the stage and the novel generally make of the black man. He belongs +rather to the class of which Frederick Douglas is a type. It is no more +than poetic justice that from "Peculiar" the book should take its name.</p> + +<p>We should say more of the plot, did we not purposely abstain from +marring the reader's interest by any indiscreet foreshadowing. Everybody +seems to be reading or intending to read the book; and its success is +already so far assured that no hostile criticism can gainsay or check +it. Not the least of the merits of "Peculiar" is the healthy patriotic +spirit which runs through it, vivifying and intensifying the whole. The +style is remarkably animated, often eloquent, and would of itself impart +interest to a story far less rich than this in incident, and less +powerful in plot.</p> + + +<p><i>The Life of William Hickling <a name="Prescott" id="Prescott"></a>Prescott</i>. By <span class="smcap">George Ticknor</span>. +Boston: Ticknor & Fields.</p> + +<p>The third edition of Mr. Ticknor's "History of Spanish Literature" was +noticed with due commendation in our number for November last. That was +a work drawn exclusively from the region of the intellect, and written +by the "dry light" of the understanding. The author appeared throughout +in a purely judicial capacity. His task was to summon before his +literary tribunal the writers of a foreign country, and mostly of past +generations, and pronounce sentence upon their claims and merits. +Learning, method, sound judgment, and good taste are displayed in it; +but the subject afforded no chance for the expression of those personal +traits which are shown in daily life, and make up a man's reputation in +the community where he dwells.</p> + +<p>But the Life of Prescott is a book of another mood, and drawn from other +fountains than those of the understanding. It glows with human +sympathies, and is warm with human feeling. It is the record of a long +and faithful friendship, which began in youth and continued unbroken to +the last. It is the elder of the two that discharges this last office of +affection to his younger brother. Mr. Ticknor could not write the life +of Mr. Prescott without showing how worthy he himself was of having so +true, so loving, and so faithful a friend. But he has done this +unconsciously and unintentionally. For it is one of the charms of this +delightful book—one of the most attractive of the attractive class of +literary biography to which it belongs that we have ever read—that the +biographer never intrudes himself between his subject and the reader. +The story of Mr. Prescott's life is told simply and naturally, and as +far as possible in Mr. Prescott's own words, drawn from his diaries and +letters. Whatever Mr. Ticknor has occasion to say is said with good +taste and good feeling, and he has shown a fine judgment in making his +portraiture of his friend so life-like and so true in detail, and yet in +never overstepping the line of that inner circle into which the public +has no right to enter. We have in these pages a record of Mr. Prescott's +life from his cradle to his grave, sufficiently minute to show what +manner of man he was, and what influences went to make up his mind and +character; and it is a record of more than common value, as well as +interest.</p> + +<p>For the last twenty years of his life Mr. Prescott was one of the most +eminent and widely known of the residents of Boston. He was universally +beloved, esteemed, and admired. He was one of the first persons whom a +stranger coming among us wished to see. His person and countenance were +familiar to many who had no further acquaintance with him; and as he +walked about our streets, many a glance of interest was turned upon him +of which he himself was unconscious. The general knowledge that his +literary honors had been won under no common difficulties, owing to his +defective sight, invested his name and presence with a peculiar feeling +of admiration and regard. The public at large, including those persons +who had but a slight acquaintance with him, saw in him a man very +attractive in personal appearance, and of manners singularly frank and +engaging. There was the same charm in his conversation, his aspect, the +expression of his countenance, that was felt in his writings. Everything +that he did seemed to have been done easily, spontaneously, and without +effort. There were no marks of toil and endurance, of temptations +resisted and seductions overcome. His graceful and limpid style seemed +to flow along with the natural movement of a running stream, <a name="Page_135" id="Page_135"></a>and to +those who saw his winning smile and listened to his gay and animated +talk he appeared like one who had basked in sunshine all his days and +never known the iron discipline of life.</p> + +<p>But this was not true; at least, it was not the whole truth. Besides +this external, superficial aspect, there was an inner life which was +known only to the few who knew him intimately, and which his biography +has now revealed to the world. This memoir sets the author of "Ferdinand +and Isabella" before the public, as Mr. Ticknor says in his preface, "as +a man whose life for more than forty years was one of almost constant +struggle,—of an almost constant sacrifice of impulse to duty, of the +present to the future." Take Mr. Prescott as he was at the age of +twenty-five, and see what the chances are, as the world goes, of his +becoming a laborious and successful man of letters. He was handsome in +person, attractive in manners, possessed of a competent property, very +happy in his domestic relations, with one eye destroyed and the other +impaired by a cruel accident; what was more probable, more natural, than +that he should become a mere man of wit and pleasure about town, and +never write anything beyond a newspaper-article or a review? And we +should remember that defective sight was not the only disability under +which he labored. His health was never robust, and he was a frequent +sufferer from rheumatism and dyspepsia,—the former a winter visitor, +and the latter a summer. And not only this, but there was yet another +lion in his path. His temperament was naturally indolent. He was fond of +social gayety, of light reading, of domestic chat. He had that love of +lounging which Sydney Smith said no Scotchman but Sir James Mackintosh +ever had. But there was a stoical element in him, lying beneath this +easy and pleasure-loving temperament, and subduing and controlling it. +He had a vigilant conscience and a very strong will. He had early come +to the conclusion that not only no honor and no usefulness, but no +happiness, could be secured without a regular and daily recurring +occupation. He made up his mind, after due reflection and consideration, +to make literature his profession; and not only that, but he further +made up his mind to toil in this, his chosen and voluntary vocation, +with the patient and uninterrupted industry of a professional man whose +daily bread depends upon his daily labor.</p> + +<p>And the biography before us reveals that inner life of struggle and +conquest which, while Mr. Prescott was living, was known only to his +most intimate friends. We see here how resolutely and steadily he +contended, not only against defective sight and indifferent health, but +also against the love of ease and the seductions of indolence. We see +with what strenuous effort his literary honors were won, as well as with +what gentleness they were worn. And thus the work has a distinct moral +value, and is full of encouragement to those who, under similar or +inferior disabilities, have determined to make the choice of Hercules, +and prefer a life of labor to a life of pleasure. And this moral lesson +is conveyed in a most winning and engaging way. The interest of the +narrative is kept up to the end with the freshness of a well-constructed +work of fiction. It is an interest not derived from stirring adventures, +for Mr. Prescott's life was very uneventful, but from its happy +portraiture of those delightful qualities of mind and character of which +his life was a revelation. Though it tells of constant struggle and not +a little suffering, the tone of the book is genial, sunny, and cheerful, +as was the temperament of the historian himself. For it is a remarkable +fact that Mr. Prescott's bodily infirmities never had any effect in +making his mind or his character morbid. His spiritual nature was +eminently healthy. His leading intellectual trait was sound good sense +and the power of seeing men and things as they were. He had no whims, no +paradoxes, no prejudices. His histories reflect the aggregate judgment +of mankind upon the personages he describes and the events he narrates, +without extravagance or overstatement in any direction. And it was the +same with his character, as shown in daily life; it was frank, generous, +cordial, and manly. No man was less querulous, less irritable, less +exacting than he. His social nature was warm; discriminating, but not +fastidious. He liked men for the good there was in them, and his taste +in friendship was wide and catholic. He was rich in friends, and this +book proves how just a title to such wealth he could show. We shall be +surprised, <a name="Page_136" id="Page_136"></a>if this biography does not attain a popularity as wide and +as enduring as that enjoyed by any of Mr. Prescott's historical works. +It is largely made up of extracts from his letters and private journals, +which are full of the playful humor, the ready sympathy, the sunny +temper, the kindly judgment of men and things, which made the historian +so dear to his friends and so popular among his acquaintances.</p> + +<p>We cannot dismiss this book without saying a word or two in praise of +its externals. Handsome books are, happily, no longer so rare a product +of the American press as to require heralding when they do appear, but +this is so beautiful a specimen of the art of book-manufacturing that it +deserves special commendation. The type, paper, press-work, and +illustrations are all admirable, and the whole is a result not easily to +be surpassed in any part of the world.</p> + + +<p><i>My Farm of <a name="Edgewood" id="Edgewood"></a>Edgewood. A Country Book</i>. By the Author of "Reveries of a +Bachelor." New York: Charles Scribner. 12mo.</p> + +<p>When "Ik Marvel" ten years ago turned farmer, a good proportion of the +reading public supposed that his experiment would combine the defects of +gentleman- and poet-farming, and that he would escape the bankruptcy of +Shenstone only by possessing the purse of Astor. That a man of refined +sentiments, elegant tastes, wide cultivation, and humane and tender +genius, given, moreover, to indulgences in "Reveries" and the +"Dream-Life," should succeed in the real business of agriculture, seemed +a monstrous supposition to those cockney idealists who consider the +cultivation of the mind incompatible with the cultivation of the ground, +who cannot bring, by any theory of the association of ideas, practical +talent into neighborly good-will with lofty aspirations, and who +necessarily connect the government of brutes with an imbruted +intelligence. The book we have under review is a blunt contradiction to +objectors of the literary class. That it is practical, the coarsest +farmer must admit; that its practicality is not purchased by any mean +and unwise concessions to "popular prejudice," the most sensitive +<i>littérateur</i> will concede; and that the whole representation +constitutes a most charming book, all readers will be eager to +pronounce. Indeed, the critic of the volume is somewhat puzzled to +harmonize the fine rhythm of the periods, and the superb propriety of +the tone, with the subject-matter. The bleakest and most ghastly aspects +of Nature,—the most prosaic facts of the farmer's life,—Irish servants +and compost-heaps,—cows which try to consume their own milk,—beehives +which send forth swarms to sting the children of the house, and give no +honey,—soils which refuse to bear the products which intelligence has +anticipated,—all are transformed into "something rich and strange" by +the poet's alchemy, without any sacrifice of truth, or the insertion of +details which a farmer would disavow as inaccurate or sentimental. The +"Ik" is a full counterpoise to the "Marvel," even to the most literal +reader of the volume, though it is certain that no book has ever before +appeared in our country in which the farmer-life of New England has +assumed so poetic a form. The "chiel" among the agriculturists "taking +notes" will be more likely to seduce than to warn; and if the record of +his eventual triumphs be received as gospel truth, we must expect a vast +emigration of the men of mind from the cities to the country. Who would +not cheerfully encounter all the vexations attending a settlement in "My +Farm in Edgewood" for the compensations so bountifully provided for the +privations?</p> + +<p>To the literary reader the doubt will arise, whether the writer of this +work might not have more profitably employed his time, during the last +ten years, in creating thoughts than in "improving" land,—in diffusing +information than in selling milk. As a poetic, scientific, and practical +farmer, he has doubtless silenced all cynic doubts of his capacity to +make four or six per cent. on the capital he invested in land; but it is +plain, that, without capital, he might have made three or four times as +much by the genial exercise of his literary power. The talent exercised +on his farm we must, therefore, consider from a financial point of view +to have been more or less wasted. As a "gentleman-farmer," he might +easily have repaired from his study all the losses which his trained +subordinates of the garden and <a name="Page_137" id="Page_137"></a>the field incurred from the lack of his +constant superintendence. Everything which a man of mind could want in a +country-residence might have been obtained without his personal +oversight of every minute detail, and the net result of the gains of the +year would have been greater, if, instead of riding daily into New Haven +to sell his milk, he had stayed quietly in his study to write for the +magazines. This calculation we have made from a rigid scrutiny of the +figures in which the author sums up, year after year, his gains.</p> + +<p>We have been provoked into this comparison by the evident glee with +which Ik Marvel parades the results of his agricultural labors. So +earnest is he to show that a man of genius can make money by farming, +that he is inclined to overlook the distinction between the work of an +ordinary and that of an extraordinary mind. Waiving this consideration, +we have nothing to object to his ten years' seclusion from literature. +That seclusion has brought him into contact with the rough realities of +a farmer's life, has enabled him personally to inspect every process of +agriculture, and furnish his mind with an entirely new class of facts. +The result is a book whose merit can hardly be overpraised. It should be +in every farmer's library, as a volume full of practical advice to aid +his daily work, and full of ennobling suggestions to lift his calling +into a kind of epic dignity. As a book for the generality of readers, it +far exceeds any previous work of the author in force, naturalness, and +beauty, in vividness of description and richness of style, and in that +indefinable element of genius which envelops the most prosaic details in +an atmosphere of refinement and grace.</p> + + +<p><i>Methods of Study in <a name="Natural_History" id="Natural_History"></a>Natural History</i>. By <span class="smcap">L. Agassiz</span>. Boston: +Ticknor & Fields. 12mo.</p> + +<p>A work from the scientific storehouse of Professor Agassiz needs only to +have attention called to its existence to command universal welcome. The +readers of the "Atlantic" are already in some measure familiar with its +contents, being a reprint of a series of papers published in this +journal; but they will be read again with double satisfaction in this +continuous form. The avowed purpose is "to give some general hints to +young students as to the methods by which scientific truth has been +reached."</p> + +<p>There are many lovers of Nature, and many students of Nature; but there +are very few whom we may term philosophers of Nature. In other words, +there are those who are charmed with the external world, its landscapes, +its beauteous forms and tints, and all its various adaptations to +fascinate the senses,—and those who delight in deciphering and +describing all the details of individual objects, and their wonderful +fitness to the role they have severally or unitedly to play; and there +is the man who, endowed with all this, seeks to go still farther, and +from myriads of observations to deduce great general truths. He is the +philosopher.</p> + +<p>When Agassiz arrived in this country, there were many good observers of +Nature here, and many who had accumulated a large store of facts. Each +one had been working in his own way, almost alone, scarcely knowing the +ultimate aims of scientific research, much less knowing how to arrive at +them. To him, more than to any other person, zoölogists in this country +are indebted for showing them how to work, and for presenting to them a +plan to be worked out, with processes and means by which this is to be +done. And now he designs to diffuse these high aims and methods +throughout the community. As he says, "The time has come when scientific +truth must cease to be the property of the few, when it must be woven +into the common life of the world." Of all men, he is the one to gain +the ear and understanding of the public on such matters, and to command +the recognition of his conclusions. His faculty of simplifying great +principles, and of clothing them in such language and with such +illustrations as to render them intelligible and attractive to the +uninstructed, is one of Professor Agassiz's most rare characteristics. +In these chapters he has unfolded some of the methods by which high +scientific results have been and may be attained, and has well +illustrated them. In a short sketch of the progress of Natural History, +he has noticed the methods which were successively pursued in its study, +and the long time which elapsed before anything like true science was +developed; he has pointed out the necessity and nature of +classification, the important <a name="Page_138" id="Page_138"></a>terms employed, as classes, orders, +families, genera, and species, and their signification, and dwells upon +the great idea that all the denominations represented by these terms +exist definitely in Nature, and can be legitimate and permanent only as +they conform to the plan laid down by Nature herself. Much of the work +is devoted to the enforcement of this doctrine. He shows us, more +especially by the class of Radiates, how objects at first view widely +different all conform to the same definite plan, and how some which +during a part of their history would not be suspected of having any +alliance with each other, yet, by alternate generations, come to be +identical. He shows, by the ovarian egg, the great simplicity and +apparent identity of the beginnings of all animal life, and the +successive steps by which the diversified forms of animals are +developed, and insists upon the necessity of following the history of an +animal through all its phases before its true place in the grand plan +can be determined. He discusses the permanence of species, and the +limits of their variation, which he illustrates more especially by the +growth of corals, and most emphatically expresses his dissent from the +startling development-doctrines of Darwin. But it would be fruitless to +attempt an abstract of the numerous truths he has alluded to, and the +methods by which such truths are to be sought. It is to these truths, in +contradistinction to the mere study and description of species, and the +building up of systems on external characters alone, that he hopes to +direct attention. Those comprehensive truths are few. Agassiz tells us, +that, after a whole life devoted to the study of Nature, a simple +sentence may express all he himself has 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." +Though this is by no means the limit of his claim so modestly expressed, +yet that was a grand generalization, and, like the great doctrine of +gravitation, and the demonstration by Cuvier of the existence of races +of animals and plants on the globe anterior to those now existing, it +proves to be of almost indefinite application, and, like those +doctrines, has revolutionized science.</p> + +<p>The peculiar scientific views here presented this is no place to +criticize. But we may say that to every student of liberal culture this +work is essential. Every teacher's table and every school-library should +be furnished with it.</p> + + +<p><i><a name="Hannah_Thurston" id="Hannah_Thurston"></a>Hannah Thurston: A Story of American Life</i>. By <span class="smcap">Bayard Taylor</span>. +New York: G.P. Putnam.</p> + +<p>Mr. Bayard Taylor evidently does not subscribe to the theory which +"Friends in Council" attributes to a large class: "that men cannot excel +in more things than one; and that, if they can, they had better be quiet +about it." Having already achieved a reputation as a traveller, a poet, +and a secretary to a foreign legation, he now enters the lists with the +novelists, who must look well to their laurels, if they would not have +them snatched from their brows by this new-comer.</p> + +<p>The book is called "A Story of American Life." It is American life, just +as the statue of the Venus de' Medici or the Apollo Belvedere is the +representation of the human figure. No Athenian belle, no Delphic +athlete, stood for those beautiful shapes; but the nose was modelled +from one copy, the limbs from another, the brow from a third, and the +result is a joy forever. So the American life portrayed in this story is +a conglomeration, and partially a caricature, of the various <i>isms</i> +which have disturbed the strata of our social life. That early American +village should present within its outmost circle the collection of +peculiarities gathered here would be little less than marvellous. That +they are found in so many American villages as to justify their being +attributed to American villages in general is preposterous. Certainly, +this picture does not daguerreotype New England, however it may be in +New York,—and though New England is small and provincial and New York +is large and cosmopolitan, still we respectfully submit that any +characteristic which may belong to New York and does not belong to New +England is local and not national; and though a writer, for his own +convenience and the better to convey his moral, may, if he choose, group +all the wickednesses and weaknesses of the land in one secluded spot, he +ought not to convey to strangers so wrong an idea of our rural social +life as <a name="Page_139" id="Page_139"></a>to make that spot the exponent of all.—So much for the title.</p> + +<p>We now open the book, and are immediately in the midst of scenes which +have an indescribable familiarity. We have a confused sense of having +met these people before. Certainly they have a strong family-likeness to +denizens of modern novels. The sewing-circles and small-talk savor of +the cheap wit of Widow Bedott. Jutnapore must have descended in a right +line from Borrioboola-Gha. The traditional spinsters with their +"withered bosoms" march in four abreast. The hereditary clergymen, +hungry, sectarian, sanctimonious, rabid, form into line with the +precision acquired by long drill. The hero and heroine stand up as good +as married in the first chapter. The features of the hero are instantly +recognizable. There is the small stir, the rising of the curtain, and +<i>some one</i> steps upon the stage, "tall and sunburnt, with a +moustache,"—'tis he! Alonzo!—"with easy self-possession and a genial +air,"—the very man,—"habitual manners slightly touched with reserve, +but no man could unbend more easily,"—who but he, our old +acquaintance?—"a rich baritone voice," "strung with true masculine +fibre," striking in among the sharps and flats and bringing them all +into harmony,—that is the invariable way. "Generally, the least +intellectual persons sing with the truest and most touching expression, +because voice and intellect are rarely combined, [the reason seems to us +rather a restatement of the fact,] but Maxwell Woodbury's fine organ had +not been given to him at the expense of his brain." Certainly not. He +never would have been our hero, if it had. When you add, that "his +manners were thoroughly refined, and his property large enough and not +too large for leisure," why, one might almost send a sheriff to arrest +him, trusting to this description to make sure of his identity. The +heroine is of course the "pale, quiet, earnest-looking girl," who, in +the midst of snoods, frocks, jackets, pocket-handkerchiefs, and other +commonplace handicraft, is embroidering with green silk upon warm brown +cloth the thready stems and frail diminishing fronds of a group of +fern-leaves,—who alone among assured matrons and faded spinsters is +visited by "a flitting blush, delicate and transient as the shadow of a +rose tossed upon marble,"—and who matches the "glorious lay" of the +hero, that "thrilled and shook her with its despairing solemnity," with +an Alpine song, that, pure and sweet, sets the hero once more face to +face with the Rosenlaui glacier and the jagged pyramid of the +Wetterhorn.</p> + +<p>To this there is no special objection. Every man has a right to heap +virtues and graces upon his hero, and to heighten their effect by as +much uncouthness and insincerity as he chooses to attribute to the +subordinates; but so far as he professes to represent life, he should +keep within the bounds of natural laws. If he chooses to introduce +time-honored personages, we shall not quarrel with him, although we +certainly think it desirable that some fresh piquancy in their +characters shall be the vindication of their reappearance. We may regret +that a subtle, but palpable ridicule is cast upon foreign missions,—a +cause which, whether successful or unsuccessful in its immediate +objects, will forever stand recorded as one of the most unselfish, the +most sublime, and the most Christ-like movements that have ever been +originated by man. The hero does, indeed, patronize them to the extent +of saying that he has "seen something of your missions in India, and +believes that they are capable of accomplishing much good,"—adding, +however, lest his words excite hopes too sanguine, "Still, you must not +expect immediate returns. It is only the lowest caste that is now +reached, and the Christianizing of India must come, eventually, from the +highest,"—words which we shall be very ready to take as opinion, but +very slow to receive as oracle, since, from the time when the Founder of +Christianity was upon the earth, and the common people heard him gladly, +while the higher classes thrust him out of their synagogues, till the +present day, the history of Christianity has been the history of an +influence rising from the lower layers of society into the upper, rather +than filtering down from the upper into the lower.</p> + +<p>Since, also, however vulgarly the Grindles may put it, it is true that +drunkenness <i>is</i> the agony of wives, the dread of mothers,—that it does +destroy hopes, desolate hearths, break hearts,—that within the last two +years it has added to its terrible deeds wide disasters to our arms, +long sorrow to our country, and fruitless death in <a name="Page_140" id="Page_140"></a>a thousand +households,—we think it would have been well, if the discredit cast +upon temperance measures, and the discomfiture visited upon its +advocates, had been accompanied by a less covert recognition of the evil +and by a more obvious sympathy with its victims. Since the methods taken +to insure self-control are insufficient, would it not have been possible +to indicate better? Since Woodbury does not think abstinence to be the +cure of intemperance, could he not justify his practice by a higher +principle than self-indulgence, lay it on a deeper foundation than +dilettanteism?</p> + +<p>We regret, also, that in a book by Bayard Taylor there should have been +found room for such a paragraph as this:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The churches in the village undertook their periodical +'revivals,' which absorbed the interest of the community while +they lasted. It was not the usual season in Ptolemy for such +agitations of the religious atmosphere,—but the Methodist +clergyman, a very zealous and impassioned speaker, having +initiated the movement with great success, the other sects became +alarmed lest he should sweep all the repentant sinners of the +place into his own fold. As soon as they could obtain help from +Tiberius, the Baptists followed, and the Rev. Lemuel Styles was +constrained to do likewise. For a few days the latter regained the +ground he had lost, and seemed about to distance his competitors. +Luckily for him,... the material for conversion, drawn upon from +so many different quarters, was soon exhausted; but the rival +churches stoutly held out, until convinced that neither had any +further advantage to gain over the other."</p></div> + +<p>No one who has given to the religious phenomena of the day the smallest +degree of intellectual and sympathetic attention can fail to pronounce +this a gross and ill-bred caricature. Ridicule is the legitimate weapon +of Truth; but ridicule that strikes rudely and indiscriminately, +wounding without benefiting, is not found in the hands of Christian +courtesy. We regret these blemishes, and such as these, the more because +we are persuaded that the effects produced were not intended by the +author. We believe, not only from his previous reputation, but from the +spirit of the book, which warms, deepens, and clarifies itself as it +goes on, that he aimed only at results pure, healthful, and desirable. +It is by no design of his, that young feet, already wavering downward, +will not be strengthened to pause, to turn, to steady themselves, but +will rather be lured on by his words. It is no purpose of his to make +the crusts of Materialism harden still more hopelessly above the stifled +soul. He designs to ridicule only that which is ridiculous. There are +evidences of a purpose to relieve the darkness of his coloring in each +instance by lines of light, but it is not made palpable enough for +running readers. He has seen the weakness that generally develops itself +in, and the hypocrisy that almost invariably clings to the skirts of a +great popular movement, and it is these alone which he aims to bring +down. In this he is right. He errs in that his vision is neither clear +nor broad. He does not always wisely discriminate as to the nature or +extent of the disease, or the effect of the remedy which he applies. The +cause of the difficulty has baffled his researches. The people upon whom +his strictures fall, and to whom strictures belong, will be inflamed, +but they will not be enlightened; and they who do see the real nature of +the movement, its bane as well as its blessing, and who are constantly +laboring to separate the chaff from the wheat, will not be helped, but +hindered, by his well-meant efforts.</p> + +<p>But, as we intimated, the book, like fame, increases in going. Under all +the wit and humor, which are often very charming, under all the satire, +which is none the less enjoyable because occasionally half-hidden, under +the somewhat multifarious machinery, which the peculiar structure of the +book renders necessary, there rises slowly into view and presently into +prominence the outline of a purpose as noble as it is rare. In the teeth +of popular prejudice, Bayard Taylor has had the courage to take for his +heroine a woman "strong-minded," austere in her faith, past her first +youth, given to public speaking, and imbued, we might almost say to +stubbornness, with ultra ideas of "woman's rights." True, he has given +her to us in the most modified form possible to such a character, +utterly pure, unselfish, true, refined, without ambition, impelled by +the highest motives, and guided by the highest principles. But the +conjunction of these two classes of qualities in one person is the real +Malakoff. That accomplished and the work is done. In this conception +lies the true originality of the book. In this attempt lies the true +consciousness of power. He <a name="Page_141" id="Page_141"></a>who can make his hero say,—"It was my +profound appreciation of those very elements in your character which led +you to take up these claims of woman and make them your own, that opened +the way for you to my heart: I reverence the qualities, without +accepting all the conclusions born of them,"—has a deeper insight than +most of his fellows. He shows that he looks at things, and not at the +traditions of things. He is not led away by the cry of the mob, and the +gleam of gold so pure and solid almost changes into indignation our +regret that he has ever suffered himself to be deceived by the glare of +tawdry tinsel.</p> + +<p>Yet even here he has not struck all truth. It is the most improbable +thing in the world that any woman should have built up such a wall +around herself as is represented here. It is morally impossible that +such a woman as Hannah Thurston should have done it. It is simply +unnatural. It might, perhaps, happen, just as a woman might happen to +have been born with five fingers on each hand. But it is not with freaks +of Nature, it is with Nature, that we have to deal. Girls may please +themselves with fine-sounding phrases about equal powers and equal +rights in marriage, but they generally vanish with the first approach of +a living affection. No idea of independence or equality ever, we dare +affirm, came between a great nature and its great love. No woman of +exalted aims and large capacities, it may be safely said, will ever be +held back from love, or even from marriage, by any scruples as to her +relative standing. The stumbling-block in the way of such a woman as +Hannah Thurston would not be a dread of the "submission of love," but +rather of a submission without love, a submission of mere contiguity to +somewhat hard, false, coarse, unjust, naming itself with a name to which +it had no title. If she trusted her lover thoroughly, she would intrust +all risks to love. She would know with her head and feel with her heart, +that, with the chivalry, the intensity, the reverence, the elevation of +such a sentiment as she imagined, there could be neither bondage nor +freedom, neither mine nor thine, but a oneness that would bring all +relations into harmony with itself. The very essence of love is +humility, and at the same time its glory is that it abolishes all laws, +all rights, all powers, and is to itself alone law, right, and power. By +the completeness of self-abnegation may the footsteps of love be traced. +This partially the author recognizes, choosing it for the conclusion of +the whole matter, but erring in that he makes it come with resistance +and reluctance, the conquest of love, instead of spontaneously and +unconsciously, its necessary concomitant.</p> + +<p>In the hero of the story and his relations to the heroine, with +occasional questionable traits, we find often a generosity, delicacy, +and devotion which give promise of good. A man who can conceive a +character so much above the common level, where the common level has +always been low, cannot fail by continued observation and candid +thinking to rise still higher. Frequently already, seeming hardly to be +conscious of it, he impinges upon a far-reaching, deep-lying, but +generally unrecognized truth. When men shall have come to study the +nature of woman, instead of haranguing about her duties, a great point +will have been gained.</p> + +<p>The blemishes which we have pointed out, and others which we have not +pointed out, are only blemishes, and chiefly upon the surface. They mar, +but they do not vitiate.</p> + +<p>The limits of a magazine will not admit that adequate analysis and +criticism which the ability of the book, both in point of subject and +treatment, deserves. We have only space to say, that, making every +allowance for every fault, it has the merit of being a pioneer, and an +able pioneer, in a tract which has been hitherto, so far as we know, +unbroken wilderness. Its author has not solved the problem,—he does not +even understand all its conditions; but he is travelling in the +direction of the true solution: and he offers us the rare, we had almost +said the solitary, spectacle of a man and an opponent bringing to the +discussion of the "Woman's-Rights question" an appreciable degree of +sense, justice, and moral dignity.</p><p><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="RECENT_AMERICAN_PUBLICATIONS" id="RECENT_AMERICAN_PUBLICATIONS"></a>RECENT AMERICAN PUBLICATIONS</h2> + +<h3>RECEIVED BY THE EDITORS OF THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.</h3> + + +<p>Manual of Instructions for Military Surgeons, on the Examination of +Recruits and Discharge of Soldiers. With an Appendix, containing the +Official Regulations of the Provost-Marshal-General's Bureau, and those +for the Formation of the Invalid Corps, etc. Prepared at the Request of +the U.S. Sanitary Commission. By John Ordronaux, M.D., Professor of +Medical Jurisprudence in Columbia College, New York. New York. D. Van +Nostrand. 12mo. pp. 238. $1.50.</p> + +<p>Systems of Military Bridges in Use by the United States Army, those +adopted by the. Great European Powers, and such as are employed in +British India. With Directions for the Preservation, Destruction, and +Reestablishment of Bridges. By Brigadier-General George W. Cullum, +Lieutenant-Colonel Corps of Engineers U.S. Army, Chief of Staff of the +General-in-Chief of the Armies of the United States. New York. D. Van +Nostrand. 8vo. pp. vi., 236. $3.50</p> + +<p>General Order No. 100, Adjutant-General's Office. Instructions for the +Government of Armies of the United States in the Field. Prepared by +Francis Lieber, LL.D., and revised by a Board of Officers. New York. D. +Van Nostrand. 16mo. paper, pp. 36. 25 cts.</p> + +<p>A Treatise on Hygiene, with Special Reference to the Military Service. +By William A. Hammond, M.D., Surgeon-General U.S. Army, Fellow of the +College of Physicians of Philadelphia, Member of the Philadelphia +Pathological Society, of the Academy of Natural Sciences, of the +American Philosophical Society, Honorary Corresponding Member of the +British Medical Association, etc., etc. Philadelphia. J.B. Lippincott & +Co. 8vo. pp. xvi., 604. $5.00.</p> + +<p>A Supplement to Ure's Dictionary of Arts, Manufactures, and Mines, +containing a Clear Exposition of their Principles and Practice. From the +Last Edition. Edited by Robert Hunt, F.R.S., F.S.S., Keeper of Mining +Records, etc., assisted by Numerous Contributors Eminent in Science and +Familiar with Manufactures. Illustrated with Seven Hundred Engravings on +Wood. New York. D. Appleton & Co. 8vo. pp. 1095. $7.00.</p> + +<p>Works of Charles Dickens. Household Edition. Illustrated from Drawings +by F.O.C. Darley and John Gilbert. Bleak House. In Four Volumes. New +York. Sheldon & Co. 16mo. pp. 312, 321, 320, 308. $4.00.</p> + +<p>War-Pictures from the South. By B. Estvan, Colonel of Cavalry in the +Confederate Army. New York. D. Appleton & Co. 12mo. pp. viii., 352., +$1.25.</p> + +<p>In the Tropics. By a Settler in San Domingo. With an Introductory Notice +by Richard B. Kimball, Author of "St. Leger," etc. New York. G.W. +Carleton. 16mo. pp. 306. $1.25.</p> + +<p>Rockford; or, Sunshine and Storm. By Mrs. Lillie Devereux Umstead, +Author of "Southwold." New York. G.W. Carleton. 16mo. pp. 308. $1.00.</p> + +<p>What to Eat and How to Cook it: containing over One Thousand Receipts, +systematically and practically arranged, to enable the Housekeeper to +prepare the most Difficult or Simpler Dishes in the Best Manner. By +Pierre Blot, late Editor of the "Almanach Gastronomique" of Paris, and +other Gastronomical Works. New York. D. Appleton & Co. 16mo. pp. 259. +$1.00.</p> + +<p>A Critical History of Free Thought in Reference to the Christian +Religion. Eight Lectures preached before the University of Oxford, in +the Year MDCCCLXII., on the Foundation of the late John Bampton, M.A., +Canon of Salisbury. By Adam Storey Farrar, M.A., Michel Fellow of +Queen's College, Oxford. New York. D. Appleton & Co. 12mo. pp. xlvi., +487. $2.00.</p> + +<p>The White-Mountain Guide-Book. Third Edition. Concord, N.H. Edson C. +Eastman. 16mo. pp. 222. 75 cts.</p> + +<p>The Historical Shakspearian Reader: comprising the "Histories" or +"Chronicle Plays" of Shakspeare; carefully expurgated and revised, with +Explanatory Notes. Expressly adapted for the Use of Schools, Colleges, +and the Family Reading-Circle. By John W.S. Hows, Author of "The +Shakspearian Reader," etc. New York. D. Appleton & Co. 12mo. pp. 503. +$1.50.</p> + +<p>The Gold-Seekers. A Tale of California. By Gustave Aimard. Philadelphia. +T.B. Peterson & Brothers. 8vo. paper, pp. 148. 50 cts.</p> + +<p>Peter Carradine; or, The Martindale Pastoral. By Caroline Chesebro. New +York. Sheldon & Co. 12mo. pp. 399. $1.50.</p> + +<p>Sights A-Foot. By Wilkie Collins. Philadelphia. T.B. Peterson & +Brothers. 8vo. pp. 135. 50 cts.</p> + +<p>Light. By Helen Modêt. New York. D. Appleton & Co. 12mo. pp. 339. $1.25.</p> + +<p>The Young Parson. Philadelphia. Smith, English, & Co. 12mo. pp. 384. +$1.25.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> The letter is given in the valuable collection of "Winthrop +Papers," drawn from the same rich repository which has furnished many of +the precious materials in the volume before us. The collection appears +as the Sixth Volume of the IVth Series of Collections of the +Massachusetts Historical Society.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> All the trigonometrical measurements connected with my +experiments were very ably conducted by Mr. Wild, now Professor at the +Federal Polytechnic School in Zurich; they are recorded in the +topographical survey and map of the glacier of the Aar, accompanying my +"Système Glaciare."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_C_3" id="Footnote_C_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_C_3"><span class="label">[C]</span></a> Since the above was written, intelligence has been received +of the defeat of General Longstreet, the losses experienced by the enemy +being great. This disposes of the remains of the great army which Mr. +Davis had assembled to reconquer Tennessee, and to reëstablish +communications between the various parts of the Southern Confederacy on +this side of the Mississippi. The Army of the Potomac has returned to +its former ground, near Washington.</p></div> + +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 13, No. +75, January, 1864, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY, VOLUME *** + +***** This file should be named 16200-h.htm or 16200-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/2/0/16200/ + +Produced by Cornell University, Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine +Paolucci and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 13, No. 75, January, 1864 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: July 4, 2005 [EBook #16200] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY, VOLUME *** + + + + +Produced by Cornell University, Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine +Paolucci and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +[Transcriber's note: All footnotes moved to end of document] + + + + +THE + +ATLANTIC MONTHLY. + + +A MAGAZINE OF + +LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS. + +VOLUME XIII. + +[Illustration] + +BOSTON: + +TICKNOR AND FIELDS, + +135, WASHINGTON STREET. + + * * * * * + +LONDON: TRUeBNER AND COMPANY. + +M DCCC LXIV. + +Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by TICKNOR AND +FIELDS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of +Massachusetts. + +PRINTED BY SAM'L CHISM, Franklin Printing House, 112 Congress St., +Boston + +RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: STEREOTYPED BY H.O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +Ambassadors in Bonds _Caroline Chesebro_ +Annesley Hall and Newstead Abbey _Mrs. R.C. Waterston_ + +Beginning of the End, The _C.C. Hazewell_ +Bryant _G.S. Hillard_ + +California as a Vineland +Convulsionists of St. Medard, The _Robert Dale Owen_ +Cruise on Lake Ladoga, A _Bayard Taylor_ + +Fast-Day at Foxden, A +Fighting Facts for Fogies _C.C. Hazewell_ +First Visit to Washington, The _J.T. Trowbridge_ +Fouquet the Magnificent _F. Sheldon_ + +Genius _J. Brownlee Brown_ +Glacial Period _Prof. Louis Agassiz_ +Glaciers, External Appearance of _Prof. Louis Agassiz_ +Glen Roy, in Scotland, The Parallel Roads of _Prof. Louis Agassiz_ +Gold-Fields of Nova Scotia, The _Arthur Gilman_ +Guides, A Talk about _Maria S. Cummins_ + +Half-Life, A, and Half a Life _Miss E.H. Appleton_ +House and Home Papers _Harriet Beecher Stowe_ + +Irving, Washington _Donald G. Mitchell_ + +Life on the Sea Islands _Miss Forten_ + +Minister Plenipotentiary, The _O.W. Holmes_ +Mormons, Among the _Fitz-Hugh Ludlow_ +My Book _Gail Hamilton_ + +New-England Revolution of the Seventeenth Century, The, _J.G. Palfrey_ +Northern Invasions _E.E. Hale_ + +Old Bachelor, Some Account of the Early Life of an _Mrs. A.M. Diaz_ +Our Progressive Independence _O.W. Holmes_ +Our Soldiers _Mrs. Furness_ + +Peninsular Campaign, The _Lt.-Col. B.L. Alexander_ +Pictor Ignotus _Gail Hamilton_ +Presidential Election, The _C.C. Hazewell_ + +Queen of California, The _E.E. Hale_ + +Ray _Harriet E. Prescott_ +Relation of Art to Nature, On the _J. Eliot Cabot_ +Rim, The _Harriet E. Prescott_ +Robson _George Augustus Sala_ + +Schoolmaster's Story, The _Mrs. A.M. Diaz_ +Stephen Yarrow _Author of "Life in the Iron Mills"_ + +Thackeray, William Makepeace _Bayard Taylor_ +Types _William Winter_ + +Victory, How to Use _E.E. Hale_ + +Yo-Semite, Seven Weeks in the Great _Fitz-Hugh Ludlow_ + +Wet-Weather Work _Donald G. Mitchell_ + +Whittier _D.A. Wasson_ +Winthrop, Governor John, in Old England _G.E. Ellis_ + + +POETRY. + +Black Preacher, The _J.R. Lowell_ +Brother of Mercy, The _John G. Whittier_ + +Dante's "Paradiso," Three Cantos of _H.W. Longfellow_ + +Gold Hair _Robert Browning_ + +Kalif of Baldacca, The _H.W. Longfellow_ + +Last Charge, The _O.W. Holmes_ + +Memoriae Positum R.G.S _J.R. Lowell_ +My Brother and I _J.T. Trowbridge_ + +Neva, The _Bayard Taylor_ + +On Picket Duty _Mrs. W.T. Johnson_ +Our Classmate _O.W. Holmes_ + +Planting of the Apple-Tree, The _W.C. Bryant_ +Presence _Alice, Gary_ +Prospice _Robert Browning_ + +Reaper's Dream, The _T.B. Read_ +Reenlisted _Lucy Larcom_ + +Shakspeare _O.W. Holmes_ +Snow _Elizabeth A.C. Akers_ +Snow-Man, The _C.J. Sprague_ +Song _Alice Cary_ + +To a Young Girl Dying _T.W. Parsons_ + +Under the Cliff _Robert Browning_ + +Wreck of Rivermouth, The _John G. Whittier_ + + +REVIEWS AND LITERACY NOTICES. + +Adams's Church Pastorals +Agassiz's Methods of Study in Natural History +Alger's Critical History of the Doctrine of a Future Life + +Boynton's History of West Point +Browning's Sordello, Strafford, Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day + +Craik's History of English Literature + +Draper's History of the Intellectual Development of Europe +Dream Children + +Foederalist, The, Dawson's Edition + +Gillett's Life and Times of Huss + +Hallam's Remains +Hannah Thurston + +Merivale's History of the Romans under the Empire +Mill's Principles of Political Economy +My Days and Nights on the Battle-field +My Farm of Edgewood + +Peculiar +Possibilities of Creation + +Ray's Mental Hygiene +Renan, De l'Origine du Langage + +Smiles's Industrial Biography +Spencer's Illustrations of Progress + +Thackeray's Roundabout Papers +Ticknor's Life of Prescott +Tuckerman's Poems +Tyndall on Heat + +Weiss's Life and Correspondence of Theodore Parker + + +RECENT AMERICAN PUBLICATIONS + + + + +THE + +ATLANTIC MONTHLY. + +A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS. + +VOL. XIII.--JANUARY, 1864--NO. LXXV. + +Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by TICKNOR AND +FIELDS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of +Massachusetts. + + * * * * * + +GOVERNOR JOHN WINTHROP IN OLD ENGLAND. + + +Our magazine was introduced to the world bearing on the cover of its +first number a vignette of the portraiture of the ever honored and +revered John Winthrop, first Governor of the Colony of Massachusetts +Bay. The effigies expressed a countenance, features, and a tone of +character in beautiful harmony with all that we know of the man, all +that he was and did. Gravity and loftiness of soul, tempered by a mild +and tender delicacy, depth of experience, resolution of purpose, native +dignity, acquired wisdom, and an harmonious equipoise of the robust +virtues and the winning graces have set their unmistakable tokens on +those lineaments. That vignette, after renewing from month to month +before our readers, for nearly four years, as gracious and fragrant a +memory as can engage the love of a New-England heart, gave place, in the +month of June, 1861, to the only emblem, no longer personal, which might +claim to supplant it. The national flag, during a struggle which has +seen its dignity insulted only to rouse and nerve the spirit which shall +vindicate its glory, has displaced that bearded and ruffed portraiture. + +The visitor to the Massachusetts State-House may see, hanging in its +Senate-Chamber, tolerably well preserved on its canvas, what is +believed, on trustworthy evidence, to be Vandyck's own painting of +Winthrop. Another portrait of him--not so agreeable to the eye, nor so +faithful, we are sure, to the original, yet reputed to date from the +lifetime of its subject--hangs in the Hall of the American Antiquarian +Society at Worcester. Those of our readers who have not lovingly pored +and paused over Mr. Savage's elaborately illustrated edition of Governor +Winthrop's Journal do not know what a profitable pleasure invites them, +whenever they shall have grace to avail themselves of it. But who that +knows John Winthrop through such materials of memory and such fruits of +high and noble service as up to this time have been accessible and +extant here has not longed for, and will not most heartily welcome, a +new contribution, coming by surprise, unlooked for, unhoped for even, +but yielding, from the very fountain-head, the means of a most intimate +converse with him in that period of his life till now wholly unrecorded +for us? We had known his character as displayed here. We have now a most +authentic and complete development of the process by which that +character was moulded and built abroad. The President of the +Massachusetts Historical Society has been privileged to do a service +which, with most rare felicity, embraces his indebtedness to his own +good name, to his official place, and to the city and State which have +invested him with so many of their highest honors. + +The Honorable Robert C. Winthrop, a descendant in the seventh generation +from our honored First Governor, seizing upon a brief vacation-interval +in the course of his high public service, made a visit to England in the +summer of 1847. He was naturally drawn towards his ancestral home at +Groton, in Suffolk. The borough itself, with its own due share of +historic interest, from men of mark and their deeds, is composed of one +of those clusters of villages which are sure in an English landscape to +have some charm in their picturesque combinations. The visitor had the +privilege of worshipping on a Sunday in the same parish church where his +ancestors, holding the right of presentation, had joined in the same +form of service, to whose font they had brought their children in +baptism, and at whose altar-rails they had stood for "the solemnization +of matrimony," and knelt in the office of communion. The second entry +made in the parish register, still retained in the vestry, records the +death of the head of the family in 1562. Outside the church, and close +against its walls, is the tomb of the Winthrop family, which, by a happy +coincidence, had just been repaired, as if ready to receive a visitor +from a land where tombs are not supposed to have the justification of +age for being dilapidated. The father, the grandfather, and perhaps the +great-grandfather of our John Winthrop were committed to that +repository. The family name and arms, with a Latin inscription in memory +of the parents of the Governor, are legible still, "_Beati sunt +pacifici_" is the benediction which either the choice of those who rest +beneath it, or the congenial tribute of some survivor, has selected to +close the epitaph. Only traces of the cellar of the mansion-house and of +its garden-plot are now visible to mark the home where the Chief +Magistrates of Massachusetts and Connecticut, father and son, had lived +together and had matured the "conclusions" on which they exiled +themselves. + +A monstrous and idle tradition, heard by the visitor, as he surveyed the +outlines of his ancestral home, prompted him to that labor of love which +he has so felicitously performed, and with such providential helps, in a +biography. The absurdity of the tradition, equally defiant as it is of +the consistencies of character and the facts of chronology, is a warning +to those who rely on these floating confoundings of fact and fiction, +which, as some one has said, "are almost as misleading as history." Two +hundred years and more had seen that manor-house deserted of its former +occupants. The neighboring residents had kept their name in remembrance, +more, probably, through the help of the tomb than of the dwelling. +Speculation and romance would deal with them as an extinct or an exiled +family. The story had become current on the spot, that the Winthrops +were regicides, and had fled to America, having, however, buried some +precious hoard of money about their premises before their flight. Our +author suggests the altogether likely idea that a suspicion might have +attached to him as having come over to search for that treasure. Little +may he have imagined what thoughts may have distracted the reverence of +some of his humble fellow-worshippers in Groton Church who whispered the +nature of his errand one to another. Our honored Governor and his son of +Connecticut had been near a score of years on this soil before Charles +I. was beheaded. Mr. Savage informs us that he was once asked by a +descendant of the father whether he had received before his death +tidings of the execution of his old master. The annotator is able to +quote a letter from Roger Williams, "to his honored kind friend, Mr. +John Winthrop at Nameag," [New London,] lettered on the back, "Mr. +Williams of ye high news about the king." This letter, conveying recent +tidings, was dated at Narragansett, June 26, 1649, two months after the +elder Winthrop had died in Boston. + +It was but natural that even the absurdity of the tradition lingering +around the traces of the Groton manor should have served, with other far +more constraining inducements, to excite in the visitor a purpose to +employ his first period of relief from official service in rendering an +act of public as well as of private obligation to the memory of his +progenitors,--especially as there existed no adequate and extended +biography, but only scattered and fragmentary memorials of them in our +copious literary stores. Happily for him, and surely to the highest +gratification of those who were to be his readers, materials most +abundant, and of the most authentic and self-revealing sort, in journals +and letters, were attainable, to give to the work essentially the +character of an autobiography, and that, too, of the most attractive +cast. A second visit of the author to England in 1859-60, and the most +opportune reception of a large collection of original papers, preserved +in another line of the Governor's descendants, put his fortunate +biographer in possession of the means for completing a work surpassed by +no similar volume known to us in the gracious attractions and in the +substantial interest of its contents. The book may safely rely for its +due reception upon the noble character, complete and harmonious in all +the virtues, and upon the eminent public services, of its subject. It +has other strong recommendations, affording, in style, method, and +spirit, a model for books of the same class, and embracing all those +paramount qualities of thoroughness, research, accuracy, good taste, +incidental illustration, and, above all, an appreciative spirit, which +stamp the worth of such labors. + +We must leave almost unnoticed the author's elaborate chapter on the +pedigree and the early history of the Winthrop family. He is content to +begin this side of those who "came over with the Conqueror," and to +accept for ancestry men and women untitled, of the sterling English +stock, delvers of the soil, and spinners of the fabrics of which it +affords the raw material. He finds almost his own full name introducing +a record on the Rolls of Court in the County of York for the year 1200. +Adam Winthrop, grandfather of our Governor, himself the father, as he +was also the son of other Adams, was born in Lavenham, Suffolk, October +9, 1498, six years after the discovery of this country by Columbus, and +in the same year in which occurred the voyage of Vespucius, who gave his +name to the continent. This second Adam Winthrop, at the age of +seventeen, went to London, binding himself as an apprentice for ten +years under the well-esteemed and profitable guild of the "clothiers," +or cloth-workers. At the expiration of his apprenticeship, in 1526, he +was sworn a citizen of London, and, after filling the subordinate +dignities of his craft, rose to the mastership of his company in 1551. +The Lordship of the Manor of Groton, at the dissolution of the +monasteries, was granted to Adam Winthrop in 1544. Retaining his +mercantile relations in the great city, and probably residing there at +intervals, he seated himself in landed dignity at his manor, and there +he died in 1562. His memorialist now holds in his possession the +original bronze plate which was put upon his tomb three hundred years +ago, and which was probably removed to give place to the new inscription +connected with the repairs already referred to. This ancient sepulchral +brass bears in quaint old English characters the following +inscription:--"Here lyeth Mr. Adam Wynthrop, Lorde & Patron of Groton, +whiche departed owt of this Worlde the IXth day of November, in the +yere of owre Lorde God MCCCCCLXII." His widow, who had been his second +wife, married William Mildmay; and his daughter Alice married Mr. +Mildmay's son Thomas, who, being afterwards knighted, secured to the +cloth-worker's daughter the title of "Lady Mildmay." In the cabinet of +the American Antiquarian Society at Worcester, the visitor, on the +asking, may be gratified with the sight and touch of a curious old relic +which will bring him almost into contact with a most agreeable +family-circle of the olden time. It is a serviceable posset-pot, with a +silver tip and lid, both of which are gilded, the cover, still playing +faithfully on its hinge, being chased with the device of Adam and Eve in +the garden partaking of the forbidden fruit. An accompanying record +reads as follows:--"At ye Feast of St. Michael, Ano. 1607, my Sister, +ye Lady Mildmay, did give me a Stone Pot, tipped & covered wth. a +Silver Lydd." How many comforting concoctions and compounds, alternating +with herb-drinks and medicated potions, may have been quaffed or +swallowed with wry face from that precious old cup, who can now tell? +Probably it ministered its more inviting contents to the elders of the +successive generations in the family, while it was known by the younger +members in their turn in connection with certain penalties for +overeating and chills got from hard play. While having the relic in +hand, the other day, the prompting was irresistible to bring it close to +the appropriate organ, to ascertain, if possible, what had been the +predominant character of its contents. But, faithful as the grave, it +would reveal no secrets; having parted with all transient and artificial +odors, it has resumed, as is most fitting, the smell of its parent +earth. + +The writer of that record accompanying the "Stone-Pot" with its "Silver +Lydd" was Adam Winthrop, father of our Governor, and son of the +last-mentioned Lord of Groton. This third Adam Winthrop--the sixth child +of his father's second wife, and the eleventh of his thirteen +children--was born in London, "in the street which is called Gracious," +(Grace-Church,) August 10, 1548. Losing his father at the age of +fourteen, he was early bred as a lawyer in London, but soon engaged in +agricultural interests at Groton, to the lordship of which he acceded by +a license of alienation from an elder brother. There are sundry +authentic relics and tokens of this good man which reveal to us those +traits of his character, and those ways and influences of his domestic +life, under the high-toned, yet most genial training of which his son +was educated to the great enterprise Providence intended for him. There +are even poetical pieces extant which prove that Adam sought intercourse +with the Muses by making advances on his own part, though we must +confess that he does not appear to have been fairly met half-way by that +capricious and fastidious sisterhood. Many of his almanacs and diaries, +with entries dating from 1595, and from which the author makes liberal +and interesting transcripts in an Appendix, have been happily preserved, +and have a grateful use to us. They help us to reconstruct an old home, +a pleasant one, in or near which three generations of a good stock lived +together after the highest pattern of an orderly, exemplary, prospered, +and pious household. We infer from many significant trifles, that, while +the old English comfort-loving, generous, and hospitable style prevailed +there, the severer spirit of Puritanism had not attained ascendancy. +Intercourse with the metropolis, though embarrassed with conditions +requiring some buffeting and hardship, was compensated by the zest of +adventure, and it was frequent enough to quicken the minds and to add to +the bodily comforts and refinements of the family. Adam Winthrop must +have been a fine specimen of the old English gentleman, with all of +native polish which courtly experiences might or might not have given +him, and with a simple, high-toned, upright, and neighborly spirit, +which made him an apt and a faithful administrator of a great variety of +trusts. His old Bible, now in the possession of Mr. George Livermore of +Cambridge, represented the divine presence and law in his household, +for all its members, parents and children, masters and servants. He +entertained hospitably his full share of "the godly preachers," who were +the wandering luminaries, and, in some respects, the angelic visitants +of those days. He was evidently a very patient listener to sermons, +though we have not the proof in any surviving notebooks of his that one +of his excellent son John's furnishes us, that he took pains to +transcribe the heads, the savory passages, and the textual attestations +of the elaborate, but utterly juiceless sermons of the time. The entries +in his almanacs afford a curious variety, in which interesting events of +public importance alternate with homely details touching the affairs of +his neighborhood and the incidents in the domestic life of his relatives +and acquaintance. One matter, as we shall soon see, on which a fact in +the life, of Governor Winthrop depends, finds an unexpected disclosure +from Adam's pen. Here are a few excerpts from these entries:--"1597. The +VIth of July I received a privie seale to lend the Q. matie [Elizabeth] +LXX. for a yere."--"1602. Sept. the 27th day in ye mornying the Bell +did goe for mother [a conventional epithet] Tiffeyn, but she recouered." +This decides a matter which has sometimes been disputed,--that, while +with us, in our old times, "the passing bell" indicated the progress of +a funeral train, anciently in England it signified that a soul was +believed to be passing from a body supposed to be _in extremis_. And a +doleful sound it must have been to those of whom it made a false report, +as of "mother Tiffeyn."--"_Decem._ ye XXI day my brother Alibaster came +to my house & toulde me yt he made certayne inglishe verses in his +sleepe, wh. he recited unto me, & I lent him XLs."--"1603 April ye +28th day was the funeralles kept at Westminster for our late Queene +Elizabethe."--"1603. On Munday ye seconde of Maye, one Keitley, a +blackesmythe, dwellinge in Lynton in Cambridgeshire, had a poore man to +his father whom he kepte. A gentleman of ye same Towne sent a horse to +shoe, the father held up the horses legge whilest his soonne did shoe +him. The horse struggled & stroke the father on ye belly with his foote +& overthrewe him. The soonne laughed thereat & woulde not helpe his +father uppe, for the which some that were present reproved him greatlye. +The soonne went forwarde in shoinge of ye horse, & when he had donne he +went uppon his backe, mynding to goe home with him. The horse presently +did throughe him of his backe against a poste & clave his hed in sonder. +Mistress Mannocke did knowe ye man, for his mother was her nurse. +_Grave judicium Dei in irrisorem patris sui_." These little scraps of +Latin, sometimes running into a distich, are frequent signs of a certain +classical proclivity of the writer. Any one who should infer, from the +good man's arbitrary mode of spelling many words, that he was an +illiterate person, would be grievously mistaken, in his ignorance of the +universal characteristic and license of that age in that matter. The +Queen herself was by no means so good a "speller," by our standard, as +was Adam Winthrop. The extraordinary way in which letters were then left +out of words where they were needed, and most lavishly multiplied where +no possible use could be made of them, is a phenomenon never accounted +for. + +Adam Winthrop was for several years auditor of the accounts of Trinity +and St. John's Colleges, Cambridge, and records his visits to the +University in the discharge of his duties. We have specimens of a +pleasant correspondence between him and his sister, Lady Mildmay, also +with his wife, marked by a sweet and gentle tone, the utterance of a +kindly spirit,--fragrant records of hearts once so warm with love. + +It must have been with supreme delight that Adam entered in his diary, +that on January 12, 1587, [January 22, 1588, N.S.,] was born his only +son, John, one of five children by his second wife. John came into the +world between the years that marked, respectively, the execution of +Mary, Queen of Scots, and the visit of the Spanish Armada. We can well +conceive under what gracious and godly influences he received his early +nurture. His mother died only one year before he, at the age of +forty-two, embarked for America, his father having not long preceded +her. Evidence abundant was in our possession that John Winthrop had +received what even now would be called a good education, and what in his +own time was a comparatively rare one. It had generally been taken for +granted, however, that he had never been a member of either of the +Universities. His present biographer tells us that long before +undertaking his present grateful task he had never been reconciled to +admit the inference which had been drawn from silence on this point. He +remembered, by references in his own reading, that by some oversight +there had been an omission of names in the Cambridge University Register +from June, 1589, to June, 1602, and that no admissions were recorded +earlier than 1625. John Winthrop might, therefore, have at least "gone +to college," if he had not "gone through college." His biographer had +also noticed in the Governor's "Christian Experience," drawn up and +signed by him in New England on his forty-ninth birthday, 1636-7, an +allusion to his having been at Cambridge when "about 14 yrs of age," and +having had a lingering fever there. An entry in the records of his +father must have been a most grateful discovery to the Governor's +descendant in the seventh generation. "1602. The 2d of December I rode +to Cambridge. The VIIIth day John my soonne was admitted into Trinitie +College." But the old mystery vanishes only to give place to another, +which has a spice of romance in it. John Winthrop did not graduate at +Cambridge. He was a lawful husband when seventeen years of age, and a +happy father at eighteen. + +In a time-stained and most precious document from his pen and from his +heart, relating his religious experience, to be referred to more +particularly by-and-by, he charges himself in his youth with grievous +sin. What we know of his whole life and character would of itself forbid +us to accept literally his severe self-judgment, much more to draw from +his language the inference which like language would warrant, if used in +our times. Those who have even but a superficial acquaintance with +religious diaries, especially with such as date from near that age, need +not be told that their writers, when sincerely devout by the Puritan +standard, aimed to search and judge their own hearts and lives with all +that penetrating, self-revealing, unsparing scrutiny and severity which +they believed were turned upon them by the all-seeing eye of infinite +purity. They wished to anticipate the Great Tribunal, and to avert the +surprise of any new disclosure there by admitting to themselves while +still in the flesh the worst that it could pronounce against them. Men +and women who before the daily companions and witnesses of their lives +would stand stoutly, and honestly too, in self-defence against all +imputations, and might even boast themselves--as St. Paul did--of a +surplusage of merits of some sort, when registering the barometer and +the thermometer of their religious experience were the most unrelenting +self-accusers. It is safe to say, as a general thing, that those who in +that introspection, in the measurement of their heats and chills of +piety, grieved most deeply and found the most ingenious causes for +self-infliction were either the most calculating hypocrites or the most +truly godly. To which of the two classes any one particular individual +might belong could not always be infallibly concluded from what he +wrote. That comfort-loving and greed-indulging, yet picturesque, old +sinner, Samuel Pepys, Esq., did not profess to keep a religious diary. +But many such diaries have been kept by men who might have covered +alternate pages with matter similar to his own, or with worse. We must +interpret the religious diaries of that age by aids independent of +those which their contents furnish us. John Winthrop, writing of his +youth when he had grown to the full exalted stature of Christian +manhood, and though sweetly mellowed in the graces of his character by +genial ripening from within his soul, was still a Puritan of the +severest standard theologically, and, by principle, charges himself with +heinous sin. We feel assured that he was not only guiltless of any folly +or error that would deserve such a designation, but that he even +overstated the degree of his addiction to the lighter human faults. Only +after such a preliminary assertion of incredulity as to any literal +truth in them, could we consent to copy his own words, as follows:--"In +my youth I was very lewdly disposed, inclining unto & attempting (so far +as my heart enabled me) all kinds of wickedness, except swearing & +scorning religion, wh. I had no temptation unto in regard of my +education. About ten years of age I had some notions of God: for, in +some frighting or danger, I have prayed unto God, & found manifest +answer: ye remembrance whereof, many years after, made me think that +God did love me: but it made me no whit the better. After I was twelve +years old, I began to have some more savor of religion: & I thought I +had more understanding in divinity than many of my years," etc. Yes, he +evidently had. And though the kind of "divinity" which had trained his +soul was of a grim sort, his own purity and gentleness of spirit +softened it while accepting it. He adds,--"Yet I was still very wild & +dissolute: & as years came on, my lusts grew stronger, but yet under +some restraint of my natural reason, whereby I had that command of +myself that I could turn into any form. I would, as occasion required, +write letters, &c. of mere vanity; & if occasion was, I could write +savoury & godly counsel." Seeing, however, that he was made a Justice of +the Peace when eighteen years of age, the inference is a fair one--his +own self-accusation to the contrary notwithstanding--that he was known +in his own neighborhood as a youth of extraordinary excellence of +character. + +It would appear from the entries in his father's diaries that he was a +member of college some eighteen months. Why he left before completing +his course is to find its explanation for us either in the extreme +sickness before referred to as visited upon him there, or in the +agreeable "change in his condition," as the awkward and sheepish phrase +is, which immediately followed. The latter alternative leaves scope and +offers temptations for such inventiveness of fancy about details and +incidents, whys and wherefores, as the absence of all but the following +stingy revelations may justify. The good Adam, after recording, in +November, 1604, and in the ensuing March, two mysterious rides with his +son, has left, this, under date of March 28th, 1605:--"My soonne was +sollemly contracted to Mary Foorth, by Mr. Culverwell minister of Greate +Stambridge in Essex _cum consensu parentum_." Another ride into Essex, +this time by the son alone, is entered under April 9th, and then on the +16th his marriage, "_AEtatis suae 17 [annis] 3 mensibus et 4 diebus +completis_." This reads pleasantly:--"The VIIIth of May my soonne & his +wife came to Groton from London, & ye IXth I made a marriage feaste, +when Sr. Thomas Mildmay & his lady my sister were present. The same day +my sister Veysye came to me, & departed on ye 24th of Maye. My dawter +Fones came the VIIIth & departed home ye XXIIId of Maye." An +expeditious closing up, with honey-moon and marriage-feast, of an +evident love-passage, whose longer or shorter antecedents are not +revealed. The biographer leaves his readers their choice of assigning +the abrupt close of the college course of John Winthrop either to his +grievous sickness, or to his love for Mary Forth, daughter and sole heir +of John Forth, Esq., of Great Stambridge. We incline rather to the +latter alternative as the stronger one, inasmuch as love for Mary may +not only have been the direct cause of his loathing Cambridge, but may +even have been the cause of his sickness, which in that case becomes so +secondary a cause as hardly to be a cause at all. One thing is certain: +our honored Puritan ancestors had no scruples against short engagements, +early marriages, or rematings as often as circumstances favored. + +The young bridegroom himself, in the record of his experience, which we +quote again for another purpose, reserves the confession of any haste on +his own part to enter the married state, and would seem delicately to +insinuate parental influence in the case. "About eighteen years of age, +being a man in stature & understanding, as my parents conceived me, I +married into a family under Mr. Culverwell his ministry in Essex, &, +living there sometimes, I first found ye ministry of the word come home +to my heart with power (for in all before I found only light): & after +that, I found ye like in ye ministry of many others: so as there began +to be some change: wh. I perceived in myself, & others took notice of." + +Six children were born to John Winthrop and his first wife,--three sons +and three daughters. John, the eldest of these, afterwards Governor of +Connecticut, was born February 22, 1606. Mary, the only one of the +daughters surviving infancy, also came to this country, and married a +son of Governor Thomas Dudley. In less than eleven years after her +marriage, Mary Forth died, the husband being not yet twenty-eight years +old, and the eldest child but nine. + +The earliest record of his religious experience appears to have been +made under date of 1606. Read with the allowances and abatements to +which reference has already been made, all that this admirable man has +left for us of this self-revelation--little dreaming that it would have +such readers--is profoundly interesting and instructive, when estimated +from a right point of view and with any degree of congeniality of +spirit. Those who are familiar with his published New-England Journal +have already recognized in him a man of a simple and humble spirit, of a +grave, but not a gloomy temperament, kindly in his private estimate and +generous in his public treatment of others, most unselfish, and rigidly +upright. The noble native elements of his character, and the peculiar +tone and style of the piety under which his religious experience was +developed, mutually reacted upon each other, the result being that his +natural virtues were refined and spiritualized, while the morbid and +superstitious tendencies of his creed were to a degree neutralised. He +seems to refer the _crisis_ in his religious experience to a date +immediately following upon his first marriage. But, as we shall see, a +repeated trial in the furnace of sharp affliction deepened and enriched +that experience. He tells us that during those happy years of his first +marriage he had proposed to himself a change from the legal profession +to the ministry. By a second marriage, December 6, 1615, to Thomasine +Clopton, of a good family in the neighborhood, he had the promise of +renewed joy in a condition which his warm-hearted sociability and his +intense fondness for domestic relations made essential to his happiness, +if not to his virtue. But one single year and one added day saw her and +her infant child committed to the tomb, and made him again desolate. His +biographer, not without misgivings indeed, but with a deliberation and +healthfulness of judgment which most of his readers will approve as +allowed to overrule them, has spread before us at length, from the most +sacred privacy of the stricken mourner, heart-exercises and scenes in +the death-chamber, such as engage with most painful, but still +entrancing sympathy, the very soul of the reader. We know not where, in +all our literature, to find matter like this, so bedewed and steeped in +tenderness, so swift in its alternations between lacerating details and +soothing suggestions. The author has put into print all that remains of +the record of John Winthrop's "Experience," in passages written +contemporaneously with its incidents,--a document distinct from the +record of his "Christian Experience," written here. The account of +Thomasine's death-bed exercises, as deciphered from the perishing +manuscript, must, we think, stand by itself, either for criticism, or +for the defiance of criticism. What we have had of similar scenes only +in fragments, and as seen though veils, is here in the fulness of all +that can harrow or comfort the human heart, spread before us clear of +any withholding. It was the same year in which Shakspeare died, in a +house built by Sir Hugh Clopton, a member of the same family-connection +with Thomasine. Hour by hour, almost minute by minute, the stages of her +transition are reported with infinite minuteness. Her own prayers, and +those of a steady succession of religious friends, are noted; the +melting intonations of her own utterances of anxiety or peace; the +parting counsels or warnings addressed to her dependants; the last +breathings of affection to those dearest; the occasional aberrations and +cloudings of intelligence coming in the progress of her disease, which +were assigned to temptations from Satan: all these are given to us. "Her +feaver increased very violently upon hir, wh. the Devill made advantage +of to moleste hir comforte, but she declaringe unto us with what +temptations the devill did assault hir, bent hirselfe against them, +prayinge with great vehemence for Gods helpe, & that he would not take +away his lovinge kindnesse from hir, defyinge Satan, & spitting at him, +so as we might see by hir setting of hir teethe, & fixinge her eyes, +shakinge hir head & whole bodye, that she had a very greatt conflicte +with the adversarye." The mourner follows this scene to its close. +Having transfigured all its dreariest passages with the kindling glow of +his own undismayed faith, he lets his grateful spirit crown it with a +sweet peace, and then he pays a most tender tribute to the gentle +loveliness, fidelity, and Christian excellence of her with whom he had +shared so true, though so brief, a joy. + +This renewed affliction is turned by the still young sufferer to uses +which should assure and intensify his piety according to the best +Puritan type of it. He continues his heart-record. He subjects his mode +of life, his feelings, habits and aims, the material of his daily food, +and the degree of his love for various goods, as they are to be measured +by a true scale, to the most rigid tests. He spares himself in nothing. +The Bible does him as direct a service in rebuke and guidance as if +every sentence in it had been written for himself. It is interesting to +note that the quotations from it are from a version that preceded our +own. His rules of self-discipline and spiritual culture, while wholly +free from unwholesome asceticism, nevertheless required the curbing of +all desires, and the utter subjection of every natural prompting to a +crucial test, before its innocent or edifying character could pass +unchallenged. + +Vain would be the attempt in our generation to make Puritanism lovely or +attractive. Its charms were for its original and sincere disciples, and +do not survive them. There is no fashion of dress or furniture which may +not be revived, and, if patronized as fashion, be at least tolerated. +But for Puritanism there is no restoration. Its rehabilitated relics do +not produce their best influence in any attempt to attract our +admiration,--which they cannot do,--but in engaging our hearts' tolerant +respect and confidence towards those who actually developed its +principles at first-hand, its original disciples, who brought it into +discredit afterwards by the very fidelity of their loyalty to it. +Puritanism is an engaging and not offensive object to use, when regarded +as the characteristic of only one single generation of men and women and +children. It could not pass from that one generation into another +without losing much of what grace it had, and acquiring most odious and +mischievous elements. Entailed Puritanism being an actual impossibility, +all attempts to realize it, all assumptions of success in it, have the +worst features of sham and hypocrisy. The diligent students of the +history and the social life of our own colonial days know very well what +an unspeakable difference there was, in all that makes and manifests +characters and dispositions, between the first comers here and the first +native-born generation, and how painfully that difference tells to the +discredit of the latter. The tap-roots of Puritanism struck very deep, +and drew the sap of life vigorously. They dried very soon; they are now +cut; and whatever owed its life exclusively to them has withered and +must perish. A philosophy of Nature and existence now wholly discredited +underlay the fundamental views and principles of Puritanism. The early +records of our General Court are thickly strown with appointments of +Fast-Days that the people might discover the especial occasion of God's +anger toward them, manifested in the blight of some expected harvest, or +in a scourge upon the cattle in the field. Some among us who claim to +hold unreduced or softened the old ancestral faith have been twice in +late years convened in our State-House, by especial call, to legislate +upon the potato-disease and the pleuro-pneumonia among our herds. Their +joint wisdom resulted in money-appropriations to discover causes and +cures. The debates held on these two occasions would have grievously +shocked our ancestors. But are there any among us who could in full +sincerity, with logic and faith, have stood for the old devout theory of +such visitations? + +But if it would be equally vain and unjust to attempt to make Puritanism +lovely to ourselves,--a quality which its noblest disciples did not +presume to make its foremost attraction,--there is all the more reason +why we should do it justice in its original and awfully real presentment +in its single generation of veritable discipleship. What became +drivelling and cant, presumption and bigotry, pretence and hypocrisy, as +soon as a fair trial had tested it, was in the hearts, the speech, the +convictions, and the habits of a considerable number of persons in one +generation, the most thoroughly honest and earnest product of all the +influences which had trained them. We read the heart-revelations of John +Winthrop with the profoundest confidence, and even with a constraining +sympathy. We venture to say that when this book shall be consulted, +through all time to come, for the various uses of historical, religious, +or literary illustration, not even the most trifling pen will ever turn +a single sentence from its pages to purposes of levity or ridicule. Here +we have Puritanism at first-hand: the original, unimitated, and +transient resultant of influences which had been working to produce it, +and which would continue their working so as to insure modifications of +it. Winthrop notes it for a special Providence that his wife discovered +a loathsome spider in the children's porridge before they had partaken +of it. His religious philosophy stopped there. He did not put to himself +the sort of questions which open in a train to our minds from any one +observed fact, else he would have found himself asking after the special +Providence which allowed the spider to fall into the porridge. His +friend and successor in high-magistracy in New England, Governor John +Endecott, wrote him a letter years afterward which is so characteristic +of the faith of both of them that we will make free use of it. The +letter is dated Salem, July 28th, 1640, and probably refers to the +disaster by which the ship Mary Rose "was blown in pieces with her own +powder, being 21 barrels," in Charlestown harbor, the day preceding.[A] + + "DEAREST SIR,--Hearing of ye remarkable stroake of Gods + hand uppon ye shippe & shippes companie of Bristoll, as also of + some Atheisticall passages & hellish profanations of ye Sabbaths + & deridings of ye people & wayes of God, I thought good to desire + a word or two of you of ye trueth of what you have heard. Such an + extraordinary judgement would be searched into, what Gods meaninge + is in it, both in respect of those whom it concernes more + especiallie in England, as also in regard of ourselves. God will + be honred in all dealings. We have heard of severall ungodlie + carriadges in that ship, as, first, in their way overbound they + wld. constantlie jeere at ye holy brethren of New England, & some + of ye marineer's would in a scoffe ask when they should come to + ye holie Land? 2. After they lay in the harbor Mr. Norice sent to + ye shippe one of our brethren uppon busines, & hee heard them + say, This is one of ye holie brethren, mockinglie & + disdainefullie. 3. That when some have been with them aboard to + buy necessaries, ye shippe men would usuallie say to some of them + that they could not want any thinge, they were full of ye + Spiritt. 4. That ye last Lords Day, or ye Lords Day before, + there were many drinkings aboard with singings & musick in tymes + of publique exercise. 5. That ye last fast ye master or captaine + of the shippe, with most of ye companie, would not goe to ye + meetinge, but read ye booke of common prayer so often over that + some of ye company said hee had worne that threed-bare, with many + such passages. Now if these or ye like be true, as I am persuaded + some of them are, I think ye trueth heereof would be made knowen, + by some faithfull hand in Bristoll or else where, for it is a very + remarkable & unusuall stroake," etc., etc. + +Governor Winthrop, who was a man of much milder spirit than Endecott, +faithfully records this judgment, under its date in his Journal, with +additional particulars. The explosion took place "about dinner time, no +man knows how, & blew up all, viz. the captain, & nine or ten of his +men, & some four or five strangers. There was a special providence that +there were no more, for many principal men were going aboard at that +time, & some were in a boat near the ship, & others were diverted by a +sudden shower of rain, & others by other occasions." The good Governor +makes this startling record the occasion for mentioning "other examples +of like kind." Yet the especial providential significance which both he +and Endecott could assign to such a calamity would need a readjustment +in its interpretation, if compelled to take in two other conditions +under which the mysterious ways of that Providence are manifested, +namely: first, that many ships on board which there have been no such +profane doings have met with similar disaster; and second, that many +ships on board which there has been more heinous sinning have escaped +the judgment. + +But, as we have said, Puritanism was temporarily consistent with the +philosophy of life and Nature for one age. It held no divided sway over +John Winthrop, but filled his heart, his mind, and his spirit. If, by +its influence over any one human being, regarded as an unqualified, +unmodified style of piety, demanding entire allegiance, and not yielding +to any mitigation through the tempering qualities of an individual,--if, +of itself and by itself, Puritanism could be made lovely to us, John +Winthrop might well be charged with that exacting representative office. +We repeat, that we have no abatement to make of our exalted regard for +him through force of a single sentence from his pen. Most profoundly are +we impressed by the intensity and thoroughness of conviction, the +fulness and frankness of avowal, and the delicate and fervent +earnestness of self-consecration, which make these ancient oracles of a +human heart fragrant with the odor of true piety. He uses no hackneyed +terms, no second-hand or imitated phrases. His language, as well as his +thoughts, his method, and ideal standard, are purely his own. Indeed, we +might set up and sustain for him a claim of absolute individuality, if +not even of originality, in the standard of godliness and righteousness +which he fashioned for himself, and then with such zeal and heroism +sought to attain. + +Entering a third time the married state, John Winthrop, in April, 1618, +took to wife Margaret, daughter of Sir John Tyndal. The clouds, which +had gathered so deeply in repeated bereavement and gloom over his +earlier years of domestic life, yielded now, and left alike the sky and +the horizon of his prospects, to give place soon to the anxieties of +grave enterprises, which animated while they burdened his spirit. This +excellent and brave-hearted lady, as she opens her soul, and almost +reveals what must have been a sweet and winning countenance, to the +reader of her own letters in these pages, will henceforward be one of +the enshrined saints of the New-England calendar. Little did she dream +at her marriage what a destiny was before her. There was in store for +her husband nearly thirty years of the truest heart-love and the closest +sympathy in religious trust and consecration with her. We may anticipate +our narrative at this point, to say that her situation did not allow her +to accompany him on his own removal to this side of the ocean, but she +followed him a year and a half afterwards, arriving in November, 1631, +with his eldest son and others of his children, having lost on the +voyage an infant whom he had probably never seen. Her death, in a +prevailing sickness, June 14, 1647, drew from her husband this tribute +to her:--"In this sickness the Governour's wife, daughter of Sir John +Tindal, Knight, left this world for a better, being about fifty-six +years of age: a woman of singular virtue, prudence, modesty, & piety & +specially beloved & honored of all the country." Though in the December +of the same year we find the Governor again married, now to the Widow +Martha Coytemore, we refer the incident to wilderness-straits and the +exactions of necessity or expediency in domestic life. + +But we must return to Margaret, the bride. It seems that there was some +objection offered to Winthrop's suit by the lady's relatives. In one of +the two charming letters which are preserved as written during his +courtship to her, he refers to some "unequall conflicte" which she had +to bear. These two letters, with one addressed to the lady by Father +Adam, are unique as specimens of Puritan love-making. Solomon's Song is +here put to the best use for which it is adapted, its only safe use. + +The family-letters, which now increase in number, and vastly in their +cheerfulness and radiance of spirit, and the birth of more children, +present to us the most captivating glimpses of the English life of our +first Chief Magistrate. From a will which he made in Groton in 1620, of +course superseded after his change of country, it appears that he had +then five sons and one daughter. The Lordship of Groton had been +assigned to him by his father. This was the year of the hegira of the +Plymouth Pilgrims, but we have as yet no intimation that Winthrop was +looking in this direction. + +For more than a decade of years the family-history now passes on, for +the most part placidly, interspersed with those incidents and anxieties +which give alike the charm and the import to the routine of existence to +any closely knit fellowships sharing it together. Enough of the fragrant +old material, in fast decaying papers, has come to light and been +transcribed for security against all future risks, to preserve to us a +fair restoration of the lights and shades of that domestic experience. +Time has dealt kindly in sparing a variety of specimens, so as to give +to that restoration a kaleidoscopic character. Winthrop's frequent +visits to London, on his professional errands, gave occasion to constant +correspondence between him and his wife, and so we have epistles +burdened with the intensities and refinements of the purest affection. +An occasional reference to church affairs by the Patron of Groton, with +extracts from the record of his religious experience, continue for us +the evidence that Winthrop was growing and deepening in the roots of +his noble style of life. His piety evidently ripened and mellowed into +the richest fruitage which any form of theological or devotional faith +can produce. A severe and wellnigh fatal illness in London, which he +concealed from his wife at Groton till its crisis was past, was made by +him the occasion, as of many other good resolutions, so also of a +renouncement of the use of tobacco, in which, by his own account, he, +like many men as well as women at that time, had gone to excess. His +good wife, though positively enjoined by him not to venture upon the +winter's journey, in the letter which communicated to her the first +tidings of his illness, immediately went to him in the great city, +attended only by a female servant. In a previous malady from which he +had suffered severely in one of his hands while at home, his son John, +in London, had consulted in his behalf one of the helpful female +practitioners of the time, and the correspondence relating to her +advice, her ointments, and their efficacy, gives us some curiously +illustrative matter in the history of the healing art. The good woman +was sure that she could at once cure her patient, if he could be beneath +her hands. She would receive no compensation. + +A mystery has attached to a certain "office" which Winthrop held in +London, and to which, in one of his previously published letters, he +referred as having lost it. It now appears that that office was an +Attorneyship of the Court of Wards and Liveries, an honorable and +responsible trust. Its duties, with other provisional engagements, +separated him so much from his home at one period, that he meditated the +removal of his family from Groton. His wife's letters on the subject are +delightful revelations of confidences. It is still only by inference +that we can assign the loss of his office, to the business of which we +have many references, to any especial cause. It may have been +surrendered by him because he longed for more home-life, or because the +growing spirit of discontent and apprehension as to the state of public +affairs, which he shared with so many of his friends, made him obnoxious +to the controlling heads in civil life. + +We have also some admirable specimens of his correspondence with his son +John, who, after his preliminary education at the school at Bury St. +Edmund's, became, in 1622, in his seventeenth year, a member of Trinity +College, Dublin, near his uncle and aunt Downing, parents of the famous +Sir George Downing. These are beautiful and wise and generous +expressions of a father's love and advice and dealings with a son, +exposed to temptation at a critical age, and giving promise of the +abilities and virtues which he afterwards exhibited so nobly as Governor +of Connecticut. In one of the letters, to which the father asks replies +in Latin, he writes, "I will not limit your allowance less than to ye +uttermost of mine own estate. So as, if L20 be too little (as I always +accounted it), you shall have L30; & when that shall not suffice, you +shall have more. Only hold a sober & frugal course (yet without +baseness), & I will shorten myself to enlarge you." In another letter +there is this fit commemoration of his father, Adam, dying at the age of +seventy-five:--"I am sure, before this, you have knowledge of that wh., +at the time when you wrote, you were ignorant of: viz., the departure of +your grandfather (for I wrote over twice since). He hath finished his +course: & is gathered to his people in peace, as the ripe corn into the +barn. He thought long for ye day of his dissolution, & welcomed it most +gladly. Thus is he gone before; & we must go after, in our time. This +advantage he hath of us,--he shall not see ye evil wh. we may meet with +ere we go hence. Happy those who stand in good terms with God & their +own conscience: they shall not fear evil tidings: & in all changes they +shall be ye same." + +There are likewise letters to the student at Dublin from his brother +Forth, who succeeded him at the school at St. Edmund's. It is curious to +note in these epistles of the school-boy the indifferent success of his +manifestly sincere effort to use the technical language of Puritanism +and to express its aims and ardors. The youth evidently feels freer when +writing of the fortunes of some of his school-mates. This same Forth +Winthrop became in course a student at Cambridge, and we have letters to +his father, carried by the veritable Hobson immortalized by Milton. + +The younger John went, on graduating, to London, to fit himself for the +law. His name is found on the books as admitted to the Inner Temple in +1624. He appears early to have cherished some matrimonial purposes which +did not work felicitously. Not liking his profession, he turned his +thoughts toward the sea. He obtained a secretaryship in the naval +service, and joined the expedition under the Duke of Buckingham, +designed to relieve the French Protestants at Rochelle, in 1627. He +afterwards made an Oriental tour, of the stages of which we have some +account in his letters, in 1628-9, from Leghorn, Constantinople, etc. He +was thwarted in a purpose to visit Jerusalem, and returned to England, +by Holland. Notwithstanding the industrious fidelity of his father as a +letter-writer, the son received no tidings from home during his whole +absence of nearly fifteen months. What a contrast with our times! + +Before undertaking this Oriental tour, the younger John had had +proposals made to him, which seem to have engaged his own inclinations, +to connect himself with Endecott's New-England enterprise. He wrote to +consult the wishes of his father on the subject; but that father, who in +less than two years was to find himself pledged to a more comprehensive +scheme, involving a life-long exile in that far-off wilderness, +dissuaded his son from the premature undertaking. It does not appear +that the father had as yet presented to his mind the possibility of any +such step. Yet, from the readiness which marked his own earnest and +complete sympathy in the enterprise when first we find him concerned in +it, we must infer that he had much previous acquaintance and sympathy +with the early New-England adventurers from the moment that a religious +spirit became prominent in their fellowship. He was a man who undertook +no great work without the most careful deliberation, and a slow maturing +of his decision. + +During the absence of John at the East, many interesting and serious +incidents occurred in the personal experience and in the domestic +relations of his father, which doubtless helped the preparation of his +spirit for the critical event of his life. He had that severe and +threatening illness in London already referred to. We have many letters +covering the period, filled with matter over which, as so full of what +is common to the human heart in all time, we linger with consenting +sympathy. A wayward and unconverted son, Henry by name, caused his +father an anxiety which we see struggling painfully with parental +affection and a high-toned Christian aim for all the members of his +family. The son's course indicated rather profitlessness and +recklessness than vice. He connected himself with an enterprise at +Barbadoes. He drew heavily on his father's resources for money, and +returned him some tobacco, which the father very frankly writes to him +was "very ill-conditioned, foul, & full of stalks, & evil-colored." He +came over in the same expedition, though not in the same ship, with his +father, and was accidentally drowned at Salem, July 2, 1630. In the +first letter which the good Governor wrote to his wife after his landing +here, dated "Charlestown, July 16, 1630," are these sentences:--"We have +met with many sad & discomfortable things, as thou shalt hear after; & +ye Lord's hand hath been heavy upon myself in some very near to me. My +son Henry! my son Henry! ah, poor child!" While the father was writing +from London to this son, then supposed to be at Barbadoes, he had other +matters of anxiety. His endeared brother-in-law, Fones, died, April 15, +1629, and four days afterwards Winthrop was called to part, at Groton, +with his venerated mother, who died under the roof where she had lived +so happily and graciously with his own family in his successive sorrows +and delights. + +The loss or resignation of his office, with the giving up of his +law-chamber in London, and his evident premonitions of the sore troubles +in affairs of Church and State which were soon to convulse his native +land, doubtless guided him to a decision, some of the stages and +incidents of which have left no record for us. Enough, however, of the +process may still be traced among papers which have recently come to +light, to open to us its inner workings, and to explain its development. +A ride with his brother Downing into Lincolnshire, July 28, 1629, finds +an entry in Winthrop's "Experiences," that it may mark his gratitude to +the Providence which preserved his life, when, as he writes, "my horse +fell under me in a bogge in the fennes, so as I was allmost to ye +waiste in water." Beyond all doubt this ride was taken by the +sympathizing travellers on a prearranged visit to Isaac Johnson, another +of the New-England worthies, at Sempringham, on business connected with +the Massachusetts enterprise. But the first recovered and extant +document which proves that Winthrop was committing himself to the great +work is a letter of his son John's, dated London, August 21, 1629, in +reply to one from his father, which, it is evident from the tenor of the +answer, had directly proposed the embarking of the interest of the whole +family in the enterprise. A certain mysterious paper of "Conclusions," +referred to by the son, had been inclosed in the father's letter, which +appears to be irrecoverable. There has been much discussion, with rival +and contested claims and pleas, as to the authorship of that most +valuable and critical document containing the propositions for the +enterprise, with reasons and grounds, objections and answers. Our author +urges, with force of arguments and the evidence of authentic papers, +entirely to our satisfaction, that John Winthrop was essentially and +substantially the digester and exponent of those pregnant +considerations. The correspondence which follows proves how +conscientiously the enterprise was weighed, and the reasons and +objections debated. Godly ministers were consulted for their advice and +cooeperation. No opposition or withholding of any shade or degree would +seem to have been made by any member of Winthrop's family; his gentle, +meek-hearted, but most heroic and high-souled wife, being, from first to +last, his most cordial sympathizer and ally. We next find him entering +into the decisive "Agreement," at Cambridge, with eleven other of the +foremost adventurers to New England, which pledged them "to inhabit and +continue there." It was only after most protracted, and, we may be sure, +most devout deliberation, that the great decision was made, which +involved the transfer of the patent, the setting up of a self-governing +commonwealth on the foreign soil, and the committal of those who were to +be its members to a life-long and exacting undertaking, from which there +were to be no lookings-back. A day was appointed for the company to +meet, on which two committees were chosen, to weigh and present with +full force, respectively, the reasons for a removal, and the reasons +against it. The "show of hands," when these committees reported, fixed +the purpose of the company on what they did not hesitate to believe was +the leading of Providence. + +From that moment we find Winthrop busy with cares and efforts of the +most exacting character, drawing upon all his great energies, and +engaging the fondest devotion of his manly and Christian heart. He gave +himself, without stint or regret, with an unselfish and supreme +consecration, to the work, cherishing its great aim as the matter of his +most earnest piety, and attending to its pettiest details with a +scrupulous fidelity which proved that conscience found its province +there. We seem almost to be made spectators of the bustle and fervor of +the old original Passover scenes of the Hebrew exodus. It is refreshing +to pause for a moment over a touch of our common humanity, which we meet +by the way. Winthrop in London "feeds with letters" the wife from whom +he was so often parted. In one of them he tells her that he has +purchased for her the stuff for a "gowne" to be sent by the carrier, and +he adds, "Lett me knowe what triminge I shall send for thy gowne." But +Margaret, who could trust her honored husband in everything else, was a +woman still, and must reserve, not only the rights of her sex, but the +privilege of her own good taste for the fitnesses of things. So she +guardedly replies,--in a postscript, of course,--"When I see the cloth, +I will send word what triminge will serve." In a modest parenthesis of +another letter to her, dated October 29, 1629, he speaks of himself, as +if all by the way, as "beinge chosen by ye Company to be their +Governor." The circumstances of his election and trust, so honorable and +dignified, are happily told with sufficient particularity on our own +Court Records. Governor Cradock, his honored predecessor, not intending +immediate emigration, put the proposition, and announced the result +which gave him such a successor. + +Attending frequently upon meetings of the Company, and supervising its +own business as well as his private affairs, all having in view what +must then have been in the scale of the time a gigantic undertaking, +full of vexations and embarrassments, Winthrop seizes upon a few days of +crowded heart-strugglings to make his last visit at the dear homestead, +and then to take of it his eternal farewell. How lovingly and admiringly +do we follow him on his way from London, taking his last view of those +many sweet scenes which were thenceforward to embower in his memory all +the joys of more than forty years! He did not then know for what a +rugged landscape, and for what uncouth habitations, he was to exchange +those fair scenes and the ivy-clad and -festooned churches and cottages +of his dear England. His wife, for reasons of prudence, was to remain +for a while with some of his children, beside his eldest son, and was to +follow him when he had made fit preparation for her. His last letters to +her (and each of many was written as the last, because of frequent +delays) after the embarkation of the company, are gems and jewels of a +heart which was itself the pure shrine of a most fond and faithful love. +His leave-taking at Groton was at the end of February, 1630; his +embarkation was on March 22. The ships were weather-bound successively +at Cowes and at Yarmouth, whence were written those melting epistles. A +letter which he wrote to Sir William Spring, one of the Parliamentary +members from Suffolk, a dear religions friend of his, overflows with an +ardor and intenseness of affection which passes into the tone and +language of feminine endearment, and fashions passages from the Song of +Solomon into prayers. One sentence of that letter keeps sharp its +lacerating point for the reader of to-day. "But I must leave you all: +our farewells usually are pleasant passages; mine must be sorrowful; +this addition of forever is a sad close." And it was to be forever. +Winthrop was never to see his native land again. Many of his associates +made one or more homeward voyages. A few of them returned to resume +their English citizenship in those troublous times which invited and +exercised energies like those which had essayed to tame a wilderness. +But the great and good leader of his blessed exodus never found the +occasion, we know not that he ever felt the prompting, to recross the +ocean. The purpose of his life and soul was a unit in its substance and +consecration, and it had found its object. For nineteen years, most of +them as Governor, and always as the leading spirit and the recognized +Moses of the enterprise, he was spared to see the planting and the +building-up which subdued the wilderness and reared a commonwealth. He +had most noble and congenial associates in the chief magistrates of the +other New-England colonies. Bradford and Winslow of Plymouth, Eaton of +New Haven, his own son and Haynes and Hopkins of Connecticut, and +Williams of Providence Plantations, were all of them men of signal +virtue. They have all obtained a good report, and richly and eminently +do they deserve it. They were, indeed, a providential galaxy of +pure-hearted, unspotted, heroic men. There is a mild and sweet beauty in +the star of Winthrop, the lustre of which asks no jealous or rival +estimation. + + * * * * * + +THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE-TREE. + + + Come, let us plant the apple-tree! + Cleave the tough greensward with the spade; + Wide let its hollow bed be made; + There gently lay the roots, and there + Sift the dark mould with kindly care, + And press it o'er them tenderly, + As, round the sleeping infant's feet, + We softly fold the cradle-sheet: + So plant we the apple-tree. + + What plant we in the apple-tree? + Buds, which the breath of summer days + Shall lengthen into leafy sprays; + Boughs, where the thrush with crimson breast + Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest. + We plant upon the sunny lea + A shadow for the noontide hour, + A shelter from the summer shower, + When we plant the apple-tree. + + What plant we in the apple-tree? + Sweets for a hundred flowery springs, + To load the May-wind's restless wings, + When, from the orchard-row, he pours + Its fragrance through our open doors; + A world of blossoms for the bee; + Flowers for the sick girl's silent room; + For the glad infant sprigs of bloom. + We plant with the apple-tree. + + What plant we in the apple-tree? + Fruits that shall swell in sunny June, + And redden in the August noon, + And drop, as gentle airs come by + That fan the blue September sky; + While children, wild with noisy glee, + Shall scent their fragrance as they pass, + And search for them the tufted grass + At the foot of the apple-tree. + + And when above this apple-tree + The winter stars are quivering bright, + And winds go howling through the night, + Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth, + Shall peel its fruit by cottage-hearth, + And guests in prouder homes shall see, + Heaped with the orange and the grape, + As fair as they in tint and shape, + The fruit of the apple-tree. + + The fruitage of this apple-tree + Winds and our flag of stripe and star + Shall bear to coasts that lie afar, + Where men shall wonder at the view, + And ask in what fair groves they grew; + And they who roam beyond the sea + Shall look, and think of childhood's day, + And long hours passed in summer play + In the shade of the apple-tree. + + Each year shall give this apple-tree + A broader flush of roseate bloom, + A deeper maze of verdurous gloom, + And loosen, when the frost-clouds lower, + The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower; + The years shall come and pass, but we + Shall hear no longer, where we lie, + The summer's songs, the autumn's sigh, + In the boughs of the apple-tree. + + And time shall waste this apple-tree. + Oh, when its aged branches throw + Thin shadows on the sward below, + Shall fraud and force and iron will + Oppress the weak and helpless still? + What shall the tasks of mercy be, + Amid the toils, the strifes, the tears + Of those who live when length of years + Is wasting this apple-tree? + + "Who planted this old apple-tree?" + The children of that distant day + Thus to some aged man shall say; + And, gazing on its mossy stem, + The gray-haired man shall answer them: + "A poet of the land was he, + Born in the rude, but good old times; + 'Tis said he made some quaint old rhymes + On planting the apple-tree." + + * * * * * + +RAY. + + +So Beltran was a Rebel. + +Vivia stood before the glass, brushing out black shadows from her long, +fine hair. There lay the letter as little Jane had left it, as she had +let it lie till all the doors had clanged between, as she had laid it +down again. She paused, with the brush half lifted, to glance once more +at the clear superscription, to turn it and touch with her finger-tips +the firm seal. Then she went on lengthening out the tresses that curled +back again at the end like something instinct with life. + +How long it had been in coming!--gradual journeys up from those Southern +shores, and slumber in some comrade's care till a flag of truce could +bear it across beneath the shelter of its white wing. Months had passed. +And where was Beltran now? Living,--Vivia had a proud assurance in her +heart of that! Her heart that went swiftly gliding back into the past, +and filling old scenes with fresh fire. Thinking thus, she bent forward +with dark, steady gaze, as if she sought for its pictures in the +uncertain depths of the mirror, and there they rose as of old the +crystal gave them back to the seeker. It was no gracious woman bending +there that she saw, but a scene where the very air infused with sunlight +seemed to glow, the house with its wide veranda veiled in vines, and +above it towering the rosy cloud of an oleander-tree, behind it the far +azure strip of the bay, before it the long low line of sandy beach where +the waters of the Gulf forever swung their silver tides with a sullen +roar,--for the place was one of those islands that make the perpetual +fortifications of the Texan coast. Vivia, a slender little maiden of +eleven summers, rocks in a boat a rod from shore, and by her side, his +length along the warm wave, his arm along the boat, a boy floats in his +linen clothes, an amphibious child, so undersized as to seem but little +more than a baby, and yet a year her senior. He swims round and round +the skiff in circling frolics, followed by the great dog who gambols +with them, he dives under it and comes up far in advance, he treads +water as he returns, and, seizing the painter, draws it forward while +she sits there like Thetis guiding her sea-horses. Then, as the sun +flings down more fervid showers, together they beach the boat and +scamper up the sand, where old Disney, who has been dredging for oysters +in the great bed below, crowns his basket with little Ray, and bears him +off perched aloft on his bent back. Vivia walks beside the old slave in +her infantile dignity, and disregards the sundry attempts of Ray's +outstretched arms, till of a sudden the beating play of hoofs runs along +the ground, and Beltran, with his morning's game, races by on his fiery +mustang, and, scarcely checking his speed as he passes, stoops from the +saddle and lifts the little girl before him. Vivia would look back in +triumph upon Ray in his ignoble conveyance, but the affair has already +been too much for him, he has flung himself on the instant from old +Disney's basket, as if he were careless whether he fell under the +horse's feet or not, but knowing perfectly well that Beltran will catch +him. And Beltran, suddenly pulling up with a fierce rein, does catch +him, bestows him with Vivia, slightly to her dainty discomfort, and +dashes on. Noon deepens; Vivia does not sleep, she seeks Ray, Ray who +does not sleep either, but who is not to be beguiled. For, one day, the +child in his troubled dreams had been found by Beltran with a white coil +of fangs and venom for his pillow; and never since has Beltran taken his +noontide siesta but Ray watches beside him till the thick brown lashes +lift themselves once more. For, if Ray knows what worship is, he would +show you Beltran enshrined in his heart, this brother a dozen years his +elder, who had hailed his birth with stormy tears of joy, who had +carried him for years when he was yet too weak to walk, who in his own +full growth would seem to have absorbed the younger's share, were it not +that, tiny as Ray may be, his every nerve is steel, made steel, though, +by the other, and so trained and suppled and put at his service. It was +Beltran who had first flung him astride the saddle and sent him loping +off to town alone, but who had secretly followed him from thicket to +thicket, and stood ready in the market-place at last to lift him down; +it was Beltran who had given him his own rifle, had taught him to take +the bird on the wing, had led him out at night to see the great silent +alligator in his scale-armor sliding over the land from the coast and +plunging into the fresh waters of the bay,--who took him with him on the +long journeys for gathering in the cattle of the vast stock-farm, let +him sleep beside himself on the bare prairie-floor, like a man, with his +horse tethered to his boot, told him the spot in the game on which to +draw his bead, showed him what part to dress, and made him _chef de +cuisine_ in every camp they crossed; it was he who had taught him how to +hold himself in any wild stampede, on the prairie how to conquer fire +with fire, to find water as much his element as air; it is Beltran, in +short, who has made him this little marvel which at twelve years old he +finds himself to be,--this brother who serves him so, and whom he +adores, for whom he passionately expresses his devotion,--this brother +whom he loves as he loves the very life he lives. So Vivia, too, sits +down at Beltran's feet that day, and busies herself with those pink +plumes of the spoonbill's wings which he brought home to her,--so that, +when he wakes, he sees her standing there like the spirit of his dream, +her dark eyes shining out from under the floating shadowy hair, and the +rosy wings trembling on her little white shoulders. And just then +Beltran has no word for Ray, the customary smiling word always waited +for, since his eyes are on the vision at his feet, and straightway the +child springs down, springs where he can intercept Beltran's view, seems +to rise in his wrath a head above the girl, and, looking at Beltran all +the while, slaps Vivia on the cheek. Instantly two hands have clasped +about his wrists, two hands that hold him in a vice, and two eyes are +gazing down into his own and paralyzing him. Still the grasp, the gaze, +continue; as Vivia watches that look, a great blue glow from those eyes +seems to cloud her own brain. The color rises on Ray's cheeks, his angry +eyes fall, his chest heaves, his lips tremble, off from the long black +lashes spin sprays of tears, he cannot move, he is so closely held, but +slowly he turns his head, meets the red lips of the forgiving girl with +his, then casts himself with sobs on Beltran's breast. And all that +evening, as the sudden heavy clouds drive down and quench sunset and +starlight, while they sit about a great fire, Beltran keeps her at his +side and Ray maintains his place, and within there is light and love, +and without the sand trembles to the shock of sound and the thunder of +the surf, and the heaven is full of the wildly flying blast of the +Norther. + +Still, as Vivia gazed into the silent mirror, the salient points of her +life started up as if memory held a torch to them in their dark +recesses, and another picture printed its frosty _spiculae_ upon the gray +surface of the glass before her. No ardent arch of Southern noontide +now, no wealth of flower and leaf, no pomp of regnant summer, but winter +has darkened down over sad Northern countries, and white Arctic splendor +hedges a lake about with the beauty of incomparable radiance; the trees +whose branches overhang the verge are foamy fountains, frozen as they +fall; distantly beyond them the crisp upland fields stretch their snowy +sparkle to touch the frigid-flashing sapphire of the sky, and bluer than +the sky itself their shadows fall about them; every thorn, every stem, +is set, a spike of crusted lustre in its icy mail; the tingling air +takes the breath in silvery wreaths; and wherever the gay garment of a +skater breaks the monotone with a gleam of crimson or purple, the +shining feet beneath chisel their fantastic curves upon a floor that is +nothing but one glare of crystal sheen. And here, hero of the scene, +glides Beltran, master of the Northern art as school-days made him, +skates as of old some young Viking skated, all his being bubbling in a +lofty glee, with blue eyes answering this icy brilliance as they dazzle +back from the tawny countenance, with every muscle rippling grace and +vigor to meet the proud volition, lithely cutting the air, swifter than +the swallow's wing in its arrowy precision, careless as the floating +flake in effortless motion, skimming along the lucid sheathing that +answers his ringing heel with a tune of its own, and swaying in his +almost aerial medium, lightly, easily, as the swimming fish sways to the +currents of the tide. Scoring whitely their tracery of intricate lines, +the groups go by in whorls, in angles, in sweeping circles, and the ice +shrinks beneath them; here a fairy couple slide along, waving and bowing +and swinging together; far away some recluse in his pleasure sports +alone with folded arms, careening in the outward roll like the mast of a +phantom-craft; everywhere inshore clusters of ruddy-cheeked boys race +headlong with their hawkey-sticks, and with their wild cries, making +benders where the ice surges in a long swell: and constantly in +Beltran's wake slips Vivia, a scarlet shadow, while a clumsy little +black outline is ever designing itself at her heels as Ray strives in +vain to perfect the mysteries of the left stroke. All about, the keen +air breathes its exhilaration, and the glow seems to penetrate the pores +till the very blood dances along filled with such intoxicating +influence; all above, the afternoon heaven deepens till it has no hidden +richness, and between one and the pale gold of the coldly reddening +horizon the white air seems hollow as the flaw in some great transparent +jewel. Still they wind away in their gladness, when hurriedly Beltran +reaches his hand for the heedless Vivia's, and hurriedly she sees +terrifying grooves spreading round them, a great web-work of +cracks,--the awful ice lifts itself, sinks, and out of a monstrous +fissure chill death rises to meet them and ingulf them. In an instant, +Ray, who might have escaped, has hurled himself upon them, and then, as +they all struggle for one drowning breath in the flood, Vivia dimly +divines through her horror an arm stretched first towards Ray, snatched +back again, and bearing her to safety. Ray has already scrambled from +the shallow breach where his brother alone found bottom; waiting hands +assist Beltran; but as she lingers that moment shivering on the brink, +blindly remembering the double movement of that arm beneath the ice, she +silently asks, with a thrill, if he suffered Ray to save himself because +he was a boy, and could, or because--because she was Vivia! + +Southern noontide, winter twilight lost themselves again, as Vivia +gazed, in the soft starry gleam of an April midnight. A quiet room, +dimly lighted by a flame that dying eyes no longer see; two figures +kneeling, one at either side of the mother,--the little apple-blossom of +a mother brought up to die among her own people,--one shaking with his +storm of sobs, the other supporting the dear, weary head on his strong +breast, and stifling his very heart-beat lest it stir the frail life too +roughly. And the mother lifts the lids of her faint eyes, as when a +parting vapor reveals rifts of serene heaven, gazes for a moment into +the depths of her first-born's tenderness, gropes darkly for his fingers +and for the hot little hand thrust eagerly forth to meet hers, closes +one about the other, and folds them both upon her own heart. Then +Beltran bends and gathers from the lips the life that kindled his. With +a despairing cry, Ray flings himself forward, and dead and living lie in +Beltran's arms, while the strong convulsion of his heart rends up a +hollow groan from its emptiness. And Vivia draws aside the curtain, and +the gentle wind brings in the sweet earthy scent of fresh furrows lately +wet with showers, and the ever-shifting procession of the silent stars +unveil themselves of gauzy cloud, and glance sadly down with their +abiding eyes upon these fleeting shadows. + +After all, who can deny that there is magic in a mirror, a weird +atmosphere imprisoned, between the metal and the glass, borrowing the +occult powers of the gulf of space, and returning to us our own wraith +and apparition at any hour of the day or night when we smite it with a +ray of light,--reaching with its searching power into the dark places +where we have hidden ourselves, and seizing and projecting them in open +sight? Who doubts that this sheeny panel on so many walls, with wary art +slurring off its elusive gleam, could, at the one compelling word, paint +again the reflections of all on which it silently dreams in its reticent +heart,--the joy, the grief, the weeping face, the laughing lip, the +lover's kiss, the tyrant's sneer, almost the crouched and bleeding soul +on which that sneer descended, of which some wandering beam carried +record? When we remember the violin, inwardly ridged with the vibrations +of old tunes, old discords, who would wonder to find some charactery of +light tracing its indelible script within the crystal substance? And +here, if Vivia saw one other scene blaze out before her and vanish, why +not believe, for fancy's sake, that it was as real a picture as the +image of the dark and beautiful girl herself bending there with the +carmine stain upon her cheek, the glowing, parted lips, the shining +eyes, the shadowy hair? + +Late spring down on the Maryland farm: you know it by the intense blue +through that quaint window draped with such a lushness of vines, such a +glory of blossom. In at the open door, whose frame is arabesqued with +hanging sprays of sweetbrier, with the pendent nest, with fluttering +moth-wings sunshine-dusted, with crowds of bursting buds, pours the +mellow sun in one great stream, pours from the peach-orchards the +fragrant breeze laden with bird-song. A girl, standing aside, with +clasped hands drooping before her, her gaze upon a shadow on the floor +in the midst of that broad stream of light. Casting that shadow, under +the lintel, a young man clad for travel. Since he left his Southern +home, ruin has befallen it; he dares not ask one lapped in luxury to +share such broken fortunes as his seem to-day, even though such stout +shoulders, so valiant a heart, buffet them. If she loves, it is enough; +they can wait; their treasure neither moth nor rust can corrupt; their +jewel is imperishable. If she loves--He is looking in her eyes, holding +to her his hands. Slowly the girl meets his glance. A long look, one +long, silent look, infinitude in its assurance, its glow wrapping her, +blue and smiling as heaven itself, reaching him like the evening star +seen through tears,--a word, a touch, had profaned with a trait of +earthliness so remote, so spiritual a betrothal. He goes, and still the +upward-smiling girl sees the sunshine, hears the bird-song,--a boy +dashes by the door and down the path to meet the last, close-lingering +embrace of two waiting arms at the gate,--and then there is nothing but +Vivia bending and gazing at herself in the glass with a flushed and +fevered eagerness of rapture. + + "The wild, sweet tunes that darkly deep + Thrill through thy veins and shroud thy sleep, + That swing thy blood with proud, glad sway, + And beat thy life's arterial play,-- + Still wilt thou have this music sweep + Along thy brain its pulsing leap,-- + Keep love away! keep love away! + + "The joy of peace that wide and high + Like light floods through the soaring sky, + The day divine, the night akin, + Heaven in the heart, ah, wilt thou win, + The secret of the hoarded years, + Life rounded as the shining spheres,-- + Let love come in! let love come in!" + +she sang, to case her heart of its swelling gladness. + +But here Vivia dared not concentrate her recollections, dared not dally +with such distant delight,--twisted and tossed her hair into its coils, +and once more opened the letter. Ray had not lived for three years under +converging influences, years which are glowing wax beneath the seal of +fresh impressions, years when one puts off or takes on the tendencies +of a lifetime,--Ray had not lived those three school-years without +contracting habits, whims, determinations of his own: let her have +Beltran's reasons to meet Ray's objections. + +They were up at the little meadow-side cottage of Mrs. Vennard, Ray's +maternal aunt, a quiet widow, who was glad to receive her dying sister +in her house a year and a half ago, as she had often received her boys +before, and who was still willing to eke out her narrow income with the +board of one nephew and any summer guest; and as that summer guest, +owing to an old family-friendship that overlooked differences of rank +and wealth, Vivia had, for many a season, been established. Here, when +bodings of trouble began to darken her sunny fields, she had, in early +spring, withdrawn again, leaving her maiden aunt to attend to the +affairs of the homestead, or to find more luxurious residence in +watering-places or cities, as she chose. For Vivia liked the placid life +and freedom of the cottage, and here, too, she had oftenest met those +dear friends to whom one winter her father, long since dead, had taken +her, and half of all that was pleasant in her life had inwoven itself +with the simple surroundings of the place. Here, in that fatal spring +when the first tocsin alarmed the land, Ray, now scarcely any longer a +boy, yet with a boy's singleness of mind, though possessing neither +patience nor power for subtilties of difficult reason and truth, +thinking of no lonely portion, but of the one great fact of country, had +been fired with spontaneous fervor, and had ever since been like some +restive steed champing the bit and quivering to start. As for Vivia, she +was a Maryland woman. Too burningly indignant, the blood bubbled in her +heart for words sometimes, and she would be glad of Beltran's weapons +with which to confront Kay when he returned from Boston, whither, the +day before, without a word's explanation, he had betaken himself. So she +turned again to the open letter, and scanned its weightiest paragraphs. + +"There is a strange reversal of right and wrong, when the American Peace +Society declares itself for war. There is, then, a greater evil than +war, even than civil war, with its red, fratricidal hands?--Slavery. +But, could that be destroyed, it would be the first great evil ever +overcome by force of arms. They fight tangibly with an intangible foe; +tangible issues rise between them; the black, intangible phantom hovers +safe behind. But even should they visibly succeed, is there not left the +very root of the matter to put forth fresh growth,--that moral condition +in which the thing lived at all? An evil that has its source in the +heart must be eradicated by slow medicinal cure of the blood. To fight +against the stars in their courses, one must have brands of starry +temper. No sudden shocks of battle will sweep Slavery from the sphere. +Can one conquer the universe by proclamation? 'Lyra will rise +to-morrow,' said some one, after Caesar reformed the calendar. +'Doubtless,' replied Cicero, 'there is an edict for it.' But, believe +me, there can be no broad, stupendous evil, unless it be a part of God's +plan; and in His own time, without other help from us than the +performance of our duty, it will slough off its slime and rise into some +fair superstructure. Our efforts dash like spray against the rock,--the +spray is broken, the rock remains. To annihilate evil with evil,--that +is an error in itself against which every man is justified in taking up +his sword. + +"So far, I have allowed the sin. Yet, sin or not, in this country the +estate of the slave is unalterable. Segregately, the institution is +their protection. For though there is no record of the contact of +superior and inferior races on a basis of equality, where the inferior +did not absorb the superior, yet, if every slave were set free to-day, +imbruted through generations, it could not be on a basis of equality +that we should meet, and they would be as inevitably sunk and lost as +the detritus that a river washes into the sea. If the black stay here, +it must be as a menial. In his own latitudes, where, after the third +generation, the white man ceases to exist, he is the stronger; there the +black man is king: let him betake himself to his realm. Abolition is +impracticable, colonization feasible; on either is gunpowder wasted: one +cannot explode a lie by the blast. + +"But saying the worst of our incubus that can be said, could all its +possible accumulation of wrong and woe exceed that of four years of such +a war as this? Think a moment of what this land was, what a great beacon +and celestial city across the waves to the fugitives from tyranny; think +of our powerful pride in eastern seas, in western ports, when each +ship's armament carried with it the broadside of so many sovereign +States, when each citizen felt his own hand nerved with a people's +strength, when no young man woke in the morning without the perpetual +aurora of high hopes before him, when peace and plenty were all about +us,--and then think of misery at every hearth, of civilization thrust +back a century, of the prestige of freedom lost among the nations, of +the way paved for despots. And how needlessly! + +"They taunted us, us the source of all their wealth, with the pauper's +deserting the poor-house; we put it to proof; when, lo! with a hue and +cry, the blood-hounds are upon us, the very dogs of war. So needless a +war! For has it not been a fundamental principle that every people has a +right to govern itself? We chose to exercise that right. Was it worth +the while to refuse it? Exhausted, drained, dispeopled, they may chain a +vassal province to their throne; but, woe be to them, upon that +conquering day, their glory has departed from them! The first Revolution +was but the prologue to this: that was sealed in blood; in this might +have been demonstrated the progress made under eighty years of freedom, +by a peaceful separation. It is the Flight of the Tartar Tribe anew, and +the whole barbarous Northern nation pours its hordes after, hangs on the +flank, harasses, impedes, slaughters,--but we reach the shadow of the +Great Wall at last. If we had not the right to leave the league, how had +we the right to enter? If we had not the right to leave, they also had +not the right to withhold us. Yet, when we entered, resigning much, +receiving much, retaining more, we were each a unit, a power, a +commonwealth, a nation, or, as we chose to term it, a State,--as much a +state as any of the great states of Europe, as Britain, as France, as +Spain, and jealously ever since have we individually regarded any +infringement on our integrity. That, and not the mere tangle of race +that in time must unravel itself, is the question of the age. Long ago +it was said that our people, holding it by transmission, never having +struggled for it, would some day cease rightly to value the one chief +bulwark of liberty. Nothing is more true. They of the North will lose +it, we of the South shall gain it; for, battling on a grander scale than +our ancestors, the South is to-day taking out the great _habeas corpus_ +of States!" + +No matter whether all this was sophistry or truth. Beltran had said +it,--that was enough; so strongly did she feel his personality in what +he wrote, that the soul was exultant, jubilant, defiant, within her. +Other words there were in the letter, such words as are written to but +one; the blood swept up to Vivia's lips as she recalled them, and her +heart sprang and bounded like one of those balls kept in perpetual play +by the leaping, bubbling column of a fountain. She was in one of those +dangerous states of excitement after which the ancients awaited +disaster. That last picture of the mirror dazzled her vision again; she +saw the sunshine, smelt the perfume, heard the bird-song. How a year had +changed the scene! The house was a barrack; now down in her Maryland +peach-orchards the black muzzles of Federal cannon yawned, and under the +flickering shadows and sunshine the grimy gunners, knee-deep in grass +and dew, brushed away the startled clover-blooms, as they touched fire +to the breach. Beltran was a Rebel. Vivia was a Rebel, too! She ran +down-stairs into her little parlor overflowing with flowers. As she +walked to and fro, the silent keys of her pianoforte met her eye. +Excellent conductors. Half standing, half sitting, she awoke its voices, +and, to a rolling, silvery thunder of accompaniment, commenced +singing,-- + + "The lads of Kilmarnock had swords and had spears + And lang-bladed daggers to kill cavaliers, + But they shrunk to the wall and the causey left free + At one toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee! + So fill up my cup, come fill up my can, + Saddle my horses and call up my men, + Open your west-port and let me gae free, + For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!" + +Some one in the distance, echoing the last line with an emphasis, caught +her ear in the pause. It was Ray. He had already returned, then. She +snatched the letter and sped into the kitchen, where she was sure to +find him. + +Mrs. Vennard rocked in her miniature sitting-room at one side, +contentedly matching patchwork. Little Jane Vennard, her +step-daughter,--usually at work in the mills, but, since their close, +making herself busy at home, whither she had brought a cookery-book +through which Ray declared he expected to eat his way,--bustled about +from room to room. Ray sat before the fire in the kitchen and toasted +some savory morsel suspended on a string athwart the blaze. + +"Where have you been, Ray?" said Vivia, approaching, with her glowing +cheeks, her sparkling eyes. "And what are you doing now?" + +"Trying camp-life again," replied Ray, looking up at her in a fixed +admiration. + +"I've had a letter from Beltran." + +"Oh! where is he?" cried Ray. + +"Beltran is in camp." + +"And where?" + +"Perhaps on the Rio Grande, perhaps on the Potomac." + +"Do you mean to say," cried Ray, springing up, while string and all fell +into the coals, "that Beltran, my brother"-- + +"Is a Rebel." + +"Then I am a rebel, too," said Ray, chokingly, sitting down again, and +mechanically stooping to pick up the burning string,--"a rebel to him!" + +"You won't be a rebel to him, if you'll listen to reason,--his reason." + +"He's got no reason. It's only because he was there." + +"Now, Raymond Lamar! if you talk so, you sha'n't read the letter!" + +"I don't want to read it." + +"Have you left off loving Beltran, because he differs from you?" + +"Left off loving Beltran!" + +Vivia waited a moment, leaning on the back of his chair, and then Ray, +bending, covered his face with his hands, and the large tears oozed from +between his brown fingers. + +Little Jane, whipping the frothy snow of her eggs, went on whipping all +the harder for fear Ray should know she saw him. And Vivia, with one +hand upon his head, took away the brown fingers, that her own cool, +fragrant palm might press upon his burning lids. Such sudden tears +belong to such tropical natures. For there was no anger or sullenness in +Ray's grief; he was just and simply sorry. + +"He must have forgotten me," said Ray, after a sober while. + +"There was this note for you in mine, and a draft on New York, because +he thought you might be in arrears." + +"No, I'm not. Aunty can have the draft, though; she may need it before I +come back," said Ray, brokenly, gazing into the fire. "Do you suppose +Beltran wrote mine or yours first?" + +"Yours." + +"Then you've the last thing he ever set his hand to, perhaps!" + +"Don't talk so, child!" said Vivia, with an angry shiver. "Come back! +Where are you going?" + +"I enlisted, yesterday, in the Kansas Cavalry." + +"Great heavens, Ray! was there not another regiment in all the world +than one to be sent down to New Mexico to meet Beltran and the Texan +Rangers?" cried Vivia, wringing her hands. + +Ray was on his feet again, a swarm of expletives buzzing inarticulately +at his lips. + +"I never thought of that," said he, whiter than ashes. + +"What made you? oh, what made you?" + +"There was no other company. I liked this captain. He gave me to-day's +furlough. I'm going to-night; little Jane's promised to fix my traps; +she's making me these cookies now, you see. Pshaw! Beltran's up on the +Potomac, or else you couldn't have gotten this letter,--don't you know? +You made my heart jump into my mouth!" + +And resuming his seat, to find his string and jack in cinders, he turned +round astride his chair and commenced notching his initials into its +back, with cautious glances at his aunt. + +"That's for little Jane to cry over after I'm gone," said he. + +"Ray--How do you think Beltran will like it?" + +"I can't help what Beltran likes. I shall be doing God's work." + +"Beltran says God does His own work. He only requires of us our duty." + +"That is my duty." + +"You feel, Ray, as if you were possessed by the holy ardor of another +Sir Galahad!" + +"I feel, Vivia, that I shall give what strength I have towards ridding +the world of its foulest disease." + +"With what a good grace that comes from you!" + +"With all the better grace." + +"The old Berserker rage over again!" + +"Quite as fine as running amuck." + +"Ray, the race that does not rise for itself deserves its fate." + +"Vivia, no race deserves such a fate as this one has found." + +"Idle! I have seen slavery; own slaves: there is nothing monstrous in +it." + +"In Maryland." + +"Anywhere." + +"Wailing children, sundered families, women under the lash"-- + +"You know very well, Ray, that there is a law against the separation of +families." + +"I never heard of it." + +"Audubon says there is." + +"A little bird told him," interpolated Jane. + +"But I've seen them separated." + +"I don't believe," urged Vivia, "but for exceptional abuses, there's a +system providing for a happier peasantry on the face of the earth." + +"It can't be a good system that allows such abuses." + +"There are even abuses of the sacraments." + +"Pshaw, Vivia!" + +"Well, Ray, I don't believe in this pseudo-chivalry of yours, any more +than Beltran does." + +"If Beltran said black was white, you'd think that true!" + +"_If_ Beltran said so, it _would_ be true." + +"It's no more likely that he should be right than that I should be." + +"You couldn't have spoken so about Beltran once!" + +"Well, black or white, slave or free, never think I shall sit by and see +my country fall to ruins." + +"Your country? Do you suppose you love it any more than I do?" + +"You're a woman." + +"Suppose I am a woman, you unkind boy"-- + +"Well, you only love half of it,--the Southern half." + +"I love my whole country!" cried Vivia, all aflame. "I love these +purple, rust-stained granites here, the great savannas there,--the pine +forests, the sea-like prairies,--every river rolling down its rocky +bed,--every inch of its beautiful, glorious soil,--all its proud, free +people. I love my whole country!" + +"Only you hate some of its parasites. But Beltran would tell you that +you haven't got any country. You may love your native State. As for +country, it's nothing but a--what-you-may-call-it." + +"Very true. It is in observing the terms of that +what-you-may-call-it,--that federation, that bond,--in mutual +concessions, in fraternal remembrances, that we gain a country. And what +a country!" + +"Yes, what a country, Vivia! And shall I consent to resign an atom of it +while there's a drop of blood in my body, to lose a single grain of its +dust? When Beltran brought me here three years ago, I sailed day and +night up a mighty river, from one zone into another,--sailed for weeks +between banks that were still my own country. And if I had ever +returned, we should have passed by the thundering ledges of New England, +Jersey surfs and shallows, the sand-bars of the Carolinas, the shores of +Florida lying like a faint green cloud long and low upon the +horizon,--sailing a thousand miles again in our own waters. Enormous +borders! and throughout their vast stretch happiness and promise! And +shall I give such dominion to the first traitor that demands it? No! nor +to the thousandth! There she lies, bleeding, torn, prostrate, a byword! +Why, Vivia, this was my country, she that made me, reared me, gladdened +me! It is the now crusade. I understand none of your syllogisms. My +country is in danger. Here's my hand!" + +And Ray stood erect, bristling and fiery, as some one reddening in the +very light of battle. + +And answering him only with flashing eyes, Vivia sang, in her +triumphant, thrilling tones,-- + + "Hark to a wandering child's appeal, + Maryland! my Maryland! + My mother State, to thee I kneel, + Maryland! my Maryland! + For life and death, for woe and weal, + Thy peerless chivalry reveal, + And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, + Maryland! my Maryland!" + +"You're a wicked girl, Vivia, if you _are_ as beautiful as Phryne!" +exclaimed Ray, while little Jane picked herself up from the table, +across which she had been leaning with both arms and her dish-towel, and +staring forgetfully at him. + +Vivia laughed. + +"Well, you young fanatic," said she, "we can't convert each other. We +are both incontrovertible. Let us be friends. One needs more time than +we have to quarrel in." + +"Yes," said Ray. "I am going this afternoon, and I shall drink of every +river west of the Mississippi before I come back. It's a wild life, a +royal life; I am thirsty for its excitement and adventure." + +"Jane," called Mrs. Vennard from within, "did you find all the nests +to-day?" + +"All but two, Ma'am," said little Jane, as she let a tempting odor +escape from the tin oven. "The black hen got over the fence last night; +she's down in the lot. And the cropple-crown laid away." + +"You'd better get them." + +"Yes, Ma'am." + +"If you'd just as lief." + +"Oh, yes, Ma'am!" + +"We'll go, too," said Ray. + +"Oh, no, you needn't." + +"We'd like to, little Jane. Are the cookies done? By George! don't they +look like manna? They'll last all the way to Fort Riley. And be manna in +the wilderness. Smoking hot. Have some, Vivia? Little Jane, I say, 't +would be jolly, if you'd go along and cook for the regiment." + +"Is that all you'd want of me?" + +"It's a wonderful region for grasshoppers out there, you know; you'd +improvise us such charming dishes of locusts and wild honey! As for +cookies, a snowflake and a sunbeam, and there they are," said Ray, +making inroads on the Fort-Riley stores; while little Jane set down a +cup of beaten cream by his side. + +"Janets are trumps! Vivia, don't you wish you were going to the war?" + +"Yes," said Vivia. + +"There is something in it, isn't there?" said Ray. "You'll sit at home, +and how your blood will boil! What keeps you women alive? Darning +stockings, I suppose. There's only one thing I dread: 't would be hard +to read of other men's glory, and I lying flat on my back. Would you +make me cookies then, little Jane?" + +Little Jane only gave him one swift, shy look: there was more promise in +it than in many a vow. In return, Ray tossed her the sparkle of his +dancing glance an instant, and then his eager fancies caught him again. + +"We read of them," said he, "those splendid scenes. What can there be +like acting them? Ah, what a throb there is in it! The rush, the roar, +the onslaught, the clanging trumpet, the wreathing smoke, and the mad +horses. Dauntlessly defying danger. Ravishing fame from the teeth of the +battery. See in what a great leap of the heart you spring with the +forlorn hope up the escalade! Your soul kindles and flashes with your +blade. You are nothing but a wrath. To die so, with all one's spirit at +white-heat, awake, alert, aflame, must send one far up and along the +heights of being. And if you live, there are other things to do; and how +the women feel their fiery pulses fly, their hot tears start, as you go +by, thinking of all the tumult, the din, the daring, the danger, and you +a part of it!" + +Little Jane was trembling and tying on her bonnet. As for Vivia, she +burst into tears. + +"Oh, Ray!" sobbed she, "I wish I were a man!" + +"I don't!" said he. "Oh, it's rip-roarious! Come, let's follow our +leader. We'll bring you back the cropple-crown, auntie." + +And so they departed, while, breaking into fresh carols, ringing and +dulcet, as they went, Vivia's voice resounded till the woods pealed to +the echo:-- + + "He waved his proud arm, and the trumpets were blown + The kettle-drums clashed, and the horsemen rode on, + Till o'er Ravelston crags and on Clermiston lea + Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny Dundee!" + +Pursuing the white sun-bonnet down the pasture, Ray kept springing ahead +with his elastic foot, threshing the juniper-plats that little Jane had +already searched, and scattering about them the pungent fragrance of the +sweet-fern thickets,--the breath of summer itself; then returning for a +sober pace or two, would take off his hat, thrust a hand through the +masses of his hair that looked like carved ebony, and show Vivia that +his shadow was exactly as long as her own. And Vivia saw that all this +beating and longing and burning had loosened and shot into manhood a +nature that under the snow of its eightieth winter would yet be that of +a boy. Ray could never be any taller than he was to-day, but he had +broad, sturdy shoulders and a close-knit, nervous frame, while in his +honest, ugly face, that, arch or grave, kept its one contrast of black +eyes and brilliant teeth, there was as much to love as in the superb +beauty of Beltran. + +They had reached the meadow's edge at length; Ray was growing more +serious, as the time hurried, when little Jane, with a smothered +exclamation, prepared to cross the wall. For there they were, sleek and +glossy, chattering gently to each other, pecking about, the wind blowing +open their feathers till they became top-heavy, and looking for all the +world, as Janet said, like pretty little old ladies dressed up to go out +to tea. And near them, quite at home in the marshy domain, strutted and +lunched a fine gallant of a turkey, who ruffled his redness, dropped all +his plumes about him, and personated nothing less than some stately +dowager sailing in flounces and brocades. Ray caught back their +discoverer, launched a few stepping-stones across, and, speeding from +foothold to foothold, very soon sent His Magnificence fluttering over +the fence and forward before them, and returned with the two little +runaway hens slung over his arm, where, after a trifle of protestation +and a few subdued cackles of crestfallen acquiescence, having a great +deal to tell the other hens on reaching home once more, they very +contentedly enjoyed the new aspect of the world upsidedown. + +"And here's where she's made her nest," said little Jane, stepping aside +from a tangle of blackberry-vines, herds-grass, and harebells, where lay +a half-dozen pullet pearls. "A pretty mother you'd make, Miss, gadding +and gossiping down in the meadow with that naughty black hen! Who do you +suppose is going to bring up your family for you? Did you speak to the +butterflies to hatch them under their yellow wings? I shall just tie you +to an old shoe!" + +And taking the winking, blinking culprits from Kay, she ran along home +to make ready his package, for which there was not more than an hour +left. Vivia turned to follow, for she also wanted to help; but Ray, +lingering by the wall and pointing out some object, caused her to +remain. + +"It will be such a long time before I see it again," said he. + +They leaned upon the stone wall, interspersed, overgrown, and veiled +with moss and maiden-hair and blossoming brambles. Before them lay the +long meadow, sprinkled with sunbeams, green to its last ripe richness, +discolored only where the tall grass made itself hoary in the breeze, or +where some trail of dun brown ran up through all intermediate tints to +break in a glory of gold at the foot of the screen of woods that far +away gloomed like a frowning fortress of shade, but, approaching, +feathered off its tips in the glow, and let the mellow warmth of olive +light gild to a lustrous depth all its darkly verdurous hollows. Near +them the vireos were singing loud and sweet. + +"Vivia," said Ray, after a pause, "if I should never come back"-- + +"You will come back." + +"But if I never did,--should you greatly care?" + +"Beginning to despond! That is good! You won't go, then?" + +"If the way lay over the bottomless pit, I should go." + +"And you can't get free, if you want to?" + +"No!" + +"Ray, I could easily raise money enough upon my farm to buy"-- + +"If you talk so," said Ray, whipping off the flowers, but looking up at +her as he bent, and smiling, "I shall inform against you, and have your +farm confiscated." + +"What! I can't talk as I please in a free country? Oh, it's not free, +then! They've discovered at length that there's something better than +freedom. They sent a woman to prison this spring for eating an orange in +the street. They confiscated a girl's wedding-gown the other day, and +now they've confiscated her bridegroom. Oh, it's a great cause that +can't get along without my wedding-gown! _Noblesse oblige_!" + +"It takes more wedding-gowns than yours, Vivia. Dips them in mourning." + +"Pray God it won't take mine yet!" cried she, with sudden fire. + +"Vivia," said Ray, facing her, "I asked you a question. Why didn't you +answer it? Shouldn't you care?" + +"You know, dear child, I should,--we all should, terribly." + +"But, Vivia, I mean, that you--that I"-- + +He paused, the ardor and eagerness suspended on cheek and lip, for Vivia +met his glance and understood its simple speech,--since in some degree a +dark eye lets you into the soul, where a blue one bluffs you off with +its blaze, and under all its lucent splendor is as impenetrable as a +turquoise. A girl of more vanity would have waited for plainer words. +But Vivia only placed her warm hand on his, and said gently,-- + +"Ray, I love Beltran." + +There was a moment's quiet, while Ray looked away,--supporting his chin +upon one hand, and a black cloud sweeping torridly down the stern face. +One sharp struggle. A moment's quiet. Into it a wild rose kept shaking +sweetness. After it a vireo broke into tremulous melody, gushing higher, +fuller, stronger, clearer. Ray turned, his eyes wet, his face beaming. +Said he,-- + +"I am more glad than if it were myself!" + +Then Vivia bent, and, flushed with noble shame, she kissed him on the +lips. A word, a grasp, she was leaning alone over the old stone wall, +the birds were piping and fluting about her, and Ray was gone. + + * * * * * + +A month of rushing over land and lake, of resting at the very spots +where he and Beltran had stayed together three years ago, of repeating +the brief strolls they took, of reading again and again that last note, +and Ray had crossed the great river of the West, and reached the +headquarters of his regiment. There, induing their uniforms, and +training their horses, all of which were yet to be shod, they brushed +about the country, and skirmished with guerrillas, until going into camp +for thorough drill preparatory to active service. + +Convoying Government-trains through a region where were assembled in +their war-paint thousands of Indians from the wild tribes of the plains +and hills was venturous work enough, but it was not that to which Ray +aspired. He must be one of those cherubim who on God's bidding speed; he +could not serve with those who only stand and wait. His hot soul grew +parched and faint with longing, and all the instincts of his battling +blood began to war among themselves. At length one night there was +hammering and clinking at the red field-fires, and by daybreak they were +off for a mad gallop over plain and mountain, down river-banks and +across deserts into New Mexico. + +Fording the shallow Arkansas, trailing their way through prairie and +timber,--reaching and skirting the scorching stretch,--riding all day, +consumed with thirst, from green-mantling pool to pool, till the last +lay sixty miles behind them, and men and horses made desperately for the +stream, dashing in together to drink their fill, when they found it +again foaming down the centre of its vast level plain, that receded +twenty miles on either side without shrub or hillock,--finally their +path wound in among the hills, and a day dawned that Ray will never +forget. + +The stars were large and solemn, hovering golden out of the high, dark +heaven, as the troop defiled into the _canon_; they glinted with a +steely lustre through the roof of fallen trees that arched the gorge +from side to side, then a wind of morning blew and they grew pallid and +wan in a shining haze, and, towering far up above them, vaguely terrific +in shadow, the horsemen saw the heights they were to climb all grayly +washed in the night-dew. So they swept up the mountain-side in their gay +and breezy career, on from ascent to ascent, from abutment to abutment, +crossing shrunken torrents, winding along sheer precipices, up into the +milky clouds of heaven itself, till the rosy flare of dawn bathed all +the air about them. There they halted, while, struggling after them, the +first triumphant beam struck the bosses of their harness to glittering +jewel-points, and, breaking through layer on layer of curdling vapor at +their feet, suffused it to a wondrous fleece, where carnation and violet +and the fire that lurks in the opal, wreathing with gorgeous involution, +seethed together, until, at last, the whole resplendent mist wound +itself away in silver threads on the spindles of the wind. Then boot in +the stirrup again, onward, over the mountain's ridge, desolate rook +defying the sun, downward, plunging through hanging forests, clearing +the chasm, bridging ravines, and still at noon the eagles, circling and +screaming above them, shook over them the dew from their plumes. +Downward afresh in their wild ride, the rainbows of the cascades flying +beside them, their afternoon shadows streaming up behind them, darkness +beginning to gather in the deeps below them, the mighty mountain-masses +around rearing themselves impenetrably in boding blackness and mystery +against the yellow gleam, the purple breath of evening wrapping them, +the dew again, again the stars, and they camped at the foot of a spur +of hills with a waterfall for sentry on their left. + +Through all the dash of the day, Ray had been in sparkling spirits, a +very ecstasy of excitement, brimmed with an exuberance of valiant glee +that played itself away in boyish freaks of daring and reckless acts of +horsemanship. Now a loftier mood had followed, and, still wrought to +some extreme tension, full of blind anticipation and awful assurance, he +sat between the camp-fires, his hands clasped over his knees, and +watched the evening star where it hung in a cleft of the rocks and +seemed like the advent of some great spirit of annunciation. The tired +horses had been staked out to graze, a temporary abatis erected, +scouting-parties sent off in opposite directions, and at last the frosty +air grew mild and mellow over the savory steam of broiling steaks and +coffee smoking on beds of coals. There was a moment's lull in the hum of +the little encampment, in all the jest and song and jingling stir of +this scornfully intrepid company; perhaps for an instant the sense of +the wilderness overawed them; perhaps it was only the customary +precursor of increasing murmur;--before leaving his place, Ray suddenly +stooped and laid his ear on the earth. There it was! Far off, far off, +the phantasmal stroke of hoofs, rapid, many, unswerving. It had +come,--all that he had awaited,--fate, or something else. Low and clear +in the distance one bugle blew blast of warning. When he rose, the great +yellow planet, wheeling slowly down the giant cleft in the rock, had +vanished from sight. + +Every man was on his feet, the place in alarum. Behind and beside them +loomed the precipice and the waterfall;--there was surrender, there was +conquest; there was no retreat. The fires were extinguished, the +breastworks strengthened, weapons adjusted, and all the ireful +preparations for hasty battle made. Then they expected their foe. Slowly +over the crown of the mountain above them an aurora crept and brandished +its spears. + +As they waited there those few breathless moments, Ray examined his +rifle coolly enough, and listened to the chirp of a solitary cricket +that sung its thin strain so unbrokenly on the edge of strife as to +represent something sublime in its petty indifference. He was stationed +on the extreme left; near him the tumult of the torrent drowned much +discordant noise, its fairy scarf forever forming and falling and +floating on the evening air. He thought of Vivia sitting far away and +looking out upon the quiet starlight night; then he thought of swampy +midnight lairs, with maddened men in fevered covert there,--of little +children crying for their mothers,--of girls betrayed to hell,--of flesh +and blood at price,--of blistering, crisping fagot and stake to-day,--of +all the anguish and despair down there before him. And with the vivid +sting of it such a wrath raged along his veins, such a holy fire, that +it seemed there were no arms tremendous enough for his handling, through +his shut teeth darted imprecatory prayers for the power of some almighty +vengeance, his soul leaped up in impatient fury, his limbs tingled for +the death-grapple, when suddenly sound surged everywhere about them and +they were in the midst of conflict. Silver trumpet-peals and clash and +clang of iron, crying voices, whistling, singing, screaming shot, +thunderous drum-rolls, sharp sheet of flame and instant abyss of +blackness, horses' heads vaulting into sight, spurts of warm blood upon +the brow, the bullet rushing like a blast beside the ear, all the +terrible tempest of attack, trampled under the flashing hoof, climbing, +clinching, slashing, back-falling beneath cracking revolvers, hand to +hand in the night, both bands welded in one like hot and fusing metal, a +spectral struggle of shuddering horror only half guessed by lurid gleams +and under the light cloud flying across the stars. Clearly and remotely +over the plain the hidden east sent up a glow into the sky; its +reflection lay on Ray; he fought like one possessed of a demon, +scattering destruction broadcast, so fiercely his anger wrapped him, +white and formidable. Fresh onset after repulse, and, like the very +crest of the toppling wave, one shadowy horseman in all the dark rout, +spurring forward, the fight reeling after him, the silver lone star +fitfully flashing on his visor, the boy singled for his rifle;--inciting +such fearless rivalry, his fall were the fall of a hundred. Something +hindered; the marksman delayed an instant; he would not waste a shot; +and watching him, the dim outline, the sweeping sabre, the proud +prowess, a strange yearning pity seized Ray, and he had half the mind to +spare. In the midst of the shock and uproar there came to him a pulse of +the brain's double action; he seemed long ago to have loved, to have +admired, to have gloried in this splendid valor. But with the hint, and +the humanity of it, back poured the ardor of his sacred devotion, all +the impulsions of his passionate purpose: here was God's work! And then, +with one swift bound of magnificent daring and defiance, the horseman +confronted him, the fore-feet of his steed planted firmly half up the +abatis, and his steel making lightnings round about him. There was a +blinding flare of light full upon Ray's fiery form; in the sudden +succeeding darkness horseman and rider towered rigid like a monolith of +black marble. A great voice cried his name, a sabre went hurtling in one +shining crescent across the white arc of the waterfall. Too late! There +was another flare of light, but this time on the rider's face, a sound +like the rolling of the heavens together in a scroll, and Ray, in one +horrid, dizzy blaze, saw the broad gleam of the ivory brow, of the azure +fire in the eyes, heard the heavy, downfalling crash, and, leaping over +the abatis, deep into the midst of the slippery, raging death below, +seized and drew something away, and fell upon it prostrate. There, under +the tossing torrent, dragging himself up to the seal of their agony and +their reproach, Ray looked into those dead eyes, which, lifted beyond +the everlasting stars, felt not that he had crossed their vision. + +Far away from outrage and disaster, many a weary stretch of travel, the +meadow-side cottage basked in the afternoon sunlight of late +Indian-summer. All the bare sprays of its shadowing limes quivered in +the warmth of their purple life against a divine depth of heaven, and +the woody distances swathed themselves in soft blue smoke before the +sighing south-wind. + +Round the girl who sat on the low door-stone, with idle hands crossed +before her, puffs of ravishing resinous fragrance floated and fainted. +Two butterflies, that spread their broad yellow wings like detached +flakes of living sunshine stolen out of the sweet November weather, +fluttered between the glossy darkness of her hair and a little +posthumous rose, that, blowing beside the door, with time only half to +unfold its white petals, surveyed the world in a quaint and sad +surprise. + +Vivia looked on all the tender loveliness of the dying year with a +listless eye: waiting, weary waiting, makes the soul torpid to all but +its pain. It was long since there had been any letter from Ray. In all +this oppression of summer and of autumn there had come no report of +Beltran. Her heart had lost its proud assurance, worn beneath the long +strain of such suspense. Could she but have one word from him, half the +term of her own life would be dust in the balance. A thousand +fragmentary purposes were ever flitting through her thought. If she +might know that he was simply living, if she could be sure he wanted +her, she would make means to break through that dividing line, to find +him, to battle by his side, to die at his feet! Her Beltran! so grave, +so good, so heroic! and the thought of him in all his pride and beauty +and power, in all his lofty gentleness and tender passion, in his +strength tempered with genial complaisance and gracious courtesy, sent +the old glad life, for a second, spinning from heart to lip. + +The glassy lake began to ruffle itself below her, feeling the pulses of +its interfluent springs, or sending through unseen sluices word of +nightfall and evening winds to all its clustering companions that +darkened their transparent depths in forest-shadows. As she saw it, and +thought how soon now it would ice itself anew, the remembrance rushed +over her, like a warm breath, of the winter's night after their escape +from its freezing pool, when Beltran sat with them roasting chestnuts +and spicing ale before the fire that so gayly crackled up the +kitchen-chimney, a night of cheer. And how had it all faded! whither had +they all separated? where were those brothers now? Heaven knew. + +It had been a hard season, these months at the cottage. The price of +labor had been high enough to exceed their means, and so the land had +yielded ill, the grass was uncut on many a meadow; Ray's draft had not +been honored; Vivia had of course received no dividend from her +Tennessee State-bonds, and her peach-orchards were only a place of +forage. Still Vivia stayed at the cottage, not so much by fervent +entreaty, or because she had no other place to go to, as because there +were strange, strong ties binding her there for a while. Should all else +fail, with the ripened wealth of her voice at command, her future was of +course secure from want. But there was a drearier want at Vivia's door, +which neither that nor any other wealth would ever meet. + +Little Jane came up the field with a basket of the last barberries +lightly poised upon her head. A narrow wrinkle was beginning to divide +the freckled fairness of her forehead. She kept it down with many an +endeavor. Trying to croon to herself as she passed, and stopping only to +hang one of the scarlet girandoles in Vivia's braids, she went in. The +sunshine, loath to leave her pleasant little figure, followed after her, +and played about her shadow on the floor. + +Vivia still sat there and questioned the wide atmosphere, that, brooding +palpitant between her and the lake, still withheld the desolating secret +that horizon must have whispered to horizon throughout the aching +distance. + + "Oh that the bells in all these silent spires + Would clash their clangor on the sleeping air, + Ring their wild music out with throbbing choirs, + Ring peace in everywhere!" + +she sang, and trembled as she sang. But there the burden broke, and +rising, her eyes shaded by her hand, Vivia gazed down the lonely road +where a stage-coach rolled along in a cloud of dust. What prescience, +what instinct, it was that made her throw the shawl over her head, the +shawl that Beltran liked to have her wear, and hasten down the field and +away to lose herself in the wood, she alone could have told. + +The slow minutes crept by, the coach had passed at length with loud +wheel and resounding lash, its last dust was blowing after it, and it +had left upon the door-stone a boy in army-blue, with his luggage beside +him. A ghastly visage, a shrunken form, a crippled limb, were what he +brought home from the war. With his one foot upon the threshold, he +paused, and turned the face, gray under all its trace of weather, and +furrowed, though so young, to meet the welcoming wind. He gazed upon the +high sky out of which the sunshine waned, on the long champaign blending +its gold and russet in one, on the melancholy forest over which the +twilight was stealing; he lifted his cap with a gesture as if he bade it +all farewell,--then he grasped his crutch and entered. + +Without a word, Mrs. Vennard dropped the needles she was sorting upon +the mat about her. Little Jane sprang forward, but checked herself in a +strange awe. + +"Let me go to bed, auntie," said he, with a dry sob; "and I never want +to get up again!" + + * * * * * + +Midnight was winding the world without in a white glimmer of misty +moonlight, when the sharp beam of a taper smote Ray's sleepless eyes, +and he saw Vivia at last standing before him. Over her wrapper clung the +old shawl whose snowy web was sown with broidery of linnaea-bells, green +vine and rosy blossom. Round her shoulders fell her shadowy hair. +Through her slender fingers the redness of the flame played, and on her +cheek a hectic coming and going like the broad beat and flush of an +artery left it whiter than the spectral moonlight on the pane. She took +away her hand, and let the illumination fall full upon his face,--a face +haggard as a dead man's. + +"Ray," she said, "where is Beltran?" Only silence replied to her. He lay +and stared up at her in a fixed and glassy glare. Breathless silence. +Then Ray groaned, and turned his face to the wall. Vivia blew out the +light. + + * * * * * + +The weeks crept away with the setting-in of the frosts. Little Jane's +heart was heavy for all the misery she saw about her, but she had no +time to make moan. Ray's amputated ankle was giving fresh trouble, and +after that was well over, he still kept his room, refusing food or fire, +and staring with hot, wakeful eyes at the cold ceiling. Vivia lingered, +subdued and pale, beside the hearth, doing any quiet piece of work that +came to hand; no one had seen her shed tears,--she had shown no +strenuous sorrow; on the night of Ray's return she had slept her first +unbroken sleep for months; her nerves, stretched so intensely and so +long, lay loosely now in their passionate reaction; some element more +interior than they saved her from prostration. She stayed there, sad and +still, no longer any sparkle or flush about her, but with a mildness so +unlike the Vivia of June that it had in it something infinitely +touching. She would have been glad to assist little Jane in her crowded +duties, yet succeeded only in being a hindrance; and learning a little +of broths and diet-drinks every day, she contented herself with sitting +silent and dreamy, and transforming old linen garments into bandages. +Mrs. Vennard, meanwhile, waited on her nephew and bewailed herself. + +But for little Jane,--she had no time to bewail herself. She had all +these people, in fact, on her hands, and that with very limited means to +meet their necessities. It was true they need not experience actual +want,--but there was her store to be managed so that it should be at +once wholesome and varied, and the first thing to do was to take an +account of stock. The autumn's work had already been well done. She had +carried berries enough to market to let her preserve her quinces and +damsons in sirups clear as sunshine, and make her tiny allowance of +currant and blackberry wines, where were innocently simulated the +flavors of rare vintages. Crook-necked squashes decked the tall +chimney-piece amid bunches of herbs and pearly strings of onions. She +and Vivia had gathered the ripened apples themselves, and now goodly +garlands of them hung from the attic-rafters, above the dried beans +whose blossoms had so sweetened June, and above last year's corn-bins. +That corn the first passing neighbor should take to mill and exchange a +portion of for cracked wheat; and as the flour-barrel still held out, +they would be tolerably well off for cereals, little Jane thought. They +had kept only one cow, and Tommy Low would attend to her for the sake of +his suppers,--suppers at which Vivia must forego her water-cresses now; +but Janet had a bed of mushrooms growing down-cellar, that, broiled and +buttered, were, she fancied, quite equal to venison-steaks. The hens, of +course, must be sacrificed, all but a dozen of them; for, as there was +no fresh meat for them in winter, they wouldn't lay, and would be only a +dead weight, she said to herself, as, with her apron thrown over her +neck, she stood watching them, finger on lip. However, that would give +them poultry all through the holidays. Then there were the pigs to be +killed on halves by a neighbor, as almost everything else out-doors had +now to be done; and when that was accomplished, she found no time to +call her soul her own while making her sausage and bacon and souse and +brawn. Part of the pork would produce salt fish, without which what +farm-house would stand?--and with old hucklebones, her potatoes and +parsnips, those ruby beets and golden carrots, there was many a Julien +soup to be had. Jones's-root, bruised and boiled, made a chocolate as +good as Spanish. Instead of ginger, there were the wild caraway-seeds +growing round the house. If she could only contrive some sugar and some +vanilla-beans, she would be well satisfied to open her campaign. But as +there had been for weeks only one single copper cent and two +postage-stamps in the house, that seemed an impossibility. Hereupon an +idea seized little Jane, and for several days she was busy in a +mysterious rummage. Garrets and closets surrendered their hoards to her; +files of old newspapers, old ledgers, old letter-backs, began to +accumulate in heaps,--everything but books, for Jane had a religious +respect for their recondite lore; she cut the margins off the magazines, +and she grew miserly of the very shreds ravelling under Vivia's fingers. +At length, one morning, after she had watched the windows unweariedly as +a cat watches a mouse-hole, she hurriedly exclaimed,-- + +"There he is!" + +"Who" asked Mrs. Vennard as hurriedly, with a dim idea that people in +their State received visits from the sheriff. + +"Our treasurer!" said little Jane. + +And, indeed, the red cart crowned with yellow brooms and dazzling tin, +the delight of housewives in lone places, was winding along the road; +and in a few moments little Jane accosted its driver, standing +victorious in the midst of her bags and bundles and baskets. + +"How much were white rags?" + +"Twelve cents." + +Laconic, through the urgencies of tobacco. + +"What?" + +"Twelve cents." + +"And colored?" + +"Wal, they were consider'ble." + +"And paper?" + +"Six cents. 'T used to be half a cent Six cents now." + +"But the reason?" breathlessly. + +"Reckoned 'twas the war's much as anything." + +One good thing out of Nazareth! Little Jane saw herself on the road to +riches, and immediately had thoughts of selling the whole +household-equipment for rags. She displayed her commodities. + +"Did he pay in money?" + +"Didn't like to; but then he did." + +"Fine day, to-day." + +"Wal, 'twas." + +And when the reluctant tinman went on his way again, she returned to +spread the fabulous result before her mother. There were sugars and +spices and whatnot. And though--woe worth the day!--she found that the +sum yielded only half what once it would, still, by drinking her own tea +in its acritude, they would do admirably; for tea even little Jane +required as her tonic, and without it felt like nothing but a mollusk. + +All this was very well, so far as it went; but the thrifty housekeeper +soon found that it went no way at all. Those for whom she made her +efforts wanted none of their results. She would have given all she had +in the world to help these suffering beings; but her little cooking and +concocting were all that she could do, and those they disregarded +utterly. When in the dull forenoon she would have enlivened Vivia with +her precious elderberry-wine, that a connoisseur must taste twice before +telling from purplest Port, and Vivia only wet her lips at it, or when +she carried Ray a roasted apple, its burnished sides bursting with juice +and clotted with cream, and the boy glanced at it and never saw it, +little Jane felt ready to cry; and she set to bethinking herself +seriously if there were nothing else to be done. + +One day, it was the day before Christmas, Jane took up to Ray's room one +of her trifles, a whip, whose _suave_ and frothy nothingness was piled +over the sweet plum-pulp at bottom. Ray lay on the outside of the bed, +with his thick poncho over him; he looked at her and at her tray, played +with the teaspoon a moment, then rolled upon his side and shut his +eyes. Little Jane took a half-dozen steps about the room, reached the +door, hesitated, and came back. + +"Ray," said she, under her breath and with tears in her voice, "I wish +you wouldn't do so. You don't know how it makes me feel. I can't do +anything for you but bring whips and custards; and you won't touch +those." + +Ray turned and looked up at her. + +"Do you care, Janet?" said he; and, rising on one arm, he lifted the +glass, and finished its delicate sweetmeat with a gust. + +But as he threw himself back, little Jane took heart of grace once more. + +"Ray, dear," said she, "I don't think it's right for you to stay here +alone in the cold. Won't you come down where it's warm? It's so much +more cheerful by the fire." + +"I don't want to be cheerful," said Ray. + +Janet looked at the door, then summoned her forces, and, holding the +high bedpost with both hands, said,-- + +"Ray, if God sent you any trouble, He never meant for you to take it so. +You are repulsing Him every day. You are straightening yourself against +Him. You are like a log on His hands. Can't you bend beneath it? Dear +Ray, you need comfort, but you never will find it till you take up your +life and your duties again, and come down among us." + +"What duties have I?" said Ray, hoarsely, looking along his footless +limb. "The sooner my life ends, oh, the better! I want no comfort!" + +But little Jane had gone. + +Christmas day dawned clear and keen; the sky was full of its bluest +sparkle, and, wheresoever it mounted and stretched over snowy fields, +seemed to hold nothing but gladness. Vivia had wrapped herself in her +cloak, and walked two miles to an early church-service, so if by any +accord of worship she might put her heart in tune with the universe. She +had been at home a half-hour already, and sat in her old nook with some +idle work between her fingers. A broad blaze rolled its rosy volumes up +the chimney, and threw its reflections on the shining shelves and into +the great tin-kitchen, that, planted firmly, held up to the heat the +very bird that had moved so majestically over the spring meadow, and +which Mrs. Vennard was at present basting with such assiduity, that, if +ever the knife should penetrate the crisp depth of envelope, it would +certainly find the inclosure unscathed by fire. Little Jane was stirring +enormous raisins into some wonderful batter of a pudding,--for she +remembered the time when somebody used to pick out all his plums and +leave the rest, and she meant, that, so far as her skill and her +resources would go, there should be no abatement of Christmas cheer +to-day. And if, after all, everybody disdained the bounteous affair, why +it could go to Tommy Low's mother, who would not by any means disdain +it. Every now and then she turned an anxious ear for any movement in the +cold distance,--but there was only silence. + +Suddenly Vivia started. A door had swung to, a strange sharp sound +echoed on the staircase, the kitchen-door opened and closed, and Ray set +his back against it. He did not attempt to move, but stood there darkly +surveying them. Vivia looked at him a second, then rose quickly, crossed +the room, and kissed him. Immediately Mrs. Vennard made a commotion, +while the other led him forward and placed him in her chair. Little Jane +pushed aside the pudding hastily, and proceeded to mull some of her mock +Sherry, that his heart might be warmed within him; and the cat came +rubbing against his crutch, as if she would make friends with it and +take it into the family. Mrs. Vennard resumed her basting; Vivia began +talking to him about her work and about her walk, murmuring pleasantly +in her clear, low tone,--Janet now and then putting in a word. Ray sat +there, sipping his spicy draught, and looking out with an unacquainted +air at the stir to which his coming had lent some gladness. But his face +was yet overcast with the shadows of the grave. In vain Mrs. Vennard +fussed and fidgeted, in vain little Jane uttered any of her brisk, but +sorry jesting, in vain Vivia's gentle voice;--it all touched Ray's heart +no other way than as the rain slips along a tombstone. Vivia folded her +work and disappeared; she was going to light a fire in her parlor, where +there had been none yet, and where by-and-by in the evening shadows she +might play to Ray, and charm him, perhaps, to rest. Mrs. Vennard divined +her purpose, and hurried after her to join in the task. Ray found +himself alone in his corner; he shivered. In spite of all the weeks of +solitude, a sudden chill seized him; he gathered up his crutches, and +stalked on them to the table where little Jane was yet finding something +to do. She brought him a chair, and for a minute or two he watched her; +then he was only staring vacantly at his hands, as they lay before him +on the table. + +If Janet was a busy soul, she was just as certainly a busybody. She had +the loving and innocent habit of making herself a member of every one's +equation. Just now she ached inwardly, when looking at Ray, and it was +impossible for her not to try and help him. + +"Ray, dear," said she, leaving her work and standing before him, "I +think you ought to smile now. Vivia has forgiven you. Take it as an +earnest that God forgives you, too." + +"I haven't sinned against God," said Ray. "I don't know who I sinned +against. I killed my brother." + +And his face fell forward on his hands and wet them with jets of +scalding tears. Full of awe and misery, little Jane dropped upon her +knees beside him, and, clasping his hands in hers, said to herself some +silent prayer. + + * * * * * + +After that placid-ending Christmas, after that first prayer, those first +tears, after Vivia's music at nightfall, Ray was another creature. He no +longer shut himself up in his room, but was down and about with little +Jane at peep of day. Indeed, he had now a horror of being alone, +following Janet from morn till eve, like a shadow, and stooping forward, +when the dark began to gather, with great, silent tears rolling over his +face, unless she came and took the cricket at his foot, slipping her +warm hand into his, and helping him to himself with the unspoken +sympathy. But it was a horror which nothing wholly lulled to sleep at +last but Vivia's singing. Every night, for an hour or more, Vivia +wrought the music's spell about him, while he lay back in his chair, and +little Jane retreated across the hearth, not daring to intrude on such a +season. They were seldom purely sad things that she played: sometimes +the melody murmured its _cantabile_ like a summer brook into which +moonbeams bent, flowing along the lowland, breaking only in sprays of +tune, and seeming to paint in its bosom the sleeping shadows of the fair +field-flowers; and if ever the gentle strain lost its way, and found +itself wandering among the massive chords, the profound melancholy, the +blind groping of any Fifth Symphony or piercing Stabat Mater, she +answered it, singing Elijah's hymn of rest; and as she sang, there grew +in her voice a strength, a sweetness, that satisfied the very soul. When +the nine-o'clock bell rang in from the village through the winter +night's crystal clearness, little Jane would lightly nudge her mother +and steal away to bed; and in the ruddy twilight of the felling fire the +two talked softly, talked,--but never of that dark thing lying most +deeply in the heart of either. Perhaps, by-and-by, when the thrilling +wound should be only a scar, if ever that time should come, the one +would be able to speak, the other to hear. + +Week after week, now, Ray began to occupy himself about the house more +and more, resuming in succession odd little jobs that during all this +time had remained unfinished as on the day he went. He seemed desirous +of taking up the days exactly as he had left them, of bridging over this +gap and chasm, of ignoring the fatal summer. Something so dreadful had +fallen into his life that it could not assimilate itself with the +tissues of daily existence. The work must be slow that would volatilize +such a black body of horror till it leavened all the being into power +and grace undreamed of before. + +But little Jane did not philosophize upon what she was so glad to see; +she hailed every sign of outside interest as a symptom of returning +health, and gave him a thousand occasions. Yesterday there were baskets +to braid, and to-day he must initiate her in the complications of a +dozen difficult sailor's-knots that he knew, and to-morrow there would +be woodchuck-traps to make and show her how to set. For Janet's chief +vexation had overtaken her in the absence of fresh eggs for breakfast, +an absence that would be enduring, unless the small game of the forest +could be lured into her snares and parcelled among the apathetic hens. +Many were the recipes and the consultations on the subject, till at last +Ray wrote out for her, in black-letter, a notice to be pinned up in the +sight of every delinquent: "Twelve eggs, or death!" Whether it were the +frozen rabbit-meat flung among them the day before, or whether it were +the timely warning, there is no one to tell; but the next morning twelve +eggs lay in the various hiding-places, which Mrs. Vennard declared to be +as good eggs as ever were laid, and custards and cookies renewed their +reign. Here, suddenly, Ray remembered the purse in his haversack, +containing all his uncounted pay. It was a weary while that he stayed +alone in the cold, leaning over it as if he stared at the thirty pieces +of silver, a faint sickness seized him, then hurriedly sweeping it up, +with a red spot burning cruelly into either cheek, he brought it down, +and emptied it in little Jane's lap, though he would rather have seen it +ground to impalpable dust. But, after a moment's thought, the astonished +recipient kept it for a use of her own. Finally, one night, Ray proposed +to instruct Janet in some particular branch of his general ignorance; +and after those firelight-recitations, little Jane forgot to move her +seat away, and her hand was kept in his through all the hour of Vivia's +slow enchantment. + +So the cold weather wore away, and spring stole into the scene like a +surprise, finding Vivia as the winter found her,--but Ray still +undergoing volcanic changes, now passionless lulls and now rages and +spasms of grief: gradually out of them all he gathered his strength +about him. + +It was once more a morning of early June, sunrise was blushing over the +meadows, and the gossamers of hoar dew lay in spidery veils of woven +light and melted under the rosy beams. From her window one heard Vivia +singing, and the strain stole down like the breath of the heavy +honeysuckles that trellised her pane:-- + + "No more for me the eager day + Breaks its bright prison-bars; + The sunshine Thou hast stripped away, + But bared the eternal stars. + + "Though in the cloud the wild bird sings, + His song falls not for me, + Alone while rosy heaven rings,-- + But, Lord, alone with Thee!" + +One well could know, in listening to the liquid melody of those clear +tones, that love and sorrow had transfused her life at last to woof and +warp of innermost joy that death itself could neither tarnish nor +obscure. In a few moments she came down and joined Ray, where he stood +upon the door-stone, with one arm resting over the shoulder of little +Jane, and watched with him the antics of a youth who postured before +them. It was some old acquaintance of Ray's, returned from the war; and +as if he would demonstrate how wonderfully martial exercise supples +joint and sinew, he was leaping in the air, turning his heel where his +toe should be, hanging his foot on his arm and throwing it over his +shoulder in a necklace, skipping and prancing on the grass like a +veritable saltinbanco. Ray looked grimly on and inspected the +evolutions; then there was long process of question and answer and +asseveration, and, when the youth departed, little Jane had announced +with authority that Ray should throw away his crutch and stand on two +feet of his own again. + +"What a gay fellow he is!" said Ray, drawing a breath of relief. +"They're all alike, dancing on graves. To be an old Temeraire decked out +in signal-flags after thunderous work well done, and settling down, is +one thing. But we,--to-day, when one would think every woman in the land +should wear the sackcloth and ashes of mourning, we break into a +splendor of apparel that defies the butterflies and boughs of the dying +year." + +"Two striking examples before you," said little Jane, with a laugh, as +she looked at her old print and at Vivia's gray gown. + +"I wasn't thinking of you. I saw the ladies in the village +yesterday,--they were pied and parded." + +"Children," said Mrs. Vennard from within, "I've taken up the coffee +now. I sha'n't wait a minute longer. Vivia, I'll beat an egg into +yours." + +But the children had wandered down to the lake-shore, oblivious of her +cry, and were standing on the rock watching their images glassed below +and ever freshly shattered with rippling undulations. A wherry chained +beside them Vivia rocked lightly with her foot. + +"You and little Jane will set me down by-and-by?" she asked. "'T will be +so much pleasanter than the coach." + +"And, Vivia dear, you will go, then?" exclaimed little Jane, with +tearful eyes. "You will certainly go?" + +"Yes," said Vivia, looking out and far away, "I shall go to do that"-- + +"Which no one can ever do for _you_," said Ray, with a shudder. + +"Which some woman will praise Heaven for." + +"God bless you, Vivia!" cried little Jane. + +"He has already blessed me," said Vivia, softly. + +Janet nestled nearer to Ray's side, as they stood. There was a tremor of +gladness through all the dew of her glance. Ray looked down at her for a +moment, and his hard brow softened, in his eyes hung a light like the +reflection of a star in a breaking wave. + +"He has blessed me, too," said he. "Some day I shall be a man again. I +have thrown away my crutch, Vivia,--for all my life I am going to have +this little shoulder to lean upon." + +And over his sombre face a smile crept and deepened, like the yellow +ray, that, after a long, dark day of driving rain, suddenly gilds the +tree-tops and brims the sky; and though, when it went, the gloom shut +drearily down again, still it bore the promise of fair day to-morrow. + + * * * * * + +HOUSE AND HOME PAPERS. + +BY CHRISTOPHER CROWFIELD. + + +I. + +THE RAVAGES OF A CARPET. + + +"My dear, it's so cheap!" + +These words were spoken by my wife, as she sat gracefully on a roll of +Brussels carpet which was spread out in flowery lengths on the floor of +Messrs. Ketchem & Co. + +"It's _so_ cheap!" + +Milton says that the love of praise is the last infirmity of noble +minds. I think he had not rightly considered the subject. I believe that +last infirmity is the love of getting things cheap! Understand me, now. +I don't mean the love of getting cheap things, by which one understands +showy, trashy, ill-made, spurious articles, bearing certain apparent +resemblances to better things. All really sensible people are quite +superior to that sort of cheapness. But those fortunate accidents which +put within the power of a man things really good and valuable for half +or a third of their value what mortal virtue and resolution can +withstand? My friend Brown has a genuine Murillo, the joy of his heart +and the light of his eyes, but he never fails to tell you, as its +crowning merit, how he bought it in South America for just nothing,--how +it hung smoky and deserted in the back of a counting-room, and was +thrown in as a makeweight to bind a bargain, and, upon being cleaned, +turned out a genuine Murillo; and then he takes out his cigar, and calls +your attention to the points in it; he adjusts the curtain to let the +sunlight fall just in the right spot; he takes you to this and the other +point of view; and all this time you must confess, that, in your mind as +well as his, the consideration that he got all this beauty for ten +dollars adds lustre to the painting. Brown has paintings there for which +he paid his thousands, and, being well advised, they are worth the +thousands he paid; but this ewe-lamb that he got for nothing always +gives him a secret exaltation in his own eyes. He seems to have credited +to himself personally merit to the amount of what he should have paid +for the picture. Then there is Mrs. Croesus, at the party yesterday +evening, expatiating to my wife on the surprising cheapness of her +point-lace set,--"Got for just nothing at all, my dear!" and a circle of +admiring listeners echoes the sound. "Did you ever _hear_ anything like +it? I never heard of such a thing in my life"; and away sails Mrs. +Croesus as if she had a collar composed of all the cardinal virtues. In +fact, she is buoyed up with a secret sense of merit, so that her satin +slippers scarcely touch the carpet. Even I myself am fond of showing a +first edition of "Paradise Lost," for which I gave a shilling in a +London book-stall, and stating that I would not take a hundred dollars +for it. Even I must confess there are points on which I am mortal. + +But all this while my wife sits on her roll of carpet, looking into my +face for approbation, and Marianne and Jane are pouring into my ear a +running-fire of "How sweet! How lovely! Just like that one of Mrs. +Tweedleum's!" + +"And she gave two dollars and seventy-five cents a yard for hers, and +this is"-- + +My wife here put her hand to her mouth, and pronounced the incredible +sum in a whisper, with a species of sacred awe, common, as I have +observed, to females in such interesting crises. In fact, Mr. Ketchem, +standing smiling and amiable by, remarked to me that really he hoped +Mrs. Crowfield would not name generally what she gave for the article, +for positively it was so far below the usual rate of prices that he +might give offence to other customers; but this was the very last of +the pattern, and they were anxious to close off the old stock, and we +had always traded with them, and he had a great respect for my wife's +father, who had always traded with their firm, and so, when there were +any little bargains to be thrown in any one's way, why, he naturally, of +course--And here Mr. Ketchem bowed gracefully over the yardstick to my +wife, and I consented. + +Yes, I consented; but whenever I think of myself at that moment, I +always am reminded, in a small way, of Adam taking the apple; and my +wife, seated on that roll of carpet, has more than once suggested to my +mind the classic image of Pandora opening her unlucky box. In fact, from +the moment I had blandly assented to Mr. Ketchem's remarks, and said to +my wife, with a gentle air of dignity, "Well, my dear, since it suits +you, I think you had better take it," there came a load on my prophetic +soul, which not all the fluttering and chattering of my delighted girls +and the more placid complacency of my wife could entirely dissipate. I +presaged, I know not what, of coming woe; and all I presaged came to +pass. + +In order to know just _what_ came to pass, I must give you a view of the +house and home into which this carpet was introduced. + +My wife and I were somewhat advanced housekeepers, and our dwelling was +first furnished by her father, in the old-fashioned jog-trot days, when +furniture was made with a view to its lasting from generation to +generation. Everything was strong and comfortable,--heavy mahogany, +guiltless of the modern device of veneering, and hewed out with a square +solidity which had not an idea of change. It was, so to speak, a sort of +granite foundation of the household structure. Then, we commenced +housekeeping with the full idea that our house was a thing to be lived +in, and that furniture was made to be used. That most sensible of women, +Mrs. Crowfield, agreed fully with me that in our house there was to be +nothing too good for ourselves,--no rooms shut up in holiday attire to +be enjoyed by strangers for three or four days in the year, while we +lived in holes and corners,--no best parlor from which we were to be +excluded,--no best china which we were not to use,--no silver plate to +be kept in the safe in the bank, and brought home only in case of a +grand festival, while our daily meals were served with dingy Britannia. +"Strike a broad, plain average," I said to my wife; "have everything +abundant, serviceable; and give all our friends exactly what we have +ourselves, no better and no worse";--and my wife smiled approval on my +sentiment. + +Smile! she did more than smile. My wife resembles one of those convex +mirrors I have sometimes seen. Every idea I threw out, plain and simple, +she reflected back upon me in a thousand little glitters and twinkles of +her own; she made my crude conceptions come back to me in such perfectly +dazzling performances that I hardly recognized them. My mind warms up, +when I think what a home that woman made of our house from the very +first day she moved into it. The great, large, airy parlor, with its +ample bow-window, when she had arranged it, seemed a perfect trap to +catch sunbeams. There was none of that discouraging trimness and newness +that often repel a man's bachelor-friends after the first call, and make +them feel,--"Oh, well, one cannot go in at Crowfield's now, unless one +is dressed; one might put them out." The first thing our parlor said to +any one was, that we were not people to be put out, that we were +wide-spread, easy-going, and jolly folk. Even if Tom Brown brought in +Ponto and his shooting-bag, there was nothing in that parlor to strike +terror into man and dog; for it was written on the face of things, that +everybody there was to do just as he or she pleased. There were my books +and my writing-table spread out with all its miscellaneous confusion of +papers on one side of the fireplace, and there were my wife's great, +ample sofa and work-table on the other; there I wrote my articles for +the "North American," and there she turned and ripped and altered her +dresses, and there lay crochet and knitting and embroidery side by side +with a weekly basket of family-mending, and in neighborly contiguity +with the last book of the season, which my wife turned over as she took +her after-dinner lounge on the sofa. And in the bow-window were canaries +always singing, and a great stand of plants always fresh and blooming, +and ivy which grew and clambered and twined about the pictures. Best of +all, there was in our parlor that household altar, the blazing +wood-fire, whose wholesome, hearty crackle is the truest household +inspiration. I quite agree with one celebrated American author who holds +that an open fireplace is an altar of patriotism. Would our +Revolutionary fathers have gone barefooted and bleeding over snows to +defend air-tight stoves and cooking-ranges? I trow not. It was the +memory of the great open kitchen-fire, with its back-log and fore-stick +of cord-wood, its roaring, hilarious voice of invitation, its dancing +tongues of flame, that called to them through the snows of that dreadful +winter to keep up their courage, that made their hearts warm and bright +with a thousand reflected memories. Our neighbors said that it was +delightful to sit by our fire,--but then, for their part, they could not +afford it, wood was so ruinously dear, and all that. Most of these +people could not, for the simple reason that they felt compelled, in +order to maintain the family-dignity, to keep up a parlor with great +pomp and circumstance of upholstery, where they sat only on +dress-occasions, and of course the wood-fire was out of the question. + +When children began to make their appearance in our establishment, my +wife, like a well-conducted housekeeper, had the best of +nursery-arrangements,--a room all warmed, lighted, and ventilated, and +abounding in every proper resource of amusement to the rising race; but +it was astonishing to see how, notwithstanding this, the centripetal +attraction drew every pair of little pattering feet to our parlor. + +"My dear, why don't you take your blocks up-stairs?" + +"I want to be where oo are," said with a piteous under-lip, was +generally a most convincing answer. + +Then the small people could not be disabused of the idea that certain +chief treasures of their own would be safer under papa's writing-table +or mamma's sofa than in the safest closet of their own domains. My +writing-table was dockyard for Arthur's new ship, and stable for little +Tom's pepper-and-salt-colored pony, and carriage-house for Charley's new +wagon, while whole armies of paper dolls kept house in the recess behind +mamma's sofa. + +And then, in due time, came the tribe of pets who followed the little +ones and rejoiced in the blaze of the firelight. The boys had a splendid +Newfoundland, which, knowing our weakness, we warned them with awful +gravity was never to be a parlor-dog; but, somehow, what with little +beggings and pleadings on the part of Arthur and Tom, and the piteous +melancholy with which Rover would look through the window-panes, when +shut out from the blazing warmth into the dark, cold veranda, it at last +came to pass that Rover gained a regular corner at the hearth, a regular +_status_ in every family-convocation. And then came a little +black-and-tan English terrier for the girls; and then a fleecy poodle, +who established himself on the corner of my wife's sofa; and for each of +these some little voices pleaded, and some little heart would be so near +broken at any slight, that my wife and I resigned ourselves to live in +menagerie, the more so as we were obliged to confess a lurking weakness +towards these four-footed children ourselves. + +So we grew and flourished together,--children, dogs, birds, flowers, and +all; and although my wife often, in paroxysms of housewifeliness to +which the best of women are subject, would declare that we never were +fit to be seen, yet I comforted her with the reflection that there were +few people whose friends seemed to consider them better worth seeing, +judging by the stream of visitors and loungers which was always setting +towards our parlor. People seemed to find it good to be there; they said +it was somehow home-like and pleasant, and that there was a kind of +charm about it that made it easy to talk and easy to live; and as my +girls and boys grew up, there seemed always to be some merry doing or +other going on there. Arty and Tom brought home their college friends, +who straightway took root there and seemed to fancy themselves a part of +us. We had no reception-rooms apart, where the girls were to receive +young gentlemen; all the courting and flirting that were to be done had +for their arena the ample variety of surface presented by our parlor, +which, with sofas and screens and lounges and recesses and writing-and +work-tables disposed here and there, and the genuine _laisser aller_ of +the whole _menage_, seemed, on the whole, to have offered ample +advantages enough; for, at the time I write of, two daughters were +already established in marriage, and a third engaged, while my youngest +was busy, as yet, in performing that little domestic ballet of the cat +with the mouse, in the case of a most submissive youth of the +neighborhood. + +All this time our parlor-furniture, though of that granitic formation I +have indicated, began to show marks of that decay to which things +sublunary are liable. I cannot say that I dislike this look in a room. +Take a fine, ample, hospitable apartment, where all things, freely and +generously used, softly and indefinably grow old together, there is a +sort of mellow tone and keeping which pleases my eye. What if the seams +of the great inviting arm-chair, where so many friends have sat and +lounged, do grow white? What, in fact, if some easy couch has an +undeniable hole worn in its friendly cover? I regard with tenderness +even these mortal weaknesses of these servants and witnesses of our good +times and social fellowship. No vulgar touch wore them; they may be +called, rather, the marks and indentations which the glittering in and +out of the tide of social happiness has worn in the rocks of our strand. +I would no more disturb the gradual toning-down and aging of a well-used +set of furniture by smart improvements than I would have a modern dauber +paint in emendations in a fine old picture. + +So we men reason; but women do not always think as we do. There is a +virulent demon of housekeeping, not wholly cast out in the best of them, +and which often breaks out in unguarded moments. In fact, Miss Marianne, +being on the lookout for furniture wherewith to begin a new +establishment, and Jane, who had accompanied her in her peregrinations, +had more than once thrown out little disparaging remarks on the +time-worn appearance of our establishment, suggesting comparison with +those of more modern-furnished rooms. + +"It is positively scandalous, the way our furniture looks," I one day +heard her declaring to her mother; "and this old rag of a carpet!" + +My feelings were hurt, not the less so that I knew that the large cloth +which covered the middle of the floor, and which the women call a +bocking, had been bought and nailed down there, after a solemn +family-counsel, as the best means of concealing the too evident darns +which years of good cheer had made needful in our stanch old household +friend, the three-ply carpet, made in those days when to be a three-ply +was a pledge of continuance and service. + +Well, it was a joyous and bustling day, when, after one of those +domestic whirlwinds which the women are fond of denominating +house-cleaning, the new Brussels carpet was at length brought in and +nailed down, and its beauty praised from mouth to mouth. Our old friends +called in and admired, and all seemed to be well, except that I had that +light and delicate presage of changes to come which indefinitely brooded +over me. + +The first premonitory symptom was the look of apprehensive suspicion +with which the female senate regarded the genial sunbeams that had +always glorified our bow-window. + +"This house ought to have inside blinds," said Marianne, with all the +confident decision of youth; "this carpet will be ruined, if the sun is +allowed to come in like that." + +"And that dirty little canary must really be hung in the kitchen," said +Jane; "he always did make such a litter, scattering his seed-chippings +about; and he never takes his bath without flirting out some water. And, +mamma, it appears to me it will never do to have the plants here. Plants +are always either leaking through the pots upon the carpet, or +scattering bits of blossoms and dead leaves, or some accident upsets or +breaks a pot. It was no matter, you know, when we had the old carpet; +but this we really want to have kept nice." + +Mamma stood her ground for the plants,--darlings of her heart for many a +year,--but temporized, and showed that disposition towards compromise +which is most inviting to aggression. + +I confess I trembled; for, of all radicals on earth, none are to be +compared to females that have once in hand a course of domestic +innovation and reform. The sacred fire, the divine _furor_, burns in +their bosoms, they become perfect Pythonesses, and every chair they sit +on assumes the magic properties of the tripod. Hence the dismay that +lodges in the bosoms of us males at the fateful spring and autumn +seasons, denominated house-cleaning. Who can say whither the awful gods, +the prophetic fates, may drive our fair household divinities; what sins +of ours may be brought to light; what indulgences and compliances, which +uninspired woman has granted in her ordinary mortal hours, may be torn +from us? He who has been allowed to keep a pair of pet slippers in a +concealed corner, and by the fireside indulged with a chair which he +might, _ad libitum_, fill with all sorts of pamphlets and miscellaneous +literature, suddenly finds himself reformed out of knowledge, his +pamphlets tucked away into pigeon-holes and corners, and his slippers +put in their place in the hall, with, perhaps, a brisk insinuation about +the shocking dust and disorder that men will tolerate. + +The fact was, that the very first night after the advent of the new +carpet I had a prophetic dream. Among our treasures of art was a little +etching, by an English artist-friend, the subject of which was the +gambols of the household fairies in a baronial library after the +household were in bed. The little people are represented in every +attitude of frolic enjoyment. Some escalade the great arm-chair, and +look down from its top as from a domestic Mont Blanc; some climb about +the bellows; some scale the shaft of the shovel; while some, forming in +magic ring, dance festively on the yet glowing hearth. Tiny troops +promenade the writing-table. One perches himself quaintly on the top of +the inkstand, and holds colloquy with another who sits cross-legged on a +paper-weight, while a companion looks down on them from the top of the +sand-box. It was an ingenious little device, and gave me the idea which +I often expressed to my wife, that much of the peculiar feeling of +security, composure, and enjoyment which seems to be the atmosphere of +some rooms and houses came from the unsuspected presence of these little +people, the household fairies, so that the belief in their existence +became a solemn article of faith with me. + +Accordingly, that evening, after the installation of the carpet, when my +wife and daughters had gone to bed, as I sat with my slippered feet +before the last coals of the fire, I fell asleep in my chair, and, lo! +my own parlor presented to my eye a scene of busy life. The little +people in green were tripping to and fro, but in great confusion. +Evidently something was wrong among them; for they were fussing and +chattering with each other, as if preparatory to a general movement. In +the region of the bow-window I observed a tribe of them standing with +tiny valises and carpet-bags in their hands, as though about to depart +on a journey. On my writing-table another set stood around my inkstand +and pen-rack, who, pointing to those on the floor, seemed to debate some +question among themselves; while others of them appeared to be +collecting and packing away in tiny trunks certain fairy treasures, +preparatory to a general departure. When I looked at the social hearth, +at my wife's sofa and work-basket, I saw similar appearances of +dissatisfaction and confusion. It was evident that the household fairies +were discussing the question of a general and simultaneous removal. I +groaned in spirit, and, stretching out my hand, began a conciliatory +address, when whisk went the whole scene from before my eyes, and I +awaked to behold the form of my wife asking me if I were ill or had had +the nightmare that I groaned so. I told her my dream, and we laughed at +it together. + +"We must give way to the girls a little," she said. "It is natural, you +know, that they should wish us to appear a little as other people do. +The fact is, our parlor is somewhat dilapidated; think how many years we +have lived in it without an article of new furniture." + +"I hate new furniture," I remarked, in the bitterness of my soul. "I +hate anything new." + +My wife answered me discreetly, according to approved principles of +diplomacy. I was right. She sympathized with me. At the same time, it +was not necessary, she remarked, that we should keep a hole in our +sofa-cover and arm-chair; there would certainly be no harm in sending +them to the upholsterer's to be new-covered; she didn't much mind, for +her part, moving her plants to the south back-room, and the bird would +do well enough in the kitchen: I had often complained of him for singing +vociferously when I was reading aloud. + +So our sofa went to the upholsterer's; but the upholsterer was struck +with such horror at its clumsy, antiquated, unfashionable appearance, +that he felt bound to make representations to my wife and daughters: +positively, it would be better for them to get a new one, of a tempting +pattern, which he showed them, than to try to do anything with that. +With a stitch or so here and there it might do for a basement +dining-room; but, for a parlor, he gave it as his disinterested +opinion,--he must say, if the case were his own, he should get, etc., +etc. In short, we had a new sofa and new chairs, and the plants and the +birds were banished, and some dark green blinds were put up to exclude +the sun from the parlor, and the blessed luminary was allowed there only +at rare intervals when my wife and daughters were out shopping, and I +acted out my uncivilized male instincts by pulling up every shade and +vivifying the apartment as in days of old. + +But this was not the worst of it. The new furniture and new carpet +formed an opposition party in the room. I believe in my heart that for +every little household fairy that went out with the dear old things +there came in a tribe of discontented brownies with the new ones. These +little wretches were always twitching at the gowns of my wife and +daughters, jogging their elbows, and suggesting odious comparisons +between the smart new articles and what remained of the old ones. They +disparaged my writing-table in the corner; they disparaged the +old-fashioned lounge in the other corner, which had been the maternal +throne for years; they disparaged the work-table, the work-basket, with +constant suggestions of how such things as these would look in certain +well-kept parlors where new-fashioned furniture of the same sort as ours +existed. + +"We don't have any parlor," said Jane, one day. "Our parlor has always +been a sort of log-cabin,--library, study, nursery, greenhouse, all +combined. We never have had things like other people." + +"Yes, and this open fire makes such a dust; and this carpet is one that +shows every speck of dust; it keeps one always on the watch." + +"I wonder why papa never had a study to himself; I'm sure I should think +he would like it better than sitting here among us all. Now there's the +great south-room off the dining-room; if he would only move his things +there, and have his open fire, we could then close up the fireplace, and +put lounges in the recesses, and mamma could have her things in the +nursery,--and then we should have a parlor fit to be seen." + +I overheard all this, though I pretended not to,--the little busy chits +supposing me entirely buried in the recesses of a German book over which +I was poring. + +There are certain crises in a man's life when the female element in his +household asserts itself in dominant forms that seem to threaten to +overwhelm him. The fair creatures, who in most matters have depended on +his judgment, evidently look upon him at these seasons as only a +forlorn, incapable male creature, to be cajoled and flattered and +persuaded out his native blindness and absurdity into the fairy-land of +their wishes. + +"Of course, mamma," said the busy voices, "men can't understand such +things. What _can_ men know of housekeeping, and how things ought to +look? Papa never goes into company; he don't know and don't care how the +world is doing, and don't see that nobody now is living as we do." + +"Aha, my little mistresses, are you there?" I thought; and I mentally +resolved on opposing a great force of what our politicians call +_backbone_ to this pretty domestic conspiracy. + +"When you get my writing-table out of this corner, my pretty dears, I'd +thank you to let me know it." + +Thus spake I in my blindness, fool that I was. Jupiter might as soon +keep awake, when Juno came in best bib and tucker, and with the _cestus_ +of Venus, to get him to sleep. Poor Slender might as well hope to get +the better of pretty Mistress Anne Page, as one of us clumsy-footed men +might endeavor to escape from the tangled labyrinth of female wiles. + +In short, in less than a year it was all done, without any quarrel, any +noise, any violence,--done, I scarce knew when or how, but with the +utmost deference to my wishes, the most amiable hopes that I would not +put myself out, the most sincere protestations, that, if I liked it +better as it was, my goddesses would give up and acquiesce. In fact, I +seemed to do it of myself, constrained thereto by what the Emperor +Napoleon has so happily called the logic of events,--that old, +well-known logic by which the man who has once said A must say B, and he +who has said B must say the whole alphabet. In a year, we had a parlor +with two lounges in decorous recesses, a fashionable sofa, and six +chairs and a looking-glass, and a grate always shut up, and a hole in +the floor which kept the parlor warm, and great, heavy curtains that +kept out all the light that was not already excluded by the green +shades. + +It was as proper and orderly a parlor as those of our most fashionable +neighbors; and when our friends called, we took them stumbling into its +darkened solitude, and opened a faint crack in one of the window-shades, +and came down in our best clothes, and talked with them there. Our old +friends rebelled at this, and asked what they had done to be treated so, +and complained so bitterly that gradually we let them into the secret +that there was a great south-room which I had taken for my study, where +we all sat, where the old carpet was down, where the sun shone in at the +great window, where my wife's plants flourished and the canary-bird +sang, and my wife had her sofa in the corner, and the old brass andirons +glistened and the wood-fire crackled,--in short, a room to which all the +household fairies had emigrated. + +When they once had found _that_ out, it was difficult to get any of them +to sit in our parlor. I had purposely christened the new room _my +study_, that I might stand on my rights as master of ceremonies there, +though I opened wide arms of welcome to any who chose to come. So, then, +it would often come to pass, that, when we were sitting round the fire +in my study of an evening, the girls would say,-- + +"Come, what do we always stay here for? Why don't we ever sit in the +parlor?" + +And then there would be manifested among guests and family-friends a +general unwillingness to move. + +"Oh, hang it, girls!" would Arthur say; "the parlor is well enough, all +right; let it stay as it is, and let a fellow stay where he can do as he +pleases and feels at home"; and to this view of the matter would respond +divers of the nice young bachelors who were Arthur's and Tom's sworn +friends. + +In fact, nobody wanted to stay in our parlor now. It was a cold, +correct, accomplished fact; the household fairies had left it,--and when +the fairies leave a room, nobody ever feels at home in it. No pictures, +curtains, no wealth of mirrors, no elegance of lounges, can in the least +make up for their absence. They are a capricious little set; there are +rooms where they will _not_ stay, and rooms where they _will_; but no +one can ever have a good time without them. + + * * * * * + +THREE CANTOS OF DANTE'S "PARADISO." + +[Transcribers Note: Line that had notes associated with them have been +numbered. The notes have been moved to the end of the canto.] + + +CANTO XXIII. + + Even as a bird, 'mid the beloved leaves, [1] + Quiet upon the nest of her sweet brood + Throughout the night, that hideth all things from us, + Who, that she may behold their longed-for looks + And find the nourishment wherewith to feed them, + In which, to her, grave labors grateful are, + Anticipates the time on open spray + And with an ardent longing waits the sun, + Gazing intent, as soon as breaks the dawn: + Even thus my Lady standing was, erect + And vigilant, turned round towards the zone + Underneath which the sun displays least haste; [12] + So that beholding her distraught and eager, + Such I became as he is, who desiring + For something yearns, and hoping is appeased. + But brief the space from one When to the other; + From my awaiting, say I, to the seeing + The welkin grow resplendent more and more. + And Beatrice exclaimed: "Behold the hosts + Of the triumphant Christ, and all the fruit + Harvested by the rolling of these spheres!" [21] + It seemed to me her face was all on flame; + And eyes she had so full of ecstasy + That I must needs pass on without describing. + As when in nights serene of the full moon + Smiles Trivia among the nymphs eternal + Who paint the heaven through all its hollow cope, + Saw I, above the myriads of lamps, + A sun that one and all of them enkindled, [29] + E'en as our own does the supernal stars. + And through the living light transparent shone + The lucent substance so intensely clear + Into my sight, that I could not sustain it. + O Beatrice, my gentle guide and dear! + She said to me: "That which o'ermasters thee + A virtue is which no one can resist. + There are the wisdom and omnipotence + That oped the thoroughfares 'twixt heaven and earth, + For which there erst had been so long a yearning." + As fire from out a cloud itself discharges, + Dilating so it finds not room therein, + And down, against its nature, falls to earth, + So did my mind, among those aliments + Becoming larger, issue from itself, + And what became of it cannot remember. + "Open thine eyes, and look at what I am: [45] + Thou hast beheld such things, that strong enough + Hast thou become to tolerate my smile." + I was as one who still retains the feeling + Of a forgotten dream, and who endeavors + In vain to bring it back into his mind, + When I this invitation heard, deserving + Of so much gratitude, it never fades + Out of the book that chronicles the past. + If at this moment sounded all the tongues + That Polyhymnia and her sisters made [55] + Most lubrical with their delicious milk, + To aid me, to a thousandth of the truth + It would not reach, singing the holy smile, + And how the holy aspect it illumed. + And therefore, representing Paradise, + The sacred poem must perforce leap over, + Even as a man who finds his way cut off. + But whoso thinketh of the ponderous theme, + And of the mortal shoulder that sustains it, + Should blame it not, if under this it trembles. + It is no passage for a little boat + This which goes cleaving the audacious prow, + Nor for a pilot who would spare himself. + "Why does my face so much enamor thee, + That to the garden fair thou turnest not, + Which under the rays of Christ is blossoming? + There is the rose in which the Word Divine [72] + Became incarnate; there the lilies are + By whose perfume the good way was selected." + Thus Beatrice; and I, who to her counsels + Was wholly ready, once again betook me + Unto the battle of the feeble brows. + As in a sunbeam, that unbroken passes [78] + Through fractured cloud, ere now a meadow of flowers + Mine eyes with shadow covered have beheld, + So I beheld the multitudinous splendors + Refulgent from above with burning rays, + Beholding not the source of the effulgence. + O thou benignant power that so imprint'st them! [89] + Thou didst exalt thyself to give more scope + There to the eyes, that were not strong enough. + The name of that fair flower I e'er invoke + Morning and evening utterly enthralled + My soul to gaze upon the greater fire. + And when in both mine eyes depicted were + The glory and greatness of the living star + Which conquers there, as here below it conquered, + Athwart the heavens descended a bright sheen [98] + Formed in a circle like a coronal, + And cinctured it, and whirled itself about it. + Whatever melody most sweetly soundeth + On earth, and to itself most draws the soul, + Would seem a cloud that, rent asunder, thunders, + Compared unto the sounding of that lyre + Wherewith was crowned the sapphire beautiful, + Which gives the clearest heaven its sapphire hue. [106] + "I am Angelic Love, that circle round + The joy sublime which breathes from out the bosom + That was the hostelry of our Desire; + And I shall circle, Lady of Heaven, while + Thou followest thy Son, and mak'st diviner + The sphere supreme, because thou enterest it." + Thus did the circulated melody + Seal itself up; and all the other lights + Were making resonant the name of Mary. + The regal mantle of the volumes all [116] + Of that world, which most fervid is and living + With breath of God and with his works and ways, + Extended over us its inner curve, + So very distant, that its outward show, + There where I was, not yet appeared to me. + Therefore mine eyes did not possess the power + Of following the incoronated flame, + Which had ascended near to its own seed. + And as a little child, that towards its mother + Extends its arms, when it the milk has taken, + Through impulse kindled into outward flame, + Each of those gleams of white did upward stretch + So with its summit, that the deep affection + They had for Mary was revealed to me. + Thereafter they remained there in my sight, + _Regina coeli_ singing with such sweetness, [132] + That ne'er from me has the delight departed. + Oh, what exuberance is garnered up + In those resplendent coffers, which had been + For sowing here below good husbandmen! + There they enjoy and live upon the treasure [137] + Which was acquired while weeping in the exile + Of Babylon, wherein the gold was left. + There triumpheth beneath the exalted Son + Of God and Mary, in his victory, + Both with the ancient council and the new, + He who doth keep the keys of such a glory. [143] + +[Line 1: Dante is with Beatrice in the eighth circle, that of the fixed +stars. She is gazing upwards, watching for the descent of the Triumph of +Christ.] + +[Line 12: Under the meridian, or at noon, the shadows being shorter move +slower, and, therefore the sun seems less in haste.] + +[Line 21: By the beneficent influences of the stars.] + +[Line 29: The old belief that the stars were fed by the light of the +sun. So Milton,-- + + "Hither, as to their fountain, other stars + Repair, and in their golden urns draw light." + +Here the stars are souls, the sun is Christ.] + +[Line 45: Beatrice speaks.] + +[Line 55: The Muse of harmony and singing.] + +[Line 72: The rose is the Virgin Mary, _Rosa Mundi, Rosa Mystica_; the +lilies are the Apostles and other saints.] + +[Line 78: The struggle between his eyes and the light.] + +[Line 89: Christ reascends, that Dante's dazzled eyes, too feeble to +bear the light of his presence, may behold the splendors around him. + +The greater fire is the Virgin Mary, greater than any of those +remaining. She is the living star, surpassing in brightness all other +souls in heaven, as she did here on earth: _Stella Maris, Stella +Matutina_.] + +[Line 98: The Angel Gabriel, or Angelic Love.] + +[Line 106: Sapphire is the color in which the old painters arrayed the +Virgin.] + +[Line 116: The regal mantle of all the volumes, or rolling orbs, of the +world is the crystalline heaven, or _Primus Mobile_, which infolds all +the others like a mantle.] + +[Line 132: Easter hymn to the Virgin.] + +[Line 137: Caring not for gold in the Babylonian exile of this life, +they laid up treasures in the other.] + +[Line 143: St. Peter, keeper of the keys, with the holy men of the Old +and the New Testament.] + + +CANTO XXIV. + + "O company elect to the great supper [1] + Of the Lamb glorified, who feedeth you + So that forever full is your desire, + If by the grace of God this man foretastes + Of whatsoever falleth from your table, + Or ever death prescribes to him the time, + Direct your mind to his immense desire, [7] + And him somewhat bedew; ye drinking are + Forever from the fount whence comes his thought." [9] + Thus Beatrice; and those enraptured spirits + Made themselves spheres around their steadfast poles, + Flaming intensely in the guise of comets. + And as the wheels in works of horologes + Revolve so that the first to the beholder + Motionless seems, and the last one to fly, + So in like manner did those carols, dancing [16] + In different measure, by their affluence + Make me esteem them either swift or slow. + From that one which I noted of most beauty + Beheld I issue forth a fire so happy + That none it left there of a greater splendor; + And around Beatrice three several times [22] + It whirled itself with so divine a song, + My fantasy repeats it not to me; + Therefore the pen skips, and I write it not, + Since our imagination for such folds, + Much more our speech, is of a tint too glaring. [27] + "O holy sister mine, who us implorest [28] + With such devotion, by thine ardent love + Thou dost unbind me from that beautiful sphere!" + Thus, having stopped, the beatific fire + Unto my Lady did direct its breath, + Which spake in fashion as I here have said. + And she: "O light eterne of the great man + To whom our Lord delivered up the keys + He carried down of this miraculous joy, + This one examine on points light and grave, + As good beseemeth thee, about the Faith + By means of which thou on the sea didst walk. + If he loves well, and hopes well, and believes, + Is hid not from thee; for thou hast thy sight + Where everything beholds itself depicted. [42] + But since this kingdom has made citizens + By means of the true Faith, to glorify it + 'Tis well he have the chance to speak thereof." + As baccalaureate arms himself, and speaks not + Until the master doth propose the question, + To argue it, and not to terminate it, + So did I arm myself with every reason, + While she was speaking, that I might be ready + For such a questioner and such profession. + "Speak on, good Christian; manifest thyself; [52] + Say, what is Faith?" Whereat I raised my brow + Unto that light from which this was breathed forth. + Then turned I round to Beatrice, and she + Prompt signals made to me that I should pour + The water forth from my internal fountain. + "May grace, that suffers me to make confession," + Began I, "to the great Centurion, [59] + Cause my conceptions all to be explicit!" + And I continued: "As the truthful pen, + Father, of thy dear brother wrote of it, + Who put with thee Rome into the good way, + Faith is the substance of the things we hope for, + And evidence of those that are not seen; + And this appears to me its quiddity." [66] + Then heard I: "Very rightly thou perceivest, + If well thou understandest why he placed it + With substances and then with evidences." + And I thereafterward: "The things profound, + That here vouchsafe to me their outward show, + Unto all eyes below are so concealed, + That they exist there only in belief, + Upon the which is founded the high hope, + And therefore take the nature of a substance. + And it behooveth us from this belief + To reason without having other views, + And hence it has the nature of evidence." + Then heard I: "If whatever is acquired + Below as doctrine were thus understood, + No sophist's subtlety would there find place." + Thus was breathed forth from that enkindled love; + Then added: "Thoroughly has been gone over + Already of this coin the alloy and weight; + But tell me if thou hast it in thy purse?" + And I: "Yes, both so shining and so round, + That in its stamp there is no peradventure." + Thereafter issued from the light profound + That there resplendent was: "This precious jewel, + Upon the which is every virtue founded, + Whence hadst thou it?" And I: "The large outpouring + Of the Holy Spirit, which has been diffused + Upon the ancient parchments and the new, [93] + A syllogism is, which demonstrates it + With such acuteness, that, compared therewith, + All demonstration seems to me obtuse." + And then I heard: "The ancient and the new + Postulates, that to thee are so conclusive, + Why dost thou take them for the word divine?" + And I: "The proof, which shows the truth to me, + Are the works subsequent, whereunto Nature + Ne'er heated iron yet, nor anvil beat." + 'Twas answered me: "Say, who assureth thee + That those works ever were? the thing itself + We wish to prove, nought else to thee affirms it." + "Were the world to Christianity converted," + I said, "withouten miracles, this one + Is such, the rest are not its hundredth part; + For thou didst enter destitute and fasting + Into the field to plant there the good plant, + Which was a vine and has become a thorn!" + This being finished, the high, holy Court + Resounded through the spheres, "One God we praise!" + In melody that there above is chanted. + And then that Baron, who from branch to branch, [115] + Examining, had thus conducted me, + Till the remotest leaves we were approaching, + Did recommence once more: "The Grace that lords it + Over thy intellect thy mouth has opened, + Up to this point, as it should opened be, + So that I do approve what forth emerged; + But now thou must express what thou believest, + And whence to thy belief it was presented." + "O holy father! O thou spirit, who seest + What thou believedst, so that thou o'ercamest, + Towards the sepulchre, more youthful feet," [126] + Began I, "thou dost wish me to declare + Forthwith the manner of my prompt belief, + And likewise thou the cause thereof demandest. + And I respond: In one God I believe, + Sole and eterne, who all the heaven doth move, + Himself unmoved, with love and with desire; + And of such faith not only have I proofs + Physical and metaphysical, but gives them + Likewise the truth that from this place rains down + Through Moses, through the Prophets and the Psalms, + Through the Evangel, and through you, who wrote + After the fiery Spirit sanctified you; [138] + In Persons three eterne believe I, and these + One essence I believe, so one and trine, + They bear conjunction both with _sunt_ and _est_. + With the profound conjunction and divine, + Which now I touch upon, doth stamp my mind + Ofttimes the doctrine evangelical. + This the beginning is, this is the spark + Which afterwards dilates to vivid flame, + And, like a star in heaven, is sparkling in me." + Even as a lord, who hears what pleases him, + His servant straight embraces, giving thanks + For the good news, as soon as he is silent; + So, giving me its benediction, singing, + Three times encircled me, when I was silent, + The apostolic light, at whose command + I spoken had, in speaking I so pleased him. + +[Line 1: Beatrice speaks.] + +[Line 7: Hunger and thirst after things divine.] + +[Line 9: The grace of God.] + +[Line 16: The carol was a dance as well as a song.] + +[Line 22: St. Peter thrice encircles Beatrice, as the Angel Gabriel did +the Virgin Mary in the preceding canto.] + +[Line 27: Too glaring for painting such delicate draperies of song.] + +[Line 28: St. Peter speaks to Beatrice.] + +[Line 42: Fixed upon God, in whom all things reflected.] + +[Line 52: St. Peter speaks to Dante.] + +[Line 59: The great Head of the Church.] + +[Line 66: In the Scholastic Philosophy, the essence of a thing, +distinguishing it from all other things, was called its _quiddity_: an +answer to the question, _Quid est?_] + +[Line 93: The Old and New Testaments.] + +[Line 115: In the Middle Ages earthly titles were sometimes given to the +saints. Thus, Boccaccio speaks of _Baron Messer San Antonio_.] + +[Line 126: St. John, xx. 3-8. St. John was the first to reach the +sepulchre, but St. Peter the first to enter it.] + +[Line 138: St. Peter and the other Apostles after Pentecost.] + + +CANTO XXV. + + If e'er it happen that the Poem Sacred, [1] + To which both heaven and earth have set their hand + Till it hath made me meagre many a year, + O'ercome the cruelty that bars me out + From the fair sheepfold, where a lamb I slumbered, + Obnoxious to the wolves that war upon it, + With other voice henceforth, with other fleece + Will I return as poet, and at my font + Baptismal will I take the laurel-crown; [9] + Because into the Faith that maketh known + All souls to God there entered I, and then + Peter for her sake so my brow encircled. + Thereafterward towards us moved a light + Out of that band whence issued the first-fruits [14] + Which of his vicars Christ behind him left, + And then, my Lady, full of ecstasy, + Said unto me: "Look, look! behold the Baron + For whom below Galicia is frequented." [18] + In the same way as, when a dove alights + Near his companion, both of them pour forth, + Circling about and murmuring, their affection, + So I beheld one by the other grand + Prince glorified to be with welcome greeted, + Lauding the food that there above is eaten. + But when their gratulations were completed, + Silently _coram me_ each one stood still, + So incandescent it o'ercame my sight. + Smiling thereafterwards, said Beatrice: + "Spirit august, by whom the benefactions + Of our Basilica have been described, [30] + Make Hope reverberate in this altitude; + Thou knowest as oft thou dost personify it + As Jesus to the three gave greater light,"-- [33] + "Lift up thy head, and make thyself assured; [34] + For what comes hither from the mortal world + Must needs be ripened in our radiance." + This exhortation from the second fire [37] + Came; and mine eyes I lifted to the hills, [38] + Which bent them down before with too great weight, + "Since, through his grace, our Emperor decrees + Thou shouldst confronted be, before thy death, + In the most secret chamber, with his Counts, [42] + So that, the truth beholding of this court, + Hope, which below there rightly fascinates, + In thee and others may thereby be strengthened; + Say what it is, and how is flowering with it + Thy mind, and say from whence it came to thee": + Thus did the second light continue still. + And the Compassionate, who piloted [49] + The plumage of my wings in such high flight, + In the reply did thus anticipate me: + "No child whatever the Church Militant + Of greater hope possesses, as is written + In that Sun which irradiates all our band; [54] + Therefore it is conceded him from Egypt + To come into Jerusalem to see, [56] + Or ever yet his warfare is completed. + The other points, that not for knowledge' sake [58] + Have been demanded, but that he report + How much this virtue unto thee is pleasing, + To him I leave; for hard he will not find them, + Nor to be boasted of; them let him answer; + And may the grace of God in this assist him!" + As a disciple, who obeys his teacher, + Ready and willing, where he is expert, + So that his excellence may be revealed, + "Hope," said I, "is the certain expectation [67] + Of glory in the hereafter, which proceedeth + From grace divine and merit precedent. + From many stars this light comes unto me; + But he instilled it first into my heart, + Who was chief singer unto the chief captain. [72] + _Hope they in thee_, in the high Theody + He says, _all those who recognize thy name_; [74] + And who does not, if he my faith possesses? [75] + Thou didst instil me, then, with his instilling + In the Epistle, so that I am full, + And upon others rain again your rain." [78] + While I was speaking, in the living bosom + Of that effulgence quivered a sharp flash, + Sudden and frequent, in the guise of lightning. + Then breathed: "The love wherewith I am inflamed + Towards the virtue still, which followed me + Unto the palm and issue of the field, + Wills that I whisper thee, thou take delight + In her; and grateful to me is thy saying + Whatever things Hope promises to thee." + And I: "The ancient Scriptures and the new + The mark establish, and this shows it me, [89] + Of all the souls whom God has made his friends. + Isaiah saith, that each one garmented + In his own land shall be with twofold garments, [92] + And his own land is this sweet life of yours. + Thy brother, too, far more explicitly, + There where he treateth of the robes of white, [95] + This revelation manifests to us." + And first, and near the ending of these words, + _Sperent in te_ from over us was heard, + To which responsive answered all the carols. [99] + Thereafterward among them gleamed a light, [100] + So that, if Cancer such a crystal had, + Winter would have a month of one sole day. [102] + And as uprises, goes, and enters the dance + A joyous maiden, only to do honor + To the new bride, and not from any failing, [105] + So saw I the illuminated splendor + Approach the two, who in a wheel revolved, [107] + As was beseeming to their ardent love. + It joined itself there in the song and music; + And fixed on them my Lady kept her look, + Even as a bride, silent and motionless. + "This is the one who lay upon the breast + Of him our Pelican; and this is he + To the great office from the cross elected." [114] + My Lady thus; but therefore none the more + Removed her sight from its fixed contemplation, + Before or afterward, these words of hers. + Even as a man who gazes, and endeavors + To see the eclipsing of the sun a little, + And who, by seeing, sightless doth become, + So I became before that latest fire, [122] + While it was said, "Why dost thou daze thyself + To see a thing which here has no existence? [124] + Earth upon earth my body is, and shall be + With all the others there, until our number + With the eternal proposition tallies; [127] + With the two garments in the blessed cloister [128] + Are the two lights alone that have ascended: [129] + And this shalt thou take back into your world." [130] + And at this utterance the flaming circle + Grew quiet, with the dulcet intermingling + Of sound that by the trinal breath was made, [133] + As to escape from danger or fatigue + The oars that erst were in the water beaten + Are all suspended at a whistle's sound. + Ah, how much in my mind was I disturbed, + When I turned round to look on Beatrice, + At not beholding her, although I was + Close at her side and in the Happy World! + + +[Line 1: This "Divina Commedia," in which human science or Philosophy is +symbolized in Virgil, and divine science or Theology in Beatrice. + +"_Fiorenza la Bella_," Florence the Fair. In one of his Canzoni, Dante +says,-- + + "O mountain-song of mine, thou goest thy way; + Florence my town thou shalt perchance behold, + Which bars me from itself, + Devoid of love and naked of compassion."] + + +[Line 9: This allusion to the Church of San Giovanni, "_il mio bel San +Giovanni_," as Dante calls it elsewhere, (Inf. xix. 17,) is a fitting +prelude to the Canto in which St. John is to appear. Like the "laughing +of the grass" in Canto xxx. 77, it is a "foreshadowing preface," +_ombrifero prefazio_, of what follows. + +See Canto xxiv. 150; + + "So, giving me its benediction, singing, + Three times encircled me, when I was silent, + The apostolic light."] + +[Line 14: St. Peter. "That we should be a kind of first-fruits of his +creatures." Epistle of St. James, i. 18.] + +[Line 18: St. James. Pilgrimages are made to his tomb at Compostella in +Galicia.] + +[Line 30: The General Epistle of St. James, called the _Epistola +Cattolica_, i. 17. "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from +above, and cometh down from the Father of lights." Our Basilica: +Paradise: the Church Triumphant.] + +[Line 33: Peter, James, and John, representing the three theological +virtues, Faith, Hope, and Charity, and distinguished above the other +apostles by clearer manifestations of their Master's favor.] + +[Line 34: St. James speaks.] + +[Line 37: The three Apostles, luminous above him, overwhelming him with +light.] + +[Line 38: "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh +my help." Psalm cxxi. 1.] + +[Line 42: The most august spirits of the Celestial City.] + +[Line 49: Beatrice.] + +[Line 54: In God, + + "Where everything beholds itself depicted." + +Canto xxiv. 42.] + +[Line 56: To come from earth to heaven.] + +[Line 58: "Say what it is," and "whence it came to thee."] + +[Line 67: "_Est spes certa expectatio futurae beatitudinis, veniens ex +Dei gratia et meritis praecedentibus_." Petrus Lombardus, _Magister +Sententiarum_.] + +[Line 72: The Psalmist David.] + +[Line 74: The Book of Psalms, or Songs of God.] + +[Line 75: "And they that know thy name will put their trust in thee." +Psalm ix. 10.] + +[Line 78: Your rain: that is, of David and yourself.] + +[Line 89: "The mark of the high calling and election sure."] + +[Line 92: The twofold garments are the glorified spirit and the +glorified body.] + +[Line 95: St. John, in the Apocalypse, vii. 9. "A great multitude which +no man could number ... clothed with white robes."] + +[Line 99: Dances and songs commingled; the circling choirs, the +celestial choristers.] + +[Line 100: St. John the Evangelist.] + +[Line 102: In winter the constellation Cancer rises at sunset; and if it +had one star as bright as this, it would turn night into day.] + +[Line 105: Such as vanity, ostentation, or the like.] + +[Line 107: St. Peter and St. James are joined by St. John.] + +[Line 114: Christ. "Then saith he to the disciple, 'Behold thy mother!' +And from that hour that disciple took her unto his own home." St. John, +xix. 27.] + +[Line 122: St. John.] + +[Line 124: "If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee."] + +[Line 127: Till the predestined number of the elect is complete.] + +[Line 128: The two garments: the glorified spirit and the glorified +body.] + +[Line 129: The two lights: Christ and the Virgin Mary.] + +[Line 130: Carry back these tidings.] + +[Line 133: The sacred trio of St. Peter, St. James, and St. John.] + + * * * * * + +EXTERNAL APPEARANCE OF GLACIERS. + + +Thus far we have examined chiefly the internal structure of the glacier; +let us look now at its external appearance, and at the variety of +curious phenomena connected with the deposit of foreign materials upon +its surface, some of which seem quite inexplicable at first sight. Among +the most striking of these are the large boulders elevated on columns of +ice, standing sometimes ten feet or more above the level of the glacier, +and the sand-pyramids, those conical hills of sand which occur not +infrequently on all the large Alpine glaciers. One is at first quite at +a loss to explain the presence of these pyramids in the midst of a +frozen ice-field, and yet it has a very simple cause. + +I have spoken of the many little rills arising on the surface of the ice +in consequence of its melting. Indeed, the voice of the waters is rarely +still on the glacier during the warm season, except at night. On a +summer's day, a thousand streams are born before noontide, and die again +at sunset; it is no uncommon thing to see a full cascade come rushing +out from the lower end of a glacier during the heat of the day, and +vanish again at its decline. Suppose one of these rivulets should fall +into a deep, circular hole, such as often occur on the glacier, and the +nature of which I shall presently explain, and that this cylindrical +opening narrows to a mere crack at a greater or less depth within the +ice, the water will find its way through the crack and filter down into +the deeper mass; but the dust and sand carried along with it will be +caught there, and form a deposit at the bottom of the hole. As day after +day, throughout the summer, the rivulet is renewed, it carries with it +an additional supply of these light materials, until the opening is +gradually filled and the sand is brought to a level with the surface of +the ice. We have already seen, that, in consequence of evaporation, +melting, and other disintegrating causes, the level of the glacier sinks +annually at the rate of from five to ten feet, according to stations. +The natural consequence, of course, must be, that the sand is left +standing above the surface of the ice, forming a mound which would +constantly increase in height in proportion to the sinking of the +surrounding ice, had it sufficient solidity to retain its original +position. But a heap of sand, if unsupported, must very soon subside and +be dispersed; and, indeed, these pyramids, which are often quite lofty, +and yet look as if they would crumble at a touch, prove, on nearer +examination, to be perfectly solid, and are, in fact, pyramids of ice +with a thin sheet of sand spread over them. A word will explain how this +transformation is brought about. As soon as the level of the glacier +falls below the sand, thus depriving it of support, it sinks down and +spreads slightly over the surrounding surface. In this condition it +protects the ice immediately beneath it from the action of the sun. In +proportion as the glacier wastes, this protected area rises above the +general mass and becomes detached from it. The sand, of course, slides +down over it, spreading toward its base, so as to cover a wider space +below, and an ever-narrowing one above, until it gradually assumes the +pyramidal form in which we find it, covered with a thin coating of sand. +Every stage of this process may occasionally be seen upon the same +glacier, in a number of sand-piles raised to various heights above the +surface of the ice, approaching the perfect pyramidal form, or falling +to pieces after standing for a short time erect. + +The phenomenon of the large boulders, supported on tall pillars of ice, +is of a similar character. A mass of rock, having fallen on the surface +of the glacier, protects the ice immediately beneath it from the action +of the sun; and as the level of the glacier sinks all around it, in +consequence of the unceasing waste of the surface, the rock is +gradually left standing on an ice-pillar of considerable height. In +proportion as the column rises, however, the rays of the sun reach its +sides, striking obliquely upon them under the boulder, and wearing them +away, until the column becomes at last too slight to sustain its burden, +and the rock falls again upon the glacier; or, owing to the unequal +action of the sun, striking of course with most power on the southern +side, the top of the pillar becomes slanting, and the boulder slides +off. These ice-pillars, crowned with masses of rock, form a very +picturesque feature in the scenery of the glacier, and are represented +in many of the landscapes in which Swiss artists have endeavored to +reproduce the grandeur and variety of Alpine views, especially in the +masterly Aquarelles of Lory. The English reader will find them admirably +well described and illustrated in Dr. Tyndall's work upon the glaciers. +They are known throughout the Alps as "glacier-tables"; and many a time +my fellow-travellers and I have spread our frugal meal on such a table, +erected, as it seemed, especially for our convenience. + +Another curious effect is that produced by small stones or pebbles, +small enough to become heated through by the sun in summer. Such a +heated pebble will of course melt the ice below it, and so wear a hole +for itself into which it sinks. This process will continue as long as +the sun reaches the pebble with force enough to heat it. Numbers of such +deep, round holes, like organ-pipes, varying in size from the diameter +of a minute pebble or a grain of coarse sand to that of an ordinary +stone, are found on the glacier, and at the bottom of each is the pebble +by which it was bored. The ice formed by the freezing of water +collecting in such holes and in the fissures of the surface is a pure +crystallized ice, very different in color from the ice of the great mass +of the glacier produced by snow; and sometimes, after a rain and frost, +the surface of a glacier looks like a mosaic-work, in consequence of +such veins and cylinders or spots of clear ice with which it is inlaid. + +Indeed, the aspect of the glacier changes constantly with the different +conditions of the temperature. We may see it, when, during a long dry +season, it has collected upon its surface all sorts of light floating +materials, as dust, sand, and the like, so that it looks dull and +soiled,--or when a heavy rain has washed the surface clean from all +impurities and left it bright and fresh. We may see it when the heat and +other disintegrating influences have acted upon the ice to a certain +superficial depth, so that its surface is covered with a decomposed +crust of broken, snowy ice, so permeated with air that it has a +dead-white color, like pounded ice or glass. Those who see the glacier +in this state miss the blue tint so often described as characteristic of +its appearance in its lower portion, and as giving such a peculiar +beauty to its caverns and vaults. But let them come again after a summer +storm has swept away this loose sheet of broken, snowy ice above, and +before the same process has had time to renew it, and they will find the +compact, solid surface of the glacier of as pure a blue as if it +reflected the sky above. We may see it in the early dawn, before the new +ice of the preceding night begins to yield to the action of the sun, and +the surface of the glacier is veined and inlaid with the water poured +into its holes and fissures during the day and transformed into pure, +fresh ice during the night,--or when the noonday heat has wakened all +its streams, and rivulets sometimes as large as rivers rush along its +surface, find their way to the lower extremity of the glacier, or, +dashing down some gaping crevasse or open well, are lost beneath the +ice. + +It would seem from the quantity of water that is sometimes ingulfed +within these open breaks in the ice, that the glacier must occasionally +be fissured to a very great depth. I remember once, when boring a hole +in the glacier in order to let down a self-regulating thermometer into +its interior, seeing an immense fissure suddenly rent open, in +consequence, no doubt, of the shocks given to the ice by the blows of +the instruments. The effect was like that of an earthquake; the mass +seemed to rock beneath us, and it was difficult to keep our feet. One of +these glacial rivers was flowing past the spot at the time, and it was +instantly lost in the newly formed chasm. However deep and wide the +fissure might be, such a stream of water, constantly poured into it, and +daily renewed throughout the summer, must eventually fill it and +overflow, unless it finds its way through the whole mass of the glacier +to the bottom on which it rests; it must have an outlet above or below. +The fact that considerable rivulets (too broad to leap across, and too +deep to wade through safely even with high boots) may entirely vanish in +the glacier unquestionably shows one of two things,--that the whole mass +must be soaked with water like a wet sponge, or the cavities reach the +bottom of the glacier. Probably the two conditions are generally +combined. + +In direct connection with the narrower fissures are the so-called +_moulins_,--the circular wells on the glacier. We will suppose that a +transverse, narrow fissure has been formed across the glacier, and that +one of the many rivulets flowing longitudinally along its surface +empties into it. As the surface-water of the glacier, producing these +rivulets, arises not only from the melting of the ice, but also from the +condensation of vapor, or even from rain-falls, and flows over the +scattered dust-particles and fragments of rock, it has always a +temperature slightly above 32 deg., so that such a rivulet is necessarily +warmer than the icy edge of the fissure over which it precipitates +itself. In consequence of its higher temperature it melts the edge, +gradually wearing it backward, till the straight margin of the fissure +at the spot over which the water falls is changed to a semicircle; and +as much of the water dashes in spray and foam against the other side, +the same effect takes place there, by which a corresponding semicircle +is formed exactly opposite the first. This goes on not only at the upper +margin, but through the whole depth of the opening as far down as the +water carries its higher temperature. In short, a semicircular groove is +excavated on either side of the fissure for its whole depth along the +line on which the rivulet holds its downward course. After a time, in +consequence of the motion of the glacier, such a fissure may close +again, and then the two semicircles thus brought together form at once +one continuous circle, and we have one of the round deep openings on the +glacier known as _moulins_, or wells, which may of course become +perfectly dry, if any accident turns the rivulet aside or dries up its +source. The most common cause of the intermittence of such a waterfall +is the formation of a crevasse higher up, across the watercourse which +supplied it, and which now begins another excavation. + +These wells are often very profound. I have lowered a line for more than +seven hundred feet in one of them before striking bottom; and one is by +no means sure even then of having sounded the whole depth, for it may +often happen that the water meets with some obstacle which prevents its +direct descent, and, turning aside, continues its deeper course at a +different angle. Such a well may be like a crooked shaft in a mine, +changing its direction from time to time. I found this to be the case in +one into which I caused myself to be lowered in order to examine the +internal structure of the glacier. For some time my descent was straight +and direct, but at a depth of about fifty feet there was a +landing-place, as it were, from which the opening continued its farther +course at quite a different angle. It is within these cylindrical +openings in the ice that those accumulations of sand collect which form +the pyramids described above. + +One may often trace the gradual formation of these wells, because, as +they require certain similar conditions, they are very apt to be found +in various stages of completion along the same track where these +conditions occur. Fissures, for instance, will often be produced along +the same line, because, as the mass of the glacier moves on, its upper +portions, as they advance, come successively in contact with +inequalities of the bottom, in consequence of which the ice is strained +beyond its power of resistance and cracks across. Rivulets are also +likely to be renewed summer after summer over the same track, because +certain conditions of the surface of the glacier, to which I have not +yet alluded, and which favor the more rapid melting of the ice, remain +unchanged year after year. Of course, the wells do not remain stationary +any more than any other feature of the glacier. They move on with the +advancing mass of ice, and we consequently find the older ones +considerably lower down than the more recent ones. In ascending such a +track as I have described, along which fissures and rivulets are likely +to occur, we may meet first with a sand-pyramid; at a certain distance +above that there may be a circular opening filled to its brim with the +sand which has just reached the surface of the ice; a little above may +be an open well with the rivulet still pouring into it; or higher up, we +may meet an open fissure with the two semicircles opposite each other on +the margins, but not yet united, as they will be presently by the +closing of the fissure; or we may find near by another fissure, the +edges of which are just beginning to wear in consequence of the action +of the water. Thus, though we cannot trace the formation of such a +cylindrical shaft in the glacier from the beginning to the end, we may +by combining the separate facts observed in a number decipher their +whole history. + +In describing the surface of the glacier, I should not omit the shallow +troughs which I have called "meridian holes," from the accuracy with +which they register the position of the sun. Here and there on the +glacier there are patches of loose materials, dust, sand, pebbles, or +gravel, accumulated by diminutive water-rills, and small enough to +become heated during the day. They will, of course, be warmed first on +their eastern side, then, still more powerfully, on their southern side, +and in the afternoon with less force again on their western side, while +the northern side will remain comparatively cool. Thus around more than +half of their circumference they melt the ice in a semicircle, and the +glacier is covered with little crescent-shaped troughs of this +description, with a steep wall on one side and a shallow one on the +other, and a little heap of loose materials in the bottom. They are the +sundials of the glacier, recording the hour by the advance of the sun's +rays upon them. + +In recapitulating the results of my glacial experience, even in so +condensed a form as that in which I intend to present them here, I shall +be obliged to enter somewhat into personal narration, though at the risk +of repeating what has been already told by the companions of my +excursions, some of whom wrote out in a more popular form the incidents +of our daily life which could not be fitly introduced into my own record +of scientific research. When I first began my investigations upon the +glaciers, now more than twenty-five years ago, scarcely any measurements +of their size or their motion had been made. One of my principal +objects, therefore, was to ascertain the thickness of the mass of ice, +generally supposed to be from eighty to a hundred feet, and even less. +The first year I took with me a hundred feet of iron rods, (no easy +matter, where it had to be transported to the upper part of a glacier on +men's backs,) thinking to bore the glacier through and through. As well +might I have tried to sound the ocean with a ten-fathom line. The +following year I took two hundred feet of rods with me, and again I was +foiled. Eventually I succeeded in carrying up a thousand feet of line, +and satisfied myself, after many attempts, that this was about the +average thickness of the glacier of the Aar, on which I was working. I +mention these failures, because they give some idea of the +discouragements and difficulties which meet the investigator in any new +field of research; and the student must remember, for his consolation +under such disappointments, that his failures are almost as important to +the cause of science and to those who follow him in the same road as his +successes. It is much to know what we _cannot_ do in any given +direction,--the first step, indeed, toward the accomplishment of what we +can do. + +A like disappointment awaited me in my first attempt to ascertain by +direct measurement the rate of motion in the glacier. Early observers +had asserted that the glacier moved, but there had been no accurate +demonstration of the fact, and so uniform is its general appearance from +year to year that even the fact of its motion was denied by many. It is +true that the progress of boulders had been watched; a mass of rock +which had stood at a certain point on the glacier was found many feet +below that point the following year; but the opponents of the theory +insisted that it did not follow, because the mass of rock had moved, +that therefore the mass of ice had moved with it. They believed that the +boulder might have slid down for that distance. Neither did the +occasional encroachment of the glaciers upon the valleys prove anything; +it might he solely the effect of an unusual accumulation of snow in cold +seasons. Here, then, was another question to be tested; and one of my +first experiments was to plant stakes in the ice to ascertain whether +they would change their position with reference to the sides of the +valley or not. If the glacier moved, my stakes must of course move with +it; if it was stationary, my stakes would remain standing where I had +placed them, and any advance of other objects upon the surface of the +glacier would be proved to be due to their sliding, or to some motion of +their own, and not to that of the mass of ice on which they rested. I +found neither the one nor the other of my anticipated results; after a +short time, all the stakes lay flat on the ice, and I learned nothing +from my first series of experiments, except that the surface of the +glacier is wasted annually for a depth of at least five feet, in +consequence of which my rods had lost their support, and fallen down. +Similar disappointment was experienced by my friend Escher upon the +great glacier of Aletsch. + +My failure, however, taught me to sink the next set of stakes ten or +fifteen feet below the surface of the ice, instead of five; and the +experiment was attended with happier results. A stake planted eighteen +feet deep in the ice, and cut on a level with the surface of the +glacier, in the summer of 1840, was found, on my return in the summer of +1841, to project seven feet, and in the beginning of September it showed +ten feet above the surface. Before leaving the glacier, in September, +1841, I planted six stakes at a certain distance from each other in a +straight line across the upper part of the glacier, taking care to have +the position of all the stakes determined with reference to certain +fixed points on the rocky walls of the valley. When I returned, the +following year, all the stakes had advanced considerably, and the +straight line had changed to a crescent, the central rods having moved +forward much faster than those nearer the sides, so that not only was +the advance of the glacier clearly demonstrated, but also the fact that +its middle portion moved faster than its margins. This furnished the +first accurate data on record concerning the average movement of the +glacier during the greater part of one year. In 1842 I caused a +trigonometric survey of the whole glacier of the Aar to be made, and +several lines across its whole width were staked and determined with +reference to the sides of the valley;[B] for a number of successive +years the survey was repeated, and furnished the numerous data +concerning the motion of the glacier which I have published. I shall +probably never have an opportunity of repeating these experiments, and +examining anew the condition of the glacier of the Aar; but as all the +measurements were taken with reference to certain fixed points recorded +upon the map mentioned in the note, it would be easy to renew them over +the same locality, and to make a direct comparison with my first results +after an interval of a quarter of a century. Such a comparison would be +very valuable to science, as showing any change in the condition of the +glacier, its rate of motion, etc., since the time my survey was made. + +These observations not only determined the fact of the motion of the +glacier itself, as well as the inequality of its motion in different +parts, but explained also a variety of phenomena indirectly connected +with it. Among these were the position and direction of the crevasses, +those gaping fissures of unknown depths, sometimes a mile or more in +length, and often measuring several hundred feet in width, the terror, +not only of the ordinary traveller, but of the most experienced +mountaineers. There is a variety of such crevasses upon the glacier, but +the most numerous and dangerous are the transverse and lateral ones. The +transverse ones were readily accounted for after the motion of the +glacier was admitted; they must take place, whenever, the glacier +advancing over inequalities or steeper parts of its bed, the tension of +the mass was so great that the cohesion of the particles was overcome, +and the ice consequently rent apart. This would be especially the case +wherever some steep angle in the bottom over which it moved presented an +obstacle to the even advance of the mass. But the position of the +lateral ones was not so easily understood. They are especially apt to +occur wherever a promontory of rock juts out into the glacier; and when +fresh, they usually slant obliquely upward, trending from the prominent +wall toward the head of the glacier, while, when old, on the contrary, +they turn downward, so that the crevasses around such a promontory are +often arranged in the shape of a spread fan, diverging from it in +different directions. When the movement of the glacier was fully +understood, however, it became evident, that, in its effort to force +itself around the promontory, the ice was violently torn apart, and that +the rent must take place in a direction at right angles with that in +which the mass was moving. If the mass be moving inward and downward, +the direction of the rent must be obliquely upward. As now the mass +continues to advance, the crevasses must advance with it; and as it +moves more rapidly toward the middle than on the margins, that end of +the crevasse which is farthest removed from the projecting rock must +move more rapidly also; the consequence is, that all the older lateral +crevasses, after a certain time, point downward, while the fresh ones +point upward. + +Not only does the glacier collect a variety of foreign materials on its +upper surface, but its sides as well as its lower surface are studded +with boulders, stones, pebbles, sand, coarse and fine gravel, so that it +forms in reality a gigantic rasp, with sides hundreds of feet deep, and +a surface thousands of feet wide and many miles in length, grinding over +the bottom and along the walls between which it moves, polishing, +grooving, and scratching them as it passes onward. One who is familiar +with the track of this mighty engine will recognize at once where the +large boulders have hollowed out their deeper furrows, where small +pebbles have drawn their finer marks, where the stones with angular +edges have left their sharp scratches, where sand and gravel have rubbed +and smoothed the rocky surface, and left it bright and polished as if it +came from the hand of the marble-worker. These marks are not to be +mistaken by any one who has carefully observed them; the scratches, +furrows, grooves, are always rectilinear, trending in the direction in +which the glacier is moving, and most distinct on that side of the +surface-inequalities facing the direction of the moving mass, while the +lee-side remains mostly untouched. + +It may be asked, how it is known that the glacier carries this powerful +apparatus on its sides and bottom, when they are hidden from sight. I +answer, that we might determine the fact theoretically from certain +known conditions respecting the conformation of the glacier; to which I +shall allude presently; but we need not resort to this kind of evidence, +since we have ocular demonstration of the truth. Here and there on the +sides of the glacier it is possible to penetrate between the walls and +the ice to a great depth, and even to follow such a gap to the very +bottom of the valley, and everywhere do we find the surface of the ice +fretted as I have described it, with stones of every size, from the +pebble to the boulder, and also with sand and gravel of all sorts, from +the coarsest grain to the finest, and these materials, more or less +firmly set in the ice, form the grating surface with which, in its +onward movement down the Alpine valleys, it leaves everywhere +unmistakable, traces of its passage. + +We come now to the moraines, those walls of loose materials built by the +glaciers themselves along their road. They have been divided into three +classes, namely, lateral, medial, and terminal moraines. Let us look +first at the lateral ones; and to understand them we must examine the +conformation of the glacier below the _neve_, where it assumes the +character of pure compact ice. We have seen that the fields of snow, +where the glaciers have their origin, are level, and that lower down, +where these masses of snow begin to descend toward the narrower valley, +they follow its trough-like shape, sinking toward the centre and sloping +upward against the sides, so that the surface of the glacier, about the +region of the _neve_, is slightly concave. But lower down in the glacier +proper, where it is completely transformed into ice, its surface becomes +convex, for the following reason: The rocky walls of the valley, as they +approach the plain, partake of its higher temperature. They become +heated by the sun during the day in summer, so that the margins of the +glacier melt rapidly in contact with them. In consequence of this, there +is always in the lower part of the glacier a broad depression between +the ice and the rocky walls, while, as this effect is not felt in the +centre of the glacier, it there retains a higher level. The natural +result of this is a convex surface, arching upward toward the middle, +sinking toward the sides. It is in these broad, marginal depressions +that the lateral moraines accumulate; masses of rock, stones, pebbles, +dust, all the fragments, in short, which become loosened from the rocky +walls above, fall into them, and it is a part of the materials so +accumulated which gradually work their way downward between the ice and +the walls, till the whole side of the glacier becomes studded with them. +It is evident, that, when the glacier runs in a northerly or southerly +direction, both the walls will be affected by the sun, one in the +morning, the other in the afternoon, and in such a case the sides will +be uniform, or nearly so. But when the trend of the valley is from east +to west, or from west to east, the northern side only will feel the full +force of the sun; and in such a case, only one side of the glacier will +be convex in outline, while the other will remain nearly on a level with +the middle. The large masses of loose materials which accumulate between +the glacier and its rocky walls and upon its margins form the lateral +moraines. These move most slowly, as the marginal portions of the +glacier advance at a much slower rate than its centre. + +The medial moraines arise in a different way, though they are directly +connected with the lateral moraines. It often happens that two smaller +glaciers unite, running into each other to form a larger one. Suppose +two glaciers to be moving along two adjoining valleys, converging toward +each other, and running in an easterly or westerly direction; at a +certain point these two valleys open into a single valley, and here, of +course, the two glaciers must meet, like two rivers rushing into a +common bed. But as glaciers consist of a solid, and not a fluid, there +will be no indiscriminate mingling of the two, and they will hold their +course side by side. This being the case, the lateral moraine on the +southern side of the northernmost glacier and that on the northern side +of the southernmost one must meet in the centre of the combined +glaciers. Such are the so-called medial moraines formed by the junction +of two lateral ones. Sometimes a glacier may have a great number of +tributaries, and in that case we may see several such moraines running +in straight lines along its surface, all of which are called medial +moraines in consequence of their origin midway between two combining +glaciers. The glacier of the Aar represented in the wood-cut below +affords a striking example of a large medial moraine. It is formed by +the junction of the glaciers of the Lauter-Aar, on the right-hand side +of the wood-cut, and the Finster-Aar, on the left; and the union of +their inner lateral moraines, in the centre of the diagram, forms the +stony wall down the centre of the larger glacier, called its medial +moraine. This moraine at some points is not less than sixty feet high. +We have here an effect similar to that of the glacier-tables and the +sand-pyramids. The wall protects the ice beneath it, and prevents it +from sinking at the same rate as the surrounding surface, while its +heated surface increases the melting of the adjacent surfaces of ice, +thus forming longitudinal depressions along the medial moraines, in +which the largest rivulets and the most conspicuous sand-pyramids, the +deepest wells and the finest waterfalls, are usually met with. As the +medial moraines rest upon that part of the glacier which moves fastest, +they of course advance much more rapidly than the lateral moraines. + +[Illustration: Glacier of the Aar.] + +The terminal moraines consist of all the _debris_ brought down by the +glacier to its lower extremity. In consequence of the more rapid +movement of the centre of the glacier, it always terminates in a +semicircle at its lower end, where these materials collect, and the +terminal moraines, of course, follow the outline of the glacier. The +wood-cut below represents the terminal moraine of the glacier of Viesch. + +[Illustration] + +Sometimes, when a number of cold summers have succeeded each other, +preventing the glacier from melting in proportion to its advance, the +accumulation of materials at its terminus becomes very considerable; and +when, in consequence of a succession of warm summers, it gradually melts +and retreats from the line it has been occupying, a large semicircular +wall is left, spanning the valley from side to side, through which the +stream issuing from the glacier may be seen cutting its way. It is +important to notice that such terminal moraines may actually span the +whole width of a valley, from side to side, and be interrupted only +where watercourses of sufficient power break through them. To suppose +that such transverse walls of loose materials could be thrown across a +valley by a river were to suppose that it could build dams across its +bed while it is flowing. Such transverse or crescent-shaped moraines are +everywhere the work of glaciers. + +All these moraines are the land-marks, so to speak, by which we trace +the height and extent, as well as the progress and retreat, of glaciers +in former times. Suppose, for instance, that a glacier were to disappear +entirely. For ages it has been a gigantic ice-raft, receiving all sorts +of materials on its surface as it travelled onward, and bearing them +along with it; while the hard particles of rock set in its lower surface +have been polishing and fashioning the whole surface over which it +extended. As it now melts, it drops its various burdens on the ground; +boulders are the mile-stones marking the different stages of its +journey, the terminal and lateral moraines are the framework which it +erected around itself as it moved forward, and which define its +boundaries centuries after it has vanished, while the scratches and +furrows it has left on the surface below show the direction of its +motion. + +All the materials which reach the bottom of the glacier, and are moving +under its weight, so far as they are not firmly set in the ice must be +pressed against one another, as well as against the rocky bottom, and +will be rounded off, polished, and scratched, like the rock itself over +which they pass. The pebbles or stones set fast in the ice will be thus +polished and scratched, however, only over the surface exposed; but, as +they may sometimes move in their socket, like a loosely mounted stone, +the different surfaces may in turn undergo this process, and in the end +all the loose materials under a glacier become more or less polished, +scratched, and grooved. These marks exhibit also the peculiarity so +characteristic of the grooves and scratches on the bed and walls of the +valley: they are rectilinear, trending in the direction in which the +superincumbent mass advances, though, of course, owing to the changes in +the position of the pebbles or boulders, they may cross each other in +every direction on their surface. + +As the larger materials are pressed onward with the finer ones, that is, +with the sand, gravel, and mud accumulated at the bottom of the glacier, +the component parts of this underlying bed of _debris_ will be mixed +together without any reference to their size or weight. The softest mud +and finest sand may be in immediate contact with the bottom of the +valley, while larger rocks and pebbles may be held in the ice above; or +their position may be reversed, and the coarser materials may rest +below, while the finer ones are pressed between them or overlying them. +In short, the whole accumulation of loose _debris_ under the glacier, +resulting from the trituration of all kinds of angular fragments +reaching the lower surface of the ice, presents a sort of paste in which +coarser and lighter materials are impacted without reference to bulk or +weight. Those fragments which are most polished, rounded, grooved, or +scratched, have travelled longest under the glacier, and are derived +from the hardest rocks, which have resisted the general crushing and +pounding for a longer time. The masses of rock on the upper surface of +the glacier, on the contrary, are carried along on its back without +undergoing any such friction. Lying side by side, or one above another, +without being subject to pressure from the ice, they retain, both in the +lateral and medial moraines, and even in the terminal moraines, their +original size, their rough surfaces, and their angular form. Whenever, +therefore, a glacier melts, it is evident that the lower materials will +be found covered by the angular surface-materials now brought into +immediate contact with the former in consequence of the disappearance of +the intervening ice. The most careful observations and surveys have +shown this everywhere to be the case; wherever a large tract of glacier +has disappeared, the moraines, with their large angular boulders, are +found resting upon this bottom layer of rounded materials scattered +through a paste of mud and sand. + +We shall see hereafter how far we can follow these traces, and what they +tell us of the past history of glaciers, and of the changes the climates +of our globe have undergone. + + * * * * * + +STEPHEN YARROW. + +A CHRISTMAS STORY. + + +Sometime in the year 1856, a family named Yarrow moved into the +neighborhood where I then lived, and rented a small house with a bit of +ground attached to it, on one of the rich bottom-farms lying along the +eastern shore of the Ohio. The mother, two or three children, and their +dog Ready made up the quiet household: not one to attract notice from +any cause. People soon knew Martha Yarrow,--all that was in her. She was +Western- and farm-born; whatever Nature had given her of good or bad, +therefore, thrust itself out at once with pungent directness. + +The family supported themselves by selling their poultry and vegetables +to the hucksters, leading an eventless life enough, until the change +occurred, some five years after they came into the neighborhood, of +which I am going to tell you. + +I called it a Christmas Story, not so much because it happened on a +Christmas, as because the meaning of it seemed suited to that day; and I +thought, too, that nobody grows tired of Christmas stories, especially +if he chance to have been born in one of those families where the day is +kept in the old fashion: it roots itself so deep, that memory, in +whatever quaint superstition, or homely affection for mother or brother, +or unreasoning trust in God, may outlive our childhood, and underlie our +older years. And surely that is as just, as wise a thing,--to strip off +for a child the smirched trading-dress of one day at least, and send it +down through the long procession of the years with its true face bared, +to waken in him a live sense of man's love and God's love. Some one, +perhaps, had done this for this woman, Mrs. Yarrow, long ago; for, let +the months before and after be bare as they chose, she kept this day of +Christmas with a feverish anxiety, more eager than her children even to +make every moment warm and throb with pleasure, and enjoying them +herself, to their last breath, with the whole zest of a nervous, +strong-blooded nature. Yet she may have had another reason for it. + +The evening before the Christmas of which we write, she had gone out to +the well with her son before closing the house for the night. + +"There's no danger of thaw before morning, Jem?"--looking anxiously up +into the night, as they rested the bucket on the curb. + +"Thaw! there's a woman's notion for you! Why, the very crow is frozen +out of the cocks yonder!"--stretching his arms, and clapping his hollow +cheat, as if he were six feet high. "No, we'll not have a thaw, little +woman." + +The children often called her that, in a fond, protecting way; but it +sounded most oddly from Jem, he was such a weak, swaggering sparrow of a +little chap. He stretched his hands as high as he could reach up to her +hips, and smoothed her linsey dress down: if it had been her face, the +touch could not have been more tender. + +"You don't think of the luck we always have. Why, it couldn't rain on +Christmas for you or me, mother!" + +She laughed, nodding several times. + +"Well, that is sure, Jem," stopping to look into the lean, emphatic +little face, and to pass her hand over the tow-colored hair. + +Somehow, the bond between mother and son was curiously strong to-night. +It was always so on Christmas. At other times they were much like two +children in companionship, but Christmas never came without bringing a +vague sense of cowering close together as though some danger stood near +them. There was something half fierce, now, in the way she caressed his +face. + +"Come on with the bucket, brother," she said, cheerfully, stamping the +clogging snow from her shoes, shading her eyes with her hand, and +looking over the white stretch to the black line of hills chopping the +east. "More like a hail-gust than rain. But I was afraid of that, you +see," as they went up the path. "There's an old saying, that trouble +always comes with rain. And it did in my life--to me"-- + +She was talking to herself. Jem whistled, pretending not to hear; but he +peered sharply into her face, with the relish which all sickly, +premature children have for a mystery or pain. Very seldom was there +hint of either about Martha Yarrow. She was an Ohio woman, small-boned, +muscular, with healthy, quick blood, not a scrofulous, ill-tempered drop +in her veins; in her brain only a very few and obstinate opinions, +maybe, but all of them lying open to the sight of anybody who cared to +know them. Not long ago, she had been a pretty, bouncing country-belle; +now, she was a hard-working housewife: a Whig, because all the Clarks +(her own family) were Whigs: going to the Baptist church, with no clear +ideas about close communion or immersion, because she had married a +country-parson. With a consciousness that she had borne a heavier pain +in her life than most women, and ought to feel scourged and sad, she did +cry out with such feeling sometimes,--but with a keen, natural relish +for apple-butter parings, or fair-days, or a neighbor dropping in to +tea, or anything that would give the children and herself a chance to +joke and laugh, and be like other people again. Between the two +feelings, her temper was odd and uncertain enough. But in this December +air, now, her still rounded cheek grew red, her breast heaved, her eyes +sparkled, glad as a child would be, simply because it was cold and +Christmas was coming; while the child Jem, with his tougher, less sappy +animal nature, jogged gravely beside her, head and eyes down. As for her +every-day life, nobody's fires burned, nobody's windows shone like +Martha Yarrow's; not a pound of butter went to market with the creamy, +clovery taste her fingers worked into hers. She put a flavor, an elastic +spring, into every bit of work she did, making it play. The very +nervousness of the woman, her sudden fits of laughter and tears, +impressed you as the effervescence of a zest of life which began at her +birth. Nobody ever got to the end, or expected to get to the end, of her +stories and scraps of old songs. Then, every day some new plan, keeping +the whole house awake and alive: when Tom's birthday came, a +surprise-feast of raspberries and cake; when Jem's new trousers were +produced, they had been made up over-night, a dead secret, ten shining +dimes in the pocket, fresh from the mint; even the penny string of blue +beads for Catty, bought of Sims the peddler, was hid under her plate, +and made quite a jollification of that supper. You may be sure, the five +years just gone in that house had been short and merry and cozy enough +for the children. Before that--Here Jem's memory flagged: he had been a +baby then; Catty just born; yet, somehow, he never thought of that +unknown time without the furtive, keen glance into his mother's face, +and a frightened choking in the heart under his puny chest. Somewhere, +back yonder, or in the years coming, some vague horror waited for him to +fight. To-night, (always at Christmas, although then the glow and +comfort of all days reached its heat,) this unaccountable dread was on +the boy; why, he never knew. It might be that under the hurry and +preparation of Martha Yarrow on that day some deeper meaning did lie, +which his instinct had discerned: more probably, however, it was but the +sickly vagary of a child grown old too fast. + +They hurried along the path now to reach the house and shut the night +outside, for every moment the cold and dark were growing heavier; the +snow rasping under their feet, as its crust cracked; overhead, the +sky-air frozen thin and gray, holding dead a low, watery half-moon; now +and then a more earthy, thicker gust breaking sharply round the hill, +taking their breath. It was only a step, however, and Tom was holding +the house-door open, letting a ruddy light stream out, and with it a +savory smell of supper. Tom halloed, and that blue-eyed pudge of a Catty +pounded on the window with her fat little fist. How hot the fire glowed! +Somehow all Christmas seemed waiting in there. It was time to hurry +along. Even Ready came out, shaking his shaggy old sides impatiently in +the snow, and began to dog them, snapping at Jem's heels. Like most old +people, he liked his ease, and was apt to be out of sorts, if meals were +kept waiting. Ready's whims always made Martha laugh as she did when she +was a young girl: they knew each other then, long before Jem was born. + +"Come on, old Truepenny," she said, going in. + +There _was_ comfort. Nothing in that house, from the red woollen +curtains to the bright poker, which did not have its part to play for +Christmas. Nothing that did not say "Christmas," from Catty's eyes to +the very supper-table. Of course, I don't mean the Christmas dinner, +when I say supper. Tom could have told you. Somewhere in his paunchy +little body he kept a perpetual bill of fare, checked off or unchecked. +He based and stayed his mind now on preparations in the pantry. +Something solid there! A haunch of venison, mince-meat, winter +succotash, a roasted peahen,--and that is the top and crown of Nature's +efforts in the way of fowls. For suppers,--pish! However, Tom ate with +the rest. Mother was hungry; so they were very leisurely, and joked and +laughed to that extent that even Catty was uproarious when they were +through. Then Jem fell to work at the great coals, and battered them +into a rousing fire. + +"I'll go and fasten the shutters," said Tom. + +Martha Yarrow's back was to the window. She turned sharply. The sickly +white moon lighted up the snow-waste out there; some one might be out in +those frozen fields,--some one who was coming home,--who had been gone +for years,--years. Jem was watching her. + +"Leave the windows alone, Tom," he said. "It won't hurt the night to see +my fire." + +He pulled his cricket close up to her, and took her hand to pet. It was +cold, and her teeth chattered. However, they were all so snug and close +together, and Christmas, that great warm-hearted day, was so near upon +them, as full of love and hearty, warm enjoyment as the living God could +send it, that its breath filled all their hearts; and presently Martha +Yarrow's face was brighter than Catty's. They were noisy and busy +enough. The programme for to-morrow was to make out; that put all heads +to work to plan: the stockings to be opened, and dinner, and maybe a +visit to the menagerie in the afternoon. That was Martha's surprise, and +she was not disappointed in the applause it brought. It made the tears +come to her eyes, an hour after, when she was going to bed, remembering +it. + +"It takes such a little thing to make them happy," she said to +herself,--"or me, either," with a somewhat silly face. + +She tried to thank God for giving them so much, but only sobbed. After +the confusion about the show was over, and Catty had been wakened into a +vague jungle of tigers and lions and Shetland ponies, and put to sleep +again, they subsided enough to remember the winding-up of the day. Quiet +that was to be; the children from Shag's Point were coming up, some +half-dozen in all, for their share of Christmas. Poorer than the +Yarrows, you understand? though but a little; in fact, there were not +many steps farther down: peahens and cranberries were not for every day. +Well, to-morrow evening Jem would tell them the story of the Stable and +the Child, and how that the Child was with us yet, if we could only see. +Jem was always his mother's spokesman, and put the meaning of Christmas +into words: she never talked of such things. Yet they always watched her +face, when they spoke of them,--watched it now, and looked, as she did, +into the little room beyond the kitchen where they sat, their eyes +growing still and brighter. There might have been a tinge of the savage +or the Frenchman in Martha Yarrow's nature, she had so strong a +propensity to make real, apparent to the senses, what few ideas she had, +even her religion. A good skill to do it, too. The recess out of the +kitchen was only a small closet, but, with the aid of a softly tinted +curtain or two, and the nebulous light of a concealed lamp, she had +contrived to give it an air of distance and reserve. Within were green +wreaths hung over the whitewashed walls, and an altar-shaped little +white table, covered with heaps of crimson leaves and bright berries, +such as grow in the snow; only a few flowers, but enough to fill the air +with fragrance; the children's Christmas gifts, and wax-lights burning +before a picture, the child Jesus, looking down on them with a smile as +glad as their own. A thoroughly real person to the boys, this Christ for +childhood; for she built the little altar before this picture on all +their holidays: something in the woman herself needing the story of the +Stable and the Child. If she were doing a healthier work on the souls of +that morbid Jem and glutton Tom than could a thousand after-sermons, she +did not know it: never guessed, either, when they absorbed day by day +hardly enough the force of her tough-muscled endurance and wholesome +laugh, that she prepared the way of the Lord and made His paths +straight. Yet what matter who knew? + +But to go on with our story. There were times--once or twice to-night, +for instance--when she ceased doing even her unconscious work. +Assuredly, somewhere back in her life, something had gone amiss with +this silly, helpful creature, and left a taint on her brain. The hearty, +pretty smile would go suddenly from her face, something foreign looking +out of it, instead, as if a pestilent thought had got into her soul; she +would rise uneasily, going to the window, looking out, her forehead +leaning on the glass, her body twitching weakly. One would think from +her face she saw some work in the world which God had forgotten. What +could it matter to her? Whatever hurt her, it was the one word which her +garrulous lips never hinted. Once to-night she spoke more plainly than +Jem had ever known her to do in all his life. It was after the children +had gone to bed, which they did, shouting and singing, and playing +circus-riders over the pillows, their mother leaning her elbows on the +foot-board, laughing, in the mean time. Jem got up, after the others +were asleep, and stole after her, in his little flannel drawers, back to +the kitchen. By the window again, as he had feared, the woollen sock +which she was knitting for Tom in her hand, the yarn all tangled and +broken. Ready was by her knees, winking sleepily. The old dog was +growing surly with his years, as we said: Jem remembered when he used to +romp and tussle with him, but that was long ago: he lay in the +chimney-corner always now, growling at Martha herself even, if her +singing or laugh disturbed his nap. But when these strange moods came on +her, Jem noticed that the yellow old beast seemed conscious of it sooner +than any one beside, crept up to her, stood by her: that she clung to +him, not to her children. He was licking her hand now, his red eye, +drowsy though it was, watching her as if danger were nigh. A dog you +would not slight. Inside of his hot-headedness and courage there was +that reserved look in his eyes, which some men and brutes have, that +says they have a life of their own to live separate from yours, and they +know it. The boy crept up jealously, thrust his numb fingers into his +mother's hand. She started, looking down. + +"It grows into a clear winter's night, Jemmy," trying to speak +carelessly. + +So they stood looking out together. The fire had burned down into a +great bed of flameless coals, the kitchen glowed warm and red, throwing +out even a patch of ruddy light on the snow-covered yard without. A +cold, but comfortable home-look out there: the bit of garden, fences, +cow-house, pump, heaped with the snow; old Dolly asleep in her stable: +Jem wrapped himself in his mother's skirt with a sudden relish of warm +snugness. What made her pull at Ready's neck with such nervous jerks? +She saw nothing beyond? Jem stood on tiptoe, peering out. There was no +hint of the hailstorm they had prophesied, in the night: the moon stood +lower now in the sky, filling the air with a yellow, frosty brilliance. +Yet something strangely cold, dead, unfamiliar, in the night yonder, +chilled him. Neither sound nor motion there; hills, river, and fields, +distinct, sharply cut in pallor, but ghost-like: it made him afraid. +There seemed to be no end of them; the hills to the north ran low, and +beyond them he could see more blue and cold and distance, going on--who +could tell where? to the eternal ice and snow, it might be. She felt it, +he knew. The boy was frightened, tried to pull her back to the fire, +when something he saw outside made him stop suddenly. Shag's Hill, the +nearest of the ledge to the house, is a low, narrow cone, with a sharp +rim against the sky; the moon had sunk half behind it, lighting the +surface of drifted snow which faced them. Across this there suddenly +fell a long, uncertain shadow, which belonged neither to bush nor tree: +it might be the flicker of a cloud; or a man, passing across the top of +the hill, would make it. It was nothing; some of the coal-diggers from +the Point going home; he pulled at her petticoat again. + +"Come to the fire, dear," he said, looking up. + +Her whole face and neck were hot; she laughed and trembled as if some +spasm were upon her. + +"Do you see?" she cried, trying to force the window open. "Oh, Jemmy, it +might be! it might!" + +Jem was used to his mother's unaccountable whims of mood. Ready, +however, startled him. The dog pricked up his ears, sniffed the air once +or twice, then, after a grave pause of a minute, with a sharp howl, such +as Jem had not heard him give for years, dashed through the kitchen into +the wash-shed and out across the fields. Martha Yarrow turned away from +the window, and leaned her head against the dresser-shelves: standing +quite still, only that she clutched Jem's hand. The clock ticked noisily +as a half-hour went by; the fire burned lower and dark. The dog came +back at last, dragging his feet heavily, came up close to her, and +crouched down with a half human moan. After a long time he got up, went +out into the wash-kitchen in a spiritless way, and did not return again +that night. She did not move. It seemed a long time to the child before +she turned, her face wet with tears, and took him up in her arms, +chafing his cold feet. + +"It could not be! I knew that, Jemmy. I wasn't a fool. But I +thought--Oh, Pet, I've waited such a long while!" + +He patted her cheeks, soothing her,--the more effectually, perhaps, that +he did not know what troubled her. + +"Why, it's Christmas, mother," he said. + +"I know that. You see, I thought," her eyes fastened on his in an +appealing sort of way, "that, being Christmas, if there should be any +lost body wandering out on the fields that God had forgotten--What +then?" all the blood gone from her face. "Why, what then, Jem? No home, +no one to say to him, 'Here's home, here's wife and children a-waiting +to love you,--oh, sick with waiting to love you!' No one to say that, +Jem. And him wandering out in the cold, going quick back to the mouth of +hell, not knowing how God loved him." + +"If there is such a one," Jem said, steadily, though his lip trembled, +"God will let him know." + +"There is no such one," sharply. "There is no one yonder but knows his +home, and is nearer to his God than you or I, James Yarrow." + +The boy made no reply,--sat on her knees looking earnestly into the +fire. He had more nearly guessed her secret than she knew,--near enough +to know how to comfort her. After a while, when she was quiet, he +turned, and put his thin arms about her neck, smiling. + +"Take me into your bed, mother, I'm so cold! Let me into old Catty's +place this once." + +She nodded, pleased, and, putting him to bed, soon followed him. When +she held him snugly in her arms, the replenished fire making hot, +flickering shadows from the next room, he whispered,-- + +"Next Christmas, mother! Only one year more!" + +Again the quick shiver of her body; but this time her breath was gentle, +a soft light in her eyes. + +"Well, and then, my son?" + +"Why, some one else then will call me son. How long he has been gone, +dear! so long that I never saw him since I was a bit of a baby." + +"Five years. Yes. Well, dear?" anxiously. + +Her eyes were shut, he stroked the lids softly, thinking how moist and +red her lips were: never as beautiful a face as the little mother's; for +so Jem, feeling quite grown up in his heart, called her there. + +"Well, then, no more trouble, but somebody to take care of us all the +time. Whenever I see a preacher, now, I think of father"--stopping +abruptly, with that anxious, incisive look so sad to see on a child's +face. + +She did not reply at first; then,-- + +"He preached God's word as he knew it," she said, dryly. + +"And whenever I hear of a good, brave man, I think, 'That's like +father!'" + +Her eyes opened now. + +"That's true, Jemmy! God knows that's true! So proud my boy will be of +his father!" + +She did not say anything more, but began playing with his hair, her +month unsteady, and a bashful, dreamy smile in her eyes. She looked very +young and girlish in the mellow light. + +"He's not coarse like me, Jem," she said at last. "Even more like a +woman in some ways. He always came nearer to you children, for instance; +I mind how you always used to creep away from me close to him at night. +He hates noise, Stephen does,--and mean, scraping ways, such as we're +used to, being poor. My boy'll mind that? We'll keep anything shabby out +of his sight, when he comes back." + +"I'll mind," said Jem, dryly. "But--Well, no matter. We're to try and be +like him, Tom and I? I understand." + +She drew down her head suddenly into the pillow. Jem had been growing +sleepy, but he started wide awake now, trying to see her face: the +pretty pink color his questions had brought was gone from it. + +"Did you speak, mother?" + +No answer. + +"I said we are to be men like him, Tom and I, if we can?" + +He knew he had touched her to the quick somehow: his heart beat thick +with the old childish terror, as he waited for her answer. + +"Yes, you are to try, my son." + +Martha Yarrow's frivolous chirruping voice was altered, with meaning in +it he never had heard before, as if her answer came out of some depth +where God had faced her soul, and forced it to speak truth. But when, +after that, the boy, curious to know more, went on with his questions, +she quieted him gravely, kissed him good-night, and turned over,--to +sleep, he concluded, from her regular breathing. However, when Jem, +after a while, began to snore, she got up and went to the kitchen-fire, +kneeling down on the stone hearth: her head was on fire, and her body +cold. + +"So they _shall_ be like him!" she whispered, with a fierce, baited +look, as if by her wife's trust in him she defied the whole world. "I +have kept my word. I've tried to make his sons what God made him in the +beginning." + +That was true: she had kept her word. Five years ago, when the great +scandal came on the church in ----, and their minister was tried for +forgery, and sentenced to six years' imprisonment in the penitentiary, +the first letter his wife wrote to him there had these words: "For the +boys, my husband, they never shall know of this thing. They shall know +you as God and I do, Stephen. I'll make them men like you, if I can: +except in your religion; for I believe, before God, the Devil taught you +that." + +When the man read that in his cell, a dry, quiet smile came over his +face. He had not expected such a keen opinion from his shallow, +easy-going wife: he did not think there was so much insight in her. + +"It's a deep sounding you give, Martha, true or not," folding up the +letter. "And so the boys will never know?" going back to his solitary +cobbling, for they were making a shoemaker of him. + +If there were any remorse under his quiet, or impatience at fate, or +gnawing homesickness, he did not show it. That was the last letter or +message that came from his wife. The friends of other prisoners were +admitted to visit them, but no one ever asked to see him; the five years +went by; every day the same bar of sunlight struck across his bench, and +glittered on the point of his awl, gray in winter, yellow in summer; but +no day brought a word or a sign from the outer world but that. The man +grew thin, mere skin and bone; but then he was scrofulous. He asked no +questions, ceased at last to look up, when the jailer brought his meals, +to see if he carried a letter. Sometimes, when he used to stand chafing +his stubbly chin in the evening at the slit cut in the stones for his +window, looking at the red brick chimney-pot he could see over the +penitentiary-wall, it seemed like something of outer life, and he would +mutter, "She said the boys would never know." Once, too, a year or two +after that, when the jailer came into "quiet Stevy's" cell, (for so he +nicknamed him,) Yarrow came up, and took him by the coat-buttons, +looking up and gabbling something about Martha and the little chaps in a +maudlin sort of way,--then, with a silly laugh, lay down on his pallet. + +"I never felt sorry for the little whiffet before," said the fat jailer, +when he came out. "He's so close; but it's a cursed shame in his people +to give him the go-by that way,--there!" + +But when he went back an hour or two after, he found he had gained no +ground with Stevy; he was dry, silent as ever: he had come to himself, +meanwhile, and shivered with disgust at the fear that any madness had +made him commit himself to this mass of flesh. + +"'Mortised with the sacred garlic,'" he muttered, with the usual dry +twinkle in his eyes. + +Ben caught the last word. + +"It's a good yarb, garlic," he said, confusedly. "Uses it on hot coals +mostly, under broilin' steaks. Well, good night.--He's a queer chap, +though," after he had gone out,--"beyond me." + +Five years being gone, Martha Yarrow, sitting by her fire to-night, +could only repeat the words of her letter. She had taken out a +daguerreotype of her husband, and was looking at it. He was a small man; +young; dressed in a suit of rusty black, with a certain subdued, +credulous, incomplete air about him, like a man forced at birth into +some iron mould of circumstance, and whose own proper muscles and soul +had never had a chance of air to grow. A homely, saddened, uncouthly +shaped face,--one that would be sure to go snubbed and unread through +the world, to find at last some woman who would know its latent meaning, +and worship it with the heat of passion which this country-girl had +given. Withal, a cheerful, quizzical smile on the lips. Poor Martha's +eyes filled, the moment she looked at that; and so she went back to her +first years of married life, full of keen, relishing enjoyment, all +coming from him, quiet, silent as he was,--remembering how her maddest +freaks were indulged with that same odd, dry laugh. She stood alone now. + +"And in these years I have grown used to being alone,"--standing up, +stretching her arms suddenly above her head, and letting them fall +again. + +It was a lie: she knew that the tired sinking within her of body and +soul was harder to bear now than the day he went away, and she weaker to +bear it. If she could but lean her head on his breast for one moment, +and feel him pat her hair with the old "Tut! tut! why, what ails my +girl?" it would give her more strength than all her prayers. She +couldn't think of herself as anything but a girl, when she remembered +her husband: these years were nothing. + +Her mouth grew drier and hotter, as she sat there looking into the face, +polishing the glass with her hand, kissing it. "I'm so tired, Stephen!" +she would whisper now and then. Only those who know the unuttered +mysterious bond in the soul of a true wife and husband can comprehend +what Martha Yarrow bore, when it was torn apart, and by no fault of +hers. "God meant him for me," she sometimes said, savagely; "no man had +a right to part us." She looked at the picture, feeling that he was +purer than any baby she had nursed at her breast, nearer God. "It was +his religion was to blame. That was the ruin of us all. I believe he +never knew who the good God was; how could he?" thinking of his father, +who used to sit in the chimney-corner,--one of those acrid +doctrine-professors who sour the water of life into gall and vinegar +before they dole it out to their children. She was glad she had told him +her mind before they parted,--to what his teaching had brought his son. +"I cut deep that day, and I thank God for it," she said, her face white. + +She had brought the children here to be near the penitentiary, but she +had never been allowed to see him. No letters came from him. His +brother, John Yarrow, sent hers to him. There was some formula of +admission, he said, which she did not understand. The time was nearly +up; in one year more he would be free. Well, and then? He had been in +one of the ways that butted down on hell; how would he come back to her? +In all these years, silence. Who would bring him back? Who? They were +keen enough to put him in,--but who would stay with him, to say, "You've +slipped, boy, but stand up again"? Who would hold out a kind hand at the +gate, when he came out, with "Here's a place, Yarrow. Here's home, and +love, and God waiting; try another chance"? Who would do that? No wonder +she looked out that night, thinking there was some work forgotten. + +Martha sat there until dawn came, moving only to replenish the fire lest +the children should take cold. In all her life she never forgot that +night. Some furious instinct seemed at work within her, goading her to +be up and doing. What should she do? Why should she disquiet herself? +Her husband was safe asleep in his cell. Yet all night long she could +not keep her soul back from crying to God to save him in his deadly +peril, to bring him there at once to her, to the children. When morning +broke, cold and sweet-breathed, russet clouds, dyed with the latent +crimson day, thronging up from behind the hills, she tried to thrust +down all the pains of the night as moody fancies. They did not go. She +bathed herself, woke the children, laughed and romped with them (for +their year's holiday should not be damped); but the cold, unsufferable +weight within dragged her physically down. Trifles without, too, beset +her with vague fears. Ready was gone; for years he had not left the +house at night. The children began to look with uneasy eyes at her face: +she would betray all. She kept her fingers thrust in the breast of her +wrapper to touch the case of the picture: she could hold herself quiet +so. How cold and unmeaning the light was that day to her! and every tick +of the clock seemed to beat straight on her brain. So the morning crept +by. She grew so sure--without reason--that it was the last day of +waiting, that, when the children went out to build their snow-man, she +sat down on Jem's chest, shivering and dizzy; when the snow cracked +under a step outside, afraid to turn her head,--thinking he would be +standing in the door, with the old patient smile on his mouth, and his +hand out. But he did not come. + + * * * * * + +About half a mile on the other side of Shag's Hill there is a hotel, off +from the road, looking like an overgrown Swiss _chalet_. Not a +country-tavern by any means. Starr, a New-York caterer, keeps it, as a +sort of boarding-house for a few wealthy Pittsburg families in summer: +however, if you should stop there at any time of the year, you would be +sure of a delicate _croquette_ and a fair glass of wine. Usually, Starr +and his family are the only occupants in winter, but on this Christmas +eve there were lights in two of the upper rooms. M. Soule, the Mobile +financier, so well known through the West, with his family, had occupied +them for about a week; this evening, too, a Mr. Frazier from St. Louis +was at the house: there was a collision of trains near Beaver, and he +had left the other passengers and come over to Starr's, intending to go +on horseback up to Pittsburg in the morning. An old acquaintance of the +Soules, apparently: he had dined with them that evening, and when Starr +went up about ten o'clock to know if Mr. Soule wished to go out gunning +in the morning, he found the old man still standing with his back to the +fire, talking sharply of the Little Miami Railroad shares, then +beginning to go up. "A thorough old Shylock," thought Starr, waiting, +scanning the acrid, wizened face with its protruding black eyes, the +dried-up figure in a baggy suit of blue, a white collar turned down +nearly to the shoulders, and the gray hair knotted in a queue. He looked +at the landlord, scowling at the interruption: M. Soule, on the +contrary, spoke heartily, as if suddenly relieved of a bore. + +"Of course, of course, Starr; I'll be off by four. I'll saddle my own +horse,--no need to disturb any of your people; let them sleep on +Christmas at least, poor devils. The partridges about here are really +worth tasting," turning to Frazier, "and Starr tells me of a mythical +deer back in the hills. You see," with a bow, "it will not be possible +for me to breakfast with you. I'll see you at Pittsburg about those +snares,--say, on Monday." + +"Yes," buttoning his coat, with a furtive glance of contempt at Soule's +burly figure and eager face. Was this the far-famed Nimrod of the +money-hunt? "I'll say to Pryor you had other game on hand to-day." + +"Other game,--yes," with a sudden gravity,--pushing his hair back, and +looking in the fire, while the old man made his formal adieus to his +wife. They lasted some time, for Madame Soule was a courtly little body, +with all her quiet. + +"I must make an early start, too," said Frazier, turning again. "Glad of +the chance to take a bracing ride. Banks closed to-morrow, so no time's +lost, eh? Well, good night, Soule," perceiving that the other did not +see his outstretched hand; "don't come down; good night"; and so +shuffled down the stairs. + +"Pah!" said Soule, with a breath of relief. "His blood's like water. He +never owed a dollar, and never gave one away." + +The usual genial laugh came back to his face, as he turned to Madame +Soule and began to romp with the baby lying in her lap. He was a tall +man, about six feet high, with a handsome face, red hair, a frank blue +eye, and a natural, genuine laugh. Whatever else history may record of +him, a man of generous blood and sensitive instincts. His subdued dress, +quiet voice, suited him, were indigenous to his nature, not assumed: +even Starr could see that. Starr used afterwards, when they became the +country's gossip, to talk of little traits in these people, showing the +purity of their refinement. To this day he believes in them. How +unostentatious their kindness was: the delicate, scentless air that hung +about them: the fresh flowers always near. "Eating with iron forks, an' +not a word,--my silver being packed; their under-clothes like gossamer, +outside plainer than mine. Bah! I know the real stuff, when I see it, I +hope. No sham there!" + +When the baby was tired of its romp, Madame Soule hushed it to sleep. +She was the quietest nurse ever lived,--the quietest woman,--one whom +you scarce noted when with her, and forgot as soon as you left the room. +Nature had made her up with its most faint, few lines, and palest +coloring. Soule, however, had found out the delicate beauty, and all +else that lay beneath. There was a passionate fierceness sometimes in +his look at her, and a something else stranger,--such an expression as a +dog gives his master. She never talked but to him. + +"I thought you would have breakfasted with him, perhaps," she said, now. + +"No. I'm too much of an Arab, Judith. I can't eat a man's salt and empty +his pocket at the same time." + +"I'm glad you did not," smiling as the baby caught at his father's +seals, then glancing at the watch when Soule held it out for him. +"Nearly eleven. It is time your brother was here. See, John, how pink +its feet are, and dimpled,"--putting one to her mouth with a burst of +childish laughter. + +Soule played with a solitary white calla that stood near in a crystal +vase, gulped down a glass of wine hastily, held the delicate glass up to +see how like a golden bubble it was, then threw it down. + +"Are you sure we are right in this, child?" + +She stopped playing with the baby, but did not look up. + +"About your brother?" + +"I thought"--with the doubtful look of one who is about to essay his +strength against flint. "It has been a hard life,--Stephen's,--and +through us. What if we let him go?" anxiously. "What would be better? He +has children,"--taking the baby's hand in his. + +"Yes, children,--clods, like his wife,"--the pink lip curling. "You +should know your brother, John Yarrow. You do know the stuff that is in +him. Will his brain ever muddle down to find comfort in that +inn-keeper's daughter? Is it likely? Besides, they are dead to him now. +You have succeeded in keeping them apart." + +If she saw the dark flush in his face at this, she did not notice it, +but went on hastily. + +"Stephen never had a chance, and you know it, John. He was too weak to +break the trammels at home, as you did,--let himself be forced to preach +what his soul knew was a lie. When you tried to open the door for him to +a broader life"-- + +"I shut him in a penitentiary-cell," with a bitter laugh. "They taught +him to make shoes." + +"Was it your fault? Now that he is free, then," going on steadily, still +patting the child's cheek, "you mean to shake him off,--having used him. +Push him back into the old slough. He can make a decent living there, +cobbling, I know. Be generous, John," with a keen glance of the pale +brown eyes. "If you succeed in this thing to-morrow, take him with us +out of the United States. There is trouble coming here. Give him a +chance for education,--to know something of the world he lives in,--to +catch one or two free breaths before he dies. He has been the man in the +iron cage, since his birth, it seems to me." + +She got up as she spoke, rang the bell, and gave the baby to its nurse, +wrapping it up in a blanket or two. When she turned, her husband was +standing on the hearth-rug, a half-laugh in his eyes. + +"Judith!" + +"What is it?" + +"The plain meaning of all this is, that there is no one who can do this +foul job to-morrow but Stephen Yarrow, and for my sake it must be done; +_ergo_--Well, well! You do love me, child!" + +Her eyes filled with sudden tears; she caught hold of his arm, and clung +to it. + +"I do love you, God knows! What is Stephen Yarrow to me, soul or body? +Don't be harsh with me, John!" + +"Harsh? No, Judith," stroking the colorless curls gently; looking back; +thinking that she had done much for him; he would humor her whim, not +behave like a beast to _her_. But his brother--It would be better for +Stephen in the end. Certainly. Yet he sighed: a womanish, unable sigh. + +A year or two afterwards, (for I am not writing of a fictitious +character,) this man's frauds were discovered. They were larger and more +uniformly successful than any that had ever been perpetrated in the +States, but there was about them a subtle, dogged daring that did not +belong to Yarrow's character, and shrewd people who had known them began +to talk of this shadow of a woman who went about with him,--a quadroon, +they said,--and hinted strongly that it was she who had been the vital +power of the partnership, and Yarrow but the well-chosen tool. There are +no means of knowing the truth of the conjecture, for Yarrow escaped: she +followed him, but is dead, so their secret is safe. Fraud, however, was +but one half of his story. Soule gave like a prince,--secretly, with a +woman-like, anxious helpfulness, a passionate eagerness, as if the pain +or want of a human being were insufferable to him. In this he was alone: +the woman had no share in it. She was as cold, impervious to the +suffering of others as nothing but a snake or a selfish woman can be: +whatever muddy human feeling did ooze from her brain was for this man +only. And yet, when we think of it, she was, as they guessed, a +quadroon: maybe, under the low, waxy-skinned forehead that Yarrow's +fingers were patting that night there might have been a revengeful +consciousness of the wrongs of her race that justified to her the harm +she did. It is likely: the coarsest negroes argue in that way. God help +them! At any rate, we shall come closest to Christ's rule of justice in +trying to find a sore heart behind the vicious fingers of the woman. + +While the two stood in the pleasant light of the warm room waiting for +him, Stephen Yarrow came towards the house across the fields. It was his +shadow that his wife and Jem saw crossing Shag's Hill. He was a free man +now,--by virtue of his nickname, "quiet Stevy," in part. It startled him +as much as the jailer, when his release was sent in a year before the +time, "in consideration of his uniform good conduct." The truth was, +that M. Soule took an interest in the poor wretch, and had said a few +words in his favor to the Governor at a dinner-party the other evening, +so the release was signed the next day. Soule had called to see the man +when he came to Pittsburg, and spent an hour or two in his cell. The +next morning he was free to go, but he had stayed a week longer, making +a pair of red morocco shoes for the jailer's little girl,--idling over +them: when they were done, tying them on, himself, with a wonderful +bow-knot, and looking anxiously in her clean Dutch face to see if she +were pleased. + +"Kiss the gentleman, Meg," growled Ben. "Where's yer manners?" + +Stephen drew back sharply. The innocent baby! who lived out-of-doors! +Ben must have forgotten who _he_ was: a thief, belonging to this cell. +They were going to let him out; but what difference did that make? His +thin face grew wet with perspiration, as he walked away. Why, his very +fingers had felt too impure to him, as he tied on her shoes. He went +away an hour after, only nodding goodbye to Ben, looking down with an +odd grin at the clothes he had asked the jailer to buy for him. Ben had +chosen a greenish coat and trousers and yellow waistcoat. He did not +shake hands with him. Ben had been mixing hog-food, and the marks were +on his fingers. This was yesterday: he was going now to meet his +brother, as he requested. Well, what else was there for him to do? + +He did not look up often, as he plodded over the fields: when he did, it +hurt him somehow, this terrible wastefulness, this boundless unused air, +and stretch of room. It even pained hiss weakened eyes: so long the +oblong slip of clay running from the cell to the wall had been his +share, and the yellow patch of sky and brick chimney-top beyond. For so +many thousands, too, no more. But they were thieves, foul, like him. +Pure men this was for. Stephen looked like an old man now, in spite of +Ben's party-colored rigging: stooped and lean, his step slouched: his +head almost bald under the old fur cap. Something in the sharpened face, +too, looked as if more than eyesight had been palsied in these years of +utter solitude: the brain was dulled with sluggishly gnawing over and +over the few animal ideas they leave for prisoners' souls,--or, as +probably, thoroughly imbruted by them. Soule thought the latter. + +When the convict had finished his dull walk, he sat down on the wooden +staircase that led to his brother's rooms for half an hour, slowly +rubbing his legs, conscious of nothing but some flesh-pain, +apparently,--and when he did enter the chamber, bowed as indifferently +to Soule and his wife as though they had parted carelessly yesterday. +His brother glanced at the woman: one look would certainly be enough for +her. Poor Stephen's power? If it ever had been, its essence was long +since exhaled: there was nothing in his whole nature now but the stalest +dregs, surely? Perhaps she thought differently: she looked at the man +keenly, and then gave a quick, warning glance to her husband, as she sat +down to her sewing. Soule did not heed it as he usually did: he was +choked and sick to see what a wreck his brother really was. God help us! +to think of the time when Stephen and he were boys together, and this +was the end of it! + +"Come to the fire, old fellow!" he said, huskily. "You're blue with +cold. We used to have snows like this at home, eh?" + +The man passed the lady with the quaint, shy bow that used to be +habitual with him towards women, (he still used it to the jailer's +wife,) and held his hands over the blaze. His brother followed him: his +wife had never seen him so nervous or excited: he stood close to the +convict, smoothing his coat on the shoulder, taking off his cap. + +"Why, why! this cloth's too thin, even for summer; I--Oh, Stephen, these +are hard times,--hard! But I mean to do something for you, God knows. +Sit down, sit down, you're tired, boy," turning off, going to the +window, his hands behind him,--coming back again. "We're going to help +you, Judith and I." + +Soule did not see the look which the convict shot at the woman, when he +spoke these words; but she did,--and knew, that, however her husband +might contrive to deceive himself, he never would his brother. If +Stephen Yarrow's soul went down to any deeper depth to-night, it would +be conscious in its going. What manner of man was he? What was his wife, +or long-ago home, or his old God, now, to him? It mattered to them: for, +if he were not a tool, they were ruined. She stitched quietly at her +soft floss and flannel. Soule was sincere; let him explain what his wish +was, himself; it would be wiser for her to be silent; this man, she +remembered, had eyes that never understood a lie. + +Yarrow did not sit down; his brother stood close, leaning his unsteady +hand upon his arm. + +"I knew you would not fail me, Stephen. To-morrow will be a +turning-point in both our lives. Circumstances have conspired to help me +in my plan." + +He began to stammer. The other looked at him quietly, inquiringly. + +"You remember what I told you on Tuesday?" more hastily. "I have dealt +heavily in stocks lately; it needs one blow more, and our future is +secure for life. Yours and mine, I mean,--yours and mine, Stephen. This +paper old Frazier carries,--he Is going to New York with it. If I can +keep it out of the market for a week, my speculation is assured,--I can +realize half a million, at least. Frazier is an old man, weak: he +crosses the Narrows to-morrow morning on horseback." + +He stopped abruptly, playing with a shell on the mantel-shelf. + +"I understand," in a dry voice; "you want him robbed; and my hands came +at the right nick of time." + +"Pish! you use coarse words. A man's brain must be distempered to call +that robbery; the paper, as I said, is neither money nor its +equivalent." + +There was a silence of some moments. + +"I must have it," his eye growing fierce. "You could take it and leave +the man unhurt. I could have done it myself, but he's an old man, I want +him left unhurt. If I had done it--Well," chewing his lips, "it would +not have been convenient for him to have gone on with that story. He +knows me. Is the affair quite plain now?" + +Yarrow nodded slowly, looking in the fire. + +"If I were not strong enough to-morrow, what then?" + +"I will be with you,--near. I must have the paper. He is an old Shylock, +after all," with a desperate carelessness. "His soul would not weigh +heavily against me, if it were let out." + +Yarrow passed his hand over his face; it was colorless. Yet he looked +bewildered. The bare thought of murder was not clear to him yet. + +"Drink some wine, Stephen," said his brother, pouring out a goblet for +himself. "I carry my own drinking-apparatus. This Sherry"-- + +Yarrow tasted it, and put down the glass. + +"I was cheated in it, eh?" + +"Yes, you were." + +"Your palate was always keener than mine. I"-- + +His mouth looked blue and cold under his whiskers: then they both stood +vacantly silent, while the woman sewed. + +"Tut! we will look at the matter practically, as business-men," said +Soule at last, affecting a gruff, hearty tone, and walking about,--but +was silent there. + +The convict did not answer. No sound but the rough wind without blowing +the drifted snow and pebbles from the asphalt roof against the frosted +panes, and the angry fire of bitumen within breaking into clefts of blue +and scarlet flame, thrusting its jets of fierce light out from its cage: +impatient, it may be, of this convict, this sickly, shrivelled bit of +humanity standing there; wondering the nauseated life in his nostrils or +soul claimed yet its share of God's breath. Society had taken the man +like a root torn out of native unctuous soil, kept it in a damp cellar, +hid out the breath and light. If after a while it withered away, whose +fault was it? If there were no hand now to plant it again, do you look +for it to grow rotten, or not? One would have said Soule was a root that +had been planted in fat, loamy ground, to look at him. There was a +healthy, liberal, lazy life for you! Yet the winter sky looked gray and +dumb when he passed the window, and the fire-light broke fiercest +against his bluff figure going to and fro. No matter; something there +that would have warmed your heart to him: something genial, careless, +big-natured, from the loose red hair to the indolent, portly stride. +"Who knows? A comfortable, true-hearted, merry clergyman,--a jolly +farmer, with open house, and a bit of good racing-stock in the +stable,--if bigotry in his boyhood, and this woman, had not crossed him. +They had crossed him: there was not an atom of unpolluted nature left: +you saw the taint in every syllable he spoke. Fresh and malignant +to-night, when this tempted soul hung in the balance. + +"We're letting the matter slip too long. Something must be decided upon. +Stephen!" nervously, "wake up! You have forgotten our subject, I think." + +"No," the bald head raised out of the coat-collar in which it had sunk. +"Go on." + +Soule looked at him perplexed a moment. Was he dulled, or had he +learned in those years to shut in looks and thoughts closer prisoners +than himself? + +"It is a mere question of time," he said, a little composed. "Frazier is +an agent: shall this money accrue to me or to his employers? I have +risked all on it. I must have it at any cost." + +"At any cost?" + +"At any," boldly. "Is it any easier for me to talk of that chance than +you, Stephen?" + +"No, John. Your hands are clean," with an exhausted look. "I know that. +You had a kind Irish heart. What money you made with one hand you flung +away with the other." + +Soule blushed like a woman. + +"No matter," beating some dust off his boot. "But for Frazier,--I've +talked that over with Judith, and--I don't value human life as you do: +it may Lave been my residence in the South. It matters little how a man +dies, so he lives right. This Frazier, if he dies to defend his package, +would do a nobler deed than in any of his dime-scraping days. For me, my +part is not robbery. The paper is neither specie nor a draft." + +His tongue swung fluently now, for it had convinced himself. + +"There is but a night left to decide. What will you do, Stephen?" + +He put his hand on the green coat with its gaudy buttons, and leaned +against his brother as they used to go arms over shoulders to school. +Soule's big throat was full of tears; he had never felt so full of +sorrowful pity as in this the foulest purpose of his life. Unselfish it +seemed to him. O God! what a hard life Stephen's had been! This would +cure him: two or three sea-voyages, a winter in Florence, would freshen +him a little, maybe,--but not much. + +"Eh? What will you do, old fellow?" striking his shoulder. "This is the +last night." + +"I know that. I have been waiting for it all my life." + +He put his red handkerchief up to his mouth to conceal the face, as if +its meaning were growing too plain. Soule looked at him fixedly a +moment, then, taking him by the button, began tapping off his sentences +on his breast. + +"I'll state the case. I'll be plain. Stephen, you want food; you want +clothes; you"-- + +"Is that all I want?" facing him. + +The woman started, as she saw his face fully, and his look, for the +first time. A quiet blue eye, unutterably kind and sad: a slow, +compelling face, that would look on his life barely, day after day, year +after year, never drowsing over its sore or pain until he had wrung its +full meaning out to the last dregs. + +"All you want? Clothing? food?" stammered Soule,--something in the face +having stopped his garrulous breath. "I did not say that, Stephen." + +The wind struck sharper on the rattling panes; the yellow and brown +heats grew deeper. One saw how it was then. No beggar turned from God so +empty-handed as this man to-day. His place in the world slipped: his +chance gone: sick, sinking; his brain mad for knowledge: his hands +stretched out for work: no man to give it to him: whatever God he had +lost to him: the thief's smell, he thought, on every breath he drew, +every rag of clothes he wore. Hundreds of convicts leave our +prison-doors with souls as hungry and near death as this. + +"I have lost something--since I went in there," he said, jerking his +thumb over his shoulder. "I do not think it will ever come back." + +"No?" + +Soule put his big hand to his face mechanically. + +"Don't say that, boy! I know--The world has gone on, it has left you +behind--You"-- + +He choked,--could not go on: he would have put half the strength and +life in himself into Yarrow's lank little body that moment, if he could. +There was a something else lost, different from all these, of which they +both thought, but they did not speak of it. The convict looked out into +the night. Beyond the square patch of window and that near dark, how +full the world was of happy homes getting ready for Christmas! children +and happy wives! Soule understood. + +"I don't say I can bring you back what you have lost, Stephen. I offer +you the best I can. You're not an old man,--barely thirty: you must have +years to acquire fresh bone and muscle. Set your brain to work, +meanwhile. Give it a chance." + +"It never had one," said the convict, with a queer, faint smile. + +"Hillo! that looks like old times!" brightening up. "No, it never had. +Do you think I forget our alley-house with its three rooms? the +carpentering by day, and the arithmetic by night? the sweltering, sultry +Sunday mornings in church, and the afternoons sniffling over the +catechism among the rain-butts in the back-yard? Do you remember the +preachers, the travelling agents, that put up with us? how they snarled +at other churches, and helped themselves out of the shop, as if to be a +man of God implied a mean beggar? I don't say my father was a hypocrite +when he made you a colporteur, and so one of them; but"-- + +He paused. Even in this frothy-brained fellow, his religion or his doubt +lay deeper than all. His face grew dark. + +"I tell you, if there is one thing I loathe, it is the God and His day +that were taught to me when I was a child: joyless, hard, cruel. +Fire--humph!--and brimstone for all but a few hundred. I remember. Well, +I don't know yet if there is any better," with a vague look. "A man +shifts for himself in the next chance as well as now, I suppose. Did you +believe what you preached, Stephen?" with an abrupt change. "God! how +you used to writhe under it at first!" + +"They forced me into it," said Yarrow. "I was only a boy. You remember +that I was only a boy,--just out of the shop. The more uneducated a man +was in our church-pulpit then, the better. _I_ knew nothing, John," +appealingly. "When I preached about foreordination and hell-fire, it was +in coarse slang: I knew that. I used to think there might be a different +God and books and another life farther out in the world, if I could only +get at it. I never was strong, and they had forced me into it; and when +you came to me to help you with your plan, I wanted to get out, and"-- + +"You did help me,"--chafing the limp fingers. "That was my first start, +that Pesson note. I owe that to you, Stephen." + +"I have paid for it," looking him steadily in the eye, some unexpected +manliness rising up, making his tone bitter and marrowy. "I paid for it. +But no matter for that. But now you come again. I have had time to think +over these things in yonder, John." + +Soule dropped his hand, drew back, and was silent a moment. + +"Let it be so. But did you think what you would do, if you refused your +aid to me? Have you found work? or a God to preach?" + +Something in these last words took Yarrow's sudden strength away. He did +not answer for a moment. + +"Work?" feebly. "No,--I haven't heard of any work. As for a God"-- + +"Well, then, what are your purposes?" coldly. + +Another silence. + +"I don't know. I never was worth much," he gasped out at last, stooping, +and pulling at his shoestrings. + +"And now"--said Soule. + +"There's no need for you to say that!" with a sharp cry. "I don't forget +that I have slipped,--that it's too late,--I don't forget." + +His hands jerked at his coat-fronts in a wild, dazed way. + +"Stephen!" + +The woman rose, and let in the air. + +"I thank you. I'm not sick." + +Soule turned away. He could not meet the look on the pinched +convict-face,--the soul of the man crying out for God or his brother, +something to help. There was a silence for a few moments. + +"You will come with me, Stephen," quietly: then, after a pause, "It is +for life. There is but little time left to decide." + +Was there no help? Had the true God no messenger? The winter-wind +blowing through the window filled with fine frost wet his face, lifted +the smothering off his lungs. His eyes grew clear, as his full sense +returned after a while: seeing only at first, it so happened, the fire +in its square frame; and thinking only of that, as the mind always +drowsily absorbs the nearest trifle after a spasm of pain. A bed of pale +red coals now, furred over with white and pearl-colored ashes. It was a +long time since he had seen any open fire,--years, he believed. Where +was it that there had been a fire just like that, with the ashes like +moss over the heat,--and on a night in winter, too, the wind rattling +the panes? Where was it? While Soule stood waiting for his answer, his +mind was drifting back, like that of a man in his dotage, through its +dull, muddy thoughts, after that one silly memory. He struck on it at +last. A year or two after he was married. In the bedroom. Martha was +sitting by the fire, with the old yellow dog beside her: she was trying +to ride the baby on his neck,--he was the clumsiest brute! He came in +and stopped to see the fun; he noticed the fire then, how cozy and warm +it all was: outside it was hailing, a gust shaking the house. He had +been doing a bit of carpentering,--he did like to go back to the old +trade! This was a wicker chair for the baby,--he had made it in the +stable for a surprise: the girl always liked surprises and such +nonsense. He put it down with a flourish, and he remembered how she +laughed, and Ready growled, and how he and she both got on their knees +to seat the youngster in, and tie him with his bandanna handkerchief. So +silly that all was! When they were on the floor there, and had Master +Jem fastened in, be remembered how she suddenly turned, and put her arms +about his neck, as shyly as when they were first married, and kissed +him. "Only God knows how good you are to me, Stephen," she said. There +were tears in her eyes.--Yarrow passed his hand over his forehead. Did +ever a thought come into your mind like a fresh, clean air into a +stove-heated, foul room? or like the first hearty, living call of +Greatheart through the dungeons of Giant Despair? + +"You do not answer me, Stephen?" said his brother. "You will go with +me?" + +Yarrow's head was more erect, his eyes less glazed. + +"It may be. The chance for me's over in the world, I think. I may as +well serve you. And yet"-- + +"What?" + +"Give me time to think. I want out-of-doors. It's close here. I'll meet +you in the morning." + +Soule caught his wife's uneasy glance. + +"What is this, Stephen?" + +"Nothing," looking dully out into the night. + +"Then"-- + +"There's some you said were dead,"--as if no one were speaking, with the +same dull look. "Or lost: I think they're not dead. If there might be a +chance yet! If I could but see Martha and the little chaps, it would +save me, John Yarrow, no matter what they'd learned to think of me. +They're mine,--my little chaps. She said the boys should never know. She +said that of her own free will." + +"Is it likely she could keep her word?" said Soule, sneeringly. + +"Why, why, she loved me, John,"--a moist color and smile coming out on +his face. "There's a little thing I minded just now that--Yes, Martha +kept her word." + +He tapped with his fingers thoughtfully on the mantel-shelf, the smile +lingering yet on his face. The woman's woollen sewing fell from her +hand, and she spoke for the first time. Her tone had a harsh, metallic +twang in it: Yarrow turned curiously, as he heard it. + +"What could they be to you, if you found them? They have forgotten you. +In five years they have not sent you a message." + +"No,--I know, Madam." + +Even that did not hurt him. His face kindled slowly,--still turned to +the fire, as if it were telling him some old story: looking to her at +last, steadfast and manly, like a man who has healthy common-sense +dominant in his head, and an unselfish love at work in his heart. Such a +one is not far from the kingdom of heaven. + +"It seems to me as if there might be a chance--yet. It's a long time. +But Martha loved me, Madam. You don't know--I think I'll go, John. It's +close here, 's I said. I'll meet you at the far bridge by dawn, and let +you know." + +"It is your only chance," said Soule, roughly, as he followed him to the +door. + +He was a ruined man, if he were balked in this. + +"You do not know how the world meets a returned felon, Stephen; you"-- + +"Let me go," feebly, putting his hand up to his chin in the old fashion. + +"I think I know that. I--I've thought of that a good deal. But it seemed +to me as if there might be a chance"; and so, without a word of +farewell, went stumbling down the stairs. + +He had given a wistful look at the fire, as he turned away. Perhaps that +would comfort him. God surely has "many voices in the world, and none of +them is without its signification." + +An hour before dawn, Yarrow found the place in which he had appointed to +meet his brother. The night had been dark, hailing at intervals; he had +gone tramping up and down the hills and stubble-fields, through snow and +half-frozen mud-gullies, hardly conscious of what he did. The night +seemed long to him now, looking back. He found a burnt sycamore-stump +and got up on it, shivered awhile, felt his shirt, which was wet to the +skin, then took off his shoes and cleared the lumps of slush out of +them. There was something horrible to him in this unbroken silence and +dark and wet cold: he had been in his hot cell so long, the frost stung +him differently from other men, the icy thaw was wetter. It was a narrow +cut in the hills where he was, a bridle-road leading back and running +zigzag for some miles until it returned to the railroad-track. A lonely, +unfrequented place: Frazier would take this by-path; Soule had chosen it +well to meet him. There was a rickety bridge crossing a hill-stream a +few rods beyond. Yarrow pushed the dripping cap off his forehead, and +looked around. No light nor life on any side: even in the heavens yawned +that breathless, uncolored silence that precedes a winter's dawn. He +could see the Ohio through the gully: why, it used to be a broad, +full-breasted river, glancing all over with light, loaded with steamers +and rafts going down to the Mississippi. He had gone down once, rafting, +with lumber, and a jolly three weeks' float they had of it. Now it was a +solid, shapeless mass of blocks of ice and mud. Winter? yes, but the +world was altered somehow, the very river seemed struck with death. His +teeth chattered; he began to try to rub some warmth into his rheumatic +legs and arms; tried to bring back the fancy of last night about Martha +and the fire. But that was a long way off: there were all these years' +mastering memories to fade it out, you know, and besides, a diseased +habit of desponding. The world was wide to him, cowering out from a +cell: where were Martha and the little chaps lost in it? John said they +were dead. Where should he turn now? There was an aguish pain in his +spine that blinded him: since yesterday he had eaten nothing,--he had no +money to buy a meal; he was a felon,--who would give him work? "There's +some things certain in the world," he muttered. + +"That was silly last night,--silly. And yet,--if there could have been a +chance!" + +He looked up steadily into the sickly, discolored sky: nothing there but +the fog from these swamps. He had not wished so much that he could hear +of Martha and the children, when he looked up, as of something else +that he needed more. Even the foulest and most careless soul that God +ever made has some moments when it grows homesick, conscious of the +awful vacuum below its life, the Eternal Arm not being there. Yarrow was +neither foul nor careless. All his life, most in those years in the +prison, he had been hungry for Something to rest on, to own him. +Sometimes, when his evil behavior had seemed vilest to him, he had felt +himself trembling on the verge of a great forgiveness. But he could see +so little of the sky in the cell there,--only that three-cornered patch: +he had a fancy, that, if once he were out in the world that He made,--in +the free air,--that, if there were a God, he would find Him out. He had +not found Him. + +He sat on the stump awhile, his hands over his eyes, then got down +slowly, buttoning his soggy waistcoat and coat. + +"I don't see as there's a chance," he said, dully. "I was a fool to +think there was any better God than the one that"--digging his toe into +the frozen pools. "It's all ruled. I'm not one of the elect." + +That was all. After that, he stood waiting for his brother. + +"I'll help him. He's the best I know." + +Even the faint sigh choked before it rose to his lips,--both manhood and +hope were so dead with inanition; yet a life's failure went in it. + +While he stood waiting, Martha Yarrow sat by her kitchen-fire crying to +God to help him; but He knew what things were needed before she asked +Him. + +Soule, with his gun and game-bag, had been coursing over the hills three +miles back, since four o'clock. He had bagged a squirrel or two, enough +to suffice for his morning's work, and now, his piece unloaded, came +stealthily towards the place of rendezvous. He had little hope that +Stephen would help him: he had made up his mind to go through the affair +alone. If _he_ did it, that involved--Pah! what was in a word? Men died +every day. He had quite resolved: Judith and he had talked the matter +over all night. But if Frazier were a younger man, and could fight for +it! Perhaps he was armed: Soule's face flashed: he stooped and broke the +trigger of his gun, and then went on with a much less heavy step. They +would be more even now. He wanted to reach the bridge by dawn, and meet +his brother. If he refused to help him, he would send him away, and wait +for Frazier alone. About nine o'clock he might expect him. + +Frazier, however, had changed his plan. He told Starr the night before, +that, as M. Soule would not breakfast with him, he had concluded to rise +early, and be off by dawn. "If there's nothing to be done about the +Miami shares, there is no use wasting time here," he thought. So, while +Stephen Yarrow waited near the bridge, the smoke was curling out of the +kitchen-chimney where the cook was making ready the cashier's beefsteak, +and the old man was crawling out of bed. He could hear Starr's children +in the room overhead making an uproar over their stockings. "Christmas +morning, by the way! I must take some knick-knack back to Totty." (As if +his trunk were not always filled with things for Totty, and his shirts +crammed into the lid, when he came home!) "Something for mother, too," +as he pulled on his socks. "Gloves, now, hey? A dozen pair. I wish I had +asked Madame Soule what size she wore, last night. Their hands are about +the same size. Mother always had a tidy little paw. So will Totty, eh?" +And so finished dressing, thinking Soule had a neat little wife, but +insipid. + +So Christmas morning came to all of them, the day when, a long time ago, +One who had made a good happy world came back to find and save that +which was lost in it. In these few hundred years had He forgotten the +way of finding? + +Stephen Yarrow had fallen into an uneasy doze by the road-side. He had +done with thinking, when he said, "I'll go with John." The way through +life seemed to open clear, exactly the same as it had been before. There +was an end of it. There might have been a chance, but there was none. He +drowsed off into a brutish slumber. Something like a kiss woke him. It +was only the morning air. A clear, sweet-breathed dawn, as we said, that +seemed somehow to have caught a scent of far-off harvest-farms, in lands +where it was not winter. Warm brown clouds yonder with a glow like wine +in them, the splendor of the coming day hinting of itself through. + +"I must have slept," said Yarrow, taking off his cap to shake it dry. + +There were a thousand shining points on the dingy fur. He rubbed his +heavy eyes and looked about him. The misty rime of the night had frozen +on hills and woods and river,--frosted the whole earth in one +glittering, delicate sheath. The first level bar of sunlight put into +the nostrils of the dead world of the night before the breath of life. +Once in a lifetime, maybe, the sight meets a man's eyes which Yarrow saw +that morning. The very clear blue of the air thrilled with electric +vigor; from the rounded rose-colored summits of the western hills to the +tiniest ire-cased grass-spear at his feet, the land flashed back +unnumbered soft and splendid dyes to heaven; the hemlock-forests near +had grouped themselves into glittering temples, mosques, churches, +whatever form in which men have tried to please God by worshipping Him; +the smoke from the distant village floated up in a constant silver and +violet vapor like an incense-breath. Neither was it a dead morning. The +far-off tinkle of cowbells reached him now and then, the cheery crow +from one farm-yard to another, even children's voices calling, and at +last a slow, sweet chime of churchbells. + +"They told me it was Christmas morning," he said, pulling off the old +cap again. + +Yarrow's chin had sunk on his breast, as his eager eyes drank all this +morning in. He breathed short and quick, like a child before whom some +incredible pleasure flashes open. + +"Well," with a long breath, putting on his cap, "I didn't think of aught +like this, yonder. God help us!" + +He didn't know why he smiled or rubbed his hands cheerfully. His sleep +had refreshed him, maybe. But it seemed as if the great beauty and +tenderness of the world were for him, this morning,--as if some great +Power stretched out its arms to him, and spoke through it. + +"I'll not be silly again," straightening himself, and buttoning his +coat; but before the words were spoken, his head had sunk again, and he +stood quiet. + +Something in all this brought Martha and the little chaps before him, he +did not know why, but his heart ached with a sharper pain than ever, +that made his eyes wet with tears. + +"If there should be a chance!"--lifting his hands to the deep of blue in +the east. + +This was the free air in which he used to think he could find God. + +"What if it were true that He was there,--loving, not hating, taking +care of Martha, and"-- + +He stopped, catching the word. + +"No. I've slipped. I don't forget." + +He did forget. He did not remember that he was a thief, standing there. +Whatever substance had been in him at his birth trustworthy rose up now +to meet the voice of God that called to him aloud. His lank jaws grew +red, his eyes a deeper blue, a look in them which his mother may have +seen the like of years and years ago; he beat with his knuckles on his +breast nervously. + +"If there could be a chance!" he said, unceasingly; "if I might try +again!" + +There was a crackling in the snow-laden bushes upon the hill: he looked +back, and saw his brother coming from the other side, his game-bag over +his shoulder, stooping to avoid notice, his eyes fixed intently on some +object on the road beyond. It was an old man on horseback, jogging +slowly up the path, whistling as he came. Yarrow shuddered with a sudden +horror. + +"He means murder! That is Frazier. You could not do it to-day, John! +To-day!" as if Soule could hear him. + +He was between his brother and his victim. The old man came slower, the +hill being steep, looking at the frosted trees, and seeing neither +Yarrow nor the burly figure crouching, tiger-like, among the bushes. One +moment, and he would have passed the bend of the hill,--Soule could +reach him. + +"God help me!" whispered Yarrow, and threw himself forward, pushing the +horse back on his haunches. "Go back! Ten steps farther, and it's too +late! Back, I say!" + +The old man gasped. + +"Why! what! a slip? an' water-gully?" + +"No matter," leading the horse, trembling from head to foot. + +Up on the hill there was a sharp break, a heavy footstep on a dead root. +Would John go back or come on? he was strong enough to master both. +Yarrow's throat choked, but he led the horse steadily down the path, +deaf to Frazier's questions. + +"Do not draw rein until you reach the station," giving him the bridle at +last. + +The old man looked back: he had seen the figure dimly. + +"If there's danger, I'll not leave you to meet it alone, my friend," +fumbling in his breast for a weapon. + +Yarrow stamped impatiently. + +"Put spurs to your horse!"--wiping his mouth; "it will be yet too late!" + +Frazier gave a glance at his face, and obeyed him. A moment more, and he +was out of sight. Yarrow watched him, and then slowly turned, and raised +his head. Soule had come down, and was standing close beside him, +leaning on his gun. It was the last time the brothers ever faced each +other, and their natures, as God made them, came out bare in that look: +Yarrow's, under all, was the tougher-fibred of the two. John's eyes +fell. + +"Stephen, this will hurt me. I"-- + +"I thought it was well done,"--his hand going uncertainly to his mouth. + +"Well, well! you have chosen,"--after a pause. + +"Good bye." + +"Good bye, boy." + +They held each other's hands for a minute; then Soule turned off, and +strode down the hill. He loosened his cravat as he went, and took a long +breath of relief. + +"It was a vile job! But"--his face much troubled. But his wife heard the +story without a word, nor ever alluded to it afterwards. She was human, +like the rest of us. + +A moment after he was gone, a curious change took place in the convict, +a reaction,--the excitement being gone. The pain and exposure and hunger +had room to tell now on body and soul. He stretched himself out on a +drift of snow, drunken with sleep, yet every nerve quivering and +conscious, trying to catch another echo of Soule's step. He was his +brother, he was all he had; it was terrible to be thus alone in the +world: going back to the time when they worked in the shop together. He +raised his head even, and called him,--"Jack!"--once or twice, as he +used to then. It was too late. Such a generous, bull-headed fellow he +was then, taking his own way, and being led at last. He was gone now, +and forever. He was all he had. + +The day was out broadly now,--a thorough winter's day, cold and clear, +the frosty air sending a glow through your blood. It sent none into +Yarrow's thinned veins: he was too far gone with all these many years. +The place, as I said, was a lonely one, niched between hills, yet near +enough main roads for him to hear sounds from them: people calling to +each other, about Christmas often; carriages rolling by; great Conestoga +wagons, with their dozens of tinkling bells, and the driver singing; +dogs and children chasing each other through the snow. The big world +was awake and busy and glad, but it passed him by. + +"For this man that might have been it has as much use as for a bit of +cold victuals thrown into the street. And the worst is," with a bitter +smile, "I know it, to my heart's core." + +The morning passed by, as he lay there, growing colder, his brain +duller. + +"I did not think this coat was so thin," he would mutter, as he tried to +pull it over him. + +If he got up, where should he go? What use, eh? It was warmer in the +snow than walking about. Conscious at last only of a metallic taste in +his mouth, a weakness creeping closer to his heart every moment, and a +dull wonder if there could yet be a chance. It seemed very far away now. +And Martha and the little chaps--Oh, well! + +Some hours may have passed as he lay there, and sleep came; for I fancy +it was a dream that brought the final sharp thought into his brain. He +dragged himself up on one elbow, the old queer smile on his lips. + +"I will try," he said. + +It took him some time to make his way out into the main road, but he did +it at last, straightening his wet hair under the old cap. + +"It's so like a dog to die that way! I'll try, just once, how the world +looks when I face it." + +He sat down outside of a blacksmith's forge, the only building in sight, +on the pump-trough, and looked wearily about. His head fell now and then +on his breast from weakness. + +"It won't be a very long trial. I'll not beg for food, and I'm not equal +to much work just now,"--with the same grim half-smile. + +No one was in sight but the blacksmith and some crony, looking over a +newspaper. Inside. They nodded, when they saw him, and said,-- + +"Hillo!" + +"Hillo!" said Yarrow. + +Then they went on with their paper. That was the only sound for a long +time. Some farmers passed after a while, giving him good-morning, in +country-fashion. A trifle, but it was warm, heartsome: he had put the +world on trial, you know, and he was not very far from death. Men more +soured than Yarrow have been surprised to find it was God's world, with +God's own heart, warm and kindly, speaking through every human heart in +it, if they touched them right. About noon, the blacksmith's children +brought him his dinner in a tin bucket, leaving it inside. When they +came out, one freckled baby-girl came up to Yarrow. + +"Tie my shoe," she said, putting up one foot, peremptorily. "Are you +hungry?" looking at him curiously, after he had done it, at the same +time holding up a warm seed-cake she was eating to his mouth. He was +ashamed that the spicy smile tempted him to take it. He put it away, and +seated her on his foot. + +"Let me ride you plough-boy fashion," he said, trotting her gently for a +minute. + +Her father passed them. + +"You must pardon me," said Yarrow, with a bow. "I used to ride my boy +so, and"-- + +"Eh? Yes. Sudy's a good girl. You've lost your little boy, now?" looking +in Yarrow's face. + +"Yes, I've lost him." + +The blacksmith stood silent a moment, then went in. Soon after a tall +man rode up on a gray horse; it had cast a shoe, and while the smith +went to work within, the rider sat down by Yarrow on the trough, and +began to talk of the weather, politics, etc., in a quiet, pleasant way, +making a joke now and then. He had a thin face, with a scraggy fringe of +yellow hair and whisker about it, and a gray, penetrating eye. The shoe +was on presently, and mounting, with a touch of his hat to Yarrow, he +rode off. The convict hesitated a moment, then called to him. + +"I have a word to say to you," coming up, and putting his hand on the +horse's mane. + +The man glanced at him, then jumped down. + +"Well, my friend?" + +"You're a clergyman?" + +"Yes." + +"So was I once. If you had known, just now, that I was a felon two days +ago released from the penitentiary, what would you have said to me? +Guilty, when I went in, remember. A thief." + +The man was silent, looking in Yarrow's face. Then he put his hand on +his arm. + +"Shall I tell you?" + +"Go on." + +"I would have said, that, if ever you preach God's truth again, you will +have learned a deeper lesson than I." + +If he meant to startle the man's soul into life, he had done it. He a +teacher, who hardly knew if that good God lived! + +"Let me go," he cried, breaking loose from the other's hand. + +"No. I can help you. For God's sake tell me who you are." + +But Yarrow left him, and went down the road, hiding, when he tried to +pursue him,--sitting close behind a pile of lumber. He was there when +found: so tired that the last hour and the last years began to seem like +dreams. Something cold roused him, nozzling at his throat. An old yellow +dog, its eyes burning. + +"Why, Ready," he said, faintly, "have you come?" + +"Come home," said the dog's eyes, speaking out what the whole day had +tried to say: "they're waiting for you; they've been waiting always; +home's there, and love's there, and the good God's there, and it's +Christmas day. Come home!" + +Yarrow struggled up, and put his arms about the dog's neck: kissed him +with all the hunger for love smothered in these many years. + +"He don't know I'm a thief," he thought. + +Ready bit angrily at coat and trousers. + +"Be a man, and come home." + +Yarrow understood. He caught his breath, as he went along, holding by +the fence now and then. + +"It's the chance!" he said. "And Martha! It's Martha and the little +chaps!" + +But he was not sure. He was yet so near to the place where it would have +been forever too late. If Ready saw that with his wary eye, turned now +and then, as he trotted before,--if he had any terror in his dumb soul, +(or whatever you choose to call it,) or any mad joy, or desire to go +clean daft with rollicking in the snow at what he had done, he put it +off to another season, and kept a stern face on his captive. But Yarrow +watched it; it was the first home-face of them all. + +"Be a man," it said. "Let the thief go. Home's before you, and love, and +years of hard work for the God you did not know." + +So they went on together. They came at last to the house,--home. He grew +blind then, and stopped at the gate; but the dog went slower, and waited +for him to follow, pushed the door open softly, and, when he went in, +laid down in his old place, and put his paws over his face. + +When Martha Yarrow heard the step at last, she got up. But seeing how it +was with him, she only put her arms quietly about his neck, and said,-- + +"I've waited so long, my husband!" + +That was all. + +He lay in his old bed that evening; he made her open the door, feeling +strong enough to look at them now, Jem and Tom and Catty, in the warm, +well-lighted room, with all its little Christmas gayeties. They had +known many happy holidays, but none like this: coming in on tiptoe to +look at the white, sad face on the pillow, and to say, under their +breath, "It's father." They had waited so long for him. When he heard +them, the closed eyes always opened anxiously, and looked at them: kind +eyes, full of a more tender, wishful love than even mother's. They came +in only now and then, but Martha he would not let go from him, held her +hand all day. Ready had made his way up on the bed and lay over his +feet. + +"That's right, old Truepenny!" he said. + +They laughed at that: he had not forgotten the old name. When Martha +looked at the old yellow dog, she felt her eyes fill with tears. + +"God did not want a messenger," she thought: as if He ever did! + +That evening, while he lay with her head on his breast, as she sat by +the bed, he watched the boys a long time. + +"Martha," he said, at last, "you said that they should never know. Did +you keep your word?" + +"I kept it, Stephen." + +He was quiet a long while after that, and then he said,-- + +"Some day I will tell them. It's all clearer to me now. If ever I find +the good God, I'll teach Him to my boys out of my own life. They'll not +love me less." + +He did not talk much that day; even to her he could not say that which +was in his heart; but it seemed to him there was One who heard and +understood,--looking out, after all was quiet that night, into the far +depth of the silent sky, and going over his whole wretched life down to +that bitterest word of all, as if he had found a hearer more patient, +more tender than either wife or child. + +"Is there any use to try?" he cried. "I was a thief." + +Then, in the silence, came to him the memory of the old question,-- + +"Hath no man condemned thee?" + +He put his hands over his face:-- + +"No man, Lord!" + +And the answer came for all time:-- + +"Neither do I condemn thee. Go, and sin no more." + + + * * * * * + +MEMORIAE POSITUM + +R.G.S. + +1863. + + + I. + + Beneath the trees, + My life-long friends in this dear spot, + Sad now for eyes that see them not, + I hear the autumnal breeze + Wake the sear leaves to sigh for gladness gone, + Whispering hoarse presage of oblivion,-- + Hear, restless as the seas, + Time's grim feet rustling through the withered grace + Of many a spreading realm and strong-stemmed race, + Even as my own through these. + + Why make we moan + For loss that doth enrich us yet + With upward yearnings of regret? + Bleaker than unmossed stone + Our lives were but for this immortal gain + Of unstilled longing and inspiring pain! + As thrills of long-hushed tone + Live in the viol, so our souls grow fine + With keen vibrations from the touch divine + Of noble natures gone. + + 'T were indiscreet + To vex the shy and sacred grief + With harsh obtrusions of relief; + Yet, Verse, with noiseless feet, + Go whisper, "_This_ death hath far choicer ends + Than slowly to impearl in hearts of friends; + These obsequies 'tis meet + Not to seclude in closets of the heart, + But, church-like, with wide door-ways, to impart + Even to the heedless street." + + II. + + Brave, good, and true, + I see him stand before me now, + And read again on that clear brow, + Where victory's signal flew, + _How sweet were life!_ Yet, by the mouth firm-set, + And look made up for Duty's utmost debt, + I could divine he knew + That death within the sulphurous hostile lines, + In the mere wreck of nobly pitched designs, + Plucks heart's-ease, and not rue. + + Happy their end + Who vanish down life's evening stream + Placid as swans that drift in dream + Round the next river-bend! + Happy long life, with honor at the close, + Friends' painless tears, the softened thought of foes! + And yet, like him, to spend + All at a gush, keeping our first faith sure + From mid-life's doubt and eld's contentment poor, + What more could Fortune send? + + Right in the van, + On the red rampart's slippery swell, + With heart that beat a charge, he fell + Forward, as fits a man: + But the high soul burns on to light men's feet + Where death for noble ends makes dying sweet; + His life her crescent's span + Orbs full with share in their undarkening days + Who ever climbed the battailous steeps of praise + Since valor's praise began. + + III. + + His life's expense + Hath won for him coeval youth + With the immaculate prime of Truth; + While we, who make pretence + At living on, and wake and eat and sleep, + And life's stale trick by repetition keep, + Our fickle permanence + (A poor leaf-shadow on a brook, whose play + Of busy idlesse ceases with our day) + Is the mere cheat of sense. + + We bide our chance, + Unhappy, and make terms with Fate + A little more to let us wait: + He leads for aye the advance, + Hope's forlorn-hopes that plant the desperate good + For nobler Earths and days of manlier mood; + Our wall of circumstance + Cleared at a bound, he flashes o'er the fight, + A saintly shape of fame, to cheer the right + And steel each wavering glance. + + I write of one, + While with dim eyes I think of three: + Who weeps not others fair and brave as he? + Ah, when the fight is won, + Dear Land, whom triflers now make bold to scorn, + (Thee! from whose forehead Earth awaits her morn!) + How nobler shall the sun + Flame in thy sky, how braver breathe thy air, + That thou bred'st children who for thee could dare + And die as thine have done! + + * * * * * + +MY BOOK. + + +The trouble about biographies is that by the time they are written the +person is dead. You have heard of him remotely. You know that he sang a +world's songs, founded great empires, won brilliant victories, did +heroes' work; but you do not know the little tender touches of his life, +the things that bring him into near kinship with humanity, and set him +by the household hearth without unclasping the diadem from his brow, +until he is dead, and it is too late forevermore. Then with vague +restlessness you visit the brook in which his trout-line drooped, you +pluck a leaf from the elm that shaded his regal head, you walk in the +graveyard that holds in its bosom his silent dust, only to feel with +unavailing regret that no sunshine of his presence can gleam upon you. +The life that stirred in his voice, shone in his eye, and fortressed +itself in his unconscious bearing, can make to you no revelation. It is +departed, none knows whither. He is as much a part of the past as if he +had tended docks for Abraham on the plains of Mamre. + +This, when biographies are at their best. Generally, they are at their +worst. Generally, they don't know the things you wish to learn, and when +they do, they don't tell them. They give you statistics, facts, +reflections, eulogies, dissertations; but what you hunger and thirst +after is the man's inner life. Of what use is it to know what a man +does, unless you know what made him do it? This you can seldom learn +from memoirs. Look at the numerous brood that followed in the wake of +Shelley's fame. Every one gives you, not Shelley, but himself, served up +in Shelley sauce. Think of your own experience: do you not know that the +vital facts of your life are hermetically sealed? Do you not know that +you are a world within a world, whose history and geography may be +summed up in that phrase which used to make the interior of Africa the +most delightful spot in the whole atlas,--"Unexplored Region"? One +person may have started an expedition here, and another there. Here one +may have struck a river-course, and there one may have looked down into +a valley-depth, and all may have brought away their golden grain; but +the one has not followed the river to its source, nor the other wandered +bewilderingly through the valley-lands, and none have traversed the +Field of the Cloth of Gold. So the geographies are all alike: +boundaries, capital, chief towns, rivers, mountains, and lakes. And what +is true of you is doubtless true of all. Faith is not to be put in +biographies. They can tell what your name is, and what was your +grandfather's coat of arms, when you were born, where you lived, and how +you died,--though, if they are no more accurate after you are dead than +they are before, their statements will hardly come under the head of +"reliable intelligence." But even if they are accurate, what then? +Suppose you were born in Pikesville: a thousand people drew their first +breath there, and not one of them was like you in character or fate. You +were born in some year of our Lord. Thousands upon thousands date from +the same year, and each went his own way,-- + + "One to long darkness and the frozen tide, + One to the peaceful sea!" + +All this is nothing and accounts for nothing, yet this is all. Whether +you were susceptible of calmness or deeply turbulent,--whether you were +amiable, or only amiably disposed,--whether you were inwardly blest and +only superficially unrestful, safely moored even while tossing on an +unquiet sea,--what you thought, what you hoped, how you felt, yes, and +how you lived and loved and hated, they do not know and cannot tell. A +biographer may be ever so conscientious, but he stands on the outside of +the circle of his subject, and his view will lack symmetry. There is but +one who, from his position in the centre, is competent to give a fair +and full picture, and that is your own self. A few may possess +imagination, and so partially atone for the disadvantages of position; +but, ten hundred thousand to one, they will not have a chance at your +life. You must die knowing that you are at the mercy of whoever can hold +a pen. + +Unless you take time by the forelock and write your biography yourself! +Then you will be sure to do no harm, inasmuch as no one is obliged to +read your narrative; and you may do much good, because, if any one does +read it and become interested in you, he will have the pleasant +consciousness of living in the same world with you. When he drives +through your street, he can put his head out of the carriage-window and +stand a chance of seeing you just coming in at the front gate. Also, if +you write your biography yourself, you can have your choice as to what +shall go in and what shall stay out. You can make a discreet selection +of your letters, giving the go-by to that especial one in which you +rather--is there such a word as spooneyly?--offered yourself to your +wife. Every word was as good as the Bank of England to her, for to her +you were a lover, a knight, a great brown-bearded angel, and all +metaphors, however violent, fell upon good ground. But to the people who +read your life you will be a trader, a lawyer, a shoemaker, who pays his +butcher's bills and looks after the main chance, and the metaphors, +emptied of their fire, but retaining their form, will seem incongruous, +not to say ridiculous. I do not say that your wife's lover and knight +and angel are not a higher and a better, yes, and a truer you, than the +world's trader and lawyer; still your love-letters will probably do +better in the bosom of the love-lettered than on a bookseller's shelves. +Besides these advantages, there is another in prae-humous publication. If +you wait for your biography till you are dead, it is extremely probable +you will lose it altogether. The world has so much to see to ahead that +it can hardly spare a glance over its shoulder to take note of what is +behind. Take the note yourself and make sure of it You will then know +where you are, and be master of the situation. + +I purpose, therefore, to write the history of my life, from my entrance +upon it down to a period which is within the memory of men still living. +In so doing, I shall not be careful to trace out that common ground +which may be supposed to underlie all lives, but only indicate those +features which serve to distinguish one from another. Everybody is +christened, cuts his teeth, and eats bread and molasses. Silently will +we, therefore, infer the bread and molasses, and swiftly stride in +seven-league boots from mountain-peak to mountain-peak. + +I was born of parents who, though not poor, were respectable, and I had +also the additional distinction of being a precocious child. I differed +from most precocious children, however, in not dying young, and that +opportunity, once let slip, is now forever gone. I believe the +precocious children who do not die young develop into idiots. My family +have never been without well-grounded fears in that line. + +Nothing of any importance happened to me after I was born till I grew up +and wrote a book. Indeed, I believe I may say even that never happened, +for I did not write a book. Rather a book came to pass,--somewhat like +the goldsmithery of Aaron, who threw the ear-rings into the fire, and +"there came out this calf"! I went out one day alone, as was my wont, in +an open boat, and drifted beyond sight of land. I had heard that +shipwrecked mariners sometimes throw out a bottle of papers to give +posterity a clue to their fate. I threw out a bottle of papers, less out +of regard to posterity than to myself. They floated into a +printing-press, stiffened themselves, and came forth a book, whereon I +sailed safely ashore, grateful. Alas, in another confusion will there be +another resource? + +It is this book which is to form the first, and quite possibly the last +chapter of my life and sufferings, for I don't suppose anything will +ever happen to me again. To be sure, in the book I have just been +reading a girl marries her groom, leaves him, rejects two lovers, kills +her husband, accepts one lover, loses him, marries the second, first +husband comes to light again and is shot, marries second husband over +again, and goes a-journeying with second husband and first lover, first +cousin and two children, in the South of France, before she is +twenty-two years old. But in my country girls think themselves extremely +well off for adventures with one marriage and no murder. But then the +girls in my country do not have the murderous black eyes which shine so +in romances. + +My book being fairly wound up and set a-going, of course you wish to +know what came of it. Don't pretend you don't care, for you know you do. +Only don't look at me too closely, or you will disconcert me. Veil now +and then your intent eyes, or my story will surely droop under their +steadfastness. Look sometimes into yonder sunset sky and the beautiful +reticulations drawn darkly against its glowing sheets of color. You +will none the less listen, and I shall all the more enjoy. + +You have read much about the anxieties, the forebodings, the +anticipatory tremors of new authors. So have I, but I never felt +them,--not a single foreboding. I was delighted to write a book, and it +never occurred to me that everybody would not be just as delighted to +read it. The first time my book weighed on me was one morning when a +thin, meagre little letter came to me, which turned out to be only a +card bearing the laconic inscription,-- + +"Twelve copies 'New Sun' sent by express, with the compliments of the +Publishers." + +The "New Sun" was my book. I put on my hat and walked straightway up to +the hole in the rock, about a mile round the corner, where the +expressman always leaves my parcels, and took up the package to bring +home. It was very heavy. I balanced it first on one arm and then on the +other, until, as the poet has it,-- + + "Both were nigh to breaking." + +Then I lifted it by the cords, but they cut my fingers. Then I +remembered the natural law, that internal atmospheric pressure prevents +any consciousness of the enormous external pressure exerted by an +atmosphere forty-five miles thick, and applied the law, saying, "These +books have all been upon the inside of my head, of course I shall not +feel them on the outside." So I put the package on my head, and walked +on, making believe I was in a gymnasium, keeping a sharp watch fore and +aft, and considering the distant rumbling of wheels a signal for +lowering my colors. In my country people do not carry their burdens on +their heads, nor would they be likely to account for me on the +principles of Natural Philosophy. I might have been apprehended as a +lunatic, but for my timely caution. Thus the "New Suns" came home and +were speedily divested of their dun wrappings. I lingered over them, +admiring their clear type, their fragrance, their crispness. I opened +them wide, because they would open so frankly. I delighted myself with +their fair, fine smoothness. And then I began to read. I am ashamed to +say I never read a more interesting book! + +How very true it is that suffering is about equally distributed, after +all! If you don't have your troubles spread out, you have them in a +lump. The furies may seem to be held in abeyance, but they will only lay +on their lashes all the harder when they do come. My unnatural calmness +was succeeded by a storm of consternation. I pass over the few days that +followed. If you ever put yourself into a pillory in the night just to +see how it seemed, and then found yourself fastened there in good +earnest, and day dawning, and all the marketmen and shopkeepers up and +stirring, and everybody coming by in a few minutes, you will not need to +ask how I felt. When you write a book, you are quite alone and your pen +is entirely private; but when it comes to you so unquestionably printed, +and inexorable, and out-of-doors--Ah, me! It did not seem like a book at +all,--not at all the abstraction and impersonality that were intended, +but my proper self bevelled and (with another syllable inserted) walking +out into the world with malice aforethought. + +But though a writer is before critics, did it never occur to you that +the critics are just as much before the writers? A critic's talk about a +book is just as truly a revelation of the critic as the writer's talk in +the book is a revelation of the writer. One man gives you an opinion +that implies attention. He does not go into the depths of the matter, +but he tells you honestly what he likes and what he does not like. This +is good. This is precisely what you wish to know, and will indirectly +help you. Another, from the steps of a throne, in a few sentences, it +may be, or a few columns, classifies you, interprets you not only to the +world, but to yourself; and for this you are immeasurably glad and +grateful. It is neither praise nor censure that you value, but +recognition. Let a writer but feel that a critic reaches into the +_arcana_ of his thought, and no assent is too hearty, nor any dissent +too severe. Another glances up from his eager political strife, and with +the sincerest kindness pens you a nice little sugar-plum, chiefly flour +and water, but flavored with sugar. Thank you! Another flounders in a +wash of words, holding in solution the faintest salt of sense. Heaven +help him! Another dips his spear-point in poison and lets fly. Do you +not see that these people are an open book? Do you not read here the +tranquillity of a self-poised life, the Inner sight of clairvoyance, the +bitterness of disappointed hopes and unsuccessful plans, the amiability +that is not founded upon strength, the pettiness that puts pique above +principle, the frankness that scorns affectation, the comprehensiveness +that embraces all things in its vision, and commands not only +acquiescence, but allegiance, the great-heartedness that by virtue of +its own magnetism attracts all that is good and annihilates all that is +bad? + +When my poor little ewe-lamb went out into the world, I did not fear any +shearing he might encounter in America. I don't mind my own countrymen. +I like them, but I am not afraid of them. Two elements go to make up a +book: matter and manner. The former, of course, is its author's own. He +maintains it against all comers. Opposition does not terrify him, for it +is a mere difference of opinion. One is just as likely to be right as +another, and in a hundred years probably we shall all be found wrong +together. But manner can be judged by a fixed standard. Bad English is +bad English this very day, whatever you or I think about it; and bad +English is a bad thing. When I know it, I avoid it, except under extreme +temptation; but the trouble is, I don't know it. I am continually +learning that words in certain relations are misplaced where I never +suspected the smallest derangement, and, no doubt, there are many +dislocations which I have not yet discovered. So far as my own people +are concerned, I don't take this to heart,--because my countryman very +likely perpetrates three barbarisms in correcting my one. He knows this +thing that I did not, but then I know something else that he does not, +and so keep the balance true. Moreover, my America, if I don't use good +English, whose fault is it? You have had me from the beginning. The raw +material was as good as the average; why did you not work it up better? +I went to the best schools you gave me. I learned everything I was set +to learn. You can nowhere find a teacher who will tell you that I ever +evaded a lesson. I was greedy of gain. I spared neither time nor toil. I +lost no opportunity, and here I am, just as good as you made me. So, if +there is any one to blame, it is you, for not giving me better +facilities. The Children's Aid Society warned New York a dozen years ago +that a "dangerous class of untaught" pagans was growing up in her +streets; but she did not think it worth while to arouse herself and +educate them, and one morning she found them burning her house over her +head. You too, my country, have been repeatedly warned of your dangerous +class, a class whom, with malice aforethought, you leave half educated, +and, from ignorance, idle,--and now comes Nemesis! New York had a mob, +and you have--me. + +The real ogre was those terrible Englishmen. I was brought up on the +British Quarterlies. Their high and mighty ways entered into my soul. I +never did have any courage or independence, to begin with; and when they +condescended to tread our shores with such lordly airs, I should have +been only too glad to burn incense for a propitiation. So impressive was +their loftiness, their haughty patronage, that their supercilious sneers +at our provincialism were heart-rending, I came to look at everything +with an eye to English judgment. It was not so much whether a book or a +custom were good as whether it would be likely to meet with English +approval. To be the object of their displeasure was a calamity, and at +even a growl from their dreadful throats I was ready to die of terror. +And this slavish subservience lasted beyond the school-room. + +But it so happened that by the time my book was set afloat, the +Reviewers had lost their fangs. The war came, and they went over to the +enemy, every one: "North British," "London Quarterly," "Edinburgh," and +even the liberal "Westminster," had but one tone. "Blackwood" was seized +with an evil spirit, and wallowed foaming. The English people may be all +right at the heart. Their slow, but sure and sturdy sense may bring them +at length within hailing distance of the truth. Noble men among them, +Mill and Cairnes and Smith and their kind, made their voices heard in +the midst of opposing din, even through the very pages which had rung +with Southern cheers: but it is not the English people who make up the +Quarterly Reviews. It was not the voice of Mill or Cairnes that answered +first across the waters to the boom of Liberty's guns. When our blood +was hot and our hearts high, and sneers were ten thousand times harder +to bear than blows, we found sneers in plenty where we looked for +God-speed. It may not have been the English heart, only the English +head. But we could not get at the English heart, and the English head +was continually thrust against ours. The fires may have burned warmly on +many a hearth, but we could not see them. The only light that shot +athwart the waters was from the high watch-towers, and it was lurid. +This wrought a change. The English may take on airs in literature; for +our little leisure leaves us short repose, and it would be strange +indeed, if their civilization of centuries had not left its marks in a +finer culture and a deeper thought. But when, leaving literature and +coming down into the fastnesses of life, they gave us hatred for love, +and scorn for reverence,--when they sneered at that which we held +sacred, and reviled that which we counted honorable,--when, green-eyed +and gloating, they saw through their glasses not only darkly, but +disjointed and askance,--when devotion became to them fanaticism, and +love of liberty was lust of power,--did virtue go out of them, or had it +never been in? This, at least, was wrought: when one part of the temple +of our reverence was undermined, the whole structure came down. They who +showed themselves so morally weak cannot maintain even the intellectual +or aesthetic superiority which they have assumed. Henceforth their blame +or praise is not what it was hitherto. When a man rails at my country, +it is little that he rails at me. If they have called the master of the +house Beelzebub, they of his household would as soon be called little +flies as anything else. + +(As a matter of fact, I don't suppose my little venture has ever been +heard of across the ocean. You think it is very presumptuous in me ever +to have thought of it; but I did not think of it. I was only afraid of +it. Suppose the British Quarterly has not vision microscopic enough to +discern you; you like to know how you would feel in a certain +contingency, even if it should never happen. Besides, so many strange +things arise every day, that incongruity seems to have lost its force. +Nothing surprises. Cause and effect are continually dissolving +partnership. Merit and reward do not hunt in couples. If the Tycoon +should send a deputation requesting me to come over at once and settle +matters between himself and his Daimios, I should simply tell him that I +had not the time, but I should not be surprised.) + +But if we only did reverence England as once we reverenced her, this is +what I would say:--"Upon my country do not visit my sins. Upon my +country's fame let me fasten no blot. Wherever I am wrong, inelegant, +inaccurate, provincial, visit all your reprobation upon me,-- + + 'Me, me: adsum, qui feci; in me convertite ferrum, + O Angli! mea fraus omnis,'-- + +upon me as a writer, not upon me as an American. Do not regard me as the +exponent of American culture, or as anywhere near the high-water mark of +American letters. I am not one of the select few, but of the promiscuous +many. Born and bred in a farm-yard, and pattering about among the hens +and geese and calves and lambs when other children were learning to talk +like gentlemen and scholars, what can you expect of me? It is a wonder +that I am as tolerable as I am. It is a sign of the greatness of my +country, that I, who, if I lived in England, should be scattering my +_h_-s in wild confusion, and asking whether Americans were black or +copper-colored, am able in this land of free schools and equal rights to +straighten out my verbs and keep my nouns intact. If you will see the +highest, look on the heights. If you look at me, look at me where I am: +not among those whose infancy was cradled in leisure and luxury, whose +life from the beginning has been carefully attuned to the finest issues, +who for purity of language and dignity of mental bearing may throw down +the gauntlet to the proudest nation in the world,--but among those +children of the soil who take its color, who share its qualities, who +give out its fragrance, who love it and lay their hearts to it and grow +with it, rocky and rugged, yet cherish, it may be hoped, its little +dimples of verdure here and there,--who show not what, with closest +cultivation, it might become, but what, under the broad skies and the +free winds and the common dews and showers, it is. Our conservatories +can boast hues as gorgeous, forms as stately, texture as fine as yours; +but don't look for camellias in a cornfield." + +Does this seem a little inconsistent with what I was saying just now to +my homemade critics? Very likely. But truth is many-sided, and one side +you may present at home and the other abroad, according to the +exigencies of the case. You may lecture your country in one breath, and +defend her in the next, without being inconsistent. + +Oh, England, England! what shall recompense us for our Lost Leader? +Great and Mighty One, from whose brow no hand but thine own could ever +have plucked the crown! Beautiful land, sacred with the ashes of our +sires, radiant with the victories of the past, brilliant with hopes for +the future,-- + + "O Love, I have loved you! O my soul, + I have lost you!" + +Ah, if these two fatal years might be blotted out! If we could stand +once again where we stood on that October day when the young Prince, +whose gentle blood commanded our attention, and whose gentle ways won +our hearts, bore back to his mother-land and ours the benedictions of a +people! Upon that pale, that white-faced shore I shall one day look, but +woe is me for the bitter memories that will spring up for the love and +loyalty so ruthlessly rent away! + +So I borrow your ears, my countrymen, and tell you why it is impossible +to defer to you as much as one would like. Partly, it is because you +talk so wide of the mark. It may not be practicable or desirable to say +much; but so much the more ought what you do say to be to the point. A +good carpenter needs not to vindicate his skill by hammering away hour +after hour on the same shingle; but while he does strike, he hits the +nail on the head. Moreover, you show by your remarks that you have +such--such--well, _stupid_ is what I mean, but I am afraid it would not +be polite to employ that word, so I merely give you the meaning, and +leave you to choose a word to your liking--ideas about the nature, the +facts, and the objects of writing. Look at it a moment. With your gray +goose-quill you sit, O Rhadamanthus, and to your waiting audience +pleasantly enough affirm that I have "taken Benlomond for my model." But +when I happen to remember that the larger part of my book was written +and printed not only before I had ever met Benlomond, but before he had +ever been heard of in this country at least, what faith can I have in +your sagacity? And when, remembering those remarkable coincidences +which sometimes surprise and baffle us, which in science make Adams and +Le Verrier discover the same planet at the same time without knowing +anything of each other's calculations, and which in any department seem +to indicate that a great tide sweeps over humanity, bearing us on its +bosom whithersoever it will, so that + + "God's puppets, best and worst, + Are we; there is no last nor first,"-- + +I institute an examination of Benlomond to discover those generic or +specific peculiarities which are supposed to have made their mark on me, +why, I find for resemblance, that the situations, look you, is both +alike. There is a river in Macedon; there is also, moreover, a river in +Monmouth: 'tis as like as my fingers to my fingers, and there is salmons +in both! + +Have I taken Benlomond for my model? But why not Josephus and Ricardo +and Francois and Michel, any and all who have poured their fancies and +feelings into this mould? Why select the last disciple and ignore the +first apostle? Many prophets have been in Israel whom I resemble as +much, to say the least, as this Benlomond. Is it not, my friend, that, +in the multitude of your words and ways, you have not found time to +renew your acquaintance with these ancient worthies, and so their +features have somewhat faded from your memory? but Benlomond came in but +yesterday, and because he is a newspaper-topic, him you know; and +because at the first blush you running can read that there is a river in +Monmouth and also a river in Macedon, and salmons in both,--'tis as like +as my fingers to my fingers, and Monmouth was built on the model of +Macedon! Ah, my eagle-eyes, Judea, too, had its Jordan, and Damascus its +Abana and Pharpar, and little Massachusetts its Merrimac, which, + + "poet-tuned, + Goes singing down his meadows." + +But Judea did not type Damascus. The Merrimac bears not the sign of +Abana, nor was Abana born of Jordan: all, obedient to the word of the +Lord, trickled forth from their springs among the hills, and wander +down, one through his vine-land, one through his olive-groves, and one +to meet the roaring of the mill-wheel's rage. + +I lay no claim to originality. Uttering feebly, but only + + "The thoughts that arise in me," + +I know full well that the soil has been tilled and the seed scattered of +all that is worthy in the world. Where giants have wrestled, it is not +for pigmies to boast their prowess. Where the gods have trodden, let +mortals walk unsandalled. The lowliest of their learners, I sit at the +feet of the masters. To me, as to all the world, the great and the good +of the olden times have left their legacy, and the monarchs of to-day +have scattered blessing. Upon me, as upon all, have their grateful +showers descended. My brow have they crowned with their goodness, and on +my life have their paths dropped fatness. Dreaming under their vines and +fig-trees, I have gathered in my lap and garnered in my heart their +mellow fruits. + + "With them I take delight in weal + And seek relief in woe, + And while I understand and feel + How much to them I owe, + My cheeks have often been bedewed + With tears of heartfelt gratitude." + +But, though with gladness and joy I render unto Caesar the things that +are Caesar's, he shall not have that which does not belong to him. +Neither Benlomond, nor any living man, nor any one man, living or dead, +has any claim to my fealty, be it worth much or little. If I cannot go +in to the banquet on Olympus by the bidding of the master of the feast, +I will forswear ambrosia altogether, and to the end of my days feed on +millet with the peasants in the Vale of Tempe. + +Then you sail on another tack, smile and shake your head and say, "It is +all very well, but it has not the element of immortality. Observe the +difference between this writer and Charles Lamb. One is ginger-pop beer +that foams and froths and is gone, while the other is the sound Madeira +that will be better fifty years hence than now." + +Well, what of it? Do you mean to say, that, because a man has no +argosies sailing in from, the isles of Eden, freighted with the juices +of the tropics, he shall not brew hops in his own cellar? Because you +will have none but the vintages of dead centuries, shall not the people +delight their hearts with new wine? Because you are an epicure, shall +there be no more cakes and ale? Go to! It is a happy fate to be a poet's +Falernian, old and mellow, sealed in _amphorae_, to be crowned with +linden-garlands and the late rose. But for all earth's acres there are +few Sabine farms, whither poet, sage, and statesman come to lose in the +murmur of Bandusian founts the din of faction and of strife; and even +there it is not always Caecuban or Calenian, neither Formian nor +Falernian, but the _vile Sabinum_ in common cups and wreathed with +simple myrtle, that bubbles up its welcome. So, since there must be +lighter draughts, or many a poor man go thirsty, we who are but the +ginger-pop of life may well rejoice, remembering that ginger-pop is +nourishing and tonic,--that thousands of weary wayfarers who could never +know the taste of the costly brands, and who go sadly and wearily, will +be fleeter of foot and gladder of soul because of its humble and +evanescent foam. + +Ginger-pop beer is it that you scoff? Verily, you do an unconsidered +deed. When one remembers all the liquids, medicinal, soporific, insipid, +poisonous, which flood the throat of humanity, one may deem himself a +favorite of Fortune to be placed so high in the catalogue. Though upon +his lowliness gleam down the rosy and purple lights of rare old wines +aloft, yet from his altitude he can look below upon a profane crowd in +thick array of depth immeasurable, and rejoice that he is not stagnant +water nor exasperated vinegar nor disappointed buttermilk. Nay, I am not +only content, but exultant. It may be an ignoble satisfaction, yet I +believe I would rather flash and fade in one moment of happy daylight +than be corked and cob-webbed for fifty years in the dungeons of an +unsunned cellar, with a remote possibility, indeed, of coming up from my +incarceration to moisten the lips of beauty or loosen the tongue of +eloquence, but with a far surer prospect of but adding one more to the +potations of the glutton and wine-bibber. + +And what, after all, is this oblivion which you flaunt so threateningly? +Even if I do encounter it, no misfortune will happen unto me but such as +is common unto men. Of all the souls of this generation, the number that +will sift through the meshes of the years is infinitesimately small. The +overwhelming majority of names will turn out to be chaff, and be blown +away. I shall be forgotten, but I shall be forgotten in very good +company. The greater part of my kin-folk and acquaintance, your own +self, my critic, and your family and friends, will go down in the same +darkness which ingulfs me. When I am dead, I shall be no deader than the +rest of you, and I shall have been a great deal more alive while I _was_ +alive. + +I am not afraid to be forgotten. Posterity will have its own +soothsayers, and somewhere among the stars, I trust, I shall be living a +life so intense and complete that I shall never once think to lament +that I am not mulling on a bookshelf down here. Besides, if you insist +upon it, I am not going to be forgotten. You don't know anything more +about it than I do. Knowledge is not always prescience. "This will never +do," ruled Jeffrey from his judgment-seat. "Order reigns in Warsaw," +pronounced Sebastiani. "I have now gone through the Bible," chuckled Tom +Paine, "as a man would go through a wood with an axe on his shoulder, +and fell trees. Here they lie, and the priests, if they can, may replant +them. They may, perhaps, stick them in the ground, but they will never +make them grow." But Wordsworth to-day is reverenced by the nation that +could barb no arrow sharp enough to shoot at him. The evening sky that +bends above Warsaw is red with the watch-fires of her old warfare +bursting anew from their smouldering ashes. And the oaks that doughty +Paine fancied himself to have levelled show not so much as a scratch +upon their sturdy trunks. Nay, I do not forget that even Charles Lamb +was fiercely belabored by his own generation. So, when upon me you pass +sentence of speedy death, I assure you that I shall live a thousand +years, and there is nobody in the world who can demonstrate that I am in +the wrong. Even if after a while I disappear, it proves nothing; you +cannot tell whether I am really submerged, or only lying in the trough +of the sea to mount the crest of the coming wave. Till the thousandth +year proves me moribund, I shall stoutly maintain that I am immortal. + +Concerning Charles Lamb the less you say the better. It is easy to build +up a reputation for sagacity by offering incense to the gods who are +already shrined. Of course there is a difference between us. A pretty +rout you would make, if there were not. But, for all your adoration of +Charles Lamb, I dare say he would have liked me a great deal better than +he would you. Would? Why should I intrench myself in hypothesis? _Does_ +he not? When I knock at the door of the Inner Temple, does he not fling +it wide open, and does not his face welcome me? When the red fire glows +on the hearth, have I not sat far into the night, Bridget sitting beside +me with heaven's own light shining in her beautiful eyes, and above her +dear head the white gleam of guardian angels hovering tenderly? And when +Elia arches his brows, and lowers at me his storm-clouds, which I do not +mind for the sunshine that will not be hidden behind them,--when in the +sweet, play of June lights and shadows, and the golden haze of +Indian-summer, I forget even the kingly words that go ringing through +the land, waking the mountain-echo,--when I look out upon this gray +afternoon, and see no leaden skies, no pinched and sullen fields, but +green paths, gem-bestrewn from autumn's jewelled hand, and warm light +glinting through the apple-trees under which he stood that soft October +day, till + + "Conscious seems the frozen sod + And beechen slope whereon he trod,"-- + +O Alexander, get out of my sunshine with your bugbear of a Charles Lamb! +"I have heard you for some time with patience. I have been cool,--quite +cool; but don't put me in a frenzy!" + +Well, friend, when you have satisfied yourself with the limiting, you +begin on the descriptive adjectives, and pronounce me egotistical. +Certainly. I should be unlike all others of my race, if I were not. It +is a wise and merciful arrangement of Providence, that every one is to +himself the centre of the universe. What a fatal world would this be, if +it were otherwise! When one thinks what a collection of insignificances +we are, how dispensable the most useful of us is to everybody, how +little there is in any of us to make any one care about us, and of how +small importance it is to others what becomes of us,--when one thinks +that even this round earth is so small, that, if it should fall into the +arms of the sun, the sun would just open his mouth and swallow it whole, +and nobody ever suspect it, (_vide_ Tyndall on Heat,) one must see that +this self-love, self-care, and self-interest play a most important part +in the Divine Economy. If one did not keep himself afloat, he would +surely go under. As it is, no matter how disagreeable a person is, he +likes himself,--no matter how uninteresting, he is interested in +himself. Everybody, you, my critic, as well, likes to talk about +himself, if he can get other people to listen; and so long as I can get +several thousand people to listen to me, I shall keep talking, you may +be sure, and so would you,--and if you don't, it is only because you +can't! You are just as egotistical as I am, only you won't own it +frankly, as I do. True, I might escape censure by using such +circumlocutions as "the writer," "the author," or still more cumbrously +by dressing out some lay figure, calling it Frederic or Frederika, and +then, like the Delphic priestesses, uttering my sentiments through its +mouth, for the space of a folio novel; but at bottom it would be my own +self all the while; and besides, in order to get at the thing I wanted +to say, I should have to detain you on a thousand things that I did not +care about, but which would be necessary as links, because, when you +have made a man or a woman, you must do, something with him. You can't +leave him standing, without any visible means of support. One person +writes a novel of four hundred pages to convince you in a roundabout +way, through thirty different characters, that a certain law, or the +mode of administering it, is unjust. He does not mention himself, but +makes his men and women speak his arguments. Another man writes a +treatise of forty pages and gives you his views out of his own mouth. +But he does not put himself into his treatise any more than the other +into his novel. For my part, I think the use of "I" is the shortest and +simplest way of launching one's opinions. Even a _we_ bulges out into +twice the space that _I_ requires, besides seeming to try to evade +responsibility. Better say "_I_" straight out,--"_I_," responsible for +my words here and elsewhere, as they used to say in Congress under the +old _regime_. Besides being the most brave, "I" is also the most modest. +It delivers your opinions to the world through a perfectly transparent +medium. "I" has no relations. It has no consciousness. It is a pure +abstraction. It detains you not a moment from the subject. "The writer" +does. It brings up ideas entirely detached from the theme, and is +therefore impertinent. All you are after is the thing that is thought. +It is not of the smallest consequence who thought it. You may be certain +that it is not always the people who use "I" the most freely who think +most about themselves; and if you are offended, consider whether it may +not be owing to a certain morbidness of your taste as much as to egotism +in the offender. + +Remember, also, that, when a writer talks of himself, he is not +necessarily speaking of his own definite John Smith-ship, that does the +marketing and pays the taxes and is a useful member of society. Not at +all. It is himself as one unit of the great sum of mankind. He means +himself, not as an isolated individual, but as a part of humanity. His +narration is pertinent, because it relates to the human family. He +brings forward a part of the common property. He does not touch that +which pertains exclusively to himself. His self is self-created. His +imaginative may have as large a share in the person as his descriptive +powers. You don't understand me precisely? Sorry for you. + +You think me arrogant. You would think so a great deal more, if you knew +me better. At heart I believe I incline very much to the opinion of a +charming friend of mine, that, "after all, nobody in the world is of +much account but Susy and me,"--only in my formula I leave out Susy. +Don't, therefore, think solely of the arrogance that is revealed, but +think also of the masses concealed, and in consideration of the greater +repression pardon the great expression. It is not the persons who sin +the least, but those who overcome the strongest temptations, who are the +most virtuous. People endowed by Nature with a sweet humility do not +deserve half the credit for their lovely character that those who are +naturally selfish and arrogant often deserve for being no more +disagreeable than they are. Yes, it must be confessed, you are right in +attributing arrogance,--though, after this meek confession and +repentance, if you do not forgive me freely and fully, for past and +future, your secondary will be a great deal worse than my original +sin;--but you never would accuse me of "an arrogance that disdains +docility," if you had seen the mean-spirited way in which I sit down by +the side of an editor and let him _ram-page_ over my manuscript. Out +fly my best thoughts, my finest figures, my sharpest epigrams,--without +chloroform,--and I give no sign. I have heard that successful authors +can always have everything their own way. I must be the greatest--or the +smallest--failure of the age. + +"It will be much better to omit this," says the High Inquisitor, turning +the thumb-screw. + +"No," I writhe. "Take everything else, but leave that." + +"I am glad to see that you agree with me," he responds, with +Mephistophelian courtesy; and away it goes, and I say nothing, thankful +that enough is left to hobble in at all. + +"Revealing somewhat of the arrogance of success," you comment, directed +by your Evil Genius, upon that especial chapter which was written in a +gully of the Valley of Humiliation, when I was gasping under an AEtna of +rejected manuscripts,--when there was not a respectable newspaper in the +country by which I had not been "declined with thanks,"--when, in the +desperation of my determination, I had recourse to bribery, and sent an +editor a dollar with the manuscript, to pay him for the fifteen minutes +it would take to read it. (_Mem._ I never heard from editor, manuscript, +or dollar.) No, it may be arrogance, but it is not the arrogance of +success. Whatever it was, it was in the grain. And, to look at it in +another light, I cannot have been "spoiled by the indulgent praise which +my early efforts received," because, on the other hand, I have always +been praised,-- + + "Like to the Pontic monarch of old days, + I fed on poisons, till they had no power, + But were a kind of nutriment." + +The earliest event I remember is being presented with two cents by one +of the "Committee" visiting the school. And if I could stand two cents +in my tender infancy, don't you suppose I can stand your penny-a-lining +now I am grown up? I may have been spoiled, or I may not have been worth +much to begin with; but the mischief was all done before you ever heard +of me. Confine yourself to facts: dismiss conjectures. State actions: +shun motives. Give results: avoid causes, if you would insure confidence +in your sagacity. + +But all this will I forgive and forget, if you will not tell me to stop +writing. _That_ I cannot and will not do. You may iterate and reiterate, +that the public will tire of me. I am sorry for the public, but it is +strong and will be easily rested. Sorry? No, I am not; I am glad. I +should like to pay back a part of the weariness which the public has +inflicted on me in the shape of lectures, lessons, sermons, speeches, +customs, fashions. Why should it have the monopoly of fatiguing? +Minorities have their rights as well as majorities. The spout of a +tea-kettle is not to be compared, in point of bulk, to the tea-kettle, +but it puts in a claim for an equal depth of water, and Nature +acknowledges the claim. I cannot think of reining in yet. I have but +just begun. And everything is so interesting. Nothing is isolated. +Nothing is insignificant. Everything you touch thrills. It does not seem +to matter much what you look at: only look long enough, and a life, its +life, starts out. You see that it has causes and consequences, +dependencies, bearings, and all manner of social interests; and before +you know it, you have become involved in those interests and are one of +the family. For the time, you stake all on that issue, and fight to the +death. As soon as that is decided, and you stop to take breath a moment, +something else comes equally interesting and seeming equally important, +and again your lance is in rest. When it comes to the _quantities_ of +morals, there isn't much difference between one thing and another. And +you ask me to fold my hands and sit still! Not I. One of my youthful +maxims was, "Do something, if it's mischief"; and I intend to follow it, +especially the condition. I promise to do the best I can, but I shall do +it. I will never write for the sake of writing, but I will say my say. +I have not been rumbling underground all my life, to find a volcano at +last, and then let it be choked up after a single eruption. There are +rows of blocks standing around the walls of my workshop, waiting to be +chiselled. They won't be Apollos,--but even Puck is a Robin Goodfellow, +since, + + "In one night, ere glimpse of morn, + His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn + That ten day-laborers could not end." + +And I shall not confine myself to my sphere. I hate my sphere. I like +everything that is outside of it,--or, better still, my sphere rounds +out infinitely into space. _Nihil humani a me alienum puto._ I was born +into the whole world. I am monarch of all I survey. Wherever I see +symptoms of a pie, thither shall my fingers travel. Wherever a windmill +flaps, it shall go hard but I will have a tilt at it. I shall not wait +till I know what I am talking about. If I did, I never should talk at +all. It is a well-known principle in educational science, that the +surest way to learn anything is to teach it. How fast would Geology get +on, if its professors talked only of what they knew? Planting their feet +firmly on facts, they feel about in all directions for theories. By +carefully noting, publishing, comparing, discussing their uncertainties, +they presently arrive at a certainty. Horace might advocate nine years' +delay. He was building for himself a monument that should defy the +rolling years. He was setting to work in cool blood to compass +immortality, and a little time, more or less, made no difference. Apollo +and Bacchus could afford to wait. Beautiful daughters of beautiful +mothers will exist to the world's end, and their praises will always be +in order. But when, unmindful of the next generation, which will have +its books and its memories, though you are unread and forgotten, mindful +only of this generation which groans and travails in pain, you look on +suffering that you yearn to assuage, danger of which you long to warn, +sadness which you would fain dispel, burdens which you would strive, +though ever so little, to lighten, delay, even for things so desirable +as complete knowledge and perfect polish, becomes not only absurd, but +impossible. Better shoot into the cavern, even if you don't know in what +precise part of it the dragon lies coiled. The flash of your powder may +reveal his whereabouts to a surer marksman. A transient immortality is +of no importance; it is of importance that hearts be purified, homes +made happy, paths cleared, clouds dispelled. Is that ignoble? Very well. +But the noblest way to benefit posterity is to serve the present +age,--to serve it by doing one's best, indeed, but by doing it now, not +waiting for some distant day when one can do it better. A writer +deserves no pardon for careless or hurried writing. As much time as he +has mental ability to spend on it, so much time he should devote to it. +But then speed it on its way. Shut it up for a term of years, and you +will perhaps have a manuscript that says _begin_ where it used to say +_commence_, but in the mean time all the people whom you wished to save +have died of a broken heart,--or lived with one, which is still worse. +Besides, even for improvement, it is better to publish your paper than +to keep it in the drawer. There, all the amendments it can receive will +come from the few feeble advances in knowledge which you may be so +fortunate as to make. But print it and every one immediately gives you +especial attention and the benefit of his judgment. If you should happen +to serve in the right wing of Orthodoxy, you will have the inestimable +boon of the freest criticism from the left wing. And it is the religious +newspapers for not mincing matters. Between Jew and Gentile hostility is +the normal condition of things; and is carried on peaceably enough; but +when Jew meets Jew, then comes the tug of war! These people obey to the +letter the Apostolic injunction, and confess your faults one to another +with a relish that is marvellous to behold, and which must furnish to +the unbelieving world a lively commentary on the old text, "Behold how +these Christians love one another!" When their own list of your +shortcomings is exhausted, ten to one they will take up the parable of +somebody else; and if little Johnny Horner sitting in the corner of his +sanctum has not room in his crowded columns for the whole pie in which +his brother Horner has served you up, never fear but he will put in his +thumb and pick out the plums to enliven his feast withal. + +No. I shall keep on writing,--hit, if I can, miss, if I must, but shoot +any way. There is a great deal of firing that kills no men and breaches +no walls, but it worries the enemy. John Brown did not in the least know +what he was doing. His definite attempt was a fatal failure; but the +great and guilty conspiracy behind, of which he saw nothing, was smitten +to the heart under his random blows; his sixteen white men and five +negroes, flung blindly and recklessly against the ramparts of Slavery, +were but the precursors of that great host, black and white, which has +since gone down, organized and intelligent, to tread the wine-press of +the wrath of God. + +I fear I am committing the rhetorical error of comparing small things +with great; but, if Virgil could bring in the Cyclops and their +thunderbolts to illustrate his bees, and Demetrius Phalereus justify it, +you will hardly count it a capital offence in me,--and I don't much care +if you do, if I can only convince you that I am not going to be silent +because I don't know the Alpha and Omega of things. I don't pretend to +be logical, or consistent, or coherent. Nature is not. A forest of oaks +burns down or is cut down, and do oaks spring again? No. Pines. Logic, +is baffled, but the land is bettered. A field of corn is planted, and +Nature does not set herself to protect it, but sends a flock of crows to +devour it; the farmers grumble, but the crows are saved alive. Freezing +water contracts awhile, and then without any provocation turns right +about face and expands; if your pitcher stands in the way, so much the +worse for your pitcher, but the little fishes are grateful; and with all +her whims and inconsequences, Nature gets on from year to year without +once failing of seed-time and harvest, cold or heat. How is it with you +and your logic, you men who have been to college and discovered what you +are talking about? You who discuss politics and decide affairs, are you +not continually accusing each other of sophistry, inconsistency, and +shying away from the point? Take up any political or religious +newspaper, and see, if any faith is to be put in testimony, how +deficient in logic are all these logic-mongers,--how all the learned and +logical are accused by other learned and logical of false assumptions, +of invalid reasoning, of foregone conclusions, of pride and prejudice +and passion. One would say that the result of your profound researches +was only to make you more intensely illogical than you could otherwise +be. + + "As skilful divers to the bottom fall + Swifter than they who cannot swim at all, + So in the sea of sophisms, to my thinking. + You have a strange alacrity in sinking." + +(_Ego et Dorset fecimus!_) + +Sure I am my humble ability in the way of unreason can never compass +fallacies so stupendous as those which you attribute to each other; and +if this is all the result of your logic, I will none of it, initialed to +possess at least the advantage, that, when I write nonsense, I know it +is nonsense, while you write it and think it sense. But your thinking so +does not make it so, and you need not rule me out of court on the +strength of it. I acknowledge, in the domain of letters, none but +Squatter Sovereignty. In literature, unlike morals, might makes right. +If I think you are cultivating the soil to its utmost capacity, I shall +not meddle; but if it seems to me that you are letting it lie fallow +while I can draw a furrow to some purpose, you need not warn me off with +your old title-deeds; in my ploughshare shall drive. To a better farmer +I will yield right gladly, but I will not be scared away by a +sign-board. + +Nor need you go very far out of your way to affirm that I have not the +requisite experience for writing on such and such topics. As a principle +your remark is absurd. Cannot a doctor prescribe for typhus fever, +unless he has had typhus fever himself? On the contrary, is he not the +better able to prescribe from always having had a sound mind in a sound +body? As a fact, my experience in those things concerning which you +allege its insufficiency has never been presented to you for judgment, +and its discussion is therefore entirely irrelevant. If my statements +are false, they are false; if my arguments are inconclusive, they are +inconclusive: disprove the one and refute the other. But whether this +state of things be owing to a want of experience, or inability to use +experience aright, or any personal circumstance whatever, is a matter in +regard to which all the laws of literary courtesy forbid you to concern +yourself. + +And pray, Gentle Critic, do not tell me that I must be content simply to +amuse, or _must_--anything else. Must is a hard word; be not +over-confident of its power. I feel a grandmotherly interest in the +world and its ways; and much as I should like to amuse it, I shall never +be content with that. You may not _like_ to be instructed, my dear +children, but instructed you shall be. You read long ago, in your +story-book, that little Tommy Piper didn't want his face washed, though +he was very willing to be amused with soap-bubbles; but his face needed +washing and got it. I come to you with soap-bubbles indeed, but with +scrubbing-brushes also. If you take to them kindly, it will soon be +over; but if you scream and struggle, I shall not only scrub the harder, +but be all the longer about it. + +Sometimes your grave refutations are very amusing. It is astonishing to +see how crank-proof sundry minds are. Everything seems to them on a dead +level of categorical proposition. They walk up to every statue with +their measuring-line of _Barbara, Celarent, Darii, Ferioque Prioris_, +and measure them off with equal solemnity, telling you severely that +this nose is far longer than the classic rule admits, and this arm has +not the swelling proportions of life,--never seeing, that, though +another statue was indeed designed for an Antinoues, this was never meant +to be anything but a broomstick dressed in your grandfather's cloak, +with a lantern in a pumpkin for a head. Oh, the dreariness of having to +explain pleasantry! of appending to your banter Artemas Ward's +parenthesis, "This is a goak"! of dealing with people who do not know +the difference between a blow and a "love-pat," between Quaker guns and +an Armstrong battery, between a granite paving-stone and the moonshine +on a mud-puddle! + +Dear Public, don't begin to be tired yet. I am not. There are many books +still to come, if they can ever be brought to light. They were ready +long ago, but no publisher could be found; and now that I have found a +publisher, I cannot find the books. There is a treatise on the Curvature +of the Square,--a Dissertation on Foreign Literature,--two or three +novels,--a book on Human Life, that is going to turn the world upside +down,--a book on Theology, dull enough to be sensible, that is going to +turn it back again,--and a bandboxful of children's stories. Still, in +spite of this formidable prospect, take the consolation that an end is +sure to come. There is not a particle of reserved force or dormant power +or anything of the kind for you to dread. All there is of me is awake. I +have struck twelve, and at longest it will be but a little while before +I shall run down,-- + + "And silence like a poultice come + To heal the blows of sound." + +And does not the exquisite sensation of departed pain almost atone for +the discomfort of its presence? How heartily, for your sake, would I be +the most profound and able writer in the world, and how gladly should +all my profundity and ability be laid at your feet! And since + + "the good but wished with God is done," + +can you not find it in your heart to "yearn o'er my little good and +pardon _my_ much ill"? + +Public, you must, whether you can or not. It is a case of life and +death. I am good for nothing but writing; and if you take that resource +away,--you know what the book says about mischief and Satan and idle +hands! and you certainly will take it away, if you do not speak +peaceably unto me. All that I said before was only bravado,--just to +keep a bold front to the foe. I can confide to you under the rose, that, +though without are fightings, within are fears. Pope, was it, who used +to look around upon the missives hurled at him, and say, "These are my +amusement"? But they are not mine. I want you to _like_ me and be +good-natured. It is not that you must always agree with opinions, or not +take exception to what is exceptionable; it is only that you shall not +say things in a sour, cross, disagreeable way. Impale the bait on your +arming-wire, but handle it as if you loved it. Talk thunderbolts, if +necessary, but don't "make faces." The soft south-wind is very, +charming; the northwest-wind, though sharp, is bracing and healthful; +but your raw east-winds,--oh! chain them in the caverns of AEolia, the +country of storms. + +Bear with me a little longer in my folly; and, indeed, bear with me, you +who are strong, for the sake of the weak. Many and many there may be to +whom the meat of your metaphysics is indigestible and unpalatable, but +who find strength and cheer in the sincere milk of such words as I can +give. To you who have already set your feet on the high places, that may +be but a bruised reed which is a staff to those who are still struggling +up. Do you go on churning the cream of thought, and salting down its +butter for future ages; I will spread it on thin for the weak digestions +of this. Let scarfs, garters, gold amuse your riper stage, and beads and +prayer-books be the toys of age, but wax not over-wroth, when you behold +the child, by Nature's kindly law, pleased with a rattle! + +And after all, Dear Public, it is partly your own fault that I venture +to make still further draughts upon your patience. Though I have trimmed +my sails to opposing rather than to favoring gales, it is not because +the latter have been wanting. But a pin that pricks your finger attracts +to itself far more attention for the time than the thousand influences +that wrap you about only to soothe and delight. The reception that has +been harsh and unfriendly bears no manner of proportion to that which +has been genial and generous. So where you have given me an inch I take +an ell, and commission this bright morning--shine to bear to you my +thanks. For every kind word, whether it have come to me through the +highways or the by-ways, from far or near, from known or unknown, I pray +you receive my grateful acknowledgment. And do not fail to remember, +that he, who, even though self-impelled, goes out from the shelter of +his selfhood into the presence of the great congregation, incurs a Loss +which no praise can make good, encounters a Fate against which no +appreciation is a shield, invokes a Shadow in which the _mens conscia +recti_ is the only resource, and the knowledge of shadows dispelled the +only consolation. + + * * * * * + +THE MINISTER PLENIPOTENTIARY. + + +Mr. Henry Ward Beecher went to Great Britain already well known at home +as the favorite preacher of a large parish, an ardent advocate of +certain leading reforms, one of the most popular lecturers of the +country, a bold, outspoken, fertile, ready, crowd-compelling orator, +whose reported sermons and speeches were fuller of catholic humanity +than of theological subtilties, and whose sympathies were of that lively +sort which are apt to leap the sectarian fold and find good Christians +in every denomination. He was welcomed by friendly persons on the other +side of the Atlantic, partly for these merits, partly also as "the son +of the celebrated Dr. Beecher" and "the brother of Mrs. Beecher Stowe." + +After a few months' absence he returns to America, having finished a +more remarkable embassy than any envoy who has represented us in Europe +since Franklin pleaded the cause of the young Republic at the Court of +Versailles. He kissed no royal hand, he talked with no courtly +diplomatists, he was the guest of no titled legislator, he had no +official existence. But through the heart of the people he reached +nobles, ministers, courtiers, the throne itself. He whom the "Times" +attacks, he whom "Punch" caricatures, is a power in the land. We may be +very sure, that, if an American is the aim of their pensioned garroters +and hired vitriol-throwers, he is an object of fear as well as of +hatred, and that the assault proves his ability as well as his love of +freedom and zeal for the nation to which he belongs. + +Mr. Beecher's European story is a short one in time, but a long one in +events. He went out a lamb, a tired clergyman in need of travel; and as +such he did not strive nor cry, nor did any man hear his voice in the +streets. But in the den of lions where his pathway led him he remembered +hid own lion's nature, and uttered his voice to such effect that its +echoes in the great vaulted caverns of London and Liverpool are still +reaching us, as the sound of the woodman's axe is heard long after the +stroke is seen, as the light of the star shines upon us many days after +its departure from the source of radiance. + +Mr. Beecher made a single speech in Great Britain, but it was delivered +piecemeal in different places. Its exordium was uttered on the ninth of +October at Manchester, and its peroration was pronounced on the +twentieth of the same month in Exeter Hall. He has himself furnished us +an analysis of the train of representations and arguments of which this +protracted and many-jointed oration was made up. At Manchester he +attempted to give a history of that series of political movements, +extending through half a century, the logical and inevitable end of +which was open conflict between the two opposing forces of Freedom and +Slavery. At Glasgow his discourse seems to have been almost +unpremeditated. A meeting of one or two Temperance advocates, who had +come to greet him as a brother in their cause, took on, "quite +accidentally," a political character, and Mr. Beecher gratified the +assembly with an address which really looks as if it had been in great +measure called forth by the pressure of the moment. It seems more like a +conversation than a set harangue. First, he very good-humoredly defines +his position on the Temperance question, and then naturally slides into +some self-revelations, which we who know him accept as the simple +expression of the man's character. This plain speaking made him at home +among strangers more immediately, perhaps, than anything else he could +have told them. "I am born without moral fear. I have expressed my views +in any audience, and it never cost me a struggle. I never could help +doing it." + +The way a man handles his egoisms is a test of his mastery over an +audience or a class of readers. What we want to know about the person +who is to counsel or lead us is just what he is, and nobody can tell us +so well as himself. Every real master of speaking or writing uses his +personality as he would any other serviceable material; the very moment +a speaker or writer begins to use it, not for his main purpose, but for +vanity's sake, as all weak people are sure to do, hearers and readers +feel the difference in a moment. Mr. Beecher is a strong, healthy man, +in mind and body. His nerves have never been corrugated with alcohol; +his thinking-marrow is not brown with tobacco-fumes, like a meerschaum, +as are the brains of so many unfortunate Americans; he is the same +lusty, warm-blooded, strong-fibred, brave-hearted, bright-souled, +clear-eyed creature that he was when the college boys at Amherst +acknowledged him as the chiefest among their football-kickers. He has +the simple frankness of a man who feels himself to be perfectly sound in +bodily, mental, and moral structure; and his self-revelation is a +thousand times nobler than the assumed impersonality which is a common +trick with cunning speakers who never forget their own interests. Thus +it is, that, wherever Mr. Beecher goes, everybody feels, after he has +addressed them once or twice, that they know him well, almost as if they +had always known him; and there is not a man in the land who has such a +multitude that look upon him as if he were their brother. + +Having magnetized his Glasgow audience, he continued the subject already +opened at Manchester by showing, in the midst of that great toiling +population, the deadly influence exerted by Slavery in bringing labor +into contempt, and its ruinous consequences to the free working-man +everywhere. In Edinburgh he explained how the Nation grew up out of +separate States, each jealous of its special sovereignty; how the +struggle for the control of the united Nation, after leaving it for a +long time in the hands of the South, to be used in favor of Slavery, at +length gave it into those of the North, whose influence was to be for +Freedom; and that for this reason the South, when it could no longer +rule the Nation, rebelled against it. In Liverpool, the centre of vast +commercial and manufacturing interests, he showed how those interests +are injured by Slavery,--"that this attempt to cover the fairest portion +of the earth with a slave-population that buys nothing, and a degraded +white population that buys next to nothing, should array against it the +sympathy of every true political economist and every thoughtful and +far-seeing manufacturer, as tending to strike at the vital want of +commerce,--not the want of cotton, but the want of customers." + +In his great closing effort at Exeter Hall in London, Mr. Beecher began +by disclaiming the honor of having been a pioneer in the anti-slavery +movement, which he found in progress at his entry upon public life, when +he "fell into the ranks, and fought as well as he knew how, in the ranks +or in command." He unfolded before his audience the plan and connection +of his previous addresses, showing how they were related to each other +as parts of a consecutive series. He had endeavored, he told them, to +enlist the judgment, the conscience, the interests of the British people +against the attempt to spread Slavery over the continent, and the +rebellion it has kindled. He had shown that Slavery was the only cause +of the war, that sympathy with the South was only aiding the building up +of a slave-empire, that the North was contending for its own existence +and that of popular institutions. + +Mr. Beecher then asked his audience to look at the question with him +from the American point of view. He showed how the conflict began as a +moral question; the sensitiveness of the South; the tenderness for them +on the part of many Northern apologizers, with whom he himself had never +stood. He pointed out how the question gradually emerged in politics; +the encroachments of the South, until they reached the Judiciary itself; +he repeated to them the admissions of Mr. Stephens as to the +preponderating influence the South had all along held in the Government. +An interruption obliged him to explain that adjustment of our State and +National governments which Englishmen seem to find so hard to +understand. Nothing shows his peculiar powers to more advantage than +just such interruptions. Then he displays his felicitous facility of +illustration, his familiar way of bringing a great question to the test +of some parallel fact that everybody before him knows. An American +state-question looks as mysterious to an English audience as an ear of +Indian corn wrapt in its sheath to an English wheat-grower. Mr. Beecher +husks it for them as only an American born and bred can do. He wants a +few sharp questions to rouse his quick spirit. He could almost afford to +carry with him his _picadores_ to sting him with sarcasms, his _chulos_ +to flap their inflammatory epithets in his face, and his _banderilleros_ +to stab him with their fiery insults into a _plaza de toros_,--an +audience of John Bulls. + +Having cleared up this matter so that our comatose cousins understood +the relations of the dough and the apple in our national dumpling,--to +borrow one of their royal reminiscences,--having eulogized the fidelity +of the North to the national compact, he referred to the action of "that +most true, honest, just, and conscientious magistrate, Mr. Lincoln,"--at +the mention of whose name the audience cheered as long and loud as if +they had descended from the ancient Ephesians. + +Mr. Beecher went on to show how the North could not help fighting when +it was attacked, and to give the reasons that made it necessary to +fight,--reasons which none but a consistent Friend or avowed +non-resistant can pretend to dispute: His ordinary style in speaking is +pointed, _staccatoed_, as is that of most successful extemporaneous +speakers; he is "short-gaited"; the movement of his thoughts is that of +the chopping sea, rather than the long, rolling, rhythmical +wave-procession of phrase-balancing rhetoricians. But when the lance has +pricked him deep enough, when the red flag has flashed in his face often +enough, when the fireworks have hissed and sputtered around him long +enough, when the cheers have warmed him so that all his life is roused, +then his intellectual sparkle becomes a steady glow, and his nimble +sentences change their form, and become long-drawn, stately periods. + +"Standing by my cradle, standing by my hearth, standing by the altar of +the church, standing by all the places that mark the name and memory of +heroic men who poured their blood and lives for principle, I declare +that in ten or twenty years of war we will sacrifice everything we have +for principle. If the love of popular liberty is dead in Great Britain, +you will not understand us; but if the love of liberty lives as it once +lived, and has worthy successors of those renowned men that were our +ancestors as much as yours, and whose example and principles we inherit +to make fruitful as so much seed-corn in a new and fertile land, then +you will understand our firm, invincible determination--deep as the sea, +firm as the mountains, but calm as the heavens above us--to fight this +war through at all hazards and at every cost." + +When have Englishmen listened to nobler words, fuller of the true soul +of eloquence? Never, surely, since their nation entered the abdominous +period of its existence, recognized in all its ideal portraits, for +which food and sleep are the prime conditions of well-being. Yet the old +instinct which has made the name of Englishman glorious in the past was +there, in the audience before him, and there was "immense cheering," +relieved by some slight colubrine demonstrations. + +Mr. Beecher openly accused certain "important organs" of deliberately +darkening the truth and falsifying the facts. The audience thereupon +gave three groans for a paper called the "Times," once respectably +edited, now deservedly held as cheap as an epigram of Mr. Carlyle's or a +promise to pay dated at Richmond. He showed the monstrous absurdity of +England's attacking us for fighting, and for fighting to uphold a +principle. "On what shore has not the prow of your ships dashed? What +land is there with a name and a people where your banner has not led +your soldiers? And when the great resurrection-_reveille_ shall sound, +it will muster British soldiers from every clime and people under the +whole heaven. Ah! but it is said this is war against your own blood. How +long is it since you poured soldiers into Canada, and let all your yards +work day and night to avenge the taking of two men out of the Trent?" +How ignominious the pretended humanity of England looked in the light of +these questions! And even while Mr. Beecher was speaking, a lurid glow +was crimsoning the waters of the Pacific from the flames of a great +burning city, set on fire by British ships to avenge a crime committed +by some remote inhabitant of the same country,--an act of wholesale +barbarity unapproached by any deed which can be laid to the charge of +the American Union in the course of this long, exasperating conflict! + +Mr. Beecher explained that the people who sympathized with the South +were those whose voices reached America, while the friends of the North +were little heard. The first had bows and arrows; the second have +shafts, but no bows to launch them. + +"How about the Russians?" + +Everybody remembers how neatly Mr. Beecher caught this envenomed dart, +and, turning it end for end, drove it through his antagonist's shield of +triple bull's-hide. "Now you know what we felt when you were flirting +with Mr. Mason at your Lord Mayor's banquet." A cleaner and straighter +"counter" than that, if we may change the image to one his audience +would appreciate better, is hardly to be found in the records of British +pugilism. + +The orator concluded by a rather sanguine statement of his change of +opinion as to British sentiment, of the assurance he should carry back +of the enthusiasm for the cause of the North, and by an exhortation to +unity of action with those who share their civilization and religion, +for the furtherance of the gospel and the happiness of mankind. + +The audience cheered again, Professor Newman moved a warm vote of +thanks, and the meeting dissolved, wiser and better, we hope, for the +truths which had been so boldly declared before them. + +What is the net result, so far as we can see, of Mr. Beecher's voluntary +embassy? So far as he is concerned, it has been to lift him from the +position of one of the most popular preachers and lecturers, to that of +one of the most popular men in the country. Those who hate his +philanthropy admire his courage. Those who disagree with him in theology +recognize him as having a claim to the title of Apostle quite as good as +that of John Eliot, whom Christian England sent to heathen America two +centuries ago, and who, in spite of the singularly stupid questionings +of the natives, and the violent opposition of the sachems and powwows, +or priests, succeeded in reclaiming large numbers of the copper-colored +aborigines. + +The change of opinion wrought by Mr. Beecher in England is far less easy +to estimate; indeed, we shall never have the means of determining what +it may have been. The organs of opinion which have been against us will +continue their assaults, and those which have been our friends will +continue to defend us. The public men who have committed themselves will +be consistent in the right or in the wrong, as they may have chosen at +first. To know what Mr. Beecher has effected, we must not go to Exeter +Hall and follow its enthusiastic audience as they are swayed hither and +thither by his arguments and appeals; we must not count the crowd of +admiring friends and sympathizers whom he, like all personages of note, +draws around him: the fire-fly calls other fire-flies about him, but +the great community of beetles goes blundering round in the dark as +before. Mr. Cobden has given us the test in a letter quoted by Mr. +Beecher in the course of his speech at the Brooklyn Academy. "You will +carry back," he says, "an intimate acquaintance with a state of feeling +in this country among what, for [want of] a better name, I call the +ruling class. Their sympathy is undoubtedly strongly for the South, with +the instinctive satisfaction at the prospect of the disruption of the +great Republic. It is natural enough." "But," he says, "our masses have +an instinctive feeling that their cause is bound up in the prosperity of +the States,--the United States. It is true that they have not a particle +of power in the direct form of a vote; but when millions in this country +are led by the religious middle class, they can go and prevent the +governing class from pursuing a policy hostile to their sympathies." + +This power of the non-voting classes is an idea that gives us pause. It +is one of those suggestions, like Lord Brougham's of the "unknown +public," which, in a single phrase, and a sentence or two of +explanation, tell a whole history. This is the class John Bunyan wrote +for before the bishops had his Allegory in presentable calf and +gold-leaf,--before England knew that her poor tinker had shaped a +pictured urn for her full of such visions as no dreamer had seen since +Dante. This is the class that believes in John Bright and Richard Cobden +and all the defenders of true American principles. It absorbs +intelligence as melting ice renders heat latent; there is no living +power directly generated with which we can move pistons and wheels, but +the first step in the production of steam-force is to make the ice +fluid. No intellectual thermometer can reveal to us how much ignorance +or prejudice has melted away in the fire of Mr. Beecher's passionate +eloquence, but by-and-by this will tell as a working-force. The +non-voter's conscience will reach the Privy Council, and the hand of the +ignorant, but Christianized laborer trace its own purpose in the letters +of the royal signature. + +We are living in a period, not of events only, but of epochs. We are in +the transition-stage from the miocene to the pliocene period of human +existence. A new heaven is forming over our head behind the curtain of +clouds which rises from our smoking battle-fields. A new earth is +shaping itself under our feet amidst the tremors and convulsions that +agitate the soil upon which we tread. But there is no such thing as a +surprise in the order of Nature. The kingdom of God, even, cometh not +with observation. + +The visit of an overworked clergyman to Europe is not in appearance an +event of momentous interest to the world. The fact that he delivered a +few speeches before British audiences might seem to merit notice in a +local paper or two, but is of very little consequence, one would say, to +the British nation, compared to the fact that Her Majesty took an airing +last Wednesday, or of much significance to Americans, by the side of the +fact that his Excellency, Governor Seymour, had written a letter +recommending the Union Fire Company always to play on the wood-shed when +the house is in flames. + +But, in point of fact, this unofficial visit of a private citizen--in +connection with these addresses delivered to miscellaneous crowds by an +envoy not extraordinary and a minister nullipotentiary, for all that his +credentials showed--was an event of national importance. It was much +more than this; it was the beginning of a new order of things in the +relations of nations to each other. It is but a little while since any +graceless woman who helped a crowned profligate to break the +commandments could light a national quarrel with the taper that sealed +her _billets-doux_ to his equerries and grooms, and kindle it to a war +with the fan that was supposed to hide her blushes. More and more, by +virtue of advancing civilization and easy intercourse between distant +lands, the average common sense and intelligence of the people begin to +reach from nation to nation. Mr. Beecher's visit is the most notable +expression of this movement of national life. It marks the _nisus +formativus_ which begins the organization of that unwritten and only +half spoken public opinion recognized by Mr. Cobden as a great +underlying force even in England. It needs a little republican +pollen-dust to cause the evolution of its else barren germs. The fruit +of Mr. Beecher's visit will ripen in due time, not only in direct +results, but in opening the way to future moral embassies, going forth +unheralded, unsanctioned by State documents, in the simple strength of +Christian manhood, on their errands of truth and peace. + +The Devil had got the start of the clergyman, as he very often does, +after all. The wretches who have been for three years pouring their +leperous distilment into the ears of Great Britain had preoccupied the +ground, and were determined to silence the minister, if they could. For +this purpose they looked to the heathen populace of the nominally +Christian British cities. They covered the walls with blood-red +placards, they stimulated the mob by inflammatory appeals, they filled +the air with threats of riot and murder. It was in the midst of scenes +like these that the single, solitary American opened his lips to speak +in behalf of his country. + +The danger is now over, and we find it hard to make real to our +imagination the terrors of a mob such as swarms out of the dens of +Liverpool and London. We know well enough in this country what Irish +mobs are: the Old Country exports them to us in pieces, ready to put +together on arriving, as we send houses to California. Ireland is the +country of shillalahs and broken crowns, of Donnybrook fairs, where men +with whiskey in their heads settle their feuds or work off their +sprightliness with the arms of Nature, sometimes aided by the least +dangerous of weapons. But England is the land of prize-fights, of +scientific brutality, which has flourished under the patronage of her +hereditary legislators and other "Corinthian" supporters. The pugilistic +dynasty came in with the House of Brunswick, and has held divided empire +with it ever since. The Briton who claims Chatham's language as his +mother-tongue may appropriate the dialect of the ring as far more truly +indigenous than the German-French of his every-day discourse. Of the +three Burkes whose names are historical, the orator is known to but a +few hundred thousands. The prize-fighter, with his interesting personal +infirmity, is the common property of the millions, and would have headed +the list in celebrity, but for that other of the name who added a new +invention to the arts of industry and enriched the English language with +a term which bids fair to outlive the reputation of his illustrious +namesake. Around the professors and heroes of the art of personal +violence are collected the practitioners of various callings less +dignified by the manly qualities they demand. The Gangs of Three that +waylay the solitary pedestrian,--the Choker in the middle, next the +victim who is to be strangled and cleaned out,--the larger guilds of +Hustlers who bonnet a man and beat his breath out of him and empty his +pockets before he knows what is the matter with him,--the Burglars, with +their "jimmies" in their pockets,--the fighting robbers, with their +brass knuckles,--the whole set in a vast thief-constituency, thick as +rats in sewers,--these were the disputants whom the emissaries of the +Slave Power called upon to refute the arguments of the Brooklyn +clergyman. + +It was not pleasant to move in streets where such human rattlesnakes and +cobras were coiling and lying in wait. Great cities are the +poison-glands of civilization everywhere; but the secretions of those +hideous crypts and blind passages that empty themselves into the +thoroughfares of English towns are so deadly, that, but for her penal +colonies, England, girt by water, as the scorpion with flame, would +perish, self-stung, by her own venom. The legates of the great +Anti-Civilization have colonized England, as England has colonized +Botany Bay. They know the venal ruffianism of the fist and bludgeon, as +well as that of the press. Fortunately, they are short of funds, or Mr. +Beecher might have disappeared after the manner of Romulus, and never +have come to light, except in the saintly fashion of relics,--such as +white finger-rings and breastpins, like those which some devotees of the +Southern mode of worship are said to have been fond of wearing. + +From these dangers, which he faced like a man, we welcome him back to a +country which is proud of his courage and ability and grateful for his +services. The highest and lowest classes of England cannot be in +sympathy with the free North. No dynasty can look the fact of +successful, triumphant self-government in the face without seeing a +shroud in its banner and hearing a knell in its shouts of victory. As to +those lower classes who are too low to be reached by the life-giving +breath of popular liberty, we cannot reach them yet. A Christian +civilization has suffered them, in the very heart of its great cities, +to sink almost to the level of Du Chaillu's West-African quadrumana. But +the thoughtful, religious middle class of Great Britain, with their +enlightened leaders and their conscientious followers among the laboring +masses, have listened and will always listen to the voice of any true +and adequate representative of that new form of human society now in +full course of development in Republican North America. They have never +listened to a nobler and more thoroughly national speaker than the +minister, clothed with full powers from Nature and bearing the authentic +credentials from his Divine Master, to whom, on his return from his +successful embassy, we renew our grateful welcome. + + * * * * * + +THE BEGINNING OF THE END. + +A GREETING FOR THE NEW YEAR. + + +We are at the close of the third year of the Secession War. It is +customary to speak of the contest as having been inaugurated by the +attack on Fort Sumter, April 12, 1861; but, in strictness, it was begun +in December, 1860, when the Carolinians formally seceded from the Union, +which was as much an act of war as that involved in firing upon the +national flag that waved over the strongest of the Federal forts at +Charleston. Even those who insist that there can be no war without the +use of weapons must admit that the act of firing upon the Star of the +West, which vessel was seeking to land men and stores at Sumter, was an +overt act, and as significant of the purpose of the Secessionists as +anything since done by them. That occurred in January, 1861; and because +our Government did not choose to accept it as the beginning of those +hostilities which had been resolved upon by the Southern ultras, it does +not follow that men are bound to shut their eyes to the truth. But we +all took the insults that were offered to the flag in President +Buchanan's time as coolly as if that were the proper course of things, +while the attack on Sumter had the same effect on us that the +acknowledgment of the Pretender as King of Great Britain and Ireland by +Louis XIV. had on the English. War was then promptly accepted, and has +ever since been waged, with that various fortune which is known to all +contests, and which will be so known while wars shall be known on +earth,--in other words, while our planet shall be the abiding-place of +men. We have had victories, and we have had defeats, which is the +common lot; but, taken as a whole, we have but little reason to complain +of results, if we compare our situation now with what it was at the +close of 1862. Great things have been done in 1863, such as place the +military result of the war beyond all doubt, and permitting us to hope +for the early restoration of peace, provided the people shall furnish +their Government with the human material necessary to inflict upon the +enemy that grace stroke which shall put them out of their pain by +putting an end to their existence; and that Government itself shall not +be wanting in that energy, without which men and money are worse than +useless in war,--for then they would be but wasted. + +The year opened darkly for us; for not even the success of General +Rosecrans on the well-contested field of Murfreesboro'--a success +literally extorted from a brave and stubborn and skilful foe--could +altogether compensate for the Union defeat at Fredericksburg, a defeat +that gave additional force to the gloomy words of those _grognards_ who +had adopted the doctrine that it was impossible for the Army of the +Potomac to accomplish anything worthy of its numbers, and of the +position and purpose assigned to it in the war. Months rolled on, and +little was done, the mere military losses and gains being not far from +equally shared by the two parties; but that was positively a loss to the +enemy, whose position it has been from the first, that they must have so +large a proportion of the successes as should tend to encourage their +people at home and their advocates abroad, and so compensate for their +inferiority in numbers and in property. Nothing has tended more, all +through the war, to show the vast difference in the parties to it, than +the little effect which serious reverses have had on the Unionists in +comparison with the effect of similar reverses on the Confederates. No +blow that we have received--and many blows have been dealt upon us--has +been followed by any loss of territory, any decrease of the means of +warfare, or any diminution of our purpose to carry on the contest to the +last piece of gold and the last greasy greenback. The enemy have taken +of our men, our cannon, our stores, and our money, more than once, but +not one of their victories produced any "fruit" beyond what was gleaned +from the battle-field itself. Our victories, on the contrary, have been +fruitful, as the position of our forces on the enemy's coast, and on +much of their territory, and in many of their ports, most satisfactorily +proves. As an English military critic said, the Rebels might gain +battles, but all the solid advantages were with their opponents. A Union +victory was so much achieved toward final and complete success; a +Confederate victory only operated to postpone the subjugation of the +Rebels for a few days, or perhaps weeks. We could afford to blunder, +while they could not; and the prospect of the gallows made the brains of +Davis and Lee uncommonly clear, and caused them to plan skilfully and to +strike boldly, in order that they might get out and keep out of the road +that leads to it,--the road to ruin. + +The movement in April, under General Hooker, which led to the Battle of +Chancellorsville, was a failure, and for some time the country was much +depressed in consequence; but our failure, there and then, proved to be +really a great gain. Had General Hooker succeeded in defeating General +Lee in battle, the latter would, it is altogether probable, have +succeeded in retreating to Richmond, behind the defences of which he +would have held our forces at bay, and the Peninsular campaign of 1862 +might have been repeated; for we had not men enough to render the +capture of Richmond certain through the effect of regular and steady +operations. The death of Stonewall Jackson, one of the incidents of the +April advance, was a severe loss to the enemy, and promises to be as +fatal to their cause as was that of Dundee to the hopes of the House of +Stuart. General Lee's success was really fatal to him. It compelled him +to make a movement in his turn, in June, and at Gettysburg we had ample +compensation for Chancellorsville; and the capture of Morgan and his +men, in Ohio, following hard upon Lee's retreat from Pennsylvania, put +an end to all attempts at invasion on the part of the Rebels, while we +continued to hold all that we had acquired of their territory, and soon +added more of it to our previous acquisitions. At the same time that +General Meade was disposing of the main Rebel army, General Grant was +taking Vicksburg, and General Banks was triumphing at Port Hudson. +Generals Pemberton and Gardner had defended those Southern strongholds +with a skill and a gallantry that do them great credit, considering them +merely as military operations; but the superior generalship of General +Grant at and near Vicksburg compelled them to surrender, and to place in +Union hands posts the possession of which was necessary to maintain the +integrity of the Confederacy. General Grant's least merit was the taking +of Vicksburg. The operations through the success of which he was enabled +to shut up a large force of brave men in Vicksburg, and to cut them off +from all hope of being relieved, were of the highest order of military +excellence, and justly entitle him to be called a great soldier, and no +man can be only a great soldier, for that intellectual rank implies in +its possessor qualities that fit him for any department of his country's +service. General Grant was admirably seconded and supported by his +lieutenants and their subordinates and men, or he must have failed +before such courageous and stubborn foes. He was also supported by the +naval force commanded by Admiral Porter, whose heroic exploits and +scientific services added new lustre to a name that already stood most +high in our naval history. He commanded men worthy of himself and the +service, and whose deeds must be ever remembered. General Banks and his +associates were not less successful in their undertaking, and had been +as well seconded as General Grant. The Mississippi was placed at our +control, and the enemy were deprived of those supplies, both domestic +and foreign, which they had drawn in so large quantities from the +trans-Mississippi territory. Through Texas, which had contrived to keep +up a great commerce, the supplies of foreign _materiel_ had been very +large; and from the same rich and extensive State came thousands of +beeves, sheep, and hogs, that were consumed by Southern soldiers in +Virginia and the Carolinas. Generals Grant and Banks put an end to this +mode of supplying the Rebels with food and other articles; and at a +later period the success of General Banks near the Rio Grande was hardly +less useful in putting an end to much of the Texan foreign trade, +whereby the Rebels beyond the Mississippi must find their powers to do +mischief very materially lessened. + +In the mean time, Charleston, whence rebellion had spread over the +South, had been assailed by a large force, military and naval, commanded +by General Gillmore and Rear-Admiral Dahlgren. General Gillmore had +become famous as the captor of Fort Pulaski, under circumstances that +had seemed to render success impossible; and hence it was expected that +he would quickly take Charleston. It is not believed that that very able +and modest officer ever said a word to give rise to the popular +expectation. He knew the gravity of the task he had undertaken, and we +believe, that, if all the facts connected therewith could be published, +it would be found that he has accomplished all that he ever promised to +do or expected to do. He has done much, and done it admirably; and not +the least of the effects of his deeds is this,--that the report of his +guns reached to Europe, and caused the intelligent military men of that +dominating quarter of the world to doubt whether their respective +countries were militarily prepared to support intervention, even if to +intervention there existed no moral or political objections. He has +demolished Sumter, and that fortress which was the scene of our first +failure has ceased to exist. He has completed the blockade of +Charleston, which was almost daily violated before he brought his +batteries into play. We have the high authority of no less a personage +than Mr. Jefferson Davis himself,--a gentleman who never "speaks out" +when anything is to be made by reticence,--that Wilmington is now the +only port left to the Confederacy; and this is the highest possible +compliment that could be paid to the excellence of General Gillmore's +operations, and to the value of his services. Since he arrived near +Charleston, that port has been as hermetically sealed as Cronstadt in +December; whereas, until he began his scientific and most useful labors, +Charleston was one of the most flourishing seaports in the whole circle +of commerce. As to the taking of Charleston, our opinion is, and has +been from the first, that the history of the War of the American +Revolution demonstrates that the Carolina city can be had only as the +result of extensive land-operations, carried on by a power which has +command of the sea. Sir Henry Clinton failed before the place in 1776, +his attack being naval in its character; and he succeeded in taking it +in 1780, when he had control of the main-land, and made his approaches +regularly. Even after he had obtained command of the harbor, and Fort +Moultrie had been first passed and then taken, and no American maritime +force remained to oppose his fleet, he had to depend upon the action of +his army for success. We fear that the event will prove that we can +succeed at Charleston only by following Sir Henry's wise course. "The +things which have been are the things which shall be." + +Late in the summer, General Rosecrans resumed operations, and marched +upon Chattanooga, while General Burnside moved into East Tennessee, and +obtained possession of Knoxville. General Burnside's march was one of +the most difficult ever made in war, and tasked the powers of his men to +the utmost; but all difficulties were surmounted, and the loyal people +of the country which he entered and regained were gladdened by seeing +the national flag flying once more over their heads. Both these +movements were at first brilliantly successful; but the enemy were +impressed with the importance of the points taken or threatened by our +forces, and they concentrated great masses of troops, in the hope of +being able to defeat our armies, regain the territory lost, and transfer +the seat of war far to the north. The Battle of Chickamauga was fought, +and a portion of General Rosecrans's army was defeated, while another +portion, under General Thomas, stubbornly maintained its ground, and +inflicted great damage on the enemy. The effect of General Thomas's +heroic resistance was, that the enemy's grand purpose was baffled. Their +loss was so severe, and their men had been so roughly handled, that they +could not advance farther, and the time thus gained was promptly turned +to account, by General Rosecrans in the first instance, and by +Government. The Union army was soon reorganized by its energetic leader, +and placed in condition to make effectual resistance to the enemy, +should they endeavor to advance. The Government's action was rapid and +useful. General Grant was placed in immediate command of the army, which +was largely reinforced, and preparations were quickly made for the +resumption of offensive operations. In the mean time, General Bragg had +sent General Longstreet to attack General Burnside; and as Longstreet +has been looked upon, since the death of Jackson, as the best of the +Rebel fighting generals, great hopes were entertained of his success. +Apparently taking advantage of the absence of so large a body of Rebel +troops under so good a leader, General Grant resumed the offensive on +the twenty-third of November, and during three days' hard fighting +inflicted upon General Bragg a series of defeats, in which Generals +Thomas, Hooker, and Sherman were the active Union commanders. The +Unionists were completely victorious at all points, taking several +strong positions, forty-six pieces of cannon, five thousand muskets, +valuable stores, and seven thousand prisoners, besides killing and +wounding great numbers. All these successes were gained at a cost of +only forty-five hundred men. The skill of General Grant and his +lieutenants, and the valor of their troops, were signally displayed in +these operations, the first assured intelligence of which reached the +North in time to add to the pleasures of the National Thanksgiving, as +the first news of Gettysburg had come to us on the Fourth of July. + +The November victories put an end to all fear that the enemy might be +able to carry out their original project, while it seemed to be certain +that the scene of active operations would be transferred from East +Tennessee to Northern Georgia. General Burnside still held Knoxville, +and it was supposed that General Longstreet would find it difficult to +escape destruction. General Bragg had retreated to Dalton, which is +about a hundred miles from Atlanta, and is reported to have summoned +General Longstreet to rejoin him. The Army of the Potomac, which had +borne itself very gallantly in some of the autumnal operations +consequent on Lee's advance, had followed the army commanded by this +General when it retreated, inflicting on it considerable loss, and +crossing the Rapid Ann.[C] + +Victories have been gained by the Unionists in other quarters,--in +Missouri, in Arkansas, in Louisiana, and in Mississippi,--whereby the +enemy's numbers have been diminished, and territory brought under the +Union flag that until recently was held by the Rebels, and from which +they drew means of subsistence now no longer available to them. + +The effects of all the successes which have been mentioned are various. +We have deprived the enemy of extensive portions of territory, in most +of their States. Tennessee is rescued; Maryland, Kentucky, and Missouri +are placed beyond all danger of being taken by the Rebels; in Arkansas, +Louisiana, and Texas we hold places of much political and military +importance; Mississippi is practically ours; Alabama yields little to +our foe; Georgia is invaded, instead of remaining the basis of a grand +attack on Tennessee and Kentucky; the Carolinas, greatly favored by +geographical circumstances, are barely able to hold out against attacks +that are _not_ made in force, and portions of their territory are ours; +Virginia is exhausted, and there the enemy cannot long remain, even +should they meet with no reverses in the field; and, finally, as General +Grant's successes at Vicksburg halved the Confederacy, so have his +Chattanooga successes quartered it. The Rebels are no longer one people, +but are divided into a number of communities, which cannot act together, +even if we could suppose their populations to be animated by one spirit, +which certainly they are not. Of the inhabitants of the original +Confederacy probably two-fifths are no longer under the control of the +Richmond Government; and of the remainder a very large proportion are +said to be massed in Georgia, a State that has hitherto suffered little +from the war, but which now seems about to become the scene of vast and +important operations, which cannot be carried on without causing +sweeping devastation. The public journals state that there are two +million slaves in Georgia, most of whom have been taken or sent thither +by their owners, inhabitants of other States. This must tend greatly to +increase the difficulties of the enemy, whose stores of food and +clothing are not large in any of the Atlantic or Gulf States. + +Much stress has been placed on "the starvation-theory," and it is +probable that there is much suffering in the Confederacy; but this does +not proceed so much from the positive absence of food as from other +causes. The first of these causes is undoubtedly the loss of all faith +in the Southern currency. That currency has not yet fallen so low as the +Continental currency fell, when it required a bushel of it to pay for a +peck of potatoes, but it is at a terrible discount, and the day is fast +coming when it will be regarded as of no more value than so many pieces +of brown paper; and its depreciation, and the prospect of its soon +becoming utterly worthless, are among the chief consequences of the +triumphs of our arms. Men see that there will be no power to make +payment, and they will not part with their property for rags so rotten. +They may wish success to the Confederate cause, but "they must live," +and live they cannot on paper that is nothing but paper. The journal +that is understood to speak for Mr. Davis recommends a forced loan, the +last resort of men the last days of whose power are near at hand. +Another cause of the scarcity of food in the South is to be found in the +condition of Southern communications. If all the food in the Confederacy +could be equally distributed, now and hereafter, we doubt not that every +person living there would get enough to eat, and even have something to +spare,--civilians as well as soldiers, blacks as well as whites; but no +such distribution is possible, because there are but indifferent means +for the conveyance of food from places where it is abundant to places +where famine's ascendency is becoming established. The Southern railways +have been terribly worked for three years, and are now worn out, with no +hope of their rails and rolling-stock being renewed. Our troops have +rendered hundreds of miles of those ways useless, and they have +possession of other lines. Southern harbors and rivers are held or +commanded by Northern ships or armies. The Mississippi, which was once +so useful to the Rebels, has, now that we control it, become a "big +ditch," separating their armies from their principal source of supply. +It is that "last ditch" in which they are to die. That wide extent of +Southern territory, which has so often been mentioned at home and abroad +as presenting the leading reason why we never could conquer the Rebels, +now works against them, and in our favor. Food may be abundant to +wastefulness in some States, while in others people may be dying for the +want of it. The Secessionists are now situated as most peoples used to +be, before good roads became common. The South is becoming reduced to +that state which was known to some parts of England before that country +had made for itself the best roads of Christendom, and when there would +be starvation in one parish, while perhaps in the next the fruits of the +earth were rotting on its surface, because there were no means of +getting them to market. With a currency so debased that no man will +willingly take it, while all men readily take Union greenbacks,--with +railways either worn out or held by foes,--with but one harbor this side +of the Mississippi that is not closely shut up, and that harbor in +course of becoming closed completely,--with their rivers furnishing +means for attack, instead of lines of defence,--with their territory and +numbers daily decreasing,--with defeat overtaking their armies on almost +every field,--with the expressed determination of the North to prosecute +the war, be the consequences what they may,--with the constant increase +of Union numbers,--and with the steady refusal of foreign powers to +recognize the Confederacy, or to afford it any countenance or open +assistance,--the Rebels must be infatuated, and determined to provoke +destruction, if they do not soon make overtures for peace. + +It is all very well for the "chivalrous classes" at the South, whoever +they may happen to be, to talk about "dying in the last ditch," and of +imitating the action of Pelayo and his friends; but common folk like to +die in their beds, and to receive the inevitable visitant with decorum, +to an exhibition of which ditches are decidedly unfavorable. As to +Pelayo, he lived in an age in which there were neither railways nor +rifled cannon, neither steamships nor Parrott guns, neither Monitors +nor greenbacks,--else he and his would either have been routed out of +the Asturian Mountains, or have been compelled to remain there forever. +The conditions of modern life and society are highly unfavorable to +those heroic modes of resistance and existence in which alone gentlemen +of Pelayo's pursuits can hope to flourish. We Saracens of the North +would ask nothing better than to have Pelayo Davis lead all his valiant +ragamuffins into the strongest range of mountains that could be found in +all Secessia, there to establish the new Kingdom of Gijon. We should +deserve the worst that could befall us, if we failed to vindicate the +common American idea, that this country is no place for lovers of crowns +and kingdoms. + +As to the guerrillas, we know that they are an exasperating set of +fellows, but they must soon disappear before the advance of the Union +armies. A guerrillade on an extensive scale and of long continuance is +possible only while it is supported by the presence of large and +successful regular armies. Had Wellington been driven out of the +Peninsula, the Spanish guerrillas would have given little trouble to the +intrusive French king at Madrid. Defeat Lee, and Mosby will vanish. +After all, the Southern guerrillas are not much worse than other +Southrons were at no very remote period. It is within the memory of even +middle-aged persons, that the southwestern portion of our country was in +as lawless a state as ever were the borders of England and Scotland, and +with no Belted Will to hang up ruffians to swing in the wind. As those +ruffians were mostly removed by time, and the scenes of their labors +became the seats of prosperous and well-ordered communities, so will the +guerrillas of to-day be made to give way by that inexorable reformer and +avenger. Order will once more prevail in the Southwest, and cotton, +tobacco, and rice again yield their increase to regular industry,--an +industry that shall be all the more productive, because exercised by +free men. + +The political incidents of 1863 are as encouraging as the incidents of +war. The discontent that existed toward the close of 1862--a discontent +by no means groundless--led to the apparent defeat of the war-party in +many States, and to the decrease of its strength in others. But it was +an illogical conclusion that the people were dissatisfied with the war, +when they only meant to express their dissatisfaction with the manner in +which it was conducted. Their votes in 1863 truly expressed their +feeling. In every State but New Jersey the war-party was successful, its +majority in Ohio being 100,000, in New York 30,000, in Pennsylvania +15,000, in Massachusetts, 40,000, in Iowa 32,000, in Maine 22,000, in +California 20,000. And so on throughout the country. The popular voice +is still for war, but for war boldly, and therefore wisely, waged. + +The improvement that has taken place in our foreign relations is even +greater than that which has come over our domestic affairs; and for the +first time since the opening of the civil war, it is possible for +Americans to say that there is every reason for believing that they are +to be left to settle their own affairs according to their own ideas as +to the fitness of things. This change, like all important changes in +human affairs, is due to a variety of causes. In part it is owing to +what we considered to be among our greatest misfortunes, and in part to +those successes which changed the condition of affairs. Our failure at +Fredericksburg, at the close of 1862, strengthened the general European +impression that the Rebels were to succeed; and as their defeat at +Murfreesboro was not followed by an advance of our forces, that +impression was not weakened by General Bragg's failure, though that was +more signal than was the failure of General Burnside. If the Rebels were +to succeed, why should European governments do anything in aid of their +cause, at the hazard of war with us? Our defeat at Chancellorsville, +last May, tended still further to strengthen foreign belief that the +Secessionists were to be the winning party, and that they were competent +to do all their own work; but if it had not soon been followed by signal +reverses to the Rebel arms, it is certain that the Confederacy would +have been acknowledged by most European nations, on the plausible ground +that its existence had been established on the battle-field, and that we +could not object to the admission of a self-evident fact by foreign +sovereigns and statesmen, who were bound to look after the welfare of +their own subjects and countrymen, whose interests were greatly +concerned with the trade of our Southern country. Fortunately for all +parties but the Rebels, those reverses came suddenly and with such +emphasis as to create serious doubts in the European mind as to the +superiority of the South as a fighting community. In an evil hour for +his cause, General Lee abandoned that wise defensive system to which he +had so long and so successfully adhered, and made a movement into the +Free States. What was the immediate cause of his change of proceeding +will probably never be accurately known to the existing generation. On +the face of things no good political reason appears for that change +being made; and on military grounds it was sure to lead to disaster, +unless the North had become the most craven of countries. So bad was +Lee's advance into the North, militarily speaking, that it would have +been the part of good policy to allow him to march without resistance to +a point at least a hundred miles beyond that field on which he was to +find his fate. A Gettysburg that should have been fought that distance +from the base of Southern operations could have had no other result than +the destruction of the main Southern army; and that occurring at about +the same time that Port Hudson and Vicksburg surrendered, the war could +have been ended by a series of thunder-strokes. Not a man of Lee's army +could have escaped. But the pride of the country prevented the adoption +of a course that promised the most splendid of successes, and compelled +our Government and our commander to forego the noblest opportunity that +had presented itself to effect the enemy's annihilation. Gettysburg was +made immortal, and Lee escaped, not without tremendous losses, yet with +the larger part of his army, and with much booty, that perhaps +compensated his own loss in _materiel_. He was beaten, on a field of his +own choosing, and with numbers in his favor; and his previous victories, +the almost uniform success that had attended his earlier movements, made +his Pennsylvania reverses all the more grave in the estimation of +foreigners. Immediately after news was sent abroad of his defeat and +retreat, tidings came to us, and soon were spread over the world, that +the Rebels had experienced the most terrible disasters in the Southwest, +whereby the so-called Confederacy had been cut in two. These facts gave +pause to those intentions of acknowledgment which had undoubtedly been +entertained in European courts and cabinets; and nothing afterward +occurred, down to the day of Chickamauga, which was calculated to effect +a change in the minds of the rulers of the Old World. But when +intelligence of Chickamauga reached Europe, England had taken a position +so determinedly hostile to intervention in any of its many forms and +stages that even a much greater disaster than that could have produced +no evil to our cause abroad. For it is to be remembered that the whole +business of intervention has lain from the beginning in the bosom of +England, and that, if she had chosen to act against us in force, she +could have done so with the strongest hope of success, if merely our +humiliation, or even our destruction, had been her object, and without +any immediate danger threatening herself as the consequence of her +hostile action. The French Government, not France, or any considerable +portion of the French people, has been ready to interfere in behalf of +the Rebels for more than two years, and would have entered upon the +process of intervention long since, if it had not been held back by the +obstinate refusal of England to unite with her in that pro-slavery +crusade which, it is with regret we say it, the French Emperor has so +much at heart; and without the aid and assistance of England, the ruler +of France could not and durst not move an inch against us. Not the +least, nor least strange, of the changes of this mutable world is to be +seen in the circumstance that France should be restrained from undoing +the work of the Bourbons and of Napoleon I. by England's firm opposition +to the wishes and purposes of Napoleon III. The Bourbon policy, as well +in Spain as in France, brought about the early overthrow of England's +rule over the territory of the old United States; and the first Napoleon +sold Louisiana to us for a song, because he was convinced, that, by so +doing, he should aid to build up a formidable naval rival of England. +The man who seeks to undo all this, to destroy what Bourbon and +Bonaparte sacrificed so much to effect, is the heir of Bonaparte, and +the expounder and illustrator of Napoleon's ideas; and the power that +places herself resolutely across his path, and will not join in his plot +to erase us from the list of nations is--England! In a romance such a +state of things would be pronounced too absurd for invention; but in +this every-day world it is nothing but a commonplace incident, +extraordinary as it may seem at the first thought that is bestowed upon +it. + +That England governs France in this matter of intervention in our +quarrel is clear enough, as also are the reasons why Paris will not move +to the aid of the Rebels unless London shall keep even step with her. +France asked England to unite with her in an offer of mediation, which +would have been an armed mediation, had England fallen into the Gallic +trap, but which amounted to nothing when it proceeded from France alone. +England withdrew from the Mexican business as soon as she saw that +France was bent upon a course that might lead to trouble with the United +States, and left her to create a throne in that country. As soon as +England put the broad arrow upon the rams of that eminent pastoral +character, Laird of Birkenhead, France withdrew the permission which she +had formally bestowed upon MM. Arman and Vorney to build four powerful +steamships for the Rebels at Nantes and Bordeaux. France would +acknowledge the Confederacy to-day, and send a minister to Richmond, and +consuls to Mobile and Galveston and Wilmington, if England would but +agree to be to her against us what Spain was to her for us in the days +of our Revolution. But England will not join with her ancient enemy to +effect the ruin of a country of the existence of which she should be +proud, seeing that it is her own creation. + +Why, then, is it that there is so much ill-feeling in America toward +England, while none is felt toward France,--England being, as it were, +our shield against that French sword which is raised over our head, upon +which its holder would bring it down with imperial force? Principally +the difference is due to that peculiarity in the human character which +leads men to think much of insults and but little of injuries. We doubt +if any strong enmity was ever created in the minds of men or nations +through the infliction of injuries, though injuring parties have an +undoubted right to hate their victims; and we are sure that an insult +was never yet forgiven by any nation, or by any individual, whose +resentment was of any account. Now, England has poured insults upon us, +or rather Englishmen have done so, until we have become as sore as bears +who have been assailed by bees. English statesmen and politicians have +told us that we were wrong in fighting for the restoration of the Union, +violating our own principles, and literally committing the grossest, of +crimes,--taking care to add, that our sins would provide their own +punishment, for we could not put down the Rebels. Even moderate-minded +men in England have not hesitated to condemn our course, while admitting +that our conduct was natural, on the ground that we had no hope of +success, and that useless wars are simply horrible. Our English enemies +have been fierce and vindictive blackguards,--as witness Roebuck, +Lyndsay, and Lord R. Cecil,--while most of our friends there have deemed +it the best policy to make use of very moderate language, when speaking +of our cause, or of the conduct of our public men. Englishmen of +distinction, some of whom have long been held in high esteem here, have +not hesitated to express a desire for our overthrow, because we were +becoming too strong, though our free population is not materially +different, as regards numbers, from that of the British Islands, and is +as nothing when compared with the number of Queen Victoria's subjects. +They were not ashamed to be so thoroughly un-English as to admit the +existence of fear in their minds of a people living three thousand miles +from their country: a circumstance to be noted; for your Englishman is +apt to err on the side of contempt for others, and as a rule he fears +nobody. Others have so wantonly misrepresented the character of our +cause,--Mr. Carlyle is a notable member of this class,--that it is +impossible not to be offended, when listening to their astounding +falsehoods. But it is the British press that has done most to array +Americans against England. That press is very ably conducted, and the +most noted of its members have displayed a degree of hostility toward us +that could not have been predicted without the prophet being suspected +of madness, or of diabolical inspiration. All its articles attacking us +are reproduced here, and are read by everybody, and the effect thereof +can be imagined. Toward us British journalists are playing the same part +that was played by their predecessors toward France sixty years since, +and which converted what was meant to be a permanent peace into the mere +truce of Amiens. Insolent and egotistical as a class, though there are +highly honorable exceptions, those journalists have done more to make +their country the object of dislike than has been accomplished by all +other Englishmen. Their deeds show that the pen _is_ mightier than the +sword, and that its conquests are permanent. It has been said that +France has been as unfriendly to us as England, and that, therefore, we +ought to feel for her the same dislike as that of which England is the +object. But, admitting the assertion to be true, we know little of what +the French have said or written concerning us. The difference of +language prevents us from taking much offence at Gallic criticism. Not +one American in a hundred reads French; and of those who do read it, not +one in a thousand, journalists apart, ever sees a French quarterly, +monthly, weekly, or daily publication. Occasionally, an article from a +French journal is translated for some one of our newspapers, but it is +oftener of a friendly character than otherwise. The best French +publications support the Union cause, at their head standing the +"Debats," which is not the inferior of the "Times" in respect to +ability, and is far its superior in all other respects. Besides, judging +from such articles from the French presses devoted to Secession +interests as have come under our observation, they are neither so able +nor so venomous as those which appear in British Secession journals and +magazines. Most of them might be translated for the purpose of showing +that the French have no wish for our destruction, while the language of +the British articles indicates the existence of an intense personal +hostility, and an eager desire to see the United States partitioned like +Poland. We should be something much above, or as much below, the +standard of humanity, if we were not moved deeply by such evidences of +fierce hatred, expressed in the fiercest of language. + +In assuming a strictly impartial position, England follows a sense of +interest, which is proper and praiseworthy. She cannot, supposing her to +be wise, be desirous of our destruction; for, that accomplished, she +would be more open than ever to a French attack. Let Napoleon III. +accomplish those European purposes to which his mind is now directed, +and he would be impelled to quarrel with England by a variety of +considerations, should this Republic be broken up into half a dozen +feeble and quarrelsome confederacies. But with the United States in +existence, and powerful enough to command respect, he would not dare to +seek the overthrow of the British Empire. We could not permit him to +head a crusade for England's annihilation, no matter what might be our +feeling toward the mother-land. A just regard for our own interests +would impel us to side with her, should she be placed in serious danger. +Such was, substantially, President Jefferson's opinion, sixty years ago, +when the first Napoleon was so bent upon the conquest of England; and we +think that his views are applicable to the existing circumstances of the +world. Where should we have been now, if England had quarrelled with and +been conquered by Napoleon III.? We must distinguish between the English +nation and Englishmen,--between the English Government, which has, +perhaps, borne itself as favorably toward us as it could, and that +English aristocracy which has, as a rule, exhibited so strong a desire +to have us extinguished, even while it has repeatedly refused to take +steps preparatory to war; and the two countries should be persuaded to +understand that neither can perish without the life of the other being +placed in great danger. The best answer to be made to the wordy attacks +of Englishmen is to be found in success. That answer would be complete; +and if it cannot be made, what will it signify to us what shall be said +of us by foreigners? The bitterest attacks can never disturb the dead. + +One cause of the change of England's course toward us is to be found in +our own change of moral position. The President's Emancipation +Proclamation went into effect on the first of January, 1863; and from +that time the anti-slavery people of England have been on our side; and +their influence is great, and bears upon the supporters of the +Palmerston Ministry with peculiar force. Had our Government persisted in +the pro-slavery policy which it favored down to the autumn of 1862, it +is not at all unlikely that the English intervention party would have +been strong enough to compel their country to go with France in her +mediation scheme,--and the step from mediation to intervention would +have been but a short one; but the committal of the North to +anti-slavery views, and the union of their cause with that of +emancipation, threw the English Abolitionists, men who largely represent +England's moral worth, on our side. The Proclamation, therefore, even if +it could be proved that it had not led to the liberation of one slave, +has been of immense service to us, and the President deserves the thanks +of every loyal American for having issued it. He threw a shell into the +foreign Secession camp, the explosion of which was fatal to that +"cordial understanding" that was to have operated for our annihilation. + + * * * * * + +Such was the year of the Proclamation, and its history is marvellous in +our eyes. It stands in striking contrast to the other years of the war, +both of which closed badly for us, and left the impression that the +enemy's case was a good one, speaking militarily. Our improved condition +should be attributed to the true cause. When, in the Parliament of 1601, +Mr. Speaker Croke said that the kingdom of England "had been defended by +the mighty arm of the Queen," Elizabeth exclaimed from the throne, "No, +Mr. Speaker, but rather by the mighty hand of God!" So with us. We have +been saved "by the mighty hand of God." Neither "malice domestic" nor +"foreign levy" has prevailed at our expense. Whether we had the right to +expect Heaven's aid, we cannot undertake to say; but we know that we +should not have deserved it, had we continued to link the nation's cause +to that of oppression, and had we shed blood and expended gold in order +to restore the system of slavery and the sway of slaveholders. + + * * * * * + +REVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES. + + +_Life and Correspondence of Theodore Parker, Minister of the +Twenty-Eighth Congregational Society, Boston_. By JOHN WEISS. +In Two Volumes. 8vo. London. + +Such a life of Theodore Parker as Mr. Parton has written of Andrew +Jackson would be accepted as an American classic. For such a life, +however, it is manifestly unreasonable to look. Not until the present +generation has passed away, not until the perilous questions which vex +men's souls to-day shall rest forever, could any competent biographer +regard the "iconoclast of the Music Hall" as a subject for complacent +literary speculation or calm judicial discourse. For us, this life of +Parker must be interpreted by one of the family. He shall best use these +precious letters and journals who is spiritually related to their +writer, if not bound to him by the feebler tie of blood. And assuming +the necessity of a partisan, or, as it might more gently be expressed, +wholly sympathetic biographer, there is little but commendation for Mr. +Weiss. With admirable clearness and strength he rings out the full tone +of thought and belief among that earnest school of thinkers and doers of +which Theodore Parker was the representative. Full as are these goodly +octavos with the best legacies of him whose life is written, we have +returned no less frequently to the deeply reflective arguments and acute +criticisms of Mr. Weiss. Let the keen discrimination of a passage taken +almost at random justify us, if it may. + +"Some people say that they are not indebted to Mr. Parker for a single +thought. The word 'thought' is so loosely used that a definition of +terms must precede our estimate of Mr. Parker's suggestiveness and +originality. Men who are kept by a commonplace-book go about raking +everywhere for glittering scraps, which they carry home to be sorted in +their aesthetic junk-shop. Any portable bit that strikes the fancy is a +thought. There are literary rag-pickers of every degree of ability; and +a great deal of judgment can be shown in finding the scrap or nail you +want in a heap of rubbish. Quotable matter is generally considered to be +strongly veined with thought. Some people estimate a writer according to +the number of apt sentences imbedded in his work. But who is judge of +aptness itself? What is apt for an epigram is not apt for a revolution: +the shock of a witty antithesis is related to the healthy stimulus of +creative thinking, as a small electrical battery to the terrestrial +currents. Well-built rhetorical climaxes, sharp and sudden contrasts, +Poor Richard's common-sense, a page boiled down to a sentence, a fresh +simile from Nature, a subtle mood projected upon Nature, a swift +controversial retort, all these things are called thoughts. The pleasure +in them is so great, that one fancies they leave him in their debt. That +depends upon one's standard of indebtedness. Now a penny-a-liner is +indebted to a single phrase which furnishes his column; a clergyman near +Saturday night seizes with rapture the clue of a fine simile which spins +into a 'beautiful sermon'; for the material of his verses a rhymester is +'indebted' to an anecdote or incident. In a higher degree all kinds of +literary work are indebted to that commerce of ideas between the minds +of all nations, which fit up interiors more comfortably, and upholster +them better than before. And everything that gets into circulation is +called a thought, be it a discovery in science, a mechanical invention, +the statement of a natural law, comparative statistics, rules of +economy, diplomatic circulars, and fine magazine-writing. It is the +manoeuvring of the different arms in the great service of humanity, +solid or dashing, on a field already gained. But the thought which +organizes the fresh advance goes with the pioneer-train that bridges +streams, that mines the hill, that feels the country. The controlling +plan puts itself forth with that swarthy set of leather-aproned men +shouldering picks and axes. How brilliantly the uniforms defile +afterward, with flashing points and rhythmic swing, over the fresh +causeway, to hold and maintain a position whose value was ideally +conceived! So that the brightest facings do not cover the boldest +thought." + +By omissions here and there,--in all not amounting to ten pages of +printed matter,--these literary remains of Theodore Parker might have +been made less offensive to believers in the Christian Revelation, as +well as to the not small class of gentlemanly skeptics who go through +whatever motions the best society esteems correct. In these days, many +worthy people, who are not quite sound upon Noah's ark, or even the +destruction of the swine, will wince perceptibly at hearing the Lord's +Supper called "a heathenish rite." And it would be unfair to the +memories of most noted men to stereotype for ten thousand eyes the rough +estimates of familiar letters, or the fragmentary ejaculations of a +private journal. But Mr. Parker never scrupled to exhibit before the +world all that was worst in him. There are few chapters that will not +recall defects publicly shown by the preacher and author. The reader can +scarcely miss a corroboration of a shrewd observation of Macaulay, that +there is no proposition so monstrously untrue in politics or morals as +to be incapable of proof by what shall sound like a logical +demonstration from admitted principles. Theodore Parker was a strong and +honest man. Yet few strong men have so lain at the mercy of some narrow +bit of logic; few honest ones have so warped facts to match opinions. We +speak of exceptional instances, not of ordinary habits. He seemed unable +to persuade himself that a scheme of faith which was false to him could +be true to others of equal intelligence and virtue. He fell too easily +into the spasmodic vice of the day, and said striking things rather than +true ones. He assumed a basis of faith every whit as dogmatic as special +revelation, and sometimes grievously misrepresented the creeds which he +assailed. Strangers might go to the Music Hall to breathe the free air +of a catholic liberality, and find nothing but the old fierceness of +sectarianism broken loose against the sects. Let us make every deduction +which a candid criticism is compelled to claim, and Theodore Parker +stands a noble representative of Republican America. His place is still +among the immortals who are not the creatures of an age, but its +regenerators. For it is not the life of a great skeptic, but the work of +a great believer, which is brought before us in these volumes. This +uncompromising enemy of the creeds was the ally of their highest uses. +His soul never lacked that dear and personal object of worship which is +offered by the Christian Revelation in its common acceptance. He could +have lived in no more jubilant confidence of immortality, had he enjoyed +the tactual satisfactions of Thomas himself. No Catholic nun feels more +delicious assurance of the protection of the Virgin, no Protestant +maiden knows a more blissful consciousness of the Saviour's marital +affection towards her particular church, than felt this Theodore Parker +in the fatherly and motherly tenderness of the Great Cause of All. +Certainly, few doubters have ever doubted to so much purpose as he. Men +who are skeptical through the intellect in the Christian creeds seldom +live so sturdily the Christian life. Yet we cannot think that the +fervent faith with which he wrought came from what was exceptional in +his belief; it was rather a good gift of native and special sort. For it +is a true insight which leads Tennyson to warn him whose faith does not +trust itself to form, that his sister is "quicker unto good" from the +hallowed symbol through which she receives a divine truth. Many who +flatter themselves that they have outgrown the need of a human +embodiment of the Father's love have only induced a plasticity of mind +which prevents the life from taking shape in any positive affirmation. +"It is a strong help to me," writes a Congregational minister, "to find +a man, standing on the extreme verge of liberal theology, holding so +firmly, so tenaciously, to the one true religion, love to God and man." +But may all men stand there, and cling to it as resolutely as he did? + +The ancestors of Theodore Parker seem to have been creditable offshoots +from the Puritan stock. They were men and women of thrift and sagacity. +Of his mother there are very sweet glimpses. He describes her as +"imaginative, delicate-minded, and poetic, yet a very practical woman." +She appears to have been thoroughly religious, but without taste for the +niceties of dogmatic theology. Piety did not have to be laboriously put +into her, before it could generously come out. "I have known few," +writes her son, "in whom the religious instincts were so active and +profound, and who seemed to me to enjoy so completely the life of God in +the soul of man." And again he says, "Religion was the inheritance my +mother gave,--gave me in my birth,--gave me in her teachings. Many sons +have been better born than I, few have had so good a mother. I mention +these things to show you how I came to have the views of religion that I +have now. My head is not more natural to my body, has not more grown +with it, than my religion out of my soul and with it. With me religion +was not carpentry, something built up of dry wood, from without; but it +was growth,--growth of a germ in my soul." Thus we see that Parker was +not singular in his sources of goodness and nobility: here also have the +strong and worthy men of all time received their inspiration. The +mother's sphere is never confined to the household, but expands for joy +or bitterness through the world at large. A youth of farm-work, snatches +of study, and school-teaching, seem to be the appointed _curriculum_ for +our trustworthy men. In addition to this, Theodore achieves a slight +connection with Harvard,--insufficient for a degree, yet enough for him, +if not for the College. Then he teaches a private class in Boston, and +presently opens school in Watertown. Here, for the first time, comes a +modest success after the world's measurement. He has soon thirty-five, +and afterwards fifty-four scholars. And now occurs an incident which is +unaccountably degraded to the minion type of a note. It is, however, +just what the reader wants to know, and deserves Italics and +double-leading, if human actions are ever sufficiently noteworthy for +these honors. The Watertown teacher receives a colored girl who has been +sent to him, and then consents to dismiss her in deference to the +prejudices of Caucasian patrons. Simon Peter denied the Saviour for whom +he was afterwards crucified with his head hanging down. One day we shall +find this schoolmaster leaving most cherished work, and braving all +social obloquies, that he may stand closer than a brother to the +despised and ignorant of the outcast race. The colored girl was amply +avenged. But the teacher is here, as ever after, a learner, and his +leisure is filled with languages, Latin, Greek, Hebrew, German, Spanish, +and French. During his subsequent stay at the Cambridge Divinity School, +there are added studies in Italian, Portuguese, Icelandic, Chaldaic, +Arabic, Persian, and Coptic. Of his proficiency in this Babel of tongues +the evidence is not very conclusive. Professor Willard is said to have +applied to the young divinity-student for advice in some nice matters of +Hebrew and Syriac. Theology there can be no doubt that he thoroughly +mastered. After a brief season of itinerancy through Massachusetts +pulpits, he is settled at West Roxbury. And here begins that agony of +doubt dismal and unprofitable to contemplate, when it is not redeemed by +a manly ardor which searches on for attainable grounds of trust. But in +this young minister the faith of a little child cannot be superseded by +the advents of geology and carnal criticism. Some of the Biblical +conceptions of the Deity may be found inadequate, but Nature and the +human soul are full of His presence and glow with His inspirations. +Within the limits of capacity and obedience, every man and woman may +receive direct nourishment from God. At length the South-Boston sermon +of 1841 separates the position of Theodore Parker from that of his +Unitarian brethren. After this, his life belongs to the public. He is +known of men as an assailant of respectable and sacred things, a bitter +critic of political and social usages. That these manifestations were +but small portions of the total of his life, the public may now discern. + +We can recall no published correspondence of the century which combines +more excellent and diverse qualities than this with which Mr. Weiss has +plentifully filled his pages. Occasions for which the completest of +Complete Letter-Writers has failed to provide are met by Mr. Parker with +consummate discretion. His letters are to Senators, Shakers, Professors, +Doctors, Slaveholders, Abolitionists, morbid girls, and heroic women: +they are all equally rich in spontaneity, simplicity, and point. Keen +criticisms of noted men, speculations upon society, homely wisdom of the +household, estimates of the arts, and consolations of religion, all +packed in plain and precise English, seem to have been ever ready for +delivery. If Mr. Parker had not chosen the unpopularity of a great man, +he could have had the abundant popularity of a clever one. Let us see +how he outlines the Seer of Stockholm for an inquiring correspondent:-- + +"Swedenborg has had the fate to be worshipped as a half-god, on the one +side; and on the other, to be despised and laughed at. It seems to me +that he was a man of genius, of wide learning, of deep and genuine piety +But he had an abnormal, queer sort of mind, dreamy, dozy, clairvoyant, +Andrew-Jackson-Davisy; and besides, he loved opium and strong coffee, +and wrote under the influence of those drugs. A wise man may get many +nice bits out of him, and be the healthier for such eating; but if he +swallows Swedenborg whole, as the fashion is with his followers,--why, +it lays hard in the stomach, and the man has a nightmare on him all his +natural life, and talks about 'the Word,' and 'the Spirit,' +'correspondences,' 'receivers.' Yet the Swedenborgians have a calm and +religious beauty in their lives which is much to be admired." + +The deeply affectionate nature of Theodore Parker glows warmly through +the Correspondence and Journal. His friends were necessities, and were +loved with a devotion by no means characteristic of Americans. He could +give his life to ideas, but his heart must be given to persons, young +and old. Turning from his task of opposition and conflict, he would +yearn for the society of little children, whose household loves might +dull the noise and violence and passion through which he daily walked. +"The great joy of my life," he writes, "cannot be _intellectual action_, +neither _practical work_. Though I joy in both, it is the affections +which open the spring of mortal delight. But the object of my +affections, dearest of all, is not at hand. How strange that I should +have no children, and only get a little sad sort of happiness, not of +the affectional quality! I am only _an old maid in life_, after all my +bettying about in literature and philanthropy." And in a letter to Dr. +Francis there comes an exclamation of which the arrangement is very +pathetic in its significance,--"I have no child, and the worst +reputation of any minister in all America!" + +We are in no position to estimate with any exactness either the +adaptation of Theodore Parker to our national well-being or his positive +aid to the mental and moral progress of New-England society. Violent +denunciations in the interest of the various sects and policies that he +attacked will for the present be levelled against him. Neither will +there be wanting extravagant eulogiums from personal friends, +fellow-religionists, and zealous reformers. Only the distant view of a +generation yet to be can see him in just relation to the men of this +time. In judging the weight and work of a contemporary, we attach an +over-importance to the number and social position of his nominal +adherents; while, in estimating the utility of an historic leader, we +instinctively feel that these things are almost the last to be +considered. For the greatest influence for good has come from men who +have struggled in feeble minorities,--ever alienating would-be friends +by an invincible honesty, or even by an invincible fanaticism. Not to +the excellences or extravagances of a handful of persons who precisely +agree with his views of Christianity may we look for the influence of +Theodore Parker which to-day works among us. We might find it in greater +power in Brownson's Catholic Review, in the humane magnetism of orthodox +Mr. Beecher, in the Episcopal ministrations of Dr. Tyng. For any +intelligent Christian must allow that those claiming to represent the +Church of Christ have too often sided with the oppressor, fettered human +thought in departments foreign to religion, and inculcated degrading +beliefs, which scholars eminent in orthodoxy declare indeducible from +any Biblical precept. It is not the incredibleness of a metaphysical +belief, but a laxity or cowardice of the practice connected with it, +which can point the reformer's gibe and wing his sarcasm. Theodore +Parker virtually told the Christian minister that he must reprove +profitable and popular sins, or else stand at great disadvantage in the +trial between Rationalism and Supernaturalism which is vexing the age. +In rich and prosperous communities Christianity has been too prone to +degenerate into a mere credence of dogma; it must reassert itself as the +type of ethics. It is also good that the clergy, intrusted with the +defence of the faith delivered to saints, be compelled to place +themselves on a level with the ripest scholarship of the day. For ends +such as these the life of this critic and protester has abundantly +wrought. If he has pulled down a meeting-house here and there, we are +confident that he has been instrumental in building up many more to an +effective Christianity. + + +_Peculiar. A Tale of the Great Transition_. By EPES SARGENT. +New York: G.W. Carleton. 12mo. + +There seems to be an element of luck in the production of highly +successful plays and novels. To succeed in this department of +imaginative writing, it is not enough that the author has literary +power and skill. Else why do the failures of every great novelist and +playwright almost always outnumber the successes? Even Shakspeare offers +no exception to the fact. What a descent from "Hamlet" to "Titus +Andronicus," from "Othello" to "Cymbeline"! Miss Bronte writes "Jane +Eyre," and fails ever afterwards to come up to her own standard. Bulwer +delights us with "The Caxtons," and then sinks to the dulness of "The +Strange Story." Dickens gives us "Oliver Twist," and then tries the +patience of confiding readers in "Martin Chuzzlewit." We will not +undertake to analyze all the reasons for these startling discrepancies; +but one obvious reason is _infelicity in the choice of a subject_. A +subject teeming with the right capabilities will often enable an +ordinary playwright to produce a drama that will rouse an audience to +wild enthusiasm; whereas, if the subject is un-pregnant with dramatic +issues, not even genius can invest it with the charm that commands the +sympathy and attention of the many. Watch a large, miscellaneous +audience, as it listens, rapt, intent, and weeping, to Kotzebue's +"Stranger," and see the same audience as it tries to attend to +Talfourd's "Ion." Yet here it is the hack writer who succeeds and the +true poet who fails. Why? Because the former has hit upon a subject +which gives him at once the advantage of nearness to the popular heart, +while the latter has selected a theme remote and unsympathetic. + +In "Peculiar" Mr. Sargent has had the luck, if we may so call it, of +finding the materials for his plot in incidents which carry in +themselves so much of dramatic power that a story is evolved from them +with the facility and inevitableness of a fate. When the United States +forces under General Butler occupied New Orleans, certain developments +connected with the workings of "the peculiar institution" were made, +which showed a state of social degradation of which we had not supposed +even Slavery capable. It appeared that women, so white as to be +undistinguishable from the fairest Anglo-Saxons, were held as slaves, +lashed as slaves, subjected to all the indignities which irresponsible +mastership involves. + +"Peculiar" derives its title from one of the characters of the novel, an +escaped negro slave, who has received from his sportive master the name +of "Peculiar Institution." The great dramatic fact of the story lies in +the kidnapping of the infant child of wealthy Northern parents who have +been killed in a steamboat-explosion on the Mississippi. The child, a +girl, is saved from the water, but saved by two "mean whites," creatures +and hangers-on of the Slave Power, who take her to New Orleans, and +finally, being in want of money, sell her with other slaves at auction. +In a very graphic and truthful scene, the "vendue" is depicted. About +this little girl, Clara by name, the intensest interest is thenceforth +made to centre. Her every movement is artfully made a matter of moment +to the reader. + +Antecedent to the introduction of Clara, the true heroine of the novel, +we have the story of Estelle, also a white slave. At first this story +seems like an episode, but it is soon found to be inextricably +interwoven with the plot. The author has shown remarkable dexterity in +preserving the unity of the action so impressively, while dealing with +such a variety of characters. Like a floating melody or _tema_ in a +symphony or an opera, the _souvenirs_ of Estelle are introduced almost +with the effect of pathetic music. Indeed, to those accustomed to look +at plots as works of art, the constructive skill manifest in this novel +will be not the least of its attractive features. + +One word as to the characters. These are drawn with a firm, confident +pencil, as if they were portraits from life. Occasionally, from very +superabundance of material, the author leaves his outline unfilled. But +the important characters are all live and actual flesh and blood. In +Pompilard, a capitally drawn figure, many New-Yorkers will recognize an +original, faithfully limned. In Colonel Delancy Hyde, "Virginia-born," +we have a most amusing representative of the lower orders of the +"Chivalry." Estelle is a charming creation, and we know of few such +touching love-stories as that through which she moves with such +naturalness and grace. In the cousins Vance and Kenrick we have strongly +marked and delicately discriminated portraits. The negro "Peculiar" is +made to attract much of our sympathy and respect. He is not the buffoon +that the stage and the novel generally make of the black man. He belongs +rather to the class of which Frederick Douglas is a type. It is no more +than poetic justice that from "Peculiar" the book should take its name. + +We should say more of the plot, did we not purposely abstain from +marring the reader's interest by any indiscreet foreshadowing. Everybody +seems to be reading or intending to read the book; and its success is +already so far assured that no hostile criticism can gainsay or check +it. Not the least of the merits of "Peculiar" is the healthy patriotic +spirit which runs through it, vivifying and intensifying the whole. The +style is remarkably animated, often eloquent, and would of itself impart +interest to a story far less rich than this in incident, and less +powerful in plot. + + +_The Life of William Hickling Prescott_. By GEORGE TICKNOR. +Boston: Ticknor & Fields. + +The third edition of Mr. Ticknor's "History of Spanish Literature" was +noticed with due commendation in our number for November last. That was +a work drawn exclusively from the region of the intellect, and written +by the "dry light" of the understanding. The author appeared throughout +in a purely judicial capacity. His task was to summon before his +literary tribunal the writers of a foreign country, and mostly of past +generations, and pronounce sentence upon their claims and merits. +Learning, method, sound judgment, and good taste are displayed in it; +but the subject afforded no chance for the expression of those personal +traits which are shown in daily life, and make up a man's reputation in +the community where he dwells. + +But the Life of Prescott is a book of another mood, and drawn from other +fountains than those of the understanding. It glows with human +sympathies, and is warm with human feeling. It is the record of a long +and faithful friendship, which began in youth and continued unbroken to +the last. It is the elder of the two that discharges this last office of +affection to his younger brother. Mr. Ticknor could not write the life +of Mr. Prescott without showing how worthy he himself was of having so +true, so loving, and so faithful a friend. But he has done this +unconsciously and unintentionally. For it is one of the charms of this +delightful book--one of the most attractive of the attractive class of +literary biography to which it belongs that we have ever read--that the +biographer never intrudes himself between his subject and the reader. +The story of Mr. Prescott's life is told simply and naturally, and as +far as possible in Mr. Prescott's own words, drawn from his diaries and +letters. Whatever Mr. Ticknor has occasion to say is said with good +taste and good feeling, and he has shown a fine judgment in making his +portraiture of his friend so life-like and so true in detail, and yet in +never overstepping the line of that inner circle into which the public +has no right to enter. We have in these pages a record of Mr. Prescott's +life from his cradle to his grave, sufficiently minute to show what +manner of man he was, and what influences went to make up his mind and +character; and it is a record of more than common value, as well as +interest. + +For the last twenty years of his life Mr. Prescott was one of the most +eminent and widely known of the residents of Boston. He was universally +beloved, esteemed, and admired. He was one of the first persons whom a +stranger coming among us wished to see. His person and countenance were +familiar to many who had no further acquaintance with him; and as he +walked about our streets, many a glance of interest was turned upon him +of which he himself was unconscious. The general knowledge that his +literary honors had been won under no common difficulties, owing to his +defective sight, invested his name and presence with a peculiar feeling +of admiration and regard. The public at large, including those persons +who had but a slight acquaintance with him, saw in him a man very +attractive in personal appearance, and of manners singularly frank and +engaging. There was the same charm in his conversation, his aspect, the +expression of his countenance, that was felt in his writings. Everything +that he did seemed to have been done easily, spontaneously, and without +effort. There were no marks of toil and endurance, of temptations +resisted and seductions overcome. His graceful and limpid style seemed +to flow along with the natural movement of a running stream, and to +those who saw his winning smile and listened to his gay and animated +talk he appeared like one who had basked in sunshine all his days and +never known the iron discipline of life. + +But this was not true; at least, it was not the whole truth. Besides +this external, superficial aspect, there was an inner life which was +known only to the few who knew him intimately, and which his biography +has now revealed to the world. This memoir sets the author of "Ferdinand +and Isabella" before the public, as Mr. Ticknor says in his preface, "as +a man whose life for more than forty years was one of almost constant +struggle,--of an almost constant sacrifice of impulse to duty, of the +present to the future." Take Mr. Prescott as he was at the age of +twenty-five, and see what the chances are, as the world goes, of his +becoming a laborious and successful man of letters. He was handsome in +person, attractive in manners, possessed of a competent property, very +happy in his domestic relations, with one eye destroyed and the other +impaired by a cruel accident; what was more probable, more natural, than +that he should become a mere man of wit and pleasure about town, and +never write anything beyond a newspaper-article or a review? And we +should remember that defective sight was not the only disability under +which he labored. His health was never robust, and he was a frequent +sufferer from rheumatism and dyspepsia,--the former a winter visitor, +and the latter a summer. And not only this, but there was yet another +lion in his path. His temperament was naturally indolent. He was fond of +social gayety, of light reading, of domestic chat. He had that love of +lounging which Sydney Smith said no Scotchman but Sir James Mackintosh +ever had. But there was a stoical element in him, lying beneath this +easy and pleasure-loving temperament, and subduing and controlling it. +He had a vigilant conscience and a very strong will. He had early come +to the conclusion that not only no honor and no usefulness, but no +happiness, could be secured without a regular and daily recurring +occupation. He made up his mind, after due reflection and consideration, +to make literature his profession; and not only that, but he further +made up his mind to toil in this, his chosen and voluntary vocation, +with the patient and uninterrupted industry of a professional man whose +daily bread depends upon his daily labor. + +And the biography before us reveals that inner life of struggle and +conquest which, while Mr. Prescott was living, was known only to his +most intimate friends. We see here how resolutely and steadily he +contended, not only against defective sight and indifferent health, but +also against the love of ease and the seductions of indolence. We see +with what strenuous effort his literary honors were won, as well as with +what gentleness they were worn. And thus the work has a distinct moral +value, and is full of encouragement to those who, under similar or +inferior disabilities, have determined to make the choice of Hercules, +and prefer a life of labor to a life of pleasure. And this moral lesson +is conveyed in a most winning and engaging way. The interest of the +narrative is kept up to the end with the freshness of a well-constructed +work of fiction. It is an interest not derived from stirring adventures, +for Mr. Prescott's life was very uneventful, but from its happy +portraiture of those delightful qualities of mind and character of which +his life was a revelation. Though it tells of constant struggle and not +a little suffering, the tone of the book is genial, sunny, and cheerful, +as was the temperament of the historian himself. For it is a remarkable +fact that Mr. Prescott's bodily infirmities never had any effect in +making his mind or his character morbid. His spiritual nature was +eminently healthy. His leading intellectual trait was sound good sense +and the power of seeing men and things as they were. He had no whims, no +paradoxes, no prejudices. His histories reflect the aggregate judgment +of mankind upon the personages he describes and the events he narrates, +without extravagance or overstatement in any direction. And it was the +same with his character, as shown in daily life; it was frank, generous, +cordial, and manly. No man was less querulous, less irritable, less +exacting than he. His social nature was warm; discriminating, but not +fastidious. He liked men for the good there was in them, and his taste +in friendship was wide and catholic. He was rich in friends, and this +book proves how just a title to such wealth he could show. We shall be +surprised, if this biography does not attain a popularity as wide and +as enduring as that enjoyed by any of Mr. Prescott's historical works. +It is largely made up of extracts from his letters and private journals, +which are full of the playful humor, the ready sympathy, the sunny +temper, the kindly judgment of men and things, which made the historian +so dear to his friends and so popular among his acquaintances. + +We cannot dismiss this book without saying a word or two in praise of +its externals. Handsome books are, happily, no longer so rare a product +of the American press as to require heralding when they do appear, but +this is so beautiful a specimen of the art of book-manufacturing that it +deserves special commendation. The type, paper, press-work, and +illustrations are all admirable, and the whole is a result not easily to +be surpassed in any part of the world. + + +_My Farm of Edgewood. A Country Book_. By the Author of "Reveries of a +Bachelor." New York: Charles Scribner. 12mo. + +When "Ik Marvel" ten years ago turned farmer, a good proportion of the +reading public supposed that his experiment would combine the defects of +gentleman- and poet-farming, and that he would escape the bankruptcy of +Shenstone only by possessing the purse of Astor. That a man of refined +sentiments, elegant tastes, wide cultivation, and humane and tender +genius, given, moreover, to indulgences in "Reveries" and the +"Dream-Life," should succeed in the real business of agriculture, seemed +a monstrous supposition to those cockney idealists who consider the +cultivation of the mind incompatible with the cultivation of the ground, +who cannot bring, by any theory of the association of ideas, practical +talent into neighborly good-will with lofty aspirations, and who +necessarily connect the government of brutes with an imbruted +intelligence. The book we have under review is a blunt contradiction to +objectors of the literary class. That it is practical, the coarsest +farmer must admit; that its practicality is not purchased by any mean +and unwise concessions to "popular prejudice," the most sensitive +_litterateur_ will concede; and that the whole representation +constitutes a most charming book, all readers will be eager to +pronounce. Indeed, the critic of the volume is somewhat puzzled to +harmonize the fine rhythm of the periods, and the superb propriety of +the tone, with the subject-matter. The bleakest and most ghastly aspects +of Nature,--the most prosaic facts of the farmer's life,--Irish servants +and compost-heaps,--cows which try to consume their own milk,--beehives +which send forth swarms to sting the children of the house, and give no +honey,--soils which refuse to bear the products which intelligence has +anticipated,--all are transformed into "something rich and strange" by +the poet's alchemy, without any sacrifice of truth, or the insertion of +details which a farmer would disavow as inaccurate or sentimental. The +"Ik" is a full counterpoise to the "Marvel," even to the most literal +reader of the volume, though it is certain that no book has ever before +appeared in our country in which the farmer-life of New England has +assumed so poetic a form. The "chiel" among the agriculturists "taking +notes" will be more likely to seduce than to warn; and if the record of +his eventual triumphs be received as gospel truth, we must expect a vast +emigration of the men of mind from the cities to the country. Who would +not cheerfully encounter all the vexations attending a settlement in "My +Farm in Edgewood" for the compensations so bountifully provided for the +privations? + +To the literary reader the doubt will arise, whether the writer of this +work might not have more profitably employed his time, during the last +ten years, in creating thoughts than in "improving" land,--in diffusing +information than in selling milk. As a poetic, scientific, and practical +farmer, he has doubtless silenced all cynic doubts of his capacity to +make four or six per cent. on the capital he invested in land; but it is +plain, that, without capital, he might have made three or four times as +much by the genial exercise of his literary power. The talent exercised +on his farm we must, therefore, consider from a financial point of view +to have been more or less wasted. As a "gentleman-farmer," he might +easily have repaired from his study all the losses which his trained +subordinates of the garden and the field incurred from the lack of his +constant superintendence. Everything which a man of mind could want in a +country-residence might have been obtained without his personal +oversight of every minute detail, and the net result of the gains of the +year would have been greater, if, instead of riding daily into New Haven +to sell his milk, he had stayed quietly in his study to write for the +magazines. This calculation we have made from a rigid scrutiny of the +figures in which the author sums up, year after year, his gains. + +We have been provoked into this comparison by the evident glee with +which Ik Marvel parades the results of his agricultural labors. So +earnest is he to show that a man of genius can make money by farming, +that he is inclined to overlook the distinction between the work of an +ordinary and that of an extraordinary mind. Waiving this consideration, +we have nothing to object to his ten years' seclusion from literature. +That seclusion has brought him into contact with the rough realities of +a farmer's life, has enabled him personally to inspect every process of +agriculture, and furnish his mind with an entirely new class of facts. +The result is a book whose merit can hardly be overpraised. It should be +in every farmer's library, as a volume full of practical advice to aid +his daily work, and full of ennobling suggestions to lift his calling +into a kind of epic dignity. As a book for the generality of readers, it +far exceeds any previous work of the author in force, naturalness, and +beauty, in vividness of description and richness of style, and in that +indefinable element of genius which envelops the most prosaic details in +an atmosphere of refinement and grace. + + +_Methods of Study in Natural History_. By L. AGASSIZ. Boston: +Ticknor & Fields. 12mo. + +A work from the scientific storehouse of Professor Agassiz needs only to +have attention called to its existence to command universal welcome. The +readers of the "Atlantic" are already in some measure familiar with its +contents, being a reprint of a series of papers published in this +journal; but they will be read again with double satisfaction in this +continuous form. The avowed purpose is "to give some general hints to +young students as to the methods by which scientific truth has been +reached." + +There are many lovers of Nature, and many students of Nature; but there +are very few whom we may term philosophers of Nature. In other words, +there are those who are charmed with the external world, its landscapes, +its beauteous forms and tints, and all its various adaptations to +fascinate the senses,--and those who delight in deciphering and +describing all the details of individual objects, and their wonderful +fitness to the role they have severally or unitedly to play; and there +is the man who, endowed with all this, seeks to go still farther, and +from myriads of observations to deduce great general truths. He is the +philosopher. + +When Agassiz arrived in this country, there were many good observers of +Nature here, and many who had accumulated a large store of facts. Each +one had been working in his own way, almost alone, scarcely knowing the +ultimate aims of scientific research, much less knowing how to arrive at +them. To him, more than to any other person, zooelogists in this country +are indebted for showing them how to work, and for presenting to them a +plan to be worked out, with processes and means by which this is to be +done. And now he designs to diffuse these high aims and methods +throughout the community. As he says, "The time has come when scientific +truth must cease to be the property of the few, when it must be woven +into the common life of the world." Of all men, he is the one to gain +the ear and understanding of the public on such matters, and to command +the recognition of his conclusions. His faculty of simplifying great +principles, and of clothing them in such language and with such +illustrations as to render them intelligible and attractive to the +uninstructed, is one of Professor Agassiz's most rare characteristics. +In these chapters he has unfolded some of the methods by which high +scientific results have been and may be attained, and has well +illustrated them. In a short sketch of the progress of Natural History, +he has noticed the methods which were successively pursued in its study, +and the long time which elapsed before anything like true science was +developed; he has pointed out the necessity and nature of +classification, the important terms employed, as classes, orders, +families, genera, and species, and their signification, and dwells upon +the great idea that all the denominations represented by these terms +exist definitely in Nature, and can be legitimate and permanent only as +they conform to the plan laid down by Nature herself. Much of the work +is devoted to the enforcement of this doctrine. He shows us, more +especially by the class of Radiates, how objects at first view widely +different all conform to the same definite plan, and how some which +during a part of their history would not be suspected of having any +alliance with each other, yet, by alternate generations, come to be +identical. He shows, by the ovarian egg, the great simplicity and +apparent identity of the beginnings of all animal life, and the +successive steps by which the diversified forms of animals are +developed, and insists upon the necessity of following the history of an +animal through all its phases before its true place in the grand plan +can be determined. He discusses the permanence of species, and the +limits of their variation, which he illustrates more especially by the +growth of corals, and most emphatically expresses his dissent from the +startling development-doctrines of Darwin. But it would be fruitless to +attempt an abstract of the numerous truths he has alluded to, and the +methods by which such truths are to be sought. It is to these truths, in +contradistinction to the mere study and description of species, and the +building up of systems on external characters alone, that he hopes to +direct attention. Those comprehensive truths are few. Agassiz tells us, +that, after a whole life devoted to the study of Nature, a simple +sentence may express all he himself has 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." +Though this is by no means the limit of his claim so modestly expressed, +yet that was a grand generalization, and, like the great doctrine of +gravitation, and the demonstration by Cuvier of the existence of races +of animals and plants on the globe anterior to those now existing, it +proves to be of almost indefinite application, and, like those +doctrines, has revolutionized science. + +The peculiar scientific views here presented this is no place to +criticize. But we may say that to every student of liberal culture this +work is essential. Every teacher's table and every school-library should +be furnished with it. + + +_Hannah Thurston: A Story of American Life_. By BAYARD TAYLOR. +New York: G.P. Putnam. + +Mr. Bayard Taylor evidently does not subscribe to the theory which +"Friends in Council" attributes to a large class: "that men cannot excel +in more things than one; and that, if they can, they had better be quiet +about it." Having already achieved a reputation as a traveller, a poet, +and a secretary to a foreign legation, he now enters the lists with the +novelists, who must look well to their laurels, if they would not have +them snatched from their brows by this new-comer. + +The book is called "A Story of American Life." It is American life, just +as the statue of the Venus de' Medici or the Apollo Belvedere is the +representation of the human figure. No Athenian belle, no Delphic +athlete, stood for those beautiful shapes; but the nose was modelled +from one copy, the limbs from another, the brow from a third, and the +result is a joy forever. So the American life portrayed in this story is +a conglomeration, and partially a caricature, of the various _isms_ +which have disturbed the strata of our social life. That early American +village should present within its outmost circle the collection of +peculiarities gathered here would be little less than marvellous. That +they are found in so many American villages as to justify their being +attributed to American villages in general is preposterous. Certainly, +this picture does not daguerreotype New England, however it may be in +New York,--and though New England is small and provincial and New York +is large and cosmopolitan, still we respectfully submit that any +characteristic which may belong to New York and does not belong to New +England is local and not national; and though a writer, for his own +convenience and the better to convey his moral, may, if he choose, group +all the wickednesses and weaknesses of the land in one secluded spot, he +ought not to convey to strangers so wrong an idea of our rural social +life as to make that spot the exponent of all.--So much for the title. + +We now open the book, and are immediately in the midst of scenes which +have an indescribable familiarity. We have a confused sense of having +met these people before. Certainly they have a strong family-likeness to +denizens of modern novels. The sewing-circles and small-talk savor of +the cheap wit of Widow Bedott. Jutnapore must have descended in a right +line from Borrioboola-Gha. The traditional spinsters with their +"withered bosoms" march in four abreast. The hereditary clergymen, +hungry, sectarian, sanctimonious, rabid, form into line with the +precision acquired by long drill. The hero and heroine stand up as good +as married in the first chapter. The features of the hero are instantly +recognizable. There is the small stir, the rising of the curtain, and +_some one_ steps upon the stage, "tall and sunburnt, with a +moustache,"--'tis he! Alonzo!--"with easy self-possession and a genial +air,"--the very man,--"habitual manners slightly touched with reserve, +but no man could unbend more easily,"--who but he, our old +acquaintance?--"a rich baritone voice," "strung with true masculine +fibre," striking in among the sharps and flats and bringing them all +into harmony,--that is the invariable way. "Generally, the least +intellectual persons sing with the truest and most touching expression, +because voice and intellect are rarely combined, [the reason seems to us +rather a restatement of the fact,] but Maxwell Woodbury's fine organ had +not been given to him at the expense of his brain." Certainly not. He +never would have been our hero, if it had. When you add, that "his +manners were thoroughly refined, and his property large enough and not +too large for leisure," why, one might almost send a sheriff to arrest +him, trusting to this description to make sure of his identity. The +heroine is of course the "pale, quiet, earnest-looking girl," who, in +the midst of snoods, frocks, jackets, pocket-handkerchiefs, and other +commonplace handicraft, is embroidering with green silk upon warm brown +cloth the thready stems and frail diminishing fronds of a group of +fern-leaves,--who alone among assured matrons and faded spinsters is +visited by "a flitting blush, delicate and transient as the shadow of a +rose tossed upon marble,"--and who matches the "glorious lay" of the +hero, that "thrilled and shook her with its despairing solemnity," with +an Alpine song, that, pure and sweet, sets the hero once more face to +face with the Rosenlaui glacier and the jagged pyramid of the +Wetterhorn. + +To this there is no special objection. Every man has a right to heap +virtues and graces upon his hero, and to heighten their effect by as +much uncouthness and insincerity as he chooses to attribute to the +subordinates; but so far as he professes to represent life, he should +keep within the bounds of natural laws. If he chooses to introduce +time-honored personages, we shall not quarrel with him, although we +certainly think it desirable that some fresh piquancy in their +characters shall be the vindication of their reappearance. We may regret +that a subtle, but palpable ridicule is cast upon foreign missions,--a +cause which, whether successful or unsuccessful in its immediate +objects, will forever stand recorded as one of the most unselfish, the +most sublime, and the most Christ-like movements that have ever been +originated by man. The hero does, indeed, patronize them to the extent +of saying that he has "seen something of your missions in India, and +believes that they are capable of accomplishing much good,"--adding, +however, lest his words excite hopes too sanguine, "Still, you must not +expect immediate returns. It is only the lowest caste that is now +reached, and the Christianizing of India must come, eventually, from the +highest,"--words which we shall be very ready to take as opinion, but +very slow to receive as oracle, since, from the time when the Founder of +Christianity was upon the earth, and the common people heard him gladly, +while the higher classes thrust him out of their synagogues, till the +present day, the history of Christianity has been the history of an +influence rising from the lower layers of society into the upper, rather +than filtering down from the upper into the lower. + +Since, also, however vulgarly the Grindles may put it, it is true that +drunkenness _is_ the agony of wives, the dread of mothers,--that it does +destroy hopes, desolate hearths, break hearts,--that within the last two +years it has added to its terrible deeds wide disasters to our arms, +long sorrow to our country, and fruitless death in a thousand +households,--we think it would have been well, if the discredit cast +upon temperance measures, and the discomfiture visited upon its +advocates, had been accompanied by a less covert recognition of the evil +and by a more obvious sympathy with its victims. Since the methods taken +to insure self-control are insufficient, would it not have been possible +to indicate better? Since Woodbury does not think abstinence to be the +cure of intemperance, could he not justify his practice by a higher +principle than self-indulgence, lay it on a deeper foundation than +dilettanteism? + +We regret, also, that in a book by Bayard Taylor there should have been +found room for such a paragraph as this:-- + + "The churches in the village undertook their periodical + 'revivals,' which absorbed the interest of the community while + they lasted. It was not the usual season in Ptolemy for such + agitations of the religious atmosphere,--but the Methodist + clergyman, a very zealous and impassioned speaker, having + initiated the movement with great success, the other sects became + alarmed lest he should sweep all the repentant sinners of the + place into his own fold. As soon as they could obtain help from + Tiberius, the Baptists followed, and the Rev. Lemuel Styles was + constrained to do likewise. For a few days the latter regained the + ground he had lost, and seemed about to distance his competitors. + Luckily for him,... the material for conversion, drawn upon from + so many different quarters, was soon exhausted; but the rival + churches stoutly held out, until convinced that neither had any + further advantage to gain over the other." + +No one who has given to the religious phenomena of the day the smallest +degree of intellectual and sympathetic attention can fail to pronounce +this a gross and ill-bred caricature. Ridicule is the legitimate weapon +of Truth; but ridicule that strikes rudely and indiscriminately, +wounding without benefiting, is not found in the hands of Christian +courtesy. We regret these blemishes, and such as these, the more because +we are persuaded that the effects produced were not intended by the +author. We believe, not only from his previous reputation, but from the +spirit of the book, which warms, deepens, and clarifies itself as it +goes on, that he aimed only at results pure, healthful, and desirable. +It is by no design of his, that young feet, already wavering downward, +will not be strengthened to pause, to turn, to steady themselves, but +will rather be lured on by his words. It is no purpose of his to make +the crusts of Materialism harden still more hopelessly above the stifled +soul. He designs to ridicule only that which is ridiculous. There are +evidences of a purpose to relieve the darkness of his coloring in each +instance by lines of light, but it is not made palpable enough for +running readers. He has seen the weakness that generally develops itself +in, and the hypocrisy that almost invariably clings to the skirts of a +great popular movement, and it is these alone which he aims to bring +down. In this he is right. He errs in that his vision is neither clear +nor broad. He does not always wisely discriminate as to the nature or +extent of the disease, or the effect of the remedy which he applies. The +cause of the difficulty has baffled his researches. The people upon whom +his strictures fall, and to whom strictures belong, will be inflamed, +but they will not be enlightened; and they who do see the real nature of +the movement, its bane as well as its blessing, and who are constantly +laboring to separate the chaff from the wheat, will not be helped, but +hindered, by his well-meant efforts. + +But, as we intimated, the book, like fame, increases in going. Under all +the wit and humor, which are often very charming, under all the satire, +which is none the less enjoyable because occasionally half-hidden, under +the somewhat multifarious machinery, which the peculiar structure of the +book renders necessary, there rises slowly into view and presently into +prominence the outline of a purpose as noble as it is rare. In the teeth +of popular prejudice, Bayard Taylor has had the courage to take for his +heroine a woman "strong-minded," austere in her faith, past her first +youth, given to public speaking, and imbued, we might almost say to +stubbornness, with ultra ideas of "woman's rights." True, he has given +her to us in the most modified form possible to such a character, +utterly pure, unselfish, true, refined, without ambition, impelled by +the highest motives, and guided by the highest principles. But the +conjunction of these two classes of qualities in one person is the real +Malakoff. That accomplished and the work is done. In this conception +lies the true originality of the book. In this attempt lies the true +consciousness of power. He who can make his hero say,--"It was my +profound appreciation of those very elements in your character which led +you to take up these claims of woman and make them your own, that opened +the way for you to my heart: I reverence the qualities, without +accepting all the conclusions born of them,"--has a deeper insight than +most of his fellows. He shows that he looks at things, and not at the +traditions of things. He is not led away by the cry of the mob, and the +gleam of gold so pure and solid almost changes into indignation our +regret that he has ever suffered himself to be deceived by the glare of +tawdry tinsel. + +Yet even here he has not struck all truth. It is the most improbable +thing in the world that any woman should have built up such a wall +around herself as is represented here. It is morally impossible that +such a woman as Hannah Thurston should have done it. It is simply +unnatural. It might, perhaps, happen, just as a woman might happen to +have been born with five fingers on each hand. But it is not with freaks +of Nature, it is with Nature, that we have to deal. Girls may please +themselves with fine-sounding phrases about equal powers and equal +rights in marriage, but they generally vanish with the first approach of +a living affection. No idea of independence or equality ever, we dare +affirm, came between a great nature and its great love. No woman of +exalted aims and large capacities, it may be safely said, will ever be +held back from love, or even from marriage, by any scruples as to her +relative standing. The stumbling-block in the way of such a woman as +Hannah Thurston would not be a dread of the "submission of love," but +rather of a submission without love, a submission of mere contiguity to +somewhat hard, false, coarse, unjust, naming itself with a name to which +it had no title. If she trusted her lover thoroughly, she would intrust +all risks to love. She would know with her head and feel with her heart, +that, with the chivalry, the intensity, the reverence, the elevation of +such a sentiment as she imagined, there could be neither bondage nor +freedom, neither mine nor thine, but a oneness that would bring all +relations into harmony with itself. The very essence of love is +humility, and at the same time its glory is that it abolishes all laws, +all rights, all powers, and is to itself alone law, right, and power. By +the completeness of self-abnegation may the footsteps of love be traced. +This partially the author recognizes, choosing it for the conclusion of +the whole matter, but erring in that he makes it come with resistance +and reluctance, the conquest of love, instead of spontaneously and +unconsciously, its necessary concomitant. + +In the hero of the story and his relations to the heroine, with +occasional questionable traits, we find often a generosity, delicacy, +and devotion which give promise of good. A man who can conceive a +character so much above the common level, where the common level has +always been low, cannot fail by continued observation and candid +thinking to rise still higher. Frequently already, seeming hardly to be +conscious of it, he impinges upon a far-reaching, deep-lying, but +generally unrecognized truth. When men shall have come to study the +nature of woman, instead of haranguing about her duties, a great point +will have been gained. + +The blemishes which we have pointed out, and others which we have not +pointed out, are only blemishes, and chiefly upon the surface. They mar, +but they do not vitiate. + +The limits of a magazine will not admit that adequate analysis and +criticism which the ability of the book, both in point of subject and +treatment, deserves. We have only space to say, that, making every +allowance for every fault, it has the merit of being a pioneer, and an +able pioneer, in a tract which has been hitherto, so far as we know, +unbroken wilderness. Its author has not solved the problem,--he does not +even understand all its conditions; but he is travelling in the +direction of the true solution: and he offers us the rare, we had almost +said the solitary, spectacle of a man and an opponent bringing to the +discussion of the "Woman's-Rights question" an appreciable degree of +sense, justice, and moral dignity. + + * * * * * + +RECENT AMERICAN PUBLICATIONS + +RECEIVED BY THE EDITORS OF THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY. + + +Manual of Instructions for Military Surgeons, on the Examination of +Recruits and Discharge of Soldiers. With an Appendix, containing the +Official Regulations of the Provost-Marshal-General's Bureau, and those +for the Formation of the Invalid Corps, etc. Prepared at the Request of +the U.S. Sanitary Commission. By John Ordronaux, M.D., Professor of +Medical Jurisprudence in Columbia College, New York. New York. D. 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Sheldon & Co. 16mo. pp. 312, 321, 320, 308. $4.00. + +War-Pictures from the South. By B. Estvan, Colonel of Cavalry in the +Confederate Army. New York. D. Appleton & Co. 12mo. pp. viii., 352., +$1.25. + +In the Tropics. By a Settler in San Domingo. With an Introductory Notice +by Richard B. Kimball, Author of "St. Leger," etc. New York. G.W. +Carleton. 16mo. pp. 306. $1.25. + +Rockford; or, Sunshine and Storm. By Mrs. Lillie Devereux Umstead, +Author of "Southwold." New York. G.W. Carleton. 16mo. pp. 308. $1.00. + +What to Eat and How to Cook it: containing over One Thousand Receipts, +systematically and practically arranged, to enable the Housekeeper to +prepare the most Difficult or Simpler Dishes in the Best Manner. By +Pierre Blot, late Editor of the "Almanach Gastronomique" of Paris, and +other Gastronomical Works. New York. D. Appleton & Co. 16mo. pp. 259. +$1.00. + +A Critical History of Free Thought in Reference to the Christian +Religion. Eight Lectures preached before the University of Oxford, in +the Year MDCCCLXII., on the Foundation of the late John Bampton, M.A., +Canon of Salisbury. By Adam Storey Farrar, M.A., Michel Fellow of +Queen's College, Oxford. New York. D. Appleton & Co. 12mo. pp. xlvi., +487. $2.00. + +The White-Mountain Guide-Book. Third Edition. Concord, N.H. Edson C. +Eastman. 16mo. pp. 222. 75 cts. + +The Historical Shakspearian Reader: comprising the "Histories" or +"Chronicle Plays" of Shakspeare; carefully expurgated and revised, with +Explanatory Notes. Expressly adapted for the Use of Schools, Colleges, +and the Family Reading-Circle. By John W.S. Hows, Author of "The +Shakspearian Reader," etc. New York. D. Appleton & Co. 12mo. pp. 503. +$1.50. + +The Gold-Seekers. A Tale of California. By Gustave Aimard. Philadelphia. +T.B. Peterson & Brothers. 8vo. paper, pp. 148. 50 cts. + +Peter Carradine; or, The Martindale Pastoral. By Caroline Chesebro. New +York. Sheldon & Co. 12mo. pp. 399. $1.50. + +Sights A-Foot. By Wilkie Collins. Philadelphia. T.B. Peterson & +Brothers. 8vo. pp. 135. 50 cts. + +Light. By Helen Modet. New York. D. Appleton & Co. 12mo. pp. 339. $1.25. + +The Young Parson. Philadelphia. Smith, English, & Co. 12mo. pp. 384. +$1.25. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[A] The letter is given in the valuable collection of "Winthrop Papers," +drawn from the same rich repository which has furnished many of the +precious materials in the volume before us. The collection appears as +the Sixth Volume of the IVth Series of Collections of the Massachusetts +Historical Society. + +[B] All the trigonometrical measurements connected with my experiments +were very ably conducted by Mr. Wild, now Professor at the Federal +Polytechnic School in Zurich; they are recorded in the topographical +survey and map of the glacier of the Aar, accompanying my "Systeme +Glaciare." + +[C] Since the above was written, intelligence has been received of the +defeat of General Longstreet, the losses experienced by the enemy being +great. This disposes of the remains of the great army which Mr. Davis +had assembled to reconquer Tennessee, and to reestablish communications +between the various parts of the Southern Confederacy on this side of +the Mississippi. The Army of the Potomac has returned to its former +ground, near Washington. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 13, No. +75, January, 1864, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY, VOLUME *** + +***** This file should be named 16200.txt or 16200.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/2/0/16200/ + +Produced by Cornell University, Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine +Paolucci and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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