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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: Continental Monthly , Vol. 5, No. 6, June, 1864 + Devoted to Literature and National Policy + +Author: Various + +Release Date: January 15, 2007 [EBook #20363] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CONTINENTAL MONTHLY *** + + + + +Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Janet Blenkinship and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by Cornell University Digital Collections) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p><br /></p> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_609" id="Page_609">[Pg 609]</a></span></p> + + + + + +<h2>THE</h2> + +<h1>CONTINENTAL MONTHLY:</h1> + +<h4>DEVOTED TO</h4> + +<h2>Literature and National Policy.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<h3>VOL. V.—JUNE, 1864.—No. VI.<br /><br /></h3> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" width="75%" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ERNEST_RENANS_THEORY">ERNEST RENAN'S THEORY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#AENONE">ÆNONE:—A TALE OF SLAVE LIFE IN ROME.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#AENONEVII">CHAPTER VII.</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_DOVE">THE DOVE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_MISSISSIPPI_RIVER_AND_ITS_PECULIARITIES">THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER AND ITS PECULIARITIES.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SKETCHES_OF_AMERICAN_LIFE_AND_SCENERY">SKETCHES OF AMERICAN LIFE AND SCENERY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#MOUNTAIN_WAYS">IV.—MOUNTAIN WAYS.</a></span></td></tr> + + +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_MARCH_OF_LIFE">THE MARCH OF LIFE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THOMAS_DE_QUINCEY_AND_HIS_WRITINGS">THOMAS DE QUINCEY AND HIS WRITINGS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#FEED_MY_LAMBS">'FEED MY LAMBS.'</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#PART_FIRST">PART FIRST.</a></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#PART_SECOND">PART SECOND.</a></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#PART_THIRD">PART THIRD.</a></span></td></tr> + + + +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#AN_HOUR_IN_THE_GALLERY_OF_THE_NATIONAL_ACADEMY_OF_DESIGN">AN HOUR IN THE GALLERY OF THE NATIONAL ACADEMY OF DESIGN.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#APHORISMS">APHORISMS.—NO. V.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_UNKIND_WORD">THE UNKIND WORD.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#LANGUAGE_A_TYPE_OF_THE_UNIVERSE">LANGUAGE A TYPE OF THE UNIVERSE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#APHORISMS_NO_VI">APHORISMS.—NO. VI.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#AN_ARMY_ITS_ORGANIZATION_AND_MOVEMENTS">AN ARMY: ITS ORGANIZATION AND MOVEMENTS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SLEEPING">SLEEPING.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#DR_FOXS_PRESCRIPTION">DR. FOX'S PRESCRIPTION.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#LITERARY_NOTICES">LITERARY NOTICES.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#EDITORS_TABLE">EDITOR'S TABLE.</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ERNEST_RENANS_THEORY" id="ERNEST_RENANS_THEORY"></a>ERNEST RENAN'S THEORY.</h2> + + +<p>Christianity is a fact. We sometimes hear of men who are said to 'deny' +'Christianity.' The expression is nonsense. Men cannot deny the sun. +Christianity has been a visible thing, on this planet, for eighteen +hundred years. It has done a heavy amount of work, which is very visible +too. It is altogether too late in the day to '<i>deny</i> Christianity.'</p> + +<p>That is the first thing to be understood. There is no arguing against +the fact. You must take the fact and make the best of it. If your theory +requires the annihilation of the fact, it's a bad thing for your theory, +for the fact insists on staying. What an amount of fearfully laborious +stupidity we would have been saved, if only that plain principle had +been remembered!</p> + +<p>Christianity has stood face to face with the world, for ages, a hard, +stern, uncompromising reality. With a pair of tremendous arms it has +worked, fought, endured, conquered, destroyed, builded, all over the +earth. It has burned its brand into time. It has stamped its footprints +in fire and brightness on earth and sea. It so stands, a great, +wonderful, triumphant, flaming fact, blazing through the ages, flaming +to the stars, melting, moulding, enlightening humanity.</p> + +<p>The first thing to be remembered, then, by Christian and unbeliever +alike, when they come to speak of Christianity, is that these things are +not the matters in debate. They are the facts to be explained, to be +accounted for. In all argument they themselves must first be taken for +granted.</p> + +<p>That is to say, here is this religion, certainly to any thoughtful man +the most wonderful thing, take it all in all, that history has to tell +about. It starts in an obscure corner of an obscure province. Its +founder dies as a felon among felons. Its teachers are stupid peasants, +fettered by a narrow dialect of an almost unknown tongue. Its whole +origin is barbarous, ignorant, disgraceful by any worldly judgment. So +it begins. As it spreads, imperial Rome takes alarm, and turns to crush +the barbarous fanaticism, in the pride of her learning, civilization, +and power. She plants her iron heel on the neck of the creeping sect. +She presses it down with her gigantic weight. Time passes. The little +sect that began in an obscure city of an obscure province, 'the number +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_610" id="Page_610">[Pg 610]</a></span>of the names together being an hundred and twenty,' in less than three +centuries masters the world's crowned mistress, and plants its standard +in triumph, to remain forever, on the Seven Eternal Hills. Resistless +Rome is beaten to her knees, every national reverence, every national +divinity trampled on, and spit upon, and the barbarous and disgraceful +sect sets its ignominious mark, <i>the cross of the condemned slave</i>, on +every monument of Roman reverence, on every trophy of Roman greatness.</p> + +<p>There never was such an utter conquest. A pure idea, without a material +hand or weapon, domineers over the greatest empire under the sun, in +spite of the whole power of that empire armed to crush it.</p> + +<p>And, after Rome fell, the huge carcase beaten to the dust, and torn to +fragments by the wild creatures that hung upon her borders, this +wondrous mystery, this barbarous, obscure faith alone remained, +invincible among the powers of Rome. Roman civilization was crushed to +the earth, as the Roman legions were. Roman law was trampled out of +sight, as Roman art and literature were; but Christianity stood up and +faced the Vandal and the Goth, the Frank and Saxon, as it had faced the +Cæsars before, and dragged the conquerors of the empire suppliants at +the feet of the church. It built a Christian Europe out of the savage +hordes of Asia, and made an England, and a Germany, and at last an +America out of wild Goth and Ungar, out of bloody Frank and savage Dane.</p> + +<p>Now all this is simply <i>matter of fact</i>. My belief in Christianity does +not add one jot to these facts. My disbelief does not take one tittle +from them. So far as they are concerned, every man is a believer in +Christianity. He believes it exists. He believes it has existed, has had +such and such a history, has produced such and such results. 'Christian' +and 'infidel' alike, to be reasonable, to have any ground for reasonable +discussion, go thus far together.</p> + +<p><i>They may differ in their explanations of the facts.</i> That is the only +ground of difference. There is the point of separation. It is perfectly +logical too. <i>Prima facie</i>, we have no complaint to make that they do +differ. And here lies the improvement in the modern type of +'unbeliever.' He does not take the line of his older brethren, and +rudely assail Christianity as a mere imposture with Voltaire and Paine. +That sort of work has had its day. He, on the other hand, freely admits +its beneficent achievements. He has grown reasonable. He accepts +Christianity, as the believer does, as a fruitful, beneficent, and +conquering fact. He only holds that its existence and its achievements +may be accounted for in a far more satisfactory way than we 'believers' +have discovered.</p> + +<p>Now all this is comprehensible, and it is really, now, the ground of +difference between those who believe in Christianity as divine, and +those who hold it to be merely human. It is a clear and simple issue. +Christianity accounts for itself and its work on a certain plain, +straightforward, and consistent theory. It holds that theory to be +reasonable, complete, ample, for all the facts. A number of people join +issue just here with Christianity. They admit its facts, but they deny +its manner of explaining them. They claim to put forward other methods +of explanation, which shall be more reasonable, more natural, and, at +the same time, just as ample for the facts. We have had a number of +these philosophers, with their theories, and they have had various +fortunes. On the whole, the Christian world has gone on about as usual, +accepting the old explanation, adopting the old theory, a hundred to +one, and has dropped the new theories one after another, after more or +less investigation, into profound oblivion.</p> + +<p>Now we are free to admit the old theory has its difficulties. There are +'things in it hard to be understood.' There are mysteries and wonders +which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_611" id="Page_611">[Pg 611]</a></span> it does not attempt to explain. There are 'hard sayings' which it +leaves hard. And the new theories always claim to have no difficulties. +They blame the old one bitterly because it tolerates them. They +themselves claim to be 'reasonable,' they 'explain' everything.</p> + +<p>They therefore challenge the trial. If they fail to be 'reasonable,' or +if they can only be reasonable at the expense of some of the facts—that +is to say, if they find no place for some of the authentic facts, and so +have to explain them away; or if, on the whole, they make too large +drafts on our credulity, and demand too great a power of faith—we have +the logical right to dismiss them out of our presence with scant +courtesy, and are bound to hold by the old explanation still.</p> + +<p>The last man who has come forward with his theory of Christanity is +Monsieur Ernest Renan, a Frenchman, a member of the Institute, and a +Semitic scholar of some considerable pretensions. He broaches his theory +in a book, which he calls 'The Life of Jesus.' He offers it to the +world, through that book, as an improvement on the accepted one. We +propose here to look at M. Renan's theory, and see whether it has any +advantages to offer over that usually taught in churches in America, and +which the present writer learned, some <i>lustra</i> ago, while catechized at +the chancel veil, and which his children are learning now.</p> + +<p>It makes the examination easier that M. Renan freely and fully admits +the achievements of Christianity. Indeed he glories over them. The +beneficence of Christianity, its hallowing and elevating power in the +history of the world, its wondrous blessedness among men, the glory it +has cast over human life and human aims, the nobleness it has conferred +on human character, all these he takes a pride in confessing and +appreciating. He will not be a whit behind the stanchest believer in +acknowledging the power of these, or in the capacity of prizing these.</p> + +<p>But he cannot accept the explanation Christianity gives of itself. He +proposes another of his own. We may take his theory as the fruit and +flower of all 'liberal' thought. Here, at last, is what unbelieving +learning and philosophy have to offer in lieu of the divine origin of +Christianity. After a good deal of loud boasting, after a large amount +of supercilious sneering, we have here the result of that 'profound +criticism' and that 'careful scholarship' which have been laboring for +years, in Europe, to destroy the supernatural bases of faith. We are +justified, from M. Renan's position and character, in taking it for +granted, that his book is the best that modern unbelief has to offer, +his theory the most satisfactory that the deniers of the divine origin +of Christianity can frame.</p> + +<p>In examining that theory, at the first, a suspicious thing strikes a +calm observer. It is the reckless way in which M. Renan deals with his +authorities. For, be it remarked that, with only one or two outside +hints in Josephus and Tacitus, the Four Gospels contain <i>all</i> that we +know of the 'Life of Jesus.' They are formally and professedly His +biographies. They were expressly written to present the outlines of His +life and teaching in connected form. All that we know of Him, His birth, +life, and death, is contained in these four narrations. The utmost +learning and the utmost simplicity here stand side by side. The most +unlearned reader of <span class="smcap">The Continental</span> is just as well informed, +with the Four Gospels in his hand, as any 'member' of any 'Academy' +under the sun. Out of these Four Gospels, M. Renan has to construct his +'Life of Jesus.' But he has <i>a theory</i>, and that theory does not seem to +be the one set forth in the Four Gospels; so he just rejects whatever +goes against his theory, garbles, clips, denies, assents, and colors, +with an assurance, amusing for its impudence, if it were not so criminal +for its recklessness.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_612" id="Page_612">[Pg 612]</a></span></p> + +<p>On the very threshold he asserts, in the teeth of his sole authorities, +that Jesus was born in <i>Nazareth</i>! He refers his startled reader to a +footnote. That footnote informs him that the 'assessment under Quirinus, +by which He is sought to be connected with Bethlehem,' took place ten +years after. We are to take this on M. Renan's sole authority. We are to +fling the Gospels over on the strength of a footnote! Now it is simply +impossible that M. Renan can be ignorant that there are very +satisfactory ways of explaining this difficulty, otherwise than by +charging a <i>forgery</i>. Josephus, whom he cites to prove the <i>assessment</i> +to be ten years after, would have informed him that the preliminary +<i>enrolment</i> took place at the time mentioned, and that it <i>did</i> extend +over Herod's dominions. Moreover, the authorities for this last fact are +<i>not</i> Christian <i>only</i>, as he says. They are Josephus, a Jew, and +Suetonius, a pagan.</p> + +<p>This is only an instance, on the threshold, of what occurs, a hundred +times, in the book. Any statement which stands in the way of the +writer's hypothesis, is swept out of existence at one pen-stroke. Calm +historical relations, evidently most essential portions of the writings, +are treated as forgeries, or deceptions, without a condescending why or +wherefore, if they embarrass the writer.</p> + +<p>That large portion of the Gospels, the miracles, is scarcely worth a +thought from M. Renan. He dismisses the whole question of miracles with +a <i>bon mot</i>. 'Many people followed Jesus into the desert. Thanks to +their extreme frugality, they lived there. They naturally believed they +saw in that a miracle.' Now is not that wonderful! The circumstantial +relation of the miraculous feeding is supposed to be satisfactorily +explained by people 'naturally believing' that <i>frugality</i> was 'a +miracle'! But the great miracle of all, the miracle which seals the +story, which gives ground of hope and faith to all Christian men, that +miracle, without which they have always felt the Gospel would be +preached in vain, that grand consummating and awful miracle, which +flashed brightness into the sepulchre, which shot the light of +immortality athwart the darkness of Death, and gave mortal man a sure +grasp on immortality, that great crowning miracle, the resurrection of +our Lord, on which so much depended, which so many jealous eyes were +watching, which was so early asserted on the very spot where it claims +to have occurred—this M. Renan treats as unworthy serious refutation. +It is not even necessary to try to disprove it. It is simply sufficient +for him to mention 'the strong <i>imagination</i> of Mary Magdalene,' and to +exclaim so <i>beautifully</i>!—'Divine power of love, sacred moments in +which the passion of a hallucinated woman gives to the world a +resurrected God!'</p> + +<p>There it is! The <i>doctrine</i> of the resurrection, and all that clings +around it for humanity, the doctrine preached always as one of the +foundations of the faith ('because he preached unto them Jesus and the +resurrection'), and the <i>fact</i> of the resurrection, the fact always put +forth as the clinching argument, the justification of the whole story, +thrown into the face of Jew and Greek as a perpetual challenge—this +doctrine and this fact are disposed of by a bit of sickly sentiment!</p> + +<p>Now, this sort of thing may be very rhetorical, and very beautiful, when +done up in approved, sentimental French, but it is certainly neither +logical nor philosophical. We have a right to insist that M. Renan shall +come with no theory which compels him to reject half the facts +unexamined, and to garble and misuse half the rest. Those facts stand on +the same ground as all the others. The same authority which tells us +that Christ lived at Nazareth, tells us also that He fed five thousand +with five loaves and two small fishes. M. Renan accepts the first +statement,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_613" id="Page_613">[Pg 613]</a></span> without examination, and denies the second, without +examination. He does this because he has made up his mind beforehand +that <i>prima facie</i> a miracle is impossible. But that carries us out of +the line of historical investigation altogether. That is a question of +metaphysics. M. Renan's decision of the question is not admitted by an +means universally, not even frequently. The truer decision as well as +the more philosophical is that, <i>prima facie, all things are possible</i>, +except contradictions.</p> + +<p>At all events, we hold that the Four Evangelists stand on their own +merits. They are not to be declared impostors, either in whole or in +part, beforehand, in order to save a metaphysical theory.</p> + +<p>The same logical viciousness shows itself in M. Renan's treatment of the +Prophets. Daniel never could have written the book attributed to him, he +says, because that book contains statements of fact which occurred long +after Daniel! That is to say, M. Renan does not believe in such a thing +as prophecy, and, by consequence, Daniel never wrote the book of Daniel! +This is taking things for granted with a witness.</p> + +<p>And, by the way, we may as well ease our minds just here concerning +another trick of the school to which M. Renan belongs, and of which he +furnishes many marked examples. We mean the trick of arbitrarily +deciding by what they are pleased to call 'philological criticism,' all +about all the books and nearly all the chapters in the Bible. 'Learned +men are agreed that such and such chapters were not written by Isaiah.' +'It is clear, from internal evidence of style, that this book was made +up of earlier scattered memoranda.' 'These chapters, it is evident, were +not written till such and such a time.' 'The best critics are agreed +that this narration was added long after the writing of the book.' This +is the way they write, to the astonishment of the simple.</p> + +<p>When we were younger, this sort of talk seemed to our simplicity to be +exceedingly imposing. We actually believed that there were a set of +people, in Germany, at least, who could look at a Hebrew chapter and +tell you who wrote it, when he wrote it, how he wrote it, and why; and +the who, when, how, and why, should be each different from those +mentioned by the author of the book himself. As years removed the +credulous simplicity of childhood, we found out that this was only a +trick of the trade. We discovered that no two of these doctors agreed +among themselves, that the line of argument they followed would disprove +the authorship of any page ever written, that decisions from difference +of style, wise as they might be, philologically, were, rationally and +logically, nonsensical; for Burns, no doubt, wrote his <i>letters</i> as well +as his <i>poems</i>, and Shakspeare's 'Sonnets' were written by the hand that +wrote 'King Lear,' although, according to these wise doctors, it is +assumed to be utterly impossible that the same man can use two styles, +or that a man at seventy will write otherwise than he did at thirty. In +short, we discovered that there is nothing more arbitrary, more +opinionated, and more unphilosophical than this 'philological +criticism.' Applied, as these wonderful German doctors apply it, to any +book ever penned, and it can be shown, 'as the result of high critical +ability,' that no author ever wrote his own book. It is the easiest +thing in the world to prove that Shakspeare never wrote 'Shakspeare,' +that Milton never wrote 'Paradise Lost,' that 'Johnson's Dictionary' +just 'growed' like Topsey, and was never made at all, and, to name small +things with great, that M. Renan never wrote the 'Life of Jesus.'</p> + +<p>When we read, then, that 'it is certain that Isaiah never wrote this +chapter,' that 'St. John could not possibly have written the fourth +Gospel,' that 'this book is composed, undoubtedly, of fragments of +earlier writings,' or that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_614" id="Page_614">[Pg 614]</a></span> 'this' other 'is the growth of a certain +school,' we advise simple Christians to take it easy. They are to +understand that the world goes on much as usual, and that their family +Bibles still contain the old Table of Contents. There has been no +wonderful discovery made, no ancient book catalogues have come to light, +no files of ancient documents have been dug up. There are still just the +old facts and the old evidence on which Christians made up their minds +sixteen or seventeen hundred years ago. The amount of all this talk is +only that 'the great Doctor Teufelsdroeck' or 'the learned Professor Von +Baum' has hazarded a guess, and made an assertion, which every other +'great doctor' and 'learned professor' will contradict, and displace +with another guess just as probable, in three months' time. There are +men just as learned and just as honest who have examined their guesses, +and find them poor inventions indeed. And we have a right to deny point +blank the assertions so flippantly made by men like M. Renan. 'It is +<i>universally acknowledged</i> that this book was never written by Daniel or +Isaiah or Jeremiah,' '<i>It is certain</i> this chapter is an addition of +such and such a date,' etc. It is <i>not</i> universally acknowledged. It is +<i>not</i> certain. The whole thing is pure guesswork. There is only one way +to prove the authorship of a book, and that is by <i>testimony</i>. There is +nothing under the sun more absurd, philologically, than that a common +and very poor stock-actor should have written 'Hamlet.' We know he did +write it, however, not by 'internal evidence,' or from 'philological +criticism,' but by plain human testimony to the <i>fact</i>. We cite that, +and leave the 'internal' critics to their profound babble on vowels and +consonants, on long and short syllables, and let them do with the fact +the best they can.</p> + +<p>In other words, there is no way by which I can determine whether St. +John wrote his Gospel except by <i>testimony</i>. I do not know beforehand +<i>how</i> St. John would write. I can therefore judge nothing by 'style.' +All I can do is to ask of competent witnesses. I do ask. I am told by +such witnesses, straight up to his own day, that he <i>did</i> write this +Gospel, that this is the very one which we now have, for they cite it +and mention its peculiarities. I accept the fact, as I do in the case of +Shakspeare, and let the wise 'critics' settle it among them.</p> + +<p>The attempt, therefore, on the part of M. Renan, to get rid of those +large portions of the Gospels which embarrass him in his theory, by +attempting to discredit their authorship, while, at the same time, he +accepts other parts, that stand on the same authority, and the +supercilious way in which he ignores that large part which the miracles +fill, turning them off with a small witticism, or a smaller bit of +sentiment, suggest, at the start, decided suspicions of the honesty of +his intentions and the sufficiency of his theory.</p> + +<p>We only hint at these things here. They occur all through his book. They +are not evidence of learning or critical skill. There are no <i>secrets</i> +for deciding such matters. The whole <i>data</i> have been public for ages. +All the 'members of the Institute' together do not possess one grain of +evidence that any ordinary scholar in America does not possess as well. +M. Renan rejects, or discredits, or garbles, or slips over silently, +because he finds it necessary for his theory. That is all. He pettifogs +with his witnesses to establish his theory.</p> + +<p>That theory is, that He, whom all Christians have called Our Lord, was a +mere man, of what race is uncertain, born in Galilee of a man named +Joseph and of a woman named Mary; who taught in Galilee and a little in +Judea, and who was at last killed and buried, and so an end of <i>Him</i>. +This theory M. Renan has to find in the Gospels, and there is, as we +have hinted, very little of the Gospels left when he gets through. It is +so palpably against<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_615" id="Page_615">[Pg 615]</a></span> them that he has to get rid of the most of them to +make it stand.</p> + +<p>Now this theory, like all others, must be put to the test. Will it +explain the facts? We have seen how it is compelled to get rid of the +Gospels. But we put that aside. Will it explain the history of +Christianity? Will it explain its place to-day? Will it account for its +effects?</p> + +<p>The Jesus of M. Renan is a strange character. He is more difficult of +comprehension than any mystery of orthodoxy. We ask where He gets His +wondrous wisdom, this young carpenter, how <i>He</i> learned to speak 'as man +never spoke?' and M. Renan sentimentalizes. We ask how He got this +wondrous power over men, to lead them and control them, so that they +followed Him and 'heard Him gladly,' and M. Renan goes off into +ecstasies over the 'delicious climate' and 'the lovely villages,' and +the Arcadian simplicity of Galilee, as he fancies they once were, and +expects us to be answered. His influence over women is accounted for +more readily. M. Renan tells us, in his peculiar way, that 'this +beautiful young man' had great power over the 'nervous' susceptibilities +of Mary Magdalene; and Pilate's wife, having once seen him, 'dreamed +about him' the next night, and sent to her husband to save him in +consequence!</p> + +<p>However, He begins His teaching. Where He learned it, how He learned it, +why it took the form it did, how <i>He</i> came to give moral law to the +world, where He found the words of wisdom and consolation—the divine +words of power—for all generations, there is positively not one +sentence of explanation. Of all the young Jews of His day, how came He +by these powers and this omnipotent wisdom? Now the Christian theory +<i>does</i> attempt an explanation. It gives an ample answer to the question. +M. Renan gives no answer whatever. He flies to sentiment. We have all +sorts of adjectives—'delicious,' 'enchanting, 'beautiful,' 'sweet,' +'charming'—he beats a whole female seminary at the business, in +attempting to describe how, like full-grown babes, everybody in Galilee +lived, <i>so</i> innocent, so simple, so Arcadian were they all—<i>and that is +all</i>! What shall a man do, whom this fine style of novel writing doesn't +answer—to whom, in fact, it seems just a bit of disgusting nonsense? Is +this wonderful power, this omnipotent wisdom, a production of the +'delicious' climate? Is this all 'philosophical criticism' has to offer, +and is he to accept that as more reasonable than the Gospel theory that +they were supernatural and divine?</p> + +<p>In this wonderful romantic dialect, M. Renan describes the beginning of +our Lord's ministry. He is embarrassed, however, by the fact that, as +Jesus goes on, He Himself makes claims, and sets up pretensions, and +exercises powers, which are totally at variance with the proposed +explanation. M. Renan cannot deny that He claimed to be the Son of God, +the Messiah, the Son of David, that He claimed to work 'miracles,' to +possess supernatural powers, to be somewhat altogether different from +the amiable, sentimental, young carpenter of his modern biographer.</p> + +<p>How is this to be got on with? Why, by declaring boldly that Jesus was +half deceiver and half deceived! by accepting the difficulty, and +confessing that He cheated men for their good—that, as they wished to +be deceived, He stooped to deceive them, and at last half deceived +Himself!</p> + +<p>We know nothing more thoroughly <i>immoral</i> than is M. Renan on this +matter. This Jesus of his, about whom he sentimentalizes, whom he +declares a thousand times to be so 'charming,' and so 'divine,' and the +rest, turns out to be a deliberate cheat and quack, putting out claims +He does not Himself believe, and acting in sham miracles which people +coax Him, according to his biographer, to perform.</p> + +<p>The raising of Lazarus, for instance, which M. Renan would like to turn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_616" id="Page_616">[Pg 616]</a></span> +out of the Gospels, but which he is forced to confess must +stay—according to him, was a deliberate, planned, stage performance, a +gross piece of juggling imposition. Now we do not object <i>per se</i> to M. +Renan's taking that view of it. He has a perfect freedom of choice. We +<i>do</i> object to the immorality, the essential blindness to right and +wrong, which lead him to apologize for the cheat, and try to prove it a +perfectly innocent and justifiable thing. We protest against confounding +eternal distinctions, against debauching conscience by proving wrong +right, and a cheat an innocent bit of acting, against claiming an +impostor and a liar as the high priest of the world's 'absolute +religion'!</p> + +<p>But few of us, in this part of the world, can appreciate the +transcendental reasoning that makes an impostor half divine, or a cheat +holy. 'Good faith and imposture,' to quote our author, 'are words which, +in our rigid conscience, are opposed like two irreconcilable terms,' +though, he says, it is not so in 'the East,' from which our religion +came, and was certainly far from being so with our Teacher! We cannot +admire M. Renan here. The writing is very fine. He exhausts himself in +his 'charming' style to make it all right, and show us that we have +profound reason to admire this lying teacher, this cheating miracle +monger, whom he holds up between us and the pure 'Son of Mary.' But it +does not answer. In this cold climate a lie is a lie, a cheat is a +cheat, and a mountebank and impostor is not the teacher of 'the absolute +religion of humanity!'</p> + +<p>As M. Renan writes His life, that is the way in which the Founder of +Christianity develops Himself. First we have the young man, amiable, +sweet, 'charming,' enacting a 'beautiful pastoral' in the 'delicious +climate of Galilee,' where it appears that nobody has anything to do +save to enact 'pastorals,' although we are told '<i>brigandage</i> was common +in Galilee,' which seems a strange accompaniment to 'pastorals.' Where +He got His wisdom, how He came by these 'transcendent utterances,' +which, we are told, 'some few' only, even now, are lofty enough to +appreciate, we are not informed. There they are. But, right in the midst +of them, this wonderful young man, uttering these 'charming' lessons, +and these 'delicious' sayings, sets to work miracle-mongering, trying +His hand at thaumaturgy and legerdemain, becomes an impostor and a +mountebank, pretending, among other things, to raise a man who puts on a +shroud, gets into a grave, and shams dead! At last He is taken, and +then, in view of death, becomes penitent, reforms, and recovers His +purity!</p> + +<p>Now Thomas Paine was, in a way, an honest man. We can say that of him. +Voltaire was, in his degree, honest too. Having said what M. Renan says, +they did not stultify themselves logically. They honestly pronounced +Christianity a delusion. We have respect for their consistency. But our +modern man says that a cheat in religion is no cheat, a lie no lie, that +a true saving faith can be built on a foundation of deception and +trickery! He says it, and undertakes to prove it by <i>the convincing +logic of sentimentality!</i></p> + +<p>M. Renan here is just <i>disgusting</i>. There are a few things in this world +that do not mix. Right and wrong have something of a ditch between them. +A lie is not own brother to the truth. If he thinks it worth while to +write the life of an impostor, very well; only, when he has declared him +so, and insisted on his being so, we humbly beg he will not turn round +and insist on it that the religion <i>he</i> taught is divine!</p> + +<p>If the credulity of believers is great, what shall we say of the +credulity of Messieurs the philosophers, the unbelievers? But what shall +we say of their <i>morality</i>?</p> + +<p>But if this new theory fails to account for Christianity as a <i>true</i> +system of religion, what shall we say of its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_617" id="Page_617">[Pg 617]</a></span> coherence with +Christianity as a <i>successful</i> system in action? This sentimental +impostor conquers the civilized world. This 'charming' worker of sham +wonders becomes a <span class="smcap">God</span> to the millions who to-day lead mankind!</p> + +<p>Here is where M. Renan's theory utterly breaks down, where it becomes +not only utterly illogical and incoherent, but where it becomes too +gross for any mortal credulity, and too blasphemously wicked for any +ordinary sinfulness.</p> + +<p>It is utterly incoherent, for it requires us to believe that a system, +begun in fraud and deception, has proved itself the truest and most +beneficent and sacred treasure to the world. M. Renan insists on both. +From such a premise he drags such a conclusion.</p> + +<p>Is there any plain Christian who dreads a sneer at Christian credulity? +Let him be comforted. What credulity is like this? What miracle in the +'Four Gospels' begins to be wonderful compared with this miracle of the +modern thaumaturge? The religion which has taught men truth—above all +things, <i>truth</i>—which teaches utter horror of a lie, which insists on +the bare, bald reality in heaven and earth, which has taught men hatred +of the false as the meanest and most unmanly thing existing—this +religion took its rise in claptrap miracles, was puffed into popularity +by boasting pretensions, was born in trickery and nurtured by +legerdemain! Its loftiest hopes, its deepest consolations are the +offspring of clumsy jugglery and cheap prestidigitation!</p> + +<p>But more: this religion, so born and nurtured, becomes the mistress of +the earth. It is of no consequence that only a minority of men accept +it. That minority hold the world in their hands. In fact, it seems from +history, that any number of men, with this religion in their hearts, +become half omnipotent—that <i>twelve</i> can take it and master humanity by +its power. To-day the men who profess it can do what they will on the +face of this planet. It has so seized temporal power, so moulded blind +force, so mastered strength—it has so conferred wisdom and valor and +might on men, that those who have accepted it have been crowned above +their kind, that they go everywhere as the acknowledged leaders and +lords of the race, the vanguard of humanity.</p> + +<p>And a deception has brought all this to pass, a delusion has produced +these stern realities! Here's where the wickedness stands out nakedly! +Is there a true God in heaven, or is Ahriman rightful lord? Is the lying +devil, after all, supreme? Is a lie as good as the truth? Why, the very +earth reels beneath us! <i>Is there any God at all?</i> Are truth and good +and God mere dreams, that a cunning fraud like this can so prosper and +prevail under the white heavens!</p> + +<p>M. Renan's 'Life of Jesus' offers me that as a most reasonable theory! +Believing in a <i>true</i> God and a <i>good</i> God, being utterly incapable of +believing in the lying devil it proposes to me, this pleasant theory, +that, beneath the face and eyes of that true God, a poor imposture, a +cheap delusion becomes, not only the holiest thing, the purest thing, +the most sanctifying thing, but also the strongest thing, the most +victorious thing in all the world! If ever theory so played sleight of +hand with cause and effect, if it ever so mingled and mixed right and +wrong, and so taught that lies and truth were about the same, we have +failed to meet with it. And if ever any theory required power of +gullibility like this last and newest, we have failed to hear of that.</p> + +<p>The fact is there is no escaping the honest conclusion that, unless +<span class="smcap">Jesus Christ</span> is what He claimed to be, <i>divine</i>, '<span class="smcap">God</span> +manifest in the flesh,' 'the Son of the Father,' then He was simply an +<i>impostor</i>. (He could not have been a self-deceived fanatic.) Now any +man is free to accept the last horn of this dilemma, if he chooses. It +is a free country. But if he takes that, we insist that he is <i>logically +bound</i> to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_618" id="Page_618">[Pg 618]</a></span> call Christianity a <i>cheat</i>, a <i>delusion</i>, a <i>snare and a +curse to humanity</i>! He shall not ask us to swallow the monstrous and +immoral proposition, that this outrageous lie and imposture is the +glory, the blessing and hope of humanity!</p> + +<p>And this is what M. Ernest Renan, in most melodious sentences, proposes. +This is his theory of Christianity, its origin and its success.</p> + +<p>This is the best thing philosophic and philologic unbelief has to offer, +the most rational account it has to give in the year 1864. Surely +unbelief must have large faith in human nature's capacity of spiritual +swallow, if men are expected to take this down, as more reasonable than +what they will hear in the next pulpit!</p> + +<p>Nay, after all, the Christian theory of Christianity is the most +rational yet. It has mysteries, but it calls them mysteries, things +above reason. It accepts them, and so escapes absurdity—ends with no +means, effects from no causes, wonders that spring out of the ground, +divine teachers produced by a 'charming' climate, and impostures that +are holy truths! Above all, it escapes moral idiocy, and holds there is +a line between right and wrong! On the whole, it is, as yet, the only +theory which explains all the facts, the only one of which the +consequences may be logically accepted, which makes Christ or His +religion reasonable or possible.</p> + +<p>M. Renan's 'beautiful' young Galilean carpenter, with such power over +'hallucinated' Magdalens, conducting grand picnics in that 'charming' +climate, and making life a May day, is not the world's mighty Deliverer; +and his miracle-mongering demagogue, claiming to be the Son of David in +lying genealogies, and the Son of God in blasphemous audacity, is not +the world's Teacher of all Truth and Righteousness. The new Jesus is a +poor substitute for the Divine Man whom we adore.</p> + +<p>We cannot, therefore, accept the new theory. It is not logically +competent to the facts. Established on garbled evidence with painful +struggles, it will not, when completed, fulfil the conditions. It is not +reasonable. It is not moral. We have desired to present this view of it. +The details of criticism we leave to others, who can easily deal with M. +Renan. We have aimed to show, what any plain reader can see, the +unreasonableness and immorality of this theory of Christianity's origin.</p> + +<p>As long as we have faith in a righteous God, so long can we never +believe that the best, purest, and holiest religion is born in fraud and +trickery. M. Renan's theory declares the purity and the holiness of +Christianity, and yet insists on the trickery and the fraud: therefore +we must reject his theory.</p> + +<p>So long as we believe that a true God is <i>omnipotent</i>, we cannot believe +that fraud and deception are masters of the world. But M. Renan insists +that Christianity has mastered the world, and yet declares it founded +upon fraud and deception. We must therefore reject M. Renan.</p> + +<p>The fine writing, the sentiment, the abundant 'sweetness' of the book +cannot make beautiful this monstrous perversion of reason, this +insidious attack on the very distinction between God and Satan.</p> + +<p>Voltaire's theory is comparatively honest, healthy, moral. Paine's is +so. These men called things by their right names. They never undertook +to upset the human conscience. Ernest Renan's theory is thoroughly +<i>immoral</i>, and he only can accept it who denies that the world is +governed by moral laws at all.</p> + +<p>We reject his Jesus as a delusion and a dream. God never created such a +creature. He exists nowhere save in M. Renan's pages.</p> + +<p>In this blind, reeling world, in this weary, painful time, while the +sobs of a dumb creation break along the shores of heaven in prayer, we +cannot spare the real Jesus, the world's strong De<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_619" id="Page_619">[Pg 619]</a></span>liverer, its +conquering Lord! The vision He exhibited, of a stainless humanity, +omnipotent in purity, loyalty, and truth, has flashed and flamed before +the eyes of men, through the long night of the ages, their beacon fire +of hope, their star of faith! We cannot spare Him <i>now</i>. In Him all is +consistent, all is reasonable, all is harmonious. The Divine Man +accounts for His wisdom, vindicates the origin of His power. In the +vision of His face, Christianity and all its results are the natural +works of His hand.</p> + +<p>We turn to <i>His</i> Life. We leave M. Renan's little novel, and turn to the +Godlike life of the typal Man, the Omnipotent and Eternal Man, who +redeemed humanity, and bought the world, and conquered hell and death: +we turn to <i>that</i> life, that death, that awful resurrection, and take +heart and hope. No mere amiable, sentimental, 'beautiful,' or 'charming' +young man will do. The world cries for its Lord! The race He ransomed +looks to the 'Lion of Judah,' the 'Captain of the Lord's Host.' The mad, +half-despairing struggle we have waged all these long centuries, can +find only in 'the Son of Man,' in the omnipotent 'Son of God,' its +explanation and its end: 'God was manifest in the Flesh, reconciling the +World unto Himself!'</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="AENONE" id="AENONE"></a>ÆNONE:<br /> +A TALE OF SLAVE LIFE IN ROME.</h2> + + +<h3><a name="AENONEVII" id="AENONEVII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h3> + +<p>For an instant only. When from Ænone's troubled gaze, the half-blinding +film which the agitation of her apprehensive mind had gathered there, +passed away, she no longer saw before her a proudly erect figure, +flashing out from dark, wild eyes its defiant mastery, but a form again +bent low in timorous supplication, and features once more overspread +with a mingled imprint of sorrowful resignation, trusting devotion, and +pleading humility.</p> + +<p>That gleam of malicious triumph which had so brightened up the face of +the slave, had come and gone like the lightning flash, and, for the +moment, Ænone was almost inclined to believe that it was some +bewildering waking dream. But her instinct told her that it was no mere +imagination or fancy which could thus, at one instant, fill the heart +with dread and change her bright anticipations of coming joy into a +dull, aching foreboding of misery. It was rather her inner nature +warning her not to be too easily ensnared, but to wait for coming evil +with unfaltering watchfulness, and, for the purpose of baffling enmity, +to perform the hardest task that can be imposed upon a guileless +nature—that of repressing all outward sign of distrust, hiding the +torture of the heart within, and meeting smile with smile.</p> + +<p>But day after day passed on, and even to her watchful and strained +attention there appeared no further sign of anything that could excite +alarm. From morning until night there rested upon the face of the young +Greek slave no expression other than that of tender, faithful, and +pleased obedience. At the morning toilet, at the forenoon task of +embroidery, or at the afternoon promenade, there was ever the same +serene gaze of earnest devotion, and the same delighted alacrity<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_620" id="Page_620">[Pg 620]</a></span> to +anticipate the slightest wish. Until at last Ænone began again to think +that perhaps her perception of that one fleeting look might, after all, +be but a flickering dream. And when, at times, she sat and heard the +young girl speak, not with apparent method, but rather as one who is +unwittingly drawn into discursive prattle, about her cottage home in +Samos, and the lowly lover from whom the invading armies had torn her, +and watched the moistened eye and the trembling lip with which these +memories were dwelt upon, an inward pity and sympathy tempted her to +forget her own distrust; until one day she was impelled to act as she +had once desired, and began to pour out her whole heart to the young +slave as to a friend. The words seemed of themselves to flow to her +lips, as, bidding the girl be comforted, she told, in one short +sentence, how she too had once lived in a tranquil cottage home, away +from the bustle and fever of that imperial Rome, and had had her lover +of low degree, and that both were still innocently dear to her.</p> + +<p>All the while that the story had been welling forth from her lips, that +inner instinct which so seldom deceives, told her that she was doing +wrong; and when she had ended, she would have given worlds not to have +spoken. But the words were beyond recall, and she could only gaze +stealthily at the listener, and, with a dull feeling of apprehension +nestling at the bottom of her heart, endeavor to mark their effect, and +to imagine the possible consequences of her indiscretion. But Leta sat +bending over her embroidery, and apparently still thinking, with tearful +eye, upon her own exile from home. Perhaps she had not even heard all +that had been said to her; though, if the words had really caught her +ear, where, after all, could be the harm? It was no secret in Rome that +Sergius Vanno had brought his spouse from a lowly home; and it was +surely no crime, that, during those years of poverty which Ænone had +passed through before being called to fill her present station, she had +once suffered her girlish fancy to rest for a little while upon one of +her own class. And fortunately she had not gone further in her story, +but at that point had left it to rest; making no mention of how that +long-forgotten lover had so lately reappeared and confronted her.</p> + +<p>Still there remained in her heart the irrepressible instinct that it +would have been better if she had not spoken. And now, as she silently +pondered upon her imprudence, it seemed as though her anxiety had +suddenly endowed her brain with new and keener faculties of perception, +so many startling ideas began to crowd in upon her. More particularly, +full shape and tone seemed for the first time given to one terrible +suspicion, which she had hitherto known only in a misty, intangible, and +seldom recurring form—the suspicion that, if the passive girl before +her were really an enemy, it was not owing to any mere ordinary impulse +of fear, or envy, or inexplicable womanish dislike, but rather to secret +rivalry.</p> + +<p>That, within the past few days, Sergius had more and more exhibited +toward her an indifference, which even his studied attempts to conduct +himself with an appearance of his former interest and affection did not +fully hide, Ænone could not but feel. That within her breast lurked the +terrible thought that perhaps the time had forever passed for her to +come to him as to a loving friend, and there fearlessly pour out her +tribulations, her secret tears confessed. But throughout all this +change, though it became each day more strongly marked, she had tried to +cheat herself into the belief that the romantic warmth of a first +attachment could not in any case be expected to last for many +years—that in meeting indifference she was merely experiencing a common +lot—that beneath his coolness there still lurked the old affection, as +the lava will flow be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_621" id="Page_621">[Pg 621]</a></span>neath the hardened crust—and that, if she were +indeed losing the appearance of his love, it was merely because the +claims of the court, the exigencies of the social world, or the demands +of ambition had too much usurped his attention.</p> + +<p>But now a thousand hitherto unregarded circumstances began to creep into +her mind as so many evidences that his affection seemed passing from +her; not simply because the claims of duty or ambition were stifling in +his heart all power to love, but because he had become secretly attached +elsewhere. The interested gaze with which he followed the motions of the +Greek girl—the solicitude which he seemed to feel that in all things +she should be treated, not only tenderly, but more luxuriously than ever +fell to the lot of even the highest class of slaves—his newly acquired +habit of strolling into the room and throwing himself down where he +could lazily watch her—all these, and other circumstances, though +individually trivial, could not fail, when united, to give cogency to +the one terrible conviction of secret wrong. Whether Leta herself had +any perception of all this, who could yet tell? It might be that she was +clothed in innocent unconsciousness of her master's admiration, or that, +by the force of native purity, she had resisted his advances. And, on +the other hand, it might be that not merely now, but long before she had +been brought into the house, there had been a secret understanding +between the two; and that, with undeviating and unrelenting cunning, she +was still ever drawing him still closer within the folds of her +fascinations. Looking upon her, and noting the humble and almost +timorous air with which she moved about, as though seeking kindness and +protection, and the eloquence of mute appeal for sympathy which lay half +hidden in her dark eyes beneath the scarcely raised lids, and rested in +her trembling lips, who could doubt her? But marking the haughtiness of +pride with which at times she drew up her slight figure to its utmost +height, the ray of scorn and malice which flashed from those eyes, and +the lines of firm, unpitying determination which gathered about the +compressed corners of those lips, who could help fearing and distrusting +her?</p> + +<p>Time or chance alone could resolve the question, and meanwhile, what +course could Ænone take? Not that of sending the object of her suspicion +to another place; for even if she had the power to do so, she might not +be able to accomplish it without such open disturbance that the whole +social world of Rome would learn the degrading fact that she had been +jealous of her own slave. Not—as she was sometimes almost tempted—that +of forgetting her pride, and humbling herself before her enemy, to beg +that she would not rob her of all that affection which had once been +lavished upon herself; for, if the Greek girl were innocent, useless and +feeble pity would be the only result, while, if she were guilty, it +would but lead to further secret wiles and malicious triumph. Nor that +of accusing her husband of his fault; for such a course, alas! could +never restore lost love. There could, indeed, be but one proper way to +act. She must possess her soul in patience and prudent dissimulation; +and, while affecting ignorance of what she saw and heard, must strive by +kindness and attention to win back some, if not all, of the true +affection of former days.</p> + +<p>Thus sorrowfully reflecting, she left the room, not upon any especial +intent, but simply to avoid the presence of the Greek, who, she could +not help feeling, was all the while, beneath the disguise of that demure +expression, closely watching her. Passing into another apartment, she +saw that Sergius had there sauntered in, and had thrown himself down +upon a lounge at the open window, where, with one hand resting behind +his head, he lay half soothed into slumber by the gentle<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_622" id="Page_622">[Pg 622]</a></span> murmur of the +courtyard fountain. Stealing up gently behind him, with a strange +mingling of affectionate desire to gain his attention, and a morbid +dread of bringing rebuke upon herself by awakening him, Ænone stooped +down and lightly touched his forehead with her lips.</p> + +<p>'Ah, Leta!' he exclaimed, starting up as he felt the warm pressure. +Then, perceiving his mistake, he lowered his eyes with some confusion, +and perhaps a slight feeling of disappointment, and tried to force a +careless laugh; which died away, however, as he saw how Ænone stood pale +and trembling at receiving a greeting so confirmatory of all her +apprehensions.</p> + +<p>'It is not Leta—it is only I,' she murmured at length, in a tone of +plaintive sadness, which for the moment touched his heart. 'I am sorry +that I awakened you. But I will go away again.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, remain,' he exclaimed, restraining her by the folds of her dress, +and, with a slight effort, seating her beside him upon the lounge. 'You +are not—you must not feel offended at such a poor jest as that?'</p> + +<p>'Is it all a jest?' she inquired. 'Can you say that the greeting you +gave me did not spring inadvertently from the real preoccupation of your +mind?'</p> + +<p>'Of the mind? Preoccupation?' said Sergius. 'By the gods! but it is a +difficult question to answer. I might possibly, in some dreamy state, +have been thinking carelessly of that Greek girl whom you have so +constantly about you. Even you cannot but acknowledge that she has her +traits of beauty; and if so, it is hard for a man not to admire them.'</p> + +<p>'For mere admiration of her, I care but little,' she responded. 'But I +would not that she should learn to observe it. And what could I do, if +she, perceiving it, were to succeed in drawing your love from me? What +then would there be for me to do, except to die?'</p> + +<p>'To die? This is but foolish talk, Ænone,' he said; and he fastened an +inquiring gaze upon her, as though wishing to search into her soul, and +find out how much of his actions she already knew. Evidently some +fleeting expression upon her countenance deceived him into believing +that she had heard or seen more than he had previously supposed, for, +with another faint attempt at a careless laugh, he continued:</p> + +<p>'And if, at the most, there has been some senseless trifling between the +girl and myself—a pressure of the hand, or a pat upon the cheek, when +meeting by any chance in hall or garden—would you find such fault with +this as to call it a withdrawal of my love from you? To what, indeed, +could such poor, foolish pastime of the moment amount, that it should +bring rebuke upon me?'</p> + +<p>To nothing, indeed, if judged by itself alone, for that was not the age +of the world when every trivial departure from correctness of conduct +was looked upon as a crime; and had this been all, and the real +affection of his heart had remained with her, Ænone would have taken +comfort. But now she knew for certain that, in uncomplainingly enduring +any familiarities, Leta could not, at all times, have maintained her +customary mien of timorous retirement, and must, therefore, to some +extent, have shown herself capable of acting a deceitful part; and that +even though the deceit may have stopped short of further transgression, +it was none the less certain that in future no further trust could be +reposed in her. Gone forever was that frail hope to which, against all +warnings of instinct, Ænone had persisted in clinging—the hope that in +the Greek girl she might succeed in finding a true and honest friend.</p> + +<p>Seeing that she remained absorbed and speechless, Sergius believed that +she was merely jealously pondering upon these trivial transgressions, +and endeavored, by kind and loving expres<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_623" id="Page_623">[Pg 623]</a></span>sions, to remove the evil +effects of his unguarded admission. Gathering her closer in his arms, he +strove once more, by exerting those fascinations which had hitherto so +often prevailed, to calm her disturbed fancies, and bring back again her +confidence in him. But now he spoke almost in vain. Conscious, as Ænone +could not fail to be, of the apparent love and tenderness with which he +bent his eyes upon her, and of the liquid melody of his impassioned +intonations, and half inclined, as she felt, at each instant to yield to +the impulse which tempted her to throw her arms about his neck and +promise from henceforth to believe unfalteringly all that he might say, +whatever opposing evidences might stand before her, there was all the +while the restraining feeling that this show of affection was but a +pretence wherewith to quiet her inconvenient reproaches—that at heart +he was playing with deceit—that the husband was colluding with the +slave to blind her eyes—and that the love and friendship of both lord +and menial had forever failed her.</p> + +<p>'But hold to your own suspicions, if you will,' he said, at length, with +testy accent, as he saw how little all his efforts had moved her. 'I +have spoken in my defence all that I need to speak, even if excuse were +necessary; and it is an ill reward to receive only cold and forbidding +responses in return.'</p> + +<p>'Answer me this,' she exclaimed, suddenly rousing into action, and +looking him earnestly in the face; 'and as you now answer, I will +promise to believe you, for I know that, whatever you may have done, you +will not, if appealed to upon your honor, tell me that which is not +true. About the trivial actions which you have mentioned I care little; +but is there in your heart any real affection for that girl? If you say +that there is not, I will never more distrust you, but will go out from +here with a soul overflowing with peace and joy as when first you came +to take me to your side. But if, on the contrary, you say that you love +her, I will—'</p> + +<p>'Will do what?' he exclaimed, seeing that she hesitated, and almost +hoping that she would utter some impatient threat which in turn would +give him an excuse for anger.</p> + +<p>'Will pass out from this room, sad and broken hearted, indeed—but not +complaining of or chiding you; and will only pray to the gods that they +may, in their own time, make all things once more go aright, and so +restore your heart to me.'</p> + +<p>Sergius hesitated. Never before had he been so tempted to utter an +untruth. If he now did so, he knew that he would be believed, and that +not only would she be made once more happy, but he would be left +unwatched and unsuspected to carry on his own devices. But, on the other +hand, he had been appealed to upon his honor, and, whatever his other +faults, he had too much nobility of soul to lie. And so, not daring to +confess the truth, he chose the middle path of refusing any direct +response at all.</p> + +<p>'Now is not this a singular thing,' he exclaimed, 'that no man can ever +let his eyes rest upon a pretty face without being accused of love for +it? While, if a woman does the same, no tongue can describe the clamor +with which she repels the insinuation of aught but friendly interest. +Can you look me in the eye and tell me that mine is the only voice you +ever listened to with love?'</p> + +<p>'Can you dare hint to me that I have ever been unfaithful to you, even +in thought or word?' cried Ænone, stung with sudden anger by the +imputation, and rendered desperate by her acute perception of the +evasiveness of his answer. 'Do you not know that during the months which +you so lately passed far away from me, there was not one person admitted +here into society with me who would not have had your firm approval—and +that I kept your image so lovingly before my eyes, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_624" id="Page_624">[Pg 624]</a></span> your memory so +constant in my heart, as to become almost a reproach and a sarcasm to +half who knew me?'</p> + +<p>'But before that—before I came to you—can you say that no other eyes +had ever looked lovingly into yours, and there met kindred response?'</p> + +<p>'Have you the right to inquire into what may have happened before you +met me? What young girl is there who, some time or other, has not +modestly let her thoughts dwell upon innocent love? Is there wrong in +this? Should there have been a spirit of prescience in my mind to +forewarn me that I must keep my heart free and in vacant loneliness, +because that, after many years, you were to come and lift me from my +obscurity?'</p> + +<p>'Then, upon your own showing, you acknowledge that there was once +another upon whom your eyes loved to look?' he cried, half gladdened +that he had found even this poor excuse to transfer the charge of blame +from himself. 'And how can I tell but that you have met with him since?'</p> + +<p>'I have met him since,' she quietly answered, driven to desperation by +the cruel insinuation.</p> + +<p>In his heart attaching but little importance to such childish affections +as she might once have cherished, and having had no other purpose in his +suggestion than that of shielding himself from further inquiry by +inflicting some trifling wound upon her, Sergius had spoken +hesitatingly, and with a shamefaced consciousness of meanness and +self-contempt. But when he listened to her frank admission—fraught, as +it seemed to him, with more meaning than the mere naked words would, of +themselves, imply, an angry flush of new-born jealousy overspread his +features.</p> + +<p>'Ha! You have met him since?' he exclaimed. 'And when, and where? And +who, then, is this fortunate one?'</p> + +<p>Ænone hesitated. Now, still more bitterly than ever before, she felt the +sad consciousness of being unable to pour out to her husband her more +secret thoughts and feelings. If she could have told, with perfect +assurance of being believed, that in so lately meeting the man whom she +had once imagined she loved, she had looked upon him with no other +feeling than the dread of recognition, joined to a friendly and sisterly +desire to procure his release from captivity and his restoration to his +own home, she would have done so. But she felt too well that the +once-aroused jealousy of her lord might now prevent him from reposing +full and generous trust and confidence in her—that he would be far more +likely to interpret all her most innocent actions wrongly, and to +surround her with degrading espionage—and that, in the end, the +innocent captive would probably be subjected to the bitterest +persecutions which spite and hatred could invent.</p> + +<p>'I have met him,' she said at length, 'but only by chance, and without +being recognized or spoken to by him. Nor do I know whether I shall ever +chance to meet him again. Is this a crime? Oh, my lord, what have I done +that you should thus strive to set your face against me? Do you not, in +your secret soul, know and believe that there is no other smile than +yours for which I live, and that, without the love with which you once +gladdened me, there can be no rest or peace for me on earth? Tell me, +then, that all this is but a cruel pleasantry to prove my heart, and +that there has nothing come between us—or else let me know the worst, +in order that I may die.'</p> + +<p>Sliding down, until her knees touched the floor, and then winding one +arm slowly about his neck, she hid her face in his breast, and, bursting +into tears, sobbed aloud. It was not merely the reactionary breaking +down of a nervous system strung to the highest point of undue +excitement. It was the half consciousness of a terrible fear lest the +day might come in which, goaded by injustice and neglect, she might +learn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_625" id="Page_625">[Pg 625]</a></span> no longer to love the man before her—the wail of a stricken soul +pleading that the one to whom her heart had bound her might not fail in +his duty to her, but, by a resumption of his former kindness and +affection, might retain her steadfastly in the path of love.</p> + +<p>Touched by the spectacle of her strong agony—aroused for the moment to +the true realization of all the bitterness and baseness of his +unkindness toward her—moved, perhaps, by memories of that time when +between them there was pleasant and endearing confidence, and when it +was not she who was obliged to plead for love—Sergius drew his arm more +closely about her, and, bending over, pressed his lips upon her +forehead. If at that moment the opportunity had not failed, who can tell +what open and generous confessions might not have been uttered, +unrestrained forgiveness sealed, and future miseries prevented? But at +the very moment when the words seemed trembling upon his lips, the door +softly opened, and Leta entered.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_DOVE" id="THE_DOVE"></a>THE DOVE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Upon the 'pallid bust of Pallas' sat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Raven from the 'night's Plutonian shore;'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His burning glance withered my wasting life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His ceaseless cry still tortured as before:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Lenore! Lenore! ah! never—nevermore!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The weary moments dragged their crimson sands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slow through the life-blood of my sinking heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I counted not their flow; I only knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Time and Eternity were of one hue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That immortality were endless pain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To one who the long lost could ne'er regain—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was no hope that Death would Love restore:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Lenore! Lenore! ah! never—nevermore!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Early one morn I left my sleepless couch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seeking in change of place a change of pain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I leaned my head against the casement, where<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rose she planted wreathed its clustering flowers.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How could it bloom when she was in the grave?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The birds were carolling on every spray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every leaf glittered with perfumed dew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nature was full of joy, but, wretched man!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Does God indeed bless only birds and flowers?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As thus I stood—the glowing morn without,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within, the Raven with its blighting cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All light the world, all gloom the hopeless heart—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I prayed in agony, if not in faith;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet still my saddened heart refused to soar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And even summer winds the burden bore:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Lenore! Lenore! ah! never—nevermore!'</span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_626" id="Page_626">[Pg 626]</a></span><br /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With these wild accents ringing through my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was no hope in prayer! Sadly I rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gazing on Nature with an envious eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, lo! a snowy Dove, weaving her rings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In ever-lessening circles, near me came;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With whirring sound of fluttering wings, she passed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into the cursed and stifling, haunted room,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where sat the Raven with his voice of doom—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His ceaseless cry from the Plutonian shore:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Lenore! Lenore! ah! never—nevermore!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The waving of the whirring, snowy wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cooled the hot air, diffusing mystic calm.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again I shuddered as I marked the glare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which shot from the fell Raven's fiendish eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The while he measured where his pall-like swoop<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might seize the Dove as Death had seized Lenore:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Lenore!' he shrieked, 'ah, never—nevermore!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hovered the Dove around an antique cross,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which long had stood afront the pallid bust<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of haughty Pallas o'er my chamber door:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Neglected it had been through all the storm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of maddening doubts born from the demon cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reëchoing from the night's Plutonian shore:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Lenore! Lenore! ah! never—nevermore!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I loved all heathen, antique, classic lore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus the cross had paled before the brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Pallas, radiant type of Reason's power.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But human reason fails in hours of woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wisdom's goddess ne'er reopes the grave.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What knows chill Pallas of corruption's doom?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon her massive, rounded, glittering brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Bird of Doubt had chos'n a fitting place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To knell into my heart forever more:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Ah I never, nevermore! Lenore! Lenore!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Raven's plumage, in the kindling rays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shone with metallic lustre, sombre fire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His fiendish eye, so blue, and fierce, and cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Froze like th' hyena's when she tears the dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sculptured beauty of the marble brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Pallas glittered, as though diamond-strewn:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Haughty and dazzling, yet no voice of peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But words of dull negation darkly fell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Reason's goddess in her brilliant sheen!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No secret bears she from the silent grave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She stands appalled before its dark abyss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shudders at its gloom with all her lore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All powerless to ope its grass-grown door.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can Pallas e'er the loved and lost restore?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hear her wild Raven shriek: 'Lenore! no more!'</span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_627" id="Page_627">[Pg 627]</a></span><br /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With gloomy thoughts and thronging dreams oppressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sank upon the 'violet velvet chair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which she shall press, ah, never, nevermore!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gazed, I know not why, upon the cross,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On which the Dove was resting its soft wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glowing and rosy in the morn's warm light.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I cannot tell how long I dreaming lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When (as from some old picture, shadowy forms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loom from a distant background as we gaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So bright they gleam, so soft they melt away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We scarcely know whether 'tis fancy's play<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or artist's skill that wins them to the day)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There grew a band of angels on my sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wreathing in love around the slighted cross.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One swung a censer, hung with bell-like flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whence tones and perfumes mingling charmed the air;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thick clouds of incense veiled their shadowy forms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet could I see their wings of rainbow light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wavings of their white arms, soft and bright.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then she who swung the censer nearer drew—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The perfumed tones were silent—lowly bent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(The long curls pouring gold adown the wings),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She knelt in prayer before the crucifix.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her eyes were deep as midnight's mystic stars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Freighted with love they trembling gazed above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As pleading for some mortal's bitter pain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When answered—soft untwined the clasping hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bright wings furled—my heart stood still to hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'The footfalls tinkle on the tufted floor'—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The eyes met mine—O God! my lost Lenore!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too deeply awed to clasp her to my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I knelt and gasped—'Lenore! my lost Lenore!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is there a home for Love beyond the skies?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In pity answer!—shall we meet again?'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her eyes in rapture floated; solemn, calm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then softest music from her lips of balm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fell, as she joined the angels in the air!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her words forever charmed away despair!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">'Above all pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">We meet again!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Kneel and worship humbly<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Round the slighted cross!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Death is only seeming—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love is never loss!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the hour of sorrow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Calmly look above!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trust the Holy Victim—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heaven is in His love!</span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_628" id="Page_628">[Pg 628]</a></span><br /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">'Above all pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">We meet again!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Never heed the Raven—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Doubt was born in hell!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How can heathen Pallas<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Faith of Christian tell?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the faith of angels,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Led by Holy Dove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kneel and pray before Him—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heaven is in His love!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">'Above all pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">We meet again!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then clouds of incense veiled the floating forms;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I only saw the gleams of starry wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flash from lustrous eyes, the glittering hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As chanting still the <i>Sanctus</i> of the skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clear o'er the <i>Misereres</i> of earth's graves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enveloped in the mist of perfumed haze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In music's spell they faded from my gaze.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gone—gone the vision! from my sight it bore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My lost, my found, my ever loved Lenore!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Forgotten scenes of happy infant years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My mother's hymns around my cradle-bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Memories of vesper bell and matin chimes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of priests and incensed altars, dimly waked.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fierce eye of the Raven dimmed and quailed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His burnished plumage drooped, yet, full of hate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Began he still his 'wildering shriek—'Lenore!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, lo! the Dove broke in upon his cry—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She, too, had found a voice for agony;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Calmly it fell from heaven's cerulean shore:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Lenore! Lenore! forever—evermore!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Soon as the Raven heard the silvery tones,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lulling as gush of mountain-cradled stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With maddened plunge he fell to rise no more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, in the sweep of his Plutonian wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dashed to the earth the bust of Pallas fair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The haughty brow lay humbled in the dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'ershadowed by the terror-woven wings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that wild Raven, as by some dark pall.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lift up poor Pallas! bathe her fainting brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With drops of dewy chrism! take the beak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the false Raven from her sinking soul!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, let the Faith Dove nestle in her heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her haughty reason low at Jesu's feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While humble as a child she cons the lore:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'The loved, the lost, forever—evermore!'</span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_629" id="Page_629">[Pg 629]</a></span><br /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As if to win me to the crucifix,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Dove would flutter there, then seek my breast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heart must feel its utter orphanage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before it makes the cross its dearest hope!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I knelt before the holy martyred form,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The perfect Victim given in perfect love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The highest symbol of the highest Power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Self-abnegation perfected in God</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Circling the brow like diadem, there shone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each letter pierced with thorns and dyed in blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet dazzling vision with the hopes of heaven:<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">'I am the Resurrection and the Life!'</span></span><br /> +<span class="i0">Upon the outstretched hands, mangled and torn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I found that mighty truth the heart divines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which strews our midnight thick with stars, solves doubts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And makes the chasm of the yawning grave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The womb of higher life, in which the lost<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are gently rocked into their angel forms—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That truth of mystic rapture—'<span class="smcap">God is Love</span>!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Still chants the snowy <span class="smcap">Dove</span> from heaven's shore:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'<span class="smcap">Lenore! Lenore! forever! evermore</span>!'<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_MISSISSIPPI_RIVER_AND_ITS_PECULIARITIES" id="THE_MISSISSIPPI_RIVER_AND_ITS_PECULIARITIES"></a>THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER AND ITS PECULIARITIES.</h2> + + +<p>Few of the people of the North have ever inquisitively considered the +Mississippi River, and as a consequence its numerous peculiarities are +not generally known. Indeed, its only characteristic features are +supposed to be immensity of proportions rather than any specific +variation from the universal nature of rivers. Many there are that have +never seen the river, and have conceptions of its appearance merely in +imagination; others have been more fortunate, have crossed its turbid +flood, or have been borne upon its noble bosom the full breadth of the +land, from beautiful Minnesota to its great reservoir in the South, the +Gulf of Mexico. As the result of this experience, great have been the +sensations of satisfaction or disappointment. Many have turned away with +their extravagant anticipations materially chagrined. This might be +expected in a casual observer. It is true, some portions of the +Mississippi do not present that vastness which a person would very +naturally expect, having previously accepted literally the figurative +appellations that have been applied to it. The Mississippi is not +superficially a great stream, but when it is recognized as the mighty +conduit of the surplus waters of fifty large streams, some of which are +as large as itself, besides receiving innumerable of less +pretensions—when we consider, too, the great physical phenomena which +it presents in its turbid waters, its islands, its bars, and its bayous, +its vast banks of alluvial deposit, its omnipotent force, and the signal +futility of all human endeavors to control it, in this phase is it truly +the 'Father<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_630" id="Page_630">[Pg 630]</a></span> of Waters,' and 'the most wonderful of rivers.'</p> + +<p>In a commercial point of view is the Mississippi equally as remarkable +as in its physical presentations. It is the aorta through which, from +the heart of the nation, flow the bountiful returns of industrious and +productive labor, which thus find an outlet to all parts of the world, +opening an avenue of trade for millions of energetic men and fertile +acres. Thus not only is it the life-supporting, but as well the +life-imparting artery of a great section of the republic.</p> + +<p>But it is unnecessary to speak of the commercial importance of the +river. This is patent to everybody. Let us, however, unfold some of its +remarkable and singular phenomena, which have never occurred to many, +and may at this particular time be of interest to all, even those who +have given the subject some study. Let us first briefly glance at its +history.</p> + +<p>In 1539, Ferdinand de Soto, Governor of Cuba, leaving that island in +charge of his wife, set sail for Florida, where he soon safely +disembarked, and sent his ships back, in order to leave no opportunity +for relentment in the stern resolves of his followers. After a somewhat +erratic journey, on his way passing through Georgia, Alabama, and +Northern Mississippi, he struck the 'Great River' at the Lower Chickasaw +Bluffs, as they are still called, and upon which now stands the city of +Memphis. The expedition crossed the river at that point, and spent some +time in exploring the country beyond, until they found themselves upon +the White River, about two hundred miles from its entrance into the +Mississippi. From there a small expedition set out toward the Missouri, +but soon returned, bringing an unfavorable report. From the White the +expedition moved toward the hot springs and saline confluents of the +Washita. In this neighborhood they wintered. In the spring of 1542, De +Soto and his followers descended the Washita in canoes, but became +entangled in the bayous and marshes of the Red River, to which the +Washita, through the Black, is tributary. At length, however, they +reached the Mississippi. Here a number of explorations were conducted, +but with no success as regards the object of the expedition, a search of +gain. It was in the midst of these explorations, at the mouth of the +Red, while surrounded by the most implacable Indian hostility, a +malignant fever seized the spirit and head of the enterprise, and on May +21st, 1542, De Soto died. Amid the sorrows of the moment and fears of +the future, his body was wrapped in a mantle, and sunk in the middle of +the river. A requiem broke the midnight gloom, and the morning rose upon +the consternation of the survivors. It has indeed been aptly said, that +De Soto 'sought for gold, but found nothing so great as his burial +place.'</p> + +<p>The men now looked about them for a new leader. Their choice fell upon +Luis de Moscoso. This man was without enterprise or capacity. After +enduring every calamity, the party built seven brigantines, and in +seventeen days, July, 1543, passed out of the mouth of the river, and +followed the coast toward the east. Out of six hundred, but few over +three hundred ever returned to Cuba.</p> + +<p>From the expedition of De Soto more than a century elapsed before any +further discoveries were made. In May, 1673, Marquette, a priest, and +Jolliet, a trader, and five men, made some explorations of the river.</p> + +<p>The great work of discovery was reserved for Robert Cavelier de la +Salle, a Frenchman. By his commands, Father Louis Hennepin made the +discovery of the Upper Mississippi, as far as the Falls of St. Anthony. +In January, 1682, La Salle himself, with twenty-three Frenchmen and +eighteen Indians, set out for the exploration of the Lower Mississippi, +entering the river from the Illinois, and descending<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_631" id="Page_631">[Pg 631]</a></span> it until he +arrived at the Passes of the Delta. Here, to his surprise, he found the +river divided into three channels. A party was sent by each, La Salle +taking the western, and on April 9th the open sea was reached. The usual +ceremonies attendant upon any great discovery were repeated here.</p> + +<p>Enlivened by success, the party returned to Quebec. La Salle returned to +France, and in 1684, aided by his Government, set sail with four +vessels, for the discovery of the river from the sea. In this he was +unsuccessful. After encountering several storms and losing one of his +vessels, the expedition entered St. Louis Bay (St. Bernard) on the coast +of Texas. The party disembarked, one of the vessels returned to France, +and the others were lost on the coast. Thus cut off, La Salle made every +effort to discover the river by land; but in every attempt he failed. At +length he was assassinated by one of his followers on the 19th of March, +1687. Thus terminated the career of the explorer of the Mississippi.</p> + +<p>The discovery of the mouth of the river from the sea, was an event of +some years later, and was consummated by Iberville, in 1699. This person +spent some time in navigating the river and the waters adjacent to its +mouth. His brother, Bienville, succeeded him in these enterprises. A few +years later, and we find settlements springing up upon the banks of the +river. Since that time it has attracted a numerous population, and +to-day, though desolated in parts by the contentions of armies, there is +certainty in the belief that at some time these people of the great +river will wield a mighty power in the political and commercial destiny +of the American continent.</p> + +<p>The Mississippi proper rises in the State of Minnesota, about 47° and +some minutes north latitude, and 94° 54' longitude west, at an elevation +of sixteen hundred and eighty feet above the level of the Gulf of +Mexico, and distant from it two thousand eight hundred and ninety-six +miles, its utmost length, upon the summit of Hauteurs de Terre, the +dividing ridge between the rivulets confluent to itself and those to the +Red River of the North. Its first appearance is a tiny pool, fed by +waters trickling from the neighboring hills. The surplus waters of this +little pool are discharged by a small brook, threading its way among a +multitude of very small lakes, until it gathers sufficient water, and +soon forms a larger lake. From here a second rivulet, impelled along a +rapid declination, rushes with violent impetuosity for some miles, and +subsides in Lake Itasca. Thence, with a more regular motion, until it +reaches Lake Cass, from whence taking a mainly southeasterly course, a +distance of nearly seven hundred miles, it reaches the Falls of St. +Anthony. Here the river makes in a few miles a descent of sixteen feet. +From this point to the Gulf, navigation is without further interruption, +and the wonders of the Mississippi begin.</p> + +<p>It is not possible to give, with complete exactness, the outlines of the +immense valley drained by the Mississippi, yet, with the assistance of +accurate surveys, we can make an approximation, to say the least, which +will convey some idea of the physical necessity of the river to the vast +area through the centre of which it takes its course.</p> + +<p>We will say:<br /><br /></p> + + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="Mississippi survey"> +<tr><td align='left'>From the highest point of land</td><td align='right'><i>Miles.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>between the mouth of the</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Atchafalaya and Mississippi</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Rivers, dividing the headwaters</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>of their confluents; thence</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>along the dividing ridge of tributaries</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>confluent to the Sabine</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>and other Texas streams from</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>those of the Red, in a north-westerly</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>course, to the Rocky</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Mountains, thence taking a line</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>separating the headwaters of</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>the Red, Arkansas, and tributary</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>streams, on the east, from</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>the Rio Grande and tributaries<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_632" id="Page_632">[Pg 632]</a></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>toward the south, and the Colorado</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>toward the west, say,</td><td align='right'>1,300</td></tr> + +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Thence, pursuing the dividing</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>summit of the Rocky Mountains,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>to the Marias, tributary</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>to the Missouri, in Dakota, say,</td><td align='right'>700</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Thence, including the headwaters</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>of the Missouri, and taking</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>direction southeasterly,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>dividing the tributaries of the</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Red River of the North from</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>those of the Missouri to the</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>source of the Minnesota; thence</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>northeasterly, dividing the rivulets</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>of the head lakes, Itasca,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Cass, etc., from those confluent</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>to the Red River of the North,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>separating the headwaters of</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>the St. Croix from currents tributary</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>to Lake Superior; thence</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>embracing the confluent streams</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>to the Mississippi in Wisconsin,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Northern Illinois, and Indiana,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>to the Kankakee branch of the</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Illinois, say,</td><td align='right'>2,000</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Thence, dividing the streams of</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>the Lakes from those emptying</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>into the Ohio as far as the extreme</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>source of the Alleghany,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>say,</td><td align='left'>400</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Thence along the dividing summit</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>of the Atlantic slope to the</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>source of the Tennessee; thence</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>dividing the streams tending</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>toward the Gulf, to the mouth</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>of the Mississippi, and thence</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>to starting point, say,</td><td align='right'>1,700</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align='right'>——</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Making an aggregate circuit of</td><td align='right'>6,100</td></tr> +</table> + + +<p><br />Within this extensive limit we find, from surveys, the following +aggregate area in square miles, estimated by valleys:<br /><br /></p> + + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Mississipi survey"> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='right'><i>Square Miles.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The valley of the Ohio,</td><td align='right'>200,000</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The valley of the Mississippi proper,</td><td align='right'>180,000</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The valley of the Missouri,</td><td align='right'>500,000</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The valley of the Lower Mississippi,</td><td align='right'>330,000</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='right'>———</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Total area,</td><td align='right'>1,210,000</td></tr> +</table> + +<p><br />As a natural consequence of the drainage of this immense area, the +Mississippi receives into its waters a large amount of suspended earthy +matter. This, however, does not very strikingly appear on the upper +river, its own banks and those of its tributaries being more of a +gravelly character and less friable than lower down. The gravity of +particles, therefore, worn from the bed and sides of the channel above, +unless the current be exceedingly strong, is greater than the buoyant +capacity of the water, and falls to the bottom, along which, sometimes, +it is forced by the abrasion of the water, until it meets some +obstruction, which gathers the particles into shoal formations. This +fact causes much inconvenience in the navigation of the upper rivers.</p> + +<p>It is not until we reach the confluence of the streams of Southern +Illinois and Missouri, that the sediment of the river becomes striking. +Those streams, freighted with the rich loam and vegetable matter of the +prairies of the east and west, soon change entirely the appearance of +the Mississippi. Above the Missouri, the river is but slightly tinged; +and indeed, after that great current enters, for some distance the two +run side by side in the same channel, and yet are divided by a very +distinct line of demarcation. It is only after the frequent sinuosities +of the channel, that the two waters are thrown into each other and +fairly blend. The sedimentary condition of the Missouri is so great that +drift floating upon its muddy surface, by accretion becomes so heavily +laden with earthy matter that it sinks to the bottom. This precipitation +of drift has taken place to such an extent, that the bed of the Missouri +is in many places completely covered to a great depth by immense fields +of logs. Of all the silt thrown into the Mississippi, the Missouri +furnishes about one third.</p> + +<p>After receiving the Missouri, next enters the Ohio. The water of this +river is less impregnated than the Mis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_633" id="Page_633">[Pg 633]</a></span>souri, though not by any means +free from silt. The country through which it flows is mountainous, and +the soil hard, and does not afford the same facility of abrasive action +as that of the other rivers.</p> + +<p>From the mouth of the Ohio, the Mississippi pursues a course of nearly +four hundred miles, when it receives the turbid waters of the White and +Arkansas Rivers. In the intervening distance a large number of small +currents, more or less largely sedimentary, according to the character +of the country through which they run, enter the Mississippi, in the +aggregate adding materially to the sediment of the receiving stream. The +White and Arkansas carry in their waters a large amount of +unprecipitated matter. In this vicinity, too, sets in that singular +system of natural safeguards of the surrounding country, the bayous. The +country here also changes its appearance, becoming flat and swampy, and +in some parts attaining but a few feet above the flood of the river, +whereas in other parts, as we approach the Gulf, the country is even +lower than the river.</p> + +<p>The miasmatic and poisonous water of the Yazoo next enters, about ten +miles above Vicksburg. This river is more deeply impregnated with a +certain kind of impurities than any other tributary of the Mississippi. +The waters are green and slimy, and almost sticky with vegetable and +animal decomposition. During the hot season the water is certain +disease, if taken into the stomach. The name is of Indian origin, and +signifies 'River of Death.' The Yazoo receives its supply from bayous +and swamps, though it has several considerable tributaries.</p> + +<p>Below the Yazoo, on the west side, enters the Red. The name indicates +the peculiar caste of its water. This river carries with it the washings +of an extensive area of prairies and swamps, and is the last of the +great tributaries. Hence the tendency of streams is directly to the +Gulf, and that network of lateral branches, of which we will hereafter +speak, begins.</p> + +<p>We have only considered the most prominent tributaries: the sediment +also brought down by the numerous smaller streams is very great, and +makes great additions to the immense buoyant matter of the Mississippi.</p> + +<p>The river itself from its own banks scours the larger portion of the +sediment it contains; and in so gigantic a scale is this carried on, +that it can be seen without the exercise of any very remarkable powers +of sight. It is not by the imperceptible degrees usually at work in +other streams, but often involves in its execution many acres of +adjoining land. It will be interesting to consider this more fully.</p> + +<p>By a curious freak of nature, the tendency of the channel of the +Mississippi is always toward one or the other of its banks, being +influenced by the direction of its bends. The principle is one of nicely +regulated refraction. If the river were perfectly straight, the gravity +and inertia of its waters would move in a right line, with a velocity +beyond all control. But we find the river very sinuous, and the momentum +of current consequently lessened. For example, striking in an arm of the +river, by the inertia of the moving volume, the water is thrown, and +with less velocity, upon the opposite bank, which it pursues until it +meets another repellent obstacle, from which it refracts, taking +direction again for the other side. Above the Missouri, the river is +principally directed by the natural trough of the valley. Below this, +however, the channel is purely the work of the river itself, shaped +according to the necessities of sudden changes or obstructions. This is +proven by the large number of old and dry beds of the river frequently +met with, the channel having been diverted in a new direction by the +accumulation of sediment and drift which it had not the momentum to +force out.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_634" id="Page_634">[Pg 634]</a></span></p> + +<p>Where the gravity of the greatest volume and momentum of water falls +upon the bed of the river, there is described the thread of the channel, +and all submerged space outside of this, though in the river, acts as a +kind of reservoir, where eddies the surplus water until taken up by the +current. And it always happens, where the channel takes one bend of the +bed, a corresponding tongue of shallow water faces the indenture. Where +the river, by some inexplicable cause, has been thrown from its regular +channel, or its volume of water embarrassed by some difficulties along +the banks, the effect is immediately perceived upon the neighboring +bank. The column of water thus impinged against it at once acts upon the +bank, and, singularly enough, exerts its strongest abrasive action at +the bottom, undermining the bank, which soon gives way, and instead of +toppling forward, it noiselessly slides beneath the water and +disappears. Acres of land have thus been carried away in an incredibly +short time, and without the slightest disruption of the serene flow of +the mighty current.</p> + +<p>This carrying away of the banks, immense as is the amount of earth +thrown into the waters of the river, has no sensible effect in blocking +or directing the current, though it imperceptibly raises the channel. +The force of the water does not permit its entire settlement in +quantities at any one place, but distributes it along the bottom and +shores below. Were this not the case, it is easily to be seen, the +abrasion of the river banks would be greatly increased, and the +destruction of the bordering lands immense.</p> + +<p>A singular feature resulting from the above may here be mentioned. By +pursuing the course of the river, a short distance below, on the +opposite bank, it will be seen that a large quantity of the earth +introduced into the current by the falling of the banks, has been thrown +up in large masses, forming new land, which, in a few seasons, becomes +arable. That which is not thus deposited, as already stated, is +transported below, dropping here and there on the way, until what is +left reaches the Gulf, and is precipitated upon the 'bars' and 'delta,' +at the mouth. It not unfrequently happens that planters along the river +find themselves suddenly deprived of some of their acres, while one +almost opposite finds himself as unexpectedly blessed with a bountiful +increase of his domain.</p> + +<p>From causes almost similar to those given to explain the sudden and +disastrous changes of the channel of the river, are also produced those +singular shortenings, known as 'cut-offs,' which are so frequently met +with on the Mississippi. At a certain point the force of the current is +turned out of its path and impinged against a neck of land, that has, +after years of resistance, been worn down to an exceedingly small +breadth. Possibly the river has merely worn an arm in its side, leaving +an extensive bulge standing out in the river, and connected with the +mainland by an isthmus. The river striking in this arm, and not having +sufficient scope to rebound toward the other bank, is thrown into a +rotary motion, forming almost a whirlpool. The action of this motion +upon the banks soon reduces the connecting neck, which separates and +blocks the waters, until, at last, no longer able to cope with the great +weight resting against it, it gives way, and the river divides itself +between this new and the old channel.</p> + +<p>Nor do these remarkable instances of abrasive action constitute the +entire washing from the banks. The whole length of the river is subject +to a continual deposit and taking up of the silt, according to the +buoyant capacity of the water. This, too, is so well regulated that the +quantity of earthy matter held in solution is very nearly the same, +being proportioned to the force of the current. For instance, if the +river receive more earth than it can sustain, the surplus sediment +drops<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_635" id="Page_635">[Pg 635]</a></span> upon the bottom or is forced up upon the sides. If the river be +subject to a rise, a proportionate quantity of the dropped sediment is +again taken up, and carried along or deposited again, according to the +capacity of the water. By this means a well-established average of silt +is at all times found buoyant in the river.</p> + +<p>Having briefly examined the sedimentary character of the Mississippi, +some investigations as to the proportion of sediment to water may be of +interest. And it is well to state here that a mean stage of flow is +taken as the basis upon which to start the experiments. The experiments +and analysis of the water were made by Professor Riddell, at intervals +of three days, from May 21st to August 13, 1846, and reported to the +Association of American Geologists and Naturalists.</p> + +<p>The water was taken in a pail from the river in front of the city of New +Orleans, where the current is rather swift. That portion of the river +contains a fair average of sedimentary matter, and it is sufficiently +distant from the <i>embouchure</i> of the last principal tributary to allow +its water to mix well with that of the Mississippi.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>'The temperature,' says the Professor, 'was observed at the time, +and the height of the river determined. Some minutes after, the +pail of water was agitated, and two samples of one pint each +measured out. The measure graduated by weighing at 60 degrees +Fahrenheit 7,295.581 grains of distilled water. After standing a +day or two, the matter mechanically suspended would subside to the +bottom. Nearly two thirds of the clear supernatant liquid was next +decanted, while the remaining water, along with the sediment, was +in each instance poured upon a double filter, the two parts of +which had previously been agitated, to be of equal weight. The +filters were numbered and laid aside, and ultimately dried in the +sunshine, under like circumstances, in two parcels, one embracing +the experiments from May 22 to July 15, the other from July 17 to +August 13. The difference in weight between the two parts of each +double filter was then carefully ascertained, and as to the inner +filter alone the sediment was attached, its excess of weight +indicated the amount of sediment.'</p></div> + +<p>As the table may be interesting, showing the height and temperature of +the water as well as the result of the experiments at the different +times, we introduce it complete:<br /><br /></p> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Table</span> <i>showing the Quantity of Sediment contained in the Water +of the Mississippi River</i>.</h4> + + + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" width="70%" cellspacing="0" summary="Mississipi survey"> +<tr><th align='right' colspan="2">Date of<br />Experiment.</th><th align='right' colspan="2">Height of River<br />above Low Water.</th><th align='right'>Temperature.</th><th align='right' colspan="2">Grains of Sediment<br />in a Pint of Water.</th></tr> + + +<tr><th align='right' colspan="2">1846.</th><th align='right'>ft.</th><th align='right'>in.</th><th align='right'>°</th><th align='right'>A.</th><th align='right'>B.</th></tr> + +<tr><td align='right'>May</td><td align='right'>21</td><td align='right'>10</td><td align='right'>11</td><td align='right'>72</td><td align='right'>6.66</td><td align='right'>7.00</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>25</td><td align='right'>10</td><td align='right'>11</td><td align='right'>73</td><td align='right'>9.08</td><td align='right'>9.12</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>27</td><td align='right'>10</td><td align='right'>10</td><td align='right'>78</td><td align='right'>7.80</td><td align='right'>9.00</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>29</td><td align='right'>11</td><td align='right'>0</td><td align='right'>74</td><td align='right'>7.30</td><td align='right'>8.10</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>June</td><td align='right'>2</td><td align='right'>11</td><td align='right'>1</td><td align='right'>75</td><td align='right'>4.80</td><td align='right'>5.45</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>4</td><td align='right'>11</td><td align='right'>1</td><td align='right'>75</td><td align='right'>7.87</td><td align='right'>6.10</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>6</td><td align='right'>11</td><td align='right'>4</td><td align='right'>75</td><td align='right'>4.60</td><td align='right'>4.90</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>8</td><td align='right'>11</td><td align='right'>4</td><td align='right'>75.5</td><td align='right'>5.48</td><td align='right'>5.60</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>10</td><td align='right'>10</td><td align='right'>4</td><td align='right'>76</td><td align='right'>6.70</td><td align='right'>6.80</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>12</td><td align='right'>10</td><td align='right'>8</td><td align='right'>76</td><td align='right'>6.50</td><td align='right'>6.30</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>14</td><td align='right'>10</td><td align='right'>5</td><td align='right'>76.5</td><td align='right'>6.00</td><td align='right'>6.00</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>16</td><td align='right'>10</td><td align='right'>4</td><td align='right'>76.5</td><td align='right'>6.47</td><td align='right'>6.15</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>20</td><td align='right'>10</td><td align='right'>4</td><td align='right'>77</td><td align='right'>7.08</td><td align='right'>7.40</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>22</td><td align='right'>10</td><td align='right'>2</td><td align='right'>77</td><td align='right'>9.88</td><td align='right'>9.00</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>24</td><td align='right'>9</td><td align='right'>8</td><td align='right'>77</td><td align='right'>8.40</td><td align='right'>8.48</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>26</td><td align='right'>8</td><td align='right'>9</td><td align='right'>77.5</td><td align='right'>8.25</td><td align='right'>8.78</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>28</td><td align='right'>8</td><td align='right'>0</td><td align='right'>79</td><td align='right'>9.10</td><td align='right'>9.58</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>July</td><td align='right'>1</td><td align='right'>7</td><td align='right'>2</td><td align='right'>79.5</td><td align='right'>9.15</td><td align='right'>9.25</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>3</td><td align='right'>7</td><td align='right'>2</td><td align='right'>79.5</td><td align='right'>9.63</td><td align='right'>10.00</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>6</td><td align='right'>6</td><td align='right'>2</td><td align='right'>81</td><td align='right'>8.20</td><td align='right'>7.57</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>8</td><td align='right'>6</td><td align='right'>0</td><td align='right'>81</td><td align='right'>7.30</td><td align='right'>6.96</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>10</td><td align='right'>6</td><td align='right'>1</td><td align='right'>81</td><td align='right'>6.12</td><td align='right'>6.28</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>13</td><td align='right'>5</td><td align='right'>9</td><td align='right'>82</td><td align='right'>7.72</td><td align='right'>7.30</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>15</td><td align='right'>5</td><td align='right'>10</td><td align='right'>82</td><td align='right'>6.67</td><td align='right'>6.60</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>17</td><td align='right'>5</td><td align='right'>10</td><td align='right'>82</td><td align='right'>4.45</td><td align='right'>4.57</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>20</td><td align='right'>5</td><td align='right'>4</td><td align='right'>82</td><td align='right'>6.07</td><td align='right'>5.75</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>24</td><td align='right'>3</td><td align='right'>10</td><td align='right'>84</td><td align='right'>5.76</td><td align='right'>5.72</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>27</td><td align='right'>3</td><td align='right'>1</td><td align='right'>84</td><td align='right'>4.77</td><td align='right'>4.60</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>29</td><td align='right'>3</td><td align='right'>11</td><td align='right'>84.5</td><td align='right'>4.28</td><td align='right'>4.13</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>Aug.</td><td align='right'>1</td><td align='right'>2</td><td align='right'>6</td><td align='right'>85</td><td align='right'>4.40</td><td align='right'>4.44</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>3</td><td align='right'>2</td><td align='right'>0</td><td align='right'>84</td><td align='right'>3.18</td><td align='right'>3.34</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>5</td><td align='right'>1</td><td align='right'>9</td><td align='right'>83</td><td align='right'>3.56</td><td align='right'>3.40</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>7</td><td align='right'>1</td><td align='right'>5</td><td align='right'>83</td><td align='right'>2.85</td><td align='right'>2.85</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>10</td><td align='right'>1</td><td align='right'>6</td><td align='right'>83</td><td align='right'>3.03</td><td align='right'>2.92</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>"</td><td align='right'>13</td><td align='right'>2</td><td align='right'>8</td><td align='right'>84</td><td align='right'>2.97</td><td align='right'>3.00</td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + <p class='center'>The mean average of column A. is 6.32.<br /> + The mean average of column B. is 6.30.</p> + +<div class="trans-note"> + Transcriber's Note: Data in the above table is as in the + original. + </div> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_636" id="Page_636">[Pg 636]</a></span></p> + +<p>'By comparison with distilled water,' says the same, 'the specific +gravity of the filtered river water we found to be 1.823; pint of such +water at 60° weighs 7,297.40.' Engineer Forehay says the sediment is 1 +to 1,800 by weight, or 1 in 3,000 by volume.</p> + +<p>Professor Riddell also comes to the following conclusions, after an +analytic investigation of the sediment. He took one hundred grains from +the river margin, dried it at 212° Fahrenheit, before weighing, and +found it to contain:</p> + + + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" width="45%" cellspacing="0" summary="Mississipi survey"> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><th align='right'><i>Grains.</i></th></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Silica,</td><td align='right'>74.15</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Alumina,</td><td align='right'>9.14</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Oxide of iron,</td><td align='right'>4.56</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Lime,</td><td align='right'>2.08</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Magnesia,</td><td align='right'>1.52</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Manganese,</td><td align='right'>0.04</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Potassa,</td><td align='right'>not determined</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Soda,</td><td align='right'>not determined</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Phosphoric acid,</td><td align='right'>0.44</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Sulphuric acid,</td><td align='right'>0.07</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Carbonic acid,</td><td align='right'>0.74</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Chlorine,</td><td align='right'>0.01</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Water,</td><td align='right'>3.12</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Organic matter,</td><td align='right'>3.10</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='right'>——</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Total,</td><td align='right'>98.97</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p>The existence of so large a quantity of sediment in the water of the +Mississippi, leads to divers formations in its bed. These formations are +principally 'bars' and 'battures.' The banks are also much affected.</p> + +<p>When the water of the river, aided by the current, has attained its full +capacity of buoyant earth, as we have already said, the excess falls to +the bottom. Instead, however, of remaining permanently where it first +lodged, which would soon fill up the channel and cause the river to +overflow, the scouring of the water on the bottom forces a large portion +along with the current, though it be not suspended. Pursuing its course +for a while, some irregularity or obstruction falls in the way—a sunken +log, perhaps. This obstacle checks the progress of the moving earth—it +accumulates; the next wave brings down more—the accumulation becomes +greater; until, in the course of a few years, there is a vast field of +deposit, and a 'bar' is formed. These 'bars' often divert the channel, +and occasion the immense washings before alluded to.</p> + +<p>Bars are generally found close to the banks, though there are examples +in which they extend in a transverse direction to the current. Bars of +this kind very much embarrass and endanger navigation in low water. At +Helena, Arkansas, there is an instance of a transverse bar, upon which, +in October, the water is less than six feet. These bars are formed of +sand, which seems to have been the heavier and less buoyant of the +components of the earth thrown into the current by abrasion, the lighter +portions having been separated by the water and carried off.</p> + +<p>It will not be necessary to consider further the subject of bars in the +river, but those at its mouth deserve some attention. The subject is one +that has led to much theorizing, study, and fear—the latter +particularly, from an ill-founded supposition that they threaten to cut +off navigation into the Gulf.</p> + +<p>Near its entrance into the Gulf, the Mississippi distributes its waters +through five outlets, termed passes, and consequently has as many +mouths. These are termed Pass à l'Outre, Northeast, Southeast, South, +and Southwest. They differ in length, ranging from three to nine miles. +They also all afford sufficient depth of water for commercial purposes, +except at their mouths, which are obstructed by bars. The depth of water +upon one of these is sufficient to pass large vessels; a second, vessels +of less size; and the rest are not navigable at all, as regards +sea-going vessels. These bars, too, are continually changing, according +to the winds or the currents of the river. It is a rather singular fact +that when one of the navigable passes becomes blocked, the river is +certain to force a chan<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_637" id="Page_637">[Pg 637]</a></span>nel of navigable depth through one of the +others, previously not in use; so that at no one time are all the passes +closed.</p> + +<p>In looking into the past, and noticing the changes, it is recorded that +in 1720, of all the passes the South Pass was the only one navigable. In +1730, there was a depth of from twelve to fifteen feet, according to the +winds, and at another time even seventeen feet was known. In 1804, upon +the statement of Major Stoddard, written at that date, the East Pass, +called the Balize, had then about seventeen feet of water on the bar, +and was the one usually navigated. The South Pass was formerly of equal +depth, but was then gradually filling up. (This pass, at present, 1864, +is not at all navigated.) The Southwest Pass had from eleven to twelve +feet of water. The Northeast and Southeast Passes were traversed only by +small craft. Since 1830 the Southwest Pass has been gaining depth. This +and Pass à l'Outre are now the only two out of the five of sufficient +depth to admit the crossing of the larger class of vessels. The former, +however, is the one in most general use. All the other passes, with the +exception of the two mentioned, have been abandoned.</p> + +<p>In regard to the changes and numerous singular formations at the mouths +of the Mississippi, we give a statement made by William Talbot, for +twenty-five years a resident of the Balize. He says:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>'The bars at the various passes change very often. The channel +sometimes changes two and three times in a season. Occasionally one +gale of wind will change the channel. The bars make to the seaward +every year. The Southwest Pass is now the main outlet used. It has +been so only for three years, as at that time there was as much +water in the Northeast Pass as in it. The Southeast Pass was the +main ship channel twenty years ago; there is only about six feet of +water in that pass now; and where it was deepest then, there are +only a few inches of water at this time. The visible shores of the +river have made out into the Gulf two or three miles within my +memory. Besides the deposits of mud and sand, which form the bars, +there frequently rise up bumps, or mounds, near the channel, which +divert its course. These bumps are supposed to be the production of +salt springs, and sometimes are formed in a very few days. They +sometimes rise four or five feet above the surface of the water.' +He 'knew one instance when some bricks, that were thrown overboard +from a vessel outside the bar, in three fathoms of water, were +raised above the surface by one of these banks, and were taken to +the Balize, and used in building chimneys. In another instance, an +anchor, which was lost from a vessel, was lifted out of the water, +so that it was taken ashore. About twenty years ago, a sloop, used +as a lighter, was lost outside the bar in a gale of wind; several +years afterward she was raised by one of these strange formations, +and her cargo was taken out of her.'</p></div> + +<p>We may say the bumps of which Mr. Talbot speaks are termed 'mud bumps,' +from the fact of being composed of sediment. They present a curious +spectacle as seen from a passing steamer. They are undoubtedly the +result of subterranean pressure, but from what cause, whether volcanic, +or the influence of the sea or river, or both, has not been determined. +Many speculations have been entered into in regard to these phenomena, +but as yet without fruitful result.</p> + +<p>Leaving this digression, we proceed to notice that the theories set up +to explain the causes of the bars at the mouth of the river, have been +numerous and various. Some suppose them to be the result of the water of +the river meeting the opposing force of the Gulf waves, checking the +current, and causing a precipitation of the suspended sediment. Others +are of the opinion that the bars are entirely the effect of marine +action, and endeavor to show that the immense inward flow of the Gulf +washes up from its bed the vast accumulations that are continually +forming in the way of navigation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_638" id="Page_638">[Pg 638]</a></span></p> + +<p>After a personal observation and investigation, and as well after +frequent and free consultation with others, we are persuaded to +discredit the above-mentioned theories. The resistance of the Gulf does +not form the bars, though it exerts an influence. The immense volume and +force of water ejected from the river receives no immediate repellent +action from the Gulf, but extends into it many miles without the least +signs of disturbance, as may be plainly discovered even in the most +casual observation. It is known as well that the water of the river +remains perfectly palatable at a very close proximity to the sea. This +is a very good evidence of the superior force of the river's current. +The two volumes of water mix a considerable distance out at sea.</p> + +<p>An able engineer states that, upon examination, he found a column of +fresh water seven feet deep and seven thousand feet wide, and discovered +salt water at eight feet below the surface. As the result of his +investigations, he divides the water into three strata, as follows:</p> + +<p>1. Fresh water, running out at the top with a velocity of three miles an +hour.</p> + +<p>2. Salt water, beneath the fresh, also running out at about the same +velocity.</p> + +<p>3. A reflex flow of salt water, running in slowly at the bottom.</p> + +<p>It is this inward current, he thinks, that produces the deposit, and in +doing so carries with it no small degree of sea drift. The influx of the +lower column flowing up stream, after it passes the dead point, is +allowed time and opportunity for the sediment to deposit. The principle +of the reflex current is somewhat that of an eddy, not only produced by +the conflict of two opposing bodies of water, but also is much +influenced in the under currents by the multitude of estuaries presented +by the irregular sea front of the coast.</p> + +<p>A gentleman, who seems to have taken a very statistical view of these +bars, makes the following business-like and curious calculation as to +their immensity: we introduce it on account of its originality. He says +the average quantity of water discharged per second is five hundred and +ten thousand cubic feet. The quantity of salt suspended, one in three +thousand by volume. The quantity of mud discharged, one hundred and +seventy cubic feet per second. Considering seventeen cubic feet equal to +one ton, the daily discharge of mud is eight hundred and sixty-four +thousand tons, and would require a fleet of seventeen hundred and +twenty-eight ships, of five hundred tons each, to transport the average +daily discharge. And to lift this immense quantity of matter, it would +require about seven hundred and seventy-one dredging machines, sixteen +horse power, with a capacity of labor amounting to one hundred and forty +tons, working eight hours.</p> + +<p>Another class of sedimentary formations met with along the banks of the +Mississippi are the battures. There is one remarkable instance of these +in front of New Orleans, which has led to much private dispute, and even +public disturbance, as to ownership. Within sixty years, in front of the +Second Municipality of the city, the amount of alluvial formations +susceptible of private ownership were worth over five millions of +dollars, that is, nearly one hundred thousand dollars per annum, and the +causes which have produced them are still at work, and will probably +remain so. As far back as 1847 these remarks were made upon the subject: +'The value of the annual alluvial deposits in front of the Second +Municipality now is not less than two hundred thousand dollars, and, +with the exception of the batture between the Faubourg St. Mary line and +Lacourse street, all belongs to this municipality.' 'Such a source of +wealth was never possessed by any city before. In truth, it may be said +that nature is our taxgatherer, levying by her immutable laws tribute +from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_639" id="Page_639">[Pg 639]</a></span> the banks of rivers and from the summits of mountains thousands of +miles distant to enrich, improve, and adorn our favored city.' There are +numerous other examples of the kind going on elsewhere along the river.</p> + +<p>But the greatest exhibition of the wonderful character of the +Mississippi, and in which all its singular effects are most distinctly +shown, is in its Delta. For a long succession of years the immense +quantities of sediment, of which we have already spoken, had gradually +precipitated upon this portion of the river until it reached the +surface. Drift now lodged upon it: the decomposition of drift and the +accumulation of other vegetable matter soon furnished a suitable bed for +the growth of a marine vegetation, and now a vast area, a level expanse +of waste land and marsh, is seen extending a great distance into the +Gulf, ramified here and there by the outlets of the river. Indeed, so +rapid have been these formations, that upon the testimony of history, +the Mississippi River to-day is twenty-nine miles farther in the Gulf +than it was in 1754.</p> + +<p>Mr. Forshey, an engineer, remarks that 'the superficial area of the true +Delta formation of the Mississippi, or below Baton Rouge, where the last +bluffs are found, is about fifteen thousand square miles, constituting a +region of mean width seventy-five miles, and mean length two hundred +miles. Probable depth of alluvion is about one fifth of a mile, by +inference from the depth of the Gulf of Mexico.' In the vicinity of New +Orleans, boring to a depth of two hundred feet, fossils, such as shells, +bones, etc., have been found. And at thirty feet specimens of pottery +and other evidences of Indian habitation have been discovered. The +foundation upon which rest the alluvial formations has been found to +consist of a hard blue silicious clay, closely resembling that met with +in the bed of the Mississippi. The most recent of the alluvial fields of +the Delta have been constituted a parish, termed Plaquemine. In 1800, +according to one authority, there were but very few acres in cultivation +in the entire parish. Since leveeing above, the deposit has been +extremely rapid, until now we find some excellent plantations in +Plaquemine. Fifty miles below New Orleans the tillable land is nearly a +mile in width; below there, it becomes gradually less, until it is lost +in the Gulf. Still the accumulations are going on, and it is impossible +even to surmise what changes the great river may yet effect in the +future geography of this section of the American continent.</p> + +<p>Considering the multitude of streams and vastness of area drained by the +Mississippi, it is natural to suppose the river is much affected in the +stage of its water by the seasons. We have seen that the meltings of the +Rocky Mountain snows, the mountain rills of the Alleghanies, the waters +of the valleys of the upper river, of the Missouri, of the Ohio, the +Arkansas, the Yazoo, and the Red, all find outlet through this one +stream. There are certain seasons in the year when all these widely +distant localities are subject to a gradual approach of warmth from the +south, until they arrive at a sort of climatic average. This creates a +maximum of the supply of water. The inverse then takes place, and a +minimum results. For instance, in the latter part of December, the lower +latitudes of the Mississippi begin to experience their annual rains. +These by degrees tend northward as the season advances. In March +commence the thaws of the southern borders of the zone of snow and ice; +and during April, May, and June, it reaches to the most distant +tributary fountain head. The river now is at its highest. The reverse +then sets in. All the tributaries have their excess, the heats of summer +are at hand, drought and evaporation soon exhaust the surplus of the +streams, and the river is at its lowest.</p> + +<p>To meet the great annual excess of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_640" id="Page_640">[Pg 640]</a></span> water in the Mississippi, nature has +provided sure safeguards. These are termed bayous, and are found +everywhere along the river, below the mouth of the Ohio. Additional +preventives against inundation are the lagoons, or sea-water lakes, of +the coast. Into these bayous and lagoons, as the river becomes high, the +excess of water backs or flows. They are natural reservoirs, to ease the +rise, and prevent the inevitable suddenness and danger which would +result without them. In these reservoirs the water rises or falls with +the river; and when the fall becomes permanent, the water in the +bayous—the lagoons having outlet into the sea—falls with it, returning +into the main stream, and finding entrance into the Gulf, from which it +had been temporarily detained. Without the bayous the lands adjacent to +the Lower Mississippi would, with very few exceptions, be subject to an +annual overflow, and be perfectly worthless for certain agricultural +purposes. In summer the bayous in numerous instances become perfectly +dry, and give a very singular effect to the appearance of the country.</p> + +<p>Below the mouth of the Red River the tributaries of the Mississippi +cease, and the entire volume of the river is attained. As a protection +against serious consequences arising out of such an immense mass of +water, nature has again introduced a remedy. This consists in a number +of lateral branches, which leave the river a short distance below the +mouth of the Red, tending directly to the Gulf, through a continuous +chain of conduits, lakes, and marshes.</p> + +<p>The principal bayous, which exert so important a part in regulating the +stage of this part of the river, are in length and distance from the +Gulf as follows:</p> + + + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" width="70%" cellspacing="0" summary="Mississipi survey"> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='left'> </td><td align='left'> </td><th align='right'><i>Distance By River.</i></th></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='left'> </td><th align='right'><i>Miles.</i></th><th align='right'><i>Miles.</i></th></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Bayou La Fourche,</td><td align='left'>from the Mississippi River to the Gulf,</td><td align='right'>100</td><td align='right'>180</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Bayou Plaquemine,</td><td align='left'>from the Mississippi River to the Gulf,</td><td align='right'>60</td><td align='right'>210</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Bayou Manchac,</td><td align='left'>from the Mississippi River to the Gulf,</td><td align='right'>50</td><td align='right'>220</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Bayou Atchafalaya,</td><td align='left'>from the Mississippi River to the Gulf,</td><td align='right'>110</td><td align='right'>300</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>The course of the bayous, it will be seen, have a more direct route than +the river. Their average width is one thousand feet, and fall twenty-two +feet. Their average velocity is about three and two tenths miles per +hour. Though the rise of the river at Baton Rouge sometimes attains a +height of thirty feet, so great is the relieving capacity of these +lateral branches, that at New Orleans the rise never exceeds twelve +feet. At Point à la Hache the difference between the highest and lowest +stage is but six feet; at Fort Jackson, four feet, while it falls to low +water mark when it enters the sea.</p> + +<p>Having briefly noted the peculiarities of the Mississippi, a few facts +in recapitulation may place it in a more comprehensive attitude as +regards its appearance and size. In the north, after leaving the Falls +of St. Anthony, the river has but the characteristics of a single +stream, but below the Ohio we find it combines the peculiarities of a +number. The water here begins to show signs of almost a new nature and +greater density. The river develops into a much wider channel, and its +peculiarities become more marked and impressive.</p> + +<p>Strange as it may seem, the greatest mean width of the Lower Mississippi +is at the confluence of the Ohio, and from this point it gradually +becomes narrower, until it is but little more than half that width as it +draws near the Gulf. This gives the river a kind of funnel shape, and if +it were not for the numerous bayous and lateral branches, which we have +explained, the most violent convulsion and devastation would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_641" id="Page_641">[Pg 641]</a></span> arise. In +the United States Engineer Reports we find this statement:</p> + + +<div class='left'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" width="75%" cellspacing="0" summary="Mississipi survey"> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='right'><i>Feet.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">The mean width of the Mississippi River between the Ohio and Arkansas Rivers,</span></td><td align='right'>4,500</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mean width between the Arkansas and Red Rivers,</span></td><td align='right'>4,100</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mean width between the Red River and Donaldsonville,</span></td><td align='right'>3,000</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mean width between Donaldsonville and the Gulf,</span></td><td align='right'>2,500</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p> Above the Red River the range between high and low water is about +forty-five feet, and thence to the Gulf it gradually diminishes to zero.</p> + +<p>The greatest velocity of current is about five and a half miles per hour +during floods, and about one and a half miles per hour during low water.</p> + +<p>The river is above mean height from January to July, and below from +August to December. The greatest height is attained from March to June, +and the lowest from October to November.</p> + +<p>The mud of the Mississippi is very yielding, insomuch that an allowance +of several feet is often made where the draught of a vessel exceeds the +clear depth of the water. We have heard of cases where steamers have +ploughed successfully through four feet of it.</p> + +<p>It is singular, too, and exhibits still more clearly what we have said +of deposits, that the lower river for the most part runs along the +summit of a ridge of its own formation, and annually this ridge is +becoming more elevated. The inland deposits are made by the bayous and +their overflow. The lands close to the river are disproportionately +higher than those farther back. The average distance from the river to +the swamp is about two and a half miles. And the slope in some places +sinks to a depression of eighteen feet to a mile. It is upon this strip +of tillable earth that the river plantations are located. By a system of +drainage even much of the swamp lands now unconverted might soon be +turned to profitable use.</p> + +<p>The numerous islands and old channels of the Mississippi are also +another source of wonder to the traveller. The 'cut offs,' previously +explained, are mainly the cause of both. In the first instance, the +river forces its way by a new route, and joins the river below; this +necessarily detaches a certain amount of land from the main shore. As +for the second, after the river has taken this new route, its main +abrasive action follows with it. The water in the old channel becomes +comparatively quiet, sediment is rapidly deposited, and in course of +time the old bed loses its identity, or becomes a beautiful lake, +numerous instances of which occur between the Ohio and the Red Rivers.</p> + +<p>As the Mississippi reaches the neighborhood of the Balize the east banks +slope to the sea level very rapidly, running off toward the end at a +declination of three feet to a mile; after which, the land is soon lost +in wet sea marsh, covered by tides. On the west side the land declines +more slowly, and in some places is deeply wooded. The chenières begin +where the declination ends, and the great reservoirs of the coast, the +lakes and lagoons, begin.</p> + +<p>The incessant changes in the channel and filling up of the Mississippi +preclude the possibility of a table of distances mathematically +accurate, yet we have taken from accepted authorities the number of +miles from the Gulf to the principal points along its banks. The table +may be of service to the many that are daily tending to the great Father +of Rivers, and those at home may be able to form, perhaps, a better +estimate of the immense length of the stream, by having before them +these figures:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_642" id="Page_642">[Pg 642]</a></span></p> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Table</span> <i>of Distances and Altitudes on the Mississippi</i>.</h4> + + + + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Distances and Altitudes on the Mississippi"> +<tr><td align='left'>From</td><td align='left'>the Gulf of Mexico</td><th align='right'><i>Miles.</i></th><th align='right'><i>Above level<br />of the sea</i>.</th></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>To</td><td align='left'>New Orleans, La.,</td><td align='right'>110</td><td align='right'>10.5</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Donaldsonville, La.,</td><td align='right'>188</td><td align='right'>....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Plaquemine, La.,</td><td align='right'>210</td><td align='right'>....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Baton Rouge, La.,</td><td align='right'>240</td><td align='right'>....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Port Hudson, La.,</td><td align='right'>263</td><td align='right'>....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Bayou Sara, La.,</td><td align='right'>275</td><td align='right'>....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Mouth of the Red River, La.,</td><td align='right'>315</td><td align='right'>76</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Fort Adams, Miss.,</td><td align='right'>327</td><td align='right'>....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Natchez, Miss.,</td><td align='right'>387</td><td align='right'>86</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Grand Gulf, Miss.,</td><td align='right'>450</td><td align='right'>....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Warrenton, Miss.,</td><td align='right'>500</td><td align='right'>....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Vicksburg, Miss.,</td><td align='right'>512</td><td align='right'>....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Mouth of the Yazoo River, Miss.,</td><td align='right'>522</td><td align='right'>....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Milliken's Bend, La.,</td><td align='right'>538</td><td align='right'>....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Lake Providence, La.,</td><td align='right'>588</td><td align='right'>....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Greenville, Miss.,</td><td align='right'>657</td><td align='right'>....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Napoleon, Ark., and mouth of the Arkansas River,</td><td align='right'>730</td><td align='right'>....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Mouth of White River, Ark.,</td><td align='right'>756</td><td align='right'>....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Helena, Ark.,</td><td align='right'>838</td><td align='right'>....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Mouth of St. Francis River, Ark.,</td><td align='right'>848</td><td align='right'>....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Memphis, Tenn.,</td><td align='right'>928</td><td align='right'>....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>New Madrid, Mo.,</td><td align='right'>1,113</td><td align='right'>....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Columbus, Ky.,</td><td align='right'>1,167</td><td align='right'>....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Cairo, Ill., and mouth of Ohio River,</td><td align='right'>1,187</td><td align='right'>324</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Cape Girardeau, Mo.,</td><td align='right'>1,237</td><td align='right'>....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>St. Louis, Mo.,</td><td align='right'>1,388</td><td align='right'>382</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Mouth of the Illinois River,</td><td align='right'>1,422</td><td align='right'>....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Upper Iowa River, Io.,</td><td align='right'>1,984</td><td align='right'>....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Mouth of St. Peter's River, Minn.,</td><td align='right'>2,198</td><td align='right'>744</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Falls of St. Anthony, Minn.,</td><td align='right'>2,206</td><td align='right'>856</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Lake Cass, Minn.,</td><td align='right'>2,761</td><td align='right'>1,402</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Itasca Lake, Minn.,</td><td align='right'>2,890</td><td align='right'>1,575</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"</td><td align='left'>Springs on the summit of Hauteurs de Terre,</td><td align='right'>2,896</td><td align='right'>1,680</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p>The Lower Mississippi presents another feature that should not be +forgotten, and which sets forth a great design. Immense forests of +cottonwood and ash are to be seen growing along its banks. These trees +are of rapid growth, and afford excellent (in fact the best, with the +exception of coal) fuel for steamers. Indeed, they constitute much the +greater portion of wood consumed in river navigation. So suitable is the +rich alluvion of the river banks to the growth of these trees, that in +ten years they attain to a sufficient size for felling. Plantations +lying uncultivated for a single year, in the second present a handsome +young growth of cottonwood. This fact is now very well proven on the +Mississippi; the war has ruined agricultural labor almost entirely. No +apprehensions are ever felt by steamboat men on the subject of fuel; the +supply is inexhaustible and reproducing.</p> + +<p>The other woods found upon the river, but not, let it be said, to the +extent of the cottonwood or the ash, are the live and water oak, swamp +dog<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_643" id="Page_643">[Pg 643]</a></span>wood, willow, myrtle, wild pecan, elm, and ash. The cypress tree is +found in extensive forests back from the river in the swamps. This tree +attains an enormous height, and is without branches until attaining the +very top, and then they are short and crooked, presenting a very fine +and sparse foliage. The wood of the cypress is very little used upon the +river, not, perhaps, in consequence of its inferiority of quality, but +the difficulty of access to it.</p> + +<p>In conclusion, we cannot withhold a few words upon the singular typical +similarity between the appearance of vegetation upon its banks and the +river itself. Gray forests of cypress, the blended foliage of the oak, +the cottonwood, and the ash, with a charming intermixture of that +beautiful parasitic evergreen, the mistletoe, above Vicksburg, suggest +the blooming grandeur of the stream. Below, the appearance of a new +parasite, the Spanish moss, draping the trees with a cold, hoary-looking +vegetation, casts a melancholy and matured dignity upon the scene. Like +the gray locks of age, it reminds the passer by of centuries gone, when +the red savage in his canoe toiled upon its turbid flood; it recalls the +day of discovery, when De Soto and La Salle sought its mighty torrent in +search of gain, and found death; and now looms before us the noblest +picture of all, the existence of a maturing civilization upon its banks. +Associated thus with an ever-present suggestion of a remarkable and +ever-forming antiquity, the Mississippi becomes indeed the wonder of +waters. Ponce de Leon, that most romantic of early Spanish explorers, +traversed the continent in search of a 'fountain of everlasting youth;' +the powerful republic of the West, has <i>found</i> in the 'Father of Waters' +a fountain and a stream of everlasting, vigorous life, wealth, and +convenience.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SKETCHES_OF_AMERICAN_LIFE_AND_SCENERY" id="SKETCHES_OF_AMERICAN_LIFE_AND_SCENERY"></a>SKETCHES OF AMERICAN LIFE AND SCENERY.</h2> + +<h3><a name="MOUNTAIN_WAYS" id="MOUNTAIN_WAYS"></a>IV.—MOUNTAIN WAYS.</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Lucy D</span>——. Aunt Sarah, did you ever read the Declaration of +Independence?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Grundy</span>. What a question! In my youth it was read +regularly, once a year, at every Fourth of July celebration.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lucy D</span>——. Did you ever, when listening to it, consider that +your interest in its enunciation of principles was merely incidental, +not direct?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Grundy</span>. How so?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lucy D</span>——. The 'all men' that are born 'equal,' and with an +'inalienable right to liberty,' does not include you, because, although +you are white, you are a woman.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Grundy</span>. What covert heresy is this, Lucy, with which you +are endeavoring to mystify my old-fashioned notions?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lucy D</span>——. I advocate no theory. I merely state a fact. My own +belief is, that men are born very <i>unequal</i> (I do not mean <i>legally</i>, +but <i>really</i>, as they stand in the sight of God), and that they, as well +as we, are free only to do what is right in the fulfilment of +<i>inalienable duties</i>. 'Life' and the 'pursuit of happiness' must both +yield to the exactions of such duties. I must confess, however, that, +let my abstract views be as they may, I have occasionally embraced in +their widest extent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_644" id="Page_644">[Pg 644]</a></span> the generalizations of the Declaration of +Independence; and nowhere has the right of 'Life, Liberty, and the +Pursuit of Happiness' seemed to me so precious and delightful a +possession as, when seated on top of a stage coach, I have breathed the +exhilarating atmosphere of some elevated mountain region. As to +equality, I must also say, that <i>there</i> especially do I feel my +inferiority to, and dependence on the driver, who, in his sphere, reigns +a king.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Grundy</span>. In my day, <i>ladies</i> were always expected to take +inside seats.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lucy D</span>——. Yes, and be shut up behind a great leather strap, so +that if anything happened, they would be the last to reach the door! I +have a few notes of a stage-coach journey, made last summer. If you +like, I will read it to you while you work on that interminable afghan. +By the way, Aunt Sarah, I do not think you have labored quite so +energetically since the late decision made by the Metropolitan Fair in +regard to raffling. How is that?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Grundy</span>. My dear, I must acknowledge that my ardor is a +little lessened since I began this piece of work, for then I had not +only a vision of the poor soldiers to be aided by my labor, but I also +fancied that this warm wrapping, instead of adding a new lustre to the +carriage of some luxurious lady, might perchance fall to the share of +some poor widow; and these beautiful embroidered leaves and blossoms +might delight some sickly child, whose best covering had hitherto been a +faded blanket shawl, and whose mother was too poor to afford the +indulgence of real flowers, purchased from some collection of exotics, +or plucked by the pale fingers from some fragrant country wayside. +However, I know that was an idle fancy, and the imagination is a +dangerous guide. I surely would never call in question the soundness of +a decision made by so many excellent and respectable people. Read on, if +you please. You know me to be a patient listener.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lucy D</span>——. Yes, dear aunt, and I know, too, that charity—that +crown of virtues—can warm and expand the primmest conventionality, and +lend bright wings of beauty to the most commonplace conception. The same +Divine Love that fringes dusty highways with delicate, fragrant +blossoms, can cause even the arid soil of worldliness to teem with +lovely growths and refreshing fruits. But, a truce to this digression, +to which, as I foresaw, you give no heed; and now to my notes:</p> + +<p>One cool, sunshiny morning in August, a lady traveller, bent for once on +gratifying the whim of seeing what lay beyond the blue hills in the far +distance, left the Laurel House (Catskill Mountains), and took her way +toward Tannersville. Two ladies, charming companions, accompanied her as +far as the bridge over the mill stream, where she struck into a +neglected byway, leading past a melancholy graveyard. The air was +delicious, the mountains were clear, but softened by a dreamy haze; each +cottage garden was bright with phlox, bergamot, mallows, and +nasturtiums, and the soul of the traveller was filled with gratitude +that this earth had been made so beautiful, and she had been given +health, strength, opportunity, and a stout heart to enjoy it.</p> + +<p>Tannersville reached, an outside seat was secured on the Lexington +stage. The sharers of my lofty station were a gentleman on his way to +join wife and children at Hunter, and a tattered, greasy-looking +Copperhead.</p> + +<p>The 'sunny hill' (Clum's) was soon left behind; the opening of the +Plattekill Clove, with its beautiful mountains and deep hollows (Mink +and Wildcat), passed, and the distant peaks beyond Lexington loomed up +fair as the enchanted borders of the land of Beulah. The hay was nearly +gathered in, and the oats were golden on the hillsides.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_645" id="Page_645">[Pg 645]</a></span> Men for +farmwork were evidently scarce, and the driver said they had nearly all +gone to the war. The Copperhead remarked: 'I was always too smart for +that, I was.'</p> + +<p>The driver told him his turn would come yet, for he would certainly be +drafted. Copperhead said he had the use of only one arm. Driver opined +that would make no difference; they took all, just as they came. +Copperhead grumbled out: 'Yes; I know we ha'n't got no laws nohow!'</p> + +<p>At Hunter, the wife and two ruddy little boys came out to meet the +expected head of the family. A bright and happy meeting! The Copperhead +also got down, and took seat inside the stage, where he was soon joined +by a country lassie, whose merry voice speedily gave token of +acquaintance and satisfaction with her fellow traveller.</p> + +<p>Opposite Hunter is the most beautiful view of the Stony Clove. The high +and narrow cleft opens to the south, and I thought of loved ones miles +and miles away.</p> + +<p>Beyond Hunter, a long, straggling village, with some neat houses, the +road becomes smoother, and gradually descends along the east bank of the +Schoharie, which it rarely leaves. The meadow lands widen a little, and +the way is fringed by maples, beeches, alders, hemlocks, birches, and +occasional chestnuts. The stream is rapid, clear, and, though without +any noteworthy falls, a cheerful, agreeable companion. The mountains on +the left bank are steep and rugged; near Hunter, burnt over; afterward, +green to the top, and, while occasionally curving back from the stream, +and thus forming hollows or ravines, still presenting not a single cleft +between Stony Clove and the clove containing the West Kill, and opening +out from Lexington toward Shandaken. The West Kill enters the Schoharie +a little below Lexington, and the East Kill flows in above, near Jewett.</p> + +<p>Every farm glittered with golden sunflowers. I saw one misguided blossom +obstinately turning its face away from the great source of light and +heat. Every petal was drooping, and I wondered if the dwellers in the +neighboring cot heeded the lesson. The buckwheat fields were snowy +with blossoms and fragrant as the new honey the bees were industriously +gathering.</p> + +<p>Lexington is a lovely village, with pretty dwellings, soft meadows, and +an infinite entanglement of mountains, great and small, green and blue, +for background in every direction. I had already been warned that the +stage went no farther; and, as my destination that evening was +Prattsville, some means of conveyance was of course necessary. The +driver feared the horses would all be engaged haying, and asked what I +would do in case no wagon could be found. I replied that, as the +distance from Lexington to Prattsville was only seven miles, and I had +no luggage, it might readily be accomplished on foot. He opened his +eyes, and, perhaps, finding the Lexington hotel not likely to be +benefited by my delay, cast about for some way of obliging me. As we +drove up to the post office, the door was found locked, and Uncle +Samuel's agent absent, which circumstance, taken in connection with the +fact that the mail comes to Lexington only twice per week, struck me as +decidedly 'cool.'</p> + +<p>By six o'clock I found myself seated in a comfortable buggy, behind a +sleek, fleet pony, and beside an old gentleman, whose upright mien and +pleasant talk added no little to the enjoyment of the hour. The evening +lights were charming, the hills wound in and out, the Schoharie rippled +merrily over the cobble stones or slate rocks forming its bed, and the +clematis and elder bushes gently waved their treasures of white +blossoms, silky seeds, or deepening berries, in the soft summer air. By +and by the slate cliffs rose precipitously from the river shore, leaving +only room<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_646" id="Page_646">[Pg 646]</a></span> sufficient for the road, which, is in fact, sometimes +impassable, when the rains or melting snows have swollen the singing +river to an angry, foaming, roaring flood. My companion told me of the +agriculture of the district, of the wild Bushnell Clove, of bees and +honey making, and of the Prattsville tanneries, which he stigmatized as +a curse to the country, cutting down all the trees, and leaving only +briers and brambles in their stead. He also told me of two brave sons in +the Union army, and of a married daughter far away. The oldest boy had +been wounded at Gettysburg, and all three children had recently been +home on a short visit. 'Children,' said the old man, 'are a heap more +trouble when they are grown than when they are little; for then they all +go away, and keep one anxious the whole time.'</p> + +<p>We drove under the steep ledges, the hills of Beulah were passed, and +Prattsville reached.</p> + +<p>The following morning was bright and clear, but warm. I rose early, and +went up on the high bluffs overlooking the town. Below was a pretty +pastoral view of stream, meadow, hop fields, pasture lands with cattle, +sundry churches, and neat white houses, shut in by great hills, many +bare, and a few still wooded. Passing beneath the highest ledge, I came +upon an old man, a second Old Mortality, chipping away at the background +for a medallion of the eldest son of Colonel Zadoc Pratt, a gallant +soldier, who fell, I believe, at the second battle of Manassas. On a +dark slab, about five hundred and fifty feet above the river, is a +profile in white stone of the great tanner himself. An honest countryman +had previously pointed it out to me, saying: 'A good man, Colonel +Pratt—but that looks sort of foolish; people will have their failings, +and vanity is not one of the worst!' On the above-mentioned ledges are +many curious carvings, a record of 'one million sides of leather tanned +with hemlock bark at the Pratt tanneries in twenty years,' and other +devices, such as niches to sit in, a great sofa wrought from the solid +rock, and a pretty spring.</p> + +<p>At ten o'clock the stage came from Delhi, which place it had left at two +in the morning. Seventy miles from Delhi to Catskill—a good day's +journey! It was full, and our landlord put on an extra, giving me a seat +beside the driver, and filling the inside with men. Said driver was a +carpenter, and an excellent specimen of an American +mechanic—intelligent and self-respecting. This is a great cattle and +dairy region, and we passed several hundred lambs on their way to the +New York market. The driver pitied the poor creatures; and, when passing +through a drove, endeavored to frighten them as little as possible. +'Innocent things!' said he, 'they have just been taken from their +mothers, and know not which way to turn. I hate to think of their being +slaughtered, for what is so meek and so joyous as a young lamb!'</p> + +<p>I thought:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Agnus Dei qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Agnus Dei qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Agnus Dei qui tollis peccata mundi, dona nobis pacem!'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>—the 'nobis' to include the poor lambs.</p> + +<p>At the first turn in the road we passed a great bowlder, known +throughout the country as 'the big rock.' Beside the highway flows the +Red Kill, a tributary of the Schoharie. There are some trout in it, but +a couple of cotton factories have frightened them nearly all away. A hot +political discussion soon arose among the inside passengers. Our driver +seemed to think loud and angry words quite out of place, and said: 'I am +a Democrat myself, but the other day I had a talk with the Republican +tax collector of our place, and I concluded we both wanted about one +thing—the good of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_647" id="Page_647">[Pg 647]</a></span> our country. <i>Honest</i> Republicans and <i>honest</i> +Democrats are not so far asunder as people usually think.'</p> + +<p>Mountain after mountain stretched away to north, south, east, and west, +blue or green, bright or dark, as distance or the shadows of the +beautiful cumulus clouds severally affected them. Up, up we wound, the +merry kill dancing beside us, and the air growing fresher and more +elastic with every foot of ascent. The country is quite well settled, +and we rose through Red Falls and Ashland to Windham, a long, +peculiar-looking town, where we dined, and exchanged our two stages for +a large one seating eighteen persons (inside and out), and drawn by four +fresh steeds. The mountains grew wilder, the air cooler, and finally +Windham High Peak or Black Head, a great round-topped peak, appeared on +the right. A party from Albany had that day gone up. No water can be +found near the top. This is thought to be the loftiest summit of the +range (3,926 feet), but our new driver said there was another peak +toward the southwest, which he fancied higher.</p> + +<p>In the cleft between Windham High Peak and the mountain to the north, +runs the road, which suddenly emerges from the defile and overlooks the +open country. We here find no long cleft as in the Kauterskill, +Plattekill, and Stony Cloves, but the highway descends along the face of +the mountain slope. The first view is toward the northeast, and, of a +clear day, must be very fine. The distance was hazy, but the atmospheric +effects on the near mountains only the more beautiful. The road is +generally through cleared lands, so that the view is constantly visible, +and continually opening out toward the south. Acra, Cairo, and Leeds +were all passed through, and Catskill reached about half past six in the +evening. Kiskatom Round Top rose round and dark to the south of Cairo, +whence also the entire western slope of the Catskills was plainly +visible, a soft, flowing, and tender outline. Near Leeds, on the +Catskill Creek, are some curious rocks. We had changed drivers at Cairo. +The new one was a jollier specimen of humanity than any I had yet seen; +he evidently loved good living, and would not refuse a glass of grog +when off duty. His team was named Lightfoot, Ladybird, Vulture, and +Rowdy, and was coaxed along with gentle words, as: 'Go on, little ones!' +'Get up, lambs!' and similar endearing appellations.</p> + +<p>The sunset was glorious. Round Top and Overlook were bathed in purple +red; crimson clouds hung over the North and South Mountains, while Black +Head and the surrounding summits were partly obscured, partly thrown out +by heavy storm clouds.</p> + +<p>The night was sultry, and the succeeding morning opaque with an August +fog. Rising early, I sat upon the upper gallery of the little Catskill +inn, and watched the manners and customs of the street corners. An old, +one-armed man, with a younger and more stalwart, appeared at a sort of +chest counter, covered by a bower of green boughs, and drew out two +tables, which were then placed at the edge of the pavement. The chest +was unlocked, and forth came several bushels of potatoes, three or four +dozen wilted ears of corn, two squashes (one white and one orange), +three half-decayed cabbage heads, a quantity of smoked sturgeon, a dish +of blueberries, and a great pan of blackberries. These dainties were +arranged and rearranged upon the tables, to make them look as attractive +as possible, and then left to the sun, the dust, and the flies, to +improve as they best might. Weary hours passed, and customers came +slowly in. At one o'clock, when I left, about half the original stock +remained. On the opposite corner was a group of children struggling for +the possession of two lively kittens: wrangling, coaxing, defying, +yielding, and pouting, gave animation to a scene, in which a pretty,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_648" id="Page_648">[Pg 648]</a></span> +saucy girl, and a lazy, lordly lad were the principal actors. Down came +the lawyer to the fat, sleek, clean-looking negro barber, to be shaved, +and then away up to the court house, with a jaunty, swinging, +self-satisfied air, that said plainly enough—'Find me a smarter man +than I, will you?' A tipsy porter came staggering under a load for the +down boat; a dusty miller wended his way to a flour store; a little +contraband carried home a fish as long as himself; an indignant, dirty, +black-bearded mulatto cursed at his recent employer, whom he accused of +having defrauded him of his wages; a neat, trig damsel tripped by in +cool morning dress; a buxom dame, unmistakeably English, in great round +hat, brim about a foot radius, swept past the humble market stand; a +natty storekeeper came to his door, and looked out for customers; a +servant lass, sent out with a pretty child in a little wagon to purchase +a newspaper, stopped at a milliner's to read some interesting item to +the shop girl; two young officers, in gay new uniforms, sauntered by; a +crippled soldier hobbled along on a crutch, stages rushed down from the +mountains, parties in buggies and on horseback flew past, the dust +thickened, the sun came out clear and burning, the din increased, and I +went down to the little parlor in search of shade and quiet.</p> + +<p>At one the stage for the Mountain House started. The passengers had +already waited three hours for the arrival of the down boat, delayed by +the fog. They were consequently in no very cheerful frame of mind, and +grumbled and growled all the way up the mountain. The day was very warm +(94° in the shade), the horses were wearied out by so many journeys up +and down, and the five outside and two inside gentlemen seemed by no +means willing to relieve their aching limbs and panting hearts. When we +reached the steep portion of the ascent, not a single one offered to +walk. I felt ashamed—three were Germans, and four my own countrymen. Of +the inside ladies, one was German, and four were Americans. In vain did +the mountains, with alternate sun and shadow, shining slopes and +passionate thunder clouds, don their loveliest aspect. Though never up +before, the young German lady and one of the New Yorkers <i>read</i> nearly +the whole way to the summit; another lady kept down her veil, and +refused to look out, because it was <i>so</i> sunny; the German youth slept, +and one only of the inside passengers seemed to feel any real interest +in the beautiful and gradual unveiling of the mysteries of these noble +hills. When about half a mile above the toll-gate, the horses stopped +to rest, and I could no longer endure the idea of their straining up the +steep declivity under so heavy a load. I asked a gentleman to open the +door for me, as I would walk a way, and thus relieve the poor animals of +at least one hundred and ten pounds. Walk I did, but not a single +individual followed my example. Heavy drops began to fall, the thunder +muttered, and I reached Rip Van Winkle's fabled retreat barely in time +to escape a wetting. As the stage came lumbering up with its load of +stout, well-fed men, a young woman in the little hut called out: 'Just +see them <i>hogs</i> on top of that coach!'</p> + +<p>Whether the gentlemen heard her, I know not, but the rain having ceased, +all left the top of the vehicle and walked thence to the Mountain House.</p> + +<p>I reached the Laurel House in the early twilight, and thus happily ended +my three days' journey.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_649" id="Page_649">[Pg 649]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_MARCH_OF_LIFE" id="THE_MARCH_OF_LIFE"></a>THE MARCH OF LIFE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Less from evils borne we suffer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than from those we apprehend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And no path through life seems rougher<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than the one which we ascend.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But though Time delights in dealing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wounds which he alone can heal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sorrows wed to feeling<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Make it misery to feel;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nobler than the soulless Stoic,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He, who, like the Theban chief,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the fight is won, heroic<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hides the rankling dart of grief.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lords of an immortal glory<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be the slaves of mortal shame!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No; though Martyrdom before ye<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rear a precipice of flame.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On the barriers that dismay us<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Carve the charter of your birth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">True endurance, like Antæus,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Strengthens with each cast to earth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wayward man too often fritters<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Living destinies away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chasing a mirage that glitters<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To bewilder and betray.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then press upward in the vanguard;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be not guided by the blind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For when Vigor waves the standard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Triumph is not far behind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was that which led the marches<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through the Revolution's snows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through Jena's fiery arches<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rolled destruction on its foes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then if failure blunt your spirit,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Think of this before you swerve:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He has glory who has merit—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It is royal to deserve.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_650" id="Page_650">[Pg 650]</a></span></div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THOMAS_DE_QUINCEY_AND_HIS_WRITINGS" id="THOMAS_DE_QUINCEY_AND_HIS_WRITINGS"></a>THOMAS DE QUINCEY AND HIS WRITINGS.</h2> + + +<p>No more signal service, during the last half century, has been rendered +to the lovers of genuine books, than the collection and republication of +the fragmentary writings of Thomas de Quincey. Cast, for the most part, +upon the swollen current of periodical literature, at the summons of +chance or necessity, during a career protracted beyond the allotted +threescore years and ten, the shattered hand of the Opium Eater was +powerless to arrest their flight to silence and forgetfulness; +increasing remoteness was daily throwing a deeper shadow upon ancient +landmarks, and consequently upon the possibility of their recovery. When +Mr. de Quincey was urged to attempt the collection himself, his emphatic +reply was: 'Sir, the thing is absolutely, insuperably, and forever +impossible. Not the archangel Gabriel, nor his multipotent adversary, +durst attempt any such thing!' From that quarter, then, nothing could be +expected; but the intervention of other parties averted a catastrophe +melancholy to contemplate—restoring to us a vast body of literature, +unique in character and supreme in kind. We do not pretend that De +Quincey has yet been awarded by any very general suffrage the foremost +position among modern <i>littérateurs</i>; we expect that his popularity will +be of slow growth, and never universal. Universal popularity a writer of +the highest talent and genius can never secure, for his very loftiness +of thought and impassioned eccentricity cut him off from the sympathy, +and hence from the applause, of a vast section of humanity. But when +contemporary prejudice and indifference shall clear up, and the question +be summoned for final arbitration before the dispassionate tribunal of +the future, we suspect that the name of Thomas de Quincey will head the +list of English writers during the last seventy-five years. If we should +apply to our author the rule which he remorselessly enforces against Dr. +Parr, that the production of a complete, first-class work is the only +absolute test of first-class literary ability, our position would be +untenable, for it is notorious that De Quincey's writings are entirely +fragmentary. But it will never do to lay down a canon of that sort as +the basis of calculation in estimating the intellectual altitude of +literary men. The wider the field the greater the scope for grandeur of +design and the pomp of achievement; but it is seldom that a writer who +can produce an essay of the highest order cannot also meet successfully +the demands of a more protracted effort. Narrowness of bounds, want of +compass for complete elaboration, is often no slight obstacle. The more +minute the mechanism, the more arduous the approach to perfection. The +limits of the essay are at best cramped, and the compression, the +adjusting of the subject to those limits, so that its character and +bearings may be naturally and perspicuously exhibited, imply no ordinary +skill. Besides, the advisability, or rather the possibility of +undertaking a literary work of the first magnitude is dependent not less +upon circumstances beyond the range of individual control than upon +intellectual capacity.</p> + +<p>In asserting for De Quincey the leading position among the writers of +this century, we are clothing him with no ordinary honors—honors which +no man can rightfully enjoy without mental endowments at once multiform +and transcendent. Our age thus far has been prolific in genius, +inferior, indeed, to no other, except, perhaps, the Elizabethan; and, +even here, inferior only at two points, tragedy and that section<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_651" id="Page_651">[Pg 651]</a></span> of +poetry in which alone is found the incarnation of the sublime—the +divine strains of John Milton. But in range of achievement our epoch has +scarcely a rival. Mighty champions have arisen in almost every +department of letters, and it is plain that, amid merits so divergent +and wide removed, we can justly ascribe absolute precedence to no man +without establishing, at the outset, a standard of ideal excellence, +and by that adjusting the claims of all competitors.</p> + +<p>We may remark, then, in general, that few first-class writers have +appeared who did not require as a condition of success varied and +profound learning. Kant, indeed, won immortality by the efforts of blank +power. It is said that he never read a book; so wonderful was his +synthetical and logical power, that if he could once discover the +starting point, the initial principles of a writer, there was no +occasion for his toiling through the intermediate argumentation to reach +the conclusions—he grasped them almost intuitively, provided, of +course, the deductions were logical. But even Kant, had his acquaintance +with the literature of metaphysics been more extensive, would have +avoided many errors, as well as the trouble of discovering many truths +in which he had been long anticipated. Herder thought that too much +reading had hurt the spring and elasticity of his mind. Doubtless we may +carry our efforts to excess in this direction as well as any other, by +calling into unduly vigorous and persistent action the merely receptive +energies of the mind. Perhaps this was the case with Herder, as the +range of his reading was truly immense; but if so, it argues with fatal +effect against his claims to the highest order of intellect; if the +weight of his body was too great for his wings, there lurked somewhere a +sad defect. In the vast plurality of cases success lies in, and is +graduated by, the intensity of mental reaction upon that which has been +acquired from others. The achievements of the past are stepping stones +to the conquests of the present. New truths, new discoveries, are old +truths, old discoveries remodelled and shifted so as to meet the view +under a different angle; new structures are in no proper sense +creations, but mainly the product of a judicious eclecticism. Sir +William Hamilton was a vast polyhistor long before he could be called a +philosopher, or even thought himself one. Researches the most persistent +in nearly every department of letters were with him the indispensable +prelude to his subsequent triumphs.</p> + +<p>But all this is simply conditional. What, then, are the powers which +nature alone can bestow? What must she have done before the highest +results can arise from literary effort, however immense the compass of +our information? There must be powerful analytic and discursive ability, +combined with a commensurate reach of constructive and imaginative +capacity. An intellect thus endowed, approaches the perfection of our +ideal. If one of these elements is deficient, we shall lack either depth +or brilliance, acuteness or fancy; our structures may be massive, +titanic, but hostile to the laws of a refined taste; colossal and +dazzling, but too airy and unsubstantial except for the few who are</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'With reason mad, and on phantoms fed.'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Before some such ideal tribunal as this let us summon the aspirants to +the dictatorial honors which seem to have slumbered since the day of Dr. +Johnson, and arbitrate their claims.</p> + +<p>Who shall combat the succession of Thomas de Quincey to this vacant +throne? Shall it be Coleridge, 'the noticeable man with large, gray +eyes,' or the stately Macaulay, or Carlyle, with his Moorish dialect and +sardonic glance, or hale old Walter Scott, or Lamb, or Hazlitt, or +Christopher North? The time was when Coleridge's literary fame was +second to that of no other<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_652" id="Page_652">[Pg 652]</a></span> man. But he has suffered a disastrous +eclipse; it has been articulately demonstrated that the vast body of his +most valuable speculations, both in the department of philosophy, and +also in that of poetry and of the fine arts generally, were so +unblushingly pirated from Schelling and other German writers, that all +defence, even that which was merely palliative, has signally failed. +That fact silences absolutely and forever his claim. Nor can the +pretensions of Macaulay or Carlyle be tolerated; in neither of them is +found in any marked degree what has been aptly called 'double-headed' +power—in neither are combined the antagonistic resources of profound +thought and brilliant imagination. Macaulay, unapproachable in the +delineation of character and in the mastery of stately narrative, seems +to be shorn of his wonted power in the presence of the higher +philosophical and moral questions—the flight that is elsewhere so bold +and triumphant, droops and falters here. As for Carlyle, to say nothing +of other faults, we vainly search his writings for anything positive; he +is a blank destroyer, breathing out everlasting denunciation and regret. +No man can possess the highest order of talent or genius whose powers +are essentially negative. Mere demolition—demolition which is not the +first step in the advance of reform and reconstruction, the preliminary +removal of ancient rubbish for the erection of newer and nobler +structures—is worse than futile. But we will not pursue farther this +phase of our subject. We take our stand upon the position, and think it +can be maintained against all comers, that these writers, and others +which might be named, although supreme in certain departments, fail in +<i>range</i> of power; in other words, that they have specialities outside of +which they attain no remarkable excellence. Scott, for instance, is +unsurpassed in the drama of fiction; but in the more transcendent sphere +of poetry his success is open to a very serious demur. But how is the +case with De Quincey? Did he ever write a poem? No; but he was +nevertheless a poet of the first rank. Did he ever publish a treatise on +metaphysics? No. His great work 'De Emendatione Humani Intellectus,' was +never completed, but he was, notwithstanding, an acute philosopher. The +author of no complete history, he was not the less a divine master of +historic narration, grave or gay, sententious or impassioned. No one is +more profoundly convinced than ourselves that mere rhetorical +declamation, and the sepulchral voice of fulsome eulogy can never +establish claims of such vast magnitude. What has Mr. de Quincey +achieved, what range of capacity has he exhibited in the memorials he +has left behind, in the grand conceptions that have arisen upon his +mind, whether completely projected into the sphere of tangible reality +or not?—these are the crucial questions upon which hang for him the +trophies of renown or the dark drapery of oblivion.</p> + +<p>Every person who is competent to form an opinion on the subject, very +readily allows that political economy, so infinite and subtile are the +forces that enter into its shifting phenomena, is a science of no slight +complexity, and that the successful unveiling of its disordered tissue +demands, in the first instance, the highest intellectual acuteness and +profundity. We here encounter the same obstacles as in metaphysics, +except that in the one case the phenomena investigated are subjective, +in the other objective. Both conditions have peculiar advantages; both +are open to peculiar difficulties, which it is unnecessary to discuss at +present. But the power which can grapple successfully with the vexed +complications of the one will be no less potent in piercing those of the +other; acuteness of analysis, sleepless insight, subtile thought, ample +constructive or synthetic ability, these are the only endowments out of +which any original suc<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_653" id="Page_653">[Pg 653]</a></span>cess can arise in either case. What has Mr. de +Quincey achieved for the science of political economy? We might answer +by asking, What has Mr. Ricardo achieved in that department? Ricardo and +De Quincey had independently arrived at the same conclusions on the +subject at about the same time. The fact that Ricardo first proclaimed +to the world his revolutionary doctrines of rent and value has won for +him the lion's share of the applause they compelled; but that rendered +De Quincey's independent conclusions none the less real discoveries, +subtracted nothing from the aggregate of his real merit. The vast +obstacles which lay in the path of these discoveries can never be fully +appreciated, until we apprehend, to some extent, the apparently hopeless +and inextricable confusion with which the whole subject was at that time +invested: out of the blackness of darkness, out of the very heart of +chaos and anarchy rose two mighty luminaries, that have been polar +beacons to all subsequent explorers. De Quincey's writings on political +economy are partially fragmentary; that is, they do not exhaust the +subject as a whole, although thoroughly probing several capital points +upon which the entire subject turns. Sometimes he ostensibly limits +himself to elucidating and defending Ricardo's views; but the discussion +is conducted with so much ease and force and fertility of resources, +disclosing at times a depth of insight far outstripping that of his +pretended master, that we cannot resist the conclusion that the +doctrines which he defends are in fact discoveries of his +own—discoveries which, finding himself anticipated in their +publication, he generously turns to the advantage of his fortunate +rival. Although De Quincey gravely assures us that in his opinion +Ricardo is a 'model of perspicuity,' we suspect that few will agree with +him, as his thought is always subtile and sometimes perplexed; but De +Quincey—while not at all inferior in acuteness and power of thought, in +perception of shy differences and resemblances between contrasted +objects, winning at this point even the praise of John Stuart Mill—in +elasticity, force, and elegance of style, infinitely surpasses the whole +race of political economists. We know of nothing throughout the vast +range of economic investigation more admirable, being at once clear and +conclusive, simple and profound, culminating in the utter razing and +dismantling of the Malthusian theory, than the discussion of value in +the 'Templars' Dialogues.' There is no faltering, no hesitation, no +discursiveness; the arrow flies swiftly and fatally to the mark. It is +not possible, or desirable, at the present time, to discuss minutely De +Quincey's achievements as exhibited in his 'Logic of Political Economy' +and 'Templars' Dialogues:' in these works he laid the foundation of a +colossal structure, which the distraction of nervous misery never +allowed him to complete. He had laboriously gathered the materials out +of every nation and tongue; he had painfully perfected the vast design; +but, when standing on the very verge of triumph, he was doomed to see +life-long hopes extinguished forever, success slipped from his nerveless +grasp in the moment of victory. Surely he might join in the passionate +lament:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'I feel it, I have heaped upon my brain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gathered treasures of man's thought in vain.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The subjects which De Quincey has critically investigated are very +numerous, and it cannot be expected that our limits will permit any +exhaustive enumeration of them. We propose to select a few of the more +prominent, which will serve as exponents of the whole.</p> + +<p>De Quincey's views on war will doubtless be astounding to most persons +who have never given the subject any very particular attention. Deluded +by the false doctrines of peace societies, they doubtless regard war as +an evil, at once inhuman and unneces<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_654" id="Page_654">[Pg 654]</a></span>sary. Altogether hostile to this +idea is the position of De Quincey; he solemnly declares that war +neither can be abolished nor ought to be. 'Most heartily,' says he, 'and +with my profoundest sympathy, do I go along with Wordsworth in his grand +lyrical proclamation of a truth not less divine than it is mysterious, +not less triumphant than it is sorrowful, namely, that among God's +holiest instruments for the elevation of human nature is 'mutual +slaughter' among men; yes, that 'Carnage is God's daughter.'' 'Any +confederation or compact of nations for abolishing war would be the +inauguration of a downward path for man.' 'There is a mystery in +approaching this aspect of the case which no man has read fully. War has +a deeper and more ineffable relation to hidden grandeurs in man than has +as yet been deciphered. To execute judgments of retribution upon +outrages offered to human rights or to human dignity, to vindicate the +sanctities of the altar and the sanctities of the hearth—these are +functions of human greatness which war has many times assumed, and many +times faithfully discharged. But behind all these there towers dimly a +greater. The great phenomenon of war it is—this, and this only—which +keeps open in man a spiracle—an organ of respiration—for breathing a +transcendent atmosphere, and dealing with an idea that else would +perish—viz., the idea of mixed crusade and martyrdom, doing and +suffering, that finds its realization in such a battle as that of +Waterloo—viz., a battle fought for interests of the human race felt +even where they are not understood; so that the tutelary angel of man, +when he traverses such a dreadful field, when he reads the distorted +features, counts the ghastly ruins, sums the hidden anguish, and the +harvests</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Of horror breathing from the silent ground,'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>nevertheless, speaking as God's messenger, blesses it, and calls it very +good.'</p> + +<p>Startling as these assertions may appear at first sight, they are, +notwithstanding, profoundly philosophical; all history proclaims their +solemn truth—is, in fact, totally inexplicable and confused on any +other supposition. History is by no means merely biography condensed; +far from it; biography is concerned with the shifting and ephemeral +career of individual men; but history, far transcending that lowly +sphere, records the revolution and progress of principles; these succeed +each other in everlasting succession, like the revolution of day and +night; and individuals rise into importance only as they stand related +to, are the agents of, this progress. The future is forever supplanting +the present; the feud is immortal—the antagonism inevitable; if effete +ideas and principles, which have accomplished their mission, refuse to +retire and peaceably give place to their legitimate successors, conflict +arises of necessity—a conflict in which the usurper must finally +triumph, or the wheels of human progress will be effectually blocked. +War, then, is necessary to the advance of humanity. Although De Quincey +discerns the absolute extinction of war only at the 'infinite and starry +distance of the Millennium,' still, as its enginery is becoming more and +more destructive, its danger and expense increasing, as the progress of +civilization is gradually effacing the darker stains from human society, +and luring it from the path of violence by the charm of luxurious +repose, the necessity of war will gradually disappear—its total decline +approach. We would remark in passing that De Quincey is altogether too +captious in his criticisms upon French ideas of war. So far as the +majority of men are concerned, whether Englishmen or Frenchmen, little +pain is taken to search out the philosophy of events. But Cousin, in his +'Course of History,' has asserted, even more peremptorily than De +Quincey himself, the divine mission of war. He essentially declares that +car<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_655" id="Page_655">[Pg 655]</a></span>nage is always and of necessity God's daughter: to this extreme +doctrine Mr. de Quincey would doubtless demur, averring that 'by +possibility' such <i>might</i> not be the case.</p> + +<p>Still profounder insight is disclosed in the article on 'Christianity as +an Organ of Political Movement.' It was a chance perusal of this essay +that first turned our attention to De Quincey's writings, and we +involuntarily exclaimed, as did he when first falling upon Ricardo's +work, 'Thou art the man!' The object in view is to distinguish +accurately between the Christian and pagan idea of religion. There has +been great confusion on this point. What is involved in the term +religion as used by a Christian? According to De Quincey there are four +elements: 1st. A form of worship; 2d. An idea of God; 3d. The idea of a +relation subsisting between God and His creatures; 4th. A doctrinal +part. Now, of these cardinal elements, only one, that of worship, was +present in pagan religions, and even this was so completely distorted, +arose from impulses so utterly despicable, as to be positively immoral +in its tendencies. The gods were, to their worshippers, dreadful +realities—monsters of crime, at once powerful and vindictive—the very +footballs of unhallowed passion; hence worship was not the result of +love or reverence, or even of a regard to future interests, but it was +simply an expedient to shun danger immediately behind—a mock truce +between immortal foes, which either party might violate at pleasure. +'Because the gods were wicked, man was religious; because Olympus was +cruel, earth trembled; because the divine beings were the most lawless +of Thugs, the human being became the most abject of sycophants.' Even in +the most solemn mysteries no such thing as <i>instruction</i> was known—'the +priest did not address the people at all.' Hence all moral theories, all +doctrinal teaching was utterly disjoined from ancient religions—that +was resigned to nature—and, consequently, powerless alike to instruct +men or command their respect, they had no inherent, self-sustaining +energy, but were built upon a mere impulse, and that impulse was the +most abject terror. Where, then, lurks the transcendent power of +Christianity as an organ of political movement? Simply in the fact that +it brings men into the most tender and affecting relations with God, +and, over and above this, that it rests upon a dogmatic or doctrinal +basis. These features were never suspected even as possible until +Christianity revealed them. Hence Christianity 'carried along with +itself its own authentication; since, while other religions introduced +men simply to ceremonies and usages, which could furnish no aliment or +material for their intellect, Christianity provided an eternal +<i>palæstra</i>, or place of exercise, for the human understanding vitalized +by human affections: for every problem whatever, interesting to the +human intellect, provided only that it bears a moral aspect, immediately +passes into the field of religious speculation. Religion had thus become +the great organ of human culture.' Of this profound distinction De +Quincey was the original discoverer.</p> + +<p>It is known, of course, to every literary person, that Bentley attempted +to <i>amend</i> Milton's 'Paradise Lost,' and that, on the whole, he made a +very signal failure. It has been a matter of great surprise on the part +of many, that one who is so confessedly superior in the criticism of +classical poetry, whose ear was so exquisitely sensitive and accurate +when awakened by ancient lyres, should prove himself such a driveller in +the presence of the grandest cathedral-music of modern times. Coleridge +took occasion to observe that it was only our ignorance that prevented +Bentley's emendations and innovations from appearing as monstrous and +unnatural in the poetry of the ancients as in that of John Milton. The +charge appears very plausible and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_656" id="Page_656">[Pg 656]</a></span> damaging at first sight. We notice it +in order to exhibit De Quincey's marvellous sagacity in detecting the +true relation of things: he utterly dissipated the force of the cavil by +simply stating the actual bearings of the two classes of poetry. Ancient +poetry was darkly austere and practical; the imagination was fettered by +a grim austerity; the merely passionate—that which proceeds from the +sphere of the sensibilities alone—finds no resting place in its vast +domain; but in the poetry of Milton the element of passion is +triumphant; hence Bentley, with his icy, critical, matter-of-fact +temperament, could never appreciate Milton's majestic flights. We cannot +refrain from quoting, at this point, De Quincey's acute and beautiful +parallel between Grecian and English tragedy:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>'The kind of feeling which broods over the Grecian tragedy, and to +court which the tragic poets of Greece naturally spread all their +canvas, was more nearly allied to the atmosphere of death than of +life. This expresses rudely the character of awe and religious +horror investing the Greek theatre. But to my own feeling the +different principle of passion which governs the Greek conception +of tragedy, as compared with the English, is best conveyed by +saying that the Grecian is a breathing from the world of sculpture, +the English a breathing from the world of painting. What we read in +sculpture is not absolutely death, but still less is it the fulness +of life. We read there the abstraction of a life that reposes, the +sublimity of a life that aspires, the solemnity of a life that is +thrown to an infinite distance. This last is the feature of +sculpture which seems most characteristic: the form which presides +in the most commanding groups 'is not dead, but sleepeth:' true; +but it is the sleep of a life sequestrated, solemn, liberated from +the bonds of time and space, and (as to both alike) thrown (I +repeat the words) to a distance which is infinite. It affects us +profoundly, but not by agitation. Now, on the other hand, the +breathing life—life kindling, trembling, palpitating—that life +which speaks to us in painting—this is also the life that speaks +to us in English tragedy. Into an English tragedy even festivals of +joy may enter; marriages, and baptisms, or commemorations of +national trophies: which, or anything <i>like</i> which, is incompatible +with the very being of the Greek. In that tragedy what uniformity +of gloom; in the English what light alternating with depths of +darkness! The Greek, how mournful; the English, how tumultuous! +Even the catastrophes how different! In the Greek we see a +breathless waiting for a doom that cannot be evaded; a waiting, as +it were, for the last shock of an earthquake, or the inexorable +rising of a deluge: in the English it is like a midnight of +shipwreck, from which, up to the last and until the final ruin +comes, there still survives the sort of hope that clings to human +energies.'</p></div> + +<p>It is not to be expected that we can fully traverse and explore this +vast section of De Quincey's writings; that would be a task beyond our +present resources; and, consequently, we are compelled to pass unnoticed +keen dissections of history; ingenious, although sometimes untenable, +theories regarding the Essenes, the supposed expressions for eternity in +the Scriptures, the character of Judas Iscariot, the doctrine of demons, +the principles of casuistry, style, and rhetoric; the discussions of +various points in philosophy and logic; the prodigality of erudition +displayed in the articles on Plato, Homer, Dinner Real and Reputed, +Bentley; the transcendent critical skill revealed in the little paper +entitled 'The Knocking at the Gate in Macbeth,' in the essays on +Shakspeare, Milton, Wordsworth, Lamb, and others; the minute dissections +of feeling and passion scattered broadcast throughout his writings. We +shall content ourselves with merely adducing another illustration of our +author's extremely speculative and metaphysical cast of mind, and then +close this section of the review. This is taken from that touchingly +beautiful chapter in the 'Autobiographic Sketches,' entitled 'The +Afflictions of Childhood.' De Quincey, even in his childhood, was +profoundly sensitive, and capable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_657" id="Page_657">[Pg 657]</a></span> of forming the most ardent +attachments. Tender and absorbing was the love which had sprung up +between himself and his sister Elizabeth; she was the joy of his +life—she was supreme in his affections. At the age of nine years she +suddenly sickened and died; De Quincey, although younger by three years, +was overwhelmed with unspeakable agony. When his sister had been dressed +for the grave, he stole silently and alone into her chamber to look once +more upon her beautiful face, to kiss once more her sweet lips: while +standing by the bedside he is suddenly struck down in a trance, and his +description of the scene is one of the noblest prose poems in the +English language. But even here, amid the absorbing disclosures of a +frantic sorrow, when the mighty swell of passion had reached its +culmination, and a solemn Memnonian wind, 'the saddest that ear ever +heard,' began to arise, and the seals of a heavenly vision were about to +be unloosed—even here he pauses, philosophically to 'explain why death, +other conditions being equal, is more profoundly affecting in summer +than in other parts of the year'!</p> + +<p>We have said that De Quincey was an eminent master of the historic art. +His power in this direction is signally displayed in his account of 'The +Household Wreck,' 'The Spanish Nun,' 'The First Rebellion,' and the +'Flight of a Tartar Tribe.' 'The Household Wreck' is a powerful and +dramatic narrative, but the plot is somewhat confused; on the whole, it +is decidedly inferior to the 'Spanish Nun.' The nun is a <i>bona-fide</i> +historical personage, and her career is delineated with surprising +effect. She was the daughter of a Spanish hidalgo, who pitilessly +carried her in infancy to the Convent of St. Sebastian, where she +remained until the age of fifteen; the quietude of that cloistered life +her stormy spirit could no longer brook; she eloped, assumed male +attire, became the page of a nobleman, at whose house she saw that 'old +crocodile,' her father, who was now searching with mock solicitude for +his absconded daughter; exposure was imminent; no safety remained until +the ocean divided her from Spain, and her plans were formed at once; the +nun embarked for South America, doubled Cape Horn, was shipwrecked on +the coast of Peru; finally arrived at Paita; killed a man in a street +encounter; escaped death only by promising to marry a lady who had +fallen in love with her; once again there was no security but in flight; +she joined a cavalry regiment commanded by her own brother, to whom she +was unknown; him she unwittingly killed in a midnight duel; then follow +the terrific passage of the Andes, the fearful tragedies at Tucuman and +Cuzco, her return to Europe in compliance with royal and papal commands; +she approaches the port of Cadiz; myriads upon myriads line the shore +and cover the houses to catch a glimpse of the martial nun; cardinals +and kings and popes hasten to embrace her; the thunders of popular +welcome arise wherever she appears; but the nun finds no rest; terrific +memories rankle in her bosom, and blast her repose; again she embarks +for America; but then, how closed that career, so tragically +tempestuous? The nun reached Vera Cruz; she took her seat in the boat to +go ashore; no more is known; her fate is concealed in impenetrable +mystery; 'the sea was searched for her—the forests were ransacked. The +sea made no answer—the forests gave up no sign.' These incidents, which +are historical verities, are wrought up into a narrative of absorbing +power.</p> + +<p>In De Quincey's brief sketch of the 'First Rebellion' are found some +graphic historical paintings. The following is his description of the +panic at Enniscorthy, at the moment when the rebels had carried the +place by assault:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_658" id="Page_658">[Pg 658]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Now came a scene, which swallowed up all distinct or separate features +in its frantic confluence of horrors. All the loyalists of Enniscorthy, +all the gentry for miles around, who had congregated in that town, as a +centre of security, were summoned at that moment, not to an orderly +retreat, but to instant flight. At one end of the street were seen the +rebel pikes and bayonets, and fierce faces already gleaming through the +smoke; at the other end, volumes of fire, surging and billowing from the +thatched roofs and blazing rafters, beginning to block up the avenues of +escape. Then began the agony and uttermost conflict of what is worst and +what is best in human nature. Then was to be seen the very delirium of +fear, and the very delirium of vindictive malice; private and ignoble +hatred of ancient origin, shrouding itself in the mask of patriotic +wrath; the tiger glare of just vengeance, fresh from intolerable wrongs, +and the never-to-be-forgotten ignominy of stripes and personal +degradation; panic, self-palsied by its own excess; flight, eager or +stealthy, according to the temper and means; volleying pursuit; the very +frenzy of agitation under every mode of excitement; and here and there, +towering aloft, the desperation of maternal love, victorious and supreme +over all lower passions.'</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>There is a species of narrative in the 'Autobiographic Sketches,' of a +somewhat different cast from that which we have been contemplating, less +grand and passionate, perhaps, but more tender and exquisite—overspread +with a quieter and mellower humor. We refer to the account of his +brother William. He was a youth of the stormiest nature, a genuine +cloud-compeller, forever raising storms and whirlwinds merely for the +pleasure of directing them; 'haughty he was, aspiring, immeasurably +active; fertile in resources as Robinson Crusoe; but also full of +quarrel as it is possible to imagine; and in default of any other +opponent, he would have fastened a quarrel upon his own shadow for +presuming to run before him when going westward in the morning; whereas, +in all reason, a shadow, like a dutiful child, ought to keep +deferentially in the rear of that majestic substance which is the author +of its existence.' He hated books, except those which he chanced to +write himself; he was especially great on the subject of necromancy; was +even the author of a profound work, entitled 'How to Raise a Ghost, and +when You have Got Him Down, how to Keep Him Down.' 'To which work, he +assured us, that some most learned and enormous man, whose name was a +foot and a half long, had promised him an appendix, which appendix +treated of the Red Sea and Solomon's signet ring, with forms of +<i>mittimus</i> for ghosts that might be refractory, and probably a riot act +for any <i>émeute</i> among ghosts;' for he often gravely affirmed that a +confederation, 'a solemn league and conspiracy, might take place among +the infinite generations of ghosts against the single generation of men +at any one time composing the garrison of death.' Deeming this subject +too recondite for his juvenile audience, he dropped it, and commenced a +course of lectures upon physics. 'This undertaking arose from some one +of us envying or admiring flies for their power of walking upon the +ceiling. 'Poh!' said he, 'they are impostors; they pretend to do it, but +they can't do it as it ought to be done. Ah! you should see <i>me</i> +standing upright on the ceiling, with my head downward, for half an hour +together, and meditating profoundly.' My sister Mary remarked that we +should all be very glad to see him in that position. 'If that's the +case,' he replied, 'it's very well that all is ready except as to a +strap or two.' Being an excellent skater, he had first imagined that, if +held up till he had started, he might then, by taking a bold sweep +ahead, keep himself in position through the continued impetus of +skating. But this he found not to answer; because, as he observed, 'the +friction was too retarding from the plaster of Paris; but the case would +be very different if the ceiling were covered with ice.' But as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_659" id="Page_659">[Pg 659]</a></span> it was +<i>not</i>, he changed his plan. The true secret, he now discovered, was +this: he would consider himself in the light of a humming top; he would +make an apparatus (and he made it) for having himself launched, like a +top, upon the ceiling, and regularly spun. Then the vertiginous motion +of the human top would overcome the force of gravitation. He should, of +course, spin upon his own axis, and sleep upon his own axis—perhaps he +might even dream upon it; and he laughed at 'those scoundrels, the +flies,' that never improved in their pretended art, nor made anything of +it. The principle was now discovered; 'and, of course,' he said, 'if a +man can keep it up for five minutes, what's to hinder him from doing so +for five months?' 'Certainly, nothing that I can think of,' was the +reply of my sister, whose scepticism, in fact, had not settled upon the +five months, but altogether upon the five minutes. The apparatus for +spinning him, however, perhaps from its complexity, would not work—a +fact evidently owing to the stupidity of the gardener. On reconsidering +the subject, he announced, to the disappointment of some among us, that, +although the physical discovery was now complete, he saw a moral +difficulty. It was not a <i>humming</i> top that was required, but a <i>peg</i> +top. Now, in order to keep up the <i>vertigo</i> at full stretch, without +which, to a certain extent, gravitation would prove too much for him, he +needed to be whipped incessantly. But that was what a gentleman ought +not to tolerate: to be scourged unintermittingly on the legs by any grub +of a gardener, unless it were Father Adam himself, was a thing that he +could not bring his mind to face.' Attempted improvements in the art of +flying, which, he alleged, was then 'in a condition disgraceful to +civilized society;' the composition and exhibition of that bloody +tragedy, 'Sultan Amurath;' the conduct of a protracted war which arose +out of a fancied insult from a factory boy, whom, surveying with intense +disdain, 'he bade draw near that he might 'give his flesh to the fowls +of the air!'' the government of the imaginary kingdom of +'Tigrosylvania'—occupied the attention of this hundred-handed youth +until his death, at the age of sixteen—all of which is narrated with +unequalled pathos and humor. But there is still another section of the +narrative art, yet more sublime and unapproachable, where De Quincey +stands alone—the section in which are recorded his dreams. These are +without a rival or even a precedent in the English language; nay, purely +impassioned prose as 'The Confessions' and 'Suspiria de Profundis' is +scarcely to be found in any language; but the narration of dreams, while +exposed to all its difficulties, is invested with superadded +difficulties, arising from the shifting, visionary character of the +world in which its scenes are laid, 'where a single false note, a single +word in a wrong key, will ruin the whole music.' De Quincey's habit of +dreaming was constitutional, and displayed itself even in infancy. He +was naturally extremely sensitive, and of a melancholy temperament; he +was so passionately fond of undisturbed repose, that he willingly +submitted to any amount of contempt if he could only be let alone; he +had that weird faculty which is forever peopling the darkness with +myriads of phantoms; then came the afflictions of childhood—that night, +which ran after his footsteps far into life—and finally came opium, +which is a specific 'for exalting the dream scenery, for deepening its +shadows, and, above all, for strengthening the sense of its fearful +realities:' all these allied characteristics and circumstances, combined +with his vast intellectual capacity, imparted to De Quincey's dreams a +terrific grandeur. They were sometimes frightful, sometimes sublime, but +always accompanied by anxiety and melancholy gloom. 'I seemed,' says he, +'every night to de<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_660" id="Page_660">[Pg 660]</a></span>scend—not metaphorically, but literally to +descend—into chasms and sunless abysses, depths below depths, from +which it seemed hopeless that I could ever reascend. Nor did I, by +awaking, feel that I had reascended. This I do not dwell upon; because +the state of gloom which attended these gorgeous spectacles, amounting, +at least, to utter darkness, as of some suicidal despondency, cannot be +approached by words.' De Quincey's most elaborate dreams are: 'The +Daughter of Lebanon,' 'Levana and Our Ladies of Sorrow,' 'The Vision of +Sudden Death,' and 'Dream Fugue.' The last named is the most perfect in +its conception, the most powerful in its execution. It is too long to +quote, too sublime to be marred by abbreviation. If any one desires to +see what can be done with the English language in an 'effort to wrestle +with the utmost power of music,' let him read that dream. We shall, +meanwhile, present one from the year 1820, and leave the reader to +form his own estimate of it:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>'The dream commenced with a music which now I often heard in +dreams—a music of preparation and of awakening suspense; a music +like the opening of the Coronation Anthem, and which, like <i>that</i>, +gave the feeling of a vast march, of infinite cavalcades filing +off, and the tread of innumerable armies. The morning was come of a +mighty day—a day of crisis and of final hope for human nature, +then suffering some mysterious eclipse, and laboring in some dread +extremity. Somewhere, I knew not where—somehow, I knew not how—by +some beings, I knew not whom—a battle, a strife, an agony, was +conducting—was evolving like a great drama, or piece of music, +with which my sympathy was the more insupportable from my confusion +as to its place, its cause, its nature, and its possible issue. I +had the power, and yet had not the power, to decide it. I had the +power, if I could raise myself to will it; and yet again I had not +the power, for the weight of twenty Atlantics was upon me, or the +oppression of inexpiable guilt. 'Deeper than ever plummit sounded,' +I lay inactive. Then, like a chorus, the passion deepened. Some +greater interest was at stake; some mightier cause than ever yet +the sword had pleaded, or trumpet had proclaimed. Then came sudden +alarms; hurryings to and fro; trepidations of innumerable +fugitives. I knew not whether from the good cause or the bad; +darkness and lights; tempest and human faces; and, at last, with +the sense that all was lost, female forms and the features that +were worth all the world to me, and but a moment allowed—and +clasped hands, and heartbreaking partings, and then—everlasting +farewells! and, with a sigh, such as the caves of hell sighed when +the incestuous mother uttered the abhorred name of +death—everlasting farewells! and again, and yet again +reverberated—everlasting farewells!'</p></div> + +<p>O mighty magician!</p> + +<p>In point of style and general method of treating subjects, De Quincey's +greatest faults are pedantry and discursiveness. Of the former we have +no defence to make; we think that, in writing avowedly for the public, +and not for any particular class, the use of technical terms merely +because they are technical, and of learned terms merely because they are +learned, is a positive blemish. But still greater offence is given to +many readers by the <i>occasional</i> practice of discursiveness; we employ +the epithet intentionally, for the habit is by no means so inveterate as +many seem to suppose. Yet even where it is most triumphant, there is, +nevertheless, a goal to be reached—a goal which will finally be +reached, despite interminable zigzags and 'harsh angles.' This +peculiarity was, doubtless, in a great degree occasioned by the use of +opium. Opium, even amid the very delirium of rapture it produces, nay, +in consequence of that delirium, is hostile to strictly logical thought; +the excitation approaches the character of an intuition; the glance, +however keen and farsighted, is not steady; it is restless, fitful, +veering forever with the movements of an unnatural stimulation; but when +the exaltation has subsided, and the dread reaction and nervous +depression succeeded, this result is in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_661" id="Page_661">[Pg 661]</a></span>tensified a hundred fold, and +gradually shapes itself into a confirmed habit. Even if the use of opium +was positively beneficial to the intellect, still its dreadful havoc +with the physical system would far more than outweigh its contributions +in that direction. But, so far is that from being the truth in the case, +that opium, at best, has only a revealing, a disclosing power; it +cannot, even in the lowest sense of the term, be called a creative +lower. Let a man dream dreams as gorgeous as De Quincey's, it does not +at all follow that he can write like De Quincey; as related to +literature, the grandeur of dreams depends absolutely upon the dreamer's +mastery of the narrative art, which the dreaming faculty itself does not +either presuppose or bestow. But, over and above all this, universal +experience has declared that the use of opium is fatally hostile to any +very protracted mental power. It ravages the mind no less fearfully than +it does the body—precipitates both in one common ruin; by it ordinary +men are speedily degraded to hopeless impotence, and the most mighty +shorn of half their power—a swift-pursuing shadow closes suddenly and +forever over the transient gleam of unnatural splendor. These +considerations account in part for De Quincey's discursiveness, but +perhaps not wholly. Discursiveness is not without its beauties. We +believe in logic, but still it is pleasant, at times, to see a writer +sport with his subject, to see him gallop at will, unconfined by the +ring circle of strict severity. Nor is this all. Possibly the apparent +discursiveness may be only the preliminary journeying by which we are to +secure some new and startling view of the subject. Perhaps you may +consider these initial movements needlessly protracted and fatiguing; +but trust your guide; whatever your private opinion, at the time, may +be, he will never miss the road, and when at last you are in the proper +position for observation, the thrill of unwonted pleasure will swallow +up all memory of former efforts and former misgivings. Occasionally such +is not the case; for instance, in the papers on Sir William Hamilton. +They are three in number. Nearly half of the first is taken up in +describing the difficulties under which the writer suffers of +communicating with his publishers; the nervous maladies that torment his +happiness; the limits of time and space so narrowly circumscribed. The +same strain is taken up in the second paper. We have short dissertations +on the deadly 'hiatus in the harness which should connect the +pre-revolutionary with the post-revolutionary commonwealths of England;' +on the adjective <i>old</i>, and the aged noun <i>civilation</i>; then comes a +general belaboring of athletes and gymnasts, at which point Sir William +fairly emerges into view; suddenly our author seems to recollect that +his space is fast diminishing, and concludes to 'take a rise out of +something or other' at once; sets down Sir William as a genuine +logician, and immediately commences the consideration of several ancient +word puzzles, one of which is stated in a very business-like manner: +'Vermin in account with the divine and long-legged Pelides.' Logic is +pretty uniformly the subject of the third paper, and no inferior +acquaintance with the topic is displayed; but we see very little of Sir +William Hamilton in this miscellaneous collection. But unpardonable +wandering is of extremely rare occurrence; and, on the whole, the evils +of discursiveness are altogether outweighed by the positive advantages +and beauties to which we have referred. To this characteristic trait +must be added another—the dramatic and cumulative manner in which the +subjects discussed are treated. That gives to De Quincey's style +increased power and increased beauty; artistic symmetry is superinduced +upon solid excellence. This peculiarity is especially noticeable in +narratives where the element of horror is central, as in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_662" id="Page_662">[Pg 662]</a></span> 'The Avenger.' +The gentle whisper rises, gradually and by insensible degrees, to the +awful voice of the thunderbolt. The prelude is calm enough, sweet +enough, but soon the music ascends to a fiercer key; the plot darkens; +the crisis gathers; louder and more tumultuous waxes the fiendish +tumult, until all lesser passions are swallowed up, and the empire of a +blank, rayless revenge is triumphant; we are spellbound amid the +successive stages of the demoniac tragedy; we start up convulsively, as +from the horrors of nightmare, at its ghastly catastrophe. But, over and +above all this, in that melody, in that music of style, which exalts +prose to the dignity of poetry, De Quincey is absolutely without a +rival. Read the 'Confessions,' or the 'Autobiographic Sketches,' or the +touching tribute to the Maid of Orleans, and all doubt upon that point +will disappear. Besides, over the surface of his writings there ripples +a quaint, genial humor, which is, for the most part, kept within the +limits of propriety by an exquisite taste. In marked contrast to many of +our most illustrious writers, De Quincey always exhibits a profound +respect for Christianity. Listen to his indignant rebuke of Kant, who, +in his work on 'Religion within the Limits of Pure Reason,' had +expressed opinions so utterly atheistical as to draw forth severe +menaces from the reigning King of Prussia, Frederic William the Second: +'Surely, gray hairs and irreligion make a monstrous union; and the +spirit of proselytism carried into the service of infidelity—a youthful +zeal put forth by a tottering, decrepid old man, to withdraw from +desponding and suffering human nature its most essential props, whether +for action or suffering, for conscience or for hope, is a spectacle too +disgusting to leave room for much sympathy with merit of another kind.' +Finally, we love De Quincey for his abhorrence of all knavish or +quackish men, and his deep respect for human nature. We suspect that but +few dignitaries of the past ever received so sound a 'knouting' as did +that 'accursed Jew' Josephus, at his hands; nor do Grotius and Dr. Parr +fare much better. He believes Josephus to be a villain, Grotius and Dr. +Parr literary impostors, and he strips off their masks in a very summary +manner. But with the trials, the struggles, the miseries of humanity, no +man more profoundly sympathizes than Thomas de Quincey. 'Oftentimes,' +says he, speaking of the daily police reports, 'oftentimes I stand +aghast at the revelations there made of human life and the human heart; +at its colossal guilt, and its colossal misery; at the suffering which +oftentimes throws a shadow over palaces, and the grandeur of mute +endurance which sometimes glorifies a cottage.' How touching is his +memorial of those forlorn twin sisters, who 'snatched convulsively at a +loving smile, or loving gesture, from a child, as at some message of +remembrance from God;' how tender his tribute to 'poor Pink;' how +affecting his devotion to unhappy Ann, whom, in the strength of his +gratitude, he could 'pursue into the darkness of a London brothel, or +into the deeper darkness of the grave'!</p> + +<p>But we must close. We have found De Quincey a subtile philosopher, a +mighty master of the historic art, a prose poet of unrivalled splendor. +To powers so versatile and extraordinary, combined with learning so +profound, and a style of such matchless brilliance, we believe that no +other writer of the present age can lay any great claims. Still we take +our leave of that eccentric, storm-tossed man of genius with feelings of +profound regret. Great as his contributions to literature are, he +<i>might</i> have done vastly more. But nervous maladies blasted his hopes, +overthrew his colossal designs, and he evermore drifts down the ages a +wreck—splendid, brilliant, the admiration of all beholders—but none +the less a wreck.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_663" id="Page_663">[Pg 663]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="FEED_MY_LAMBS" id="FEED_MY_LAMBS"></a>'FEED MY LAMBS.'</h2> + +<h3><a name="PART_FIRST" id="PART_FIRST"></a>PART FIRST.</h3> + + +<p>Harry has crept to his little bed, shivering with childish dread of the +dark. Ungentle hands have placed him there, guardians careless of his +comfort and chary of kind words and looks, and a coarse-voiced girl has +said, as she took the light away, and banged the door behind her:</p> + +<p>'Cry out loud, you little imp, and I'll send the black bears to catch +you.'</p> + +<p>So Harry is choking down his sobs, and crying silently, very silently. +The chill and melancholy night wind, as it comes moaning through the +casement and rustling the light leaves of the tall poplar as they rest +against the window panes, and the great round tears as they fall with a +dull, heavy drop, drop on his lonely pillow, are the only sounds that +break the dismal stillness, excepting now and then, when a great sob, +too mighty to be choked down, bursts from the little, overcharged heart. +And then Harry fancies he feels, through the thin coverlet and torn +night dress, the huge black paws of these same bears grasping the tender +round shoulder, blue with the cold, while the little boy lies there +shivering and shuddering in an agony of apprehension. Darkness above and +around him, terrible, black, silent darkness; darkness which enwraps and +enfolds him and takes away his breath, like the heavy, stifling folds of +a hideous black mantle; darkness that the active imagination of the +timid child peoples with phantom shapes, grotesque and horrible—forms +made unnaturally visible by their own light, that mouth and leer, and +stretch out distorted arms to seize him, whose appalling presence fills +the room from floor to ceiling, and which eddy and circle around him in +horrid demon dances, whirling gradually nearer and nearer, until myriads +of hideous faces are thrust close to his own, or grin above him, while +he chokes for breath—forms that make the cold sweat stand on his baby +forehead, and freeze the blood in his veins, that he watches night after +night, with his blue eyes starting from their sockets and his hair +standing on end, that make of the desolate nighttime a dread and a +horror! And there is no one to kneel beside his lonely bed and tell the +frightened child, sick with dread, that there are no such things as +odious black dwarfs, who drag young children off to dark and dismal +dungeons by the hair of their head, nor great giants, who grow always +bigger as you look at them, and who eat up, at a mouthful, little boys +who cry in the dark. No tender mother bends low with all but divine +compassion to listen to his little sorrows, or soothe his childish +fears—to teach him his simple prayers, or tell him sweet stories of a +little child like himself, before whose lowly cradle wise men bowed as +at a shrine, and to do whom reverence shining ones came from a +far-distant country. There is no one to pillow his curly head upon a +loving bosom, and lull him to sleep with quaint old lullabies. Harry is +worse than motherless.</p> + +<p>So on the night in question, as on all other nights preceding, poor +Harry, worn out with fright and weariness, is dropping to sleep from +sheer exhaustion, closing his swollen eyes in troubled slumber, when, +half unconsciously turning his curly head upon the pillow to find a dry +place for the wet cheek to rest against, something bright and shining +makes long lines of light in the tears still wet on Harry's lashes, and +wakes him up again.</p> + +<p>Such a bright, beautiful star it is. One that has been slowly rising, +climbing the blue outside, until it reaches a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_664" id="Page_664">[Pg 664]</a></span> break in the foliage of +the tree before the window, and shines straight into Harry's eyes. +Something of that strange solemnity that fills minds of a maturer growth +when gazing on the starry heavens, hushes that baby's soul into +reverence as he looks upon it. The terrible shapes melt away into the +gloom, he feels no dread of the dark now, and vaguely and gradually +there arises the first dim consciousness of the deep spiritual want +within him—the first awakened desire of the finite soul to see and find +the Infinite Father and claim his protection. Fragments of childish +hymns, parts of simple prayers, such poor and scattered crumbs of +spiritual instruction as he has gleaned here and there somehow, and on +which the infant soul has been but meagrely fed, crowd in upon him. Then +come wondering thoughts of that great good Being, that strange, +unfathomable mystery, whose name is God, Who lives up in the blue +somewhere, and yet is everywhere. This problem of Omnipresence he has +pondered and pondered over, and reasoned upon, in his childish fashion, +but now it dawns with a newer and clearer light on Harry's mind. God is +everywhere. To his awakened spiritual perception this holy, mysterious, +and invisible presence seems pervading the sky, the air, the earth, +filling and enfolding all things. Night after night, as he had lain +there sobbing and crying and thought himself all alone in the darkness, +this great good God had been with him all the time, and he had never +known it, never felt it until now; and, overwhelmed by the mighty +thought, powerfully felt, though imperfectly comprehended, awestruck +Harry, tremulous with reverence, obedient to some childish fancy that +the name of father is not holy and reverent enough for such a Being, +folds his tiny hands, earnestly praying:</p> + +<p>'Our Grandfather which art in heaven, stay near poor Harry in the dark, +and keep the bears away!'</p> + +<p>Is it faith or fancy, that soft, gentle, summery atmosphere that fills +the room, and makes the little, lonely heart thrill as with the pleasant +consciousness of a loving presence? It is real to Harry, with his +child's undoubting faith. Stretching forth his rounded arms, and +clasping the dark, impalpable air in a joyous embrace, he nestles +closely to the wet pillow as if it were a loving bosom, and falls asleep +with a smile upon his lip. A childhood robbed of childish joys and +pleasures, the little, insignificant trifles which form its sum of +happiness, denied the sympathetic love and tenderness which is the life +of little hearts, deprived of the pleasures suited to its state, yet too +immature to turn within itself for comfort in its need, its life without +and within a dull, joyless, dreary blank—such was poor Harry's, for a +shadow dark and terrible rested on his baby heart and home, a something +that darkened and deepened day by day, and grew more and more +insupportable as the weary time crept on. What it was, and how long it +had rested there before he became conscious of its presence, and whether +his miserable home had ever been free from it and ever been a happy one, +little Harry never knew. All his brief life it had lain there. Its +shadow had crept into the violet eyes with the first faint glimmer of +intelligence, and when the new-born soul, mysterious breath of God, +first woke from its mystic dreaming, and looked consciously out upon the +world into which it had come, its baleful presence crept into that holy +sanctuary, and darkened what should have been cloudless as well as +sinless. He had drawn it in with every breath from the atmosphere of the +little world around him; it rested on all he came in contact with, and +gradually and sadly there arose in the mind too immature to comprehend +the cause and the nature of this desolating power, yet feeling vaguely +day by day its blighting effects, sorrowful and earnest +questionings—questionings like the fol<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_665" id="Page_665">[Pg 665]</a></span>lowing, to which there came back +no answer to the little, suffering heart:</p> + +<p>Why his home (if home it may be called in which the heart finds no +resting place), the four walls that enclosed the place where he ate and +slept, was such a dull, joyless, lonesome spot? What that dark something +was that shadowed its light and took from it all joy and comfort, +causing every face within it to wear a melancholy or forbidding aspect? +Why there was no glad smile even on his father's lips, when he came to +seek the sad young creatures that crept silently to his knee and looked +wistfully up into the care-worn face; and why, though loving and kind, +he was always kind with that sorrowful tenderness which makes sad hearts +the sadder? Why this craving that he feels within him, this +half-undefined, insatiable longing for maternal love and sympathy? What +had sealed from the thirsting heart this purest fountain of earthly +tenderness?</p> + +<p>A mother's form was present to him day by day, but where was the +maternal heart of love which should have beat within that bosom? 'Can a +mother forget her children?' There is a fell and terrible destroyer, +which murders peace in hearts and homes, whose very breath is a mildew +and a blight, in whose desolating track follow woe, want, and ruin; a +fierce, insatiable appetite, trebly cursed, that makes of life a +loathsome degradation, and fills dishonored graves, blighting all that +is divine and godlike in human nature, sealing the gushing fountain of +maternal tenderness, and teaching even a mother's heart forgetfulness. O +God! of what punishment shall thy justice deem those worthy, who, by +cold neglect, cruelty, or shameful slavery to such a passion, shut out +the light, and check the rich and limitless expansion of all that is +divine in the souls committed to their charge? Ah! what did it matter +that there were honorable titles affixed to the name so disgraced, that +in the home thus blighted were all the luxuries and appliances of +wealth, that rare pictures hung against its walls, carpets covered the +floors whose velvet surface muffled the footfalls, costly curtains shut +out the too garish light, that servants were at command, well paid to +take care of the neglected children, paid to care for the house, and all +fine things within it, and—paid to keep its secrets! What did all this +matter to the miserable possessor of wealth and name, the disgraced +husband, the heart-broken father? He could comprehend this woe in all +its bearings, could measure the length, the breadth, the depth of the +curse that had lighted upon him? Homes there were whose walls and floors +were bare, whose windows were shaded by no costly curtains, but from +which happy faces looked—lowly homes, poor in this world's wealth, but +rich in domestic peace and love; and for the blessed quiet of their +lowly hearthstones, he would joyfully have bartered wealth and fame, and +all such dross as men call happiness. And Harry saw them too. The +little, lonely heart, saddened by a shadow it could not comprehend, from +its own gloomy home turned longingly to their homely cheerfulness, as +flowers turn to the light.</p> + +<p>One in particular had attracted his childish notice. It was just across +the road; he could see it from the window of the nursery where he +played, and he used to leave his play to watch it. Such glimpses of a +happy home had streamed through its opening portals and fallen on the +heart of the little solitary watcher like a benison. What hasty peeps he +took at its homely brightness as the door opened and closed, and what +long, long looks he bestowed upon it, when it stood open for hours +together, as it did now in the fine June weather! It was only a simple +cottage. Too unpretending for hall or entry, the little parlor opened +into the street, and from the window where he stood, Harry could see +straight into it. There it was, with its bright pa<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_666" id="Page_666">[Pg 666]</a></span>pered walls, and gay +red carpet, its deep low window seat looking like a garden, where +flowers bloomed and frail exotics stretched forth their delicate leaves +to bathe in the sunlight that came streaming in, and cunning little +yellow birds, in quaint, tiny cages, sang the long day through. And +there—oh, busy fingers! making neat and bright the little home—heart +of love, shedding blessed sunlight around it—there, so busy and blithe, +so happy and gay, sat the presiding genius of the place, with a face so +bright and good—just such a face as you would expect to see in such a +home; one that sad and disappointed mortals, meeting in the street, +would turn to for a second look, and bless it as it passed; a face to +which childhood cleaves instinctively, sure of ready sympathy with its +little joys and sorrows; one that would never be disfigured by envy or +malice; never grow black with passion, and oh! never, never look +senseless, idiotic, and drivelling, as another face on which he looked +so often did; but to Harry's fancy, it was like the sky on a calm +summer's day, always pure and bright, and always the same. It was +brighter and happier and better altogether when, in the fresh morning +time, the little lady went tripping by on the pavement beneath the +window with a small market basket on her arm. Then Harry, clambering to +the sill, and leaning out, could see straight into it; and sometimes it +happened that, attracted by that fixed gaze of earnest admiration, that +happy face would be turned upward, and break into a beaming smile, as +the sunny eyes met the large, blue, mournful orbs looking down upon +them. Then there would be a smile on the lip and a song in the heart of +the little watcher for the rest of the day. Cheering and dear as that +face had ever been to him since he had first had the happiness of +beholding it, much as he had watched and loved it, it had drawn him with +a more potent attraction still and grown doubly dear of late. He had +been within the sacred precincts of a true home; he had breathed that +atmosphere of heaven; he knew how that small, snug, cosy room looked to +its inmates now. Yes, he had been there, and his going in chanced in the +following manner:</p> + +<p>This lady, whose cheerful presence was fast becoming a benison to Harry, +had, among her other bright possessions, a rosy-cheeked, laughing-eyed, +frolicsome mischief, about Harry's age, and he had recently come from +the country happier, merrier, and fresher than ever, having still, as it +were, about him the fragrant breath of the wood-violets, the purity of +the unvitiated air, the freedom of the broad, green fields, the fragrant +atmosphere of all the delightful things with which he had been so +recently in contact.</p> + +<p>One morning, not long after his coming, the cross girl who put Harry to +bed at night, marshalled him and his brother out (as was her wont in +fine weather) for a dreary promenade, which usually agreeable exercise +consisted in the present instance in marching down a dusty stone +pavement, by a long, unbroken line of brick buildings, up one street, +and down another (for they always went the same way), until they came to +a huge, dreary-looking schoolhouse, where they left Charley, and came +back more drearily than they went. Well, on this particular morning, +Charley had forgotten his slate, and he and the girl returning to search +for it left Harry at the gate to await their return. The little urchin, +just at that precise moment, spying Harry solus, and impelled by the +agreeable prospect of a playfellow, rushed across the street, at the +imminent danger of being run over, to scrape acquaintance.</p> + +<p>'Come, and play with me,' cried the little fellow, bounding up to Harry +in all the ardor of a glowing anticipation, eagerly folding one thin +hand in both his dimpled ones, and flashing a whole flood of sunlight +into the sad young eyes that so timidly met his sunny ones.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_667" id="Page_667">[Pg 667]</a></span> 'Come, and +play with me, <i>do!</i> and we'll play at horse and build mud houses, and +ma'll give us lots of candy and raisins, and a great big doughnut, ever +so big, as big as my hands and your hands, and all our hands put +together.'</p> + +<p>'I can't,' said Harry, sadly resigning all thought of these rare +dainties. 'Betty'll scold so!'</p> + +<p>'We'll sit on the bank under the willow at the back of the house,' +pursued the tempter, folding the hand he held still tighter within his +own, 'where she can't see us; and when she comes to take you away, I'll +bite her.'</p> + +<p>The youthful pleader had unconsciously used the most potent argument +possible. Harry wavered. To sit on a green bank under a willow, with +such a sunny-faced companion as that, and listen to the birds singing in +the branches, and the rustling of the leaves—to look up through the +green, and see patches of blue sky through breaks in the foliage—and +then, too, oh, blessed hope! to see the lady whom he regarded with such +enthusiastic and reverent devotion, and to whose love he clung with all +the wild tenacity of a desolate heart—to see her smile, and hear her +speak—to <i>him</i>, perhaps; all this rose like a glorious vision before +Harry, and the possibility of its realization sent the light to his eyes +and the color to his face.</p> + +<p>The contemplated walk in the hot, dusty streets, with the cross +Betty—(which tyrannical young female, having brought the children, as +it were, under military rule, and being a rigid disciplinarian, seldom +failed to punish some fancied dereliction of duty by sundry shakes and +pinches as they went along)—this prospect, placed beside the bright, +cool picture his fancy had conjured up, seemed more unendurable than +ever. With one quick glance toward the house, to see if that ogre, +having in custody that form a little taller and face a little older and +sadder than his own, was making her appearance, Harry, seized by an +irresistible impulse, and still holding fast the chubby hand that had +taken his so confidingly, bounded from the pavement, dashed across the +road, and both dashed through the garden and into the cosy parlor in a +trice, panting like young racehorses. And there, in the brightest spot +of the snug, bright room, by that bower of a window, sat the sunny-faced +lady whom Harry's childish imagination had exalted into a superior +being. Abashed at having so rudely rushed into that revered presence, +Harry stood shyly by the door, trembling with embarrassment, while his +more active companion, releasing his hand, bounded across the room, and, +clambering up into his mother's lap and putting his arms around her neck +and his rosebud of a mouth close to her ear, commenced a whispered +explanation.</p> + +<p>There was something strangely attractive in that mother's face, as she +pushed back the clustering hair, after smilingly listening to the story, +and pressed a fervent kiss upon that baby brow—a look which had never +been on any face for him, but which he had dreamed of at night, and +longed for by day, with a strange, undefined, half-conscious longing. It +was as if he had found something he had been blindly searching, +something for which the solitary heart had vaguely felt an ever-present +need; and the timid child, forgetting his timidity, his awe of the +presence into which he had come—forgetting all but his heart's great +need—in a burst of pathetic longing, more sorrowful than tears, cried:</p> + +<p>'Give <i>me</i> a kiss, too, just one!'</p> + +<p>He was across the room and in her arms in a moment. Blessings on the +true mother's heart! it gave not one kiss, but a dozen. Ah! feeling the +blessing of those tears upon his head, pressed close against the breast +throbbing with pure maternal sympathy, his own starved heart eagerly +drinking from that overflowing fountain, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_668" id="Page_668">[Pg 668]</a></span> word <i>mother</i> rose +naturally to his lips <i>then</i>.—Alas for her from whom alone that beating +heart, throbbing with a new delight, should have received that +revelation! Alas for the heart thus robbed of its lawful heritage, to +whom the highest and holiest of earth's affection had manifested itself +but as a brutish instinct, which, in fits of maudlin tenderness, could +fold the little form in a loathsome embrace, and smother the pure breath +with drunken kisses! No other love, however high and pure it may be, can +atone to the wronged heart that has been cruelly robbed of this.</p> + +<p>In this new-found joy all heavy sorrows were forgotten. Pressed close +against that sympathetic bosom, he was happy <i>now</i>, happier than he had +ever been before; and when at last she wiped her tears away, and, +lifting the hand on which his grateful tears were falling (for Harry +cried too), and smilingly up-turning the tear-wet face to meet her own, +that face was so changed by joy that she hardly knew it, and Harry +wondered why it was that she laughed and cried together when she looked +at it, and kissed him over and over again more times than he could +count. Laughing and chatting gayly until she saw her own smiles +reflected on the little, sorrowful features, she, with a tender mother's +care, bathed the flushed face, combed out the bright silky hair, +smoothed and arranged the rumpled dress, and, taking the small hand, +went out to the garden gate to meet the expedition sent in search of +Harry.</p> + +<p>Now this was his red-letter day. Harry was in luck. Therefore it was not +one of the many servants of the establishment, or any straggling +acquaintance that had joined in the search. Luckily, it was not one of +these, or the cross Betty, who first espied Harry and the lady: +otherwise he would have been borne away from his friend and his recently +discovered Eden in triumph, in spite of all cries and protestations. It +was Harry's own papa; and it did not take many words, when the +bright-faced lady was the pleader (backed by that little face, with that +strange flush of joy upon it, that spoke more eloquently to the father's +heart than any words could have done), to induce that gentleman to allow +Harry to remain where he was all day; likewise to extort a promise that +he might come to see the lady whenever and as often as she chose to +trouble herself with the care of him: and this being nicely arranged, +Harry's papa went his way and they went theirs. And Harry did that day +what is seldom done in this world of disappointment—more than realized +his anticipations. He sat on the bank and heard the birds sing; he +played at horse until he was tired; and though he did not build mud +houses, he ate sugar ones, which was, in every respect, a vast +improvement on the original design; and, what was more than all, his +little playfellow, whose temper was as sunny as his face, never gave +him a cross word or look the whole day through. They had supper, when +the time came, under the rustling leaves of a huge green tree; and there +were raisins and nuts and candy, cakes grotesquely cut and twisted into +every conceivable shape, and every imaginable dainty. All through that +memorable day, Harry was the happiest of the happy. Other days succeeded +this that were but a thought less bright. A time had come when the rough +path seemed smooth to the little pilgrim's feet, and flowers sprang up +by the lonely wayside, and golden sunlight fell through the rifted +clouds and crowned the little head with its blessing, and light and +warmth crept into the chilled and desolate life, and made existence +beautiful: a brief and joyful time, on which was written, as on all +bright things of earth, those words of mournfulness unutterable: +'Passing away!'</p> + + +<h3><a name="PART_SECOND" id="PART_SECOND"></a>PART SECOND.</h3> + +<p>It is that hour of day's decline when the turbulent roar from the city's +busy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_669" id="Page_669">[Pg 669]</a></span> mart is hushed into a lazy hum, when a peaceful, quiet calm +breathes through the atmosphere and settles on the noisy earth, as if +all things were hushed into tranquil silence at thought of the coming +twilight's holy hour. The sun's red, slanting rays fall on the dusty +pavement in front of that gloomy, stately mansion which Harry calls his +home, enter a richly furnished room where the blinds are thrown open and +the curtains looped back, and with their fervent glow rest +compassionately upon a drooping female figure, upon a bent head bowed in +shame, a head still young, whose wealth of rich black tresses passion +and remorse have already marked with gray. Sin-stricken, woe-stricken, +and remorseful, feeling how inefficient is even her mother's love, how +powerless every earthly consideration to hold her back from ruin; +stretching out palsied hands to Heaven for help; racked by the fierce +fires of repentance, her tortured soul corroded by remorse, she mourns +passionately but unavailingly.</p> + +<p>Oh! there are hours like this in the hidden history of every fallen and +degraded son of Adam, when the scales are removed from the spiritual +eyes, and the sin-stained soul shiveringly beholds the depth to which it +has fallen, and shrinks back appalled at the sight; when the demon has +departed for a season, and evil thoughts and evil influences are cast +out, and, feeling their power returning with repentance, angels come to +minister unto the sorrowing one. Gentle guardians are there, who have +watched it all its life through, striven with all the means that lie +within the grasp of a spirit's power to stay it on its downward course +and bring the lost soul back. Ah! 'Love's labor lost.' Ineffectual these +oft-repeated efforts <i>may</i> be, ineffectual through all time they +doubtless will be; but who shall say in the 'land of the undying' that +the work of ministering love shall not continue? What man is that, that +in an hour like this can look upon his brother, prostrate in spirit, +racked with remorse, no matter how vile and polluted, and can say +anguish like this shall be that soul's undying portion in the long +hereafter; that God's justice requires infinite punishment for a finite +crime; that, when freed from its earthly body, the ears of the +All-Compassionate shut out that soul's despairing cry for pardon? Who +shall limit infinite mercy? Who shall set bounds to Divine compassion, +or think that, toiling painfully and slowly up the endless heights of +progression, there shall not be a time away onward in the solemn future, +hidden in the dim mists of ages yet to come, when that soul shall be +cleansed from its pollution, freed from its mourning, sin entirely cast +out, and God shall be all and in all?</p> + +<p>The light breeze, as it sways the loose heavy tresses, wafts to her ear +a strain of distant music. All the drowsy afternoon it has been playing, +lost almost entirely at first in the busy hum of the streets and in the +long lull of the lazy wind—a strain only caught at rare intervals when +the breeze is strong enough to bear it to her. It has been slowly +approaching as the hours creep on, advancing a few steps at a time. +Ballads and simple ditties, dances, waltzes, grand old marches! with +that unaccountable attraction for trifles which the mind often +experiences in its hours of suffering, mechanically, one after another, +she has traced them all. Now the varied tones cease to pervade the +atmosphere, and there is a long resting pause. When the music begins +again, it is on the pavement, almost beneath the window, and the old +musician, perhaps unconsciously wrought upon by the silent influence of +the hour, has merged from the gay to the pathetic, and plays only sad +little pieces in the minor key. Presently from the multitude of sweet +sounds there arises on the air a song lower and sadder than the +others—a strange, pathetic melody, falling on the ear like a low, +plaintive wail, broken by keen throbs of agony:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_670" id="Page_670">[Pg 670]</a></span> her whole nature beats +in responsive echo. O God! gone so far down the dreary road which has +darkly led her from that time of purity and peace when that song was +nightly sung to her; after so many weary years of sin and suffering, to +hear those notes again! It is but a simple thing which has the power so +to move her, a mere nothing; half dirge, half hymn, familiar to her +long-forgotten childhood, once sung by her mother as a cradle song! With +her wretched face buried in her hands, she hears it, and clearly the +past rises before her: her childhood in its innocence; her girlhood in +its purity; her womanhood, her motherhood in its degradation! All the +holier part of what was once herself; all that was true and noble, +womanly and pure, from the deep waters of oblivion to which that damning +appetite has consigned them, rise to haunt her now, pale, wan, and +spectre-like. Oh! to sit down, side by side with her former self; to see +herself as she used to be before the tempter crept into the Eden of her +heart; to look despairingly up to the height whence she had fallen, so +wrecked in moral strength that she had not the power to retrace a single +step! Peace departed, virtue lost, health undermined, affection +squandered, ruthlessly murdering the peace of one whose life through all +the time of its sad earth-sojourning is linked with hers; cursing the +home she should have blessed and brightened, making of that fair garden, +wherein sweet domestic graces should have bloomed and blossomed as the +rose, but a desolate and barren waste, knowing that hearts, little +hearts, that had drawn their life-beat from her own, had starved and +sickened for the love which is their rightful food;—with senses bleared +and deadened, she had heard them piteously wailing but for a morsel of +that bread of life without which even the footsteps of the self-reliant, +the strong and brave of heart, faint and falter by the way, and she had +cruelly denied them that precious nutriment; she had given them life, +but had robbed them of all that makes life endurable. Life's duties +unfulfilled, life's high and holy aims trampled under the foot of +sensual indulgence, living to blight instead of to bless! O woman, wife, +and mother, thy life when lived aright a crucifixion of the flesh, a +sublime self-sacrifice—not for thee the pleasures of sense and time, +not for thee may peal earth's songs of triumph! Fainting oft beneath the +burden of the cross, we trace thy way by bloody footprints, suffering as +a saint;—falling from thy estate, how terrible will be thy retribution +as a sinner!</p> + +<p>Hark! There is the patter of little feet ascending the staircase, coming +down the long upper hall. To the repentant mother's ears what music so +sweet as that? She listens breathlessly. Was it thought of her that had +impelled them thither? Would they approach her room? Since she had grown +more and more repulsive day by day, since those fits of drunken passion +had become a thing of fearful frequency, and those little ones had +suffered from their violence, and learned to fear her, they had come but +seldom—never alone; but they are approaching now, shyly, hesitatingly, +as if afraid to come, but still approaching—pausing at the very +threshold. The burning tears force their way through the clenched +fingers—the sound of the little feet has given her power to pray. +Though angels fail in the work of redemption, there may yet be power in +the little hands to hold her back. She does not rise to open the door, +but sits choking down her sobs, and listening to the turning, twisting, +shaking of the door knob, to a dozen failures in unskilful attempts to +enter, every movement of the little hand sending a strange thrill of +mingled pain and pleasure through the overburdened heart.</p> + +<p>It opens at last, and Harry stands upon the threshold, looking timidly +in.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_671" id="Page_671">[Pg 671]</a></span> Ah! no maudlin sorrow, no senseless, idiotic mirth, no disgusting +stupor disfigures the face on which he gazes. Its depth of hopeless, +despairing tenderness, so eloquently accompanied by the pathetic +movement of the outstretched hands, almost frightens him by its +intensity; but, in obedience to the motion, he comes forward, +half-fearfully proffering the flower he holds in his hand.</p> + +<p>'A flower sent to her by a lady who was so kind,' he tremblingly +explains, 'one that he loves so dearly!'</p> + +<p>It is the lily, the emblem of purity. She takes it from him, lays it on +the table behind her, out of sight, a sullen glow of resentment at the +gift mingling with the sorrow of her face as she does so. What mother +had fathomed her shameful secret, and dared to send her child to her +with a gift like that? Some one that is fast gaining the place she +should have occupied in his heart! One that is fast winning away from +her the love she so much needs to aid her in the desired reformation. +She notes how the little face softens and brightens when he speaks of +her, and a sharp pang of jealousy shoots through her heart. The fact +that she has never sought to win that heart to herself by kindness, that +she has forfeited her child's respect, and never deserved its love, only +increases her resentment and adds poignancy to the pang. She feels the +slight form start and shiver with a strange, fearful repulsion as she +places it on her lap. Would the strong natural affection nature had +implanted there, so cruelly crushed out, now nearly if not quite dead, +arise anew to life, and grow stronger than this repulsion? That is the +question to be answered <i>now</i>. Ah! if there were but a spark remaining, +were it only a poor, feeble, smouldering flame, it would have the power, +she felt, to light her to higher and better things. With a thrill of +pure maternal love, a stranger to her heart, whose holiest impulses, +deadened by reckless indulgence, have degenerated into instincts, she +folds the little form closer to her, in spite of its shuddering, and, +looking into the upturned face (O mother, miserably blind), reads +understandingly for the first time the hunger of heart so legibly +written on every speaking feature. With the sharp arrow of conviction +that pierces her soul at the sight, comes a voice appealing to its +inmost recesses, a voice speaking those words spoken by the great heart +of Divine Compassion, eighteen hundred years ago; those words of +tenderest pleading: <i>'Feed my lambs!</i>' How had she fed those committed +to her charge? The wan, thin, sorrowful face, the little heart finding +no joy in life, grown weary before its time, best answer that question. +Aided by her aroused spiritual perceptions, she reads now all too +truthfully the sad, sad record of the heart-breaking loneliness of the +life she has made desolate; and, pressing the wronged heart close +against her own, the keen remorse of her soul bursts forth in a low moan +of irrepressible anguish:</p> + +<p>'Oh, my child! my little, little, little child!'</p> + +<p>Studying the face bent over him as children learn to study the faces of +those whom they have reason to fear, whose kindness is at best +capricious, and finding nothing but sorrow and tenderness in it, he +began to fear it less: thankful even for a brief season of kindness, the +solitary child laid the pale cheek close against his mother's, and +twined the thin arms about her neck. It was a strange and blissful +sensation for that mother to feel them clinging there. In her softened +mood it made the tears fall hot and fast, to think how strange it was.</p> + +<p>'What made Harry think of coming to see ma to-day?' she said at last, +brushing them hurriedly away.</p> + +<p>'A lady gave me that flower, mamma, and told me to bring it to you.'</p> + +<p>A pause and a closer pressure—then she questioned nervously:</p> + +<p>'What lady is it, Harry? Where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_672" id="Page_672">[Pg 672]</a></span> does she live? How came you to know her, +darling?'</p> + +<p>Harry hesitated. He noticed the dark shadow that swept across her face +at every reference to his new-found friend, and, with a child's +intuitive perception, he saw the subject gave her pain. Striving with +ready tact to draw her attention from it to himself, he went back to the +beginning, to give her a sort of history of how he came to form the +acquaintance.</p> + +<p>'Mamma,' he said timidly, twining his arms still closer around her neck, +and speaking in a slow, hesitating way, as if he feared that this would +give her pain also, 'our house, you know, is a very lonesome place. Oh, +so <i>very</i> lonesome!—just like a day when the sun won't shine, and the +rain comes dark and slow. Well, ma, it was always bad enough, but when +Charley went away to school, and you stayed up here more than ever, and +Betty got crosser than ever, you can't think <i>how</i> lonesome it was! Pa +used to bring me playthings at first, but I felt so bad I couldn't play +with them. I felt all the time as if I wanted something, and,' glancing +piteously up into his mother's face, and laying his little hand upon his +heart, 'as if I was <i>so hungry here</i>. Well, I used to climb up at the +window and watch the people going by, and wonder and wonder what the +matter was.' He waited as if half expecting an answer; but a stifled sob +was the only reply. 'Looking out the window and seeing other people, I +found out after a while that we were different from everybody else. +Other mothers who had little boys like me, always took their little boys +with them when they went to walk. All the sunshiny days they went +walking up and down—walking up and down; and the mothers were not cross +like Betty, and the little boys were not lonesome like me, but had such +red, chubby cheeks, and looked happy 'most all the time. The first day I +found this out, when Betty took me away from the window, and stood me up +before the glass to comb my hair, and I looked in and saw what a face I +had, I cried and cried. Then the mothers would smile and look pleased +whenever their little boys spoke to them, and seemed to love them so +much, that I wanted them to love me too; and I used to throw little +things out of the window sometimes, so that they would look up and smile +at me.'</p> + +<p>Ah! the young, tender heart, living, as yet, only by the affections, +that required such a wealth of love to fill it! The little outcast heart +depending on casual passers by for a stray word or look of comfort, +striving to feed itself on such poor, miserable crumbs as these! It made +the mother's face grow white with anguish to think of <i>that</i>.</p> + +<p>'Well, about just such a time every morning, when Charley had gone to +school, and I sat by the window as lonesome as lonesome could be, on the +sidewalk under the window there always came a lady who was kinder to me +than the other ladies, who <i>always</i> looked up and smiled. Such a +beautiful lady, ma, with a face as kind as pa's, and a great deal more +smiling; you'd love her if you saw her; I know you would—you couldn't +help it. And ma,' and here Harry's enthusiasm died out, and his voice +took a sadder tone, 'she's got a little boy, just about as big as I am, +and she always takes him with her when she goes out, just like the other +ladies. And—and ma'—the low voice had a frightened tone in it, as if +the little one feared he was venturing too far.</p> + +<p>'Yes, Harry.'</p> + +<p>'I thought—that—that—'</p> + +<p>'What, darling?'</p> + +<p>'That if you would go out to walk yourself sometimes, and take us with +you, Charley and me, that we shouldn't be so different from everybody +else, and it wouldn't be quite so lonesome here.'</p> + +<p>A long pause followed—a frightened pause on Harry's part. Venturing, +after a little while, to look into his mother's face, its sadness, +unmixed with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_673" id="Page_673">[Pg 673]</a></span> anger reassured him, and he proceeded:</p> + +<p>'That was the lady who sent you the flower. She lives in a little white +house just across the road. One day, when Betty took me out for a walk, +I ran away and went there; and I have been there a good many times +since. It's a little house, ma, a very little house. There are no bright +pictures or beautiful carpets in it; but they are never lonesome there. +She is as kind to her little boy every day as you are to me now. It's a +long time, ma, since you kissed me and held me on your lap, and acted as +if you loved me! Oh, mamma!' He laid the pale cheek, wet with grateful +tears, close against her own. 'Why a'n't you good to me always? I love +you <i>now</i>, but I don't love you always; I <i>can't</i> love you always, ma. +That day when you frightened me so, when you pulled my hair, threw me +down on the floor, and whipped me till the blood ran, I didn't like you +for a long time <i>then</i>, you hurt me so.'</p> + +<p>The grief of the wretched mother burst forth anew in sobs and tears.</p> + +<p>'Oh, Harry! oh, my poor, poor child! Did ma do that?'</p> + +<p>'Don't cry, ma, oh, don't cry; I don't think you meant to do it. There +is something that changes you, that makes you cross and strange. And +ma'—the timid voice sank away to a low, frightened whisper, broken and +tremulous with tears.</p> + +<p>'Yes, dearest.'</p> + +<p>'You won't be angry, dear mamma?'</p> + +<p>'No, love, no.'</p> + +<p>He hid his face on her shoulder, sobbing:</p> + +<p>'It's something that you drink. They never have it there, in that little +house,' pursued Harry in a voice choked with rushing tears. 'They never +have it anywhere where they are happy. Oh, mamma! If you'd only send it +away, if you'd throw it away, if you would put it out of sight; oh, my +dear, dear mamma, if you would never look at it, never taste it, never, +never drink it any more!' In the energy of his supplication he twined +the little arms still closer and closer about her neck—his tears fell +like rain upon her bosom. That baby face, eloquent with entreaty and wet +with tears! She could not bear to see it. Crimson with shame, she hid +her own in her outstretched hands. 'She never drinks it. I've watched +her; she drinks coffee sometimes, water sometimes, <i>tea</i> 'most always. +Ma, if you must drink something, why wouldn't <i>tea</i> do just as well?'</p> + +<p>She folded her arms about the little form, and clasped it to her bosom. +Her face was lighted with a high resolve, the heart against which her +child's was pressed was throbbing with a lofty impulse.</p> + +<p>'It would, my darling, it would; with God's help, it shall. Here in His +holy presence, I solemnly promise, if there is any strength in good +resolutions, if there is any power of good left within me, if God will +not utterly forsake one who has so long forsaken her better nature, +never, never, from this time, henceforth and forever, to touch, taste, +or look upon the accursed thing.'</p> + +<p>That night, at the foot of the tall poplar, the flickering sunlight +falling through the leaves on his head, making the brown hair golden +where it fell, Harry sat watching the coming of his brother. He had not +long to wait; in a little while the red, slanting rays fell on that +other head of darker brown. The well-known form appeared at the gateway, +and Harry went bounding down the gravel walk to meet him.</p> + +<p>'Ma wants to see you,' panted the little brother. 'She wanted you to +come up to her room as soon as ever you got home. She sent me to tell +you so.'</p> + +<p>The message was such an unusual one, he was so flushed and excited, so +<i>proud</i> to give it, and the look of joy shining in the pale face was +such a stranger to it, that the great brown eyes of the elder brother +opened wide in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_674" id="Page_674">[Pg 674]</a></span> silent wonder, and the excited Harry had caught him by +both hands, and was dragging him by main force toward the house before +he had recovered from his astonishment sufficiently to speak.</p> + +<p>'I don't want to go,' cried the unwilling Charley, ruefully drawing +back. 'I don't <i>want</i> to go, Harry. <i>Why</i> does she want to see me? What +<i>makes</i> her want to see me? I a'n't done nothing to be whipped for!'</p> + +<p>'Oh! it isn't <i>that</i>,' returned the little fellow eagerly. 'We a'n't +going to be whipped any more, unless we're real naughty, and then not +very hard; and ma is going to send Betty away, and we a'n't going to be +scolded any more; and she's going to take us to walk and ride with her +sometimes, as the other mothers do. Why,' cried the eager child, all +glowing at the delightful prospect, 'Why, Charley, we're going to be +happy now.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, I don't believe we are,' sadly sighed the more experienced Charley, +scratching his curls disconsolately, and looking at his brother in a +maze of perplexity and doubt. 'I've thought we were going to be happy a +great many times, but we a'n't been never, and I don't believe we ever +will be. The first thing I remember was being lonesome, and I've been as +lonesome as could be ever since. No, no; we shall never be happy. Ta'n't +no use thinking about being happy,' and the forlorn child threw himself +upon the grass in a hopeless and dejected manner. 'But they <i>do</i> say, +Harry,' he continued, looking up through the leaves at the blue vault +above him, 'that there's a place up yonder somewhere where good people +go when they die, and where <i>everybody</i> is happy. I've thought, since I +heard about it, that perhaps some people went there without dying. If +they <i>do</i>, Harry, and I can only find out the way, I'd leave this mean +old place, and go there straight, this very minute. I'd like to have you +and pa come, Harry; but ma is always scolding or whipping us for +something. I don't like ma, and I don't care whether she ever gets there +or not. Come to think of it,' pursued Charley, as a new thought seemed +to strike him, 'I had a good deal rather she wouldn't come; for if she +<i>did</i> find out the way, and come up there after a while, like as any way +she'd bring a switch with her.'</p> + +<p>'You shouldn't talk so about ma, Charley,' said his meek-eyed brother. +'She isn't cross <i>always</i>. She has been kind to me to-day, so kind,' +said the little fellow, stemming with his fingers two great round drops +that were slowly running down his cheeks, 'that it makes the tears come +to think about it. I was with her a great long while, and she didn't +scold or speak cross once. Why, only think, Charley,' he proceeded, +opening his eyes, as if the fact about to be communicated could never be +sufficiently wondered at, 'we were all alone together for ever so long, +and she might have got angry and whipped me just as well as not, and pa +would never know anything about it.'</p> + +<p>'It's a wonder she didn't,' scornfully returned his brother; 'it would +have been such a nice chance. She don't get such a chance as <i>that</i> +every day. There wouldn't have been any fun in it if she had, though; +for I tell you what it is,' he continued, looking about on his hands for +sundry marks and dents left thereon by the nails of his mother, 'I tell +you what it is, Harry, when she gets hold of a feller, she digs right +in. She pounds us more than half the time for just nothing at all, only +because she gets mad and likes to do it. To be sure, I get mad myself +sometimes, and say ugly words, and ought to be whipped; but you, <i>you</i> +never do anything to be whipped for, and <i>she</i>,' proceeded the indignant +little fellow, with an emphasis of immeasurable scorn on that personal +pronoun, '<i>she</i> to go to work and pound a little, pale fellow like you! +Why, she ought to be ashamed of herself. I get so mad sometimes when she +gets to whipping us, and pa comes to take us away, that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_675" id="Page_675">[Pg 675]</a></span> I think if he +would pound her just as hard as she pounds us, and just long enough to +let us see how good it feels, I wouldn't care a bit—I'd just like it: +but he don't never; he only trembles all over and gets very white, sets +her down in a chair, and takes us out of the room—buys us playthings, +or tells us stories to stop our crying, and that's the end of it until +next time.'</p> + +<p>Poor Harry! the color had faded from his face, the light from his eyes. +That deep shadow of inexpressible mournfulness had again crept into +them. Memory of such scenes, as are never garnered up in the breasts of +happy childhood, shadowed his face and heart. His short-lived happiness +was over. He made no reply to his brother, but sat motionless, gazing at +the sky with a searching, yearning, far-off gaze. Looking at the two +young faces turned upward, it would have been hard to say which was the +saddest. Young as they were, traces of the working of the curse which +had blighted their lives, were plainly visible in both. Both were +equally pale and thoughtful, both robbed of the brightness and gayety +belonging to their years, only varying in expression as they varied in +temperament. The look of meek and patient endurance on the face of the +younger spoke of a nature that wrong and suffering might crush, but +could never rouse to anger or resentment—of a heart that would break, +if must be, but would patiently lie down and die. The scornful defiance +flashing ever and anon in the face of the elder brother, the +immeasurable bitterness mingling with its sadness, showed a proud and +fiery temperament that could be goaded to desperation.</p> + +<p>'But she shall never strike me many times more,' continued Charley, with +suppressed indignation. After a pause, during which, with compressed lip +and clouded brow, he had been resentfully dwelling upon the pain and +humiliation consequent upon the blows he had received: 'Never! never! +for I don't care if it <i>is</i> wrong, if pa <i>does</i> tell me not to do it, I +don't care if she is my mother; after I get just a little bigger, when +she strikes me, I'm going to strike back again.'</p> + +<p>These vengeful threats exciting no answering comments from his brother, +Charley turned to look at him. A strange prophetic chill swept across +the intuitional soul, and filled it with vague, shuddering apprehension.</p> + +<p>'Harry, don't look that way; Harry, come back to yourself! Oh, Harry! +take your eyes from the sky and look at me. You frighten me so!' cried +Charley, in a voice tremulous with agitation.</p> + +<p>The consciousness of his surroundings had dawned so slowly on the rapt +soul, the patient face had turned toward his brother's so calmly, he was +so meek and quiet, so undemonstrative usually, that he was totally +unprepared for the wild burst of passionate weeping with which Harry +threw himself upon his neck.</p> + +<p>'Oh! Charley, Charley, I cannot find it, I cannot see the land you talk +of. I know it must be there, where the sky is clear and the sun is +shining; but I've been looking, and I can't see it anywhere. Oh! +Charley, where is it? Where is the place up yonder where they are good +and happy? Show me the way there, show me the way. I don't want to stay +<i>here</i>,' sobbed Harry, coming back to his own hopeless self again; 'I +want to go somewhere where folks don't have to be lonesome all the time; +I don't know what dying is, but if dying will do it, I want dying to +take me there.'</p> + +<p>He had drawn his brother toward him, wiped his tears away with his own +little apron, and soothed him as well as his agitation would permit, +striving, amid the tumult of his thoughts, to gather up such meagre +scraps of information as he had gleaned upon the subject, and put it +into intelligible words, when, from a window almost hidden by the leaves +of the tree under which they were sitting, they heard a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_676" id="Page_676">[Pg 676]</a></span> voice calling +to them, a familiar voice, but with a new tone in it, which quickens +their pulse-beat, and makes their hearts throb with a sweet joy. Dimly +visible through the foliage, a familiar face is looking down upon them, +loving and tender as any mother's face should be; and with that look, +the strong instinctive love for her which nature had implanted in their +hearts awoke in all its strength. Pride, anger, sorrow, were all alike +forgotten. To her loving call there came from eager lips the ready +response:</p> + +<p>'Yes, mamma; we are coming, dear mamma.'</p> + +<p>Those who are blessed with golden memories of a happy childhood, +perchance but lightly prize Heaven's brightest, choicest gift. Those who +have never felt the hungering and thirsting of a heart deprived of +sympathy and kindness, the desolate pining of that state more sorrowful +than orphanage, can but feebly, faintly guess how tender tones and soft +caresses, loving words and looks, such common blessings as awaken in the +happy thought of gratitude, were treasured up in these lonely hearts as +gifts of priceless value, or measure the deep thankfulness which +thrilled them as they knelt side by side at their mother's knee, and +said their prayers in the deepening twilight that summer night.</p> + +<p>They had a table spread before the open window, and had their supper in +their mother's room, and, as the light sank into darkness, with an arm +thrown around each little form caressingly, and a brown head resting on +each shoulder, they sat beside her on the sofa, and listened as she told +them, in language suited to their childish comprehension, of the coming +joys in store for them, of what a happy home their future home should +be, now that she had resolutely parted from the curse that had destroyed +their peace, and forever turned her back against it;—listened as she +drew glowing pictures of the walks and rides they would take, of the +varied pleasures they would enjoy together, pleasures it should be her +pleasing task to plan. They had nothing to damp their enjoyment, for she +had dismissed Betty, and with her own hands undressed and bathed them, +and robed them for the night; and they enjoyed it all, not with the keen +zest, the careless hilarity of childhood, but with the subdued and +thoughtful gravity seen in beings of maturer years, to whose lot has +fallen more of the sorrows than the joys of life, and who receive +happiness, when at rare intervals it comes to them, with a tremulous +thankfulness, as if fearful of entertaining so strange a guest; and when +at last it ended, as all happy seasons must, and both tired heads rested +on one pillow, Harry whispered to his brother:</p> + +<p>'There is nothing to be sorry for <i>now</i>, Charley. She will never drink +that dark stuff any more—I know she never will; she will never forget +the promise she has made.'</p> + +<p>Then the drowsy eyes, ere they closed, sought the dim night sky for that +star, the brightest in the blue above him, which had revealed itself +through his tears, when alone in the darkness he had first learned to +pray, and, gazing on it, and on the sky beyond, where a happier home +than any earthly one is proffered, murmured to himself, with a peaceful +smile:</p> + +<p>'Oh! we shall be so happy, so very, very, very happy!'</p> + + +<h3><a name="PART_THIRD" id="PART_THIRD"></a>PART THIRD.</h3> + +<p>She promised. Oh, frail and sandy foundation, on which to build bright +hopes of earthly happiness! Only for four brief weeks, one happy month, +that solemn promise was faithfully remembered. Of the effort that even +this short period of abstinence had cost her, of the burning thirst +which tortured her by day and night, the fierce desire that battled with +and almost overcame her feeble resolution when the enthusiasm that had +at first upheld her died away, of the suffering of those weary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_677" id="Page_677">[Pg 677]</a></span> weeks of +conflict, only those can tell who, heroes every one, like her, have +battled with this fierce spiritual Apollyon, and who, unlike her, have +overcome. Hour by hour the maddening desire of gratification wasted +little by little her moral strength. The thirst grew stronger, the will +weaker.</p> + +<p>The thought of the home she had brightened by her self-denial, the heart +she had gladdened, the little ones who had drawn their life from hers, +whose trust in her was growing stronger day by day, as evening came and +showed the valued promise still remembered, and morning dawned and found +her faithful, held her back at first; but gradually this also lost its +power. Then that torturing, burning, maddening thirst swept over the +doomed soul like a fierce simoom, drying up the fountains of maternal +tenderness, bearing away all sense of duty, all tenderness and sympathy, +the blessed hope of heaven itself, in its desolating track. One wretched +day, when this thirst was so strong upon her that her priceless soul +grew worthless in her eyes, and she would smilingly have bartered it but +for a single draught; one well-remembered, miserable day, when the +little faces were raised to hers, and found upon it no trace of motherly +affection, only that dark foreboding look, and grew pale with fright +when desire had reached that relentless climax which leaves the victim +no choice but of madness or gratification, she had fiercely summoned her +usual messenger, sent for her usual drink, and sat grimly waiting for +it. In vain that trusty messenger, to whose care the wretched father had +confided that pitiful remnant of family honor, the shame of public +exposure, boldly setting fear of her aside, earnestly besought her to +wrestle with the demon yet a little longer, were it but a single day; +and implored her with tears to remember the little ones on whom this +blow would fall so heavily. There was no tone of motherly affection +within that raging breast to respond to that appeal. With parched, +cracked lips, and burning eyes and bloated face fierce with desire, she +had driven her from her presence. Fear lest the lack of this great need +would drive her to distraction quite, and some worse evil yet befall +them, she had gone her way, weeping as she went. She came back +presently. There was enough of that terrible poison in the bottle she +brought to make her mistress drunk a score of times. She may get drunk +<i>now</i>, dead drunk; in a little while she may lie upon the floor a +senseless, idiotic, disgusting creature. She almost prays it may be so, +as she hands her the glass which she angrily calls for, for there is yet +a greater evil to be dreaded. The liquor so long untasted, acting upon +her naturally high temper, may arouse within her a wild tempest of +passion; in her frenzy she may fall upon those little ones, beat, +bruise, maim, murder them perhaps. It is not the first time their lives +have been endangered by her violence. To get them from the room without +exciting her opposition, so quietly and naturally that it shall hardly +attract her observation, is her first care; hence, under pretence of +arranging the window curtain, she says to Charley, who is standing near +it:</p> + +<p>'Charley, say you want some cakes—a drink of water—anything that's +down stairs, and follow me out of this room.'</p> + +<p>'I can't go, Maggie,' returned the child, in the same cautious whisper, +glancing toward his mother with his large dark eyes wildly dilated, and +his small face bleached with fright. 'Harry won't go, and I can't leave +Harry.'</p> + +<p>'Harry shall go,' energetically repeated the resolute Maggie, putting +her head out of the window to say her say. 'He is not going to stay here +to be mauled! Harry,' she continued, in the most insinuating tone +imaginable, 'come down stairs with Maggie. There's a darling.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_678" id="Page_678">[Pg 678]</a></span></p> + +<p>He was leaning out of the window, apparently looking at something in the +street below, and did not move as she addressed him.</p> + +<p>'Harry, Harry,' she called again, in an excited whisper, 'do you hear +me? quick, child, quick!'</p> + +<p>He turned toward her his face covered with tears.</p> + +<p>'Don't cry, for heaven's sake, child; don't cry <i>here</i>,' returned +Maggie, with a suppressed groan, 'or that mother of yours will pounce +upon you in spite of me.'</p> + +<p>At the mention of that word, what little self-possession he retained +gave way, and he sobbed outright. It was a sob so passionate and long +suppressed, and it burst forth in spite of him with such vehemence, that +it shook the little form from head to foot, and sounded through the +still room so miserably hopeless, so heart-broken, that it even aroused +the stupefied being nodding in her chair, whom he had the misery to call +by the name of mother. It awakened within her some vague thought of +motherly sympathy; and, stupidly striving to comprehend what it meant, +and idly muttering to her miserable self, she poured out a third glass, +held it in her hand as well as she was able, and came tottering forward, +swaying to and fro in maudlin efforts to keep her feet. She took up her +position directly behind Harry, and looked vacantly out. She was trying +to ask what was the matter, with a tongue whose palsied utterance made +language incomprehensible, when Harry's friend, whom he had been +watching, and whose figure he had, with love's delicate discrimination, +picked out from a score of similar figures, and known to be hers, when +it was but a mere speck in the distance, passed directly under the open +window, and, startled by that sob and by that drunken voice in answer, +looked wonderingly up. Oh, heavens! she read that fearful secret in one +blank, horrified glance. She read it in the despairing hopelessness of +the little face turned toward hers—that look so terrible in a face so +young. She read it still more clearly in that fiery, bloated, senseless +visage looking down upon her with a dull stare, in the swaying form +feebly holding the tell-tale glass. She knew now why that delicate +child, nursed in the lap of affluence, having all that wealth could +purchase, had come so timidly to her lowly dwelling, and earnestly +besought her for a single kiss; what had made the little face sorrowful +and wan, and set that seal of suffering upon it. She saw it all, and, +under the sudden weight of that astounding revelation, she literally +staggered as under the weight of a blow. Looking down through his +tear-dimmed eyes at the face he loved so well, Harry saw upon it no look +of sympathy or recognition for him—only that blank, amazed, +horror-stricken look at that something behind him, a look which embraced +every item of the shameful scene, and showed all too clearly how plainly +it did so. Then, without a word or glance of kindness, she gathered her +veil closely about her pallid visage, and quickly hurried away. Alas for +Harry! he feels that the truth has turned her heart from his, and she +has gone forever. The anguish of that thought was too great for +suppression, and he stretched forth his hands toward the retreating +figure with a forlorn wail of supplication. That look of horror, that +low, plaintive, heart-broken cry, like a child forsaken of its mother, +had sobered her a little. She had been a proud woman once, and a remnant +of the nobler pride which had once uplifted her was still left within +her soul. To have eyes from which shone forth the pure, unsullied spirit +of womanhood, discover her secret, and look upon her in her shame; to +behold in a rival, whom unseen she hated, womanhood enthroned in +excellence; to see its image in herself fallen and defaced, sunken in +degradation; to know that a few kind and well-bestowed caresses<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_679" id="Page_679">[Pg 679]</a></span> had won +her child's love from her, that on that strange maternal bosom the +little head rested more tranquilly and peacefully than on her own; to +owe her a double grudge as discoverer and supplanter—this aroused the +smouldering and now perverted pride yet alive within her bosom, and +fanned it to a flame. She clinched her hands convulsively, her teeth +shut together with a dull, grating sound, the unsteady form swayed to +and fro, like a lithe tree shaken in the wind of a coming tempest, and +the bloated face, dark with wrath, was terrible to look upon. It was a +fearful thing to be alone with that half-drunken creature, and see wave +after wave of passion rolling over her tempest-tossed soul, lashing it +into fury. Maggie felt it to be so <i>now</i>. As a trusty confidant and able +protector, one who, by some strange means, had gained an ascendency over +her mistress that no other possessed, and wisely exercised this +controlling power, she had been with these poor children through many +similar scenes, sheltering them under the broad wing of her protection, +but she had never beheld the gathering of so dark a storm, never felt +the vague, shuddering dread, the chill apprehension which seized on her +now. One glance at that terrible being showed her power lost, her +protection insufficient, impotent. To stay with them and endeavor to +breast the coming storm would be madness—to try to get the children +from the room now would be both impolitic and dangerous; at the least +demonstration of the kind that storm would be sure to burst upon them in +all its resistless fury, and before its raging power she felt her +strength would be utter weakness. She must fly for aid. Perhaps even now +some invisible being, conscious of their danger, might be impelling +their father to the rescue.</p> + +<p>'Harry,' said Maggie, turning very pale, as she glanced at the dreadful +figure rocking to and fro in fearful communing with itself, and bending +down to whisper a parting injunction as she tied on her bonnet, 'don't +speak to her, don't look toward her. Don't cross her in any way. She's +the devil's own, now.'</p> + +<p>A word, a look, a gesture of entreaty to Charley, placing in dumb show +his brother in his charge, and she passed from the room hastily and +noiselessly, but not unperceived. As she vanished, an evil smile of +triumph at thus being so easily rid of an able antagonist, flashed +across the terrible face, giving it almost the look of a demon. In +passing out, Maggie has left the door ajar, which perceiving, the +wretched woman totters across the room, shuts the door, locks it, throws +the key upon the floor, and, tottering back to her seat, again takes a +long, deep draught from the glass upon the table. Fixing her fiery eyes +full on Harry, she calls out imperiously:</p> + +<p>'Come here, sir!'</p> + +<p>The tone in which the command is given is cruel, stern, and cold, +unsoftened by maternal tenderness, untouched by womanly gentleness, and +the bloated face has the same evil look upon it. Harry shrinks back +affrighted.</p> + +<p>'Are you deaf, you adder? Come here, I say, come here.'</p> + +<p>There is a fierceness in the tone now which shows a longer delay will be +dangerous; and so Charley, pale and trembling, comes forth from the +corner in which he has been crouching, and, taking his smaller brother +by the hand, they come forward together.</p> + +<p>'What made you bawl after that woman—that woman in the street?' she +says, viciously grasping the little shoulder, and giving it a shake. +'Answer me this minute. Speak, sir, speak!'</p> + +<p>'I—I can't help loving her, ma,' falters the poor child deprecatingly, +while the blue eyes fill, and the tears fall slowly down his face.</p> + +<p>'There, none of your snivelling,' she cries fiercely, giving him another +shake. 'Come up here; come closer. Here!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_680" id="Page_680">[Pg 680]</a></span> Stand back, you,' pushing +Charley from her with a force that makes him stagger. 'Now then,' she +furiously demands, 'did you ever cry after <i>me</i> when <i>I</i> went away and +left you?'</p> + +<p>He is so faint with fright that he can hardly find his voice to answer, +and the words are almost inarticulate as he falters forth:</p> + +<p>'Sometimes, ma; sometimes, when you are kind to me.'</p> + +<p>'You never did; you know you never did, you little liar,' shrieks the +crazed creature, savagely dealing him a heavy blow which sends him +reeling from her.</p> + +<p>'Oh, ma! Oh, ma!' gasps the poor child, crouching down in the extremity +of terror as the terrible figure comes flying toward him. '<i>Don't</i> kill +me, oh, don't kill <i>me</i>; I'm such a little boy!'</p> + +<p>She pounces upon him like a tigress, lifting the fragile form high in +the air, and dashing it down to the floor again with all her cruel +force. She shakes, she bites him, she rains blows upon the poor, +defenceless child, leaving prints of her vicious fingers all over the +poor little body wherever she touches the tender skin, marks of her +cruel nails on the delicate arms and hands, long, deep scratches from +which the blood exudes slowly. One last cruel blow hushes the suppressed +cries of pain and terror, the low moans for mercy, and lays the bruised +and quivering form senseless at her feet. Then the mad creature, crazed +with drink and passion, goes careering up and down the room, snatching +from table and bureau the costly trinkets with which they are adorned, +and wildly trampling them beneath her feet as she hurries to and fro. +She is so terrible to look upon, with that scarlet, bloated face, +distorted by passion, and the long, thick hair unbound hanging wildly +about it, and that baleful light in her bloodshot eyes, so terrible in +the frenzied excitement of look and motion, that Charley, who has crept +to the side of his prostrate brother, and is tenderly holding the +unconscious head, has no power to cry or move, but sits half frozen with +horror, with his great brown eyes wildly dilated, fixed in a species of +fascination upon the strange motions of that dreadful figure, and merely +in obedience to the instinct of self-preservation endeavors to shield +himself and his insensible charge from the heavy blows aimed at them as +she comes flying past. A few brief moments pass in this way, moments +which to that poor child, alone with that wild being, seem dreadful +hours of torturing length. Then the blessed sounds of coming relief fall +on his ear, footsteps are approaching, a man's firm, hurried tread and +woman's lighter but no less rapid step are heard through the hall below, +up the staircase—on, on they come, crossing the long upper hall, +pausing at the threshold. Then they try the door; swift, crushing blows +are rained upon it, the door is burst open, and they come rushing +distractedly in.</p> + +<p>'Oh, pa! pa!' The tongue is loosed whose utterance fear has palsied, and +Charley stretches forth his hands to the strong arm of his earthly +saviour. One hasty glance around the room strewn with fragments of +costly toys, one look at the maniacal form in the centre with wildly +dishevelled hair, and leering, vacant face, then the anguished eyes fall +on <i>that</i> for which they are searching, see the outstretched arms of the +little figure cowering in a corner half hid by the window curtain, see +that other figure lying at its feet, so livid and motionless, so +breathless, with the deathly face upturned, and the long brown lashes, +still wet with tears, resting on the marble cheeks.</p> + +<p>'O God! too late! too late!' The strong agony of that father's heart +bursts forth from his bleached lips in that wild, irrepressible cry. He +seizes the tottering form. He shakes it fiercely: 'Woman! fiend! blot on +the name of mother! you have <i>killed</i> my boy!'</p> + +<p>That momentary burst of passion past, he leaves the hapless creature to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_681" id="Page_681">[Pg 681]</a></span> +her witless mumbling, and, with great waves of anguish rolling over his +soul, the broken-hearted father kneels beside his boy.</p> + +<p>'Not dead! oh, thank God! not dead.'</p> + +<p>There is a slight throbbing motion of the heart, a faint, scarcely +perceptible pulsation at the wrist. They raise the senseless form from +off the floor. Up to his room they bear him; softly on his little bed +they lay him—that little bed from which he is never more to rise. +Gentle footsteps glide noiselessly about the room, loving eyes are bent +above him, and tears fall upon the upturned face. Long days go and come, +fragrant sunny days, bright with the bloom of summer, each day one less +of earth, one nearer heaven. The loving watchers know it, and ever and +anon there are sounds of smothered weeping there. But there are no +answering tears from eyes soon to look on immortal things, for on the +passing soul dawns a vision of a home beyond the shadow and the blight, +where, in meadows fragrant with immortal flowers, the <i>Great Shepherd +feedeth His sheep</i>, and, as He tenderly leads them beside the still +waters, gathers the <i>lambs</i> to His bosom. In that clime glows the glory +of unfading light, the bloom of undying beauty. Henceforth the beauty +and the light of this transitory sphere seem wan and cold, and the +fading things of earth grow worthless in the dying eyes, and the tranced +soul longs to be gone, yet bides its time with patient sweetness. +Patient amid all his pain, no groan escapes the parched lips, no +complaining murmur. Bearing all his sufferings with meek endurance, +quiet and very thoughtful he lies upon his little bed, smiling placidly +upon those about him—grateful, very grateful for their love and care; +watching with musing eyes the long hours through the changes of the day +on the sky as seen from his window—gray dawn melting into morning, +morning into mellow day, day, with its varied changes, sinking into +night. The heaven beyond on which he muses as he gazes, the home for +which he longs, baptizes him with its light beforetime. On the sinless +brow the seal of a perfect peace is set, and the air about the child +grows holy. A hush falls on the room mysterious and solemn, and they +know that white-robed immortals are treading earthly courts, mingling in +earthly company; for he murmurs in his dreams of radiant faces that bend +above him; and the wan face, as they watch it in its slumbers, grows +bright with the look of heaven. A few more hours of earth, a little +longer tarrying of the immortal with the mortal part where it has lived +and loved, suffered and rejoiced; a few more moans of pain, and the blue +eyes open and look upon the day whose silent light will dawn upon us +all. They had not thought the end so near at hand; and, worn out with +grief and watching, the father and his faithful nurses had one by one +retired to rest, leaving Charley, at his earnest solicitation, to sit +beside the bed and watch his brother's fitful slumbers. Since that fatal +day, a dread and horror of his mother had seized upon the child. Though +surrounded by those he loved, her near approach would cause strong +nervous chills, and her kiss or touch would throw him into frightful +spasms, from which they could with difficulty recover him; hence, by the +doctor's orders, she was forbidden the room, and it was only when utter +exhaustion had steeped his refined spiritual sense into perfect oblivion +of surrounding objects, that she was permitted to enter there and gaze +for a little on the wan features of her sleeping child. That day, +knowing his time on earth was short, and possessed by a restless and +uncontrollable desire to be near him, even though she could not look +upon his face, into the room of her dying boy she had stolen like a +culprit, and noiselessly shrank into the farthest corner of the room, +screened from his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_682" id="Page_682">[Pg 682]</a></span> observation by the heavy window-curtain and the high +head-board of the bed. They had discovered her there after a time, but +she, in terms which would have moved the coldest heart to pity, implored +them with tears to allow her to remain; and they, seeing that the demon +had departed from her for a season, and compassionating the forlorn +being, had gone away and left her there. She sits motionless in the +silent room, her despairing eyes fixed on the serene heaven to which her +darling will soon be gone, and from which the stern justice of an +accusing conscience tells her she may be forever excluded.</p> + +<p>And oh! if this be truth, if in the world beyond there is no hope for +sinful souls that have gone astray in this, and this parting <i>is</i> +eternal, then, oh then, through the long, dark ages of suffering which +may be her future portion, never to look upon her darling more, never +more to kiss the sweet lips that have called her mother, never more to +look upon him here till the silken lashes droop toward the marble cheek +and the half-veiled eyes have lost their lustre, and they lead her in +for a last look ere the little face is shut out from mortal gaze +forever!—oh! the unutterable anguish of that thought, and the remorse +which mingles with it! Not for that last dreadful act, for she never +knew that she had killed him. No clear remembrance of that day lives +within to curse her memory, but she knows that a strange and +unaccountable dread of her has seized upon the child, that she is +banished from his dying presence; and an undefined and vague +remembrance, a misty horror, has fallen on her life, rests on her like +an incubus, pursues her in a thousand phantom shapes through the long, +dark watches of the terror-laden night, and through burdened days of +ceaseless suffering. She knows, for they have told her, that when his +consciousness returned, his first cry had been for the mother of his +heart; that she had left everything and come to him; that she had taken +her place beside his bed, a dearer place than she had ever occupied in +his heart; that no hands like those chill, magnetic ones could soothe +him in his pain, or charm him to his fitful slumbers; that on no bosom +could the throbbing head rest so tranquilly as on her own. What the +mother's heart suffered in that knowledge when her better nature +prevailed, only the Being knows Who framed it. The hours of the long day +wore heavily on. The sun, that had paused awhile in mid-heaven, was now +sinking slowly toward the west. Yet, unmindful of food or rest, seated +in the same corner into which she had shrunk on entering the room, ever +and anon rocking herself to and fro, or wringing her hands in silent +agony, there sits the wretched mother, hidden watcher by the bedside of +her dying boy. The room has been chosen for its retired situation, and +is removed from the noise of household occupations; and the bustle of +the crowded street, even in its busiest hours, falls on the ear in a +distant hum. It is quiet now, very quiet. Harry has awakened once from +his slumbers, asked to be moved nearer the front of the bed, that they +may be very near each other while he sleeps again, and, when that was +done, has smiled lovingly upon the little, sorrowful watcher, and, with +his wasted hand tightly clasped in his, has fallen into sounder +slumbers. In the deathlike stillness which has fallen on the room, she +can hear his breathing, and has ventured twice or thrice, while he slept +thus, to steal softly to the bedside and look upon his face; but as at +each successive attempt he has seemed almost immediately to feel the +dreaded atmosphere, and his slumbers have become broken and uneasy, with +a heavy heart she has crept silently back again. Charley has waited +until the thin hand of the sick child has relaxed its clasp on his own, +then, moved by a loving impulse, noiselessly busies himself in removing +a littered mass of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_683" id="Page_683">[Pg 683]</a></span> vials, cups, and glasses, which have accumulated on +the stand near the bed, to a table just at hand, and taxes his childish +ingenuity in arranging thereon, in the prettiest possible form, a +multitude of toys and trinkets, gifts sent by the servants of the house +to his brother, putting the new ones in front, so that his eye may fall +on them first when he wakes again. This done, he creeps back to his seat +by the bedside, and silently watches his slumbers as before.</p> + +<p>A ray of sunlight, bright and warm, creeps through the lattice and falls +on the veined lids; the eyes open, and instinctively moving from the too +dazzling light, rest placidly on a fragment of blue sky just visible +through the half-closed window. With eyes fixed intently on that hazy +distance, moment after moment, silent and motionless he lies, and the +blue orbs grow lustrous as he gazes with the mystic beauty of eyes whose +inner vision rests on unutterable things, and gradually there comes upon +the little face the look that never comes on any face but once. Oh, +mystic change! Oh, strange solemnity of death! The little watcher by the +bedside, face to face with its mysterious presence for the first time, +ignorant of its processes, feels a dread, half-defined idea of what it +may be, and, with a piteous effort to recall his dying brother back to +his old look and seeming, tremulously falters:</p> + +<p>'See all the nice things they've sent you, Harry, all the pretty toys +you've got! Here they are, spread out upon the table. Look, brother, +look!'</p> + +<p>The eyes are bright and clear, the shadow of death has not yet dimmed +their light. They turn slowly, very slowly, and, just glancing at the +toy-strewn table, rest upon his brother's face. Oh! what is that look +within them that chills the warm life-current, and makes him cold and +shivering in the heat of that summer day, as the sick child feebly says:</p> + +<p>'You may have them all, <i>all</i>, Charley; I sha'n't never want them any +more.'</p> + +<p>'You've hardly looked at them at all, Harry,' quavers the young voice in +reply, bravely trying to continue the subject. 'You don't know how +handsome they are. The nicest ones, the very nicest ones Betty bought +you! Poor Betty! she has done nothing but cry since you've been +sick—cry, and buy you presents. She says when you get well, Harry—' +and here the brave little voice, that has been tremulous and tear-laden +all along, breaks down entirely, and he puts up his hand to check the +tears that are running down his face. There are no tears in those other +eyes looking into his; the mists of death are gathering within them. He +cannot see the tear-wet face so plainly now, but he feebly strokes the +hand that lies against his own, and says, in a weaker voice, pausing now +and then for breath:</p> + +<p>'Poor brother, dear brother! Don't cry, Charley, don't cry! You must +tell Betty not to cry. Poor Betty! I haven't seen her once since I've +been sick. And poor mamma'—the faint voice, forgetful of its weakness, +grows stronger for a moment, and dwells on that name with measureless +compassion—'poor, poor, <i>poor</i> mamma! I don't feel afraid of ma any +more, and I want to see her. I <span class="smcap">DO</span> so <i>much</i> want to see her! +Where <i>is</i> ma, Charley?'</p> + +<p>There is a movement in the lower part of the room, and a bent form comes +tottering forward, with hair hanging wildly about a haggard, despairing, +woeworn face. Her hands are outstretched in piteous supplication.</p> + +<p>'Here I am,' a voice choked with sobs makes answer, 'Here's your poor, +miserable, guilty mother, Harry. O Harry! my sins have barred me out +from the heaven you are entering; say you forgive me before we part +forever. Oh! my darling, it is the last time I shall ever ask it; give +me one kiss before you go!' He smiled as only the dying <i>can</i> smile, and +stretched out his feeble arms. 'He smiles upon me, he forgives!' +shrieked the half-demented creature. 'O God! most merciful!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_684" id="Page_684">[Pg 684]</a></span> Thou hast +not quite forsaken me!' and with a step forward, and a gesture of +embrace, the hapless being falls heavily upon the floor.</p> + +<p>'Raise me up, raise me up,' pleads the sick child, after partially +recovering from the shock the fall had given him; and, as he gazes upon +the prostrate form, the white, haggard, insensible features, an angel's +pity and compassion shine in the dying face. 'Oh, I can't kiss <i>her</i>, +Charley. Tell poor mamma I <i>couldn't</i> kiss her,' he faintly moans. Then +the fitful strength gives way again, and the tired head droops wearily +on his brother's shoulder. The chilled form creeps closer to a warm +embrace. A little while they hold each other thus—these little ones, +brothers by the ties of blood, bound nearer to each other than any tie +of blood can bind, by the sacred bond of suffering! Then the arm around +poor Charley's neck relaxes its hold, and falls with a dull, lifeless +sound back upon the pillow. The little form grows colder, colder yet. He +has no power to lay it down, no power to cry for help, but sits holding +it, half paralyzed, as he hears them rushing up the stairs, urged wildly +on by the dreadful fear that they have come too late.</p> + +<p>There is a piteous supplication in the large, dilated eyes, a mute +prayer for help in the white face he turns upon them as they enter. To +the hurried questions which come pouring forth, the bleached, white lips +make answer:</p> + +<p>'He got cold, and went to sleep again; and he has been getting colder +ever since.'</p> + +<p>Then the father, stooping, looks into the little face lying on Charley's +shoulder, and, staggering back as if a blow had struck him, cries out: +'Dead!' and the friend that Harry had loved so well raises the curly +head and lays it back upon the pillow. There are no tears in her gentle +eyes for him, for she knows the little, weary heart is resting now on +the great heart of Infinite Love—that he is gone to One who, with +outstretched arms, stood ready to receive him—<i>One</i> who said long ago: +'Suffer little children to come unto Me!'</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="AN_HOUR_IN_THE_GALLERY_OF_THE_NATIONAL_ACADEMY_OF_DESIGN" id="AN_HOUR_IN_THE_GALLERY_OF_THE_NATIONAL_ACADEMY_OF_DESIGN"></a>AN HOUR IN THE GALLERY OF THE NATIONAL ACADEMY OF DESIGN.</h2> + +<h3>THIRTY-NINTH ANNUAL EXHIBITION.</h3> + + +<p>Great is the variety in the different classes of men to be found in +picture galleries. First in importance stand the artists, oftentimes +oracular personages, dangerous of approach by outsiders having opinions +(<i>such</i> must generally expect a direct snubbing, polite indifference, or +silent scorn), knowing much but not everything, no single one +infallible, highly honorable as members of a guild, secretive as doctors +or lawyers, chary of talking shop to the uninitiated, hardworking, +conscientious, half luring, half scoffing at the glorious visions of the +creative imagination granted them chiefly of all men, wonder workers, +world reformers, recorders of the past and prophets of the future, +comforters of prose-ridden humanity, stewards of some of God's best +gifts, openers of the gates of the beautiful, and hence ushers into the +vestibule of the glorious 'Land of the Hereafter.' May they <i>all</i> +remember their lofty calling, and never diminish their usefulness by +unworthy contests among<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_685" id="Page_685">[Pg 685]</a></span> themselves, or by sacrificing their own better +judgment to the exigencies of popular requirement!</p> + +<p>Next in order come the connoisseurs. Unmistakably one is that young man +with near-sighted eyeglass, with Dundreary whiskers and jaunty air, who +talks of breadth, handling, foreshortening, perspective, etc.; who +perhaps quotes Ruskin, has seen galleries abroad, is devoted to <i>genre</i> +pictures, and, after rattling through an exhibition for a half hour, +pronounces definitely upon the merits of the entire collection, singly +and <i>en masse</i>.</p> + +<p>Equally recognizable is the older picture-fancier. He talks, if +possible, even more learnedly, discoursing of balance, tone, +chiaroscuro; he despises innovations, judges in accordance with <i>names</i>; +is of course convinced the present can bear no comparison with the past; +will look through a whole gallery, and finally be captivated by some +well-executed conceit—a sun shining through a hole—three different +sorts of light, of fire, candle, and moon, mixed in with monstrous +shadows and commonplace figures—some meaningless countenance +surmounting a satin whose every shining thread is distinguishable, and +the pattern of whose lace trimming could be copied for a fashion plate; +he is, in short, a fussy, loud individual, with money to buy and some +out-of-the-way place to hang pictures.</p> + +<p>Then there is the man who knows but one, or at most two or three +artists, and will look at the works of none other; who sees, as +travellers generally do, not that which <i>is</i>, but that which he had made +up his mind to see before he left his own threshold. There are those +attracted by nothing except brilliant color, and others who have heard +so much of the vulgarity of 'high lights' and gaudy hues, that they will +tolerate nothing but brown trees, russet grass, gray skies, slate rocks, +drab gowns, copper skins, and shadows so deep that the discovery of the +objects represented becomes a real game of 'hide and go seek.' There are +also the timidly modest, who, although aware of their own preferences, +are yet afraid to admire any new name until some recognized authority +has given permission. Another division of this class consists of those +who, knowing their own inability to draw or to color the simplest +object, hesitate to refuse admiration to any art production that is even +barely tolerable. Let us concede to this class our respect, as humility +is the only solid basis for any human acquirement.</p> + +<p>We also find the pretty young lady, who says 'lovely,' 'charming,' or +'horrid,' 'abominable,' in a very attractive, but most indiscriminating +manner;—the individual who cares only for the design (to whom real +depth or pathos and affected prettiness are too often one and the same), +and the other, who looks only at the technical execution. Rare, indeed, +are the imaginative analysts who, while considering the design, can +comprehend its philosophy, tell why it pleases or displeases, why they +like or dislike; and still rarer are they who add to impartiality, +observation, common sense, imaginative perception, and analytic power, a +sufficiency of technical knowledge to render their criticism useful, not +only to outsiders, but even to artists themselves. Such a guide would +indeed be an invaluable companion in any gallery of art. In default of +him, let us do the best we can, and come to a consideration of some of +the works offered us in this, the thirty-ninth annual exhibition of the +National Academy of Design.</p> + +<p>Before we begin, however, let us make a passing remark upon a custom +that seems lately to have come in vogue, namely, to publish in the daily +papers damaging criticisms upon pictures offered for sale at auction, +such criticisms generally appearing one, or at most two days before the +sale. The want of good taste, or even of abstract justice, in such a +proceeding, must be apparent to every one who will pause<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_686" id="Page_686">[Pg 686]</a></span> a moment to +consider. To compare small things with great, for the sake of +illustration, if our neighbor has made his purchase of spring drygoods, +and spreads them upon the counter of his store, we may or may not admire +his taste in the selection of patterns, but we surely should not think +ourselves called upon to rush to the newspapers and blazon forth an +opinion to his detriment, especially if our assertions were mere +guesses, perhaps even untrue, or if we were ourselves concerned in the +selling of similar wares. Among the public are many tastes to be +gratified, and each man can judge for himself of that which pleases him. +A case of impudent pretension or actual imposition will of course +require honest people to give in their testimony, but the facts adduced +in such a case must be susceptible of proof, and not mere matters of +individual taste or opinion; neither must they be advanced at so late an +hour as to render their refutation difficult, or indeed impossible. A +regular exhibition, such as that of the Academy, offers fair ground for +discussion, as all sides have a chance of obtaining a hearing; but even +there, the scales of justice should be nicely poised, and great care +taken that neither rashness, flippancy, nor prejudice be permitted any +share in their adjustment, and 'good will toward men' be the only extra +weight ever added to either side.</p> + +<p>To begin with the landscapes, one of the most remarkable, and, to our +individual taste, the most attractive in the whole collection, is No. +147, 'The Woods and Fields in Autumn,' by Jervis McEntee, N. A. The fine +tree-drawing and the exquisite harmony of color in this poetic +representation of autumn scenery are worthy of <i>all praise</i>. The clouds +are gathering for dark winter days, a few pleasant hours are yet left to +the dying year, the atmosphere is saturated with moist exhalations, with +tender mists softening but not obscuring the beautiful forms of the +leafless trees and shrubs. The springs are filling, the low grounds +marshy, the leaves on the woodpaths crisp and of a golden brown. Far +away in the west is a band of gray light, that tells of clearer skies +and brighter seasons one day to come, of new hopes to dawn, when the +earth, and the soul, shall have been purified by adverse blasts, by the +baring of their nakedness to the unimpeded, searching light of heaven. +No. 124, 'The Wanderer,' is a picture of similar character by the same +skilful hand. Thoughtful, refined, and discriminating lovers of art +cannot fail to find instruction and delight in these noble conceptions, +and indeed it is chiefly in the possession of such persons that we find +the truthful, conscientious, tenderly conceived, and poetical pictures +of Jervis McEntee.</p> + +<p>S. R. Gifford, N. A., exhibits two works, differing widely from each +other, but both worthy of his reputation. Let the names now longer and +more widely established in the estimation of the general public look to +their laurels, for here is one who is destined successfully to enter an +honorable contest for the possession of the very highest honors. Unity +of design, and warmth as well as vividness of light, positive +atmosphere, characterize the works of this artist, and render each one a +satisfactorily completed poem. No. 226, 'South Mountain, Catskills,' +presents a view doubtless well known to many of our readers. The +far-away horizon, the winding Hudson with its tiny sails, the square +dent where lies the lake in the Shawangunk range, the serrated ridges of +the lower hills, the smoke from the lowlands outside the Clove, the +shadowed, ridgy sides of the Round Top Mountain, the stunted pines of +the South Mountain, so characteristically represented, the great rock +overhanging the cliffs, and the whortleberry bushes and other low growth +clustering about its base—all speak to us unmistakably of that very +spot, and tell the story of the place as we scarcely thought it could +have been told, yet so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_687" id="Page_687">[Pg 687]</a></span> simply, so naturally, that the art of the artist +is almost forgotten in actual enjoyment of the scene portrayed. No. 250, +'A Twilight in the Adirondacs,' glows with an intensity of light +suggestive of some secret art, and not of ordinary paint and canvas. A +few brilliant cloud-specks float in a golden sky, which is reflected +from the surface of a placid lake, high up among the hills, whose +haze-flooded and light-crowned tops fade away into the far distance. To +many this picture will prove more attractive than the view from the +South Mountain: perhaps it is our familiarity with and love for the +original of the last-mentioned view, which induce us to give to it our +personal preference.</p> + +<p>No. 158, 'The Old Hunting Grounds,' is by W. Whittredge, N. A. It gives +a charming insight into the mysteries of the woods. The characteristic +white birches, with their reflection in the quiet pool, the dark trunk +and spreading branches of the great tree in the foreground, the tender +foliage, and soft, hazy gleams into the depths of the forest, afford the +materials for a delightful picture, the more precious in our sight that +it is so truly a representation of our native land, so thoroughly +American. The broken birch canoe adds to the beauty of nature a most +effective and pathetic touch, by briefly figuring the melancholy history +of a fast-departing race. Gone forever are the moccasoned feet that +pressed <i>that</i> mossy soil, and the dusky forms that flitted to and fro +among the white trunks that catch and hold the light so lovingly. That +broken canoe has a stranger tale to tell than any ruined arch or fallen +column of the Old World: the one speaks of some empire passed away, the +other of the gradual extinction of an entire type of human beings, a +race of men who seem to have accomplished the work assigned them, and +who die rather than abandon their native instincts and habits of thought +and life. The fortunate possessor of the 'Old Hunting Grounds,' when +shut up within the confined streets and dreary walls of a city, need +only lift his eyes to the picture to dream dreams of the freshness and +freedom of the wild woods, of the scented breeze snuffed by the browsing +deer, of the rocking branches glimmering gold and green against the +clear summer sky. Mr. Whittredge's picture is suggestive and harmonious +as nature itself, and one could never weary of it, as one infallibly +must of weaker and more conventional productions, often highly prized by +frequenters of galleries.</p> + +<p>No. 153, 'The Iron-Bound Coast of Maine,' by W. S. Haseltine, N. A., has +the freshness, brightness, and mistiness of such a shore. We have heard +Mr. Haseltine's rocks complained of as too yellow; but, in the absence +of knowledge, are content to presume he painted them as he saw them. The +action of the dashing surf in washing away the lower strata, and +strewing the beach with fragments, is one token, among many, of an +actual observation of facts.</p> + +<p>No. 236, 'An Artist's Studio,' and No. 131, 'Christmas Eve,' are by J. +F. Weir. Both are well conceived and executed, the latter being +especially interesting. The old wall, the great bell, the moonlight, and +the elves set the fancy musing over many things in heaven and earth +rarely dreamed of in our philosophy.</p> + +<p>No. 12, 'The Argument,' is one of W. H. Beard's excellent fables. The +attitudes of the two bears in discussion, of the sober-minded listener +leaning with crossed paws upon the tree, and of the self-sufficient old +fellow with his paw upon his breast, may read to many a good lesson, +especially during the coming Presidential struggle, when the charities +and <i>bienséances</i> of life will doubtless be but too often outraged. We +have been surprised and pained to see attacks upon the works of this +gentleman, coming from opposite quarters, said strictures being, in our +opinion, unjust and uncalled for. If behind the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_688" id="Page_688">[Pg 688]</a></span> animal form we see +proof of more than animal intellect, let us not quarrel with the +addition. It is an evil mind that will go out of its way to fasten evil +intentions upon the work of a man of genius. If human faults and follies +so ill beseem the brute creation, should not such representation render +us heartily ashamed of their existence among ourselves. Love and pity +for the animal world, and a proper holding up to ridicule and scorn of +the brutish propensities, too prominent, alas! in the composition of the +human race, have been the lessons taught us by all the works of this +artist we have thus far seen.</p> + +<p>No. 204, 'Out All Night,' by J. H. Beard, is an excellent warning to +naughty puppies to keep good hours and shun bad company.</p> + +<p>No. 114, 'A Buckwheat Field on Thomas Cole's Farm,' and No. 143, 'The +Catskills from the Village,' are by Thomas C. Farrer, a representative +of a school which professes to paint precisely what it sees. To +represent nature is the aim of all our best modern landscapists. Of +course, no painting can give all that is in any scene, but every painter +must select the means best adapted to convey the idea he has himself +received. Now, in the ultra ideal school (to use a slang word which we +detest) we recognize but little known to us in nature; and in the ultra +matter-of-fact (pre-Raphaelite) school of this country, we find the same +absence of abstract truth, together with a painful stiffness, and the +want of a sense for beauty. We are not sufficiently practical artists to +fathom the difficulty, but it seems to us to arise from the absence of +one of the most prominent elements of beauty and interest to be found in +the universe, namely, mystery. If, in the metaphysical world, with our +limited means, we attempt an <i>exhaustive</i> explanation of any of the +attributes of the Infinite Being, the result must be unsatisfactory; we +will always feel that there is something beyond, which we have failed to +grasp, a something which makes our best effort appear shallow and crude. +Now, the material mystery of actual landscape arises from the presence +of an appreciable atmosphere, softening forms, etherealizing distances, +modifying color, and lending the glow of variously refracted light to +every object falling under its influence. In these pictures of Mr. +Farrer we fail to find any trace of atmosphere, and hence they strike us +as bald, hard, cold, and unnatural.</p> + +<p>No. 213, 'The Awe and Mystery of Death,' by Eugene Benson, is an able +treatment of a repulsive subject. As we gaze, we cannot but admire the +genius that has so far overcome the intrinsic difficulties of the +situation; and, while congratulating the artist upon his success, must +add that the Victor Hugo style of morbid horrors, however popular in +some species of literature, can never, we hope, become so in the purer +domain of visible fine art.</p> + +<p>No. 246, 'Portrait,' William O. Stone, N. A., is a charming portrayal of +a charming subject.</p> + +<p>No. 283, 'A Child,' by George A. Baker, N. A., has lovely brown eyes, +and a beautiful, thoughtful expression.</p> + +<p>No. 253, 'A Portrait,' by W. H. Furness, jr., strikes us as a picture +carefully disfigured. The <i>part</i> in the hair is singularly continued in +the part between the wings of the golden butterfly ornamenting the head, +the eyes are just sufficiently turned aside to give them the appearance +of avoiding a direct gaze, and the tight-fitting gown is of white +<i>moiré</i>, a material of stiff texture and chaotic pattern. The shimmer of +waves in sun or moonlight is beautiful because restless, but the +watering of a silk is a rude attempt to fix the ever variable in form, +light, and color, and hence is always unsatisfactory.</p> + +<p>We are glad to see that the women in our community are beginning to make +some serious efforts in the way of good painting. They are by nature +subtile colorists, and there is surely no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_689" id="Page_689">[Pg 689]</a></span> reason why they should not +conquer form, attain to technical excellence, and be inspired by noble +ideas. They must remember that excellence is attainable solely through +hard study and patient assiduity, and small things must be well +accomplished before great ones can be expected to succeed. With the +general development of what we may call 'out-door' faculties, a taste +for mere sentimental prettiness will vanish, and a healthy vigor, united +to refined and acute perception, will, we hope, characterize the labors +of the rising aspirants to artistic honors.</p> + +<p>No. 91, 'The Sword and the Wreath,' by Miss A. E. Rose, is a poetical +conception, beautifully elaborated. The flowers have no appearance of +having been copied from wax or colored stucco, but are faithful +representations of the actual, fragile, delicate texture of the lovely +children of the garden. The method of presentation suggests a memory of +La Farge, but Miss Rose is too talented and original ever to fall into +servile imitation.</p> + +<p>No. 132, 'On the Kaaterskill Creek,' and No. 64, 'Head of the Catskill +Clove from the South Mountain,' are by Miss Edith W. Cook. The first +offers some fine delineations of foliage, intermingled hemlock, and +deciduous trees, and the latter is a spirited and truthful +representation of a beautiful bit of Catskill scenery. The Hunter and +Plattekill Mountains, Haines's Fall, the Clove Road and intervening +ravines, the winding woodpath, and burnt trees, are close records of +fact, set in a far-away sky and a real atmosphere.</p> + +<p>Miss Virginia Granbery's 'Basket of Cherries' (No. 81) and +'Strawberries' (No. 73) are tempting specimens of fruit.</p> + +<p>No. 202, 'The Seamstress,' by Miss C. W. Conant, gives proof of future +excellence in the truthful pathos of its conception and the energetic +rendering of the idea.</p> + +<p>But our hour has come to an end, and we have only space left to mention +the names of Bierstadt, Constant Mayer, Hennessy, May, Durand, Griswold, +Suydam, Bradford, Brevoort, Cropsey, Colman, Cranch, De Haas, Hart, +Homer, Hubbard, Huntington, Vedder, and White, who are all +characteristically represented, and to counsel such of our readers as +are fortunate enough to have the opportunity, to go and see for +themselves. Americans are beginning to comprehend the full value of the +arts, and to appreciate their own artists accordingly.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="APHORISMS" id="APHORISMS"></a>APHORISMS.</h2> + +<h3>NO. V.</h3> + + +<p>With us it may not be the actual suffering of death, as it was with our +Lord; but that we may truly follow Him, and do what we can for the good +of others, we must hold life, with all its endearments, subject to any +call for sacrifice that may be made on us; and actually give up, from +day to day, just as much of the present life, its pleasures or +interests, as may be necessary, that we may render the best possible +service in the kingdom of Christ. We have the privilege of daily +martyrdom, to be followed by its honors and blessedness, in whatsoever +circumstances we may be placed: how much of the sufferings that +sometimes accompany the spirit and the act, we need not concern +ourselves to inquire.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_690" id="Page_690">[Pg 690]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_UNKIND_WORD" id="THE_UNKIND_WORD"></a>THE UNKIND WORD.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ay—far in the feeling heart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cast the unkind word till it smiteth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till deep in the flesh like a poisoned dart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It stingeth—and ruthlessly biteth!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">What need that the blood<br /></span> +<span class="i6">In a crimson flood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flow fast from the throbbing veins—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">What need—if a sob<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Or the heart's wild throb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Betoken the horrible pains?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The tears are forced from the mournful eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As the angry word proceedeth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Little it cares for the stifled sighs,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Little recks if the sad heart bleedeth;—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">But onward it goes<br /></span> +<span class="i6">While the life-blood flows<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Fast—fast on its terrible path;<br /></span> +<span class="i6">It laughs at the moan,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And the low subdued groan,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As it cuts so deep in its wrath.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 45%; Margin-left: 2em; Margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;" /> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">But soft on its track,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">And calling it back,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Soothing the wound it has made,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">A Spirit of Love<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Comes down from above,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In heavenly beauty arrayed—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">An angel of peace<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Who bids the tears cease,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And stops the red life-blood's flow,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">And the poisoned dart<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Draws out of the heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That dart that had torn it so,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">And heals o'er the skin—<br /></span> +<span class="i8">But look then within,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">There still is a <i>scar</i> below!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_691" id="Page_691">[Pg 691]</a></span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="LANGUAGE_A_TYPE_OF_THE_UNIVERSE" id="LANGUAGE_A_TYPE_OF_THE_UNIVERSE"></a>LANGUAGE A TYPE OF THE UNIVERSE.</h2> + + +<p>In a preceding paper, published in the May number of <span class="smcap">The +Continental</span>, the possibility, the necessity, and the +characteristics of a Scientific Universal Language were considered. In +the present paper it is proposed to examine more at large the relations +of Language to the total Universe; not merely in respect to Elements or +the Alphabetic Domain of Language, and that which corresponds with it in +the Universe; but in respect equally to all that rises above these +foundations of the two edifices in question which are to be compared.</p> + +<p>The term Edifice or Structure will be found to be alike applicable to +each. It will be found, likewise, that both arise in parallel +development through a succession of stages or stories (French, <i>étages</i>, +<span class="smcap">ESTAGES, STAGES</span>), and that this and other similar repetitions, +in the development of <i>the one</i>, of all the facts and features of the +development of <span class="smcap">the other</span>, is what is meant by the Analogy of +one with the other, and by the affirmation implied in the title of this +article, that Language is a Type of the Universe.</p> + +<p>We shall begin, therefore, by a general distribution of these two +Domains or Spheres or Structures—for the facts of the analogy will +justify the occasional use and interchange of all these terms—and shall +pursue the relationship between them into so much of detail as space +will allow.</p> + +<p>What the Universe is in itself we have no other means of knowing than as +it <i>impresses</i> itself upon our minds, modified as it may be by the +reactive or reflectional element supplied by the mind itself. In +preponderance, then, or primarily, the Universe is for each of us, what +the totality of <i>Impression</i> made by the Universe is within each of us; +and the Universe in that larger and generalized sense in which we speak +of it as one, and not as many individual conceptions, is the mean +aggregate or general average of the <i>Impression</i> made upon all minds, in +so far as it has a general or common character.</p> + +<p>The whole of what man individually or collectively puts forth, as the +product of his mind or of all minds, is the totality of <i>Expression</i>, in +a sense which exactly counterparts the totality of <i>Impression</i>. +Impression is related to Nature, external to man, and acting on him. +Expression has relation to Art, externalized from within man, and taken +in that large sense which means all human performance whatsoever. +Science is <i>systematized knowing</i>, and is a middle term, or stands and +functionates mediatorially between Impression or Nature and Expression +or Art.</p> + +<p>Nature or the external world impresses itself upon mind, primarily, +through the Senses, and predominantly stands related with the sense of +Feeling, of which all the other special senses are merely modified forms +or differentiations. Feeling as a sense (the sense of Touch), is allied +again with Affection, the internal counterpart of the mere external +sensation, as testified to etymologically by the use of the same word to +express both; namely, Feeling as the synonyme of Touch, and Feeling as +the synonyme of Affection. <i>Conation</i>, from the Latin <i>conari</i>, <span class="smcap">TO +EXERT ONESELF, TO PUT FORTH EFFORT</span>, is the term employed by +metaphysicians to signify both <i>Desire</i> and <i>Will</i>, the last being the +determination of the mind which results in action. Conation is therefore +related to action, which is again <i>Expression</i>, and is also Art, in the +large definition of the term above given.</p> + +<p>The grand primary distribution of the Mind made by Kant, followed by Sir +William Hamilton, and now concurred in by the students of the mind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_692" id="Page_692">[Pg 692]</a></span> +generally, is into: <span class="smcap">1. Feeling; 2. Knowing;</span> and <span class="smcap">3. +Conation</span> (or Will and Desire). In accordance with this is Comte's +famous epitome of the business of life: <span class="smcap">AGIR PAR AFFECTION, ET +PENSER POUR AGIR;</span> the three terms here being again, 1. Affection +(or Feeling); 2. Knowledge (or Reflection); and 3. Action (or +Performance).</p> + +<p>If now, instead of distributing the Mind, we enlarge the sphere of our +thinking, and distribute upon the same principle the total Universe (<i>as +if it</i> were a mind or a mirror of the mind), for Feeling or Affection we +shall put Impression or Nature; for Knowing or Reflection we shall put +Science or Systematized Knowledge; and for Conation or Action we shall +put Art.</p> + +<p>The following table will exhibit the two series of distribution, that of +the Universe at large, and that of the Human Mind, in their parallelism, +reading the two columns from below upward:</p> + + + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" width="70%" cellspacing="0" summary="Universe at large, and that of the Human Mind"> +<tr><th align='left'>I. <i>Universe</i>.</th><th align='left'>II. <i>Mind</i>.</th></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>3. Art (<i>or Expression</i>).</td><td align='left'>3. Conation (or Will and Desire).</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>2. Science.</td><td align='left'>2. Knowing.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>1. Nature (<i>or Impression</i>).</td><td align='left'>1. Feeling (<i>or Affection</i>).</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p>The point of present importance in the use of these discriminations is +to make clear to the mind of the reader what perhaps is sufficiently +implied in the very terms themselves, namely: that <i>Impression</i> and +<i>Expression</i> are correlative to, and, in a sense, exactly reflect each +other; that the totality of <i>Impression</i>, or the Universe which enters +the mind through the senses, is repeated—with a modification, it is +true, but still with traceable identity, or with a definite and unbroken +relationship—in the totality of <i>Expression</i>, or in the Universe of +Art, taken as the entirety of what man does or creates. It is by the +mediation of Science or Knowledge, that one of these worlds is converted +into the other. Nature or <i>Impression</i> is the aggregate of the Rays of +Incidence falling upon a mirror; Science is the Reflecting Mirror; and +Art or Human Performance is the aggregate of the Reflected Rays, whose +angles can be exactly calculated by the knowledge of the angle of +incidence. Science or Knowledge is not only the mirror which makes the +Reflection, but it is the plane or level which is to furnish us the +means of adjusting the angles; of knowing their correspondence or +relation to each other; and of translating the one into the other. +Science must, therefore, as it develops, be the instrument of informing +us of the exact analogy between Nature and Art; and must enable us so to +apply the Laws of Nature, or the Laws of God as exhibited in Nature, +that they shall become a perfect canon of life and action, in all our +attempted performances and constructions, whatsoever they may be; or, +<i>vice versa</i>, it must enable us from the knowledge of the laws of our +own actions to reveal the secrets of Nature, and to know, by the +analogy, in what manner she acts. It will then perhaps be found that the +Moral Code, as dictated by inspiration, is only the forecast, through +that method, of what is destined to be more perfectly revealed to the +intellect, when the veil is rent by the millennial perfection of man.</p> + +<p>It will be perceived by the reader that the term Art is here employed in +a larger than its usual sense, although the analogy in question has a +special intensification when we confine the term to mean, as it +ordinarily does, the <i>choicest performances</i> of man. The term Science +has also a larger and a smaller extension. In the larger sense it means +the totality of knowledge <i>extracted from Impression</i> or the observation +of Nature, and distinguished <i>from mere Impression</i> or Nature on the one +hand, and from <i>Expression</i>, Action, Performance, or Art—the +reprojection<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_693" id="Page_693">[Pg 693]</a></span> of the knowledge into new forms of being—on the other +hand. In the more restricted sense, Science means systematized +knowledge, or, still more specifically, the Body of Principles or Laws +in accordance with which knowledge becomes systematized in the mind.</p> + +<p>The larger and the smaller Art-Performances of Humanity—first, all the +Work or Product of the Creative Power of Man; and, secondly, Grand and +Fine Art, as the Choice Product of that faculty—are again epitomized in +<span class="smcap">Language</span> or <span class="smcap">Speech.</span> This last is the Sense-Bearing +Product of the Lips and Coöperative Organs, put representatively for the +product of the hands and of all the other instrumentalities of action.</p> + +<p><i>It is in this representative sense that</i> <span class="smcap">Language</span> <i>is +preëminently and distinctively denominated</i> <span class="smcap">Expression.</span> But, as +we have seen, <i>Expression</i> is the Equivalent and exact Reflect of +<i>Impression</i>; Art, of Nature; through the mediation of Science, meaning +thereby the Laws of Knowing. <i>These Laws of Knowing thus hold an exact +relation to the Laws of Doing</i>; or, in other words, <i>Scientific Laws to +Creative and Vital Laws</i>, which last are the Laws of Administration, +human and divine. <i>As an epitome or miniature, then, the Laws of +Language must be an exact reproduction of the Laws of the Universe.</i> +Language itself, in other words, must be an epitome or miniature image, +in all its perfection, of the Universe at large; as the image formed +upon the retina of the eye, though infinitely small in the comparison, +is an exact epitome or image, inversely, of the external world presented +to the vision.</p> + +<p>Let the reader guard himself well against supposing that what is here +meant is the mere commonplace truth that Language is the equivalent of +our <i>Impression</i> of the Universe, in the fact that we can, through the +medium of Language, describe, and in that sense <i>express</i>, what we think +and feel of and about the Universe. What is here intended is something +far more recondite than this superficial relation between Speech, +Thought, and the World thought <i>about</i>. It is this—That, in the +Phenomena, the Laws, and the Indications of the Structure of +Language—considered as a fabric, or Word-World—<i>there is an exact +image or reproduction, in a miniature way, of the Phenomena, the Laws, +and the Indications of the entire Universe; in so definite and traceable +a manner as to furnish to us, when the analogy is understood, a complete +model and illustration of the Science of the Universe as a whole</i>.</p> + +<p>If this be true, the immense importance of the discovery can hardly be +over-estimated. We are furnished by means of it with a simple object, +of manageable dimensions, as the subject of our direct investigations; +which, when mastered, will, by reflection, and a definite law of +relation and proportion, enable us to master the Plan of the Universe; +and so to constitute a one Science out of the many Sciences by +recognizing the Domains which they cover as parts of a larger domain, +which is equivalent to the whole.</p> + +<p>Holding fast, then, to this thought, let us proceed to the endeavor so +to distribute the totality of the aspects of Language as to exhaust the +subject; and, by a concurrent projection of the analogies into the +larger domain of the Universe as a whole, to establish a valid +scientific <i>nexus</i> between the minor and the major spheres of our +investigation.</p> + +<p>First recurring to the preceding table, and translating the Abstract +Conceptions, <span class="smcap">Nature, Science,</span> and <span class="smcap">Art,</span> into their +Concrete Equivalents or Analogies, they will stand thus:</p> + + + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" width="70%" cellspacing="0" summary="Abstract Conceptions"> +<tr><th align='left'><i>Abstract.</i></th><th align='left'><i>Concrete.</i></th></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>3. Art.</td><td align='left'>3. Human Production. (Art Creation.)</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>2. Science.</td><td align='left'>2. Man.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>1. Nature.</td><td align='left'>1. The World. (The Natural Universe.)</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_694" id="Page_694">[Pg 694]</a></span></p> + +<p>This is to say, that the World or the Natural Universe is put for the +Natural Impression which it makes of itself on the mind of the knowing +subject; that the Knowing Subject is put in the place of Knowledge; and +that the Product of Activity—the Thing Created—is put for the Activity +itself or the Act of Creation.</p> + +<p>It is clear enough that this distribution is exhaustive, thus: 1. The +World, including, in a sense, all things; but here contrasted with, and +in that sense <i>excluding</i>, two of its own minor domains; 2. Man, +including Spirit, and God, in so far as human (not seeking to compass or +bring within our scientific classification whatsoever is divine in a +sense absolutely supernatural or transcending the Universe as such); 3. +The Collective or Aggregate Product of Human Activity; including, +especially, as norm or sample, Grand and Fine Art, the Choice Product of +Human Activity; and, in a <i>more</i> especial sense, Language, as the +Special or Typical <span class="smcap">Expression,</span> which exactly counterparts and +represents the totality of <span class="smcap">Impression</span> made by <i>Primitive</i> +Nature or The World, upon Man or the Human Mind.</p> + +<p>Nature has again, therefore, like both Science and Art, as shown above, +a double significance, in the former and larger of which it includes and +covers or envelops the two other departments of Being; in the latter and +smaller of which it excludes them, and makes Nature, or the World, to +stand over against them, as that which is to be compared with Man and +the Product of the Labor of Man; and in an especial sense with that +particular product called Speech. The easy transition from the minor to +the larger conception of Nature or the World is what renders Language a +type, not only of the Universe as distinguished from Man and the Product +of his Activity, <i>but equally a type of the Universe in that larger +sense in which it embraces them both</i>.</p> + +<p>Hence the two terms of our comparison are: 1. <span class="smcap">Language,</span> as the +miniature and image of the whole, with, 2. The World or Universe, in +that larger sense in which it <i>is</i> the whole, and, as such, includes +Language and all else.</p> + +<p>Observe, in the next place, that Art, whether in the larger or in the +smaller sense which we have assigned to it, is the Product of the +Combination and Blending of Science with Nature (reflective knowledge +with natural impression); or, speaking in the concrete, of the +conjunction of man with the outside world; man as the Agent or Actor, +and the World or Nature as the Object wrought upon.</p> + +<p>In the production of Speech, the <i>phonos</i> or mere sound is the natural, +unwrought material, which corresponds with the Reality of Nature; and +the Meaning or Minding which acts on, articulates and organizes the +Sound into Speech, and which <i>measures</i> the sound quantitatively, as in +Music, is the Scientific Attribute corresponding with Knowledge. The +result of these two in combination is the Art of Speech, generally, and +Improvisation or Song as the Fine Art of this Lingual Domain.</p> + +<p>But passing from the Abstract to the Concrete Domain, Unwrought Natural +Sound, bearing its proportion of meaning, furnishes the great basic +department of language, which, for the reason that it is basic, is +usually regarded as the whole of language, namely, <span class="smcap">Oral Speech,</span> +or <span class="smcap">Speech Language,</span> as distinguished from <span class="smcap">Music and +Song.</span></p> + +<p>Music, on the other hand, is <i>wrought</i> or <i>measured</i> Sound, bearing also +its proportion of meaning; a superior language, corresponding with +<i>Science</i>, from its relation to <i>measure</i>, to <i>numbers</i>, to <i>fixed +laws</i>; as Oral Speech corresponds, in its freedom and unconstraint, with +Nature.</p> + +<p>Music and Oral Language united or married to each other constitute +<span class="smcap">Song</span>, which is then the analogue or type, or Nature's +hieroglyph, in this Domain, of Art.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_695" id="Page_695">[Pg 695]</a></span></p> + +<p>We say instinctively the <i>Art</i> of Speech; the <i>Science</i> of Music, and +the Art of Singing. In the first instance, Art is used for Natural +Performance or Nature; but the whole of speech falling within the domain +of art or performance, its lowest or natural division still has some +claim to the distinction of an art. The first step of this series, +Nature, and the third step, Art, repeat each other by overstepping the +second, which is Science, as <i>Do</i> is accordant with <i>Mi</i>, but +disharmonic with <i>Re</i>. It is, therefore, from the instinctual perception +of this harmony, that Oral Speech, the basis of Language, the true +Nature-department of Language, is still denominated the <i>Art</i> of Speech.</p> + +<p>Adhering, however, to the Concrete Domain, and seeking our analogies +there, oral speech, a Concrete Thing, does not directly correspond with +Nature, an Abstract Conception, but with The World, a concrete thing; +nor does Music, a Concrete Thing, correspond with Science, an Abstract +Conception, but with Man (the Mind-being, Knowledge-being, the +Science-being), a concrete thing; nor, again, does Song, a Concrete +Thing, correspond with Art, an Abstract Conception, but with Human +Product or Doing, a concrete thing. Song is again but the lowest and +simple expression for that combination of Music and Oral Expression, +aided by Action, to which the Italians, full of instinct for Art, have +given the name <span class="smcap">Opera, The Work</span> <i>par excellence</i>, the +culmination of Art in Movement and Sound. This word, from the Latin, +<i>opus, operari</i>, work, to work, connects in idea with the Greek [Greek: +poiheô], and the whole with Action and Art. This last relationship +accounts beautifully for the fact that the words <i>poetry</i>, <i>poesy</i>, and +<i>poet</i> should be derived from the Greek word [Greek: poiheô], which +signifies simply <span class="smcap">TO DO.</span></p> + +<p>The first threefold division of Language and of The Universe, both +brought into a parallelism in the Concrete—the three ascending Stories +of each Edifice, so to speak, when compared with each other—appear then +as shown in the table below:</p> + + + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" width="70%" cellspacing="0" summary=" Language and of The Universe"> +<tr><th align='left'><i>Language.</i></th><th align='left'><i>The Universe.</i></th></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>3. Song.</td><td align='left'>3. Human Achievement.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>2. Music.</td><td align='left'>2. Man.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>1. Oral Speech.</td><td align='left'>1. The World.</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p>Oral Speech is the agglomerism of Sound, conceived of as roundish or <i>in +the lump</i>, as an undifferentiated Oneness or mass; and, when wholly +unarticulated, it is the <i>Bawl</i>, a mere orthographical variation of +<i>Ball</i>; that is to say, it is, to the imagination, Globe-shaped, or +<i>World</i>-shaped. It is the concrete or massive world of Language or +Speech.</p> + +<p>Music is the <i>Strain</i> or the Abstractism of Sound. <i>To strain</i> means +<span class="smcap">TO DRAW.</span> <i>Ab-stract</i> is from the Latin <i>ab</i>, <span class="smcap">FROM</span>, and +<i>strahere</i>, <span class="smcap">TO DRAW.</span> The idea is not here <i>roundish</i>, as in the +other case, but <i>elongate</i>; sound made into a <i>strain</i>, a <i>cord</i>, or a +<i>string</i>, equivalent to a <i>line</i>, which is the subject of +<i>measure</i>-ment, by <i>notes</i> (or points) and <i>intervals</i>. The line, with +its <i>twoness</i> of determination and extremity, has a relation to the +number <span class="smcap">Two</span>, like that which the <i>ball</i> or <i>globe</i> has to the +number <span class="smcap">One.</span> The <i>line</i> is at the same time the type of The +Abstract, the Domain of Science, and hence of Science, and of +<i>Knowledge</i>, and again, in the concrete, of <i>Man</i>, the +<i>Knowledge-being</i>. The <i>ball</i> (bawl) is at the same time the type of The +Concrete (<i>con</i>, <span class="smcap">with</span>, <i>crescere</i>, <span class="smcap">TO GROW; THE GROWN +TOGETHER</span>, or <span class="smcap">AGGLOMERATE</span>-world), and hence of Nature, and +again <i>in</i> The Concrete, of The World, as contrasted with Man.</p> + +<p>Song is the <i>measure of the strain</i> and the <i>mingle of the bawl</i> again +commingled with each other, in a composite blending of <i>The Measured</i> +and <i>The Free</i>. As the Composity of that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_696" id="Page_696">[Pg 696]</a></span> which has for its numerical +type Two, with that which has for its numerical type One, the proper +numerical type of Song is Three; or thus:</p> + + + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" width="70%" cellspacing="0" summary="Language"> +<tr><th align='left'><i>Language.</i></th><th align='left'><i>Number.</i></th></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>3. Song,</td><td align='left'>Three.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>2. Music,</td><td align='left'>Two.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>1. Oral Speech,</td><td align='left'>One.</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>These numerical analogues can only be adverted to here, and their +meaning may not be very distinctly perceived. Their full exposition and +that of their immense importance as principles and guides in the domain +of analogy must be treated of elsewhere.</p> + +<p>Rhythm is the <i>measure</i> of the <i>strain</i>. Music is the <i>mingled measure</i> +of <i>many strains</i>. Song is the higher mingling of <i>music</i> with the +<i>bawl</i> (the phonos, or the material of Oral Speech).</p> + +<p><i>Measure</i> is the analogue of <i>Science</i>, and hence Music is another such +analogue. <i>Men</i>-s, <span class="smcap">MIND</span>, and <i>men</i>-sura, <span class="smcap">MEASURE</span>, are +etymologically cognate words; so the English words <span class="smcap">MEAN</span>-ing, +<span class="smcap">THE MIND</span> <i>that is in a thing</i>, and <span class="smcap">MEAN</span>, the average +or measure, or the dia-<i>meter</i>, or through-<i>measure</i> of a thing. Again, +the concrete analogue of Science (<i>Knowledge</i>, <i>Mind</i>, <i>The Abstract,</i> +etc.) is, as we have seen, Man. <span class="smcap">Men</span>-s, <span class="smcap">man</span>, +<i>hu</i>-<span class="smcap">man</span>-us, are again, probably, etymologically cognate to +<i>homo</i>, <i>hominis</i>, <i>hoc men</i>-s, as <i>hodie</i> is to <i>hoc</i> or <i>hæc dies</i>.</p> + +<p>The Line or Cord is the instrument of <i>measuring</i>, and as such is again +the type of Science, as the Ball or Globe is the type of Nature; the +Line, the type of <i>strictness</i>, <i>straightness</i>, <i>stretchedness</i>, +<i>exactness</i>; and the lump or aggregative form, that of Freedom from +Constraint, Solution, as of the water-drop, and of Absolute-ness (<i>ab</i>, +<span class="smcap">from</span>, and <i>solvere</i>, <span class="smcap">to free</span>). <span class="smcap">The Relative</span> +repeats <span class="smcap">The Abstract</span>; and <span class="smcap">The Absolute</span>, in Philosophy, +repeats <span class="smcap">The Concrete</span>. The Relative has for its type <i>Two</i>, or +<i>di-termination</i> (<i>dis</i> or <i>di</i>, <i>Two</i>, and <i>termini</i>, <span class="smcap">ends</span>); +and the Absolute has for its type <i>One</i>, [Greek: to hen] of the Greeks. +<span class="smcap">Existence</span>, embodying The Absolute <i>and</i> The Relative; the <i>one</i> +and the <i>two</i>; has for its type Three; and the all-sided aspect of +Universal Being which distinguishes and yet combines these <i>three</i> +aspects of Being, is <span class="smcap">Tri-Unity, or the Three in One.</span></p> + +<p>The Trinism, or third story of ascension in the constitution of things, +again divides into Two Branches, the first of which accords with Duism +(<i>music</i>, <i>line</i>, <i>science</i>, <i>mind</i>, <i>man</i>), and the second with Unism +(<i>oral speech</i>, <i>globe</i>, <i>nature</i>, <i>world</i>).</p> + +<p>In respect to Language, the division here made distributes Song (as the +higher type, including all music) into two great departments; as, 1. +<span class="smcap">Composition</span>, and 2. <span class="smcap">Performance</span>, or <i>the Song</i>as a +<i>Thing</i>, and <i>Singing</i> as an <i>Act</i>. Song as a whole is the analogue in +language of the totality of <i>Human Achievement</i>, in the distribution of +the total Universe, as shown above. The same division applied here +distinguishes the <i>permanent product</i> of human activity, the book or the +statue, from the performance of man—the action of the author or +sculptor. It is the distinction of the Latins between 1. <i>Res</i>, and 2. +<i>Res gestæ</i>.</p> + +<p>Dismissing for the present the higher domain of Language, which is Song, +we reduce the scope of investigation to the lower and middle divisions, +namely: 1. To Oral Speech, and 2. To Music; and, in the distribution of +the Universe at large, to the corresponding lower and middle divisions, +namely: 1. The World (Nature), and 2. Man (Mind).</p> + +<p>Oral Speech, the Nature-department of language, separates, +grammatically, into two grand Subdivisions, as follows: 1. Analysis, The +Elements of Language, namely, The Alphabetic and Syllabic distribution +of Language, culminating in Word-Building;—The Word in Language being +<span class="smcap">The Individual</span> in that Domain; and, 2. Synthesis, Construction, +the Grammatical Domain proper, including the Parts of Speech and their +Syntax, or their <i>putting to</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_697" id="Page_697">[Pg 697]</a></span><i>gether</i> in a Structure or Lingual +Construction.</p> + +<p>The first of these is the Domain of the Elementality of Language, and +corresponds with and illustrates what Kant denominates <span class="smcap">Quality</span>; +as the name of one of the groups of three in his table of the twelve +Categories of the Understanding. This group of Quality includes 1. +<span class="smcap">Affirmation</span>; 2. <span class="smcap">Negation</span>; and 3. <span class="smcap">Limitation</span>. +By Affirmation is meant the Positive Element or Factor of Being; by +Negation, the Negative Element; and by Limitation is meant the +Articulation, that is to say, the <i>jointing</i> or <i>joining</i> of the +Positive and Negative Elements, in a <i>seam</i> or <i>ridge</i>, which is the +<i>existential</i> reality, arising from the positive (quasi-negative) and +the negative grounds of Being.</p> + +<p>The Positive Element or Factor of Oral Speech, the Absolute Reality or +'Affirmation' of Language, is Vocal Utterance, or, specifically, the +kind of Sound called <span class="smcap">Vowel</span>.</p> + +<p>The Negative Element or Factor of Oral Speech, the 'Negation' of Kant, +as illustrated in the Speech Domain, is <span class="smcap">Silence</span>; the Silences +or Intervals of Rest which intervene between Sounds (and, by repetition, +between Syllables, Words, Sentences, and the still larger divisions of +Speech).</p> + +<p>The Limitational Element of Oral Speech is <span class="smcap">Consonantism</span>, or, +specifically, the Consonant Sounds, which for that reason are otherwise +denominated Articulations, or <i>jointings</i>; as they are the breaks of the +otherwise continuous vocal utterance of Vowel Sound, and, at the same +time, the joinings between the fragments of Vowel Sound, namely, the +Vowels, and the surrounding and intervening medium of Silence. The +Consonants thus become, in a sense, the Bony Structure, or Skeleton of +Speech, the most prominent part, that which furnishes the fossil remains +of Language, which are investigated by the Comparative Philologists.</p> + +<p>Sound, the Positive Element or Factor, the Affirmation, the Eternal Yea, +the Absolute <i>Reality</i>, is the <span class="smcap">Something</span> of Speech.</p> + +<p>Silence, the Negative Element or Factor, the Negation, the Eternal Nay, +the Absolute Unreality, is the <span class="smcap">Nothing</span> of Speech.</p> + +<p>Articulate Sound, the Resultant Element, the <i>Limitation</i> or +Articulation, the Eternal Transition, the Arriving and Departing, is the +<span class="smcap">Existential Reality</span>, which comes up between and out of the +Absolute Vocality (quasi-negative), and the Absolute Silence.</p> + +<p>But the Vowel Absolute, the continuous, unbroken, unarticulated, +undifferentiated, monotonous Vowel-Sound, would be precisely equivalent +to Silence. This, then, illustrates the famous fundamental aphorism of +the Philosophy of Hegel: <span class="smcap">Something</span> = (equal to) +<span class="smcap">Nothing</span>; and the seemingly absurd Hegelian affirmation that the +<i>real Something</i> is the resultant of the conjunction of two Nothings.</p> + +<p>What Kant denominates Quality, would be, for some uses, better +denominated Elementism or Elementality, and the Domain in which this +principle dominates might then be called the Elementismus of such larger +Domain as may be under consideration. Thus the Elementismus (or +Elementary Domain) of Language would include <i>Sounds</i>, or <i>the +Alphabet</i>, <i>Syllables</i>, and <i>Root-Words</i>. These are three <i>powers</i> or +gradations of the Roots of Language. This same domain might therefore be +called the Radicismus or Root-Domain of Language. Typically, one-letter, +two-letter, and three-letter roots, again, represent these three powers.</p> + +<p>The Elementismus or Radicismus of the Universe, correspondential with +that of Language, consists of the Metaphysical, the Scientific, and the +Descriptive Principles of Being. The parallelism is exhibited throughout +in the following table:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_698" id="Page_698">[Pg 698]</a></span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" width="95%" summary="Universal Being"> + <tr> + <td style="width: 27%;" class="tdc"><i>Language.</i></td> + <td style="width: 23%;"> </td> + <td style="width: 27%;" class="tdc"><i>Universe.</i></td> + <td style="width: 23%;"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + + <td colspan="2" style="white-space: nowrap;"><i>3d Power.</i> <span class="smcap">Root-Words</span><br /> + (Three-letter Syllables).</td> + <td colspan="2" style="white-space: nowrap;"><span class="smcap">3. Descriptive Generalizations.</span><br /> + (Averages).</td> + </tr> + <tr> + + <td colspan="2" style="white-space: nowrap;"><i>2d Power.</i> <span class="smcap">Syllables</span><br /> + (Two-letter Syllables).</td> + <td colspan="2" style="white-space: nowrap;"><span class="smcap"> 2. Scientific Principles.</span><br /> + (Force, Attraction, etc.)</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td class="tdlbr"><i>1st Power.</i> <span class="smcap">The Alphabet</span><br /> + (One-letter Syllables).</td> + <td class="tdlbl"><span class="smcap">3. Articulations.<br /> + 2. Silence.<br />1. Sound.</span></td> + + <td class="tdlbr"><span class="smcap">1. Metaphysical Principles.</span></td> + <td class="tdlbl"><span class="smcap">3. Categories.<br /> + 2. Nothing.<br />1. Something.</span></td> + </tr> +</table> + + +<p>It results from this table that the deep Metaphysical Domain, wherein +Aristotle and Kant were laboring to categorize the Universe, is the +Alphabetic Domain of Universal Being; and that their profound effort +was, so to speak, to discover The Alphabet of the Universe. It also +appears that the Syllabarium of the Universe, and typically the open +two-letter syllables of Language, as <i>bi, be, ba</i>, correspond as +analogues with the Physical Principles which lie at the basis of the +Sciences; and finally, that the completed Root-Words, typically the +closed three-letter syllables, or usual monosyllabic root-words, as +<i>min, men, man</i>, correspond with the descriptive generalizations or +general averages of Natural Science, as <i>Universe itself, Matter, Mind, +Movement</i>, etc.</p> + +<p>These analogies need further elaboration and confirmation to render them +perfectly clear and to establish them beyond cavil—such as space here +does not admit of. Let us hurry on, therefore, to the <i>Relational</i> or +Constructive Domains of Language and the Universe, where the analogies +are more obvious.</p> + +<p>The second of Kant's groups of Categories, in the order in which it is +most appropriate now to consider them, he denominates <span class="smcap">Relation</span>. +Relation is <i>that which intervenes between the</i> <span class="smcap">Parts</span> <i>of a</i> +<span class="smcap">Whole</span>.</p> + +<p><i>Prepositions</i> are especially defined in Grammar as words denoting +<i>relations</i>. Our attention is thus turned in the Domain of Language to +the <i>Parts</i> of Speech; and to the Syntax (putting together), or +Construction of these Parts into the wholeness of Discourse. This is +more specifically the Department of Grammar. Conjointly these are what +may be denominated the Relationismus of Language. This is the Domain +immediately above the Elementismus. In the same way the division of the +human body or any other object into Parts, Limbs, Members, etc., and the +recombination of these into a structural whole, arises in the scale of +creation above the Domain of Elements (Ultimate, Proximate, Chemical, +etc.), this last embracing only the <i>qualitative</i> nature of the +<i>substances</i> entering into the structure. In the Universe at large, +therefore, this Relational Domain is that in which we shall find Things, +Properties, Actions, and, specifically, the Relations between such, and +their Combinations into Structures and Departments, Branches, or Limbs +of Being, and finally into the total Universe itself, which is the +analogue of the totality of Language.</p> + +<p>Relation has a threefold aspect: first, in respect to Space; second, in +respect to Time; and third, in respect to <i>Instance</i> or Present Being, +the conjunction of the <i>Here</i> and the <i>Now</i>.</p> + +<p>The first of these aspects subdivides into what Kant denominates, 1. +<span class="smcap">Substance</span>, and 2. <span class="smcap">Inherence</span>.</p> + +<p>The second of these aspects subdivides into what Kant denominates, 1. +<span class="smcap">Cause</span>, and 2. <span class="smcap">Dependence</span>.</p> + +<p>The third of these aspects of Relation Kant sums up in the term +<span class="smcap">Reciprocal Action</span>.</p> + +<p>Commencing with the first of these three subdivisions of Relation, and +making our application within the Domain of Language, it is obvious that +it refers to the Substantive and Adjec<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_699" id="Page_699">[Pg 699]</a></span>tive region of Grammar; Substance +relating to Substantives, and Inherence (or Attributes) to Adjectives; +or otherwise stated, thus:</p> + + + + + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" width="55%" cellspacing="0" summary="Language"> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Substantives = Things</span></td><td align='left'>(= Substance.—<i>Kant</i>).</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Adjectives = Properties</span></td><td align='left'>(= Inherence.—<i>Kant</i>).</td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<p>The one Thing inclusive of all minor Things is the Universe. The +Universe as Thing, or the concrete domain of Being, subdivides into the +world of Things proper as distinguished from the Personal world, or the +Human world or Man. This first division of the <i>substantive</i> Universe +corresponds with the first grand grammatical division of Nouns +Substantive into 1. Common Nouns Substantive, and 2. Proper Nouns +Substantive.</p> + +<p>Common Nouns Substantive correspond with Things proper, not aspiring to +the rank of Personality; Things put in contrast with Persons; Things in +that sense in which we speak of a person derogatorily as <i>a mere thing</i>; +hence, <i>common</i> or <i>ordinary</i>, and as a common, undistinguished herd of +objects, only named and discriminated by the class-name of the class of +objects to which they belong.</p> + +<p>Proper Nouns Substantive are the individual and distinctive names of +Men, Women, and Children. Hence they belong to and correspond with the +domain of Personality, or to that of Man as against the world of mere +Things. Some objects, lower in the scale of Being than man, are treated +with that respect and consideration which ordinarily attach to Human +Beings, and are then dignified by applying to them Proper Names. These +are especially the Domestic Animals immediately associated with man; +Mountains, Rivers, Lakes, etc. Restated, this discrimination is as +follows:</p> + + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" width="65%" cellspacing="0" summary="Language"> +<tr><td align='left'>1.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Common Nouns Substantive = Things, The World</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>2.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Proper Nouns Substantive = Personality, Man</span>.</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p>It is to be borne in mind that, as a minor proportion of mere Things are +raised to the dignity of wearing Proper Names, so, on the other hand, +Men, though appropriately distinguished by prenomens and cognomens, may +also sink to the character of Things, and be mentioned by class-names. +Thus it is that throughout Nature one domain overlaps another domain, +and all of our discriminations, though made in terms as if absolute, +signify, in fact, merely the <i>preponderance</i>; thus, when we say, that +Proper Names apply to the Human Domain, that is true <i>in preponderance</i>, +but not absolutely or exclusively; and when we say that Common Names +apply to Things below Persons, the statement is true <i>in preponderance</i>, +but not absolutely or exclusively.</p> + +<p>Proper Names—The Human World in Language—are, in the next place, +distinguished by Gender, as that word itself is distinguished by Sex. By +the principle of Overlapping, above explained, this distinction of +Gender or Sex descends in a minor degree into the Thing World; in a +large degree to the Animal World below man: in less degree to the +Vegetable World; and in the least degree to the Mineral and Abstract +World. But characteristically and predominatingly, Sex is predicated of +Humanity, where it is developed in its highest perfection; and in the +same degree Gender in Grammar is, in predominance, confined to the +Proper Nouns Substantive. Masculine and Feminine are the only Proper +Genders. Neuter Gender means of <i>neither</i> Gender, and includes the great +mass of Common Nouns, or the Thing World, as distinguished from +Personality.</p> + +<p>Reversing the order, and resuming the above discriminations in the two +domains, Language and the Universe, they are as follows:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_700" id="Page_700">[Pg 700]</a></span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" width="70%" summary="Table 2"> + <tr> + <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><i>Language.</i></td> + <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><i>Universe.</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td style="width: 27%;" class="tdlbr"><span class="smcap">Proper-noun-dom</span></td> + + <td style="width: 23%;" class="tdlbl"><span class="smcap">Masculine.<br />Feminine.</span></td> + <td style="width: 27%;" class="tdlbr"><span class="smcap">Person-dom</span></td> + <td style="width: 23%;" class="tdlbl"><span class="smcap">Male.<br />Female.</span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td colspan="2" style="white-space: nowrap;" class="smcap">Common-noun-dom.</td> + + <td colspan="2" style="white-space: nowrap;" class="smcap">Thing-dom.</td> + </tr> +</table> + + + +<p>Again, in this Concrete World, the world of Persons and Things, Number +reappears, and guides the next great Grammatical division of Nouns +Substantive; and the ruling numbers are, again, One, Two, Three.</p> + +<p>The Number One corresponds with the Singular Number in Grammar, and with +the Individual or Single Person (or Thing) in the Universe at large. The +Number Two corresponds with the Dual Number in Grammar, and with the +Couple or Pair in the World of Persons (and Things); and finally the +Number Three corresponds with the Plural Number in Grammar and with +Society or the many among Persons (and Things); or in tabular form, +thus:</p> + + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" width="65%" cellspacing="0" summary="Language"> +<tr><td align='left'>1. <span class="smcap">Singular Number,</span></td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Number One</span> (1).</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>2. <span class="smcap">Dual Number</span>,</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Number Two</span> (2).</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>3. <span class="smcap">Plural Number</span>,</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Number Three</span> (3).</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p>The Number Three, as the first Plural Number above the Dual, is the Head +and Type of Plurality in the grammatical discrimination, and stands +representatively for all Plurality.</p> + +<p><i>One</i>, <i>Two,</i> and <i>Three</i>, are the Representative Numbers and Heads of +the whole Cardinal Series of Number.</p> + +<p><i>First</i>, <i>Second</i>, and <i>Third</i> are the corresponding Representatives and +Heads of the Corresponding Ordinal Series of Number. These latter +numerals find <i>their</i> representation, grammatically, in the next Grand +Grammatical Distribution of the Proper Nouns Substantive, namely, +<span class="smcap">Person</span>, so called, or, specifically, the</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">1st <span class="smcap">Person</span>,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">2d <span class="smcap">Person</span>, and</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">3d <span class="smcap">Person</span> (of Proper Nouns).</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>This distribution represents properly the Rank or Degree of Persons in +the Hierarchy of Personality; the Ego ranking <i>naturally</i> as 'Number +One.' Deference or Grace teaches us afterward to defer to the +personality of others, and <i>converts</i> our primitive notions of rank into +opposites, in a way which is indicated by the <i>honorific</i> use of <i>Thou</i> +in addressing the Supreme, etc.</p> + +<p>This idea of Personal Rank, the Hierarchical Ascension of Individuality +or Personality in Society, abstracted from the particular Individuals, +and rendered purely official, becomes nominally a new Part of Speech, +and is the whole, substantially, of what we denominate the <i>Pronouns</i>.</p> + +<p>The Pronoun, as a Part of Speech, is, therefore, the Analogue, within +the Lingual Domain, of The State or the Constitution, governmentally, of +Human Society, the ascending and descending rank of individuals in the +social organization, the Heraldic Schedule of Man.</p> + +<p>Finally we arrive at the consideration of the <i>Casus</i> or <i>Case</i> of Nouns +Substantive.</p> + +<p>The <i>Accidents</i> of Life or Being, the occasional <i>states</i> of Men or +Things, as acting or being acted upon, or simply as <i>related</i> to each +other in Space, or otherwise, are here represented. It is this which is +meant by <span class="smcap">Case</span>, from the Latin <i>casus</i>, itself from the Latin +<i>cadere</i>, <span class="smcap">TO FALL</span>, or to <span class="smcap">FALL OUT</span> or <span class="smcap">HAPPEN</span>. +In the old Grammars, the Cases of the Nouns are denominated <i>Accidents</i>. +Ac-<i>cid</i>-ent, is from <i>ad</i>, <span class="smcap">to</span>, and <i>cadere</i> (cid), <span class="smcap">TO +FALL</span>; and the same root with <i>ob</i> (<i>oc</i>), gives us +<span class="smcap">oc-cas</span>-ion, <span class="smcap">oc-cas</span>-<i>ionally</i>, etc.</p> + +<p>The Accidents of Being are a special kind of <i>Inherence</i> to the +<i>Substance</i> of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_701" id="Page_701">[Pg 701]</a></span> Being; the <i>Relational</i> kind <i>par excellence</i>, as +distinguished from the <i>Qualitative</i> kind; which last is denoted by the +proper Adjectives. The Oblique Case of a Noun Substantive, whether +formed by an Inflexion or by a Preposition, is therefore nothing else +than a special kind of Adjective, destitute of the property of +Comparison, because it denotes the Accident instead of the Quality of +Being, and because Accidents or Relations between Things do not vary by +degrees of Intensity as Qualities do.</p> + +<p>The above description of the Cases of Nouns applies especially to the +Oblique Cases; that is to say, to all except the Nominative Case.</p> + +<p>The Nominative Case is itself susceptible of being regarded as an +Accident; but its more important office is that of the <span class="smcap">Subject</span> +of the Proposition, which takes it out of the minor category of an +accident, or at least subordinates this latter view of its character.</p> + +<p>The Accidents of Being in the Universe at large are therefore the +analogues of the oblique cases of Nouns Substantive in the Domain of +Language; the Nominative Case representing, on the contrary, the central +figure in the particular member of discourse, and that which the +accidents or <i>falls</i> (<i>casus</i>) are perceived to relate to or affect.</p> + +<p>Substantives and Adjectives were both formerly included under the term +Nouns or Names; and we have still to distinguish, when they are under +special consideration, as they are here, Nouns Substantive, and Nouns +Adjective.</p> + +<p>By regarding all the Oblique Cases of Nouns Substantive as a species or +variety of Nouns Adjective, and so classifying them along with the +Adjectives proper, <i>the Nominative Case</i> alone remains to represent <i>the +Substantive</i>, in the higher and exclusive sense of the term. This is +then, at the same time, <i>The Subject</i>. The terms employed to designate +them sufficiently indicate this identity: <i>Substantive</i>, from <i>sub</i>, +<span class="smcap">UNDER</span>, and <i>stans</i>, <span class="smcap">STANDING</span>; and <i>Subject</i>, from <i>sub</i>, +<span class="smcap">UNDER</span>, and <i>jectus</i>, <span class="smcap">THROWN</span> or <span class="smcap">CAST</span>. These are, +therefore, nearly etymological equivalents.</p> + +<p>Before passing to the consideration of the Subject and the Proposition, +let us finish with the Nouns Adjective, to which we have only given an +incidental attention.</p> + +<p>These are the representatives of Incidence or Attribution; and +correspond to the entire adjectivity pertaining to the substantiality of +the real or concrete Universe; both Substance and Incidence falling as +parts of one domain within the larger domain of <span class="smcap">Relation</span>, which +in Language is the domain of Grammar proper, including Etymology and +Syntax.</p> + +<p>It may now be shown that this Adjective World is so much a world by +itself that Kant's <i>namings</i> for the <i>four</i> groups of the Categories of +the Understanding, which we are here enlarging to be the Categories of +All Being, are precisely the most appropriate namings for the +subdivisions of the Adjective World. These are:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">1. Adjectives of <span class="smcap">Quality</span>.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">2. Adjectives of <span class="smcap">Relation</span>.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">3. Adjectives of <span class="smcap">Quantity</span>.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">4. Adjectives of <span class="smcap">Mode</span>.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>1. Adjectives of Quality are those which designate the qualities of +things as <i>good</i> or <i>bad</i>, etc. They are susceptible of three Degrees of +Comparison; and are, without due consideration, usually regarded by +Grammarians as if they constituted the whole of the Adjective World.</p> + +<p>2. Adjectives of Relation are, as we have seen, (chiefly) the Oblique +Cases of the Noun Substantive. They admit of no Degrees of Comparison. +These have not heretofore been regarded as Adjectives; but broadly and +philosophically considered, they are so.</p> + +<p>3. Adjectives of Quantity are the Numerals, which always instinctively +find their way among the Adjectives in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_702" id="Page_702">[Pg 702]</a></span> Grammar Books, without their +presence there being duly accounted for, that part of speech having been +usually defined as relating exclusively to the <i>Quality</i> of Things. +These numeral Adjectives subdivide into Ordinal Numerals and Cardinal +Numerals; and, like Adjectives of Relation, they are not susceptible of +being varied by the Degrees of Comparison.</p> + +<p>4. Adjectives of Mode relate to the Conditions of Existence, as +<i>necessary</i> and <i>unnecessary</i>, <i>important</i> and <i>unimportant</i>, etc. They +are somewhat ambiguous as to their susceptibility to comparison. It is +over this class of Adjectives that the Grammarians dispute. If a thing +is <i>necessary</i>, then, it is said, it cannot be <i>more necessary</i>, or +<i>most necessary</i>, the Positive Case being itself Absolute or +Superlative. In some cases this rule is not so clear, and there is doubt +whether it is proper to apply the signs of Comparison or not. We may +correctly say <i>more important</i> and <i>most important</i>; and on the whole +the Adjectives of Mode, or Modal Adjectives, are to be classed as +capable of Comparison.</p> + +<p>These four classes of Adjectives again classify in respect to their +usual susceptibility to comparison, as follows:</p> + + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" width="60%" cellspacing="0" summary="Language"> + +<tr> +<td>Adjectives of Quality,<br />Adjectives of Mode</td> +<td class="tdlbl">Capable of Comparison.</td> +</tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td>Adjectives of Quantity,<br />Adjectives of Relation,</td> +<td class="tdlbl">Incapable of Comparison.</td> +</tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>The <i>Principle</i> of Comparison is itself <i>hierarchical</i>, or pertaining to +gradation or rank divinely ordained; or as the mere scientist might +prefer to say, naturally existent. It repeats, therefore, in an echo, or +correspondentially, <span class="smcap">The Person</span> (First, Second, Third) of Nouns +Substantive and Pronouns; and has relation to the Three Heads of the +Ordinal Series of Number, 1st, 2d, 3d; as <span class="smcap">The Number</span> of Nouns +Substantive (Singular, Dual, and Plural) has relation to the Three Heads +of the Cardinal Series of Number, 1, 2, 3.</p> + +<p>The Qualities, the Relations, the Numerical Character, and the Modal +Condition of Things, are conjointly an Adjunct World to the Real World +of Persons and Things, in the Universe at Large; and taken collectively, +it is that domain or aspect of the total Universe which is the +scientific echo to or analogue of the Part of Speech called Adjective in +the Grammar of Language. The Substantivity and the Adjectivity, taken +again collectively with each other, are the totality of the <i>Concrete</i> +Universe considered in a state of Rest. The <i>Movement</i> of the Universe +is expressed by the verbal department of Language, and will receive our +subsequent attention. It is, therefore, from within this department that +our concrete analogues of the larger Abstractions of the Universe, +Nature, Science, and Art, namely, The World, Man, and the Product of +Man's labor, were taken. They belong to the Substantivity (Kant's +Substance) of the Universe, and their qualities, relations, number, and +mode of being belong to the Adjectivity of the Universe (Kant's +Inherence); and these two departments of Universal Being or of the +possible aspects of Universal Being are the Scientific Analogues, in the +Universe at large, of Nouns Substantive and Nouns Adjective, in the +Grammar Department of the total distribution of the little Universe of +Language; which is the point to be here specially illustrated and +insisted upon.</p> + +<p>We pass now to the consideration of the Verb and Participle, related to +Movement. The Great Noun Class of Words, including the Nominative Noun +Substantive, not yet brought into action and made to functionate as +Subject or Agent, together with the whole Adjective Family of Words as +above<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_703" id="Page_703">[Pg 703]</a></span> defined, is <i>without Action</i>. These words, and +correspondentially, the Things and their Attributes which they represent +in the Universe at large, are <i>static</i> or <i>immovable</i>. The Universe, +viewed in the light of them solely, is a Universe <i>at rest</i>, or, as it +were, <i>arrested</i> in its progression through Time, and existing only in +Space; <i>for</i> <span class="smcap">Time</span> <i>has relation to</i> <span class="smcap">Motion</span>, <i>as</i> +<span class="smcap">Space</span> <i>has relation to</i> <span class="smcap">Position</span> <i>or</i> <span class="smcap">Rest</span>. +This aspect of the Universe or of Language may therefore be +appropriately denominated <i>Statoid</i> (or Spaceoid). The relations between +the Parts of this Aspect, denoted by the Prepositions and Conjunctions, +are inert or <i>static</i> relations, concerning predominantly Position in +Space, as <i>above</i>, <i>below</i>, etc.</p> + +<p>When the Substantive proper (the Nominative Case) passes over and +becomes functionally a <span class="smcap">Subject</span> (we will consider, first, the +case where the Verb is Active Transitive, and the Subject therefore an +Agent), we pass from <i>Statism</i> to <i>Motism</i>; or from Rest to Movement. +This is, at the same time, to pass from the Domain or Kingdom of <i>Space</i> +to the Kingdom or Domain of <i>Time</i> (or Tense).</p> + +<p>Noun-dom (in its largest extension, including Nouns Substantive and +Nouns Adjective, together with their Words of Relation, Prepositions and +Conjunctions) constitutes, therefore, the <span class="smcap">Statismus</span> (or Domain +of the Principle of Rest) within the <span class="smcap">Relationismus</span> (or Domain +of Parts and their Construction, or <i>Syntaxis</i> into a whole) of the +larger Domain of Language, which might then be properly denominated the +Linguismus of the Universe. (Every new Science has to have its new +nomenclature. Let the reader not be repelled, therefore, by these +innovations upon the speech usages of our Language; their great +convenience, and their actual necessity even for the right discussion of +the subject, furnishing their sufficient apology.)</p> + +<p>To determine what the limits of the corresponding Domain are in the +Universe at large, and its proper technical designation, it is only +necessary to go back upon the analogues already indicated. We have, +then, the Statismus of the Relationismus of the Universe; which is the +Structural Universe, viewed in respect to the relationship between the +parts and the whole, and as if arrested in Space, or, what is the same +thing, abstracted from Movement in Time.</p> + +<p>In going over to the new Domain in Language,—the Grammar of the Verb +and Participle,—we pass then, technically speaking, to the +<span class="smcap">Motismus</span> of the <span class="smcap">Relationismus</span> of Language; and in +going over to the corresponding Domain of the Universe at large, we pass +to the <span class="smcap">Motismus</span> of the <span class="smcap">Relationismus</span> of the +<i>Universe</i>, in which action and the relations between actions are +concerned.</p> + +<p>Since Motion and Action involve the idea of Force or Power, for which +the Greek word is <i>dynamis</i>, furnishing the English words <i>Dynamic</i> and +<i>Dynamics</i>, our Philosophers have chosen the distinction <i>Static</i> and +<i>Dynamic</i>, instead of <i>Static</i> and <i>Motic</i>, the true distinction, and +have in that way obscured and disguised from themselves even the +fundamental and all-important relationship of these two great Aspects of +Being, with the two great negative Grounds or Containers of all Being; +<i>namely, with</i> <span class="smcap">Space</span> <i>and with</i> <span class="smcap">Time</span> <i>respectively</i>.</p> + +<p>It is here, in the Domain of Movement and Time, the Motismus of +Language, and especially of Grammar,—the Relationismus of +Language,—that the Grand Lingual Illustration or Type of the Second +Subdivision of Kant's Group of Relation occurs;—the subdivision which +he <i>should</i> have denominated <i>Tempic</i>, as distinguished from the former +Subdivision (of Substance and Inherence), which <i>should</i> then have been +called <i>Spacic</i>.</p> + +<p>This Tempic Sub-Group of Relation again subdivides, as already stated, +into 1. <span class="smcap">Cause</span>, and 2. <span class="smcap">Dependence</span>.</p> + +<p>The Subject of a Proposition, in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_704" id="Page_704">[Pg 704]</a></span> Active Voice, which is the Typical +or Direct Expression of Action, is the <span class="smcap">Agent</span> or <i>Actor</i> in the +performance of the given Action. To be an agent is <i>to act</i>; and <i>to +act</i> is to exhibit an effect, the <i>Cause</i> of which resides in the Agent. +<i>Agent</i> and <i>Cause</i> are thus identified. In other words, the Nominative +Case, in the Active Transitive Locution, is the type and illustration of +the Sub-Category, <i>Cause</i>, in the Group of Relation, as conceived by the +great German metaphysician. His Correlative Sub-Category, <i>Dependence</i>, +is the Action itself, resulting from the Activity of the Agent, and +expressed by the Verb and <i>its</i> dependencies.</p> + +<p><i>The Cause</i> and <i>Dependence</i> of Kant, as a Sub-Group of Relation, are +therefore, when translated into their typical expression in Language, +simply <i>The Nominative</i> and <i>The Verb</i>; and belong to the Domain of +Movement, and hence to that of Time.</p> + +<p>It is only, however, when the Verb is Active that the Nominative is +Agent or Cause. In the Passive Locution or Voice, a Conversion into +Opposites occurs;—the Direct is exchanged for the Inverse Order of the +Action. The Nominative then names the Object which receives, suffers, or +endures the <i>force of the Action</i>, and the Agent is then thrown into the +Category of an Accident, and expressed in an Oblique Case; thus, +<i>Charles is struck by John</i>.</p> + +<p>The term <i>Subject</i>, applied to the Nominative Case, is made, by a happy +<i>équivoque</i>, to cover both these aspects; that in which the Nominative +is Agent or Cause, and that in which it is not so. It is only in the +latter instance that it is really or literally a <i>subject</i>, that is to +say, subjected to, or made to suffer the force of the action of the +Verb; but <i>action</i> is a <i>reaction</i> from such invasion or infliction of +suffering or impression upon the person (or thing); and the term +<i>Subject</i>, changing its meaning, accompanies the person <i>nominated</i> or +named by the Nominative Case over into this new positive relation to the +action. It is interesting to observe that precisely the same doubleness +of meaning arises, in the same way, in respect to the word <i>Passion</i>, +from Latin <i>patior</i>, to suffer. When we speak of the <i>passion</i> of +Christ, we retain the primitive and etymological meaning of the word; +but, ordinarily, <i>passion</i> means just the opposite; that violent +<i>reaction</i> of the feeling side of the mind from <i>Impression</i> (or passion +in the first sense), which is nearly allied to <i>Rage</i>.</p> + +<p>Intermediate between the Active and the Passive Locutions is a compound +Active and Reactive state—the action put forth by the agent, and yet +terminating upon himself—which is expressed lingually by what is +appropriately called in Greek the Middle Voice (Sanscrit, <i>At mane +pada</i>), and in our modern Grammars, as the French, The Reflective Verb.</p> + +<p>This last, the Reflective or Reciprocal Locution, is the grammatical +type and illustration of Kant's third subdivision of the Group of +Relation, that, namely, which he denominates <span class="smcap">Reciprocal Action</span>.</p> + +<p>The correspondences between Language and the Universe at large are here +too obvious to require to be enlarged or insisted upon. The Active Voice +in Grammar repeats the World of Direct Actions; the Passive Voice, the +World of Inverse Actions; and the Middle Voice the World of Reciprocal +Actions, in the Universe at large. The Nominative Case (in the first and +leading of these Locutions) is the Analogue of Cause, and the Verb, of +Dependence, or the Chain of Effects resulting from the Cause.</p> + +<p>The I, the Me, the <span class="smcap">Ego</span>, as Subject, in the domain of +Philosophy, is first Subject (-ed) under Impression from the world +without, and afterward becomes Cause (in Expression); and the term +Subject has here, therefore, precisely the same ambiguity as in Grammar, +and stands contrasted in the same way with the word Object; the +Accusative Case of the old Grammarians being<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_705" id="Page_705">[Pg 705]</a></span> now called the <i>Objective</i> +Case, and denoting that upon which the force of the (direct) action is +expended.</p> + +<p>The Middle Voice becomes, by an elision, the Neuter Verb. I walk, means, +I walk <i>myself</i>. Neuter Verbs fall, then, into the Category of +Reciprocal Action.</p> + +<p>The Typical Neuter Verb, the Typical Verb, in fine, of all verbs, is the +Substantive or Copula Verb <span class="smcap">to be</span>, the Verb of Existence or +Being.<br /><i>I am</i>, means, I am <i>myself</i>, or, I keep or hold myself in being.</p> + +<p>In strictness, the verb <i>to be</i> is the <span class="smcap">only Verb</span>. Every other +Verb is capable of Solution into this one, accompanied by a Participle; +thus,<br /><i>I walk</i>, becomes, <i>I am</i> <span class="smcap">walking</span>, etc.</p> + +<p>By this analysis, the Verb, as such, falls back among words of Relation, +or mere Connectives. It may then be classed with Prepositions and +Conjunctions; its office of Connection being still peculiar, however, +namely, to intervene between the Subject and the Predicate. Participles, +into which all other verbs than this <i>Copula</i>, are so resolved, then +fall back in like manner into the Class of Adjectives. The Tempic and +Motic Word-Kingdom is thus carried back to its dependence upon the +Spacic and Static Word-Kingdom, as basis; in the same manner as, in +Nature, Time and Motion have Space and Rest for their perpetual +background.</p> + +<p>Reduced to this degree of simplicity, there are but three Parts of +Speech: 1. Substantives; 2. Attributes; and 3. Words of Relation; which +correspond with 1. Things; 2. Properties of Things; and 3. The +Interrelationship of Things, of Properties, and of Things and their +Properties, in the Universe at large.</p> + +<p>The Adverb has not been mentioned. Analysis reduces it in every instance +to an Oblique Case of the Substantive, or, what is the same thing, to a +Substantive governed by a Preposition; and hence, by a second transfer, +as shown above, to the class of Adjectives of Relation: thus, <i>happily</i> +means <i>in a happy manner</i>; <i>now</i> means <i>in the present time</i>, etc.</p> + +<p>In the Grammatical Motismus the Three Tenses,—for there are but three +strictly, or in the first great natural Division of Time,—namely, the +Past, the Present, and the Future, correspond with the Grand Three-fold +Division of The Tempismus, the Universal Ongoing or Procession of +Events, the <i>Grandis Ordo Naturæ;</i> namely, the Past, the Present, and +the Future, as the Three-fold Aspect of Time and of the Universe of <i>Res +Gestæ</i>, or Things Done, and Contained in Time, as distinguished from the +other equal Aspect of the total Universe, namely, the Static Expansion +of the Universe in Space.</p> + +<p>Mode, which is subsequently developed in Music as a Distinct Grouping of +Categories, finds here, in the domain of Relation, a subordinate +development, in connection with the Verb.</p> + +<p>Kant's Subdivision of Mode, as a group of Categories is, 1. +<span class="smcap">Possibility</span> and <span class="smcap">Impossibility</span>; 2. <span class="smcap">Being</span> and +<span class="smcap">Not-Being</span>; and 3. <span class="smcap">Necessity</span> and <span class="smcap">Accidence</span>.</p> + +<p>It is obvious that <span class="smcap">Possibility</span> is that Category which is +expressed grammatically by the <i>Potential</i> Mode (from <i>potentia</i>, +<span class="smcap">power, possibility</span>); otherwise called the Conditional Mode. <i>I +should do so and so if</i>—The Negative Form of this Mode expresses +<span class="smcap">Impossibility</span>: <i>I should or could not do so and so unless</i>, +etc.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Being</span> and <span class="smcap">Not-Being</span>, direct Assertion and Denial, find +their grammatical representation in the Indicative Mode: <i>I do</i> or <i>I do +not</i>; and in an <i>Un-fin-it-ed</i> or <i>In-defi-nite</i> way, as a mere naming +of the idea, in The Infinitive Mode, <i>to do</i>, etc.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Necessity</span> and <span class="smcap">Accidence</span> are expressed in the +Imperative Mode for the former and in the Subjunctive Mode for the +latter. <i>Necessary</i> and <i>Imperative</i> are synonymes. To command +absolutely, is <i>to require</i>, and <i>The Required</i> or <i>The Requisite</i> is +again <i>The Necessary</i>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_706" id="Page_706">[Pg 706]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Accidence</i> is that which is <i>under a condition, sub-joined, +Sub-junctive</i>; which may or may not happen, hence introduced by an <i>if</i>, +equal to <i>gif</i>, <i>give</i>, <i>grant</i>, <i>provided it so happen</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Elementality</span> (Kant's <span class="smcap">Quality</span> of Being) reappears in +this domain of Relation in Connection with the Verb: +<span class="smcap">Affirmation</span>, in the Affirmative Propositions, as, <i>I love</i>; +<span class="smcap">Negation</span>, in Negative Propositions, as, <i>I do not Love</i>; and +Limitation, <i>wavering as between two</i>, in the Dubitative or Questioning +Forms of the Proposition, as, <i>Do I love? Do I not love?</i> The Celtic +tongues have special modal forms to express these modifications of the +Verb.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Number</span>, the remaining one of Kant's Groups of the Categories, +finds also its minor representative in this domain in the Numbers, +Singular, Dual, and Plural, incorporated into the Conjugation of the +Verb. This leads us to the consideration of Grammatical Agreement and +Government; carries us over into Syntax, Prosody, Logic, and Rhetoric; +back to Lexicology, the domain of the Dictionary or mere Vocabulary in +Language; and thence upward to Music, and finally again to Song, the +culmination of Speech.</p> + +<p>The subject grows upon us, and it is impossible to complete it in a +single paper.</p> + +<p>The Portions of Language which we have been considering belong to the +two Departments: 1. <span class="smcap">Elementismus</span> (Kant's <span class="smcap">Quality</span>), and +2. <span class="smcap">Relation</span> (Grammar more properly). The treatment of these is +not fully exhausted, and must be recurred to hereafter.</p> + +<p>The two remaining ones of Kant's Groups of the Categories of the +Understanding (here extended to be the Categories of all Being) are, 3. +<span class="smcap">Quantity</span>, and 4. <span class="smcap">Mode.</span> The proper domain of these two +is Music. The mere mention of the musical terms Unison, Discord (duism, +diversity), the Spirit of One and the Spirit of Two; and of the Major +and the Minor Mode, suggest <span class="smcap">Quantity</span> and <span class="smcap">Modality</span> as +the reigning principles in that domain. The appearance of Number and +Mode in the domain of Relation (Grammar), is, as already stated, a +subordinate one, and has respect to the principle of +<span class="smcap">overlapping</span>, already adverted to, by which all the domains of +Nature are <i>intricated</i> or <i>con-creted</i> with each other.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Quantity</span> and <span class="smcap">Mode</span>, in their own independent and +separate development, will, therefore, be the special subjects of a +subsequent treatment.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="APHORISMS_NO_VI" id="APHORISMS_NO_VI"></a>APHORISMS.—NO. VI.</h2> + + +<p>Mind is a thing that we partly have by nature, and partly have to create +by mental discipline and exercise. Or, as Horace says:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Ego nec studium sine divite vena,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nec rude quid prosit video ingenium.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>De Arte Poetica</i>, 409, 410.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>In English:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'What can our studies yield, where mind is weak;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or what a genius do, that's not with discipline prepared?'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Nor is it yet clear, on which, supposing a well-organized and healthy +body, most will depend—upon the native endowment, or upon the labor of +developing and applying the inborn power.</p> + +<p>Distinguishing, however, between genius and talent, we may safely admit +that no discipline, without 'the gift and faculty divine,' will produce +the one; and hold that well-directed industry, in almost any case of a +naturally sound mind, will surely develop the other. The half-made and +often ill-tutored efforts of the usual processes of learning, are not to +be allowed a decisive voice against the supposition that vigorous mental +life might be the common portion of educated men.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_707" id="Page_707">[Pg 707]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="AN_ARMY_ITS_ORGANIZATION_AND_MOVEMENTS" id="AN_ARMY_ITS_ORGANIZATION_AND_MOVEMENTS"></a>AN ARMY: ITS ORGANIZATION AND MOVEMENTS.</h2> + + +<p>The immense military operations of our civil war have familiarized, to a +considerable extent, not only those connected with the armies, but the +people generally with the systems on which military forces are organized +and the methods of conducting war. Much has been learned in the past +three years, and much accomplished in the improvement of tactics, +internal organization, and the construction of all kinds of material. +Civilians, who were well read in the history of former wars, and even +professional military officers, were comparatively ignorant of all the +numerous details necessarily incident to the formation and movement of +armies. On account of the deficiency of practical information on these +matters, the difficulties which arose at the commencement of the war, +were, as it is well known, immense; but they were overcome with a +celerity and energy absolutely unparalleled in the history of the world, +and to-day we are able to assure ourselves with justifiable pride that +in all essential particulars our armies are fully and properly +organized, equipped, and provided for. We propose to exhibit in a few +articles the methods by which these results have been accomplished—to +present to readers generally the system of organization and the +principles of operation existing in our armies—giving them such +information as can be obtained only from actual thorough acquaintance +with military life, or extended perusal of works on military art, as now +understood among the leading civilized nations.</p> + +<p>That such information would be desirable, we were led to believe from +the surprise expressed by an intelligent friend at the definition given +him of the phrase 'line of battle.' He was greatly astonished on +learning that battles are fought, mostly, by lines of only two ranks in +depth. The history of the 'line of battle' is of great interest, and +indeed contains an exposition of the principles on which a great portion +of modern warfare is founded. While the chief principles of strategy, of +the movement of armies, of attack and defence, and to some extent of +tactics, are the same now as in the earliest ages, the mode of arraying +men for battle has undergone an entire change, attributable to the +improvement in the weapons of warfare. We are not superior to the +ancients so much in the science of war, as in the character of our arms. +They undoubtedly fought in the manner most appropriate to the means +which they possessed. The great change which has taken place in the +method of battle, consists chiefly in this—that formerly men were +arrayed in masses, now in lines. The Grecian phalanx was composed of +32,000 men arranged as follows: 16,000 spearmen placed in sixteen ranks +of a thousand men each, forming the centre; on each wing, 4,000 light +spearmen in eight ranks; 4,000 men armed with bows and slings, who +performed the part of skirmishers; 4,000 cavalry. The Roman legion +contained 4,500 men, of which 1,200 were light infantry or skirmishers +armed with bows and slings. The main body consisted of 1,200 spearmen, +who were formed into ten rectangular bodies of twelve men front by ten +deep; behind them were ten other rectangles of the second line; and +behind these a third line of 600 in rectangles of six men front by ten +deep. To the legion was attached 300 cavalry.</p> + +<p>In the middle ages, infantry was considered of little importance, the +combat being principally among the knights and cavaliers. The +introduction of gunpowder caused a change in the method of fighting, but +it was effected gradually. For a long time only clumsy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_708" id="Page_708">[Pg 708]</a></span> cannon were +used, which, however, made great havoc among the formations in mass +still retained. Rude arquebuses were then introduced, and improvements +made from time to time; but even so late as the 17th century the ancient +arms were retained in a large proportion. They did not disappear +entirely until the invention of the bayonet in the 18th century. This +contributed as much as the use of firearms to change the formations of +battle. In the 16th century the number of ranks had been reduced from +ten to six; at the end of the reign of Louis XIV. the number was four; +Frederick the Great reduced it to three. With this number the wars of +the French Republic and Empire were conducted, until at Leipsic, in +1813, Napoleon's army being greatly diminished, he directed the +formation in two ranks, saying that the enemy being accustomed to see it +in three, and not aware of the change, would be deceived in regard to +its numbers. He stated also that the fire of the rear rank was dangerous +to those in front, and that there was no reason for the triple +formation. In this judgment military authorities have since concurred, +and the two-rank formation is almost universally adopted. Russia is the +only civilized power which places men in masses on the battle field. +Formations in column are used when necessary to carry a particular local +position, even at a great expenditure of life. But the usual mode of +combat is that adopted by Napoleon. Our battles have been almost +universally fought in this manner. The rebels have probably used the +formation in column more frequently than the Northern troops. The +non-military reader can easily perceive that formations in mass are more +subject to loss from the fire of artillery and from that of small arms +even at considerable distances, and are less able to deliver their own +fire.</p> + +<p>Our old regular army consisted of ten regiments of infantry, two of +cavalry, two of dragoons, and one of mounted rifles, of ten companies +each, and four artillery regiments of twelve companies each. Two +companies each of the latter served as light artillery—the companies +alternating in this service. There was also a battalion of engineers.</p> + +<p>At the commencement of the war our force of light artillery was very +inadequate, and rifled ordnance had scarcely been introduced. Our +present immense force of the former has been almost entirely created +since the commencement of the war; the splendid achievements in rifled +artillery have been entirely accomplished within the last three years. +Although it had been applied some years previously in Europe, it was not +formally introduced into our service until needed to assist in +suppressing the gigantic rebellion. The Ordnance Department had, +however, given attention to the matter, and boards of officers were +engaged in making experiments. A report had been made that 'the era of +smooth-bore field artillery has passed away, and the period of the +adoption of rifled cannon, for siege and garrison service, is not +remote. The superiority of elongated projectiles, whether solid or +hollow, with the rifle rotation, as regards economy of ammunition, +extent of range, and uniformity and accuracy of effect, over the present +system, is decided and unquestionable.'<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> We shall see, in discussing +artillery, how far these expectations have been realized.</p> + +<p>The regular army was increased in 1861 by the addition of nine regiments +of infantry, one of cavalry, and one of artillery. The Mounted Rifles +were changed into the 3d Cavalry, and the two dragoon regiments into the +1st and 2d Cavalry. The old 1st and 2d Cavalry became the 4th and 5th. +All cavalry regiments have now twelve companies, and the new infantry +regiments are formed on the latest French system of three battalions, of +eight companies each, with a colonel, lieutenant-colonel, and three +majors. Each of the 24 companies has 82 privates.</p> + +<p>The old regular army comprised, when full, about 18,000 officers and +men. As increased, the total complement is over 43,600, including five +major-generals, nine brigadier-generals, thirty-three aides-de-camp, +besides the field officers of the various regiments and the company +officers. In addition to these officers (but included in the aggregate +above given) are the various staff departments, as follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Adjutant-Generals.</i>—1 brigadier-general, 2 colonels, 4 +lieutenant-colonels, 13 majors.</p> + +<p><i>Judge-Advocates.</i>—1 colonel.</p> + +<p><i>Inspector Generals.</i>—14 colonels, 5 majors.</p> + +<p><i>Signal Corps.</i>—1 colonel, 1 lieutenant-colonel, 2 majors.</p> + +<p><i>Quartermaster's Department.</i>—1 brigadier-general, 3 colonels, 4 +lieutenant-colonels, 11 majors, 48 captains, 12 military +storekeepers.</p> + +<p><i>Subsistence Department.</i>—1 brigadier-general, 2 colonels, 2 +lieutenant-colonels, 8 majors, 16 captains.</p> + +<p><i>Medical Department.</i>—1 brigadier-general, 2 colonels, 16 +lieutenant-colonels, 50 majors, 5 captains, 109 first lieutenants, +6 storekeepers, 119 hospital chaplains, 70 medical cadets.</p> + +<p><i>Pay Department.</i>—1 colonel, 2 lieutenant-colonels, 25 majors.</p> + +<p><i>Corps of Engineers.</i>—1 brigadier-general, 4 colonels, 10 +lieutenant-colonels, 20 majors, 30 captains, 30 first lieutenants, +10 second lieutenants. The battalion of engineers comprises a total +of 805.</p> + +<p><i>Ordnance Department.</i>—1 brigadier-general, 2 colonels, 3 +lieutenant-colonels, 6 majors, 20 captains, 20 first lieutenants, +12 second lieutenants, 15 storekeepers, and a battalion of 905 men.</p></div> + +<p>These figures all pertain to the <i>regular army</i>. A considerable number +of the officers in the regiments have been appointed from civil life; +but in the staff departments the officers are almost exclusively +graduates from the Military Academy at West Point.</p> + +<p>The raising of the immense volunteer force necessitated a great increase +in the staff departments, and large numbers of persons from civil life +have been appointed into the volunteer staff in the Adjutant-General's, +Judge-Advocate's, Quartermaster's, Commissary, Medical, and Pay +Departments. The ordnance duties are performed by officers detailed from +the line, and engineer duties by regiments assigned for that purpose. A +large number of additional aides-de-camp were also authorized, forming +that branch of duty into a department. Aides-de-camp are also detailed +from the line. The highest rank yet created for volunteer staff officers +is that of colonel in the aides-de-camp. The heads of staff departments +at corps headquarters are lieutenant-colonels, including an assistant +adjutant-general, assistant inspector-general, a chief quartermaster, +and chief commissary. Many regular officers hold these volunteer staff +appointments, gaining in this manner additional rank during the +war—still retaining their positions in the regular service; in the same +manner as many regular officers are field officers in volunteer +regiments.</p> + +<p>The aggregate <i>militia</i> force of the United States (including seceded +portions), according to the last returns, was 3,214,769. The reports of +the last census increase this to about 5,600,000, which exceeds to some +extent the number actually <i>fit</i> to bear arms. The computed proportion +in Europe of the number of men who can be called into the field is about +one-fifth or one-sixth of the population. If the population of the +entire United States be assumed to be 23,000,000, the number of men +liable, according to this computation, would be about 4,000,000, which +is sufficiently approximate. The European computation of the force to be +kept as a <i>standing army</i> is a hundredth part of the population—varied +somewhat by circumstances. This would give the United States a force of +230,000. It will be seen how greatly in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_710" id="Page_710">[Pg 710]</a></span>ferior our regular force has +been and still is to the computations adopted in Europe. But the United +States will probably never require such a large force to be permanently +organized; for we have not, like the European powers, frontiers to +protect against nations with whom we may at any time be at war, nor +oppressed nationalities to retain in subjugation by force. Our frontiers +on Canada and Mexico have good natural defences—the first by the St. +Lawrence river and lakes, and the second by the great distance to be +traversed by an invading army before it could reach any important +commercial position. Our vulnerability is in our extensive seacoast. The +principal requirement for an army is a large framework, which can be +rapidly filled by volunteers in expectation of war. With such a military +constitution and a system of military education and drill in the +different States, large and effective armies could be rapidly organized.</p> + +<p>Our staff corps and regular army are insignificant, compared with those +of European nations, in which the average strength of the standing +armies is from 250,000 to 300,000 men on the peace footing, and 400,000 +to 600,000 on the war footing, with immense magazines of equipage and +material, numerous military schools, and extensive organizations in all +the departments incident to an army. Our own army has hitherto been +modelled to a great extent on the English system—the most aristocratic +of all in Europe, and consequently the least adapted to a republic. To +this is attributable much of the jealousy hitherto felt in regard to the +army and all pertaining to it. We are now, however, conforming more to +the French system, and from it will probably be adopted any changes that +may be introduced.</p> + +<p>The French army, since Napoleon gave it the impress of his genius, has +in many characteristics been well adapted to the peculiarities of +republican institutions. A soldier can rise from the ranks to the +highest command, by the exhibition of valor and ability, more easily, in +fact, than he can in our own army, with which political favoritism has +much to do in promotions and appointments. By a recent policy of our War +Department, however, vacancies have been left in the subordinate +commissioned officers of the regular army, which are to be filled +exclusively from the ranks. Many deserving officers in the army have +been private soldiers.</p> + +<p>No system will be effective for providing an adequate military +organization that does not include thorough instruction for officers. +The prevailing feeling in our country, as remarked above, has rather +been to underrate the army, and to look with some jealousy on the West +Point Military Academy and its graduates. The present war has effected a +change in this respect. The country owes too much to the educated +regular officers for the organization and conduct of the volunteer +forces, to be insensible of the merits of the system which produced +them. A capable civilian can undoubtedly become just as good an officer +of any rank as a graduate of West Point; but it must be through a course +of study similar to that there pursued. No natural ability can supply +the want of the scientific training in the military, more than in any +other profession. Military science is only the result of all the +experience of the past, embodied in the most comprehensive and practical +form. Napoleon was a profound student of military history. In his +Memoirs he observes: 'Alexander made 8 campaigns, Hannibal 17 (of which +1 was in Spain, 15 in Italy, and 1 in Africa), Cæsar made 15 (of which 8 +were against the Gauls, and 5 against the legions of Pompey), Gustavus +Adolphus 5, Turenne 18, the Prince Eugene of Savoy 18, and Frederic 11 +(in Bohemia, Silesia, and upon the Elbe.) The history of these 87 +campaigns, made with care, would be a complete treatise on the art of +war. The principles one should follow, in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_711" id="Page_711">[Pg 711]</a></span> both offensive and defensive +war, flow from them as a source.'</p> + +<p>To one familiar with the gradual progress in the organization of our +armies, it is interesting to recur to the time when the first levies of +volunteers were raised. Regiments were hurried into Washington half +accoutred and indifferently armed. Officers and men were for the most +part equally ignorant of the details, a knowledge of which enables a +soldier to take care of himself in all circumstances. Staff officers +knew nothing of the various departments and the methods of obtaining +supplies. The Government had not been able to provide barrack +accommodations for the immense irruption of 'Northern barbarians,' and +the men were stowed like sheep in any unoccupied buildings that could be +obtained. These were generally storehouses, without any cooking +arrangements, so that when provisions were procured, no one knew what to +do with them. Hundreds of men, who previously scarcely knew but that +beef-steaks and potatoes grew already cooked and seasoned, could be seen +every day sitting disconsolately on the curbstones cooking their pork on +ramrods over little fires made with twigs gathered from the trees. Those +who happened to be the lucky possessors of a few spare dimes, straggled +off to restaurants. Washington, in those days, was only a great +country-town, and not the immense city which the war has made it. The +vague and laughable attempts of officers to assume military dignity and +enforce discipline, with the careless insubordination of the men, +furnished many amusing scenes. It was not easy for officer and man, who +had gone to the same school, worked in the same shop, sung in the same +choir, and belonged to the same base-ball club, to assume their new +relations.</p> + +<p>Privates would address their officer, 'I say, Bill, have you got any +tobacco?' Officers would reply, 'Do you not know, sir, the proper method +of addressing me?' Private would exclaim, 'Well, I guess now you're +puttin' on airs, a'n't you?' Pompous colonels strutted about in a blaze +of new uniforms, and even line officers then considered themselves of +some consequence; while a brigadier-general was a sort of a demigod—a +man to be revered as something infallible. Now-a-days old veterans care +very little for even the two stars of a major-general, unless they know +that the wearer has some other claims to respect than his shoulder +straps.</p> + +<p>As matters gradually became arranged, the troops were provided with +tents, and encamped in the vicinity. Never was guard duty more +vigilantly performed than in those camps around Washington. Every one of +us came to the capital with the expectation of being immediately +despatched to Virginia, and ordered to pitch into a miscellaneous fight +with the rebels. Rebel guerillas and spies were supposed to be lurking +in the surroundings of the capital, and 'taking notes' in all the camps. +Woe betide the unsuspicious stranger who might loiter curiously around +the encampments. With half a dozen bayonets at his breast he was hurried +off in utter amazement to the guard house. At night the sentinels saw +'in every bush' a lurking rebel. Shots were pattering all night in every +direction. Unfortunate straggling cows were frequently reduced to beeves +by the bullets of the wary guardians. The colonel's horse broke loose +one night, and, while browsing around, his long, flowing tail, the +colonel's pride, was reduced to an ignominious 'bob' by a bullet, which +neatly severed it near the root. Many was the trigger pulled at me, many +the bullet sent whizzing at my head, as I returned to camp after an +evening in the city. Fortunately, the person fired at was usually +safe—any one within the circle of a hundred feet diameter was likely to +receive the ball. One evening, about dusk, going into camp, I took a +running jump over a ditch, and this rapid motion so fright<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_712" id="Page_712">[Pg 712]</a></span>ened an +honest German sentinel—probably a little muddled with lager—that he +actually forgot to fire, and came at me in a more natural way with his +musket clubbed. I escaped a broken head at the expense of a severely +bruised arm. The rule for challenging, it used to be said, was to 'fire +three times, and then cry 'halt!' instead of the reverse, as prescribed +in the regulations.</p> + +<p>When the order—long anticipated—for actually invading Virginia +arrived, then was there excitement. Every man felt the premonition of +battle, and nerved himself for conflict. As we marched down to Long +Bridge, at midnight, perfect silence prevailed. Breaths were suspended, +footfalls were as light as snowflakes, orders were given in hollow +whispers. We placed our feet on the 'sacred soil' with more emotion than +the Normans felt when landing in England, or the Pilgrims at Plymouth. +This was war—the real, genuine thing. But our expectations were not +realized. As the 'grand army' advanced, the scattered rebel pickets +withdrew. The only fatality of the campaign was the death of the gallant +but indiscreet Ellsworth. We had our first experience of lying out doors +in our blankets. How vainglorious we felt over it! Many a poor fellow +complained jocosely of the hardship and exposure, whom since I have seen +perfectly content to obtain a few pine boughs to keep him from being +submerged in an abyss of mud. Many, alas! have gone to a couch where +their sleep will be no more broken by the reveille of drum and fife and +bugle—in the trenches of Yorktown, in the thickets of Williamsburg, in +the morasses of the Chickahominy, on the banks of the Antietam, at the +foot of those fatal heights at Fredericksburg, in the wilderness of +Chancellorsville, on the glorious ridge of Gettysburg. Comrades of the +bivouac and the mess! ye are not forgotten in that sleep upon the fields +where swept the infernal tide of battle, obliterating so much glorious +life, leaving so much desolation! Even amid the roar of cannon, exulting +in their might for destruction, amid the shrieking of the merciless +shells, amid the blaze of the deadly musketry, memories of you occur to +us. We resolve that your lives shall not have been sacrificed in vain. +And in these long, dreary, monotonous days of winter, as the sleet +rattles on our frail canvas covering, and the wind roars in our rude log +chimneys, while the jests go around and the song arises, thoughts of the +battle fields of the past cross our minds—we recall the incidents of +fierce conflicts—we say, there and there fell——, no nobler fellows +ever lived! A blunt and hasty epitaph, but the desultory vicissitudes of +a soldier's life permit no other—we expect no other for ourselves when +our turn to follow you shall come. So we break out into our favorite +chorus:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Then we'll stand by our glasses steady,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And we'll drink to our ladies' eyes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Three cheers for the dead already,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And huzza for the next man that dies.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Though your graves are unmarked, save by the simple broad slab from +which storms have already effaced the pencilled legend, or perhaps only +by the murderous fragment of iron, which lies half imbedded on the spot +where you fell and where you lie, yet you live in the memory of your +comrades, you live in the hearts of those who were desolated by your +death, you live in that eternal record of heaven where are written the +names of those who have given their lives to promote the truth and the +freedom which God has guaranteed to humanity in the great charters of +Nature and Revelation. For we are fighting in a holy cause. No crusade +to redeem Eastern shrines from infidels, no struggle for the privilege +of religious freedom, no insurrection for civil independence, has been +more holy than this strife against the great curse and its abettors, who +seek to make a land of freedom a land of bond<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_713" id="Page_713">[Pg 713]</a></span>age to substitute for a +Union of freemen, miserable oligarchies controlled by breeders of +slaves. If we die in this cause, we have lived a full life. An anomalous +state of things had existed between the time of the attack on Sumter and +the 'invasion' of Virginia. Although the war had in reality commenced, +communication was not suspended between Washington and Alexandria. On +the day following the march over the Potomac, we found the plans of +intrenchments marked out by wooden forms on the spots which subsequently +became Fort Corcoran, opposite Georgetown, Fort Runyon, opposite +Washington, and Fort Ellsworth, in front of Alexandria. How this had so +speedily been done by the engineers I did not learn until many months +afterward, when one of the party who planned the works described the +<i>modus operandi</i>. They went over to Virginia in a very rustic dress, and +professed to the rebel pickets to be from 'down country,' come up to +take a look at 'them durned Yankees.' So they walked around unmolested, +selected the sites for the intrenchments, formed the plans in their +minds, made some stealthy notes and sketches, and, returning to +Washington, plotted the works on paper, gave directions to the +carpenters about the frames, which were constructed; and, after the army +crossed, these were put in their proper positions, tools were placed +conveniently, and, soon after the crossing was made, the men commenced +to work.</p> + +<p>In raising these intrenchments, drilling and organizing, the army passed +about a month—varied only by alarms two or three times a week at night +that the rebels were coming, whereupon the troops turned out and stood +in line till daylight. It was shrewdly suspected that these alarms were +purposely propagated from headquarters to accustom the men to form +themselves quickly at night without panic. In after times, in front of +Richmond, we had such duty to perform, without any factitious reasons. +It was a matter of necessary precaution to stand to our arms nightly for +two or three hours before daybreak.</p> + +<p>Until just previous to the disastrous Bull Run campaign, no higher +organization than that of brigades was adopted; but a day or two before +the march commenced, General McDowell organized the brigades into +divisions. These were reorganized by General McClellan as the two and +three years volunteers joined the army. The organization of corps was +made in the spring of 1862, just before the commencement of the +Peninsula campaign, and is now the organization of the army.</p> + +<p>The complete organization is now as follows:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Regiments</i>, generally of ten companies.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Brigades</i>, of four or more regiments.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Divisions</i>, generally of three brigades.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Corps</i>, generally of three divisions.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>The various staffs have gradually been organized, until they now stand +(in the Army of the Potomac) as follows:</p> + +<p>At the headquarters of the army:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>A Chief of Staff.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>An Assistant Adjutant-General.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>A Chief Quartermaster.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>A Chief Commissary.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>A Chief of Artillery.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>An Assistant Inspector-General.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>A Medical Director.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>A Judge Advocate-General.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>An Ordnance Officer.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>A Provost Marshal-General.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>A Chief Engineer.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>A Signal Officer.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Aides-de-Camp.</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<p>The rank of these officers, as the staff is now composed, is as follows: +The chief of staff, a major-general; the assistant adjutant-general, +chief of artillery, and provost marshal, brigadier-generals; assistant +inspector-general, a colonel; medical director, chief engineer, judge +advocate-general, majors; the signal officer, chief commissary, and +ordnance officer, captains; the aides, of various ranks, lieutenants, +captains, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_714" id="Page_714">[Pg 714]</a></span> majors. Most of these officers do not derive their rank +from their position on the staff, but it has been given them in the +volunteer organization, or pertains to them in the line of the regular +or volunteer army. All the department officers (meaning all except +aides) have a number of assistants, and the general officers have staffs +and aides of their own, to which they are entitled by law. The total +number of officers on duty at the headquarters may amount to fifty or +more, and there is plenty of work for all of them during a campaign. +Besides the regular staff, constituted as above related, there are the +officers of an infantry regiment which furnishes guards and escorts, and +officers of cavalry squadrons detailed to furnish orderlies. The +headquarters of the army is therefore a town of considerable population.</p> + +<p>At the headquarters of the different corps the staffs are as follows:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>An Assistant Adjutant-General</i>—Lieutenant-colonel.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>A Chief Quartermaster</i>—Lieutenant-colonel.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>A Chief Commissary</i>—Lieutenant-colonel.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>An Assistant Inspector-General</i>—Lieutenant-colonel.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>[These officers derive their rank from their position, under a law of +Congress.]</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>A Medical Director</i>—being detailed from</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">the senior surgeons of the regular or</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Volunteer army, and ranking as a</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">major.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>A Commissary of Musters.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>A Provost Marshal.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>A Signal Officer.</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<p>[These officers are detailed from the line, and have the ranks which +there belongs to them. The signal corps is, however, now being +organized, with ranks prescribed by law.]</p> + +<p><i>Aides-de-Camp</i>—one with the rank of major, and two with the rank of +captain. Besides these, additional aides are sent to the corps from +those created under an act of Congress of 1861—now repealed—and are +detailed from the line.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The quartermaster, commissary, and medical director generally have +assistant officers. There is a squadron of cavalry and usually a company +of infantry at each corps headquarters.</p> + +<p>The staffs of divisions and brigades resemble those of the corps, except +that the regular staff officers usually rank only as captains, except in +cases where a major-general commands; he is entitled to an assistant +adjutant-general with the rank of major. Officers detailed from the line +to act on any staff in any capacity, bring with them the rank they hold +in the line. They are not entitled, except the authorized aides and in +some other particular cases, when ordered by the War Department, to +additional allowances; but if they are foot officers, and are properly +detailed for mounted duty, the quartermaster of the staff on which they +serve is obligated to furnish them a horse and equipments. Divisions +usually have an <i>ordnance officer</i>, whose duty it is to take charge of +the ammunition of the division, keep the quantity ordered, and supply +the troops in time of battle. By law the chief of artillery at corps +headquarters is the chief ordnance officer for the corps, but this +arrangement has been found impracticable. In the Army of the Potomac the +chief of artillery does not remain at corps headquarters, but is +assigned directly to the command of the artillery, where he also has a +staff, including an ordnance officer, who supplies ammunition and other +articles pertaining to his department, exclusively to the artillery.</p> + +<p>The <i>staff</i>, it must be recollected, is to an army what the masons, +carpenters, ironworkers, and upholsterers are to a building. As the +latter are the agents for executing the designs of the architect, so the +staff are the medium by which the commander of an army effects his +purposes. Without competent staff officers in all the various<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_715" id="Page_715">[Pg 715]</a></span> grades of +organization constituting an army, the most judicious plans of the +ablest commander will entirely fail. If a campaign is to be made, the +commanding general, having formed his general strategical plan, needs +the advice of his chief of staff as to the condition of his troops, and +his assistance in devising the details. His adjutant-general's office +must contain full records of the numbers of the troops—effective and +non-effective—armed and unarmed—sick and well—present and absent, +with all reports and communications relative to the state of the army. +His quartermaster must have been diligent to provide animals, wagons, +clothing, tents, forage, and other supplies in his department; his +commissary and ordnance officer, the same in relation to subsistence and +munitions—all having made their arrangements to establish depots at the +most accessible points on the proposed route of march. His chief of +artillery must have bestowed proper attention to keeping the hundred +batteries of the army in the most effective condition. His chief +engineer must have informed himself of all the routes and the general +topography of the country to be traversed; he must know at what points +rivers can be best crossed, and where positions for battle can be best +obtained; his pontoon trains and intrenching implements must be complete +and ready for service; his maps prepared for distribution to subordinate +commanders. His inspector must have seen that the orders for discipline +and equipment have been complied with. His medical director must have +procured a supply of hospital stores, and organized the ambulance and +hospital departments. His provost marshal must have made adequate +arrangements to prevent straggling, plundering, and other disorders. His +aides must have informed themselves of the positions of the various +commands, and become acquainted with the principal officers, so as to +take orders through night and storm with unerring accuracy. They must be +cool-headed, daring fellows, alert, and well posted, good riders, and +have good horses under them.</p> + +<p>All this work cannot be accomplished in a day, a week, or a month. The +full preparations required to render a campaign successful must have +been the result of long, patient, thoughtful consideration and +organization. It is no time to teach sailors seamanship in a hurricane. +They must know where to find the ropes and what to do with them, with +the spray dashing in their eyes and the black clouds scurrying across +the sky. It is no time for staff officers to begin their duties when a +great army is to be moved. Then it is needed that every harness strap, +every gun-carriage wheel, every knapsack, every soldier's shoe should +have been provided and should be in serviceable order; that the men +should have had their regular fare, and have been kept in the healthiest +condition; that clear and explicit information be ready on all details. +Prepared by the assiduous, intelligent labor of a vigilant and faithful +staff, an army becomes a compact, homogeneous mass—without +individuality, but pervaded by one animating will—cohesive by +discipline, but pliant in all its parts—impetuous with enthusiasm, but +controlled easily in the most minute operations.</p> + +<p>These remarks, relative to the requirements for an effective staff, +pertain to all grades of organization. The staff officers at the +headquarters of the army organize general arrangements and supervise the +operations of subordinate officers of their department at the +headquarters of corps; these have more detailed duties, and, in their +turn, supervise the staffs of the divisions; the duties of these again +are still more detailed, and they supervise the staffs of brigades; +these finally are charged with the specific details pertaining to their +commands, supervising the staffs of the regiments, who are in direct<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_716" id="Page_716">[Pg 716]</a></span> +communication with the officers of companies.</p> + +<p>Prepared for service by the unremitting labors of the staff officers, it +is seldom that the army cannot move in complete order at six hours' +notice. Think what preparation is required for a family of half a dozen +to get ready to spend a month in the country—how tailors and milliners +and dressmakers are put in requisition—how business arrangements must +be made—how a thousand little vexing details constantly suggest +themselves which need attention. Think of a thousand families—ten +thousand—making these preparations! What a vast hurly burly! What an +ocean of confusion! How many delays and disappointments! During the +fortnight or month which has elapsed while these families have been +getting ready, an army of fifty or a hundred thousand men has marched a +hundred miles, fought a battle, been reëquipped, reclothed, reorganized, +and, perhaps, the order of a nation's history has experienced an entire +change.</p> + +<p>Our next paper will describe in detail the operations of the staff +departments.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"> + +<h3>FOOTNOTE</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> Scott's <i>Military Dictionary</i>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_709" id="Page_709">[Pg 709]</a></span></p></div> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SLEEPING" id="SLEEPING"></a>SLEEPING.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The purple light sleeps on the hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The shadowed valleys sleep between,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down through the shadows slide the rills,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The drooping hazels o'er them lean.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The clouds lie sleeping in the sky—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The crimson beds of sleeping airs;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The broad sun shuts his lazy eye<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On all the long day's weary cares.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The far, low meadows sleep in light,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The river sleeps, a molten tide;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I dream reclined, with half-shut sight—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My dog sleeps, couching at my side.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The branches droop above my head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The motes sleep in the slanting beam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yon hawk sails through the sunset red—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Adieu thought, sailing through a dream!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And here upon this bank I lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath the drooping, airless leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And watch the long, low sunset die,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On silent, dreamy summer eves.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The slant light creeps the boughs among,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And drops upon the sleeping sod—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">She</span> lies below, in slumber long,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">Asleep</span> till the great morn of <span class="smcap">God</span>!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_717" id="Page_717">[Pg 717]</a></span></div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="DR_FOXS_PRESCRIPTION" id="DR_FOXS_PRESCRIPTION"></a>DR. FOX'S PRESCRIPTION.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'None but bigots will in vain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adore a heaven they cannot gain.'—<span class="smcap">Sheridan.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>There is a story, familiar to most people of extensive reading, and +quite frequently alluded to, of a fox that, after endeavoring in vain to +possess himself of some luscious grapes which grew beyond his reach, +walked composedly away, solemnly assuring himself and Mr Æsop, who +overheard him, that as yet the grapes were unripe. The story, or any +allusion to it, seldom fails to excite a smile. I, too, laugh when I +hear it; but not so much at Reynard's inconsistency as at his wit. The +faculty of discovering grave defects in that which we have failed to +obtain is one for which we cannot be too thankful. It is a source of +infinite comfort in this comfortless world—a principle which enables +both parties in every contest to be victorious—an important article in +the great law of compensation. It is as old as the human race. The great +fabulist no more invented it than Lord Bacon invented inductive +reasoning. Like that philosopher, he simply enunciated a principle which +had been unconsciously recognized and constantly used ever since the +machinery of the human mind was first set in motion. I have no doubt +that when Adam found himself outside of Eden he wondered how he could +have been contented to remain so long in that little garden, assorting +pinks and training honeysuckles, when here lay a vast farm, well watered +and fertile, needing only to be cleared, fenced, and cultivated to yield +a handsome income.</p> + +<p>It is well that pride should sometimes have a fall. But you and I, dear +reader, have often seen envious people gloating over that fall in any +but a Christian spirit. At such times have we not rejoiced at any +circumstance which could break the force of the fall and disappoint the +gratification of such malicious hopes? And what has accomplished that +object so often and so effectually as Reynard's great principle?</p> + +<p>Once or twice in my life I have seen a smile on a female face under +circumstances which made it impossible to doubt that the smile was +gotten up for my especial benefit. On such occasions my sense of +gratitude (which is quite large) and my vanity (which is very small) +have conspired to exalt women in my estimation to perhaps an undue +elevation. They have seemed to me to be angels visiting poor, weak, +degraded man from pure motives of love and sympathy. And I have felt a +sort of chagrin that we have only such a dirty, ill-constructed world to +ask them into. But let us suppose that a short time afterward I see on +the same face a decided frown or a look of chilling disdain (I do not +say that I ever did), under circumstances which indicate that this also +is displayed with reference to, and out of a kind regard for, myself. +Here, it should seem, the premises are established which compel me to +admit a very disagreeable conclusion. This I cannot think of doing. How +shall I escape? Why, deny one of the premises, of course. But the +frown—I saw it plainly, alas, too plainly! I cannot dispute the +evidence of my senses. For a moment I falter; and again that ghastly +conclusion stares me in the face. But now I remember that a shrewd +debater sometimes gains a point by denying the premise which he is +expected to concede. Can it be done in this case? Certainly! Human +judgment, you know, is fallible. Not that mine can be at fault <i>now</i>; +but it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_718" id="Page_718">[Pg 718]</a></span> may have been so heretofore. All men have erred; but no man +errs. There is the point! I was in error when I said women were angels. +They are, they must be, mortal. There are unmistakable signs that they +are but human—indeed, some of them might almost be called inhuman. The +world is plenty good enough for them—a little too good for some I could +name. The Mussulman is quite right in excluding them from heaven. What +should we want of them when we get there? Won't there be plenty of +houris there, with all their beauty and virtue, but without their +extravagance and wilfulness? To say the least, they are the weaker +vessels, though they carry the most sail. Am I, then, to drop my lip and +hang my head and put my finger in my eye, because one of them, for some +cause or no cause, chooses to turn up her nose at me? The proposition is +absurd.—Thus, thus only, I save my self-respect without sacrificing my +logic. Am I inconsistent? Nay, verily. For what is the highest +consistency but correspondence with truth? And have I not at length hit +upon the exact truth? Before, I was deceived; then, I was inconsistent. +But now—now I am thoroughly, beautifully consistent. But all this is +simply Dr. Fox's method of treating half the ills which flesh is heir +to, reduced to logical forms and written out in plain English.</p> + +<p>Had Lord Byron but availed himself of this panacea after his adventure +in Jack Muster's vineyard, it might, perhaps, have rendered his life +happier, and imparted a 'healthy, moral tone' to his writings.</p> + +<p>Every science, in its true progress, works toward simplicity. And +mankind will acknowledge at some future time that the 'sour grapes' at +which they were wont to sneer, contain a powerful stimulant for drooping +ambition—the only infallible remedy for damaged honor and wounded +pride. When the scales shall have fallen from our eyes in that happy +day, politics will become a delightful profession, the contentious +spirit of man will cease from its bickerings, the tongue of woman will +settle down into a steady and respectable trot, the golden age of +duelling will retreat into the shadowy past until it shall seem +contemporary with the half-fabulous chivalry of the middle ages, +distracted maidens will no longer die of broken hearts, nor disappointed +lovers of unbroken halters.</p> + +<p>As the parties to a lawsuit have the privilege of challenging +peremptorily a certain number of jurymen, so every man should be allowed +to enjoy a reasonable number of whims and prejudices without being +called upon to give reasons for them. Then let us hear no more derisive +laughter when it is hinted that an unfortunate brother has resorted to +the sour-grape remedy. We all, at times, would be glad to find relief in +a similar way, but are deterred sometimes by ignorance of the true +principles of therapeutics, but oftener by a false pride of consistency. +Let us rather say that he has simply fallen back upon a final privilege, +and exercised a God-given faculty.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_719" id="Page_719">[Pg 719]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="LITERARY_NOTICES" id="LITERARY_NOTICES"></a>LITERARY NOTICES.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Historical Memoir of Joan of Arc, the Maid of Orleans</span>. +Compiled from Authentic Sources. Boston: Patrick Donahoe. 1864</p></div> + +<p>Our attention was first drawn to this work by a notice of it in that +sprightly paper, the <i>Round Table</i>. The writer of the notice therein +says: 'I am at a loss where to award its authorship, since it comes +anonymously, but from internal evidence it seems to be a translation +from the German, and to have been rendered likewise into French. It +seems also to have been written before the official publication of the +documentary evidence given on Joan's trial, which was committed to the +press for the first time in 1847, and which within ten years thereafter +was the occasion of an address to the present Emperor of the French, +accompanied by elaborate historical notes, praying him to take the +preliminary steps to secure the canonization of the Maid. It is always +to be regretted that a book is put forth, like the present, without any +vouchers for its authenticity, especially when the knowledge of its +origin dimly presents itself to the reader upon perusal.' We can imagine +no possible reason for the suppression of the name of the careful and +conscientious author of the work under consideration. Such suppressions +and literary piracies expose the writers and translators of America to +suspicion and censure. Have we any right to defraud an author of his +just fame, or to use his works to fill our own pockets, without at least +giving the name of the man to whose labors we stand indebted for our +whole tissue? We think our publishers should frown upon all such +attempts, bearing as they do upon the just claims of foreign authors. +The work in question is a translation from the German of Guido Görres, +the son of the great Görres, author of 'The History of Mysticism.' So +far as we have examined it, it gives the original without abridgment +until the thirtieth chapter, when, in the most interesting part of the +whole life, condensation and omissions begin. The ten last chapters of +the original are crowded into three. We have thirty-three chapters in +the translation, and forty in the original. Many of the most +characteristic, exciting, and intensely interesting passages of the +wonderful trial are excluded.</p> + +<p>This work was first translated into English by Martha Walker Cook, and +was given to the public without abridgment in 1859, in the pages of the +<i>Freeman's Journal</i>, published in New York. The title page ran thus: +'Joan of Arc, the Maid of Orleans. An Authentic Life from +Contemporaneous Chronicles. From the German of Guido Görres. By Mrs. +Martha Walker Cook.' Mrs. Cook's translation has never appeared in book +form. The rendering of the work in question differs in many important +points from that given by Mrs. Cook. The life in the original is one of +exceeding interest. The standpoint of its author is a Catholic one, he +being a firm believer in the divinity of the mission of the maiden. Her +career was full of marvels, every step marked by the wildest romance +united to the strangest truths. Chained and exposed to the fury and +brutality of the English soldiery, defenceless and alone, she yet knew +how to preserve her virgin sanctity; the hero of the battle field, the +deliverer of her country from the rule of the foreigner, she shed not +human blood; deserted by her friends, she never ceased to pray for them; +bewildered, betrayed, tried and condemned by the clergy of her own +church, her firm faith never wavered. Her answers to the subtle +metaphysical questions propounded to her by her judges on purpose to +entrap her during her painful trial, are models of simplicity, +innocence, and faith, mingled with keen intellect and intuitive +perception of their bearing upon her fate. Maligned and persecuted by +the English, deserted by the French, forgotten by the king she saved +and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_720" id="Page_720">[Pg 720]</a></span> crowned, betrayed and condemned by the ecclesiastics of the church +she honored—she perished in the flames with the name of the Saviour she +worshipped upon her pure, young lips. Her fame brightens with the +increasing light of our own century, and her canonization is now loudly +demanded from the Church. She has been celebrated in the most opposite +domains of human intelligence, by historians, romancers, theologians, +jurisconsults, philosophers, writers on tactics, politicians, +genealogists, heralds, preachers, orators, epic, tragic, and lyric +poets, magnetizers, demonologists, students of magic, rhapsodists, +biographers, journalists, and critics, and yet we have never met with a +single writer who appeared to comprehend her aright, or who was able to +do justice to the marvellous simplicity, truth, modesty, and force of +her character. A French author has drawn up a list of four hundred works +dedicated to her history, but as yet this uncultured girl of nineteen +has puzzled all her delineators!</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">The National Almanac and Annual Record For the Year 1864.</span> +Philadelphia: George W. Childs, 628 & 630 Chestnut street. For sale +by J. Bradburn, 49 Walker street, New York.</p></div> + +<p>The value of this compilation as a book of reference can scarcely be +overestimated. Almost every question likely to be asked about officers, +offices, governments, finances, elections, education, armies, navies, +commerce, navigation, or public affairs, at home or abroad, is answered +herein. There are 600 pages of compactly and clearly printed matter, and +it is marvellous how much has been included in them through a judicious +system of condensation. Stores of information relating to the volunteers +furnished by the several States to the United States army; names, dates, +figures in detail of all the regimental organizations from all the +States and Territories; valuable records of the events of the war, +presented in a twofold form, first by tracing the operations of each of +the great armies, and then by noting the events in chronological +order—are given in these pages, where millions of figures and names +occur, with wonderful accuracy. Particulars of every vessel, with name, +armament, tonnage, &c., and details of the internal revenue system, are +placed before us. We cannot offer even an outline of the contents of +this volume, because the details are so multifarious that we could +compress their index into no reasonable space. A copy of this book +should be in the hands of every reader, thinker, and business man in the +country. It is indeed a 'little library,' a 'photograph of the world' +for the last two years of its rapid course.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">My Cave Life in Vicksburg, with Letters of Trial and +Travel.</span> By a Lady. New York: D. Appleton & Co., 443 and 445 +Broadway.</p></div> + +<p>We are a magnanimous people, and we doubt not this simple record of a +woman's sufferings and terror will be read with interest, although she +is the wife of a Confederate officer. It gives us, indeed, the only +picture we have as yet seen of the interior of Vicksburg during its +ever-memorable siege; the only sketch of the hopes and fears of its +inhabitants. Its dedication is as follows: 'To one who, though absent, +is ever present, this little waif is tenderly and affectionately +dedicated.'</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Neighbor Jackwood.</span> By J. T. Trowbridge. Boston: J. E. +Tilton & Company. For sale by D. Appleton & Co., New York.</p></div> + +<p>A novel from Mr. Trowbridge, the author of 'Cudjo's Cave,' will always +command attention. He gives us no wayside episodes, rambling details, or +useless explanations. He seizes his story at the outset, and sustains +its interest to the close. His action is rapid, and every step is a +direct one to the final <i>dénouement</i>. He holds his reins with a firm +hand, and big incidents never swerve from an air-line track. His books +are characteristically American, and he uses the events and characters +of the hour with ability. Poor Charlotte, the heroine, is well drawn, +and her tale is one appealing to all human sympathies, yet, perhaps in +consequence of old and persistent prejudices, we cannot say we like this +work as well as 'Cudjo's Cave.' Many of our readers may like it better. +Grandmother Rigglesty is inimitable, and should be studied by all the +peevish, selfish, and exacting old women in the land.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>In consequence of the space occupied by our Index, the remaining notices +of new books are unavoidably postponed until the issue of the ensuing +number.—<span class="smcap">Ed. Con.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_721" id="Page_721">[Pg 721]</a></span></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="EDITORS_TABLE" id="EDITORS_TABLE"></a>EDITOR'S TABLE.</h2> + + +<h3>THE METROPOLITAN FAIR.</h3> + +<p>This noble and humane enterprise has nearly reached its conclusion, and +the results, we believe, are quite commensurate with the expectations of +the Executive Committee. It is not possible as yet to arrive at the net +proceeds, but the entire receipts will exceed one million dollars. The +names and reputation of the chiefs of the Sanitary Commission are +sufficient guarantee that the funds thus raised will be applied to the +purpose for which they were given, and many a poor soldier will have +reason to bless the zeal of the energetic men and women who have so +efficiently labored to soothe suffering and furnish to the sick and +wounded the very best aid their country can offer.</p> + +<p>We have more than once been pained by hearing the words 'humbug,' 'great +advertizing establishment,' etc., applied to the New York Fair, as well +as to fairs in general. Now, nothing could be more unjust than the first +term; and as to the latter, we have only to say that, if human nature +were perfect, fairs would be unnecessary, and a subscription all that +any just enterprise would require for success. Beneficence on a large +scale, however, requires the money of the selfishly munificent as well +as of the purely generous, and fairs not only procure purchasers for +such articles as givers can spare with the least detriment to +themselves, but also make known the names and quality of wares of +various dealers. The man who might have <i>subscribed</i> ten dollars, is +content to pay one hundred for an object contributed from the time and +labor of some individual devoid of other commodities. If the wares in +question become more widely known, and benefit hence accrue to the +giver, the consequence is surely a legitimate one, and even a fortunate +condition of the facts, as increasing the size of the fund received. +They who give simply with the idea of doing good, will doubtless receive +their appropriate reward; and they who give with mixed motives know well +that the alleviation purchased by their contribution will be as welcome +to the sick soldier as that procured by the more unselfish donation. Our +admiration for the individual may vary with our knowledge of his springs +of action, but if love of self can be made to minister to the wants of +the suffering, all the better, especially as no man can (without certain +knowledge) dare to sit in judgment upon the motives of his fellow men.</p> + +<p>Each department has done well, and none better than that devoted to +painting, statuary, engraving, and photography. Large sums have been +realized upon the pictures presented by the artists—generous gifts +indeed from men (and women) not usually overburdened with this world's +gear. M. Knoedler, of the Art Committee, merits the especial gratitude +of the community, not only for the generous but unobtrusive zeal +displayed by him, but also for large contributions in engravings and +photographs.</p> + +<p>The gift department of the picture gallery comprised works from all our +best-known names, as well as from some hitherto unknown. The artists' +albums were also a special feature in this domain. Judging merely as +outsiders (having owned no certificate of subscription), we thought the +anti-raffling rule might either have been suspended in their favor, or +should certainly have been enforced upon the first day, before the +burden of so many subscriptions had fallen upon the shoulders of the +energetic artists having them in charge.</p> + +<p>The general exhibition, although by no means a complete representation +of all that has been accomplished by painting in America (several of our +best artists having been represented only by their gift pictures), was +nevertheless very interesting. Opportunity was offered for close and +immediate comparison between some of the renowned works that have +adorned our annals, namely, Bier<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_722" id="Page_722">[Pg 722]</a></span>stadt's 'Rocky Mountains,' and Church's +'Andes of Ecuador' and 'Heart of the Andes,' also, Gignoux's and +Church's 'Niagaras.'</p> + +<p>The 'arms and trophies' made a very splendid and inspiring array. The +book store, the nautical room, the machine shop, the New York fire, +police, and New Jersey departments, and the grouping and general +arrangement of the Seventeenth-street building, were but a few of the +tasteful and admirable results of the labors of the executive and minor +committees.</p> + +<p>Last, but not least, come the Indians, who contributed to the Fair one +of its most attractive features. Good pictures may often be seen, fancy +articles every day, but the advent of these children of the forest has +left a vivid memory of their appearance and of some of their customs, +their musical instruments, songs, and dances, with many who have never +heretofore come in contact with them, and whose grandchildren may +perhaps cross the continent from New York to San Francisco without +meeting a single one of the original denizens of mountain, vale, +prairie, or table land. Great thanks are due to M. Bierstadt for the +almost herculean labors he must have undergone in presenting to us these +living fossils. Keeping them in a good humor must have been one of his +most serious tasks, as they doubtless encountered many contrarieties +calculated to chafe hot blood and annoy men unaccustomed to the +confinement of city life.</p> + +<p>Again, thanks to him, and also to them; thanks, indeed, to all the +patriotic men and women who have done so much in New York, Brooklyn, +Boston, Chicago, Cincinnati, and other smaller places, and also to those +who are making similar noble efforts in Baltimore, Philadelphia, St. +Louis, Pittsburg, etc., etc. War is a sad phase in the history of +humanity, and yet it has ever had the glory of developing some of the +highest of human virtues.</p> + + +<h3>KNOUT, PLETE, AND GANTLET.</h3> + +<p>The peasants of Poland do not seem very amiably disposed toward the +great Russian czar. Having been already emancipated by their own +leaders, they do not appear to be aware of his superhuman benevolence in +their behalf. They have issued a manifesto against him. They propose to +raise a peasant army of a million of men, from the ages of sixteen to +sixty, to assault Warsaw and other Polish cities held by the Russians. +They treat with scorn the offered emancipation, and determine to resist +'the odious, fierce, greedy, and astute Muscovite, and to organize <i>en +masse</i> under their own captains, while their own National Government +will designate the day upon which the general movement will take place.' +Having accomplished their object—the deliverance of Poland—the +peasants will elect chiefs to arrange the repartition of taxes, and a +national diet will undertake the management of the affairs of the +country. Prussia and Austria will then be called in again to aid in the +subjugation of Poland. This will throw the firebrand of war and +revolution over Western Europe, the oppressed peoples will rise in their +might, and Liberty be inscribed on the banner of the world. In the +indignant refusal of the Polish peasants to receive as a boon from the +foreigner what they already possess as a right from their own leaders; +in the devoted patriotism they are now evincing, they rob Russia of the +vast advantage she hoped to gain in depriving Poland of what has made +part of her marvellous force, the moral sympathies of the civilized +world. For can any one be weak enough to believe that the ukase of +emancipation originated in the magnanimity of Russia? The design was +evidently to divide the peasants from the nobles, to light the flames of +civil war, to murder by the hands of her own sons that unhappy country, +which, deserted by all the nations of the earth, has again and again +risen from her bloody grave to startle her oppressors with the old hymns +of faith and triumph. But, if uncultured, because the iron heel of the +tyrant has been on the heart of the murdered mother, the Polish peasant +is faithful and devoted. He knows the nature of Russian rule. He has +seen women knouted, childred murdered, boys imprisoned, and men exposed +to the tortures of Siberia. Have our readers any true conception of what +it is to be knouted? We will place before them a translation from +Piotrowski of three modes of punishment used by Russia.</p> + +<p>'The <i>Knout</i> is a long narrow thong of leather, which is steeped and +boiled in a chemical solution until it becomes thickly coated with +metallic filings and deposit. Pre<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_723" id="Page_723">[Pg 723]</a></span>pared in this way, the thong acquires +considerable weight and hardness. Before it cools and hardens, however, +they take care to turn the edges, made thin for this purpose, up toward +each other, thus forming a groove extending through the whole length of +the metal-coated thong, with the exception of the extremity, which is +left limber that it may be wound round the hand of the executioner, +while a strong iron hook is appended to the other extremity. The +scaffold on which the victim suffers is called in Russian 'Kobyla,' +literally a mare. It is an inclined plane, on which the sufferer is +tied, his back is stripped naked, his arms embrace the higher end of the +plank, his hands are tied under it, his feet are fastened on the lower +end, all movement being thus rendered impossible. Hacking down upon the +naked back of the victim, the knout falls with its concave side upon the +skin, which the metalized edge of the instrument cuts like a knife, the +blades of the groove burying themselves in the flesh; the instrument is +not lifted up by the operator, but is drawn horizontally toward himself, +tearing away, by means of the hook, the severed flesh in long strings. +If the operator performs his part conscientiously, the sufferer loses +consciousness after the third blow, and frequently expires with the +fifth. Peter the Great fixed the maximum of the number to be given at +one hundred and one—of course, this was a sentence of death. It is a +singularity of the Russian laws that the number of blows decreed for the +knout is always uneven. As soon as the wretched victim has received the +prescribed number, he is untied, forced to kneel, and submit to the +punishment of the brand. This brand consists of the three letters VOR +(robber, criminal), cut in iron points upon a stamp, and is struck by +the executioner into the forehead and cheeks of the sufferer. While the +blood is still flowing, a black fluid, partly composed of gunpowder, is +injected into the wounds. When the wounds heal, the letters assume a +dark blue tint, and are forever after indelible. After the infliction +of the brand, it was formerly the custom to tear out the nostrils, but +this horrible barbarity was definitely abolished toward the close of the +reign of Alexander I. I have, however, met more than one Siberian exile +thus hideously disfigured, no doubt belonging to the time anterior to +the publication of the ukase. I have met an incalculable number of men +bearing upon cheeks and forehead the triple inscription VOR. I do not +think the brand is applied to woman; at least I have never seen one thus +desecrated.</p> + +<p>'The <i>Plète</i>, which is often and wrongfully confounded with the knout, +is a far less formidable instrument. It is composed of three strong +leathern thongs, terminated at the one end by balls of lead; the other +is wrapped round the hand of the executioner. In accordance with the +Russian law, this instrument should weigh from five to six pounds. It +strikes like a triple lash upon the naked back of the sufferer. It does +not plough or tear up the flesh like the knout, but the skin of course +breaks under the heavy blows inflicted upon the spinal column and the +sides. Phthisis is a common complaint with those who have been subjected +to the punishment of the plète, the strokes frequently detaching the +viscera from their living walls. In order to give more force to the +blow, the executioner takes a leap and run, only striking as he reaches +his victim. If possible to gain him by a bribe, he may diminish the +punishment without detection. He may manage not to use his little finger +on the instrument, which softens the force of the blow, without +attracting the attention of the superintending officer. If the number of +lashes is to be great, the operator is often bribed to give all his +available force to the first blows, directing them principally toward +the sides, in order to put as short a term as possible to the torture +and life of the miserable sufferer.</p> + +<p>'A third kind of punishment is that of the <i>Skvoz-stroï</i>, literally, +<i>through the ranks</i>. This is generally used for soldiers only, though +many Polish patriots have been subjected to it after condemnation for +political offences. It is thus inflicted: Long rods are taken, freshly +cut and well soaked in water to render them perfectly flexible, and +given to the men who are to operate. A company of soldiers range +themselves, facing each other, in a double file, placing themselves at +such a distance from one another that they may be able to strike with +their whole force without being in the way of each other. The sufferer +is stripped to the waist, his hands are tied before him to a gun, the +bayonet of which rests on his breast, while the butt end of it is +carried by the soldier appointed to lead him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_724" id="Page_724">[Pg 724]</a></span> through the ranks charged +with the duty of inflicting his punishment. He is led slowly forward +through the files, receiving the lashes on his back and shoulders. When +he faints or falls on the ground, he is raised up and urged to move on. +Peter the Great fixed the maximum of blows at twelve thousand, but +unless they intend to make an example of some offender, more than two +thousand are rarely administered. If more are decreed, the patient is +usually carried to the hospital and cured of his wounds ere he is forced +to undergo the rest of the sentence.</p> + +<p>'A conspiracy broke out in Siberia, which was betrayed on the very eve +of its commencement at Omsk. The Abbé Siérocinski was concerned in it, +and he and five of his accomplices, among whom was found an officer of +the empire between sixty and seventy years of age, were condemned to +seven thousand lashes, each without remission. The other conspirators, +numbering nearly a thousand in all, were sentenced to receive from one +thousand to fifteen hundred lashes, and to hard labor for life. The day +of execution arrived. It occurred in 1837, early in the month of March. +It took place at Omsk. General Golofeïev, in consequence of being +celebrated for his cruelty, was sent from the capital to superintend the +punishment and command this mournful <i>cortége</i>. Two entire battalions +were ranged in a great plain near the city, the one destined for the six +principal conspirators, the other for those whose punishment was not to +be so severe. It is not our intention to describe the detailed butchery +of this day of horror: we will confine ourselves to the Abbé Siérocinski +and his five companions in misfortune. They were escorted on the plain, +their sentence was read aloud to them with great solemnity, and then the +running of the gauntlet commenced. The lashes were administered, +according to the letter of the decree, 'without mercy,' and the cries of +the wretched sufferers rose to the skies. None of them lived to receive +the full number of lashes: executed one after another, after having +passed two or three times through the dreadful file, they fell upon the +earth, dyeing the pure snow red with the blood of their agonies as they +expired. In order that the Abbé Siérocinski might drink to the dregs the +bitter cup of his punishment, that he might suffer doubly through the +torture of his friends, he had been reserved to the last. His turn now +arrived, they stripped his back and tied his hands to the bayonet, and +the physician advanced to give him, as he had given the others, some +drops to strengthen him for the torment, but he refused them, saying: 'I +do not want your drops—I will not taste them, I am ready—drink, then, +the blood for which you thirst.' The signal of his fearful march was +given, and the strong voice of the old superior of the monastery was +heard entoning with high, clear chant: 'Miserere mei, Deus, secundum +magnam misericordiam tuam!'</p> + +<p>'The chant of the priest was broken in upon by the harsh cry of General +Golofeïev to the soldiers: <i>Pokreptche! Pokreptche!</i> 'Harder! Harder!' +Thus was heard for some time the chant of the Basilien broken by the +hissing of the lashes and the angry cry of the general. Siérocinski had +only passed once through the ranks of the battalion, that is to say, he +had received but a thousand lashes, when he rolled without consciousness +over the snow, staining it with his dauntless blood. In vain they tried +to place him again on his feet—he was too weak to stand; and he was +then stretched upon a sled which had been prepared in advance. He was +fastened upon this species of support so as to present his back to the +blows, and again the defile through the ranks began. Cries and groans +were still heard: though they were constantly growing weaker, they +ceased not until the commencement of the fourth course—the three +thousand last blows fell on the body of the hapless corpse.</p> + +<p>'A common ditch received those who died on this dreadful day, Poles and +Russians being thrown in together. The holy sign of our faith was placed +by the friends of the dead upon this crowded grave, and even in 1846 the +great wooden cross still stretched its black arms over the steppe +shrouded in its snow of dazzling whiteness.'</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Continental Monthly , Vol. 5, No. 6, +June, 1864, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CONTINENTAL MONTHLY *** + +***** This file should be named 20363-h.htm or 20363-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/3/6/20363/ + +Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Janet Blenkinship and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by Cornell University Digital Collections) + + +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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